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Where Summer Rides. Down through the mountain’s silver haar. Down through the song-thrilled wooded ways, And ’midst the meadow ’s drenched grass, The feet of Summer swiftly pass. “Stay! stay!” the yearning mountains cry, “Stay ! stay!” the drowsy grasses sigh But on and on the sweet guest flies, With wind-blown hair and wide still eyes, On, on, until her eager feet Abide amidst the yellow wheat. — [Lucy L. Tilley in Harper's Weekly. ONE IN A THOUSAND. BY MAY KKVDAI.L. It AvaR a lovely May morning, a morning on Avhich even the life of an omnibus conductor seemed endurable. Besides, the particular company for which Archy Johnston Avorked had become infected by socialistic princi¬ ples, to the extent of only employing their hands from 7 a. m. to 10 p. m., and giving them, as a rule, the alter¬ nate Sundays. So that, as tilings went, lie might be considered Aveil off. Better off, at ali events, than the pale young man Avho, as Andy com¬ pleted his arrangements before start¬ ing, watched him, with a melancholy air, from the curbstone. For this pale young man, Avhose name Avas Warner, by special permission of the company, to whom a benevolent cler- gymau had appealed on Warner’s be¬ half, came CA r ery morning at 7 o’clock to see if there was a conductor off work, and, if there Avas, to take his place on the omnibus. For the last month he had presented himself regularly, and the men had come to knoAV and have a kindly feel¬ ing toward him; hut in that mouth he had only been on duty seven days. This fact inevitably raised the ques¬ tion as to what Warner did Avith him¬ self when no vacancies occurred. He did not look as if he did anything very remunerative. Archy’s omnibus started last, and lie had tAvo or three minutes to spare; so, being a sociable young fellow, Me crossed over to speak to Warner, Avho, for his part, responded with an anx¬ ious good-wili in which, if Archy had knoAvn, there Avas a certain undercur¬ rent of penitence. The fact Avas, Warner had just been thinking, as be saAV the,omnibus roll away, and roal- ized with a sigh that all men Avere on duty—“What if one of them Avere to die, and he were taken on as a per- mnnent baud?” He did not in any Avay appeal for pity, and yet the few facts Archy drew from him Avere an appeal to any one conversant with the city. He lived a mile away, 24 Dilk street, an address that lingered curiously in Archy’s memory. He had been a carpenter, and comfortably off; but now he avus hopelessly out of work, and, Avith his Avife and their young child, had been living how he could. “We feel it most, yon see,” he said in his patient way, “for the child.” Then he checked himself, as if lie had said too much, and added quite hope¬ fully, “But it’s a long lane that has no turning, isn’t it?” No more passed betAveen them just then, for the conductor’s time was up. But the next morning, as his eyes encountered the depressed-looking figure, again, a sudden impulse seized him. “Can you take my place today?” he said, accosting Warner; “I’m awfully anxious to have the day, but I can’t risk getting sacked.” Warner’s face beamed. “I told Janet this morning,” lie said. a9 lie folloAved Archy, “I’d a feeling 1 should be in luck today.” “It’s just here,” said Archy, staring straight before him. “I’m thinking of going down into the country for a day —or tAvo —<»r maybe more—I can’t ex¬ actly tell, not being on the spot, how long I may require to stay. And it Avould be a load off’ my mind to know toy place wouldn't be snapped up.” “I’ll keep it for yon,” said Warner energetically, “and give it up to you Avhen you come back; for it’s a queer thing, as I knoAV, to be thrown out of work. And I’m sure I hope you’ll have a pleasant journey. Beautiful down in the country this time of year, ain’t it?” “Ah!” said Archie. “Yes, the country’s a fine place, esjiecially, as you say, abont this time of the year.” He grasped Warner’s hand, and turned away. After all, he had done nothing remarkable; and yet, such was the serene benignitv of his tone and manner, that for a moment War¬ ner stood stock-still on the pavement, staring after hitn. Archy went back to his lodgings; but he could not rest there, and soon he went out again. He found himself wondering what Warner’s wife and child were like, and it struck him,that as he had nothing else to do, he would go round by Dilk street. It was a small street of tiny, jerry- built houses, with their numbers in¬ scribed very legibly on the doors, 60 that Archy had no difficulty in recog¬ nizing 24. There was a brown blind over the lower half of the Avindow; but Archy’s tall head rose above it, and as he passed he glanced furtively in, as if it were a crime. It avss a small bare room, with no furniture but a deal table, a box or tAVO, and an old rockng-chair drawn up to the hearth, whose tire had gone out. On that vo.king-chair a girl was sitting, Avith a baby in her arms, rocking slowly to and fro, and singing wearily, over ami over again, “There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet.” A