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A PSALM OF LIFE.
Thro' the wiki Brtol of oor fever’d time Tbo Bong of ifojuer comet b. grave and tarß » With tidings from the world's Iresb, healthy prime— Tidings which our worn, wearied age concern. Unchanged, thro’ all the long unnumber’d years, The voice o! Homer si Kgs the song divine, Which (ells ol godii-Mo toils, of hero’s tears, And of punishment of Friain’B line. The battle in the plain is raging yet. The w’atchSres blaze, the beak d ship# lint the shore; For us tbo too in gr m array is set— Ah ! but do we light as they fought of yoro ? For we, too. I'ke the heroes long ago. Must wage slow wars and sail the bitter sea; Fierce is the conflict, loud the trumpets blow, And the waves roar and rage unceasingly. St ill must we wander o’er the stormy main; Twixt rooks and whirlpools a dead passage make; Still id not the birrns mug to us in tfcin; Still I: out the toils ol circe must we break, Turn, then, to Hemer’s Psalm of Life, and see How they endured whose pilgrimage is done; And hear the message they have left for thee—• Only by Patience is the victory won. the usd wTianwD. BY AN ENGLISH EX-DETEOTIVE. I suppose meal people are willing to admit that there are » great many rogues in the world. Though all rogues do not succeed in getting into their bands tlzousands of pound, of other people’s money, they do not fail so much tor lack of inclination as for want of opportunity. That is a general statement,, you may say ; but I am sure every man whose business causes him to become well acquainted with the shady aide of human nature will vouch for its correct ness. Members of the detective force have to become very familiar with e ery kind of crime that the law can punish. But they are oftenest em ployed to trace ent the perpetrators of fraud, and those whe make a system of thieving com paratively small sums, often give them more trouble than the man who carries on dishonest operations on the largest scale. .< I was once engaged iu a case of fraud that I remember well, because some of the things I learned interested me a great deal. Two rather smartly-dressed and really fine looking young ladies called at the office one morning and asked to see the chief superin tendent. They were taken to the head inspec tor’s room. They stayed so long there that a few of us who were about the office thought there must be some very important business on foot. Soon as they had gone, the inspector came to the door and called out: “ Orinly.” “Yes, sir,” I answered, and X stopped into the room pretty briskly, because I was, jnst then, wishing to bo put on something “ ape dial.” “I've a case here that I shall put in your hands, Mr. Crinly,” lie said. “I suppose yon saw the two young ladies who have just left the office ?” “ Yes, sir.” “ Well, they appear to have been fooled by some smart young lellow, as young ladies often are. They have teen swindled to what is, for them, a very considerable extent. I want you to.find the man and arrest him,” “ Yes, sir. Any particulars ?” I said. ' “Very few, but enough for a detective who knows his business, I daresay,” he replied. “ They appear t® nave known very little about him, though it seems both allowed him to go aweethearting. They don't even know where he lives. I think he’s one of the rolling-stones who don’t stay long anywhere. Flo’s some sort of a traveler or commfo’sion agent, and his name is Herbert Clarke. Here is a description of his appearance and the addresses of the complain ants ; and now go and do the best you can with the caso.” The inspector handed me a sheet of paper, on which the description of Herbert Clarke was written, alter which 1 saluted and left the room. When I read the description, I found it would apply to a dozen men one’ might meet in a walk from Charing Cross to Temple Bar. But I was on the case specialty, and 1 determined to work it out in my owu fashion. The complainants were Annie Bryce and Clara Walton. They wore both in the sama line of business, though one was called a dressmaker and the other a la lies’costumer. Annie lived at Battersea and Clara in the aristocratic neigh borhood et Bayswater. My first step was to call upon these ladies in the hope of gaining more useful information than the written de scription afforded. 1 first called on Annie Bryce, and the story she had to tell was not very un eommon. Herbert Clarke was a fine-looking young fel low, pleasing in his address, polite in his man ners, and possessing that easy confidence in himself which is usually ac mired by men who ace a great deal of the world. He first called upon Miss Bryce with some samples Of silk, hoe and trimmings. “Somehow, I took to him at once—he was so nice and gentlemanly; and I gave him a small order, though f really didn’t want the things I ordered,” she said. Mr. Clarke brought the goods himself, and she paid for them at once, because it was one ot the principles ol trade in the Nottingham house ho represented t« sell good things at a fair price and to give no credit. He called frequent ly alter that, and ha became more like a friend than merely a commercial traveler. He often stayed half an hour, talking all the time, ** so nice, like,” and in the course of these talks An nie learned that he did business in a great many things beside silk trimmings and laces. He speculated in pictures, and land, and houses. He had printed papers about these things. They were to be gamed in a kind of lottery, and he said it was the soundest and surest thing ol the kind ho had ever heard of. They became so intimate that Miss Bryce once consented to spend a holiday with him, as he said he had a day which he could spare from business. She met him at Kew. He took her into the Kew Gardeas Hotel and got her a glass of wine and a biscuit Then he proposed to take her fot a trip on the river. He had on a loose jacket and a straw hat “ like what boat ing gentleman wear,” and she consented. When he had soalled the boat a long way from where they Had started they were near the bank, and ebe thought the shining river and the green bank with the trees a little dis tance upon it were quite charming. “ Isn’t this deliglitml i” she said, waving her hand toward the side of the river they were passing very slowly. The ladies who live in such a place and own so much that is lovely ■ ought to bo happy.” “ Yes, they ought, and I suppose they are as happy as the day is long,” he replied. “But there is no reason why the ladies who live here should have all the grandeur and all the hapni ness. A few pounds wisely invested in the scheme I have told yon about will secure for poorer peoples place as beautiful as this. I am sure of it; and I have put every shilling I can spare into what I know to be a real good thing. Why do you not try to be as rich as X shall be ?” Mr. Clarke saw that the mere mention of such good fortune exeited Annie’s interest, and he dilated on the advantages of the speculation in Which ho had engaged until she appeared to be convinced that thirty, or even filty pounds, could not possibly be used in a more remuner ative way. Alter the trip on the river they took a little plain dinner together. A glass of wine followed, and before they left Kew, the idea of attainable wealth and luxury and leisure, had taken pos session of Annie e mind. Mr. Clarke accompa nied her home to Battersea, and when be felt her that evening he was in possession of fifty pounds—half her fortune—with instructions to ask for any more that might bo required to make the favorable result ol her venture in the land speculation absolutely secure. In place of her fifty pounds she held a piece of crisp paper, with much reading and a queer hieroglyphic upon it, which was to serve as the title-deed to an estate. Mr. Clarke called on the following day to an nounce that he bad forwarded the money to the proper quarter. Three days later ho called and produced a slip of paper, partially printed, to notify that ton pounds more was required an Annie’s coupon to entitle the holder s claim to early consideration. Miss Bryce parted with the second sum rather unwillingly, and when a fortnight passed with out a call trom Mr. Clarke, she began to think neither the man nor the speculation were so brilliant as they bad once appeared. Ono Sunday Miss Bryce was walking in the grounds ol the Crystal Palace, when, on cross ing a grassy angle of the lawn, she suddenly en countered Mr. Clarke. He took off his hat and bent his head politely, but it was not difficult to perceive the meeting did not give him real pleasure. “I have often thought of you during the last few weeks, Mr. Clarke,” she said, when the usual greeting hart passed between them. ’• I wonder you did not call. The day on which I was to know the result of my speculation in your land scheme has passed. Perhaps yon will now tell me what I have gained far the sixty pounds you took Irom me.” “ I did not like to be too hasty in conveying disagreeable news, Miss Bryce. We were not fortunate in the . ret attempt, I am sorry to say. A few pounds will ensure a better result in a few days.” “ A few more pounds, sir ! I shall give no more pounds. lam sorry that I wss induced to give a shilling. lam afraid the whole thing you are connected with is a swindle.” “ No, no, Miss Bryce. I cannot control For tune, you know; and your money is not lost. It may yet return to you, increase in away you little expect. The result of another dis tribution of property will be known next Thurs day. Think bettor of it, and secure your claim to consideration by paying the supplemental tee. May I walk with you, and talk the matter aver ?” he said, with one of his most engaging smiles. - “ I don’t want any more talking ever, sir. But 1 will trouble you for your address, so that I may write to you a ter Thursday.” “It will not be eeeessary to write. I will call upon you. lam eorry you appear to have lost faith in the speculation, and to find that you blame me as if X could govern the whole affair ’’ “From the way you spoke to me, X was bound to believe that yon had a great deal to do with it, and I think you have. It I have been swin dled, I must look to you or satisfaction. You took my money, Mr. Clarke.” “ You are angry, Miss Biyoe. This scene is aot jieaaaut to me, I wtat leave you, but lam sure you will treat mo more like a gentleman when I bring you the good news I promised.” Mr. Clarks seemed deeply hurt. He bowed politely and walked on, leaving Annie in doubt lor a few minutes as to whether she had not been un ust to one who was “ so nice.” My call on Clara Dalton procured me a story very like that told by Annie Bryce in many of its particulars. Clara Dalton differed from Miss Bryce in char acter and appearance. She was not, perhaps, a year older, but she looked more womanly. She was more cultured and dressed in superior style, though ill-natured friends might suggest that in the latter circumstance she only adver tised her business as a ladies’ customer. But that which surprised me most had no connection with her appearance or her business. I soon learned that this rather imperious-look ing young lady had been much more deeply im pressed by the handsome young traveler in lace and trimmings than her bumbler sister at Bat tersea. Like her, she had first made his ac quaintance in the transaction ot business, but sne had known him longer, and had early ad mitted him to all the intimacy ot the closest friendship. At different times she had lent him sums ot money. Once, whan he represented that a speculation had turned out unfortunately, and that probable ruin stared him in the face, her heart had been deeply stirred in his behalf. He was about to leave the room despondently— almost despairingly—when she softly seized his wrist, and laid one hand upon his arm. “ Herbert,” she said, “you must not bo ruined if I can prevent it. I am not rich, but 1 can command a hundred pounds. If that will en able you to avert the ruin you fear, I will lend it to you, and you may repay me when the trouble that presses you now has been con quered. Herbert Clarke was nearly overcome by this proof ot high regard, trust, and generosity. He declared that such a loan on such conditions would save Ids name Irom disgrace. He was very unwitling to take the money he protested. Ho did not think he could so much impose on Mies Dalton’s generous nature—no, he could not really take the money—but ho did take it, notwithstanding all his painful scruples. He gave a note ol hand o: it, but ho had not repaid one penny, because he did not so soon recover from the effects of his indiscretion. The fact that Herbert Clarke owed Miss Dal ton a hundred pounds iu addition to several smaller sums she had previously lent him, did not cause any decrease in the warmth of the friendship she entertained for him. On the con trary, they appeared to be drawn more closely together as creditor and debtor than they might have been had uot such a bond existed between them. Miss Dalton knew of the great land speculation in which he was interested. He had represented the prospect of certain enrichment by that speculation in the most glowing colors, snd he appeared so confident ot success that ho almost induced her to believe all ho said, in spite of the teachings ot her more practical worldly sense. He begged her to return his note for the hundred pounds, and to let him wisely invest the money tor her in the specula tion. But she would not consent to that. She gave him ten pounds, for which she received a coupon, and declared she would not put more money in the concern, however promising it might appear to him. She thought he seemed disappointed and vexed because she would not invest, more heavily in the coupons he had. There was a change in bis manner which sur prised and pained her. Bhe thought he was uot, after all, exactly such a man as she had pictured him in her own mind. When he left the house Miss Dalton fell into what is often described as “a brown study,” and after reviewing the past few months very closely, she woke up with the suspicion that Herbert Clarke had been all the time much more anxious to get her money than to give any pleasure to herself. Mr. Clarke called on Miss Dalton the next day. He found her in a stern, unbending mood, which revealed some traits of her character which he had not before discovered. “ I wish to speak to you seriously this morn ing, Mr. Clarke,” she said, turning toward him when they bad entered the sitting-room to gether. “I have need of more money than 1 can conveniently get just now, and I must ask you to repay the sum I lent you two months ago.” “But, Miss Dalton, you surprise me! This demand is so sudden ! You must know I have not a hundred pounds at my command, or I should have repaid the sum without putting you to the pain of asking for it,” Mr. Clarke said, in a great measnre preserving his compos ure by a strong effort. “Yes, I make this request with some pain, Mr. Olarke ; but let that pass. You owe me other sums, borrowed at different times, and 1 must ask you to return me the ten pounds I gave to that land scheme you are so fond of.” “How unfortunate I ami .1 sent away tbo money tor your coupon in less than two hours after you gave it me,” exclaimed Mr. Clarke, with every appearance of annoyance, “I wish you had been as prompt in paying me, sir. But I want money now. The time at which you promised to pay the hundred pounds has long passed. I want to know bow’ much you can let me have in three hours?” “ Tlireo hours ! I assure you I have not two pounds in my possession, Miss Dalton, and there is no place in London whore I could get five pounds in that time.” “ I believe you are not telling me truth, Mr. Clarke,” responded Clara, standing bold and erect in her indignation. “ I believe you have money, and I believe, too, that the papers you carry in your pocket there, represent only a fraud and a swindle. You start, sir, and clench your hand as if you would strike me. But be ware I 1 know you at last. I will give you un til three o’clock to-morrow to repay the money I ask. It Ido not hear from you then, you may hear from me.” Mr. Clarke saw that expostulation, explana tion, or wheedling would be equally powerless on this angry woman in her present mood, so be took up his hat and went hie way without speaking a word. A young woman who had once worked with Annie Bryce in a large establishment at the West find of London was in the employ of Miss Dalton, costumier, at the time these events oc curred. Annie chanced to meet her in Oxford street one day, and in the coarse of a long and somewhat rambling chat Miss Bryce learnd that the handsome traveler in lace and trimmings often called on Miss Dalton, and they wore on such very friendly terms that the women thought Miss Dalton was quite willing to be come Mrs. Clarke as soon as it could be made convenient. Annie heard this bit of gossip with the keenest interest imaginable, and with no small share of surprise and anger. The next day she called at Miss Dalton’s to learn Herbert Clarke’s address. The women soon exchanged confidences, and the result ot the interview was the joint visit to tbo detective office and the commencement of the ease iu which I was engaged. Though the facta I learned in connection with Mr. Herbert Clarke were interesting enough, they were not of a nature to render my discovery of that gentleman an easy task. I scrutinized all the young gentlemen I saw going in or out of milliners’ and dressmakers’ places during the next lew days, but I failed to see one on whom I could fix as fully answering the description 1 bad received. I was passing the Post Office one morning when I saw a gentleman ascending the steps whom I thought I had met somewhere before. I looked at him closely a minute, and only when he disappeared within the “Lelt Letters ” office it occurred to me that I recognized him from the close description of Clara Dalton. He came out again almost immediately, and walked to ward Alderegate street reading the letter I sup posed he had received. When he had pro ceeded but a short distance he tore the letter in four pieces, and threw the fragments, together with the envelope, into the street, where the wheels of the ever-passing vehicles would soon convert them into London mud. I rescued the bits of paper from the ignoble fate to which they were exposed. Hastily pick ing them up, 1 found the envelope addressed to “ James Harkness, London," and the words “To be trft till called for ” clearly written across the top. The postal mark proved that the letter had been posted at Beading. There was not much in all this. I did not want James Harkness, yet as he waa so like the man 1 did want, I at once resolved to learn all I could about him. He went into the telegraph office, and I fol lowed him. He took a form and began to write. I also took a form, but did not begin to write immediately. I stood behind him tumbling in my vest pockets as if in search of something, and in the lew seconds I stood there I read that the telegram was tor Loading. I could dis tinguish only a lew words of the message. They were “at once » * * churchyard » * » Three.” I stooped and wrote while Mr. Hark ness handed in his telegram and paid for it; but when he leit the office I followed him without waiting to eend any message. I attended Mr. Harkness closely but not ob trusively during the next few hours. At two o’clock he took train for Beading, and I was a passenger in the same train, but not in the same carriage. Arrived at Beading, I hastened Irom the station before him, and, going to the police office there, made known my business, and pro cured a plain-clothes constable to attend me and obey any directions I might give. It is hardly necessary to say the churchyard was my point ot interest. When I entered the place it was almost deserted. The silence which pervades the resting-place of the dead waa broken only by the twitter ot birds that flittled among the trees. Beside an unusually large old tree that stood among graves within view of the church porch, I noticed a woman, young, yet eorrowlul-looking, slowly pacing up and down. I concluded she was Mrs. Hark ness, the writer of the letter I had contrived to read in the train, and advancing to the tree, X would have spoken to her, but that I saw Mr. Harkness enter the gate as the clock waa strik ing three. Very quickly and very noiselessly I succeeded iu gaining a position on the other side of the tree, where 1 could stand yet no be seen by either of the persons whose meeting I desired to witness. “ Well, Sarah, I am punctual, you see,” Mr. Harkness said, when he came up. “ Because you dared not refuse to coma, James,” she replied, bitterly. “ I gave only hints in my letter, but you understood them, it seems. You know that 1 have lound the name st the people who employ you, and I may tell you I know that you go under the false name ot Herbert Clarke in London.” “ And if I do, it is only because I find it nec essary in the way ot business. Others do that. But yon will never understand me, Sarah. You think I ha' e no honor. You put the worst mean ing on everything 1 say and do, while I nm working ail the time to be in a posliiou to make tor what you may have suffered.” NEW YORK DISPATCH, MARCH 27, 1887. “Do not talk of what I may have suffered, I James. A wife who has been deserted for more I than two years, and has been left to work or starve while her husband was earning money and spending it among others, must suffer something. I tell you now, I must have some support from you. I do not want you, but I must have the money to which lam entitled. I give you this chance. If you do not take it, I shall go to London and expose you, as I said I would/’ she said, with unmistakable earnest ness. “You cannot harm me, Sarah, but you can ruin all my plans for your good and mine. Though 1 am Herbert Clarke in Londan, I am still James Harkness to you. Do nothing rash. If I’m not interfered with for a few months more in London, I can make money. Then I can take you to a house that I shall think worthy ot my wife. Be reasonable, Sarah. I feel the long separation as keenly as you. But I must be left alone until I can provide a fitting home for you. I beg of you to believe in me yet. Put aside your resolution, and do not seek me iu London, or ruin must attend all my plans.” Mr. Harkness extended his clasped hands to his wife, and spoke with every appearance of passionate pleading. But she loaned against the tree, and held out one arm to keep him off. “No more, James. You are false ! You have broken my heart, and you must take the pun ishment you deserve,” she said in tones which expressed the agony she suffered. “By Heaven, you shall not go to London I” he exclaimed savagely. “ I will throttle you where you stand 1 ’ “Not yet,” 1 said, stepping out and seizing him firmly by the collar as ha appeared on the point ot fulfilling his threat. I cannot describe the sensation ray appear ance caused. A whistle brought the plain clothes man to the spot, and betv/een us -jamas Harkness, a/ias Herbert Clarke, was taken to the station in Beading and lodged in prison. I returoed to town that evening and reported my capture, with all the additional circum stances I had learned. When the trial came on, the prisoner could not make any defense against the different charges. He was proved to have swindled a great many people with the coupons, of which he appeared to be the sole proprietor, and he was sentenced to a term of imprisonment which afforded him plenty ot time to reflect on the result of “The Land Lottery Fraud.” • TALES OUT OF SCHOOL. EVIDENTLY THE WORK OF A TEACHER. (irom Chambers’s Journal.} A teacher's troubles are legion. Without a certain average attendance, his scholars are in eligible for the government grant tnless, ac cording to age, they are able topass the various standards and have presented themselves the necessary number of times, be would rather be without them. When the inspector comes round, his skin or parchment will suffer for their shortcomings. This is an article to which he attaches the greatest importance, because his future depends upon its condition. It may be called his professional character. From year to year the result of each examination is marked thereon, and black marks count against his future prospects. In the nature ot things, he must suffer tor born dunces. They are in evitable, and, therefore, like bad weather or other disagreeable contingencies, they must be tolerated. But the thoughtlessness ot parents who keep their children from school, with little or no reason, is a different matter. When the teacher is paid out or the grant, they rob him of money as well as reputation. It is, of course, to his interest to keep a watchful eye on those defaulters. As a rule, they are too many for him. They excuse themselves in the most extraordinary epistles sometimes, of which the following is a specimen : “ Please excuse May. She caught a cold through getting her feet wet and 1 must get her another pair before she can come to school.” YVhen Jessie Black returned, after a long absence, she also bore a note from her mother. This lady, according to her owu statement, had been laid up with “information in the back,” which necessitated the girl’s pres ence at home. When, on reading the letter, the teacher, with the best intention, no doubt, hoped Bessie would take the same disease in her bead, he did not consider the consequences. Next day, Bessie rose before the whole school, and, on her mother’s authority, informed him ot that lady’s opinion of him. which was far from flattering. As he had little to say in self defense, or at least failed to clear himself of the charge, the other children went home with the idea that he must be a very malevolent- per son indeed. The wonderful diseases which afflict school children often take the teacher down, as in the following instance: Maggie Keen stayed away frequently with neuralgia. On her appearance, alter a few days’ absence, the teacher greeted her with: “ What, Maggie 1 neuralgia again 1” “No, sir.” she replied, rather indignantly, “it was not new ralger, but the old ralger, that never went away.” In scartaintown rumors went abroad that an epidemic had broken out there. Lizzio White lived in the street where it was said to have appeared. Lizz a was away for a week, out one morning she entered the school with her eyes swollen. YYhen the teacher wont to as certain the cause of her trouble, she began cry ing, and said: “ We have got something in our house, sir.” “Indeed!” said the teacher, drawing back to avoid infection. “ Are any or you laid up with it?” “Yes, sir, my mother.” “ Sorry to hear that. You must go home at once.” Lizzie was on the point of obeying, when the teacher asked: “ Has the doctor been ?” “ Yes, sir.” “And did he say what it was 1" “ Oh, it’s a boy 1" It turned out that Lizzie had got a week’s holiday in honor of the baby, and her whole trouble was having to come and leave it at the end ot that time. The gamekeeper’s son who excused himself, with a bold faoe, because he had been watching game, nearly escaped undetected. At certain seasons the game molested farmers, and he was employed., along with his father, in protecting crops. Considering the time of year, the teach er was at a loss to understand what crop re quired the services of Augus. “Are you sure you have been watching game ?” he said. “ Quite sure of that.” The emphasis on “that” aroused suspicion. “ What game ?” he asked, Angus looked crestfallen and confounded m a moment. “ What game, sir?” Somebody whispered, “ Marblee,” and Angus was obliged to admit the impeachment. A boy, whose parents had just come to live in the neighborhood, arriving late one morning, was called up to give an account of himselt. “ Where have you been until thia time?’ said the teacher, severely. “Please, sir, I had to call at my uncle’s.” ” What, you young rascal 1 You can have no uncle in this town,” said the teacher, with still greater severity. “ I have oaught you in the lie, and I’ll thrash you to within an’inch of your life.” “Please, sir, it’s not the uncle you mean,” re plied the boy, wiping his eyes ; “it s the uncle 1 have in every town.” Need it be said he meant the pawnbroker ? Want of clothes is one of the most common excuses that parents give for keeping their chil dren from school. A schoolmaster in a rural district received the following : “ You must excuse Nellie, for it’s not her fault—it’s the call's. Her only dress was out drying, and the calf ate it. But I will got a new one out of the caff for it. “N. B Leanne Carter has promised to buy him.” The step-mother who sent her husband’s children to school almost naked, and when re monstrated, said she “ didn’t see no good in eddioafion, what did nought for people’s out sides,” belonged to a class that harass the teacher more than any other. To them, inward benefits and possibilities go tor nothing. A child attends school day after day, yet what is there to show ? It is a sheer waste of time, they will inform the teacher. They regard him with contempt, and the School Board officer with de testation. The whole system is a fraud, to their minds, with no ultimate objoct beyond the annoyance of poor people. The children themselves imbibe these views. When a match boy was asked how he accounted for his ab sence, he replied, proudly: "Business ; and there is no fooling there I” He evidently participated in what is a too eommon idea-that anything would be more manly than attending school. “ JAMES AND JOHN.” A LITTLE RAILROAD INCIDENT. The other day a number of passengers sat in the waiting room of the Detroit, Grand Haven A Milwaukee Railway depot, and side by sido was a dumpy old man with a shiny bald'head and his leit hand in a sling, and a tall, long waisted man who had benevolence written all over his hatchet face. After looking around for awhile, the tall man drew a book trom his pocket and began to read aloud: “James and John were two brothers who thought everything of each other. Wherever James went John wanted to go, and vice versa. One day their mother sent them .” “ Oh 1 bosh I” exclaimed the dumpy man. “ What’s that, sir ?" “ 1 say bosh 1 If you are going to read, read to yourself 1 Nobody wants to hear any such trash as that 1” “ They don’t, eh ? I’ll read any way I like, and I don’t keer who listens or who don 11” And ho continued: “ One day their mother sent them to the vil lage store to buy some sugar and tea. It was a mile or so from the house, and the sun was hot. As they walked along they cams “They camo to the idiot asylum!” interrupted the dumpy man. “ Mebbe you was right there and seed ’em 1” retorted the tall man. “ Seed ’em 1 I should think you’d get a grammar and study it 1” “ And you orter git a book on manners. You don’t know no more about etikette than a hog 1” “ Look out, sir ! If I hadn't this lame hand I'd knock that hen-coop off your body I" “ You would, eh I If it wasn’t for your fam’ly I’d mop thia.fioor with your carcass 1 I don’t allow r.o pork. Lots! on legs to rati over mo. I wasn't Vrung up that way.” “ Brung up 1 What ignorance I” “ It’s no more ignorance than bringed up, and I know it I If you’ve picked me up for a ' fule you’d better let go I I’m going to read the rest of that story.” “ You won t read it here 1” “ Yos, I will 1” Some one went out for the depot polioeman, and he came in and told them what was what. “ I’ll lay for that old pumpkin-seed some day and make hie heels break his nook t” growled the dumpy man as he went off to another seat. “ Oh, I’ll stop readin’ aloud,” replied the tall man to the officer, ’ but if I ever git bold ol that villain out in tha country where nobody kin in terfere down comes his’ cupalow with a crash 1 I’ll go outside now and gin him a dollar to spit ou my butes 1” FATE OF A* MORMON GIRL THE STORY OF MARY LEE AND OF HER TWO LOVERS. Sixteen years ago Samuel Bates, a Mormon, then the possessor of two wives, Ann and Jane, the latter being childless, took Mary Lee, an orphan, to bring up according to the rites ot the Chnroh of the Latter Day Saints. As Ann had many children to comfort her, the babe was placed in the charge of Jane, a decent Mormon, hcrselt born in the faith. Mary Lee’s parents wore Irom England. Her mother was a delicate little woman, well remembered by many here as a tearful and unhappy person. Times were hard with them when they first ap peared here, and they grew harder for some reason. Just as her husband was about to take a second wife, evidently against the wishes of the companion of his youth, be was killed in a snowlide, and three months after that his widow died, some said ot a broken heart, leaving little Mary alone in the world. Samuel Bates was something of a man among the Mormons. He was called Broiher Bates. His first wife was a hard, coarse woman, but Jane, to whom the lit tle orphan wont, was tender, rather good-look ing, and filled with a stern and unbending faith in the divinity of her religion and a determina tion to “ live” it to the end. The child which thus fell to her partook of her dead mother’s disposi tion. As she grew to womanhood she became fair to a degree not olten seen in these parts, bnt in spirit she waa gloomy, sad and reticent. Surrounded by Mormons and taught by the pious Jane, she became almost a fanatic on the subfoot of religion herself, and readily accepted all that was instilted into her mind as the inspi ration of the Lord. A year or two ago Mary Lee became ac quainted with a yonug man living in a mining camp not far from bore, a Gentile, ot course, as no Mormon delves for gold and silver. The yonth, Seth Bentley by name, rarely lost an op portunity to pay the girl little attentions, and at length it became the rumor that he was her ac cepted lover. She would stroll away to the foot hilis*to meet him, of evenings they would ba seen by the mountain brook which winds through the town, and on Sunday afternoons, particularly when Brother Bates waa away trom home, they would be riding or walking together J sue made no opposition to the intimacy, but when Brother Bates’s attention was called to the matter, he felt that it was his duty to interfere. Little by little Jane’s mind was won over to bis way ol thinking, though at first she had been unsuspecting. Bentley was forbidden the house, and the girl