Bfy Loss.
Day alter day, while at my window sitting,
I see the children at their play near by;
Like butterflies in summer gardens flitting,
They hover round beneath my watchful eye.
Hie little girls, with flushed and merry laces,
Ulance at mo shyly for my answering smile,
And tempt me with their most alluring graces
To put sad thoughts away whilo they be
guile.
Blonde hair and brown in solt oonlusion blend
ing.
Black eyes and blue upturned to meet my
gaze,
Koees both white and pinx their contrast
lendiag,
To add new beauty to the 'wildoring mazo.
But when they one by one, tired out with
playing,
Steal slowly homeward through the sunset
light,
iioraory goes back beyond ths dark years,
straying
AmoDg the days of yore that seem so bright.
I turn my head, s radiant, golden splendor
Shines from the west across the pictured
wall,
And glorifies a face divinely tender,
With bronze-brown hair waved round it
fall on fall;
With violet eyw so winsome in thoir sweet
ness,
That mine grow smiling spite of griel and
pain,
With curved lips, tlio seal of love's complete
ness;
Oh, Heaven' eould I but press them once
sgaiu.
In vain I watch and' wait, she will come only
When night has cast her spell 011 sea and
shore;
Then when I sleep and dream, no longer
lonely,
She comes to feed my hungry heait once
more.
Tis then and only then that 1 behold her;
Her dear voice floats around me soft and
low;
'Tis then, and only then, my arms enfold her,
The little girl I lost so long ago.
—Botton Transcript.
ALMOST TOO LATE.
" I am going now, en."
Charles Archer stood at the door of
the one room hiph up in a noisy tene
ment-house in Hew York, which lie
called " home." It •vas not the wedded
home he had dreamed of twelve vears
before, when he uttered the " Valedic
tory" at Yale, when Helen Gordon
blushed and smiled at the applause that
greeted his appearance on the stage.
Nor was that crouching figure beside tlie
window, in the untidy print dress, with
the pretty sullen face, and the uncombed
golden hair, much like the graceful belle,
of whose company he had been so proud,
so happy to monopolize, upon that
golden day.
His wife looked up and caught the ex- '
pression of pitying regret apon his dark
and handsome face, tier heart was full
of angry rebellion against her fate,
agninst herself, against him —almost
against God!
" Wliv do you look at me like that?" |
she said, peevishly. " I know that the
room lias not been swept, and that I
have not made my toilet for the day.
rfy toilet,"she laughed bitterly. "When
shall I make a toilet again. I wonder?
I once set the fashion in New Haven!
Who would believe it now! And, oh,
ithink—only to think what my life
uight have been, if I had been wise."
Her husband's face darkened all over.
"I understand!" lie exclaimed.
" You mean if you bad married Paul
Hayden instead of me."
" How can I help such thoughts? I
saw his wife early yesterday morning
when I was out. She was driving to
the railway station on her way to their
country house for the summer. I heard
the footman say so to some one when lie
went to bny the tickets for her. And,
•h, what a difference there was be
tween us two! No wonder she has kept
her beauty. No wonder I have lost
mine! Beauty and health, and youth
and happiness, they are all going away
from me, because we arc so poor!"
"Belter days may be coming, love,"
•aid the husband, after a pause. " I
have heard of a good situation this
time, you know, ft I get it, it will be
a stepping-stone to other things of more
consequence. And when I am rich,
you know well, my darling, that I shall
refuse you nothing."
"You have thought so many times
that better days were close at hand.
And every time you have been disap
pointed, and we have lived on the same
norrible life," was the discouraging re
ply.
"I know, my dearest; but this is
really good news, I trust ard hope. If
you wi!l only kiss me and wish me
good luek, I have faith that it will
come."_
He bintdown. his dark eyes wistfully
searching hers for one glance of love,
sucli as lie lind so often seen there in the
happy days of courtship. But love, so
far as site wns concerned, he sometimes
feared, had flown out of the window of
this home when poverty entered. The
heat, the dust, the discordant street
cries without, the shabby, disordered
room within, the general sense of her
own untidiness, and the galling memory
of the freshly beautiful summer costume
. worn by the wife of Paul Hayden, as
she lounged in her carriage on the pre
vious day—all these things combined to
Swish the affectionate glance for which
he husband's besrt so vainly hungered,
and to make the wife's parting kiss so
oold and formal that it lingered like ice
upon the young man's lips a* he turned
•way,
He said nothing. But the deep sigh,
that seemed to com'- from the very
depths of a tried and overladen heart,
silently reproached her.
