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THE MAN TO KNOW. young man. the hoc* Will bid you read. The seaa» from Kant to Plato, put get acquainted with yourself; You are no small potato. though you swing a blacksmith’s sledge If o f dig within th9 trenches, gold up your head with those that «!*; Upon the highest benches. Oh, read the sages of the world j And let their wisdom win you ; But get acquainted with yourself And find what you’ve got in you. In modest arrogance of soul Make your own valuation; ( _ Then slowly make'the sluggard world Accept your estimation. Go. get acquainted with yourself Before your leaf is yellow ; You’ll find the man beneath your hai Is something of a fellow. Then stir him out and prod him up -Before his force has fainted. , Go, get acquainted with yourself : Then make the world acquainted Then trust the man beneath your hat, And when you come to know him You’ll find a fellow fft to grace A novel or a poem. Go. get acquainted with yoursel‘3 You’ll find that very few are, For tasks for which you were designed, A better man than your are. Young man, the books will bid you read The seers from Kant to Plato, But get acquainted with yourself; You are no small potato. —Sam Walter Foss, in Boston Globe. m UNHEEDED WARNING f ■’ HE midday ex A press was speed¬ >4 ing fast to the north of Eng¬ land. In a certain first-class c o in i partment in the j & front part of the X train sat young Eric Vyvyan, and * in the corner, op¬ posite him, his pretty girlish wife. By dint of pressing a bribe, in the form of a large silver coin, into .he guard’s greedy palm, they had secured the carriage to them¬ selves, and were passing the time by playing “Halma.” This—under any circumstances—aggravating game was made doubly trying to the temper by the continued jolt, jolt of the train, thereby shaking all the poor little red and green men out of their rightful standing places. “Ah! that’s hard luck”—this from Enc, as his wife landed one of her men on the opposite side of the board by jumping over the heads of his red ones. “What a duffer lam, to.be sure, not to have seen that open gap! This game is too clever for me, by Jove. Have a tussle at chess, Gwen— I’ll beat you in that, anyhow. ” But Gwennie’s laughing answer was drowned in one long, shrill, deafening from the engine, then a fearful causing the train to stop sud¬ and a noise of crashing and of timber, distant at first, then loudsr and nearer. Eric rushed to the door, but—oh, hor¬ ror !—it was locked—perhaps the other would yield—when something seemed to drag him back—hislegs felt tied—was he paralyzed? He was'Struggling desperately to re¬ gain the use of his legs, which had grown into two heavy, useless weights, when the carriage gave a sudden lurch to one side, throwing him down alto¬ gether. There was an agonized scream from Gwennie, then total darkness. Eric made frantic efforts to save his wife, but he lost her in the darkness, and felt powerless to stop himself slid¬ ing down underground—down into the damp earth—down into darkness blacker than night—darkness that could be felt. It was suffocating; he could not breathe. Another second and he must reach the bottom and his brains be dashed out; but better anything than this dark, giddy descent, when the sound of splintering timber, mingled with the cries of women and children, broke again on his ears, faintly at first, then louder and louder, till with deafening nearness, as though a thousand giants were hammering the wretched train to shivers close to his ears. His head must surely burst with, the noise, but suddenly his eyes opened, and-- It was only a dream after all, for he wa« safe in his own bed, though his head was still aching and his heart beating with loud thumps. it The hot rolls and various lit¬ savory tle breakfast dishes were rapidly grow¬ ing cold, in spite of their shiniug eov ers. Breakfast had been on the table half an hour—for the gold hands of the “grandfather” clock in the corner of the cozy dining-room pointed to three minutes to ten. Mrs. Vyvyan, with a slightly impa¬ tient expression in her deep blue eyes, Fas standing by the window, idly F&tctong the rain pattering down, splashing into the already overflowing gutter and swelling the black puddles in the middle of the road below. Sh* had read the Morning Post, and nil the items of news she cared about in the Times (her husband’s special newspaper), and had begun to wonder ■*hen Eric would come down, and whether the effort of dressing on this relaxing October morning had proved too great on exertion for him. It was unusual for Eric to be so late, for he had generally made his appearance some time before the 9.30 breakfast gong had sounded. In a minute or so, however, Gwennie heard his dressing-room door open hastily; then the’ refrain of “Love’s Own Sweet Song” whistled gayly, and in another half-second Eric was in the room. “Am I desperately late? Awfully sorry. Oh! but I don’t believe that clock. Some maliciously disposed per¬ son has moved on- the hands at least a quarter of an hour”—laughing. “But G|ven, darling!”—more seriously— ‘ ‘you should* not have waited all this time for me. Anything interesting?” —going to the hall as he spoke and unlocking the letter box. “All for me, and all business”—turning over four or five official looking envelopes, addressed mostly in cleai', business¬ like characters to “Eric C. Vyvyan, Esq., ,7 Chesham street, Belgravia, S. W.” ‘ ‘I expected a letter from Hetty to tell me when her baby’s christening is to take place,” said Gwennie; “but they want us to go there before the end of the month, sol suppose we had better fix some day next week, had we not, Rick, dear?” “Well, I suppose I must be resigned to fate, though I know some one that never gives her poor, henpecked hus¬ band a chance of saying ‘nay’ to any¬ thing.” said “Oh! Rick; and you know you you would like to go, and that you are looking forward to some hunting.” Then, laughing merrily as she caught a twinkle in Eric’s eye: “How shall I ever live out a long life with such a dreadful tease as you ! Really, though, I think it will he lovely at Daleford thi6 weather ; Hetty says all kheir vio¬ lets are growing beautifully out of doors, and she does not think we shall find it as cold as we did last year— they have had hot water pipes laid all over the house.” But Eric did not answer, and Gwen¬ nie saw a thoughtful expression on his handsome, expressive face; then she guessed that (though only joking about/this just now) he really did not care promised visit. Perhaps he does not want to be disturbed now he has only just returned to town, and has begun writing his new hook, too, thought Gwennie. Yet it was characteristic of Eric that he could write better and more easily when he was in a strange place and saw fresh scenery and fresh life around him. “His brains got to want oiling—his thoughts would not run smoothly when he stayed long in one place,” he always said. So it was they never settled down for more than three months with¬ out change, much as they both liked their pretty, cosy house in the most fashionable part of Belgravia. Indeed, Eric’s most successful work had been written during their travels abroad at a time when he could only manage to squeeze out odd half hours at a time for writing, so busy were they sight seeing and exploring Spain. Perhaps, after all, Eric was lazy, Gwennie thought; again, most men disliked country house visiting, and looked on it as a bore, she knew, but he would enjoy it when they got there. The Vyvyans had already stayed at Daleford twice since their marriage, and Hettie Townley and Gwennie had been great friends all their life. Hettie ■was married about two years and a half ago’to the son of a wealthy country after squire in the north of England; her marriage she introduced Gwennie to young Vyvyan, a friend of her hus¬ band’s, and the introduction had turned out to be a case of mutual love at first sight. study prepared for Eric was in bis an undisturbed morning at his writing, when the butler came in with a tele¬ gram. if possible, chris¬ “Come to-morrow', tening Saturday, wire reply,” ran the message. mind that Eric had no more peaeaof morning, for Gwennie Was quite ex¬ cited at the thought of seeing her friend again so soon, and said she could easily get ready to go to-morrow. And that terrible dream last night returned to Eric’s mind with horrible vividness. They must start for Dale¬ ford to-morrow to be there in time for the christening on Saturday. To-morrow, Friday, October 13, was that meant as a warning, v too? But.no—and he quickly thrust aside those superstitions thoughts, One day in the week was as good as an¬ other, and as for taking dreams into everyday wakeful life and dwelling on the horrors, it was absurd; no sane man would put off his engagement, however trivial, for the sake of a grotesque nightmare, Dreams had never any connection with the future. ‘ ‘Men dwelt too much on dreams and such like things in this age of sup¬ posed enlightenment, and the world was growing more morbid everyday,” he had told the reading public in one of his works. Yet, reason as he would this morn¬ ing, he was unable to shake off a sort of ‘-uncanny” feeling, and something seemed to whisper that this dream was sent to him as a warning. The next morning Eric was not in his usual spirits, and