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r'- ' v<; THINKING OF THE SOLDIERS. 'Wo were sitting round the table joBt a night or two ago, ; Jin the co-y littlo parlor, with the lamplight burning low, And the window blinds wore opened for the summer air to cemt*, And the painted curtaius moving like a busy pendulum. Oh ! the cushions on the sofa and the piotures on the wall, And the gathering of comfofts in the old, familiar hall, * And the whining of the pointer, lounging idly by the door, And the fitting of the shadows from the ceiling to the floor. , .And thoy wakened in my spirit, like the boautiful in art, Suoh a busy, busy thinking, Buch a dreariness of heart, 'That I sat amid the shadows with myspiiit all asstray, Thinking only, thinking only, of tho soldior far away; Of the tents beneath the moonttfjfct, of the stirring tattoo's sound, Of the 8 >ldier in his blanket, in his blanket on tho ground, Of the icy winter coming, of the cold, bleak winds that bl >w, And the soldier in his blanket, in his blanket on the snow; "Of tho blight upon tho lieather, of tho frost npou the hill, And tho whistling, whistling over, and the never, never still. . 'Of the little leaflets falling, with tho sweotest> saddest Hound, And the soldier, oh, tho soldier, in hiu blanket on the ground. Thus I lingered in my dreaming, In my dreaming far away, Till tho spirit's picture-painting seemed as vivid as the day; And the moonlight softly faded from the window opened wide, And thn fn.it.hfnl. faithful nointnr nronnlinrl closer to my side. And I know that 'ne&th the starlight, though the chilling frosts may fall, That the soldier will be dreaming, dreaming often of us all. So I give my npirit's painting just tho breathing of a sound -For the dreaming, dreaming soldier in hit blanket on tbu ground. ?Family journal. SENTENCED TO SIBERIA. I am a Lancashire man, and I rose from "the ranks. I began lifts much as other mill-hands do; but my head was set the "risht way on my shoulders, and I got to be ah overlooker. Five and twenty years ago, when a great English firm, whose operations extend over many parts of Russia, started a cotton mill at Ekaterinburg, I was offered a post as manager. Ekaterinburg is, as I dare say you know, on the Siberian side of the Ural mountains, and in the heart of the Government mining districts. A man thinks twice before he transports himself and his family to such a place, but I had made up my mind to get on, and this was a good chance to one in my position. I was not disappointed. I looked after the mill, and it prospered. We north country operatives u.e a thrilty folk, and like living in a plain way. j saved money; and as it was the policy of the firm to keep me in my post, and to five me a personal interest in the unertaking, I was allowed to invest my* few hundreds of roubles,in the mill. These common-place particulars about my own affairs can have very little interest for you, sir. I only tell them bc cause otherwise you would scarcely understand what has to follow. One evening, late in our short Rus f sian summer, when the long days were fast drawing in, we were in our family sitting room, I engaged with some of buu inm uuuuuiua, unu mjr who Willi her sewing, when Lottie, our eldest daughter, rushed in, and, without a word, fainted right away on the floor. This did not more frighten my wife and myself than it surprised us, for Lottie was a sensible girl, and had never given way to any hysterical fancies before. We knew that it must have taken a good deal to upset her in that way, and as soon as we had contrived to bring her round, we made her tell us what had been the matter. . It seemed that she had been alone in her room, when, turning suddenly toward the window, she became aware of a face pressed closely against the glass and glaring at her. What the Face was like she was unable to describe, but it appeared too ugly and horrible for a human being. If it could have been called that of a man or woman, 6he said, she should not have been so frightened. I went out and looked round the v house. Nothing was to be seen. We knew Lottie to be a sensible girl, but we were inclined to think that her fancy must have played her a trick for once. After a time my wife left the room to see about our supper. My wife (she has been dead now these nine years) had as strong nerves as any woman that I ever knew?nothing ever seemed to knock lier off her balance. Well, she came back in a minute or two and beckoned me to the door. She was calm enough, but I could see by her face that something was wrong. She would not say what sho had to say before the gijl for fear of frightening her again. So she whispered to me outside: "Lottie must have been right, there is something about. When I opened the door of the kladoroif (the larder, that is) "1 heard something at* the window. Whatever it may . have been it took aiarpi, and ma not let me see it; but it has left its mark on the lattice." I followed her silently to the kladotoy. All was now quiet there. I examined the forUtchka?as