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f: %' *.?V*Y-"Srvmy.T?v ? ' ' ' ' . ' ~ J """ WBATMYLOVJSBSAID. \] i r -Bv the merest chance, in the twilight gloom, ] In the orchard path he met me, J In the tall wet grass, with its faint perfume, j And I tried to pass, but ho made no room, i Oh! I tried, but he wouldn't let me. j Bo I stood and blushed till the giawj grew red, With my face bent down above it, I While he took my hand, as he whispering j said? How the clover lifted each pink sweet head j To listen to all that my lover said! j Oh! the clover in bloom ?I love itl In the high wet grass went the path to hide, And the low wet leaves hung over, For I could not pa>s on either side, - For I found myrelf when I vainly tric4 In the arms of my Bteadfast lover. - And he htld mo there and he raised my bead, While closed the path before mo, And ho looked down into my eyes and said? nAn, 41,/v |AO?/.ci a 11u v* uiu iud ita uu?? xi 11vu1 vuc i/uu5110 o'er head To listen to all that my lover Baid! Oh! tho leaves hanging lowly o'er mo! < Had he moved aside but a little way I could surely then have passed bim. And he knew I could never wiBh to stay, And would not have heard what he had to say Gould I only aside have cast him. < ' It was almost dark and the moments sped And the searching night wind found us; But he drew me nearer and softly Baid? How the pure sweet wind grow still instead To listen to all that my lover Baid? Oh! tho whispering wind around us! [am Buro ho knew when he held mo fast, That I must bo all unwilling; For I tried to go and I would have paused, : h As tho night was come with its dews at last ' ' And the sky with its stars was filling; But he clasped me close when I would have fled And he mado me hear his Btory, And his c>oul camo out from his lips and said? How the stars crept out when the white moon led To listen to all that mv lover Baid! Oh! the moon and tlio Hlara in glory! ' C know thai the gr&B3 and the leaves will not tell, And I'm sure that the wind, precious rover, Will carry his secret so nafely and well That no being shall ever discover One word of the many that rapidly fell From the eager lips of my lover. And the moon and the stars that looked over Shall never reveal what a fairy-like spell Thoy wove round about us that night in the dell, ^n the path through the dew-laden clover; Nor echo the whispers thut made my heart swell As they fell from the lips of my lover. Homes Gbeene. MILLY. . "I guess poor Jim will haVe to go tifull v>?.. 11 1 nnuuut uia Duppur lU-Ul^Ill, HU1U, Widow Hosmer, as she peered anxiously out into the bleak, rainy twilight. Pete has sprained his leg so, slipping down out of the hayloft, that he can't take a -step on it, and I s'pose you and 1 will have to finish the chores, Milly." "All right, mother; I can milk old Speckle as well as not; and then we have only to close up things for night. Pete managed to get the hay down before he got himself down, but I do think he is the most awkward, unlucky creature that we ever had on the place. Here it isn't a week since he almost cut his thumb off, and it's a mercy he didn't burn the house up yesterday when he went and started the groat fire in the fireplace without ever taking the boards off the chimney!" "Yes, that's so; he does seen a bitun. balanced; but I feel sorry for the poor fellow. He's groaning dreadful with v his leg, and won't let me do a thing for it; says he has got it wrapped up and thinks it will get easier after he gets to bed. I gave hiin some liniment for it and he went to his room. And now comes this disputch from Jim, and no one to go to the station with his lunch." "Never mind, mother; we'll fix it somehow," answered pretty, brown-eyed .Milly, as she bustled about, putting on y her waterproof and overshoes preparatory to finishing the _ chores, and the darkness hid the rosy flush with which I- filin ttnirl no 4-Vw? five* finl'lini# uuw MM?V4 kitv UAOV KlttailU^ OtlUntllO Ui inilk made music in the tin pail : ?: "Mother, I belifevc 1 can carry Jim's f;' lunch down to him myself!" "Mercy, Milly! I'd never dare to let you I?the night so dark and the road so long 'and lonely 1 No, indeed, child; Jim would never allow it." "I know, but it is too bad for the poor fellow to go without his supper this cold, bleak night, and I know every inch of the way with my eyes shut." Mrs. Hosmer shivered a little as she drew her shawl closer agninst the keen autumn blast, and one could see that her resolution wavered a little. "A cup of nice, hot coffee from home would seem sort of cheerful to him," ?lie said, in a meditating tone, "and it's . proper kind of you to make the offer, |?p child; but I doubt it's being safe for you going so far alone." "Nobody would be likely to be out . ?uch a night as this, unless it should be iff -some of the neighboring fanners, and evep if there were the darkness would hide me." "I'm a raid to let you go, Milly. I've heard of tramps, and?" "I'll tell you, mother; I'll take Jim's revolver! He left it in his room the last ?: time he was at home." "Well," began Mis. Hosmer, doubtfully, * though you'd never dare to use it." "Yes, I would, if I really needed to!" Tespondcd Milly; "so let us call it settled, and go in and get something nice put up for lunch." Really pleased down in her maternal heart for this regard for her son's comfort, Mrs. Hosmer gave a rcluctant cons'. sent; for Jim was her only and almost idolized child, little Milly being only tne daughter of a dear dead friend whose child Mrs. Hosmer had gladly taken to her home and heart. The farm was small and Jim detested farming, so a man was always employed on the place, while ambitious Jim risked life and limb as an engineer. He was now a handsome, stalwart fellow of twenty-six, whose broad shoulders, bronzed face, and merry eyes were secretly enshrined in Milly's heart as her U ideal of all that was noble and manly. Am for Jim, he, too, had an ideal, and often aa he sat waiting on his engine he -V'*.: ' A-i * >} fy-. /f y V /%...;/ ; * \ ' ->v; /' . '>*" v: v^cv w^Rgft - > -n.'., pictured a future fireside to which he could turn for rest instead of to his barren boarding-house, and the woman's face that always smiled his welcome in its light was wonderfully like the little picture of Milly that lie always carried in the pocket of his blue flannel shirt. Many a time the engine light shone over the sweet face as it lay on his grim palm in intervals of work, and Jim would whisper, softly, "By and by, little girl,'' us lie carefully slipped f it back where it beat with every beat of his heart. "Working faithfully and steadily, secretly laying the foundation of that ideal home, Jim had gained the respect and confidence of his employers and was on the road to promotion. But his work now was somewhat varied, and when Hie busy season came and freight was moving freely, he often ran a "wild train" through liocktield, as the little place was called, where a station had been erected for the accommodation of llic surrounding farmers. On these occasions he generally sent home a dispatch, as in the present case, und ou return found a tempting lunch waiting his coming, and sometimes, if the weather was tine, got a glimpse of Milly and his mother and a moment's chat. His dispatch to-night read : "Run through Itocklield to night just ahead of ten o'clock express, reaching there about a ouarterof ten." "I will start only just in time to get there as the train arrives," said Milly, as they made the coffee and frizzled some slices of liam; "if I walk fast I can get there in fifteen minutes, and I don't believe the coffee can get cold iu that time, all wrapped up in this big bottle and shut up in the pail." "You might carry it in a little pail and set it on the stove in the station till Jim comes," suggested Mr. Hosmer. "1 don't believe there would be a fir< there; and besides, I woidd rather not tro in. I can't bear Tom Kennedy's comments or company. I shall just stop under the poreh till the train comes, and then I can hand Jim the lunch-pail and slip away before any one notices me." "Maybe that would be best," assented Mrs. Ilosmer, who knew how disagreeable the attentions of the sandy-haired young; station agent were to ner adopted daughter. 4'But, Milly, do be careful and take care of yourself. If anything should happen to you I should never forgive myself ?never! In fact, I have half a mind not to let you go, after all." "What! with this for company?" said Milly gayly, showing the revolver clutched tightly under her waterproof; "what a foolish mamma! Now goodbye! I shall be back before you know it." And with a kiss JVlilly disappeared in the dismal drizzle with a skip, and a good little laugh as soon as she was out of sight at the thought of seeing Jim. Arriving at her destination, she softly crept up into the shelter of a deep doorway and looked down the track, where sue expected even now to see the distant light of Jim's engine. But not the faintest gleam was visible. Surprised, she crept along and peered in at the clock through the station