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> „ TOB TIIM* MMB flmsr . **•:* |^Ruibllii li<*U< **• ,., < ,n'f' 1N ,' • • WnlWl^. -«t- ' • ... ?• •vrirTT.S:»; ,-.»{»•, M&UMmm«**«***.to »*>» , _ •Pnr o(fli^9n7. and a fipelaa he w*s & 1 1 01 tho •-^'Sa~.ironga°arld &»on,e, d>« *i breve'as ft lion. But tt» tang, likai • cetttdn 6M wottm'af whom you mmj tare heard; had *>< maay.< dhttawo th*t he didn't knewtwhatto d»; *wl1»o, ae Maurice had suck a lot of elder Brothers as to have not much chance mi inheriting ttie crown, or any thine «lMth&? would keep him in bread and WUar, his father sent him out to seek kla fortune, like many another Prince it tfcose days. So he went over to ferance. and entered the army of King 'Uonis XV. Now, at that time there -wis' always a 'Irar going on somewhere or other, and tte French Armies were fighting in •very part of Europe; and the King eared very little who his officers were, or where they came from, if they were •nly brave men and clever fighters, and teady to go wherever he liked to send tbem. So. as you may think. It was aot long before our friend Maurice, who was quite as brave as any of them, and a good deal cleverer than most, Began to make his way. First, 1»* got to bA a Lieutenant, then a Captain, liien a Major, then a Colonel, and at last, while he * was still quite a young •an, he came out as Count de Saxe, and Field-Marshal of the Army of flanders, with 50,000 men under hitn! That was pretty good promotion, wasn't W Curiously enough, the one thing that tins great General specially prided him­ self upon was neither his akill in war­ fare nor his favor at court, but simply MB strength. There was nothing he enjoyed so much as showing off the Cer of his muscles, and astonishing people about him by bending an iron bar, or felling a horse with one • blow of his fist; and he was load of saying that he would give his purse and all the money in it to any man who was stronger than himself, M he could ever fall in with him. • • Now, it happened that, one day, while the French and German Armies were lying pretty close to each other, Marshal de Saxe sent a message to the enemy's camp, asking some of the Ger­ man officers to dine with him; and, afper the meal he began to boast of his strength, as usual, till at last an old German General, who sat at his left, said that he would like to see a speci­ men of what His Excellency could do. Saxe made no answer, but took up a large silver dish, which was standing before him, in his strong white lingers (for, big and powerful as his hands were, they Were white and smooth as any lady's, and he was very proud of them), and, withotit mote ado, rolled it •p like a sheet of paper! " Can your Honor naroll that dish Sun?" askod he, hand in* it to the rman; and, although tne General was a strong man, and tried his beat, ie found the task too hard for him, Sad *as forced to own himself beaten. ( " Your Excellency's strength is very great," said he, " but, nevertheless, 1 venture to .think that these,ia one man si Flanders who can match it. And who may he be?" ask6d Saxe, frowning. r . "A blacksmith in the Village of JPeheveningen, Dirk Hogah by name. All the country around knows of his exploits; and when I met with him my­ self, I saw such things as 1 should have thought impossible, had my own enres afct witnessed them.*1 " '• *•» '1 , ? "When the Marshal ItefcW! tMs, he looked blacker than ever; and the first thing he did next morning was to send off messengers in -vYerp direction to in­ quire for a village called ^Stiheveningen md a nan named Dirk Hogan. And, snre enough, some of them came back with news that there was such a vil- and that Dirk Hogan, the smith, been living there till quite lately; hut that now he had sold his forge and tone away, and nobody kn^w what had Ifeeethe of him. ... This was a decided disappointment lor our friend Saxe, but he had some­ thing else to think of just then. The enemy's army had lately received Strong re-enforcements .and seemed in­ clined to attack him; and he was riding •atone morning to raconnofter their position, when suddenly his ! horse •tumbled and cast a shoo. "There's a village Just ahead of us, Tour Excellency," said one of his oflt» " aers. " Shall 1 ride on and see if I fpd a blacksmith ! ; . "Do so," answered Saxe; and the