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m OM) FIS. ! I-POXI>. ,,. n nr wlli§ of moMes drip aDtl Land li .mi I t!i« grmite brink; j n ,j 'twixt the lies of Water we; d Tie wonl bird. dip and drink ; ,» efH about ill i edges sleep; jwift darting water dies . i. o on the surface; down tliO deep Park iirilies gloom and rise. II, r l Moiiar. li there, by right of might— A-d ageless Autocrat, jynos • good old r le’’ is “Appetite, And subjects fresh and fat; Wl.il- they—poor things—in wan despair still hope for years in him, A il, dying, li»u 1 from heir to heir fiie "day iiiidawned and dim. Who kn ws what lurks beneath the tide 1 Who knows what talo ? Belike j li. se “an*rn« vast" and shadows hide fonts patriarchal pike— gome tough old tyrant, wrinklo-jawed, for whom the Bky, the earth, Uave hut for him to look on awed, And watch him wax iu girth— When the pond’s terror too must go; Or, c rcepiug in by stealth, A holder race, at one fell blow, Shall found a commonwealth. Who knows ? Meanwhile the mosses bead Ar und the gran'te brink, And ’twixt tbo isles of water-weed Tim wood-birds dip and drink. —Good Words. A Fit EE SEAT; from the Index and Baptist.] lie war old and poor, ami a stranger In tho great metropolis As lie bent his footsteps thitherward To a stately edifice. Outside lie inquires “What Church is this t" “Church of Christ” lie hears them say, -‘All ! just the place I am looking for, 1 trust Ue is in to-day,” lie passed thro' the spacious columned door And up the carpeted aisles, And as lie passed, on many a face lie saw surprise aud a smile. From pew to pew up one ontlro side, Then across the broad front space. From pew to pew down the ether aide ifu walked with the same slow pace. Not a friendly voice had hid him sit To listen to gospel truth. Not a sigu of deference had been paid To the aged one by youth. No door was open’d by geuorous hand, The pews were paid for, rented, A ml h<- was a stranger, old aud poor, Not a heart to him relented. Hi p lined outside a moment to think, Then again passed into the street, Vj. to hisshou'der lilted a stone That lay in tho dust at his feet; And boro it np the broad, grand aisle In front of tho rank of pews, Choosing a place to see and to hear, lie made a seat for his nse. Calmly sitting upon the Lugo stone, Folding his hands on his kneos, Slowly reviewing the worshippers A gloat confudim lie soos. Many a cheek is crimson’d with shame, Home whisper together low, Ami wish they had b'-en more courtoous To the stranger, old and poor. As If by magic some fifty doors Open instantaneously. Arid as many seats, and books aud hands Are proffered hastily. Changing his stone for a cusliiouod pew. Anil wiping a tour away, IIo thinks it was just a mistake after all, Aud that Christ came late that day. The preacher’s discourse was eloquent, The organ In finest tone, Ilut the most impressive sermon heard, Was preached by a humldo stone, ’Twasa lesson of lowliness and worth That lodged in many a heart, An.l the church pre orves tho sacred stone That the truth may not depart. Extra - Hazardous, BY EDWAUD BELLAMY. From Apple ton’s Journal.] Tho hop that evening was to be quite tho event of the season at the House, one of tho most fashionable summer re sorts among tbo hills of New England. Most of tho yonng ladies were getting up their complexions in, their rooms, and Miss Antoinette Livingston was just starting forth to refresh hers where she had originally obtained it—out in the sun and breezes; not that its delicate tint looked in particular need of refreshment, as she stood on the piazziarrayed in blue- cloth walking-suit that fitted well to the full yet plaint lines of her rather tall figure. A little white plume was stuok in the jaunty blue hat, the shining yellow hair, the envy of the other gir’s, fell in a loose knot down her shoulders, and the dark-blue eyos with which she scanned the surrounding peaks of^the lordly mountains, were as wide-opened, clear, and confident, as a child’s—a child’s who has never boeu frightened. And why, indeed, should they not, seeing that no child was ever more sedulously protected from all that could shock, pain, or grieve, in the harsh realities of the world. The pet of a family that had been wealthy for generations, the flattered queen of the circle her beauty had drawn around her, the walls and angels of life were indeed all upholstered for her, and the Providence she said her prayers to was a very polite and gentlemanly deity. Miss Livingston finally finished her in spection of the mountains aud started off briskly for her walk, drawing after her to the next turn of the road a skein of admiring glances from the groups of ladies and gentlemen on tho piazza, as one pulls out a ball of molasses-candy. An hour's walk, seasoned with botanizing, was her usual afternoon recreation, and she had not intended that tho programme to-day should diff er from tho customary ono. But, yielding to the seductions of an old wood-road, half overgrown with hushes and young trees, she was beguiled on from one fork and turn to another, until she finally found herself fairly in the woods, the road having passed by in* Benisble gradations into the forest. At first she was not much disturbed, having no doubt that she could easily re gain the road and go out as she came in. But. after walking vigorously for half an hour without coming to anything, a lump began to come up in her throat, and she was forced to admit that she was lost. She had now come into an open, rocky Place, whore the trees had grown infre quent and stunted, and the sun fell hotly on slabs of granite scattered around and interspersed with tindery mosses and whortleberry-bushes. With the feeling that she was lost, the strength suddenly kft her limbs, and she sat down on the shady side of a mass of rock, feeling very umck like crying, and with considerable ado to keep that lump in her throat from growing unmanageable. Although the ovely color had somewhat left her faoe, I now well the old rock had never borne a prottier flower on its rugged bosom. It would not do (o give way to her feelings, owever; she must keep her wits about ,. ’ and 80 8h e bit her lips to prevent em from trembling, and sought, by an °rt of the will, to still the beating of 6r heart. Bat these praiseworthy efforts control were suddenly nullified by • a sight (hat for a moment stopped her heart entirely. A big, rough-looking man wa3 walking with a swinging gait across one end of the openiug. The slouched hat, the coatless fl iunel shirt,the]broczed faca'.and unkempt beard, the bundle on a stick across his shoulders, left no sort of doubt in her mind that he was a genuine, unadulterat ed, aud unusually formidable example of the species tramp—that variety of wild beast that has succeeded the bears and wolves in the undisturbed possession of American fields and forests. A hundred tales of the violent and bloody doings which have made the tramp the terror of women and children the country through, with the sense of her utterly helpless po sition, flashed through Mms Livingston’s mind. Apparently, he had not yet seen her. Scarcely daj-ing to breathe, she rose to a crouching posture, and, without taking her eyes from the tramp, silently stepped backward around tho rock, in whose shadow she had been sitting, and, to her intense relief, found herself at length withdrawn from his pos sible view. How loud that cricket sang ! There it was again; in spite of her pre-occupatioa, she could not help noticing that it did not sound exactly like a cricket, either. It was more like the rattle of dried peas in a pod. She glanced down to the spot whence it proceeded. Her eyes froze with horror. A second more and a huge rat tlesnake sprang like lightning upon her. Instinctively throwing out her arms to defend herself, she shriekod at the top of her voice. In stepping around tho rock, without looking where sho was going, she had probably brushed across the reptile as it lay basking in the sun, and thu3 en raged it. In a moment the tramp, the idea of whose existence had been shocked out of her mind, came running up. She was too much under the horror of the snake to think of him, except as a human helper. Sho pointed to the creature which was coiling itself iu readiness for another stroke if necessary; and the tramp, seizing a fragment of rock, hurled it with such force and precision that the reptile was stretched crushed and writhing. Then he turned and stared at hor with an expres sion indicating his profound astonish ment at happening on a fashionably- dressed young lady in such a locality. “Are you better ?” ha finally asked. “I don’t know,” she said. In her excitement she had not been conscious of a sting, but now, as she directed her mind to tho question, she felt an odd sensation near the elbow of Lor right arm. There was also a wet spot on her sleeve. It fitted tight to her arm, and would not come up. Tho tramp opened his pocket-knife and gave to her, saying, peremptorily: “Rip it up !” She hesitated, and then, apparently recognizing that it was no time for pru dery, began to cut and haggle at the sleeve, making such poor work that he was evidently on the point of taking the knife out of her hand and doing it for her but refrained. As she raised the severed sleeve above the round, white flash, she turned aside a little so that he could not see. There, on the outside of the arm, just above the elbow, were two red puno- tures in tho flesh, from which a few drops of blood had exuded. “Let's see,” said tho tramp, aud she showed him. She wasn't thinking of the proprieties any more. “Ah '. that’s bad,” said he, shaking his head and looking concerned. “It’s fatal, isn’t it ?” she asked, faintly. He did not reply in words, but his countenance indicated that he had nothiog to say to tho contrary. She sat down on a rock, for her limbs trembled under her. She was very pale and her face was sot in rigid lines. “We must try to get you home at once,” said the tramp, who was standing before her looking down on her compassionately from his six-feet attitude. “Where do you live ?” “I'm staying at the House in , but I came out to walk, and lost my way, and I've no idea which way is home,” she replied, piteously.” “That's unlucky,” said he, “for I’m on a tramp from tho North, and I don’t know the country. I expected to pull up at the hotel by night, but I don’t know j ust where it lies.” “But what can I do ? I can’t die here all alone !” she cried, hysterically, a con viction of the unmitigated cruelty of her fate beginning to overcome the incredul ity with which Nature interposes to pre vent the first shook of a horrible reality from crushing the mind. To her, even her, Antoinette Livings ton, the belle of her avenue at home, and the petted queen of a circle of wealth and culture, it was apparently appointed to die of a snake’s-bite in a desert place, with a tramp to close her eyes. A wave of self-pity overwhelmed her ; her eyes flooded with tears, and she began to sob. And then, growing calmer, she found herself wondering when they would miss her at the hotel, and begin to send out searching-parties, nnd how long it would bo before they would find hor,aud whether she would bo very much disfigured ! She had read such horrible stories about tho effects of rattlesnako-bites ! How would her father feel when he arrived at the hotel from tho city iu tho morning and found her missing ? Or, perhaps she would have been brought home by then. What a commotion it would make among the guests at the botol, and how pretty Belle Stacy would look in toars—she al ways did. Mr. Heywood would undoubt edly admire her, aud it might lead to something. Tho tramp was speaking ; she had nearly forgotten him. Sucking the poison out of the wound sometimes cures persons. We can at least try that.” She caught at the suggestion with an eagerness almost convulsive, and raised her arm to her mouth. But, because the wound was on the outside of it, she could not, try as she might, quite touch it with her lips. Her efforts, as 6he twisted her mouth and pinched her arm, would have been laughable had the emergency been any less serious. “You had better let me do it.” She looked at him in involuntary amazement at the unparalleled audacity of the suggestion. “It’s no time to be notional. It’s life or death 1” said the tramp, rather impa tiently. The logic of the situation was indeed , inexorable : she extended her arm. He knelt before her and took the snowy treasare in his big, rough, brown fingers. The slender, blue-veined wrist he held as tenderly as if it had been an egg shell. The dimpled elbow rested in the palm of the other hand. Miss Livingston, de spite her terrified preoccupation, could not help starting as he put his mouth to the flesh. She had not thonght that the lips of bo rough a man could be soft, or that their touch would be so like a kiss. There was something at once laughable aud pathetic in the attitude of the strangely sssorted couple during the next few minutes. Miss Livingston kept her face resolutely averted, and looked in tently at a distant mountain top, but her eyes were really in her arm. Her occa sional furtive glances at the face so close ly pressed to it were a study in their mix ture of repugnance, ?even to loathing, with intense anxiety to have him go on. And yet, if she had been in a mood to take a dispassionate inventory of her tramp’s appearance, she must have ad mitted that, although formidably big and brawny, he would not have been at all a bad-looking fellow if he were once well shaved and had better clothes. He had been kneeling before her on both knees, but now 'changed his posture to one knee, and almost instantly thereafter sprang to his feet, crying with an excite ment that showed how strong had. been his repressed feeling: “Thank God! I’ve got something that will save you. What a fool I was not to think of it before!” and he pulled a flask out of his hip-pocket, and shook it exult- ingly in her face. His heel, as he chang ed his posture, had touched the flask and reminded him of its existence. Miss Livingston looked at him apprehensively. What was he going to do to her? He speedily made it clear. “That’s full of whiskey, a good pint. Whiskey is the only sure euro for rattle snake poison. All you’ve got to do is to drink this till you are intoxicated, and then you are cured.” She had been through'somo very novel experiences that afternoon, and done things which she would never have thought it possible she should be brought to do; but this was rather too much. If sho had heard this brawny vagabond aright, he coolly proposed that she should drink herself into a state of insensibility, alone with him iu this remote spot, ne poured some liquor into the tin cup which ho took from the bottom of the flask, and extended it to her. She shook her head and merely said: “Thank you, I won’t try it.” What was the use of arguing a ques tion of propriety with a tramp? “I see you’re afraid of me,” he said; “I can’t wonder at that, but it is a case of necessity. If you don’t drink you are dead in'an hour! There’s at least a bare chance that I’m an honorable fellow but there’s no chance at all if you don’t take the whiskey. This is the time of year when tho poison is strongest, and that was a big fellow. Your arm is swell ing already.” She glanced at the still writhing rep tile with a shudder, and then at her arm. It was indeed swelling, and the faDg- marks had grown black. Pitiful Heavens! must sho choose between thi3 imminent, horrible death, and an absolute surrender of herself to this vagrant’s mercy? She rose and turned her back on him, look ing away to the mountain tops. She walked a few steps to and fro, and then turned and asked him in a strained voice: “But won’t this that you’ve been doing draw out the poison?” “There’s [not much chance, because you see the bite is among the big veins, and the poison got at once into the blood. I only did it because it was better than doing nothing. She looked at the cup which he held toward her as if almost decided to take it and then turned away again and stood a long timo. What thoughts were in her mind any woman can guess. It is not for me to desoribe them. Finally she turned slowly around once more and looked fixedly into his face, as if studying it for her life—as indeed she was. The dark blue eyes rested on the brown ones of the man with a gaze in which inquiry, entreaty, fear, doubt, and piteous appeal, were most affectingly mingled. “I assure you that you will be safe. I am a gentleman—I am indeed, although I’m not dressed like one. ” He spoke with an air of sincerity. Still, those were but words, and her eyes still questioned his, though as if hopeless of obtaining the assurance they sought. “I am so sorry for you,” he said at last, and as he spoke his eyes suffused with moisture. “Give me the cup—I will drink it now!” she exclaimed. However it might be with her own sex, she felt that she might trust the wet eyes of a man. Ho explained to her how to take as much as possible at one gulp and swallow it without breathing, so as to avoid the smart of the raw liquor. Still she strangled and spluttered so that half the first draft was wasted, and her eyes were filled with water. After that he gave her smaller drinks and she got on better. “Don’t you begin to feel it?"’ he asked, after she had in this way taken nearly half a pint. “Not at all,” she replied, .beginning to think that, after all, it was not going to be snch a dreadful thing. “That shows the strength of the poison it has to counteract," he said. “Why, you talk like an educated man 1” she exolaimed impulsively. “Why shouldn’t I?” he replied, in sur prise, and then added as if to himself, with an amused smile, “Oh, yes, I forgot —it’s the clothes.” She failed to see what the joke was. Beyond this there was no conversation between them. She simply drank, and gasped, and wiped her mouth and tearful eyes with an embroidered handkerchief, of whieh the effective part was a centre half an inch square, the rest being lace border; while her odd Ganymede was kept busy replenishing the cup as fast as she finished it. At intervals of a few minutes she took two more drinks. She would still have said that Bhe felt no ef fects from the liquor, but she was con scious of taking a more generally san guine view of the situation than a few minutes before. Her painful fears and apprehensions had disappeared. There was evidently nothing so formidable about tramps, if they were properly man aged. Her timidity about this one bad wholly gone, aud she felt qaite inclined to patronize him. It struck her that it would be a shrewd idea to clinch the fellow’s fidelity with pecuniary motives; so she said, with a fine air of condescen sion: “I want you to understand that I am very much obliged to you for your assis tance, and intend to reward you hand somely if you continue to behave well, as J I have no doubt you will do. I have J nothing with me to give you but my watch, which is not worth much; but on ! returning to the hotel I will see that you have a hundred dollars in greenbacks.” The effect of this very neat little speech was, however, rather disappoint ing. The tramp at first looked astonish ed, and then the perception of something extremely fanny appeared to break on him. He grinned from ear to ear, and his eyes twinkled as he replied: “Yon are certainly very kind, young lady; but I think you put your valuation too low. I am not much of a judge of such asticles, but I should say you would be very cheap at a hundred dollars, even iu these hard times. Couldn’t you put it higher—say two hundred or three hun dred dollars, now? That would still be cheap; and maybe you would (hrow in watch.” Was he chuckling over her approach ing state of helplessness? Sho turned pale, end her eyes, a moment before so confident, were unsteady with fear. What had he 6aid? Had he insulted her? Had he threatened her? She could not exactly remember his words: there was beginning to be such a confused feeling in her bead. But he was laubging at her. In some way, sho thought, he meant her harm. A sudden recollection flashed across her mind. A gentleman had once given her in joke a little pearl-handled, gold- mouuted pistol, and her mother had in sisted on her carrying it when she went walking in the country. It was always in the pocket of this dress, although she did not generally think of it once a week. She put her hand in her pocket and drew it. Cocking it was an idea quite beyond her, but she held it in front of her, and looked steadily at the tramp, or rather tried to, for somehow she could not see him quite distinctly. It seemed as if she had to summon all her energies to articu late, and what she said sounded like this: “I wan’ you t' lead mo 'ome dreckly.” Sho forgot, in the increasing bewild erment of her brain, that he was as igno rant of the direction as herself. She could not hear distinctly what he said in reply. Her brain appeared to be all afloat, dragging anchor, and drifting away somewhere. She now only saw him through a mist, though she made the utmost efforts to keep her eyes fixed on his face in spite of the odd manner in whieh ha seemed to be bobbing about, trying to dodge her gaze. Had another tramp come up? There seemed to be two of them dancing around and making up faces. And the rock3 and trees—what were they all flying around for in such an extraordinary manner? She had a dim sense of being caught and lifted and laid on something soft, of faintly resisting and muttering, “Pleezsh lemma 'lone. Pleezsh g’way,” and then by being over- powertd by a drowsiness that made the recumbent posture a luxury that was ir resistible. Perhaps it was throe hours later whea waking out of a dream that she was at boarding school on one of those hor rid mattresses, she opened her eye3 and rubbed them. There was nothing but blue sky overhead. After an instant or two of wonder if she might not be an angel waking from a nap on a cloud, she turned on her elbow and saw a big, rough looking man, who nevertheless produced a strange effect of familiarity on her mind, sitting ten or fifteen feet away,and looking at her with an expression of amusement and interest. Then she jumped up quickly enough, as may be inferred. “How do you feel after the whiskey?” he asked. Then it all came back to her. “I’m all right, except a little giddy.” “It’s a pity so hard ahead should have boon wasted on a young lady. It would would have been a pearl of great price to a toper,” he remarked dryly. “How i8 your arm ?” “Nothing but a little itching is left,” she said, looking at it; and th9n, feeling of it, added, “The swelling has pretty much gone down, too.” In sleep the mind falls back into old ruts, and a recent experience is always fresh at waking. She looked around and saw, a3 if for the first time, the wild spot, the dead snake yonder, the empty flask, the bundle on which her head had been placed, her hat, which he must have taken off, aud by its side the pistol, then she turned to the man who stood there, watching her with a smile of amused sympathy. “You have saved my life.” She felt like making some sort of fer vent acknowledgement, perhaps of gush ing. But tho tramp gave her no chance, for he replied, glancing toward the pistol with a comical look of mock terror: “And you have spared mine.” Miss Livingston followed his glance, turned red with shame at thought of the generosity with which he had repaid her suspicion, and, stepping to where the pretty trifle lay, flung it as far as sho could. That was all the acknowledge ment she made. This odd tramp certain ly possessed that most desirable knack in a gentleman, of dispensing gracefully with the verbal tributes of those he has benefited. “Dear me! how late it is,” cried Miss Livingston, as the western tree top3 drew their oool shadows over her face, and the sun sack out of sight. “What are we going to do about getting home? My friends will be crazy.” It seemed as if hor perplexities that day were never going to end. “I supposed if I did not find the way home for you, you would probably shoot me at sundown,” replied the tramp, with his quizzical expression, “so I stirred about while you were taking your nap, and think I have the directions about right. It will be nearly an hour’s walk. "We will start at once if you feel strong enough.” “Yes, indeed; let us not wait a mo ment!” and, gathering up her skirts, she followed his lead straight into the forest. The “great companion” was sinking in the west and sending only occasional faint,level rays through the dusky woods. She felt lonley and fearsome, but no more scared than if she had been with her father or brother. She needed all her breath for walking, and they did not talk, nor did he even turn to her, sa* g once or twice when he had to lift her over fallen trees, which he did with the utmost strength and delicacy. “Here’s the road,” he said at last, and clambering over a stone fence, they stood in it at a point which Miss Livingston recognized. They now walked along side by side. She would not have liked to be alone on that road at that time of night, and it was with a sense of beiDg protected that she glanced now and then at the big fig ure by her side, making small step3 to keep pace with her. Either he was very reticent, or a-very deferential person, for he did not once offer to enter into con versation. His quiet self-sufficiency be gan actually to pique her, which showed that she had come to recognize him as a man and social being. Finally, she broke out: “Are you really a tramp? I’m sure you are not in the least like any I ever heard of.” “Certainly I am a tramp,” he replied, gravely. “It may be a matter of opinion whether I am a gentleman or not. At least you don’t seem inclined to believe it; but, if tramping makes a tramp I am undoubtedly a tramp.” “But how can you make up your mind to such a life?’’ she cried, impulsively; “a man of education, I am sure, of hon orable feelings, like you.” “I think you do our guild injustice,” he replied, with an air of mild reproaoh. “Surely, as a physical exercise the doc tors recognize nothing as better than tramping. That it is favorable to taste and spirituality is shown by the fact that bards and apostles were of old famous tramps.” “But, excuse me, you know you have to beg—that is, you have to ask people, you know, for food, don’t yon?” said Miss Livingston. “You mean we b6g our bread?” he amended, “Yes, and that is (he main argument for the tramper’s way of life. What title is so clear, so sweet, so beyond question, as (hat by free eharily? He who trades in his goods or his wits must often feel himself a cheat, always a cheat or cheated, and his bread must be sour aud bitter. But the bread that is given is as sweet as the uubought blessings of God. The old monks weie right. Ue who would keep his conscience clear must beg his living. I am sick at heart of this lying sham of mine and thine. I know not, no man can know for certain, in the war of equities, what or how much is rightly his and rightly another’s. I leave such controversies to others. I am tired of this grab etiquette at the ta ble of life. I do not ask for a great por tion, but what I do have I want to be able to eat with a good conscience, with assurance that it is mine. To that end I would gladly concede that everything of right belongs to others, so that my claim to at least what they freely give me might be clear. Often enough, where I get perplexed over tbo refinements and hopeless obscurity of vieiim and tuum, I half resolve to become a tramp myself.” “But I thought you said you were a tramp?” said Miss Livingston quickly. “Why, so I am,” replied ho. At this moment they turned a corner of tho road and the lights of the hotel gleamed right ahead. “Here I leave you,” said the tramp. “Ob, no!” cried Miss LivingstoD, al most laying her hand on his sleeve. “You must come to the hotel and take some of those sweet gifts you talk of from me, although they will not be gifts indeed, but rather a scrimped payment for a great service,” and her voice trembled. “Exactly,” he replied; “I don’t want anything from you, because it would be too much like a trade, so I’ll just jog along a bit and beg my supper from somebody I haven’t benefited. When people exohange gifts, you know, they lose the flavor of both.” “Do stop a moment,” she exclaimed, as he turned away. “My father can get you work, any nice sort you would like—as a clerk, or a policeman, or at anything. That would be so much better than tramping, in spite of all you say. Do please, let him.” “I’m too lazy to work, I fear.” “But I can’t bear to think that, after all you've done for me, you should be kicked and abused at back-doors as tramps are.” “You are a very kind young lady,” re plied the tramp, while his voice trem bled either with tears or other emotion, “but yon needn’t fret. As for the abase, that is nothing but a symptom of the moral dyspepsia which well-to-do people get for eating bread which they are sure is rightly theirs; and as for kicks, I don’t get e’m—I’m too big.” “You must let me do something for you. It’s mean not to,” she cried, almost angrily, her whole generous little soul boiling over in indignant gralilnde. “Well, if you put it on that ground,” said the tramp, turning Equarely around to her, “there is one thing I would like. I’m afraid you’ll think it too much, but it would be a greater comfort, and stay by me longer than anything else I can think of.” “What is it?” she demanded in a tone that was a promise. “Its desirableness oocurred to me when you were lying asleep there this after- nooD,” pursued the tramp in his grave way. “Will you let me kiss you?” For sole reply Miss Livingston turned her cheek. The tramp kissed it, turned aud disappeared with swift steps in the darkness, and she went on to the hotel with her feelings all topsy-turvey. It was late that evening when she en tered the hotel parlors. Had she follow ed her inclinations, she wonld not have gone at all. Her nerves were all on edge, and she wanted to be alone. The events of the afternoon demanded to be thought over alone and at length. That morning 6he had counted on the hop as a great event; to-night it seemed tame. She knew all the gentlemen who wonld be there. They were well enough, and no doubt she should find them quite suffi cient when in a less exacting mood; but to-night, Bomehow, as compared with the almost majestic impression of generous, strong, antrammeled, unconventional life and character which the tramp had left on her mind, they seemed small, pale, artificial, and characterless. Not that she was sentimental about her deliverer. How could she be that about a man who however noble and grand, was doubtless even now eating broken victuals at some kitchen-door under the eye of the ser vant-girl, or possibly, stealing into a farmer’s barn for a night's sleep in the haymow! And yet, if not exactly sentimental, her feeling was remarkably like it. At first she wished that he would have taken money, for then he would have taken himself out of her mind; and then she was glad he had not, and proud that he had not, and called herself absurd to have urged it on him, or thought that he was the kind of man to take it. How strange it was, their walking along to gether, and talking like old acquaint ances, she and a tramp! She had never in her life been brought so near to any man as to this tramp. Tramp! No, this knight and gentleman—this Nature’s no bleman, rather! It will be seen that Miss Livingston’s caste-distinction had been a good deal overturned since morning. How oonld she have let him go in the way she did? And yet what else could she have done? At any rate, she was glad she had given him that kiss. She should always be glad of that, aud sho blushed —yes, blushed—at the thonght, and not wholly with shame either. When she entered the parlors her ac quaintances flocked about her with eager inquiries as to her adventure, rumors of whioh had already got abroad. But she was very short in her replies. It was really not worth making so much fuss about, she said. She had been lost in the woods, and had found her way out again, aud that was all. About tho rat tlesnake adventure she was entirely si lent, having no notion of exposing her tramp to the coarse comments of ordina ry people, by which, in this case, she meant her polite friends in general. Declining to dance, sho fonnd a seat by a retired window’, where she could in dulge her pensive mood without disturb ance, and whence she observed Bell Sta cy monopolizing Mr. Haywood with a complacency of whioh she certainly would not have been capable an evening before. An acquaintance, a Mr. Ellis, came np and asked leave to introduce a friend of his, Mr. Kennard, of Boston, who had arrived that night, and who wanted to make her acquaintance. “Who is he?” asked Miss Livingston, who had no desire to be obliged to entertain any body to-night. “He’s a fiist-rata fellow,” Mr. Ellis assured her, “a lawyer in Bos ton. Excellent family. Something of a poet, too, I believe. I met him last year in the Tyrol. He was taking it afoot. He has a great fancy for that sort of thing. I believe he has been walking through the mountains this lime sending his baggage ahead.” Mr. Ellis went in quest of his friend, and Miss Livington sat looking out of the window at a bright spot in the distant landscape made by the moonlight on the newly shingled roof of a farmer’s barn. “I wonder if he is sleeping there to night,” she was thinking, when Mr. El lis’s voice recalled her attention. “Miss LiviDgston, let me introduce you to Mr. Kennard. In evening dress, his face shaved, but as big and bronzed as ever, with the same quizzical smile in his brown eyes, her tramp stood before her ! CHILDREN’S COLUMN. CEZZLES FOR TOE CHILDREN. For the Sunday Enquirer. Oq the Bay Shore Bertha lhea. What Is “holy M.” pussy. Askil, I (Manjaoo) do assert my truth. What a border that is. John B. dough—author of temperance. Do stop, Hiram, for it is unkind. In pronunciation cut a Roman, off short. Who made that punch? I, Hi Borazo. Out in Macon Caguala lived. The cow hit Ella with her horn. Water is God’s gift to man, I ate vernon and blanc mango. I saw Rica Mel’s hump backed child. Did yon bite Jack’s ears, Argentine? For 0, Ena, it was dreadful. The rebU9 was oapitol. % This car dust chokes mo. Is the snow done falling! Did you meet Nannie? The clam waa not well cooked. I shill ever esteem Mr. Townsend. Ilis name Was Gervln D. Hyalpa. It was quartz shell or cine ore. Miss Mataur used to visit urn. He sang an Argentine ballad. ANSWERS. Answer to numerical enigma No. I, of last Sun day,by Mattia B.rry—“A soft answer turuetii away wrath.” Auswer to numerical enigm i No. 2, of last Sun day, by W.—“Philadelphia.” Auswer to cross-word puzzle—“Trout.” Answer t j diamond puzzle by W.t S MAP SEKAU PAN H Belle. DAISY AND I. STEAM PLANING MILLS -AND- Our Daisy lay dowa In her little nightgown, And kissed me again and again, On forehead and cheek,, Oil lips that wouid.speak, But found themselves shut to their gain, 1 lien , foolish, absurd, To utter a word, I ask her the question so old, That wife and that lover Ask over and over, As if they were surer when told. Tlioro, close at hor side, “Do you love me?” I oried; Sho lifted her golden-crowned head; A puzzled surprise Shone in lier gray eyes— “Why, that’s why I kiss you!” alio said. To Cleanse a Quilting Frame.—Wash it well with hot water, made soft with bo rax. No. 2.—Take a sponge bath jnst before retiring; have pUnty of pulverized bo rax in the water; rub well with a coarse towel to get up a circulation. To Make Yeast Cakes.—Drain all liquid from yeast; press through cloth, and spread out on cloth to dry in sun or in a heated room; ent in pieces conven ient to turn to facilitate drying. To Wash White Silk Stockings.—One tablespoonful of lemon juice to a quart of tepid water; wash thoroughly, using no soap; dry quickly in tho shade; the flesh tint will be preserved. To Kill Moths.—Pour plenty of odor less naptha over your furniture-; set the furniture out doors some bright windy day and the naptha will soon evaporate. Spring and full are good times to try it. To Prevent Moths.—Dust the garment well; fold it nicely; spriukla plenty of pulverized borax on the bottom of tho trunk or packing box, also over tho gar ment; on the top of nil plaee brown pa per; stick it down well around the edges. A Remedy for Cold Feet.—Every night on going to bed dip the feet into shallow cold water two or three times quickly, then rub briskly with a coarse towoll till dry; then take hold of each end of tho towel and draw it back and forth through tho hollow of the foot un til a glow is excited. To Preserve Leaves.—Autumn leaves can bo perfectly preserved by rubbing wax on a medium hot iron and ironing the loaves on both sides. Autumn leaves that retain their color best are those which are guthered when frost comes early in September. Frost is rather late this year for handsome leaves. Yeast Cakes from one Cake.—Dissolve the cake in two cupfuls of water; when dissolved stir in flour enough for thick batter, and set in a warm place to rise; when risen well, which will be in from three to nine hours, mix it stiff enough to roll out with white Indian mea!; roll thin, cut in sqaare cakes, and dry on your bread board. For Cough and Consumption.—Melt some resin at night on going to bed and let the smoke from it fill the room. In haling the smoke heals the inflammation and sleep is often produced when one could not sleep before for much coughing. Persevere until a cure is effected. A change for the better shoald be felt with in a week. Oyster Stew.—Set over tho fire a quart of oysters in their juice; bring quickly to a boil; skim thoroughly; add white pepper, a little salt, an ounce of butter and half pint of boiling thin cream; send to table at once with crack ers and pickles. LUMBER YARD. T. *J. DUDLEY, Manufacturer and Dealer In Building Material, Keeps constantly on hand all Regular Sites Sash, Doors, Blinds and Monldinaja. F LOORING AND CEILING drw*ed and matched and all ktndt of roujrt and LUMBER, DOOR AND WINDOW FRAMES, PICKETS AND LATTICE, *«■. out to order. All work done, and matorit) furnished, at bottom prices. ONliY ’iwTTTvnr OP XT i 8x10 Window, 12 Lights, Primed and Glazed, for juet SI oo I 99 I OO 9 OO I OO 8x10 “ 15 8x10 “ 18 “ “ “ 10x12 “ 18 “ 4-Panel Doors as low a* Moulding a specialty at half the usual price. AGENTS FOR THE Ooutormial Patent Saali Balance. It is simple convenient and cheap; can be applied to old window* without change of frame* answers every purpose of the weighted sash, and can be had for le** taan one-fourth the usual cost. Call and examine. **-OFFICE and MILLS on Mercer Street,near General PaBsangeMJepoj. 0eanfU ocitSK’y L. L. COWDERY. (Established 1844.) L. L. COWDERY, J*. Theories about Mar*. The land regions of Mars can be dis tinguished from the seas by their ruddy color, the seas being Rreenish. But here, perhaps, jou will be disposed to ask how astonomers can be sure that the greenish regions aro seas, the ruddy regions land, the white spots either snow or olond. Might not materials altogether unlike any we are acquainted with exist upon that re mote planet? The spectroscope answers this ques« lion in the clearest way. You know that the astronomers have learned that the vapor of water exists iu the atmosphere of Venus. The same method has been applied, even more satisfactorily, to the planet of war, and it has been fonnd that he also has his atmosphere at times laden with moisture. This being so, it is clear we have not to do with a planet made of materials utterly unlike those forming onr earth. To suppose so when we find that the air of Mars, formed like our own (for if it contained other gases the spec troscope would tell us), contains often large quantities cf the vapor of water, would be as absurd as to believe in the green cheese theory of the moon, or in another equally preposterous, advanced lately by an English artist—Mr. J. Brett —to the effect that the atmosphere of Venus is formed of glass. There is another theory about Mars, ceriainly not so absurd as either of those just named, but scarcely supported by evidence at present—the idea, namely, advanced by a French astronomer, that the ruddy color of the lands and seas of Mars is due to red trees and a generally scarlet vegetation. Your poet Holmes refers to this in those lines of his, “Star- clouds and Wind-clouds” (to my mind, among the moat charming of his many charming poems): “The snows that glittered on the disc of Mars Have melted, and the planet’s fiery orb Rolls In the crimson snmmer of its yoar.” It is quite possible, of course, that such colors as are often Been in American woods in the autnmn time may prevail in the forests and vegetation of Mars during the fullness of the Martian summer. The fact that during this season the planet looks ruddier than usual, in some degree corresponds with this theory. But it is much better explained, to my mind, by the greater clearness of tho Martian air in the summer time. That wonld enable ns to see the color of the soil better. If onr earth were looked at from Venus during tho winter-time, the snows covering large parts of her surface, and the clouds and mists common in the winter months, wonld hide the tints of the surface, whereas these would be very distinct in clear summer weather. I fear my own conclusion about Mars is that bis present condition is vory deso late. I look on the ruddiness of tint to which I have referred as one of tho signs that the planet of war has long since passed its prime. There are lands and seas in Mars, the vapor of water is pre sent in hia air, clouds form, rains and snows fall npon his surface, and doubtless brooks and rivers irrigate his soil, and carry down the moisture collected on his wide continents to the seas whence the clonds had originally been formed, hut I do not think there is much vegetation on Mars, or that many living creatures of the higher types of Martian life as it once existed still remain. All that is known abont the planet tends to show that the time when it attained that stage of plane tary existence through which our earth is passing must bo Bet millions of years, porhaps hundreds of millions of years, ago. He has not yet, indeed, reached that airless and waterless condition, that ex tremity of internal cold, or in fact that ntter unfitness to support any kind of life, ! which would seem to prevail in the moon. 5 The planet of war in some respects re- i sembles a desolate battle-field, and I fan cy that there is not a single region of the earth now inhabited by man which is not infinitely more comfortable as an abode of life than the most favored regions of Mars at the present time would be for j creatures like ourselves.—[Prof. R. A. ! Proctor, Ht. Nicholas for November. L. L. COWDERY & CO. Importers of and Dealers in Hit. GROKERY AND GLASS WARE! French Forcelian from the best Manufacturers. STAFFORDSHIRE FANCY GOODS DECORATED TOILET AND DINNER WARE, Majolica, Fancy Enameled Goods, GERMAN AND FRENCH TOYS-A Large Variety. GLASS WARE IN EVERY VARIETY, English, French, Belgian Bohemian and Domestic Silver - Plated. W are. A VERY LARGE AND BEAUTIFUL ASSORTMENT TABLE and POCKET CUTLERY. Bronze Limps, Chandeliers,Brackets, German and French Baskets, etc. No. 1 20 Broad Street, Columbus, Oa. octll SKim CLOTHING. TSTow Pall dto Winter CLOTHING. HOFFLIN & BRO., 88 Broad Street, Columbus, Ga., Have Just Received one of the Largest Stocks of Men’s, Youths’ and Boys’ Clothing EVER DR0UGJ1T TO COLUMBUS, WHICH WILL BE SOLD AT UN PRECEDENTED LO W PPJ CES. Men’s Suits from $5 to $35; Boys’ Suits from $2 to $18; Men’s and Boys’ HATS from 50 cts. to $5. Our Excelsior Unlaundried Shirt, all finished, the best in the market, for $1*00. Business and Dress made to order, and satisfaction gauranteed. 8epli >oala CARRIAGES, WAGONS, Ac. II. O. McKEE, GUNBY BUILDING—St- Clair Street, -DEALER IN- Carriages, Buggies and Wagons Of every description, at prices to suit the times! W HAT you don’t see ask for, and he will exhibit cut* (from reliable builder*) of any Ye- hicle manufactured, which he will furnish upon short notloe, at manufacturer’* price*. All work gold and warranted will be protected. — Has now in stock and will continue to receive fresh supplies of Buggy, Carriage and other Harness; Gents’ and Ladies’ Sad* dies in great variety; Cellars, Hames, Bridles, Ac. Whips, Curry Combs, Horse Brushes, Ac. H^AU will be sold, at close prices,^^ octlG d&wly H. C. McKEE. SMITH & MURPHY, COLUMBUS City Carriage WoiTvs Are prepared to do ali kinds of work that pertain to the Carriage business, in the best style. W e Gau. nntee our work to bo ae oheap and lotting and have as ftno finish as oan ba se cured at any Man ufactory in t b a State or eteawbero. Como to see us, and get the best bargain ever secured. faepla iiataw&wflm] MARK A. BRADFORD, WHOLESALE & RETAIL DEALER IN Saddles and Harness. To Cube Wakefulness.—Wrap cloths dipped in cold water around the wrist and sometimes lay a wet oloth on the top of the head. CARRIAGE, BUOGY &. WAGON HARNESS. Hr MI 63, Collars, Whips, LsiIIab anil Gents’ Trunks and SATCHELS. MEN’S, HOYS’ —and— LADIES'.SADDLES Sole, Upper, Haras**, tad Dash Leather. ENAMELED OLOTH. Saddles Orders by Mail Promptly Attended To and Harness Made to Order* Mr. MiDDLEBROOKjs still with me, at his OLD STAND, 94 Broad Strati octli esSm WAREHOUS.ES ALABAMA WAREHOUSE, COLUMBUS, Gr A.. BLANCHARD, WILLIAMS & CO. :o: Largest and Host Complete Fire-Proof Waretase ii tit Snft. ADVANCES MADE ON -:o:— CONSIGNMENTS. W E sell for the Manufacturers the Celebrated DANIEL PRATT GIN. Since the introduction of the Patent Revolving Head, tab Mr stands at the head of the list. BEST LIVERPOOL SALT from first hands, in Car-load Lota. BAGGING and TIES at Lowest Market Ratea. Choice Western and Northern HAY el ways on hind <£§* Terms liberal as any, and prompt attention to all buaineee entrusted to ua. aac&nftwtt