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A FOGGY MGHT. A broad, blue river, rippling and spark ling- on its way to the sea. Widening, too. as it flowh on, first between high wooded banks, then by low-lying farms, and then, just before it reaches the nar row inlet, spreading out into almost a lake. Here the stream is broken into many channel* by sedgy islands half cov ered at high Mater. Flocks of snipe and red-winged blackbirds fly to and fro, or settle down among the sedge, their red epaulettes glancing gaily in the dark green or against the clear blue sky. Among the islands the watere rushes deep and swift at ebb-tide hurrying down to meet the bieukcr» the "white sea-horses" that gallop in o\er the bar, toeing their flowing manes, and at Hood-tide going bat with almost equal force to where the wide -tream How more gently over -o.mh slui«lo-\\s -mil into deep coves and oend\ on the low shore. On each *uh of the river are flat mea dow lands, covered with rich swamp gra^se, in very shade of purple, green and brown Here arid there the ground is broken by clear pools, where water lilic float, guarded on all sides by red cardinal flowers, blue and white marsh gentian, and behind them helmet flowers and tall milk-weeds wave, trying to shake themselves free from the clo^e embrace of pink convolvulus and yellow, thread-like hind-weed. On one side the meadows are bound by clumps of holly, pines and cedar, and tangled thickets of smilax on the other stretch low, white sand-cliffs covered with pale sea-grass, and sloping down to the blue sunny plain of waters, that to-day is dotted with white sails of fishing smacks v\ hit this morning crossed the bar. All is clear, peaceful, bright—intensely bright under the August sun. At night it is no less beautiful than by day. The full moon rises over the black pines, flooding the land with its pure brightness the river is arippling sheet of -liver, and the dark shore is touched with light. Seaward all form is lost, for the _low banks and the dim river are wrapped in silvery vapor, through which comes faintly the music of the sea. I long to float down into that shadowy icgion. to seek I know not what possibili ties of poetry and beauty, and as I gaze, lo. a white, ghostly shape steals through the silver mist silently it draws near, 4lows larger and more defined, and the —moon gleams on the large sail of a pleas boat. A sound of music floats to me the still night air the boat passes out if sight. "We bring our skiff to the shore md unwillingly leave behind us the night fairy-land, half fearing that it .nay vanish in the night. I had come down at the end of a hot, _iu-ty summer in town, to the old farm icm-e by the river where my cousin "foi ris and his wife had been passing the ummer, and this land by sea was to me 1 iradise, a place of restful beauty, a jotiis-land of Peace. Such at- least were my first impressions the evening after my arrival, when, a in spent the afternoon and evening the water, we left the river and walked ip through the dark, sweet-smelling cedar •io\e. On reaching the house, Norris iroposed that I should be introduced to ur host and hostess. I readily agreed, nd we went into the large old-fashioned itchen. where we found Captain Wilson nd his wife sitting by an open wood fire, -—:r the August night was chilly. Being uly presented, I sat down with them to njoy the comfortable blaze, and began speak of the beauty of the country and le pleasure I had had that day in the oating. '-Indeed," I remarked, I felt though I could float on there for .vi". ,It's all good enough this kind of either," Mrs. Wilson said, "but come ~m here in the spring and fall rains, a rainy spell in winter. I guess you'd like it so well then. For my part, I n-er see why people set such store by ie boating. I'm sure I can't see the n-e in it, and I haven't been in a boat fifteen year, would you believe?" Is it possible! Why do you dislike ating so much?" Well, I never did like it, but I was in boat once too often, and I've kept out of em since." I tell my wife," said Captain Wilson, she wants to see the sense in boats e'd better be down at the shore in a big „_r'easter in wioter, and see the wreckers out to a vessel and bring to land the lole crew safe." Our conversation then turned to the cckers, and their work on this danger coast, and many evenings after that old sailor entertained us with ac jnts of his adventures at sea and in the ecking serrice. But I did not forget ""•"». Wilson's allusion to an adventure of own, and one night toward the end of visit I referred to it, and again asked k- why she had not been in a boat for so a time. Well," she replied, I was in a boat %c when I had too