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v;.;, ' -T! :• •- -,'v? •• ,• ; .':V p* | K'-M'S ' " • : ."v f. .-/*'• * <».<•' ; .. . „,.... > WDO ft nlMi „'t ' AaAetvtf Meeehoeatlieold retrain, ^ "OfctWhatwaa Ufa Poor SuMtt Amanda Matilda JlMt! tbgfTff was idle. r »v»r would tlrs$*;- brtoror conld bridljfc B Rw eerratits in»iirt\ -TF ; And arvr ter virtues h« sang ifdi: i *Ho one could be f Ialke her to TOP. ' • i Poor 8*a*n Amanda. Mattida/aa* j IHto never spent money, 1- Wu over content; 1 IPo have a new bonnet. V Would never consent; 'Jet summer or wintor, or Shine (£ rliB, Would never stay ' From oburoti away ..iRi* Sosaa AmauJaMatii IVas never too early, «' • * s^jWes never too law; - *• tier dinner waa ready, . Or ready to wait. ¥!?;" • But ah 1 ha never should * ' With mortal eyes Such peerless plea- • * i - IPoarSnsan Amanda Matilda JailK fouMI •ew on his button it 0X18, . t Dam, back-stitch, and hem, ';*T^.-"Vfpch button a picture, Kacb dam a gem. 0V A vision of bonuty, a pearl without stain. When she was than s ,* j. '* ' H>s woes to share, j ^ , Voot Susan Amanda Matilda JMfp ' f " '%i silence she listens, TO11 sudden th-re lies -v'.-, •*'"*; , #ii cuibor that glistens - , < y \ . Deep down in lier eyes, i ... **To praise her yet farther to ma is vain; (> jt' . No one" quoth she, ' •; * '.Regrets like me J;,"' * Foor Snsan Amanda Matilda Jaaet" « --lawyer's Magtxinr. i MAIDEN'S WOES. BT E. H. L. It is evening, on the Lake of Genera, and I am sitting on Ihe shore, my eyes on the •beautiful prospect before me, and my thoughts far away in the sad, sad past.< A boat is crossing the gleam of moon­ light that silvers the ripples that stretch |ffer away into distance, and from it I hear a jsoft, girlish voice singing an English song, "Iremember, I remember." The voice has a faint resemblance to one long hushed. Ah! how it recalls to me all that I, too, remember! The scenes of my . life float through my mental vision, and t ^,. this is what I see:-- |||||^; Another summer evening, painfully like f the present, but here the sun has set on an ̂' ' English wood, and the last rays linger softly ̂s an two figures that stand by a rustic gate. •; One, a girl--myself--is listening trem­ blingly to a voice that has grown strangely dear to her. It says, "Mildred, my darling, to-night I _ claim your promise. The only barrier, ifi' V ; #our father, that has ever stood between us p ; 'fs no more, and it is my right and my hap- bin ess to take yon to my home--you as a i . fondly-loved wife, and little Lena as a dear ' -• " sister, and then nothing but death can ever , Separate us again!" And Maurice Deignville has passed his arm round me, and I know that never again i*jan I feel the bitter loneliness that has been tnine since my father's death left little Lena ,£.*' lad me orphans, thrown almost penniless „ • 4m the cold mercy of the world, and the love ;:t that has so long been mine will shelter us WM\: from all harm. As the stars steal one by one into the f. ' summer sky, and the nightingale's sweet ;*• note comes softly on the air, I know we i»! »4 must part lor a few hours; and so, with fond promises and sweetest words linger­ ie . ing in my ear, I turn to go. fr • What is that slight sound that suddenly stops and sends me back to Maurice's side again? A faint, low sob it seems to me, ft, quite close to where we stood, and then & |. soond of footsteps softlv treading on the if: ' {grass. " ' . if:"Look!--oh, look, Maurice! What caii it - be?" "Nothing--nothing, dear little love! You 2r-v - tare nervous and fanciful. Hasten in, my V darling! Again good night! goodnight!" iS , >. After this, the days pass rapidly, gladly; • \ and the day draws near which will make I'Wi.X me Maurice Deignville's wife. Happy, <«• V peaceful days, yet with one small cloud vi daily growing larger ia my life's cioadlsss . sky. My sister, dear Lena, hitherto my >Af' constant companion and dearest friend, ^, seesu to care for me no longer. For • hours »he roams through the woods and , fields, returning later and later each d*y. v ' Vainly I expostulate, and try, by every , means in my power, to win her back to me; S|V but my words, kind and gently as I try to i'i' make them, seem bat to irritate her, and .j v snore and more she avoids me. It is a trial <.4 to me, but 1 fancy it is but a little jealousy 7fi • of my love for Maurice; and she thinks, 0f * perhaps, poor darling, that I, having him, ! ? I Imay care for her lesti. 8 To Maurice himself she is simply in- .different, and seldom seems to notice him; and yet how fondly I had once hoped she might regard him as a dear brother! I re- Ech myself with the thought that per-I, in the new hopes opening out M me, may have neglected her, and I do trt honestly to be all to iter that I have ever been. "Mildred, my love, to-morrow will be otir veddkxR-day! Look up, sweet one. for al­ most I thought I saw sadness in your eyes." . I look up into the dear eyes, gazing po > fondly upon me, and their tenderness Jiseems^ut to make it more impossible jto ; Iceep back the tears that rise unforbidden to my own. Of tu pleading fltini strove to alisr eay d< non, I will say nothing, except to iuty fitat all was in vain. Between me and my hip- p:ness stood out clearly my darling's dtsad face. Wearied at last with the struggle, I left England, seeking a refuge with an aunt who iived on the shores of the Lake of Geneva, living a lonely, uncared-for life, my thoughts ever with the dear ones Ihftve lost. And so passed three long yean, which have brought me to this evening when I am Vratching the gleaming rays upon „|he water. The evening shadows fall darker, darker, and, with a sigh, I rise to go. The sigh seems echoed close by me, and hastily tarn* ing, I see a tall figure standing with anxious eyes looking into mine, § and arms out­ stretched towards me. 