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SWIFT DRESSING. Haw Aflrfar. Are ■'■■nMril la itianca Tlalr IwiMMfi Ha (faintly. The lady correspondent of the Cincin nati /inquirer writ** from New York about a visit she paid to the dressing room of a popular actress: There I saw a handsome evening dross spread out on a chair with orderly precision. It was an elaborate combina tion of satin and embossed velvet and loco, made up in ono of the newest styles; but it had a peculiarity of being oi*cii in front, from neck to hem, like a wrapper, but it was so contrived that the opening would not bo discernible when the gar ment was worn. Another odd feature was that all tho bows, jewels, and other ornaments, such ns women ordinarily spend an hour or so in adjusting, were already fastened on in tho proper places, By the chair was a pair of satin slippers, and on a stand was a pair of kid gloves and a fan. On n block was a blonde wig dressed in the latest fashion, with a ribbon and a gilt ornament all in place. The maid glanced with anxious eyes at all these arrange ments, and seemed afraid that I would disturb them. I was just realizing that they were planned to effect a lightning change of costume, when tho actress herself bounced in. She was warm from her exertion on the stage, but not a bit Hurried. She did not lose a single mo ment, though she chatted glibly with mo ail the while. First, sho picked up the gloves and began to put them on. At the same time the maid unhooked her dross from top to bottom with quick, deft fingers, nud stripped off the whole garment ill a twinkling. The pretty creature stood before me in her white clothes, laughing at my expression of surprise at the rapid disrobemenfc. She seated herself and extended her feet for the ihaid to take off the shoes and stockings. The latter, be ing stripped down over the feet in n jiffy, did not disclose the naked flesh, but elaborately clocked silk hose, so that, the fresh pair were already on. By the time the slippers were on, the actress had got the last button of tier gloves into its button-hole. A minute and a half had elapsed. Both had not only worked with great rapidity, but without any false motions or vexations of any sort. Then the maid took of several puffs and a bow from her mistress’ head—her hair in the last act having been simply dressed— and put on the more elaborate blonde wig, fastening it in place with hairpins, and setting a lock here and there into place. Next the actress stood up, and the maid swiftly put her into the dress that had lain on tho chair. Every part of it fell admirably into plage, fire drap ery across the front hiding the junction, and plentiful hooks and eyes holding ail together. Standing before a full-length mirror, she finally surveyed herself critically, at just three minutes and a half from tbe start. Half a minute moro was employed in putting some additional rouge and powder on the face, and then she was ready to go on the stage. Baby is Dead. “Baby is dead!” Three little words passed along the line; copied somewhere and soon forgotten. But after all was quiet again I leaned my hand upon my head and fell into a deep reverie of all that those Words mean. Somewhere—a dainty form, still and <eold, unclasped my mother’s arms to night. Eyes chat yesterday were bright and blue as skies of June drooped to night beneath white Jids that no voice can ever raise again. Two soft hands, whose rose-leaf fingers were wont te wander lovingly nround mother’s neck and face, loosely holding white buds, quietly folded in confined rest. Soft lips yesterday rippling with laughter, sweet as woodland brook falls, gay as trill of forest birds; to-night un responsive to kiss or call of loro. A silent home—the patter of baby feet forever hushed -a cradle bed impressed. Little shoes half worn -dainty garments —shoulder knots of blue to match those eyes of yesterday folded with aching heart away. A liny mound, snow covered in some 'quiet grave-yard. A mother’s groping touch, in uneasy slumber, for the fair head that shall never again rest upon her bosom The low sol) the bitter tear as broken dreams awake to sad reality. The hope of future years wrecked, like fair ships that suddenly go down in sight of land. The watching of other babies, dimpled, laughing strong, and this one gone! The present agony of grief, the future empti ness of heart, all held in those three lit tle words, “Baby is Dead!” Indeed, it is well that we can copy and soon forget the words so freighted with woo to those who receive and send them. And yet it cannot harm us now and then to give a tender thought to those whom our careless peu stroke is prepar ing such a weight of grief.— Kokomo Tribuna. Sedentary Habits. The alarming increase of late years in the proportion of sudden deaths is be ginning to attract the attention of statist icians. It is largely due, no doubt, to more general mental activity without a proportionate increase in bodily exercise. The busy life of the age demands a con stant hurry and excitement, and taxes the physical powers to the utmost to keep up in the race for money-getting. One of the disadvantages of introducing facilities of transportation is the tempta tion to cut short time and distance by the habitual use of steam cars and horse cars even in the daily transit from the dwelling to tho office. A sedentary oc cupation begets an almost unconquera ble aversion to regular exercise, and the result of yielding to the indisposition is that the mental powers, kept at a steady tension for years, will some day suddenly relax and leave their abuser either life less or a helpless paralytic. To literary and professional men is vigorous and regular exercise especially needful, and the example of its effects in a hale old age will suggest themselves to every one. The exercise needed to keep the mind in tone and the physical force unabated, up to the three score years and ten, is not a daily spin behind a fast stepping horse, but the long swinging gait which puts the walker over a country road at the rate of three or five miles an hour, and sends the blood pusling with invigorat ing life to every portion of the system. Two hours exercise a day, so far from being a positive waste of time, is a posi tive economy, supplying the nervous force for moro and better work in ton hours than the man of street cars and carriages can get out of twelve. — New London Telepram. He Gracefully Accepted. “ I assure you, gentlemen,” said the convict upon entering the prison, “that the place has sought me, and not I the place. My own affairs really demand all my time and attention, and I may truly say that my selection to fill this position was an entire surprise. Had I consulted my own interests, I should have, per emptorily declined to serve, but, as I am in the hands of my friends, 1 see no other course than te submit.” And ho submitted. He Iwm lisfo |,tpi WIL SINGLETON, Editor & Proprietor. VOL VI. WFRtIK’N fJI-DTH Slips of n kil skin iVfrly sofrn, A scent its thmiu:li lu*r pinion Mown, The tender hue that clothes her and >ve, All these—find tills Is {Serlle’i glut's. A glove hut InMy desfthd. for look— -11 keeps the happy slmpe It look Warm from the touch ! What glVo tho gTowT And where's the mold that shaped it to? It clasped the hemd, so pure, so sleek, Where Gnrtie rests a pensive Cheek, The it; n I, that when the light wind si Ira, Reproves those laugh! og locks of hen. VoUr fingers four, you little thuittb! Were 1 but yon, in days to Come, T I clasp and kl.-H an I keep her gol And tell her that 1 told you so. A. GIBL’N FANCYv BY KDWABC i. SIIttIVNEK, ft is a quiet summer afternoon, and tho valley in tbe Catskills where ive find ■ ourselves lies in perfect ntlliuos#; the 3kiff that monopolizes tiro littlo lake moving gently along without a ripple to tnakn pretense of barring its program. Brownfields is a delightful place, but if it were not ter t-hfc visitors with whom the Deters fill their house in the sum mer. lonely enough to bo railed ’'flu. With tho Peters and theft friends, and with the group* ttl workmen that Mr. Pete)*’ fVrfges b .we gathered in the val ley, we have lit tie to do; but will turn again to look at the fisher-boy, the note occupant of the skiff. Jimmie Gordon te nth bilious, and for the son of an Irish workman—the fore man at one of the shops—is well edu cated and refined. Mr More, a city clergymen who spoilt some of his vaca tions at Brownfields, was struck with his quick native shrewdness, and, taking an interest in him, loaned him books, talked with him. helped him orally while in the mountains, and afterward by cor respondence; and Jinite.'o s own intelli gence and earnest application have done the real; so that when we meet him as Mr. Peters’ fisherman, he not only in tends, with a true American ftAhguine ness, to rise, ' butte far better equipped for the IxitUo he has enlisted in than many even who start on a good deal higher plane. Meanwhile he attends strictly te business, end to-day, when we find hita on the lake, lias finished his fishing for the day, and is idly sculling about, thinking of that better fortune that he lias resolved shall bo his in time and wondering iu what Shape the fates will bring it to him. Mias Etta barton does not in the least look like a Pate as she comes dofifn the hill-path with her cousin, George Lar fon, and their mutual friend, Harry El lis; in fact, we are very much inclined to agree with George when lie thinks of her to-day as numb more of a Grace; but if she is net a Jfute herself she is cer tainly a notable instrument of their will. They are all three stopping with a large party at Montrose, tho nearest apology for a town, and this full four miles away. Miss Lal’ton, however, “gobs in” for walking as the proper thing in the moun tains, and rather against the will of her escorts, lias covered the whole four miles on foot, and is still fresh and ready for adventures when she enters the little Brownefielda valley. Bather dark, of medium height, and in sturdy good health, shall be the wliolo of her per sonal description; and for her “state in life” it Will be enough to say that she is the only daughter of the richest man in Cleveland, and so of course spoiled, but withal, very fascinating, as Cousin George can testify. She is given to whims, and just now the fancy that strikes her is te have a row on the dear little lake that is so invitingly laid out below, so that the one duty of her obedi ent companions is to find the ways and means; not altogether an easy task, see ing that all the boats are carefully locked up, except tho one that Jimmie and his fish use with not the best effects as te cleanliness. Still, as it is the only one, it must be had, and Jimmie, in response to Larton’s request., immediately rows up and takes tho party, Miss Etta in the stern and in full view' of the handsome boatman. Is there such a thing as love at first sight? Surely; and before the trip around the lake is finished, Etta is com pletely conquered by tlie blue eyes of this Irish fisher-lad. On bis part ho felt the natural attraction toward a lovely girl that any man would; but never ex pecting to