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pffsppp!!! "v V-»T •*•**» "• wuPTf- > PPiWWHSfiWPiSillllSSilW • F ' * . v« i J. VAlfr 8LYKK, Miter * 1 UttcHENRT. "1 r r ILLINOIS. >! ffef fappEBF ^Ehe pipe of the quail in the stubble field; --2:The sccnt of the new-mown hay; , _ Jknd all day long the nbout and the BOOK j • Of the xeapeis so tar away. , ^vi.. _' ' '"She restless racket amid the grain, " |The noise oftbe reapingjnaahine; i**r Main the howl of pain *?>?«« * " : meadow* green. field where the iaeade* brk tite sings, as it soars and dives; •; - • "Where the grauger sits, and yells h he gite - His fingers amoug the knives. *" iSo longer we hear on the hillsides sere, v The scythe-etone's elinkety clink. jBut the reaping machine cuts his leg off, I ween, < Before ever tbo £ia pa t|ink. } " T With foreboding and tears his good wife ben The man of the house say good-bye; 3|0o retain, ib sjoth, with * horse-r&fce tooth r "/• f ; 5 Sticking four inches out of his eye. ^hen the threshers come in, with halloomd din, . How burdened with sorrow the hoot. ' • ' "When they pause to scan what is left of the auut ' - Chawed up in an eight-horse power. *Qh lithe and listen! From over the hills, •-~ ; What voice for the doctor begs ? :, '"fie the stoker who fell, and awful to tell , •• •-.The steam harrow run over his lega». • > •^huB all day long, with mirth andjoag, " > • T h e y l a u g h a t t h e d r e a a a l a r m s ; f®hough the waving hold shall its harvest yield ?«{V Of fingers and legs and arms. .vjjjV *Sffhen pity the aortows of a poor old granger, ^ Whose mangled limbs have borne him to the •:*a fence, ^Who braved, with reckless courage, untold vt daager o>* And nut his farm with modern implements. v'. • --Burlington HawkSyt. tfgh. «* .1 II I „ , 4 1# A BEAtTIFUL DECEPTION. Town Joining with a De* voted Daughter'to Humbug an Old ' < Man Into Sanity* .PKEVILLE, the eminent French actor, Jfeaving lost his fortune and indeed his livelihood by the Revolution which ;j9\vept away the Comedie Francaise; having lost his wife, to whom he was ^tenderly attached, broken in health and finally blind, went to end his days at $he residence of his daughter, Mme. ••Guesdon, whose husband was Receiver- M&eneral at Beauvais. His mind gave --way, and, except at brief intervals, flbhe old man was insane, harmlessly tbut completely insane. The sights •<which he had witnessed at Paris during Tfche^JiteigB of Terror had always deeply -afifeetea him, and even while he re­ gained his mental vigor their recollec- . 4ions haunted and oppressed him. IVHen his reason was clouded he inva­ riably fancied himself in one of the prisons ,of the Republic, under a mys­ terious charge of treason. He no long­ er knew himself to be blind, but com­ plimented the ladles of quality, fellow- .prisoners in his imaginary dungeon, «©n their freshness of face, or rallied .'•the great gentlemen immured with him 3n their fantasies and peculiarities of ress. With them he held long con-ersations, sparkling with wit and re­ plete with anecdote; indeed, during "the forty-eight hours that the attack Always lasted he was not silent for a moment;,, over his skilled and expressive features swept all. the varying emotions of jdy, sorrow and intense interest; fthe veins of his forehead grew like <sords, and his face red as fire, and the <end of the tit was a flux of unintelli- ble words, at first spoken energetically, but finally dying into silence and stu­ por. Preville would then sleep heav­ ily i from fifteen to eighteen hours, and «wake sane, but for the hallucination "that he was confined in prison. He i-ecognized his "family and friends and 4hanKed them for visiting him; he I * |>ointed out the Jailers and Police Com- | , janissaries and his fellow-prisoners. In •Vain did his daughter lead him through the spacious gardens or drive out with him through the streets of the town; wlperever h# wemt he carried his prison "Avith him. He was failing perceptibly, so vivid­ ly had his imagination wrought upon him, when one day a new phase of his malady alarmed his family. He was •liQticea to , steal Noiselessly from the & room, turning his head to look behind him as*if he reared that he might be forwrMeu nad psjisiied, he trembled and ^shuddered violently, and on his counte­ nance, which was,<?f a deathly pallor, .igreat drops of sweat stood out. Hear­ ing his daughters voice, he lied to­ ward her and threw himself into her -arms. "Biirrouud me! hold me!" he ..gasped; " don't let them find me. -heartheir footsteps." "There is no <pne coming, say father," said Mme* •feuesdon, soothingly. "I tell you they will," hte answered; "is the, place safe? Can they find me here? It was *thus Loiserolles was saved." Then junking into -a chair he continued: " I *was on the fatal cart; not alone, for a smother and her son were with me. "'P*ey-apare neitherage nor innocence •»:Lhe butefersi-^verV jolt of the cart -made me shudder^Who can describe ">the agojiy of sitting there, tied, where •»3verfi -tjbjrfi-of {the :^he6l brings* you •neam- to ydur death. It is worse than •death." "Butyou are safe, father," -said his daughter. " SafeP yes, but for how long? All at once the tumbril stopped. I could not look at the ^guillotine, but cast my eyes down and „sthought oiyou all. One of the prison­ ers «t*ps dqtyn, he mounts the ladder; nhere is a (hud, and a howl from the ?4yowd- An°ther, another; it is my itusrn. L iiuB.de my way, more dead than alive, the ladder, and had set my Kiopt oiitiie first step, when suddenly Csome We thrust a bare, brawnv arm before me, stopping the way. ft was the executioner." Here Preville gave with wonderful dramatic force and 'changes of voice his dialogue with the ^headsman. "Where are you going to?" "Going--why, you know. It is (cruel to prolong this torture." " Don't mafte time talking! Where are you citizen, I say?" "Torejoin my companions in misfortune and pray in heaven for the welfare of my family." "That is all very nice, but you can't pass here." " What? I can't pass?" and the old man's face began to ex press a feeble hope. "Of course you -can't pass without your number." "My number?" "Tea, your number. Who in the world sent you here? Do you think we guillotine people that way? Let me see your number." " I beg your pardon sir, but I was not of, th$ formality. I have no number." "Look in your pockets." "How can I with my hands tied? You look." "It's none of nay business-- get out of here, and don't come back till you've found your number."* " You can imagine," said the poor old man, "that I didn't wait to be told twice." A few days later the hallucination re­ turned; he had been recaptured and placed in his cell, and the old agony of apprehension possessed him and preyed -upon him. His daughter, a woman as telever as devoted, having exhausted all the resources of medical science with­ out effecting a cure, hit upon the fortu­ nate idea of entering into his hallucina­ tion and so guiding it as to direct it to a natural and happy ending. She, therefore, ceased attempting to con­ vince him that he was at liberty and in ^ jsafety. and confessed that, thev h>ui tried"to argue him out of the iaea of his captivity solely from a loving desirie to relieve him of its horrors. Deception, if it had been longer possible, she added, was no longer necessary, for they had received an intimation that the day for his trial had been set and was drawing near, and he must prepare to face his Judges with all the resources of his mind. The old man was delighted that she had at last abandoned the deception which* had prevented her from receiv­ ing his confidence, and poured out to her his story, his hopes and fears. Next day she brought him news that he was to have counsel with whom he mteht communicate freely, a privilege that had been refused to the other prison­ ers. This was a good omen, and the old man's heart was perceptibly light­ er than it had been for years. Next day the advocate and another lawyer visited the prisoner, the former person­ age being represented by the Clerk of the Criminal Court of Senenais, a young lawyer of wit and learning, and an intimate friend of the Guesdons, and the latter by a young law student. Thej were introduced by the names of distinguished members of the Parisian bar, with whose fame Preville was ac­ quainted, though he had never met them. To his counsel he told his story at length. They took different views of his case, which they discussed with warmth and many citations from the Code. At last they arrived at an understanding and a plan for the de­ fense, and both agreed that even if th 3ir client were found guilty, capital punishment could not be inflicted upon liim. Meanwhile they would draw up and scatter broadcast a pamphlet, tell­ ing his story, and thus work upon the public mind in his favor. That night, for the first time for many months, the old man slept calmly, the fear of the scaffold, which had* so long haunted him. having been lifted from his mind. Next morning his daughter visited him with more good news. She had been to