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WHO KNOWS?
ks when tho yellow Autumn time is hero.
Each tree and shrub, not doubtful of the
Spring
Puts forth c~w buds whose hope the waning
year
Has not tho power into full leaf to bring—
So wo who sadly tread life’s downward
slope,
Chili-blooded, feelile-limbcd and bent and
gray;
Put forth, whilo passing, each his bud of
hope
That wo may come again to youth and
May.
And hark! Tho robin pipes again. The
stream
Shakes off the frosty fetters it has worn;
Tne buds, awaking from their frighting
dream.
Unfold rejoicing in a Spring newborn
And prophesy the lily and the rose.
So Spring may como again to us. Who
knows?
nprrr I Hb TWO 1 WU nllm UTD RW W A A VMFW I MLIN.
BEGAN at last to
think that tho ball
' would
never come
Afh to an end. I had
Sj looked forward to
ml it with absolute
** ‘A dread, for I was
T ^ well aware of the
m.s plan which
to undo and and Mme. Mme. my
Trclawney lind de
'f i ,v vised between them.
0 1 1 had already rocog
Bized that the lady’s son r.as charm¬
ing in his boyish frankness, but I had
seen from tho first that it was intend¬
ed he should propose to mo before
tho night was ended—this night of all
nights in tho year!—and X was re¬
solved on my part that he should do
nothing of tho sort.
At any rate, whon the hour of our
departure had come, and his devotion was
•till undeclared, Madam looked
upon me a shade less likely,I thought,
when I went to tuko farewell of her.
But, in truth, f was by this timo too
completely overcome by excitement to
notice littfo details iu the comport¬
ment of these people. They were all
conspirators against my happiness and
Dick’s ; I know they would bo check¬
mated within tho hour, and already I
could bnvo laughed in their faces.
The drive appeared Dick interminable. 1
began to think thnt must have
come early and grown tired of wait¬
ing, aud I knew that if ho did not keep
tryst my heart would simply break.
And then, frightening mo despite my
eager anticipation of it, came tho first
sign. »
“1 saw a sudden blackness move
past tho window. A pistol cracked,
and as tho carriage censed to move I
heard a man’s voice speaking sternly
to the coachman aud his companion
on tho bo*. It struolt mo tho stern¬
ness was singularly well actaf; for
the coachman had been in the plot
from tho first. He happened to have
a fancy for my maid, Genefer, and
Dick’s bribe was a superfluity once
she had undertaken to nmko sure of
him.
My uncle incoherently, stirred in but his corner,mut¬ still
tering he was
more than half asleep when the door
of the coach was opened and a tall,
grooefnl figure (bow well 1 knew it,
having met him frequently at dusk on
the edge of the old plantation) stood
dimly outlined against tho darkness.
Tho newcomer was masked, and put a
pistol to my unclo’s head.
“You ride late, sir,” he said, and 1
wondered at the skill with which he
disguised his voice. “I presume you
carry firearms, and must ask that you
will trust them to my keeping.”
I can hardly report my undo's
words. Indeed, thoy were not co¬
herent, so great was his indignation,
But he gave up his pistols and tho
highwayman straightway flung them
lav into tho darkness.
“Your purse,” ho continued polite¬
ly. Then, when ho had received this
also: “Sir Itiehard Courtney's luok at
tho cards bus passed into a proverb.
Tell your friends, sir, that you have
given their I. O. U.'s to one who will
never ask for payment; for 1 liavo no
doubt I shall find them here."
He put the purse iuto his pocket.
“There is a diamond ring, too," ho
Baid, “and a watch.” And those
things he also received and pocketed.
All this time my undo had been
cursing him for n thief, aud swearing
he would see him hanged withiu a
month upon tho highest had point of the
moorland. As for me I enjoyed
the proceedings to begin with, but
now I began to be afraid. Perhaps
time was being wasted. There were
others who must use this road in re
turning from tho ball, and there was
the risk of their coming to the rescue
of my dear uncle and spoil the plans
on which so much depended. Mere
r; : 1 .....if T le
Ihj hugely augry whou he discovered
how prettily he had been deceived ; it
was possible he might bo earned by
his resentment so far os to uiako it ,
appear that this mock robber- was
real and so bring Dick to serious trou
ble. It was with groat relief 1 saw
that it was ended.
T Tho . highw.yman K . , spoke , again. ,, v
h T e y °?i ^• >m,m “y. l»c
^"Sooiindrelsaid - i
mv uucle “Do°tou au-rier
than he had been at'all «'/>»
SflSl rob helpless hL women hS"'” Oh Oh. but bat
’
man—“<tud’l “-Beautv ’ quoted the highway
am sure the ladv iV 3
beautiful—‘Beautv «“k unadorned 1
sfflorned 1 mart Hie Udv to step
from her carriage a moment kud give
me the jewelry of which she surelv
'
has no need. ”
but My uncle would have hindered me.
I was passed him in a moment and
stepped out of the carria-e highway-1 i
“Your necklet,” said the
holding forth his '
man, hand.
I took the pearls from my neck and
pressed bis “Be hand quick!“ in 1 passing them to
him.” said in a WQ18
per. “Where is your horse?”
He paused a moment. “I saw the
gleam of u bracelet,” he said. “1
must relieve vou of that also.”
Again 1 obeyed him. while but the fear
that others would come he still
stopped fooling became more urgent,
"I’m ready,” 1 whispered, so eagerly
that I wonder my ancle did not hear,
“Why do you wait?”.
Again there was a pause. He ap
Itcared a little disc oncertei.
“An 1 I think you are w<
liug,” he went on.
I Uok the rinpr from my finger. As
I cave it to him I clutched his hand,
secure in the protecting darkness.
“Take me!” I said. “Take me!”
Again he was silent for a moment.
When he spoke it was in a curiously
altered voice, and with a little da
lighted laugh. sweet?” he cried,
“Dost mean it,
“Come, then!”
I gave a scream of alarm (a portion
of the play we had arranged together) and
ns ho caught me round tho waist
landed me on his horse. A moment
later I was clinging to him for dear
life, ns wo dashed headlong into the
black night and went forward across
the moorland. I hoard him chuckle,
as my uncle roared his indignation
after us.
We rode on and on through the
darkness. At first my excitement was
«o great as to render thought impos¬
sible ; moreover, the riding was of the
roughest, and I had all I could do to
keep my sent. Bit gradually, as I
began to grow more accustomed to my
sit , lftt ion> I wnH overtaken with a most
dreadful misgiving. Tho rider had
hitherto seemed like enough to Dick,
for I bad known bo would do his best
to change bis voice; and as for his
foolish robbery, it was just of a picco
with his natural love of mischief.
But now I began to feel certain that
some impostor had taken his part; that
I had eloped with another man—and
him a common highwayman. Imagine
my distress! 1 could conceive of no
method of extricating myself from tho
position', a sense of blank helplessness
oame over me, and I could do no more
than cling tightly to tho highwayman
and await tho event.
Wo had ridden some miles, when he
suddenly drew rein and dismounted,
landing me lightly beside him.
“Upon my soul!" ho said, “here is
a pretty adventure! Heaven knows
that l had always a passion for the
unusual, or 1 should still bo a humble
usher in Branoaster Academy. But,
tell me, what am I to do with you?”
I suppose I had hoped against hope;
to find my fears were justified was n
disastrous blow to me, nor could 1
make any answer.
“J would not wish a braver sweet¬
heart,” ho continued, speaking with
an odd and attractive perplexity.
“But wliftt have wo gentlemen of fho
road to do with wives? Why, sweet¬
heart, you heard tho promises of your
guardian. Ho will surely do his ut¬
most to fulfill them, and how should I
duro to go to the gallows if I know
that 1 left you widowed and alone? I
trust a score of maids woull weeps
little if poor Jack Arthur went the
common way, but Clod forbid that any
should remember him at a week’s end.
ft may seem that f am ungallaut, yet
I protest I do not like my share in
this adventure. Kiss me, swoet, and
then fancy I am old and very wise,
and take my oounsel, which is that
you permit mo to conduct you back
to some place near your homo. And
yet—I would not wish a braver sweet¬
heart.”
Aud then, moved by tho kindness
of his words and his pleasant voice, I
lost command of myself and bust forth
into foolish weeping.
“.Sir,” I said, “1 am altogether at,
your mercy. 1 hnva done that which
will shame me all the rest of my duys.
But, indeed, X- *jw-s aw so
other, my swoet heart, whom I should
have married to-morrow.”
