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a loiear firwnia 9<Mtr hMrtbest. » • --L-1 ^ M*jl. . •;• [be kept from suoh W»r 'St»flViBto me! JSMWBInhteld yon »sad labor and oare; t^some fairy prinows, iaU to yww hMtr. yam |in me we perfect ,.. roowafltstoa i t ; . I wonder thai Heaven , aoofa a tmnn to m«f ^B, (taral »T preoiwii, no#, mast I My it? Adieu! s;*. Ok, M««. you're heavyI I'm t.redt Oo sit In the rocker. I pray: Tom mill lit wirim n nnT*~J **-• W^*3gwMgtaBip down la that sort of wnf. w rasui i i"»j t wens ft mbAim ana 1 " imp down In that s< Con IT" Meter be mending my coat sleeve, rrtipoknftboat it before, And I want to finish this novel, t. And look over those bills from the store. This drewlng-gown site like the d--4. ThHtdtmnran down attbo bed. Strutce nothlns can ever look decent; I«M you oonldknow howtlKty feel. : What's this bill from Oraan'st Why surely, -• It's not anmtfcer new dreee! - _ liookberel TT1 be btnknurt ere Now Tout, Or tafrston Mite will have to grow less! Mag, ww on this bnttott finish f ' " ' I t *A*U£??^nfi£tah that sleeve; I " Helgh-bo! rm so deuoedly sleepy, rUplleoS to bed, I believe! jj^<- t ^;:**M$rtford JPimes. tl: . V( ASTRAL MURDtf, " BT ELLA WHKJSLEB. ' A ghastly sight met the affrighted 4awn as it rose over the tillage of {Somervale. Hot many rods from his stately hope, where a loving wife awaited his coming, lay Mas Arnold stark and dead, with a bullet in his brain. There he was found by a working- man going early to his labor, and soon the sleeping village was astir, roused into unusual wakefulness by the dread­ ful tragedy which had been enacted -while it slept. Max Arnold was a lawyer and a man of wealth and position. He was young; handsome, popular. Great consternation and deep and genuine sorrow pervaded every home in Somorvale that morning. A respected citizen, an excellent man, at loved husband, shot dead in the night in their midst! > And by whom? v That was the question. ? ."Kot a man in the village was known have a word of misunderstanding % -with Max Arnold. It was not done for plunder, since his well-filled purse had not been touched. He was a general iavorite with old and young--a man whose genial nature and strong magnet­ ism won friends wherever he went. • When they bore him, cold and white and handsome as a statue of a Greek god, into his darkened home, the scene was heartrending. The servants cried aloud in boister­ ous grief, for he was a kind master! The beautiful widow knelt in white and tearless agony, for he was a wor? •hiped husband! And the young lady-boarder, Came Boland, fell* in a dead swoon, for he was her loved friend, and this was her 'first acquaintance with death. The Coroner's inquest brought -nothing to light upon the subject, so iStrotiAed in mvsterv. He had tact "his death by a ball shot >w a 36-caliber revolver, held in the ,nd of some person unknown. The ball had entered just back of the left ear, and it was evident that the Suxderer had crept upon him in the irkness a^d from the rear, it - There was no evidence of any strug­ gle--it was probable that ne fell dead, with no knowledge of who his midnight assassin was. Kind neighbors flocked to the afflicted family. The widow's tearless grief was pitiful to behold, and Carrie Boland was in a raging fever before nightfall . "She must have care at once," said a -physician, "or I will not be answerable for the consequences. This tragedy has ~ttpset the whole nervous system, and ifthe is not over strong." » "I will install myself as nurse," said Ruth Atkins, who, among other vil­ lagers, had come to render whatever wervice was needed to the stricken famsehold. Buth Atkins alone, of all who made file attempt, had succeeded in separat­ ing the widow from the body of her husband, to which she clung in tearless agony. Speaking no word, shedding OA tear, she clung to him through the long hours, till at last Buth had, almost by force, taken her to her room and dis­ robed her. Then, leaving her in charge «£ careful hands, she responded to the "•(doctor's call for a nurse. '"Are you sure yoi can go through the ordeal?" he sa$ct "You do not know, perhaps, how trying it will be. •She needs constant care until the crisis "dp over." "I shall not be apt to neglect her or "to falter," answered Buth, calmly, "for; if Carrie Boland were to die, life would •'Sbte a blank to me!" • / It was strong language, and yet no •exaggeration of the feeling that prompted it. , These two girls had been heart friends for long years. Utterly ~fgtialike, each supplied the want felt by g"v ith" other. jp , Carrie was gentle, yielding, delicate, -r* ««»sily influenced. Buth was strong, lull of vitality, of determined character and marked individuality. The two j&ade a complete unity, and no petty misunderstanding or striving hfri ever f&arred the beauty of their enduring , -friendship. Both were orphans. Buth made her ."home with an uncle, whose large family "precluded Carrie from sharing her home -'•A "With her, as Buth would have desired. Carrie, who supported herself by t C • anusic teaching, had for the last year i"' tl"\- ^>een an inmate of Max Arnold's house-. J ~t»ld. Both husband and wife had been ' Tjtnuch interested in the frail girl who ; . , 4 "Was homeless, and their kindness to her ttad been but one of many good deeds hat the people of Somervale could re­ s' • ,-count. < J1!