_. .._- v.0” ._._..

 

 

 

 

 

  

BILLIARDS.

BY JOE JO’l‘, JI.

 

 

Ah. wife, I do remember well
The party there at Hilliard‘s,
When in a freak you challenged me
To play a game of billiards.

You chose me for your partner then
All in a game of pleasure,

Although your partner all through life
I longed to be, in leisure.

Your smile was sweet, your voice was dear;
How I enjoyed your prattlel

We were opponents on that eve,
Though in a friendly battle.

I knew the game full well. but still
I la ed to make a miss, dear,
Anrfwi‘ien by accident I hit
I played just for a kiss, dear.

And as a player you were fair—e
As you were fair in feature,

And certainly I thought you were
A lovely u-inning creature.

I let you get ahead, although
Your string 1 longed to catch, 10ve.
And all the guests, applauding us,
Said ’twas a perfect match, ove.

Your feet around the table went
So li htly and so nimbly;

And w en you made a count, my dear,
What shouts ran through th‘ assembly!

You had good luck in counting, dear,
And played as if you'd «lie game.
And in my secret soul I wished
That it would be a tie game.

What lucky caroms did you make!
[low the ivory did caper!

You caromed on the caramcls
Of which I had a paper.

What compliments did either pass
With mingled mirth and laughter!

But at the last I won the game——
Your hand, too, shortly after.

We married, dear, soon after this.
As soon as I was able;

But now you’re cross as you can be
Around a difierent table.

I thou ht at first that it would be
The appiest of matches,

But now, alas, I find that you
Are given to making scratches.

I see you’re good at making hits
Whenever you so will it,

And then you carom on m head
Even with a blackened s ' et.

The broom has got to be your cue
Which you don‘t stop to chalk, dear:
And we‘re opponents now at last
Of whom the neighbors talk, dear.

You help me to run out. I'll hate
That game at Hilliard‘s long,
For I have got to bear and tor
To pay your bill—yards long.

 

 

Trap and Gun;

|

Sport in the Wild Fur Land.

BY T. C. HARBAUGH,

AUTHOR or “ SNOW—SHOE TOM,” “coupon-
KILLERS,” “ SADDLE AND LARIAT.”

 

XI.—LAST WORK IVI'rH THE Tnxrs.

WITH the return of spring to the forests of the
eat Fur Land the wolf comes back to his old
aunts, and the night rings with his long howls.
He is the noisiest inhabitant of the domain, and
for weeks nearly every other animal files at his
approach. Spring always finds him hungry,
and the Indian going to the trading-post with
his wife and pappoose is sure to quicken his steps
at the first howl of his old enemy-

Our trappers’ sleep was rudely broken up by
the unceasing cries of the different packs that
followed them as if attracted by the smell of the
new-made pemmican or the odor of the furs.
They were nearing York Factory, the most
noted fort or trading-post belonging to the Hud-
son Bay Fur Company. Several days had passed
since the almost disastrous adventure with the
Polar bear on the ice cake, and nothin excit-
ing was expected between the bay and t e Fac-
tory.

The boys were eager to get rid Of a number
of the wolves that howled incessantly through
the night. They might be members of that
gang which once charged the dog-train, as we
have already narrated. In any case the young
Nimrods longed for an opportunity to ur sev-
eral good volleys into their ranks; ut how
could this be accomplished? The wolf is the
wariest animal of the great north woods; he is
ever on the alert. and long before the cautious
hunter has approached within gunshot he is
ready to take to his heels and shoot away like
an arrow.

At last Tom roposed to unpack a few of the
wolf-traps an set them in a valle through
which the party had lately passed. he propo-
sition was made to Ned and Frank alone, and
was ea erly assented to. The night camp made
the val ey easy of access and at the first op r-
tunity that resented itself after sundown, 'Fgm
took six wo f—traps from the pack. With these
the three boys set out for the place._ On the
way their guns managed to brin down a deer
which was carried along, and w en the valley
was reached the traps were unslung and set.

The setting of a wolf—trap is no child’s task.
It is made of steel and boasts of a strong spring
and a great spread Of jaws. To set it one must
throw his whole weight upon the s ring, when
the jaws can be forced apart, and t e “catch ”
adjusted. Strong as it is, the wolf often escapes
from it, sometimes whole, but generally with
but three legs, on which to limp through life.
Many an unfortunate half-breed trapper has
been caught by the jaws of his own trap on a
cold night, only to be devoured in that con-
dition by the very brutcs whose skins he sought.
But fortunately such terrible scenes are of rare
occurrence, and then only on the bitterest
nights when the breath freezes on the barrens.