instead of his bright laugh and clever talk he was almost silent. The terrible railway acAwlent, with all its dreadful details, had come before him in his sleep again last night. This time, however, he had felt it was a dream only, yet could not awake himself before came the horrible climax—and instead of forgetting it all this morning, the day¬ light brought it before his mind’s eye -clearly and distinctly. “Did you sleep welWast night, Rick?” said Gwennie, at last. “Yes, too well; I had nightmare with all its attendant horrors, and have rather a bad headache in con¬ sequence.” I thought * ‘Oh! I am so sorry. you had one of your headaches, you must have been working too hard; but surely it will make it worse to travel all that way. Shall we not go to-day, after jail?” And, as Eric was silent, she went on: “I don’t care much about the christening really. Rick, dear; let’s send Hettie a telegram, she will know it is not on purpose if we are not there to-morrow.” For one second Eric felt inclined to give way to his presentiment—then— why should so many foolish people be disappointed just because he had a foolidb fad ?—passed through his mind —who but a fool would j>ut off a journey and long engagement for the sake of a dream? “No, no, Gwen,” he said quickly, ‘ ‘I shall be all right, darling, when we leave smoky London far behind us. ” Gwennie brightened again at this, and agreed that it was depressing town this muggy, wet weather. “Shall we take Halma or Reverski with us in the train? But no, I will leave out the chess board, and then you will give me some more lessons,” she cried, making hasty preparations for their journey, and in less than an hour they were rattling down to Eus ton station. “Terrible railway -accident, Fatal collision between two trains on the Great Northern line. Thirty-five per¬ sons killed. Many injured.” These words, which headed a column in all the daily papers on Saturday morning, October 14, threw many families in the United Kingdom into sudden deep sorrow and consternation. The paragraph went on to explain the cause of the accident, and how the front part of both trains had been completely shattered into splinters, and the shock of the collision had thrown the down train off the line— down the steep embankment, so that passengers in the back carriages had no means of escape either, and very few were those who had been saved from instant death in the ill-fated train. Adi the travelers in the.up train were also more or less mortally in¬ jured, if not killed outright on that fatal Friday. Four and a half years had passed, and the railway accident was forgotten by most people; still there were a few who could never forget the sad occur¬ rence that had blighted their lives, and Eric Vyvyau was one. His was too deep a heart wound ever to heal entirely in this world. He was just now staying at Daleford. It was July, and the Townleys had a garden party, at which all the cream of Dale ford society was congregated that hot afternoon. On a rustic seat at the far end of the large sloping lawn sat fouF young ladies, and, standing in’ groups of threes and fours, were eight or nine others—some pretty and chick look¬ ing, others plain and dowdy; some were bashful looking debutantes, but others very much “out” and self possessed looking—a group such'as you will always see in any large gather¬ ing of this kind in the country. “Who is that very cross-looking man sitting near the band?” This in a stage whisper from the fairest maiden in the group. “Who do you mean?” answered her companion on the seat, “That dark man talking to Mrs. Barker?” “No, no, not that one,” in a voice of scorn from the speaker; “that’s a friend the Carthew’s brought with them this afternoon. I mean that handsome, fair man, standing up near the yew tree there by himself. ” “Oh! he is a" friend staying with the Townleys—Vyvyan, I believe, his name is,” broke in another voice. “He looks as though he thought the whole affair an awful bore, ” remarked another. “I don’t think he is handsome— nasty face, he has. ’ ’ “No; I don’t think he is, either. At least—that is—he would be if he only did not look so cross and sar¬ castic. ” “I am quite sure he is a horrid man” (this from another critic). “Why should he not make himself pleasant, and not stand alone picking everyone to pieces with his eyes? I hate that sort of men; but let’s walk round the grounds.” And the speaker walked off, the rest following suit. Thus is our appearance and even onr character judged by utter strangers in this hard-hearted, j^rosaic world. Gen¬ erally wrong, however, is their ver¬ dict concerning onr character. An d now the hostess was walking around the