T fancied ho spoko loss gaily thau
before ; perhaps ho had not hoped al¬
together that I would not take his
sage advice. “Ho, ho!” ho cried,
“then my good fortune is but another
thoft to my aoaount? 1 do not uudor
staud. Your wers to have married
your lover to-morrow, and yot you en¬
treat a stranger, aud a highwayman at
that, to carry you oft'! This is tho
maddest of adventures.”
“3ir." I said, “my uuolo stands to
me iu flic plaeo of father and mother.
The highwayman chuckled. “Door
ehildl” be said, aud softly stroked iuy
lianil, which, it seems, 1m had been
holding for some minutes. “Boor
child!”
“Ho would have me marry ono
whom I do not love, aud I began to
fear that presently ho would overcome
mo and compel
“Tho old hulks!” cried tho high
wayman. “You shall marry
you chocso Nay, 1 withdraw my
foolish w.a lorn ; come with me, and
before tho liisiut i« here again b you
shall . .. . be Mm roes Arthur „ Behove ,*
me, ho added, with a pretty conceit,
“believe me, there are many who will
envy you.
“But, sir,” I interrupted, “you
get what 1 have told you. Of lato 1
have been closely guarded, for my
uncle had discovered that I have given
my love to a yeoman of the place. To
night tin ro was » I, all at the house of
Muie. Trehnvuey (a groat ladv, whose
was destined hv my uncle and hv
her to be mv .. husband), and it was
coach on our return, "r ........., and carry me
away with him.''
The Highwayman laughed loudly.
‘ And that is why you did not faint or
scream? he said. “I fell iu low
with you because of that, aud that is
why I was so fluttered at your sugges
an elopement. But—what
the real lover do? Will ho stop
he coach « soeoud time, and fiud the
1 * 1 ^' "l
the part oxecrablv / shouhl hardlv
be surprise to liear he had let hinp
self be endure 1 ”
“Sir it’is " I small said “l am iu vour hands
an 1 wonder vou find mv
idk-ht Ki onlv Uu-hable i I have ma le
the emnriv t
laugh at. Never a peddler, but 'will
he wiling ballads in a sennight about
this that I have done to-night. Yeti
could believe von kinder than most,
I entreat that'vou will help me.” I
He was sober in a moment
“Upon mv soul!” he said; “the
case is ouo to puzzle a verv Solomou
I would do much to help vou. but 1
am not altogether free to do so as I
would. To be frank, my life hangs
upon my escaping out of these regions
A ith all the celerity 1 oau coiumaud.
nd mv life • •'* But listen 1”
He broke off, and, kneeling, placed
his ear to the ground. Then ho arose,
with a curious, excited laugh. “The'
adventure grows in interest. ' he said.
“Here comes the honest yeoman, and
ia hot haste.”
1 listened eagerly, and heard for off
the m DOTS e gallopiug
igh track, which
d a ,'rtj ss the
great moor i r a sudden
movement on the part of my com*
panion, and perceived that he was
fingering his pistols as he stood silent
in the darkness.
“Not that!” I cried, entreatingly.
“There will be need of an explana
tion of some kind,” he said ; “perhaps
you will undertake it. I confess I
have not a sufficient gift of words,
and X am a little inclined to doubt
whether your sweetheart will be in a
mood for verbal expl mations. Donbt
less, as a gentleman of the road, ho
will ride armed.”
The sound of hoofs grew nearer,
He was silent now, and listened most
attentively to the approaching sound,
Presently the rider was quite near,
“Dick!” I called, “Dick! all’s
well, and I am in tho company of a
friend of yours and mine.”
A moment later he was upon us,
and, sure enough, he held a pistol in
his hand. He jumped from his horse
in an instant and caught mo to him ;
but it was the highwayman who spoke
first.
“.Sir, ho said, “I see by the pistol
you carry that you take a very proper
view of the situation. And yet I be¬
lieve that everything may bo tho cx
plained. If yon will consult
lady-”
“Dick,” I said, “this gentleman is
a friend. He took mo witli him, very
much against his will, because 1 asked
that ho would take me; and I did that
becauso I thought that he was you.
You know our plan. Ho is—”
I paused. The highwayman laughed,
“Farewell!” be cried, and van¬
ished into tho night. Nor did I hear
again of him until he was hanged,
two years afterwards, for a robbery of
the most daring.
At least there w«b one who wojit at
tho nows of his death—and she ft hap¬
py wife.—Strand Magazine.
A Hit oi Advice.
Some years ago, whilo officiating in
tho capacity of office boy iu one of
our retail stores, a bit of advice was
given to mo that I have never forgot¬
ten, says a writer iutke Great Divide,
of Denver.
The establishment being a largo one,
enough ink was usod to necessitate the
purchasing of a dozen pint bottles
every few months. These bottles had
accumulated for a year or more, and
as there was scarcely room in the
closet for tho now lot which had just
arrived, tho head of the counting-room
instructed mo to take them to tho
waste room. I removed tho bottles
from the closot, but put thorn in ono
of tho stock rooms iu tho basement
until lunch timo came; then 1 took
them to a junk shop iu a small street
near by, and nsked the attendant
whether ho wanted to buy them. Tho
bottlos being of a good sizo and woll
made, ho offered me two cents apiece
for thorn, which netted mo seventy
two cents, as I had iu all thirty-six
bottles, I roturnod to tho office in
high spirits over my deal, but yet a
little doubtful ns to whether the money
really ‘belonged to me, aud all tho
afternoon 1 pondered decido over this it ques¬
tion, but could not to my
satisfaction.
Now, tho cashier had always boeu a
good trieild of mine, so I concluded
to ask him whether I was rightfully
entitleddn thejnonov.
“Wm, hFsiil “ “naturally
you
could have hsd tho bottles had yon
asked for thorn, but my advice would
bo to turn tho money over to tho firm,
as little things of this sort often lead
ono on, and there would soom no more
harm in taking a stop further than in
keeping this seventy-two cents. ”
1 turned tho money in—very reluct¬
antly, I must admit —and wished from
tho bottom of my heart that I had
never mentioned it to him, though his
advice was calculated to put ouo on
tho right traok.
But the funny part is yet to come,
Not long ago 1 road of tho trial and
conviction of this eashior for ombez
foment, his doprodatious having cx
tended over a number of years,
Horrible doubts now enter my head
as to whether the firm over received
that money; in fact, I feel quito euro
that they did not. And to think that
ho should give mo such fatherly ad
vice about it, too, the wretch.
The Fakir’s Latest.
xhe faUir ha8 f iu returneJ) an d
hU stirriu ° voioo 9 hoard ou ali tho
Htieet . . . tho .. centre! . , part . of ,
corners m
dt He is hailed by the masses
with The fakir is a long-felt
want. He is the great source of
amusement ou Saturday night aud al
ways has some new-fangled trick with
which he entertains his audience. The
latest is a little globule, and by its
!\ se tho f ? k jf cIlums thft ‘ u, * toh e 8 * r °
' f , , ^
» b »lv«d away as relics. V n By moisten- ,
“p of the huger, dampening a
l»^e of paper with it and then drop
‘ ..ns
SLSTtlSS . . . and tho tS majority ThtPwon^erTf of peoule
b ,, The pogwsium. globules are made of
wm0 nlt of Xitv Tho metal
h ^ , for oxygen, aud
(h 0 emicftl reaction between the
, wo cau|68 coml , ust ion.-Louisville
Commercial.
-----—
Latest Thing in Watches.
The latest thing in watches is a re
U 0,ltcr " bieh * Uo
and quarters, nud so obviates the ue
oessity of counting, necessitated by
«he present system. M. Silvan, a Swiss
matchmaker, is credited with having
successfully adapted Edison's phono
ftraph so as to produce this ingenious
rosult ' When the repeating appara
*«» «, s “‘ “<>*•?“• the *
pWed in communication with the pho
“^phie «««• constructed in the
watch representing the time, and the
quarters ore distinctly spoken. M,
Silyen intends to apply the apparatus
»« l«ger timepieces os well. It is, of
oour 3’ P ossiWo to employ any de
voice or voices in the apparatus.
Me therefore, expect shortly to have
our matutinal slumbers more agree
llb ly liroken by the voice of some re
spected friend calling the reveille from
* he mantlepiece. — New York Dispatch.
' ticlim 7 of Court Etiquette,
Sir John Thompson, the late Cana
dian Premier, is said to have been a
victim to the formalities of the royal
court at Windsor, England. By usage
he was compelled to stand an hour and
a half at the Queen's Council, and bis
death occurred a few minutes after it
adjourned. —New Yo'k Advert ; ?er.
