VOL. LIII. k IWIIU6 HURT. the ewmlktwv fled ? Frowm ud deed. i'eirfauM upon nae tdeek and utorniv shore. O doabtiac heart! Far aver purple The* wart is annsr eaae. The halmy eooiWru breeze. Te twine them to their northern homes otkv ■M*. Wlie an; the flowers die ? FrtsoxTd the* lie la the mid tomb, hewdkww of tears or nun. C donbuns heart : They only sleep below Tae soft white ermine enow. While winter vutde shall blow, Te tweathe and smile upon too soon again. The son bee hid its rare Them many days ; hiß dreary hour, newer leave the earth ? O doabuag heart ? The etonay cloude on high Veil the eame sunny ekv, that aoec (for spring is nigh) Fair hop* m eai. and light Ie quench'd in night. What sound car break the silence of despair f O doubting heart ! The aky is overcast. Vet stars shall rise at last, Ifeigbter for darkness past, hud angel*' stiver voices stir the air. THE HEAVY BURDEN. "RaJhT a heavy burden, isn't it, my hor r threw* Spencer, to whom the words hail leen midreased. turned from the ledger, and looked towards the speaker. Clarence was a young man—wt more than five and twenty—and he was book-kce)ter to Mr. Shoo* mi Wardle. a pleasant-face, keen eyed man of fifty, who had spoken. "1 heavy burden, isn't Clarence ?" the merchant repeated. Ami ths young man was silent. His kinks indicated that be did not oompre iiend. He had l*een for some time liending over the ledger, with his thoughts far away; and that his thoughts were not pleasant uoaa. was evident enough from tlie gloom ot. his handsome face. —My dear boy, the burden is no! only heavy now, but it will grow heavier and i**vier the longer vou carrv it." **Mr. Wardle. I do not comprehend you." -Aii. Clarence!" —I certainly no not." -Ihdnt I call at your h<xise for \*ou this inorniwrr"* Clarence nodded assent. "And didn't I see and hear enough to re veal to rae the burden that you took with T< when you left\ Y<u must remember, my taw, that 1 am older than you are. and that 1 have been through the mill. You find your burden heavy; and I've no doubt that Sarah's heart is as heavilv laden as vour own." And then Clarence Spencer understood ; and the morning's scene was present with him, a it hail leen present with him since leaving home. <hi that morning he had a dispute with his wife. It hail occurred at the breakfast table. There is no need of reproducing the scene. Suffice it to say that it bad come of a mere nothing, and had grown a cause of anger. The first had been a look and a Tone: then a flash of ini jiatienrp: then a rising of the voice; then another look ; the voice grew higher; the rcaanc was unhinged ; passion gained swat* and the twain lost sight of the warm, en during love that lay smitten and aching d< mm deep in theiT hearts, and felt for the time only the passing tornado. And Clar ence remembered that Mr. Wardle had en tered the house and caught a sight of the storm. And Clarence Spencer thought of one thmg more; he thought how miserably un happy he had been all the morning; and he knew not how long his burden of unhap pineas was to be borne. -Honestly. Clarence, isn't it a heavy and thankless burden ?" The book-keeper knew that his employer was his friend, and that be was a true-heart ed Christian man ; and, after pause, he an swered: -Yes. Mr. Wardle, it is a heavy twrden." "My hoy. I am going to venture upon a hit of fatherly counsel. I hope I shall not offend."' "Not at all,"" said Clarence. He winced a little, as Thooch the probing gave him new pain. "In the first place,"" pursued the old man, with a quiver of emotion in his voice, "you kwp yoor write C" her? Yea, passionately." "And do you think she loves you in re turn r "I doui think anything about it—l tmm-V "You knmr she loves you C "Yea" -Then you must admit that the trouble of this morning came from no ill-feeling at heart **<y[ coumr not.*" "It was hut a surface-squall, which you, at Wwsl aw very sorry?'* A moment V hesitation, and then—"Yes. yes; I am heartily sorry." "Now mark me. Clarence, and answer honestly - —lViu\ you think your wife is as sorry as you are ?*" -i cannot doubt it.'" "And <km\ vou think she is suffering all tfcfc timer" "Yea."* "Very ndl Let that paaa. You know ahe is hearing her part of the burden ?