of- icer came back presently to say that he had found what he wanted. So the horse was led up to the door of the Jpnithy, and the smith himself came out ;'f^p have a look at it. ' ' .j The moment he appeared, the Mar- , jfhal fastened his eyes upon him as if he frould look him right through. And -Well he might; for this smith was such . a man as one does not see every day-- , fery nearly as tall as'Saxe himself, and •ven broader across the shoulders, • while upon his bare arms the huge •mgcleg stood out under the tanned skin like coils of rope. The Marshal felt at once that he could never W Sunfortable till he had had a trial of rength with this sturdy-looking fellow; •o hebade him bring out one of his best horse-shoes. . .. The smith did so; and Saxe, looking at it, said quietly: " This ware oI yours »lut poor stuff, my friend; it will not Stand work. Look here!" ! 1 , ... Hi took it in his strong haftds, and ^ CJ1 oue bn>ke ** irbn like a bis- .i-.bmAtjti.- The snath and tlmfe prt^iMigfne pinch cracked stare; ̂ d the bffl^fcxehafl^lHnka MlM is bwekras &nM ar*>isattth«tf their*hAmpion had saei his» match at last. Saxe brought outfnother crovpu and then a third* but tKe smith served them in like Mumer. " Come," stfdlfc, imitating theM«r- 'shal's voice to perfection, "1 see it's no use picking Una Choosing mumkg such a trashy lot. Give <JEQ6 tho ljnt; crown that comes to fca»d,(jatf, *e'll cry quits." . * The Frenchman looked at tfie Dutch­ man-- thfe Dutdhinhn looked at the' Frenchman --and then both buret into a roar of laughter, so loud and hearty that the officers whp s^ood by could not help joining in. : Fairlyr caught!" cried *the Marshal, suddenly, hnd added, " What's yottr name, my firse fellow?" r t4DirkH(^an, from Seheveningen." "Dirk Hogan!" cried Saxe, 44 The very man I've been looking for! But I've found him in a way I didn't ex­ pect!" " So it seems/' said the smith, grin­ ning 441 needn't ask who you are-- •jVu I® tub CvuuL uu oaxtt, who Aiw al­ ways wanting to meet with a stronger man than himself. Does it seem to you as if you had met with him now?" " Well, I rather think it docs,'* quoth Saxe, shrugging his shoulders; 44 ami, as I promised to give him my Eurse whenever I did meet with him, ere it is. And now, if you'll come along with me, and serve as farrier to my headquarters' staff, I promise you that you shall never have cause to re­ pent of having met with Maurice de Saxe." And the Marshal was. as good as his woin &tf mchofas fir April. f * • *: V , L-' 'I' . • •» "Jotin. Bidd. the ? D«voiuhir« Heronles," ii «'vid to hmre achieved a mwnl«.» fest more tten. •« *t ! * r, ti lh • J! Glrlng lier Census. V } *( ar a . Si >.. -4fi '«< •••.IS.IhlW . , looked at him for a rao- 4 f ent, and then, without seeming at all ®back. brought out a second J*>rs«-«hoe, and a third; but Sulxe broke y """ h a d , « t o » . t*Jl no IM .• • ,#*{**, a"4 .<"»«•<« Mko*K .ooh * ,-.liietrMl,y '"f1 *>v«me the Brat shoe thM to hand, &ud wc^ll cry quits "' -v The smith produced a fourth shoe " fitted it on; and Saxe tossed him a •;%f^wFrench crown--a coin about the size of -ffi' , .i» silver dollar* The Dutchman held it •Jmr't?* the light, and shook his head. i " This coin of yours is but poor met- • ;; al, mynheer," said he, saying the words' * ff just as the Marshal had spoken his. »*It *?'lvfwon't stand work.- -Look here!" f M* 4ioklfte cbi^between htf * "W heS the c^isus-taker rapped* at tte door of a certain cottage on Crawford street, the other day, aud wondered if the woman would set the dqg on him or douse him with dish-water, a greatdis- appointment awaited him. She opened the door softly, snuffed the air to see if he smelled of lightningt-rods, and then threw it open for him to eoter. > 44 Madam, 1 am making a canvass,of the city," he began. 44 Ah! Sit down," she replied, and as he began opening his book she con­ tinued: 44 There are five of us in the family, and. we paid $100 down on this place. My husband's name is Peter, his age is forty-two, and he came from a mean family. His father was always having lawsuits about dogs, and his mother was the greatest gossip in Elmirat Have you got tyatdowJft?" - • < r<:« , He grunted assent, and she con­ tinued: , 44 My name'Is' Alvina Sarah, and I was born in-^-- 441 do not care to kndw where you was born, madam,". he interrupted.->>.•> 44 Well,d care!" ahe exclaimed; " it makes a great deal of difference wheth­ er I was born in Africa or Boston, aftd I want it put down. As I was saying, I was born in Bostefc in 1888. Put down •that I came of a good family." . "Madam, you don't understand-- you- .--. " r . "Don't'I understand lihat I came of a good family? l'tl !ike to Icno^v of a Boston family which carried their noses higher than the Rogersesl Put down that my father was in the Mexican War." ' You have three" children, madam?" ' I haven't any such thing, sir! Put down that my mother was killed by an explosion in a quarry. Her and father were --V : - 44 How many children you, madam?" 44 Have you got moth^.dowiir* » 44 ICd, madam. Tou W6,1 atn taking the census of the city." 1 44 Well," she said, giving him a dan­ gerous look, 441 had the typhoid fever at the ace of fifteen, and for weeks and weeks I nung on the edge of the grave. I bore up as well as I was able, and •" ; ? • •- 44 Five ia the family--how many chil­ dren?" he suddenly asked. > -v.-.-; 44 Put down that 1 bore up!".she com­ manded. 44And that one night when 4h6' watchers were asleep I crept out of bed and took a drink of---- 44 This is foreign to the subject, madam. How old are your children?" "Haven't you put down that I hung on the edge of the gravje?" 44 No, madam." 44 Aren't you going to?" / 44 No, madam. You see, I am Simply taking the census of Detroit. I desire to ascertain " 44 You can't ascertain it h«re, sir!" she snapped. 44 If my sickness^ which cost over $200, isn't good enough to go in the book then you don't'get a i«^ here!" 44 Let me ask you----•. " 1 " No use asking for Miy ofronr pho­ tographs, sir! If you get 'em anywhere and put our pictures in that book we'll make it hot for you! Good-day, sir-- good-day!" 1 1 He stood on the step,- sighing, an4 she called through the door: < *4 My grandfather was also bitten to death by an alligator, but I won't give you any of the particulars! You want to walk!" He passed On, sorrowfully wondering if the next woman's mother was blown off a bridge or carried down the river m torwto&r--# /"ree &<*•. --Two negroes were in the woods itiing raUs, when the question of what was the best thinff in the world to eat came up. A stake of 44 fo' bits" was deposited on a neighboring stump, to be taken by the one guessing at tne most palatable dish. After throwing heads and tails" for first guess, the Winner exclaimed, 44 Possum and sweet pertater!" "Sh-h-ob!" ejaculated the other, 44 take de money! take de money I didn't tink you'd guess the bery best fas' tinjr.,v t- - ° ' ' \ ><*'• - - • • . +• -+-rt~ * 1 Fftt» destroyed 20,000' *rorth of saw-mills in Michigan last year. In­ cluding the salt blocks, etc., that went " fooi ^ aeariy or «'«-VI "Miss E'oVthlWfA MiiLit*ir, bf Fortt- first streetf, was, fiyur years ago, a teaoh- erof music in FortjMkrst'street She was a most excetieat yxma^Mladyt. but was sorely put to it to support, by her unaided exertions, an invalid mother and three yoiinger sisters, who had also to be educated. But she managed it by living verv clctaehS and d«%iug herself everything but the barest nece» sities of life. , Miss Euphemia was beloved by tw« men. One' was Mr. Johli Henry Potter- son, a young man of about her oWli age, and the other Mr. Thomas Mtotttce, an elderly gentleman of seventy-four. Mr. Potterson was a bank clerk, burdened with the care of his aged parents and a paralytic sister, and his small salary just sumced to keep the pot boiling in his humble home. Possibly the simi­ larity of the situation was what made Miss Euphemia love him so; but true it is that she was devotedly attached to him, and after the usual form the two had plighted their troth. But when one morning the ancient MoNice, who was a rich old bachelor, a very rich one, proposed to marry her, she ponderea. After pondering she went for poor John Henry. 44 John Henry, Mr. McNice has of­ fered to marry me; what shall I do?" "Marry him, I suppose," John Hen­ ry replied, bitterly. 44 He is rioh and I am poor. I dou't knowof any girl that would hesitate. Your sending for me before accepting him is more than I had any reason to expect." 