in Russia we call the little window of such a place. In summer time its glass cusement was removed, and it was now only protected by a lattice of crossed strips of fir-wood. These strips were slightly displaced, as [: if some one had tried to force them out. L and thus to gain an entrance. The for* toehka was about large enough to have j admitted the body of a man. Nothing was to be seen by looking out; for though a reasonable amount of r. ' I/. ;; # ; , ; : ' ? \ twilight still remained, it was only enough to show things with any distinctness in the open, and I hud sheltered the back of our house by planting a number of young fir trees. I whispered to my wife that she should gc back to Lottie and that I'would stay where I was for a bit, and see wlicthei the robber- -if it was a robber?would come again. It was scarcely to be callcd'late, yet it was too late for any of our mill people to be about, and they were our only neighbors. Indeed, we had no neni neighbors. My house, and one adjoining it (intended for another employee, but at that time unoccupied), stood partly within the high wooden fcnct which inclosed the mill, that is theii backs opened into the inclosure (the door, as we call it), while their fronts looked on a public thoroughfare. Thus our back premises were strictly private after the gates to the mrll had been closed; and the person?if it was a person?who had got to the windows must either have secreted himself within the dvor, or have gained access to it in some improper manner. Now, however, all was still as could be. Down I sat, to watch, close by the door of the ciadovoy. I chose a dark corner, and one where, in the dusk, it would have been a hard matter to see me, but I had a full view of the lattice. I waited till my patience was beginning to wear out, and then fancied that 1 heard some slight sound outside undei the Jbrtochka. It was so slight that at first I was not sure whether it mi^lifc not be merely fancy, but after a little pause 1 heard it again, louelcr and more distinctly. I sat still as a mouse, and kept a sharp lookout. Slowly and gradually something raised itself before the opening. It was a head; but in the uncertain light ] could not say whether it was a human head or that of some brute creature. Whichever it might be, I could see enough of it to know that it was such ji wild, haggard, unearthly looking thing as I had never lookc-l upon before. Anj quantity of shaggy hair was hanging about it, .and its only features to speak of seemed its eyes. Eyes it had, past all mistake. Never did I see anything like the way it glared at our gooel. pro visions within. 1 have seen what a famished wolf looks like, and I should hardly think a famished wolf worth comparing with that creature. It was ravenous after what it saw. Up beside the head came two bunches of long claws, which wrenched at the wooden lattice as if to tear it down. But thej were too weak. The strips lielel fast. Ancl tlien the thing fell to with its teeth to gnaw a way through. While the ereature was thus engaged, I contrived to slip quietly from my dark corner by the door, and catching up a big stick, went out at the back of tlu house. I stole round as noiselessly as ] could toward the window. There were, as 1 ? .id, young trees on that side of tlu house, so that with a little care, it was not difficult to approach the place unobserved. When 1 got to within a few yards, I saw that the man?for the creature was a man?was still hard at work, trying to force a way in. I dropped my stick, and made a rusli at him, and had him before he knew anything about it. He did not give uji quietly. He struggled hard?desperately, I may say. But, bless you! he'd not the ghost of a chance with me. J am a tolerably strong man still, as mer go, and I was younger then. I could have undertaken three such as he, and thought nothing of it. The poor wretcli had no sort of condition about him?lit was a mere skin and bones?no musclc at all. He was nothing but a walking anatomy, with a few rags by way of covering?and only a very few. All that he gained for his strugglef was a good shaking, for I gave him one that made every tooth in his head chatter, and then I laid him Hat on his back. I had been long enough in the country lo gain some knowledge of Russian. I could use it pretty freely to our mil] people; and I must own that for terms in which to blackguard a set of lazj rascals, as ^most of those fellows are, Billingsgate isn't a patch on it. So ] could make my prisoner understand me. "Now, then, my friend," I said to him, "you needn't take the trouble to show any more fight. You sec it w6n't pay. So just get up, and march quietly ofl with me to the ouv/tustok"?the ouchastok being, as you perhaps know, equivalent to the police station in English. But instead of getting up, and doing as he was told, like a reasonabln hpinnr the creature contrived to wriggle itseli upon its knees, and to hold up its hands, while it begged of me in the name of the Virgin and all the Saintt not to hand it over to the politeia. It