Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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 * , f ......wirffT——■ t’U ' ~~ L_ * ifmp ; h 1 HtagA - Milk' - . ME 1 * - - ^BSSiS J • ."A *-33£= B . B mm pSH*- m&wsmaammtk yc.j i£x.' gr ■ Z mA £3 i Si i, wSlm -IS - • • L .7 mu f ? m i a v 5 / < ’ m 5= TCC 3 . mm j®;! ~ ■ ’ i” *4: ! 1 A V i' 1 ' ' ' 33 to M Is ■ *" ■ 1 UP llMfc HP4 '3 m m ‘33:3'. • ' y PS! mn \ 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.