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cmas. (i mnnWJ'Z' T " a. 0. OSOiNACH, J Cd,lort Proprlekrt Published Kv*rv v it u'se HOW SHORT TH6 SPACE. How lihort the aparfe. how moch to do. How fr w uvi brief the days of menl So much to learn of false and true— And only threescore years and tea! So little time to do thin?* well. So much -so very much to know; And while we*labor In our cell The years do not forget to go. So many things that we might learn If only Time would stay Its tide. And once again our youth return To keep the shadow from our side. But. ah I what cannot bo cannot. We ll do the little that, we may, And In aome time-Ignoring spot I'erhsps find what we ltave to-day. —Frank H. Sweet. In N Y. Observer. A MEXICAN SWEETHEART Far out in the wilds of the Mexican Sierras, about one day s travel west of Guadalupe y lalvo, the trail leading from Morales leaves the ridge along which it climbs and plunges down into the depths of the Canyon do Mucrto, there winding in and out of the pines and bowlders until it reaches the ford of a stream, the Uio Chico, which rushes through the gorge and on its wild flight for the sea. Down this trail, late in the afternoon of a liny some few years ago, rode a young man, .lack Rawlston, the new manager of the Alta Mining' company, then on his way to take charge of their mines near Morales, lie was wrapped close in an oilskin slicker, for the rain was falling as it falls only in the mountains of Mexico. Reaching Uie ford he drew his mule in under the shelter of an overhanging bluff and im patiently awaited the coming of his men, whose shouts and curses could be heard iu the canyonside above as they urged to greater speed some half a dozen pack animals, slowly picking their way down the slippery trail. As they drew near, one of the men, Pancho, who acted as a guide, hurried t > Rawlston’s side and, pointing to Ihe stream, now a rushing torrent, cried: “Valgame Dios, the little river is very great tills day! There is much water, senor, and deep. We no can cross; not until to-morrow, when it will bo well. Hi, senor, on lo manana ’sla ueno." *'Yes, but to-night, man! We can t camp here; there is not enough level ground to raise a teuton, (let us out of this! - ’ exclaimed Rawlston. “Senor,” replied the man, ns he drew his wet serape closer about him, “a lit tle rancho lies down the river a short way, where lives ,luau Montano. Will the senor go there?” "Will the senor go there!" shouted Rawlston. "Yes, confound you, bom bra, the senor will. Move on!” With a cry of "Ad-e-ian-te! Vamon os!” and swearing great mouth-filling Mexican oaths at his assistants ns well ns at the mules, Pancho started the train down the canyon on its way to a little valley of just a few hundred acres, nestled there where the gorge widened out as either wall spread away in great broken ridges, sweeping grand ly off to tlie south. It was hardly a rancho, this place of luan Montano’s, only a few patches of growing maize and frijolcs,aiuld which, In a grove of pines, rested a house of logs with a wide portico roughly thatched with bundles of cornstalks, while a jacal—a roofed palisade of poles chinked and covered with adobe mini—adjoined the house on ouo side, serving ns a kitchen. As Rawlston, leading the way, ap proached from the valley, a dog gave the alarm, and an elderly man, muf fled in a serape and slowly putting a cigarrito, came out into the portico, while at the low door of the jacal, amid the whiffs of smoke within, ap peared a brown-faced woman, and be hind her three girls, shyly peeping forth at the stranger as he drew up and asked for accommodation for the night. "Si, senor," replied Juan, in response to his request. "Dismount and come in from the rain. My house is at your service; entrar, senor, entrar,” and he took the Winchester that Rawlston handed him, giving it a lingering glance ns he placed it carefully against the wall. "And supper, senor," he continued, "will you have supper? Si? 'Stn ’ueno,” and, reaching up, lie seized oue of a number of chickens perched beneath the roof, wrung its neck, tossed it over to tile woman, saying: "For the senor; and coffee and milk, pronto! And give to tile mozos of tortillas and frljoles a plenty!" Turning, and with: "Permit me, senor, to Rawlston, who was engaged in removing his wet slicker, Juan drew the Winchester from its scabbard and critically examined it, exclaiming as he did so; "Mu.y bonito carbino, senor. Once I possessed one; not like this, senor—a carbine—but carnmba! an In dian stole it—may the devil take his soul—and I am too poor to buy an other. 1 miss it much, senor, for it furnished me meat. Why, only yes terday morning two deer stood just over there eating the corn, but—" He paused for an Instant, then called: "Chonita, mia, come here." A girl clad In a simple garment of Tough material passed from the jacal, n girl whose supple, rounded form pos sessed perfect grace, and ns she came forward Rawlston started as he gazed bn her Latin-Imlian beauty. “My daughter, Chonita, senor,” said Juan. The girl raised her dark eyes to meet his, and her clear, olive-brown skin became suddenly tinged witli her southern blood. "She can shoot,” con tinued Juan, as he handed her the rifle; "si, senor, even better—” A flock of chattering parfols passing overhead caught his eye. Glancing at them, then at Rawlston; "One shot, senor, permit her.” Rawlston nodded, then watched the girl as she raised the gun, saying: "See! the one in the lead"—a report, and the bird fell, a mangled mass of flesh and feathers. She handed the rifle to Rawlston, her lips parted, and her bosom slightly heaving with the momentary excite ment. Again their eyes met, then she turned and hurried back to the jacal. His gaze followed her, and half un consciously he w’as dreamingly com paring her with another, a blue-eyed, fair-haired woman of the north, when suddenly he noticed she was barefooted. ilc seated himself on a bench near the doorway, vaguely watching his men as they unpacked and removed the saddle* from the (teaming mule*, Bmi gating v*u Vcypud, out pyrf tbn mountains to where rested a dense bank of clouds, from which darted Oc casional flashes of lightning followed by low, bellowing peals of thunder that rolled with great hollow echoes across the heavens. The rain fell on the thatched roof above him with a muffled, pattering sound, and he rested there lost in reverie, dreaming of her who awaited him in a distant city—his promised wife. After awhile Chonita came to the door and told him that his supper was ready. Dreamily he heard her Voice and raised his head. She stood with her dark hair falling in a disordered mass over her shoulders, one bare arm half raised and resting on the door sill, her body partly turned, showing the beautiful lines of her figure as she hesitated, as though fascinated by his look, and gazed into his eyes as a little child might, and yet not. for there was to her a strange attraction about this Americano, this man of the Saxon race who was so unlike the men of her own, that caused her heart to flutter wildly. He looked at her for a long while, and then arose. She drew aside to allow him to pass into the house, and, as lie did so, n gust of wind blew her hair across his face. During the months that followed Rawlston became a frequent visitor at the little rancho, stopping over night while traveling between the mines and Guadalupe y Calvo. One afternoon, as the glory of the sunset spread slowly across the valley, Rawlston rode up to the rancho, where, finding no one at home, ho left his mule and climbed the trail that led to a little spring in a gulch back of the house. Chonita was there tilling an olia, hut she did not hear him as he approached, not until he stood at her side. Then she started, and as she arose she slipped on the wet clay and would have fallen had he not caught her in his arras. He felt her tremble ns he held her, and drew her closer to him, asking; "Are you hurt, Chonita?” “No, senor." she replied. He saw tier lips quiver and. as she raised her face lo his, he read from the depths of her eyes her secret, and he be ul and kissed her, murmuring “Sweetheart!” Then he released her anil stood leaning against a tree, watching her as she descended the trail. He had not been totally unconscious of her love, though at first it seemed to him but the admiration of a mere child; hut now he understood, and it wrought a strange influence over him. He knew that his love was strong and true for the woman who alone bound him to tile life he iiad left behind, yet he felt how easy it would be, were it not for her, to drift into the customs and adopt the modes and morals of the people of that fair Mexican land, for there was a certain charm in their easy-going, languorous life, with its beauty ami its restfutuess, that had ap pealed to him from the very first. In some strange way that he could not understand, and yet which seemed per fectly natural to him, he longed lo re main there, away from the world, as it were, until the end; and iie pictured her, tiis afliaucoil wife, there with him, and-he laughed. His reverie was not broken; the woman alone changed, and he wondered how life would be witti Chonita—just for a time. And Chonita!—she reached the house and hurried to her room, where she dropped on her knees before a little shrine. "Oh, Dios!” she said, "1 am so glad! What have I done that I should be so happy* Thank you, God." Slowly night came on. Supper was over, and the room was but dimly lighted by a sputtering tallow dip and the faintly flickering blaze of the open fire in the jacal adjoining. Rawlston leaned hack in his chair, slowly smok ing and watching Chonita as she moved about putting away the supper tilings, and he became dully conscious of a desire to take her in his arms again, to hold her and to feel her tremble. After awhile she brought him a cup of coffee and took from his saddlebag a flask of cognac that he always carried there, and placed it on the table at his side. He touched her hand, and into her eyes came a look of longing almost passionate, and Her lips parted as though to speak, but her father enter ing Uie room she turned away and sank in a huddled heap on the floor at the kitchen door. Juan had been cleaning the rifle which Rawlston had allowed him to use for a week past, and seating him self at the table, giving the gun a few finishing touches with a greas}' rag, lie exclaimed: “Ah, senor, it is a grand gun. Madre de Dios, but the shots 1 made! I would give my soul for such a oue!" "Not being the devil, Jnan, I cannot take your sou), but what else will you give?” said Rawlston. “Senor, I have nothing but my two burros and a cow—l might spare a lit tle maze and frijoles, too, perhaps.” Rawlston,laughed, then poured some cognac into the coffee, drank it, and, leaning back against the wall, said: "Juan, 111 give 3 r ou the rifle if you will give me—” "What?”cried Juan. "Chonita.” Juan sprang to hi* feetand Rawlston readied for his revolver, but he had no need. The father turned to the girl and led her to Rawlston, placing her her hand in his, saying: "It is well, senor; si sta ’ucao. Your are rich and will be good to her. Yes, it is well, and the mother, coming from the kitchen, nodded her head, smiled and echoed; "Yes, it is well.” And Chonita, she was very happy, for she wa* but a child of nature. The home to which Rawlston took her, his quarters at the mines, seemed, with their meager, yet comfortable surroundings, a perfect palace to Clio nita, and the clothing that came from Guadalupe amazed the girl. She could not understand that she was to wear slippers and stockings every day. nei ther why she was to dress her hair. At first it grew irksome to her to remain dressed as he would have her, and at times coming home, he would find her as he first saw her—the one loose gar ment, her hair in disorder and bare footed. When ho would remonstrate she would laugh and throw her arras about his neck and kiss him, but after awhile she grew accustomed to her new mode of dress. The days passed away into months, but they did not bring to Rawlston the case of life he had hoped for 'when he brought Chonita to his home, and he wondered why the ideal was always more iieautiful than the real. After all, It had only been an experiment, ami it had failed; yet even had it not, ho realized that eventually ho would bve returned to thy pjd life for the sake hf her who awaited him there. Then he thought of what would come to Chonlta, the child who loved him so, after he was gone; for leave her hfe must, and his soul cried out wfthiri him against, not so much what he had done, as what he Was about to do. One evening he sat before the fire in his quarters, engaged in looking over the weekly mail, while Chonlta rested at his feet, cuddled In a little heap in the warmth, and with her head pil lowed against his knee. "Chonita, dear, I must leave you. I am going to my home.” She started and sprang to her feet. Her heart beat wildly, and into her great dark eyes came a strange, wild look. "You are going to—to ber!” she cried, throwing her arm violently toward the photograph. "You are go ing to the woman who wrote you this —no?" and she tore the letter aefoss and threw it from her. "No! but you shall not go!" she continued. "She has no right to you. You are mine— mine!” Majestically she stood gazing at him for an instant; then tho little figure forgot its queenly bearing and drooped wearily—fell at his feet—sob bing out tenderly: "Ah, say it is not so—you are all the one I have to love— all I have!” He touched one little hand that rest ed on his knee. "Poor little thing!” ho said. "Poor little thing!” She lay at his feet, her whole body quivering. He could not bear to see her suffer so. Ho pitied her, and he thought! Why not lie to her: why not let her be lieve that he Would return? Yes, why not? It would make it easy for her now, and in time she would learn to forget. Ho lifted her gently up and folded her in his arms. “Chonita,” he said. “I will come back to yon, dear. I must go, but it is only for a little while, a few months. You can wait for me with your fattier at the rancho —only for a few months, sweetheart.” She drew herself from his arms and sat on his knee, her dark eyes watch ing the fire very softly. Suddenly she turned and gazed at him for a long while, then said slowly: “You are not going to her, and you will return to rae?” He said, "I am not going to her, and I will return toyou." She looked him in the eyes, and seemed to doubt. After awhile she arose, and taking the photograph from the shelf, she brought it to him, say ing: "Tear it and throw it in the fire no?" He hesitated an instant, then arose. The hot blood came to his face; then, because he pitied her, ho made tho sacrifice—and she believed. A few days later he left the mine, and, sending his servants on with tho pack-train toward Guadalupe y Calvo, he took t'lionita to her father's home. With Juan he made his peace with more pesos than tlie old man had ever hoped to possess, hut lie told him, us he had C honita, that, lie would return. The following mortiing, when all was ready for his departure, and at the Inst moment, he went to where (honita sat weeping in the doorway and took her hands and drew her up to