“i “A” E ,y l n , .z E. 5. 5 A, i i 3. .55,» Li" ; 1:15; ‘- b , v x~lj THE GIRL THAT JILTED ME. in JOE Jo'r, Ja. I think I never in my life Saw just one-half the style Which this oung female '1'! put on— I‘ve.trave ed many a mi e. She let her mother do the work As far as I could see, And she was hardly worth a thought— The girl that jilted me. She walked the streets with gut-on grace, That answered well enoug , She had a very comely form, But then it was all stuff. Her dresses all were very fine And faultless as could be, She broke her father—and my heart—— The girl that jilted me. Her mother did the washing and This girl did not complain; She never scolded her for it And ave her mother pain. She had supremely winning ways, And hearts she held in fee; She studied hard to be a flirt— The girl who jilted me. She wore the very tightest glove To make her hand ook small, And she affected high—heeled shoes To make her form look tall; An awful tightly pinned-back dress She wore, in style to be, And could not get much breath to talk—— This girl that jilted me. Her voice was soft, so was her head, And trained with utmost skill, And flowed in tender sentences Which you might doub' at will. The sole affection she possessed, And vefiy plain to see, Was to a ect all stylish ways—— The girl who jilted me. She only lived just for herself, And not for me alone, And thought she was the prettiest girl ln all the Temperate Zone. But then to see, ’tis very plain That very plain is she, And has no beauty of her own—— This girl that jilted me. She chewed m candies, and eschewed The love lo ei‘ed her, And yet my company she liked—— Unto the theater At last a bigger fool than I Chanced to come by, and he Straightway began to court his doom— That girl who jilted me. Woods and Waters; OR, The Rambles of the Littleton Gun Club. BY LAUNCE POYNTZ. XII. OFF TO THE PLAINS. “THE Littleton Gun Club is broken up,” said Charley Green, sadly, when we were all back in old Mart’s smithy, under the shadow of Cro— nest. The leaves had lost their brilliant dyes and were falling fast, and the woods began to look gray and somber. Only Charle and myself were left in the shop; and old art looked dull and gloomy as he smoked his pipe reflectivcly in the deepening twilight. “ Ay, ay,” said the blacksmith, present! ; “ Ca ) was the prince of the crowd, arter a1, and don't know what we’ll do without him. I’Vc hcern tell they has a fine lot of game out in his parts, but I’m gettin’ too old to leave the shop now." As he s )okc, we heard the step of a new~ comer am a cheery voice exclaimed: “\Vliat! all in the dark, Mart? Blow up the forge firc, old man, and let’s see What you look like.” “Jack Moore, by the Etarnal !”cxclaimed the old blacksmith, cordiallly. “Give us your fist, younkor. You, Sime, b ow u the fire and light the lantern, quick. By gol y, the club ain’t dead yet. Where have ye be’n all this time, Jack? Wall, I declare!” All this time the old man was shaking the hand of the new—comer, and as the forge fire shot up its red leam we could see a stout, jolly- faced young fe low whom we all knew—Jack Moore. Jack was a school-teacher by profession, which one would never have thought, to see his jolly ways and hear his tremendous laugh. He was )rincipal of a large school in the city of New ork, and said to be one of the best when on duty, but when out of school, he was as full of fun and sport as one of his own boys. Every summer he used to come up, during vacation, after the fishing and summer woodcock, but we were rather puzzled what brought him there in the winter. Jack had a tremendous laugh, and he stood there now, indulging it to the fullest, and incidentally explaining his pre- sence. “Haw! haw! haw! Mart, I’m as ha py as a clam at high water, old fellow. Off uty for ever so long.” The blacksmith looked grave. “ Ye don’t mean to say e’ve lost your lace, Jack? You hain’t be’n a— rinkin’ too muc ?” A ain Jack roared aloud. “ aw! haw! haw! No, you old granny. They’ve gone to work to pull down and alter the school, and it won’t be finished till next June. How’s that, old man? Nothing for all us poor overworked teachers to do but loaf around and draw our salaries once a month regularly. He ’9 Haw! haw! haw!” grid we could not help laughing in chorus, Jack’s merriment was so contagious. “But I say, where’s Bruce?” the teacher sud- denl exclaimed. “ I want to see him.” “ ’m afraid you’ll have to 0 all the way to Von