The Old Hock. !. TW old clock croon* on the uu-kiMoil wall— Tick, took! tick, took! The merry ncoomt to minium call; Tick, lock! 'Tie morn! A eetuden site nt the mirror there, And smiles as she braiila her golden heir; Ob, in the light but her lace is Inir! Tick lock! tick, took! Ker over the see the good ship brings IVs ierer of whom the maiden sings; Prcm tho orange tree the tirst leaf springs; Tick, tock! lick took! 11. Yfcedtd clock laughs on the flower-deckwl wall- ' Tick, tock! tick, tock! I The foae-winged hours elude their thrall; i Tick, tock! 'Tie noon! . TV lover'* pride and his love are blest; The maiden is folded to his breast; ( O* her brow the holy blossoms rest; | j Tick, tock! tick, tock! Uh tbrice, thrice long may the sweet bells | chime | A u echoing this thro' future time' Sail U> mv heart heats that measured rhyme— Tick, tock! lick, tock! I lit. The old clock moans on the crumbling wall — Tick, took' tick tock! ' Dwdrear years into eternity tall; Tick, tock! Tie night! ; The thread that yon spider draws with care ' Arvnw the gleam of the mirror there 1 Seems like the ghost of a golden hair; I Tick, tock' tick, tock! I The awcet Mis chime for those who may wed; The ncroli-snows crown many a head— Hut tree and maiden and lover are dead. Tick, tock* tick, tock! f.'uy Carlrton In f.ift. j THE DOOR-STEP. Hannah Gneldt leaned upon her , broom and looked out front the < kiw kitchen door across flu- wintry fields and ice-glared streamlet which t lay between lit r home and the village j iA Greenock, with its one tapering t spire and sloping roofs and blank l white walls, hare now of the summer ] rent it re. She had lor household work, polished every article capable of polish and soaped and sanded all the rest. At the last she had swept eh an her door-stone and now felt free to do ; what she rhoose, to rest or gossip or sit j down to needle-work —a thing impos- t ■hie to her while a spot heneath her roof was out of order, .lust now ■ she felt like neither g' s-iping or sew- i sng; her heart was very full, and she {(xim 1 it necessary to stand still and think awhile. Only that she was not t ■sed to it, she would have cried, she i was so very sad. It seemed to her i that the happiest people were those* who lay in their green graves in the churchyard, with crossed hands upon their bosoms, and felt quiet from all i earthly going to and fro for evermore. Not that Hannah Gheldt was tir*l in body or weary with the toil of household duty; for she was strong in i frame, and her health was pi rfect a.s i her hands were willing. It was on < her humble heart the burden lay; her spirit was worn with earthly travail. . **Twenty-three years to-day I've i been his wife." she muttered, "and I've loved him well ami worked hard and faithful to keep things decent, and it | has come to this at last. Things ! had been lietier." said she, "if he'd vnarried Miss Lester." Yes. that was what Farmer Gneldt. harassed by toil and debt, had said that very morning: and it seemed to Han uli like the confession of long re pentance, forced from her husband's Bps at last. "Poor man! I wish I could help him,' ahe sighed, leaning on her broom lw •ide the door. "I doubt he's right about Miss Lester." With that her eyes fell and rested by chance on the door-step. "I can mend that, anyhow," ahe asutl, "and I have time, lor work is done." bo she hung the broom up and peeped into the On en and s< t the kettle m and then, hooded and shawled crossed the fields to where the farm jeiacd that of Ninieon Gray. On one spot were men at work breaking up stones lying aliuut. Hannah Gneldt nodded to the old far mer, and he came to meet her. "I want a stcne," she said, "May I 1 kavc one ?" "I wish you'd take 'tin all" said the farmer. "A lot of rubbish. Yon see ' I'm clearing away what they call the j old graveyard at last. Wife talks to ! ■m o' sacrilege and disturbin' honea Bless yon, there ain't been none for yean l ; and these hard times men can't i Irt. land go to waste, i tell wife she don't know nothin' about it. What do jo* want to do? Have a hit around the well ?" "No, I want a step," said Hannah. "That great white one is just the filing." And she pointed to a slab lard by, "Ike shall bring it over to-night," ( •aid the farmer. "No," said Hannah, "I can roll it •long." "I wish I eould tell what that was," she said. "Somo one's age and name. All! there were sore hearts what that was new. 1 hope when I die Oliver will have written over me that I was a good wife. I've tried to be. I ought to know that big letter—wuit a hit; 1 believe It's Then she turned the inscription downward and washed the other side clear and white and fitted it. into place. She received little crislit for her work. Oliver only muttered: "You needn't have published the fact 1 couldn't afford a porch to the place." Ami no one noticed the step afterwards save Hannah, when she scrubbed it. Matters were very hail with the (incldts. Oliver brooded over the lire in speechless sorrow and grew graver and balder with each passing day. Hannah kept ruin off a little by mak. ing a home of the poor house and a feast of the humldc fare by her house wife's skill. She might even have been cheerful hut for the memory of that luckless speech. Working in her garden one day when the tirst spring grass was growing green, Hannah heard footsteps, and lifting her head, saw two gentlemen beside her and arose precipitately. The nearest gentleman, an elderly man with bright, dark eyes, addressed her: "Mrs. Gnchlt, I presume." "Yes, sir." She asktsl him to walk in, and he diil so, the other following. In the lit tle parlor they -.it down. "You are .Mrs. Hannah Gneldt, Oli ver Gneldt's wife?" "Yes, sir; it is about—about—ex ciisc me, you look like a lawyer, and I '•.ir it is more trouble for Oliver." "Hc-assnre yourself, madam," s.ii.i the gentleman; "re-assure yourself, madam. Your husband is not con cerned, save through you, and that. I hope, pleasantly. Your name was Hums before you were married." "Yes, sir; Hannah Hums." "I)o you remember dates well?" "No. sir." "You have, perhaps, a record of family events—your own birth, your parent's marriage, your grandfather's death ?" Hannah Gneldt wonderinglv replied, "I have mother's Bible, and they tell me it's all there." "How far hack ?" "To grandfather's birth, I believe— Grandfather Hums. He had one child, and I am t lie only one my pa rents ever had. Oliver set down our wedding day and our two boys" birth days." "And yuur great-grandfather the record of his death is there?" "I don't kn <\v. you may see. Wait I'll . all Oliver." Going to the door, Hannah to>k down a horn us. | for that pur|xiscand tit• r• Ia i all, which brought Oliver lineldt hiuiie from the field at once, lb- dvi fi lt alarmed, but explanations quieted him. Almost as much aston ished as his wife, he brought out the Bible. "The death of my wife's great grandfather, Zebulon Burns, is not here," he said. "The tirst record is In his hand, I believe. It is the birth of his eldest child." So it proved, and the lawyer looked disappointed. "You cannot remember the day of his death?" he said. "I mean thedate of the month?" "He died long before I was born," said Hannah, "and, though rich, left nothing to grandfather. They had quarreled, I believe. He told odd sto ries of him. He must have been very eccentric, and a servant or housekeeper had great influence over him; she had all the property. Margery Mar gery—" "Margery Wither, I think," said the lawyer. "Yes," said Hannah. "I remember now." "You are quiet people, not likely to talk too much," said tho lawyer. "I will tell yon something. We have found, something. We have found n will among the cfTortit. He died In a lit of apoplexy. Don't hope too much, mind. A will in your favor, as your father's only child. It was written by him on his death-bed, dated 10th of March, 17—, and leaves all his prop ! erty to your father, his grandson, then a boy. Hush! don't hope too much. Margery Wilbur or her heirs now hold this property under a will dated March - l r th, 17—." "A later will," said Oliver. "Then of course, they are the rightful po*_ lessor*. What need of all this? The ! latest must stand." "Not if it is a forgery," said the law yer. Oliver laughed the hitter laugh of care and disappointment. "Who can prove that?" he said. "No one, perhnj*. Yet the record of the old man's death might. A man whose dying hand signed a will on the 10th of March would Hearcely make an other on the 15th. We Udieve the w ill a forgery, written on old parch ment. .Since the discovery of the one I have spoken of Margery Wilber took possession with legal forms, for no one appeared to test her title. Where waa your great-grandfather buried?" "Here," said Hannah. "They say he was brpnght down at his request Mrs. Wilber as chief mourner, and Ida son grandfather not even sent for. An old graveyard somewhere. Oh, Oliver! Oliver!" She turnisl quite white, and uttered a cry, "Oliver, that must be the grave yard on Gray's place that he dug over last winter in the warm spell." "Then it is gone,"said Oliver. "And our last hope with it. No, gentlemen good luck would never mine upon us. I'overtv means to ellng to us to the last. 1 wish you hud better clients." "Oliver! Oliver!" grasped Hannah Gneldt, "tell me one thing. Zclmlon was great grandfather's name. Zebu lon is spelled with a Z, isu't it? Oh, do speak!" "I think you are going mad, Han. nsili; ol course of it is." "Oli, the big Z, I remember it so well. I know it was Z; and it would have been broken to pieces before now. Oliver, don't you remember my door-step that you were so angry at? I Is-lievi- it is my jtoor old great-grand father's tombstone. And not to kin-w -it w hen I stared at the great Z!" Oliver Gneldt said nothing. 110 fearisl his wife's brain was turned, and that m.vie tiiin faint and cold as lie fol lowed her into the garden and there watched while the three others lifted at the flat slab. It lay before them on the green spring grass, black letters on the white ness, and bending over it they read aloud: "Zebulon liurns Jk.rn May, . Died March 11th, 17 with eulogis tic verses, with long s's, underneath, as in duty bound. "It's pur grandfather's," said Han nah. And the lawyer extended his hands, grasping those of Oliver and his wife. "The proof Is found," he said; "the latest will is a forg'-ry. for it is datixl the day after the old man's death. Mrs. Gneldt is heir* ss to a large prop, erty. I congratulate you." And Hannah, with her head on her husband's shoulder, whispered: "Oil. Mr, it wouldn't have Ix-cn better to have married Miss Lester, after all." Employment of Women and Children. The United States census statistics relating to "gainful" occupations show some Mgnifii ant results as to the em ployment of women and children. The whole number of females rcportM as pursuing gainful o-mpations in the l'nitisl Mate* in l-7o was 1,8.18,2*8. In 1 --si the number was 2,647,157, show ing an in'rea-e dn: _• the ten years of BJ'i,*o9. This :• ult shows that the number of females engaged in occupations has increased at a much highir rate than the female jiopula tion. and also at a higher rate than the mimls-r of males pursuing occupa tions. It further appears that the rate of increase in the number of females pursuing occupations has Ix-en far higher in manufacturing and mechani cal industries—that is, in factories chiefly than in any other kind of em ployment. Similar ri-sults are shown by the cen sus statistics with reference to the em ploymont of children. In 1870 the whole number between ten and fifteen years of age reported as pursuing gain ful occupations was 739,1t>4. In 1880 the number wax 1,118,1150, or an In crease during the decade of 379,102. The rate of this increase was greater than the rate of increase in the popu lation lietween those ages, and it was also greater than the rate of Increase in the number of adults pursuing gain ing occupations. As in the case of women, so in the ra*e of children, the rate of increase in the number cm ployed has Ix-cn greatest in factories. Nearly three hundnxl thousand more women, and alxmt sixty thousand mor® children, were employed in manufac turing industries in 1880 than in 1870. —Tinr York lfl. Kahbit Transit, The vicinity of Austin is very hilly and rocky, and alxmnds in rabbits. A little IKIV, who had not been long in the place undertook to capture a rah bit. Ho chased the animal up a steep hill, but when he undertxik to follow if down the other side he lost Ills bal ance and got a bad fall. When the boy came home in a used-up condition, his mother asked him what he had been doing. "I had such a nice race with a ralx blt" "Well, which of you won the race." "Going up the hill tho rabbit was ahead, but in coming down on the oth er side I beat the rabbit" THITH. a SMaliriil Illustration nf lis rower. The following beautiful Illustration of the power of truth, is from the pen of K. 11. Hammond, formerly editor of the Albany Ntatr Rxjlxlrr. He was an eye-witness of the scene in one of thj* higher courts of New York. A little girl, nine years of age, was offered as witness against a prisoner, who was on trial for a felony commit ted in her father's house. "Now, Emily," said the counsel for the prisoner, upon her being offered as a witness, "1 desire to know if you understand the nature of an oath?" "I don't know what you mean," was the simple answer. "There, your honor," said the coun sel, addressing the court, "Is anything further necessary to demonstrate the validity of my objection? This wit ness should he rejected. She does not comprehend the nature of an oath." "Let us see," said the judge. "Come here, my daughter." Assured hy the kind tone and man ner of the judge, the child stepped toward him, and io<>k- shut up In State prison," answered the child. "Anything else?" asked the judge. "I shall never go to heaven," she replies!. "How do you know this?" a*kcd the judge again. | The child t-N.k the Itible And turn ing rapidly to the chapter containing the commandment.*, pointed to the in junction, "Thou -halt not l>enr false witm-** aga n-t thy nelghlmr." "I learned that before I could read, i "Has anyone talked with you about your Icing a witness here against this I man''" inquired the judge. "Ye*, sir." she replied. "My mother heard they wanted me to lx- a witness, and last night she called me to her room and ask<*l me to tell her the ten commandments, and then we kneeled down together, and she prayed that I might understand how wicked it was to bear false witness against my neighbor, and that God would help me, a little child, to tell the truth as it wa before Him. And when I rame up here with father, she kissed me, and told me to remember the ninth com mandment, and that God would hear every word that I said." "I)o you believe this?" asked the judge, while a tear glistened in his eye and his lijis quivered with emotion. "Yes, sir." said the child, with a voice and manner that showed her con viction of the truth was perfect "God bless you, my child." said the judge; "you have a good mother. This witness is competent " he con tinues!. "Were lon trial for my life and innocent of the charge against me. ; I would pray to God for such witness es as this. Let her lie examined." She told her story with the simplici ty of a child, as she was, but there w as a directness alxmt it that carried con. victlon of its truth to every heart. She was rigidly cross-examined. The counsel plied her with indefinite and ingenious questioning, but she varied j from her first statement in nothing. The truth as spoken hy thnt little child was sublime. Falsehood and |w-r j jury hud proceeded her. The prisoner hnd entrenched himself in lien. Wit nesses had falsified facts in his favor and villainy had manufactured for him n sham defense. Hut lieforo her testi mony it was scattered like chaff. The little child for whom the mother hail prayed for strength to be given to speak the truth as it was frcfore God, broke the vanning devises of mature.'. villiany like H potter's venseL The strength that her mother prayed for wan given, arid sublime arid terrible simplicity—terrible, J mean to the prisoner and his associate with which she spoke, was like a revelation from God himself. MADE IJTSAKE ItV EXILE. A lIUUUII Aullior'i Hard W at* --How !• W MciiUairtd. The New York Volk+ZHtuny has information that Nicolai hjiasskolT, a itiissian refugee who arrived in Vienna recently, reports that Twhernyschews kij, the Russian author who has been for nineteen years an exile, has tx-crt insane since the beginning of the year. When Spasskofl saw hirn he was con fin'-d at Wilujsk, in the government of Irkutsk, lie was raving marl. Tscher nvschewskij was banished for writirig the romance, "Ndito Djdatj." The ceremony following upon his sentence is thus described by an eye-witness: It was on May 20, 186-1. A large crowd was hurrying to the Kasan place at (SL Petersburg, where a ncaf fohl was erected, guarded by a detach ment of soldiery. From far away I could sis- the pillory overtopping the scaffold and the surrounding crowd. From the Kasan steeple the < hs:k struck nine, and at the same time from a small alley leading to the Kasan place a • art issued; it waa painted black and accompanied by two gend armes. 'I he cart made its way through the crowd toward the scaffold. Two men descended from it, one of whom was an oflicer, the other a civilian, who hx.kcd vcrj pale. The oiljccr beckoned the < iviiian to mount tfi<- affold. The pale man obeyed. ]{ was received u|Min the scaffold by two men, who w-re -t,mding mar the pillory; they wore risl >(iirt and red caps, and were the helpers of the hangman. One of them hung a blackboard about the neck of the pah- man. In white letter* these two words ware painted ujon the blacklmard: "(iossudamtwennyj I'restupnik" State Criminal. This was, then, the official title of N. G. Tschernyschew skij, tie beloved of Rus sia's youth! The officer took from his p-tckef a pajxT anA signify that he was now divested of his title, honors, arid citizen's rights for all time to coine. At this moment a b-a itiful Immpiet w as thrown tothe"di.xh< inured" man of letter-; a shower < f txiuquet* ;uid flowers followed them fr--m all sides. The officer made Tv hcrnys chewskij stand up to the pillory that he might not pick up any of the flow, ers. From the scaffold he was hurried di rectly to Nertschinsk in Mlx-ria, where he was compelled to dig in the mines under a continual torture of blows from the knout, ami of mental and physical deprivations. After those seven years of agony he was sent from one prison to the other until they drove him crazy. Hard and Soft Water. The hardness or so ft news of water depends upon the amount of mineral ingrrdients which it contains. These mainly consist of carbonate and sul phate of lime, the former giving rise to w hat is called temporary hardncas —it being for the most part removable by continued lsdling. whereby it lx comes inerustisl as chalk on the inside of the vessel in which the water is boiled ; and the latter to permanent hardness, because it is not thus re movable. A very hard water is inju rious for drinking purposes Iterause its power as a solvent for food is im paired, and because it is absorbed by the stomach with greater difficulty than a soft water, thus giving rise to indigestion or dyspepsia. In addition to the long train of distressing symp toms which are included under the term dyspepsia, there is strong evi dence to prove that the habitual drink ing of very hard water also gives rise to goitre, a disease associated in many places with (hat fearful form of idiocy known as cretinism. In many parts of England goitre in found to prevail only In those districts where the mag nesian limestone formation in abun dant. In some districts in Switzerland the use of certain spring waters of un usual hardness has been followed hy the production of augmentation of the disease in the course of a few days, and similar results have frequently been observed In India—Prof. Simp sotj, M. />. PEAKL.H OF TIIOI'UHT. Advice in seldom welcome. Those who need it most take it leant. An every thread of gold Invaluable, so in every minute of time. J'ronj>erity in no junt male; adversity in the only balance to weigh friends. 'i'he more we do, the more we ran do; the more buny we are, the more leisure we have. Knavery is supple, and can trend, hut honesty in firm and upright and * ' yields nut. j No principle In more noble, an there is none more holy, than that of a true obedience. He who is the rnont slow in making a promise in the most faithful in the • ! performance of it. | Never let your zeal outrun your r charity. The former is but human, Ihe latter in divine, Duty cannot ire neglected without harm to those who practice an well an to those who suffer the neglect. Precept Is instruction that in written in sand, and washed away by the tide; example in instruction engraved on the rock. Whoever has a contented mind has all ri'dies. To him whose b>ot is en closed in a shoe, in it not a* though the 1 < earth were earjieted with leather? Try to repress thought, and it is like trying to fasten down steam an ex plosion in sure to follow. I.et thought | !<• free to work in itn own aj.j.ropriate way, and it turns the ma bine, drives the wheels, d'sni the w ( at air. I There are many people who pretend i to like caviar, and it is p>*.ibl* tii.it . f< w may have forced themselves to . relish the intensely salt or ram id prep aration of sturgeon eggs called i>y this name. We believe the "de|i< .i/ y" first , fame from I'usnia, arid we can imagine i that a native of Siberia, half Indian I and half Esquimaux, might find caviar i a delightful change from whale's blublier and decayed seal. W have tasted ' av i.r. ami think that old rusty , mackerel brine i nectar beside it. The (ieriusns pretend to love caviar t and Americans who have l*-cn abroad eat it liefore tie .r fricnils to show their i a< juired taste contra/ted in foreign i lands. We r< ad in the b< u !*■ in Fb turri Ziituuj tiiat some Hermans have Iwen making caviar from the eggs of tlx- pike, and we wish them success ia ; their search after a new source of suje ply of delicatessen. Shakespeare -jc tksof something which the general , public cannot relish as Ixsing "caviar to the general." The bard is correct, as usual. Caviar is on.ar, whether made of trlptollllwl randd sturgeon * eggs or of the ova of the ] ike flavored witlisc.il blubl>er and stale mackerel brine. To our fricnceting something by mall?" asked the postmaster, politely. "Expecting something! I should think I was. I've been expecting it for the past three flays!" continues! the j man. impatiently. "This is probably what you expect ed." said the man of letters, with a self satisfied smile, as he took a bill from the man's IKIX and handed it to him. "Yes." growled the man. taking the - envelope which ho supposed contained * the expected letter, without looking st it; "tliis was .lue three days ago!" "Three days ago!" exclaimed the piwtmaster, a little surprised. "Why. your tailor said when he put it in that it was due three months ago!" It did not take that man long to discover the true inwardness of the post master's re marks, hut w hen lie did he was mad enough to lick the postmaster and every stamp in the office.—Statesman