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THE MCCORMICK ADVANCE. DEVOTED TO THE GENERAL WELFARE. VOLUME II. McCORMICK, S. C, THURSDAY, JANUARY 13,1887. NUMBER 43. . . - .... TT .1, t. ! ... !! ^ T-, rr. ^-r- ,, 1 l M 1 TWO OLD PEOPLE. Fifteen years ago the buffalo ranges of iKansas and Colorado wore covered with thousands of these animals. The other day a party went out from Denver, and after a week’s hunting managed to kill three from a herd of twenty-nine that they found in Lost Pa k. It is said that there are not more than 2,000 buffaloes now in existence. Systematic slaughter has produced this shameful result. Tuliyie university, at New Orleans, to which a New York woman has recently given $100,000, is to be the recipient of the valuable archives of the Louisiana Historical Society. Druing the civil war the building in which they were kept was pillaged and the contents were carried north. The secretary of the Wisconsin Historical Society discovered them in the possession of a soldier in Iowa, pur chased and kindly returned them to their original home. VANITAS. searching the jewel is the peak is at- the harvest is “She can’t control her tongue” or “He can’t control his tongue” are frequently heard in this world whpre people, being unable to control the very tongues that make use of the phrase, talk a great deal about their neighbors. But there is in St. Louis a man who literally cannot con trol his tongue, and the county medical society is looking into his case. Botts is the man’s name. Muscular action being involuntary, hii tongue shoots in and out of his mouth as does the tongue of a snake. “The straightest ana probably the best built 400 miles of railroad in the world,” says Demas Barnes, just back to New York from Russia, “is between St. Petersburg and Moscow. The con tractors who completed this enterprise were two Americans—Messrs. Winans > of .Baltimore, and Harrison, of Phila delphia. They are said to have pocketed some $15,000,000 each as a reward for theif enterprise. Trains upon the road are numerous, cars good, freight busi- noss heavy, station houses fine and meals first-class.” “The St. Louis Olo’w-Democrat relates that while Edwin Booth was in Mil waukee this year ho had a very curious experience with an autograph hunter. A gcutlcman called on him at his hotel, and having gaiued admission to his room asked him if ho would kindly write his autograph in an album which he (the vis itor) had brought with him. Mr. Booth answered with n courteous affirmative. The visitor opened the album at a certain place, which he had marked, and said to Mr. Booth: ‘Please write your name under that one.’ Mr. Booth at a glanco saw that the name under which he was asked to put his autograph was that of his dead brother, the assassin of Mr. Lincoln—J. Wilkes Booth. Without saying a word or looking up at his vis itor, he closed the album with an angry slap, and threw it violently against the nearest wall. The autograph hunter took the hint, picked up his book and walked out of the room.” When after long battle the prize has been gained, When after long found, When after long climbing tained, When after long sowing bound, Then we halt; And we fret ’neath the burden of For we feel that the victory’s not worth the strife. To fail in the heat of the on-rushing race; To love and receive for our recompense hate; To worship and find that our idol is base; To trust and awake to deception too late; Is our lot— Each a sign on the pathway of life, Pointing out that the victory’s not worth the strife. Our joys never seem tho same pleasures we thought; Our hopes never come to their fruitage un marred; Our future ne’er brings us the grandeur we sought; Our past to our vision appears but ill- starred; Such is fate; But it darkens the glory of life, Thus to find that the victory’s not worth the strife. Over sights that are beauty, dull clouds g.imly sail; Over days that are lightsome, cares blight- ingly fall; Over fond-cherished gardens, blows Boreas’s gale; Over plans full of promise drops failure's black pall; So they go; But the memories cumber our life With the tale that the victory’s not worth the strife. But we look to a land where the skies never dull, Where the flowers never fade, where the lights never dim, Where the hopes never ebb, where the joys • never lull, Where no failures are found to its utter most rim. Happy land! Where we’ll feel through an unending life That the victory there is well worth all the strife. —Chas. M. Harger, in Detroit Free Press. WHAT HE BELIEVED IN. Tigor-Slaver Simpson, lately back from Bengal, save it is little short of madness to try on foot to come up with astiger. Though the beast have a ball in his heart he still can charge even a hundred yards,and then strike a murder ous blow with his mighty paws. Per haps the boldest instance of shooting on foot, the success of which was evidently more