DAUBINS THE PAINTER’S LOVE. BY A. W. BELLAW. Darling, I can’t too highly paint The charms that you possess, sweet; Your locks, as fine as camel’s hair, No canvas could expres, swcct, “'hat hues to try to paint you, dear, \Vuo are so sweet and saluted! By perfect Nature’s and your own lieur hand your checks are painted. You are so putty.and your love 1 would most dearly C'lli’l‘lih, And I for your own darling sake Would on the scaffold pcri- h. For you I love to brush up, dear, And think in colors glowing, I truly love you overall The maids that I am knowing. Your voice is musical and toned T . draw tne veriesr saint on, And sweet it is to visit you with a bran new coat of paint on. An azure smile on me I catch— You know how it unchains me, And I forget my povaty Which other times so panes me. For you I’d like to make a bid—— A contract sign forever, And get a true and gentle band That should s’rike on me never. And yoursisjust the hand I need To help me through all time, dear, And the affection that I hear You know is very prime, dear. If you’d refuse me I’d feel blue An i find my fond hopes ended, Because the future looks to me With all bright colors blended. If you'd disdain to be my own Nothing would make me madder; You know I am a fulbgrown lad Who works upon a ladder. Yes, all my heart is fondly yours And it, pray do not keep iii; For you I'd climb ambition’s steeps As I would climb a steeple. And if there‘s one fond hope in life To which my soul is given, It is to aint a pretty house Which we could sweetly live in. I’d gild your life with pure gold-leaf, \Vith warrant not to tarnish: ~ Don’t think I have an oily tongue Because bright hopes l varnish. Brit if you’d scorn my love far you I know Icould not brook it— I’d shoot myself with a ball of white-lead And kick the painter’s bucket. The ann-the-Stream Papers. REPORTED BY ALBERT IV. AIKEN. Amid the Cloudl. The Aeronaut’s Story. ON my left hand sat a gentleman who was able to boast that, at times, be occupied an ex- tremer elevated station; it was the daring aéronaut, Harry Gilbert. He was one of the attractions of the old John Robinson Show, being engaged to make ascen— srons daily from the circus-lot, previous to the performances, giving a free exhibition for the purpose of attracting the “ Grangers,” it being the idea of the shrewd old circus-manager that a great many people would come to see the free show without any notion of patronizing the cir- cus, but, after they were on the ground, and saw the people flocking into the tent, would not be able to resist the temptation to follow the crowd, and so he would get a chance at their half-dollars. After the champion rider had finished his story, the Man- Monkey called upon Harry Gil- bert for a yarn, and the balloon expert, who was a royally good fellow, at once expressed his willingness to comply. Donaldson had said he was sure that a man who had knocked about the world as much as the aéronaut would be able to tell a nod story. “ I certainly have seen a great dots of life in my time,” Gilbert assented, "' and think I can Safely sayI have met with a few adventures about as strange as anything Ievcrsaw describ— cd in print. I will give you oncasa sample, and then you can judge for yourself. “ SOilld years ago there was a big exposition in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania’s smoky city, and I was engaged to make balloon ascensions. It was the captive balloon trick: that is, the bal- loon was tied to a long rope. the cord of which was fastened to an anchor in the ground, so that the balloon could only rise to a certain hight. “ There was a fee charged, and in every trip I took up a number of curious people, anxious to get a bird’s eye view of the surrounding country. "' fcourse, as long as the balloon was tied, there was hardly any more danger in taking the trip than in an ordinary ride inn. street car, but, for all that, days when there was a brisk wind, causing the balloon to pitch and tug at the rope, the peOple were shy about going up in ct. “ The last day of the exhibition arrived, a fact which I regretted, for the work was easy, without the least danger and the pay was good. It was a Saturday, the grounds were crowded, but the wind was 5') high that none of the sight— seers cared to risk a trip in the balloon. It was a dull, cloudy day, and the wind was from the southeast, coming in Iitful gusts, presaging a storm. "The ti .ne arrived for my last ascension, and I exerted all my eloquence to persuade some of the gaping crowd to go with me, but the dull day and the fitful Wind evidently affected their courage, for not a soul Stepped forward to ac- cept my invitation, until just as I gave the or- der to the men who held the struggling balloon to let go, a youth sprung forward and clamber- ed, with rare agility, into the basket. He was just in time, for in another moment we were 0 . “ The balloon shot up like a bird released from a trap. “ ()n trips of this kind I did not bother much with ballast; 1 had a safety—valve, as it might be called, a rope arranged to open a small scam in the air-ship when it was pulled; this afforded the gas a chance to escape, and as it vanished into. the air the balloon settled to the earth again. “After we got well under way I took a look at my companion and male a discovery which considerably astonished me. ‘ “ The youth was not a youth, neither was the party a stranger to me. “ Five years before, when on a professional visit to New Orleans, I made the acquaintance of a beautiful girl—she was really beautiful to my notion, although she was so decidedly mas- culine in her appearance that many would not have thought her pretty. She was just eighteen, according to her story, and was in New Orleans to complete her education, her father being a. wealthy planter up in the Red River country. “ Well, my gentle hearers, I suppose you know how it is yourself in such cases? I fell over head and ears in love with the girl, and was pic- turing to myself the rosiest kind of a future, no more balloon biz—no more of a, fakir’s life; I would marry this wealthy charmer, settle down on the Red River plantation, and become a landed country gentleman." “ Yes, a good many of us profeSSional gentle- men have been there,” the champion rider re- marked, significantly, “ but, somehow, these wealthy girls are like the Irishinan’s flea, when you go to put your fingers on them they are not there.” “ You arcriglit,and it was so in thisinstance,” Gilbert remirkcd. “ My Red Rivm‘ belle turned out to be an adventuress of the first water: in- stead of eighteen she was nearer thirty, and had already been the means of ruining half-a— dozen prominent men in Orleans. Her fmicv for me was only one of the caprices which such tiger-cats sometimes have, but our love affair was brought to a sudden end bya tragcdy which revealed this adventuress in her true light; her last victim, the cashier of a New Orleans bank, committed suicide; he had robbed the bank, and then, when detection stared him in the face, took his own life rather than face the consequences, but as death was not immediate, he. lived long enough to tell the story of his downfall. The affair created so much excite— ment that my beauty judged it wiser to seek safety in flight than toattempt to face the storm of indignation. “ I never expected to see the woman again, and often reflected What a narrow escape I had, for 1 was fully determined to marry the jade, and therefore you can readily imagine how astonished I was when I looked at the sup— sed youth and discovered that it was my cw Orleans girl, Virginia Musgrave, as she called herself. “ ‘ I see you recognize me,’ she said. “ ‘ Yes,‘ I answered. “ ‘ I was obliged to leave New Orleans with- out bidding you good-by,’ she continued. ‘ But I was so situated that it was not possible. Baron Blowitz, a distinguished German noble- man of great wealth, fell desperately in love with me, and I really think he must have con- trived to give me some love-potion, for although I never really cared for him, yet he contrived to induce me to elope with him. We were mar- ried and went abroad, but the baron died a year ago, leaving me all his fortune, and since that time I have been in search of you, my own true love! I adopted this disguise so I could travel more readily. Now, at last, I find you, and we Will neVer part again. I will aid you on these delightful excursions; but why do we not rise?’ “ We had come to the end of the rope, and I explained this to the girl, whose strange be- havior amazed me; but I was destined to be still more astonished, for no sooner was the ex— planation made than she whipped out a keen- edged bowie-knife, and, before I could prevent it, cut the rope which bound as to the earth and we shot up into the air. “ ‘ Aha! this is something like!’ she cried, in glee, as the balloon went rapidly to the north- west. “ T he shouts of the multitude beneath, aston- ished at the unexpected movement of the bal- loon, came plainly to our ears. “ She looked over the edge of the basket and shook her clinched fist fiercely at the crowd. “ ‘ Ay, shout away, you brood of vipers!’ she exclaimed. ‘I am safe from you now, and bound with my own true love to a home amid the stars!’ “ And now, for the first time, I grasped the situation: the woman was mad: I could plainly see the insane glitter in her eyes. “The balloon was moving with wonderful rapidity and rising higher and higher each mo- ment. “ be blood in my veins fairly ran' cold, for I could see no escape from a horrible death un- less I could get at the cord which controlled the safety—valve, and I feared to make a move- ment lest her suspicions might become ex- cited. “ Fortune favored me, though. “The madwoman was exmted by the rapid rush of the air-ship, and longed to go higher. “ ‘ More speed—how can we rise?’ she cried. “‘Pull the rope by your side,’1 replied as coolly as possible. "She gave the cord 8 terrible jerk and the seam was ripped open. Quickly we began to sm‘k. “ ‘ Oh, heaVensl’ I cried, ‘ why did you pull so hard? You have ripped the balloon and now we will be dashed to pieces!’ “ ‘ Never mindl we will be united in death !’ she rrsponded. “Down, down we went, but by the greatest good luck, landed in the river. The force of the. shock threw me out of the basket. I was an ex- pert swimmer and struck out for the shore, which I safely reached. “The girl, entangled with the cords of the basket, was drowned. She was an escaped lunatic, as I afterward discovered, and by this awful death Heaven had punished her for her crimes. “ But I tell you, gentle friends, it was an aw- ful tight squeeze for yours truly amid the clouds.” :How Hollo_Won His Way' BY JOHN H. ‘VHITSON. "‘ I ALLUS did hate dogs!” said Martin Dens- ford, shying a club at the tailless, mangy cur that hung longineg about his beef wagon. “ Five poun’s, I believe you said, miss?” to the buxom country girl, his saw ate its way through the juicys lop-bone. “ Well. there you air. Five poun’s an’ two ounces! Can’t allus guess it exactly; but I b’leeve that’s nigh enough. “Seven cents a poun’! Thank ya! 13' every— body wus ez good pay 67. your folks, butcherin”d be a fine bizness. Don’t want any steak? Hcv some mighty fine tender—Pines over there. 'Most make your mouth water to look at ’em. No? “That dog? He’s astray, I believe. Least- ways nobody seems to know anything about him. Smells the beef, p’r’aps! Been a follerin’ me fer over two miles. Ugly—lookin’ critter, too! Well, I must be goin’. Expect to bring some mutton when I come aroun’ to—morrer." Densford climbed into his canvas-covered wagon, cracked his long whip and, with many a jolt and jostle, rolled down the uneven coun- try road toward home. He fell to whistling. Then broke off short and drew from the capacious pocket of his over- coat a bunch of bright ribbons. The sight of them made his eyes moist, but a smile rested on his face as he thrust them back and clucked loudly to the horses. “ ’Tain’t often I kin git her anything party," he said, speaking to the whiphandle, as if it had been another man, “ an’ she does like purty things!” The smile deepened and he fell into a reverie from which he was only aroused by the team stopping in front of the stable. Lucy, his daughter, a bright girl of thirteen, with eyes of matchless blue and soft, flaxen hair, came hopping d0wn the path to welcome him. Although a hopeless cripple she seemed as joyous and light-hearted as a bird, and man— aged her crutch with a practiced ease that half- dispelled the idea of her helplessness. “ Back ag’in!” he cried cheerily. as be tossed the lines to the ground and descended from his perch-like seat. “Had a bigger round today than I calc’lated on. Then it takes some people nigh about an hour to tell whether they want a stew er a fry. Supper’s a-waitin’. I reckon? chr’s sometliin’ purty fer ye!” He tossed her the bunch of ribbons and began to unhitch the horses. “ They‘re nice!" she said, with a look of grate- ful earnestness. “ And I thank you ever so much. I’ve been wanting them so long. But Could you really afford them, pa ?” “ Tut, tut, child! Don‘t worry yourself ask- in’ sich questions!” he exclaimed, kissing her pale cheek. “Run in the house, now, an’ put supper on the table. I’m ez hungry ez a wolf.” She obeyed eagerly, pressing the soft ribbons to her face in a pretty way that greatly pleased him. To his fond imagination she was still the little child that his dying wife left to his care, with her blessing six years before. She would never be anything else