11 airship.
Little store ql wealth hare I;
Not a rood ol land I own;
Nor a mansion fair and high,
Built with towers ol fretted stone.
Stocks, nor bonds, nor title deeds,
Ftooks nor herds hare I to show;
When I ride, no Arab steeds
Toss lor me their manes of snow.
I have neither pearls nor gold,
Massive plate, nor jewels rare;
Broidered silks ol worth untold,
Nor rich robes a queen might wear.
In my garden's narrow bound
Flaunt no costly tropic blooms,
Ladening all the air orou nd
With a weight ol rare perfumes.
Tot to an immense estate
Am I heir, by graoe ol God—
■ioher, grander, that doth wait
Any earthly monarch's nod.
ileir ol all ages, I
Heir of all that they have wrought;
All their store of emprise high,
All their wealth ol precious thought.
Every golden deed ol theirs
Sheds its luster on my way;
All their labor, all their prayers,
Sanctity this present day!
Heir ol all that they have learned
By their passion and their tears;
Heir ol all that they have learned
Through the weary toiling years.
Ileiroi all the laith sublime
On whose wings they soar to heaven;
Hear ol every hope that time
To earth's tainting sons bath given!
Aspirations pure and high—
Strength to dare and to endure—
Heir to all the ages, I
I*>! I am no longer poor!
—Julia C. R. Dorr.
■ -
An Unexpected Witness.
George Rankin and family were at
their summer residence in Berkton. It
was a wai in Juneevening, and Mr. Ran
kin was sitting on the piazza when his
mail was handed to htm. It was so
seldom that he received any communi
cation of importance not contained in
his daily letter from his business man
ager in the city, that, after reading that
epistle, he turned to the opening of the
other envelop< s with no expectation of
linding anything more interesting than
a circular, or a statement of some local
market. His surprise and interest were
therefore considerable when he opened
the following letter:
Mr DEAR RANKIN—To day for the
first time in fifteen years I have heard
of you. I learn that you have passed
your summers for the last few years in a
secluded little village—a paradise of
auictnees, called Berkton. I also hear
l&t in your little hamlet there is a
church but no minister. My friend,
when wc were "chums," you could not
believe that I would ever be solemn
enough to b come a preacher. But a
preacher I am, although at present with
out a charge. I have been offered a po
sition in your city, with large salary.
For a certain reason, which I shall not
mention, I cannot accept the offer. I
desire to labor in the Master's service as
long as 1 live, but I am compelled to
work in some quiet section of his field.
May I ask you to present my name as
that of a candidate for the vacant pul
pit in your neighborhood? Sincerely
yours, JOHN RATMOND.
It is doubtful if there had been for
years in the feelings of George Rankin
anything so near to sentimentallsm as
there was during, and lor some time
after, the reading of that letter.
" 80 he really became a minister," !
said he, to himself, as lie folded up the
letter a:.d put it in his pocket. For an
hour be forgot to turn to his paper, the
memories of those college days was all
at once so absorbing.
There was very little that Rankin
knew about Raymond, though for a year
at oollege, it so happened the two had
shared a room; they were very good
friends, though by no means very luti- 1
male. They were unlike in many re
spects. The former cared little for
society; the latter was loo! Ed upon,
even then, as quite a society man. Ray
mond's father was dead. His last re
quest was that his son become, like
him, a minister. Soon after his father
died, leaving barely property enough to
support his mother and educate him,
young Raymond came into possession
of considerable wealth, by the decease of
an uncle. From thnt time he was to
gratify his taste for elegant attire, pic
tures and books; and to keep a team.
Though possessing many good qualities,
Rankin could remember bat one thing
in the life of his schoolmate that seemed
positively religious, and that was his
invariable custom of offering a morning
and evening prayer. A silent prayer,
and not unfrcquently when offering it
was be a long while on his knees. Tliis
apparently sincere act of devotion made
some impression upon Rankin, hut less
than it might have done perhaps if other
alleged acts in Raymond's life had not j
seemed so strangely inconsistent with it.
