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"Hush! It is Claronce Hyde's step!" And Rosa Eldon sprang to her feet, Tosy and smiling, with tlie freshly plucked helitrope trembling among her glossy brown braids, and her pretty blue dress floating around her like an azure cloud. Only 18, and very fair and lovely was our little Rosa—a trifle spoiled and wilful, perhaps, but what else could one expect Every one petted and made much of her—every one smiled at her pretty, kittenish way—and Clarence Hyde thought her the fairest specimen of feminine humanity that ever the sun shone on. Lizzy Eldon made room for her sis ter—Lizzie, just one year younger and scarcely less fair yet very different in character. Lizzie was quite, and sage and demure, while Rosa rattled away like a merry mountain stream flowing over its mossy stones. Lizzy thought her sister perfection, while Rosa was lecturing Lizzy in a capricious fashion, and laying down the law to her after the most approved manner of elderly sisters. "How nice it must be to be engaged!" said Lizzy, with a half-encouraging smile, as Rosa paused at the glass to adjust her hair. "I wish I was en gaged!" "You? Oh, you are nothing but a child," Rosa said, patronizingly. "There—give me my pocket handker chief." And away she went, light and lithe as a butterfly. Clarence Hyde was in the parlor anx iously awaiting her coming, but Clar ence had rather a disturbed face. He was a well-made, handsome young fel low, with laughing, wine-brown eyes, straight features, and brown hair thrown back from a broad, frank brow. "Why, what makes you look so sober?" was Rosa's first question, when the ceremonials of greeting were gone through with, and she had had time to take a good look into his face. "Sober? do I?'' He was playing rather restlessly with the crimson cord that looped back the white muslin drapeiies of the pretty bay window that made Mrs. Eldon's cottage look like one of the lovely rustic habi tations you see in old English engrav ings. "Exactly as if you had the toothache •»T a bad conscience." Clarence laughed in spite of himself. "You are wrong, then, my little rid dle-guesser I am afflicted with neither the one or the other." "Well, what is it, then?" "Rosa, what should -you say if it were to become necessary to defer our marriage for some time A shadow came over the infantile bloom and freshness of Rosa's face. "To defer our marriage, Clarence? I can't imagine what you mean." "Listen, Rosa, and I will tell you. My uncle has just come from California, very poor and a confirmed invalid. I am his only surviving relative, and to me he naturally appealed for protec tion and companionship. I must give him a home, Rosa. You know I had laid up just enough to begin housekeep ing in a quiet, economical sort of way, but the new plan will necessarily alter all my arrangements." ''I never heard of any uncle before." "No, dearest I knew little of him— nothing personally, as he never visited my father's during his life-time." Rosa's face was turned away from Clarence Hyde's she was silently twist ing a piece of paper round and round her slender forefinger. "Rosa," he said, after waiting a min ute or two for her to make some remark, "tell me honestly, dear one, which you prefer—to begin housekeeping on this new scale—one more frugal and hum ble than I had originally hoped and in tended—or to defer our marriage until I can earn enough to carry out those original arrangements?" She was silent for a moment, then she answered in a voice which seemed to chill Clarence's buoyant young heart: "Neither!" "Rosa," he exclaimed, "I do not un derstand you." "I spoke plainly enough. "Neither!" "Do you mean that—" I mean that you must either give up your uncle or me. After all that hats been said and known of our engagement after its publicity and length, I certainly can not consent to a further postpone ment. And we shall be poor enough if we marry immediately, without filling our house with needy relatives." Clarence Hyde looked at his fair fi ancee in perfect amazement. Never in the whole course of their acquaintance had he seen this phase of character. He had fancied her all that was sweet, pure and womanly. Could it be possible that she was cold-hearted, selfish, and dead to all the sweet ties of nature? "Rosa," he said, mournfully, "is this to partus?" "It is for you to say." "Do you wish me to give up my poor, dependent uncle "Either him or me," Rosa answered, indifferently. "It will be hard—very hard, for me to lay aside the brightest wishes of my life," he said, earnestly, "but, Rosa, duty is my first object. I can not leave my uncle to wear 3ut his remaining days in poverty and solitude." "Very