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s ' * - --rwjt,"-•• .- '•• * •>: '• : v.'. c-. .' ,/* ' ' r.-' ' "> i 4 .4^4' S& . * P si*fr saai wi<K J. VANttTKE. Editor and Publiiher MoHENRY, ILLINOIS . . • *,*" v- - •*>. > t «•» • > . *-,< .•; * • > <•* > ^ ,'t • -v ,v. ^ -' "jf **' " r "•• --*• ->$ >r^r. >, - - - - ~"v v : r-, , .. yT.,. •*>',* '- • T«f.vW-^' ,t« . ^ if ^J-yr-v «-.Vr™-« ** *'«t •«. _>! W* « **.. THE CHILMtB*, j. j^rfilon by Charles Dickons fln<T' fftnnlFffiiSli 5 ;i de*k af or his death.] ^Vhen the lessons and ta-ks are all ended. And the school for the day is dismissed, 6J ' 'And tb® little ones grather around .mf. iv** + To bid me "jrood niprlit" and be KlrnC; Oh, the little white arms that encircle* ; , My ueck in a tender embrace! • ht • »1 Oh. the smile; that are ha os of heaven, ^ Shedding sunshine and love on my face I *' " And when they are gone I sit dreaming Of mr childhood, loo lovely to last; 1 Of love that my heart wilieremember f, '• : When it wakes to the pu lttLOj the past, ISre 1 lie world and its wickedness made me ,*mW*••••" A partner of sorrow and sin, K • • , . v|, When the glrry of Goi was about me,; And the glory of gladness within. J$- ! #h, nv heart grows week as a wmnsi^ • And the fountains of feelings will flow, %: V When i th nk of the paths ste p and stony i i , Where the feet of the dear ones must go, "• £>f the mountains of sin hanging o'erthom Sjfc.-1 Of the tempest of fate blowing wlld| t •> Oh, there's nothing on earth half so holy , ^ j As the innocent heart of a child. V1?' "Jrere are idols of hearts and of households, 'I hey are ange s of God in disguise. $ 8un J'*rht still sleeps in their tresses, His glory still beams in their eyes; Oh. those traunta from earth and from heaven, -"iThs y have made me more manly and mild, ""'""S§nd I know how Jesus coujd liken if The kingdom of God to a child. ) vflpek not a life for ihe dear ones • All radiant as others have done, Btr that life ma. have justas much shalow To temper the giare.of the sun: I would pray Gou to guard them from evil, JTtut my prayer would bound back to myself; mh I a seraph may pra.v for a s'nner - But a sinner must pray for himself. 5 '"She twig is so easily bended, ± I have banished the rule and the rod: I.have taught them the goodness of knowl- edge' ^They hare taught me the goodness of God. *" <*®y heart is a dungeon of darkness. Where I shut them irom breaking My frown is sufficient correction. My lovo is the law of the school. Ishal! leave the old house in the autumn £ i To traverse its threshold no more-- ' Ah' how 1 shall sigh for the dear ones- •ft That meet me e tc1! morn at the dooK .j, J shall miss the good n ghts and the kisses, " j And Hie gush of iheir innocent glee, • • f phegroup on the rreen and the flowers , r That are brought every morn to me., 1 shall miss I hem at morn and at eve. . . Their sonss in the school and the sttftSM, v slshall miss the low hum of their voloeS, iil An>l the tramp of their delicate feet. IfFhen the lessons and tasks nre all en iled, Anrl death s iyg the school is dism ssed, * way tilt) little ones gather around me To bid me "good-night" and be kissod. MY FIRST LOVE STORY. C BY MBS. E. T. COKBETT. "How does it sound, Susan? Is it flkteresting? and do you think it is nat- I asked these questions anxionaly, as I laid down my manascript, and Susan Hesitated as she answered: "Well, if you want to know my candid opinion, Miss Margie, it's just this. 'Sou see. you're not in love and never have been in love, so how can you write about what you don't understand? To my Blind, that's not possible, and that's why your love stories don't succeed." A'. busan's words carried an unpleasant conviction with them. I was not quite 22, and I had already won a fair reputa­ tion as a writer of short stories, except OB one theme. I had never, try as I might, written a successful love story. The one I had just read to Susan was my latest effort, and, as usual, I felt that it was a failure. But I only replied somewhat petulantly: "Well, Susan, I cannot fall in love as • mere matter of business, you know; 'HO I don't see what is to be done." ' "Dear, dear. It's too bad," sighed Susan; but I would not continue the Conversation. I thrmt the unlucky MS. into, my desk and decided to spend the rest of the morning in the woods by way of restoring my downcast spirits. Susan was an important person to me, '::0t she was at once my maid, confidant, i&d friend. She was also an excellent critic, and 1 had often found her judg­ ment invaluable. That morning, how­ ever, I felt vexed with her and with all the world, so when I returned from my ramble I was not at all pleased to find •that a new boarder had arrived and was seated on the piazza, as if he was wait­ ing to greet me. This was Lyman Ash- lord, a young lawyer, and a great fa­ vorite with my sister and her husband, at whose house he was a constant visi­ tor. Although we had been much together during the past year, and although I knew him to be as clever as he was handsome, he had never interested me in the least. Now, when he came to meet me with such smiling confidence, M if he had a claim on my time not to be gainsaid, I felt that my manner was far from gracious. I mentioned very brief­ ly the reasons which had drawn me to * place where I could be undisturbed, -•""*l§>on which Mr. Ashford said quickly: "You have stated my esse, too, Miss Carleton. Iam busily engaged on a compilation, which, though it needs no originality, cal s for much hard work. So I came here to finish it." Then he « bowed and left me, much to my relief, and I saw no more of him for some 4ays. j Meanwhile I was working hard at my J»©w story, but making very little pro* gress. I wrote and rewrote, tore up my •beets and began again, but I felt at heart that I was not. succeeding and "began to be melancholy and morose. One evening Susan was evidently in a yery excited mood. Instead of listen­ ing to my plaints with her usual pa­ tience, she exclaimed eagerly; "Oh, Miss Margie, I've got an idea. If you bai a real lover to study--one who was dreadfully in love, you know--wouldn't #bat help you? Couldn't you put down What he said and thought?" "c"Why, yes, of course I could, but 'Where could such a lover be found? And do you suppose, you foolish thing, t|bat he would lay bare his heart for my Jpspection?" I asked, laughing in spite myself. I %a & Susan, looked mysterious. "But, jiliss Mf.rgie, I've seen the lover al- tjfeady, and I've heard him, too; so "there's one difficulty out of the way. t)h! he talks just like a book, I can tell ^jrou!" * "Why, Susan, this is astonishing!" _ Jfried; "and, pray, who is this wonder- | Jyullover?" "It's Mr. Ashford. He and I have fcad a great many talks, and he's in - love with a young lady who doesn't ^ ||are for him, though he loves her to ,-tf-distraction, he sayo." ••-.T "Mr. Ashford 1" I repeated, >m^. Well, he must be a strange man to alk so freely of his love affairs to you." "And why not to me, Miss Margie?" : 4uud Susan, looking hurt. "I'm sure I Srouldn't betray the young man's secret >r the world, and he said it did him ood to talk to me." "I don't doubt that, my dear Susan. IfYou are one of the best comforters," I Itianswered soothingly; "but then you ,jknow men are not generally so commu­ nicative about such affairs." "Well, Mr. Ashford is, any way, and Tm glad of it, because now 1 can tell you all about his feelings," persisted Susan. "Bui i uuii't tuiuk x Ctiglik tu listeu, Susan indeed, I'm sure I ought not, since it is not meant for me to hear," I said, and from this resolution all Su­ san's persuasions failed to move me. The next day, however, she began triumphantly: "Well, then, Miss Mar- gii, it's all settled, and I hope you won't think I've been too meddlesome; but I wanted to help you along. I've spoken to Mr. Ashford about your story, and he says that if you'll allow him to give you a "sitting" (that's what he called it) every day, he will be most happy to pose as a hopeless lover! Those are his very words, miss, and I do think it's very kind of him." "Oh, Susan!" I exclaimed, in alarm, "what have you been saying to Mr. Ashford? I am afraid you have been terribly indiscreet!" "Not a bit, Miss Margie, not a bit' I've only interested him in your story. Now you just give him half an hour or so every morning, and see what a help it will fee." It is needless to repeat nil the con­ versation between Susan and myself on this subject Let it suffice that I was won over at last, and a daily interview was agreed upon, wherein Mr. Ashford was to enact the part of a despairing lover, and I was at liberty to sketoh from life. "Our first 'sitting,' as we agreed to call our meetings, would have been em­ barrassing as well as awkward, but I must own that Mr. Ashford behaved splendidly. He thanked me for ray kindness in allowing him to be of some service to me, and then, alter a while, he began to speak in the most charm­ ing way about the young lady with whom he was in love,'and whom, for convenience sake, he called Daisy, al­ though he said that was not her true name. I began to change my opinion of Mr. Ashford from that day. He was cer­ tainly a very interesting man, and I wondered why that stupid Daisy could not see it. Soon I found that these "sittings" grew more and more interesting as the days went on, until I could hardly think of anything else, much to my own sup- prise. And what a difference between the language of genuine feeling and the poor counterfeits over which I had labored so long and so vainly? By this time, too,we had somewhat changed the manner of our interviews. At first I had taken copious notes, but latterly Mr. Ashford had persuaded me to leave the notes until I was alone, and to de­ vote the time spent with him to con­ versation as being more suggestive. Besides I was now, also by his advice, playing the part of the obdurate Daisy and receiving his entreaties and his avowals with studied coldness and in­ difference. At first I objected, serious­ ly to this role as placing me in a very unpleasant position, but Mr. Ashford insisted that it was the only way in which I could thoroughly understand his feelings or make my heroine per­ fectly true to nature, and so I yielded. He made it a rule after that to call me Daisy, and he soon suggested that 1 should call him Lyman, but that seemed unnecessary and I never tried it; at least, not in his presence. I would not have minded his calling me Daisy, for he had such a lovely way of faying it, if I had not begun to dis­ like the girl so intensely. I was always wondering how he happened to fall in love with her, and why he was so con­ stant to such a blind, ungrateful crea­ ture. Often, when he would saiy that Ids only hope of future happiness lay in winning her heart, I wonld turn away my head to hide the tears in my eyes, tears of pity for him and anger against her, poor fool. * It may seem strange, but it is never­ theless true that I found it quite im­ possible to work at my story auy more. Notwithstanding the many advantages I now enjoyed, I found myself more at a loss than ever. My heroine, whom I had modeled after Daisy, displeased me--tuy hero, who was of course Mr. Ashford, was entirely too good for her --so how could I marry them at the end? I did think of introducing an­ other character--a girl to whom his heart should turn, because of her sweet, unselfish sympathy with all his sorrows, but--well, I put the whole thing aside, to be finished in the winter. One morning Mr. Ashford made his appearance with a very melancholy air. "My work is completed," he