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OH! JESSIE, WHAR YO’ GONE? •h, Jessie, laughin' Jessie, whar’ yo’ gone ? Is yo’ wand’rin* in de medder, Whar’ we nee’ to roam togedder ? Jh y©' wand’rin’t rough de cotton or de co’n ? Oh, Jessie, doan’ yo hear me ? Is yo’ laughin’ sperrit near me, Or has yo’ learn’ to fear me An’ to sco’n ? Dey done tolo me, Jessie honey, yo’ is dead — Bat yo’ sperrit is a-libin’ Wid de angels up in heaben, An’ yo’ nebber coinin’ back to me, dey said; But I saw yo’ eyes a-beamin’, An’ I’s alio’ I wasn’t dreamin’, For de moonlight was a-gleamin’ Oberhead. I>cn I tried to catch yo’ eye and feel yo’ han’. But de minnit I come near yo’, Fur to fondle and to cheer yo’, Yo’ done glide away an’ leab mo whar, I stan’, Yo’ done leab me dar a-cryin’. An’ my heart widin me dyin’, While de night wind crep’ a sighin’, T rough de lan . Ob, my angel! Oh, my Jessie 1 Ana it true ? Is yo’ gone from me for ebber Across de sperrit riber ? Don I soon will come across dat riber too. For my eyes wid tears am achin’. An’ my heart void grief am breakin’, Au’ my cabin am forsaken Wi'dout you. ffIIIHWEIL BY A POPULAR AUTHOR. CHAPTER IX. “ SUE never tells vs stories about counts NOW.” It was May, about eighteen months after the •Id rector’s death, and Crystal Conyers’s black dresses were growing very shabby, and might have been replaced by something lees sombre, had new dresses been as plentiful with her ra the present little shabby-genteel Bayswater home as they were in the easy-going comfort of Easton. But Crystel’s black cashmere must carry her through another Summer, for" Dolly and Ida grew so last that their garments be came unfit to wear, and Tiny was sighing for •ometbin-g a little more cheerful, say lilac or silver gray, which Crystel had not the heart to ga ns ay. Mrs. Conyers, the busy country lady, had, with her change of position more than from the loss of her husband, subsided into an exacting invalid; so it was upon Crystel that the house hold management chiefly fell—Crystel,who,with her romantic book-lore and unpractical ideas of cvery-day life, had to learn the very A B C of domestic routine by the bitter experience of cut ting down everybody’s lavish expectations to suit a very limited income. The rector of East on had lived handsomely and easily on his sti pend and his canonry; but there had been very little laid by, and the Bayswater household was mainly carr ed on by means of an allowance from Sir Martin Harland and Mr. Moreton to their mother and sister-in-law. No wonder Crystel, remembering this, decided hastily to turn her black cashmere. Tiny could have a gray beige a little later on, and, if the younger gir.s wore asked down to Easton for a lew weeks in the Summer, it must be contrived somehow; her mother would probably go to the Harlands, and she (Crystel) would have the lit tle town bouse to herself, to put in hand certain modest repairs and alterations which were of more importance to her than a Summer outing. All this was weighed and decided as she sat quietly apart in oue of the secluded by-paths of Kensington Gardens; Dolly and Ida, with a pocketful of dry crusts, had retired to the neighborhood of the Round Pond, where they were well known by the other habitues of the spot for their intrepid conduct and country bred indifference to the very fiercest swans and ganders. Crystel would have an hour, at least, to herself, and, when once the household plans had been definitely thought out and arranged, with approximated prices attached, there was a long foreign letter from Mrs. Woodroffe in her pocket, which had been lying by since the early post, waiting its turn. She took it out now aud spread the thin sheets on her knee. The old heading, “Hotel Rose, ■Wiesbaden/’ brought the blood to her cheeks, •nd for a moment the letters swam before her •yes in a mist of tears. Mrs. Woodroffe had returned to her favorite doctor, and Bessie Bellasis had Crystel’s little bed-room at the “Rose.” “The town,” con tinued the writer, “is full of people, much fuller than in the quiet Winter season, and, dear Crys tel, I think I ought to tell you that I have seen the Graf Von Ritterhaus with his fiancee—& rich Miss Levison, a Frankfort-American—at several of the concerts. I tell you this, my dear child, because I think you would rather learn it from an old friend who loves you than hear it accidentally.” “ You must tell her—and, oh, teil her very gently !” the tender-hearted squire had said, dreading lest his part in Von Ritterhaus’s en lightenment might hurt her; however, Mrs. Woodroffe had herself been concerned in the careful young lieutenant’s final extrication of himself from the difficulty, having, a day or two alter Crystel’s departure from Wiesbaden, received a visit from the colonel of Von Ritter haus s regiment, who, after the simple and pa ternal fashion of Germany, proceeded to dem onstrate to the gnadigefrau that a marriage be tween his penniless “ sub” and her charming, but equally penniless, young friend was out of the question. “ Quite oui of the question,” Mrs. Woodroffe had replied, loftily, and she did not tell either Oswald or Crystel that it had given her some satis action to add, to the astonishment of the courteous, though practical colonel, “ I have other views for Miss Conyers, who is likely to form an alliance with a gentleman of cons dera ble wealth and position in her own neighbor berhood. I should never have sanctioned any engagement with the Graf Von Ritterhaus, even if he could have afforded to marry for love. I wish you good morning, Herr Oberst.” It had been a vain boast, Mrs. Woodroffe knew, and one whi.'h she had not dared to re peat to her nephew when she gave him an out line of the affair in a letter to the Knoll, where Jie stayed on after the rector’s funeral, hoping to be of service to the Conyers family. “ It will not kill Crystel to know the truth,” he had written back. “It is only justice to her to tell it all, and less painful, in realitv, than the suspense which she is bearing now; beside, the has hard work before her, and that is all her best zrien~ S ive M a weapon •gainst thie cruel trial ” * 7 _ Mrs. Woodroffe had told Crystel all the truth, And then there had intervened a long silence of eighteen months, during which the name of Yon -Bnterhaus bad been Unspoken in hey ears. To day, once more, Mrs. Woodroffe ha& broken the spell, and Cryqtpl folded the pages of her letter together, trying io realize what Eugen’s be trothal to Miss Levison ©eanj to her. Despair ? Misery ? Nay, those had their day in the bitter, bereaved, homecoming, in the sickening uncer tainty of silence, in the humiliation of the dis closure when at last it came, in the grinding dreariness of the life that followed. And now, even the thought that he belonged to another, stirred no fresh pain, touched no new chord of anguish; only the recollection of girlhood’s first awakening, of the marvellous sunshine upon the distant landscape, of the sudden birth ©f music and color and light and love, filled her with so intense a longing for a little taste of mortal happiness that her brain reeled for a moment, and she clutched the side of the seat for support. the letter on her lap fell to the ground, and, tossing a second m the light breeze, fluttered across the path to the feet of a gentleman, who came noiselessly toward her on the soft grass. “ 1 was looking for you, Crystel,” said Oswald Bellasis, holding out his hand with the letter, in the most natural way in the world; “ I met your sisters five minutes ago, and they told me where 1 should find you ‘ doing your accounts,’ they said. Shall I be disturbing you if I sit 4own ?” “ No, indeed ; it is a great pleasure to see you •gain. 1 thought you were in Paris.” “So I was, yesterday—you have been Rearing from my aunt, I perceive—but an unaccountable longing after—well, after England -came upon me, and I crossed last night, and went to Ever ton Terrace to ask for your mother this after noon ; she was not visible, but your servant told me you were here in the garden, and Dolly •nd Ida put me in the right path.” “ I am sorry mother did not see you ; it is one of her bad days, so I took the children out of her way.” “ And the accounts ?” Oh, they were settled long ago! I was •musing myself—that is, reading your aunt’s letter—when you came up, and I was so ab sorbed that you startled me for a moment.” •* She is back again in Wiesbaden ?” “ Yes.” You were thinking of it as I came along ?” “I was/’ I saw it in your face. Ah, Crystel, forgive we, but I got into the habit of studying your expressions long ago, and I guessed, I heard— that is, I had a letter from my aunt 1 The fact is, dear, I know what you are thinking of, I know what grieves you ; I would give my life to eave you from one single instant of pain, and, if I could have borne it for you, you should never have known sorrow.” “ I think you are mistaken,” Crystel Inter rupted. “ What, in saying that I would fain savo you from pam ?” “ In thinking that what your aunt has written eould pain me now. I owe it to you, who were always so patient, so lenient with me, to tell you this—you know what work and care for ethers Will do toward crushing out a pain which is purely selfish and personal? Thank Heaven, after a while, strength comes and a clearer sight, and, by-and-by, peace. Only. I think, the spring mmshine has made me a little foolish and daz- Eled ; 1 confess I was thinking of the past, chief ly of the pleasure and the beauty of it which I owed to your aunt, and you thought I was grieving over some old bygone trouble !” ' “ And it has really gone, Crystel?” “ With Heaven s f’ •* No, she never tells us stories about counts, How, Ida confided to Mr. Bellasis on-* day in the dingy Bayswater drawing-room, as he waited for the appearance of the elder sister ; “ some how we don’t care about counts and fairies and Impossible people now, we re bo much older, hut she goes on with the stories better than ©nly they are mostly about Englishmen. Dolly >tiU likes to put in plenty of things to eat, but I like best to hear about brave men and people giving up things they care most for, and that's Crystel's favorite kind of storv, she says. “ What nonsense are you talking, Ida?” said Crystel, coming in at that moment. “ W hy, Mr. Bellasis, is it you ? You should not encourage those children to chatter.” “I like it; it interests me. Run off, Ida, and put on your hat; I am going to take you and your sister for a walk. Crystel, will you come with me into Kensington Gardens and let me tell you the story of a man who tried hard to give up the thing ho cared most for, and found in the end he could not do without it ?” And Crystel went willingly. Mrs. Conyers has been quite invigorated by the pleasing assurance of all her friends that her right hand has not lost its cunning, so far as the settlement of her daughters is concerned, and, nowlhat she is the mother of Mrs. Oswald Bellasis, of Easton Park, there is nothing more heard of Crystel’s mistakes. THE END. SWITCHED OFF. BY CLYDE RAYMOND. “ It’s for Miss Sue Loring per-tick-ler, ma’am, so the gentleman said,” repeated the messen ger boy, hesitatingly, as he stood on the npper step, balancing a note rather nervously in his Angers' as if uncertain whether or not to give it into the fair hand extended for it. “Certainly; that’s all right, my lad,” smiled the pretty young lady who stood in the half open door, speaking in low, guarded tones. “ Miss Loring will not be in lor an hour or so, but I will see that she gets it the moment she returns. Won't that do quite as well? You’re not afraid to trust me ?”—with a winning smile. “No, miss, of course I ain’t,” looking half ashamed of his own strictness; " only them was my orders; you see,” —slowly relinquishing his trust. “ Now, ma’am, you won t forget it— sure ?” he added, anxiously, with a direct stare into the pretty, triumphant face as he turned away. Nina Bradley’s answer was a soft, reassuring laugh as she hastily took the envelope and closed the door almost in the lad’s face. Slipping the note into her pocket, she turned at once toward the parlor. /‘Was it anything for me, Nina?” called a fresh, sweet voice, as a pair of bright brown eyes peeped over the baluster from above. “ I saw the messenger boy just going away.” “For you?” and the blue eves glanced care lessly up to meet the questioning brown ones. “ OU, no; merely a pressing invitation from Mies Nelson for me to call there to-morrow. She has some astonishing secret to communi cate, as usual.” “ Oh, is that all ? ’ And the bright face disappeared from the stairway, its owner quite satisfied with the ex planation given. Meanwhile, Miss Nina repaired to the parlor, which had no other occupant just then, and, deliberately breaking the‘seal of the note en trusted to her care, read the brief message through. It was simply to inform Miss Loring that pressing business, entirely unexpected, would prevent the writer from keeping an engagement to attend a skating carnival with her that even ing—a pleasure which, aa Miss Bradley hap pened to know, Sue was looking forward to with liveliest anticipations. Only a brief note of apology; but, “reading between the lines” and remem’< ering the wri ter’s careful orders concerning its delivery, she understood clearly the unconiessed love which made him anxious to avoid even the possibility of a misunderstanding between Sue and him self, and which caused him the keenest regret at having to thus disappoint her ever so slightly. “ If I could only arouse dietrust and jealousy between them,” Nina muttered, her fair brow darkening with envious, malicious thoughts, “1 might prevent the declaration which has not 1 been made yet, lam sure. If I don’t play my cards very skillfully, however, I may be found out in this little matter, and then—but pshaw ! 1 there's nothing like trying. ‘ Nothing ventured, nothing won,’ as the good old proverb has it I” ! And, with a complacent smile wreathing her rosy lips, she tripped lightly up stairs to discuss . the carnival with unsuspecting Sue. Nina was Sue Loring’s cousin, who had made her home with them during the past year, and ' who seemed gratefully devoted to her generous ' relatives. One of a large family of girls, it was no small favor to be thus offered a home as long as she cared to accept it. She had not the slight- ' est intention of leaving it, either, until she could exchange it for one of her own, and. what was more to the point, she had privately selected ' Philip Almy, Sue’s own most favored suitor, for her iuture husband. ■ Pretty and attractive, .she had several ad- ‘ mirera of her own ; but, by some perverse fate, she bad placed her affections upon Philip Almy, aud him she was bound to win, by fair means 1 or foul, quite regardless of Sue’s feelings in the ' matter. , “ What can be keeping Philip so late ?” com plained Sue impatiently, wandering restlessly over to the window for the dozenth time. “It’s long past the time wo were to have started.” 1 “Perhaps he has forgotten the engagement,” ! suggested Nina, carelessly, taking a more com- . fortable position on the sofa as she turned a fresh page oi her novel. “ Forgotten !” Sue turned from the window 1 and faced her cousin, her brown eyes flashing > haughtily. “Impossible 1 It I thought that— She did not finish the sentence, but the scorn ful curl of her red lip and the ominous flash of ( her eyes, told how she Would avenge the insult . of forgetfulness from Philip. But the evening wore on and still he did not , come. Two or three callers dropped in, but, , though she talked and laughed, and tried brave- ' ly to be her natural self, Sue was distraite, fe verishly uneasy, and—well, yes, angry—angry , with Philip, who had never neglected her like this before. “At least he might have sent some explana tion of his absence,” she kept thinking, wratb fully. “ Does he fancy himself so certain of my love that he can slight me with impunity ? If 1 so, I will soon teach him differently 1” “By the way, Sue,” remarked Nina, heslta- J tingly, pausing midway on the stairs after com ing in from a round of calls and shopping the . following day, “some one mentioned to me . while I was out (but I don’t suppose it is really . true—a mere spiteful rumor, doubtless) that < Philip Almy was seen at the theatre last Slight , with a very handsome young lady by his side— , & Stranger. It it were true, that would account ‘ lor his failing to keep hie appointment with vou 1 but—” v r " told you that ?” flashed Sue, her brown eyes gleaming and her cheeks deadly pale, but not all from the anger. She was a high-spir ited, merry little maiden, yet she had a loving heart and it had been sorely woundedj ( “Ifoal'.y J can t remembej hSw/' answered ' Nina, pretending to think deeply for a moment, “ I paid so little attention to it. If I were you I wouldn’t give it a serious thought,” Aud she continued her way tip the richly-car peted etaits, knowing full well that she had ’ planted a thorn which would rankle to some - purpose in Sue’s proud, sensitive little heart. f The result was that when Mr. Almy next E called he mej with tjie coolest of cool receptions. < At first he felt surprised, then hurt, then slight- s ly indignant. Sue was very unreasonable to ex- ‘ hibit such coldness and displeasure toward s him when ho was not at all to blame. He had < explained in his note the business which una- < voiuably claimed his attention that evening, so < he supposed her resentment arose simply from ' having her pleasure spoiled for once, aud that 1 was surely childish and unjust. He had meant to tell her in person just how 1 sorry he was for being forced to disappoint her 1 —and himseli, as but the iceberg frigidity ' of her manner disdbtiraged that idea, and he 1 finally left withoht having made the slightest I allusion to the subject. Nina, who had not failed to be present during the call and who had been ■extra-sweet to atone lor her cousin’s haughtiness, lingered on the porch with him a moment as he was going. “I was so surprised at Sue’s heartless behav ior toward you, Thilip—Mr. Almy,” she mur mured, with a sweet look of sympathy, correct ing her utterance of his name in pretty coniu lusion, “ and so sorry,” still more tenderly. “I shall have to read her a good round lecture about it when I go in.” “ I’ray don’t,” he answered quickly, his fair, handsome face assuming a look of haughtiness equal to Sue’s own. “Xhave had the misfor tune to offend her, it seems, though most uniuj tentionally. But let it pass.” “ Sue is such a changeable little witch!” wont on Miss Bradley, and her tone was that of half-indulgent, half-severe apology tor her cousin’s mis.doeds. “ One never knows where her fancy will lead her from one heur to anoth er. I could not help thinking last night, when Tom Saylor—ho is such a handsome, fascina ting fellow, you know, and really seems de voted ” She checked herself suddenly with great ab ruptness, as if just remembering that he might not relish the thoughts called up by Tom Say lor’s fascinations and his devotion to Sue Lor ing. “ Well ?” Aitor a brief silence the questioning word fell slowly and reluctantly from Philip’s lips, and, though he tried to make it sound careless and uninterested, Nina detected the rankling of her poisoned arrow. Oh, nothing ! She may have been only flirt ing again, you know,” she hastily returned, with a soft, pitying sigh as she glanced into Philip’s gloomy eyes. “As I said. Sue is rath er addicted to that weakness—too much so, I regretfully admit; for I’m very fond of my way ward little cousin.” Then she said “Good-night," with a soft, shy, lingering touch st her dainty little hand, aud loft him to extract what comfort he could from the hints she had so artfully suggested. It was very soon after that call, which had not been repeated, that Sue conceived a sudden and irresistible desire to make a long-promised visit to a dear friend whe lived miles away. A number of hsr young associates assembled at the depot to “see her off,” among them Philip Almy, and, as ho held her hand for an instant and wished her “ a pleasant journey and safe return,” she looked so irresistibly charm ing and innocent in her pretty traveling-suit, with its close-fitting fur-bordered jacket and jaunty hat,that,heartless coquette as be was last growing to believe her, he longed unutterably to draw her close to his side and tell her all his love. But they were not alone. Observant eyes were on them, and, above all, Nina Bradley was chatting brightly at bis side, and Nina some- NEW YORK DISPATCH, MARCH 28, 1886 J how managed to claim, in a pretty, cousinly away, a good deal o! his attention. So, with a last stolen glance of tender admi ’ ration at the flushed cheeks and bright brown • eyes of the girl be had loved so devotedly, hcr 3 turned and walked homeward by the side of the pretty siren who, at last, had the “ game in I her own hands,” as she was secretly telling 1 herself that very moment. 3 Sue was in no haste to return. Homo, with -3 out Philip’s loving attention as of old, was a > place where her heart would break, she thought. I And Nina’s letter’s, which came regularly, gave no hint that her absence caused him a shadow of regret. And if the subtle stories which Nina constant r ly poured into his ears of boastful letters from Sue, regarding her new conquests and “glori ’ ous flirtations,” were utterly false aud troach , erous, how was he to know ? I So, when Sue Loring reluctantly came home 5 at last, Nina no longer feared her. She had gained her point—was absolutely engaged to Philip Afmy, and the appointed wedding-day was not far distant. “ And I’m so delighted to have you back again, dear little coz,” gushed Nina sweetly, the moment Sue had fairly entered the house. “Just in time to be my bridesmaid ! My next letter would have told yoa—l'm going to marry Philip Almy.” For a second those words seemed to have ut terly swept Sue’s breath away. She stood trans fixed, staring with wide-open, dazed, brown eyes and death-white face at the girl who had spoken them. “Going to—marry Philip!” she gasped at .length, involuntarily catching at a chair to keep herself from falling. “Oh !” She pressed her hand with all her force against her heart to still the pain that seemed killing her. Then realizing how she was be traying her love for a man who cared nothing for it, she made one mighty effort to regain her proud composure, and succeeded. “It was an immense surprise,” she remarked almost indifferently, a moment later. “ I couldn’t take it all in, you know, at first allow me to congratulate you.” And then she listened, apparently unmoved, to Nina's charming little fiction of how Philip bad con'eased that he had loved her—Nina—a great deal longer than ho himself had been aware of; how some romantic little incident bad suddenly startled him into the full knowledge of his own heart, and then he had lost no time in proposing. Sue quietly listened to all, and made no sign. But, oh ! alone in her own room it was a dif ferent thing. There she could yield to the grief that was consuming her where no eye could wit ness her humiliation. One night—it was in the last week preceding Philip’s marriage—she had given way to her si lent, passionate sorrow until heart and brain both seemed on fire. Turning at last to her window, she threw it open to admit the cool Spring air. But the late-rising moon just climbing over the tree tops on the lawn, seemed to mock her with its nalo, cold radiance. She was about to shut it out again, when some strange object be low riveted her attention. A dark shadow gliding stealthily about in the moonlight under the yet leafless trees. What was it—ghost or robber ? She felt tempted to go down and investigate. Sue was no coward: and ,ust now she felt reckless, desperate, and longed for something to drive away distracting thought. Without stopping to reflect, she threw a shawl about her and flitted softly down the stairs and out upon the lawn. The shadow had disppear ed, but, turning the corner, she came full upon it—almost ran into its arms, in fact. “And it was no spirit, but a man, who was now standing beneath her own window; and, as he turned, she saw the face of—Philip Almy ! “ You !” she exclaimed, drawing back in astonishment, and speaking in low, intensely bitter tones. “ What are you doing here ? That is not the window of your lady-love; it is my own.” i “1 know it,” he answered quickly and with equal bitterness. “ But, heartless and false as you have been Sue Loring, I could not resist the longing to come here lor one farewell glimpse of you before—leaving you forever.” “ ‘ Heartless and false!’ You’insult me, sir I” she haughtily exclaimed, turning to leave his ; presence. “ Wait but one moment,” he cried in low, im passioned tones, coming a step toward her. “ You call it an insult from me to speak of that old love because I am now to marry your cousin. But you can surely forgive the weak- ] ness this once. Sue; I will never offend again. You know how I loved you then, how I dream ed that you wonld be my wife, until your cold ness—your heartless coquetry ” “ Stop!” she commanded suddenly, her cheeks and eyes blazing like coals of fire.'“ How dare you apply those words tome, when it is 1 you who deserve them? you who have been false and treacherous ? I will not hear it.” 1 He stood and looked at her in amazement. Her anger was so real, her sense of injustice and insult so unfeigned, he could no longer 1 doubt her sincerity. All at once he seemed to see that something 1 had gone wrong between them—something more 1 than childish anger or willful coquetry was at the bottom of all this. He frankly told her so ; J and, little by little, their misunderstanding cleared away’until but one mystery remained— 1 what had become of the note which he had sent J to her that fateful afternoon ? 1 <? I think I know away of finding even that 3 out,” he said, hopefully, at last. 1 And when Sue Loring returned to her room her eyes where still shining like stars, but now > it was with the sweetest hopes of love, for 1 Philip had resolved to lay the whole case be fore Miss Bradley, and ask—nay, demand—his < freedom, t The mystery of the note —the missing link— 8 was soon cleared up, when Philip had shrewdly i hunted up the messenger-boy and learned into < whose hands it had been delivered. i “ By jingo !” exploded that young representa tive of the A. D. T., ramming his hands into bis pockets and giving vent to a long, low whistle 1 of amazement. “That there message was t switched off somewheres between the front ' door and the k’rect station, an’ it was that pretty little blue-eyed woman as cut the wires, t Jehosaphat! who’d a thought it, when she smiled like an angel into a feller’s face and asked me if I was afeerd to trust ’er ?” But Nina’s treachery was never exposed to the public. Philip and Sue were married in a 3 lew short weeks, but their friends simply knew that a romantic misunderstanding of some kind had been happily cleared away. And as Nina I was urged to fill Sue’s vacant place in the old hom£, nobody dreamed that she was the mis chief-make?. But her punishment—and a bit ter one it is—lies in Philip’s knowledge of her base designs. OUR MONETARY SYSTEM. Coin Laws Enacted by the United States 3 Since Its Foundation. (From the Indianapolis Journal,) The act of April 2, 1792, established the mint y and regulated the coins of the United States. This act provided that the coins should be of gold, silver and copper; that the gold coins should be eagles ($10), half eagles ($5), and j quarter eagles ($2 50) ; that the silver coins should be the dollar, half dollar, quarter dol lar, dime and half dime; that the dollar or unit j should be of the value of the Spanish milled dollar then current; that the proportional value of gold to silver should be as fifteen to one; that all gold coins should be eleven parts fine to one of alloy; that all silver coins should be com posed of 1,485 parts fine to 179 parts alloy; that the alloy of the gold coins should be composed of silver and copper, half and half, and the al- 1 loy of silver wholly copper; that th© eagle 1 should contain 257 4-8 grains pure, or 270 grains I ot standard gold, and the silver dollar 371 4-16 1 grains pure, or 446 grains standard silver; that ; the lesser gold and silver coins should contain the same proportions according to value; aud < that all the gold and silver coins should be legal ' tender for all payments whatsoever. (4>Statutes, pp. 246-251). The act of June 23, 1834 (4 Statutes 699), re duced the gold coins so that thereafter the eagle ($10) contained 232 grains pure and 258 grains of standard gold, and the half and quarter eagles were proportionately reduced, but their legal-tender quality was retained lor all pay ments whatsoever. The act of January 18, 1837 (5 Statutes pp. 136-142), provided that thereafter the standard for both gold and silver coins should be 900 fine; that is, 900 parts pure metal and 100 parts alloy, and reduced the value of the silver coins so that thereafter the silver dollar contained 412% grains of standard silver and the smaller coins their relative proportion of the same, ac cording to value; but their legal-tender quality was retained for all payments. The act of February 21, 1853, debased the subsidiary silver coins, that is, the half and quarter dollars, the dimes and half dimes, so that thereafter the silver half dollars contained 192 grains of standard silver, and the quarter dollar, dime and half dime were debased in like proportion, according to their value, and their legal tender capacity was reduced to pay ments «f $5. This act left the gold coins and silver dollar legal tender for all payments what soever. On the 12th of February, 1873 (seventeen Stat utes, 424-736), an act revising and amending the laws relating to the mint and coinage was passed, which is known and designated by law as the “ coinage act of 1873,” and all other’ acts and parts of acts inconsistent therewith, Ere re pealed. This act provides that the standard for both gold and silver coin should be 900 fine; that is, that all coins shall be 900 parts pure and 100 parts allov; that the alloy of the gold shall be silver and copper, th© silver in no case to exceed one-tenth ot the whole alloy, and the alloy of the silver coins to be wholly copper. This act provides that gold coins of the United States shall be $1 piece, which at the standard weight, 25 8-10 grains, shall be the unit of value; a quarter eagle, or $2.50 piece; ahalf eagle, or $© piece, an eagle, er $lO piece, and a double eagle, or S2O piece, and these geld coins shall be legal tender m all payments; that the silver coins shall be a trade dollar, a halt dollar, or 59 eent piece; a quarter dollar, oir 25 cent piece; a dime, or ten cent piece; that the weight of the trade dollar shall be 420 grains troy, and the weight of the half dollar 12% grammes, and the quarter dollar and dime, respectively, one-half and one-fifth the weight of the hal -dollar; and that the silver coins shall be legal tender lor any amount not exceeding $5 in any one pay ment; and the coinage of any other gold or sil ver coins than those named above is prohibited. r The Revised Statutes of the United States were passed June 22(1, 1874, and are intended . to embrace the statutes of the United States in i force on the Ist day ot December, 1873, as re r vised and consolidated by the commissioners appointed for that purpose. The Revised Stat i utes re-enact the statute of February 2d, 1873, r without change. The act of July 22d, 1876, provides that the . trade dollar shall not thereafter be a legal ten t der, and the coinage of the trade dollar is lim ited to the export demand. Any owner of , gold bullion can deposit the same at any mint ’ and have it converted into coin for his benefit without charge. The Revised Statutes provide th t any owner of silver bullion may have it i converted at the mint into bars or trade dollars of 420 grains troy, but for no other coinage, on . payment of the actual cost of coinage. But as by the act of July 22d, 1876, the Secretary of the , Treasury is authorized to limit the coinago of trade dollars to the export demand, it would ( now seem to be optional with him whether own ers of silver bullion could have it converted into trade dollars or not. The law limits the coinage of the subsidiary , silver coins, that is the dime, quarter and half dollar, so that it shall not exceed at any time $50,000,000. The act of February 28, 1878, provides that the mints shall coin silver dollars of the weight of 412% grains troy, as provided by the act of 1837 ; that the same shall be legal tender for all debts, public and private : that the Secretary of the Treasury shall purchase not less than $2,000,01)0 worth of silver bullion at the market price ; nor more than $4,000,000 worth monthly and cause the same to be coined into such dol lars as fast as purchased, the grain or seignior age thereon to go to the United States Treas ury ; that holders of such dollars can exchange them for silver certificates, which certificates shull be receivable for customs, taxes, and all public dues. This is the last general coinage act, and is still in force and effect. The fore going is a complete summary of all the coinage acts. THE DETROITJOLOMON. A POETIC PRISONER—“SES MO SES”—“K’RECT, PARTNER.” A POETIC PRISONER. A cobbler up Fort street was cobbling .way the other evening when Leonard Smith came along and leaned against the window and solilo quized: “Oh! cobbler, why do ye cob? Why peg and eew ? Why thie monotonous sound of the hammer ?” And the cobbler looked up and shouted for him to be gone. Leonard did not go. He raised his voice and sang : •’ A cobbler he rode on a cob. And a bobber he rode on a bob, Aud the sob of the robber waa aad for the Bobber, Ab the cobbler cobbed off on bis nob.” Then the cobbler arose and warned the man to begone or he would lame him for life. Bnt the white face of Leonard pressed closer to the window as he warbled: •'The pegger be drove In a peg. And the beggar went out lor to beg; And the ham of the hammer was bad for the slammer, Ab the pegger pegged off on his peg." Then the cobbler went out and lasted him with a last, and it was while they were strug gling that an officer came along aud walked Leonard off to thecroas-bar retreat. “ Why did you do it?” asked his Honor as the prisoner walked out. “le it against the law to soliloquize—to sing ?” “ It's according to whom you soliloquize or sing at. You can’t go around making it un pleasant for other folks.” “ I didn’t mean to hurt this cobbler’s feelings. I thought he looked like a man who liked a lit tle iuu. Why didn’t he come out to me and say; The drunkard was off on a drunk, And the epnnker be hadn’t no spnnk; And the Hill of Old Bunker was bard on the flanker As the bunker laid down in. his bunk ?” “ I don’t know,” replied his Honor; “ but I’ve got a little verso which will interest you. It is; “ The prisoner be goes to prison. And a sentence of ■ thirty’ is liia’n; And tbe good Black Maria will take him up higher. And hereafter he'll mind his own bizzen.” “I’m dished,” said the prisoner as he fell back. “ SES MOSES.” “ Do I make any mistake in addressing you as Peter Jones ?” asked his Honor of the next. “ No, sab.” “Am I right in saying that you were arrested for knocking Moses Smith down with a chair?” “You am perfeckly