pipe had gone out. He turned it upside down,
ashes

em tying out fire and . .
interrupt that solemn reverie by

spoke: .
I I had three children on my

0 one could '
a word.
After a time he
“ Yes—she died

edest two creetur’s on airth. I sold out, ni
farm and all—I couldn’t stay thar! I jest l
enough, all debts paid and a stone put over her
grave. to et here, buy this iSIand, build this
cabin and ice! '
“ I came here with my gals, here they’ve
grown up, we’ve lived here happ , and here I
expect to die, I owe no debts— try to be a
man ! No whisky co here—the curse 0’ that
has never got this side 0’ her graye! Rest con-
tent here with my gals to-night—m the .morning
we’ll talk about gettin’ you-Luna to Baltimore, or
to Norfolk, anyway!” .
There was a hush, while the soft ay of tw1—
- light fell on the scene. Sadie and ehsse, graye
and silent, had shed tears of sympathy while
that good old man had told his sad, but Simple
story. Every word had come up out of a brave,
sorrow-stricken heart.
It was dark when “ Baby,” who had assumed
charge inside of the house, called them all in to

 

su per. A

It was a quiet, homely meal, but some way
our heroines felt a security, a confidence of pro-
tection there that took away all fear. And when
the old man had ever weapon examined and
turned the dog out-of oors to keep watch, they
retired to rest on a feather-bed in one of the
rude bunks, confident that if attacked they would
be bravely defended. _

The night passed quietly—no alarm—nothing
to trouble them. . ‘

And the poor girls slept for the first time smce
they were torn away from home and friends, a
ho ful, dreamless, restful slumber. '

‘hey woke, hearing the old hunter astir, at

the first break of day. '

“ Gals,” said he, addressing the twins at the
breakfast-table, which was set twenty minutes
later, “ there’s a heap 0’ work ahead of us, and

werful little time to do it in. I’m gom’.to

'orfolk, maybe all the way to Baltimore With
these gals-r— oin’ till I see ’em safe With their
friends. has put ’em on my hands, and He’d
never forgive me if I desarted ’em.”

“Nor—nor we wouldn’t either, dad. We’ll
stick as long as you will!” said Sally, and J emi-
ma ded- ‘

“ You bet!" ‘
“Well. as I said,” the old man continued,
“ there’s a heap 0’ work to do, and we’ve ot to
divide up to do it. There's the salt over in the
dryin‘—pahs on the beach—that must be got in,
for the Equinox is coming on, and rain Will
sp’ile in three months’ savings. I’d like to run
down t e bay‘in one o’ the boats to try an’
diskiver if any 0’ them pirates is a-hoverin‘
about. Can you gals run over, with the big-
gest boat and scoop in that salt While I’m
one?”
g “ In course we can, dad. It’ll be jest play for
us. Not more’n thirty or forty buckets of it at
most.” cried Sally.
“ Wal, you do that—Baby and the Baltimore
als will keep house. and when I get back I
on’t know now what’ll hinder us in startin’.
The dorg is as good on watch as half a dozen
men—better nor some, for he’ll bite as well as
bark, when he’s cornered up.”

“ Dad—he’s barkin’ now! Some one is com-
in’ I" cried the Baby.

“So there is! I hear oars. too! To our
guns, gals, to your guns—shut the door. Vi e’ve
peep-holes to use, if we have to!”

CHAPTER XL.
A VISITOR. »
IN less than a minute, with closed doors,the

 

I thought I’d scare them gurls a bit, so they d

Bay
0
man a—livin’ on the desert sands, an’ it sours me
an’ makes me ugly. I’m sor
I am, on me sowl!"

the logs which formed one side of the house.
Another rope secured her in that position.

She raved for a few minutes, but when she
saw the two oldest girls getting ready to go for
salt and the old man preparing to leave, and

heard him tell the Baby to keep a watch on her ; make their appearance with the usual monthly
hands—the Baby and them twins. the God-bless- and break her head With the clothes maul if she ? packs of provisions, vile whisky, tobacco and
rs, , tried to get loose, she began to weaken.

“ Pl’aze, Misther Snooks, I was only a-jokin’.

_for the canoe me ould man let ’em have.
n’t be hard wid me, pl’aze. I’m a lone wo-

ry for all I’ve said,

Her voice was changed to a pitiful whine, and
she tried to squeeze a tear or two out of her owl-
ish eyes. The last was an utter failure.
“ And you do not know of any one who in-
tends them harm l” v
“ Not a sowl since the men wint away that
thried to catch them at the light-house. and I’m
well-nigh sure they’re all dead or took on the
men-o’-war. We heard a d’ale of shootin’ goin’
on down by the Inlet, and then we‘ saw three
schooner-s sint awa 'l”
“ It may be so. f I let you go will you take
that canoe in tow and go right back to the light-
house?”
“ Ind’ade I will, an’ thank ye kindly for the
l’ave l”
"' Then go! And mark me, woman, if I find
you up to any wicked deal I’ll put a bullet
through you if ’tis the last act 0’ my life. that
I so mean I”
hile speaking he unbound her and pointed
to the door.
She went out, without another word, but she
cast back a look of hate on the poor girls.
“ I am afraid she’ll do us an ill-turn yet!” said
Sadie.
“ Don’t fear, miss! I’m oin’ to give her start
enough to get out o’ sight, then I’ll follow and
watc her, while I satisfy myself if there are any
parties lurking around that can do ye harm.
I‘o—morrow morning we’ll start for Norfolk, and
if ye don’t find friends there, I’ll keep on with ye
to Baltimore, though I was nevcr that far from
home before.”
Mrs. Barney Buglin’s arm ached too much et
from the iron grip of that giant’s hand for er
to say a word to anger him which he could hear.
But when she fastened the canoe to the stern
of her boat.and pushed off to go down the bay,
she muttered: ,
“ I’ll. have my revenge on that owld coon-'ater
and them lily-faced hussies, see if I don’t. ’Twas
no idle threat I made, if I did take it all back to
get away from the owld rookery. I do know
where thim men in the boat went to—’t was up
the owld Snake lagoon, an’ if they’re there this
blissed night, afther Barney has got his supper
and gone in to light up the tower, I’ll find ’cm,
and maybe git a purse 0’ gould for what I’ll tell
’em !’
Her treatment made her so angry that she
pulled away with all the energy in her frame
and though she had the canoe in tow, the old
man, ,Zebulon Snooks could but just keep her in
sight when she went down the Bay. But he did
see her land at the right land' and take her
course to the light-house, and t en, though be
carefully explored both sides of the Bay, going
down and coming up for six or seven miles, he
saw neither boats or men to alarm him.
then he returned to his island home, he found
the two oldest daughters back with the salt, and
learned from the “ Baby ” that the day had
passed there quietly.
The two girls, Melisse and Sadie, had been
busy arranging some skirts out of calico, to wear
over their masculine dress, for the daughters of
the iant hunter were all nearly as large again
as t ey were, and their dresses would not have
fitted the slend 3r figures of their guests.

 

oldest girls gun in hand and the others armed in
one way or another, and the old man looking
through a chink in the logs, with his double—
barreled gun ready in his lhands, the garrison
was prepared for battle.

The doc barked furiously and ran toward the
wharf, w ile the heavy beat of oars in the row-

locks could be distinctly heard.

“ Be ready gals—be ready; and you, miss,”—
to Sadie—“ be here to see if they’re the men you
got away from. If they’re enemies, we must
get the first fire, afore they’re ashore, while
they’re in a clump.”

Sadie, With an ax in her hand for a weapon
went to his side and looked through the crevice
between the logs.

The prow of a boat was seen as it rounded the
foot of the island and headed for the wharf. A

second more and it was evidentthat but one pair
of oars propelled it.

Next a pair of broad shoulders, a bare, frowzy
head of yellow or saffron hair, and two great
red arms plying the oars vigorously, came in

si ht.
is the boat touched the wharf the rower rose,

clutched the painter and jumped on shore to

fasten it.

“ It is the hateful woman who drove us from

the light-house!" said Sadie.

“ Sart’in as shootin’!
woman~the first time she has ever been
I'll see what she wants!”

here.

It is Barney Buglin’s

The girls who went for the salt were tired.
The salt-pans, where the ocean water was evap-
orated by the sun, were over on the beach a mile
or more from where the had a boat landing,

 

It had been snowing for a week, off and on, and l
the result was that the snow lay so deep on the
mountain and across the trail from the Gulch to
Pokerville,1 some miles over the Divide, that

even the ardy little “burros” had failed to

other necessaries from Pokerville, and there was
a famine in Cogper Gulch. Even the whisky
had run out, an for several days the wealthiest
inhabitants had been dining. and, for that mat-
ter, supping and breakfastmg as well, on flap-
jacks straight, and now even flapjacks were
getting scarce. And this being the case with
the four men playing poker at the deal table,
they had struck a novel but, to them, natural
method of lifting the siege.

The four men had been among the first ar-
rivals at the new camp, and from the first each
pair had slept in one of the two bunks on oppo-'
site sides of the room, each pair had eaten to—
gether at op site sides of the table, worked
together at ‘fi'ercnt parts of their claim, and
the results of their labor had been from time to
time divided into two glistening heaps of dust.
Bad as the Citizens of the Gulch were, these four
were the worst, yet either of the four would
have held his hard—earned dust, or even his life,
at the pleasure of the other. In simple mining-
camp parlance, they were “ Pards.”

The were playing poker that night to decide
who 5 ould take a portion of dust and go out
in the blinding, driving snow, and the icy moun-
tain blast over the Divide into Pokerville, and
come back with something more palatable than
flapjacks straight.

' ‘he pile of beans at the right hand of one of
the players had grown very small, and with a
careless glance at his hand he pushed his last
two beans to the little pile in the center and laid
down his cards. As he did so the candle, find-
ing its struggle with the fire useless, went out
with a little sizzle of disgust.

“ Two pair,” said one of the men on the, other
side of the table.

“ That settles it,” said he of the opposite side
whose pile had quite vanished in the loss of the
two last s. “ I’m broke.” Then with a
light laugh and a glance at his pard, “ Deal out
the dust, and I’ll make tracks.”

Two buckskin sacks were produced from op-
posite sides of the room, and a portion of their
contents measured out with an iron spoon and
de osited in a third sack on the table.

he loser, who in the mean time had donned a
pair of gloves, 8. pair of six-shooters and a can-
vas overcoat, now took the sack from the
table, lighted his pipe, and going to his pard
said:

“ Pard, if I git through all right, I’ll be back
by sundown to-morrow night. If I ain’t back
by then, wait till the storm’s over and then take
a walk over the trail, and you’ll find me with the
dust or the grub. ,Sabe?”

“ Just so, ’ replied the other, who was the
younger of the two; “ but, ard, I was thinkin’
of gom’ over to Poker myse f, to-night.”

“ See here,” returned the loser, who was called
Black Jerry in the Gulch, “ I played that game
and I lost it. I’m goin’ to take the chances. If
you should come With me, and both of us croak,
who’s goin’ to take the dust? Besides, you’re a

ounger man’n me and you’ve got folks. I ain‘t.

on stay here, and if I don’t come back by sun-
down, strike out, and you’ll find me on the trail
—with the dust or the grub.”
A fierce gust of wind that sent the sparks
from the fire—place all over the dug-out, and a
dazzling glare of snow, and he was gone.

 

A couple of hours had elapsed since the de-
parture of Black Jerry for Pokerville, and two
of the inhabitants of the dug-out had been aslee
in their resgective bunks for nearly that length
of time. lack J err ’s pard, however, was
still sitting before the re with his elbows on his
knees and his face buried in his hands, and was
dozing yet not wholly asleep. Suddenly the re.
port of a pistol seemed to sound in his ears, and

king when he grow’d up—and savin

And did you swaller all that, pard ’€’

“ Don’t suppose a preacher ’d lie,” answered

the other, evasively again.

“ Mebbe not,” said Jerry, whose voice was

getting thicker and fainter now. “ Pard, while
was layin’ here waitin’ fur you, fur I somehow

thought you’d come, I seen that star, and got to

thinkin’ about that preacher, and then I thought

of that story, and, pard, it must be true, fur my

mother told it to me nigh thirty years ago. And

I forgot it till I la here and seen that star and

got to thinkin’. es; I believe it’s true. And

now, pard, ou’d better go, because it’s gittin’

dark—and know what that means.”

“ Pard, I'll go; but not till you’re gone.”

“ Well,” said Jerry. “ that won’t be long.”

Then very faintly, “ Pard—what’s your name——

your States name .5”

“ Bruce—Charley Bruce,” answered Jerry’s

pard, bending close over him.

“ Bruce's” whispered Jerry. “ Where—from?”

“ Connecticut.”

lVith a supreme effort Black Jerry raised him-

self upon his elbow, made a vain attempt to get

his hand inside his coat, and then sunk back

murmuring:

“ Brother, brother!”

“ that is it, pard?” bending his head near to

Jerry.

“ Not pard,” gasped Jerry, “ br—”
And then the whisper died away, and with a.
last effort to put his hand in his bosom, his head
droo bac , a shiver shook, his frame, and
Blac Jerry’s soul was gone far, far above the
gloomy ines of the Divrde.
And erry’s pard still sat there, with the icy
form of his new-found brother clasped in his
arms. No thou ht of leaving him now; no
thought of the co d that was turning his limbs
to ice, or of the warm fire that waited for him
at the little “ dug-out ” down in the famine—strick-
en Gulch; no thought of the sack of glittering
gold-dust that now was all his own.
His mind was wandering back to the scenes of
twenty years ago, and he was a boy again
among the green fields of New England, and the
cold form in his arms was with him there, only
he did not call him Black Jerry then; until the
cold froze his blood, and his thoughts, and his
very life.

’, everybody?

 

A few days after, a party of hard cases from
Co )per Gulch, going over the Divide to Poker~
ville for “grub,” came across the bodies of two
men on the right of the trail—Sandy Jim and
the other one. Seeing footprints leading off to
the left, some one followed them to investigate,
and ten paces from the trail they found the body
of Black Jerry still in the arms of his pard. 0n
the snow under the butt of a revolver was a piece
of paper on which was scrawled: ‘

“ Sandy Jim and the other one followed Jerry for
dust. Got left.”

'A search through the pockets of Jerry’s
blouse. a little later, brought forth some old let-
ters which, on being compared with others found
amen the effects of his pard, showed that he
and erry were both from the same place, and
that the same old mother had sent them her
blessing, and Copper Gulch was forced to the
conclusion that they were brothers. But Cop-
per Gulch was not surprised at that, for even
stranger things had happened to it. But they
buried them both in the same grave.

 

Casual Mention.

 

KENTUCKY is said to have more navigable
river front than any other State in the Union.
DR. FLEISCHE, of Vienna, declares that vic—
tims of alcohol, morphine and similar drugs can
be cured rapidly—he says within ten days—by
means of cocaine chloride.

IT does not seem to follow that in order to be
long-lived we must have had long-lived ances—

 

 

and this distance they ha traversed to and fro,

less than seven times.

all go to Norfolk with the two fugitives in the
morning and would start early.
The rest, securing the house, retired later.
(To be continued—commenced in N0. 114.)

m

Pards.

BY 'A. e. IVINS.

 

bringing the salt in sacks on their shoulders, no

They ate their supper as soon as it was ready
and went to bed, for the father said they would

another, and then several more, and mingled
with the sound of the shots he seemed to hear a
wild cry, “ Pard! Pard!”

He sprung to his feet, looked around him. and
wondered to see all so quiet. Then he went to
the door and listened. Sure enough, from away
up on the pine-clad Divide, nearly a mile away,
he heard pistol-shots.

lVithout a moment‘s hesitation or a word to
his sleeping companions, he stepped to his bunk
and snatched a pair of pistols from a peg,
buckled them around him, put on his canvas
coat, his hat, and went out on the trail over the
Divide.

The wind had gone down, and it had stopped

 

 

COPPER GULCII was a. new mining-camp, and,

habitable frame buildings, an

slab roofs and more treacherous fireplaces.

The two or three more pretentious structures
were occupied by a store, which was rather more
than half a saloon; a hotel, which combined the
advantages of a bar and faro-bank, and a saloon
in which could be found every game of chance

 

And the old man strode to the door, threw it known to the gambling profession.

open, and met the scrawny Virago as she strode
up the path.

“ Be you the cr‘atlier they call Zebe Shocks?"
was her first salutation.

“My name is Zebulon Snooks!” replied the
old man. “ Yours, if I aren’t off the trail, is
Missis Barney Buulin!” '

“Yes, and bad ’cess to the hour when I took
it. I see my ould man’s canoe dOWn thar, an’
I’m afther it. there’s the brazen hussies that
stole it?”

“The girls are here to whom your husband
lent it when their very lives were at stake!”
cried Sadie, coming forward. “ He told us not
only to take it, but where to come to, and we
are here !1’ .

“ There is non’adc of yer tellin’ me thet when
my eyes are sore wld lookin’ at ycz I”

“ You can look the othcr W1 y 2"

“Can I? Then I won’t. There’s them that‘s
lookin’ another way that may look fhis way
afore ye are much older, Miss lmpudmwc. It’
not be my fault if you don"t sec ’em hither!”

“ lVoman, what do on mean by that threat?”
cried the old man, s rnly, striding up to the
vira o.

“ he do you call a woman, ye ould fish—ped-
dler?”

