fmi'ifnMnrl KV-?' 7f wy ?rawwB3S!v45F"' pv"' wfov 16 The man drew himself away from her with a sudJtu gesture. "How will you do that, Miriam?" he asked, coldly. "I know scraeone who will lend it to me," she answered, after a moment's hesi tation. "I will not take Sir James MacKennon's money. Miriam," said Hugh, "if you mean him; they may hues; me before I do thatl Is it true you are going to marry him?" Miriam did not apeak; her head fell lower. "Is it true?" asked Hugh Ferrars, hotly. "Yes," came faltering from the girl's un willing lips. "Yet you can come out to meet me here; can seem to love n:e still!" "Hugh, do not reproach me; I had no choice. I nevsr thought I should see you again never, never! And aud mr mother urged me and he is very good and kind and we could never marry." "No," said Hugh Ferrers, bitterly, "that is true lor love of you I have wrecked my life: but you seemingly have not wrecked yours for love of me." "What could I do? I dared not ask about tou; I tried not to think of you but but 1 always did, Hugh!" and she passionately caught his hand. "Day and night always your face has been before me always that dreadful night " "Curse it! Curse my madness!" muttered Hugh Ferrers, darkly "Oh, Hugh, it was so dreadful and Joan's misery she has never been the same it has been like a black cloud over her." "It was her sin and folly did it all: I have no pity for her only for you and" "It was terrible! I I took the blame I said I was with him but you know?" "Yes, and I go about tfie world with his dark memory ever on my soul. Miriam, it was what I supposed his utter falseness to me that maddened me, for he knew you ere all the world to nle, and yet he never gave me one fiiut" "He could not in honor," said Miriam, in a low tone. "His honor has cost ns both very dearly, then. He died for it, and I live a living death but it may not be for long." "Oh! do not say so. Hugh, for my sake for the sake of our old love, take the money I will get, and go away." "I am not fallen quite so low as that, Miriam," and he drew himself up to his full height ashe spoke. lie was handsome, with a tall, slim, lithe form, and he looked a man of strong, pas sionate feelings. He was this girl's first lover, who stood there looking up at him in the semi-darkness, with her heart full ot memories and pain. Thev had loTed each other, this young pair, in Miriam's dawning womanhood when the world had been all bright to them, made brighter by their secret love until a dark tragedy had swept betneen them, parting their lives Miriam had believed iorever. But now, standing there in the starlight, it seemed to her this 'ould not be. Wild thoughts and hopes rnshed into her mind should she sacrifice everything go with him into exile die with him it need be? She crept cloer to him, she laid her hand upon bis arm. "Hugh " she whispered, "do you still love me'."' "Yes" ce answered, gloomily, "though it docs not matter much." Something iu his tone repelled her, and she drew back. "It cannot matter to you," he went on, the jealousy in his heart prompting his f cathins words; "to vou the future bride ol Sir James MacKcnnon whether the man whose life was wrecked through you, still clings to his old folly." "Oh! Hugh, is that just?" answered MirUm, and her tears tell fast "I, at least, was not to blame I have suffered so much" Her fiords and tears seemed to soften his mood, and he once more drew her to his breast. "Forgive me," he said, more gently; "mv heart is very sore, Miriam poor little girl poor little girl!" She bowed her head, weeping silently for a leu minutes, but he felt her lorm quiver ing in bis arms. "Do not cry, Miriam," he said presently; "I spoke brutally but I cannot bear to think" As he said this he suddenly paused and listened, for a distant lootstep had sounded throu:h the still nicht. 'HusL!" he said; "do you hear? It is the sentry; he is coming this way he must not find you here." "No," said Miriam, in a frightened whis per, clinging to him closer. "Let us creep into that embrasure; he willuotsee us it we crouch beside the gun," answered Hu-h Ferrers, pulling Miriacyu to the shadow cast by the earthworks and lilt ing her a moment"later into the embrasure snd holding her there in his arms as they both knelt beside the gun. And the sentry drew nearer and nearer, whistling softly as he came. Then just when he was opposite the embrasure where the two crouched in each other's arms, the sentry stopped, and Miriam's heart seemed to stop with terror, too. He was close to them, and with bated breath they watched the dark