window. The hands pointed to half-pust nine. "That stupid old clock!" she exclaimed petulantly, as she slipped back to her hiding-place, "we might have known it would be too fast or too slow; it uever is right, ev;ept by accident. Now Jim's coffee will be as cold as a stone?and I too, for that matter!" she added, shivering and drawing closer into the corner out of the wind. But the next moment the sound of low voices almost at her side sent her heart into her throat, and at the next bound her blood flew through her veins like fire. "Don't turn cussed fool now," exclaimed a gruff voice in a hoarse undertone. "It's a little late to turn soft hearted just when the game is ours; and I aint no hand to put up with no nonsense, you know that, Bill." "I don't mean nothing?only if I was sure there wouldn't be no women and little children?specially little children ?ever since little Tillie died ?" "Now bottle that!" angrily interrupted the other, with a fierce oath. "If I'd supposed you'd ever turn out such a chicken-livered coward I'd seen you starve before I'd have taken you into this. But it is too late now; there is a cool fiftv thousand on thnt ?\nrfss train to-night, and I'll have it or die. You do your part and share the plunder, or you back down and I'll put an end to you. But you shan't stop me?I'll see to that, Bill." "Jest give me a pull at the flask and I'll be all right. I never desert a friend, you know that, old fellow." "All right, then," suid the other, now molified; "let's get to work. Mike is at his post, is he t "Yes, jest the other side of the building. If that station chap sets foot outside before we've had tin;e to finish our work Mike will send a bullet into that sorrel top of his before you could wink. He will meet us at the old oak ten minutes after the train is due, and we'll be off. Now let's go up to the cut and get them rocks down onto the track mighty lively. There ain't much time to spare." As they noiselessly moved away the man's last whisper rang in Milly's ears like a death-knell. Sure there was not "much time to spare!" Of course, they knew nothing of Jim's train, that would, within a few minutes, come rushing into the death-trap they were to set. And she could give no alarm. The express never did more than slightly clack its speed to drop some package on the platform ; no one was at the station except t.Vift rIaatw Rornnt. A.11 iinnnnafinna r?f t rin ""IV ?? 1 ?"w ***' terrible guard that stood beside him; long before she could get the nearest neighbor there it wouldjbe too late?all these thoughts rushed like lightning through Milly's distracted brain. There was no one to know or to aid but God and herself. She lifted her eyes to tho starless sky in mute appeal, then turned and sped like a deer through ihc darkness toward the spot choscn for this dreadful deed. Well was it that she knew, as by instinct, every step of this ground, even the very rocks piled on the edge of the rocky gorge, that now were meant for the crushing out of human liftf. Only at Jim's last visit she had walked with him here to this very spot. New, as she approached, she heard a heavy, grinding sound and the subdued, panting exclamations of the men as . . * ... " . ' i ' . ; : . ! r- ,. . Jty :V. ?A % *U they strove to move the heavy stone* 7 from their beds. "By the Eternal I there she comes! they've changcd the time! Quick, now, with this biggest one!" Poor Milly! she knew what light was drawing so fearfully near. Not the express, but the engine of the man she loved better than her own life. She drew near to the panting, cursing men, till she felt as if they could hear her heartbeat, then, as they cried, "Now! over with it!" she breathed, O Jim! my darling, my darling!" and fired two swift shots at the men before her. A groan and a cry of rage told her that she had not failed in her aim. The train passed swiftly by below her assured her that her lover was safe; then she sank down in a little, quivering^heap in the darkness. Nothing mattered now. Those dreadful wretches might find and tear her to atoms now if need be; she had saved the man she loved, and that was enough. But in a moment, or two she rallied, as the cool rain bent upon her face, and rose softly to her feet. She must see him now at all hazards; she must see and tell him all or she could not live. She flew over the ground like a mad creature. Nothing held her flight until she reached the train, where Jim's face shone upon her from the engine cab, and she fell with a speechless gasp beside it. Til n. llioinpnt film WOU in lim>D nrma some one brought brandy and dropped upon her cold lids, and after awhile she heard Jim's tender woids as he lichl and kissed her, and then sat up, pale and trembling, to tell her story. But the express stopped that night, and when it went on it bore with it the two wretches who had sought to destroy it with its precious freight of life, and left a heavy purse for brave Milly, a contribution from the grateful passengers whose lives she had saved. On going to the top of the cut the men had been found pinioned by the rock that they had partly lifted to hurl upon the track below. Milly's bullet had gone through the arm of the one called "Bill." As his hold relaxed, the heavy rock hnd rolled back upon their legs, holding them both prisoners. The second man was Pete, Mrs. Hosmer's hired hand. Mike had disappeared. But Milly was the heroine of many a day, and when, soon after, she was about to become Jim's happy wife, she irnt. II fiilvnr tl'il SPrvirn fit for (I nrinpuss "With the gratitude and best wishes of the Ex. Co., for James Ilosmer's brave wife."?ArthurHome Magazine. WAITING FOR THE VERDICT. The Untimely End of n Tennc?Hre 'olleclor of Taxe*. "I had to do it?yes, had to do it," he exclaimed in a Tennessee court room to the jury. "It was a matter of selfdefence." "Did this plaintiff here, whom you had shot twice, draw any weapon?" asked the lawyer. "I don't say as he did." "Was he about to?" rlnn't enr oolio ?*oa 'Hnn/-! T miAan A w MU 11 vy ?? t?0? iyv,CUj JL ^ UCOO he didn't have no weepins with him." "But you plead self defence." "Sartin, I do. I went oil tliar in township last fall We lived on sassafras tea and lean bacon all winter. This spring got in a few hills of corn and taters, and I kinder got track of several bee trees, and kept my eyes peeled fur coon tracks. Things begun to look as if we had seen the wust. The o!e woman was reckonin' on a new kaliker, and I was planum' to git my ole rifle fixed, when when " Here the prisoner seemed overcome by his emotions, and it was two or three minutes before he could continue: "Well, I might a-knowed tha some calamity would come along sooner or later aud kick the skillet oil the chimbly. I was always a poor critter?poor, but 8trivin' to be white all the way j through." "Proceed," said the lawyer after the prisoner had wept some more. "I sot out there on a log, kinder hopin' that the corn and taters wouldn't | grow fast 'null to keep me from goin' fishin', and the old woman she was smokin' limweed in her pipe and wonderin' if the children had treed 'nother coon, when?when this 'ere feller what got shot swooped down like one o' them sighclones. All was changed in one minit. All was?" They let him have a few minutes to crowd down his feenngs, and he went on: 1 4'He didn't make any bones about it, 'tall. He axes if my name was Dan'l Scott, and I says it was. He axes if I owned the farm, and I gin it to him straight. Then he pulls out a paper and says: 44 'Dan'l, I'm cum fur.' " 'Fur what?' " 'The taxes.' 44 'What taxes?' 44 'State and county, Dan'l.* We can't run this 'ere best kentry on airth and her Liberty and Union and a Fourth of July every year without money. Them as owns land must pay taxes ' 44 4Never!'says I. 'The tyrant don't, live as kin put his foot on the neck of Dan'l 8cott!' 44'But you must pay,'says he, or I'll have to sell you out.' 44Wall, gents, that was threats. That was drivin' me to the wall. The ole woman begun cryin', the children cum lip and sniveled, and corn and taters and bee trees and coon tracks and bright prospects all went to the dogs. I couldn't ?no I couldn't." "Couldn't what, Mr. Scott?" "Uall me Don'I, onless you want to hurt my feelins. I meant I couldn't put up with no sich threats of assassinashun. The old woman sneaked the double-bar'ld shotgun over the brush fence, and I popped away, and popped to kill. Yes. gents. I'm tellin' you the solemn truth, and I want to ax if there's a freeborn American citizen and Tennessee patriot among you who wouldn't hev did that very same?" At last accounts the jury was still out. "Elevator accidents kill more people than boilor explosions do," says the American Machinist, which wnnta a law compelling the periodical inspoction of pnssenger elevators, with a ctausc prohibiting vouths under 18 years of i;gc from operating? them made general and { applied to freight elevators. j - rROVcv ' "V ' - -A' ... *K S, THE MYSTERIES OF A DAYr STRANGE, CUllIOUM, AND MTARTL1NQ THINGS OCCURRING AIIOUT V*. Where the Turtle* Come From?A lleinnrknble Htory?The V.ftun Turned to C'bieken?-The Sen CaptalnN Ilorwe- The Baltimore Journalist, Etc., Ktc. Uncle Billy Adams was furnishing the music for a gathering at the residence of a well-known planter in Dooly county, Missouri, given in honor of a visiting young lady from Augusta. The night was warm, and the windows were thrown open. Miss Alice, weary of dancing, noticed the bird cage hanging among the vines which grew over the veranda, the inmate of which was arousurl to its sweetest strains of song by Uncle Billy's fiddle. Tupping her finger lightly upon the cage, Miss Alice felt the vinelmds playing about, her hand. "My God!" exclaimed one of the dancers, as he looked toward the girl, "look there!" A shriek from Miss Alice, and she fell to the floor. As she fell a lnige snake was seen circling down her arm from the cage across her shoulders, and as she lay prostrate gathered itself in a huge coil upon licr bosom. "With its mouth wide open, its fangs set, and pressing its head closely to the girl's check, the moment was one of intense excitement. The ominous rattle was heard when Uncle Billy's fiddle gave forth one of its liveliest airs, and the reptile quickly crawled olT, wriggling its way toward the music and out of the house. "I dess knowed dat 'ud fotch utn," said Uncle Billy, as, he caressed his instrument. "Does creepin' crecturs is a might fond of music." The reptile was followed and killed, when it was found to measure eight feet. A iietirkd old se a captain in the North of England bought a horse tit nlnncd l>!o ?fifn T1!'" ....I ij.io n> itv. i lit u111mill proved to be frisky, ami several times sticceeded in spilling the old lady. At last, the captain attempted to break the unruly steed of his vicious habits. He took a kedge anchor, with a stout line, and fastening one end of the line to the axle of his phieton, took the kedge aboard, and the two men started for a drive along the shore. Soon the vicious animal spied something which gave him an excuse to run away, and dashed oil with frightful vivacity. The captain dropped the reins, and summoned all hands to let go the "anchor." The anchor was let go, and caught firmly in the sand. The unsuspecting quadruped pranced joyously along until he got to the end of the roue, and then ho paused?paused so suddenly that the phieton was demolished, and the two men shot up into the air like a couple of sky rockets, coming down in a fearfully dilapidated condition. The Lancaster ledger publishes the following remarkable story: "On the plantation of Mr. R. T. Dun lop live two negroes whose house has lately been showered with rocks from the skies. This wonderful phenomenon of rocks falling has been going on in that locality at intervals for more than ten days, and people for miles around gather there to witness it. The rocks vary in size from an egg to a eocoanut. A peculiarity about them is that they have fallen upon several persons without giving any hurt or pain. A number of white men who hooted at the idea, have visited the place and are convinced of the truth of the story. A number of gentlemen rode out on Monday to witness the phenomenon. They were not there long before a sound on the shingles notified them that a rock had fallen. It was picked up and found to be quite hot. It resembled Hint and had something on it which resembled soot. A very honest old darkey told a party that he saw a rock rise un from near a neanh troe and # i _ t go straight up in the air." Pkinck's Bay is full of sea turtles. IIow the turtles came there is explained by the fact that a few weeks pgo several vessels came into port at one time, bringing large cargoes of green turtles. The result was that the market was overstocked, and green turtle became too cheap to please one Yankee captain, who decided to hold his stock for a misc. He ran his vessel down to Staten Island, and along the Kill von Kull found two unused docks close together. He built a bulkhead across the ends of the docks and tumbled his cargo into what he supposed was a secure pond or corral. There were in that pen many tons of | material for fine turtle soup, but a big siorm swept aown from Newark Bay, bursting the captaiu's turtle pen, and letting his turtles escape. Tiikhk is a journalist in Baltimore, a I man of long experience and with habits i almost Puritanical in their steadiness, who spends his vacation in a very novel manner. He is a man of family, and in his residence there is a large and comfortable cellar. If his family desires to' go away he interposes no