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Miss Powell's Travels.
From Youth's Companion. Just why she should have decided *o leave her comfortable home and travel in "foreign parts" for six months, Miss Pamela Powell would "have found it difficult to explain. Partly it was because the chance had come to her. "It was none of my' seeking," she aid to an inquiring friend. "America is quite good enough for me. I never felt any call to go eaddina about the world in search of something better. This is Jame's doing. I'd never have "thought of it if it hadn't been for him. He's picked up a foolish notion som where that people who've been to Europe are better off and Icind of respected and looked up to. and he wants his folks to be equal to other folk's folks. So when they fitiuck the new bed of ore in that mine of his and it turned out to be worth so much more than any one supposed it was, he was taken with a rich fit, and nothing would serve him *but I must go over at his expensef and travel the whole summer and see ^everything. In spite of this disclaimer, I think there may have been a mingling of -other motives in Miss Pamela's deci sion. She has a private desire to see Europe in order to prove to her own vmtnd and the minds of others that it was inferior to America. This was not a broad or just view to take of the matter, but there was a certain loyalty and consistency in it that nvas very characteristic. She was stanchly a woman of her word, and having consented to go she did so, on the first of July, in one of the qrand-est of steamers. It was her first experience of a large steam veiel. Her dissatisfaction with everything foreign began on the first days of her voyage. "There can't be any use in all this -wabbline," she told the stewardess, "and that screw, or whatever it is, that keeps up such a grinding would run smooth if the engineer knew his business. But in spite of he'r protest the vessel kept on "wabbling" and the screw continue to grind, and Miss Pamela had to endure both as bef she might, till, on thf ninth day, her miseries ended at Liverpool. Ended, did I say? They only be gan. A night on shore after many nights at sea can never be unwelcome, but Mibs Pamela was by no means pleased with the arrangements of the big Railway Hotel to which, in common with most of her fel low-passengers, she repaired. She was asked double for her room because it had a double bed in it, which seemed unfair, because she did not want a double bed, and only took it because no single ones could be had. When it came to the charge of a shilling for th use of a tin bathtub her indigna tion overflowed *'In America we should be ashamed to charge a stranger for a little water to wash in," she said, severely, to the "Boots," who had brought her bill. "No charge made for the water, *mum it's use of tub. Please remem be the 'Boots', mum." "I'm not likely to iorget anything :at a hotel like this," responded Miss Pamela, and she walked majestically on, taking no notice of his out stretched hand. The railway was the rwxt object which excited her repro bation. "How behind the times these English are!" she said to her next neighbor. "How different these cars are from *ours! No stove, no ice-water, no .boys with books, and you can't get up and move about if you want to aver so much. Trie baggage arrange ments are perfectly benighted. I ask ed for a check, and the man didn't even know what I meant. He persist ed in saying that it was all right and I should have no trouble about get ting-my trunk in London, if only I'd recollect that it was in the second luggage-van. When I asked what was to hinder some one else claiming it and carrying it away before Igotthere, he said if I liked I could get out now and then and keep an eye on it, but there wasn't often any trouble about luggage. Gracious! what's that?" as ithe door closed with a lond click. 'Only the guard locking us in," ex plained her neighbor. "Locking us in! That I will not submit to!" screamed Miss Pamela. "Guard! guardl Come here this mo jment!" "Yes'in," said the guard, popping ftmhead in at the window as the tram moved away. "Unlock that door at once, please. I can't imagine why you locked it. It snakes .K&S as nervous as a fish out of water. Suppose the train should catch fine. Pray, what what would you expect us to do then?" "Sorry, mum, can't oblige you. Against orders of company, mum," *in the guard hurried away, dining to the window-frames as he passed from one carriage to the other, and leaving Miss Pamela at a white heat of indignation. Acting on the advice of a fellow traveler, Miss Powell had telegraphed in advance to secure lodgings in Lon don. She found her rooms all ready, and her landlady, one of the typical .sort, stout, florid, distinctly English in Iber ideas and distinctly London in Hier use and disuse of the letter H, waiting to receive her. Her name was Mrs. Bexley, and she preferred single '/ladies as lodgers to any others, for Jong experience had taught her that they furnished an easy prey for small extortions and speculations. Miss Pamela Powell, however, was one of another sort. Her very first act was to produce a jpatent catch, brought over for the jiurpose, and affix it to the lock ot the Cupboard in which she proposed to tcecp her private stores. Mrs. Bexley unrvoyed this arrangement with great 4ii)favor, -1 "Indeed, mem, there's no need fcr such a precautionnot in my 'ouse, mem. I'm that particular about my lodgers' tea and sugar as if it was my bown, mem," a statement which, be it said, was strictly true. "Very likely," responded Miss Pam ela, briefly. "I always use these fast enings on my own doors at home. There's no need of putting unneces sary temptation in the way of your help. Mrs. Bexley." She then chanaed the subject, and proceeded to order dinner precisely as if her foot was on its native heath of Guilford, Conn. Her first order wag shad. "Shad?" repeated the mystified landlady, "I don't know what it is that you mean, mem." "Do you mean to say," demanded Miss Pamela, "that you don't have shad over here? What, you never heard of them? Well, I'd like some soft-shell clams." "No such thing in our market, mem." "Why, you poor creatures!" said the pitying Miss Pamela, "what do you eat? You don't seem lo have anything good. Did you ever hear of a mutton-chop?" "Oh, certainly, mem. Henglish mutton beats all in the world, I've always 'eard say." "I don't believe it's a whit better than ours," retorted the uncomprom ising Miss Pamela. "Why should it be? Our pastures are excellent, and judging from what I've seen of your climate I should suppose that your mutton would taste damp. Two mutton chops, thensuch as they areand some mashed potatoes you have potatoes? "Ot course, mem," replied the of fended Mrs. Bexley. "Andlet me seeare blueberries ripe yet? What, no blueberries, eith er? Does no fruit grow in England, Mrs. Bexley. "Certainly, mem. We have very fine fruit. Strawberries is the fruit in season now, mem, and gooseberries. You could have a tart, mem." "I don't care much for tarts." said Miss'Pamela, "unless I make the paste myself. No, I'll have a good straw berry shortcake, if you know how to make one." "Indeed, mem, I don't. We never use the fruit in that way, 'ere in Heng- land." "Oh, well," said Miss Pamela, with the resignation of despair. "Just give me anything you've got, raw or cook ed. People who are foolish enough to travel must put up with with what they can get. But stay, perhaps you could get an egg-plant. No? Good gracious! didn't you over hear of green corn, or sweet potatoes, or tomatoes even?" "Oh, yes, mem, we 'ave tomatoes, but they're 'igh just now three pence apiece they was yesterday in Covent Garden, mem." Three pencewhy, that's six cents of our money-six cents apiece! Well, I never would have believed that, if any one had sworn to it. Why, Mrs. Bexley, in America, where I live, to matoes can be had by the bushel for next to nothing. Don't you have any vegetables here except potatoes?" When she reached the continent, Miss Pamela felt so very lonely in the midst of all the life and movement in which she had no share, that she fell into the way of timing her plans so as to travel with an American party, under the guidance of a certain Miss Wise, or to follow and overtake them wherever they might be. Miss Wise did not object to this, but the school girls, who were traveling under her care, found Miss Pamela a source of mingled entertainment and vexation. "She's great fun though," said Mat tie Allen. "It's really quite impres sive to see her stand up everywhere all over Europe, and protest against everything that isn't American. "I wish she din't look so," said Anita Ward, one of the party. "Real ly, I'm quite ashamed to be seen with her sometimes. She wouldn't be bad looking if she wore better clothes." "Bless you. child, that's her consis tency again. She doesn't approve of French fashions. She has informed me several times,'that the fact that the empress of this and tne queen of that wears thus and so is no reason, at all, why sensible people should fol low their example." When we go to" Paris, I'm going to use all my influ ence, I flatter myself that I have a little, to get Miss Powell into a tied back dress. "You might as well try to make St. Ursula and her eleven thousand vir gins stylish, as Miss Pamela," declar ed Mary Jackson. Miss Wise and the girls made a little detour to Fontainebleau on the way to Paris, so that Miss Pamela preced ed them by a couple of days, They had expected to find her at the Pen sion Elise where they had just met, but she was not there. "Where do you suppose the queer old dear has concealed herseii? asked Mattie, as day after day passed with out bringing any news of the missing one. Mattie had an odd sort of fancy for Miss Pamela, who amused her im mensely, and Miss Pamela reciprocat ed it. It was more than a week before they found out. Then a note came to Miss Wise. Miss Pamela had taken an "appartement," she wrote, in one of the old streets near the Luxembourg, and she begged they would all come to see her. They found her, settled exactly to her mind, in two little rooms full of sunshine, with a small stove and a rocking-chair, which she had hired for a month. She had taken down all the wax fruit and mirrors with which she had found the room adorned, and had made it look as much like a New England "keeping-room," as was pos sible under the circumstances. "I haven't been so comfortable since I left home," she told them. "I've got a skillet of my own, and I make dip toast whenever I want to. I've had baked beans twice, and they tasted quite natural, though the beans were not the right sort. And I got a can ot that patent cod-fish, and it made as good fish-balls as I want to see. If you'll all come to tea some night we'll have some." "Why, of course, we will," 3ried Mattie, "what fun! But, Miss Pamela, what is'that?5 full of sewing materials and half made i What Became Of Uncle Ja~ garments. "Well, you see I'veeot to have some new things to take home. Partly the neighbors'll expect it of me, and part ly because all my things are giving out at once. So I weut to some of the dressmakers whose addresses you gave me, to see what I could do. But, bless you, not one of them could make a thing as I like it. They've all got their own patterns and they're bound to use'em, and as for the dressmakers, they were all sure that madame would like this, and that would become mad am's style. "Bah! I got 6ick of them all, and as none of them would agree not to bunch my skirt3 and pulf them back in that absurd way in which they're all made now, I just got mad, and said squarely and fairly that I'd do the things myself. It happened nice ly, for I caugrit a sore throat, and didii't want to be going about in the drizzle seeing sights, anyhow, so I just bought the materials, and settled down comfortably to sew. I had my waist pattern with me, and it wasn't any great affair to fit, and reaMy I've had a nice time, and taken solid com fort over the whole thing. There they are now, almost finished." Sure enough, there they were, neat piles of underclothing, made exactly after the patterns bequeathed to Miss Pamela by her deceased grandmother, and two dressess, one green and one brown, precisely like the two which she had brought from home, except that they were new. Mattie looked at the straight overskirts with the well-known little double hitcn on either side of the back breadths, at the row of buttons on the sleeves, and her cheeks dimpled wickedly. "Miss Pamela," she said, "you are the only perfectly consistent person I ever knew." "I don't see that you are altered one bit," said a friend to Miss Pamela, after her return home. "Most people come back from Europe quite differ ent, with all sorts of new notions and fashions, but you are just the same as far a3 1 can make out." "Those must be weak-minded peo ple, I should say," replied Mi3s Pamela, severely. "There's nothing in Europe, so far as I know, which ought to make any difference in any body with common sense." Susan Coolidge. A Superhuman Performance. Some one in the Kansas City Jour nal describes one of the feats of Mad am Blavatsky, the leader of the The osophist society: At a small dinner party. Professor Clarke, of the geodetic survey, who was once a student at Cornell, in the same class with Governor Foraker, of Ohio, told me of a strange experience he once had in New York with Mad ame Blavatsky, the notorious theos ophist. He wished to test her supposed su pernatural powers and see for himself if she could do any of the wondeilul things alleged, ot -which Julian Haw thorne is so fond of writing. He called and stated the object of his errand. The madame was seated in her arm-chair at one end of the room. "Write a letter personal to your- self," she said, "about something unown only to yourself, and seal it." He did so. "Drop it on the floor near the ta- ble." This was done. She put her hand near the carpet, pointed with one fin ger and the letter came to her. She took it up and made a motion as it to open it. "I beg your pardon," said the start led professor. "That is a general and private letter." "Oh, I will not open it," was the re ply. "If you look upon the table you will find a copy ot it." She handed the sealed letter to Pro fessor Clarke. He went to the table andteaw an exact copy of his letter in his own handwriting upon another sheet of paper. "Seal that up," said Madame Bla vatsky, "and when you get home you will find it under the table in your study." "I put on my hat, thoroughly fright- ened," he said to me, "and got out of honse as-soon as I could and rushed home. I found the copy of my letter just as she said I would." "How do you explain it?" I asked. "There is no explanation," was th reply. Plots of Perjurers. From the New York Journal of Commerct. Three witnesses recently agreed to gether to perjure themselves for the sake of a comrade, and they rehears ed the main features of their story, which was to establish an alibi to show that the accused was in another place at the moment the crime was committed. When they were examined, seperately, they gave such different versions of the surroundings of the scene they described that the scheme failed, and that they were disgraced. A correspondent askes if such a plot was ever successfully executed. We answer in the affirmative. It may have been done many times, but one notable case is told by Sir William Earle, before whom, as Judge of the court of common pleas, the prisoner was tried. Four of his confederates wishes to prove an alibi, and so they met, designating one of their numbe- by the piisoner's name, and started out to spend the evening together. Thy took a walk, they went to a public house, had a quarrel, made it up, drank beer togeth er and passed thiough a variety of adventures before they separared. Then the three were offered as wit nesses. The only lie they had to tell was in the date which they fixed for the evening of the crime with whi the prisoners were chaTged. Being cross-examined separately there was no contradictibn in their testimony, as they all remembered the actual in cidents of the evening and each to'.d the same story. The criminal acquitted on their testimony. Ti.ty tried this invention again on the ar rest of one of thegang, but the authci ities were suspicious when they saw that he testimony was a mere dupli cate of that given on a former trial, pointing to a table -and^it w^a easily expo3ed. cob's Quitting. .New York Witness. "Fie, man! Spoiling your break- fast," said Uncle Jacob, as he came into the garden where I was at work. "Too bad to spoil such nice break fasts as your Mary gets." "Why, Uncle Jacob," said I, "I was brought up to earn my breakfast be fore I ate it." "Tut, tut, man' didn't Working in the pure air." "What then?" "It's that nasty pipe that is mg God's sweet air for you. your appetite, too. I know all about it. I never had a good breakfast for twenty years, though your Aunt Rachel is the best cook you ever saw. I used to find fault with my victuals and tell wife they didn't taste like mother's. The patient soul bore it all meekly for years, but one morning said: 'Ja- cob, did it never come into your mind that the difference between your mothei's cooking and mine lays in that pipe? You didn't smoke when you ate her food. I try hard as I can to suit you, but you mix so much tobacco juice and smoke with the victuals that it spoils it all." "I didn't say anything, because there wasn't nothing to say but I kept thinking, yes, and smoking, too, for awhile, but I didn't find any more fault with your aunt's cooking. One day, while I was down East for a spell, I was thinking what I could carry home to Rachel. It kept coming into my mind that the thing she would like best would be a husband with pure breath and clean lips. So, with a mighty effort and a prayer for help I said: 'I'll do it. 'I'll quit now and forever, so help me God!' "Did you?" said I, taking my own meerschaum from my mouth. "Quit?" said he, "I'd do it after I made up my mind to it if it killed me that's your Uncle Jacob. There was an old lady moved from our neighbor hood, who lived right on the road where I was traveling. She'd known me from a boy. I went to her and I says, says I, 'Aunt Polly, I want to make you a present. I'm going to give you my pipe and tobacco.' The old lady smoked. I knew she never would quit, and I couldn't quite bear to throw the pipe away, I'd had it so long. 'What fur?' says she. "'Oh, I'm going to quit. Aunt Polly.' "'Quit?' says she. 'Why, Jacob Gay, it will kill you! You can't do it.' "'See 'i I don't,' says I, and I rode away. "It's been twenty years and I haven't been back after it yet. And it didn't kill me either," said Uncle Jacob, throwing back his broad shoulders, and striking his deep chest, and showing his teeth sound and white, in spite of his seventy years. "Didn't you hanker alter your pipe?" I asued. "Hanker! 'Tain't no word for it. Fact is, I don't believe there's any word strong enough. But I'd made up my mind. I was crosser than ten bears, and I didn't dare to go home for three weeks for fear I should abuse Rachel." "What did Aunt Rachel say when you told her?" "I never said nothin' about it at first, but I didn't smoke. If she no ticed it she didn't let on, the first day. The second day, after dinner, she said, 'Jacob, seems to me I haven't seen you smoke since you got home. You ain't sick, or nothing,' be you? Does your business trouble you?' said the kind old soul, anxiously. 'Poh,' said I 'I've always smoked after I ate for thirty years.' 'But I'm sure I haven't seen you nor smelt tobacco.' 'Go an' look in my other clothes, Rachel, and see ii you don't find my pipe and tobacco/ "She went rummaging away for awhile and at last said, Where be they, Jacob'" she looked so astonished that I said, 'Well, Rachel, you needn't look for 'em no more. I felt the pesky things down in Burnham (that's a good place for'em). You and I will never see 'em again. I've quit. Hain'tsmoked for three weeks and don't mean to for ail time.' You should have seen your aunt's face light up. She kinder sidled up to me and said: 'Jacob Gay! I must say!' and then she kissed me, a thing she di&n't often do. 'Ppects she didn't like the smpll of my breath. I tell you, Rach el's cooking was tip-top after that. "I've had good breakfasts for twenty year, to bad taste in my mouth. Don't need to do anything to get up an appetite. Rachel's cooking is as good as* mother's, and better, too. You can't think how pleased she is when I praise it, seeing I was on the other track 30 long. There's- the breakfast belk Come, nephew, throw away that old pipe and let's go in and tell Mary." "I won't allow that my Uncle Ja cob-has stronger will power than I. What he can do his nephew ought," I said. "IE he can stopsmokingl cant." "But don't forget where tbestrength comes from, my boy," said my uncle. "If you do. likely as not you'll fail. Tain't no easy job. 1had a big tus sle,, and so will you. Don't try the job- alone. But there's, the bell again. Mary thinks we dita't hear." I had just gathered a charming bou quet of roses for my \srfe, and as we passed into the duning-room I placed: them on the vase by her side, and hidden beneath the leaves I tucked my precious meerschaum. Mary thanked me for the flowers, but did not see the thora among them. After Uncle Jacob had said grace, Barry, Jr.. pulled Mary's sleeve and said: "Oh, mamma, see! There** papa's pipe in the rests.*' Mary looked up quickly, the crim son rusloag to her cheek, but she only mean spoil- Spoils W).y, Harry!" She thought her husband was playing a silly joke. I saw how she took it, and hasten- ed to say, "Mary, they are all yours the roses and the thorn beneath them.'* She gazed at me incredulous a min ute, but my face reassured her, and she asked: "Harry, may I have it for my own to do just what I please with?" "Yes!" I answered, "if you won't smoke it. I can't have "any more smoking in this house." The mistress excused herself from the table a moment, took the "old enemy," and sped away tothekitchen stove, wiped her eyes, washed hei. hands of the whole business, and then came back as sweet as one of the roses she put in her belt. "Thank you, Harry," she said, and the wealth of love that looked from her eyes more than paid me tor the struggle my determination had cost. "It's all Uncle Jacob's doing. He's quit, and so I am going to." Then Uncle Jacob, at the earnest re quest, told the whole story of his bat tle and his victory. The boys, Har ry, Jr., aged seven, and Walter, thir teen, listened with eager interest. When breakfast was over they went out, but soon returned, Harry bring ing a cigarette and Walter a bunch of cigars. "There," said Harry, "1 tried to smoke 'cause papa did, but I'll quit if he does." "So will I," said Walter, blushing. "The fellows teased me to try it, and Will Courtney gave me these. I be gun to like 'em, but I felt mean when 1 looked at mother. I knew she'd feel bad to have me smoke, bhe hated it so. J'm ||glad it's out, mamma. I'm quits, too." "I declare." said Uncle Jacob, this is what I call an anti tobacco club." "Oh, papa, cried Walter, "lots of the boys are smoking just like us. I mean to get up a club can I? May I ask some of them here and have Un cle Jacob tell his srory. and we ours may I?" "Ask your mother, bov," I an swered. "Indeed you may, Walter," replied Mary. "I'll help you all I can. We'll have a real Thanksgiving supper." "Oh, mamma! how good you are. I'm so sorry I cheated you," said Walter. "And I, too!" said Harry, Jr. "And I, three!" said Harry, Sr. "But I have a confession to make," said Mary, Softly. "You, Mary!" I whispered. "You, mamma!" cried both the boys. "You, Mollie!" cried Uncle Jacob, with a queer smile. "Have you been smoking, too?" "Not exactly," said mamma. "At least in another way. Do you re member, Harry, when we were first married we had a talk on smoking, and I hinted at the expense? You said I should have as much money to spend, just as I pleased, as you smok ed up. Come this way and see nay smoking money." And we followed her to the library, which had been under lock and key for several days, for some mysterious reason. "See these'" she said. "See these cases of new books. See this set of Encyclopedias. These are for you, Harry. This Dickens set is for you, Walter, and these Artists' Histories and these Rollo Books are for you, little Hal, and this crise of poems is for myself and my family, and it all came out of smoke!" Harry and Walter had their party, and started a Tobacco Reform Club. Walter may tell of that some time il he wishes, but more came of it than even this. The new books must b*. read. As I did not go to the office to smoke, I stayed at home more. Wv almost had our honeymoon over again. Then Mary coaxed me to prayer meeting with her and I found the help I needed. History of a Great War Lyric. "My Maryland!" was written by Mr. James R. Randall, a native of Balti more, and now residing in Augusta,Ga. The poet was a professor of English literature and the classics in Poy dras College, at Pointe Coupee, on bhe Faus&e Riviere, in Louisiana, about seven miles from the Mississippi and there in April, in 1861, he read in. the New Orleans Delta, the news of the at tack on the Massachusetts troops as they passed through Baltimore. "This account excited me greatly," Mr. Randall writes, in answer to my request for infoi mation "I had loaira been absent from my native cjtv, ai&d the startling event there inflamed my mind. That night I could not sleep, for my nerves were all unstrung and 1 could not dismiss what I had lead in i the paper from my mind. Abou* mid night I arose, lit a candle andi went to my desk. Some powerful spirit seemed to possess me, and almost in voluntarily I proceeded to write the song 'My Maryland.' I remember that the idea appeared to first take shape-as music in the bra-iasome wild air that I cannot now rwall. The whole poem was dashed oil rapid ly when once begun. It was not com posed in cold blood, but under what may be called a conflagration of the senses, if not an.aspuation of the in tellect. I was stirred to-a desire for seme way linking my name trith that OQ my nativs State, if not 'with my land's language.' But I naver expect ed to do tkfi with cne single supreme effort, and no one was-more surprised than I was-at the wide spread and in stantaneous popularity of the lyric I .had been, so strangely stimulated to write." Mr. Rand-all read the poem, the next morning to the college boys and at bheir suggestion sent it into he Deta in which it was first printed and from which it* was copied into neaiVjr every southern journal. "I did not concern myself much about it," Mr* Randall adds, "but very soon from all parts of the conntry there was borne to me, in my remote place of residence, eviden.ee that I had made a great hit, and that whatever might be"the fate of the Cooiederacy, tiiw song would survive iV'G&ntury* TPhe Good White Brother. About fifteen miles from the beauti ful City of Tallahassee, the capital o1 FU)ri-f.a, lived an old planter whose relations with the Indians had been so pleasant that he had not the slight est fear,of danger, although an Indian war had broke out, and he had been warned of the possible result to him self. He had been almost paternal in his conduct toward them, upright and just in all his dealings, giving them shelter and food whenever requested, always aiding them in distress, and soemed to occupy a very high place in their regard. A great many of his neighbors had abandoned their plan* tations and fled to the forts, but be remained, confident in his belief of ab solute safety, and having been repeat edly assured by the Indians that, no matter what happened, this "good white brother," as they called him, and his family should not be moles ted. His family consisted of himself, wife, and a little girl of tender years* and two chubby boys of 4 and 6 years. It was a warm, beautiful day in early September. Earth, sky and air wu* in blessed amity, and the scene was one of placid peace and quiet. In the hor^e lot the mules stood munching their fodder, the score of slaves were at their quarters enjoying their noon day rest, and tli6 planter and his wife, ha\ ing finished their dinner, were sit ting on the long, rambling piazza hav ing a quiet chat over household af fairs. All at once they notic a par- \f of some thirty Indians approach ing the house. This, however.'was no nnusual spectacle, and excited no feel ing of uuea^inesb or apprehension, pven though the savages were in full war paint. The planter.relying implicitly on th friendly feelings he supposed were en tertained for him by tne Indians, and which he knew he had \\ell deserved by lorg years of friendly service, greet ed them with a kindly smile andacor dial handshake as they carre to the porch, all of which they appeared tc reciprocate. The good wife brought them out a nice lunch, of the best the house afforded, which they seemed very grateful for. After eating this they bestowed themselves carelessly upon the porch, and lighting their pipes became absorbed in the fragrant wreaths of smoke. What a scene for a painter! The middle-aged planter and his wife in the Denter, calm and peaceful, without the slightest thought of danger in their minds the two little boys romping in the doorway the negroes laughing and singing in their cabins, and group ed around this happy home circle a band of mem ess savages, each one, though outwaraly calm and compos ed, with murder rankling in his heart and every nervo tingling with pleased expectancy waiting for a sign from their leader to turn the peaceful scene in to one of blood, outrage, ruin and desolation. In order to give his red guests some amusement, the plan ter called some of the slaves to the porch. One of them had a banjo, and rapidly fingering the strings he sent out jolly strains of mild melody, to which the others danced in rude harmony. The In dians seemed very much pleased with this entertainment, but the furtive looks that they cast at the leader showed that they w?re becoming im patient over thw delay. Their eyes teemed to glisten with a more intense luster, the pipes were carefully put away the decisive moment had come. The leader occupied a position al most directly in the lear of the plant re. Carelessly stretching himself he loosened his tomahawk from its belt. The others remanied motionless and impassive. With a quick movement, like the leap of a startled phanter, he buried his hatchet in the skull of the unsuspected planter. With a smoth ered groan the victim fell from his chair dead. His wife sprang to her feet with a wild shriek of horror and despair and turned to flee. A rude hand clutched her by the hair and brought her to her knee? a sharp knife cufrher throat from ear to ear. Another flourish of the blood-stained knife and-her scalp, was toie off while she was -*et in. the throes of death. The neqnoes were placed under guard while the savages* searched high and low for the little girl. The little boys were bound hand and foot and their tongues cut out. They were then thrown into the kitch en Tne mules were brought out and the barn and out-buildings fired. The search for the little girl was a fruit less one and was finally abandoned. Returning to the house rhey secured what plunder they couid find and then set fire to the house, and' taking the negroes with them left the-place. The bodies of the murdered parents- kad been dial ed into the kitchen, where tne bov-i were, and all wo-ro'left tiathe wild work of the ll'ini"^. She had gone tnat marniiSgr to a little stream about four miles-from her lather's house to fish, andi had not noticed the lapse of tcm&uai^l she Baw by the sun that it was-tows past the dinne hour. Then taking feer line and string of fish she stauted gaily for home. When within half'a naile of the house she saw the dense- srawke and heard tlte yells of the Indians. Real izing aU the dreadful horrors that were bsng perpetrated, sW hid her self in the tall lv osvn grass, and re maino'2 there uart'il nightfall. Then when darkness GMiie, almost dead with, fright and grief, she fled as fast as list- childish strength could carry ber-'io the cross- noads,. hiding there it* ths-dense undergrowth until she waa re^sued by a pasty oi soldiers. Harry Woodson, alias the Black I_a oftond, was shot 7 instantly killed* by another colored man named Thojjias White at CSitjago. A womau was ia th& case. James Dolan and William Bn-*fea of Wyandotte, Mich., while intoxicated, went to sleep! on the Lake Shore tr&ks near Detroit* and were run over by a freight train. Dolan was instantly kilfe&L Banks died s&ortly alterwards. At Cincinnati, George Wsfeer Brett ing conopanv made an aRbignmrQ'!,. Their ii.i- bifctieB are $500,000 and s*sset at $3."0, 000. Preferences in the few* oi men iu.JtjQ* on real estate were* given to creditai* represent ne.irly $200 K) The Odd Fellow gr^yd, l.jdseo the e*V,l meets at Denver. I I 6 i. (1 /I