much of it. I uldn't be paid to go in one now. But t's a long story." Tell the story then by all means." But you won't think it's much of a ry after all," Mrs. Wilson said, ener ically, but something I'll never flor as long as I live. It was about fifteen rs ago, this next November, that I got my sister was very sick and they ited me to come over at once and see She lived then nearly opposite our ding on the other side of the river ybc you've noticed that white house among the trees. Well, my hus wasn't home—he'd gone to the vil •, and I didn't dare wait till he'd get k. So I left word for him that I'd be ie for supper, gave the baby into the of the hired girl and started across river with my oldest boyt, Ned. He about twelve years old. It was three ck then, and I remember thinking I,be a tea time. We got over enough,Wr Ned palled a strong oar and the wind was in jur favor. found my sister very low, and I stayed with her till near six o'clock, for I couldn't bear to leave her. But at last we started home, for I knew they'd be expecting us back for supper. When we came out of the house it was nearly dark, and there was such a thick fog we eould hardly see an arm's length before us. If it hadn't been for my baby I'd have turned back as it was, I wanted to ask one of the neighbors to go over with us. But Ned wouldn't hear to it he insisted lie could row back as well as not, and if he pulled steady it was easy enough to keep a straight line across. So we got into the boat and pushed off." What sort of a boat was it.'" I asked. "Why, one of those little flat-bottomed boats, you know. I never did like to get in one of them, they tip over so easy* Well, at first I could sec Ned rowing stea dy, but the fog seemed to grow thicker, and thicker, creeping up from the sea till it had spread over the flats and wrapped round us so at last I could not make out even the outline of my boy. For a while we talked a little, but after that I just sat still, thinking of iu\ poor sis ter. ''I guess nearly an hour must have passed, when I noticed Ned was rowing slow and sort of irregular—I could not tell by the sound of the oars—and I asked him if he didn't think we were near home. We'd ought to be, mother,' says he, and I knew from the way he spoke he was tired and worried.. He stopped row ing now and stood up in the boat.' "I can't make out the shore can yOu?' says he but I couldn't sec anything but the blackness'all around. I could hear the water.4lapping against the side of the boat anJ the rioi»e'of the breakers—and they weren't very far away.( That fright* ened me.* I "Then.Ned began to row again, but as if he was'tired^and discouraged, and soon stopped. I can't row any more, mother,' says he,'the tide's against us. I don't make an inch, and I can't find out where we are.' You'll have to rest and then try again, Ned,' says I. If I could help you row I would, but you know I can't. Just try a little more, and we'll soon get to shore.* He didn't answer, and we sat still but I knew by the motion of the boat that we were drifting. I knew, too that it wras ebb-tide, and there was a strong current towards the sea. You've noticed, haven't you, Avhat a strong cur rent there is in some parts of the river? Ned,' I said in a few minutes, trying hard to speak cheerful and not let him know how anxious I felt, you must make one more effort, a few more pulls will surely bring us to land.' So Ned took the oars once more, and pretty soon, to our great relief, we felt the bottom of the boat scrape against the sand, and another stroke of the oar brought us to land.' So Ned took the oars once more, and pretty soon, to our great relief, we felt the bot tom of the boat scrape against the sand, and another stroke of the oar brought us to land. Ned got out and began to haul the boat up, but immediately cried out: It ain't our shore at all? I declare if we ain't by Captain Moore's!' That was a few rods below where we started from. The boat had turned round, most likely pulled away by the current, and here we wrere farther than ever from home. What to do I didn't know. Ned was tired out, and I was afraid to venture with him alone again. At last I proposed that we'd try and find the way to Captain Moore's and ask some one thare to row us over, and this time, Ned, poor child, was glad enough to do it. We had some trouble to find the path that led up through the woods. However we did get on it at last and felt our way to the house. Captain Moore was out, but Jim Lewis, a young man who worked for him, was there, and he agreed to take us across, though Mrs. Moore wanted us to stop there all night. And, indeed, I'd have been tempted to stay, for I felt dreadful nervous