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It Wasn't a Burglar That the Pretty Intruder Encountered. By CLARISSA MACK IE. (Copyright, 1909, by AssocInlMl Literary Press.J Rosamond Loo walked slowly down I ho row bprdcrcd path to Uio lull stono wall (lull inclosed (ho deserted hotisn lioxl door. The owners worn abroad, and thorn was no prosper! of (heir inn media to return to inhabit the Octagon House, as if was railed. Rosamond had made many oxrur sions about I lie neglnet.ed grounds and dreamed many dreams beneath the no ble trees that rose from the unkept turf. Sbc bad taken toll of the bloom ing (lowers and shrubs in their sea sous, and now she fed the gray squir nils (.Juit raced up and down I lie green branches. Her family laughed nl her fondue a for (lie Octagon House and predicted a speedy abandonment when Mrs, Phil lips came home again, for Mrs. Phil lips was old and Irascible and much feared by Rosamond since she was a little child. Hut on this glorious September day. when the late mold lily roses were bor dering (be pnlli with delicate sweel ness, Rosamond, a fair, sweel rose her self, lliougbl Illfcjfe of Mrs. Phillips In distant liorlln. The day was made for her for her alone and I be Octagon House! She followed the stone wall lo an In torseeting fence which served as a stopping stone. In a trice she bad jumped lightly In the soft turf of the other side and sped swiftly across the dappled green toward the house. Tile crooked piazza, which followed the outline of the old house, was env ered with Virginia creeper. on:n nog turning to brilliant scarlet and gold. In one corner where the lines bung low and formed a curtain were a long wicker chair and a pile of Rosamond's favorite books. She bad tired of reading n>• 11 was silting half dl'owsy with sleep when a stop on the piazza roused her. Never before bad any one trespassed on her chosen relreut. She parted the vines and peeped through to discover a man's tail form bent to peer into I be half dm w:i shades of the long windows. He straightened up again, and she saw Unit bis clothes were gray and dusty and that while dust powdered bis dark hair. He was mopping bis forehead vigorously with a handkerchief, mid she noticed that Ills hands were bronzed by exposure to the sun. That the man was a burglar Rosa mond had not a doubt. Her heart al most stopped heating when lie glanced carelessly toward her vine covered re treat before he silt down on the top step to light a pipe. .“lie's wondering how to get in." murmured Rosamond to herself. “If only I were brave enough I would go out and frighten him away, hut 1 am fearfully afraid of burglars, and yet If he should break in and steal some of Mrs. Phillips' pictures 1 would feel dreadful, because 1 have enjoyed her hospitality miunkcd." She smiled thought fully and Mien sai very quietly. Presently she dropped a hook on the floor and rustled out of her retreat with a haughty expression on her sweet face. The stranger jumped to his fleet and pulled ofl' his gray cap. “I beg your pardon," ho stammered. “1 didn't know any one was around.” Rosamond flxed him with n cold stare while she mentally decided that he was too good looking to he engaged in such a nefarious pastime as burglar izing unoccupied country houses. She lifted her pretty brows inquir ingly. "You wished to see some one?" Why or no. 1 didn’t expect to see any one here. ! thought the place was vacant.” he stammered, knocking his pipe against (he railing and stuffing It Into his pocket. H is not vacant, l am here,” said Rosamond bravely. 'So 1 er see," with an air of cha grin. The house is well protected." 1 am glad of that," he said heartily. Rosamond imagined his tone was sarcastic. "Perhaps you wished to see my husband," she said iu a wavering voice. The man started violently, and his eyes forsook her face and dropped to the ground. "Of course it would lie a pleasure," he said. “Is he around?" Rosamond edged closer to the steps and ran lightly down to the path be low. l will call him. He is not far away," she cried breathlessly. Then she turned and sped swiftly toward the wall thill divided the place from her home. Once there, her father would telephone to the village for as sistance, and thus the burglary would be prevented. She thought she heard swift steps behind her, and she renewed her speed toward the wall Her heart was beat ing almost to suffocation as she step ped on a loose stone. She uttered a terrified cry as the stone slipped and she fell to the ground. Now she heard swift steps in reali ty as the stranger crossed the turf and hont anxiously above her. I hope you have uoi hurt yourself,” he said gravely. I have sprained my ankle.” admit ted the girl with white lips. "What were you tryiug to do—not to scale the wall?" “Yes." Why? Was your husband over there?" \ red flush crept to her brows. “Yes," she said. t-Riall l call him," asked the sus pected burglar frankly, “or shall 1 carry you hack to the piazza and get you some cold water? Where are the seri n ids? Have you occupied the house long? My aunt wrote me that the place u n • vacant." He hammered out the pm lion with reninivoless luistc. Rosamond stand with growing hor mr. “Who are you? Who is your aunt?” she gasper) in return. “I am Mrs. I’hillips' nephew, My name’s David i’hillips. I have bought flu* place, and I came down to look it over. I mis to have met. tin* real es- tnti- man at tin- station, lb.- came, Inn he forgot the keys, so I walked on. As lie said nothing about the place be ing occupied, I was surprised to find a tenant." Rosamond closed her eyes wearily, while her brain sought some escape from her appalling position. She was angry nl having placed herself in such a situation. She might; have known this good looking young man was not a burglar. She opened her eyes with suddenness and looked straight, at him “I wish you would go away." she said petulantly. “Of course, if you wish It. Hut you are suffering. May I not; call .some one to help you? T will look for your hus band, if you will tell me his name.” He stopped awkwardly. “I haven’t, any husband, she said recklessly. “You sec, I've boon in the lialdt of running over here and sitting on the porch and reading, and today I saw you looking in the window, and 1 thought you were a burglar, and so I tried to frighten you away by pretend ing I had a husband. I live next door, and my name is Rosamond Lee—so there! You may laugh if you want to.' “But I don't, want to laugh,” lie said softly, “i think it. was awfully brave of you, you know, when you believed me to ho a desperado Now, Miss Lee, you must let; me help you home again, for that, ankle needs attention at once. Permit: me as a neighbor and perhaps later on a friend!” Tie stooped and lifted her in his strong arms and car- rifil her through quiet bypaths to a small gate in the wall and thus up the rose bordered path into her father’s care. Many times after that. David Phillips strode up the rose bordered path to see Rosamond Lon, and the following .Tune, when the roses were rioting I he gar den, ho claimed her as ills own, and to gether they passed under the portal of the rejuvenated Octagon House, of which Rosamond became in fact the mistress. He Could Say "No." “A very dignified young man took a seat in a smoking car," said the host ess, who joined in the after dinner story tolling. “Near him were three traveling salesmen, well dressed, jolly fellows, one of whom suggested a game of cards, and the others agreed. They appealed to the young man to take part and make up a four handed ga me. “‘Thank you; I never play cards,’ came tho response to the invitation. “ ‘I am sorry for that. Will you have a cigar with us?’ added the spokesman, producing his case. “‘I am obliged to you, but T never smoke,' replied the digullled young man. “They thought they would jolly the young follow out of dignity, so the leader produced a ‘traveling compan ion’ and asked: “ ‘As you do not play cards nor smoke you will not refuse to join us in a drink?’ “ ‘1 thank you, gentlemen, but I nev er drink.’ “With this a venerable man with ministerial aspect sitting in the seat behind the young man reached forward and tapped him on the shoulder. “ ‘I have beard what you have said to these men,’ said the sedate old fel low, ‘and 1 admire you for the stability of character which has enabled you to shun had habits. I have a daughter in the parlor car, whom I should like to have you meet.’ “‘1 thank you, sir,’ replied the young man, turning about and facing the gentleman, ‘but, the fact Is, 1 never intend to marry.’ ” The Incorrigible Kid. “Israel W. Durham, the Philadelphia politician," said a Pennsylvania logis later, “owed part of his success to the flue way he kept his followers submis sive and obedient without hurting their pride.” “Mr. Durham could call you to order without offending you. Ouce, for ex ample, lie called me to order. He said I was incorrigible. He said, with a laugh, that 1 was as hard to manage as n little boy in a downtown school. “This youth's teacher told him he must add without counting on his lin gers. Then she gave Him several men tal sums, lie solved them, but from the way he kept looking down at his hands she knew ho wasn’t minding her. So she made Him put his hands behind his hack, and then she gave him an other sum. He answered it. too, cor rect ly. " ‘Good!’ she said. ‘You didn't count on your fingers that time, did you?’ “ ‘No’m. On my toes,’ said ho.” Quite a Mistake. A lady visitor at Blackpool was bathiug and was on the point of drowning when a boatman, who is a local wag, went to her assistance. Later in the day ho called where she was stayiug and saw a gentleman who, seeing the lady iu difficulties, bad of fered £20 to any one who would rescue the lady. This conversation, took place: Boatman—I am the man who saved the lady, sir, and 1 thought I'd call and see about the £20. The Gentleman—Y-e-s, I know, but when 1 made the offer I thought it was my wife who was in danger, and it turned out it was my wife’s mother. Boatman—Just my luck! Well, sir, how much do 1 owe you?—London Tit- Bits. Ofl THE HOOF, He Didn’t Want to Seize the Op portunity, hut She Did. By HARRIET LUMMIS SMITH. [Copyright, 1909, by Associated Literary Press.) “We'vo time enough yet to take a look at the city from the top of the Se curities building. It's worth seeing, you know.” Prudence should have vetoed the sug gestion. For the longer half of tho blissful afternoon Viol a had been aware that Raymond’s eyes were saying more than they should and that their mute eloquence was singularly sweet and satisfying. Considering the fact that she was as good as engaged to another man, discretion counseled flight. A voice within, an authoritative voice, cried out that at the best the day would soon be over and urged her to make the most of it. Viola compromised. “Mr. Raymond suggests our getting a view of the city from the top of one of the skyscrap ers,” she said, turning to her out of town guests, “if you are not. too tired”— And her heart leaped at the promptness of their protests. She walked beside Raymond silently, glad that he, too, seemed to have noth ing to say. Stic was frightened to find herself clinging so fiercely to the joy of that afternoon together. He had come upon them quite by accident, but Viola knew that Dut; for her he would have lifted his hat and gone his way. The gladness that leaped to her eyes nl the sight of him, the tremor in her voice as she spoke His name, had been his undoing—and hers. They had lunched and taken a drive along the boulevards. Viola’s country cousins had had < lie time of their lives. And now the western sky was red, and the time for saying good by was near. They stood looking down upon the city. Raymond, ns in duty bound, pointed out the objects of interest. The country cousins hung upon his words and declared that they would not have missed the sight for any thing. As for Viola, she had no eyes for the crawling streets between the stoop cliffs of brick and stone nor for the crawling creatures far below. Bra zenly she feasted her eyes upon him. lie turned suddenly and looked into her eyes, and his own caught fire. A moment later they were standing to gether in an angle of the roof, shel tered from the view of their compan ions. The noise of the city below them seemed far away. Baymond broke the spell by a down ward gesture. “I wish it were all miue.” “You mean the whole town? What greediness!” she laughed. “So that I could give it all to you.” “Thank you, but I’m not ambitious to be a plutocrat. Of course one must have the things one is used to. Pov erty is the worst of all.” “Is it?” His eyes challenged hers. “Oh, don’t! You make it so hard for mo!” “You make it hard for yourself when you fight against your heart.” “Oh, you don’t understand, rhil. It isn’t as if I had only myself to think of.” “Do you ever give a thought to me?” She put her bauds over her ears in sudden tremor. If she listened longer she was lost. “I must go,” she said hurriedly. “I’ve stayed longer than I should, but it was so pleasant.” She turned in a panic and fled across the roof, and lie followed slowly. When he overtook her her eyes were dilated. “They’re gone!” she gasped. “Who?” “Why, Leonard and Bessie. What could have induced them to go without us?” ■ “I don’t know, I'm sure. But they will bo waiting for us below without doubt.” lie tried the door, rattled the knob sharply and met questioning her gaze with a blank stare. “We’re locked up here," ho exclaimed. Then ns Viola laughed hysterically he added in haste: “Don’t be frightened. It will be very easy to attract some one’s attention.” Half an hour later, flushed and drip ping with perspiration as a result of his fruitless exertion, he acknowledg ed his mistake. “Your cousins must have thought we had gone down be fore them. But after they get: home and we fail to make our appearance it will of course occur to somebody that we're still up here. And the only thing to do is to resign ourselves to wait with what patience we can mus ter.” She looked at him reproachfully, but tie did not meet her eyes. He sat some distance from her. staring moodi ly at the roof. Furtively Viola put back her veil and smoothed her hair. Apparently her appearance was to him a matter of complete indifference. He never turned his eyes. Her sense of resentment found voice at last. “Are you going to sit here in absolute silence? Haven’t you any thing to say?” “I have plenty to say, but I can’t say it without taking advantage of the situation.” A long silence; then Raymond fell the slipping of a small hand down his sleeve. “I rather think. Phil,” said a tremulous voice, “that I want you to take advantage of the situation. ’ Help was long iu coming. As the darkness fell Viola drew closer, and her hand stole into his of its own ac cord. It was a night without a star, and for that reason it was the more star tling when suddenly a blinding illumi nation lit up tho space where they sat. Viola shrieked and hid her face on her lover's shoulder. “Only n searchlight, dearest. Rather startling on Ibis pit**]) black night, wasn't it?” Viola blushed iu liis arms. “Phil, do you suppose anybody saw?” The young man smiled. “Perhaps,” ho acknowledged. "In fact, little girl, I rather hope somebody did.” Fifteen or twenty minutes later the sound of approaching footsteps told them that release was at hand. Ray mond shouted. There was a sound of a key turning in the lock. A grinning policeman and the watchman of the building confronted them. Explana tions were exchanged. The elevator had stopped running at 0 o’clock, and the two young people descended the endless flights of stairs as blithely as if they were walking on air. Viola’s home was iu an uproar. The story brought by the country cousins had aroused grave suspicions, which Viola’s mother explained as she clung to her daughter. “It, couldn’t have happened at a more unfortunate time. To begin with, Mr. I’ickering was annoyed. Tie makes such a hobby of punctuality, you know. And then when Leonard and Bessie came in”— She raised her head from Viola’s shoulder and looked sharply at the young man who had escorted hor daughter home. Raymond bore her scrutiny in silence. It was Viola who prompted her impatiently. “Go on, mamma. When Leonard and Bessie came iu”— “It was. of course, entirely absurd,” declared Viola’s mother persistently, addressing herself to Raymond, “but one must make allowances for a. lov er’s natural jealousy. "When Leonard and Bessie said that, you had been with them all afternoon and that you and Viola had suddenly disappeared the poor man jumped to the conclusion that you had—eloped.” There was an impressive silence, which Viola improved by removing her hat. “Of course we must explain at once,” Viola’s mother continued. “Would it be better for you to phone him, Viola, or will you send him a note? Perhaps you had better phone him and say you are sending the note. You see, it is im portant that the matter should be cleared up without delay.” “I don’t know that it’s worth while to make explanations, mamma,” she said. “It, is true I didn’t have any in tention of eloping; but, just the same, I'm going to marry Phil.” What Wearied Him. A friend once asked an aged man what, caused him to complain so often at eventide of pain and weariness. “Alas,” replied he, “I have every day so much to do. I have two falcons to tame, two hares to keep from running away, two