Autumn. The burning lummtr days am gone. And autumn'* riper (ervor spent; But cloudless still llie sun move* on, And azure spreads the flnuaraeut, Bare where it bemls to earth, and dip* Into the wartn and thirsty haze, Which tinge* the horizon's lips On still October day*. A sober russet robe* the fields, A gorgeous drapery decks the wold, In all the splendor Nature yields Oi crimson, scarlet, green and gold, With every nameless tint between, Which light's mysterious depths oomp rise The hand ol Industry delays— Deserted lies the harvest plain; Save where, by unfrequented ways, Lumbers the heavy-laden wain, And silent all, save here and there The throbbing sound oi winnowing grain, And swelling, tailing, on the air, The roar ot distant train. No lambs are sporting on the hill, The solemn herds in silent rove; No more the wildbird's merry trill Awakes the concert ot the grove, And voices which, in evening hid, Kept revel all the summer long, Are silent now, and Katydid Has ceased her weary song. Nature her hosts ot lavish lite Back to the garrison withdraws, And, prescient ot the coming strife, Collects herself in tranquil pause. So pause my downward years l>o(ore The final blight ot child decay, Clinging to one fair season more— My own October day. —Jamet C. Mqffat. A MOTHER'S SACRIFICE. A fire burned in the low grate, but the little light it gave revealed all the grace of Mrs. Wingfield's slight form in its close fitting robes of black. To-night, for the first time in her two years of widow hood, she laid off the widow's cap. which had for so long served to conceal the thick aubnrn braids so artistically coiled about the small head. Perhaps for this same reason she had dismissed the butler when he entered according to custom to light lamps, or perhaps because the slow ticking of the clock upon the mantel revealed to her suffi ciently the lapse of time without com pelling her to distinguish the hands upon the face of the dial drawing nearer and nearer the hour whose close ap proach dissipated the calmness she vainly strove to gain. Eighteen years had passed since she and Arthur Mainwaring had met. They had been lovers in that far-off time, but he was poor then, with no whisper in the air of the rich inheritance to which be afterward fell heir, ju3t too late for it to bring happiness to either. Not that they cared for wealth, either of them, but then there were older, wiser minds to judge for both, and so, each vowing eternal vows, they were torn apart. Six short months later she married Edward Wingfield. He was, fortunately, not a man to look for love and sentiment in his young wife-—only wifely duty and obedience. In these she never failed him, and after his death the world found proof of his esteem in the fact that to his widow reverted all his fortune, un trammeled by a single reservation. She had married very yonng. She was but thirty-five now. Would he find her changed, she wondered—he for whose coming she waited here to-day P Simultaneously with the thought came the sound of carriage wheels and horses' hoofs on the graveled walk. She started to her feet, pressing both hands upon her fast-beating heart. Only that morning she Lad received the telegram announcing Arthur Mainwaring's com ing, and already he was here. She was glad, oh, so glad, that the room was dark, when she heard the quick, firm thread she had sometimes heard in her dreams during these long years of duti ful living; so glad that he could not see the quick blush, which put her matron bood to shame, when the door was thrown hastily open, and three or four swift strides brought him to her side. " Barbara!" Oh, how his voice still thrilled her— half with pleasure, half; with pain I His tall form towered far above her, as in the olden time; bnt he {held close in his own firm, tender grasp, her two iiUle trembling hands. "Are you glad to see me P" lie ques tioned. She strove to answer, but her lips quivered, and no words came. " Barbara," he said then again, and he bowed his handsome head lower, " is it too soon to speak P" ''Oh, Arthur," she answered, "can I yet atone?" And then the bridge of years was swept away, and she sobbed out her happiness upon his heart. "Let mo see vou," he said, at last. " I have not yet seen the lace for which I have hungered ail these years." He struck a light, then turned and looked at her. "My darling!" he said. "It is still my beautiful Barbara. What have I done to deserve this hour?" "Mamma, where are youP" called out a fresh, girlish voice at this instant. The next moment a young girl of scarce seventeen summers sprang into the room. "This is my daughter, Arthur—my only child. Dora, let me present you to one of your mother's oldest friends." The gentleman indicated looked from one to .the other—from the mother to the daughter—then back again. Now he could realize the lapse of time—now be could appreciate the changes years had wrought. It was ss though he had brought the past and, present face to face forcing him to acknowledge the Im possibility of nature's standing still. The daughter was a fair counterpart of the mother's beauty. As she looked now shyly extending to him her hand, as if in deprecation of her unceremon ious entrance, so had Barbara looked, when extending her hand in farewell, as though she would have said, " I am forced into it by a stronger will than mine." An uncomfortable sensation rose up in his breast—a dumb warring against the inevitable—an unacknowledged de sire to retrace life's pathway and con quer time. Meantime the young girl pouted the full, red lips, as she thought her mother's friend strangely absent; and when he at last forced himself into a few words of greeting, they fell upon dull, unheeding ears. Then she had gone. The lovers were alone again, but he no longer opened wide his arms, but instead, drew a chair to her side, that they might dis cuss more rationally. " You must teach Dora to love you," she said to him next morning. "I want first to reconcile her to my second mar riage before startling her with its pos sibility. Tell me—do you think her like me P" "Your second self." "Ah, lam so glad! You will love her, then, for my sakeP" To love and be loved 1 Over-easy task set by trml woman in her blindness. It must be Mr. Mainwaring who must be Dora's companion in her daily ride. Mr. Mainwaring who must teach tier to manage the cockle-boat—for which he had sent to town—in these first early spring days. The lovers were seldom alone now. Dora looked up at their guest as her property. She had long ago laughingly told him how unceremonious had been his welcome to tier, and he had wooed and won his absolution. Sometimes Barbara sigbed as she watched them together, while she sat alone, but she gave to the sigh no name, and thought it a tribute to the vanished years. One day came her awaking. Dora and Mr. Mainwaring had gone for their afternoon ride, but it had extended be yond its wont, and she had grown anxious and gone out to meet them, sinking into the forest path which was their favorite way. Half a mile from her home she met Dora's horse rider less. Paie with terror, she hastened on, when she suddenly stopped, rooted to the spot. Almost at her feet knelt the man her heart had loved always, and in bis arms he held Dora's unconscious form. "My love! my life!" he said, each word being borne distinctly to her ear; "speak to me once—just once! Oh, Dora, are you hurt? My darling, would that I might have given my life for yours!" Then he stooped and pressed his lips to hers. A long fluttering sigh escaped them. " Arthur!"she whispered ; " Arthur!" " I am here, dear," he said. And then he laid her down out of his arms, as though, with returning life, he remembered the duty it brought with it. The mother sprang forward. "Do not be alarmed," Mr. Mainwar ing said, gently, on seeing her- "Her horse threw her. I think there is no serious injury." No serious injury! None to Dora, hut Barbara knew that her wound was past healing. When, a few hours later, they knew that there was no need for anxiety on her account, Barbara shut herself up within her own room to fight her battle. " I cannot give him up," she moaned. "He does not know his own heart. He will forget this child, and she—she can not love him." But even as she reasoned came the remembrance of the one word, " Ar thur!" and ttic tone in winch she had spoken it. " I will try her," she said, and for the first time in her life came a feeling of bitter resentment even against her child. They were sitting together in the li brary as she entered. "Arthur," she said, "I think it is time tiiat we told Dora the truth." The man's face paled. She could al most see fiim gird his soul for the con flict, and crush out his heart behind his honor. Even Dora looked up with a suspicion of coming trouble. " It is only this, dear," Barbara said, tnrning to her daughter; " lias not Mr. Mainwaring told you that be was an engaged man?" Then she saw that the steel had struck home. The child answered nothing as she turned two wet, re proachful eyes to him, who dared not meet their gaze. Until this instant she had not known tiiat she possessed a heart. She learned it now to her cruel cost. " I must congratulate Mr. Mainwar ing." she said, calling up all her woman's pride to her aid, then hastened from the room to hide the burst of tears, the two were left alone. "Does she suspect, do you think?' she asked, gloating over his torture. " She must know," he answered. " I am ready, Barbara, to fulfill my bond. Let there be no farther delay." "Will you not, then, plead that I asked only the pound of flesh, without a drop of blood, and that your life must pay the forfeit I demand P" " What can you mean?" he aaked, in a bewildered way. "Only,"she said, "that I plead my cause for youis. Release me, Arthur. I find I cannot marry you." Five minutes ago she would have | thought herself incaoable of the sacri fice; yet here she stood, quiet and calm, giving no outward sign of the inward whirlpool, nor the torture that wrung her as she watched the weight lift Irom his soul at her words. "You no longer love me?" he ques tioned. " I am growing old," with a mocking laugh; and in his blindness he accepted her words as denial, and went forth content, little dreaming of the sacrifi "c the mother had made for her daughter's happiness. A little later he came to her, Dora blushing, radiant with happiness, by his side. " Will you give her to me?" he asked. " I loved her, Barbara, because she was your second self!" The Fast Trotters. A reporter has Interviewed Mr. Bon ner concerning fast horses, and that gentleman is far Ircm willing to admit that the world contains a fleeter trotter t ban one or two to be found in his stable. There is undoubtedly much rivalry be tween Mr. Vandcrbilt and the proprietor of the ledger as to wholshall have the fastest roadster, and had Mr. Vander bilt's offer of $50,000 secured St. Julien, that gentleman would doubtless feel that he is the owner of a pair which no one would be pass on the road. And p : nce it is generally believed that Maud can equal if not improve the time made by St. Julien at Hartford, he no doubt considers himsc 1 he owner of the fastest roadster in the world. Mr. Bonner believes that the bent time on record will yet be brought down several seconds, and he is confident that Itarus can trot in 2:10, and that Edwin For rest, with a record of 2:151 to wagon, is the greatest wagon horse in the world. Since Lady Suffolk trotted a mile In • :26j, and Flora Temple in 2:19|, aston ishing reductions in time have been made, the official record of horses that have gone below the time which made Dexter famous being as follows: 2 -.111, S. Julien. 2:111, Maud S, 2:131, Rartis. 2:14, Goldsmith Maid. 2 It',. Hopeful. 2:15, Lulu. 2:151, Smuggler. 2:161, Lucille Golddust. 2:161, American Girl and Derby. 2:161, Occident. 2:17, Gloster. 2:171, Dexter. Mr. Bonner attributes the improve ment chiefly to toeweights, smoother tracks and lighter vehicles, and con jesses that without his toeweights Ed win Forrest would not be worth SSOO ud Maud S. would be no better.—N cw York Mail. Hogs Killing a Jaguar. The wild hogs of South America are very savage, and when aroused know no fear. One night a hungry party of ex plorers, ramped in a Brazilian forest, heard an uproar of grunting, squeaking and clashing of tusks. "Pigs!" exclaimed all, with joyful ness; " now we'll have a dinner!" Snatching .heir guns, they crept cau tiously toward the sounds. Coming to the edge of a clearing, they saw a jaguar standing on an ant hill, about five fe t from the ground. Surrounding him were fifty or sixty wild hogs, furious in their efforts to get at their enemy. The jaguar, with his tail stuck well up in the air, and his legs close together, stood balancing himself on the hillock. As the infuriated pigs threatened one side or the other, he would turn around and face them. He was evidently un easy, and only waited for a cnance to mnke a rush and escape. In a moment of forgetfulness, the jaguar slightly dropped his tail. Instantly a pig seized it and pulled; then another, and and other, and the henst was dragged from his perch to the ground. The battle was terrible- The yellow body ol the jaguar rose up above the grunting, squealing mass of pigs, and his powerful jaws stiuck deadly blows. Then he fell—the uproar subsided, and the herd dispersed. The party of explorers walked to the battle ground. Fourteen dead pigs were lying on the field, but no jaguar or its remains were seen. Presently one of the party, picking up a fragment of something, exclaimed: " Here's th* tiger!" It wns a bit of the jaguar's skin. He had been torn to pieces and devoured by the savage hogs. What Makes the Man. Many people forget that character grows; that it is not something to put on, ready made, with womanhood and manhood, but day by day, here a little and therea little, grows with the growth and strengthens with the strength, until, good or bad, it becomes almost a coat of mail. Pir.mpt, reliable, conscien tious, yet clear-headed and energetic, when do you suppose he developed all these admirable qualities? When he was a boy. Let us see the way in which a boy of ten years gets up in the morning, works, plays, studies, and we will tell you just what kind of a man be will make. The boy that is late at breakfast, and late at school, stands a poor chance to be a man. The boy who neglects his duties, be they ever so small, and then excuses himself by saying, "I forgot? I didn't think!" will never be a reliable man. And the boy who finds pleasure in the suffering of weaker things will never be a nobis, generous, kindly man—a gen tleman. __________ Plant your neighbor's oats early. One under each fruit tree will help your crop and do your neighbor a good turn besidse. Becklng-Stones. Scattered over certain portions of the British isles, and here and there in other parts of the world, may be found masses of detached rock, often of great size, f oised so nioely on a narrow base that they move to and fro under very slight pressure, and known in Great Britain by the name of " logan" or "rocking" stones. In somo cases the action of the wind alone is sufficient to set them in motion Formerly, these stones, from their peculiar characteristics, were considered to be the work of human hands, and were classed among " Druidic remains" —the common belief being that they were connected with the religious rites and ceremonies of the Druids. One of the absurd beliefs was that if a supposed culprit was brought to a his guilt or innocence would bo at once proclaimed—if guilty, the stone would vibrate on his approach by unseen power; while on the other hand his innocence vould be proved by his remaining stationary. An opposite belief—that the stone would "rock"at the slightest touch of those pure at heart, but wouid withstand even a giant's power when exerted by the guilty—is thus well expressed by the poet Mason: | Heboid yon huge And unhewn sphere ol living udarnant, Which, poised by magic, rests its aenli-a weight. On yonder pointed rock; flrtn as it aeotnn, Such is its strange and virtuous property, It moves obsequious to the gentlest touch Ol him whose heart is pure; but to a traitor Though e'en a giant's prowess nervodhis arm It stands as fixed aa Snowdon. These beliefs, like many others con nected with so-called cromlechs and other remains, are, however, exploded, and it is now very generally agreed that roeking-stones are not works of art, bu the result of natural causes. There can be no doubt that in most cases the "rocking" property of these masses of stone is entirely due to weath ering; disintegration having been ef fected through countless by the action of wind and rain, and sometimes by sand blown by the wind upon tn? masses of jutting rock of which they arc comprised. In some instances, too, there is little doubt the superincumbent mass has fallen or rolled from the rocks and heights above, and become accidentally poised on its present bed; and in others again they may have been deposited in their position by glaciers or icebergs. In all cases, however, we shall be safe in attributing, in one way or other, their formation to natural agency. At one ol the meetings of the British association, this theory was clearly demonstra cd by Mr. Grove, who stated that by artificial attrition he - had himself made several miniature rocking-stones; "andthus he showed how by the action of the atmos phere on their corners, many large masses of rock, which iiave a tCLdency to disintegrate into cubical or tabular blocks might gradually become rounded into the rude spheroidal shape generally presented by the logan."— Chamber)? Journal. What Children Should Read. The greatest trouble which ensues from placing sensational literature in the hands of children is the false ide.i of life which it produces. Many children every year, after reading those thrilling adventures and glowing descriptions of the "golden West," have become dis satisfied witli the tame and seemingly uneventful school life, and have left their homes to seek their fortunes and follow their hero. Most of these de luded fortune-hunters find their mistake and like the prodigal return, but with the taste for good reading impaired. Such literature should not he placed within the reach of children. There are plenty of good, useful books of moral tone that are suitable, pleasing and at the same time instructive. History is now gotten up in such a pleasant style that it is a source of amusement as well as instructive to read it. If novels must be read -and none can deny that a good novel occasionally does no harm his torical are preferable to those whose chief merit seems to be the excitement they may produce and the false ideas of life they may create. Every piece n child rends should contain a grain of trutli, either moral, philosophical, po litical or historical, that it may spring up and bear some fruit of usefulness. It is quite important, too, that the youth should be conversant with the topics of the day, whicli may be found in the leading papers. No one can be con sidered well read who knows nothing of the literature of the times. Jay (Isold's Eyebrows. " How Jay Gould lost his eyebrows," is the.suhject of a thrilling romanoe con structed especially for the St. iouis Republican. He had his all staked on Union Pacific, and the stock had been worked up from nine.to about sixty-six. A case iikely to make bis fortune or ruin him was before the supreme court at Washington. When the decision was to be rendered Gould hired a pri vate wire and took his seat at the New York end of it. The first of the opinion began to come over the wire and it was a mere histcry 'of the case. " Oh, shut him off," cried Mr. Gould, "and ask him whether the decision of the lower court Is affirmed." The answer was awaited with breathless anxiety. Gould sank in his chair as pale as a dead man, those [about him were much oonoerned for fear tuat if the decision was adverse he would be killed by it. The operator at length gave the news that the de cision of tbe lower oourt had been affirmed. Mr. Gould was prostrated, though the decision gave him millions. He was carried to his home in Fifth avenue, and a long sickness followed. All bis hair oame out, including bis eye brows, and those nature never restored. CKYNTALIZKD EM. A Traffic that hu HUi to Uroot In porlancr.; The egg traffic of this country bits riaen to an importance which few com prehend. The aggregate transactions In New York city alone must amount to fully s><.ooo,ooo per annum, and in the United States to $1)1,000,000. A Bingic tirm in that line of business Kast handled 1 ,000,000 worth of eggs during the year. In Cincinnati, too, the traflic must be proportionately large. In truth, the great galiinnccous tribe of our country barnyards contributes in no small degree to human subsistence, eggs being rich in nutritive properties—equal to one-half their entire weight. Goose, duck and hen eggs are the principal kinds produced in America. We have nothing, however, like we are told used to be found in M adagascar, or have been found |there, the gigantic woa egg, measuring thirteen and a half inches in extreme length, and holding eight and a half quarts. One of these birds with a single effort, might supply a modem l>oarding-housc with omelets for a day. The perishable nature of eggs has naturally detracted from their vaiue as a standard article of diet. The peculiar excellence of eggs depends upon their freshness. Hut lately the process of crystal!zing has been resorted to, and by this process the natural egg is converted into a delicate amber tint, in which form it is reduced seven-eighth in bulk com pared with barreled eggs, and retains its properties for years unimpaired by any climate. This is indeed an achievement of science and mechanical ingenuity, and has a most important bearing on the question of cheaper food, by preventing waste, equalizing prices throughout the year, and regulating consumption. In this form eggs may be transported with out injury, either to the equator or to the poles, and at any time can be re stored to their original condition simply by adding the water which has been artificially taken away. Tiie chief egg. desiccating companies are in St. Louiß and New York. No salts or other ex traneous matters are introduced in the process of crystalizing, the product is simply a consilidated mixture of the yolk and albumen. Immense quantities of eggs are preserved in the spring of the year by liming. Thus treated they are good for every purpose except boiling. It is a common trick for some dealers to paim off eggs so treated for fresh, so that imposition is easily practised. In the desication process, however, the differ ence becomes apparent, as from four to five more eggs are required to make a pound of eggs crystaliz<>d than when fresh are used, and eggs in the least tainted will not crystalize at all. Some of the most experienced egg dealers declare that there is no profit in raising poultry to compare with produc ing eggs. A single hen will lay from twelve to fifteen dozen eggs per annum, selling at an average of eighteen cents per dozen, and the birds thus occupied can be housed and fed for less than fifty cents for the whole period. In the East the price per dozen is much higher. Here we buy them by the dozen. Step into an Eastern produce establishment, and they will sell you so much for a quarter of a dollar. There is nojreason why the crystalizing process should not become quite general, and egg produc tion stimulated as never before, and the food fuoply receive large accession from this source. The already great and in creasing consumption of eggs in Eng land and 1* ranee shows growing appre ciation for this kind of food compared with any other. In Lima, Peru, eggs sell at one dollar per dozen—equal to four dollars per pound crystalizcd. It is thought that this new process for pre serving for utilization the industry of our hens and pullets may be very ac ceptable, as well as beneficial, in a busineas and domestic point of view.— Cincinnati Commercial. Wards of Wisdom. Sin has a great many tools; hut a lie is the handle which fit 9 them all. Ceremonies differ in every country; but true politeness is ever the same. An idle reason lessons the weight o the good ones you gave before. People are never playing the fool so much as when they think themselves extra wise. Let your will lead whither necessity would drive, and you will always pre serve your liberty. It is with youth as with plants; from the first fruits they bear we learn what may be expected in future. The firefly only shines when on the wing. Ho is it with the mind: when once we rest we darken. False shame and fear of blame cause more bad actions than good, but virtue never blushes but for evil. Poverty often deprives a man of all spirit and virtue. It is hard for an empty bag to stand upright. Pictures drawn in our minds are laid in fading colors, ami unless sometimes refreshed,-vanish and disappear. Proud men seldom have friends. In prosperity they know nobody; and in adversity nobody cares to know them. Nature makes us poor when we want necessities, but custom gives the name of poverty to the want of superilui' ties. Envy feeds upon the living; after death it ceases then, every man's well earned honors defend him against calumny. _______ It is ssd to think that so many wen meaning and naturally joyous spirits are compelled to go through .Ife with out owning a steam yacht. Hope sticks to s man closer than any thiug we know of- -except corns. ■ii'i Brotherhood. II any man moat (all lor me to riee, Then week I not to climb. Another*. p*i n I cbooae notlormy good. Agol'lmcliain, A robe ol honor, U too poor a prize To tempt my haaty hand to do a wrong Unto a lei low man. Thla lile hath woe Sufficient, wrought by inan'r eatauiie loe, Ami who, thai hath a heart, would dare prolong Or add a aorrow to a etricken noul That Mieka aome healing balm to rnako it whole? My lioaom owni the brotherhood of man, From