well," answered Rosa careless ly stooping to pick up the odorous pur ple blossoms which had fallen from her hair, "then we shall consider our en gagement dissolved." "And can you give me up so readilv, ROBS?" "Oh," said Rosa, a little impatiently, "where's the use of being romantic about it? Yoa.have chosen your part, I have chosen mine. So let it be?" Clarence Hyde took his leave, de jected enough* It is not pleasant to set up a fair idol and worship it with all the strength and tenderness of your nature, only to find, after all, that it is dust and ashes—hollow-hearted and falsa! Cuthbert Hyde sat smoking his bri erwood meerschaum by the open win dow as Clarence entered—a square, shrewd-looking old man, with deeply seamed wrinkles on his brow, and rest less, sparkling eyes, gleaming like live coals beneath his shaggy brows. "Clarence, my boy, something lias gone wrong," he said, brusquely, after he had regarded his nephew in silence for a while. "Tell the old uncle what it is." "I have told you about Rose Eldon, sir well, slio and I are—in fact, it is all over between us." "Engagement broken, eh? Past the power of patching up!" "Yes, uncle.' 'And it was on my account Nay boy, don't turn away—I can read the truth in your eves. So she played you false?" "We are parted uncle—is not that enough "Well, perhaps so—perhaps sc. It was well you found her out in time, Clarence. It's for the best, my boy." Clarence Hyde was passing down the village street a day or two, subsequent ly, toward dusk on a mellow August evening, when a slight form glided up to him and a tremulous hand was laid upon his own. He started at first, but quickly recognized the face and figure. "Lizzie Eldon!" "Oh, Clarence, I could not rest with oxit telling you how very, very wrong I thought Bosa, and how sorry I am for you." "Thanks, Lizzy, I do not think she has treated me exactly right." Lizzie burst into tears. "How could she be so cruel, so un womanly? You are right, Clarence-• you acted nobly. I think Rosa will one day live to repent it." As Clarence stood there listening to Lizzy Eldon's impetuous words and holding her little soft hand in his own, he wondered that he had never before noticed how very, very pretty she was —a softer, more subdued style of beau ty than Rosa's, yet not less bewitching in its way. They haunted hhn all night long, that oval, earnest face, those simming blue eyes. Day by day Rosa's image waxed faint er and more faint in his memory, and Lizzy's shy, gentle looks grew more than ever present in his heart. "I dcp believe I've fallen in love with the girl," he thought. "I wonder what she would say if I was to propose to her?" Next to wonder came realization. One fine October day, when they had strayed a little way from the gay, nut ting party, whose voices made the old yellow-leaved woods musical, Mr. Hyde asked Lizzy Eldon if she would accept the love her sister had slighted, and Lizzy, smiling and trembling answered him, yes. "You see, Uncle Cuthbert," said Clarence, eagerly, as he explained the new position of affairs to his uncle that evening, after he had safely escorted Lizzie home, with her basket of nuts only half filled (and no wonder, all things considered), "it will be so pleas ant! We shall all live together, and Lizzie says she will love you dearly. Lizzie is such a famous little housekeep er. She thinks it will be so pleasant to have you sitting by our hearthstone! And, Uncle, you will go and see her to morrow, won't you?" "Yes," said Uncle Cuthbert, brieflv, "I'll go." And the next day Lizzie was surprised at her sewing by a brown-faced, little, old man, who abruptly took both her hands in his and imprinted a kiss upon her crimsoning forehead, just as if he was the oldest acquaintance in the world! "So you're going to marry my ne phew, Lizzy, are you?" said uncle Cuth bert. "Yes, sir," Lizzie made answer, tim idly. "And you love him Lizzy?" "Oh, yes, sir." And you won't object to having the old man lumbering 'round the house, helpless and feeble though he be?" "I shall be so glad to have you live with us, sir, for I never remember my father—and—you will be like one to me, I am sure." Uncle Cuthbert kissed her again, and walked away as abruptly aa he had come. "He's a very funny old gentleman," thought Lizzy, "but I know I shall like him." Rosa contemplated the present state of affairs very coolly—a little contemp tuously, in fact. 'If you choose to adopt all Clarence Hyde's poor relations, why, I can only wonder at your taste," she said, loftily, But Lizzie only smiled, and doubted to herself whether Rosa could really ever have loved Clarence. "No, no, no!" echoed her heart. The day of the wedding drew near. Lizzy's white dress was nearly finished, and modest little presents were begin ning to be sent in from friends and neighbors. "Here's my present," said Uncle Cuthbert, walking in one day and tos sing a little box of carved wood into Lizzy's lap. "I cut out those wooden flowers mvself, when I was in Califor nia." "Well, but open it it's lined beauti fully," said the old man. Lizzy obeyed. "Why, there's a parchment chart in it, Uncle," cried the astonished Clarence, who was leaning over Lizzy's shoulder. "Of course there is—a deed making over $50,000 to Lizzy Eldon the day of her marriage," answered Uncle Cuth bert, dryly, "and I've got jnst another one for you at home, Clarence, my boy! Aha! The old uncle was not so poverty stricken after all. You mustn't think my young lady," he added, turning ab ruptly to Rosa, "that gold isn't gold be cause it's a trifle tarnished and rusty. Appearances aren't anything in this world!" And so Clarenee and Lizzy began the world with the fairest of prospects, and true love enough to float the barque of life into the sweetest haven. Rosa Eldon wu some what ch&grinned in her secret soul, but she wisely kept her feelings to herself, and Old Uncle Cuthbert was quite satisfied with the choice his nephew had made. "She's worth twice a hundred thou sand dollars in her own sweet self, Clar ence, he said, confidentially, to Mr. Hydo, junior. HIS DUTY FIRST. After that Retaliation for Znanlts and An* aoyances. A lady living on Harrison avenue, Boston, near the Albany bridge, is the owner of a very large and intelligent Newfoundland dog. He is a faithful, animal, and has been trained to run on errands and fetch up wood and coal, which duties he preforms as faithiully as a human being. Yesterday morning she wrote an orc*er for her dinner, and placing a silver coin inside the paper put them in a basket, and giving it to the dog sent him out to the market. He was returning with his purchase when a gang of corner loafers called up a few idle curs and set them on him for sake of seeing what he would do. They barked and yelped and howled around him, biting his legs and flanks until the blood came in places but with the exception of occasionally striking at his annoyers with his feet when they came close in front of him, the New foundland paid no attention to his dis agreeable companions until he had arrived home and placed the basket on the house steps. After whining and scratching for a few minutes he was relieved of his charge by his mistress coming to the door. As soon as the basket was taken from him lie turned upon his heel and walked back leisurely with his hands in his pockets, apparently for the sole pur pose of inspecting the weather. Arriv ing in the midst of his late antagonists he sauntered upon one of them in a pat ronizing sort of way, and taking him into his capacious jaws nijjped him until there wasn't a yell left inside him, and then threw him against the side of a building. By the time this was accomplished the other curs had taken the hint and begun to evacuate the side walk in an undignified manner. But the Newfoundland was after them in earnest. Seizing one by the nape of the neck he threw him across the bridge, another was hurled through an open doorway, a third was cornered at tli« door of his own residence and whipped into submission, and in this manner the avenger pursued his task until the last one had been thoroughly chastised. Then the master of the field went home as quietly as he had come, and, after dressing his wounds by the most approv ed methods of canine surgery, composed himself for sleep.—Boston Globe. Killed by a Hog. From the Philadelphia Times. Henry Ward who lived at the corner of Moyamensing and Snyder avenues, met his death-in a horrible form recent ly. For some months past he had had in his possession a large hog, which was, during the day-time, allowed to run in the back yard. During the night it was kept in a pen in the northeastern corner of the yard. Some days ago the hog developed an ugly disposition, and protested by vicious grants its aversion to confinement. Several times it turned on its owner while being driven to its pen, and had to be subdued with a club. Yesterday the animal became unusually vicious and attacked every one who came near. A dog that was set on the brute in the hope that he would drive it to the pen was routed and narrowly escaped death by scaling a five-foot picket fence. Mr. Ward returned home at 2 o'clock and undertook to drive the hog intoihis pen. The beast trotted sullenly ahead until within a few feet of the gate, when it turned, and, with a vicious snort, chargcd on its owner. The man tried to beat it off, with a stick, but was over powered in an instant. The hog reared itself off its hind feet, and, throwing its weight against the man, bore him to the earth. It then sprang on him, and with its front hoofs drawn closely to gether, and before the prostrate man could rccover his footing the hog had made a ghastly wound in his abdomen with its teeth. The wounded man was soon rescued by some neighbors, but bled to death before medical assistance arrived. The hog was killed with an ax. Regularity of Habit. One of the most difficult of all the minor habits to acquire is that of regu larity. It ranks with that of order. "A place for every thing and everything in its place "is not more important than "a time for all things, and everything on time." The natural inclination of most persons is to defer until the last possible moment, or to put it off till an other time where this can possibly be done. Yet habits of regularity contri bute largely to the ease and comfort of life. A person can multiply his effici ency by it. We know persons who have a multitude of duties, and who perform a vast deal of work daily, who set apart certain hours for given duties, and are there at the moment and attend rigidly to what is in hand. This done and other engagements are met, each in order, and a vast deal accomplished, not by strained exertion but by regu larity. The mind can be so trained to this at certain hours in the day it will turn to a particular line of duty, and at other hours to other and different labors. The very diversity is restful, when at tended to in regular order. But let these be run together, and the duties mixed, and what before was easy is now annoy ing and oppressive And the exact dif ference between many is just at this point. There are those who confuse and rusli and attempt to do several things at once and accomplish little, while another will quietly proceed from one dnty to another, and easily accom plish a vast amount of work. The dif ference is not in the capacity of the two but in the regular methods of the one, as compared with the irregular and confused habits of the other.—Philadel phia CalL THE GLADSTONE FAMILY. A. Sketch of Mrs. Gladstone—The Prem ier's Pure Domestic Xilfe. liobcrt Laird Collier in Boston Herald. Just as the service was beginning Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone, with one of their sons came in, and as they went to tliier seats there was some little stir at the door of the chapel, as evidently somo what of a crowd were there to catch sight of the right honorable gentleman. The son who came with the father and mother lives, or has for some years lived,• in India. He has been rather the black sheep of the family, so it has been re ported, and has not got on in the world as the other sons have done. He has been disinclined to be guided by reins in his father's hands, and has always champed the bit. The other sons have been dutiful and unresisting. It is understood that Mr. Gladstone like other great men, will have his own way whenever he can get it, and it is best upon the whole for all concerned that he should have it. The eldest son, William Henry Gladstone, is rather a feeble statesman, who is a member of parliament simply because he is the son of his father. The next son, Rev. Stephen Gladstone, is the vicar of the Hawarden, Parish Church, aud is re ported to be a pious and innocent par son, who does the routine duties of an English country parson, and finding fa vor with both God and man. The hopes of the family are centered in Her bert, the youngest son. Herbert is a real nice good boy. He did very well in college and had no career marked out for hiin, although it was known that both father and mother had set their hearts upon a political life for him. The liberal constituency of Leeds was casting about for a candidate, when intimation was given that Mr. Glad stone would like his son to be returned to the House of Commons, and the Lib erals of the Yorkshire capital accepted this real nice, good boy as their stand ard bearer. Of course he would have probably lived and died unknown if his name had not been Gladstone, for up to now he has in nowise developed any genius for political affairs, and when he has made speeches they have been rather conspicuous for the extreme youtlifitlness of their matter and meth ods. The Liberal press has more than once rather apologized for his public ap pearances and utterences. But to return to Mr. Gladstone—or rather, let me in passing speak a word of Mrs. Gladstone. We are always curi ous to know something of the domestic life of great men, and wish to know if the wife has had any part in the hus bands success. It is always said that Mrs. Gladstone has been a helpmeet indeed, and one would be led to this opinion from the sweet wifely, moth erly expression of her counte nance. Mrs. Gladstone does not look older than an American lady commonly does at fifty. Her hair is almost black, and her face is almost free from lines and wrinkles. English wom en of the last generation dressed hide ously, as the majority of the present generation do. And Mrs. Gladstone, in respect of dress, belongs to both past and present. She always looks dowdy. One cannot get over the feeling when seeing her that she is of bourgeoise origin. If one did not know her one would assume that she belonged to what is called here the "shop-keeping class." When she came into the chapel on Sun day she was really a curiosity. Her face is uncommonly sweet and spiritual. Her smile tells the story of a frue and gentle heart. But Why should any lady dress so barbarously? The puffed out hair the big, ili-sliaped bonnet, with the old fashioned spotted black veil a long, rath er rusty, velvet cloak with wide fur trimmings and ungloved hands, did not seem suitable to the face. Dur ing the service, and when Mrs. Glad stone removed her cloak, she put on a light coarsely knit worsted shawl, and then, to me, the picture of odds aud ends seemed complete. But to Mr. Glabstone I was pained to see him. He shuffled into the chapel and into his pew, but with a quick, nervous, ill-regu lated step, that indicated strength of will trying to overcome weakness of limb. He looked two inches shorter than he did four years ago. His face is full of crows' feet. Lines and wrinkles rhn in every direction upon it. and if he were 100 years old his face could not be more wizen and worn. This withered, pinched face, with its great, penetrait ing, restless eyes, wa3 almost weird. I sat immediately facing the Prime Minister and "within ten feet of him, and I must say—I am bound to say—that his presence pained me all the while I was in the chapel. He is a man with a great trouble on his mind, or else no face ever in this world told the story of trouble. When he closed his eyes in prayer—and I peeped several times to see—there was almost an agony on his countenance. He was so uneasy and restless when standing up, so fidgety with the books and his fan, that it was deeply painful to see him. Many evil reports were in circulation years ago about the social life of this brilliant man, but one hears so many such things in all European countries that I fancy no one pays any considerable attention to these scandals. For one, I believe he is socially as pure as sunlight or snow flake is pure. But this needless blood shed in Egypt seems to haunt his soul as a spectre, and he is like all men of indomitable will, he just falls short of great will on great occasions when a -man needs will to immolate his own will. Mr. Gladstone has not got the will to slay his will. He has gone most woe fully wrong, and he cannot consent to acknowledge it and retrace his steps. It is well known to Mr. Gladstone's friends that he keenly felt being hissed at the opening ceremonies of the Health Ex hibition and it is said that he realizes that his political career is ending rather in shame than glory. He holds his follow ing through the sheer strength of his magnificent past record. Mr. Glad stone is a devout taan^ "and I should say that Ilia manner dur^jng the service was one of reverence and piety,but his mind was, for the most part of the time, pre occupied. He was dressed, as he always is when I have seen him, neatly but not in the best taste. His enormous straight and rigid collar always disfig ures him. A HAPPY FAMILY. BY MRS. M. L. BAYNE. It was Sunday. Mr. Skinner was tired, and thought he would lie down on the sofa in the back parlor and rest. People never learn by experience, and he was no exception to the common rule. He lay down, and crossed his feet with a parade hardly justifiable under the circumstances. His wife* came in and saw him. 'Why, Lot Skinner!" she exclaimed. "If I ever heard of the like I Lying down on that new sofa with your boots on, and oh, my goodness! your head on that lace tidy I had done up only last Week. You are the most inconsiderate man I ever saw in my life!" Mr. Skinner got up and his wife smoothed out the tidy and rearranged it. "The idea of anybody putting a head on that tidy," said Mrs. Skinner, who had no intention of using slang. •'I did suppose you had more sense." "I used to have," said Mr. Skinner good-naturedly, "Ya-a-a-h. I could take a nap if I could find a place to drop down. Y-a-a-h." "You had better read your Bible," said Mrs. Skinner. She was a good, uncomfortable woman, so clean and neat and orderly