“ I made a mistake and called you a woman
instead of the miserable drunken hag that you
are! I want to know, and that right soon. too,
what you meant by that threat?”

“ Ask my fut. I”

And the woman threw something forward
that had a number ten brogan on it for his in—
spection.

“Sally, bring me a ro here—a stout one!”
said the old man, and is great, broad band
clutched Mrs. Buglin’s arm with a force that
made her shriek.

“ Let go 0’ me, ye ould b’aste! Let go 0’ me,
or I’ll scratch yer eyes out!” she shrieked.

“ I’ve handled wi d-cats aforel" he said, grim—
ly. “ Scrufch, an’ I’ll cut your claws! You
have threatened two poor. defenseles: girls who
are under my protection, and unless I am satis-
fied that you mean no harm to them, and are not
knowin’ that harm from some one else is a-
comin’ to ’em, I’ll tic. you hand and foot, and
keep you here until I know they are safe and
be ond the reach of danger!”

‘You b’aste, you’ll be hung for this!”

“ Then I’ll hang in a good cause.”

“D’ye know ye are committin’ high tray-
soui Aren’t I a Government officer—the k’aper
of a light-house ?”

“ No—Barney Buglin is the keeper!”

“An’ I’m his k’aperl' Light yer hand off 0’
me or I’ll have e in Washington afore the
Prisident inside ofy the w’ake 1”

And she struggled to free herself. but in vain.
She was brawnv and stout, but the man who
held her was a Samson in comparison. ‘

Sally brought the rope, and by order of her
father tied Mrs. Buglin’s hands behind her back.

She was then marched inside the house and
forced down on a bench with her back against

In the matter of inhabitants, Copper Gulch
was as like a hundred other new camps as pos-
sible. That is to say—they were of every clime
under the sun, from the yellow-skinned, pig-
tailed Chinaman, with his inevitable “washee,
washce,” either in a tub with soapsuds and flan-
nel underwear, or at the sluice of a placer claim,
to the big raw-boned “ Mick ” with his brogue
and six-shooter equally inseparable from him.
And whether “ Mick” or Celestial. the citizens
of the Gulch were about as hard, as reckless, and
as bad a lot in everything that constitutes bad~
ness without absolute vilcncss, as you would find
in any camp. There may have been some good-
ness in them some time, but that had departed
long ago, or had been crushed out by countless
disa )pointnn-nts, harsh circumstances and
bars or companions. Yet they were ,bravc.
this hard lot. and had their own notions of
honor, in fight, in play, and in their honest
respect for woman. And in this. too, the Gulch
was like a hundred other new camps.

Copper Gulch was situated in a narrow can-
yon, wallcd in by great mountains on either
side. so high as to exclude the sunshine for six—
teen hours out of the twenty-four, but luckily
or unluckily, protected from that most drcadf
danger of the miner's life, snow-slides, by heavy
timber which covered the mountain-sides, and
which, as yet, the citizens, through having too
much else to do, had left standing. Not that
snow-slides would have had anv influence in the
existence or non-existence of Cop r Gulch: the
camp would have stayed there just the same,
though the citizens might have changed rather
oftener.

At the further extremity of the one street of
the camp, and a short distance up the hillside.
was a dug-out of rather more ample proportions
than others of the kind, but in other respects not
a whit better nor worse. or in any way different
from any other dug-out in the Gulch. Inside
this dwelling four men were sitting at a rough
deal table. evidently of home manufacture as
were the three—legged stools upon which they
were seated, playing the great American game
of poker. A single fallow candle stuck in the
mouth of a bottle was struggling with the blaze
of the pine logs for the honor of lighting up the
scene, and getting decidedly the worst of it.

Of itself there was nothing remarkable in the
a pearance of the room particularly suggestive
of) comfort, but as a contrast to the bowling of
the wind around the great mouth of the chim-
ney, and the blinding drift of the snow outside,
it was a palace. But the players were too much
absorbed in their game to notice this contrast.
or the struggle of the candle with the fire, or, in
fact. anything else. which fact was rather re-
markable, as there was no money or dust on the
table or in sight, nor anything to represent the
popular currenc of the Gulch except four little
heaps of dried ns. and beans were not cur-
rency in Copper Gulch. These men were play-
ing for a higher stake than gold-dust or cur-
rency, (though not in their estimation.) and the
stake was Life. .