hawks to manage, a ser pent to confine, a lion to chain nnd a sick man to tend and wait upon.” “AVell, well,” commented his friend, “you are busy indeed! But I didn’t know that you bad anything to do with a menagerie. How, then, do you make that out?” “Why,” continued the old man, “lis ten. Two falcons are my eyes, which I must guard diligently; the two hares are my feet, which I must keep from walking in the ways of sin; the two hawks are my hands, which I must train to work, that I may provide for myself and those dependent on me as well as for a needy friend occasionally; the serpent is my tongue, which I must keep ever bridled lest it spealc un seemly; the lion is my heart, with which I have a continual fight lest evil things come out of it, and the sick man is my whole body, which is al ways needing ray watchfulness and care. All this daily wears out ray strength.” Had the Effect. “Y’os,” she said in answer to some thing he had said, “the old songs are very beautiful.” “Beautiful!” he exclaimed enthusi astically. “Beautiful hardly describes them. They are—they are—well, com pared with them the songs of today are trash, the veriest trash.” “I agree with you. yet the old songs sometimes contain sentiments that one cannot wholly approve.” “I think you are mistaken.” “I will give you an illustration. There is John Howard Payne’s ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ for instance. You surely do not agree with till the sentiments it con tains?" “Why not?” he asked warmly. “Why not?” . “Because,” she said, glancing at the clock, which was marking tho hour of II—“because there is a lino in that; song whic'li says ‘There’s no place like home.’ You do not believe that, do you?” Then he coughed a hollow cough and arose and went silently out into the night. She Is So Sensitive. “I wish some persons weren’t so all fired sensitive and ready to see an in sult when none is intended,” remarked the man with the troubled look, look ing for sympathy. “Now, last night 1 got myself into an awkward fix just trying to be agreeable and to please everybody. I went to see a young lady I think a great deal of—yes, I do think a great deal of her, but I wish she would be more seusible. Girl friend of hers was there, and it was her first visit: since she’d sent a crazy looking, good for nothing decorated cup and saucer with scalloped edges as a birthday gift. “ ‘When I was out shopping,’ the girl friend explained, ‘and saw that cup and saucer I just thought of you, Marguerite.’ “‘How? Hand painted, isn’t it?’ “Now, the recipient’s complexion is natural, as any one can see, and there was no reason for her to be so chilly toward me the rest of the evenipg. Hang such sensitiveness!”—New Y*ork Telegram. ONE AUGUST NIGHT, She Was Told the Story of the Lady of Shalott. By VIRGINIA LEILA WENTZ. (Copyright, 1909, by Associated Literary Press. J it had been an unusually oppressive day eveu for August. Every one seemed sleepy or sleeping. Cobblers slept with half mended boots in their laps; Italian women slept at their fruit stands with sleeping babies at their breasts; horses trotted conscientiously along in front of sleeping drivers. Iu the department store where An- tona Wheaton worked the day had been difficult, especially behind tho stuffy corner where she measured out: ribbons. And, oil, what a godsend tho loud sounding bell at 0 bad been! Most of the girls in the store were city bred, uud they accepted tho conditions of August philosophiaclly, but Antona Wlifeatou had come from a fresh little country town in tho west, and as she leaned from her boarding house win dow'—the third floor liall room, back— a few minutes before going down to dinner it seemed to her that she was locked iu a place of torment from which no escape was possible. They dined at 7 in Mrs. Brown’s boarding house. Iu the half hour that Antona had been home she had taken a sponge bath, brushed her silky, flax en hair and changed her black alpaca dress for a simple white muslin. As she leaned out of the window from the open space beside the storage house in the rear she could see tho dust carts roll down the streets. Tho whisk ing of their big rotary brooms remind ed the country bred girl of large tur key gobblers sweeping the earth with disdainful, proud wings. The open space faced the west, and, resting her little oval cheeks in her hands, Antona could see that the sun was doing its best to sot with some sort of rightful beauty, even in this homely downtown section. “Where the quiet colored end of evening smiles”— Antona was speaking to herself in a reprehensible fashion that was grow ing on her, trying to recall some verses which Francis Logan had quoted to her one sunset time down on the Bat tery. She had fancied she could re member them, they were so simple and lovely. Just then Mrs. Brown’s cracked din ner boll rang. Across the long, narrow table Fran cis Logan glanced at Antona with something like a lump born of a big, protective instinct rising in his throat. Every vestige of fresh country rose bloom bad fled from the girl’s sweet face, and iu the" intervals when she fancied she was not observed the young fellow’s alert eye noticed that black lashes rested heavily against her cheek as would those of one who is overweary. Antona’s weariness struck home per haps because of contrast. Francis him self was more than usually happy that uiglit. The big importing bouse where he was employed had that very morning sent a note to his desk Informing him that his salary had been increased some $10 a month. His dear mother, over in Devonshire, had just written him that a relative had left her an un expected little legacy. Altogether the world was going well with Francis Lo gan. “You look pleased, Mr. Logan,” ob served Mrs. Brown from her accus tomed seat at. the head of the table. “Ah, I remember—this is your favor ite soup!” For five years now young Logan had been an inmate of Mrs. Brown’s estab lishment without having ever changed his seat at table or liis room. Natural ly Mrs. Brown sought to ingratiate her self with him. “Why, my dear,” she had exclaimed once to Antona in a burst of enthusi asm, "lie knows all the poets by heart. He sees only the best plays, even though it may be from gallery seats. He knows all the finest pictures up in tho Metropolitan. He has what they call an ‘artistic’ taste too. My lands, you should hear him notice the sunset at the end of a narrow city street or a tiny flower out in the park or”— “Yes, I know,” said Antona impul sively, for once coming out of her re serve. “lie’s pure gold—that’s what he is!” “Huh! ‘Gold?’” Mrs. Brown had re torted disdainfully. “None o’ your pretty, soft yellow stuff for him. He’s good, solid, practical steel, if any one asked me. Don't you forget it, Miss Wheaton. And if you could be fortu nate enough to tie up to him”— Mrs. Brown had broken off abruptly at a flash from Miss Wheaton’s eye. One dared not presume too far with Miss Wheatou, in spite of the silky, flaxen hair and the childish dimples, as many of the young men in the de partment store had found out. “If only they could be a little more like Mr. Logan!” Antona liad more than once found herself commenting as she pinned up her colored bolts. "He is the sou! of honor, and I—I don’t know what I'd do without him!” “Had a stroke of luck today little gir!." Logan waylaid Antona as she was going upstairs after the scanty saucer of raspberries, made purple with milk, had been eaten. "I want you to come out tonight and help me celebrate—if you'll do me the honor.” A little later, from the basement din ing room window, Mrs. Brown, who was arranging her cloth for the next morning’s breakfast, watched them go up the street together. Antona. in her simple white muslin, wore a nodding spray of pink roses at her waist. As they walked toward tlic west the young fellow’s eyes were fastened adoringly upon her. “Guess they’ll hit it off all right,” commented Mrs. Brown as she went on refilling the porcelain saltcellars. “I’ll tell >oii what we’ll do,” said Francis as they walked toward the cars. “We’ll go out to Riverside drive and sit there for awhile till the night gets cooler; then we’ll go to some big uptown restaurant and order some ice cold chicken salad.” * “Oh,” broke iu Antona In economic defense, “I’d just as lief go to a drug store and have some nice soda." “Now, don’t you bother about the expense, little one,” said Francis gay- ly. “As I said, I’ve liad a rare stroke of luck today, and when we get out. on one of those cool benches on the drive I’m going to tell you about it.” Also be determined resolutely to himself he ■would tell her something else. She needed to be petted and taken care of. The car ride to the river