——— A SUFFERING INFANT. Pm indeed a suffering infant, Lord! how I detest these frills And these curls and pretty panties Copied from the showman's bills, Don’t I wish that I were bigger, Wouldn't I rise up and swear At that silly-looking make-up, With the long and fluffy hair. My! I'd like to go in swimming, Play at leap-frog or base ball; But my clothes are far too pretty= No, it wouldn't do at all. Life grows dark and dull and dreary; Not an hour can [ enjoy. How I'd like to kick the stuffing Out of little Fauntleroy! — Washington Capital BY SARAH PITT. «If any relatives of the late James Handford, sometime curate of Wid. ston, be still living, they may hear of something to their advantage by ap. plying to Messrs. Dod & Sou, solic itors, King street.” with a little jerk. «] wonder if that said thoughtfully. means me,” she “My grandfather's and I know that he was a curate, but 1 did not know that there was ever any money in the family.” «If you think it worth while, go to Messrs. Dod & Son and suggested a sharp-feyured, lady who sat stitching at the table be- tween them. “I shall. There may be five thous. and pounds waiting for me.” gested the stitcher. Barbara laughed. «I'd rather think of the thousands, Mrs. Stewart; they would be more to my advantage.” ‘1 know of something that would be money you are likely to get from ad- see it,” returned that lady, significantly. for home. She was the music-mistress before that ; the world, except up the little household, she had been very glad when Mrs. Stewart's proposal to retain her for the younger girls music lessons saved her from applying to strangers. Still, notwithstanding her obligations, there were times when Barbara felt strongly disposed to pro- test against the lady's authority, for it was pretty much as it had been in the days when she was a child. “She never seems to remember that i am grown up and fit to manage my own business. It does not follow that right to interfere with me now.” She was marching down the road, ber head well up, while she argued the matter out, when some one quietly fell into step beside her. The shadow gan- ished from her brow like morning ist as she looked around. “What are you in such a dreadful hurry for?” inquired the new-comer. #] could scarcely keep you in sight.” It was the subject of Mrs. Stewart's adgonitions, her drawing-master— clever enough in his profession, but of his industry and general dependable- ness she had not the highest opinion. Not so Miss Barbara, who was fast de- veloping a very warm sentiment for the fine looking young artist. “] am going home to deposit my music, and after that I think of mak- ing a journey into the city, to King street.” “That is an expedition!” “Jen’t it! but I have some expecta Jon of coming into a fortune, and that is the place I am to apply to.” Mr. Lawrence's face showed such genuine interest in the news that the girl speedily told him all she knew, perhaps with a little unconscious ber previous announcement. «You will be sure and let me know the result of your expedition?” «Oh, yes.” «1 shall be most anxious to hear, and no one deserves such a fortune better than yourself,” said he earnestly, as with a lingering ciasp of the hand he left her. The dingy, jolting omnibus that conveyed Barbara to the city that afternoon might have been a royal chariot for all she felt it. She was absorbed in bright visions of her com- ing greatness. No more long practis- ing at Mrs. Stewart's for herself, no drawing lessons for someone else. Who could tell but next May there might be a new member in the acad- emy, a new picture to attract all eyes? No man tied down to mere teaching could have a fair chance. The girl's face glowed with the fancy that it might be her hand that would set the fettered genius free, The glow was still there when she turned into King street and ran against a plain, rather commonplace young man, coming out of one of the ware- houses, “Why, Barbara, it’s not often you come to this quarter,” he said, as he held out his hand. It was a brown, ungloved hand, and pore evident traces of hard service. Bar- bara gave the tips of her fingers rather coolly eouttusting i with the well shaped. yellow-gloved one that bad pressed hers a little before, «I came on some business, Mr. virant,” she said. “1 believe there 1 legacy waiting for me; it was adver — tised in the papers, and I am golag to see the solicitors about it now.” John Grant langhed. “Well, 1 hope you may get it, Miss Barbara; for enyself, I never had much faith in legacies since 1 wasted twenty-five shillings in advertising about one.” «That may have been a very differ- ent matter from this. I had better not detain you any longer, Mr. Grant.” «(ood afternoon, Miss Barbasa.” The