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if 1 K4,S wfiEN SHAIX TTJC MEET AGAIN?" When shall -we meet again, Dearest and bent, Thou going eastward, and I going west. Thou in whose love my heart Seeks for its rest When shall ie meet again, Dearest and best? Uot in love's common way Was my love spoken No sweet confession made, Sealed by sweet token Calmly I uttered it, Though half heartbroken Not in love's common way Was my love spoken. r$ What will its issue be? Cloud shadows fall All is uncertainty Yet over all One guideth steadily Great things and small Whac will the issue be? God guideth all. JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. KEVENGE0FAG1EL In 865, having lost an arm in the war, I accepted the quiet position of station agent at Big Lick Junction in one of the wildest mountain sections in Tennessee. The nor th and south accommodation trains passed Big Lick about 11 in the morning, at which hour the branch time train left for Riverville, the country east, and the north bound express passed at 11 at night. If I had passengers I stopped her if not, she thundered past the junction at the rate of thirty-five miles 'in hour. One warm July evening I was wait ing for the north express to pass. In five minutes it would be due. Through the still night air I could hear the puffing of the locomotive, and at the same time I saw a man hurrying up the track. He came almost breath less into the depot and surprised me by asking for a ticket to Nashville. "I'm no tramp, but I haven't a cent," said he. "Say quick, if you'll let me have a ticket for this, and stop (he express." He threw down a curious old sleeve button as he spoke, and I saw at a glance that it was valuable. There was only a moment left, but I tried to size the man up. He looked strange, somehow, but before I could deter mine whether he was a scoundrel or a crank I gave him the ticket and went out to wave my red light. As the train flowed up he said: "You needn't try to sell that trink et, I will be down here in a cek or 30 and will redeem it by paying you cash for the ticket. Much obliged to you. Good night." The sleeve-button was a large topaz in a quaintly wrought silver setting. Apnrt from its intrinsic value it was quite a curiosity on account of its evident age. As I had but one shirt sleeve it was as valuable to me as a pair would have been to any other man, and I wore the button accord ingly. A month later another strange visit or came to Big Lick, this time a lady. The train which daily made the round trip on the branch line from Riverville to the Junction and return one morn ing brought a very beautiful young lady. She was rather tall, with a per fect figure, and a face which, while it was handsome in the extreme, was particularly noticeable for its deter mined expression. It was a fascinat ing face. This young lady, who apparently came to Big Liok with no particular object, loitered along the road which led over the mountains, loitered back again and prepared to take her seat in the car which she had left but an hour or so before. She was very pleasant, said she was staying at Riverville, but thought she would like to sketch the wild scenery in the neighborhood of the Juunction. After the main line trains had cleared away I assisted her to the car. As I did so I displayed the sleeve button on my cuff, and as she caught sight of it I fancied that she started. However, I thought nothing much of that, because twenty people had each asked twenty different questions about it since it came into my pos session. Well, the next day the lady came again, this time bringing a complete artist's outfit. For two weeks Miss Milnershe had introduced herself had been a regular passenger on the Riverville accommodation. She talked to me a great deal more than she sketched, and always about war. suppose at the end of those two weeks I had told her of every item of interest (or otherwise) which had come in my way during my army life. But she never tired, and would ask a thousand and one questions of things I should never myself have thought of. Then for two whole weeks I saw nothing of my amateur artist, when one morning Miss Miner alighted from the train and shook me most cordial ly by the hand. The conductor had a letter for me. It was addressed to "The Station Agent, Big Lick Junc- tion." I opened it and read "Please have the trinket left with you by a stranger two months ago, handy on Tuesday night. He will be on hand to keep his promise, and will want to take the express for Nash ville." This was Tuesday,sothatIhadonly a short time to wearthebutton, which I had begun to regard as my own. Miss Milner stood near while I read my letter, and when I was through asked me it I could give her ten min utes of my time where we could talk without fear of disturbance. We went in to my inner office and 1 locked the door. Then she drew from her pocket a smail revolver and the mate to my sleeve button, laying them upon my desk. A curious smile overspread her face as she said: "Mr. Norton, the first time I came to Big Lick, I came with no particular purpose, merely to while away an hour or two of a summer day. Every time I have come since, until to-day, I have carried this pistol, be ing nursuaded at first that you de served to be shot. I have been eager to identify you, that I might have the satisfaction ofshooting you, and, be lieve me, I should not have hesitated for a moment had I been convinced that you were indeed the man I at first supposed you to be. The last day I was here I had some doubts as to my being on the right track. I am now satisfied that my suspicions were totally unjust. Before I go any fur ther, will you forgive me, and prom ise me your friendship and aid in the future?" I felt, to use a vulgar expression, "all in a heap." Seeing my hesitation Miss Milner continued: I will satisfy you that I had good reason for my conduct, and can only reiterate that I am very sorry now that my suspicions should have fallen on you." She then told me the following story: Five years or more ago, when the war was almost at its close, my fa ther, who was Colonel in a cavalry regiment in the Union army, was seri ously wounded. Our house was not very far from the seat of war, so he was brought to the old homestead to dieas wo all thought. But he ral lied and in a few weeks appeared to be in a fair way to recover. When, one evening, a soldier called at the house, saying that he must see my father at once and alone on important military business, he was admitted to the sick chamber and left with my father. An hour passed, when the doctor, think ing ray father would be worse after so long an interview, decided to go to the room and request the soldier to with draw. his horror he found my father upon the floor unconscious, his head badly bruised. His bureau was open and emptied of all money and other valuables. The robber and murderer had decamped. I say mur derer, because my father died that night, though not before he was able to tell something of his assailant. My father had struggled manfully, though of course feebly, for his life, and in the scuffle had torn away this curious sleeve button from his murderer. That, to me, horrible yellow jewel I have carried ever since.asthecnly clue by which I hope to find the man whom I haveswom to be revenged upon. I was only a very young girl when my father died, but I haci no mother, sister or brother and concen trated all the ardent affection of my nature upon my dear good father. So, yormg as I was, I then and there de termined and solemnly vowed to shoot that father"s murderer if I ever found him, on sight. Revenge is now the ruling passion and only aim of my life, and you can imagine my emotion when I &aw you wearing the mate to this horrible sleeve button." "Will you tell me wheie you got that sleeve button, for I am certain that you never owned the pair?" I related all I knew of the jewel and then added: "Read this letter which has just come, but remember that the man who gave me the button may be, and probably is, as innocent as I am. Do not be oo hasty, as you may mis judge a second i ime, and in any case, my dear young lady, do not shed blood, even though it be guilty blood let the law do that." She said nothing except to request me to unlock the door, and soon I saw her walking away up the mountain side. The Riverville train left with out Miss Milner, and I was once more alone in the deserted depot. About 10 o'clock she sauntered in to the station. "Let me stay inside there, out of sight, but where I may see and hear this man who wrote that he would be here to-night." I agreed on condition that she gave up her pistol, which she did after hesi tating for an instant. It was just such a night as when two months before, I had sold a ticket for a sleeve button. I began to wish I had never seen the unlucky trinket. As my custom was on line evenings, I drew my chair out to the platform and lit a cigar. Just as on that other evening, about five minutes befoie the express was due my man hurried up. "Good evening, Mr. Agent. Please let me have a ticket to Nashville and my sleeve fastening, and take enough out of this bill for two tickets. That will make us square, 1 believe, and I'm everlastingly obliged to you." "Stay a minute," I said. I have taken a fancy to this old button, and would like to buy it of you." "Don't wantto sell it," hesaid rath er curtly. "Oh, come, I'll give you a fair price for it. Will let you have another ticket and give you 5 to boot." "Can't do ithurry up. I can hear the train." "Why, is there any little history at tached to the button?" I asked. "Yes, there is, butlookabove, man." "Lo ts of time," I said, as I gazed at my watch. There was only three min utes. "Any objection to telling me what it is?" this as I slowly rose from my seat. "Yes, I have a decided objection to telling you my private affairs." He was now getting out of temper. He was a powerful looking man, but I had never known fear, so I resolved to try his mettle a little. "Must be something not very good to tell connected withthisbutton," as I twirled it between my fingers. "Curse you! can't you hear the train coming?"" he muttered. "If you won't give me the cursed trinket keep it, but for God's sake stop the train." I will when you tell me where you got it or where the mate to it is," I answered. My "monkey" was up now and I was game to see th8 end of the play. The stranger's "monkey" was up, too, for he whipped out a large seven shooter and snouted: "Dn you, get your lantern and flag that train, or, by Gd, I'll send you to fol low the man who took the mate to that button from me. Look lively, now I warn you it's unlucky to keep that trinket trommel" The train was coming along rapidly. In about a minute it would pass un less stopped at once. By thX time we were both in the ticket office, and