mere girl she looked, but very wasted, and her cheeks had not a tinge of color; and yet it Avas one of the BAveetest faces, Archy thought, that he had ever seen. If this was Warner’s wife, perhaps he Avas a lucky fellow after all. lie Avondered if there Avas anything to eat in the house. She did not look as if there was. But, for the life of him, he dared neither ask her, nor order anything to be sent from the nearest provision dealer’s; and though he thought of all kinds of expedients for getting a shilling inside the door that should look as if it belonged to one of them, and had been mislaid, none of them Avcre feasible. If it had been dusk, he thought, scanning the Avater-spout Avith a critical eye, he might have elambered on the roof and dropped the shilling down the chim¬ ney. He was nearly as tall as the house already, and lie could climb like a sailor. But it Avas broad daylight; and at last—lie had been lounging all this time in front of a small grocer’s shop close by—he turned aAvay in de¬ spair, reflecting that, after all, Warner had had a day’s Avork on Monday, and it Avas only Wednesday. He AVould go noAV into some other quarter of the city, and look for work himself, For Avork? Well, yes. It Avas hardly that he consciously made up his nund to do so. But that Avas Avhat he did. It Avas a month later, and Archy had not gone back to his old position. Neither, however, had he found regu¬ lar work. If he had gone to the right quai ters, it may be said, of course, he might have found it. Archy stood, indeed, for a moment outside the doors of the general relief committee, but there the beautiful probability of his story of hnvinga place as omnibus conductor that he had not been dis¬ missed from, and yet could not go back to, oAving to having heard a white-faced girl through a aviiuIoav, singing the “Meeting of the Waters” —as related to a credulous relief com¬ mittee, struck him so forcibly that he broke into a loud Jaugh as he turned away. But it was not a cheery laugh. Though he had given up his old lodg¬ ing and been sleeping Avhere he could, the few pence he contrived to earn Avere not enough to keep him. and for weeks he had not had a hearty meal. A dull despair Avas creeping over him; but he tramped blindly on, asking for AA'ork, till he fancied that the officials at different establishments Avere look¬ ing on him Avith suspicion, as one Avhotn they had refused before. And all the time he knew that he might go back to his old place. Warner AVould give it up Avithout a murmur, or a grudge; he was that kind of fellow. Then he fancied Warner going home to tell his wife the news, and then he fell to Avondering how they were get¬ ting on. lie fancied he Avould go aud see. That day. Avhen Warner’s omnibus stopped at the end of the route, at 1 o’clock, every passenger had left it. They had a quarter of an hour to Avait, and the driver slipped hastily across to his faA’orite public house, which was conveniently situated. Warner looked eagerly up and down the street, as if expecting some one, but it was almost deserted. There was a policeman a little way down; there was a shabby- lookiug fellow standing at the corner, against a lamp-post, with his hat slouched over his eves—no one else. Warners face fell, but it lightene again in a moment, as a girlish figure emerged from a street nearly opposite and ran lightly across to the omnibus. Warner held out his hand and she sprang in. “Here it is,” she said proudly, 'un¬ packing the small basket, “You can’t guess what I've made you for dinner today, and, if you eat it now, I do believe it will be hot.” “Meat pie, Janet I” said Warner. “Well, you are a cook ar.d no mis¬ take. I’ve twelve minutes—blest if there ain’t that unfortunate old lady who always comes a quarter of an hour before we’re timed to start.” “She’s a long way off,” said Janet, Avith a look of disappointment. “Go on with your pie, Will; she Avon’t be here jet awhile.” “Very Avell then,” said Warner re¬ luctantly. “Hang the old girl—look at her umbrella!” They kissed each other hastily in the omnibus, thinking that no one shav (hem. Least of all, the aimless vaga- bond at the corner, Avith hat slouched over his eyes, Avho was looking at nothing. He—ah, no! Then Janet sprang down again; and presently the old lady mounted the 6tep, and War¬ ner ate his meat pie furtively, between maintaining a conversation on the drink traffic, a subject in Avhich his passenger seemed to take an absorbing interest; but then she had had her lunch before she started. Yet Warner had also time to reflect pleasantly on how much better Janet was looking, and Avhat a color she had, and Avondered also if the j-oung man who had gone into the country AVould be back tomorrow, and couldn’t help hoping not. Then more passengers entered, and the driver hurried back at the last moment, stuffing a large fragment of bread and butter into his pocket; and the omnibus rolled away. But that night, when Warner re¬ turned to the small house in Dilk street, he found a note thrust under the door, that no one had noticed. It ran thus: Dear Mr. Warner: I leave this note in passing to say I have given up my place as conductor for good, and therefore hope you will stick to it as long as it suits you. I have ina4e up my mind to stay down in the country. Yours, with best wishes, Archy Johnston. Hens as an Aid to Peach Raising. Level-headed farmers in Connecti¬ cut have for seA’eial yeai's past been at Avork reviving an old industry—the groAving of peaches for market. Fifty years ago the peach crop of the Nut¬ meg State was au important item, but the trees ran out after a time, the orchards Avere cut doAvn, and apples and other small fruits took their place. After giving the land a long rest, the industry was revived again about ten or tAvelve years ago, and each succeed¬ ing year the peach premiums at the several agricultural fairs has been in¬ creased in importance until they have draAvn out some of the finest samples of the fruit raided north of Mason and Dixon’s l.ne. As to cultivation, there are as many methods as there are individual grow¬ ers. The simplest was that practised by William Platt of Newtown, a for¬ merly very successful grower, but Avho is now an inmate of the Middle- toAvn Insane Retreat. Mr. Platt used to spade up a circle around each tree of perhaps three feet in diameter. Into this he planted or sowed very sparingly corn, oats, buckwheat, and other cereal*, Then he turned his large flock of hens into the orchard and let them scrat:h for their living He claimed that by this method he kept the earth about the roots of the tree loose and easily permeable by rain and dew, and the hens, besides gathering the corn and oats, acted as insect and Avorm destroyers, keeping the trunks of the trees free from bor¬ ers and other pests, which AAould oth¬ erwise have to be looked after Avith a sharp eye. Mr. Platt used to raise peachc9 the size and flavor of Avhich gained him a wide fame.—[New York Sun. Insulted the Wrong Man. “You say the brother of the young lady pulled your nose?” inquired Chol- Iv. “What did you do? Did you re¬ sent it?” “Wesent it?” said Fweddy,the veins in his forehead swelling with indigna¬ tion. “Didn’t I? Bah Jove. I told hitn if he evahdid it again, bah Jove, I’d have him ahweeted!” BIG PANORAMAS. Painting Scenery on an Im¬ mense Scale. Many Men at Work on the Great Circular Canvas. “As I wanted to see how pa o- ramas are made,’Writes a press corres¬ pondent of the Picayune, “l Avcnt to the spot Avere Philpot is at work, up by the place de la Bastile. The place is in disorder, the space between can- A*as and spot Avhere the public will stand being crowded Avith scaffoldings, ladders and barrels. “One painter, as high up as the fourth story of a house, Avas making sky by laying on large daubs of blue; another Avas whitewashing buildings: lower down, on the first and second landings, Avere two collaboratcuvs of Philpot, MM. Du Paty and Sabattier, avIio Avere painting in the characters. I avus as nothing standing before the j n)mense circular ca on Avhich so many thousand pei e pencilled, though they have no* .A received the baptism of paint brush. “When the plan of iny panorama is definitely decided on,” said Philpot, “1 go in search of ail possible informa¬ tion, for later it becomes of great as - sistance. If the subject is one that takes place in the present time, 1 leave town Avith my two collaborators and proceed to the very spot, where Ave take A’ieAvs of the place as carefully as though we were making a picture. If the action passes in olden times, as it docs in the panorama now being painted, avg go to the Carnavalet Mu¬ seum or to the National Library to consult engravings and books of the period. After this, dresses are pro¬ cured and placed on models in my studio. The first thing is to make a series of small i ictures containing all the scenes that are to form the pan¬ orama. That done, a small panorama is constructed, about one-tenth the size of the real panorama, and this is, so to speak, the model- The small panorama being finished in all its details, is photographed in parcels, which operations are done in (be studio, and then the artists carry their necessary working materials to the place where (lie panorama is to be constructed, where the virgin canvas is ready. This one contains 5850 square feet, and if avc recommenced the designs already executed on a small scale on this canvas we should not be ready in several years. What we do is this: The photographic stereotypes arc pnt in a magic lantern, Avhich pro¬ jects them on the canvas to the re¬ quired size of the real composition. i i Before this, however, the canvas has been divided into squares like on a checker board, and the stereotype plates correspond exactly Avith these divisions. A counter-drawing of the composition is afterwards made, so you see the matter is very simple. The task of producing a panorama is thus rendered easy, and what could not be done in less than a year without pho¬ tography, is designed within a fort¬ night. The design finished,each pain¬ ter begins