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Gets a Poem on the Death of Caff)’ Olay. !o Ono Lino Rather Hurts 1 Ho Believes in the - V Pew Items from an -The Cominc Farm 'at3d) by Ei!gar \Y. Nye.) >uden£s have very kind tue regarding the deatsh > f. (’iffy O'Lay: Some ; written me in my hou« I ’.rill me from centre to and makes me. if possl o re a couple of stanzas ;uk1 would easily touch, l art than mine. Though : burn: an. they seem to get Philadelphia, Sept. 9. srful eye ; tie information \il die •he ache bJ.vtl inflammation. r friei I Nye, vt net, for thy brother, i -prlrg will come, e cows will mate. •. u s iall have another. —A. C. B. ■ there is an implied sneer u: ness breathed in the last - me so d? ply that I csanot writ r is a: all unfriendly. ■ • a few items from a new ex kindly marked and sent to mo , nd. I give the items a3 exarn journaltem without a ma-ter. per is published n the back of illinery store of the editors wife, ? does a small insurance bus ...11s ice or im. coffin-, fniit tre s ton ■> and soft, drinks. And yet all these varied mn’lers crowding ] jn he is n< only able to throw thumb with ea h saucer of ice m. but he takes ’he time w hich he to emi loy in much needed rest • :• pell ng regard, r purd. and few. 1; .v: Janie- Th >• r. o? Morris. a K- Uy g • i ia . c. was >u < ir -t« M ’• . D- id I trunk. A Sham for Some. There are two ladies (we forget the i si from Chicago visiting John e and family. i- :n Is a little conservative, but e r all. whm a power journal - in the direction of the ele •ul improvemen of man.) a I nvsui \ -• erday in Jol ,-onie par ies here and the n reguard to being put off - L _ . ^ ’/'OKING OVER THE FENCE TTES Omld anything be boiled down more * p: h of ::•••• F • -.v < mid equal his g ulus it'on.) . Newport F a fine speaker, and e noble life that site lives endears her plea-ure of her ac s<e. we hope to hear h°r again the Thumb School House, -i press notice like that, what t an early l^ondon appear ■ Newport?) a of J i •. Jackman had quite ’ist Friday while hauling ipped and fell out of the ■■ r orv his head • i hrulainglhls .‘ring on r:cely\ ' P ui is the thief of ' in that Wafer is >n nicely after the peculiar way « a meeting at the Short n Friday. September 13, the purpose of electing /‘it business In regard n O metery It t all turn to the above, should one his own words, but • spelling of his advertis el, one of the oldest and d citizen^ of Coal City. ■ ■with ehol • > morbus and within 4s hours died lay afternoon Rev. Dr. De cailed to administer to •forts of Religion, and after l >t through the patient neuts and at 8 p. m. died, m is published for the solo obtaining a concensus of regard to what it really ' preceding death it is t r the path it to change his but to just plumb lose th* m > things connected Will not our friends be h to express their opinions •is sentence?) at Ion receive 1 from • V V.. indicates that Dr. Mary wheel horse on the off g the old car of progress rate of speed, and that Mishing near Oswego a farm • exclusive for ladies. i will be ideal in every wav, 1 like to be identified with it possible. Plowing will Idle ag>'d ladies In peas d Tyrolean red morocco class in every am fold that to stage this t for costumes alone over b pale bluo watered rib bin. seed and cuttle bone, d will regularly give them °PV of the Sunday paper to oop No gobblers will be Z 0Q the place, and the animals bia,t as soon as competent au thority has deckled that they are such. There will be no crowing, no neighing, no bellowing, no cooing. All will be at peace. Mixed farming and stock growing will be the principal Industries. The milk maids will dress picturesquely In beau tiful white tarlatan chemisettes and duck trousers. They will also wear kip boots run down at the heel. Dr. Walk er says their Idea Is to get some Italian cows and raise Italian cream for the Oswego market. No one can feel more Interest in this great enterprise than the low, coarse mau farmer who has not been able to make fanning pay. Dr. Walker thinks that much may be saved by blowing out the contents of hen eggs for kitchen use and then pre serving the shells for use at Eastertide. She has many such schemes for prac tical economy. She Is greatly worried at present over the question of whether a saw buck should be admitted to the wood shed, aud will submit it to her chorus of shepherdesses. I think that these questions of propriety ■aid gradually give place to those of diet and the food supply. The chief agriculturist has already planted a row of powdered rhubarb so as to have earli. r pies than any of the neighbors of lie vegetable gar THE COMING FARM HAN'.'. don is planted to sweet peas. An old bod or Johnny Jumps-up, or "whatever the plural of that wonl may be. has been torn out by tho roots and the place saturated with boiling water. X. B.—Popaorn will not be planted. Dr. Walker’s first act of ownership on taking charge of the farm and tucking lu the edges cf the mortgage so that it would cover the -mire place was to t ike off her smoking Jacket and cut down an 1 old pawpaw tree that h i l stood there for years. When she gcc it down, the stump looked as though a beaver had gnawed it off. This particular farm was chosen be cause It Is in summer dime enameled w; h daisied and great stately rocks covered with soft gray moss to break up the monotony and farming tools of the agriculturist. Hons will lx* taught to provide worms for themselves, and a spirit of inde pendence among all the fowls will be fostered ami encouraged. Roosters wao hare been in the hale of calling public attention to a kirge fat bug and then eating it with vulgar Joy will get their necks rung. Fnhappy married men will be jxt mltteil >to look over the fence and rail at their hard lot on Tuesdays and Fridays. Socials and sociables for the spread of the go-pel in New Jersey will bo held on the first Monday of t he month, and ir t tried men who have le i an ex emplary life w ll be permi t- d to put their money through a crack in the fence. Woman who an* living unhappily with their husbands are invited to come to the fa»rm and pull stumps for th ir board. A severe penalty will he enforced against any member who may carry on a correspond- nee with outside people of an antagonistic sex. Such a one so of fend 1 tig ;ha!l on conviction bo required to break steers during the daytime and answer the burglar alarm of nights. Two sots of books will be kept for the farm—one for the receipts and one for the expenditures. These will be k**pt by two different members through *he year, each in ignorance of -he oh er’s books, and at the end of the year the one having the larger : total will re celve a pair of neatly embroidered sus penders. This plan will be a revela tion to beek keepers. for it not only stim ulates the accountant, but would seem *o aim a deathblow at collusion atnl consequent fraud. Should *nis venture prove suocc.*iui 1 a-ml solve tihat grert question of “how to make the farm pay.' graduates from th;s Institution will be employed, it is thought, by unsuccessful farmers every where. The coming farmhand, there fore. will be a ray of forked sunlight upon the path of the husbandman. The wife will no longer elc; e with the farm hand, and outdoor life will win many yomwj men from fh * card table and the tlowWig bowl. It is to be hotted for many r* tons that Dr. Walker may succeed in this enterprise and t;t it ’he earnest woman who can lift a barrel of salt by the ‘ ehmimes” will go there and stay quite awhile. I: will gladden the heart even of the vilest brute beast ;ran to see a farm ilmpc l with clemtcls and aglow with goldenrod. with picturesque cows, each with a farmhand sketching her on the run. nr picturesque Maud Mullers in la*, -n ! • p in* - s r iking crab grass with rakes all gay with ribbons or digging drains with ha;: i pain ed spades or reaching the cunning little tail of a cadet gray mule. Should a scientist with a liberal edu 1 cation iu ornamental farming be needed o show the fiebl hand which are cer eals and which are Canadian thistles or *o select these eggs only for hatching which will produce pull< *s. meantime throwing the others owr the fence into outer darkness, I eoul l give goa l refer , nee and also be a com.'or: during thun derstorms. PUZZLED ABOUT A TERRAPIN. A terrapin about as large around as a sliver dollar was the subject of a good deal of talk in Valdosta the other day, and the same terrapin has come near settling in the minds of some people the theory that tish. frogs and the like are often rained down in severe storms. During the heavy min of last Friday the terrapin fell in the street between Middleton's shoe shop and Davts’s incut market. It was s.»en to strike the ground bv two men in the shoo shop and by Mr. Davis's little boy. There is no explanation as to where it came from except on the Theory that it rained down and the c-uestion now is. Was that really the case?—Macon (Ga.) Tel egraph. Young Tom Bickers, undergraduate of University College, Oxford, was as popular a man as any in the whole varsity. He was a good fellow, a good athlete, a good sportsman. Had he taken the trouble to read he would also have been a good scholar. The dons did more than call him idle, they threatened him with pains and penalties, they communicated his delin quencies to the young man’s father. The latter was an austere man and a Bishop—'the Bishop of Sllchester—so well known as a pillar of the Church As sociation. "You ought to have more sense and more consideration,” said the Bishop. "You know that I have a large family, and that my expenses are heavy. I am investing capital in your education be cause I think a good education Is the best investment I can make for you. It is not only foolish, it is positively dis ihonest of you to waste your time as yod are now doing. When you leave Ox ford you will have to look out for your self; and then you will ftnd what a dif ference a good dt^jree makes to you." "I don't bellevo that It makes such an awful difference,” answered Tom. “I’ve beard you say yourself, father, that you didn’t read much when yon were at the varsity. And yet, though you only took a third, they’ve made you Bishop. You st Tom hastened to add, for he saw a frown gathering on the episcopal brow, “they knew what a good man you were, without applying the paltry ^ ^ ihuu ij.iuu uuu vjiwii. “True,” assented the Bishop. “I was a fool, and wasted my time most culpa bly. But because I was a fool and have] ren fortunate enough to escape the eon.-cquenees of my folly there Is no res n why you should be a fool and ex P* * t to escape the consequences of ;• ire. Besides,” said Ills Lordship, wit a a profound look, “times have changed since I was young, Tom.” “I dare say they have, father.” A: Oxford the Bishop had gone the p:ice with the best of them. He often ■°ld. with a self-satisfied air, bow cle.v « rly he had broken the intelligence of his debts to his father, and how blue fh.» old gentleman looked when hu heard. If Tom had such a comunlca tion ;o the Bishop now he would hare been kicked straight emt of the house. Tom. however, did not make such a communication. The debts existed, but ■ho time for revealing them was not yot ripe. Tom hoped that it never would be. He had a great coup iu his mind’s oyo by which he expected to gain a largo enough sum of money to discharge his liabilities, if you looked at the betting quotations you would see that It was, in fact. JO to 1. This was the prloo booked et Tattorsalls’ about Mr. Millington’s 1 he Sinner. Mr Millington was a new name on the turf. It covered the per sonality of our friend Tom. The Sinner had been accepted for the Lincolnshire Handicap. How Tom had become her owner demands a word of explanation. A month or so previously, when Tom’s lucky star was for a short time in the ascendant, he had engaged in a great duel at poker with young Vis count Vllladome of the house. Villa dome had acquired two or three very tolerable horses. The best of these horses was tho Sinner—a bay colt of respectable though not first rate pedi gree. He had been entered for the Lin colnshire Handicap of that year be fore Vllladome bought him. The greet poker duel between Tom Bickers and Vllladome took place at Hie end of January, eight weeks before the Lincoln meeting. The Viscount’s nx.*;;;s in Peckwater were the scene of the encounter. Torn had ii“vor enjoyed such luck. Time ufter time Velladcme went down 1*Tore him. The stakes grew hotter as j the game proceeded. But Tom’s luck I nevtr deserted him. C* ,1 U1IUUI.W IU IWUlYt? liv IV&U l lit? wlnr.' r of $2,000. Yilladoine took his drubbing well. He wrote Tom out a cheek r'or his wlnnlngB without turning a h.sir. Torn received tho pink slip of paper, and was ubout to pocket It, when i idea suddenly occurred to him. “I say, Villadome,” cried tho beard less sportsman, piunkiug down tho check in the center of tho table, “there's just time for another deal. I’ll play you for the Sinner against this check.” The cards were dealt; the hands were shown. Luck had declared once more for Tom. The $2,00d soon went. There were many rapacious creditors to lx? appeas i 1 with payments on account, and them were many current expenses to bo met which could only be satisfied with cash. But then he had the Sinner, and it was to The Sinner that he looked for his means of salvation. Tom did not know exactly where to turn for money. But at last it occurr ed to him that he might go over to New market ami interview latterday, the trainer. Latterday was a man of wealth and possibly he cculd be induced to advance him some money on the secur ity of The Sinner. “Hum!” said the trainer. “I don’t usually lend money. How much do you want?” "Twenty-five hundred dollars,” an swered Tom. "It's Just this way, Mr. Bickers. The Sinner may be worth a good bit of money, and he mayen’t be worth much. There’s the stuff in him for a flyer. 1 believe. But he seems a tritlo shy and as he has never been run in public, devil alone knows how ne’li acquit himself at Lincoln next week. How ever, I’ll make you this offer—I’ll give you $2,500 for a half share in the colt.” "You mean you'll buy half The Sin ner for $2,500? said Tom. “Precisely” answered Levi Latter day. Levi Latterday opened his bureau, > it down thereto and spent the next five minutes in drawing up a short form of agreement, which lie handed Torn to sign. Tom read it through, duly signed It. and received Latterday’s check. A letter which he had (from h1s moth er a day or two afterward made him f, particularly thankful that he had obtained the money from Latterday, in stead o' t*dng compelled to apply to his father for it. This was the passage which Impressed him. "I am writing to you. dear Torn, to ask you to be as careful as you possibly can just now about your expenses at Oxford. Your father has Just met with some fearfully heavy losses, owing to the failure cf an Australian bank, in which the greater part of his private fortune was Invested. And, although he has not told me so, I have reason to believe that he Is actually short of mon ey to meet his more pressing liabili ties." “By Jove." said he to himself, after some reflection. “I knew what I’ll do. I'll keep back $500 of Latterday’s $2,500 —$2,000 will satisfy these infernal cred itors for :he present—and I'll plank it or. The Sinner. Thirty to one are good paying odds. Fifteen thousand dollars < to $500, by Jove. Then If the colt wih9, half the ©take will nearly account for the balance of my debts, and I shall be able to hand over the rest to tho governor.” Oddly enough he 'had a communica tion from Levi Latterday himself, ad vising him to have something substan tial on tho colt. When this letter arrived Tom had already got his $500 on. He at once in creased It by a further $250. Such advice from that pre-eminent Judge made Tom more than ever san guine, and he went Into the schools— for Honor Mods had Just begun—with a light and bllghtsom© heart. The papers, one and all, completely stumped him. but this caused him no distress. Other floored candidates w'ore the gloomiest looks as they sat and watched their fellows round them scratching busily away with quill pens. Tom’s face was the merriest in the schools. The schools, however, did annoy Tom in one respect. They precluded all pos sibility of his getting away to Lincoln to witness the race, for his lost paper was on the very afternoon of the event ful day. The paper In question was Latin verses. When he came out he found a little knot of friends waiting for him In the high. Among them was Villadome. Villadome held a telegram In his hand, which he thrust into Tom’3 face with a “Look there, you lucky beggurP’ Tom did look at It. He could hardly believe his eyc9. Ho pulled off his gown. He waved it wildly around his head Then ho seized Villadome by the shoulders, and Insisted on his danc ing a polka with him, then and there upon the pavement. iuu seem ut very gwu epnris, luin, my boy," said His Lordship, the Bish op, as he and his son 6ut over their wine at the episcopal table a week later. "I hope It means that you did good papers !u mods.” ’Tmph—rather middling. I’m afraid, father. But, 1 say, I have had a stroke of luck, and—well—well, if you don't mind listening, I should like to tell you about it.” "What sort of luck?” Inquired the Bishop. "A matter of money. The fact is, father, I've oomo in for a good sum— upward of $20,000, in fact—and. as I understand that you’ve been badly hit over those Australian banks, I thought —er—er—well—I mean—the of Is very much at your disposal, father.” The Bishop leaned forward and held out his hand to his son. For a moment or two he did not speak. At last he said, warmly:— “My lad, I cannot take your money. But I’m none the less grateful to you for wishing to give it to me. I—I had hoard of your wonderful luck. Tom. Perhaps you did not knew that Levi Latter day is a very old acquaintance of mine?” Tom's eyes opened wide with as tonishment. “It is quite true," said his lordship, answering Tom’s look. "In my unre generate days I was a great friend of Levi. lie is one of the shrewdest men I know. I have often consulted him about my investments. He has always advised me well, except once, and that was when he recommended my putting money into that New South Wales bank, which, as you know, has lately gone Into liquidation. I’ve dropped $50,0o0 over it—worse luck.” "But, father,” began Tom, “I-’’ "Wait a minute,v the Bishop inter rupted him. “Latterday took my loss thoroughly to heart. He said it was all j his fault, and that he would like to make It up to me in some way or other. Later on he wrote and told me that he had taken the Mberty of investing $3, 300, on my account, in a certain specu lation which was almost sure to turn up trumps. "He didn’t tell me what the specula tion was until It Lad turned up trumps, and then I learned that ho had bought me a half share In The Sinner—your horse, Tom, you rogue—for 2,500, and invested $1,000 upon the colt’s chances In the Lincolnshire at 30 to 1. So you see, Tom, I am 330,000 to the good on the transaction, besides my half inter est in The Sinner, which is now a val uable possasslon. There! What do you think of that?” I should say, observed the Bishop, meaningly, "that I have not mentioned this to a soul—not even to your mother. It wouldn’t do that people should know. They aro so prejudiced. By the way, la—la—The Sinner entered for the City and Suburban, Tom?” “Yea, father. And T>abterday says that the Epsom gradients will Just suit him.” "Of course, my lad, I cannot retain any Interest 1n the colt. My cloth makes that impossible. I must wash my hands of the business before the May meetings.” ' "The Epsom meeting is in April,” an swered Tom. “Ah.” said his father, reflectively. "Well, under the circumstances, we need not do anything In a hurry.”— London Truth. Wrlttenfor the Sunday Register. ESTRANGED. Dear, Is It but a year ago. When drifting with the river's flow, Your violin was playing low A soul within! We’ve drifted far upart since then. My heart can never lose its pain; And I shall never hear again Your vollin. Of yore, when all was smooth and green Where that deep gulf now yawns between, We loved each other well 1 ween; But ono dark day A strange misunderstanding came; It chilled with Icy breath the flame. And though I held you still the same You drew away. Yet think not I could blame you, dear; My own unworthtne.-'s Is clear; 1 cannot shed a single teur. I wonder why To vou, who were to me the first, 1 should have always been so cursed As ever to have shown my worst So helplessly. This heavv pain upon me pressed, I'd banish with its mad unrest. And live upon Ohio’s breast That matchless hour. Your magic bow caressed the string, A plaintive sweetness echoing; Your violin, a human thing Of wondrous power. o lovely, dreamy night in June! o'witching strain of music’s tune! O mvstlc spell, that vanished soon, * Though mem’ry’s here. To linger o’er enchanted scene. Where moon washed wrters silver sheen Reflected starbeams deep within, So cool and clear. Where for\*t glades by soft winds fanned, And long lights flung across the sand; Where silence dwelt o er all the land, And in my heart A hope that thrilled my being through, Which clinging, fleeting, fainter grew. ■Vrnl nearness, O, lost ono, to you, But now. apart. A CLEAN CITY. Paris Is «dd to cleanest city la the world.Every morning 2.000 male and GoO female scavengers, divided into 149 brigades, turn ont to perform the toilet of the capital. The men work from 4 in -the merning -to 4 In the even ing, less two hours off for meals, or ten hours a day. The women are en i gaged in the morning only. t Freezes Ice Cream for a Social Function. Takes Off His Coat and Tries to Save a Dollar—Makes a Joke, to His Wife’s Great Mystification. Mysterious Sounds Are Heard by the Assemblage — Finally There Comes a Loud and Memorable Explosion. The Invitations to Mrs. Wiggles- 1 worth afternoon reception had been out a week, the front parlor was becoming ly set off with asparagus green and 'the brigh/tnes of autumn leaves, and it looked as though the thing was going to bo one of the nicest social events of ih<* season. “They'll begin coming at 4 o’clock,” Mrs. Wlggleaworth said at dinner, “and everything is ready but the ice cream. You’ll have'to send up a man lor that.’'1 “I’d like to know wtaat for?” said Mr. Wigglesworth. “Why to freeze it, of course,” ex plained his wife, “it’s awfully hard work turning the crank an hour.” “Hump!” grumbled Mr. Wiggles worth, who held a mans opinion con cerning an afternoon function; "seems to me you and that hired girl might find time to twist a gavanized iron crank around for a few minutes with out subjecting me to extra expense. Want to ruin me?” “Ellery Wigglesworth, ’returned his wife, severely, “do you think I am go ing to put on my host dress and freeze ice cream while the first ladies In town are arriving every minute and have to be talked to?’’ "B-a-a-h-h!” commented Mr. Wig glesworth; “where Is the freezer? I’ll show you how to make a dollar.” Down In the cellar Mrs. Wigglesworth had got everything ready. There was the freezer, borrowed of a neighbor, duly tilled with six quarts of liquid, and 1 there were ice and salt and other things necessary. Mr. Wigglesworth loaded I the ice and salt Into the wooden cylin- i der, and gave the crank a few prelim inary revolutions. “Don’t see anything the matter with this, do ye?” he asked. “Don’t know’s you like to have a dollar saved. Rather make folks believo you spent a fortune, probably.’ Merrily twirled the crank, while Mrs. Wigglesworth crowded in some more pounded ice. “Regular picnic this is,” said Mr. Wigglesworth, “side of the old churn 1 used to work when I was a boy. Mother used to keep me at it all the time. Said that one good churn de served another—he, he. lie!” “What did she mean by that?” Mrs. Wigglesworth innocently asked. “What did she mean by that?” tartly retorted Mr. Wigglesworth, whose mus cles began to feel it; What does anybody mean by anything? Can’t ye under stand a joke when it is shown to you?” “I don’t see any joke iu your mother saying that one good churn deserves another,” Mrs. Wigglesworth persisted. "If she had one churn I should think that would be nice, but how could it de servo”— "Y-a-h-h!” snarled Mr. Wiggles worth, grinding savagely away; “what's the use to try and have any fun with you? You couldn’t see a joke if it was pasted on the end of the Lick telescope. Quit jamming in that ice!” he shouted, as the machine went a trifle harder; “want to stop the thing?’ “It ain’t me,” Mrs. Wigglesworth mildly rejolneil, “Its the cream login ning to harden.’ “Great lot you know about it!” grum bled her husband, pausing to wipe t.ie perspiration from his brow. .Mrs. \\ lggieswonu sam sue uju»i. now go and "dress,” and wdfh a few en couraging words she vanished up the. stairs. Mr. Wigglesworth turned on, pausing now and then to xnop off his forehead and mutter things to himself. Every man of a weak and yielding na ture who has allowed himself—once—-to bo bound to the chariot wheels of the fee cream freezer can recall with ghast ly clearness how the lemon-colored mix ture on the interior cf the tin can, after reaching a certain degree pf hardness, appears to be content to remain there. Round and round spun the handle, Mr. Wigglesworth pausing at intervals to gloomily contemplate the growing blisters on the palms of his hands. Overhead he could hear the shuffling of feet as visitors arrived and went stiffly through the ceremonies of intro duction. “O, Ellery,” hoarsely wailed Mrs. Wigglesworth, rushing half-way down the stairs, “can’t you hurry up? Every body’s coming and it’s dreadful to give them only tea. and they looking around and wondering what -the table is for with dishes on it. and no ice cream:" “What ye s’pose I care?” returned Mr. Wigglesworth, wanting to yell, but forced to keep his voice under; "think Ive got nothing to do hut prance around here twisting a blamed old hand organ? You go on back and shake hands with the rest of them false-crimp females, will ye, and let me alone!” “What is that singular rumbling ; noise?” asked one of the guests a little j later. •‘I—I don’t hear anything,” faltered ! Mrs. Wigglesworth, forcing a distorted smile into her face. “I hear something,” said another guest, a thin little woman with an in quistivo nose. “Hark!” The roomful of ladies congealed into silence. There was small need of Mrs. Wigglesworth’s dissimulation. From be neath their feet, muffled by the carpeted floor, came a strange series of noises, the burr of machinery, it might be. punctuated by a grunting sound as of a railroad engine getting under way. and now* and then a thud like a man falling out of a balloon and alighting on the roof of a Presbyterian church. "Burglars!” lucidly cried a fat wo man in a red dress; “they’re boring their way In through the cellar wall!” And she stood up in a chair. Then, Just as everybody was turning pale and getting ready to talk all at once, the mixture which for two hour? had gone on making Mr. Wigglesworth madder, suddenly went thick, and the dasher, revolving slower, quickly ex hausted his remaining strength. “Gash flummux the old thing!” he yelled, losing all regard for the society event overhead; “What ails it now?” and he twitched the maohlne savagely across the cellar floor. ‘ hy don t ye twist around here, snme’9 ye l>een doing since I tackled ye last spring?” he bel lowed. and he flung it against the gran ite wall. "Want to keep me here grind ing this old crank till Christmas, don’t ye.” and he knocked down one of the furnace pipes with it. "Bu* I want ye to understand,” he howled, in a finish ing .hlaze of wrath, as the falling pipe “Don’t yon think yon would better niako him wait a year?’1 “Dear me, no! Why, at the cud of the year I might not want to marry him.” —Lifa struck his head and emptied a load of soot on him. And grabbing an ax he rtove in the freezer’s metallic head. To his surprise he found the cream frozen beautifully. —W. 0. Fuller, Jr., in New York Recorder. , _ “I am tired of trying to got you to un derstand reason,” said Mrs. Avondale, with icy dignity, to the pouting, angry girl before her .‘‘You will carry on that absurd flirtation with Harry Alton! Now I shall put an end to it!” “It isn’t a flirtation; we’re engaged!” flashed out Ina. “Engaged to a clerk in Allen Drake’s bank, when you could be engaged to Al len Drake himself! I won’t let you make such a mistake, my dear Ina.” A retort, which was the reverse of gentle, arose to Ina’s lips, but she set her teeth and kept silent, vowing in wardly ih>' she w>uld never,neve” p’t • up Harry—not for a thousand stately, middle-aged bankers. "I have written to my cousin, Martha Davis,” went on Mrs. Avondale, draw ing an open letter, which lay on the ta ble near, toward her. “She consents to receive you for the summer; and per haps a couple of months in a dull coun try farmhouse may make von appreci ate the advantages of such an offer as Mr. Drake has made you. I have had your packing done. You will start to morrow morning.” “To-mrorow?” “Yes; and early. T only regret. I can not see you safe at the farm, but Mar tha will send somebody to meet you at the station, and you will ho all right.” “But,” said Ina. piteously. “I won’t he able to bid Harry good-by. He won’t know where I have gone. What will he think?” “I doubt, if one might find the power to think anything under that curly hair of his,” answered Mrs. Avondale, scorn fully. And Ina left the room, too indignant to weep. “I will see him: I will tell him why and where I am banished,” she said to herself. But all attempts to have a message conveyed to Harry were frustrated that day and evening, and it was only when she was going to the station that she found an opportunity to slip a note she had prepared into a letter box: hut in that note she gave her lover her ad dress. and besought him to obtain a va cation. that lie might run out to th<* neighborhood and comfort her in her exile. A moment after she had alighted from the train at the little station nearest her destination she was accost ed vy a cheery voice asking: “\liss Avondale, is it not?” She had been looking up and down the platform anxiously, and turned with a start ns the words were spoken at her side. A handsome, sun-tanned face, with dark blue eyes and clear-eut mus tached lips, was before her. “Yes,” she said. "I am Tna Avon dale.’ A pleasant smile showed under the brown mustache. “Then penult im* to introduce my self. I am a sort of cousin. I believe— Gerald Davis. Mother hade me get you to to the farm as quickly as possi ble. She said you would be very tired after your Journey.” •‘I am—a little,” she answered shyly. And she followed this handsome new cousin along the platform, and allowed him to put her In a natty little phaeton, which had a little black pony before it. Such a pleasant drive as she had along the dusty highway, that sunlit Cay in May and such a bright, breezy chat with Gerald, who stopped once and leaped out to gather her a handful of delicate wild flowers, which as no money could purchase in the city — feathery white blossoms, with centers of pale azure, which bloom for a day if left on the stem, but wither in a few moments when plucked. Somehow, before they reached the farmhouse. Tna had forgotten how re luctantly she made her visit, and was happy as a child, with the fading May bells on her knee and the reins In her hands, for Gerald was teaching her to drive. Mrs. Davis, a stout matron, with cheerful face, gave her a cordial wel come. and tarried her of to a large, airy bedroom, where she found a child of io or 11 arranging flowers in a vase. “This Is my baby Hilda,” said Mrs. Davis smilingly. And Tna. as she kissed the child, felt that she would never be lonely among her relatives, nor miss the noises of the city while so many birds sang in the boughs of the apple tree at her window. ••How nice they all are.” she told herself, when she was alone in her chamber that night. “And Gerald is as handsome as Harry. Poor Harry, how much lie will miss me! But lie can get excused for a week,and—and -” She turned on her pillow with a yawn. “I don’t think I’ll miss poor Harry very much, after all,” was her last waking thought. How the days and the weeks flew, and how happy Ina was in her ”lnn lshment.” as ‘the had called it. even though It was late July before Harry obtained his vacation, and wreto her that, having engaged lodgings very npar her cousin's, he would at last be able to lessen her loneliness -his poor little badly treated love! Tna laughed a little and blushed a great deal as ?he read the letter. "Whv. what in the world ails me?” she asked blankly. “I don'4. feel a bit * V good Harry is coming. T won't be a bit glad to see him. What U it?” If lira did not. understand, perhaps Harry himself did, as. arriving tho following day, lie waited r.vo hours in tho parlor at the firmhous - for hor to return from the harv st liold. to whluh she and little Hilda li.ei carried a pitcher of lemonade for the harvesters, and from which she camo at Iast| Hushed and happy looking, with Gerald at her side. “Been waiting a wrc heJiy long time!” grumbled the bank clerk, after he had saluted her a trill*' coldly, “[ thought you would be looking for me.” "I forgot all about you,, Harry,” she answered wkh perfect frankness^ which did not seem to enchant him. Then Mrs. Davis entered, was in troduced, and insisted hospitably up on his remaining for the early coun try supper. After rhe meal was over Ida had a chance to see her betrothed and Gerald side by side; and bow pale and dapper and almost 1 nsignIficant the city clerk appeared beside the stalwart yonng farmer, with bis sun-browned face amt mhsmlar frame, developed and nrado graceful by outer air and honest labor; yet Gerald, ns she knew, had taken a scholarship at one of our college^ and was. in all things, a thorough gentle man. "Marry.” she said to him. when ho and she stood a moment at tho door as lie was going away, "I think, you and I have been very silly—don’t you? And I think we will love some day far be - ter than we do now love each other. So -here, Harry; it does not tit me now* I have grown too stout to wear it.” And she placed the bethrotal ring in his hand. ”1 understand.” he saitf angrily. “You thought more of me than you did of old Drake, but I’m far less- in- von:* sight than a rustic Apollo, Very well, you are free!” She heard him with a hot color in her face and a pang at her heart. All, was it not true? Was it not be cause Gerald Davis was there, that tho country hail grown fair o-s a (Paradise to her? that she never had, been n happy in any spot, as she was* in/that farmhouse, to which her mother ha l sent her as a punishment? In perfect silence she'turned from him and went in, and on tho following day her mother arrived at tho farm, having been notified by tho banker, Mr. Drake, of Harry's trip to the coun try. ’T have come to toko yon with mo to the seaside.” said Mrs. Avondale with dignity. “Mr. Drake will! join tit there, and I have told him that y<jmt weeks of seclusion could not fail to have brought you to your senses. B* ready to go with me in tho morning.” And Ina made no answer, but dtobv I rum ixi" rutviii uuui im flitting into a small arbor in tho gar den. flung herself down iboro and burst into sobbing. “Little one.” said a ridh, tender voice near her. and a strong arm lift' d and held her. “my little Ina. what has troubled you? I thought you were very happy with us.” “But mamma is going to take mo away to-morrow.” sobbed Ina. “L wit so happy- happier than I have ever be“ii in my life and now it. is all ov- rf and—and she wants me to to n Try that hateful obi man. I am > miser able, (Jerald." He smoothed the tresses of her fair loosened hair and looked down at her sweet tearful fneo tenderly. “Ina,” he said, after a moment, “would you really like to stay he:•“?’* “Oh. so much!” “Would you stay as my wife, dear? I love you. Ina. Do you care at aN for me?” She shrank closer to him. and her voice fell to a whisper as -It g.vc h»T answer: “I don’t think, there is anybody lik'i you in the world; and I love you very mudi, (I'-rald.” “My darling!” exclaimed (Jerald. ;n he clasped her in his arms and passion ately kissed her sweet, trembling lip'. In anger and chagrin, when. ' : truth was made known to h r, M; . Avondale took Ina from the firm. .■ t she said she would, bu* when M ty belis were opening again .a. mg in hedges Gerald brought :• r ! k o it, his fair, loving bride. That is many years ago, and Allen Drake, the banker, has b d his shaft of marble over him this long ini". Harry Alton is cashier now in tho bank, and has a wife and half a dozen grown-up daughters.-—(St. i-onia Re public. LOVERS STILL. Ill« hair as wintry miow !* v. i'•; Her trembling ste; r- !•" HO eyes have bee their rn v I b-r cheeks their rosy aiov. Her hnlr has lost its tints "f •. Mis voice no Joyou thrill: And yet though feeble. m V :ir-'l ' L - They’re faithful lovers still Sinee they were wed. on law an 1 t t >fi did the dalsi* s Mo. . And oft across the tia-kb-s i Did swallows conn- and • Oft were the forest branch--s ir*t Aral oft In gold arrayed; Oft did the lilies seeiit *i.* a. The roses bloom and fa- . They've had their share --f ho,- s and 'fears. Their share of bliss and fiinc** iirst he v. hisjM-te.I in her ears \ lover's tender tale. Full many a thorn ami 1 the n' » Has lain upon their " . „n. „oa Ilut firm ami true through v - a.i . wo®, Through change or time a. Through winter’s gbxjn . tin .» sum mer's glow. Their faith and love rut v -• ■ Tog-ther hand In hand they ! Serenely down Ilf**’*4 n*n. - I:, li»pes ony grave in hurj !->•* * May hold them journ*|.