as the stranger uttered his last words he was confronted by Miss Milner. I was astrange sight to see that beauti ful girl, clad in a white summer dress, walk up to him with a. huge-revolver in his grasp. "Give me that pistol," she said very quietly, but firmly and quickly. The man seemed dazed and handed the weapon to her in a mechanical sort of way. "Murderer!" she hissed rather than spoke, "your own words have con demned you. I am Colonel Milner's daughter, and this is the happiest mo ment I have known since you killed my father." Before I could interfere she-raised the pistol and fired. The man dodged the bullet and ran quickly out. of the door. As he reached the track the ex press thundered by, and the locomo tive carried with it, for a quarter of a mile, ths corpse of the man who had es caped shooting only to die a mose horri ble death. Colonel Miner was avenged, but I was thankful that his daughter had been spared the crime of murder, however justifiable it might have been. I managed, too, to keep th* story hushed up, and the country news papers devoted a short paragraph to the description of an accidental death on the railroad tracks. The next day Miss Milner went away, and I have never seen her since. I am still agent at the Big Lick Junc tion, but no ripple has disturbed the stillness of my quiet stream of life since that eventful September evening. I have the pair of sleeve-buttons and the two revolvers in my possession yet, but I never wear the buttons, be cause, although not givento supersti tious ideas, I imagine they may car ry with them ill luck.Philadelphia News. Punishment of Criminals. "A dark cell is not an adequate pun ishment for a desperado," says Mr. Baker, Superintendent of the New York State Prisons. "Why, 1 have known prisoners to get rat by being confined in the dark cell on a diet of bread and water. They seem to curl up and go to sleep contentedly, like a hibernating animal. Some less passive infliction is needed to bring them to terms. Let me illustrate. I once vis ited one of our State prisons, where a big hulking ruffian with an iron bar split open the skull of a slender youth against whom he conceived some grudge. The latter should not have been sent to the prison at alla re formatory was the place for him, but there he lay with a fractured head. It was shortly af\er I had abolished the use of the paddle and, by the way, I had discovered the law and had issued my order before Grover Cleveland in formed me that he had found the same statute. Well, the burly ruffian who felled the boy had no "dread of paddling. He was insolent and defi ant the dark cell possessed no terrors to him. The convict sent to that dun geon always determines the duration of his own stay there, for he is let out when he becomes submissive. Well, I sent for the oldest keeper in the jail and I asked him if he could suggest some punishment not inhibited by law. After mature reflection he re plied that he had once been in the na vy, and would recommend hanging up by the wrists. I got him to rig his ap paratus, and I tested it by having him hang myself up. What doubts I entertained as to its efficacy were speedily dissipated by a brief experi ence. I was not hurt, but I was aw fully glad to sit down. Then I sent for the thug. He entered defiant, and laughed at ^the ordeal before him. With a slip-knot adjusted to his wrists, he was soon hoisted until his toes touched the ground. At first he laughed. After a little he began to blaspheme most savagely. A little while longer and he yielded, then wept and whined and begged for mercy, promising to behave forevermore like a cherub. WThen let down he dropped in a heap like a bag of rags. In less than fifteen minutes from being taken from his bench he was taken back there with no injury done to him, yet a thoroughly cowed brute, who al ways behaved well afterward. It was a salutary discipline,.andlbelieveinit." The Danger That Lies in a Dim ple Deep. From the Chicago Tiibune. The one woman in New York who is favored by fortune in the respect of beautiful dimples above all her sisters is Mrs. Florence Rice-Knox, the singer. Her fair, round face when she laughs or smiles show a number of deep dimples about her mouth and in either cheek which add greatly to her beauty and cause much envy among her as sociates. Why or how dimples in a woman's face can be subject to the caprices of fashion is a question not easily dicided, but certain it is that they play their part upon" the stage for a generation or two and then dis appear almose entirely for a decade. Fifty years ago dimples were one of the requisites of perfect beauty, but they are rarely seen now. Perhaps this is well, for, alack! there lies more peril in one dimple than in twenty swords and the word is wicked enough as it is. There have been efforts at various limes to produce artificial dimples by various processes, but with little success. There is no charm except about the genuine, laughing, changing, come-and-go dimple of ye olden time. A goocefarm is one of the curiosities of agriculture on the eastern shors of Virginia. Within an area of about 3,000 acres live 5,000 geese, of sever al varieties, attended by herders and regularly fed with corn, etc. The ob ject is the collecting of down for quilts and pillows, and once in about six weeks a plucking takes place. Only the breast and sides under the wings are to be plucked, and it requires the yield of nearly 100 geeee to weigh a pound. The raw feathers are sent to Philadelphia for cleaning and sorting. ,m THE KJTEK OF LIFK BY THOMAS CAMPBELL. The more we lire, -more brief appear Our life's succeeding stages A day to childhood seems ayear And years like passing ages. The gladsome enrrent of our youth, Ere passion yet disorders, Steals lingering like a river smooth Along its glassy borders. But as the careworn cheek grows wan, And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, Ye stars that measure life to man. Why seem your courses quicker? When joys have lost their bloom and breath And life itself is rapid,' Why as we near the falls of Death, Find we its ticie more rapid? It may be strange, yet who would change Time's course feo slower speeding. When one by one, our friends ha\egone And left our bosom bleeding? Heaven gives our years of fading 3trength Indemnifying tieetness And those of youth a seeming length. Proportioned to their sweetness. ELSIE. Certainly there is no teacher like ex perience, though the lessons that she teaches us are often bitter ones. "You will never learn caution, my boy, till you do yourself or some one glse a mischief," Mr. Foster had said to his son Norman, a hundred times. Norman was always doing some wild and reckless thingclimbing some Dt the highest trees in the garden, at the risk of breaking his neck wading in the river beyond his depth riding 'jarcbacked on, his father's horse playing with the fierce old watch-dog :hat snarled and showed his teeth at every one who tried to caress him. Norman had no brothers, but he had little sister named Elsie, three years younger tnan himself, of whom he was \Tecy fond. There was nothing that he iked better than to have Elsie, as he called it, "all to himself," and though tie was so wild and willful when alone Dr with other boys, yet it was pretty .-o see how gentle and kind he could be i\hen Elsie was his playmate, and how tie could give up his own wishes to do *he things she asked him, and never speak a rough or impatient word to aer. "Norman is always good when he is with Elsie," his mother often used gladly to say and she only spoke the ruth and yet it was Elsie whomNor jaan hurt on that sad day of which I xm going to tell you, when in his bold play he did a thing that he never aft erward forgot, or forgave himself ^r is long as he lived. The two children had been sitting one morning with their mother in the din ing-room, talking, and looking at pict are-books very happily, till, after a good while had passed, one of the ser vants came to the door, and told her jiistress that somebody wanted her. "Then I must send you up stairs, ny little Elsie." Mrs. Foster said. But at that moment Norman ex maimed, "Oh no, let us stop here. I'll bake care of Elsie." And he had taken good care of Elsie 30 often that his mother almost at Dnce replied, "Very well. Amuse her, and be kind to her, and I dare say I 3hall be back very soon." And rising up, she went away without the least anxiety, and left the two children alone. They were nearly always happy when they were together, and so they began play, and for a little while everything went perfectly well. They played at being horses at first, and Norman let Elsie whip him to her heart's content then they played at being bears, and that game went quite harmoniously," too and then Norman 3aid he would be a soldier, and as Elsie was always very njmch delighted when Norman made himself a soldier, she tsat on the floor fCnd laughed -and clapped her hands with pleasure, as he marched up and down the room, with the poker held like a gun against his shoulder. "Only it doesn't make a good gun it's not long enough I'll get father's real gun," he said, presently. "I know where it is. Just you stay here a minute till I fetch it." And he ran out of the room, and returned almost immediately with a long revolver, which he trailed after him on the floor. "Oh, Norman, it will shoot me 1 cried Elsie, rather terrified at the sight. But Nornan explained to her, with such an appearance of knowing all about what he was saying, that guns never w'ent off by themselves, and that, indeed, it needed very strong hand.* to make them go off at all, that Elsie, who always believed whatever Norman told her, and, besides, was not naturally a timid child, soon for got her fear, and laughed and clapped her hands louder than ever as he be gan to strut up and down the room again, leveling his revolver and pre tending to fire at one enemy after an other. "Shoot! Bang!" cried Norman at the top of his voice. "Shoot! Bang! There's another down. Now I'm com ing to you. Shoot!" But there his voice all at once ceased, for as he shouted that last word, pointing the muz/le of his gun at Elsie suddenly a terrible explosion shook the room, and as the shock threw him to the floor, such a cry of pain and terror rang in his ears as he never be fore had heard, and as he never after wards forgot. In a moment he was on his feet again, with his face as white as death. Of course.he knew quite well what he had done. "Elsie!" he tried to gasp but there came no answer. Huddled together on the floor, in a little heap,quite still, and with the red blood that oozed out on tho carpet already brginning to stain har prefcfcy golden hair, little El sie lay. There was no- need for Norman to go for help, for everybody had heard the report of ho gun, and in a few seconds the whole household had rushed into the room, and--then there was a great hubbub of voices, and cries, and la mentations, but the only words that Norman heard was the piteous, "My child, my child!" that broke in a wild, shriek from his mother's lips. Was Elsie dead? They lifted her up softly from the floor. The blue eyes were shut, and the little face was white except for the stains of blood upon it, but Norman heard her give one moan, and that sound of pain was the first thing that seemed to bring his own life back to him. He had never uttered a word as they came lurrying into the room. Some of the servants began to question him one took him by the arm and shook him roughly but he neither moved nor answered. He only stood by his mother's side (his mother, who in her anguish never spoke to him,) clinging to her gown, and grasping it tight in both his hands. "Oh, I wish I was dead! I wonder if I shall be able to die'" The poor young heart in its misery was passionately crying to itself. It was almost half an hour before a doctor could be got, and when he came they carried Elsie out of Nor man's sight. An hour later,, the little blue-eyed yellow-haired child lay quiet on her bed, asleep, with her mother's hand in hers. And her mother, sitting at the bed side, was looking at her with a look as if her heart would break* "Oh, my Elsie, whose little feet will never make music on the floor again," she was murmuring over her through her bitter tears. For Elsie was not dead, and did not diehut she was lamed for life. The shot had gone into her right leg a lit tle below the thigh, shattering it to pieces, and the surgeon had had to cut it off. "It might have killed her let us think how much more unhappy we might have been," Mr. Foster said, as he held his wife in his arms, and tried to comfort her. "If she lives we can bear all the rest. Thank God' Tha nk God!" The father and mother were alone together in Elsie's room they had neither of them yet spoken to or even seen Norman. "Where is he?" Mr. Foster asked aft er a long while, and the poor mother almost shuddered as she answered- "I don't know' I know nothing about him," she hurriedly said. "Can you tell me where Norman is 7 he went out presently, and asked one of the servants "I think he is in the garden sir," the woman answered and then Mr. Fos ter went into the garden and called him. He knew that it was his duty to .see the lad and talk to him. "Nor- man," he called loudly, but it was only after he had repeated his name twice that the unhappy boy came. He came not daring to look into his father's face, and the father in silence put his hand upon his shoulder, and led him back into the house. He took him into his study and closed the door. "I must punishhim, but how can I punish him?" he was thinking to himself. I must speak to him, but what can I say?" It seemed so useless, almost like mock ery, to use words of ordinary rebuke to himto treat him as if the feeling towards him in his heart was one of common anger. For a few moments he stood silent with his hand still on Norman's shoulder then he tried to begin to speak, but a knot came into his throat, and the words would not come. There only came instead of them the sound of a great rising sob. The boy looked suddenly up in great terror and anguish he had never in his life before seen his father weep. He looked up almost wildly into the white and quivering face, his own all quivering too and then something all at once swept away from each of them all anger and fear, and in their com mon anguish they clapped each other in their arms, and on his father's breast the lad wept his heart away. We learn by experience indeed but how much the happiest are they who gather wisdom without her sharp and bitter teaching' From the day on which he shot his little sioter. Norman Foster was never an entirely light-hearted boy again. How could he be wholly happy any more when his reckless play had taken the light and gladness out of that oth er little joyous life? The look of Elsie's shrunken face in her little bed seemed half to break his heart when he saw it first, the sight of the two little ciutches she was to use, well, that took them all down, I think. All of them at least, except Elsie her self. She looked at them with big, round eyes, and laughed, andsaiditw ouldbe so funny to walk about on those two sticks. "You walk with them now, Norman, and let me see," she called, easerly, from her bed, where she was propped up with pillows. But Nor man did not do what she asked him. He could not, but ran out ot the room with a great sob. She had become, even by that time, the dearest thing in all the world to him, and she remained dearer to him than all other people as long as he continued to live. This great sweet ness and blessing came out of the in jury that he had done her, that to make up to her for what he had 10b- bsd her of, he gave her the devotion of his whole life. He had been rough and willful and reckless until now, but the thing that he had done to her changed him, through the suffering and remorse it brought with it, into another creat ure. He became a perfect knight to this fragile little sisterpatient and gentle, wise and tender. She never grew very strong the shock she had borne had been too great for her even to rally wholly from it, and in her weakness be used to care for her and wait upon her with a love that never tired. had almost taken her life away, and so he gave his own life up to her, and they grew to love each other with a love that was passionate in its greatness. When ma ny years had passed, and they were left alone, they neither of them were married, but lived togeth er till they grew almost old. She was a little delicate thing, and he was tall and strong. He used, even when she was quite a woman to* carry her about in his arms. They came to have the same thougths about most things. They were very happy, though he perhaps was a little graver than other people. But she was as bright always as a bird. "What have I to be sad about she sometimes said to him. "I might have all kinds of trouble if I had been like other women but now I have none. You never let me bear any thing you never let me want for any thing I have only to five and enjoy and be content." And so she did liveall her innocent quiet lifehardly ever seeming to miss the things that she had lost, like a caged bird that does not know the world, and has no longings to spread its wings. "She was the center of all the world to me," Norman Foster said once when death came at last and parted, for it was she who went first. "She was everything to memother and sister and wife and friend in one." He was not thinking of the bitter ness that had mingled with his love for her once when he spoke so he had ceased perhaps then to dwell on the haim he had once done her, and had come only to remember that they had walked all through their lives togeth er, like children, hand in hand. The Ohio Oatmeal King-. Chicago Herald."Yes, I know Schumacher, the oatmeal king, who has just lost his big mills by fire," said the Ohio passenger, "and an odder little man you never saw. He's a German, of course, about sixty yoars old, about as big as a gras.-hopper and just as lively, talks Dutchy, and writes the most vigorous English".hates whisky and beer as he does a har, and works sixteen hours a day. He came to this country as poor as a church mouse, started a little grocery and beer saloon,ran that awhile, and then began making oatmeal by a hand-mill in his woodshed. Finally he sold hi? saloon, peddled out meal and fai ina from a handcart, which he wheeled about town himself, and in thirty years built up the large.-t factory of that kind in the world. He won't hire a man in any capacity who drinks whisky or even beer, and has about him several hundred employes, who are mostly Germans, and strange to say, zealous prohibitionists like him self. He once brought o\er from Ger many a workman who was master of a new process. This man came un der a, two years' contract, at a large salary, his expenses being guaranteed. The second day after he beean work Schumacher learned that he was a beer drinker. In two hours the work man left the nulls never to ieturn,and with a check for neaily $5,000 in his pocket. This was the price Schumacher had paid for upholding hi5* principle.-*, and enforcing his rules to the verv let- ter." Edmund Kean. an. On the 2Cth of January, 1814, obscure country actor, named mund Kean, who had been engaged in sheer desperation, a very model of a strolling player, shabby, almost shoe less, whom the mediocrities treated at rehearsal with unconcealed contempt, appeared at Drury-Laneas fehylock to an indifferent and half-filled hou*e, but when the curtain foil upon the fourth act it was upon such a burst of wild enthusiasm as had not been hoard since the night Siddons played Isa bella for the first time before a London audience. The next day all London was ringing with the fame ot the new actor. Richard was his next imper sonation. "Just returned from seeing Kean in 'Richard,' wrote Byron in his diary. "By Jove, he is a soul! Life, nature, truth, without exaggera tion or diminution." Colei idge" said it was reading Shakespeare by flashes of lightning. The receipts rose from 100 to 000 nightly. After his third appearance Whitebread raised his sal ary from 8 to 20. One week the committee presented him with 100, the next with 500, while splendid presents flowed in upon him from all sides. Society fawned upon him, flat tered him, courted him. During six years he sustained the fortunes ol Drury-Lane upon his own shoulders rivals rose up, fine actors, but all paled before the splendor of his overwhelm ing genius.The Gentlenxan'3 Maga zine. Ed Farragfut in Mobile Bay. The smoke became *o chick that little could be seen from our decks. Tho Admiral, who had remained about the poop deck and lower mizzen rig ging, now came forward, with about four fathoms of small rope coiled in his left hand. Spiingingfrom a gun to the hammock netting, he started slow ly up the main rigging, apparently more absorbed in watching the battle with his glasses than in his own move ments. He lingered for a while half way up, but as the smoke thickened he continued the ascent until he was directly under the top. Here he pass ed, an end of the rope over one ot the puttock shrouds, and. getting between, both parts, which formed a long loop coming under his arms, he held the' ends at his breast with his left hand while he used his glasses with his right. He remained in this position through most of the battle, but just as we en-* tered the bay he went into the top with the pilot. The above is sJlthera was to the historic and interesting story about his being lacked, to the mast.Washington Star. The entire expenses of the recent Burlington (Vt) cavnivftl were $3,- 577.40. *i *yi i!