said: "My vacation is over, and I must go back to the city. I cannot tell you how sorry I am, nor how much I shall miss these 'sittings.' And, by the way, is not the story nearly finished ? I was hoping you would read it to me before I left." "Oh, no! not now--it--it is not ready yet." I exclaimed; "I have not written much lately"--and there I stopped, confused by my own admission. But he went on quietly: "You are quite right Put your work aside for ^ a time, and you will take it up with new vigor. And now, my kind friend, will you let me occupy this last hour of the many we have spent together with my own affairs? I have written to Daisy--for the last time, if she still refuses me-- and on her decision my whole future now rests. If she is at last won to say yes, you know how happy I shall be. If, not, I cannot stay in the city where I must meet her continually. I shall accept my uncle's offer, give up my pro­ fession, and go to Germany with him, probably for the rest of my life." He paused, looking at me expectant­ ly, but I was silent Of course I sup­ pose it was sympathy, but it seemed to me as if I could never be so utterly wretched in all my life as I was at that moment. Finally, realizing that some­ thing must be said, I contrived to get off two or three sentences, with "best wishes," and "deep interest in his wel­ fare," and the like, but it was very hard work. However, he seemed quite satisfied, for he thanked me, and then he added: "I shall not hear from Daisy before Friday, but whatever the result may be I must come back to tell you. So please meet me here on Saturday after­ noon, and then, if I am happy, I shall claim your congratulations, and if I am to be an exile, I shall at least have the consolation of hearing a friendly good by. Au revolt', kindest of friends." He was gone, but I burst into tears! For a long time I. remained sitting in the little arbor where he had left me, trying to compose myself sufficient­ ly to return to the house. Then I went up to my room, and tell­ ing Susan that 1 had a violent head­ ache and could not be disturbed, I shut myself up and began to think. My meditation during that day and the next made one point perfectly clear to me; I did not want Mr. Ashford to( marry Daisy. But then, on the other*1 hand, I did not want him to go to Ger­ many. I began to feel a positive ha­ tred for that girl, and to wish that I could warn Mr. Ashford against her, for I was quite sore n«ver make him happy. In this way the hours dragged on. Saturday afternoon came at last, and 1UUUU uio AU vuv with almost uncontrollable anxiety. He made his appearanoe punctually, and as I watched him coming along the path that led to the arbor I forgot in one moment all the rules of conduct I had laid down for myself--all the elab­ orate speeches I had prepared, and springing up I held out my hand with a breathless: "Well?" . "No, it isn't well. Daisy has not ac­ cepted me," he said, as he took my hand. "Now, the only thing I can do is to go away as soon as possible. Don't you think so?" I did not intend to srty it. I shall al­ ways insist that nothing was farther from my intentions that moment, but I suddenly burst out with: "No, don't, don't go." He was still holding my hand, and when I said these words he put his oth­ er arm very gently around me and whispered: "If you want me I will stay." I am going to omit the greater part of our conversation that afternoon in the arbor, as it was strictly personal and private. But I ought to say that Lyman confessed to me that he had been guilty of a great deception. There was no such person as Daisy, and it was I, myself, with whom he had been in love all the time. Of course I for­ gave him, although I don't think it was quite fair, and to inveigle Susan, too! But as we talked over onr "sittings" I exclaimed ruefully: "And so my love story has not been written after all?" Lyman smiled as he answered ten­ derly: "Your love story has just begun, dear Margie, and I hope it will never come to an end." And I don't believe it wilL--Inter- Ocean. ' Enthusiasm* Enthnsiasm may be defined as that hearty zeal, that burning ardor which characterizes the pursuit of any object, be that object an evasive plug hat, bowled by the gentle breeze along the boulevard, amid the jeers of the heart­ less spectators, or be it a beefsteak to whice some hungry dog has been mysteriously fastened, the owner of which beefsteak lifts up his heels so high in swift pursuit as to darken the noonday sun. It is that peculiar state or condition of the mind in which the feelings are enlisted on the side of the understanding, and in which the two work in perfect concert and with resistless force. When this stage of things exists, unless the object that is being pursued has got long legs, or a good start, it is sure to bo overtaken. This term has been misunderstood and lias been regarded as synonymous with fanaticism, whereas the two are entirely different. Surveying the calm and peaceful wa­ ters of a smooth gliding river, we can hardly conceive that it is the same wa­ ter that a few hours ago dashed foam­ ing and roaring in a thundering cata­ ract over the tails above. But it is the identical same water being used over a second time. For there is no other water in that vicinity that could be util­ ized for the purpose. So it is with en- tliusiam and fanaticism. The one is a beneticient angel, suggestive of white- robed Bebecca at the well, at a church fair, dispensing colicky lemonade at 10 cents a glass to sickly dudes, to assist in removing the mortgage on the tab­ ernacle. The other is a raging demon whose rule is madness, and who is as regardless of consequences as a runa­ way horse.--Texan Hi/tings. Beethoven's Last Days. While journoying in Vienna on foot, because he was too poor to pay for a ride, Beethoven, the great composer, staid one night at a smal} farm-house. During the night, becoming feverish and restless, he rose to take the air, and went forth from the dwelling in bare feet. Beethoven wondered about till early mornihg when he returned to the house, not knowing whither lie had gone. He had been seized with a se­ vere chill, and his mind was already wandering. Dropsy on the chest was found to have declared itself, and with­ in two days, spite of all care and skill, it was pronounced that Beethoven must die. As he lay upon his bed, pale and in great suffering, a man entered. It was Hammel, the friend of many years-- his only friend. He had learned of his illness while on a visit to Vienne, and came not only to nurse him, but to bring him mouey. It was to late! His eyes shone, he struggled for ut­ terance, and at length gasped: "Is it not true, dear Hammel, that I have some talent, after all?" These were the last words of Beethoven. He was buried in the little cemetery of Dob- ling, and very recently his remains have been removed to the great ceme­ tery of Vienna, in company with those of Schubert, who earnestly desired to be buried by his side.--Blackwood's Magazine. How Men of Iron Are Killed* People know nothing about cach other. Every man is a globe, a natur­ al history to himself. When we have beaten every enemy outside of us, there arises unseen enemies within us. You see the powerful horse go to the field every dav and take his place at the plow, and one day you find him dead, and you ask what the trouble might have been. The horse could not speak, but the doctor comes along and tells you that he has had the botis. You ask what the bots may be. Bots you find are some kind of insect that are propa­ gated within the animal, feeding upon his health and life. So it is with men at work, when they are aparently most healthy some unknown species of thing seems to want to prey upon them, if for nothing else than because of (>uch abundant health. We slay the fattest steer; the noblest sheep we want upon our plate. Therefore, strong, sensible men are often the victims of the com­ mercial necessities of life and wear themselves down and out when every­ body else is wondering how they pro­ cured such an iron fabric.--Oath. The Morals of France. The morals of a people must be de­ plorable when the national welfare is thought to demand that sin be shel­ tered and the home built on bribery; yet this seems to be the condition of France. The birth rate of the country has dropped in five years from 3*2.9 thousand to 25.5, in good measure, it is thought, because of the growing prac tice of abandoning illegitimate chil dren; and it is seriously proposed to reform the evil by promising secrecy to any mother who will send her child to a fondling hospital, and by offering prizes and exemption from taxation to families of more than two children.-- Globe-Democrat. T*hose men who are of the noblest dispositions think themselves the hap­ piest when others shax* their happi­ ness with them. # Til* UTTUC BANANA MUU« tike a bar of beaten gold t - A * i g eam in tbe summer's annr Iam little. Lknow, but 1 thl ik IoMlkaOW A tran that will way a ton, I send out no ohallenges bold, < 1 till w tne no vaunting horn. But foolish is he who treadeth on ine; He'li wish he had ne'er been bort& , f ' t t . Like the flower of the Hold, vain man & % ticeih forth at the break of <1av. ^ B t wh n he oha 1 feel rav gr.pon hlsnMt^. I/ke the stubbie he fndeth away; l'or I lift h m h gli up In the ali\ . _ With hiB heels .where his head ought to be; With a down-coining crash he maketh his mash Aud 1 know he'd dear gone upon me. I am ecorned by the man who buys mo; I am molest, and quiet, and meek; Though my talents are few, yet the work that 11 o Has of t mnde the cellar doors creak. I am a blood-red Republican born. And a Nihilfst teir esa 1 be; Though ihe head wear a crown, I wouldbr'ng its pride down If it set its proud beel upon me. IETHERICK'S PERIL >•; ------ Y A PRIZE STORY. Each story of the Sh'elton Cotton Factory is fifteen feet between floors; there are seven such over the basement, and this rises six feet above the ground. The brick walls narrow to eight inches as they ascend, and form a parapet ris­ ing above the roof. One of the time­ keepers in the factory, Jack Hardy, a yonng man about my own age, often runs along the brick work, the practice giving him a singular del'ght that has seemed to increase with his proficiency in it. Having been a clerk in the works from the beginning, I have frequently used the parapet for a foot-path, and although there was a sheer fall of 100 feet to the ground, have done it with ease and without dizziness. Oc­ casionally Hardy and I have run races, on the opposite walls, an exercise in which I was invariably beaten, beoause I became timid with increase of pace. Hopelessly distanced last Wednes­ day, while the men were off at noon, I gave up midway, and looking down, observed the upturned face of an old man, gazing at me with parted lips, wide eyes, and an expression of horror, so startling that I involuntarily stepped down to the bricklayers' platform in­ side. I then saw that the apparently frightened spectator was Mr. Petherick, who has been for some weeks pay­ master and factotum for the contract­ ors. ' "What's the matter, Petherick?" I called down. He made no answer, but walking off rapidly disappeared round the mill. Curious about his demeanor, I descended, and after some little seek­ ing. found him smoking alone. "You quite frightened me just.now, Petherick," said I. "Did you think I was a ghost?" / "Not just that," he replied, eenten- tiously. "Did you expect me to fall, then?" I inquired. "Not just that, either, said he. The old man was clearly disinclined to talk, .and apparently much