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FRIENDS. Oh, give me friendsi Plough other wants may wear my life away. Though all the days seem cold and dark and gray, I shall not question that which fortune sends If round me press a host of kindly friends. I ask not wealth, Nor from the ever open hand of Fate I crave no robe of grace, nor place of state, For in the hope which fickle longing lends I seek no gift of fate, but countless friends. And thus through life, Though round me falls the shadow and the care Of bitter sorrows that I scarce can bear. I shall not heed them if my faith but rends The mist that shrouds me from my host of friends. —Madelon Grant leu. EM’LINE’S SUERENDER. BY WILLIAM I’ERRY BROWN. ..A early rains had supplemented the thawing of the February snows upon the big mountains, and the three forks of the Citico River thundered down the wild gorges of the LTnakas with an in creasing power that cheered the spirits of the loggers in Eagle’s Basin. A tall young mountaineer, with flow ing hair, tossed roughly back, stood j playfully holding a struggling girl over J the verge of the precipice called the j Buzzard Boost, that towered over a j whirl of waters surging through the gorge at the lower side of the basin. The girl was robust and muscular, yet this' son of anak held her easily with one hand, while he saucily shook a finger of the other as he said laughingly: “Ef you’lows ter fool me ez ye hev some of the vuther boys in the basin, you’ve jist gone ’nd treed the wrong coon. Hit air a fact, Em’line.” “You, Curt Cable!” she screamed, for she was more alarmed than her rude ad mirer thought her; “turn me loose— turn me loose, I say!” “My, Em’line, if I turns ye loose, ye’ll fall, shore.” lie still held her, as gently as he could, while she clung to his extended arm, her usually ruddy face now pale with auger and fear. At length, with a laugh, he pulled her toward him, half embracing her with one arm. But, as she felt herself rudely pressed, she struck him a stinging blow on the face and re leased herself w ith a supreme effort, then sank down with her hands over her face, sobbing violently. Though the blow must have hurt, he smiled good humorodly, bent over her and said: “Thar now r , Em'line, tit fer tat. You’ve paid me back; now I want ter know ef you really air tryin’ to sarve me like ye do the lest of the boys ez makes out like they wants ter marry ye. Ye know I love ye, Em’line. I’ve be’n a courtin’ of ye monster time,’ an I’re jest erblig’d ter hev a answer.” As he spoke, she crushed back the soJ)s, and now looked up with red eys, angrily flaming. “Hev ye!” I—l’d see in yore grave afore I’d marry ye, the way you’ve treated me.” “Why, Em’line ” “Don’t ye Em’line me nary bit more. Thar’s no endurin’ of ye, ’nd from this yer day on, 1 wants ye ter keep ter yer eelf ’nd lemme erlone. Ef some yuther boys wants ter talk ter me taint nary bizness o’ yourn, Curt Cable.” i She rose and confronted him—a breathing statue of feminine resentment —a Katharine in homespun, crushing \ this would-be Petruchio. As he slowly j comprehended her meaning his smile j melted into an expression of sadness, as ; he replied: “That’s all right, Em'line. You kin ! let on jist ez much ez you pleases; but I knows that you know how much I’ve ! loved ye, ’nd waited for ye; and ef yore I agoin’ ter let my foolin’ ’nd glabbin’ j change ye, I’ll b’lievc what the boys sez of ye air true. You don’t keer fur! nuthin cep n ter make fools on us, but after this ye caint hev yore way long o’ Ine, Em Kymer, for I’m done with ye.” 1 Em’line stood motionless while the hot flush of anger slqwly receded before a pallor of after-rising dismay at the result of her words. The lashing of the tor- below fell shiveringly upon her ear, like an audible echo of coming trouble. The whistle of a mocking b;rd singing from the fox grape vines over the foaming abyss, sounded like a rasping counter irritant to the thunders below. Yet overhead, through the March air and sunshine, the clear sky basked in the most restful and soothing of colors, lie ceding from the basin on every side the green and saiiron slopes rosp, browning with distance, until they the heavens, apparently far above all terres trial care and passion. Yet here she was—the queen of hearts among these mountain wilds—balked and tortured by the only man out of a half score of suitors she had ever owned to herself that she really cared for. He had accused her of trifling, of heartless ness, of insincerity. Had he not spoken with some degree of truth? Without knowing the*name, she felt herself to be a coquette, realizing the delight of toy ing with the hearts of others while her own remained untouched. Yet, was her own heart really invul- i nerable? Standing there, with the beauty and turmoil of that wild scene enveloping her, she began to feel that things were not altogether as they had seemed to be. Nature was somehow be- . reft of its usual charm. Without the : sense of Curt Cable’s devotion—on which j she had leaned, even while she tortured him—her small atom of the world was growing very cheerless. But Em’line, as we have seen, had a healthy fund of resentment to fall back upon, and resentment loves to pick flaws. After her first flood of dejection had passed, she found some sad satisfac tion in multiplying Curt’s foibles. His rough humor, his cttreles- pride, the masterfulness and persistence that had characteriea his devotion, all these, hav ing whetted her irritation, now bolstered her pride. Yet she knew r , though re luctant to acknowledge, that these crudities were as foils to some nobler attributes of character. An hour later found her busy over the raftsmen’s dinner in the low, long cabin, planted centrally in Eagle's basin, before the broadest sweep of the river above Gripp’s Gorge. Bill Kymer, her father, herded cattle in summer and logged on the Citico in winter, while his wife and daughter caoked lor more or less of the dSHVStnigiy -x , A boom was here stretched across the river against which thousands of logs were pushing, now hourly increased in number by the floods in the upper ranges, when the three prongs that here united came raging. A score or more of mountaineers were lounging in to dinner from the woods and river. Curt Cable was with them, but his usually cheery voice was now strangely silent. He shuffled awkwardly about, his gait and manner contrasting oddly with his really handsome figure and face. “Wal, Em'line,” said Dow Axley, an oft-rejected yet ever good natured visi tor of the girl’s; what wur you adoin’ eroundthe Boost this mornin’? ’nd what’s the matter long o’ Curt ennyhow?” The men were eating and Em’line set down a plate of “cooked greens” before Axley with a thump, saying: “Thar’s what I wuz adoin’. Ef hit wern’t for me a projeckin’ eround hyu ’nd yander, hit air prashus little biled poke ’nd mustard ez you alls ’ud git. Ez fer Curt, ef yore so cu’rous ter know what yails him, you’d better ax him; I’m not a mindin’Curt Cable’s bizness, myself.” Curt said nothing, though his brow contracted, while Em’line gloried in her independence of speech at the expense of an additional heartache as she noted his increasing gloom. “Yet,” she thought, reassuringly, “if he wern’t a keerin’ he w’n’dn’t shorely look so mad.” After dinner the men lounged before the door awhile. Over the basin the sky was clear, yet afar off the Unakas still wore the gray garb of mist and storm. The thunder of the rising river echoed ominously to the practiced ear of the woodman. “That thar roarin’ means more failin’ weather, ’nd the fraish jist a cornin’ on. A fraish air a good thing, but too much puddin’ ’ud make a dog sick. I’m afeard, boys, ez that thar boom ’ll go afore night.” So said Bill Rymer, after a long look at the rising vapors gathering over the Unakas. “Ef them tliar thunder heads burst up yander, thar’ll be a jam in Gripp’s Gorge —shore.” Gripp’s Gorge extends for nearly a mile between two irregular lines of cliff, in a manner not unlikely a rocky moun tain canyon. The river sweeping fiercely through, debouches into a more open valley below. The “thunder heads” on the “bigmountain” did burst; the floods again descended, and about four o’clock that afternoon the boom broke. In less than an hour a jam was discov ered near the lower end of the gorge. The waters kept rising, while more logs from above came thumping down by the hundred. All swept through the basin into the insatiable maw of Gripp’s Gorge, and were burled against the masses already piled in every conceivable shape between the jagged walls. Some thing must be at once done, or the jam would soon assume such proportions as to defeat all efforts at dislodging it. Curt Cable, with two others, entered the gorge from above in a “dug out” canoe to see what could be done. It was a forlorn hope, and the danger so great that