DRESS ,T)VELTIF,S.
THE SHOUIiHu is THE “THER
MOJlETKIpje FASHION.”
Inflated Balt, Sleeves Are Still
Here, But M disappear In Time
—Flowerl ■eked Parasols
Will the Rage.
I N the Deis- e philosophy of ex¬
pression ... shoulder is desig¬
nated ‘ thermometer of
the passion. at > When our spirts
are up our dde rs are elevated ;
when we are t , le . spirited and low
down; in our when mind^ J? oVLl . ehoulders are
tampers are awry
our shoulders em. crooked, variable
inclinations deterni® aI ®riVemente, and when
we aro bravely meet
whatever fate lS a store for us, or it'
we are are rest® to assert ourselves
and “snub thm n> >> 0 ur shoulders
this are firmly “shoulder and vl.-.reiy ' losiphy” set. So through goes
as many phases mcn and women
have moods. A, pos of this divert¬
ing conceit ane* boulders, it is quite
plain that in t-h ; ilosophy of modes
“the shoulder l fte thermometer of
fashions” —the ],iona in sleeves at
least. It depeij^Apou tho arrange
ment of the sl«* es a t the shoulders, i
whether these ur ( jvelopes have an
aggressive, or-a i j 0 r a perky, or
a coquettish air. ey have had for
*
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\
J T YLISH GOWN FOB SPRING WEAR.
■ '
some time that aif of supreme exclu
siveness that challenges tho observer
to keep at a respectful distance, as
plainly as if, instead of embroidered
aud sequined, eash voluminous sleeve
were lettered wita “Touch mo not!”
“Stand off!” “B 9W «re!”
In view of this there is something
almost pathetio in tho meek little
shoulder cape shown in tho sketch,
which the oracles of fashion say is “a
foreruuner of th 9 coming mode.” It
looks like a very trumpet, forsooth,
to herald the n»)Hs all over tho world
that tho iuflatei balloon sleeves aro
gradually aud ganteely disappearing,
They are not go ug iu undue liaste,
but this quaint sleeve is indicative
that the tremendous sleeves that have
made a wider I'tyaeh between men and
women and impeded man’s daily pro
gress more than the insistent' sister
hood who are demanding enfranchise
meut will gracefully disappear. By
the way, this is an admirable pattern
for a lean, unshapely arm. If the
!|* 0uWer “ ““K not defective “ess iu lines above.the and
e.bow; disguise is the just lae, tb, one „f harmonious thing needed to
pro
portanufrom a«, unsympathetic| world.
—
AW 1 _ ^
■
fj , 'iO
J
i \ W f, / % s')
W .
MM3 /
t ; -ia ^
Nh3'4
^3 ^ gAfoM -pf?)
4 a
X
FO RERr s neb 0 r fashion 33 in
___
« revealed to advantage aud the
mav be dispensed with.
The fashion oracle further asserts
t fiat this sleeve is “quite a novelty.”
^ ^ovel os the stars which seem
everlastingly fresh, althou ' u so eter
na jj y 0 ld.
’
-
flowsr nspsesED fahas
The eonim» season’s sunshades n'* are
bewildering in floral cbiflon/w t •- wr“ath Ou- is
of riolet-imlored ;th
and noseaars <>f artificial violets. Bi ■
hows of “violet ribbon ornament its
a t to»> and handle. ;ui : U
fal ruffle aro ' ' 1 - uy' - »v w th
silver spangles. -1 nose oi the
violets nestles in the knot of the rib* ;
bon on the handle an<l the whole is !
delicately scented with violet sachet.
Another new floral parasol,although
-—------
Jig £ gpC~3
v>.
o
ETinlSIS PARASOL?.
more severe in style, is even more
chic. It is trimmed with orchids, one
huge cluster hanging from the bow at
the top and a smaller one tt the
handle. The sunshade itself is of
heavy cream-tinted silk, with mother
of-pearl handle. All the parasols this
year are noticeable for their elegance
and showiness. Every detail is most
costly, and, in many instances, most
perishable, as tho fluffy and flowery
effects so greatly in voguo are not
meant for wear and (ear. Tho good
old-fashioned plain parasol, lasting a
whole season through, is completely
obliterated by this crowd of fragile
and efflorescent novelties.
-
stylish gown for spring wear.
The stylish gown in the double col
umn illustration is appropriate for
spring wear, says the Mail and Ex
press. It has some novel effects in its
arrangement. The color used is a
narcissus green, and tho cloth is of a
firm texture. The bodice is braided
all over ia a ribbon design formed of
a mohair braid of a walnut tint, this
ag(l i n having a dentated outline of
fi, )e cord entwined with threads of
iridescent metal. The full pouch
f ro nt. folded collar, and under basque
are arranged ia a soft shade of yellow
sa tiu, the centre plaid, rosettes and
buttons being of walnut velvet. Tiia
plain skirt- ’spiral of the latest shape t:,/braid- has a
handsome design of
ing on either side of the front depend
ing from the waist downward. Tho
eapote is of mreissu, cloth; tho
aro front has bows of walnut vel
tre by ^*3“; an old btrass biu.de. up
SKlri ^iari^ioTel
poculiarly novel effect effect the-ato Ue.eto.
plain sxmrs coniinoe in favor.
The plain skirt continues in favor,
both for street aud evening gowus. In
deed there is little likelihood that very
! elaborate skirts will be worn until the
excessive trimming of bo.aces aud the
enormous sleeves now in style cease to
be fosbionaolc, for it is a genera .
that when the bodice is ample
i skirt is elftoo.ate, an Inu vers.. no
oe.l shaped skirt, jum- touching the
ground r.h around, is stiL the prevad
sl vle !or » U eostumes trams ba
-
Houa^eremonr 11 00c4S ‘ 0aS ° £
h ° U ' ceremon - r :_
^ ™nfny points.
Spring millinery is a conglomera
tion of shapes, materials and colors of
the most dazzling and bewildering
hues. One special feature is that the
flower- sad leaves aro mostly very
large, the hydrangea being one of the
favorite blossoms. The most popular
color seems to be petunia, and the ef
feet gained by wings and outspreading
bows is still dominant ou both bon
nets and hats. The broad Dutch bon
j ' and net has toques grown a little little larger, point ia but front, both
are a
to be worn as much as ever.
_ wa-»--
Rev. J. B. Hawthorne, pastor of the
Fir.-t Baoriri A nurch ia Atlanta, Go.,
preached a - - uyu our the telephone,
sad all in i: At":, .i--.
Macon and ii; Mi!:-. . h ■ h: i telephone ‘
l. : •
BUDGET OF FUN.
jj^yfoKOUS SKETCHES FROM
VARIOUS SOURCES.
An Obliging Parent—No Favoritism
to Those Behind—An Expla¬
nation — Expletives in
Demand, Then, Etc.
Young Gotnix yearned for fair Miss Rich,
A large, incessant yearn;
And yet he feared unspeakably
To ask her parents stem.
But, lo! when he approached her sire,
And stood distraught with doubt,
Tho old man rose to meet the youth,
And straightway helped him out.
— Philadelphia Life.
.
NO FAVORITISM TO THOSE BEHIND.
Belle (in theatre)—“Is my hat on
straight?” Why?”
Beau—“Yes.
Belle—“Oh, I want to treat every
body alike.”—Detroit Tribune.
AN EXPLANATION.
Proud Father— “That is a sunset
my daughter painted, She studied
painting abroad, yon know.”
Friend— “Ak! that explains it. I
never saw a sunset like that in this
country. ”—Puck.
EXPLETIVES IN DEMAND, THEN.
Little Dot—“Mamma read in a
paper that a deaf man out West was
stung by a swarm of bees, and now
he can hear as well as ever.”
Little Dick—“I don’t see how bee
stings could make a deaf man hear
but I should think they’d make a
dumb man speak.”—Good News.
TO BE EXPECTED.
“The deceased,” announced the
coroner, after consulting with the
jury and drawing his revolver, “died
a natural death.”
As they cut the rope and laid him
away upon the far Western hillside,
with his feet toward his boots, they
recalled his deeds and agreed that the
manner of his death was tho most
natural thing in the world.—Detroit
Tribune.
A woman’s way.
Cobwigger—“There’s a chance that
you might recover the watch if you re¬
member the number of it.”
Mrs. Cobwigger—“Oh, is that so,
dear? I once wrote the number down
ou a little bit of paper, as you sug¬
gested.” Cobwigger—“Where did put
you
it?”
Mrs. Cobwigger—“Why, iu the
back of the watch.”—Judge.
IN LUCK.
“I ask for broad,” exclaimed the
mendicant, bitterly, “and you give
me a stone."
The man glanced apprehensively who in
the direction of his young bride,
was bending eagerly over the cook
stove.
“Hush,” he whispered. “That isn’t
a marker to what custard you’d pie.” have got if
you had asked for
With a swift exchange of glances
they parted.—Puck.
Mrs. *• e>cmAAef ' {impressively}—
“Whatever you do, never, never marry
a newspaper man.”
School Chum—“Why not?”
“I married one, and I know. Every
night my husband brings home a big
bundle of newspapers from all over
the country, and thoy ’most drive me
crazy. ”
“The newspapers?”
“Indeed they do. They are just
crammed with the most astonishing
bargains, in stores a thousand miles
away.”—New York Weekly.
a sure test.
Mens. X. called the other day at a
house where the love of dogs was car
rie( j almost to a mania. He was
immediately surrounded by balf a
dozen of these animals, whoso caresses,
too demonstrative altogether, he re¬
pelled vigorously. monsieur,” said the lady of the
“Ah,
mansion, in a tone of displeasure, “one
can see very well that you don’t love
dogs.” indeed!” he
“Not love do<xs, re
turned, indignantly. “Why, late
more than twenty during the siege of
Paris.”—Le Figaro.
_
pasting ‘ ‘
She wept upon his shoulder, , but , as
he had on his linen duster preparatory
“* th ®
aUI .?^ ; knd eC L"ll f al ‘ \ find vou unehange
wll ® n
“L1d she cr^kimz'un- sobbed
H feel his hat
^ Jjeal HeW that swept aLd'moistened through his
d his
parched lips, but could frame not a
word . She continued :
“I do not know, dear. I cannot tell
at this early day what color of hair
will be in style then.’’-Indianapolis
Journal.
-
well planted.
Tho worthy beadle in a rural dis
t rict in Perthshire had become too
feeblo to perform his duties as a min
ist er’s man and grave digger, andl had
to get an assistant. The two did not
agxee well, but after a few months had
e i apse d Sandy (the beadle) died, and
Tamnlas (his erstwhile assistant) had
to perform the last service for his late
P"^- Tbe “ lulster ‘ * wa ®>
strolled up to Tammas while he was
giving the finishing touches to the
grave and casually remarked: Have
you put Sandy weel down, Tammos.
“I hev that, sir,” said Tammas, very
decidedly. Sandy may get up, but
he’ll be among the hindmost. -Hall
fax Chronicle.
he didn’t recollect.
‘‘The grocer with his bill, ma am.
(Hands bill).
“Why, i Mary, I owe him nothing.”
“So told him, ma’am. ”
“Let him come in. I have his re
ceipt.”
.Enter grocer) “So, sir, you want
me to pay this bill?”
"If yon please, ma am, I need the
money.”
“Possibly, but I don’t need to pay it.
Here's my receipt.”
luroeer, retiring in confusion)—“I’m
verv sorry, ma’am; I didn’t recol
lect.” you
“You mean yon are very sorry
didn’t re-collect.”—Truth.
PARTNERS.
He—“Do you remember the first
night we met?”
She—“Certainly, dear.”
He—“What a lot of soft things X
said.”
She—“Do you think so?”
He—“Yes. But that was nething
to what came after. Do you ever
think of that moonlight sail on the
lake?”
She—“Often.”
He—“So do I. What a real genu
ino all-around donkey I did make of
myself! I believe I took your hand,
or something of that sort. Said I had
felt so utterly lonely until I had met
you. Spoke of the great love that
had stolen over me. Bah! It makes
me sick. Then think of that night
you said you’d have me !”
She—“I remember it well.”
He—“What a lot of fiddle-faddle I
did get off! Hand in hand down the
great highway of life ! Kisses that
burn! Never get tired of them, Ha!
ha ! Tho idea! A love that would
grow and grow. Jusi to sit at your
feet was all I asked — to be your slave,
to worship you. Caesar's ghost, what
an unmitigated ass a man does make
of himself! And those let ters I wrote!
Oh, what fool, what a ”
a
She—“Bat there is one consolation,
clear. A woman is just as big a fool.”