the result of good luck than good management, is to be found in a story told by a gallant old Frenchman named Dcveria, who, says Mr. Simpson, had served under the great Napoleon, and was a remarkably daring and ool man. He was informed that a tiger had taken up its quarters near his house, so he went and took a look at it crouching in the grass. He returned home and cleaned his one single-barreled rifle, iitted a bullet to it after much trimming with his penknife, mid sallied forth intending toshotatthc animal from some distance; but he thou., ht as he h »d only one chance he had better get closer, so he walked up to within about fifteen yards of it. The tiger never moved, and the Frenchman killed it on the spot with a ball tbrou h the biain. An cx-Confcderate gives the following description of the guerilla General and ex-Consul to llong Kong: “John S. Mosbyis a slight,bent, blonde man, with a cold gray eye (outainiug no more ex- pressim than a boy's marble. He talks slowly, never gets excited, and does not know what fear is. lie loves his friends and hates his enemies, and he carries his fight to the death. I lately heard a story from a Captain in the Union Army of a scene in whkh Mesby took part during the war. A Union regiment had driveu him with a small body of his men into a ten-acre field, about which was a high fence. They could see hirn plainly within it, and they surrounded the field and began to close in on Mosby. They wanted to capture him as ha had already killed nearly half their regiment. They closed in upon him slowly, his handful of troops still firing. They had backed him up close to a fence, and they appar ently had h'm in their grasp, when he drove his spurs into h : s horse and went over the fence like a flash, and as he did 60 turned in the air upon his saddle and shot a soldier through the head w ith his revolver. There are few such shots as Mosby. and during the war he shot to kill.’ By the way, Colonel Mosbyis to lecture . fty t mes this winter, receiving |500 a lecture. .. “That’s a great note of Jem's, I do think, marrying a church woman. They say she teaches a class in Sunday-school, too, and has a face as flat and solemn «« to church, a half-naked pancake 1” “What—-Jem Knight—has he married a reg’lar-built-pious-go-to-church-and-bc good woman, and him one of the jollicst, take-it-easy-and do-as-you-please cusses between here and Chicago?” “That’s the talk.” demeanor, and he seemed to retain all his old pleasure-loving disposition. When ever he met the boys he was as keen as ever to have a good time; neither did he fall into going to church. On the latter point he remarked once in strict confi dence that it was all right, and a mighty good thing for a woman.to go to church, but too slow and hum-drum for a man's enjoyment. Still, it came to be noted after awhile that he was not exactly the old Tom. As the years rolled by and three handsome children began to accompany their mother to Sunday-school, and who were so neatly clothed and well-behaved as to call forth the admiring comments of all who saw them, their father grew a trifle more staid and dignified, as one begin ning to be somewhat impressed with the more serious aspects of life; to feel that a man was made for something more serious than an endless round of careless frolic. It was seen, too, that he was more careful not to let the good times he indulged in come within the scope of his home surroundings. This much, at least, his wife’s influence had accomplished. “I don't go to church,” he said apolo getically to a friend one day, “but it wouldn’t be the right thing to let those boys of mine get to know their father’s free didos. It’s all right enough so far as I am concerned, because I know when I’ve gone far enough. But it's best to let the children come up sort of straight; the way their mother wants,” A most admirable woman this same mother had turned out to be, as Tom very well knew, and no little he was proud of her. Yet not half proud enough. Indeed, it was not yet in his apprehen sion to appreciate her full value. It did not enter his conception that the respect which had fallen to himself in connection with his excellently-ordered home was entirely due to his church-going wife. An especially sensible woman, too. Albeit it had grieved her more than words can express that her husband could find enjoyment in pleasures which at best were empty and trivolous, if not positively wrong, by not the slightest petulant complaint had she ever up braided him or striven by aught save the gentlest suggestions to lead him to her own better way of life. There came a sad day, alas! for him, and still more, alas! for the three beauti ful children. The good wife and mother was called away from them, and they were left desolate indeed. The blow was a hard one. What now was the be reaved husband to do? So far as worldly goods were concerned he was amply pro vided. He had abundance; but not all the wealth in the universe could have made up the loss they had sustained. Even his o’d rovstering companions con fessed to each other that it was “awful rough, you know”; that in his case there could be no doubt that Tom had “struck it rich” when he got the wife who -went “Great Jee-rusalem! a sweet time he'll have. Jest fancy her making him slick up to the music of slow church bells Sunday mornings and marching him off, ’stead of having a good time at the gar dens, to a straight-backed pew to listen to Gospel mush!” Thus spoke a couple of Jem Knight’s familiar chums, amid a knot of the same ilk, who were seated in the enjoyment of their customary beer and cigars in Bottler’s popular saloon. Tom Winter, a third one of the party, seemed to be particularly impressed by the conversa tion. He was a sharp-eyed young chap of twenty-three or thereabouts, who was noted for the almost re kless manner in which he went in for “having a good time.” Not that there was anything really vicious about him. He was straightforward, manly and honest, but full of desire to enjoy life in its freest- going aspects, and especially liberal in his views touching the observance of Sunday as a religious ordinance. No one had overheard of his going to church, or What would he do? A year later he told a bosom friend that he must secure a second mother for his children. “You will marry one that goes to church?” “More resolved on that than ever.” “But you don't go yourself?” “No. The fact is, it's too slow for me. I like to enjoy myself with things more lively; and when I’ve got one at home who pulls steady in the traces, as these church-going women do. I can feel safe and comfortable.” He found the woman he thought would suit. A lady who had been somewhat intimate with his wife, a member of the same church, and altogether after the same right-going pattern. In fact, a steady, clear-headed woman, who knew when things were right, and was prompt and decisive to have them so. “True,” ns Tom whispered to himself, “I expect she’ll try to pull me short up into straight strings, a good deal tighter than Emily did. She is not as soft and yielding as I'd like. But she’ll be all right for the children. I can trust her. When it comes to a question of what's best to be done, there ain’t a bit of non sense about her. So I’ll take her.” To his great surprise, however, he found that the second church-going wo man was not prepared to accept his offer hand that he cared a button either one way or with the pleased alacrity he hud ex the other about church-going or any of its straight-laced arrangements. Hence it was with more than common surprise that his chums heard him say: “Well, I don’t undertake to know, gents. If Jem's wife is the right woman pected. Knowing that she was in rather straightened circumstances, entirely de pendent on her own exertions for a livli- liocd, be had felt sure that his own well- appointed home would prove a tempta tion the lady would not dream to refuse. otherwise, I should say he’d made a good i But, instead of the gratefully expressed u j Vm Vinrl Innlrprl for slip rprVMfid • ■trike, getting one who goes to church. I don’t go much on churches myself. I used to go with the old folks when I was a little shaver about knee-high to a duck. But that was when I had to. It’s a good many years now since I was inside of one. As I said, I don’t go much on it myself. It’s too slow for my taste. At the same time, I believe in a woman go ing to church. I’ve noticed the women that go to church are generally the be t sort. A man can depend oa ’em. They keep things straight at home and bring tho children up right. A man can feed safe when he’s away having his own fun. that they won’t be running into any of the blamed dance-hall and beer-garden foolishness that winds up so often in dis grace to a man’s home. Oh, you boys may sneer. I allow it may be all humbug, and too slow’ for men like u«. But it's dead sure; the women who go to church are the steadiest sort a man can tie to. 1 don't care how much you laugh and £ oke fun. I’ve seeu too many wrecked omes and ruined lives grow out of pick ing wives from free dances and Sunday picnics. There’s too much nonsense in it for me. If I every marry I sha’l do as Jem has done—pick a wife that goes to church.” And he did. To the increased surprise and astonishment of his chums,the jovial, rollicking, devii-may-care Tom, who had all his life gone in for every species of free-and easy enjoyment; made fun of parsons and what he called long-faced, church-going milk-sops, more recklessly than any of them, actually married a member of the Rev. Mr. Graeelv’s church, a woman who was noted for the solidly serious aspect of her face and strict ob servance of the Sabbath. A nice-looking woman, to be sure, and steady, with not a bit of nonsense about her. A rare good housekeeper, too, who kept herself and all things about her in the very best of “apple-pie order.” That much was conceded; only, as one of the boys put it, “too thundering orderly! A nice time poor Tom'll have now. We shall see him creeping about with a taco as long as a fiddle.” This proved a mistake. So far as outer yes’’ he had looked for, she replied: “May I ask why you have given me the preference, Mr. Winter?” “Because I want a mother for those children who goes to church. I married Emily on that account, and she managed so well that I determined to choose one of the same good sort.” “I commend the wisdom of your de cision. But you do not attend church yourself?” “O, it don’t matter about me, you know. So long as the mother is all right to keep things straight at home it don’t make a bit of difference whether a man goes to church or not.” “In his own estimation, perhaps. Rut have you thought, Mr. Winter, that your church-going wife may be just as anxious to have a husband whose integrity of principle may be under the saving in fluence of church attendance as you are in regard to the lady of your choice? If you desire to feel at rest touching your wife’s conduct at home is it not equally desirable that your wife's mind should be at rest touching your honesty of con duct when out of her sight ?” Here was a new aspect, and at first he thought it was a very foolish aspect, not to say ridiculous, lie could not under stand the idea of a m m being amenable to the same rules of moral conduct that arc required in a woman. And he said so. But to all his arguments and plead ings the lady turned a deaf ear. She would not marry a man who did not go to chinch; that much of safeguard to the clean life of the man she would accept must be given in return for her own wholesome purity and unblemished prin ciples. At first Tom vowed to himself that he would not tie himself down to any such unmanly giving way to a woman’s foolish whim. Ashe more and more observed, however, that the lady was possessed of precisely the excellent qualities he espe cially 'desired in a mother for his chil dren, he finally gave the requisite pledge that he would accompany his wife to church at least once each Sabbath-day. “Poor chap!” said his old chums, lum in less than six months.” They were mistaken. Certainly, a great change came over him. That was apparent to the least observant. He was no longer the rovstering, free-and-easy Tom. The old card-playing, dice-throw ing, time-wasting haunts lost his pres ence. No more was he seen in the noisy, brawling, tippling beer-gardens on Sunday. He now sought rest -and peaceful quiet from the cares of the week's business within the blessed safe guards of his own fireside. And when, with wife and children, he walked to church, no more beautiful picture could anywhere be seeu. Aud, as time sped on, and he found that the influence of the church going he had always seen to be so good for a woman equally refining and excellent in its effects on a man, he blessed the impulse that led his second wife to impel him into the path of life’s truest enjoyment; and, albeit, here were those of his old chums who still won dered that he could have been “led by the nose by a woman,” most, of them were free to confess that, after all, lie was more of a man, a better man, in fact, than he had ever been before. To one who asked him how he ever came to let liiqjself be tied to a woman’s apron-strings, he said: “If the chief bulk of married men could be tied to the apron-strings of wives who are anchored on a foundation of church-going principles we should have a far greater number of happy homes aud vastly more peace and happi ness in the world at large.”—C let eland Leader. The Lion Hunter's Pet. The story is told of Gerard, the great lion-hunter, that he captured a whelp in the mountains of Jebel-Mczours, Algiers, named it “Hubert,” and brought it up as he would bring up a dog from puppy- hood. After some time, his huge pet becoming too dangerous to go at large, j Gerard made a present of the animal to his friend, the Due d’Aumale, and Hu bert traveled to Paris in a big cage, be moaning his separation from his old master. The next year Gerard himself visited Paris on leave of absence from the army, and went at on; e to the Jardin des Plantes to see his exiled favbrite. He : describes the interview as follows: Hubert w r as lying down, half asleep, regarding at intervals with half shut eyes the persons who were passing and repassing before him. All of a sudden he raised his head, his tail moved, his eyes dilated, a nervous motion con tracted under the mvtscles of his face. 1 He had seen the uuifprm of the Spahis, but had not yet recognized his friend. I drew nearer and nearer, and no longer able to restrain my emotion I stretched my hand out to him through the bars. Without oeasing his earnest gaze he applied his nose to rav hand and drew in knowledge with a long breath. At each inhalation hi? attitudyhccame more noble, his look more satisfied and affectionate. Under the uniform that had been so dear to him he began to recognize the friend of his heart. I felt that it ouly needed a single vrord to dissipate all doubt “Hubert!” I said, as I laid my on him—“my old soldier 1” Not another word. With a furious bound and a note of welcome he sprang against the iron bars, that bent am trembled with the blow. My friends fled in terror, calling on me to do the same. Noble animal! Y'ou made the world tremble even in your ccstacy of pleasure. Hubert was standing with his cheek against the grating, attempting to break down the obstacle that separated us, magnificent to behold as he shook the walls of the building with his roars of joy and anger. His enormous tongue licked the hand that I abandoned to his caresses, while with his paws he gently tried to draw me to him. If any one tried to come near me he fell into frenzies of rage, and when the visitors fell back to a distance he be< ame calm and caress ing as before, handling me writh his huge paws, rubbing against the bars, and licking my hand, while every gesture and moan and look told of his joy aud his love. When I turned to leave him he shook the gallery with his heart-rending roars; and it was not till I had gone back to him twenty timrs, and tried to make him understand that I would come again, that I succeeded in quitting the place. After that I came to see my Iriend daily, sometimes spending several hours with him in his cage. But after a while I noticed that he became sad aud dispir ited, and when the keepers alluded to his furious agitation and excitement every time I left him, and attributed his worn-out and changed appearance to this cause, I took their advice and made my visits as seldom as^ possible. One day, some four months from the time of my first meeting with him in Paris, I ens tered the garden, and one of the keeper: came forward, saluting, and said- “Don’t come any more, sir. Hubert is dead.” A Paragraph “Going the Rounds.” I. Joseph Marcel was trying to set a game hen at Point au Prince, when the game cock flew in his face and pecked him severely on the left eyelid. II. A G’anuck farmer had his eye pecked oet by a game cock the other day. It served him right for trying to set the hen on china eggs. III. The ferocity of the game cock at cer tain seasons of the year was strikingly illustrated at Foist a.i Prince recently, when a Canadian farmer had to kill one of those noble bird-in self-defense. IV. A Canadian farmer was killed the other day by his favorite game cock. A man never knows when he is safe from harm. V. One of the most brutal exhibitions on record was the fight at Point au Prince, i Canada, a few days ago, between a brawny farmer, with his hands tied, and a ferocious game cock. The bird had been trained to tiy at a m m’s eyes, and i in the fifth round peeked his left orb into giblets. After tliiity-uine bloody rounds the human brute caught his feathered adversary between his teeth and bit off its heal. — On,aha Die. appearance was concerned, Tom lost the apron-strings of a liard-faced.church Thou mavesttvell dispense avith a now he is shorn of his liberty, tied to pleasure if at tlil same time thou over- j comest grief. BUDGET OF FUN. HUMOROUS SKETCHES FROM VARIOUS SOURCES. No Possible Hope—A Gentle Hint- XT ot a Manufactory—How George Was Captured — A Sweet heart’s Ingenuity, Etc. At night upon the porch roof, flat, The felines make a clatter. The sleepless boarder yells out “ scat!” ' 'they—c ‘ And -don’t scatter. ey And then he throws out a brick bat, But it don’t batter, And when he shies out the door mat It—doesn’t matter; And then he gets a great big gun, Well filled with shot and powder, And fires; but they do not run, Thsy lie there and yell louder. —Detroit Free Press. A Gentle Hint. He had been courting her a long time, so long that she began to get tired; so one night she said to him: “John, who is author of the phrase, ‘ ‘Man proposes ?” “I’m sure I do not know,” answered John. “Why do you ask?” “Oh! I merely wanted to know who he was.” “For what reason?” “Because I guess he didn’t know what he was talking about.” Five minutes later the wedding day was set.—Boston Courier. Not a Manufactory. A stranger who had, upon arriving in Little Rock, met a friend, was walking along the street with him. “This seems to be a pretty lively town,” said the stranger. •‘It appears rather dull to me,” the friend replied. “I don’t see howMt can be when' your manufactories run full blast at night.” “My dear fellow, there are no manu factories running.” “What, don’t you Rear the 'noise of that boiler factory over there?” “That's no boiler factory.” “Well, what makes that awful clamor ?” . “A performance at the Opera House. Look, see that fellow tumble out!” “Yes; what’s the matter?” A lyfcvhave s. ”*-Ar- ma.’ How George Was Captured. “You look very much excited, dear,” he said, when she entered the parlor where he was waiting for her. “Well, I should think I ought to look , excited,” she answered. “I’ve just had the most awful argument with And she began to weep hysterically. ‘ 'Why, what is the matter, my dar ling?” he inquired, as he slid his arm around her waist and endeavored to soothe her; “what was the argument!” “Oh, how can I tell you? She said you were only trifling with me, and that you would never pop the question; and I told her she did you a great injustice, for I believed that you would pop the question to-night. She said you wouldn’t and I said you would, and we had it hot and heavy. Dear George, you will not let ma triumph over me, will you?” “Wh—hy, certainly not,” answered George. “I knew it, my darling!” the dear girl exclaimed; “come let us go to ma and tell her how much mistaken she was!” And they did, and ma didn’t seem to be so very much broken down over the affair after all. —Boston Courifir. of the gas-check, and sighted a line for the bed, when he was esHhquaked by a ringing laugh, and the query from Mrs. Jenkins: “Why didn’t you take off your hat?” —Puck. Taken In. A saloonkeeper up Gratiot street sat at his door the other afternoon wonder ing why it was that so many men in Detroit preferred buttermilk to beer, when two strangers came along. One of them placed a penny on the sidewalk, placed his ripht heel on the penny, and then bent over to see how far he could reach aud mark the flagstone with a nail. As he reached out he lifted his heel off the penny, and the other man picked up the coin, slipped it into his pocket and winked at the saloonist. “That.s a long reach,” said No. 1, as he straightened up. “Yes, but you lifted your heel off the CC “No, I didn’t.” “Bet you a dollar l” “I’ll take it!” “Hold on, shentlemens,” said the beer seller, as he rose up; “I like to make some bets myself.” ‘ ‘I’ll bet you $2 my heel is on a penny,” said No. 1. “I take dot bet awful queek,” replied the saloonist, and a couple of .,$2 bills were handed to No. 2. No. 1 sat down on the walk, pulled off his shoe and held it up that the saloon keeper might see a penny screwed fast to tne heel. He replaced his shoe after a moment, rose up and bowed court eously, and the pair walked off. They were at least half a block away before the victim recovered sufficiently to say: “Vhell! Vhell! I pays taxes in two wards und goes twice to Chicago, but yet I vhas some lunatics who ought to be led around mit a rope!”—Detroit Free Press. A Terrible Episode. Hungarian papers announce the death of old Ferencz Renyi, a hero of one of the most terrible episodes of the Hun garian war of independence in 1848. For thirty-six years Renyi has been a lunatic in a Buda-Pesth asylum, and the history of his sufferings is recorded after his death by the Petit Parisicn. Ferencz Renyi was a young school-master of twenty-seven years at the beginning of the war, proud, handsome and full of buoyant life. His pupils adored him, and he was always welcome among the villages, whether he came with his violin to . play to their dances or whether his voice was heard among the patriots chanting the praise of their country. He lived with his mother and sister, and was engaged to a bright young Hunga rian girl, when the government, after proclaiming the independence of the id country, called all good patriots to arms. 1 in Ferencz left his school and enlisted i A Sweetheart’s Ingenuity. “A minister who used to live here in the town of Perry,” said he, “was once visited by another minister on a Sunday, so he killed two ducks and ordered his hired girl to dress and cook them for din ner. The girl did as she was told, but while the ducks were roasting, her beau came and made her a call. Being hungry and tempted by the smell of the sizzling fowl he seized one of the ducks and ate it. “The girl was driven to her wits end by this unlucky incident. She was rather glad her beau had such a nice dinner, but despaired of finding an excuse to tell the minister—let’s call him Mr. Brown— to account for the missing duck. "When Minister Brown came home to dinner with visiting Minister Jones, the girl had hit upon a scheme. She asked her em ployer to go out to the grindstone which stood in the yard and sharpen the carving knife. He went to work on the knife at once, being hungry for those ducks. The girl stole upstairs and asked the visiting minister to look out of the window. “ ‘See there!’ said she. ‘I came up to give you warning. You little know the danger you’re in. The man I work for is crazy, and he is sharpening that knife to cut your throat.’ “The girl succeeded in thoroughly arousing the visitor, and he hastily put on his hat and ran as fast as his legs could take him. “When he had ran several roads, the girl called her master and asked him what kind of a man he had brought home to dinner. The minister \nquired why she asked, when, pointing to the fly ing brother, the girl exclaimed: ‘There he goes, running away with one of your ducks!”’—Lewiston {Me.) Journal. Something He Forgot. When Mr. Jenkins went to his bed room at half-past one, it was with the determination of going to sleep, and with another determination that he would not be interviewed by Mrs. Jenkins. So, as soon as he had entered the door,and de- E osited his lamp upon the dressing-table, e commensed his speech: “I locked the froDt door. I put the chain on. I pulled the key out a little bit. The dog is inside. I put the kit ten out. 1 emptied the drip-pau of the refrigerator. Tae cook took the silver to bed with her. I put a cane under the knob of the back-hall door. I put the fastenings over the bath-room windows. The parlor tire has coal on. I put the cake-box back in the closet I did not drink ail the miik. It is not go ng to rain. Nobody gave me any mo; age for you. I mailed your letters as soon as I got down-town. Your mother did n it call at the office. Nobody died that we are interested in. Did not hear of a marriage or engagement. 1 was very busy at the otiiee making out bills ! have hung my clothes over chair backs I want a new egg for hr akfast. 11hi k that is all, and I will now put out the light.” Mr. Jenkins felt that he had hedged against all inquiry, and a triumphant the ran**'’’"* valiantly at the head of a detachment of soldiers, he was taken a prisoner by the Austrians. Brought before General Hay- nau, Renyi refused to indicate the place where the rest of his regiment lay hid den. On learning that his home was in a neighboring village the General sent for the mother and sister, and brought them into the room where the prisoner was kept. “Now give me the informa tion I require, if the lives of these two women are dear to you,” said General Ilavnau to him. Renyi trembled, his eyes filled with tears, but he remained silent. “Do not speak, my son,” cried the old moth er, “do your duty, and think not of me, for at the best I have only a few days to live.” “If you betray your country,’ added his sister, “our name will be covered with shame, and what is life without honor? Do not speak, Ferencz. Becalm; I shall know how to die.” Renyi remained silent and a few minutes later the two women were dead. Another trial was to come. General Haynau sent for Renyi’s future wife, who was weaker than his mother and sister. With wild cries the girl flung herself at her lover's feet, pleading: “Speak, speak, Ferencz. bee, I am young. I love you; do not let me be killed. You will save yourself aud me if you speak out. When you are free we will go far away and be happy. Speak, my Ferencz, and save your future wife.” She took his hands, clinging to him as a drowning man cl ngs to his last support The young Hungarian was choked with tears, but suddenly he pu hed the girl aside and turned away. Once more she cried to him, but he did not heed her. “Be cursed,” she shrieked; “be cursed, you who let me die; you who will kill me; who are my assas-in.” Renyi re mained silent. The girl was shot, and the prisoner was taken back into his cell, but his reason had fled, and he was dismissed. Some friends found him and gave him a shelter; till after Hungary was once more suppressed and peace es tablished, they obta ned a place for him in the asylum in which he has recently died. Where to Reside. A good place for anarchists—Bombay. No ring there—Belfast. Free from riots—Concord. A rural resort lor milkmen—Cowes. A retreat for scolding women—Shrews bury. Affords rare facilities to fugitives es caping from justice—Hyde Park. A desirable place for inquisitive peo ple—Pekin. Where one may find plenty of game— Lyons. A popular resort for gamblers—Luck now. The first in importance — Leeds. It has no fascination for dogs—Bo logna.—Life. Lincoln’s Mother. There is something very pathetic in the story of Abraham Lincoln’s loss of his mother when but a litt e boy, as told in Nicolay and Hay's 1 ife of Lincoln. It happened in the unhealthy backwoods settlement where they lived The coffin was made out of green lumber cut with a whip saw. and she was buried, with scant ceremony, in a little clearing of the forest. It is related of little Abra ham, that he sorrowed most of all that his mother should have been laid away with such maimed rites, and that he tried several months later to have a wandering preacher, named David Elkin, brought to the settlement, to deliver a funeral set m n over her grave, already stiff and white with the early winter snows, —Sfl in gs, Once he was twenty and she only ten, She was a child, he scarcely in his prime; Youth seemed so long, and age so distant then, And noon came not, as now, ere morning time. But later on. they chanced again to meet, Aud he was thirty and she twenty now; “Why, he is old,” exclaimed the maiden sweet, Aud passed with careless heart and cloud less brow. Ten years (a weary round) roll on again. Whose days and weeks, so like each other, pass. That, when they meet, ’tls he, with sudden paiu. Who cries, in turn, “Why, she is old, alasl” But often on those tender April eyes, , When hearts beat time to hidden melodies, ! “Why was I never loved?” he asks—and grieves. “Why did I never love?” she asks—and sighs. And now, opprest with vain regret, they say, As years wear on in ever-deepening gloom; “Children, enjoy the sunshine while yon may, And pluck the flower in its morning bloom.” n^—Alex. Uayes in Argosy. PITH AND_ POINT. Moves in the best society.—A fan. The first woman in the land—the first woman who was born—Sflings. “What is it that we can’t hear in sum mer and yet are very fond of in winter?” Heat. Lawyers dress pretty well, notwith standing the fact that they occasionally lose a suit. “I really believe my work is telling,” remarked the society reporter.—Burling ton Free Press. “Mark my words,” said the public speaker, and the stenographer marked them.—Boston Transcript. Who is rich? And who is happy? Who could be content with less? Let us see—his name is—name is— Pshaw, we’ve lost the man’s address l — Washington Critic, “This way,gentlemen, to the American dwarf, to be seen only through a hun dredfold magnifying glass; totally in visible to the naked eye.’.’—Fliegende Blaetter. - lie (with a view toward further ac quaintance with owner): “What a pretty little dog! He wouldn’t bite me, would he?” She: “Oh, no, we give salt food only.”—Tid-Bits. “Well, what do you think of the new neighbors who have moved in next door, — p. - — * - ““ to form an hi a washing hung out yet.”—Boston Courier. A small boy surprised his teacher at one of the grammar schools yesterday by asking her how far a procession of the Presidents of the United States would reach if they were placed ill a row. On her expressing her ignorance he calmly announced: ‘ ‘From Washington to Cleve land.”—Springfield Republican. ONLY A BARBER. The maidens saw him at the beach; They thought he was a lord, So handsome and so debonnair— By all he was adored. He’s shaving bearded chins again, And also cutting hair, While chinning to his customers, Behind the barber’s chair. —Boston Courier. The Smallest Kingdom. On the northeast coast of the island of Sardinia lies the much smaller island of Tavolara, five miles long and one broad. Its possession and absolute sov ereignty were formally granted by King Charles Albert, of Sardinia, to the Barto- leoni family, and for more than half a century Paul I., King of Tavolara reigned over it in peace. On the 30th of May last King Paul was compelled to go to the mainland to seek treatment for heart disease. Finding that science was powerless in his case the King returned to his island to die in the midst of his subjects, who are forty in number. He died sitting in his chair, like the Em peror Vespasian, vainly endeavoring to write a will. He was seventy-eight years old. The forty subjects of Re Paolo,as they called him, lost in him a benevolent and indus trious monarch; his family lost a kind fa ther, and the wild goats of the island, more numerous than his subjects, lost we will not say they mourn the loss of— an intrepid hunter. Tavolara is a smaller State than even the Republic of San Marino, lying east of I tally, which has twenty-two square miles and 8,0l)Q people; the principality of Monaco, on the French coast of the Mediterranean near the Italian frontier, which has eight and one-half square miles and8,500 inhabitants; or the Re public of Andorra, lying between France and Spain, wh ch is 600 square miles in extent and has 7,000 people.— South's Companion. Dancing Sand-Hill Cranes. The last time I went hunting I wit- ues ed a scene which I had often heard of but never seen. It was the dance of the sand-hill crane. My companion was a well-known hunter, and, though he is a physician, finds much time—he lives in Northern Iowa—to study the ways and haunts of wildfowl. “Now,” said lie, “I will show you within an hour the fa mous dance of the sand-hill cranes.” We swept over the prairie in a way which I shall never forget, the two ponies seem ing to enjoy the outdoor sport. At last we came in sight of a crowd whose noise had saluted our ears for an hour. They we> e on a slope which came down near to a lake. All at once two stepped out from the crowd, facad each other and began clapping their wings, jumping up and down as Indians do for a war dance. All this time they were uttering cries • which boys would understand very soon to be crie; of merriment. Their com panions greeted them with shouts of seeming laughter, and the one jumping highest and longe t was acknowledged champion of the day. W hen these two became exhausted, two others went through the same performance. Wo watched them for about an hour. — Qhi-