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LOS ANGELES HERALD. VOL. 36.—N0. 10. BANKING ' Southern California National Bank, 10l S. BPHINQ ST., NADEAU BLOCK. L N. BREED. President. WM. F. BOSBYSHELL, Vice-President. C. N. FLINT, Cashier. Capital Paid in Gold Coin $200,000 Surplus unU Undivided Profits 25,000 Authorized Caplteil 800.000 DIRECTORS—L. N. Biced, 11. T. Newell, H. A. Barclay, Silas Holman, W. H. Holliday, E. C. Bosbyshell, M. Hagan, Frank Rader, D. Reraick, Thos. Oobb, "William F. Bosbyshell. lui-tf Security Savings Bank, Capital, $200,000 MO. 148 SOUTH MAIN STREET, LOS ANOILSS, CALIFOIINIA. OFFICERS AND DIRECTORS. , F. N. MYERS PRESIDENT ISAIAS W. HELLMAN. President Nevada Bank. San Francisco; President Farmers and Mer chants' Bank, i.os Angeles. ANDREW J. BOWNE.. President Fourth National Hank, Grand Rapids, Mich.; President Hast inga National Bank, Hastings, Mich. MRS. EMELINE CHILDS Executrix Estate of 0. W. Childs, deceased, Los Angeles, Cal. 11. W. HELLMAN Vice-president Farmers aud Merchaiits's Hank, Los Angeles 8. A. FLEMING VICE-PRESIDENT T. L. DUQUE Capitalist and Wholesale Merchant of Panama, Republic of Colombia A. C. ROGERS Physician, los Angeles MAURICE 8. HELLMAN Of Hellman, Waldeok & Co., Wholesale Stationers, Los Angeles JAMES RAWSON Capitalist, Boston J. A. GRAVES Of Graves, O'Melveny & Shankland, Attorneys, Los Angeles J. F. SARTORI CASHIER; also Vice-president First National Bank, Monrovia, Cal. FIVE PER CENT INTERKST PAID ON DEPOSIT 3. The notice of tho public is called to the fact that this bank has a la-ge paid-up capital, and only loans money on approved real-estate security; lhat among Its stockholders are some of tbe oldest and most responsible citizens of the community; that, under the stato law, the private es tates of its stockholders are pro rata liable for the total indebtedness of the bank. These facts, with caro exercised in making lo*ns, insure a safe depository for saving accounts. School teachers, clerks, mechanics, employees in factories and shops, laborers, etc., will find it con venient to make deposits in small amounts. CHILDREN'S SAVING DEPOSITS received in sums of 25 cents and upward. Remittances may bo sent by draft or Wells, Fargo Jit Co.'s express. 3-14 (imos S FEB CENT INTEREST ON DEPOSITS. Main Street Savings Bank and Trust Co. NO. 420 BOUTH MAIN STREET, LOS ANGELES, CAL. Incorporated Oct. 28rn, 1889. CAPITAL STOCK, - - - $200,000 J. B. LANKERSHIM, Prest. F. W. DkVAN, Cashier. CHAS. FORMAN, Vice-Prest r>cent Deposit stamp* for Sale at Stores in different parts of the city. Deposits will be received In sums of from one dollar to five thousand dollars. Term deposits in snuis of fifty dollars and ovei. We declare a dividend early in January and July of each year. Its amount depends on our earnings. Five per cent, on term and from three to four on ordinary. Money to loan on mortgages. Bonds and dividend paying stocks bought and sold. Incorporated Oct. 28,1889. INCREASE OF TOTAL RESOURCES. January lst, 1800 »115,871.37 April lst. 1890 191,715.92 July lst, 1890 887.711.36 o< („!,.. r lst, 1890 '. 384.804.4 M January Ist. 1891 389,453.80 March sth, 1801 440,642.10 Jj\ARMERB AND MERCHANTS BANK OF LOB ANGELES, CAL. Capital (paid up) $500,000 Surplus and Fronts b'43,000 Total $1,143,000 officep.s: Isaias W. Hellman President Herman W. Hellman Vice-President John Milneb Cashier H. J. Fleishman Assistant Cashier directors. L. L. Bradbury, Emeline Childs, J. B. Lauker shim, C. E. Thorn, 0. Ducommun, H. W. Hell man, L. C. Goodwin, A. Glassell, I. W. Hell man. stockholders. W. H. Perry, J. B. Lankershim, Chas. Du commun, Domingo Amestoy, Sarah J. Lee, Emeline Childs, Sarah J. Loop, L. L. Bradbury, T. L Duque, Jacob Kuhrt*. Louis Polaski, P. Lecouvreur, Estate D. Solomon, Prestley C. Baker, L. C. Goodwin, Philippe Oarnier, A. Haas, Cwieron E. Thorn, Oliver H. Bliss, Chris. Henne, Estate O. W. Childs. Andrew Glassell. Herman W. Hellman. Isaias W. Hellman. jul JjMRST NATIONAL BANK OF LOB ANGELES. CAPITAL STOCK 1200,000 RESERVE $255,000 UNITED STATES DEPOSITORY. E. F. SPENOB