*' After the heart-rending funeral and :m> Tburial--which our fashionable cer- f f tjemonies render unnecessarily horrible ' *nd . torturing--were over, it became weeessary for the detectives to have an interview with the widow. What little ['•*&' ^there was known of Max Arnold's last ' hours must be imparted to them. She told the story as best she could, 'through the blessed tears that at last ihad come to her relief. T"*"% f' ' "My husband left home about 8 •o'clock," she said. "I noticed nothing sunusual in his manner--nothing save a •preoccupied and grave demeanor which lias been characteristic of him for a month or two. This I accounted for by his pressure of business. He has been driven and hurried for several weeks, and I have seen very little of him, save ^t meal time. He has rarely come in parlier than 12 o'clock at night, and several times remained even later. "I spent the evening until 10 with Miss Boland, »nd we retired to our rooms. I soon 4al«efk and did not awaken until the clock struck 2. I noticed my husband** absence, but was not at all alarmed, and soon fell asleep again. Waking at 4 and find­ ing him still absent, I came to the eon- -1 IrAVki Kivn MA Uituuuu l»U«V UIO i --«- late that he had decided to spend the few remaining hours upon the office lounge, rather than disturb the house­ hold, and I again slept, to awaken two hows later to a knowledge of the hor­ rible truth." "Are you aware that your husband had incurred the displeasure or enmity of any one recently ?" queried the de- tectives. " No, I did not think he had an enemy in the world. Still I do not know much of his legal life. He never talked of his business affairs with me. It may be that some difficulty had arisen in his outside life which he never told me, and that it was this which caused, his evident depression or preoccupied man­ ner of which I speak." But further investigations, careful and secret as they were, failed to bring anything to light on the subject. No one was known to have any enmity to­ ward Max Arneld, and no clew was ob­ tained of the murderer. Carrie Boland passed the crisis of her lever safely, and slowly began to reoover. During her delirium she had cried piteously for her friend "Max," as he was familiarly called in the house­ hold. "O Max,* why dp you look so cold--so white---O come back to me--O who has done this ?"-- were frequent cries repeated over and over, and then she would start up with a glad laugh and fever-brilliant eyes and hold out her hands saying, "Ah, you did come back--I knew you would, for Carrie missed you so! you were her best friend--yes, yes, you always said you were." These and other similar utterances proved to all who heard them the trua depth of the poor girl's regard for the murdered mftn and brought tears to many eyes. It is like losing a father or a* brother," they said. "No wonder the shook was almost fatal." During the days when the fever was at its height and her condition the most critical, Buth Atkins was like one de-' mented. During the intervals when she was relieved in her care, she did not sleep, but lay with wide-open eyes un­ til the time came for her to resume her charge. And often she wotdd walk to and fro and cry: "If she dies, God help me! O God, help me if she dies!" What she suffered during these days of suspense the awful pallor on ^ her face and her dark-rimmed eyes faintly told. Never," said the physician in attend­ ance--"never did I see such an ex­ ample of woman's love for woman. I believe if the patient dies, the nurse will soon follow. I believe they are one soul--in two bodies." When Carrie passed the crisis and was pronounced out of danger, Buth's joy was deep but silent--speaking only in the smiling mouth and joyous eyes and the caressing hands that fell in such tender touches on the patient's poor wasted face. "She is saved," said the physician, "and it is owing to your untiring care." And then Buth wept so passionately it aS ii ttll tiro SuSpuiiSG »uj and fears of the terrible days were given vent in tears. And still no clew of Mas Arnold's murderer. As soon as Carrie was able to be removed to other rooms the lonely widow closed her house and left it with executors for sale and took up her abode with relatives in a distant State. Soon afterward she seemed so ill and sad her friends induced her to go upon an European tour, where her mind F...... would be distracted from the harrowing mystery of her husband's death. Kind people furnished pleasant rooms for the pale young music teacher, who was once more able to resume her duties, and the weeks rolled on, and the subject of the murder and its mysteri­ ous circumstances grew to be an old story in Somervale. But the conse­ quences remained. The desolate widow demonstrated them by her sorrow and her weeds to half Europe. Carrie Bo­ land manifested them by her Btrangely- altered demeanor to all Somervale, and Buth Atkins, since the severe tax upon her nervous system, had lost her old vitality and bounding life, and seemed to be in declining health. "You have never looked well since you took care of mo," cried Carrie, one day, as she noted her friend's wasted cheek and dull eye. "O, why did I not die, instead of killing you?" "Tf you had died I should liave fol­ lowed," answered Buth, with a poor at­ tempt at a smile,; "I am not killed yet, as you term it, either. I am not as strong as I used to be, but, no doubt, my strength will come back slowly. If I were as sure of seeing your old light- heartedness back again I should be happy." I feel so old," said Carrie, "since that dreadful occurrence--" and she shivered, and looked away out toward the cemetery where Max Arnold lay. "I don't see why you should brood over it all the time," Buth answered, with a little frown. "It is your man­ ner--your dreadful gravity and gloom, and the loss of all your old, bright, girlish ways, that is troubling me. I worry about you all the time, and until I see you make an effort to cast off this* gloom I cannot be well or happy. Try, dear, for my sake!" "Then I must go' away from this place," answered Carrie. "I cannot stay here and forget." "Go, then," said Buth, quickly. "Go, should be forever, even if the parting if you can gain your old manner." So Carrie went from Somervale; went to cousins in a distant city, and her let­ ters soon told the benefit she had de­ rived from a change. I am growing so strong," she wrote, "and you would be surprised to see the way I dissipate. I felt as if I could not mix with the gay society here, when I first came; I, who was a part of such gloom, and horror, and sorrow in the life I left behind me. But my cousins dragged me into it, and now I am grow­ ing to enjoy it with zest." A few months later she wrote: "I was almost shocked this morning on reading in the London Times the mar­ riage of Max Arnold's widow; and he dead only twelve months. But then I suppose it is wise in her to make some other man happy, and be herself comforted, instead of grieving her life away for what cannot be helped by tears or sorrow. And now that she is married, I may say to you, confiden­ tially, that she did not make Max Ar­ nold the happiest man in the world, She loved him in her way, but her nature was incapable of strong affec­ tion, and she did not understand him She was always repulsing his proffered . apd huriiftg his sensibilities in a thousand w*ys--it was an ill- assorted marriage, afid yet no one not under the same roof aver would have suspected it. O, Buth, true soul mar- riagea are few in this world, and when we get to thinking of the dreadful binding nature of laws, made by men-- *r>il how mnnh happier the world would be if heart8 could make their own laws--why, it confuses me terribly in estimating right and wrong--but then, no more of this. I must dress for a ball." When she had been absent from Som­ ervale six months she wrote: "Dear Buth, I am coming home to you soon for the last time. Yes, dear, for I am to be married in a few months--to one whom I think I can mokehamftr, and be happy with. It is, too, a brilliant mar­ riage in the worldly way of looking at it, and I hope to have my dear Buth as a frequent guest in my fine home." • But when Carrie Boland returned to Somervale she saw with sudden alarm that Buth Atkins would never live to be a guest in her home. She was in the sure grasp of consumption. "My darling," she cried, as she clasped her in her arms. "O Buth, why did you not tell me you were ill--why did you keep me in ignorance of your condition "Because you could not help me," answered Buth, as she wiped a few drops of blood from her lips. "I knew I must die after a few months, and I wanted you to stay where you were well and happy until it was necessary to re­ call vou, I should have sent for you ere long, if you had not come, for I know I can not live many weeks longer. I am growing weak so rapidly." It was evident to all that she was right, for before Carrie had been in Somervale a week Buth took to her bed. "I think I should have died weeks ago, dear, if you had been here," she said. "I have been keeping up till you came." "And I have caused this," Car lie cried, in passionate sorrow. "I am alone to blame for your death. Your care of me broke your constitution down, and gave' consumption an easy hold xipon your depleted system! O, Buth, it is terrible to think I am your murderer!" "Hush," said Buth, gentlv. "The author of it all is farther bock--let tis say that the murderer of Max Arnold is also mine--since his death caused vour sickness, and so let it rest. It is all for the best, dear. I am so glad to see you well and happy again, before I die; and I am so glad you have found your soul-mate." A shadow fell across Carrie'B face. ,"I am very sure," she said, "that I shall be happy with and make happy the man I am to marry. But I do not know--can a soul have more than one mate, Buth? I never told you--but once--long ago, no matter when or where, I think I found my BOUI- mate, and--God took him away. It was not right, I know now, that he should be mine here on earth--then I could not see or understand, I was so blinded by my love. But he is mine somewhere in space, still; yet I can be a good wife to another man bn earth, I think." A severe coughing spell seized Buth, and when it had passed she drew Car­ rie near her. "I think I shall die to-night," she said, and I. too, have a secret I have kept from you--the only thing I ever concealed from you. I want to tell you about it--you alone. Be strong, dear, and be merciful in your judgment." "I am listening," said Carrie, "and I could not be unmerciful to you, no matter what you had done; no, not even murder, would turn you from me, my darling." "Then listen," answered Buth, as she drew her friend nearer. "J killed Max Arnold /" A cry of horror burst from Carrie's lips, for she thought her friend had suddenly grown insane. One look into the calm face, however, convinced her of the speaker's sanity. Buth con­ tinued. "You thought I did not know--did not see the state qf matters between you and that man. You imagined you were so prudent, so careful, that no eyes detected your alt-absorbing pas­ sion. Well, I think no one beside my­ self did see, or suspect the truth, not even the wife. But for months, before I killed him, I saw with terror and alarm that you were wholly in his power--and that he was madly in love with you, that he worshiped you with an all-absorbing passion. My eyes are quick to note all things concerning you --and I watched the growth of this in­ fatuation with an agony that is inde- describable. Day by day, week by. weak, month by month, I saw you more and more absorbed, and knew that you were in awful peril. Yet I was power­ less to help or save. I could only pray, and trust to God to save you. "One night I went to see you. As was frequent with me, I entered the side gate, and passed up the lawn path that led by the summer house. As I drew near I heard your voice: " 'Love you--I would die for you,' it said. 'Death would be sweet if I could know it was for you.' " 'But you love the approbation of the world better,' Max Arnold's voice an­ swered, 'or else you would cast the fear of public scorn to the winds as I would have you do, and fly with me. Life here is unendurable to me--my domestic ties bitterer and more dis­ tasteful than any disgrace could be-- existence a lie. Such a life is a crime before heaven. Until you came I en dured in silence the thralldom that was the result of my own folly. Every day of your dwelling under my roof has been revelation of heaven to me, and God meant you for me, or He would never have sent you to me. Why do you care for the speech of people, Carrie--the world is nothing to us.' " 'No,' you answered, 'the world- society--friends are nothing to me, compared with your love. That makes all of existence for me; but I fear the loss of my own soul, Max--I am not quite sure yet that it is right. Let me have timfc to think. Now I must go, or shall be missed.' "I fled back by the path I came, and I was awake all that night. Heaven alone knew my suffering. I formed my plan then and there. I knew you were past all reasoning. | knew you were beyond the reach of human coun sel or advice. I stole out after the household was hushed in sleep. I took an old revolver that had been in the house for years, and, when Max Arnold passed the empty lot between his office and his home, I crept behind him and ~ shot him. Then I sped homeward through the darkness. I threw the re­ volver in the vault and went to my room to await the morning sensation. I felt no remorse of conscience. I had killed a man, but I had saved a soul from perdition, and I had saved his wife from an agony far worse than that of widowhood. I felt no sorrow, no re- mtttM, on * of hung ovai youhovi then I Ids dead j ry. I only felt a sensf the awful fear that had months. But when between life and death, d all the agony of the damned, fdiTrlknew if you died I was a , double mmNlerer. Yet I had saved your nam* irom eternal ignominy and disgrace!" '•Yes," said the shaken voice of her listener, "you saved me, for I _ should have gone with him another nights I loved him .iMtter than my own soul I" "But I saved you," cried the dying 1. ' "I tliank God, no breath of slan- er has ever touched your name, my darling. I saved you, and now you are once more well and happy, and shel­ tered in a good man's love, and the widow of the man I killed has forgotten her grief in another marriage, and I alone, as is just, am the sufferer. And God alone knows how I have suf­ fered. Sleeping or waking I see that dread face. Oh, it is a terrible thing to take human life; even to save an im­ mortal soul. And now I am going to meet the men I--ah, was it murder, Carrie? am I a murderer? How the thought has haunted me! in the dark, terrible night, in the glare of the noon­ tide, in the awful hush of the twilight. Will God look upon me as a murderer-- when I go before Him ? Oh, Carrie, I am afraid, afraid to die " The eyes glazed, the voice died in % gurgle the head fell back, and Carrie was alone with the dead. When they found her, the light of reason had left her eyes, and the mind, partially dethroned by the violence of the lawless passion which had taken such a strange hold upon her heart, and still further shocked by the myste­ rious and sudden death of Max Arnold, was now totally wrecked by this terri­ ble knowledge which was revealed to her by her dying friend. What awful distress had followed upon h©r steps since the hour she first listened to Max Arnold's words of love! The peace of her own soul was de­ stroyed, a household broken up, and her lover and her friend had lost their lives--one with the stain of murder on her soul. No wonder the realization of all these horrors unseated her reason. When the man who was to have made her his wife came, he found her a rav­ ing maniac, in whose wild ravings the whole mystery of Max Arnold's death was revealed. She was conveyed to a private mad­ house, where she died a few years later, a pitiful example of one who had suf­ fered the fullest penalty of being ua- true to her own soul. Making Hay Without Sunshine. There are youths whose busy hands through the working-day earn honest bread, and perhaps support others, and whose evening hours are devoted to study that Avill make them men among men some future day. There are students whose summer labor procures the money that supports them in their winter study at college. There are lads now running the errands of capable engineers, who will, when they are men, be chief engineers themselves There are bright "cash boys" hurrying to and fro in stores, who will one day control large interests of their own. They have no sunshine to speak of j but they make hay for all that. There are lads about the newspaper offices and flta ivvoaf rvrinfin/*-Vi/\nnna Ivava neither money nor friends, nor position; but they have ambition, and the day will come when their convictions will the course of multitudes.̂ --Our Home. A Boy's Enterprise. The late Edwin D. Morgan, the. war- Governor of the State of New York, was a Yankee of the kind we read about in books. When he was a lad of seven­ teen he bade good-by to his father's farm in Berkshire, Mass., and made his way to his uncle Nathan's at Hartford, Ct., having a capital of thirty-seven and half cents, and "a good head for fig­ ures." Uncle Nathan kept a grocery store, and took the boy into it at a salary of sixty dollars a year and his board, to be increased to • seventy-five the second year, and to one hundred the third. In two years Edwin learned the bus- mess, and his uncle sent him to New York to buy goods, particularly corn, an article which New England then had to import. Unole Nathan generally laid in two or three hundred bushels at time. "I have bought two cargoes of corn," said the lad on his return, "and proba- ably the vessels are in the river now." "Why, Edwin!" cried the prudent old gentleman, aghast, what are we to do with two cargoes of corn ?" Oh," said the young man, "I have sold all of it that you won't want at a profit, and could have sold three car­ goes if I had had them. I stopped in at the stores as I came from the stage- office and made sales." The next morning the young operator took the broom as usual, and was about to sweep out the counting-room, when Uncle Nathan said: "I think we can find some one else to do the sweeping here. A man who can go to New York and buy two cargoes of corn and sell them without consulting his principal, can be l>etter employed than sweeping out a store." Uncle Nathdh took him into partner­ ship forthwith, and, five years later, Edwin founded a grocery house in New York, which still exists, after having enriched its founder and several asso­ ciates. His strong point was judgment. He made few mistakes. Y Bistory of the World's Ore** Soafl̂ ' ' [From the New York Advooste.] Mr. John Howard Payne, author of the immortal words ' Home, Sweet Home," and the first who mine to the public the plaintive air to whioh these words are sung, was born in the city of New York (»t 33 Broad street--old number--near the corner of Pearl), June 9, 1791. He died at the American con­ sulate in the city of Tunis, Africa (where he was officiating as the consular repre­ sentative of the United States), after a Sainful illness, April 1, 1852. Most of [r. Payne's childhood and early youth is said to have been spent in the old homestead at Easthampton, L. I. It was in Boston, however, that he re­ ceived the chief part of his early educa­ tion. There have been manjy ridiculous statements made as to the circumstances under which Mr. Payne wrote the words of his celebrated song. Some have stated that he was a resident of London at the time, without a shilling in his pocket; others, that "on a stormy night, beneath the dim flickering of a London street-lamp, gaunt and hungry, and without a place to shelter his poor shiv­ ering body, he wrote his inspired song upon a piece of ragged paper picked from the sidewalk." There is no foun­ dation for these statements. A letter written by him to his friend. Sir Henry B. Bishop, shows that Mr. Payne wrote the words while comfortably situated in Paris, and while he was preparing the opera "Clari" for the public, t The precise date when the words were written is not given, but Bome years later they were first given to the public in the piece named, in Covent Garden, May 8, 1823. Mr. Payne said that the plaintive air now bearing the na^me he first heard trilled by a peasant girl in Italy, and that this air suggested the words. The music was written out for him by Sir H. B. Bishop, to whom its composition has sometimes been credited. At the time of the appear­ ance of the words in the opera they were altered somewhat, so as to adapt them mpre perfectly to the melody oi the natural Sicilian air. HOME, SWEET HOMRI^'^.; [As orisrinally written.} "Mid pleasures and palaces, though we m»y roam. Be It ever so humble, tkore'a no place like Home! A charm from tho skies soems to hallow u» there (Like the love of a mother. Surpassing all other). Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere, There's a spell In the shade Where our infancy play'd, "• Gvon stronger than Time, arid more deaji, than Despair! An exile from Home, splendor dazzles in vain! O, give me my lowly, thatch'd cottage again! The birds aud the lambkins that oame at my call-- Those who nam'd me with pride-- ThoBe who play'tl by my side- Give me them! with the innocence dearer than all! The joys of the palaces through which I roam Only swell my heart's anguish--there's no place like Home. HOME, SWEET HOME. [As revised by the author (date not known), and said to be copied from Mr. Payne's manuscript, and with his own precise punctuation.] 'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam. Be it ever so humble, there's noplace like home! A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there, AYMph seek through the world, is ne'er met with • elsewhere! Home. Home, Sweet, Sweet Hornet , There s no place like Home! j i - There's no place like Homo! An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain! O, give me my lowly thatched cottage again! ̂ The birds, iiiuxiag gajijvluav bSSb it SifuMj-- aire me inem f--and the peace of mind doajfer than all! Home, Home, Sweet, Sweet Home! There's no place like Home! " There's no place like Home! , ADDITIONAL STANZAS. ifThe following additional versek to the song of "Home, Sweet Home," Mr. Payne affixed to the sheet of music, and presented them to Mrs. Bates, in London, a relative of his, and the wife of a wealthy