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Old Age. When on the furrowed cheeks of Age Care’s hollow wrinkles show, The old man turns his life’s last page With trembling hand and slow. Dark lower the skies; in every sound Death’s mournful dirge he hears; And wearily the days go round, The weeks, the months, the years. The lady of his love, alas! Hath closed her gentle eyes. With but one tiny tuft of grass To show him where she lies. “Old wife of mine!’’ he whispers low, “Above thy grave I see The star of Faith, whose beams I know, Shall guide me soon to thee!” WON AT SIGHT. We had been upon the Mediterranean station for about a year, when our com mander ordered the ship to head for Marseilles. I was then a young midshipman, and enjoyed the leave on shore in a foreign port with boyish delight. There w'ere six in our mess, and wo managed to get shore leave so as to be together, when it was possible to do so. This was the case one fine Sunday in tlio month of December, as mild aud summer-like in the south of France as a New England May day. The singular experience of one of our number I have often told since about the mess table or camp fire, but have never put it into print. We were strolling on the square known as Le Cours 8t. Louis, a sort of permanent flower market, where the women sit enthroned in tent-like stalls of wood, encircled by their bright, beautiful and fragrant wares, while the manner of arranging (he stalls, so that the vender sits raised seme six feet in the air, gave a novel effect to the scone. We watched with special delight these b!ack-cytd, black-ha red and rosy ehecked girls, the b ash of health in their faces fairly rivalling that of their scarlet flowers. With busy fingers they arranged iu dainty combinations the vivid and delicate colors, relieved by fresh green leaves an 1 trailing vines of sm:lax, while we young middies joked pleasantly with them and bought fabulous quantities of bouquets. While we were idling away the hour in Le Coins St. Louis, with these roguish and pretty flower venders, we were all thrown into a state of amaze inent and curiosity by the appearance of a young girl of about 17, who rushed among us with a startling speed, and who, hardly pausing to lcgaia her breath, said, in excellent English: “You are Amer cans, and I trust, gentlemen. Is there one among you who will marry me?” “We will all marry you,” was the in stnnt response, accompanied by hearty laughter. “Ah, you are in sport, but I am in tamest. Who will marry me?” There seemed to be no joke after all. The girl was positively in earnest and looked at one and all of us as coolly, yet earnestly, as possible. “Here, Harry,” said one who was rather a leader among us, and aidless ing Harry, “you want a wife,” and he gave our comrade a slight push toward the girl, For some singular reason Harry took the matter much more in earnest than the rest of us, and regarded the new comer with a most searching but re spectful glance. Approaching her he said: “I do not kuow exactly svhat you mean, but I can understand by your ex pression of face that you are quite in earnest. Will you take my arm and let «s walk to one side?” “Yes; but I have no time to lose,” ,and taking his arm, they walked away together. We looked upon the affair as some well-prepared joke, but were a little an noyed at the uon-appearance of Hairy at our rendezvous on the quay. Our leaiecxjired at sunset, aud wo dared not wait for him, as Captain D ■was a thorough disciplinarian, and we didn’t care to provoke him and thus endanger our next Sunday’s leave. On board we went, therefore, leaving Harry on shore. When we reported the question was, of course, asked where Midshipman B was, to which query we could return no proper answer, as we really did not know', lie knew per fectly well that we must all be at the boat lauding just bob re sunset. It was plain enough to us all that there was trouble brewing for our messmate. Harry did not make his apperance un lil ihe next day at noon, when he pulled to the ship in a shore boat, and, com ing on boa r d, reported at once to the SCHLEY COUNTY NEWS. captain, who stood upon the quarter deck, and asked the privilege of a pri vate interv ew. The circumstances connected with the absence of Harry were very peculiar, and as he was one of the most correct fel lows on board, his request was granted by the captain, -who retired to his cabin, followed by the delinquent, After re maining with the commander for near ly an hour, he came out and joined us. “What is the upshot of it, Harry?” we asked. “Well, lads, I’m married—that’s all.” “Alarried? ’ asked the mess, ia oac voice. “Tied for life!” svas the answer. “Hard and fast?” “Irrevocably. ” “To that little craft yon scudded away with? ’ “Exactly. As good and pure a girl as ever lived,” said Harry, earnestly. “W-h-e-w!’ whispered cue and all. “How did Old Neptune let you off?” we all eageily inquired—that being the name the captain went by on board. “He is hard on me,” said Harry, seri ously, “What do you think he de mands, lads?” “Can t say; what is it?” < i If I don’t resign, he will send me home in disgrace.” That’s his ultima tum.” “W-h-e-w!” again from all hands. “Let’s get up a petition for Harry,” suggested one. “It’s of no use, lads, I know he means what he says. He lias given me a while to think it over.” It was all with C apt. D-was a severe, but an ex cellent officer, and he had only given the delinquent the alternative of resign ing or being sent home in disgrace. The fact that he had g>t married in the manner he described, in place of palliat ing matters, only aggravated the cap tain beyond measure. He declared it •was a disgrace to the s rvice, and a breach of propriety not to be over looked. Harry told us his story in a desultory manner, interrupted by many questions and ejaculations, but which wn wall put into a simple form for the convenience of the reader. Julie Meurice was the orphan child of a merchant, who had been of high standing during his life, and who left a handsome fortune to endow his daugh ter on her wedding day, or, if not mar ried before, she was to receive the prop er: y on coming to the age of 20 years. Her mother had died in her infancy, and the father, when she was 10 years of age, placed her in a convent to be educated, where she remained until his death, which occurrred suddenly, six months previous to the period of our sketch. After his death Julio became the ward of her uncle, by the tenor of her father’s will, and the period of her edu cational course having just chased at the convent, Hubert Meurice, the uncle, brought her home to his family circle, Madame Meurice, it appears, was a scheming, calculating woman, and knowing that Julie would lie an heiress, she tried every way to promote her in tiinacy w r ith her own son. who was an uncouth and ignorant youth of 18 years without one attractive point in his char acter. Hubert Meurice, the uncle of Julie, was a sea captain, whose calling carried him much away fiom his home. Dur ing his absenca his wife treated Julie with the u most tyranny, even keeping her locked up in her room for days to gether, telling her that when she would consent to marry her son. Hubert, she wou’d release her and do all she could to make her happy. But to this Julie could not consent. Imprisonment even was preferable to accepting her awk ward and repulsive cousin. One day she overheard a conversation between her aunt and her hopeful son, wherein the mystery of hsr treat ment was solved. The boy asked his mother what was the use of bothering aud importuning Julie so. “If she doesn’t want to marry me, mother, drop the matter. I like Julie, and she would make mo a nice little wife, but I don’t want her aguiust her will.” “You are a fool,” said the mother. “You know nothing about the matter. Her father's wilt endows her with a for tune at her marriage, even if it be at 17, just her present age. At 20 she receives the fortune at any rate. Now, don’t you see if you marry her we arc nil fixed for life?” “Does Julie know about the money?" he asked. “No, of course not.” “It’s a little sharp on her/’ said the boy. “I’m looking out for you,” said the mother. “Just so,” mused the hopeful. ‘‘I am resolved that she shall marry you, and that is why I keep her locked up, so that she may not see some one she would like better.” “Lots of money, eh? Well, mother, let’s go in and win. When shall it be?” “It must be at once.” “The sooner the better.” “Your father is expected home next week. I want you to be married before lie returns. He approves of it, but is a little too delicate about pressing mat ters so quickly. I know that no time is like the present time, so I have been making arrangements to bring this about immediately.” This was enough for Julie, She un derstood the situation fully now, and saw that her aunt would hesitate at nothing. The poor child feared her beyond description and had yielded to her in everything, save this one pur pose of her marriage with Hubert. Julie was a very gentle girl; one upon whom her aunt could impose with im punity. She had no idea of asserting her rights, much less of standing up for them. But she was thoroughly fright ened now', and resolved to escape at auy cost fioni the tyranny which bound her. No fate could be worse she thought than to be compel ed to marry that coarse, vulgar and repulsive creature. Yes, she would run away at once The poor chiid—for she was little more —had not asked herself where she should go. She had no other relations that she knew of in the world, and the isolated life she had always led had caused her to form no intimacies, or even to make friends with those of her own age. Indeed with this prospective fortune, yet she was virtually alone and unprotected, and without a relation whom she did not look upon as her enemy. The next day after Julie had heard this information was Sunday, the gayest day of the week in Marseilles, and, for tunately, Julie succeeded in making her escape from her aunt’s house. Still un decided where to go, and in her