RTT HI EIR rad. TWILIGHT, *Neath the blossoming trees I sitand muse, Watching thechangeful evening sky; Watching the swallows, as to their homns ¥ They swiftly fly. Listening, as from the far off marsh, Comes the shrill-voiced Hylas' chirup and trills Floating through the dreamy twilight air, To the distant hills, Slowly, the pasture, where the daisies spring. Where the dandelion’s golden star doth shine, ome gently stepping and Brass, The meek-eyed Kine, cropping the And hush ! as the moon sails up the sky, And floods with glory, yon ruined mill, Sadily rise the mournful, far away notes, Of the whip-poor-will. Gently into my troubled heart, Like a mighty river, a tide of peace Flows, with the Summer evening's glory, With sweet increase, As song of praise to my lips doth raise, To the giver of all these beauteous things, The * Lily of the Valley,” fair, The “King ot Kings.” THE DAWNING OF THE DAY We were sisters, Calla and I. We had been drawn together more than sisters usually are after marriage. by the sadness of our positions, Left orphans st an early age, a bachelor uncle had taken us to his home, and we thought to his heart until we were mar- ried. Calla, at the age of sixfean, had mar- ried a gay young man who led her a sad {ife, He seemed never to be happy un- jess at some low dancing party or among his drinking companions; if she re- monstrated with him harsh words were sure to follow: and as her little home often lacked the necessaries of life, her jot had been a hard one, But he at length, poor fellow, died of his excesses, leaving Calla a sad ycung creature of only twenty summers, Two wears before poor Charlie's death 1 toe had married, and my husband, tos, was gay and bright. His worst fault was that he was a young sailor, But my urcle did not quite discard me, as he did my sister, perhaps because he would have lacked a housekeeper had he semt me away: yet many were the bitter words that I had to listen to after Harry's ship had sailed and he did not return, from my susp.cious Uncle Jacob, It was two years since I had heard from Harry, and the little stock of money he bad left me had entirely given out, when I received a piteous l:tter from my sister, telling me that she was very ill, that her husband was dead, and that she needed everything, clothes, loving care, and money. I tcok this letter to my uncle's room, with the tears creeping down my cheeks, and I heard him grumble as [ opened the door: “Blamed hard lines on a man to have two girls natural born fools!” I laid the letter before him with some misgivings, remembering the careless words Calla had addressed to him when whe left with her husband four years 1gu, aud which I knew were not forgiven. The stern limes ou Unele Jacob's face cepened as he read. “‘Ahal she’s got just what I told her she would get.” “But, mocle, may I not go for her «0d her baby and bring them home?” “Here? A sick woman and a squalling bret? 1 did not think you were such a focll™ “Bat, uncle,” I urged, *‘it is Calla.” “Its a fool!” he shoated. “Don’t wou think a crying grass widow 1s enough to have around without a druakard’s wile, with a brat thrown in?’ ‘qd «hall go to her immediately,” re- .urned 1, chokiug down my feelings, ‘“‘Go if yom wish to,” he screamed. “But if you de, don’t you ever come inte my Louse again—don't you dare to!” “Oh, uncle, I must gol It's my own sister; I never could rest again if I did not go to her.” “Yes, yes, that's always the way, Forsake those who give you bread to eat, and clothes to wear, Marry rascals, every girl of you, run through every- thing, then come coaxing back again to be supported! I told that girl what kiud of & bed she was making for her- self, now let her lie in it." “But, uncle,” I answered, sobbing, “ You have everything, a home, and servants to wait on you, thousands of dollars in money, You have been very k'nd to give me a home, bat still poor Calis has pothing. [ must, indeed I must help her.” “Help! Pretty help you'll be!” he snecred as I left the room, at 1 sold some of my costly cloth- ing snd I went. I found my sister but the shadow of her former self, with a puny little vabe 10 her arms, 1 nursed ber back {o health as carefully as I eculd, and then the struggle for exist. en © began, It was very hard, utterly doexpetievced as I was, but with God's awip we made our way. Lottie Gertie, my namesake, grow into a wory little cherub, the pride and joy of our two lonely hearts, Calla became rory-cheeked and happy again, and I, though I had my own secret trouble, was happier than I had ever been while enduring the taunts of my irascibie wvpole, 1 bad learned from a correspondent at my oll home that our uncie had sold wut his property and gone to New York to live v#ith his sister, our Aunt Charity, as much worse a specimen of erabbed- mess than Uncle Jacob as it was possible to be, | Doring ail this time I had not heard from Harry, sod fcctstomed my - soll to thank of him as lying among the rocks and seaweed at the bottom of the At poor media there to Aunt Charity, who think that ali we came had left all his property to her, and ex. pressed her astonishment that we show no more feeling upon the subject, Just as we were leaving her she said to us pityingly: “Now, if you girls had minded Jasob about marrying, he would have !eft you some of his property, I know.” “So you think, Aunt Cuarity,” said Oalla, lightly, *he would have liked us better if we had been old maids.” “Well, I guess old maids is as good as widders, especially them as don't know whether their men’s alive or not,” she retorted sharply. Poor Aunt Charity had taken Calla’s careless speech us a taunt of her own spinsterhood, snd retatiated. “Qn, well, Aunt Caarity,” 1 put in quickly, **we can support ourselves, and 1 am real glad Uncle Jacob gave yon the property, and 1 hope that you will en joy it.” For which masterly speech I was kissed and invited to wisit her again; but Calla, with her usual ill luck, bad netther kiss nor invitation from our of- fenaed aunt, ““(rertie,”’ said Calla, as we were glid- ing along in the trein, **I had rather live in our own circumstances forever than to feel as Aunt Charity does, with all ber wealth, See how suspicious she 18, She has not one friend whom she trusts in the world,” ‘ Soon after this sorrow came again. Our little darling, our Gertie, breathed out her httle life in ber mother's arms, while I stood by, utterly powerless to ward off the erim destroyer, Calla was almost frantic, but the necessity for work saved her as it had done me, 1 procurea for her work in the same fac- tory where I was employed, and steady tou keeps one from thinkiug very much, Aunot Charity did not come to us at the time of our bereavement, and it was not long belore I received a letter from her which read: “1 am abont to die, and I want you to come and take care of me, mind your being a grass widow, for you will not be frying to get married again, 1f you come will give you a good home, HUHARITY DRIDOMAN, ¢‘pP, 8.—What a mercy tat poor child died before it was old enough to imitate the errors of its poor mother,” 1 cut off that cruel postser.pt before tne lettar met Calla’s eye. Ble sufficiently indignant as it was, “Don’t go near her, Gertie!” cried, “She is old,” 1 replied, ‘“*and has no one io care for her, I shall go.” “Bat a grass widow! And she will treat you worse than a servant, and never give you anything, not as mach as you are earning here.” Was she “Never mind. 1 I re- plied, But there were times when I almost regretted my resolution, though I tried to bravely hold my own temper; and I am rejoiced now that I almost alwaye succeeded, The first day she told me: “I sha'u't never give you nothing only a home, so if you have come here after money it won't do any good, for 1've willed it all away.” “Never mind, Aunt Charity; I did not come here for money." After that she was quiet for a time, Then she called out: “What you got on that black dress for? 1 wouldn't wear mourning for a man that wouldn't live with me.” **Oh, Aunt Charity, Harry is suraly dead.” “Don’t you believe it! all right somewhere else,” And then I was silent, and after a little she began again: “Mercy sakes, you are a perfect spendthrift! Two matches to build one fire with! You will certainly end up in the almshouse,”’ But poor Aunt Charity's days were near their end, and I bore with her with what patience I could, Bat after five anxious years of wait- ing, the true and full report of the los of the “Ayero,” Harry's ship, upon the far-off coast of Africa, came, One man had made his way home through the dark continent into Egypt and thence to New York, and his account was pub- lished in all the papers, Aunt Charity only sniffed when 1 showed it to her, saying: “You may be thankful that he had not left youn, He never thought nothing of you, or he'd never went way off there,” And I wondered through my tears if Anant Charity had ever cared a straw for any living being, or had any feelings of her own, that she cared so little for the feeling of others, One day soon after this she was shat up all day with two or three lawyers, willing her property, as she afterwani said, to “somebody who would have took care of me decent if I had given them the chance,” Bat all these unkind things were for- gotten when, after poor Aunt Charity's death, that will was read, and I found myself the heiress of a hanared thou- sand dollars, provided I never married again, : Calla, however, was forgotten, except. ing & small gift in money and Aunt Charity’'s wardrobe; but she knew as well ns I that as long as I had a dollar sha would share it with me, Eee Eee ®s ae shall go,’ He is living with somebody ran We had been tn New York for five years, and Calla was now a beautiful woman of twenty-seven, and I, my dar. ling sister told me, looked better than 1 ever looked belore, although my next birthday would bring me to the matur. ity of thirty, These Jo had been full of rest to me, and I had been able to gratify my love for the beautiful ina way that I had once little dreamed of, Wao had nungled with society, sister end I, sud Calia had enjoyed herself to the full, and Togained all her girlhood's happiness; I, too, would have been perfectly happy had not thoughts of Harry's sad end ever been before me, During this time we had made the aoqusiintancs of a Mr. Winslow, a man appearance, wi bear the contents of the will, th fal, dak, Sowing beard, aad '» pair of brown eyes that reminded me so forei- bly of Harry, sometimes, that I turned my head for fear ho would see the tears in my eyes, AslI sat thinking of this resemblance, one morning, Calla came to me with a flush on her cheek aod a happy light in ber beautiful eyes, “*(iortie, darling, 1 am going to be married again,” she said, and stopped, blushing, “Well, pet,” 1 rephed, kissing her fondly, **who is it?" “Caa you not guess?” sho asked, “Yeu, Calla, I can,” I answered, ‘It is Will Roberts, and I can rejoice with you, for he is a man of ster ing integ- rity and the firmest temperance prinei- ples.” “Yes, dear,” she said softly, “Will's principles are as firm as your own,” Then I sat watching her idly as she toyed with the bright new engage- ment ring upon her hand, Suddenly her brow clouded, and she exclaimed abraptly: “Gertie, it seems to me as if you must always be giving up your hap- piness, or your property, or some- thing.” “What do you mean?” I asked, “Why, you gave up your home with Uunele Jacob for me, and bore all man- ner of hardships for pothing, Then there was Aunt Charity~—and now there is Mr. Winslow or Aunt Charity's money —which will you give up?” I made her mo anawer, for the same thought had been running in my mind all the morning, “Come, dearest, tell me,” she coaxed, “Has he said anything to you yet?” “Yes,” I replied, rousing myself, “He asked me to be his wife last even- ing, but | begged for a little time, 1 not besr to tell him of the for if he should be like uncle, or should be expecting a fortune and be disap- pointed-—oh! it wounid never do not to teil him," “Ol, be isn’t! Hoe loves yon truly, 1 Know, sister, but still it 1s right to let him know, I will get Will to tell him, and 1t will be all right if you love him.” “Calla, 1 not doubt that I love Mr. Window when in his company; but when he is not here Harry seems tc rise before ee, and 1 bave dreamed three mghts lo succession that he was not dead.” do “what a terribly morbid state you are in! Of course poor Harry is dead, or he would have sought you ere this, went on, “‘this shows hiwsell superior to this test, you will know that he loves you truly; aud as Will is very wealthy, I may be able sometime to repay ycu for what you have done for me; so 1 would not care for the property.” A week passed rapidly away, and one afternoon Calla came to me smiling and looking as happy ss a child. “Well, Gertie,” she cried gayly, “Will has told him all, and he came out like gold from the crucible.” “What dil he say?” I asked. **I'bat he knew it before, and that he thought you had had time enough to make up your mind, and tha! he was coming to-night.” I burst into tears: it seemed to me that Harry was dearer to me at that moment than he had ever been, “Oh, you mausu't!” said Calla, *‘You will spoil your eyes, and he will be here in a very few moments,” Then she took me off up to my room, and arrayed me in a lovely amber silk with black lace trim=ings, arranged my hair to suit her own fancy, kissed me and said: “Now, go down stairs, say ‘yes,’ and never think so sadly of poor Harry again. He would tell you to be happy could he but see you.” So 1 went slowly down stairs, Mr, Winslow met me at the library door, and passing his arm around my waist, said: “Now I must have my answer.” **It is to be ‘yes,’ ” 1 said softly. “Why?"' be asked. ‘‘Because I love you.” **Then you have driven all thoughts of your boy husband entirely from your mind?” he inquired sadly, “Oh, no, nol!” I ened, a great pain breaking through all my happiness, “Oh, Harry, Harry!” “Oh, darling, darling!” he cried, drawing me closer, ‘Don’t you know me? Can't you see that I am your own husband, Harry?” Aud then all sensibility forsook me, and when I came to myself it was two days later, and Harry, my sister, and Will Roberts, stood beside my couch, Harry had shaved off his monstrous beard in tue iuterval, and looked almost as he did when he sailed away, only his fair skin was bronzed by the African sun, “Harry,” I asked, “where have you been all these yeags?"' *I have been a slave, my darling, to an African chief, Six months ago 1 escaped some Eaglishmen on the river Nils, and from thence I came directly home,” “Bat why didn’t you tell me at once?” “Darling, 1 do not know, I searched for you, and found you in your new home, Perhaps I felt something like Eaoch Arden, I did not wish you to give up your property if you did not really love me,” “Bat,” said Will Roberts, “we have taken the will to a lawyer, and he tells us that as long as you do not ‘marry n' the property is yours; and as arry is year husband already, you will not lose your property.” “Did you know all this?” 1 asked half fully of Calis, “Not till yom fainted, Then Mr, Thompson told us,” And sinoe that time I have known no sorrow. [t was indeed *“The Dawning of the Day” for me. . re Tar worst ue. vt the sesson: ‘So rf husband loves you, of bh, he does Jon me.” “Indeed; but he'll soon get over that,” *‘Woat makes you think so?” ““Beoause men sowing their doves, The Cure of Cucugunn, Father Martin was the cure of Cucug- pan. There was no better man, and he chenishel for his Cucugianese flock a paternal affection—in fine, Cucugnan would have been for him a perfect par- adise had on'y its people been a litle more solicitous about their souls. Bat, alas, the spider spun its web in the un- frequented confessional and the worthy priest’s heart was almost broken. Nightly, however, he praved to heaven that he might not be removed from earth until he had brought Lie straye | sheep back lo the fold. You will see that his prayer was heard. Oae Bunday, after reading the gospel Father Martin entered the pulpit and thus addressed his parishioners: “Dearly beloved brethren, the other might I found myself, miserable sinner though 1 am, at the gates of heaven. | knocked and Peler opened the gate at once. ‘Hello,’ he said, “is that you, my good Father Martini To whatam I in debted? What can 1 do for youl’ ‘Good Saint Peter, you who keep the books and the keys, could you tell me, if it is not an imposition, how many Cucugnanese you have up herel™ “+1 can refuse you nothing, Father Martin. Bit down and we will run over the book together.’ Ho the saint took down his big register, and put on bis spec tacies. ‘Let us see! Cucugnan, I think you said— Cucugnan — Cucugnan ~— ah, here we are] My dear sir, the page is blank! Not one single, s)litary soul! There are just as many Cucuganese in beaven as there are teeth in a hen!’ ‘What,’ 1 exclaimed, ‘nit one! There must be some mistake about it. Perhaps yeu haven't posted vour books up to date. Look again, 1 beg ol you’! No mistake about it, worthy man,’ rephed Peler. ‘Look for yourself if you tniok I am jest ing. “Dearly beloved brethren, agine my distress! Pe ‘don’t take on 89, You sare not responsible, anyway, ity is that your Cu WO In purgatory. then, goxd SL. F $43 ON ' ‘ YOu can in 5 sald Lome, © you'll be lL and fy Or VOT, probabil IDADEse Be quarantine qd love of neaven, i@ 10 see them wu ingly, my friend, dais, for iL 8 bad down this laos until BCE 8 BLVer Crosses. K ted but put thes: san wa.King. ou y studded with Diu IOCK, will be ad Good-bye! Dear y 1 brethren, wu ihe And ah Comes oul Ril Over Belov d jane such a lage— goose fe me when | think of it, 1 was all flints, thorns and pull-addors the siiver door, and ‘s there!” asked 8 grave v C I saw a all wilh wing b as white as day, a Peart ) { paveq knocked. 1 he 1 read Wh hea noe, . ’ of Cucuznan, nd there aL 1a and ig ndid and a big hung at ns waist, #0 much angel diamond Key OK ever ‘Far iIinab bigger than dL. Yeler's I said, 4! 1 sw 00! 100 pre sumptuous, bave you any Cucugnanese bere?! Any one from Cucugoas? 1 am tue parish priest.’ “Ah, Faber Martin, I suppose? ‘The sane. al your service,’ “Dearly brethren, wetted his finger and ran over Lhe pages f hus big book, and at last he sad to me with a deep sigh, ‘Father Martin, there is no resident of Cucugnan in purgstory,’ ‘No resident of Cucugnan in purgatory?’ 1 ened; ‘then, for the love of heaven, where are they ali?” ‘Up in Paradise, my good man! Where else would you have them?’ ‘Bat 1 have just come from Paradise, and they are not there At least, St, Peter told me so, and 1don’t think be would he to me. Nol he can’t have lied, tor the cock did nt crow. Mother of heaven, where 18 my congre- gation, then!’ ‘Well, sir, if your friends are not in heaven, mor yet bere, there is only one place where they can be.’ “Dearly beloved brethren, I burst out into such lsmentations thal the angel was moved ‘My dear sir, he said, t you wish to be sure about it and to see lor yourself, go down this road until you come to a door oa the left, and inquire there. Bless youl' and be shut the door behind me, 0 wasa long, steep path all paved with red-hot ron. I staggered as it | was arunk, the sweal poured from me, my hair stoxd up on end, and my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth, But, thanks to the sandsis Peter had given me, I neither stumbled nor was buroed, and at last [ came 0 a huge portal, wide open and glowing red like the mouth of a furnace. “Dearly beloved brethren, they don"t ask your name therel They keep no books there! You haven't to knock at the door there! It is always wide open like the tavern-door, and people go in in throngs, jast as you go into the tavern on the holy Sabbath day. There was a horrible smell of burping flesh, like that which arises when Eloy, the biscksmith, burns out a donkey's hoof before fitting on the shoe, only mflaitely worse, and a terrible uproar of sighs, sobbings, yells, oaths! ‘Here, ‘you; are you coming inl’ howled a big-horned deq.on, making a grab al me with a long red-hot iron hook. ‘I No, thank you, mr; 1 could mot think of in- truding—in fact, 1 belong up above!’ “You do? Weil, then, what are you doing down herel’ ‘I have traveled a long way, good Mr. Devil, to see If by any chance possibly you might happen to have aay one here from Cusugnan? ‘Any one from Cucugnanl’ yelled the fiend, ‘why, you black-frocked old fool, all Cucugnan 18 here! Step this way and L'il show you how gwe serve your precious Cucugnanese down her!’ “Dearly beloved brethren, 1 looked, and there, in the midst of a great sheet of flame, | saw—whom did 1 sce? | saw Uog-(Galene, that great, hulking loafer that used to get 80 drunk and beal his wife. And Pascal Dogt-de-Porx, who made oil with his neighbor's olives. And old Cra- pasi, the usurer. And Tortillard, who, when he met me carrying the holy sacra. ment to a dying man, walked past with his hat on his head and hus pipe in his jaw, as proud as Artaxerxes, and paying no more attention to me than if 1 had been a dog. And Couleau, with his wife, and Z ate, and Jacques and his brothers, Pierre and Toni" Shuddering with fear sat the congreaga- tion, each recognizing his father, his grandmother, his cousin, bis meter, in the inexorable roll, of ly beloved the angel save you from the abyss into which you are plunging headforemont, To-morrow 1 ¢hi1ll set about the business and do it sys tematically, To-morrow, Monday, I will hear the confessions of the old people. Oa Tuesday the children, On Wednesday the young folks—it may be late betore | get through, but never mind! On Tours. day the married women and on Friday thelr husbands, On Saturday the village miller—1 will devote the whole day %0 him. And by next Bunday, it all goes well, we shall have entered upon a new order of things. ‘Dearly beloved brethren, when the corn is ripe we must put in the sickle. When tie wine bas been poured out we must drink it. There is a great heap of dirty linen here and iL has got to be washed, and washéd at once and washed thoroughly, and I am gong to do itl” He did it From that memorsb'e moment ever aferwards the sweet savor of Lhe virtue of Cucugnan pervaded the surround ng country to a distance of ten leagues, and the good pastor, happy and light-hearled, dreamed every night when he went to sleep that in the midst of a halo of Jighted tapers and e cloud of incense, wilh the choir chanting the Te Deum, he led his fiock in resplendent procession up Lhe starry road that conducts to the city of God, on A ———— Street Cars In Tokio, The streets for the most part nar- row and teem from morning till night with bumamty., There are no regulstions, apparently, such as those embodied in are the local ordinances of most American cities, whereby sasccidents may vented or the longevity of provements promoted. driven at a terrific wooden bridges. The bridges, together with be Ep od over large the rough usage, and there ndemped are always a and closed bridges Tuere Are &pparenily no rdinance RB, and this is socounted | rily by the fact that there i Every manner 1% taken with the L# instead, the sdewnlks are thus wanting, The most incosgruous spectacle 18 that afforded by the of street cars | here to the reign in pr streel-car lines are Eng cars baving four wheels, and running upon tracks provided with a groove | Ihe d and Japanese, in but never than 3 apparcied. ‘I'he conductors carry ancient- ooking lesther sslchels strapped miders from which they tickets Lo all passengers, 10 be collected | al the door as the passengers quit the car. There are no bells on the horses, but | s born bangs by the side of the driver and | the latter energetically toots it as his | horses dash along st a bresk neck speed | down the sireet. Although these Japan- | at a*¢ abused shamefully in| urder to make them stiain a speed satls factory to the driver (there are no hu mane societies in Tokio), the cars will | stop sometimes for ten minutes st 8 cross- | ing while the condactor and driver wait for an imaginary load of passengers with- | out the least concern or impatience. it is a source of terror to the bravest | person Lo ride by any mode of copveyanoce down some of these narrow Tokio streets, Every coach and other vehicle carries sl horn in order 10 keep peopie on the look. | out, and the streets are an inlerminable crush of stages, cam, ginrikshas, and port. able groceries. Blockades are frequent and sometimes disastrous, The streetcar limes profess to have double tracks run- | ning to the suburbs of Hyzeno and Asa- kuss, but the strecis are frequently so pasrow that they have to reduce to one and even them run quite close 10 the houses. greal many of n the city. idewalk « f are sidewalks 1o i reoulate iberty Bree presence ar ithe I nec —& feature a LeaMre } Capital | We | the the the whee! LDanges, are TO i E al He decent rivers onnductors Curse, dressed clothes, more over sell | rai leee ’ Corsets, “Corsets are worn much shorter thas formerly,” said the amiable young lady in charge of the corset department of a lead- ing Chucago dry gods store to a reporter. “And it 1» by drawing these lace-strnings #0 tightly that so many ladies find an early grave?™ “Oh, no; nothing of the kind," an- swered the young lady, with an amused smile at the dense reportorial ignorance displayed. “Out of a hundred ladies who wear corsets probably not five lace at all, They mumply adjast the striogs 80 that the corset ta them neatly, aod then clasp and unclasp it when putting ton or «ff. To gay that a certain lady wears a corset doed not necessarily imply that she isces. In my experience the majority of Iadies only wear corsets 10 brace them Gp, 80 10 speak; not 80 much to give them a ceriain shape about the waist a8 to keep them from stooping and becoming round-shouldered and lop-mded generally. This 1s the reason 80 many little girls as young as 8 or 10 years are kept in corsets.”’ “You don’t mean to say that little cluld- ren wear corsets!’ J “Certamly: why not? So do men, I'm told, although they don’t get them here.” “But,” protested the reporter, ‘8 not this very injurious to the health of the chilar™ “Oh, no; on the contrary, the oorsets we sell for children are very beneficial in helping them to grow up strasght. It is only tight lacing that is injurious, aod there is no opportunity or desire for any. thing of the Kind in the case of children. It is not 8» much a corset as a contrivance to remind them when they do not carry themselves as they should, in an erect and graceful manner.” “What style of a woman is usually ad. dicted 10 tight lacing?” “You may be surprised to iearn,™ ans. wered the young lady, ‘that it is almost invariably the slender dady rather than the stout and unwieldy one who 1# usually the victim of such a habit, where it exists at oil, Large, fledhy women understand how Hope Jom would be ay elton to reduce r 0 anything hike symmetry. My father, who was tn this nn used to tell of a girl who burst a blood. vessel one morning while attempting to draw up % new corset to the last notch. But such Cas08 are very rare indeed.” Very nice: “So yeu Dr. B,; it must be very ! gaged to a doctor, Every you know-and of course very often-you feel engaged to be eal for nothing what GUSting fot u Hiiing, vi A Bemarkable Duel, In the latter half of the last centnry there flourished in Dunleckny, County Carlow, a “fine old Irish gentleman,” famed Bagenal—'‘King Bagenal,” he was called, from the fact that he was & veritable monarch oyer the circle in which he moved, His possessions were extensive, his territory broad; he was wealthy, of an old Norman lineage: his manners, in rome respects, polished; in others, al- most wild, He was fond of good living, of good horres, and of good compsuy, and he tolerated no associates who could not honor his good wine, and who were not cheerfully ready on occasions to “‘burn powder at twelve paces,” He was an inveterate dnelist, Tt was said that he peversat down to his dinner withont a pair of loaded pistols by the side of bis plate, and when the cork of a wine boltle proved refractory it was his custom to place the bottle away frorc the range of a guest, when he would pop ofl the head of it with a pistol ball, During all his life “burning powder at twelve paces,” as he always called it, had been his chiet delight, One day after Buagenal had reen hie four score years of life, a lot of pigs, the property of a’ gentleman who hud then recently settiod of his inclosures and rooted up bed, Now the gentleman who pigs had near bis estate, broke juto one ’ a Hower owned these not yet made himself known RUY WAY in making the . Here Wis all Op- Bageual bad trespass he ordered bis the pigs, enl off ther and pring them to bum, the dussevered manifested an king's JI nano: portunity. As learned of the interest Boi 8000 8% 10 secure and ihisn done, men tals, he made to & package, and sent them to tbe swine, with the polite SHEL Vo ’ & that he, 00, ito nave bedecked. N Ww, cried Bager al, 11 1 igh glee trusty * 4 Fave iO B the 1wessage bef Ya » go " Lies & pen he 3 burn powder at twelve tlemar paces after vas not to be disappointed, of the pigs sent a challenge, n al accepted with great “Only,” he stipulated, “as 1 ‘ rhs th year, feeble be allowed to fight Jd arm chair; and firmities render it in- mé to rise early, the r Bager : ana ghall weut for poor. Ah! time was,” he old man added with a sigh, *‘ #hen 1 would Lave cheerfully left my bed before daylight for the sake of fighting a duel at sun- risa, But we can’t do these things si foarscore.” They fought at the established twelve paces, Hagenal wounded his antagon- st severely; the ana of the chair mn which he sat was shattered by the the chronicler adds that he ended the day with a glorious earouse, setung a cask of claret on the floor of his was- on such occasions, by firing a pistol ball - i April, The name is derived from aperio to open or set forth, The Saxons called or Fastermonath, in which month the feast of the Saxon goddess Easter is said to have boen celebrated. April is sometimes represented as a girl, holding in one hand primroses and violets, and in the other the zodiacal sign, Taurus, or the bull, into which onastellation the sun enters during the month, The Romans consecrated the first of April to Venus, the goddess of beauty, the mother of love, the queen of laugh- ter, the mistress of the graces; and the Romsn widows and virgins assembled im the temple of Virile Fortune, and disclosing their personal deformities, prayed the goddess to conceal them from their husbands. In the ancient Alban calendar, in which the year was represeated as oon. sisting of ten months of irregular length, April stood first, with thirty-six days to its credit. In the calendar of Romulus it had the second place, and consisted of thirty days. Numa's twelve-month calendar assigned it the fourth place, with twenty-nine days, and so it remained until the time of Julins Cwmsar, when thirty days were allotted to it. which 1t still retains, Among the weather proverbs associated with it are the following: A cold April, The barn will SIL An Apiil fiood Carries away the frog and his brood, April showers Make May flowers, When April blows his horn, it's good for both hay and corn, Promotion, aster The handsomest girl in Sylvania coun- ty, Ga, became engaged, pearly forty years ago, to John Groes, the son of a wealthy planter. Bhorily after the en- agement was announced, Gross went to New Orleans on business, forgot his lady love, settled in Texas, and did not roturn home until two years later, Though the lady had not heard a word from him in all that time, she was still trae. They renewed the engagement, then quarrelled, and Gross went off again, He remained away until a few days ago, when he returned to the old homestead to celebrate his sixtieth birthday, He found his flance still waiting, and promptly married her, She had many offers of mar. ringe during hs absenos, Three men whom she had refused became respeo- fayely a a Seoator, and a Governor, Miss Mayo, a noted beauty of Vi who SEohquutiey matsied used to say she refused Gen, May. Bei Oaptais Sevth, Wajol Scott 8 ea, was
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