was told that she must never meet him again. But they met after this, not as a re sult of Mary’s disobedience, out by reason ol Bentley’s persistence. He found her one day last Summer down by the brook, and when she would have run from him be caught her, and, holding her closely, he told her of his affection for her, and entreated her to become his wife, and in return received some encouragement. From that time on they met occasionally, un known to Brother Bates or to Jane. In September Brother Bates went to Now Mexico ou an exhortation tour, and when he re turned in October he brought back with him a Mormon elder named Cratty, who, seeing Mary I.ee, bethought him that he would like to take another wile, his fifth, and he accordingly broached the subject to her on the second day alter his arrival. The girl repelled him with horror, but ho pressed his suit, and at length brought Brother Bates to his assistance. At first Jane opposed the proposition. She was a sin cere Mormon, but her affection for her foster child got the better of her faith for a time, and until she could be placated Elder Cratty had to hang his harp on the willow. The means resorted to to bring Jane to see the error of her ways are familiar to all who have had intercourse with the strange people who inhabit these valleys. Brother Bates had a vision. Then Elder Cratty had a vision. Then a bishop who was passing through Jericho Val ley had a vision. Then the Sunday-school su perintendent, the Suhday-school teachers and the local elders and missionaries had visions. By a singular concensus ot opinion all had seen the same thing. Mary fec was God’s choice for Elder Cratty’s wife. Still the girl, now most ol the timem tears, like her unhappy mother, dead sixteen years, shrank from the proffer of the visitor and her foster mother, the kindly but superstitious Jane, still demurred, though growing weaker and weaker in her opposition. Tha visions failing of the desired effect, Elder Cratty and Brother Bates wont up into the mountains some time last mouth, and, fasting for fourteen days and nights, they wrestled with the Lord, and at the end of their vigil they were rewarded by seeing a great light and hear ing a voice from heaven saying that Elder Crat ty should take Mary Lee to wife, and that fur ther delay would be both unseemly and dis pleasing to the Lord. With this revelation and the further assurance that a spirit had appear ed unto Cratty in a vision saying that if Mary Lee would marry him she would receive the re quisite affection lor her husband by praying lor it in the temple, the two wended their way homeward and commuuic ited to Jane the result of their prayers and fastings. In the face ot such undoubted evidence ot the I.ord’s approval that good woman could say no more, and taking the girl to one side she advised her to give up her Gentile lover and cling to the husband se lected for her by God, who had promised his servant that if she did not lovo him now the spirits would confer great and surpassing affec tion upon her at her nuptials. Mary Lee's own faith was strong, and her in clination to follow the teachings of her religion was great; but it took many more interviews to bring her to admit that she had decided to obey the command. When she at last gave her con sent there was much joy in Jericho Valley, and a great company was made up to go along with lhe wedding party to the temple. They were to start by wagons on a Monday morning. When the enn came up over the mountain range that morning it saw Mary Lee down by the brook, revolver in hand, stone dead. She had risen during the night, and having sought a secluded spot where she and Bentley often met, she had taken her appeal at once’ to the Judge of all the earth. Her religion would not permit her to marry the man of her choice, and her womanhood revolted against the alliance which, according to earthly interpretation, the unseen powers had arranged lor her. FIENDS OF THE COMMUNE. THE SHOOTING OF ARCHBISHOP DARBOY. (By E. B. Wastiburne, in Scribner’s Monthly.) The days ot Tuesday and Wednesday, the 28d and 24th of May, were anxious days at La Boqnette, but there were no very striking incidents. About six o’clock on Wednesday evening a detachment of forty of the National Guard, belonging to the “ Vengeura of the Re public,” as they ware called, arrrlved jat the prison with a captain, first and second lieuten ants, a commissaire ot police, and two oivil delegatee. They all wore bright red scarfs. Entering the office of the jailer, these oivil dele gates demauded of the director of the prison the release 01 the hostages, Buying that they were commanded to shoot them. The director at first refused to deliver up the prisoners, say ing that he would not consent to such a mas sacre of men confided to bis care without more formal orders. A long dispute thereupon arose, which finally ended by the director giv ing consent to deliver up six certain victims who had been designated. The men awaited the decision impatiently in the court, and as soon as the delegates bad got the consent of the director to give up the prisoners they all mounted the staircase pell-mell to the first story, where the hostages were then confined. In the presence of such a contemplated crime a silence came over these assassins, who await ed the call ot the names of the victims. The names ot the six martyrs were called. The President Bonjean, occupying cell No. 1, was first; then the Abbe Deguerry, occupying cell No. 4, was the second; and the lust called was Monsiegneur Daiboy, Archbishop of Paris, who occupied cell No. 23. The doors of the cells were then opened by the officer of the prison, and the victims were all ordered to leave. They descended, going to the loot of the staircase, where they embraced each other, and had a few words, the last on •earth. Never was there a more mournful cortege, nor one calculated to awaken sadder emotions. Monseigneur Darboy, though weak and enfeebled by disease,, gave his arm to Chief Justice Bonjean, and the venerable man, so well known in all Paris, Abbe Deguerry, leaned upon the arms of the two priests. A good many straggling National Guards and others bad gathered around the door of the prison as the victims went out, and they heaped upon them the vilest epithets, and to an extent that aroused the indignation of a sub-lieutenant, who commanded silence, saying to them, ” that which comes to these persons to-day, who knows but what the same will come to us to-mor row?” And a man in a blouse added, “Men who go to meet ought not to bo insulted; none but cowards will insult the unfortunate.” Arriving in the court of La Roquette, darkness had already come on, and it was necessary to get lanterns to conduct the victims between the high walls which surrounded the court. Noth ing shook the firmness of these men when they were thus leing marched to assassination. The Archbishop was the coolest and firmest, because the greatest. Ho shook each one by the hand aud gave him his last benediction. When they arrived at the place where ther were to bo shof, the victims were all placeci against the walls which enclosed the sombre edifice of the prison of La Roquette. The Arch bishop was placed at the head of the line, and the fiends who murdered him scratched with their knives a cross upon the stone in tn# wa R at ths very place where his head must have touched it at the moment they fired their fatal allots. Ho did uot fall at the first volley, but stood erect, calm and immovable, and before the other discharges came which launched him Into eternity, he crossed hifnssl! throa times ! upon bis forehead, | The other victims all fell together. The marks of the bullets after they had passed through their bodies were distinctly visible. The Archbishop was afterward mutilated and his abdomen cut open. All the bodies were then put in a cart and removed to Per© La chaise, which was but a few squares off, where they were thrown into a common ditch—-from which, however, they were happily rescued be fore decomposition had taken place. a westoOycwne. BY WILL HUBBARD-KERNAN. “It isn't far -only aaven miles—and I know you'll like my place. I’ve a pretty cottage, the best of wines and just the loveliest little boy you over saw.” The young farmer stood on the threshold of my office at Northwood, Dakota. Ho was on his way to Grand Forks, and wanted me to ride home with him on his return the following day. “ Well, I'll go,” I said, “ but it will put the paper behind, and •” “ Ob, Ned can taka care of the paper, and we'll have a pleasent week of it, hunting and fishing.” With that he started off at a swinging pace. “ Hello, Ben,” 1 called, “ I didn’t promise a week.” He looked around, his handsome face ra diant with smiles. Tossing me a kiss, ho cried back: “ I’m bossing this business, old fellow 1” It was one of those bright, blythe incidents that sweep across our lives at times and recon cile us to the dark, the passion and the storm. Later in the day I sat down and tried to write, but I wasn tin the mood. I felt uneasy, op pressed, unlike myself. It seemed as if there was a strange, electrical influence in the air that strung the nerves to the highest tension, caus ing me to throw down my pen, spring from my desk and walk quickly to and fro. I went to the door. How still the air was ! How sultry I How intense 1 I could hardly breathe; and away off to the north was a green, flying, hideous cloud that suddenly darkened the sun till we had to light our lamp. Ned his stick, came over to me and said: “ I feel so-so queer.” “The cloud—the cloud, Ned!” I cried, for while he was speaking it had taken the shape of a balloon, and out of it flashed a light that seemed to whirl and leap and dance and rise as if it possessed a conscious lite. There is no other light in all the universe like that which leads the unutterable horrors of hell, the cloud of a cyclone. Ned caught my hands. There was a roar—low, louder, intenser, until it seemed as it the endless end had come, and the earth was smiting the planets in mad, Titanio terror as it flew out of its orbit lorever. The hand-ptanted trees in front of our office shook, quivered, beat the green ground with their branches, broke, and away wont the boughs to the uttermost limits of sight. Terri ble flashes of lightning splintered the low-lying clouds in the horizon into fire, and tbs earth seemed to send electric.ty to the heavens, that thundered with unceasing crash upon crash, till tbe devilish diapason left me stunned and half Ned clasped my hands closer, closer, silent, awed, in the awful sublimity of that tremendous hour. The office rocked, rooked. Flash ! Boom ! I caught Ned by the shoulders. He was white as eternal death. In an instant it was all past and we tottered to the lounge. I gasped for breath. Ned lay beside me, gasping out un consciously at the empty air. We had been caught on the edge ot a cyclone. Next day Ben drove up to my door. “ Come on,” he said, jauntily. There was a great gulp in my throat as he spoke. “You—you have heard of the cyclone ?" “ No—no—where ?” He tottered into the office—his great, beauti lul, intelligent eyes taking in all that I meant. “ Out there 1” He looked and fainted dead away—dead away —poor, poor boy I We brought him to—Ned and I—and he lay there for hours crying out: “My wife—my little Bessie, and oh, my boy t —my pet Harry—Harry I” “ Ned,” I said, “ spring into his buggy, rid e as quickly as you can to bis home, and return to-night, it possible.” And the hours—the awful hours that soma inscrutable Bower intends us all to pass through —went by as though they ware centuries. Ned came back as the clock of the night struck tbe hour ot eleven. “Ned I” He tore past me into the back room. “Oh, I have seen—have seen things—let God forever have me forget;” and he broke down in a great sob. “His pretty home is a ruin, his wife dead under its rafters, and his little boy clasped in the arms of his mother. There was a wild, unearthly cry, Ben had followed us and listened. “My Harry! Ob, my Harry I What of him?” “ Saved by a miracle—unhurt I” “ Now God be thanked 1 But Bessie I Oh, darling, darling!” and he fell prone. “ Ben,” I said, throwing my arms around him, tor I loved him as a brother. “ Ben, you have Harry yetl” “ Yes,” he said, alter a long, long while. “ But Bessie!” and he went out to the place that had been his home. And I turned to my desk and wrote the trage edy, and said; “ Yet the years troop on, with the immortal beauty of the blue, sun-shotted sky laughing down at us all. The years troop on, with the carol and thrill and warble of the birds ringing after us from the glad, green branches of our maple trees. And the years troop on, with life and color and song, to cheat us into a love of lite, and sneer at us for surrendering to their charms.” What is the use of it all! I say— Why are wa brought from tbe blank unknown ? To laugh and weep through a little day. That drifts us under a buri tl stone ?’* negeTsupebstition. HEATHEN FUNERAL RITES IN A SOUTH CAROLINA GRAVEYARD. (From the Atlanta Constitution.) Not long since I rtas visiting one of the towns in upper South Carolina. I and a friend were taking an afternoon stroll into the adjoining country. We had proceeded some distance and were passing through a dense wood, when suddenly my companion stopped and nervously inquired: “What’s that?” I came to a halt and listened. A weird, mournful sound floated through the trees and reached our ears, it seemed to come only a short distance; appeared to emanate Irom the copse on the other side of the road. We bad scarcely gained the opposite thicket We crossed over and followed, bent upon investi gating what it was, when we encroached unex pectedly into one of those country burying grounds which are to bo found near every ham let in South Carolina. It was a strange picture that met our sight, and one that belonged more to heathen lands than to our owu civilised country. There, around a newly made grave, about twenty-five negroes were collected. They all held hands and were slowly moving to and fro, while they wailed forth dirges, and at intervals would ejaculate wild, incoherent words. In the midst of the circle, at the head of the grave, an old woman sat, who rooked backward and forward, her eyes rolled wildly, and she moved in a mechan ical way. This was the widow of the deceased, and it was her required part in the ceremony to loudly moan at appointed intervals during the singing. Something in this way their hymn sounded, as nearly as I could catch tbe words; De white horse be rode, Wid de sickle in hie hand. And slew down our brudder, From among our earthly band, A moan I Sister, moau I And here the widow would reintroduce her heathenish incantations. These were kept up lor some time, when suddenly they ceased and the negroes prostrated themselves upon the ground, while the minister, a tall, very dark negro, stood and offered up a prayer. After the “ Amen ” was uttered they rose; two of tbe number took from ajbasket, near some articles, with which they decorated the grave, as If thev were placing upon the tomb floral offerings. They then slowly formed in procession and si lently marched out of the enclosure. My friend and I, curious to decide what the peculiar mode of grave decoration was, proceeded to the spot where an old man was shouldering his spade to quit the place. “ Why, old man,” said I, “what are those things they have left on the grave ? Boltlee, shoes, a jug I Why, what does it all mean ?” “ Well, boss,” said the ebony gravedigger, with an air of importance, “you see, we puts de articles dat de departed brudder use to use on de grabe for to keep away de bad sperrits, and I e’pose it is a sort ob ’special way ob treating do memory ob de lost sister or brud der. You see, dar’s de bottle dat he take the medicine from when he be sick. And dar’s de jug; It had de last dram be drank ’fore be j’ined de temperance meetin’, and de boots, I s’pose de v shoes, dat he gwine to change for de golden slippers dat he but on when be j’ine de band np yander,” a»d abeam of placid faith illumined the old black face. It certainly was a strange sight. Here were numberless graves, all bearing tbe same pictur esque decorations. Children’s graves were covered with broken toys, tin horns, gaudily colored clay cats, dogs and owls. One mound was almost beaten to the ground with age, and on it rested in dilapidation an old hat and the remnants of a banjo, also a clay pipe and a coon skin. Near by them was tbe grave of a black smith, with the implements of bis craft wedged in the gronnd, and rusty horsesboeg formed a circle around the mound. Looking around tbe strange scene, it was dif ficult for me to realize that I was in a land of advancement and civilization while surrounded by such relics of superstition and of barbar ism. I was forced to believe that the negro, in stead of progressing in his religions views, is daily evincing a tendency to fall back to feti chism and voudofsm, bis original form of wor ship. It prevails among the negroes, especially on the islands in the lower portion of the State. They do not, it is true, give adoration to ani mals, trees and stones, as the fetich worshipers did centuries ago, but tbe difference is very slight from that idolatry. The advance in knowledge and civilization widens the horizon of tbe negro mind to some extant, yst the tendency to look back and em-I brace what savors ot superstition seems on grafted in his nature.' Their revival hymns and their various modes of expressing religious enthusiasm, and the “ going through,” as they express spiritual pro gress and conversation, all evince a love tor the weird and superstition. This impulse does not spring from a primeval revelation, but lv>s its deep foundation laid in the very nature <rt the negro. My mind has been impressed with the scene which I have above described, and I am sure my elegy in a negro churchyard will be a reve lation to those who do not dream that within our very midst is such a dark shadow of igno rance and superstition. elopersWrejnough. NOT SO MUCH OF A JOKE AS A SURPRISE. (From the Lewiston, Me., Journal.) “There had been an account of an elope ment in the morning papers,” said the com mercial traveler, “and I was thinking of it when a couple drove up to the country hotel and registered ‘Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So.’ I winked at tbe boys and said, ‘Here a for a joke.’ Tbe old hotel-keeper was a very dear friend ot mine and took my word for gospel truth, so whfen I said, ‘Look out for ’em! I think I know ’em, and they are eloping and they are not married,’ eto.‘ you ought to have seen the old fellow. He scowled and lifted his chin, and wagged it up and down halt a dozen times, sort of as though he was thinking it over, and then he walked off. All the other boys in the house were put on to the joke, and we agreed to watch the old man and see what ho did. “Supper rang, and the party of traveling men took seats at one table and left the new ar rivals to the sole occupancy of another. The hotel proprietor, who helped serve at tbe table, took his station as much as possible behind the young couple, bis eye all the time watching their every movement “ • Will you have some sugar in your tea ?’ at length said the young man to his companion, as he passed the saccharine lor her use. “ ‘ No, thank you; I never use sugar in my tea,’ was the sweet response. “ We were watching the old man as he stood near them and heard this answer. Ho grew about a foot in a second. ‘ He’s got a clew,’ said 1 to myself. And it was a clow such as would make the eye of a Pinkerton detective sparkle. Tbe idea of a husband not knowing whether his wife used sugar in her tea or not 1 The old man didn’t linger Mug about coming to a deci sion. He leaned over and said : “ ‘ Young man, yon leave tbe table. That woman is not your wedded wife.’ “The couple never whimpered. They called for their team and drove on. The most sur prised party in the affair was ours. We hadn't dreamed that we were so near the truth. The next day the same pair were arrested in a neigh boring town and carried back to their homes. If I should tell that landlord now that the Methodist minister that boards with him was Jesse James in disguise, he would believe me.” gsEgaaawgMLwawiia The poet here propounds the conundrum, IS THIS WOMAN A MAGICIAN? Did she magnetize. Psychologize, Or mesmerize me, which ? Is she human. And a woman, Or, as I think, a witch ? ' Who can tell ma What befell me When I saw the siren first ? What magnetic Thrill prophetic Filled mo till I thought I’d burst! Is it magio ? Is it tragic That I do whate’er she says ? That she found mo, And has bound me As her slave for all my days ? Though we’re married, Love has tarried And my wife still works her spell; A magician— That's her mission— If 'tig witchcraft, it is well. We have here a somewhat sarcastic story of HOW WOMEN FISH. Did you ever see a woman fish ? I don’t mean a female fish, but a woman in the act of fishing. If she’s got to go out to buy a paper of pins or a yard of ribbon when it is wet, she 11 load herself up with a rubber and a pair of arctics and an umbrella and a nock protector. She is too delicate for a drop of rain to touch her. But she’ll go out in a boat alone on a wet day and let tbe rain come down on her and tbe waves dash over her, and stand soaking like the hardest sailor man. There were four ladies onco went fishing. They selected a very rainy day, aud they had ail their waterproof cloaks and head and foot covering. They were all by when they took a boat and went to fish. It was in Maine. With true feminine earnestness, they start ed off without anything to put the fish in. They had an elegant time until they caught a pickerel. When they caught the pickerel thov didn’t know what to do with it. It was alive aud flopping. They had it in the bottom of the boat. They won dered why it didn’t lie quiet. At last a happy aud benign thought struck ono of thorn. “Poor thing I It’s getting all wet lying in the rain." And sho whipped off her waterproof and wrapped it up in it. Each of the four caught a pickerel, and each of the four wrapped it up in her waterproof, and the rain them through to the skin, but they kept their fish dry all the same. The Arkansaw Traveller gives ua thia speci men of PLANTATION PHILOSOPHY. We I’arn ez much from de 'zample o’ de fool ez we do from de words o' de wise man. I'so seod men dat didn’t hab time ter eat nor ter sleep, but I neber yit seod er man dat didn’t hab time ter die. Er man ken be aich er ole frion’ dat he thinks it his right tor ’pose on yor; like er ole fam ly boss what takes up de ideo dat he’s got er right ter kick de chlllua. Hopo is like er sassafras sprout. Yer mor tramn on it; yer mer cut it down ur eben dig it up by de roots, but de fust thing yer know er tender shoot dun come up. Er pussen will sometimes make de same mistake twice, but I ain’t loan’ de man yit dat ebercrowded one dese yere laung, hungry houn’ dogs up in da condor o’ de fence do secou' time. Our old friend “ Carl D under ” makes HIS DISCOURSES ON SEVERAL LITTLE THINGS. Sometimes somepody comes to me und says vhas I Carl Dunder ! 1 vhas. All right, Mr. Dander, I vhas going to trafcl und I like some advice of you. Und I says to him: ••Keep sober, taka the middle car on a railroadt train, und doan’ bet on some odder man’s game.’’ Sometimes a man mit a plug hat und a bland ehmila comes into my saloon und says how you yhaa, Mr. Dunder, und how vhas dot good wife of yours, und how does Shake get along, und pless my soul! but you vhas der fattest uud jolliest Dutch mans in Detroit I Say, Mr. Dunder. I like to shpeak a few words mit you in brivate. I vhas going to run for office dis Fall, uud I like to count on you to help mo through. I pring all der barty here to puy beer, und I make Shake my deputy, eh ? How vhas it, oldt friendt? Und I say to him: •*Der man who depends upon bolitics vhas a knave or a fool. Der man who depends upon boli ticians vhas all foot If I help you und you vhas elected you forget me. If I help you und you vhas defeated dot odder gandidate vhas my enemy for life.’’ Sometimes a man mit a sadt look on his face, slips aroundt to me und says I like to talk to you, Mr, Dunder. I vhas in some troubles mit my wife, und I like to ask your advice* If you would be so kindt as to tell toe . Und I says to him: ••My dear frendt, vhen it is time for husband or wife to go mit somepody else to complain of each odder, it vhae time to go to der courts for a divorce. Vhen family troubles can’t be kept in der family, it vhas better dot you go off und drown yourself.” Sometimes a young man comes in very softly vhen nopody vhas aroundt. und says, "Hello, Mr. Dunder. you und my ladder has been friendta a good while, und I like to ask a leedle favor. I vhas a leetla pehindt financially, uud I like to ask yon to loan me twenty dollars." Und I say to him: ••Vhen a young man was pehindt financially, something was wrong mit his way of living. Vhen a young man has to go to bis ladder's friendt to raise twenty dollar, it vhas a matter dot der ladder can’t know too soon.” This young woman was right in her opinion that there was A SLIGHT INCUMBRANCE. She had gone up to visit a lady friend, with whom her acquaintance was slight, and she wanted to let her know something that is usually consid ered among ladies rather important. •‘ You know I am engaged to be married ?" ••Indeed ! He’s a nice fellow, of course." ••Yes, charming—a delightful gentleman.” " And when is the ceremony to take place ?’