mm?!“ 1.; A: .. _.. - .‘1- . _V . ., ,. , ‘.,u m. r. .1 r 7‘. 1,-3, .- w ,1; n- . m @ wk: y»- but the music jarred upon her and her voice was not sweet and powerful as usual. , Mr. Lester suggested that she should retire early; she had resolutely refused to consuit a physician, and insisted that her illness would soon pass away; she at once took his advice and retired to her room. Mr. Lester smoked a cigar out under the trees, and his wife, watching him by the light of the harvest moon, prayed that all her terrible sus- picions might prove unfounded. By and by, she heard him moving about in his dressing-room, and she softly tapped at the door. “ Who is there?" he asked, sharply. “ It is l—Stella.” “ Wait one moment.” His tone expressed surprise, for never before had she thus sought him in his dressing—room. “ You are astonished to see me here i" she said, with a wan little smile. “ I suppose you are still a little nervous,” re- plied Lester, pleasantly. “ No, that is not the reason. You have ,strange dreams, Frederic, and last night I had one. , Not only a strange dream, but a dreadful one.’ “ Yes?" he said, in a strained manner. “ I dreamed that we were sitting under the trees watching the rfver, and that a police officer came and arrested you, and said y on were a murderer!” His face had turned a sickly yellow while she spoke. She marked the change, but kept brave- ly on. She had really dreamed the scene she was depicting had taken place, for she was in- capable of telling a falsehood. “ I thought he said: ‘ Your name is Allan Gordon, you are a murderer, and on your back between your shoulders there is branded the letter D.’ ” The man's face was now frightful to behold. d It was as ghastly as the stiffened face of the sad. , “ What do you mean 3" he asked, hoarsely, and his eyes flashed upon her with savage fury. “ It was a dream,” said Stella, faintly. His looks had changed so, she would searcer have reco ized him had she met him elsewhere. “ t is a lie, madam! It is no dream; your old villain of a father betrayed me, and you have made up this story for some object of your own.” ' . The fierce look be cast upon her, the fearful oaths he uttered, almost caused her heart to stand still. A bolder woman might well trem- ble, for he looked as if he felt tempted to add an- other murder to the list of his crimes. Stella did not trembler He had dared to in- sult the good old father whose death had seemed such a trifling grief because of this man’s love! A pang shot through the girl’s heart as she re- membered the hasty wedding which took place the very day that dear old father was laid away to sleep his last unbroken sleep. She thought with, oh! what a bitter sting of conscience, how soon her mourning—the out- ward garb of woe—had been cast aside. In her heart she had never mourned. For this man she had forgotten her duty as a daughter! ‘ “My father was no villain,” she said, with a calmness that surprised herSelf. “ He was,” he shouted in reply. “ He said he would not betray me, when consulted him about the accursed mark between my shoulders; he could not remove it, but he said my con- ‘fidence in him would be respected.” “ And he kept his word,” replied Stella, still Speaking in a quiet, even tone. She knew him now. He was indeed Allan Gordon—the escaped murderer, and deserter from the British Army. His face changed once more. Had he been too easily frightened? Had he betrayed himself by his violence? “ He kept his word l” he said, inquiringly. The Experimgital Apothecary. BY H. S. KELLER. BILLBERRY, the apothecary clerk, with a bulging frontal~bone and a snuffle in his nose, smiled blandly as he handed a downvat—the—heel— slippered hired girl flve cents’ worth of rock- candy and an almanac. “ It’s a very fine morning, my lady, a very fine morning. The fog ’ll choke ’em up and set the good folks wheezing, coughing and shuffling, which is good for trade, my lady, very good for business. No, those are not gum-drops; those are corn-plasters with holes through ’em.” The girl, not partial to such human concoc- tions as Bilberry, sniffed and slammed the door as she went away. Bilberry gazed long and anxiously after her retreating form and sighed deeply as it disappeared behind the wooden In- dian, four blocks up the street. “ That’s the way, the very way they all do it; flattering, cajolin and tempting a man with all their arts and wi es, who, when he becomes af- fable, bland and social, gets it in the neck. Now then, about those pills.” Billberry drove the cat and two kittens out of the box of dried prunes, went to the back office and perched himself upon the high stool. “Pills is healthy food for folks who haven’t got any health and won’t have any so long as they indulge in pills. I guess I’ve got a fortune in reach if I can only get my pills upon the mar- ket. I must hire a man who is in the last stages of a galloping decade to sit for a picture called Before Taking. I’ll want a man who’s got a wife that nags the life out of him—one who’s got seven small children crying for cake and pie and dried peach sauce and fried ham—and he only earning four dollars a month. Sucha state of affairs ’11 make him look very bad and start— ling. “ Then I’ll get my cousin, who lives on a farm, feeds high, and looks the picture of perfect health, to sit for the picture—After Taking. That’s settled. The stock ’11 go up after those pills begin to put in their fine work. Here’sa box of pills I’ve put up with great care. I’ll try them on the boss’s dog.” Billberry cut a slice of dried beef, rolled the pill in it and placed it near the brute‘s nose. Then, whistling softly, he went to the front win- dow and watched the flies sip poisoned water from the saucer. Ten minutes passed; then he went to the back part of the store. A sickly Smile passed over his face. The bit of meat had disappeared. He touched the dog with his foot. The dog did not more .’ “ There goes another bright dream of my life; bursted, gone down a common dog’s throat,” Billberry sighed, as he took the box of pills and threw them into the sewer-opening. Just then a blear-eyed man with a whistle in his voice en- tered; he was a friend of Billberry’s, and the latter said: “ Swatts, this dog has just suicided. If you will put the remains into this coffee-sack, take them out of the back door and dump them into the riVer I’ll fill your bottle every morning and give you all the porous-plasters and cough-syrup your family wants.” “ It’s a bargain. Just fill the bottle now while I put the dog into the sack. Them plasters are mighty good for patching shoes and such.” The man dumped the dog into the coffee-sack, took the bottle, shouldered the strange-looking bundle and went out of the back door. “ ‘Thns they flutter and go out. The hopes one builds, like little cardhouses cave in. All goes to smash at one fell swoop and leaves one hi h and dry upon the dismal shoals of despair.’ “Shakespeare. NOW then for my hair regene- rator. lf it Works, my fortune is made. It can’t help but work. All that’s wanted for hair to grow on a bald head is drawing qualities, pulling qualities. Ah! here comes my old friend Sockery, who keeps books in the tanyard. He’s mooring at about sunset," sighed the stranger, as he coughed behind his hand. Billberry put up a good—sized powder and gave it to the man with a glass of water. “Thanks! your hand; it is the hand of the only friend I’ve got in this world. There .' It is done! Have ‘you a clove? Thanks, again.” “ You have nerve. You’ll find a nice, shady spot down by the bank of the river, my friend. Go d0wn there when you begin to feel the potion putting in its fine work. You‘ll find a big maple—tree there against which you can rest your weary form while you are putting on your climbing spurs. Good-day, and good luck; see you later on: so, so!” The melancholy individual departed—with a box of cough-drops. “ Grated castile soap! poor fool I -he’ll want to die in earnest when that commences to get in its work. Lots of folks 'want— Good heavens! here ,comes Sockery back, with blood in his eyes.’ The door opened, and Sockery rushed in and began to prance up and down the store like a mad steer. There was a wild glare in his eyes, his face was covered with beads of sweat, and he yelled: “ Take it off i take the cussed thing off before I murder you 1” He jerked his hat off and clawed at the plas- ter with both hands. ‘ “ Sockery, you are excited. It is working, I see, beautifully, beautifully. I’ll bet your head is all covered over now with a fine, fuzzy growth of red—” “ Take it off! Take it off!” groaned Sockery, approaching the astonished apothecary with both fists raised. "Well, well, Sockery, don’t get your blood hot; it’s really too bad to spoil such a pretty ex- periment, and after I’ve spent so much time and skill upon the regenerator.” Sockery took a seat, and groaned in agony as Billberry began to loosen the adhesive mass. He pulled it away carefully from the skull. Then his eyes almost popped out of their sockets as he looked anxiously toward the front and back doors. Every particle of the fringe of hair, the last remnant of poor Sockery’s hair, came off with the plaster, and, as for the skin covering the skull, it was one blister .’ Sockery moaned with pain; he lifted his hands to his head, he picked up the plaster and moan- ed again heuvily. Then, with a demoniac yell of frenzy, he jumped up and grabbed the un- lucky Billberry and dragged him behind the counter. Sockery snatched a bottle marked Croton oil, pulled the cork and poured the con- tents down Billberry’s neck. Billberry howled, shrieked, but Sockery was deaf to all sound. Next the contents of a jar of Spanish flies fol- lowed the croton oil. Then abox of cayenne pepper, 8. paper of mustard—all, all poured down .Billberry’s neck and well shaken. That done, the thoroughly—in-earnest Sockery grab- bed a lot of sticky fl y-paper and plastered Bill- berry’s face, hands, neck and .hair all over. Next he stood poor Billberry upon his head in the sugar barrel, and yelled as he made for the or: “Take that, cuss you!” He opened and slammed the door, and made a mad break for the tan-yard. Billberry was discovered by his boss ten minutes afterward. The experimental apothecary was kicked out of the back door. Two months afterward he inan- aged to crawl to the depOt, where he took a train—and never returned again. His First Job. BY EDlYARD \YILLETT. “ KiCkED out, by gravy l" This was the somewhat sorrowful exclamation on the stone with his club, that sounded clearly from block to block. The head was suddenly drawn back, the win- dow was closed, and all was quiet. Jimmy Burrill waited, and was wondering whether he had not better repeat his performance, when he was seized from behind by a strong grasp that clutched his coat collar. He turned, and was confronted by a rough-looking young man with an angry face. “ W hat do you mean by that, you young rip?” asked his captor. “ What did you make that noise for .3" “ I ain‘t doin’ nothin’ but playin’,” sullenly re- plied Jimmy. “ I’layin‘ with that policeman’s club? “'here did you get the club? What do you mean by this thing! Tell me, you brat, or I’ll shake the life out of you.” The threatened shaking begun, but was soon ended, for the shaker felt a grasp on his own coat collar, and found himself in the custody of a stalwart policeman. This policeman was not Collins, who soon issued from the house, bringing another captive. When the two comrades had handcuffed their prisoners, and had seen that the house was securely closed, they set out for the nearest police station. “ Come along, Pigeon,” said Collins. give you a bunk at the station to-night.” “ None 0‘ your bare boards,” retorted Jimmy. “ I won’t stand that.” “ Oh, you shall have the bridal chamber, with servants to wait on you. I want you for a wit- ness in this case, Jimmy.” The boy spent the remainder of the night at the station-house, and the next morning gave his testimony at the examination of the two burglars, who were duly committed for trial. As Jimmy was considered an important wit-hen, he was consigned to the House of Detention for witnesses, where he was made comfortable. al- though he did not take kindly to the idea of be- ing deprived of his liberty. He had been there but a few days when Collins visited him, accompanied by a well-dressed gentleman of fine appearance, who i as evident- ly a personage of considerable importance. “ This is the boy I spoke to you about,” said the policeman. “ He is the one who helped me in that job, and who did as much t0ward saving your property as any of us. He is a likely lad, as you see, though he needs brushing up pretty badly. I know him to be a bright, active and willing boy, and believe that he is honest. He needs a lift, and I don’t believe you could find anybody who Would deserve it better.” The gentleman who was a. prominent lawyer, questioned the boy pretty closely, and was satis- fied with his answers. “ I suppose, Jimmy,” he said, “ that you would like to get out of this place?” . “ The sooner the better,” replied Jimmy. “And yon would even be willing to go to work, if you can be let loose?” Jimmy intimated that the prospect of work to do was a positive delight to him. “ We will see how you hold to that idea,” said the lawyer. “ I like your looks, and your fall»: suits me, and if you would care to work in a law office, you may come around and see me as soon as you want to.” The boy was highly pleased with this proposi— tion. and was released from the House of De- tention as soon as the necessary formalities could be attended to. He went at once to the oflice of the lawyer, who directed a clerk to pro- cure him suitable clothing, and to find a decent boarding-place for him. Then he was taken back to the office, and was instructed in regard to his duties, which he undertook with alacrity, glad that his first job had at least brought him a respectable posi- tion in life. He proved to be so intelligent, and active, and obligiiig, that be gained the good will of his em- ployer, and fully justified the character that “ VVe’ll Popular Poems. 0+ Over the balus‘er 80ft hands fair Brush his cheeks like a feather: Bright brown tresses and dusky hair Meet and mingle together. ONE \VAY OF PROPOSING. Over the ballisters bends a face, Darlingly sweet and beguiling: Somebody stands in car less grace, And watches the picture, smiling. Tired and sleepy, with drooping head, I wonder why she lingers: And when all the good-nights are said, Why somebodyliolus lltI‘ lingers. Holds her fingers and draws her down, Suddenly growing bolder, Till her loose hair drops its masses brown Like a. mantle OVCI‘ his shoulder. There's a question asked, there‘s a swift caress, She has flown like a bird from the hallway; But over the balustcl‘s drops a Yes That shall brighten the world for him aiway. — 80810]! Globe. 201—— A GENTLENIAN. “ 'l‘bcyd' "And the coffee—that pleases you dear?" She asked, overjoyed with his praise, Which rather than strains of sweet music she'd hear; “ I never drank better,” he says. “ Are my biscuits light, John?" asks the charming ' young wrfe. As she smiles on her hllcbtlll-l: With emphasis, answers As light as the team of the sea." and be. lovely, my life, “ Is the steak cooked to suit you ?" she gently in- quires: And he says, as he smilingly nods, “ It might have been cooked at celestial fires, And is tender enough for the gods.” , too, does 1:, So she s ts down beside him, and wlth him par- takes. And the rigid no doubt will cmfess. If John tells her lies, in the a swers he makes, He’s a gentleman, Levertlleless. — (.‘lobr.L Do mocral. —— :o :—— ADVICE TO ’IHE CURIOUS. Would you learn to tunnel through the hills Or solve most knotty problems? Find an antidote for all the ills, Or dissipate. hobgoblins :4 Far lll vouder‘lieavenlv s van. - . i From Jupiter to fabled Mars? Ask the intellectual man. That floats within our water? Or that of Pharaoh's d iiiglitc In eastern Hindostan? The intellectual man. The horse that won the race: Which fellow sets the pact-; In England or Japan? Don‘t ask the intellectual ma Ascertain the distance from the stars Would V011 know the protoplasmic germ The name of a thousand legged worm, r? The fruit that most abundant grows Wliv, reference make to one w he knows— But if you wish to learn the latest score; The shop that has the swinging door; Where eyes have ever 5 litest glow, If you really have a wish to know—— I). — Gill/mud Spectator. ZOZ SONG OF THE TYPE‘YRITER GIRL. BY \VILLIAM EDWARD PENNEY. “ It's ‘ clickity click. clixkity click.’ Till the very sound of it 1118ch me sick; ‘ Clickily click ’ from rncrn till night. And then in my dreams unti broad daylight. ‘ Clickiry clzck ’ my living to win. Till my finger-tips are all worn tliin. ‘Clickity Click " iili my brains awhirl,” So sung a pretty typewriter girl. “ He did not tell you?" , “ He never breathed one word to me; I never knew why you consulted him.” ‘ Lester was silent. He felt that he had ruined had been given him by his friend the police- man. When the trial of the two burglars was brought on in the Court of General Sessions, bald and proud and ’11 jump at the chance to get a fine head of hair.” _ Sockei‘y drove the cat and kittens out of the chest of tea, and seated himself. ‘ of a boy of thirteen, as he issued from a two— story tenement on an up-town street in New York, the door of which was savagely slammed behind him. himself. “ Billberry,” said he, “knew the girl who A bright-eyed lad, rather slim in figure and Jimmy WES ObligPd t0 intermit his. duties for a mcncklty Click awnh the swim para 5 He loved Stella, as evil persons love the pure works in the beanery around the corner from thin in face, and quite dilapidated as to dress, day, alld he DTOV'ed to be Cllute as lllt911189nt_35 Eving me over’his spctaclcs hard: - 3 . and good. the tamymflgu was Jimmy Burrill, who was known among the :1 Witness as he had been found to be as an olive ‘C‘lickity click,’ with the junior pard boy. He identified the young man who had collared him, and the man who had been brought out of the house by Collins, and described the part that he had taken in the capture. The result of the trial was the conviction of both the burglars, and their sentence to the penitentiary for a term of years. The young man who had collared Jimmy eyed the boy savagely while he was in the witness chair, and evidently bore him a grudge. “I mark that boy," he said, as he was led “ I’m sorry I spoke as I did, dear,” he said, approaching her and trying to place his hand upon her shoulder; but she shrunk from his touch as if he had been a snake. “ Ah! you are angry, little one. No wonder!" _- v “ I am not angry, but I never wish to see your ‘7: face again.” ; “ What?” ‘ r Again an angry frown gathered like a storm- , «j. cloud over his face. ‘ -‘f “ You are Allan Gordon, and you have a wife “ Yes, by sight. snuff-” “ Does she snuffi" “ N-no, I guess not; but I do think her mis- treSs chews it. Oh, Lord! what a lot of family secrets one does get onto in this business. Sockery, Ican see in your eyes that you are smitten by the divine passion—n" “1am, I am, awfully. I lay awake nights groaning with the deep, devouring pangs that gnaw at my heart.” She comes in every day for \\ liispcl'inu’, ‘Really. don't work so hard.’ ‘ Clickiry click ’ till my ey es are blurred, And I scarcely can see of my notes a word, Till my frizzes droop and my bangs uncurl, And I wish there was never a typewriter girl. youth of the neighborhood as “Pigeon.” But he was a quick—witted and self-reliant young chap, who believed that he was not made to wade in the gutters of the world. The cause of his sudden exit from the small house was a step father. His mother had made a second marriage, and had died. The second father, becoming tired of seeing the boy about, and considering him an obstacle to further matrimonial projects, had at last, and without any ceremony, turned Jimmy ‘ ‘ (‘licity click ’ is the only song That rings in my on rs through the days so long. ‘Clickity click,‘ though the heart may ache, Still the Weary fingers no rest may take. ‘ Clickity click’ the machine must go: If one girl dies, there are others. you know; But when I‘m dead. on my tombstone stick in England. I am not your wife, and I shall leave you as soon as day dawns.” Swift as lightning he raised his arm as if to strike her down. His hand sunk by his side, however, and he said, with attempted calm- ness: “ You are mad.” “ No, l have been mad. I am sane now.” She rose as she spoke, her long white cashmere dressing-g0wn trailing upon the carpet, her heavy golden hair hanging far below her waist, and her pale face looking like the face of a visi- tant from the land of spirits. “ You need not trouble to leave me, madam,” he said. “ I shall leave this house at once, and I shall not return for ten days: by that time you will probably have Come to your senses.” “ I hope so.” IVithout one word of farewell she left the room, and he heard her lock and bolt the doors of her sleeping apartment. “My God!” he. exclaimed, wiping away the huge drops of perspiration which ran down his livid face. “ HOW has she learned this?” He dressed—for he had worn his dressing- g0wu and slippers during the interview—and in a few moments the rapid gallop of his horse “ Better take something for it, Sockery.” “ W'hat’ll I take?” “ Take a run around the block.” “ None of your jokes. It’s all right for you to talk. Such poor homely fellows as you never have such feelings.” “ Socket-y, you’ll never win a woman with such a bare old head as you’ve got. You know your head is ill-shaped and about as square as a soap-box, besides all bumps. That head of yours isn't pretty nohow one looks at it. I think you could win the heart of a woman if yOnr skull was covered with a growth of luxuriant hull‘. Let’s see~the natural color is red: yes, but I can dye it a lovely brown after it grows—" “ Heavens! Billberry, you don’t say you can make my hair grow 9” “ I can, Sock-ry.” “ Try it, try it. Put your stuff on, Billberry. I’ll do anything for love, yes I will.” Sockery took off his hat. There was a slight fringe of red hair around the base of his dome of thought from ear to ear. The rest of his head was as bare as a baby’s palm. Billberry went to a drawer and took out a sheet of kid leather smeared with Some green-colored stuff. He ap- proached Sockery from behind and quickly out to shift for himself. “Kicked out, by gravy!” muttered the boy. “ And what is kicked out, as the feller says in the Reader, but set free? Darned if I know whether to be glad or sorry. My deppity dad was a cross old customer, and he allers grudged every bite I eat, and a feller couldn’t never look crosswise without ketchin‘ a lickin’.’ It‘ the grub had been as plenty as the licks, I’d ha’ been better off. Yes, it was mighty cold comfort in there, and it’ll be queer if I can’t rush me up a better place to stay at. Bet a shillin’ there’s lot’s of folks jest achin’ to git hold of a smart boy like me, if they only knowed where to find me. As they ain’t likely to know, I guess I’ll have to take pity on ’em and tell ’em. lt‘s lucky that my denpity dad waited till warm weather sot in afore he turned me loose.” “ Hello, little one, who are you running into .3” “ Hello, big ’un, who are you runnin’ over 3” The first speaker was a big policeman, known on the beat as C illins, against whom the boy had accidentally stumbled while he was absorbed in his meditations. “ “'hy, it‘s Jimmy Burril,” said Collins. “What are you doing out here, Pigeon, at this time of night !” away. “ I Won‘t forget his face, and when I come out it will be a sore time for him if I come across him.” v Jimmy Burrill was not at all dismayed by this threat when it was repeated to him. He returned to what he called his law business, and applied himself to his duties with such diligence as brought good rewards. The lawyer who employed him did not forget or neglect the promise he had made to give the boy a chance if he should be worthy. He was admitted to be worthy, and opportunities were given him of which be fully availed himself. His career was a plain and prot liess nuclluil) lay Illll HVtill. De ornery rabbit wutless uni. Doaii‘ trouble fob ter fetch um: Dess lay yo'self to k ton on But when ell see dis kin‘ cr bees, l. Mus: hole r-li liun‘ tel moon be full, An‘ wind blow from «le wes’ W’en midnight cum 'wk up er gun— Ilc springtime um d» lies. An’ be slio‘ ter lef it shut: Tck wircgrass trail ter grrivcya‘d gate, Dorin‘ lef yo‘self be ‘frnirl an hzi’nts, DU (laid folks ain‘t gwinc liu‘t. An‘ w‘en ch sun um gawn. Der ral-bit luv r‘e moonlight shine, Eb cotton'ail go bohbin' roun‘ Tcl dc sky am gray Wlil dawn. “"en see er floppy yervs cock out F‘uni oli leetle patch ob gloom. An‘ lay um on er tomb. An' wear um in eh clo‘es, Whalebbcr place he goes. Yo’ chickens silo‘ most free Wliay sweetes‘ melon be. Yo' shouts es nehber po‘, Yo‘ fu‘st man tron de doo’. 'Ten‘t no use tellin’ all d" luck Dat bounl gwine cum yo” w Des: lung um ohcr lll eli trucks, llen tek dat rabbit's lef‘ hind leg Yo‘ slm‘ foh slitten liab de luck NJ cross eye man gwinc lioodoo yO‘, Ain‘t gwihe fin‘ b‘ar trap in eli patch At shootin' craps yo' wins (191‘ gold, “"en er razzer fiyin‘ at er dance, av: Dest git yo’ graveya‘d rabbit-foot, En’ reckemcinber what I sav. —Po liq/161mm Press. -.. a... .I-...r. in... w». a 4. u. -aA-oo '