outline of his lorm. Then he yawned loudly, stretched out his arm and walked on. "You must go," whispered Hugh Fer rers, in her ear; "he will Teturnwhen he reaches the end of the rampart; wait until he is out of sight and I will lift you down." They waited in silence a few moments longer, and then Hugh Ferrers lifted Miriam down lrom the embrasure, and led her across the road. '"Go nou," lie said, as he clasped her in a parting embrace; "go, dear Miriam." "IwiU come again," she whispered. "I will write when I can come again think of what I have said goodby, dear Hugh." Once more their lips met in a long and lingering kiss, and then Miriam left him and a moment later was speeding her way up the deserted garden at the back of the commandant's house, and panting, breath less soon reached the back door, behind which Ford was impatiently awaiting her. Miriam jut touched the door with her fingers and Ford immediately opened it. "Oh! Miss Miriam," she whispered, as Miriam passed swiftly in, "my hair would have been grey by the morning if you had stayed a moment longer. I have been in such a way." CHAPTEE X A IXAX. Miriam did not speak a single word nntil the reached hr own room, and then she fell down on her knees by the bed and buried her face in her hands, while her whole form shook with suppressed sobs. "You mustn't really, Miss Miriam," said Ford, in a warning whisper; "just think if they were to hear let me give you some sal volatile men are not worth it, none of them." Miriam lilted her head to drink the sal tolatile tliat Ford held to her quivering lips, and in a minute or trro it seemed to revivejier. "I am better now," she said; "but ohl Ford, if was so dreadful!" "I suppose he's in a great way about you marrying Sir James?" answered Ford. "That's just like them all; if they can't get you, they want you the more, and if they can get you without much trouble they won't even take it; and, of course, Miss Miriam, there is no doubt which is the best match besides, Sir James has your prom ise." "Yes," said poor Miriam; faintly. "A doctor is very well, you know, but he's nothing when a baronet comes in the way," continued Ford, meditatively, "and in the loner run men are pretty much the same. Don't be angry at me saying it, Miss Miriam, but I wouldn't run such a risk again, 1 wouldn't indeed." "I must go once more," half whispered Miriam. "Oh, Miss Miriam, I wouldn't One can never tell who is prying about; that John sou, the orderly, isalways hanging about the place, I'm sure I cannot tell what for. And you see it once ae of these men got hold of it one never "Ruld tell where it might end, and Sir James is quite the gen tleman and is worth making some sacrifice lor." Ford regarded Sir James with proper re spect, because he had at various times since his engagement to Miriam placed a hand some donation in her willing hand. She was, therefore, really anxious tiufMiriam should be his wife, and went on praising him while she unfastened 'Miriam's dark hair, aud otherwise assisted her to get ready for bed. "Yon had best go, -Ford, you must be tired," at last 6aid Miriam, gently, aud ac cordingly Ford went and " was speedily wrapped in the sleep of the just But Miriam could not sleep. She seemed to see always before her Hugh'Fcrrars' dark face, to foel his kisses still burnjhg on her lips. "Oh! why did I eer see him again?" moaned the "poor girl, toss'ing restlessly on her bed. "It seems so false of me, so wick ed and I love him so and he is so miser able, poor, poor Hugh!" And when she did fall asleep at last she dreamed ol hie; dreamed that he and she were standing, hnJ-claped, on a precipice, beceatn whion a dark and stotiny sea was breaking, and tnt he was urging her to leap down 'ith hiji into ths abyss. "If you love me " he Was saying. And she cling to hint In her dream, but still turned her head acay&rd shrank aside; and suddenly between her ar.d thegiddv verge came a shining form of light white robed, bright and bttutifal who waved her back, and stood between her aud the black depth below. "Oh! save me! save me!" she cried, in terror, and awoke. But when she glanced fearfully around the shining form was gone; the hoarse murmur of the set vas stilL The gray dawn was glimnifring through the window panes; the birds vcre twitter ing in the eaves, and Miriam knew that she had dreamed a dream, and shuddered when she recalled it She felt ill and weary, but when Ford rapped at the door at half-past 7, and peeped cautiously in to see if her young lady was awake, Miriam told her she meant to rise. "You look very white