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IN THE NIGHT.
BY MARGARET C. BISLAND. In the night when siieuce reigneth;— Sleep ana silence utterly— Truth no more to falsehood feignetb, Love no more her wist restraineth, Haste, beloved ! The white moon waneth— Sleep and dreaming wait on thee. Through the room doth brightness hover; — Bloom and brightness born of peace— Hope hath found her heart’s recover. Fair art thou as snow peak's cover. Kiss me, sweet! The night is over; — Sleep and dreaming soon must cease— Brief the night, ah I brief and fleeting; — Closer, red lips, close to mine— Parting cometh after greeting, Ghostly halting, then retreating Day ! These golden dreams defeating;— Dreams and visions so divine 1 A CRUmWIOCY. J3Y AN ENGLISH EX-DETECTIVE. I had just got my first step in the detective service when I was placed on the most repuls ive duty I ever had assigned me. I had to watch a certain doctor’s establishment in the vicinity of Tottenham Court-road, and to do this effectually I was instructed by the inspec tor in charge of the case to take lodgings right opposite. 1 sat for days grumbling to myself behind the curtains of my first-floor apartment, and dur ing that period I could make nothing out of what seemed to please my superior officer amazingly. 1 had almost made up my mind to throw up the job and the “ force ” in disgust, when one evening, in the dusk, I saw a woman suddenly appear at one of the windows of the corresponding floor of the doctor's house. She seemed very much excited and rather hand some, and I became more interested when she appeared, with nervous fingers, to endeavor to push back the “ catch,” with a view of throw ing up the lower sash. Before she could succeed, I saw a tall man with bushy whiskers and mustache come up behind and brutally seize her by the hair and l?ull her forcibly back into the room. I leaped up at once and hurried out into the street with no object very clearly defined in my mind. The ground-floor of the house in which I lived was a bookseller's shop, and the owner was stand ing in the doorway. To him I related what I had «een. Instead of being horrified, as I ex pected, he simply smiled and said that he be lieved that Dr. Hoskyn was very skillful in men tal oases and in inebriation, and no doubt “ I bad seen him draw one of his suicidal or re fractory patients away from the window.” “But he acted cruelly 1” I returned. “I fancy you are in error,” replied the book seller, turning upon his heel; “but. if you were right, I suppose he knows the best kind of treatment for his patients.” I differed from this gentleman, and, after a little passage of arms, returned to the window of my own room, where I stood watching with out lighting the gas, that I might see without being seen. The time passed slowly, and I was conjuring Tip all kinds of ideas regarding the poor girl, or young woman, of whom I had had a glance, when a blood-curdling shriek suddenly pierced the whole neighborhood. The next instant I saw the door of the surgery pulled open, and a handsome woman rush out and up the street, followed by the doctor and, evidently, two as sistants—one of the latter coarser than the other. I rapidly gained the street, and followed them through several short and narrow streets. At last I saw them turn down a narrow lane, or court, and into that I proceeded cautiously. Three doors down was the back entrance of the pawnbroker’s at the corner, and opposite that a numble chapel. Crouching in the shadows I beheld the doctor leaning against the sacred miilding. He was saying : “ I must not be seen. She has taken refuge there. Seize her, or she will escape by the front door.” The two subordinates pushed their way into the back shop, and I hurried up to the main street to find, if possible, the constable on the beat. I was instructed not to betray the fact that I was a detective to any person in the seighborhood, and while I resolved to obey orders, 1 was equally determined that the young woman I had seen should not be treated badly. Luckily I met the officer, and, having told him who I was, ordered him to prevent any cruelty to a woman, who was evidently an in sane patient—at least while she was in the open air. Ho followed me until we reached the little ohapel, where he went ahead in time to meet the two young men drag the unfortunate creature from the building in which she had taken refuge. Sho was very pale, her eyes were glar ’ng with a mingled expression of rage and de spair, and her long, fair hair floated over her thin but still well formed shoulders. Her two captors were not of the same humor. The rougher one, who was evidently a porter or servant, was inclined to twist the delicate arms of the struggling victim, but the other, who was, I afterward found, an assistant sur geon, seemed to pity the poor creature a little, and merely kept her arm firmly in bis grasp. Dr. Hoskyn himself had hurried along the cross passage, as if he did not care, now the woman was safe, to be seen in the matter. When the woman’s eye fell upon the police man, she uttered what might be called a cry of joy, and followed this, as sho struggled past him, with : t “ Help I Make them release me, officer. They are murdering me—poisoning me in that horrible place to which they are dragging me hack. Oh, have pity on me. Mercy, mercy I” These last words were drawn from the woman by the roughness of the porter. “ You had better stop that, or I’ll take you in custody,” said the constable, sternly. “ What right y<?u .tQJuteriets ? * .It is duty to interfere 'yjien 1 Mh wit ness to any assault, and so 1 Warn you.” Here the doctor returned, and said: “ You are quite right, officer. I never allow Undue violence, and I am responsible here. You cannot, however, interfere between me and mv patient, who is legally under my care. Now, Benson”—to the man—“l have warned you before n tto lose your temper. You will cer tainly get me and yourself in trouble if you don’t take care. 0 >me along gently—gently, now,” proceeded the medical man, and I per ceived him bend his eyes fiercely—half conceal ed as they were under his bushy brows—upon the poor girl,who shuddered cofivulsively, and murmuring or moaning something, permitted berseli to bo leg away. That poor woman’s face hauntpd me the whole night, and I confess that I was full of the case when the inspector came round for my re port in the morning. He smiled mysteriously, and rubbed his hands in a manner peculiarly liis own, but said nothing. He is, in fact, one bf the most silent men m the force. After standing a few minutes gazing out at the sky, Jas 1 fancied, he said: “You have described all the callers without any mistake.” “ I have made no mistake, although 1 hate the job.” “We all have to do duties we don’t like,” he proceeded quietly. “I hope soon to see you out of.this Job, my lad,” he continued. “How are you situated for money ?” “ I have about two pounds in my pocket.” “ You may want more at any moment. Here is a note for five pounds. Keep a strict account jj£how it is expended.” SS TBIS was said with a smile, the meaning of frhiohl perfectly Understood; for he knew I was samiliar with the rules of the service in every particular. When I had pocketed the note, he Went on: “ You may at any moment now be called upon to follow Dr. Hoskyn wherever be goes. You Dave only to report what you see, and you must not be led to interfere in any way with him, nor let him suspect that you are watching him.” “ You may depend upon my discretion,” I returned. “ I know 1 may,” he answered; and then, after a pause, and in a manner that might seem quite unconcerned to those who did not know him, he murmured: “ You know Mr. Blaxland, solicitor, of Course ?” “ Certainly.” “ You have not seen him call here?” “ No.” He took his leave, and I mentally concluded > that the doctor and the lawyer were up to some nefarious game; for I knew that Mr. Blaxland had had a shady reputation for a long time, and the doctor’s conduct had convinced me that he was equally “queer” in character. The prospect of paving a hunt after some one brought back my usually good temper, and I was preparing to go to the tavern at the corner and have luncheon, when glancing through the Window I beheld my superior slowly lounging down the other side of the street. He had “ changed his skin ” completely, as we say in the for* e, in less than ah hour. He usually dressed like the most careful of city men—in Wblue frock-coat, white waistcoat, and light tweed trousers in season, with a well-polished and fashionable silk hat, the best-fitting of French kid gloves, and an umbrella faultless In size and folding. Now he appeared in a loose yachting costume, with a white flannel shirt trimmed with blue. His hair was brushed loosely over bis brow, and his head was sur mounted by a soft felt “ billycock ” hat of the “ crush ” order. The metamorphosis was magnificent, and in deed formed a complete disguise without ** changing a hair,” and my admiration for the man.grew greater every minute. 