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VOLi IV. The life Brigade. Minnie Mackay. oh Wild ars the mountainous billows That break on the rooky s.hore, Wildly whistles the •tqntwtt’ind Through ereviye, . window, and fdoor Down in relentless lory Falls n torrent of ley rain, And, black with its wrath, the tern „ [pest , Hides o’er the rolling main. i Hark! ’mid the strife of waters A shrill despairing cry, As of some drowning sailor In bis last agony! Anothci! and now are m'ngled Heart-rending shrieks for aid Lo! a sinking ship; What bo I U'O'ise, Arouse the Life Brigade, They come with hurrying footsteps; No need for a second call; They are broad awake and ready, And willing one and all. Not a hand among them trembles, Each tread is firm and free, Not one man’s spirit falters 111 the face of the awful sea. Yet well may llie bravest sailor Shrink back appalled to-night. From that army of massive, breakers With their foam crests gleaming [while. Those beautiful, terrible breakers, Waiting to smitqh their prey, And bury von hapless vessel ’Neath a monument of spray ! But rugged, and strong, and cheery Dauntless and undismayed. Are the weather-beaten heroes Os the gallant Life Brigade. “To the rescue!” shouts their leader Nor pauses for reply— A plunge!—and Hie great waves bear him Away lo do or die. 'The whole night long, unwearied, They battle with wind and sea, All ignorant atql, heedless 4 Os what lliyir end may be. They search the tajfercd rigging, They climb the quivering mast, And life after life is rescued Till the frail ship sinKj at last. The .thunderous clouds have van fislied, And rose-fingered morn awakes, While over the breast of ocean The shimmering sunlight breaks; And the Life Brigade have finish tail The work God gave them to do. Tlieii names are called. "Any mi— [sing?"’ Mournful the answer, —“Two!” • Two of the best and brav- st Have been dragged by the cruel [waves Down-to the depths unmeasured ’Mid thousands of sailor graves! Two lives are given for many, And the tears of sorrow shed, Should be tears of joy and glory For the grandeur of the dead! She Won the Fight. Mattie bad a fiery temper, but that,Klip, ber worst .fault* When she married Marsh Hunter, p-opl; said : ‘•She’ll makg Ids lifea warm bus iness for 1 irn.” ~ B.tu MaUie.l bought differently. ‘l’ll show them what a triumph Jove will work. I’ll teach them I am not the vixen T s!vni.’ And so she married him —the wed j ding was a very pleasant affair something lo look back to as long as they lived. Mattie looked very 6weet in her new white Swiss. Her long, jetty curls trembled and shone in the, brilliant light, her eyes sparkled like twin stars, and her soft cheeks were mantled in softer blushes as "she leaned trust ingly on the strong aj oi of lhe stal wart man who was to he her guard and guide through lffe. The honey moot) was rich with tile pleasures of hew married life to the humble pair, hut the time soon came when the bride must leave the old roof-trie for the untried re alities of n home ol her own. Th’s was the first sorrow—the trial of leaving home and mother—but it was fleeting, for in thee xcitementot ‘‘setting-up” housekeeping in the white cottage on Squire Blackburn’s farm the liu,le sorrow was drowned. It was very funny, ar.d Mr. Marsh laughed and Mattie laughed, when just they two sat down lo the little, new table and ate the viands : prepared by MaUie’s own hands. Everything was new and strange- ; ly sweet. Everything went on so nicely, and Mattie was triumphant lint all things earthly must change. The weather grew warn and the kitchen ho,t.,,and one of the hottest days of the season she had the head ache, and the supper must be ready , Walker County Messenger. at five o’clock. Mattie tried to get it ready, hut burned her wrist; then she burned ber bread, Then she looked at the clock, and saw that it had stopped, and looking out of the door she saw Marsh. • - ‘lh supper ready?!,be asked, nnd she blurted out something, nnd they had their first quarrel. Oh, dear me, the first quarrel. How sorry it made the poor little woman. But Marsh looked sullen, and went ofi without kissing her. They never talked the quarrel over, sim ply beer use they were bolh too proi.d to broach the subject. After that quarrels came oftener and ea sier. They did not mean to quar rel, but Bomb how angry words w uld eome up. After amine a little hoy came to' their hnttsebi Id, and it seemed for a month or two a good deal like he "ell remembered liorey-moon; but Matties wretched ternuer would fly to pieces again, and the happi nee. »i.s spoiled. ‘1 V curious we can’t get along w' , in.t;t so much quarrelling,' said Mn.'-I), one winter day. M. .e I’eU the j ears in her eyes in a o■ nmer i, and .fierhe.u t softened towards Marsh, nuJ slu was about to eon! ss her faij ngp,and ask foi glv s«, when In continued — ‘i s all your hateful temper, Mat lie \on know H is.’ That was enough;, and what was men' ; to lie a reconciliation was s’ e" another quarrel. ‘Ob, dear me,,H is my wretched temper—l know it is,’sobbed Mai ne, after Marsh went out; but he need’nt have said s<>.’ 'll I only wasn’t so blunt,’ said he with a sigh. So things went from had to worse f.iitle mistakes were imagined in to terrible wrongs. The Height>or J had their fi l ! of gossip about else mii.ler, and finally mie day, when Mpngb was away, Matt e thought the tiring over. T am a wretched liti'e nuisance,’ i.e a id mental! ' : ‘1 don’t know why I am so either, lut I cannot help it !' she said, despairingly, her eves filing w h '.ear*. ‘l've a great mind to tsi;e Neddie and go home, and Slav there. Mv shame could >ot be any greater than it is.’ She e'asped the baby close in her arms; and the tears fell fast on his curly head. Her heart seemed bursting within her, but she wrapped t.he child in her shawl, and with a quickened step siie fled the place and hurried across the snow-covered fields to her mother’s. ‘What’s the mailer,child ?’nsked her mol her, as Mattie, pale and shivering appeared at the do«r. Don’t a-k me. mother,’sobbed the wretched Kttle woman. ‘You i.'n’t left home?’ ‘Yes, mother forever.’ ‘Don’t say that to me. You shall go back this instant,’ said her mother, thinking of the scandal that was suie to follow such a pro ceeding by her miserable daughter. ‘Ob, don’t mother,’ and Mal.ie looked the picture of despair. ‘Tell me about it my child,’ said the mother, melted into tenderness by the look. Toen Maltie through her teais. told her mother nil, a>'d ended with these pitiful woicls— ‘But. oh, mother, I do love him, the Inriier of m? en .d I love him but lie don’t understand me. il he could but understand me 1’ and she fell sobbing beside her. mother's k i i e. ‘]a ime rdv’ve yon, mv child,’ so i 1 y stinking her daughter’s glossy hair. ‘l’ve passed th'oligh : t all. and I'll leM you a secret. There h almost, certui'. lo ne mistakes corn" tip between husband and wife, and often words lire spoken that are re gretted a moment afterwards. But my child. such a word can do no harm, if repented of nnd a enn fe-sion made. ]f you have said anything lo wound yourhushapd’s feelings, no matter what be may have said to you, go and tell him yoq are sorry, and I know that he will not only forgive you, but will \ beg.you to forgive him. The hour ; that follows will he more delight ful tnan the hour of your wedding j Let me tell you of a little instance j in my own life.’ And her mother told of ohe of LAFAYETTE, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, APRIL T, 1881. those Tittle family differences that come up between so rnnny worthy couples. The story ended so pleas antly that it soot lied the tempest in tiie lireast of the heartslci daugh ter. After the story was done, Mattie kneeled, resting her tired head on her mother’s knee. Her mother stroked her glossy hair in silence for a quarter of an hour, hut Mat tie’s thoughts were busy. Suddenly she. arose, took her 1 child into her arms and wrapped it close in, her stiawl and prepared to go. ‘Where are you going, my child?! asked her mother. ‘To make my confession,’answer ed Mattie, through her tears. ‘Heaven bless you my !’• child' said her mother. When Marsh Hunter came home that night a pretty scene met his view. The fire was burning bright ly on the hearth, and before it stood Mattie, dressed in a neat cal ico wrapper with snowy collar and cuffs, and a scarlet how of ribbon at her throat. Baby sat on his pal let. before the fire , crowing lustily, and heating the floor with a tin rattle. Supper was on the tnhle, and the tea was steaming on tlie hearth. Marsh was cold, but such a scene as that warmed him. He went straight ,tq the pai.'et and com menced jo. romp with the baby-| Mattie went and knelt there too, de termined to n uke her confession, hut she did not know how-to com mence. It was very easy to think bet'ir. hand, hut when the time e nne she was lost. 1 There, was an awkward pause; then both spoke at once: ‘Mattie, I’ve been —’ ‘Marsh. I’m sorry— ’ Their eyes met, end each saw t ii e tenderness in those of the other; all was now told in an instant. Both made their confession. Marsh opened his arms and, Mqtg lie fell sobbing on his breast., while baby looked on ir. amazement. From that hour they were the hap piest of couples. Bank Smith's Old Bud. Nature woiks her own curious! ways. We find roses in the shadow j of nesl-mmsi s.and we find a sudden streak of goodness hidden way down in the heart of a thorough villain. Big Hank Smith, of Devil’s Elbow, was a hardened res cal. Nature built Idm fora viilia". She gave him a leering, hang-th-g j look. She gave Ido the eves of ■ j tignr. Sim gave lri.ui a mouth t lint a wolf might have envied. Yon knew Hank for a villain at tiie fiist glance and he always seemed as if he knew you knew it. It took a good deal to wake un our camp. The-e were farmers from Ohio,hrokeu-di wn'radeanien from Indiana, mechanics from Illi nois, and two or lh.ee ex preachers and school mas'er- I'-om New England, a ml we dido t'm oscle-up” and slam-hang men into eternity as thev did up the Gulch, a,wd down on the Flats. That’s !i,e rea-on why Big Hank Smith tnmle our camp Ids hcudqu iters.. llis pro session was that of n gambler and it was strongly suspected that hr was n thief and robber, and sotne tbiiig worse. Alb-r several bold robberies ai.d two attempted rntii di-rs ii our caniti, it, was decided 'lift H nk ino-t We had ni proofs, yet even-body felt sure he was ti e guilty man. We expected a row, tint none ome. He packed op Id- ns n si" »n s, ence. • |;ii •; Iris own t me lor it, ai d win e lie camp was at i oner, l,<> skti|kcd , away, going tnwa ds the Flats. He was only out of sight of camp when ' he met ore of our men who had; been down ttie trail, arid without j wind or provocation, he diew Id's 1 bowie-knife and slashed an I cut! until his victim had a dozen mor tal wounds. A Chinaman saw the whole affair from the hushes and brought us the news, arid so it i happened cat Big Hank had not i left our camp over two hours before he was brought back as. a priso- i ner. His victim was still alive, and we had plenty of proofs for hanging the murdeier, I j Dtvil’s Elbow was at last excited. L Men who wouldn’t shy a stone at a dog, were now anxious to pul! on 1 the hangman's rope, and Big Hank Smith had only to look at the pale and determined faces around him lo realize that his career was ended, ’l el we diiln t rush things. Every body was agreed that the man must hwe a little time to prepare himself or eternity, and lie was told that ne should hve till sun down. Hen plied: ‘"Bah! You arc all a pack of coyotes, at dis I had free hands, and a kn ife I could drive vou ail off the’ldiU” And now a curious circumstance occurred. No one had ever stopped to wonder if Big Hank had father or mother or otlnr relatives, hut about mid-afternoon a man came Idown the gulch from Four Jacks with a n essage for our prisoner. It was to the.eff ct that his father, a .man over 70 years old, was coming down to see him, and would reach the Elbow sometime next forenoon They had not met for twenty yeats, and the old man had S[ient several years and a heap of money looking for his missing son. Well, sir, that news melted Big Hank Smith in no time at all. I was one of the guards over him and I saw nnd heard ail that, was said and done. In five minutes the murderer's countenance lost its wolfish, brutal look, the hateful gleam milled out of his eves, and I couldn't have sworn he was the same man. He asked for some of our leaders to come in, nnd when they wete there he eyplnireri: ‘T killed Pete White, and it’s proper I shoo'd swii g for it. I simply vvatiU-d to say thf t my old dad will he hero to-morrow. God never made a belter man. I ran awa v from home years ago. and he’s round me at last. Fe thinks of me as an honest, respectable man. and if lie knew the truth it would kill him. lie’ll come here, because there’s no excuse to stop him. n.-id I’ve got this favor to ark: Being as yon are going to ba.og trie any how and being as a few hours cairit help or hurt either sole. T want the per formance to come <-ff half an hour from now. When it’s over give me. a decent burial on the hill, and then fix up a si rv lo tell niy old dad. Tell him I die-1 f fiver, or fill off the cliff, or war iteridentally ‘-hot. — anything but (I •• truth. lie’s an old.man* - His I air if gr tv .m l his face is wrink!'•’■' • • r l.« ’tf apeak softly and I i.v ■ ■ h eh'.ills'. <-o - fidenoe 11 •* ‘ I o'' Mm I mi 1 tin hnlhn ; ■ini '■ i I) nl’l say tl at I •< g' .! ‘ r, lllift rob. 'onrnii In .rri ra. fit around it some w .-, for ios..sake:i Dig tvv grave wl,,!n you will, he’ll kneel beside ii and offer up a prayer, and tie’ll have i -as in his eyes as he talks to you. I ask lids favor and this oi Iv. ami if von are men you’ll grant it ” I tell von it surprised us to see that hi.rdir dvi in lockdown that way. and t Ik in that rnnnr.fr, and if hisirim l ad k.e<ui anvll-i' ■ loss loan «’•■!. d murd, r he would I have hei-o ;■ i:*ivvl lo walk out <>f j camri A- 'to 1 ' ’ 1 liang. Camp ' v - ;,r;! i l -."' Whether legal • t not. Big Hank j received the promises lie asked for. j and shortly after 4 o’clock he was ‘ led out and hung by the neck llliii' ' dead. He was a game mao, and died as he had lived. As the noose was slipped over his neck he said. ‘•lris a dog's death? but. I'm to blame for il Be civil to the old rjn.n; but tell him anvthiug 'out the Put;,, (hi head w ith your hang ),.t , \y, you think? w, r. . '• 'r-» o! of 1. f>’ ' nnd ! H ' | WO ’ ( ov »' J' <! Uitn riu '» • * • 1 G wn, • !»' B ud. nr,'! >t i> noon ttie Elbow was (h sort A a man had ttiesand to rermiin .i < * ; and face the poor old man and lie j to him ahoiit his boy. When lie ! came down the trail he found tiie I C! ,inn deserted, hut on the hill sms | n new-made grave and a sign read- | ing: | lIENBY SMITH, agkd about 36. F«ll off a b irrel and died soon after. His lather will find some relics .down at the Flats. , Dttrpit free Prern- • X Mutt of Ability. John Forrester was very correct ly r.nmetl, for until a lew days ago, he had spent his life in the woods. Several days .-.go he threw aside his insnl. came to the city, and now i handles the somewhat lighter rock !,-.miner. The stotv of John’s downfall shall he t.rii fly related. Shortly alter arriving in town he was attr..cleil by ii sign hearing the ioM-ripiiot : “Meals at Al 1 Hours." Entering the place and meeting the proprietor, he said— “ You keep u tavern here, don’t yon?” ‘ No. I keep a restaurant.” “I don’t know much shout your rv w names, but you feed folks here, don’t, von?” j' “Yes. sir.” ‘ Wi 11, I want to hoard here three days, I reckon or until 1 get a job of some kind. I see your sign says ‘meals at all hours.’ You don’t mean that, do you?” “Certain!v I do. I’ll board you three days for 53.” ‘ “And. give tue my meals at all hours?” “Yes, sir.” “Here, take the $3 I never set myself tip as a regular enter, hut I vvi 1 1 buck agin you for the next three dll vs. I Drink that I stand her about *1• .t !o'g. I’’s 11 o'clei h., G <-e M'e something to ’ eat.” A meal was brought out. and quickly elippa'clmo; and remarking that 1 < would be back on time, Mr. ; Fori ester left. Al 12 o'clock be ci tve back and ale again. 'You net-dn’t si arc at me,” he Si id lo one of too waiters. ‘ Yon are a regular boarder, are you?” “Thn '--g o' if-t one you’ve got. I ibin'l i'li. , .. n ss annul. I've cit a e!n "i . v to oil even for beio in" ii m v a time.” A' 1 ..I J ’in came b.-n-k and ven ii i * be t.nng up bis but: “I’m on liuiv. It’s one o'clock. Bl'lcg Ine stilhill’ to eat.” The waiter went away mutleripg anil, brought n a rather slim meal “Look a here." saii'l JchP, 1 don’t go hark on \ our contract. I reckon voi did tailor underrate my ability but I’m ii iimn.” At two iM-.lock John cante hack and (mi.-*.a s The proprietor r me i aol asked I• iill tt'liat he v aijti r . , •I win-1. mv dinner, supper, or i real I - v j'ist what you area mind ol Cal I' It.” '.‘•You Lave nlready'.eaten here three times In-my.” “i know trial.” “Whv do you come ag’ain?” “Bee list it’s two o'clock.” “iris t "■ sttp[ier rime.” “Nn. [Jut it’s two. o’clock lime.” ‘I t understand you. What e'l it?” .' tiding m.iy have ,f n t my ability. I ! can . ; o unelerstandiim ll,t 1 . emv meals at all i • , p-•:... ' ■■* men nilheree,' I(I : von 'av ' a.i 'l' .'lllariv.” I ’ “N, ... ; I " tie regular. It Whs the Hgm m ' tlnit I was to 1 liim. eatm . • n ni.ur, and lam .ring In sb . ! i wiv contract if it |, .evs in“ s i. n. as light as a g,.n .wn i tine o: . You ate trying •«. ;. ■ we i n ne hern use I’m from ,~i i . -if). H' rat'ae ini.i v. i - » s*- me up ey i .-i i„ *. and I’i.i c'izvtn’ i . I. 'i, mv liUMius.« i.,i ii.it i-'ti r I 'i ■ , I I n .... 'I ! :•t .- m t «.- - .» ■ You r. - qu - - i . ■ p: e- •*.■» Iy tho I sa*-.. * pat jot. would in I ,t ?(.bp( COllfl v i ■ i jet saw a. mart aho ! until i ».,..(• to Sn,„ ril’d two ones I eng! g. 4 in battle, so. long as his I .own dog was baying, the beat of it. Coaxing Sarah. •lusti. e Alley had hardly hconopenep t to legal tnisiness yesterday morning when a sleigh contuinig seven or ci|h' ( pei-ons troiii hrynng tho eily iiuiils, drove up to the door n! a popular jus tice and idled out with un air of busi ness. Ili> honor was poking of the fire 1 when on old man bcckonJ him into u • corner and wltbp -red. • ‘(litaj ib of splicing here for ve! My > darlcpfciaru.il hero is gsing'to bach to iha’tiohup there- with die Hue comforter and then we're g dug out to have some r oysters." ’ ‘‘Albright.-’ -wits.tho reply, and in iwo minutes the official was all ready. The man with tho Blue comforter peeled hisoveioott, laid aside his hut and extended his hand to Surah. “I won’t do it I’ll die first!’ she i said,'os she shrank away. “Slid's a little timid,' explained tho o'd man, while tiie mother rebukingly observed. “Sarah, don’t yntAmoke a fool of 1 yourself here. William will make you a g"od husband." “And don’t you forgbt ii (‘added Wil liam. G mie, Sural'.’’ “1 won’t unless we can go to Now York on a hrid it tower?’ she annpped. ‘ You'd look nice bridle toweling around New Yoik wiih no belter duds than you’ve got! si id the mother. ~ “Now, Sarah you s and up and get married "Be kooi-fu', mo Imr—don't mak’er J mad.” warned the old man. ‘Now Sa rah, if ye ha k out everybody will lass at us ’ ‘F don’t keer, 1 want t> travel.’ ‘You shall,' nnwswered Williaui. ‘Where ?’ ‘Wiri I go to tho House of Coirection.’ ‘Tuin’t fur ’nuff.’ Tho old man beckoned William and Sarah a-ide an 1 began- Now, Sarah, W'lliant jist dotes on : you ’ .('But I wartt a'bridle tower.’ , ‘Yes, but you can’t have one; • The railroads arc all snowed utiler, and tow ers have gone out. of fashion anyway.’ ‘Then I w nt a diamond ring.’ ’ j 'Now don’t say that, Sarah, fur I went 1 i to every sto-c o i last Suturda; ant il ey j was out of diamond ring-'.’ ' j ‘Then 1 want a set of uiink 'ar>,' i ‘Mink tin s, William. I know v.o'i’d I buy ’em for her ii* «• seeolwl, lint they 1 liave.gone mil of atyle nnd can't Ve i lint. Din rah, I'm yet- latino-, baiu’t t V’ ‘Yes, flint.’ ‘Atut Fine ofways been tender vvilli ye?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Tlieii he tender with me. I want to see ye married to William. You can't haven tower, nor a diamond ring, nor a set of furs, but I'll buy ye a pair of new gaiters. William will pay for the oysters, am! I'll see that inothei- divides lip tlm dishes and bedding with ye. Sarah, do you want to see my gray hairs bowed down?’ ‘N-o-o.’ ‘Then don’t Hunk out.’ ‘Will they be two dollar gaiters?’she asked. •Yes.’ .n‘.AiuJ all the oysters that we can cat?’ , ‘Ye.l, ait yon kin stuff.’ •And n tower next fall, if wheat does well ?’ ‘V e-. ’ * ‘Then 1 guess I wilt. Come, Bill,. I don’t keer tvve cents for you, but then L want to oblige my father.’ A Mol tier’s Boy. ; ‘ls tin re n vacant plnce in this bank which I could fill ?’ was the; inquiry of« boy, ns with glowing cheek lie stood before the Presi dent. ‘There is none,’ vvrs the; reply, ‘Were vou told that you might ob tain a situation here! Who recom mended Vim ? ‘No one recommended me,’ was the nnswer. H'only thought 1 , n ould -ee.' There-was a straightforwardness ' tu the manlier, nn I o est delornii- I ration in the countenance of the I ,<■!, p!ens“d the man of hus -s, in d imlur-ed liim to continue ib*. i uviis itioii. He said : ‘Yon :iiu.-t I,nve friends who could aid j I v u in a sifiatioi.; hake-you advis-1 <• u p i Diet.i ?’ i quick flush of the drop HI ue i - (j:i i olliml in tiie ur.detly ii g u ee of sadness, as lio said, too g ’i naif musingly,‘My mother si id t was no use in trying with ■ .nt fri.et ds;’ then, reeollfCtibg liim si if lie at i-ologized for the inter rupt»un. and was about to with draw, when the gentleman detain ' «-d him by asking trim why lie did not t-l.i' at echo'd another year or wo in d then et.ter into liusincs ‘I have no lime,’-was the instant reply,.‘hot.l.study* at home and NO. 35. keep up with tlm other toys.’Then [you have a place »»ln-h<fy•?’ said ■ the interrogator. ‘Why did you J leave it?’ ‘I have not lelt it,’ answered the hoy quietly. • ‘Yes, hut yon winh to have it. What is the mutter?’ For an instant the child hesitn j ted; then lie replied, with a half re luctant frank ness, ‘I must rio more for mv mother. Brave words! talisman of suc cess anywhere, everywhere. They sank into the heart of the listener and recalled the fnrgntton past. Grasping the hand of the astonish ed hoy, lie said, with a quivering voice: ‘Sly good hnv what is your name? You shall (ill the first vacancy that occurs in the bank. If, in the meantime you need a friend, come tonic. Hut give me your confi dence. Why do you wish to do more for your mother?’ Tears filled the boy’s eyes as he replied ; ‘Sly father is dead, and my si-- lers and brothers are dead, and mother anil I are left to help each other, hut she is not strong, and I want to take care of her. It will please her that you have beer so I kind,and I atn much obliged to yo j.’ So saying ‘the hoy left, little drenmmgtlia-t his own nobleness of of character had been a bright g'nnce of sunshine to the busy world lie had so tremblingly en tered. Fooling a Magician. A few days since in one of tho eastern owns of tins State, a trnvelin s'eight of hand performer made I.is appearance. Mountingn box In | meeedtd to show liis vari ous magical performances. Finally lie told I is large audience that lie would do a difficult thing, in rnnkin •i silver dollar, which lay on-llie palm a!' ins open. hand, instantly I pass into (lie ; ocket of a spectator. I lie mouths of his auditors gaped wider than before, and' with eyes fixed on him they heard the nragic •presto, cliangi!' Then the'per former called out to a rlarKoy ft Hid ing on the outside of the crowd, bidding him ‘produce that dollar.’ In a second the darkey went- up and holding a quantity of.small change in his hand, said,' “Ileali. boss, is eighty cents; I spent 20 ci tils of flat dollar you gin me for a cigar and two shorts.” Never was there a ‘‘deader give away,” and amid the yells of the crowd the sleight-of-hard mar stepped trow his box and walked away. lie had arranged the matter of the'dollar in the pocket with the darkey during tho day, hut the latter could not resist the tempta tion to take a passing pull at the currency ere it left his possession.— Neuburn Afans'and Observer. Napoleon f. .-aid that agriculture was the body and soul of tho empire and in the height of his gl i. v he gave the sub jeer. his attention and encouragement. ; and established in France a departfne t I-of agriculture. From the start thus giv j cn this great art, Franco has become the riche-t and oru of the most power ful and prosperous among the people of 5 the earth. Thi.ty nine out of cvety folly of her population do not spend, ■■ c ] cording to Sir Robert- Peel, spend their income, but lay something by. Cupid in a sportive mood: ’Thus ifarry-svho the silence broke; ‘Miss Kate, w hy are you like a tree?' | IJetmuse, lieeattse—l’m broad,’ she spoke; •O, uo; Ijoeatiseyo'.ire woo’d,’ said he ‘Why are you like a tree?’ said she. * I have a—heart?’ he asked so low. Her answer made the young men red : ‘Because you sappy, don’t you know. When Athens was in its glory ns a s j at of Knowledge not me busi ness man in seven could write his name, and professional assassins usK'd ouly twelve dollars to put an enontty out of the way. liemembt r these little things when you read of i the glory of Athens. Farmers gather tyhnt they sow. j While seamstresses sew what they | gatluer. The young man of the period is I one whose career has come to aifu II ! stop.