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•H V. LOVE FOR A DAY. CHAI'TER X.—CONTINUED. "Nellie—I will not call you 'darling' •luce it grieves you—wili ynu try to listen to me? Fur tlie sake "I-•](! time* and ilie Cis dear love, let me tell you a!l tluit happened. You will jiiii^euie nierc ftllly you were ahvuv- kind, and 1—• Kellie, I am not hu|.|v! nni lin- mu-t toiserable man in the wiiole wide world, it were happy, il I came to ymi the iiiMiieiice 01 a prosperous love, if my lace were lri rlit and my •eart light, then, ah, then ymi would have Season to spurn me, to hate andd"~|iie me! cut you have a true woman's heart, my lost love and women are always pithul. fclways mercilui. Listen, Nellie, be.ore Eow. judge me. Mind, I am not excu-ii:g sell—even in my own eye- I am pililul But you will hear and judge." The wild tumult of pa-sion was dying down the ra)itiireni!ice-ta-y of happiness, followed by the pa-sion ut de-pair, had ex hausted me. 1 -a' down a^ain on the gras toy strength tailed me. 1 leaned my he»d against the tru.ik of a live: he wind brought the odo- of the lilacs tome fresh and sweet. 1 grew cairn witn the serenity Ol despair. I wou.il h-icn t.i all he ha to Ull me, and then ri.-e lip and irum liim. My thought-" grew coriiu.-.- evi-rvthiiig Iras dim :i'nd indistinct in my sight: and When I came to the real con-ciou-ne-s oi What was pa-sing, Mark wa- kneeling be fore me. holding my hand- tislitlv clasjied t& his, and speaking in a clear, low voice. CHAPTER XI. "When I went away. Nellie," said Mark, •I did love you with ah my heart. Do Soncalled remember how mv father leased us, Dd my love 'lad's love'?" "And said it would dieassoon," Ire Barked. '•It was a lad's love, Nellie, but it was honest, eager, and trne. You filled my heart, and I had no thought save lor you. I would have given up going to India" but •ay lather WHS not willing. Would to BCaven that I had! I lett England, Nellie, the hope of returning at the end of four rears and making you my wife. My lather's death was a blow to me. I should have come back then, but I could not throw up my appointment. 1 shall tell »ou tho candid truth. Nellie I will not hide one word, one thought from you. During the first year of my absence, I loved Jou as truly and dearly as ever. You Were never out of my thoughts by day or •y night, I lived for you. The second year—ah. Nellie, if I wound you, I wound mynelf more deeply!—the second year I found myself thinking more of my work. I had been promoted, and the difficulties •f my profession engrossed me. 1 thought Mas ol you but I loved you just the same. I own that some little coldness crept into toy letters, that at times I missed a mail put my heart was true to you. One thing that had an evil influence over me was the Constant 'chafiing' ol my comrades. It Was strange that the cry of 'lad's love' Jetters hould be used in India as it had been in tagland. They laughed at the number of that came in your dear hand writing, Nellie. They laughed at the number I Sent awav. 1'liey said that it was 'lad's love,' that in a few years time I should laugh at it, that all the boys suffered from It and, though at times I blu-licd over it, yet my heart was always true to votf. Nellie." He stopped and looked into my miserable lace. I could not keep my lips lrom quivering, and my eyes were heavy with finshed tears. "Nellie," he said, "have vou heard any Bens—anything about me?'' "Not one word since you wrote last," I replied. ''Then," he Eaid, with some little hesita tion, •'you do not know what name I bear now?" "Your own, I suppose," was my listless reply. "Yes, my own, but it is a new one. Is it ram Si i'?1 If I. I, jssible, Nellie, that you do not know who and why 1 am here''" No suspicion ol the truth came to me in deed nothing was further from my thoughts. "How can I know?" was my impatient answer. '|I have never heard any one men Bon your name. He was silent for a few minutes, and then •ontinued slowly— "I know not which part of my story is the hardest to tell. It was in the beginning £ind the third year of my absence from Eng that a strange event happened. It was aounexpected, so bewildering, that for Some time I seemed to lose my senses and you know, Nellie, that I was in many re fpects what my father called me—merely a lad. I was so dazzled and bewildeied that I forgot all I ought to have remembered. My first thought was of vou, and I •light to have written to you but I let two ir three mails go without writing, and I intended to surprise you. I had to go to England atonce, and I knew that I could Veacb you as soon as my letters could. I did a strangely careless thing: I left no fddress, forgettir that you would prob ably go on writing. I thought I should joon see you. Nellie, do you follow me? Do not look at me with BUCII sorrowful eyes. Vou see that up to this time, the third year Of my absence, I had done nothing speci ally worthy of blame. I had been shy and lelf-conscious about my love, when I ought to have been bolder and moie courageous. I had allowed my time and thoughts to be come engrossed in my profession, at the ex bense ofiny love and I set sail from India, Still thinking more of your surprise and delisht than of anything else. But, Nellie, have not told you what the strange event Was. Can you not help me, Nellie? Can not guess what l_and and to you?" me •afely nothing can hurt "me now jlark. I have realized the fact that are married nothing more remains." "I hate myself for having to tell it," he ••id. his face flushing "but, Nellie, I was 6nly a lad, and the news completely bewil dered me, Do you remember that once when we were together I asked you about you not guess what called me back to England and to you?" "How should 1? You may tell 6lat our friends and relatives? You replied you were almost alone in the world *nd I told you that, while I had some very Wealthy relatives and some very poor, Iknew fcut little of either. There had never been »ny correspondence, nor even theslightest Acknowledgment of any kind. My father 2is ras a most peculiar man he did not like poor relations. His dislike was not Mused by their poverty, but because they had offended him many years before, and be had never forgiven them. As to the Tlch members of the family, he was too proud to seek to know them nor could he allow me to speak of them they took no notice of us, nor we of them. Lord Sev frne—Baron Severne is the proper title— Severne Court and my father were sec ond cousins." In one moment I saw it all. "You are Lord Severne, Mark?" I cried. "Yes, it is so, Nellie I am Lord Severne," he said gravely. "And Lurline—your wife is named Lur line." I said. "Yes, my wife Is named Lurline. Now you understand. I did not know that you were here, Nellie. I never dreamed of see ing you when I came out this morning. I Am here as Lady Yorke's friend and guest Lurline is with me," He stopped, thinking perhaps that I fhould speak but what had I to say? Words were useless. "Now you know what has happened, Kellie," he continued. "In the third year pf toy absence this news came from Eng land—Lord Severne of Severne Court was •dead, the brother who should have suc- /sfeeded him was drowned in returning from {Italy, and the two sons Mt, of his brother, the died from fever at school—two gener ations swept away. -My lather, had be lived, would have been Lord Severne he. was the next heir,and both title and estates are entailed. As my father was dead, 1 was the next heir. My'iatlier hail never given me to understand that there was the most remote possibility o. our succession. I do not believe he ever thought of it him self he was only s.-coinf cousin, ami at thai time Lord Severne was a strong healthy man, his brother the same, and 'he boys at selmol gave every promise of a 1 .lig li *e. ".VIIW all was changed they were dead: ami. as 1 was the mare-t ol km, I became niu-ter of Severne «'ourt and ISaron •Severne. Ne 1, as truly as there is a heaven above us. my tirt thought when 1 heard this news was oi you. 'What wili my Nellie say?'' 1 cried'aloud: and I felt proud to think that I couhl make my la.r ami beautiful love l.adv Severne. "Il I had written one line to you,then all would have been different—my life and yours but 1 was re-tless and excited. I had so much to think of. so much to do. I was pleased, proud, agitated, hut not untrue to you then, Nellie, I swear it, not un true. "The letters sent by Messrs: Norton and Son were most peremptory ill their sum mons. 1 must return at once, fortunately there was a young Knglishinan who could without diliiculty take iny place, ami I wa* free. My iriends and comrades wer* honestly pleased with my good fort une. and we parted on excellent terms. Nellie, when 1 started in the 'ljueen of the Seas.' hound from Bombay to London, my thought- were all of .vou. Oh, my true love, my lust love, how shall I tell you what happened then? "1 deserve to be shot as a traitor, as a coward," he continued, with passionate bitterness. "When I look back 1 cannot think what folly, what madness possessed ine. I am sure that my good fortune had in some measure turned my brain. "On the second day that I was on board I began to take an interest in my fellow passengers. My romantic story was known amongst them—how from a simple engi neer, glad to earn an income of a few hun dreds, I had suddenly and quite unexpect edly come into possession of a title and es tates worth sixty thousand per annum. On the second day of the voyage I walked about the deck amusin? myself with the novel sights and sounds, when, Nellie, I saw one of the most beautiful women I had ever beheld in my life—beautiful as a dream or a vision, but, ah, Nellie, not half so lair and winsome as you! "I had seen butlittleol women. Iliad never been thrown much into their society. 1 hardly remembered my own mother sis ters and cousins I had none you and your mother were the only two with whom I had ever been on friendly or intimate terms. I loved you, I understood your simple noble nature I knew your true earnest character hut I was perfectly ignor ant of the acta of women. I thought they were all like you their caprices, fascina-, tions, charms, arts, and intrigues were all unknown to me. Never was prey more easily caught. I hate myself when I think of my own folly. "The beautiful woman was walking up and down the deck her veil was thrown back, and the sea-breeze had brought a loyely bloom to her face. Her gracefnl car riage. so free, so stately attracted me first. "I saw lier lay her hand on the rail. She was looking over at the passing waves the hand was white as a snowdrop a wedding ring shone on it, with broad hands ol dia monds and sapphires. 'She is married,' I thought. Then little as I understood the mysteries of a lady's attire, I perceived that the coquettish line of white defining the form ol her beautiful head was a widow's cap. 'Who is that lady?' I asked of Captain Luttrell. "His eyes brightened, as did the eyes of every other man on board, when they rest ed on her. "'She is a Mrs. Nugent,' he replied—'a young widow returning to England. Her husband, Captain Vere Nugent, died a few months since. I will introduce you to her 'and the next'moment I was bowing before a beautiful young widow, who seem ed still a child." CHAPTER XII. "Lurline is my wife now, and I will not iay one word against her. I will not even say that 1 could do so. She was certainly the most beautiuil. the most fascinating woman I had ever seen. She looked so young that it was almost impossible to be lieve that she had been a wife and was a widow but I knew afterward that she was at least ten years older than we thought her. I will not describe her to you you will see her and judge lor yourself. "Nellie," continued Mark, "there is as great a difference between you and Lurline as between a simple natural lily of the valley and a gaudy artificial camellia. I saw it alterward but at first she took my senses captive, and held them in thrall. I remember how she puzzled me, how I watched lier. Oneol the first things that struck me was the subtle odor of sweet vio lets that seemed to envelope her. Every thing belonging to her—her sables, shawls, books fans, gloves—everything had the same sweet odor of fresh violets. That charmed me. Oh, Nellie, I was a rash foolish coward, but I never thought of loving her, and I never dreamed of marry ing any one but you! Every man on board was in love with her but she lavored me and I was weak enough, young and foolish enough to be flattered by this preference, to feel proud and delighted when the little court of admirers had to make way for me, when she laid that white gemmed hand of hers on iny arm, dismissing the rest with a little nod of the head, saying, 'I will accompany you, Lord Severne. I should like a quiet promenade.' "Itpleased me to mark hot angry jeal ousy in other men's eves it pleased me to note how they envied every mark of pref erence which this beautiluf woman show ered uptni me. Still, Nellie, I never dream ed of being false to you. "At first I was attracted by her great beauty, her fascination, herlowsweet voice her nameless charm of dress and manner, then by her decided^ open preference for me shown at all times and in all places. "I never thought .that rank, title, or money had anything to do with it I be lieved it was myself alone that she cared tor. Ah, Nellie, perhaps even a stronger man than myself might have succumbed] I shall never forget the nights on the ocean, with the stars like golden meteors in the sky, the sea dark, silent, mysterious and solemn. Such nights they were—the sea and sky so calm, and that beautiful face looking into mine! Ah Nellie, vou taught me fovej and it will never die she taught me passion, and it is deadl "I began to forget you, my darling. I must tell you the whole truth. The mem ory of the sweet face under the lilacs grew fainter the passionate beautiful face of the woman who showed this marked preference for me almost mad dened me for a time. "There can be no excuse for me, Nellie, I offer none. But remember that for the first time in my life I was flattered by all the subtle flatteries that a clever and beau tiful woman could use. The balance of my reason was gone. She had roused passion that yet was not love in my heart. I was driven on by the anger of those whom she slighted for me and one night—one fatal night, when the moon was shining bril liantly, and the sea was calm as a lake—we stood together at the end oi the vessel. Her lair white hand stole into mine her beau tiful face was raised to mine, pale with emotion, her eyes glistening with tears. I forgot you, Nellie I forgot honor, truth, and iened. not hide one thought from you. I feel sure that when I bent my bead to kiss her I had no thought of asking her to be my wife but before another half hour had passed I bad promised to marry her, and Nellie, love, listen—from that mo this ment to I have nerer had -v* nne single happy moment—notone. There could be no drawing hack—no hesitation «ven, fori found the next dav that the, whole of the passengers knew'that Lord! Severne and the beautiful Mrs. Nugent were engaged. "Weak, cowardly, sloval— ah, yes know I was all that! Hut have suffered horribly. From that hour to this I His face clouded, an angry gleam came into the eyes which had been full of pain and despair. "I cannot tell you why, Nellie, but my life is blighted. I cannot stay anywhere lor long." "Shall you ever live at Severne Court?" I asked. "Never," was the gloomy reply. "The punishment of my folly is that I shall be a wanderer on the lace of the earth." "15ut why, Mark—why?" I cried, begin ning to forget my own trouble in his. "There are some things that a man can not speak of." he replied, "cannot even think of, or lay bare to his own heart. This sorrow of mine is one of them." "Then, Mark," I could not help saying as I looked sadly at him, "you have ruined all the happiness of my life without securing your own." "That is just what I have done, Nellie. Between the remorse I feel at the loss of you and the sorrow of my «-ecret, I am the most miserable man in the world." Ah, Mark, my lover, I read in your face that your folly had cost you dear! We sat iu silence for some time, the wind stir ring the lilac-branclies and bearing to us sweet gusts of periume. AVe had not been there an hour, and already it seemed to me all eternity. I knew that we must part. Time was passing, and I should be wanted. Then theful! forceofmy misery rushed over me like a lava tide. How'could I ever take up the duties of life again? My heart and soul had no strength, no life. Where should I turn for help or comfort? For alas! I had given my whole heart to a man who had married another and had forgotten me! "Mark, what shall I do with the rest of my life?" I asked wearily. "I cannot die just because 1 wish to die. I am likea ship without a rudder. I.ove of you, whether living or dead, has hitherto filled my life. What am 1 to do?" "1 cannot tell, Nellie," he replied. "Are you happy here with Lady Yorke?" "Yes—as happy as I could be anywhere without vou," I replied. "Then do not go away. We will do that, not you. We will remain lor a few days then 1 shall say that I am summoned to the Court on business. Nellie, forgive me for what I am going to say. All I have in the world ought to have been yours—an.l I have such abundant wealth let me give you what will keep you in comfort and af fluence." 1 could not be angry: his eyes were full of tears, and his lips quivered. "No," I replied, gently, "you must not do that, Mark. 1 do not care lor money. I would rather have had one true word ol love from your lips than all the money vou possess." "I should be so much happier, Nellie, il you would let me do this. Let nie buy for youapretty little home. In the midstof my misery, let me have the one gleam of com fort that you have no worldly cares." "Nol" I cried, with quick impatient scorn. "Can you not understand that I would rather—a thousand times rather— die ol'hunger by the roadside than accept even one crumb of bread from your hands?" "Will you ever forgive me?" he said. "In the years to come, when you remember that 1 am—ah, a thousand times!—more unbaripy than you, and when vou remem ber that I can find no comfort because it* is all my fault, will you not try to forgive nie? Think of me as you did forget this inter val of folly and falsehood. Think only of Mark with his honest 'lad's love forget Mark., the man who failed you—will vou. Nellie?" TO BE CONTINUED. FROM THE PHONOGRAPH. How a Man Felt When He Heard His Words Repeated. Up town there is a phonograph, and the man who is running it is a hotel owner, says theLewiston Jour nal. He had a caller Tuesday whose "dander" was up. The room was quite full of people, and the caller had an insane desire to give his nnm "a piece of his mind." He did so. He berated him up hill and down. He didn't leave him, as he expressed it, in any kind of shape. All the time the object of the attack had on the counter by his side the phonograph, in action, only the caller didn't know it. When he had finished the Lewis tan man said: "Are you done?" "Yes, I am done," was the reply. "Just one moment," was the rejoin der "1 want you to hear what 'you said," and the merciless phonograph was reversed and the record pro nounced through the machine so that he could hear it. A blush overspread the caller's face. He listened in wonder and surprise. As oaths and epithets flowed out of the machine, the exact reproduction of his own vituperation, he moved away, and when all was done a man more sheepish and ashamed could not be found. Said he, after a moment's thought,turning to the Lewistonman: "I have had a valuable lesson. No man who would talk like that in pub lic has any right to be considered. I want you to pull that record, as you call it, off from that machine and give it to me. I'll pay for it." It was done, and thecaller stood by the counter uttering apologies and whittling into pieces the wax cylinder that contained his remarks. m' w{ CALL lii.vij( been a miserable man, lor I lound out ilia i'wa-.voul had loved alter all. and thjM :ne love of the lad wa-^ better than the pas *ion the man. There were times when I resolved on telling her, hut it would ha"e iieen u-eies-.. She had decided on mavr\ -1 ing me. and I knew that my intentions I were quite secondary to hers. When i: I was oo late, my heart went hack to it- li -t allegiance. 1 lound mv engagement to 'his woman of the world a verv biisuie-s I.'ie matter. There was no iio:'ieii.-e, no delay. We were married three weeKs alter the 'tjueen o: the Sea-' reached 1 .-•• I•11. I "A h. Nellie, you have sulli-red, but my lain has been water. Mv con: ience1 gave me no rest. Night „nd dav vourim-l age was with nie, night and dav liiv folly and cowardice were ever be.ofe'me. I longed, yet dreaded to see you. If I had known that your mother was dead, and that you were waiting for me in the old 1 home alone, I shuiild have gone to you, no matter what had happened hut your letter did not reach me." I "It was returned to nie," I interposed. "As soon as my allairs were settled," he continued, "I went abroad. Lurline pre ferred it. Shesaid she never cared to live in England and, in truth I was indifferent on the subject, knowing that no place ciuld ever be the same to me again. At Mentonc we met the Yorkes, and I liked them very much. I was a miserable, haunted, gloomy man. My wea.th brought me no happiness, because "I had lost you. I found rest in talkingto Lady Yorke.'She "eemed to think I had some great sorrow ill my life. I do not suppose I should have returned to England, at. least for some years, had not imperative business com pelled nie to go to Severne Court a ew weeks ago. Oh, Nellie, there are some dis appointments too bitter, too great for words! I shall return to Italy I cannot live in England." "Why?" I asked. AGA:*I, MR. MANSFIELD, How the Actor Went to See Mr. Stevenson and Met the Latter's Friend. I heard a very good story the other night about Richard Mansfield and Robert Louis Stevenson which has never been published. Mr. Mansfield was in London preparing for his American tour. There was some dif ficulty in regard to the production of "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," so he felt that he ought to meet Mr. Stevenson and have a thorough understanding in regard to the matter. Accordingly, the next day he sent a note to Mr. Stevenson asking for an interview. "Meet nie tomorrow at 10 a. m." was the reply, The next morning Mr. Mansfield pre sented lmnself at the lodgings of Mr. Stevenson. He was unfit to be out, as lie was suffering from a bad cold. However, he felt that it would be im proper for him to break the appoint ment. He sent up his card to Mr. Stevenson. In a few moments the servant came downstairs. "Mr. Ste venson will see you presently." In a few moments a gentleman en tered the room. Mr. Mansfield arose, thinking he had met Mr. Stevenson. He began to cough violently and sneezed several times. When he fin ished one of his fits of sneezing he looked up and said. "Oh, I beg your pardon, I thought you were Mr. Ste venson." "Xo," said the gentleman, "I'm Lloyd Osbourne. I am Mr. Steven son's friend." Then ths following con versation took place: "You are Mr. Mansfield, I pre sume?" "Yes, that is my name." "Beautiful day, Mr. Mansfield." "Yes, the weather is charming, But, Mr. Osbourne, I have an engagement with Mr. Stevenson."—Here Mansfield again begins to cough and sneeze. "You have a bad cold, Mr. Mans field." "Yes, a very bad cold. It's your London weather. 1 would like very much to see Mr. Stevenson." "O, yes, to be sure. You want to see Mr. Stevenson. That is a very bad cold, Mr. Mansfield." "Mr. Osbourne, I appreciate the fact that I have a very bad cold. I did not come here, however, Mr. Osbourne, to tell you all about my cold. The fact is, I want to Bee Mr. Stevenson, and as my time is limited I would like toseehim atonce. am to sail for America tomorrow, and as I have many engagements for today I want the interview at once." Mansfield again begins to sneeze and cough. "Yes, Mr. Mansfield," said Mr. Os bourne. "but your cold you "Well, I will acknowlsdge again that I have a cold. It is of great import ance that I arrange this at once. I cannot talk about my cold all day." "But, Mr. Mansfield, that cold" "Damn the cold. I "But yoti cannot see Mr. Stevenson. You have such a bad cold, and Mr. Stevenson will not meet a gentleman with a cold. He fears it is so catching, you know. You'll have to call again." Exit Mansfield.—Boston News HE DID NOT LIKE THAT TEST. How an Optician Unwittingly In sulted His Customer, An old man dressed poorly but cleanly entered the store of an optician in Forty-second-street the other day and stared about it in a vacant way at the boxes of spectacles, the opera glasses and the magnifying lenses. He was particularly well fitted for taking in a good deal at one glance, for one eye had an outward cast to it that Bwept the horizon due east, while the other was looking due north. "What can I do for you?" asked the optician. "My eyes are acting contrary," was the reply, as the customer fixed the shopkeeper with one optic, and with the other followed a nurse-maid who was wheeling a baby past the window. "I should think they were," said the optician. "You want a pair of glasses, I suppose?" ''Yes, I do, if you can give me a pair that will make both my eyes see the same thing at once." "I could give you such a pair," was the answer, "but I don't tnink they would help any on the whole. The lenses would have to be of such a nature,as to draw the focus of your straight eye halt way around to "that of your crooked one, which in turn would be forced over to meet the form er. This would so strain your eyes that you would not see any better than you do now with the straight one alone." "Well, if you can't fit me," said the visitor, "I'll goto some one who knows more." This irritated the optician a little, and, seeing that he had a cranky customer on hand, he quickly set up his card with letters and figures of various sizes on it, and asked the man if he could read the top line. "Yes, I see it," said the customer. "Bead it out loud, please," said the optician. "I tell you I see it all right." "Perhaps you only think you do. Bead it aloud please." "Do you think I don't know what I know?"' "I want you to read it aloud." "I won't do it." "Then I can't fit your eyes. "Then I'll go somewhere else (rising) I didn't come here to be insulted." "My dear sir, I didn't inBult you." "You did, sir." "How?" "You trijti to make afool of me?" "How?" "By askin' me again and again to read that sign." "I don't understand." "I can't read you idiot," and the victim flung himself out ol the shop while the optician collapaed. THOUGHT SHE WAS COLORED. How a Nurse In a Russian Family Received the Young: Master's American Wlte. A very interesting talker is Count Etigene de Mitciewicz, who resides with his family in a fashionable uptown boarding house. The Count is very I popular among tbeguests, he is a good story teller and is heard at his best when relating tales of Russian domest ic life. "Shortly after my marrirge," said he to a circle of listeners the other evening, "I went with my wife to visit my home in Russia. Now, you must know that in certain parts of Russia the lower classes know as little about this country as they do about the moon. Particularly was this so at the time of which I speak. "Our family. h:id at that time a nurse in their employ who came from somewhere east of Moscow. She had been told that far away America was peopled with colored folks, and natur ally when she heard that the "young master' was returning home with an American wife, she concluded that I had married a colored woman. "This nurse, among her other ac complishments spoke French fluently, She was an imaginative creature and something of a poetess. She felt that it would be an incumbent on her to do something toward welcoming my wife to our home. Accordingly she wrote a poem in her honor. "This poem tastefully decorated with black ribbons, was handed to me up on my arrival. And what do you think was thetitieof the poem? Simply this:— "A la belle Affricaine.' "That was a staggerer, you may be sure. Mutual explanations, however, followed, and the nurse, during our stay, was ever at my wife's side ready to pay homage." Stevens and Toombs, Mr. Stovall, in his new life of Robert Toombs, draws an interesting sketch of the strong friendship that existed between the great Georgian and Alex ander H. Stephens. They were as un like as two men could De mentally and physically. Mr. Stephens was delicate, sensitive and serious, while Toombs was impetuous, overpower ing and defiant. Stephens was small swarthy and fragile, while Toombs was leonine full-blooded and majestic. Yet their regard for each other was most affectionate, and the last public ap pearance of Toombs was when, bent and weeping, he bowed his gray hsad at the coffin and pronounced the fun eral oration over Alexander H. Steph ens.—New York World. A Duel In the Rain. Sainte-Beuve, the famous critic had received a challenge to fight. On the day fixed for the duel it rained in torrents. The combatants were placed in position Sainte-13euve held a pistol in one hand and an open um brella in the other, When his oppon ent protested, the illustrious writer replied: "I don't mind being killed, but as for getting wet—not if I know I it!"—Le Petit Parisien Illustre. Her Speech. Americans, we are often told, have a natural turn for speech-making. A birthday gift by the father and the three daughters of the family to the mother was thus naively an nounced to that lady by the youngest, a girl of ten: "Dear mamma, this is presented to you by your three children and your one husband."—New York Tribune. What He Did Contractor—"Did you offer alderman a hundred pounds, as rected?" THE that 1 di- Secretary—"Yes, sir." "How did he act?" "He looked insulted." "What did he say?" •'He said I ought to be in jail." "What did he do?" "He took the money." late Cardinal Manning was a tall, gaunt man, with a vigorous frame and a large head that was al most completely bald. He had a face that bore the impress of old Roman firmness, and he looked like the pic ture of a great churchman of old. He was a teetotaler, unlike many of his predecessors, and ate only enough to keep body and mind in a healthy con dition. There was absolutely no ostentation about him. When he was made Cardinal an influential member of his flock said to him: "I would like to see your Eminence riding in some thing "better than that shabby old brougham." "Ah!" replied the pre late with a twinkle in his eye, "when cardinals went about in fine carriages they generally went to the devil." Why Dr. Price's Baking Powder Is Superior to all others. No great efforts are made by other manufacturers to procure and use pure materials. It is true that one other company the facilities, but its greed and cupidity induced it in an evil hour to Ting ammonia, in order to swell its profits. Hence the Price Baking- Powder Company stands alone in its fight for a pure shaking powder. No other article of human food receives greater cam Its production, or has attained higher perfection. Dr. siPrice's Cream is surely a perfect baking powder. Free from every taint of impurity. No other article iued in .thft kitchen has so many steadfast friends among the hfmtt vive* of America. A New Dispensations* Now when he had milked the kin* and his wife had strained the milt into pots made of clav, The farmer sat himself down and, putting his hands into his pocket, sought for a shekel. And behold he found none. Then he said unto his wife: "Why is it that we have so few shekels? Work I not hard from early morn till dewy eve? Yet the shekels disappear as fast as I take them' in and I cet me' none to lay away for a rainy day." Then his wife answered and said unto him: "I also have been thinking of these things lately and I fear me we are not walking in the right dairy path, in the one that leadeth to a pocketful of shekels. Let us therefor* take some good farm papers and learn the uttermost of this business." And he taketh his wife's advice and subscribeth for a few papers. After a few months he beginneth to see wherein he had been making mis takes. And he sayeth to his wife "Let us hasten and do exactly as the papers teach," and they hastened. Then he selleth all the kine which were poor milkers andinvestethof the shekels in a new dairy outfit,and had enough left and to spare to purchase several tons of good feed wherewith to nourish the rest of the herd. He resolveth to keep winter dairy and breedeth his cows with that object in view. He maketh granular butter and wrappeth it in parchment paper. He selleth his butter to persons living afar o£E in a large city, and ha gettetli twice as much for it as ne got times past for his buttermilk fla vored butter. He raiseth the heifer calves from his best kine which he has bred to a bull whose name is recorded in a herd book. He groweth crops for soiling when the drouth comes, and be talketh of building a silo. His wife resteth and regaineth her strength, by reason of the more con venient dairy machinery her husband had bought. His children became acquainted with store clothes and go to school, while his big dog churneth the but ter. He worketh not so many hours as heretofore but the work he now doeth is profitable. Now, when he putteth his hand into his pocket it graspetli many shek els. He layeth by shekels abundantly in a bank, that when he getteth old he will be, provided for. His wife also employeth a servant girl and findetli time to grow some flowers. He improveth his farm and keepeth the house newly painted. Yes, verily, he becometh a model dairyman, chief among the men of that country, and he so enlighteneth his neighbors that they seeing his prosperity, do likewise, so the whole land floweth with milk and fatness.— National Stockman. Fashion and Piety. Dr. Talmage says that much of the piety of our churches is being smother ed under the fashions. Some of our Christian gentlemen have boots so tight they can hardly walk in paths of righteousness, and they feel in church more like swearing than praying, be cause their corns hurt and our Chris tian women shut out the sun of right eousness by twenty-dollar parasols, lace trimmed, silk-lined, silver mount ed. Do not put so much dry goods on your back that you cannot climb into glory. You cannot sail into the harbor of heaven with such a rigging as that. They would level their guns at you as being a blockade runner. A Misunderstanding. Cumso (after his return from the parlor)—Lou, what made you say there was a gentleman and his littl* son in the parlor? Miss Cumso—The maid said there was a man there with a little bill, and I thought she meant a hoy named William.—Epoch. THOSE who have been declaring that the young men of our colleges are drifting away from Christianity into agnosticism and infidelity could read with profit the census of the religious preferences of the entering class at Cornell. The class numbers 504 stu dents, and of them 284announce"that they are church members and 140 that they are churchgoers though not members of .any organization. This leaves only 74 with no church prefer ences, though it does not necessarily mean that they are destitute of all re ligion. i-r iJyS.l I