1 was still looking at him, when 1 was sur prised by hearing a heavy crash of glass, fol lowed by a shriek, numerous cries, a thud, the sound of rushing feet, and other exclamations. A number of people were running from the Tottenham Court road direction. r When I looked in the direction of Dr. Hos -7 kyn’s establishment, I saw that the whole lower half of the plate-glass window had been aasbed Out, and that the crowd had gathered round gome one who had evidently leaped through it. I instantly thought of the poor girl of the night before, and concluded that the fall must have killed a poor creature so fragile. 1 hurried to the scene of the excitement, and paw my colleague and superior supporting the unhappy woman, whose lace, hands, hair and dress were covered with blood flowing from numerous wounds. The doctor had arrived, and was leaning over his strange patient, livid frith anger and perhaps fear. v ‘‘Sbota the most cunning person under my care,” he said in alow tone; but evidently the words were intended for the pitying spectators who had gathered round. “ She elndea the closest vigilance in watching. She must have bribed some one’to convey whisky to her ” “ Sal-volatile,” I heard here in the lowest of whispers; and then 1 perceived that the inspec tor had leaned down so low as to be able to catch the odor of the potent spirit to whose in fluence the poor creature had succumbed. It was evident that the doctor had not beard this now he directed his people to convey the almost insensible victim to his house carefully—very carefully; and having conquer ed his anger, he expressed the greatest anxiety regarding her welfare, and this seemed to have the wished-for effect upon his hearers, with the solitary exception of myself. Imagine my sur prise when 1 heard the inspector say : “ Any one can see that she is in good hands when she is in yours, doctor. I was about to propose the hospital—the Middlesex or the Uni versity—but I am confident she will have more attention with you. It was a terrible accident, and the public will be anxious to know how the poor creature gets on.” “The people are very meddlesome some times,” said the doctor, frowning. “ And so are the police,” said the inspector. “ Here comes a sergeant, and I have no doubt he will be asking all the particulars of the affair.” Here he darted a quick look at the sergeant and myself—a glance which was equally as intelli gible to both, although it contained two distinct and contradictory meanings. The first part, directed to the sergeant in uniform, meant, “Question him care ully,” and the latter part, which was for my benefit, said as plainly as possible, “Be careful not to be seen in this.” As it to make matters doubly clear to the ser geant, he continued: “I expect you’ll be detained a goodish bit with the officer, doctor; so, if you 11 allow me, I’ll carry this poor creature in for you. I’m stronger than any of your folk,” and, without more ado, he raised the fragile and blood stained form of the unhappy woman in his pow erful arms, and, guided by the medical student of the night before, conveyed her easily into the interior of the doctor’s establishment, thus obtaining an entrance by accident, after having waited for a fornight for the conception of some device for accomplishing the same thing with out creating suspicion. A quarter of an hour later the sergeant came out wining his lips, evidently satisfied with the quality of Dr. Hoskyn’s wine. A few people still hung about the doors, as idlers will do everywhere. I stood at some distance smok ing, and, apparently, paying no attention to anything but the traffic going up and down the great thoroughfare at the end of the street. The sergeant -halted behind me, stooped to pick up a piece of paper—or appeared to do so. “Is this yours, young man ?” he said, hold ing a fragment up. “ Yes—thanks.” I returned. “ I’ve just drop ped it.” Walking away. I glanced at the scrap, and found written in pencil these words: Meet me at the Bedford Head Hotel in fice min utes. I walked leisurely there and the inspector presently joined me. “ 1 have no alteration to make to my former instructions,” he said, “ but the task has now become d übly difficult. If you permit Dr. Hoskyn to see and notice you I shall be com pelled to bring another hand into this business, and that I don’t want to do. Whatever honor and glory comes out of it when completo, 1 wish to be divided between us. Do you know why I selected you instead of an older hand in this affair ?” “ Certainly not,” I replied. “I was told you had been a medical student before you became a policeman.” I colored deeply. The strange man went on: “ I didn’t want to be told, however, for I never forget those who have been once or twice through my hands,” and then he proceeded to relate one or two mad escapades in which I had been concerned when I was spending money recklessly, never dreaming that banks might tail, and the most abject poverty follow compe tence or comparative wealth. “ Yon must follow Dr. Hoskyn, and avoid be ing seen by him, beeause I may yet have to in troduce you into his house for the purpose of testing semething which only your past exneri - ence would enable you to do. But I won’t de tain you now. What has occurred this morning must lead to instant action on the part of the doctor and hia friends; so you had better be off and prepare for any emergency.” “ Why keep me in the dark, inspector? Can not yon give me an inkling of the game in which I am playing a part?” “ You will succeed better as it is. Knowing liitle, you cannot let anything slip, and our op ponents are as cunning as serpents, and ready to make use of the least advantage they may obtain. New I’ve said enough. Good-by,” and he hurried one way, while I returned to my hateful station. I had scarcely reached my room when I per ceived the porter, Benson, leap out of a hansom cab at the doctor’s door. I immediately pnt on my overcoat and changed my usual hat for a broad-brimmed felt one. Then 1 descended, and hurrying to Tottenham Court road, soon stopped another hansom, and having told the driver to follow the one at Dr. Hoskyn’s door wherever it went, I leaped in. I had scarcely taken Wiy seat when a portmanteau was thrown upon the roof of the other vehicle, the doctor jumped in, and it drove in our direction. My man followed faithfully, and presently the cab we were following entered the Euston station, and the doctor had scarcely reached the book ing office when I was close behind him. He evidently had no suspicion of being fol lowed, for he cried quite loudly: “First single, Stony Stratford.” “ Jnst in time, sir,” said the porter with the valise, and upon this hint I acted, getting a sec ond-class ticket for the same place. Arrived at our destination, my amazement may be imagined when I recognized Mr. Blax land, the attorney, waiting on the platform. He shook hands warmly with the doctor, and then both get intd a “ fly,” while I proceeded to ask (h 5 driver of the omnibus from the principal hotel if the earriage belonged to the same estab lishment. Having replied in the affirmative, I took my seat, and in half an hour reached the hotel, where 1 had the satisfaction of seeing my men going up stairs to a private room, where they remained lor three hours. At the end of that time a dogcart came round, and they both got up and drove away. However, the valise was not with them, and, as they had ordered dinner for six o’clock sharp, I was compelled to be content for the time. I was near the yard entrance when they re turned, and heard the doctor say: “Well have the same trap and horse, it possi ble, to-morrow at half-past nine punctually.” J tiad already, and now i said, as he took horse out: n The afiimal’s quite fresh.” “ He’s only been to Newport,” was the reply; and I resolved to be in that town before the friends next morning. 