" ranchero‘s toes, all 1 hes ter do then is ter mar- “Iisall ears,pard.” I “St or Kit, I knows, has more than the Ill-Omen ine.” “ Is thet so?” “ It is, for he hes one up in ther road-agents’ nioigtai, 'ns, and I wish you to strike ther trail 0 i . “ It are said thet Red Darrell’s ghost ha’nts them hills and canyons,” said Poker Saul, with a shudder. “ Is you afraid o’ ghosts 9” “ Waal, I doesn’t like ’em, pard.” “Then I will try and strike Stranger Kit’s gold trail, and leave you to gettin’ rid o’ ther ranchero.” " I’d rather tackle flesh and bone, pard.” “ But you know the mountain trails well, and you do not know the ranchero, while I do. “ I ,wish you‘d try and find Kit’s other mine, “I’ll do it, fer maybe I won’t see Darrell’s ghost and I guesses I kin git out if I does.” “ ell, you start for the mountains to-day, and lay your trail from Kit’s cabin, and I guess you kin foller it to his secret mine. , “ Go prepared for a thorough search, and I will look after the ranchero, and whoever he may brm with him, so by ther time on comes back we’l hev nothin’ ter fear from im. “If you finds ther mine, and I tarns up the ry ther gal, bring her here ter claim ther mine, and you and I is fixed fer life, for I’ll give you a fortin’.” “ W'aal, Modoc, I’m yer man, so I strikes at once fer ther mount’ins,” and half an hour af- ter the two villains rode down the canyon to- gether. As Modoc was recognized by the Gold IVolves whom he met, they gave him a warm greeting, and were glad to see him back again, as the band had really no head then. As to his strategy, in pretending to be serious- ly wounded, and which the Gold King had ex- posed, they did not care; but the were inter- ested in knowing what would fo ow the meet- ing of their chief and Montebello, and a score of warnings were called after the miner chief, all having the same tenor: “ Luk out for ther Gold King, pard, for he are on ther war-path wuss nor a wolf.” Arriving at the valley trail, which ran into Gold Dust Cit , and also back into the moun- tains, Major ll! odoc went on his way toward the Paradise Hotel, while Poker Saul started to- ward the cabin of Stranger Kit, 3. foreboding in his heart of evil, and feelin a preference for the work his companion ha cut out for him- self, rather than to invade the territory where it was said R 2d Darrell’s ghost held sway. Turning into the canyon Poker Saul rode on until he came to the cabin of Stranger Kit. He was the first person to visit since the de- parture of the Gold King, who had left such a marked souvenir of his having been there. Few miners cared to go near the Ill—Omen Mine, even before the death of Stranger Kit; but after his murder, they shunned the dread spot more than ever. As he came in sight of the grave directly be- fore the door, Poker Saul drew rein with a sud- denness that showed he was startled. It seemed for an instant his intention of turn- ing to the rightabout and plying his spurs in fllfiht. at be checked this desire and slowly rode up to the door. He carefully read the placard there and then glanced down at the grave. “ Waal, it are Red Dick thet lies under ther ground here, and ther Gold King hev kilt him, writ his obituary and give a warnin’ ter others in gin’ral. “ I has half-way hinted ter myself thet I w’u’d s’arch this cabin 60mg day, and I intended ter do it ter-day,put I hain’t a bit anxious ter do it now, so won’t tarry in a degstrict whar it hain’t health for Gold Wolves. .. “Red Die hev this life’ahd I hain‘tsorry; but ef ther GoldKing- "t put. undergroundsoon he’ll hev a grave ard 0’ his own and ther reserved seats will for our “ I will not tarry here any longer, for some how I,féel as though he were lookin arter me now. And Poker Saul rode on up the canyon and climbing the steep trail soon found himself in the mountains. Here he stopped to rest his horse and to eat his dinner, while he meditated upon where Stran- ger Kit’s secret mine could be. ' “ He never follered no reg’lar way long enough to make a trail of it to and from the mine; but he hed ter come this way, and I sees thet thar is several leetle trails leadin’ further on inter the mountains, so I will foller each one of ‘em, and see ef they doesn’t come together ag’in. a mile or so off.” Leaving his horse staked out Poker Saul fol- lowed a trace of a trail, for it was nothin more, and after a long