banker.] To us in despite of the absence of years, , How sweet the remembrance of home .still ap­ pears; From Allurements abroad, which but flatter the eye, The unsatisfied heart turns, and says, with • sigh, ' "Home, home, sweet, sweet homel There's no place like home! There's no place like home!" " " suit was that Te ̂was almost drained of breeding as well as beaf oattle. Now there is some discretion axereiBed, and it is the exception, not the rule, for cows and calves to be driven 'Sip the trail" or to the shipping centem. In a Kansas Parlor. "Would you like to look into my par­ lor, sir?" Of course we said yes- Our lady hostess had just favoredUus with a delightful dinner, which, after our lon8 ride across the prairies, was indeed a matter to be grateful for. She opened the door, and we looked into the room, expecting to see the usual stuffed hair­ cloth, the bric-a-brac, the parlor organ, the stereopticon, the photograph album and the regulation parlor Ornaments. If there is one thing more than an­ other in which American ladies show a lack of originality, it is in their parlors. , All are after one model; and if ever anywhere you chance to find one differing from the standard, it is from the shape of the house, or some other circumstance, over which the lady herself had no control, sod which you are sure to find her lamenting from a full heart. Judge of our surprise, then, to see, in an unrarpeted room, three long ta­ bles covered with fresh green leaves, which somehow seemed all in motioh. Even the window-seats And the chairs were laden with green leaves and sprays; and, as to the floor, it was covered with bare twigs. To our look of astonishment, the lady laughed merrily. "How do yon like my furniture?" she exclaimed. But something still more odd--for a parlor -- had arrested our attention.- It was a great, green worm, something like a maple-worm, on the table. It lay among the green leaves and was feeding on them. There were score*, hundreds, thousands of these worms! That was what caiised the m&tion-- these ravenous worms feeding on the leaves. "Why, what are these, madam?" "My silk-worms." "And this foliage?" ^Mulberry leaves, from those hedges round my garden-lot* I bring in bush­ els of them every day. See the bare stems on the floor. "Yes," continued the lady, "I com­ menced with a few worms as an experi­ ment two years ago. George--that's my husband--laughed at me at first. He wJtrks hard on the farm; Hut, unless it is a better year than last, I shall clear as much off my cocoons as he will off his corn. I get 70 cents a pound for cocoons. And what's the good of a par­ lor shut up from one week's end to an­ other? I have little time to sit down in it. So I have papered mine with mulberry leaves. And I have my attic and two chambers full of worms, be- ide. It is pretty and pleasant work to feed them." "Well, this is indeed a new depart­ ure," we said. "An original idea." "No,*not original with me," explained our hostess. "I got it from the Men- nonites, those Bussian refugees, who came to Kansas eight or ten years ago. They brought silk-culture here with them, and imported the mulberry shrubs from Southern Bussia. Their women reel the silk off the cocoons; but that takes a great deal of time and pa- T +a aoll mv ii/vinAna iA A Hottentot English Nobleman. Everybody has heard of a Hottentot Venus, but a Hottentot English noble­ man is a new thing under the sun. Ac­ cording to Mr. Labouchere, however, there is a prospect that the House of Lords in course of time Will be adorned by such a phenomenon. The present Earl of Stamford and Warrington, who lived long at a place about ten miles from Cape Town, for some time has re­ sided at Wynberg, on the sandy flats, in an iron house of two rooms. By his first wife he had no issue. By his sec­ ond wife he had issue, a daughter. On his wife's death he married a Hottentot, by whom he has had three ch;idren. He insists upon being called "m\ Ii >rd," but passes his time picking up fir cones and bits of sticks in the wood to keep the domestic fire burning, while his children run about the flats barefooted and only partially clad. Londoi Cluhk The membership of London clubs aggregate nearly 100,000 and their prop­ erty is about $25,000,000. There are clubs exclusively for clergymen, and others exclusively devoted to gambling. Draw poker is the favorite game. OLD age is the night of life, as night b the old age of day. Still, night is full of magnificence; and for many it is more brilliant than tha day.--Mms, Bwetchine* -- » Tonr exile Is blest with all fate can bestoi But mine has been checkered with many" Yet, tho' different our fortunes, our thoughts are the same, And both, as we think of Columbia, exclaim, "lioime, home, sweet, sweet home! " ^There's no place like home! : ' •- ~- uhere's no place like home!" Atrocities by British Officers. The following story, told by the Syd* ney Mail, of Sydney, Australia, is a horrible illustration of the inhuman barbarism that may still be found in certain quarters of the globe. A young British police officer was out with a de­ tachment of "colored boys" hunting for some of the Mayall tribe of blacks who had been suspected of stealing a quan­ tity of flour. "They came upon a camp of Mayalls," says the account, "sur­ prised, surrounded them, and • forced them to be hospitable. They ate their kangaroo, drank their water, and made them corroboree* After all was ended, that tho blacks might not get away in the night, and steal more sheep, the offi­ cer said to his 'bovs,' 'just you pull your revolvers and shoot them.' The 'boys' did not like to at first, but the officer was peremptory and was obeyed. When the Mayalls were killed there were three old women wailing, who did not seem worth killing. 'Kill them, too,' said the offi­ cer, and they were killed. Three young gins (wives) were not killed; one of them was handcuffed about the ankles and tied to a sapling. The 'boys' rode on in the morning, leaving the officer and the young gin thus secured. Presently stranger came along (and it was he who tells the story), and the two ate and drank together. When it bccame time to move it was remembered that the young gin was tied up. 'We must loose her first,' said the chief, and felt for the keys. He had no keys; the 'boys' had taken them away. What was to be done ? cannot lose my handcuffs,' he said, and before there Was time for remonstrance he had drawn a pistol and shot the gin through the brain, and then hacked off her feet at the ankles, and so saved his airi.*. ' »«*'> lit MAS I.-' . .5,, fegl .. k*'_ Changes in Texas Cattle Raising. The typical cow-boy is with us almost a thing'of the past, not simply because the number of cattle has so decreased of late, but because the manner gf han dling them has undergone a radical change. Time was when an owner of 1,500 or 2,000 head of cattle would find employment for fifteen or twenty vaque- ros. Under the present system three men can now perform the iunctions for which five times that number were re quisite a few years ago. It was formerly the custom upon our ranches to "loose herd" the cattle during the day and to round them up on the "bed-ground" or ! pen them up in corrals for the night, j Now we have immense pastures, in­ closed by many miles of barbed-wire fencing, in which cattle roam at will by ; day or night. The pasture fences are * examined and kept in repair by men de- j tailed upon the ranches for that pur- - ' the factory folks." - Surely, I thought, here is a hint for many a woman with a shut-up parlor and a scanty family purse. For, it is said, the business requires scarcely $10 capital for. a start. ^ s Alaska. The vast extent of Alaska is vefp lit" tie known. Its length from north to south is as great as the distance from' Maine to Florida, and its breadth from its eastern boundary to the end of the Aleutian islands ift equal to the dis­ tance from Washington to California. The farthest of these islands is as far west of San Francisco as Maine is east of that city. The area of the Terri tory is nearly one-sixth of the entire area of the United States. If its coast were extended in a straight line, it would belt the globe, and its mountains are the highest in the United States. The chief resource of the Territory is its seal-fur fisheries, which furnish nearly all the seal skins used in the markets of the world, and have paid a revenue into the United States treas ury of over $3,000,000 since January, 1871. The other resources are fish, minerals and petroleum. Alaska is said to be the great reserve lumber re­ gion of the United States. When the forests of Maine, Michigan, Wisconsin and Minnesota have been denuded, use will be found for the thousands of miles of yellow cedar, white spruce, hemlock and balsam fir which cover the southeastern section of Alaska. The climate varies in different parts of the Territory. At Fort Yukon the thermometer often rises about 100 de­ grees in summer, and sinks as low as 70 degrees below zero in winter. But the winter climate of Southeastern Alaska, for the past forty-five years, has been the average winter climate of Kentucky and the average summer climate of Minnesota. Believed His Wife. A certain queer old character, when asked what was his opinion on any sub­ ject, would never answer till he asked V»i« wife about it. The Dutchman here Beems to have flourished in very much the same sort of second-hand wisdom During the trial of a case in Louis­ ville, a witness persisted in testifying to what his wife told him. To this of course the attorney objected, and it was ruled out by the Judge. He would proceed again to tell "shust how it vas," when the attorney would sing out: "How do you know that ?" "My vife told me," was the answer This was repeated several times. Presently the Judge became unable to contain himself longer. "Suppose your wife were to, tell you the heavens had fallen, what would you think?" "Veil, den I dinks dey vos down." Transporting Flowers in Potatoes. A gentleman from Utica in Louis­ ville, who wished to send some beauti­ ful flower buds to his wife, was at a loss how to do so. A florist friend said he would fix them. He cut a potato into two pieces and bored holes in them into which he inserted the stems* of the buds, and placed them in a box with cotton to support them. A letter from the recipient acknowledged the remem­ brance, and said that the buds had de­ veloped into full-blown flowers. There is sufficient moisture in a good-sized potato to support a ilower for two weeks in a moderately-cool temperature. Flowers from bouquets or baskets may be preserved in the same way. The potatoes may be hidden by leaves or mosses.--TJttca (N. F.) Observer. Air snnusl mouth is ope' from 'ear to 'ear. NEW BXADIHO--Where the treasure! is, therfe ito cash is also. THK eaBeo m«(Uifsoturer is well xs& and a prints among men. 3 ITAMAN must* is fine because it | ground so much on the streets. "AH!" sighed the husbandman, "i| sagging tongues were but tongues, how much better we get on in this world!" A FI3HSBXAH flsbed in the lake, --Syracuse HerabL ; v "I FEEL I am growing old," said ttajt lady, mincingly, to . her guests, "fo# really I am beginning to lose my hair." "Then, ma," exclaimed her little chiL with the fowkneas of innocence, "w don't you lock up the drawer when put it away at night?" "You say your wife gets mad aui raises a row?" "I should say she did. She makes enough fuss to run a freight train forty miles an hour." "But if yon knew she was in the habit of getting mad, why did you marry her?" "Be­ cause if I had held back she would hv|| : got madder than ever." "HAVE you no loye for the beantifRFL, then ?" queried she in winsome tones. N-n-o, but I think I should have i# JT only dared." "Have courage, young man." "Oh, I wasn't thinking of y«m at »11. I--" But she hustled out of the room, hating herself for having sprung the trap too soon. 'T WONDER now," says the hostess, re­ flectively, "who it was that ever in­ vented this new way of eating fish with two forks, so as the better to handle the bones?" "I don't know,"says the foot­ man behind her chair, gloomily, "bnfc you can bet your sweet life it wasn't * servant who would have to wash themP ACTRESS--YOU say that you are ri4h enough to retire from the stage, but have got so used to traveling about from place to place that you would not be satisfied unless constantly on the move. The way out of your difficulty very simple: Marry a Methodist minister with no influence in cooferencipi --Philadelphia News. £ "WHAT on earth makes you announce that you extract teeth without pain? Didn't I hear every patient you had Up here yell?" "You did, sir," replied the peripatetic dentist, "but those v. efe shrieks of joy which they uttered, sir! They were so delighted, sir, at beiqg painlessly relieved that they could not restrain their enthusiasm." - A LEADVILLE woman shot her partner at a ball because he looked like a guy when he danced. When it was reported last week that the woman was coming to Burlington to live, you couldn't find enough young men in town to make up a whist party. A?»d yet the great de- maud of the ago is a large edition of precisely that sort of a woman.--i/aw4'- eye. f- A MAN who ventures upon tlif stud^r of sciencc alter his marriage is apt to have his mind diverted by many consid­ erations that do not properly arise from that study. A young Brooklyn husband hadn't finished half a dozen chapters of a work on geology before he observed to his wife "My dear, I wonder if the women of the glacial epoch had cold feet?" '• " OLD epigrammatic conversation be­ tween a clergyman and traveler : C.-*- I've lost my portmanteau. T.-- I pity your grief. C.-- My sermons are in it. T.-- I pify the thief. A more modern and altogether more Arkansaw way Of. holding a similar conversation would be: C.-- I've lost my demijohn. T.--I pity your grief. C.-- My whisky was.ip it. T.-- Let's look for the thief. ^ A SWEET girl: They were looking ait the painting. "It's perfectly lovely," said she ; "but what makes the animals look so queer ? They don't look natural one bit." "Oh," said he, "they look right a little way off. They are fore­ shortened, you know." "Yes," she re­ plied. "they do look short; but there ain't four of them, George; at least I can see but three." George says Clara doesn't know much about art, but she is such a sweet girl. '•IF you don't learn your lesson* sonny,' your teacher will make you go to t'hte foot of your class," said Mr. Peterby to his eldest boy, William, who is one of the laziest boys in Austin. "No, pa, he is not going to put me at the foot of the class." "Does he favor you so much?" asked Mr. Peterby. "No, it's not that, but he can't send me to the foot of the class, because I am there al­ ready." "Billy'is an awful smart boy," said * Mr. Peterby to a friend to whom he related the story.-- Texan Si/tings. Free Liquor. "I'm out getting opinions on liquor selling," said a sharp reporter to a saloonist. "Are yon in favor of free liquors?" "Well, I should smile," answered the barkeeper. "I think this country is the home of liberty, and I believe every man should have a right to drink what he pleases, and where he pleases, ab­ solutely free, and all legislation to the contrary is sumptuary aud thereforep|* constitutional." "You want to be so recorded?" s* "You bet your sweet life." "All right; now 111 take a glass of champagne; that kind you ^eli at 26 cents." It was set out for him, and he poured it down and poured another in on top of it and started off. "Hold on," said the bartender, owe me half a dollar." "No, I don't; didn't you just say you believed in free liquor, and that any­ thing to the contrary is sumptuary and unconstitutional? If there's anything I do like to see it is a man who lives up to his principles," and he walked out, wiping his mouth on his coat sleeve, and leaving the saloon man to study up the law points of the ease. The Whisky Idiot. ̂lV ̂ "Men, when they are half Sr two thirds full," writes a bar-keeper, "seem to be possessed of the idea that they are hugely amusing to the man behind the bar. The long-suffering bar-keeper sees nothing funny in a drunken man. It is the old story to him, and if whisk'y idiots could see the murder that is often glaring in a bar-keeper's soul, they would go right home to their wives and children. Let a sober man watch a gang of men twenty minutes who have drunk twenty or thirty glasses of whisky during the day, and he would swear that the insane asylum contained more good sense. The bar-keeper dislikes to be rude, and so tolerates a lot of drivel­ ing idiots until he is ready to tear ont a. few handfuls of hair, give a kick an4 * gasp, and die with disgust." THAT is half granted which is denied graciously. its its