1 took the first train, and reached there be fore eight o’clock. I soon saw all that was to be seen in Newport-Pagnel, and wandered to ward the Stratford road about the time I ex pected to see the vehicle. At eleven o'clock Dr. Hoskyn was married by special license to a young lady who acted as governess in the family of a local lawyer. That lawyer and his wife were present, and the young lady’s brother—a boy of fourteen or so— acted as “ best man,” while the “ master ” of the bride gave her away. The party returned to the solicitor’s house—presumably for the wedding breakfast. At two o'clock the doctor and his bride were escorted to the station, which they left for Torquay for the honeymoon. Mrs. Butler, the lawyer’s wife, went home, and Mr. Butler, Mr. Blaxland and tho boy went into the hotel where, the horses had been put up. Presently the ostler brought the dogcart round, and I moved along the road they had to come, in the hope of overhearing something, for I had heard that the lad was going with Mr. Blaxland. Near the gates of a somewhat preteptious mansion 1 saw a gap in a thick hedge. Passing through it, I returned toward the gates, where the hedge was highest, and I would least likely be seen from the elevated position of the driver. They soon came dashing along, and when quite close I heard the high-pitched query of the country boy: “Will my sister’s house in London be as grand as that?” “ Much grander,” returned Mr. Blaxland, with a laugh, and the noise of the wheels drowned anything else that may have been said. I walked back to Stony Stratford, pondering over the situation of affairs in my own mind. 1 . began to realize that I had not followed the in spector’s instructions to tho letter. The idea now arose that I should proceed at once to Tor quay; but concluding that London would be on my way, I hurried on to my destination, and found, on arriving, that the solicitor and his charge had driven to Wolverton to catch the first train to town. In time lor the next, I rode to the inspector’s residence on arriving in town, and when 1 had made my report, I could see that he was more than satisfied. “ Now I may let you kfiow something of what we have been doing.” he went on, thoughtfully. “ Dr. Hoskyn was called into the house of a young fellow who was suffering from consump tion. His native air, generous food and wine and absence of all anxiety would prolong life, it not effre him altogether. He mourned over his poverty, and when his wi e was not present he was in the habit of saying, bitterly: “ ‘lt is doubly hard to be in this condition when one is entitled to wealth—great wealth, in fact.’ “ When questioned, he explained that his wife, he believed, was heiress to about forty thousand pounds, left her by an uncle who died in India. Questioned as to that uncle’s name, be replied that it was William Digby Adair, a colonel in the Honorable East India Company’s service, who had become the chief organizer’of the army ot a great native prince. “ Poor Broughton died, ’ thg inspector con tinued, “and from information 1 received from the landlady of the house in which he lived, Dr. Hoskyn had introduced Mr. Blaxland with a view to recover the money for the young cou ple. At first the worthy pair helped the poor people, but they afterward changed their tac tics -professed the money beyond recovery— though it cannot be doubted but they conclud ed that, if the husband was out of the’ way, they could drive a better bargain with the unpro tected widow. “The man died, the widow fell ill from grief and the long attention to and nursing ot her husband, and when she had partially recovered NEW YORK DISPATCH. SEPTEMBER 19, 1886. I and found herself penniless, the doctor offered ' her a home in one of his retreats for convales cent patients. There he proposed marriage to her; but she suspected his neiarious designs, and refused to have anything to do with him. Since then she has been a prisoner in what ho calls a registered home lor inebriates, and for some time it has been my belief that her mental health has been slowly undermined by the ad ministering of certain drugs ” “Such as sal-volatile?” I remarked. “ Just so,” the inspector went on. “ The doc tor and bis worthy friend soon discovered that Mrs. Broughton had a younger sister named Victoria Adair living in Stony Stratford. Mr. Blaxland proposed to marry her himself, but his shameful attempt to get a divorce fr m his present wife broke down, so the doctor had to go in for the prize; and now you know that he has succeeded in accomplishing his end in that direction.” “ What a pity the young lady should be sacri ficed to a calculating scoundrel Lke that!” I said, involuntarily. “ She shall not. I shall go to the office and get the chief to telegraph to the superintendent at Torquay to arrest the doctor, giving his de scription, and this before he and his bride re tiro for the night.” This was done, and in an hour we received the following reply : “ Persons named arrived this afternoon. Gen tleman went out tor walk alone. Superintend ent went in uniform to hotel. Lady alarmed. Stole out, and was seen to warn gentleman, who has disappeared. On watch.” We went down to Torquay next day and found the lady alone. The inspector explained all that could be told her, and she returned with us to nurse her elder sister back to health. Tho lat ter, of course, was the woman who leaped from the window. * »»»<#* It was plain that Mr. Blaxland did not expect any communication. That there was a concert ed plan between them, however, is certain, for we entered his office in timo to hear him say to young Adair, who became his office boy: “ I will be generous with you, although you have stolen the money. Sign this paper, and I will not only forgive you, but send you to sea. Refuse, and I call in a policeman.” “No necessity for that,” said the inspector cheerily. “ There are two here, and we arrest gou for conspiring with Dr. Hoskyn to defraud two ladies and this lad; and it will go hard with us if we don’t prove that you were cognizant of the doctor’s plan for poisoning Mrs. Brough ton.” “Poisoning my sister I” cried the lad. “ Yes, my boy,” returned the inspector, seiz ing the paper the boy was to be induced to sign. “ Ah, I thought so power of attorney to act for you and rob you of your fortune. No, my lad, you’re safe, and—on with the darbies, Hunter.” “ On they are’ sir,” I said; and Blaxland was our prisoner. We traced the doctor to Fowey, and came up with him one day in tho neighborhood ot one of the wildest scenes on the south coast of Corn wall. He broke from us on being charged with the serious offences named, and I, being light est of foot and youngest, pursued him over a ridge of sharp rocks to the very edge of the water, where I succeeded in pinning him down on a slippery slope, from which he vainly tried to slide into the sea and pull me with him in a grasp of death. The newspapers made a great thing of this at the time, one publication call ing it “A Death Struggle on the Cornish Rocks.” As Inspector Poynter had prophesied, my connection with this case benefitted me greatly. I don’t care about talking much about myself, so I may as well explain that Hoskyn and Blax land got sentenced to fourteen years each. The marriage of the former was, of course, set aside,never having been consummated. The two ladies have married since, and so has Herbert Digby Adair, who entered the army on the re covery of his uncle’s fortune, which was greater than the sum named. The inspector and I re ceive frequent proofs that neither the ladies nor their brother have forgotten The Ci'uel Con spiracy. THE HARVEST MOON. WHY THE FULL MOON OF SEP TEMBER IS THUS CALLED. It is tho Harvest Moon ! On gilded naves And roofs of villages, on woodland crests And their ferial neighborhoods of nests Deserted, on