Our trappers set their wolf‘traps without
being caught themselves. They were carefully
covered with leaves of which the valley fur—

. !
traps had maimed a Blackfoot their chances for ,
reaching the Factory with a full complement of

skins, or even with their lives, were exceed-
ingly diminished. The Blackfoot of the north
is never slow to vengeance; touch the meanest
wearer of the name, and you insult the whole
nation.

Again that piercing cry came to the camp,
but its echoes were speedily drowned by the
yells of the wolves.

“Stay!” Polar said to Tologan. “We go
and see who get caught,” and a moment later
the guide and the boys were bounding toward
the valley. .

The scene of the disaster was hardly a mile
from the camp. It was almost treeless, but the
daik forests of the cold land hemmed it in. A
mOOn that rode the heavens would throw her
weird light into the scene, all hoped. and enable
them to see the trap’s victim, and his toes.
Never did four figures flit faster through the
woods of Nelson river than Polar and his com-
panions; they were eager to reach the spot, yet
dreaded the sight which they expected to see.

As they neared the valley the voice of an [n- v

dian was plainly heard. He had been caught
in the traps. and now the wolves. with which
the valley swarmed, were pressing him on every
side. His. mad liidian oaths and shouts of defi-
ance were borne to the trap; crs’ ears.

“ Cree!” Polar said, relieved. “ We safe,
now. S'u'ré bleu.’ if trap had caught Black—
foot, we never see Fort York, nzebbe!"

The (‘rec nation is not powerful; it can avenge
no one; hence Polar’s rejoicing.

A detour was made to windward. and the
trappers soon looked down into the valley.

What a sight met their gaze!

The traps had caught the strangest kind of
game. It was neither wolf or bear. but a full
grown Indian, who stood erect with uplifted
rifle, and blazing eye. The moon threw her
light upon the Scene: it revealed the Iiidian’s
situation. He had evidently stepped into one of
the traps 'hile crossing the valley, and then
into anot r while strivnig to free himself from
the first. he tremendous jaws seemed inibed—
ded in his esh, and he could hardly stand: but
he held his rifle aloft, or brandished it in the
the faces of the foremost of the eager pack that
surrounded him.

“ Come on and meet the rifle of the Cree!” he
cried. “The Cree hunter is not afraid todie.
He has faced the dogs Of the woods before; he
has caught them in his tra , and torn their
skins Off by the camp-fire! ome on, and taste
the meat of the Cree—if you can!”

The invitation was almost immediately ac-
cepted. With one accord the pack rushed for-
ward, but the rifle swept the space before him,
and several were stretched lifeless on the
ground.

“ Let us save him!” Frank exclaimed. “ I
am sure that we can end our hunt by no better
act. Can’t you see that he is weak—that he
cannot beat the wolves back many times? He
is an Indian, it is true—a member Of the tribe
hated and despised by the white people in these
parts; but he is a human being.”

“Cree not as good as wolf!” said Polar, who
overheard Frank, thus plainly confirming the
youth’s assertion. “ Wolf soon make one less
for white hunters to feed next winter.”

Frank gave the old guide a look of reproof,
and turned to his companions.

“ What do you say, Tom?——Ned?” he asked.

“Save him if we can!” was the quick re
sponse.

“Then we must do it quickly. They are at
him again.”

This was true: the wolves were closing upon
the unfortunate Indian; but he did not falter.
The assertion Of the i'oz/ageirrs that a Cree will
cover himself with his blanket at the sight of a
wolf and cowardly yield up his life, was never
more surely refuted than now. A blanket hung
from the Cree’s shoulders, but he had thrown it
free of his arms, so that he might use his rifle
with effect.

The bloodthirsty pack had licked the blood of
their comrades whose brains had been beaten
out by the butt of the rifle. They were furious.
As they dashed forward the Cree leaned toward
them, and delivered a blow that stretched two
dead at his feet. But the assault had been made
from every side. While he beat the wolves
down in front, he was attacked from behind;
the forest dogs sprung at him; his limbs were
seized, and, dropping his rifle, he caught at
their throats with a cry that seemed to shake
the stars.

“Quick! messieurs! Cree too brave to die!”
shouted Polar: but his words were not needed.