If certain impressions that prevailed
among collegians at that time were cor
rect. his course of life in one respect, in
particular, was altogether inconsistent
with such a life as that solemn practice
implied he led. But as lias been said,
there was very little that Rankin really
knew about ills room-mate He him
self had discovered no vice in him; and
their friendship wns not of the kind that
led them to make confessions to each
other. Yet be had come to think that
the opinion which existed to some ex
tent, that in the fashionable circles
whirh Raymond frequented, he was
given to an excessive use of wine, was
prolmbly correct. It was said that solic
ited by one of the fair sex, whose
beauty and accomplishments the time
of many was spent hi praising, a daugh
ter of one of the wealthiest rssidents
of the town, he could not decline. And
It was rumored that he hail become i . ]
faluattd with this young woman. Ran
kin once saw her portrait on the table
in their room, where Raymond had in
advertently dropped it.
After leaving college and entering
upon an active business career, Rankin
ceased to think much about his friend,
and at length quite forgot him Galled
to mind again by the application lie
had made, which vaguely hinted at
some mystery In his life, Raymond
seemed more of an enigma than ever to
Rsnkinj and moro interesting. Still,
as ntueh as Rankin desired to see the
low "Rev." John Raymond, and learn
more about him, at first he had doubted
as whether it would be riglit and safe
to ici ommend him ns a pastor to the
people of Berkton. These double, how
ever, departed after the matter had
I rested upon his mind for a few days 5
owing, in a good measure, to the fact
that Tor some time after that letter
came, a vision of Raymond in the soberer
aspects of his oollege life was constantly
before liim. And then the letter was an
appeal that lie could not disregard ; read
ing between the lines lie came to the
conclusion that Raymond was very anx
ious to get the position he hast asked
for. Rankin said nothing to rny one
until he had deliberated the matter
thoroughly, and the outcome of his
thoughts was a confidence of consider
able strength in the Rev. John Ray
mond. Tnen he submitted that gentle
man's application to some of the officers
of the little church of the place. The
officers decided to permit the applicant
to preach two Sabbaths on trial.
How lon . it would have been beforo
the bell of that church would again
have been heard, culling the people of
Berkton to worship, if a mimstei had
not offered himself, is uncertain The
humble building had been so long
closed and neglected already that cob
webs and mold were seen inside of it,
and outside briars and small tree
half hid the lower windows, while
grass was growing in the path
way to the door. And yet within
sight of the old-fashioned structure
there were a score ol new cottages and
more stately dwellings, owned by the
people from the city who spent the
warmer months in Berkton. There
were signs of thrift in everything except
the church. The tavern even had
spruced up while the church wasclosed,
and was able to make quite a respect
able appearance among the stylish
dwellings of the village. But before
the first Sunday of the two that were to
settle whether or not the Rev. John
Raymond was to lie called to preach in
Berkton came, the church received quite
a thorough dusting and brushing inside;
and the brush and weeds around it were
cleared away.
The audience that awaited the new
minister, and that tilled the house that
first Sabbath morning was a motley one,
made up of city and country people.
There were those in the height of fash
ion as to dress; and there were many
who had worn the same dri-ss, or bon
net, or coal, for a quarter of a century,
ami were not aware that their garments
were out of fashion until they were worn
out.
As the Rev. .John Raymond came in
and took his seat upon the ancient
looking sofa back of the pulpit, two
things In liis personal appearance were
noticed; these were nn indescrihab.e
sadness in bis hnndsome face, and his
hair, which wiw very gray for a man less
than forty. His sermon was a powerful
one; the impression left upon the minds
of nearly all his hearers was favorable.
After lie had preached two Snbbaths,
lie was asked to settle over the church.
It was not necessary for George Rankin
to say anything in his favor to secure
the place tor him, and he did not; but
his failure to do so was not owing to its
not being necessary, but to the fact that
when he saw Raymond enter the church,
bethought lie discovered in that per
son's melancholy face and his somewhat
sunken eyes.unmistakahle evidences that
lie was a victim to that appetite which,
if rumors had been true, he was doiug
all lie could to fix within himself dur
ing the Inst year of his college lite. Rut
Rankin, like all thereat, became a great
admirer of the eloquent preacher; and
compelled after a while to dismiss from
hiß mind what he came to consider his
groundless fears. Where before the
Sabbath had been looked upon as a tire
some, dull day, by the fashionable peo
pl>- of Berkton, it was now thought to
be almost equal to any of the other six
days. To the old inhabitants of the
town the sermon on Sunday was a great
treat.
If the Rev. Mr. Raymond was not
very much in earnest he succeeded in
S'ving the impression that he wss; and
ie result was an increased religious in
terest among all classes. Persons that
had never or seldom been to church be
came regular attendants. The church
became uncomfortably full, and there
was some talk of a new building.
Church matters had now come to the
front in Berkton.
And yet, though as a preacher Mr.
Raymond wns all that could be desired,
there was some dissatisfaction at the
stand he had taken In regard to a cer
tain matter. When he accepted the
call to settle in Berkton. he atated that
Ills circumstances were such as to make
, it impossible for him to call upon bis
fiarishioners or receive callers at his
lome. Dissatisfaction at this existed
among both the old inhabitants of the
Fliice and the sojourners from the city,
t seemed a strange thing to the former
. that the minister should not visit them,
and to the latter that he forbade them
I visiting him. Curiosity sprang up ns
to the cause of such a remarkable state
!of things. And that curiosity was not
lessened by the fact that, instead of
occupying the parsonage —a small house
near the church—the new minister had
rented a large mansion that was built
by a once wealthy gentleman who, by
the reverses of fortune, was at present
unable to keep it up himself. It would
seem ns though a person who was able
to live in such n place might bear the bur
den of entertaining at least those of his
fiarisb who felt disposed to call upon
rim. No one, however, attributed the
couiae of the pastor to an unwillingness
to bear the expense of entertaining, for
though he did ask lor salary nil he
could get, it was known that he gave
for the benefit of the church and in ways
of charity ns much as lie received for
bis services. 11 was out of the question
also to accuse him ol pride, for although
nlwayadignified he was always humble.
Diffidence had nothing to do with the
stand he hid taken. He was self-pos
sessed nnrt agreeable, and yet gravo.
He isolated himself to the extent men
tioned, and neither gave nor allowed
any reason for doing so. He did do as
much :ts consent to see all who desiied
to ask advice of him, immediately after
the service on Sunday, and a moment
after the Thursday evening meeting. A
man so interesting and about whom so
little wns known, and so lltt:e could he
found out, is sure to be talked about
and watched. It was soon discovered
thnt the lights in his house on the hill
side, seen through the trees from the
village, were often burning all night;
another mysterious circumstance con
nected wiih this gentleman. Did he
find it necessary to study and write all
night to prepare for the Sabbath? or
did ho have strange visitors who came
and went in the darkness of the night?
A year passed away, and induing new
came to light concerning htm. But
what tor u season had liecn simple
curiosity was now suspicion—a fear
that something must tic wrung, based
upon the profound secrecy in which the
pastor's domestic affairs were kept, and
the change that wan apparent in his
looks and actions. His hair had grown
whiter, his eyes more sunken, the lines
upon his (ace deeper; and there was a
look in his countenance that a person
m'ght have who was almost at the
point where hope is lost. This change
Impressed no one so much as it did
George Rankin on his return to Berkton
in Juno to spend the summer. It be
came tho burden of his thought. He
was sure that the pastor was waging a
fearful warfare with some great evil.
He could not doubt what that evil was;
and he felt that it was a contest in
which the minister was losing ground,
and that the time of his utter defeat
and fall was near. His conscience con
demned him for keeping buck at first
what he had known of Raymond.
He thought it his duty to go to the offi
cers of the church at once ard tell
them what he knew and what ho feared
of the man who stood over them in
holy things, and he did it. By Sunday
the secret was generally known. Never
theless, the congregation that gathered
while the tolling of the bell sounded
out through the beautiful valley and
over the hill of Berkton to hear the pop
ular preacher was as large as ever.
Dountless many who were there had
more curiosity than ever to hear him.
And manv, too, felt genuine pity for the
1 man. The seats were filled, the bell
' ceased lolling. There was a silent, wait
ing audience, but there was no speaker.
| The pastor failed to come that morning.
After remaining a little while the people
j left the church; and outside, fir some
I time after the congregation had broken
j up, there were many little groups oi
i persons discussing in quiet and solemn
i tones the melancholy fate of their tal
; ented preacher.
1 The day passed and a dark night set
in. That night was not soon forgotten
Iby the residents of Berkton. The news
that flew through the village the next
morning was oi the most startling
| nature. It was that a woman had been
, found at about midnight near the pas
tor's house in an unconscious state, with
a knife driven into her body near her
i heart. The two physicians of the place
I were summered to attend her, and
I though she still lived they pronounced
her wound probably fatal. At the time
> she was found the minister's where
abouts was not known. About an hour
: later he walked into the room where
| the still unconscious woman lay. He
I had a haggard look, and acted like a
i person not fully conscious of what was
going on. He asked no questions and
i made no remarks: but preserved a per-
I feet silence through the remainder of
J the night. What his thoughts were as
! he stood for a long while at a time by
; the side of the bed, and gazed at the
figure lying up -n it; or when be paced
back and forth ia the corridor outside
the chamber door, no one could tell,
i The knife that bad been used for the
dreadful deed was identified by the ser
vants as one wbieli bad sometimes lain
on Mr. Raymond's desk in his library,
and was at other times carried by him.
The country for miles around was
searched, but no one was found who
was suspected of the crime. In the light
I of the events of the previous year, and
i of present circurastani-cs, the people of
Berkton soon discerned who must have
j been the perpetrator of the awful act.
i They came to tho conclusion that the
Rev. John Raymond, while laboring
under some dark delusion, caused by a
long indulgence in that habit which it
was now considered proved had mas
tered him. had committed this crime.
The once popular preacher bcrnune in
their eyes a fiend. There was a deter
mination that justice should certainly
! and speedily take its course. At the sug
gestion ci some oi the citizens, the sus
pected man was taken into custody by
the officers of the law, and hurried to
jail, to ws't the result of the woman's
Injuries. The arrest seemed a great sur
prise to Raymond. When the officers
called at his house, and in the library
informed him of their intention, he pre
tended to think it was all like a horrid
dream.
"Is it possible," he asked, " that I
am suspected of murdering my wife?"
Then alter a moment's pause lie said:
" If I must go and leave her, permit me
to remain until an old family physfMan,
whom I have sent lor, and whom I ex
pect every moment, arrives."
The officers waited, and in a short
time the physician came, a stranger to
all in Berkton outside of Mr. Raymond's
household. He came in a carriage of
the pastor's, and the horse showed he
had been driven very hard and a long
distance. Raymond was not permitted
to see the new-comer alone. At his re
quest one of the other doctors was
called in and introduced to the stranger.
Raymond called the latter I>r. Walden,
and stated he had b"cn his medical ad
viser for years; and that he wished him
to take charge of the present case.while
he hoped the other doctor* would give
their aid and counsel. And then as
he turned to follow the officers away,
he remarked in a low tone:
"Dr. Walden, teveal no secret that
you know."
There was general satisfaction in
Berkton that Raytnomi was lodged in
jail. And there was also a general ex
pectation for days of hearing that his
wife was dead. The sympathy for the
latter, of whose existence up to that
night no one in the place had dreamed,
was as universal as the abhorrence
in which her husband was at that time
held.
The announcement of Mrs. Raymond's
death, so constantly looked for. did not
come. For several weeks she hovered
between life and death, and then grew
better. The village doctor ceased to
attend upon her. And as though the
injunction of the Rev. John Raymond to
Dr. Walden was meant for them also, to
all who questioned them concerning the
minister's private affairs they were
dumb. While people were wondering
at this silence on the part of f.hr*e medi
cal men. it was found out that Raymond
was at liberty and at home. The only
explanation that could be found for his
being tree was that somehow the mat
U'r had boon Drivntolv settled, nnd the
court had ordered his release. There
were great indignation and intense ex
citement. If Raymond had ventured
out among men he might have been
severely handled. But he followed his
old custom and remained at home.
How, men asked, could such a grave
matter be settled without a trial ? A
trial it was determined there should be.
The com t would not do Its duty, the
church must not fail to do its down.
Raymond was at once snmmoned to
appear IK? lore a " council "of the church
to answer certain charges. The trial
came off in the church, nnd was—as
long as R lasted—public. In his " best
days" thn Rev. John Raymond never
met a larger assembly there than ho now
encountered on this, one of his "worst
days." He was accus-d of intemper
ance. and of making a murderous as
sault. To be guilty of either of these
unfitted him for the ministry. In sup
port of the first charge, George Rankin
was a reluctant witness. He testified as to
Raymond's habits at college; and in an
swer to a question, stated that he bail
felt since Raymond had become the pas
tor there that lie was n intemperate
man. Though loath to say as'much,
when nuked at such a t*mc lie must tell
the truth. There were enough to testify
as to the pastor's singular customs and
manners while lie had been in Berkton.
One member of the council contended
that the bleached linir and sunken eyes
of the accused were strong evidence of
his dissipation.
To sustain the last and gravest accu
nation, one of the brethern simpiy stated
what was universally believed to be the
facts as to the cruel and almost fatal as
sault upon Mrs. Raymond. The church
closed the present it ion of its ease. Per
haps the mnjority of the assembly were
no more certain of the minister s guilt
after hearing the evidence against him
than before. They had no doubts about
it when they came into the church; it
was thought that Raymond would make
a great speech in defence !.f himself. All
eyes were riveted upon him, as with a
pale fin ill e arose to answer the charges
brought against liim. Instead ola long
defense, he made a very briel one.
"Brethren," said he, "before God, I
solemnly aflirm tlmt, since I have been
the pastor of this church. I have never
J been intemperate; and that I have
never made-an a.-ault upon ony person,
j I speak the truth, hut I have no witness
jto testify in my behalf. Men may have
inferred from my manner heretofore
I that some dark cloud overshadowed my
j life, and one has, hut now, tiiank God,
that cloud lias disappeared. Brethren.
I I believe I am called to preach the gos
pel. Permit me, I beseech you, to eon
| tinue my work here, and make only
j this demand of me, that, if henceforth
; my conduct shall seem unbecoming a
: pastor, and these members of the church
j so inform me, I shall resign my pastor
ate at once; and lam confident you will
I never regret that you gave me a chance
to regain your respect and affection.
The dead silence that reigned when
the pastor had closed and resumed his
seat, was in a moment disturbed by the
rustling of a dress on the stairs that
| led from the vestry up to the audience
i room. A person ascending these stairs
would, on reaching the ton, come into
view of those seated in church, as Un
seats face the stairs. The chairman of
the council arose, but befon lie could
offer what lie had to say, there came
into the presence of the assembly a lady
| veiled and elegantly dressed. Stepping
| toa place in front of the men who con
j stitutedthe council, she threw hack hr
veil, disclosing a face which, though it
j bore the marks of disease or indulgence,
I was very beautiful. It was a fare
whose portrait George Rankin remem
bered to have seen.
" I am here," was the quiet reply, "as
a witness for the defense. My husband
would not summon me, and I tome to
give voluntary testimony in his favor.
John, you must allow me to speak."
The stranger—for she was such to
nearly everyone in the place—then ad
dressed the council as follows:
"Gentlemen, you misjudge as noble a
man as ever lived. The charge of in
temperance you have made against him
should have been made against his
wife. The blow that nearly ended the
earthly existence of that miserable wife,
that yuu accuse him of giving, was ad
ministered by Iter own band. I stand
as a witness of his innocenee. And not
only that, but, as 1 trust, a redeemed
soul saved by the entreaties, ministra
tions and prayers of my husband, whose
patience and kindness have known no
limit."
A new church has been built in Berk
ton, and the much loved pastor, the
Rev. John Raymond, preaches to a
larger congregation than the old build
ing could hold. The pastor's wife has
as warm a place in the hearts of the peo
ple as her husband ; and is considered a
very earnest Christian woman. It must,
however, be owned that there are many
who believe she is the possessor of still
another important secret ol knowing
how to he the most charming woman
that Berkton has ever known.—Hiring'
field Republican.
Stories from Colorado.
It was nearly a year ago when I>ead
ville was first showing what therp was
in her. There were several new ly-n ade
bonanza kings about Denver then, and
among them was a man wiio had prob
hly never had twenty dollars in his
pricket at onetime previous to his strike.
To him tlie possession of a watch was
the natural evidenco <f the possession
ola competence, nnd as he had made
more tlian a competence, he felt that
Uie fact should be indicated by the pur
chase of several watches. These he had
deposited in the Grand Central hotel
safe. One night he came into the office
very much the worse for liquor, lurched
up to tlie desk and hiccoughed out to
tlie clerk: " Gimme a watch r A time
piece was passed to his unsteady bands,
but, in endeavoring to thrust it into his
trousers pockets, he let it slip and fall
upon tlie floor. Without casting a
glance at tlie fallen watcii he lurched to
tlie counter again, reached out his
shaking hand, mustered ail his faculties
to the task of speaking, nnd then blurted
out: "Gimme 'nuther !" Can the in
difference ol affluence go beyond this ?
He was evidently a "tenderfoot," but
as he stopped before an old miner and
held out a piece of micaceous granite
for liis inspection he made a strong
effort to look as if lie had been born with
a contempt for civilization, and that tlie
fading had been steadily growing on
him ever since: "What do you make
this out to be?" he asked, indicating
the spicimen with a nod "Humph!
was the expressive answer. " Gold
quarts or earhonatesP' Tlie " honest
miner" turned It over in Ills hand in
differently, took out his knife and picked
at it for nwliile, and then asked: "Got
much of ii?" "Thousands of tons,"
answered the other, eagerly. " How
mucli do you suppose she'll run?'
"Can't tell nuthin' without an assay.'
" But you can guess, can't yuu; you can
guess P "Oh, ys." answered tlie bar
nacle, "anybody kin guess; but a guess
is liable t. he extravagant. Now, I
shall say—but. mind ye, I may go over
the mak—l should s-a-a-a-v (turning
t.ie specimen over again and holding ft
up to the light) I should s-a-a-n*y that
if ye ran save the gold in this and catch
the silver, a* d not waste the lead, that
it might run about—well, about f9 to
the county."— Denver Tribune.
"He that gathersth in summer la a
Wise man," was not written of the let
dealer.—Cfucmnoft Gawtte.
km Overworked People.
Among other things said by William
Walter rhelps.at a meeting of physicians
and surgeons not long since, the follow
ing will bear re-reading more than
once:
We area nation without contentment,
without rest, without happiness. In a
teverlsli race, we pass from the cradle to
the grave—successful men, to whom life
Is a failure. Our boys leave the uni
versity, when English boys leave th'-ir
school. Our merchants leave tin ir trade,
retiring to some more dignified or hon
orable work, as they believe it, at an age
when the German merchant first feels
tlie master of bis trade. Wo are always
anticipating the future, forcing the task
of a whole life info part. Worse, we
are not content with doing a year's
work in a month in our calling, but we
must do enough in all other callings to
win distinction there. In other lands it
is enough to be a lawyer, physician,
clergyman, merchant. Here we are no
bodies unless we fill the sphere of all
human occupations. One must be a
statesman, and know political science,
as if already in office. He must IK* an
orator, and ready to persuade and in
struct—a wit to shine at the dinner
table—a literatcur, a critic! There is
too mucli human nature in man for this
to mean anything except a discontented
life and a premature death. And the
remedy? Correct public opinion. We
must honor the man who faithfully
does bis task, whatever it is. Not the
ta k, hut the faithfulness witli which it
is done, must be the measure of the
honor. Then Uicn wili be content with
their father's trade. This will give us
that family association which is a sure
pledge of good conduct and patriotic
love. Tiiis will five us. too, that tradi
tional aptitude which alone givts ireat
mechanical excellence. It will not be a
bad time for American manufactures
when we find stamped on tliem what
Mr. Griffs finds on Japanese bronzes—
"Done by the ninth bronzer in this
family." Then men will keep the occu
pation of their youth for their age, and
having leisure, will build tlie founda
tions broad enough to withstand bank
ruptcy. Then men will seek excellence
in their callings. Then men will alter
nate labor with rest, and obey the de
mand of nature.
ilow n Garden is Formed in Japan.
The following extract from a report
rom Hakodate, Southern Ycsso, rays
the Gardener's ChrouicU. w ill indicate
the aptness of these intelligent people,
the Japanese, to seize a new idea from a
foreigner:
An inkling was given to three oi the
principal native storekeepers by a lady
to start a botanical garden. The idea
was .jumped at. as this wa the very
tiling they had always desired to
bsn . UtS Japanese being so very (ondof
flowers, ana mere especially foreign
flowers; but the Individuals in question,
who are brothers, did not know how to
set about it, and what seeds to order,
and when they had them, what to do
with them. Accordingly a plan for a
?;arden was drawn up, and some one
inving an idea of gardening was en
gaged, after which a spot of ground was
selected most suitable for a flower gar
den: but when application was made
for it the Kaitakushi took the matter in
hand, and has now start'd a public gar
den, the foreign directress still being
consulted on all matters. In order to
give it ihe character of a public under
taking. every ward of the town was in
duced, in succession, to work there one
whole day, besides the regular oolies
paid by the Kaitakushi. When the
whole town had thus contributed its
qu da of labor, all the singing girls of
the tea houses, with other inmates of
these establishments, dressed up in gay
colors, were engaged there one whole
dny in smoothing down the paths with
a stone fastened to ropes handled bv
about a dozen girls each, singing and
dancing all the time; and, to crown all,
one Sunday all the officials, from the
highest to the lowest, dressed in labor
ers working clothes, were engaged in
finishing the " funiyama " of the garden,
without which no Japanese garden is
complete.
A *2.50 light.
A Carson City paper reports the fol
lowing lively law proceedings: Yester
nay aftem on a young man came into
Ju>tire Cary's court-mom. with the rim
of his hat drawn down over his eyes,
and remarked: "Do vou know me? f '
" I think." replied tlie court, meekly,
"that you arc the chap I sentenced for
stealing about a year a^o."
"That's just the hairpin I am." re
plied the other, "and here's f2O for my
fine."
" But you served your term in jail,"
said the judge, "and owe no fine."
"That's all right, old boy; but I'm
about to commit an assault and battery,
and I guess I'll settle now. You're the
man I propose to lick."
"Oh,'that's it," rejoined tlie court,
pocket ng the coin; " then you can start
In, and we'll call it squsre."
The young man advanced to the court
and let out his left. The judge ducked
his head and, rising up, lifted the in
truder in the'eye with a right-handed
and sent him over against the wall. In
a moment the court WM climbing a 1
over the man, and in about three min
utes his face was hardly recognisable.
The man begged the court to let up,
which he finally did. Asthelelh w was
afwrat to go ont Cary went afler him
with: "Boe here, young man. I don't
think the fighting you did ought to be
nssessed at any mom than *# SO—here's
*l7 50 in change. I ain't charging vou
anything for fighting, but just for ray
time. Next time I won't charge you a
cent." The rough took the change and
the next train for Virginia City.
Interesting Flgnre*.
A diligent statistician professes to
have compiled from official sources Uie
following figures in regard to item* of
national expense:
Salaries ot all clergy men gG.000,000
Cost or .logs 70,000,000
Snp|iort ol criminals 12,000,000
Fees ol til igallon I .V .00 ,000
Cost of tobacco and cigars.... 010,000,u00
Importation ol liquor* <0,000,000
Support ol grog shops 1,<00,000
Whole cost of liquors 2,000,000,000
Tho internal revenue report of the
United States government for the fiscal
year ending .Tune, 1870, shows that the
amount of government taxation for the
whole country for cigars, tobacco and
snuff, during 1070. was $30,795,330.
The number of uigara on which duties
were psid in the same period was almost
t.000,000,000. Adding to these 110.000,-
000 of pound* of tobacco, manufactured
for smoking and chewing, and we have
an amount oj not less tl an $050,000,000
a year.
Indian Treachery.
A correspondent writinif irr.m u-,
City, Montana, says: One of the** **
witragedies Whirl, In liUjy to
permanently wov#n into the woofTr
..lie, jii.u.ry, I, d™,r,l„,"y l r &'
] wo white men. ingagcd InirJ '•
the Mizpali creek H confluent oftfe*"
river, were suddenly % nfronN u'
party of six or right Indianr. On*V/
the men wasa-i "old timer" in Mont.V
nyoicing in the title of "Catfish Rand"*-
The other was hia "partner" i n [L
trapping venture, and hi* name has
raped uiy recollection. According t
established custom in like case* i
whites waved their hands to the I mil.,!*
U, indirale thai they must
100 VUMHiIy. Iwo of the HiiVitj;. „ |„ - 1
upon laid aside their rifle* and kniv*
and holding their hands ahove .1.2:
heads to show that they were unarm/*
drew up to the trappers, the rS'
of the party looking on silently at a f ;/
tance. Sandy, who is a veteran Ir.HiLt
tighter, remained on his guard not wit??
standing this parade of pacific p Ur J,"'
and lie,d a firm grasp upon his rifle'
Suddenly he was enveloped in the bam
ket of the foremost savage, w | 10 ..
tempted to follow up the surprise bv
throwing him to the ground. Hut the
latter ha/1 reckoned without his host
With a powerful effort Sandy threw his
hnlf-nakcd antagonist from him, relieved
his head from the blanket, and in
, another instant had shot the Indian
dead at his feet. Meanwhile the other
savage was overpowering Randy's part
ner. and as the two were wrestling on tie
ground, the white underneath, a second
shot from Sandy's unerring rifle disabled
the Indian, and, glancing, inflicted 'a
wound in the arm of his rescued oppo
nent. The other Indians fled ineonti
; nently upon beholding the death of their
companion.
! A detachment of troops from Fori
Keogh was sent in pursuit of the Indians
j and captured three of them after a fight
i in which one soldier was killed. Three
of the Indians escaped a ross th< Cana
; dian border.
A Lion limit in South America.
In South America a party of English
men recently rode out for a Ijon hunt.
The South American lion is not r-x
-actly like the lions of th<* old world, but
he is ferocious, nevertheless. Accom
panying the liunters was a peon, or farm
lad. named '• Pristy," who was a good
rider and as brave as he could be. In
a thicket with water all around, the
hunters eame up<n a lioness and two
cubs, and these they succeeded j n caj>.
luring with lassos, or ropes looped at the
end. Trotting out of the thickets by
himself, Pristy saw a lion, the father of
tlie eubs. Tlte lion was moving here
and there in the grass of the plain, sniff
ing the air and growling. Pristy was
such a bold fellow that he nid not cah
for help, but rode headlong after his
game. Pristy charged at a eaiiop, and
the lion at the same moment charged
with great bounds. Pristy hurled his
iasso and the noose, true to its aim, fell
around the animal's neck. Then Pristy
put spurs to his horse in order tl
might drag the lion, hut the latteT ran
faster than the horse, and soon sprang
upon the poor horse's flank. There was
a terrific struggle. Pristy shouted for
help, and the hunters in the thicket
rushed in a mad gallop toward the cloud
of dust that marked the scene of the
combat. Pristy got out his knife and
stabbed the lion several timrs, and
finally horse, boy and lion tolled over
and over on the ground. The hunters
soon drew near and killed the lion.
Pristy's arm was broken and be was
very much bruised. The poor horse
also suffered from severe wounds.—Ml
adtlphia Times.
1 Ime for Reading.
Many busy people declare they bare
I no time for reading; but tliey are miw
taken. They have all the time there is.
and Rome of the world's busiest men
' have found that enough to make thro-
Reive* accomplished in one or more de
partments of knowledge. The troubk
is no lack of time, but wasteful habits
in regard to it. Many persons enter
tain the notion that one must hare
regular and definite hours of the day
or week set apart for reading in orderto
accomplish anything valuable. There
never was a greater mistake. The busiest
life has margins of time which may
serve. like theborders of the old missals,
to enrich and exalt the commonplaces
written between. Kilteen minutes in fhe
morning, and as many more in the even
ing, devoted faithfully to reading, will
add appreciably in the course ola few
months to oner store of knowledge.
Always have a book at hand, and
[ whether the opportunity brings you two
hours or ten minutes, use it to the full.
An English scientist learned a language
in the time his wife kept him waiting
for the completion of her evening toilet;
and at the dinner given to Mr. Kroude
in New York, some years ego. Mr.
Iteecher said that he had read through
that author's brilliant kut somewhat
lengthv history in the intervals of din
ner. fiyery life has pauses between its
activities. The time spent in ioeal
travel in street cars and ferries is a
golden opportunity, if one will only
resolutely make the most ol it. It j
not long spaces of time, but the single
purpose, that turns every moment to
account, that makes great and fruiWui
acquisitions i ossible to men and women
who have other work in life.—Cbidian
I'nion.
Breaking Hi* Son'* Seek.
By parties just down from Trinity
Cento we are informed that a few days
ago, near Minersville, diaries Dsvi*.
wliilc drunk, tlirew Lis tleven-year oid
son out of a window, tlie fall breakint
the boy's neck. Some weeks ago Davis
wife died at the same place, with no
one at liome but the boy, whoso death
we chronicle above, and his twin
brother, who also died soon after bis
mother from the effects of exposure to
the cold, his father having forced hnn
out into the snow. Chaney PTIB is
well-known liere, bavin* a cattle rsnf
on Clear crock. It is said thai all the
crimes he has committed were perpe
trated when he was intoxicated, but
that will not excuse their rnonnitv—
drunk or sober he ought to null hemp.
The corpse of a neglected wife in a chair
before a tireless hearth, in a snow-sur
rounded cabin, with no one at hand but
her two children, suffering with con
and hunger—one ol tliwe w?wl/-or
phaned lioya thrust out into lbs frces
ing storm and perishing from the ffwt
of the exposure—the remainingbroinw
tosed from a window and instantly
killed—these arc the pictures for Charles
Davis to contemplate and reflect over.
—Saw f-Yanciteo Ckrinicl*.