the curtained window panes Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes And harvest fields, its mystic splendor rests. —Longfellow. The full moon of September is popularly called the harvest moon. The September moon completed half of the phases which it passes through between successive appearances of new moon and new moon on the 13th, and rose when the sun set. This was the harvest moon. At this particular period of each year the moon’s orbit makes its smallest angle with the line of our horizon. As a consequence, the intervals between the time at which it rises on consecu tive evenings are found to be shorter than in any other of the twelve months. To those un accustomed to close and intelligent observa tion of celestial phenomena, the full moon of September would some years appear to rise at nearly the same hour each successive night for almost a week. It the hours of its appearance on consecutive nights are carefully noted, how ever, it will be seen to rise later later each night by a well-defined though not constant in terval. The path travered by the moon in its journey around the earth, which it completes every twenty-nine days, forms an angle with the path traversed by the earth around the sun, com pleted every year, and also with our horizon. If a luminous line were drawn across the firma ment representing tho earth’s orbit, and anoth er representing the earth's horizon, it would be found that the two form a smaller angle at one time in the year than they do at the other, six months later or six months earlier, as the case may be. The earth and moon are nearer the former or smaller angle in September each year, and near the latter angle in March. The full moon in September in our latitude later each successive night by an interval rang ing from about twelve minutes to a little over halt an hour, being dependent on the moon's distance from the earth at that time. The full moon of March rises later on consecutive nights by an interval ranging from about an hour and ten minutes to an hour and a half. This Sep tember the difference in time of the moon’s ris ing will be at about its maximum, or halt an hour. The simple agriculturists of the early ages in England believed that the rising of the moon in August and September, for several nights in succession about the time the sun had set, was a beneficent provision of Providence to give JigJUte SSqHnjlS tbsj laMM withoutinter ruption into tne night. Hence the moon, which is full in September, came to be called the har vest moon. It has given a theme to innumera ble poets, both in England and the United States. Turner voices the sentiment of an earlier age toward the harvest moon in these glowing lines : How peacefully the broad and golden moon Comes up to g ze upon the reaper’s toil I That they who owu the land tor many a mile, May bless her beams, and they who take the boon Of scattered ears. Oh ! beautiful, how soon The dusk is turned to silver without soil, Which makes tho fair sheaves fairer than at noon. And guides the gleaner to his slender spoil. Science has robbed the September moon of much of its sentiment, and has shown that it moves in obedience to laws imposed upon earth and moon ages before the human race was cre ate:!. it still continues, however, to be the most charming feature of the early Autumn evenings, as it completely bridges, for several successive nights the interval between the set ting of the sun and the subsequent rising of the same. _ CAJOLED BY A WOMAN. BY A SECEET-SEBVICE DETECTIVE. In the Summer of 1834 complaints were made to our bureau that some one was “ shoving ” bogus shinplasters in the neighborhood of Green Bay. A good many hundred dollars worth of the currency was let loose all at once, and I was detailed to proceed to Wisconsin and work up the case. It was settled before I started that the “ stuff ” had been printed from plates made by an engraver known to us as “ Slick Sam.” His right name was, I believe, George Disston, and he was then in State Prison on a long sentence. It was pretty certain that the plates had fallen into the hands of some of his pals, and were be ing made use of iff a lively manner. It was probable that the printing was being done in Chicago, and that an “agent” had struck Greten Bay to unload. Upon reaching the place mentioned, I found that almost every branch of trade had suffered, and pretty soon I was able to show that most of the bogus money had been passed upon them during one week. Then they began to hunt up sales and remember buyers, and it was settled that the “ shover ” was an old gray-haired man named Newell, who lived on a farm a few miles away. He bad purchased dry goods, notions, hardware, drugs and almost everything else, paying in shinplasters which appeared almost new. It was plain to me, after getting thus far, that he had bought his bogus money outright of some agent, or had sent to parties in some city for it. Had it been otherwise he would have sought to turn it into good money. I swore out a warrant for him, took the cars to within four miles of his house and accom plished the rest of the way on foot. He lived in the woods, in a log house, and had but a few acres cleared. Evidences of poverty and shift lessness could be found on every hand. I was quite certain that I saw him about the door of the house while I was yet some way off, but when I reached it the door was shut and no one was in sight. However, after I had done some lively rap ping a muscular woman about thirty years old opened the door and inquired my business. I replied that I was an agent from Chicago and desired to see her husband. She invited me in, believing, as I meant her to believe, that I had come as the agent ot the counterfeiters. She stated that her husband was off hunting, but would be home soon. After we had talked for half an hour the woman’s demeanor suddenly changed. What aroused her suspicions I can’t say, but I saw that she looked on me with distrust. Thinking that the plain way was the best way I told her who 1 was and my errand. . “So you are a detective, come to arrest my husband she called out in a loud voice. I sought to calm her, and had instant success. She settled down in her chair and said she had been expecting it for weeks, and that her hus i bnnd must make the best of the situation. She shed tears and seemed much affected, and as time passed and I wanted to go out and hunt up Newell she excused his continued absence and kept me seated, on the plea that he must soon show up. I had been there two hours when we heard a voice shouting for help. While I ran outdoors she rushed into the other room. I passed half-way around the house to find the old man hanging head downward, hands on the ground and feet in a small window four or five feet up. After I had released him and taken him into custody I found that he had run into the room when he saw me approaching the house. When the wife raised her voice it was to warn him who I was and what brought me there. He climbed out of the window to escape, but in his descent his trousers caught on a nail and held him last. The wile was detaining me in order to give him a good start, but it turned out that she was only prolonging his sufferings. He stood it until ho could bear no more, and then called out. The case against him was so strong that he made no defense, and received a sentence of six years. NEGBO NED’S CHURC If. BY BILL ARP. the Atlanta Constitution.