Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

J. W. ANDERSON, Editor and Proprietor VER SIFICA TION, iglit as the golden June weather 1110 Itose with her prayer-book and fan tlio church door, and homeward to ■ | talked, gellier and wooing began. my ■ chatted of anthem and sermon— j Sky; Tt'ionsrht of her lips and blue eyes— ■ier light dainty step in the German— ■jl vaguer became my replies, ■ vainly endeavored to fashion mo phrase that should fitly express, lint of, that burden of passion hioh riio, alas! seemed not to guess. we paused on the bridge, whose gray arches 30k down on the bridge in the brook, there in the shade of the larches er little gloved fingers I took. said: “Rose, you’ve been kissed in a Bounet Ji which I my emotions rehearse,” cn a voice ’ueath the pretty pink bonnet ilunuured: “Darling, I am not a-verse.” -Life. The Letter. ‘Any letters?” asked the Widow ulsworth, turning from the grocery inter of tho “store” of Kornhill to the rner by the window over which swung Iplacard bearing the legend “Post of le” upon it, and glancing through her kctacles at the small row of candy jars hiek wero made to do duty as letter fillers. “Any letters for our house k Bristol?” Mr. Bristol, the senior of that name— ho was too rheumatic to weigh grocer b or measure calico, was as deaf as a list, had, perhaps, the least natura] Bent for the reading of dubious script iat could be found in the person of any ling man; and, besides this, could iver find his spectacles—roused himself bin a nap in which he had been iu lulgiug, looked bewildered, aud seemed hr a moment dubious as to what he hould do next; but seeing that Mrs. fudsworth’s eyes were fixed upon the Udy ^tter, jars, decided that she wanted a and, reaching up, slowly took two Jf them down and, with much delibera ■on, spread them before her like a pack If cards. I “I’ve put my specks some’rs,” he said, ■‘but where I dunno. Look ’em over Ind sort out what’s yoorn, Mrs. Wads¬ worth.” I This was old Mr. Bristol’s usual style If performing the business of postmaster, knd as it was an honest place, little liarm came of it. Often people carried Iheir neighbors’ letters to them when Ikey happened to pass their gates, aud Ihe las only registered letter that ever yet been sent to Kornhill was consid¬ ered an insult to the community at large. I “They might ha’ known no one would la’ meddled with it,” said the post paster. Aud tho farmers talked the matter per as they jogged home side by side in llieir wagons, and the summer boarder fsvho (feci did the strange thing was made to the indignation of her hostess. But that was long after the evening on which Mrs. Wadsworth asked if there were any fetters for “her house.” Peering over the little row spread be¬ fore her, she saw that there was one—a .small envelope—addressed in a delicate [lady’s |E q.” hand to “James Wadsworth. “That’s Jim,” said the old lady “Who can have writ to him ?” [ There were no more. She put hei leingle epistle in her pocket, pushed the |rest him. toward Mr. Bristol aud nodded at Mr. Bristol nodded in reply, re¬ jarred the letters, perched himself upon a 6tool and went to sleep again. Then the younger Bristol helped the old lady into her wagon, handed in her basket of groceries, and she drove away, with the letter in her pocket, and a queer feeling, half fear and half anger, at her heart as she said over and over again, talking aloud to herself, as the old white horse plodded along the lonely road: “Who lia3 writ to Jim, I wonder?” Maggie, the “help,” came out to carry iu the basket, when Mrs. Wads¬ worth stopped at her own gate, and she herself walked into the kitchen. There was a great stove there, and on it the kettle was boiling, steam rushing from its spout in one long stream, and creep¬ ing iu a flat sheet from under the cover. Before this stove Mrs. Wadsworth stood and warmed her hands. “I wonder who lias writ to Jim,” Bhe said. “If I thought it was that girl I’d throw it into the fire.” ^hen a story she had heard of some one who had feloniously opened an en¬ velope by holding it over the steam of a tea-kettle occurred to her mind, “I wonder whether it would open that Wa y,” she said. “It couldn’t be any great harm just to satisfy myself that it i»n t from her. Jim is but a boy, aud I am his mother. I guess, according to law, J j have a right. I ought to, sdv how.” Ihen .the hand which held the letter outstretched itself. The stream of steam beat against the flap of the envelope. Iu a moment or so, it hung loose and iim P and wet in her hands.” ‘‘Ill go and put my bonnet away,” J. e Pa id, in an unnatural sort of tone, hurried upstairs. T am hrn mother,” she said again, as ‘ ae Ea * down iu her rocking-chair and '“ ew the letter from the envelope, “It’s tight I should know,” X. twmss satmk. 9 e-t Then she cast her eye over the writ¬ ing. There was not much of it. Just this: “Dear James: I know, after my con¬ duct, it is my place to write first. I was naughty. Please forgive me. Isn’t that humble enough? And if you do, come and take me to the picnic to-morrow. “Tour own “Nelly.” “It is from that girl/' said Mrs. Wadsworth. “It’s from her. Aud things have gone so far, and he hasn't tohl his mother a word! Oh, how hard it is to bear ! That girl I don’t want Jim to marry; but of all girls, that one ! ’ and she rocked herself to and fro. “There’s been a quarrel,” she said at last, “and she’s written this to make up. If he never got it, he’d [never speak. I know his pride. She come of a pool | lot. I hate her; she’s a bad wife foi Jim. I think it“s my duty not to give it to him. I’ll think it over.” Then she opened the drawer of her bureau in which she kept valuables and money and thrust the letter in and locked it up. She had time to think the matter over before Jim came in, for he was late, and “that girl” grew more distasteful to her every moment. “Going to the picnic, Jim?” she asked, as they eat over their tea. And Jim answered that he hadn’t thought of it. “I'd go if I was you, and take your Cousin Miranda,” said the old lady. “She expects it, I guess.” And Jim, only moved by the remembrance of Nel¬ lie Barlow, aud a wish to make her jeal¬ ous, agreed to tho proposition. He took Miranda to the picnic next day, and Nel¬ lie was there, and saw them together; and remembering her note, written in a moment of softness,when the wish tore call certain angry words she had said to Jim, was strong upon her, she grew sick wHli shame. She had held out her hand ia reconciliation, and he had not taken it. Could anything make a woman more indignant? After that she never even looked at him. Old Mrs. Wadsworth having kept Jim’s letter a few days, felt that too much explanation would be necessary were she to give it to him after so long a delay. Besides it would be well for her son that he should not see t. He would, of course, marry his cousin Mi¬ randa—only a second cousin—a girl she liked, aud who would never set herself up above her mother-in-law—a girl who did not, like poor Nellie, look aggrava tingly stylish. But Jim did not marry Miranda. No one will ever know now whether Miranda would have accepted him or not. After awhile she married a Mr. Wiseman, who was better off than Jim, and old enough to bo his father; and Nelly, too, mar¬ ried. While her heart burnt with re sentment against her old lover, she chose a new one, a dark, moody, silent sort of man, who carried her away to the city, whence there came rumors now and then that she was not happy, that ; her husband led a wild life. Once j some one declared that ho was a very j in madman her room in his at jealousy, times. and Lut locked no her one j knew whether it was true or not. Her , parents would never say anything about j her. | As for James Wadsworth, lie had j gone to church to see her married anu lmd gone home with a headache. The next day ho was delirious; a braiu fever had set in and the dootors shook their heads over him. What he said in his delirium only his mother understood out if she could have undone the deed that she had done, she would have thanked Heaven. For weeks he lay at death’s door, and then a pale shadow crept about the house—the wreck of | bright, handsome Jim Wadsworth. His beauty was gone, aud no one felt quite sure about his mind. He answered sensibly enough when he was spoken to, but voluntarily he never spoke. After awhile he grew strong enough to do favm work, and did what his mother suggested, and she grew used to his al¬ tered ways. And so matters rested when, ten years from her wedding-day, Nelly came back to her father’s home in a widow’s cap. Aud the people of Kornhill learnt that her husband was dead, and began to wonder whether he had left her money. Jim, plowing in tho adjoining field, saw her as she sat upon the old home¬ stead porch, and stood, for a moment, j staring at her. Then he left his plow in in the furrow, his horses standing where they were, and went home. His i mother saw him coming. He tramped over the beds of vegetables, and trod down the young corn, He sought no path. As the bee flies he sought the doorway at which his mother stood staring at him, and walked into the kitchen past her without a look. “Jim, my boy,” said the old woman, “what is it?” He made her no answer; but went to his room and straight to bed. For hours he never spoke to her. Then he began to babble. He uttered Nelly’s j nana; he reproached her with incon stancy; he called her tender names in one breath aud cursed her in tho next. Then he gave one wild cry and sprang up in his bed and dropped back again, j with his eyes staring toward heaven. He was dead; the mother knew that be- I fore they told her so. The next day a coffin stood in the low-ceiled parlor, and in it lay * pal® i COVINGTON, GEORGIA, MARCH & 1885 . statue with olosed eyes—all that was left of Jim Wadsworth. One by one the friends and neighbors came softly in to look at him, and went away more softly, often in tears. At last came one woman—a fair woman, in a widow’s cap and veil who stood longer than the rest looking at the still, white face, and at her own request was left alone with it, while curious people in the other room wondered whether it was true that Nelly and Jim were once engaged and had quarreled. For this was Nelly, in her widow’s weeds, who had come to look at Jim for the last time. As she stood there, with thoughts for Which there was no words trooping through her mind, an inner door opened and an old woman crept in. It was Mrs. Wadsworth, broken down at last, and with tho strange, restless light of an unsettled intellect in her light blue eyes. She held an old letter in her hand, and it rustled as she slowly crossed tho room and stood beside the coffin. “Jim,” said she, “here’s vour letter. I’ve been thinking it over, and since you take it so hard, you’d better have it. I only kep’ it for your own good, Jim. She ain’t the girl for you; but you take it so hard. Wake u\, Jim; here’s your letter.” But the whito, froze? hand* lay still upon the breast, and -dher small, living woman’s hands grasped it instead. Nelly knew all the story now, “Here is your letter, Jim,” she whis¬ pered. “Oh, Jim, Jim,” and she laid it softly under the white flowers upon the bosom, and, stooping, kissed the waxen hands and brow. “Oh, Jim, Jim!” she said again, and let her black veil down over her face, and went her way; and the gossips who stared after her as she passed down the village, street, wondered again if she had ever been engaged to Jim Wadsworth, but none of them ever knew. The grave keeps its secret, so also does a woman’s heart. An Editor’s Peregrinations. Last week the tired editor, after la¬ boring hard in the vineyard, concluded that lie would go out among the brethren. While down iu the Dry Fork neighbor¬ hood we preached at Ebenezer, and ac¬ companied Brother Sam Havfoot home to dinner. There wero several brethren present, and among them we were pleased to notice old Brother Shopwell. He is an old servant of ihe Lord, and, had the smallpox kept out of his way, wo think that his countenance would have escaped a great wrong. Old Sister Hayfoot, kind reader, knows how to get up a good dinner. She has our idea of cooking cabbage, for, like us, she thinks that they should be boiled until all of their brittleness melts into the everlast¬ ing pot. After having served tho inner man we again assembled in the sitting room, where Sister Stoveali favored us with a hymn and 75 cents, for which gke sauted six months’ subscription, One ( ] 0 ji ar would have struck us with a little more warmth, but in these days 0 f g j a ant j hard times a half loaf is much better than a Boston cracker. Brother g m ithfield, a good old soul as ever lived, (pdares that he will take the paper when he sells his red steer. Gentle do y 0U know of anyone who an t s t 0 g U y a ateer?— Arkansas Chris tian Weekly. The Physical Year. There continues to be a great deal of among tho department peo¬ about changes, says a Washington writer. Perhaps there is no class employees in the departments who are more disturbed than the colored people. The colored employees of the Government are the aristocrats of theii society. Some of them have accumu lated fine properties. I know of on colored messenger who has four or fiv sous in the departments. The family all live together in one house. Theii aggregate salaries must reach ove 86,000 a year. The ancient cook o Gen. Sheridan well illustrates this pan* ieky feeling among the members of bei race. “Aunt Mary” has been Sheri. dan’s cook for a long period. When he left Chicago he set her up in a small shop there. Her daughter married one of the messengers in the War Depart¬ ment. She recently came on to visit hei married daughter. She has been in Washington now about two weeks. The other day she expressed her opinion on the situation to a lady friend of Gen. Sheridan’s. Aunt Mary said: "Gen, Sheridan, he is all right and I was pow¬ erful glad of it. Dese yer Democrats can’t get him c* h no how, but all d< odder niggers will i ave to go by de end of de physical year.” What the Poor Pay. It has been estimated that the poor buying in small quantities incur un necessary expense in the following ratio: p*or an ounce of washing soda the poor i rad i n g at small shops in New York pay i cent; a grocer will deliver it f or 3 cen t s a pound. For flour by the pouud they pay a sum equal to 89 80 a barre l for a ?5 article. They buy butter at j[ ie ra t e of 85 a tub, while would cost 33 50. A half pound of sugar cosfs th£m5cents, while a pound would be but 2 cents more. For a 25-cent tea they pay 40 cents, For I5-eeat coffee l they pay 30, LIFE IN THE SOUDAN. THE HEAVE Til A l)K ANO TOE MANNER IN WHICH IT is CAItIUED ON. A Speculation that Gave Khartoum it* Notable Importance. Throughout tho Soudan, says Sir Samuel Baker, in his narrative, money is exceptionally scarce and the rate of interest exorbitant, varying according to the securities, from thirty-six to eighty per cent. This faot proves general poverty and dishonesty, and acts as a preventive to all improvement. So high and fatal a rate deters all honest enterprise, and the country must lie in ruin under such a system. The wild speculator borrows upon such terms, to rise suddenly like a rocket, or to fall like its exhausted stick. Thus, houest enterprise being impossible, dishonesty takes the lead, and a successful expe¬ dition to the White Nile is supposed to overcome all charges. There are two classes of White Nile traders, the one possessing capital, the other being pen¬ niless adventurers. The same system of operations is pursued by both, but that of the former will be evident from the description of the latter. A man without means forms an expe¬ dition, and borrows money for this pur¬ pose at 100 per cent, after this fashion: he agrees to repay tho lender in ivory at one-half its market value. Having obtained the required sum, he hires several vessels aud engages from 100 to 300 men, composed of Arabs and run away villains from distant countries, who have found an asylum from justice in the obscurity of Khartoum. He pur¬ chases guns and large quantities of am¬ munition for his men, together with a few hundred pounds of-glass beads. The piratical expedition being complete, he pays his men five months’ wages in ad¬ vance, at the rate of forty-five piastres (nine shillings) per month, and he agrees to give them eighty piastres pei month for any period exceeding the five months for which they are paid. Hii men receive their advance partly in cash and partly in cotton stuffs fer clothes at an exorbitant price. Every man has a strip of paper, upon which is written, by the clerk of the expedition, the amount he has received both in , goods and money, and this paper ho must produce at the final settlement. The vessels sail about December, and on arrival at the desired locality the party disembark and proceed into the interior, until they arrive at the village of some negro chief, with whom they es¬ tablish an intimacy. Charmed with his new friends, the power of whose weapons ho acknowl¬ edges, the negro chief does not neglect the opportunity of seeking their alliance to attack a hostile neighbor. Marching throughout the night, guided by their negro hosts, they bivouac within an hour’s march of the unsuspecting village doomed to an attack about half an hour before break of day. The time arrives, and quietly surrounding the village while its occupants are still sleeping, they fire the grass huts in all directions, and pour volleys of musketry through the flaming thatch. Panic-stricken, the unfortunate victims rush from their burning dwellings, and the men are shot down like pheasants in a battue, while the women and children, bewildered in the danger and confusion, are kidnapped aud secured. The herds of cattle, still within Ihe kraal or “zareaba,” are easily disposed of, and are driven off with great rejoicing, as the prize of victory. The women and children are then fast¬ ened together, aud the former secured an instrument called a sheba, made of a forked pole, the neek of the prisoner fitting into the fork and secured by a lashed behind, while the wrists, brought together in advance of the body, are tied to the pole. The are then fastened by their necks with a rope attached to the wo¬ men, aud thus form a living chain, In which they are marched to the head¬ in company with the captured herds. This is the commencement of busi ness. Should there be ivory in any of the huts not destroyed by fire, it is ap¬ propriated. A general plunder takes place. The trader’s party dig up the floors of the huts to search for iron hoes, which are generaily thus con¬ cealed, as the greatest treasure of the negroes; granaries are overturned and wantonly destroyed, and the hands are cut off the bodies of the slain, the more easily to detach the copper or iron bracelets that are usually worn. With this booty the traders return to their negro ally. They have thrashed and discomfited his enemy, which delights him; they present him with thirty or forty head of cattle, which intoxicates him with joy, and a present of a pretty little captive girl of about fourteen com¬ pletes his happiness. An attack or razzia, such as de¬ scribed, generally leads to a quarrel with the negro ally, who in his turn is murdered and plundered by the trader— his women and children naturally be coining slaves. “On, hum ! I wish I had married Mr. Gladstone,’ sighed Mrs. Bascom, throw¬ ing down her newspaper, “What!” ex claimed her husband, starting oat of an incipient nap—“rather than me?” “Yes,” reiterated Mrs. Bascom, “Mr. Gladstone chops all his owa wood. Burlington Free Preti. THE SUN AND THE HORSE. Tests .it Mpecd lletvreea tho Two—The .Man Ahead. As regards speed for a mile or two, or even several miles, there can be no com¬ ps? rison between the paco of a horse ai*i that of a man on a bicycle. Tho horse is far and away tho speedier; but after about twenty or twenty-five miles thi horse, it seems, begins to oomo back to the man. The relative speed of horse and man, quite unincumbered by weight, lias never been tried, as it is always necessary either to ride or drive a horse when he is being tried. But in compar¬ ing Ihe best times on record of a trotting hoi so driven in a light gig, as is the fashion in America, aud a man riding and propelling a twenty-soven-pound bi¬ cycle, the conditions, taking the relative strength of the contestants into consid¬ eration, may be thought tolerably equal. Maud S., Mr. Vanderbilt’s celebrated horse, trotted one mile in 2:09; tho champion time for a bicycle is 2:39. Leaving out intermediate distances, I find that Lady Mack did five miles in 33:00; Mr. Hillier has ridden it on a bi¬ cycle in 14:18. Controller did ten miles iu 27:23’; Mr. English accomplished that distance in 29:19 3-5. Twenty miles was done by the horse Captain McGowan in 58:25; Mr. English, who holds the record for twenty miles, ac¬ complished it 59;0G'3-5. Twenty miles well within the hour must surely be looked on as a wonderful performance. But after twenty miles the man rapidly begins to go to the front. The best fifty miles on record has been done by Ariel in 3:55:40J; but Ion Keith-Falconer rode that distance on a bicycle iu 2:43:58 3-5. Conqueror traveled one hun¬ dred miles in 8:35:53; F. R. Fry, on a bicycle, did one hundred miles in 5:50:05 2-5. The same distance, one hun dred miles, was done on tho high road by George Smith in 7:11:10. Tho other times mentioned were performed on the cinder-path. No trial has been recorded for a horse beyond one hundred miles. But a tricyclist has ridden 2’22j miles in twenty-four hours; and a few weeks ago a performer on a newly invented little two-wheeled machine of strange appear, once, called a kangaroo, traveled 2GG mhig within the same time. It is there¬ fore plain that in staying power a man on a bicycle, or even a tricycle, which is a much heavier machine, not primarily adapted for racing, is infinitely superior to a horse. Probably up to twenty-five miles the best horse would beat (he b:si bicyclist; but after that distance the horse would, in yacht-racing phrase, never see the way his adversary went.— Viscount Bury, in the Nineteenth Cen¬ tury. A Young Woman Buried Alive. THE BODY EXHUMED AND TnE COFFIN SHOWING EVIDENCES OF A TERRIBLE STRUGGLE. Mary Cox, a well known and popular young lady who lived near the mouth of the Little Capon River, near Springfield ) W. Va., was taken violently ill. The physician from decided that she wa3 suffering neuralgia of the stomach and pre¬ scribed morphia. A dose was adminis¬ tered at once, and another left with in¬ structions to give it iu twenty-four hours. For some reason the second dose was given in a very short time. An hour or two afterward the death of Miss Cox was announced, and two days later tho body was buried. At the funeral one lady insisted that Miss Cox was not dead, and begged that a physician be sent for. That night the dogs of a man living near the graveyard stationed themselves near the tomb and kept up a persistent howling. The next day the grave was opened, and, to the horror of all, it was found that the girl had been buried alive. The lining was torn from the sides of the casket and the pillow was in shreds. The poor girl had liter ally stripped the clothes from her body, i Her hands and arms were torn and bleeding, the lips were bitten through, and handfuls of hair were torn from her head. The girl had come to life, and had evidently made a fearful struggle to escape. The awful affair fills the com¬ munity with horror. The New Orleans Exposition. The President has transmitted to Con¬ gress the report of the Board of Manage¬ ment of the Exposition at New Orleans, and also a memorial of the United States Commissioners requesting an additional appropriation to extinguish a deficit in its accounts. The President in his message of transmittal says that a fail¬ ure on the part of the management to carry out the original intent in regard to the Exposition might reflect upon the honor of the United States Government, since twenty-one foreign nations and forty-six States and Territories have joiued the enterprise through faith in the sanction of the Government. He recommenJs the favorable consideration of Congress. This is the thing which I know—and which, if you labor faithfully, you shall know also—that in reverence is the chief joy aud power of life. Reverence for what is pure and bright in ycur own life; reverence for what is true and hied in the lives of others; for all that is gra¬ cious among the living, great among the dead and marvelous in the Powers that cannot die, VOL. XI, NO 18 . A GENEROUS OFFICER SAVES A YOUNG MAN FROM RUIN AND IN HIS OWN PECULIAR WAY. •Story o! a Rnllrond Clerk who Took a Folse Step, but was Keclnimed by Kind Treatment. Some ten or twelve years ago there was employed in the office of the late S. S. Merrill, the General Manager of the St. Paul Railroad Company, a clerk in whom complete confidence was reposed. He was entrusted with many of the cor¬ poration’s secrets, and given the hand¬ ling of funds in large amounts. Unfor¬ tunately, the young man began sowing his wild oats, found his salary insuffi¬ cient to support his extravagance, and frequently abstracted small amounts from the railway company’s funds to meet the deficiency. These amounts gradually increased in size until tho young man, realizing the position ho was in, made one grand haul and left for parts unknown. His departure led to a discovery of all his peculations, The information was communicated to Mr. Merrill, who, after a moment’s re¬ flection, sent for the company’s special agent, and ordered that official to insti¬ tute a search for the absent clerk. “Follow him,” said Mr. Merrill, “to China, if necessary, and bring him back. Keep this matter quiet, and spare no expense in bringing the young man back to this office.” The few other persons who know of the embezzlement were enjoined to strict secrecy, and very few ever learned of the facts. Any inquiry whioh might bo made regarding the young man’s ab¬ sence was met by the reply that he was taking his summer vacation, but just where was not known. In tho meantime a diligent hunt for the young man was in progress. He was traced to Detroit, and from there through Canada to the Atlantic coast, where he sailed for Europe just twelve hours iu advance of the special agent’B arrival. Authorities on the other side of the Atlantic were cabled, aud the young mau’s arrest ordered. This was successfully accomplished, the clerk was returned to America and trans¬ ferred to the custody of the railway company’s agent. To that official a full confession was made, and finding him¬ self completely in the company’s power, the young man calmly contemplated his fate, expecting nothing less than a State prison sentence. Ho was quietly taken before Mr. Mer¬ rill, who, to his complete surprise, ap¬ proached him pleasantly, took him warmly by tho hand and said: “Well, back again, I see. Sorry you staid away so long, as we needed yon. Had a good time though, I hope. Now, G--, your desk is just as yon left it. No one has disturbed a paper, and you can get to work at once. Here, look over these accounts and see that they are properly ohecked.” The young man, dumfonncfed at this reception, as in faot was the special fully agent, realize burst into the situation, tears, and until could Mr. not j 1 what Merril are again you broko doing in there? with: Get “Come, into j that chair as quick as you can and check those accounts. And, by the way, 1 don’t waut to hear a word regarding cer tain events of recent date, which you perhaps know of. ” The young man did go to work, be gan a new life, attended to his duties as he never had before, advanced himself in rank as a railway employee, made good to the company the amount he had stolen, and several years later left the company with as good a letter of reeom mendation as auy man ever received. He, to-day, occupies a prominent posi tion with one of the leading railways ot the conDtry, and for it thanks his old employer, S. S. Merrill. Colonna-Mackay. TTIE wedding celebrated with pon¬ tifical HIGH MASS, Miss Eva Mackay was married in Paris to Don Ferdinand .Tulien Colonna, Prince of Galatro. The ceremony was private and was performed with pontif¬ ical high mass by Mgr. de Reude, the Papal Nuncio, in the Nuncio’s Chapel in Paris. The nuptial benediction was ad¬ ministered by Mrg. de Reude, who also delivered the m r iage address. The civil ceremony of marriage, which is re¬ quired by the French law, was per¬ formed the day before. The witnesses to this were Prince Colonna Doria, Prince Colonna, United States Minister Morton and Duke Decazis. After the celebration of the religions rite Mrs. Mackay, the mother of the bride, gave a grand bridal reception, which in every respect must rank with the most magnificent festival of French history. The reception was especially distinguished by the quality of the guests, among whom were included about every person of distinction and worth in French society. Conspicuous among these were General the Comte Menabrea, Italian Ambassador to France; Count Camondo and Mme. Wyse-Bonaparte. Guilty.—I t is more than suspected that very many of the snake bites caus¬ ing death in India are caused by the parents desiring to put an end to super¬ fluous offspring in a manner which de¬ fies discovery of guilt. STRAY BITS OF HUMOR FOUND IN THE HUMOROUS COLUMNS OF OUR EXCHANGES. A Present for Jltmnle—A [Hlsconnt-Nee. leered IVork—It M as Time to Get Away A Handy Husband. Etc., Etc. A PRESENT FOB JIMMIE. “Oh, Jimm-mee-ee-eo!” “Wotcher want?” “Yer comes yer daddy 1” “Wet’s he doin’ ?” “Lookin’ for yon !” > “ Wot’s he want ?” “He’s got somethin’ nice fur yo 1” “Wot i3 it?” “Dunno! Looks like somethin’ tc ride on. Kind o’ long and slim and slick-like, like as ef lie’d peeled the bark off’n it.” Jimmie dive3 into the creek with his clothes on and strikes out for yondei point accoutered as he was. He was playing “hookey,” and he “had rode” on one of them things before. It would be a raw and gusty day when Jimmie got left. — Burdette. A HANDY HUSBAND. Scene in the boudoir of a Hartford belle : Thoughtful Mamma — “Well, dear, whioh gentleman have you selected for your husband ?” Dutiful Daughter—“Oh, I think I’ll take Mr. Fatboy.” “But, dear, Mr. Littleman is very riob, while your choice is very poor.” “Yes, my choice is very poor, it is true; but he is so big and stout he will be just splendid to sit on the Bible and press winter leaves.” “Oh, I see. You will not be influ¬ enced by a monetary consideration.” “No; I marry for love alone.”— Hart¬ ford Sunday Journal. FELT BOIt/iD WITH IT. A lady mis singing at a concert, and her voice was, to say the least, very thin in places. “Ah,” said her husband, who after the manner of husbands who have musical wives, thought her vocal powers wero great, “what a fine voice she has 1” “Very fine," replied a strange man at his side. “What timbre !” continued the hus¬ band. “Considerable timber,” responded the stranger again, “but too many cracks in it for weather-boarding, and not quite enough for a paling fence.” The husband remained silent during the concluding portions of the entertain¬ ment .— Cincinnati Merchant Traveler , TIME TO GET AWAY. “Hello, back from New Orleans sc quick?” “Yes.” “Couldn’t you find any quarters there ?” “No; and the quarters I took with mo went so fast that I wouldn’t have had one left to pay the Pullman porter if I hadn’t left when I did.”— Arkansaw Traveller. BRINGING MATTERS TO A CRISIS. A rich young man was courting a poor young girl, but he was slow in bringing matters to a crisis. s 0 one day she complained of the hardships of being poor, “Poor f” he exclaimed gallantly. “A young lady with your wealth of mind aD( ] grace of person poor ? Why, such charms as you possess are worth a mine of money .> “Well, I wish I had the mint and somebody else had the charms,” she Baid< and the cris i B came . the expreSsage. “I would be obliged to you,” said a elosefisted old fellow to a country editor, “jf you will express my thanks, through your excellent paper, to the many citizens whose timely aid last night saved m y house from being destroyed by fire.” “Certainly,” replied the editor, “I will express your thanks, but it will be neces¬ sary for you to advance about a dollar and a half to prepay the express age.” CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. “Charley has an awful long arm,” saia Bertha, in a musing mood at the break¬ fast table. “How do yon know ? ’ asked her father, in man like simplicity. “Why,” replied Bertha, "my waist belt is a—’’ And then she caught a glimpse of her mamma’s horrified face glaring over the coffee urn, and sh6 thought she would die, sure enough. But she didn’t. She only said Charley told her so. A MISCOUNT. “Mamma,” cries little Edith, “dive me anndder date, p’ease.” “Well,” says mamma, “you go and ask Bridget for one—only one, remem¬ ber—and you may get two for Mamie” (an older sister). Presently Edith comes back. “Mamma,” she says, “I think Bridget made a mistake and dave me two dates for myself and o’lv one for Mamie.”— Boston Transcript. SOME NEGLECTED WOBK, “You don’t cook like Sary Ann used to, Matilda," he said in tones of gentle exasperating reproof; "no it seems to me you can’t eook like Sary Ann used to." On another occasion it was : “You’re not as smart in gettin’ round as Sary Ann was, Matilda. You don’t seem to catch on where she left off.” About this time a heavy rolliug-pin came iu contact with his head. “What do you mean by that, yen vixen ?” ho exclaimed in agony. “I’m doing some of the work Sary neglected," she replied, and there much peace ia the family thereafter.