would rather be killed outright, and was icady to be beaten as rmich as 1 pleased. "My ragged friend," I said, "you are a queer chap! Why do you object to the police so strongly?" The poor wretch made no direcl answer, but only reiterated his entreaties th*t I would not give him up. I began to have some suspicion of the quality ol my guest. "I am inclined to think," ] said, "that you are neither more nor less than an cscaped convict." Instead of attempting to deny it, h< only begged me to pity him as before. Russian law is terribly hard on thost who in any way assist in or conceal th< escape of a convict. Of that 1 was aware. But though I am a big fellow tt look at, and in some things enn hold m] own as well as any man, I have alwayi been a poor, soft-hearted fool in others I was beginning to feel downright sorrj for that unfortunate fellow?it was no so much his prayers that fetched me aj his looks. "Well," I said, "suppose don't give you up, but let you go, wha then?" He would always remember me witl nrntltn/ln IT-. U L! hiui.ii.uuv. iic wuuiu gu uu uih way a once, and do no harm to my property He liad only entered this <Ivor?tnisyan ?to hide himself, but that the sight o food had overcome him; he was famish ing, and he dared not beg. lie ha< walked, how far he could not tell, per haps a thousand vcrsts, and all the wa; he had not dared to ask for food, scarcc ly to speak to a living soul. He wa trying to reach his own village, perhap a thousand versts further. If I wouU only set him free ho would go on a once. That was about the substance of th fellow'8 answer. His appearance ?eeme< ' * . \ v '' * to boar out his statements, and I was inclined to believe him. "It's sheer nonsense," I said, "for you to talk of setting olt for a walk of a thousand versts, if I let you go. You might as well talk of > Hying. You have not the strength to r walk ten. You would only fall by the r roac side, you miserable scare-crow, and I die in the ditch. I should be doing the kinder thing by you if I handed you ; over to the authorities. If I do let you . go, I must give you something to eat r first. Come with me." The miserablo wrctch hardly believed that I really meant to feed him, and would have run away had he dared. I I took him into the empty house, of which ! I had the key, and fetched him as much food as I thought it safe for him to cat. ! So there I was with an escaped coni vict on my hands. Had 1 been more i prudent I should have reflected that the > fellow was most likely u hardened i scoundrel, quite undeserving of pity, and that his gratitude would probably ; be shown either by iobbing me, or if he i should happen to fall into the hands of the police, by getting me into trouble to i save his own worthless neck. I ought to have thought of these things; but, as ! I said before, I am a soft-hearted old fool, and neglected to do so. ; I kept him in that empty house for s several days; in fact, till he had so far recovered his strength as to be fit to go ; on. Nobody knew about him, not even [ the members of my own family, for if I was doing a foolish thing, I had sense ; enough to run as little risk over it as ; possible. Fcodor Stepanovitch, for that ! my convict told me was his name, enlightened me on some few points of his - personal history. His native village was, he said, in the government of Yla; dimer, and he had left it to get work in i the village of Ivanova, where there are [ factories. Every man tries to make out i a good case for himself, so I did not feel myself bound to place implicit rc> liance on Feodor's statement that he had i never commuted anything that could properly be called a crime. According to his showing, the sole source of his r troubles had been a difference with an utivadnib?a police agent. I do not ex; actiy remember the particulars, but, of r course, there was a woman in the busi! ness; blows had passed, and the <>ttraJiik had, by a false charge, procured I Feodor's condemnation to Siberia for t life. This, I say, was his story. Fcodor told me that his place of exile had been somewhere far up the country; ; and of the severities he had had to eni dure, and of the tyranny of officials, he spoke bitterly. After making his escape, the privations and dangers he hud i undergone before reaching Kkaterinhnrnr wnrn annli ou T cUnnlrl ??Af 1??va K?