Moltke to find him,” sai Charley Green. “ Launce and I are going there to—morrow. He’s been ordered to join his company.” “ Then, b Jove, that’s just where Pm going!” said Jack, ecidedly. “ I’m sick of target-shoot- ing and Creedmoor, and I’m going to have a hunt in earnest. Put off your trip till day after to-morrow and I’m with you, boys.” “ A rec ,” cried Charley. “But I say, Jack, what id you say about Creedmoor?” “ Oh, I’ve been there a good deal durin vaca- tion, and I can do pretty well,” answered Jack. “ Don’t you fellows know anything about rifle?” We had to own that we did not. “ Then I’m just the follow to teach you," an— nounced Jack. “ I only wish Mart could come with us. The old man's a good hand with his old rifle there.” Old Mart sighed. “ I ain’t what I used to be, and shootin’ ain’t what it used to be nuthcr. I mind when we used to shoot at nails in the trees and drive ’cm clean into the wood, but then one could see the nail. Now !———why my gun won’t kerry that fur. They tell me they hits the bull’s—eye every time, half a mile off.” “More than that, old man,” declared Moore laughing. “ A thousand yards is a hundred and twent over a half—mile, but then the bull’s—cyc’s ayar square.” Old Mart burst out laughing contomptuously. “ A yard square! Call that a bull’s—eye! Well, I hain’t seen ’cm, but I’d as licf shoot at a barn as sich a bull’s-eye. What in thunder’s the size of the target?" “Twelve feet long, six feet high,” re lied Moore. “But, look icre, you unconvertel old rcprobate, don’t you run away with the idea on could hit the target. You can just bet your ottom dollar that you couldn’t get on at five hundred yards, with your old popgun, leave alone a thousand. Shc don’t carry powder or lead enough to do it. You’re all very well with a. shot-gun, old fellow, but you’d find your level at Creedmoor mighty quick. I’ve seen whole families come in there, and every man was a dead shot—at home—but somehow, when they gist to Creedmoor, things seem different, and t is make a great many more duck’s eggs than bul ’s—eyes.” “Well, mebbe so,” confessed old Mart, in a doubtful tone. “I don’t b’lieve all your fine Creedmoor shots kin hit a silver dollar at ten 7) “ Well, I tell you what I can do for one,” said Moore, quietly. “ I don’t call myself anything of a shot. I can make 42 out of 50 most days, at 200 ards, and that’s all; but if can’t hit a silver ollar at ten rods, it’s 'funn . Ten rods is fifty-five yards, and a tradedol r measures an inch and a half across. Yes, it can be done, and there are plenty of Creedmoor people can do it, too. Look here!” He pulled out of his pocket a leather book, and showed us a small paper target with a black spot in the middle the size of a half-dollar, the spot surrounded with rings. “There’s a scaled target, Mart. They shoot at that in the galleries in the city, and there are plenty of men can plump that spot four or five times in ten shots. I can count on three such hits m self, every time. Now bring on your silver ollars.” “What kind of rifles do they use?” asked old Mart, slawly, as he examined the paper. “Just such things as you use, with a bullet like a pea and a small charge of powder, so as to have no recoil. They’re just the tools for hitting a small mark at a short distance. But when you come to two hundred yards as the shortest range used, you want more powder and lead, and then you have to shoot different—eh, old man?” - ' “ Well,” said Mart, soberly, “ I’ll allow I don’t know much about these new-fangled tools; but for all that I used to shoot some, when I was a young feller. Guess I’ll go along with the rest of e, arter all. Cap won’t turn me out when I 0 see him, and I’ve got a penny or two laid y for jest such trips as this. I’ll go, boys.” We were all very much delighted with this news. We had a sort of sus icion, founded on chance expressions of the 01 man, that he had been out on the plains at some riod of his life, and we felt glad of his adv1ce and assist— ance. A few days later found our party of four—- “the life and spirits of the Littleton Gun Club,” as Mart declared—seated in a palace-car, booked through to Von Moltke, m'a Chicago and St. Paul’s. By the advice of our old president we took but little baggage, but each man had four com— plete suits of heavy woolen underclothing, a strong shooting suit, two pair of Arctic over- shoes, and hea leggings, besides fur gloves and fur caps wit ears. Our overcoats