agitated. I be­ gan to joke him about his lugubrious expression, when the 1 o'clock bell rang, and he shuiHed off hastily to an­ other quarter. Though I puzzled awhile over the in­ cident, it scon passed so entirely irom my mind that I was surprised when, passing Petherick in the after­ noon, intending to go aloft, he said as I went by: "Don't do it again, Mr. Frazer." "What?" I stopped. "That!" he retorted. "Oh! You mean running on the wall," said I. "I mean going on it at all!" he ex­ claimed. His earnostness was so marked that I conceived a strong interest in its cause. "I'll make a bargain with you, Mr. Petherick. If you will tell me why you advise me, I'll give the thing up." "Done!" said he. "Come to my cot­ tage this evening, and I'll tell you a strange adventure of my own, though perhaps you'll only laugh that it's the reason why it sickens me to see you fooling up there." Tetherick was ready to talk when Jack and I sat down on his doorstep that evening, and im mediately launched into the following narrative: "I was born and grew to manhood near the high cliffs of the coast of Cornwall. Millions of sea-fowls make their nests along the* face of those wave-worn precipices. My compan­ ions and I used to get much excite­ ment, and sometimes a good deal of pocket-money, by taking their eggs. One of us, placing his feet in a loop at the end of a rope and taking a good grip with his hands, would be lowered by tbe others to the nest. "When he had his basket full, they'd haul liim up, and another would go down. Well, one afternoon, I thus went dangling off. Tiiey paid out about a hundred feet of rope before I touched the ledge and let go." "What ledge?" asked Jack. "Oh!" said Petherick. after a pause. "I see it will be troublesome to make you understand the situation." Then, alter reflecting for some moments-- You must know that most of the cliils along that coast overhang the sea. At mai^r points one could drop GOO feet into the sea, and then be forty or fifty feet from the base of the rock he left The coast is scooped under by the waves. But in some places the cliff wall is as though it had been eaten away by seas once running in on higher levels. There will be an overhanging coping, then, some hundred feet down, a ledge sticking out further than that of the top; under th^t ledge all will be scooped away. In places there are three or lour such ledges, each project­ ing further than those above. These ledges used to fall away occasionally, as they do yet, I am told, for the ocean is gradually devouring that coast. Where they did not project further than the upper coping, one would swing like a pendulum on the rope.and get on the rock, if not too far in, then {>ut a rock on the rope to bold it till lis return. When a ledge did project so that one could drop straight on it, he hauled down some slack and left the rope hanging." "Did the wind ever blow it off?" asked Jack. "Seldom, and never Out of reach," oaid the old man. "Well, the ledge I reached was like this," illustrating with his hands. "It was some ten feet wide*, it stuck out maybe six feet further than the cliff top; the rock wall went up pretty near perpendicular till near the coping at tho ground, but below the ledge the cliff's face was so scooped away that the sea, 500 feet below, ran in under it nigh fifty feet "As I went down thousands of birds rose from the jagged places of the prec­ ipice, circling around me with harsh screams. Soon touching the ledge, 1 stepped from the loop, and drawing down a little slack, walked off briskly. For fully quarter of a mile the ledge ran along the cliff's face almost as level and even in width as that sidewalk. I remember fancying that it sloped out­ ward more than usual, bat icstantly dismissed the not'on, though Gaffer Pen treat h, the oldest man in that ccus*?ys&3, used to tell us that we should not get the use of that ledge always. It had been as steaiy in our time aa in his grandfather's, and we only laughed at his prophecies. Yet the place of an old filled fissure was marked by a line 6f grass, by tufts of Veeds, and small bushes, stretching almost as far as the ledge itself, and within a foot or so of the cliff's face. "Eggs were not so many as usual, and I went a long piece from my rope before turning back. Then I noticed the very strange conduct of the hosts of sea-fowls below. Usually there were hundreds, but now there were millions on the wing, and instead of darting forth in playful motions, they seemed to be wildly excited, screaming shrilly, rushing out in terror, and returning in masses as though to alight, only to wheel in dread and keep the air in vast' clouds. "The weather was beautiful; the sea like glass. At no great distance two large brigs, and nearer a small yacht, lay becalmed, heaving on the long bil­ lows. I could look down her cabin stairway almost, and it seemed scarcely more than a long leap to her deck. "Puzzled by the singular conduct of the sea-birds, I soon stopped and set my back against the cliff to rest while watching them. The day was deadly still and very warm. # "I remember taking off my cap and whiping the sweat from my face and forehead witn my sleeve. While doing this, I looked down involuntarily to the fissure at my feet Instantly my blood almost froze with horror! There was a distinct crack between the inner edge of the fissure and the hard-packed, root-threaded soil with which it wa& filled! Forcibly I pressed back, and in a flash looked along the ledge. The fissure was widening under my eyes, the rock before me seemed sinking out­ ward, and with a shudder; and a groan and roar, the whole long platform fell crashing to the sea below! I stood on a margin of rock scarce a foot wide, at my back a perpendicular cliff, and 500 feet below the ocean, now almost hid­ den by the vast