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"™ "'riW •T"!*'" V l!'",iy "q . . 'W|l ^mt'np11 TH R GHOST. ' *r w. iimulMM. ^**i< BWhed Md rtUl, i " Trioht, tii|b opal aooa« Beltfaa, at her tapreaalve BOO% Clear and chill. A* I sit At the cfen wtadnw hM Fancied faces dim and fltww Ptotme flit ' Murmur« .1 tvtd, From the broodli Moult a cadence i". r tl«e dojul. [ng willow fluHiW' ofdaqwtr jfc; \ 1*/. P t« Hurk: i snnud! . In tt<e moon Hgbt-motflea www -- . Rumbling wheem and hoof-atrolwi BMt Kluifee the givuud. ;> s"' At t*« gatoa Something pauaM. HingM » Though in moonbeam* Something waita. Haahl I hear Ruitfe of a dilken train, ; Dainty atepe, a aob of Mil Who la thereT *>.; Shadow* thrown From thp willow welrdjy fall. Dance and linger on the wall, Shades alone. Faint and rare Steals a perfume through the room Wafted through the gathered gloom Over there. Faneies dread Kcho from a Maty old. Weeping wiiio# would unfold Of the dead. <& Courier. A WOOING BY PROXY. 8he is leaning back in a deep crimson ehair, with a whiie dress sweeping in long shining folds about her. She is talkie# to two or three men with that rather weary grace he has grown accus­ tomed to see in her, and which is so different from the joyous smiles of the Jeanne de Beaujen whom he had loved so long ago. He is watching her from the opj>osite side of the salon as he stands beside his hostess, and he tells himself that it is for the last time. He is going to her presently, and he knows just bow coldly she will raise the dark eyes that once never met his without confessing that she loved him. He knows just what he will say and what she will answer,, and there is no need few haste in this last scene of his tragedy. "A man should know when he is beat­ en," he is thinking, while he smiles vaguely in reply to Madame De Soule's commonplaces. " There is more stupid­ ity than courage in not accepting a de­ feat while there is yet time to retreat with some dignity. For six weeks I vbave shown her, with a directness that has, I dare say, been amusing to our mutual friends, that after ten years' •Absence my only object in returning to Paris is her society. She cannot avoid meeting me in public, but Bhe has stead­ ily refused to receive me when I call upon her, or to permit me a word With her alone. * I have been a fool to forget that all these years in which I have re­ gretted her, she has naturally despised me, but at least it is not just* of her to refuse me a hearing." The moment he has been waiting for has come. The lit- tie court about her disperses until there is but one man beside her, and she glances around with a look of mild ap­ peal against the continuanoe of his so- eiety. De Palissier has escaped from his hostess in an instant, and the next he is murmuring, with the faintest suspicion of a tremor in his voice, "Will Madame De Miramon permit me a dance?"# " Thanks, M. De Palissier, but I am act dancing tnis evening," she replies, with exactly the glance and tone he ex­ pects. " Will madame give me* few moments serious conversation ?" and this time the tremor is distinct, for even the nine­ teenth-century horror of melodrama Can no* keep a man's nerves quite steady vAier he is asking a question on which his wiiole future depends. " One does not come to balls for ser- iousconversation--" she begins, lightly. " Where may I come, then ?" he in- terrapts, eagerly. * / "Nowhere. There is no need of seri­ ous conversation between us, M. De Palissier," she replies, haughtUy, and, rising, she takes the arm of the' much- -editied gentleman beside her and moves •way. It is all he has prophesied to himself, and yet for a moment the light* swim dizzily before him, and the passionate sweetness of that Strauss waltz the band is playing stabs his heart like a knife. For a moment he does not realize that he is standing quite motionless, gazing, with despair in his eyes, after Madame De Miramon's slender, white-clod figure, and that two or three people, who have seen and heard, are looking at him with that ama?ed pity which sentimental ^ catastrophes always inspire in the spec­ tators. Some one touches his arm presently with her fan, and with a start he comes to himself, and recognizes Lucille de Be»aje|is the young sister of Madame De Miramon, whom he remembers years ago as k child, and with whom he has danced .several times this winter. . " And our waltz, monsieur ?" she asks, gayly. " Do not tell me that you have forgotteja it. That is evident enough, bat you should not admit it." " Mille pardons, mademoiselle, " he matters, hurriedly. " I adk very good to-night," she says, ' potting her hand on his mechanically extended arm. "Though the waltz is half over, there is still tima for you to get me an ice." So they make their way through the salon, she talking lightly, and without pausing for a reply, while he, vaguely j grateful to her for extricating him from ! 4b awkward position, wonders also that | - she should eare to be so kind to a man whom her sister has treated with such ] marked dislike. ,•> The refreshment-room is almost empty, and she seats herself and motions him to a ohair beside her when he has brought her an ice. "Do you think, M. le Marquis, that it was only to eat ices with you that I have forced my societv PO resolutely apon you?" she asked, with a look at earnestness very rare on her bright, ppquettish face. '" I think you an angel of compassion to an old friend of your childhood. Mademoiselle Lucille--" " It was compassion, but more for my .fjjbter than for you," Bhe says, gravely. ' "V"Your sister 1" he echoes, bitterly. *It has noK occurred to me that Madame de Miramon is in need of com­ passion, and yours is too sweet to be Tears ago, when Jeanne left her convent I on becoming fiance to M. De Miramon, she met you at her first ball, and you loved eaeh other. It was very foolish, I for you were a cadet of your house, and ;only a sous-lieutenant, and Jeanne had not n son, -so both the families were furi- |ous; but all would have ended as well as sa fairy tale if yon had been reasonable. fjJeanne met you time afte.* time in seoret, land promised any amount of patience, |but she would not run away and marry |you in defianoe of her parents; so you tormented her with doubts and shamed her with suspicions until she drea led those secret meetings almost as much as she longed for them. At last, after making a more violent quarrel than usual, you exchanged from your regi­ ment at Versailles to one in Aigiers, and left her no refuge from the reproaches of our father and mother, but to marry M. De Miramon. He might have re­ fused to marry her after hearing her con­ fess, as she did, that she had given her heart to you, and that only your deser­ tion had induced her to consent to their marriage. But he did not; he had a better revenge than that He married her, and for eight years he tortured her in every way that a jealous and cruel man can torture a proud, pure woman. He opened all her letters, he made spies of her servants, and not a day passed that he did not insult her with some mention of your name. Onr parents died within a few months of the mar­ riage, and I was at my convent. There was nothing to be done with her misery but endure it, knowing that she owed it all to your impatience. Can yon wonder that she is unforgiving?" He is leaning on the small table be­ tween them with folded arms and down- bent eyes, and he is very pale, even through the bronze of ten African sum­ mers. " I loved her always--" he says, al­ most inaudibly ; then pauses; nor does he finish his sentenoe, though she waits for him to do so. " Ton loved her ? Ton eonld not have wrecked her life more utterly if you had hated her. Can yon wonder that she has grown to fear the thought of love that has been so crnel to her as yours and her husband's ? Monsieur, my brother-in-law died two years ago--God is so good !" continues Lucille, fiercely. "Since then Jeanne has been at peace, and she shrinks with absolute terror from disturbing the calm which has come to her after such storms. She fears you, she avoids yon, because--shall I tell you why ?" She can see his lips quiver even under the heavy mustache, but he neither speaks nor raises his eyes. "She loves yon," mormon Lucille, just aloud. He lifts his eyes now and looks at her dumbly for an instant, then, rising abruptly, walks away. "II a des beaux veux, mon Dieu !" she thinks, with a thrill of wonder that Jeanne should have had the courage to refuse him anything in the days when they were yonng together. He comes back presently. " My child," he says very gently, " do not try to make me believe that, unless you are very sure, for if once I believe it again, I--I--" "I am as sure as that I live that Jeanne has never ceased to love you, and that you can force her to confess it if you will make love to me." "I? You? You are laughing at me!" with a rush of color into his dark face. " Do yoa think so ill of Jeanne's sis­ ter?" she asks, softly. "Pardon. I am scarcely myself, and I can not imagine how--" "Jeanne will not receive you because she knows her heart and is afraid of it. She fears that you will destroy the hard- won peace she values so highly. Bat you are wealthy, distinguished, the head of your name--a very different person from what you were ten years ago, and she can find no reason for refusing yoa as my suitor if I consent, and as my chap­ eron she must be present at all our meet­ ings. You begin to understand ? Make her see that your love is not all jealousy; make her remember--make her regret." "But, forgive me, when one has loved a. woman for ten years," with a faint smile, " tliere is no room in one's heart for even a pretense at loving another." "If there were, monsieur, I should never have proposed my plot," she re- Elies, with dignity. "It is because I ave watched you all these weeks, and know that your love is worthy of my sis­ ter, that I trust you. But it is not with one's heart that one pretends. Enfin, it is with you to consent or decline." " Decline!" he echoes, with a passion none the less intense for its quietness. "Does a dying man decline his last chance of life, however desperate it may i§*•*?. "Chut, monsieur," she interrupt?d. "Forget that I am as fond of pretty speeches as most young women, and think of me only as Jeanne de Miramon's sister, who believes that, much as she loves her, you love her even more " For the second time this evening De IMissier forgots possible observers, and '"ips both the girl's slender in as he murmurs unsteadily, " God Mess von!" "You forget that we have an audi­ ence, monsieur," she says, withdrawing 'Ijer hands quickly, but with a smile of frank comradeship. " t have a story to pll yoa, and not much time to tell it in. JWi ?.fiy The next week is full of bitter surprises to the proud and pa­ tient woman, whose pathetic cling­ ing to tier new-found peace Lucille so well understands. Though it is long since she has permitted herself to re­ member anything of the love of her ?routh except his jealousy, she has be-ieved in his faithfulness* as utterly as she dreaded it, and wlien she receives De Palissier's note asking the consent of his old friend to his love for her sis­ ter, the pain she feels bewilders and dis­ mays her. With a smile, whose cynicism is as much for herself as for hiio, she gives the note to Lucille, expeoting an instant rejection of the man whose motive in pursuing them they had both so misunderstood. But with a gay laugh, " Then my sympathy has been all without cause," the girl cries. "By all means let him come, my Jeanne. It can not wound you, who have long ago ceased to regret him, and he is the best parti in Paris, and tres bet homme for his age." & It is quite true there can be no objeo- tion to the wealthy and distinguished Marquis de Palissier if Lucille is willing --none but the pain at her heart which she is too ashamed even to confess to herself. So a note is written fixing an hour for his first visit, and Madame De ; Miramon prepares herself to meet the ; man whom she last saw alone in all the | passionate anppiish of a lovers' qua'*reL ! Is this wild flutter in her throat a sign j of the peace she has resolved to possess ? < Thank God! she can at least promise herself that, whatever she may suffer, neither he nor Lucille shall guess it. There is a sound of wheels in the court yard, and she rises, with a hasty glance at her fair reflection in a mirror. "His old friendt" Bhe murmurs, scornfully. "I dare say I look an old woman beside Lucille." Then she turns with a look of grace­ ful welcome, for the door is thrown open, and a servant announces, " M. le Mar­ quis de Palissier." "Nothing could give . me greater pleasure than to receive as my sister's suitor the old friend of whom the world tells me such noble things." She utters her little speech as naturally as though she had not rehearsed it a dozen times, and holds out her pretty hand to him. To her surprise, he does not take it. How should bhe guess that he dares not trust himself to touch calmly the hand he would have risked his life to kiss any time these ten y^^ra^ "Ton ww too good, madame," he re­ plies* rmg low; and she reflects that he is of eoons a littl* *inbarrasafed. "I am abaid yoa had mooh to forgive in those day* so long ago, bat time, I trust, has changed me. " It would be sad indeed if time did not give us wisdom and coldness in ex­ change for all it takes ftom os,"shesays, with a quick thrill of pain that he should apeak of ten yean as if it were an eter­ nity. " Not ooldness," he exclaimed, oom- ing nearer, and looking at her with eyes that make her feel a girl again. " II you could see my heart, you--" " May I enter, my sister?" asks the gay voice of Lucille, as she appears from behind the portiere at so fortunate a moment for the success of her plot that it is to be feared she had been eaves­ dropping. De Palissier turns at once, and presses her hand to his lips. ~ ! "Mademoiselle," he says, tenderly, " I am at your feet." Then begins a eharming little comedy of love-making, in which Lucille plays her role with pretty coquetry, and he with infinite zeal And the chaperon bends over her lace- work and hears the caressing tones she thought she had forgotten, and sees the tender glances she imagined she had ceased to regret--all given to her young sister in her unregarded presence. Dear Qod ! how is she to keep the peace she so prays for, if her future is to be haunted by this ghost from the past ? She is very patient and used to suffer­ ing, but at length she can endure no longer, and,not daring to leave the room, she moves away to a distant writing- table, where she is at least beyond hearing. There is an instant pause between the oonspirators, and, while De Palissier's eyes wistfully follow Madame de Mira­ mon, Lucille siezes her op*x>rtunity with a promptness that would have done credit to a Richelieu, or a Talleyrand, or any other prince of schemers. " Courage, monsieur !M she murmurs. "She has been oold to me ever since your note came. You would make a charming jcune premier at the Fran- cais, only when you say anything very tender, do remember to look at me instead of Jeanne." And she breaks into a laugh so utterly amused that he presently laughs too, and the sound of their mirth causes an odd blot in the poor ohaperon's writing. A month has dragged by, wretchedly enough both to the conspirators and their victim, and, like all things earthly, has come to an end at last Even LnoiUe's energy could not keep De Palissier to his role if he did not believe that in surrendering it he must give up the bitter-sweet of Jeanne's daily presence, which, even in its serene in­ difference, has become the one charm of life to him. Madame De Miramon and her sister are spending a week at her villa near Paris, and De Palissier, who is to accompany them on a riding party, has arrived a little late and finds both sisters in the court-yard, with some horses and grooms, when he enters. Lucille comes to him at onoe as he dis­ mounts, with a look of alarm instead of her usual coquetry. " Do not let Jeanne ride Etoile," she says, anxiously. "She has thrown Guillaume this morning." Madame De Miramon is standing be­ side an old groom, who is holding the horse in question, and she does not look at her sister or De Palissier jm they ap­ proach. " Let me ride Etofle, and take my horse to-day, madajae," De Palissier says, eagerly. "I should like to master a horse who has thrown so excellent a groom as Guillaume." " So should I," she says, with a hard little laugh, and she steps on the block. "Jeanne?" cries Lucille. " I entreat you for your sister's sake. She will be terribly alarmed," De Palis­ sier says hurriedly. "Then you must console her. The greater her alarm, the greater your de­ lightful task, monsieur, and she looks at him with a defiant pain in her eyes like a stag's at bay. "I shall ride Etoile." " Then I say you shall not," he an­ swers, putting his arm acroBsthe saddle, and meeting her eyes with a sudden blaze of command in his. For an instant they gaze at each other in utter forgetfulnes<« of any other pres­ ence than their own ; then she springs from the block and comes close to him. " I hate you !" she gasps, and turn­ ing gathers np her habit in one hand and runs into the house, swiftly followed by De Palissier. In the salon she faces him with » gesture of passionate pride. "Leave me!" she says, "I forbid you to speak to me." He is very pale, but the light of tri­ umph is in his eyes, and like most men, being triumphant, he is crnel. " Why do yon hate me ?" he asks, imperiously. " I beg your pardon," she stammers, dropping the eyes which she knows are betraying her. "I should have said--** " You should have said,' I love you/** he murmurs, coming olose to her and holding out M& arms. "Does it hoxt you that I should know it at last, I who have loved you all these years ?" "But Lucille," she falters, moving away from him, but with eyes that Bhine and lips that quiver with bewildered joy. "Never mind Lucille," cries that young lady, very cheerfully, from the doorway. "It has been all a plot for your happiness, my Jeanne, which would never have succeeded if you had known yont sinter as well as she knew you. To think that I would be content with the wreck of any man's heart I-- | ft done I When my day oomes, "Like Alexander, I will reign. And 1 will reign alone." Harper'* Weekly. PITH AND POINT. IT is not until alter a seal is qead that its skin is dyed. X THK oonoern that always,- makes money--The mint. ^ * THE most exaggerated dispatches oome by the fish line. THH spectacle of a lot of bald-headed men in bathing is said to resemble an animated game of billiards. WHEN might a railroad engine and a detective be said to resemble each other? When they are both on the track. INSTEAD of saying "Oh, that mine enemy would write a book," the wicked man saith : " Give mine enemy a toy- pistol." • THE Duke of Wellington's saying con­ nected with early rising was not a bad one: " Let the first tarn in the morn­ ing boa turnout." "I THINK the turkey has the advan­ tage of you," said the "landlady to an in­ expert boarder, who was carving. "I guess it has, mum--in age." A CONTEMPORARY prints an able article on "How to go to sleep." It is the most convincing article we ever read on the subject. We were sound asleep be­ fore we read it half through. #"No," he said, as they congratulated him on feds engagement, " I'm not so particularly charmed with the girl, but I expect to be very happy. Her mother is about the best-tempered woman It know." FBOM lesthetic Boston comes this bit of wit: "We were eating our supper,« and Mrs. Dodge was cooking beefsteak. I asked my little girl how she would have her beefsteak cooked. She re­ plied : 'I will have it tender and true.'" _ AN Englishman overheard the expres­ sion " I don't care to waltz with a cart," and asked for an> explanation for general information. A cart is Parisian for a partner who doesn't do her share of the dancing, but his to be drawn around. THIS is what the Peabody Press re­ porter says to his girl: " Meet me on the corner, Where they sell ice cream, Life shall be for you, love, Like a bliss­ ful dream. Cling to me, my darling, As vine hugs the oak, And when you're done eating, 1 shall be dead-broke." A iirm<B city boy, while visiting in the country, saw a lady who had . just been churning taking the butter from the ohurn. He gazed intently and then asked: "What is that?" "Why, it's butter, Jimmy," *nswered the lady. "Butter!" he exolaimed in a surprised manner, "what did yon put it in the milk for?" " PAPA," said he, as he was shown some pictures in a book Santa dans had left him, ""papa, why does camels have such big hunches on their backs?" The information received not being satisfac­ tory, he at length solved the difficulty himself. "Why, I know, papa," said he, "it's so they'll be cameis." Which must be the reason. A ciiBROTMAX in the country had a stranger to officiate for him one day, and meeting his beadle afterward, he said to him: "Well, Dougall, how did you like last Sunday's preaching ?" "It ^as a great deal were plain and simple for me," replied the beadle. "I like ser­ mons that jumble the judgment and con­ found the sense. Oh, sir, I never saw any that oonld oome up to yourself at that!" THS SCHOOL MA'AH. M O maiden fair. With erinketty hair, '**' Bright eyes and faoa at tweet, O who are you, And what do you do, And why do you look so neat?" A look of surprise, Unshed out from her eyes, A^smile worth a house and alarm, And »be sweetly said. With a toes of her b$ad, " I'm going to be • school-marm." --Ctrning Union. THAT awful Jimmy Tuffboy--"Say, ma, tell me, is there any truly ghosts ?" asked young Sm&llface. "Why, no, mv child, these are no truly ghosts." " Well, Jimmy Tuffboy says he's seen 'em, and thoy were all dressed in white." "Jimmy Tuffboy is a very bad boy to fill your head with such stuff. I don't want to hear any more abowt ghosts. My gracious ! what's that? John ! John I Oh-h-h-h !" and the woman sereamed at the top of her voice. Jimmy Tuffboy had just appeared at her window, on stilts, with a sheet wrapped around him. "YOUR Honor, you've thirteen men on the jury," suggested a bystander to a Justice of the Peace in a neigSiboring town where an unfortunate bomber was on trial for vagrancy. "Bless my Soul, that's true," said the venerable 'Squire, adjusting his specs and casting a benig­ nant look upon the thirteen good men. and true; "Mr. Foreman, please excuse one of the jurymen." "Ail right, your Honor," responded the foreman, promptly, as he reached for his hat and started out, amid an andible smile from the lobby, "I excuse myself."--San Jose (Cat.) Mercury. Pleasant People. Some men move through life as a band of music moves down street, flinging out pleasure on every side through the air to everyone, far and near, that can listen. Some men till the air with their presence and sweetness, as orchards in October To Foretell the Weather. If the sun sets in crimson clouds and brilliant, or if the stars are numer­ ous and bright, we know in a genoral way that we may reckon on a duration of fine weather. Dews and white morning fogs are symptoms of clear days. A dark and vapory sun, and a sickly- looking moon with blunt horns, and a circle around her, or pallid, big and non-scintillating stars, are all signs of approaching ram. If the sun comes up pale and then turns red, or if the moon is large and ruddy, with sharp, black horns, we may count on wind. The chickweed is called "the poor man's barometer," because it shuts up its flowers when wat is approaching. The aurora !x>realis, when very bright, forbodes stormy; moist, unsettled weather. A haze around the sun indioates rain ; it is causefl by flue rain or mist in the upper regions of the atmosphere. A halo around the sun has often been followed by heavy rains. fruit. Some women cling to their own houses, like the honeysuckle over the door, yet, like it, sweeten all the region with the subtle fragrance of their good­ ness. There are trees of righteousness which are ever dropping precious fruit around them. There are lives that shine like star-beams, or charm the heart like s*ngs sung upon a holy day. How great a bounty and blessing it is to holcl the lt,1Y royal gifts of the soul so that they shall brieflv insta be music to some and fragrance to mediate ^ others, and life to all! It would be no unworthy thing to live for, to make the power which we have within us the breath of other men's joy; to scatter sunshine where only clouds and shadows reign ; to fill the atmosphere where earth's weary toilers mu*t stand with a brightness which they cannot create for themselves, and which they long for, ecjoy and appreciate. -- Northwestern Christian Admcate. the nearer the wet spell. Lack of dew is another rain sign. I^Sharp white frosts in autumn and winter precede damp weather, and three successive white froots are an infallible sign of rain. Previous to rain the flies bite sharper and stick to us closer, and bees remain in the hive. / But few of the many signs we have I only apply to the im- , and have nothing to do with tlw/ far-seeing prophets whose prognostications, also largely based upon Natural causes, peer into future months --nay years in advanoe. preparing beans for the table, they should be well soaked in oold water, and then thrown into boiling water ana cooked till of a medium oonsutency, be­ tween a fluid and a solid, neither too thick nor too thin They require some aoid when eaten, and sufficient salt to render them palatable. They may be eaten with potatoes and other vegetables which contain more starch and less al­ bumen, rather than with too much bread or meat. A* Very Common Mind Trouble. One of the common ways in which the trouble arises is the mischievous practice of trying to do several things at once, or to "divide the attention." A scholar will insist on having several books open on his table before him, and he unconsciously forms the habit of spreading first his mental perceptions and then his thoughts over a wide field, and in taking in the largest possible number of objects. At the outset this is a habit of physico-mental sight, then it becomes a habit of the intellectual organism; or it may begin as an intel­ lectual exercise, and afterward come to be, in a purely r hysieal way, sensory. Literary men often establish the dis­ tressing condition described, by work which requires continual reference to books or papers and the "bearing in mind" of a large number of data for the purpose of collation. It is probable that Dr. Johnson, the great lexicogra­ pher, formed his habit of post-touching in this way. Men whose mental work consists in " managing" may contract the same habit if they are themselves Btationary-^sitting in a chair at a par­ ticular deBk, while books, papers or persons crowd in upon them. Another and very dissimilar class of minds, in­ stead of being worried by a multiplicity of brain-work, have so little to occupy their attention that their consciousness forms a habit of dallying with the de­ tails of every little thing that falls in its way, and suffers the same malady. So long as the habit is purely mental it exerts a mischievous effect on the mind and lowers the tone of its intellectual­ ity ; but it does not generally attraot at­ tention until, or urn ess, it extends to the senses, then evidences of doubt de­ clare themselves, and the mental state, finding expression in acts, is rapidly confirmed. The evidence of one sense is no longer sufficient to oonvinc*^ the consciousness. What is felt must) be seen, what is seen must be felt; What has been done with one form of atten­ tion, acting through a particular sense, must be repeated with another form and sense. The victim of this habit is not sure he has turned the key properly in the lock unless he hears it click, or he must see it turn, or carefully examine the door to convince himself that it is really shut. After a time he has to do this severed--it may be a number of-- times, e. g.t three, seven or nine. So it is with everything. As he walks along the streets lie must touch the posts or railings, because the evidence of sight alone is not sufficient to convince him of their tangibility. To confirm his visual impression of separate stones in the paving of the footpath he must tread on the center of eaoh. If he misses one he must go back, or if the process has not been properly performed it will have to be repeated. Cases differ widely in the particular manifestation of this peculiar­ ity, and it may occur in any degree, ranging from a mere hesitancy about leaving things to the eccentric acts I have enumerated. The trouble is, how­ ever, the same under all its divers forms and varieties. I do not mean to imply that the consciousness knowingly rea­ sons as to the proposition that corrob­ orative evidence must be procured by the application cf additional sensory tests, but that is the method instinctive­ ly taken to remove the doubt, and it throws light on the nature of the neu­ rosis. The consciousness is doing work for which it is unfitted, and it does it in a fussy and clumsy fashion, which occa­ sions much needless effort, and is in itself distressing.--Oood Words. The Horn of Gabriel* Lorenzo Dow, it is said, was on his way to preach in South Carolina, when under a large spruce tree he overtook a colored lad who was blowing a large tin horn, and could send forth a blast with . rise and swell and cadence which waked the echoes of the distant hills. Calling aside the blower, Dow said to him: " What's your name, sir ? " " My name's Gabriel, sir," said the brother in ebony. " Well, Gabriel, have you ever been to Church hill ? " " Yes, massa, I's been dar many a time." " Do you remember a big spruce pine tree on the hill ? " " Oh, yes, massa, I knows dat pine tree." " Did you know that Lorenzo Dow had an appointment to preach under that tree to-morrow ? " " Oh, yes, massa, everybody knows dai." " Well, Gabriel, I am Lorenzo Dow, and if you'll take your horn and go to-morrow morning and climb up into that pine tree and hide yourself among the branches before the people begin to gather, and- wait there till I call your name, and then blow such a blast with your horn as I heard you blow a minute ago, I'll give you a dollar. Will you do it, Gabriel ? " Gabriel, like ZacchenB, was hid away in the tree top in due time. An immense concourse of persons of all sizes and colors assembled at the appointed hour, and Dow preached on the judgment of the last day. By his - power of descrip­ tion he wrought the multitude up to the opening of the scenes of the resurrection, and grand assize at the oall of the trumpet peals which are to wake the sleeping nations. "Then," said he, "suppose, my dying friends, suppose that this should be the very hour? Suppose, now, that you should hear at fthis moment the sound of Gabriel's trumpet?" Sure enough, at this moment tho trumpet of Gabriel sounded. The women shrieked and many fainted; the men sprung up and stood aghast; some ran ; others fell and cried for mercy, and all felt for a time that the judgment was set and the books were opened. Dow stood and watched the driftiug storm till the" and oooked, also two kinds of pie, cake, and several kinds of vegetables. Oh, how hungry 1 was I I should have been thankful for even a bit of bread. At last the meal was ready ; but it was five o'olock, and my head ached so from long fasting that I could not relish a mouth­ ful of the toothsome viands. The day had been one of absolute deprivation. The moral to my little story is this : When we have company let us not to make a spread, but to make our gBegte comfortable.--Exchange, ̂ HOUSEKEEPERS' HELFS. * iffiVj,, . V- SPICBD PLUMS.--Seven pounds of plums, four pounds of sugar, one table- spoonful of cinnamon, cloves, one quart of vinegar. Boil thirty minutes. DIRECTIONS FOB PICKLING--PIOSXAD APPLES.--To ten pounds of fruit take seven pounds of sugar, three and one- half quarts of vinegar, three ounces of cinnamon, two ounces of cloves, whole. Pare and core the apples, thfn boil in Birup till soft. Ica CREAM.--Take three pints of sweet cream, a quart of new milk, a pint of powdered sugar, the whites of two eggs beaten light, a table-spoonful of va­ nilla ; put into the freezer till thorough­ ly chilled through, and then freeze. This is easily made and is very good. * LEMON JELLY CAKE.--Ingredients for jelly : Yelks of two eggs, two lemons, one-half teacup butter, two cups sugar; put the eggs in tin vessel and grate one lemon - squeeze in the juice of the pther, put in other ingredients and boil it until thfck as\ cream, stirring all the time. Any kind,of cake batter will answer for this recipk; it is very nice. FRUIT F^APBBS.--Line a mold with vanilla ice \ream, fill the center with fresh berries or fruit cut in slices, oover with ice cream, oover closely, and set in freezer for half an hour with salt and ice well packed around it The fruit must be chilled, but not frozen. Straw­ berries and ice cream are delicious thus prepared. RICH AND APPLB PTODIKO.--Boil a cupful of well-washed rice fifteen min­ utes in water, adding a pinch of salt. Drain on a sieve until quite dry. Put a part of the rice on the bottom and along the sides of the pudding-mold or tin pail, peel and quarter six apples and place in the center of rice with a half cup of sugar and a little chopped lemon peel. Cover the fruit with tho rice, tie down and steam one hour. Serve with sweetened cream, lemon sauce or sweet­ ened melted butter. A SIMPLE BICE MERINGUE.--To three table-spoonfuls of rice add only as much water as will boil it soft; put into this boiled rice a little salt, one pint of milk and the whites of two eggs and the yelks of three, beaten well together, with sugar sufficient to sweeten it; put the milk and boiled rice over the fire, and when they have come to a boil, stir in the eggs quickly, so that they do not coagulate ; set it aside tQ cool; beat up the white of the egg ; when quite stiff add ten teaspoonfuls of powdered sugar, and any flavoring you may like; spread over the top of the puclding. BEAN SOUP.--Pick over one pint of dried beans and wash them in cold water; jteel and slice an onion, put in a saucepan and fry it brown, with a table- spoonful of drippings ; ham or bacon- fat preferable. When brown, put the beans in with the onion, pour on three quarts of cold water, and boil slowly; every fifteen minutes add one cup of cold water until a quart has been used ; mix one table-spoonful each of flour and but­ ter to smooth paste, and fry some half- inch bits of stale bread with a little but­ ter. As soon as the beans are soft put them through a sieve with a potato masher ; put them again in the saucepan with their broth, stir in the paste, let the soup boil once, and serve with the fried bread in it. , Difficulties of Census Taking. 1 "When the census was taken at Cherry Hill there was a great fluttering among the population, and it is related that all the ancient unmarried ladies, with the exception of one, went to see their aunts. The one that Btuck it out appeared to think that as she had known the oensus enumerator from boyhood there was no reason for flight. On the great day the census taker rowed up in a scow and arranged his vio- tims along the bank. Everything went off according to the act of Congress, until the maiden lady was reached, then the trouble began to accrue. "What is your name?" asked the enumerator. " Oh, you needn't try to fool me, Tim Fletcher! I knew you when you failed in the kindling-wood business, and swindled my father out of $10!" replied the lady. "Your name is Susan Pratt, isn't it?" askedlhe discomfited enumerator. " Tnen what did you ask me for ?" de­ manded the lady. " Unmarried, Miss Pratt?" "I rejected you four times, Tim Fletoher, which shows that I could have married if I'd wanted to!" "How old are you now, Miss Pratt?" asked the enumerator, wiping his fore­ head. "The same age that you was when Jack Dodd's sister refused to elope with you. You know how old you were then. Tim Fletcier!" " Any family ?" asked the enumerator, with a sardonic effort to get even. " Yes, I have, Tim Fletcher. I have your boy by your first wife, whom I took out of the poor-house when you started off to get a Government position ! Any more questions, Tim, ?" Tim finished his report of 'her from memory, and pulled sadly down the river. And now Miss Pratt watches the weekly Tribune to see that she w cor­ rectly represented when the oensus re­ turns are published in fulL "If I am not," she remarks to the Postmaster, as she takes her paper out, " I'll write to the Government and let it know how Tim Fletcher used to cut the hooks and eyes off his wife's dresses so Bhe oouldn't go out while he was gali - vanting around, drat him !"--Brooklyn " NBWPOBT Sandwiches " are made of thin slices of bread toasted on one aide and spread with shrimp paste. Beans. The nutritive value of beans is very grea --greater than almost any other artic e of food in common use. Cornic­ ing iheir richness, th^y are probably the cheapest food we have, but some'whut diffi -uit of digestion, probably owing to tlje fact that we rarely cook them eaough, and masticate them insufficiently. JLn | fright abated, and some one discovered | the colored angel who had caused the ! Eagle, I alarm quietly perched on a limb of the I old spruce, and wanted to get him down I to whip him. Then he resumed nis I theme,'saying: "I forbid all persons {resent from touching that boy up th.u'e. f a colored boy with a tin horn i^an ! frighten you almost out of your ^ its, j what will you do when you hear the ; trumpet thunder of the archangel ? • low ' will you be able to stand in the great day i am !" was the hyena's reply. ; of the wrath of God?" " This is my path !" | : ^ " You're another !" Preparing fir Visitors. Tht18 ̂bantered and jawed until . each was determined not to give way, Do you number among your acquain- j anti in the fight which ensued both tances some kind,busy Martha whocannot | rolled over the bank and were badly entertain visitors without a great deal of ; shaken up. They were still jawing unnecessary pomp and parade ? I never " -- shall forget an impromptu visit my sister and I once made to a friend of this sort. They W6aldn*t Sqaeeze. A hyena and a wolf met one day in a narrow' path in the forest By a little squeezing they could have passed each other ana gone about their business, but the wolf yelled out: " Ho ! there ! out of my path I" " You are no bigger nor better than I AGRIC ULTUR41* Kt«rtorCiatena. is desirable in all cisterns. If? this State it is rare to see cistern watef used for drinking or but wherever " dispensable. is liable to oontain more or less sedil ment, and it is better for the ordinarv use# to have the water clean and clear. A : filter that will answer this purpose' can' be easily and cheaply made of brick* - Locate it anywhere in the bottom of th«f cistern where the pipe from the puma *! can be most readily taken. Commo* * brick laid in cement such as is used oi| the inside of the cistern, but no§ plastered on the bricks either inside o|^ 1 out so as to prevent the water from pass*/ ing through the brick. Build the filtef with a capacity of 18 inches square o#« . the inside and the water will past through HB fast as wanted. It can b# covered with brick and cement by plac­ ing two or three small sticks across to support the brick till the cement sets. Conduct the pipe from the pump intfi this before covering, and so arrange thaj| it will not be necessary to remove it t$ repair the pump. By this method the water will always be clear. Some builj a brick partition across the cistern an4l conduct the water from the roof into one part and put the pump in the other; this will answer a3 well, but rnow bricks.--Detroit Pott, We arrived at her house just as the fam­ ily were partaking of a plain luncheon-- which we would gladly have shared; but no ; our dinner must "be specially pre- pared " later on," and, to do this, our hostess excused herself and repaired to the kitchen. Swiftly the hours sped by. One, two, three, almost four o'clock. A plump pullet had been caught, dressed whejHTTIon Oame along and cuffed them apa^t, and observed: That path belongs to me alone, and if I catch either one of you using it I'll break youivback !" Moral: If you won't squeeze to ac­ commodate, and if you will fight, don't fight over that which concemB your neighbor more than yourself. THB fiddle is king of - instrumental beasts. Bflfeot of Odors on Wife. Upon this question Prof. Arnold, in the work "American Dairying," says: "The London Milk Journal cites in­ stances where milk that has stood a short time in the presence of persons sick with typhoid fever, or been handled by parties before fully recovered from small-pox, spread these diseases as effectually as if the persons themselves had been present. Scarlatina, measles and other contagious diseases have been spread in the same way. The peculiar smell of a cellar is indelibly impressed upon all the butter made from the milk standing in it. A few puffs from a pip* or a cigar will scent all the milk in the room, and a smoking lamp will soon do the same. A pail of milk standing ten i minutes where it will take the scent of a strong smelling stable, or any other, offensive odor, will imbibe a taint thai will never leave it. A maker of gilt-! edged butter objects to cooling warm- milk in the room where his milk stands ' for the cream to rise, because he says; the odor escaping from the new milk while cooling is taken in by the other milk and retained to the injury of his i butter. This may seem like descending to little things, but it must be remem-' bered that it is the sum of such little things that determines whet tier the i products of the dairy are to be sold at: cost or below, or as a high-priced lux- j ury. If milk is to be converted into an - article of the latter class, it must be' handled and kept in clean and sweet vessels, and must stand in pure fresh air, such as would be desirable and healthy for people to breathe," Swarminr--How to Xuuc*. A writer in the Ohio Fanner says: IMfingsfthe first few years of my beo- keeping, I lost about half of my swarms by leaving for the woods. They would' swarm or cluster on a limb or in the forks of a tiee, and the only way I knew ^ was to sweep them into a basket and earry them down and shake them in front of a hive, and sometimes they would go back to the tree several times. If they would cluster on a small limb we would sever the limb from the tree, ' unless they had been hanging for a half hour or so ; then /about the time yoa would begin to saw, they would all be in the air, and they are almost certain to go to the woods. It is almost impossi­ ble to stop them after they get started again, for as soon as a swarm clusters once they send out " soouts " to hunt a hollow tree. For this reason a swarm should not be hived and left set where it clusters, as these " scouts" come back, and will sometimes induce the swarm to go to the woods. You have seen the bees come back in a short time after the swarm had been hived and fly around the limb where the swarm had clustered, alight and run up and down the limb. Now, to hive them quick and safely, you should have a hiving box, twelve inches square and fourteen inches long, one end closed and the other open, made of half-inch lumber, nailed together strong; then with a three-fourths bit bore ten holes oil each side. Put a pole through the center of the box about ten feet long. With this you will not need to wait till the swarm has clustered. As soon as you see them commence to cluster Hold the box up to them and they will all enj ter and can be carried to their hive. ^ I , prefer artificial swarming, but advise those that leave their bees swarm natur­ ally to try the box. Shall We the Hogs P In the valuable little publication* the Swine-Breeder's Manual, issued by Mr. P. M. Springer, Secretary of the American Berkshire Association, this question is discussed as follows: Experience teaches that the ringing of hogs, when properly done and done at the right time, is an advisable measure. The assertion sometimes made that hogs, if habitually allowed to run at large, will not injure meadows or pastures by rooting when turned upon them, can not be relied on. They may for a while be­ have themselves very well, and roam a pasture for weeks, scarcely turning^ a sod. Seeing this the owner is satisfied in his own mind that rings may be dis­ pensed with ; when soon after, having ceased to watch them, the rascals, from some unaccountable reason, begin root­ ing, and in a short time will have done more damage times over than it would have cost to ring them. Such ©xperienee as this leads to the conclusion the safest way is to use the rings whenever hogs are allowed to range where their rooting would be an injury. The continuous use of rings the year round, or their use on swine of all ages and sizes, is not ad­ vised. In the spring of the year they are generally the most needed. If hogs that were treated to rings in the spring are still on hand in the fall, it is usually best to remove the rings, particularly u the hogs are turned on the mast, or are expected to follow cattle in feed-lots or stalk-fields. It sometimes happens that a valuable brood sow aoquires such bad habits as lifting gates or breaking fences. A couple of rings in the nose of such an animal will put heron good behavior the most effectually of anything ever tried* So, also, a sow that is vfcious or cross to other hogs ; a good ripg in her nose will prove to be a wonderful tamer. A stock boar, if inclined to be unruly, should be treated the same way. Of the different kinds cf patent hog-rings before the public, it may be said tliey are all good enough; some, perhaps, being more easily applied and lasting longer than others. Of those not patented a new horse-shoe nail or a piece of common No. 12 wire makes a very good and cheap ring, and one readily used, with the help of a double-edge awl or common punch, for making holes in the rim of the snout, and a pair of small pinchers for closing the rings after being inserted. .':|t t • .-v y*