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My (freat-souled woman soon to rise C". And tip-toe up and loose her hair— Tip-toe and take from all the skies God's stars and glorious moon to wear. The broad magnolia's blooms are white, Her blooms are large, as if the moon Had lost'her way some lazy nitrht And lodged there till the afternoon. Oh, vast white bosoms, breathing love, White bosoms of my lady dead, In your white heaven overhead I look, and learn to look above. How soft the moonlight of the South! How sweet the South in sweet moonlight! I want to kiss her warm, sheet mouth As she is sleeping here to-night. How still! I do not hear a mouse, 1 see some bursting buds appear, I hear God in his garden—hear Him trim some flowers for his house. I hear stars singing. And the mouth Of my vast river sings and sings. And pipes on reeds of pleasant things— Of promise, for God's splendid South. —JO.VQLIK MILLER. SUZE ANN. BT JULIA. K. WETHEKILL. "The houn' is a mighty funny bens'," remarked 'Lisher Whetstone, in a slow, deliberate tone, as if reading aloud from a primer. "Ef yer kick him he'll set right down an' yowl fer an hour." This clay-colored philosopher was seated on the front steps, his elbows on his knees and his head between his hands, staring fixedly at the dog be fore him. "Why don't you give hiiu sumpin to growl fer, then?" remarked Spanish Jack, who was swaggering restlessly up and down in front of his friend and host, 'Lisher Whetstone. It was just before sunset on a chilly autumn day, and the locality was Sink emsank, a settlement in the heart of the piny woods. There was not much to be seen except brown pine ridges and infertile fields, full of stumps and broken by red washes. The house in question was a rickety frame building, standing on long legs, which gave it the air of having come merely to pay the surrounding laud scape a morning call. A great blaze of smoky firelight flared through the win dows. A reply was prevented by the voice of Mr. Whetstone's mother from within: '•You, 'Lisher! hain't y' had 'nough o' setfcin' on them air steps? Git up, 'n come in to supper," adding with start ling suddenness, 'Plague take th' frv in-pan!" As the two men entered the illumin ated cavern, a tall girl rose out ot the darkness like a revelation. In tlu un certain light, her countenance waver ed between beautiful and horrible un til a clearer-leaping flame disclosed a wild, soft mass of dusk hair, and features somewhat Egyptian in cast, but according well with the warm brown of her cheeks and warm red of her lips. The gentlemen of Sinkemsank did not lind Suze Ann Whetstone hand some. They 'lowed she had a mighty finie figure but added that she was too dark-complected. "Hullo, Suze Ann!" said Spanish Jack, jocosely, "when'd you comb your hair las' time? It looks like the devil 'fore day." A remark that Suze Ann could not altogether grasp, always turned her sullen. She was not nimble-witted, so she merely remarked, as she seated her self at the table, "I duntio what you're talking 'bout." She raised to his face a pair of eyes so dark that it seemed as if they must al most cast a shadow on anything they regarded. They had the look like the eyes of a person slightly under the in fluence of an opiate, giving the impres sion that the next stage of the trance might prove startling. She did not seem as if she belonged to the Whetstone family. 'Lisher him self was tall, but of a weedy growth, with an aquiline nose, and a general sallowness of coloring—a frequently recurring type in the piny woods. He "favored" his mother, except that her eyes had an evil expression, while his were merely fishy and she had long, fang-like yellow teeth that reminded one of a row of forgotten tombstones. "Ole Lissy Whetstone" was much feared by her neighbors. "I met up with Cory-don Oolam, yes'day," re marked'Lisher, presently, "'n' he axed me to give him that air bridle liangin' in the shed. I hain't no use fer't." "You're gittin' mighty givey in yer ole age, 'Lisher," was Lissy's comment. "That Cory-don Oolam ain't never gone to do you no good turn. He's small po taters, 'n' not many o' them. But you always was a fool. "Lislier." "Well—hem!" said'Lisher, waiving a discussion—"he tole me there's camp meetin' gone to be hilt nex' week." "Where'bouts?" asked Spanish Jack. "Same ole place. That's whar Bob Hanson fit with Simon Blacksmith, 'n' Sghtin'.jawnever ot his broke, but he went on a 'n' knowed his jaw was broke till 'twas all over. Y' can't beat the rozzum-beels of ole Mississip' fer spunk!" "Spunk!" echoed Spanish Jack, laughing contemptuously. "You folks dofrt know the meanin' o' spunk. The's a fellah up our way used to be always talkin' 'n' braggin' he could whip his weight in wildcats. Him 'n' me got into a sorter fuss swappin' bosses 'n' he sneaked up behin' me in Rigbter's saloon, 'n' stabbed me in the side with his knife. Then we clinched, 'n' if they hadn't pulled me oft'n him I'd a tore him to pieces, though I didn't hare no weapon. I wish they'n 'a' let as be. I'd 'a' liked to killed him dry so! Reckon I weighed him out one too many pounds o' wildcats that time," he concluded with a laugh of reminiscential triumph. Suze Ann'sheavily-lashedeyes bright ened as they fixed themselves upon the kero. Spanish Jack—or, to be exact, John Jones, the former title being merely an affectionate nickname—was a splendid specimen of the lyj-river desperado, with a handsome face and figure, who had retired to the piny woods