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• A ' 0*. I I DAVID MARLE'S STORY. 1 I NEVER qrarjreled with xuy broth­er John until Ave came to "settle.up business in the year of .1865.. We had been .partners ten years, ever since ' we bad been West, indeed, but sonie changes made it at length advisable that we should separate. He had made tits fortune and wanted to return East I, also, was able to live with less care, and so we sold every acre of our land­ ed property, and were settling up the books, when there arose dissension. .John was married and had had a family to support, while I was unmarried. Sis expenses had been three times as i aiach as mine. Moreover, I had taken tile burden of the labor and responsi­ bility--this having been tacitly agreed i upon. L being the youngest man. While | lie had lived comfortably with his wife and children among the farms, with ' borses. men and money at his hand, j ed profits; and more and absolute control of the farming •interests, I had been beating about •over the country, from the Denver to the Florida glades, buying and selling land, timber and stock--living anyhow, sold sacrificing all personal comfort to 'aur mutual advantage. It is rough '..traveling in the West. Twice I had swam the Missouri when every stroke endangered my life; once I had been captured by hostile Indians, and es­ caped by strategy. I was overtaken by a prairie fire and nearly burned to death, when taking up claims in Nebraska, and my periods of weari­ ness and discouragement were inde­ scribable. I grew gaunt and pale, and hard, making money,while John waxed fat and merry. 1 had all the hard­ ships, and I had decided I ought to &ave more than half the profits, taking everything into consideration. John refused this; and it was true, as he ed. Then this movement of his, which had the look of outwitting ine, I men­ tally anathematized, It was a mean, sly thing to do. Of course he would transfer the ac­ counts to his own possession and re­ turn me the books,. There were live of them. If he had worked all the night before, he could not have thor­ oughly examined more than one. This private account of mine was entered on the latest So the thought came to me, finally, to regain immediate pos­ session of this one at least. It was not. the mere five hundred and odd dollars I cared for the loss of; it was the right which this gave John to infer that I spent more than I acknowl­ edged, and that my personal expendi­ tures were not so inferior to his that I could claim more than half the contest- it was the disa­ greeable idea of being'defeated. That vejrv night 1 started for Marle- ville. I arrived the next day. I went straight to Jolm's-house. He received me alone, his face set in unusual lines, and his eye meeting mine burningly. "John Marie," said I, "you have done a mean thing. You have insulted me." "You refer to my taking the books in which our accounts have been kept?" he said, quietly; "I do." "I had a right to see them if I wish­ ed," he Said. "But you had no right to come like a thief in the dark and take them, until I told you they were prepared for you to examine." "What preparation did they need?" said he with a sneer. This was too much. Before I knew what I was doing I struck him. He was a large man, but he reeled and said, that this had not been the con- 1 clutched at the piano to save himself from falling. His aim missed and he grasped only the rich crimson cloth, and he dragged it with him as he dropped into a seat. He was very pale, f was almost ready to lies his forgive­ ness when he looked at me with such a gaze of hatred that I turned instead and walked out of the room, kicking an embroidered stool out of my way as I went. This interview had not been satis­ factory. and 1 was at a loss what to do next. An amicable settlement of the matter was now out of the question. I I was passing the house that even- , ing when 1 saw the family carriage, I containing my brother, his wife and j his four children, drive away from the ! gate. , I decided instantly that they ' were going to evening meeting in- the j town two miles distant. Then the ! house was left alone, comparatively-- j and the books-- were they there? 1 Could I not enter, find them, and take j possession of them as unceremonious- I ly as John had clone? It was growing dark. There was no light in the front of the house, but I ! saw one gleaming from one of the low- ! er ones at the back. It was the family j sitting-room. I approached it and j looked in. It was a large, comfortable apart­ ment, with a fire upon the hearth; and ! jung lady rock-'l tract "John Marie," said I, "look at the difference between us. All the trouble you have had in getting this money is to take it from my hand. You have aever lost a night's sleep in getting it; .you have had full sway in making these farms as profitable as you please, and when you have made a miscalcu­ lation in a tenant or a crop, I have nev­ er blamed you. You have had a com­ fortable roof over your head, while I Slave Languished with yellow fever in the South and sickened with ague from exposure in the West. Two-thirds of this money is justly mine. You have spent more than I, and you have a right only to one hundred thousand dol­ lars." "I will have one hundred and fifty," he said, doggedly. "You never shall:" I answered. 1 bad the books. They were in the Ofiice of a life insurance company, for whom I was agent. This business had beeh privately my own. I had worked It In with other pursuits and it paid me well. I had dealt in it only for the -last year, but during that time I pur­ chased for myself, out of its profits, a fine library, and had made several valuable presents to a favorite old maid sister, living in the East. These expenses were in the books of the firm four hundred dollars for books, fifty before the lite sat a for maps, seventy for a set of furs for ing an infant. Margaret, and forty for an easy-chair for her. I knew I must take these off -the books before John saw them, or lie would claim that they had been paid j >tor out of the general fund. As I have | said, they were in my private room of I the insurance company's building, in j St. Joseph. When 1 left my brother's house in Kansas I started directly for! sthis point; but at Atchison a dispatch j met me requiring me to wait there un­ til I received further directions from •.the directors of the Phoenix. I saw no ; actual danger in waiting, a till so re­ mained in the city nearly a week. I received some policies then to be car- j t ried into the country. As soon as they 1 'were delivered to the specified parties : I returned to St. Joseph. H hurried to the office: somehow. I fell as if something was wrong. As I I unlocked the inner door Major Hawley j looked up from his newspaper and said: .. . , "By nhe way. Marie, your brother ! •came yesterday and got some books , ' .from your desk." "".Some books!" I said. And I felt 1 myself growing pale. "Yes. Ledgers, you know. I knew ! foe was your partner, and so I let him Jake them. Nothing wrong, is there, Marie?" "No." I said, and went into my office and shut thej door. My first movement •was to open my desk hurriedly. Yes, they were gone. John had the books. I denounced him for a villain. Aftfer a while I grew cooler. I was 'very much surprised at what he had •done. It Was not like him. It was plain that he thought I meant to cheat %imriB-some Way. ~ NoFwas'T mclfned "to" irust him. '~I The child was probably the last-com er. the little nameless one I had not be fore seen, and which John wrote me ji month before was to be called David if I approved. But who was its j nurse?--this sweet-faced girl who han­ dled it so dexterously, feeding it from j a silver porringer, and then laying it | over her shoulder and patting its back ' with her pretty, ringed hand, to make it go to sleep, as she rocked back and forth before the dancing blaze? I could see the gloss on her braided hair, and the glittering buckle upon her little slipper. The child seemed uneasy. It wailed, and she rose and walked the floor with it, soothing it in a low, cooing tone of endearment, now and then singing a lullaby. At last it was asleep, with its bit of a face hidden in her neck, and she sat down again before the fire. I stood and watched her; indeed, I had forgotten all else. She had soft brown eyes; I don't know any other word to use; they were tender and quiet. She looked quite happy in a silent way. As she swayed 1 back and forth, the lamplight and then 1 the firelight touched her forehead, and ; cheek, and sweet mouth, and white neck, with their different tinting--the i firelight making her rosy and radiant, j the lamplight showing the.,lovely face j in a paler guise.' I thought. "What if j this were my home? What if that was j the darling wife 1 had longed for all ; these years, and that my child? What i if I might move now, and she would ! [turn her head and listen for my step?" i The thought made me tremble. I | retreated to the road, and waiked back and forth there;trying to think to some , • " i r ' : • v . • > ard the window, saw my face as the light fell upon it, and, uttering a scream, of terror, fell to the floor, I rushed io the door; it gave way to my hand, and I went in and raised her. She was quite senseless, but she still clasped the. child, who screamed frightfully.^ I laid it in its-cradle and tried to revive her. She scarcely seem­ ed to breathe before she broke into hysterical sobbing. "Don't cry, don't cry!" I said, awk­ wardly. "I did not mean to frighten you. Lcfok up! 41 am David Marie. You must have heard of me. I meant no harm in the world. I was only looking at y.ou because you looked s<S pretty." She did not seem to see the ludicrous- Bess of this explanation. She caught her breath and looked at me with di­ lated eyes and the utmost anxiety for some time. A "You are Uncle John's brother?" "Yes." And then I knew who she was--Aurelia May, a favorite niece of my brother's wife, whom I had never seen. "I was very foolish to be so fright­ ened," she said at last; "but you looked .like a ghost." .. "Shall y^tu tell them ?", asked T. . "Uncle John and Aunt Susan? No; and don't yoi^jT she said, with a blush, ' She had taken the poor baby from the^CTadle, and, as it soon hushed its cries, we concluded that it wis not hurt " Before the family returned, AUrelia had regained her nattiral col­ or and composure, and I had reason to be thankful that it was so. 4 John started when lie saw me, and looked bewildered when I arose and offered him my hand; but he took it, and bade me sit down again, cordially. Perhaps some good word which he had heard in the house of God had softeffied him; certainly the pure face of that girl had charged my-heart. We sat together, a pleasant party, that even­ ing, and the next day John and I en­ tered into calm discussion of our busi­ ness. He was finally willing and even anxious to give me two-thirds of the money, but I would not accept it. "No, no. John," said I, "we will di­ vide evenly, and, if you want to do anything more for me, just try to make Aurelia think that I'm not a monster." "Aurelia?" repeated John. "Why, she don't know that there has been a word of trouble, and doesn't dream of such a thing. If you want her, go in and win; The coast- hs-ehr-ar,- and may God bless you!" J was not much used to women, but she liked me, and finally I got her. It frightens me to think how wretched I should have been if I hadn't. I have only to add that she is just as good as I thought she was when I first saw lfer through the window; and if God prospers us, I may, before another year, see her rocking a baby that is mine, tii.e firelight and the lamplight again on her sweet face.--Pennsylva­ nia, Grit. A11 Editor's Correspondence. Editors especially know how heavily the tax bears upon one's strength and time. In earlier days, when the eti­ quette of correspondence demanded a good deal of-errcumlocution, the writ­ ing of a letter was,.often a formidable fa'sk. N. P. Willis, the poet, and one of the founders of this paper, abridged this task by inclosing in h'is hurry- graph letters the following printed ex­ planation of their brevity: "Men in this land of never-let-up are ever.laden with labor in as many different ways as there are vocations by which they get I a living; but to an editor the 'last ounce which breaks the camel's back' is the ] writing of a private letter. Not that his brain is drudged beyond a sense of | the luxury of writing for one reader | (on the contrary, the value of it is en- j hanced by rarity); but he looks upon it as the leg-weary postman looks upon the luxury of an evening walk. Now, here is your letter to answer. Either a cheerful and appropriate letter to you or an article for my paper would be as much of a morning's pen-work as would be agreeable; but both together would dwindle the latter of the two in­ to flat-footed plodding. In choosing between those which to neglect, you see, of course, that it is a choice be­ tween minding my business and writ­ ing to you; and you will forgive me, therefore, if in the least words possible I jot down what must be said, and trust to this printed explanation to ex­ plain my brevity."--New York Home Journal. OUR TWO LANGUAGES, One That -We. Use in Conversation, the Other in Written English; " A writer in the current number of the Educational Review prefaces anl -extremely interesting article on Eng­ lish literature in the college by the dec­ laration, "It is now, I think, generally admitted ! that the first principle of rhetoric is, write as you speak. The pedantic, declamatory. Latinized dic­ tion that prevailed in literary circles a hundred years ago is no longer the standard King's English. In order to write well it is necessary first to speak well--that is, to speak naturally, cor­ rectly and strongly." This is a clever and cunning, as well as complete begging of the whole ques­ tion. The assumption that we, English and Americans, speak as we write, and that the ordinary rules of grammar and rhetoric run through and underlie oral, as well as written language, is an assumption which cannot be^jverified by evidence. He who says "cton't" and. "can't" and "isn't," and wlio talks about "him and me" when he means "he and I," or who. says "done" for "did" or "seen" for "saw," can take his pen or pencil in hand and Write English which is unexceptional from the stand­ point. of person, mood or tense, the fact being that written language is a refine­ ment, and, possibly, an improvement, on spoken language, but at the same time as-different from, it as the dialect' of Yorkshire from that of' Cornwall, or the talk of Yaukeeland from the patois of the uplands of North Caro­ lina or the,lowlands of Louisiana. The. writer of the article in question has fallen into the rhetorical error of, as the vernacular has it, putting the cart before the horse. Every written language, protected and fenced in as it may be by rhetorical fences and hedges, each of which is bristling with rules and safe-guarded by exceptions to those rules, is only a development from a spoken language, and whether it be an improvement or not is an open ques­ tion. At all events it must be appar­ ent to every student of language or philology that we have, at least in English, two separate and distinct languages, and that if we should at­ tempt to follow the dictum of the writer in the Educational Review, and write as Wo s]'eak, our contributions to current literature would be speedily side-tracked into the editor's waste pa­ per basket. It might be better for the genius of the English language, and for tlnj, preservation of its integrity, that we should speak as we write, but to adopt the converse proposition and write as .we speak seems the very cli­ max of absurdity to those who know and appreciate the distinction between English "as she is wrote" and "as she is spoke."---San Francisco Chronicle. New York's Name Too Long. We don't object to the amputa­ tion of the word "New" from the name of New York, says the Sun. of that city. Time would be saved by chopping it off. It is useless, and it is out of place in the name of a city that is as old as New York. Let our citizens who want to get rid of it speak of our place as "York" henceforward, and let the old adjective "New" sleep in the grave In which it has been buried by lots of other American cities. After a wdiile the word would be remembered only by antiquarians. Plenty of the people who live in the outer regions have al­ ways called us York, and everybody knows what place is thus spoken of without looking in the geography for the weather-worn English city on the River Ouse. "York State" is as much heard of in other States. We do not need any law to authorize the ampm^ipn until after everybody has performedlrx^yid then the Legisla­ ture can enact a law approving of it. I>ots of laws are made that way. The best of them are thus made. We shall not urge people to cut off the "New" and call it York; but every­ body who does so will save a breath. If all the time wasted in the utterance of the word "New" by the millions of people who are constantly talking of New York were devoted to the study of the classics, ancient literature would be better known than it is. did not believe that he would mak.e purpose. Of course I could not enter The Pump. Mike Welsh had been recommended to Simpson as a fit man to assist in tak­ ing care of horses and cows; so Mik^ was hired, and placed in charge of this department. One morning, after Mike had been a month at the place, Simp- so'tt, Who had made ready to start off with his milk-cart, said to him: "Mike, you may give' the cows some oatmeal this morning; and be sure you give my best milker an extra quantity." "The best milker, is it, sir?" "Yes; you know the old cow that gives the most milk?" "Bedad, I think I do. sir." "Well, you give her four quarts of the mash." "All right, sir. I'll do that same." On the evening of that day Simpson had occa­ sion to go to the old wooden pump in the yard. lie tried the handle, but it wouldn't work. The pump seemed to be entirely choked up. Finally he. dis­ covered that all the upper part was loaded with something very nearly re­ sembling oatmeal mash. lie called his man. "Mike," said he. "what is the matter with this pump?" "The pump, is it. sir?" "Yes. How came this oat­ meal mash in here?" "Sure, sir, I put it in meself." "You stupid blockhead, why did you do that?" "It was yerself that told me, sir." "I--I told you to put it in here?" "Indade ye did, sir." "Why, you thick-headed rascal, what do you mean?" "Don't be in a passion, master. Did ye not tell me to give yer best milker an extra quantity of the mash? And W-IKM'C ' in all the world. I'd like to know. is)tlie crathur that gives so much milk to yer cans as does this old pump?" Electric Lighting lor Carriages. Although it is claimed that the first private carriage having outside and in­ side electric lamps was that of the lord mayor of London, twelve years ago, it is only within a year or two that the precedent has been much followed. The German emperor, the Prince of Wales and other foreign dignitaries have carriages thus lighted; and tlielt example, as well as the exhibition of such vehicles at the Antwerp world's fair last year, has gone far toward es­ tablishing the fashion abroad. As yet very few coaches in this country are electrically lighted. * It is a simple matter to provide a stor­ age battery under the coachman's seat which will supply the current. It is necessary, however, to mount the lamps on elastic supports of rubber or steel to prevent the jolting of the vehicle from breaking the lamps. Incandes­ cent burners of less size than those or­ dinarily employed in houses and offices are selected for this service. An eight-cell battery, eight inches long, seven deep and four wide is said to be sufficient to maintain the light for eighteen hours without recharging. The inside lamp is placed in the center of the roof, and has two filaments. A reflector and a flat glass plate cover are other features of such lights. Ad­ ditional lamps of various colors are sometimes attached to the harness at different points, producing a highly decorative effect.--New York Tribune. ploynientof the.liousb. Some business houses save large sums annually by marking use of the private post. ^ The capital of the concern is not large, foi' its 25 per cent, dividend was made last year from net profits of about $100,000. It has been, suggested that the great European capitals should have like private pests and establish an international exchange for letters and packages in competition with the Postal Union. But the by-laws of most European countries, like those of the United States, secure to the govern­ ments a monopoly of business strictly postal.--New York Sun. J WHITTIER'S COURAGE^ He Hazarded Life and Popularity in the Cause of Abolition. - Before he was 30 he htjld made up his mind that it.was his duty to do what lip could for the relief of the unfortu­ nate ne^poes who were held in bondage in the South. In lSSUjie wrote a pam­ phlet called "Justice and Expediency," in which he considered the whole ques­ tion of slavery, and declared that it should cease forever. Three years later he became secretary of the Anti-Slav­ ery Society. In 1S3S he went to Phila­ delphia to edit the Pennsylvania Free­ man; and so boldly did he advocate the right of-tiuS negro to own himself th^tWjSsIlSte without the "winged wheel." tne printing-office was sacked by a mob and burned. Then, as more than once afterward for the same cause; Whittier was in danger of his life. Whittier showed physical courage in facing the ruffians who wished to pre­ vent free speech; but he had revealed the higher.moral courage in casting in his lot with the little band of abolition­ ists. Up to this time he had looked for­ ward to holding public office, as well he might, when many anothei>journal- ist has stepped from the newspaper desk into public life. When he became one of the small band who denounced slavery, he gave up all chance of office. He also had literary ambition, but so strong was the power of the slave-own­ ers then, and so intolerant were they, that most editors and publishers were sorely intimidated, and declined to print not only any attack on slavery, but even the other writings of an author who was known -as an abolitionist. Thus Whittier, 111 identifying himself with the anti-slavery movement, thought that he was giving up his lit­ erary future also. He made his decis­ ion promptly, and I10 never regretted it. Indeed, in later life he said to a boy of 15, to whom he was giving counsel, "My lad, if thou wouldst win success, join thyself to some unpopular but noble cause."--St Nicholas. The Lord Mayor's Secretary. If the Lord Mayor's private secre­ tary ever wore all his decorations liis breast would blaze as brilliantly as that of the chief magistrate himself. Mr. Soulsby, who has just received from the Mikado the Order of the Ris­ ing Sun, already possesses the blue rib- bciii of the Legion of Honor, to say nothing of the orders of Francis Joseph of Austria, the Humane Redemption of Liberia, and a Servian and Greek dec­ oration to boot. The genial perma­ nent secretary of the Mansion House, who has assisted twenty-one lord may­ ors to preserve some continuity of civic government, was appropriately born in a cockney family, and educated at the City of London School. While still in' his teens he began to read for the bar, was called after the shortest interval of study permitted by the Inns, and immediately received the appointment which he has filled with such distinction ever since. lie is 43 years of age. Woman's Fidelity. The obligation of fidelity will he as natural to woman in the time to come as it was in the old days, because hu­ man nature is stronger than any laws we may make to change it, and the instinctive feeling of a/woman, like a dog, is fidelity--lideljty to the man she loves, the man to whom she has given herself. Education and modern in­ fluences may modify for a time the bent of her life, and may cause some women to break away and embark on other lines and ways of living, but tIn? prodigals will return home, finding out the hollowness and the impossibility of the career they prepared for them­ selves. From physical causes, women can­ not lead the same lives as men, do w;hat they may; and as nature, in her wis­ dom, has placed such restrictions on them, they will recognize, after a time, their limitations,, and be content to ad­ mit that they have been worsted in the unequal struggle.--Lady Jeune, in the Saturday Review. $ A MARVEL OF STRENGTH. A Bicycle Will Carry Twenty Times < Its Own Weight. It seprris absolutely impossible? that a tjHieel thirty inches in diameter, with a wood rim and wire spokes, so light that the whole structure weighs only twenty ounces should sustain without permanent distortion the weight of four men standing on its side, with supports at four points only under, the rim, and no hub support whatever. It also seems incredible that a cycle capable of carrying a, man of 1G0 or 175 pounds in weight can be made so light that the whole- structure weighs less than nine pounds. Yet this has been done; even at the roadster weight of twenty-two or twenty-four pounds, the cycle carries a! greater load with safety than has ever been put on any other v e h i c l e . - -- ' -- - • • -- f The influence of. the cycle on social life is already great, and will probably constantly extend, as it provides an outdoor sport and amusement for wo­ men, which did not previously exist in any form in America. American wo­ men are not walkers, but the cycle is perhaps even better suited to woman's use than man's, and seems destined to add an outdoor element to the life of Woman the world over which was not " The m!T*acle of . the bicycle lies in its birth, death and resurrection; in Its incredible load-bearing power i,n pro­ portion to weight; in its displacement of the horse as a means of pleasure, and in the selection of. its mechanical details, of compressed air support, tubu­ lar framing and chain driving. All of these are details often before Introduced in machines, but never be­ fore permanently retained. That these cast-offs are undeniably power-savers is convincingly proved by the continued use under human muscle driving power. Finally, the one great achievement of the bicycle is to increase the hu­ man powers of locomotion so that the slow-footed man is made one of the swiftest of all running creatures.--En­ gineering Magazine. . \ tin fo- The Green Corn. Pure color almost always gives the idea of fire, or rather it is, perhaps, as if a light shone through as well as the color itself. The fresh green blade of corn is like this--so pellucid, so clear, and pure in its green as to seem to shine with color. It is not brilliant-- not a surface gleam nor an enamel--it is stained through. Beside the moist clods the slender flags arise, filled with the sweetness of the earth. Out of the darkness under--that darkness which knows no clay save when the plowshare opens its chinks--they have come to the light. To the light they have brought a color which will at­ tract the sunbeams from now till harvest. They fall more pleasantly on the corn, toned, as if they mingled with it. Seldom ^lo we realise that the world is practically no thicker to us "than the print of our footsteps 011 the path. Upon that surface we walk and act our comedy of life, and what is be­ neath is nothing to us. But it is out from that under world, from the dead and the unknown, from the cold, moist ground that these green blades have sprung. Yonder a steam plow pants up the hill, groaning with its own strength, yet all that strength and might of wheels, and piston, and chains cannot drag from the earth one single blade like these. Force cannot make if; it must grow--an easy word to speak or write; in fact, full of potency.--The late Richard Jeffries, in Longman's Maga­ zine. the house, though it would probably not be difficult to do so. I might get the books with little difficulty, for that young girl was probably all the person under the roof; but somehow I did not Want them-; the current of my mind had changed. I walked half a mile down the starlit road and came •charges against me on the books, but I fcnew he would reckon that five hun­ dred and sixty against me on the gen­ eral account, nor believe my story that these outlays were never made with litis money, or moneys on which he had •a. claim. Nothing burns up confidence filke the love of gold. John aud I had never before hail a, word joJLaifflculty back. Once more ,L went to the win- otr a hard thought, and now here we dow. were, ready to call each other thieves (The child was awake and crying. • *ttd liars. " | She ' was walking the floor with It In the first place, I felt insulted by I again. I forgot to be cautious, she was litis suspicion. I meant no injustice; I j so unconscious, and quite leaned on -.merely wanted what I considered, my | the stone sill as I stood. Turning in what 'I thought I had well earn- I her walk, she happened to glance tow- Corn Sprinkler. A Hannibal <M°-) man lias invented a machine (for sprinkling corn in dry or arid regions. The machine is 011 the sat ie principle as a corn planter. It is so arranged that from a quart to a half- gallon of water will drop at the hills. Charles--W^liat makes you look so glum, Harry2 Harry--Maud Sw reetser has thrown me over. Charles--Oh, I wouldn't mind that; a woman never bits where she means to when she throws;--Boston Transcript After a man marries, ihe only person at liberty to compliment fiim is his wife, and she thinks he is already too conceited. Berlin's Private Pt»st. Berlin has had for some years past a privatcflpostal company for the de­ livery of letters and packages, and students of the postal question are somewhat astonished to learn that this concern rivals the government post- office in cheapness and pays annual dividends of 25 per cent. The private post carries f a letter of ordinary^ weight within" the bounds of the city at '1 pfenninge, or about 5 7-10 mills. Last year the private post carried 2,- 500,000 packages. The company em­ ployes 1,000 men and many horses. The private post charges less than the iiub- lic post for packages, circulars and the like, and does a great deal of work for business houses that ln» New York Is accomplished by special delivery wagons and messengei's in the #m- 000. ate fcnd Mass of Indian ltelles. Within a few miles of Springfield, Mass., is a mound of Indian manufact­ ure, covering several acres and averag­ ing fifty feet in height, that contains relics enough in all probability to fill a museum from cellar to roof. All up and down this valley these relies are to be found. From the land now taken up by McKnightville, Gardner M.Sher­ man, of Springfield, has' 555 specimens that lie has himself picked up. Mr. Sherman has also one of the most re­ markable collections of these relics in New England, if not outside of the Smithsonian Institution. Not only is Mr. Sherman an enthusiastic collector, but also an explorer of indefatigable patience, and he has been an omniv ous reader of all that pertains to tl his pet study, for over a quarter olStu- century. He is a mechanic and 1|^ had to take, the odds and ends of time for this work, but there men in the city that are better infot!^ ed in this deiyirtment of rosea ter. than is he. Sed "Wooden Hats. ' |crs Connecticut has always been prolfets in inventors with a genius for utilizing wood in unexpected directions. frjper the time when one of her sons- inat lp factured nutmegs out of pine knFt down to the present day. The lat;fo. outcome of this ingenuity is a woodan hat. A Connecticut man has made^ nyicliine that cuts a block of wood.ii 8 fine strips. These are moistened a then Woven like straw into lieadge which is said to be very durable, inventor says that the substance lighter than straw, and that because of -its easier manipulation and lower cost it will supersede the other material. --Boston Herald. It requires considerable genius for a man to relate his woes, and keep hist friends interested. Citric Acid. Enormous quantities of citric acid are used in calico printing, iu pharmacy, and in the preparation of artificial lem­ onade. About an ounce and a quarter (570 grains.) of pure citric acid dis­ solved in a pint of water gives a solu­ tion which has the average acidity of good lemon juice. When diluted with several times its bulk of water, sweet­ ened with sugar, and scented with a single drop of essence of lemon, an artificial lemonade is cheaply produced, which is much used as a cooling drink in fever hospitals. It has also been used in the navy as a substitute for fresh lemon juice in the treatment or prevention of scurvy, but has been foun^l much less efficient. In fact, this artificial lemonade is by 110 means equal to that made from pure lemon juice, whether used at table or for invalids. In rheumatism or rheu­ matic gout, the fresh juice of the lemon is preferred on account of the bicitrate of potash which it contains. Pure lemon juice is also a valuable remedy in sore throat and diphtheria; cases have been recorded in which children have apparently been cured of this ter­ rible disease by constantly sucking oranges or lemons. Pure citric acid presses, like some other acids, the power of destroying the bad effects of polluted water used for drinking, but it is perhaps best to boil the water before adding a little citric acid to it.--Chambers' .Journal. What He Should Wear. "I realize," said the father of the bride-to-be, "that I haven't kept posted 011 the little ins and outs of good form, „mi vnu lire to hf* of the famjly la placing your orlers tor^y Cross Gr£ Can not be oxi.^ Hardest of Hard Coals, and < ... ... last longer tin mjests in Jingle- A. touch clH»rtnmer's in the air. And sunligat flashes everywhere; A butterfly goes fluttering by, , • The plumber looks, and heaves a sigh; The June bug bumps against the paua^ The.frog resumes his sad refrain-- And this, at last, is the time when ' That tired feeling comes agaim --Pittsburg Chronicle-Telegraph. rTis sweet when sordid cares distress And apprehensions ̂ tl^ill, When grief's of yesterday oppress? And-Hope to-day is still, • ' , ' , To meet some old-time friend again, -- - With whom. glad-hours were spent, < And have him pay you -five or ten That you'd forgot you lent.. „ --Washington Star. • "Young man,"; the' solemn stranger salfl, "What's going on inside?" • "A base-ball game---eight innin's played,'8 ' . The budding .sport replied. - ' "Base-ball upon the Sabbath day? O wicked, sinful land'! Er--in the ninth now, did you say? Young man--how do they stand?" --Kansas City Journal. Here's health unto the cockroach bold That through the office ranges, And scans the stories daily told By liars fierce and uncontrolled In Hoosier exchanges. -New York Recorder. A folding bed that closes up, Should its incumbent snore- It's strange that our inventors Haven't thought of it before! --Washington Star. O, woman, in your proper dress, A vision of true loveliness, But when you put the bloomers on, Your grace and comeliness are gone. --Kansas City Journal. v ie We have our Coal sheds $Uur now and can give you le- PRICES AS LOW iwwu1 !TWT ers In question. Wild Flowers. Oh, beautiful blossoms, pure and sweet, ... Agleani with dew from the country ways, To me, at work in a city street, You bring fair visions of bygone days-- Glad days, when I hid in a mist of green To watch spring's delicate buds unfold; And all the riches I cared to glean Were daisy silver and buttercup gold. 'Tis true you come of a lowly race. Nursed by the sunshine, fed by the showers; And yet you are heirs to a nameless grace Which I fail to find in my hothouse flowers; And you breathe on me with your hon­ eyed lips, Till in thought I stand on the wind­ swept fells. Where the brown bees hum o'er the ferny dfps. Or ring faint peals on the heather bells. I close my eyes on the crowded street, I shut my ears to the city's roar, And am out in the open with flying feet-- Off, oft to your emerald haunts once more! But the harsh wheels grate on the stones „ below, And a sparrow chirps at the murky pane. And my brief dreams fade in an overflow Of passionate longing and tender pain. --Chambers' Journal. „"A good stream for fish," they assured him, And he said, "I conceive it Is really the truth you are speaking, So few of them leave it." --Philadelphia Record • J A Little Fellow. Ho! little fellow--howdy do? Long time since I've looked on you: But I know your eyes are the same bright blue-- April eyes, where the sun slips through; You kissed me oft, and youx loved me, too-- § Ho! little fellow--howdy do'.'8 Ho! l i t t le fe l low--howdy do? Seem to me, as I sit and view Your picture there--on the mantel-shelf, The arms, the charms of your own dear sel f; . Your kiss was sweet, and your love was true-- Ho! little fellow--howdy do? Ho! little fellow--howdy do? Same little fellow that once I knew? Never a change for all the years-- Same sweet laughter aud same bright tears? Oh, for a kiss from the lips of you! Ho! little fellow--far away! Dream some time of the words I say, When the dark drifts Over your eyes of blue And the angels look through the lace at you! Dream that I love you, and love me, too- Ho! little fellow--howdy do? --Frank L. Stanton. Queen of Hearts. From dainty feet to parted hair, My lady is a sunbeam snare; And all the flowers look at her And think she is a fairer flower, Such laughing beauty is her dower, Such love dreams in her brown eyes stir! In midair poised to hear her sing, The skylark hovers quivering, And all the leaves that shift and sigh Soetn whispering of her loveliness, While softest winds her curls caress, And kiss her mouth as oft as I! All men and women as we meet Are glad and swift to serve my sweet; And others crushed in crowded marts. Sunk low in sin and misery, - Her lily hands lift tenderly-- And those, too, call her "Queen of jj.jMearts." --Vanity. Confession. Tlio' in words she never told it-- Tho' she dreams not I have guessed That she loves ine. yet my lady V-- Her sweet secret has confessed. Tho' in words she never told me, There are others, and; good sooth, Tho' 'tis true that they were traitors, Those dear traitors told the truth I There are swifter, surer bearers Of Love's tender messages Than the tongue; and fond hearts he&, " hhem Sooner-far than aught it says. And I knov*; my lady loves me; ' For; whatever her tongue denies. With her voice she has caressed me, < She has kissed me with her eyesl •-Boston Globe.