jaunt saw that it end at the base of a cliff. A careful search showed several other faintly marked paths coming in there and diverging in different directions. Taking one of these he started upon his re- turn, and after several miles came out at the spot where he had left his horse. “ Now fer a third one,” he muttered, and leading his horse he started again to f0110w a third of the faintly—marked trails, and which were really so slight that only the most skilled frontiersman could have found them. Just at sunset this third path brought him out at the cliff, and he muttered: “Thet Stranger Kit were a sly one, and no mistake. “ He bed a. dozen ways 0’ comin’ ter his secret mine. so thet he didn’t take any one o’ ’em but once a week, and so left no trail to speak of. "I thinks I is right now, though how to git up thet cliff are ther question," and he looked up the face of the cliff, which towered some fifty feet above him. “ “'ith a stone hitched ter ther end of a lariat I might throw it over thet p’i'nt o’ rocks and then climb u , and from ther marks on 'ther side 0’ ther 0 iff ‘pears ter nie thet were. ther leetle game 0’ Stranger Kit ter git thar. “ Waal, I’ll camp right here, and in ther niornin’ try thet plan. “ Now fer some supper,” and Poker Saul set to work to cook a hearty meal, for he was a man that was always hungry. Staking his horse out near, after watering him at a rivulet, he gathered some sticks of wood and soon had a cheerful fire burning in a crevice of the rocks, where the reflection could not be seen at any distance. Broiling a bird upon the coals and an auto- lope. steak, he ate with a relish, washing them down with a cup of coffee, and crackers serv- in for bread. , Placing his blankets in a snug niche of the rocks, he then sat down to smoke his pipe, and was deep in the enjoyment of this when a burst of wild laughter broke upon his ears. Poker Saul was upon his feet with an alac- rity that was surprising, and he stood trem- bling in every limb. An instant of suspense, and once more came that burst of wild laughter. “ Red Darrell’s ghost! no human c’u’d laff like thet with nothin’ ter amoose ‘em thet I kin diskiver.” he said through his chattering teeth. Then Poker Saul looked up the bold face of the cliff, as though striving to escape that way. But that was impossib e, and e crouched down by his fire, throwing his folded blanket over it to smother the flame, while he mut- tered: “ Maybe he can’t find me now.” But as though to give the lie to his hopes, again was heard the mocking laughter, and it sounded nearer than before. “ Thet’s him, for ther boys says as hes heerd him, thet he is allus laffln’, though it hain’t funny fer me.” Suddenly a startled snort came from the min— er‘s horse, followed by a trampling of boots, and then the c‘atteras though t e animal had been frightened. dragged up his lariat stake and run off. . “Ther critter hev gone, and I are afoot,” groaned Poker Saul, and then, as though no longer able to stand the agony of his situation, he dashed out of the crevice in the rocks, hear- ing his blankets and his stores just as the flames bu) st through the blanket and revealed to him the tall, weird-lookin form of a man standing on a rock above, and Iooking down upon him. Poker Saul had seen Red Darrell the road- agent in life, having twice been robbed by him, and in the one he now beheld even a glance showed him such a striking resemblance to that knight of the Overland, that he could not but believe that he looked upon his ghost. With a wild yell of terror he darted away from the dread spot, and sped down the moun- mén—side at a speed that would have distanced a eer. Once he looked over his shoulder to behold, in the full glare of the firelight below him, the ghostly form standing on the cliff, and this but added‘ wings to his feet, and he kept on, bound- ing from rock to rock, rushing down a steep ascent here, leaping a rivulet there, until he reached the canyon in which, stood Stranger Kit’s cabin. But, panting like a hard-run hound, he did not stop, and, without daring to glance at the cabin, e bounded by, and pressed on until he fell Iexhausted as he turned into the Overland trai Here he lay until he got back his breath,and then walked rapidly on once more, arriving at Modoc’s cabin unable to speak fur want of griaath, and in a frame of mind