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I 100 YEARS AGO. [From Bryant's Centennial Poem at dim ming ton.1 A eoirtnry Mnee, unbroken wood O'er all t'lu"*e hilK and valleys Btood. Buve I't-ro and there sunny spot Where tin.- first cortler's hundk had made An opcnhn in the boundless shiuU-, And reuieii bin solitary cot, Soon changed the M-ene noon opened wide Green pastures on the mountain wide Where the tierce panther, \ol and bear. Through count ess years had kept their luir, 8luoK hoid of ne and flocks of sheep Cropped the fresh herbage of the steep, And tuasoled maize and^wheat and rye Grew rmik beneath the kindly sky, Where once slow creeping jjlacier'a passed R'itlee. o'er frozen waste. Dev-p-ronted in the virgin mould. The dower of tenturics untold. Broad orchards eiothed in radient bloom, Filled the wide air with rich perfume. And wlu-n the sjenial Autumn came, And maple bousjhs were red like ilauie, Aud all the giants of the wood, In jobes of princely beauty stood, EarthV plenteous fruito weie gathered in, WUh gralelul hearts and jojous din. All, ^hat iutiepid souls veie they Who eleaied those trackless woods away! Wh.it tireless sinew*, bone and brawn, That smote the trees from early dawn Till duyhgnt's 1 itest rays were gone! No whining eigiit-hour men were they, i feared the chill of early day They kept the pinch of want away With indusr and watehlul care, Till these had brought them generous fare. Kl-e had those might} forest tiees Still stood to butlet storm und bretze. Ah, those were jolly roystering days, When strong men pileu the logs on high, And billowy smoke and towering blaze Shone grandly on the evening sky. And jibes went round and unrry jest, As the await Inborns took their lest At lundi hour, in some shady nook Hatd bj a fountain or a biook And where, ithin an eddin pool, Brown net a* 1 i'd to keep her cool. And when ,trou' tliec.ibin door, They gatheied at the twilight hour, What wondeious tales those woodmen told, Of tights wiih bears and panthtis bold, All in a stiain of letkless glee, Well garui-hed with hyperbole Each one the hero of his story. Suit-crowned with daring deeds and glory. On holidays the boys and men Had games and sports athletic then Our wrestlers did not fear to meet Of neighboring towns their picked athlete, And, by superior stiength and knack, Oti laid the champion on his back. Our youth were agile, lithe and tall, Could euU'h with skill the Hying ball, And eiear the circle round, as fleet Almost, as wild deer's nimble feet, Then, when the seventh day's getting sun Told that the long week's toil was done. Hushed in deep stillnes was the hour, A* if some overruling power Had sent through all the waiting land, A stern and absolute command, That worldly toil and noise should cease, And man and beast find rest and peace. And when the first day's morning rose The solemn silence aud repose Still brooded on till daylight's close. The law ot stern opinion then Held in firm grasp the ways of men It kept in cheek the restless boys Who Sundays longed for play and noise. Aad keenly felt the close restraint, But dared nut to make complaint. A lad once, bolder than the rest, Thus to his mate his thought confessed: "You know Fat day well, that is one day That is almost as bad as Sunday. For Sundays then to children here Were days of wearine and fear. Tet those old sires were of the stock That landed upon Plymouth Rock Who deep and broad foundations laid, Aod planted here the tree, whose shade Sheltered a people great and free, That orious tree ot li berty, Whose branches stretch from sea to sea. Those were not da\s of lace and silk, Of silver spoons and dainties rare, But homespun clothes, brown bread and milk, In pewter dish and wooden ware Aod pork and beans for Sunday fare Bean porridge hot, bean porr dge, E'en sometimes more than nine days old. Waited the tiller of the soil Returning r*m his daily toil. Rude were the dwellings of that day, Log cabins duubed with moistened clay. The scanty roof with many a chink, Through which the stars are seen to blink, Aud whence, in winter storms, the snow Was sifted on the floor below The broad, deep fireplace, rough and rude, Was piled with logs of maple wood, When the keen frosts of winter came 81ow climbed at drat the smoke wreath's blue, Then, bursting into tongues of flame Went roaring up the chimney flue. And, through long, drear Winter night, Cheer the dull hours with warmth and light. Round their proud mothers fair to see, Like saplings 'neath a sheltering tiee, Stood ruddy childien, nine or ten, Soon to be maidens, dames and men Examples worthy of all praise, But rarely followed in these days. And shall the race or Saxon blood, That hardship, cold and storm withstood, And tamed the wilderness, now melt Away before the advancing Celt? These He ds, subdued by hands so free Pay tribute to the Roman See? Kind heaven forbid that this should be PLAIN MISS CAREW. I shall never forget that happy summer at Harpswell, a quaint oid peninsular town up Casco bay. I don't know just how happened to gother hut how pleased every one was with the old-fash ioned houses, aud the cottages built on the banks of pretty coves, ami the Atlan tic booming and thundering and foaming right under our very windows! Dear little cottages, with piazzas and balconies and slender chimneys, and poplars bend ing over the roof lovingly! Ard strong, more substantial farm-houses, with nar row windows and tiny panes of Wass gardens filled with poppies and dahlias and always beautiful perfumey lilacs, meadows Iresh with buttercups and clover and tall marguerites. Deep green woods, fi .Ids of corn, and everywhere a great quantity ot roses. And such mas sive, rugged Tocks, and grand views from the hills overlooking the sea and all ever the island that peculiar hoarse, musi cal sound, called the "rote,' comes in from the ocean and adds a plaintiveness to the lovely summer days. We were a party of seven boarders at Mrs. Sennett's cottage at the head of Lo well's cove. It was in reality a stout old house, but some romantic wanderer had named it "Pearl Gottage," and as such we knew it. It was the most beautiful spot imaginable. Had it been a veri table Eden there could have no softer beauty than greeted us on every hand. A wide garden brightened the space be tween the bank and the house and filled th air with perfume. The cove was s'mded by huge willows of a hundred years' growth, and many birds sang in their branches. The soft, caressing breeze tinged our cheeks with healthy color, and a July sun added a not unbe coming brewness. Almost unconsciously we drifted into familiar, friendly intercourse, and were happily and easily pleased. Nature, in her grand moods shames us out of our artificiality. No one reproved a loud laugh, a leap, or even a run down the level road. We were all so happy and gay, and brimming over with spirits,] that it was simply impossible to be dig nified, and curb our unruly, beistrous na tures. We were having a delightful row one evening, and returned rather late. There W'is a light in the sitting-room, eontnuy to our custom, and a trunk und a bag on the piazza. "Somebody has conk*,*' cried May Der ry. "Here'sa man's trunklean tell by the canvassnud, yes, 1 ere's a card. Oh, girls! what do you think? It is that Mr. Skidmore we saw the day we went to the Neck Isn*t it splendidf" "So it is," said May's sister. "Come here all of you. 'Mr. E. Skid- more.' 1 wonder how he happened to come here? Won't we have a jolly time?" "Victoria," expostulated her mother. "Well, well, a nice-looking young man doesu come to Harpswell every day. Yru haven't seen him, Miss Carew?' turning to a plain, dark-eyed girl. "He's immensely wealthy, and has a real goid brown beard, and fluffy yellow hair, and blue eyes with brown spots in them, and" She might have gone on for an hour had not a hearty laugh from inside the room startled her. "I beg your pardon, said a deep voice, and a tall figure appeared in the door way, "but the debcn prion was too amus- ing,'' and again a merry laugh broke from him, in which we all joined. "I suppose I was veiy rude," said Miss Deny, "but the deed is dom, and I guess we'll go in and have some lunch "If she would only not say 'I guess,' whispered her mother. "It is quite ple beian." We lound Mr. Skidmore a delightful addition to our party. Ot good family, wealthy, a thorough man ot the world, and handsome, he had everything in his favor. The Derrys were, to use Victo ria's phraseology, "over head aud ears in love with him,' and the gentlemen voted him a capital fellow. He played croquet' with a steady arm and never-failing stroke, rowed well, sang delicious little songs in a tender, manly voice, read aloud when it was too hot for exercise, and made himself a most attractive com panion. From the first he seemed to positively dislike plain Miss Carew. In our games he avoided her noticeably, never willingly looking at or speaking to her. Did she propose an excursion, he declined to participate did she sing sweet, old-fashioned songs we liked so much, he left the room. One evening she had crimson rosebuds in her hair, and he said crimson rosebuds were his special aversion. Once in stepping from the boat, coming from a sail, he ofl red his hand to assist her, and almost thing her ashore. He seemed to have taken an un accountable antipathy to her. One morning i was braiding my hair when there came a rap on my door, and Miss Carew askee to come in. She was dressed in a blue flannel boating suit, and a white sundown was pulled" down over her lace. Knots f scarlet ribbon were on her sleeves and down the front of her dress. 1 noticed an unusual co.or in the brown cheeks, and her brown eyes *er moist-looking. "You have been crying, Miss Carew,"' I said "are you unhappy?" "Not exactly unhappy, Miss Arden,'' she answered, in her slow, sweet, legato rojee. "Only traubled, and rather vexed." "Can I help you?" "No, thank you. You are very kind ut it is not* ing, after all. I came to ik if you will be good enough to let me ike your Hmbrclla? I am going to the ast shore and have beeu stupid enough let Miss Derry take mine.'' "Certainly," 1 6aid and if you" A loud, boyish laugh interrupted me. "Now, let me in, quick! I've something to tell you, Miss Arden I" and May Derry Lurst into the room. I've found out all about Miss Carew,'* she said, breathlessly, "and why Mr. Skidmore hates her and all. 1 have just Oh, Miss Carew 1" she cried, "I didn't see you. I beg your pardon. Dear, me! I am sure, if I had known--" "I beg you won't feel distressed. If you have 'found out all about me,' per haps you will have the charity to en lighten Miss Arden?' "It's nothing at all," she blurted out "only Miss Payne came oyer, and said you belonged to the Carews of New Jer sey, and they were a bad lotfast men and vulgar womenand I told her I didn believe it. And then she asked Mr. Skidmore, and he said he detested a vulgar woman, and could tell in a mo ment it they had good birth and breed ing, andoh Miss Carew, I haven't made you angry, have I? Ot course, 1 didn't eally believe her." "It is all true," said Annie Carew, qui etly. I didn't consider it necessary to tell my affairs to every one. And now, if ou will get the umbrella, Miss Arden, I wi'l go." When we were alone, I said: "Now, May, tell me why Mr. Skidmore dislikes Miss Carew.'- "I'll tell you all he said, Miss Arden. Miss Payne said there was a mystery "bout Miss Carew. and hinted at some thing rather r.fleeting on her character and Mr. Skidmore said it was her family that was ruining her. Miss Carew, so he said, had entrapped his brother into an engagement. This was two years ago, and it is all broken off now. Mr. Skid more would not hear of it, and wrote to Miss Carew, telling her his brother would be an outcast from his family if he mar ried her, and asked him to set him free, it seems that she did not really care for him, but he was wild about her, and they drifted into an engagement. The whole family thoroughly disliked her, and Mi Payne said no respectable peo ple visited tnem. They live in a fast set, and Miss Carew goes all about with no chaperone and, I believe, gets dread fully mixed up with gossip Mr. fckid more would be glad never to see her again." She stopped ior sneer lack of breath, and I said, feeling a sort of scorn for a man who could so speak of a woman: "Miss Carew may be all you say, but un til 1 know more about it I shall treat her as I always have. And as for Miss Payne, she is a low, gossiping woman to repeat suchat.le." She stared at me in amazement "I had no idea you were so fond of her," she said. "Do you know they say she is called fascinating? I have rather pitied her because she was so plain." "What became of Mr. Skidmore's brother?" _"Oh, I believe ho married somebody else. But I must ero now. You arc not offended, Miss Arden?" "No," I said, laughing "not with such a giddy tomboy as you are." 1 wasgroatiy surprised by what May linn toM pi(). B\ the first tunc I sus" ptn ed theie was another nature in Annie Cure than the indolent careless one we saw. There might dangerous fires sleep under those soft, brown eyes. There might be hidden depths under that cold exterior. And now I thought of it, she wasn't so very plain. She had beautiful eyes, brown and clear-look ing delicate eye-brows, lull, red lips, ami musses of soft, dusky hair. If her face was ddrk aud thin, it was also full of character. Certainly she was not to be pitied. I was rather fearful as to how she would treat May, but at tcatime she came in smiling, and apologizing tor be ing so late. There was not a trace of uu pleasantness in the smooth face. She laughed a great deal aud, showed me a sketch she had made a ridiculously long-necked bird was perched on the um brella, and in bis mouth a bit of scarlet ribbon, over which it seemed puzzled. There was real expression in the small, uncanny eyes, and I laughed heartily. "How well you sketch, Miss Caiew!"- said May, who wa3 lo kin over my shoul der. "Yes that is one of my Bohemian pro clivities. One learns many things like that traveling over the world without a e'lnpeione."' There was no malice in the tone. It was merely an explanation. Mr. Skid more looked un quickly, and then went out of the room, abruptly. Miss Carew laughed. "Have I shocked anybody?" she asked lightly. "Come out on the beach," I whispered. And when we are alone, I said, "Tell me about it, Miss Carew." It was in substance what I had heard once before that afternoon. She cared nothing for the boyish lover, and was glad to hive the en^igytnen broken, bu the insolent, unjust words of Mr. Skid more had hurt her cruelly. "Why," she said "I suppose he hates me as he hates no one else in the world." "And do you dislike him?" "Miss Arden, 1 despise him." "I am very glad to hear it, believe me,*' and a tall figure strode past us down the beach. Miss Carew burst into a laugh. "I have added the last straw now, she said. After t*iat there was not even the sem blance of politeness between them. Each ignored the other's existence. We walk ed and talked, and played croquet, inao lently, as before. Mr. Skiamoie was al ways with Victoria Derry, and I was drifting into a dangerous liking for one of our company, a man with neither mon ey or good-looks. I think we were all moderately happy, but I was alaimingly so. All through the month we were fa vered with fine weather. May Derry said she was "full to bursting" of pure delight. Living was a pleasure, and life a grand holiday Once or twice we all went to Brunswick tor a drive, Jmt for the most part of the time were lying under trees or in the warm sand, Crusoe-like, reading or thinking. All the fishermen have high tenor voices at Harpswell, and sing songs of the sea, and wear old straw hats and look picturesque. It was pleasure enough lo sit on the rocks, and hear their melody rising free and unrestrained while they mended their nets. It was beautitul,too, to watch the shadows coming over the tree tops, and the hush of night falling on all the land. One night we were out in the boat, and Mr. Price drew in the oars and let the boat drift. It happened unfortunately that Annie Catew was placed beside Mr. Skidmore, making it uncomfortable for both. I soon forgot it, however, in watch ing the beauty of the beach and ocean in the mellow, softened light, and drinking in the sweet fragrant air. "Such a scene as this brings up sleep ing memories," said Mr. Skidmore. "With the glamour of this soft beauty on a man he might be forgiven for almost any rashness. I am straugely susceptible to moonlight and the fragrant spring air. Miss Caiew, won't you tavor us with a song and break thp spell?" It must have affected him indeed to speak like that, in that half-tender voice to Annie Carew. "I shall be happy to oblige you it you really desire it." "Oh, yes, do sing, Miss Carew," said several voices. She sang a little boating song, all about "waves" and "ripples" and "the sands upon the shore," and she sang it beautifully. I felt like falling in love with her, she looked so handsome, and there was a haunting patlios in the voice. Certainly Annie Carew was not a plain girl. She was a dangerously fascinating one. I realized it fully as she sat there in the moonlight, her splendid eyes sparkling and her clear voice touching one hcartstiings so closely. Bohemian she might be she was more beautiful in that tender, gracious mood than any Io nian I had ever seen. There was silence for a moment then Mr. Price said: "You sing like the sirens of old, Miss Carew, if one can judge from ideas. The tears almost came, in spite of my endeav ors to be manly." She laughed softly, and Miss Derry said in an earnest way, "1 do really be lieve I have fallen in love with her.' That made us all laugh, and the little craft was turned homeward. Mr. Skid more walked up to the house beside me, and I asked him if he liked Miss Carew's singing. "Yes I did," he answered "and I wish I could understand her real nature." He wi,8 more polite and friendly to her after thai, and 1 bayan to hope for an es tablished basis of good feeling between them, but an unlucky accident set them on the old path. I was tying up a rosebush one morn ing, and had nearly finished when my supply ot string gave out. Mr. Skidmore put his baud, in his pocket and drew out a handful of different sizes of cord, when a little ribbon fluttered to the ground. Oh, that's Miss Carew's bow," cried May. Miss Carew, he has had it all the time." A flush rose to his tace, as he said, in an annoyed tone: "The very fact of its be ing in my possession BIIOWB that I lud no idea what it was." "Oh, but you did know, Mr. Skidmore, for I told you about it the day she made the sketch. Don't you remember the bird took it in his bill from the umbrella? Where did you And it?" Miss Derry, I nallv have no idea how the thing came in my pocket. I assure you I should not i ave cherished it if I had known that it was-a lady's prop- "Why, it's no great harm, anyway. If you like Miss Carew" "B't I don't like Miss Carew. That is, Miss Derry, I don't like to be teased." His favo was flushed with annoyance, and I sighed as I thought of the mischiei I had done. They were really getting to see each other in quite a fair light, uutil now all ln's old dislike was revived. Anil Annie, too, seemed to think him moie disagreeable than ever, for at dinner she scarcely noticed him. In the afternoon came to my room for a book, saying she was going to the cave on the east shore for a while. "I am so sorry about that ribbon,"' I said. "Itshow3 him in his true light, Miss Ar den. I am glad of it, for I was just get ting foolish enough to think I had been mistaken in nim." It was a sultry, oppressive air, and I was too indolent to go out, so I took "Baddeck" and a sofa tor the afternoon. I read until nearly four o'clock, and then fell a9leep. When I awoke it was rain ing furiously and was quite dark. Then as a heavy peal of thunder startled me I remembered Miss Carew. I went acioss the passage and tapped, and looked in. The room was empty. I went hurriedly down the stairs, and into the sitting room. "Here comes Miss Arden, looking as if she had seen a ghost," said Mrs. Derry, smiling. "Miss Carew is out in this storm," I said, feeling as if I should faint "and some one must go for her." "My God! Miss Arden, what do you mean?" asked Mr. Skidmore, turning white to the lips. "Miss Ctirew went to the cave this af ternoon and has not returned, and I fear she has lost her way." "It is sure death," began May, when there was a trampling of heavy feet on the piazza, and in a moment two men were in the room, and had put Annie Carew on the sofa. Her long hair hung wet and tangled to the floor, and the white face was death-like in its dreadful calm. In a moment I knew what it was. "She is dead!" said some one, in a con strained, harsh voice, "and never knew' how I loved her. "Oh, Annie, my dar. ling, my love." And Mr. Skidmore fell on his knees beside her and kissed the sweet lips. One by one we stole out of the room and lelt him kneeling there. The men had found her on the shore, and thought she must have fainted from fright, nd had brought her home. "Likely the lighrnin1 killed her," said one. "I have known such things 1" I went to my room and wept bitterly. "Poor Annie Carew!" was all I could sav Poor, unhappy girl. At the thought of Mr. Skidmore my tears flowed afresh. I was scarcely surprised that he loved her. But his pnde had buried his happiuess. Later in the evening May tapped at my door. She was crying sottly. "Oh, Miss Arden," she said, she wasn't dead after all. It was only a fainting fit, and she can speak now." "And Mr. Skidmore?" "Is in there with her, and he has been crying. I guess it's all right between them, because I saw him kissing her just now." And all the time he had been in love with plain Miss Carew. Rose Terry Cooke's Experience in Shopping in New York. If you are a shop-girl, be one with all your strength do not treat the poor creatures who come to buy goods with such lofty superciliousness as to crush their hopes and send them away empty. Too many of this easy aud lady-like pro fession forget that it is their duty to sell goods, not put down customers. I never shall forget an experience of mine in New Yorkonly one out ol many. I went into one of the greatest dry-goods shops intent on buyiug a gown, and was ushered by eourteous-enough youtt into the ladies' department. Here the scene changedcomtcsy did net rise to this story. There were six or eight elegant, languid creatures behind the counters, who instinctively knew I was from the country and net likely to be a sreat purchaser. I was a little frightened, but still civil, and quite bent on a cash mere suit, so I ran the gauntlet of these demoineltes, being received as an in trudercostumes dusty and shop-worn pointed out to me on their pegs with an air of mere sufference that at last be came quite intolerable and a general sense gf my ignorance and insignificance in the eyes of all this metropolitan ele gance at la|t drove me out of the shop with a vow in my heart never to trust mjself in that palace again. But I did want my gown, so in a meek and humiliated spirit~I entered another less pretentious shop, where I was taken in charge at once, by a rosy, cheertul lit tle German damsel, "who served me with such alacrity and devotion -fetchiug everything from everywhere, and "trying on" with such sunny patiencethat I bought a suit I did not want at all, old fashioned, gray instead of black, quite too tight, and deficient in various ways, but glorified to me for the time being by the bright and cordial perseverance of this girl, who did her work well and thoroughly. I recommend everybody I know to go there and ask for Miss and if ever I want another New York garment I shall find her out again though I will not promise to let her pleasant manner blind my eyes as it did liefore. A beautiful young wife on the North Side has expended much ingenuity in de vising a scheme to keep her husband at home nights, and it proved very effec tual. She flatters her liege lord about the exquisitely dainty proportions of his feet, and induces him to wear boots two sizes too small for him He is on his feet all day long in town, and when he gets home at night she has a sott chair and a pair of cool slippers for him, and by the time he, with great drops of agony pearling his brow, has got off his boots, he comes to the conclusion that there is no place like home after all, and has no desire to go down town to the lodge or sit up with a sick friend. MARRIED HIS SISTER. Reading (Pa i Eagl. VOU tatlipr er, who lor the purpose of this sketch will be called Micheal Lawton, died Garrett county, Maryland. Garrett coun ty is the westernmost county of the State, and is a wild, mountainous region in which there are a number of exceed ingly fertile valleys, called glades, which arc famous for the natural grass which grows on them and makes them superb pasture fields for cattle The glades when broken up by the plow, make ex ceedingly fertile farms, and they are rapidly being cultivated by. people who do not wish to settle in the far West. Lawton was laid to rest under a hwdi oak tree, on/a little knoll on his farm. He had selected his own burial ground, and in compliance with his wist es, the small white marble slab at his head mere ly bears his initials and the two dates those of his birth and death. His neigh bors knew but little of his life or his position in society before he came among them. He bought a small faim and came to live on it one fall some ten or twelve years ago, and on it he died. He seemed to have enough ready monev to satisiy his needs, and pay for his land, and occasionally in conveisation he would say something which howed that be had been unusually welt-educated, and had traveled extensively both in this country and in foreign land's. He never spoke ot friends or relatives, and after some abor tive attempts to discover his past history, the neighbors gave it up in disgust and accepted him for what he was. When he died, a distant relative came into posses sion ojjthe little faim, and the few house old articles he left behind, and then all trace of the career and almost all recol lection of the existence of Michael Law ton passed away. The writer knew the man well, and once when on a fishing ex cursion with him, he related the pat etic and remarkable story of his life, part oi which was published some years ago, and attracted a great deal of attentionat the time. The outline of the story is vouched for, but the names of places and persons are changed for evident reasons. Years ago a family, consisting of lather, mother and two children, lived in West ern Ohio. The head of the family, Mr. Lawton, was a lawyer and specu lator, and had been a merchant. He had grown rich, very rich for those days, and was noted for his keen business sagacity and his honesty and kindly heart His wife had been a delicate, pretty girl when he married ner, and after her second child was born her heaith broke down, she became a confirmed invalid. The couple had two childrena boy named Michael ho was, at the time referred to, about, eight years old, and Mabel, who was then "baby," about rive years old. Mabo* was a pretty child, and her parents pett ed her and dressed her in a style that made her the envy of all the mothers in the neighborhood. One day Mabel went into her mot' era room and told her she wanted to go aud play with some other little girls who lived"on the next street Mrs. Lawton gave her consent, but told her to be sure to come home to dinner. Mabel promised, kissed her mother gayly, nd ran out of the roomout of the world as far as the poor mother was con cerned, for she never saw her again. Ma.iel did not ccrae home to dinner, and at supper time Michael was sent after her. He soon returned with a pale, frightened tace, and told his father that his little sister had started for home at noon, and no one knew where she was. Search was made for her in every direction, but without avail. No trace of her could be discovered. A month afterward the mother died heart broken, and the father sold his property and became a homeless wanderer, with but one object in life, the finding of his lost one. Taking his son with him he traveled from state to state, visiting pub lic institutions where children were cared for, and going through cities making in quiries which he thought might lead to the desired result. From the United States the search was extended to Europe, and finally, in a Spanish city, Mr. Lawton caught a local fever and died in a few days, leaving his son, then a boy of nine teen, all of his fortune. Mr. Lawton told his boy that he had no near relative except a brother, who had gone to Cali fornia in the first Hush of the gold fever, and had never been heard of aiterward. Michael Lawton came back to this country, entered a college in the East, and graduated with honor. He studied law in the office of a New York lawyer, and after being admitted to the" bar he went West and made his home in a new ly settled state, where he soon built up a a good practice. Ono winter Lawton went to New York to visit a college chum, Marchmont, who had married and gone into business. Marchmont Had sev eral young sisters, and one afternoon Lawton was introduced to Miss Mabel Letcher, a young lady who was their mu sic teacher. She was exceedingly pretty, and a lady in manner and mind, and Lawton fell violently in love with her, and before he left the city he asked her to marry him, and she accepted him.' They were married the following spring and went to Lawton's Western home, where they lived happily for six years, during which time two children were born to them. Miss Letcher told Lawton atter their engagement she was an orphan, that her parents had died when she was a child, and she could not remember them at all. She had been named by a kind-hearted lady in Eastern Ohio. She had taught school, and made sufficient money to enter a school in the East, where she studied music, and after she had gratuated she got a class of girls for pupils, aud while thus engaged she met Lawton. Lawton was sitting in his office one day, when an odd-looking man came in and asked for "Mr. Lawton." An in troduction took place, and after the usual preliminaries the stranger said lie was a lawyer from San Franciseo. He then asked Lawton if he would tell him his father's name and where he had been born. Although surprised at the ques tions, Lawton complied, and the stranger then explained his errand "You have heard your fa'ther speak, I suppose, of a brother who went to Califor nia a good many years ago, and who did not write of his doings Well, I am his representative, and I was his friend to the hour he died. Years ago he went to mentioning t,!e town where Lawton was born and there he heard of ,e manner rlnr.Tt.,.e V.' of yourr father's departur He trie.d. to up his mind to hud your sister, if possi ble. He employed several skillful de tectives, and spent a great deal of money in the search. A year ago be died, and in h:s will he directed that you should be his heir unless your sister was discov ered. In that event she was to have halt of his property. I saw your name in a paper some weens ago, and, on makiug inquiries I became convinced that you were the nephew of the man who was my friend and" who intrusted me with the care of affairs. And now"here the stranger paused an in stant"now! have something still more strange to tell you. We have found a trace ot your sister. She was stolen by a party of vagrants for t!ie clothes and trinkets she wore, and was taken to East ern Ohio. She was taken very ill, ana leit with a good-hearted lady, who adopt ed her as i,er daughter. After her re covery she could not remember her name or where she had lived. When this lady died, Mabel taught school for several years, and then went to study music. Atter she left school I think she went to New York, but I cannot say. We have no trace of her for six years. She was named after the lady who adopted her and was knowu as Mabei Letcher." "Known as what?" scieamed Lawton. "Mabel Letcher." "Great God! now she has been my wife for six years. It was so indeed. Another examina tion showed beyond question that Mabel Letcher and Mrs. Michael Lawton were one and the same person. The agony of the two people can be imagined. In their eyes they had sinned beyond hope of redemption. They separated. Mrs. Lawton is still living in a town in Massa chusetts, where she has been for many years. The children are at school and Michael Lawton is in his grave. He gave up all his business, grew frightfully dissipated, and after spending near all the money he had reserved for himself, he wandered to the lovely little Maryland farm where he strove to bury his" past and where he lived a life ot toil. The clover blossoms are as sweet about his grave and the wild flowers bloom as though he who sleeps there in that quiet Hook was at Ia3t at rest. Only a Horse-Car Horse. Only a horse-car horse, and a bobtail car at that. O, the weary miles he has tugged at that car, day in and out, night in and out, through rain and sunshine, snow storm and sunstroke. Curses and blows and the cruel, rack ing turns in the iron-lound paths. Not much to eat and never a kind word save from the street Arab with a heart softer than his lace. Only a question of time when the lim it of endurance shall have come. Noth ing to look forward to but the treadmill, the curses and the racking turns in the track. Don't you suppose a horse needs something pleasant to expect as well as a man? A blocking of the cars. All crowded Everybody going home, from the day's work. Everylwdy tired, Duugry, in a hurry, cross. What's the delay? Only a horse down on the curve by the Tombs. More cursing and angry snouting and pulling and kickingyes kicking the gaunt, rib-staring sides of that poor horse. Weak, heated, hungry, worn out to the last atom of endurance, the last pound of pulling power, he has slipped and blocked the track. They may make the air blue with their cursing, they may kick and beat the hol low sides that echo like a dismal drum they may be hungry and in a hurry and miss their dinners, trains and euarage ments. That old car horse will never get up again. Thai's right. Don't stop to be gentle or the least bit tender, or half human. Hitch a rope to his hind legs and let half a hundred lusty men and boys pull and haul and tug to get the obstacle off the track. Pshaw! don't mind that he groans most pitifully and shudders as you tear his side against the track and the stones. At last he is off, and in the gutter oat of the way. But he isn dead yet. O, no! What is he thinking of? Days when he was a colt and frisked in the Glover stubble and dashed away through the woods along the orook. Ah, those were days indeed! Then came the time when he snuffed the battle from afar, his young master riding himthen the mad charge the flying shot the bursting of shells the rushing upon the rampartsthe leapin0 of the ditchthe wild sh.ut of victory. Ah, those were days indeed! And now nothing but a poor, worn-to deatfi car horse left in the gutter to die. O, for a bedding of straw for the aching bones, for a deep draught of cool water for the foaming fevered mouth. God bless the boy! He has only a shirt and a ragged pair of trousers. He is dir ty. He is one of the miserable urchins you have often kicked fiom the rear plat form of a bobtail car. But God bless him all the same. He has brought a pail of water and tugs at the head of the pros trate horse to help him reach the water. Between them half of it is lost, but the horse got one good gulp at it. And wherever did that boy steal that straw that he is now tucking under the: horses head? Never mind. Only once, does the poor brute open his eyes. If dy ing eyes ever said "God bless you!" the dying eyes of that street car horse said it to the dirty street Arab on las knees in the gutter by the horse's head. It is a dirty hand that strokes the fore lock and mane. You wouldn't have that dirty hand touch you ior the world. But the dead street car horse by the Tombs, corner doesn't mind it. "Gentlemen ot the jury," said an elo quent Chicago advocate,""you have heera the witness swar he saw the prisoner raise bis gun you have htern him swar he saw the flash and heered the report you have heern him swar he saw the dog fall dead you have heern him swar that LC saw him, dig the bullet out with his jacknife and you have seen the bullet produced in court but whar, gentlemenwhar I ask. you, is the man who saw the bullet hit the dog?"