to him; though she was now, in spite of her affliction, his trusted housekeeper and the rapidly traveling years were constantly adding to her stature and wisdom. “ Don’t see how I could git ’long ’thout her!” he muttered. as he watche her hopping toward the house. “ Sing’lar how a leetle critter like that kin be sich a help. I ’mOst fergit she’s lame until I see lICI‘ skippiu’ ’long that way. The sight 0’ them ribbons done her a heap 0’ good, too. Times is hard, I ’low, but I knowed she’d been a—longin’ fer ’em, and when Mart Dcnsford gits to the p‘int that he can’t git his darter a present once in a while, he’s a—goin’ to move out 0’ the country.” The mangy cur had continued to follow the wagon and now crept slyly around the corner of the shed. “ Git out l” exclaimed Densford, cracking his whip and frightening the dog so that it ran cow- ering into the adjacent field. “ That dog’s bound to hev some 0’ this meat yit. Reckon I’ll th to put it in the barn to keep him away from it.” He led the horses into the stable, fed them and then hung the meat in the hay barn. This done, he scoured his ruddy face in a pan of icy water, and went into the house. " Whose dog was that you were snapping your whip at?” questioned Lucy, as be seated himself at the table. “ A stray that' been follerin’ me fer nigh about a half a day!” he answered, from behind the cloud of steam that rose from his coffee cup. Then he told how he had first noticed the dog after leaving the village, of his many attempts to scare it away, and how he had hung his meat in the barn for safety. “Poor thing!” exclaimed the daughter, who was ever ready with sympathy,probably because she so often felt the need of it. “I expect it’s half-starved.” Later her sympathy developed into action, and without saying anything to her father about it, knowing how greatly he detested dogs, she deposited a quant ty of cold victuals where the dog would be likely to find them in case it re— turned. ' During the night they were awakened by a furious barking, followed by a pistol—shot and a yelp. Densford s rung from bed and rushed out into the darkness in his night-clothes. The sound of men running rapidly down the road came to his ears. “ Some thieves after the meat!” was his men- tal comment, and he hurried to the barn. The door had been pried loose and a quarter of beef lay on the floor, but none of it had been taken. He was satisfied the dog had frightened the thieves away. Feeling more kindly toward it for this act, he whistled and tried to draw it from its place of concealment. The dog failed to respond. “Scared away I” he said, and after fastening the barn door more securely than ever, re- turned shivering to the house. In the morning the dog was found lying in a dry-goods box by the side of the door, suffering from an ugly bullet-wound in the shoulder. It attempted to crenp COWeringly away as he came out, but was too greatly hurt to do so, and lay there trembling as if in anticipation of a beat- in . Even Densford, dog-hater that he was, was touched with pity: and his daughter wept at sight of the animal’s distress. His first impulse was to shoot it, to end fits sufferings; but Lucy begged so hard that2its life was spared. “ And oh, al” she exclaimed, rapturously, “ I will make im a nice little house, and when he is well he will be so much company for me while you are away.” Her father uttered a snort of disgust at the idea of a. dog being company for any one; but he could not refuse her request—in fact, he never could refuse her anything —and the mangy and wounded cur became one of the Densford possessions. “ What shall I call him?” questioned Lucy, when. she had bandaged the dog’s hurt and given him a bountiful breakfast. “ Let’s see! There’s owser and Lion. I don’t like Towser, and he looks like anything but a. lion! Then there’s Nero, which would always make me think of that wicked old Roman. I believe I’ll name him Rollo. Here, Rollo! Good dogl” The injured animal uttered a low whine of delight and licked the band of his young mis- tress in such a pleading, piteous way that it went straight to her heart. So Rollo he was called; and as Martin Dens- ford jolted away in his b aef~wagon, on his daily round, he left behind him a thoroughly delight ed daughter and a grateful dog. This mangy cur was Lucy’s first animal friend, and nothing was too good for him. She made him a bed of the softest hay. She res dressrd his injured shoulder. She fed him enough for three ordinary dogs. Not content with this she got a pail of warm water, a scrub- bing brush and a cake of soap, and scoured him until his coat was so changed and cleaned that his nearest relative would scarcely have recog- nized him. But, alas! she could not re- furnish him with a tail: and he was destined to wag his way through life without that appends a e. gWhen her father returned, she was loud in her praises of Rollo’s intelligence and grateful appreciation of her kindness. Rough Martin Densford muttered under his breath at maledic— tion on all dogs—w 1th a little saving clause for Rollo, as he looked into his daughter’s pleased eyes. and recalled the events of the night—and then dismissed the subject from his thoughts as he proceeded to swallow his hot coffee and but- teer rolls. If Lucy liked the dog, he afterward told her, why, she was at liberty to keep him—but as for himself, he detested all dogs and was almost sorry Rollo had ever come on the place. A dog had once bitten him, and he had held the race II; enmity ever since. So the days sped by. Rollo became well and strong, and his bark had a ring of well—fed defi- ance, utter’y known in the days of his degrada— tion. The icy blasts of winter took on a keeper sting, and the roads often became almost im- passable because of snowvdrifts. But Martin Densfcrd continued his daily rounds in spite of winds and bitter weather. Ev cry evening, after she had spread the snowy linen on the table, and placed the steam- ing coffee-pot on the, stone-hearth where its con— tents would be kept warm, Lucy seated herself at the little north window which commanded a view of the road. and, with Rollo’s shaggy head in her lap,watched for the coming of her father. Usually she could hear his cheery whistle and the rattle of wheels long before his wagon came into vie v around the bend in the highway. But when the great January snow-storm came it blotted out the road and hedgo s and hid every familiar feature of the landscape behind a white veil of driving crysrals. How the Wind roared down the wide chimney and howled and shrieked through the brim branches of the pines! And the white vml grew thicker and heavier and the piercing cold more intense. With a terrible fear at her heart Lucy took her usual position at the north window. But her vision in that direction was as completely cut elf as if a stone wall had been suddenly reared there. The minutes slipped by. An hour passed. Darkness was approaching, and still her father failed to appear. She was trying to comfort herself with the thought that he had probably taken refuge at the house of some neighbor, when the well-known team dashed up to the stow ble door and neighed for admittance. But they did not bring her father northe wagon, although the harness was on them. Lucy threw a hood over her head, drew on a warm cloak, muflled her hands in mittens and hobbled out to them. She was in terrible dis— tress of mind. What to do she knew not. She feared her father was dead or dying in the snow somewhere on the highway. The sight of the heavy sled which her father frr uently used in snowy weather gavedircction to or thoughts. She hitched the unwilling horses to it. turned their heads into the face of the storm, and lashed them onward. Rollo seemed to comprehend the nature of the trouble and led the way a few steps in advance, With his nose to the ground and his apology for a tail whisking vigorously. Lucy scon noticed that he was following the trail left by the horses in their homeward flight, and encouraged him with her voice. A mile was passed over, then another—the snow boating into her half-protected face, and chillirg her to the bone. All at once Rollo dart- ed to one side of the highway, gave aloud bark, then returned with an urgent whine and dashed away again. In another moment the sled was at his side, and the're, in the snow, lay Martin Densford, half—frozen and writhing in agony from a broken ankle. He had unhitcbed the horses from the wagon when he noticed how fierce the storm was be- coming, and started home at a furious gallop. The horse ridden by him had suddenly shied at Something in the road, and he had been thrown heavily to the frozen ground, sustaining a serious fracture of an ankle-bone. There he re- mained, scarcely able to move, suffering untold agonies of mind and body, and there he would soon have perished had it not been for the heroic courage of his crippled daughter, and the keen scent and intelligence of her canine compan— ion. By great and painful exertion Densford man- aged to drag himself upon the sled. The home journe was accomplished in a remarkably short t me. Lucy guided the team so that the sled pressed closely against the door-sill, and b brid ing the intervening distance with a plank her ather was able to Creep into the house. She released the horses from the sled, drove them into the stable, and, without stopping to un- harness them, hurried back to his assistance. The next day the storm cleared away. Then she rode to a neighbor‘s, a surgeon was sent for, and willing and kindly hands assisted her in caring for her father. He recovered in the course of a few weeks, and was ever after, next to Lucy, Rollo’s most ardent admirer: and thus it came about that Rollo won the love of his master, and Martin Densford was cured of his hatred of dogs. ONLY A THEORY. BY TRUCKF'ULL SHORT. Perhaps my theory won’t amount To the cost of a conclusion; The only way I can account For hair in such profusion— I never uswl a tonic, Took never a shampoon; I never wore hair pompadour In the darkness of the moon. I always keep a pair of shears Ufpon the cupboard shelf An in the balmy month of June I trim my hair myself. I had a gentle brother once, Fair youth as e’er was seen, Who was, I’m sorry to announce, Quite bald at seventeen. He always used a tonic, Took often a shampoon: He always Wore hair nompadour In the darkness of the moon. He never had a pair of shears In the cupboard laid with care, And every other day or so The barber cut his hair. ' Twenty le_ars’ Probation. BY BERT. L. THOMPSON. A DRIP gash cut in the side of the mountain, half a dozen cabins of the rudest construction clinging to niches and ledges, a number of pros- pect—holes, and a round dozen of the usual flan- nel—shined, rough-bearded miners—that was all there was of the Deep Gulch Diggings. There had never been'a strike there sufficient to create a boom. When Dick Nelson Washed out his first pan and got“ color ” to the value of seventeen cents.he had shoveled direct from the richest streak of pay earth that was found in the place. Others came along by ones and twos, and seeing a beginning made took up the work. They had lett as good claims as they found here when they pulled up stakes and start— ed on tramp, in disgust with their luck: they would find as good again, when they tired of the gulch and took wing in search of newer fields. Meantime they lived peaceably,taking life as they found it, happy while their rations of bacon and ’bacca held out. For every noted strike that is made in the gold regions there are hundreds of these pros- pected diggings that are never heard of by the outside world: for eVery lucky mortal who leaves the mountains with a fortune, or even a competence, there are hundreds—yes, thousands of disappointed men into whose graylives no golden gleam ever steals its way;yet it is sel- dom they ever break from the fascination of the pursuit when it has once laid its spell upon them. These Deep Gulch miners all kept the flame of hope burning in spite of many disappointments. They were grizzled veterans, for the most part, but a tenderfoot was among them on the day of which I write. He had wandered in, forlorn, dusty, travel—stained, footsore, and Dick Nelson, being the only man in camp who had not. a partner, took him in. As a rule, Dick fought shy of these wandering pilgrims who are always turning up in even the most out—of—the- way camps; but, something in the weary looks of this stranger appealed to his compassion. “ You ain’t got any business, hyar,” he said, rOugbly yet kindly. “ You’re of the bmld that the fever allers takes hold of; never see one of your kind miss it, and the homesickness, too. Ax the boys thar, they’ll tell ye. It takcsa purty tough sort of chap, to begin with, to stand the waitin’ we’re use ttr. Every one of us came up h} at thinkin’ to make our pile and git back to the States inside of five ears at the longest, and it’s twenty now since fu’st come to the mountains. Hain’t l never had no en- couragement, do ye say? I’Val, yes; twicet I’ve come pretty near to makin’ up my pile, but each time it slipped away from me easier’n it come. You ain’t such a young chap but what you might take advice as is give to you for your good. Go back to the farm—thar’s whar ye ccme from, ain’t it? Plowin’ and harvestin’ ain’t half the‘work that diggin’ and sluicin’ and pilin’ rocks be. f so be as you’ve an ole mo— ther, or a wife. mebbe.stick fast to her and don’t let the idee of growin’ rich in a hurry put wuss’n mountains atwixt ye.” “ Did you leave no one that you have stayed here all this time?” askcd the new-comer. “Only the gal I meant to marry, but I reckon she give me over and took up with some other fellow a good man years ago,” said Dick, cheerfully, as if he ound compensation for his own loneliness in the thought. “ Mebbe she’s waitin’ for you et." “I wouldn’t like to think that,” and Dick shook the ashes from his pipe with a nervous hand. “ ’Tain‘t likely, nyther. Polly could ’a’ had her pick out of a dozcn good fellows. ’Tain’t in nater she should wait twenty years fer Dick Nelson, the no—strike miner.” “ Why don’t you go back to see?” “Seems to me you’re mighty pryin’ for a tenderfoot,” growled Dick, impatiently. “ Wal, then, I am goin’, when I make my pile. Third time s the charm, ye know.’ “ And, suppose you find her grown old and ugly while she waited for your coming?” “Git out, stranger! But, thar, you didn’t know Polly : she couldn’t git old and ugly to me. Say, I wish you wouldn’t put such rubbish in my head. If you’ll promise me to turn tail and back out of gold huntin’, I’ll tell you what I’ve got laid out when my fortin’ comes to me. I’ve thought it out more‘n oncet how I’d go back and find Polly with her kids growin’ up about her, and mebbe thar’d be a girl like Ishe wor when I left her, and a chap like I wor a-hankerin’ after her, and how I’d make the way cl'ar sailin’ for them two and mebbe they’d s: rt of adopt. me into their likin’ and I’d hev them to tie to in my old days. That’s what I’ve got to lock for’ard to, stranger, if tble way ever opens up to me to go back at a] .” “If the fortune comes to you, you might marry the daughter, or some other young wo- man. I don’t know that twenty year of rcughin’ it hain’t fitted me to be a mate for ary young woman! I ain’t quite a fool, young man. had my chance oncet, and I give it away when I got bit with the gold fever. Be I sorry for it? Wal, I’d take the other course if I had it to do over, but I ain’t losin’ ary sleep a-moonin’ over what can’t be helped. That ain’t me! Time we turn in if you take the back track atore sun-up.” “ Suppose-suppose Polly should come to you here?” “Say, now, I’llbe sorry 1 took yer in if ye ive me ary more of yer gab. Thar’s yer bunk. good—night l” But long after the stranger was sleeping the deep sleep of utter exhaustion, Dick lNelson tossed and tumbled on the bearskins of his couch. “ I vum, I’ll hev to go down to the store and git set up to cl’ar my mind,”he asserted, and, with this resolution, be finally drifted into long- smeght repose. hen he opened his eyes, the next morning, his companiou of the previous night had disap- peared. Dick immediately turns to the trea- sure-box in which his little store of gold-dust was kept. ' Habit made him suspicious; but the dust was safe, and, transferring a portion of it to his pocket, he so lit his fellow-miners and announced to them t at he was of! after sup- plies. He was still half a mile from the store when a strange figure stepped into his path—a wom- an’s figure—but not that of the storekeeper’s wife or sister. He flushed with a queer sort of embarrassment, but made way for her and would have passed without a word if she had not spoken his name. “ Dick! Oh, Dick, don’t you know me?” What was there in that faded middleaged face, in those pleading Eyes, to bring up Polly’s iron 9? Little enough. eaven knows, but the trut flashed into Dick’s mind. “ Polly! That was you, last night?” The worn, faded face turned a sickly white. “Oh, I’ll die if you despise me,” she uttered weakly. Then Dick’s dazed senses cleared. “ Despise you! Polly, my Polly, on are the bravest Woman on earth, but I‘ve een a cow- ardl Have you really waited for me all these years? I don’t kn0w as I‘ll be able to make it up to you, only I’ll be a happy man if you’ll have me, after it all.” “ It was hard waiting ” confessed Polly, in a shamefaced way. “ Fol 5 said I was a fool,and I thought so myself, but, I won’t be sorry if you’ll leave these horrid mountains and go back tothe old farm. I own it now,” she added, a little proudly. “I earned every dollar I paid for it, working among the neighbors and get- ting them to put in the crops. They don’t any of them know I came to hunt you. They think I’m visitin’ m niece in Nebraska.” And none 0 them ever did know anything to the contrary, for Polly would hear of no wed- ding until she returned to her old home. Dick speedily followed her there, and it is to be feared that she was still considered a fool by her neighbors when she married the lover who wasted twenty years of his life and here in vain seeking after the wealth which never came. But—Polly didn’t think so. It is certain that she and Dick were very happy pards,and equal- ly certain that no farm in a] that county made so good a show as thntwhich sturdy Dick Nelson tilled and cared for with never—ceasing industry and skill. Telephone Echoes. .———- SOME men never tumble, even when an idea strikes them. THE newest brand of cyclone in Kansas shucks corn and cleans chick ns. AFTER 9. band-boy has taken a few lessons on an instrument he becomes his own tooter. “ THIS is a nice box to be in,” as the fellow said when he found himself locked up in the re— frigerator. TH: palm tree has rather a weak root. That is why the cyclone is apt to carry off the palm, we presume. A RISE in coffee is reported. Evidently boarding-house coffee is not meant, as that is generally too weak to rise. EASTERN people are discussing the question: “ Who is the greatest living novelist?” The c0r~ rect answer is that there isn’t any. THERE is something cruel in the fate of the Vermont man who spent several weeks in a swamp looking for a mine of plumbago, and who while so engaged caught. the lumbago. A PHYSICIAN says face powder may prove in- jurious if it is not carefully removed every night. It is the only kind of powder, we be- lieve, that is most liable to work injury when it does not go off. THERE is an anti-mustache agitation now go- ing on in England. Some day an English humogist will get of! the old chestnut about the. ladies Setting their faces against mustacbcs, and become famous. THERE is a boat club at Webster, Mass, whose members must always be able to pro- ncunce its name, both after as well as before races and banquets and club meetings. The name is “ The Chaubunagungamaugh Yacht Club.” A SOCIETY item says that pet dogs are now clad in mantles with pockets for holding lumps of sugar, bracelets on their paws and a string of little silver bells around the neck. Thousands of neglected children missed a mighty good thing by not being born pet dogs. FITZNOODLE (who has remained to an unrea- sonable hour Sunday night urging his suit)— “Then I am to understand. Miss Breezy, that you will not be my wife?” Miss Breezy (Sleepily i‘estrainirg a yawn)— “ That is it exactly. There is a yawning gulf between us.” A CORRESPONDENT writes that a hydroceph— alic child was born to an ultra Prohibitionist father, who said to the doctor: “ What is the matter with my child .’" “ Why, it has inherit- ed its disease from you." “ What do you mean ’5" “ Why, it has water on the brain.” “ I DON’T see,” said Mr. McGuire. as he sat in the stern of the veSSel, “how the captain can find his way across the ocean. If he was going the other way all he’d have to do would be to follow that white streak behind there, but in front. there‘s nothing to point the way.” AN English coroner‘s jury recently decided that a man who was found dead at the bottom of a river had died because of “ a sudden immer- sion after a hearty meal." People who wish to lie down in the bed of a river should be careful not to do so after eating a hearty meal. Mas. SHODDY’S views are interesting to those thinking of kee ing a carriage. She says she has thought it a I over, and come to the conclu- sion that broochcs are almost too large,and that these ’er coupons are too shut up. but that a nice, stylish pony phantom is just the thing. THOMPKINS—“ Hello, old boy! I hear you have married a literary woman. Mend your own stockings and all that sort of thing, I sup- pose?” Smithkins—“Ye-es. But that isn’t the worst of it. She sometimes mislays her poems heavy. don’t you know.” To his fond father, who had asked him where he is in his class now: “ 0h. pa, I’ve got amuch better place than I had the last quarter.” “ In- deed? \Vell, where are you?” “ l‘m fourteenth.” “ Fourteenth, you time lazybones! You were 'eighth last term. Do you call that a better place?” “ Yes; it will be nearer the stove.” THE following advertisement recently ap- peared in an Ithaca paper: “Baseball and Bap- “ Now look-a—liere, tenderfoot I’ve been talk~ : u , , h . I in’ sense to you, but you make me mad. As if ‘ lake of converts of the colored camp meeting.” tism.—-A game of ball will be played at Cayuga Lake Park next Saturday afternoon between the Y. M. C. A. nine of Ithaca, andthe Mynderse Academy nine of Seneca Falls. At the conclu- sion of the game. will occur the baptizing in the mm—mw.. in the bread, and they are apt to make it a trifle v uu_'_..