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DR.TALMACE -RACHES ON THE OS ICAT'ONS OF CHILCREN. 2bt~ ~ E~ia~ h.* Old Lo tut I n: .;aira.ur -d br the Rever ( Smzay. Dr. Tahnage announe i:, rtx: the v.ords. "A foolish Li heaviness of hismother." Pco ;:. K.. 1. He said: All parents want their children to u-rn out well. However poorly fath e- :d mother may have done them elvt the y want their sons and daughters to do splendidly. Up to korty years of age parents may have amilir~s for themselve"-. after that ef ambitions are for their C Jen.11on'. of the old time names 1 e 7s. The name of Abner -is father's lamp." The name A igai. meauns -her father's joy." And what a parental delight was Solomon o David. and Samuel to Hannah. and Joseph to Jacob: And the best eartod, Staff that a father has to lean On is u go . one, and the strongest has to help her down the steep of years is that el agrateful chil.&But it is not a rare thing to Aed. mople untilial, and often the p 'cits- a!-, themLIselves to blame. sons sometimes become qaer ulous and snappy. and the children v thIr hands full with the old foilks. - Becaso people are old they have no to be either ungentlmanly or uncanni v. There are old people so Usagre eable that they have nearly IbrokL un some homes. The young iarr- man with whom the aged one lves sia nA ds it because he has been used to It all his life, but the young wie, cming from another household en u da l endure it., and sometimes1 alimest cries her eyes out. And when litle ehildren gather in the house they are afraid of the venerable pa triarch. who has forgotten that he ever was a child himself and cannot understand why childr'en should ever want tolav "hide and seek." or roll hoop. or fly kite. and he becomes im iatient at the sound froin tne nursery. au sh'outs with an expenditure of voice that keeps him coughing fifteen afterwards. "Boys! stop that ckel as though any boy that "mounted to anything in the world aid not begin by makng a racke. v, . there are children who owe ,ohntg to their parents, for those arents have been profligates. My 1i9hiented frienJ, good and Christian &d 4ovly Henry Wilson, vice-presi ni ofthe1nited States, in ear. k~ie'anged his name. Henry Wil xon was not his original name. He dopped his father's name because that father was a drunkard anda dis grace. and the son did not feel called 7pon to carry such a carcass all his Le. While children must always be dutifuL I sympathize with all young people who have disagreeable or un picipled old folks around the house. Bomo of us, drawing out of our mem ories, know that it is possible, after y or seventy or eighty or ninety years of age, for the old to be kind 'and genial: and the grandest adorn ment of a home is an aged father and and an aged mother, if the process of years hlas mellowed them. Besides that. if your old parents ar adto fret along with now, you mustremember here-sas a tm when they had hard work to get aloii with you. 'When you were about five or seven or ten or twelve years of age what a time they had with you! If they had kept a written account of your early pranks and miisdoings, it would make a whole volume. That time when you gave your little sister a clir: that time when you explored the diepth of a jar of sweet things for which you had no permission; that havoe you one day made with your jack knie: that plucking f&m the orchard of unripe fruit; that day when., instead of being at school, asf your parents supposed, you went, a-1 *Ashing: and many a time did you un peril your young life in places where you had no business to climb or 'swim or venture. To get you through your first fifteen years with your life and your good morals was a fear - .ul draft upon parental fidelity and - enduranj.ce. Indeed, it may be that much of this presenit physical and mental weakness in your parents may have been a re suit of your early .waywardness. You -made such large and sudden drafts upon the bank of their patience that you broke the bank They were in jured in being thrown while trying to break the colt. It is a matter of only3 common honesty that you pay back1 to them some of the long suffering which they paid to you. A father said to his son: "Surely no father ever had as bad a boy as I have." -Yes," said the son, "my grandfather had." It is about the same from eneration to generation. and par ents need to be patient with children, wid children dutiful to their parents. Taking it for granted that those who hear me to-day have had a gooal par eniage. I want to urge upon all the vonng the fact that the happiness and l.2ngevity of parents much de -pen d upon the right behavior of their children, and I can do this no more efectually than by demonstrating the iuh f my text, "A foolish son is the eaviness of his mother." Perhaps some young man astray may be brought back by a thought of how they feel about him at home. A French soldier lay wounded and dying in the hospital at Geneva. Switzerland. His father, at home, seventy years of age, heard of his son's suffering. and started, and took the long journey, and found the hos it-a, and as he entered the son ried: "0 father, I am so glad you etine to see me die." "No," said the father: "you are not going to die; voar mother is waiting for you, and I am going to take you home; I have briought~' you money adeverything y ou need." "No," said the soldier -they- give me here everything that is nice to eat, but I have no appetite, andi I must die." Then the father took fr om his k-napsack a loaf of rye brtd s.uch as the plain people of his coun-y- ate, and said: "Here is a loaf of bread your mother made, and I ami sur yon eau eat tis: she sent it to1 yo'."Then the soldier brightened un and took the bread and ate it, and sid: "It is so good, the bread from hone. 'he bread that my mother ma'de: No wonder that in a few days he had recovered. 0 young man, wounded in the battle of life. ad disouraged. given up by your self, and given up by others, the old folks at the country fieside have not gvr"' you up. I bring you bread :on home. It may be plain bread, but it is that bread of which if a man eat he never again shall hunger. Bread froma home! Bread from home: Sib I 'ou wee down with 31l1' a it drow kined her,. --Wha"11t is i t u c. id e plese. as is usual . he kept her pa u .;sas kind as un aora l and crosS. Y!!, d'I .iv irly vatch atot ai .11 tin'wd urn :oy that hel* soiIuch 11W 01 I i e"' :hiin wicil. .lour I U 11 1 N .