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peculiarities of a West end connection must be aware of, was totally ruined. Had he even staunch friends, he would be unable to bear up against the influence of the deeply insulted la dies, whose wide aristocratic circle would make common cause with them. Against these arguments and insinuations, Charles had nothing to oppose; so far as they militated egainst his union with Clara. He felt himself totally in ihe old man's power; he had no home to offer the lady, were she disposed to accept his suit, he had only his own conscien tious integiitv to rely on, and that availed naught in the’ way of providing maintenance for a wife. The p< stponement of intercourse for one year was, he jadged, a manoeuvre to deceive Clara, the real intention being to break off the match altogetber. Like a general, who has made the bent fight circumstances admit of,and who retreats slowly, aDd with regret, before a superior force, so Stan wood was forced to accept the conditions, and take a year s farewell of Clara. . . At home the jeweler had leisure to reflect on the occurrences of the last three days. He felt thoroughly beaten, lie had often read how hard it was to climb—how easy to fall; yet in his own history, he had exceeded romantic ficliop. From comparative affluence to poverty, he slid down, as though along an inclined plane, and every one gave him a kick as he passed. Ihe world in its infinite wisdom had condescended to read him a great moral lesson—yet he knew not how to profit by it, for he could neither see the crime he had committed, nor was he prepar ed to act otherwise than he had done, if the same circumstances—lor which he suffered -were re peated. _ Time was fruitful in events. The necklace could not be heard of. His once crowded shop was shunned—the principle creditors grew pressing, as his effects, through lack ot business, were undergoing a process of gradual dissipa tion, instead of increase. He committed a vol untary act of bankruptcy—obtained, in due course, his discharge, left the court with the bankrupt's allowance-money, clorhes and gold watch. The world was all before him, and be fore he renewed a general acquaintance with it, love prompted an inquiry after the Bensons. On passii g tinal examination, and receiving his certificate, the commissioner complimented the bankrupt on the accuracy ot his books ami faith ful account of stock. E ; ated with the praise, hope whispered he might regain influence with Mr. Bi-nsor, perhaps be put in a way to begin business under happier auspices. -This hope perished miserably. The harsh, unfee.mg olu man had carried off his daughter to the List Indies, under pretence of realizing long neglect ed property, but—as Charles knew too well—to eseape the alliance. . . What bitter thoughts succeeded this bows • His character was uninipoacbed—his creditors pitied his fate ! Had hut his mends (and who should have been more eager than his intended father-in-law?) rallied around bun iu the boar of difficulty—he might have transferred his bus iness to the city, or some quarter beyond the influence of his aristocraic enemies, and flourish anew. , , , Ha felt sick—became the victim of a long erne* fever, and when he slowly awoke to recovery, found himseif penniless,deserted and forgotten. His name had passed away from the street where he once dwelt—another name accnpied its place —ware of another description orm.mented uie windows. To look at Bond street,with his mel ancholy gsze.it seemed as though what had oeen was nothing but a dream. His eye glanced cu his apparal— there was a change there—and he hurried away to conceal his poverty. After awhile, Stan wood sought an<. obtained employment as a journeyman in tho service oi a the mercantile quarter of the West Eu<i,or court and aristocratic part of the metropolis. years passed over his head whilst gaining a mere livelihood by skill in repairing jewelry and set ting stones. Use is second nature, and Charles became in some degree reconciled—if not con tented—with his humble situation. In the city he was removed from casual contact either with former customers or rivals in trade—was known merely as an artisan who had —to use the com mon expression—seen better days, and was ap preciated by his employer as an excellent work man. Memory of his former station held him solita ry in his amusements. He would not consort with members of his class—was fond, when holy and leisure days permitted (he worked at home, as it is teonically called, by the piece, not pay work) to stroll by himself into the country. Though abandoned by former equals—without relish for society of a lower grade, Nature had not lost her charms. Though even hope had fled—that kindly inspiration which dwells in the ruined tenement when every other glorious guest has departed—yet he felt a melancholy pleasure iu the woods and by the silent stream; elsewhere, he was frowned upon by the aristo cratic spirit of man; in solitude, which was not solitude to him, he experienced in the glorious sunlight and beneath the chequered shade of the grove, a bouyant up-spring of mind, which was at times more than consolation—a positive delight. Fed by such high thoughts and aspirations, he was sustained in poverty, without falling into the habits and associations which poverty breeds. It chanced on one occasion that, in loitering through a lane, a few miles from the metropolis, he leaned over a paddock fence, attracted by the beauty of the verdure. A carriage drove by, and turning his head he beheld a face changed thongh not forgotten. He could not be mis taken—it must be Clara Benson ! The carriage was very fortunately detained at the entrance of the paddock a sufficient time to allow Stan wood to confirm his conjecture of the lady’s identity; yet the aged gentleman at her side was not her father* Perhaps he was her husband —some old, wealthy nabob whom an unfeeling parent had forced on her choice. The thought conveyed a bitter pang, whioh he would gladly have deemed himself insensible of, at such lapse of time. Both occupants of the carriaae stared at the lin gering intruder—but it was the idle glance cast on a stranger. The gate was opened and the equipage passed on. This unexpected meeting was food] for bitter thought for many a day. Oft memory recurred in his lone walk to the close-shaven paddock, the equipage whioh bore her who was once the star of his affectiora. Often was he prompted to pay a second visit to the spot; but reason sternly asked to what purpose, but to embitter his peace ? If Clara had left the protection of her father, it was exchanged only for the guard ianship of a husband. No, there are incidents in some men’s lives, which they do well to tear from memory. As the most efficient and skillful workman, Stanwood was one morning sent for, to receive some instructions to reset some jewelry. His emyloyer informed him that he had gained a new customer, a lady of fashion and distinction and as it was not usual for people of quality to resort to city tradesmen, he was axioua to show her ladyship that the work entrusted to his care could be as well exeonted as iu B.mi street or St. James. An old-tashiened diamond necklace was to ba changed into ear-rings and bracelets, afier a particular pattern produced. The jeweler toid his workman that he had fall confidence in his honesty, yet the stones being cf great value he should require him to bring his work every evening, to be placed in the vault to prevent ohanoe of loss by fire, robbery or other oasulty -indeed, in the case of an other artificer than Stanwood, hejwould have the work performed under his own peisonal inspection. Perhaps the coBfindence reposed was not so great as gems of great value are not easily disposable by workmen, and would be stopped by pawnbrokers and money-lenders on suspicion. A draft of the pate.n was placed in Stanwood’s hands, together with the jewel case, whioh he opened to inspect the contents. ■Are you siek ?’ cried the employer, seeing the workm< n tremble and tarn pale. Charles made excuse, pleading sadden giddi ness and promising to bring the precious articles in the evening -and every evening until it was completed—half an hour before the shop closed, he departed. The necklace was the same he had lost! Her ladyship—the lady of fashion and distinction he made no doubt, was his old customer; her coming to the city iu quest of a jeweller confirmed suspicion. Among new work men, new tradesmen, who worked for a difler- class of customers, she doubtless felt certain of evading detection, and, as some years had passed, tho diamonds, remodelled into fresh ornaments and reset, would surely escape recognition. He felt inclined to return to his employer and ob tain the name of the lady, but after doubt and hesitation, thought it advisable not to raise a suspicion. He remembered his previous castiga tion, and resolved to act with caution, and make what lie was entitled to—the most of his posi tion. Changing his ordinary daily dress for apparel of a better description, he proceeded westward with the necklace in his pocket. With some difficulty he gained admission to the house with out stating the object of his visit; and paying no heed to the quartette of liveried servants who ushered him in with obsi quious bows, he boldly entered the princely apartment where the old nobleman was reclining ia his trailing dressing- crown and slippers. The latter rose at the entrance of his visitor, and started perceptibly as ho gazed on the half-remembered face before him. But he was calm again ia an instant, and without a word he held aside the voluminous curtains from the door-way that opened into the library. . Charles permitted himself to bs ushered into the well-remeiabered library, associated in his memory with every thought-and feeling which the former interview gave birth to; it looked tho same as though he had seen it bat yesterday. Yet how changed was he! The noble owner was slightly altered -time hail not stood still—six summers had left their impress. Motioning his visitor to take a chair, he waited in silence his comm un-ioation, with an expression of face which seemed to imply expectation of claim for relief, or charitable do nation. . •My lord, do yon not recognize me t said Charles, without) accepting the proffered seat. 'i he peer, rather impatiently, imitated ignor ance of his person, . Poverty and suffering had no doubt done their wotk, as Stanwood oouftesod, yet he was the same party who had complained to his lordship, six years since, of the loss of a diamond neck lace. The peer said he remembered the erroum- stanoe well; the person of his jeweler wee in deed altered. It he came to expre.-.s contrition, he lor his part, could afford tc- pardon the tender, especially as the crime had Drought its own punishment. ‘I have come, my lord,’ said Charles, sternly, ‘to save the criminal from-punishment.’ •How sir, what mean you-?’ eeked the peer. Stanwood related txactly how the necklace had fallen again into his possession. The no bleman changed color—stammered-begged to- have the necklace in his possession five ruinates, that he might take it upstairs, and resolve th«s a ^wiaicu idliua u UUl go OBI U1 1112* hands, save into ihe hands of a magistrate. •Wait awhile,’ cried the nobleman, hurriedly... as he rushed Irom the room. In a quarter of an hour he returned, pale in. tho face, and with disturbed eye, and seating himself near Stanwood, said he understood him to say that he had not testified recognition of the nackhi-ce in presence of his employer or aay one else; the secret was in his own breast. Charles replied, that what he had stated was the fact; he had acted more tenderly than he had been acted by. •At what amount of money,’ said the peer, tapping the eloow of the chair; as thongh his fingers were playing the keys of a piano, ‘do yon estimate the loss of your character, station, time?’ Stanwood burst into tears. He had lost ev erything, he said what money could never re place or rescore—the friends of his youth—the idolized being to whom he was betrothed—and if he thought of less important objects, a busi ness which, in a few years, would have realized a fortune. The nobleman dashed aside a.tear as he turned to his writing-desk. He wrote an order on his banker for ten thousand pounds, and handed it to Charles. There were not, he said, now suf ficient assets, but two days hence the order would be duly honored. If he deemed that sum sufficient, ail he required in return was, that he should complete his task for his city employers and bury the secret forever. His restoration to competence might be easily ascribed to other souroes than the right one. Charles complied with the conditions, and left the honse a changed and happier man. Two months saw Stanwood once more himself —in handBome lodgings, with a showy nag, fin gers cleansed and purified from stains and marks of tool edges, and possessor of ten thous and pounds. In such good trim, he must needs satisfy a longing to visit the neighborhood of the paddock which he had seen Clara enter, ac companied by her aged companion. By inqui ries, he learned that the secluded mansion, hid den by plantations from the public road, was occupied by an old gentleman and his niece from the East Indies, and reputed immensely rich. They were now at a fashionable bathing place on the coast. To this resort Charles Stan wood hastened full of hope and expectation that the lady was still her own mistress. He con trived to meet and rile slowly past her carriage to determine if he were recognized. She started as though struck with the face, and he rode on. They met again in the evening at a public libra- ryt a fashionable promenade when the weather out of door was unfavorable. On beholding a seoond time, the apparition, the lady fainted, and was conveyed home by her ancle. Stanwood called ia the morning andvas ad mitted. To Clara he was as one risen from the dead. On her lover’s bankruptcy, her father hurried her from England, promising to return after a short stay in the east. Under one pre tence or another, 3he was detained in luxurious captivity—she couldbestow no milder term on her unwilling residence in the Indies—till Mr. Benson fell sick and died. By his will it ap peared she was heiress of his wealth, under trust for a term of years, provided she did not marry Charls Stanwood; if she broke this ttipa- lation, the property passed to the testator’s brother, a merchant of Cal.u r who was ap pointed guardian. Her uncle iu-jiina.1 tc forsake commerce, she waited the arrangement of his affairs, aaff under his escort returned to England. Since her return, she had made re peated inquiries of friends, but oould learn nothing respecting Mr. Stanwood. The lovers found Mr. liens os, far more con siderate than his deceased brother. H3 execu ted an Instrument reoonveying his brother’s property to his nieoe. on her marriage with the long lost, and by all but Clara,forgotten Charles Stanwood. Once more the jeweller was visible in his old haunts in Bond street—not in his former capacity but in a new profession—a lounger like ourselves. From his lips—long after the aristocratic parties were at rest—we cleaned what we have narrated; and have only * 0 add that the career of Caarles and his wife wft s always smooth and unruffled. POLICE PHOTOGRAPHY. How They Manage the Thing in Paris, With Some Funny Incidents. [Baltimore Sun Paris Letter.] Coming by the back of the Champ de Mars to-day. I was attracted by a group around a photographic policeman, who was making rather an awkward effort to take a picture ot an old honse wherein an aged woman had sud denly died. I inquired into the sabject. It ap pears that the poor old soul, at eighty-seven years of age, pat out her lamp of life sooner than was expected by her neighbors. A young man had disappeared, and so had a tew Hun dred frances. The police were put on the qui vive, and tho first thing they did did was to photograph the ool J corpse, and then the house. Now they are looking for the missing youth to take his picture. It is amusing to see the varied uses that phototograph performs amongsi the Paris poii )0. First of all they photograph them selves, irom the highest to the lowest. rh®** they photograph some of their relations, and perhaps friends. They photograph all their first and second class prisoners. In the exhi bition their -rogues’ gallery’ is quite an array of celebrities and woald form a volume ©J sketches. Photography is applied in all oases of murder as to persons and places. Before the murdered body is moved, it and a» tho sur roundings become sareiully photographed. This is done by a special number of the polioe in uniform, whose entire work is devoted to the subject. Photographs of grand masters- of the . art of roguery and .ascality are exchanged be- ; tween the police of all nations. Thus today ton caD see some portraits of the wayward sons and daughters of Baltimore, Washington, Rich mond, Now Orleans, Charleston, etc., in ‘places of honor’ on the line of the Paris police fine art eallery. They are numbexed.and this num ber is an index historical and descriptive book. The days ot the dark-lantern are changed into hears of the camera, bat not camera ebscura. a am told that the list of crimes detected through, the agency of photography is an extremely long one. See to what detective purposes tue original idea of the long-lost Daguerre comes at las?. Instances of forgery are numerous as being detected by photography. The bank of Prance has a special photographic and scrutiny de partment Jo3? the detection of forged notes, bonds etc. But its invisible portrait gailory for taking the likeness of a person without that person knowing it, is unique and full of amus ing anecdotes. On one occasion a distinguished looking person came to the bank desk and pre sented a little package of bands of a certain English loan. The bank cleik did not readily relish the looks of the bonds, though those of the person were quite the thing. Pressing a little hand-bell-a signal to the pho ographer, -who has his gallery in a clear range of the appli cant’s desk, yet so constructed that it is not easi'y seen, the clerk engaged the stranger in conversation about the bonds, and in such a way that the photographer should have a good view of his face. This time a country school master, a3 honest as the sun of day, thrust his face in by the desk, and he was photographed ! France, Tff&Hil)Uoiiuveness 01 pnotograpfly is I illustrated at this bank when ink marks, invis- | ible to tli9 eye on tho original document, ba- i come quite plain cu the photograph. You •j cannot alter, by writing, any paper but photo’ * graphy will detect the ‘meddlesome pen,- | sooner or later. An erasure on the paper, if ' done ever so smoothly, is discovered by pho tography. The oharacter and style of ohirog- raphy is also well tested by photography. Pho tograph some of the letters iu a sentence, en large the photograph,and yon have a ‘big guide as to style, easily followed and made a criteri on. The postoffice department here has its photographic director, and many a letter is opened, photographed, compared and stored away for future evidence. Surrounded by such agencies, how well ‘honesty being the best poli cy’ is proved to us. In the exhibition you oan tee some instances of visitors there being un consciously photographed. One old lady, how ever, discovered the police at their proceeding. Up she bounded, over went not only her chair, but the three near by ones; down she dashed her umbrella, down she pulled her veil, turned her back in a triumphant air upon to the rash policeman. ‘What,’ she exclaimed; ‘taking my portrait for a prison f 0- Jule, Jule, where art thou?’ I am sorry to say her spouse Jule was in the arms of Morpheus, and cared not for pho tography. She went and demanded reparation, and was mollified by getting her photograph of her enraged self. THE SNOWBALLS; — OR,— Frank Edmond’s Sister. BY O. L. A. C. Four-Score and Ten, We May All Attain It. Dr. Hall contends that with increasing knowl edge of the laws of health, will come increase of years to the life cf man. He says: Aided by the ever-widening influencies of the principles of the Christian system, which,by in- calculating.as one of its cardinal elements, ’tem perance in all things,’ strikes at the very root of disease, we may reasonably hope that, when the true knowledge covers the earth as the waters cover the face of the great deep, tho ordinary average of human life will be the full three-score years and ten, er even four-score years, which will then not be years of labor and sorrow. Tho world would bail it as a glad event,if phy sicians could be so educated as to care all dis eases; but it would more largely add to its hap piness if all co aid be so welll instructed, as to the first symptoms of every ailment, as to be able at once to arrest its progress, and thus no physician be needed to cure; and yet, any one must know, that if men could be so taught to live that disease would not be possible, half the sufferings of humanity would be annihilated. And/or this I labor. An Incident at Holly Spring*. [Memphis Avalanche.] One of the thousand and one tragic incidents of the great plague happened at Holly Springs a few days since. A beautiful young lady u f New Orleans was forced by her father to marry an old man she oonld not love. Preferring death to slavery, the young lady ran away and gave her services as nurse to the fever s’ricken of Holly Springs. After a few days of devoted attention to the siek she was herself stricken. There was a male nurse for her. There was uc tern ile hand to soothe with its gentle touch the leverea brow. Bat the noble Ridley was there to perform the last sad o ffioes to the dying girl. Toward the last she said to him: ‘Kiss me.’ As Ridley kissed her on tho cheek she ex claimed: ‘Kiss my lias,’ whioh he did. She then said: *Yba are ! . • only man I ever kissed; kiss me again.’ While ii. lL / was in the act of kissing her she threw her ar us tightly around his neck, and instantly expired, G>J bless the brave hearts. ‘May I wait here for a oar?’ inquired Miss Dora Drawvee, in Mrs. Le Mar’s fashionable millinery store, on a pleasant autumn after noon. Certainly, replied Mrs. Le Mar, iot Dora was one of her best customers. ‘Here is a chair. There appears to be something wrong with the cars; it has been more than twenty minutes since one passed.’ Dora accepted the proffered chair and a pleas ant conversation ensued, which was interrupted by the entrance of a poorly dressed lady. The milliner turned to her with a frown upon her face, and sneeringly said: What do you want ?’ ‘I was directed here by Mrs. Collier, of C St. She said perhaps you might have some work to give out.’ ‘I have not was the cold reply, and the appli cant left the store. Tlu conduct ol Mrs. Le Mar so mortified Do ra, for she was alkind-hearted girl and esteemed Mrs. Le Mar quite highly, that she concluded to wait no longer. She felt quite indignant when she left the place, bat succeeding in repressing her feeliogs. As she walked up the street she soliloquized: ‘That was heaitlsss in Mrs. I16 M ir to treat the poor lady so unkindly. I wonder if she can do fine work; if I had her address I would call and see. Who did she say directed her there? Mrs. Collier of C street; why that is mamma’s old housekeeper, and I have been intending to call there to-day, but cause near forgetting it. Well 2 will call there now. 7 The street was but a short distance away, and she was soon there. As she turned off the ave nue she saw the object of her soliloquy just ahead of her. , „ ‘Tbere she is now,’ said Doras. ‘I will follow her and see where she goes. That must be Mrs. Collier's resideisce—No. M, yes that is it. She was soon admitted and had a very pleas ant call; but before she left she inquired of Mrs. Collier who the stranger was that preceded her into the house. , •Oh, I suppose ’ron mean Mrs. Lesley, replied Mrs. Collier. ‘She rented two rooms of me a few weeks ago and has- been trying to get work ev er since; but, except two plain dresses 3he made for me she has been unsuccessful. I wish, Miss Dora, your mother would let her have some sew ing to do. She is very neat ; or if your mother needed help occasionally about the housework, I> think she will find her capa-ble. Would you mind going with me So her room ?’ •I would like very much to see her,’ said Do- Accompanied by Mrs. Collier, Dora went for a brief call, and then returned home. Later in the evening Mrs. Lesley received a bundle of work, and the pay in advance from Mrs. Draw vee. •Ia there any one yon can recommend for plain sewing, Mrs. Drawvee ?’ asked Mirs. Horn- shell, a few weeks late?- ‘I employ Mrs. Lesley :.slie is a good sewer, and livea at M C street. I have recommended her to others, and have employed her in sewing, also in assisting in household affairs, bhe is beginning to find plenty of work,’ was the an swer; ‘and I am glad of it, for she is au estima ble lady and quite needy.’ vJtt SS9^ushinyplay Jthe following^ sgring^ window she saw some snowballs for sale, and purchased them. A3 she went on she thought bow acceptable some of these might be to Mrs. Lesley thi3 beautiful spring morning;.aud soon decided to share with her. ‘Oh, Miss Drawvee,’ ezclaimed Mrs. Lesley, after she had welcomed Dora, ‘what a beautiful bunch of Snowballs you have ! Many pleasant memories they recall to me. These are the first snowballs I have seen this spring.’ ‘These are for you, Mars. Lesley,’ said Dora separating the bunch, and offering her part of them. ‘For me !' said Mrs. Lesley. ‘Oh, thank you. You are very kind, very kind indeed. Ah, well do I remember the snowball bash we had in the door-yard at home,’ she continued, after she had arranged the flowers in a vase and placed it on the table. ‘For many years, Miss Drawvee, my home was in a village a long ways from here. There I married, and my husband rented a pret ty place only a few streets distant from my form er home. We planted a snowball bush when we commenced housekeeping and it grew finely, and looked, oh, so beautiful when bloomiDg. ‘I had one brother, who lived in the city of B , who visited us onoe, and sometimes twice a year. After my husband’s death, a let ter containing the tidings was sent to him; but I received no answer. After a few months I concluded to go in search of him. I went to B -, but failed to find my brother. His place of business was occupied by a stranger; I was not successful in obtaining work and my money was nearly all gone; then I came on here to try to find employment. Pardon me, Miss Drawvee perhaps I detain yon. ?’ ‘Oh no. And have you found your brother, Mrs. Lesley ?’ asked Dora with interest. ‘No;it is now two years since I last saw him.’ Just then, along the hall came the rustle of silk, followed by a knock at the door, and iu re sponse to Mrs. Lesley’s ‘come in,’ Miss Florence Gailney entered the room. She was clad in a spring suit of cashmere and silk of two shades of gray, with bonnet, gloves, and parasols to match. •Are you Mrs. Lesley, the woman who has been sawing for Mrs. Hornshell?’ she asked al most insolently. ‘1 am Mrs. Lesley, rnd I have sewed for Mrs. Hornshell,’replied Mrs. Lesley with far more dignity than the person who addressed her had shown. ‘Mrs. Hornshell recommended you to me, and I have come to inquire your lowest terms for plain sewing,’ said Miss Gailney haughtily. •I cannot well engage to do any more work now,’ was the reply; ‘so I suppose you will not oare for my terms.’ ‘Certainly not; I am not anxions to know your terms, nor do I wish to employ you.’ Dora recognized Miss Gailney as she came in, and intended to introduce her to Mrs. Lesley, but was prevented by her abrupt questions,and had remained unobserved. She now advanced and said: ‘G >o i morniDg Florence.’ ‘Ati! quite an unexpected pleasure to meet you here, Dora. This person was ro ommended to me as a good sewer—’ ‘Florence,’ said Dora quietly, View me to in troduce my friend, Mrs. Lesley; Mrs. L > ,iey Miss Gailney.’ Fiorenoe was much surprised, certainly not at all pleased. She, however acknowledged the introduction oooly, said ‘How do you do, Mrs. Lesley?’ and then bidding Dora ‘good-bye,’ she left the house, regretting that she had come, es pecially as Dora Drawvee was there. That evening in the riohly furnished parlor of her home, Miss Gailney remarked to a gentle man caller: ‘I was so provoked to-day Mr. Edmond. I went to inquire about having soma sewing done, and the person I applied to address®'! ms as if she belonged to the san. . j. society I did, and not an inferior one. One of my acquain tances was there, and presumed to introduce me to the person I had gone to employ ! I be lieve lam not much of a republican,’ she added with a slight laugh. If she had hoped to be complimented on' her anti-republicanism she was disappointed. Mr. Edmond soon concluded bis visit. As it was early in the evening, he decided to call into Mrs. Drawvee's. Dora received him in the parlor. Indeed, she would have been disappointed if he had not called, for his visits were becoming quite freqeunt. ‘Ah, Miss Dora,' he said, looking to wards one of the tables,’ you have here some snowballs; their beauty and fragrance seem familiar to me. The snowball bush that adorned the door-yard of my sis ter’s village home—how well I remember it.’ ‘How strange,’ thought Dora, ‘that Mrs. Lesley should have made a similar inference ! Gan it be that both refer to the same snowball bush?’ •Mr. Edmond,’asked Dora, after a few min ute's reflection, ‘does your sister reside in .that village now?’ •No,’ he said slowly, ‘I do not know where she is now. Before removing here from B— I wrote where to send me letters, but received no reply. After a time I went to L—, where she had lived, bat found that after her husband's death, of which I had Dot heard, she had gone to -B— to find me. My last letter had arrived after her departure. I went to B —, but gained no news of her there, no one had seen or heard anything of her.’ ‘How long ago was that Mr. Edmond ?’ ‘About two years.! ‘Was your sister’s last name Lesley ?’ ‘Yes,’ he said with an anxious inquiring look. ‘Can it be, Miss Dora, that you have nows of her for me ?’ ‘I do not know answered Dora. ‘It may be. I am acquainted with a Mrs. Lesley, and she may be yoar sister.’ •Thank you,’ he said earnestly. It may not be her; but it is possible that it is. Where can I find her ?’ •If you come here about tea o’clock to-mor row morning Mrs. Lesley is ex oectei here then.’ * * » » * « * ‘Florence,’ said Mrs. Hornshell, a few months afterwards, ‘do you remember a Mrs. Lesley I recommended to you for plain sewing ?’ •Yes,’ replied Florence, ‘I remember her quite well. Why, don't you think she tried to con sider that she belonged to the same class of so ciety that we do. Oa, how indignant I was !' •You know,’said Mrs. Hornshell, ‘I attended Dora Drawvee’s wedding reception yesterday : 1 ’ •Yes; I was detained by company 1 didn’t care to leave, and sent my regrets.' ‘I met Dora’s sister-in-law there. Not a new acquaintance, Florence—Mrs. Lesley.’ ‘Why, Mrs. Hornshell” ‘Yes;and it seems that Mrs. Drawvee and Do ra both valued Mrs. Lesley’s friendship very highly when sbe sewed and worked for them. You kuow the reception was held in the pleas ant house Mr. Edmond has bought, Florence, and Dora told me she was glad that Mrs. Lesley j was going to live with them. The spacious i rooms are very tasefully furnished, for most of 1 the furniture was selected by Dora before sh9 j commenced housekeeping.’ I ‘I suppose Mrs. Lesley is very proud now,’ I said Florence. ‘I think nit While I was talking with her, yesterday she referred to having sewed for me, and though very differently situated, she spoke very gratefully of my kindness to her when she lived on C street. No, I do not think she has become proud, and she is too much of a repub lican to wish to be considered aristocratic.’ Mow to Prevent Jockeying. A certain colonel, a well-known gentleman, esteemed for his fine qualities as a man and re nowned for his judgment of whiskey and horse- Sesh, had entered his mare in a race where the best stock of the country was engaged. Eis an imal was acknowledged as one of the finest trot ters in that section—as one of the finest trotters, in fact, in the oounry at that time, when Rams was an unknown bird, and at the meeting bets ran high between the assembled sporting men planters, lawyers, and merchants of Virginia, North Carolina and Tennessee. The colonel was ever a heavy bettor, and had pledged himself to the extent of $25,000 on his mare. The morning of the race his jockey came | to him with a blanched face and a cautious, 1 whispering voice; ! ‘Col. , for Gad’s sake hedge while yoa have time; I break my word with my friends to tell you, bat I will tell you. Oar mare cannot win the race !’ The colonel’s face turned an honester white than his jookey’s, bat a wicked smile came over his lips—thia and compressed—and his voice, though even iu utterance, was cracked as he caught the jockey by the throat with the throat and with the other drew a derringer from his fob pocket. •My mare is the best blood on the course, and can win the race,’ he said. ‘I have staked all that I and my family have on the trot, If yon don t win this race I will bespatter the track with yonr brains,and if you have brains you can know that I won’t be jockeyed !’ The colonel's mare came in ahead in every heat, If this system was adopted toward the general ruin of oar sporting people, the results mi^ht be eqaally as honest. Pretty Cotton Picker. [St. Louis Globe, Texas Letter.] Not unfrequently young ladies, whose fathers and brothers or their laborers happen to be hard pressed with work, go into the fields and lend a helping hand. Among the latter class is a young lady—the fifteen-year-old daughter of one of the oldest and most respected families on the Brazos— whom this coriespondent met at the mansion of her father near Pattison. The conversation naturally turned upon cotton picking. The young Texan girl, blooming with youth, her dark hair floating over her fair foro- head, matching her large dark eyes, that flashed at intervals, proceeded in her girlish way to give him ail the information about cotton-pick ing desired. •The most of my lather’s hands pick 150 to 200 pounds a day,’she said. ‘Thatseems excellent work,’ replied the cor respondent ‘Oh, not very.’ *1 do think so. ’ She laughed, and ha? eyes flashed again ■Why, loan do almost that well myself and t am not used to it.’ * * ‘You?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I must doubt’— •I have gone out ia pa’s field and picked one hundred and fifty pounds in a day ’ ‘Didn t the sun barn yoar faoe to a orack- ling? •Why, no—you are orazy.’ ern H gW?^ h8ndidy0a m “ nag9 ’ m 7 little South- ‘Oh, I jast put on this long sun-bonnet fmx %‘XL‘F ‘ p “ ir of 8 " ,,8S ^ Drew Hunt, the Marderer of his father in to T.«* ta, bn Q bronght S I* safekeeping. He is to be hung. ■