The rifles of the boys were already at their
shoulders, and their leaden contents went hurt-
ling into the wolfish ranks. Howls of rage and

sin followed the volley, and before the smoke
ifted, a figure sprung forward. ‘Vltll a wild
wood yell Polar bounded among the wolves fol-
lowed as rapidly as possible by our young hunt-

ers.

Rifle-shots always spread consternation
among a pack: but this time the lupine hordes
did not want to relinquish their victim. Still
he fought desperately. Polar never stop un-
til he was in their very midst with his rench
oaths and heavy rifle. They fell back bleeding
and battered from his stalwart blows, and an-
other volley sent them flying in eve direction.
The victim of the traps was speed' y released,
and when he looked at iis rescuers he held out
his hands with a cry of joy.

“ Same boys that saved
Blackfeet!” he said.

Ned, Frank and Tom pressed closer with won-
der in their eyc-s. The Indian was their old
friend Arnythynk whose manner of separation
from them a few days before has been already
told. He had outstripped the Blackfeet, and
now they had saved his life a second time.
That nig it while the Cree’s wounds were being
dressed in camp he told the story of his race for
life, and be resolved to journey to York Fac-

Arnythynk from

tory with the company even though he expected 2
But there the Hud- -

to meet his Chasers there.
son Bay Fur Company would protect him.

 

His Fortune.

 

 

 

come, and would not be received—that, ab0ve
all others, Gardiner Garrison, his nephew, would
be least tolerated. .

Mr. Garrison dashed the letter on the floor in
a gesture of impatient dismay. _

"The old idiot! He will waste his millions
on a property that no one besides himself and
his servants are ever to see. He refuses to see
me—his only living relative—and I had dared
build on the hope of either being invited to
make my home there, or, at least, having an in-
come settled on me when he came back, em-
barrassed with riches, f1 om the East Indies!
The old fool!”

He read the letter over again, but there was
no overlooked word or suggestion to change the
ultimatum expressed.

“ All the same—I’ll go to Somerset Place and
try my luck, welcome or not welcome. I will

et into his royal resence by fair means or
on], and—if 1 don’t ave some sort of luck it’s
because I am not in such desperate earnest as I
know I am.”

And then, having consulted a time-table, and
selected his train, and lighted a fresh cigar, and
put the blower on the rate, and turned the gas
a trifle higher Mr. Garrison settled down to
read Georgie M’ay’s sweet lettt r—vei'y much as
a duke might accept the homage of a loyal sub-
’ect.

J “How she could queen it at Somerset,” he
thought, and folded up the letter.

And the next evening, at the same hour,
found him announced to old Gersham Garrison,
sitting in almost royal state in his magnificent
library—with a snowy white bear robe under
his velvet-slippcred, gouty old feet and a plush
lined blanket Of brilliant hues lying warmly
around his stooping shoulders, and an absurd
tasseled cap on his gray bead.

“ And what do you want with me, young fel-
low?" he demanded, as Gardiner bowed pro-
foundly.

“Simply to inquire after your health, uncle
Gersham, and to express—”

The cruel little green y-gray eyes snappz d.

"Simply to inquire after your grandmother!
None of that, now—I know you, like a book.
You’ve come to find out, between spying and
insinuating, what I am going to do with my
money.”

“Uncle Gersham—” he began, but an impa-
tient look from the gleaming, greeny—gray eyes
stop (1 him.

‘ 8% course I’ve got a fortune to leave to—
somebody, and a royal one, too. “’hy, boy, in
that brass-bound box there is the most precious
legacy imaginable—worth well, it’s none of

our business. Somebody ’ll get it. You won’t.
l’t’ll go to those who have paid more attention
to me than you have done, by your letters.
It‘ll go to somebody who hasn’t set himself up,
in the very face of my known disapproval of
being engaged and getting married and all that
sort of fal-lal. You knew just what I think of
women, and yet you went and asked one of ’em
to have you—more fool she to say yes.”

Gardiner Garrison’s handsome eyes shone-—
surely, he could see the drift of all this that the
wicked, selfish Old man had said.

"I did not know you entertained an opinion
averse to women, my dear uncle Gers am. To
tell the truth, I don’t very particularly care for
them myself, and I am sure I could shape my
views to yours if you so wish.”

“ You could, eh! No, you couldn’t! You
wouldn’t ive up a pretty girl for all that box
there he] s. I know you, young man. Clear
out now I’ve seen you long enough."

