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AUTUMRAL dreams.
the Eiapk turns to crimson,
When giissafrus to gold,
And the meadow,
When the gen tian’s in the
And the as er on the wold;
«ien the noon is lapped m vapor,
An<I the night is frosty coal,
When the chestnut burrs are opened,
An d the acorns drop like hail,
And the drowsy air is startled,
‘ with the thumping ot the flail—
With the d , umniing of the partridge,
And the whistle of the quail;
Through the rustling woods I wander,
Through the jewels of the year,
From the yellow uplands calling,
Seeking her who is still dear;
she is near me in the autumn,
She, the beautiful, is near.
Through the smoke of burning summer,
When the weary winds are still,
lean see her in the valley,
J can .hear , her on the ... hill,
In the splendor of the woodlands,
In the whisper of the rill.
for the shoves of earth and heaven
Meet, and mingle in the blue;
She can wander down the glory
To the places that she knew,
Where the happy lovers wandered
In the days when life was true.
go I think when days are sweetest,
‘ world is wholly fair,
And the
She may sometime steal upon me
Through the dimuess of the air,
With the cross upon her bosom,
And the amaranth in her hair.
Once to meet her, ah ! to meet her,
And to hold her gently fast
Till I blessed her, till she blessed me—
That were happiness at last;
Xhat were bliss beyond our meetings,
In the autumns of the past !
Bayard Taylor
MY CHRISTMAS EVE.
It was Christmas Eve, and I, Harry
Courtland, was walking home through
the crowded streets. As I walked, my
mind wandered back through memories
of the past; back to another Christmas
Eve which I spent, years and years ago,
in one of the outposts of the British
armv before Sebastopol. I am getting
along in years now, but I was young, and
full of life and hope then, and when the
strong voices of the soldier the boys rang
out, on the clear frosty air, beautiful
refrain,
‘And for bonnie Annie Laurie I would lay
me down and die,”
jfy mind wandered back to the bright
spring evening when I strolled between
the fragrant liawthorne hedges with
Annie Campbell, and told her that I
loved her. But my reverie was sudden
ly broken by the sharp crack of the
deadly rifle and the stern command:
“Fall in, Forty-eighth.” A strong scout¬ and
ing party of the enemy was upon us,
in the brush that followed many a brave
voice that had joined that evening in the
chorus of “Annie Laurie” was silenced
forever. I was uninjured, yet how often
since then have I wished that a Russian
bullet had found me in its way. But it
was otherwise written in the book of
fate,
J came through that brush uninjured,
and through many a previous and sub
sequent one; and by-and-by the war
came to an end and my regiment was
ordered home. Once home I was to he
discharged from the service. I had
“run away to the war,” as the phrase
goes, and now that the war was over my
father had secured my discharge. What
a morning that was when we Ended in
Portsmouth. I seemed to walk upon
air as we marched up to the barracks,
through the cheering multitude, to the
tune of “The Girl I Left Behind Me.”
When we “broke off” in the barrack
yard, I was to lay my gun and uniform
aside and resume the habiliments and
implements of peace. Then I was going
home! Going home to settle down, and,
in a little while, to marry Annie. Ah !
it seems like a dream now, the great
joy that filled my young heart.
The old man, as I called my father,
was there to meet me, and right proud
he seemed, too, of his soldier boy, who
had come home with medals aud clasps,
and—that prize of all—the Victoria
Cross. When I had changed my clothes
I went up town with father, and when
we reached liis hotel he handed me a
letter. From the nervous manner in
which he did this, I fancy that he must
have more than suspected what was in
h. It was from Annie, but, instead of
being a joyful greeting, it was a care¬
fully ered worded apology for having discov¬
that her loving me, “as a wife
should love her husband, was all a mis¬
take.” Had Chesterfield written it, it
could not have been more polite, but
there was no feeling in it—not the
slightest indication of regret for the
she inan, had or driven boy, rather, into whose heart
the knife. I read this
precious document through to the end;
once, for a second, it seemed as though
tne ont it beating immediately of my heart had stopped,
resumed and went on
as before. I am of what is termed a
nnll. phlegmatic temperament.
and Once, in the Crimea, I was wounded,
did not become aware of the fact for
inree bat days. This time it did not take me
and a moment to realize that I was hurt,
to keep very seriously, too. But I struggled
to myself. my disappointment For and misery
ceeded, that eventful day I sue
but Dext morning my bloodshot
eyes and haggard face betrayed me:
men for days following I wandered
around demented. I was like one who
“ad neen walking along in the bright
sunlight of a valley where the verdure of
fidfls sank and rose, and the foliage
°‘ tlle trees rustled beneath the perfume
J&dened teioed and breeze, rippled where a and flowing and stream the
on on,
'irds sang their merriest, sweetest enr
aT| d, while wandering through this
raiiey of delight, tho sun had suddenly
rine out, leaving the darkness behind,
verdure and the trees had disap
Pbared, leaving barren sand and rocks in
teir stead; the perfume-lsden breeze
T” Riven place to the still, thick atmos¬
phere of the valley of despair, and the
carol of the song-bird had beeD
-placed by the hissing of reptiles.
At length this c-me to an end. All
Buffering, like all human pleas-
nre, must terminate. The great and nn
controlable bitterness of my agony
passed away, and in its place came that
dull pain which wears away little by
little and finally disappears altogether—
in the grave. There are, no doubt,
skeptics who will laugh at the idea of a
young boy,” man, feeling or, as they would say, “a
like mere this. But then, a deep-seated love
people know skeptics, as a rule,
are who everything and yet
know nothing. There are boys—a few
of them only—who are capable of a
great passion, and there are men—a
great many of them—who are incapable
of a great passion.
To proceed with my recital, however.
When the sharp, keen agony had passed
away and my brain resumed its func¬
tions, I resolved to go abroad. Father
realized that it was best, too, so he sent
for mother, and the two bid what lias
turned out to be a farewell for all time
to their soldier boy, who had just re¬
turned from the war. Since then I have
wandered in an aimless sort of way
around the world. Father and mother
have passed over to the great majority
and I have not a relative that 1 know o
in this world of sin.
This is the riddle of my life, as it
passes I through my mind this Christmas
Eve. walk aloug slowly as I meditate,
f am alone in the midst of a multitude.
The streets are thronged with happy
faces, that are swiftly hurrying by me as
I moodily wander to my home that is no
home. Alone in the midst of a multi¬
tude ! A homeless man can find no
better place to realize that than the
streets Well, of I a great city on a Christmas Eve.
pluck as pass along, I feel a slight
saying: at my elbow, and I hear a voice
“Please, mister, can you help
me to get something to eat ?” This is a
common salutation in the streets. I have
often responded to it, and have often
watched the recipient of my coin disap¬
pear in the nearest low groggery in
search of “something to eat.”
This time it was a childish voice that
articulated the words. It was a boy who
was at my elbow. His face and hands
were clean, his hair kempt and his clothes,
though worn and numerously patched,
were tidy. In short, his appearance was
that of a child that was reared in poverty,
yet well taken care of, and the idea im¬
mediately enterprising flashed boy through my mind that
the was seeking to raise
funds to buy a tin horn, to torture the
ears of suffering humanity.
“Bub,” said I, looking down at the
little jnendicant, “why don’t you go home
and get something to eat?’’
The child’s clear, pleading eyes hail
been turned up to mine, but they imme¬
diately felt as the tears welled up into
them, and he started to move away, while
a low sob escaped from his lips. I 1
caught him by the arm and led him out
of the throng.
“Now, boy,” sail! “I know you
don’t want anything eat, so tell me
wliat you were begging for ?'”
“Please, mister,” n plied the little
atom, “Sis has been wishing all week
that Santa Chins would bring her a doll,
and I know that mamma can’t afford to
buy her one, so I thought I—-I ”
Here the answer v as broken and ren¬
dered incoherent by childish sobs ; but
I knew the rest. A few moments be¬
fore I had been looking with sullen
anger at the people who were passing
me by, In cause they had some one to
think of, and I had none ; and now here
was a chance for me to play the benign
part of Smta Clans myself. nice
It took lint a short time to buy a
doll for Sis and a velocipede namesake for Harry—
he little mendicant was a ol
mine—and a good supply of candy bad to
till the Chris) mas stockings. I
her,id it said there is a sweet delight
comes to the soul of the doer of a good
or benevolent, deed. Heretofore I had
not realized the fact, because my heart
was too much embittered against my
fellow-man to lead him into paths had of
philanthropy; but now that I
started in upon this little adventure
-omething urged me to keep on.
There might he, it occurred to me,
something more substantial than toys
and candy needed in order to insure a
' Christmas” at this child’s
‘Merry laden with 1 went
lome. So, parcels,
rh. re. Away from the glare and crash of
the thoroughfares, away through narrow
back streets, into a dingy temment
house, up two flights of bteep, dark
stairs, into a rear room, and here is
“ home.” The room is small and poorly
furnished, lint it is clean and neat. A
kindly neighbor, who looks after the
children while the mother is away at
work, Inis lit the fire and the lamp; Sis,
a bright-haired little gill brother), of six (two is
years younger than her
there, looking shyly ont of her blue
eyes at the strangi r, and we all sit and
wait for “mother.”
We wait aiid talk the innocent talk of
childhood, until rough voices are heard
on the stairs, and then tin re comes a
sickening tramp, tramp of feet that are
carefully carrying a cumbersome bur¬
den. The door its opened, and a pale,
worn woman is laid uncontcious upon
the bed. There is an ugly _ _ blood gasli across flows
the forehead, from which
copiously, and there aie other wounds
and- bruises on the body. corner;” is
“Run over at the it a com¬
mon tale. You read it in the papers
every moniiDg. The blood is washed
away, the clothes removed and the doc
tor makes his examination. He shakes
his head; the case is htipeless; and then,
as the full glare of the lamp falls across
the face of the injured woman, I gaze
for the first time in all these years on
the features of my first, my last and
my only love, Annie Campbell. children
The crowd has gone, the are
asleep m a cot in the corner, and I am
sitting with the nurse and the dying,
“waiting for the end.” The injured
woman stirs in the bed, then bhe opens
her eyes and raises herself up. There
is a wild, vacant stale in her eyes, for
she is utterly unconscious, and lhe doc¬
tor has said that she will never again be
conscious in this world. Yet her eyes
rest fixedly on me, and Bhe says, in a
low l»ut firm voice:
“Harry, forgive me 1 I never meant
to wrong you. I loved you all lhe time,
but he was rich and they forced me to
copy their letter. I was wrong, i know,
to give way ; but, oh my Grid ! 1 have
paid for my weakness siuce.” her
strength gives way here, and she falls
back upon the bed, I raise her up in
my arms and lay her head upon my
breast. After a moment or two of silence
she speaks again, but in broken gasps.
“Harry for the sake of old times—my
children.” There is a silence again, then
once more the lamp flickers up, and I
bear her say : “I—bear—sweet—music ;
it’s—growing—very—light. Jesus”—and Heaven—
then the lamp goes out.
* * * * *
It is New Year’s Eve as I sit writing
Ibis. 1 am no longer alone in the world.
From where I sit I can gaze thn ugh the
door into an adjoining chamber and see
two little faces peeping from beneath the
coverlet; henceforth they must lie my
charge. The clock indicates that thc
New Year is at hand. I throw open my
window, and ns tlie clamor of the belts
come across the midnight air I look up
to that starless sky beyond which ties
the home of the angels, and then I step
forth into a new hie.
Our Young' Women.
A primal defect in our social life is the
notion that girls have nothing to do.
Boys are brought up to some employ¬
ment, but girls to none, except where
pecuniary want compels them. The
family that is “well off” lias busy boys
and idle girls. The young man, after
eating liis breakfast, starts out to iiis
daily occupation, and returns at the
elosc of the day. The young woman,
after eating her breakfast (usually at a
late hour), saunters about in quest of
amusement. Novels, gossip, shopping
(for unnecessary trifles), dressing in
three or four costumes, formal visiting,
drawing (if able), aud lounging, are the
elements of the young woman’s day.
In the evening, by way of recreation (?),
she goes to a theatre or a ball.
The unequal discipline of the sexes is
the basis of innumerable evils. It
makes the girl careless and selfish; it
turns her mind to personal adornment
aDd other frivolous matters as the great
concerns of life; it takes away the sen §
of responsibility, and proauees feeble¬
ness and disease in her physical consti¬
tution. It also prevents her from assert¬
ing her true dignity in the eyes of man;
for the life of utility is alone dignified.
Women, thus brought up in indolence,
are looked upon by men very much as
were the women of the old dark times of
the world as mere playthings, expen¬
sive toys, not as counsellors and friends.
Marriage in such circumstances belongs
to a low, sensual plane, and the girl is
prepared neither in body nor and mind for
the serious responsibilities lofty du¬
ties which marriage implies. Her train¬
ing, moreover, or lack of training, has
made it necessary for a long purse to
apply for her. Economy, helpfulness,
co-operation—those are not coming to
the new household from this vain source.
Dresses, drives, entertainments—these
will form the staple demands on the
young husband. Accordingly in city
life, where this class of young women is
chiefly found, a young man is (greatly
to his hurt often) kept from marrying
by reason of its costliness, whereas so¬
ciety should be so ordered, that mar¬
riage would help the larder and not beg¬
gar it. We wart simplicity of life, fru¬
gality, modesty, industry and system.
If we could introduce these virtues in
our higher society, we should diminish
the despair, envy, jealousy, dissipation
and suicides of the single, and the bick¬
erings, wretchedness and divorces of the
married.
Let our girl? have as regular daily du¬
ties as our boys. Let idleness be for¬
bidden them. Let recreation be indeed
recreation, at proper times and in proper
quantities. Let us open more numerous
avenues of female industry, and let every
woman be clothed with the dignity of a
useful life. Can such a reformation be
brought about? My dear madam, begin
it yourself. Rule your household on
this principle. Have the courage to
defy fashion where it opposes. Be a
bold leader in this reform, and you
will soon see a host of followers glad to
escape from the old folly. — Howard
Crosby, in Dio Leivis’s Monthly.
Tlie Twelve Months.
A’ widow lived many years ago in a
forest in Bohemia, and had two children.
The elder, her step-daughter, was called
Dobruuka; the younger, a girl, wicked
as her mother, was named Katinka. The
mother hated Dobruuka because she
was beautiful, while her own daughter
was ugly. As the months passed Do
brunka grew more beautiful and Ka
tinka more ugly every vexed day, and elder the
mother became more at the
every ’day because of it, and determined
at last to take any means to put her out
of the way. Finally she drove her child
away to the forest in the middle of Feb¬
ruary. The wiiite snow lay thick and
deep on every side, and it was not long
before she lost her way and almost per¬
ished with cold. She made up her
mind to lie down in the snow and die.
Just as she formed this resolution she
saw a light in the distance, and inspired
by new hope she pnshed on to reach and it.
It was high up in the mountain, she
had to climb over huge rocks and deep
ravines to reach it, but she came at last
to the very apex of the mountain, upon
which a fire was built that touched the
snow-covered trees and ground with a
rosy radiance. Around the fire were
twelve stones, upo i each of which sat a
motionless man wrapped with in a long hood man¬ that
tle, his head Covered a
dropped down almost over his eyes.
Three of the mantles were white as snow,
three green as the meadow grass, three
yellow as the golden wheat, three purple
as the blessed grapes. These twelve
motionless, statuesque figures were the
Twelve Months of the year.— African
Fable.
The French Troops. —A pamphlet
bv a German officer, entitled “France’s
Preparedness for War,” is much talked
about just now at Berlin. The author,
who was a witness of the late manceu
vres of the French army, states that, in
the event of war. France would be able
to place in the field 190.000 more infant
try and 594 more guns than Germany,
but that the officers and men are not so
well trained as those of the German
army, and that the constant changes in
the ‘direction of the war office in Paris
have produced some confusion in the ad¬
ministration.
The Chicago Tribune publishes a
“personal” directed to the White Stock¬
ings. It says: “Do not return and all
will lie forgiven.”
VERY SHORT TALES.
A Few Varna Spun for Marines anil Other
Folks.
A Robber, having been arrested aud
brought into Court, was asked by the
Judge what he had to say in defence of
his crime.
“Why, sir,” he replied, “I discovered
a cave in a hill side.”
“What lias that to do with the case?”
“Everything. Me turned What Robber use was the cave
to unless I and want¬
ed to hide ?”
[Note.— What’s the use of having a
mother-in-law unless she splits the wood
and does the kitchen work ?]
BURIED TREASURE.
An old man whose Daughter had taken
a Husband and brought him homo to
live sized up his Son-in-law and said:
“I am an old man and have only a
short time to live. I have a buried
Treasure which shall be yours when 1
pass away. ”
The Son-in-law went out behind the
smoke-house and tickled himself half to
death to think he hadn’t shipped the old
man off to the poor-house, as he intend¬
ed, before hearing of the treasure. Then
he twisted his face into a smile and his
month into a pneker, and for seventeen
long years he pulled off the old man’s
boots at night, kept him in smoking to¬
bacco and accepted his weather predic¬
tions without a murmur. When the
aged pioneer finally pegged out a dive
was made for the buried treasure, and
the Son-in-law soon held in his hands a
—gilt-edged Bible which never cost less
than $4.
[Note.— Some old men would have
buried a cheap hymn-book and lived on
a son-in-law twentv-five years.]
THE PROFESSION.
A Lawyer returned to his home one
evening to find that a Tramp had forced
his way into the house and appropriated
property of considerable value. He
rushed for the Police and by some unac¬
countable accident the Thief was over¬
hauled and conducted to the cooler.
“Ah ! you Rascal, you shall suffer lor
this !” growled the Lawyer. legal service
“I desire to engage your
to defend me,” was the sheet-iron re¬
joinder. “I will give you half the stolen
property to clear me of the charge.”
“Wretch ! how dare you !”
“Oh, if you don’t close with me some
other Lawyer will take all,” was the
steady Lawyer reply. reflected
The for a moment
and then decided to plead the man’s
case and tearfully call the attention of
the jury to the fact that his client had
no intention of stealing anything, but
that" in leaving the house in a hurry the
property got tangled up in his bootlegs.
[Note. —Verdict of acquittal and an¬
other triumph for light and honesty.]—
Detroit Free Press.
GIRL LIFE IN INDIA.
Cliil(Iron of Three Years llflimicil ” el
!>ctuul W iilowlwocl.
On the day of her marriage he is put
into a palanquin, shut, up light, imo
carried to her husband’s house. Hither
to she has been the spoiled pet of he'
mother; now she is to be the little slave
of her mother-in-law, 'upon whom is she im¬
is to wait, whose commands she
plicitly to obey, and who teaches her
what she is to do to please her husband
—what dishes If the lie likes mother-in-law best and is limy kind, 1o
cook them.
slie will let the girl go home occasionally
to visit her mother.
Of her husband she sees little or noth¬
ing. She is of no more account to him
than a little cat or dog would be. There
is seldom or never any love between
them; and no matter liow cruelly she
may be treated, she can never complain
to her husband of anything his mother
may do, for he would never take his
wife’s part. Iler husband sends to her
daily the portion of food that is to be
cooked for her, himself, and the chil¬
dren. When it is prepared she places
it on one large brass platter, and it is
sent to hex husband’s room. He eats
what he wishes, and then the platter iB
sent back, with what is left, for her and
her children. They sit together on the
ground and eat the remainder, having
neither knives, forks, nor spoons. While
she is young she is never allowed to go
anywhere.
The little girls are married ns young
as three years of age; and should the boy
to whom such a child is married die the
next day, she is called a widow, and is
from henceforth doomed to perpetual
widowhood—she can never marry again.
As a widow, she must never wpar any
jewelry, never dress her hair, never
sleep on a bed, nothing but a piece of
matting spread on the hard brick floor,
and sometimes, in fact, not even that be¬
tween her and the cold bricks; and. no
matter how cold the night may be, she
must have no other covering than the
thin garment she has worn in the day.
She must eat but one meal a day aud
that of the coarsest kind of food; and
once in two weeks she must fast twenty
four hours. Then not a bit of food, nor
a drop of water or medicine, must dying. pass
her lips, not even if she were
She must never sit down nor speak in
the presence of her molher-in-law, un¬
less they command her to do so. Her
food must be cooked and eaten apart
from the other women’s. She is a dis¬
graced, a degraded woman. She may
never even look on at any of the mar¬
riage ceremonies or festivals. It would
would be an evil omen for her to do so
She may have been a high caste Brali
miuic woman; but on her becoming s
widow, any, even the lowest servant,
may order her to do what they do not
like to do. No woman in the house
must speak one word of love or pity to
her, for it is supposed that, if a woman
shows the slightest coinmiseration to a
widow, she will immediately become one
herself.
It is estimated that there are eighty
thousand widows in India under six
years of age .—Commercial Travelers'
Maaazine.
Fastidiousness takes various forms.
The man who will insist on a clean towel
on which to wipe his hands, in a barber¬
shop will unhesitatingly wipe his mouth
on the community towel hanging in lront
of the bar.
There is one topic peremptorily for¬
bidden to all well-bred, to all rational
mortals, namely their distempers.
WIT AM> WTSIIOW.
Who c/.n all sense of others’ ills escape,
Is but a brnte, at best, in human shape.
Friendship is the only thing in the
world concerning the usefulnessof which
all mankind are agreed.
“"ice fellow,” said young Taivmus of
Mr. Byrnesmonliey. “Why, even his
washerwoman speaks well of him.”
._ Tmi following , ,, . is extracted . , , from , „ a
smart boys composition on Babies :
Tlie mothers heart gives 4th joy at the
oahys 1st _tli.
The Turkish woman is marriageable
at the age of nine years. In this country
girl:, don t even think of marriage until
they get to be over ten.
The wretch has been arrested who at
asocial party said that a young lady
playing the pianoforte was like an ape
because her fingers were ’moug keys.
In conversation, humor is more than
wit, easiness more than knowledge; few
desire to learn or to think they no d it;
all desire to be pleased, or, if not, easy,
Nerve, as shown by young Jack,
“Nerve!” said the young man of his
friend, “why Jack’s got a heap of nerve.
He wasn’t embarrassed a bit the first
time he went to a barber’s shop to get
shaved ”
A preacher remarked one Sunday
that it was said that liberalism is creep¬
ing into all the churches. “If that is
so,” he continued, “I hope it will soon
strike the contribution boxes.”— Troy
Telegram.
“Let us play we are married,” said
little Edith, “aud I will bring my dolly
,nd say, ‘See baby, papa, “Yes.” re
plied Johnny, “and I will say, ‘Don’t
bother me now; I want to look through
the paper.’”— Harper's Bazar.
You cannot spend money in luxury
without doing good to them the in poor. spending Nay, it
yon in do more good giving to it them. You
luxury than by to
make them exert industry, whereas by
giving it you keep them idle.
“Dear me !” cried Mrs. Blossom, as
she laid down the paper, “it does seem
to me as if those State militia fellows
are always in trouble, Here’s an ac¬
count of a recent inspection where the
company turned out fifty-threo men.
Too bad, ain’t it?”
If Satan ever laughs it must be at
hypocrites. They are the greatest dupes
he lias. They serve him better than any
others, but receive no wages. Nay,
what is still more extraordinary, they
submit to greater mortifications than
the sincerest Christians.
“I want you to lend me forty dollars
for services rendered yon during the
election.” “Why, you worked and voted
for the other ticket.” “That’s just it.
I am so unpopular that if I had been on
your side you would have been beaten
two to one.”— Texas Siftings.
If envy, like anger, did not burn itself
in its own fire, and consume and destroy
those persons whom it possesses, before
it can destroy tlioso it most wishes to, it
would set the whole world on fire, and
leave the most excellent persons the
most miserable.
This is the way a Philadelphia papei
put it: “Six baked beans and half a cup
of coffee for one !” yelled the waiter. It
was the dinner of the editor of a great
New York daily that had just reduced
its price to half a cent a copy, and the
other eaters all looked up and murmured,
“I swow!”
“I trust your daughter is not a
tamo, spiritless sort of girl as some
that apply to us for situations and ore
too bashful to fill them,” said a Boston
shopkeeper to a father who was seeking
employment for one of his children.
r Sir,” he replied, indignantly, ” “my
aughter has red hair.
“Paddy,” said an American tourist to
the driver of a jaunting car in which
they were rolling over a road in southern
Ireland, “why is it that the crows in
this country are so tame?” “Sure,
your honor,” answered Pat, “thim’s the
crows as do know right well that Oirish
men be not allowed to cany guns.”
“Mysou \Villyim,” said a fond mother,
“uster be pretty wild as a boy, but since
he went West he’s sorter turned over a
new leaf and got steady, He’s getting
along well, too, for I see his name in
the papers—they say he’s been a road
agent doing a large business, and that
his fellow-citizens organized a neck-tie
sociable in his honor recently, I am so
glad that Willyim’s getting up in the
world. ”
Gold by the Ton.
The Amador (Cal.) Dispatch says :
One of the richest strikes known in the
mining history of California was made
three miles south of this place Inst Sat¬
urday. A pocket of quartz of almost
unparalleled richness was found less
than 100 feet from the mu face, in which
was contained from $75,000 to $100,000,
and about two tons in quantity. Much
of this might be termed chunks of gold
instead of gold-bearing solid quartz. Some
of these pieces of gold were about
as heavy as a man eonld lift from the
ground. The largest piece was an oval,
sixteen by twenty-two inches, and six or
seven inches thick. This gold is almost
black, and of the same character as the
former rich strikes found in the same
mine. We have no doubt that this is
the richest find of gold ever known in
the United States at one time.
During Friday a ton of this gold
freighted metal was taken ont. It is not
so rich as the gold streak is taken out some
time ago, but there vastly more of it.
The value of this bonanza is valued at
from $50,000 to $100,000. The ledge is
five feet wide, and the whole face of it
was held together, as it were, by spikes
c f solid gold. Altogether 3,000 pounds
have been taken from this hunch of ore,
and the end is not yet. The very rich
streak from which this mass of free gold
has been taken ranges from an inch or
so up to twenty inches in width. The
previous seam varied from the thickness
of a knife blade to three inches.
A young man, apparently a commer
ciai drummer, got on the train, aDd,
noting a pretty girl along in the forward
part of the ca , approached her and
smilingly asked: “Is this seat engaged,
Miss?” “No, sir,” she quickly and
pertly responded, “but the J am, and he is
going “Oh—ah to get indeed on at thanks next station.”
don — quickly — picked — beg par
I’ and he up hia
f« et, after stumbling over them, and
went into the smoking-car to be alone
while.
1111AVE MICK M'GRATH.
_
t„k "&£**""
He Improves His House ami Farm aii 4
tins 11 is Heat Kaioeil lor ISisl’ain*
A correspondent , , who , . traveling ,
1 is m
sontllweate rn Ireland, tells a pathetic Mc
a , orv the ]ife death of Mick
Gl ..; th thc Man w Uo Live d in a Boat,
and whose cruel persecution attracted
ao mm .], attention a short while ago.
n| s eviction is one of the memorable
ovcuts in the land agitation; his recent
death is an event of historic, importance.
It was lie whom Mr. FFealy publieally
designated “Brave Mick McGrath,” and
it, was for com mending him that,, on
some now-forgotten pretext, the English
1 ordinal in Ireland clapped its hesitating
hand on tlie bold Irish parliamentarian:
and sent him into durance,
The stovv of Mick McGrath is the
epitome of the struggle between eqnitv
and law in Ireland; between capital and
labor united in the tenant farmer’s in¬
dustry on the one hand, against idleness,
uselessness, brutality , and , ioice . on ., he
other, combined m hereditary foreign
aristocracy.
He had a farm of more than average
size. You see its flowering white- tliora
hedges just on the other side of the car¬
riage road. When he took it it was not
thc farm it is to-day. It needed drain¬
ing. He drained it. It needed fences.
He, built them. Its soil was impover¬
ished. He enriched it. Substantial
buildings were required. He constructed
them. And while he was doing these
things, with his own money and his own.
labor, and the labor of others paid by
him, he married, and the years of thrifty
toil brought him children. He throve
in ,all ways. He was self-neglectful,
generous, persevering, sanguine and
energetic.
“Brave Mick McGrath” worked in hia
fields through all the moods of a coquet¬
tish, sea misted climate, in hours of sun¬
shine, insidious in hours neuralgic of pelting rain, in days
of fog. Hisrentwas
so high that he just made ends meet. If
ho had let the soil go to waste and put
in bank the money he expended in its
improvement, he would have been *
sagacious man. For, when the “bad
years,” 1877, ’78 and ’79, came in cruel
succession, he could not obtain for his
lessened crop enough money to pay hia
rent. Then the Irish landlord announced
to the stunned tenant that the farm had
risen in marketable value in consequence
of his improvements; that, his rent
would thereafter be very much higher;
and that if he did not pay he would bo
thrown off the farm, out, of the house,
with wife and babes, roofless, penniless,
on the highway.
Tne poor farmer was stunued. Ills
house made dear by the labor of hiu
hands, the sweat of liis brow, and th»
occuprfncy of his Children—could he
part with it and go out, like a banished
malefactor? But out he went. The
jwiwer of the British Empire,
which the sun never goes down, was,
summoned from the barracks around
Bantry Bay; bailiffs, constables, crow¬
bars and guns overawed trembling Mick
McGrath, and out he went.
McGrath could not see his wife and
babes lie down to sleep on the ditches
with the crows for nightly with visitors to
their stony pillows and, a noble
sense of just pr< prietorship in the
house his hat ds and labor had built,
twice he took them back, tore off the
ejectment papers, shivered the bolts aud
thrust his family again under the shelter
of their own rooftree. Twice again
came the majesty thrust of the British Em
pire in Ireland and them out. It
required some bravery for a pleasant
and industrious man to defy, single
handed, without so Her much as a gun, the
army and navy of Majesty. But
the army and navy of Her Majesty
routed Mick McGrath and his wife and
his little ones, and, with their home fie¬
ld nd them, empty, and with the work
louse before them lull, they went out
at last.
But no work-house would suit Mc¬
Grath, even though he was homeless.
He had heard of their horrors and would
have none of them. He went down to
tiie rippling bay, where he had a boat
in which many a Sunday he had plied
the oars or trimmed the tannin-stained
sail. He set its bottom firmly up against
a ditch on a high, green knoll; he
brought rushes and thatched it; he cut
Dougns ana interlaced them for a front;
he made a wicket door; he cut a little
opening for a cliimney-hole; he covered
the floor with lily-stems and ferns, and
that boat for more than two years has
been the home of Michael McGrath and
his wife and four children. He divided
it decently info two rooms, and, with a
landscape, one of the most lovely on
earth to look out upon, with the fish in
the bay to catch for food and to sell,
with incomprehensible ingenuity, the
family there have lived, breaking no law,
keeping on kindly terms with every
one.
But a fortnight ago bravo Mick Mc¬
Grath fell ill. To-day he is dead, of ty¬
phoid fever, the dispensary doctor said.
Of course it was famine fever. The man
who raised so many crops to feed others
died at last of the effects of prolonged
want.
Watching for Fire.
Tlio Central Pacific snow sheds are
guarded from firo by two watchmen,
who occupy a house on the topmost
height of Red Mountain, where they can
take in the whole line of snow sheds
with their natural sight and by the aid
of glasses. If they observe a fire in or
near the sheds they notify the station
at Cisco by a telephone line, and forth¬
with the information is telegraphed to
Hacramento, and in a minute or two the
order is sent up the line to Blue Canon
and the Summit, where the fire trains are
constantly on duty, to proceed to the
point where the fire is prevailing. The
fire train consists of a locomotive, with
two tank cars filled with water, whieh is
thrown with hose by a steam force
pump. When the fire trains are sent
ont they have the road, all other trains
near the point of danger being trains stopped. fre
The services of these fire are
qnentiy called upon, but they are s©
prompt in action that they generally
subdue the fires before mneh damage is
ckme