 

 

like most new camps, was com osed of a few
a good many
others that were not habitable, in any real sense
of comfort, and a majority of “dug—outs,” or
holes in the side of the canyon, with treacherous

snowing, but cold—it seemed to freeze the ver
air. The man on the trail struck into a bris
trot up-hill. every little while listening for some
sound, but hearing nothing. On he went. follow-
ing the trail rather by instinct than otherwise.
Now the snow had got so deep that his gait had
subsided to a slow. laborious struggle. Every
few yards would bring him to a drift waist-deep.
An hour’s hard climbing and he was almost on
the summit of the Divide. The cold had intensi-
fied to such a degree that it was painful to inhale
the air.

At the summit of the Divide he paused. lVas
that the soughlng of the wind through the pines
at his left hand? But there was no wind.

Straining his eyes in the direction of the sound,
he could see nothing.

He strug rled on a few steps out of the trail
and into the gloom of the pines at his left.

“ Pard l”

Very faint the word came from under his very
feet. Looking down with his numbed hand
on his pistol, be repeated, “ Pard.”

“ A little to the left—pard—and—under this—
pine.” in a faint. thick voice.

He followed the sound, and struggling through
a drift stood under a monster pine not ten paces
from t e trail. And lying at his feet, a pair of
emnt six-shooters at his side, was Black Jerry.

To meel at his s1de and take his pard’s head
on his knee was the work of an instant. Oh, for
a little of that poisonous stuff so freely dispensed
as whisky at the Gulch in times of prosperity!

Chafing the frozen hands, Black Jerry’s pard
asked:

“ How did it happen, pard?"

“ Sandy Jim and another one—followed me
up the Divide—said they was goin’ to Poker— fur
grub. Came with me—fur company~ Both
turned loose on me here. lot in their work——
but didn’t git the dust—got lead.” Then, after
a pause, “ Pard, I’m done fur.”

“ there’s Sandy and the other one?” asked
J erry’s pard.

“ Just over there.” nodding his head in the
direction of the trail.

“ Cooked .3” half—raising, and with a hand laid
menacingly on the butt of one of his pistols.

“ Cooked.” answered Jerry.

After a pause, Black Jerry said:

“ Pard. I’m done fur. I want a little talk
with you—and then I want you to 0 back to
camp. See that I’m put under groun —take the
dust—our dust—and git out. You’ll do it,
pard?”

" I’ll think about it,” evasively.

“ No, you won’t think about it—you’ll do it.
And now— pard—look up through that pine——
See that star?”

“ Yes.” looking up.

“ Do you remember that long-haired preacher
—down to Poker last fall—him as preached when
Faro Pete was laid out i”

A S Yes.”

“ Remember what he said—about a star—and
some wise men follerin‘ it?”

H Yes. ”

“ W'hat did he call that star, now?”

“ Star of Bethle’m.”

“ Star of—what?” asked Jerry, with a gasp.
“ Say it ag’in, pard.”

“Star of Bethle’m.”

“ Oh! And what was that baby’s name as
they found in a manger?”

“ Jesus,” Ziplied J crry’s pard. with the first
blush that h stained his tanned face for many
a year, thinking how often his pard had used
that name—but in a different sense, and yet how
strange it sounded as he said it then.

“ J esus, ” repeated Black Jerry. “ Do you re—
member what he said about that baby being a

 

tors. Sir Moses Montefiore. aged one hundred,
states that his father died at forty-four years.

THE crepe vail has received a deadly blow
from a Baltimore physician, who says that the
crepe vail injures the complexion, and carries
poisonous matter into the lungs. Black silk
and black cotton goods also produce bad ef-
fects.

THE exclusive use of tea. as a diet. for three
weeks has reduced the weight of a New York
woman thirty pounds. She formerly weighed
two hundred pounds, and although she resumed
her regular diet, has not regained the lost
flesh.

GIRLS in Eastern Kentucky are frequently
married at the age of twelve years, and boys
enter into the marital relationship oftentimes
before their beard begins to grow, or before they
have any income to support themselves and fam-
ilies.

PLAIN, hearty suppers, according to an experi—
enced physician. are conducive to sleep, and,
therefore, good things to go tobed on. He says,
in the estimation of a great many people such
a statement is rank heresy, but in the light of
science. common sense and experience it is gos-
pel truth.

THE champion egg-eater hails from Petersbor—
ough, Canada. where in a match a short time
ago he succeeded in eating forty—one eggs, while
his antagonist devoured forty. The eggs were
raw and taken from a basket in a grocery store.
The basket was emptied, and the winner said he
could eat a dozen more.

THERE is a small rivulet near Dorminey’s mill,
in Irwin county, Ga., that is a puzzle. The
stream is governed by the moon during dry
weather. At the last uarter, new moon, and
first quarter it is perfect y dry, but as the moon
increases it begins to run, and at full moon it
is running boldly, and then gradually declines
with the decrease until it runs dry.

THE camphor laurel, a native of China, and
the tree from which most of the camphor of
commerce is obtained, seems to have been iiitro—
duced successfully ilito California. one tree in
Sacramento having attained a hight of thirty
feet. The wood, every part of which smells
strongly of camphor, is light and durable. not
liable to injury from insects, and much favored
by cabinet-makers.

A PECULIAR article produced by the negroes
of Georgia is called by them persimmon bread.
Five pounds of it, it is said, will make nearly a
barrel of agreeable and non-intoxicating beer.
The persimmons are gathered when thoroughly
ripe, the mass is kneaded till it is of the con-
sistency of bread dough, made into a cake, and
then put into an oven and baked. It will keep
all winter, and can be used until late in the
spring.

THE well-bred man who smokes only for the
love of it uts but as much of hlS cigar into his
mouth as is necessary in order to draw it, keeps
it in his mouth no lon er than is necessary, and
never fails to remove it when he talks or passes
any one toward whom he would be respectful,
especially a lady. Further, our best bred men
never smoke in any street at an hour when it is
much frequented, nor in any public place where
smoking is likely to be offensive to others.

A WRITER in the Popular Science Monthly
says that the “ practice of taking tea or coffee
by students, in order to work at night, is down-
right madness, especially whcn preparing for an
examination. More than half of the cases of
breakdown, loss of memory, fainting. etc. , which
occur during severe examinations, and far more
frequently than is commonly known, are due to
this. Sleep is the rest of the brain; to rob the
brain of its necessary rest is cerebral suicide.

THE use of arsenic is alarmingly on the in-
crease. The researches of Dr. Draper and Pro-
fessors Wood and Austen show that it is exten-
sively employed in wall-papers. textile fabrics,
writing and printing paper, candles, toys, con-
fectionery. pla ing cards, theater tickets, rubber
balloons and alls, sweatbands of hats, paper
collars, and bed hangings, and in amounts suffi-
cient to cause sickness and even death. Professor
Austen recommends a law prohibiting its use in
all materials consumed or employed in the house-
hold.

 

 

Poems, for lhe Pensive.

__—‘..———

“ Whatever the weather may he," says he—
“ WhateVer the weather may be.

It’s the songs ye sing an’ the smiles ye wear
That's a makin’ the sun shine everywhere;

An’ the wmld of gloom is a world of 21cc,

Wld the bird in the bush an’ the bud in the tree,
Whatever the Weather may be." says he~—

“ Whatever the weather may be!

" Whatever the weather may be,” says he—
“ Whatewr the weather may be,

Ye can bring the spring. win in; green an’ gold,

Ah: the grass in the grow where the snow lies cold,
Au ye’ll warm yr ur back with a smilin‘ face,

As ye sit at your hearth like an old fireplace,
Whatever the weather may he." says he-

“ WhateVer the weather may be!”

—J.uuns Wai'rcous RILEY.

 

20:

 

Across the moorlands of the Not
We chase the gruesome When,
And hunt the ltness cf the What
Through fOrests of the Then.
Into the Inner consciousness
We track the crafly Where:
We sp+ ar the Ego tough, and heard
The E:go in his lair.

With lassoes of the brain we catch
The [mess of the Was,
And in the copses of the \Vhence
)Ve hear the Think bees buzz.
Vi e climb the slippery Which bark tree
To watch the Thusness roll,
And pause betlmes in gnostic rhymes
To woo the Over—Soul.
-—C'hicago Advance.

 

O:-—-—‘-

The milkmaid’s young, the milkmaid‘s fair,
And the mnlkmaid‘s name is Mary,

She can deftly turn a patent churn
And she’s queen of the farmer's dairy.

The plowman made love to the milkmaid fair,
And the maiden his love rejected,

But he did not swear and tear his hair
As the milkmaid fair expected.

“ I'm bound to heifer in peace or strife,”
The maiden heard him mutter:

“ The queen of the dairy shall be my wife,
And I won‘t have any but her.”

“ I'm in love with the druggist’s clerk,” she said,
“Then pray be not persistent;
’Tis a pharmacrst I’m going to wed
And not a farm assistant.”
—Bostcm Courier.