_ licved from his words, had they not been verified by his appearance. , For a Russian, he appeared to me to . be a not unintelligent fellow, and I [ pointed out to him the difliculties he would tind in making his way to Ivan. ova?a distance of not less than twelve i hundred versts from Ekaterinburg, ns . the crow flies; and advisod him, as he r was used to mill-work, to stay and tind employment where he was. 1 was weak enough to oiler to help him, and see what could be done in the way of get, ting a passport for him. But the fellow was bent on going forward. lie was rc, solved, lie said, to see his family again, . and he was resolved to see Basil Makaroff. This Makaroff was, I found, the [ ouvanik to whom Feodor attributed his ! troubles, nnd it seemed to me that this [ particular hankering to see this person [ meant a craving to have hi* revenge. I [ confess that when I had learned this . much, I felt no desire to detain my . friend Feodor longer tlmu was necessary r I was glud to give him something more ' decent in the way of clothing than he had brought, and a trifle in money to help him on his way, and to be rid of , him. I never expected to see him again, nor wished to do so; audi was somewhat startled when a few weeks later, among a gang of convicts which were being I marched by a guard of soldiers out of ( the town on their way eastward, I recognized Stephanovitcli. I was standing close by when he passed, and was so much surprised to see him that I somewhat imprudently, perhaps, spoke to him by name. But, will you believe it? , ? the ungrateful dog stared' me in the face, ijnd marched silently by without r word or sign of recognition. "So much,'' thought I, 4'for gratitude!" Some months later, when the next r summer was getting well advanced, we ' had one night a'u alarm of tire. Many of the newer mills at Ekaterinburg are of stone, but the main building of ours, , being comparatively old, was of wood. It was a thing to blaze up like a box of matches. It was not, however, in the ' main building that the fire had broken out, but in some sheds connected with , the main building by a range of shopj ping. This last was stone-built, but ;is ill-luck would have it, was covered with wnnrlen nl-?incrl#?? , A good many people were soon got , together, mostly our own hands, and I, f directed and encouraged them as well as [ I could to get the lire under. But they , were a stolid, heavy set of fellows, those Russians, and the way in which they , take care not to over-exert themselves at a fire is enough to drive an Englishman , wild. Yet there were some few who \ worked well, and one fellow in particu} lar, I noticed?a ragged fellow, a beg> gar, I took him to be?who really j worked splendidly, and in a way that 5 ought to have made many of those whose daily bread depended on the existence \ of the mill ashamed of themselves, t What between the apathy of those 9 lazy scoundrels, and want of water, is [ was soon plain that the sheds which t were on fire could not be saved, and that what we had to look to was the mill i itself. The danger of the main buildt ing was increasing overy moment, for . the fire was beginning to make its way 1 along the shingled roof of which I i spoke. I could see what had to be done? 1 those shingles had to be stripped off. I had a ladder reared againBt the buildy ing, and called (or volunteers to mount i- it. The height of that roof from the s ground was considerable, and the fire a was every moment getting more and 3 more hold upon it. To strip off the t shingles would be a hard job, and a hot one, and it is not to be denied, a dan0 gerous one. Not one of those cold1 blooded rascals who had eaten our bread * m 1 , V 1 / ?*;; ;.v^ v: Vr- 'V - .1 - )*" v' '' a. for years would come forward. I stood at tlie loot of the ladder, and told them I was going up myself. 1 oltered twenty roubles?fifty roubles?to any man who would help me. But it was of no use. Just when 1 was about to mount Alone, the ragged stranger-fellow, whom I had before observed working so vigorously, camo running up. lie had been too busy in another place to know what was going forward sooner. That was scarcely a time for taking any particular notice of people's looks, yet 1 had an im. ression that he was not altogether a stranger to me. lie looked up to the roof. The delay of those few minutes had given a fearful advantage to the fire. "There is death up there," he said; "is sating this mill so very important to you ?" "If it is burned, I am a beggar. Every kopeck I am worth is in it. A hundred roubles if you will help me save it!" "We can talk of the reward afterward," he said, as he sprang past me and up the ladder like a cat. I was following, too eagerly, perhaps, to be careful, and I am a heavv man. A round broke, and down I came, with u knee so much twisted that I could scarcely stand. It was no longer in my power to climb to the roof. But frcm where I propped myself against the wall I could see that ragged fellow, who was up and doing enough for three or four ordinary men. You should have seen how he sent the shingles rattling down. Seen from below, he seemed at times to be working with tire all round him, but he went on without minding it. I never saw an Englishman?let alone a Russian?go to it with a better will. I heard the people round me say that he worked more like a fiend than a mortal man?and so he did. lie handled the burning wood as though his fingers had been iron instead of flesh and bone, and scarcely seemed to shrink from the flames that blazed up round his face. He never appeared to rest or stay for breath till he had succeeded in cutting oil the communication between the fire and the mill. I made the men below set the ladder as handily as they could for him to get