see the jurors, and found some that were favorable to him; influence was to be exerted on others; still others would be bribed. At the same time the voices of barkers were heard with­ out the windows crying something in which Preville fancied he heard his name. Stepping to the casement, what was his delignt to hear numerous voices calling, "Here's your justifi­ catory memoir of the good citizen Pre­ ville, the friend of the people, unjustly accused!" The cries were kept up all day. He heard people eagerly de­ manding the memoirs, reading them aloud, discussing his case, avowing his innocence. The poor old man wept with joy. Feeding his hopes thus in­ geniously from day to day, his devoted daughter led him on till the eventful day set for the trial had arrived. The trial was held in the great pub­ lic hall, where the Count-Bishops of Beauvais had for generations dispensed justice. Judges were upon the bench, and an audience was made up of the townspeople, who idolized Mme. Gues- don, and entered heartily into her beau­ tiful; deception. Others surrounded the prisoner as he was conducted to the place of trial, bidding him be of good cheer; that they were his friends, and that all would be well. Pale, agitated and tumbling, led by his daughter and his grandson, Preville entered the hall, when the audience broke out into a tempest of cheers and vivats to express its r.ympjithy with him. The presiding Judge sternly commanded silence, which was at last secured, and the trial was begun in due form. Nothing was lacking--indictment, testimony, cross- examinations, speeches, objections, ar­ guments. The prisoner was breathless with anxiety, and over his blind old face, all wet with tears, coursed alter­ nations of hope and fear and emotion. He wished to speak. The Judge per­ mitted him. "I guilty of break­ ing the laws of the Republic!" he broke out excitedly. " Gentlemen, if I were, what would the august Empress cf All the Russias s'ay? If I were, the great Catherine would take my marble bust, which is always upon her dressing-table, and have it dragged through the gutters of St. Petersburg." No one laughed, no one indicated the impropriety of bringing out an imperial souvenir before a republican tribunal; on the contrary, the Judge praised the prisoner for his able defense; the law­ yers made their arguments, the Judges summed up, and the jurors retired to consider their verdict. During their absence the spectators crowded round Preville to felicitate him on the ability of his lawyers and the marked partial­ ity the Judge had shown in his sum ming up. He, affected to tears, pressed their friendly hands, thanked them for the interest they had taken in him, and pressed his devoted daughter to his bosom. There were many more eyes than his wet with tears ia the crowded hall. But the jury comes back; there is a great bustle of expectation; the officers of the court command silence; there is a hush; the jurors rise and return their verdict, "Not guilty!" "He is acquit­ ted! Hurrah!" breaks from all parts of the hall, men and women clamber over the benches and struggle to congratu­ late and embrace him, there are cheers, cries of joy and happy tears. Preville is lifted to a chair and borne home through the garden, where at every step he is hailed with acclamations of delight All Paris surely must have turned out, and his bearers have to im­ plore the citizens to make way and not crush them to death. There are flow­ ers thrown and cheers given, and bless- i ings are called, out as 5 from the win­ dows. So they bring the old man home to his family, cured forever of the sin­ gular hallucination that had haunted him for two years and caused him so jp|ii mental agyny.--N. T. Mr. Sarsaper's Refrigerator* A COUPLE of weeks ago Mr. Sarsaper told his wife one morning that he had got about tired cf buttering his bread with a spoon, and sd that day he sent home a refrigerator. It was a beauty, and he felt proud of it, so much so that he had a good deal to say about it at the store. * " I suppose you have to put ice in it, don't vou ' 'said one of the clerks, , "Certainly," said Mr. Sarsaper, " but then it takes very little. It's an improvement o« all the ot'ueis ever* made. Full of little boxes and places for all qorts of things. Keeps every­ thing separate--meat, vegetables, milk and so on, without any mixing up. It makes hot weather so much more com­ fortable, Bob, to pull up to the table and find everything nice, cool and crisp, instead of limp, sour and slushy. We wouldn't be without it again for any money. I wish you'd run in and look at it, Bob, the first time you're going by. It's a curiosity, and I know you'll get one as soon as you see it. Don't bother about ceremony--run in any time." Bob said he would. About two o'clock one morning last week Mr. Sarsaper was awakened out of the slumber that always keeps com­ pany with an easy conscience, by his wife poking him in the ribs, and calling on him to hustle out and see what the matter was. The door bell was jingling like all possessed. Mr. Sarsaper crawled out of bed, and after banging his nose on the door-post till the blood started, giving himself a black eye against the corner of the mantle, and falling down over pretty much everything in the room* he finally made his way to the front part of the house, threw up a window and peered out into the wet and murky gloom. "Who's there?" he demanded, look­ ing down at the top of an umbrella. " Me!" came up in a thick voice from the under side of it.) " Who's me'" "Bob." " Oh, it's you, is it? What1# the mat­ ter, Bob? Anybody sick?" "Oh, no. You see I've been out to Sedamsville with some of the boys to help institute a lodge, and I'm just get­ ting back. I happened to think about that refrigerator of yours as I was going by, and so I thought I'd stop in and see it, without ceremony, as you said. Come down and let me in. I'm in a hurry to get home, and can't stop but a minute." Mr. Sarsaper said something that would bend the types double if we should undertake to print it, and slammed down the window. He remarked to Bob the next day that for downright freezing- coolness his refrigerator was a bake-oven com­ pared to'the prank practiced on him.-- Cincinnati Breakfast Table. ^ ^ The Old-Fashioned Little Gtili* ?• $ or forty years girl till she was flf- SHK flourished thirty ago. She was a little teen. She used to help her mother wash the dishes and keep the kitchen tidy, and she had an ambition to make pies so nice that papa could not tell the differ­ ence between them and mamma's, and she could fry griddle-cakes at ten years of age, and darn her own stockings by the time she was twelve* to say nothing of knitting them herself. She had her hours of play, and en­ joyed herself to the fullest extent. She had no very costly toys, to be sure, but her rag doll, and the little bureau and chair that Uncle Tom made, were just as valuable to her as the twenty-dollar wax dolls and elegant doll furniture children have nowadays. • - She never said " I can't," and " I don't wan't to," to her mother, when asked to leave her play, and rein up stairs or down on an errand, because she had not been brought up in that way. Obedience was a cardinal virtue in tlie old-fashioned little girl. She rose in the morning when she was called, and went out in the garden and saw the dew on the grass, and if she lived in the country, she .fed the chickens Mid hunted up the eggs for breakfast. We do not suppose she had her hair in curl-papers, or crim ping-pins, or " bangea" over her forehead, and her flounces were no trouble to her. She learned to sew by making patoh- work, and we dare say she could do an "over-and-over" seam as well as nine- tenths of the grown-up women can do one nowadays. The old-fashioned little girl did not grow into a young lady ana talk about beaus before she was in her teens, and she did not read dime novels, and was not fancying a hero in every plow-hoy she met. She learned the solid accomplish­ ments as she grew up. She was taught the art of cooking and of keeping a house. When she got a husband, she knew how to cook him a dinner. She was not learned in French verbs, or Latin declensions, and her immedi­ ate neighbors were spared the agony "of hearing her pound out "The Maiden's Prayer," and 44 Silver Threads Among the Gold," twenty times a day on the Eiano, but we have no doubt she made er family quite as comfortable modern young lady does here. It may be a vulgar assertion, and we suppose that we are not exactly up to the times, but we honestly believe (and our opinion is based on considerable experience, and no small opportunity for observation) that when it comes to keeping a family happy, a good cook and housekeeper is to be greatly pre­ ferred over an accomplished scholar. When both sets of qualities are found together, as they sometimes are, then is the household over which such woman has the control blessed. The old-fashioned little girl was mod­ est in her demeanor, and never talked slang or used by-words. She did not flirt. She did not laugh at old people or make fun of cripples, as we saw some modern little girls doing the other day. She had respect unto her elders, and was not above listening to words of counsel from those older than herself. She did not think she knew as much as her mother, and that her judgment was as good as her grandmother's. She did not go to parties by the time she was ten, and stay till after midnight playing euchre, and dancing with any chance young man who happened to t* present. She went to bed in season, and doubtji less said her prayers before she went* and she slept the sweet sleep of inno­ cence, and rose in the morning happy and capable of giving happiness. Ana if there be an old-fashioned little girl in the world to-day, may Heaven bless her and keep her, and raise up others like her.--Kate Thorn, Weekly. ; , ^ • The Earl of ileaconsfteld* 1 Bnqla^d yesterday paid distin!*' guished honors to a man whose careeif is one of the most extraordinary in Enf* glish history. Benjamin Disraeli, now nearly seventy-three years old, has MV'V** mmv ww mm literary man or as a politician for fifty* four years. He began life with neitlieif wealth or title nor family influence to aid him. He achieved extraordinary suc­ cess as an author, became the leader of the House of Commons, then Minister of Finance, then Prime Minister, then leader of the Government party, and». finally. Prime Minister again. Now, with the rank of Earl, and honored as one of the most brilliant of European diplomatists, he returns from Berlin, the scene of his triumphs, the moat popular man in EnglancL Disraeli's Jewish ancestors went from Spain to Venice in the fifteenth centu­ ry, and, giving up their family name, took that of Disraeli. His grandfather removed to England in 1748, where his , father was born, in 176G. Of Jewish | descent, Benjamin Disraeli has been most thoroughly an Englishman in his instincts, prejudices and ambitions, and from the time he wrote " Vivian Grav," in 1826, he has been a favorite in En­ glish society. In his earlier political struggles his opponents taunted him with being a .Tew, and the celebrated O'Connell said of him: "For aught I know, the present Disraeli is the true heir-at-law of the impenitent thief who died on the cros9." For this, or on ac­ count of the quarrel that grew out of it, Disraeli challenged O'Connell's son, but the challenge was not accepted. In 1831 Disraeli made an attempt to enter Parliament as a Tory Radical, but was defeated. In 1834 he made another attempt, and was again de­ feated. In May, 1835, he made another attempt, as a thorough-going Conserv­ ative, and was again defeated. At last, in 1837, in the first Parliament of the reign of Queen Victoria, he entered the House of Commons as a Conservative. His maiden speech was a complete fail­ ure, and the House, refusing to listen, clamored him down. It was on this occasion he said, "I shall sit down now, but the time will come when you will hear me." Four years later Dis­ raeli was a rising member, and his speeches were praised for their ability. In 1847 he began to take a leading part in the House of Commons, and in 1849 he became the recognized leader of the Conservative party, and had the repu­ tation of being one of the most powerful debaters in the Kingd om. In 1852 he was made Chancellor of the Exchequer, and became the leader of the Ministerial party in the House of Commons. He went out of oflice with the Derby Ministry, but returned to oflice in 1858, and in 1859 brought for­ ward his plan of electoral reform, which extended suffrage to the whole body of the educated class without re­ gard *o property. This was defeated. In 1866 Disraeli was the leader of the opposition in the House, but again be­ came Chancellor in 1867, and pressed his Electoral-Reform bill in modified form to a successful issue. In Febru­ ary, 1868, Disraeli became Prime Min­ ister, but was succeeded by Gladstone in December. He became Prime Minis­ ter again in 1874, and since that date has shaped the policy of tlie Govern­ ment, and has carried England, with­ out risk, through a great European crisis, securing the greatest diplomatic triumph of the centurv. Puoplo who have read and studied Disraeli's novels, and the majority arc of a political or philosophical character, have found in them hints as to his diplomatic methods. More than any other man in England, he had studied the "mysterious diplomacy of Russia, which has so often confounded and overreached Western Europe," and had given quite as much attention to the character of Turkish civilization. So, when his opportunity came, he aban­ doned the stupid policy of his predeces­ sors, and, using his knowledge of Rus­ sian intrigues, schemes and ambitions, met Russian diplomacy on its own ground, and, joining hands with Russia, made sure of his objects weeks before the Berlin Congress met. The results are simply dazzling. Instead of upholding an eftete Empire, he lifts the garden of Asia, which has lain prostrate at the feet of the Turk for centuries, again into the light of European civilisation, and circumstances indicate that, with Russia's aid, he has settled the vexed Eastern question for all time. * Why should not England honor suoh a man? He has led an unexceptionally pure life. His married life, extending over a period of thirty-three years, was like a dream of poesy, ana when, in 1872, a bare-headed old man walked in the rain, following the remains of his "perfect wife" to the grave, all En gland was touched. Pure in life, suc­ cessful in literature, a leader in poli­ ties and a master in diplomacy--such is Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beacons- field--and England honors herseli in honoring him.--Chicago Inter-Ocean. --He quoted Scripture when he said to his father who stood at one end of the switch and asked his son to catch the other end on the fly, " It is better to give than to receive." But he found a passage in Shakespeare equally ap­ propriate when, finding that the game of give and catch was prolonged beyond endurance, he murmured, " This Is very like a whale."--N. ¥. Herald. Youths' Department. THE GINGERBREAD CAT. • (be little children nriad^ <$§ rtf. It s good enough to eat!" > •?!> :tj " "B never mewed or showed a dHWi /Was never cross or surly: • » '• * tJlind Mamie loved it from its eanb > 7* t Down to its tail so curly. .a this little kitty-cat was brown. As brown as brown could be; IS! But though it had t v-o bright black eyes, ' Alas! it could not. see. though it ha»i lour little paws, > It coiildn t evt n wain; . And, though it had two little eferilt' - ^ f t Could not hear Mamie talk.. / i- And so this helpless poesy-cat?^ ^ 4 v; Much needed speei.U care, ' ; jfcnd Mamie kept it in her anaji." * ' And tagged it everywhere, < Until, alns! at supper-time, i,' , l'hia kitty-oat so brown 81 to a bowl of bread and mill ;] I'/om Mamie's hand fell d< t m a m m a l a i d i t o n t h e s h e l f , : " 'r -* " When morning comes." akid •to, ,v!Vi have no donbt, j our little puss- " *'• L All dry and niee will be." < •' s jlut r.urhdreadful thins befeQ. U The kitty-cat that night! We know, of course, that eats eat mice, •, j-jf, A rule that'o very right; . j|nt, truly I am grieved to say, -IS ^ J'hiii time it was the mice ' Xhat put svii end to poor Miss PflM, 'fig; And a e her in a trice, .. ;• 'u lind, when the morning dawned i altt! AH ttrt remained of Kitty , T)l'as just one crumb to toil tho tale; in Nvrtery. " ' Now, wasn't, that a pity! --mary D. Brine, m said Willie, " I -The height of politeness is passing tound upon the opposite side of a lady, while walking with her, in mder not to step upon her shadow* , HOir PROVEH ip Wtrxre's great ambitioti Wfts'to^aYe a donkey. He was better off than a food many boys, for his father had a orse, and Willie was allowed to ride liitn at times; beside this, a cousin had given him a saddle. But Willie hadn't a very high opinion of the horse, and, I must say, I can't blame him. The horse's name was Billy, and when I tell you he was soon surnamed "Balky," you can guess why Willie did not think very highly of him. " If I only had a donkey!" he would say. "It costs so little to keep one, fpr there are lots of thistles growing around here." " You are not old enough yet to own a donkey," his father said; "when you show me, by your steadiness and man­ liness, that you are fit co be trusted, vou shall have one; let me see you learn to saddle Billy first." Now, Willie's mother thought her little son very manly, indeed, for his age. He was only eight years old, and he could chop kindling wood, ride three or four miles to the grocer'8, buy a long list of articles, ana, packing them au in a saddle-bag, comc back with the right change and*not a parcel missing. Beside these accomplishments, there were others of which Willie was not so proud, but which his minima thought very useful ones: he could churn, make single beds, and set the table for din­ ner. He was a great skater, fond of reading, and, best of all, devoted to his mother. Mamma, though she thought he really deserved his donkey, yet kept watching for a chance to show how manly her boy was, quite as anxiously as Willie himself. One day Mr. Brainerd had to leave home for some time; he felt particular­ ly sorry to do so, as hi8 wife had had a very severe cough, and the doctor feared she might have a hemorrhage of the lungs. Still it was his duty to go, "Now, Willie, I leave you to take care of your mother. If her coughgrows worse, or her side pains her, go at once to the village and get the doctor. Be sure you notice, and if she seems lone­ ly try and get some friend to come out and stay with her." Willie drew himself up, and said very gravely, " Don't worry, father; mother shall be un--un--wittingly eared for." Ho rather gasped at the word--he wanted a big one, and came very near remembering the riurht one. * Papa smiled, and his mother explained the difference between unwittingly an un­ remittingly. If you look up the words in the dictionary, as Willie did, vou will be sure never to get them mixed. Mr. Brainerd left on Monday, and all went well till about five o'clock Tuesday afternoon; then Willie, com­ ing in, found his mother on the sofa, while Bridget was gi ving his little sis­ ter her early tea. " Mamma, von're not well," he said; ** oIiaii*t I ̂ ;o to the village?" "Oh, no, my darling; my side pains a little more than usual; but oome and sit by me and tell mc what you have been doing. I shall be better soon." Sure enough, Mrs. Brainerd bright­ ened by tea-time and enjoyed playing the word-game with Willie before he went to bed. But by ten o'cieck she began to feel very sorry she had not let her boy go for "the doctor; her side pained her very much and the cough was worse. She was afraid it would never do to be left alone with an igno­ rant servant and two little children. She looked out; it was a dark night. They had not lived on the farm more than a year and were not at all intimate with their neighbors; still there was a house not far off; the best thing would be to get Willie to run over Mid ask some one to go to the village. So, before eleven o'clock, she waked the bov. It was hard work; you've no idea how a' boy can sleep who has been skating and coasting all day, unless you've tried to wake one. At first you stand by the bed and speak to him--no answer You touch him quite gently, as you don't wish to startle him--he feels nothing. Then you shake him, turn him--he suddenly starts up, and, to your horror, aims a blow square at your nose, with an in­ dignant'" Can't you let a feller be?" Before you can recover your senses his head is back on the pillow and he is asleep, or rather his drea^i is changed --he never waked at all. But-at last Willie was roused, and, as soon as he understood that hie mother was ill, he jumped out of bed and be­ gan to put on his clothes. Mrs. Brain­ erd was so proud of her " big boy that she sometimes forgot how young he really was; but that night, as she watched him dress, he seemed such a child--almost a baby! How small the knee-pants were, and what a little jacket to be hurrying on at that time of ni^ht! She explained to the boy that he must |o to tlie next house. "Oh, mother, want to tell you till father but I can saddle Btllv--let me ga ifi» Milton, myself!" T " Oh, no dear! You're too little," ,, "But, mother--please! It'll be to- much quicker; beside, they sleep so- sound at the Dunning's; perhaps ,1, couldn't wake them. Oh, please let m go! I want to show father I'm a man­ ly boy." .Mrs. Brainerd could hardly speak 1% coughing, and. anxious for a doctor ̂ saicl; " I don't know but what you'd better. Wrap up warmly, dear; God keep you from harm!" ' Willie thought it was a grand thing' to do, and went about his preparation! with a stout heart. He wished father had left his pistols home; but, at any rata- nt> vvoniit i,hk« his liflfe one: >.h<i real caps might frighten a feller." The Brainerds kept no man, a half-grown boy coming every day to do the chores; so Willie went to the barn himself and saddled the horse. Then, kissing Us mother good-bye, «and assuring her It* was not afraid,* he started. Ai first iie felt no fear--it was spldSto, did fun. Along the road, he could see a lamp burning at the Dunnings--Abe Dunning had told him they burned light all night. He reached the corner* and turned toward Milton. Even in the darkness he could see the white bridge; but that crossed and the hill climbed, there was a long stretch of road, with hardly a house, and a thick wood to pass. The boy's courage sud­ denly failed. How awfully still it was! What was that! Only a night-hawk • screaming. He tried to whistle, but ' somehow no whistle would come; and if he spoke to the horse, his voice sound*? ed so strangely that he gave it up. "How i wish I had Shep," he thought; "he'd be company." Bulb Shep slept in the house while Mr. Brainerd was away, and Willie had carefully shut, him in that he might be some protection to his mother. Just as lie was passing fche woods he heard a swift, running sound behind him. The boy's nerves were so thoroughly wrought Up that he felt readv to drop. " Wolves!" he thought; but, deter­ mined to die fighting, he pulled out tibte little pistol and hel<f it ready to fir*. Another moment a big shepherd doc was jumping at the horse's head, and Willie gave a cry of delight: "Oh, Shep! good fellow, good fellow!" The dog seemed like a reassuring word frotti - his mother, for he knew that she must • have let him out and told him to follow, ̂ her boy. The rest of the way was not at au frightful, and soon" the doctor was roused. He started in astonishment as he opened the door, for, at first, he looked , straight over Willie's head and saw no one. " My mother wants to see you, sir.** 44 Bless my eyes! Willie Brainerd out at this time of night! Come In, child, and I'll make you a cup of hot coffee. We'll be oft in ten minutes; you shall drive back with me, and we'll fasten Billy behind." Willie laughed to see how fast Billy Balky had to go home. " He tried not to go," he would say, afterward, "but he couln't balk--oh, wasn't he mad!" Sooner than she dared to hope, Mrs. Brainerd heard Shep's bark and her boy's voice. The doctor was able to quiet her cough and they all slept late , into the next day. Bridget had not waked through all the confusion, and could not understand why they did not §et up betimes. " Shure, it's the slapy isease that I thot yez had," she said, when they came down to breakfast. Mrs. Brainerd wrote to her husband of WiUie'8 midnight ride, and almost »< week afterward, as he and some other ; boys were playing in the roa<L,he saw,, a white pony coming along. ' f , "What a beauty?" • 1$# " There, that's what I'd likC!w ? " That man's too big for the pony** ̂ exclaimed the boys. To their astonishment, the pony turned in at the Brainerds'! You may be sure Willie followed. The man asked if Willie Brainerd lived there. " Yes," said the boy; his eyes gettl% a s b i g a s s a u c e r s . < • ^ " Here's a note for him*" urni Willie scrambled into the house, fo ̂, he couldn't read writing. " Mamma, mamma, read this!" Mrs. Brainerd read: "The accompa­ nying pony is a gift from the firm of Brainerd Bros. lS William Brainerd, , Jr., as a token of appreciation of thfi vualuable services h@ rendered to th® firm on the night of Dec. 20, 1877."--- Hope Ledyard, in N Y- Observer. A Father Suiter of ft Soa# ̂ THE Pennsylvania Supreme Court* in the case of Brown against Pyle, re­ cently considered the question whether a father may make an agreement with his minor son to pay him wages for work done. The creditors of the father resisted payment to the son of the amount of a judgment upon a note given under such an agreement: "The Court held that the judgment was valid, aud that the preference was not a fraud upon the creditors, the consideration being honest and the debt justly due. The right of the son in this case to recover for his services is put upon the general principle that a father may, by an agreement with his minor child, relinquish to the child the right which he would otherwise have to his services. It is well estab* lished that the father may authorise those who employ the minor child to pay the child his wages, and that U10 father will then have no right to de­ mand the wages either from the em­ ployer or from the child. In a Ver­ mont case it is held that a father may give to his minor son a part as well at the whole of his time. And such an agreement may be inferred from cir­ cumstances, as when a father has left his son to manage his own affairs, and make and execute his own contract* for a considerable time. In a Connect* icut case it is held that a father, though insolvent, may gtaa hir minor son hia time and future earnings. And the fact that the son [continues to live in the family with his father, does not de­ stroy the effect of the emancipation." --There are thousands of wrecked fortunes in every State caused bv in­ vesting too much in fine houses. They invest the principal instead of the m* XetoBU-Iow* State Atgimm ; ̂ C *"• ' 1 * -v" a* -Jf*' ' SkaA.' --