that was fear- u . His horse was there, and looked as thou h he had run all the way back; but Poker Sa was too much hard up to look after the animal, and entering the cabin threw himself down upon utterly prostrated and still badly fright- en . Just as he did so there came the sound of hoofs outside and a moment after the door was dashed open and in stalked Major Modoc. One glance at his chief and Poker Saul saw that he too had had passed through a scene that he had not wholly en 'oyed. “ You here?” thun ered Modoc. “ I are, thank God!” “Why are you not in the mountains where you started this morning?” “ I were there, but yer hasn’t dust enough ter make me go ag‘in, fer I seen Red Darrell’s ghost,” was the low reply, and Poker Saul shuddered as he recalled what he had seenin the mountains, while Modoc threw himself a rily into a chair, his brow dark and eyes flas ing with some emotion that possessed him. CHAPTER XXXII. THE TWO DISGUISE s. AFTER a short stay with the mysterious ex- iles, Stella Estevan and her brother Luis Cal- era, the Gold King felt that he could thorough- ly trust them, and so he told them the story of Stranger Kit’s murder, the papers found in his hand and what was to be done with them. “ Now,” he continued, “ I am not sure that this Modoc the Gold Wolves’ chief, knew either Stranger 't or his daughter; but he evidently suspected that the miner left a fortune, from his determined efforts to get hold of the papers. " He first made an effort to take them, in- stead of Bugle Bill, and failing, tried to kill that young miner to get possession of them. “ The angers he got, but Bugle Bill is by no means (1 . “Then, I am sure it was he who rode away from Sunset City with Luke here, pretending to be an aged miner. and he again tried to com- mit murder to get the papers. Luke’s time had not come, and he’ll live to see Mgdfohc hap‘n‘ged, if {gage my way. he ‘ s _ ying ‘ game that, was wounded, was to allow to start on his jour- ‘neyto New Moxieo,ondhdgothis to give out that I had wounded him and ' Gringo, fathehopethattheGold Wolveswould endmy gsNow, I discovered that Modoc was not in his din, and I am guilthgt he is in New Mexi— co, p aying some ev' is game to get posses- sion of Stranger Kit’s mines, and perhaps against the Senorita Kittredge herself, and it is my intention to thwart him, but I need your aid, Senor Luis,” and the Gold King turned to Luis Calera. “ I am at our service, senor,” was the ready answer, wh‘ ethe Senora Stella said: ' “ I am sure that my brother, or myself, will do all in our power to aid you, senor.” “ You are very kind; “but could you spare the Senor Luis for some days?” “ Certainly, for the Senor Luke is improving rapidly, and m servants can take care of him by day, while look after the cattle and the ranch.” “ Then, Sefior Luis, I will ask you to accom- ny me to the town, near where the Senorita ittredge dwells, and if I am not mistaken we can help her out of a desperate situation, for this desperado, Modoc, will stop at nothing to gain his ends.” Then followed a longer conversation regard- ing what was best to be done, and the next morningmthe Gold King rode away from the Exile‘s nch accompanied by Luis Calera, and with Spitfire and a fine mustang belonging to the young ranchero following as pack-horses, and supplied with all that was needed for their trip, while the pack of one of the animals hid the lady’s saddle that was upon him. The following night, after dark, the Gold King and his young companion rode up to the Domingo Inn and were at once shown to the rooms which had been occupied bv Major Mo- doc, for Montebello had ordered the best, and thrust several gold-pieces into the servant’s hand that there would be no mistake about it. The Senor Domin 0 saw the servant counting his gold, and finding out thus the liberality of his guests, at once sought their rooms. As he cntered, the landlord suddenly came to a halt as his eyes fell upon the magnificent form of the Gold King standing by the win- dow. “The Senor Montebello !” he cried, in amaze— ment. “Yes, Domingo: I am again in your town, and you see that I have not forgotten to come to your inn.” And the Gold King grasped the landlord’s ex- tended hand. “ Oh, senor! but I am so glad to look on your face again, for I have not forgotten all that I owe you—” “ ’Sh! Domingo, you need not refer to the past, for my work now is with the future, and I wish our aid.” “ _ou shall have it, senor, from my gold to my life, if need be.” “ I need neither the one nor the other, Do- mingo; but this is my young friend, the Senor Luis, and you must treat him as though he were my brother.” ‘ I will, sefior.” “Now, Domin o, I do not wish to be known in this town, an a false gray beard and wig with a miner’s suit would disguise me.” “ It would, senor.” “You can get what I need ?” “ Yes, sefior.” “ And the Senor Luis is anxious to turn padre.” “A gay-looking padre he’ll make with his fine eyes, senor.” “ He can subdue his looks, Domingo, and, in the garb of a padre, will look what he wishes to impersonate, while, as he was intended for the priesthood and understands the duties, he can readil even among those of the cloth, so 'ust tell him what place in old Mexico he can ail from, whose priests are little known.” “The Mission. Miguel, sefior. and they have young priests there, for there, in fact, I have a son who is a padre.” “ Then the Padre Domingo he is, and your son he shall be to all.” . “ You have but to command, sefior,” was the humble reply of the landlord. “ Has your son ever been here, Domingo?” “He did kill the stage-driver, but Lawless ’ have no desire to go to the confemional in which s1ts my own son.” “ Doubtless; but what is his name?” “ He is known as the Padre Prevost.” “All right, we’ll tack that name onto the Senor Luis, instead of that of Domingo. “ Now go and get our disguises, and see to it that no one knows us to be other than we ap- pear. “ I am, you know, to be the guide of the oun Padre Prevost, who is here on a visit to hiZgoog father.” “ Yes, senor. ” “ And, Domingo!” “ Senor!” “I wish the Padre Provost to make the ac- ggamtance of the family in which dwells the norita Kate Kittredge, if you know such a person.” “ Yes, senor, I do; but she lives leagues away from town.” “ Ah! it matters not, so that you know where l” “ She dwells at the Mission Hacienda, or Chapel Ranch, for it is called both, and there live also the Padre Fanchon and his two sisters, the Sister Terese and Sister Serene.” “ It is a convent then?” “ N o, senor, and yes, for it is presided over by Padre Fanchon, and his sisters though there is a large retinue of servants, the acienda is very grand, and it is whispered that the trio of reli— g'imes live a life of luxury mixed with prayers.” _ “find the Senorita Kittredge is in their keep- ing “ Yes, senor.” “ Then our course isplain, Domingo, and with your.a1d all will come well, so at once secure the disglli‘ises that will metamorphose us into the Padre evost and Monté the Guide, for by such name am I to be known.” “ Yes, senor,” and the landlord departed upon his mission muttering: “ The Senor Montebello is playing some deep game, and the Senorita Kittredge is at the bot- tom of it.” (To be continued—commenced in No. 154.) BROWN AND GRAY. BY MAY DE WITT. Brown eyes too deep and wistful, And gray ones too heavenly clear; Wee folded hands. still and peaceful, Lie low ’neath the snowdrops here. Do on bear the bluebird calling, y little ones. from our sleep? The po lar leaves, el ow, falling, Are if ting a go den heap. Do vou.d ream of the sun-filled weather, That is tinting the apples’ check? 0! the path through the starry heather, Where the catt e wind, drowsy and meek? There are berries aglow on the hill-side, With the red of the autumn kissed, And all things are hushed by the mill-side, Where your shouts of glee are missed. The mill stream ne‘er laughs in the gloaming; It sings but a dirge, instead— A sob in its rock-dashed foamin — “Clarita and Jean, both dead I ’ You sleep. though the warm air is aching For the sound of your red lips’ soug, Never the still calm breaking Of the silence so drearily long. Do on hear. oh, my darlings. your mother, ith her empty arms, calling your name? Does the pitiless green grass smother The cries of her lone heart’s pain? Ah, brown eyes. so dark and dreaming, I can never your slumbers break; And white lids o'er pure gray gleaming, Your rest is too deep to break! ' Mfiel‘ather, I pray the to strengthen, . tpesceln in crushed heartcreepl The shadows of; ‘lowas they lengthen:_— “ He gives His beloved sleep.” ‘ The Mad Magician; The 7 America Regiment. BY CAPT. FREDERICK WHITTAKER. CHAPTER XXXVI. . CONCLUSION. THE dawn of