in the evasion of some slight difficulty at home. He was Suze Ann's ideal. There was nothing he would not dare or do—ay! or brag about, afterward. Her strong, vivid nature luxuriated in the contrast he presented to the flaccid types that rarronnded her. They were narrow chested, weak-kneed and loose-jointed faded hi color thin of voice. They shaHed as tbey walked. When they lunil an opportunity to sit down they mmk inertly. ftrfM. Jack, on the contrary, was quiescent As be talked he made WKifUf and swaggered up and down £|s eyes flashed, the color leaped to his Atfk chert. The tones of his deep ftfat were so Afferent from their reedy ghia Most of the men she knew were Sntetjr hi their way as he was, bat it was tne sticaKing attacK of the cur compared with the ferocity of the blood hound. Nature had intended Suze Ann to be a robber queen or a gypsy princess. She hated most people, especially her father and grandmother, because they had beaten her in her defenseless child hood and she had a good memory. Not one kindness did she ever forget—no! not one wrong. She had "learned nothing and forgotten nothing." There was a blind tumult in her mind. Be yond Sinkemsank stretched a vast plain of conjecture, in the darkness of which her poor imagination groped and stum bled. She grew among these people as a palmetto springs on the bare side of a pine-hill. Spanish Jack pushed back his chair from the table, and stretched himself like a tiger after feeding. Then he sauntered to the lire, and drove his spurred and booted heel into the smol dering log to quicken the flames. A shuffling of footsteps was heard outside, and Eunice and William Gunn entered. They were the children of a local dignitary known as "Poorhouse Ginn." William was not ill-looking except that his eyes and hair were too light for his sunburnt face, and Eunice was a buxom, fresh-colored young wo man, rather loosely built, with prom inent blue eyes and her shining dark hair tucked up with a gilt comb. She betrayed a simpering conscious ness of Spanish Jack's presence, as she explained her errand: "Aunt Lissy, maw say will you loan her your combin' evards—say she'll bring 'em back. Say when you wan't 'em agin." "Dunno's I keer to loan 'em. but— well, 1 reckon." said Mrs. Whetstone ungraciously, acknowledging William's salutation by a sort of a growl. This cold reception seemed to embar rass William. and he backed hastily to ward a chair with three legs, and trying to sit in it failed signally. "I should 'a' thought Willyim," Mrs. Whetstone remarked severely "you'd 'a' suspici'nd that air cheer hain't ben sot oa this ten years." Spanish Jack's bold and wandering glance had tixed itself upon the vulgar prettiness of Eunice's face. He sat down beside her. It was his fancy of the mo ment to "devil Suze Ann." as he ex pressed it to himself, just as he would have delighted in tormenting a chained and ferocious dog to the limit of mad ness. Suze Ann. while this was going on, sat in the chimney corner with her arms sung around her knees and her brows depressed. Eunice was another of her hatreds. As children they had quarreled and fought, always to Eu nice's discomfiture. Suze Ann was a slow moving body, but circumstances acted strongly upon her. The force of inertia might have made her dangerous. "Come 'long. Sissy," remarked Wil liam, rising slowly. "Hit's gittin' night!" Spanish Jack followed them out of doors. "Well. I got the cvards." said Eunice. "Didn't suppose I would, neither. I'm mightlv skeered of old Aunt Lissy. They do say she went oncet to see a 'oman that had a sore foot, 'n Lissy she took holter it. 'n' the foot came right off in her han.' 'Clare to gracious! they do say that." "You better not let her get holter your'n" suggested Spanish Jack. "Hit's little 'nough. a'ready. "Go 'way!" remarked Eunice, coyly. "Suze Ann. don't you forgit to fetch that pail o' water 'fore night," said her grandmother, and Suze Ann sullenly snatched up the pail from the corner, and went out. Spanish Jack was lean ing by the bars that served for a gate, anu she brushed past him. "Where you goin'?" he demanded, catching at her arm. "Mind out!" she cried, freeing her self violently. "Well, I reckon I'll go with you,any how." She said nothing, and presently he remarked, "Eunice Ginn's a mightv pooty gal." Suze Ann remained silent. "Don't you think so?" "No, 1 don't she replied slowly. "Ha, ha! and he laughed a deep chested laugh of amusement. Then, as they walked down the hilly pathway he put his arm around her. ••Go 'way to Eunice Ginn." she said, in a muffled voice, as she struggled to break away from him. "I reckon I'm a little stronger'n you are—hey, Suze Ann?" ••Let loose! you don't keer for me," she cried. He laughed still louder, and pressed her dusky head down upon his shoulder with one powerful hand. "I keer a heap for you." he asserted. 