girl bowed stiffly. “And that is the man Mrs. Stewart thinks worth half a dozen of Alfred Lawrence,” said she to herself as she walked into the solicitors’ office. It seems to be a decided virtue in some people’s eyes to have coarse hands and & el.abby general appearance.” Her face wus several shades longer when she came out again. The law- vers had not received her with the re- spectful enthusiasm she expected. She | was not prepared to answer questions about genealogies; indeed, she fancied they took L® for an impostor, they had been so unwilling to give her any information. She should hear from them in a few days, and in the mean- | time she must kindly fill in the answers | to certain questions on & paper they had given her. | «And I thought I should almost { have had it in my pocket by this tine,” | she said ruefully. «Ah, well, I must | have patience for another week or so, it is sure to be settled then; only—I'd rence.” ' almost as deeply as she did with her- | the result of her visit next day.. The | girl was quite struck with the way he seemed to enter into all her feelings. «And they did not even give you an | idea how much it is?” he asked. «No, but I could tell by their man- | ner that it must be a good deal,” said | Barbara. +] don’t know if that is a criterion. | These old lawyers are vers deceptive sometimes,” he rejoined. ‘However, you can get that paper filled up and i sent in, and I would not lose any time ! about it.” whom she had to explain herself, «Just what I expected, Miss { bara,” he said, cheerfully. never sure of a chance of that ; till one actually has it. I would not | build on it if 1 were vou.” of me anate experience in that way,” torteed the young lady, [ am in no hurry for a few days.” “Days!” echoed John. “There's a man in our office who has waited years, and is likely to wait, far as I can see.” the path. ‘Barbara, my dear,” she remarked ever to the girls’ practizing this after- noon?” Barbara flushed scari«t «| was beside the time,” she declared. “Your body may have been there, out your mind certainly was not. Now, | put this unfortunate legacy out of your the reverse of any advantage to you.” Ten days later the looked-for communication srs. Dod and Son. “They were in re- ceipt of Misa Reed's paper, and could assure her the matter should have their best attention, hers most obediently,” ete. Barbara flung it into a disappointed face. be obliged to wait this. get through the time but for Mr. Law- rence’s attention and warm interest in the upshot. John Crant’s indifference, pot to say skepticism, on the subject, threw up his rival's superior qualities in full relief; and yet there were times when Barbara felt justa little puzzled that Mr. Lawrence went no farther. ‘With all his solicitude and looks that said more than words, he never abso- lutely committed himself to anything more binding than friendship. «I can’t ask him,” she said one day | nnder her breath as she walked slowly home after one of these ¢accidental” | meetings. “But, oh, 1 do wish he | would say straight out what he means, ! or else keep away altogether.” Poor Barbara was to feel more un settled still before she reached home. It was a lovely summer evening, and fifty yards farther on she was joined by another cavalier—John Grant this time. She shrank back at first, half afraid of some jesting inquiry after Messrs, Dod & Son, but she speedily discovered that he seemed to have for. gotton their very existence. There was something else in his mind, and he lost no time in saying very “straight out” indeed what it was. “I may not be able to offer you a fine house and luxuries,” he said, “but I have saved plenty to begin in com- fort, and I think we might be very pappy together if you would only try. I have thought about it for the last two years, and worked hard to be able to tell you so.” j Barbara looked up at him with gen- uine tears in her eyes, «I am so sorry!” she said. “Inever thought of such a thing—at least, not in serious earnest,” as she remem- bered sundry remarks of Mrs, Stew. art's. “Beside, there's lots of other better girls you might find.” «That is not the point,” he interrupt. ed; “it's you, not the other girls, I want. Try and think of it, Barbara. I don’t want to hurry you, but let me have a line as soon as you can; it means a good deal to me.” Barbara went home in a kind of haze. She had never thought so highly of John Grant and his straigh ard dependableness as at that moment; came in suspense ni —— ————— Lawrence with his handsome face and dashing manner, and there was a little undefined sense of resentment against Mrs. Stewart, who had always been a strong if not entirely judicious advo- cate for John Grant, and—then there wus this probable fortune that might be coming to her. Barbara looked at the peaceful evening gky in sore per- plexity as to what she ought to do, or what she wished. «He said he didn't want to hurry me,” she finally decided. “I'll just wait and see how things go.” For another week or two things con. [ tinued to go in much the same fashion. Mrs. Stewart wore a chronic air of disapproval. John Grant was invis- ible. Ouly Mr. Lawrence was to the fore with ais sympetbetiz inquiries, but in some mysterious way Barbara began to find them irritating rather than flattering. She got tired of giv- ing the same reeponse, ‘Nothing vet,” und of hearing the same polite remarks about his concern and admiration of her. They did not go deep enough. ‘If he has nothing more than that to say, he ought not to have said it at all,” she reflected, contrasting it hal? unconsciously with John Grant's very opposite line of conduct. At last, one Saturday morning, as she was setting out for Mrs. Stewart's, she met the postman, who gave her a blue official-looking envelope. Barbara stogd still on the step, holding ber brenth as she opened it. ‘Messrs. Dod and Son's compli- ments to Miss Reed, and begged to in- form her that Mrs. Elizabeth Drake had been proved the nearest of kin, and consequently heir-at-law to the five hundred pounds left by the late James Handford."” Miss Reed folded up the letter and put it soberly into her jacket pocket. She had scarcely realized before how much she had been counting upon it. There was nothing left now but to put on a brave face and make the best of it. «Mrs. Stewart,” she said, knocking at the door of that lady's sitting-room, | before she begun her morning practice. «] wanted to tell you I have heard about the legacy at last.” | “Well?” Mrs. Stewart | from her desk, pen in hand. «It’s not well,” said Barbara, trying to smile. “There is some one nearer than 1 am-—a Mrs. Elizabeth Drake. | She gets it all—it was five hundred pounds,” Mrs. Stewart laid down her pen and patted the girl's shoulder kindly. “« Never mind, Barbara; you may be | glad to have missed it some day, though | it's not pleasant now. There are many | other good things in the world beside { money.” “Itgwould have helped very nicely, { though,” sighed Barbara, “No doubt; but it's not to be, so | just try and forget it. You know you are not utterly dependent upon it.” As Barbara crossed the hall to the | school-room that afternoon, she en- | countered Mr. Lawrence. He was standing at the table buttoning his | light gloves. She saw at the first glance { that Mrs. Stewart had told him of her disappointment. She hesitated one in- stant, then went straight up to him. “You see, ] am not to come into a fortune, after all,” she said quietly. “Ro it seems,” he said coldly, not | looking up from the refractory button. was not much of a fortune, I thought it was to be five or six times that amount.” «] wish I had never heard of it.” spoke Barbara, looking at him scornful surprise. It has been noth- ing but an upset and an annoyance.” «Y-es, it is rather a pity-——disappoint- ing, and waste of time, too. Well, 1 am going into the country fora few weeks, Miss Reed, 50 good afternoon if 1 don't chance to see you again.” “Good afternoon,” returned Bar. bara, with a frigid bow, as she opened the school-room door. A tiny note was dropped into the piller-post that same evening ad- dressed to Mr. John Grant, and ran thus: “rear Jonny <I am not half good enough for you, but if you still wish it—1'll try.” It was not, perhaps, a great achieve- ment in the way of composition for a young lady who had been under Mrs, Stewart's guidance so jong, but it per- fectly satisfied the person for whom it was intended, and much loftier epistles have often failed in that respect. “Mrs. Stewart, that unfortunate legacy was something to my advantage after all,” Mrs. John Grant said once, some months later. “I don't know what Mrs. Elizabeth Drake did with it, but I do know I would not change with her. The missing it has brought me far more happiness than the get- ting it ever could.” ———— II The Fiddlers of Camberland Island, A Cumberland correspondent thus describes the fiddlers of that island: “After fishing my attention was at- tracted by an army of fiddlers in the sand. Oh, such funny little folks are the fiddlers! They are a peaceable set, too, and in all the droves and droves that | saw marching about on the sands by the inlet I saw only two who were disorderly. They fought a little, but not for long, and the defeat ed fellow crawled into his hole, and the army moved on, A fiddler looks like a very small crab. Some are blue, others red and brown, and there are black and gray. Some have no claws, others have a great white claw like a erab, which they seem to keep time with, They are the drum re. A fiddler never turns to run. y run backward, to the front and side- ways without moving thelr bodies. They have little holes all over the sand that reach to—well, I don’t know, for 1 got a stick and dug and until I got tired, and I never did find the bot- Yn. They have a sunions little way making a noise smacking lips, and it sounds sometimes ns wough a lot of folks were kissing. looked up i “But it | after all. iia PORTUGUESE BULL FIGHT HORE EXCITING AND LESS CRUEL THAN IN SPAIN, How the Bulls Endeavor to Get st The bull fight of Spain and that of Portugal, are of equal antiguity, but they are radically different, and the Portuguese fight is not only th#® better sport and the more humane of the two, but also that it has kept far more truly to the traditions of the ancient pas- time, which seems to have been a modified survival of the gladiatorial beast shows of ancient Rome. dition tells us that the Cid, the renowned as a ball fighter, killing bulls from his horse with his own hand. Emperor Charles V. was also Jevoted to this noble sport, and Goya, the Spanish painter, made a memorable picture of him in the very act of at tacking with his spear a savage bull. Now, the Spanish bull fight preserves these glorious old traditions in a very degraded form. Their mounted pica- dors are recruits from the slums of Peville or Madrid, and they are so g¢wathed in leather and in mail that they are practically safe from danger, and the horses they ride are broken- down cab and cart horses, whose work is done, and, being fit only to be put to death, are simply madg an end of by the bulls instead of by the “kunack- ” In poiut of fact, the picador does er. not fight at all. He simply gets into his poor horse to the bull's horns. Portuguese bull fighting is a manlier sport, No knacker's yard horses are brought into the ring to be butchered there unresistingly. The Portuguese pieadors are not recruited slums, but are usually gentlemen by birth—of a class, that is to say, with whom the management of the horse is a traditional accomplishment. Instead of being protected by armor, the) wear a rich, gold-laced costume of the 16th century, and the horses are fully trained, aud caparisoned mag. nificently in silk and gold. CAD. is by the banderilbeiros, who tiny darts calied banderilhas—sticks about a foot in length, adorned with silken ribbons and streamers, with a projecting steel point, barbed, and as fine as a trout fly hook straightened out. Itis not long enough 10 pass through the creature's skin, which almost two inches thick st the neck, where the darts are inserted, and CRITY in we should feel that of a pin. great art of the Portuguese then evade him. It is a splendid sight to see 8 black bull from the plains of Alemtejo in the tage of his first rush into the ring. He charges at the first living oreature in his path; and the blinder and madder his rush, the safer the bull “fighter. The man holds his scarlet silken cloak him, and the horns of the enraged animal mect only the empty air. Naturally he is very much astonished, and when he has charged thus vainly on three or four of the men he stands im the centre of the ring and considers what to He paws the ground, he roars he stamps ; and then, sometimes he turns cunning and comes toone of the men very slowly, with intent to press him against the wooden barrier of the ring till he has erushed the life out of * him. An attack of this kind is, of course, much more dangerous than are his blind charges, and would lead to more deaths in the ring than really oo- cur were it not that the darts fo one side as the bull is on half-way from the ground. The bull fighter plants his foot on this ledge, his hand on the top of the barrier. over and away before his baffled versary knows it. that sometimes the bull has so much “go” in him that he himself leaps the barrier in pursuit of his flying foe, witnessed in Oporto no less than four outof ten bulls did thus leap the bar- rier. 1don’t think this could have been pleasant for the spectators, and I confess that such a possibility tem- pers the impatience of my desire to behold a Portuguese bull fight. The banderilheiros who fasten the little darts in the bull's meck are mounted, and their task is far more dangerous than that of the men on foot, who mock him with their cloaks and escape. The men on horseback cannot spring over the barrier, and a stumble of the horse, or a mistake in his may easily be fatal. In fact, I think the bull has a good deal the best of itin Po ; and he enjoys the contest so keenly that, though his stable door is held wide open to him, and he knows by experience that water is there to quench his thirst, and fresh- cut grass for him to eat, he can only be induced to leave the ring device of bringing in a troop of oxen, his companions. wear bells around ®eir necks, and the bull hears the familiar le. A sense of com- city re-enforces and he trots away, at lat; Train Robber Smith, ! How stringety tim good and bad intermingle in the breast of man is strikingly shown by tke train of cir- cumstances attending the recapture of Smith the train robber, who is now awaiting trial in the county jail. In | others, robbed the eastern bound At- lantic and Pacific express at Canon Diablo, and a month afterwards, after one of the longest chases on record, the party were captured by Sheriff (’Neil and posse in Utah. While on the return trip to Arizona, Smith ef- fected his escape by jumping from a ear window on the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe while the train was tains in New Mexico. He at once struck out for Texas, | taking horses wherever the opporsin- ity presented, and riding them as long {as they were able to carry him. On the afternoon of the ninth day, while in the Pan Handle, near Vernon, Smith discovered a woman aimlessly wander- ing over the prairie, and recognizing the fact that she must be lost or in | trouble, he rode up and accosted her. She informed him that she had been {lost two days, during which time she | had gone without food. Knowing that 'in her emaciated condition she could not possibly survive much longer with- out assistance, Smith, the escaped train robber, fleeing though he was to es cape trial for a crime the penalty of which was death, and still carrying on leach Jeg his broken shackles, be- thought him of a windmill he had passed some eight miles back, and putting the woman on his horse, con- ducted her to it. He left her, and riding along the | wire fence that enclosed the windmill for five or six miles, until he discover- ed the camp of the men employed to keep it in repair, he informed them of the woman's condition. They at once saddled, and, although the night | was nearly gone, started at once for the windmill, and found the young woman—a young school teacher— weak, but still alive, and at once brought her to a place where she was cared for. At daylight the Sheriff and in pursuit of Smith met the same men, and finding from their ac- count and description in which di- rection the fugitive had gone, pursued him. Before high noon they had overtaken { him, and Smith, the train robber, who, Jess than twenty-four hour sbefore, had turned from his way to succor aN uL- fortunate woman, was shot froen his saddle while resisting an arrest, which | he might have prevented by avoiding the delay and observation so entailed. The story is good enough to have a | moral: but doubtless Smith, who in the county jail awaiting trial for his {life on account of it, fails to dis- cover it. Eg a is ots I AS A Woman Mall-Carrier. Oregon has a woman mail-carrier. Her name Miss Minnie Westman, | and she carries Uncle Sam's mail from the head of navigation on Sinslaw liver over the Coast Range mountains, is | office station, within fifteen miles Eugene City. Her route is twenty miles long, and is situated right in the heart of the mountains, where all the dangers and | adventures incident to such an occupa- tion abound. She carries the mail | right and left and fears nothing. She rides horseback, and carries revolver, Miss Westman is a plump little bru- nette, and is just 20 vears old. Her father and uncle operate a stage line, and have a contract for carrying the ‘mail. At Hale's station Minnie meets her father, and gets the from Eugene City and starts on her round, Miss Westman has never met of her duty. On oneof her trips last vear she found three good sized bears in the road right in front of her. The | horse, on espying them, became fright- i ened, threw and turning round, ran back the road he came, presence of mind started after the run- | away, and overtaking him, remounted | and rode right through the savage cor- don, and, strange to sav, she was not attacked. Meeting some friends she told them of what she had seen, and they went to the place bears. has met two bears, which did lest her. —Portland Oregonian, —————— I. 1 A Sandstorm in the Hed Sea. The steamer Glenshiel, which reach- ed New York recently from Yoko- hama and other eastern ports with a cargo of tea, repogts a curious expe- rience which she encountered in the Her log says that on leaving the Perin Islands, July 19th, the atmosphere was 80 crowded with sand-dust that it was When huif way up the sea a sand storm of such violence was experi- enced that the greatest difficulty was found in making any headway st all The sand sifted like fine snow through every crevice, filled every dish of food, and covered everything with a gritty coating. At the same time its c were so thick and impenetrable that one | could not see two ship lengths ahead ,of the vessel. This state of things lasted for eight hours. A —— Regal Weights. | SUBJECTS FOR THOUGHT, I The childhood shows the mar, as morning shows the day. Fashion is, for the most part, noth. ing but the ostentation of riches, It is & miserable thing to live ip suspense ; it is the life of a spider. A man is never so much as master of | himself as when he has given himsels up. Literature ie the diet of the common mind, but genius feeds on unwritten things. The age of chivalry is never passed, #0 long as there is a wrong left un- redressed on earth. Love that has nothing but beauty to keep it in good health is short lived and apt to have ague fits, Books, like proverbs, receive their chief value from the stamp and esteem of ages through which they have passed. To be successful in any enterprise, employ a messenger who is deaf, dumb, and blind; such a messenger is money. Contentment is a pear] of great price, and whoever procures it at the pense of ten thousand desires makes a wise and happy purchase. I have heard of men who knew more { than they could tell, but 1 have never { met one. If a man has a genuine idea he can make lnmself understood. Our Lord God doth like a printer, | who setteth the letters backward: we see and feel well the setting, but we shall read the print yonder in the life to come. We are to know that we are never without a pilot. When we know not how to steer, and dare not heist a sail, we can drift. The current knows the way though we do not. The ship of heaven guides itself and will not accept | & wooden rudder. © Lo It is bard for s haughty man ever to forgive one who has caught him in a fault, and whom he knows has reason to complain of him: his resentment never subsides until he has regained the advantage he has lost, and found means to make the other do wrong. While the due preparation for and organization of labor deserve all the careful and wise adjustment that they receive, the intervals of life should never be suffered to be filled up by chSnce. They too should be provided for and the necessity of emploving them aright should be impressed on all. Thou mavet be sure that he that will in private tell thee of thy faults is thy friend, for be adventures thy dis- like, and doth hazard thy hatred; for there are few men that can endure it, every man for the most part delighting in self-praise-which is one of the most universal follies that bewitcheth man- kind. Even the ablest, most laborious, and most useful of men cannot afford to | make enemies right and left of high and low. Virnlent enemies are made bv sharp words more than by any | other means. If you allow yourself ; what is doubtless to some dispositions the luxury of an unbridled tongue, {| you will have to pay for it. Some day the enemies you make will have their i | 1 im equal | innings, and may trip you up. The nost pugnacious “Stick-to. rights,” though he certainly does give | the public a great deal of trouble, i | upon the whole, a useful person. i is, ie makes other people very careful to observe the rights of their Indeed, our soft friends themselves | could not get on at all but for the aid of those who will not be imposed upon. | Yet it is «Stick-to-rights” who | called a hard man, an unfeeling savage, an incarnation of selfishness: while his soft neighbor is supposed to be the most amaible of men. “If vou make a sheep of vourself,” said old ! Dr. Franklin, “the wolves will de- vour you.” No man has a right to give such encouragement to wolves. Wolves are the common enemy. To overcome such wolves a man must | «show his teeth,” and, if need be, use | his teeth. Then the wolves will not be apt to molest him, and the opinion will spread among beasts of prey that it is ; better to let alone a class of creatures who can be lambs to one another, but bull-dogs to those who attack them. Painted Diamonds, There is one pawnbroker in Wash- | Ington who has lost all faith in human honesty. Several months ago ; & nicely dressed man entered his shop | and displayed a pair of diamond ear- * rings upon which he desired to secure a loan. The stones had that peculiar E31 ACHIOWS, is and in due course of time the pawn- broker tried to dispose of them. He exhited the diamonds to a well-known | dealer, who said if they would stand a test they were easily worth $1,500. The stones were removed from their | settings and placed in a bottle of alcohol. Then they were shaken for { about five minutes, taken out and | carefully cleaned. From the beautiful
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers