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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