and tired, Miss Miriam," said Ford. - . . I CAME TO VT "I feel very tired; I've not slept well, but I'm coming "down to breakfast," answered Miriam; and she did go down. Mrs. Clyde was already seated at the table pouring out tea, aud the Colonel was reading his news paper, and they both looked up and smiled as their youugdauehter entered the room. "Here is a letter for you, Miriam," said the Colonel; and as Miriam glanced at it she saw it was from Sir James. "It is from Sir James, isn't it, my dear?" said Mrs. Clyde. "Yes, mo'ther, I think' so," replied Miriam, taking the letter from her father's hand. But the did not open it; she laid it down by her plate on the table, aud as she did so her mother looked at her attentively. "Are vou not so well this morning, Miriam?" she asked. "Your eyes look so heavy." "I Lave rather a headaihe, and did not sleep very well, "replied Miriam. "Your toa will perhaps take it away; read your letter, my dear, your father and I will excuse yon." Then Miriam did open her letter, and her heart reproached her as she read the warm and Lustful words it contained. "He is coming to-day," she said, without looking up. "That is right You must make him stay to dinner," smiled Mrs.,Clyde. The Colonel glanced over his newspaper as his wife spoke, and looked at his daugh ter, and a certain expression of anxiety stole into his eves as he did so. Miriam, in truth, was looking exceedingly ill, and her feelings, as she read Sir James' letter, were far from enviable. The more she saw of him, indeed, the more she bated the idea of deceiving him. He was so honest, so true, it made her own conduct seem baser to her heart Here was this kindly gentleman writing to her in language of unmistakable affection auV trust, and she knew she was unworthy of it all. One sentence of his letter was enough to tell her this: "I am always thinking of you, dear one; always wishing I could do something to please vou. Will you tell me if I can, Miriam? You will make me so happy." And the girl who read these words with a shamed heart had fixed to ask him to do something lor her that very day. She left the breakfast room feeling that she could not do this, but by S o'clock in the after noon she had resolved that she would. She was torn with conflicting emotions and feel ings, but then Hugh Ferrers must leave Newbrough-o'n-the-Sea before General Con ray arrived there. And who could she go to but Sir James to ask for help? she argued. Her father was far from a rich man, and the hundred pounds he was going to provide tor her trousseau was really a considerable drain on his yearly income. And besides, Miriam knew he would give her money for no such purpose as she re quired it for had he been ever soxich. Thus she made up her mind to ass: Sir James to lend it to her, and ask him she did. He was standing looking out of the win dow when she entered the drawing room armed with her purpose, and when he heard her footstep he turned round with a bright smile on his face and went forward holding out both his hands. "How are you, my darling," he said, ten derly. "I have rather a tiresome headache," she answered, with a somewhat wintry smile. "A headache? And how did my dear lit tle girl get that?" and Sir James bent down and kissed the fair face that had lain weep ing the night before on Hugh Ferrers' breast! This thought struck Miriam, and she started back. Sir James looked a little hurt, but he said nothing. "She is such a shy little darling," he re flected. Then he drew her gently to a couch near the fire and sat down br her side. "I met Escourt," lie said, "as I was coming here, and I asked him about that poor fellow who was shot on the sands some weeks ago, when you behaved so splendidly, Miriam, and he says he is nearly well again now, and out of the hos pital. Miriam was conscious that a sudden flush dyed her face, even her white throat "Why, you silly little girl!" exclaimed Sir James, smilingly, when he saw this sign of emotion. "I declare you are blush ing over your good deed! But do you know I was interested in what Escourt told me about this Dare. It seems that the man Smith who shot him had some grudge against Dare; he's a handsome fellow, Escourt says, so perhaps Smith's sweetheart; smiled on him," and Sir James gave a laegb. "At all events, they say in the regiment that Smith was suspected of shooting Dare intentionally. But when Escourt questioned Dare about this he positively denied it, ant said it was a pure accident, a-id so saved Smith from a ourt martial. So he must be a fine fellow not to get the man who shot him into trouble, and I think I should iikc to nave a talk with him some day and see if I can do anything for him; because as my sweetheart saved his life I am naturally interested about him." Miriam could scarely control herself as she listened to these kindly words. "You have not seen him, I suppose, since the accident?" continued Sir James. Miriam shook her head; her lips were mute. "Suppose we go and 6ee him together then?" went on Sir James. "He's able to go about, and he no doubt is awfully anxious to thank you for saving his life, and it will be a kindness to the poor fellow, and I'll give him a tip, which, I dare, will be welcome, too." "It is' very kind of you," said Miriam, falteringly, turning away her head. "Shall we go to-day then?" "Ho, not to-day, some other time," answered Miriam", who was painfully agitated. "Very well, dear," said Sir James, kindly: "whatever day you like. Perhaps it would worry you to-day, when you have a head ache," but I should like to give the poor fel low something." Miriam could bear it no longer; she started to her feet . She drew a loDg gasp ing sigh aud went to the window to try to conceal her emotion. . "What shall I do? "What shall I do?" she was thinking, almost in despair. Too well she knew the fierv, jealous nature of the man Sir James called Dare of Hugh Ferrers for it had already cost her and hers terribly dear. And here was Sir James talking of their going to see him to gether; ot putting money into his hand! She stood silent, with her back to her lover, trying to think, but this did not suit Sir James. He crossed the room and put his arm around her waist XKS T0T7, HUGfe. "What is my thoughtful little girl think ing about so gravely?" he said. "Oh, nothing," answered Miriam. "Well. I've got something to say to you, darling," continued Sir James. "I nave told you about my old mother in Scotland, haven't L "You have mentioned LaJy MacKen non." "Yes; well, to tell the truth, mother is rather a stern old dame, but true to the core, and I hope you will like her, and that she will like you. And she has sent this letter for you. I told her when, we were to be married, you know, and she has sent you some of the old family diamonds as a wedding present Here is the case, which is not a particularly handsome one, but the stones are good." As Sir James said this, he put a letter in Miriam's hand, and a jewel case; and Mi riam's hand trembled exceedingly as she took them. "It is very good of her," she said. "Let me onen the case for you. There! what do you think of that?" It was a magnificent tiara; the setting of' the stones was, however, old fashioned, but the stones themselves were of great value. "Oh, it is far too grand for me," said Miriam, as she looked at the glittering gems. "Nothing is too grand for you, darling; it is not grand enough. If it were not that I tear it would vex the old dame I would have it reset" "It is quite beautiful; it is very kind in deed of Lady MacKennon to send it It it makes me ashamed." "What of?" smiled Sir James. "It is only natural, isn't it, that my mother should send my future wife a wedding present? I wonder what she has written to you?" Then Miriam opened Lady MacKennon's letter, and read, written in a stiff, old-fashioned handwriting, the following words: "Deak Miss Clyde My son tells me that he is to be married to you in a few weeks, so I forward some of the family dia monds for you acceptance. I have never worn them since I lost my husband, for my son is all that is left to me now iu this world. I need not say I am anxious about bis future happiness, and to see the wife that he has chosen. He is the worthy son of a worthy father, aud I pray that God's blessing may rest on you both. Yours sin cerely. "Janet MacKejtnon-." AsMiriam read this letter a deep blush rose to her smooth, oval cheeks, which Sir James noted with a smile. "What does she say?" he asked. "May I read it?" Miriam allowed him to take the letter from her hand, and after he had read it he gave a good-natured laugh. "What a horribly boastful old lady she is," he said. "Behold the worthy son of a worthy 'father!" And again he laughed heartily. "She naturally thinks a great deal of yon." "Well, nil mothers think a great deal of their children, I suppose." "I don't think ours does," said Miriam. "Ob, yes, of course she doss; she can't be blind." Miriam did not speak for a"jmoment; then, suddenly, with a yet deepening blush, she looked up in her lover's face. "Sir James, I am going to ask yon some thing a great favor." "It's grnuted already then," smiled