him. “Pobrecito," lie said, "poor little thing, you are only a child. Would to God we had never met! Poor little heart!” She turned her face to his shoulder and hurled it against his neck, sobbing gently. He wound his arms about her and held her close to him. He let her cry for awhile, then he drew her face close to his. He kissed it and put it hack in its resting place, pressing his lips to her hair. After awhile he put her gently from him. slowly passed to where his mule awaited, slowly mount ed she ran after him, stretched out her arms, a cry was on her lips— Someone caught her by the arm and said; "No use running after him, girl. He’s gone for good. You will have to find another lover." Through her tears she saw at her side a tall, lank Texan, who had ar rived early that morning from tho mines with a message for Rawlston. "Hone for good!” she echoed. "No! He is coming back to me!" "The new boss says he isgokig north to marry another girl. You won't see him again,” and the Texan turned to ward the corral to get his mule. “Gone!” she cried. "Lied to me and gone to marry—no! God in Heaven, she shall not have him, he is minel” and with her eyes Hashing with rage she caught up her father's rifle, which rested against the house —the one with which she had beet bought—and hur ried after him. It was only a little way; then she paused and threw the rifle to her shoulder calling: r *Jack! Jack! mio!” and then with all the tenderness of her soul: “Sweetheart!” He turned in his saddle. There was a flash, a report; he swayed from side to side for an instant, lunged forward and fell to the ground dead. —San Francisco Argonaut. ••Now I Hear You." T atlier 0 Halloran had a telephone put into the parsonage in connection with the church, the parochial school, etc. Patrick , 'McFee, his reverence’s handy man, was instructed, in the use of the instrument, and it was only tho next day when Pat, dusting out the church, heard the clatter of the tele phone bell. Taking down the receiver he was pleased tp hear Father O'Hal lersn's familiar voice asking him some thing or other about his work. Pat, in essaying to answer, remembered that his reverence was a long off, and Pat consequently hollered into the trans mitter at the top of his voice. "I don’t understand you, Patrick,” said the tel ephone. Put tried again with no bet ter success. On his third trial he came near splitting the telephone; but again came Father O'Halloran's voice: "I can't hear what you're saying, Pat rick.” Pat hud by this time lost some tiling of his patience, and as he stood gathering breath for tho fourth blast, he couldn’t refrain from soliloquizing in a low tone: "Ah, may the divil fly away wid the ould fool.” But Pat dropped the telephone like a hot potato and fell to his knees in dismay when he:hoard Father O'Halloran's voice once again: “Now I hear you per fectly, Patrick.” Boston Evening Transcript. —A young Scotchman at Aldershot fell ill and was sent to the hospital. A bath was ordered. Jt was brought Into the ehatnlier where tho invalid lay. He looked at it hard for some time and than throw up hi* hands and bawled: "Oh, doctor, doctor! J conns drink W vbttti” THf- QUALITY OF TACT. It Com Far Toward Making Lilt hrti'Mjlk and I'leatant. Iri one ot ohr large cities recently a woman lecture! - dikeoursod UJ a bitclC of Women oti tlifepossibfllty of COltirat ing that most necessary and charming quality—tact. The idea that such a gift was hut a natural inheritance, bnt one which might be planted in soil, in the beginning barren of such seed, and, by careful cultivation, come to full growth, was a novel and an interest ing thought to each one of her hearers. Few people realize how readily the habit of tactfulness may be acquired, the fashion of so framing one’s spoken thoughts that they shall soothe and not irritate the listener. Tact is second only *o grace ih the make-up of the Christian. The Golden Rule is the finest example of the applies* tion of this principle that can be made. The reverse of (act is that most repre hensible of qualities—frankness of opinion. For frankness it is almost always possible to read a lack of con sideration. Masquerading under frankness of speech is too often to be discovered*the bitter sting of a per sonal grievance or a petty spite. Tact is not dishonesty) it does not mean the suppression of the truth nor tlie expression of an untruth, but it does mean the withholding of gratui tous disagreements from arguments in which llijliy are quite superfluous; it also means the effort to induce an agreement kindly when possible, and if an agreement is impossible it de mands a gracious acceptance of oppos ing views. Tact can not be said to bo synonymous with policy; tact is always honest and policy can not invariably be said to have that distinguishing mark. Tho outward manifestations may be the same in both, hut their purposes are entirely apart; one looks for the ad vancement and care of self, the other of its opponent. It will not do for ns to say that In the bustle o( our present civilization we have laid aside tact as well as good manners, for this is not the case. Courtliness is out of date; a spirit of camaraderie rather than of deference lias arisen in its stead, but there lias never been a time when kindly thought prevailed so universally. If this age deserves to he termed the humanitarian era it must induce kind- j ly feeling among humanity, and while j its exponent may not bo courtly man ners, it may be its near cousin, tact, showing itself in thoughtful, gentle speech and action.—Ladies’ Home Journal. SAW SOMETHING HOMELIKE. Way Mayor Strong Chcwoil and Spit Helped a Fanner In I.lke New York. The man from the unpolished south west had been knocking around New York for several days, but ids environ ments didn't fit him, and the conse quence was he was going slightly lame. The clerk at the hotel where he slopped noticed his condition, and once or twice ttie guest used rather disrespectful language concerning the metropolis and its ways as compared with Ids own home. Yesterday after noon, bower, a change appeared to come over the scene, and when he entered the hotel office ami leaned up against the counter while the clerk got his key he was radiant. "Well,” inquired the eterk, “how do you like New York by this time?" " ’Taint o dern bad,” responded the visitor. “That's what I told you," was the clerk’s comment "You have got to gel used to us before you like us." “That ain’t it. 1 could slay here a million years and not get used to yer meelropolitan flubdubs. I ain’t built fer that, tiling, and it wouldn't set right cm me any roore'n a No. 0 shoe will set right on a No. 0 foot” "Then what has happened?” “I seen Mayor Strong this after noon.” "Whore?" "In his office. ’’ “Whatdid ho do? Ask you out to take a drink?" “Well, no, I ain't expectin' the earth.” "What was it then?" “Why, by cripes. it was the way he done in his office. He jest set up there chawin’ terbacker and hillin' the spit toon plumb center every time, in a way that eckchally made me hoiw sich. i jest set there walchin’ him and feclin’ belter satisfied with New York every minute. Dorn me if there’s only been a knot-hole in the floor in slid of that clmny spittoon, I'd a’ felt so good that I could a' whooped. 1 reckon I’ll stay in town another day or two. Now York ain't so had when you strike her jisl right,” and the guest from buckskin bottom event up stairs whistling.—N. Sun. A Millionaire's Watch Dogs. James Dobson, the millionaire car pet manufacturer, is a lover of fine dogs, and has probably a dozen prowl ing about his mansion overlooking the great plant operated by the Dobsons at tlie fails ctf Schuylkill, Among them are a fine bloodhound and a handsome St. Bernard, The latter lias taken possession of the coach-house and sur roundings, while the bloodhound prowls as master around the house. Each watches Ids respective district during tho daytime, and when one dog trespasses upon tho territory of the other a hitter struggle, sometimes accompanied by bloodshed, is sure to occur. Hut as soon as darkness sets in the two dogs hobnob together in the most friendly maimer, traveling over the premises at will. Theoause of the daytime enmity and the after-dark friendship can not be accounted for by the owner.—l’hiludulphia Record. Seen Through Too Late. In tho rude northwest the hardy trappers whiled away the wintry nights in gaming for peltries. "Cuss tlie luck!” The tallest of the party threw down his cards in rage. "That makes tli irteen mink and eight beaver bides I’ve lost! "I might of known it, too, for"—he puffed furiously on ids pipe. "It's been nothing but a skin game all the way through!” Seeking the seclusion of his hunk he moodily drew his blanket over Ids ears to deaden the din of the noisy playing of his more fortunate companions.—N. V. World. Not Qunllflcd. Mrs. Nurlch —l’m having heaps of trouble trying to get a French maid. Mrs, Naybor—l thought you’d sc cnroij one. I did. Hut tills cfhe speak* French anil J cuu't uudorstaud iw.'VC'li.Oßgii ileooni. 5 SCHOOL AND CHURCH. —The Cotigregationallsts in thil country number 683,53 k. —A St. Paul Itimberthan lifts given (SO.OOti to the University oi Minnesota to endow a chair of Semitic languages. —Gfen. Booth is at work on anew book drawn thorn the results of bis ob servations during his recent visfit to tli is country. —Kev. Bussell 11. Conwell, D.D., pas tor of Grace Baptist church (The Tem ple). Philadelphia has baptized 3,031 persona during his eleven years’ pas torate there. —D. L. Moody has a scheme on fool to put a Bible in the hands of each of ttie 750,000 criminals in the country, and he generally carries out what he undertake*. —The action rtf Notre Darne uni versity (Roman Catholic) Id conferring ttie degree of LL. D. on tic well-known Congregational clergyman, Rev. Wash ington Gladden, is almost unprecedent ed. ami Will doubtless excite wide com ment. —The First Japanese Christian church in America was dedicated in Nan Fran cisco recently. It lielongs to the Meth odist denomination, and has about three hundred members, who contrib uted largely toward the building o( the edifice. The assistant minister and the organist are Japanese, and the church organization will be managed by the Japanese members, with very little help or interference by Cauca sians. —Bishop M ladenoff, head of the South Slavic Catholics, hasdisappeared. He offered some months ago to secede from the Catholic church with a large number of Macedonian Bulgarians and to recognize the exarchate of the Greek church. Soon after he went to Con stantinople and dined with the exareli, snd has not been seen or heard of since. He is believed to have accepted an in vitation to visit an American Catholic convent on the Asiatic side of tho Bos porus. —Dr. TANARUS). K. Pearsons, of Chicago, has offered to give Mount Holyoke college (50,000 if it will raise an additional (150,000 in a year and a half. The gifts of Dr. Pearsons to western institutions aggregate iHiout (3.000,000, eight col leges being Uie beneficiaries. Of these Beloit has received (300,000, Knox (50,- 000, Chicago Theological school $50,000, while ho has recently fnade Whitman college, of Walla Waila, Wash., a simi lar offer to that now made to Mount Holyoke, and Drury college has also been aided by him. —Prof. Simon Newcomb, of the na tional observatory at Washington, who lias just been elected an associate of the French Academy of Sciences, lias had degrees conferred upon him by Harvard, Yale, Columbia, Leyden, and Heidelbcr. lie holds tho gold medal of the Royal Astronomical society and the great gold Huygens medal of Ley den, bestowed only once in twenty years. It is now thirty-four years since lie was appointed a professor of mathematics In the United States navy, and he has been senior professor for nearly twenty years. —Tlie financial statement of the Presbyterian board of foreign mis sions for the year ending April 80,1805, shows that tlie total receipts were (800,378, against (841,568 for tho pre ceding year. The total expenses, in cluding appropriations for tlie fields, "Church at Home and Abroad,” etc., were 51,015,757. To tills must be add ed the deficit at the beginning of tlie year, $103,507, making a total liability of (1,118,354. Deducting the income there remains a deficit of (351,070, which is lessened, however, by a gain of (38,873 in exchange on silver and by unused appropriations amounting to (38,331, so that the real deficit is (174.- 883. THEY HAD SYMPATHY. One I'linnr of Life Illustrated on Chica go's Streets. She hurried along Elm street, appar ently bound for the cable cars and a career of downtown shopping. Her eyes—one must note them in passing— were red from recent weeping; but a face-render of ordinary penetration could see that her trouble was of a trivial nature. It somehow seemed such grief us might have been caused by a dressmaker's blunder or the short postponement of a trip around the world. After this figure of comfortable and recovering sorrow two poor little mor tals stood gazing in absorbed sympa thy. There was something pathetic about tlie empty basket the little girl carried—it seemed to symbolize the evident emptiness oT her life. As for the small boy, lie bad a lean look as to face and jacket, but there was no leanness about his soul. "What do you think has happened to her?” tho little girl asked, the active sympathy of an emergency bureau looking out from great hunger-haunt ed eyes. “I don’t know,” returned tlie mascu line waif, utterly oblivious to the emaciation of bis own life as he fol lowed with wistful look the vanishing figure—nn hour-glass of fashion, with expansion of sleeve and spread of skirt. "Maybe,” lie added after a thought ful pause, "the lady has lost her little boy.” Ah, perhaps she had! If she would only turn back and look! But the expanded figure hurried on ward, clasping a full purse, while (he little pinched figures, rich in the Di vine gift of sympathy, resumed their journey in the opposite direction.— Chicago Tribune. Mlndlrected Err*. There have been many stories’ told within the last few days about Vice- Chancellor Bacon; there is said to be only one to tell about the late Vice- Chancellor Mulins. When that most excellent and well-meaning man was on a certain occasion pelted with eggs while administering justice on the bench by a discontented suitor, be ob served. after committing the offender, that he had probably mistaken tho court, since the eggs must certainly have been intended for Bacon.—Lon don World. -Accepted ■■ nn Apology. Two colored men were having a live ly discussion down on Pleasant street the other night. "You're a liar,’’said tlie little one. The other reached for his bootleg. "I reiterate that you are a liar,” exclaimed the first one. “Oh, if yer reiterate,” said the other, as he straiciitened np, “that’s all right. X thought yai-'d take It buck.” The lit tle man looked at him for a moment, then, with a smile all over his face, joined tho other In a walk to the near Ml burew-Bovoa Traveller, SAVED BY MIS SWEETHEART. A Robin Redbreast's Ducky Fight With • Sparrow Hawk. A large, uprightly robifl, with tin brilliant red breast of a male, alighted oh the SWayltlg top of a tall, ragged hemlock that stands ilmvn back of the post office and began to sing a plain tive, thoughtful song to a duller-colored bird across the road on the lower limb Of ft maple, says a Baaberry settlement correspondent. A brown bird with long, keen wings nnd hateful speed flew along closa to the briars along the bank behind the unconscious singer. With a sharp Swerve he rose up, and then the sweet heart across the road piped a shrill note of alarm and warning Justin time. The lover dived down, turned sharp ami escaped the little sparrow-hawk’s talons nnd more cruel bill. lint the hawk was not going to be cheated out of a sweet meal thus. Re, too, turned and pressed close after the fleeing robin. It looked as if the robin had sung his last song when the hawk cut off a corner and came in not two feet behind the robin, peeping In eager ness for prey. The robin is a timid bird, and a good natured one. He fears the blackbirds, nnd hopa away from a bullying spar row; red squirrels arc a menace to his life, while cats and hawks drive him wildly away in fear. Hut there comes n lime when a robin, pressed hard for life, or when his home Is in great dan ger, will fight as few straight-billed birds can fight, and drives a coward bird before him or kills a brave one. So It was with this one. Pressed close by a fierce pursuer, with death and nothing beyond, but everything to live for. he suddenly turned on his enemy and struck at him. Struck full in the breast the surprised hawk tumbled over backward and fell to the ground Again the robin struck him on the hack before the hawk real ized what had happened; then he turned and the two faced each other. I he robin had lost his appearance of fear ami the hawk showed pain and /ear. Still ho attacked the robin again. The hawk was a practiced fighter. His training had all led that way. No bird, unless surprised and suddenly wounded, yields without a fight. 1-ong combats with agile red squirrels, blue jays, kingbirdsand lesser ones,had given him the skill which only prac tlcecan give. The robin’s life had been different. It had been a peaceful search for insects nnd a life of song, nor had nature fitted him with such weapons as his opponent had on foot and head; still the straight bill was a good weapon. Three limes the two tackled each other. The robin's breast became red der yet with blood. The hawk had lost an eye. The robin’s tongue was bleeding nnd the hawk’s breast was scarred deep by the robin’s first as sault. The robin was the weaker and tlie test was longer than he could stand, but lie could not escape, for to turn to flee would be only to bring the other onto his hack, so he fought on desperately. The fourth tackle ho lost his hold and was sinking back, pressed down by the hawk's greater weight and supe rior strength. It looked darker then for him. So thought, the sweetheart on tiie maple limb. She saw her lover fight, ami hopped along the limb and back again, leaning forward eagerly and chirping encouragement to him. Then, when the robin began to weaken, she sprang from the limb and hovered over the two, chirping fearfully. As tlie robin was sinking back ex hausted to fall an easy prey to the hawk, she dived down straight as ever a hawk dived, and struck tlie victor between the wings in the back. It was a death-blow, and when she and her lover sut on the maple limb side by side blood was on her bill, while the hawk lay dead, with a broken back, to be picked up later by the taxidermist. —N. Y. Sun. A SAMPLE CASE. An Innocent Mnn Convicted on Circum stantial Kvldence. *‘l)id I ever know of an innocent man being convicted on circumstantial evi dence?” repeated a Detroit lawyer who was smoking a cigar in n hotel the other evening. ‘‘Yes. I know of a ease. In fact, I was the prisoner’s attorney. It happened in Missouri about twenty years ago, and was one of my firs, cases. “It was this way,” continued the lawyer, as he got comfortably settled down. “A farmer had a horse stolen, and tlie animal was followed for ten milaa, and found under a shed in the suburbs of a town where I lived. At tlie same time they found a man in hiding. He refused to give any ac count of himself, and when charged with being the horse-thief he did not deny it. It was not until ho was put on' trial in the higher court that I was retained. He stoutly declared his innocence, and had sev eral men on hand to prove his good character, but he wouldn’t account for his whereabouts on the night the horse was stolen. I not only felt sure of his guilt, but had no allow to make for him, and wasn’t disappointed when he was convicted off-hand. As to the ’circumstantial’ part, they proved that ho knew the horse, and had said he felt templed to steal It Also, that he was seen that evening within a mile of the farmer’s barn. Horse hairs were found on bis trousers’ legs, and he was in hiding near the horse. Everything pointed to his guilt, and the jury made quick work of him.” "And wasn’t he guilty?” asked one of the group. "Not a bit of it. After he had been sentenced for three years his wife came to me and wanted me to advise him to tell the truth. She knew it all the time. He was out that night with two other men to rob a store, __ and they got away with a wagon load of goods. He was set to watch, and while thus serving was run into the shed by tlie men in pursuit of the horse-thief. The latter got away, and the other was captured. To give his gang time to get away he let him self be taken to jail, and was ultimate ly tried, convicted and sentenced. He had no more to do with the horse than I had.” "And what did you advise?” “His best interest, of course. Ha’d got three years for stealing a horse, but if he owned up to the store rob bery, he’d get from ten to fifteen. I told him -to shut up, and the advice was so good that 1 got fifty dollars for it. Yes, circumstantial evidence some times convicts an innocent man, and If vou are ever on a jury it will be well to remember this fact. "—Detroit Free Vw * ™* Mshion&l oti n check’ * lr,pw ‘<l pegM ' ®CBU lace „ Blf f bd Wr,i (> n n<l wfth ■ lars, yokes ),crtv f " rriJ tolnfTK. rt ' las and skinlfl Tug plait,,. , S are Minted a*iß lavish uso 0 f (hja " lo **; f n f * B last nil through bids W Tn. fullnow |' i,r ,ntn cr. “ r posed In g-athm i. .i<^K *< the ist^ <t L Pltti * 41 Uh lalncd equally eU bk** adjustment h > Wh mo? H..KKVF.S for plain and i ways won, long *re gB Some end In the f„ nn< ?!? ijß a blunderbiißs or of a n , h '' most unbecoming ,9 of u,7~ It life she I* chJH feet notion of M, iTH the org,-on ami, id, make , 'i? 4 ! C, for nse during this period ‘ Ub ' | Mr. i. Pennington. Wmi n, . : “lhad been Buffering life and It took the fnraTo, d ®'SEm dortor* told my husband It wi prescribe for me „ v time we got Hr. M.-KlrV.il'v A, of female diseases and the Wine of Card.il TTeSSwfa •**■l ink nine bottles, lam well." A,W <B| “You win notice that I~hTve fl| string'• said the boy to the kTte !?*• swerod the kite. "And that Uwhe SB me soar.''—liuliuti.i|n,iis " r Kn " 11 ' men as ail woe', . 1 . at Tobacco Sllnkln c llp^ th S Not pleasant to nlwsra rnrrTl- . B It don t compare with the n,-rr^ r> '°*>^B power that tobacco keens nt day to make von weak tn, u' eyes, loss of Inte/cst h J,"' " ,U ' m looks tell the story. ilr,Z I’o-Bac is a sure, quick "B; #ssr-tR*.. *• "Tiik curious tiling nbmji mv said thn mommito, softly nose of the vi. iu n , more fun to tfo h work than it in until. ' fatngh end (trow p,,, K You shall do both, even if T(ra a ~ sided, pallid, woo-lH'piine (Ivsueptir it ~81 rein force digestion, insure' tile WrM of food into rich and tmiii nhing recover appetite mi,l sleep i, v the use of thn (front renovator of strength and flesh, Hostetler's k|,„n2sß ttittcrs, which ttlso remedies malarial noy and rheumatic trouble, constipation and hilimiMiess. SR As Aunt -“Where weie uni wlmUiriv Bi saulf occurred 1" asked 11.- judge of the vi. . BE lim. “Hum'll (VI dun' tm', yer boner. HBI hit n.c BO lianl O i e,midi, i mv. - Ua/ar. _ Hf The Most IMenssnt Way I||| Of preventing the grippe., Md, ii..,i..-u„ bud fevers la to use the liquid laxative r. K edy Hyrup of Figs, whenever the iriSHI needs a gentle, yet effe- tr., , leansing be benefited one mtißl. get tlm manufactured by the CmifemlaFlg Cos. only. For sale by all druggists ini£Bl and #1 bottles. ■ “Do you think Hint lilirkcns wntild IsBB ceive a friendC "Of tint N,-st4^K his friends would Is in m a v.mnl he Star. 9| Piso’s Ci uk ia a wonderful Cnngh cine. - Mtis. W. Pickkih, Van Sidrn Blake Aves., Brooklyn, .N. V., Oct, 28, tl H| Tun pyramids themselves, dot log vithH| age, have forgotten the names of ttieitH| founders. —Fuller. H Rheumatic Pains are greatly relieved bj Glenn’s Sulphur Heap. Hill’s Hair and Whisker Dye, 50 cents, ; Krvisr.p Vbiision.— Whatsoever s msu seweth, that sliall he also np ValeUecord. Summer Weakness Is caused by thin weak impart blood. To have pure blood which will properly sustain your health and give nerve strength, take Hood’s Sarsaparilla The Greatest Medical Discovery of the Age. KENNEDY’S MEDICALDISGOVERY. DONALD KENNEDY, llf WEBBY, USD. Has discovered in one of our coirmM pasture weeds a remedy that cures kind of Humor, from the worst Scroll# down to a coniynon Pimple. , He has tried it in over eleven nuntma cases, and never failed except m twoMMJ (both thunder humor.) He has now in his possession over two hundred certi ca of its value, all within twenty miles or Boston. Send postal card for book. A benefit is always experienced from me first bottle, and a perfect cureus warranted when the right quantity is taken. When the lungs are affec ed It shooting pains, like needies passing through them; the same vith the Li Bowels. This is caused by the ducts ing stopped, and always disappears week after taking it. * dthelabeh If the stomach is foul or bilious it™ l cause squeamish feelings at n rs ‘* r^* No change of diet ever necessary the best you can get, and enoug Dose, one tablespoonful In water at time. Sold by all Druggbts. _—_ j ■k ASK YOUR DRUQdIST FOR * ®s ★ THE BEST* op Hothers,lnfants/ children * JOHN CAKLB * SONS. New YoHu^ KESTL'Isf TUAi WORLD. V Vox AwtawtW'i \o< y \t\\feavt\.4S'A\ws \ xaNm \<b ©cut'" blacking of THE SON P*S5 POUSH after • 4^ nD€ Jj poi* IKm nm, W" ***" VlM '