She caught a last glimpse of his face
as he closed the door. It wore a look
of repressed sorrow that would haunt
her Us her dying day. What evil spirit
hod tempt* a her to try him so?
Was it his fault that, by the sudden
failure of a bank in the great" panic."
the savings of years of steady toil had
been lost in a msment? Had he not
1 abored faithfully ever since for her
support? For her ungratcfhl Hake, had
he not stooped even to menial toil,when
no other employment could bo procured.
And now she had sent him from her,
unohcered by a look or word of fondness.
What if some accident should happen to
the train by which he was to travel?
What if he should never return P
For a moment she sat dumb, almost
paralyzed by the shock of that idea.
Then she sprang from her chair and
rushed to the door. She would call him
back, and ask him to forgive that care
less, cruel parting.
She was too laic. He was already in
the street. A moment later she heard
the shrill whistle of the train. He was
gone.
The day passed on sadly enough.
Thought after thought came crowding
into her mind to unsettle and reprove
her. They bore their fruit.
In less than an hour niter Charles
Archer's departure his home wore a
very different aspect. By nightfall the
one room was trim and clean as willing
hands could make it. Before the clean
windows a pair of snowy muslin cur
tains weredrawn. The stove shone like
a mirror, and from its open front a
bright welcome to the absent master
Hashed out, flooding the very walls
with warmth and light.
And summer evening though it was.
both light and warmth were needed.
At sunset angry clouds rose in the south
and the rain came sharply down, with
an accompanying wind that knew little
of its own mind, and veered sharply
round continually from south to east.
Amid the wailing wind and dropping
rain Helen Archer worked steadily on.
At nine o'clock the train which was
to bring her husband home was due.
i Her last task wns finished, when she
dished up his favorite viands ar.d set
them, covered over with a basin, upon
the hearth to keep warm.
She leaned from the window, looking
out, through wind and rnin, for some
sign of his home-coming. She wore the
dress he liked best. Her hair was ar
ranged in his favorite fashion of braids
1 and curls. She had kissed him coldly
j as lie left her, but now, with her heart
upon her lips, she waited to welcome
I him back, even if lie returned as unsuc
' ccssfulas he went. What did that mat-
I ter, she thought, as she glauced at the
window of her opposite neighbor, who
had been left a widow only onif short
month ago.
"Only let him return to me safely,
and I will make amends for all," she
half thought, half prayed, as memory
recalled the countless times in which
she had grieved him during the past
half year.
Nine o'clock came and passed, yet she
did not hear the usuai whistle of the in
coming train. Half-past nine and yet
no footstep on the stairs!
Her heart lay like a leaden weight in
her bosom. The color failed from her
lips and cheeks, and her blue eyes grew
wild with silent dread. At ten o'clock
she could bear the suspenso no longer.
She left her room and ran down the
stairs, with a lialf-formed purpose in
her mind of inquiring nt the neighbor
ing station about the laggard train.
Dimly, in the darkness, she saw a
crowd of people gathered at the outer
door of the tenement-house. They were
all talking confusedly, but now and
then some Words broke pla nly through
the medley of sound.
"His poor wife!" said one voice,
" how is she going to bear it, I wonder.
It is well for lier that he lias no little
ones to look after. She is nothing more
than a child herself, anyway."
"Make way there!" said some one
outside. "We must carry the body up
stairs. Which room is it! And some
woman ougiit to go up before us and
tell the wife."
The crowd surged and parted. Be
tween the ranks, six men came steadily
onward, following a policeman. Helen
knew him well, and when lie looked up
the staircase, and saw the slight figure
bending forward, and the pale face full
of a fixed and settled horror, he turned
again to thcerriwd, and called out:
"One cf you women come up here
to break the news. And take tier away,"
he added, in a lower voice; "it is no
sight for her."
Good-natured Bridget McCarthy came
forward, and ran up the stairs to where
Helen stood.
" You'll come back inu> your room
wid me, my darlint," she said, putting
her strong arms around Helen's slender
waist. "Sure it'll destroy yon intirely
o look on at the likes of that!"
" Bridget, is be dead?" asked the pale
lips, pitifully.
" Sorry lam to say that he is! It was
I the train, my dear. Oil the truck, they
say ; and ten strong men killed outright
licsidc him that they are bringing up
from below.
Helen fell senseless at the Irish
woman's feet.
Htflf.an hour later she struggled slowly
hack to life and loneliness again. She
opened her eyes to find herself lying on
her own bed, with the kind old doctor
of the neighborhood bending over her
with rather an anxious face.
" We shall do nicely now," he said,
making a warninggosture to so me one in
the background.
' Helen gave a great sigh as he took her
hand.
"Oh. why did you bring me back,
doctor? I have driven my husband
away to his death, and I honed I could
die, too. I blamed him because we
were so poor, doctor, and I would
scarcely kiss him when he went away
this morning to look for another place.
Oh, I have been so cruel to him! And
now, just when I was sorry for it, and
wiien I had resolved to try to be a bet
ter wife, God has taken him away from
me, and he will never know how bit
terly I repented."
"flow do you know that he is dead,
mydw?" asked the doctor.
"Oh, I saw them bringing him up the
stairs. And I heard them talking about
me."
" Not about you, my dear, but about
poor little Mrs. Gray, who lives in the
room at the back. Her husband wns
badly hurt on the train when It ran off
the track this evening. We thought he
was dead at first. Hut since then he lias
revived, and I feel sure that, by God's
mercy, be will recover before long."
"But where is my husband, tnenf
cried Helen, starting op.
" God has been very good to you, too,
my dear," said the old physician.
"Is healive? Where is he? Oh, tell
me!" her every gesture struggling be
tween hope and fear.
" Here!"
The doctor stepped back. From a
dark corner of the room a tall figure
nulled forward and clasped the wonder
ing. weeping wife in a close embrace.
"Is It you? Oh, is it really you?"
she exclaimed, bursting into tears.
"Oh, Charles, I have been so miserable
jnoe yea went away! How could I
treat you so? You never, never can
forgive me or love me again!"
"As if I could help loving you as long
as I live, Helen! And you shall be so
linppy after this. I have found a good
place, I shall have a good salary, and
to-morrow, If you are well enough, we
will take a trip into the country to
gether and linn some pretty little cot
tage, where you can amuse yourself all
through this beautiful summer among
the birds and flowers."
" I don't want a cottage. I want
nothing Charles, and now Cod
has given you back to me, that will be
enough to inako mo happysaid his
wife, giving him the tender kiss which
she had refused him that morning.
Nevertheless the cottage was taken,
and the summer was as happy a time
as mortals may ever hope to eiyoy this
side of Paradise.
Once, on their journey thither, after a
shopping excursion in tlie city, they
chanced to he overtaken by the magnifi
cent carriage of Paul Hayden, million
aire. Mrs. Hayden, resplendent in a
toilet fresh from the atelier of Worth,
sat tliorein. She was brown-eyed and
pink-ohneked and very handsome. Yet
tier face looked worn and wearied. It
lacked the look of true and perfect hap
piness that Helen's wore.
Helen caught the somewhat anxious
look that her husband turned upon her,
as the great lady drove slowly by.
She smiled. Under cover of her
pretty silken shawl her hand stole into
Never for ono moment had she for
gotten the lesson of that long-past sum
mer's day! Never liad she ceased from
thanking Cod that it had been given,
altliougti it came " Almost too Late."
Longevity Notes.
John Battle died in Montreal the other
day, aged 119.
Robert Kidd. 105 years old, is the
oldest man in Texas.
Mary Fernay died in Little Valley,
N. Y., at the age of 105.
- Samuel Iosey recently died in Pike
township. Pa., aged 107.
Maijgan t MeMnhon died in Durham,
England, in her 113 th year.
Aunt Sarah Hicks, in the county hos
pital in Flat hush, L 1., is 104.
Clara Clairs, of Now Orleans, was
burned to death at the age of 103.
Luke Courville, 102 years old, hanged
himself in a pig-pen on a poor farm.
Thurlow Weed saw the first steam
boat ami rode in the first steam railway
train.
A pupil in the Carsonville (Ca.)
school is eighty-two years old. She is a
negress.
After living more than a century, a
Michigan man committed suicide by
hanging.
Andrew Jung, ninety-throe years old,
of Columbia, I'a., served under tlie first
Napoleon.
Lucy Kurney, of I*tnsing, Mich., was
fifty-five years a slave and over sixty
years free.
Itouns Kemp, niu'My-six years old, of
Calloway, Ky., married Mary Bridges,
aged sixteen.
Over a century ago Ann Collins, of
Paris, Ky., was born. She remembers
Washington.
Diana Dorsey *of Springfield, Florida,
was supposed to be 115 year* of age
when she died.
Mary Donohue, whoso grandfather
died in hi* I2lst year, recently died in
Ne* York aged 112.
l'eleg Spragtie, of Maine, is ninety
years old, and blind. He was a United
States Senator in 1M29.
James Smith, of Somerset sounty, N.
J., now 10!) years old. was sold as a
slave thirty years ago for fifty cents.
Thomas Howe, of Barrington. N. H.,
lately made a marriage proposal to a
lady eighty-fire years old and fifteen
years his junior.
A negro died not long aga in New
Haven, Conn., leaving a family ol
orphans from sixty to eighty years eld.
The father was 108.
The eleven daughters of the late
Robert Johnson, of Middletown. Conn.,
are alive, the youngest over fifty years
old, the oldest over eighty.
Armstrong Porter, of Luzerne, Pa.,
died last month aged ninety-eight. He
voted lor Thomas Jefferson for Presi
dent, and for Samuel J. Tilden for the
same office.
Although 103 years of age, Jane Gil
bert. who is living at 26 Vine street.
Baltimore, is in excellent health. She
remembers the bombardment of Fort
McHenry, and saw George Washington
once.
A North Carolina couple, who are
each over ninety years of age, desire to
die at tlie same hour. They have com
pleted their funeral outfit even to their
tombstones. They live in Iredell
county.
ChocalaUt
Tlio (cacao) tree is about as long in
attaining its growth as the orange tree;
it may produce in the third year from
the sW, hut does not reach its full
bearing period until at tlie age of seven
or eight. It is a tender plant during
the first stages of its growth, and, like
tlie coffee, must be shaded by some broad
leaved-plant like the plantain or banana,
which, of quicker growth, are set out
near the seed at time ol planting, Heat
and moisture are Indispensable to its
existence, but one without the other
proves fatal toitssrowlh. Once started
in life with an acre or so of cacao trees,
the negro asks for nothing more; his
wife and children gather the harvest,
and he enjoys an idlfe existence. The
fruit of tlie cacao resemble* somewhat
an overripe cucumber about six inches
in length, oval mid pointed. Many of
the pods grow right out of the trunk o
the tree, hanging by short stems, and
remind ore of tailless rats. Some are
green, some yellow, crimson or purple,
some variegated by veins of different
colors. Each pod is divided into five
longitudinal cells, containing a sweetish.
agreeaWle pulp, in which are enveloped
the seeds, from twenty to thirty in
number—a white, pulpy substance, in a
thin shell. When the fruit is mature it
is gathered, and the seeds removed nnd
dried. Sometimes they are buried in
sand or dry earth, for the purpose of
absorbing tlie moisture and pulp. Croat
care Is necessary in curing them, a*
they mold easily, and the planter* gen
erally provide large platforms on wheels
on which the seed* are spread, which,
they run out from under a shelter on
sunshiny days. • • • The native
method of preparing chocolate from the
seeds is to roost them and grind finely
on a warm smooth stone. When well
kneaded it forms a tenacious paste
which, with the addition of a little
sugar, is mnde into small roils or sticks.
—Oamptinth* Oaribbee*. 1
KDIHON'N LIFE.
Hketeh of Iki Hoatlaa lobar of the
Ureal Inventor.
There are probably but few pontons In
the world outside tlie crowned heads
whose probable length of life is can
vassed by the public at large with more
interest than that of Thomas Alva Edi
son. And'the interest is not without
foundation when it is remembered that
although only in his thirty-second year
lie lias made more inventions than any
man living. In the patent office at
Washington is a department marked
" Edison," where his numerous inven
tions are placed side by side, forming not
the least of the curiosities ol that insti
tution. Nearly 250 patents are placed
to his credit, making exceedingly apro
pos the description given of him by a
late commissioner of patents, who sty led
him "the young American who made
the patent office hot with iiis steps."
It is no wonder, then, tiiat the frequent
exclamation is made by those who re-
Hecton the tremendous amount of labor
involved in sucli a record, "Oh, Edison
can't last much longer; he is working
himself to death 1" Tiie prophecy is
not a little strengthened, too, by the in
inventor's well-known disregard of
nature's requirements. Napoleon, it is
related, diu not avernge four hours'
Bleep out of the twenty-four. liis energy
was untiring and iiis perseverance un
conquerable. His rest was in tlie saddle,
and his recrextion in the battle field.
The same is true of Edison in his sphere
of life. His only pleasure is in the
laboratory, where lie can lie found day
and night from one end of tlie year to
the other, with scarcely an intermission.
He seldom seeks rest in bed. A bench
or Cot among his chemicals and ma
chinery form his couch six nights out of
the seven. Not that there is any real
necessity, perhaps, for such self-inflicted
hardship, but " roughing it" is iiis de
light. Life in the Menlo Park laboratory
partakes more of the character of a
camn pitched near the battlefield than ot
anything else. An daily routine
lof the scientist, beginning at a time
i when he has actually ceased work and is
. at home is as follows:
At 10 a. M. he starts for his office,
| where for about tws hours he is in
tensely occupied in attending with his
secretary to the mass of correspondence
piling in upon him at the rate oftentimes
|of over 200 lettersn day. After disposing
i of his correspondence he devotes his
j ime to a perusal of the numerous
papers, pamphlets, documents and
i hooks scientific and otherwise, that
1 come to him from all parts of tlie world.
He rends with great rapidity and yet
with astonishing thoroughness, as days
afterward ho readily recalls what lie
; has been over. By 2r.m.he is in bis
; laboratory reviewing the results of tlie
experiments and work of bis assistants
performed in his absence. Consultations
with Mr. Batchelor, iiis chief assistant,
next occupy him for a considerable time.
After this is over lie may l>c said to be
: fairly in tlie midstofliislaliorof love. A
reci nl of the experiments he dailv tries,
the plans he devises and the suggestions
he offers would seem exaggerated wen* it
not that hundreds of record books in his
laboratory bearing the marks of his
labor attest* the same with unimpcachn
hie accuracy. The nnyority of days his
meal* are served him at his work. "The
hard labor of tlie inventor, however,
begins after dark. The work of tiie
day is moreofa preliminary character—
a getting r-ady for the herculean < fforts
that one by one grow and develop, until
they finally reach as a whole a perfect
invention.
The midnight lunch is a striking
feature of the laboratory life. At twelve
o'clock everv night two men and a dog
enter the laboratory laden down with
baskets of edibles from a neighboring
caterer. Tiie dog, a huge New found land,
plays as important a part in tiie per
formance as his hiped companions. for
witii a lighted lon tern hanging from iiis
mouth lie lead* tlie way from over tlie
railroad track and across tlie fields to
the abode of the Wizard. He also as
sist* at times by having strapped to liis
back a basket or can i-ontaining some
of tlie lunch. The repast without the
dog to participate would be barren. He
seems to know his standing, and lie is
always to be found at bis post of duty.
Around the lunch table gather the in
ventor and iiis assistants, and as the
food things disappear tliev discuss the
ay's work, tell stories and gossip gen
erally. A freer or gayer set could
scarcely be found. The jovial good
nature of the chief spreads to all, and
fun and fancy reign supreme. After
lunch once more begins the work of
i ML and emit inuesuntil, one by one,
tlie assistants drop ofl to sleep. A few
retire to their homes; tlie larger num
ber, however, follow the plan of the
leader and ntilizc their tenches tor beds.
Edison himself gives in generally about
4 A. M, selecting some unoccupied spot,
where, witii hi* coat for a pillow, he
sleeps soundly sometimes until ten
o'clock, other time* until *ix. for his
time of rising varies.
This mode of life continually re
pen led, while calculated to wear out
most inen, seems to cause Edison to
thrive. At tiie present time he is the
picture of good health. His height is
five feet ten Indies, and his weight IHS
pounds.— New York Herald.
She Renewed.
One wf the sanitary police was the
other day wandering over a box full of
dead cats in an alley off Seventh street,
when he heard yeila and the sounds of
conflict in a house near by. As lie en
tered tlie yard a man and woman burst
open the side door and rolled down the
steps In n heap, kicking ami clawing
with right good will.
"What is the trouble here?" asked
the officer a* lie pulled them apart.
" There, I'm glod you happened
along!"exclaimed the man a* he jumped
up. " The old woman and me have liad
a dispu e for the last ten ar fifteen years
as to when Christopher Columbus dis
covered America. Maybe you know?"
"It was In 1492," replied the officer.
".lust what I said—just the date I
had!" cried the husband as he danced
around. " Now then, old woman, will
you give up?"
" Never r
" Tou won't?"
" Not an inch! I said 1490. and I Lad
your neck across the edge ot the step.
We agreed not to bite nor scratch, and I
prefer to renew the conflict rather than
take a stranger's figures! Come into the
house!"
The officer waited kt the gate until he
. heard two chairs smashed down and a
dozen yells, and he resumed his rounds
with a growing conviction that Colum
bus would ultimately be two years
ahead in that house.— Detroit Free Pre**.
Texas has 7,W0 schools, and •- school
fund la apportioned equally among the
children of seholnstie age, regard loss of
oolor.
AN EXCITING MOUNTAIN BIDE.
A Woman's Ksporlsnrs In (he Hookr
MosnUlsa.
Wo extract the following from a
" Lady's Life it) the Rocky Mountnins;"
The next wonderful adventure of the
dashing rider was to take part in a
grand cattle hunt, in which Evans hail
begged her to lend a hand. The cattle
were to be driven fifteen miles at n
height of 0,500 feet. On all sides moun
tains rose to an altitude ol from 11 ,r00
to 15.000 feet, their skirts shaggy with
witch-pine forests, and scarrea by deep
tanyons wooded and boulder strewn.
Two thousand head of half wild Texan
cattle were scattered in herds through
out the canyon, living on more or less
suspicious terms witli the other inhabi
tants of the lonely nnd romantic region.
On this occasion the herds were driven
down in a body fsr a muster, and for
the purpose of branding the calves.
After a 6.30 breakfast this morning,
we started, the party being composed of
my host, a hunter from the snowy range,
two stockmen from the plains, one of
whom rode a violent buck-jumper, and
i was said by his comrade to oe the " best
| rider in North Americny," and myself.
We were all mounted on Mexican sad
dles, rode, as the custom is, with light
snaffle bridles, leather guards over jour
feet, and broad wooden stirrups, and
each carried his lunch in a pouch siung
on the lassoing horn of his saddle. Four
big, badly trained dogs accompanied us.
It was a ride of nearly thirty miles, and
of many hours, one of the most splendid
I ever took. We never got ofTour horses
except to tighten the girths, we ate our
lunch with our bridles knotted over our
j saddleliorns, started over the level at a
! full gallop, leapt over trunks of trees,
dashed madly down hillsides rugged
with rocks or strewn witli great stones,
I forded deep, rapid streams, saw lovely
\ lakes and views of surpassing magnifi
cence, started witli uncouth
heads and monstrous antlers, and in the
I chase, which for some distance was un
-u < <-ssful, rode to the very base o-
Ising's I'cak, over 14,000 feet high,
where the bright waters of one ef the
affluents of toe I'latto burst from the
eternal snows through a canyon of inde,
scribable majesty. The sun was hot,
but at a height of over eight thousand
feet the air was crisp and frosty, and
the enjoyment of riding a pood horse
i under such exhilarating circumstances
j was extreme. In one wild part of the
ride wethadto come down a steep hill,
thickly wooded witli pitch pines, lo
leap over the fallen timber, and steer be
tween the dead and living trees *.-> avoid
being " snagg< d," or bringing down a
heavy dead branch by an unwary touch.
Emerging from this, we caught sight
■ of a thousand Texan cattle feedirg in a
valley helow. The leaders scented us.
and, taking fright, began to move off in
t lie direction of the open "park." while
we were about a mile from and aliove
: them.
"Head them off. boys!" our leader
shouted; "all aboard, hark away!" and
w'tli something•( the "High, tally-ho
in the morning!" away we all went at
a hand-gallop down hill. I could not
hold ray exciti-d animal; down liiii, up
hill, leaping over rocks and timber,
faster every moment the paee grew, and
still the leader shouted, "Go it, boys!"
and the horses dashed on at a racing
i speed, passing and repassing eaclifotlicr,
till my small hut beautiful bay was
keening pace with the immense strides
of the great buck-jumper ridden by the
" fine.-t rider in North Americny," and
I was dizzied and breathless by the pare
at whioh we were going. A shorter
time than it takes to tell it brought us
| close to and abreast of the surge of cat
tie. The bovine waves were a grand
I sight; huge bulls, shaped like buffaloes,
j IMU lowed and roared, and with great
oxen and cows with yearling calves,
galloped like racers, and we galloped
alongside of them, and shortly headed
them, nad in no time were placed as
sentinels aeros the mouth of the valley.
It seemed like infantry awaiting the
shock of cavalry, as we stood as still as
our excited horses would allow,
almost quailed .as the surge came on,
but when it got close to us my comrades
hooted fearfully, and we dashed forward
with the dogs, and. with bellowing,
roaring and thunder of h- ofs, the wave
receded as it came. I rode up to our
leader, who received me with much
laughter. He said I was a good "cattle
man," and that lie had forgotten tliat a
lady was of the party until he saw tne
"come leaping over the timber and
driving with the others."
It was not for two hours after this
that tiic real business of driving began,
and I was obliged to change my thor
oughbred for a well-trained cattle horse,
a broncho, which could double like a
hare, and go over ar.y ground. I had
not expected to work like a vahncro. but
so it was. and my Hawaiian experience
was very useful We hunted the vari
ous canyons and known "camps," driv
ing the herds out of them; and. until
we had secured 850 head in the corral
some hours afterward, we scarcely saw
each other to speak to. Our first diffi
culty was witli a herd which got into
some swampy ground, when a cow,
wnich.afterward gave me an infinity of
trouble, remained at bay for nearly an
hour, tossing the dog three times, and
resisting all efforts to dislodge. Bhe had
a large yearling calf with her. and
Evtfnstold me that thv attachment of a
cow to her first calf is sometimes so
great that site will kill lier second that
the first may have her milk. I got a
herd of over a hundred out of the canyon
by myself, mid drove them down to the
river with the aid of one badly-broken
dog, which gave me more trouble than
the cattle. The getting over wa most
troublesome; a few took to Ihc water
readily and went across, but others
smelt it. and th-u, doubling back ran in
various directions; while some attacked
the flog as he was swimming, and
others after crossing headed hack in
search of some favorite companion
which had been left behind, and one
specially vicious cow attacked my horse
over and over ngaln. It took an liour
and a half of tlm* and much patience to
gather them all on the other side. It
was growing late in the day. and a
snow storm was impending, before I
was joined by the other drivers
and herds, and as the former had
diminished to three, it was very diffi
cult to keep the cattle together. You
drive them as gently as possible, so as
not to frighten them, riding first on one
side and then on the other to guide
them; and, if they deliberately go in a
wrong direction, you gallop in front and
head them off. The great dkc.itcment is
when one breaks away from the herd
and gallops madly up nnd down hill,
and you gallop after him anywhere,
over and among rocks and trees, doub
les when he d üblea, and heading him
till you (jet back again. The bulls were
qaite easily managed, but the cows with
oalfs. old and young, were moat trouble
some. Bv accident I rode between
cow and her calf in a narrow place
the row rushed at me and wan just irT
ting het big horn* under the home whi
he retired, and sprung dextrously aeid?
k JJ?. d ot lUtnll Wpened continul
ally. There was one very handsome
red cow which became quite mad. fit,,
had a calf with her nearly her own *>.
and thought every one it* ~n , .r n y. and
though its horns were well developed
and it WIIH quite able to take t are <\
iUelf, shei Insisted on protecting it from
all fancied dan gent. One of the doc.
a young foolish thing, seeing that tlj
cow was excited, took a foolish pleaiiure
in barking at lier, and she wan evidentl*
quite infuriated. She turn<-d to U
forty times at least; tore up the ground
with her horns, tossed the great hunting
dogs, tossed and killed the calves of two
other cows, and finally became h0 dan.
serous to the rest of the herd that just a*
the drive was ending. Evans drew hi.
revolver and shot her, and the calf tor
which she had fought as blindly
men ted her pibeously. She rushed at
me several tunes, mid with rage hut
these trained cattle horses keep perfect y
cool, and nearly without will on rxiy
part, mine jumped aside at the r jh
moment, and foiled the assailant. .Just
at dusk we reached the corral—an acre
of grass enclosed hy stout post and rail
fences seven feet high, and by much
patience and some subtlety, lodged tht
whole herd within its shelter without a
blow, a shout, or even a era' k of a whip
i wild as the cattle were. It was fearfu 'y
| cold. We galloped the last mile and a
half in four and a half minutes, reached
| the cabin just as snow began to fall, and
! found strong, hot tea ready.
The Smart Turile.
One damp afternoon the turtle earn*
waddling out into the big room to Ur
j row a little sand to lay his eggs in. "My
friend," the elephant said, "your- is a
i very hard case."
"Yes." replied the turtle, " but whi>
there's life there's soup."
The elephant was greatly astonished,
for he didn't know the turtle was given
to that sort of thing at ail, and all the
! other animals grinn< d, because, you see!
it wasn't ofu-n the elephant met any*
J body in the menagerie who could ta.k
: to him.
" Well," said he, after a pause.
" it's a good tiling your back is so
broad."
" Yes, it is," replied the turtle, "be
cause there's no telling what make
! oombof it."
| The animals cheered softly and lhee>.
pliant looked amazed.
•' Well, old go-os-you-pleast ," he said,
presently. " you pay as you go. don't
you?"
"Oh. yes," the turtle said, "I bar
j toshcuouteveryoneeinawliile. How'.
| hides?" he asked, cheerfully.
"Oil. they're easy," the elephant Mid.
i "a little loose, may be, hut nothing to
worry over. House-moving buine
keeps up, I reckon?"
"Yes, sir," the turtle said. " nothing
• rushing particularly, but I'm in and out
all day. Nothing unusual in shawl
straps, is there?"
The animals cheered at this delicate
allusion to the trunk bu-im -s. and for
j the first time in his life the elephant
; looked as though he was going to
I lose hi* temper, but he rallied and
f said:
"Oh. no; much the same as UfU* :
iust a kind of hand to mouth husincw
Jy the way, didn't I see your father'!
J old oven-oat up in front of the restaurs*:
; yesterday?"
"I guess you did," said the turt.t
'* he wasn't the kind of a man to dieatd
make no sign. Going down into tlif
billiard room pretty soon?"
The elephant said : "No, they'd hao
to excuse him. but if they'd wait till the
hyena came along he'd have some native
whine with them." And then the tur
tle said: "Ail rigkt.he'd drop in about
tusk."
And the n-. n agerie went to supper
that night with the greatest enthusiasm.
But the elephant was very quiet and
only spoke once, and that was to ask
the ostrich where he supposed the turt.<
grew to be so cute? And the foolish
bird of the desert tossed an iron bolt
head down its throat and replied:
" Picked it up, I rpekon."
And then, children, the elephant
grinned and said there seemed to 1* an
epidemic in the menagerie. and he caned
up against the center-pole and went to
bed.— Burlington Bfuoiu yr .
Washington's Market Carl.
On the twentieth of April Braddoek
left Alexandria. On the ninth of July
he fell. Washington filled the moun
tain passes with troops, and kept off the
French and Indians from the town that
trembled and grew. When the French
power in Virginia was broken, he mar
ried, and "society " was chagrined at iu
early experiences of his marrh-d life
I'arson Weems tell us that " A lexandria
though small, was lovely, hut had no
charms for the palate. By tobacco its
neighbors had made money. They be
gan to look down on the poorer sort
and to talk about families. Of course
such great people- could not run market
carts. Hence the Belhavenites often sat
down to eat salt meat and jobnnycak*.
But when Washington brought the
wealthy widow Guslis to Mount Vw
non, a market cart was constructed,
and twice n week sent to Belhaven with
fat tilings that araaaed ths lean market
Country gentleman dining in town won
dered at the change of fare, and thus it
was discovered, to the mortification of
some of the little great ones. I hat Colons!
Washington ran a market oart." "So
ciety " then, if proud, was often plain;
for Washington writes in his diary of s
hull in Alexandria in 17(10 where pocket
handkerchiefs served as table-ckitha
and bread and butter with tea, " which
the drinkers couid not distinguish from
hot water sweetened," made the bill of
fare, and in his disgust he writes itdown
" a bread-and-butter ball."— Harper f
Magazine.
Words of Wisdom.
Hope is such a bait, it covers any
hook.
Conscience is the voioe of the soul;
the passions are the voice of the body.
All other knowledge is hurtful to
him who iuu not honesty and good
nature.
Hatred is so durable and obstinate
that reconciliation on a tick bed Ist sign
of death.
A merry heart doeth good like *
medicine; but a broken spirit drieth
the bones.
Circumstances form the character;
but, like petrifying matters, they hai
den while they form.
When one ha* no design but to speak
plain truth, he may say a great deal in
a very narrow compass-