Sir James, taking her hand. ' "I am ashamed to ask it I scarcely know how to Hsk it but will you lend me 100. Sir James laughed aloud. "My dear child," he exclaimed, " "of course I will give it to yon." "I will tell you what It is for," faltered Miriam. "But I don't want to hear. I will send you a cheque for two hundred in the morn ing, darling." "But I don't want a cheque," said Miriam. "I don't want anyone to know. I don't want mother to know it it is to help someone who is poor to " "My dear one," said Sir James, kissing her hand, "you want it, and that is quite sufficient for me to know. I will bring down the money myself to-morrow; thank you, darling, for giving me an excuse to come." To be Continued next Sunday. Agonizing Twists Below th Waistband Are produced by a drenching cath-irtic W'hv uso tucli an irrational means of reme dying costivenrss? That pure, botanic. painless, pniiusupnio reuieuy, nnstetier s stomach Jlitiers, produces the desired re sult decisively, but wit'iout inconvenience orsrlntr.g. Dyspops.'a and inaction of the liver and kidneys me likewise rectified by this Denlsn restorative of health. There is no llnertonicforthe debilitated and nervous. Cures malaria and rheumatism. THE PITTSBURG" DISPATCH. SUNDAY. JUNE I SALT FOR HEDGEHOGS. The Quill Shooters Will Eat Up Anything That Tastes Briny. SPOILING A LICK FOR THE DEEE. The Agility of Two Backs Occasioned a Memorable Coon Emit. SEVEN riOKED ODT OP ONE TREE ICORKESFOXDE2TCIE OF TBX DISFATCH.l Eoulette, Pa., June 16. There are probably more hedgehogs, or porcupines, as many ot the natives call them, in the lumber woods of Northwestern Pennsylvania than anywhere else in the East. They are curi ous creatures, these hemlock woods porcu pines, and a great pest around lumber camps. They are passionately tond of salt, and if the four sides of a lumber camp shanty should be salted from ground to roof, the porcupines would eat it down over the very heads of the inmates, and not leave a splinter to mark where it stood. They don't mind a man or 29 men if there is a salt barrel in camp, and will persist in getting to it as long as one of them is left alive. The other night a drove of porcu pines made a raid on an old lumber shanty w est of this place, in the McKean county woods. The shanty was occupied by two bark peelers. The porcupines came from all directions, made their way into the shanty, waking the men by tramping over them, and keeping them awake a long time afterward by their determination to take possession of the place. With their axes the bark peelers fought the bold and per sistent little animals, and it was not until they had killed the whole drove, 30 in num ber that they were able to go to bed again in peace. The next night the shanty was attacked again by a detachment of porcu pines apparently as large as the first one. Ate I'p a Salt I'ork Barrel. The occupants had closed the apertures through -nhich the drove of the night before gained eutrance, and the second lot, finding no place to get iu, promptly set to work to gnaw a place through the boards. In a wonderfully short time three different en trances were made by the sharp toothed and industrious animals", and the two bark peelers found themsehes under the necis sity of either spending the night fighting porcupines azain of surrendering the shanty to the invaders. The men concluded to wait and see what the animals would do. They ignored the presence of the bark peelers entirely and scrambled to a corner of the shanty where an empty salt pork bar rel stood a relic of some previous oc cupancy of the premises. The porcupines attacked tiie barrel, and in less than an hour had eaten it up, staves, hoops and all. They then chewed up a lot of boards near the barrel, on which brine had been spilled, and departed as they had entered, except that they had carried away with them a good, big load ot lumber on which they had lunched. "You don't have to skirmish around much to get feed to fatten one of these hemlock porcupines on," says an old Potter county woodsman. "Just sprinkle some salt over a stick of cord wood, or a sawlog, for that matter, and he'll eat up the whole business and enjoy it like you would mince pie." Uses His Tall In Climbing. The customary diet of these animals, though, is hemlock browse. They make themselves a home in a hollow log, or under the roots of some old tree, but always within easy reach of a big hemlock. The hemlock is their pasture, and they make beaten paths going to and fro between the tree and their homes. The porcupine climbs a tree as readily