Curt, who called for volunteers, was about to go alone, despite all dissuasive efforts on the part when these two came forward. Em’line sat in the front porch of her father’s cabin and saw the canoe leave the shore. “Pap,” she asked, “who ab* them a goin’ ter risk tliur lives fer of old logs:” Mr. Kymer was approaching at a half run from the riverside. “You, Em’line,” he cried, “get out that thar long inch rope we’uns uses ter windlass the rafts with. Curt Cable, ’nd Jim Spratt, ’nd Doak Slover hev gone down the gorge ter the jam. We —why don’t yer git that thar rope, gal.” Em’line was standing speechless and staring. Her father stamped his foot impatiently, and she turned to look for the rope like one in a dream, muttering to herself: “What ef Curt —never —comes back?” Ten minutes later Bill Kymer and several others were standing on the Black Cliff, a huge priecipice that over hung a large rock midway of the gorge, round which the waters boiled and where the jam had formed. Em’line had followed them, regardless of the supper she was to prepare—regardless of all, save that Curt Cable had, perhaps, gone to his death, and—that she loved him. How the results of her own pretty re sentment now mocked her as she remem- j bered his last attempt at reconciliation which she had so causelessly repulsed. She recalled his better traits —his gen erosity, frankness and daring. She owned to herself that if he had been rough and rude, she had been guilty of many shortcomings, And now—now— where was he? llow she climbed up the rugged, perilous trail among the cliffs, clinging to vines and bushes, tearing her clothes unheeded, she hardly knew. Now she stood beside her father on the Black Cliff. Below was a savage roar and white dash of spray, and the grinding and thunder of descending logs. Her ears, half deafened by the noise, were j strained for the sound of voices that might, even now, be forever silenced. The sun was sinking; chilling shadows were enveloping the gorge, though the eastern mountains were yet bl ight with a tender glow. The men were lowering j the rope. Her father, lying upon the rock, peered down into the seething abyss. At last he raised his head and said: “Thar’s two men on that thar rock, ez fer ez 1 kin make out. Hit seems like they’ve bruk loose a part of tHe jam.” “Only two men, pap?” cried Em’line. She threw herself down, and peered over. YYhat. if the absent one was Curt Cable? For the first time since the “big meetin’s” down in the valley last fall she prayed —prayed silently, yet with her mind in an incoherent maze of fear and ■ suspense. “That’s hit, bey',” she heard her | father say. “A leetle lower down—thar! He hev kitched it. He’s got it yunder his arms. Now—pull stiddy, boys, ’nd don’t frazzle the rope.” A human form was dangling over the cauldron below, drenched with spray and swinging wildly. Was it Curt? If the rope should break—she shuddered j and drew back from a sight that sickened her. She hid her face, and still heard i the horrible rasp of the rope over the smooth edge of the cliff, the hard breatk ing of the men—then, after anvhile, a scraping of feet, and Doak Slover’s heavy voice. “Hit were a hard squeeze, boys, ’nd a ieetle the tightest place I wur ever in.” “Who uns on the rock ’sides you?” she heard her father ask. His voice was as the voice of one afar off. “That thar is Jim Spratt.” Her heart gave a fearful leap—she gasped for breath. “Wall, Doak, whar’s Curt?” Oh! the sickening suspense of that supreme instant of dread. It was mad dening. She sprang to her feet as Slover’s slow tones came like an echo of doom. “Why, Curt—he—wal, jist afore tin jam bruk loose, the eend of a log Jjit the dug out, kerbim! ’Nd Curt, he went down long with it.” She waited to hear no more, but with out a word, passed behind the unheed ing group, conscious only that Curt’s body was somewhere below the gorge, that she would find it—and then die. “Lower away, boys,” Bill Kymer shouted again, but the words and the safety of Jim Pratt were an indifferent affair to her now. Was there ever misery so poignant as hers? "Would any who knew her have called her a coquette now? “He hev gone ter his death,” she groaned,, “’thout ever a forgivin’ me. I don’t keer how sune I goes ter mine— p’raps I’ll meet him thar.” Where? The despairing woman, who with dilated eyes and torn garments, with gasping breath and trembling hands, struggled along the perilous trail above