} Not long ago I heard a story about an old darky named Ned, who used to belong to Bish op Wilmer. Ned was a little scattering in his ideas of religion, but he concluded to join the church, and consulted his master about it. The result was his admission into the Episcopal church. He sat alone in the gallery for a lew Sundays, and was not happy. “ Master,” said he, “I does not like to trouble you, sir, but you see how it is, sir, Ned are mighty lonesome in de ’Piscopal church, sir. I tink, sir, when I fine de church I be so happy and feel so good, but master, you see how ’tis, sir. I set up in de gaily and do preacher away off; and he wears such curious close, sir, and he go back and take ’em off and put on some more, and he read and read and pray and pray, and do folks jump up and sot down so much, sir, dat Ned git all confuse, sir, and when de preacher preach, sir, ho do not preach to de hairt, sir, or if he do it all git cold ’fore it git to me, sir. De folks down dare git it all, sir, and Nod don’t know whar it cum from nor whar it agwine, sir. If you got no ’jection, master* I would like to jine de Presbyterian church, sir, for dere is some of my folks in dere, sir, and doy sets in the gaily and I not feel so lonesome, sir.” His master pitied him and gave his consent, and so Ned joined the church of his choice, and for several Sabbatbs was soon in his accus tomed place in the gallery, but still he was not happy. With an humble bow ho approached his master one morning and said: “Master, I knows I trouble you’bout dis ting, but master, Ned be not happy, sir. He tink dat he be happy in de Presbyte’an church, air, but you sees how ’tis, master; I gits along very well sometimes, when do preacher fire up and preach to de hairt, but, master, he fire up so seldom, and he stand up so straight, sir, and he collar so stiff, sir, and he talk so much ’bout sankficashun and ’dopshun and de ’riginal sin and all dat, sir. and his long words sound so dismal, sir, dat Ned git sleepy, sir, and don’t woke up, sir. He don’t preach to de hairt, sir, and so last Sunday I went to hoar de Mefodis, sir, and de preacher he jes’ roll up his sleeves like he was at a log-rollin’, sir, and he ’liven up everybody, sir, and de folks all sing togedder and dey pray and den shout, and eberyting go straight to de hairt, sir, and ’fore I knows it I was singin’ and shoutin’ wid ’em too, sir. Mas ter, you see how it is, sir, lis found de church at last dat I was a huntin’, and de one dat suits a poor nigger wid no lamin’, and if you lets me jine him I feel so thankful, sir.” His master lectured him on his indecision, but finally consented, and so Ned was taken in to the Methodist church. A few months after ward his master learned that Ned had quit the Methodist and joined the Baptist church. He was disgusted and vexed, and calling him up he began to abuse him, but Ned’s humility always atoned for his sins. His conduct had not been very exemplary of late. He had a weakness—a thorn in the flesh—and had been cited to come before the church—the Methodist church—but he didn’t come. “ How came you to quit the Methodists, sir?” said the master. Ned bowed his head low and said : “Master, I ’fraid you be mad wid me so I no come to you to ax you. I like the Mefodis very much, sir; dey preach to the hairt, sir, and suit me mighty well, sir, and I tink I git along wid ’em and git full of grace, sir, but master, dey is wrong about one thing, and dat makes me quit ’em, sir. Dey is entirely to ’quisitive sir; dey takes notes, sir, of every little ting and circumstance, sir; dey ’quires into all my family affairs, sir; dey is too ’quisitive, sir, for a poor niggar dat was raised an ofin, sir.” “ Well, bow are you getting along with the Baptist church,” said his master; “ are they not inquisitive, too?” Ned opened his eyes as though astonished at the question and said: “ Oh, no, sir; de Baptist doctrine ain’t dat way at all. When you jines de Baptist, sir, it’s jes’ ‘ dip and done with it.' ” A CRUEL PRACTICAL JOKE. The Foolkiller Missed One of His Vic tims in Cleveland. (From the Cleveland Plaindealer.) A practical joke, or a dastardly trick, almost unparalleled in meanness and audacity was per pretrated at the Cleveland Theatre, on Wednes day night, by a young woman, said to be rather handsome and attired in a dress of light mate rial. While the play “ Lights o’ London ” was in progress, she walked up to the box-office window and handed Manager Drew a note, written in a feminine hand, which she request ed him to read or have read from the stage. The girl seemed anxious that her request be complied with, and after a brief consultation between Managers Frank and Drew they de cided to read it, as its contents seemed to be of the greatest importance to the person inter ested. The note, the most important words of which were underscored, read as follows : “ If there is a gentleman in the audience by the name of Nathan Stark, tell him he is wanted at home just as soon as ho can get there.” Tho girl was questioned further for an ex planation of the contents of the note, and she replied that the young man’s mother was dying, and that if he wished to see her alive he had better go to his home as quickly as possible. The curtain dropped on the mimic play, the mysterious young girl in white disappeared in to the street, and the plot of the real drama be gan to develop by the appearance of Manager Frank, with the note in hand, behind the foot lights. He read the note as hurriedly as possi ble, and a young man, greatly agitated, accom panied by a young lady, was seen rising from his seat. AU eyes were fixed upon him. He made straightway to the box-office, where he asked for further particulars. There he was told as gently as possible that the lady who left the note made the further statement that his moth er was <?n her death-bed. He turned deathly pale and disappeared. The matter was almost forgotten by the peo ple about the Cleveland theatre, but the note was preserved as a safeguard in case any trou ble should result from it, and sure enough, last night, between 9 and 10 o’clock a young man, claiming to be Nathan Stark s brother, went to the box-office and asked Managers Frank and i Drew for particulars about the person who left the note. He was furnished with a description as closely as it could be given, and then he wanted the note in question, which was also lurn'ished him. “I think we have a clew now,” said he, “and we can place the matter in the hands of the po lice.” “In the hands of the police? Why, what is the matter ?” asked a Plain Dealer reporter, who was present. Mr. Stark then explained that his brother hurried to his home, No. 82 Parkman street, as rapidly as possible—fear, hope and excitement keeping him up until he reached the gate of his home. There he saw hia mother alive and well, seated on the front porch in conversation with the other members of the family. A sudden re action or possibly joy, which sometimes kills, unnerved him and he had to be carried into the house in an unconscious condition. A doctor was instantly summoned, but he declared the case a critical one and a second physician was called. All day yesterday he hung between life and death, requiring the almost constant at tendance of two physicians. When questioned, young Stark could not say whether the illness will result fatally, but the case, he said, was pronounced to be very serious, requiring the utmost attention. The brother could not ad vance any conjecture or motive for the young girl’s actions, but i-t may be possibla that jealousy was at the bottom ot it. An experi enced detective, who listened to the story, re marked : “ Very likelv this girl heard that he had in vited some other young lady to the theatre, and she made up her mind to spoil the evening’s en tertainment, and so did it.” Nathan Stark is twenty-four years of age and a mattrees maker by occupation. BEERirGERMANY. NO COUNTRY FOR PROHIBITION IBTS. (From the Overland Monthly.) Nobody in Germany makes any moral dis tinctions on beer. Clergymen, theological stu dents, monks, and whatever may be better or worse than these, are in no wise exceptions to the general rule, but are often known for the quantities they drink. I once asked a man in Berlin it there was anybody in the city who did not drink beer. He thought there was not; and another whom I asked whether there was any water drank in Germany, saw nothing strange in the question, but answered naively: “ Yes, there is considerable drunk,” and told me of a woman in Stolp (in Pomerania), who never drinks beer. I was amused recently in looking over a list of drinks in a German dictionary, when far down the list I saw water, which was put in the same category with the several kinds of wine and beer. In a field where peasants are working, you will always see beer bottles somewhere near at hand ; or, if there are several working togeth er, you wdl likely see a keg : or, if there "are several more, a barrel. In the cities, in pass ing a squad of laborers eating