objections, but no say8 that, as far as* ho is concerned, he is not going to pay $3 or $4 a day for being cooped up in a summer resort hotel room when he has right at hand so many facilities for comfort. So, when his holiday comes, ho hus the cellar thoroughly cleaned and fitted up with sofa, easy chairs, hammocks, etc. He collects the best things in literature, lays in a stock of provisions and plenty of cigars and tobacco, and for two weeks he enjoys the luxuries of life like a king, exiled in his own cellar. rp?? t w iL i_ f 1-?a M. nr* VIIIH^u ui pjiubwuiui, IU .ciigmuu, was recently virited by a remarkable plague of flies, which simultaneously covered an area of one mile. At some places it was impossible to move without clooing the eye* and mouth. Around every lamp in the town the spectacle was most curious. Attracted by the light thick swarms abounded, and their buzz, resembled that of a hive of bees. At the Post Offiec, where . the upper portion of the door is open for ventilation, and where necessarily the light is kept burning till the early morning, the insects covered the sorting boards, letters and bags, and hail to be continually swept on with brushes. At ono lamp they simply hung down in clusters. Tiib Cologne QazetU points out the Curious fact that Munich has 244,000 inhabitants, and only 11.000 citizens. To become a regular citizen it is necessary to pay 100 to 150 marks ($25-$87}, and this only a small portion of the inhabitants have done. Thmt who are not r/PfljLifP ' v.ssf.. ' : ,.,7 * . . * ? - s ":' /* /.v'i ... ? \ ' ' ' . . regular citizens are obliged to pay tho same taxes as the others, although they are not entitled to vote on commercial affairs. Regular citizens, in cases of extreme poverty, are entitled to liberal pecuniary assistance. Tiie employees of a Chicago commission house a few days ago were greatly surprised at hearing the chirping of chicks proceeding from a case of newly received eggs they were handling. Upon investigation a novel hatching was developed. Snugly located in half a dozen spaces where should have" been eggs were young chickens. As the eggs had been in transit by the railroad longer than a day it is evident that the chicks were hatched while en route to the market. This is the first time such an incident has been reported' in the egg trade of Chicago, and is a new departure in finding supplies for poultry customers or confirmatory of the report that the weather has been warm. In the northern part of Nebraska an Irish colony, called Jackson, has been settled for twenty nine years, six of the colonists of which are worth from $40,000 to $00,000 each. Tlicv were verv poor when they arrived there, and were so discouraged by the desolate appearance of the prairie and the loneliness and desolation, which alTected the Irish so much that if they had the money they would have left. Fortunately they had not. They had come up by the steamers from the Southern States, where they had been digging ditches. A fakmkk near Middlctown, N. Y., who was losing his potatoes by parties digging them up at night, resolved to watched his patch. lie and a friend armed with guns, took a position near the patch, but both fell asleep, and upon awakening, found thattwo rows of potatoes had been dug and their guns were stolen. THE OBEAH MAN. Horrible SupcrwtltioiiM of the Ignorant NegroeM of tlit? West Indie*. [Jamaica L^ttei to Philadelphia PresB.] Obcnh, in the West Indies, is a twofold art?the art of poisoning combined with the art of imposing upon the credulity of ignorant people'by a pretense of witchcraft. The Obcnh man or woman is one of a great guild or fraternity of crime. Hardly a criminal trial occurs in the different colonics in which he is not implicated in one way or another. Ilis influence is unbounded, the credulous peasantry holding him as prophet, priest and king of the district over which he holds sway. If a negro maiden wants a charm to make her lover "good to her;'' if a man wishes to avenge a wrong, or to know the secrets of the future, the Obcnh man is nt hand to supply the means and to proffer his assistance and advice. Under the title of "bush doctor'' he wanders from place to place at the cost of his dupes; supplied with food by one, with money by another, denied nothing. TTia i^rntonci/inu nrn Viirrli Knf means at hand to enforce them. lie declares himself powerful to cure all diseases. He can protect a man from the consequences of a crime; he can even reanimate the dead. Ilis knowledge of poison is immense. Every bush and tree furnishes weapons for his armory. Unfortunately, in too many instances, more effective agents are not wanting to his hand. How many planters have had poison administered to them in their coffee; how many bookkeepers have come to an untimely end by the mixture of ground glass in their food may be seen in the records of the slave courts of the different colonies? Barbadoes and Jamaica especially. Next to cholera and yellow fever, Ob?ah was the greatest danger which every white man connected with the administration of a sugar estate had to encounter. There is something indescribably sinister in the appearance of the Obeah man, which is readily observed by persona who have mixed much with the negroes. Sometimes, as an outward and visible sign of his trade or calling, ht carries about with him a staff or wand, with serpents wreathed about it or the rude likeness of a human face roughly delineated 011 the handle. Lizards' bones, cats' claws, ducks' skulls, grave dirt?that is, earth taken from the grave of a freshly-buried corpse?hang in a bag at his side. He has his cabalistic linnL" /nlhoit Vir? /?nn onlilnm full nl strange characters, crude figures and roughly traced diagrams and devices, which he pretends to consult in the ex| ercise of his calling. On one occasion I happened to be in a court-house during the trial of a notorious thief, when I noticed one of these gentlemen enter the room; a very dirty handkerchief was bound tighly around his head, and from under his shaggj brows I could see a pair of small, cunning eyes which never took their gaze from the face of the Judge. The pris oner was undefended and was finallj convicted, but I was afterward told thai instead of employing a lawyer he had retained for his defense this Obealr man, and had actually paid him the sum of three guineas for his services. Th< wizard had undertaken to '*fix the eye' of the Judge, and had persuaded th? miserable dupe that this would infalli bly secure his acquittal. Yonng Girls and Skating Rinks. A man writes to a New York paper ai follows: Chief of Police John Y. McKane 01 Coney Island-said to me while speaking of the number of girls between th? ages of 14 and 10 who have been arrested on the Island by his officers foi disorderly conduct and othei offenses: It is a fact, that mj private book will substantiate that nini out of every ten of these girls upoi private questioning by me, date then ,fall from the time they commenccd t< frequent skating rinks. This is no exaggeration. I used t< think, when I read of clergymen and others denouncing the rinks for the im morality that was bred there, that tin rinks were harmless, and that thos< fgentlemen were inclined to sensations ism. Now from the stories told me b} these young girls, right here in mj private office, I can appreciate th< truth of their remarks ana realize thi danger that surrounds the young femali in such resorts. I esteem this fact or. such importance that I think it ough to be known. * 1 ???*+mm? TALMAGE IN THE PULPIT. Saflcrinfr for Other*. The usual overflowing congregation greeted I)r. Talmage on Sunday inorning. His text was Hebrews, xix., 22? "Without the shedding of blood there is uo remission." Dr. Talmage said that the poet Whittier asked him iu the White Mountains if there is a fountain literally filled with blood. The answer was in the negative, and Dr. Talmage went on to say that the people who do not want what they call "slaughter house religion" are too ignorant to look through a figure of speech into the great truth behind it. If mpn depended upon the literal blood oi Christ for salvation, there would not have been a soul saved in eighteen centuries. Some people, said the speaker, are shocked at the idea of an innocent person suffering for another, yet I can show you five hundred cases of the substitution in suffering for another to-day in this city. All the sacrifices and suffering in business, all the sleepless nights, tho aching brains and agonizing insomnia are that loved ones are comfortable and happy at home. Of the ten business men I bury nine die of overwork for others. The mother who has buried three children sits up through long nights to save Iter only remaining child, and it recovers; but reaction comes, she sinks and dies from prostration?giviug up her life for her beloved one. The mother far away in the country gives her fortune, her prayers, and her life for the reformation of her wayward son, hei last words breathing of sacrifice and love as she whispers "Oh, my poor boy!" The thousands and tens of thousands of soldiers in the army who suffered on fields of battle and died mangled and unknown, gave their lives for their country. The physicians who left fame and fortune to aid those suffering from the horrors of yellow fever arc examples of Christian sacrifice. "VVm. H. Seward became illustrious for his delcnce of a helpless negro idiot condemned for murder. Kuskin arose to greatness by his chivalric devotion to the painter 'urncr, iong despised and maligned by the art critics of England. But all these illustrious examples of self-sacrifico, and all the noble acts of the patriarchs and apostles fail to express the infinite idea expressed in the text, because Christ is the one perfect example of sacrifice. Christ came down from a heavenly TI:., . ?i...J.?i. it. II1UIIV cuiu oat KJII inn UWli 1UUIMWU1 , XTC descended from celcstial glory into the valley of humiliation; lie left honor fot shame. lie was attended by angels was mocked by brigands. But out of that sacrifice came victory for all humanity. The weakest and most despised of mankind were made heirs of the heavenly crown?inheritors of immortality and partakers of life everlasting. "Life for life, blood for blood?substitution," was the epigrammatic peroration closing each of Mr. Talinage's sentences. A Modern Fabie. There was at one time a good old man living in Carlisle. His back was bent, his step was slow, and men who gazed upon,his snowy locks and wrinkled face whispered to each other : "He is a good old man, who has not long to live." The old man had been well off in his day, but when he found himself on the i snaay siae, wiie acaa ana home broken up, he said to his j-on: "William, take all that 1 have, and let your homo be my home until I die." The son took the all, and the father was given a cozy corner, a big chair, and a pipe. Everything went well for a year or so, and then the son and the son's wife began to make it uncomfortable for the old man in the corner. They threw out hints, deprived him of his comforts, and one cold day in winter he was told he had better go elsewhere. The old man's heart was sore as he went out into the world to battle against hunger and cold, and when night came he cowered in a doorway and wept like a child. "Who is making that row up there?" asked a rej>orter, whose steps had been arrested by the sobs, and he went up the steps, petted the old man on the head, and by and by the story was told. "Come down to the station with me," said the reporter, taking the old man's arm. "Your son is a brute, and I'll help you to fix him." Next morning one of the daily papers contained an item to the effect that an old gentleman named Goodheart had been found wandering about the streets at night, and when taken to the station-house two thousand pounds' ? aU l 1. i r J m-? ? nuiui ui uitim uuivs wuru iouiiu uu miuv The old man rend it over three times, slapped his leg as he saw the point, and a beautiful smile covered his face, and climbed up through his hair. In about an hour his son William rushed into the station, and called out, "Father, dear father, come homel All of us were crying all night long, and my wife is lying in a comatose state on your account." The old man went home with him, winking at the lamp-posts, and smiling as he turned the corners.. He had all his comforts back, and his son bought him a costly pipe and a pair of fur slippers that vory day. "Snowshoe" Thompson's Grare. The Carson (Nev.) Index relates this story: Mrs. John Scoss, the widow, of j'Suowshoe'' Thompson, last 8aturaay | had a tombstone placed at his grave in | the Genoa cemetery. At the top of the ' stone a pair of snowshoes, twelvo inches in length, standing one across the other, | are besutifully carved. John A. (Snowshoe) Thompson was a native of NorI way, and departed this life May 15, ! 1876, at the age of forty-nine years and sixteen days. His son and only childv who died in June, 1878, at the age of j eleven years, now rests by his side. Snowshoo was known far and near as the mountaineer who used to fly across the lofty Sierra on snowshoes the winter through, carrying the mail between this section and California. It is said he rcccivou na mgn as f<> per leccor as compcnsation for bringing the mail over tho mountains when the winter storms wcro raging. I "Ark your domestic relations agreeable?" was the question put t-o au unhappy-looking specimen of humanity. "Oh, my domestic relations aro all right,"was the reply; "it's my wife's iclations that are causing the trouble." > 1 ' , ^ f* v* -^v'AiS