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Miriam rapidly placed more covering on the child. ‘Perspiration!’ she cried, exultlnglv, 'that is a good sign!’ ' Jnst then, the grave-digger’s wife entered the room. She was exceedingly astonished to see Miriam, but did not dare to reproach her. She only said: ‘The child felt so warm that I removed the covering.’ *.That was not wise.’ said the mother; ‘the per spiration must not be oheoked.’ Then she crouched down beside the bed, feeling as if now everything must end well; An hour later, a carriage stopped before the house. A stranger alighted; it was the doctor from the castle. He looked at the child, felt its pulse and then carefully covered it up again. Then he asked the woman for the causes and the symptom* of the fever. ‘There was great danger,’ he said, when he had heard all; ‘it is over now. It was very for tunate that you immediately recognized the signs of perspiration and carefully covered bp the child.’ Miriam's eyes shone. VAnd if that had not been done?'she returned. The physician looked at her in surprise, ‘What a strange question.’ ‘Answer!’ cried she, ‘I pray you answerr ‘Well,’ returned he, without taking thought, 'then the child would have certainly, or at letf t, in all probability, have died.’ ‘God, I thank thee!' cried Miriam. And with proudly beaming eyes she turned to her neigh- ‘Now will you assert that I am accursed of God, I, for whom He has just worked such a mi racle ? Was it not a miracle that those good peo ple who brought me home were at the inn just as I come there ? Yes, a miracle, for else my child would have been lost.’ The child recovered. And the people of Barnow ? Had they sus pected that it was only love, the fervent love of a mother, that had conquered hate by its heal ing and saving power, they would probably have contin ued to bear ill-will against the wid ow and her child. But here, obviously, a ‘mira cle of God’ had caused. And a miracle that God himself performs, that alone is mightier than—an ordinance of the ‘wonder-working Rabbi.’ DOSIA THE TAMING OF A GIRL. BY IIENH.T GBLTILLi. Translated from the French, 'or the "Sunny South,” BY FBOr. OHAS. V. CAIMAEB, XII. The Princess proposed to return to the park. The ladies who had come from Saint Petersburg were escorted to the railroad station, and the four other promenaders went under the large lindens that have such a sweet fragrance during July and whose shade is so much sought after. Plato was walking a few steps in advance with Dosia, who tried to keep as far as possible from her cousin, whom, for the time being, she detested cordially. t> ‘Mademoiselle Theodosie,’ said the young Cap tain, ‘how do you like our Tsarskoe ?’ ‘Charming,’ answered the young girl, ‘but if you dont want me to change my opinion doit call me Theodosie. I am not to blame that they gave me such an ugly name when they baptised me.’ ‘But it is net an ugly name.’ ‘It is the name of so many chambermaids. I can’t help it, so call me Dosia.’ ‘Well, Mademoiselle Dosia, do you enjoy your self here ?’ She hesitated a moment. ‘Yes,’ she answered at last, ‘that is—no—decid edly no. There is not enough liberty here.’ ‘And you said you like to go into the world; it is worse there yet.’ ‘Do you think so? But .there are compensa tions ?’ ‘Very few; you will see it yourself. But I am wrong to take away your illusions, you will lose them soon enough when the time comes.’ ‘That is what my English governess used to tell me. You know that I have had an English gov erness.’ ‘No, I did not. What was that governess telling you?’ ‘My dear Miss Bucky ! I have never seen any thing more funny. Think of it, Monsieur Plato, a long pole, dry, angular, with new dresses that looked old. hair which she forced to curl and that immediately resumed a vertical position, long red ears ornamented with immense lava ear-rings, and long white teeth, even longer than her earrings. Dear Miss Bucky, how I did love her 1’ ‘How long ?’ ‘Two summers. Mother took her only dnriDg summer time, so that we could learn English; but as Miss Bucky’s idea was only to learn French I had to become her teacher myself in the oourt language.’ ‘Did she progress ?’ •Considerably!’ answered Dosia,'^laughing. ‘What did she specially learn ?' ‘A few songs which my French governess had left me. Lc Petit Chaperon Rouge, Mailre Corbeau and Le Petit Oiseau. But I had changed the airs. Tou ought to hear her sing them. Such a ftinny way she had.’ •I see what Miss Bucky has learned at your house, but I do not see what she taught you.’ ‘Oh! many things. The ballad of Old Robin Gray, the art of making landscape with a brush and some pulverized black lead. You know the black dust is first spread all over the paper, then it is rubbed off to make light and shade. ‘What else did she teach you ?’ ’Morals, philosophy and English synonyms. That’s all.’ . . ‘It is something,’ said Plato, trying to_ keep serious. ‘What did you learn from yonr French rSTSL one was a revolutionist. She tanght me history, embroidery, Victor Hugo’s poems, ana the immortal principles of 1789. Th °?. e I un er j stood at a glance. We have I That was splendid. I dreamed cf ■ red cap and shed tears. _ , T .. nothing then but goddess of Liberty, revolution. She was perfect too at> making; pres erves and starching linen. But she didnotstay long; mother said that she was making me too in dependent.’ ‘How is that ?’ . . , v a _ ‘You see, according to onr principles, when mother forbade me to do something without explaining the why and wherefore, I did, course, what she had forbidden. of Hence iatermin- ‘What did your governess say on such occwnons ‘She said that I ought to obey mother, that chil dren thust obey their parents and goveroesa. Ifl rebelled, she punished me. That ma<k me think that there were principles and P n “°' p ’ bett , r that are good for the rulers and some thatarabet er for those that are ruled, and I came to the eon elusion that when I conld be among the rulers it would be a great deal more pleasant for me.’ ‘Very good !’ said Plato. ‘Sines then I never could like theories. They do very on paper but when yon oome to practice there’s no use; if you have a rebel pupil you must punish her, in spite of the immortal principles and other big words.’ ‘Bravo 1’ exclaimed Plato, ‘this is a practical reasoning. How long did your revolutionist stay with you ?’ ‘Only two years, and I regretted her very much. She was certainly the best of onr governesses; so kind when she was not dreaming of her theories. I think she was a little, ’ Dosia touched her forehead with her finger. ‘But,’ she continued, ‘she had an excellent heart, an unbounded charity. She used to give everything to poor peasants who didn't belong to her country and surely did not care for her immortal principles. I loved her a great deal more than I did the Herman governess who came next.’ Count Sourof was greatly amused at her pratt ling. He looked behind and saw his sister and Pierre following them and speaking with anima tion. He then turned back to Dosia, who looked medit .tire, and asked her : ‘What are you thinking about ?’ ‘I am thinking of my German governess; she was so funny with her large mouth always full of nice sentences, instead of the teeth that were miss ing : Wallenstein, Die Roeber, Ich habe genossen das trdische Gluck; she quoted all. She made me play Schuman’s pieces for four hands—which annoyed me terribly.— Wheft time came to settle with mother, that German governess show herself a real Shylock. But what nice words, what sublime thoughts, thoughts that oome from the heart— the stars and etherean immensity, angels taking souls away, disillusions and disappointments, ideal of duty, disinterestedness, abnegation of the myself, the meeting in a better life, the lotus on the river Gauge—pah !’ I understand,’ said Plato, ‘you have a limpid ity of speech that does not leave any room for mistake.’ Dosia looked at him a moment, uncertain how she ought to take the raillery, but soon smiled and said : ‘The best of all was my Russian governess ; but I had her only three days. She wore short hair and blue spectacles, and was a nihilist. When mother saw on the table of the classs-reom Force et Mature, you know, she told her softly, with her worn-out voice : ‘ 'Mademoiselle, you may pack np your trunk.’ And the blue spectacles disappeared for ever from our horizon.’ ‘I see that your education has been very much mixed up,’ said Plato, with a tint of pity for that bright intellect so badly cultivated. ‘Yes, but I made something by it. I learned how to judge of things.’ Such a conclusion seemed so strange to the Captain that he burst in a laugh, and sit down or rather fell on a bench. Dosia joined her hands behind her and putting her head on one side, looked at her hilarious companion. Pierre and Sophie came then , ready to join in the laughing. Mourief did not need any explana tion; the countenance of his cousin seemed to him sufficiently eloquent. ‘Dosia has said some nonsense, at last,’ he said, I have been looking for that ever since this morn ing.’ Dosia’s retort burst out like the firing of a pistol. ‘Nobody ever waited so long for yours !’ ‘Bravo !’ exclaimed Plato when he was able to quit laughing, ‘You are sold. Pierre.’ The latter was gravely bowing, hat in hand. ‘I found my match,’ said he to Dosia. ‘Highly respected cousin, from this moment I surrender. I cannot compete with you.’ ‘It is right!’ she said with the gravity of a queen, ‘this conduct shows that my cousin has a salutary fear, which is the beginning cf wisdom.’ XIV. They were near the lake, and the moon was shining brilliantly over the water. ’What a beautiful night!’ said the Princess, sit ting down by her brother. ‘A night made for lovers,’ answered Plato; ‘we unbelievers, ought to remain at home. We are not deserving of such weather.’ He was looking at Dosia to see the effect of his words upon her mind, but the young girl seemed absorbed in the contemplation of the spots on the queen of the night. ‘Ah ! for the time,’ she sighed, ‘when I believed in the man in the moon !’ ‘How old was you, then ?’ ‘Nine.’ They laughed again, bnt Dosia continued : ‘Yes, it was when father taught me how to ride on his beautiful Negro, which he had brought from Caucasius, a horse that used to belong to a Geor gian princess, and could pick up a handkerchief from the ground, while at a full gallop. A nice and good horse ! I never have been happier than then. Pa and I used to ride at night, and we looked at the moon. Pa said there was a door somewhere, and that from time to time the man in the moon opened it to watch what little girls were doing. Dear me! how often did I fall on my hands and knees while I was looking so high 1’ ‘Many have fallen like you,’ said Plato, almost to himself. Dosia looked at him; her childish face seemed completely changed when she said gravely; ‘It is beautiful for one to fall while looking to to heavens.’ Plato, surprised, looked at her, and to him she seemed transfigured. ‘Do you believe it ?’ he asked without raising his voice, His sister was explaining to Mourief a very complicated machine to thrash wheat. ‘Father told me so, and I have always believed all that my father said. He a hnndred times repeat ed to me not to be discouraged by obstacles, never entertain any vulgar thought, but always look higher.’ ‘Your father was a good man,’ said Plato. Dosia took the young man’s hand and pressed it warmly in thanks for his words. They remained silent for a while. ‘I very seldom speak of my father,’ continued the young girl, ‘at home, it makes mother cry; my sisters dont like it, because I was his favorite child.’ ‘We will speak of him as much as you desire,’ answered Plato. ‘I shall be happy to know a noble soul by the marks he has left in his child’s mem ory.’ They continue the conversation in that tone. During this time, Pierre was the happiest of men. Seated by the Princess, he was listening to the description of the machinery of the farm, and the number, size and shape of every screw or bolt seemed to have for him an extraordinary import ance. He was full of admiration for the fortunate wheels that enjoyed the happiness of performing their duty under the Princess’ eyes, when she visited her farms, and the thought that Bhe would soon leave for an excursion of that sort came to mar his contentment. ‘When will you leave ?’ he asked in the middle of the description of a patented system of ventila- tion. ‘In five days. I will bring yotir cousin back home, and then leave. ’ ‘For a long time?’ asked Pierre, sadly. ‘For one month.’ ‘One month ! great heavens! what will I do dar ing that time ?’ ‘What was yon doing before ?’ asked the Prin cess, smiling. ‘At that time,’ answered Pierre, ‘I did not know you; I was good for nothing.’ ‘1 will leave you some books.’ The Princess’ voice was very low. They kept silent for a while, then Sophie said : ‘Gentlemen, let ns go, it is late.’ The young officers escorted the ladies home, took a cup of tea and left for the camp. On the way, Pierre said to his friend . ‘Your sister is admirable ! I have never seen a lady so sensible, so practical and so kind.’ ‘There is only one Sophie in the world, as there is only one Dosia Zaptine,’ answered Plate, smil ing. A few days later, the Princess’ carriage stopped in front of the same piazza where Pierre had brought back his cousin to her anxious family. The same family—calm this time—welcomed the Princess, who soon found herself seated at the table for tea. ‘Did she give you much trouble ?’ timidly aske p. the good Madame Zaptine. ,Not the least, madame,’ answered Sophie. A blush of pleasure tinted Dosia’s cheek. ‘Is it possible! Here we dont know what to do with her.’ Dosia blushed again, but contentment disap peared from her face, and she kept silent. ‘I believe,’ said Sophie, softly, ‘that the system you have followed for her education did not exact ly suit her disposition.’ Madame Zaptine raised her eyes and hands. ‘I did not follow any system,’ she said sadly, am not to be blamed on that ground.' ‘Precisely,’ replied Sophie, ‘I think that a good system, well appropriated to her disposition— ‘My husband was against all systems. He had begun this child's education, would to God he could have achieved it!’ said Madame Zaptine, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. The Princess understood that all she could say would be useless, so she determined to try another way. ‘I leave to-morrow,’ she said; ‘we are told that night is a good adviser, so think of the proposi tion I am going to offer you, and give me an answer in the morning. Are you willing to let me have Dosia for this winter? I will take care of her until you come, as usual, to spend three months in Saint Petersburg. Then you can intro duce her into society.’ Dosia jumped from her chair—not without caus ing it to fall—and threw her arms around Sophie’s neck with such a vehemence that a number of cups of tea were spilled all over the table. All her sisters uttered an exclamation of indig nation. ■You see, Princess,’ said Madame Zaptine, pit eously. Sophie aughed. ‘This is nothing,’ she said, ‘we will change all that. I do not pretend that I could be a model mother of a family, but ’ ‘Neither do I,’ interrupted Madame Zaptine. ‘But,’ resumed the Princess, ‘I feel assured that Dosia would improve a great deal if you give her to me. She has been six days at my house and she did not break nor spill anythiug while there.’ ‘I suppose the atmosphere of this house is what inspires her,’ put in the elder sister. Dosia was the beauty of the family, and conseq uently not much loved by her marriageable sisters. She opened her mouth to answer, but Sophie put her finger on her lips, at the same time looking at her, and she kept silent. She only smiled and put out a small bit of her tongue in defiance to her sisters, as soon as the Princess turned her head. (to be continued.) GORDON ELLIOT; Dangers outlie Railway BY BATCUFTB. Gordon Elliot was the son of a widow. Hers was the sad tale so often heard within the last ten years -widowed and impoverished by the war. Gordon’s heart was wrung and his obival- rous spirit aronsed by the privations endured wuo v by his mother, sisters and baby brother. His ) unselfishness, father had placed them on a small farm bought I ‘Miss Biar done sen you some things, Miss near the end of the war, and in the very last i he said, and handed her the basket with ‘Oh ! mother, what nonsense, ! yon will be so bnsy and it wonld only interrupt yon. Besides, what wonld the other “hands” say to my yell ing out every time I passed here ?’ ‘Never mind what they think my boy, you think of yonr mother. I will know then that yon are alive. Your sister or I will always wave to you. God bless you, my son.’ So Gordon worked or the railroad and always waved his cap and cheered as he went by in the day and gave a shrill whistle as he passed at night, to which his mother listened with a fer vent ‘Thank God,’ whether in her bnsy school or on her restless pillow. After some months Gordon begged his mother to give him her written permission to take the permanent place of first brakesman by which his pay wonld be iuoreased, and he conld then add many comforts to the home he prized more highly now, it was so seldom enjoyed. The dreaded second payment hae been made, so Mrs. Elliot begged he wonld remain where ha was lest another position might be more danger ous. But Gordon’s argument and entreatiets prevailed; two more payments were to be made and the yonnger children to be ednoated. She signed the permit as the guardian of her sen. She did not know the pay was in proportion to the danger. The last day of the month the cars stopped but a few moments in front of Mrs. Elliot’s house, Gordon’s merry call was answered by the whole family running oat to meet him. ‘I have not time to stop this morning’ he cried •but you will all hear from me to-morrow, for I draw my pay this evening. We won’t be down before two o’clock to-night, so I will leave the packages with Mike at the tank. Every one of you shall hear from my big pay. Good-bye’— and the cars moved off. Little Edward burst into tears and sobbed out; ‘Gordie, did’nt tell me good-bye—he did’nt say nothing to me.’ The mother raised the little fellow in her arms and called to Gordon to speak to him. The tears were stopped in a moment by the whoop that followed and by the kisses that were thrown to him. That evening Gordon drew his pay. The usual sum for the debt on the farm was laid aside a package of sugar for bis mother was bought, then simple, inexpensive piesents for eaoh one; a ruff for one sister, a neck-tie for another; a cheap knife for one brother a cravat for the other; a bright head-handkeroheif for his old •mammy’ and a dollar set of enff-bnttons and stnds for little Eddie, who wanted to button his shirt like Gordie’s. He wrote a note to his mother fall of tender devotion and promises to make her one day very rich when he should become a great engineer like his hero, Steven son; one to the sisters full of castles in the air; one to the little brother fall of big words, such as catastrophe beginning with the picture of a cat, dogmatic with a dog These notes were put in his vest pocket ready to be banded to the old negro Mike at the tank. With a light step and a happy heart Gordon went to his post of duty; no presentiment of evil overshadowed him; those sad presages so