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EMPTY r, HA I RS.
BY W. J. bb'NGAN. look around my r *oru at home, The room wbero th? children played. I Bee the chairs they used so oft. The chairs where they knelt and prayed. I call to mind t .eir h ippy lives, So full of their rmrtb and glee, 1 see them in their m-rry games. And I hear their lau o hter ifce. Four little empty chairs at home. Stand lonesome a»a use the wall, Seeming to wait for those to come Who wiil never coin* ac all. Tour little lives, so tree from care, For this world of sin, too pure, <God took them to himself again. To an endless home secure. Tour little empty chairs at home. Bring such saddened thoughts to-night; They call to mind lour little forms, Long since buried out of sight. J fain would put these chairs away, Out of my sight at borne, They seom to mock me waiting there, For the children do not come. JButno, I still will let them stand. So lonesome against the wall. They bring to mind e ;ch passing day, Some sweet mem’ry of them all. J think sometimes that they’ll come back, Those four Lttle lives, so dear, And fill again those empty chair* — They seem still to be so near. So let them stand, four little chairs, Where the children knelt to pray. Where Virgie, Bush and Mary Mead, And Laura used to play. Yes, let them stand, though empty now, And when e'er we bow in prayer, We’ll ask to meet them all above Where there is no empty chair. rji SI 113 THASTOI OF THE LAKE. BY EDMUND MITCHELL, M. A. My profession is that of a barrister; but a comfortable private meome and devoted love ior the seclusion of my library have conduced o keep me out ot the madding strife of the aw courts, My residence is in London, and when I am pot in chambers, I am to be found almost cer tainly at Eastwood Hall, a dear old bouse lying in a beautifully wooded park within a few .aoura’ journey from the metropolis. Eastwood Was the home of my boyhood. Mrs. Armitage, who was then its mistress, was my aunt, but throughout my orphaned youth she was to me as a motuer. Her two sons, though some ten years younger than myself, I always looked upon as my younger brothers, and as such loved them in my own quiet way. Their father, Colonnl Armitage, after a long ill ness, contracted during foreign service, had died when Charles was about three years old, and Norman was beginning to think about cutting his first tooth. When the great sorrow of her husband’s death fell upon Mrs. Armitage, I was only a boy myself. Unlike her own sons, however, I was old enough to realize what death meant, Mid the griet-striokeu widow, her young mar ried lile blighted almost at its outset, turned to me for such sympathy and consolation as a boy can give. From that hour, when the long ex pected end had come and she flung her arms around my nteck, sobbing as it her heart would break, a new bond oi affection seemed to unite us. I have always thought that in the years that followed, something of her chastened sor row passed into my lie, making me thought ul beyond my age. Be that as it may, as I grew toward manhood I came to be m'y aunt's ad viser and counsellor in all matters relating to the boys and the property. The years rolled by, the lads grew to man’s estate and Eastwood ceased to be my home. But my rooms were always kept ready for me at the Hall, and whenever I chose to make my appearance, there was awaiting me a warm wel come from my cousins and their mother. Nor did 1 ever lose the position ot family ad viser. No step ol auy consequence was taken without my being consulted. Many a trivial little matter for discussion was made the ex cuse for a pressing invitation to run down to Eastwood, and was accepted by my conscience as a sufficient justili.ation for breaking for a spell from my studios and literary work. I was unfettered by the trammels of wedlock and was free at any moment to go whither my soul listed. My mind often travels bank to one special occasion on which I was bidden to Eastwood. My visit this timo was for a good and sufficient reason. Charles’s regiment was ordered rather unexpectedly to India, and he had leave of a few brief days at home before sailing, Ot course I bad to be at once telegraphed for, as there were a hundred and one things to discuss and arrange. My poor aunt was in great distress at the prospect of a long parting from her son. Charles himself was in high spirits. A soldier by birth and disposition, he longed for change and adventure. Alter three or four busy days, the hour of parting came, and on Charles’s part no less than his mother’s the farewell was a sad and affecting one. Norma® And I accompanied him to Ports mouth and saw the “ Malabar’’ sail. The two brothers were deeply attached, and poor Nor man seemed afraid to open his lips, lest he Tbould betray tears in hia voice. There were ove and gratitude in Charles’s grasp as he wrung my hand for the last time. We watched ike vessel steam away, the young soldier stand ing on the deck with his comrades, his hand again and again waving an adieu. Then we turned sadly away, our laces set homeward. I accompanied Norman back to Eastwood and remained there a few days, comforting the mother’aanxions heart as best I could. At the end ot a fortnight, when I went up to London, Mrs. Armitage bad begun to speak cheerfully and hopefully of her absent boy. Six months passed by, and Norman, too, had gone from the home neat, having entered the diplomatic service and become attached to a foreign embassy. Wo hoard regularly from Charles in India; he wrote long letters to bis tnpther, and these, by previous arrangement, were sent by her to Norman, and by Norman to me. Thus we all had the foil benefit of his news, and in return hardly a mail passed with out each ot us giving him a letter. It was now midsummer—Charles had sailed early in the year. I had not been out of Lon don for more than a month and the weather was oppressively hot and sultry. For some •days I had felt overcome with ennui and disin clined for work of any kind. At last, one morning when I looked forth and •saw that we wore in for another baking day, I gave in, escaped from the hot streets and glaring pavements, and found myself speeding through green fields and over bubbling brooks toward Eastwood. The warmest of welcomes awaited me. Now that both her sons were away, Mrs. Armitage felt her life dull and cheerless, and she was grateful when I announced my intention of Staying with her for at least two or three weeks. Our tete-a tele dinner that evening was a pleas ant one—our con- creation all in regard to the absent ones and their letters. An Indian mail Was almost due and the news it would bring Was eagerly canvassed. Shortly after ten o’clock we retired to rest. My rooms, on the ground floor, in one of the wings had French windows opening on to the lawn. On reaching them I flung the windows •wide, and lighting a shaded lamp, set myself to road, with the cool night air caressing my forehead. But somehow that night I could not fix my thoughts on my book. At last, after one or two vain efforts, 1 rose, lit a cigar, turned down the lamp, and drawing the windows so;tly behind foe, sauntered forth into the park. One of the groat attractions of Eastwood is the lake; in breadth it at no point much exceeds .•a stone's throw, but, as it winds about, its length ifixtonds to beyond a m’lo. From earliest boyhood the lake had been re iplote with memories of boating, fishing, swim xning and seating. Thither that night I bent my footsteps, sauntering slowly along. A quarter Of an hour sufficed to bring me to the wooded path that followed the windings of the water. At last I came to the boat-house, in front of •which the lake was at its broadest. I seated anyself on a bench, and having finished my cigar, ■gave myself up to the luxury of meditation. The moonlight streamed upon the water, the surface where its silvery sheen fell in bright contrast to the dark shadows thrown by the trees and by the scattered shrub-clad islets. A balmy zephyr blow down the valley, faintly rust ling the leaves and rippling the water at my feet. Boated there, I felt like one of the Lotophagi of old, filled with perfect present bliss, forget ful of time past and unmindful of time to come. I heard the ripple of water and the rustle of the loaves. I had the faint consciousness of the distant chiming of the clock in the village church tower. Ever and anon, also, the splash of a trout rising to a moth broke upon my ear, otherwise not a sound invaded the perfect still ness of the night. A full hour mav have passed thus, when I was roused In a second from this state of half-dream ing trance. I leaned forward, eagerly listening. It was a strange sound to hear on a midsum mer night, yet my practiced ear could liken it to nothing but the rhythmical ring of a skater sweeping in long curves over an ice-bound sheet of water. The sound for a brief space faded without dy ing away. I had heard the same effect a hun dred times before, when on Winter nights I had outstripped .Charles or Norman, and had waited for them at the boat-house until they rounded the bend some hundred yards farther up. As this thought flashed through my mind, the sound again gradually grew upon my ear, and now I could distinguish the sharp clang of the steel as it mot the surface of the ice and the dull -swish of the succeeding stroke. Almost involuntarily I strained my eyes to ward the bend, which was overshadowed By lofty trees and bathed in inky blackness. My trained ear followed and interpreted-every mod ulation ef the sound, and my heart murmured, “ Now ho is round.!’ At the same instant there shot out from the dark shadow on to the silvery surface of the ■proonlit water what in all truth seemed to be the form of a skater advancing with rapid, bold Sweeps. Fascinated and tor the moment dead to other thoughts, I watched every graceful ipovement. In a brief second the figure was almost abreast of the boat-house. There was a sUadvwy indistiuctuess about u, Lut ii seemed that of a young man of noble bearing, wearing a broad-brimmed hat, a dark cloak muffled round him. Soon the skater had shot up almost opposite to where I stood. Then, without warning, the arms are flung forward, there was a faint cry of alarm, and the figure seemed to sink into the water. At the moment the boughs of the trees around me bent as if before the wind, and a wintry blast swept past me, whirling it almost seemed snow-flakes in my face and chilling me to the bone. I was conscious ot a succession of wave lets leaping up and dashing against the sides of the boat-house. Then all was still, and when I sdook from me the feeling of horror that froze my very heart’s blood, the soft, balmy midsum mer night breeze was playing upon my cheek, and the waters of the lake were rippling peace fully and almost imperceptibly at my feet. So realistic had been the vision I had seen and the sounds 1 had heard, that my first im pulse was to take a boat and push out to where the figure disappeared. 1 rushed to the boat house door, forgetting in my eagerness that it was always locked except when some one was rowing on the lake. When I realized that I could not get at the boats, I paused to reflect. While my mind had never given the subject anything but casual and momentary attention, I had always refused belief in the so-called super natural. I came now to realize, however, that this night I had seen something undreamed of before in my philosophy. As I turned from the boat-house, and made my way homeward along the tree-lined path, I felt my blood still chilled with fear. 1 had al ways considered myself a fairly strong-minded man, and incapable of conjuring up imaginary alarms, but more than once I started at my own shadow, and it was with a feeling of relief that I regained my rooms. My sleep that night was fitful and broken, and by seven o’clock I had risen worn out and unre freshed. Breakfast at the Hall was at nine o'clock. About eight I strolled forth, to see if an hour’s walk would restore my spirits. For a moment I hesitated between the path by the lake and the avenue. I chose the latter. I had reached the main gates, and was stand ing looking along the high-road, uncertain whe ther to retrace my footsteps or prolong my walk, when a gig drove up rapidly from the direction of the village. It soon reached the spot where I stood, and the man who was driving dropped the reins and jumped to the ground. lat once recognized him as the village postmaster. I saw that hie face was pale, and then I caught a glimpse of an ominous yellow envelope in his hand. “ What is wrong, Mr. Scott ?” I almost gasped. Thank heaven I’ve met you, Mr. Hawthorne. I took the message myself off the wire the mo ment I opened the office, and came straight here.” “ What is it ?” And I took the envelope from his hand and tore it opon. The message was from Calcutta, and was very brief. It was addressed to Mrs. Armitage by one of Charles’s brother officers, and told her that her son had died from fever after a six hours’ illness. That was all. “Details by mail,” wore the closing words. My heart sank within me. For one minute everything seemed to whirl round about me. Then I realized the terrible task that lay before me. In a few seconds I had made up my mind. I jumped into the gig beside Mr. Scott, and he drove me rapidly into the village. I at once dispatched this message to Norman in Paris : “ Come home at once; let nothing delay you.” Then I got Scott to drive me back to the park gates. My last words to him were : “Remember, not a whisper of this must roach Mrs. Armitage till Mr. Norman s return. The secret, meanwhile, lies with you and ms." I was a little late for breaklast. Heaven knows how I got through the meal. I excused my absence of mind and my inability to con verse on the plea of a sick headache. After rising from the table, I withdrew to my room, and eagerly consulted Bradshaw. I found that Norman could be here at six-thirty ths next morning. The day passed like a restless dream; I moved about and spoke mechanically. I was afraid to shut myself up m my room, for I wanted to be near my aunt in order that I might guard against the bare possibility of the terrible news breaking on her unexpectedly. I was thankful when night came, and she re tired to rest. As for myself, the succeeding hours were spent in sleeplessly walking to and fro. How the night dragged its slow length along I At last daylight broke. By five o’clock I was at the little roadside station. An hour later the kind-hearted postmaster joined me. He offered to apologize for coming, but—“ You see, eir, I couldn’t help it.” His voice spoke his sympa thy, and without one friend to consult I was grateful for his company. The train arrived to the minute, and Norman sprang on to the platform. His face was pale and anxious. “ What is wrong, Harry ?” he asked, eagerly. “Is it my mother ?” “No,” I faltered. “Charley, then ?” In another moment he knew all. We started for the Hall, Mr. Scott undertak ing to look after the luggage. I took him to my own rooms, gaining admittance by the French windows, and no one in the house knew that Norman had come home. By eight o’clock he had recovered from his first shock of grief and was able to discuss with mo the dreaded duty that awaited us, ot break ing the news to hie mother. 1 will not attempt to describe the scene that followed. When Mrs. Armitage entered the breakfast parlor, my faoe must have told her that some terrible trouble had fallen among us. I faltered out Charles’s name. Thank God, I had Norman at band for her to fold to her heart With him left, she had still some one to live for. It was several months ere I ventured to speak to my aunt in regard to the vision I had seen on the lake the night before receiving the terrible news that Charles was dead. From the first the two events becakne associated in my mind, but I feared to mention the subject. But the day came when we could converse calmly and resignedly about him that was gone. '1 hen I learned tor the first time the story of the Phantom of the Lake. It was based on a family legend that several generations back the youthful owner of Eastwood Hall had gone out to skate the very night before his marriage. It had been a severe Winter, and the ice was per fectly sale, so that his friends did not seek to prevent his going, though no one felt inclined to accompany him. But on the lake that after ternoon a portion of the ice had been broken to allow swimming room for the swans. No eye saw the accident; no one was at hand to render help. But next morning the body was found, and the young maiden who that day should have become a bride, lost her reason when she beheld her lover’s lifeless form. Hence grew the legend that never an Armit age dies a sudden or violent death but some member of the family sees the phantom skater on the ice and hears his last bubbling cry across the waters. Colonel Armitage had imparted the family etdry to his wile, and both agreed that it would bo better to let the weird legend fade into oblivion. He himself had passed away after a long and lingering illness, and there was no re port of any supernatural manifestation to mark the event. So the strange story had died out, carefully concealed by the one or two who knew it, and not till now had it reached my ears. Well, time advanced with inaudible and noise less step, and another five or six years rolled over our heads. Norman was rising in the di plomatic service, and bid fair to be a future statesman. Mrs. Armitage was still with us, and reigned as mistress of the Hall. 1 spent many months of each year with her. Once again I was bidden to Eastwood in re gard to a family matter of importance. Nor man was coming home from Berlin to get mar ried. He would start for England in about a fortnight’s time. The news was not unexpected, hut it created qmte a stir in the household. The next two weeks were spent in busy preparations for Nor man’s welcome home, and also for the event that was to follow when he would bring a bride to the old Hall. Every arrangement had been made, and we were now expecting his arrival almost hour by hour. His last letter had stated that he would leave at the earliest possible moment, but he could not say definitely to a day when he would bo released from his post. It was early Autumn, and the weather was close and sultry. The cool of the evening was the most enjoyable part of the day, and I loved to spend it on the lake, where there was nearly always a gentle breeze blowing down the val ley. Not that the place was without saddest memories. I never found myself on the water but 1 thought of the fate of Charles. Many a time since then, In the falling shades of night had I stooped and listened for the ring of the phantom skater speeding along the ice. I had never heard it again. We had been all day on the tiptoe of expect ancy, but the last train from London had ar aived without bringing Norman. Having a number o! important letters to write, soon alter dinner I bade my aunt good night and with drew to my rooms. It was ten o clock before I had completed my work. Rather late for a row on the lake, I thought, but I felt fagged with the heat ot the day and tired with writing. So I got the key of the boat-house and started for the waterside. Among the boats was a pretty racing gig, some twenty feet long. I got her out and start ed for a good pull. Bending to my oars, I made the little craft fly through the water, leav ing behind a long white track that sparkled in the bright gleam of the harvest moon. ■ I soon reached the head of the lake, and started on the home journey at a more leisure ly stroke. When I had accomplished the dis tance, and just as I approached the boat house, I looked at my watch. It was ten minutes past eleven. I was in the act of raising one oar to turn the gig round at right angles to the b£uk, so as to shoot her into the boat-house, when every muscle ot my body seemed to become rigid. There, away in the distance, borne faintly on the breeze, came the rhythmical ring of skates speeding over the ice ! I listened, frozen with horror. At times the sound died away, then rose again, and I seemed with my mind to follow the phantom skater as he rounded each bend or passed each clump of trees. Now, however, the ring of the skates was sh ip and clear, and on it came, nearer and nearer, mercilessly approaching. Attest ins ligU-0 1 La— seen years Lalors NEW YORK DISPATCH, JUNE 13, 1886. I shot round the bend and glided toward me ■ along the glittering surface of the water. I For a moment I was paralyzed. But at last ; mind and muscle acted together, and with one sweep oi my still uplifted oar I turned the boat i broadside to the lane, right in the way oi the advancing figure. I moved my lips, but for a time they refused to utter a sound. At last, with a supreme ef fort, I managed to shout out: “ Holloa 1 holloa I” I heard mv voice echoing down the valley, and I hardly recognized its terror stricken tones. At the sound, the speed with which the ad vancing figure advanced seemed to slacken, and I could hear the grinding sound tnat is caused by a skater endeavoring to stop when in lull career. Twenty yards from the boat the figure came to a standstill. “ Holloa ! holloa I” 1 again cried out, incapa ble of uttering any other sound. Wor a moment the phantom gazed at me, my long boat barring his path; then he turned slowly round and skated away in the direction whence he came. He disappeared round the bend, and the ring of the skates died away in the distance. I cannot tell how I managed to get ashore. I knew where brandy was kept in the boat-house, but my trembling hand could hardly raise the glass to my lips. It was not for myself I feared. I thought ol Norman. Till break of day I watched in the boat-house, and listened with straining ear; but not again did the dreaded ring of the iron skates break upon the silence ot the night. In the gray oi the morning I slipped back to the Hall. I changed my clothes and endeavored to calm myself. By six o’clock I was in the little vil lage post office, having roused Mr. Scott fully two hours before his time. I telegraphed to Berlin, to Norman’s address, to ascertain whether he had yet started for En gland, and sat down in a state of sickening agony and suspense, determined to await the reply. Some fifteen minutes afterward the clicking of the instrument showed that a message was on the wire. I started to my feet, never think ing that it was impossible for an answer from Berlin to have reached me yet. “ It won’t be for you, sir, ’ said Mr. Scott, ad vancing to the instrument. 1 pressed close behind him. “Yes, it is, though,” he cried, eagerly; then, after a moment, he added, “ And it is from Mr. Norman.” The clicking of the instrument pierced my brain as the postmaster spelled out the mes sage word by word. It was dated from Dover, and the hour of dispatch was lA. M. It rau as follows: “ Accident in the Channel. Don’t be alarmed. Safe and starting for home.” The message had lain in the London general post office till the office at Eastwood had opened. 1 seized my hat and rushed to the station. Norman might arrive by the morning train. Such, indeed, was the case. How fervently I thanked God in my heart when I saw him standing be ore me alive and well ! I soon got from him the outline of his story. He had reached Calais just a few minutes aiter the English packet had left. A tugboat that had towed in a disabled vessel was, how ever, on the point of starting for Dover. He had at once accepted the offer of a passage, hoping that, aiter all, he might catch the mail train at Dover. When the boat had al most reached its destination, a log came on, and soon after they were run down by the very pas senger steamer that Norman had missed. The smaller vessel foundered almost instantan eously, and, with the exception of Norman, all on board perished. But the most remarkable part of his story was to come. He had not felt sleepy, and had remained on deck during the whole passage. He happened to look at his watch a few minutes before the accident happened. It was a quarter to eleven o’clock. A lew minutes later he found himself struggling m the water lor dear life. He saw the vessel that had run them down, her way hardly checked by the collision, lade into the misty darkness. He thinks he was in the water quite half an hour. Hope bad left him, he was numbed and almost senseless, when there reached his ear, borne through the billows of fog, a faint “ Hol loa ! holloa T” But, strangest of all, he thought that he re cognized my voice—that it was 1 who was call ing to him across the waters. Nerved to make one more effort for life he struck out in the direction whence the cry came, and tried to articulate my name. But his numbed lips refused to speak. Then again he heard my voice shouting “ Hol loa 1 holloa 1” In vain he tried to answer. He remembered nothing more till he found himself on board the mail packet, with some one by his side moistening his lips with brandy. A boat had been launched from the steamer without a minute’s delay after the accident, and it had come back through the fog to endeavor.to rescue the ill-fated vessel's crew. No one, how ever, was seen but Norman, and, indeed, when he was £saved the rescuing party had almost given up hope. They heard him splashing in the water, and reached him not a moment too soon. He was insensible when they got him on board. He was soon brought round, and was able to at once proceed to London. My story was told to Norman and his mother, and to this day both of them hold that to me he owes his lite. Years have rolled by, and when I visit East wood little forms climb my knees, and childish voices bestow upon me the loving name “ Uncle Harry.” Mrs. Armitage, now descending into the vale of years—l myself have entered on the downward slope—always greets me with her blessing. Norman and his wife—the story has been|told to her—are to me as brother and sister. An artificially constructed island now marks the spot where in a bygone generation the young owner of Eastwood Hall came to his untimely end. But none of us ever refer to the legend ot the Phantom of the Lake, and we endeavor, as far as possible, to forget its existence. TORNADO STORIES. One More Batch of Truthful Narratives of Wind Storms. (From the Atlanta Constitution,) “ I suppress names, because I know the par ties hate publicity; but the truth of what I shall tell you cannot be doubted.” The tall man smiled and gently nodded. “ A few years ago,” continued the drummer, “ a tornado rattled through the mountains in Western Georgia. It was a regular knock-em out breeze, and no mistake. It swept away trees and houses, and in some places it split big rocks into bits and ground them into pow der. It struck the house of a gentleman farmer while exerting its greatest force, but, strange to say, it did but slight injury. It carried away one corner of the house, leaving the rest some what shattered, but still in the ring. In the corner that was carried away was the parlor, and in the parlor was the farmer s daughter, who was deeply absorbed ia playing the piano. The tornado yanked her and the tuneful in strument into a big oak tree and left them.” “ There is nothing surprising in all that,” said the tall man. “Perhaps not, my friend,” replied the drum mer, “but you should wait until I finish. About five o'clock in the afternoon the farmer, who was searching for a few pieces ot his daughter, stopped under the tree. I leave you to im agine his surprise, gentlemen, when, startled by the sound of a piano, he glanced up among the limbs and beheld his daughter seated in a crotch, with the uninjured instrument lodged in front of her, calmly playing, * Blow gently, ye evening breezes.’ ” The tall man sighed. A red-haired horse dealer from Tennessee broke the silence. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I once lived in West Tennessee, near the Mississippi river—a pretty good country tor tornadoes itself. There was a man named Brown, who lived on the big road near Fort Pillow. He was well off, and built for himself and family a handsome two story brick house. About the time he got it completed the Road Commissioners came along and changed the big road so as to make it run right along by his back gate. It made Brown mad. He’d stand at the iront gate and swear by the hour. One day a tornado struck the house and gave it a whirl. Brown thought his time had come, and began to pray, but, be fore he got down to real work, the tornado passed, and he found his house unhurt. But, gentlemen, when he walked to the front door to take a look at the landscape, you may take my best horse it he didn’t find the big road just right where he wanted it. The tornado had lifted his house and turned it around.” The tall man pretended to be asleep. The drummer shook hands with the horse dealer and offered him afive-cent cigar. A wiry little fellow with side-whiskers, who said he was “ a physician for the cure ot dis eased orbs,” got us and stood in the aisle and took off his glasses. “Very interesting, gentlemen,” he said, “the stories are very interesting. I have lived in a tornado country myself. Colorado, gentle men, is the country, to which I allude. Torna does there, gentlemen, sometime play the— the ” “ Devil,” suggested the horse-dealer. “ Quite correct, sir ; they sometimes play the old scratch. But occasionally, gentlemen, they accomplish a great deal of good. A case in point, gentlemen, with your kind permission, I will relate. A railroad was being constructed through the mountains, and, of course, many tunnels were necessary. In the Spring of the year ten were begun at the same time. About the time they were bored into the mountain some twenty feet, a tornado came along. Re markable fact, gentlemen, but it blew those tunnels straight through the mountains, thus saving to the railroad eompany a large sum of money.” “ Why don’t you shake hands with him and give him a cigar ?” said the tall man, opening his eyes'and looking at the drummer. The suggestion was accepted and acted upon. A. man with a deep bass voice told the next story. “ I am a lawyer, gentlemen, and, in my younger days, rode the circuit m the neigh boring State of Alabama. You are aware that the State aforesaid is itself subject to the devas tating influences of the tornado. In fact, were the tornado amenable to the law, many of the citizens of the State a oresaid could, through the courts, obtain from it heavy damages. I “ liui tlioau preliminary icui-rks are not to the point. Relative to the tornado, I remember an incident of its vagaries. A party of lawyers, I being one of the party, desired to proceed to a town twenty miles distant to attend court. A picnic party had retained—l mean had hired all the horses and vehicles in the town Irom which the party of lawyers aforesaid desired to pro ceed. It was, therefore, necessary to walk or to miss the first day of the court. While the party aforesaid was discussing the dilemma, a tornado suddenly pounced upon the town. It picked up the party aforesaid, and carried each of its members to the town where the court was to be held, without damaging either person or wearing apparel.” The drummer rewarded the lawyer by af fectionately shaking hands with him. His sup ply ot cigars was exhausted. A newspaper man, who was a member of the party, straightened up in his seat and modestly asked permission to relate his tornado experience. It was unamimously and promptly granted. “ A lew years ago, gentlemen,’’ he said, “four liars were on a train bound for Atlanta. Somewhere in the neighborhood of Altoona a tornado overtook the train. It blew through the cars, leaving everybody untouched except the four liars. Those unfortunates I regret to say, it hurled into an adjoining county, leaving their mangled remains scattered over a lorty acre-lot.” The tall man opened his eyes and screamed with laughter. The drummer forgot to shake hands. The other story-tellers went into another car. In another instant the train was rushing on its way to Atlanta. HE WANTED* A PASS, Sad Story of a Decayed Gentleman Who Was Once the President’s Friend. (From.the Philadelphia News.) Captain Leabourne refused to admit him to the presence of Mayor Smith. He was one of the shabby genteels, very shabby, indeed. But though his hat was battered aud fluffy, though his not too clean shirt peeped at the world through his coat sleeves at the elbows, and though his pantaloons did not reach the tops of buttonless, cracked patent leather pumps, his mien was none tbe less lolty. Misfortune, whatever effect it had on him externally, had not affected him as a man. The busy little cap tain knew he was a beggar, and referred him to Detective Allmendinger, whom he found down, stairs. He made a profound bow, brushed’ back his hair, cleared his throat and said : “ I am very sorry, indeed, for this intrusion. Ac ‘Opt my humble apology ; but the meuial by the portal up stairs positively declined to con vey my card to the mayor, and I was referred to you.” He handed the detective the four of dia monds, on which was written with a burnt match the name “ J. Q. Duquesne.” “ I am very much pleased to meet you Mr. Dewkaue,” said the officer “and trust I may be able to serve you.” “Thanks. I think you can serve me. To-day the first gentleman in the eternal republic sur renders his personal freedom by entering the state oi wedlock. The nation felicitates him, but the heavens ween, and—so—do—l, for I have an angel spouse who is better on before. But I am one of Steve's earliest friends.” “ What Steve ?” “ Excuse the lapsus lingua. He is now the President of the United States, and though wo used to play shinny together, such familiarity is unpardonable.” “ But what can I do for you ?” “ Let me explain. Before my eyes I now see a chubby boy, whose rosy cheek is dimpled, whose eyes sparkle brightly. Oh, happy inno cent boyhood I I see another, a priggish lad. It was myself. I have a dog, of which I am proud. But the chubby lad is mischievous, and ties a tin can to the canine’s tail, and the intelligent brute instead of running off as a vul gar cur would do, quietly squats on his haunches and unties the knot with his teeth. But the priggish lad—myself—is angry. He strikes the chubby boy and they fight. The priggish lad is conquered and yonder chubby boy, who crowed over a fallen adversary, is now President of the United States, and is to be married to-day. It is meet that I, as one of his oldest acquaintances, should be present at the ceremony. I want you to secure me a pass to Washington, where I oan arrive in time to wish him joy. lam the priggish lad.” Can t do it,” said the detective, and Mr. Du quesne walked sadly away, saying he would “ strike ” some of the railroad officials or steal a ride on a buffer. A FLEET-FOOT hD~~HOG. A SPORTING MAN TELLS HOW HE WON SI,OOO. (From the Omaha Bee.) “ Lucky about queer wagers,” said a sporting man the other night, “ I shall never forget tbe time I won SI,OOO on a fast hog. Have I ever told you the story ?” His auditors shook their heads and asked for the tale, which he told as follows; “It was in the Summer of 1878, if I recollect rightly. 1 had been playing a pretty steep game in Chicago that Winter and Spring, and when June came, my not over-strong system was pretty nearly broken down. Acting on the advice of a medi cal friend, I took a jaunt to a little country town in lowa, hoping that a mouth’s sojourn there might brace me up for tbe Fall and Winter campaign. But to tell you about the race. The town had a pretty good course, and some of tbe boys there owned some really good flyers, ol which they were very proud. One of them, whose name I needn’t mention, possessed a mare upon whose fleetness he particularly prided himself. Talking with him in a banter ing way one day, I offered to produce a hog which could beat his animal in a 300-yard run ning race. He became angry, when I insisted upon the matter. ■“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’l said to him jocosely, • I’ll bet you any amount of money you may name that my pig can win the race. Do you take me ?’ The boys standing around grew interested, and commenced to press around. Tbe other man, whose face by this time was livid with rage, roared, ‘l’ll bet you one thousand dollars 1’ “This rather staggered me, but as I had the money I wasn’t to be bluffed. I put it up. The articles of agreement were quickly drawn up and signed. Well, to ont a long story short, I got hold of one of these long, lank, hungry scrub porkers and put him at once into training. My method was to feed him a bushel of corn once a day. Ths pig would be stationed at one end ot a straight 300-yard lane, and over the line at the other end the corn would be dumped at a given signal. Tbe moment the corn was dumped the pig was freed, and away he would scoot for the other end. This kind of practice was kept up for one month, and at the end of this time the hungry hog could make the distance in away that would put Maud 8. to shame. The day ot the race came, and every man, woman and child for miles around was on hand to witness it. The raoe was run on the boy’s own ground, according to agreement. The porcine racer was more than usually hungry that day. He had become so accustomed to finding his half bushel ot corn at the other end of the lane, that when he was released, upon the word ‘ go,’ he shot off like a flash. He darted nuder the horse’s legs, and before that animal and bis rider could re cover themselves, was at the other end. He didn’t get his corn, but I did get the one thou sand dollars. I left town the next day.” THE TALE" OF A CIRCE. A Peculiar Type of Woman who Glides from One Divorce Court to Another. (San Francisco Correspondent Sacramento Bee.) There ia a peculiar type of woman here. It is she who keeps what is mysteriously called a respectable place in our society, who takes ad vantage of the laxity of the law to glide from divorce court to divorce court, sucking hus band after husband dry with her extravagance, then casting him aside, and stepping upon his body as upon a swine’s back to gain a higher place. There is nothing coarse, nothing de firaved about her. She is as incapable ot vio ence and hatred as of love. She has as much heart as a plant, as much gluttony as an ani mal. And we meet them every day in every town in the State, fascinating, cold-blooded and destructive. 1 have one in my mind’s eye now—a blonde, cat-faced, mild, plump darling—who, in an evil hour, was invited by a young married lady to spend a week or so with her. Her husband is a great, stout, good-natured fellow, guileless as an infant, and willing to believe all women angels. The blonde visitor lost no time in prac ticing her wiles upon her friend’s husband. She began by taking the most lively interest in the household. She praised the menage, de clared that she had never seen a loving pair so utterly and completely happy, and thus thor oughly ingratiated herself into the confidence of the unsuspecting wife. The husband was quite proud ot their guest, and made much of her, lamenting, that such an admirable woman should have been so unhappily married, and expressing the opinion that the man who would ill-treat her was a brute. This incident came under my own observa tion, and when I look bacK upon the manner in which the mischief was made, I am astonished at the devilish skill and ingenuity oi the intrig uante. The first assault upon the matrimonial stronghold was by a sort ot gentle depreciation of her friend, in this fashion, to the husband : “ Why, Mr. , you would never think of going on the street with sueh a fearful rent in your overcoat. Poor Emily must be growing forgetful of her good man,” and then the siren would whip out her needle and thread, and deltly sew up the rent which I now believe she made herself darting every few seconds melt ing and adoring glances at the great calf she was encircling in her toils. Again, sne would express the most ardent desire to see a certain play, and Emily having some other engagement, would in trust her to the care of her husband. Every man enjoys being flattered by a pretty woman, and when these cunning creatures talk about a sympathy in tastes, and how he should have some kindred mind which could soar to his al titude, the fellow simply los'es his head, and lets the charmer put the noose about his neck. So it was with Ceesar, the wretched husband of my theme. The siren talked slightingly, in a sym pathetic strain, of course, ot his wi e, and so constantly that Ciesar condoled with himself upon having flung himself away upon a woman who could not appreciate him, when, as a mat ter ol fa:t, she wire a hundred times more intel ligent, and the “casting away ” was altogether upon her side. One night, long after the divorcee and her victim had passed the line which divides pla tonism from passion, and when the wife had ; her suspicions aroused, this miserable affair | was brought to a climax. He was in the library, having sent bis wife to bed, telling her he had some documents to look over in regard to a case he was to try in the morning. She was restless and could not sleep, so, a couple of hours afterward, slipped on her wrapper and crept quietly down-stairs to have a chat with her husband. When she opened the door she beheld a spectacle that froze the blood in her veins. The poor, hard-worked lawyer was seated before the fire, and on his knee, fondling his blonde whiskers, was her friend, clad only in her night gear. They did not perceive the wife, who returned as noiselessly as she came, dressed herself, and leaving a note of explana tion for her husband, tied to her mother’s home. There was no divorce: the parties be came reconciled for the sake of two pretty chil dren, but the wile has lost confidence in the husband, and he has grown sulky and discon tented, and it is only a question of time when a legal separation will take place. The author of all this trouble still moves around, gay and light-hearted as ever, telling husbands that their wives are not worthy of them, and above negotiating loans on the sympathetic plan. A GHOST STORY. Thrilling Experience of an Aged Couple on a Missouri Country Road. (From the Springfield (Mo.) Weekly Reflector.) On a balmy, pleasant Sunday evening, our worthy and respected friend, Mr. N. A. Mc- Corkle, in company with hia estimable lady, were returning from a visit to their daughter, Mrs. Bennett, who resides in tbe County of Christian. As the sedate couple were jogging leisurely along beneath the star-lit canopy ot heaven’s blue arch they saw a sight that iroze the marrow in their bones, congealed the blood in their veins, and turned the peaceful current of their thoughts into a torrent ot confusion and dismay. In fact, they saw a ghost—or, rather, three ghosts at one view. The circumstances as related by Mr. McCorkle are about as follows: They were coining along by a certain piece of “new ground” lately cleared and fenced by our spiritualistic friend, Matthews, who has been to some extent, we un derstand, a dealer in ghosts, when they were confronted by three ghostly aoparitions that seemed to materialize from Matthews’ fence corner. Whether the ghostly forms were soma of the familiar spirits of friend Matthews or not, Mr. McCorkle could not say—but there they were, not only one, but three. His eyes told him so, so did the eyes of his good wile, and so did the eyes ol bis tired and trusty mules, lor they, too, saw the spectre forms and snorted in dismay. But what were they there for? Was it a menace to the quiet couple who were returning to their peaceful homes ? Or were these ghosts there for the purpose of weeping over that stumpy groundj where Matthews is liable to lose bis religion betore he gathers his corn. He could not say, but let their purpose be what it might, there they were, three in num ber, ranging in bight trona a small child fo