the gorge that led to calmer waters be low, found the above query unexpec edly answered. The form of Curt Cable, drenched, bruised, his clothing half torn away, his face unnaturally pale, suddenly glided ronnd a sharp bend of the path and con fronted her. Her limbs sunk beneath her weight; she hid her eyes, exclaim ing: “ Lawd hev pity! Hit—air—his— haant.” She w have fall down the slope, but strong ms grasped her; a warm breath fanned her brow, and as her eyes responded, she saw the “haunt” ap parently working its will with her. But the bauds felt lifelike and the voice she now heard made her heart throb anew. “No, Em’line, I haiut quite a haant yet, tho’ I coin’d tolerable nur a gittin’ tur be one.” “Why—why—” she whimpered, “Doak, he said ez a log hit ye ’nd ye went down—” “Doak wuz skeered all thro’, ’nd didn’t know half he wuz a sayin’, I reckin’.. We’uns cut out the jam, but I wuz in the dugout when a log struck it, ’nd I went down jest ahead of the jam when hit bruk loose. Down below the canoe split herself on a rock. I le’pt on a log ez wuz a passin’, ’nd got whirled yunder ’nd got knocked about purty considerable. But I got ashore some how, ’nd hyur I is. Now, Em’line, what wuz ye a doin’ a gallopin’ down hyur in thi.sli yer ityle?” There was no answer. Yet her face was nestled warmly against his ragged and wet bosom. “Now, Em’line, air ye still mad, or | wuz ye jist a-puttin’ on?” Still no reply; yet one arm stole softly round Curt’s neck, who, feeling that his time had come at last, made the best— or, as the ladies might say, the worst—• | use of his power. “Air ye ever a goin’ ter git that way long o’ me agfc ’Em’line?” The arm slightly tightened its clasp of his neck for an answer. “There. Em’line, I wants ye ter kiss me right smak in the mouth.” - But this last humiliation was post poned by the appearance of Bill Kymer and the other men. The father stared at Curt and his daughter, then said to his friends, with a knowing grin: “lie air a right peart kind of a corpse, boys: jist erbout peart enuff ter cause weddin’ about hyur afore long, I reckon. ” Bill was right. Em’line had finally surrendered, and when the affair thus prophesied came off, as it did in dud time, half of her old beaux were there to dance and congratulate with such heart as this result Lad left them.— JS'askcillA Ameri an. Tantalized With a Counterfeit. The newest phase of the .counterfeit dollar game, says the New Y'ork World, is to be seen now even in some of the most popular Sixth avenue cafes. A good imitation of the “plunk” is nailed firmly to the floor just in front of the ; bar. The audience sit innocently down ;at a table some ten feet away. The vic- tims come up one at a time to the bar, over which they lean in a nonchalant manner while attempting to sample with their toes the glittering prize so near and yet so far below them. The bar keeper, who is in the secret, turns his back to draw the beer they always order, because it requires him to turn his back. As he turns, the victim, with eyes glued on the Ganymede’s back, squirms and stoops almost low enough for his fingers to clutch the coin. The barkeeper turns like a fla-h, and the victim, with a well-feigned smile and yawn, straightens up, drinks off the beer and calls for another. The same thing is repeated until the audience I are so convulsed with la ghter as to be -1 tray their game, or until the victim has ! spent more than a good dollar in the frothy chase after the imitation. A Cure lor Emperor Frederick. Among the packages brought in from Mexico recently to El i’aso, Texas, by the Wells-Fargo Express Company was a cubical box about one foot each way. weighing thirty pounds, addressed to “His Majesty Frederick HI., Emperor of Germany, King of Prussia, Berlin, Germany.” When opened by the cus toms officials the box was found to con tain four quart-bottles of dark-colored liauid carefully packed in chaff. Each bottle was wrapped in tissue paper of red, white and green, the Mexican na tional colors, and a piece of ribbon of the same patriotic colors covered the cork of eacn bottle. The liquid was stated to be an Indian vegetable juice prepared by the discoverer and sent from an interior city of Mexico to insure a speedy cure of the sick monarch is taken according to directions. The sender pays all express charges and custom duty, —Nrw York World. The new St. Catherine’s Eight, Isle of Wight, will be the most powerful