frequent before great calam ities did not for a moment cloud the sunshine of his gladness. Happy thoughts filled his mind as he sped on through the darkness. The shrill whistle of the engine did not still the song whioh lightened his lonely labors. With a merry laugh and a gay jest he roused the sleepy officials along the way. Under the dense shadows of the Bine Ridge his dnty called him to attend to the machinery of the front carriage. He lifted the lantern and bent over to see the working of the wheels. A sudden jar from a small impedi ment on the track dashed the lantern from his oareless grasp. He tried to catch it but lost his balance—he saw his happy little home—then all was dark—life was crushed out of the mangled body. A half hour after as the train thundered by the mother held a lamp at the window and the sister waved a handkerchief in the bright light, but no voice answered from the train. ‘Gordie did not come down to-night,’ said Mrs. Elliott, and smiled to think of the quiet sleep he was enjoying. On ! quiet indeed. Early next morning a little negro boy oame to Mrs. Elliott’s with a basket ot fruit and vegeta bles, sent by the wife of the conduotor who lived not far off. Gordon had endeared himself to all who worked with him by his cheerfulness and Confronted by His Nine Wives. At the opening of the Coart of General Ses sions yesterday nine of.the wives of Adolph Hoff man, alias Adolph Hnsman, were sitting in the compartment reserved for witnesses in the rear of the rooms. It was noticed that they were all well dressed. ‘Adolph Hoffman to the bar?’ said Assistant District-Attorney Rollings. This order caused some excitement in the compartment where the wives were seated. They crowded as near as possible to the aisle. The prisoner walked out, neatly dressed and wearing on his finger the sparkling ring which it is said assisted him so materially in his conrtships. When he turned the angle he looked at the bar; but as he ap proached the witness-stand his eyes fell on his nine wives. He trembled and came to a sudden halt. ‘Go on!’ shouted the Court officer who was at his side. ‘My God,’ he said, ‘look ahead. It’s all np with me, now.’ He prepared to go forward and had just taken two steps when he was seized upon by one of his wives. Her fingers clutched his hair and she pulled it viciously. ‘Give it to him,’ the uther eight shouted out in chorus. Two of them reached out for his ears and palled them and the others ponnded him. For a while no attempt was made to rescue Hoffman from his wives. Roars of laughter came from all parts ot the room- Finally one of the court officers interfered, and after much difficulty, daring which he received some of the blows intended for Hoffman, rescued him from the wives. ‘You are indicted for obtaining money under false pretenses?’ said Clerk Hall. ‘Are you guilty or not gnilty?’ ‘Guilty,’ answered the prisoner. ‘You are indicted for bigamy,’ continued Mr. Hall- ‘Are you guilty or not guilty?’ ‘Guilty!’ said the prisoner, and turning to his counsel, he inquired, ‘Is that all?’ Assistant Dis trict-Attorney Rollings then moved that the prisoner be remanded. The motion was granted, and on the application of Hoffman two officers were detailed to accompany him to the prisoners’ box to prevent another attack from his wives. It is said that Hoffman’s operations were net confined to New York. From what the detective, who has investigated the case has learned, it is believed that he was successful in Philadelphia, Washington, Baltimore and Bos ton. Yesterday Max Eller, a lawyer of No. 35 Pine street, called at the District-Attorney’s offioe and said that a lady who was a client of his was one of those to whom Hoffman had paid attentions. One evenning about a month ago Hoffman paid her a visit. They were in the parlor for some time, and then the lady went to an adjoining room. Daring her absence Hoff man disappeared, carrying with him a pocket- book containing some money and a silk um brella. She never saw him afterwards.—N, T, World. Modern Greek Men and Women. battle he lost his life. The poor lady thought the little piece of land wonld always be a home for her children and she straggled to keep his shaking right hand and looked at her pity ingly with eyes distended with horror. He held his left hand behind him. So great was it. Her fair hands were pnt to all menial work; j * he excitement over the basket that no one no-, her daughters were taught all work a woman ! the boy. t., • , . , conld perform, and her sons cheerfully followed How kmd Mrs. Blair always is, said Mrs. El- the plough. One payment was made, and the Lot, while the children pressed upon her to see next drew on apace. All the labors and econo my of the family scarce sufficed to feed them; what was to be done ? While the tired mother taught the children at night she plied her needle for scanty pay. The older sister kept the clothes of the others in order. If the sec ond payment was not made the home must be sold and the money already paid, be lost. The lady’s fair brow became more corroded in spite of her ready smile. Gordon felt he must do something; the older brother conld manage the farm; he must put his hand to some work which wonld bring ready money. He came to his mother and told her of his pnrpose. ‘No, Gordie,’ she said, ‘you are too young to go out into the world yet, mother can keep her little flock together awhile longer. Public schools are to be established throughout the country and I have the promise of the one for this district The Superintendent has just left Thank God, he came before I had consented to your going.’ So Gordon stayed awile longer. His mother added to the oares of her honsehold the teach ing of thirty ohildren of various ages and dif ferent attainments. Still every economy was to be practiced for that terrible debt hnng over them. The ohildren were to be tanght in the day so the house work must be done by night Gordon could stand it no longer. Again he sought a private talk with his mother. Mother,’ said he, ‘I have never disobeyed yon.’ No, my Bon, yon have been a blessing to me from yonr cradle.’ 'But I mnst leave yon now; do not forbid me. I have already taken the plaoe of brakesman on the railroad.' You, my son, yon a breaksman on the rail road ?’ 'Yes, mother the pay is sure and pretty good, and I get my board besides; so I oan turn over to yon every cent I make until March and that will be enough to meet your debt I have clothes enough for the present and you will have one less to provide for at home. I eat lots of sugar and butter. I will be very near yon and will see yon often. There is the railroad jnst at onr door, the tank is not a hnndred yards off; we will all have a jolly time when we stop to water.’ The widow hesitated: 'Gordie, it is such dangerous employment’ ‘Pshaw I mamma, everything is dangerous. Don’t yon remember the man in the Bible, who ran from a lion into his house, placed his hand on the wall and a soorpion bit him?’ I have always had snoh a horrible; presenti ment abont a railroad aocident’ ‘I, have a strong presentiment if I stay at home, a horse will kick me in the head—if I don’t starve first—or break my heart seeing yon work so hard, my poor, dear mother. I must go, mother,I have promised.’ ‘Weil Gordie,’ sighed the mother, 'will yon call to me every time yon pass, night or day.’ I what was in the basket. Sophy, the eldest, gave way to the little ones and so nad an oppor tunity to observe the peculiar looks of the boy. Seeing her notice him, he drew from behind him a pocket-book, handing it to her he said: ‘Ain’t this Mas’ Gordie’s pocket-book ? I pick it up on de rail-road.’ Sophy handed it to her mother who opened it and saw the photographs of herself, her husband and several young ladies, friends of Gordon. ‘Yes, it is: how glad he will be when he comes up to know we have found it. How strange it should have been dropped just here.’ She was about to look for a small coin to re ward the boy when he slowly drew forward his other hand, saying: ‘I’se fraid he's dead. Ain’t this pieoe of his vestcoat?’ He held before her the torn bloody half of a vest which she at once knew to be his. ‘Oh! my boy, my boy is killed,’ she oried. Sophy seized the vest, thrnst her hands into the pocket and drew out the notes addressed, with many a gay flourish to those to whom they were meant to gladden. He might be wounded, not dead, no not dead. She seized her hat and sped along the rail-road. There lay his hat by the side of the way; then a torn caff with the button still in it marked E. which she had knit socks enough to bay for him last Christmas. Her heart died within her but she slackened not her pace until she neared the depot and saw the conductor and others with sorrowful looks scan ning the track in front of the np-train jnst ar rived. Then she knew he had been missed and they were looking for the remains of her, so lately bright and happy brother. She sank fainting on the way. She was tenderly cared for by the hard-handed men and carried back to her desolate mother. How hard to say, ‘Thy will be done,’ bnt the Christian triumphed over the mother. There were others still to live tor. So she bravely lives on with her sorrows buried deep in her heart and makes life as happy as possible to others. Men as Lore Makers. Men are never so awkard, never so ungrace ful, never so disagreeable, as when they are making love. A friend is a luxury, a husband, ditto, I suppose; bnt that intermittent olass of beingB denominated ‘lovers,’ are terrible bores, it does very well for a*woman to blnsh and look flustered now and then, when occasions make it desirable; but to see a man with a face as red as a ripe cherry, and a real paroel of strong- mindedness, self-reliance and masonline digni ty, done np in broad-oloth and starched linen, quaking from the top of his shirt oollar, his month dry, and his tongue twisted into convul sions in the vain attempt to say something sweet —O gracious !—Kate. Judging from the papers there seems a lull in (he shooting and murdering business. Much has been said In praise of Grecian beauty, and the men are handsome in every sense of the word; we might well imagine them to have been the models of Phidias and Praxite les. Their large eyes, black as jet, sparkle with glances of fire, whilst the long silky eyelashes soften the expression and give a dreamy ap pearance of melancholy. Their teeth are small, white and well set; a fine, regular profile, a pale olive complexion, and a tall, elegant figure, re alize an accomplished type of distinction. As to the women, they seem to have left phys ical perfection to the men; some possess fine eyes and hair, but as a rale they have bad fig ures, and some defect in the face generally spoils the good features. It is among them, however, that the old Oriental customs are most strictly preserved; whilst the men are gradually under going the process of civilization, they in a moral poins of view remain stationary, and are just as they were fifty years ago. li may indeed be said that, with the exception of Athens, the wo men possess no individual existence, and coant as nothing in society; the men have reserved every privilege for themselves, leaving to their helpmates the care of the house and family. In the towns, where servants are kept, they are the poorest class of peasants, who know nothing and receive miserable wages. The families are gen erally large—seven or eight little children de mand a mother's constant attention. The morning begins by directing the work of each servant, repeatingthesamethingahundred times, scolding, screaming, even beating them to be understood. In the evening, when the children are sleeping, if there remain some little time, the poor, worn-out mother sits down to her spinning-wheel to spin silk, to sew or knit, or, if it be summer time, to look after her silk worms and cocoons, happy if she has not to do the work of her incompetent servants over again. Such days leave little time for pleasure or in struction of their children; indeed, they never think of that. The children are left completely to themselves, rnnning over the house in a state of nature, wallowing in the mud, among the stones, or in the water, not fearing the hot rays of the sun, and soon learning to walk with out leading strings. Everything grows under the favoring sky of Greece, like the thistle-down which the wind carries away and sows on its passage, to bnrst forth in the sun’s rays. Happy for the mother when her young ones reaoh the age of seven; they are then sent to the parish school, which is now established in every town and village. It might well be imagined that some women would absolutely refuse such an existence, but not one seems to harbor the thought. They have always a sad air of resignation, as if their eyes were fixed on an ideal after whioh they dreamed and wept; but at their first words it is apparent that all feeling is dead within them, under the influence of long continued habit There is neither comfort, affection, nor any thing like happiness in the home; and yet the only aim of the young girls is to be married. Such a thing as an old maid cannot be found. Illusion soon vanishes after marriage; bnt they learn to live as their mothers did—for their hus bands, their children, or the riches of the house —leading a hard, monotonous existence, bnt free from all blame. The grandmothers are the only persons who can rest; they live in their son-in-law's house, and eat, chatter, or frighten their grandchildren with oomio grimaces and remonstrances, counting one by one the per- furued balls of the comboli or ehaplet, whioh is _ carried by both Tarks and Greeks for a distrao- ' tion. Their presence is accepted with indiffer ence as a dnty, and when they die the tranquil philosophy of the national character soon con soles the mourners.—Exchange. A TERRIBLE TORNADO. A tornado visited Miohigan on the twentieth, carrying death and destrnction in its path. It was proceeded by a sadden darkness, a death like stillness and a close atmosphere difficult to respire. The frightened people took refuge in their oellars. The storm descended with awful power. Every structure in the town of Chip- S ewa was swept away. Many people were hurt, ut only one was killed, as the cellars afforded protection. Heavy logs were whirled like straws for miles throngh the air. At Greenville, the Baptist church was blown down, killing Mich ael Tigh, a workman. Many buildings werede- molished at Pentwater, and Mrs Gnffin crushed to pieces. The meeting of two storms caused^ the tornado.