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ST. VALENTINE’S DAY. BY M. S. HAYCRAFT. Oh, page so old and dim, With worn and fading rim, How did my cup of gladness, in the long ago, o’er brlm. When thou didst whisper to my soul those first sweet words from him ! Thou message from the past! The years have vanished last Since on thine eariy Leau.ty was my hidden face down-cast. Till then I never knew That 7te, so strong and true, Unto my beating, trembling heart in.love and yearning drow— Oh, blessed morn that hold the dawn of glory to my view 1 Oh, tender snowdrop-tide, That brought ns side by side, And smiled upon immortal lives forever satisfied. Day of Bt. Valentine 1 Still do the valleys shin© With snowdrops and with violets, and wakening buds entwine To crown thy forest-altars, as they crowned that spring of mine : But, oh I the hand so dear That traced the message here Xs seen no more, save only where the sinless ones appear. Now waits my widowed heart Until the portals part. Wherein is balm beyond all thought for every aching smart— Where God shall gently wipe away the trembling tears that start; A love so vast as ours Looks up from earthly bo-wers To Spring’s eternal victory and everlasting flowers. And ns the young ones round In happiness abound, Betraying by their blushes bright the visions newly found, I whisper, while I seem to hear the angel-anthems sound— •• God make your dreams complete And grant you love as sweet As that which Lets in Paradise the nearing of my feet I” ! ! miwiniiTii kr.meFpThll’slovestory BY LUCY FARMER. CHAPTER I. AN ENGAGEMENT. My husband and I remained on Mr. Cardewe’s Dorsetshire property for more than a year, and after that Mr. Cardewe wrote to Charley to come up again to the Manor, as he wished to have him to look after the young plantations which were being formed. We had not very far to go. Mrs. Cardewe wrote to me, explaining the change; she said she was sure the Manor prop erty would be found a better place for baby, and she had had a little house on the cliff-slope newly furnished for ns. So you may be sure we gladly accepted her kindness. I was always fond of the Manor, for there Charley and I had met first, though we had had that quarrel about that Mrs. Alleyne's business, and Charley liked the sea and the fishing, game-keeper though he was. The first news that greeted us was that Mr. Hemphill, who had always been kind to us, Was as good as engaged to be married to Miss Anderson, whoso parents lived near Bourne mouth. She was a very lovely girl, and every one was pleased to think that Mr. Hemphill and she had made it up together, after all. There was a little story connected with this young la ly. She was something of an heiress, it was known, and many people had made offers for her to her parents. Captain Martyn Henry, who had been at the Manor, and who was again expected this same Summer, had, I knew, been one of her admirers. But, although everything seemed satisfactory, the impending rumored engagement was ended. Captain Henry went abroad in a hurry, and people said very unkind things concerning him. But Miss Anderson was evidently fond of him. However, after a while she appeared as pretty and cheerful as ever. She had a high spirit, and never let any one see how she felt his ab sence any more than she had regretted Mr. El liott, an elderly friend of her father, who had Offered to marry her, and to settle the Chap minster property on her. She wae lively, and rode to hounds in the New Forest country, and even with the Blackmore Vail, which they tell me is stiff, too. Mr. Hemphill on his part seemed quite hap py. Miss Anderson rode to the hounds to the very middle of April, and he wanted to marry her in June. Everything was preparing. Her father and mother often came over, and she same sometimes. She was certainly a fine girl, finch eyes I—bold black ones. Such lovely hair, and a figure which was, in her riding-hab it, perfection. Her manner was quiet and shy st first, but they told me she “ improved ” won derfully after awhile, and there was no daring er almost reckless thing she would not do if she wore defied to it. That is not my idea ol improvement, but being only a dressmaker, I hardly know. However, she came and stayed with the Car oowee, and Mr. Hemphill rode over day after day. One day it was very thundery and stormy, and just as the rain was beginning, into our lit tle house the young pair came for shelter. When the thunder stopped rolling they went in to the porch, and the day being hot and sultry, though only May, the house-door was open. I was washing things, and could hear their voices and sometimes even what they said, without minding. I declare now, after all these years, I can scarcely believe it was all true. The tones in which Miss Gladys contradicted poor Mr. Hemphill, and the mild, submissive way in which he put up with it all, astonished me. That anv man would behave as he did I couldn’t have believed I I’d like to see Charley put up with such “ tantrums ” as Miss Ander son’s! Now, I said to myself, I see the reason of Captain Henry’s and Mr. Elliott’s sudden “ crying oit” They could not put up with her temper, ot course,’and I wonder Mr. Hemphill did. He seemed airaid to contradict her. The shower passed. The sandy soil licked np the drops, and everything remained as S arched and dry as possible. A single match ropped in the underwood would have set the Whole plantation and all the grass in a blaze. The keepers were particularly desired to be on the watch for smokers, who might in a moment, by accident or for “fun,” set fire to the whole of the furze, and burn us up too. Mr. Hemphill and Miss Anderson were dis cussing this when Doctor Joliffe rode past, and stopped suddenly. He was a special friend of the Andersons, and often visited them, dined, and even slept there at times. Mr. Hemphill greeted him at once, but Mica Gladys looked sullen when he came up. “ I wish I had seen that fire,” Miss Anderson was saying; “I would give anything to see a good fire. “ Some day we will have another.” •• Have another I” cried Mr. Hemphill; “ you can’t mean that, Gladys 1” “I do mean it I hope we shall!” she re plied. “ What business is it of yours if I like a Bre ?” “My dear young lady,” Interrupted Doctor Jolliff, “ it is time we returned home. I will ac company you and tell you all the news. Never mind discussing the fire,” continued the loqua- S'ous doctor. “ Have you seen Captain Martyn enry, Mr. Hemphill ?” “ No; has he returned ?” inquired Mr. Hemp hill. But a look at Miss Anderson’s face made kirn pause. She was as pale as death, and was ttaring at Doctor Jolliffe as,if distraught. “Is there anything the matter, Gladys?” ask 'd Mr. Hemphill. “ You are ill; it is the weath er. We have walked too far, dear. Lot me support you.” "No, thank you,” she said coldly ; “ I can do veiy well alone. I was merely a little faint. Dr. Jolliffe, you will oome back to the Manor With ns ?’’ “ Mith pleasure, unless I shall be in the way. A third party sometimes is, you know, when young people are together—ha Iha !” “ I wish you would come; tete-a-tete is some times monotonous.” Mr. Hemphill looked hurt, as well ha might, and then the three walked away, Miss Anderson talking to the doctor, and Mr. Hemphill as quiet and silent as you please. When Charley came in he was in a terrible hurry. “Lot’s have tea, Lucy,” he said, almost be fore he was well in the house. “I must go out at once and keep an eye round the plantations. There has been some' • trippers ’ across to-day, and I doubt they’ll have left something after them, and the place is all as dry as tinder. A •park would burn us In our beds.” "So Mr. Hemphill was saying. Miss Gladys wanted to see a gorse-fire.” “Did she?” said Charley ironically. “Then, if she does, she won’t want long. Any day now the sun may do the trick. I'm rather nervous myself, Lucy. Here’s Simmons. Hallo, Sam 1” “How are you, Mr. Farmer 1 I’ve come with • message from the mistress. She wants your good lady to go up to the manor if she can, and see about some dresswork this evening. Can you come at once, Mrs. Farmer ?” “ I think I can. I’ll be sure to bo back. Do you think the girl can mind little Charley ?” “No, take him with you. It’s not far. He won’t hurt this evening. The girl is all very well when one of us is in the house, but I don’t trust ’em, Sam—not very far,” replied Charley. “ Then, Mr. Simmons, will you say I’ll come up at six o’clock, please ?’’ “ Yes, ma’am,” replied Sam; and so when we had had tea I dressed baby, and leaving Ann in charge, went up to the house. Oh I lam thank ful I took the child. Mrs. Cardewe made me stay and take tea with Mrs. Jones, the housekeeper, and she sent two of tha boys to find Charley, and tell him to come back to the Manor when his work was over, and fetch mo and baby. Then Mrs. Jones and I seated ourselves for a nice long chat, not that I care much for gossip, as a rule, but when with friends a little exchange of sentiments is pleas ant. “ So the captain is back,” I said, as I buttered the toast and put it on the table. “Ah I” said Mrs. Jonea, “so I hear. I wonder what will Miss Anderson do now ?” “ Why, marry Mr. Hemphill, 1 suppose,” I •Aid. “She’s engaged, isn’t she ?’’ “ Well, not formal. It's understood; but I dare say the captain will not see her. They were very fond of each other, [and every one said it was nearly settled.” “ Then whyever didn’t they get married ?” I asked. “ The captain must have had a reason for leaving-eh ? >f “Ah 1” responded Mrs. Jones, sighing; “ I’m afraid ho didn’t behave as he ought to have done. There was a talk about some debts ; and Ihiugi were said which I won’t repeat, for by- gones are bygones, Lucy, and we had best leave well alone.” “Then you think Miss Anderson will not marry Mr. Hemphill, after all? Poor Mr. Hemphill I” “Oh, I don’t say that! It’s a good match. The captain isn’t, I should say. But that’s noth ing when the young lady is in love—listen 1 who’s that?” “It’s Bill. What a fuss he’s in ! What’s the matter, Bill Swain ?” “ Oh, mum, awful, mum 1 Mr. Farmer he has sent me for help. The gorse is a-fire, and the plantation's in danger. It’s bad, that it isl” I jumped up and called the girl Emily. “ Here, Emily, hold baby till I come back. The gorse ia a-fire and Mr. Farmer in there. Quickl” I put on my things, and by the time I was ready the men and helpers were hurrying away to the place where the fire was. Tha smoke was already curling over the tree-tops, aud as we knew the whole place was as dry as tinder, the fire would spread rapidly. As I camo out, I saw Miss Anderson and Mr. Hemphill. He was trying to dissuade her. “ Gladys, my dearest —” “ Mr. Hemphill, please do not interfere. You have no right to prevent me—l will go to this fire. I particularly want to see it. You need not come unless you please.” He looked at her almost with tears in his eyes. But he was patient with her, and said: “Very well, dear, as you like.” She drew herself up Haughtily. I could have boxed her ears had she been my girl. He was too gentle with her. Some women don t value a man unless he is pretty hard with them, and poor Mr. Hemphill wasn’t hard enough for Miss Gladys. She set off by herself, and he followed her. The doctor and all the stablemen had already gone. Bill Swain camo with me. Round in the farmyard the men were calling out for help, aud the country was up. CHAPTER 11. THE GOBSE-MBB. Help 1 There was no want of help. All the men turned out—servants, grooms, boys, la borers. All hurried off toward the plantation, where, beyond the fir-wood, the flames, stirred by a westerly wind, were already advancing in their fiery progress. I left the baby with Emily and hurried off with the rest. We’ had not got clear of the high road before we could perceive the flames high in the air, and great rolling curls and puffs of smoke rising over the tree tops. Men with branches of trees, and spades aud forks, were running along the road, and then np the lane toward the furze common, which was well alight. The young trees were stand ing out dark in front of the fire. It was a grand sight, and one I shall not easily forget. A fine sight, indeed, but terrible 1 Beyond the belt of dame, in front of it, a num ber of men were endeavoring to cut away the trees and gorse so as to deprive the fire of its fuel. Close behind the flames, and at the sides, were men with branches of trees beating the fire out as well as they could. But more than once they had to retreat, as the tongues of fire darted suddenly at them, and licked up the grass and gorse almost under their feet. Three parties of men were converging toward an old decayed tree—a hollow, dry trunk, as dry as touch-wood. In a few minutes that tree would be in the very heart of the fire ; nothing could save it. Some animal—perhaps a pony or a calf—was running about there. We could not distin guish lor the smoke; it might have been a poor sheep. There was something white-looking, and then we heard a cry. Volumes of smoke ascended into the air, which was alive with sparks. The west wiud was carrying the fire toward our house, and I was thankful baby was safe at the Manor. The girl could easily escape, I believed. In various spots new lights were breaking ont as the burning fragments fell around. I thought of [my servant-girl, and hoped she had not caused this fire by any inadvertence. Then the wind suddenly changed, and we saw the fire spread. We waited and watched the great, towering flames. Mr. Hemphill, the doctor, and other gentlemen came rustling up, darting hither and thither, beating, calling, di recting. Mr. Cardewe, at the head of the la borers, was equally active. Tha fire was increasing. The solitary old oak was doomed. Nothing could save it. Poor old tree 1 Every one was sorry. It had been a landmark for years and years, and was called the “Ladies’ Tree.” There was some tradi tion, some old prophecy about it, as it marked Mr. Anderson’s property whore it was divided (torn Mr. Hemphill’s. I knew the legend well. It was to the effect that when the tree was dead the Hemphills would be childless— “ When passes away the Ladies’ Tree, No babes in Hemphill’s ball shall be.” The verse came into my mind, and 1 said to the lady’s maid, who had run out with the rest to see the sight: “ A poor look-out for Miss Gladys 1” But we had no time to talk much. The men, whether they believed in the legend or not, were doing all they could to prevent the fire from reaching the tree. They did not succeed. The flames seemed to rush round, and even to spring from the tree itself. We cried out, “Save the tree!” but no one could get near it, until the flames had united round the trunk and ut terly concealed it, so fierce wae thia famous “bush-fire.” “My gracious mo, Elizs, what’s that? Look I There is something in the tree I” I exclaimed. “ There is something alive I” “ Sure enough, it looks like it,” cried Eliza. “ See, it comes out 1 It’s a woman !” A cry of alarm and horror rent the air—a groan of anguish from all. The figure was now plainly seen—the woman was standing upon one of the lower branches, waving her hand wildly 1 It was Miss Anderson herself 1 She was call ing for help. Help, indeed I But it looked as if no help could ever reach her. I heard her voice plainly now; and—you will scarcely be lieve me—she was laughing, a queer, wild laugh. “ Save her 1 Save her I" screamed mon and women. But no one would venture. The flames formed a barrier impassable. Death—a cruel death awaited any one who crossed the terrible belt of fire, which roared and crackled like the furnace of Nebuchadnezzar. Mr. Anderson spurred his horse recklessly toward the belt of fire. The animal reared end nearly threw him. Miss Anderson had, as we supposed, got into the tree, thinking herself safe*, hut a sudden shift ot wind had carried the flames toward her, aud aha seemed doomed. “ Five hundred pounds to the man who will make the effort 1 Five hundred apiece to any of you!” One man had not waited. A man with his nose and mouth tied up in a wetted handker chief rushed through the smoke. It was Mr. Hemphill, true to the last But his courage was of no avail. He nearly reached the foot ot ths tree, but fell. Three men rushed in, but only two reached him; the third, black and scorched, came out again staggering, blinded, burned. The others did succeed in reaching him, and at the peril of their lives dragged Mr. Hemphill to the windward side of the flames, which were still roaring to leeward, as Charley said. We were all silent and horrified, when sud denly a loud shout came over the fields. A man riding a beautiful black horse leaped the hedge and dashed, spurring hard, across the common land. The horse was blindfolded, and rushed recklessly on. The rider scattered the work ers and spectators. They paused for a moment and then, with a cheer, the horseman plunged into the flame and smoko, which were passing away from the tree now at the base, but the tree itself was burning. In another moment the rider was off his horse, which rushed away blindly by itself. The gentleman swung him self into the smouldering tree with desperate courage, tore Miss Anderson from her place be tween the branches, where she sat, half insen sible, and lowered her to the greund. She fell in a heap, apparently dead. The gentleman dropped down, and lifted her np. By this time some laborers had summoned up courage too, and rushed in as the fire abated. Between them they lifted and carried off Miss Anderson, who was borne to our little house, quite insensible. I hurried after them, and met them at the door. There I came face to face with Captain Martyn Henry 1 He had saved Mies Anderson, then I Poor Mr. Hemphill 1 She remained insensible for some time, but we got her round by degrees ; aud in our house she romained'for three weeks. Mr. Hemphill called every day, and more than once a day, and at last was permitted to see her. She was sit ting up then, and gave him her band. You can imagine his greeting ; but she was very quiet, and scarcely spoke. At length, after a while, she said (I heard her; I couldn’t help it, as I was in the next room) : “Arthur, you have been very kind and brave. I hear you risked your life to save mine. How can I thank you ? You have suffered, too, I see. And for mo 1” • “ My darling, there is one way in which vou oan make me supremely happy. If you will’be come my wife—soon—dearest ” “ Ob, don’t, don’t, please 1 I cannot. Oh, Arthur—Mr. Hemphill—l oannot speak of that 1” “ Well, not just now, perhaps, Gladys, dar ling. But when you have quite recovered— when I am more presentable—then wo will ar range it all.” She murmured something, and thou she said, aloud, as it she had nerved herself to speak out: “ Arthur, would you think me very wicked if I said I eannot—l would rather not—marry yeu ? Oh, forgive me I I ean’t marry you; in deed, I can’t 1” Poor Mr. Hemphill's scarred face became white. I peeped out, and saw him kneel down and take her hand. •• Yeu do not lore me, Gladys I Is that the reason? I have fancied sowhen you were so harsh toward me. But I never thought that you would have consented to even a semblance of engagement unless ” “ No,” she interrupted ; “ I didn’t know—all. But now I do. I—cannot marry—you—be cause ” She blushed, hung her head,' and he finished the sentence for her. “ Because you love some one else. Is that so, Gladys ?” She merely bowed her head. Then he rose, and continued, in such a manly, yet tender voice: “ Gladys, my dearest, my hope in this world has been to call you my wile. You have flat tered me with the idea that you would be mine. But I have seen my error. Perhaps, had I res cued you, you might have love” NEW YORK DISPATCH, FEBRUARY 14, 1886. “Oh, no, no!’’ cried Miss Anderson. “In deed, I always liked you, but when I consented to try and love you my heart had already gone. I told you that.” “ Yes, you did ; and this man Martyn Henry is my rival still. Oh, my darling, must I give you up ? Give me one word of hope. What, not a word ? Not one ? Oh, Gladys, Gladys ! I have worshipped you. My whole heart is yours, and you deny me even a crumb of comlort. A J is over. Is it really true ?—really true?” The tears were running down her cheeks. His eyes were dry, but so mild and sad, as he turned away. “Good-by, Gladys. Our first meeting for three weeks, and our last forever ! God bless you, and—forgive you 1” Ho kissed her and went out, leaving her in a tprrent of tears. I believe she cared more for him at that minute than she ever bad done be fore. I know she declined even to see the cap tain when he called with her father. Poor Mr. Hemphill I He went away almost immediately. Miss An derson soon got about, and became really en gaged to Captain Martyn Henry again, and will marry him iu the Autumn, as all has been made up, “ they ” say I I wonder why he went away ! I will find out some day. But here is the end of Mr. Hemphill’s love-story. a dmaticTtoest. A STORY TOLD BY AN OLD CALIFORNIAN. A representative of the press overheard a story which was narrated one evening early in the week by one ot a party of gentlemen who were engaged in listening to the stories of the speaker, of life on the frontier, and the trials and incidents of the miners’ camp. The person who was entertaining the party was apparently fifty years of age, whose weather-beaten coun tenance betokened the fact that his life had been passed out of doors, and whose powerful frame and brawny fists indicated that, although past life’s meridian, he was still in the heydey of his strength. He formerly lived in Indiana, and was homo on a visit after thirty years' absence in the far West, most of the time having been spent in the mines of California, Arizona and New Mexico. “ Talk about romantic stories 1” said he. “If you’ve got time to listen, I will tell you some thing that happened during the early days of California, and of which I was myself a witness. It happened over thirty years ago, in the Spring of ’54, and at a time when there was no more government in that part of California than there is now in the heart of Africa. All the ‘govern ment’ the miners knew was that of their own Vigilance Committee, of which every man was a member except those who needed watching and were not permitted to join. I was little more than a boy, an overgrown Hoosier, but, like thousands of others, I was smitten with the gold-fever in ’49 and pulled out for the western Eldorado as soon as I could get away. I drifted about from place to place until I finally wound up on a little claim on the north fork of the Sal mon river, just over the Trinity mountains from Weaverville, and that is where this thing occur red. The miners were scattered along the fork pretty nearly all the way from the forks of Saw yer’s Bar, and it wasn’t a very difficult matter to get a crowd together in case the Vigilantes had work on hand. The signal for summoning the boys on such occasions was a peculiar whistle, and no matter what they were doing, just let the whistle sound, and the prospect of hanging a sluice-robber or a cut-throat was generally suffi cient attraction to cause them to drop work and report at headquarters. Sluice-robbers were plenty in that locality, and the whistle was heard with considerable frequency. “ One evening along in the Spring, it was just growing dark and the miners were quitting work for the day, when the sound ot the whistle was heard. We all listened and located the place from whence the sound came. Other whistles took it up, and the signal was echoed from hill to hill, apprising the boys ot the lact that there was work on hand. It did not take long, I tell you, for a crowd of two or three hundred excited miners to gather at the cabin where the whistle was sounded, and great was the surprise on learning that Mose Rodacker, a miner, had been found murdered in his cabin. There he lay, beside the fireplace, at which he had evidently been preparing supper, his eyes wide open and staring with aghast y glare that was appalling. A knife was sticking in his breast, buried to the hilt, which was convincing proof that he had been murdered. There was a decided air of mystery about the whole affair. Rodacker had lived alone, and had neither friends nor enemies, so far as any one knew, and tho result of his day’s work, a panful of washings, lay before him untouched. Evident ly he had not been murdered for his money, and there was no apparent explanation of the crime, but the boys got their heads together, and two or three of us remembered having seen a stranger in the neighborhood two or three times during th© day, and suspicion naturally enough rested on him. Several of the miners instituted a search for the stranger, and an hour after brought him into camp. “ He was a nice-looking young fellow, appar ently not over twenty years old, with a face as smooth as a baby’s, and little delicate ha ids that showed pretty conclusively that he was no miner, used to handling a pick and shovel. He was dressed in ordinary rough clothes, wearing a miner’s blue flannel shirt As soon as he was brought m he was accused of tho murder, and placed on trial before the committee. He wae pretty roughly handled by the men, and I no ticed that he winced considerably as they shoved him about from place to place and final ly bumped him up and down between two big fellows who held his arms. “The fellow made no effort to get away, and had no more strength than a boy, but that made no difference to tho men. They handled him roughly just the same. They found blood stains on his clothes, and the sheath in his belt was empty. That was enough to convict a preacher before that kind of a jury, and it didn’t take long for them to bring in a ver dict.” Here the speaker paused and relit his pipe, sending a cloud of smoke about his head. “What was the verdict?” asked one