 

30:

 

NOCTURNE IN B FLAT.

Oh, the lady she puts on the roller skates!
Over the knee 18 out!

And into the mazy her way she takes
Eddying here and about.

Oh, but she shone in waltz or reel!

Oh, but she slung a dizzy heel!

On! ! ! but you’d ought to heard her squeal—
Over the fence is out.

[sscosn s’rmzx m A MINOR ]

Quivered and rattled the chandelier,
Lather the arnica on!
Ah, but the sliVers were sharp and sere!
Where has the doctor gone?
Ah, but her joyous race was run;
Ere the bright night had scarce begun,
Not for a Week can she have some fun—
Lather the arnica on!
ROB‘T J. BURDE'I'I'E.
ON ran WING In Kansas, February 18th, 1885.

 

Q0.

 

Said Jones: “ I hardly ever ride,
For crowded cars i can‘t abide,
And carriages I do de~pise—

I am so fond of exercise ”

“ I bring my lunch,” said Smith, elate,
“ For noisyl restaurants I hate;
Besides ‘d spoilmy appetite
For dinner when l’m home at night.”

Said Brown: “ I‘m tough; I never wear

An Overcoat. 1 do declare

I do not feel the cold like those

Half-frozen chaps weighed down with
clothes."

“ I never touch cigars." Green spoke,

“ They‘re made of stl‘lf unfit to smoke;
For healthfulness of comfort ripe
Give me my fragrant brier pipe."

And so we all apologize
And make excuses— mostly lies—
Because We dare not say with sense
We go without to save expense.
—Troy Times.

 

:02

 

Yes, I am the boss of the sandy Soudan,

And i hardly think a more competent man

Could be found between Tennessee and Japan ”
To bounce the bold British invader.

I‘m a twelve fingered, bowlegged son of a gun.
I‘m a prophet from way back—a child of the sun.
I’m a dandy. a lol—lah. a darlin‘, a huu’.

I’m a red-handed ripper and raider.

My followers numb :r two millions or more,
And chry man of ’em e qua! to four.
They 're not much for style but they’re dandies for

gore
——’l‘hey’re bad men from Keshir-eLWadir.

E! Gordon I’ve captured, I’m happy to state;
El Stewart has met his well-merited fate;
I‘ll butcher El Wolseley if he’ll only wait,
Anu Queen Vic will think luck has betrayed her.

So strike, shirtless sons of the shimmering sand,
One more blow for your prophet (that‘s me, under-
stand),
Disembowel the insolent infidel band!
Vivisect the infernal invader!

—.lfum(apolis Tribune.

20:

 

 

JOHN BULL’s SOLILOQUY.

When first I heard or the Prophet False,
Said 1 to lllySrlf. said I.

Across the seas to Soudau l’ll waltz,
Said I to myself, said I.

I‘ll laugh at tue deSerr‘s fierce simoom,

I’ll breathe on the Mahoi’s little boom,

And carry the fragments into Khartoum,
Said I to myself, said I.

When I get one foot on the upper Nile,
Said I to mys+-lf, said I,

I’ll just sit down and perspire awhile,
Said 1 to myself. said I

And as I set. my good right toe

Was out clean off at one lei! blow;

Why. this He! Mahm’s not so slow,
Said 1 to myself, said I.

I'll send right home for my other foot,
Said Ito myself. said I,
And I’ll put on my heaviest hob nailed boot,
Said I to mySell’, said I.
And I‘ll kick thianan and his Arab crew
From 1119 fickle Nile to the ocean blue-—
But if he’d Kick me. what should I do?
Said I to myself, said I.
— Columbus (Ohio) Dispatch.

 

 

:03

One more unfortunate
Trusfing the fates,
Rashly importunare, ,
Tried on the skates.
Pick her u tenderly,
Loosen t e straps, ,
Fashioned so slenderly,
Unused to mishaps.

Oh, it was pitiful
That she should flop.
Where a whole city full
Must see her dro .
Pick her up tenderly,
Smooth out her dress,
Fashioned so slenderly,
Made to caress.

Out she struck trustfully,
Skating galore,

Down she came bUstfully
On the hard floor.

Pick her up tenderly,
So good and so true.

Fashioned so slenderly,
What could she do?

Bumping inhumanly,
Joltan the men.
She is pure womanly,
And tries it again.
Pick her up tenderly,
What does she care?
Fashioned so slenderly,
So plump and so fair.
—ll{erchant Traveler.