FAST AND SURE. Strong in the faith of woman I I1ft mine eyes to thine, I feel thon art a true man To love as fond as mine, Fond as the flower that turneth To where the sunbeams shine, What need of words revealing All thou dost know full well? True love hath no concealing, And eyes will secrets tell, Love firm as rocks still braving Unmoved the ocean's swell, Within thy hand now laying My hand I place secure, Nor doubt nor fear betraying; My faith is fast and sure— Fast as the twining ivy, As oaks that storms endure. Nay, if my pulses flutter, “Tis not the throb of feas; My lips no word could utter Of doubt while thou art near; 80 let my stay be ever Thine arm so strong and dear. Yes—draw me to thee nearer, And whispering sweet and low, In accents that are dearer Than chiming water's flow, Tell me the love thon feelest No change can ever know Oh! thus upon thee leaning, Ap woman ever should, Thy heart may learn the meaning Of trustful womanhood, Leaning on man her weakness, With strength to be endued. RII A TOY DRAMA. The Colonel grasped his friend’s hand in silence, but he could not realize the position. “1 don’t want to press you,” said Bradley, “but it certainly seems a pity such an easy way out of the difficulty.” So, after a long discussion between Poland and his wife, 1t was settled that the Colonel should accept his friend’s offer, and send Rupert to England, while he and his wife remained at Bun- dapore, ration, or for prolonged leave-taking. The poor mother strove to console her- self with the thought that her child’s life would be saved, but she suffered Coionel’s feelings were none the less deep because his manhood forbade him to parade them, his childish sorrow was soon consoled change of scene. Two years passed and the Polands were almost reconciled to the separation thought, was not good for children, and and late of the Hussars, was a Inan among his friends, joined a crack cavalry regiment, in which he was by far the most popular officer. But good nature was a more tion. Mrs. Poiand almost lived upon these so minutely and faithfully depicted, that she was tempted to forget character, than discretion, and in an evil moment he backed a brother officer’s that Poland being only a younger son, with a small allowance, was obliged to exchange into a regiment of Indian native cavalry, He was a m wife and a ried man with a delicate iple of young children, a chronic invalid, while the children faded away and died before their pa- rent’s eyes. Tne unfortunate man was too poor to afford to send them to Eng- land. and his father declined to assist him. saying with more truth than kind- ness, that he had been the cause of his own ruin, and must make the best of his altered circumstances. Grief almost killed Mrs Poland, and was not the Colonel, then. He would have resigned his commission, and left the country he looked upon as accursed, but necessity kept hi he Lived on, a dreary, hopeless exist- ence, among a people he hated, and ina land ich had become detestable to him. Two years after the death of thelr secord child, a third was born to the Colonel and his wife—a s« whom they called Rupert. The two loved youngest baby with a devotion that was almost pitiful in its intensity, for they dreaded the fatal air of the place, and scarcely dared hope that he would escape the fate of his brother and sister, but Rupert was a strong healthy child, and for the first three years of his life gearcely had a day’s illness. Poland began to think his luck had turned at last, He had recently been prometed to a Colonelcy, and shortly expected to command his regiment; his wife, too, seemed to revive in ti ht ¥ Wi Ha thi i this “ : i he delig of her boy’s existence, and Rupert | self was as little spoiled as any « could be. considering the amour affection lavished upon him. jut just when the prospects of the family seemed to brighten, a new terror rose to torment the luckless Colonel. His child began to show premonitory symptoms of the same wasting disease which was already so terribly familiar to his parents, and the chance of losing him, too, began to present itself with dreadful persistence before their imagi- nation, So far, indeed, there was no cause for immediate alarm Poland's perceptions were quickened by his over- powering anxiety and affection, or he would scarcely have noticed that little Rupert’s face occasionally wore a hectic flush, and that he seemed to tire of play sooner than was altogether natural. Hushand and wife, for a long time, therefore, kept up the painful farce of pretending to ignore each other's fears, but an explanation was finally inevita- ble. Poor Mrs. Poland, vainly striving to check her tears, implored her hus band to tell her candidly if anything was really wrong with her darling, and he was forced to admit that the doctor had recommended a sea voyage and a chango of climate, “And how the poor child is to get either the one or the other I'm sure I can’t imagine,” he groaned. thing