President J. D. BICKNELL Vice-President J. M. ELLIOTT....: Cashier G. B. SHAFFER. Assistant Cashier Directors—E. F. Spence, J. D. Bicknell, 8. H. Mott, Wm. Lacy.U. Mabury, J. M. Elliott. jul lOSI OS ANGELES NATIONAL BANK, * Cor. First aud Spring streets. Capital $500,000 00 Surplus • 80,000 00 Total $580,000 00 GEO. H. BONEBRAKE President JOHN BRYSON, 8R Vice-President F. C HOWES Cashier E. W. COE Assistant Cashior No intorest paid on deposits. directors. Dr. W. O. Cochran, H. H. Markham, Perry M. Green, John Bryton, Br., Dr. H. Slnsabaugh, F. 0. Howes, George H. Bonebrake. Warren Gillelen. No interest paid on deposits. Exchange for Bale on all the principal cities of the United States and Europe. m 8 rpHE NATIONAL BANK OF CALIFORNIA, Corner of Spring and Second streets, LOS ANGELES, CAL. CAPITAL $250,000 BOABD OF DIRECTORS: Dr. W. L. Gravef, E. F. C. Klokke. O. T. John son, W. Hadley, Dan McFarland, M. H. Sher man. Fred Eaton, John Wolfskill, Thos. R.Baid. J. M. C. Mabble, President, O. H. Churchill, Vice-President, Perry Wildman, Asst. Cashier. 10-31 A. Hadley, 2d Asst. Cashier. E. F. Spence, John N. Hunt, Pres't. See'y and Treas. Savings Bank of Southern California, Southeast corner Spring and Court streets, LOS ANGELES, CAL. CAPITAL, - $100,000 DIRECTORS: Geo. H. Bonebrake, H. L. Drew, J. M. Elliott, C. N. Hasson, F. C. Howes, John B. Bunt, Hiram Mabury, E. F Spence. - Interest paid on deposits. Money to loa on first-class real estate. 3-26-12 m THE UNIVERSITY BANK OF LOS ANGELES, No. 317 New High street. Capital stock fully paid up $100,000 S'irplus 40,000 R. M. WIDNEY President GEO. L. ARNOLD Cashier DIRECTORS. R. M. Widney. D. O. Miltimore. 8. W. Little, C. M. Wells, John McArthur, C.A.Warner, L.J. P. Morrill. General Dnnking business, and loans on first class real estate solicited. Buy and sell first class stocks, bonds and warrants. Parties wish ing to invest In first-class securities on either long or short time can be accommodated. A NOBLES BAVINGB BANK, 130 North Main street. Capital 1100,000 L. C. GOODWIN President W. M. CASWELL Secretary DIRECTORS. I. W. Hellman, John E. Plater Robert Baker, J. 3. Lankershim, L. C. Goodwin. Term deposits will be received in sums oi $100 and over. Ordinary deposits in sums oi $10 aud over. Money to loan on first-class real estate. Los Angeles. July 1. ISBO. jul-tf , QALIFORNIA BANK^ Cor. Broadway and Second St-., Los Angeles. Subscribed Capital $500,000 Bald up Capital $300,000 Surplus $ 20,000 directors: Hervey Llndlcy, J. c. Kays, E. W. Jones, G. W. Huges, Bam. Lewis. H. C, Witmer President 5, Frankenfleld Vice-President T. J. Weldon, Cashier. J. M. Witmer, Assistant Cashier. General Banking and Exchange Business "transacted. ml-tm CITY BANK., A. 37 South Spring street. Capital Stock 1300,000 A. D. CHILDRESS President lOHN 8. PARK Cashier DIRECTORS. W. T. Childress, Poindexter Dunn J. J. Schallert, E. E. Crandall, John 8. Park, R. G. L'-ut, A. D. Childress. General banking. Fire and burglar proof sale deposit boxes rented at from (3 to $20 per an num, ml 12m TJO3 ANGELES COUNTY BANK, I.os Angeles, Cal. Capital Stock Paid (Tp, $100,000. Surplus, SIIB,OOO. JOHN K. PLATER President R. 8. BAKER Vice-President GEO. H. STEWART Cashier directors: R. S. Baker, Lewellyn Bixby, Jpthara Bixby, Geo. H. Stewart, 8. B. Dewey, Geo. W. Prescott, John E. Plater. Buy and Sell Exchange on San Francisco, New York, London, Paris, Berlin and Frank fort. Receive Money on open account and certifi cate of deposit, and do a general banking and exchange business. jul Site Loan and Trust Co. OF LOS ANGELES. Subscribed Capital 81.000.000. Capital Paid Up •625,000. BANKING ROOM, N. W. CORNER SPRING AND SECOND STREETS. BRYSON BONEBRAKE BLOCK. OFFICERPAND DIRECTORB. GEORGE H. BONEBRAKE, President JOHN BRYSON, Ba. j vice-President? W. H. PERRY. I Vlce "esiaenw. A. E. FLETCHER, Cashier. J. F. TOWELL, Genl. Manager. W. G. Cochran. P. M. Green. H. J. Woollacott, Wm. H. Crocker. O.T.Johnson, San Francisco. L. W. Dennis, A. A. Hubbard. We act as trustees for corporations and estates Loan money on flrst-clase real estate and collaterals Keep choice securities for Bale. Pay interest on savings deposits. Safe da posit boxes for rent. Best Are insurance companies represented. Applications for loans received from borrowers In person or by mail. 100,000 REMINGTON STANDARD TYPEWRITERS Saving Money, send for Preventing Errors, illustrated catalogue. G. G. WICKSON & CO., 346 N. MAIN ST., - - LOS ANGELES. Telephone 612. The Celebrated Frendj Gura, fls Sold on a POBITIVE GUARANTEE fe ;. v W to cure any form /Tj }y of nervous disease if or any disorder of the generative or- gans of elthersex, /^/ y^^ r whether arlsing%f ' Mffiy/W fromtheexcesslve/ // BEFORE u.;oof Stimulants, AFTER Tobacco or Opium, or through youthful indiscre tion, over indulgence, Ac, such as Loss of Brain Power, Wakefulness, Bearing down Pains in the back, Seminal Weakness, Hysteria, Nervous Pros tration, Nocturnal Emissions, Leucorrhoea, Diz ziness, Weak Memory, Loss of Power and Impo tency, which if neglected often lead to premature old age and insanity. Price $1.00 a box, 6 boxes for 15.00. Sent by mail On receipt of price* A WRITTEN GUARANTEE is given for every $5.00 order received, to refund the money if a Permanent cure is not effected. We have thousands of testimonials from old and young, of both sexes, who have been permanently cured by the use of Aphrodltlne. Circular free. Address THE APHRO MEDICINE CO. —SOLD BY - H. M. SALE & SON, Druggists, Los Angeles, Cal, CONSUMPTION. I have a positive remedy for the above disease; by its use thousands of cases of the worst kind and of long standing have been cured. Indeed so strong is my faith in its efficacy, that I will send two bottles frek, with a VALUABLE TREATISE on this diseaso to any suf ferer who will send me their Express and P.O.address. T. A. fciiocum, 01. C, 181 Pearl St., N. T. SUNDAY MORNING, MAY 3, 1891.—TWELVE THE BRISTOL BELL. When Qcorgo the Second in Albion's Isle Defended tlie faith, 'twas a weary while Kre a ship that sailed from Rhode Island's shore Could return to the colonist port once more. And the churchmen of Bristol, who'd hoardei well And sent across seas for an English bell, Had waited full many a month and long For the cheer of their new built steeple's song. But at last the good vessel at Newport lay, And a brave little sloop sailed down the bay To carry the bell to Bristol town, That should bless St. Michael's with wide renown Though the bravesloop's men numbered only twc Their pride was enough for a galleon's crew, And their bosoms swelled as they fondly though Of the fame for themselves in the bell the; brought. The sky never looked so blue to them. And even "Despair" seemed an island gem In the beautiful spread of the sun lit bay— For when pride is at work, it works that way. "The deck is too lowly a place," they said, "For our glorious cargo; high overhead Let's hoist it, that there its far heard peal May spoak for the righteous joy we feel." So up to tho cross trees the bell they swung, Forgetting by mere mischance its tongue; "What matter!" cried brawny Waldron, "I Will smite it myself 'neath the arching sky 1" Then aloft he sped with a mighty sledge To waken the sounds from the slumbering edge Of the church's treasure; no greater bliss Had fallen to Waldron's lot than this. "Oive ear, good helmsman I" be cried aloud. As he reached tho top of the slender shroud, And praise to himself for his prowess spoke, And curved his arm for the wondrous stroke. D-o-n-gt Glorious tone! How its echoes ran Around and across the horizon's span! Did ever a sound so full and clear Enrapture a listening mortal's ear? "Again !" cried tho steersman in mad delight, "Still a lustier note from the metal smite!" And exultant his comrade called back, "Be it sol And Bristol shall hoar it this time, I trow!" Oh, tho ponderous blow that descended then— Twos beyond ull telling of song or pen; For alack and alas! by ill fortune's whim It cracked the church bell from top to riml Then woo for the pitiful homewtfrd sail, And tho crestfallen heroes glum and pale. With an eager crowd on the