k’rect, sab, but do yon know what Moses sard to me ?” “ No.” “ Dat ar’ Moses am a bad man. He used to lib in Varginny. If you want to know how bad he am jist go down to Richmond an’ ask the folksea around dar. One time, when he was loafin’ around Rich ” “Never mind about one time, tell your story about this fuss.” “ Well, sab, I met Moses las’night. We shook ] hands. Den he axed me if I had any baccy. ; Den I said I hadn’t. Den he wants me to lend ' him ten cents. Judge, you doan’ know dat ; Moses like I does. De time he was libin’ in ; Richmond ho was de wuss ” “ Prisoner, I don’t want to hear about Rich mond. Confine yourself to what happened last i night.” “ Well, sab, when I wouldn’t lend Moses ten ■ cents he went back on me. I knew he was gwine to say sumthin’ ’bout de time my wife run’d , away from me, an’ I was gwine outer de doah, ) when he called me back. Tell you, Judge, when dat Moses was down in Varginny he was a ter- ■ ror. One time he ” “ Stick to last night, prisoner.” ; “ I’ll do it, sah. Let’s see. I was tellin’ what Moses said. He got up by de stove, an’ he turned around, an’ he looked at me like he ( wanted my blood. Dat Moses wonld kill a man quick as scat if he got mad at him. Did he eber , threaten you, Judge ?” , “ Prisoner, I will have to send you up.” < “ What tar ?” “For striking Moses with a chair.” “ But I hasn't dun told what Moses said. How j you gwine to tell who am guilty ?” t “ I shall give you twenty days.” “ But 1 doan’want'em. I want to tell ye how , Moses backed up to de stove an’ said ” “ Take him away 1” , “ Judge, am I dun gone up ?” “Yes.” , “ No gittin’ out ?” | "No. 8 "N& tellin 1 what Moses said ?” “No.” “Good-by. Boon’s I git out I’ll come an’ see ye an’ tell ye what Moses said.” “EXACTLY.” “ Charles Marion, you were drunk last night.” “Exactly. You ve bit me straight, old man.” “Be a little more choice of your terms. Have you any excuses ?” “Not a one, Judge.” “ I’ll have to send you up.” “ Exactly. Pull trigger and let her sliver. How much ?” “Thirty days.” “ K’rect 1 So long, partner I Whenever I’m around in thie neighborhood I’ll call on you.” TOM’S WE. BY J. V. B. Tom’s wife is the delight and admiration of his friends; yet the reason is seen plainly only by nice observation and some thought added thereto. She is not beautiful in face, though in form graceful, but Tom will not have it so, averring that her face is none the less lovely because its beauty, being expression and the outporing of delicate feelings, is reserved for him alone, or mainly. Nevertheless, I say she would not be called fair, and surely not bril liant. A very quiet presence she is, the most noticeable thing being a rare kind of peace in her presence, a something warm in the room as if no chill could enter, and no one of the hack neyed cares of the day crowd into that essential and glowing quiet. It is confessed on all hands she is a rare wo man, with a rare kind of genius, a marvelous might to make comfort and turn forth joys, as wonderful as any poet’s metres, rhymes or thoughts. The wonder is how Tom, a very good fellow, but ordinary, ever divined her to seek her. Th© wonder, I say, that is, t© others, not to me; for I have drawn the secret from him. I find that, ordinary in exterior or man ners and little read in learned lore or given to books or to deep thinking, Tom has a wisdom which has taken hold of the signs by which things show themselves in life as they are. He told me he owed his choice of his wife to two fortunate facts; his choice of her, 1 say, for as to what led her choice to him he humbly con fesses his ignorance, and says she must have had that missionary ®r Sister of Charity spirit which transmutes somebody’s great need into one’s own great love. He was led to her by two thoughts, as fol lows: Once on Sunday in a church he heard a preacher utter this sentence: “It.is not at all necessary that we should be loved, but it is very necessary that we should love.” Tom seized on this as a bit of wisdom worth follow ing to its length, and brooded much on it at odd moments, for he was not given to set thought. Now it so happened that during the next Sum mer, which followed shortly, he was spending his holiday at a pleasant lake side. Idly fish ing in a cove, he heard a number of merry girls in a thicket on the shore, laughing as they de scribed what they would require in their ex pected lovers and husbands. Now all agreed, according to Tom, that the first requisite was entire, constant, tender, chivalric devotion. They all declared, said Tom, that the point of first importance was that they should be loved —all but one ; one voice, which had been silent, answered at last to the railing challenge of h'er comrades, quietly, with serious tone, that for her part she thought the first, and second, and last requisite, was that she herself should love. Tom started. Lo 1 the remembered sentence from the sermon I He recognized the voice; he resolved to know more of the speaker. 8c far for the first thought. For the second, Tom avers that he was greatly impressed by a reference in Emerson to Lord Holland, to the effect that he always came down to breakfast looking as if aom® sadden good fortune had just fallen to him. In this, Tom says, he caught a fine element of judgment as to character; lor, he argued, the important point is th© starting ; if one deviate but little at the centre and go to a j ’ wide circumference, he will boa vast space I away. This is the wisdom of Browning : O, the little more and how much it is, And the little less and what worlds away ! ‘ So, reasoned Tom, it is plain that the morn ing’s start is the secret, of the day’s journey, ' whether to light or to shadow ; and the day’s start is the secret of the week’s goal, and the week’s start of the month, and the month’s start of the year, it is plain enough, said my P ordinary friend, therefore, that the secret of r life’s contentment, and the whole power to shed ' peace and pleasure lies in your way of waking ' up. Now, Tom, O astute fellow ! does not hesi . tate to own that deliberately he set to work to learn the waking up of this same young girl who had startled him by joining her ideal to the preacher’s rule of life. But how did he accoin ‘ plish this ? Ah, what a convenience, what a treasure, powetj illimitable resource, in great and press ing exigencies of life is a sister ! Tom had a sister ; therein tbe story is told. She was able to discover, by what wiles, what nights, morn ings, waking moments or comradeship, who knows? Suffice it, she learned, and told tom. “An angel,” cried Tom, “ truly an angel whoso first morning look is a beam of light and of peace, and whoso philosophy for the day is not to receive but to give I” “On this war rant,” says tom, “I sought, I spoke, I won, to the blessing of day after day and week after week, but especially, and as the source of all other blessings, to the blessing of my waking time, by which I am set with my face right and so movo off freely every day.” BETTER TIIAtT ROASTING. A GOBLIN STORY FOR THE YOUNG Sama was a prince, the eon of a king; but his father lost the kingdom, and then died, leaving him nothing. Sama’s attendants, who cared nothing for a prince who did not know where to look for his next meal, all ran away, and Sama was obliged to go into the forest to chop down trees for a living. The first tree he came to was a very big one, and the more he chopped the more it seemed to grow; but in about two weeks the tree began to yield—a great hole opened wider and wider, till Sama peeped down a great placo like a door. As he leaned over, an invisible hand gave him a push, and in ho went—down, down — till he landed in a great hall made of polished wood, with carpets oi moss and banks of flow ers for seats. In a great oak root, hollow-ed out and lined with ferns, sat a funny old man, yellow as saffron, one-eyed and very short, with a frightful wide mouth, one long lock of red hair, and hands like claws. He had gigantic lady-slippers on his feet for shoes, and a dress ing-gown made ot Autumn leaves, and he spoke in a harsh, discordant voice, twisting his face into the ugliest possible shape. “ Good morning, Prince Sama. Is it the way in your country to come hunting into people’s houses through their chimneys ?” “I did not know it was your chimney,” an swered poor Sama, humbly enough, who cer tainly couldn’t help coming. “Of course not, snarled the goblin ; “ you have been hacking and pounding on my house lor the last two weeks, and knew nothing about it. My daughter is in a delicate state of health —got nerves, sir; and your confounded clatter has kept her in strong convulsions twelve hours out of every twenty-four. What do you think of that, sir ? Do you deserve anything less than death?” Sams, who felt that this was a very aggra vated case, indeed, looked down on the ground and said nothing. “ However,” quoth the goblin, with a prodi gious puff at his pipe, “I am good-natured— that is my weakness. If you will mnrry my daughter wo will say nothing more about the noise ; if not, you will probably tasto very well, roasted, for dinner to-night.” Sama stole a side-look at the goblin. “ Yes, she is just like me,” answered the gob lin, who read his thoughts as easily as an open book. “ After that, I needn’t say she is hand some, but come and see for yourself.” So Sama, who saw nothing better to do, fol lowed the old goblin, who hobbled along with his Autumn-leaf dressing-gown trailing behind him, till he came to a great hall of crystal with a roof of emerald, rounded up in pointed arches, and supported by beautiful amber columns. Thia was filled with the flower-sprites, lovely tiny men and women, yet curiously reminding Sama of the flower whose name they bore; there was Sir Tulip, with a gay purple cloak—and his brothers in red and yellow—and Lord Peony very red in the face—and Duchess Pansy in im jerial purple—Heliotrope, and the proud Tube lose, and her cousin, the Blush-Rose. The little people and a host more looketl very super ciliously at Sama, and ran away to giggle, but his eyes were fixed on a throne where sat the goblin’s daughter. She wore a dress of yellow satin, that flowed three yards behind, thickly sown with dia monds, a great crown of rubies, and a lace man tle ; but oh, how ugly ! worse than her father. Twelve maids of honor, lovely as the dawn, stood about her ; one combed her hair, one held her gold smelling-bottle, a third her hand kerchief, and each and all made her, by con trast, ten times more hideous. At her feet, holding them in her lap, was the loveliest maid Sama had ever seen; her eyes were like blue violets, her long hair fell upon her like sun beams, and though she was dressed in a coarse frock only, Sama loved her as he had never woman before. Going to her, he took the opal ring from his finger, and placed it on the maiden’s. “ What are you doing ?” thundered the goblin. “ That is my daughter on the throne.” To which answered Sama: “ She is uglier than & witch; and I won’t marry her if you roast me this moment I” “We will see about it,” answered the goblin. “ Call the cook.” Sama stood over the golden-haired girl and kissed her. “ I will marry ynu or none!” he whispered. The cook came, the ugliest goblin Sama had seen yet. “ Take him down to the kitchen, and cut him up,” said the goblin to the cook, who carried off Sama as it he had been a baby, laid him ou the table and raised his knife. “Will you marry the princess?” “No,” said Sama, and shut his eyes, expect ing the blow; when Whizz ! he was back again, aud on the throne sat the golden-haired girl in royal robes and the yellow witch had disap peared. “Take my daughter,” said the old goblin, “yon are worthy of her.” And so Sama married her, and lived there happily all his life, which certainly was better than being eaten lor dinner. THE TALE OF A SHIRT. AND IT’S A RATHER GOOD TALE. (From, the Washington Cor. Boston Traveller.) A tall, lean, lank man from Illinois had his feet upon the table in the reading-room at Willard’s one night, while he alternately looked at tbe ceiling and at a " two-for-five ” which persistently refused to draw. The firs in his cigar gradually dwindled out, and the lean man sorrowfully, but carefully laid it away in his vest pocket tor future reference. Turning around to a party of friends who were sitting near him he said: “ Boys, have you ever heard ‘ The Tale of tho Shirt?’ No? Well now that is one the most peculiar pranks that politics ever played upon Illinois. In ’B4 a district convention was held in Peoria to elect delegates to the Democratic National Convention. Among the men who tried to be sent to the Peoria convention was S. Corning Judd. He was defeated, as usual, but he came down nevertheless to see the boys have their fun. Now, among the delegates were Mike Corcoran and his chum and bosom friend, ‘ Bad Jim ’ Connorton. “ Mike Is a comical-looking fellow. He is about twice as wide as he is high and he loves a good time better than anybody I know. Mike and ‘Bad Jim’ roomed together. The night before the convention ‘ Bad Jim ’ came in full of fun and some other things that you take out of a bottle. He saw the peaceful Mike Bleeping and the spirit of mischief entered him. “On a chair was Moke’s shirt. It was un doubtedly the biggest shirt in Peoria. Careful ly opening the window, he dropped the under garment to tbe ground, and his delight was somewhat intensified when he saw a passing tramp disappear with it in the darkness. Clos ing the window ho put out the light and got into bed. “ You can just believe that there wae a howl when Corcoran awoke in the morning and couldn't find his shirt, for, as a true disciple of Jeffersonian simplicity, he had only one with him. ‘ Bad Jim’ and ionr bell-boys scoured the town after a shirt that would fit him, but all in vain. In the meanwhile tbe time for the meet ing of the convention was drawing nigh. “To make a long story short, Corcoran gave Judd his proxy and Judd entered the conven tion as a delegate. By one of those curious twists of politics he was elected to go to tbe national convention. His tack didn't desert him there and he was made the member of the Democratic National Committee from Illinois. When President Cleveland began to look about him for a man to succeed Postmaster Palmer at Chicago he lit upon Judd. I don’t know what ‘Bad Jim’has bagged ont of this deal, but be ought to have something, for if ho hadn't thrown Corcoran’s shirt out of tho window, Judd would never have been Where he is now. That, gentlemen, is my ‘ tale of a shirt.' ” HOW THE LMHAN TOLD. AN OLD STORY FOR The story about an Indian who found a white man lying dead in tha woods, with a bullet-hole in his forehead, is one of the best illustrations of the habit of observation which a detective must cultivate. The Indian came into the set tlement and t >ld his story: “ Found white man dead in the woods. Had hole in his head. Short white man shot him with long gnn; ramrod of gun three inches bo- Sond muzzle of gun. Wore gray woolen coat; ad little dog with short tail; had waited long while lor dead man to c me along.” “How do you know all this? Did you see it?” was naturally demanded of the.lndian. “ Oh, yes. Me saw; now show you.” The settlers visited the scene of the murder, and the Indian showed them the spot where the murderer had waited for his victim. He had set his gun against the tree. It was a long one, because the bark was slightly grazed high up, and about three taeles above the mark left > by the muzzle there was a alight mark made by the ramrod, showing that it projected three inches. The mau wore a gray woolen coat, be cause where he had leaned against the tree iit . tie particles of gray threads had been caught , by the bark. There was the place where the ’ little dog sat on his haunches—his stump tail , left a mark in the yielding soil. The murderer , was short, because when he reloaded his gun he set the butt a good way irom his feet. The f trail he left coming and going showed he was [ white, because ho turned his toes out—lndians neve- do. The trail also showed that the one i coming to the tree was older than the one going i away from it—house the murderer had waited. Mmo Platte. A Man Disguised as a Lady’s Maid. —Says the Edinburgh (Scotland) AZeios.* An ex traordinary story has for some days been float ing about in Edinburgh. Although 'there are different, versions of the matter, and no official information can be obtained, all agree as to the main features of the case, and the facts appear to be nearly as follows: Some time ago articles ol plate and jewelry having mysteriously gone amissing from a family who occupy a house in a fashionable locality in the west-end of Edin burgh, the matter was reported to the police at Scotland Yard, and a London detective arrived to investigate the matter. After dinner with the family as a friend, learning the whole facts of the case, and consulting as to the circum stances of the theft, the detective’s suspicions, it is stated, rested on the lady’s maid ns the most likely cnlprit, and he requested the lady to leave her handkerchief in the room and send her maid tor it. As the maid had been in her service for a considerable time, was a favorite, and believed to be thoroughly trustworthy, the lady somewhat resented the imputation that she could be a thief, bnt, nevertheless, the of ficer’s suggestion was adopted. When the maid entered the room, the officer proceeded to ques tion her, and ultimately, it is said, arrested the supposed maid, as a male foreigner wanted in London on another charge, and whose photo the officer had in his possession. The prisoner, it is stated, was afterward conveyed to London by the detective, but whether any of the arti cles stolen have been recovered has not yet transpired. It is stated that during the time the “ maid ” had been in service in Edinburgh no doubt as to •' her ” sex had been entertain ed. It is added, though probably this is one of the natural accretions to such a story, that a neighboring butler was in the habit of walking out with the maid as a sweetheart. Sib Philip Sidney at Zutphen.