were of the kind called “pea—jacket,” short, so as not to interfere with locomotion, and we could bid defiance to any amount of cold when we put them on. Besides these heavy clothes we only carried one light suit for indoors, and our bag- gage was completed by our firearms. Old Mart had with him his own venerable rifle of the old Kentucky kind; Jack Moore had a emington sporting; while Charle Green and myself, after Bruce’s advice, h nothing but a pair of C‘olt’s army revolvers. With all our belongings at our feet, loun ing about in the luxurious compartment of t e palace-car, we looked like the last people in the world bound on a dangerous adventure, and yet there we were, really and truly, booked for the plains at last! ( ‘0 be continued—commenced in No. 401.) John laverton’s Two loves. BY LUCILLE HOLLIS. A COLD February storm raged without La— verton Hall, but Within the black and amber- hung drawing-room was such light and warmth and magnificence as brought a transient gleam of lowering passion to Genevieve Grenellen’s face. She stood a ainst an amber satin back- round, that set 0 her brilliant dusky beauty, eisurely addressing her companion a dimpled, pink and white, yellow-haired girl of seven— teen. “ So this is the mansion of which you are to be mistress, Avis?” “ Yes,” said Avis, flushing bewitchingly. “ And does your betrothed correspond with the magnificence of his home?” “Oh, he is a grand man, Genevieve! I feel the most insi iificant little child beside him, with his splen id form and gray beard.” “It is well that he is so much your senior,” answered Miss Grenellen, significantl . “If he were a younger man it won d never 0 for you to live six months under his roof, before becom- ing his wife. I cannot understand your father’s idea in sending you here.” “You forgot, Genevieve, that now dead I have not a friend in the world Laverton trothct .” “ Oh, well, you must make the host of an ex— cccdingly trying position! I hope you will be— have in the most dignified and reserved man— ner, and exact from Mr. Laverton the same treatment, and not compromise yourself by in— dulging any of the hoydenish manners your papa was so fond as to encourage.” ‘ I am not likely to compromise myself, Miss Grenellen, nor is Mr. Laverton the man to allow me to do so,” answered Avis, wrathfully. “ I hope not, my poor child,” said Miss Gren- apa is _ ‘ ut Mr. He is my guardian as well as my be— ellcn, With a calm smile, parting the heavy cur— ' tains, to watch the snow and hail boat against the windows. Presently John Laverton walked into the room. glad cry, that recalled Miss Grenellen from contemplation of the storm; and under her watchful, cool, slightly scornful gaze the little l black-robed form took on unwonted dignity, as l she ut her two hands in her lover‘s. “ y little darling, I am so glad to welcome you to your home, and I hope you are as glad to come,” and John Laverton made a motion as if he would fold Avis in his arms. But Miss Shelly gently repulsed him. “ I am “What have you to say 7” stornly askedmelohn Laverton, At sight of him, Avis sprung up with a I lad; and so pleased to see you. This is Miss Grenellen, Mr. Laverton, m friend and com- panion for the last six mont s; I don’t like to say overne; that makes me seem such a child ” she laughed. “ nder whatever title you introduce Miss Grenellen, I am equally lad to know her, and claim her for my frien , too, for your sake,” John Laverton said, holding out his hand to the s lendid dark woman, Whose beauty fairly daz— 2 ed him, even in that moment of Joy at meet- ing his little betrothed. “Thanks, Mr. Laverton,” Genevieve said, laying her exquisite hand in his; “and I hope that we may be friends, some day, for our own sakes. With the exception of my little Avis, here I am utterly alone in the world.” “Then I am glad that Mr. Shelly decreed that you should come to us and remain his daughter’s companion. Consider that here you have friends, and here is your home, as long as you care for it enough to stay.” Miss Grenellen uttered no word—answer, but never did a woman bestow u n a man a look more alluring than the frank y-fizteful and ad- mirin one with which she met ' eyes. “ !” she said to herself, that nig it “I will never never leave Laverton Hall! ate has dealt hardly enough with me; now I will take my destiny into my own hands and shape it as I will! Avis Shelly shall not rei n mistress of this magnificent house, and Gene eve Grenellen shall!” Five of the six months that Were to elapse be- fore John Laverton—gray-bearded an fift years old—married his youthful ward, passe ; and preparations were already being quietly made for the select wedding that was to take place the latter part of August. Despite a cer- tain reserved dignity that existed between Avxs Shelly and her guardian, neither had entertain- ed an idea of not fulfilling the betrothal vows that bound them. When Mr. Laverton had complained that Avis was not to him the same uncontrolled child he had loved and whose hand he had asked of her father, Miss Grenellen had taken pains to privately inform him that he “ ought not to tease dear vis by telling her so.” “Avis cannot help feeling that her position here as a betrothed bride living in the house of her future bridegroom, is avery delicate one, and she especially desires to act, and to be treated, with great dignit until she is your wife. Besides, Avis is sue a child, she would be ayer with companions of her own age.” ohn Laverton was a county judge. whose time and mind were greatly occupied with business, and at home he longed for exhibitions of the girlish spirits with which Avis Shelly had once so charmed him. But her cted her wishes, as represented by Genevieve, and filled his house with young people, and turned often for entertainment to Miss Grenellen, who was a fine musician and brilliant conversationalist. And to Avis it seemed that her lover, the splen— did man she ardently adored and reverenced, was not as loving as she had thought him in those few weeks when she had first known him. But she laughed and romped with her guests, and told herself all would be right, and she should be quite happy when she could nestle upon John Laverton s broad breast and call him husband. But those days were further away than any one dreamed; or one mornin it was discover- ed that Avis Shelly had elope with Arthur ln- glis—a graceless nephew of Judge Laverton’s, who had been allowed, on sufferance, to spend a little time at his uncle’s. John Laverton read the note Arthur had left handed it to Miss Grenellen, and with blanched face passed to his library. There Genevieve soug‘ht him. . “ lly friend, my dear friend l” she cried, stand— ing lgpfore him, “is there nothing I can do for you “ Do!” he groaned. “ Can you give me back my faith in Avis’s innocence? Can you ive me the little wife I had hoped to care for t rough my future life? Can you give me the love that has left me desolate? There is no one to care for now—no one to care for me l” “Oh, John Laverton! if you talk so you will break my heart l” A lovely, slender form drop- ped on its knees before him, a splendid, passion- ate face, with dusky, tender eyes glowin through unshed tears, looked up to his. “ cannot give you back a love that was never yours! Avis never loved you l—but there is one who must care for you until death! who would give her life to do you even a friendly act l” lVith a storm of sobs, Genevieve put her beautiful hands up to her face, and her head sunk lower and lower, until it rested upon the arm of John Laverton’s chair. The judge’s arms stole about the trembling form, and when Genevieve had lifted her face to his breast, and pressed her red quivering lips to his kindly hands, she know that she had won the stake for which she had playcd. John Laverton was too honorable a man not to soon give his protection as a hUsband to tho ‘ ! woman who had confessed her love for him, and whose caresses he had accepted in his hour of wcakncss. And Genevieve, in her graceful, art- ful fashion, soon usurpcd the dance in his heart that Avis had held; for Mr. averton was not one who could forgive any deceit, and Avis had effectually disenchanted him. For a year Genevieve Laverton was as happy as such mcrc flesh-and—blood, heartless women can be; she gloried in her magnificent home, ‘ and, in her way, she loved the man whose name she bore—and whose life she warmed with a passionate show of devotion that kept him linded to her faults; and then the blackness of her destiny gathered over her, suddenly and swiftly, one golden October day. She sat in the great librar and doors thrown open to a( mit the glory of the autumn morning, and her husband entered the room, with an open letter in his hand. “ Genevievel”he called, so hoarscly and stem- , 1y that she glanced up in terror, to see if this , with windows the International Association. could be her husband—John Laverton. When she saw his white, rigid face, and the open let- ter she forced herself into calmness. into a chair before the little desk w ere he had sto ped. _ e put the (pa es before her and stood With hands claspe Lehind him w ile she read it, hoping—oh! how beyond all his anger and his a ony arose that hope—that she could explain afi! But as, without the slightest change of ex- pression, Genevieve read t e Ifatal letter, her usband knew that she was gmlty. “GUARDIAN,” the letter read, “ there was a time when every thought of my life centered about the blessed knowledge that I was to be your wife; and I told Arthur In lis so when he said he loved me. We agreed to 0 friends, and in token of friendshi and forgiveness I promised to take allt- tle moon lght drive with him. He carried me miles from Laverton Hall, and when I implored to be taken home he told me what Genevieve had in- sinuated several times to me—that you had con- fessed yourself disgusted with your child betroth« ed and loved Miss renellen: and then he ave me a note from Genevieve, saying that you ha asked her to be your wife. She asked me to tell her whether she should acceptlyou, and make you and herself hap y, or whether would still try to mar- ry a man w o despised me. When I knew that your home was no longer mine—that 1 had no friends—— and Arthur begged me to marry him, and said that he had left you a note saying we had eloped, I was too helpless, too broken-hearted, not to abide by his will. We were married, and three hours after, on our wedding-journey, we were both injured in a railroad accident and carried to akind farmer’s, where Arthur died. In a few weeks I recovered and saw your marriage notice in the first paper l was allowed to read. I told my friends my story, and that at this time, this year, should be 9! htcen and rich, and could repay them if they would at me stay with them. And ere I have been since; walt- lng until by my father’s will I could become my own mistress. Now you know my story. Will you piti- full make all business arrangements without com- pell ng me to see you? Avrs SHELLY." “What have you to say?” stornly asked John Laverton, when his wife had read to the signa- ure. - “That I worshiped you, John—” she cried, with her allurin , passionate gaze, trying to throw her arms a out him. - But he put her away from him. “ And you deceived Avis?” “She was a child! that was her love com- pared with minc? Oh, John! you surcl * mean to forgive me,” she implored, as he stil scorn— fully repulsed hcr. “ Never! From this moment you cease to be my wife. Go where you like, so that you leave this house and I never see your false face again, and I will support you—that is all." He would hear no word after that, nor see her, but gave her maid orders to pack Laverton’s trunks; and before night Genevieve was sent from the home she had treacherously won. But as she was being driven away, she caught a glimpse of her husband, and sprung to her feet, commanding the driver to stop. ‘he horses were only made to fly the faster, and ; Mrs. I over-ton tried to spring out, and fell. _ ‘y ll|ll!§;ll\\\\\\\\o l Mn: 1!. ,4 Hill“ 3‘“ ‘ ,VVfl/‘f Eonollllllmmmlllllllii . , y l‘ l‘ l. 1—-- ‘4 “I‘lllHI- / \ ' /' n15 :lii‘" h l‘? ’ fill; When she was taken up, the handsome woman was a cureless cripple. She was carried to a cottage on the Laverton estate, and surrounded by every comfort through the years she lived— and best of all, John Laverton went and kissed her face when she lay dying. Then he sought Avis Shelly, and gathered her in his arms, and bowed his gra head upon her sunny hair, and whis ered, so tly: “ heer up, little Avis; we shall soon pass from this dark shadow into the sunshine of a united future, when a whole heaven of hap i- ness can not mean as much to me of joy, as t 9 one word wife!” Sports and Pastimes. BY HENRY CHADWICK. THE BASE-BALL PROSPECTS FOR 1878. THOUGH field operations closed last November, there is still plenty of interesting work in pro- gress in connection with base-ball organizations, especially in regard to preparations for the sea— son of 1878. In one respect the professional baseball arena is like the political arena. No sooner does one club win the season’s championship, than others prepare to win the pennant of the ensuing ycar, 'ust as as irants for Presidential honors, after a residential election, immediate] ' begin to lay out their lans for