their dinners in I the streets, you will see each one sitting with a I sausage in his hand and a beer bottle between his knees. Who that has spent any time in Berlin does not recall the coachman standing by ,liis cab with his glass of white beer ? Or the shop girl carrying a glass to some comrade who cannot leave her place ? It is not uncommon, on enter ing a store, to see the salesman with a glass of beer at his side while measuring cloth, or the professional man with a glass on his desk. On the market stands may be seen, every few steps, the half-filled Leer glass where the fruit women and butchers are dealing out their wares. An American friend of mine, eating at a Ger man restaurant, was asked what kind of beer he would have. “ No beer,” he replied. “ Will you have wine, then ?” was the next question. “ No, nothing but water.” “ Water !” replied the waiter; “ that is to wash with.” I once heard a beggar, in recounting his hardships, say: “ I have drank nothing but water since yes terday morning.” Ihe beer saloonsand gardens are favorite places for nearly all gatherings. Students have their literary unions and scientific discussions there, the members sitting around the tables with their glasses. Drinking is often the chief exercise, he being a leader among them who can drink most. Musical associations invaria bly meet in beer saloons; also benevolent and even religious bodies. It would seem strange to an American to attend a missionary meeting, as I have done, in a lager beer saloon, and see the grave evangelists proposing gospel meas ures while Emptying their glasses. I have heard announcements from the pulpit, of reli gious meetings to be held in grog shops. A SOCIAL LESSON. AN INSOLENT GIRL JUSTLY RE BUKED. (from the Boston Courier.) Tha lata Prof. Morren related once in our hearing a rebuke which he gave to a high-atrung Beacon Hill damsel, which is worth repeating for the moral it carries. The young lady was one of his pupils, and made herself particularly obnoxious by her haughty and even insolent bearing, displaying her contempt lor all about her so markedly that it became at last unbeara ble. “ I know her mother in France,” said the professor, whose broken English there is no need of reproducing here, “ and she was a most exquisitely modest and unassuming woman. But the daughter was so insolent that she had to have a lesson; so I said to her: ‘ Will you be so good as to remain alter the lesson I 1 have something to tell you.’ She stays, and in her haughtiest manner she says: ‘ You wish to speak to me?” •• ‘ Yes. You are Miss So-and-So ?’ “ ‘Yes.’ “ ‘ And you live at No. — Beacon street ?’ »< <Y es / “ ■ And your father is Mr. So-and-So?’ - Yes.’ ‘■•And your mother is the lovely and sweet Mrs. So-and-So I have met in France ?’ “ ‘Well?’ “ ‘ Oh,' I said, ‘ you are sure there is no mis take?’ ‘“No mistake ? What do you mean?’ “ ‘ I arfi exceedingly surprised that you come of such a family and so well born.' “ ‘ Sir !’ “‘lam much surprised. I have been sure you came of new-rich family, some parvenue ‘“Sir!’ “ ‘ You think, mademoiselle,’ I said, softening my manner, ‘ that haughtiness is aristocratic. Now will you pardon an old man if I remind you that the contrary is true. I have known your mother so long that I dare to be frank with you. Yon have been very insolent in the class.’ “ ‘ Insolent, monsieur ?’ “‘Yes, mademoiselle. Yon have mistaken this for a mark of aristocracy. So does the daughter of the Jew money lender. You had much better copy your mother, your gentle lady mother.’ ” “ And I made her my best bow and left her to think about it. And she was a good girl after ward; a very good girl.” It is a pity this wise and shrewdly worded re proof should not sink into the hearts of many a young girl to-day who foolishly fancies she is asserting the loftiness of her social position by an insolence which only proves that she is not sufficiently sure of her standing to cease to be troubled about it. It takes a good many gener ations to sot one socially so high that one does not need to condescend to any human being. The young man may not have had the cour age to pop, but, all the same, THE YOUNG WOMAN SCOOPED HIM IN. I met him one night in the Summer; A friend introduced him to me; I thought he was rather good-looking, But bashful, I plainly oould see. He paid me a lot of attention, And ere a month came to a close He bashfully said that he loved me, But made no attempt to propose. Its all very well to be courted, But not very nice, goodness knows To be the sweetheart of a lover Who will not or dare not propose. And yet I must say he is pleasant, And very attentive to me, And always polite and respectful— From every bad habit he’s free. He's neither a drinker nor smoker. But that just increases my woes, For what is the use of his goodness, Good lands I —if he will not propose* I yesterday tried to entrap him To make a proposal—l said : A friend has just asked me the question “When you and I are to be wed ?" I told her concerning that matter I really had nothing to do. And that if sho wished intormation 'Twere better that she should ask you. He blushed like a school-girl from Vassar, That is, if the Vassar girls blush. And I, too, was all in a tremble And felt in my face quite a flush. Said he : you may tell the young lady That that is for you love to say, For I am both ready and willing That we should be married to-day. “ Love’s young dream ” is too often destroyed by absence, which seldom “ makes the heart grow fonder.” Our sentimental young lady readers may not believe the following incident, in fact regard it as cynical, but we can assure them that SIGH IS LIFE. A young man and a young woman loan over the front gate. They are lovers. It is moonlight. He is loth to leave, as the parting is the last. He is about to go away. She is reluctant to see him de part. They swing on the gate. “ I’ll never forget you,” he says; “and if death should claim me my last thought will be of you.” “ I’ll never forget you,” she sobs. *• I’ll never see anybody else or love them as long as I live.” They part. Six years later he returns. His sweatheart of for mer years has married. They meet at a party. Be tween the dances the recognition takes place. “ Let me see,” she muses, with her fan beating a tattoo on her pretty hand, “ was it you or your brother who was my old sweetheart 1” •• Really I don’t know,” he says. “ Probably my brother.” The conversation ends. The heroine of thia brief sketch is a fair speci men of OUR SO-OALLED EDUCATED YOUNG WOMEN. Arabel Blank is a dear, winsome little creature who lives not many miles from either Girard avenue or Fifteenth street. She is Philadelphia born, aud has been educated in a very select school for yeung ladies, where more attention is given to posing and attitudes then to real study. Arabel is one of those gushing, liquid-eyed girls who know nothing what ever of country life, and is so charmingly ignorant of cows, potato patches and the like that she actual ly makes a man pity her. Last week Arabel's dear papa took her to Cape May Point, and while there pointed out to her a flock of birds on the beach. ••There,” said the old gentleman, as the flock rose in the air, “look at those birds, Arabel. They are curlews.” “Oh,” cooed the maiden, opening her big inno cent blue eyas, “how lovely, how splendid! Just to think, pal It was only yesterday that I was read ing that dear, delightful poem of Mr. Gray’s, which begins, ‘The curlew tolls the knell of parting day !’ Only imagine those tiny creatures, pa, tolling a great bell. How very strange!’’ Then the old gentleman sat down on the damp, damp sand and wept scalding tears, and howled un til the people thought he had the cholera. There is an old story called “ The Honest Thief.” Here is one which can more justly be called AN HONEST TRAMP. He was lying full length on the grass in the blaz ing noonday sun, and everything about him en couraged the impression that he was a tramp. His clothes were ragged and unkempt, and samples of real estate from a dozen States were exhibited on various parts of his person. When a reporter ap proached, anticipating a first-rate romance from the perapetetic land agent, and took a seat on the grass a lew feet away, Mr. Tramp just opened one oye, and, after gazing at his visitor for awhile, sung out the old chestnut: “Say, young feller, ain’t got any tarbacco, have you ?” The reporter passed over bis pouch and the tramp took a very modest chew, and gave the rest back. “Where did you come from?” asked the re porter. “Oh. been in the bridewell for a mouth. Just got out. Afore that I come from Wisconsin. Been sorter layin' round for a year or two.” “Do you like tramping?” “In course I does. Think I’d do it ef I didn’t? It’s easier than workin’, ain’t it? I gits enough to eat honestly, and occasionally I gits a drink of wins, ky and some terbacco. That’s all I want. I kin al ways count on ’em, and as for sleeping, it’s a pretty cold kind of a night when I don’t sneak into some snug place. When I'm in prison I gets warm meals an’ a nice bed, and there ain’t much difference atween that an’ being outside, only I has to hustle a litlle more when 1 m out.” “How about your early life?” “Oh, that’s your lay. is it? Well, now, look here, young feller, it you think I’m going to ring in a set tale of woe about being rich once, and having my home broken up by drink and a woman, you re dis appointed. I ain’t that kind of.a tramp. I had a home that wasn’t pleasant, because. 1 wouldn t work, and so I took to trampin’, an* L’vo been at it ever since. I ain’t done no work to speak of in seven years, an' I ain’t agoin’ to. I don’t like work, so I tramps. I’m much obliged fer that torbacco, an’ I ain’t goin’ to brace you for the price of a dram, but you can’t work me for any fairy tale, an* I guess 111 finish my nap now.” The Arkansaw Traveller has thia satiric skit at a certain class of pretentious Bostonians that think all other cities in the world are dreary, and that the sun and moon are both composed of Boston baked beans. The subject of the skit is: suggestions for writers of fiction. When Grayson, the editor, called on the minister he was shown into the library, where the minister idled away most of his time. The minister greeted him, not boistrously, but respectfully, " Mr. Grayson, have you seen—” “Ah, I know what you are going to say. You want to know if I have seen your last book of ser mons.” “ Yes; have you ?” “ I have.” “ What do you think of the ideas ?” “Good, but they will not be understood outside of Boston.” ” True, but you must know that th -ire is no gos pel outside of Boston.” “ That is a fact.” Thay sat for a time looking at each other. The minister sneezed, excused himself and sneezed again. "Tell me, Grayson, is not something on your mind ?” “ Well, not particularly.” “Come, now, Grayson, you know there is.” “ Well, lam bothered.” “Tell me.” “Not now.” “Have you spoken to your wife?” “Not directly.” “Do you intend to tell her?” “Perhaps.” “What are you writing now?” “ A treatise on the tricornigerous animals of the third century.” “Ah, a splendid idea. How fortunate it is that all great writers live in Boston.” “ Why so ?'• “Because if they did not, they could not find publishers for their works.” “You are right. By the way, I read a novel the other day in which a man was killed.” "Preposterous I” “Yes, and it had a plot.” “How absurd 1” “And, worse than all, the author made his char* acters converse in an interesting way. ” “The simpleton I Who wrote it ? ’ “A very old writer, now almost entirely forgot ten. Let me see. His name was—was Dickens.” “ I have heard of him. He was easy of expres sion, but had no art.“ “Worse than that, his books contain a moral.” “Foolish! Such books are not real. There are no real books outside of this town.” “ Now, lor instance, if a reporter were to take down what we are saying and were to embody it in a book, it would be art. and art is truth. 1 don't believe that any of Dickens’ conversations ever oc curred, consequently they are not art, but simply imagination. Now. there is a fellow named Collins. Do you know what his aim is ?” “No.” “ Ho wants to entertain people.” “He must be crazy. Did you ever read any of his books?” “ I tried to read one which he absurdly calls 'Armadale,* but it became so thrilling that 1 had to throw it down. Such writers are positively annoy ing. I should think, or at least 1 don't see why there is not real life enough in other cities to furnish some man with material to writes book.” “It does seem strange.” The minister gently scratched his shoulder and Grayson passed his hand over his lace. The milk man stopped at the door and rang hi* bell. A serv ant girl went out and got the milk. She smiled at the milkman. She would marry the fellow, but she does not like the idea of leaving the city. Grayson arose and said that he must go. “So soon ?” “ I have been here quite a while.” “ Oh. no; not very long.” “ Yes, quite a while.” “ What makes you think so ?” “ Well, because I believe it.” “ Can you not tell me what is on your mind ?” “ No, not now.” “ Wish you would.” “ Cannot to-day.” “ Coming to church Sunday ?” “ Yes.” Grayson walked slowly along the street. He could have walked rapidly, but he did not. Why ? Be didn’t want to. When he reached home, he opened the door and went into the house. Why did he open the door ? Because he did not care to go in through one of the windows. When he entered his wife’s room she spoke to him. He nodded and passed on. He did not sleep any that night, and the next day he sought the minister. He found the reverend gentleman in the library engaged In blow ing his nose on a silk handkerchief. “ Sit down. How are you getting along ?” “ Not very well.” “ There is something still on your mind ?” “ Yes.” “ Can you not tell me ?” “ You are my friend ?” “ Yes.” “ Then I will tell you. Listen 1 A New York paper says that Boston is not the literary centre ol this country.” The two men looked at each other and sighed. Under the present conditions of life in this galorious country WE DON’T THINK THE YOUNG LADY WAS OVER CAUTIOUS. “ Does it show, Mary ?” “What show ?” “Why, that steel plate I have under my back hair.” “ Good gracious, girl! Why are you wearing a steel plate there ?” “Don’t you know that I have a beau?” “Yes; but what of that ?” “ Well, 1 believe from what he said the other night that he is going to pop the question this evening. I shall refuse him, and he’ll probably shoot. I see from ttm papers now that it is the fash ion for a man to shoot the woman who rejects him. "Well, I also notice that most of the victims are shot* from the back. With the steel plate under my switch and ma’s waffle-iron under the back of my corset I feel pretty safe. They had recently, in the San Francisco Reg istrar’s office, SOME QUIET FUN. His German accent was undeniable, and, as he floated into the Registrar’s office, the boys all stood around to hear the fun. “Name and residence?” asked the clerk, in a peremptory $125-a-month tone of voice. “ I liff in dot same blaces vhere I liff for twendy year,” “ Well, whore is that?” “Don't you found dot in dos great rechister?” “ What is your name, anyhow ? ’ “ Varrom you ask so many idkiristif guestions— ain’t dot name mit der great rechister like der od der, eh?” “But, unless you give me your name and resi dence, you cannot register.” “Vy gand I rechister ? I haf poen a citizen four, deen year, und my name is Ludwig Auerhausen, don’d it?” “Ob, Ludwig Auerhausen. Well, Mr. Auerhau sen, where do you reside ?” “Der Tuyfel I Don’t I already have told you dot dree dimes. I von’t talk some more. I gome pack here again und talk mit vour employer. For vy you imbudent mit me ? If you gome to my house somedimes 1 don’d tread you like dot.’