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m : 'V- '• » * »* ' • *• ;/ fOLLOItBD OLD JOCK. Wmkl p polio®, after a hot ohase behud"pieBaby Duke," as the boys oall the boot-black, failed to catch him. they said he was the wickedest boy in Detroit. They knew that he stole doves, played cards, ooaxed don from home, threw stones ndows, encouraged dog­ fight** M%inade it his business to have a row with some other boy regularly each day, and they declared that his f^icajae from State PHlori was truly a wonder. They peered into the dark i alley down which he Aid <$Sbi&peared, and went on to say that the Duke had no home, nil character, no friends, and ,that all the%M%ehers and all the pray­ ers WJiildn't nrir« fbfl ?».t of hkll ^ for even oil© minute. This is one side of the story, and there wasn't much ex­ aggeration in the statements of the I police. As Little English remarked: "We boot-blacks is all purty bad, I suppose, but The Baby Duke--bless your eyes! Why, he kin swear more in f two minutes than the rest of us kin in gall day, and he'd set out to crack a ' bank as quick as he'd pry a board off a hen coop?" * When the Duke plunged into the alley and shook the police he felt ugly and wanted to get even with some one. Old Jock, the rag-picker, lived down there in the darkness and filth. His old shanty was hardly fit for a barn, and the old man went about in rags and al­ ways looked as if it was hunger alone that kept his legs moving. Sick or well, home or abroad on the streets, no one minded him, and even cats and dogs turned aside to pass his grim old habitation. " I'll go in and givte the old cadaver a grand whirl!" muttered the Duke, as he halted before the shanty, and he kicked the noor open with a bang. In tip one room, faintly lighted, by a dirtyrlpmtering candle and cluttered up with bags of rags, old show bills, cans, bottles and scran-iron, the Duke * found his victim. Ola Jock was abed. I The boy had slept on the wharves, un­ der coal shecta, in barns and in boxes, but he had never had such a miserable bed as that before him. There was herb tea or something of the sort with­ in reach of old Jock, and it was plain enough that the rag-picker was very ill. »y% jfet You are a good boy to come in and aj see the old man!" whispered Jock, as the boy stood before him, and the words changed the Duke's plans in an instant. " Are you sick?" he kindly asked. •'Sick*-awful!" replied old Jock. 441 haven t been out of bed for three days, and had neither food nor fire. I was afraid I must die alone, for none of the people around here like me." No one liked the Duke. Everyone's hand was raised against him. There was something in the situation to call ont bis sympathy, and going nearer the bed he said: "Ihain't neither a French cook sera sick nurse, but I guess I kin collar this thing and turn up a lone hand. The first thing is to ring up the curtain and call out that tragedy entitled * A good square meal.' I've got a little chink in my pocket, and Til: run out and surround a few eatables." .< When he returned he had two or three eggs, a pinch of tea, some crack­ ers and a bit of meat, and in a quarter of an hour he was ready to remark: " The festive board will now be sot. • We can't afford all the delicacies of the seasons, and we haven't got 'taters served up on six different plates, but I've seen the time I wouldn't go back on this fodder." ^ The old man had not spoken a word, and his eyes had been closed most of the time. He let the Duke prop him up in bed and hold a cup of tea to his m lipg, but after trying to arwallow a little wailingly said: «'• "It's no use, boy--Fm top near 'death's door to want, food! I'm as . grateful as an old man--a dying old : man--can be, but the most you can do is to sit here with me and see me die. I • didn't know you at first, but now I see '**' IT; you are the boy called the Duke." "Yours very truly," replied the boy, *• tashe put the cup on the old table. "•Boy! Do you know what I was when I was a lad like youF' earnestly • « • «• * * asked old Jack. >; "Owned a Postofficse, maybe, or drove coach for the Czar of Russia," replied the Duke, as he began satisfying '• V1" ihis appetite. "I was a wild, bad boy!" said the old man, turning his head so that he -could survey the gloomy room. "I, ran awav from home--I stole, cheated, hated all that was good. See where I am to-night! Iam dying here in this2 old hovel, feared by children, shunned' by men and women, Mid not one human being in all this wide world to clasp my hand as the mystic curtain of death .shuts down and makes my soul afraid!" " Hain't I here?" reprovingly queried the Duke. 44 Hain't I going to stay right here till the green curtain comes down on the last act in this sad trair- odyr ^ " Boy! you've got a heart̂ affcer all!" whispered old Jock. "Coirie a little nearer. Let me take your hand. You were good to come in and sit with me. fve heard many bad stories about youv- but now I believe that people nave wronged you. They have been quick to see your faults aiad slow to admit that there was any good in you. You are not sdch a bad. boy." It was the first kind word the Duke had heard for a year. He forgot the gloomy hovel, the dying bed, and the fact that men had hunted him but an hoar before, and a lump aww into his throat as he said: ^" If folks nag me around I've got to git even, hain't 1?" " I know they have been too hard on you, my boy, but you've got a bad uame, and you do so many bad things. I've been just like yott. I hated people be- "You won't leave mer witt yon?" wailed the old man. " I wish, we tad more candles, for I can hardfr,«ee yop! Put your hand on my forehead, as a woman would--come oloeer to Die, boy! You have been good to the old man, and 4 hope you nay be rewarded. I wish men had sat down and talked kindly to you, instead of hunting your track like a pack of wolves." "Everybody has bin agin met" gasped the Duke, his heart quite broken. "When I've asked for work they've waived me away, and I've had to beg and steal or go hungry. Every­ body says I'm on the road to the gal-, lows!" "I hefcr a moaning as of the waves rushing over the rocks Ufarofff* mused the oM mas, as his claism'y fingers tightened their grip on the boy's hand. "Yes, 1 know how they've used you, but you can change it all in one day. Won't you begin to-morrow? Let. folks see by your actions that you have al­ tered your oourse, and every enemy will turn to be your friend. Are you hereyetP" > "Yes, I am here." " Is it dark in here--is the blowing hard?" ' "OldJock, you are dying!" whis­ pered the Duke, as he bent close to the white face, ^ "I -- know -- it!" gasped the old man at long intervals. "But you'll-- you'll !" " If they'll let me!'* choked theDuke. 44 So dark! and I'm so cold! Hark!" He raised his head as if to listen, and when he fell back he was dead. "So old Jock is dead!" queried men and women, when morning crime. "Well, let his ghost follow the body to a pauper's grave! It's the best news for a week!" But, when the wagon went up to load in the coffin the Duke was there at the old hovel to quietly say: "Lift him in sorted kindly, every­ body was agin him, and he didn't have a fair show." < " And will yon ride up?" asked the driver. , , " No! I'll walk "behind. I won't make a/very long funeral procession; but I am going to follow old Jack to his grave!" And he did. He was alone, and 'the way was long, but as he stood beside the open grave, hat off, and his wild' locks flying around a pale, resolute face, he said: '•'Be keerful with the first dirt! I hain't as mean as I was yesterday, and that dead man in that grave is the cause of it. I' 11 help kiver him up, and then go' n look for work and see if folks will give me a show." < * -- The Duke has been: a bad, bad Let us aid him to be gbod.- Quadin Detroit Free Press. bov. Hear-Sijchtednes ̂ V give myself a chance. Here I am to­ night, un thought of, dying, and to be buried" like a dog! Do you want to come to this?" The Duke glanced around him* then, at the wrinkled and hideous lace before biqa, and replied: / """ . "It's tuft." 44 And the hereafter!*' gasped' Old Jock, after a long silence. 44 Boy! What becomes of such souls as mine?" .. Duke wis siieippr- , . - Mm NELSON, a CSflip5 opti­ cian, furnishes the Railway Jteview with the following interesting article on "Myopia, or Near-Sightedness:" This defect is comparatively easy to detect, especially in the higher grades; yet there are some phases of it that re­ quire extreme caution and delicate manipulation to arrive at a complete understanding of their condition. Myopia, or near-sightedness, is, more popularly speaking, a disease rather than a structural defect in the eye. This disease, however, has the effect of causing a change in the construction, thus producing the same result; it is generally conceded lo, be hereditary, accumulating in posterity, and when once developed, even in a very slight degree, its tendency is to increase and assume a more decided form and high­ er degree. It consists in a diminution of the far point of vision, and the consequent in­ ability to perceive and recognize ob­ jects lying beyond this distance, which varies more or less with the grade or degree of the imperfection. . In the low or medium grades, which are the most. numerous, objects lying' within this visual distance are seen just as distinctly and with less straining or exercise of the muscle of accommoda­ tion than is experienced by a person having normal or perfect vision. But the myopic eye is largely de­ ficient in penetration, and requires much stronger illumination, especially at night, to render objects distinctly visible within the same proportionate distance, as compared with the results obtained from experiments with nor­ mal or perfect vision under the Same circumstances. -:' To illustrate: Assume normal vision in daylight to be represented by 100, that of a myope in the same light and upon the same basis to be seventy-five, then try the experiment with weaker illumination, say at night, and again let the aeuteness or penetration of per­ fect vision be represented by 100, the experiment will show the aeuteness of the myope to be diminished to a range of from forty-five to fifty-five. This want of aeuteness will only prove true for distance, while for near vision the opposite is the rule, the myopic eye be­ ing able to see under weak illumina­ tion with less proportionate weariness than is experienced in perfect vision. In the myopic eye, when ocular esti-i mation of distance is to made, the tend­ ency is to over rather than under-esti- mate it. This has appeared very promi­ nently in estimating the distance of lights at night. As applied to railway or vessel management this, when com­ bined with the want of penetration, will prove to be the most serious de­ fect noticed under this phase of imper­ fect vision. The different forms and degrees of the defects classed under this head are the most numerous of all structural or optical imperfections of the eye, and they have an existence in a low or medium grade in a very large proportion of the population without there ever being a suspicion of their presence. The comparative frequency of near­ sightedness has been the subject of dis­ cussion a great many times, and it is found to prevail to a much larger exr tent in the cities than in the country. This difference has been ascribed to a variety of causes, among which is the fact that persons living in cities have but little occasion to relax the muscle of accommodation for infinite distance, they being habituated to using their eyes for comparatively short distances; hence the muscles become accustomed to these shorter distances, thus losing much of their natpral power of relax­ ation beyond certain mints through want of exercise. Thisis alio Increased and fostered by the Studioushabits of the American people generally, and the defect is undoubtedly acquired in a great number of instances through the prolonged tension of muscular accom­ modation in studying, by children at school. It will be an interesting as well as important fact to notice in this connection some of the results of the examination of a large number of school children. Drs. Ayres and Will­ iams examined tfce eyes of 1,264pupils in different departments of the Cincin­ nati public schools, which showed the proportion of near-sightedness in the uist.i jct schools to be 13.3 per cent.; in­ termediate schools 13.8 percent.; and in the high schools, 22.8 per cent. These results correspond with those ob­ tained from examinations made in Brooklyn and in the College of the City of New York. ' .•It,may not be uninteresting to notice the fact that of the largo number of ea^es of color-blindness which I have had the privilege of examining during the past seven years, a large propor­ tion were found to have a low grade of near-sightedness combined with some one of the forms of color-blind­ ness. The dangerous character of the error depending upon this defect for development lies mainly in the general progressive nature of the disease, whieh at first may be of a low grade, but soon increases and forms a higher grade; every step in the progression becoming more and more marked as an element susceptible of causing false perceptions'ana thereby incorrect judg­ ment. Growing out of this is the di­ minished penetration and over-estima­ tion of distance which attend the defect in both the high and low grades. It might not be out of place in this connection to say that this defect can be almost entirely neutralized by spec­ tacles properly selected and adjusted; but the diseased condition nearly al­ ways attending it generally demands some medical treatment, especially in the higher grades, before glasses "can be properly adapted to the eye. Insu­ perable objections, however, attend the use of spectacles in railway service in maqjr ofots branches. ,n ri> 'f* Fine Feather#.* *' IT is a truism pretty generally ac- ccpted that fine feathers make fine birds, that elegance in dress adds much to the plainest face or the most dowdy figure, and heightens the effect of beau­ ty itself, while, to say the last, it is an immense satisfaction to the wearer to be sure no fault can be found with her garments. The greatest minds have not disdained the potency of splendid raiment, and one has only to take off a shabby gown and put on a fine one to realize the magic. In the one we felt iU at ease, as if all the world had an eye on the threadbare spots, and was mentally commenting upon its rusti- ness. Our minds could not get away from its defects; we were unable to fix our attention upon anything more se­ rious than its frayed condition, and our conversation became as shabby as our attire. But give us an unexceptionable toilet* and we oan afford to forget our­ selves and allow our thoughts to make excursions into distant realms. We are no longer subordinated to our clothes; we can move without embarrassment, without fear of revealing a patched el­ bow or of leaving a darn unguarded; we are no longer obliged to sit or stand with precaution; we are at peace with all the world, ourselves included, and all the gods of Olympus could not put us out of countenance. This fondness for fine feathers certainly reflects no discredit upon us, if we do not indulge it beyond our means, with a selfish dis­ regard of consequences. Wiihout doubt it originates in a love of the beautiful, since next to being Well dressed our­ selves is the pleasure of beholding oth­ ers arrayed in purple and fine linen. J And it is not the people who dress the mpst and the best who bestow the great­ est thought upon it, as we are apt to imagine, but those who with linqited incomcs yet have unlimited leanings to­ ward this particular department of the beautiful, and are obliged to devise ways and means for making bricks without straw, to be daily stretched ,apon the rack of invention. But how much that is pleasing and effective would be loot if every one agreed to wear nothing but dun-browns or liod- den-grays! And why s^Upuld we not consider the lilies, as wo are bidden, and wear ottr bravery as simply as they ? Should we each determine to subdue this love of fine feathers, which every lady in high places shares with every Bridget in the scullery--if we should betake us not only to grave col­ ors, but to the most simple and cheap fabrics--should we not give a death­ blow to industries and livelihoods? What would become of the silk-weav­ er, the lace-maker, the importers and jobbers, and all the motley throng who rely upon our love of finery to win their daily bread ?~-Harper's Bazar. --Said a young husband, whose busi­ ness speculations were unsuccessful: "My wife's silver tea-set, the bridal gift of a rioh uncle, doomed me to financial ruin. It involved a hundred unexpected expenses, which, trying to mee^t, made me the bankrupt that I am." His is the experience of many others less wise, who do not know what is the goblin in the house working de­ struction. A sagacious father of great wealth exceedingly mortified his daughter by ordering to be printed on her wedding cards: "2fo presents ex­ cept those adapted to an income of §1,000." Said he, "You must not ex­ pect to begin life in the style 1 am able by many years of labor to indulge; and I know of nothing that will tempt yqil more than the well-intended but perni­ cious gifts from friends." --Two little boys were seen a few days since on Washington street, the one with an accordion in hand, the other with a large placard in front, upon which Was printed in .large let­ ters: " Ladies ana gentlemen, I am the mother of live children. Please help mBoston Journal. --The Minnesota Indiana have dug up the hatchet again, but they now use it only as lumbermen. * <hu* Young fie&defiu HARRY 'S ALLOWANCE. GRANDFATHEK stood on the erraoev looking down to the front gate, through which came a small boy of seven. " Rushed" would be a better word, for Harry seldom had time to' walk, and. flew up the steps now at such a rate that grandfather stepped aside hastily, " What now, Harry boyP" ."It's a new store, grandpa, a new store, with tdl sorts of things in it; everything we want, figs and slate-pen^ cils and shoe-strings and everything, and old Bob Field keeps it. I want mamma. Where is mamma?" " Up-stairs with the baby; but, child, I don't want to turn a somerset down the front steps if there is a new store. Can't you go a little slower?" , " I aidn^t mean to run into you," Harry said, apologetically, "only I couldn't wait, I was in such a hurry." And he plunged up the stairs at the same rate which had nearly upset grandfather. " Come stiller, dear," said a voice from the window, "or I shall think I own a cannon-ball instead of a little hoy. What is the hurryP" " Only to tell you all about the store," and Harrv planted his elbows on mam­ ma's knees and looked into her oyes. . " Where is it?" " Close by the school-house, mamma, that speck of a house, you know. Bob Field is going to live in the back-room and have store in the front, and he's got--Oh, everything! Mamma!" 44 Well, Harry." " I wish I had some money." » " What could you do with it?" "Oh, spend it. I'd buy taffy, or something else, maybe. Why can't I have some pennies every week? Don't you know Charlie Dnrkee does? Couldn't I have two?" "That doesn't seem unreasonable for a beginning," said Mrs. Morrell. "Will you be contented with two, though?" "Yes, indeed," Harry ailswered, be­ ginning to jump up and down. " Be­ cause often I go a week and don't have one. Unless you meant to give me more," he added, hastily. 4 4 l"d love to have three." 44 Very well, yon shall have three. You love to share everything too well, to run any risk of making yourself sick with what is left. I'll give them to you now, only remember that it is only three a week, and that you must plan how to do the most with them." ' 44 Oh, you loveliest mamma!** Harry said, with a choking hug, and then ran down to tell grandfather of his good fortune. Harry was a village boy, as you mav have, by this time, guessed, sure that a city boy would never be so excited over a store of any sort. And a store in the village itself would have been nothing to think about. But lame Bob Field, who had not peddled molasses candy in the old school-house for nothing, knew very well what would come of settling near it, and that every spare penny owned by those small boys and girls would, sooner or later, find its way into his till. He chuckled quietly as he ar­ ranged his window, piling up the white peanuts, and making a star of figs and uates in the center. There were other things, too, which might be useful to the people who lived on the farms close by; needles and pins, and herrings and crackers, and so on, but Bob had spent almost all his capital ou what the children would buy, sure that they would prove his best customers. Harry, as it happened, was the first one, and, after a good deal of thinking, decided upon a stick of wintergreen cwidy with which to treat Amy Green, who lived next door to them. The stick seemed so small that he hesitatod; and Bob said: "WellP You want something elseP" " I'll take half a cent's worth of pea­ nuts and half a cent's worth of raisins," Harry said, putting the other penny at the very bottom of lua pockets. It never would do to spend all three the first day. 44 That ain't no way to trade," said Bob. 4 41 don't do business that way." 44 Then Til have all peanuts;" Harry said, so chccrfully, that Bob -changed his mind, and counted out thirteen pea­ nuts and four raisins, " Just for once,'* he growled; " And don't yoil let oh." * 44 No," Harry said, delighted, and running out to Amy, who was just com­ ing down the road with her brother and Charley Durkee. Miss Brown tapped on the window, and all Harry could find time for then was to say, in a loud whisper, "I'm going to treat at recess." Recess had never seemed longer in coming, and Harry found so many good things in his pocKet very distracting, and almost wished he had waited tui after school. Thirteen peanuts could not divide evenly; and having eaten the twelve, Amy and he spent the rest of recess in planting the thirteenth and bringing water from the spring to water it. Charley, in the meantime, indignant that he had not been shared with, watched his chance, and, digging it up, ate it with great relish, which, as the peanut was a roasted one and never could have grown any way, was per­ haps just as well. Liike other people before and since, as time went on, Hairy found it difficult to live within his income. " Treating1' was so pleasant, and three cents did so little toward it. Harry longed for more, but a way out one day came to him as he went with grandfather into the grocery. " "Charge it on my bill," said Mr. Burton, as he went out. " Charge it," repeated Harry, climb­ ing into the buggy. .44 You always say- that, grandfather." "Not always," said Mr. Burton; "for I pay the bill once a month. Charging means that he writes in his books what I owe him, till I am ready to pay.. It is. more convenient, because, sometimes, I have not the money with me; but it is generally best to pay as you go." Harry sat quite still. Why should he not have a bill and 'let Bob 44 charge it?" Grandfather often gave him pen­ nies, and he could save them and pay allat once. He would tell mamma the Oiitaient he got home. No, he wouldn' t, "6? said Harry, eilier. He'd try it flrst aad aee how'it seemed, andlAe* teU her. ̂ i Harry might have known there was something, not quite right wheu he was toot willing to go at onoe to her, but kept still, thinking he would ball it a seetet ami enjoy telling it after a while. So next morning he went Into Bob's and looked about. Fresh dates, alto-, gcther too good to do without, were in the window, and he said at once, "Ffre cents' worth o'dates, Bob," adding, as he took the sticky little bundle, " You may charge 'em, Bob. I haven't any pennies this morning." Bob looked doubtful a momentj Then, sure that Mr. Burton would pay, said, 44 All right," and Harry ran o f f . . . . • That very evening Uncle John drove over from Cornish and gave Harry a five-cent piece, and the small debtor, who had been a great deal worried through the day over his morning's work, went to bed happy. Bob was paid next day, and more dates bought, and then, seeing some fresh lemon- drops, one cent over Was charged on Bob's slate. So it went on. The bill grew slowly but surely. Harry sometimes catching up, but oftener not, and hardly realiz­ ing how surely, till one morning Bob, with a very sober face, handed over a dirty slip of paper. 441 can't read writing, uneasily. "Whatis it?" 44 It's your, bili, boy. High .time you paid up!" "How much is it?" asked Harry, faintly. "Twenty-eight cents, and you'd bet­ ter pay to-day, because I want all the money I can get in." 44 Well, I'll pay you pretty soon," Harry said slowly, but ms heart sank within him as he turned away and walked down the road. " He's a plucky one," said old Bob to himself. 44 He hain't a cent, but he wouldn't let on if he was flogged to make him. I wonder What her 11 do about it?" Harry walked onr till he oame to the wood-path, into which he turned, and went on till he came to nn old log near a spring, over which grew a clump of alders. He sat down nere and began to think. Twenty-eight cents! What Would his mother say, and grandfather tooP How long would it take to pay at three cents a week? Harry thought it out slowly. Nine weeks and a little bit of another! Would old Bob wait, and what would Amy think if he stopped treating? The school-bell was ringing, but he could not go there. How was he to learn a spelling lesson or a table when over and over in his head, seeming to say itself, he heard: " Twenty-eight cents! Twenty-eight cents!"' 441 hate an allowance! I hate it!" Harry said, passionately, throwing himself on the ground and beginning to cry. 441 wish I hadn't ever had oner What shall I doP O dear, what shall do?" - , Down the wood-path came a tall fig­ ure, with hands clasped behind and bent head. It was Mr. Osgood, the village minister, who very often walked here, and who stopped now in surprise as the sound of sobs fell on his ear. He looked for a moment, then went on softly, sat down on the log and said: 44 Harry." Harry sprang up with a cry. Then, seeing who it was, ran right into the kind arms he had known ever since his babyhood, and sobbed as if his heart would break. Mr. Osgood waited till he was quieter, then said, gently: " Now, Harry, boy. What is it all about?" "I hate my allowance! I don't want to have an income,*1 began Harry, in­ coherently. " I'm in debt awfully. T never can pay it, not till nine weeks and a day, and Bob'11 put me in prison, may-be. What shall 1 do?" Little by little the privately much- astonished Mr. Osgood heard the whole story, |nd, smiling in spite of himself, as Harry looked up pitifully, said: 4 4 There ate two things to be done, it seems. First, to tell mamma; then to think of some way of earning money to pay the debt;" " Then \o% dou't1 believe Bob will, want to put nip in prisonP" Harry said. " N,ctnt all^ But you must pay him i'ust as soon aa possible, and I think I :now a way. \Ve will go now and see what mamma jthjnks of it. On the whole, Harry, fra rather glad you have had this trouble!" "Glad?" repeated Harry. 44How could you beP" > " Because I tmnk you will hardly want to run in debt to anybody again. To do it when yo| don't know of any way of paying is ahnost as bad as steal­ ing, though I knlw very few people think so." \ . Half an hoar l^ter, Mrs. Morrill looked up in surprise as she saw Mr. Osgood and Harry coming up the steps. Harry told his story in a very low voice and with a very red face, while Mr. Osgood walked around the garden with grandfather, coming back when the confession had ended. "Iam very glad it is no worse," mamma said. 44 Earning the money to pay your debt will be the only punish­ ment you will need, and I shall be very glad if Mr. Osgood shows you a way.' t "It is hard worlc, Harry. Back- breaking work, for my back, at least," Mr. Osgood said. " My little onion- bed is full of weeds, and if you can pull them all out you will earn twenty-eight cents verv honestly. Are you willing to come a little while every day till it is done?" "1 guess I am," Harry said, grate­ fully. 41 I'm glad I've got the chance." Sso, for four days Harry went down every afternoon weeding a row each' time. It was hot, hard, tiresome work, but he persevered, and finished the four long rows, one a day being all that Mr. Osgood thought it well for so small a boy to do. Seven cents a row, and four rows, fixed four times seven Once for all in Harry's mind, and the after­ noon when he walked home with twen­ ty-eight bright pennies, jingling them all the way, was one of tne proudest of all his life. " You have earned a great deal more than twenty-eight cents," said mamma, as she counted the shining pile. "Much more than you would understand if I told vou now. Patience and persever­ ance and honor more than I was sure my little boy had. Now vou want to 7 ? T - pay Bob, and theft I thiM yeii will b| happier than you have been for »Ion# time.*' • i , •, . Harry ran off, and burstinto JBob'i quarters with a sort of .war-whooi w h i c h b r o u g h t o u t t h e * o H o n c e . " Here's your money," aaid Harr,, , putting down the pennies with awh en)̂ ergy that some of th^m rolled eH th|te' floor. , . "Your ma gave it to ytraP";' sai<§. Bob; " or your grandfather.' tilt be ?'! Ti"No, they ai^'t. I earned** sail Harry, and that Was all Bob could evel - make hit* tell. To Amy iwdenfide# his troubles, and the fact tnathe Shoul<| not do so much treating hereafter, and Was greatly relieved when Amy.0eclare<f that she should not mind S#- the troubleendedfor that tfmcu and if Harry was ever tctaopted to Say *4charg# , it at any time,he rem emWedthat h - - hour m the wood and the loafft raws of onions, and marched away fromtemptai^5 tton fast as possible. -Wheat- Christtan Union. f on, %n Domestic Troubles In High Life. THE following fragment of a private letter from the young Duchess oI Edin- burg to an old settler on West Hill, haa fallen into the hands of the conscience­ less editor of the Burlington Hawk-Eye, who does not hesitate to give it to the public. It indicates very plainly the domestic troubles that cloud her skies: " I a m having the hardest time try­ ing to keep peace in the family. - My mother-in-law is just one of the dear­ est of women, but she and papa have fallen out about something and are quarreling so dreadfully that even the neighbors are beginning to talk about it. I am so mortified and distressed I don't like to go out of the house. Papa is dreadfully angry, and seems to for­ get that my husband's mother is a woman, and says if she tries to meddle with his affairs he'll break every bone in her body. And my poor, dear hus­ band is so tormented and badgered be­ tween their quarreling and my weep­ ing, he is almost crazy. He has gone away in his ship, and says he is afraid if pa doesn't talk more respectfully to his ma'ma, he will pound St.- Peters­ burg tlown about his ears. And when Brother Nicholas heard of it* he said, if my husband came fooling round there, he'd put a torpedo under his old mud scow that would hump him over the moon. Oh, I am so miserable. It is a dreadful way to live. The other day one of Edinburg's sisters looked very hard at me, right at the dinner- table, and said that between the rats and the Russians one couldn't keep a candle about the house long enough to light it, and the very next day I got a box from Brother Alexis, with a letter, requesting me to distribute the contents among my husband's family, with his compliments. And I supposed it was a peace offering of some kind, and called all the family in to see it opened, and, what do you think ? It contained about a bushel and a half of wooden 4 H's.' Sueh a scene. Ma'ma was so angry she had a peace meeting called in the park right away, and five men were pounded nearly to death, and all the windows in the street were broken in three min­ utes." Two Men Carried Over Niagara Falls. A CORRESPONDENT of the Buffalo Courier writes from Chippewa, Ont., April 2: Our otherwise quiet village was cast into a state of great excitement^ last evening, about seven o'clock, by the' report that two men had gone over the falls. Every house in the village quick­ ly rang with the news, and at the Meth­ odist Episcopal Church, where revival services were being held, a slip of paper passed round caused great excitement, one young lady fainting away. The news was too true. The number of Niagara victims had been increased. It appears, from what we can learn, that Capt. J. Riley and three or four others rowed over to Port Day early in the af­ ternoon, followed soon after by his brother Patrick, in his own b(fttt, which was a very large and safe craft. Patrick was in a state of intoxication, but his knowledge of the river brought him, in spite Of nis condition, safefy to Port Day (the entrance to the wnter-power canal immediately above the rapids). Capt. Riley, learning that his brother was in town, determined to return with him, and, on one of the. party volun­ teering to bring him over, he replied: 44 No! ne is my brother; it is toy duty to look after him." Some time after­ ward their boat was seen, by a young man on Goat Island, heading for Chip­ pewa for about a quarter of a ' mile, when the Canadian current struck it, turning its bow toward the falls, they continuing to row without apparently knowing the direction the boat had taken. A boat started in pursuit, but was soon obliged, on account of the nearness of the falls, to desist, and they were left to their fate. Soon their boat was seen to upset, leaving the two pow­ erful men struggling in the water, until the intervening rapids hid them forever from view. The eye-witnesses of the catastrophe drove hastily ovtr the river •and communicated the news to the vil­ lage. The shock to vhe Captain's young wife, who was away from home, was of such a nature as to make her faint away, and she had to be earried home. Patrick was unmarried. The aged mother, who is a widow, seems to bear the news more quietly, but "still water jrunsthe deepest." A lamentable feature of the affair is that a sister of the de­ ceased, who was "April-fooling" during the day, at Mrs. S. Maeklem s, where she is employed, whose house overlooks the rapids, called out, about an hour before the catastrophe, "See two men going over the falls in a boat," which had the desired effect in causing all to rush to the windows, to find that it was a false alarm. Too soon, alas! two did pass over, and those were her brothers. During my residence here I have known many to pass over the falls, and, with one or two exceptions, the immediate cause of their destruction was intem­ perance. " --It ia estimated that every man who lives to be sixty years old has spent seven months of nis life buttoning his shirt-collar.--Detroit Free Press. --Motto for a beautiful woman asleep --handsome is as handsome doze.-- Cincinnati Saturday Night.