concourse of wheeling and affrighted birds. "Can you believe that my first sensa­ tion was one of relief? I stood ftafe! Even a feeling of interest held mo for some moments. Almost coolly I ob­ served a long and mighty wave roll out from beneath. It went forth with a high, curling crest--a solid wall of wa­ ter! It struck the yacht stern on, plunged down on her deck, smashed through her swell of sail, and swept her out of sight forever. "Not until then did my thoughts dwell entirely on my own position; not till then did I comprehend its hopeless­ ness. Now, my eyes closed convul­ sively, to shut out the abyss down which my glance had fallen; shuddering. I pressed hard against the solid wall at my back, an appalling cold slowly crept through me. My reason Struggled against a wild desire to leap; all the de­ mons of despair whispered to me to make an instant end. In imagination I had leaped. I felt the swooning help­ lessness of falling, and the cold, up­ ward rush of air! "Still I pressed hard against the wall of rock, and though nearly faint with terror, never forgot for an instant the death at my feet, nor the utter danger of the slightes motion. How long this weakness lasted I knew not; I only know that the unspeakable horror of that first period has come to me in wak­ ing dreams many and many a day sinoe; that I have long nights of that deadly fear; that to think of the past is to stand again on that narrow foothold, and to look around on the earth is of­ ten to cry out with joy that it widens away from my feet." The old man paused long. Glanc­ ing sidewise at Jack, I saw that his face was pallid. I myself had shuddered and gfown cold, so strongly had my imagination realized the awful expe­ rience that Patherick described. 'Suddenly," said the old man, "these words flashed to my brain: 'Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. Fear not, there­ fore; ye are of more value than many sparrows.' My faculties so ^trained, I seemed to hear the words. Indeed, often yet I think that I did truly hear a voice utter them very near me "Instantly hope arose, consciously desperate indeed, but I became calm, resourceful, capable, and feeling unac­ countably aided. • L areful not to look down, I opened my eyes and gazed far away over the bright sea. The rippled billows told that a light outward breeze had sprung up. Slowly, and some­ what more distant, the two brigs moved toward the horizon. Turning my head, I could trace the narrow stone of my footing to where my rope dangled, per­ haps 300 yards distant "It seemed to hang within easy reach of the cliff faco, and instantly I re­ solved and as instantly I proceeded to work toward it. No time remained for hesitation. Night was coming on. I reasoned that my comrades thotiglit me killed. They had probably gone to view the new condition of the precipice from the lower station, and on their re­ turn would haul up and carry off the rope. I made a move toward it. Try to think of that jouyney!" I nodded to him silently. " Shuffling sidewise very carefully, I had not made five yards before 1 knew that I could not continue to look out over that abyss without glancing down, and that I could not glance down with­ out losing my sens. s. You have the brick line to keep eyes on as you walk along the factory wall; do you think you could move along it erect, looking down as you would have to? Yet it is only 100 feet high. Imagine five more such walls on top of that, and you try­ ing to move sidewise--incapable of closing your eyes, forced to look down, from end to end, yes, three times fur­ ther! Imagine you've got to go on or jump off! Would you not, in an ecsta- cy of nervous agitation, fall to your knees, get down face-first at full length, clutch by your hands and with shut eyes feel your way ? I longed to lie down and hold, but of course that was impossible." "Still there was a wall at your back," observed Jack. "That made it worse! The cliff seemed to press outward against mo. It did, in fact, incline very slightly out­ ward. It seemed to be thrusting me oft. Oh, the horror of that sensation! Your toes on the edge of a precipice, and the implacable, culm mountain ap­ parently weighting you slowly for­ ward !" Beads of sweat broke out over his white face at the horror he had called before him. Wiping his lips nervously with the back of his hand, and looking askant, as at the narrow pathway, he paused long. I saw its cruel edge and the dark gleams of its abysmal water. "I knew," he resumed, "that with my back to the wall I could never reach the ropo. I could not face toward it aud step forward, so narrow was the ledge. Motion was perhaps barely pos­ sible that way, but the breadth of my shoulders would have forced me to lean somewhat more outward, *hi« I dared not and could not do. Also to see a solid surface before me became an irresistible desire. I resolved to try to turn around before resuming the des­ perate journey. To do this 1 had to nerve myself for one steady look at my footing. "In the depth below tbe myriad sea- fowl then rested on the black wa which, though swelling more witb^he rising wind, had yet an unbroken sur­ face at some little distance from the precipice, while further out it began to jump to white caps, and in beneath me, where I cfuld not see, it dashed and churned with a faint, pervading roar that I could hardly distinguish. Before the descending sun a heavy bank of cloud had arisen. The ocean's surface bore that appearance of intense and angry gloom that often heralds a storm, but save the deep murmur go­ ing out from far below my perch, all to my hearing was doeply stilL "Cautiously I swung my right foot before the other and carefully odged around. For an instant, as my shoulder rubbed against the rock, I felt that I must fall. I did stagger, in fact, but the next moment stood firm, face to the beetling cliff, my heels on the very edge, and the new sensation of the abyss behind .me no less horrible than that from which I hod with suffieulty escape. I stood quaking. A delirous horror thrilled every nerve. Tl\« skin about my ears and neck, suddenly cold, shrank convulsively. "Wild with fear, I thrust forward my head against the rock and rested in ag­ ony. A whir and wind of sudden wings made me conscious of outward things again. Tfien a mad eagerness to climb swept away other feelings and my hands attempted in vain to clutch the rock. Not daring to cast my head backward, I drew it tortoise-like between my raised shoulders and chin against the precipice, and gazed upward with strained vision from under my eyebrows. "Far above the dead wall stretched. Sidewise glances gave me glimpses of the projecting summit coping. There was no hope in that direction. But the distraction of scanning the cliffside had given my strained nerves some re­ lief; to my memory again returned the promise of the Almighty, and the con­ sciousness of his regard. Once more my muscles became lirm-Btrung. " A cautious step sideways made me know how much I had gained in ease and security of motion by the change of front. I made progress that seemed almost rapid for some rods, and even had exultation in my quick approach to the rope. Hence came freedom to think how I would act on reaching it, and speculation as to how soon my comrades would haul me up. "Then the idea rushed through me that they might even yet draw it away too soon; that, while almost iu my clutches, it might raise from my hands. Instantly all- the terrors of njy posi­ tion returned with tenfold force; an outward thrust of the precipice seemed to grow distinct, my trembling hands told me that it moved bodily toward me, the descent behind mo took an un­ speakable remoteness, and from the ut­ most depth of that sheer air seemed to ascend steadily a deadly and a chilling wind. But I think I did not stop for an instant Instead, a delerium to move faster possessed- me, and with quick, sidelong steps--my following foot striking hard against that before-- sometimes on the point of stumbling, stretched out like the crucified, I passed in mortal terror along. "Every possible accident and delay was presented to my excited brain. What if the ledge should narrow sud­ denly to nothing? Now I believed that my heels were unsupported in air, and I moved along on tip-toe. Now I was convinced that the narrow pathway sloped outward, that this slope had be­ come so distinct, so increasingly dis­ tinct, that 1 might at any moment slip off into the void. But dominating ev­ ery consideration of possible disaster was still that of the need of speed, and distinct amid all other terrors was that sensation of the dead wall ever si­ lently and inexorably pressing me out­ ward. '*My mouth and throat were choked with dryness, my convulsive lips parched and arid; much I longed to press them against the cold, moist stone. But I never stopped. Faster, faster--moi;e wildly I stepped--in a de­ lirium I pushed along. Then suddenly before my staring eyes was a well-re­ membered edge of mossy stone, and I knew that the rope should be directly behind me. Was it? "I glanced over my left shoulder. The rope was not to be soenl Wildly I looked over the other--no rope! Al­ mighty God! and hast thou deserted me ? "But what! Yes, it moves! it sways in sight! it disappears--to return again to view! There was the rope directly at my back, swinging in the strong breeze with a motion that had carried it away from my first hurried glances. With the relief tears pressed to my eyes and--face bowed to the precipice, almost forgetful for a little time of the hungry air beneath--I offered deep thanks to God for the delivery that seemed so near." The old man's lips continued to move but no sound came from them. We waited silent while, with closed eyes and bent head he remained absorbed in the recollection of that strange minute of devoutne3s. "I stood there," he said at la=it, "for what now seems a space of hours, per- ha^s half a minute in reality. Then all the chances still to be run crowded upon me. To turn around had been an at­ tempt almost desperate before, and certainly, most certainly, the ledge was no wider where I row stood. Was the rope within reach? I feared not. Would it sw«y toward me. I could hope for that But could I grasp it should I be saved? Would it not yield to my hand --coming slowly down as I pulled, un­ rolling from a coil above, trailing over tho ground at tho top, running fast as its end approached the edge, falling suddenly at last? Or was it fastened to the accustomed stake? Was any comrade near who would summon aid at my signal? If not, and I grasped it, and if it held, how long should I swing in the wind that now bore the fresh­ ness'and tremori of an imminent gale? "Now again fear took hold on me, and, as a desperate man, I prepared to turn my face once more to the vast ex­ panse of water and nothing beyond that awful cliff. Closing my eyes, I writhed, with I know not what motions, easily around till again ^ my back pressed against the precipice. That was a restful sensation. And now for the decision of my fate! I looked at the rope. Not for a moment could I fancy it within my reach. Its swayings were nut, as I had expected, even slightly inward, but when falling back against the wind it swung outward as though the air <mn •ddyteg from wall. "Now I gazed down steadily. Woull a leap be certain death? The wa was of immense depth below. Bt what chance of striking it feet or hea . first? What chance of preserving con­ sciousness in the descent ? No, th| leap would be death; that, at leasfp was clear. "Again I turned to the rope. I wa :̂ now perfectly desperate, bat steady • ervroJbfiyond the best moments of m|T life, good for an effort surpassing th<» human. Still the ropo swayed as b#>: fore, and its motion was very regula^^ I saw that I could touch it at anjr point of its gyration by a strong leajk, "But could I grasp it? What use |F it were not firmly aecured above ? Btf§ all time for hesitation had gone by. I knew too well that strength was ming^ but for a moment, and that in the nesp;' reaction qf weakness I should drop from the wall like a dead fly. Bracing myself, I watched the rope steadily for one round, and, as it returned against the wind, jumped straight out over thM heaving Atlantic. "By God's aid I reached, touched* clutched, held the strong line. And & j held! Not alsolntely. Once, twice, and again it gave, gave with jerks thai tried my arms. 1 knew these indi» cated but tightening! Then it lielj|r; firm, and I swung, turning in the air, secure above the wave* that beat be­ low. J .' "To slide down and/'plaoe my feet ift the loop was the instinctive work of p v moment Fortunately it was of dimett-" sions to admit my body barely. slipped it over my thighs up to my arm*; p ts just as the dreaded reaction a( weakness came. Then 1 lost conscious­ ness. "When I awakened my dear mother** face was beside my pillow, and she told me that I had been tossing for a fort night in brain fever. Many weeks lay there, and when I got strong foun| that I had left my nerve on that awft. cliff-side. Never since have I been able to look from a height or see any otliei human being on one without Bliudder- ing. "So now you know the story, Mr. Frazer, and have had your last walk on the factory wall." He spoke truer than he knew. His story has given me such horrible night- mores ever since that 1 could no moty, walk on the high brickwork than along? that narrow ledge in distant Cornwall,;: --E. W. Thomson, in Youth's Con|i4 panioru . t, Cathedral Windows of One of the most remarkable uses tf>;l which paper has been put of late years is the manufacture of zylonite, a sub*' stance which, at tlie will of the manu­ facturer, may be made in imitation oi horn, rubber, tortoise shell, amber, and even glass. The uses to which zylonit# E is adaptable are almost infinite, but perhaps the most extraordinary i? the manufacture of cathedral windows. The discovery was made by an English­ man named Spills about fifteen yearn, , ago, but it was only afrout five years ago that a company was formed in London, for its manufacture. The basis of zylo- 1 nite is plain white tissue paper, made from cotton or cotton and linen rags. The paper, being treated first with a bath of sulphuric and other acids, un­ dergoes a chemical change. The acid is then carefully washed out, and the paper treated with another preparation , of alcohol and camphor. After this i|, assumes an appearance very much likf>! parchment. It is then capable of beinf*^;^-'f worked up into plates of any thickness, rendered almost perfectly transparent, or given any of the brilliant colors that silk will take.--Printers' Circular. A Perverted Life. There is a man in Florida that wa never pass without a sigh of regret. This man was the finest pulpit orator of the South. His tongue dropped diamonds, and his thoughts were pearl. No congregation overtired of his e lot russels, Tapestry and Ingrai n notice at prices that cannot Ipet will be ready to Deliver pave you full 25 per cent. W give- vjvu uauniaiiiua" he sought to sail on eveiry sea, and his melancholly shipwreck points the sol­ emn moral of his plan of life. The story of this man is more eloquent of warning than the best sermon that he ever preached.-- Jacksonville (Fla.) Herald. • Lightning In the Tropics. To confirm other experience of trop­ ical thunderstorms, Mr. J. J. Me v rick reports that very few persons or build­ ings are injured by lightning in the plains of India, although at the com» mencement of the monsoon, storms oc­ cur in which the lightning runs liki snakes all over the sky at the rate of three or four flashes a second, and the thunder often roars without a break for an hour or more at a time. Hi supposes the rarity of accidents to l e due to the great thickness of the strat­ um of heated air and its effect in keep­ ing the clouds so high that most of the electrical discharges pass from cloud to cloud and very few reach the earth. Confirmation of this view is found i|^ the observation that in monntains and in colder climates, where the cloud* approach nearer to the earth's surface,, much greater damage is done by light­ ning. Cooking flubs lor Hen. There are half a dozen or more nota­ ble oooking clubs for men in Philadel­ phia, some of which have achieved a wide reputation. The State iiv, Schuyl­ kill, as it is called, is the most famouq. Lafayette undoubtedly sat at its board, and there are traditions afloat of ho#; the Father of His Country, with aa apron on and his sleeves rolled up» pared potatoes, and helped make soup under its roof. Lately the club celef* brated its 152d anniversary. It owns an island on the river,which, in the forma­ tion of the original union, was left as a joke out of the country, a principality itself, and it is called the State of Schuylkill. Every member has to doi| a peculiar costume and help prepar® the dinner and brew the punch. Every applicant for membership must serv#* an apprenticeship at cooking before he is admitted.--New York Sun. The manner of saying or of doing anything goes a great way in the vain# of the thing itself. It was well said o| him that called « good office that waf done harshly, and with an ill-will, f stony piece of bread; it is necessary for him that is hungry to receive it, but it almost chokes a man in the going down. El Mebdi has thirteen wives, married the first when he was old. H« J®# J ' • .... ... -j.