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THE NEW CHURCH CHOIR. BY FLORENCE JOSEPHINE B0YCE. Tee, Bister Lu, I must confess That on this Sabbath day A. cloud has rolled across my breast That ne'er '11 be cleared away. Fer arter five on" twenty year Thttf T'lrft that rhoir blest. An' raised my voice in helpful cheer An' strove ter du my best; An' arter all my darte?'e done, ? The orgin for ter pjay, They've brought in youngsters, one by ona. And crowded us away. An', whutis wuss, the chorister, Tergether Tfjth his wife, Are atickin' T-er the yellin' gang An' holdin' up ther strife. An' thar'e my darter Mary's beau, Whose bass has often rung Through that ar' church, as Baft and low As bass wus ever sung. But now they've got ernuther one, In all ther change erbout, Who veils until ye'd realy think He'd yell his palate eout. ' An'Georgia Brown, theorginist, 1 coulden't help but sneeze Tei see ther way she got up thai An' thumped upon ther keys. An' ther sopranoes yelled a piece, In which ther tenors jiDed, An' them two parts jest ?quoeked [an' equalled Ernough ter set one blind. An' of ther altos, sister Lu, 1 will not speak one word, Fer they du as the others du, ; "? . An' that is too absurd. PT'V . But once for all, I wish ter say, Before the hours grow late, An* my pure soul haB passed away Beyond the golden gate: When I am taken ter that church, Ter ne'er come back agin, I do not want that new church choir Ter squeal the final hymn. v W-UTSTCKLD, Vt. DOROTHEA INGRAM. ,' V \ ??????? A Story of Early Colonial Days. . BY CHARLES C. HAHN. \ CHAPTER VI* A PUBITAN MAIDEN. EE hardly knew ff 6bo was a woman, Bft fiv' . \vL ^ Sweetly she grew, was the experience of Dorothea Hillary. iUrf* >8^ rbe most d6^CBtel7 \ijj jP Jf tinted flowers are nki'ui \ Ywlfound in coldex Jy )1| climes, rnd the vio? v "It II11st of the forest is JJl Bwe?ter than the Jf/: rich golden-rod of L Augnst 6un and tjz fertile prairie lands. 60 Dorothea grew in the forests of the new world, not very warm, not with flaming colors, or a luxuriance of passion, but in her face and in her 60ul were the tints of heaven. Her eves were a dear brown, innocent and trusting, and on her lips hovered a perpetual summer oalm. Bight as to heart and brain, she won her way among the stern Puritans with an extreme gentleness, and yet early she learned t'o endure and to obey. Even . while a girl, one could see that she would be a queen in marriage and a most perfect wife. Unconsciously, in her eyes were depths clear and fuli of love for her parents and for her lover. And yet she Lad ever one black shadow at her feet? $+ -'. the memory of her father and the susl picion that she herself was following in < . his footsteps. And as the years passed, the shadow not only lay at her feet, but rose and floated over her. In these days | she sometimes murmured to herself a | passage from an old book which she had j found in her father's chest: "Mother Mary, hear me and give me g- . grj^e to bear mv heavy lead." , She meant it hs a cry to ?er own mother, and did not know that the words were a prayer to tbe mother of God. Nevertheless, perhaps the Blessed L i "Virgin heard her. Traces of her early life with her father were never effaced. In fact there were tinges in her character which were ever appearing like the recurring colors of the evening twilight, and Dr. Lennox never strove to blot them ont. When mingling irith the pioneers or their s'.aid, youngold children, she could le as dignified and prosaic as they. But when they were gone and 6he was alone, or with her adopted father, all the influences and lessons of her early life appeared. She looked upon the trees of the forest and the flowers growing at their feet, at the rnnning brook and the stars ancl the olouds overhead as the real things cf the ' world, and hence nearer and dearer to her than men. So ofttimes she wai content to Bit for hours beneath some tall oak tree, which, thick-leaved, Bighed over her little head -. with an ancient melody as old &6 trees or the hills or nature. At such times there appeared in her sonl those characteristics which were like golden tints in the 6ky, coming at the close of the day, as the bustle and worry of the world were dying away and the peace of the evening twilight reigned. A glorious child, dreaming alone In silken folds, on yielding down, With the hum of evc&ruring bees, Into dreamful slumbers luil'd. Bocae warm summer days she would wander knee deep through the meadow | grass, along the little brook which circled half around the town. No bird would syig on these dsys, nor woald any cloud pass acroBB the 6ky, and the day would increase from bent to beat. Those wer? dreamy dayB, which a poet or-a painter would love, and at such times all aarlv laccnrta in Tifttnrfl would come back to her. She would bend over a little <3truggline flower, hidden by j the tall grass, and speak to it &b if it were a friend. Even the coarse weeds, j in which none else, unless it may have been the Doctor, could see aught but ugliness and Adam's curse, appealed to her. The broad meadow wa6 a gTeat bed, nd she drew the tops of the ctthss tenderly between her fingers and dreamed? oh! who knows of what a child dreams at such a time? On days when there were clouds in the sky and a breeze was blowing the shadow of