%: u s ask 1 0od :n';Oiy years. as s old tahomd d had n~o mpexs .v. Istw ides and I canopy) al of lain1 wood, but 1here was a re-at D(mnyahe n pain wre j'tIe ii a' i:. mlid to11- and fr L d igt.ost avrk1y Ai In em~r :at he ock~swichl came a Ifom und thile cradle wcre on Lle top an id. very simiooi, so not thad it they actaly glistened. ' .* mus't ave been worn smooth a ?oot that long"' c" eeaed its )uriir. How tied the foot that ressed it mut :-,ometL have got! ut it did ot st op for that. It went 1i-it ou and rocled for Phebe the . o' o e Witt the last. And was a cradle like thaT. or perhaps Jmodern make and richly upholster d. in which your mother rocked you. an it be that for all that care and evotion you are p:ying her back %ih hiarsh word:; or neglect or a icked life Then. I must tell you iyou are the --ioolish son who is he ltav iss of his mother. Better o homwe :d kiss her.and ask her for ivene;s. Kiss her on the lips that ave .;o prayed for you. Kiss ei on. the ?orehead tit so often cl ed ior you-.. Kiss her on the eyes lat hiav so o1en wept over you. ego right away. ior sh will be eni fo(r0 long. Aud 1ow. will you el t r you readi::e it is your oy w ' reess'- 11it illdher.' Romu : ao lw aal- .At pat eide r the i ley-u, o t father: iatricide, r the su : " m.nother: because csz sOc*'*e h crilesimpossible. LIar xhundred years there was .L a rime of that sort in Rome. Aut then; eu,: Lucius Ostius and .ew his father. proving the crime Ossible. Now Jo you not think that e chid oby w-rong behavior ds hiS i:hr ato premature ralve is a p.aricide. o- who by mis oduct has-t: -ns a mother to the tomb a miatriCide. The hea':viness-- of parents over a om's depravitv is all the greater be use inman- spiritual disaster and vertirow. That is the worst thing bout it. In the pen-sion regulations soldier receis for loss of both ands o_ feet 1i' For loss of one and and one foot $36. For loss of hand er a foot. ;30. For loss of oth veys %72. But who can ealcu te th'e value of a whole man ruined ov. mind and soul? How can pa ents have any happiness about your turce destiny, oh youmg man gone stray! Can such opposite lives as ou a ther are living come out at the une lce! Can holiness and dissi iation enter the same gate? Where the little praver that was taught ou at youAr m'other-s krnee! Is the od th' loved and worshipped your rod? I't is your soul about which iy ar mest anxious, your soul that al'llh~iveafer the earth itself shall be irdfled in fiamiles, and the tlames dy ig down, wil leave the planet only live coal. and the live coal shall ave become ashes, and then the ashes hall be scattered by the whirlwinds If the Almighty. -But.r isays some young man. "my oheisgone: my behavior will not rouble her any more." lh that thoseo Ups ha~d 1:h gang! Life hias Vlt me bu' roughly A1.ce I h-ird. the~ !ati. What: Is she dead? How -yout ute me! Is she dead? Then per Laps you have her picture. Hang it ni'your room in the pilace where *ou oftenest look. Go and study her ytures, and while you are looking le past will comie back, and you may ar her voice, which is now so still. peak again, saying: "From my heav aly liome. my dear boy, I solicit ouri reformaLution and salvation. Go > he Christ that pardoned me, and e will pardon you. My heaven will iot be complete till I hear of your anging. But I will hear of it right wa. for there is joy here when one Lun'ir repenteth: anid oh. if the next f that kind that comecs up here might ome up regarding you, oh my child fmany. tears and anxieties and ravrs. dome. my boy. do you not hear our mnother's voice? 0 my son, my on would Godl tha~t I could (he for ic? () my son. my soni! Young mn:ii what news o heatven would be ouri convers iLn SwiLer than tele rapiei wire elr (-arried congratula onsl to a wedding o a coronation ould tiy heavenwarud the news of ou delvierance: and whether the n most inter-ested in y-our salvation -re on river bank. or in the temple. r OL thle battlements, or in the rst tower, the message would be Istaltly received, and before this rvie is closed angel would cry' to uizel: -'Have you hieard the news? ut. onder is a mother who has .iust ard of her'wayward boys redemp o1. Aniother prodigal has got oue. The dead is alive again,! and e l1:t is found. Hallelujiah! GENERALNEWS :.MS. -The~ Duke of Orleans writes that Le is oposed to the presentation to rsident Carnot of a petition for his :lease. -Of the ~f.O0.00 asked for the new uidingr of the Secondt Ba:ptist Church f Atnta.:i355.000 has b~een secured. itd the wvork of building will be 'gun innmediately. -Governor McKinney, of Virginia. as aproved a bill passed at the nit session of the Legislature, pro ibitingz the saile of tobacco. cigars or iarettes to boys tunder sixteen years -Te dwelling lhous- of Mrs. J. 0. avir, at Newberr~iy, S. C., wsasde :-oyd by tire Monday afternoon. >rig thle iiro a littl son' of B. H. eovelace wvas run over by a hor-se, nd fatally hurt. -It is believed that at the next u'neral cointerenc'e of the Methodist aygood, of Alabama. will be elected bisho,. and that he will not again BY '-TIE DUCHESS." s .uuwr of -fms "o-na ScuUl' h Ph C.' etc. h CH1APTEIR .V.a Florece. after Dora has left her, i sits :uot imuless at. hr window. She has 1 thrown i.pent the casement, and now- t) the sleeves of her dressing-gown fall- sl ing back from her bare rounded arms leans out so that the descending night- e dews fall like a benison upon her burn inr brow. t 3he is wrapped In melancholy; her h whole soul is burdened with thoughts and regrets almost too heavy for her to y support. She is harassef and per- tl plexed on all sides. and her heart is t] sore for the loss of the love she once had deemed her own. The moonbeams cling like a halo round her lovely head, her hair falls in a a luxuriant showrer about her should- h ers: her plaintive face is raised from arth her eyes look heavenward, as a though seeking hope and comfort a there. t] The night is still, almost to oppres siveness. The birds have long since ceased their song: the .-.ind hardly t3 stirs the foliage of the stately trees. The perfume wafted upward from the q sleepng garden floats past her and mingles with her scented tresses. No t sound comes to mar the serenity of the a night, all is calm and silent as the grave. Yet, hark, what Is this? A footstep b en the gravel pakh below arouses her t) attention. For the first time since Do- a ra's departure sho moves, and, turning c her head, glances in the direction of the sound. t] Bareheaded and walking with his sl bands claspea behind him as though h absorbed in deep thought. Sir Adrian I comes slowly over the award until he b stands beneath her window. Here he pauses, as though almost unconscious- t ly his spirit had led him thither, and e brought him to a standstill where he t] wouli most desire to be. d The moon. spre;idiu its brilliance d all around. permits Florence to see s that his face is grave and thoughtful, 3 and-yes, as she gazes even closer, she c can sie that it is full of pain and vain M at is rendering him unhappy on q this night of all others. when the wo- a man she believes he loves has been his I willing companion for so many hours, r when doubtless she has given him o proofs of her preference for him above c all men? Suddenly lifting his head, Sir Adrian g becomes conscious of the face in the S window above, and a thrill rushes t through him as he recognizes the form a of the woman he loves. The scene is so calm, so hallowed, so a full of romance, that both their hearts s beat madly for awhile. They are alone; y any one still awake within the house is far distant. ( Never has she appeared so spiritual t so true and tender; so full of sweetness t that is almost unearthly. All ride , seems to have gone from ker, and i tsa place Oly a gfttle welatchol7 rein a she 1MV removed from slt ting t he purity ofher robes thA a$ he has tte e asv' =angel ' resin _VWn to the realms above. 9 At }as%. however, his heart ompeu- I him, he speaks aloud. r lorence, you still awake, when all the world is sleeping?" l; His name falling from his lips touch- s es a chord in her breast, and wakes her to passionate life. "You tao," she says in a whisper that I reaches his strained ears. There seems t to her a subtle jov in the thought that Q they two of afl the . household are awake, are here talking together alone I in the pale light of the moon. Yet she is wrong in Imagining that 1 no others are up in the houise, as his 1 next words tell her. "It is not a matter of wonder in my t case," he respondis: "a few fellows are still in the smoking-room. It is early, you know--not yet three. But you why are you keeping a lonely vigil like this?" "The moon tempted me to the win dow," answers Florence. "See how calm she looks riding majestically up I there. See"-stretching out her b~are , white arm untijl the beams fall full up-c on it, and seem to change it to puresta marble-"does it not make one feel as if all the world were being bathed in Its subdued glow?" A pale tremulous smile widens her I lips. Sir Adrian, plucking a tall pale lil growing near him, flings it upward with such an eager aim that it alights t upon her window-sill. She sees it. Hr t finens close upon it. AC~rianL sfynd i s y. I ".De~ you know of what you remind me, sittin-g therein your white robes? A C medeval saint cut in stone-a pure ani- I gel, too good, too far above all earthly passion to enter into It, or understand 1 it, and the grief that in~nst ever attnd a upon it." He speaks bitterly. It seems to him I that she is indeed cold not to have r guessed before this the intensity of his 1 love for her. However much she may I have given her affection to another, it still seems to him inexpressibly harda that she can have no pity for his suffer- I ing. He gazes at her initently. Do thea mystic moonbeams deceive him, or are there tears in her great dark eyes? Hise heart beats quicklg. Once again he re members her emotion of the past even-s ing. He hears again her passionate sobs. Is she unhapy ?Are there thorns In her path tha are difficult to remove?. "Florence, once again I entreat you to confids in me, he says, after a pause. "I can not," she returns, sadly but frmly. ."But there is one thing I must say to you-think of me as you may for saying it-I am not cold as you seemed to imply a moment since; I am not made of stone; and, alas, the grief you think me incapable of understauding is mine alreadril You have wronged me in your thouights. I have here," she explains with some vehemence, laying the hand in which she still holds the droopin lily upon her breast, ''what I woul~d gldybe without-a heart." "Nay' says Adrian hastily; "you for get. Itis no longer yours, you have gven it away."1 For an instant she glances at him E keenly while her breath comes and ge4wth ptu1Qcknes murmurs at last. "Ne, o~f course not; I beg you.-e don," 'he says apologetiea l~. Itis your own secret.' 'There is no secret," she declares nervously. "None." "I hav'e offended you. I should not have sa that. You will foigive me?" he entreats, with agitation.i "You are quite forgiven;" and, as a token leans a little further out of the wmIw anid 1ooks diown at flm witn a a face pale indeed, but full of an unutter- E able sweetness.8 Her beauty conquers all his resolu.. t tions. h "Oh, Florence," he whispers In an Impassioned tone, "if I only dared tell t you what-"s She starts and Iays a finger on her b lips, as though to en force silence. "Hush!" she savs, in trembling ac- i cents. "You forfget! The hour, the t surroundings, have- momentarily' led t you astray. I ought not to have spo- f ken with you. Go! There is nothmn ou dare to tell me-.there is nothing I t vould wish to hear. Remember pour ~ duty to another-and-good-night.' f "Stay, I implore you. for one mo-b ment,'' he crii's; but shie is firm, and a presently the curtains are drawn closec and he is alone.d Slowly he walks back toward the smoking-room, her last words ringing in his ears-"Rememnber your duty to 1 another." What other? He is puzzled, but. reachig the window of the room, he dismisses these thoughts froxm his1 mind, and determines to get rid of hSf guests without delay, so as to be able to enjoy a little quiet and calm for re-k flection. They are all noisily discussing a sni cde that has recently taken p lace in a neighboring county,' and which had, from its peculiar circumstances, caused more than usual interest, a .W.U.rk '"11Zt a rocklMs or ;1uznllakvs~ a '3m:'' ~:nno t hurt. yorT~ ,eorge or HInry o' Mary orr. r Rachel. because there a.ve * :housands of people. go0d nz b laving those nailues. and yu a miprove or depreciate th rth bility of those given naue.- Buz s your last 1am. yoLr family ne, hat is at your mercy. All whobear that name arebound. befor :a Man, not to damgits hap q ii aance Tou are charged, by :l fenelrations of the past and I the renerationsto come. to do your shar <t or the protection and the honor :-ta < ,he integrity o that name. Yu lave no right, myl yolung fiedIl by ad life to blot the old famili < 'ontai'J.1t the story of the mamages mI births and deaths ) th yea fone by. or to cast a blot uioi th t amily Bibles whose rccor ae 2 :o be opened. There are in our Aerie::n yny di ectories names that alway .u 'mmercial dishonesty or hbertnism i r cruelty or meanness, jus; becauset ne man or-womanbearig that namle yursed it forever by misereancy. Look 1 )ut how you stab the family n ame: 1 [t is especially dear to your iotu r. She was not born under that n::me. he was born under another name, j ut the yearspassed on anud she caie o young womanhood, and s-he saw j some one with whom she could trust r er happiness. her life a:i1 her im- .i mortal destiny: and she took his name i :ook it while the orange blossoms c ere filling the air with fragrance, c took it with joined hands, Itok it. ( hile the heavens witnessed. She i !hose it out of all the family nmeiais since the world stood. chose it for v better or worse, through sickness and i Ihrough health, by cradles and by t graves. Yes, she pat on' her old family name. 0 take the family name you now I ear, and she has done her part to 1 nake it an honorable name. How teavy a trouble you put upon her t vhen, by misdeeds, you wrench that j 1ame from its high significaucc! To I 1aul it down fromyour mother's fore- 1 lead and trampleit in the (lust would )e criminal. Your father's n:ana may 1 ot be a distingushed name. but 1 lope it stands for something good. 0 [t may not be famous. like that of 1 omer. the father of epic poetry. or [zaak Walton, the father of angling. )r Eschylus, the father of trtagedy. I >r Ethelwold, the father of monks, s )r Herodotus. the father of history. P )r Thomas Aquinas, the father of t noral philosophy, or Abrahan. the s ,ather of the faithful, but your father 6 as a name in a small circle as pre- c ious to him as theirs in a largz er iircle. Look out how you tarnish it: Further. the recklessness and di.s ipation of a young man are a cause >f parental distress at a time when 0 :he parent is less able to bear it. The vicissitudes of life have left their mpression upon those parents. Th e ye is not as clear as once. nor the earing as acute.nor the nerves as steady, nor the step as strong. and L with the tide of incoming years lmes the weight of unfTil behavior. Lou take your parents at a great (Us idvantage, for they cannot stand as nuch as they once could. They have iot the elasticity of feeling with 3 hich once they could throw off ~ rouble. Thatgheaew-w some I what ba' cannot bear as heavy a 1 irden as they once could. At the 3 :ine when the machinery is getting ( worn out you put upon it the most~ j erribe strain. Perhaps it is a good t :hing that cruel treatment by a child ~ ibbreviates a parent's life: for what is 6 :here desirable in a father's life or a nother's life if its peace is gone? Do ~ ou not think death is something 1 beneficent if it stops the mother s ea~rt from aching and her eyes from weeping, and says: "You need not bear the excruciation any longer. Go I md sleep. I will put the defense of marble slab between you and that boy's outrages. Go now where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest!" At the departure >f such mothers let the music be an mthem instead of a dirge. While -ou and I hear no sound, yet there ire at this moment tens of thou ands of parental'-.hearts breaking. All care was taken with the boy s schooling, all good counsels given~and :he equipment for a sober and ear test and useful life was provided, but it has all gone, and the foolish son has become the heaviness of his nother.1 Much of the poignancy of the pa ental grief arises from the ingrati ude of such behavior. What an un ertaking it is to conauct a family< hrough the ailments and exposures of( early life! Talk about the skill de- < manded of a sea captain command- i tng a ship across the ocean: That requires less skill than to navigate i young soul in safety across the in Fantile and boyhood years. The i sicknesses that assault, the tempta- , tion that entrap, the anxieties thaL I are excited! Young man~you will never know what your mother has suffered for you. You will never know ho your father has toiled for you. You1 bare been in all their thoughts, in alli their plans, in all their prayers, fronm the time your first breath was drawn to this moment's respiration. What they could do for your health, what they could do for your happiness. what they could do for your mmnd. what they could do for~ your soul. have been absorbing (juestion~s. To earn a livelihood for you has not al ways been an easy thing for yourjl rather. By what fatigues of body t md what disturbances of mind, an d. Long years of struggle in which some imes the losses were greater than bhe gains, he got bread for you, pay Eng for it in the sweat of is own brow and the red drops of his own beart's blood! He looks older than e ought to look at his years. for it i Lhas been work, work. Many a time Lie felt like giving up the battle, but then he looked at your helplessness md the helplessness of the house Lold, and then he nerved himself up1~ mew and said: "By the help of God < I will not stop; my children mnus.t dave home and education and advan- I tages, and a comfortable starting i te world, and I must get a little 1 tomething ahead, so that if I ant ta ken away these helpless ones will not 1 be turned out on the cold charities of the world." Yes. your father h: been a good fiend to you. He has aever told any one, and he never* will ell any one, of the sacrifices he has I made for you. And he is ready to keep right on until unto that hand that has been toiling for you all these ] rr shall come the very numbness of death. You cannot afford to breakj bis heart. But you are doing it.~ Yes, you are. You have the daggerc elear up to the hilt.] And your mother-I warrant she u-geol] jd h e s gi, i" t'u . e: ain a s to h OW it adben , iflel It 0ar Am iquest that the nifortunate man 1:;d I lot himself in a p Da: n ru mse considerable . : aI .:.W, e had beeni murder i !r hd I d o . is own hand. Ev ln:- ho:: most continmi.'T nI:tur h:a (enn-I rmne'd the latter tirye.r Captain Ringwood. with *a revolver i his hand, is endeavoing to h iat the man codI not !::Ve shtt him ,If. just as Adran' re -enters. "Be careld w ith tht revolver." he Kelaims hastily: "Jt is lad .dl" 1 "All right. vid fello,. I know it." re 2rns Rigiiwood. -Lo!k here. doetur. ow' could he make a -wnd herf[' "Why not? Sir A,!rian. t:1?e the re- c olver for a ne ment wl y Ss 3e suirgeon, anxious to d~os aeii scory heyond the 'ossiilty of~ d'roh. [want to conrvine .1 v'od. Now 1 =md so, and hld '::o wveapon so" lacing it with the inrzzle presenited in rather awkward p.itioi idInost over is heart. -"I thought fellows always put the I muzzles of their revolvers in their I1 iouths and blew their .brains outvwhen a ev committefd suicide." Ringwoodre- 1 1arks I*litly. "Thisifello'w evlidntiv did not." says ie surgeon calmlly. "Now, Sir Adrian, ou see, by hoi'iuing it thus, you cuuld aite easily 0!(iw yursel to-" i Before he can :inish the sentence, bere is a sud!n cf of bodies, jostling as it were. for Arthur Dyne rt, who had been looking on atten rvely with one froot on a footstool close ) Sir Adrian's elbow, had slipped from e stool at this opportune moment, nd had fallen heavily against his There is a shout frrm somnfbody. and t ien a silence. Tir- revolver i the :uffle had gone off! Through the ouse the sharp crack of a bitlYL rings )udly. rousing many from their slum- 1 ers. Lights can be sen in the passages; rritied faces peep ont from half-opea d doors. Dora Talbot. coming into :e corridor in a pale phu cashmere ressing-gown trinimed with swan's own, in whicY. ship looks the very per :miticatioi - iT11oCiCe and youth, reams loudly and demands hysteri illy to be informed as to the cause of eunusual noise. The servants have rushed from their uarters in alarm. Ethel Villiers. with pale scared face, runs to Florence )elmaine's room, and throws her arms ound that young lady as she comes ut, pale but composed. to ask in a lear tone what has happened. As nobody knows. and as Florence i her heart is more frightened than e cares to conn ss. being aware brough Adrian that szme of the men restillup in the smkizn-roon. and aring that a gaarrel had arisen. monw them she pro)ses that they boult go to the smok.ing-room in a ody and make iquiries. Old Lady FitzAlmont. with Lady ertrude sobbing on her arm, seconds his proposal. and, being a veteran of iueh distinction, takes the lead. Those llwing close behind. are glad of tis, nd hopeful because of it, her appear nee being cagitated to ront any ene 2y. The awful character of her dress ag-gotn and tih severity .o the that crowns her mara Wf6anterro to the hme a2y 2idnight marauders. They all ipove ff in a body, and, guided unconsctous F by Florence, approach the smoking om. Voices loud in conversation can be eard as they draw near; the door is lightly ajar. Florence drawing back s they come quite up to it, the old adv waves her aside and advances ofaly to the front. Flinging wide open he door, she bursts upon the astonish d company within. "Where is he?" she asks, with a dig ity that only heightens the attractions f cap and gown. "Have you secured im? Sir Adrian, where is the consta l? Have you sent for him?" Sir Adrian1, whose gaze is fixed upon he fair vision in the trailing white own standing timidly in the door ray, forgets to answer his mnterrotta or, and the others taken by surprise, aintain a solemn silence. "WIhy this mystery?" dem ands Lady ~itz-Almont sternly. "Where is the iscreant? Where is the man that tred that shot?" "Here, madame." renties the surgeon tryly, inidicating Arthur Dynecourt by ,motion of the nand. "lHe-who?~ Mr. Dyniecourt?" eiacu aT~es ner xaaysnip in a disappointed one. "It was all a mistake. then? I ust say. Mr. Dynecourt." continues he old lay in an mndignant tone, "that tilnk you might find a more suitable ime in which to play off your jokes, or o practice target-shooting. than in the Eddle of the night, when every re pctable 'hotusehold ought to be wrap led n slumber." "I assure you?' begins Arthur Dyne ourt, whois strangely pale and discom osed, "it was all an accident-an-" "Accident! Nonsense, sir; I don't eliev'e there was any accident whatso vei!" As these words pass the lips of the rasCible old lady, several men in tlfe com exchianne significant glances. Is that old Lady FitzAlmont has just nt their own thbughts into words? "Let me explain to your ladyship," as Sir Adrian courteously. "V# e were ust talking about that unfortunate iair of the Stewarts. and Maitland ras s-howing us how it inighmt have oc urred. I had the revolver in mv hand e"-pointing the weapon toward him -Put down that abomninable weapon tt once, sir!" commands Lady Fit zAl nont, in a menacing tone. largely min ~led writh abject fear. As she speaks she etreats precipitately behind Florence, hus pushing that young lady to the ore. "When my cousin unhappily stum >led against me, and the revolver went ft," goes on Sir Adrian. "I'm deeply ~rived, Lady FitzAlmont, that this hould have occurred to disturb the ousehld; but, really, it was a pure eident." "A pure accident," repeats Arthur, rem between his colorless lips. Ie looks fpar more distressed by this ecurrence than Sir Adrian, who had arrowly escaped being wounded. This inlv showed his tenderness aiid proper eeling, as almost all the women pre ent mutuially ag-reed. Ahmost all, but iot quite. blora Talbot, for e:xample, Iows deadly pale as she fistens to the xplanatien and watches .Arthtur's 'hastly face. What is It like? The face i a murderer? *Oh, no, no," he gasps inrwardly; surely not ta! "It was the purest accident. I assure o." protests Arthur againi. as thohgh nxious to impress this conviction up n his own mindl. "It might have been a very serious ne" says the surgeon gravely. regard ag him with a keen glance, "It might .ave meant death to Sir Adrian!" Florence changes color and glances t her host with partedl lips. Dora Ta! ot pressing her way through the roup in the door-waty, goes straight up him as if impulsively. and takes hia and in both hers. "Dear Sir .Adrian. how can we~ be bankfuil enough for your escape?" she avs sweetly, tears stan 'ug in her< ight blue eyes. She presses'his hand rarmly, and even raises it to her lips 1 a transport of emotioni. Standing I here in the pretty pin1k dressing-gown at shows off her conmplexiomn to per ctit Dora Talbot looks lovely. "You are very good-very kinid." re orns Sir Adrian, really 'touchied by er concern, but still with eyes only< >r the white vision in the door-way ut you make too much of nothing. Z , m sorry I have been the unhappy suse of rousing you from your rosy reams; you will not thank-me to-mor >W wvhen there will be only lilies in our cheeks." The word lily brings back to him his st interview with Florence. Hie glan as hurriedly at her right hand: yes, O same lily is clasped in her hiigers. is sine sat ever smece with his gin. Ic ne her. in her silent chambery Alo - -in grief perbat'. Dat why~ has~ she mt his flower? Wha can it all umany "We shall nmindu nthing. flow yon are ef." Dora assures him tremulously. "I think I miight he shown sen con derati'n.' pits in Arthur. -ervinzg by' violent effort to assert imnself, anidi coa., sumy Tnn N a u ia t - netobe pitied. It would ham beeu .y fault, and, Mrs. Talbot, Ithik you I ught show some pity for me.' e. olds out his hand, and mechanically -a lays her own in it. Bo io is < v on r an instant, and she I dders violin:r as his touch meets d .ers. Her eves are on the groumid. and S he can not bring herself to look at t tui. Drawing her fingers hurriedly s comn his. she goes to fhe door and dis-. pears rrom view. In the meantime. Sir Adrian, having nade his way to Florence, points to the e You have held it ever since?" he aks. in a low tone. "f hardly hoped or so much. Bat you have not con ratulated me. you alone have said tothing." "Why need I speak? , have seen you ith my own eyes. You are safe. B ieve me, Sir Adrian, I congratulate on most sincerely upon your escape." IHer words are cold. her eyes are r owncast. She :s.deeply annoved with I arself for having carrica Lhe lily into | is presence here. The very fact of I Laving noticed it and spoken to her i bout it has shown her how much tm is iortance he has attached to her doing. o. What will he think of her. He will i oubtless picture her to himself sitting i reeping and brooding over a flower riven to her by a man who loves her c Lot, and to whom she has given her ove unsolicited. t Her riarked coldness so oppresses s im that he steps back, and does not enture to addreas her again. It oc urs to him that she Isreseved becatis f Arthur's presence. Presently, LadvyFitzAlmont marsh fing her forces anew, carries lhem all 'way to their rooms, soundly rating he sobbing Lady Gertrude for her ant of selt-contral. The men, too. shortly afterward dis erse, and one by one drift away to heir rooms. Captain Ringwood and aitland tho surgeon being the last to ro. "Who Is the next heir to the castle?" tsks the latter musingly. drumming iis fingers idly on a table near him. "Dvecourt. the follow who nearly lid for Sir Adrian this evening!" re iies Ringwood quietly. "A!" "It would have meant a very good :hing for Arthur if the shot had taken ffeet," says Ringwood, eyeing his com >anion curiously. "It would have meant murder, sir? -joins the surgeon shortly. [Continuf -l.] _ Catching a slav er. Letters from the East Indian sta ions give particulars of an impor ant capture of a slave dhow made a ew weeks ago by her Majesty's ;teamer Reindeer. One of her boats n charge of a p.eItty oiicer was pro cding iito Chakichaki Bay, in the land( of Pemba. when a dhow was I'ved making for tile inner har 'r. he niieer immediately board L .,r and was surprised to Lind that athough tie dhow was a small one a arge numbe'r of slaves were packed ntu Ler lie herrings in a barrel; so rowded, in fact, was the craft that le oficer was unable to count the daves acicurately, and he at once tow ad the dhow toward the Reindeer. rhe slaves and crew were transferred 'o her Majesty's steamer Pigeon and he diow was sent to Bombay. where hL was handed over to the court. It [t was then dis-overed that the ves el had on board no fewer than 124 laves. The inquiry before the prize :ourt elicited the information that te dhow left Lindi with the '1aves on board, the master having been prois'ed 10 rupees a head for every slaive landed alive at Pemba. Dung~ his~ voyage lie passed thr'ee of Lier maijest's ship-the Algerine. the Pig eon and the Boadiesa-and escap :-d e'arch in each instance, and was ist maikin preparations to la his aptiv es w~hen the Reindeer's boat >verhat uled aim. The dihow has been lestroyed by order of the court, and her captain and crew are in prison, und an amount calculatted at E5 a ton fot' the dihow will be divided among the commander, the officers and men :>f the Reindeer.--London Daily News. A Good Day's Work. Weakness of itself is not a disease. It is, however, a mo~st distressful symptom. 2das! how many weatily drag themselves about, every en'ort iving them distress, existing without my of the pleasurable sensations of robust health. Are you in this coni ,lition? Why? There is no excuse lor feeling mean and miserable. Re mfore the cause of your distress. wihl is undoabtedly is a state of blood imipurity and a disordered sys tm. Hlowl Why, by doing as others bae done. G*. W. Chandler. Red Fot'k. Ark., writes: -I was so weak that it was nly with great ditliculty that Ii could do anything. I used sev'eral bottles of Botanie Blood Balm, and can now do a good day's work." 'Able to do a good day's work:" Is there not something sweet and re 'reshing in that expression? Strength that is only .overcome by natm'd fatigue. Strength-that when expendl ed. is by rest and nature fully re neved. Such will be your reward if v'ou give B. B. B. a trial. H. B. Ratndolph, Brunswick. Ga., writes: "I was under the care of nine iluerei'nt doctors, but not one did me the good that Botanic Blood Bahn EL, donie iil Two months since. Rheai county, Tenn.. was stirred up tremendously civer' a sensat ioinalelopenecnt. in which the helpneet of one John Hously ook his and her tln'ee small boys. and went off with a farmer, nauned J. K. Brown. '.ho left behind him a wife m' seven c'hildrenl of assorted sizes. earch has been nmde lby the deserted jsbanld and wif'e fot' the faithless woues wo have ially been i'un to t.They were apprlehentded. liv iig :as man and wife. at Concord. Tenn. ev Sheriff Brown and his d'puty. of tihen county, who took the elopersto Dayton, the county seat, where they sill lbe arraigned and a very sensa .xinal trial will follow. -It is reported from Odcssa. the hief grain expor'ting city of the lack Sea. that winter wheat crops~ f Sothrn Russia are a faihue. andl hat great suirering in conseuence is nevitable. It is regarded as one of he greatest disasters that has ever >falleni that pio rtion of Russia. -Most 01 the creditors of Henry 3. ives have agreed toi necep(it live ents 0on thei dollar' for thieiir claims. :ves has beeni released on .O>.00 hall. Jewas arrested on the c'harge of r'aud. -The r'eent frost at UmatillaFlai. irtually" comipleted the rin of the -egtble~i ('rop of soth IFlorid . )oint oif Lai- county the dan' ge i s ev igreat. The e' ire crop) of ear'ly etalue-. (e'pt e::bhae, is piracti ablyv wiped o1:t. Or'ang' ble.oms ne Mo her' Fr- mda - rs benti confiunreet, lessanA :he a :O,:md ra's labor qic~lk r-d coma HE WAS WELL TRAINED. 11l O1 Dunder Was Laying Low to Get a E Thorough Education and lie Got It. "Well! well!" exclaimed Sergeant endall in great surprise, as Carl Dun- th er softly entered the Woodbridge t treet Station Saturday afternoon. "I ta iought you had started for Germany ]U are.,I Not oxactly," replied Mr. Dunder, s he blew his nose with great compla- th ency. , "But where have you been?" ,,h "Sergeant, vhas I some greenhorns?" th th "You don't look to be." th "If some cow meets me on der street bc ould she take me for hay?" 'Hardly." S "If you vhas some gonfidence man rould you try to play a game on me?" f "I don't think so. But what do you aean by all this?" 'Sergeant, I used to be like some st abbagehead. Eaferypody beats me. st aferypody laughs at me, und I like to o back to Shermany. Dis vhas all SI hanged now." fu 'How?" . : --Viell. I keeps quiet for der last six s( T reeks und get posted. If somepody b an make fun of me now I like to see tim do it. I vhas ri,-ht on to all der P ricks you eafer hearil of. und I can P pot a sharper two Locks away. You g vo int haf to tell me any more to shump tl ato (lot river." "I'm rejoiced at the news. Now tell rn nc who posted y-ou?" t ' A feller from New York. He takes h ne in a class all :one for $15 per week. t Iow vhas dot. eh?" t Ard he threw up his right arm and r.ade a long jump sideways, knocking chair over and scaring a boy out of a ear's growth. -That's pretty good. What kind of a L movement do you call it?" "Dot vhas a nickel-plate movement, tl :o be practiced if a man shumps oudt > der alley to hit you mit a sand-club. d hen dot club comes down you vas ten Eeet away. Dot probably safes my life P mne tousand times." "What else?" V "Vell, if a tief come arount I can spot him like grease rolling off a log." e "How?" "He carries his left hand in his ocket, und can't look you in der face. e can pick 'em oudt der street by der dozen." "That's a good thing, and you ought 1 to start a detective bureau. Anythng else?" "I should shmile! Sergeant, if you C has some pickpocket, where you look for my money,-eh?" "In your breast pocket" "So? Ha! ha! ha! Dot Thas another trick! I put my handkerchief oop here, und if a tief goes to rob me he gets nottings. Dot probably safes me two million dollars." "Y-e-s. Anything more!" "Vhel, suppose f vhas in Chicago und a bunko man likes to make me his victim. If it vhas you, That would you do?" "I don't know." "Ha! ha! ha! It pays me to learn dot. It safes me tousands of dollars. I shust vink at him-so, und say: 'How vhas coons to-day?' and off he goes. Dot makes him understand I vhas a to der racket." "I see. What else?" "Suppose you ;has going home at night, und a robber steps out und wants your money or your life? How would you do?" "Giv'e him my money. of course." "You would. eh? Ha! ha! ha! Dot shows who vhas a greenhorns! I shouldn't do dot vhay. I should open my umbrella und hold it before me und c'l -ire' as hard as I coul~d, No rob ber cau get at you if you hold an um brella oudt. I knowv iots of odder things, but I haf no more time to-day. I come down to gif you sonme com ~laints. Somepody stole $25 from me last night. und dot feller from New York vhas lost. He goes out to walk around a leedle by himself, und being a stranger he rhas all mixed oop und can't find his way back." -Ah! Didn't yon lose a coat, too?" "Yes. It vhas behind der door, und somepody takes coat und money too." "Come this way." He led him into the lock-up, halted him at one of the cells and asked him if he knew the occupant. "Vhy, he vhas my trainer!" ex claimed Mr. Dunder. "How he comes in here? Thas he some lost shild?" "He got your coat and money. We have the coat and most of the cash. How (do you tell a thief, Mr. Dunder?" But Mr-. Dunder didn't reply. His hair stood up. his eyes bulged out and he walked out of the station like a man going somewhere in a nightmare. Deoit Free Press. Child Life on Canal-Boats. One of the curiosities of life displayed along the water-front of this city, says the N. Y. Timres, is the way children are reared in absolute safety aboard canal-boats. Any person who takes the trouble to visit Coenties slip or the neighboring docks where canal-boats lay up can see every day the common sight of a group of toddling children playing on the open decks of the low bulwarked boats, but he never hears of one falling overboard. On one canal-boat, the Betsey Ann of Whitehall, that lay ln Coenties slip the other day, was noticed a novel ar rangement for keeping the little ones within the bounds of safety. On the after-deck a regular play-ground had been fenced oil for the youngsters by building a high picket-fence, over which they could not climb. This had a swinging gate secured by hasp, sta ple and padlock. Inside of this in closure were four children, who made the air ring with theirshouts, telling of their unalloyed happiness and content ment with the arrangement. On an other boat, a little way distant in the same slip, was another queer arrange ment to keep the little tots from fall ing overboard. In the center of the deck was fastened a stout ring-bolt, to which were fastened three stout but small ropes. At the end of each rope was a stout leather belt buckled about the waist of a rugged, sun-burned youngster. The ropes were just long enough to prevent the children reachig the edge of the deck, but were not too short to allow them am ple room to play in. The children seemed happy, too, and were not dis tured a particle by their tether. On nearly all the boats the children are allowed to roam about the deck at will, both while coming down the river in tow and while tied up to the dock. Many of them are born aboard the boat~s. There they grow up and in many cases marry, selecting their mates from aboard other boats, and i immediately taking up the life followed a by their parents. "Poor Richard." t Ben F'ranklin is to blame for the ~ sordid and very patrtial view of success i that prevails ini this country. Frank- | a lin, thoughi iiimself not a parsimonious man, dinned maxims of parsimony into t tihe ears of the American people so per sistentl and did it in such a wvonder Eullv forible way, that he succeeded in ingraining the thought of the Amer icaii peple with an eminently materia [pilosoly. The moral of it all is !-1 -save. save', save for a rainy day. By lint of rerlasting repetition of theg vision of tihe rainy day that has goty to be laid up for, Deni Franklin has meeeedl ini taking all the sunshine s >ut of the days that ai'e not rainy for .. NYTES IMPRESSIONS OF EUROPE nd-Picked and Warranted to KOP In Any Ciliate. -Yes," he said, "I have been abroad s season. I am not absolutely cer n that I was not more or less abroad ;t now. Yon called to obtain speci ins of my foreign impressions, of rse. If there is one thing more an another that I particularly pride yself upon it is my forein impres ns. I only selected the c71oicest,and yve carefully preserved every one of em. Any little runt of an impression at any fellow could pick up I didn't ther with. Mine are all hand-picked d warranted to keep in any climate. veral of the crowned heads of Europe nkly admitted that they would rath have me rooting around their throne ckino up foreign impressions than v ot1er impecunious tourist that had ruck them for the wherewithal to get fev out of their domains for quite a ell~ When I kicked a specimen out om under the dust of ages they were iiversally satistied that it would be mething that would do them credit. here is more or less danger in the isiness, however. Thrones are so enty in Europe that a fellow who is :-actically unacquainted with the ography of the country is liable to umble over one or more of them in e dark and break his neck most any inute. On several occasions I nar wly escaped getting into serious ouble through stuffing a first-class ,m-stitched European tirone into my ousers pocket under the impression at it was a ham sandwich. Several the German provinces, for instance, ere so thickly studded with little nd-painted thrones that I could not void the impression that the perspec ve looked like a buckwheat field in ill bloom. I traveled for weeks irough Continental Europe without riking a man whom I dared to ad ress by a title less than king or rince. The stamp of nobility was in me cases a trifle sun-cracked, but it as always there. Sometimes this :amp was in the form of a ruffled irt of a pre-Adamite vintage that ried aloud for the caressing touch of Chinese laundryman, and sometimes i the form of a classic foot encased in tarnished spur and a sad memory of ae past-but it was always there. I'Bill,' said one of those sad-eyed ttle German potentates to me one day s we sat idly in the sun on a bench utside of the concierge-I think it as the concierge-within sound of the estless sea; 'bill, were you ever a ,T was taken by surprise, but as I =aed down at the poor fellow my soul rent out in pity, and I determined to ive him a civil answer if is took a .'I may have been a king for a short ime before arriving at years of dis retion,' I said kindly, 'but no on& ever Lecused me of it. In m, wantry hese youthful indiscretion 2o not 1tick to a man as they do here in Ger nany. A man may be a King for a ime and then repent his folly, and america is full of hands that will be ;tretched out to help the poor fellow :o reform and rise in the world.' "'0! that this were America,' he mid, with tears in his voice. - 'Bill, nay you never know the misery, the ieart hungering, of being a German ing without a subject. It was not ever thus, however. I had a subject nee, but he was very sickly, and, a ew years ago, he died, leaving me alone in the world. Since then I have searched in vain for a man to take his place. I have been unable to find any neighborino King with two--hence none coulf be spared. 0, Bill, I amn so lonely-so desolate!' "I was much affected. '"Ajax,' I said-Ajax Agamemnon was his family name- 'I am sorry for you. But tell me, did you ever try to swap your throne ofY for a clean shirt and a decent pair of boots? Strike some man who runs a museum and. you may be able to strike a bargain with him. Then you might go ofl somewhere where you are not know and try to lead a nobler and better-" "The next moment I was alone with the sound of the restless waves. Ajax had folded his royal rage about* him: and left me to my fate!" "Had you any'special object in visit ing Europe?" Mr. N'ye was asked. "Several of them," was the reply. "I was especially anxious to investi gate the descent ~of the foreign nobility which has become so extensivery our son-in-law of late. Our sweetest and most decollete girls are going from us so multitudinously nowadays that I ar rived at the conclusion that something ought to be done about it. As the ca reer of these titled foreign gentlemen is almost all descent I felt that tracing it would partake of the nature of a to boggan slide, and therefore be easy of accomplishment. I was not disap pointed in the result. Out of several thousand Dukes, Earls, Barons, Counts, and other rare exotips, I found per haps half a dozen to whom I would be willing to- marry the dining room girl- who always brings me a last summer's egg for breakfast, but not one whom I would be willing to take into the bosom of my family and make a side-show of. But this sort of thing will doubtless go on just for all the world as though I had never been abroad. A martyr in a good cause is seldom appreciated until he has beem dead for several centuries. - Detroit Free Press. spreckeis, thle sugar ning. "Claus Spreckels," said a friend of his, "looks so much like the conven tional idea of Santa Claus. the Christ.. mas saint, that no one ought to be sur-e pri~sed at his being named -Claus.' The old sugar king has a full white beard. rosy cheeks and luxuriant snowy hair. He is even as benevolent in a benevo. lent way as his Christmas namesake is on a large scale, and his family and employes are devoted to him. Mr. Sreckels knows the sugar basimes from the cane field to the refinied pro ict. When the refinery was being built at the foot of Reed street in Phil addelphia, at a cost of more than a mil tion dollars. a quantity of the most ex pensive machinery in the plaut was put a wrong, and when Mr. Spreckels saw t he recognized the error at a glance. t.s a practical machinist he leaped into :e excavation, had the whole mass of ron and steel yanked out and personal y superintended its proper erection. 'w millionaire opeiators in any busi- - iess know its ins and outs so thorough y as he." How He Remembered It. An enthusiastic young horse owner a Maine has several crack colts, also ine family of boys, of whom he ustly proud, but like many other tthers he is bothered to remnember 1eir ages. The other day he sur rised his wife by giving the exact age f one of the babies to a day. "Why, ow came yon to rememuber that?" she skeed. "Don't you remember?" re lied the fond father, 'he was born on ie same day as our two-year-old colt." ewiton Joiuni.