a tall man. To say that friend McCorkle and his good lady were considerably fiustrated is to put it mildly. Their tongues clave to the roofs of their mouths while icy chills chased each other in frantic sport up and down their spinal columns. The situation was desperate, and so wore Mr. Mc- Corkle's mules. Something must be done. Al though his tongue refused to perform its office, our friend’s good right arm had never tailed him. In the desperation of the moment he gave those mules the whip with a vigor that would have astonished old Jehu, the noted wagon driver of Scriptural days. With a terrible lunge and plunge they dashed by tbe pale phantoms of the night, but in so do ing the child ghost was caught and trampled by the frightened team and then crushed by tbe rolling wheels ot the wagon, while a seemingly glistening bayonet gleamed a moment in Mrs. McCorkle’s face, and a giant hand seemed to grasp her by the shoulder. But the most terrible episode of human ex perience will have an ending and so did this. They succeded in passing the ghostly sentinels ot the night, and as quickly as mule flesh could travel they traveled for home, where, it is sup posed, tbe balance of the night was spent in discussing “ What could these things mean ?” And what could be the signs and omens shad owed forth by ghosts in white carrying bayo nets and wearing soldier caps. The first gray streak of the morning light found our friend on the way to the scene of the night's adventure. Cautiously approaching the spot he proceeded to investigate. The in flooding light of an April morning revealed to the penetrating eyesight of friend McCorkle two of the ghostly sentinels of the night before, standing sternly and unyielding at the corner of the aforesaid “new ground,” keeping a day watch as well as a night vigil over the post oak and blackjack stumps, and not like well be haved ghosts generally, retiriug to the church yard at the approach ot light. The third ghost that got mixed in the wagon wheels was in visible. Chaining courage as the light increased, our venerable friend advanced closer and closer, armed with a heavy Irish shillaleh, heavy' enough to batter the head of any ghost that ever indulged in midnight rambles. The supreme moment had come, a dash at his ghostship and lo 1 there were the stakes wrapped in a newspaper which Matthews had used in marking out a fence row. Only this and nothing more. A blush as soft as the blush of the school girl as she enters the house after parting with her first bean at the gate, overspread the fea tures of our old friend, and he returned home to tell the good wife that instead of ghost, sol dier and bayonet, Bob Matthews had left his stakes and newspapers by tbe roadside. And a first-class ghost story and experience was for ever and eternally spoiled. A BEAR TRAP. HOW DAD SULLY’S FELL INTO OTHER HANDS. (From the Chicago News.) " That trap had be’n in the Sully fam’ly fur years. It had a hefty ped gree o’ usefulness runnin’ ’way back to old man Sully, the boss b'ar hunter an’ deer stalker o’ the Ad’rondaoks. 1 wanted that trap, an’, what’s more, X wanted it bad. “It was young Lige Sully’s prop’ty now, an’ he swore he wouldn’t never give it up fur love nor money. When a feller like Lige Sully sez si. h a thing you oan make up yer mind that he means biz trum the word go. “I fried to steal that trap. “ Here’s the scar o’ Lige’s bullet on my arm. I reckon I’ll alters carry it as a leetie token o’ that pesky night. “ 1 told Lige I’d give him my old buokboard an’ a slice o' my swamp lot iur his trap. Lige he on'y smiled and eaid it wasn’t a go. He also said as how the trap was a heirloom, a sort o’ a mascot, that had be’n in the famjly ever since Dad David Sully had pounded the darned thing out o’ pig iron from the rough. “I offered Lige ev’ry inducement that I knowed on fur that trap. No use; he wouldn’t part with it. “ One night Lige came home with my gal Sairy from a spellin’ match. The two lingered at the gate till arter midnight. I watched ’em. When they parted, Lige, he kissed her, an’ sed: ‘Good night, dear.’ “ When my wife asked me why I sot so long at the winder I on’y said I’d be’n countin’ the stars an’ lookin’ ont fur mv int’rest in Dad Sul ly’s trap. She said I was a fool to let my brain run ’way with an ornery b’ar trap. She said, too, that there was plenty b’ar traps ’sides Lige’s; but I said there was on’y one Dad Sully trap. “ Arter I seen how the land lay ’tween Lige an’ Sairy I knowed I was in a fairway fur get tin’ the trap. “ I gin afferblo consent to Lige’s taggin’ arter Sairy. 1 sort o’ smiled ’provin’ly ’pon their bil lin’ an’ cooin’. 1 was usin’ diplnmbacy in behalf o’ Dad Sully’s master b’ar trap, an’ was ’ter mined to git it, purwided I could keep the stream o’ love tween the young people smooth an’ purlueid. “ Well, you oughter seen me send ’Squire Tompkins’ boy ’bout his bizness when he come a shinnin’ ’round my gal Sairy. I didn’t care if his dad was worth ten thousand and held canal stock. What diff’rence did that make to me when the trap’s int’rest was in danger ? “ Well, purty sun Lige Sully come to the front an’ asked me lor Sairy’s hand. I’ll never furgit that night. “ ‘ Lige,’ sez 1, lookin’ him squar’ in the eye, ■ I’ve be’n a noticin’ o’ this thing fur sum timo bark. Sairy’s a gai o’ a million, an’ the man what gets her i’ll have a prize ’way back from Prizeville with a big P. I’m willin’ that you shall have her, an’ I’ll be proud to call you my son-in-law. I’ll make a dicker with you. I’ll let you have Sairy fur the trap.’ “Lige got white as chalk in a se ond. He sort o’ ketched his breath and couldn’t speak. Then he riz from his chair, took his hat an' started for the door. 1 felt mighty trembly jist ’bout then, fur I seen I was ’bout to lose that trap forever. •• ‘Lige,’ said I, goin’ an’ layin’ my hand ’pon his shoulder, ‘ don’t give ’way in this sort o’ a manner. Be a man ; git.yonr grit up an’ strike a bargain. You can have the gal lur the trap.’ “‘ I don’t want to buy Sairy. I’d be ’shamed to look her in the face if I should 'gree to such a downright pesky mean bizness.’ "He meant it. I knowed it looked queer to him; but he didn’t know how bad I wanted that trap. I drew him back to a chair an’ tole him to set down an’ wo would argufy the thing a spell. “ Well, I labored with that boy till arter mid night. 1 pictured.a purty leetle hum with Sairy in it to keep things spie-span bright. I said I’d throw in the next winters meat an’ the buck boardwagon ’sides. I improved the ’casion an’ swore I’d lay every cent o’ my prop’ty ’gin a nickel that Sairy could fry corn-dodgers better’n any woman in York State. An’ ’gin all this I painted in glowin’ hues how mean it looked for a man tq give up sich a heaven jist for a poor ole b’ar trap. “ Lige gin in ’bont daylight. He an’ Sairy are now happy as two doves—an’ I got Dad Sully’s tran at last.” Hora are a few neat verses inscribed to FRAULEIN. You’re & natty little waiter, O Fraulein I To my wants you always cater When I dine; And you have no irritating Way of keeping people waiting. And your smile is captivating, I opine. You are always dressed so nicely, O Fraulein ! All my feelings so precisely You divine; That from soup to tutti-frutti You’re acquainted with your duty. And utility with beauty You combine. You are skilled in fancy cooking, O Fraulein I You’re the maid for whom I’m looking For my shrine. Tbo* I have not wealth nor title, Prithee, list to my recital; Give my fond love some requital— Oh, be mine I So you’re positively laughing, And decline I And my sentiments you’re chaffing, And say, " NeinT* At my proffered love you laugh, eh? What I you art, a better half, eh. Of the man who keeps this oale ? O Fraulein I The Chicago News tells this good story of HOW A POLITICIAN GOT A BANG-UP DINNER. ••It is only about twice a year,” remarked State Senator William E. Mason yesterday, "that I’m smart enough to fool my wife. Last Monday I played a trick that ought to serve as a capital sug gestion for other husbands to conduct operations on. Along about 4 o’clock in the afternoon I began to get faint and hungry; 1 had been working hard all day and was as famished and as fagged as a hunted wolf. As I sat in my office chair wondering what I was going to find for dinner when I got home, an entirely new and marvelously brilliant idea flashed upon me. It broke upon my intellect much as a stray plank dances before ths despairing vision of a drowning man. It made my mouth fairly water as it developed its details in my greedy brain. I made a bee-line for the telephone and called the central office. ••‘Give me 5568,’8Aid I, and then I chuckled all over, and my mouth kept on watering. •• ’Bnr-r-r' went the telephone. I put my mouth close to the funnel, and in a shrill, falsetto voice asked: ‘ls that Senator Mason’s house ?’ •• • Yes,’ came the answer, and I recognized my wife at the other end of the wire. •• •Is the Senator at home ?’ I asked in the same feminine voice. “No,’ was the reply. “ ‘ Well, then, is Mrs. Mason there?’ I inquired. “ ‘Yes, I am Mrs. Mason,’ was the answer. “ ‘ Oh, Is that you ?’ I cried; ‘ how do you do ?’ ” •‘ • Why, how d’you do ?’ responded my wife, but I knew by her tones that she hadn't the remotest idea whom she was talking to. “ ‘How are all the children ?’ I asked. “ ‘They’re all very well,’ said wife. ” * Well,' said I, • I happened to be in town shop ping to-day, and I thought I'd go over to your house to dinner.* “ Well, that sort of staggered wife. She mustered up voice enough to ask: “ ‘ Who are you ?’ ‘•Then I answered: “ ‘ Why, don’t you recognize the voice ? I’m Mrs. Mya-yah I’ *“ I don’t catch the name—speak louder," she pleaded. " • Mrs. Mya-yah 1' I repeated, and with that, in order to preclude all embarrassing complications, I shut off the telephone as tight as I could. Then I threw myself into a chair and laughed till I like to went into apoplexy. Laugh ? Well, you ought to have seen the plastering fall around me I But, to make a long story short, I reached home about 5:45, and of all the dinners I ever clapped eyes on— gosh, it was a banquet I Wife had her new black silk dress on, and she had slicked the children up so that I could hardly identify them. *“I think we'd better wait dinner awhile, my dear,’ said wife. “ • Why so ? I asked. “ Bless you, I’m as hungry as an alligator!’ “ Then wife told me she was expecting a lady guest, and she repeated the details of the telephone of the afternoon. It was a fearlul ordeal, but I managed to look innocent, and of course I wondered who the lady could be. ” ‘ Indeed, I don’t know,' said wife, ‘ but her voice was strangely familiar. I’ve been puzzling myself nearly to death trying to guess who it was.* “Well, we waited fifteen minutes and then we sat down to that banquet—and a royal feast it was 1 We had soup, and fish, and a big roast, and about a dozen little side dishes, and wife had sent out and bought a gallon of pink ice cream and a frosted cake for desert. I stood it just as long as I could. When it came to the pink ice cream I couldn't stand it any longer. As I was slicing it off I looked at wife kind of sidewise and said In a falsetto voice: “My dear, I’m sorry Mrs. Mya-yah didn't come.’’ Wife dropped her Dresden china coffee cup as if she’d been paralyzed. •• • William E. Mason —you brute 1’ she gasped. •* The children enjoyed the joke just as much as I did—yes, aud wife, too, got to laughing about it after awhile. Our boy Louis said: •Do it again, pa; it’s mighty jolly to have a big dinner once’n a while.' “But look here, you reporter; you area t taking notes on me? Come, come, now, that’s not right; you mustn't tell the story on me. Put it on some body else—put it on Bill Campbell I" Here is one good reason, according to the Arkansaw Traveller, WHY THE PRISONER SHOULD GET TEN YEARS. A jury composed of eleven business men and an old fellow from across the creek retired to the jury room. The foreman, when selected, rem arked that he thought that the prisoner ought to be sent to the penitentiary for five years. “ That ain’t long enough,’’ said the old fellow. “ Let’s put it on him fur ten.” “ Oh, no, that won’t do.” “ Wall, then," stretching himself out on a bench, •‘ I’m with yer." “ What, you going to hang the jury ?” “ that’s about it." " My dear sir, we are anxious to get back to our business.'* “ Then send him up for ten.” •‘ But that would be a great injustice.” “ Then squat an' make yourselves comfortable.” •• H*ve you any special reason why the prisoner should go up for ten years “ Think 1 have,” throwing a quid of tobacco at the spittoon. “ Will you please name it ?” ** Yes, fur it won't take me long. He is my son in-law an’ I have been supportin’ him ever since he was married.” He went up for ten years. This lady was right in knowing enough to DRAW THE LINE SOMEWHERE, The other day one of the newly-appointed census enumerators in Detroit was seen flying out of a humble cottage just ahead 01 a pail of boiling water, which had been propelled with considerable force by an irate red-headed female in the immediate direction of the c. e. “What’s the matter?” was asked him. “Matterenough," was his answer. “I’ve had a red-hot time. I went in there to get the school re port, and asked the red-headed woman you saw. if there had been any births in the house during the year. “ *Naw,’ was the reply. •• 'You are the mother?’ •"Yes, air.’ “ ‘ Male or female ?’ “ ‘ Female, sir.’ •• ‘ White or colored ?’ “ There’s when I came out. These census blanks should be revised." The following brief story is pretty good proof that drummers are NOT MARRIED. This is an actual fact. Iwo St. Paul commission men were traveling on the cars. The coach was crowded, and one of them had to sit in a seat with a lady who had kindly offered it to him. The other found a seat directly behind him with a gentleman. As soon as Mr. Drummer was seated beside the lady she began talking to him—she was a loud voiced person, and asked so every one in the car heard her: “ Are you a traveling man ?” “Yes, marm,” said the 0. T„ blushing. “Why do you traveling men never get married?” said the lady. “They do; I know a great many of them that are,” said the C. T. “ You do !’’ said the lady. •‘Yes, marm; most of my friends are married men.” “ Well, I have lived in a hotel all my life and I never met one that said he was married,” said the lady. “ That’s strange,” said the C. T. modestly, “ Are you married ?" asked the lady in a voice that was heard all over the car. "No, marm; I’m not,” said the C. T. blushing. The train had come to a dead stop at a station, just as this last question was asked and answered. When the C. T. in the back seat roused up, nudged his iriend who had been Interrogated by the lady, aud said: “By the way, G , did you stop at S this morning ?’’ “ No; why ?” “ I left there last night, and your brother-in-law said he had just received a telegram from your wife saying that Bennie was very sick, and if he saw you to tell you to come home at once. * I leave you to imagine what followed. It would be useless to attempt to describe the convulsions that seized upon the entire car. SCINTILLATIONS. Weighs that are dark—The coal dealer’s. It was a wise provision of nature that clothed the northernmost mountains in firs. A dude insulted a fair widow the other day and she gave him the widow’s smite. Footlights are not used at Chicago amateur performances. Feet there can be sben without them. We do not see why people should be surprised at ladies' corsets being tight—they are al ways on a bust. A young man absent on a trip to Paris, writes that he has been all through the capi tal of France and considerable of his own. A little girl of three years, noticing the lightning for the first time, came rushing to her mamma, crying: "Oh, mamma, did you see the sun flying by ?” “Speaking of eccentricities,” said Proppleton, “my father is an example. He has not ent off his hair since the election of James K. Polk." ** Indeed; his hair must be very long by this time.” “ Ob, no, the old gentleman was bald before Polk was elected.” Infuriated man: “See here, you told me that horse was sound, and that everything he did was right up to the times. Why, dang it all. that horse went lame the first day I had him.” Horsedealer; " Weil, sir, wasn’t it one of the best limps you ever saw ?’’ Bagley—“ Come, sir, I wish you would quit puffing that smoke in my face.” pen stock— •• Doesn't hurt the smoke, my dear sir.” Bagley—•• It hurts me, sir; I detest the smell of to bacco." Penstock—" My dear sir, this is not to-, bacco, it is a fiYe-cent cigar.” “Mother, this book tells about the ‘angry waves of the ocean.’ Now, what makes the ocean get angry ?” “Because it has been crossed so often, my son.” “ I am surprised at the appearance of pour friend B. He looks wretched. Do you know if he has been disappointed in love?" “No; he has been disappointed in marriage." “Been to Philadelphia, eh? Make any acquaintances there?" “I should say J did. Was introduced everywhere. By the way, you lived there once. I believe. Suppose you know all the society people ?" “ Don’t know any. You B'e, I was born there, and my parents lived on the wrong side of the street.” Historic Mutton. THE PATRON SAINT OF THAT DELIGHTFUL EDIBLE. The man who should be considered the patron saint and exemplar of politicians is Andrew Mar vell, who lived and wrote in the reign of Charles the Second, and was •• beloved by good men, feared by bad men, admired by ail, and imitated by few,’* A tutor, a Member of Parliament, and a satirist of popular abuses, his influence was always thrown upon the side of right. His greatest ability, how ever. was his absolute Incorruptibility. In Charles the Second’s time bribes were com monly offered and received, but Marvell would have none of them. At onetime, in a conversation with the king, he so displayed his striking abilities that Charles determined to secure Marvell’s serv ices. Next morning, therefore, he sent his Lord Treasurer, Danby, to find the man out. This was rather a difficult matter, but at last the minister traced him to a little street leading out of the Strand. Stumbling his way to the top of an unpre tending bouse, he found Marvell writing in a little room. The treasurer introduced himself, made himself much at home, chatted upon a variety of topics, and finally mentioned the delight which the king had felt in listening to Marvell’s conversation. At this point, as if accidentally, he dropped a thous and-pound note upon the table. Marvell was a poor man; what could he do ? He rang his bell, and up came the little serving boy. “ What did we have for dinner yesterday ?’ asked Marvell. “Oh, that little shoulder of mutton," replied the boy. “Yes—yes; and what shall we have for dinner to day ?” “ The shoulder cold.” •‘ Ob, certainly. And what shall we have for to morrow ?” “Broth.” “Good I" said MarvelL ‘‘Enough. You may re tire." Then he turned to the astonished Lord Treasurer, and said: "Marvell’s dinners aro pro vided, you see. Marvell wants not the king’s money.” If all men equally appreciated the value of hon esty nourished by cold mutton, bribery would be come a forgotten abuse. I»et Her Rip. A NEW STORY OF WEBSTER. On one occasion some Boston friends sent Daniel Webster as a present, an enormous sized plow to use on his place. Webster gave out word that on a certain day it would be christened. The day ar rived, and the surrounding farmers for miles came to witness the event. A dozen teams with aristo cratic occupants came down from Boston. It was expected by every one that Webster would make a great speech on the occasion, reviewing the history of farming back to the time when Oincinnatus ab dicted the most mighty throne in the world to cultivate turnips and cabbages in his Roman garden. The plow was brought out and ten yoke ot splendid oxen hitched in front. More than two hundred people stood around on the tip-toe of expectation. Boon Webster made appearance. He had been calling spirits from the vasty deep, and his gait was somewhat uncertain. Seizing the plow-handles and spreading bis feet, he yelled out to the driver in bls deep, bass voice; “Are you ready, Mr. Wright?” "All ready, Mr. Webster," was the reply, mean ing of course, for his speech. Webster straightened himself up by a mighty effort, and shouted: •‘ Then let her rip I” The whole crowd dropped to the ground and roared with laughter, while Webster with his big plow proceeded to rip up tho soil. A Pat.atabt.h Summeb Soup.—A whole some and palatable Summer soup is made as follows: Put two ounces of butter in a saucepan on the fire, and as soon as Sis melted add halt a pint of sorrel and stir for one minnte. Add a pint and a half of water and seme salt and boil for three minutes; add a little butter, boil on • again and pour in, as soon as the soup is re moved from the fire, two yolks of eggs beaten with a tablespooniul of water. Hava croutons in the soup tureen; turn the soup over them and serve. Broth may be need instead of water, and, if desired, tho eggs may be omitted or more may be added. “ Soap-Bkhry. ” —A bush, tha fruit of which is called “ soap-berry,” is found in great abundance throughout Alaska. The fruit, when ripe, is a small red berry of a juicy and quinine taste, and is generally biennial. If a quart of these berries be placed in a tub capable of hold inr a bushel, and well stirred, they will form a suds or froth that will completely fill the tub. The more it is stirred with the hand the thicker it becomes, till it can be cut with a knife. A whole family of natives will gather around the tub and eat this frothy substance with horn or wooden spoons. Uncle and Nephew.—Gen. Joseph E. Johnston and ex-United States Senator Thomas ■Johnston, of Virginia, are often taken for bro thers. They are uncle and nephew, with only twelve years’ difference in their ages. General Johnston is eighty and his nephew is sixty eight. The latter is the father of seventeen children, was once Governor of Virginia, and three times United States Senator. FRENCH REGULATING PILLS. The World-renownod French Remedy! The original and only genuine (non-injurious) regu lator, indispensable to LADIES, always reliable (no Pen nyroyal or other worthless drugs), never fails. Ask your DRUGGIST for Tp 1 > T> or inclose 4 cents (stamps) to us for full • particulars, secure- ly sealed, sent you by return mail. Lades can address us in sacred confidence. Mention this paper, THE FRENCH SPECIFIC COMPANY, St. Alban’s Place, Philadelphia, Pa. LADIES, The Queen Pure Rubber Specialty Indispensable to Ladies. No Drugs. Safe and always reliable. Indorsed by prominent physicians, and worth its weight in gold. Enclose 4 cents (stamps) for full par ticulars, sample, etc. Bent you securely sealed. Ladies can address us in sacred confidence. Mention this paper. THE FRENCH SPECIFIC COMPANY, St. Alban’s Place, Philadelphia, Pa. ■. / z DR. YOUNG’S PATENT x\J /// EbECTRIC BELTS.—They are a sure cure for nervous debility, loss of manhood, youthful errors, weakness of w body and mind, weak aud ikv V PI FAITH \Ez7lame back. etc. They are \vd yv, r ytj guaranteed to restore health and Manly Vigor in a few days. Come and see theia -TTSfIL be ore you buy elsewhere, or ' write for book (free) on Man- MENWtJNIY Hudson st., near Canaf AH A Kt ,rengthens, enlarges, and de-R IT Hl |M/.lll|lHvelop3any part of Jie body. SI.H gu VI lUUIVUV KwvoUB Debility Pills, sl. In-E ■vigorating Pill, sl. All post-paid. Address Nkw England Medical Institute, I S No. 24 Tremont Row, Boston, Mass. | PENNYROYAL PILLS “CHICHESTER’S ENGLISH.” The Original and Only Genuine, Safe and always Reliable. Beware of worthless Imitations, Indispensable to LADIES. Ask your Druggist for “Chichester’s English” and take no other, or inclose 40. (stamps) to us for particulars in letter by return malL NAME PAPER. Chichester Chemical Co., r,Mrnt 28 1 S ModUun Kquar., l-hllado., Sold by Drngffiats everywhere. Ask for “Chiches ter’s English” Pennyroyal Pills. Take no other. fibST TRUSS EVER USED I Improved E 1 a s 110 - RoT _ Truss. Worn night V A M M and day. Positively OT ELASTIC Wflu'U’es lUr.'D;'-’'- S<’it tgSL TRUSS JftiUy mail everywhere. WSAlfil u 1 mirrii Writeforfull descript- ve circulara th® NEW YORK ELASTIC T# truss co., CURE YOURSELF! Dr. Bohannan’s “Vegetable Curative” is warranted to permanently cure all forms of Spermatorrhea or Berni ■al Weakness, Impeteney, etc., and restores “Lost Power,” and brings back the. “Youthful Vigor” of those who have destroyed it by sexual excesses or eviforac ticee, in from two to seven weeks’ time. It hasbeen used by Dr. Bohaunan in bis private practice fprover thirty years, was never known to fail in curing even tha WORST OASES. It gives vitality and imparts energy with wonderful effect to those middle aged men who feel a weakness beyond their years. Young men suffer ing from the consequences of that dreadfully destructive han it of Self-‘Abuse can use this medicine with the as surance 01 a speedy and PERMANENT cure. The in gredients are simple productions of nature—barks, roots, herbs, etc., and are a specific forthe above diseases. Price Five Dollars, with full directions, etc.,, to any address. For sale only by Dr. C. A. Bohannan, N. E. corner of Sixth and Biddle streets, St. Louis, Mo. Established in 1537: B.’s “Treatise on Special Diseases,” which gives a clear delineation-of the nature, symptoms, means of cure, etc., of SYPHILIS, SEMINAL WEAKNESS, Etc.. Sent Free to any address upon receipt of © 'o stamp CATARRH™ Is DISGUSTING, and the NASTY HAWKING and SPIT TING of ROTTEN MUCUS and OFFENSIVE BREATH, makes every one In your presence DISGUSTED with your company. No matter what other Catarrh Cures have failed to do, we GUARANTEE if you use the POSI TIVE CATARRH CURE, you will say it is the EMPEROR of all others. We publish no false names to delude the public, but let it recommend itself Try one bottle aud satisfy yourself that there is no REMEDY now sold that can EQUAL the POSITIVE CATARRH CURE. For Sale by all Druggists at 75 and 50 cents If your Druggist should not have it, let him got it for you AND TAKE NO OTHER. I*. S.— Druggists should not fail to keep the POSITIVE CATARRH CURE >n hand as it is having a large sale, and patients wh® use it once call for it again. GKNIRAL OFFICI *. No. 178 LEXINGTON TTo'.v 'JJorlc City. 7