And Mr. Gardiner Garrison went away, half-
dejected, halfelated.

“ One thing is certain——if I want to get into
favor with the old brute, I must break my en—
ga ement with Georgie. Then I stand at least
a cliance, and that chance I must improve, or—"

And with his lips compressed he valked out
of the m giiiflcent grounds of Somerset Place,
straight over to the big, old-fashioned farm-
house, a half-mile away, where Georgie May
saw him coming, and, in a happy little impulse,
threw her scarlet shawl over her head and ran
to meet him.

A beautiful little creature, slender and sym—
metrical, with vivid pink roses on her cheek,
and a rapturous sparkle in her big, velvety dark
eyes as she flew up to him.

“Oh, Gardiner! lam so delighted and sur-
prised! I suppose you imagined from my letter
1 was just—dying—to see you?”

She linked her arm familiarly through his,
laughing up in his face.

“I am afraid when you know what I came»

for you won’t be so deli hted, Georgie," he
said, for he had made up his mind to lose no
time in setting all the machinery in motion that
should eventually work to his interest.

She instantly lost all her happy 'oyousness.

“ No? I’Vhat did you come for, ‘ardiner ?”

His face flushed ever so slightly and an un-
mistakable look of embarrassment and mortifi-
cation came into his manner that revealed the
whole pitiful truth to the girl who loved him.

A sudden anguished look, strangely mixed
with indignation and scorn, flashed into her
dark eyes, and she withdrew her arm from
his.

“ I think I know. Your rich relative has
come to this vicinity, and from henceforth the
farmer’s daughter is not aristocratic enough
for you. Is that it? You wish our engagement
broken?”

Even in the midst ‘of her own supreme dis-
may, she almost pitied him for the look of mor-
tified embarrassment on his face.

“ Well—yes, and—no, Georgie. You are
wrong in saying—”

“ I am not wrong. It will be decidedly bet-
ter for both of us that the enga ement is bro-
ken, here, now and thus.” An she took the
ring off her finger and laid it in his hand. “ I
am thankful I have learned your true value, in
time. Further words are useless. Good-after-
noon, good-by, Mr. Garrison.”

And she bowed haughtily, and walked de-
liberately back to the house, to rush off by her-
self to her own room and cry and sob and suffer
—not because of Gardiner Garrison, but over
her fallen idol.

While that gentleman went back to the sta-
tion, with a curious feeling of relief that it was
so well over, a sense of regret at losing her, and
a very decided persuasion that, after all, it had

Georgie turned around. her eyes glittering,
her face all one bright flush.

“ I’m glad of it—just as glad as I can be! He
deserves all, and more, than he has suffered. It
serves him ri ht.”

And the ol folks said never a word, although
they exchanged a meaning glance.

 

The next week a letter came to the farin—
four pages of apology, and tenderest profesruons
of shame and penitence, and entreaties to 
forgiven and restored, and all the sort of senti-
ment of which Mr. Gardiner Garrison was ca-

able.

p And—with just one reading, Georgie thrust
it back in its envelope, and penciled on it this:

“I wonder at our impudence in presuming to
address such worrls to one who is an entire stranger
to you."

And inclosed it, and mailed it. .

And when Mr. Garrison recaived it, he knew

how wretched a mess he had made of his life.

 

I LOVE THE NIGHT.

BY MA'I'I‘IE DYER BRHTS.

I love the, ni htl The summer night
When all t ie world is still,

And silver streams of clear moonlight
Flow soft o‘er vale and hill.

\Vlien‘flowers droop their fragrant heads,
To breathe their evening pra 'er,

And every bud sweet incense s eds
Upon the dewy air.

Oh, the summer night, with its moonbenms

bright,

Has a beauty rich and rare!

1 love the night! The winter iii 'ht.
\Vhen snow lies on the groun .

And twinkling stars their sparkling light
Shed silently around.

When sleigh—bells ring, and voices sing.
As the prancin horses go

O‘er the tleec w ite which lies so bright
On the fros y earth below.

Oh, the winter night, with its soft starlight,
Is the merriest one I know!

 

 

 

How He Forced the“ Yes.”

BY ANNA BEL DWIGHT.

 

 

“ MAGGIE, you have often heard me speak of
Schuyler Fairmount—son of my dearest friend.
1 have received a letter from him announcing
his desire of spending the Christmas holidays
with us. This is very pleasant news, and not
altogether unexpected. If our two families had
not been so Widely separated, you would, I
trust, have formed, long ere this, a lasting at-
tachment for the young man who is in every
way worthy of the sincere regard of a true wo-
man.

Little Maggie Dorman stared at her father in
astonishment. Ordinarily he was a man of
very few words, and this len thy and rather re-
markable speech uile overw elmed his daugh-
ter, who could on y gasp:

u “th’ 1’8pa17)

Mrs. orinan smiled over her cofi'ee—cup.

" Your father’s words sound strangely to on,
Maggie, because we have kept secret that w ich
it is now time for you to know. We have al-
ways hopcd that when you were of proper c
you and Schuyler Fairmount would marry. Ala
fact, there was a sort Of compact between the
families that this should be so. Schuyler, whom
you have never seen, is eight years your senior,

eing now twenty-five; and as he has been cog-
nizant of his father’s wish for several ears, we
may safely conclude that the object 0 this ro~

posed visit is to make the acquaintance 0 his

future wife."

Had Mr. and Mrs. Dorman been wiser they
never would have made known tO their small
and very willful daughter what their hopes
were in regard to this young man and herself.

A rebellious color was rushing into the irl’s
round cheek, and her red lips took on a lialf-
scornful curl.

“Papa! You surely won't marry me to a
man I do not love?”

“ Pooh, chicken! that do you know about
love? I met Schuyler Fairmount last ear
when I was in Wisconsin, and a finer-loo ing
young fellow a girl could not wish for a. lover.”

“ But I am sure I never shall like him; and if
he was half a man he would never accept so
tamely a girl who was picked out for him!”

“ Don’t work yourself into a flurry, Maggie,”
laughed her mother; " perhaps he will not have
you after all.”

“ I won’t have him ; and I’m sure he must be
a—a——a——regular oose!" sputtered Maggie,
struggling frantical y for some fitting word by
which to express her contempt for Schuyler
Fairmount. And then she marched out of the
breakfast-room and up to her chamber in a
ver * desperate frame of mind.

T me was her bed waiting to be made, and
Maggie went at it with right good will—shak-
ing and beating the mattress and bolsters much
as if they were the absent Schuyler Fairmount
himself.

Suddenly a new and amusing idea flashed
through her curly head, and she sat down to
consider it, breaking now and then into little
ripples of merriment, while her look of anger
gave way to one of wicked mischievousnem
which it most he confessed sat very bewitch-
ingl upon those piquant features.

A ter that whenever Mr. Fairmount was
mentioned, M’aggie listened demurely, dropping
her long lashes in order to hide the laugh in her
great brown eyes.

He came earlier than they had expected. It
was nearly three weeks before Christmas, when
Maggie, returning one day from the village,
discovered a generoussized trunk in the front
hall marked with the initials “ S. F. "'

“ Ah l” she ejaculated, softly; “ so the ele-
phant has arrived—and means to stay, too, to
judge from the size of his trunk!" And smother-
ing a laugh behind one slim hand, Ma gie re-
moved her wraps and went into the par or.

Here she was introduced to a kingly-looking
young fellow. with smilin hazel eyes, and dark

air cut closely to his han some head. A brown

 

is perfectly splendid—but I never will own up
to it now, after all I have said and done!”

And then the girls sauntered out of the room,
leaving Schuyler feeling guilty and conscience-
smittcn at the thought that he had been playing
eavesdropper. _

After that he hogan to study Maggie anew.
By decrees she was falling back into her own
charming. natural self, and Schuyler began to
realize with a feeling of relief that she had been
act-in a rt. _

Whgereg: before, he lied strenuously avoxdod
all mention of the Object of his vi8it, he now
made frequent endeavors to breach the subject;
but Maggie gave him no shadow of an oppor-
tunity. _

By Christmas week he was very much in
earnest; and being no faint-hearted lover, he
was determined not to giVe up, but to persevere
until he had won for his very own the small
bundle of fun, and willfulness, and witchery.‘

It was the afternoon of the day before Christ-
mas.

Making inquiries concerning the whereabouts
of Maggie, Schuyler was informed that she had
gone to visit a poor family across the fields to
carry them a Christmas basket.

Fifteen minutes later, following Mrs. Dor-
man’s directions, Schuyler stepped into the
entry of a miserable little hovel which stood by
itself away from the main road. He tapped at
an inner door, and, in response to the call
“ come in!” entered.

On a bed in one corner lay a woman whose
pale, thin face was actuall ' radiant. as her gaze
clung udoringly upon the gum of Maggie Dor-
man, who with lit—1' scarlet hood pushed back
from her ciuslering curls, was sitting before the
hearth with a child of twelve months in her
arms which she was feeding with a cup of
bread and milk. Two olderchildren, a boy and a
girl, were kneeling beside her. and to these Mag-
gie was talking in a bright, sweet, hopeful way,
which brought a sudden admiring gleam into
Schuyler‘s eyes.

His appearance broke up the tableau. Mag-
gie hurried the last spoonful of milk down the
baby’s throat. nearly choking it in the opera-
tion; and promising to send the poor woman
some wood before night, she pulled on her hood
and her mittens, and hurried Mr. Schuyler
Fairmount very unceremoniously from the
house; not, liOWever, before he had slipped a
crisp bank-note into the sick woman a thin
hand—a proceeding which did not escape Mag-
gie’s keen eyes although she kept her own coun-
sel concerning it.

On the way home she chattered, and laughed
and sung, that her companion might have no
opportunity of putting into words the thoughts
which spoke plainly enough in his dark eyes.

After tea, watching Miss Maggie, he aw her
go down the road with her tiny skates over one
arm. A short search in his trunk brought to
lights handsome pair of rockers, with which
he started after the young lady.

Half a mile down the road was a large
in splendid condition for skating. Here Sc u -
ler found Maggie, quite alcne, darting swift y
over the smooth, glittering surface. It was the
work of a moment to buckle on his own sham,
and then he was upon his feet and after her.

Maggie saw him, and, with a little, defiant
laugh, she 5 down the pond—on, on. until,
gliding swi tly over a treacherous spot, she felt
the ice bend beneath her weight.

She turned to warn her pursuer—too late!
With his handsome face flushed, and laughing
as he gained upon her, he came on.

There was a crash: a half-repressed scream
from Maggie: and Schuyler Fairmount was in!

A few rods distant an Old rail fence ran acroa
the ice, where the pond had shallowed to a sort
of marsh. In a few minutes, which seemed like
hours to Maggie, she had reached the rails, and
had beaten and shaken them with her little cold,
desperate hands, until she had looscned one.
And now, while Schuyler kept himself afloat,
and coolly broke the thin ice about him, Mag-
gie pushed the rail across the O ning.

She was very white, and t e clear, brown
eyes held an expression of horror and anguish.

Schuyler smiled at her as he laid one arm over
the rail

“ Maggie ” he said, “ I will not do a thing to
save myse f until you promise to marry me;
Will you?”

Two small, red—mittened hands went toward
him in a gesture, which, if not very aceful,
was eloquent; and the next moment huyler
was beside her, and Maggie had yielded to the
inevitable!

For a week following Schuyler was victim to
a severe cold; but Ma 'e proved an extraordi-
nary nurse, and whengSlchuyler Fairmouut re~
turned to his Western home, there glitter-ed
upon the en agement finger of Ms gie’s left
hand a ring t she had never worn fore!

 

 

Ripples.

Tuxnrsou has 'ust printed a poem called
“ The Northern bbler,” and it is not at
all unlikely that in the course of ten years
Browning will treat us to “ The Equatorial
Cocktail.

A YOUNG lady was caressing a pretty spaniel
and murmuring: “ I do love a nice dog!” “ Ah!”
sighed a dandy, standing near, “ I would I were
a dog.” “ Never mind,” retorted the young
lady, sharply, “ you’ll grow.”

Yls. energy and strict attention to business
are the true 'des to succes. Thirty years
ago a friendless boy went to Chicago and began
li e in a coal yard, working for 820a month.
To-day he is driving a horse car.

“ I mnw this of! in ten minutes,” softly said
the poetiv'placing a manuscript on the editorial
table. 9 editor said that when it came to
speed no long-haired poet should distance him——
and he threw it off in less than ten 3000de
the table into the waste basket.

GUIBALLARD recently rep: oved a friend for
his too liberal use of absinthe. “Bah!” said

 

the latter, “ I’ve drank of it since I was a boy,
and I’m sixty.” “ Ve likely ” replied Gui—
ballard, “ but if on ha never drank of it per

haps y on woul

now be seventy.” This is

 

 

nished an abundance, and the blood of the deer
was freely sprinkled around. Then they went
back to camp to listen to camp-fire yarns until

, certain sounds would tell them that the traps

! had caught the prey. Polar and Tologan were

in good humor, and the jollicst night ever had

in camp was the result of their frame of mind.

The winter hunt was over, and they would soon

pass the stockade Of York Factory to greet

familiar faces and form new acquaintances.

' The voyageur and trapper of Hudson’s Bay is

generally very taciturn until a successful voy‘

age or trapping season has ended, then he is the
god of good spirits, and while the forests ring

i with his songs, the campfire glows anew with

; his inexhaustible fund of anecdote and story.

a This night was no exception. Polar and To-
logan related a dozen capital stories of a trap—
per’s life; but while the boys listened they were
waiting with feverish impatience for the bowl
of the wolf. As it did not come, they rolled
themselves in their blankets, and with their feet
to the fire proposed to enjo ' a few hours’
sleep. Polar promised to we e them before
day that they might visit the valley, and gather
in the traps before camp was broken up.

An enormous quantity of pine boughs was
heaped upon the fire, and the only sounds that
disturbed the stillness were the crackles Of the
blaze. One sleeps soundly within the frost
rings Of the polar circle, but the piercing cry
that suddenly penetrated the camp was enough
to break the dreams of a mute. Instantly every
one was sitting up and staring into each other 5
faces while they listened.

i l- They heard the bowl of the wolf; it came evi-
dentl from the valley; but that was not what .
had roken their slumbers. As the listened '

BY MARY REED CROWELL.  been Georgie May who threw him over, instead
of its havmg been him, who, in lofty. superior
manner, had given her 11 .

French. of course.

THE night editor of a Nova Scotia journal
wrote the following headline to one of his
cable dispatches: “The British Lion Shaking
his Mane.” He was unable to eat his breakfast
next morning when he found the rinter’s ver-
sion of the matter staring him in t e face thus:
“ The British Lion Skating in Maine.”

AN exchange tells how a sea-captain was
brmsisht before a justice in Marseilles and mer-
cile y attacked by his opponent’s lawyer.
When at length he was suffered to speak he
said: “Your Honor, I ask a delay of one week
in the proceedings, so that I may find a bi

enough liar to answer that man.” His retinal

was granted.

A REMARKABLY plain-looking actress is play-
‘ing the part of a stony-hearted maiden who s
s melts slowly before the im ssioned pleadings
of her eloquent lover. “ on can no lon
persist, you can no longer resist,” he cries;
“your heart flutters, on change countenance
at last!” “ Hurrah, g ad to hear it!” shouts an
excited and delighted spectator in the gallery.

DR. R. is an eminent hysician of Philadel—
phia, and, as is often e case with eminent
physicians, is brusque :.nd overbearing in man-
ner. Among his office patients one morning
was a gentleman, who, a ter occupying exactly
five minutes of the great man’s time, took a
ten dollar note from his pocket and in uired
I the amount of the fee. “ Fifty dollais, ’ said
-the impatient medical man. The patient de-
, marred a little whereupon the physician rudely
‘ remarked: “ ll ell, what do you expect to pay!

Give me what you have got,” and on receiving

mustache shaded his mouth, and the chin was
square and firm. His figure was supple and
muscular. and he carried himself mcefully
erect. There was an easy air of good breeding
about him. Maggie, quick to see and to feel,
saw the young man’s beauty. and felt the name-
less charm of his presence, but stubbornly clung
to her determination of hating him.

Schuyler saw a remarkably pretty girl, who
said very little while Mrs. Dorman remained in
the room, but who, on her mother’s departure
to superintend the preparing of sup r, began
to talk and laugh very freely, using a minable
grammar, and revealing such lamentable ig—
norance and ill-breeding that Schu ler could
scargely disguise his surprise and disappoint-
men .

During the week which followed, M ‘e suc-
I ceeded in putting herself into a most unpleasant

light in the eyes of her guest. She Observed
none of the rules of etiquette. She was awk-
1 and read . ward, and slangy, and boisterous; and the young
_ asembled—farmer May 3 man shrunk in horror and dismay from the
included. .  thought of making her his wife.

And—Gardiner Garrison learned that all the , One day, however, he overheard a bit of con-
superb appomtments of Somerset Hall were fldential talk between Maggie and a girl friend.
on y_hired; that the sole wealth of Gersham He was reading in the sitting-room which
. . I Garrison was contained in the brass-bound box, ' opened from the parlor, the door between the 
An — 1‘. Garrison laid Georgia’s letter aside which lie bequeathed to his nephew, Gardiner two rooms being ajar.
and eagerly took up the other one, bearin the , Garrison— It may not have been just the p'roper thing
same suburban postmark, a yellow-enve Oped  And the contents were-a for him to do, but I am forced to confess that
letter, directed inaman’s strong, resolute hand- I odd coins, of the value of a , when the two girls, quite unconscious of his
.writmg. _ . r so.  proximity. entered the parlor from the front
_ Garrison tore it open eagerly,aiid it told him, “I never saw a man so cut up in my life.” ' hall and began to talk of him, Schuyler sat
in the writer‘s own characteristic style, that farmer May said to his wife, when he had got ; still and listened, While with much roguish
Mr. Garrison’s orders had been obeyed, and his cosily fixed in his big chair, that evening, and l laughter, Maggie rehearsed to the other girl
instructiOus fully carried out, and that the con- Georgie sat, looking out into the sweet, starry 9 her pranks of the past week—setting off her,‘
sequence was, the writer’s assurance that the dusk. 'own extraordinary

 

MR. GARDINEB GARRISON sat in the easiest, p
chair in the room. with his handsome head; And altogether, he went back to his room, in
resting against the crimson damask upholstered , no very enviable frame of mind.
back, and his well-polished boots stretched com- !
fortably out toward the fire that was burning I
like melted carbuncles behind

 

Spring, with its balmy south winds, and u
the silver bars of ' springing grasses, its robin’s songs, and ping:
the grate. l and—white bioesoms against the blue sky; and—
It was a handsome room, from the crimson ! silence and darkness up in the grand house at
and gilt paper on the wall to the gray velvet ! Somerset Place, where old Gersham Garrison
carpet with tiny splashes of Vivid crimson here , lay dead, and his nephew, hastily summoned at
and there, and Mr. Garrison with his dark, ‘ the eleventh hour, was in charge of everything
Spanish beauty, fitted it all very admirably. 3 —with a feeling of subdued elation in his heart
A handsome room—~that cost money to main- as he walked about among the splendors of the
tain, and at the present moment Mr. Garrison , house, and realized that—even Georgie May,
was anxiously expecting news that would de- . with the lovely face he could never quite for-
cide for him whether or not he would be able 7 get, the uplifted, soft dark eyes that haunted l
, to further maintain such bachelor luxuries. him so very uncomfortably, was well sacrificed.
He had not long to wait—one of the servants f Then, after the grand funeral, came the era
brought his mail, two letters, one from Georgie in Gardiner Garrison’s life—~the su reme mo-
May, a pale, cream—pink missive, addressed in ment when the lawyer opened the wil)
a dainty, educated hand, and exhaling afaint ; it to the curious ones
fragrance of violet—a genuine love-letter from'
the lovely, black-eyed girl down in the country ’
who had given him her heart and her vows, and ‘
who was blissfully waiting for the coming :
sprin da 5 when she would be his bride. '

 

 

 

collection of old,
hundred dollars

 

 

 

 

 

   
    
   

  
 
 
  
  

 

 

 

. , . . _ , rformaiicad h 1‘ th te~dl ' , ‘
the cries increased in ferocity, and n l at once ; rumor was correct that Somerset Place had been i “ He swore the most blood-curdling oath and  rather fastidious wigs to rtgctllon,sca.iiilyc%lné {negro Earths: :iilcll  GOES-giggle? if:
tbg agapperDsfilrgyg out, of offwryimkatsh T boughtt and mtost magnéfifenfly fan-nighed,§nd pitchhed’ thrii box clear out of the window. I tell ‘ vulsing her audience in bot rooms, And then ' marked: “ Thiit’s for you, im,” but lost his
011. L r. . exc some 0 ar. rap was a presen occupie 1y r. ers am ar- on es a isa ointed man—and he wasn't th - after littl i h ’ E . - - - - ,
catch Injun! If he be Blackfoot —zoundsl” E rison; and that that gentleman had caused it y pp e a e pa we, so uyler heard her murmur ' temper Sh” more When hls when: coony mld'

. only one ,x'vho thought old Garrison was as rich

_ J dolefully:
as a ew.

- H ' -
The boys understood him. If their wolf— ; to he understood that visitors were not wel- H lgfiilggghngzxgg:§that you badapartner‘

A

But, oh, Rose! I dolike him after all! He