** "Yea, I know that. *" "And now. my hoy, do you comprcbena where the haavieflt part of this burden is lodged r dmi art looked upon his interlocutor Me MMem Hourm!. "If the storm had all blown over, and you knew that the sun would shine when you next entered your home, you would not feel so unhappy ?" Clarence assented. "But, ' continued Mr. Wardle, "your fear that there will be gloom in your home when you return ?" The young man lmwcd his head as he re plied in the affirmative 4 'Because, * the merchant added, with a touch of {tareiilal sternness in his tone, "you are resolved to carry it there !" Clarence looked up iu surprise. "I—l carry it ?" "Aye; you have the burden in your heart, and you mean to carry it home. Re meiutHT, my boy, 1 have been there, and 1 know all aU>ut it. I have been very foolish in my lifetime, and I have suffered. I suf fered until 1 discovered my folly, and then 1 resolved that I would suffer no more. I pou looking the matter squarely and honestly iu the face, I fouud that the bur dens which had so galled me had been self imposed. Of course such burdens can be thrown off. Now you have resolved that you will go home to dinner with a heavy heart and a dark face. You have no hope that your wife will meet you with a smile. And why ? Because you know that she has no particular cause for smiling. You know that her heart is burdened with the affliction which gives you so much unrest. And you are fully assured that you are to find your home shrouded in gloom. And, furthermore, you don't know when that gloom will depart and wl en the blessed sun-shine of love will burst in again. And why don't you know ? Because it is not now in your heart to sweep the cloud away. You say to yourself, 4 I can bear it as long as she can 1" Am I not right ?" Clarence did not answer in words. "I know I am right," pursued the mer chant ; "and very likely wife is saying to herself the same thing. So you hope of sunshine does not rest ui>on the willingness to forgive, but upon the inability to bear the burden. By-aml-by it will happen, as it has happened before, that one of the twain will surrender from exhaustion; and it will be likely to be the weakei party. Then there will bo a collapse, aud a recon ciliation. Generally the wife fails first be neath the galling bunlen, because her love is keenest and most sensitive. The hus band, in such case, acts the part of a cow ard. When he might, with a breath, blow the cloud away, the cringes and cowers un - til his wife is sorced to let the sun-light in through her breaking heart." Clarence listened, and was troubled. He saw the truth, felt its weight. Ho was not a fool, nor was he a liar. During the silence that followed he reflected upon the past, and he called to his mind scenes just as Mr. Wardle had depicted. And this brought him to the remembrance of how he had seen his wife weep when she had faded anil sank beneath the heavy burden, how often she hail sobbed upon his bosom in grief for the error. The merchant read the young man's thoughts, and after a time he rose and touched him upon the arm. "Clarence, suppose you were to put on your hat and go home now. Suppose you should think, on your way, only of the love and blessing that might be; with this thought, you should enter your abode with a smile upon your face: and you should put your anus around your wife's neck, and kiss her, and softly say to her, "My darling, I have come home to throw down the bur den I took away with me this morning. It is greater than I can boar." Suppose you were to do this, would your wife repulse you ?" "Repulse me ?" "Ah, my boy, you echo my words with an amazement which shows that you un derstand me. Now, sir, have you the cour age to try the experiment ?" Dare you to be so much of a man ? Or do you fear to let your dear wife know how much you love her ? Do you fear she would respect and esteem you less for the deed ? Tell me —do you thiuk the cloud of unhappiness might thus be banished ? Oh, Clarence, if you would but try it!" Sarah Spencer had finished her work in the kitchen, and in the l>cd-chamhcr, and sat down with her work in her lap. Hut she could not ply her needle. Her heart was heavy and sad, and tears were in her eves. Presently she hoard the front door open, and a step in the passage. Certainly she knew that stcpl Yes—her husband enter ed ar.d a smile upon his face She saw it through her gathering tears, and her heavy heart leaped up. He came and put his arms around her neck, and kissed her; and he said to her, in broken accents, "Darling, I have come home to throw down the bur den I took away with me this morning. It is greater than I can bear." And she, trying to speak, pillowed her head upon his bosom and sobbed and wept like a child. Oh 1 could ho forgive her ? His comiug with the blessed offering had thrown the burden of reproach back upon himself. She saw him noble and generous, and she worshiped him. But Clarence would not allow her to take all the blame, lie must share that. "We will share it so evenly," said lie, "that its weight shall be felt no more. And now iny darling we will be happy!" "Always!" Mr. Wardle had no need, when Clarence returned to the counting-house, to ask the result, lie could read it in the young man's brimming eyes, and in the joy-inspired face. It was a year after this—and Clarence Spencer had becdme a partner in the house —that Air. Wardle, by accident, referred MILLIIEIM, PA., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 13. 1879. to the eventß of that gloomy morning. "Ah!" said Clarence, with a swelling IK>- som, "that was the moat Messed lesson 1 ever received. .My wife knows who gave it to me." "And it serves you yet, my boy ?" "Aye, and it will serve us while we live. We have none of those old burdens of an ger to liear now. They cannot find lodg ment with us. The Hash and jar may come as in the other days—for we are human, you know—but the heart, which has firmly resolved uot to give an abiding place to the ill feeling, will not be called ujion to enter tain it. Sometimes we are foolish; but we laugh at .our folly when we see it, and throw it off ; we do not nurse it till it l>e comcs a burden. Firat Look in a Mirror. The effect which the sudden seeing of themselves as others see them had upon seYeral Siamese women is nar rated by a latty: A few weeks ago, a couple of Siamese women came to see and to look at my house. They con sider it a great treat to look at my house. They consider it a greater treat if I invite theiu them through my rooms, and let them look at my bed, my table, my chairs, ny pictures and uiy niek-naeks, and especially if they can get a look at themselves in the mirror ou my bureau. One or two of those who came had been there before, and they were telling of how they looked in the glass till the others were all anxious to see too, so they gathered in a crowd and stood before the mirror. One quick look, and then a surprised, startled cry, and some ot them hid their laces, others jumped away, and some looked about to see who was really there. They bad never seen themselves before, and did not know how miserably they looked with their black teeth and naked bodies. They drew their scarfs over their breasts and tried to hide from the sight of them selves. One turned and said to me: "We* are very hateful looking, don't you think so?" I did not tell them 1 had always thought so, but 1 said: "Now, sinee you know how you look, is It any wonder that we tell you to wear more clothos and to quit chew tug betel?" Some ot them would not be induced to look the second time, while others stood and looked. Sclimldt'ii Muiilngs. "Frederick Schmidt," said the Jus tice to a sleepy looking fellow, "you are lined $lO for intoxication. But what's the matter my friend, you ap pear to be on the point of crying?" "Nodlngs, Shudge, 1 was only dink- Ing." "Thinking? of what?" '•Veil, I'll spoke of it, if you told me so." "Then I do tell you." "I vas dinking, Shudge, dot you vas me und I vas you. Dot ish you know, mitout no change. You vas der poor Dutchman. I saw you conic in mitout friends und sorrowful, und I say, "Schuiidt, vat vas dose trubbles?" und you spoke out, "Shudge I took me some leetle peer." Und I say niit a look on your face, "Schmidt, you vas married?" You say, "Yah," "Und got some childer?" "Yah," "Und you don't vas so trunk as you can't valk ?" "Nein." "Veil, Schmidt you go right avay home." Und dot vas my dinkin." '•Those are very pleasant thoughts," said the magistrate in good humor. "I think we'll make the flue $3, but I can't let you off'altogether." "Dree dollar ! Veil I paid it und vas dankful; but you vas not so good a Shudge mit ine as I vas mit you." And rousing himself he waddled out of court. Not a llad Hoy. A bright-looking boy, twelve years old, who said his name was Tommy McEvoy, went alone into the Jefferson Market Po lice Court, New York, recently, and said to Justice Morgan: "Judge, your Honor, 1 want to give my self up." "Why, my loy ?" asked the Court. "Because," said the lad, I hain't got no home and don't want to live in the street and become a bail boy." "Why don't you stay at home ?" asked the Justice. "I ain't got no home. Father has been dead nine years, and mother died before that." "But where have you been living since ?" "With my aunt. She lives on Forty first street. But she gets drunk, and won't let me stay in doors. To-day she chased me,and said if I ever came hack she would do something awful with me. I'm afraid of her, and so I've got no home. Nobody will take me in because 1 hain't got good clothes and don't look nice. 1 can't get anything to cat unless I beg or steal it. I don't want to steal or be a bad boy. Won't you please send me somewhere where I can learn something anil get to be a man?" The Justice told the boy there were such places for good boys, and taking the little fellow under his protection, promised to find him a home in some good institution. A .slight Mistake. A man ordered a most elaborate dinner at a restaurant which he enjoyed and praised much—after which ho lighted a cigar, and sauntering up to the landlord, declared his inability to pay for it. "But I don't know you," said Boniface. "Of course, or you would not have given me a dinner." The enraged man seized the pistol, col lared the offender, and taking aim at his heart, said: "Now, see if you get away from me without payiDg for that dinner." "What is that in your hand?" gasped the impecunious customer, drawing back. "That, sir, is a pistol." "Oh! that's a pistol, is it ? I don't care a fig for a pistol; I thought it was a stom ach-pump. " The Writers of the Iliblo, Moses wrote Genesis, Exodus, Levit icus, Numbers and Deuteronomy. Joshua, I'hinouhas or Elea/.er wrote the hook of Joshua. Samuel is the penman of the books of Judges and Ruth, lie also wrote the first acts of David and probably, Nathan and Gad wrote his last acts; and the whole was formed Into two books, which were named after Samuel as the most eminent person, called the first and second books of Samuel. Jeremiah probably compiled the two books of the Kings. Ezra compiled the two hooks of the Chronicles. He is also author of the book bearing bis name. Neliciniah wrote Nehemiah. The author of the hook of Esther is unknown. Elihu was most probably the penman of the book of Job. Moses may have written the first two chapters and the last. Some think Job wrote them him self. David wrote most of the book of the l'salms. Asaph penned a few of them. Solomon wrote Proverbs, Eeelesiast es, and the Songs of Solomon. Isaiah is the author of the prophecy of Isaiah. Jeremiah wrote the bock bearing his name, and the Lamentations of Jere miah. Ezeki 1, Daniel, Ilosea, Joel, Amos Obadiah, probably Jonah, Micah, Na hum. llabakuk, Zephaniah, llaggai, Zachariah, wrote the books ot the prophesies, bearing their respective names. Matthew, Mark, Luke and John wrote the Gospels named after them. Luke wrote the Acts of the Apostles. Paul is the author of the Epistles to the Romans, Corinthians, Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, Thcssalonians, Timothy, Titus, Phile mon and Hebrews. James the son of Alpheus, who was cousin-German to Christ, and one of the apostles, wrote the Epistle of James. Peter wrote the Epistle bearing his name. The apostle John wroto the three Epistles of John. Jude, the Apostle, the brother of James, also called Lebbeus, whose surname WHS Thaddeus, near relative of our Lord, wrote the Epistle of Jude. St. John, the Divine wrote Revela tions. The Late Oueen ol Holland, Sidney Hyde gives the following ac count of his first visit to the late Queen of Holland. Upon our first formal audience wo were received in one of the State Departments, a fine salon, hung with rose-eolored satin and gay with gilded furniture and wax candles; but when we were asked "to tea," it was in her own private parlor that the Queen entertained us, a charming great room, with tropical plants grow ing in the windows, and a grand piano at one end. Books and ornaments were scattered about, and cabinets of curiosi ties stood agahist the wall; easy-chairs and little tables went wandering com fortably about the floor; and a general air of lietne-likeness pervadea the spa cious apartment, whose walls were hung with Interesting pictures, filled with associations to the student of his tory. One evening, when we arrived, we found the Queen reading Klnglako'a "Invasion of the Crimea," In which she was greatly Interested. His dra matic characterizations pleased her particularly, and above all the hits at her late uncle, Nicholas of Kussia, who as the writer observes, tried hard to be a gentleman; but underneath all his superficial polish still lay the "gypsy instinct," which prompted him on occasion to do some mean act.— Inspired by our Interest,theQueen drilt ed into various personal recollections of her visit to Napoleon 111., and re lated a little anecdote of the Prince Imperial when he was about six years old. It seems that the Emperor had a troop of boys of the Prince's age under drill, and the Prince himself was one of the regiment; and one day, when the Queen was quesioning him lightly as to what he meant to do in the world, ho replied bravely, in true Napoleonic fashion, "Madame, I shall be a sol dier." " But you are so little," said her Majesty, "they cannot make you an of ficer; you will have to be a private al ways." "Pardon, madatne," said the little fellow, making a military salute, "je suis deja eaporal." The Empress of the French Her Majesty thought a woman of excellent parts, but over whelmed with all sorts ot frivolties outside of herself. "There is so much to do," said the Queen naively, "I wonder how she ever gets through it all. It was one tumult from morning till night. 1 could not have endured it." At Osborne, where she visited Queen Victoria, she was oppressed by the dullness and formality. She thought the Queen of England a per son of extraordinary information, but the slavery of etiquette which sur rounded her was unendurable. From this very slavery it was the desire of the Queen of Courcanale to deliver her self, and her own life was one of vig orous action and intelligent effort. She rose daily at seven; walked, wrote, and read at fixed hours, corresponding with half the savants of Europe 011 matters of literary and scientific interest. She drew around her all the intellectual people of her court, accosting them without formality or pretension, inter rogating them, enjoying their different opinions, which she encouraged them frankly to express. She was a warm friend of the English; her best friends were Englishwomen. She spoke the language with absolute perfection and without accent, and was the mistress of six other tongues.' Our American war was a serious puzzle to her. She was as kind as possible iu her sympathy, but still udiultted openly that the breaking up of our Republic would be no cause of grief to the royal families In Europe. "You are so strong," she said ruefully, and she shared the com mon European delusion that the cause of the South was the cause of aristoo iney. Tlio Old Kaahlonetl Cllrl. She nourished thirty or forty years ago. She was a little girl until she was fifteen. She used to help her mother wash the dishes and keep the kitchen tidy, and she had an ambition to make pies so nicely that papa could not tell the difference between them and mamma's, and yet she could try grindlo cakes at ten years of age, aud darn her own stockings before she was twelve, to say nothing of knitting them herself. She had her hours of play and en joyed herself to the fullest extent. She had no very costly toys to be sure, but her rag doll and little bureau and chair that Uncle Tom made were just as valuable to her as the S2O wax doll aud elegant doll furniture the children have now-a-days. She never said "1 can't," and "I don't want to," to her mother, when asked to leave her play,, and run up stairs or down or on an errand, be cause she had not been brought up in that way. Obedience was a cardinal virtue in the old fashioned little girl. She rose in the morning when she was called, and went out into the garden and saw the dew on the grass, and if she lived in the country she fed the chickens and hunted up the eggs for breakfast. We do not suppose she had her liair in curl papers or criinpiiig-pius, or had it "banged" over her forehead aud her flounces were no trouble to her. She learned to sew by making patch work, and we dare say she could do an "over-and-over" seam as well as nine tenths of the grown-up women now-a days. The old-fashioned litle girl did not grow into a young lady and talk about beaux before slie was in her teens, and she did not read dime novels, and was not fancying a hero in every plow-boy she met. She learned the solid accomplisli ineuts as she grew up. She was taught the arts of cooking and housekeeping. When she got a husband she knew how to cook him a dinner. Sue was not learned in French verbs or Latin declensions, and her near neighbors were spared the agony of hearing her pound out "The Mai Jen's Prayer" and "Silver Threads among the Gold" twenty tunes a day on the piano, but we have no doubt she made her company quite as comfortable as the modern young lady does hers. It ma>' be a vulger assertion, and wo suppose that we are not exactly up with the times, but we honestly be lieve and our opinion is based on con siderable experience, und no small opportnnity for observation, and when it comes to keeping a family happy, a good cook aud housekeeper is to be greatly preferred above an accomplish ed scholar. When both sets of qual.ties are found together, as they sometimes are, then is the household over which such a woman has control blessed. The old-fashioned little girl was modest in her demeanor, and she never talked slang or used by-words. She did not laugh at old people or make fun of cripples, as we saw some modern little girls doing the other day. She had respect for elders and was not above listening to words of counsel from those older than herself. Sho did not think she knew as much as mother, and that her judgement was as good as grandmother's. Sho did not go to parties by the time she was ten, and stay till after mid. night playing eucher and dancing with any chauce young man who happened to be present. She went to bed in soason and doubt less said her prayers before she went, and slept the sleep of innocence, and rose up in the morning happy and eapable of giving happiness. And if there be an old fashioned little girl in the world to-day, inav heaven bless her and keep her, and raise up others like her. A Dutiful Husbund. There is at Moscow, a blacksmith, named Jordar, who married a Russian woman. After she had lived some time with her husband, she one day thus lovingly addressed him: "Why Is it my dearest husband, that you do not love me?" The husband replied: "I do love you passionately." "I have as yet," said she, "received no proof of your love." The husband inquired what proofs she desired. Her reply was, "You have never beaten me!" "Really," said the husband, "I did not know that blows were proofs of love; however, 1 will not even fail in this respect." And so not long after he beat her most cruelly, and confessed to me that after that process his wife showed him much greater affection. So he repeated the exercise frequently; and finally, while I was still at Mos cow, cut off her head and her legs. Hunting fur a Word. An anecdote of Moure, the Irish poet, shows how much pains a writer who does good work will take to put the right word iu the right place. Moore was on a visit to a literary friend iu France, and while there wrote a short poem. One day while the guest was engaged n his literary labor, the two took a stroll in the adjacent wood, and the host soon perceived that his companion was given up to his own thoughts; he was silent and abstracted, noticing neither his friend and entertainer nor the surrounding beauties of the land scape. By-und-by he began to gnaw the fin ger-tips of his glove, pulling aud twitch ing spasmodically, aud when this had gone on for a long time, his friend ven tured to ask him what was the trouble. "I'll tell you," said Moore. "I have left ut home upon my table a poem in which is a word I do not like. The line is perfect save that one word, and that word is perfect save its Inflection* Thus it is," aud he repeated the line and asked his friend if he could help him. It was a delieate point. The friend saw the need, saw where and how the present word jarred just the slighesi possible bit upon the exquisite harmony of the cadence; but lie could not sup ply the want.. The twain cudgeled their brains un til they reached the house on their re turn without avail. The rest of the day was spent as usual as was the evening, save that ever anon Moore would sink into silent fits in pursuit ot the absent word. And so eame on the night, and the poet went to bed in a deep study. The following morning was brigtit and beautiful, aud Moore came down from his chamber with a bounding step with a scrap of paper in his hand, and a glorious light iu his genial counte nance. The word had come to him! He was awakened during the night, and the kind genius of inspiration had visited his pillow, and he had got up and torn a scrap from his note-book, and at the window, by the light of the moon, had made the thought seoure. "There," he said, when he had Incor porated it into the text; "there it is— only a simple, single word, a word as common as a. b. c., and yet it cost me twelve hours of unflagging labor to find it and put it where It Is. Who could beliovc It ?" That Awful Satclioll. As the Charlotte train steamed into the depot, a lady ran out in the crowd in an excited manner inquiring for an officer. From her anxiety it would seem as if the whole police force was indispensable just at that time anil at that precise part of the world. Detec tive Kavanagh was by the lady's side in a moment, but it was a long time be fore lie eould glean from her wild ex pressions just what was the matter. At last he learned that she had come up on the Charlotte train, and had taken her satchel and gone into the Falls train. She left it on the seat and stepped from the cars to get some lunch. When she returned to the ears her own satchel was missing und an "old nausty" valise left instead. Kav anagh immediately went to work to set matters aright, and entering the car the lady pointed out to him the place where she had left her satchel and the one that had been substituted for it. Then Kavanagh looked in the next seat and there saw another satchel. "Madam," said he to the lady, "per haps this is the ark that contains the worldly necessities of your railroad journey through life," and he held it up between the thumb and forefinger of his tiny right hand. (Kavanagh can wear Pcrinot's number 3.) Then the lady's face became a perfect rainbow of colors; she blushed like a summer ro?e, and immediately grew white as snow; her eyes opened wide in astonishment; she tried to speak but couldn't; at last she said : 4, I—I—I —be—be—lieve, I do de—de —claw th—at weally is mine " Then Kavanagh politely took off his centennial straw hat and bowed liim selt out. The truth was as obtained by one of our reporters in a subsequent interview that the lady went to the wrong seat on re-entering the ear, and wishing to procure a handkerchief from the satch el—she thought was hers—opened it and there a sight met her bewildered gaze that would scare a phalanx of the weaker sex. The lirst thing that met her eye was the general confusion of the contents, which was proof positive that the owner was not of the feminine gender. Then there appeared to view a shaving cup, a piece of soap, an old clay pipe and a pair of bifurcated gar ments wrapped around a paper box. No further investigation was necessary to convince the feminine mind that the "hawred contents did not belong to her." No wonder she sought the pro tection of the police. No wonder Kav anagh blushed for the first time in his life, and would have been run over by the second Atlantic express If the Ves uvious had not lifted him ten feet in the air with an octagonal basso pro fundo of "L-o-o-k-e-e- out thar!" Timber continually exposed to mois ture is found to retain for a very long period its original strength. Heat, with moisure is extremely injurious. FrreU. Ferrets are the great resort of afflict ed farmers ia England. Some men make a regular business going round with theia and giving rat infested houses a "run" in consideration of the payment of a ten dollar bill. The fer rets are ratiier expensive creatures, costing about thirty dollars a pair. They are so long and slim and supple that they can almost tie their own bod ies in a knot and be crawling out of it again at one end before the knot at the other end is completed. A medium sized auger hole can be utilized by them with ease, the only trouble being that the auger hole is apt to be stralgt and the ferrets used to doubling up and arching their backs and going throngh all sorts of strange convulsions with their bodies—us though to show oft' their graceful curves—would feel quite lost in having to keep their straight natural position, even though for the space of one second. They are never still a minute, except, perhaps, when they sleep, and then, like their nearest cousin the weasel, they are apt to sleep with their eyes open. Their life Is one of continuous and constant activity. When they ate not crawling into rat holes at the bidding of an inexorable master, they are at home in cages, where they run to and fro like penned up lions. Often the ferret is seen with scratches on his nose or lacerations on the neck. These are the little remem brances of his encounters with his natural eueiny, the rat. The rat will not fight a ferret when he can get away. The largest rat will run from them. They can smeil them long be fore they can see them, and that is the signal for thein to fly or remain and die a subterranean and ignoble death. Young rats in nests are at the ferrets" mercy, and the ferrets are not slow to show them such mercy as their craving stomachs afford. They do not eat the ilesh. They iusert their teeth and, weazle-likes suck all the blood out' of their bodies, then leave them. This is the great point ferret men make over the modern style of getting rid of rata by poison. They cry down the poison svstem and declare that by killing rats in that manner, life in a house about which the rats perish is rendered al most intolerable by the stench their de caying carcasses create. By killing them with ferrets this is avoided, they claivi, for the latter take all the blood from them and the carcasses, instead of decaying, dry up. After all, the ferrets are doing more than is generally expected of them when they kill grown rats. Their principal use is to drive the vermin from their holes up to the light of day, where Scotch terriers and nets and clubs iu the hands of the fer rets' musters do the rest. Through a Trap Door. The proprietor of a store on W street was looking out upon the raln be-drizzled streets and figuring that he wouldn't make a cent during the whole afternoon, when a hard-uplook ing stranger wet to the hide, walked softly in and took a seat in a chair. "Anything to day ?" asked the mer chant. The answer was a lonesome shake of the head. "Bad weather to day." Another weary shake replied. After five minutes of silence, the stranger got up and began walking the store. The trap door leading to the basement was up, and in one of his turns he went down out of sight like a bag of shot. The merchant called out when it was too late and he ran to the trap and peered down the dark stairs with the expection of seeing a corpse on the cellar bottom. Instead of that the strange man appeared on the stairs and ascended without help. He was covered with dust from head to foot and his coat split up the back, aud the merchant hastened to say: "I am very sorry, indeed. I forgot the trap—are you much hurt?" "My friend," replied the stranger as he turned around and extended his hand, "you have been the means of saving me! Shake hands with me!" The merchant thought the tali had made a lunatic, but he shook and the man went on: "Five minutes ago I was half drunk and deaperate. I had about made up my mind to murder some one and then jump into the river. That fall has given me new and better ideas. From this hour I am anew man, with a better life before me I Shake again 1" "Ah—yes—very strange," stammer ed the merchant as he shook, and the stranger said as he stood in the door: "J thank you from the bottom of my heart for leaving that trap open 1 Wife and children shall bless your name and I can never forget you! Good-bye, sir —ten thousand blessings—Heaven keep you in its care!" The merchant puzzled over the case for a long time and then went down the cellar and found evidences that the stranger had coolly jumped down there rolled in the dust, and during the brief moment secured about his person four dozen pocket knives and a package of of gloves. Then there was another "shake," Leather is rendered waterproof by rubbing or brushing into it a mixture of drying oils and any of the oxides of lead, copper or iron, T by substituting any of the gummy resins In the room of the metallic oxides. Can the fellow who tenders a lady a biscuit be said to offer her a doughna tion. NO. 45.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers