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TO CO RR ES DENTS. A’’ comtnunicjitionn for this* paper should hearronv panied by the name of the author; not necessarily for i publication. but as an evidence of good faith on the part of the writer Write only on one side of the pa yer. He particularly careful In giving natneftanddatet to have the letter* and figures plain and distinct. Prop* cr names are often difficult to decipher, because of the careless manner in which they a re written. st he yarn for to-day. Strength for to-day is all that we need. As there never will be a to-morrow: For to-morrow w ill prove but another to-day. With its measure of joy and sorrow. Then why forecast the trials of life With such sad and "rave persistence. And watch and wait for a crowd of ills That as yet have no existence? Strength for to-day what a precious boon For the earnest souls who labor. For the willing hands that minister To the needy friend or neighbor. Strength for to-day—that the weary hearts In tlie battle for right may quail not. And the eyes bedimmed with bitter tears In their search for light may fail not. Strength for to-day—on the down hill track, , For the travelers near the valley. That up, far up, the other side Ere long they may safely rally. Strength for to-day -that our precious youth May happily shuu temptation. And build, from flu* rise to the set of the suu, ; On a strong and sure foundation. Strength for to-day in house and home. To practice forbearance sweetly; To scatter kind words and loving deeds. Still trusting in (Sod completely. HOW BROWN WAS SOLD, “ Well, well, we won’t discuss the ! matter longer, sir. As I told you the other day, my mind once made up it is not to be changed, and were you to bore | me all day as you have the last half hour i it would do no good, not the least in the I world, sir. Bless me! nearly twelve j o’clock! ahem! excuse the apparent rude- ! ness, my boy, but I must ask you to let ] the gentleman outside take your place, j He comes on business of far more im portance than your nonsense, pardon j me!” “ But, Mr. Aown, one moment, sir! ! If you knew me better, I’m quite sure j you would reconsider my request, and— j and ” “Pooh! pooh! I know you well enough. A very nice young fellow. A good son, no doubt, clever and all that, and as a friend in our fami ly you are always welcome, since Josie likes you, but beyond friendship, sir, you must not advance one step. Josie i is too young for such foolishness as love ! , and lovers, and you are—ahem! well, your business all'airs are rather unsettled, j , you must admit, and I should rather j ] Josie, when she marries, marry a rich j , man. Good morning, sir!” j ( Mr. Brown inclined his stately, gray ! head as he spoke, and Archer Langdon ! , knew his dismissal was indeed complete; | so, with a grave face, the young man i j passed through the outer office, and from , thence into the street, where he was im- j mediately joined by Mr. Brown’s son, j ■ who, home from college on a short vuca- j | tion, passed part of each day in his j father’s private office. He had known , the reason of Archer’s call upon his j father in his private office, and judged, by the downcast expression of his friend’s j face as he passed again into the street, that the cal! had resulted unhappily. “Never mind, dear old fellow,” said ] Rob, as he joined his friend; “ the gov* l ernor is a bear sometimes, and we get used to a little growling. But keep up j courage, Archer; between Joe and you j , and myself we’ll try and head father off, j can't we? He didn’t forbid your coming | to the house, did he?” “No, no!” replied Archer, “ but what’s . the use, Bob? A fellow can’t keep on \ being only a friend to a girl when he’s head' over heeis in love with her. I can’t, i , anyhow, and if Josie is kind enough to j miss my visits, just please tell her why j I keep away: that’s a good fellow. No, | I’ll go myself to-night for the last time | and then I’m oil somewhere —I don’t care | where!” Bob felt sorry for his friend and prom ised anything in the way of assistance. “ I’ll even coax Joe to elope with you, Arch, and make the ladder of ropes my self, only don’t look so down in the mouth.” The young men parted soon after, Archer going to his widowed mother’s home, only a cozy little house, plainly furnished, but rich in the blessings of love and contentment, with but little re- | gret for the days of wealth long past, I save that, as Mrs. Langdon thought oc- I casionttlly, it would be an advantage for j Archer just now as far as his love for j Josie Brown was concerned. Robert went to his stately home, where I the fair Josie reigned queen next to the j sweet head of the household herself, the gentle mother to whom even the pom pous lord and master occasionally yielded a cherished opinion. And to her went j Josie, after listening indignantly to her j brother’s recital of Archer’s woes. “To think of papa’s snubbing poor j Archer so unkindly!” she exclaimed, standing with flashing eyes before her mother and bursting into tears upon that mother’s shoulder the next moment. “ I shall never care for anybody else as I care for Archer Langdon, mamma!” she sobbed, “ and if papa is not willing to receive Archer he shall never have a j son-in-law! I’ll die an old maid and I shame him 1 And then, what do you j think he said beside? Why, that I was | too young to know anything about love j and lovers. The idea!” and Josie’s small I foot tapped the ground angrily. “ I’m i seventeen years old, nearly eighteen, in j fast, and’’—here a dimple appeared in Josie’s cheek, and a smile gathered in the corners of her tear-dimmed eyes—“ I’ve had three offers already, if papa did but know it.” Mrs. Brown couldn’t help laughing at her daughter’s expression. “Now, mamma, don’t you turn on the enemy’s side. I’ve only you and Rob to j take my part, and—and—O dear! I I wish papa would remember when he was young and wanted you, he wouldn’t he j so unjust to mo, I know. You will ask j him, mamma, won’t you, to listen to reason, and I’m suro he’ll oblige you— | he always does.” Mamma promised, but in her heart dreaded the task imposed upon her. For ! herself she felt really attached to poor Archer. His mothershe valued as a wise | and sincere friend. Archie and Josie had been playmates when both were j school children, and Mr. Brown had many a time patted the boy’s head wit/ a kind compliment on his gentleman/ behavior, lie had liked to see the ■ dren, his own two and Archie, tog etf and hud himself gotten for the v when at a proper age a clerkship which the young man still retained. But when the question of marriage between Josie and Archie—no longer boy and girl— came up before the house of Brown, it j was quite another thing, and the old | gentleman acted accordingly. Mr Brown, on returning from his of fice that afternoon, found Josie in a si- I lent mood, for which he felt guilty, as I he suspected his conversation with young Langdon had by that time reached her ears. However, he was not to be thrown off’ his guard by girlish frowns or boyish : reproaches, so with stately step he en j tered the cozy library where his wife was sitting alone beside the fire, waiting in | the pleasant dusk for the “cruel papa” I she had promised to reason with. Josie, ! after her rather cool, silent kiss of grect i ing, had gone up to her room, Rob, the | fun-loving brother, was lying unseen upon the front parlor sofa, thinking of his friend Archie, and pitying Joe, his | pretty sister. Mrs. Brown, after a wifely kiss of welcome, took her husband’s cold hand i between her own, and he, looking down ■ at the lady’s delicate fingers, saw the j glisten and shine of their wedding ring !as the firelight danced upon it. It made | him clasp the hand he held more closely, ; and very tenderly he spoke of the day ' long ago when he had placed that ring I upon his bride’s finger. Gentle Mrs. ! Brown considered his words a most j happy beginning to tbe subject she was : about to begin upon, and skillfully j enough she brought him to the matter | of his daughter’s love and present un ■ happiness. But alas! instantly the old gentleman bridled up. “I see through all your round about j speeches, my dear wife,” be said, “ but pray drop now and forever the subject, t told Archie this afternoon that he was welcome as my daughter’s friend to this house, but tbe subject of love—what ! utter nonsense it is, to be sure!—must : never be mentioned between them. I ; positively forbid it. In fact, no man shall make an offer of marriage to my daughter save through me, and, though I shall never force Josie to marry unwill ingly, yet she should understand that the fact of my bearing an offer to her in the name of any honorable person is guar antee that I am willing she should please herself in the matter of reply. I should never, you understand me, wife, accept for Josephine an otter which I could not approve. And this notion of Archer Langdon’s, that he could make a good husband to Josie, is so absurd when one considers the fellow’scircumstances, of course I can’t tolerate itfor a moment. Come, isn’t dinner late?” Mrs. Brown sighed and considered the matter hopeless. She was glad when the dinner bell rang, for it put an end to a silence that-was growing very op pressive. Rob rose from the sofa with an idea in his head, something new and cute, he thought; but then his ideas were so many and varied, one never knew which of them was the one singled out for act ive service. Before Josie retired that night she had had a long, quiet talk with Archer, who called to bid her good-by (he in tended leaving the city the next day, on leave of absence, to go he didn’t know where, but too far from Josie to make it possible for him to yield to the tempta tion of coaxing her to elone according to Rob’s suggestion that afternoon). “I can be an honorable fellow' if I am poor,” he said. “ And since your father forbids my loving you, dear Joe, I can at least keep out of temptation's way.” Then Rob and he and Josie had a long talk all by themselves in the darkest corner of the large parlor, while papa, from liis favorite reading chair in the library, glanced rather uneasily in their direction now and then, and mamma watched him with no little anxiety mean while. The evening over, Josie, with a smile that gladdened her mother’s heart, and with dimpling cheeks and voice that seemed to have lost its sad tone, kissed her parents good night. “ I’m glad to see you cheerful again,” whispered mamma. And Josie replied roguishly in low tones: “We’ve planned something splendid. Oh, you just w T ait and see!” Then she ! was off like a flash, her merry laugh | ringiug in her father’s ears as the door | closed. i “ Humph! Tell me that little witch j cares a fig for Archer? Not she! As a | kind of brother, I suppose, she may be j fond of him, but do you think if she knew the meaning of real love she could be so merry and bright, particularly when Archer says he is going out of ! tow'n to-morrow? O no, wifey, she \ doesn’t love him yet, and my course is I very sensible, you see.” With a feeling of relief the old gentle man finished his paper, and Mrs. Brown kept her own counsel. Day after day and week after week passed. Josie received her friends as usual. Bob remained faithful to his father’s office, and, as he confided to Joe, “ made the governor think him a ! pattern boy.” Archer Langdon had left J town at the time he intended doing so, and the Browns had heard nothing from | him since—at least the elder gentleman ! of the family had not. On Valentine’s Day, which came round ] at last, and kept Cupid and his messen gers busy enough, Mr. Brown returned earlier than usual from the office, and his family saw an unwonted expression of merriment on his usually grave face “ Come here, Josie, my girl,” he called, after hat and coat had been hung up and boots replaced by fur-lined slippers, which the dutiful Josie had warmed for papa—“ come here, I’ve something to tell I you. First, how many foolish valentines I have you had to day?” Josie answered truthfully: “ Oh, about twenty or so.” “ Twenty hearts laid at your feet, eh?’ : laughed her father. “ Come, that’s do j ing well for a child of your age. Bui | there’s one more heart ottered you which was placed in my keeping for you this : morning, and as 1 promised to break the ! ice this evening, so that the bashful fel may call to-morrow, 1 may as well ve ; v\, at once. You remember Mr. Ed He usc d visit h ,,ru frequent gathered itself into t good,'\ t “rememberhint, and vert riomaP ' You liked him be > hated him becausi he was—was —well, he was horrid! And : the question he has asked you concern- j ing me to-day he would have asked me ! ! long ago but that I prevented him; that ! is why he hasn't been here lately.” “ Then you don’t, care to listen to all.] he said?” “ No, sir, I shall never marry Mr. Ed- I wards nor any other man, save Archer ] Langdon—and ” “ Hold on, Josephine, don’t mention ! that boy again!” interrupted her father; j but Josie, who had enough of the Brown ! obstinacy about her to make her indeed I her father’s own child, lifted her pretty ] head defiantly and replied: “ If you had brought me a letter from ] Archer, sir, or a proposal like this of Mr. Edwards from him, you would have gladdened me beyond words; but I beg [ you not to give yourself future trouble | with such messages from any other of ] our gentlemen friends, since I shall only answer as I now answer—no!” Mr. Brown’s face put oil' its jovial look, and, rising from his chair, he said, sternly: “ When I bring you a letter from Archer Langdon, miss, or a word of love from him, you may most assuredly mar ry him! But, mark my words, your chances of marrying him on those condi tions are about as poor as that I shall change into —into a saint; ha! iia!” The insanity of the latter idea restored Mr. Brown to good humor, and he Sud denly remembered some valentines r ' . Josie in his coat pocket. \JL’ ’ “ By the by, Bob asked me to give you j one or two of those ridiculous things-s --two, I believe—which some friends gave him, particularly for you. 1 thought valentines were secret and mysterious affairs; but it seems these fellows didn’t care if they were known. He got them from his overcoat inside pocket. Bob said he wouldn't be home until late.” Josie took the dainty things, and in differently, to all appearances, asked her father if he knew who sent them. “No; Bob didn’t say, nor I didn’t ask nor trouble to look at the things.” Soup in her own room Josie read her valentines, and laughed over one, while the other brought tears in the midst of smiles. With the middle of the evening came Bob, and somebody else who waited out side in the hall until Bob had silently motioned Josie out of the parlor. Then that somebody took the girl closely in his arms, and Bob sat down on the low est stair to laugh if possible, without making a sound. Then—Mr. Brown, reading his paper, was interrupted by two figures who stood beside him arm iu arm. “Father dear,” said Josie sweetly, “Archie wishes to thank you for your gracious consent to our betrothal, and so do I,” kissing the astonished paternal face and throwing her arms about the j old gentleman’s neck. “Betrothal be hanged!” was Mr. j Brown’s reply. “ What is all this tom- j foolery? Archie Langdon, I thought I you a gentleman, sir, and yet you have dared to speak again to my daughter of love.” “Father, your own words gave con sent to our marriage. You promised me this very afternoon that when you brought me an offer from Archie I should consider your consent gained. With your awn hanil win or uv i > nil' ' - ail..’,' 1..1 ter, and a little merry note from Bob j which you, poor, innocent, dear papa, j believed to be valentines. Now you will I not take back your promise to your only | daughter?” “ Who has played this miserable trick ] on me?” growled the exasperated man, I and Bob fearlessly came forward, look- ] ing the very image of the wife Mr. Brown i loved so well, and with his handsome, | boyish face full of restrained laughter. ] “Father, I plead guilty; forgive us] all, and acknowledge that you have been * done up Brown.’”— N. F. Mercury. Mr. Plumb’s Dog. Mr. Plumb, of Nelson street, having a strong desire to own a dog, has been balked in its gratification by the ob stinacy of Mrs. Plumb. Mr. Plumb wanted a dog for the protection of bis property. Mrs. Plumb was just as de sirous as he to keep the property from the hands of the robbers, and was per fectly willing to secure that object through the instrumentality of a dog, if the dog didn’t bark so. But the racket in the night made her nervous, and through the day it irritated her. A dog could not, of course, keep off a burglar without barking, but it was the want of discrimination in the animal that dis gusted her. He barked at everybody coming on the premises. Mr. Plumb must have had on trial a dog a month for the past year, but none suited. They would bark. About a week ago Mrs. I Plumb heard of a dog that would answer the purpose. He would allow anyone to come on the premises, and would not molest him, but he would not allow any one to leave until his owner came. He carried the idea that there was no harm ] in receiving visitors providing he did not j let them depart until they were seen by ! the proper persons. We never before heard of a dog of that kind Neither had the Plumbs. Mr. Plumb hastened away to see the owner after hearing the news from his wife. The dog was just as represented, and he bought him, and located him in the woodshed, where he made a bed for him. The next day was Saturday. Mr. Plumb went down town about eight o’clock in the morning. Mrs. Plumb was busy with her baking and her dinner. It may be well to men tion that Mrs. Plumb is a model wife. ! Her house is as clean and bright as a ] house can be made, and she prides her self on her cooking. In addition to the baking she was preparing an extra fine boiled dinner. About ten o’clock, find ing the oven was a little slow, she went to the woodshed for a basket of light wood. Pinch, the dog, was there. If Mrs. Plumb had not had her bread in the oven she would have stopped to have | made his acquaintance, but she was in j too much of a hurry to bestow more I than a word on him. She filled the ] basket and started for the door. Then i she particularly noticed Pinch He I stood facing her, with his tuil to the j door, every hair on his back standing j straight up, and the skin about his neck | drawn very unpleasantly forward. “ Mercy!” ejaculated Mrs. Plumb, ' hastily stepping back. The hair on Pinch’s back softly set tled down. “Pretty doggy,” observed Mrs. Plumb, j in a conciliatory voice. | Pinch made no reply, but stood there ] looking at the lady. j “Nice doggy,” added Mrs. Plumb, en ] deavoring to diffuse a smile over a very j white face, and taking a step forward at | the same time. In an instant every recumbent hair on : the dog’s back lifted itself, two rows of ] teeth glistened forth, and a most depress j ing growl escaped therefrom. The unhappy woman gave a cry of alarm, dropped her basket and scrambled with all haste to the top of a box. There, j having drawn her limbs in under her for better protection, she sat and trembled and looked. The sagacious dog made no attempt to retard this movement; on the contrary, he appeared to be highly in favor of it, and when it was over he squatted down at the door and, fixing his eves upon her, licked his chops in a painfully suggestive way. Poor Mrs. Plumb! Her bread was in the oven, her dinner on the stove, and there she sat, an object of attention to an intelligent and faithful dog, and a prey to the most poignant emotions. Several times she offered him a sop in the shape of a pleasing title. He made no mani festation of disapproval to this course, but when she sought to follow it up with her body the hairs on his back sprang to their feet, the wrinkles flowed up his.q ,’£ck,, his teeth appeared, and the growl, i 'fjep 1 and ominous, followed. i* was no use. There she was, and had she been under a ton of iron she could scarcely have been more a pris oner. She thought of her bread and the j dinner until the tears coursed down her j pale cheeks in unbroken streams. Once | in a while a subdued sob would break from her bosom. Her face grew whiter j and w hiter as the moments rolled by, and | the despairing ache in her heart grew more intense. But there was no relief. The cold was benumbing her body, while the pain was rending her soul. Her re flections finally grew so bitter and agon izing that she hid her face in her apron and sobbed outright. And there she sat and cried, and there he sat and watched, true and faithful to the last. And there Mr. Plumb found them two hours and a quarter later when he came home to din ner, and after a nervous search for his wife. Mrs. Plumb had to be lifted bod ily from the box and carried into the house, her long position in the cold hav ing rendered her limbs almost powerless. She never had been so glad to see her husband since the time when Sunday nights were a specialty with the twain, but she could not look pleased, she could not utter a word. The pain in her heart was too great. There was no need of Hying to the oven to see the bread nor to lift the lids of the pots to observe the dinner. Everything in the way of bak ing and cooking was manifest to the most casual observer on entering the kitchen. It was the event of Mrs. Plumb’s life. Her brown hair has be come a snowy white, and her face looks ten years older. Pinch is working in a brickyard for his board.— Danbury New*. Bogus Coin, and llow to Detect It. W. E. Du Bois, Assayer of the United States Mint at tn., i...j„t ~i,; . ..uuierreiters generally content them selves with the cheap and quiet process of casting from molds, though sometimes they strike the pieces from dies. The mold is made from the genuine coin, and yields a fac simile. They use a type metal, somewhat hard and sonorous by the addition of copper, and the whole being slightly silvered over in a battery, and the gate neatly rubbed out on the edge. Such a piece may pass while fresh and new. They are, however, rather too white and too thick, or if of the right thickness too light. There is something about the genuine coin that ordinarily puts it above suspicion, par ticularly after the new white surface has given place to the inimitable and per manent nine-tenths tint. It may have been abused by heating or staining, or by contact with gum-elastic bands, or disfigured with tin foil, for the small purpose of provoking a bet. In rare cases it may have a flaw at the edge, or shut in, which destroys the ring. But generally it speaks well for itself as to color and sonority. The genuineness of a half-dollar is something worth looking after, to any of us, and especially to store-keepers taking them often through the day. It is, therefore, worth the trouble to have on the counter one or two witnesses easy to be had. First—A balance, which need be no more than a thin strip of wood eight or ten inches long, neatly poised. Place a good piece on one end and the suspected one on the other; and have a weight of three grains lat hand. If the difference is more than that decline taking the piece. Secondly —A liquid test, composed as follows: Twenty-four grains of nitrate of silver in crystals; one gramme (say fifteen grains) of nitric acid, and one ounce of | water. Any druggist can put this up, j in a small bottle with a pointed glass j stopper, made for lifting drops, taking care to use pure ingredients. Remove a little of the surface of the coin by a knife, and then touch the place with a drop from the stopper. If good, there will be no action; if bad, it blackens at once.* It should be observed this is not the compound we use for examining gold counterfeits and jewelry. And, further, some people use nitric acid alone, which will discolor a good coin as well as a bad one. As for the pieces I struck from dies they are generally such j poor imitations that the taker almost de ] serves to lose by them. Such a pii ce, [ dated 1876, is now before me; good color, feeble and faulty devices, right weight, but quite too thick. R would be caught by the gauge already men tioned. It is a whitish brass, with silver plating, more substantial than the electro-plating. •■ —lt was “ John Phoenix” who invented I the phrase: “Invincible in peace, in ] visible in war.” His real name is Capt. j George 11. Derby, and being stationed at j San Francisco, where he was invited to a public dinner given by the State militia, [ a.td on this occasion being called on for ] a toast, he tired the above phrase as a blank cartridge at the heads of his hosts, t And it hit. Mas. Pajitington remarks that few j persons nowadays sutler from sugges | lions of the brain. o)nr Doniffi Jfolha. XAATJXG THE CHIFKEXS. There were two little chickens hatched out by one hen, And the owner of both was our little boy Hen; So he set him to work as soon as they came, To make them a house and give them a name. As for making a house, Benny knew very well I hat he couldn't do that; but his big brother Phil Must be handy at tools, for he'd been to college. Where the boys are supposed to learn all sorts of knowledge. Phil was very good natured, and soon bis small brother i Had a nice, cosy home for his chicks and their mother; Aud a happier hoy in the country just then C'otiid not have been found than our dear little Hen. Hut a name for his pets it was harder to iind. At leant just as suited exactly his mind; No mot fir r of twins was ever more haunted With trouble to And just the ones that she wanted. There were plenty of names, no donbt about that, *ut a name that would do for a dog or a cat Would not answer for chickens as pretty as these; Ur else our dear boy was not easy to please. These two little chickens looked just like each other; To name them so yomur would lie only a bother. Hut with one in each hand, said queer little Hen “ A want this one a rooster aud that one a hen." Henny knew them apart by a little brown spot On the head of one that the other had not; They "rew up like magic, each fat. feathered chick; One a/ length was named Peggy and the other / named Dick. Henuy watched them so closelv, not a feather could grow Wfbe dress of those chickens that he did not 1 know; ? And he taught them so well they would march at command, Fly up on his shoulder, or eat from his hand. But a funny thing happened concerning their names— Rushing into the house one day Benny exclaims; ! **U mother! O Phil! such a blunder there's been For Peggy's the rooster and Dick is the hen HOW I DID NOT MIND MY MOTHER. The children had a sailor-boy cousin. His father and mother died when he was only a little fellow, and as he grew tired I of living with uncles and aunts he made up his mind that he would run away. He had always thought that it would boa splendid thing to live od a great ship and to sail away off over the ocean and see other countries and some other peo ple. lam very sorry to tell you that he was not always a good boy. He was not careful always to speak the truth, and he learned to say bad words, and made those who would have been glad to love him and make him happy a great deal of trouble. One day, after he came home from school, he told his auntie that he was going out to play for a while. She said, “ Very well, James. Be sure aud be at home before dark.” But by and by the lamps were lighted, and then the tea was all ready, and so the hours passed along; but James did not come home any more. His aunt and uncle felt very badly, aud could not sleep that night; for they wondered where James was and if he could have met with any accident. \ cry early the next morning they inquired all about, and at last learned that he had really gone off in a big ship, away off to China. This is all ! that I will tell you about the sailor-boy, ] James, just now. But don’t forget, about him, as presently I shall tell you how he came back, years after; how he made me disobey my mother; and all the trouble that came of it. 1 suppose you have often heard of - children whose grandpapas had grandpa had a splendfagleat t'Ju’lH, wTtfi cows, and oxen, and horses, aud pigs, and sheep, and hens, and turkeys, and ducks, and ever so many beehives. There was such a grand old barn, too, and from some of the cross-beams, high up near the roof, there hung the dearest old swing! I have never forgotten it. J It hung low, so that we couid push our selves with our feet; and the air was so j sweet from the fresh hay that was stacked there during the summer time, so that it j could be ali ready for the horses, cows ] and oxen to eat when the stormy, snowy j days came, ami they could not wander j about the fields and nibble the green grass. On each side of the middie of ] the barn where the swing hung were the stalls, where the cattle were chained j during the winter. Sometimes they j would be fastened there during the sum mer; but they always frightened me and i I would run away. I didn’t then and I don’t now like to look at a cow’s eyes. | They look at you so steadily and go on ] chewing their cud so solemnly, just as if i they were making up their minds wheth- ] er or not they would give you a toss up in the air with their horns. High up among the beams the swallows had built their nests, and such busy little people as they were, flying in and out through the windows, talking and chattering to each other in a fashion that I suppose they could all understand. Perhaps they were building some new nests, and one Mrs. Swallow would say to the other: “ Just come and take a peep at my new house. See how firmly 1 have built it. See how soft it is. Will it not be a lovely nursery for my little baby swallows by and by?” Very busy little housekeepers; and they made a great noise about it, too. Well, this summer that I wish to tell you about I had gone with my moth er and my brotuers and sister for a long visit at grandpa’s farm, and who should be, there but the sailor-toy cousin that I told you about. He had been on several long voyages, but had written no letters home, and when we supposed that per haps he had died, far away, he as tonished everybody by going to grand pa’s farm, too. Just across the road that ran in front of the house there was a large, lovely, green meadow; and at the foot of itjthere was a bright, clear spring of water, and it overflowed, mak ing quite a good-sized pond. In this pond there were the very prettiest little trout—so shiny, with their spotted backs glistening in the sunshine. Now, my mother had often said to me: “ Mollie, be sure that you never go down to the .spring unless lam with you.” And I al ways minded her, till one unfortunate night. It was just about sundown, when Cousin James took his long fishing-pole and line, and Margaret, my grandma’s hired woman, took a pail; and just as they were starting off 1 saw them and asked: “ Where arc you going?” “ Down to the spring, little Mollie, to try and catch some fish. Didn’t you want to go too?” Oh! how I did want to go. I wanted to go dreadfully; but what should I do? My mother had gone to ride, ntul I could I not ask her leave; and she had often for bidden me aud told me to keep away I from the spriug. “Come, little Mollie," said Cousin James, turning round. “We’ll be back before your mother, and she won’t know that you went. I sba’n’t tell.” It was too much for me to say no again; and, thinking I would just go for this once, and be home before mother, j after all, I started off on a run to catch up with them. For a little way, as IT trudged along, I was so happy! I waJ ■ going fishing—just the very thing that J had been longing to do. ' Then wo/t Si come the question to my mind: “JjHjfc you minding your mother, Mollie, IjW will you not be acting a lie if, when yotL go home, you do not tell her?” But i? >( was not my plan should \! be carried out, as you will presently see,/ 1 We walked on, till at last we came*' the spring; and Cousin James mf ready his fishing-line and dropped it X the water. He sent me a little way for fear that I would make a noise d? disturb the fish. I walked' along til * came to one part of the pond where s 4 boards were laid, and on them you eqf cross one corner of it. I thought tl/ would try the little bridge, and stai ’ off bravely. 1 walked safely on board, and w T as just stepping ov* next, when, oh dear! myfootslippe off I went into the water. I caugb ' of the board; but thewaterwas up , my waist and it was so deep and I screamed and thought of my mi expected the fishes would swim u] bite me; and that, at last, I shoe . drowneitl “ What in the wide world are you about, Mollie?” said Cousin James. “ Hold on. Don’t be frightened. I’m coming.” In a moment he was by me, and his strong arms lifted me upon the board again. But w'hat a plight I was in! Muddy, wet, cold, crying and frightened. He helped me out upon the grass, sav ing: “Too bad, little Mollie. Toobail. Not much fun for you to-night. Now don’t cry; but hurry home and go to bed before your mother comes.” It was all very weil for him to say hurry home, when I could scarcely walk, my clothes were so heavy with water. And how 1 hated to go home, all dripping as I was; and what would my mother say? Margaret started along with me, and almost dragged me over that long, meadow. It did not look the same loveiv green meadow that I had always fancied it; but a long, lonesome sort of a place, and it seemed as if Grandpa’s house was miles away. I did hurry all that I could; but I just cried out loud when I saw the carriage drive up the road and my mother get out at the door. My hurry ing was of no use. She must see me in my bad fix; and know, too, that it all happened because I was disobedient. As we came to the house 1 heard her asking: “ Where’s Mollie?” It was too much for me, and, calling out: “Here I am. And I’m all wet through and through. And I didn’t mind you, and I went down to the spring, and tumbled in!” I burst out crying louder and more bitterly than be fore. She did scold when she saw me, with my new pink calico dress all spoiled and shoes and stockings covered with mud, and I knew very well that I deserved it; but when she saw how terribly I felt, how very sorry I was, she forgave me. She put my feet in hot water, tucked me warmly in bed, and left me to cry myself to sleep. But the next morning she told me how very naughty I hiyteh'oecaase'untfsin James’ nha coaxea me, she said that she could not excuse me at all, and if I only minded her when I was not tempted to do wrong she could have but little confidence in me. Cousin James left us all before long, and it was some years before we saw him again. I have never forgotten thatsummer’s even ing when I disobeyed my mother and fell into my grandpa’s spring. It is a great many years since then, and now I have some little children of my own; and I always advise them, and all other little people, to mind their mothers, if they would be hattpy and keep out of mischief. —.V. }'. Independent. A Grasshopper Story. Two men were traveling in Kansas last summer, and when about fifteen miles from Lindsey, on the Solomon River, the grasshoppers appeared over them in such swarms as to make it as dark as twilight. Suddenly they began settling down'in swarms right where the two men were riding along on horseback. The jerky birds came down by countless millions, and all traces of vegetation dis appeared as if by magic. They covered the ground several inches deep, and sud denly seemed determined to settle on the men and -horses: One of them, a man named Dan Kavanagh, was thrown to the ground by the frantic plunging of his horse, and the grasshoppers, appar ently attracted by a green calico shirt which he wore, swarmed upon him, and, in less time than it takes to tell it, had eaten every shred of clothing from him, and, horrible to relate, began devouring him alive! His companion, a young Ger man named Fred Keiser, had a black snake whip, with which he managed to fight them off and tried to save poor Dan. The horse reared, fell and rolled over with him, but he managed to regain his seat, and it was not until Kavanagh had been skinned alive, and all of the mus cles and flesh eaten from his breast and ribs, that Keiser gave up and galloped away. About seven miles from the j scene he found a ranch and was cared for. He was so bitten that his hands, j arms and head swelled to twice their j natural size, and he luy in the greatest agony and delirium for a week. When he recovered his horse was dead, and j the ranchmen went with him to the scene jof the disaster. They found nothing [ hut the skeleton of his companion, the ] hones picked clean and almost buried in the mass of grasshoppers, which still j covered the ground to the depth of a j foot. His horse’s skeleton lay near him, j the voracious insects having eaten flesh, j hide and hair. As the ranchmen own nearly a whole township in that vicinity, j which they are about to sell to an En j glish colony, they swore Keiser to seere |cy in regard to the affair, gave him a | horse and entire new outfit, and let him :go on his way rejoicing.— Cheyenne j (IFy.) Leader. —The Petersburg (Vn.) Index says a 1 gentleman of that city, while walking over the battle-ground of the Crater, ] picked up two minic-bulis flattened and | imbedded in each other. One was a [ Federal and the other a Confederate ball.