kitchen garden. An elder¬ ly gentleman with white hair and a kind, intelligent face was with her. They spoke softly, but scraps of con¬ versation in the lady’s voice could be overheard. “Yes, it is very sad, poor fellow. So kind hearted he is, though quite a changed man.” (An indistinct murmur from the gentleman.) “Oh, he was very ill for nearly seven menths. He was found quite unconscious under the debris of the wrecked train, with liis arm round his wife. She was killed on the spot. So pretty, she was, with real yellow, gold hair, and so nice, too. Dear, dear Gwen,” and. Mrs. Townley’s voice grew soft and her eyes misty. “Such a young couple, and only married’a year and a half; hut Eric told me has never really lived a moment of his life since he lost his wife. He says he feels so old now. But don’t talk about your favorite subject—namely deams —before him. I told you his sa*d story because I knew it would interest you, as you believe in such things; forget but, though, of course, he can never it himself, he can’t bear to think that others should know anything about his unheeded warning.—Sala’s Jour¬ nal. Trained Nurses. There was a time when, in some circles in our country, it was regarded as quite an important part of a wo¬ man’s education that she should know something of the proper care of the sick. To be a good nurse was to win respect, and this qualification was often thought to counterbalance defi¬ ciency in other respects. But the times changed. The art of nursing, which was almost an inheritance in some families, and sedulously culti¬ vated in others, fell in disuse. It was no longerratedsoliighamong feminine accomplishments. In fact, there was a disposition to class the art of nursing with various other old-time employ¬ ments for women, such as spinning and weaving. Again the times changed, and the professional nurse appeared. Not, indeed, as a new official, for she had long been in existence, but she began to be pojxular, the community recog¬ nized her value and she found her field. No one can study the progress made in the past twenty-five years in the'training, of nurses without being amazed at the scope of their education and at the splendid results already achieved. A woman graduating from some of the nurses’ schools in this country knows as much to-day about anatomy and physiology, materia medica and snrgery and such branches of knowledge as many a physician did fifty years ago under the training he then received. It is not astonishing that women thus fitted for their work should find plenty of it to do. The demand for trained nurses is to-day far in advance of the supply and the pay is certainly liberal. The nurse’s vocation opens a wide field of useful¬ ness for women were all the kindly impulses of their nature find abundant gratification, and where they can honestly believe that they are not working in vain. —Boston Herald. Hours of Dining. The hours of dining and the time of retiring at night have, it would ap pear, been undergoing a constant change in England as well as.in other countries in the course of the last few hundred years. The fashionables of Edward IV. ’a court rose with the lark, despatched their dinner at 11 o’clock, and shortly after 8 were wrapped in slumber. In the Northumberland House Book for 1512 it is set forth that the family rose at 6 in the morn¬ ing, breakfasted at 7, dined at 10 and supped at 4 in the afternoon. The gates were all shut at 9, and no further ingress or egress permitted. In 1570, at the University of Oxford, it was usual to dine at 11 o’clock and sup at 5 in the afternoon. The dinner hour, which was once so early as 10 o’clock, has gradually got later and later, un¬ til now it would be though the excess of vulgarity in the fashionable world to sit down to table earlier than 6.30 o’clock, while others extend it to 9 or 10.—New York Sun. The Canse of the Conflagration;, One of the rooms on the second floor of a house was discovered the other day to be on fire. The flames were, however, happily extinguished before any great mischief had been done, but a special interest is attached to the origin of the fire. It appears that the day had been a very bright one, and the sun’s rays, condensed by passing through a water-bottle, had set fire to » mackintosh hanging on the wall, and this in turn had ignited the bedding immediately below. At first it was supposed that one of the inmates had set fire to the place, bat the canse was clearly demonstrated by actual ex¬ periment. It is-not the first time that similar accidents have taken place, and though for some months to come the sun’s rays are not likely to be fierce enough, to do much mischief, the event should be remembered as indicating a possible danger, in sum¬ mer time especially.