was long. The sun glow had faded entirely out of the west nnd tlie gray veil that spread between the night anil day was already beginning to be pricked by llie city’s innumerable lights when finally they reached the drive and leaned over the stone wall that edged it. The Palisades on the opposite shore cast huge black shadows upon the water. Near by a yacht or two were at anchor. Silently, mysteriously, their lights came up, one by one. Over on the Jersey shore a big building which by day showed itself to be an unsightly factory now took on the majesty of a mediaeval castle. “See the turrets and spires,” said Francis, calling Antona’s attention to it. “Do you know the story the Lady of Shalott?” he added. “She lived in a grand castle—we’ll pretend that’s it,” lie nodded toward tiie factory— “and from the highest window she watched her lover, Sir Launcelot, go ing by, and she drifted down the river to find him. We’ll pretend this is the river, and—dear little Lady of Shalott, will you let me be your Sir Launcelot? I love you and want you to marry me and let me take care of you. Surely, little one. you are so fragile and sweet you need to ho taken care of. Will you ?” The girl’s eyes as he spoke were dis tant. All the yellow lights on the yachts seemed to be swinging them selves together. ******* “Just look at my hair, Francis,” An tona was saying twenty minutes later, with a shy note of laughter. “I’m looking at it, dear,” said Fran cis oddly, with something like a catch in his rich young voice. “And just to think I’m going to have it to look at all my life!” “Nicknackitorian.” Loudon shopkeepers’ slang is a dia lect in itself and one that is always changing. What, then, is a “nicknack itorian?” Wo know not the word to day; but, looking recently through some old law cases dating about a hundred years back, I was puzzled to find it applied in all good faith to describe a plaintiff in the sheriff’s court. On further search it turned out to be a piece of forgotten cockney slang for a dealer in bric-a-brac. The evidence showed that this plain tiff kept a sort of old curiosity shop, in which lie dispensed "mummies,” poisoned arrows, the head of King Ar thur’s spear and a genuine manuscript of the “first play acted by Thespis and his company in a wagon!” The de fendant, a woman, had actually bought and paid for some of these rarities, but she died after having com missioned the embalming of an oraug outang to add to her collection, and for this her executors refused to pay. Counsel for the defense poured con tempt on the mummy of the orang outang and called it a “stuffed mon key.” But the “nicknackitorian” won his case. His profession was more taking than his name.—Manchester Guardiau. An Equal Test. It is an interesting fact that the two studies of arithmetic and geography often seem to be opposed to each other in the affections of school children. Pupils who are particularly proficient in the one are apt to be backward iu the other. A story is told of a youngster who was slow in arithmetic and whose ap parent stupidity' in this field was a great source of grief to his father, a clever mathematician. One day when the father and son were walking out they passed a place where a “learned pig” was on exhibi tion, and the father took the boy in to see the prodigies that the animal could perform. “Just look at that!” said the father. “Why, there’s a pig that can count and add up numbers! Don’t you wish you were as smart as he?” “Ha!” answered the boy. “Just let me ask him a few questions in geog raphy! I reckon I could beat him at that!” Told by Sydney Smith. The late Lord Dudley was a most absentminded man. “One day,” says Sydney Smith, “he met me in the street and invited me to meet myself. ’Dine with me today; dine with me, and I will get Sydney Smith to meet you.’ I admitted the temptation held out to me, but said lie was engaged to meet me elsewhere. Another time in meeting me he put his arm through mine, muttering, 'I don't miuu walking with him a little way: I’ll walk with him as far as the end of the street.’ He very nearly overset my gravity once in the pulpit. lie was sitting imme diately under me. apparently very at tentive, when suddenly he took lip his stick as if he liad been in the house of commons and. tapping the ground with it, cried out in a low but very audible whisper. ‘Hear, hear!' ”