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$- i'U V, I If HIS FAILURE. VTL STORY. "Poor Richard Realf! I know how -every hope died within his_oul." He pushed back the heap of manu script before him, as he said this, and, resting his weary head on his hand, 43a* looking out upon the street. He was "born unto singing," but to iay he could not utter what heaven had breathed into His soul, for the burthen fay sorely upon him. Lately it had been so, that when the heart chords were swept by the unseen mas ter hand, and his soul essayed to sing the refrain, the mellow measures trembled forth, only to falter before the unappreciative, and the golden metes died amid the jeers of the cow ardly creatures of spite. Long he sat at his desk, consulting his over burdened heart. Should he igo on and be buffeted by ridicule long er? He did not know it seemed to be bis duty to row against the tide, but oW it was hard. Some, he was aware, counted it strengthening to genius, to battle and endure, and he envied them. He believed he could battle and do bravelybut not alone he was afraid he had not the vim to withstand the -contrary currents. Those who should 'have held up his hands by words of -encouragement stood aloft and looked with unconcern. Others who might ha?re made his world of thought to bud and bloom, passed by on the other side with uplifted eyes, not meaning to waste their high mighti ness on a struggling aspirant, and there were none to lend a helping hand. Ah! yes he would give it up, and write the word failure above the prob lem of his mission, and leave it un solved. It would be a hard task cer tainly, to say to the sweet well-spring -of song within, "thus far, and no far- mer," but it would be harder still to have its crystal waters lose their puri on. the rocks of Marah, over which they must flow. Yes he would wall in this beautiful summer sea, and grow careless and pa-asionless and send his supersensi tive soul to schpol to the cynical prosa ic. He would slip down from the -round of the ladder to which he had clun in desperation slip down to the "felankness ol the monotonous levels. No one would disturb him there and he believed he must be one of those who run well for a season only no matter, he would try and forget that the rose-wreathed gates of the glorious land of song were ever ajar for him. Why should he remember? He pushed the inoffending manu script, which some busy editor had ''declined," into the open drawer, shut away from his weary sight, and ^turned the key in the lock savagely. Thus he flung the gauntlet into the faces of "The Nine," who turned aside from their chosen singer with mute sorrow. He fancied now, that *he tide of his summer sea would nev er rise again but, there was an influ ence, destined to bear upon his dead jgfea world, and say to the adaman fifne shores, "Bethou cleft." Thatlit 3 "rift within the lute" was soon to ?be mended and the music was once 'more to throb forth in its entrancing sweetness. Again he sat at his desk, and the manuscript lay before him but this time the sunshine streamed over all the fairy rainbows of happy promise spanned each well-written line, and the songs he was born to sing were swell ing- in the deep sea tide with an echo sweeter than ever dreamed of. What had wrought this magic transforma tion? Ah! the glorious sunlight of appre ciative kindness had broken through -the sullen canopy suddenly, and illu mined his dreary way the helping hand had been reached out to him, and had touched those long-silent 'Chords and they had given back a symphony, sweet as the bells of Heaven.- "His doubts that had made him lose the good he might have won, were being swept aside by that helping hand he had never seen her, but in his thankfulness he allowed she must be the one good angel sent to cancel his \failure, and help him work out the i problem of his mission. A letter lay on his desk, in which she said: "I rec ognize the happy fact that you a*re a goe from the perusal of your poems, Which I have read your lines contain much merit please continue and I will help your" Blessed words! "I will help you." TPhey biought heaven nearer than it imd been for many weary years he roul have fallen down at her feet,and "Worshiped her for her timely inspira tion, but that was impossible, he would do better, however he would continue, and thereby show his grati -tiide, by doing his best. She had not tgiven her address, and the post mark was too dim to be legible, so he had idea from which direction his help coming no matter, if she had seen his poems in the past she would *be watching for them in the future. A year went by and he found his powers of song developing, and he be gan to look forward to the bright fields of the promised good once more. The dreams of his youth came back how for realization. ,s The helping hand was with him still. ^'p, tip the heights," she said "press right on and never falter and I will help you." Of the name of his men tor he was not altogether certain of her residence he was yet ignorant, but with her heart he was well acquaint ed, and he had known for months that t^iie kinship of bis soul rested with her, -whoever she might oe. Did he realize how much he depended -on this unseen friend? What it he, by .some stroke of fortune, should he sep arated from her, and be obliged to go Jhis way alone? He shuddered to think of it.