if he ouly knew!" But the Colonel shook his head very drearily. *I can’t ask him, my dear; no, there is nothing else for it; I must’send in my the work-house somehow Anything to save Rupert.” And so the matter was settled. Col- ouel Poland was to resign his commis- sion, and the little family were to start for England by an early sleamer, But the very day before he sent in his pa . it happened that an old comrade of the Colonel’s was passing through the sta- tion in which he was quartered-—Sur- geon Major Bradley, who had been in- of his way to England with his wife, They stayed a couple of nights at Bundapore, and sympathized deeply with the Polands in their dilemma, Dr, Bradley seemed to take a great fancy to Rupert; he was childless himself. On the second morning he came to the Col- one! and offered to take charge of the hoy antil his parents returned to Eng- Ana. “It would really be rather a favor than otherwise,” he protested. “My wife and I are very dull by ourselves, and if you eould only trust us, I am sure we would take as good care of the boy as if he were our own. But you know you must make up your mind at once.” them. In another year the Colonel would retire on a good pension, and then they would be again united. Rupert had had only one misfortune—his old ley said that she thought she had found an excellent substitute, Only six months were wanting when, by the same mall, arrived a cou- black-bordered envelope, addressed in a stiff, formal hand, and the other from Dr. Bradley. The Colonel opened the black-edged letter, and handed the other to his wife, curtly informing him father and elder brother drowned on a yachting trip. “Good God, how awfull” land. His father had been his worst enemy, and his brother had never raised his little finger to help him, But blood thicker ths water, and the good man was grievously shocked by the news, As he stared at the open letter, he denly heard a shiek, and turning round, saw that his wife had fallen, fainting, to the floor, “Why, Bessie, what is the matter?”’ he exclaimed, and then nis eye fell on the Dr. Bradley. Pieking ¢ up he strove to revive his wife as he began to read it. The first few senten- ces turned his bronzed face to the lips. Rupert was lost! He and us nurse had disappeared, and™ot a trace could be found of them. Detectives had been to work, still nothing had resulted from their exertions but vague and un- satisfactory clues. Rewards had been offered, and scores of children had beer inspected, but Rupert was nol amon them. Dr Bradley wrote that he his wife were almost beside themselves with anxiety, and dread Poland, who would never forgive them ‘or being the innocent cause of tl ooked-for catastrophe. Poland called his servants to take his wife to ber room, feeling utterly stun. il helpless, ng was clear in his mind —that must sail for England without a day’s delay, whatever the cost might be. And then he suddenly remembered that he was now a rich man, and for the bitterness of his heart cursed his eruel fate, which ever seemed to mock him with vain hopes of happiness. Presently tnat his had i8 rn 4 s1d- letter from Ya to meet Col. in in ae swoon, and awoke to the full sense of her misfortunes. The Colonel utterly failed to console her; indeed, his own despair was too evident to permit him to inspire either hops or comfort. “But perhaps he is found by this time,” he said “No, nol” would have telegraphed, we him again!” On the misery of the return journey the jomrney to which the Colonel and his wife had looked forward so eagerly for years—it is needless todwell, In six week's time they were in Eng: land, and had learnt all there was to hear of their loss, Not the smallest trace had been found of the child and nurse, except that the detectives were practically certain that they had gone to London, and there disappeared utterly. What had induced the woman to take this extraordinary step, Doctor and Mrs, Bradiey utterly failed to imagine. She had always been a steady, honest girl, and the mystery was beyond their comprehension. So, with a mighty moaned his wife; *‘they I shall never friends, and settled down into a life spent in unremitting, tollsome, and He spared neither money nor trouble in the one object of his existence. He searched every work-house, - hospital, mfirmary, and school in London, until his eyes were weary and his heart sick with disappointed longing. He made fruitless journeys all over England in search of a fancied resemblance, or led by the plausible tale of an impostor, And after a year so spent, he was foreed to confess to himself that his chance of success grew more and more remote, Mrs. Puland’s health had somewhat improved by the change of climate, but she, 00, hud small pleasure in life, 80 long as her son could not be found. The Colonel's relatives laughed at him behind his back for his apparently useless persistence. “Of course the little beggar’s dead,” remarked to his friends young Martin Poland, who, by the way, was the Col onel's presumptive heir, ‘‘He always was a weakly brat. Just Imaging spending your life in running about from popiat to Seven Dials, and from Land's to John o' Groats, to see Qo eters every child in the Kingdom who hap- pens to have light hair and blue eyes! It’s positively hiritating te see the head of lhe family make such an idot of him. { self n “It would be rather awkward for yon, | malicious old gentlemen, whose mission { in life was to rub people the wrong way. | “Oh, I should be too delighted!” re. plied Martin; ‘but I am afraid the old | Colonel will be imposed upon, you | know, and adopt some scrap of hu- | manity that does not belong to him.” In spite, however, of such sneers, { Colonel Poland and his wife hoped ancholy pleasure in doing all they could in the streets, | Colonel, according to his custom, was of these waifs and strays of infant hu- manity. One day an announcement ! caught his eye that a certain paper pro- posed to raise a fund for providing toys | for Chrismas presents for these children, “A splendid ideal” cried the worthy man, ‘I'll send them a subscription at { once; and we’ll go round to the shops, Bessie, and buy some toys for them, i too,” | mach to relieve the misery of many a friendless little sufferer, “By the way,” said Mrs. Poland, “I best home-made toy. I used to be rather | clever at that sort of thing.” inspire her dexterity. { sympathy, and sald: tion for you.” They spent a good part of the evening | in deciding what form the proposed toy should take, “What do you say to a doll’s house?" asked Mrs. Poland, after several other suggestions had been discarded as im- practicable; ‘made, you know, model of our old bungalow, 1 think it would be difficult.” “Capital, | work at once, and I'll help you.’ #8 a don’t : my dear; you must sel Lo y So the bungalow wasduly begun, asd in due time was finished off to admira tion, Mrs, Poland was really sorr) th . wil AL, | the sweet up, although seemed lift her ou sorrow, and, woman-li pleasure in reproducin iiniature the where she had endured so much misery. The little model seen ed to bring her nearer to her lost boy, and she loved it almost as a friend. “1 wonder who will get the bunga- low?" she said to the Colonel, when the oil's house had been daly packed and sent off to its destination. “I'm afraid I can’t say, my dear,” answered her husband, “but 1 believe we can easily find out,” “I thank I should li} HIRE becomes of it." her terr Tieng a sad * 0 2, she t £ r 1 Hd in 1 i 3 ¥ HOU to know what 2 ' see to that, 3 yall, Bessie; I'l] said Colonel Poland, always eager to gratify her every fancy. The scene was a ward of an East-en 3 1 sheild " hospital for children. iso you sl Low-voiced, neally-dressed were pasang to and fro among number of little cota, which contains some tiny scraps of suffering humanity. But the restless limbs were quieter than usual, the queruless eries were less fre quent; there was a rare look of delighted expectation upon the upturned faces; eyes were brighter, cheeks flushed with a color that was not altogether hectic, and small tongues showed an invincible disposition to chatter, which the nurse’s authority could not altogether restrain. For Christmas was close at hand, and with Christmas came, so the children had heard, all sorts of beautiful toys, such as none had ever dreamed of being able to call their own; Christmas cards, new sixpences, and joys wonderful and altogether beyond imagination, Aud presently rapturous expectation ended in blissful reality; a chorus of delight and surprise filled the long, formal room, where the cries of pain, were, alas, much more frequent, and every child in the ward fondled some toy which chased the look of suffering from its face, and infused into its dull life a new and exquisite pleasure, each of satisfied with the splendid wooly donkey which had fallen to Lis share. He cast wistful and wondering looks upon the neighbor—a doll house of a somewhat unusual pattern. was an especial favorite. “Please, nurse, may I see Ada’'s dolls holise?"’ pleaded the child. “But, Bob, you know you ought to be content, with the donkey." “On, please, nurse, may I look at it?” And the proud woman had not the heart to refuse. Ada was a contented child, and was easily prevailed upon to relinquish her claim to the doil’s house, and to transfer her affections to the donkey. new toy as if he could never take his eyes off it “Are you satisfied now, Bob?” But Bob's eyes filled with tears, and he touched the house with trembling and careful fingers, as though he half expected it to vanish away from his sight, “It's like the house we used to Jive in, nurse, ever so long ago,” he said, *“This is where the nursery was; and Mamma used to sleep bare, Oh, nurse, shall { ever see Mamma again?’ “Of course you will, Bob,” answered the n with a catch in her throat, and w ng what the littie fellow could be thinking about’ *“‘But cheer up, daring, you mustn't cry to-day, of all days in the year.” There was a stir at the other end of the ward, as some visitors entered to see Buia, were a gen very erect and STE, accompanied by a lady some years younger than himself, comet. ee " with a sad expression and wistful eyes. i] think, Madam, your toy was sent into this ward,” sald {the Superintend- ent, who acted as gulde; “but Mrs, ! Price will know, A doll's house Mrs, | Price, with one story and a veranda.” { “Yes, Madam,” said Mrs. Price, hur- i rying up to them. { ehild, but another pleaded so hard for it { toy, This way, if you please.” {| “What is the name of the | pleader?” quickly asked strangely interested, little | surprised; ‘‘at least, so we were told, ill with a slow fever, —the wretch! In the cot, just beyond | —therel” As she spoke, they approached the much absorbed in the contemplation of | his new treasure, to notice them. So i “Yes, I'm sure we used to live here; | this is my room—and papa’s study—and the dog-kennel—and-—-" ‘Good heavens!” exclaimed the Colo- | nel, “what cap this mean?” But almost before the | uttered, his wife sprang forward, and, | seizing the child by its little shoulders, turned its startled face full into her own, And then a great cry of joy filled the ward, and the children wondered out: “Oh, Thank last! tupert, my own sweet darling! (God, we have found oa “ai You Ee ——— - Rebecon’s Prisoner. The day had been a dreary one for { the young matron, Rebecca Parsons. forest home as she, the bride of her Rufus and bade him go witl | to fight for freedom and a ireeman’s riorlst Rebecca shawls, caught rted to the barn, that burned in wide fireplace. She burst wrapped herself the milk in up pail and the ‘t—1 can't spare Kufus much 8 & lonely here now. 1'd ppressed by old England and home than to be free and Then—he may be iy him. led by a faint n groan alarmed her, from a recent iil “Help me, friend, if you can,’ weak voloe., Rebecea nerved sufferer. In th AY ung man dressed in the hated 1 of a British soldier, *‘I am your prisoner, lady; do not be- tray me fur the sake of my young wife, f me TLL ORS, She ALTDOSS 3 if 10 sengc } i the o loft vif ¥i Think if and be swooned, was from the this appeal to his captor. Rebecca's heart wasa tender and wo- manly one, Sue ran brandy and wine, and gave it dier. She looked at the wound, a gaping, cruel one it was, and in the chest but only a flesh wound. She then care- fully washed and dressed iL. Having revived him, she gave him her arm the house, where he could concealed in the garret chamber from chance visitors, A high fever came upon patient. For days he raved mn delirium, and Mrs, Parsons found it bard to control him Two week's careful nursing and he was | out of danger, but very weak and spent, “| want to show you this, Mrs, Par- sons, the picture of my wife,” said He. ginald Lingard, as he teok from his | wallet an ivory painting of a sweel- Were Your own Dusiwila 50 weak and sick as he s» ¢ffort it cost him to make house {or to tl to the 18 801. AME, ¢ wi) be the hued eyes beamed with hope and joy. is just as good as she is beautiful. Poor darling! she was almost heart-broken when I came to America. I left her unconscious. !t was hard to leave her | 80, but a soldier must go wherever he is ordered. 1 shall tell her when I get | home that an enemy saved my life. 1 was wounded in the last skirmish, and 80 weak when I crawled into your barn that I only wanted to die, you have been to mel” At supper, as she sat alone, two strong arms were folded about her, and come home. : “Are you surprised to see me, little | woman?’ asked Rufus, were near here, Is there anything wrong, Rufus?” | coat is in this neighborhood. Now don’t | be fearful, Rebecca, Iam here to-night, and good news, dear, after this week I am coming home to stay ail the time.” For once in her wedded life Rebecca had a secret from her husband. She dreaded to tell him about her prisoner, fearing he would think it his duty to give the poor soldier over to the Ameri can authorities, and pity for the young English wife made her heart tender to ward her captive. For once, she was sorry to have Rufus come home, At daybreak Rufus kissed Rebecca and rode away, bidding her keep watch for stray redcoats, At © she prepared & iunch for Mr, Lingard, made him as comfortable as she could, and her prisoner took his leave, “(od keep you and yours, and reward you for this,’ said the soldier, as he left the humble forest home. Rufus came home as he said he should, and Rebecca could not rest until she told him all, “I am glad, little woman, that you did not tell me sooner, as 1 should have thought it right to have given Nim up, but | am glad that you saved the Eog- lish girl's husband for her, No doubt she would have done as much for you." A year rolled by, and the war still went on. Rufus and Rebecca worked with a will to aid their cause. In those early days letters were fow and scarce, but one morning there came a packet from England for Mrs, Rufus Parsons, It