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; OLD MADELINE. BT T.TJCT LAEOOH. Om a crumpled paper In her hand Old Madeline wept. Dimly the candle fllcl ered on the stand ; Up the dark chimney flared a smouldering brand; The whole house slept. And Madeline's care had made that sleeping sweet ; For all day long She pattered to and fro with light, quick feet; And while her broom made nook and corner neat She hummed a song A broken singing, thin and pitiful. And yet in tune. With all that makes great lyrics musical. It stopped the children, hurrying out of school. At nignt or noon. Now a quaint hymn ; now "Jamie on the sea;" An anthem snatch That sung In far thankegtrlnsrs used to be, la savage days before the land was free ; A glee or catch; Ho matter what the children gathered near For all and each. - Pathos of moaning wind through branches sere. Mirth as of wave that break in sunset cUar On aome lone beach. To-night she snt In silence. Every night For year and year. Bare bad she cowerd hy the late candlelight Over the worn-out print, and blurred her sight Beading through tears To oaa name, written on the list of " Dead," Her tired eyes grew. Falling in the march, pursuing foes that fled. Somewhere beside the road be lay, thy said ; His grave none knew. The tattered newspaper spread out to her A picture wide. Among vast alien hilis the battle's stir. A death-bed where none came to minister To him who died. A spot of green beside a mountain road. By warm winds kissed. Where strange large roses opened hearts that gioweo, And over htm their blood-red petals strewed Whom love had missed. For sweet maid Madeline bad never guessed Ralph cared for her Save as a friend ; while vainly he songht'rest, Sure that no tender feeling in her breast For him would stir. And still his image buried she within. Beneath her thou&rht. Wondering what happier girl bis heart would win. She drowned ber vexing dreams in work-day din ; The war he sought. And after he had fallen, a comrade came, ' And told her how Upon the battle-eve he breathed her name. Then Madeline said: "None else my hand shall claim." And kept ber vow. With her ne lightest wooing ever sped. No man might press A soothing hand upon hsr weary head. Or whisper comfort to the heart that bled With loneliness. For Madeline said: "Ralph surely waits for me Beyond Death's gate ; And I might miss him through eternity By Joining fates with one less loved than he. I too can wait. "I could not bear another lover's Wsb, Because I feel That somewhere from the heights of heavenly bliss His spirit hither yearns, as mine to his. Forever leal." This to her silent heart alone she said, Hnshing its moan That yet into hsr merriest singing strayed; While all declared, ' A cheerfuler old maid Was never known." Nor ever was there. As her poor song worth And witchery stole From muffled minors, in them had its birth. Out of crushed joy sprang kindliness and mirth; Her life was whole. Whole,, though it seemed a fragment, rent apart From its true end. Downward; from deathless clinging reached ber neart Beadier to comfort for its hidden smart To all a friend. None taw her tears save God and her lost love, Surely that dew Kept memory blossoming fresh in fields above; Against death's bars he must have fed the dove ' That flattering flew. So lived she faithful, an nnwedded bride. His hand of snow Age laid lu blessing on her head. She died. Do Ralph and Madeline now walk aide by side! The angels know. ": " JT. T. Indeptndtnt. Miscellany. Carious Sleepers. BLEEP is nearly as great a nuzzle as ever 1 " jm.uuu uaa ueeii uiacuveren eon-I vcjuuig we uuuuy peculiarities mamiesiea during this portion of our existence ; but all whose opinions are best worth listen ing to admit that they are only on the threshold of the subject yet Why, for instance, can some men maintain their bodily and mental vigor with so small an amount of sleeps as falls to their sharer Lord Brougham, and many other great statesmen and lawyers, are known to have been content with a marvelously small quantity of sleep. Frederick the Great is said to have allowed himself only five hours; John Hunter, five hours; General Elliot, the hero of Gibraltar, four hours ; while Wellington, during the Pen insular War, had still less. How, on the other hand, to account for the cormorant sleepers ? De Moivre,the mathe matician, could (though it is to be hoped he did not) sleep twenty hours out of the twenty-four. Quin, the actor, sometimes slept for twenty-tour hours at a stretch. Dr. Reid, the metaphysician, could so manage that one potent meal, followed by one long and sound sleep, would last him for two days. Old Parr slept away his latter days almost entirely. In the middle of the last century a young French woman, at Tou louse, had, for half a year, fits of lengthened sleep, varying from three to thirteen days each. About the same time, a girl, at Newcastle on-Tyne, slept four teen weeks without waking; and the waking process occupied three days to complete. Doctor Blanchet, of Paris, mentions the case of a lady who slept for twenty days together when she was about eighteen years of age, fifty when she was about twenty, and had nearly a whole year's sleep from Easter 8unday, 1862, till March, 1863 ; during this long sleep (which physicians call hysteric coma) she was fed with milk and soup, one of her front teeth being extracted to obtain an opening into her mouth. Stow, in his " Chronicle," tells us that "The 27th of April, 1546, being Tnesdaie in Easter weeke, W. Foxlev. potmaker for the Mint in the Tower of London, fell asleep, and so continued sleeping, and could not be waked with pricking, cramping, or otherwise, till the first day of the next term, which was full fourteen da) es and fifteen nights. The causes ol his thus sleeping could not be knowne, tho' the same were diligentlie searched for by the king's physicians and other teamed men ; yea, the king himselfe examined ye said W. Foxle y, who was in all points found at his waking to be as if ne naa slept Dut one nignt." Another very notable instance was that or. Samuel (Jmlton, ot Timsbury, recorded in one of the volumes of the "Philosoph- ical Transactions of the Royal Society." In the year 1694 he slept for a month, and no one could wake him. Later in the same year he had a four months' sleep, from April the 9th to August the 7th ; he woke, dressed, went out into the fields (where he worked as a laborer), and found his companions reaping the corn which he had helped to sow the day before his long nap ; it was not till that moment that he knew of his sleep having exceeded the usual, duration of a few hours. He went to sleep again on the 17th of August, and did not wake till the 19th of November, notwithstanding the pungent applications of hellebore and sal ammoniac to his nos trils, and bleeding to the extent of four teen ounces. He woke, asked for bread and cheese, but went off to sleep again be fore it could be brought to him, taking another spell of sleep, which lasted till the end of January. After this it is not recorded that he had any more of these strange relapses. .There are instances of sleep so intensely deep as to deprive the sleeper of all sense of pain. The records of the Bristol In firmary present an extraordinary illustra tion of this. One cold night a tramp lay down near the warmth of a limekiln, and went to sieep. one root must have been rlORO tit ttlA flrA.rinla flf tho kiln . tnr ing the night the foot and ankle was so completely burned away as to leave noth ing but black cmder and calcined ash TTe did not wake till the kiln man roused him next morning, nor did he know what had occurred until he looked down At Vila e bur. red stump.. He died in the infirmary a fortnight afterwards. Scintijle American. : A $5,000 diamond has been found in Florida fish. PIETRO CUNEO, Editor and Prop'r. - Office la Cnneo'i Building, over the Postofl.ee. TERMS : S2.00 per Annum. VOLUMEXXVI. UPPER SANDUSKY, OHIO, THURSDAY, JULY 27, 1871. NUMBER 37. A, WISE LITTLE WO SAX. Oub morning studies with Scot were over, and I, Charles Brett, was lying down for my hour's rest before luncheon. Fen nie was leaning with folded arms on the back of my sola, provoking Scot as indus triously as she could, while he slowly closed and put away the books she had kit in confusion on the table. Thi3 room in which we studied was no regular school room, but the pretty morning room, which Pennie sole mistress and sole daughter in the house insisted on my appropriat ing; and opposite where Hay the wall was mirrored between the two low win dows. In this mirror I could see just then a sunny, bright reflection of us all ; and the contrast in our three faces struck me almost as it had never struck me before. Pennie's came first (one could hardly help noticing Pennie first, in whatever group one saw her) ; a small, brilliant, pi quant face, with merry, mischievous lips, and laughing, dark-blue eyes, that seemed to know no sorrow and no pain. Yet, though no one else in all the hoU3e had seen the gay eyes melt to infinite tender ness, or the arch-curved lips quiver with sympathy, I had, many and many time, as my little only sister knelt beside me in my pain. Before this radiant little face lay my own, upon the bright blue cushions, thin and languid, but a little flushed just now not from my studies, as Pennie said, but from the many wide thoughts of which she was the center. Then, last of all, before my couch stood Scot Cowen, my tutor, yet scarcely older than I, with his pale, grave, thoughtful face, and slight, nervous figure. He was looking across me into Pennie's eyes, and telling her, in the clear, earnest voice which I had learn ed so utterly to love and lean upon, that if she wanted her translation to be corrected she must re-write it legibly for him. " I shall have to write it out legibly after you have corrected it," she said. " Surely that is enough labor to bestow on the tamest bit of all the book." " I cannot read it as it Is," began Scot, but corrected himself, " at least, 1 will not. To-morrow, Miss Brett, you will, I think, have prepared a readable copy for me." Her eyes flashed upon him as he went quietly on with his work. "Is Charlie's written carefully?" she asked. " Yes. He gives me very little trouble that way, you know." "I know," she replied, touching my hand softly, " and I give you a good deaL .But let me assure you that you give me infinitely more, Scot. If it were not that you are oddly gifted with the power of bringing dead and buried facts (chiefly fie tions) into the modern sunshine, for my smau Drain to grasp, l would not come and try to learn from you at all. So stiff you are. and stern and exacting. Scot's lips, at that moment, were stern indeed. " Then don't come in any more, Pennie," said I, laughing a little, though I spoke with anxious earnestness. " I must, because I must know all you know, Charlie," she answered, stooping impetuously to kiss me- -a little act of hers which always thrilled me with pain when sue did it in this room, while Scot was with us. " If you had been anxious for instruc tion, you would have stayed at school, I ahnrilri t.hinlr Ppnuip " T lannrborl ; nh lri;a mnnnt ) " Ka aaia in ner-TurBtfrtr rail thnrnnorniv inmrrmhie. Kttio assumption of dictatorship, " no lady ever taught me anything." ! Scot laughed quietly. "No one can teach," he said, " unless the pupil will re spect their teaching. I cannot teach you for that reason." " Why, Scot," said Pennie, raising her eyebrows, and pursing up her small, red hps, " I respect you intensely. I always feel a kind of awe overshadowing me when you are near me. I would hardly dare to venture into your presence, only I must be as clever as Charlie, so I must be taught Dy unariie s tutor. " Charlie's tutor is always at your ser vice," returned Scot, gravely ; " but while I teach you, yon must obey me. While I teach you that is all I ask. When lessons are over, I claim no further authority." " Of course not," laughed Pennie, " and your claim is small. From ten to one you require authority unlimited, and I think it is ten to one you will have it." " Then I shall decline to give you an other lesson at all," rejoined Scot, quite in earnest, though he laughed a little. "All right, Scot, only you see I have learned (among smatterings of dead lan guages) to know that you always say that, and always don't enforce it. You should enforce your laws, my tutor." Looking at Scot, and waiting for his an swer, I saw his face change. While his hands were still busy, a patient, far-off look stole into his dark, grave eyes, and I knew without turning Svho had opened the door behind me. Walter Cowen, his half-brother came up and leaned beside Pennie, looking never once at me, giving me no handshake, no thought, until he had feasted his eyes upon the little win ning face, which had brightened so won derfully at his coming. Before I turned I glanced a moment into the mirror again, and somehow I could not help fancying that the whole picture was changed. Wal ter's handsome debonnaire face, and lazy, lounging figure had brought some new ele ment into the scene a quick, throbbing happiness, an idle, caieless unrest. Breaking in upon my sudden, silent thought, Scot's few quiet words had an odd effect. " How is my mother to-day, Walter?" " Complaining a little, as usual, old fel low, and, as usual, very unwilling for me to leave her." " Did she send me a message?" "Not a bit of it Her only parting prayer to me was not to ride Sataneila." "And I suppose you mounted her imme diately ?" I asked, beginning to feel a lit- l- . - -I a i - . i . . ue ureu, tuiu wismng iney would go. "No, for I was in the saddle when she spoke. You will ride with me this after noon, won t you, Pennie ?" And Pennie, who loved these rides with Walter more than anything else through all her day, blushed gladly as she nodded her Yes. " Come now for a stroll in the garden, came early on Durnose for that." said Walter in the loving tone of approbation wnicn iea irenme lrresistiDly. bhe whispered good-bye to me, and they went off together through the low. open window; their happy voices coming back to us on the scented summer breath. Day after day Scot and I watched them walking together; yet though they filled our hearts, we never spoke of them when we two were leu behind. I shall leave you now, Charlie, for your rest." "Where are you going?" I asked, for Scot generally sat with me reading through this hour. "Not far, dear fellow," he answered, setting my Billows comfortahlv for mn "I shall be ready to drive you at our usual time." Left to myself, I tried very hard to think or notning; and, of course, thought of many, many t rungs ; trying to put them straight and pleasant for us all, but failed in the effort, as I had failed often and often before. Then I tried to let a quiet trust creep into my heart and still the restless anxiety which was now its con stant guest. Years ago, when Scot was only a boy head boy at the Easterwood G rammer School, and taking all the prizes, I guessed no; hardly guessed, I knew that he loved my sister better than anyone else in he world. True, he had no very near I elations of his own to love ; but if he 1. had had I fancy it would have been just the same. I was a young fourth-form boy in those days, at home on sick leave three quarters ot the time ; and Pennie a way ward, mischievous little girl, attempting all my lessons, but never taking the small est heed of her own ; yet we never fancied Scot at all superior to us, because he was himself so thoroughly unconscious of superiority. He did not come to our house very much, he worked too hard for this ; but his half brother, Waiter a pop ular boy, who was a proverb of idleness, and who did not work his way into the shell until he was leaving came so per petually, that he grew to seem a very part of our home life. He was such a pleasant, winning lad that his very vanity seemed excusable ; his very selfishness, amus ing; and his love of pleasure na tural and irresistible. Pennie noticed none of these qualities in Walter. She saw him from the first a handsome, daring protector and patron ; a boy-lover, wiio took it for granted that she loved him, and won her heart for doing so. And now that Walter was a tall, handsome fel low of three and twenty, and Pennie, with her gleam of childishness, and fitful, authoritative humors, was nearly eighteen, his love is just the love it had been from the first unharassed by any doubt ; un disturbed by any quarrel; untouched' by any passion ; iresh and gay, and glad, de spite the deep and troubled shadow which it cast upon the lonely path that it forever crossed. Walter's widowed mother lived about two miles from us, at Easter Hill, and had a very comfortable property of her own, which, of course, Walter would inherit Poor Scot, her step-son, had 50 a year of Ins own ; but he had wealth enough in his deep, clear head ; and there was as much truth in Mrs. Cowen's indifferent opinion, "Oh, Scot is sure to get on, penniless as he is," as she was in the proud addition, " Dear Walter would never have done to be poor." I don't think Mrs. Cowen dis liked Scot, at all, she was only utterly in different about him, and neglectful of him. Her heart was so entirely filled by Walter, that she really had no room for any one else ; not even for Pennie, though I do be lieve she tried to love her because Walter loved her. When Scot lett Oxford, where, with his talents, and 50 a year, he had won him self glorious honors, he became my tutor for a time, and lived with ns entirely. All my life I shall be glad and grateful for this, for he has taught me as no one else could have done; making my studies healthful and pleasant to me, and rousing me cheerily from the languid, idle life. winch, in my weakness and inactivity, 1 might so easily have led. Bat, during all Scot's lessons, I had one sore heart ache, and this was through Pennie's determina tion to have lessons with me ; to learn all I learnt and for Scot to teach it to her. And she would not guess what I knew so well. Would not understand with what a dangerous mixture of pain and pleasure, and joy and anguish, she troubled all his days. Poor Scot I It would have been difficult work to teach her (with her puz zling questions and frequent inattention) if he had not loved her, but, loving her as he did, and knowing what he knew, I did not wonder at the old, still look which was creeping into his young face ; my own watching eyes grew dim as I read its nn whispered struggle. And still, in defiance of all my entreaties, Pennie would insist on being taught with me; mastering quickly and brilliantly what my lower na ture could not grasp ; entering into Scot's opinions, and reading rapidly his own half- formed thoughts. Turning round and laughing at his pedantry ; flashing scorn ful, provoking words and glances at him ; then daintily and proudly, in his very presence, parading the happy, trusting love she gave his brother. All these things I was thinking over, as I had thought them over many and manv a lonely time before, when the luncheon Den rang, and Jennie danced in, that Walter might give me an arm. 1 tnew Scot was cut, because I saw him plodding up Easter Hill." she said. " What has he gone home for ?" I told her I did not know, and she looked across at Walter rather puzzled. Then she laughed. "I know, Walter. He is afraid your mother may be frightened about Sataneila, and he has gone to reassure her." " I hope he may succeed," replied Wal ter, a little sneeringly. " I hope he has ridden Sataneila him self," I said. " Not walked all that dusty up hill road." No; he was walking," answered Pen nie. Yon may depend that was the reason as I say. It is just the sort of thing poor Scot would be likely to do." .Poor Scot indeed!" echoed Walter. And I slipped my hand from his arm, and went alone into the dining room. Scot did not appear through the meal, but just as Pennie had declared her de termination to drive me instead of riding, ne cams up to us; nis lace was very white, as it always was when he was tired or hot "I am glad to see von back to-dav. Scot," said Walter, with a heavy emphasis, as he ordered Pennie's horse; "for we were nearly missing our ride. Come, Pennie, it will be doubly valuable to us now." "Charlie." whispered Pennie. an old wist ulness in her big, bright eyes, " you look as if you didn't want me to go. Shall I drive with you instead ?" I laughed a negative ; and yet I did feel strangely unwilling for her to go, guess ing tnattms naa would bring them nearer than they had ever been before. We watched them off. Then Scot took the reins and we followed them through the open gates; turning the opposite way. We spoke very little to each other we were real friends enough to be silent to gether when we would, and I remember teeimg oddly relieved when Scot drew the pony up again before the door, and I saw Walter lounging there with his cigar. "unarne, unarue, whispered Jennie, coming in to me as I rested, and putting her arms round my neck and her eyes close to mine ; " some day I am going to marry Walter. Are you glad? My dear, dear brother, are you glad for me, and glad for Walter, and glad for your- What could I tell her but that I was glad? How could I but be glad for her. with the dancing, love-filled eyes so near to mme 7 now could 1 put be glad lor Walter, knowing what her love made my own home? But how well, there was enough to prevent the words being false wiiL'ii i mjiu ner i was giaa. "itsaiiv. tjnariie?" I kissed the quivering lios. and told her Walter would be a happy fellow, and I should miss her sorely. The tears gathered in her loving eyes, and I think we must both have behaved very childlesslv for a few minutes, there alone, in the tender evening sunshine. 1 begged Walter to leave early that night, for fear his mother should be nervous about the young, scarce-broken horse he brought; but he declined. He was so happy, and gay, and pleasant that his re fusil did not sound in the least harsh or unkind ; and no one thought it so. He and Pennie were so entirely engrossed by each other that my father being out and Scot having left the dining-room eai ly, and not appealed since, I slipped away into his study. Here Scot was sitting with his book. He looked up and smiled, but I lay down without a word, and he read on. The light failed. Scot closed his book without ringing for lights, and still sat leaning back in his low chair. I heard Sataneila' a footsteps as she was being led down from the yard, and soon after Pennie opened the door softly and came up to me. "Are you so tired, Charlie that you COTfttfn could not stay with us ? " she asked, bend ing over mine a face on which still linger ed the parti .ig smile which had been given and received a few minutes before. " You did not want me, dear, " I said, half sadly, half jestingly. " Indeed, indeed we did, " she answered, earnestly, fancying, perhaps, that her own loving feelings must be shared by Walter, too. " We always shall. Am I not your own and only sister, Charlie, and is not Walter going to be your own and only brother?" Even in the dying light I could see Scot raise a sharp, questioning face ; and, reading its agony, I involuntarily laid my hand on Pennie's lips. Then I laughed nervously at her astonishment "Scot is waiting to hear your secret from your own lips, ' I said, wishing with all my heart I had told him myself while we st alone there in the twilight. " Oh, Scot," she began, with shy hesita tion, "I did not see you, else I would have told vou. At lea3t I think so if if Walter hasn't" " You have kept Walter so entirely to yonrself, little lady," I put in, hurriedly, ' that he cannot have told anyone." " He and I," said Pennie, in slow, hap py tones, but with timid, shrinking eyes, as she looked at him, "are engaged, Scot." " Yes," said Scot, quietly. She paused a minute, waiting for him to say more, then tossed back her bright little head, and looked down comically at rme. " Ought not Scot to say he is glad, or something of that kind, Charlie ? Isn't it considered right i" I saw that she was speaking at random, and that her cheeks had flushed and her eyes filled with tears as she read what was so sadly familiar to me in the grave, kind face, " I think you need no congratulations, dear," I said vaguely ; "you have enough in your own heart Her little fingers closed tightly on mine, yet she had recourse to her old petulant defiance immediately. " Scot is hard, and stern, and cold tome, as usual," she stammered hotly. "Just because I made a few mistakes in a paltry translation." Scot was standing against the table close to us then ; his blight figure leaning a lit tle ; his face white and proud. " If I can be hard aud stern and cold to you, child, then let me be so, child, in pity ; for under it all my heart burns with a wild, strong love, which I cannot always gov ern. Let me burn it out if 1 can, whatev er comes to take its place." There was a long, motionless pause among us ; then with a startled movement, as if something was made clear to her, Pennie left my side and stood close to Scot She laid her two little hands on his and spoke with glistening eyes. " Some day, Scot, when you have taught Charlie and me all that we shall be able to learn (it isn't much, you know), you will go out into the great world and find a hap piness like mine, only deeper, and when you tell me of it as you 'will do, because we shall be always friends I shall say, what you are saying to me now, with your kind eyes : ' God bless you in your hap piness !' " Scot took the little earnest hands and held them closely for a minute ; but if he spoke at all, I did not hear what he said. Then he went away, and Pennie sat down beside me, very still and silent; while the pitying darkness crept in and hid her face. n. a true verse, Charlie " Isn't that 'Their's is the sorrow who are left be- hind?'" Pennie was driving me home from the station. We had been to see Walter off to .London on his way to the continent, where he was to spend six months with a party of old college friends. The reins were unnecessarily tight in Pennie's hand, the little rounded cheeks were very pale in the fickle March sunshine ; and the young voice was bright only by a great effort! " Which. I suppose, is a very soothing reflection for you," I said, smiling. " As you love Walter so much better than your self. " Yes ; but I was thinking of some one else, too. May we drive on to see Mrs. Cowen? bhe said this parting would break her heart" Never mind to-day, Pennie. Scot is there. He is best to be with her now best to be with her always, if she did but know it" " Not better than Walter, Charlie," she replied, her eyes all aflame in their sorrow ; " not better than such a dear, dear, pleas ant fellow. Scot is not the very idol of his mother's heart like Walter.' No; in consequence of his mother's heart being set against him." But I stop- Tied with a laugh, lor 1 would not vex Pennie to day with this old argument of ours. " Now Charlie," she said, her face so happy in its love, so wistful and tender in its nrst Dam ot parting, "in spite oi au you choose to say of Scot's goodness and ot waiters tnougnuessness, you Know very well that everybody likes Walter best They can't help it No more can L" She seemed to miss Walter very much. and she was just her own willful self all the time always waiting on me, teasing Scot and acting the pleasant, demure little mistress of the house when our father came home at night Often I felt very angry with her ; and at last one day when Scot had one oi nis oia nara struggling mornings, I followed her out and told her I could not stand by and see his brave, patient pain. Yon ought never to come in to study with us," I said, hotly. "You should learn nothing all your life rather than learn from him now." "But there is no one else to learn from," she pouted. sol must " Then 1 wish to heaven he would care less for my good, and go away for his own good. " " mat wouia oe very unttina ; tnougn r dare say that he will do so soon," said Pennie. " You, of all the world, should judge Scot most tenderly and kindly, Pennie," I cried. " And so I do, dear Charlie." she an swered, with quick earnestness. "Then leave him to himself. I shall miss you woefully, as you know; but I would rather you never came until our work is over, and we will meet on equal ground. " Charlie," she said, in a voice of utter solitariness, "I am always lonely and restless and mischievous away from you ; but 1 will not come in again." And then of course I was miserable, though 1 had gained what 1 wished. After that, Pennie's behavior to Scot changed. Day atter day she forgot to join our studies ; forgot it in the most easy and natural manner imaginable, ottering no forced reasons, showing no conscious cm barrassment and day after day she grew quieter and quieter to Scot ; not kinder exactly, or more conceding, but more thoughtful. She went alone very often to see Mrs. Cowen, but these visits never cheered her. The mother's blind and de voted idolization of her son, contrasted with the son's easy carelessness of the mother, fretted Pennie's tender heart sore ly. I saw how her thoughts ran urxn it after her visits, and at these times 1 never spoke a word against Walter. Yet some' times, when Pennie told me how be said he had not time to write home, and so she must go and tell his mother about him. my impatient word would escape ; and I said that a man who could not take a few min utes' trouble to please a mother who loved him so dearly, was not worthy to win any other love. Walter had been away about three months, when one day Scut was sent for home in haste, Mrs. Cowen being ilL He was away all night, but at ten in the morn ing, when Pennie and I strolled into the study, there he was, waiting for us. " Why, Scot" I exclaimed, meeting him gladly. "I didn't expect you back; cer tainly not to work, mve you oreaKiasiea yet ? How is Mrs. Cowen ?" " A little better, thank you," he said, turning slowly from me to take Pennie's offered hand. "I have breakfasted long ago." "Have you sent for Walter?" asked Pennie, her eyes fixed upon his face. " ies." And then he sat down calmly in his place, and we read together, while Pennie stood silent leaning against the window frame. 1 did not know whether she was glad that she shonld see Walter so soon, or sorry for his pleasant excursion to be in terrupted. Jacn day now, as soon as our studies were over, ocot went Home, ana in tne afternoon Pennie drove me to Easter Hill, and leaving me in the carriage at the gate, went up to the house on foot to see Wal ter's mother. She never stopped very long, though I am sure that if Mrs. Cowen had liked to nave naa ner sue wouia nave taken np her abode there to watch and nurse by night and day. But the sick mother cared for no one; only counting the hours before her son should come, and fretting that Scot had not made him hasten. The dav when Walter might have arrived had passed, and only then I could see now unquesuonaDiy reuiuo mu im pended on his coming. She seemed be wildered, unable to believe he was not in the train, and she stood on the platform as it rolled away, her yearning eyes fol lowing it Diteoualv. "There were so many hindrances pos sible,"! told her; "so many unforseen things might have occurred to delay him." But she never answered me a word ; and when that whole week went by and still he did not come, her silence grew more distressing to me than passionate grief or anger. On tne last aay tne post Drougnt two letters. One for Pennie, which she read with cold, tight lips, then threw across to me : and one lor boot wnicn ne naa taxen awav with him unopened. The old lady was so nogety. waiter wrote, that it would be ridiculous to sup pose that she really meant him to come home from such a distance, and have the bore and expense of going back when her little attack or rear naa suDsiaea. ne wanted him with her. In the meantime he had written to her and it would be all rip'ht. 1 read no more. I folded the letter, and nassed it back to Pennie. asking her if she did not think it would be better for Scot to have a holiday for a time, that he might not teel his duties pulling mm two auier ent wftvfl. " No, Charlie," she said, at once. "Papa and I both think (as you would if you had been to see Mrs. Cowen) that it is better for Scot to have his old work. If he were constantly with her, .fretting as she always is for Walter, it wouia narass ana weary him more than this change does. She never expresses a wish to have him al ways there ; yet he is a tender, cheerful nurse. Charlie." I did not answer, ror just men ocot came in, greeting us both with his gentle smile, lie Had been to tne station a fruitless errand now. and Pennie had nev er been since that first hopeful day and I could see by her glance at his solitary fig- nm. ns he rame nn. tnat tne old none naa been with her this morning. I had thought it would be so. because by this time Walter might have arrived, in answer to the letter she herself had sent urging him to come. " I think mv letter must have miscar ried, 8cot?" she asked, with a quiet wist fulness: "don't vou?" " Oh, he would be sure to come," Scot said, looking quickly away from her face. " There was no placing dependence on foreign nosta." "Suppose you were to write again?" proposed Pennie, deferentially. That was exactly what he had been thinking. There must have been some mistake in the last address. "Wouldn't it have come back in that case ?" I suggested. " We certalnlv ought not to expect it back so soon," he decided. But he would not wait for it; he would wnte again, at once. And after he had left us, I could not help telling Pennie what I had heard at the post-office that every night a letter went from Scot to his brother with a large " Immediate " on the envelope. Pennie turned away from me in angry heat " What does he wnte. then ? Why does he not write what will bring Walter home. and not fret and worry him, yet keep him there w hile his mother is ay ing rw l nen her wrath and courage broke down, and she leaned her tired little head against me. and sobbed out the fear, and love, and dis arjDointment which she had hidden so Ion p. After that she was very petulant with Scot ; more petulant even than in old times. And when the subject which I knew to be alwavs uppermost in her thoughts was mentioned, she would say impatiently that we all made a ridiculous fuss, tnat Airs. Cowen was not really very ill, only fancy ing it: that Walter, of course, would come as soon as he could ; and that she was tired to death of the worry there was in tne house just through the stupidity of Scot's letters. . . . Saving nothing of her own letter, which had been equally unavailing, i wouia try 10 tpmnt her to read to me. or plav. or drive ; but she would only refuse me with a quick "No," and leave me suddenly, coming back presently to throw her arms around me and sob that she was a wretched, un grateful girl, and did not deserve to be loved by me or Walter. And as this wearving time went on. she went about the horue with small, tight lips, and rest less hands, and grew always harder and more contradictory to Bcot wnenever sne annke tn him at alL Four weeks had gone by since Pennie's last letter had been sent to Walter, when early on one sunny August morning, Scot sent a messenger to tell us that his mother was dead. I had to tell Pennie myself, and when I had done so In a few sad words, she broke from me and ran np stairs. Through that long, lonely day she never came near me, and I began to realize what it would be to live without enner .rennie or Scot , T sent a telegram off to Walter at once, announcing his mother's death though I felt sure Scot had done so. And at last my father came in, and Pennie crept into her place among us. i , JNot once aid sne menuuu vaiicrs name to me ; and on the night Dciore tne fn nml. when loUoWlsz me arrival oi me London express a cab drew np to the door, I heard her tell the servant she was engaged "to every one." He, knowing he dia not misunaersiana ner hki m un spoken order, told Walter so, and let him drive awav in the darkness to the home that was so doubly darkened now. in. It was the morning after Mrs. Cowen's funeral, and I was sitting in our pleasant study, basking as invalids love to do, in ttiA mnmini? aiinshine. Leaning at the window, in her old attitude, stood Pennie lofikir.tr out nnon her cherished flowers, but seeing little of their beauty. Scot was sitting at his table, his head upon his hnd. Whether it was the long, vain watching for Walter, or the sleepless 1 nights and hard davs work, or the old - o - hidden grief, I did not know, but certainly his face was white and haggard as I never seen it before. Suddenly he looked across at me with his own brave smile. " Come, Charli. we have been idle too long, dear fellow." 1 naa risen ana was sauntering toward him. when the door was opened and a familiar face looked in upon ns." " rennie, rennie, darling ! Fancy never coining to meet met Walter cried, throwing down his hat and coming for ward, grand and bandnome in the glow ing bunshine. "Pennie, darling, here I am" And he was close beside her, his arms open to receive her. bhe gave one look into nts lace, so swut that she only seemed to have moved her eyes from the garden into the room. " vviiere are you going, bcoit sne saia: "Please don't go away. This is your room, not ours. I am going myself when I have spoken to you and Walter." ' Pennie, are you angry, darling ?" whis pered Walter. No, not at all," she answered, moving from him and standing beside the table at which Scot had sat down again. " I can not now make myself feel even angry with vou. Walter." Thank you. ThanK you, dear," ne said, joyfully. "Come out with me. I want to tell you how it was." Tell me here," sne answered very quietly. "That's hardly fair, he complained (with reason, I thought), but, of course, my darling, I never fancied my mother was really so ilL" 1 told you." repnea rennie, stui more buietlv. - Yes, yon aid say so, repnea waiter, looking for the first time a little nervous and anxious ; " but I knew she was always fanciful, and I thought this was one oi ner false alarms. You ought to be sorry for me, Pennie. I thought yon would feel for me in this grief. She did not look into tne iace, wnere was a shade of real grief; and he went on passionately in her silence. rennie, i want to speaa: w yu- umo away. V hy do yon stay nere r ' iiecause, sne saia, moving a uuie, ana laying her hand on the back of Scot a chair, " because I would rather speak here. Scot will listen to me ; and teach me once again teach me what to do." She paused for a few moments. Walter, leaning against the table, looked down upon her in astonishment " Scot, if I have learned that I have made a great, great mistake in thinking that I loved vour brother more than any one else, is-n't it best and kindest to tell him so now, before it Is too late r Scot did not answer her, and she repeat ed the question, her beautiful eyes child like in their pleading. " Would it be right to ten Dim so, ocot. or go on m the falsehood r Riirrit tn foil him an." a Right to tell him so," answered Scot in tones low and a met "Then Walter," she said, raising ner face to him as it flushed and paled rapidly. 'I will tell you of my mistake now, betore vour brother and my own. There were once two gifts of love within my reach; and the one wnicn my eager, ignorant hand grasped, because it seemed most bright and winning to my dazzled eye, was not the one which could satisfy my heart I did not understand either then ; I was as powerless to feel the deep self-forgetful ness of the one as the shallow selfishness of the other ; but now that I know my own heart, Walter, 1 cannot nice its disappoint ment Some day I myself shall be old and suffering, perhaps fanciful, too, I dare say ; those who give much love, to win bnt little in return, often are and I should not like to feel that when I summoned you to mv dying bed you would not heed the J -r i i i . i-i .1 l summons, i snouia not into sui uiruugu my life to pour out a wealth of love on one who could laugh at me for the exacting intensitvof the gift And so 1 am very. very grateful I have read this in my heart betore it was too late. " This is nonsense. Pennie." interrupted Walter, with a forced smile. "Come and let me explain to you." " You have done so," Pennie said, still with her hand on Scot's chair, and still with her eves clear and undrooping. "You have explained it all to me during the last few weeks. JNow it is my turn, ana x am trying to do so ; only it seems as if I could not say much even now of what is in my own heart Your mother had a faithful. careful nurse, Walter, in all her illness; and by him no duty was negiectea, no pleasure sought Charlie, did Scot seek his own pleasure ? did he fail in any of his duties, through all the tune that Wal ter was securing his own pleasure cease lessly, and failing in this one chief duty?' " Not one," she repeated, the little nana tight on his chair, but her face never turned to Scot " Not one. Did any re membrance of this pain weaken his hand, or chill his heart? Did it, Char lie?" "Never." I said again, looking for a moment into Walter's vexed and moody "Never" she repeated, "ma anyone fhrn-o-ht nf himself make him shrink from his duty to you, Charlie, because I made it better to him? or from his duty to his mother, because she blamed him always that her own idolized son had left her to die alone ?" "Not one." " Walter, the love of such a heart is i nri-za tn he orate ful for through all years and through all years I will 4be grateful that once tms prize was mme. ocoi, ueat Scot, vou have taught me all the little that I know ; teach me what to do now that my heart is hungering wearily for such a love as that from wmcni turned awav nnt Ion 17 ago." iO a WOrU U1U OW wibww, n iinu uu face was hidden in his hands. I am waitim? for vour answer, boot. The hand that had been on his chair inmu-ned its hold: the little standing figure slipped down ana kneeiea upon tne floor beside him; and both hands were laid upon the tremulous white fingers nreuifi an tiphtlv in his hair. " liOOK. CSCOl, now A BUl naiiiug im ' .. . , .1 1 MT vnnr answer, sne ureawicu. x iibto never been obedient to you before, much as you have taught me ; but I am waiting to obey you now. Whit a. face it was that her gentle touch nnnwered ! I could hardly bear to look up on it in its wondering, bewildered oy ; for it told so plainly of the anguisn tnat naa been lived through. Pennies low cry burst involuntarily from her shaking lips when she saw it " O. Scot forgive me lor it au i With the angry scarlet burning In his face, Walter left the room, i nave rnt aeen him since. He writes to m luvmiiniiHllv short gay, selfish letters h after month he delays his com ing home, and the house at Easter Hill re mains Wlinoui lis muster. . swt lived there alone, settling Walter' affairs for him, and still coming to me for old morning Ftudies, but Scot has won his home now. Yesterday he was chosen for the new headmaster of the Easterwood Grammar School; and it is the youngest headmaster who had been etectea ior thev mv. To-night we are ex pectinghim back from Cambridge, and renme is stanaing av mo wuw iTxrf.ii- him. the evening sunshine linger ing on her bright head, and another rest f.,r fmnnv annfihine in her eyes. Earnestly do I know that the restive little pupil who oo tt rivA him an much pain has given him now a deeper and more gladdening love than mine. ThorA la a house in Tolland County. rinnn nn the walls of which still remains paper which has been there since 1787, when tne nouse was vuut. Youths' Department. THE MILLERS OF LABORTOWN. bt sit. T. mm. Thikb lived thra millers in Ltbortown, jkSCD owning a Dig iioh nun On stream where the water tumbled down From the rapkls beneath the bill. With a roar beneath the hill. First, Bimon Coon was an easy aonl. And nothing disturbed old Coon ; And olten he watched the biz wheel roll. And he smookud hla pipe till noon; And that was his work till noon. At noon he complained K was so hot Then at night was sad to think of" what lie mit;ni nare done tnat day Each beautiful aununei day. Next, Mocee Jay was a restless man ; vi a ionun areami oia Jay, And every morning he had a plan ror a (msi or goto tnat day. That he meant to grind that day. Great things he was jnst abont to do. w nen tne mill was wrecked on hla bands. And his llfe-griet only amounted to A sackful oi worthless plana, Thoagh gold was is all his plana. Then Jacob 8pry was a thrifty man. adq a Drum lue naa oia epry ; He planned hie work, and he worked each plan. ado naa irom a very ooy. For a man waa In the boy. His day went on like the water-wbeel, So busy, and steady, and true. And never a day was allowed to steal a way witoont sometning to do. And that be would always do. Who know the millers of Labortown? w ho do yon think thev conld bet Just lend ns an ear and sit right down. Ana we'll ten ot ail toe toree, rntil yon know all the three. The boy who will waste life's golden day. iia morning ana men 11a noon. Who, when he shonld study or work, will play, IB a uuie om Dimon lwid A thriitless and worthless Coon. The boy who's always going to do Some wonderful things each dav, Tet finds each night his plana fall throngb- Why, he Is old jfoees Jay A simple, chattering Jay. Bnt he who la np with the rising son, Aad, before the day goes by. Baa his grist of study or work well done, is a tnruiy oia jacon spry A steady and true old spry. The world has no use for an idle Coon, Nor yet for a Jay of a boy. Bat in its heart there are warmth and room For everv indnstrlonB Rnrr. And Its blessing will fall on Spry. i Auana's Hour. Let Well Enough Alone. Is there a young man or woman In the country who is impatient to have a com- lortabie home, Kind ana true mends, or means of gaining a livelihood to travel to the city in quest of grander opportuni tiessome place where their love of dis play and excitement can do gratinea, in stead of plodding along in the seclusion or the country i We would say to him or ber, do not come with too sanguine hopes of success. Good situations do not go a begging, and coming without money or friends in search of work is oft attended with sufferings in mind and body. In the great, bustling city nobody cares what becomes ol one stranger, and you might walk from morning till night and scarcely receive a kind word of encour agement People are intent upon their own pursuits, and have so many applica tions for work and help for the needy, that the addition of one more to the num ber of suffering ones is not felt by any body. Not that everybody in town is sel- nsn ana uncnantaoie. Manv a kind hearted man or woman would give you money for a night's lodg ing, or to buy something to eat; but yon are no begger you ask for work and are too proud to receive charity. They have no work tor you, ana pernaps yon may go hungry many a day before you find a place, and then, in desperation, accept a situation you would be too proud to take in the country. Working on a farm is much easier than the life of a city cleik, who must work twelve, fourteen, often sixteen hours a day, in close, dark rooms, year in and year out always the same drudging me. i on long to see utei stay wnere you are, even if you imagine yonrseir very miserable. Such misery is joy compared to the struggles, privations, desperations and crimes which wear and weigh upon the darkened spirits or the multitudes who have come before too. You might succeed, be very happy, and make a great lortone : out dependent up on vour own efforts, all alone, unaided by the counsel or Kina parents ana tne com panionship of friends, the chances are de cidedly against you. jam uriou. Girls. Don't Talk Slang. Girls, don t talk slang! If it is neces sary that any one in the family should do that, let it be your big brother, though I would advise him not to adopt " pigeon English" when there is an elegant sys tematized language that he can just as well use. But don't you do it You have no idea how it sounds to ears unused or averse to itta hear a young lady, when she is asked U she will go witn you to some place, answer, "not much for, if i ea nested to do something she does not wish, to hear her say. " can't see it !' Not long ago I heard a young miss, who is educated and accomplished, in speaking of a young man, say that she intended to " go for him!" and when her sister asked her assistance at some work, she answered. Not for Joe!" Now. young ladies of unexceptionable character and really good education, fall into this habit thinking it snows smartness, to answer back in slang phrases; and they soon sliD fliooantlv from their tongues with a saucy pertness that is neither lady like nor becoming. " I bet" or "you bet" may be well enough among men who are trading horses or land ; but the contrast is , t li 1. startling ana positively mincs-Lug wucu young man is noiaing tne nana oi m lady-love to hear those words issue from her lips, rney seem at once vo lurrounu her with the rougher associations of his daily life, and bring her down from the pedestal ot her punty, wnereon ne usu placed her, to his own coarse level. I know the bright-eyed girl who reads this, will think the matter over, and do what is right, and discard slang and un ladylike phrases. Jtxcnange. Keep Away from the Wheels. Tittle Charles Williams lived near a manufactory, and he was very fond of going among the workmen and the young people wno were at worn mere, x ne iore man would say to him : " Keep away from the wheels, Charlie." Charlie did not mind, and would often say : " I can take care of myself." Often he would go near, and the wind of the wheels would almost suck him in. and two or three times he grew so dizzy that he scarcely knew which wnvtoeo. At length, one day he stag gered while amid the wheels, and fell the wrong way; the band caught his little coat aud drew him in. and he was dread- fnllv mangled. So it is, boys, when you go in the way of temptation : von mav think you can take care of yourselves, and keep clear of the wheels ; but on I you may nna your selves dreadfully mistaken. Before you are aware of it, you may be caught and destroyed. Keep away irom me wr.eeis. Young Reaper. Yoto lady (indignant at being brought to the Academy of Design too early) : "Now. I told you. papa, this wasn't the fashionable hour. We'll have nothing but these horrid pictures to look at till the people come ! ' The Gr&ndMother. - Graitdiiaioia is so old, she has so many wrinklts, and her hair is quite white i but her eyes shine like two stars. Yea, they", are much more beautiful ; they are so mild. - so bussed to look into. A nd sbe can tell - luc must iieuguuui butics, kiju rue hob m dress of thick silk that rustles ; it is cover ed with large flowers. Grandmamma knows so much, for she lived long before papa and mamma, that is certain. Grandmamma has a psalm book, with thick silver clasps, and she reads in it often ,- in it there lies a rose ; it is quite pressed and dry ; it is not so fine as the roses she has in the vase, and yet sne always smues most unary at it; tnere . even comes tears in her eyes. How can it be that grandmamma looks al ways so fond ly upon tne witnerea rose in tne oia dook r o vou know? Each time that grand- mama'a teara fll nrmn the fln.fr itaonlnr revives, it freshens again, and the whole room is filled with the scent of it ; the walls disappear as thongh they were only tog, ana an around is tne green, beautiful wood, with the sun shining through the leaves, ana granunuunma yes, sne is quite - young I she is a beautuui girl witu golden locks and blooming cheeks, engaging and lovely; no rose is more fresh; yet the eyes, the mild, blessed eyes, they are still grandmamma's. By her side is seated a youth so young, handsome and strong I He offers her the rose, and she smiles but not thus smiles grandmamma I 1 es ! the : smile comes. He is gone ; many thoughts and many forms pass by ; the handsome youth is gone, the rose lies in the psalm book, and grandmamma yes, there she sits again, as an old lady; gazing at the withered rose that lies in the book. Now grandmamma is dead. She sat in the easy chair, and told a long, long, de lightful story. " And now it is over, she said, "and I am quite weary; let me sleep a little." Then she lay back, drew a heavy sigh, and slept ; but it became more and more still, and her face was so full of peace ana joy, it was as ir the sun shone upon it ; then they said she was dead. UUO W no 1B1U IU KUUKkUflUU, C11D11JUUU- ed in pure white linen; sbe looked so oeauuiut, ana yet ner eyes were closed. But all the wrinkles were gone ; a sweet smile played on her mouth ; her hair was so silver while, so honorable, no one could be afraid to look at her; it was still the - same kmd, benign grandmamma. And the psalm-book was laid under her head. as she herself had desired, and the rose Hy in the old book and so they buried : ' her. On her grave, close under the church mil or blossoms; the nightingale sang over it, and from within the church the organ played the most beautiful psalms in the book that lay under head. And the moon shone right down upon the grave : but the dead one was not there : every child could fearlessly go there at night and pluck a rose, there by the . church-yard walL One that is dead knows more than all we living know; the dead know the dread we should feel at anything so strange as that they should come to us ; the dead are better than we all, and so they do not come. There is earth over the coffin. there is earth in it The psalm-book with . its leaves is dust, the rose with all its as sociations has crumbled into dust; but above, freih roses bloom above the nightingale sings, and the organ plays; one thinks of old grand mother, with the mild eyes, ever young. Eyes can never die 1 Ours shall one day see her, young and beautiful as when, for the first time, she kissed the fresh red rose that lieth now dust in the grave. Mant Christian Anderttn. A Chinese Death Bed. Thb Chinese have many customs pecu liar to their nation, which strike the "outside barbarian" as being unnatural and strange. 1 heir religious traditions are so deep-rooted and so strongly foster ed by superstition as to give hi tie en couragement to missionary laborers. The most striking of these superstitions are those pertaining to the disposition of their dy ing and dead relatives. Very often the dead bodies of Chinese men and women are found in untenanted buildings in the Chinese quarter or this city, and those on- acquainted with their superstitions are prone to set the desertions of dying friends down as acts of selfishness. This, how ever, is not so, as the Chinese believe that if persons die in a house that they lived in before death, their spirits will haant the place ever after, and give unpleasant evi dence of their presence to all who remain. In order to prevent tne manuestauons or the restless spirit, as soon as the doctor gives it as his opinion that a patient can not survive he is taken to another place and left alone to die. Yesterday a case of this kind was reported to the Coroner. A young Chinawoman, who had been given up by her attending pnysician, was camea bv her relatives to an untenanted house in Ellis Place, off Pacific, above Du point They then dressed her in her best cloth ing, spread a new matting on the floor, and hud her on it They brought in pre serves, meats, fruits, candies, boiled rice, ete lighted some punks and retired, leav ing her alone to await the coming of the common destroyer. During the day she died, and was lound last nignt. coroner Litterman removed the body, and it is now at the Morgue awaiting the farther action of the relatives, wno wiu prooaoiy leave her to be disposed of by the city, as is generally their practice In all sucn cases. Manv Chinamen those of the wealthy classes do not desert their dead friends, and for the furtherance of this desire there are several hospitals fitted np, in order that those abont to die may be re moved there until they have paid the debt of nature, after which they are buried with all the ceremonies of the disciples of Con- - . I. Tl T-.-f IUC1US. oan XTanatoa jjuuatn. Bather Awkward. What terrible creatures are little children! They are always investigating affairs by the light of their own innocence, and bringing older people to confusion thereby. Th. other dav a little girl, not past the years of babyhood, was taken out to ride in a city car Dy ner auwuuuau) uu There had been considerable illness in the family, and she had seen one lady fre quently supported on someone's shoulder, while her head was being bathed with cam phor, or in order that she should change her position for awhile. Also there had been some fear of the invalid's death, and baby had listened tomucn tnat naa set ner 10 thinking deeply. Now that sne was perched upon the car cushions, the looked about her at the passengers, and soon settled her attention npon a young man and young girl who, probably not being well versed in the customs of polite socie ty, were revealing the fact that they "kept steady company, in true Central Park style. Anyone may see what that is by taking a walk in those paths by moon light and looking at the benches, on every one of which seem to sit a young girl with her head npon a young mans shoulder and his arm about her waist Baby looked wisely for awhile, then shook her head, and plucked her aunt by the sleeve. . . . , .,, . "Aunty,'' she said, in a shrill, childish treble, " oh, aunty, do you think that lady is going to die T the one the gentleman is holding upon his shoulder." Aunty sat overcome. The majority of the passengers tittered audibly, while the more polite looked out of the window, and plainly saw something on the side walk which amused them. And the young lady's head was set straight upon her thoulders in a moment, while her sweetheart indicated to the conductor his wish to alight at the next crossing, an operation which Baby witnessed with the remark that "that lady seemed to be better, and could walk all by herself now." Cincinnati Timet. At a recent wedding in Rhinebeck, as the r.lercv reached that part or tne monj nnTi.hearlBl"to the amusement of some. and the consternation oi otners, proei. on the oacasion. A Haxttokd horse seizes rats in his mouth when they come to his manger to intirSato, shake, them like . terrier until satisfied they are dead, and then throws them out or the bin.