—lt was during a conflict before Zutphen that the episode occurred which made the name of Sir Philip Sidney so remarkable in history. He had signalized himself one day by prodigies of valor, for he was a warlike enthusiast of the highest order. Two horses had been killed un der him and he was in the act of mounting a third, when an arquebuse-shot from the trenches broke one of his thigh bones. He was unable to manage his horse, but the faithful animal bore him out of the field to the camp, a mile and a half distant. He was in great agony and faint from loss of blood, and when passing the rest of the army, called lor water. It was brought him, but as he was putting the bottle to his mouth, he saw a poor English soldier borne past who was more severely wounded than himself, and who gazed at the bottle longingly and with haggard eyes. “ Thy necessity is greater than mine,” said the gentle and heroic Sydney; nor would he drink until the soldier had been satis fied. He was then borne to Arnheim, whore the principal surgeons were stationed. Hopes were entertained of his recovery for sixteen dasy, bnt as they were unable to extract the ball, and mortification ensued, he prepared to meet death with a resignation, piety and fortitude that cor responded to his past life, and he expired in the arms of his brother, Sir Robert Sidney, on the 17th of October, 1586, in the thirty-second year ol hie age. The United Provinces wished to have the care of his interment, bnt this was de clined by Queen Elizabeth, by whoso orders his body was embarked for England with the mili tary honors of the time. It was received at the Tower of London in the same manner, and, after lying in state for some days, was solemnly in terred in old St. Paul’s. Frying Food.—Greass of every de scription is capable of being tfeated to a very much higher temperature than water—in fact, it can be made almost three times as hot as boiling water. When fat is at its boiling-point, it is so hot that any article of food brought in contact with it is actually burned ; and this is precisely the reason why, for purposes of fry ing, fat should always be boiling hot. For any article of food—a dough-nut, for example dipped into boiling fat, is immediately covered all over by a thin crust of burned dough, which prevents the fat from penetrating farther in and enables the rest of the dongh-nut to be exposed to a greater degree of heat than can be applied to it by any other process, without coming into contact with the fat, and the natural chemical processes go on inside with a greater degree o' perfection than can be obtained by any other method. Perfect frying is the perfection ol cooking; but, so soon as the fat is not suffi ciently hot to create the burned crusts around the article fried, the fat penetrates it and abso lutely prevents cooking from taking place at all. If the fat is not boiling hot, the process that takes place is not cooking, bnt simply drench ing the food with, a tepid fat, and rendering it totally indigesUble. It makes au ultTereace how hot the fat is afterward—the mischief is done the moment the fat penetrates the inside. A Demand fob Plain English. —Says the Popu'ar Science Mont’nly: Day after day one is obliged to ask students to translate their lingo—l don’t know what eles to call it—into English. Frequently they cannot. At length they begin to see that they are only deceiving themselves by using words which they do not comprehend, to describe structures which they do not understand. It frequently happens that, after a student has described an object under the microscope, in what he considers fine scientific language, be admits that he does not understand the structure of the object at all, but, on making him start over again and de scribe it in plain English, he finds that it all comes out clearly enough. It is evident, for instance, that, bo long as a student thinks he must call all round bodies in cells, nuclei, he will soon have such a stock of nuclei on hand that he will be hopelessly confused, and the matter is not improved if, as a last resort, he indiscriminately calls some of his superfluous nuclei vacuoles and other bioplasts. The ten tency to use meaningless words is not, by any means, confined to biological students, but in a laboratory where one is examining something definite, the evil should certainly be checked by Irequent demands upon English translations of verbose rubbish. Fob Good as Well as Evil. — ' ‘There is always a woman at tho bottom of it,” is a trite remark. True, women are at the bottom of good as well as evil. Congressman Whiting, of Holyoke, made a little speech recently at a din ner in this city, and in the course ot bis re marks on the influence of paper, he stated this incident: “ The introduction of blue paper is another interesting item. The owner ot a small mill in England went to London to sell his pro duct, leaving his wi eat home. It was washing day—presumably Monday—and the good wile had a blueing bag tied to her apron. She visi ted the mill, and, leaning over the engine, dropped her blueing bag, and instead of white paper she had a lot of blue paper. She met her husband upon his return with a good deal of apprehension, and informed him of the misfor tune. He left as if a very serious mistake had been made until he eent the product to market and received five cents per pound more than lor his usual article, and thereafter his mill was run on blue paper, and it brought him a for tune.” Peat-Cutting Machine for Russia.— Says the Chicago Times: There is an excellent chance for the inventor of a simple peat-cutting machine, lor Russia, which can be worked bv a team of horses, and would take the place be tween the ordinary hand cutting-machine and those worked by steam, the latter of which cost about $4,500. Large deposits of peat exist in the country, which it is intended to use instead ot coal as soon as they can be worked cheaper than coal. In fact, on the Northern railway ot Russia the locomotives hitherto burning wood or coal are being adapted for peat-burning, as a considerable saving is expected to be realized. The hand machines, by the way, have the draw back that the peat cannot be worked below eight feet, while the steam cutting machines penetrate twenty feet and reach a superior kind of peat. A Word to the Wise. Every winter and spring Inflammation of the Lungs, induced by neglected Colds and Coughs, causes the death of thousands who might have been saved by the timely use of Tver’s Cherry Pectoral. **l was afflicted with a severe Cough, which deprived me of my regular sleep. After trying various remedies, without benefit, I procured a bottle of Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral, and used it according to directions. I am happy to say that this medicine cured me. — Robert Holiiway, Linn,Mo. I have used Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral, for several years, in cases of severe Colds < and Throat afiections, and have always : found it a speedy and effectual remedy for ; these ailments. —Samuel Bement, Prin cipal Bartlett School, Lowell, Mass. I cannot say too much in praise of Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral. I have used it in - my family m’anv years, and always with perfect satisfaction. It never fails. — Mrs. ft. F. McKeen, New Gretna, N. J. I have used Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral In my practice since 1853, and have always found it reliable for the cure of Colds, Coughs, and all Throat and Lung diseases. — S. Haynes, M. D., Saranac, N. Y. I am never without Ayer’s Cherry Pec toral. It cures severe cases of Colds and Coughs more speedily than any other rem edy known. —E. Allen, Kingston, O. Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral, . Prepared by Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass. Sold by Druggists. Price *1; eix bottle*, ♦» j i Unmanageable Maternal Elephants. ' i Says the Hartford (Conn.) Globe: Chief and: Queen, the oni y two elephants who ever became parents in captivity, and who have been quar wre? afc , T - Barnum’s grounds during the; ' Winter, have been sold to O’Brien, the circus manager, for a sum which is nominally small. tlla t their original cost was about S 10,000 each. O’Brien, who intends putting i show on the road the coming season, has use tor them alive, and hence the purchase of them. He bought them because they were rather un manageable, together with the ten others ot a similar disposition bought from different par ties, having conceived rather a novel idea of loading them down with iron chains and balls to show the people of a civilized country th® fierce and dangerous quadrupeds in captivity They leave here on the 29th of thia month and one who has been with them all Winter pre dicts that they will have quite a lively time when they come to remove them. Prof. George Arstingstal, who,without doubt, is the pluckiest elephant tamer in the country, and.who is now in the employ of the greatest show on earth, has received a letter from Mr. O’Brien offering him SB,OOO per year to take charge ol his wild tribe of twelve, but ho will not accept—nor, in deed, would he if suO,ooo more was added to It. It is bad enough to bo around and take charge of a tame elephant, but when it comes to look ing after those ugly monsters it is a little too much, said he, and “I tell you what, if them critters ever get started together they will turn over a whole town.” One Cent Breakfasts.—-Says the- London Lancet: The head master of the board school at Wallsend seeing so mucti distress about, and that many of the children attending his school were badly prepared to face the les sons of the day lor want of sufficient food st home, and being, it is said, a firm believer in oat-meal, once the chief of “Scotia’s food,” de termined to do something or his own accounts without waiting lor “ a committee.” So he or dered a good supply of oat-meal from a mill in Berwickshire, of the finest quality. The cook ing operations comiuenee at 6:30 A. M., and th® porridge is allowed to boil for fifty minutes, and is cooled and ready for serving out at 8:15. bach child is supplied with about a pint of por ridge—more or less, according to size and ap petite—and a little more than half a gill of good skimmed milk. Ai.out 120 children are thus receiving breakfast at a cost of about one half penny each, and in most eases they arc given free In times gone by oat-meal was also tho staple food ot the north of England ; it will be curious if it comes again into use. Its value as regards nutrition for children is beyond dis pute. High wages have conduced to a high class though not belter, food, for our workins classes. An Eastern Story.—An Eastern story aaye an Arab and his horse were both captured by Turks. In the night Hassan heard his horse neighing outside the tent, and crawled out to where ho stood with fore-feet tied. Hassan was bound hand and foot, but with his teeth gnawed and pulled the thong of goat-skin apart, till the horse was free. Then, kissing him, lie gave him messages of love to wife and children, suppos ing he would find his way home. But the horse stooped his head, lifted his wounded master bv grasping the leathern girdle around his waist,, and carried him many weary miles over moun tain and plain, till he reached Hassan’s homo, where he laid him gently down. The brave horse then dropped dead from exhaustion. “ One fire burns out another’s burn ing,” and most pains suffer more to be cured, but Salvation Oil is painless and certain. It costs only 25 cents. Not a Case fob tots Coboner.—A fire in Portland, Me., the other day, played havoc with a mens furnishing store. The day follow ing one of a gang of men cleaning out the cellar saw a foot with stocking and shoe on. sticking from under a pile Of blackened bricks. Tfi® men wore mu h excited, and decided at once to send lor tho coroner. While one started for him, another, holder than tho rest, took hold ot the foot and pulled it a little. The foot and leg readily came out ot the pile ot bricks, and his companions scattered, shouting: “ He’s pulled off one ot his legs.” They were mistaken. The leg was made of paper macho, for tho purpose of advertising stockings aud patent gaiters. Machinery Used on German Farms. —A recently published volume of imperial sta tistics gives some interesting figures in relation to the machinery used on German farms. It appears that ot 5,276,344 farms only 391,746 use machinery at all. Of these, 836 use steam plows, 63,842 Bowing machines, 19,63-1 mowing ma chines. Thus, not much over 7 per cent ns® machinery at all, and of these by far the larger portion only the threshing machine. Three fourths of the whole agricultural industry use no machinery, 4,000,000 peasants dispensing with it altogether. The farms between 25 and 125 acres, numbering roughly 600,000. employ in round figures, 213,000 threshing machines. A Tribute to the Sex.—“ For una dulterated meanness a rich woman, when sh® sets out, can give a man odds and then beat him clean out of sight,” savagely remarked a Syra cuse clerk as he charged up fifteen cents te ■ profit and loss. “A lady camo in here the other day and beat us down iute selling her a ninety cent pitcher tor seventy-five cents. The next day she brought it back to exchange for a larger one. That was all right, but in making the change she wanted to bo allowed ninety centra for iea pitoliOT alio yvoeiU oovouty- five cents tor, because ninety cents was the price marked upon it.” Ornithological Humbug.—Says the Boston Herald: There is an awful lot of hum bug about this d natural history study.” Why should the robbing of birds’ nests be encour aged on the simple statement that it is done for scientific purposes ? What are scientific pur poses ? Of what use to science is a collection of a dozen er two of birds’ eggs made at the cost of half a hundred times as many ruined nests. Ornithological is an impressive word, but the-ornithological science which is killing off all our birds, beautiful for song or plumage, and which yields not a namable benefit, is a de lusion and a snare. Pneumonia and Natural Gap.—lt is said that pneumonia has become epidemic around McKeesport, Pa., and the physicians at tribute it to natural gas. “ I have no doubt, ,r says one of them, “ that natural gas is respon sible not only for pneumonia, but also tor many other diseases of the respiratory organs. It i® a great convenience, but as it is burned now the grates are almost closed up and no provis ions made for ventilation. The result is, the atmosphere of the entire house not only be comes very dry, but is vitiated by the products of the com’bustion.” Bad Bitters Made of Wood.—The manufacture of alcohol from wood has increased, rapidly within a lew years, and it is said to be used largely for patent bitters, ginger extracts, and other alcoholic compounds whose strong flavor makes it unnecessary to use a better quality of spirits. Wood alcohol is a dangerous product, and sometimes gives rise to serious disturbances ot the brain and nervous system. Ohio’s Richest Man.—David Sinton, of Cincinnati, Ohio’s richest man, is a Scotch- Irishman, and grew up around the big iron mills of Pittsburg. He began business as a clerk in a country store at $4 a month; then was a clerk in a blast furnace, afterward manager, and at last ball owner. After that the advance in wealth was fast. He is worth $12,000,000, and gives largely to public charities. Draining of Swamps.—lt is said that Georgia’s great swamp, the Okefeenokee, can easily be reclaimed by drainage into the St- Mary river, only a lew miles distant, and a magnificent area ot land made ready for th® plow. Great sections of swamp land in Florida have been reclaimed by methodical drainage, carried out by a company formed for the pur pose. What Real Health Is.—Sir Andrew Clark, the celebrated English physician, de clares that one-halt the population of London' is permanently ill. He defines health as “ that, state in which the body is not consciously pres ent to us, the state in which work is easy and. duty not over great a trial, the state in which it> is a joy to see, think, to feel aud to be.” De Lesseps s Cemeteries.—The fear ful mortality among the laborers on De Lee seps’s canal is indicated by the statement that no less than five cemeteries are open, and that in one of them, opened less than two years ago ft , upward of three thousand interments have taken place. Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral is the best rem edy I know of" for diseases of the Throat and Lungs. It cured me of incipient Consumption, forty years t&o. —S. R. Lawrence, Schuylerville, N. Y. , About three years ago, as the result of a bad Cold, I bad a Cough, for which I could obtain no help until I oommenced using Ayer’s Cherrv Pectoral. One bottle of this medicine effected a complete cure. — John Tooley, Ironton, Mich. I have used Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral, and received great benefit from it. I con sider it an excellent medicine for the diseases it is designed to cure. — Rufus A. Tremain, Guysbbrough,N. H. One bottle of Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral saved my life. It cured me of acute Bronchitis when other remedies failed.— George B. Hunter, Altoona, Pa.