was a great event in their monoto- | nous lives, and delighted indeed was {the young housewife at the dainty, | pretty articles of dress and the toilet | table sent by Mrs, Reginald Lingard, { Rufus and Rebecca's little son was | barn to a heritage of freedom upon the | vary day the bells rang their joyful | chimes, telling the glad story of peace i and a victory. The summer Richard was 18 a great | surprise came to the Parsons family, Sir Reginald Lingard, with his wife {and two young daughters, drove up to “Hazelwood Farm’ one morning, iebecea Parsons and Lady Lucie Lingard were at once tender and true | friends, each forgetting the difference | in dress and station. | Victoria, the eldest daughter, was a | genuine aristocrat, and a little inclined to snub and patronize all Yankees; but Beatrice, the piquante, black-eyed gyp- | 8y, was in love with everyihing she saw, When Sir Reginald was ready to start ‘or home he discovered his little Beo | was not heart-whole, “What are we to do abut it, Par- sons? I think our two youug people are | in love with each other. I tiunk my | Bee is too young to marry, but if they {are of the same mind a few years from | now 1 will give my consent,” “And I mine,” said honest Rufus | Parsons, ‘And | think my son good | enough to mate with a princess, ”’ willing to give my bonny Bee,” answer- { od Sir Reginald, The last evening of their stay in America was a never-to-be-forgotten | one to Bee and Richard, who plighted | their troth and planned how they should | Richard could make her his own cherished wife, cil Maan icn Men's Sons, be envied it is the one who 18 born to {an ancient estate, with a long line of | hand of shaping his mansion and his i domain to his own taste, wit losing | sight of all the characteristic features | which surrounded his The American is, for the most nomad, who pulls down his house as the Tartar pulis up his tent pol I had an ideal life to plan for would be something like this: His grandfather should be a scholarly, large-brained, large-hearted country minister, from whom inherit the temperament th poses to cheerfulness and the finer instincts which life to noble aims and make it i HT pure $s ¢ aL {ovat Carriles with ¥ vp § " . 5 * 4 the graliication ol tastes and the carrying out good of Li WOW creatures, ve been born, neighbors and He should, at any rate ha f his early vears, or a under the roof of the His father id will say, a business great cilles mons £1 5 of them infates minisler » : beral nee « FERIEN is pn his eariiest m Is this a pleasing Wealth is a steep hill, whicl siowly and the son oft own precipitately, buat will w! veal HH felimbs { bles 4 table land continuous may be found their head by those » not | looking frow sharply cloven summit. danger- ous rich men can make themselves hat ed, held as enemies of the loved and recognized as) The clouds of discontent are 1 ing, but if the gold-pointed lightning rods are highly distributed the destruc. tive element may be drawn off silently and harmlessly. Lous Face, bree Wiad People as Travelers, In Europe and in this country it must often have been observed how many people of an advanced age, Women as well as men, are traveling for health or pleasure. These people, of course, have means, but as they seem in many re- spects to act selection of localities and in adjustment to new climates, customs aud conveni- ences than the younger folk, it is obvi- ous that trained and disciplined facul- ties tell in travel ac in everything else, The astute hackman or boatman does not gull these veteran tourists into pay- ling two prices for a service, does not and does not cheat them by assurance | as to weather not borne out by meteor- ological observation. The gray-headed business man on his travels does not part company with his business ideas and methods, He soon advises himself as to his new surroundings and isin a short time Detter informed as to many | matters than the natives themselves, A young man would laugh at the idea of seeing the world under the guidance much more foolish thing. He canseea shallow and superficial part of a novel world In his own way, but under the see and learn things that his own vision never dreams of. This remark is not wholly inapplicable to the young ladies. These bewitching creatures too might make travel far richer in results by persons. aw a An Even Thing. He was the attendant of a railroad Inpeh counter at a station in Indiana. The other day, as a stranger called for a cup of coffee, the attendant glared at him for a moment and then began to spit on has hands,’ “What's up?’ ; “Going to have revengeon you." “What for?” “We were in Wall street together {en years ago. You advised me to buy railroad stock and unloaded on me and me down to $40 a month.’ “Well, don't get mad about that, It wasn't a year ofS 4 Shap unloaded coal oli on me, and I'm ing on this train out here for a dollar a day.” “They kissed and called it an even Whe? co —— A big, old-fashioned parn in the country, piled full of sweet-smelling | hay; thousands and thousands of clover | blossoms, with honey cups over which { fat bumble bees tumbled and buzzed, | gathering thelr sweet burden, were | stowed away in the loft; golden butter. | cups mingled with the grass; greal ox- | eyed daises, on which Aunt Alice drew {such cunning little baby faces, were | ruthlessly beheaded and packed away in the mows, Such a delightful place for a romp and a tumble! Buch delightful tea par- ties as were held out there! All the dolls were mvited, and sometimes Moppet’s whole family of kittens, only they would be so rude aboutsticking their heads in the milk jar. Four little folks from the cily were spending a month with their cousins, and the old barn was the favorite play- house, Amy Goodwin sat under a horse chestnut tree one afternoon, very quiet and thoughtful, “0, Amyl” cried Cousin Jessie,” “we're going to have supper in the harn; Dora will give bread and cake, Will is picking berries and Flossy is making a real salad out of the cook book. Johnny brought her some garbage from down the creek to putin, but I | think it smells awfully.” | “*“Tisn’t garbage, it’s garlic,” cor. | rected Amy shortly. “I’m not going | to that old barn to eat!” “I'd be more polite to my compan- “In | ions, anyway,” retorted Jessie, | the city it is considered very ill-bred to | correct people!” And Jessie walked | away with a dignified air but Amy made no movement toward following ! her, | “I wonder what ails Amy lately; she | is 80 quiet,” sald Aunt Alice! “She looks so pale | time: I cannot understand it,” | mother anxiously. “She mopes along all the while, and vill t play,” said Horace. *I’m find out wi the trouble is ng back her mer. down lightly and worried 3 all t said he 10 to ! ‘ yal {and see if I cannot b y ri ca 4) 4 WARNE and he sj h, Amy was worried y 160 Ad R43 her. She d habit of not ruth about been guilty but it 1s so a dread 0 Wa 5 ACGQUITINE he Was ruma- which was which she articularly prized. refuge, the barn, and formed a very berry dish, § I e ran to her usual hink it over, »” she Betty broke it,’ : know any dif- = Wi f WAS para ho-0, WHO 0-07” rang out jast fierce question loosed the of fear that id her limbs, dashed wildly into the house, sting wee Jamie on the way, and ving him screaming. She thought it as she sat alone. “0 dear! O dear! Who could have read my thoughts? I- 3 “Hello, Miss Doldrumsi Is the dumps again? Come on, supper’s "most ready!” and Horace took ber hand to lead her away. ‘I don’t want any supper, and I hate it old barn,” she said, holding back. “Why? asked Horace, amazed. “Because there's wi there, ' she whispered solemnly. Horace began to laugh, bot a glance at Amy's pale face checked him. ‘How do you know,” he inguired. Then Amy told him all about the mysterious volee. “Are ghosts always hoarse, do you think, Horace?’ she asked. “Come on and we'll see,” he answer. ed, langhing “Do you see anything behind me, Horace?" asked the nervous hitie girl, { softly, as they walked toward the barn, “Nothing but the shadow of a little | coward,’ he answered, gayly. Amy watched kim as he rac up the | ladder to the loft, sure she should never dare follow him; but a merry laugh re- assured her, and she climbed bravely up, her sun-bonnet falling down her back in the excitement. Horace sat on the hay laughing and poiuting toa large staring owl “There's your ghost, Amy,” he cried; “that’s the way ghost stories always turn out.” “1 know owls can see when it’s pitch dark, but how could he look through | me and see that naughty story in my | heart?’® asked Amy, doubtPuily. **He couldn't,” saud Horace, “Owls always hoot that way; bal, little cou- | sin, there is an All-Seeing Eve that wit. | nesses every act of hidden wrong-doing, {and a ‘small still voice’ that { louder, even, than this solemn bird." bot vir Oves $a¢ + gi i ts A — Rabbits. A single firm in Jasper, Mo., has | shipped 7,000 rabbits this season. In some sections of Missouri restaurants class rabbits among the *‘delicacies of the season.” The Springfield (Mo) Herald has this observation to offer on the subject evidently in the interests of justice: Rabbits are quoted at points on the Gulf Railroad at 24 cents per dozen, while retail at 25 ceuta. This dis crimination against the rabint in favor of the hen needs investigation and legislation, and as there is no justice in a years’ products of a mother rabbit bri a cent less than the work of an old chicken, who only puis in a couple of week's scratching around in leisure moments dashes off 25 cents worth of produce, Tt MA AS An cleotric horse chronometer has been invented, The movement is con. trolled by a current opened and closed yy the breaking of an aimost microsoo- copper wire stretched soross th track, It is said to record to the J of » second, idk A Sours Exp man calls bis wife C tal because she is always on the w at rx » 3
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers