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tfa the liai I the most; ght shorn taw Mint J ia itikd IIDM tha IIM«4 r Stldom boast. 'Iran'that bleak and rn/ltlwj JMBstfwnain, afair and goodlaad, iv and a plain, - _ fit fields and woodlafc^ iratared mil with ratf. Sight the full moon's s] fee downon Taunton > tm jpMture fresh and t«nde«, Atid coppice dusk; XIM hsavenly light i la one enchanted iscene. ^wlMr unearthly vision, .vlUt soon miue eyes were jiil IftlliiH tlirun flrilln JBlj Too rich to be enjoyed. |t«u It onr division Made all my pleasure voMF - < A«mi the window glasses Tba curtain tben i drew, J, ; , Act as a seabird HUM, la sleep mv spirit flew k V» gray and wind-swept grasW% iad moonlit sand's, and voit | NAT'S EDUCATION. ; ' Nat was sitting on the low tOlof *be barn door, listening eagerly to a gentle, earnest words his firthcr tint speakicg at intervals as he Worked in the stalls. They wwe all J&out Nat's education. "Your mother and 1 talked i*over last night," his lather said. "Yo« fcnow, son, there aint much money to do with. "W«'d do more if we t^wld. We never had any education ourselves, but we know what it is for young folks nowadays. We decided, your mother ana I, that yon might have more of your time to yourself lor study, or to work for yourself If yoa can get the chance. Maybe MMM*'* considerable work for a strong $oy to do at the store down to the ' isomers You better ask 'em. Yoa .. tan do what you like, and maybe if voofre careful and saving you can KM enouah together by spring to pay tor a term's schooling at the academy. Then by fali I'll see what I can do.** * Ttoat was all. Corn must be hauled rom the fields and wood brought for tbe wiuier fires. There was little time to stand idle or to talk. It is hard to tell what is in a man %r a boj until some earnest purpose takes him in hand and makes him V - «bow what be can da It was so , ^ , with Nat. Never before in the four­ teen years of his life had the days seemed so full to overflowing with things to be done; never had there „i aoemed so little time for the doing of .< them. He most study hard to be ready for ;' Ilia examinations; that was the most ' Important of all. And every minute ' Of the rapidly shortening days most he economized, for it was the day- - light which must be used to bring * htm his coveted dollars. - Old Mr. Beliaire, wbo owned the •pull store at the Corners, had r; • listened with sharp curiosity when were Nat tintttao- 11 *9mmi*s skins!" Th^se tho two words which formed it. •etl^a teeth together and pi ahead sturdily through the •now; trying to get it out # of his mind. It did not seem at all anxious to ito> hut came up again and again, stronger and larger with every ap- plunged drifted 'M spoke of work at the store. ••What's made ye so keen for work?" be asked. "Want an educa­ tion? Well, now! That's the Way 'Sammy's skins." "Sammy's lucky." "Sammy has 115, and three more skins in bis traps to-day." "What will Sammy do with his money when he gets .it? Just waste it--spend it for some foolish thing or other. Why couldn't" -- No! Nat wouldn't think of it! And yet he did think of it; he coultfn't help it • "There are Sammy's skina There Is no one to see, £ammy doesn't need the money. You could pay it hack to him, anyway, some tlma Take Sammy's skins." ' Oh. the shame of it! He would not listen. He turned tar out of his way after that, so as to avoid seeing Sammy's traps, and hurried home as fast as he could, to tlna relief in bis studies. But when he lay awake in the night* the first drifting bits of thought were of Sammy's skins: be dreamed of bis little brother's good fortune, and itt the morning, when he arose and went down to his early hour of study iii the kitchen, he could not fasten his mind upon his work, butsatfpra long time with his eyes fixed upon the dancing red Hmmes. To-day the thought did not wait for him to get to the woods before it attacked him. When be left the house it was busy in bis brain, and had persuaded him tollsten while it argued. Long and persistently it worked: and when he reached the dark shelter of the timber land he was too much occupied in bis struggle with it to think: of avoiding Sammyrs traps to-day.,/ , The very first one upon which his eyes fell held a beautiful red fox! Was it ordered to be so? No one can tell. Nat hardly stopped to question. If it bad be*n a rabbit or j gin honest." had^tJftfetftjiMBt«>*• Sammy stood by. watting. There was wlsdoot in that small head of his, as welt as brotherly kindness. He let Nat sob himself calm before he spoke. "Don't do that* Nat," he said, at last, "what's the use of cry in'? I didn't want to make you feel bad. You needn't take It if you don't want ta ill keep it till you need it, an then you can send for it. What'3 tbe ule cryin'?" * * Nat's passionate burst of crying bad set his own honest heart to beat­ ing again in his breast. Tears some­ times act so. "I can't take it, Sammy," be said, lifting his stained face, "you don't know how mean I've been. I stole from you--I've been stealing f^ohi your traps all winter! Most of $ie skins , I got since Christmas I took from your traps." i it was a plain, blunt confession, wSth no attempt to shield the wrong. "There aint no need cryin' about that," Sammy said, with a warm color mounting to his brown cheeks. "I knowed that. I seen you the time you took that red fox. I was back in tbe woo.:& I knowed how bad yon wanted the money. I was goin' to give it to you anyway, so Where's the difference. "No, no!" Nat cried* "I can't take it. Help me with this valise, Sammy, I'm going back home" "Home!" the little brother said, with dismay, "oh, my! Nat I wouldn't do that What! you goin' to tell daddy an' mother?" •'I'm going to tell them the truth," Nat said. He was quite calm now. "1 won't make my start wrong, not after this. I'm goinu to tell them the truth." And at home, with his face bowed In bis mothers lap, he did tell the truth, from the beginning to the end. Tben he went back to his work on the farm again, with a fresh and stronger courage and hope in bis heart "Next fall," he told Samtny, 'I'm going to Belmont Then 1 can be- a rousfcrat he might have resisted; now he did not. struggle, bnt with a sudden fierce determination he re­ leased the fox and slung it across his back, then carefully reset the trap and covered all traces of his visit He did not care to stop to reason now: it was too late. He only forced himself to say. over and over again: "I'll pay Sammy back, some day. Then be won't care#" After that, yielding was easier. It is always easier after the first strug­ gle is lost Then Nat's dollars increased. It seemed to those at home that some kindly fate must be determined to help Nat on, his little hoard of money grew so-rapidly. Sammy's grew, too, but so slowly! "The beasts have found out it's lfat that wants the education," their father said, jokingly: "that's why they've quit coming to you, Sammy." But Sammy had nothing to say; he only looked across at Nat, seated at tbe other side of the fireplace, bent to talk! There aint many that would [ ower his books. Nat would much , try it by themselves. Weil, no,there •int no work here that 1 know of. • ®en an' 1 do it all, an' have time to test. Sorry. If there is anything; 'pt course I'll let you know." Nat thanked him, and was going •ut when Mr. Beliaire called: "Hold on! Say, Nat, why don't ye pick W\jnuts^ There was a feller here from \ Detroit yesterday, selling goods, an' Mho- said nuts was scarce down there rather read«the pages of bis history tban look into Sammy's honest brown eyas. Well, and so it was accomplished. The first of March brought a new sense of living to the ambitious boy, when he realized that he had only three or four dollars more to win. He would trust to good fortune in earning them in some way at Bel­ mont in odd moments out of school He was not afraid, now, to look into Sammy's big brown eyes.--W. R Lighten in Youth's Companion. GOODWIN'S LATEST. this fall Land o' mercy! They are > hours. He would certainly not let plenty enough here--beech an9 wal nuts, -toa You might do well pick- in* 'em, an' the next time a traveller vieomes in here I'll tell him you've some • to sell. See?" | Nat was about to answer when the jjold man broke in again: "An' say! " ;2 saw a mink down toward Scanion'a 4«Ctoeek yesterday. Musk rats an' rah- , bits an' squirrels are right plenty, % K' '^too, an' there's some otter left upw r; ward the timber, if you're smart Mighty scarce, to bring With en- ! «» enough to ketph'em. I Nat had heard enough up bis hope and courage. ttouslasm in his heart he bent •mail back willingly through hours of daylight in gathering nuts. He knew where they grew largest and best ^ Then there were traps to be made and set, and he must pass hours in discovering where the musk rata and otters hid themselves He grudged •very minute, too, that must be spent away from his beloved books. / An the days slipped away and j brought Christmas near, it seemed to Nat that there was but little to show for so much hard work. Seven weeks had gone since he had begun, and the small box which served as a bank held only $12, besides a few pennies. It was almost hopeless now to think of swelling the sum to $40 by March, but $40 at least, he must have to carry him through the term. There was Sammy, now; 12-year- old, ruddy, light-hearted brother Sammy. He seemed to have hardly a career ambition in the world, lie . [ ^thought notbijag of educating him- self; and yet it seemed that the ^rarest and best of the skins were found in Sammy's traps. mals seemed to hunt for his traps, wishing to be caught! He had actu­ ally saved tl«, while Nat who had a purpose back of it all. only twelve. There were no nuts to gather now. | There were only the skins to depend upon, and he must study hard. That , was the secret of it; Sammy gave all bis time to the traps, for he had nothiug else to do. It was too bad. : thought Nat . A feeling almost of despair had possession of Nat's mind as he made the rounds of his traps one day, with these thoughts uppermost Why couldn't he get money, when it meant so much? He *had passed three of Sammy's traps already that day, which held a further store or skins ' for that lucky brother. They would ' add at least another dollar to hissav- ings. Not one of Nat's own traps. had been sprung. Why couldn't it have been <)i Iferent • 1 Why-- It was a sudden, half- formed idea which flitted through his mind, but it startled him and brought, a swift color to his cheek. It made h m feel hot and angry, as though some one had struck him. It was again, bobbing no it had nothing to te «Bik^thMre 1 that keep him at home. Then came tbe day of leave-taking. That Is a nay always clear in tbe memory of every boy, until boyhood slips into tbe dreamy shadows of final forgetfulness. Belmont was only twenty miles away, down the river, but there was as much o' sor­ row and hope in the preparations for leaving home as though it had been on another star. " 44Good-by, Nat Mind what your mother tells you." There was an unaccustomed warmth and tremor oP feeling in bis' father's voice, it seemed to Nat, and his ! in his mother's close clasp and words tbe of counsel and blessing. Somehow it was the sound of the voices, more than the words, which hung in his brain as he started bravely down the road toward the station. He thought of this so much that he forgot to look for little-Sammy, to say good- by, until he was far on his way. Then he was glad that he had es­ caped it; he was tetter satisfied not to have to look into Sammy's face. A i-ndden sbarp tura In the road made his heart sink, for there, a ! little way ahead, stood Sammy, kick- • icg his feet against a tree to keep ! them warm. , When be saw " •topped exercising. . v "Hello!" he said; "I been waiting for yoa Gimmie bold of vour valise, an' let me help you." Nat paused, but did not accept the offered help. "I'd rattier go alone/jBammy," he said; "I don't feel like-stalking. I'd rather be alone and think. Vou'd better go back horaeand.keep warm." He spoke *lth half-averted face. He was willing to be rude to get Tbe ani- [ away from bJs little brother's kind- nem. Sammy did not press it upon hta. 4*3ood-bv," be said; "you want to had j write to a fellow sometimes." ' "I will/' Nat said, hurriedly. ; "<Jood-by, Sammy. I'll write," and again he started on bis way. Sammy stood for a moment Irresolute, and then tiotted alter ILIQI. VT ! "Say. Nat," he begaC His red •lues was off and be wa* tugging at aometbing in the pocket of his old brown jacket i •4I wish you'd take this," he said, drawing out an old leather pouch and thrusting it into his brother's band. 'Taint much, but you'll need it down to Belmont It's $22. You take it. I been savin' it for you." Nat stood suddenly still in tbe roadway, his whitened face turned fall ution his brother. Then in a WMMiieot more he had thrown himself full length upon the snow, burying bis face upon his arms, sobbing with all the bitterness of his long pent-up feelings. And this was Sammy! Careless, light-hearted, thoughtless brother who. be had no doubt, meant to waste his inonev foolishly, who be, the elder brother, had been it Is About m Good out Deacoa ud His Umbrella. Nat Goodman is telling his latest story in St Louis. It is about the deacon of a church in a small West­ ern town. The parishioners had not been satisfied with their pastor and they decided to call In a new one. He was a bright young man and one Sunday he came to preach a trial sermon. The little church was filled, as all were anxious to pass judgment The deacon in question, who was very deaf, sat in one of the front pews and held his hand back of his left ear in order to catch every dropping from the sanctuary. The young preacher made an ex­ cellent impression. He was earnest aud eloquent He said that.be bad spent a week in the town looking about him and be bad discovered some faults whlcb needed reforming. If he was called to the pulpit he said he would endeavor to bring about these reforms, with the help of the Lord and his parishionera He had learned by observation that the town contained three saloons and two gambling houses and these he should | endeavor to close up. As he mentioned the two gambling houses the attentive deaf deacon in tbe front pew removed his leit hand from his ear long enough to COST OP .RAISf^ptiEAT *N THE. VW* • DAKOTA* - • '• •'*' -a & Obm:M Brtw,.Wtha Uoit of Raising Crop and a Poor One- Harvest on » fiaauanxa Farm. rrodt in SroMi-ti«)if« Wark. -« f Naw Rcwkford, N. D., Cor.l l am often asked what it costs a bushel to raise wheat in North Da- kota. The answer depends altogether upon the yield per acre. It costs just as much per acre to plow the ground for a crop of ten bushels to the acre a3 It does for a yield of thirty bush­ els per acre; it takes just as much seea, just as long time to plant It about as long to cut bind, and shock it, but of course it would take a little longer to thresh the larger croix 1 have seen crops range all the way be­ tween five and forty bushels to tbe acre in North Dakota when the dif­ ference in cost of raising it per bushel or per acre was very little and that little was In the additional labor of setting it up, in the cost of binding twine and in threshing. A team of good horses attached to a harvesting machine which cuts, binds, and car­ ries the bundles together, wiil walk almost as fast cutting grain that pro­ duces twenty-five or even thirty bush­ els to the acre .as they will if they cut but ten or twelve, and if you hire a man to cut by the acre with his own team and binder. I never knew one of them to make any difference in his price because tbe grain stood thin on the ground. The expert wbeat grower who reads this article between the lines, will discover that while I am answering the question about the cost of ra s- ing a bushel of wheat 1 am at the same time giving an object lesson be­ tween good and poor farming. Tb|p is really the most important of all I am saying, for if the cost of raising ten bushels to the acre is very nearly as much as it is to raise double that much, it is clear that it pays best, to raise good crops; for in addition/ to the increase in the yield in seven cases out of ten thecrade/6f the good crop is higher a&d brl&gs more in the market Perhaps the following tables will give the reader a more deQuite idea of what I am trying to say: Plo wiLg ten acres of laud #10 00 Harrowing 1 00 Seed, fifteen bushels,5 j cents, per bushel. 7 51) Bowing, man, team, and seedar... 4 00 Cutting 6 CO Shocking ; 3i0 Threshing lOcmts per^uahsl, 10t» bushels 10 00 $40 60 Here tbe total cost of raising 100 bushels of wheat off ton acres of ground i« $40.50, to which is to be added about $5 for drawing it to the elevator, and if it is sold for 50 cents a bushel the net profit is only $4.50 on the product of the ten acres. On tbe other hand, if the yield is twenty- five bushels to the acre, and it is of­ ten much more than that, the table will stand like this: I'lowinjs ten oorea of laod...^ §10 CO Ho Trowing. 1 »0 Seed, fifteen bushels, 50cents per bowel.. 7 5u Sowing, man, team, and aaeder 4 00 Cutting 6 00 Shocking 2 00 Threshing 25 bushels, 10 cents per bushel. 23 00 Total $55 on the drawing will cost $12.50, more or less, making the entire cost of crop of ten acres and marketing $58, which leaves a net profit of $92 against a profit of $4.50 In the other case. Bougbly stated it costs 40 cents a bushel to raise tbe poor crop and only cents per bushel to raise the good one. Of course there is considerable gained by farmers who raise from ^00 to 500 acres of wheat compared with those who cultivate only fifty to 100 snap his fingers sharply and then be | acres. The bonanza larmer plows rocnmnn Vila liatnninrf nttff• * . . ... . * •. resumed his listening attitude. After tbe sermon the people gath­ ered in the front of the church to exchange views on the uew preacher, and they were uniformly favorable to him. A deacon with a long, gray beard hunted up the deaf deacon and asked him how he liked the man. "Fust rate, fust rate," be shouted, as deaf meu will, "A tine, peart young feller. He'll do, I guess." "But say. Deacon Smith," said the long-bearded deacon, "when he men­ tioned the two gambling houses I noticed that you snapped your fingers. Will you tell me what you d>d that for?" '•Certainly," responded the deaf man, "1 know where I left that um­ brella of mine." The New Office Boy. '^Doesn't that new office boy of ours seem to be rather lazier tban usual?" inquired Judge Crabtree. "Hete the laziest bay we ever had," answe ed his partner, caught him this morning setting his lips NstThA i r Rkt and then putting mucilage on , them so that he could whistle 'Alter tbe Ball' without the intolerable muscular exertion of holding the prop­ er pu ker. "Well, I hope we shan't have to resort to artificial respiration to keep him from dyinv on our hands as we had to with the last one," returned the J udKe. '*By the way, what's this boy's name?" .. fTommy," •. ** "•t "But his last name***, ; ' ilCregow." "4^ " "Oh, I see--it runs in the family. 1 knew a man named Cregow when I first came to the city who was un­ doubtedly Tommy's father. This man Cregow had to be carried on a stretcher when he went to the circus. He Used to show tbe grea est In genuity in avoiding eAertion Of any man I ever knew. For instance, he was an inve erate smoker, but ot course, with his disposition, his pipe went out frequently. The labor of scrat hing matches to relight it n simply dragging him down, and be saw It So he mo.ed Into a house where the elevated road ran close to tbe second-story windows, and there he uked to sit near one of them all day long smooking and resting. When be found his pipe out he would simply reach out of tbe window with match and let a passing train rub against it, and there he was. Ingen lous man. Might have made his mar* In the world if be hadn't been so lazy. I'll ask Tommy to-night, when i be ungums bis mouth,how his father ' is getting along,"--New York Tri- ' bune. robbing tor weeks together! ..... v A MAM'S wife Is HIS conscience: «o long as she thinks everything he does is right, he suffers no remorse for his his ground with gang plows that turn over five or six acres per day, with one man and four horses, while the little farmer follows two horses with a walking plow, and finishes but two acres per day. 1 have seen a man with four horses harrow forty acres per day and do it well. Everything in Dakota must be done on the broad-guage system In order to be profitable, and the splen­ did soil, without stone, stumpy or fence, invites that sort of farming. The day will probably come, and it is not far off let us hope, when these broad and fertile prairie* will be cul­ tivated by the use of electricity as the motive power, and when horses and steam wiil be relegated to the rear. Steam threshing machines are used altogether in Dakota, and there must be straw-burners, too, or they are no good, fuel other than straw costing too much to admit of Its genertil use. Threshing is usually done from the shock, stacking being out of the question, on account of the scarc.ty of help. Besides, the weather In this northern climate is usually dry in the fall, and grain well shocked will stand a long time with­ out tak ng hurt, and there is no IOSS from stauding except that which is done by wild geese and prairie chicken& It is quite a circus to see thresh­ ing done on one of these big farms for the first time. In addition to men who run the machine it requires eight or ten wagons to draw the grnin to the separator, the whole crow consisting of about twenty-five men and twenty horsea An average day's work, varying according to the condition and yield of tbe grain, is from 1,000 to 1,500 bushels per day, and tbe charge for the machine is 4 cents per bushel for wneat, tbe farmer furnishing the band-cutters, pitchers, teamsters, and 'stackers, if the straw is to be stacked. Usually the straw Is drawn off out of the way by a man who is called "a bucker," who, with two horses trained to the business, drives them astride the straw pile as It falls from the separator, having behind them a stiff pole on which the driver stands. The horses are hitched sixteen feet apart and they drag a wagon load of straw at a time out on the field where it is burned as soon as the ma­ chine U gone. There is no eight- hour foolishness among the boys wbo run with the machine. Each man carries his blankets, like a soldier on tbe march, and sleeps In the barn on the hay at night He is aroused by the steam whistle at 5 o'clock in the morning, and he is expected to have eaten his breakfast and be ready for work as soon as the sun is up. He has an hour at noon for dinner, and then be works until the god of day is hid behind the western hills. He put UA litW twelve to filtgea hours it t lMM* rotntat lUiwiheii' I A«ver saw. TKetr pMtttt fix*, out­ door exercise and well-ventilated •Jiliriiig ajp^rtmente, free from ail catpete, curtains, and sewer gas, Would kill or cure a consumptive m ninety daya An old engineer told hie that be never beard one of these ragged fellows complain of a cold in his life. And if cleanliness is next to godliness I fear that they are far awajr from Heaven. Child Performers W London. Fain would I utter my protest against chilu entertainers, those poor little mites with pale cheeks, sunken eyes and old faces, who are expected to amuse a mixed company with music hall patter and coster ditties. If tbe little creatures understand what they sing, woe betide them; it is terrible to contemplate their fut­ ure. If they do not they are no bet­ ter than well-trained monkeys and ought to give less,pleasure toa grown­ up audience. Child-life is beautiful in itself in its natural grace and unconscious­ ness and innocent selfishness, but a child who nods and ewinks and in­ tonates like a low comedian, with leering glance, alluring gestures and a repertory of double meaning is to me positively repulsive. Clever, no doubt, the performance is, and, per­ haps, it may do the child's moral nature no great harm, but suffer it must in its physical constitution. Dragged from party to party, spend­ ing its life in possible excitement spoiled by the guests, fed on cakes and sweetmeats, breathing the vi­ tiated air of hot rooms and educated in an atmosphere of slang, low fun, and hard work, there can be little hope of a healthy and happy future for it If we must have music hall artists to entertain our flabby, effete, and worn-out company, let them at least be men and women who under­ stand what they say and are able to take care of themselves, not poor little farmed-out mites bringing grist to the mill of their elders. What the life means was vividly impressed on me at once when I said *to the child singer, at au hour long past mid-night: "I am sure you must be tired. I hope you haven't far to go," and she answered: "Only three busses and then we're at home."-- London Graphics Catering to Woman's Vaiitty. A flourishing establishment In New York derives most of its income from lending jewelry on hire, instead of selling it outright, to women who cannot afford to buy. , The business is a perfectly legiti­ mate on& Only a fair amount of in­ terest is charged for the use of tbe goods and nothing is ever attempted in the way of deceiving customers as to the actual value of the jewelry they hire. You can go to this shop and get a watch set with turquoise, to wear on- the lapel of your new electric blue gown, and you can keep the watch as long as you please by paying the rate of Interest agreed upon when you take possession of it Of course you must pay a deposit amounting to the full value of the turquoise bauble before you take it out of the shop, but when you go back with it all the money will be re­ funded except the small sum charged for its use. It is so with diamonds and ringa Indeed, the whole list and category of jewelry might be in­ cluded. On the night of a large ball the shop will be nearly cleared of Its rentable stock. But by next day noon everything^ returned, and the jewels, newly polished and glittering as ever, are back in their cases walt- ingjtor the next hiring out. IXranjr brook. Donnybrook is on the outskirts of the city of Dublin, but Donnybrook Fair Ground is no longer the friendly fighting ground of former days. Oncc the tents made of wattles, with patchwork quilts or blankets or old petticoats spread over them, held rows of tables made of doors placed on mounds of clay. The benches, too, rested on the same uncertain foundation, and when the young Irishmen grew unsteady the bench sent them all down to the floor. Out on the green there were fighting and sports and at night the tiddle played jigs for tbe jolly young people. It appears from the accounts given by the strangers who visited Donny­ brook almost a hundred years ago that there was good reason for the world-wide meaning given to the mere expression of "Donnybrook ! air." But its glories have departed and it is many a long day since the shiilaleh was Wielded around Donny­ brook Castle. • WMMMM •i v ** < .. - :• Market Day for Hungarian Kisses. Kisses have a market price at Nagyalmary, in the Hungarian Ko- mitta of Arad. A strange old cus­ tom is in use there on St Joseph's Day and a few day's following. The young women who have been married within the past twelve months as­ semble in tbe market place and offer themselves to be kissed by gentle and simple, "Herren und Lauren," indif­ ferently, at so much money per kiss. The prices are exceedingly modest, the lowest being 4 hellers, and the highest 20 hellers. These, at least were the priccs, according to the Hungarian reporter, on ht. Joseph's i ay last March 18. There is possi­ bly some feudal interpretation of tbe eccentric custom, but the reporter does not supply it India's Beautiful Women. It Is said that many of the women of India are very beauthul, especially in Cashmir, but that it is difficult to get a sight of them, and almost Im­ possible to pbtain a picture of them. Either they or their husbands appear to look with rooted distrust on the photographer, and even when their photographs are taken they rarely give permission for copies to be sold. In a typical Hindoo beauty the stcjn is ]ust dark enough to give a rich, soft appearance to the complexion. The features are regular, the eyes mild and black and shaded by long gilken lashes; the hands and feet are small and elegantly formed, thq de­ meanor is modest the manners gen. tie and tbe voice low and sweet OVER-CAUTION bu Ids bridges too ure, li |>Ml»ap« more |ilMiillii(| in »wIt«y,andUIthas som# dovetopmenu that strike the with both surprise and' wuwmm% says th* New York Sun. Thajmob asphalt-paved streets and parkllke roads reduce tbe labor of propelling a cycle to a minimum, and owe seea bicycles, and tricycles with all sorts of attachments and arrangements for the carrying of packages which In wottf paved and less crowded cities would call for the services of a horse and wagon. Workmen ride to work od bicycles, carrying their kits of tools, even to pails of paint and small plumbers' stoves, balanced ou a shelf in front of the machine. One workman surprised a visitor recently and amused the residents by pad­ dling along Pennsylvania avenue with a twelve-foot ladder slung fore and aft cn his safety bicycle. Gro­ ceries and family supplies are deliv­ ered by bicycle. But the oddest thing in cycles that a recent visitor to the capital saw was a big trioycle with seats for passengers, protected by an awning, and a large platform for trunks, which was plying for hire at one of the railroad depots, in sharp competition with the hacks, The machine was strongly but lightly built, with two large wheels, the si. e of buggy wheels, one on either side, and a smaller wheel in front It was propelled by a powerful negro, who sat between the big wheels. In frons of him was a broad, wide seat affording ample room for two per­ sons, and In lront of that over the small wheel, was a platform which would hold two or three trunks. An awning was rigged over the whole concern like a bucliboard cover. The negro, who was the owner, said be does a good business and mattes a good living conveying passengers be- tween the depots and the hotels. Sometimes he takes visitors on a tout of the city, for which purpose the machine seems particularly well adapted, as the passengers have an unobstructed view, while the 4'driver" delivers his descriptive oration about Washington, its celebrities, and abodes easily into their ears from be­ hind instead of leaning down and backward, at the risk of numerous collisions, as the carriage drivers da The machine did not appear to be geared differently from an ordinary tricycle, and the "driver' said it was not at all hard to propel, even with a big load. It steered perfectly and would turn In almost its own length. There seems here to open a vista ol possible pleasure to people who en­ joy r.ding but who cannot afford to keep a horse and carriage and will not trundle a cycle. Why shouldn't the citizen of modest means keep his landau-tricycle and have his man­ servant "drive" him around the park in it? The idea of such a develop ment of the bicycle Is hot at ail pre- posterous. Sand Storm. More tban once we had practical experience of sandstorms. Oil the first occasiou my tent was blown over upon me as I slept and 1 was left crawling about under the flap­ ping canvas, trying to find mv shoes. When 1 had emerged I found this new kind ot hailstorm rather trying to the exposed 1 ar.s, and I rather prided myself on my success in re-erccting my bouse unaided. The other tents held, and their occupants did not know of my mishap, but every otherjupright thing was cast down, and a number of loose proper- ties went off into the desert They were all recovered except a sponge, which, being light and elastic,hopped off, miles beyond recovery, and by tbe next morning mivht have ar­ rived in the Mahdi's country. The next vlsl ation was in tbe day­ time, when we were on the march. I saw it coming in the distance, a wall of sand cloud, sweeping toward us, though the atmosphere where we were was still. I stopped the caravan and began pitching camp im­ mediately. But before the opera­ tion was complete we were struck by a storm of sand through which we could not see twenty yards. After half an hour of this a person feels like a fried sole covered wiih bread crumbs. We dare not open our lug- gage, less it should get filled with sand.and the wonder %as howMoojan succeeded in cooking a tolerable dinner.--The Nineteenth Century. • Sacrificed to the Sea. A custom connected with ancient sea worship had been popular among tbe inhabitants ot Lewis, but had been suppressed by the Protestant clergy on account of its pagan char­ acter. This was an annual sacrifice at Hallow tide to a sea god called .Sbony. Martin gives the following account of tbe ceremony. "The inhabitants round the Island came to the church of bt Mulvay, having ealh man his provision with him; every family furnished a peck of malt, and this was brewed into ale; one of their number was picked out to wade into the sea up to the mid­ dle, and, carrying a cup of ale in his hand, standing still in that posture, cried out in a loud voice, saying; (Shony, I give you this cup of ale, hoping that you'll be 60 kind as to send us plenty of seaware for enrich­ ing our ground the ensuing year,'|and so threw the cup into the sea. This was performed in the uigiit iipWa"?^- Folk Lore of Scotland. V^ * More Than His Share.- In the |ummer of 1804,. says a writer In the Southern Bivouac, sev­ eral wounded office: sand two or three privates were going up tbe valley of Viiginia. A rain came on, and all bands took shelter for tbe night in » school-house. It happened that in the course of tbe night a skunk found its way unr der the floor, and by and by an­ nounced its presence after Its well- known effective manner. The oilicers all waked upt but be­ ing gentlemen and each supposing that the others were still asleep, they keot silent At last one of the pri­ vates, a Germfcn, could restrain him­ self no longer. "My! my!" be exclaimed. "Dish ish too bad! Dey shleeps. uhd I wakes, nnd I ish sot to bhmeli it ali:" That broke the charm, and offloers and privates burst Into peals of M w- &fi M'liftHnnMI' mm 'Mm . ' O. non tflown aa llgbt- .. ,,,f)iilbr a nulling, reverber- fiprift recognised as thu Ir^niOlon to a' wide »6ne o; ; ~ 1 hilt it is not gUMM^liy k|i£fc that there are localities where th? . »and the deafening peal* : ; - are Incessant The most notable of * these continuous lightning district* te on the eastern coast Of the island of Ban Domingo, a leading member of the group of the West Indies, It is not meant that the lightning la here contmuoas tbe year round, but that with the commencement of the laloy season* CMgil'this zlg«tag feat­ ure of electric illumination, which is tben continuous day and night for weeks. The storm center, says the Pittsburgh Dispatch, is not continu­ ously local, but shifts over a consid­ erable area, and, ft* thunder la sel­ dom Jieard over a greater distance than eight miles, and ther lightning in the night will illuminate so as to be seen thirty miles, there may be d a y s i n s o m e l o c a l i t i e s w h e r e t h e • twinkle on tbe sky is a continuous succession while the rolling reports are absent Then, again, comes days t and nigbte when the electric artillery ? is piercing in its detonations; and especially is this the case when two separate local cloud centers join, as it were, in an electric duel, and, as sometimes occurs, a third participant appears to add to the elemental war­ fare. Then there is a blazing sky with blinding vividness and stun­ ning peals that seem to pin the lis­ tener to the earth. Long before the echoes can die away come others, un­ til the auricular mechanism seems hammered into chaos. Just how and why it is that tfiere is here generated so Immense an amount of electricity as to keep up such an. incessant ignition is one of those problems that can only be * solved when sufficient data are at > hand to work upon. It is probable || that with tbe commencement of the rainy season, this region is the border ^ , of opposing air and ocean currents, v whose friction has something to do , in the case. This would tend to ^ \ bring into contact opposing clouds variously charged, and as lightning * \ i is the passing of electric ty trom one ; cloud to another, seeking equilibrium, it ^4 or the passing of the fluids from onef cloud to the earth, It is probable that in this continued friction of currents, ^ may be found a starting point to un- ^ ravel the mystery. It is in swirling : and opposing cloud strata, especially where these get Into gyratory^ motion, that electrical phenomena are most abundant lust as, in an even, uniform flow of clouds,, such^ disturbance is rarer and of£en „ en- 'i ti rely absent It would not-seem from the meager information, bearing on this matter, that the electrical in­ terchange is between the clouds aud^-r the earth, as there is ho reference til made to what are termed lightning^ strokes--when the descending cur- rent strikes a tree, building or other object or strikes the ground directly. But it would certainly be a trying;#: ordeal on any fairly balanced nervous*^, organization to behold a blazing sky for. days and n ghts together and lis­ ten to the incessant roiling of the thunder until the very senses seemed , * stupefied to further recognition. :A* Happily such localities have been|; |K rarely bestowed by nature, and this one is shunned by the dusky na­ tives, and the more advanced fauna, when the wet season ap­ proaches, leave it by instinct 1 Danger flrom Over Exertion. Among people over fifty, danger of death from heart failure, after sud- den exertion, as in runuing for a train, is by no means con^ued to such! as have obvious heart-disease. Many hearts, while showing no symptoms of disease, are untit to stand a sud­ den strain, and for such, a run to? catch a train, and especially a run uphill, Is sufficient to produce a dila-: tation which may start a long or even fatal illness, or may cause im­ mediate death. It is interesting to £ X) serve how frequently the catastro- > phe occurs after the effort is over. While the race is in full swing there ^ is plenty of room in the systematic^ circulation, and thus, although the 1 heart works hard it does not work against a great resistance. When, however, the exertion is over, things r a r e v e r y d i f f e r e n t S u d d e n l y , w h e n F the object of ambition is secured, ^ the contracting lung pours into tbe| ̂ left s.de of the heart tbe excess of|; ^ blood which it had contained, and* the arterial tension increases in conse- . quence of the lessened demand for ' ^blood by the tissues. The heart then, with more blood to propel and a greater resistance to overcome, is stra.ned to the utmost and if its. tissues are weak, the result is often!: fatal. Kuuners wbo hav«, been on tbe verge of this condition agree in saying that the sense of palpitation . and suffocation comes on after violent \ exertion ceases, that it is aggravated^ by sitting still, and that it is best/; relieved by movement and continued • deep respiration. --Literary Digeat The Anatralian Soak:. • The constant allusion to * "soaks,tf]| "rock-holes," etc., contained in the ' reports from the western Australian ;:; goldflelds must be a kind of puzzle to , people not acquainted with the pe­ culiar physical characteristics of theA colony, says the Sydney Morning Herald. As the Department of Pub- • lie Works has resolved to deal with ' these rock mounds In a novel and strange fashion, it is necessary, per­ haps, to explain what these forma- <; tlons are. From out of a level spa ot | barren scrub towers a dome of bare f brown granite. In height it may be 100 feet, and at tbe base cover an area of 100 acres. Tbe shapes of these isolated mounds of rock are ec­ centric. Some are peaked, some round-backed, but all afe caked, and from their sides the rare rainfall de­ scends as it would course down the fam liar galvanized iron roof. Naturally tbe deftudation of the rocks has caused a deposit of soil about their feet This is, as a rule, more open than the surrounding scrub, fairly grassed, and having in its deeper port.ons a spongy surface spring. This is ' the soak." Some­ times at the base of the rock there is i often a kind of cistern-like hole in j the rock itself, either one or more; I this is "the rockhole." Naturally a> good deal of the water which runs off the face of the rock is lost in tbe I I***** *V,!( *4- i ' ' . ' ' ' ' - v .