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Kissing the Rod. Oh, heart of mine, we shouldn’t Worry so! What we’ve missed of calm we couldn’t Have, you know! What we've met of stormy pain, And of sorrow's driving rain. We can better meet again If it blow. We have erred in that dark hour We have known. When our tears fell with the shower, All alone— Were not shine and shadow blent As the gracious Master meant? ■Let. us temper our content With His own. For, we know, not every morrow Can be sad; •BV Torgetting all the sorrow We have had, Let us fold away our fears And put by our foolish tean, Ami through all the coining years Just be glad. —f James Whitcomb Riley. THE DOCTOR’S BOY. “Mother, it’s awful cold to-night! Can I put a little more wood on the lire—only one more log?” Mrs. Netley glanced grudgingly to- ward the wood-box in the corner—a receptacle which, by the way, was not too well filled. “I suppose so,” said she. “But be careful John; wood gets away so fast, and the price always goes up toward winter.” And kneeling on the braided rag in front of the tire, John Netley amused himself with building up the founda¬ tions of a cheery sheet of flame, while on one side of the table his mother made buttonholes on vests, and on the other Aunt Eunice stitched busily away at shirt finishing for a factory near by. Mrs. Netley was a pale, hollow-eyed little widow. Eunice White was ten or twelve years younger, and although T»ot in the first bloom of youth, might hove been pretty if her cheeks had been a little rounder and her eyes less •mournful in their expression. The room, although furnished with a pitiful plainness, was neat and clean. A very old blackbird gave an occa- sional spasmodic chirp in its cage near tbc ceiling, and a lean cat watched in¬ tently at an infinitesimal mouse-hole behind the bureau. -“Well, mother,” said Oohn, who was the only real young creature in the rootn. “why don’t you ask what luck I had?” I* “Because,” sighed Mrs. Netley, bit- ing off the thread to save the trouble ®f reaching for her scissors, “you ■ever do have any luck. Folks don’t •seem to want a boy.” “The new doctor does, though,” said John, chuckling, as he reviewed the result of his architectural dealings with the fire. “And heVengagcd me to look after his horses and cow. There!” Mrs. Netley paused, with her needle suspended in mid-air. -“Well, that is luck,” said she. “The new doctor! I .nppose lie's a very grand gentleman, eh?” “Ile's very nice and pleasant,” said John; “that’s all I know. And he’s going to give me two dollars a week, And lie says I mustn’t be discouraged, because he was a poor boy once, with empty pockets and never a shoe to his feet” Itet * “And now,” said Mrs. Netley, “he’s bought that big stone house and grounds. It’s well to be lucky.” “But,” cried John, “he says it isn’t luck. He says it’s nothing but hard work and push. And I mean to work hard too, and buy a nice house, some day, for you and Aunt Eunice to live in.” “What's his name, Johnny?” ' list- lessly asked Miss White. “Dexter,’ the boy answered 4 ‘Doctor David Dexter. “Mercy on us, Eunice!” cried Mrs. Ketley, “what possessed you to give «ucli a start?’’ “I—I pricked my finger!” mur- mured Eunice. “Can’t we have Mother lamp, Mary? Ibis sort of Ihing is ruinous to the eyesight.’ Mrs. Netley rose to bring another -•tarved-looking little lamp. John sat and stared at the fire, with tpeculative eyes. “Im only to feed the horses, and tarry wood and water to the kitchen. aud look after the fancy Brahmas and Leghorn fowls,” said lie. “Doctor Dexter has a man to drire around with him. So you see I can study at .home evenings, just the same as if I went to scliool; and I’m sure Aunt Lunice is as good as any school-teacher going, to keep me up with my geography and arithmetic.” “Iwo dollars a week will be a great help to us,” said Mrs. Netley. And then she coughed that dry,hard, rattling little cough that John disliked to hear so much, “It seems strange, don’t it,” said she, after John had gone to bed, and the two sisters were putting away their wearisome work preparatory to seeking their own pillows, “the idea of a new doctor settling here, after old Doctor Plymptou had resigned for forty years? How times do change, tc-be-surc!” “Yes,” said Eunice, almost inaudi- bly. Mrs. Netley looked sharply at her. “Eunice,” said she, “what does ail you tonight? You ain't sick, are you?” “Yes,” said Eunice. “Sick of liv- ' n » Slc k °f drudging—sick of this ent *^ ess %ht for daily bread! ‘Oh, Mary, Mary! what a fool I have been! ^ ^ could only undo the past!” “Eunice, what do you mean?” “Do you remember when I taught school at Milford, Mary, when John was a baby, and you were living over ftt Dawson s Point, before Albert TV ell, I had a lover then, lover that really * loved a me— ^ or * was tole, ' a Uly good looking in those days. But he was plain and quiet and not very well-to-do. I thought I could do better, and I found it great fun to tease the poor fellow as I've seen boys play a trout in that lit¬ tle crooked stream up the hills. And I ended by refusing him, and he went away.” “I’ve heard all this before, haven’t Isaid Mrs. Netley, with a puzzled countenance. “Yes; but you never heard his name. It was David Dexter.” i * Goodness me!” ejaculated Mrs. Netley. “HushI” said Eunice. “Don’t wake John. Oh, yes, I know I’m rightly served; but it don’t make the dose any the less bitter to swallow. Doctor Dexter is a rich man now, and I hope—yes, I do really hope—that he has a good wife, one worthy of him, by this time. But I can't help think¬ ing what a dreadful mistake 1 made in those old days. He was so good and true.” “Well, said Mrs. Netley, slowly, “ il ’ s tlone and ifc can’t be undone. So far as I can see, folks are always making mistakes in this world. Don’t fret, Eunice. It’s small good crying aftei spilt milk. And it’s past ten, and the fire’s clean burned out, and we’d better go to bed, I guess.” John Netley went to his new place the next day, and any boy who has been thrown on his own resources can easih imagine the delight he felt when Doctor Dexter placed two big, round silver dollars in his little brown 1 3t " ,0 c,ld of lho fl, st "■ eeli < wi,h ,lie P loas!> “ t w0,,ls: “You have well earned them, my boy. It was a dreary November evening, with the windy air full of flying dead leaves, when Alison, the old cook, came to the office door iu Doctor Dexter’s fine stone house. .ri>i ‘-Please, doctor,” said she to her , master, who had just seated himself with a book before the red light of the fi re , “do von know what’s come of little John? I've called and called, ] 1]e j * t there.” am sn « Not there?’’ repeated Doctor Dex- ter. “And I let Collins go home to 8pend Sundav. Call again; the boy must be there.” night <.He he isn’t liadedt doctor since It's £hhed the first him. And now I come to think of it, he had an awful hoarse cold this morn- ing, w'hen he came in for the chicken feed. Perhaps lie’s sick.” Doctor Dexter laid down his book, “I’ll go down and take the horse out of the traces myself,” said he. “YVhere does Johnny live?” Alison did uot know; neither did the doctor. j }nt as Dexter opened the stable- door, outside of which the patient horse stood waiting, his mane and tail drooping before the knifelike wind, the flash of a lantern greeted his eyes with unexpected light. “So you are there, after all, John?” said he. But it was not John Netley. It was the tail, slight figure of a woman that shrank back from its task of throwing hay into the manager of General, the big iron-gray horse. “Why,” cried Doctor Dexter) in amazement, “who are you?” “Iam John's aunt,” faltered alow voice. “He’s sick, and he fretted so much about the horses’ supper that I told him I would come and put hay into their mangers ar.d water them. 1 am not timid with cattle,” she added, “and I did not suppose any one would know.” “John’s aimt!” repeated Doctor Dexter. “Let me take that lantern a minute, please! Why do you turn your face away from me? Is it true? You are Eunice White, then?” ‘‘Yes,” she cried out, passionately, “I am Eunice White. But I never in¬ tended you to know r it, David Dexter. Fortune lias dealt very diflerently with me from what it has with you. Open the door* let me go back home. I'm sorry I ever came here.” “You are cold,Eunice,” said he gent¬ ly ; you shiver. Come to the house and let me give you a cup of tea.” “No,” she said, resolutely, “I wifl go home!” i i Then I will go with you, Eunice. I must see Johnny. Do you know, even without being aware that he was any kin to you, I have got fond of that boy? I shall be fonder still now. I have wondered this many a day, Eu¬ nice, where yon were and what had become of you?” “Have you?” Eunice’s heart had begun to beat strangely now; her cheeks glowed deeper than any dam¬ ask rose. “Well, that is a question easily answered. I am living here with my widowed sister—John's mother—and I am sewing for a liv¬ ing.” It cost her something to make that confession, for Eunice White was a proud woman yet. But she scorned to dissemble. “Eunice,” he said, looking wist¬ fully down upon her, as he walked by her side, “I could have done better than that by you. I’ll do it still, Eu¬ nice, if you will let me. I'm not oue of those that vary and shift with every change of the moon. I loved you then, and I love you now. And as for these twelve years that have sepa¬ rated us, I’ve loved you steadily all the time. I've remained single for your sake. Now you can decide. Is it yes, or is it no?” Was not loyalty like this worthy of a return? Eunice White thought so. She put out her cold hand and let it rest in David Dexter’s warm grasp. “It is yes,” said she. Old Alison was quite ont of patience that night when the doctor did not rc- turn to the dinner of clear soup, salmon-steak and roast grouse which she had cooked with so much care, until it was all spoiled with standing, But when at last he came in with a bright face, and told her the cause of his delay, she did not so much blame him. “Fve always said,” declared she, in her quaint Scotch way, “that the one thing you wauted, doctor, dear, was a wife to rule the house. And if she’s 1 , , „„ whv . . ’ be coiitv ntecl to call It 7’ her „ “I’m T , sure you will like her, Ali- son,” said the doctor, rubbing his hands. ' ?! ,, .. . , !Tr Sa ’ d John * you how good Doctor Dexter " aS ‘ A, ’ d "° W he S to be niy real ^ 1 ° Ut a " d h ° M hia °' C1 J ‘ ay: , l° U are to live 1 ^’ mother ’ and rost Gom all this dreadful sewing that's wearing your lieai 1 aiui e ves . out - Oh, Aunt Eunice, ^ f ° U ° d * ld “John, you are a goose!” said Aunt Eunice. But she laughed and blushed as she spoke the words, and John knew very well that she was not angry with him. A Novel Fog Horn. A fog horn operated entirely by steam and compressed air has been established at the light station at Son Bird point, which is the eas;ern ex- tremity of Discovery Island, The horn will sound blasts of eight seconds’ duration, with intervals of one minute between blasts. The fog-alarm buTd- ing is situated about 300 feet south- westerly from the lighthouse and is of wood, painted white, with brown roofing. The horn is elevated about fortv-five feet above h»gh water mark. BANDIT LUN-KY. A Tonquin Desperado and His Band of Cutthroats. Captured Frenchmen Pay a Dig Ransom for Their Liberty. Lun-Ky is a desperado who leads a bandit hoj-de in the mountain fastnesses near Dong-trien, in Tonquin. He is hardly more than 20 years of age, is of commanding stature and singular ferocity, and has operated so actively during the last two years as to hjve become an object of terror throughout that part of the country. It is believ¬ ed that unrequited love impelled the youth to adopt this lawless life, for two years ago he was a reputable lad, apprenticed to a saddler, and assiduous in his attentions to the daughter of one of the local magistrates, This girl, however, suddenly wedded with an old and rich neighbor, and in a few days Lun-Ky disappeared from Dong- trien and presently blazed iuto notor¬ iety as the boldest bandit chief in Ton¬ quin. It is, perhaps, the ambition of the misguided youth to acquire so great possessions as to occasion his old and fickle inamorata severe heart¬ burnings. At all events, the riches which Lun- Ivy has amassed in two years are said to exceed the bounds of credulity, Somewhat of a dandy in his tastes, lie weais gorgeous silks and feathers, and covers his bosom with a network of gold, his weapons are of the finest quality and include in their category jeweled scimeters, cbony-slock car- bines, and ivory-hilted poniards, Two months ago the brothers Roque and M. Costa, three Frenchmen tern- poiaiily residing in Tonquin, were captuied by Lnn-Ky’s band. At the same tine a companion, one Sing-Yi, a native tradesman fell into the hands of the brigands. As soon as M. Briffand, the French consul (or “resident” at Dong-trien), eard of this outiage, he applied him- self industriously to securing there- lease of the captives, but the brigands, with whom intercourse was finally opened up, demanded an exorbitant ransom, nor would they accede to any compiomisc. One day, therefore, the consul, accompanied -by the village puestaud attended by an escort of I.-each marines, repaired to the moua- tains, bearing the required ransom. Having reached a lonely spot supposed to have been about five miles from the bandit camp, this little company was halted before ’ a bamboo post upon which was hung an inscription saying tha- the troops must not go farther without parley. About this time Lun-Ky himself ap¬ peared in the distance, ar.d announced that the consul and the priest should proceed together, leaving the marines behind. It was another Hobson’s choice. So the troops remained, and the consul and the priest went for¬ ward with the beasts bearing the ran- som. Reaching the assigned place, perhaps two miles distant, the ransom was carefully inspected and counted. It consisted of 100 pieces of silk, 12 watches, and $J0,000 in coin. Luu-Ivy objected to the silk, because it was not, as he complained of the best quality. But the consul, speaking through the priest as interpreter, represented that the silk was the very finest