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MR.FOEB'gFIJRTATION, Mr. Emory Ford was a man whose striking appearance was a subject of general remark, and it must be con fessed tbat the distinction was jusjti 4Sed by a fine figure, and elegant car fiage, a handsome brown beard, and dark, expressive eyes. To be sure, he had a haughty bearing, and a too evi dent consciousness ot a generally irre proachable make up but at thirty years ot age he nad been successful in iris undertakincs, stood well" in busi ness and society, and was blessed with a wife who was bright,good look ine.sensible a/id true. Who shall say, then, that he was not justified in a certain amount of self gratulation? But most men have their weak points, and Mr. Ford came under the general rule. His vulnerable spot was that which is most easily stormed by a. pretty face, and he was possessed of the sincere conviction that no wom an could successfully resist his arts Fascination whenever he chose to firing them into play. Jf Mrs. Emory Ford ever experienced moments of uneasiness on account of this foible of her husband's, she made no sign thereof while Mr. Ford flattered him self that his discretion and fact were ample to deceive even the most pene trating eyes, besides laboring under the sQdnviction in a general way that he 4ould do no wrong, On a certain August day Mr. Ford was in his office talking witn a busi ness visitor on an important subject. "Then you think my presence is re -quired on Saturday," he said. "Yes," replied the visitor. "That alone will suit the convenience of the other parties. If you cannot meet -them Saturday, the whole transac tion will fall through." Mr. Ford mused. "I had arranged to go to Vernon on Friday and spend. two day. My wife is therp, visiting flitt old schoolmate who was married about the time we were and I prom ised to join them." "Business before pleasure, you *know,'' remarked his companion. "Yes, certainly. Well, I will make *my appointment with you for Satur day and change my other plans." Liater in the day (it was Wednes day) Mr. Ford wrote the following telegram to his wife: "Will be with you tomorrow (Thurs day) instead of Friday.E. F." And so the next morning Mr. Ford was on the train flying in the direc tion of Vernon. A ride of eighty miles through a pleasant stretch of country was before him. He scanned the occupants of the car critically, bestowing on one very pretty woman a glance of toleration which might have developed into one of approval had she not been encumbered with a fOu year old child. He settled himself into a seat with every appearance of comfort and self satisfaction, bought a morning paper and began to scan the news. "Tickets'" Mi. Ford, in response to this call from the conductor, produced his tick et, and at the same time drew from 5iis pocket a folded slip of paper. He examined it and uttered an exclama tion of dismay. It was the telegram for his wife, which he had forgotten to send. "What a piece of carelessness!" was his inward thought. Mr. Ford was a -methodical man, and he was more vexed at his own forgetfulness than .anything else. But after all no par ticular harm was done, and he turned sihis attention a few minutes later to a crowd of passengers who boarded the -train at the station. An artistic bonnet, a pair of perfect developed shoulders, enveloped in -some closely fitting summer material, and a remarkably handsome face soon caught his attention. He eagerly watched the approaching form, just visible between the shoulders of a crjawd of passengers coming up the aisle. He had managed to keep an en tire seat to himself, and now quietly ignored all suggestive glances at the Satchel by his side until the woman who attracted his attention drew near. "Will you accept this seat?" he said, with some eagerness, at the same *ime removing the satchel and rising Jboh's feet. -"Thank you." *'Allow me and Mr. Ford re leived her of two or three small pack ages without ceremony, and deposit- e4 them in the rack above. "Perhaps you would prefer'to sit next the win dowthere is such a refreshing breeze, and the scenery is quite picturesque." The lady took the place designated with a pleasant smile, which Mr. Ford returned with interest. This in turn xcitedt a mirthf il twitching at the 'Corners of his companion's mouth, whic was. however, quickly suppress ed. She-*bestowed one full glance up on Mr. Ford's face, and then with drew her gaze. Sir. Ford immediately began to ex "Si his conversational powers, which were considerable, and his remarks Were received with a polite composure that was half facinating, and half vex atious. This spurred him on, and he introduced a variety of topics calcu 4ated to excite in interest. Then he became iuquisitive. and ascertained tthat his fair companion lived in Ver non, his own place of destination. "I am somewhat acquainted there. Do you know the Sutherlands?" "Oh, yes quite well," was the reply ."with something of a start. This was the married name of the old schoolmate whom Mr. Fords wife, was visiting, but whom he had never seen. g|) |They are quite elegant people, I be jieve," was the next remark. '^JjQh, they live in good style, though wa'i&r quietly." Mr. Sutherland, understand, is connected with a western railway which demands a large share of his .attention.-^ lL ^jjf "Do you know him?" asked the la ^Hy. Wth an air of interest. "Only by reputation in a business ?iiway." wy^f "Indeed, Well,'yesT h*1 kept aw*ay ttorn home a good share of the time -b his railway business." "It inupt be lonely lor his wife?" "It nodoub is. But she has a good many friends. A most charming lady is visiting,her nowa Mrs. Ford." Ah!" Mr. Ford was inwardly greatly amwed, and congratulated himself on a tact which concealed his own identity and artfully led toasub ject in which he was immediately in terested. But in anather hour he would be in Vernon, and sagacious prudence suggested another line of in quiry. "Then Mrs. Sutherland is rather se cluded in her manner ofliving?"* "I suppose she is at home now, en tertaing her friend." "Yesbut nocome to think of it, she is not at home just now. I saw her depart on a train this morning." The lady's eyes sparkled as if "in amusement at Mr. Ford's inquiring mood. "And did her friend go with her?" "No. I heard someone remark that Mrs. Ford was confined to the- house by a headache. But you seem to take a strong interest in Mrs. Sutherland and Mrs. Ford." "Oh, not particularly. The subject seemed to interest you, and so it in terested me." Without waiting to ob serve the effect of this sympathetic re mark, Mr. Ford added: "Of course you know Mrs. Sutherland." "1 hardly know whether I doornot. do not speak to her once a year." The lady's eyes had a curious sparkle, but she immediately continued: "To know one is something that can hard ly be defined, I think. We can recog nize features, but to truly know, even an intimate friendI mean his or her inward thoughts, motives and pur posesis something quite rare, I think." "Ah, you are inclined to be philoso- ph.cal." Then the conversation drifted and finally lagged. The lady gazed ab stractedly out of the "window, while Mr. Ford again looked over his news paper. The eagerness of pursuit was upon him, however, and he finally folded his paper and introduced topic after topic with a view to enhancing the interest of his companion. He had not yet reached the point of inquiring her name or of offering his own card when the train drew up to the Vernon station. Then a few thoughts passed through his mind. His wife was probably sleeping off her headache, her hostess was absent from town, and theforgotten telegram had failed to give warning of his ar rival. Why should he not take ad vantage of these circumstance and of the fact that he was a stranger in Vernon, and devote*a few hours to his own amusement? His mind was quickly make up. When the train stopped he assisted the lady to alight, but retained her small (packages in his own hands. "My bundles, please," she said. "Allow me to carry them," he pleaded. "By no means!" she exclaimed, and he surrendered them reluctantly. "Many thank3. Good morning." "Must it be good morning?" he ask ed, insinuatingly. "Certainly," she replied, with a slightly annoyed look, and speaking in such a decided tone that he was forced to submit. Then she tripped away, his eyes fol lowing her regretfully. He himself al so followed her at a respectful dis tance, keeping her moving form con stantly in view. Truly, M. Ford was infatuated. Once free from the throng at the sta tion, he stepped to the opposite side of the street, but never once lost sight of the waving plume which adorned his late companion's hat. Like a bea con lignt he kept it in view, and he was led first up a business street, then through a shaded avenue, and finally past a park and into a side street bordered on either side with elegant dwelling. It did not occur to Mr. Ford that he might be committing an indiscreet act. He hastened nearer the tossing white plume and its owner, and finally reached a gate just as the lady had traversed a short path and was ascending the stoop of a house. Why will she not look around? Ah, she turns her head. Mr. Ford lifted his hat, smiled be nignant ly, and mad^ a profound bow. Yes, he had caught her eye. Would she smile? Suddenly Mr. Ford was frozen with horror. A look of awful dismay came over his face and he stood as it petri fied, gazing at a face which appeared ac the window. There sat his wife, looking at him with a pleased, surprised and puzzled expression of countenance. He re mained for a moment in a statuesque attitude, much to the bewildprment of the lady whom he had followed, and who now stared at him in sur prise not unmixed with amusement. Mr. Ford thought with the rapidity of a drowning man. This must be the house where his wife was visiting. Ref uge in flight was impossible, and he quickly made up his mind to take the only course left. With a desperate effort to assume a self possessed air. he waved his hand to his wife and hastened to the porch where stood thf lady with her hand on the door knob. "In heaven's name,'' he whispered, "say nothing of our meeting in the railway car." Then he spoke aloud and in'the most suave tone he could command. "Is this the residence of Mrs. Sutherland?" "It is," responded the lady, shrink ing back a little, as if she suspected a lunatic was addressing her. "I am Mr. Ford, and I think my wife is a visitor under your charming roof." "Is it possible!" exclaimed the lady. At this moment His wife appeared. "Oh, Emory, what a surprise! We did not expect you until to-morrow." "No, I hardly expected my selfthat is, I Mr. Ford was in a lamenta bly confused state. "This is Mrs. Sutherland, my old school friend. This is my husband, Fanny." Mrs. Sutherland put out her hand with due cordiality, ani Mr. Ford grasped it mechanically.t The-three entered the house. Mr. Ford hd&rhly rejoiced that the parlor.WAS partially darkened, as he had no desire to, have hit countenance scanned closely, for a time at least. He explained his business engage ment and the forgotten ,telegram, but said nothing of the companionship or the railway journey. He ended his narration with a furtive look of ap peal to Mrs. Sutherland,to which that lady responded by the slightest per ceptible elevation of her nose." "You looked "so queer on the side walk, bowing in such a formal way,'' said his wife. "Well," replied Mr. Ford, who was gathering his wits together. "I saw a lady on the steps, and I was not quite sure of the house, and I had to intro duce myself in some way." His wife's only response was a med itative look, as'if some problem were not clear in her mind. As for Mrs. Sutherland, she suddenly hastened from the room and when out of hear ing burst into convulsions of laughter. What further explanations" Mr. Ford vouchsafed to his wife I do not know. But Mrs. Sutherland, at the first opportunity, gave him a little womanly advice which was not en tirely free from plain speaking. The future result was noticeable, for the flirting proclivities of Mr. Emory Ford seemed to have received a sud den check, and his immediate friends wondered what had happened to cause a withdrawal of those eager at tentions to fair faces of strangers. His wife, too, had reason to lejoice, but being sensible and true never al luded to the episode on the railway train and its sequel, though I suspect that she had a pretty clear idea of the whole affair. About Natural Gas: From the Cnicago Inter-Ocean. The earliest use of natural gas on record is in China, where for centuries it has been conveyed through hollow bamboos from fissures in salt mines to the surface for burning purposes Near the Caspian Sea, in Asia, there aiv also places where natural gas is seen to exude from the earth, and a simi lar phenomenon is to be see i in the Szalatua salt mine in Hungaij.. Nat ural gas was first discovered" in this country in the neighborhoou of Fred onia, Chautauqua County, N.Y., early in the century. Here it was first put to use by some enterprising citizens in the year 1821. A small well was bored in the village to the depth of 27 feet, and the gas was conducted through pipes to the houses, where it was used for illuminating purposes alone. It is said that in 1824, on the occasion of Lafayette's visit, the vil lage was illuminated with natural pan. This well, which was drilled in 1850 to the depth of only seventy feet, con tinued to supply the village with illu minating gas until the year 1858. It is a noteworthy fact that although this interesting-discovery was widely known it did not lead to any further experiments, either in the neighbor hood or in other places, till fully twenty years after 1821. In the early part of the present eentury it was found that the wells which were bored for salt in the Kanawha Valley yielded large quantities of gas. In 1841 this gas was first used as fuel for boiling the brines obtained from the wells. Nearly all the wells drilled for the purpose of obtainingpetroleum afforded natural gas in abundance it was, in fact, a considerable inconveni ence to those engaged in sinking the wells, and often a source of serious danger. In 1865 a well which was sunk for petroleum at West Bloom field, N. Y., struck a flow of natural gas. An effort was made to ultilize tnis, and it was carried in a wooden main to the city of Rochester, a dis tance of 24 miles, in 1870, for the purpose of illuminating che city, but the experiment was a failure. So, though it was oblivious that this gaseous product constituted an inex haustible supply of excellent fuel, no attempt was made to put it to use in manufacture until during the past de cade. In 1873, a well in Armstrong County, Penn., was so arranged that i the gas could be separated *u" water with which it was discharged, and conveyed through pipes to sever al miles in that vicinity, where it was used in the manufacture of bar-iron. From that time to the present day the use of natural gas has increased very rapidly. It is estimated that the gas used in 1885 for heating and illumi nating purposes was equivalent to 3,- 131.000 tons-"of coal, having a value of $4,857,000. The consumption of gas during the last calendar year very much exceeded this quantity the total value estimated on the basis ol the coal which it has displaced prob ably amounted to more than $6, 000,000. The Work of a Beaver. Said a Main college professor: "1 know of a naturalist down in eastern Maine who wouldn't De convinced that beavers could build dams till he saw it done with his own eyes. He is an incredulous fellow, any way.' bought a baby beaver of a hunter who traps them, one day. and sent it to my skeptical friend. He grew great, ly attached to the little fellow and kept him in the lu,use, but he often wrote me that his beaver didn't show any piopensity at ail for dam build ing. One Motday, washing day, ITS wife sat a leasy pail full of water a the kitchen floor. The beaver was. the kitchen, he was only a baby thsemv too, and he saw the water oozing oust of a crack in the pail. He scampered out into the yard, brought in a chip and began building his dam. The nat uralist was summoned. He watched the little tellow, thunderstruck* He said: 'Leave that pail there, wife, till doomsday, if need be, and let's see what the little fellow will do.' The beaver kept at it for "Sour w*eks, until he had built a solidlam clean around the pail. My naturalist friend is quite a beaver man to-day. They say, you know, that way down East there is a beaver dam thtot $200,000 couldn't build the HI* of. Oh! men don't know everything. fThe wasp knew how toiday make paper beiore*we did. 'TfiEIETIMESlND'OiEJT." It was a very* little house, poor, un painted, altogether out of place in a street which had such growing preten sions to fashion as Cyclamen avenue, which had lecently been redeemed fiom the waste places of theearthand made to blossom as the rose with pretty lawn-girdled, vines-draped vil las. The inmates of these stylish res idences were wont to denominate the little house a shanty, and its owner, a grasping old witch, who was waiting till the exasperated neighbors would pay her six times the worth of her property. Aristocratic souls revolted at their close proximity to a creature so lost to all sense of popriety as to erow cabbage in her door-yard, and to adorn the flower beds thereof with clam shells. I myself was one of Mrs. Mulvany's most clamorous detrac tors, until I read the chapter which her life made in "The short and simple annals of the poor." I lived at some distance from the objectionable little cottage, but fre quently had occasion to pass it, and I never did so without casting a covet ous glance at the mingled glories of the mille-fleurs and mignonette, sweet alyssum, myosotis and pansies, which flanked the obnoxious cabbages. One lovely June morning as I walked by with lingering step and glance I heard myself called. "Miss! Miss!" Now as I am a matron of several years' standing, it is needless to say I was flattered by this apnel'ation.and, pausing, I turned a beaming face upon the speaker. As might be expected in the proprietor of such a tumbledown little house, she w.^s a dilapidated lit tle woman, very lame, and with the scar of a frightful burn disfiguring her cheek and neck. One eye was swollen nearly shut but this, it was easy to perceive, was a mere temporary blemish. She wore a no-colored cali co dress, and her hair, once golden, but now faded and gray, was loosely knotted at the back of "her neck. "Ye break the tmth commandment rYery time ye go by," she said pleas antly "an' this time I want ye to have flowers. Came in an' help yer self. Take all ye want." I thanked her, entered the garden willingly and gathered the buds and blossoms as sparingly as she would let me. "Your flowers must be a great de light to you," I said presently. "They're all the comfort I've had for 10 years," replied Mrs. Mulvany. I looked at her blanklyI, who constantly bore in mind Cleopatra's words: "There's not a minute of our lives should pasB Without some pleasure now'*' Here was a woman to whom pleas ure had been a stranger for ten years! "Oh, dear! I'm sorry for you," I said. "Have you had an unhappy lite?" "Sit down here an' wrap up yer posies, or they'll wilt before ye get home" returned Mrs. Mulvany, "and I'll tell ye me history it ye like." Of course I was anxious to hear it, and when she had brought me a news paper and I had sprinkled the flowers with water we sat down on the door steps. A trellis covered with a grape vine sheltered us from the sun, and through it a filagree of light and shade fluttered over my white dress. "There's two things been agin me all me life," said Mrs. Mulvany, im pressively. "Have ye niver seen dogs they're yellow ones mostlywid an eye clawed out or an ear chewed off, an' but a stump av a tail, an' wan leg gone, an' maybe the hide scalded off wid hot wather? Ivery one has a stone or a curse tor the poor crayture, an' the longer it lives the more wretch ed it gits. That's how it's been wid me for there's two things be^n agin me, as I said." "Yes," said I, deeply interested, "and what are they?" Bad luck and whiskey!" she an swered promptly. "Wan alone is bad enoughjbut-*when from the ye have-'-to-fightXT the two ye might as well give it up. Not that*I drink whiskey meeself. No I say nothin' a^in beer, an' I don't think a pint av it after a hard day's washin' will hurt any woman but I've let whiskey alone. It's me men tolks wniskey's played the mischief wid first me father, then Larry, an' now Mickey. It always seemed as it the only reason they iver got out av bed sober was so they cud go to bed drunk." "How dreadful!" I murmured. "Me father," said Mrs. Mulvany, with emphasis, "was the divil and all!" She paused to let this startling statement have due weight, fhen re sumed: "We lived near Lewistonye know the place?" I knew it wella lovely village by the broad Niagara river. "I had three younger sisters, an' whin we wer childer," continued Mrs. Mulvany, "there was niver enough to eat nor to wear in our house we had nothin* in plenty except blows, an' hard words. An' about wanst iverv six weeks the year round the ould sin ner-, me father, would turn us out,, miitsher an' all, to spind the night its. ratua or snow, frost or thaw, jist as iitt chaiaced. We used to snuggle ugagja the pigs to kape from freezin.' 1'TO toad a tmdemess ior pigs iver since there's a couple av them, now im fake back yard." Their presence was, indeed, faotiftJy perceptible to the olfactory organ.. "I was 13 whin the cholera*, broke ont," proceeded my hostess. "Wan hy wan me-little sisters diedv, aua* fa ther an' 1 carried thim theur little coffins to the graveyard1.in Tkir a father himself ca&ae down, wid the-sickness, an' got so wake h eudn't exea scowl, let alone- swear it was. the- first time in his parried Kle he had iver been sober s* long, a' it & a blissed re lafetamem.it her. t% "At last, wid the behjp* iiv the saints, wep*lled hira through, an' thin as there wasn't so much to be done at howe anny more, I wint out to serv* ic* I worked several years an' hstf saved a pood bit o' money, whin one I got word th at me mithec was awful sick. I give up my pla.ee an' vent An' took care av her an" it'a me bi lafe to this day that s~be might have got well if she'd tried to but she was jist worn out by the hardness av her life wid that brute. "Wan night, in the imdst av a terri ble ram an' wind, whinj^was all alone wid her, she says: -S\" "'Kathleen, I'm dyin* ari'yfez must go for yer father.' "Well, I cud see by the stare av her eyes an' the black av her poor stubby finger nails that she as dyin' tor a fact but as for gittin' me father! 'Mither, ye're out av yer h--ad, ye know ye are.' saA's I. 'Av fath was here he wouldn't let ye die in pace!' 'I mane what I say.' said she, quite calm. I can't die without for givm' him all his diviltry, the black guard, an' lavm' me blessin' for him. An' ye may git the praste an' some av the women while ye're out.' "Well it seemed to be cruel an' hay thenish to the last degree to lave her alone on her deathbed but shewould have it so an' off I started in the storm. I might have gone through the fields, but there was a shorter pa,th, an' along this I ran, over the brow of the mountain, as we called it, wid the nber rolling aiong almost stiaight down 200 or 300 feet below me an' the wind an' rain teariu' an' howlin' in me eais. I found me fath er an' sint Larry Mulvany, a dacent, sober lad I was kapin' company wid' in a boat over to Queenstown tofeteh the praste, an' some women promis ed to come to our house wid the praste an' Larry. I wouldn't have dared let me father walk along the river path it he'd been stupid drunk, but he was only drunk, and that means as clear-head ed as a lawyer, so I thought there was no dangeran' no more there wasn't lor him. Well, we got along about half way, wid him cursin' mither tor dym' an' me for not dyin', whin he give me a fearful shove in the back, an'over I wint, an' thebieath was knocked out av me body before 1 had time to scream. "Well, whin at last Larry an' the praste an' the women came over the fields an' got to our house, they found me poor mither had got tired av waintin' for us, and had died alone,, wid no one to say a prayer or close her eyes. Thin they were scared an' wint back over the river path. Tnere they found my father snorin' like a hog, an' carin' no more about mither an' me than nothin' at allperfectly unconsarned. It was an hour belore Larry got down to the brink, wid his hands bleeding an' his clothes in rage, an' found me lyin' across a rock, drenched wid the rain, an' me feet i hangin' in the wather. It was part sv me bad luck that I hadn't rolled off an' been drowned, for whin, after hours av heard work, they got me up an' put me on a bed. I was bruised from head to foot by the stones and trees I'd lodged against, an' wan av me legs was that broken an' twisted an' swol len that ye eudn't tell shin from calf. Me mither was buried be*fo*e 1 came to me senses, and me father was buried along wid herhe'd caught a cold an' a fever out in the rain an' so he died, an' a good thing, too. "Well,I wint to the hospital.an' the docthors said I'd niver stand nor stand nor walk again- It's- my belafe that thim doethers mended me leg a dozen times an' thin broke it for the plisureav curin' it over again. Anny how.there I stayed for two long years, while Larry was mourning me as good as dead, an' gittin' at terrible way av drinkin'. While 1 had a bad spell he'd drink to drown his grief: whin I was betther he'd diink from joy, an' betwane the two he kept at it pietty much all the time. But at last I was well, barrin' the hurt leg was six inches shorter than the other,an thin Larr said if I'd only have mmnive anoth er dhrop would he-touch. Sowa day near sunset, whin the clout's were as (.How TJley yellow as butter an'the river the col or of gold, we rode across to Queens ton an' were married. Larry looked as handsome as a picter. 'And you, too I've no douDt," said I. "May be so," admitted Mrs. Mul vady. "I had a white diess on, an' its lucky I had, for comm' home Lar ry was a bit screwed, an' managed to upset the boat. We cud both swim, an' we got out all right, boat an' all but if I'd worn a stiff dress it ud been spoiled. "Well, Larry an' I lived together almost a year in peace andquiet. He drank a little all the while, but it niv er made him hateful, and nary across word did I git av him as long as he lived Thet was- the happy time of my life. It was June that Mickey, me baby, was bonij and whin he was three days old he was christened an' we had a grand party in the evenin'. Larry was quite wild wil pride an' whiskey, and whin the women had fixed me an' the baby up comforta ble for the night an' ive*ybody had gone home, nothin' would do the poor drunken loon but he must dance another jig. An' all I cud say wouldn't |stop him, an' wid a little glass lamp in his hand he began wboopm' an' jumpin'hkeacrazyman.. Whishtgo roo' all av a sudden he stumbled an' fell across the foot as me bed, and [the lamp exploded an' She bnrnin' oil flew all ova* me face. Ye can see the mark av itt to this dagr. "I covered the bafey wid a pillow, an' smothered the flarnes out av me hair an' nightdress, wid a blanket. An' thim 3 tried to wall Lary out ot the fire and smoke ut he wae heavy* an' I vasts wake, ant" it took uae a long time t2 git hin OUJ the flure an' pufc out thi& blaze. He eudn't. open bis eyes or his mnth, an'y3very hain, was singed off hi* head." "The neighbors heard me screum, an' same in aa quick as they ceuld. Lamy lingered* along five days. the doethors said, he had breathwL the flames clean to the hottom. ajr his longs. I me$s#lf was at death's door for weeks, what widl the httPa and shock an sorrow. Wftin me poor hus band we gone 1 cixto't stand Lewis ton anv kmgen 1 thought Fd try Buffalojfo* a chtonsjfe." -C* fM '*& "Leswiston'* chaiming bui it lacks exci$*woV' saxl I. "Toth* that wasn't ftsactly the fault I found wid thpla\ said Airs. MnU vaojf* fc"mij\ "Well, some pod pejfr pie gave me some money an I boue.i this little house an' piece of lands That was twinty years ago, an' irf wasn't worth much, for there was ritm-& house widin a mile. I used to go into the city washin,' carryin' Mickey on me back while he was littie, though me poor leg riiver stopped*,'* achm' from morm' till night. I miq'n J? i! ha\e married again, but I wouldn ,1f have anny man after Larry, not if a tnurracle brought him to menot il he came out av the taypot wid the fc tay. Mickey was me joy and trissure, wid his blue eves an' tangle av yellow curls. But whin he was about ting years ould he began runnin' away from school, an' fightin' an' smokin7 an' jerkm' at me scar an' me limp anr a*ter a year or two he knew the tasto av whiskey betther than milk. He'^1 been gettin' worse iver since, an*\ that's why I say me patch av a gar den has been my only pleasure these tin years. God knows where it will end. His grandfather robbed me a. me stringth, his father av me beauty, an'now I suppose Mickey'll take m^j* hie "Oh, don't speak so!" I cried, quite shocked. "It's more than likely," said Mrs. Mulvany, with resignation. "I've had a close shave for my life twice, ye know, and they say three times an' $ out. Mickey'll finish me, I expect. Ye see me black eye? He gave it to me the other night.'' I "The wretch'" Why did he do such I a thing?" cried: I "Oh. we had a bit of dispute," said 1 Mrs. Mulvany calmly. "He wanta me to sell here, an' I won't. I'd like to, for I'm lonely ye're the only lady round here who's iver given me a good word or look. I'd like to go down to I' Lewiston among me ould friends an' neighbors, though they're mostly dead. I'd like to sit by the river at sunset, whin the clouds an' wather are both yellow together, an' fancy mesself a girl again, rowin' over to Queenstown with Larry to be mar ried. But Mickey ud git ivery dollar away from me." "No, no! I'm sure it could be ar ranged," I said eagtTly. "My hus band is honest as the day is long, and be"s in a bank and understands all about money, and I'm certain he could tell you how to sell your prop erty and buy a house and lot in Lewiston without letting Mickey know a word about it. Please come up and see him about it to-night!" "I willI will, an' thank ye kindly for yor interest in me," said Mrs, Mulvany, with something like hope in her eyes. And then I gathered up my flowers and once more thanked her for them and went home. Of course it would be easy to do, I thought she should be fiee from the haunting terror of Mickey, which I could see embittered her life, and she could go and sit on the river's brink, dreaming herself back in that happy hour when, had she known them, she might have sung Falconer's pretty lines: "Float! float' into the Elowingsiinsetfloat! All golden is the river now, and golden is our boatl" But that afternoon'% paper con tained this item: "As we go to press word reaches us of a shocking murder in Cyclamen avenue. Michael Mulvany, a young man who lives. in the only shabby house in that beautiful thor oughfare, came home to dinner intox icated, and asked his mother for some money. She nephed that she would give it to hiim as soon as she finished cutting the bread, whereupon he snatched the kmfe she was using from her and stabbed her -to the heart. Full particulars and stories ol eye witnesses-givem in next edition." il j* i I1 r_ 5 Penetrated His Dis guise. A defaulting official in one of the Western Territories endeavored to make his way out of the country dis guised as-a woman, but was "arrested |g and brought back before be had gone two miles. When asked how his dis guise was discovered he said: "Disguise! W'y, I was er dog gone fool ter fix ugj ID them- dnds. Lemme tell yer, ef er matt wants ter travel in er quiet and moJiostentotts s'yle in these parts he wants ter hev es little ter do with women's fixinns es posser ble. W'y, there very flast man I met was the coroner, an' though he was in a dretful hucry t go aa' sit on one of ther boys-down" to Higgleto^'sgrocery he jeei'&topned ii_h thaar an' insisted omwalking'diowm by ther s'loon with me with his-hat off. I hed three offers of marriage bet' I got Miten sight of tbeoouit boiasc,. an' jes.' er mile t'ofch errside of'ther town I siim slap onto ther ^lewffi an' er lot v ther boys startini out with thei- doss after er hoRs^tinefu 1 thought I'd give 'em ther sliD). bust 'twa'nt no go. I hed on i three-tthietowesses ot rfinasJceeter bar fer er veil, biaft fer all thao BOOT whiskers, priokedi thftr sheriff lips like peggin' awls-w'eahe kissed nae-, an' that's, then way they penetraclted mer dis. gui&a"1Arkansas Life-. A\hoc?=ewith gogg&s was one otfthe attoactixiR of the- Clinton square markets place in Boston, recently. Uhe Manlius faraaer who owned him said he discovered recently that the aninaal. was very mear-siehted, and an, [ocusii&t took the- necessary measure-. 'mocits, and, sending to New Ycrk, hadt a pair of concave spectacles made ex pressly for Dobbin. When the farmer tried ihem for the first time the horse appeared b startled, bot recover ing from his surprise manifested everyc symptom ot yieasure. Thoy are made, so as to firmly fastened sn,the headstall, and cannot be worn wathp. out that yiece of harness. "When, turn him out to pj&stwe," eaid the* farmer, "Wteels upeasy and uncom fortablo without Itis -goggles, and to hung around the bar* and whuwwgdL so plasative liko thafe I took out th bit and put the headstall and gosglea on \im, and he was so glad that bo. he iuWed my shoulder with his none, i Tlpeii. he kickoil up his heels and $ance$ down to the pasture. You I owght to ha/fe seen him. 1 hate to let him worvrspecs all the time, though*' far iu he, will break them."