wharf, to be met With naught but a prayer to forgive and forget! How sing of welcome turned to tears, A payment in worthless weight for years Of the parish thrift? What words for the sham That ashore with the crew and their cargo came In brief measure their tale they told, But they'd learned a lesson that's never growi old: When pride, on land, sea, river or bay, Is at work, it can work in a wretched way. —M. A de Wolfe Howe, Jr., in Youth's Compan AUNTIE'S GHOST STORY. It was a cold autumn night. The wind was howling without, but inside the great, old fashioned kitchen where we children sat, gathered around the crackling fire, everything was cozy and warm. Aunt Jane had given us a basket of nuts, and we were having great fun cracking them. We had come to spend a few days with Annt Jane, who lived in a fine old farm house some miles away from the village. Now, auntie had no children of her own, and so she was always glad when we nieces and nephews came like a young army to take possession of the old house, as she was very kind to us and told us many famous stories. But, as 1 said, the wind was having a blustering time of it without, and we were laughing merrily within, and crack ing our nuts, when all of a sudden we heard a piercing scream. Of course we all screamed too, dropped our nuts, and sat quite still in fright. Now, Auntie Jane, who is very sensible, and not at all timid, only looked up from her sew ing and listened. In another minute there came another scream, even louder than the first. "Oh, auntie!" we cried, in a frightened chorus, "it's Robbie." Robbie, who was only 4 years old, and not big enough to sit up with us, had been put to bed up stairs half an hour before. "Pon't be such silly little geese I" said auntie, calmly folding her work. "I'll go up and see what is the matter with the child." So auntie put down her basket, took a lamp in her hand and left the room, while we all followed and stood huddled together at the foot of the stairs. Presently auntie appeared with tremb ling Robbie in her arms, and told us all to go back into the kitchen. Auntie took her place by the fire, and we all sat down again. "Now, Robbie," said Aunt Jane, quietly, "sit up and tell them what was the matter, and why you screamed and frightened everybody, and what you saw." But Master Robbie didn't want to sit up; he kicked his little fat legs about and clung close to auntie, hiding his face in her gown. "Come along, sir," said auntie firmly, and then she sat Robbie up in her lap, but he put his finger in his month and blinked at the fire, and finally began to howl dismally. "There, there," said auntie more gen tly and petting him. "Be a brave little man. Now tell us, what did you think you saw?" A little pause, then from out the folds of auntie's gown came a smothered "Dhost!" from Robbie. "So," said auntie, "you thought you saw a ghost?" "Fought I saw a dhost," was the muf fled echo. "Very well," said auntie. "Now what did you really see when I came in with the lamp and made you take your head out from under the blanket? Pet ticoat?" asked auntie, bending down. "Petticoat hanging in torner." "Ah," said auntie, "you thought you saw a ghost, and what you really did see was a white petticoat hanging up in the corner. Is that it? "Es, I'se been-a bad boy today, and Henny told me when I was a bad boy J would see a dhost 'tanding up in torner, and I fought pettitoat was a dhost." Auntie looked very sternly at Henry. "Henry," she said, "have you really been putting such nonsense into this silly little boy's head?" "Oh, just for fun," said Henry, though he looked a little ashamed. "It's a fine way to keep him good." "Let me tell you. Henry, that a great deal of harm and a great deal of suffer ing have come from just this thought less habit of frightening little children in order to keep them good. "And so I am going to tell you a story of myself; a story about something that happened to me when I was a little girl, and of all the harm that came of my old nurse's telling me about the old woman wrapped in a blanket who would come to carry me away if ever I was naughty and disobedient. And then auntie, sitting with Robbie on her lap, told us her story: When I was a little girl like Hattie papa and I were living alone here. When I say alone I mean that my poor mamma had died, and we were the only ones of the family left on the farm. But we had a servant, who took care of the house, and old Maria, who took care of me and mended my clothes, and then there was the man who worked the farm, as papa's business in the village kept him away from home all day. Now, Maria was very good and kind to me, and loved me very dearly, even though I was a wild little thing, always running away and getting lost, and giv ing her a deal of trouble, I dare say. I suppose it was because I was so hard to manage and so very naughty that she first told me the story of the old woman in the blanket. One night, after I had got into bed, and she had tucked me away and was going out with the light she stopped to say: "I'm afraid if you ain't any better to morrow than you've been today, Miss Jane, and if you don't stop runnin' into the woods, the old woman in the blanket will come after you." (I had been very, very bad that day, and I suppose poor Maria was at her wits' end to make me behave.) "What old woman in a blanket?' I in quired, sitting up in bed. "Never mind," Maria went on myste riously, "I tell you there's an old woman in a blanket who comes after all naughty girls, 'specially them that runs away into the woods when they's told not to." Then Maria went away with the can dle and I lay alone in the dark with my mind full of the old woman in the blan ket. I was very good for a little while, and I suppose Maria thought she had done a fine thing in making up the story, as it seemed to havo so good an effect upon my conduct. Indeed I thought a great deal about the old woman in the blan ket. Playing about in tho fields in the day time, I would sometimes forget all about her, but whenever I was qniet, and es pecially at night, I fell to imagining all sorts of dreadful things, about how she looked and what she would say and where she would take me. Maria soon found that whenever I was unruly and disobedient all she had to do was to remind me of the terrible old woman in the blanket, so by and by I began to feel quite sure that at some time or other I would certainly be pun ished by her, and sometimes I was dread fully frightened at night and used to cover my head up with the bedclothes, just as Robbie did a while ago. Now, you must know, for I think I've told you, I was always expressly forbid den to go into the woods. I didn't see very much of papa, as he was away all day, but I remember he often said to me: "Jennie, you may play about the fields and over in the meadows as much as you like, but you must not go into the woods alone." You see, there were snakes there, and besides, the woods were very dense, (it was almost a forest), and there were so many paths that even a grown person might easily get lost there. How it wao that I ever forgot my old woman in the blanket so entirely I don't remember, but anyway, one day I ran after a poor little rabbit that was lame and that couldn't go very fast, and as I wasn't thinking of anything but the little limping creature, whose home I was so anxious to see, I suddenly found myself in the midst of the forbidden woods. I must have been running for a long time, for I found myself in a place that I had not known before, and I had made so many turns along the paths that I looked around bewildered, because I couldn't tell in what direction home lay. "Oh, dear me!" 4 cried to myself, very much frightened. "I didn't mean to bs disobedient. I didn't mean to come into the woods at all." ' Indeed, I had not meant to come. I was seldom naughty deliberately, and most of the mischief I got into was the result of thoughtlessness and careless ness. But anyway here I was in the woods, and I must get out of them. I looked and looked, and finally started out brave ly to the left, as the way looked a little familiar. But though I walked on and on, and sometimes ran a little, it all grew more and more strange about me, and I finally stopped in dismay. "I must be going the wrong way," I almost cried aloud, "and oh!" (I held my breath in terror) "what is that?" A long, low rumble, and then the trees began to moan and shake their heavy branches, as if they, too, were trembling in fear. Plash! Plash! A great drop fell upon my bare head. Suddenly there was a dreadful crash. In a moment every thing grew dark, and then the thunder and the lightning and the furious rain all seemed to come together, and I was alone, all alone, lost in the woods, and night was coming on! Then I cried out as loud as I could in my terror. "Oh, what a bad, naughty girl I have been!" I sobbed. And then I thought of the old woman in the blanket, and my tears dried in very fear, and I looked about trembling. I had made it up in my mind just what she would look like. Sho would be shriveled up and very old and all bent over, and the great blanket would cover her up from her head to her feet, and oh! this would be such a dread ful place to meet her! I almost believed that I could see her coming along through the trees. I threw myself on the ground and covered my face with my apron, and oh! what was that? I felt a toUjCb. on my shoulder. I was almost dead with fright, when I heard a gruff but kindly voice say: "Wall, sakes alive! If it ain't a little Kali Look up, sissy! What ails yel" My heart gave a great bound of joy, and PAGES. looking up I saw a big, bearded faca bending over me. The man had a dog with him and a gun. I couldn't spoak. Another great crack of thunder came. I conld only cling to him and cry. "Lost, I s'pose?" he asked, taking me np in his strong arms. "Y-es, y-es, sir!" I finally stammered. "Umph!" exclaimed my deliverer. "Wall, I reckon I'd better take ye to the cabin and dry ye off, and then well see where ye belong." The dog bounded ahead, and the big, kind faced man carried me easily on one arm, and, shouldering his gun, made great, bold strides through the wood*,. He must have known them well, for a black night was coming on and the rain was blinding. We had gone only a lit tle way when a bright and rnddy light appeared. Here we wore at the "cabin." The door opened into a cheerful kitchen, and at tho threshold stood a young girl holding a lantern. "Here ye are, pop!" she cried in wel come. "Look out, Jack!" to the dog, who, cefvered with mud, made a leap at her. "Why, pap! what on earth have you got there?" "Gal," was tho only reply of the big man. "Gal! Lost? Oh, the poor little thing!" cried the girl, and then I was pnt in a chair by the kitchen fire, and my wet shoes and stockings were palled off and bo was my dripping gown, and I was wrapped in a big, warm shawl and given a cup of hot milk to drink. They were very kind and gentle tome, rough people though they were, and neither papa nor I ever forgot their good ness to a poor little stranger. When I could speak without shivering I told them my name and where I lived. "I shouldn't have come into the woods," I ended. "I've been told not to, but I was running after the rabbit to see where he lived, and I ran on and on and forgot." "Why, pop," exclaimed the girl, "it's Mr. Harvey's little girl." "Oh, yes," said the man, "I know squire Harvey." "Please, sir," I asked, "are you the hunter?" "Aye, I s'pose so," answered the man, "leastways, I hunt most of the time." "Then," I said, beginning to cry again, "then I'm far from home, way at the other side of the woods." I had heard of the hunter's cabin. "Oh," I went on, "what will they say athome? They will be so frightened! What Bhall I do?" The man went to the window and looked out. "The storm is ragin'," he said, and in deed we could hear it. "I tell ye, little gal, you'll have to wait till mornin'. No one could ever git through them woods to-night." I felt dreadfully, careless as I was. I knew how they would suffer at home, and yet there was no help for it. I cried and sobbed, and after a while the girl carried me up tho little rickety pair of stairs to her own tiny room. There wero only two rooms up stairs— the girl's where I was taken, and her father's. It was a poor little room, but quite clean, and the bed was very, very narrow. "There," said tho kind hearted girl, tucking up my little body under the warm quilt. "I reckon I'll have to sleep on the floor; I've got some bedclothes down stairs put away, so I'll git 'em out. Now, I'll just leave you the candle, and Til be up in an hour or two." Then she went away, and left me alone in the strange little room. I looked about me as I lay. It all seemed so odd and my head felt so queer, and now and then a cold shiver would run up and down my body. I couldn't sleep; my eyes were wide open. There was an old rag carpet on tho floor, and over in the corner a funny old fashioned chest of drawers and a poor little table on which the caudle stood, and one worn out chair. Bang! bang! went the shutters! Oh. how the wind howled, and then would come the sudden, fearful crashes of thunder that seemed directly above my bed! I trembled so that my teeth chattered. I should have been very warm, for the coverings on the bed were thick and plenty, but still I felt very, very cold and shivered dreadfully. It was silent except for the noise of the raging storm without. I was frightened up there, all alone, in that strange place. The candle flickered and made ugly shadows on the wall, and, oh! I wished that tho girl would come up stairs. I thought of papa and Maria, and longed for the day to como that they might know I was safe and sound. And presently I knew nothing, for a few moments, it seemed to me. Bang! bang! went the shutters again. I sat up, wide awake, with a dreadful terror in my heart. In the moment that I had slept I had dreamed of the old woman in the blanket. I was not cold now; I seemed to be burning up, and I tried to call out. I wanted some one to come to me; I was so afraid, what with the storm and my dream and the strange, lonely place. My voice seemed very faint and weak, bo I crawled from the bed, and it was hard to move. The candle was still flickering on tho table, and cast but a dim light into the little passageway. I reached the stairs, but all seemed si lent below. Nothing was to be" heard but the rumbling of the thunder and nothing was to be seen, but—what was that? There, there in the corner! Something white, bent over, and, yes, a blanket, a great yellow blanket, cover ing it up! I had left the door ajar and a faint ray from the candlelight rested upon— the old woman! The old woman in the blanket! I only remember screaming out loud, as Robbie screamed a little while ago. • •»»»• One bright morning I opened my eyes, and was surprised to find myself in my own bed, and in my own pretty room at home. I felt too tired to speak, and just PAGES 9 FIVE CENTS. closed my eyes and tried to remember what had happened. Presently I heard voices. "Poor little dear!" Maria was saying. "I'm so glad the fever has gone. Master has been so worried. This morning ho went to the village for the first time since Miss Jano was brought home with the fever." "Oh, yes," replied another voice, a voice I had heard in my dream, and in deed it was the voice of the hunter's daughter. "She's all right now, I reckon." "Tell me," said Maria. "Tell mo again, just how it came on." "Well, you see," answered the girl, "I had put her in bed safely, and then I went down and got pop's tea. It was storm in' dreadful. After a while I fetched out the pillows and blanket that I was agoin' to make my bed of on the floor, and took 'em up stairs, and stood them in the passageway, and then I went down again to finish a bit of mend ing, while pop read the paper. All on m sudden we heard a dreadful scream, and when we ran up the stairs we found the poor little gal laying in the passageway moanin' and tearin' in the fever. Then, next morning, pop came over and told you, and the little thing was fetched home." "And very good and kind you have been, my dear, and we are very grate ful," said Maria. Then it all came back to me, my dream, my waking and stealing out to the head of the stairway, and my vision of the terrible old woman in the blanket standing in the corner. I astonished them and frightened them both very much by suddenly sitting bolt upright in bed. "What did you say?" I eagerly asked the girl. "What did you say about put ting the bedclothes up in tho passage way?' "Blessthe child!" cried Maria. "She's in the fever yet, and doesn't know what she's a-talking about." "Yes, I do," I declared. "I saw some thing in the corner, something white, with a blanket over it, and—and I thought it was the old woman." Then the girl told me how she had 'put a white case on the bolster she had got out for her bed, and how she had taken a couple of blankets and come up stairs with them. But seeing that I had fallen into a light sleep and hearing me moan, she had been afraid of waking ;ue then, and so had placed the thing's in the corner, intending to come up by and by. After a while, when the girl had gone, I called: "Maria P' "Yes, my deary," she answered, com ing quickly to my side. "Maria," I asked, solemnly, "is there any old woman in a blanket?" "No, no, my deary," cried Maria, very Borry for her thoughtlessness. "I only said it to make you mind, and it wa very wicked of me." * * » * • i Robbie had fallen asleep, but a rest of us were listening eagerly to Anxt Jane.—New York World. Credulity. Usually, in bewitching a person, it was thought necessary to possess some thing closely connected with the victim, as a lock of his hair, a nail paring or even a small quantity of his saliva. The belief engendered by the shamans often had very serious consequences to innocent persons. If a shaman told a patient that he was afflicted by a disease which a certain man or woman had charmed into him, the consequences to the supposed offender were often seri ous enough, and such beliefs led to many deaths. This is particularly the case in Africa, where tho same belief occurs, and thou sands are yearly sacrificed, because they are supposed to have afflicted others with disease spirits, or to bo the authors of misfortunes of one sort or another. The power too "hoodoo," that is, be witch, is believed in by a very large number of the negroes of this country- In fact, such beliefs are common to the ignorant oveiywhere, be they red, white or black. We should not be too ready to despise the Indian who holds them, since faith in charms, fortune telling and similar nonsense survives today among civilized people who ought to know better, and many are they who thrive by the prac tice of such arts. Credulity does not dia with sorcery and barbarism, but lives on, and will continue to live until men grow much wiser than they have yet grown.—H. W. Henshaw in Youth's Companion. Cheaper Rings Are Bought. A jeweler tells me that tho fashion of buying expensive diamond rings by young men just engaged is gradually dying out. "Understand me," he said, "the girls still get their engagement rings, and they are pretty, too; but they don't average over $70 or $80 in price. Time was when the haughty bride to be would have turned up her dainty nose at any ring that cost less than $200, but now, although there is just as much ro mance and just tho same passion for dia monds in her composition, the New York girl rightly reasons that she is living in a practical age, and that a cheaper ring and a more expensively furnished flat will give her the most satisfaction. I know a man with an income of $10,000 and tho satisfaction of being engaged to a millionaire'a daughter. How much do you think her engagement ring cost him? Just $150, and the bride went into ecsta sies over it."—New York Star. Not Very Objectionable. Littlo Boy—Mamma, I had the night mare las' night, awful. Mamma—That's because you had so much cake and preserves. Little Boy (hastily)— Nightmares don't really hurt, you know; you only think they is goin' to, same as playin' ghost. I like nightmares. They is real fun.— —New York Weekly. An instance is on record of a pigeon flying twenty-three miles in eleven min utes, and another flew from Rouen to Ghent, 150 miles, iv an hour and a half*