that could be obtained in Tonquin, and finally the chieftain was persuaded. Then the captives were delivered up, the bandits to the number of 400 kneeling all the while in a circle, with leveled rifles, ready to fire at the first signal. As soon as the consul, the priest and the released men disap¬ peared down the hillside the bandits struck camp and made ofl' with proper haste. The native tradesman, Sing-Ai, who Was taken into captivity with the Messrs. Costa and Roque, was not re- leased with the others, and it is be- lieved that the bandits murdered him. lie had, it seems, identified several of the bandits and had prepared a letter to a Canton mandarin giving certain important information and asking that the families of Jhese bandits be heid amenable for the lawlessness of the bandits themselves. Discovering this letter and recognizing in Sing-Yi an enemy who knew to;> much, the ban¬ dits put him into close confinement, and it is supi»osed that they subse- auently beheaded him. The ransomed Frenchrntm that during their captivity th^ * kept manacled and that the most ing indignities were heaned^ h' them. They say that Lun-Ky erenced by his fellow-bandits a < an spired being, and that hi s a chieftain is practically an absol monarchy. Lun-Ky has thou-Z gi\ cn it out that as soon as the numi of his followers has reached 70o S "°°P own upon his na.j> e a » c » ca P llre 8 °Id sweetheart,, s * ,an = e JC1 'meiable husband,! however, cutting off the latter’s a and nose, that being a partieui. humiliating offence in China, : announcement has, as you would j pose, occasioned a distinct feeli a uneasiness in certain quarters— -f cago News. Boiling Lakes in the Sierras, About 100 miles north of Oroifl at the foot of old Lassen, there J y boiling Jake, covering several 1 The depth of the lake is unknown its entire surface constantly boils! beat] a huge kettle. The degree of do not know but we were there disj aJ ten years ago, and remember ly that it would scald the skin f] 1 the fingers in a very few seconds. Our party agreed that it would! an egg in four minutes. The sniel sulphur pervaded the atmosphere J aM the lake, and around its borders scrape! thing like sulphur could be in handfuls. This lake is near Spring valley, at the base of HiJ Lassen. Between it and the mod there are perhaps a thousand trJ bol bubbling, hot springs and in about these springs the uncomfort] 6olcs of i sons’ shoes become warm. The North Feather rived the base of Lassen, in its trick! snows and springs, and in a clear fewl J and beautiful stream but cominJ a wide, flows through this I of hot springs. bubble! Some of these springs | boiling water within a span of J river. Standing in the midst of eJ springs a peculiar sensation is rienced. At a thousand places! J earth emits a vapor of smoke, jarrl under the surface there is a stJ roaring noise as if hundreds of and] engines were in operation, uncert! earth produces a feeling of I t y. A short distance south of lake,wl the ing Jake and near Willow there! is beautiful, cold and clear, J seve ral gevsers that shoot up st I of hot watcr from five to tcn fe I diameter and eighteen to twenty J hig]u Th;it is a gmnd all(1 n cl couutry about Mt . La SSon , pres 1 every variety of natural beauty stJ affording unfimited fields of tJ the geologist. If it is desired into the crater of an extinct voleanB trip to the summit of Lassen will® ify the wish. ■ The high Sierras of Northern fl fornia are little known except to® pectors and trappers of a past a<re® their wonders are vet to be deser® Cuu® —[Red Bluff (Cal. ) People's A Ulov Aimed at Oleomargaria “The authorities of the Stilt Michigan have of late come to the< elusion” states the American Dairy! “that it is not right to further i the insane of the State on oleouis^ rine instead cf butter, and havetW fore ordered a change under the pressed opinion that oleomargarine a tendency to create a disturbing the stomachs of the patients, I we believe, is the hardest pracW blow the oleomargarine people H received, it is to be presumed H those patients have been fed on M for years past without any P 0! » suspicion crossing their minds H they were not receiving the P U1V ® ® le of buttC1 ' that they pr ol! thought they were eating, hnt -I end their stomachs rebelled given® agaiu^B stull', which was probably public in the true shape that the again® get it if there were no laws fl manufacture. Thus we see. without a trial, what would bethfj suit if oleo was given au open eri* to come on the marked. This douj makes us feel that we have injustice to anyone in our two opposition to free trade i.i the 8.' a dear as Crystal- B Foo!—“What’s the cause ol ■ 11011 *d weather? ^ Vise mau (with dignity) caused by an area of low bar°