elec tric light in the world. KLEPTOMANIACS. PEOPLE WHO STEAL FROM NECESSITY OR CHOICE. An Agency Projected Which Will Protect Merchants From Their Depredations Respectable Women Shoplifters, Etc. “Why is it that so many persons pre fer stealing to making an honest livings” asked a Washington Star repoiter of a detective the other day. “There are various reasons,” replied the detective “Some persons steal be cause they can't help it; others because they find it easier than working, while others steal simply because they have an opportunity. There are some persons who steal thousands of dollars’ worth of property before they are caught. Often they are ladies, the wives of respectable citizens, who would never for a moment be suspected of anything wrong. Some of them, as I said before, do it simply because they have au opportunity. Others commit these thefts because they like to dress well and fashionably, and are not allowed enough money for that purpose by their husbands. Such women always dress well, and usually have enough money to spend for ordi na- v wearing apparel, but not enough to keep pace with the fashions. They usually confine their operations to three or four stores. They will do their shop ping in such few stores that their pur chases at each amounts to considerable in a year. They become acquainted with the proprietors and clerks of the stores, and are regarded so highly by them that they are given full sway, and can go about the stores without ever being watched or suspected, and even if they acted sus piciously no notice would be taken of them. In this way they manage to se cure considerable property. They are not always satisfied with robbing the stores, but will sometimes pick up a stray purse, carelessly placed on the counter by another customer, who is making some purchases, or who is being fitted to a cloak or trying on a bonnet. Then when the purse is missed, com plaint is made, but she, ot course, is not suspected. The only other persons ‘about are the clerks, upon whom sus picion rests, and sometimes such clerks are closely watched and sometimes dis charged and the suspicion hangs to them jfoiever afterward. There is another class of persons,” continued the detect tive, “who need considerable watching. Young men who are employed as clerks in the stores at salaries ranging from s:> to $lO per week. They are frequently from fifteen to twenty years old. After hours, when the time is their own, they frequently fall into bad company and bad habits soon follow. They have to pay board at home, and after that amount is taken out of their week’s earnings they have but very little left. With that small sum the/ cannot hire buggies, put up champagne and go about like oth ers, and the consequence is they soon be gin to knock down. “To avoid so much of this class of stealing,” he said, “I think it would be a good plan for the merchants to organize a sort of protective agency or society, and have in flieir employ detectives who would watch the scores of clerks after business hours, and note the habits of each. Monthly reports of their conduct could be made and the merchants would then be able to know or at least have an idea of how the clerks conducted them selves while not attending to business. Take a case for instance where a clerk receiving a small salary would visit saloons and other places where he would spend money freely, and spend more in. a night or two than he actually earned in • week, his employer would certainly know that there was something wrong and could then take special notice of the particular individual. “Another class of persons who steal are porters. They usually open the store in the morning, and there is ample op portunity for them to wrap up bundles and secrete them in the celler or other convenient places, and when they start out to deliver goods they carry the plun der with them. Sometimes ajporter in a dry goods house will cut a silk dress pattern and pin it to the lining of his coat. He can then put his coat on and twa'k out of the store undiscovered. Then there are some persons who steal on account of poverty. Such persons, i however, are lew, and their thefts | amount to but little. “A great amount, of stealing done re sults from the carelessness of persons in employing servants,” continued the de tective. “Householders frequently em ploy servants who come as perfect strangers, without any recommendation, unless it be the recommendation of some unknown person, which any person can pet from some one. They receive their pay and leave, and, if they ask it, will often he given a recommendation. Be fore such a servant has been gone any length of time a theft has been discov ered and the police are called in to in vestigate the case. “There is another class of persons who steal for nothing else than to get money for the purchase of whisky. This class of persons travel about in the guise of a tramp and go from door to door asking for something to eat. There are very few persons who will refuse such hungry looking individuals something to eat, and will either invite them in or tell them to wait at the door untill they return. In the former case they usually manage to pick up some trilling ornament which will get them a drink, and in the latter case they will step in and clean the hatrack, and when the charitable persons return they have disappeared. “Then there are persons who have dis honest sons. From time to time they miss pieces of silverware or clothing, and the servant is suspected. The unsus pected member of the family continues his systematic robberies until the matter is reported to the police, and an investi gation follows. '1 he ollicer soon learns the place frequented by the son, and when it is shown beyond a doubt that he and not the servant is the guilty party there is trouble in the family. Persons who rob their parents in this way usually do it because they have fallen into bad oompany or are addicted to the use of intoxicants, or some other bad habit, so that there is po doubt but that innocent persons are often susj ected of theft and their reputation injured. New York, with a population of 1,400,000, has 77,235 dwellings. German Dairy Schools. An European letter, noticing agri* : culture in general in Europe, has the following in relation to the dairy school ‘ of Paeselez-Meinersen, near Luneburg, opened in 1884, and under the direction of H. Hassclmann, says the pupils follow four sections of work—the dairy, school, household managament, and the kitchen and flower gardens. The schooling is confined to reading, writing and arith metic, the latter with special reference to keeping simple accounts. The flower and kitchen garden, in the light work of which they take part, is limited to cottage and farming wants. The house keeping is in great part restricted to that of the kitchen. For the dairy the girls have to assist in all the processes of butter and cheese-making, to keep a register of the yield of each cow, and to test samples of the milk. The director gives every theoretical explanation re quired. The school manipulates sixty-six gallons of milk daily—the pupils being seven girls. Some milk is furnished by contract from farmers. The Laval hand separator is in use. From time to time the Swartz and Holstein butter systems are tried. Since the adoption of the hand separator more butter, and of a superior quality has been obtained as compared with older methods. The experience of M. Hasselmann respecting the utilization of the skim milk is important. He considers it is very suitable for making into cheese, but is, above all, excellent for feeding calves. He sho.vs by his books that when skim milk is made into cheese, or employed for hog fattening, it is not so remunerative as when given to calves. Ilis plan is to give calves uncreamed milk daily, fresh and pure; on their being able to consume their five quarts he sup plies them with as much unskimmed milk as they can take. In the course of eight or ten weeks they are fattened, not very fat, but fleshy. M. Hassclmann does not believe in the theory that to obtain whiteness of flesh feeding on whole milk is essential. He maintains that the aptitude for whiteness is inherited by the calf from its mother, is dependent on race, and the kind of food given to the cow. M. Hasselmann has tried every variety of substitute for milk in the rearing and fattening of cattle, and con cludes that substitutes are of little utility, but often quite the contrary, as they can prove a danger. — Farm, Field and Stock man. Perpetual Supreme Court Messengers. Every Justice of the United States Supreme Court selects his own clerk, but he must take the messenger bequeathed to him by his predecessor. The other Justices all feel that it is due to them that anew and untried messenger should not be brought into their confidential circle every time there is a change upon the bench. When Mr. Wait© died his messenger continued in his old place, serving the bereaved family and making himself handy around the court. As soon as the next Chief Justice qualifies this man will go to the apartments of his new masters with his shaving, blacking and brushing outfit, and will proceed to do his duty in spite of any partiality that the new-fledged jurist may entertain for an old servant. Justice Matthews did not understand this rule and precedent when he first came to sit on the bench. He arrived in Washington late in the evening and took lodgings temporarily at a hotel. The moment he stirred in his chamber the next morning he heard a rap at his door. On responding a very respectful and businesslike darkey walked in with his ' arms full of toilet tools. “I didn’t ring,” the new Justice said, mistaking the intruder for an employe of the house. “No, sah; but I thought you might need some barbering. I’ll brush your clothes, sah, and shine your boots. ” “You needn’t mind, sir,” the Justice said severely, as lie still hold the door open. “My valet will attend to that.” “ ’Scuse me, Air. Justice, but I’m your man.” “What is the matter with you? Leave the room.” “’Scuse me, Air. Justice, but I was left to you by Air. Justice Swayne, and the clerk of the cote ordered me to re poteto you this mawnin’.” He knew his duty and the traditions of his place, and he stuck to them and to the reluctant Air. Aiattliews. He is with him to this day. —Boston Globe. The Bug that Cuts Up Metal. Mr. William Beutenmuller, the ento mologist of the American Museum of Natural History in Central Park, New York, at the last meeting of the New York Microscopical Society, stated that the American Museum had just received a specimen of the curious metal cutting Yucatan beetle, the Zopherus. Down in Central America, where the beetle has its home, it is known as the “maqueche.” Not long since, many newspaper para graphs were current about a pretty beetle which the Southern ladies were in the habit of wearing on the corsage, where it crawled at will, held by a tiny gold chain. This beetle is the maqueche. It is perfectly inoffensive, has no odor, and dees not deface or stain the most delicate fibre. The adjusting of the golden harness is a nice operation, the metal being soldered on it. The harness consists of a girdle about the insect’s waist —between the thorax and abdomen—to which above and below is joined a sleuder band passing over the posterior portion of the body, longitudinally, while a small chain is attached to this harness by a little staple, which chain terminates in a hook or pin to fasten in the bodice. By many Mexicans the insect is re garded as an amulet or mascot and is usually highly prized by foreigners when obtainable. Parties who have owned insects of this kind have often attempted to maintain them on sugar and water, but the beetles always perished in a short time. But if fed on decayed wood, which is their natural food, they may be kept alive and thriving for more than a year. The wing covers or shell of the beetle is exceedingly hard. Its color is a light chocolate shade, and when full grown it is about an inch and a half long. In New York it was stated that this beetle can cut through soft metal, and this fact is one of the most interesting about it. When placed in a glass jar covered by a thin pewter liu it has been known after a few hours of chipping and cutting to make a hole sufficiency large to allow it , to pass through. IN THE SWING. Here we go to the branches high I Here we come to the grasses low! For the spiders and flowers and birds and I Love to swing when the breezes blow. Swing, little bird, on the topmost bough; Swing, little spider, with ropß so fine; Swing, little flower, for the wind blows now; But none of you have such a swing as min* Dear little bird, come sit on my toes; I’m just as carelul as I can be; / And oh, 1 tell you, nobody knows What fun we’d have if you’d play with me! Coma and swing with me, birdie dear, Bright little flower, conic swing in my hair* But you, little spider, creepy and queer— You’d better stay and swing over there. The sweet little bird, he sings and sings, But he doesn’t even look in my face; The bright little blossom swing and swings, But still it swings in the self-same place. Let them stay where they like it best; J Let them do what they’d rather do; J, Afy swing is nicer than all the rest, But maybe it’s rather small for two. Here we go to the branches high! Here we come to the grasses low! For the spiders and flowers and birds anl I Love to swing when the breezes blow. Swing, little bird, on the topmost bough; Swing, little spider, with rope so fine; Swing, little flower, for the wind blows now} But none of you have such a swing as mine, —Eudora S. Bumstead. in St. Nicholas. PITH AXli roIXT. A bad fit—Epileptic. A bad spell of weather—Wether. Down in the mouth—The tongue. AVarranted to wash—A Chinaman. A paying practice—The paymaster’s. The book agent should wear a canvas suit. A sonny retreat—A boy’s orphan asylum. An old woman who paints—Age hold ing up a flag of truce to time. Why toll fire alarm bells when a good man dies? — Boston Commonwealth. Antiquarian—A human crab, facing the past and walking backward to tho future. This is a world of pain and suffering, even a base ball has a stitch in its side. —Dansville Breeze. The second is a hard worked man, being expected to serve in a duel ca pacity. — Mtreliant- Tea celer. Kind lady: “llow old are you, my little lellow?” Youngster: “I ain’t old at all, ma’am; I'm nearly new.” The crank appears to be a person who mows down the mental weeds in a whim sickle way.— Duluth Puraqrapher. A Alilwaukee Judge has decided that a hen is not a domestic animal. He must be trying to make a game of her.— Picayune. It seem 3to be settled that the Gov ernment cannot hold the Mississippi river, no matter how often it levies on it.— Siftings. An “anti-chap toilet cream” is ad vertised. It will never become popular. The girls are too fond of the chaps.— Detroit Free Press. A young lady in Philadelphia is said to have had five lovers all named Sam uel. Her photograph album must be a look of Sams. — Drake's Magazine. Stranger —“What is this? Ink, pens and paper— one thaler! What writing have you had to do for me? Landlord—*• “Why—the bill '."Fliegeiule Blaetter. Ah, why did she make him leave her? Ah, why so cruel, the fair? When a boy he’d hail scarlet fever, And it settled in his hair. — Judge. The civilized world spent years in try ing to break into China. Now it is making strenous efforts to keep tho Chinese from breaking out. Philadel* phia Enquirer. Hear tho wailing of the ladies, Bee their faces worn and thin, And the cause of all their sorrow Is —the bustle is called in! — Siftings. The peach crop i 3 in a marketable con dition. The fruit is large and luscious, but owing to frosts in March and April the baskets are gnarled and dwarfish. — Cin iunati C minercial. Wife —“Dear me, John! What’s the baby doing with that paint-box?” Artist Husband (taking it from the baby)—“Just trying to mix the colors on his palate, my love.” You never hear the bee complain, Nor hear it weep nor wail; But, if it wish, it can unfold A very painful tail. Washington Critic. In the cigar store —“Here is a cigar that I can confidentially recommend.” “H’m! Well I guess I’ll try some other'' brand; I’ve been in the cigar business myself. ” — Boston Transcript. “And so the ice-cream season again upon us, George,” she said shyly. “Yes,” he responded, “I never pics up a paper now that I do not expect to I find some awful case of poisoning. I Epoch. A “What’s the matter, Dumley, you I look discontented and unhappy.” am; I just found a thrco-cent piece, and I when I saw it on the sidewalk I’m blamed I if I didn’t think it was a dime.'—l Epoch. f “How do you like your new pl*oe,l Bridget?” asked the servant gi r ‘ s ß best beau. “Net at all. Sure the m:s-| tress wears such small shoes that 1 can B get me feet into them. — New lorlM Journal. J Taking the temperature —She (at tn«* races) —“What’s the trouble on t u judges’ stand, George!” He— “Tncr»» is some dispute over the last heat. ■ She—“ Aren’t their thermometers aug alike, George?”— Siftings. ,■ Queen Victoria has sent a message <>■ sympathy to Mr. John Bright. If will be no dispute among doctors oj ■ his condition as has been the case the Emperor. Everybody knows " fl Bright’s disease is.— Picayune. % I A sailor for sea, m And a spinster for tea. * A lawyer for talk and a soldier for ugh ' B A baby for noise, if And a circus lor boys, And a typewriter man to do autograph •' my inff- , . , r fui A bunker for chink, H And a printer for ink, .J A leopard for spots, and a wafer for ing; . ffl A crack baseball flinger, E An opera singer, .•* I. A. shotgun, a n»io and a choir for kickw«