'No. you don't" she cried, with an guish in her eyes. "Ain't I tellin' you so?" "Yes.yes," with a restless movement, "but not the same as me. Folks is dif ferent." "That's so. I might take a turn 'n' set up to Eunice (jinn. Where*d you be then—hey?" The slumberous light in her eyes broke into sudden lire. "You to talk o' goin' off to any other gal when there's that 'tween us when I've got that secret o' j'our'n! Remem ber—I'm the only one that knows it." How the old story repeats itself! This was the same wild outcry of the scorn ed and forsaken Medea of her "niar rtage solemnized in blood." "I ain't skeered you'll tell," he re torted. "I'd kill you," Suze Ann went on, slowly. "I'd rather—I'd rather—than let any other gal have you." "I b'lieve you would, you darn little wild cat!" he said, admiringly. "You're the spunkies' thing!" and he bestowed a rough caress upon her. "You're the only gal I ever knew that wasn't a sap-head." "Well, lemme git the water now," said Suze Ann, reassured and suddenly relapsing into commonplaces—"'n' don't pitch rocks in it. You're mak ing it druggy." As they returned—Suze Ann some what heavily weighted and Spanish Jack with his hands in his pockets there was a young moon sailing in the clear sky before them, and a red light, faint and distant, streamed up through the vistas of the forest. "They've be'n burnin' brush, 'n' set the woods afire over to 'Possum Cor ner," remarked Suze Ann. 'N'! then fust thing you know we'll all have to turn out 'n' save the fences," Spanish Jack said. This was prophetic, for by the follow ing evening the fire had crept up the pine hills, and theatened the little set tlement of which Mr. Whetstone was a prominent member. Well, folks," said Mr. Whetstone, dolorously, rumpling up his hay-co lored hair, "we 11 have to beat it out with pine brushes, 'n' keep it off* the fences, I reckon." "Well, make 'aste. then," growled his mother. "Hit iun't goin? to wait onyoa." They found most of tneir neighbors assembled on the hillside, Eunice and William Ginn among others. Eunice called to Spanish Jack to help her, and after that he stayed by her side. A wild red light flared through the dusk, and swathed the trees in clouds of lurid smoke. Narrow lines of fire ran, serpent-wise, along the pine straw, leaping the little stream by the aid of its fringing grasses. Sometimes an ad venturous flame would rush to the top of a sapling, flicker there for an instant and go out. The canebrake beyond was in a blaze, and the continual pop ping of the joints sounded like volleys of musketry. Fiery balls of pith shot up into the air and fell like showers of falling stars. A hum of voices arose, accompanying the swish—swish—swish of the pine brushes that left darkness in their track. Suze Ann made no pretence of help ing. The others had passed on, follow ing the fire, and she stood motionless in the seared and blackened space behind the ruined thicket, trailing her pino brush in the ashes. "Look at that gal o' Whetstone's," whispered a neighbor. 'There's goin' to be vengen*, shore!" "I wouldn't trust none o' ole Lissy's breed," replied the other and then they moved on and saw Suze Ann no more. Toward daylight, when the fire was nearly under control, and they were thinking of returning home, she was seen again. Her dress was torn by the briars, and she drew her breath hard, like one who has traveled far and fast. There was blood upon her mouth, where the sharp white teeth were set upon the red underlip. Her eyes were wild and bright. When Spanish .Jack saw her he called out. "Hullo, Suze Ann! where you be'n hidin" y'self?" The words were scarcely spoken, when a troop of horsemen dashed upon the scene, with pistols drawn. "The sheriff's posse!" cried 'Lisher in amazement. "Spanish Jack, you arc my prisoner. I arrest you in the name of the law," said the leader of the posse. The murder Spanish Jack had com mitted. of which Suze Ann had been the only witness, had found him out. Mad with jealously, she had trudged all the way to the neighboring country town and given up his secret. "No, you don't. By God, I'll die fust!" Spanish Jack cried, quickly drawing his revolver and firing. It was all over in a moment, and Spanish Jack lay dead, with half-a-dozen bullets through his body. Then a tumult of outcries and excla mations arose. Willirn Ginn lifted the dead man's hand with a cautious movement, and let it fall again heav ily. This was the end of his magnificent strength and brute courage. The sight seemed to startle Suze Ann. "But he's dead," she said, in a low shuddering voice—"he's dead." And the murnier rose to a shriek. She fell upon the ground beside him, beating wild hands upon her breast and head: as the wounded snake, in the anguish of its poison, stings and stings itself to death.—Sew Orleans Times Democrat. Traps for Americans. An American gentleman, who for many years past has been established in business in Paris, received one day a call from a handsomely dressed female in whom he recognized a notorious American member of the demimonde of Paris. She came, she said, to propose to him a lucrative business transaction. She had in her possession a list of sun dry high-born ami titled gentlemen who wished to marry rich American girls, and she displayed such a list inscribed with some of the proudest names of the French aristocracy. If my countryman would inform her of the arrival in Paris of any wealthy American ladies, and ot the presumed amount of their fortunes, she would, on the accomplishment of a marriage between any one of these and one of her clients, at once pay over to him half of her stipulated percentage on the dowry, which in her case was to amount to 10 per cent. It is needless to say tiiat the woman's oftVr was re fused. But the very fact of its being made showed how widespread is the system of the matrimonial agency in Paris, and liovv extensive and elaborate must be its arrangements for obtaining information. There is an Austrian gentleman mov ing in the best society of Paris whom I strongly suspect- of being one of the se cret and accredited agents of one of these establishments. II" tried hard, but in vain, some years ago. to bring about a mate!