day broke pver the fair city of Queretaro and the level rays of the early sun shone on the Hill of Bells’, whence the battery of Millen had been withdrawn, while the vacant space was occupied by a square of troops, with fixed bayonets. One side of the square had been left partially open, and here stood three men, in full uniform, ready to die. The Emperor Maximilian, his tall form and blonde beard making him a conspicuous object among the dark-skinned Mexicans, was in the center,while Miramon and Meja stood on either side of him. All three were unbound and fully dressed, but unarmed. A Mexican officer was reading a paper, which was the decision of the court—martial of the day before, and the emperor listened to the reading in Silence, till the officer addressed him, and told him that “ if he had anything to say to the troops, he would be permitted to do it, before the order to fire was given.” The emperor shook his head at first, but then seemedtoalter his mind; for he drew himself to his full hight, and turned round to the sol- diers, who were bringing their pieces to a posi— tion to fire. “ Viva Marie!) 1” he said, in his deep, power- ful tones. “ Fire here!” And he opened his breast to them. The next minute came the rattle of a volley, and Maximilian of Mexico fell back, with his face to the sky, while Miramon and Meja dropped on their faces, and lay still. But not so the emperor. The volley had failed to kill him, and he writhed up, leaning on his elbow, the blood pouring from his breast as he struggled to sit up. There was a groan of pity even from the stolid Mexicans, who had come to gloat over his death. Then the officer in command turned away his head, and said in a husky sort of way: “ Finish him, sergeant, any way ou please.” As the sergeant hesitated an o cer ran out and went to the fallen emperor, whom he raised in his arms. It was the staff officer of Escobedo, who had led the American Re iment to the at— tack of the town, two days be ore. As he raised the dying man in his arms, Maxi— milian opened his eyes and gazed up at the bright sky overhead, murmuring: “ Poor Carlotta!” Then he fell back, and his face changed to the still whiteness of death; his last words being a feelin of ity for another. So ied aximilian of Mexico, and the officer in command of the troops, as soon as he saw that the struggle was over, cleared his throat and shouted his orders again to march from the scene. The soldiers wheeled off, and a small party advanced to the dead bodies, and took them away, after which there was a sort of pause, till General Escobedo was seen riding up the Hill of Bells, followed by a brilliant stafl’. The soldiers of the camp, scentiu somethin in the air, began to flock round t e hill, an listened to the reading of an order, which an- nounced the result of the court-martial on the colonel of the American Regiment, who was now to be “ publicly degraded, in the presence of the whole army.” The order having been read, Escobedo gave sommdirections to one of his staff officers. who went ofl toward the Church of the Holy Cross, to procure the prisoner; but was soon seen rid— ing back at full speed. As he rode up and threw his horse on its haunches by his com- “ No, sefior, nor do I wish him to come, as I mander, his face was pale and agitated, as he stammered: “ General, the man is dead. His body lies in the crypt, but he has blown out his brains.” The general seemed to be but little surprised at the news, for he only said quietly: “ So much the better, sir.” Then turning to his adjutant—general, he said in . “ Make the usual order and announcement. It saves a good deal of scandal and trouble.” Then he rode away, and the news spread through the army like lightnin that the Colonel of the American Regiment ha committed sui- cide to escape punishment, and the general veri diet was one of pity for him and respect for the way in which he had escaped. In the city of Mexico, a month or so later, the grand cathedral was all crowded with people and bedecked with flowers, to celebrate the mar- riage of Don Orazio Arnoldi, aiddecamp to President Juarez and colonel of cavalry in the Mex1can army, to a lady who was Spoken of in the press of the city as “ the widow of the late Colonel Brooke, formerly of C. S. A., and late oft? the American Regiment of the Army of Liber- a 101].