* " Well, I don't quite now.” ••There needn't be any delay about such a thing as that. He e wealthy, is he?” " Yes, he’s very well off. But you see—well, there’s a slight incumbrance.” ” A slight incumbrance ?” •• I mean—well, he’s not divorced yet.” When house-hunting is the craze, women will appreciate this story about JUST THE HOUSE SHE WANTED. Omaha House-hunter—" I thought you said this house was a perfect gem ?” Agent—“lndeed it is, mam." •• Why, the ceilings have no bight at all.” "That's so they’ll be easy to keep clean, mam." "And the windows are dreadfully small.” •• To keep the sun from fading the carpets, mam.” ••And there is no bath*room.” "That’s to save soap, mam.” Th® latest outgiving of the President's court journal (the Washington Critic,) relates THE PRESIDENT’S FIRST AND ONLY JOKE. ••Daniel.” remarked the President this morning, as he heard his worthy P. S. humming a soft, sweet air to himself, whilo he sorted out his mail. ••Yes, sire,” roeponde£ Daniel, cutting tbe song short off. •• What was that you were singing ?” *• Nothing much, sire; only a line, ‘My bark is on the sea.* ” Tbe President's face clouded with fhe shadow of an unhappy memory. "Daniel,” said he, "what is the difference be tween you and Hector?” ••Why. sire,” replied Daniel, with a hurt look, ••I hope there are many points of difference.” "Tut, tut, Daniel, don’t be superaensltivs* I mean in what one particular ?” "I give it up, siro. What is it?” " Weil. Daniel, tbe difference is, that your bark is on the sea and Hector’s is out in the back yard all night." •»nd a profane aud ravougeful laugh fell from tbe Praaident'a lif-a. Shrewdness, tact, intelligence and versatility are all valuable essentials in the mental make up of the successful reporter ; but these are as nothing if he is lacking in pure and undefiled, gall. Lacking this, he has not the real journal istic instinct that is the secret of success. Tha heart of an editor beats high when he runs across a reporter whose gall is like that of tho man mentioned in the following TOUCHING INCIDENT. A funeral procession was winding its way slowly and sadly toward a distant cemetery when an I denly a man rushed forward from the sidewalk nn<* motions the hearse to stop. Then he haetUy whip 4 out a note-book, puts one foot on a hub of tha hearse wheel, lays the book ou his knee, and. ponef. in hand, asks: •♦ Name oi tho corpse ?” •• What ?” soys the amazed driver. •* Name of the corpse, please ?" “Why, Johnson, I believe; B. G. Johnson, but ” ••What did he die of?” •• Typhoid fever.” "Ahl Family?” "Why, yes; but I ” "How much family ?” "Four children and—but lookoe here, you get out of tho way, for I ’’ "Leave widow?" "Yes; but what you ” •‘Funeral from house ?” "Yes; but, man adv®, if yon don't " "Man of property?" "Some—now you ’• " Been sick long ?" "Three weeks—but I—hero wo go.” *• Wait. What cemetery ?” " Riverside.” •• Ah I Body in grave or vault ?” "Vault—but now you *' *' That’s all. Thanks. Reporter for tho Dart# Gao, you know. Come around and get a copy of paper. Here’s my card. Ta, ta.” The Arkansaw Traveller gives a new defini tion of PETIT LARCENY DEFINED. A man,, charged with running away with his neighbor's wife, was arrested and arraigned before a negro Justice of tbe Peace, a great black fellow, cele brated among the negroes on account of his exten* sive learning, having, during many years, been a servant in the family of a college professor, " Your Honor,” said a lawyer employed by tho defense, ‘»ydu can not hold this man. Thore is no law under which he can be punished.'* "Wall, airter etudyin’ de statures I conclude that I mus* hoi' him on de charge o’ petit larceny. staalin' o' de lady wuz larcony, for all theft is dat, an’ its petit larceny, ’case petit means little, an' d« lady whut wuz stole is er little 'oman, so we’ll jea* hoi’ de thief ter wait de action o’ de gran* jury.” The terrible in hint, always in the shape oft small boy, continually gives hia eldest sister trouble. This infant UNDOUBTEDLY KNEW BEANS. Pater Families (who has invited his daughter’s beau to have a little refreshment)—•• What 11 you have, John ? A little, oold roast beef, cold chicken, or ?" John (a true Bostonian)—"Ain't those baked beaus in that dish ?" P. —•• They are ! Have some ?” Daughter’s little brother (who has been permitted to sit up & little while longer than usual)—" Ila, Jennie, I’ve caught you. I thought you were toll ing me a lie at the time.” Jeunia " What do you mean, Johnnie ?” Johnnie—•• He picked ’em out in a jiffy.” Jennie —" Picked out what? Who?” Johnnie—" Your beau. He picked out the beans himself and you told me hedldn'tknow beans ." Pater Families (iu a voice of thunder)— •* Johnnie, go to bed.” Johnnie (bursting into tears)—” She did, pa. she did. She said he didn't kuow beans or lie would have proposed long ago.” Tableau. SOINTILLATIONd. If handwriting is really an index of character, there can be no doubt "that moat news* paper men are inherently bad. Edison is at work on a patent lever. Ho says ho expects to be able to raise anything with it except, possibly, the minister’s salary. First Rag Picker—“ What luck this morning, Raphael?" Second Rag Picker— "Diavolo! I'f found nothing but wire boostles yet.” In China old women instead of the young are the belles of society. The mania for old China seems not to be confined to America. If Pobiedonostchieff succeeds De Giera as Russian Minister of Foreign Affairs, war will b< immediately declared between the compositors and the proof readers. “ And were you not afraid of being in Marseilles ? Didn’t you dread the small-pox ?” Mrs. Parvenue—•• ch, no, indeed I Ive already had ths celluloid, you know.” Smith (with effusion) —“Hello, Brown, is that you? I heard you were drowned.” Brown (with sadness)—"No, it was my brother.” Smith fthoughtlessly)—" What a pity.” “I hear that young Mr. Philkias is quite ill,” said Mrs. Joggins. " Yes, poor fellow,” replied Mrs. Snooper, '• ho loads such a sedimentary life that his health is shattered.” Now that we have had marriages by telegraph, by telephone nnd by proxy, the next in* novation upon the sacred ceremony to bo expected is marriage ou the installment plan. “The surplus women must be pro vided for,” says Miss Kato Field. Bless your Inno cent heart, Kato, that’s Just what poor old Brishan. Young tried io ao, aua you are pitching laid him like all possessed. Spriggs—“ How much older is your sister than you, Johnny?" Johnny— "I dunno. Maud uster be twenty-five years, then she vm twenty, and now sho ain’t only eighteen. I guoai we'll soon be twins.*’ “ What is an affair du coeur, papa said the small boy who had been endeavoring tt read the daily paper. " That must be a new namt for a dog fight.” said the old gentleman, as ha reached for the paper. Weary brainworker—“ My brain is s* tirodl I wish I know of »omo vast solltuda, ia which no living being intrudes, to which I might retire for rest. Sympathetic friend— lean ohow you an old skating rink.” Little Maria Lewis, five years old, was told by her teacher that'the Mississippi river was called the Father of Waters. "How is that. Miss Mattle ?” she queried, •• if it is the Father of Watorg it ought to be Mis ter-Si ppi." Young Hobsonby—“ Have you tha Rosa Perfecto Cabana Victoria cigar ?" Dealer (re gretfully)—"N-no, sir; but we have the Cari»sima Carambay Los Angelos Ypsilanti braid.’’ "How much are they ?” "Two for five.” A citizen, always believed to be a littla "near,” bought a horse, and after a trial complain ed to the seller, a neighbor, that the animal some times "over-reached.” To which the other party responded: "Well, they say the same of you." Said a maid, “I will marry for lucre,” Aud her scandalized ma almost ahucre. But when the chance came, And she told the good dame, I notice she did not reb acre. “ Here, waiter, wbat kind of water is this 1" said a guest at a country hotel down South. "Daf. spring watah, sab," replied tha waiter, politely. "Oh, Is it? Well bring me soma winter water. "This is warm enough to wash a shirt in.” Throe different waiters at a Southern hotel a.ked a little, prim, precise Harvard professor at dinner, in quick succession, if he would have soup. A little annoyed he said to the last waiter who asked. "Is it compulsory ? ’ •* No, sah,” an* swerod our friend and brother, " no, sab, I think it am mock turtle.” Nervous Debility WEAKNESS-. , and all disorders brought on by indiscretions, excesses, overwork of the brain and net* vous system, speedily and radically cured by Winchester’s Specific Pill a purely vegetable preparation, the most successful rem. edy known. Send tor circular. Price $1 per box: Six boxes, $5, by mail. 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