as a squirrel would, pro vided you don't slip up and cut his tail off w bile he is going up. Somehow or other he can't climb a tree without his tail, nor he won't come down without it It you catch one ot these porcupines cltmbing a tree and chop his tail off close he will stop right where hi is, and will stay there until he starves to death, unless he is taken an ay. Ouce up a tree the porcupine goes out on the big limbs, and pulling the small hem lock branches in with one paw browses on the pungent leaves. In going through the woods you will find little piles of these fine leaves on the ground under hemlock trees. That means that a porcupine is feeding in the tree, the leaves on the ground being the droppings from the feast' Sometimes a por cupine will remain in a hemlock tree a week at a time, hugging close to the trunk at night and feeding during the day. The enrions little beast is the only living thing that eats the foliage of the hemlock. Doss Iiove to Fight Them. "While the hemlock porcupine is perfectly harmless he is greatly dreaded by hunters because it is difficult to train out of a dog the apparently inborn predeliction for fighting this animal. The best trained deer hound will stop anywhere on the trail to have a fight with a porcupine, and although the dog generally succeeds in killing hisgame it is always with more or less wearand tear to himself. He is bound to have his mouth and nose filled with the porcupine's quills during the fight, and these quills are what urge the dog on with renewed desperation in the fight Thepain thev inflict maddens him, and he pitches in fiercer than ever, only to receive another quiver-full of the sharp and deeply-penetrating little weapons the porcupine carries to defend himself with. Many a valuable dog has been ruined by these quills, so many of them entering his nose and mouth as "to destroy his nose, if not injuring him so that he has to be killed. An important part ot a deer hunter's equip ment in this part of Pennsylvania is a pair of pincers, so that in case a dog tackles a Jiorcupine the quills may be pulled out ot lis nose. They sink so deep in the flesh that they cannot be removed with the fing er. Many a hunter, not having his pincers with him, ha? had to pull the porcupine's quills from his dog's nose with his teeth, or else lose his dog. The Sagacity of the Deer. These porcupines were a great annoyance to the deer hunters, also, iu the days of deer licks, for the salt at the licks attracted them, and if a porcupine got into a lick it would spoil it for deer, for no deer would come into a lick for sometimes a year alter a porcupine had been there. But then it didn't take much to make deer shy of licks, as to a matter of that The dropping of a piece of iron in one would spoil it for deer for many a day. the smell ot iron being a particularly suspicious circumstance to a deec It a .deer shot in a lick sheds a drop of its blood there, no other deer would come into that lick until two or three hard rains had fallen and washed all sign and smell ot the blood away. "When beech nuts and acorns are plenti ful iu Potter and the counties roundabout," B.iid Milo Lyman, himself a well-known hunter and woodsman, and son ot the late Leroy Lyman, of Roulette, who was Penn sylvania's greatest hunter and amateur nat uralist, "we always look for bear and coons to come in thick in the woods and .make things lively during the fall and winter. And speaking of coons reminds me of the greatest coon hunt, I guess, that, ever was known in this tier of counties. The Deers Were Too Epsedy. "One day in the fall John S.Dey, a prom inent citizen of Geneva, N. Y., came all the way over here from that place and said to my father: 'Leroy, let's go out and kill a de'er.' " 'All right,' said father, 'we'll go over to the Forest House and kill two.' "The Forest House is Keating Summit, oyer on the Sinncmahoning waters. I joined the party and we went to the hunting cround. We went to the' Th o Mile, below the Forest House, and father stationed Dey and myself at an opening in a lanrel patch. " 'Stand there and keep your eyes peeled,' he said. 'I'm going to drive two big bucks right to you." "He went aronnd the patch, and in two minutes, sure enough, he sent two great big bucks right out of the opening in the laurels. But they went right on, and as far as Dey aud I are concerned they may be going yet. They were too quick for us, and we didn't even shoot. It wasn't long before father came to us. 