“ The President of the Republic of Mexico and General Escobedo, who was now famous as “ the victor of Queretaro.” honored the nuptials with their presence, and the occasion was all that could be desired. As the new-made couple came out of the ghiidrch the bridegroom, in English, said to the r1 e: “The mills of the gods grind slowly, Clara, but justice is sure to come at last. Patience has wrought her perfect wm'k.” Then they entered the carriage, which took them away to the suburb of Chepultepec, where they were to Eass the honeymoon, and as the ve- hicle rolled o , the bride said softly: “ But it was all owing to you, dearest. Had you not had the courage of a lion and the skill 3f a ,wizard we should never have attained jus- ice. Horace Arnold smiled as he said to his wife: “ And yet, had it not been for Brooke’s plot, I should never have been known as the Mad Magician. I never told you where I learned all my tricks yet. It was in the lunatic asylum, where the great wizard, Hermann, was confined at the time, he being really mad. He took a fancy to me and taught me all the tricks which I used with such success afterward on Brooke. I learned them to keep me from going really mad with vexation and an er at my detention, to occupy my mind while B was planning an es- cape; but, once out, they served me well and en- abled me to shake the fortitude of Brooke in the very place where he was most accessible. They gained me my appointment with Escobedo, and I must say that the general kept in secret for me well. And best of all, they wil enable me to give your brother an easy means of making a comfortable livelihood, now that we are pro— vided for. From henceforth I drop the charac— ter of the Mad Magician. It has served me well, for it has gained me my wife and punished the villain who stole her from me.” THE END. Good Stories to he Retold. John G. Saxe’s Full Hand. DID you ever on a railway car observe the many bits of pasteboard that are thrust out at the conductors, who hesitate before they punch them and hand them back with an air that seems to say, “ Well, ’tis none of my business,” and move on to another? That’s the “ pass,” and a mighty useful thing it is where the shekels are not redundant and the ways are long. Lecturers find it so cially and Saxe '—now old and, I am told, ruined in health and spirits—once told me one of his experiences that was very amusing. He had passes on all the railroads and steamboats in the West, he thought, but at one time he found himself on a short road not down on his chart upon which he had no ticket. As the conductor came along he took all his es from his pocket and held them in his and like adeck of laying—cards. “Mr. Conductor,” said he, “ 0 on play eucher?” “ Yes, sometimes.” “Wyell, what should you sa to a hand like that?” “ I should say pass,” an Saxe put up his cards as the con- ductor passed laughingly along. George Washington’s Big- Jump. WHEN Washington was a young man, in traveling alon the upper Potomac, he stop ed at an inn one ay and inquired the news. The landlord told him the sensation of the day was a jumping match for a wife on the estate of one of the richest planters near by. On being told that it was open to all comers, Washington started for the place and arrived there just as the jumping was about completed. He noticed that the young lady in question was highly pleased with the successful jumping of one of the competitors, who had outdistanced all the others. At the close Washington asked if he might try his chance: he was told to go ahead, and made by far the best jump of the. day. As he returned to the crowd he noticed that the young lady’s face had fallen, and he went up to her and remarked: “You would have preferred I had not been the one to excel the other?” The lady candidly said this was so. Then said Washington: “ I give my chance to him,” and he returned as unknown as he came. Toward the close of the Revolution this young lady, now the wife of a colonel of militia, met Washington, and on telling her husband that she had met him before be doubted the fact, and the two went to lVashington to decide it. “ Yes,” replied General \Vashington, “ I saw your wife at the jumping—match before she was married, and I believe I won her.” He’d Choose to be a. Baby. THE following story was told at the recent encampment of the Grand Army at Mexico, Missouri. A group around one of the numerous camp-fires were relating incidents of bravery and cowardice shown in battle, and this is one of them: “ It was at the battle of Gettysbur ,” said the speaker, “when the bullets were alling like bail, and the shells were shrieking and bursting over our heads in a way to make the bravest heart tremble, a private dropped out of the ranks and skulked back t0ward the rear. He was well under way, when, unfortunately for him, he was met by General Slocum coming to the front. “‘What are you doing here? Get back to your t,’ the general shouted. “T 8 poor fellow stopped still and trembled like a leaf, but made no reply. “ ‘ Get back to your post, you miserable cow— ard; aren’t you ashamed of yourself to be skulk- ing back here when you should be in the front With your brave comrades?’ “ Still the man made no reply, but commenced to or like a ear-old infant. “‘ ou in amous, sneaking coward,’shouted the infuriated eneral ‘get back to your post; I’ll ride you own like a dog. Why, you are nothin but ababy.’ “ ‘I- -I’ll t-t-t-tell you what, g-g-general,’ said the blubbering fellow, ‘I’d g- -g-give an thing just n-n—now if I was a b-b—ba y. and i-i- I had my ch-chehoice I’d r-r-rather be a female b-b-b- baby.’ ” It Was an Awful Mess To Be In. THE bridegroom had moved worlds. so to speak, to get railway passes for himself and wife almost all the way to California. He was a poor music-store clerk who had had the luck to marry an heiress, and he knew perfectly well he shouldn’t have money enough to spend a month in California, as the young lady wished, V a friend “'10 was cleik to a railway director, and the thing was managed. Imagine the situ- ation, a half-hour before train-time, wi en the poor young man discovered that he had lost the es! The bride was getting into her travel- ing dress; the carriage which was to take them to the station was at the door. The rooms were full of guests making ready to go home. The agonized fellow searched pocket after pocket in despair. It was lucky that he was almost alone in a dressing—room up—stairs. The few gentle- men who were there putting on their overcoats could not help smiling at seeing his distressed search, although, of course, they were very sor— ry for him. At last, in desperation. he rushed out into the passage, probably with a vague hope of finding a friend to loan him enough money to help him through his dilemma, and met his bride coming out 0 her room. “ For Heaven’s sake, George! what is the matter?” she cried. as soon as she saw his pale face and wild manner. “I’ve lost the passes!” he answered, in a stage-whisper that was really blood—curdling for misery. She took it all in in an instant, and replied: “ Come on, we’ll miss the train. I have a big check that papa gave me in my hand—ha . ’ “thoop!” exclaimed George, and pinged back into the dressing-room. He remembered his own hand-bag. There were the passes in an inner pocket, where he had placed them for safekeeping. He came back relieved. but fairly mopping his brow, and he was still a little white around the cor- ners of his mouth as the carriage drove off in a shower of rice. An Indignant Englishman. CLEVER Tom thifl’en, than whom there are no more dignified Pooh-Bahs and few better fellows, tells me this anecdote: Before the days of rapid transit on the Atlan- tic English actors were few and far betWeen in this country. In those times an Englishman in America was more or less of a curiosity—as many of them are. even now. In a company which was doing Shakespeare at one of the Bos- ton theaters was an English actor named Cole- man. He was an actor of the old school, and quite as tragic 011‘ the stage as on. His fellow- players chuffed him in the dressing-rooms on account of his being an Englishman, and par- ticularl on a difficulty he experienced in the use of t e aspirate. This had been done so much that the Englishman was roused to furiousness if any one dared to imitate his cockney misuse of the eighth letter of our alphabet. One morn- ing he came down to breakfast at the Tremont House in a. not very pleasant frame of mind. He had been chuffed pretty hard the evening be- fore, and in addition had not slept well. The waiter—a darky of the darkest hue—laid the bill of fare before him and awaited his order. “ ’Ave you hany fresh heggs this morning?” asked Coleman. “ Yes, sah.” answered the darky; “ ’ow’ll you ’ave ’em cooked, sah? Boiled, scrambled, fried, homelet: hany way you like, sah.” Coleman turned quickly, gave the waiter a sharp look, frowned, and then. as though mak- in up his mind that his ears had deceived him, indicated his preference in the way of “ heggs.” “Hany think helse, ssh?” asked the waiter. “ Cawn beef ’ash is very nice, sah, dis mawnin’. Bit of fish, sah? ’Alibut steak, sah. finnan, ’ad— die, fresh cod—” Coleman’s face had turned purple. He jumped to his feet, caught the waiter by the collar, and held him at arm’s length. “ What do you mean, sirrah ?” he roared, “ by himitatin a gentleman’s speech. I ’ave a mind to t rottle you, you himpertinent scoun— drel!” “Hi »begs your can’t ’elp it, sah. sah ” ~ “ You lie, you villain,” bellowed Coleman. “ You’ve been paid for this!” , By this time some of the other ests had in- tervened, and the darky. pale wit fear. was re- leased from the actor’s clutches. The head waiter vouched for the fact that the darky was an Englishman, born at Putne , and Coleman, restored to his equilibrium, sett ed down to his breakfast again—but with a change of waiters. rdon, sah, but Hi reall i’m an Englishman Inwa , anguish; “ Dime Burlesque Speaker, No. 25. The Cncicest of Humor in Yankee, “Dutch-Eng- lish," Irish. Negro, Wild West Vernacular and the Serio-comic. by the most noted American Wits. Humorists and Funny Frllows. coxrsnrs. Plenty Small‘s Proclama- ; The Critic at Work. non, 1 Fortunate Fla n d e r s The Mother-in-Law, l Shows his Teeth. The Widow ()‘Shane’s Guilty, ofCourse. Riut, No More French, Leatherlung’s 0m and Animile Statistix, PM, Some Things Account- A Cockney‘s Experience, ed For, The “Free and Equal” The Cats. Humbug, Astronomical Corusca- Scipio Scroggs‘s Ques- or, tions The Poet Bold, The Treachery of Jones, January Jones Defends Declamation, the Eagle, Shticnen OatsDot’s Wild. The Mule, Treadwafer Jim, Brother Gardner on A Leadville Sermon on Liars, the “ Prod," That Lamb, Address to the Giantess, Peter and his Lottery The Ass and the Lark. Ticket, Tony Johnson’s Protest. The Mosquito Adjured, Watermelons, “That Birchen Tree,” Very Pathetic. The Lave Mr.Shakspere, A Telling Plea. The Pie for Me, Back to Griggsby’s, Buckeye Bill. Advice to a Young Man. Rev. Peter Bill’s Warn- The Plagues of Egypt, ing. Julius Caesar Summer‘s Jones‘s Wife's Aunt, Views, A Rhyme of the Time, John Jones—his Horn, A Short Debate on Rum, Sentiment, The Good Woman, Bu'stin' the Temperance The Clerk of the Wea- Man, ther, Ediket, That Noble Animal. Man, The Scenes of Childhood. The Bold Fisherman, Sancho Brown is Mad, Cudjo Hardsin’s l’rc- Pilkins‘s Landlady. scription, The Collegian lllumin- A Tale of Two Buckets. ates. Dot Hoboken Bucket, Uncle Cuff “ Rises fur ter The Sale of Old Bache- ’Splain,” lors. Assorted Women. The Difference, Like his Mother Used to Getting a Photograph, Make, As Others See Us, Set 'em Oud, The Colton Field Hand, Yankee Courtship, Signs of Summer, The Day we Celebrate, . A “ Fish Story." Dot Fritzy, For sale by all newsdcalers, or sent, post-paid, on receipt of price—ten cents. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Prnusnaas, 89 William Street, New York. The Dime Dialogues .No. 33. CONTENTS. The Wrong Trunk. For several male characters and one female. Saucv Jack Lee. For four males and four females. The retty Preacher. For two young ladies. A Contrast. For two little girls. Only Joe. For five. ladies and one gentleman. The Tables Turned. For several males. Why Did You Do It? For a school of little children. She Had Him There. For one lady and one gentle- man. A Report of the Affair. For two gentlemen. Mrs. Arnold’s Mlsconceptlon. For two gentlemen and three ladies. The Year ‘Round. For twelve impersonators. Defending the Castle. For two males and two fe- males. A Perfectly Veracious Man. For one male and one female. Sympathetic Sympathy. For three males and two females. Ananias at Home. For one male and three fe- males. The Man from Bangor. For one gentleman and three ladies. Casablanca in Two Versions. For two boys. For sale by all newsdealers. or sent, postpaid, on receipt of nrice-~ ten cents. unless he could get passes out to Ogden. He had BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, - 98 William Street, New York. ...,.:.,. , ."w‘axmzf‘l 2. .