—Worthington’s Magazine. Original and Bizarre. Mr. Frederick Gebhard’s wedding gift to his bride—a silver bath tub made of 3200 ounces of pure silver, worth as mere bullion $2656, and valued as a finished product of the silversmith’s art at $5156—is at once original and bizarre.—New York Re¬ corder. TAKE A DAY OFF. When you see the hills away off Lookin' green an’ gold an' blue, It is time to take a day off With the daisies an’ the dew. Don’t you wish For a fish, When the trees are goin’ “swish !” j When you hear the birds a-singin’ , An’ the cattie-bells a-ringin’. An’ the honeysuckles swingin’— Don’t you wish? When March is headin’ May off, With a rumt>le in his curls, It is time to take a day off. Huntin' violets with the girls. - Don’t you pine For the shine V Of the meadows fair an’ fine? ' For the lillied rills a-flowin’, For the woods with blossoms blowin’,. For the world, with beauty glowin’— Don't you pine? — F. L. Stanton, in Atlanta Constitution. PITH AND POINT. You seldom got cold facts in a heated- argument.—Elmira Gazette. I fear I am going into a decline, re¬ marked the poet, as he entered the editorial sanctum. —Truth. The yell a man sets up when he treads on a tack is one ox the worst forms of foot-bawl.—Truth. “This rich relative of yours, is he a distant relative?” “Yes, extremely dis¬ tant since he became rich. ”—New York Press. Hardleigh—“Do you let your wife have her own way?” Haffoo— “Cer¬ tainly ; and most of mine. ”—Detroit Free Press. In Lawyer’s Office: Senior Partner — “Shall we go out and take some¬ thing?” Junior Partner — “From whom?”—Vogue. A London paper publishes the names of several public men who use hair dye. The dark secret is out at last.— Philadelphia Ledger. Vaillant’s last cry was, “Down with society!” Evidently Mrs. Vaillant has been giving “afteruoonsat home. ’ —Minneapolis Journal. Napoleon was a corker, Caasar a son of a gun, Hannibal was a lulu. But Atilla was a Hun. —New York Mercury. s Belle—“What an absurd man Mr. Snooks is! He told me he hoped I never giggled. ” Bessie—‘ ‘And what did you say?” Belle—“I giggled. Boston Transcript. “This amateur performance affair yon ?” speak of—was it a charitable “Oh, yes; the people knew the young folks were doing the best they could. ”j* —Boston Transcript. A man may speak ten languages and still be unable to express his feelings when, after reading a paper studiously for an hour or so, he discovers that it is three dJEs old. —Hallo. “Whatmo you thing of Mr. Hard hit’s execution ?” said Miss Gushey at the mnsicale. “I hadn’t heard of it,” said Old Growley, “but I think it’s a good idea; when does the hanging take place?”—Brooklyn Eagle. “Excuse me,” said the overhead wire to the street railway bond, “yon will have to show me the respect due to a lineal. You cannot forget, you know, that you are simply a col¬ lateral.”—Washington Star. “Who’s your friend?” asked the cat¬ fish. “Shad,” answered the bass. “I thought you knew him.” “Pretty well off, is he?” “Oh,” replied the bass, slightly, “he has about 3000 bones. ”—Indianapolis Journal. Father—“I’ve just found out that the strange young man who comes to see you has been borrowing money right and left.” Daughter—“Isn’t that lovely? He must be a nobleman in disguise.”—Boston Home Journal. “Joliman used to be a smart and rather airy bachelor, but I think he must Gave married since I saw him last year.” “Why do you think so?” “I noticed there were two or three buttons off his coat.”—Spare Mo¬ ments. Weight and Cost ot the First Cable. The original 1853 cable weighed ninety-three pounds per mile and had a conductor of seven copper wires of 22} gauge. Price of deep sea wire per mile, $200; price of span yarn and iron wire per mile, $265; cost of ontside coating of ^ tar and gutta¬ percha, $25 per mile; total cost per mile, $485. At $485 per mile the total cost of the 2500 miles of deep sea wire was $1,212,500. To this add twenty five miles of “shore end” wire, costing $1450 per mile, and we find that the first ocean cable, exclusive of instru¬ ments, cost a million and a quarter dollars.—St. Louis Republic. rf __ _ J It Went the Wrong IVay. Charles Keith, the agent of William Deering k. Co., in Omaha, entered suit against the company for $1100, which he alleged was owing to him as salary, etc. The company Sled a cross bill for $35,000, for their property which was in Keith’s hands as their agent. After all the evidence in the case had been submitted the judge gave judg¬ ment against Keith for the $35,000. He wishes that he had kept the busi¬ ness out of the courts.—New Orleaaa Picayune. -a*