the former fell upon and floated over the bending grass and she imagined the field to be a miniature sea. And to sit there, half hidden by the grass, and look out at the tall treetops which surrounded the village, and ouf ? into the sky beyond and overhead. Ah! what a quiet happiness that brought, and what fancies, quiet and dreamful, filled the child's mind. There was a lonesomeoees in it, too^ that was not altogether unp'.easast. ror somewhere beyond * those woods sbe believed her father lived, and the tame sky was over tbem both. There was a little poem, or rather the fragment) of a poem, which her father had ence taught ber, ana although sbs (lid < not at first probably understand it, the rhythm was pleasing and she often repeated it to herself: The shadows on the Western slopes, The sky tints at the Bet of sun, May thrill us all alike with joy. But he who jaints them wili be one Axdoi>? ft thousand, if he catch And mirror back the b*ftutie?_6howr IB glowing eky and shadowing nujB; And His, the master hand alone. Sometimes come floating thro' the mind Or surging thro' the human breast A thought, a feeling rich and rare, A gift to man, if but expressed. And when one can, with rhythmic words. Move in our breasts sensations doep, And strike the chord our own soul wept, t For him the poet's u&me we keep. The Teraes always recalled her father i and made her sad, yet she cltng to tbem t with childish persistence find chose to ' be sad in memory with him, than light- s hearted without And yet, this loneli- c nese never came to her. But sometimes In the falling day An ima^e eerieed to pass and say, "But tb'? ?Ualt be alone no more." The image seemed to be tliat of the mother whom 6he did not remember, bat whose portrait she wore upon her breast, and in her heart came a nameless feeling of peace. For a pioneer, Dr. Lennox possessed a fine library, and many of the books were bo quaint and old that it was a wonder he was allowed by the church to keep them. To these dooes Dorothea baa free access, and no doubt the natural bent of her mind was fostered by them. Stories of the Crusades and of knightly deeds covered many a page, and the stories were woven into her dreams. At an early dav also she came upon a botany, and with tbe help of her foster-father became skilled in analyzing the flowers which crew in the meadows and in the forests. There 'was a school in Sagxiaack, kept ' in a small cabin, one of the fir6t erected f and the first deBerted by its owner when 4 he became wealthy enough to build a 1 more pretentious home. Here the Puritan , children were gathered day by day to : memorize the alphabet and "struggle with * the mysterious orthography of the En- ? flish language. It was disagreeable work 1 or the majority of the children, but ' Dorothea's dreaminess made it a ro- 6 mance to her. Each simple tale which f Bhe found in her reader had its interest, t and she supplied the clouds and the ? flowers to make it beautiful. In after i years these days were among the most ^ pleasant in her memory. J CHAPTER VII. J 121 THE MINISTER'S STUDY. J Mr. Granville's study was in a come) t of the house and looked out upon the t 6treet. It was a very cozy room, furnished 6 with a moderate library and writing desk ^ and n snug fireplace, in which the variom t kinds of wood snapped and blazed in v their season. An arm-chair made out of g twisted boughs of hickory stood by th? jj fireplace. In this room the minister spent most of his time, for the years had added n to his load until he was glad to retire from his family, and so lose sight of their p strange and painful condition. So, after f havinc finished his sermon.for the com- r ing Sunday and read for the hundredth ! 'v time his favorite volumes, h?s was wont n to move his pre at arm chair from the table to the side of the fireplace, and, g leaning back in its capacious depths, B give himself op to thought. Here, sur- p ronnded by the cheerfulness which every |j work-room gives, the minister conld at times forget his sad affliction and grow, c for a few minutes, comparatively happy. But generally in these <ha!f-hoars in the dusk he sat brooding over his trials and J disappointments nnd the calamity which j had fallen upon his family. The dim ^ suspicions entertained ten years ago had been increased and rendered more vivid by the perusal of such works as Cotton Mather, and frequently after his sermons ^ were finished he indulged in loDg sittings t by his fire pouiing over those stories of _ witches and witchcraft which so stirred New England and spread fear over her at ^ the beginning of her life. It was a cool evening in early autumn ?in fact, the anniversary of the trial ei with which our story opens, although Bl Mr. Granville did not remember it. The tl trial itself, however, was very distinct in n his mind, as was every point in his enemy*? life. The man had spent long hours B( meditating upon this one absorbing ^ theme, and recalling every event or word rr i- w-1. ttjii Ill I1LUIA JLLllltHV 9 lAi.Ot Uiii.il uo uau mwcome a monomaniac, and the thought of Q this rough wood-chopper was scarcely B] ever absent from his mind. Every Bcrap 0 of intelligence concerning him had been ^ carefully preserved and studied. Every ^ word the man had ever uttered in the ^ minister's hearing, or in the hearing of f( any who would communicate it to the n minister, hf.d been noted and dwelt upon during these after-sermon m:ai'tatfo"na. E He had made a study of the man's life, and had even gone to the trouble of in- gl quiring into his antecedents minutely. a tut all this was nothing compared with r( the awful anxiety his disappearance gave, j, Long hours the minister sat in his study Q speculating upon it. Sometimes he paused at the end of a paragraph in his c sermon to gaze abstractedly out of the B window and recall that last act in Mark j Hillary's life. Then, again, this was a favorite theme ? for his evening reveries, and often extended them far into the night, until his . X il_ J ?11 C.monA u lttUIUJi auu, luugcu, an uaiiuauva, nv*v wrapt in sleep. So the poor man wearily wore his life away. On this particular evening be had been ' even more troubled by his gloomy thoughts. In his imagination be could feel an unseen presence in the very room, and in his heart hope died, as he said to b himself: "The man or his spirit is near." 'This feeling was so strong that he arose and did what at no time before had a he courage to do. or wnica nis sense of # honor would allow. He went to hisdeBk c and took out a little package which had ^ been intercepted on its way to Dorothea e two years before.' This evening he tore, t off the wrapper, and in his hand lav a ^ piece of birch bark, 6uch as was often used by the Indians and by 6ome set- . tiers for writing paper. Upon- thi6 bit of * birch was this sentence: j "Dorothea: Obey the one who keeps ? you a,nd the one who watches over you, f but whom you cannot see, will always [ provide for you." _ * " 'Obey the one who keeps you.' That is damning," murmured the minister, s and his lips turned pale. "It is a message 11 from the evil one, and I have had it con- 6 cealed in my desk. No wonder we have 1 been afflicted. But, is it not necessary," * he continued, after a pause during which ? he was plunged in deep thought, "is it ^ not neoesBary tbat I Keep it tor testi- . monv?" e But while he was yet undecided -whether to cast the evil bark into the fire, or ? lay it away and brave the dancer in the 0 work of convicting a witch, the caBe wag ? settled by a rap at the door, and, hastily opening it, he admitted the pioneer J Squire. . Come in, Squire, come in," the minister said; "you have come juBt as I wanted you. I have for some months wished to speak to you upon a subject that is troubling me. Sit down, I pray ' 0 you. p "You remember Mark Hillary, who v lisappeared ten vearB ago."he continued, c ifter nis guest was seated in front of the J slazing fireplace; "and you are also well 1 iware of the strange manner in which my :hild has been afflicted." "Does Bhe grow no better as Bhe be- ! ;ome9 older?" j "Not at all. In bodily health she is J tome stronger, but her attacks have * taken a more violent form. At one time I [ might have considered her frail health I ?s the cause, but as 6he grows stronger tier whole soul shows itself to be in nn J ibaormai condition, ju i couia nave doubted it at first, when she was ill, I 1 cannot now, wtien she is well. My poor " child, I fear, is the -victim of the Evil J One." "And who do you suspect?" " "His daughter!" I The pronoun may seem very indefinite, j hut it was not to tue Squire. y "Just before you entered x was reading 1 a note which I want to show you. I j have kept my eye on this daughter, and j have discovered, among other things, fc that she is in communicttion with some j one, we know not whom, unless it is as g 1 susDect. This note, which I wish to 1 show you, was intercepted. I have kept it in my desk for some time, but to-night opened it. See what a convicting docu- e meat it ie," and the minister banded the a birch bark to the Squire. "'Obey!' It t it is written by one who has authority, t 'Obey the one who keeps you..' Who ia t ' " T . ; '..v. t that keeps ?i7T Evidently it raters to he Evil One, to whom she belongs. And the friend yon know bnt cannot ee.' AVho would that be but the author >f all evil? 'Will always provide for ou.' Is not that full testimony to her eague with the devil? He wiom she annot see will provide." While the minister was making these nnning oomment6 the Squire read the tote through, holding it at arm's length. 'What shall you do with it?" he asked ehen the min'ster had finished. "That is just wfiit 1 w^nea to consuu ron about. Shall I preserve it as evilence against this?person, or shall I mrn it? I must confess that I was trongly tempted to do the latter,_thinkng oniv ol me saretv oi my xamily, 3ut perchance I had belter keep it," concluded the minister, with n sign. "By no means, I beg of yon, my dear >ir," responded the Squire, earnestly. He who holds the devil's writing will oon have the writer in his house. It is )y God's grace that he has not come to iiaim his own ere now." But juBt as the minister was about to 3rop the piece of bark into the fire, the itudy door opened, his eldest daughter intered, and the minister, instead, Iropped it upon tbe table near him. Achsah was clad in white from head to oot, and to the two men, whose imaginaion was excited with thoughts of witchiraft, she appeared like a specter. And, ndeed, the appearance of the girl at such i moment ana m sucn a manner was OI naming. DUS nut LUW IWI tuiu oiwucii ind her height was greatly increased by he long robe of white; her face was pale ind wouM have appeared deathlike bad t not b6en for the piercing black eves, chich seemed to gleam with an unholy ight, as Bhe stood in silence and gazed mo the fire. A log upon the hearth >roke in two and fell between the androns and blazed up afresh. As the flames praDg up and illuminated her face with heir rosy light, the imagination of the >quire saw plainly the trace6 of some trange power which was working upon ler, and he felt as if be weie indeed in he presence of an unfortunate one ovez rhom the evil one was hovering. He hiver&d and involuntarily passed his tand over his even. "Achsah, what do you want?" asked the sinister, anxiously. "I came in for* that," said the girl, iointing to the birch bark. The two men ooked at each other in silence. Acheah eached out her hand and took the note, ralked stiffly across the room and laid it poo the open desk by the window. This one, she returned, sat down upon a tool at her father's feet and became aborbed in watching the fames in the lirelace as they leaped up from the burnag wood. Horror-stricken, the minister and the iquire sat in silence also, watching her. Soon the door opened and Ashubah, the ounger child, came quietly in. and, withat heeding the group by the fire, walked irectly to tbe desk and took up the irch bark, which Rhe gazed at as if harmed and unable to turn her eyes way. Achsah arose from her seat, went over j ber BiBter and without uttering a word, ook the note from her and laid it back ,pon the desk. Ashubah made no protest but returned ith her sister and sat down on the oposite side of the fire. Neither uttered a word or appeared coupons of the Squire's presence. Botb aemed to be in a tiance, so still were ley, end so supernatural was their still* ess for ones so young. The Squire watched Achsah, who waar sated in the shadow of the fireplace uesr im, the more closely. For about five linutes, but which to the eicited. man Bemed like an hour, she sat perfects? totionless. Her first emotion wan 4 budder, and then the Squire saw a look f fear pass over her face and transform er features. Her eyes turned to the indow. In looking around to follow er gaze, he saw that her sister was nf. ?cted in the same way, and that the linister waB pale and trembling. "Our enemy ip near!" he gasped, as he iet the Squire's eye. Looking then towards the -window, 10 se what had bo terrified the girls, he saw black fantastic face peering into the 30m from the onter darkness. The light rom the fire fell npon the window and lade the sight most ghastly. It was a irge hea3, surmounted with a fantastic ap, from which the Squire could see two mall horns protruding. The face was rk, except in places where touches of aint illuminated it, and wor? a maliqHut sneer as its sharp black eyes watchd the cowering minister and his daughsrs. "Did you see that face?" asked the quire in a low voice which trembled ,'ith fear. "No, but I knew it was near. You see tie effect. 0, God have mercy!" And the minister bowed down and hid his face in is hands. * The girls, however, never took their yes from the particular pane of glass at * J k ? A .-men ice isto uuu u^pcmcu. auu noi urious to note the different effect this pparition had upon the two. Ashubah, fter the first sbudder, recovered her aim manner and placid face, while ichsah, from trembling passed into an xalting state and sat smiling and reurn<ng grimace for grimace with the >ead outside. If the Sqnire for a moment sopected his face to he that of some boy bent ipon a frolic, the suspicion was soon [ spelled, when, After the minister had iid his face in his hands, he saw his eyes ieut intently upon an object lying upon he desk. It was watching the note which Lchsah ha:l placed there. She also, it itemed. had observed the look, for she irose and started toward it. But before he could reach the desk a pane of glass vas dashed in, a black, hairy arm thrust inickly throneh the aperture and a hand rasped the note. Acbsah uttered a cry. ?he whole was done so quickly that *hen the minister looked up, startled by be Eonnd of breaking glnss'nnd AchsjJ*> ry, the arm had been withdrawn a ?v*se liece of bark had disappeared. The cry f the Rirl was answered by a harsh, rating laugh, which was echoed from be woods around, and for half an hoar leals of diabolical merriment were heard bont the bouse .until they died away in he distance. CHAPTER VIII. AFTER FITE YEABR. Five more years passed in the hiato'ry f Sagnanck since Mark Hillary's disap* learance, and Dorothea, the girl-witch, ras seventeen years old. She had grown ip in these woods of New England free nd nntrammeled by the affectations of aBhion. Like a sturdy plant which needed only >un and air, 6he grew. It need hardly be laid that her face wa6 fair. Indeed, rom it she deserved the name of w tch, or truly it was one molded to bewitch he hearts of men, and many of the young noneers ttiere were who also felt its >ower. She vras of medium height, with a body rell built. Eer hands were finely shaped; ler hair and eyeB were brown. It was of n? lorTAr a r?nor nnc rrvirTATt* Brown eyes Beem souie rich, tempting trine ["hat might lead ono to love thim all too well." Anu again: I know lull well two deep dark eyes, 1 brown or black, 'twere sometimes bard to tell, iight black in anger, brown in tenderness ; 3ut when the long dark lashe* half disguise ^fceir light. tbe ueual fearless frankness flies, ind then there lurks in dim. secret mistiness L gleam bo subtle in its ehadowyness iear to glance, lost there should sudden rise I flood ot passionate tenderness, so deep, So strong, that it were all iu vain to fight ts mighty tide; to brave it were unwise, jest I should be, if o'er me it should sweep, Soul-blinded by the glorious dark ligbt, ?iil all tbe world seems naught but two dark eyes." Many -were the lovers who came to her, ilthough euch parent warned his own son igainet the wiles of the maiden, lor now he suspicion of the minister had grown o be bo positive that the girl really lore he reDntation of a witoh. , '.' - 'fy' ' $rt; This "was augmented by the deteotion > several mysterious visits Dorothea r oeived from some unknown person. Oi evening, about a year after the was le alone m Sagnauck, the minister w walking through the words north of t] village, when he heard two persona co versing, and, approaching, discover* ^iaflnnAQTi J_/UrtJ LJJCi*. JLXCX tUUiI'ouiwu as soon as the minister's footsteps we Heard and tbe latter could not identi; him. Bat the visitor wore the garb of i Indian. Dorothea's reticence with r gard to the visit added to the ministei belief in her guilt. After this first visit, Mr. Granville wi on the alert to detect Dorothea in oth delinquencies. He made excuses to 1 much from home, and seldom failed ' foilow her when she was sent upon ai errand which would take her into tl forest. So the man of God became a sj upon the poor girl. And his labors were not without resul Twice during that year he came upon h in the forest holding secret conver with some unknown person, and as the meetings were alwayd at night they co firmed tbe suspicions about the girl. waB also learned that after these intc views Dorothea always had a supply money about her, and that once si brought in from the forest a bundle furs, which were made into a cloak f her protection in winter. One night in October, as the minisl was prownnp auotll 1U iue nuvui, gui, where bis diseased fancy led him, suddenly found himself in the litl opening in front of Hillary's desert cabin. At the same moment a m dressed as an Indian came out of .t cabin door afcd hastily disappeared the woods. Mr. Granville, on the see for anything which might convict t girl, entered the deserted place and t ?an a minute search. He wan reward y finding a small package?a piece folded birch bark. "No doubt it was a message from h master to Dorothea," and he carried home with him. An enmity, too, had arisen betwe Dorothea and Achsah Granville. T 1 not meet the former withe girls were several yard* apart, xnis ?i occurred in front of the meeting hou one Sunday morning as the people we coming out from preaching. "You child of the devil!" the fath cried. "Will nothing satisfy you? W1 do you so persecute that poor girl?" "Child of the devil! Dorothea a: swered, "Methinks tnat is rough speei for a holy man of God. But how can I Dorothea, 'God's gift,' and come fro Satan?" "You need not play'upon words wi me, for I know you. Tell me, if yon a God's gift and not the devil's child, w] it is von co into the woods to meet?" "That X may not tell, reverend ?ir." "No; the troth yon say now. It won be to your shame to mention him who you meet." "Nay, sir," Dorothea answered, bins] ing; "there is no shame about it. ? whom I meet does not concern you, and Bhall not tell you." "Perhaps you will not deny, then, th you received fiom him money and furs the persecutor said, in a fury. "Have you been a Bpy upon me? W it not enough for von to drive ?y fath from hie home? Have you no mercy th you follow and persecnte a helple child? Whether I receive aught from ai one does not concern you. And nc let me go on my way, for it is not seem for you to hold such converse in front tbe meeting-house on the Lord's day And without waiting for a reply, Dor thea made her way to her adopted hom [TO BE CONTINUE).] TEMPERANCE. rT WHAT HAVE VOU DONE TO-DAT? I a farmer when the day was done; The setting sun had sought its crimsi bed. And the mild stars came forward one by on I saw the sturdy farmer and I said : 5^ "What have you done to-day? rO farmer, say?" "Oh, I've sown the wheat in yond ? field, . And pruned my orchard to increase t j-ield. And turned the furrow for a patch corn? This have I done since early morn." I saw the blacksmith in his smithy door, When the day had vanished and the We Krew red, And all the weary noise and strife were o'e I saw the kindly blacksmith, and I said: "What have you done to-day? kj uiacKsiuuii, buy: "Oh, I have made two plowshares i complete, And nailed the shoes on many a hors< feet, And oh, my friend, I cannot tell yi half," The man of muscle answered with laugh. I saw a miller when the day was gone, And all the sunlight from the hills hi fled, And tender shadows had crept across t lawn; I saw the dusty miller, and I said: "What have you done to-day? O miller gray?" "Oh, I have watched my mill frommoi till night; Did you ever see flour so snowy ai white? And many are the mouths to-day I' fed," The merry miller laughed as this he sai I saw another when the night drew nigh, And turnod each daily toiler from his tns When gold and crimson cloudlets decked t sky; A drink seller?and of him I aske?: "What have you done to-day? Drini: seller, say?" But the drinK seller turned with droopi] head. And not a single word in answer said. What had he done? His work, he kn< tull well. Was dally plunging souls in deepest he: A DISGUSTED DEUXKAKD. One woman determined that her husbai should know how he looked when he w drunk. She knew how he looked w enough, and needed not that any manshou ?~li !.? -,,,1 n)BA ? LCil lieL. iivi uuiiuicu ttiov jvuen j oau t perience, but the man himself had a very ii perfect idea of the state of the ease, once when he came home and fell into maudlin slumber she sent for the photo rapher to come forthwith ; and on his arm she set him to work. She ordered the pb tographer to photograph her husband as fat in his chair. The photographer did 1 work and did it well; and when the phot graph was finished and laid beside the hi; bands plate at breakfast it was a revelatic and the sobered gentleman experienced decidedly new sensation. There was no ne of explanation ; the thing explained itse There was no chance for contradiction ; t bun tells no lies, There was no room f argument. There was only one thing to d and that was to quit; and it is very fortune that the man had courage and sense enouj to do it. A STAHTLING QUESTION. Everybody knows that a largo proporti of crime (statisticians claim three-fourtl is the direct result of alcoholism. But n< comes a scientific writer in an esteemed co temporary and nsfcs the startling questio "Will our descendants be criminals?" 1 shows that the pathological conditions co ducive of crime are produced or aggravat by the habitual use of liquors. Drinkil degenerates nerve tissue, and in particul of the delicate structure of the brain. Hen there is a relation of cause and effect t tween drinking and epilepsy, nnd insanit and morbid nervous conditions generally which are hereditary. It cannot be said that crime is the exprc sion of disease that would destroy moral i sponsibility. But it is certainly true th morbid nervous conditions intensify tl difficulty of self-control, and re-enfor temptation.?St. Louis Republic. . - . , r*t CUSTOMS DUTIES. ie ft as LEVYING UNCLE SAM'S REVENUE tie ON COAST AND FRONTIER. njd sd An Intricate System of Invoices and re Official Papers?The Speedy Revfy enufi Cutters?Smuggling on tn the Canadian Frontier. cis ~7C FOREIGN merchant desiring er / \ to ship goods to the United be States must first go- before to the American Consul resid^ ing at the port from which he intends py to ship the merchandise and make oath to the kind, quality and quantity of it. the articles he wishes to ship to the er United States. This affidavit is called ?? a "consular certificate," and is attached to the invoice of goods the merchant is going to export. Three ,r_ of these invoices, properly certified, of are made out, one of which is kept by :e the Consul, one sent to the Collector of the Port to which the goods are to or be shipped, and one given to the exer porting merchant, who sends it to his aK customer in the United States. The he invoice which goes to the Collector of 'le the Port in this country is sent by the ed captain of the vessel which carries the ^ freight listed in the invoice. jn After the vessel crosses the ocean nt and is within fifteen leagues of the be main shore it is possible that it may )e- run across one of Uncle Sam's reve? ^ nue cutters. It may be well to explain here that the revenue cutters are er ac important factor in the protection it and collection of the customs duties. The revenue marine was established by Congress in 1790 for the purpose of preventing smuggling. Ten of these aa cutters were built at that time and orHe dered placed in commission. Since re then the revenue marine has grown in importance, until now the service 0r numbers about forty vessels. A mod' era revenue cutter is a small vessel, q. steel armored, and equipped with seveh eral fine guns of long range. The be vessels are built for speed, and besides 'm being propelled by powerfnl engines, ^ are also supplied with a large spread re of canvas. ho But to return to our incoming vessel. If the ship is in the regulur channel and making directly for port the revenue cutter will not molest it. But if the vessel is out of the beaten track, h. or has no colors flying, or if there is ut anything rakish or suspicious looking I about it, the revenue cutter will signal it to "bring to," as coming to a halt is called in sailor parlance. To make this signal the revenue cutter runs up as the revenue jack or fires a gun across er the bows of the incoming vessel. When at the vessel comes to a halt a boat is lowered from the cutter and two ^ officers are sent aboard the ship to lv make an examination. If the captain J of m Bt POLICEMAN ON THE SHORE. r; can show his clearance and other ship papers, and they are fonnd to be regular, he is permitted to go on, other- ' ill wise the vessel is placed under arrest , and taken to the nearest port. After the vessel lands the captain must 3u within twenty-four hours thereafter "enter" his vessel?that is, he must a report to the Collector of the Port, delivering to him copies of the manifest and clearance papers. To do this he 1(1 first deposits his clearance papers with ho the Consul of the Nation from which the ship sailed. The Consul examines the papers and if they are regular he gives the captain of the vessel a cerm tificate to this effect. The captain then gives the collector this certificate, d VAC. I W 1111311 ID UJUUiAJ CUUWUVV v.ui*v TVW > ve sol is from the country that it claims I to be. Besides delivering his clearance d. papers to the collector the captain also delivers to him the manifest of the ship, containing a list of the passenhe gers on board the vessel and the invoice of goods sent to the merchant in j this country, which it will be remembered was indorsed by an American ag Consul in a foreign port before the i goods were shipped to this country, i 5W The captain must make oath that his ] manifest is in every way correct to the ' 11! best of his knowledge and belief. < When these regulations have been 1 complied with the collector issues an 11 order for the delivery of the cargo. |1 ^ But before the importing merchant ! 1 ell or consignee can secure his goods he i ild must go before the collector and sex" cure a permit allowing him to unload 1 gj his freight. To- do this he goes to the i > a custom house and produces his in- 1 '8- voice and bill of lading. The invoice 1 is compared with the invoice in pos-' 1 he session of the collector and which tvas i lis sent to him by the Consul residing in ?* the country from which the goods i were shipped. The bill of entry which a is presented by the importing mer- i ed chant is also compared with the bill of ' entry which the captain gives to the ( or .Collector at the same time that he < lo, does his manifest and clearance papers, t Lt? These papers are then taken to the 1 5 naval office, where the work is veri- j ] fled. When these panersare returned 1 to the custom house and found to be ! < regular the collector makes out what | ( on in known as un "estimate" 01 iuc j1 is) amount of duties that should be paid, i e jw He also names a certain number of < n~ packages that must be sent to the pub- i l?^' lie stores for appraisement in order in- that the rate of duty may be accurately f 0(1 ascertained. i ^ After these formalities are through ' c?, with the importer pays the estimated 1 ie- duty on the goods he wishes to trans- r ? fer immediately to his store or ship to ( other merchants in the interior of the 1 ;s- country. He may, if he wishes, get i two permits, one allowing him to have 1 immediate possession of the goods up- c na on which he has paid a duty and the s I other to allow him to remove the goods j c . . .. . V * ' i '' :vy on which the duty is not paid to a bonded warehouse. OTHAIi MONUMENT MARKING MEXICAN BOUNDARY ON PACIFIC COAST. When a merchant imports a cargo of goods which he- does not wish to place immediately npon the market he can store his merchandise in a bonded warehouse by getting a permit to do so, and by giving a bond to secure the payment 6f the duties. The bond is to the effect that if the merchandise be withdrawn within three years from the date of importation and the duties paid then the bond is to be void. If merchandise is removed within a year after being placed in bond then only the regular duties are imposed, but if it romains in bond longer than one year an extra charge of ten per cent, upon the regular duty is added. All merchandise placed in a bonded warehouse must be withdrawn within three years or the goods will be sold to pay the duties. At ports other than seaports the methods employed in collecting duties are the same as those just described, except, of course, that there are no revenue cutters or tugs. The manner of collecting the customs at 'some of the frontier custom houses is quite in formal. This is especially true 01 tne customs offices on the Mexican frontier and on the boundary line between the States and the British provinces. There is a peculiarity about the Mexican frontier that is entirely its owe. It consists in what is known as the "free zone," and is situated in Old Mexioo. Several years ago the Mexican Government passed a law setting apart a narrow strip of territory on the boundary line between that country and the United States to be a "zona libra," or free zone, into which goods and merchandise could be shipped from any part of the world duty free. The object of this legislation was to build up a narrow strip of Mexican territory at the expense of the United' States frontier. This piece of strategy by the Mexican Government is accomplishing its purpose, because the United States is debarred from retaliating with a similar law, for the reason that it would be contrary to the provision of the Constitution, which declares that "all duties, imposts and excises shall be uniform throughout the United States." The free zone is a strip of territory twenty miles wide on the Mexican side of the line, and extends from Matamoras to Tijana. The United States frontier adjoining Old Mexico is poorly guarded. There are custoit houses at Brownsville, Laredo, Eagle Pass and El Paso, Texas, and at Nogales, New Mexico. Mounted inspectors patrol this part of the frontier but they only act as detectives, and there are not enough of them to guard properly the boundary line between this country and the "free zone" in Mexico. It is doubtful if any ordinary number of men could guard the Mexican frontier. The barren plains in the northern part of Texas and in | the-southern part of New Mexico and | Arizona afford great protection to the j FRONTIER CUSTOM HOUSE AT LOCHTEL, ! ARIZONA. smugglers. Usually natural impediments make smuggling unprofitable. But it is the reverse in this instance. To the professional smuggler this sterile and wild tract of country is a bridge between Mexico and the inaabited part of the United States, ?rhich, if he can but safely cross, he feels that be is secure from pursuit ind capture. The frontier between Canada and ;he United States is not patrolled in iny manner. The only guards are ;he iron poets which stand like sen;inels on the boundary line at a dis;ance of one mile apart. These posts nark the line between the United States and Canada as settled by the V.shburton treaty in 1842. The custom houses are at tne ran oad stations on or near the line. The collectors at these ports do not ;xert themselves very much in the way >f guarding the frontier. In some instances they lend a helping hand to he smuggler. A collector of a small . )ost on the New York frontier told he writer of a scheme he had devised o hell) the ' 'boys" bring horses from Canada to the United States. He alked freely about the matter, and ieemed to think that he owed these sourtesies to the "boys" for having iulorsod him for the office of collc^or. Along the New York and Vermont "rontier every few miles can be found j vhat is known as the "line store. L'hese stores are built on the boundary, ine, part of the store being in Canad'a ind part in the United States. T&e ihief object of these stores is to avbid he payment of the Government license equiretl ot retail dealers in iiquior. Another object is to avoid the customs luties on such articles as are geuereully ;old in country stores. They ikre :losely watched, however, and not - vj ranch ie done in the way of evading! ' customs dnties. Bnt as respects the] ' { avoidance of the Government lioenaej tax, the scheme is almost perfection :> itself. When the American customer comes to bny whisky he must go to , i* $ the Canada side of the store, bat when a Canadian wants ius jog nuea 119 , must go over to the counter on the, 1 ^ American side. Saturday afternoons :'{$ and rainy days it is a common eight to see the lines of customers going anS coming, one from Canada and thg other from the United States. Tha proprietor escapes paying a tax in this United States for the reason that ha does not sell liquor to a citizen of thifl country on American soil and the Government cannot bring a foreigner into < this country as a witness.'-?New York * Advertiser. ? Oldest Dentist in America. ? Dr. Bobert B. Beynes, the oldest | dentist in America, supposed to be the < oldest Freemason in the New England States, and among the oldest peopl^in the 8<ate of Maine, celebrated hifl ninety-eighth birthday on September 28 at hifl residence, Bock land. He born of wealthy parents in London,'1 England, bat through the dishonesty of a clerk his father was rained -when j young Barnes was sixteen years oldJ} Ten years later the young man saile&lSffi for America, learned the watchmaker's I trade in New York, and then went to 1 Boston, where he studied dentistry for 1 five years. After practicing in Boston , ] for years he moved to Rockland, where J he has been for thirty-five years. For I dr. bobebt b. bainbs. half a century he has not tasted meat, his principal diet being graham bread and cocoa. Liquor and tobaoco are his pet aversions, and hi8 moat notioeable peculiarity is that he never speaks until spoken to. He was married in early life, but his wife died many years ago, and since then Baynes has lived nlone, making a good part of his own clothing, including his shirts and collars. Dr. Baynes has no living relatives that C0 he knows of, and his taciturnity is bo marked that he may be said to be without even an intimate friend.?Chicago '? Herald. An Interesting Caned Stone. R H. Harris, a merchant at Yar*4 ; ^ mouthport, Mass., -while recently ' re-j ? V * *^~~y v jCk y A STONE UNEARTHED ON CAPE COD. : Ti'i moving the subsoil from the acropolis of the hill in the rear of his house, ex-} humed a stone twice the size of a hen'ijJ * ' egg on which is plainly sculptured iw \ || profile the face of a human being. A careful examination of the stone has revealed the fact that not only, one profile, with its accompanying incisions is carved thereon, but there are two faces at opposite ends ot the stone. As this is the first discovery of the kind in Cape Cod yet recorded, it is exciting considerable interest and may lead to further investigations,' "V* Some think that the stone is an Indian relic, whil? others believe it to be con- j temporary with an earlier age. A It seems to be a peculiar fact that at W this late date the first specimen of thesort is found, especially here in his* toric Cape Cod, after the tireless and diligent search of our relic hunters for specimens of Indian relics, extending' over a period of many years.?Netf York World. It's a Poor Rule That Wou'fc Worfc Either War. ps, f jf "Can't git yer head out, Jimmy?} Hoi'/ on, an' we'll jjull ye troo." ! ;;jj n.fi il. .ft-ft n)(}-' jj ?bp 3WT?ob:?w?nrj?am-/ ^ ' f -& . F? . : ' L* If ti * iku I it - -* "\ Bat they didn't, ---