down, and he did his best to reach it. lint he must have been quite used up, besides being pretty much blinded and suffocated with the smoke. Anyway, he lost his footing, and down he went through the rafters, and crashed among the burning rubbish below. It was an ugly fall. We got him out as well as we could; and such a scorched, smoke-blackened, smashed-up copy of God's image I should never wish to see agnin. But hewas still alive, and to the proposal to carry him straight to the hospital I said, "No; take him into my house." So they took him in. After we had got the fire quite under, and made all safe about the mill, I limped to the side of the bed where they had laid the poor fellow. He had come round a bit by that time. He tried to open his eyes, but it seemed to me that the fire and smoke had not left him much power of seeing with them. He spoke, however, more distinctly than might have been expected, and his first nnnufinn wn? mill woa uufn I told him that owing to his pluck it wiw. I was surprised to find that he recognized my voice, and still more when he named my name. "You do not know me," he said?and indeed it was not likely that any one should know such a crushed and shapeless mass of cinder as he was?"You do not know me?Feodor Stepanovitcli. They caught me, and took me back. I knew you when you spoke to me in the street, but dared not answer, lest they should suspect you of having befriended me. I have escaped from them again, and am going home to Ivan ova. I must see my wife, and that villain MakarolT." He lay a little, and then added: "I am glad I was here to help you to-night. I am glad they did not take me again before I got here. I do not think the politzia will take me again." And they did not; for he was dead within an hour of thut time. That, sir, is the end of my story of a Siberiak. Do you happen to have a light handy; for, somehow, I have let my pipe out? And, bless me, my pipe-bowl is quite wet. I believe I'm crying. What an old ass I am!?London Society. He Saw Ills Father. "Father," he began, after taking the old man out back of the barn, "yonyears are many." "Yes, my son." "You have toiled early and late, and by the sweat of your brow you have amassed this big farm." "That's so, William." "It has pained me more than lean tell to sec you, at your age, troubling jourself with the cares of life. Father, your declining days should be spent in the old armchair in the chimney corner." "Yes, William, they should." "Now, father, being you are old aud feeble and helples;- give mo a deed of the farm, and you and mother live out your few remaining days with me and Sally." "William," said the old man, as he pushed back his sleeves, "I think I see the drift o' them remarks. When I'm ready to start for the poorhouse I'll play fool and hand over the deed! William !" "Yes, sir." "In order to dispel any delusion on your part that I'm old and feeble and helpless, I'm going to knock down half an acre of corn-stalks with your heels!" And when the convention finally adjourned, William crawled tc the nearest hay stack JJand cautiously whispered to himself: u a 1 a?11 * . iV? auu oiuijf wua \aj uium;u iuo duiuu | thing to ma at the same time! I wonder i if the'a mortally injured, pr only crippled for life!" Consumption as a causo of death is steadily decreasing in Massachusetts. Dr. Abbott, of the State Health Board, reports the death rate from that disease was 85 in every 10,000 in the dccadc from 1867 to 1867, and SI in 10,000 for the ten years ending 1883, while is is not expected to J>e over 99 to 10,000 for 1884. * p'*?- v , yft ?v' ' v. ... -* 7 WORTH MORE THAN MONEY. The KeiiMon I lint a Bird Seller Deemed One of IliM Cnuni*I?m 3 "It is very hard to make ft canary bird sing1 si rune," said an up-town bird fancier to an inquisitive amateur ornithologist. "Very hard, indeed, and I have only one tune-singing bird in my shop. It takes a year or so of hard work to train a bird to this state of musical perfection. In Germany, where most of ^)ur canary birds come from, there arc families who do nothing else for a livelihood except train birds in this accomplishment. It is done in this way: They always have one bird that can sing a tunc, and he is ajiut up iu a dark room with a young bird that has shown some ability as a singer. After a while the young bird begins to imitate the other, and in the course of a couple of months he can sing the tune very well. Then lie is taken away from his teacher, and and a music box that plays the same tune is put into the room, and the old bird is transferred to another room, where he teaches the same lesson to another young bird. Only one bird can be taught at a time, and, as very often the young bird is unable to learn a tunc at all, you can form some idea of the difficulties in the way of the work. Of course this makes the bitda very expensive. An ordinary canary bird sells for three: dollars, and some bring five dollars, while a bird that sings a tune readily commands fifty to five hundred dollars, according to the extent and merit of its accomplishments. I have known of a canary that could sing three tunes, but such birds are very scarce indeed. I have never heard of another. That one belongs to the King ol Bavaria. "I own a singing bird that can't be got from me with money." said tlu dealer, as lie turned to a cage behind him. "He only sings one tune, but j can tell you a remarkable story abou him. My daughter trained him hersell when we lived in Germany, six years ago. She trained him to sing a song ol her own improvisation. Of course it if much harder for a person to train a bird than for another bird to be the teacher, and it took her nearly six months before Vio li + flo follnw onnlrl oin/* if 4-V*mil without making a mistake." Here the bird fancier whistled a few bars of a melody which the bird took up and finished without a break. ""Well," continued the dealer, "at about that time 1 concluded to come tc America, and leaving my daughter behind mc?i was a widower?1 sailed foi Oew York. Soon after landing I opened a store in Harlem and sent for my daughter. By some mishap I failed to meel her, and the most careful inquiries threw no light on her whereabouts. ] knew she had sailed, but I couldn't learn the name of the steamer or anything about ncr. At last, after searching for her until I had spent almost all they I had, I gave up in despair. Om day I was walking down Mulbern street, when I heard a street boy whistling this very air you have heard tht bird sing. I stopped him, and inquired where he had heard it. He said that a young wpman in the same tenement house where he lived had a bird thai sang it Need I say more? I had hinr lead me there at once, and soon discovered that the owner of the bird was mj lost daughter. She was miserably'poor and was making her living scrubbing officcs. She had come on anothei steamer than the one I had mtendec her to take, and having lost my address had not been able to trace me any bet ter than I had her."?N. Y. Sun. Pompcy and the 'Possnm. Of course you have heard the classic possum siory wmcn is aiways torn wner 'possum is mentioned? No? Well, ac old darkey once caught a 'nossum ont cold Thanksgiving Day, ana taking il home to his cabin, built up the fire and put it in the pot. Then he lay down, tired out, with his feet to the fire, darkey fashion, and went to sleep. As he lay there snoring while the 'possum simmered in the pot, his son, a limber bright-eyed youth, glided into the cabin. He took in the situation in a moment. The 'possum was ready to be eaten and its strong aroma filled the room. Stepping softly to the fire, the graceless youth took the 'possum out of the pot and rapidly devoured its gamey flesh, chuckling softly to himself as he did so. When he had eaten all there was to eat, he gathered the bones in a little pile i eside the fireplace, and then 9meanng a little of the 'possum grease on the mouth and nose of the sleeping man, he stole softly out. By and by old Pompey awoke. The air was redolent of boiled 'posRum?the old man's mouth watered. Rising slowly to his feet, he took off the lid of the pot and looked in. "Jerusha mighty!" he exclaimed, "it's done gone." Then glancing down at the fireplace, he saw the whitened bones, and passing his hand over his mouth he felt and Bmelled the 'possum grease. A broad smile overspread his puzzled face: *rGood Lawd!" he exclaimed, "I done forgot I ate him 1" He Weakened. The Macon Teleoranh savs: He was seated with several of his friends in a saloon in Macon. They were all drinking, but he had taken more than his usual allowance of war-time whiskey. The proprietor of the saloon had a pet monkey that had the run of the place, and his favorite resting-place was the top of a certain barrel. My friend happcnd to see the animal for the first time, and said: "Boys, do you sec that monkey?" Thoy looked in the direction pointed to, and though the monkey was plainly visible, they put on serious faces and said they did not see it. He again po:ntcd it out to them, and again they said they did not sec it. Then he noticed their countenances, which seemed to say, "Poor follow, he's gone," and said: "I don't see it neither. I was just trying to fool you." "See, mamma!" exclaimed a little girl as she looked out of the window during a snowstorm, "see the popped rain coming down.' Said lie was a Natural .Coward. The Chicago Inter Occnn says: "Among the visitors to the city," said an ex-IIoosicr, "I saw to-day a man who when he entered the army looked upon himself to the point of cowardice. lie came to the regiment about the time of the Atlanta campaign as a new recruit, and just before the first engagement after his arrival lie came to mo and said: "'Captain, for heaven's sake put me some place where I won't have to fight. I am a coward and I can't go into battle. If I attempt it I will disgrace myself.' "The man in appearance was the most miserable picture of abject cowardice I lllirl u?nn 1 I 1 1 3 _l L 1. ? ?