- between the daughter and only chil-1 of a wealthy American gentleman then visiting this city and a French duke of ancient family. The duke turned out finally to be an impos tor, and was forced to take flight from Paris. Employes of these agencies are also to be found at the principal hotels here. They are usually women, gener ally bear high-sounding titles, and are pleasant of manner and afl'able of bear ing. Their business is to make acquain tance with rich Americans who have daughters, so that the daughters afore said may be presented to impecunious adventurers on the lookout to repair their fortunes by marriage. The mat ter is very adroitly managed, an opera or a theater party or a little dance be ing gotten up by the amiable French lady to amuse her sweet, new young friend, the luckless damsel whose dol lars, real or rumored, have caused her to be selected as a fitting victim. At the dance or at the theater the intro duction takes place, and the fascina tions of the gentleman are supposed to do the rest. Very often, indeed, the promoter of the whole series of maneu vers is not connected with any agency whatever, but is acting on her owu ac count. —Philadelphia Telegraph. "Playing for Keeps." A small boy having highly respect able parents brought home a bag of marbles, and on being asked how he came by them replied that he had played "for keeps." He was lectured on the sin of gambling and forced to return his ill-gotten gains. A night or two later a progressive euchre party was in order, and the prizes bought for the occasion stirred the family pride a considerable degree. The small boy duly admired them, and then went to bed previons to the guests' arrival. In the morning the prizes were no where to be seen, and on inquiry as to their disposition he was told that the people who won them had carried them away. Then he naturally asked: "Isn't that playing for keeps?"—tiprvxgfitld Re publican. Less than twenty-five years ago Americans imported their carpets. Now more carpeting is manufactured in Philadelphia and vicinity than ia ail Great Britain. ASrOSY OF THtA&UKt TROVE. Jiistlcc's t'ortiinntf Hecojriiltlon by a Tramp—Incident of the Mliei-miiii Campaign—Hurled Money Suc cessfully Itccovcreii. A Lockport, N. Y., correspondent of The -Y.•?./? York Keening Post writes: The veterans of the G. A. R. in this county have been greatly interested of late in one of the strangest stories, con nected with incidents growing out of the late war. that have ever been re corded. The facts—for they are facts —were related by an officer who stood high in the list of our country's de fenders, and who is personally acquaint ed with the persons named, as indeed are very many of our citizens. A young man named Charles Hall, of this (Niagara) county, having been admitted to the bar as an attorney, left home in 1883 in search of his fortune, and at length concluded to "hang up his shingle," in Exeter, Luzerne county Pa. He was a bright, energetic young man, with a faculty for making friends and was quite successful in his new field, being at length elected justice of the peace. It was while acting in this capacity that an old weather and world beaten tramp was brought before him on a charge of vagrancy. With such a clear case made out in his ragged habil iments and significantly marked fea tures, there was little need of other witnesses for the prosecution. Justice Hall was in some way, how ever, moved by a feeling of pity for the forlorn old man. and instead of the usual commitment to the county jail, made the sentence out to the almshouse. As the man turned to depart with the constable, he stopped suddenly, and looking back at the justice, said: "You look very much like an old friend of mine, a comrade in the army, who is now dead. What is vour name?" "My name is Hall.'' "Is that possible?" said the prisoner. "Why that was his name, too, and we both enlisted in'G1 at Lockport, New York." It was now the justice's turn to grow interested, and he exclaimed: "Why, that was where I was born, and my father's first name was lleuben. He was killed or at least died in the army of Sherman in front of Savannah!" "Then." said the old tramp, with much feeling manifested in his coun tenance. "1 have something to say to you of more than common importance if we can be alone for a few minutes." The squire at first hesitated, but becom ing impressed with the conviction that the prisoner was deeply in earnest by the evidently genuine pleasure exhib ited in his features, he led the way into his private ofiice, and closing the door listened to the veteran's story, which, in brief, is as follows: "My name is Eben Pratt," said lie. "I was born and raised on a farm in Niagara county. New York. When the war commenced I enlisted in Capt. Cothran's battery of light artillery at Lockport, for three years or during the war. The company numbered about 1G0 men. mostly from that county, and after we got to the front we were joined to the First New York light artillery regiment and were designated as Battery 15. I Was a can noneer. and my chum in my mess was a young Niagara county boy named Reu ben Hall. We were very intimate friends, and as time wore on our friend ship for each other increased, and we shared each other's confidences. He told me that he had left a young wife and child at home who were well cared for by his father, the patriotic spirit aroused by the call to arms