desper ation fearing that at any moment she might be seized and carried back, she had wandered into the flower market, where she came upon us, already de scribed. As she explained to Harry afterward, she was intent only upon escape, and believed this to be her last chance. When she saw a half dozen young Americans, who seemed perfectly re spectable, the idea that positive safety lay only in marriage dawned upon her, and she actually ran toward us, as we have related, the moment the thought developed itself. Harry became more and more im pressed with Julie’s story as they walked along, while he was delighted by her innocent beauty and manifest refine ment. It was all like a dream, almost too romantic for truth. Our “fate” sometimes comes to us in this singular fashion, he thought, “Tlaerc is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.” Sud denly he turned to her and said: “Dare you trust me with your hap piness?” She lookei at him thoughtfully with her soft, pleading eyes. Her brain was very busy; she remembered what awaited her at home, what had driven her thence, and then, in reply to his sober question, she put both ot her hands into his with child-like trust. They wandered on. Julie had always plenty of money in her purse, and they strolled into a little chapel on their way, where they found a young clergyman, who could not resist their request to marry them, and so, though reluctantly and advising proper delay, he performed the marriage ceremony, aided by the sexton aud his wife, who each received a Napoleon. As an inducement, Harry had also told the clergymen that he was just go ing to sea, and that he must be married before he sailed, that not even one hour was to be lost. Julio came out of the chapel the wife of Harry B., who went with her to tlio Hotel du Louvre. From here he sent a pressiug note to the American Consul, who came to him early tire next morn ing, and by the earnest persuasion of it irry, the consul agree l to take the young wife to his own house, until matters should be settled as it regarded their future course. In the consul’s hou e, Julie found a pleasant and safe retreat for the time being. Whatever might be said with regar 1 to the propriety of the young folk’s con duct, it could not be undone. They were irrevocably united as husband and wife. Harry was forced, however, to resign his commission. By the aid of the Consul, Julie’s rights in relation to her fortune under her father’s w.ll were fully realized, and she came almost im mediately -with her young husband to America. Harry B., by means of proper in fluence once more entered the navy, the second timo as lieutenant, and now wears a captain's epaulets. —New York News. Names of Plants. The number of coun'ries which have contributed their quota to the nomen clature of English plants is legion. Be ginning with France we have the dent de lion—lion’s tooth—whence we de rive our dandelion. The flower-de-luce, again, which Mr. Dyer thinks was a name applied to the iris, comes to us through the French fleur de Louis—tra dition asserting that thii plant was worn as a device by King Louis VII. of France. Buckwheat is derived from the Dutch word bcckweit, and adder’s tongue from a word in the same lan guage, adde stong. In like minuer the name tulip is traceable to the word tlionlyban in the Persian language—sig nifying a turban. So, too, our English word lilac is nothing more than an anglicized form of another word in the Persian tongue, viz., lilag. A large number of plants owe their names to those by whom they were first discovered and introduced into other climes. The fuchsia stands indebted f r its name to Leonard Fuchs, an eminent Ger man botanist, and the dahlia was so named in honor of a Swedish botanist named Dahl. A long list of plant names might be formed which bear what might be termed animal and bird prefixes—as, for example, horse beans, horse chest nuts, dog violets and dog roses; cats’ faces, a name applied to the plant knowm to botanical students as the viola tricolor; cat’s eyes,veronica chamaedrys; c .ts’ tails and catkins. The goose grass is known to the country people in Northamptonshire as pig tail, and in Yorkshire a name given to the fruit of the orataegus oxyacantha is bull horns. Many plant names have been suggested by the feathered iace, particularly goose tongue, cuckoo buds (namtioned by Shakspearc), cuckoo flowers, stork’s bill and crane’s bill. One of the popu lar names of the arum is “parson in tha pulpit” and a Devonshire term for tha sweet scabriosis is “mournful widow.” The campion is not infrequently called “plum pudding,” and in the neighbor hood of Torquay it is not unusual to hear fir cones spoken of as “oysters.” — Gent em in's M igaz ne. Queer London Names. Queer names certainly are found in the London, England, general registry of births, at Somerset House. Far ex ample, young scions of tlie families of Bath, Limb, Jordan, Dew, Dear, and Smith are christened respectively Foot, Pascal, River, Morning, Offspring, and Smith Follows. Mr. Cox called his son Arthur Wellesly Wellington Waterloo. Mr. Jewett, a noted huntsman, named his E Iward Byng Tally II» Forivard. A mortal that was evidently un welcome recorded as “One Too Many. Another of the same sort is “Not Wanted James.” Chil dren with six to ten names are frequent, 'but probably the longest name in th« world, longer than that of any poten tate, is attached to the child of Arthur Pepper, laundryman. Tiie name of his daughter, born 18S3, is Anna Bertha Ccccilia Diana Emily Fanny Gertrude Hypatia Inez June Kate Louise Maud Nora Ophelia Quince Rebecca Starkey Tereza Ulysis (sic) Venus W in fred Xenophon Yetty Z jus Pepper—one title precisely for every letter of the alpha bet. — Chicago lleiaid. A Peculiar Gas Well Accident. A peculiar accident occurred at a gat well near Anderson, Ind. The well is a phenomenal one, and has so far defied all attempts to pack it. Henry Loffncr, one of tho drillers, while passing the well extended his arm some two or three feet from its mouth, but directly over it, when the force of the gas blew his arm to a pjrpandicular position with such violence as to dislocate it at tin shoulder. Remember Me. When shadows o'er the earth are creepjmr And stars peep through the skies, *’ When b Fellings in their nests are sleepi And slumbering lies, a <S » * I nature And when the midnight moon is shining I Across the tranquil sea, I O, thou for whom my soul is pining, I Remember me! j And when the rosy morn is coming Across the eastern hills, And blithe birds wake, and bees ars n Unv ming, And nature’s great heart thrills! When all the happy world is waking, To glad activity, O, thou for whom my heart is breaking, Remember me! And through the daylight’s changing hours, The quiet rest at noon; When lingering kisses warn the flowers They must be closing soon. And when the golden sun is setting In peaceful majesty, O, thou for whom nay heart is still regret. fin J, . Reme:n v er me! At morning, midnight, noon and V'–4 even, At every time or place, When winter's icy blasts are driven In springtime’s budding grace. When summer d eks the world with beauty When dea l leaves strew the lea, O, thou whose least wish is still my duty, Remember me! —Don Shelton in Courier-Journal. HUMOROUS. Soma strong holes—Safe deposit vaults. A wild bore—trying to get oil out of a solid reck. A colicky baby at night is athletic; it can raise the house. The good die young. This is par ticularly true of ducks. A man ibust be pretty sick of work when he thr^r'? up his job. Corn always comes up quickest about the time young crows begin to fl^. In poultry circles the old hen geuVi*. ally proves her good standing by her setting. A sea captain who is the most wreck loss is the one who ought to receive the biggest salary. “He owes everything lie has to me.” “That’s bad. lie owes a great deal more than he has to me.” One of the interesting experiments in popular chemistry is wheu a youth feeds his flume with ice ci<am. It does not necessarily follow that a sailor is a small man becfltjse he some times sleeps on his watch. Munchausen F. Gulliver • ha been relating an incident)—“Ylu look surprised 1” Faxon Trueman—f “Yes; I know it’s true.” Emma— “Your hat is perfectly charm ing, and it suits you so well. ” Marie — “Oh, yes; but if you only knew what a fearful fainting fit it cost me!” Mrs. Gazzam (to her daughter)—Ma bel, you should keep an eye on Mr. Looker. He’s a splendid catch. Mr. Gazzam—What club docs he catch for? A company has been organized in Philadelphia “to bury its subscribers on the installment plan.” B it no man wants to be buried in installments, un less he is the victim of some uptown blasting contractor. Trees on a Court House. Greensburgh, Ind., has long been noticed for the singular phenomenon of the trees growing oi the Court House tower. The first tree made its appear ance in 1864—a tiny green shoot on top of the tower—and was the cause of much wonder and interest, Its devel opment was eagerly watched, and as its steady growth continued it became known as the Loue Tree. As y ears passed the tree grew and assumed greater and more graceful proportions and flourished in spite of its lofty posi tion, expose l to the wind an:l storm. Other trees have since made their ap penrance on different sides of the tower, until there are now seven, which, with their bright green foliage showing in pretty contrast against tho dull white stone, mako a charming picturo, out lined against the blue sky. During the repairs of the Court House now iu pro gress a scaffolding was built around tho tower, and the removal of tho trees dis cussed. An examination was made and the largest tree reported,to be inches in circumference and 5 feet 10 high. No damage was being done by them, and it was decided to allow thou to re main, as the crevico in tlio stone roofing made by the roots of tho trees show an opening of only lj. inches. Tho tower is 1. 3 loot li gh, of solid masonry, and how the trees find non 'ishment to suitaia them is a ma ter of great wonder.