of his hearers. “What was it?” Same old thing. Never wrb but one verdict returned by the vigilantes, no matter what the crime of which the prisoner was accused. Death 1 The spokesman got up and announced to the captive that he was to be hanged by the neck until he was dead. The boy turned as pale as a ghost, and without a word or a sound fell backward from the log on which he sat in a dead faint. Two or three of the men jumped forward to his assistance; one of them ran to the sluice and brought a hatful of water to sprinkle on his face, and another fanned him—but to no purpose; tho fellow didn’t revive. “Unbutton his shirt-collar.” said one. One of the boys stooped over and unbuttoned the collar, turning back the folds as he did so. Suddenly he jumped back, paler than the boy himself. “ My God, it’s a woman 1” said he, and his bat came off as reverentially as though he had stepped into a church. It was whispered around among tha boys in short order, and the surprise was general, I can tell you. In those days there were no women in California except in the cities, and most of them who were there were none of the best, and the fact that there was a woman in our midst was enough to aston ish us. But this only deepened the mystery about the murder, and we were as far from an explanation of it as we were before discovering the sex of the prisoner. A few moments later she recovered from her swoon and resumed her quiet demeanor. The men, of course, wanted to know the reason of her appearance in that disguise, and what connection, if any, her presence had with the murder. A commit tee was appointed to take her aside and to hear what she had to say, and to them she told her story: “A few years ago,” said she, “I lived with my father, mother and sister on our farm in Missouri. Wo were as happy together as any family ever were, and didn’t know anything at all about the real meanness of men. One day there came to our house a nice-looking young man, who wanted to work on the farm. Mother did not like his appearance, and begged father not to take him, but we needed help on the place, and in spite of mother’s protest he was taken into the family. He was a nice young man, apparently, and father took a great liking to him, taking him into the house and treating him exactly like a member of the family. After a while he began courting me, and I fell in love with him, fool that I was. We were to be mar ried and remove to the West to live, but we kept all our plans strictly to ourselves, I not even telling my sister at his request. I thought that she liked him, too, but I knew we were en gaged, so 1 preferred to say nothing at air to anyone on the subject. After a while he began going to the city with father, and we noticed that on those occasions the old man would come home under the influence of liquor. Matters went on from bad to worse, until father became a confirmed drunkard and had to give up the farm. A short time afterward the young man disappeared without a word of warning or ex planation. One day my sister came to me and told me in confidence that she was to have been married to him shortly, and that she was about to become the mother et his chili. He had be trayed us both ! A few months later my sister died in giving birth to her baby, and father was committed to au insane asylum. I staid with mother until she died, a year later, of a broken heart. “ Then I took a solemn oath that sooner or later I would find that man and kill him for his perfidy, if it was the last act of nay life. I heard nothing of him for another year, when 1 learned by chance he was in the California mines, so I came to this State, and, disguised as a man, searched among the mines some months until I found him. When I found out where he was I went to his cabin and awaited his return. Shortly after ho came in I told him who I was, and sent my knife to his heart, as I had sworn to do. Mose Rodacker was tiiat naan, aud it was I who killed him.” When the committee returned with the pris oner and told her story to the men, there wasn’t a dry eye among them alt Did we hang her ? Well, I should say not I No, sir; that girl could have called on that crowd for every cent that was in it, and the request would have been granted. When wo asked her what she wanted to do, and whore she was going, she replied it was a matter of indifference to her. “The object for which I lived has been ac complished,” said she, “ and I don’t care what I do. I have no home—no one to whom to go. Hang me, if you like.” But we had no such idea. Instead of doing that we passed the hat around among the boys and took np a collection amounting to several hundred dollars, which we forced her to accept. We sent her with the next pack train to Yreka, from whence she could easily get down to Sac ramento and the white settlements. I never board of her again. Rodacker was buried with out a regret, and over his grave one of the boys placed a board, on which he had carved with ins jack-knife: “ Hero lies a man who received his just re ward.” HUMOR OF THE HOUR. BY THE DETROIT FREE PRB33 FIEND. SHE KNEW IT. As the morning train going west drew up at Brighton the other day an old lady with the le gendary satchel was helped aboard the coach by the brakeman. Instead of entering it she passed into the smoking car and took a seat. Pretty soon the brakeman jfut his head into the door and called out: “Madam, this is the smoking-oar.” “ Yes,” she replied, as she investigated her satchel. “ The rear coach is for ladies.” “ Yes.” As she made no move toward changing cars the official stepped np to her and said: “ Madam, the next coach is for ladies.” “I know it,” she replied. “This is the smoking-car.” “ Don't I know it 1” she snapped, "and didn't I come in here to take a smoke 1 Do you sup pose I haven’t traveled enough to know what car to get into when I want to raise the wind off my stomach with a few whiffs at the pipe 1” She leaned over and took a lighted cigar from the man ahead, touched off her pipe and after blowing out a few whiffs of blue smoke she quietly observed: “ That’s why I never travel on the accommo dation train. It never has no decent place to smoke in.” THE WRONG MAN. “ Excuse me,” he said, as he halted a gentle man in the corridor of the City Hall, “ but will you lend mo your eye-glasses a moment. He put them on hie nose to read a letter, and returned them with: “ Thanks 1 Have you the correct timo ? Ah 1 Ten-thirty 1” He set his watch and confidentially inquired; “ Haven’t any tobacco about yon, eh ?” He was handed a box, and after helping him self to a liberal share, he remarked : “I want to mail a letter in the box here, but I find I have no postage-stamps. If you ?” He was handed a stamp. When he had licked it on aud mailed his letter, he said ; " I’m going up Michigan avenue to Twelfth street. Do you happen to have a couple of street-car tickets ?” “ Sir 1 This is too much 1” exclaimed the other. “lean stand about so much, but after that ” “ There 1 there 1 Beg your pardon 1 How did I know you drew the line on street-car tickets ? No offense—none in the least. I’ll take your name and make a memorandum of where your generosity ceases, and this thing sha’n’t happen again. I mistook you for a gen tleman who draws the line on paying for the coupe, when I ask myself up to his house to supper.” HUNTING STORIES. A gentleman by the name of Johnson, of Da viess county, Ind., who has been quite a hunter, told a story that once on a time he saw a fine turkey gobbler on a tree, and, taking surejaim, he fired. Being a good shot, and the tnrkey not far off, he was surprised that it flew away. Going under the tree on which the turkey sat, it was found that he had shot the fowl’s head clear from the body, while the latter had flown away. A bystander declared it was true, for, said he, “I was coon hunting in the same woods. John son shot the turkey’s head off and tho turkey flew away,<and by the light of the moon I dis covered a very large, fine coon. Taking a good aim.l fired, and down came ” “ The coon ?” inquired several vofpes. “ No—his tail. I had shot it clear from the body.” “ And did you get the coon ?” “No-o-o. It skipped by the light of the moon.” IN A FIX. “ Water’s frozen up,” said a boy as he en tered a Woodward avenue plumber’s shop yes terday. “ Very well.” “ Ma wants you to come right up.” “ I’m afraid wo can’t get there for a day er two. You’ll have to borrow from your neigh bors.” “ We can’t do it.” “ Are they frozen, too ?” “ I dunno; but the woman on one side is mad at us because we’ve put a bay-window on our house, and ma’s mad at the other because she’s got a seal-skin sacqus, I guess we are in a fix.” THEY WERE DELEGATES. She was a lean, scrawny woman, and she took the seat the third back from the stove. He was short and fat, and sat opposite to her. As soon as the coach door was closed the car began to heat up, and presently he snapped his fingers at the brakeman and said: “For Heaven’s sake, open some ol those ven tilators I” “ Don’t you do it 1” exclaimed tho woman. “Do you think I want to melt?” demanded the man, as he wheeled to lace her. “Do yon think I want to freeze ?” she de manded in turn. “ Madam,” said the tat man, after earetully surveying her, “if I wae a mass of bones I’4 carry a hot brick when I traveled.” “ Oh, you would 1 If I was a mass of pork I would carry a hunk of ice with me.” The brakeman went into the smoking-oar to be clear of the storm, and tho fat man got up and opened the door. He had scarcely returned to his seat, when the lean woman got up and closed it. “ Madam 1” ••Sir I” “ I want that door open !” “And I want it shut 1” Jnst then a passenger came down the aisle from the other end of tho car and shook hands with each in turn and said : “ Mrs. Cassowary, this is Mr. White. I sup pose you are both delegates to tha conven tion ?’’ “ Ah 1 Mrs. Cassowary, I beg your pardon.” “Ah 1 You can have the door open. Mr. White.” “By no means.” “I insist.” “But allow mo to give way. 1 ' And they roasted us until we had to go ont on the platform to keep from running to grease. HOW BILL LIT THE FIRE. " Mebbe you’ve seen my boy Bill hanging around here I” queried a farmer of apoliceman at the Central Market yesterday. '• Bte’e a com mon-looking chap, a little bow-backed, and has red mittens, a blue comforter, and a scared look.” “I saw such a chap about an hour ago, but he’s a man grown.” “ So’s Bill. He’s as big as anybody, but he don’t know nuthin’. The other morning he got up to start the fire, and oome to look around, he couldn’t find a match in the house. It’s half a mile to the nearest naybur s, and what did that smart son of mine do? He put the kindling into the cook stove, tucked some paper under it and then got down the shot-gun to try a bril liant experiment. He thought the flame of the powder would set the kindlings going and save him a tramp.” “ And didn’t it?” “Why, the long-legged ignoramus never etopped to see if the gnu wasn’t already loaded, when, as a matter of fact, ehe had a big charge of powder and a handful of buckshot already down. Whsn that gun went off the report riz everybody out of bed in a twinkling, and away went all tho glass in tho kitchen windows. We haven’t got the house fairly clear of smoke and ashes yet, while the charge of ehot blew the whole back of the stove out.” “ What did the boy do?” •• He was lying on his back on the floor when I got down. I got some water and put out the conflagration in his hair and eye-brows and goatee, and then I led him to the back door and gave him a lift which lit him over a snow-drift six feet high. I guess I was a little too hasty. I heard he came to town, and I thought I’d hunt him up and sort o’ apologize.” At that moment Bill came around a corner of tho butcher market, and the father held out his hand aud said : “Bill, you are the biggeet fool in the State of Michigan, but you oan oome back home all the same 1” “ Do you want me to ?” “ Sartin. You don’t know ’nuff to chaw gum, and it’s a wonder you hain’t bin bit by cats since you left home. Git iu thar’ and mind the team, while I go and price a new cook-stove.” A WOJ(DhRFUL_CRIPPLE. HOW A CELEBRATED HORSE WAS KEPT GOING. Everything that appertains to the King of the American Turf, Freeland, is read at this time with great interest, and the following account of how that wonderful old cripple has been kept on the turf for so many seasons back, as given by Vauban in a recent issue of the Horseman, will bo eagerly read by turfmen: Did you ever hear how Corrigan kept Free land on his legs ? That is a question I often hear asked, for the gelding hasn't a sound leg under bins. You must have noticed how Cor rigan rubs him after every race all over his body with the contents ol a big bottle. One day last year I was watching this operation, won dering what the preparation consisted of, when I thought I smelled witch hazel, and asked a trainer standing by if that was what Corrigan used. “Of course It is,” said tho trainer. "He rubs the horse all over with it after every race he runs.” “ Isn’t it a new dodge ?” I asked him. “ Not exactly,” he answered. “ It’s been known a long time; it takes ths stiffness and soreness out ot tho muscles. Doctors say it re laxes tho muscles, but nobody uses it as freely as Corrigan.” "Do you suppose it is its use that gets him ont of his lameness ?” I asked. “No; Corrigan uses others, I believe. He rubs the old horse s lege with it. When he comes ont you’ll notice he’s stiff and sore in his legs, but Corrigan rubs with the ether, gives him a canter, and it’s surprising to see how he’ll warm out ol his lameness.” "If that’s the case, how is it trainers gener ally do not use it ?” I inquired. “ Well, they all haven’t so bad a case as Freeland. Beside, you know trainers are queer about taking up new ideas or ‘experiments,* as they call them. Corrigan is a man who tries everything. The horse is his own and he can do as he likes; trainers have their employers bothering them, and ii anything happened they’d be blamed.*’ I must own the above conversation made quite an impression upon me. It was some thing new, aud I followed it up. Some time after I happened to meet a man who is pretty intimate with Corrigan, and asked him about it. “ Oh, a good deal of it is talk,” he answered. “But doesn’t he use those articles?”! in quired. “ Yes, 1 suppose hq does. Ed's an original fellow; he’ll muss and fuss around that old horse and use all sorts of things.” “ But do you think the use of these things has anything to do with keeping Freeland on his feet?” “ No; it’s the soak tub. He keeps the horse standing in the tub nearly all the time. He uses warm fomentations to keep the legs from filling, then claps him into cold water. That hardens the legs, and keeps all the good he gets from the hot water. I guess you’ll find there's more good in the tubs of water than there’s in barrels of witch hazel, ether and such things.” The Last Days of the Year 1000. EXPECTATION IN~ CHRISTIAN COUNTRIES UNIVERSAL. It was believed in the Middle Ages that the world would come to an end at the expiration of one thousand years of the era. The year 1000 was a year of suspense, terror and awe. The histories of this dark period give vivid accounts and incidents of the state of the people under the influence of this awful apprehension. A writer reproduces the picture with much dis tinctness, aud relates an incident ot the manner that the hours were numbered on the supposed final night of that year. When the last day of the year 999 dawned the madness bad attained its hight. All work of whatever kind was suspended. The market places were deserted. The shops were shut. The tables wore not spread for meals ; the very household fires remained unlit Men, when they met in the streets, scarcely saw or spoke to one another. Their eyes had a wild stare in them, as though they expected every moment some terrible manifestation to take place. Silence prevailed everywhere except in the churches, which were already thronged with eager devotees, who prostrated themselves be fore the shrines of their favorite saints, implor ing their protection during the fearful scenes which they supposed were about to be dis played. As the day wore on, the number of those who sought admission grew greater and greater, until every corner ot the sacred edifi es, large as they were, was densely crowded, and it be came impossible to find room for more. But the multitude outside stall strove and clamored for admission, filling the porches and door ways, aud climbing up the buttresses to find refuge ou the roofs, which they could not obtain inside. A strange and solemn commentary on the text which binds men to watch because they " know not whether the Master of the house will come at even orCat midnight, or at the cock crowing or in the morning,” was presented by the multitudes which filled the churches that night. Watch m very truth they did. Not an eye was closed throughout that lengthened vigil; not a knee but was bent in humblest sup plication; not a voice but joined In the peniten tial chant, or put up a fervid entreaty for help and protection. There were no clocks in those days, but the flight of the hours was marked by great waxen tapers with