when I thought of the dark and the fog and the strong tide, but my baby was always in my mind—I kept thinking he must be crying for me—and of course I'd have risked anything to go to him. I was abontS o'clock when we left Moore's. When we got to the river Jim said he'd take Captain More's boat to cross to come back in, and proposed, as it was more comfortable, that I should get in it and we'd tow ours. So we started, our boat fastened behind, with Ned in it. Jim hadn't been here long and didn't know much about rowing, and neither of us thought how much harder that would make the pulling. It's queer Ned didn't think of it, but I guess he was too tired. As I said before, it was ebb-tide and the water rushing out to sea very fast I never saw such a black sky, and the fog that thick it seemed as if you could not breathe. As we put off from land once more and went out into the darkness, I re membered all I'd heard about people be ing lost in the fog. I thought of my hus band and the baby, and my sister, and a horrible feeling came over me that I'd never see them again. And all the time it was getting damper, colder and black er. We don't seem to keep a straight line,' Jim said, after he'd been rowing what seemed a long, long time 'The other boat, or tide or something, swings us around so. We'd ought to be near across, but the water's as deep as ever.' I knew, though I didn't say so, that we were not going across, for I heard the sound of the sea, at first very faint and far off, now getting louder every minute, and at ebb tide we might easy be caught in the current near the mouth of the river and be carried out to the breakers. Such a thing has happened. Well, for perhaps half an hour neith er of us had spoken, and I was so fright ened I'd almost forgotten about our boat, when Jim remarked that it was easier pulling than befprc^TJien all of a sud den he stopped rowing, leaned past me and felt in the stern of the boat then made an exclamation as if he was scared. What is it?' said, I somehow feeling right away what was the matter. I thought so the boat's loose, by George, and the Lord knows where she is now!' It seemed as if that was too much! I felt all confused, and I think I told Jim that he must find my boy—lie must turn back. "If I only knew which way to turnback!" says he and began hallooing ond calling Ned. But there was no answer? I can't remember what I did or said when I think of that time the same dread ful feeling comes over me that I had then, when my boy Avas drifting out alone in that little boat to sea. I thought he must have got beyond hearing before Ave missed him, and there Avas no chance that he could row against the tide, tired as he Avas. Vlien Jim began to row again, but in an uncertain sort of Avay, stopping every now and then to shout. Once Ave thought there was an answer, but after that he couldn't hear a sound." "A last he gave up calling, and I felt then there Avas no hope of ever find ing Ned or getting ashore. Jim said he was going to try and get me safe home first, and then start out again with my husband and other men to help him. I had to OAvn that was the best plan, but it made me shudder to think what might happen to Ned in the mean time. I don't knoAV how long it was after we had lost the boat—it seemed like hours—but at last we touched the shore. Oh! how glad I Avas! Jim landed and walked a little way then lie came back and said he thought Ave Avere near the end of Sandy Point. "How near Avas*that to, your home?" I asked. „,-'. "Why, it's on tbis' side of the river, a mile or two below'here. I was ^hankful to be eA-en that near ,home, and' I told Jim we'd better leave the boat and Avalk along the shore to our landing, and so to the house. It Avas a long, wet walk, but willing to try it again. So Jim pulled the boat up and we started, as we supposed toward the shore, keeping close to the water's edge to guide us. But pretty soon the ground began to get very soft and Sandy Point is all pebbly and hard. Jim got doAvn on his hands and knees and felt, and presently he said: "We're at thb end of the darned point the shore's in the other direction, so we must be still on the same side of the river. It's that there point down by the flats, confound t!" Oh! I never felt so done in all my life as I did when he said that. We were within a mile of the sea, farther than eA*er from home, and my boy gone. I just couldn't help it I burst out crying, and Jim stood by me, not knowing I sup pose, what to do next. But pretty soon he gave a shout, and that Avas answered by another quite near. I stopped erying and listened sure enough, there was the sound of oars and the gleam of a light through the fog. Then I heard my husband's A'oice I called and he ansAvered, that soon he'd come up beside us. "'Squire Greene was Avith him, and they said- they'd been out since seven o'clocklooking for us. But, where's Ned was the first thing almost tne Captain said. So I told him all about it, and begged him go and find my boy. I sup pose I talked in a wild kind of way, for I heard 'Squire Greene saying they must get me home first as quick as possible, for I was cold and nervous. They Avould take me to our landing, they said, and then start out and look for Ned, and Jim was to find his way back to Captain Moore's. Well, they put me in their boat and started, the two men pulling steadily to gether, and only stopping sometimes to call Ned?' But they got no answer.' I never felt the current so strong here,' I heard'Squire Greene say 'one man I should think could hardly row against it.' My husband didn't answer. I guess he, like me, was thinking of our little boy out alone in the current. So we went on for some time. I was too worn out to think I only was con scious that my feet and limbs were get ting almost numb with cold. There seemed to be water in the boat, and the two men spoke anxiously together in low tones, 'Pull harder, Wilson she'll last if we hurry," I heard Squire Greene say, and they rowed faster and faster. Sud denly the boat bumped against some thing in the dark. My husband held up the lantern and exclaimed: Thank Goof, he's safe!' I roused myself, opened my eyes, and saw beside us our boat, and in the bottom of it my Ned, fast asleep. "But I should think it would have been farther down by that time if it it Avas adrift." "Yes, but," said Mrs. Wilson, "i was stopped, and by what, do you think? Why, a good many years before that there'd been a little vessel wrecked in the inlet. I'll tell you, it was that very wreck the Captain was telling you about the other night, the time of that great storm of 185-. Well, it all broke up, but part of the hull was washed in past the flats, and when the water went down it stuck in the mud out in the middle of the river. It was covered at high Avater, but at low water a couple of beams stood up out of the water. It was always a great bother to tne cap tain, as it was in the main channel, the folks around here often talked of getting it away somehow, but they never did, arid it's always seemed to me since, that it was just put there by Providence to save our child. For, would you believe, the boat had drifted down onto it and lodged be tween the two beams, not fast, but just kept there till we came up against it, and it was the Lord's guiding that brought us to it, for they had been trying to keep away from where they thought the wreck was. .,/''Now,'says the Captain, as soon as he found our boat was all sound, 'Ave must get right into our boat. Quick, Mary,' he says to me, 'there's not a mo ment to lose this one's leaking fast in a minute she'll go doAvn!" I didn't realize tiir afterward the new danger we'd just escaped but they hur ried to bring the boats alongside and in the dark almost lifted me from one to the other. Then Ned Avoke up, wondering what it Avas all about, and I had my boy in my arms and 4 my husband rowing toward home. We left the old boat there in the river, and soon through the fog we savv firelight. 'Squire Greene shouted *all right!' and there from the shore a real hearty cheer in answer. In another min ute we'd landed beside a great bon fire, and the neighbors Avere all round ue. When we got home it was tAvelve o'clock, and if ever I was glad to be in this old kitchen, it Avas then. I've never been in a boat since, even in the day time and a misty evening always brings to my mind that night in the fojy." On going to my room that night, I looked from my AvindoAv, hoping to catch a glimpse of the river. But the moon had hidden behind a cloud, and a thick, Avhite fog was spread, like a clam my shroud, over river, sea and land. In the dark cedar wood a tree-toad croked predictions of-coming rain. And I kevv that at the Inlet the bank sedge was shivering in the rising east wind, Avhile the Avater flowed silently tlirough the darkness out to sea, where float the wrecks of vessels lost on foggy nights. The Leopard of the Air. Yes," said Querlaoun, in my young er days, I remember, my wife and myself were on our plantation with some of our slaves, and one day we heard the cries of a baby and saw a child carried up into the sky by one of these guanioniens. The baby had been laid on the ground, and the guanionien, whose eyes never miss anytliing, and which had not beep noticed soaring above our heads, pounced on its prey, and then laughed at us as he rose and flewr to a distant part of the for est." Then Querlaoun showed me a fetich partly made of two huge claws of this bird. What tremendous things those talons were! how deep theycould go into the flesh! Then came the wonderful stories of the very great strength of the bird. The peo ple were afraid of them, and were com pelled to be very careful of their babies. These grand eagles do notieed on fowls they are too small game for them. Monkeys are what they like best they can watch them as they float over the top of the trees of the forest, but sometimes the monkeys get the better of them. People had better not try to get hold of the guanionien young, if they want to keep their sight,'' said Gamby, "for as sure as we live, the old bird will pounce upon the man that touches its young-" For a long time I heard the people talk ing about the guanionien, but had never had a glimpse of one. Now, looking up again, I saAV several of them. How high they were! At times they would appear to be quite still in the air at other times they would soar. They were so high that I do not see how they could possibly see the trees everything must have been in a maze to them monkeys, of course, could not be seen. They were, no doubt, amusing themselves and I wondered if they tried to see how near they could go to the sun. Some at times flew so high that I lost sight of them. In the afternoon I thought I would ramble around. I took a double-barrel smooth-bore gun, and loaded one side with a bullet, in case I should see larger game the other barrel I loaded with shot No. 2. Then I caretully plunged into the woods till I reached the banks of a little stream, and there I heard the cry of the mondi (Colobus Satanus), which is one of the largest monkeys of these forests. From their shrill cries* I thought there might be at least half a dozen. I was glad, indeed, that I had one barrel with big shot. If the mondis were not too far off I would be able to get a fair shot to kill one. I advanced very cautiously until I got near to them. I 'could then see their big bodies, long tails, and long, jetblack, shining hair. What handsome beasts they were? What a nice-looking muff their skins would make, I thought. Just as I was considering which of them'I would fire at, I saw some big hing, like a shadow, suddenly come down upon the tree. Then I heard the flapping of heavy wings, and also the death-cry of a poor mondi. Then I saw a huge bird, with a breast spotted some what like a leopard, raise itself slowly into the air, carrying the monkey in its powerful, finger-like talons. The claws of one leg were fast in the upper part of the neck of the monkey so deep were they in the flesh that they were com pletely buried and a few drops ol blood fell upon the leaves below. The other leg had its claws quite deep into the back of the monkey. The left leg Avas kept higher than the right, and I could see that the great strength of the bird was used at the time to keep the neck and also the back of the victim from moving. The bird rose higher and the monkey's tail swayed to and fro, and then both disappeared. It was a guanionien. Its prey was, no doubt, taken to some big tree where it would be devoured. The natives say that the first thing the guanionien does is to take out the eyes of the monkeys they catch. But it must be fearful struggle, for these mondis are powerful beasts, and do not die at the eagle's will. There must be a great trial of strength, for if the monkey is not seized at an exact place on the neck he will turn his head and then inflict a fear ful bite on the breast of the eagle, or on his neck or leg, which disables his most terrible enemy, and then, both falling, meet their death. I looked on Avithout firing. The mon keys seem paralyzed Avith fear when the eagle came down upon them, and did not move after the bird of prey had taken one of their number and then decamped. When I looked for them they had fled to parts unknown to me in the forest. I was looking so intently at the eagle and its prey that for a Avhile I had forgotten the mondis. I do not wonder at it, for mon keys I could see often, but it is only once in a great Avhile that such a scene as I witnessed could be seen by a man. It Avas grand, and I wondered not that the natives called the guanionien the leopard of the air.—Paul du CJuiillu. TRUE TO HER WORD. Leonora Lonsdale's most partial friend could not call her pretty. Her most im partial enemies—being possessed of much cleverness, strength of character, and hatred of shams it folloAved, she had a few —declared her ugly. For the benefit of those Avho have never seen the young lady, and consequently belong to neither one side or the other, I will describe her—beginning with the most prominent feature of the human face. Nose of no' particular order, neither aquiline, straight, pug, turned-up nor turned-down, but original and indepen dent, and apparently in the right place eyes brown with a glint of topaz—a slight cast in the left one pronounced by the friendly "bewitchingly cunning" and by the inimical "decidedly impish mouth neither large nor small, with full, red lips closing firmly over two rows of strong, white teeth complexion neither blonde nor brunette, but clear and rosy and her own, and chin that only escaped being masculine by having a dimple in it. Her head, heavy with a quantity of straight, black hair, was well shaped enough, and well set upon a slender neck, that was again well set upon her sufficient ly broad shoulders her hands were small, but the fingers did not taper she was five feet six inches in height, and looked as though she might be taller if she chose had a clear,ringing laugh, a musical chest voice, a graceful walk had opinions of her own, and whistled like a bird. And yet, notwithstanding her want of beauty—her many defects, I might say— there were men who had expressed a readiness to die for Leonora at need, and more who had declared themsehes per fectly willing to live for her. There was a wonderful atmosphere of freedom, of purity, of bravery about .her. And Leonora was a worker. Much as she despised shams and hypocrisies she despised idleness. Day dreaming! I don't believe in it," she would say. Do' your dreaming at night and work during the day and while she talked, in a bright, and cheer ful way, each word clear and distinct, she busily plied her needle making little dresses and jackets and aprons. "For whom?" Oh, for some poor children around the corner. I had nothing else to do." It was while thus occupied one after noon in September, seated on the old fashioned porch, shaded by a heavy grape vine, that Clifford Cameron sauntered in and threw himself in an easy chair be side her. Cliff." had been a chum of Harry Lonsdale's since early boyhood, and for just that period had alternately tried to tease and make love to# Harry Lons dale's sister. He was a good looking,sAveet tempered generous, lazy young fellow, with no end of money. Grandfather had died and left him money—father had died and left him money—uncle had died and left him money, lately an old great-aunt, whom he had never seen, had departed this life, away off in some obscure corner of the globe, and left him more money. He had very fair hair and big, very blue eyes, beautiful hands and feet, was rather stout than slender, short than tall—was one of those infatuated men who thought the slight cast in Leonora's left eye per fectly charming, and who had Said they would die of joy if she'd only graciously permit them to devote the remainder of their lives to her. Well, Bee," said he, taking up a small apron and leisurely surveying it. "Well, butterfly," was the reply, "what brings you back from Newport so soon?" "You." "Oh you've come here to talk non sense again," says the young lady, hold ing another small apron before her, her head on one side like a bird's, as she pon ders on the effect of a bow of green rib bon she has sewn on the pocket. "Right, as you always are, my dar ling." I'm not your darling, and I'll take that apron if you're quite done Avith it." Deuce take the apron, says I. Stop sewing, I beg of you, Leo—it makes me quite tired to look at you." "Clifford!" "Leonora!" rt Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" Don't think I am. Ought I to be?" With decision—" You should. Were I a young man in good health, not maimed or crippled—blessed with the average quantity and quality of brains "Thanks!" "I'd do something besides lounging at watering places in the summer, and club houses in the winter—something in the shape of work—yes, if five hundred uncles, and grandfathers, and aunts "Couldn't any'way"in the world, thank Heaven! my dear girl, have so many re lations." Left me five hundred fortunes. And if I fell in love with a girl, I'd prove to her before I proposed marriage, that I, myself"— Myself! Behold me I" quoted Cliff. Gould, if an emergency arose, and life is full of them, support her, and that I was not entirely dependent upon the in- come flowing in from the coffers filled by my ancestors." "Bravo! Leo! You're a splendid fel low! That last remark about the coffins of my ancestors was extremely fine. I'd like to have any one, in the glow of my present admiration for you, dare to hint that you were the tiniest speck cross-eyed. He or she'd repent in haste. But, most admirable of your sex, what would you do if you were a male fellow, so unfortu nate as to know nothing useful, and wanted to propose to the girl you loved and all the rest of it?" "I'd learn a trade if hadn't talent enough for a profession." The aA'erage quantity and quality of brain is scarcely sufficient for a profession, and I'm too old to be taken as an appren tice. If I were not and could not be con verted into a shoe-maker, or bricklayer —or—or—plumber, I think I'd prefer le ing a plumber, they only come and look at things and go away again, I couldn't give you a house like this, where you could sit on the porch with a peach tree in front of you and a nice grapevine over you, making clothes for horrid children around corners." Nonsense! I don't mean that." "What do you mean then?" reaching up and plucking a grape from a low-hanging branch. Cliff Cameron, you know what I mean well as I do," and yet she explains with great slowness and emphasis. I mean that a man should be able to support the woman he marries either by his head or hands whether he is ever obliged to or not. Go away, you are putting me out of temper." "Puttingyou out of temper? You're mistaken. I never saw your dimple so angelic in my life. But I say, Leo." he continued more seriously, "if I prove to you that on an emergency—that is, if you with your luxurious tastes and general ex travagance should waste my substance in riotous living after we were married—if I prove to you thatiin case I should be will ing and able to give you bread with an occasional bit of butter—would you name the day?" That emergency never'could arise." "Well, imagine any emergency you choose, only answer me. Would you name the day?" "What day?" "Lenora!" Yes, I would." You would—fair and square now I would. Isn't that enough?" Quite enough. But it must be an early one." Must?" "Will, my blessed." Yes." Cliff Cameron arose deliberately, took away the sewing, deftly converted it into a ball and tossed it up among the grapes, made both small hands, little gold thim ble and all, prisoners, and kissed her upon the dimple, upon the left eye, and lastly upon the warm, red lips. Mr. Cameron, this is premature," said she, her cheeks glowing like two pink roses. Not at all, Miss Lonsdale, you are mine. To-morrow I will take my place among the workers. It will be a humble one, but sufficient to prove to you that I am competent to earn the bread and but ter of which I have spoken." "But Cliff"—dropping her eyes for the first time. Well Leo "—clasping the bright face between his hands, and making her raise them again. Are you sure—you know how you ad mire pretty wromen, and I'm not pretty." But you're good—and to me the love liest and sweetest girl in the whole world." On Thursday afternoon, two days after the dialogue on the back porch, Miss Leo nora Lonsdale, as she was wont on Thurs day afternoons, being the executive abil ity of some charitable society that met on that day, stepped into a somewhat crowd ed street car, looking neither to the right or left, but straight before her, in her usual manner. Once seated, she abstracted her pocket book from her satchel and took from it the inevitable five cents, when she became aware of a hand stretched out toward her —a man's hand, a handsome hand, a fa miliar hand. Her eyes rested on it an in stant and then traveled up the arm to which it belonged until they met the face—half hidden by a slouched, broad brimmed hat—of the conductor, Cliff Cam eron! She demurely placed her fare in his hand and, her enemies would have said, the cast of her eye beams more impish than ever. "The day?" said the conductor in a low, firm, business-like tone, not a gleam of intelligence lighting up his big, blue eyes. Six months from date," replied Leono ra, in the same tone, as she dropped her pocket-book back in her satchel. The Memphis (Tenn.) Appeal relates the folloAving in its account of the recent burning of the steamer Gov. Garland in the Arkansas river: "Capt. Nowland's conduct was heroic. Finding it impos sible to rescue his wife and two children, he was compelled to forsake either the former or the latter. He had no time to hesitate, for the flames were already scorching the passengers. Capt. Now land kissed his children farewell, plunged into the water. He looked back, but the children he could not see, for his eyes filled wdth tears, such as only a father or mother can know the meaning of. A. deck-hand named Billy Staples, whose home is in Memphis, witnessed the sad farewell. Seizing both of the children in his strong arms the brave man leaped in to the water and carried them safely to the shore." A Patterson boy was riding on bis fa ther's back when the latter remarked that it was rather an elevated railroad. Yes, Summy."the a," said youngster, I'm riding on