his task and finishes it Avith- out ceasing. One man paints the sky, exactly similar to that of the small panorama, another paints the houses with the personages. “The panorama once painted in its entirety, I go over it again completely, and giA'C it finishing touches, so that the public will not see that it has not been done by one hand. The canvas is held in place by hooks at the top, weights being suspended to the bottom 60 as to prevent any creases. The perspective is obtained first of all on the small panorama, and it is then faithfully reproduced on the large canvas; and Avhat adds to the illusion is that the public, at a certain distance from the canvas, do not know Avhere it commences or where it finishes. The space where the scaffolding is now placed, and Avhich is 45 feet wide, will be filled up Avith real objects that will stretch from the public to the canA’as Avithout any cessation, and in¬ stead of the panorama having a gilded frame like pictures, it will havo a framework of natural at tides. The illusion is thus complete, the more so as the public is in the shade under vehun. while the canvas has a full, almost blinding light thrown on it. Au American biz-mark—$ Stopped His Shooting. Now and then you will find a who will bully and light at the same time. Such a chap was “Lop-shou!- dered Bill,” as Ave called him in Ai 011- tana. llc Avas ugly, quarrelsome and a braggart, but he would have fought ten men as soon as one. t or two years he had a revolver where l ;e could drop his hand on it in a second, aud the half dozen chaps Avho were looking to get the drop on him had to keep on waiting. One day, however, Bill’s shooter got out of repair and lie gave it to a miner to be' fixed. In. stead of waiting for it he wandered down to a saloon where the hard ’ans congregated, and it Avasn’t a quarter of an hour before he set out to pick a fuss Avith a new arrival, just ached to kill somebody, and when he nettled the stranger into “talking back” he reached for his gun to pop him. His gun Avasn’t there. When Bill realized it he turned white a- snow, thinking his time had come. The stranger had draAvn on him, you see, and he carried a wicked look in his eyes. “Well?” he asked, as Bill raised Lis hands. “I haven’t any gun.” “I see. Leave it somewhere?” “Yes.” “Very careless in you. I’ve got the call.” •‘You hev.” “You are a bad man, and I ought to shoot you through the head, but 1 don’t like this cold-blooded business. Hold up your right hand and spread out the lingers.” “Stranger, don’t do it.” “Either that or I’ll put six bullet¬ in to your heart! Spread!” Bill held up his right hand and three reports followed each other like the ticking of a clock. Each finger was shot ofi'at the first joint. “That’ll do,” said the man, as lie loAvered his Aveapon. < « Ypu can’t pull trigger with nothing on that hand, and before you can learn to shoot Jei't- handed some one will bury you.”. He went out and away, and Bill sent for a doctor and sat there and cried like a boy. Next day he left without a word to any of us, and we ahvays believed he jumped off Horse Cliff into tint creek, Avhich Avas tlicA on a llood.—[New York Sun. A Patagonian Child Doctor. When a child in Patagonia is sick, cr messenger is despatched for the doctor, and never leaves him uut'l he comes Avith him. As 6oon as the doctor ar¬ rives, lie looks at the sick child, anil then Avith much ceremony rolls it up in a piece ot skin. He then orders a clay plaster, and by this time the child lias ceased erving, soothed by the warmth of the skin, and so rendering still more solid his reputation as a wise man. YelloAv clay is brought and made into a thick cream with Avatcr, and the child is painted from head to foot, causing him to erv again. “The devil is still there,” says the doctor sagely> and undoes two mysterious packages lie carries, one contains rhea sinews (ostrich) and the other a rattle made of stones in a gourd decorated with feathers. He then fingers the sinews, m'Utcr- ir«* something for a few minutes, then he seizes the rattle and shakes it vio¬ lently, staring very hard at the crying child. Then Avraps it in the skin again r«4id it ceases crying. Again it i* painted, rattled at and stared at, and again it cries. This is done four times, and then the cure is considered complete. The doctor leaves the child quiet, enfolded in the warm skin, and goes his Avav, having received two pipefuls of tobacco as a fee. Strange to say, the child generally recovers, but it it does not, the doctor gets out of the difficulty by declaring that the parents did not keep the medicine skin tightly around the child, aud so let the devil get back again. This is the only treatment sic.i children in Patagonia are ever knoAvn io receive- — [Ladies’ Home Journal. Every-Day Tragedies. “These affaire of the heart sometime end in tragedies, don’t they?” hundred 4 • Yes, indeed. I’ve seen o? men avIio were dead in love.” It Was the (at. Bobby —“Hoav did you manage- fi>" get the bowl of cream?” Tommy—“Told ma I 6aw the cat put her nose in i'.”—[Epoch.