'Well, where's your deer?' he asked. "We had to own up that the bucks were a trifle sudden for us, and expressed it as our opinion that they were at that moment somewhere in the vicinity of the setting sun, at the rate they were going. " 'I guess it was coons you fellows came out to hunt,' father said. 'That's it; so you go right up yonder on the ridge and' huut 'em. I'll go and get those two bucks.' Hunting Coons In the Snow. "The end of it was that Dey and I had to go up on the ridge and hunt coons. There were two or three inches of snow on the ground. We soon struck a regular path of tracks that looked exactly as" if a drove ot young pigs had recently passed tbat way. We followed the path some distance, aud the tracks began to separate and scatter out " 'Well,' savs I, 'we've struck 'em sure! This is a drove of coons, that's what it Isl "We followed the coons. They led us down off the ridge to a spring run, aud that run, for a hundred yards up and down it, looked as if a steam plow had been doing its best to turn it bottom side up. There wasn't a stone in it but what had been turned over, and they were tumbled helter skelter and every which way. It was evi dent that the drove of coons had been at work in that mn, and I learned alterward that they were looking for crawfish, and the reason that tbey were not still there when w e got to the run was that there were no more stones to turn over. They would have stayed there all night and all the next day if the stone3 had held out, even it they didn't catch a crab. The coon goes on the principle that the crab he is after may be under the last stone. Thry Were Industrious Coons. "From the plowed-up spring run the tracks led back ud on the ridge again. We followed them up, and then along the ridge for a mile and a half. Then they led out into an opening of two or three acres, where there were a number of beech trees. The snow was dug up over tbat entire space, and the leaves were turned over and tossed about in the same reckless fashion that the stones in the spring run had been tumbled and piled. The coons had been putting in their time beech-nutting under the snow and leaves, and it waft plain that they were a large aud busy and hunery family. ' 'We ought to have brought a horse and wagon,' I said to Dey. 'Wenever can back all of these coons in.' " 'All of which coons?' said Dey. " 'I mean all of these coons when we get 'em,' I replied. " 'Well, let's get 'em first,' says Dey. ' "And I thought that might be the best plan myself, and started to look the coons up. Now came a mystery. That space ot two acres was tracked and torn up all over it, but nowhere, on any side of it, was there a track leading away from it to show that the'e'oons had left it. I walked all around the edges. Not the sign of a track in the snow, and not hide nor bair of a single coon to be seen anywhere within the space. " 'There's flying squirrels, ain't there?' said Dey. " 'Yes,' I said. " Then l'li bet there's flying coons, too, and we've struck a flock of 'em!' said he. A Suspiciom-Looltlnc Oak. "Eight in the middle of that open stood a mammoth red oak tree. It was easy four feet in diameter at the butt, and big and tall in proportion. It looked as sound as a rock. There was no visible opening any where near the bottom where a coon could have gone in. There were tracks all around the oak, but so there were about the rest of the trees scattered about the space. Away up toward the top of the big tree, though, there was something on the trunk that looked as if it might be an opening to some hollow place in the tree. " 'I believe those coons are somewhere in the interior of that oak,' I said. " 'I believe those coons have taken wing toward the Susquehanna,' said Dey. "I wondjr if 1 can climb that tree,' said L "There's an easier way than that,' said he. " 'What's that? said I. " 'Pull it up by the roots I'.said he. "Alter looking the tree over I msde np my mind that it would be about as easy to pull it up by the roots as it was to climb it, and so I said I would go and get an ax and come back and chop it down. " 'Fetch supper and breakfast along,and a snack for dinner to-morrow,' said Dey. 