metal balls attached at intervals to them. These fell, one after another as the flame reached the strings by which they were secured, into a brazen bazin beneath, with a clang which resounded through the church. At the recurrence,of each of these warning sounds the awe of the vast assembly seemed to deepen and intensify, as each in terrible sus pense supposed that between him and the out burst of Divine wrath only the briefest interval now remained. At last the night, long as it was, began to draw to an end. The chill which precedes day light pervaded the air, and in the eastern sky the first pale gleam of morning began to show itself. The light grew stronger in the heavens, and the flame of the candles paled befere it, and at last the rays of the risen sun streamed through the windows on the white, anxious faces of the watchers. The night had passed away. A new day, a new oentury had begun. The text that says that “ no man knoweth the day nor the hour,” had a new meaniug. CHIN ESE~ PEDDLERS. "VELLY HUNGLY—NO CATCHEE CHOW-CHOW.” A correspondent was sitting with some bro ther officers of the United States ship “ Dash,” in front of the English hotel in Batavia, Java, and was approached by a forlorn-looking China man, who had a sword-cane in his hand. “ Want buy?” said he, bowing profoundly to the group. The others paid no attention to him, but I, being somewhat inexperienced in the ways of the “ childlike and bland,” took pity on him and asked him his price. "Six doll ah,” ho said. ••Six dollars 1” I exclaimed. “ That’s too much.” •• Velly fine sword-cane. Chinaman velly hungly, whined he, plaintively. “ Melican help hungly man alloe time. Five dollah, sav?” “ No,” said I. ‘‘ Five dollars is too much. 1 ' “Four dollah—little, little four dollah I” per sisted the miserable-looking object Still I was firm in my belief that I could buy a sword-cane for much less, it I really needed one, and declared that I would not pay lour dollars. “ Tlee dollar ? Two dollah ? One dollah ?” groaned the beggar. Then, as I shook my head, in obedience to a stealthy wink from a lieutenant sitting near and watching the progress of the trade, the fel low began to cry, “ No catches chow-chow two, tlee day! Velly hungly 1 Die 1 No catches chow-chow, die 1 Fifty cent ?” I relented, and agreed to buy it for fifty cents. But an investigation of my purse showed noth ing but a ten-dollar gold piece. “ I can’t take it after all,” said I, regretfully. Imagine my amazement whea, alter one keen glance at my “ eagle,” the Chinaman dived down his sleeve and brought out a double handful of silver, counted nine dollars and, fifty cents out ot the pile, took my gold piece, handed me the cane, and turned away with a placid smile and a bow, amid the shouts and laughter of my companions 1 The lieutenant then offered me his arm and took me to a neighboring shop, where there was a shelf full of sword-canes just like mine, for twenty-five cents apiece 1 GOOD CHANGES. HOW TO SELECT THEM. (From the Philadelphia Inquirer.) To very many an orange is an orange, the only variation distinguishable being is size and corresponding price, while those who know the difference between Florida, Seville and Messina oranges are considered experts. The “Florida Catechism” tells us better than that. We learn from it that there are over thirty varieties of sweet oranges, not to mention the “natural stock,” which is a larger and handsomer fruit than the sweet orange, and is excellent for orangeade and marmalade, but being very sour, is seldom shipped North. The medium sizes are apt to be the choicest, and probably the very sweetest orange that is marketed is the rusty-coated and rather ill-looking orange, which might bo considered inferior by an ama teur. Furthermore: “ The way to detect oranges is to ‘heft’ them in your hands; pick out the thin-skinned, heavy iruit, and you are all right.” The light-weight fruit is apt to be juicelees—a condition caused either by a slight freesing while on the tree, or. more probably, by the poverty ol the soil in which it grow. All this applies to the sweet oranges. The “ kid-glove ” oranges are grown in Flori da from two stocks brought, respectively, from China and Tangiers. Hence they are called Man darin and Tangerine oranges. Both are small; the skin is loose and easily removed, and the sections fall apart so readily that a lady can eat one without soiling her gloves; hence the name. Some other interesting bits of informa tion may be picked out from this “ Catechism.” It is not generally known, for instance, that “an orange that is entirely dead ripe in De cember will hang on the tree until March, and is ready at any time to be picked and shipped;” while so far from deteriorating, “ the longer they hang on the trees the sweeter they grow,” and Florida oranges, purchased in February and March, are therefore apt to be better than those procured early in the season. Again, the notion that to know what an orange is really like, one must go where the oranges grow, ap pears to be a popular fallacy, as we are told that “ the orange picked from the tree is no riper or better than the orange on the fruit stalls in the North.” THE MODER NSHAKEBPEARE MAN IS TESTY, AND ANGEB RED DENS HIS NOSE. “Dids’t hear the temperance advocate last night, Henrico ?” “ Aye, good lady, that I did 1" “ And dids’t thou note the glimmer of his nose ?” “ Such was me privilege, Andromeda. A sun that glowed as ruddily as that would be ad judged prophetic of a drought; I would not thus accuse this nasal orb.” “Is’t, then, indigenous to such as he—this crimson focus i’ the frontal disc ?” “ I hear ’tis native to the soil, me love, and if it be, it should our gibes escape, for knowest not the poet’s statement that there is ‘ divinity which shapes our ends, rough-he w them as we will;’ and ift be so we cannot criticize this salient end, e’en tho’ it be, indeed, conspicu ous.” “ Rough-live, then, seems a pat expression, boy; it fits the subject of discussion well. But tell me, pray, doth nasal attribute, such as ar raigned the lecturer last night, always bespeak the fact that such as he know best the ills whereof they do exclaim ?” •• It doth give color to the hint, i’ faith, tho’ oftentimes it may dissemble truth. The nose, an’t please thee, is a talesman strange. From pulpit its irradiant glow may mean the fiery efflux of the kindled soul; in forum its effulgence may express the well-read jurist coming to the front; in female feature it may advertise the blush that elsewhere powder has forbade; but in the politician, gentle one, the rich carna tion of a nasal bulb is but the symbol of the auctioneer—who so doth wear it ’twill be found for sale.” Dreadful Stabbing Encounter in Sicily. —A deed of blood committed at Portem pedode, near Girgenti, gives an illustration of the use of the knife in the island of Sicily. Two butchers, father and son, of the name of Indeli cate, who kept a shop in that town, not long since took two brothers named Alfonso and Gio vanni Oannetoni into partnership, te enable them the better to compete with a rival estab lishment. At first there was a great show of friendship between the partners, but beiore long the Cannetonis began to trade in lambs’ car casses separately on their own account, and dis agreements arose, which ultimately led to a collision between Baldassare Indelicate and Al fonso Cannetoni. They drew their butcher’s knives from their belts on each other. Alfonso aimed a well-directed blow at Baldassare. He parried it with his left arm, which was cut to the bone, and at the same instant drove his knife into the heart of Alfonso, who fell dead on the spot. At that moment a young son of Al fonso, aged nineteen, came up with a bludgeon to his father’s assistance. Baldassare struck him to the ground, and then cut his throat across, as ho would have slaughtered a sheep. Mad with rage, Baldassare then rushed into the shop, and taking Giovanni, the brother of Alfonso, by surprise, killed him with a slash across the ab domen before he had even time to cry “ God help me 1” Turning then to leave the shop, he inflicted a serious wound on a person just en tering. All this occurred within the space of four minutes, the result of the collision being three persons killed and two wounded. A Most Singular Reptile.— “ There are some curious cases among the geckos,” said a Los Angeles county naturalist to a reporter for the San Francisco Cal/. “ Here is one, dead, that is called the leaf-tailed gecko. You see the tail bulges out soon after leaving the body and assumes a leaf or arrow shape ; hence the name of the animal. Now, when the little creature is chased you will see it dodge ar .mud a limb and hold up the curious deaf-like tail. That is all you can see, and so, naturally, would think it a part ot the tree itself. But this lizard has a more remarkable method of escape yet. We will imagine that you have tried to pluck the leaf. The animal drops clumsily to the ground and darts away ameng the rocks where it at tracts the attention of the hawks that are for ever prowling around. Immediately a chase ensues ; the bird gains and is finally about to fiounce upon its prey, when, all at once, two izards appear, one making off while the other dances up and down into the air and along the ground in a very mysterious way, so that the astonished bird stops and looks. In the mean time the original lizard escapes ; the other, that is really the tail, soon becomes quiescent. You see the gecko has the faculty of throwing off its tail when hard pressed, and while the pursuer’s attention is drawn to the squirming member the animal itself escapes.” “But it loses its tail?” suggested the reporter. “ Only for a time. They can reproduce this organ, and, curiously enough, sometimes two tails are produced in stead of one.” The Sea Serpent Again.—From ad vices brought by the last arriving Cape mail steamer,it would eeem that thetereat sea mystery the sea serpent, has just made its appearance in South African waters. In this instance it was not seen to the terror of the sailor, but was ob served from the shore. According to the dis patch a huge monster was observed about Oct. 1, in the afternoon, in Morewood’s Bay, Umhla li, by eight or nine people. It was first seen seven or eight miles from the shore, swimming in a very erect manner. From the first sight it seemed as if there were two fish, but a closer inspection proved that the rear one was the tail of the serpent. According to the account fur nished by those who witnessed the sight, the monster appeared to proceed at the rate of about eight miles an hour, sccasionally plung ing into the water, making a noise as it a sea was breaking heavily on an open shore, and causing foam te extend about twenty yards on cither side of it. It appeared to be about fif teen or twenty feet out of the water, and its whois length was computed at not less than 90 or 100 feet. Fins like immense bars were seen striking the water on either side. It bad a large stripe down the body, the remaining portion be ing ot a dirty yellowish color. ggfgl A Rabbit Skin Scalp.—Says a Hart ford dispatch to the Boston Herald: Tho sur geons at the City Hospital are making a curious experiment in their endeavors to renew the scalp of Rosanna Flynn. Her scalp was wholly torn off in a Collinsville factory last August. For months the engrafting upon the cranium of small pieces of human skin has been in pro gress, the bits not exceeding in size the dimen sions of a silver 5-cent piece. Eventually ths hospital attendants became tired of contributing these bits of skin from their own persons, and especially as the woman was so careless so to hinder the progress of the work by striking her head against objects. The physicians, there fore, have resorted to bits of rabbit skin Instead of the human cuticle, and with fairly good suc cess. Ths skin is built up around the edges, and there is quite an island, so to speak, of mingled human and rabbit skin on the top of the head. The aim of the doctors is to units this with the edges below, and while thev an ticipate success they don’t look for it under a year, at least. Relics of Pompeii.—A museum has been erected in Pompeii, in which are preserved plaster casts of some of the people who perished in the eruption. These people were covered up by the fine ashes just where they fell, and in the position in which they died. These ashes hardeded, and, although the bodies, with the exception of a few bones, entirely disappeared in the course of ages, the hollow places left in the ashes were exactly the shape of the forms and features of the persons who had been there. An ingenious Italian conceived tho idea of boring into these hollow molds and filling them up with liquid plaster of Paris. When this became dry and hard the ashes wore re moved, and there were the plaster images of the persons who had been overtaken and destroyed before they could escape from that terrible storm of hot ashes, which came down in quantities sufficient to cover a whole city from sight In some of these figures the fea tures are very distinct, and one can even dis tinguish the texture ot their clothes and the rings upon their fingers. The Mad Dog’s Bite. —A correspond ent writes to the London Daily chronicle: While we find Parisians frightening themselves into proposing dog-poisoning clubs, and their cruel death by strychnine meat-balls, may I draw your attention to Dr. Buisson’s treatment of hydrophobio patients by Russian vapor baths ? He thus cured himself, of madness from a dog’s bite, and afterward was equally successful with numerous patients. This sim ple yet scientific practice is now being intro duced into England, and it will be rapidly ex tended, while a few friends announce their wil lingnees to pay for any needy hydrophobic suf ferer. I would earnestly advise all humane persons to make this valuable remedy widely known. On the first day of illness Dr. Buisson affirms the cure is certain. In mercy let no suf ferer be ignorant of such a boon I All may be encouraged by the words of the celebrated’ late Sir Thomas Watson, who in his “ Principles of Medicine ” declares that it he had the misfor tune to be bitten he would wish to be put into a hot-air bath. How TO Make Good Tea.—A corres pondent of The Grocer writes recommending the following system of making tea: First, put the desired quantity of tea (one spoonful for each person, and one for the pot) into a small muslin bag, which drop into the teapot, alter thoroughly warming and drying the latter, then pour sufficient boiling water into the teapot, and let it stand for about five minutes; after which, extract the muslin bag containing the tea-leaves, and then the tea may be poured out, and drank with real satisfaction. The advantages of this system are that the second and third cup will be found equal to the first; that the tannin and ether properties of tea not considered beneficial are left in the muslin bag, and that the consum er gate a beverage which in this case may be described with perfect truth as “ cheering, but not inebriating.” A Household Ayer’s Pills are invaluable for children, and should always be kept ready for use i in case of an emergency. ** I have used j Ayer’s Pills, In my family, for the past 1 fifteen years. I give them to my children, i in preference to any other physic, and ; always with satisfactory results. We i consider this medicine a household neces sity, and would not be without it.—B. F. i Stevenson, Yonkers, N. Y. I have used Ayer’s Cathartic Pills, In my family, for ten years. They are I pleasant aua safe to take, and agree with ; MY CHILDREN better than any medicine known to me. ‘ For stomach, liver, and bowel complaints, 1 I consider Ayer’s Pills unequalled.— Mrs. Helen H. French, Jackson, Mich. I have used Ayer’s Pills for over twenty years, and am never without them. As a . family medicine they are unsurpassed.— Jefferson S. Tennis, New Hampshire, O. . I have used Ayer’s Pills many years, in : my practice and in my family, and have I found them entirely" satisfactory as a < cathartic medicine. — George E. Waller, 1 M. D., Martinsville, Va.- AYER S SI CATHARTIC PILLS, Prepared by Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass. Sold by Druggists. Price $1; six boUke, Shortness of Time in Dreams.—Ona of the most remarkable phenomena connected with dreams is the shortness of time needed for their consummation. Lord Brougham says that in dictating a man may ire iiiently fall asleep after uttering a tew words, and be awakened«by the amanuensis repeating the last word to show that he hu written the whole ; but though flv4 or six seconds only have elapsed between th® delivery of the sentence and its transfer to pa per, the sleeper may have passed through a dream extending through half a lifetime. Lord Holland and Mr. Babbage both confirm this theory. The one was listening to a friend read ing aloud, and slept from the beginning of th® sentence to the latter part of the sentence imme diately succeeding; yet, during this time he had a dream, tbs particu ars of which would have taken more than a quarter of an hour to write. Mr. Babbage dreamed a succession of events, and woke in time to hear the concluding words of a friend’s answer to a question he had just put to him. One man was liable to feelings of suffocation, accompanied by a dream of a skeleton grasping his throat whenever he slept, in a lying posture, and had an attendant to wake him tho moment he sunk down. But, though awakened the moment he began to sink, that time snfileed for a long struggle with the skeleton. Another man dreamed that he crossed the Atlantic, spent a fortnight in America, and fell overboard when embarking to return ; yet his sleep had not lasted more than ten minutes. Hired Nurses in Paris Hospitals.— So far the (hired nurses who have taken ths places of the Sisters of Charity in the hospitals have not gained, m contrast with their prede cessors. Several mishaps have occurred, end ing in the deaths of patients. Tho latest disas ter of this kind exceeds the others in the gravi ty of its features. A respectable woman, named Senart, went as an in-patient to the Hopital St. Antoine tor cancer of the breast Some nights ago the nurses were carousing, when one of them suddenly remembered that a powder had been ordered to be administered to the patient in question. The powder was hastily made up, but instead of the sulphate of magnesia ordered oxalite of potassium was used. The nurse gave the powder in water, and the patient fell back in convulsions. The nurse, however, thinking this arose from repugnance, added some more water, and, holding the head of the unfortunate woman, forced the poison down her throat. Death naturally ensued. Efforts were made to hush up the affair and avoid a police inquiry. Dr. Bronardel, however, made a post-mortem examination, when the truth came out.—Chron icle Correspondent. The Force of Imagination. —Dr. Bed does, an English physician of great enthusiasm, had imbibed the notion that palsy could be cured by inhaling nitrous oxide gas. He re quested the celebrated Sir Humphrey Davy to administer the gas to one of his patients, and sent him to him for that purpose. Sir Hum phrey put the bulb of the thermometer under the tongue of the paralytic, to ascertain the tem perature of the body, so that he might see whether it would be at all affected by the inha lation of the gas. The sick man, filled with faith, from the assurances of the ardent Dr. Beddoes, and snpposiug that tho thermometer was the remedy, declared at once that he felt better. Davy, desirous of seeing how much imagination would do in sueh a ease, then told, him that enough had been done for that time, and directed him to come next day. The appli cation of tho thermometer was made from day to day in the same way, and in a fortnight the man was cured. How an Emperor Turned an Ome lette.—The Empress Josephine was amnsing herself one day with her ladies of honor with the manufacture ol an omelette, and at the most interesting moment of the operation Napolean entered unexpectedly. Seeing the embarrass ment the empress experienced in turning the omelette, he took tho pan from her hand, say ing, “ I will show you, ma bonne amie, how te turn an omelette ; thia is the bivouac fashion,” and at tho same moment he gave the pan the little twist so well known to all cooks, but the disobedient omelette, instead ef returning to the frying-pan, fell into the fire, to the great de light of Josephine, who, turning to her august spouse, said to him, with a charming smile,. ‘‘‘Your Ma esty is net at tho bivouac now ; you understand much better how to gain battles than to turn omelettes.” A Great Doctor.—The Florida Medi cal and Surgical Jeurncl relates that when Dr. Bowling, a pioneer medical man in the South, began practice, he settled in the wilds of Ken tucky, where he sat in tho front of his cabin for six months without a call. At last he heard the clatter of a horse’s boo's, and a lank, bare footed Kentuckian appeared. “ Are yon a doctor ? ’ ho asked. •‘ Yes, and a good one,” said Dowling. •• W hat’s the matter with that ’ar foot ?” the man inquired, placing his heel on the fence. The doctor examined it closely and replied: “ That, sir, is erveipeles.” “ Ery-hell,” said the man, “ a bee stung me. w The doctor moved to Nashville. A Capital Sensation. —A Washington correspondent tells of a death there recently which is sensational in its details. A young doctor, handsome, strong, and of great prom ise, was called to attend a lady in a carriage at his door. Receiving no answer to his greeting to the patient, ho thought she bad fainted. He stepped into her coupe and found her already a corpse. He drove by tho side of the dead wo man to her house and thence fo the hospital, where ho was expected to participate in a meet ing of tho managers. Apologizing to his col leagues for his lateness, be related his ghastly experience. Then remarking, “I feel faint,” he fell, struck dead by paralysis, French Bailway Employees.—Em ployees of French railway companies have ex ceptional privileges. Hates of Height on goods consigned to them personally are mnch lower than the usual rates. They rsoeive through tho special stores kept lor them provisions of all kinds at wholesale prices. They can purchase fuel at the sama money as the oompanv paid for it. They are attended by the company’s phy sician when they are sick, and the medicine is supplied gratuitously. If employees are killed 1 while on duty, their orphans are placed in a proper institution at the expense of the com pany, and kept there until they are seventeen, years old. The druggist who hesitates now is lost for the Winter. He should sling together some sweet oil aud liquorice and bring out his cough syrup at once. Dr. Bull’s Cough Syrup does not pay him enough profit A Good Law.—Says the Louisville Courier-Journal: The fellowing bill is to be in troduced in the Legislature next week: Be it en acted, etc., That any person or persons prophe sying a mild Winter, either from the appearance of the goose bone, tho thickness of fur and corn husks, the habits ef squirrels and other var mints, or on any grounds whatever, shall be hanged by the neck unt 1 strangled, and shall pay a fine of $2,000. That any person or per sons prophesying as to the weather immediately to follow the appearance of the ground hog shall be imprisoned for not leas than five years. This shall take effect from and after its passage. A Lucid Explanation.—A gentleman having asked how a certain kind ot soup was made, received the following lucid directions: “You must get an ox cheek, a tongue, two shins of beef, two pig’s feet and a tail, a cabbage, twenty carrots, and a sheep’s head. You must get eight gallons of boiling water, and put your head in: boil for awhile longer, and put your tail in; then you must put your feet in, and then your cheek; then yon must boil a little longer, and put your shins and your tongue in; and if you have not good soup then, it will bo your own fault.” Don’t Drink Too Much Water. —A fireman, employed by the Lehigh Valley Rail road Company, whoso capacity for drinking enormous quantities of co d water made bins famous along the line, has died after a short ill ness, ascribed to his inordinate absorption. It is said that he often drank two quarts without taking the vessel from bis lips, and he had been known to drink as much as eight gallons of water in one day. Bb Careful in Slicing up a Pine apple.—a writer in the British Medical Journal advises people fobs care u I not to slice up a pine-apple with the same knife they use in peeling it, as the rind contains an acrid organi® substance which is likely to cause a swollen month and sore lips. In Cuba salt is used as an antidote for the poison of pine-apple peel. Ayer’s Pills are made from the con centrated extracts and active remedial properties of purely vegetable substances. They are therefore more effective and safer than pills made by the ordinary process, with powdered drugs. ** I have used Ayer’s Pills from childhood. They have been my family medicine for years, and never fail to give perfect satisfaction. —Mrs. C. E. Clark, Tewksbury, Mass. Ayer’s Cathartic Pills are considered a household necessity to my customers, and always give perfect satisfaction. Our BEST PHYSICIANS invariably use them in their practice.— Calvin Tilton, Druggist, Allendale, Mo. We have used Ayer’s Sugar-Coated Pills many years, and think them a very safe and excellent family aperient.—A. B. Foster, Children’s Home, Westville, Conn. For the past five years I was seldom free from the torturing pains of Neu ralgia. At last I discovered a remedy in Ayer’s Cathartic Pills, which not only afforded immediate relief, but have completely cured me. — Mrs. Lemuel N.- Hunnewell, McConnellsburg!!, I’a.