see her again any more than other chance visitor’s who have happened to row’ over the lake, he hardly thinks of her as more to him than a beautiful pic ture. If for a second anything further had entered his mind, he would instantly have dismissed it as an absurd crying fortbe moon. But Etta is not used to giving up her whims so easily. No sooner had she discovered that she liked his looks than she made rm her mind to Bee more of him; and when Jimmie, after explaining all the surroundings oi the lake, lands them, and somehow im presses on them the conviction that lie is not the sort of person to fee, she takes her cousin aside, and persuades him a little against his will to try and make a return for his politeness by asking him to the hop at the Montrose hotel the next week. And now opens the nflw era in our hero’s life. He is quitie good-looking enough and “nice” enough not to seem out of place in a frock-coat; and by careful use of his own and brother’s best clotlies, he is able to appear at the hotel quite correctly attired ter a country hop, and so far from finding Etta’s infatua ation vanished as suddenly as it was born, she seems worse than before. Going to meet him. as lie enters the room, with an eager, bright smile, she quickly exclaims: “Then you haven’t failed us ?” “Why, no; surely I wouldn’t miss such a chance as this.” And then, sud denly reflecting that it would be best to modify this, he adds, “and of seeing you.” A quick flush of pleasure comes to her face at this first sign of admiration from him, and nil her habitual coquettery comes to abet the curious folly that has taken such a hold on her. “No,” said Jimmie, “I enjoyed my row too much the other day not to come to this hop. Do you know that I hare lived by that lake all ray life, and never knew how beautiful it was before last Friday?” “Then this is really your home? Wn were wondering whether you belonged here, or were only a visitor.” BEEN A VISTA, MAifIGN col NTV, OA„ SATURDAY FBBIH'AttY Iff 1881. At this paten bln attempt to rlufitn him ho was silent fete a fit omen ti littHhiul*. bent to Seoul ramini, no answered: '*e, I was born and raised hero.” Then, smilingly, “I’m only A country boy, yon know. Yon may lie sure, though, not too much of an one to Mutilk you for your kiinhifiSS to me.” JJttlr ils he yet understands the full ex tent, of his influence oVet her, And think ing that she only takes sonto sltfia Inter est ip him or. Mr. More has, he yet feels that he must not shock this rich young lady with the full truth about himself —that ho is only A poor woiktfittn’S son; and. te Avoid More inquires, at once asks for the dance just commencing. When the couple follow this up by another, and still another, the Layton party begin to talk; but nil look tin it. as a flirtation m whf'ch Etta is amusing herself at this country boy’s expense; and Mi’s. Lni’toh, au easy-going woman, not especially re luctant to See Etta- wife Is only a step dsinghtef get herself into scrapes, makes no attempt to interfere. George Larton alone gains, Utlte clearer sight from h'“ intense jealousy, the ncjni'iu result of his long and painful suit. Rather dissipated when very young, the father’s consent has only been won after a most earnest siege 'rind to newed proofs of fefolrfii; and when at test oblfun'ea, has by no Means brought With it Etta's love. At thirty he is not oven on trial, and has A Morbid hatred : fob Any man who seems to lie receiving Hr, least favor. Hurrying across the room to claim the ne*t dance, which is due him, and lie 5a doiibly infuriated at Etta’s quiet re fusal. “O George! I aM very sorry, blit T for got you, sted lrAvS promised this to Mr. fififnon.” “I am sorry too,” was the angry reply, “to deprive Mr. Gordon of your society, os this will be hi” last-.nance of seeing gout btit 1 wfeli particularly to speak to you at once.” A little scared at his manner, sho takes liis arm pettishly, and turns away with him, saying!, “Tito iioxt shall be yours, then, Mr. Gordon. ” “Etta,” exclaimed George, “you posi tively must not dance with flint fellow again. I m acting in place of your ffiLhei’ now, And cannot see von flirting publicly with a man not a fit. associate for you, and becoming tho talk bt the entire room.” “ “Veiy well; T consider ‘this follow’ a fit associate for me or for you, and as I never was kept from doing what I pleased by people’s talking, you wfiu’t frighten me in that way.” And so he lias killed liis own hopes. Rousing all her feminine and individual perversity, iiia only result of his protest is to see her spend tho Most of the even ing with .Jitnniie; to him brought up to Mrs. Liff-toli, and capturing her as ef fectually as her daughter with his sunny blue eyes and sturdy, handsome face, to hear him invited to Cleveland! In the midst of it all Jimmie’s heart is beating very fast, and his head swim ming a little; but lie comes through it triumphantly, and leaves for borne that night with strange, new hopes of secur ing the wished-for wealth by an easier and a quicker route than lie had even dreamed of before. That lie is purely mercenary it would be hardly fair to say; for most Men can be flattered into a liking, if not into love, and Jimmie cer tainly can hardly help being flattered. Very few young men exist but are a lit tle inflated by the evident liking and even admiration of a pretty and attrac tive girl; but when there is so great a dif ference in social position, in wealth and every thing else as in these two, we must lock for more age and experience than Jimmie had to keep his head from being turned. Being turned, it is easy to see why it should fancy it was the heart, and almost to think itself in love as easily as Etta has been. And now we will drop the curtain for a few weeks, to raise it again during the early fall in Cleveland. In the cab that is driving up Euclid Avenue we find our hero, the same boy whom we met ou the lake at Brownfields, still intent on his object, though no longer with a dreato ing indefiniteness. The time since Etta left Montrose for home has by no means been spent idly. She, for the first time in her life, has found a whim to which she is constant; and in the correspond ence which she grants him has, instead of dulling her interest in this latest no tion, added fresh fuel to the flame. Jimmie, seeing now just how things stand, has been vigorously making pre parations for appearing before Mr. La"- ton creditably. His first step is to bor row a little money his father lias laid by, and the next to hire desk-room and a:t office-boy in New York, where he puts up a sign as “Broker in Iron,’ this being to give color to the, character he intends to assume of being an agent for Mr. Peters. And now, with all his arrange ments completed, he is driving up to Etta’s home, not yet cured of all his palpitations, but with considerably more self-possession. He feels very tremulous again as he enters the door, and as the footman with a gentle persistence, takes him to his room rather reluctant, since he cannot see what “fixing” he needs, and almost gives way when he finds himself in the most elegant room he has ever seen. Dressing and suddenly discovering that he is utterly at a loss as te where to go and what to do, his usual good luck brings Etta to his rescue on her way down stairs. Helped bv the same good angel he struggles through his dinner: escapes a danger in not knowing what wine to drink by suddenly becoming totally abstinent; is fortunate enough to be drawn into a conversation on iron, and by adroitly using the little know ledge "picked U P at ii lo forges and in his reading, to gain credit for knowing a great deal. And so the days go on, Jimmie’s luck favoring him steadily until he has won Etta’s pledge of her love, her step mother’s good will, her father’s esteem. Her Cousin George had gone to Califor nia, disgusted, as soon as he got home from the Catskills, and Mr. Ellis, who is tiie only person besides Etta that knows anything of Jimmie’s real position, is South on a long trip. On a lovely September morning tho lovers are standing nttlio lakeside, watch ing the bright sunlight that sparkles in innumerable diamonds ou each little Devoted to iho Inteleeta of Maridi Cotinty and Adjoining Seetionfi 1 fiflfio crest, ffiiile n grertt, lumbering Miormrr t’ioejth Wily Aten,A filth nil oc casional clank of its boom against, (lid mast, and tiie cool swish of (he water, timt seems hi grow deeper and darkrf 1 And Holdet 1 nfi (lie fiitndofinf the hull fnlla j Across it All around is the ’.dazzling | sunshine, that hove and there flashes , while fimfl A Sail trying, to Aon* Motion from an Alt’ too hot anil tired to #tte Into | a wind. | “Dear,” said Etta, Suddenly, “do yon . know that jiilpa gosi to Europe to-teor ten* (ot Si* weeks?” j “No, 1 hadn't heard a word of it. It ! must be a very sudden move.” I “Very. Ho Only Made tip bis mind last eight.” I ,: nm are nor. going too, as yoi) thought you would on liis next trip?” V j “No, I.cau’t get ivad.te” * “Etta,” StteyS .TiifiniiUi after r ~'e. •■mini’s i patlAe, “have you tiie courage lor a bold step while he is away ?” “No—oh, no!” cried the frightened ' girl. “I edn’t do j[t; Wifi don’t yhil . ask tel’ ids consent?” ‘‘Because I would neveriget it. He j will only give you to a rich man, and I that l won’t bb for some time. I; yoii ! Marry Me now he will cAsil.v giVte hi, and : will then have An interest in pushing us ■ jin, and will help its more tliAu 1M would ; help Me alone. It repte filth you, And ii von han’t Agree to this, Wfe limy as Well j give up all our hopes.” “Wait until to-morrow, And I'll try aiid j answer then.” 'turning quickly to tiid , carriage behind them, she adds: “We ] will go home nbw, and I will think until j the morning. No, ybli (hasn't talk to !me !” itttperiohsly, sW he eorAMeuficß to , speak. Very charming she looks, with her lit ! tie, haughty air, but vet,” commanding, j and her lover very wisely leAves her to : the balancing of duty and inclination of prudence and self-will, that is so sure to j turn in his favor. All through the eren ! ing and the next forenodfi she is the | usual bright fairy that Bo* iSl.liM fiof- Slflps; but hardly inis the Carriage left | (he door when she turns to Jimmie, who is standing behind her, with the words— “l will go with you to-morrow!” Poor little lips! Bow fi-hite they are, . and how they quiver! Jimmie Gordon | really loves her, and is very earnest in ! the ambition that first prompted him; j but for a few moments tie wavers in his | purpose, so cruel in its sacrifice of this I victim to a destiny so uncertain. He j can hardly bo blamed for the utter sel fishness of his plan when we think of (he. to him, tretaendottn value of tho prize, i and the training that has never taught him liis intentions are wrong simply lie cause it has never held up to him the : possibility of them; but still he cannot help feeling his responsibility in stealing Ia defenseless girl from lidr home, and doing it by means of systematic deceit toward Imtli her and lirr father. Only for a few moments does this last, and he clasps in his aims this trembling frame, so lovingly, even in its terror, clinging te the manliness that she sees in the fierce triumph shining out of his eyes. The nr xt day all the soft beauty lias gone out of Nature, and her sterner mood seems aroused by the unnatural betrayal of hospitality and deliberate deception instead of being allayed by the happiness of the lovers. The water that forty-eight hours before spoke only of ’the Skimpole side of life with its lazy ac cent, now lashes itself to wake to tho coming storm. The gentle lapping (A the waves is changed to an uneasy rush and hoarse whisper; their bright diamond points give way to a dull, leaden line that is only harkened by the white caps gleaming ivith their continuous energy as far as the eye can reach. As our run aways fly along on the railway to Roches ter, they see the storm-rack “Come rolling in ragged and brown,” and in that sheet of spray and rain and wind, each movement overtaking and hiding another and another sail, they think they see a shadow of the darkness lying before them and forbidding a glimpse of their future. Of this part of their story there is lit to tell. If we were to follow them we would see them on the wedding-tour, happy in the present, and thinking little of any trouble to come. Then came the return of Mr. Larton, his grief at his daughter’s flight and anger at her hus band; his inquiries, too late, about Jim mie by letters and even detectives, with the reports of mortal turpitude and bad reputation that the detectives feel bound to give him to justify their use and their pay; and finally comes the day when, under the influence of these reports, of his hurt pride and disappointed affection, sud spurred ou by his wife’s cautious en couragement, fie writes to Mr. and Mrs. Gordon, waiting for his answer in New York, thAt they shall never enter his house. We will pass over the receipt of this letter, with its message of sorrow to Etta, of anger and bitter disappointment to Jimmie; over the brief year after the marriage, while they live modestly on a few thousand dollars that Etta had in her own bank account at the time of the elopement; over tho awful day when, this giving, out, a letter begging pardon and reconciliation is replied to with: ‘■Dear Bib—Your favor of the 2Mth received. My letter to you of a year since fuilv covers the question upon which you touch. Tlease con sider our intercourse and correspondence closed. “Yourstruly, Hexry Larton.” And the storm-rack closed down over them, driving into their very souls the mist and cold. The little girl born a few weeks before this is their only child, and its babyhood knows only hardship; but when, at five years old, she begins to delight her father with a miniature of Etta Larton that trouble has so quieted and changed into Etta Gordon, she has a father who is a man, instead of the selfish, lazy parasite the forgiveness by Mr. Larton would have made him. His old friend, Mr. More, long before this had got him a start in a clerkship with a very small salary; but meeting one day Mrs. re fers, who had always been fond of him, ■ she persuades Mr. ' Peters to secure him ; another lift, by which he improves him self; so that, six years after his marriage | day. he finds himself beyond the reach of | want, although still a poor man. As [ the littlo family sit on this evening, a : cheerful circle, though with the cloud i that recollection still casts over them, a | visitor comes. So changed ii he from the fleniw Larton of old, that Etta pauses before she flics to liis arms, j “My daughter,” says fhis white-haired , man, “Inin n Widower again, and have cntiie to Ask fan if yon will eoiile back to Mo.” “(I p.lfifi! t tore yon still, And T pity you- hut I have a husband and a eliild.” I “My deAr,” smiling, “t don’t want to . Aefklrnte rim from them. Can't you bring theta with Jot!. “Excuse file, sir,” interposes Jitottie. “I cannot ‘be taken’ by toy wfife now; And onr Struggles together have at least 'aught Me that it is better to make m v I own living thSn to live ofi any man’s Alms.” “Mr. Gordon, I do not wish you to i’oiiio bii jdtor finite, hut tdr toiue; and if ! the reports of your business AapAcity are j true, T think I shall get the better of any bargain I e'nn make With you. I have learned, in Aliofif, that voti have brains, | as well as a handsome face, and att pre pared to be proud of my Son-in-law.” I Let tis tejifie therU here. This, our | Jacob served ills njjpi’fcntidefdfi'p for Only six years, and that after he got his Rachel; bqt it served him ii: good stead, And like Hopeful in the story book, lie fofind Ijis foHiinfe when he had truly | earned it. toiitlifnl Criminals. | A New York iter aid reporter visited the Jefferson Market and Tombs prisons, in that city, where youthful offenders against the jaw Are detained. Warden McDermott informed him that their n.v (wage age is from twelve to sixteen years, blit AdinetiMes they are as young as eight, tine boy ol ton ft Hu was sen tenced for twenty days, and his crime was stealing a pair of socks. The Weather was bitter cold, and it was clear ly evident that tile Child took them to keep from perishing with the cold. GnS of the boys, about thirteen years of ago, said lie had been arrested for stealing a Ain c sign j which was insecurely fastened At tile doorway of A large building. He admitted that lie had been with several other boys, who started away with it, but on discovery had dropped it. This boy did not run away, and was arrested. Hi's father went to a lawyer to secure his services for his defense, and was told that for S3O he could get the boy ac quitted. The father was very poor, but in the belief that his son w’as innocent he pawned a number of articles, and man aged to scrape together the requisite S3O, which lie handed to the lawyer. The latter, just before the trial, told the father it would be necessary for him to have $lO in order to secure the boy’s acquittal and that the S3O paid was sim ply hia fee for legal services. The father had no means of raising the additional $lO, and the boy got thirty days in prison while the Toombs lawyer got S3O of the poor father. One cell was occupied by a mere child of ten years. Unlike the cells in the Jefferson Market Prison, which are used for a like purpose, these cells in the Tombs are dark, dismal, and repulsive. The corridor in the part now under notice is narrow, low, and dingy, and the whole aspect of the place as repellant as Murderers’ Row on the other side of the prison. “What’re you here for?” was asked of a boy in a cell. “Stealing.” “What did you steal ?” “A pocketbook.” “How much money was in it?” “Dollar and thirty cents.” “Didn’t you know that you would be sent to prison if you stole it ?” “No, sir.” Tbe boy was apparently of average in telligence, but very pale and thin in flesh. He both looked and spoke as if he were in ill health, and his appearance did not indicate more than eight years of age. Close questioning developed the statement that he had never stolen any thing before, and that he went to church and attended school. And yet this mere child was incarcerated in this gloomy cell just as were adult murderers in the other side of the prison. Monkey Shooling in Gambia. The mere fact of slaughtering monkeys will probably not cause any great degree of pleasure to any one aspiring to the title of sportsman, though at the same time anian choosing to kill as many as possible might yet not consider himself altogether wanton in his sport, for the monkeys may be termed vermin. They are a great nuisance to the agriculturist, and cause nnteh loss, especially in the ground nut p 1 nutations, where they fre quently pick the seed out of the ground almost as soon as it is planted. To shoot the dog-faced monkey is easy, but to make a bag is quiet another matter. You may knock him out of a tree, or you mav bowl him over on the ground, but you will not find him on the spot where you feel sure you saw him fall. Dead or alive, liis companions carry him oil, and pursuing monkeys on foot is not a game which man is adapted to play suc cessfully. The most likely way to secure a specimen is te take a little boat and pull gently along close into the bank, just after sunset, at which time the mon keys frequently collect in the branches of trees overhanging the river; thus one may be shot so that lie falls into the water, whence his friends are powerless to rescue him. The great drawback to this method of aquatic stalking is that in the upper river, and especially at the close of the day, the mosquitoes fairly swarm, coming down on one in clouds, and making shooting a matter of great determination and endurance. Certainly it is very easy to say that such and such game may be shot by lying out at night; and this necessitates an amount of ex posure again s* which most Europeans are not proof, to say nothing of the at tacks of the above pests, though they may, to a certain extent, be balked by wearing over the hands and face bags S made of some light material —leno, for instance. Perhaps at some future date monkey skins may become of commer cial value, and when they do the Gambia will be able to flood the market, and the ground nut growers will rejoice.—Lon don Field. An elevated purpose is a good and en nobling thing, but we cannot begin at the top of it. We must work up to it by the often difficult path of daily duty—of daily duty always carefully performed. A If UNT OF SUBSCRIPTION* $1.25. CJnftfd ShifM UiWk Regarding f?re*u. In 1817 the. United States hud a nni forin designed to meet the usages of Eu ropean courts, or. the recommendation (it the mission to Ghent in the year 1817, ill which the United Stater Ministers' Costumes \Vete fixed as follows: A Mtie Coat, lined with white silk, straight standing cape embroidered with gold, lingle-trreasted, straight or round but ton-holes, slightly embroidered. Buttons plain, or if they cau he had, with the artillerist's eagle stamped upon them, >. e., an eagle flying, with a wrenth in his moitth, grasping lightning Hr one of its talons. Cuffs embroidered in the man tier of tli. cape, white eassimere breeches gold knee-buck lea, white silk stockings and gold or gilt shoe-buckles, fc three-cornered chapeau bras, not so large as those used bv the French, nor o small as those used by tne English, a Vlaek cockade to Which an eagle wan tftefward attached. Sword, etc. oor espor.ditig. The Secretaries of Legation hao the wine costume, with the exception that their Coats had less embroidery ihai. those of the Ministers. Foi the grand gala days „t ccnrt, where the occasion was greater than an ordinary levee. * coat similar to that above described, im. embroidered round the skirts and down the broad as Wei! as at the cuff's and cape was recommended The coats were distinguished ns the great and the small uniform A White ostrich leather, or pluniet. was recommended for the Min ister’s hat not standing erect, bu* sowed found the brim. The aboVe dress prevailed from the date of its promulgation on November (!, 1817, until Governor Win. L. Marcy in 1853, Issued a circular doing away with such uniforms iil a great degree, as fol lows: “Depaetmeni of RtatE, 1 ‘ Washington, June 1, 1853. f ‘ in addition fo tl.'o ‘Personal Instructions to the Diplomatic Agents of Ch3 United States to Foreign Countries,’ the following arc here after to be observed: In performing the ceremonies observed on the occasion of his reception, the representa tive of the United States will conform, so far as Is Consistent with a just sense of his devotion to republican institutions, to the costume of the country wherein he is to reside, and with the rules prescribed for representatives of bis rank, hat the Department would encourage, as far as is placticable without impairing hi a usefulness to bis country, his appearance at court in the Himpie dress of an American citi zen. Should there be cases where this cannot be done, owing to the character of the foreign Government, without detriment to the public interest; tho neatest approach to it compatible with the due performance of his duties is earn estly recommended. The simplicity of our usages and the tone of feeling among ctif peo ple is much more in accordance with the exam ple of our first and most disgnished representa tive it a Royal Court than the practice which baß since prevailed It is to be regretted that there was ever any departure in this respect from the example of Dr. Franklin. History has recorded and commended this example, so congenial to the spirit of our political institu tions. The Department is desirous of removing all- obstacles to a return to the simple and unos tentatious course which wb doomed so proper and was so much approved in the earlier days of the Republic It is our purpose to cultivate the most amicable relations with all countries, and this, we believe, can be effectually done without, requiring our diplomatic agents abroad to depart in this respect from what is suited to the general sentiments of our fellow-citizens at home. All instructions in regard to what is called diplomatic uniform or court-dress being withdrawn, each of our representatives in other countries will be left to regulate this matter according to his own sense of propriety, arid with a due respect to the views of his Govern ment as herein expressed. W. L. .Marcy." In an act of Congress approved March '27, 18(17, it was declared that officers who had served during the late war as volunteers in the army of the United States, should be entitled to bear the official title of their rank, and wear, upon occasions of ceremony, the unifonn of the highest grade they had held by bre vet or other commissions. —New York Clothier. Sausages. The following' culinary note on saus ages may be of interest: “The earliest authority given in Tocld’s Johnson for ‘ sausage Richardson does not notice the word—is ‘Baret’s Alvearie,’ 1580 A. D., a‘pudding called a sawsege.’ Todd also says that the contents are ‘stuffed into skins, and sometimes only rolled in flour. ’ In this he is doubtless right, as early makers of sausages can not all have had skins at hand to put them in. But these savory edibles were made long before 1580, and were called ‘weasels,’ whose long, thin bodies they resembled. A recipe for making these ‘weasels’ is given in the very curious Liber Cure < 'ocorum, of about 1450 A. I)., edited for the Philological Society by Mr. Rich ard Moms, in 1862: First, ‘grind pork, temper it with eggs and powder of pep per and canal; close it in a capon’s neck, or pig’s paunch (or gut), roast it well, and then varnish it with batter of eggs and flour, and serve in hall or else in bower.’ ‘Haggis’ was made in 1450, too, as the recipe for it follows that for ‘wea sels;’ sheeps’ hearts, kidney, and bowels well boiled, chopped up with parsley, hyssop, savory, suet, pepper, and eggs— with mint, thyme, and sage also in win ter—then boii again, and sprinkled with salt. His Best Points. A young man who is not very bright, but likes to affect the sporting character, recently bought a horse, and he thinks he is the handsomest horse in the United States. The young man was showing the animal to a man who really knows something about horses, pointing out all the animal’s good points. When he got through praising the beast, the other spoke up and said, “All you say about the animal is so, but you have omitted two of his very best points.” “What are they ?” ‘ ‘Well, in the first place, nobody is ever going to steal the aifimal from you, and, secondly, if any body should steal him, you would have no trouble in overtaking him on foot.”— Exchanae. The Everlasting Lamp. In one of the cemeteries near Paris, a small lamp, some years ago was kept burning under an urn over a grave, and an inscription on the gravestone ran thus when translated into English : “ Here lies Pierre Victor Fournier, inventor of the Everlasting Lamp, which consumes only 1 centime’s worth of oil in one [ hour. He was a good father, son and ] husband. His inconsolable widow con ! tinues his business in the Rue aux Trois. Goods sent to all parts of the city. Do not mistake the opposite shop ■ for this, "e—Chambers' Journal, Thrilling #fry of th* Sierra*. “What's or matter wid yer?” demand* ' 1 Abe Wallace, with a not unnatural ■ prtlnanee finder the circumstances, j "What er yon lingerin' around that via ' age er mine for? Can't yer rasp that I countenance l ?'' I Obviously ho rnnldn’t. For nearly an hour be had striqqied his razors and mowed diligently, but Ixirbcr though ho was of a thousand, barl>er extraordinary to ijeaping Antelope Run, ho seemed ta make no headway against Abe’s bristling badge of manhood. "Ef yer razors won’t cut, shoot ’em off. Year me? Shoot ’em off," and the handsome sun-burned miner composed himself for the novel operation. "Is the barber at home?’’ naked a low, sweet, musical voice, entering the door at that moment. He started. No yellow water running from his pan had ever looked ns sweet to him as that voice. It percolated him, and he arose from the chair anew man. The rough life passed away from him. The enist formed by his debits and har dened by his surroundings was broken. "Permit me, madam, to assure you that this individual before you is the barber,” said Ala*, and bis new dignity sat easily upon him and seemed a part of hint. “I am cm my wav from Boston to the Sandwich Islands,” said the young girl, quietly, "and our carriage broke down. J thought I would improve the opportu nity and have my hair banged. Oh ! no, no,” she exclaimed, as Abe gallantly drew forth a thousand dollar draft on New York. “Not for the world. I’ve six millions of dollars, not only in my own right, but in my pocket. I will pay for any service.” As the barber proceeded with his task, Abe walked the shop nervously. A pre sage of danger oppressed him. The chestnut curls on liisforehead grew damp with anxiety. He knew life in his rough wav, and ho knew barbers. The fair young girl would bo no match for the frontier hair dresser, if the worst should come. And why should it not come? Had she not millions in her pocket? He glanced at the tiny feet planted squarely and firmly on the stool before her. aud recognized character. He knew nothing of Boston, but he understood feet. “Aud do you live in this funny place, t he?” asked the gill smiling at Abe’s reflection in the glass. “I do,” said Abe. “Misfortunes have cast my bark of life upon this barren shore and left me with only the shelter the sea weeds afford.” “To he ! how odd? Ouch!” But Abe grasped him and laid him up yu the floor. The barber had made a dive for the dainty pocket and had failed. Leaping Antelope Run was aroused. Sueli an attack found no apologists among the wild, rough miners. What ever they might be inherently, they would tolerate nothing of the kind iu the barber. “Away to the dull thud?” demanded one more intelligent than the rest. And they echoed the cry till the moonlit air was shivering and the beams crept away convulsively. They may have expected liim to beg, but he eyed them sternly. “Oh! my! what will they do with him?” asked the beauty with one eye. She had no need to speak. The thrill of tiiat eye struck a c-hord iu Abe Wallace. “They’ll sprain liis neck, darling.” murmured Wallace, in tender accents. The feeling was new to him, but he un derstood it. ‘ ‘Gracious! aud may I see him?” whispered she with tlie other eye. Abe’s answer was lost in the sullen roar of the crowd. Out under the grand old trees that fringed the mines. Out under the whis per of the leaves. Out through the shad ows. The wind swept Gown iron, lha Sierras, velvet winds, but pitiless. They shook sweet voices out of their satin garments, but not a pleading tone from that human barber, soon to be neither barber nor human. The rope was around his neck. Mil ling hands were ready. A cloud floated across the face of the moon, but she struggled from behind it, held by the horror of the scene. A Cruel Joke. Bolivar went home, and entering the room where his mother was, exclaimed: “Say, rna, have you heard about Mr. Bralev?” “Why, no,” answered Mrs. Bolivar, with an air of surprise. “What about him?” “This morning he got np'early,” “Yes; goon.” “Wait till I tell you. He got up early, mid remarked that he felt very well. ” “Go on!” exclaimed Mrs. Bolivar, af ter a short pause. “Just wait. He said that he felt un usually well. While Mrs. Braley was getting breakfast he went and shelled a lot of corn for the pigs. He came back to the house, still saving that he felt well.” “Why don’t you go on?” “Wait till I get my breath. I’ve run from all the way down town. He sat down to the table and ate the heartiest breakfast you ever saw. When he got up from the table he remarked again that he felt well. Then he turned around, and just as lie got half way be tween the table and the water bucket he—” “Dropped dead!” exclaimed Mrs. Boli var. “O, no; turned around and told his wife that he felt much better. ” “You imprudent scoundrel!” yelled Mrs. Bolivar; and seizing a broom, she knocked the boy down. No one knows where the joke originated, and the boy doesn’t care. NO. 'l4. A Street-Car Scene. An amusing incident occurred on a stroet-car the other day. A woman of fifty, made up to look about twenty-fivo years old, got aboard at a crossing to find every seat occupied. She stood for a moment, and then selecting a poorly dressed man, about forty-live years of age, she observed: “Are there no gentlemen in this car?” “Indeed, I dunno,” he replied, as he looked up and down. “If there ain t, and you are going clear through, I’ll hunt up one for you at the end of the line." There was an embarrassing silence for a moment, and then a light broke in on him all of a sudden, and he arose and said: “You can have this seat, madam. I am alius willing to stand Tip and give my seat to anybody older than myself. That decided her. Bhe gave him look which he will not forget to his dying day, and, grabbing, the strap, she refused to sit down, even when five seats had become vacant. —-New York Herald. To-day’s duty can ouly be done well to day. Time and circumstances are now favorable, and we are in the best condi tion to perform it. To-morrow all will be changed; other exigencies will arise, other objects will claim our attention, and our capacity for performing that special duty will be sensibly diminished.