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She .Cinvnnnuh (tvibnnc. Published by the Tnnttnts Publish tag Oo.) J. H. DEVRAIiX. Mamigms r VOL. 111. Missing. Have you seen my sailor boy, as you came across the sea? Have you seen my sailor boy, with the laughing eyes of blue, With the sunlight on his hair, and his face ao young and fair, And the smile he used to wear, brave and true? Oh, he kissed me on the cheek as he sailed away to sea, Sailed away from Gloster Town, and I never saw him more. But the ships they come and go, and the tides they ebb and flow, And the waves are moaning low on the shore. Ah! they told me he was dead, but I know it is not true; For he comes to me at night, when the world is all asleep, And he speaks to me by day, when the tem pests sweep the bay. And the billows are at play on the deep. For he said he would come back, and he never brdke his word— Have you seen my sailor boy? He is com ing soon, 1 know, I would go to him to-day, if I only knew the way, Though the grave before me lay I would go. —[James Roche in Independent. THE WRONG COAT. She had promised that she would mend the lining of his overcoat, if he would wear another and leave that at home, and so, as he had left it she took it from the hall and carried it into her sewing room. Mis. Wilton had been married five years and never during that time had had one unhappy moment. Mr. Wilton had been very attentive, very kind, very generous, and never ma le her jealoui. She often said she was the happiest woman living. Now, as she looked at the lining and compared the silk with which she was about to replace the torn portion, she was thinking these thoughts. They had never had any children, but when people are all in all to each other that is no very great grief; all her care was for him.—all his for her. “And he is just the dearest, best, truest fellow in the world,” said Eve Wilton to herself. “I'm not half good enough for linn. I wonder what this is in his pocket. It bulges it all out of shape.” She put her hand into the breast pocket as she spoke and drew out a lit tle package, wrapped up in silver paper and tied with blue ribbon. “Something he had bought for me, I expected,” said Eve. “I wonder what it is. I think I won’t open it until he comes home.” “Then she laid the silk across the hole and cut it out and basted it down. “I wonder what it is,” said she. “It doesn’t seem like a book. It might be lace wound on a card—real lace”—- She looked at the package again. “I do wonder what it is,” said she, hemming the patch down. “There wasn’t much to mend, after all,” she said; “I thought the tear much longer. lie caught it on a nail at the office, I know. Now Ido wonder what . there can be in that package.” Eve put the coat over a chair and took up the little parcel. “Tom wouldn't mind,” she said; “I will just take a peep. I'm sure it is for me.” Then she undid the ribbon,' unfolded the paper, and saw letters. “Dear Tom," said she. “He must keep my old letters next his heart, and he never his told me." Bui the writing was not hers; she naw,that at a glance. “His mother’s letters,” she said. “He loved his mother so.” Then she began to tremble a little, for the letters did not begin “My dear son,” nor anything like it. She cast her eyes over them They were love-letters. “Tom has loved some other woman before he met me,” she said, beginning to cry. “Oh, what shall 1 do?" Then she cried out: “Oh, foolish, foolish creature that 1 am! Os course she died, and ho only loves me now. It war all over before we met. I must not mind——” But there she paused, gave a scream and threw the letter from her as though it had been a serpent and had bitten her. It was dated the past week. It was not four days old. “Oh!” cried Eve, “oh, what shall I do? Oh, where shall I go?" At every cry a thought pierced her breast like an actual stab. “Tom—my Tom! What shall I do? Tom! to be false—Tom! Ob, I have gone mad! No, there they are; they are really there, those letters. Why do I not die—why do I not die? Do people live through such things as these?’’ Then she knerc down on the floor and gathered up the letters and steadily read them through. There were ten of them. Such love letters! No other interpretation could be put upon them. They were absurd love-letters, such as are always produced in court in cases of breach of promise, and they were all signed, “Your own Nellie.” “It is all true,” said poor Evo wring ing her hands, “and it is worse than anything I ever heard of. I trusted him so; I believed in him so.” Then she wiped her eyes, gathered up the Jotters, packed them up, wrapped the silver paper about them, tied the blue ribbon, put them back in the breast pocket of that dreadful over coat and hung it in the hall again. “Tom shall never know,” she said. ‘l’ll not reproach him. I will never see him again. When he comes home I shall be dead. I will not live to bear this.” Then she sat down to think over the best means of suicide. She could hang herself to the chan delier with a window-blind cord, but then she would be black in the face and hideous. She could drown herself, but then her body would go floating down the river to the sea, and the drowned peo ple looked even worse than strangled ones. She was too much afraid of firearms to shoot herself, even in this strait. Yes, that would be best; and, though she would never see Tom again, he would see her, and remorse would sting him. Here she made a great mistake. A man who is coolly treacherous to women never has any remorse. Remorse in love affairs is a purely feminine quality, and even the worst of the sex are not without it. However, it is natural to believe that remorse is possible to a man whom one has heretofore believed to be an angel in human form, and Eve took a little mis rable comfort in the thought that Tom would kneel beside her coffin, and burst into tears and passionate exclamations of regret, which she, perhaps, might sec from some spiritual post of observation. So, having put on a hat and a thick veii, Eve betook herself down the street and around the corner to the nearest druggist. The druggist was an old man, a be nevolent-looking one, with red cheeks and a smiling mouth; and when she asked for “poison for rats” he said, “So!” and beamed mildly upon her. “I want it very strong,” said Eve. “So!" said the druggist. “But not to give more pain than is necessary,” said Eve. “To the rats?” asked the druggist. “Yes,” sail Eve, “of course; and it must be quick and not marc: one black in the face.” • “So!” said the druggist, slowly. “Well, what shall I give you that will not make a rat black in the iace?" And with a grave countenance he compounded a powder an ’ handed it acres, the counter. Eve took it, paid tho few j>ence ho asked and walked away. Once home, she went directly to her room and retired to bed, taking the powder with her. Once or twice she tasted it with the tip of her tongue, hoping it was not very disagreeable. Then finding it sweet, she bravely swallowed it. SAVANNAH. GA.. SATURDAY. MARCH 17.1888. “It is over,” she said. “O Heaven, forgive me, and forgive Tom.” And then she laid herself down upon her pillow. Just as she did so, the familiar sound of a latchkey in the door below startled her. Tom never came home at noon—but there he was now. No one else but Tom c mid walk in in that cool way. And now he was calling her. “Eve, Eve, Eve! Where are you! Never before had she refused to answer that voice. Why had he come to torture ucr dying moments? Hark! Now he was bounding upstairs. He was in the room. “What is the matter—arc you ill, Eve?” he cried. “No,” said she faintly; “only tired.” “Ah, you look tired, little one,” said he. “I came home to get the overcoat. I suppose you have found out by this time that that in the hall is not mine. 1 wore Johnson’s overcoat home from the office last night by mistake, and he is anxious about it. He asked if there was any one in the house who would be apt to meddle with papers or anything in the pockets. I said I thought not. 1 hadn’t a jealous wife—eh? Why, what’s the matter. Eve?” “Oh, Tom,” cried Eve, hysterically; “oh, Tom, say it again. It was not your coat? Oh, Tom, kiss me.” “What is the matter, Eve?” cried Tom. “You must be ill!” Then Eve remembered all. “Oh, lam a wicked woman, Tom!” she cried. “There were letters in the pocket —love-letters. I read them—l thought you false to me— -I--1 took poison, Tom—-I’m going to die-- and I long to live so! Oh, Tom, save me!” “Yes, yes!” cried Tom. “Oh, good I heaven! what poison?” I “Mr. Hoffman will know. 1 bought it of him.’ Perhaps he can save me,” cried Eve, in piteous tones. And away went Tom, white as death, I to the druggist around the corner, j He burst into the shop something like I a whirlwi d. “The lady,” he gasped, “the lady who bought poison here an hour ago— she took it by mistake! Can you save her—have you an antidote? She is dying.” “No, no,” said the old man; “be calm—-be at rest. No, no, she cannot die of that. When a lady asks me for poison, I say to myself-—‘So!’ and I give her in the paper a little sugar and some thing. She could eat a pound. Go | home and tell her so. 1 never sell ! poison to women; so be salm.” So Tom flew home again, and Eve ! rejoiced; and hearing that Johnson was ! a single man, who admitted himself to be engaged, she did not rip the patch off his coat as she at first intended. , ---[New York World. Sheet Iron Mail Bags. Quite as suspicious means arc cm ; ployed in collecting the mails as in con ! trolling the sale of cigars in Russian I cities. A letter posted in a steeet box lis no more likely to come into the hands of the mail carrier or collector than cigars are to pass through the ! hands of the vender. The men who collect the mail have sacks of sheet iron, which they first fasten under the street box. Then they unlock the side of the box sufficiently to crowd in a small sheet iron cas". The latter crowds down and out the ca-.e containing the deposited mail and it is locked. When the mail gets into the bag there is dou ble lock, and double security against theft by the collector. -[Kansas City Journal. X Magic Ston ■ Fount! in ( .'dorado. The hydrophone or magic stone lately found in Colorado has the curious prop erty of changing from thick whiteness to perfect transparency under water; hence it is purposed to use it in rings, Icckcts and other sentimental >auvenir«, to mask a flower, lock of hair or photo graph. w hich can be made visible at the owner's pleasure, though bidden secure ly from prying eyes.—[Times-Democrat. The Problem of London. j For three centuries one of the great I feats of thinking persons has been the enormous growth of London; and yet, , till about a hundred years ago, neither ' its population nor its urea were what we i should now call abnormal. But since ; the last hundred years it has advanced I by leaps and bounds, increasing its | population fourfold within this century, I and iXs area at least ten or fifteen fold. Even in my own lifetime the area of ' London has increased at least fivefold lyind its* population between two and ■ threefold. So that now' we have a con tinuous population of some four mil lions, packed in an area not far off 100 square miles, with nearly 2,000 miles of streets, hardly anywhere less than ten or eleven miles in a straight line. ! Every year 70,000 souls, roughly ' speaking, arc added by immigration and j births; every year more square miles arc added to the area. Year by year some . 20,000 immigrants press into this city; | that is the population of a fair county j town, so that every ten years there is I added to London by immigration alone I a city as large as Bristol or Lisbon; and j by the entire series of causes, a new j city as large as St. Petersburg or Vienna. And thus, already, in this I corner of the Thames there is 1 huddled together about one-sixth of the entire population of England. | From Charing Cross or the Royal Ex- ■ change a man has to walk some fiv ■or l six miles before he can see the blessed meadows or breathe the country air. Few of us ever saw more than half of the city we live in, and some of us never j saw nine-tenths of it. We all s i live more or less in soot and I fog, in smoky, dusty, contaminated air, in which trees will no longer ! grow to full size and the sulphurous i vapor of which eats away the surface of I stone. The beautiful river, our once ' silver Thames, is a turbid, muddy re ceptacle of refuse; at times indescriba bly nasty and unwholesome. The water we drink is continually polluted with ; drainage, and at times comes perilously ' near to being injurious to health. Our burying places, old aud new, are a per- ■ petual anxiety . and danger. I Our sewers pour forth 5,501),- 000 tons of sewerage per ■ week, almost all of it wastefully and dangerously discharged. An immense proportion of our working population are insufficiently housed in cheerless, comfortless and even unhealthy lodg ings. Not a few of these are miserable dens or squalid cabins, unfit for human dwelling place. Every few' years some epidemic breaks out, which carrier off its thousands. In some four-fifths of London the conditions of life are sadly depressing and sordid, with none of the advantages which city life affords. [Pall Mall Gazette. Better Wait. It is always advisable to hear the end ,of a sentence. A literary man, for in stance, once said to one of his lady friends: “Will you accept my hand” , Gushing maiden : ‘Why, er—so sudden —so unexpected.” Literary man, (pre i ceeding, unmoved)— ■ “book on political ’ economy?” Somewhat similar is a story told of j another couple. He: “How bright the stars arc tonight! They are almost as bright as”—She (expecting “your eyes:”) “Oh, you flatter me!" He (proceeding) “they were last night.”—[Chamber’s Journal. Quinine. The beginning, we are told, ot the enormous incn.a-e in the supply of cin chona —from which quinine is made was in 1875, in which year the Ceylon products appeared on the market to the extent of 16,000 pounds. In 187!) it had increased to 370,000 pounds; in 1886, to 15,000,000 pounds. The Kight Build. Lank individual to hotel proprietor •• “Can you give me employment, sir?” Proprietor—“ Yes, you’re just the sort of a man we rvant to crawl through lamp chimneys and clean, ’em.”—[tiurlingt.D | Free Press. (•1.95 Per Annum; 75 cents for Six Months; <■ 50 cents Three Months; Single Copies ( 5 cents*-In Advance. WORDS OF WISDOM. Sin may be clasped so close we cannot see its face. Absence destroys trifling intimacies, but it invigorates strong ones. Fame comes only when deserved, and then it is as inevitable ns destiny. Holiness is love welling up in the heart, and pouring fourth crystal streams. The’innocence of the intention abates nothing of the mischief of the example. There is nothing that so refines the face and mind as the presence of great thoughts. Idleness is the hot-bed of temptation, the cradle of disease, the waster of time, the canker-worm of felicity. A man who has health and brains and can’t find a livelihood in the world, doesn’t deserve to stay here. The best part of our knowledge is that which teaches us where knowledge leaves off and ignorance begins. One of the greatest causes ot trouble in this world is the habit people have of talking faster than they think. Energy will do anything that can be done in this world, and no talents, no circumstances, no opportunities will make a man without it. Go<tln. It is idleness that creates impossibili ties; and when men care not to do a thing, they shelter themselves under a persuasion that, it cannot be done. Conversation opens our views, and gives our faculties n more vigorous play; it puts us upon turning our notions on every side, and holds them up to a light that discovers latent flaws. M hnoth. Some critics are like chimney sweeps; they put out the fire below, or frighten the swallows from their nests above; they scrape a long time in the chimney, cover themselves with soot, and bring nothing away but ti bug of chiders, and then sing from the top of the hou-e as if they had built it Work lor Congo Natives. When Stanley began his work on the Congo it was with the gieatest difficulty that he procured the services of fifty natives to help him open the road around the Cataracts to Stanley Book The growth of the Congo ent' 'prise and the changes for the better in th ■ habits ami disposition of the natives are shown by the fact that during the three months beginning last June s,s‘i; porters left Matadi, nt the head of navigation on the lower river, with louis destim'd for Stanley Pool. The larger part of their freight was two row -t< amboats. one be longing to the Congo State and theother to the company that is now surveying a route for the railroad. All the-e porters were hired al Liikuiigu and Manynnga, the two largest places on the road tc Stanley Pool. Recruiting o Leers are kept there to engage porter-, ami men come in from all the country around to enlist in the work ami get some of the white men’s merchandise. The work for porters to do has outgrown the pro visions thus far made for supplying car riers, and that is the reason that Bishop Taylor's steamboat was at last accounts lying on the banks of the lower Congo for lack of transportation facilities. The porters are pauLfor their set vices largely in cotton goods and hardware, for which there is a constantly growing demand. Among the natives who are in the service of the Congo State as soldiers or workmen around the stations are quite a number of Cass res from South Africa, ami thus far they excel any of the Congo natives in industry aud obedience. TheCongoese are, however, improving, and it is thought probable that the great work of building the rail road will be done largely by them and Caffres brought from Cape < vlony.— Ckieago ll'-ruhi. Through remonstrancee circulated by the W. C. T. U. of Houtzdale, i’enn., nine out ot fourteen applications for licenses have been refused. To dream or a |>on<lerou» whale. Erect on tin- I ip of fib tail, 1S t he sign of a storm 1 1! llii- went her i- warm.) Cnl«--s it should happen to fail. Dreams don’t amount to much, Some signs, however, are Inf■Biota. if you are ton-tip:.) Th no appt-lite. tortured with « ! Pk h<:. i.ai d bilious ■'luptorhK, the-»-->gns iridi i<-r , you t.. <d Dr. Plea-ata Pur..- '.v<- j>, ii< t~. They •.■■ ill cure you. All druggists. Mri. V.’. II Vanderbilt's expen-r-s are‘hid to _ year. Mtwy People refuse to Hike Cod Liver Oil on account of its unpleasant taste. This ditliculty has hr-i-n overcome in Scon's i’.MCt.slOs of < od Lwer Oil with Hypoohoa pbites. I’ I-ing a-pa Mabie as milk x and the most valuable ■■.•i:>-d. known for the treatment of Coiisumt ' mm scrofula and Bion< Uitis,Gen .-ral i). hint . U'm: Dl»ea-.< a of Children, bronit Co . _•).« and t old*, haq ca>i-ed phyai ' iansin all i■arts of tI»S world to use it. Physi- ■ ism-D-y ■ r little patients take it with ; i iieasiti Try scott’s Emulsion and lie con j vineed. Never n I: a crusl f a crusty man. Ask him i for ii.< At for LeTl give you a cold shoulder. < <>n«iiiiiplloi> Surely Cured. T«> lb' hi’-r. I'!eii-e Inform youi reattenf that I han a positive remedy for the above miiio-ildi" io. B> ij» timely u»e rhou-ands of |,o]n i< , have la-eri pcrinuneiitly > ured. I i-liull I» ,ad Io send two ImHU<m of rt -uedy nu.i: to am. of your leader* who tiave <«n taiuipiiou if they will send me their ExprnM and P. O. address Respect fully, T. A. SLOCUM. M. C., Vil I'tur, M 4., Y. NO. 22.