44 John Henry, was the maiden's re­ ply, 441 think I shall. For us to marry is impossible, as we both are too heavi­ ly burdened. We can, as we are, bare­ ly keep those dependent upon us. By marrying Mr. McNice I can put my people and yours in a condition of com­ fort, and then, John dear, he is seven­ ty-four. How long can a man of seven­ ty-four liveP And after he departs, leaving his money behind him, what then? Think of it. Love is sweet, but it never put a pound of steak on the gridiron, or paid rent. We can live without love but not without beef* Let us be wise." Johh Henry expostulated; but to no purpose. The wise young lady had made up her mind, and she married McNice. The Pottetofcn fibnlly recived many gifts from the new Mrs. McNice, but they were invariably sent back. Mrs. McNice offered John Henry assistance to better his condition, but he indigo nantlv spurned it and sulked. 44 John Henry," she remarked, one day, 44 you are a fool, and you will ac­ knowledge it some day." The second anniversary of her wed­ ding found her a widow. She made the aged McNice an excellent wife,'but within twenty-four hours of the death of her husband she interviewed John Henrv, and congratulated him. 4 4 Now, lean marry you. With the fortune of my late husband we can live as we ought to live, and be happy. Surely, John Henry, it was worth while to Wait two years for all this money?" < John Henry quite agreed with her, and very happy they were till they dis­ covered that the old gentleman had years before his marriage made over every dollar he had to a nephew, the consideration being a life annuity, which they had lived quite up to. 44 John Henry," said she; "we can't marry; I am going to have the fortune l ata entitled to." The nephew had been a constant vis­ itor at. the house of his uncle, and she very well knew* that it was her attrac­ tions that brought him there. She looked well in weeds, and the nephew was very kind and attentive to her. He consolea her all in his power, as he felt it was his duty , to do, particularly as he had the money, a large part, of which she was entitled to. The charming widow received his condolence with due propriety, and played her part so well that in a little while the young man became as much infatuated with her as the uncle had been. One short year after the death of her first husband she was led to the-altar by the nephew, much to the despair of John Henry. The uncle was an aged man, and he felt that he could safely speculate upon his early decease, but the young hus­ band was as young as John Henry was, and td all appearances had as long a lease of life. But Euphemia bid him have hope, and not be a fool. 4 (We sha l l marry ye t and be happy," saic^she. This ordinarily amiable young lady changed very suddenly into the most terrific termagant that the world had seen since the day of Xaatippe. She laid down rules for his guidance that no man living could have submitted to. She made it warm for her husband in every possible way. She denied him his club; she refused him the privilege of smoking in the house, she curtain- lectured him to a degree that was frightful. Every good cook that came into the house was dismissed, and every bad one was retained as long as possi­ ble. She dragged him to church when he desired to. remain • at home, and compelled him to stay at home when he desired to go to church. She haunt­ ed his office, she dogged him on the streets, and disarranged his clothing, which, being a precise man, galled him. She clacked him when in the house by the hour, and, in short, she did every­ thing that a woman could do to make a man miserable. And, to sum it up, she threatened at times to poison him, which left in his mind a conjecture as to whether his lamentable uncle had fone out of the world via some newly-isoovered life-destroyer. Finally, life became unendurable to him, and he proposed an absolute di­ vorce. She was willing. The terms? One-half the entire estate, made over, to her clear and clean, one-half the real-estate, one-half the money, one- half of everything. No, come to think, she should demand the whole of the house she lived in, with the furniture, and an equal partition of all the other property. Need we say the wretched" man was glad to purchase peace upon those terms? Of course he was. The pa­ pers were drawn up that very day. A divorce was obtained quietly in Indi­ ana, and the day the decree was made Euphemia and John Henry were united. The termagant died forever, and the good Euphemia, .of , former days was resurrected. And John Henra. as he moved hfcf people into th6 spacious and well-eqUibp€^l house, was fain to ad­ mit that Kuphemia was dot only good, but wise , and tha t he hbeea a wrote to ever doubt her. And everything went on smoothly and nicely, or ratti­ er has gone on in that way for the two weeks that they hate been wedded.^- N. Y. Mail Spring Wrapt*-3* IT :-- ' "• ^ FICHUS, mantelets and scarfs aire the, shapes chosen for the most dressy Spring wraps. The materials are principally black camel's-hair and black Sicilienne; cashmere in the finely-woven French twills has lost its prestige, but the rough-surfaced cachemire des Indes is stiii in favor. Black gros grain is oc­ casionally used, but is less pliable than the soft Sicilienne. The fichu in its various styles is so simple and so grace­ ful that it is universally worn in Paris, and is largely imported not only as a separate garment, but as a part of the costume. Some of these are quite shal­ low, reaching just to the waist line, and they may be quite low on the shoulders or else high behind; the fronts are quite long and narrow, and are tied in a half knot that draws the garment closely to the shoulders, keeps the ariftfl close to the sides, and has the graceful clinging effects that the clinging cos­ tumes require. Those of black wool are most used, and are embroidered directly on the edges, and finished with fringe that is tied into the hem of the garment, like that seen on Canton crape shawls. The prices of fichus be­ gin as low as ten dollars each. Another small wrap is the Clarissa Harlowe scarf, made almost straight, reaching from shoulder to waist in the back, with long ends in front. There are short darts in the shoulders to shape it properly, and a fanciful flat hood is in the back. These are embroidered, or else trimmed with three or four rows of knife-plaited lace and passementerie. There are also many capes, some of Which are three round Carricks, while others are a single cape of black camel's- hair slightly pointed in front and back, and cut with a long seam on each shoulder in the old-fashioned way. Around the neck of such a cape is a deep plaited collar of black watered silk edged with beaded balls, fringe or lace, and watered silk plaiting borders the garment., Mantelets are seen in abundance, and many of these have the graceful dol­ man seams in the back, with an arm piece cut quite short* or else forming a small sleeve, and the front extending very low. There can be nothing new in the way of putting trimming on wraps of this shape, as it is necessarily confined to two or three rows down the middle of the back and a border on the edge. It is more than ever necessary that these garments be cut very close to the figure and in slender proportions, instead of the long, bulky mantles worn a year ago. The illuminated beaded trimmings showing every color of the rainbow are much used on these black mantles, making them very rich and expensive; jet trimmings in new designs are also shown. The most elegant Sicilienne wraps are lined throughout with old gold colored silk, or else with twilled silk of soft beige shades. Rich galloons and passementeries of open patterns are also heavily beaded. The fringes are largely used, and are espe­ cially handsome. Whalebone and grass fringes of flattened silk threads are very fashionable, and the beaded fringes of intricate patterns are used on elaborate wraps. Small square bows of narrow black satin ribbon are set in a row amid plaitings of lace on the border of mantles. Watered ribbon is used in the same way. Two strings of ribbon, each a yard long and about three inches wide, are placed at the throat of the mantle, ana the wearer ties it in a long- looped bow. Sometimes this ribbon is watered on one side and satin on the other; in other cases it is double-faced satin ribbon, one side black atid the other beige, old gold, olive, or car­ dinal. Very few dressy wraps are, made in sacque shape. There are, however, some of heavily repped silk, or of Si ienne made in the simplest Fre sacque-shape, single-breasted, med' loug, and smooth over the tourn These are elaborate with rainbow be lace, passementerie, and fringe. jaunty undress wraps, English jac sacques with Carries capes, ana o masculine-sleeved garments are ferred. The English coat is precij like a gentleman's, morning coat in! back, but is buttoned from the re collar to the waist in front, and ' does away with the necessity for a \ These are made up in light'mastic £ and beige-colored cloths of English Scotch manufacture, not in set dii nals or in basket pattern, but in ir ular indefinite weaving that prod the mixed effects now so popi These are simply stitched on the e<" or else they are bound. Those of broken plaids will be much worn morning by young ladies. The pr est sacques "with Carrick capes the middle seam in the back, and n of these English garments have long seams from the shoulders. (/ Wooden buttons, large', !thick aud with eyes in the middle, are Used On cloth wraps for spring. Thick braid in rows of three to five is a favorite trimming for light Cloths; on some wraps light trimmings of gilt or"bf sil­ ver are mixed with the braids. Car­ riage wraps are made of cloth in bou- rette mixtures of many colors. The shape is partly circular and partly dol­ man, adhering closely to the outlines of the f igure , ye t be ing very eas i ly pu t on or taken off, as all extra wrags must be.--Stamper*a Baear. ' , --When a woman, whosfehusband re­ ceives only $15 per week, insists on oc­ cupying a fashionable suite of rooms, and sleeps in six-button kid gloves to keep her hands white, she illustrates some of the inconsistencies of life. atoiitit's Department TBfS MAN WHO DID&T ZNi WHEN i'O STOP. A •*** fair Binirer WHS Mynheer SohWop, I imm jp; This This' d»T*- " pretty bit and that sweet #ur, • little thing from loutovere." 1 ' Ah ! it was fearful the number he knew. /' And fe&rfal hi* way of aingin^them through. we pray -- ... iy «y" •. ££ PWjdewoaM ki ,4 Ah, ring it again. Mynheer. . . iThi* " pretty bit." or $ha* et ftir,' ing from loatovere. ] , both TOWS, mills, Wliid- umps, This They listened a while, but wearied soon, . And, like the professor, they changed their tome. Vainly they coughed and a-hemmed and stilted; Only the harder he trilled and slurred, Until, in deajgrir, and rather thin grieve Th» wi il fja profrwutr, they took their And left him singing thin " sweet air," And that" pretty bit from Toototeref* And then the hoetens. in aorry plight, While j et he Rang with all his might, -1' Let down the blindn, put uut the light, With "Thanks, Myntwesr! Good-night! good­ night?' My moral, dear singers, lies plainly a-top: Be always obliging, and willinsr--to stop. The same will apply, my dear children, to yoa; Whenever yonVe any performing to do. Your friends to divert twhich is quite proper, too.) Do the best that you emit--and itep whin you're tfiT'Ottfflnki --Mary Maptt, JJ&dge, in St. Nicholatfor AvrU. 8elf-DeniflL "'I SHOULD not like to live in a house cut bias, like this," said little Miss Flippant to her mamma. They were standing in the door of a room in which the sides were not parallel. One sees such in houses where the streets do not cross at right angles. But little Miss Flippant knew very little of life except as she saw it in homes of wealth. The " bias cut," as she called the acute-angled room, was a small matter of discomfort compared to the evils of sickness, poverty and sin, to which her mamma calicd her attention. . She saw, old Betty Baker, poor and blind, who sat alone in the comer, day after day, with only the care which a wild, heedless grandchild chose to give her. She saw m another room, lame Mrs. Jackson, with three little children whom she supported by her needle; and in another room, Tom Green, dying of consumption, and left alone until his wife should return home from her day's work with the food she had thus earned. In the cellar she saw an intemperate father and mother sleeping off the fumes of liquor, and in the attic the lit­ tle children of Mrs. Hill watching for their mother to come with the wood she had earned money to buy, so that they might get their cold fingers warmed. When she now saw how much misery and want all these endured, she realized as she had never done before, what blessings she had enjoyed, and that she had not been thankful for them. She now felt as if she wanted to help those whom she saw so wretched. "What can I do, mamma?1 she asked, " will you give me some money for the poor little children of Mrs. HiU?1' "But tha t wi l l .be my gi f t , no t yours , " said mamma. Then the child stood silently thinking, and after a while she said: "The dolly, mamma, the beautiful dolly with the trunk full of clothes that you promised me for my Christmas, how much was it to cost?" " Fifteen dollars," replied mamma. "I will do withont the doll," said Miss Flippant, "and that will provide during the winter months for one of Mrs Hill's children." The little girl denied herself the great pleasure she had anticipated in owning the beautiful dolly, and she her­ self completed the arrangements for the transfer of the cold and hungry child to the nursery of the " Home for Destitute Children.1' During thap winter Miss Flippant often called to see her little beneficiary, and whenever she entered the warm and cheerful nursery of the Home and saw how much more comfortable the little child was there than it had been, locked up in the cold room when its mother was looking for work, she almost felt happier than she could have been mm P bv nnasgMicaa th# hftftntiful Store One Door .McHenry, 111.. Sept. 12^ • - '3heti ... ' Ugport of •ntt®". oo rs"x»,iir,ir • . .. "_nr_ her' self > --It M noted as a curious fact that if the conditions of peace preliminaries signed by Russia and Turkey are car­ ried out, they will leave the European dominions of the latter vecy mucn in the1 form of a crescent. 1 " PUT not too great a trust in March is a blower.-r- Graphic. THE FIRST NATIO At LI iant Woodstock, IJIIrt'pr --AT- Clote of Business Mar. I en ine- BESOVKCES ' ! ' Jf} J,otitis and Discounts, II Overdrafts, it..'.. &+ U. 8. Ttomls In Washington.....',.,.' \ IT. S. Bonds on hand Due from approved Reserve Agts, • to 1st Xatlnnnt Bunk Chicago .. Due from First Kntiotml linnk I ot New York cur rency 1 J sJ^rttt'^a^Vhat is meant, but we know this "much, that if we overcome our selfishness, and are willing to deny ourselves for the good of others, if we belong to the fam­ ily of Christ, then as the children take the family name of their father, so we shall have this new name.--Appeal. Sleeping firm Winter till Spring* THE following account of two little boys who went to sleep one winter and did not wake up until the next spring, we are assured oy the writer, is strictly true, wonderful as the fact may appear to our vounj? readers. Here is the story: , V Grandpa began by telling Robin and Archie of two little boys who went to bed one night in winter and never got up till the next spring. Robin--" What a queer storyP* Archie---" Who ever heard of such a thing?! What did make them sleep so Grandpa--" I suppose their little limbs were tired with moving, and their ton"ues with talking; and that small mil?-- the stomach--that grinds so much bread and meat, needed to stop and fest a long while." •t4 Archie-*-*^ But grandpa, how queer it ' '.Ml i f ' • Iren slept n * •» to- j > i n »pnngr • jn't you suppose tH^y W&e a deal Bigg# Wrmynwr Qp irhen they went to bedP'*-naked was that the gobin--• * Bow eaa wwaitMlong?" Grandpa-" Go to iwrf ^^to ilesp .as soon as v»» ^n; timfi n--° dear Lord oar souls to keep, and to let *is all see the m*vming>Dgi¥r Agata.'?' After the children were in bed'ind alone, they were heard talking. Grand­ pa listened at the foot.of the ; to death in that loog^s^ep said little five-year-old-Robin. # Why no," replied the senior kblf- past six; didn't ffraudpa say they tJoth 'got up in spring?" "Don't you suppose Wtey' Wefo ^ 'eat deal han when Ane former. i ,.,(j "I guess they were; people must grow in their sleep.. | know the squashes and beans grow at night," said the sage Archie. >, 8- '4 But, Bob, do let's stem talking, so we can get to the land of, .Nod an<Lget back again, and hear all aboui * that strange story." ' ! 1 •; -1: Soon a fair morning did dayrn upon childhood and old age. Grandpa was just putting the sifowy foam over his face when he heard the feet of his little pontes hurrying to his door. They were top impatient to! wait till the shaving was done: so the kind old gentleman, to please his darlings, cleared away a littk) of tfce snow about his lips, and took the children on his knees. " Now for the story," said he. " Once upon a time two little boys went to bed On the last night of winter and got up the first morning in spring. Yesterday was the last day of winter; this is the first day of spring. The two little boys are Archie and Robin Dale."1 •- •• « Then the children laughed and shout­ ed, and kissed grandpa over and over. They got some of the white froth on their rosy cheeks, but they didn't care. They got some, too, oh grandpa's beau­ tiful bald head, but he didn't care:^-^. i „Q^rv e r . , . , r , ; c "•! Sagacity or the A FRIEND of mine who has been in the habit of hunting deer in the Adi­ rondack Mountains, is of opinion" that" the deer i s of ten more than a match for the dog in sagacity. The deer seems to be well aware that the dog is guided by his faculty of scent in tracking him; and all the deer's efforts are directed to baffling and thwarting this keen and wonderful sense with which the dog is gifted. With, this purpose, the deer will often make enormous leaps, or rUn arouhd in a circle so aS to confttse fcftd puzalfe his pursuers. He will mount a stone Wall, and run along it for some distance, well aware that the dog cannot scent him so well on the rock as on the grass. If he can find ai pond or stream of water, the deer will plunge in and swim a long distance, so that the dogs may lose his trail. It is a joyful sound to the-p00r,1funt- ed deer when the do#s send w^that sad, dismal howl, which they give ut­ terance to when they have lost all scent of the deer, and despair of finding it. He is then a happy deer. He hides quie t ly in Some cover t among the bushes, and he will take care to place himself where the wind wijll carry all odors of his body away from the direc­ tion where he supposes the dogs to be. So you see the deer is by no means a stupid animal. He knows better than many a little boy how to take care of himself and get out of the way of danger. i, From a correspondent in Springfield, Mo., I have a letter; in whicl the writer savs: "I suppose the Boston boys don't have deer for pets. , I have a young one named Billy, and fee eats corn out of my pocket. When I come home from school he always runs to meet me. Although he can jump over fences, he never tries to run away*. He wears a collar with a bell on it; sp we can hear him when he is down in the orchard eating apples, of which he seems to be reryf ond ^ ' Unole Gftarles, in Nursery. Strychnia and lis Antldfttfe* , ^CORRESPONDENT in Nature, fays: Wanting to banish some mice a pantry I placed on the floor at night a slice of bread spread over with, butter, in which 1 had mixed a threepenny packet of "Battle's Vermin Killer," which contains about a grain of strych­ nia along with flour ana Prussian blue. The following morning I was roused by a servant telling me that a favorite skye-terrier was lying dead. I found that the mice had dragged the slice of bread underneath the locked door, and that the dog had thus got at it' and eaten part equal to about one-Sixth of a grain of strvchnia;<ijt lay on its side perfectly rigid; an occasional tetanic spasm showed that life was not quite extinct. Having notes of the experi­ ments made by direction of the British Medical Association last year on the an­ tagonism of medicines, and wherein it was conclusively proved that a fatal dose of strychnia could be neutralized by a fatal dose of chloral hydrate, and that the minimum fatal dose of the latter for a . rabbit was twenty-one grains, I at once injected under the dog's skin forty-five {grains of the chloral in solution, my dog being about twice the weight of a rabbit. In a quarter of an hour, fancying the dog was dead, as the spasms had ceased and it lay apparently lifeless, I moved it with my foot, when it at once struggled to its feet, arid shortly after staggered to its usual corner by the parlor fire ; it took . some milk, and except for being quieter than usual, seemed nothing the worse for the ordeal it had passed through. That the fatal effects of a poisonous dose of strychnia was thus counteracted so successfully wl|at I should say was a poisonous dose of chloral, given hypooermically, is an in­ teresting fact verifying the experiments I alluded to. Without such experi­ ments on •.he lower animals, a mddical man might often be found standing by helpless to aid his fellow-man under similar effects of poison. ' * --Ofte way to elevate fc waft !# tke public eyes is to hang hisa. nit .4«s«vn