being too much for him to withstand. "Well, to make a long story short, battery parsed through the terrible battles of the Army of the Potomac, most of the time with the Twelfth army corps, under Gen. Sloeum. When Sher man's advance through Georgia wa de cided upon, the Eleventh and Twelfth corps were consolidated into what was called the Twentieth corps, and. si ill under Sloeum, participated in that fa mous 'march to the sea.' There is no use of my detailing the particulars of this journey it is history. While death dealt sad havoc in the ranks of battery B. until we reached Atlanta and rested there, my chum 'Rube' and myself es caped it all. ••It was while we were at Atlanta that Sherman's army of I'O.OUU men were paid off. Many of the boys had re-enlisted again in 1864. and received big bounties. There was scarcely an enlisted man in the Twentieth corps that had not then a thousand dollars in his pocket, and there was no possible way of sending it home, and no sutlers or stores where luxuries could pro cured. The sequel showed that a great mistake had been made in paying the men at Atlanta. At the least calcula tion there were $5,000,000 in Sherman's army at that time, most of it in the pos session of enlisted men. A furore of gambling set in, and raged with unpre cedented violence. Old men, beardless youths, and in fact everybody, gambled, and groups of soldiers gathered around the camp fires far into the night to bar ter money and health in games of chance. Both my chum and myself had caught the gambling fever, passing many sleepless nights at the cards, and he had been quite successful, but in do ing so his health had suffered and I no ticed that he seemed to be gradually failing. I did not consider his illness dangerous, however, until when we reached the Savannah river his con dition grew alarming. One night about midnight, when I sat by his side in the tent alone, he said to me, 'Eb, I have a favor to ask of you,' and he took from his knapsack a*bundle of greenbacks done up in paper saying: -Here are the profits of the march from Atlanta. I want you to take this and see that it reaches my family. Go bury it to night, where you can mark the spot if you pull through, and—' here he was seized with a terrible fit of coughing. 1 ran for the doctor, but when I returned blood was gushing from his mouth, and he died in a few minutes. "I took the money and afterward planted it by a peculiar tree far above our camp on the river bank. I did not know the value of the package, as he never told me. He was buried the next day. I put up a head-board made of a cracker-box nailed to a tree over his grave, and marked his name on it. When the army reached Raleigh, N. C., and learned of the capture of Rich mond and the end of the war, I was taken sick, laid in the hospital over three months more dead than alive, fin ally recovered, and when I received my pay and discharge, instead of going home like a man, I entered upon a life of dissipation, and have been drifting around ever since, sinking lower all the time. I should have gone as I intended to Lockport to hunt up my old chum's family, or at least should have written to them, but neglected it, as you see. Now," said the old veteran, in conclud ing, "I solemnly declare that I hare never told a man of the whereabouts ot that money, and have uever been near it since, -licve I can take you to it, if you want, to go, and iw I belicv you are its proper owner 1 want you to have After thinking the matter over a lit tle, Justice llall concluded to accept the old mail's oiler, and together they made the trip. They had very little difficulty in finding the money in a fair state of preservation, all of it redeemable, in fact, and on counting it Hall found him self the possessor of $11,000 in green backs. The justice took old Eben Pratt back to Luzerne, whore he now lives, and has actually become a sober and in dustrious, and, as lie always was, an honest man. What Low Interest Means. It is an exceedingly short-sighted view of the situation which attributes the low rate of interest at which Ohio has just been able to borrow money to any improvement in the credit? of that state or anytihing in the political com plexion of its government. The credit of a great state like Ohio is on too stable a foundation to be varied by any oscillation of majorities to one side or the other. The security which such a state oilers is absolute and the rate of interest it is called upon to pay demands wholly upon the relation borne by the amount of money seeking investment to the opportunities for safe and re munerative in es men t. The real cause of the low rates of interest on Ohio bonds and other secu rities of unquestionable soundness ami value is the lack of opportunity for safe investment in enterprises which pro duce abetter return. The unsettlement of the. industries of the country has made capital exceedingly cautious. No one cares to put money into an enter prise, no matter how promising on paper, with the chauce that a strike will block the wheels before they have wcil begun to turn, or that an advance in wages will make contracts, profit able when taken, only performable at a loss. And this is the condition very largely of industry all over the country. The* factories which are running dare not look ahead in the matter of taking orders: and the money which in a time of business stability and certainty would build other factories, lies unemployed in the banks or comes eagerly forth to snap up any security at whatever low rate of interest which involves the minimum of risk and uncertainty. It is this general uncertainty as to industrial investment which accounts for the use of so much capital in real estate and building. To the surface observer it looks like evidence of ex ceeding prosperity when men of wealth are investing eargerly in land and erecting buildings for which it is per fectly clear there is no present demand. But the thoughtful observer knows that this does not mean prosperity. He knows that such an investment has only one thing to recommend it its absolute safety aud knowing this lie knows that it means the very reverse of prosperity. If productive industry were offering any certain promise of profit the money which is being sunk in buildings which will pay little more than the taxes and insurance for the next five years—and possibly not as much as that—would bo invested in such industry. These considerations lend force and strength to the views which the more conservative leaders of the labor organ izations, and especially of the Knights of Labor, are taking in respect to strikes and labor disturbances. They see clearly—the Powderlys and men of like stamp—that labor is just :is much interested in business stability as capi tal possibly can be: that capital can do as much injury to labor by sluggishness and inactivity as in any othen fashion and that any settlement of the labor question which does not promise rea sonable security for investment in in dustrial enterprise must be disastrous to labor. Capital can be crippled there is nothing easier. But to cripple capi tal is to cripple labor: and they are the true friends of labor who are urging upon it a wise conservative use of its powers in the place of a wasteful exhibi tion of those powers.—Detroit Free Press. Not a Rooster. An old negro who had succeeded in securing an appointment as deputy sheriff and who was placed on guard near a machine shop to guard the prop erty, called on the sheriff. "Why, Anderson, I thought you were on duty." "I wuz." "What made you come away?" "Wall. I 'eluded dat 1 didn' need dat two dollars an' er ha'f er day. Mighty good money an' all dat but I must git criming widout it." "You are not afraid, are you?" "Oh, nor. sail, ain't erfecred. but somehow l'se got too much jedgement ter progic roun' dar. While ergo some men da conn erlaung an' tole me dat ef 1 wanted er appetite fur brcckfus ter-mor' dat I'd better drap dat gun an' g'wav frum dar. My brabery tole meter stay but my jedgmcnt den hopped up an* tole meter drap de gun an' I drapped it. Lemme tell yer, boss, I'd ruther hab er ha'fer peck o' jedg nient den er wagin load o' brabery. Brabery gits er man inter trouble but jedgiuent keeps him out. Brabery 'longs ter de rooster but judgment is de property o' de floserfer. l'se er floserfcr. Thought I wuz er rooster but I ain't, so now yer ken keep yer two dollars an' er ha'f er day. l'se gwine off' down in de swamp an' ketch some fish."—Arkansaw Traveler. An Innocent Man. The trial of a man for murder had just commenced in a Dakota court when the attorney for the defense arose and said: "If the court please, we have no fear as to the outcome of this trial. In the testimony we shall prove that the mur der was committed four miles from town at 2 o'clock in the afternoon. We shall also establish the fact that there was a circus in town that day." "Hold on," said the judge excitedly, "you say there was a circus in town?" "Yes, sir the Anti-European Con glomeration showed there that day." "Yes, I've seen it,—two rings, a spotted grave-digging hyena, and seven lady bareback riders. You say the man was killed about 2 o'clock?" "Yes, your honor." "Just the time of the ring parade?" "The same time." '•While the elephant and double humped camels were going around?" "Yes sir." "The prisoner is discharged. Try ing to prove that a man was four miles away from town on such an occasion is looked upon as malicious prosecution by this court. The unfortunate gentle man who was found dead without doubt committed suicide when he relized that he was in that kind of a position himself."—Estellinc (Dakota) Dell. THE ORIGIN OF ENGRAVING. TJio Art Which Preserves Forjjottcn Treasures. There arc few chapters in the history of art of greater interest than those which unfold to us the discovery of for gotten treasures, and revoal the exist ence of works which had long ago pass ed out of remembrance. The intimate connection between the invention of engraving and the art of the silver smith, or rather that branch of the sil versmith's work which consists of the changing of an outline into a plate of precious metal to be subsequently filled up with dark-colored enamel, and so called nello work, was never appre ciated until, at t-liCjClose of the last cen turv. the Abbe Zani found among some old Italian engravings in the National Library at Paris a ptint which he rec ognized as similar in subject to the fa mous pax, decorated with Niello work, made by Maso Finiguerra for the bap tistry of St. John, and paid for, as is proved by the records, in 1452. This pax or Assumption was subsequently transferred fo the cabinet of bronzes in the galler}' at Florence, where it it now preserved, and it was proved on com paring it. with the engraving that the latter had actually been printed from the silver plate before the enamel was fused into the outline, prior, therefore, to 1452. On the strength of this dis covery Finiguerra has, ever since the year 17%, been credited with the inven tion of producing engravings on paper from metal plates. There, seems little reason to doubt, as has often been pointed out, that many silversmiths of the fifteenth century may have been in the habit of obtaining trials of then work in progress, as did Finiguerra, perchance, when he produced this his torical print, representing Christ crown ing the virgin, from his work on the Florentine pax. It may indeed have been, together with the well-known sulphur casts, a recognized mode of ob taining a record of the niello work, which had been practiced for many years previous to the time, in question, though no such paper impressions of an earlier date than this have been handed down to u«. It was a common practice to take proofs of the work by means of sulphur casts long previous to 1-152, as numerous specimens of such casts ftwo sulphur casts of Finigucrra's pax are still in existence,) have been preserved to us, but it is difficult to say who was the first bold innovator who substituted a piece of paper for the sul phur, ami thus originated the precious art of engraving. The story of the wet linen, which aecidently gave the idea to Finiguerra, is generally treated as fiction by those who have studied this subject.—Art Journal. Tom Corwin's Ready Repartee, John C. Calhoun once pointed to a drove of mules just from Ohio and said to Corwin: "There go some of your constituents." "Yes," said Tom, gravely, "they are going down South to teach school."' Governor Brough was oncc matched against Corwin, and in the midst of his speech said: "Gen tlemen. my honored opponent himself, while he preaches advocacy of home in dustry. has a carriage at home which he got in England—had it shipped across the ocean to him. How is that for supporting home industry and la bor?" When Corwin came on the stand he made a great show of embarrassment, stammered, anil began slowly: "Well, gentlemen, vou have heard what mv friend Mr. brough has to say of my carriage. I plead guilty to the charges, and have only two things to say in my defense. The first is that the carriage came to me from an English ancestor as an heirloom, and I had to take it. Again, I have not used it for seven years, and it lias been standing in my back yard all that time, and the chick ens have converted it into a roost. "Now. gentlemen," with a steady look at Brough, "I have nothing further to say in my defense: but I would like to know how Brough knows anything about my carriage if he has not been visiting my chicken roost." One of the neatest rostrum retorts ever recorded was made by Corwin to Tom Hauler, who was also noted as a wag and a stump speaker of great pow er. It was in 1840. and a joint debate was being held between the two in the old market house in Columbus. Ilamer was the leader of the Ohio Democrats and a member of congress, and in the course of his remarks denied the "hard times" which the whigs claimed exist ed, and said that he had not experi enced any. As he was holding an ofiice at a good salary, he opened the road for Corwin's response. In making his re ply, he said he would answer Mr. Hamer's question by asking another. Yankee fashion, and would take it from holy writ: "Doth the wild ass bray when he hath grass, or loweth the ox over his fodder?" Mr. Ilamer would take a joke as well as give one. and laughed heartily with the rest.—Louis ville Courier Journal. An Executive Session. She was the daughter of a senator, and her sweetheart had been to see her every evening since Lent had given them time and opportunity. Her fath er became somewhat alarmed, aud this morning he called her into his study. "Well, papa," she said sweetly, "vou sent for me. What is it?" "My dear daughter," he replied, "I believe Mr. Blank has been to sec you every night for some time past?" "Yes, papa." "And he was here last night?" "Yes, papa." "Well, daughter, I want to know what occurred during your protracted interview in the parlor. I ask it, my child, because I have especial reasons for wishing to know." "Dear papa," replied the girl, with tears in her eyes. "I do not doubt your right to ask what occurred there but, pada, it was an executive session and, papa, you would not have me di vulge the secrets of such a meeting, would you?" The old man said never a word in reply.— Washington Critic. A Time For Everything. Clergyman—I was disappointed not to see you at prayer meeting last eve ening. Deacon—I wanted to come but, you see. we are having a clearing-out sale, and we kept the store open till 10 o'clock. Clergyman (sadly)—Ah, my friend, I am sorry to see you try to serve heaven and mammon at the same time. Deacon—I don't try. I never think of serving heaven in my store. I am not the man to mix my religion with busi ness. —Puck. A FREE LANCE. Like the fearful shapes that throng lonely roads on moonlight nights—ter rible at a distance, but only harmless shrubs or stumps when we come up to them—so, nearly every trouble we see on ahead will disappear before we reach it, if we simply go bravely on our way and do not notice it. And most of the serious entanglements of life will clear up and satisfactorily arrange them selves if we will only do our duty and refuse to worry over them. The angler's instinct: The eagle's spirit when soaring over mountain crag and sea, the lion-like ambition to over come, the exultation that must fill the spider's heart when a fly struggles in his web, the emotion the rattlesnake knows when lie throws his deadly length at the careless foot treading too near. I know all these! And in these only I know life as worth living. With his first taste of human blood the tiger's fear of man vanishes for ever. He becomes a man-eater, and his fangs revel in human flesh. It is just so with the mail-tiger—the desper ado. Reared, perhaps under the re straining power of a gentle mother's teaching, and surrounded by kindly in fluences, (he fire in his blood cools his veins for years, but some day the change comes. It may be a wicked book, or a wicked companion. It may be the one deadly ingredient that lurks in the bottom of every social glass, and so often combines with the latent nihil istic spirit, in perhaps every man's breast, that starts him upon his wicked way. He soon finds himself at war with all law, and, after awhile, the un tramelled life acquires an irresistible fascination. He becomes a man-tiger, and. like his brother brute, dies at the hands of the •world he hates. It is better to be well-dead than ill married. A man can, and generally docs, make a fool of himself when he marries but once dead he is safe—un less they go behind the returns on the poor fellow. At least, he can commit no new mistakes. If a man must inar ry, however, it is well to marry for money, then, like the clown, he can console himself with the thought that he is a fool for pay. The contempt of the world is nothing to the terrible heart sickness a man knows who feels a sincere, inexpressi ble contempt for himself. A false step, the work of a rash, unreasoning mo ment, may place him where it is his seeming duty to tread a lowly path must grovel where once he soared must know that every eye is bent upon him in utter contempt. If a truly brave man at heart, or a hypocrite, he can assure himself that it is simply right to go uncomplainingly on, as he becomes day by day more surely the thing he once despised—and it may be. But,day and night, his self-contempt inflicts merited punishment. Duty sinks out of sight, and he can only writhe in impo tent anguish, while he fritters his igno ble life away on unworthy objects, among unworthy companions. Thomas Co I quit If in Peck's Sun. She Paid Too Much. Late on Friday evening a man about 40 years of age stood upon the Globe bridge, at Woonsocket, with his wife beside aim, threatening to commit sui cide by jumping into the Blackstone river if she did not give him 25 cents. The wife pleaded and begged, saying she needed the money to purchase food with, and he would only spend it for drink should she give it to him. Ho placed his hand on the railing to the bridge and again shouted to his better half to give him the money or over he would go. She implored the crowd of people who had gathered near to save him. but no one interfered. A voice from the crowd sang out: "Let him go," but she still clung to him. Final ly she released her hold, and, putting her hand in her pocket, brought forth a silver quarter and placed it in his hand. He seized it eagerly, and start ed on a lively run for a saloon near by, while the poor woman started for her home to offer a prayer for him whose life she thought she had saved for 25 cents.—Providence Journal. A Plea tor the Cockroach. Dr. J. L. Wood has written a thoughtful article for the Youth's Com panion.. upon "Training the Cock roach." We are glad to see some at tention attracted to this important but comparatively neglected art. Hereto fore all efforts to establish social rela tions with the cockroach have been on his side. If instead of coldly repelling his advances, the right hand of fellow ship was extended to the cockroach, it is not unlikely that he would develop qualities of head and heart that would make him a valued and honored mem ber of society. The cockroach has none of the groveling instincts that charac terize the bed-bug or the sly, disreputa ble traits that bar the flea from the con fidence of man. If he can be weaned from his unnatural taste for paste and morbid desire to utilize pies as mauso leums for his dead there is apparently no limit to the possibilities of his moral and intellectual development. The Comet. Nothing to Fear. "Have you spoken to father, George, dear?" she asked, and the voice which came from under the lapel of his coat fairly trembled with happiness. "Have you begged his consent to "No, I didn't think it was necessary," George replied, "because he has always been so friendly and cordial with me. Only yesterday he slapped me on the back and gave me a good cigar, and told me how well I was looking, and that I must come up to the house as often as I could, and that you would al ways be glad to see me, and we could have the parlor to ourselves every night if we wanted it, and "Dear father," interrupted the voice, "perhaps I had better break the news to him myself."—New York Sun. It Will Take Time. "Has your father got his affairs wound up yet?" said a Cleveland man to young Mr. Flatt. whose paternal par ent, Flatt, the jeweler, recently made an assignment. "No." answered the youth, "an' he ain't likely to get 'em wound up inside of twenty years." "How so?" cried the astonished citizen. "Why, his assets are mostly in Water bury watches."—Cleveland Sun. A New Mexico obituary closes witk the words: "Her tired spirit was released frun the pain-racked body and soared aloft to eter nal rest in the realms of eeleatial glory at 4:80, Denver time." Blanche Willis Howard is said to be at work on another novel. She is now ia German/.