'Come to me, my loved one. Oh, Milly, do not send ine from you!" "With a glad, low cry, I go to him; and as his faithful arms close round me, Maurice Deignville knows that never, while life is given me, can I send him from me again. m IS "What ia it, dearest? What can ma^e you sad on such a day as this?" i \ **« "Maurice, forgive me! I cannot shake '?•*<' off a sad foreboding of evil that seems al- most to overwhelm me." X f§?-' "But why. dear cbUd?" J P P " I h a r d l y know, but it seems connected with Lena; and she has been away all dsy by herself, and it is now almost 10 o'clock --later than she has ever stopped before." "The beauty of the night has tempted her, little one. She must soon be back." And Maurice, trying to cheer me, goes on to paint, in glowing colors, the happi­ ness of our future. I try to listen, but my thoughts are with Lena; and, as the chimes from the village elock strike ten, I start. I can bear the suspense no longer; and Maurice, ever watchful of me, seeing the sorrow I cannot suppress, sayB, "Con^e, Milly, I see how anxious you are. Coxfce with me, and together we will find Len4>* So together we wander through the woods --to all her favorite haunts--to the fields beyond--sometimes calling her name. But no answer comes back but the echoes from the hills around us--"Lena! Lena!" Together we stand by the river, and listen vainly for the slightest sound that may tell us she is near. Together we wander on and on, keeping still by the river side, and once faintly through the gathering darkness I think I hear a cry. Following the sound, we hasten on, I trembling with an unknown dread; and then, how can I ever recall the miserv, the terror that overwhelms me? In the water, almost at our feet, some­ thing white is gleaming, and I seem to know all at once what I am to see. Oh, Lena, my darling, my darling, before I saw your dear white face laying among the clustering water-lilies, I seemed to know it was there! I close my eyes with an earnest prayer for strength, and, when I open them, I see Vaurioe kneeling by the white figure he has laid upon the grass, trying by every means in his power to stay the life that is ebbing so fast away. Slowly the bine eyes open. aLsna," I my, wildly, awhy is this?" I am on my knees beside her, and have drawn the fair, drooping head against my Inoast. * Slowly, gaspingly, the faint words come. * Milly, dearest sister, forgive me! Did-- you not goess--I--loved--him--too?" Again the blue eyes closed, and fainter and fainter came the breath. A mist seemed to gather over all my senses, and I remember no more. Of the dark, dreary days that followed I oan write nothing. I seemed to live in a dream--nothing real, nothing tangible^ •oioept the firm resolve that never, never •oonld 1 be Maurice Dekmville's wife. • Perils of Photography. In the year 2887 nobody will be proud of his ancestors. There will be no claims of long descent, and people, in­ stead of constantly alluding to their forefathers, the pioneers of 1849, the passengers of the original Mayflower, will carefully avoid all mention of them. Why? Because when any 8uch allusion is made the nouveau riche will ask to inspect the family albam, and the photographs of this century will simply be discreditable. Do you ever open the old album afid look over the pictures? Well, the old folks--your father and mother--always look well, for, don't you know, parents are always old-fashioned. But there's your aunt, with a coal-scuttle bonnet" and hoops, and her hair pasted down over her forehead and parted in the middle; with a kind of jaundice com­ plexion and bright eyes, that show in their pupils nothing but the excitdd, intense interest of trying to look i4to the camera for fifty seconds withdut winking. And you thought she was so pretty then, and you remember as a child when you went and told your mother you saw her being kissed by her beau at the garden gate. Then there's her beau, who afterward married her. He was so handsome, don't you know. Look at him. He wears a long frock coat with lappels that curl up under his arms; he has a flaming necktie and a shirt front showing down to wliete the coat looks as if it were tied by a string tight around his waist. His trousers don't fit, and his face is all covered with yellow specks, and he looks as if he had swallowed a fly and it was in dying agonies in his windpipe, while he daren't cough for fear of spoiling the picture. Then there's yourself. Well, thafs not so bad. You know you were very pretty as a child, and you remember the dress, and --well--you're not quite so old-fash­ ioned--to yourself--as the others. And you turn the page. There's Fred, whom you jilted. You look at him and you're glad you jilted him. He used to be so beautifully pensive. Now he looks like an idiot, and--well--you doubt if he ever could have been so horrid, anyway. Then your husband comes along and turns the book over and says: "Do you remember that ?" You close it on his fingers; it's fearful. You have an old-fashioned, shapeless, black silk gown that looks like gingham, or something with wide sleeves and big ruffles, and the skirt is gracefully bunched out like a half-exhausted bal­ loon. And you've had the picture painted, and the beautiful red of your cheeks has become mottled, and the neck is yellow, and the hair is a dirty- brown color, and yom've got hold most awkwardly of a green chair. And your husband wonders what he ever could see in you, until you show him his own picture. Then he shuts up suddenly, like A knife, don't you know.--8afl Francisco Chronicle. The Language of Xails. He who has white spots on his n»il« is fond of the society of ladies, but is fickle in his attachments. He who keeps them well rounded at the tips is a proud man. He whose nails are de­ tached from the finger at the further extremities, and when cut showing a larger proportion of the finger than usual, ought never to get married, as it would be a wonder if he were master in his own house, for short nails betokep patience, good nature, and above all, resignation under severe trials. Nails which remain long after being cut level with the finger end are a sign of generosity. Transparent nails with light red mark a cheerful, gentle, and amiable disposition. Lovers with transparent nails usually carry their passion to the verge of madness. If you come across a man with long and pointed" nails you may take it for granted that he is either a player of the guitar, a tailor, or an attorney. He who keens his nails somewhat long, rotind^ and tipped with black is a romantic poet. The owner of very round and smooth nails is of a peaceable and conciliatory dispositkSfc. He who has the nail of his right thumb slightly notched is a regu­ lar glutton, even nibbling at himself, as when having nothing eatable at hand, he falls to biting his own finger-nails. And, lastly, he who keeps his nails irregularly cut is hasty anddetermined. Men who have not the patience to cut their nails properly generally come to grief; most of them commit suicide or get married.^--Baltimore Newx. OP HBW OWJtAW. Exactly. Inexperienced member (to venerable skip)--Mr. MacFergus, what's a pat- lid? T Skip--Wee I, div ye see, ye gowk! ye dink ter stane cannilie, but nae sae feckly as tae hoggit Nae haeflins fleg, nor jinkin turn, ye ken, but tentiely, that it aye gars snoovin an' straught as an elder's walk, hogsnoutherin amang the guards, till ye land on the verra tee. When ye've dun that, laddie, ye'vje med a pat-lid, and ye may bear the gree. Inexperienced member (somewhat piqued)--Thank you. Mr. MacFergus; no doubt the explanation is very accu­ rate, but I think its lucidity would have been very much heightened if you had made it in English. Skip--Tut, man, an' yell be a curler ye maun faumeeyerise* yersel' wi' the vernauckular.--Grip. ^ A Thick of War. / Le Paris says that the German drrmu- mers and trumpeters are practicing the French beats and calls, in order to de­ ceived their enemies in battle. It says that in many engagements in the war of 1870 the command of cease firing was often given to the French infantry by German buglers; aud that the com­ mand of halt sounded by the buglers often stopped a charge of French Cavalry, and placed them in position where they could be mowed down.--New York Sun. ROOL'ES are always found out in some way. Whoever is a wolf will act as wolf; that is the most certain^of all thinks.--La Fontaine. ^ ' W9 [Charles Gayarre, in Httper'a Kagaaio l̂ My family was at the Bote plantation when, in the afternoon of the 28cUt December, 1814, Gen. Jaokson was i&< formed that the British had landed in Louisiana, and that a portion of their troops had been seen on the Vallero plantation below the city. I was then at the College of Orleans, corner of St Claude and Bayou Road, alias Hospital street, when, at 3 o'clook p. m., a great commotion was observed within its learned precincts. All studies were suspended; the class-rooms shut up; the pupils hurrying to and fro in evi­ dent alarm; parents pouring in and taking their children away. My cousin, Frederic Foucher, the son of Pierre Foucher, and myself wore beginning to fear our being forgotten and left to shift for ourselves, instead of being us well cared for as most of our compan­ ions--both our families being six miles above the city, and ignorant of the ex­ citing news--when there came a mes­ senger from Madam Poree, the sister of Pierre Foucher, and the aunt of Fred­ eric, to tender us the shelter of her house at the corner of Dumaine and Royal streets, which isjstill in existence, with the same antiquated, front painted yellow, and with the same balcony on which the two boys stood and saw Maj. Plouche's battalion of uniformed, well- equipped, and well-drilled militia pass under it. That corps was composed of the elite of the young men of the city--^ la jeunesse doree-- and it seems tome' that I see now as vividly as I saw then the handsome Edmond Foucher con­ spicuous in the ranks of those who were thus marching rapidly to meet the enemy. Looking up to the balcony, he saluted his old aunt Avith a cheerful Bmile and a wave of the hand that seemed intended to comfort her and dispel her alarms. At 7 o'clock the battle began, and the roar of the artillery, with the discharges of musketry, was almost as distinctly heard as if in our immediate neighbor­ hood. There was not the slightest noise in the apparently dead city. It held its breath in awful suspense. There was not a human being to be seen moving in the streets. We, the two boys and the ladies of the household, petrified into absolute silence by the apprehensions of the moment, stood oh the balcony until half past 9, when the firing gradually ceased. But still we continued to remain on the same spot; for what was to happen ? Were our de­ fenders retreating, pursued by the enemy ? These were hours of anxiety never to be forgotten. About 11 o'clock the oppressive silence in the city .was broken by the furiously rapid gallop of a horseman shouting as loud as he could, "Victory! victory!" He turned from Chartres street into Dumaine, and from Dumaine into Royal, still shouting "Victory!" The voice had become hoarse, and yet no human voice that I ever afterward heard was fraught with more sweet music. That night we went to bed with thankful hearts. The two boys slept soundly, as boys sleep, with that blissful unconcern which apper­ tain to their age. But I doubt if our kind hostess and her daughters closed their eyes, for they had husbands, brothers, sons on the battlefield, and they did not know at what cost to them the victory had been achieved. * * * * * In the morning of the preceding day the famous battle of the 8th was fought on the plains of Chalmette, four miles below the city. In a bee-line the dis­ tance must have been very short be­ tween the field of action and the Bore plantation, six miles above New Orleans by the windings of the river, for the furious cannonading and the discharges of musketry were prodigiously distinct. The ladies of the family, pale with the natural emotions of fear produced by the dangers of the situation, were grouped on the broad gallery in front of the house. No man was visible, for the only one who had remained at home (on account of his age) had, when the battle began, ascended with slow but firm steps a flight of stairs which led to the top of the portico. At every volley of artillery or musketry I flung myself on the floor, exclaiming, "Ten Englishmen killed!" "Twenty English­ men on the ground!" and so on. I con­ tinued rejoicing in the fancied destruc­ tion of our invaders, notwithstanding the remonstrances of my poor mother, in whose alarm I very little partici­ pated. The battle had not yet ended when my grandfather Bore came down from his post of observation with the same measured step and the same self- possession with which he had ascended, and said to his daughters, who anxiously interrogated his looks, "Dismiss your fears; the Americans arc victorious." "You forget, my dear child," replied M. de Bore, with a calm smile, "that I have some military experience. My practised ear has not been deceived, I am sure. The American guns have silenced the English guns. The enemy is defeated." Southern Mountaineers. Among these mountaineers the purity of old English nomenlature and traces of English dialect barbarisms are singu­ larly well preserved. Occasionally there is a strong Welsh infusion in a "neighborhood," which has been exist­ ent longer than current memory. In the West Virginia mountains there is a singular race of dwarfish people whose origin nobody can suggest. They have been held in contempt by their neigh­ bors ever since they appeared, and are even yet regarded as menials little bet­ ter than slaves. They intermarry among and perpetuate themselves, now and then getting freeh, but not better, blood, from those outside whose condi­ tion renders harmless the contempt that they will invite bv marriage with the dwarfs. In the North Carolina range there is a strong Turkish remin­ iscence directly traceable to fugitive piracy. Constine is there a commonly recurring surname, being a corruption of the Turkish Constantine, a name borne by the merciless John of that ilk, who, for some years before the war, was an outlawed highwayman and mur­ derer infesting the swamp lands of Carolina, levying terror aud tribute upon the same surrounding country. Bo great was the dread of his name and the traditional infernal attributes that had seemed to pretect him on many occasions, that even after he had been pursued into a swamp and killed by avenging planters, the negroes firmly believed in his ability to triumph over death,' and for years were confident that he would again appear in the majesty of his gigantic person and wield his celebrated one-fingered hand with more than his destroying skill. Of the British refugees who took to the mountains for liberty's sake, many were enslaved convicts but not all were felons. With the connivance of the corrupt officers of the Georges there were many instances of kidnapping. The slave trade with Africa, whioh was then precarious and slight, cosld not e efflux of fotans frra English parson*, fiUed, as they were, with men accused aad convicted onslight grounds, eoiaa hot aupply labor fast enough, es- petirily since the terrors ol the ooaat climate and the severity of the toil im­ posed killed off the penal slaves rapidly. Resort was had to force, and kidnap­ ping Englishmen to be sold as slaves in Virgini* became almost as frequent as the impressment of American seaman for British ships at a more historic period^ Many of those who Escaped from the coast plantations by flying to the mountain fastnesses were therefore innocent, unfortunate, and deserving men. Embittered by their fate, made self-reliant by their solitude and the terrors and dangers of their surround­ ings, all these confused yet distinct-ele­ ments grew up imbued with wild cour­ age, an instinctive disregard of life, and a character that was Puritanic in some directions, while it was singularly loose and reckless in others.--The Southern Bivouac. Feihfaiine Stenographers, Did you ever have anything to do ( with a woman stenographer ? If so,' you know that where there is one self- respecting, work-respecting, money- making, successful, acceptable servant in that line, as we are all servants in some line, there are a dojzen who, for­ getting themselves, forgetting their occupation, forgetting the object for which they are sought, utilize their un­ questionable art far up along the line of intellectual endeavor, simply as a hinge on whioh to turn for flirtation, for a boy and girl give and take inti­ macy, so that men of real industrious habits and end-seeking desire say nearly every time, "Oh> thunder! I would a darned sight rather do the work myself than be bothered with a woman." I wonder if I make myself clearly understood. I wonder if I draw the line between the women who do work industriously, conscientiously, in­ telligently, honestly, and successfully, and those who, like my friend in the telegraph office, are surly and indif­ ferent and unpleasant, and others too, who are equally objectionable and don't know the difference between a woman who is sought for herself and a woman who is sought for her art. I have utilized stenographers for ten years and I have utilized telegraphers for over twenty years, and the conclu­ sion I have come to about women in both lines is this, that, take them by and large, many of them are no use, and the why and wherefore is very simple and plain. It is, because, first, they expect to get married, and regard their work as a mere^neans to that end; and second, they insist upon being rer garded as women rather, than as em­ ployes. I concede there mental su­ periority as a rule. I insist that they have certain special'physical advantages in the way of manipulative facility, but I am compelled to recognize what is forced before me, their utter inability to recognize the supreme authority of duty and work over the charms of per­ sonality. I suppose there are three thousand stenographers in New York city, women, and there are twice as many telegraphers. Their ranks are depleted every year by matrimony, and the one-third who get married of course instantly forget all the troubles of life and swim out in the paradisiacal sea of enjoyment, and alleged bliss. The other two-thirds sulk and grow older and think it is confounded mean that they too have not the chance that has been granted their more favored sisters, and the public has to suffer for it. The public is not to blame, the public can't marry everybody, and if there are more women than there are men, so long as the laws against bigamy are en­ forced what can the poor fellows do? If women would only regard themselves as entities, put into this world for a purpose, and that purpose not matri­ mony alone, matrimony being but a simple incident to them as well as to their masculine companions, and having chosen a life of work to adhere to it, being quietly molded, directed, swerved, as the case may be, by matri­ mony, as by misfortune, or by good fortune, or by one of the 10,000 incidents liable to happen, they would then have just as good a chance in working life as any man has; buttantil they learn that when they sit as receivers in a telegraph office they are not there as girls, not as women to be flirted with, to be talked to, to be joked with, or if in the operating room they are to be held as rigidly to account as the man who sits next them, or if in the practice of that marvelous art of stenography they sit quietly at their desk and do as they are told without the quick glance of the bright eye, without the pretty ways, without any of these infernal in­ attentions which characterize so many women, but simply conduct themselves as the machine a true stenographer is, turning out from the hand what they take in at the ear, there is no reason w hy they should not succeed as well as the man who operates by their side.-- Boston Globe. Some Old Sunday Customs. In Connecticut, perhaps more fhan anywhere else, Sunday was a sort of popular idol, nor did the rigor of its observance abate perceptibly until long after the Revolution. This extreme scrupulosity about Sabbath-keeping was doubtless the moving cause of the building of the "Sabbath-day houses;" these were little shanties standing on the meeting-house green, each intended to accommodate a family during the in­ terval between the two services. Some Sabbath-day houses were built'with a stall at one end to shelter the horse, while the family took refuge in the other, where there was a chimney and a meager furniture of rude seats and a table. Here on arrival before the first service the owners lighted a fire and deposited a luncheon, and to this camp­ like place they came back to eat their doughnuts and thaw themselves out after their first long sitting in the arctic climate of the meeting-house. Some­ times two families had a Sabbath-day house together; sometimes there were two rooms in a Sabbath-day house that tbe sexes might sit apart--for nothing so agreeable as social converse between boys and girls was permitted during the consecrated time. But some parishes in Massachusetts, and perhaps else­ where, had a common,"noon-house" for all comers to rest in. Fireside assem­ blages on Sunday, whether in the par­ sonage or the noon-house, were in dan­ ger of proving delightful to those who were prone to enjoy the society of other human beings, and hence the pastors "were put upon their best contrivances," to have most of the interval between the services filled up with the reading aloud of edifying books and other exer­ cises calculated to keep the mind in a becomingly irksome frame.--The Cen­ tury. DAYTONA, Fia ̂ ships on u average of 250 boxes of oranges a day to North­ ern market*. rawH -a- t wa m _rg tribhnal Ainil 98, the oorUfriik ofi village called Borki, in the Peterh off district, was convicted of having pot to the torture several peasants in order to oxtort confessions about a robbery com­ mitted ter Unknown persons. The peasant Marakine and the two brothers Antoooff were all three kept hanging for several hours on a sort of impro­ vised strappado. They were stripped of their clothes and their hands tied be­ hind their backs by a rope, which was then passed over a rail fixed high in the wall of an ice cellar. The bodies of the unfortunate men were then raised from tbe ground so that they could hardly touch the icy ground with the tips of their toes. The ooriaclnik appeared now and then, asking for their confessions and giving them blows on the head as they refused to comply with his wishes. One of the three vic­ tims, the peasant Marakine, on the way to the torture-chamber was subjected to no less infamous treatment. The testimony of the elder of the village is particularly noteworthy. "Herassi- moff (the ooriadnik) came to me and asked whether I could lend him thirty men. 'Why do you require so many ?' I asked. 'In order,' said he, pointing to Marakine, 'that I may make this fel­ low run the gantlet.'" The witness answered that he would never permit such things to be done with the peas­ ants of his commune, whereupon Mara­ kine had his hands and legs tied, and was fastened by his legs to the back of the car, while his body was allowed to drag upon the ground. The horse was made to run, and Marakine was dragged inthe mud for about ten yards. Then Herassimoff said to the elder: "Bring me some straw; burn him a little." But witness refused to bring it to him. Herassimoff was fouud guilty and con­ demned to one year's penal servitude, so lenient is the Russian law toward crimes against humanity, reserving its severity for those who are working for humanity. Such barbarities, which would have set on fire European diplo­ macy had they been committed by a Turkish officer, are of course excep­ tional, though it would be wrong to suppose them unique. From the oppo-. site end of the Empire wc hear of things which are not better, but if anything worse. It was proved by judicial in­ quiry before the Kisheneff tribunal that in the Orgheef district the ooriadniks and the communal authorities have used for a long time various instru­ ments of torture, one of which, called bootook, figured on the table of "mate- terial evidences" in the court. It is a wooden instrument, composed of two sliding beams, which serve for screw­ ing between them the feet of the cul­ prit. These abominations were not un­ known to the police, but the thing was brought before the tribunal only be­ cause the authorities arrested the wrong man, on whom they used the bootook with such zeal as to make him a cripple.--Steptniak, in TheFortnigtly Review. How to Be Happy, Though Single. We lately wrote a book which has been most favorably received, called, "How to Be Happy, Though Married;" but we think that quite as much might be said on the possibility of single blessedness. Thousands of women, and even men, cannot marry for one reason or another. Let them cultivate the contented state of mind of that old Scotch lady who said, "I wadna gie my single life for a' the double Mies I ever saw." People may admire the marriage state, and yet have their own good rea­ sons for not entering it. Under the dying pillow of \ Washington Irving there was found a lock of hair and a miniature. Who will say that a man or woman ought to marry who treasures up such memorials, and thinks of all that might have been ? \ Impecuniosity is anqth&r reason for denying one's self the luxury of a wife. A mistake may, of course, be made as to the amount of money necessary for marriage. There are those who could drive a coacli-and-two, but waiting for a coach-and-four, they are carried intd the desolation of confirmed bachelor^ ism. That man, however, is much to be pitied who leads a pure life and whose "I can't afford it" is no mere excuse. Let him continue to work and economize, and before very long he will have-- "A guardian angel o'er his life presiding. Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing." To this angel he should be true in anticipation, remembering how Cor­ nelia, mother of the Gracchi, advised her unmarried sons to keep themsolves pure, so that all the blessings of a vir­ tuous home might one day be theirs. What is one man's meat may be an- others man's poison. To some persons we might say, "If you marry you do well, but if you marry not you do better." In the case of other* mar­ riage may have decidedly the a ivantage. Like most other things, marriage is good or bad according to the use or abuse we make of it. The applause that is usually given to persons on en­ tering the matrimonial stage is, to say the least, premature. Let us wait to see how they play their parts. And here we must protest against the foolish and cowardly ridicule that is sometimes bestowed upon elderly men and women who, using the liberty of a free country, have abstained from marrying. Certainly some of them could give reasons for spending their lives outside the temple of Hymen that are far more honorable than the motives which induced their fool-de­ tractors to rush in. Some have never found their other selves, or circum­ stances prevented the junction of these selves. And which is more honorable, a life of loneliness or' a loveless mar­ riage ? There are others who have laid down their hopes of wedded bliss for the sake of accomplishing some good work, or for the sake of a father, mother, sister, or brother. In such cases celibacy is an honorable, and m'ay be a praiseworthy state. -- Casnell's Magazine. Buffalo Bill in England. Buffalo Bill, in going to England, deviated from the usual custom of less illustrious travelers. Instead of put­ ting himself at once into the hands of London's tailor, Poole, as soon as he arrived, he chose to supply himself with a liberal outfit in America, and he landed on the other side with any amount of "store clothes." One suit, in which he intends to pay his respects to the Queen, is of dark tfray; another, in which ho will appear at the Queen's jubilee as Nebraska's representative, is two shades of blue, while a gorgeous hunting costume, which, perhaps, will be seen in Windsor forest, consists of blue corduroy jacket, gray corduroy trousers, and scarlet and brown waist­ coat.--New York Sun. ONE Montana stock-raiser lost 20,000 head of cattle last winter, out of a herd of 26,000. was bora in Wttrtemberg, Germah ̂„ 177a During the last deoade of the sentuxy an unusual religious excitement prevailed in that locality, and Rapp be­ came imbued with the idea th*t he had reoeived a divine call to restore the Christian religion to its original parity. He, therefore, organized a sect on the model of the primitive church, all of whose members were pledged to strict selibacy of life, and to a common ownership of property. Having some difficulty with the Wurtemberg au­ thorities on the subject of worship, he came, in 1803, to America to find a home for his flock. He purchased 5,000 acres of land in Butler County, Pennsylvania, and in 1804 his floc k of disciples,600 in all, came over the ocean and joined him. They soon had built up a flourishing village, whiclf they called Harmony, and their diligence made the surrounding wilderness bud and blossom as the rose. In 1814, de­ siring a better location for business, they sold their Pennsylvania property and moved to Indiana, where, on the banks of the Wabash, they built a sec­ ond village called Harmony. Here they prospered more than ever, and new members swelled their number to nearly a thousand. In 1824 they again became dissatisfied with their location account of bad neighbors and malaria. They again sold out all their property, disposing of the entire town, its houses, mills, factories, and 30,000 acres of land for $150,000. This was an immense sacrifice of their valuable labor on the property, but they con­ sented to the loss in order to get away from their distasteful surroundings. The property was purchased by Robert Owen, who had just come over from England in search of a good locality for a socialist community. The P.appites, in the meanwhile having through their leader purchased a location in Beaver County, Pennsylvania, on the Ohio River, built a steamboat, and removed in detachments to their new and final place of settlement. There they built the towu of. Economy, and there what are left of the original colony of the Rappites still reside. George Rapp died in 1847. The community has al­ ways been very prosperous, but while it has grown steadily in wealth, it has decreased in numbers by many seces­ sions on the part of the younger and deaths of the older members. At one time, soon after the founding of Economy village, the sect numbered about 1,800; there are now less than 100 living in the neat little village, and nearly all of these are old men. They own much property in real estate, in coal mines, and factories, aside front their property in Economy Township. The colony has always usecb the Ger*> man language almost exclusively. In religion they are strict Protestants, ac­ cepting the commands of the New Testament literally as their code of conduct. Members of both sexes have always been admitted into their church, but marriage has been positively pro­ hibited among them. Their reputation has always been that of a moral, intelli­ gent, and industrious community.-- Inter Ocean. Fishers' Superstitions. Before very rough weather there oc­ casionally comes a strange calm, a hush--like to nothing save the hold­ ing of a breath before a furious out­ burst of rage. It has a weird effect, coming, as it often does, at nightfall. After this a dull, wailing, muffled sound creeps out of the darkness--a sound as lamentation and entrea y heard from afar. "The sea is calling," they say here; and when this happens the fishermen expect a gale before morning. When the sea has got hold of its prey, and thcra is a house or housed desolate in the tillage, they hold that it mourns, making quite a different sound to any other time. About funerals there are odd observ­ ances and ideas. It is unlucky either to meet or cross a funeral train. There are girls in the village who are sort of professional mourners (though unpaid) for children and young women who die unmarried. They are dressed in black, with white hoods, and shawls of white spun silk on their shoulders. Six of these mourners is the mystio number, and when one is married an­ other is selected to fill her place. Prob­ ably it is considered a post of honor, for there never seems a vacancy, though I do not know how the selection is made. They are grave-looking dam­ sels, so it may be by their fitting ap­ pearance. At a young man's funeral there are' only two of these girls, who walk be-1 fore and &re called "servers." The Dissenters have a custom of singing a sort of dirge over their dead, not unlike in effect the chanting of the monks at a funeral in Rome. But when the sad duties are don9 comes ai timo of feasting. Their pride forbids them to have anything but a "menseful funeral." Another peculiarity is that when the people are asked to attend, it is by men and the girls named "bid­ ders" (not necessarily relatives of tho deceased).--Art Jotirnaf. Mew Light ou the Subject. A little man with gray eyes rushed into the smoking-room of a Pullman car on the Chicago & Atlantic Railroad, and, taking a safety-match from the sufe on the wall, began soratcliing the percussion end on the wood-work. Two baldheaded men who were sitting in tho compartment smiled serenely as they watched the little fellow's vain ef­ forts to strike a light. "You can't light one of those matches unless you strike the emery paper on the side of the safe," said one of the spectators, becoming annoyed at the rasping noise. The "greeny" smiled complac^pilv and said he guessed he could. Another match was rubbed along the panels of the room, then across the sole of a big right foot, and finally broken in a diagonal sweep over a pantaloon leg. "You can't do it, I tell you," repeated the same apectator, shifting his posi­ tion. "Betcher $51 can," replied the little man. "But you will light it on your cigar." "No, sir; do you want to cover that bet?" * "Certainly.* "And does your friend want another $5 of it?" "Of course," said the other specu­ lator, speaking for himself. Four $5 bills were piled upon one another in quick order, and then the little man took a match from the safe, walked to the door, and rubbed the percussion head along the ground, flinty glass. The little stick burst into flame and burned rapidly as the little man picked up the four bills and walked out upon the platform to enjoy tho crisp air. After he had gone the baldhoaded men spoke to one another in a strange tongue.--Chicago News. • it ^ ,,:4 1* * The A wum» i* don't can far uiythiagr for dber soul nut money.* Just wait t|ll the pe# 1 reut collector comes around and see.-- << Boston Courier. THE man who wants thW earth and can't get it should not will get six feet of it by attdTby, pi;o. viding he is not drowned ih iriid oceam --Boston Courier. "EBOO," remarked the professor to his claes, after a long preamble* "Ergo," then he stopped to take bireiiili* "Well, let ergo," sung out one of ttw * students,and the conclusion was ruined. "A MAN can get nothing withont labor," said a woman to a tramp who declined to saw some wood in exchange for a dinner. "I know better than that,** he replied as he turned away; "he can get hungry." i;- YOUNG housewife (consulting witlfi • cook about the dinner for a party)--As a second course we will have eel. Cook--How many ought I to get* ma'am? Young Wile--I famsj ten feet will be sufficient. FATHER of Stupid Boy--Professor, t want you to teach this boy German *an<I French. Professor--Why do you want * the Germans and French to know what an ass he is? Isn't it enough that the English-speaking races should know it? Texas Sifting8. • SHE---Where are yon going. Charier f He--Going to the theater. She--An I I understand. The ballet. But why don't you go to the dog show instead? I think you will like it ever so much a better. The dogs, you know, have four --twice as many as the ballet-dancers, --Boston Transcript OLD lady (to street ' ̂ urchin)--% i Wouldn't you like to be a <good little boy and go to Sunday-school and bat taught not to swear or say wicked things? Little boy--No'm. Me fadder'i j: goin' to git me a job on de caiujJ *#' drive mules, an' I mustn't do goyth'nf to interfere wid debusnesa*--New York Sun. . &"•: HE was an ardent but an economical lover, and had been courting her for three months. "When do you thinkl? dearest," he said, as they sat near th| moonlit window one evening/ "that th4 m o o n a p p e a r s a t i t s b e s t ? " " I t h i n k , v she replied, "that the moon always look* the loveliest tfhen one ia returning home from the opera."--Dry Good$ Chronicle. t J OMAHA husband--NOW, I think thi| is going too far. You promised me yoi> would countermand your order for thai dress. Omaha wife--I wrote to the firm that very day. "But here is tli* dress and the bill for it--enough t<£ bankrupt me almost. How do you exl - plain that?" "I gave you the letter ttjg mail and I suppose yda forgot - it, ai|:'•$ usual"--Omaha World. « "JANET," said her mother, "young Mr. Piebiter comes to the house no# very frequently, and often stays verjg late; have you any recwon to think hi4 intentions are serious ? " "I should think, k so," she replied; "he says he has ndi 4 conversational powers, and so he want^. v to sing all* the time, and he know# nothing but church music. Serious? ft " should groan."--Burdette. GENTLEMAN--Two dollars .you willlfcsf charge for carrying in that ooil, Uncle- . i Rastus? Why, you never charged me but one dollar before. Uncle Rastus--^,v I know dat, boss; but labor has rizi% Gentleman--I would rather carry it iii^.. - myself than pay that extra dollars Uncle Rastus--All right, boas. Yo' kia( , » give tae one dollar and carry de coal in? ' . .. yo'sef ef yez wan's ter. I'se satisfied^, ' -- "How DELIGHTFUL it will be, Cicely,5 1 , my dear. Of course you have an in*j • vitation to the theater party, and w#, are all to leave off our hats," 6aid her friend, excitedly, as she dropped in for her morning call. "Yes, I have an in­ vitation, to be sure, but I hardly think it worth while to join in the hat-reform movement myself." "Certainly not. • ; I ought to have remembered that you^ ; hat is 'all new,' for the first time in twd years." There was no "applause" whenf^- that theatrical party came in. --Hart' ford Post. The Favorite Food at Buda-Pesth. The goose, as I have several times had occasion to remark, is a bird that, after it is dead, constantly thrusts itself on the stranger's attention in Austria. Its apparition is frequent on the tables and hotels at Vienna, and it reappears more frequetly as you descend, the Dan­ ube. It is the most chosen viand a%* ^ j Buda-Pesth. Here it achieves it^fe apotheosis. But it is not so much to the bird itself as to that important orfK^vJ gan, its liver, that I desire to direct?' attention. The local commerce in thifc. ,• delicacy is considerable. On certain streets the attention of the pedestrian is attracted by the counterfeit present­ ment of a goose dead and cooked, besid^ * which is a painted object so nearly lik#, that he is aware it is the liver of thete» ^ deceased bird. This sign indicates a shop whose sole business is to sell roasted goose cut in pieces, goose.. livers, and a sort of biscuit made of chopped goose and flour. Here ' is » •„*.' , temptation to those who are fond of** pate de foie gras. On entering theft J. dealer is discovered standing behind ' huge tray filled with livers arranged it rows, armed with a fork resemblingH;- Neptune's trident; He passes th<C? trident mystically over the livers anc names the prices--20 kreutzers, 2E kreutzers, 30, 40, 50 kreutzers, the le ter being from giant birds aud weighing^/' nearly a pound. You take one of thetfcf • * , . smallest as a starter, and a biscuit, an<f"'£\ _• adjourn to a neighboring wine shop,- * . •' properly adjust your digestive appa-^^! ; ratus to the unctuous viand with a?'* "fourth" of white Hungarian wine. No ' bad result follows, as with the arti­ ficially fattened livers that cost their weight in gold in America. Your di-i \ gention continues excellent. What isP^v * . the effect? The next day you comeH>>L - back and buy a liver twice the size,^* take two rations of biscuit, and wash the*?-* repast down with a "half" of tho sairier^' wine, and so on. As this ratio of in-s$»-if~ crease cannot go on forever, you finds ,•4 yourself obliged to leave town a day or^s two sooner than you intended, to sub­ due a growing appetite, taking with you in your valise a few pounds of goose livers to satisfy the pangs of hunger and solace the regret of parting, for you know when you have left the Danube you cah see this luxury no mua-r-Cor. Ban Francisco Chronicle. Caught Him Foul. McPelters--Mr. Sontag, yon give me a punched quarter this morning throughput mistake. fpjfe Sontag--Oh, no, I didn't. McPelter--Oh, you didn't? ItgS f̂ wasn't a mistake? Then the sooner ̂ Sou make it good the better! And^W* ontag had exohaiigad with trim before ' he could frame an apology*--Detroit Free Press. Vs/;