He—“No she isn’t. Doesn’t begin
to be.”
She—“But she is—exactly.' out?”
He—“How do you make that
She—“Why, dear, don’t you ^re¬
member the day I married you? ■
Harper’s Bazar.
Iu Blond-Laud.
In order to better understand the
role played by cirrus clouds as rain
indicators, we must first diseus3 the
causes of these osenrrenees. A study
of the weather indications and baro¬
metrical readings, as. they appear in
our daily papers from the report of
our “Weather Bureau,” shows that
areas of high or low air-pressure tho earth’s aro
constantly passing over succession. TLte
surface in irregular
areas of high atmospheric pressure—
or barometic maxima, meteorological¬
ly expressed—stay longer in one lo¬
cality than the areas of low pressure
—the depressions, or barometrical
miuima. These last are more or less
defined currents of air, which circle
in the form of wind around theregion
of the lowest atmospheric pressure,
moving always from North to West
or from South to East—the reverse of
tho hauds oi a clock. It must not be
imagined, however, that the air sim¬
ply moves around this area of de¬
pression, but rather that it is con¬
stantly being drawn into its centre
and is carried upwards iu great whirls
or spirals. As the air rises, it ex
pands and becomes colder ; tho vapors
it contains condense into clouds, and
finally are transformed into rain.
The centre of the barometrical de¬
pression is therefore marked by
cloudy, rainy weather. The wind
which encircles the depression be
comes more active as the difference of
the fti.mqsdjeric pressure becomes
the barometer falls.
In brief, therefore, barometrical de¬
pressions are caused by hu&e ascend¬
ing spirals, or whirls of air, which are
carried upwards to extreme heights,
and from there are wafted in any di¬
rection. In these heights the humid¬
ity of the atmosphere is frozen, and
is wafted away in closed forms which
are composed of ice-crystals. These
are none other than cirrus clouds,
aud they may float several hundred
miles from tho seat of the depression.
It will now be seen why cirrus clouds
may be justly regarded as forerunners make their
of rain, even when thoy
appearance in clear weather. They
tell with absolute certainty of an ap¬
proaching atmospheric depression,
and this is substantiated by a gradual
tailing of the barometer soon after
they make their appearance.—Home
and Country.
The “Darkest Africa” Myth Roue.
T be latest myth „ mankind to be
oi
shattered is the comparatively modern
one of “Darkest Africa. Ever since
tho days of Livingstone and Stanley
‘hat little-known continent has oeea
pictured in the popular mind as a
wild and trackless region of mias
matic borderlan,i !mi lllferior prime
i val lorests. tvneuProfessorDrum- .
^ mon( i y en t U red to assert that tropical
j Africa was not strictly a forest-covered
coantr v . aad contai “ ed ^ eat
- plums and meadow
° healthy
‘
via s of maignation upon that
bold scientist shead Now how
r'cr.'oS.vf.Tl h‘T“ow
son Administrator “SS? PrafiSrtoSto, of the British
who
, makes lowing rep0 rt of his province
| to the Royal ‘ Geographical Society of
London .
<. The great b attraction of the conn
t de clftres M r. Johnson, “lies in
its beautiful scenery, in its magnifi
cent blue lakes, its tumultuous cas
cades and cataracts, its grand mount
ains, its golden plains and dark green
forests. A pleasant and peculiar
feature, also, of the western portion
of the protectorate is the rolling,
grassy downs, almost denuded of
trees, covered with short turf, quite
I healthy and free from the tsetse fly.
: These, no doubt, will, in the future,
| become actual sites of European
colonies districts in which Europeans
can rear their children under health
ful conditions The lofty plateau of
Mlauje is a little world m itself, with
the exhilarating climate of Northern
Europe. The plain, and valleys are
gray with blue ground orchids, with
a purple ms, an 1 with yellow ever
, lasting flowers. —Philadelphia Kec
ord.
A Heroic Grand mother.
A heroic act was performed by an
old French lady at Rodez the other
week. The house where she lived with
her grandchild took tire. The old
woman rushed to the child s bedroom,
already in flames, and. carrying the
fittle one to the window, dropped her
into the arms of people lie.ow. By
tms time her own retreat u as cat off
and the brave oid woman feU back and
jierished ia the flames. Chicago
Herald.