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BY LINDA GARDINER. IVe. wandered in a garden jfifir. When Summer sun was ■sbinirg, And laden was the balmy air With scent of roses rich and rare Arcund.vs intertwining. K There trilled the thrush his glorious song; There trilled the echoes all night long The warbling nightingale. You taught^2call each And,in each floweret's heart you read •Some hidden tale; You said their message I should JiDCU — ’Twas an easy rhyrne-- But that upon a time Lppg ago 1 vWe parted in a...woodland glade. When Autuipn winds wore sighiaigo gold and russet bright arrayed a A glowing canopy,displayed The Summer leaves a-dying; .And, but the.wip4L.no other sound /Than a leaf that filtered to the ground, • And a far-off robin singing, We heard. You guessed my •In Spring, tbeswallows who have fled Will back be wingjsg; Tho trees a brighter emerald show, The rose a richer crim«pn glow, Than any gleamed in. this year's prime/’ All thMas once time Long ago! *' What though awhile, we part,” you cried; What though the wind in sighing; The Spring will Autumn’s frost deride, The Sumhior laugh at Winter-tide, Long ‘power to grief denying. We part, fiuL never say farewell, Nor Jet the d§ad leaves to us tell A tale of changeless sorrow; Fair Spring sparkling.jSswn the dell, And in that morrow. If still upon thio world below, meet’noath yonder spreaA&slime,”— •>ou said.so pnce.&pon a time .ago 1 .Perchance.yon have Jorgot all 'JL’jras long ago; Perchance you sneer.&t words.like And lovers’ woe. Or else.you are amused —as I— To tbipk we once swore .we should die, If fate.iis parted: To think we vowed so soup to meet, And said ip Spring-time y#> would greet, Or else be broken-hearted, fitrango—is >tpot?—to have Ancied ao. You smile, no doubt, such to know.' Or do you cour4 it as a crime To think.of once .upon a time 43rcnmstances Alter Cases, BY ETTIE BOGERS. '•And so. miss, you have teen sleighing with that Frazer boy from the city, hare you? And you need net attempt to deny" the matter, either, Dodo ! there was a plenty of people staring at you as his fast-fancy horse took you flying down .the new turnpike road,” Mrs, Tracy snapped Sas she jerked off her purple woolen mittens, un tied her voluminous purple nubia, and turned a shapely displeased visage toward her young daughter. " Where was-the harm, mother?” said Dodo —a petite little thing with cropped yellow curls kinking all over her pretty head from the in nocent childish brows to the nape of her satiny white neck. . “ My stars ! what a dunce you can pretend to be,” the mother ejaculated? “The barm is, Dorinda Tracy, that going sleighing after fast fancy horses and with strange boys from the city is not the proper right thing for a young woman, leastwise for a child like you," “ I am not a child at all,” declared Dodo, as suming as loityapose as was possible lor her fairy stature. “lam almost seventeen.” “ Yon are almost seventeen,” Mrs. Tracy mimicked with piercing disdain. “ Well, 1 was more than half that' again afore 1 allowed any fellow to come.shining up to me, and he was your own father as I married.” “ But then, mother, you were never a beauty Eke our Dodo js, you know,” interpolated Mr. Tracy—a stubby affd unwieldly little man with blinking eyes and a net ijnl.indly countenance. “ Perhaps she never knew any young gentle man like my Jemmy - so nice and so handsome, I mean,” Dodo faltered, half rougishjy but half tearfully, although she had intended neither jest nor disrespect. “I never wore dandy clothes nor drove dash ish horses if that is whatyou mean belittling the looks and ways ot your own father, my girl,” farmer Tracy’ said with hasty irritation. “ And I never went roaming around with fancy fixings, hunting game for wicked pastime, tramping the wheat and such into the ground, and spoiling fences and everything, as them city chape are doing lately hereabouts. That wheat in my cor ner lot by the wood is ruined, root and sprout; though maybe lam not as cantankerous and ob- Bteperous as some I might mention, putting pizened meat there and yon for the pesky dogs as are always yelping at the heels of” them brigands in fancy toggery. Hight is right: though I do not purpose to plant and sow for simple spoiling; and more and over though I do not purpose to let my daughter put horsell in the way of that palavering Frazer chap.” “I don’t put myself m his way,” Dodo pro tested with a troubled pout of her dainty car mine lips. “Jemmy just always happens to meet me somewhere when lam coming from the village. And he does not palaver—and he is sorry about the wheat in the corner lot, father.” “ Most folks do manage to be sorry after do ing the bad as cannot bo undone,” Farmer Tracy said grimly. “ I believe myself in doing only what is fairly certain not to bother our con sciences when the thing is over. And whether the hunting chap is sorry or only pretends the like just to flatter and befool you, makes no dif ference, my girl—you arc to have no more meet ings with him, coining from the village, nor any where/’’ “ You hear your father now, Dorinda Tracy,” the mother said, as she handed a gorgeously troeheted bag to the girl, who had made Iteauy for a walk to the adjacent village. “And if Thai Frazee fellow happens along you are to step straight on m light proper silence and are not to notice him at all.” - “But how can Ido that?” Dodo cried in girl ish distress. “ How can I bo uncivil when Jemmy lias always been so nice, and when I care for him just as he seems to care for me?” “ Dorinda Tracy!” her mother exclaimed, with a gesture of horror, “ I ought to lock you in the garret and keep you on bread and water. I am amazed at your indecorous actings and saying I” “So the hunting chap pretends caring for you, does he?” demanded the father, rising in swift wrath, “Well, right is right; but there may bo something uSSiuB pizened meat neces ■feary round hereabouts, I’m thinking.” But Dodo did not heed. She had already closed the door behind her, and was tripping down the snowy path which led along the frozen fields, past the leafless hilly wood, over a rudely bridged stream, and so intersected the single unpaved street of the rustic hamlet. As she walked slowly onward there was a rus tle among the frosty'f allen leaves beside the path ; the' next instant somebody emerged from the covert of the wood, and she lifted her trou bled gray eyes to behold a smiling young fellow —a shapely and handsome young gentleman, whose beardless face was rosy and boyish, and who wore the picturesque habiliments of a styl ish sportsman. “You are late, little one,” was his jovial but entirely respectfill salutation as he paused with his gun on his shoulder, a brace of birds in one hand, and a magnificent setter at his heels. “I'was afraid I should not come at all,” she eaid, simply and sorrowfully. “The father is vexed about the wheat lot, I suppose?” said he, noting the hot crimson of the soft cheeks and the glimmer of tears in the gentle gray eyes. “I must explain to him that the fault was not so much mine, and I have, already arranged to recompense him for the damage,” he added cheerfully. “There is more than that,” she returned mournfully. “ And I must do as they wish, Jemmy—l should be miserable if I should do anything which would grieve my mother and lather—they have no one but me.” The shy and loth little speech was not very comprehensive, certainly, but he sufficiently understood her girlish tribulation. “ I know what they would urge,” he said, so berly. “ They have some uncomplimentary no tions about me, perhaps, but we shall convince them that I am not altogether unworthy of what I crave. Dear heart, you need not fret; you will do nothing which will grieve them, and they will not keep me from the precious girl I desire as my honored wife. I fancy I can dis pel all their senseless little prejudices.” Just then there was a crackling and a stamp ing somewhere on the frosty leaves and frozen enow, and both turned to perceive a stubby and unwieldy figure lumbering toward them. “What is that about senseless prejudices ?” demanded Farmer Tracy, who was yet several goodly rods away, and whoso keen old ears had not interpreted aright. “ May be I do have nrejudiccs against strange city chaps as go roaming around, hunting and destroying, shoot ing innocent birds, and enticing silly misses with their dashing toggery and sugary sayings. Maybe as I do have prejudices, but I was proper wise coming straight alter you, my girl, I’m thinking.” Dodo shrunk back and then paused ; her pal ing lips quivered with a suppressed sob, her small hands were clasped as if in scared en treaty. And as she stood there, apart alike from the composed lover and the wrathful father, sud denly something came skipping across the glis tening field behind her. Then some big, black, rushing thing tumbled over the low edge, and the next instant a huge dog, with froth on its blood-red jaws, and with a hideous green glare in its blood-shot eyes, leaped toward her. “ Have a care," my girl,” Farmer Tracy shouted, as he stumbled and panted down the path. Ent Dodo, like the child she was, only stood rfcd trembled and screamed hysterically. And tlj| dog still crouched there, motionless and as if poising lor a savage leap at her pretty throat. “ Why don’t you shoot the beast ?” Farmer Tracy vociferated in alarm and wrath. “ Can you do nothing, Frazer ?” But the young man had already adjusted bis gun for an unerring aim; there was a flash, a tingling snap, a tiny wattage of malodorous smoke, and then the animal tumbled quietly over on the frozen snow. And at the moment Farmer Tracy approached Jfor. Your old father wasn’t miiefc use- to you just ' >now,”.- he ruefully admitted, as he put a stubby | .arm about her, “ and that we owe-something to [ the hunting chap is fairly certain. Right is right.; ai>d we shall just take him home with us, and-may be mother will not be-so cantanker ous and-obstreperous against him vwh.en flhe tknows about the beast, and how he banged dais : fancy gun just in the nick of time to save you.” There was a curiously mirthful look.upon-tho Tiosy feabwas of the handsome young‘fellow, but he very -courteously acknowledged the un polished commendation of his prompt and effi cient marksmanship. And so with the half comforted Dod© between them, the two. men walked very amicably io the cheery farmhouse. And on the-very threshold they were met by an elderly gentleman who introduced himself as the senior Frazer, and who announced bis purpose to make a just compensation for all damages accruing from the devastated wheat lot. ' “ These children of ours will have their little follies,” be laughingly said to the mollified farm er Tracy. “ But then we were all young on-co ourselves, although, we all did not have rich fathers to pay for our youthful depredations. But I can afford to .indulge Jemmy, even if lie has a boyish passion for an occasional shooting expedition. He is an excellent business man, . and 1 have decided to promote him to a part nership with me, now. since he has chosen a - .wile. He has-chosen admirably too—Miss Do- . rind a is* a sweet girl.” Mrs. Tracy could on}y profess a surprised satisfaction at the delightful ending of it all. “My stars 1 Dorinda Tracy, you are an amaz ingly lucky girl 1” she ejaculated. “You will hayo.euch a rich husband, and a right proper niceiyoung fellow Jemmy is too, as folks cannot deny.knowing the grand business house in the city. Though I never afore could exactly ap > prove.of fast fancy horses and sporting weak • nesees,.why circumstances alter cases, as folks can not deny either. And then your Jemmy was a real.hero, saving you frem that dreadful dog.” But Fipfpmr Tracy only ehumded and his keen old.eyes blinked very knowingly. “Jam not fairly certain aboututhat,” he said; “just betwixt/surselves, mother, that dog was stone dead store the fancy gun banged at all. That pesky beast had a dose of pizened meat and a convulsion leveled him just there; long afore.he tumbled ever the hedge be .could not have bit a bird ,pnt in his jaws—as I was curi ous enough to make sure without the sly-grins i of the hunting chap t© help me. That our girl’s ■ Jemmy is a right .proper young man 1 don’t gainsay; more and over, boy kind mostly has a ■harmless hankering lor dashing horses and fancy fixings, and circumstances alter cases, as you have neatly hinted; bast betwixt ourselves, ‘ mother,,our girl’s plighted husband is no more a hero than commoner folks/’ But the same, he was a hero to pretty Dodo, .who was wholly comforted when she learned how happily “ circumstances had al tered CSrtJ6i2.. M TBWElmmTvoicEs. BY C. DESPARD. CHAPTER I. THE SPIRIT or THE VOICES. It was the afternoon of ths twenty-third of December—bright, genial, snowy, seasonable weather—the sun shining, the sky clear, the air delightfully crisp and invigorating. From the window of a handsomely furnished room m Piccadilly, a young man looked down into the snowy street,’and wondered where he should spend Christmas Day. His family were on the Continent, or he would not have had any diffi culty on that point. Now this pleasant change in the weather had come about, ho began to wish he had given orders for Seaforth—his fath er’s country home in the Shires—to be made ready for him. In such case he would have seen He paused, and smiled to himself soltly. “I’ve half a mind,” he said, half aloud, “to send a telegram to Mrs. Jenkins, and run down to-morrow. ” And here he stopped again. Might it not be better to keep out of the way a little longer ? He had not committed himself; but he believed the state of his feelings had been guessed. She would not be likely to do anything precipitate. “If it were not for that stupid mystery,” mur mured the young man, “I shouldn’t hesitate another moment,” The Honorable Francis Stapleton -this was his name and style—had a particular objection to mysteries. They were vulgar; they smacked of the melo-drama’ and sensational literature. People ought to be open and above-board, use their own names, and let the world know their true position. He had always been so himself, and it was this very frankness of his—a charac teristic which he regarded with some compla cency—that rendered it incumbent on him not to ally his fate with that of any one who could not show an open record before the world. There are "many people who will admire Francis Stapleton for his cautious desire to look before he leaped, and his corresponding objec tion to have his eyes vailed by any secret or mystery whatsoever, when lie was meditating that desperate measure. I am bound, however, to confess that at the moment to which I am referring—the bright, snowy afternoon of the 28d of December —he could not argue with his usual logical acumen. There seemed to be some disturbing element in the air. After many an effort to think prudently, he gave way to the soft influences that were steal ing over him. leaned back in bis luxuriously cushioned chair, and fell into the most deli cious thought-wandering imaginable. The scene about him grows confused. It vanishes. He is out in the open. Ah, what is that ? A sweet and penetrating music that fills the air. Bells ? No, surely 1 Never in hi« life has he hekril bells ring so sweetly. FOl‘ a few mSments he listens with delight: then, close at his elbow, he hears a low, clear voice. """ ■' .... “You are surprised,” it says. “ ion wonder what the music is. Foolish boy I Don’t you know that those are the Christmar voices in the air? If you are wise ydfi will listen to them.” “ Who are you ?” asks the young man, “lam the spirit of the Christmas voices,” says the nnseen one. “ Then, perhaps, you can tell me what they mean.” “Listen—listen 1” says the voice, impatiently. “If you begin to argue, all is lost.” With a curious tremor at his heart, the Hon orable Francis sets himself to listen. After a few moments a strange softness steals over him, and his eyes fill with tears. “My sister !” he murmurs—“ my poor little Jeannette 1” The unseen one gives a low laugh. “ Why do you do that?” says Francis. “Because"you are beginning to anderstand. But listen again.” “We were so happy together,” he murmurs— “ years, years ago, and 1 have never been so happy since.” “ You were happy because you loved,” says the voice. “ When you and she were together, yon never thought of yourself.” “ Never 1 never ! And she was the same. Always thinking of her brother; never of her self. If Jeannette had lived ” “If Jeannette had lived and been obedient, she might have become what you are now.” “ What I am now 1” echoes Francis, feeling, through his dream, a sense of bewilderment. “ What—l—am—now !” he repeats. The words seem to join themselves to the music, making a strange, monotonous song. “ What—l-—” He started to his feet, wide awake. “Beg pardon, sir,’’(said his white-haired ser vant, who had just come in. “I am afraid I disturbed you.” “Disturbed me ! Then it was youjwho were speaking, Jenkins. What did you say ?” “ I made so bold as to ask what you were say ing, sir,” said the stately old man. “ I came ki to lay the table, and I thought you addressed an observation to me.” “ I must have been asleep,” said the Honor able Francis. “Jenkins t” “ Yes, sir.” “Put my things together, and send a tele gram to your wife. I shall start lor Seaforth to-morrow.” CHATER 11. A HE VISI.AT XO N . The morning of the twenty-fifth of December dawned fairly over the little village of Aveling. A ruddy sun camo rolling up, late but magnifi cent, from hie slumbers in the east, and tossing to right and leit the white mists that had gath ered, during the night over the dark earth. The world was snowy white and glittering, as it decked for a bridal festival. On such a morn ing it seemed impossible to imagine that trouble could be. There was a homo in the village—Aveling Park, the next property to Seaforth—where one might have thought that trouble could not come. But the dark-winged messenger had touched one who dwelt there ; and, in touching one, it touched all. The family at the Park consisted of three— Sir Andrew and Lady Merton, and their only and dearly-beloved child, Lettice. Sir Andrew was rich," and could enjoy to the full the pleas ures and refinements of living to Wliicli gold gives the passport, while his wife sympathized with him in all his tastes. It was said, by those who were intimate with Sir Andrew and his lady, that they had never been known to disagree. On one point, cer tainly, they were of the same mind: they had a love,’ bordering on adoration, for their pretty and charming young daughter. Lettice was about nineteen years of age that Winter—as good, as clever, and as winsome a girl as ever parents were proud of. She was always busy in some sort of work for those who dwelt about her home, and on the Christmas live to which we have referred—the Christmas Evo when the Honorable Francis Stapleton was leaving town—she was in the church until a late hour, finishing off the decorations for the next day. The church was only just outside her father's . park, and she had begged that no one should wait for her. But when she found herself in i the porch, she could not resist a little inward , tremor, for the night was almost appallingly i black. There was no help for it, however, and she ventured out. Scarcely had she done so before she heard the sound of lootsteps, and, I turning, saw a man carrying a lantern. Sup posing that her father had sent for her, she JNEW YORK DISPATCH, JANUARY 11, 1885 ; stopped till the man came-np. To her contusion, ■ she saw that it was their neighbor, Francis Sta ' pieton. “ Oh, Mr. Stapleton I” she said. “Do yon moan to say that you— I beg your pardon. You were going on somewhere. lam detaining you.” “Quite the contrary, dear Miss Merton. I have been calling at Aveling, and I have come out here on purpose to look ter you.” “ It is a pity to have troubled you,” said Miss Lettice. “ I know every step of the way.” “ Pardon me ! Yon are making a false step now. Can I not persuade >you to take my arm ?” She had only tripped through nervousness. If, she had been alone, she would not have been so stupid. Lettice did not. say this to her companion, for fear of seeming ungraoious. She-accepted his arm, and found the support pleaeant, and they wont on together through the . little postern-gata which . led from the churchyard into Aveling Park. When they reached the front door of the fine,-eld mansion where Lettice lived, Francis stopped and put down hie lantern. “ You s-will come in now you have come so far?”.said Lettice. “ Father will bo vexed if you go away like this.” “ I think he will excuse me. I ani. not sure, in. fact, that he expects me. Goodnight, Miss Merton. Wo shall soon meet again, I hope.” “ Good night, Mr. Stapleton. Thank you so .many times for your help. I will tell,you the truth now. I-was afraid of the dark,” and Let tiee held , out .her pretty ungloved hand. He lifted it to hie lips, made a confused speech about meeting soon, and hurried away. Lettice, whose,heart was beating wildly,.went to her own room, and sat down to think. Thon, blushing and frowning, she got up and began to bustle about tbe room. A little bit of unneces sary gallantry I It was absurd of her to think so much of it. Sbo would put it out of her hsad at once. Presently there oamo a gentle tap at the doo?, and she ran to.open it. “Come in, darling mother,” she said. “I have a splendid fire. Sit down and warm your self. There ! Are you quite comfortable ? Why don’t you speak, mother? and what makes you look at me so seriously?” “It is nothing, darling—aothing,” said the gentle old lady; “that is—l am sure it ought to be nothing. I told Sir Andrew so. ‘ This does not change anything,’ I said, and he quite agreed with me.” “Change! What do you mean, mother?” asked Lettice. Wild ideas were floating through her brain. Had Francis Stapleton spoken, and had her pa rents some reason for thinking ill of him? But, if so, why did her mother look grieved ? Lady Merton spoke again. “Dearest,” she said, “come to the library. Yionr father will tell you.” With downeast eyes, Lettice followed her mother to the pretty room where they always sat when they were alone together. Sir Andrew looked no less agitated than his wife, and Lettice, as she sat down beside him, felt curiously nervous. To cover her confusion,' she began to talk a little wildly about village matters. Then she thanked him lor the lovely walking-dress which lie had ordered for her, and which had arrived that day. “ I mean to dress up in it to-morrow, and I know you will say that I look bewitching,” said Lettice, with her charming smile. Alter a few moments ol iliisipretty babble, ho interrupted her. “My child,” he said, “do you know that I Lave something to tell you ?” .“Oh! tell her gently! tell her gently, An drew !” cried poor Lady Merton. “My dear,” said the baronet, “ did you not ask me to tell her ? I must do it in my own way, or not at all.” Lettice, who was past speaking, looked mute ly from one ot these dear Tacos to the other. “ You see,” said Sir Andrew to his wife, “yon are frightening her by your way of taking it. Lettice, my girl, I hope you will bo brave. You are our child, you know, whatever happens. So tar as we are concerned, nothing has changed, and if it had not been for those med dlesome Lestranges coming here and tattling, I don’t think I could ever have made up my mind to tell you. But it is better, after all, that yon should hoar, it from us than from any one else.” “ The Lestranges ?” said Lettice, dreamily. “We knew them abroad, didn’t we ?” “ Yes, yes, when we were abroad; when yon were little—when you first came to ns,” said Lady|Mertoi>. “ You mean when I was born, mother.” “ No, no, m„y child,” said Sir Andrew, gen tly: “your mother has put it rightly. When yon came !o us—came to be our pride and our delight and the comtortof our declining days — all that you have been, and you will be still, even though you are no daughter of our house.” “No daughter? I? No daughter? Not your child ?” gried Lettice, wildly. “Fa ther ! Mother!” “Darling, yes,” said poor Lady Merton, in a broken voice. “ Your lather your mother —so long as God spares us to you. Lettice, my dar ling, speak ! Say you forgive us for not having told you before.’’ “ Wife, be patient,” said Sir Andrew. “ She is confused. She does not understand it yet.” “ I think 'I do understand,” said Lettice, turning her sorrowful eyes toward him. “I am not your child. AU you have done for me, you have done out of the love and kindness of your hearts. But please tell me more. If I am’ not Lettice Merton, who am 1?” She was answered by a story into which it is not necessary to enter here minutely. Lettice’s mother—a deserted wife—died at a hotel on the continent shortly, alter her child's birth. Sir Andrew and Lady Merton happened to be slay ing at the hotel at the same time. They we:e childless, and they loved children. When the young mother died, refusing to the last to make her history known, they took the baby, and brought it up as their own. V- s-. * s It Wils with a sorrowful heart that pretty Let tice Merton went to her room that night.' The blow would have been a terrible one at any time, but that it should come now! It was too hard. It was more than she typ.M. J»»y, Listen ! poof,. iron bled clnicl. ThefS STB voices in the air. Soft and low, at first, as if heard from a great distance ; but coming, with each moment, nearer and nearer, they sing their sweet song around you. There are no words to the song, or no such words as earthly speech can render; but Let tice seems to have understood it, for when her eyelids unclose, her lips are moving, and what she says is: “ I will! I will!” Long after, she would tell of how, on one strange night, the Christmas voices that were traveling through the air came down to her, and of how they brought with them a new joy, a now hope, a new force for love and service. | CHAPTER 111. IS THE SILENT DESIEUTED AVENUE. Early on that Christmas morning, Lettice was up and' out of doors. She had put on the pretty and costly walking-dress, all trimmed with soft furs, which was Sir Andrew’s present, to his darling ; her basket was on her arm, and a lit tle branch of mistletoe, which she had promised to a sick child in the village, was fastened to h«r girdle. She made a pretty picture as, leav ing the park gates behind her, she stepped out upon the snowy road; There, for a few moments she paused, and looked before her dreamily. She was facing the world in a new character, and it was a little strange to her. Yesterday’ all these things were hers. To-day she feels like a pretender. But the echo of the Christmas voices came tp her, and she sped on swiftly, with a'smile on her lips. If it is beautiful io give, is it not beau tiful also io take—so only that we take with a pure heart and a spirit steeped in love ? To reach the village, Lettice had to pass the gates of Seaforth. Scarcely were they in sight before she saw Francis Stapleton coming out to meet her. “ You will not pass me by like this on Christ mas day?” he said, as she smiled and bowed, and would have gone on. ' Poor little Lettice ! If she could only have been dignified ! But she could not. The Hon orable Francis Stapleton took the basket from her arm, and walked on with her to the village. It was in the silent deserted avenue that he told his story. He loved her. He had loved her long. Once he had been foolish enough to think that a man might live without love, but lie had found out his mistake. Would she have nity upon him ? Did she think she could ever love him in return ? Oh ! how hard it was—how hard for our poor little Lettice ! Yesterday she could have an swered with such a light heart. Could she not love him ? It was easy enough—too easy; she loved him already. To-day, what was she to say? Timidly she lilted her eyes to his face. “ Mr. Stapleton,” she said, “you have asked me -Let dice Merton—to be your wife.” “ I have, Lettice. is there any reason why I should not?” “ There is—there is—a reason ! lam not Let tice Merton. lam a poor deserted girl, whom my dear parents brought up out of charity. I have no right to anything here.”, She stopped, for the effort was almost too great for her strength. Iler cheeks were pale, and her eyes were so dim with tears that she could scarcely see anything. But she knew that her lover had drawn close to her, and that her hand was clasped in his. “Is this all you have to tell me, Lettice ?” he asked. “ Is it not enough?” she said falteringly. “ What if I tell you that I suspected this long ago, and that yesterday I knew it?” “You knew’it “ Yes; Sir Andrew told me himself.” “And yet ” “ And yet—l love you. Can anything change that ? Love me a little in return, Lettice, and I don’t care who you are, or how you came to be what you are, the loveliest —” “ Francis !” That naughty little piece of mistletoe was still in her girdle. In her excitement she had for gotten to give it away. Her lover caught it and held it high up over her head. “Lettice !” he cried threateningly. She laughed, broke away from him, ran as fast as her feet could carry her, up the avenue, and never stopped till she was in Lady Merton’s arms and pouring out her story. There were plenty of voices m the air the fol lowing Christmas—voices grand and joyous, and lovely, and pure, and Lettice and her hus band. heard them together. But nona sounded to them so sweet and strange as those which they had heard on tne Christmas before—cue in snowy Piccadilly, the other in silent Aveling— the voices which revealed to them the mystery of life: which told them that while love is all, and self is naught, we need not fear even though we should be plunged into the deepest depths of sorrow. Through love wo shall conquer— yea, even conquer ourselves, which is the hard est conquest of all.— Cassell’s Magazine. talkTwith boys. BY M. QUAD. tf How many boys have been inhere this week to post themselves ?” I asked of the manager oi the lead pipe works the other day. “Not a one,” he replied. “ How many in the last month ?” “ I do not remember of a boy coming in here to see the process, since the works were started, eight years ago.” And, yet, it is one of the most interesting things in the whole range of mechanics and manufacturing. “Now, my boy, how is lead pipe made ?” “Don’t know.” “ Give a guess.” “Well, it’s cast. Yes, of course it’s cast, the same aa gas pipe.” Is it? Ask your father, and see what he says. He’ll probably agree with you. I asked twenty different meh, the other day, and such of them as “ didn’t know,” replied that it was cast. Let me tell yon why it isn’t cast. What is called inlet pipe, or the pipe which supplies a building with water, must stand the pressure of the water works. Every throb of the big en gine at the pumping works exercises a pressure of no little force on every inlet pipe in the whole city. Lead has not the density of iron, and this pressure, in case ot lead simply allowed to cool around a core, would send the water through a thousand pin-hole. We will now see how it is made. In the paint.factory article I told you that the corroder received his lead in “pigs.” It is the same at the pipe works. A kettle, large enough io hold 180 pounds of melted lead, is bricked in as a furnace, and is provided with a strong draught to insure a hot lire. Soft coal is used f©r fuel, and it takes only a short time for the lead to melt. (dose by the furnace is the massive machine which makes the pine. It is made of gun metal, and is very massive, lor it must exercise a pressGre of 25,000 pounds. In the centre of this press is a cylinder which will hold all the lead in the furnace as it runs in through a spout. There issi water well underneath the press, and it is worked by hydraulic pressure. To illustrate so that you can plainly under stand: Imagine a baking powder can, with one end open, as the cylinder. This is lull of the melted lead, but in tho centre of it is a steel core. You can illustrate again by holding a round stick in the centre -of the can. There are grades of pipe from one-eighth of an inch to two or three inches of core, and tho press has cores of. every size needed. When all is ready the machine starts, and you are dumb-founded to see the bottom of the cy linder slowly rising up. This forces the lead up and around the core, just the way you pillion a stocking. The core makes the hollow, and the distance from the core to the sides of the cy lender determine the thickness of the pipe. The lead pipe comes up foot by foot, slowly lout con tinuously, and as it rises above the press it is run oyer a large wooden wheel. You never see the pipe except in coils, and it is this wheel which coils it. As the pipe comes from the cylinder it is as bright and shiny as silver, and every inch of it has been subjected to a pressure of 25,000 pounds. This pressure would flatten six bars of the lead you buy for bullets into the thick ness of one. The 180 pounds of melted lead has made 150 feet ofhall-inch pipe. The process looks simple enough after we have seen it done, but men spent years and years before they perfected that press, and they were smart men too. Years ago pipe was cast, but it was of no use when there was any consid erable pressure to force the water through. Then they rolled it solid and bored it out, but the expense and waste were too great. Every boy has handled the bar lead found in hardware stores and at tho gunsmith’s. These bars are made in this same press. The cy linder is filled just the same, but in place of’ a solid steel core they use one with a hole in it just the shape of a bar. The upward pressure forces the lead up through this aperature, and it keeps going over the wheel until we| have 300 feet of it. It is then cut by a machine to proper lengths, and these lengths are run through a second machine to have the name stamped up on them, and the edges dressed up to look a bit more fancy. If you live iu a city having water works, and the plumbing in your house is well done, the floors under every lavatory are lined with sheet lead to catch any drip from the basin above. The making of this is, of course, an entirely different affair. The lead is cast into blocks’, say four feet square. These blocks are placed on large iron tables, .and powerful rollers roll back and forth until the blocks are flattened to thin sheets. In an hour’s time yon can see the whole pro cess of making lead pipe, bar lead and sheet lead, and it will be a well spent hour. It won’t be worth a cent to you financially, but it will have added to your knowledge and intelligence. The mind is a great storehouse. Whatever you learn is laid up on a shelf, as it were, and though you may not take that particular item down for years, the day finally comes when you want to make use of it. And don’t you know that the world is improv ing so rapidly in science and mechanics, and genius stands so near the head ot the procession that men will forgive almost anything in a fel low man sooner than ignorance/ Thirty years ago, when we said of a man: “He is well edu cated, and thoroughly posted,” we meant that he was head and shoulders above ordinary men. Nowadays, when you find a man who is any thing, else but well-educated and thoroughly posted, the world feels that ho deserves criti cism for neglecting his everyday opportunities. HARNEY’S RACE FOR LIFE. An Incident of the Florida War that Had Escaped the Historians. (from the .-1.-my and Xavy Journal.') “Ned Buntline,” a comrade of General Har ney,in the Florida war, contributes the foliow ing : In 1838, when I was a midshipman, acting lieutenant on board the Ifoited States schooner Ostego, on the Florida coast, he was Lieutenant- Co.lonel of the Second' United States Dragoons, under Colonel Twiggs. It was the only cavalry regiment in tho war, and Phil Kearney, Charlie May, and Billy Fulton, the father of Chandos Fulton, prominent now in your city, were then iu the regiment. I could fill your'oolumns for weeks with incidents of gallantry in which this regiment, the old Third Artillery, and the Sixth, Seventh, and Eighth Infantry were prominent. But to come back to Harney. He looked every inch a soldier, and he stoo'd six feet three inches in his boots. He was not handsome. He was stalwart, manly, ever impetuous in word and action. He and Twiggs swore races. Twiggs generally came out “first best.” Gen eral Harney, though retired, is tho oldest general in the army. I could give you one hundred stir ring incidents of his fighting life, but will close with only one, which the general will vouch for as true. In 1839 he had a post, with two companies of the Second Dragoons, on the Caloosahatohie river, some ten or fifteen miles above its month. It enters the Gulf of Mexico at Sana bel Island. The men were mostly in tents. There was a small stockade, a slitter’s store, and a temporary store-house, in the encamp ment. In the middle of a hot night—l forget the pre cise date -the Seminoles, numbering three or four hundred, under Arpiaka, the Fish-Eater, and Billy Bowlegs, surprised the post. Colonel Harney, in consequence of the heat and mos quitoes, had taken his blanket and left his quar ters to sleep on a knoll on the river bank, where the cool breeze swept over the water. This alone.saved his life. He was awakened in the dead of night by the yells of the Indians, the firing of guns, and the shrieks of hie dying men. The houses and tents were fired, the soldiers killed before they could offer resistance—in short, it was a, massacre of the soldiers —not an Indian killed in the whole affair. Harney, in his shirt and drawers without a weapon, could only run for life. Capture would be death by the crnelest torture. He ran down the river, through a dense swamp, the Indian yells filling the night air and he be lieving them close on his trail. For miles he kept on, the scanty clothes he wore torn all to pieces on the branches as he plunged through the brush, and fast as he went he heard a crash behind him. He was pursued. At last, breath less, worn out so he could run no further, he halted and turned. I give his own words to mo of what then occurred : “I heard the red cusses close onto me. I knew it was death, but I thought I'd die game ; I squared oft', clinched my fists and shouted : ‘ Come on. yon red devils, d—n you ; come on.’ ‘ Howly saints, is it you, Kernel ? ’ cried one of my own men, the only man beside me that es caped, as be halted within my reach. I was that mad. to be so scared by a white man, that I knocked him down on the spot! It’s a fact. Then I felt ashamed of my act, picked him up and told him I was sorry !” The two then crawled on through the swamp, and got down by daylight to Sanabel Island, swimming across the narrow channel to its sandy shore. The next day we ran in there for water in the Otsego and found Harney and his soldier almost stark-naked on the beach, both i hungry and thirsty, but thankful for life. And this is known in Florida war history as the “ Massacre on the Caloosahatohie.” The reason of the surprise was, that there was a temporary truce between the Indians and the whites and feeling no danger, the sentinels were few and careless. After that Harney planned, and carried out a raid into tho Ever glades, in which twenty-seven buck Indians were killed or captured—and all of them hung as soon as in our hands. We captured about thirty squaws and children, who were held as prisoners until sent West. I- was on the raid. In it the late General Ord was shot through tho shoulder. He was then a second lieutenant in the Third Artillery. Sherman, now retired, was a first lieutenant in the regiment at the time. Pardon these old-time reminiscences. I am full of them, and they will come out when the spirit moves. A full chapter would be required , to illustrate that raid of revenge on Harney’s part. A MOUNTAIN MYSTERY. A Game of Cards in a Mining Camp Which was Never Finished. (F/'om the, Denver Nezes..) The wind howled and roared through the trees in Newland Gulch as though ten thousand fiends had broken loose. Anon it would sink into a solemn and mournful dirge, then, as if a whole kingdom of furies had been let loose, the noise would bo perfectly deafening. Every one in the camp had “ turned in ” except the select poker party who had a big game in the tent at “ the forks.” Six rough-looking miners sat around the table, intent as if their lives de pended upon the various deals. At times the noise without almost precluded conversation, and the betting was done chiefly by signs. Suddenly Bill Ahern, who sat oppo site the entrance, and who was dealing, happen ing to cast his eyes upward, saw a vision that seemed to transfix him in the midst of the deal. Noticing his action and the fixed stare with which he gazed over their heads, the others turned quickly around, and there, at tho open ing, stood a woman, young and, who would have been, prepossessing but for her bedrag gled state. Her hair was disheveled.and float ing over her shoulders in a confused mass, and the water was pouring from her soaked gar ments in streams. Wildly and pleadingly she addressed them: “Oh, gentlemen, help, please—my husband —he is dying down the gulch 1” Instantly that poker game was broken up, and those rough men, whose humane instincts were easily stirred, ran out into the darkness and the storm. Down the gulch went the wo man, followed by the six men, crossing on a rocky ford below where the mad stream dashed and roared, threatening to carry them off their feet, to a level mesa beyond, across which she led them to a sharp bend in the creek, perhaps three-fourths of a mile below the camp. There in the shelter of a scanty scrub-oak thicket a man was found lying, evidently dying. Carefully he was taken from the wet ground and carried back over the slippery and perilous trajl and taken into one of the more substantial tents, where he was laid on the floor and some blankets before a fire, which had been kindled purposely. It was soon evident that his life was slowly but surely ebbing. Sudden ly, and with an effort, he raised himself upon his elbow, staring around with eyes whoso sights were already dimmed with the shadows of death, and reached out his hands in such a suppliant, pitiful mamw. then in a voice, husky and weak, he ejaculated, ■* Mary.” Quickly going to him and taking his* head in her lap, oh, so tenderly, she- stroked his hair, already damp with the dews of death, and placing her ear to his mouth, listened to his labored, whispered words with a world of affec tion and love in her face. The group in the tent at this moment was | striking; in the foreground and immediately in the firelight the recumbent figure of the dying man on the floor, with his head supported’ by the woman and tho flickering light from tho blazing logs playing fantastically on the two central figures. In the background, partly shrouded by the gloom, was the group of min ers, standing with their hats off, in respectful attitude, awaiting the presence of the angel of death who was hovering near. An ominous rattle in the throat, a convulsive gasp and all was over. Oh, what a helpless, pitiful look came over the face of the woman as sh’e glanced at the pitying faces around her, and then buried her head in her hands. Look ing up shortly with a tear-stained face, she said in a voice sad but sweet: tl Gentlemen, I thank yon for your kindness to me more than I can say. This is my hus band. \Ve were on our way to Denver in the stage, but the high water made the ford impas sable, and as he was very ill and they told us of this camp, we started in the darkness and the storm, but had not gone far before he became exhausted and sank down on the trail and I hastened here for assistance. We have just come from the East for his health, which has been bad for some time, thinking he would get relief in this milder climate, but it is ail over now.” Again bowing her head she wept bitterly for a time, then Bill Ahern, knowing that something should be done, but scarcely realizing what, touched her on the arm and said: “Beg parding, missus; the boys here want to do something for you, but don’t know how. We thought as you would rather be alone like, and maybe we’d better take the body to another tent.” “ No, no,” said the w-oman, throwing her arms around Ihe body, “ I must stay with him.” Then in an apologetic voice, “ Excuse me, but I am nearly wild with my grief. I would rather stay with him this one night;” this in an implor ing tone. The men got their heads together, and finally concluded to give up the tent to the woman and her dead for the night. Announcing this to her, they silently filed out into tho darkness, back to where they had been playing, but the game was not resumed. They talked over the inci dent until the gray light qf dawn. The ram having ceased the sun shortly after ward came marching ovex* the hill in magnificent splendor. Soon the whole camp was awake, and smoke from numerous fires indicated that the morning me.il was in preparation. Ahern and the rest waited until the sun was high in the heavens for some sign of life from the tent, ’ but none came; they had cooked a breakfast for the lonely mourner but hesitated to disturb her. Einally the morning being pretty far advanced, it was resolved that Ahern should be their spokesman in tendering their hospitality. Go ing to the opening he pushed back the flies and found the woman in exactly the same position as they had leff her tho preceding night. Speak ing to her he received no answer, and going closer, thinking she had fallen asleep, he shook her gently at first, then more strongly; she never moved. Becoming alarmed he raised her head, and to his horror saw that she, too, was dead. As there was no outward apparent cause they concluded that she had died of a broken heart. On a beautiful little plateau overlooking the gulch, in a bed of prarie lilies, wild roses and honeysuckles, they dug two graves side by side, and, placing boards at the head, placed on them in rude characters: “Strangers, died June 30, 1869,” and despite every effort no information of the unfortunate pair, as to who they were or where they came from was ever obtained. A REAL HOME. BY ELLA GUERNSEY. “ Noo, feytber, dinna tarry; I’ll be greetin’ abtine yon,” said the old wife, aa with a tender look in the faded bine eyes she looked alter the bent, homely “ gudo man ” who was to her tho Prince Charming. “Dinna greet, Janet, I ll no be lang away fra’ our wee bit home, an’ happiness.,’ As tbs gudo dame hustled about, I thought, “ Yes, happiness, love, content were guests iu this humble abode, in Arizona.” The home that sheltered this honest Scotch couple was scarcely as large as a Saratoga trunk. Windows, it bad none : in fact the large cracks in the thin walls let iu euough light for Janet to see to mend and sew. The fare was scanty, and Crunimie, tho “coo with the crumpled horn,” was the stay ot the lamilyl As for clothing, there was little change need ed, the check and cheviot gown was short and skimpy, but clean. The prayer book, Bible, and a collection of old atmauacs were treasures, read and reread. “And do'you never pine for Auld Scotland, Janet ?” “Mony times, leddy, an’ to see the dear friends, though the kirk yard ha’ gotten mony since we came to Arizona, but feyther an’ me ha’ each ither to luve, an’ togither we strive to like these new scenes. In tho Winter, when ’tis cauld, we sometimes see hard times. Arizona is na’ a paradise for puir auld people, but our hame is here an’ we must be content.” “ Happy and content.” All that morning I gave myself up to idleness and sat looking out upon the “not beautiful” Arizona scenery, thinking of grand homes that did not contain'contented owners. Alter the small cheeses were turned, and the churning done, the oatmeal cake baked, a hand ful of gay flowers were gathered. Among them was a real piece of heather, for feyther. At ten o’clock the “ auld wife ” began her pil grimages to the door, which was too low to allow even this little shrunken woman to stand erect. The table was neatly spread and more pilgrim ages were made, the' noonday sun crept around to the doorway, and Janet shaded her eyes with one hand from its rays, and at last a joyful “Feyther’s coming,” aroused me. I was not quite sure but a faint color stole into the pale cheek. Sturdily he tramped, the little woman trotted out to meet him, and stood by with au anxious inquiry “if he bean’t tired,” as he bathed his heated face and made ready for a “bite aud sup.” Hard times may 'ome, banks may break, but that real home in Arizona en dures “so long as they both live.”—Burlington- HaickjEye. . ■ CHARMING SNAKES. ONE OF THE CHABMERB GIVES AWAY JTHE JNAKES. It a snake lies out straight I know that he isn’t going to bite, because he can’t. But it he lies in a loop, like the letter “ S,” then look out. In this position he can throw himself for ward. He can’t do it when he is lying out straight. A snake handler must know this, and then he knows when he is in danger, aud knows when to soothe the snake and when to let him alone. It is different with venomous snakes. The only time a rattlesnake will strike is when he is in a coil, and when a copperhead means to strike he shapes himselt something like a double “8.” If a copperhead should put itself in this shape, all a man would have to do would be to throw it out ot position with his cane, and it couldn’t bite him. When you are handling snakes you must not take hold of them in away that seems to con fine them. Let their bodies rest on your shoulders and on your arms and on the backs of your hands. If you let your fingers close around the neck of a snake, he will be pretty sure to twist his head around and chaw you on the arm. There is danger of being bitten in handling snakes, I admit, but I can make any snake in the world let go his hold and move off by nibbing his back down on each side of his backbone with my thumb and forefinger. Snakes are very nervous along tbo backbone, and they can't stand rubbing in this way. It acts like magic. It seems to soothe their anger, but it always causes them to move off. A snake is dangerous when he is blind— that is, when he is about to shed h.’s skin—and ho must be let alone then. How to Split a Sheet of Paper. —lt is one of the most remarkable properties of that product, paper (says the British and Colonial Printer and Stationer) that it can be split into two or even three parts, however thin the sheet. We have seen a leaf of the Illustrated News thus divided into three parts, or three thin leaves. One consisted of the surface on which the engravings are printed ; another was the side containing the letter-press, and a per fectly blank piece on either side was the paper that lay between. Many people who have not seen this done might think it impossible; yet it is not only possible, but extremely easy, as we shall show. Get a piece of plate-glass, and place it on a sheet of paper ; then let the latter be thoroughly soaked. With care and dexterity the sheet can be split by the top surface being removed. But the best plan is to paste a piece of cloth or strong paper to each side of the sheet to bo split. When dry, violently and without hesitation pull the two pieces asunder, when a part of the sheet will be found to have adhered to one and part to the other. Soften the paste in water, and the pieces can be easily removed from the cloth. The process is generally de monstrated as a matter of curiosity, yet it can be utilized in various ways. If we want to paste in a scrap-book a newspaper article printed on both sides of the paper, and possess only one copy, it is very convenient to know how to detach the one sido from the other. The paper, when split, as may be imagined, is more trans parent than it was before being subjected to the operation, and the printing ink is somewhat duller. Otherwise, the two pieces present the appearance of the original if again brought to gether. Horses in Battle. —War-horses, when I hit in battle, tremble in every muscle and groan deeply, while their eyes show deep astonish merit. During the battle of Waterloo, some of the horses, as they lay upon the ground, having recovered from the first agony of their wounds, fell to eating the grass about them, thus sur rounding themselves with a circle of bare ground, the limited extent of which showed their weakness. Others were observed quietly grazing on the field, between the two hostile lines, their riders having been shot off their backs, and the balls flying over their heads and the tumult behind, before, and around them, caused no interruption to the usual instinct of their nature. It was also observed that, when a charge of cavalry went past near to any of the stray horses already mentioned, they would set off, form themselves in the rear of their mount ed companions, and, though without riders, gallop strenuously along with the rest, not stop ping or flinching when the fatal shock with the enemy took place. At the battle of Kirk, in 1745, Major Macdonald, having unhorsed an English officer, took possession of his horse, which was very beautiful, and immediately mounted it. When the English cavalry fled, the horse ran away with its captor, notwithstanding all his efforts to restrain him; nor did it stop until it was at the head of the regiment of which apparently its master was commander. The melancholy, and at the same time ludicrous, figure which Macdonald presented when he saw himself the victim of his ambition to possess a fine horse, which ultimately cost him his life upon the scaffold, may be easily conceived. Penalty of Fame.— ln his last days Macanley was grievously vexed by the modern penalty of fame. Any one who thought he had a genius or grievance wrote to him either to advance or to extinguish it, as the case might be. The historian in his journal mentions the clergyman who wrote to him three times to ask what the allusion to St. Cecilia meant in the ac count of the trial of Warren Hastings. A Scot tish gentleman, who wished to publish a novel, wrote that he would be glad to come to Loudon and submit his manuscript to the judgment of the essayist, if the latter would remit him $250. A cattle painter appealed to him, “ as he loved the fine arts,'’ to hire or buy him a cow to paint from. A schoolmaster in Cheltenham, who pub lished a wretched pamphlet on British India, full of errors, received a courteous note from Macaulay pointing out two gross mistakes, whereupon the schoolmaster issued a new edi tion, which was advertised as “ revised and corrected by Lord Macaulay.” These are the penalties of popularity, and, as the story now goes, Lord Tennyson is now suffering acutely from the same affliction. He has been obliged, we are told, to give up answering, even by secre tary, his multitudinous correspondents, and so consigns the manuscriot they send him lo his private Balaam box. One of Senator Vest’s Stories. —“l have a dog,” said Senator Vest, who heard a previous crow story, “ who is much more saga ciaus than this crow, though he cannot talk. One morning he watched intently while a negro boy blacked my shoes. The following morning he came to where I was sitting with a blacking brush in his mouth. You may not believe it, but that dog got down on his haunches, spit on my shoes, took the brush in his teeth and rub bed away like a house a fire. But I must ad mit that he did not get up much of a polish. One Sunday, while I was living at Sedalia, this dog followed me to church. I noticed that he watched every movement of the preacher. That afternoon 1 hoard a terrible howling of dogs in my back yard. I went out to see what was the matter. ’My dog was in the woodshed, standing on bis hind legs in an old drygoods box. He held down a torn almanac with one forepaw and ges ticulated wildly with the other, while he swayed his head and howled even more sadly than the preacher L had heard that morning. There was an audience of four other dogs, who barked and yelped at intervals. This is not only true, but the sermon interested me fully as much.as the one I had listened to in the forenoon.” Something New in Photography.— Says C’/wwibers’s ■/ounial: Notwithstanding the rapid advance that has been made during the past few years in the beautiful art of photogra phy, and the various new applications of it in different arts and sciences, in one particular it has stood still. A negative picture upon glass can, as every one knows, be produced in a fraction of a second. But the after-process of producing so-called positive prints on paper from that negative is a tedious business, de pending in great measure upon the brilliancy of the weather. Messrs. Marion, of London, have endeavored to obviate these inconveniences by the manufacture of a special kind of paper, the nature of which they at present keep secret, and which they now offer to ths photographic world. By this paper a negative can be made to yield a positive image in a few seconds, quite independently of daylight, for a gas jet or par affin lamp is sufficient to affect its extreme sen sitiveness. This invention will enable a pho tographer to send his patron a dozen or more copies of a portrait that lias been taken the same day. Servants’ Dislikes. —“ Have you ever observed,” writes .Sydney Smith, “ what a dis like servants have to anything cheap? They hate saving their master’s money. I tried this experiment with great success the'other day. Binding we consumed a great deal of soap, I sat down in my thinking-chair and took the soap question into consideration, and I found reason to suspect that we were using a very ex pensive article when a much cheaper one would serve the purpose better. I ordered half a doz en pounds of both sorts, but took the precau tion of changing the papers, on which the prices were marked, before giving them into the hands of Betty. “ ‘ Well, Betty, which soap do you find wash es the best ?’ “ ‘ Oh, please, sir, the dearest, in the bine pa per; it makes a lather as well again as the oth er.’ “ 1 Well, Betty, you shall always have it then.’ “ And thus tiie unsuspecting Betty saved me some pounds a year.” Ear Diseases. —A German paper gives some interesting statistics relative to ear dis ease, which have been collected from different aural surgeons. Brora these wo gather that males are more subject to ear disease than fe males. Ont of every three middle-aged per sons, there is found one who does not hear so well with one ear as with the other. The lia bility to disease increases from birth to the age ol forty, after which it decreases as old age is reached. Of six thousand children examined, twenty-three per cent, show symptoms of ear disease; and thirty-two per cent, a deficiency of hearing power. With regard to the result’s of surgical treatment, wo learn that of the total number of cases of all kinds, fifty-three per cent, are cured and thirty per cent, are benefited. We fancy that these figures are rather more favorable than surgeons in this country can show, it being well known that aural cases are among the most uncertain and unsatisfactory to deal with. A Clever California Cat. —Says the TWley Record: The other evening one of our sportsmen came home with a string of snipe. Pussy followed and watched the snipe hung up by the kitchen door. She then climbed up and tried to break the string, but it was too stout. Disappearing for a short while, she returned in company with a large Thomas, and their united work brought the string to the ground. They were then divided, each cat taking three, and leaving one extra, which both were determined to have. Finally it resolved into a pitched bat tle, and the Thomas cat was knocked out in the first round. Tabby departed with the four birds, landing them in good order at her own er’s door, fully a block away from the scene of the raid. An Interesting Discovery.—An in teresting discovery is reported to have been made bv the Governor of Irkutsk in the course of a prolonged inspection of the province, which shows that Siberia is still au unknown country, even to the llussian authorities. His excel lency came across the little town of Him, with 500 inhabitants, ItiO houses, and four ancient churches, with remarkable relics of Cossack times. It is still under the Republican rule oi a public assembly, convoked by a bell, as in old Novgorod the Groat, although the new munici pal institutions were supposed to have been ap plied to that part of the Empire ton years ago. Net one ol the inhabitants can read or write. Curious Statistics.— Tire returns o. K lO 2 a . m ber of human bodies recovered from the Seme are published as a matter of Course, lew people, however, are aware that the Seine Conservancy board push their administrative solicitude to the extent of drawing up a list of casualties in animal life 1 The returns hist is ■ tho d nr h n°"' dnri ß s ‘J 16 ., eumTtl ” v months ot the present year the following bipeds ani ma.s, and portions thereof were taken out of the P V V : VP OSB ’ 3 ’ 929 ; cats - 310 ! rats, 191“ fowls, 191; rabbits, 130; pieces of meat. 23 • geese, 8; turkeys, 3; sheep, 2; one goat, ono monkey, one pig, and one calf. The foregoing: is all we.l enough, and how they got into tha water is easy of explanation. But the re mainder of the list is rather startling, for ik mentions two boars and eight .fe/i > Whether the latter were drowned by accident or design is not stated I The Sprite Throng.—To protect chil dren from being stolen by any of the sprite? throng, ignorant Welsh folk put a knife in the child s cradle when left alono, or a pair of tongfj> across, but the best preventive of all is baptism, in Friesland a Bible is placed under the child’s pillow; in Thuringia tbo father’s breeches are hung against the wall. In China a pair of trou sers belonging to the child’s father are put one the frame of the bedstead in such away that? the waist hangs downward; on the trousers a. piece of red paper is stuck, having four words wiitten upon it, intimating that all unfavorable injuences are to go into the trousers instead of afflicting tbo child. The Portuguese babies al ways have a little hand made of rod corah called hand with the thumb thrust be tween the first and second fingers- hung round? their necks to keep off the Evil One. Disappearing Rivers.— One of the most singular features in the scenery of the territory of Idaho is the occurrence oi dark, rocky chasms, into which creeks and largo' streams suddenly disappear and are nevermore •• seen. The fissures are old lava channels, pro duced by the outside of the mass cooling and forming a tube, which, when the fiery stream, was exhausted, has been left empty, while the root of the lava duct, having at some point fall en in, presents there the opening into which the river plunges and is lost. At one place along the Snake one of these rivers appears gushing from a cleft high up in basaltic waited where it leaps a cataract into the torrent be ""Ore this stream has its origin, or ai what point it is swallowed up, is absolutely un known, although it is believed that its sources are a long way up in the north countries. The Chain of Great Lakes.—Tha surface of Lake Superior is about 650 feet above ■ tide, while its bed is 260 feet below tide level. Lake Huron’s surface is fifty feet below that of Superior s, and its bed is about on a level with BUr^ac ® of Lake Michigan is 500 feet lower than Lake Huron’s, and its bed is sunk a corresponding distance to the level of the other two lakes. Lake Erie’s surface is nearly as high as Lake Michigan’s, being 565 feet above tide, but its bed is also above tide, being 650 feet higher than the ocean level, con sequently its bed is 250 feet higher than those* of the lakes above it. Lake Ontario’s surface is the lowest of all the great lakes, being less than 500 feet above tide, but its bed is 260 be low the ocean, or about the same level as Mich igan, Huron, and Superior. Deal Men Tell No Tales.— Sir John Jervis, who, it appears, had a not uncommon habit of repeating gossip, chancing to hear oi the late Lord Chelmsford that he was over head and ears in debt, and had the bailiffs in the house, repeated the scandal, and was horrified to receive a letter from his lordship, demanding his authority. ‘‘ How the duse, Jack, am I to answer this ?” said he, addressing his son. “ I have not the slightest notion from whom I heard the story.’* His son could not assist him. Just at- that - moment a member of the Bar sent him up the following message: “Poor Godson died this morning.” “ I have it!” said the chief, his fare showing how relieved he felt. “It was from Godson 1 heard it 1” Molten Lead in the Eye.— A jet of melted lead recently lodged in the eye of a> French workman, without doing any injury to the organ, and the case was investigated by Dr. Perrier, who ascertained that the immunity was due to the lead entering into the “spheroidal stat© ’ in presence of the moisture on the sur face of the eyeball. The temperature *of tbo lead was found to be higher than 171° Centi grade, which is the point at which th© “spher oidal state” takes place, and hence the moist ure was vaporized and formed a cushion round the lead, keeping the latter out of contact with the flesh. The phenomenon is a case similar to that of a person plunging his moist arm into fiielted lead with impunity. Failures in China.— Bankruptcy is too common nowadays, and it is often managed with too little publicity for the general weal. They manage these things far better in China, for it a native dealer fails to pay bis creditors they all assemble at his house, fortified with their pipes and a goodly store of rice and tea, and there they sit, calmly smoking, dipping ana eating till the money is paid.- If, however, the defaulter be a European thev post a police agent at his door, and fasten on'it a huge sheet of paper- on which each creditor writes the amount owing to him. It is decidedly uncom fortable to “fail” in the Celestial empire, and consequently the occurrence is a rare one. The English Hall of the Commons. —Notwithstanding the vast sums of money lavished by Great Britain upon her Palace of Westminster, she now finds the Commons , chamber wholly unfit for the purpose for which it was designed, and discussion of a new chamber has already begun. The size of the present chamber is based upon the idea that the • best thing members have to do is not to listen to debates.' There is not near seating capacity for all the members, neither is there proper ventilation. Members also begin to demand desks for writing purposes, similar to those in the French Assembly and American House of Representatives. The Camel vs. The Ox. —The camel has twice the carrying power of an ox. With an ordinary load of four hundred pounds he can travel twelve to fourteen days without water, going fourteen miles a day. They are fit to work at five years old, but their strength be gins to decline at twenty-five, although they live usually until forty. They are often fattened at thirty- for the butcher, their flesh tasting like beef. The Tartars have herds of these animals,. often ono thousand belonging to one family. The Timbuctoo breed is remarkable for speed, and used only for couriers, going eight hundred, miles in eight days, with a meal of dates or grain at nightfall. Letter-Carriers in England. —Not only are there letter-carriers in the large cities of England, but in the towns and villages, an® even in the rural districts, letters are delivered, direct at the houses of their recipients. For merly the letter-carriers went their rounds afoot, but now all those in the rural districts have boon provided by the Government with tricycles, which run excellently ou the admira ble roads of England. The carriers also take with them a stock ot stampsand stamped en velopes lor registered letters to sell to the peo ple who live at a considerable distance from the office. A Use fob Horned Toads.—Travel ers on the Red Hills, says the Hamilton, Texas, Polley, have often shuddered at the eight oi horned toads, which are as numerous ae black birds. The ugly creatures are as much dreaded, as rattlesnakes, But a Chinaman put in all Sum mer and this Fall gathering them. Recently he made a shipment of two thousand of the toads to San Francisco, from which place they' will be sent to China. The toads are there con verted into various kinds of medicines, which, sell very high. For the cure of chilis and lever they are said to be the finest things known. A New Fibrous Material. —Coraline, a substance now extensively used in manufac ture in this country, is made from the fibre of the ixtle plant, which grows in Mexico and some parts ot South America. In general appear ance it resembles somewhat the American aloe or century-plant, but its leaves are longer and more slender-. Scattered through the centre ol these pulpy loaves are a number ot round,, tough, elastic fibres. These fibres are separ ated from ths leaves, packed into bales and shipped to the t’nited States, where they are woven into a lough cloth. An Upas Tree. —A veritable upas tree grows in the keys south of Daytona, Fla. It re called the manchineeb Any one taking shelter under it during a rain, or sleeping under it when the dew falls is sure to be poisoned. One who experienced it says “it swells a fellow all up, and makes him'feel as if ho had been skinned and peppered.” A man who began; making canes for the New Orleans Exposition, from the wood became poisoned, and won’t touch it any more. An Ignoble Destiny.— Count. Span tini a pioneer cremationist, placed bis grand sire’s ashos in a beautiful urn ol Florentine marble. Examining it lately, ho found half the ashes -one. Inouiry elicited that the conntess’e do- had been ‘taken sick in the room, and to save the trouble of getting ashes to aid in clear ing away the mess, a raw young housemaid had helped herself to those in the urn. To stop a hole to keep the wind away,” is a noble destiny compared to this. Among the Most Respected People. —Forty vears ago a man in Enrannal county,. Ga., sold'his wife for a jug of whisky. Several davs later he was presented with the wile of a man who had grown tired of her. The woman first mentioned was afterward traded for a bushel of corn. All hands then settled down in the same neighborhood, and have lived there ever since. Their descendants are among the most respected people of the county. The Most Curious Book.— The Prince de Ligne is thought to be possessed of the most curious book in the world—“ Ihe lassron of Christ.” It is neither written nor printed, but every letter of the text is cut out of a leaf, and being interleaved with colored paper, is as easily read as the best print. The general exe cution is admirable. The unique work bears the Royal arms of England, but why is un known.