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^CAUGHT by the tide.
Bin? «>etr mugs and their life-boat lays;
^ ■r !” l l the gossip to guest winter from time host round
cka ge wild in the
l* of , Cornish COW*;
„ dangerous leTty of the sailor, and of
are p of yarns
There STof ^ out at sea,
the li 8 ,, ‘ lKrac * ke€ P cr8 ’ and
"“"tf women who bend away the m knee the storm time,
ffben t v eir mates are the
.nd the cott .ge is left to roar
hurricane tolling the surf to foam, and
° f the about the shore;
.creaming that ever I heard to make
0nt best of all tales
think better of men
me their lives for duty—it happened
in
_v 0n ask me when ?
underfill summers evening, just as hol¬
On » w
iday time began.
bad for its scene old Cornwali-its hero a
,, Coastguardman !
party of ■ 1 flippers" had ventured to visit
i rocks awl caves,
the find their houses, and ig
•There tbs sea birds
norant folks their graves;
may eeareb for wild adventure on the sea
fon south and noi tli,
coast (lie village
Bnt for beauty, travel by Truro to
of perranporth.
It vas there on tlii- summer evening, on the
beach as the daylight died,
That a wandering, thoughtless fellow was
caught at the turn of the tide;
n» P came the sea and trapped him, cutting the
ground from his feet:
& rushed, but he couldn’t go on ward-then
back, there was no retreat 1
pp came the ee& still closer—was it death?
Hot a second to count—
Hen setting his teeth at the danger, to the
digs lie began to mount.
Tearing the turf and the grasses, and scaring
the sea birds’ nest,
Clinging with feet and fingers, and bruising
” and breast,
his arms
At last with a desperate struggle he lifted his
life to a stone,
(There he held with a cry for a second, sus¬
pended in air, alone 1
Once more death barred his passage; and his
terrified face turned gray,
For the ledge of the rock he clung to was
crumbling slowly away!
“(There is the man for a rescue ?” so the cry
of agony ran.
“Tam that man, God willing!” said Began,
tho Coastguardman !
Then followed a terrible silence, a horror that
might be felt,
For the village was emptied of women, who
muttered their prayers and knelt;
They could see the eyes of the shivering man,
with the agonized face turned gray,
A« stone after stone from his safety-ledge kept
slowly crumbling away!
“Bring me a rope 1” said Began, “and bind it
about my waist;
Look at that wretched fellow! In a second
he’ll fall 1 Make haste !
Keep the cord tight in your hands, mates—
there, tighter so, and stiff;
Now, wait till I give the signal 1 Then haul me
over the cliff.
Why do you stand there staring? I’ll save him,
mates, if I can;
If I die, I have done my duty 1” said Began
the Coastguardman 1
He swooped to liis prey like an eagle, as they
lowered with bated breath ,
(This man with ids brave life given to a fellow
condemned to death;
The silence grew more awful, and agony paled
on the lip
Of the women and men who waited; till at
last wi ll a mighty grip
The man of the coastguard seized him, aud
tightened his arms around
This prize he had risked his life for—then
searching for safety ground
They swung from the ledge together, for the
rope was taut and stiff,
Till it dragged the burdened hero to the arms
of the crowd on the cliff!
There are times when the heart’e too full, air,
for even onr English cheers.
But the women they crowded around him with
kisses, and prayers, and team !
Bo tell it about from the south to north, pro¬
claim it where yon can;
Go spread it forth from PerraDporth—this
tale of a Coastguardman ! — Punch.
Disenc lianted.
Mr. Fitzroy Castieton reclined on an
tlegant little sofa, in an attitude
«t once graceful and easy. He
Was certainly very handsome ye
—
there was a something in his tout en
temble that would have prompted a gen¬
tleman to utter “conceited puppy 1” on
encountering features him, of a sadden. His
were of the straight, Grecian
The wold, and his lips exquisitely modeled.
eves, of a dark, violet gray, large
ud liquid, seldom looked you fairly ami
squarely half-veiled in the face, but were generally
beneath a wall of Ions',
soft eyelashes—Mr. Castieton knew that
those eyelashes were perfectly irresisti¬
ble—and his mustache was the very per¬
fection of hirsute art, soft, silken and
glossy, curling over the lip with a
wavy grace, which nearly drove the
Broadway they dandies distracted with envy,
m strove in vain to plaster their
jury horns of rebellions hair into some
hmg like its undulating curves. No
M V, eVer knew the time or pains that
«r. Castieton bestowed ou his beloved
»ustache 1
As be lay there lazily, conscious that
wspose could not be improved upon, it
to? k en possession that some of pleasant the citadel vision of
■ • .
utted jsmind, from the occasional smile that
across his face.
Wouldn’t it be glorious ?” he solilo
puzed, g aloud. almost “I’ll as though he were tliink- loim
Tears never call those
if, of unsuccessful endeavors wasted,
at th e er| d> I succeed in winning such
11* '*7® i j Prize Nina Aubin It makes
as 1
J aea< T dizzy even to think of it—-it’s
e a dream 1 Yet no—it is, indeed,
RJorious reality, for last night, in the
otoua gloom of that thrice-blessed
I boldly put the question,
she, with the prettiest blushes that
t’ 1 .77' ve ll, that isn’t to the point—suf
it that I, Fitzroy Castieton, have won
,i beautiful heiress to more thousands
a* ^ ? au think of, without an ecstatic
Bl • that anatomical hollow where
^ i °gtste the heart 1 Heart—
50, lestick! say is
There’s no such thing. It’s
orain! But I flatter myself that my
s i, the business was done remark
iov We ^’ tike to see any fellow get
.JVn e thag I his did knees last ifi more graceful
■ night. ”
And, catching a glimpse of himself in
an opposite mirror, Mr. Castieton gave
his shirt-collar a little twitch, and pro
ceeded:
‘ ‘Just see how wrathful all my Nina’s
disappointed donkey danglers will be 1 That
Carleton—he’ll be fit to hang
himself 1 M ell, I think Nina has showed
superb taste in her selection of a hus¬
band, and I must be excrutiatingly po¬
lite for a while, I suppose, for the little
spoiled beauty thinks it’s her I’m in love
with; whereas entrenous, my dear cigar,
it’s her gold. If she were a yellow¬
faced hag of sixty. I’d marry her just
the same. After we’re married, how¬
ever, I’ll soon settle that matter. She
may go to France then, for all I care, so
long as I have the handling of her bank¬
book 1 That reminds me—I must send
her a little bijou of a betrothal ring
pearls, I suppose, with some sort of a
sentimental motto. That will be diffi¬
cult to manage, though, for my credit’s
getting deuced low. I can’t play the
confidence game much longer; yet I
think Gold k Co. will trust me, if I just
whisper a word or two about my expec¬
tations. I’ll make the experiment at all
events 1”
At this stage of matters, Mr. Castieton
tossed his cigar out of the window, and
took up a tiny tray of cards and notes,
which had all this time been standing
unheeded at his elbow, so rapt was he in
Elysian dreams. Some were perfumed
billets-doux, some cards of invitation
and some—his face grew very black over
these—were threatening bills, and dun ¬
ning letters from indignant tradesmen.
“This confounded tailor’s bill, again 1”
orowled Mr. Castieton, savagely. “He’D
put in an execution, he says. Will he ?
May he find something worth his trouble
—there’s nothiug here belonging to me,
I’m very sure. That scamp of a boot¬
maker 1 ‘Long account’—‘heavy amount’
—‘wife and children.’ Why 'are such
plebian wretches allowed to bother their
betters ?”
And Fitzroy fiercely tore the pitiful
aote into tatters, At this instant a
knock was heard at the door.
“Who’s there?” cried Fitzroy, pet¬
tishly.
“It’s only me. sir,” said one of the
servants of the hotel. ‘ ‘There’s a woman
here insists on speaking to you, sir 1”
“A woman?”
“Yes, sir—she won’t take ‘no’ for an
answer. I told her you were engaged,
but she says she won’t detain you t
minute. ”
“Who can it be ?” mused the seif
xvorshiper. “Well, show her in, Jen¬
kins.”
The next moment a poor, thin,
erably shadowy creature glided in, clad in mis¬
darned and insufficient garments,
and displaying on every feature of her
and wan illness. face the ghastly stamp of poverty
A dark expression of anger
shot over Mr. Castleton’s brow as he ree
ognized her.
“What are you here foragain, woman?”
he exclaimed. “I can’t attend to your
paltry affairs 1”
“Mr. Castieton,” she said earnestly,
“I implore of yon to settle this bill. It
is the fourth time I have called about
it. I worked six weeks for you, em¬
broidering and selected making up purchased linen, and the at
your request and
materials myself, when I Mr. could Castieton, ill afford
to advance the money.
is it right to defraud the poor of their
hard-earned support?”
It was a part of Mr. Castleton’s pro¬
fession, but the poor widow did not know
that.
“Leave the room, yon audacious beg¬
gar he sternly exclaimed.
“I am—starving—my babes are crying
for bread 1 Oh, for the love of all that
is human, pay me but a trifle of what
you owe me t"
“There is no proof that I owe you a
cent. ”he returned, with a sneeringlangh;
“you cannot legally recover a farthing.
Go, I say, and be thankful that I do
not give yon in charge to the police for
attempting to extort money under false
pretenses. ”
She turned very pale, but faltered out 1
“Oh, sir, you would not be unjust to
the widowed and the fatherless?”
He sprang to his feet with a fierce ex¬
ecration, and she, terrified and trembling,
tottered from the room.
“There, that matter is disposed of,”
he muttered, with a sigh of relief. “And
now for little Nina’s ring.”
The afternoon sun of that self-same
day came peeping cheerily beautiful into the
gorgeous boudoir where sat
little Nina Aubin, the orphan belle and
heiress, arranging the golden masses living of
her lovely hair, while her only
guardian, an aunt, sat by, watching her,
with a loving yet slightly anxious eye.
“Yes,” said Nina, gayly, “my fate is
decreed now, dear aunt. The little bird
is caught 1”
“Well,” was tbe somewhat grave re¬
ply. “I can ouly pray for vour happi¬
ness, my sweet child. But I must own
that I dislike this Castieton."
“Ton are so prejudiced, darling
annty J” said Nina, throwing her arms
round her aunt’s neck. “You never had
a favorable eye for any one who came to
woo your little Nina away from you 1”
“But for this one, least of all. Nina.
I fear he is treacherous. There surely
is deceit and double dealing look hidden
under the silky softness of his and
manner. ”
“Yon are mistaken. I cannot hear
you speak thus, aunt,” said Nina, the
ruby blood mantling in her velvet cheek.
“He is the soul of chivalry and honor,
else had I never loved him 1”
“May you find it so, darling. Mean¬
while, pray delay the marriage. Next
month is far too soon. ”
“But he wishes it, aunt, and I am
willing to trust my future entirely in his
hands. ”
Mrs. Montague looked with a sigh at
her loving, beautifnl, pure-hearted breathe
niece, and had not courage to a
word of dissent.
The door opened softly—it was Nina’s
maid.
“Miss Nina, the poor woman is here
that I thought could help about the
trousseau.”
“Tell her to come in, Clara, inimedi- _
ately.” creature whom
And the same poor a
few hours since, Mr. Castieton had
spurned from his elegant rooms, came
feebly In, only too glad, through the
maid's recommendation, to obtain a
prospect of work. She was very pale
and wan, and, exhausted by her long
walk. sank, panting, into a chair.
“You are tired—you are ill!” ex-
claimed the affectionate little Nina,
whose loving heart could not behold un¬
moved the slightest paug in a fellow¬
being, and with quick impulse she poured
out a glass of wine and held it to the
lips of the woman. The touch of the
inspiring fluid seemed to give new life.
The woman sat up with a grateful smile.
“Pardon my weakness, ” she said; “I
am nearly starving, and mv little ones
at home are crying for bread.”
“Can it he possible?” cried Nina,
“and I reveling in wealth and luxury !
Tell me liow this happens. M
And with tears and sobs the poor crea
hire told her sorrowful storv, interrupted
by the sympathetic exclamations of
Nina. Last of all came the recital of
how she had been defrauded by a fash
ionable gentleman, and how he had that
morning driven her from his door with
coarse threats and imprecations.
“Shameful! shameful!” exclaimed
4 U , lU . a-Pi 8,11 ... possible that
*
snol» +1 r f e ? bb S wretches are allowed
t(3 ^ iT alk tbe face of the earth?
’ said her aunt, “such fash
• 0St unfortunately,
' e ,m P °r8. are
, ,
“Tf°T I knew ® ornmo of ' 1, any, exclaimed . Nina,
(( , h shOTlld be driven from my so
•
m^iff’’ ale n °^ WOlthy name
Yes, *» said - 4 the .x woman simpTv. ....... “it is
very hard enixior people to at have to
7Zr /‘ ‘’read. Iwouklnot
- thought it of Mr. Castieton, tor lie
is a grand gentleman, and folks say lie
18 FT 7 heiress.
Mr. Castieton . Nina turned ashy
Her aunt sprang toward , her
Nma, my darling are you ill?
Ao no, it was bnt a spasm. Re
mam here a while until I return, stam
mered Nina to the steamstress, and
then hurried au ay, leaning on her aunt s
al ™'
Tor a lung , time .. Nma ... sat , m . silence,
the tears slowly dropping from her eyes.
Alas . it was hard to abandon the plea
sant vision to put away the debased
ldo ‘
“Dear aunt,” she murmured, after a
while. “I feel as though I was waking
from a delicious dream—and the wak¬
ing is worse than death. Yet I must
not falter. Will you please send for
Mr. Castieton, to call here immediately ?”
do?” “My " darling, what are you about to
“Dearest aunt, indulge me this once,”
and Nina laid her pal# eheek tenderly
against her aunt’s hand. Mrs. Mon¬
tague caressed the fair head, and com¬
plied without a word of comment.
“So!” quoth Mr. Fitzroy Castieton,
“my Nina cannot, exist without me one
single day. Well, I believe I must in¬
dulge the little puss 1”
And Mr. Castieton arranged liis fait
hair, stroked his mustache, and, with
the tiny casket of velvet and satin in his
pocket, set out for Miss Auhiu’s resi¬
dence.
He was shown into the parlor, where
Nina sat by the window, quietly await¬
ing him. In the deep shadow, at the
other end of tbe apartment, sat another
female; but the pre-occupied suitor did
not even notice this. With his most
graceful mien he glided forward, aud
bent to kiss the lily hand oi tho heiress.
“My sweetest Nina, I have obeyed
your summons 1”
She withdrew her hand quietly. This
movement somewhat startled him, but
he proceeded:
“First of all, may I place the betrothal
ring on your finger, dear Nina ? It is of
pearls and gold, selected with special
reference to your pure and classic taste.”
And he drew the casket from his pocket
as he spoke.
“Before , you waste money on trifles
like this, she rephe_. coldly, yon
must recognize the claims of justice
There is another who has a better right
to your money than 1.
Another . stammered Fitzroj, turn
mg red.
Nina beckoned to the woman and m
another moment the accomplished knave
was confronted with the victim of his
dishonesty.
- “Pay that woman what you owe her,
said Nina, quietly, yet firmly.
“I—I have not—I am not prepared,
muttered the confounded exquisite.
“Then give Her the ring, it will cover
the amount due, and I will take care
thatthe iewel is converted into money.
“Gtve her I the rmg • instantly • . ,, !
Quailing before the stem dignity the of
the heiress, the mortified dandy laid
costly ring in the seamstress s thin
hand.
“And now, sir. said Nma, I have
only to bid you farewell, and to desire
that yon never enter my presence more.
I thank heaven for the narrow escape I
have had from your wiles and treachery,
and that I have discovered your true
character ere it was too late. Good
evening, sir 1”
Castieton knew that ..... his game hs<l
been played out. Nina s voice and man
aer left him no room for hope, and, with
bitter mortification aud impotent rage
m his fierce heat, he crept like a wounded
snake from the apartment. frus
“Tnat my plans wretched should have __ neen he
trated by that seamstress .
gasped, between Ins white bps, as he
hurried homeward, “I was a fool to
trust to a woman’s caprice 1”
The next steamer that sailed for
Europe had the honor of bearing away
from his native shores Mr. Fitzroy
Castletou, eyelashes, mustaches, straight
nose and all; and great was the outcry
among his multitudinous creditors when
they discovered that their bird had
flown.
Whether the luckless jeweler ever got
paid for the exquisite betrothal ring
price §50—is remarkably uncertain.
We are rather inclined to think, however,
that he is still expecting Mr. Castieton
to “call and settle the small bill!”
A Joke.
Two men in Miles City, Montana,
pretended to have learned by telegraph
that the Government had thrown open
the eastern part of the Fort Keogh reser
vation to settlers. They whispered this
cautiously to special friends, enjoining
strict secrecy. Before night there was
a stampede, the supposed public land
claims were staked off, shanties were
put up, tents were pitched, and the
jokers say that a town was laid out, and
a real estate “boom” was under full
headway before nine o’clock in the even
ing. But by ten o’clock the joke was
out, and the plaee was deserted.
A ROMANCE OF THE SEA.
I
Ueuiiion oi' a Eons Mrimrntrd Brother and
Sister at the Resort,
I F " om the Baltimore American.]
Some twenty years ago there lived
111 the Germantown section of Philadel
pbia a plain, hard workmg man named
Orton. The Ortons, of Germantown,
bad a boy named Richard and a
young girl who was christened Clara,
The children were beautiful and even
111 *keir craules mamlested for each
° the ? a of affection which was
touching to those wno witnessed i .
Mr. Orton died and his wife soon fol
lo «d. »«"“* and the children orphans
^heu only four three years old. A
charitable physician of Chester county
took Clara to live with him she being
th realize ™ that she 80 was ten changing £ er “ to one scarcel home y
for another, and receiving the loving
care 0 f an adopted father in the place of
tbe mother’s love of which death had
deprived her. The friends of his pa
re nts took charge of the boy Richard
aud gave him a home. He scarcely
knew that he had a sister, or the neces
s ity which had torn her from his arms
and decreed that their homes should be
different. As Richard grew up he be
came a handsome, intelligent boy, and
made remarkable progress in his studies,
0 n leaving school he manifested his
coffipete aey to take a position of trust
amon f g the business men of his vicinity,
Legs kan ten days ago the charitable
Chester county doctor came to At
j ;vn tic City and stopped at the Chester
County House with his adopted daugh
ter, Clara Orton, a pretty, dark-eyed
alld dark -haired maiden of eighteen.
Last Saturday aiternoon, as the young
] ady j[ waE s trolling on the beach, her eye
iig ted casua u y on a youth of twenty,
w hose hair and eyes, rather graceful
figure, of medium size and weight and
smooth, dark complexion, made him a
pleasant 0 i,j ect to look upon. He saw
j jer< and impelled, impulse, as he says, by some
^resistible the strangers spoke
and walked down the sand together.
They conversed without hesitation, each
trying to read in the other’s eyes the
mystery of their mutual attraction.
Richard asked the young lady if he
might come and call on her that evening;
She said yes, adding. “lam staying at
the Chester County House.”
Smiling in turn Richard said, “I
suppose I ought Orton.” to tell you that my
name is Richard
“Why,” said she, “that is my name,
too. How very strange. Where is
your home ?” And the story of their
early years leaked out little by little;
they knew they must be sister and and
brother and the scale of ignorance
fifteen years absence fell from their
eyes. ' That evening the strange story of the
two young people was told to Germantown Mrs. May,
the proprietress of the
House, who had known their father and
mother in Germantown. Richard had
intended to go home on the narrow
Gauge on Sunday night, but Sunday Phila¬
morning he and his sister went to
delphia together, united after a lifetime
of absence.
The Washington Monument Stone.
Parties here who had a hand in the re¬
moval of the stone sent for the Washing¬
ton Monument from Rome in 1854 say
that it will probably be recovered by the
dredges now at work on the Potomac
flats, as the point where it was sunk in
the river is within the section where
they will residing soon be at Washington work. A
man now in
tells the story J as follows: “Nine
of ug did the job on Sunday night,
March 5, 1854. We attended a meeting
of the Know . Nottli ngs, to which we all
lM 3) onged . 0 n Tuesday night good previous deal
a t Thom’s Hall, there was a
0 f spea king going on about the shame
of having a stone from any king or po
tentate inserted in the monument of a
man who had fought against royal tyr
anny, and finally it was agreed that nine
men sbon j d lx> selected by lot to destroy
atone, I got one of the prizes. Be
tween 11 and 12 o’clock on Sunday night
following we went over to the monument,
W e captured the watchman and got the
8 to ne>
“it was boxed up, with three slats on
each side of it. It was about four feet
by one and a half feet in size, of a pecn
kind of white looking maxbl6i
Btriped gutters and w j tb a Xj a tin inscription in
on it. With some skids, bars
an( j blocks which we found on the
grounds we rolled it from where it was
lying in an old shed at the foot of the
monument down the hill to a scow that
wag moored i n the canal basin, now
known as Babcock’s lake. We got it
safely on board and started out of the
basin, into the river and down the Wash
bigton Channel until within about fif
teen yards of the Long Bridge draw and
(brew it over after we had chipped a
• off one corner
a nieeting of the Board of Man
agers on April 4, following, a reward of
grjQQ waa offered for such information as
would lead to the detection aud convic
bon of the person or persons who re
moved and destroyed the stone, but no
conv i (J tion was ever secured,”
How it Pays.
A correspondent of the Washington
Capital says: “A Wall street broker
friend of mine says his firm are borrow¬
ing ail the money they want at two per
cent, a year, and charging customers six
per cent, for the use of it. ‘We cleared
815,000 on interest alone in the month
of August,’ said my friend. ‘When our
customers order us to buy certain shares
of stock for them they put np ten per
cent, of the total investment, and that
makes us responsible for ninety per cent.
If the stock is left idle on onr hands for
any length of time we charge interest on
that ninety per cent. So, you see, if the
market is lively the profit lies in the
commissions; if the market is dull it is
in the interest. In either ease we come
out ahead. » ft
To continue love in marriage is a
science. It requires so little to kill
those sweet emotions, those precious il¬
lusions, which form the cliarm of life;
and it is so difficult to maintain a man
at the height on which an exalted pas¬
sion has placed him, especially when
that man is one’s husband
TATTON SYKES’ CHURCHES.
AFTER BIJIMUNH SIXTEEN PROTEST¬
ANT HE DONATES THE SEVEN¬
TEENTH TO THE CATHOLICS.
Modern Crccsus Whose Church Archi¬
tectural Fancies Led Him to Make a
Princely Gift.
Mgr. Capol, says the Philadelphia
Press, tells a story in regard to the man
ner m wliich funds were obtained for
the building of a Catholic Cathedral in
London. The British metropolis is the
seat of the primate of the Roman hier¬
archy in England. The Cardinal
Archbishop of Westminster, Dr. Man¬
ning, has a palatial residence, magnifi¬
cent school buildings, an army of highly
intellectual clergy at his command, many
handsome churches in his diocese, but
not a single edifice worthy of being
called a cathedral, or sheltering ilie
canopied throne appertaining to the
archiepiscopal see. For thirty years and
more the present and late cardinals have
east their eyes in every direction in hopes
of meeting with a generous sou of the
church, whose donations would at least
pay for the foundation walls of the de¬
sired fane; bnt although whispers, and
rumors of intentions on the part of cer¬
tain very wealthy noblemen have, from
time to time, funned the wings of hope,
the see of Westminster remained with
nothing better to represent its purple
and scarlet dignity than a pro-cathedral, alley
a pretty little church hidden up an
way off one of the main thoroughfares
of Kensington. however, suit¬
Within recent years, a
able piece of laud near the pro-cathedral Cardinal
became the vested property of
Manning, and it would not have been a
very difficult undertaking for tho Duke
of Norfolk, the Marquis of Bute and the
Marquis of Ripon to have contributed
the five hundred thousand dollars needed
and set the builders at work. But his
grace of Norfolk preferred spending his liis
money on a private Arundel, cathedral while of the Mar¬ own
on his estate at
quises of Bute and Ripon where each
making their many shekels roll with
their particular hobbies—Bute on the
improvements of his docks near Cardiff,
and Ripon on vice-regal hospitalities reproach to
native princes of India. To the
of the Pope’s faithful it was reserved for
a Protestant to fitly clothe Uio dignity of
Uie English Catholic primate. wealthy
SirTatton S.vkes is a very peculiarly
baronet, whose ideas have a
pronounced direction. They all flow to¬
ward church architecture. He is a Prot¬
estant so far as his religious belief is
concerned, and has hitherto shown liis
devotion to the established faith of which
Queen Victoria is hereditary defender
by building handsome churches in vari
ous portions of London. Every style his of
architecture is represented in
churches, for a new fancy in the way of
a groined roof or a square steeple on the
part of the baronet usually led to the
conception being realized in stones, mor¬
tar, consecration, a new rector, and a
hard-working curate. Finally, it be
came a joke with Archbishop Taft of
Canterbury, that his particular Sykes’s duty was
to consecrate Sir Tatton new
churches.
The building of the sixteenth church,
however, exhausted the worthy baronet’s
church-architectural fancies. He in¬
cluded in his collection splendid Tudor, speci¬
mens of Gothic, Romanesque,
Renaissance, Old Saxon, Norman, By¬
zantine, and had rung the changes on
perpendicular, Gothic, oblique Tudor
and other little whims, but he was not
happy. He still had an ample slice of
income to devote to houses of God. The
cost of the other shrines of Heaven had
only been a bagatelle—some hundred
and fifty thousand pounds or so; but for
the life of him he could not discover any
novelty of idea in the many plans of
churches proffered to him by any of the
dozen or more of architects who daily
sought his audience. So the baronet
determined to travel; and travel he did
through many lands, in search of an idea
for a church which should eclipse his
previous efforts, and, if it ruined his for¬
tune, remain a perpetual monument to
Tatton Sykes be forever. his ideal of
In Vienna came across
the church he desired. It was one of
the recently erected magnificent Catholic
edifices for which the Austrian capital is
famous, and built in a combination of
many styles of architecture hitherto un¬
known to Sir Tatton. At once he sought
the architect and inquired the cost of
such a fane.
“Two hundred and fifty tbonsaDd of
your pounds sterling,” was the reply.
“Thank you; I will take one of those,”
was the calm reply of the baronet
Croesus.
“One of which ?” questioned the arch i
tect.
“I wish yon to build me in Eng¬
land a church, similar to that one, for
which I will pay yon two hundred anti
fifty thousand pounds,” quietly reiter¬
ated Sir Tatton, pointing to the church,
which directly faced the windows of his
lodgings in the Kaiserstadt.
“For a Protestant or a Catholio
church ?” asked the architect.
“Protestant, of course."
“Then, sir,” was the answer which
fell on the astonished Englishman’sears,
“you must get somebody else to draw
your plans and build your church, for 1
will not defile my knowledge by aiding
in the erection of a place of worship for
non-believers.”
The baronet argued, the architect idea crossed was
obdurate, when suddenly an The Catholics
the mind of the former.
in London were longing for a cathedral;
why should they not be the recipients of
his seventeenth ehnrch ? With the con¬
tribution which would undoubtedly be
added to his (Sykes’s) very large dona¬
tion a magnificent structure would in¬
deed be the result. As to the little dif¬
ference of worship a church is a church
under all circumstances, and so the
baronet turned to the architect and said:
“Well, make the plans; the church
shall belong to the Catholics.”
Cardinal Manning, in due course, offer, re¬
ceived Sir Tatton Sykes’s gift; and
gratefully accepted public the magnificent
and since its announcement
money has been flowing in on all sides
for tbe fitting and decoration of the
cathedral. Nevertheless it will always
owe its foundation to Protestant Episco¬
pal money.
The coins paid for beer are the bar
trickles of society.
ENTIRELY BROKER HP.
THE HAH BOV «;ive* him 1»A a I.UMMOf*
JNI DltV (KlOBM,
Hi* Pa .Starts on ft Toar ftniP
Paralyzes nl! tl»« <»iilN,
[From the Milwaukee Sun.)
“Yon see, pa lias been in a habit lately
of going to the store a good deal and.
talking with the girl clerks,” said-the bad
boy to the grocery man. “Any girl that
will smile on pa, and look sweet, catches
him. and he would sit on a stool in front
of the counter ten hours a day pretend¬
ing to buy some kind of fringe, or some¬
thing, and he would fairly talk the strut
off the girls. Ma didn’t like it at all,
and she told pa ho ought, to bo ashamed
of himself, cause the girls were only
making a fool of him, and all the jwo
ple in the storo were lafiicg at him. Rut
pa kept on trying to find excuses to go
to the store. Ma told mo about it, and
she felt real sorry, and if made me mud,
and I told ma if she would let mo I
would break pa up in that sort, of business,
and she told me to go ahead and make
him jump like a box ear. So ’tot.her day
taa gave pa a piece of ribbon to match
and a corset to change for a larger size,
and a pair of gloves to return because
the thumb of one of ’em ripped off,
and told him to buy four yards of baby
flannel, and see how much it would cost
to have her seal-skin cloak refined, and
to see if her new liat was done. Fa
acted as though he didn’t want to go to
the store, but ma and me knew that lie
looked upon it ns a picnic, and hobtacked
his boots, and changed ends with his
cuffs, tuid put on his new red necktie,
ami shaved liisself, and fixed up aa
though he was going to be married. I
asked him to let me go along to carry mind
the package, and lie said lie didn’t
if I did go. Yon have seen these iujy
rubber rats they have at the rubber
stores, haven’t you ? They look so near
like a natural rat that you can’t tell the
difference unless you offer the rubber
rat some cheese. I got one of those rate
and tied a fine thread to it, with a slip
noose on the end, and when pa got into
the store I put the slipnooso over the
hind button of his coat-tail, and j utthe
rat on the floor, and it followed him
along, and it looked so natural f wanted
to kick it Pa walked along smiling,
and stopped at the ribbon counter, and
winked at a girl, and she bent she over to the neo
what lie wanted, thou and crawled saw
rat, and she screamed up
■.in the shelf where the boxes were, and
put. her feet under her, and said, ‘take it
away, kill it,’ and she trembled a’i over.
Fa thought she had gone into a fit, and
he turned blue, and went on, ’cause he
didn’t want to kill her dead; and as he
walked along, the rat followed him, and
just as he bowed to four'girls who were
standing together, talking about the inn be¬
they had at the exposition the night
fore, they saw the rat, and they began
to yell, and climb up things. One of
them got on a stool and the tickle girls Rw all
squealed just, like when yon
in the ribs. Pa, lie looked seated, a*
though he was afraid he fww breaking
them all up with his shape, anrihe kept
on, and another flock of girls saw the
rat, and they jumped np on the and counter yelled
and sat down on ttieii feet,
‘rat.’ Then the others yelled ‘nit,’ _ and
in a minute about a hundred givl) ‘elico,’ were
getting up on things, and saying blan¬
and one of them got on off a pile the, of floor
kets, and the pile fell on dig her
with her. and the men had to
out. Pa’s face was a study. Ho,looked
at one girl and then another, and won¬
dered what was the matter, and finally
the floor walker came along and see
what it was, and took pa by the collar
and led him out doors, and told him if
lie ever came in there again he would
send tho police after him. I had gone
by the time pa got out on the side-walk,
and he picked up the rubber rat and
found it was hitched to his coat, and he
went right home. Ma says he was so mad
that he stuttered, and she thinks I bet¬
ter board around for a day or two. She
tried to reason with patnat .it was in¬
tended for his good, to show him that he
was making a fool of himself, but he
does not look at it in that light. Say,
do yon think it was wrong to break him
np that way? He was going wrong en
lirely."
The Welland Canal.
Few Americans have any idea about
tho Welland Canal. I looked al th is new
achievement of the Canadians last week;
the Great Western Railroad of Canada
runs beneath the canal which by a tnunot; still used, the
old Welland Canal, is
lies some two or three miles to the west
of the present one. Tbe old canal was
a towpatli concern, and did mil Ac admit a
steam-tug coincident with vessel.
The new canal has fourteen feet of wa¬
ter when there is high water, bnt in sum¬
mer drouth it is said to ho less than four¬
teen structed feet. work, It is and a excites magnificently surprise con¬ that
the Americans should have permitfi d the
Canadians to anticipate them. lacililics Vet it
will he observed that the for a
canal through Canada are much better
than through the United Hhitcs. Tho
axis of the two lakes, Erie and Ontario,
passes through Canada; the- Niagara
River issues from the-extreme-eastern
end of Lake Erie, while Lake Ontario
overlaps Lake Erie considerably ill Can¬
ada It. is rather startling to see mov¬
ing through the apparently solid ground
(for the country is very high when the
new canal is bn ill} fall massive •vean
steamers, fall-tigged ships, etc., „,me
times as continuous us a caravan acres#
the desert. They go along silent ly , not
a sound or whistle escaping them, and
the visitor sometimes thinks his mind
,h deceived and that tbe landscape is
haunted
An American who had a jolly Gorman
friend wished to lieeome acquainted with
tbe German’s ehsurming wife. “Veil,""
said the German, “ofe yon dread, dot
vill be all righdt!” Aftev tho Heat the lady
German led him over to where
was sitting with a number ol frienda.
“Katrina.” aid the husband, “yet* know
dot man?’ “No.” said Katrina, mod¬
estly. “Veil, dot’s him}” — Ismim tile
Courier- Journal.
To make others' wrt appear more,
than one’s own, is a good rule in conver¬
sation; a necessary one, to let others
lake notice of your wit, and never do it
vourself. •