* “ Where is your house ?” “On Lombard street, between Mason and Powell of gourse. I haf always lived dere.” “All right, here you are, Thirty-fourth District. Take this slip and go over to the counter and give it to the clerk.” “ Vot I go ofer der for; don’t I shust have gome away from dot blace ? I von’t rechister some more at all. Ober, I'll haf you discharged mit incompe tence, shust so soon as I gan !” and off he went in a rage, neither turning around or stopping at the registration counter. The Jacksonville Herald relates the story of A MARRIED MAN WHO WAS SUITED AT LAST. It happened yesterday. On Ocean street is a sign which sways in the morning breeze, and the sign reads: “ Woman's Exchange.” He was a Duval- county farmer, and as he left the 1 urbridge grocery store he looked up the street and saw the sign swinging as it usually does. Long and earnestly did he stare, and with a grunt he turned to a passer-by and remarked: “ Well, sir, I have diskivered it at last.” “What?” asked the stranger in astonishment. “Why, that ere place/’ “ What place ?” “That Woman’s Exchange.” “Well, what about it ?” “What about it? I’ll be goll darned if I don’t bring the old woman right up thar and swap her right away. I hev been jest lookin’ for sech a place. I tell you, stranger, this ere town is jess whoopin’ things, and don't you forget it neither/’ And then be started up for the Exchange, but the stranger stopped him. SCINTILLATIO NS. Alexander Selkirk has lived to be an auctioneer at St. Louis. One glance at politics proves that all are not geysers that spout. An equestrian never thinks of going out to Saddle Rook oysters. Young Hopeful (on seeing a negro baby for the first time)—“Mamma, is that a spoiled child ?” “ Those who use our goods are very much attached to them,” is what a porous-plaster company advertises. During these troubled times in Europe we hope that Victoria remembers to look under the bed before retiring. Discussing Mr. Howells—She I understand he is about fifty.” He—" Yes, but he has all the passion of eighty.” Photographer (mechanically)—“ Now, look pleasant, please. (With agitation)—Oh. don’t smile quite so much; I have only a small plate in.” When Jones heard it remarked that the less a man drank in warm weather the cooler he was, he wanted to know now much drink he would have to go without in order to freeze. “ Liquor,” said the lecturer, “is re sponsible for much of the misery in this world.” "That’s so,” said an old toper in the audience. “I am always unhappy when I can’t get it.” The following terse note was recently left behind by an eloping couple in one of Hamp shire hill towns: " We’ve eloped. Forgive us if you can, and if you can’t what will you do about it?” Smith—“Do you know, Dumley, if Robinson uses tobacco in any form ?” Dumley— “ Well, I got a whiff of his cigar this morning, and, judging from the smell of that, I am inclined to think that he does not.” First Banker—“ Do you know Jenks?” Second Banker—“l met him the other day for the first time.” First Banker—“ What sort ol a fellow is he ? How did he strike you ?” Second Banker— “ He struck me for five dollars !” A Western editor says: “ If the party who plays the accoydeon injthis vicinity at nights will change his tune occasionally, or sit where we can scald him when the engine has steam on, bo will hear of some thing to bis advantage.” Indian belles in Alaska wear a thick coating of oil and soot on their faces when Dot in full toilet. This is said to preserve the complex ion, which, after a thorough scrubbing, looks as fair and smooth as a good article of soft soap. A youth of Holt County sent the fol lowing note to his very best recently : “My daring —My soul feels dark to-night because lam not noir the idol who fills my whole heart and being with a tender longing. lam aching to see my own sveot Bella. Elmer.” This is the worst case of Bella* ache on reeord. A Georgia gentleman says that ha asked an old darky what he would choose if he could have any three things he might wish for. “ Well, boss,” said he, "de fuss ting I’d take a fifty dollar in money, don a fine suit ob clothes, an’ next a barrel o’ rice. Den, boss,” he continued, “if you let me make anudder wish, I’d take foah gallons o’ good whisky.” An Irishman who was one of the pas sengers on a horse-oar recently was relating »story to a friend. Just at the critical moment the con ductor rang his bell for a fare. The Irishman jump ed from his seat, and, posing in a Sullivan attitude, glared at every passenger as he said: “I don’t know who it was, but I ken Tick the blackguard that rang that chestnut bell on my joke.” '1 he Boston Transcript gives a touch ing illustration of the association of ideas. She and he had been listening to the music of the insect world. “Arthur,” she exclaimed, breaking the noisy silence, “ how delightful, and yet how sad. is the monotonous chorus of those toadstools ! ,s " Toadstools, my dear ?" replied Arthur; "I think you mean crickets.” “Yes, crickets; that’s what I mean. I knew it was something to sit on.” The maiden took her chewing gum And placed on a chair. For she bad heard her lover come With swift feet up the stair. Upon the chewing gum he sat, The joyous hours flew past. But whan he rose to take his hat, He found himself stuck fast. “ O! worse disaster never was,” She cried as out she ran: “ I ne’er can marry you because You are a fast young man.” A GREAT BEAR HUNT. THE MAJOR AND THE JUDGE HAVE SOME FINE SPORT. (From the Arkansaw Traveller,) Early in the morning we were slipping along through the chaparrel. The major said that was the way to lull bear—slip along through the chaparrel. The slipping along involved a great many scratches and slaps in the face from branches, but we all knew it was the correct thing and didn’t mind. Presently the major, who was in advance, halted. We baited. The major put his hand behind him and enjoined silence. We didn’t breathe. Then he turned toward us a face blazing with excitement, and beckoned. We stole up without a sound. We were on the open —perhaps forty yards across. Opposite, through a clett in the bushes, shone about a square loot of reddish hide, and be yond we saw a tip of an ear ot the bear to which it belonged. He was evidently asleep. We leveled our Winchesters and were about to pull, when the judge excitedly called our atten tion to- the fact that there was another not fifty feet away, only a bit of him showing. This was terrible, but wo did not flinch. Wo consulted hurriedly in whispers. I was to shoot the first as nearly as I could in the butt of the oar, and the major and the judge were to take the other. If the infuriated animals wero only wounded and rushed at us, we were to drop on one knee and fire rapidly, so as to sell our lives as dearly as possible. This was un derstood. We again took careful aim. The major said “ Fire !” and we firod. There was a tremendous thrashing around in the bushes. Bear seemed to start up all around us. We droppedon one knee and worked the Win chesters desperately, and the ma or got out Ina knife and prepared for close quarters. For half a minute the volleying was incessant, and then we thought we recognized a human voice. Wo ceased firing and listened. It was a human voice. The human voice seemed to be angry, too, and other human voices appeared to be trooping to its assistance. In a moment wo were surrounded and the major was endeavor ing to explain to an excited farmer and his three grown sons how it was we had killed four ol his best cattle within a dozen rods of the house. It took SSO and a great deal of conversation to smoothe matters as regarded the cattle,and then the farmer wanted to know why in blank we had come to Eel River bear-hunting, any way, when every blankety-blanked fool in the whole blanked region knew that there wasn’t but one blanked bear in the whole county and he was in a cage at Ukiah. He said he wished there were bears around there; wished there were some of the old-time grizzlies; he’d help-us find one and then skin up a tree and watch him knock the tar out of the whole blanked party. He added that be didn’t care a blank if we had ’paid lor the cattle, we couldn’t have a steak, as the ma jor requested: he wasn’t keeping no blanked butcher-shop for lunatics, anyhow. In fact, ho seemed to be considerably annoyed, and so wo returned to camp. A few minutes later a deputy sheriff rode over from an adjoining farm and requested us to move out of tho county. We moved. MANLY. VIGOR X cause, can be rapidly regained by the use of an entirely new remedy, 'i 11*£ YERBA SAN TA from -Spain. No stomach drugging or humbug appliances. Write for our : 2 page illus.rated book and testimonials sent ire© (sealed). VON G lAEF TR’ ( HEE CO , No. 50 Park place, New York. Consultation free, 9 to 5; Sun days, io to 12 Mention Dispatch when you write. Fon Ano INFANTS VRAOE MARK. 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