>? tin oi i iij uuu i iuiim:u uijuwi. iu find an cxcusc for leaving him behind. The boys were shedding their knapsacks preparatory to making a charge, and I put the new recruit, with some others I did not feel sure of, on duty to guard the knapsacks. The tight came on and raged for hours. As many bullets struck the spot where those knapsacks were piled as did the line where the regiment was formed. All through the furious fighting the new recruit, as I afterwards learned, was on his knees praying loudly and earnestly for the safety of the regiment. The men with linn at first regarded this performance with contempt, but as the fury of the fight increased and the man's words took on increased ' earnestness they became a little super1 stitious, and when at last the regiment ! went forwrrd with a cheer, and the man on his knees burst out in hallelujahs of ; rejoicing, they felt a respect for him. However the men of the regiment may . have regarded the praying performance, 1 it is certain that they made no jokes about it. The fight had been too serious ! and the losses too heavy for any ridicule : of a man who had prayed for them. Hie next day, at New Hope Church, L when the regiment came suddenly under \ heavy fire, most of the men dropped to the ground or took to cover. Among \ the few men who stood up and fired was 1 the man who had told me the day before ? that lie was a natural coward and could l not go into a fight. When I ordered him down he tnrncd to me with an ex 1 alted look on his face to say: 1 " 'I have stood in the face of death; I do not fear anything. After the expc' ricnce of yesterday I can never be a coward again.' ''And he never was." ' A Woman's Terrible Affliction. . A very natty two-horse brougham stopped with a flourish at the corner of Spruce and Eleventh streets, Philadel" phia. Its varnish was a dark olive and ! a crest was painted in crimson on each ; door. The negro coachman on the box ' shivered under his cape of sable until the cockade on his hat shook. His face ' was a dirty gray in hue, not unlike dish water. ! A prim English waiter bounced barcr headed down the steps of the house before which the carriage stopped, and : opened the door for two befurred ladies. | The elder of the pair who was evidently J; mistress of the carriage and the man^ sion. turned and looked anxiously at the coachman as soon as she alighted. Pie 1 trembled more than ever and cowered beneath his cape. T "James," said the mistress in a grieved tone, "it's happened again." ' "Can't help it, missus," said the F coachman in a voice of resignation. "Well, don't keep the horses stand ing," said the lady petulantly. As the carriage disappeared around the corncr she turned to her companion and said despairm ly: "I really don't know what I'll do." "Why, what's the matter, my dear?" . was the sympathetic response. i "I sent clear to South Carolina," the [ elder woman replied, "to get a man to . match my brougham. He was real olive ; green, and I was delighted all summer. [ Why, you don't know how many congratulations I received on my taste at the (-ity Troop jraces. But now the t cold weathers come he turns that nasty l pray. The wretch! I believe ho knew he would, and I paid " ( The door of the house closed on the ^ , injured woman, and a man on the side, walk who had heard her plaint said: i "Great Scott!" The Old Lady's Eyesight. 1 The Indianapolis Journal says: 1 W. W. Herod made a speech to a jury the other day, in which he referred to a witness who, while he terrified to seeing R niimhftr r?f (hinnra tVioh fauAwrl other side, could not remember things nearer and greater that would have helped Mr. Herod's client. 1 "The witness," said Mr. Herod, "re1 minds me of an old lady down in Bartholomew county. She was nearly 80 years old, and, much to the dismay of 1 her sons and daughters, contemplated matrimony with a farm-hand who was about 22 years old. The old lady had pnnnulnrtihlii nrnnnrtr onrl flm /ar>f woo additional reason for opposition on the part of her children. She was remonstrated with, and finally one of tho sons 1 said i 44 'Why, mother, you are too old to many; your eyesight is almost gone; you couldn't see William if he was put out there on the barn.' 4'The old lady thought she could, and finally agreed that if she could not she would forego the marriage and pass the remainder of her days in singlo blessed1 ncss. 4,The sons went and got the joung man, a ladder was placed against the barn, and he mounted the roof. Shading her eyes with her hand, tho old lady looked long and anxiously, and finally broke out with: 4 4 4Well, it is cur'us; I can't see the barn, but I can see William.' " He Saw.?Lightning struck a pine tree just in the rear of our ollice, Monday afternoon, throwing the bark and limbs of the tree against the windows of the office. We saw everything we had done in our life, and we saw nothing that could compare with the meanness of a dropped delinquent subscriber from the subscription , list of any newspaper, says the editor i of the Orange City, Fia., Timet. A Washington bridegroom rooepiljr gave the minister $1,009 bill for tyiig ft* nuptial knot. . '