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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. •