* But what ailed him he was becoming in fatuated with the free, easy handwrit ing of a woman he had never, seen? "Thatmsounded a little foolish, some way, Did he really love the soul that ^W^^^^fr^^yfrr^wS^Ssssst breathed through the kind letters he had received from this unknown cor respondent? Ah! that was a more serious question, and came nearer home than the first. The passionate heart of the poet is headlong. He must watch himself, lor she, whoever she was, might not condescend to return such a deep emotion of the soul. Perhapsshehad never imagined he was so weak per haps she was not heart-whole either, and he must guard himself from his own susceptibilities. Then there came a time when she gave him her full address this was something unusual. Doubtless she desired an answer from him, else why had she done this? He would write anyway and thank her at least for all she had done for him it was her due, and he wa3 glad of the privilege of doing this, for with out her encouragement where would he have been? The letter had been written guardedly, fearing his secret might escape him his pleasant secret, of the old sweet story, ever new. She should not know how much he loved hernot just yet she might turn away from him now in his hour of success, did she know all. He did not dream that fair feminine fingers lingered caressingly over his "heart felt thanks," or that a womanly soul welcomed the love he had let slip into his timid lines. The possibility of her being old, or unlovable, never had entered his thoughts, although the suggestion had crossed his mind that she might belong to another, and he felt his heart revolt at the idea. He felt how ever, that this woman whom he never had seen held his destiny in that helping hand of hers, and he loved to quote Burns to himself in spite of his non-experience: But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love forever. Week followed week, and the en couraged author had almost forgot ten that he ever compared himself to poor Realf, and had designated fo his epitaph the word, failure. He had been conscious many times that his love had gone out into the letters, in his vain efforts to screen his soul but as yet she had not been of fended. And now she had written that, in a few days, she would pass through his village on her way to visit friends in the adjoining State, and had added: "As I will be obliged to wait a lew hours irFyour town, I should be hap py to call on you, if you will be at home." At home? He would always be at home when his good angel chose to bless him with a visit, so he replied that he would be overjoyed to see her. Since then he had been waiting, and each day had seemed an eternity in itself. He sat in his study, trying to mus ter his thoughts to the completion of his last sonnet, out some way they were refractory in the extreme, and could not be managed. The loveliness of the May morning beamed in through the open wir ""ow, and the fragrant breath of the sp g time stole softly in over the capemeht to charm his poet soul into the arms of the Muse, but in vain. The arrival of every train made him nervous, and the sound of footsteps on the walk outside caused him to start. Even Shakespeare could not have written a line correctly in this state of excite ment, he was sure. He threw down his pen in disgust and kicked his slip pers across the room in his impa tience then he went over and put his feet into them, calmly and solemnly, as if doing penance. "Only an old friend," he heard some one say in the hall of course it was the old woman with the book agency come again. He had seen her pass the window only a few minutes before, and had hoped, she for once, would be kind enough to go on by but she had not, and she always said "an old friend," to the housekeeper so when some one tapped on his study door, he merely growled out "Come in." She did not mind his discourtesybook agents never dobut came in, as he had ungraciously invited her to do, and he looked up. It wasn't old Mrs. Jones with her gold-bowed spectacles at all. A quiet-looking lady stood there with a perplexed look on her face. "It is I," she said, coming for ward, and holding out her hand. "Have I disturbed you by my uncere moniouscall?" He stammered something, meant for an apology, as he rose and took she proffered hand. She did not mind his confusion, knowing from the look in his dark eyes that she was welcome as the sunshine. Then this was the woman of whom he had dreamed so muchand, per haps, in vain. She was not beautiful. No but she had a kindly face, and was lovable. There was a wide awake, tender sincerity in her counte nance, he loved. In short, she was a womanly woman, and not a man. What a relief to find she was not one of the "fuss and feathers" sort of women but, of course, had she been, she never would have thought of him. He was prompted to get up and go over to the window where she'was sit ting and kiss her for her good sense, but he did not dare. No, not yet may be sometime he could do that, but not to-day, much an he wished to. She seemed to be looking at him, and pretending not to see him, he thought. Was she taking an inventory of his "den," or was she reading him, much as a professor would a text-book? He felt a little uncomfortable when those quiet blue-gray eyes rested for a mo ment on him, but when he looked at her, he forgot everything but the flut ter of delight in his lonely soul, and the lines of Robert Burns: But to 8 her was to love her, -5 .Hfc. Love but her, and love forever. fc She talked of his literary prospects found much to commend in his en deavors, and seemed interested in his welfare. How strange it sounded to him to have cheering words spoken in his ten by twelve study the very walls must have been surprised, he thought, to have caught the echoes of an encourag ing voice. But he grew confident while she talked confident that he could win and wear the laurel if she never for sook him. How quickly the hours had flown and she was ready to go. He went with her to the train and pressed her hand in a little half-frightened manner at parting and she had colored slight ly, but she was not offended. The cars had gone now, and he stood, looking the way she went. She waved a good-bye to him with her handker chief from the open window and her kindly face had beamed on him from beneath its crown of dainty rings of curling hair, clustering on the full white forehead. Ah, me! the "den" was lonesome now, and so silent, since its brief sea son of sunshine, coming like the smile ol an angel, and going as goes a beau tiful dream, leaving a tender regret. There were the flowers she had given him there was the manuscript shehad praised, and her words seemed linger ing yet in the room. He pressed the flowers to his heart to fill the vacuum which never had been filled as her love could fill it, and murmured: "I will help you." She had said this and more as she stood lingering by his desk, and she had lookb 1 at him over her fan with an expression he could scarcely inter pret. It seemed to him that she would have been contented to have stayed with him, and his heart gave a great throb of happiness at the thought. But he was only guessing, and he might be far from the truth. Autumn had come again, flashing banners over field and wood. He had not heard from her lately.but she was still in the east. Had she become dis enchanted by his plain, every-day ap pearance, and was she forgetting him now afterwell, she never said that she loved him, but she had come nigh unto that happy confession more than once at least he so interpreted it. But if she did not care for him, God help him! That word "Failure" would be his destiny after all, and the sunshine would go out suddenly from his life. Was he weak and unmanly to depend on another so? No he thought not. Why had this one bright star risen on his night? Why had this fair helper crossed his lonely way just in time to save him? Why did this great effec tion for her become his very existence if they were all doomed to go down in to the cheerless grave of Richard Realf together? He had seen beautiful blossoms open in dewy mornings, with a promise of a bright happy day, only to be crushed and withered ere the noontide. Were they a type of his poor hungry soul and its love of the good, the true and the elevating? Would it ever be said of him, "here lies a great soul killed by cruel wrong?" Would a "bleak, deso late noon" be all left to him of this beauntul dream of his clouded life, and would the words that "rushed up hot ly from his heart" come to naught at last. Sorrow had always kept his soul heretofore, but lately he had dreamed of brighter, better things. The gates of a fair, sweet Edenland had been held ajar for him by her hand, and the past few months had been like a beautiful sunset showing against his dark day. They had revealed to him what his life might have beenhad she come to him in years gone by but, perhaps, they, too, were more like a beautiful sunset than he cared to have them perhaps they would go out into cheer less night, as the gold and purple bands, trembling away out there in the gray gleaming of the November twilight, would fade into the comfort less West. He would sit down in this lonely hour, and write to her all that was in his heart. It seemed a desperate re solve for one of his timid, supersensi tive nature, but he had come to where he could not keep silent longer. He would risk it this confession would have to be made some time, and why not to-night? He never could say it to her, he thought but he could write it, for the warm, passionate, poet soul was beating against these bar riers of silence, impatient to be heard. And when the gray twilight had deepened into night the letter was fin ishedthe letter with the oldest re quest in it that he had ever penned. He had said: "If you can only be a friendand God bless you! you have been a good oneanswer this letter by saying so if you can return my love and will keep the heart I have long since given you, please call on me on your return, and I will know when I set my eyes on you that the sun shine has come to my soul to stay and forever to bless but, if you are offended by this earnest appeal ot an honest heart, pass me by and write me from your own home." By and by there came a letter, and his brain whirled as the familiar su perscription met his gaze. Ah! what had she written? His heart stood still in its agony of suspense, as his trembling fingers tore of the end of the white envelope. She had written on ly a line, and it said: "I shall be on my way home next week." The mis sive slipped from his hand to the floor and he sat perplexed. Did she mean that she was going to pass him by, Pharisee fashion, or did she mean that she intended to stop off and see him? Oh! It must be that she was intending to call, as she did not say one word about being "just a friend." No, she either meant to make him happy or plunge him back into the gulf of nothingness from which she had lifted him. Ah! that would be some thing beside which death would be a kindness! "Next week" had come and gone up to Friday noon, still he sat by the window watching every westward bound train. His position also gave him a view of the street, and he knew the way she would comeif she came to him at all. The days he had waited seemed end less, but the week was going too fast. Oh! for a glimpse of her around the corner yonder. There was the last train for to-day. Now he would look with eager eyes for it might be that surely she would have had time now to come in sight, but she had not. No, she meant to forget him., and he covered his weary eyes with his bands, and sat still, so still that he was \J life wmmmmm counting the pulsations of his aching heart. A step sounded on the walk outside, but he had not the courage to look UD of course it was not her, and he wished that he wasbut the door opened softly, and"I have come," she said. He looked up, there stood the one dear woman of all the world, radiant with the love liizht in her happy, kindly fare, and she was holding out her hands to him. "Oh! it is you," he exclaimed, a wild delight ringing through his words. His vision grew misty, and he trem bled with his great happiness. He clasped her to his joyous heart, and pressed a long passionate kissthe one kiss of his lifetimeon the blessed face. "My love, my life!" he said, with emotion, still holding her in his arms. "Do you know what your coming brings, dearest?" hw asked, looking down into her bright face. "Happiness," she answered with a smile. "More than that, love," and he passed his hand carressingly over the full white brow, with its rings of clus tering hair. "It means ecstatic bliss it means that I have now no part nor lot with poor Richard Realf for I can go to conquest in the light ol your love, my own it means that my sorrowful life shall be filled with sun shine, and that the sweet cup, instead of bitter, has been placed to my wait ing lips at last. The gates of my Ed enland of bright dreams of love and fame are no more to be closed against me all because you have saved me from my 'failure.'" This was a long speech forthetimid, retiring man to make, but he was very happy now. and the love of his soul had come after years of patient wait-1 ing. A happy, contented light shone from the deptns ot the blue-giay eyes, and the happy woman in his arms said, reverently: "I have found my Beulah in the great, good soul of my friend. We, you and I, have been children of sorrow, but now for us the Muses may 'sing a soft, sweet p^alm,1 and 'at evening it shall be light.' And her lover answered in his manly voice, "Amen1"MANDAdeep, CEOCKER. The New England "Blue LaAvs." These laws were enacted by the peo ple of the "Dominion of New Haven," and became known as the blue laws because they were printed on blue pa per. They