that she made her family wretched with her domestic drill. Something called Mrs. Shinner off then, and when she came back Mr. Skin ner was gone. She sat down and took a book, when a thought struck her, and she bounded from her chair as if it had been a cannon ball. Yes, it was just as she had feared her husband had gone up stairs, and she found him stretched out on the bed, on top of a white counterpane, his grizzly- gray head sunk deep into a white, starched pillow-sliam, with these words embroidered in the center: "Sleep sweet, beloved!" He was not asleep, but snored, with a look of sweet content on his wide-open mouth. "L-o-t Sk-i-n-n-e-r!" He got up in a manner that would have done credit to a gymnast, and stood staring at the fearful hollow in the bed and the wrinkled dent in the pillow-sham. "I declare I forgot," he said, looking very foolish. 'Alice, haven't I a place where I can lay my head "Don't talk nonsense," said his wife sharply. "The lea of a sober man going to bed with his boots on." "Would you rather I'd get "I'd rather you'd get some common sense," she said. "If you must sleep in the day-time why there's an old lounge down in the kitchen no one will dis turb you there. Or I suppose"—un graciously—"I can take off the quilt, and the shams, aud let you have your nap here, though its wicked, that's what it is, to sleep Sunday. It's a bad example to set to the children, Lot, and you know it." "But I am so sleepy," answered her husband "my head is as heavy as lead, and I cannot keep my eyes open," "Laziness! sheer laziness!" said his wife sharply. Mr. Skinner went down stairs and disappeared. The last words his wife heard him say were that there was rest for the weary, but she was picking up the embroidery on the mis used sham with a pin, and did not heed him. When she went down stairs he was not in sight and she busied herself with get ting dinner, which on Sunday took the place of supper, and thought no more about him. She was a distinguished woman dis tinguished in the town where she lived, as being the cleanest housekeeper in it. No girl could be found neat enough to live with her all the mottoes in her house were to the effect that cleanli ness is akin to goodliness. She dusted every article of furniture in the house several times every day she scrubbed so often that the children had chronic diphtheria she scrubbed so clean that at last she scrub bed through her kitchen floor into the cellar, and was nearly lost to the com munity. It was a perptual warfare be tween her and dirt. The front parlor was never opened to the family, and al though Mr. Skinner had furnished it he had never sat down in it a moment since. Its air was that of a tcmb. After it had been opened to company for an afternoon, the children went around with flannels about tlieir throats and drank ginger tea. It was the handsom est parlor in the community, too, and had the family pictures and their mar riage certificate framed and hung up there. When dinner was ready—and it was a good dinner, too, for Mrs. Skinner was a notable cook—she asked the children where their father was. They did not know. This seemed strange she questioned them closely, but they had not seen which way he went when he passed through the room. "Didn't he say where he was going?" she asked, wonderingly, for Mr. Skin ner never went out on Sunday without his family. "He said he was going where he'd have more peace," said little Harry Skinner. "Well, we won't wait dinner for him," said his wife, and they sat down to eat. Bat a spell seemed to have fallen upon them, and when the dinner w'as over and cleared away, and they were in the sitting-room with their books, there was a sense of dreary loss, and Mrs. Skinner sat with the Bible open on her lap, and wondered why he hod gone out and remembered that he had looked queer. It was in consonance with her habits otUriag that she got up in the middle of these speculations to catch a wander ing and belated fly and induce him to be annihilated. "Strange!" she said, as it grew dark. "Ill take the children and go down to his mother's and see if he is there, and if he is, I'll just giye him a piece of my miSd." But he was not there, and his moth er said Lot had looked badly the last time she saw him, and she thought he seemed worried hoped it wasn't busi ness troubles. No, it wasn't business troubles Mrs. Skinner knew that, and began to won der if she had cleaned her husband out of his mind. It came over her with sudden force that she had been in the habit of driving him from pillar to post at railroad speed and at the end of a broom or dust brush. He actually found no rest for the sole of his foot in his own house. It might have worked upon his nervous system until he had become suddenly insane. Hprrible thought! He- might have committed suicide. She hurried home with the children. All was gloom. She went to his bureau to look for his razor. It was the only fire arms he possessed—it was gone! Then Mrs. Skinner broke down and cried, and it was indeed a scene of des olation, when suddenly the door of that horrible parlor opened, and an appar ition—no, it was Mr. Skinner himself— stood before them looking very sheep* ish. "I overslept myself," he saidin a meek, apologetic tone, looking at the clock. "I should say you did," answered his wife,"and the dinner is all eaten up, but I'll fix you up something nice," and she went out taking the children with her. How much of ifc Mr. Skinner ever knew it is impossible to say, but there was an immediate and satisfactory change that at first amazed and then delighted him. He could lay down anywhere when he was tired and his wife would throw a shawl over him, and leave him in peace. He has even been seen to lie down on the sofa in the parlor where he took his Rip Van Win kle sleep and nobody disturbed him. Mrs. Skinner was at heart a woman oi sense, and when she relized that one hair of that grizzly-gray head was worth more than all the pillow shams in the world to her, she put the last one away in the company of a demented assortment of superfluous tidies. And they are really and truly, and not in any zoological sense, a "happy family" now. The Dazed Miner. It is difficult for one who has been cradled in wealth to conceive of the mental and moral shock given to a poor man by the sudden acquisition of riches. The almost instantaneous transition from'the struggle to keep the wolf from the door, to a life which is free from both labor and care, dazes him. He be comes as eccentric in his actions as one who dreams is in his thoughts. A correspondent of an Englishpaper, writing from Australia, illustrates this fact by the following story: A friend of mine came into Sydney a month ago who had struck a fortune in the mines, and from being a poor miser able tramp with just enough money to keep him from starving, he had become the owner of thousands of pounds in ready gold. He rushed into the first store he hap pened to see, which was a drug-store. "Just let me have a hundred dollars worth of those bottles there, will you? he shouted to the proprietor. "Certainly," replied the polite drug gist. "What kind of drugs do you want "Drugs! I don't want your drugs« Just send couple shelves full of those bottles up to the Hotel to me. Tom Randall. Here's your pay," and he threw a handful of gold on the counter, aud rushed out, and into the next store, which was hardware. 'Is that a good stove said he, kick ing the nearest one. "Yes sir," said the hardware man com ing forward, smiling, "that stove will,"— 'Never mind what it '11 do. Just send it up to Hotel to Tom Randall, will you? How much is it? Never mind the change!" and he had paid for it, and was gone, before the store-keeper had recov ered from his wonder. He then went into a dozen differ ent stores, ordering countless things which happened to strike his fancy or please his whim, and, at last, returned to his hotel. I found him there two hours later, sit ting on the edge of a trunk surrounded by his different purchases, which with the promptness of the Sydney trades men had been sent according to his order. My friend sat with his face in his hands as I came in, and did not stir. Finally, the tears began to trickle through his fingers, and at last he looked up at me with a comical smile. "Bob," said, he "it's the first time I ever had any money in my life. Just think! Here I am a rich man Why I had to do something to prove it to my self. I should have gone crazy if I hadn't." Then after a pause, he added, "And I've proved it pretty well, I guess." With a pensive air he glanced over the room, and for the first time seftned to take in its contents. Then he burst into a laugh in which I joined. From laughing he passed into crying, then quieted down, and asked me to help him dispose of his numerous purchases. Most of them were sent to his old comrades in the mines, and a week after, he sailed for America. But I be lieve those absurd purchases were the indirect means of preserving his reason at the critical period of his life. It ia claimed young T. J. Coakley Rhetn6 Under, one of the heirs of the extensive Rheine lander pstate, shot John Drake in New York on Thursday the 19th. Mr. IjMke was tha attor ney in charge of the e^mte, and it le supposed liacl a quarrel with.' Bheinelaader. loung Rheinlander cannot te found. A great deal of myeteiy •urroundji theOMHJ. •.