the ncxt gram campaign. Some 0' the lcssons taught by last year’s ox- pcricnce ap ‘ to have made a good impression on the lcgis ators of the profcssional fraternity, as shown by the prompt action of tho Imaguo in indorsing the course pursued by the Louis— ville club in cxpelling knavish players, as also by their cil'orts to reduce the number of League club contests in 1878. In this lattcr rcspcct, however, it would appear that the Leaguc has While it was ad— visable that thc number of regular League club ‘ contests should be reduccd, it certainly was not a wise policy to throw such obstacles in the way i of games to be played between Lcaguo and non— Lcaguc nincs as they have, and this they will find to their )ecuniary cost before the first , month of the League championship season of l 1878 cx )ircs. I Despite. the plain fact, too, that it was to the , interest of the League, so to legislate at their recent convention as to extend their club mem- ’ bcrship, the desire to retain a monopol of legis- lative power in the hands of a minority of the professional clubs led to the insertion of a clause in their Lea e Alliance rules which is aimed at The prohibition ! : rather ovcrdonc the matter. ! of membership by any League or League Alli< : ance club in any other Association, was short sighted. This and the enactments requiring $100 guarantee and $50 forfeit from non-League clubs, when playing with League nines, and the ‘I What is it?” she asked, sinkin gracefully. other rules prohibiting exhibition contests, and non-League clubs from playing games on League grounds, cannot but have a damaging effect on the pecunia receipts of League club nines during 1878, sides which it must have a ten- denc y to exclude non-League clubs from joining either the League or League Alliance organiza- tions. All this presents to the friends of the International Association a very favorable op- portunity to reorganize that assoeiation on a permanent basis. ' There is no questioning the fact that in every respect it is of vital importance to every profes- sional or anization to belong to some one or other of t 0 existing Professional Associations. If a club therefore is forced by its pecuniary in- terests to refuse to join the League or the League Alliance it becomesa necessity to enter the only other existing association—the International. The fact is, there should be but one regular professional association, and to that every re- utable club of professional layers should be- ong. This mono ly of legislative powers by a minority of pro essmnal c ubs no longer con- serves the intcrests of the professional class, as is shown by the decided ex ression of dissatis- faction at some pertions o the work done b the recent League convention. While it is ad: visable to have the intelli ent minority revise the playing code of rules 0 the ame, it is quite the reverse in the case of leg slating for the pecuniary interests of the professional class. 11 commenting on the action of the League in regard to the rules adopted governing the inter- course of League clubs with nou«League clubs, the Boston Herald says: “ By this legislation the game will he one thing in League cities, and uito another in the homes of non-League clubs. lea rue cities will be privilo ed to witness thirty championship games and notlilng more. In other words, all games in League cities hereafter will be between League clubs. Iu non- League cities there will be games between non- League clubs, the same as last year, except that the matches will be rather of a local than interna- tional character. Clubs will do less traveling than they (lid in 1877 especially as they cannot visit League cities. The games played at home with League clubs will be fewer than in 1877, because of the exacting terms of the League. Clubs will not feel able to guarantee $100 per game, if played, and $50 if prevented by rain unless they see a pros )eUt of apaying audience. Naturally, then there wi lbe fewer games between League and non-League clubs than in 1877. Perhaps non-League clubs will de- cline to entertain League clubs at all, in which event there will be some remarkably lean purses moving about the country in 1878. But whatever may be the result in regard to the professional season of 1878, thereis no doubt of the fact that the amateur season will be far more brilliant in 1878 thanin 1877. The playing rules are the same with some slight exceptions, and there is every chance that more amateur teams will enter the arena in 1878 than ever be- fore. The facilities for playing the game were doubled in 1877, and already are projects for new ball rounds being started for he ensuing season. use-ball is now permanently estab- lished as the national field game of the masses of the country. The furore for the game has been superseded by a permanent popularity which nothing can affect. It is true that the knavery of a dozen professionals in 1877 ma- terially affected the interests of that class; but it did not touch the popularity of amateur playing. It should be borne in mind that where there is one professional club in the country there are twenty amateur organiza— tions. THE MooEL WEEKLY! “ The Respectable Popular Paper MAND Home Weekly of New York.” The New York Saturday Journal l*‘()]l 1871-3 2 Without a rival as a Storlin r Journal of pure reading for Family, Fireside, nn llome Without a, poor in stories of Anm imn Adventure, Character. L fe, and Incident. line no equal in its tales of Love, Heart Life, So- ciety, etc. Leads all in its interest of Dramatic Serial, Powor of harratve. and Strength of Plot. While, in the Romance of our Out-of—Door Life, on the Border, in the Hunting Grounds, in the Mines, in the Woods, on the Plains, on the Lakes and aiyi‘ig.l¥0 OTHER WEEKLY CAN COMPARE WTake Notice of Its Specialties..a Washin on Whitehorn, Joe Jot, Jr., and Beat Time—in it, Humor, and Droller : The Parson‘s Dau hter, Eve Lawless, and Garry Gaines—in Piquant ssay and Pungent Wisdom: Launce Po ntz, C. Dunning Clark, and Major Max Martino—in eligr. tful and exciting stories of Field, Flood, and Wilderness: Albert W. Aiken the Actor-Author unsur- passed delineator of Ci y, Street, and Social Life, and unequaled in intensely exciting stories of Life in the New West, the Gold Hills, and Mining Settle- ments: Mrs. Mar Reed Crow'ell, author of “ Sow- ing the lVind, ‘Two Girls’ Lives,“ “Whose Wife Was She? ’ etc., etc.—of p0 ularity second to no novel- ist of the time; pro-eminent in interest of Plot and power of Passion-development: 0ll Coomes, the Border-ho excellence! “Vagabond Joe," “ awk- ye Han ," "Death Notch.’ “Dakota Dan,“ “Sure-S ot Seth.“ “Idaho Tom," “Red Rob," etc. are his. Enough sai ! Young boys, and old alike, are his delighted readers: Corinne Cushman, whose “Black Eyes and Blue," “Brave Barbara," “War of Hearts“ etc., etc., won for her the proud position of being the most enchanting writer of Love Stories in America: Stor -teller par Jon. E. Badger, Jr., whose thrilling, strong, and vividly-real tales of the Wild West, have given him celebrity in the Old World and the New. With Indian, Prairie, and Mountain Life, be literally ls “ at home "—knowing this life thoroughly from per- sonal experience: Charles Morris. the Favorite, whose “ Boss Boy,‘ “Gami Detective," “Nobody‘s Boy,“ etc , etc., are conceded to be the best stories of City Boy and Street Life ever published by any weekly. And a splendid corps, embracing Capt. Fred Whittaker, Col. Delle Sara, Mrs. Jennie Davis Bur- ton, Lucille Hollis, Mattie D er Britta, T. C. Har- baugh. Edward L. Wheeler, ett. Winwood Mary Grace Halpinc, Capt. Chas. Howard, Ilap Hazard, Ilenrl Montcalm, Eben E. Rexford, RogerStarhuck, and Col. Prentiss lngrahnm, all of whom give the SA'l‘l nnAv JOURNAL their Very best work in Serials. Sketches, Romances, Tales of Heart, Home, and Society, Narratives of Adventure and Sport, Wild Life in the Far West, Strange Episodes on Sea and Shore —ln all of which fields of popular literature the SATURDAY JOURNAL ls Ever on the Lead, making it for Home, Fireside, Shop, and General Reader a l‘rizcd Weekly Visitant. In its Department Specialties of “Answers to Correspondents," “Topics of the Times,‘ “ Work and Play," “ Sports and Pastimes,“ etc., etc., it is especial y strong, full, and useful. All in all, it is the Paper for the Peoplewtle goalily most fit of all for American Homes and am s K??? The SATURDAY JOURNAL is published weekly at the following r .tes: For four months. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. $1.00 For one ear. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.00 Two cop es for one year . . . . . . . . . . .. 5.00 Singe copies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. fists. W Supplied by all newsdealers. BEADLE 8: 'ADAMS, Publishers, 98 WILLIAI Sr, New York. 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