are as follows: "The governor ttnd magistrates con vened in general assembly are the su preme power, under God, of this inde pendent dominion. From the deter mination of the assembly no appeal shall be made. "No one shall be a freeman or have a vote unless he is converted and a member of one of t-ie churcnes allow ed in the dominion. ''Each freeman shall swear by the blessed God to bear true allegiance to this dominion, and that Jesus is the only King. "No dissenter from the essential worship of this dominion shall be al lowed to give a vote for electing ot magistrates or any officer. "No food or lodging shall be offered to a heretic. "No one shall cross a river on the Sabbath but authorized clergymen. "No one shall travel, cook victuals, make beds, sweep houses, cut hair or shave on the Sabbath day. "No one shall kiss his or her chil dren on the Sabbath or fast days. "The Sabbath day shall begin at sunset Saturday. "Whoever wears clothes trimmed with gold, silver or bone lace above one shilling per yard shall be present ed by the grand jurors, and the select men shall tax the estate 300 "Whoever brings cards or dice into the dominion shall pay a fine of 5. "No one shall eat mince pies, dance, play cards, or play any instrument of music except the drum, trumpet or jews harp. "No gospel minister shall join peo ple marriage. The magistrate may join them in marriage, s*s he may do it with less scandal to Christ's church. "When people refuse their children convenient marriages, the magistrate shall determine the point. "A man who strikes his wife shall be fined A'10. "A woman who strikes her husband shall be punished as the law directs. "No man shall court a maid in per son or by letter without obtaining the consent of her parents 5 penalty for th firBt offense, ten for the second, and tor the third imprisonment dur ing the pleasure of the court. The "Weapons of a Lord. Coolness and "assurance" often make an excellent substitute for all other means of defence, if they are rightly managed. Lord an English nobleman, was a very ropgh and im perious man. also quite deaf. He was riding along the road oneday inapost chaise, asleep, when he was stopped by a robber on horseback, who awoke him. "What do you want?" said Lord 0 .angrily. "Money, my lord." "What money? Are you a robber? Are you the rascal who has just awoke me so suddenly?" "Come, be quick!" said the high way man. "I have no time to lose I must have your purse." "My purse!" exclaimed Lord 0 "indeed you shall not have it. Really, you carry on a fine trade!" He pulled out his purse, which was full, and with his finger and thumb, deliberately took out two guineas, which he gave to the robber. "There, that's enough for a scoun drel like you I hope to see you hang ed" some of these days!" The robber was enraged at the in difference of LordO who coolly put up his purse, still calling him a rascal and a scoundrel,and repeating that he hoped to see him hanged soon. The robber was so awed by the other's manner that he did not venture to in sist on his demand for the purse, though he had a pistol in his hand to enforce it, and Lord 0 -drove on. Life in the Supreme Court. The members of the Supreme Court nt the United States, with their imme diate relatives, are like a great family. They are companions for life, in the nature of the case, and they have al ways recognized this fact in their so cial relations. They are all on inti mate terms they share mutual sorrows and joys they know each other's homes almost as well as their own they all take a kindly interest in the puplic and private affairs of each oth er, and they all conspire to maintain the dignities and the traditions of their little circle. When the son of Mr. Justice Strong, of the Supreme Court, was married by the son of Mr. Justice Harlan, of the Supreme Court, the grandson ot Justice Grier of the su preme court being the best man, the members of the supreme court and their familes were all present (except Justice Woods, who is ill) to bless the marriage and kiss the bride. And so another addition was welcomed to the supreme court family. Justice Gray interests them all very much, just as he interests everybody.because he still remains a bachelor. Chief Jus tice White has a wife and daughter and several sons, and all the other members of thecourtare equally fort unate in being married, although two of them have no children. But Justice Gray is persistently and exasperatingly singlea regular rosy-cheeked, happy faced, big, stout bachelor. He is a very largethe largest man who walks on Pennsylvania avenue. He stoops under most doorways. But he keeps up his exercise, both mental and physical, so rigorously that he looks thinner and trimmer than he is. He is a terrible workerhe will work ail day at the capitol and work all night in his well-equipped library, and then begin the next day's work with a zest, which none but the perfectly healthy man can know. He goes out very little outside of the family reunions, so to speak, of the Supreme Court. He never stays long anywhere except at a Supreme Court house. He dashes in, sayssomethinglight and sweet, and dashes out again. He is apt to be a trifle diffident with young women. He knows he is a bachelor. He insists, too, that he proposes to continue one, and stoutly denies all those stories about his being engaged. He is wedded, he says, to his ambi tion. We shall see. In the old days, the members of the Supreme Court dined almost constantly together. Now they do so once a month. They began at Justice Field's. This was the first formal introduction of Mrs. Matthews, the second wife of Mr. Jus tice Stanley Matthews, to the Su preme Court family. The fact that she is a bride will make her the guest of honor at all the dinners the Su preme Court family gives this winter except that which she will give when her turn comes. A Lion's Affection. From the Youth's Companion. The story is told of Gerard, the great lion-hunter, that he captured a whelp in the mountains of Jebel Mezours, Algiers, named it "Hubert," and brought it up as he would bring a dog from puppyhood. After some time, his huge pet becoming too dan gerous to go at large, Gerard made a present of the animal to his friend, the Due d'Aumale, and Hubert trav eled to Paris in a big cage, bemoan ing his separation from his old mas ter. The next year Gerard himself visited Paris, on leave of absence from the army, and went at once to the .Tardin des Plantes to see his ex iled favorite. He describes the inter view as follows: Hubert was lying down, half asleep, regarding at intervals with half-shut eyes the persons who were passing and repassing before him. All of a sudden, he raised his head, his tail moved, his eyes dilated, a nervous motion contracted the muscles of his face. He had seen the uniform of the Spahis, but had not yet recognized his friend. I drew nearer and nearer and, no longer able to restrain my emotion, I stretched out my hand to him through the bars. Without ceasing his earnest gaze he applied his nose to my hand, and drew in knowledge with a long breath. At each inhalation his attitude became more noble, his look more satisfied and affectionate. Under the uniform that had been so dear to him he be gan to recognize the friend of his heart. I felt that it only needed a single word to dissipate all doubt. "Hubert!" I said, as I laid my hand on him"my old soldier!" Not another word.' With a furious bound and a note of welcome.he sprang against the iron bars, that bent and trembled with the blow. My iriends fled in terror, calling on me to do the same. Noble animal! you made the world tremble even in your ectasy of pleasure. Hubert was standing with his cheek against the grating, attempting to break down the obstacle that sepa rated us, magnificent to behold as* he shook the walls of the building with his roars of joy and anger. His enor mous tongue licked the hand that I abandoned to his caresses, while with his paws he gently tried to drag me to him. If any one tried to come near he tell into frenzies of rage and when the visitors fell back to a distance, he be came calm and caressing as hereto fore, handling me with his huge paws, rubbing against the bars, and licking my hand, while every gesture and moan and look told of his joy and his love. When I turned to leave him he shook the gallery with his heart-rend ing roars and it was not till I had gone back to him twenty times, and tried to make him understand that I would coma again, that I succeeded in quitting the place. After that I came to see my friend daily, sometimes spending several hours with him in his cage. But after a while I noticed that he became sad and dispirited, and when the keepers alluded to his furious agitation and I excitement every time I left him, and attributed his worn-out and changed appearance to tub ww*', took Uusir g| advice and made my visits as seldom as possible. One day, some four' months from the time of my first meeting with him in Paris, I entered gpj\ the garden, and one of the keepers w*'" came iorward, saluting, and said: "Don't come any more," sir. Hubert $%* is dead." A New Sort of Swindle. Two English adventuresses have a been arrested in Paris, charged with an original form of swindling. The prisoners give the names of Mrs. Linsay aud Miss Evelyne Rappy. The latter it a beautiful woman and about 25 years of age. Mrs. Linsay is older, not so comely, and easily passed as Miss Rappy's mother or guardian, as occasion required. The women caused to be published in responsible papers genteely written and cleverly con structed advertisements making it known that a young widow with a million sterling in her own right, or a rich young girl, who had made a false step,was desirous of forming alliance with a gentleman of the right stamp who would appreciate the situation and who has means sufficient to war rant that on his side the marriage was not entirely a speculation. Several Frenchmen were in turn introduced to Evelyne Rappy as a result of these advertisements.and she was put forth as the young widow, or the rich young girl,according to the inclination of the suitor. She engaged herself to a number of these, managing to keep alive their ardor until she had exhausted their ability to make pres ents, and successfully married several of the more wealthy, securing the best settlement possible and managing to escape with all the wedding presents and other personal property obtaina ble within a few hours after the- cere- mony. It has transpired that Miss Rappy played this marriage trick with great financial success on more than one adventurer in England before she sought her new victims in France, and it is said that all ot her numerous dupes in both countries have been of such high social or political position that they have been ashamed to seek redress of any kind. When Miss Rap py was taken into custody she was at a first-class hotel, living "in a grand suite of rooms in a style befitting a princess, and was on the point of be ing married to a man who had already paid right royally for the betrothal, and had invested a snug fortune in wedding presents. When Miss Rappy realized that she was a prisoner she broke down and made a complete confession, giving the details of all her exploits, with mention of dates, sums and names. She throws all the blame for her conduct upon Mrs. Linsay, who she says completely controlled her. Sullivan Gratified Him From the Chicago Herald. A member of Parson Davies' combi nation tellsagoodstory on alocalslug ger at Fort Kcogh, Montanaa tall, broad-chested Cornish miner, who had often announced his intention of killing Sullivan if he ever met him in the squared ring. The miner's oppor tunity came a few days ago. He had been oiled and rubbed down and sweated until the local sports thought him in splendid trim. On the night theSheedy combination arrived "at Keogh, Sullivan was told that the Cornish miner had been eating raw beef all that day and was ready to put the gloves on with him as soon as the show began. The miner was in the hall when the curtain rolled up and so were his friends. After witness ing several friendly bouts between the lesser lights of the combination Sheedy was informed that the Cornish pugil ist was awaiting his turn. "Who does he want to fight?" ask ed the manager of the troupe. "Sulli van, of course," yelled a half dozen men in chorus. "Well, send him up here," shouted Sheedv, with a broad grin. The miner loped up the aisle ana clambered upon the stage. He wore a red flannel shirt, cotton drawers and a pair of Sioux moccasins. Sul livan came out of the wings a mo ment later, and then the two men shook hands in a perfunctory way and took their positions. The miner struck out with his right, but failed to hit anything. Then he used his left with no better success, and finally launched both fists at his adversary. Sullivan let the Cornish man have his own way for two rounds, but in the third round the champion rapped the red undershirt until its owner's eye3 bulged out like hickory nuts. The miner struggled on, however, un til he eaught a right-hander under jaw, and then he fell over, sound asleep. When he awoke, fifteen minnts later, he rolled upon his side, and, looking wearily into the eyes ol a disgusted backer, murmured: "Didn't I tell ye, Jack, there'd be a fall o-'rock in that shaft afore long? Goshen Sutter. Fifty years ago, Orange county but ter began to be famous the country over,and to-day their title, "Goshen,'* applies to much oSthe choice grade sold in the New York market At the outset, the farmer received from 12 to 15 cents per pound for his product, put up firkins in the winter and summer and marketed in the autumn. The town of Goshen was the pioneer in this business, and gave its name to the butter of its own and Sussex counties. When the Erie* railroad reached Goshen, about 1842,, the farmers were not long in discover ing that it paid better to ship milk&o New York than to churn it, and to day this business has almost entirely superseded butter-making. Delaware county and the Chemung valley took If the place of Orange and Sussex in the|. butter industry, but the Midland. I railroad in due time swung Delaware^ county over to milk-selling. It sfciH, If however, markets batter of the gHt-ib'.* edged, dollar-a-Dotmd variety, though the Chemung dairies are the. chief pro-|t ducere of firsWta^a butter, V $ r%, 1. .-SSr/ 4