'I'll stay and boss the job.' ''So I cut all the way back to Forest House to get an ax. It was getting late in the afternoon when I got there. I asked the landlord to loan me his ax. '"What for?' said he. "To cut a drove of coons out of a tree,' I said. The Tree Proved to Be Hollow. "So he loaned me his ax and I started back for the big oak. I cut across the ridge and when I got back Dey had a big fire built, and was taking things easy. That four-foot oak tree looked like a big job to tackle, with night coming on, a dull ax, and I not much of a chopper. " 'But we have got to have those coons!' said I. " 'Come all the way from Geneva to kill a deerl' said Dey, 'and sitting here in the snow waiting lor a four-foot tree to be chopped don n, so we can find out whether a drove of coons went into a two-inch knot hole!' "But I went to work and chopped like a beaver lor half an hour, and hacked quite a notch in one side ot the tree. Dey began to take quite a deep interest in the work. " 'Say! said he. That tree sounds as if there might be a coou in it!' 'Then he got up and chopped a while. Then I took hold again. It looked like an endless job, and it was getting dark. Pretty soon the ax went clear through into the tree. The oak was as hollow as a barrel, the shell of solid wood being only about' a foot thick. "If there ain't a coon in that tree,' said Dey. 'I'll eat it, hollow and all.' "The discovery that the tree was hollow gave us new courage, and although our hands were blistered from wrists to fingers, we chopped away lustily. By and by the great tree began'to totter, and then she sud denly toppled anU came down with a crash, crushing the beeches in its path as if they had been shalts of clay. "'Now fetch on your coons!' cried Dey, grabbing his gun and a club and rushing into the fallen tree top. I rushed there too, with a cudgel. But not a coon put in an appearance. " "Looks a little as if I'd have to turn In and eat up the tree, doesn't it?' said Dey. Coona Tkrre Sure Enough. "But just then I heard a squeal some where in the tree, and the next second coons began to actually boil over out of the hole in the trunk, and scatter about in the tree top. Dey was taken so much by surprise that he forgot both his gun and his club, and just stood and hollered: ' 'Darn 'em! they're' all going away! Darn 'em! they're all going away!' "I hail left my gun standing' azainst a tree three or four rods back, and I ran to get it. Before I could get it and return to the tree, though, Dey had gathered his senses. He liad a repeating gun and was a good shot When I got back in the tree top there wasn't a live cpon to be seen. Stretched out in the snow in a semi-circle about the treetop lay seven dead ones. How many got away, if any, I don't know. But Dey had killed seven big fat coons in about four seconds. " 'I told you there were coons in that tree!' said he. 'And there they are!' "We strung the coons together, and 1 slung 'em on my back. Dey carried the gunS, and we marched back to the Forest House in triumph. Seven coons had never been laid low as sudden as those seven had been, and we knew it It w-s a good while alter dark when we got in. Father came in soon afterward. He got the two bucks; and I'd like to know, now, if that wasn't a great coon hunt?" Ed. Mott. FITS All flu stopped free br Dr. Kline's Great Nerre Restorer. No fits after nnt day's use. Mar Talons cures. Treitlie and t2 00 trial bottle free to Fit cues. Dr. Kline. 831 Arch it, l'lula., ra. fa 26. 1892, HOWELLS ON HIS ART. He Says It's a Mistake for a Man to Lose Himself in His Work. WRITERS MUST STUDY EFFECTS. His First Fssaj Was on Life and He Set It Up in Type Himself. THE HONEY. IN A LITERARY CAREER rwmTTiif ron ths dhpatcti. W. D. Howells occupies' to-day an en viable position in American literature. His place is at the head of the first rank of our romance writers. He is very industri ous, and his contributions to various branches of literature are very numerous. His' essays, studies of life and crisp criti cisms uould have made his name thor oughly well known without the aid ot his romances. In some ways, his career has been an un usual one. He has the culture and the wide knowledge of the best university edu cation, while he himself has never passed through a college. He found his university in Europe. The influence of Europe came to him at the formative stage of life. He came back before he was denationalized, and has visited Europe only once since. Chance or good fortune has its influence in determining careers. The bit of chauce or good fortune which turned Mr. Howells into the pathway of European leisure and stndy came through the friendship of MessVs. Nicolay and Hay, who were the private eecretaries to President Lincoln when Mr. Howells was first stirred with an ambition togo to Europe. The latter ap plied for the Consulate of Munich. A Self-Educated !an. He was then a well-informed country youth. His father was the editor of a coun try newspaper in Ohio. Mr. Howells learned the trade of a printer in his father's William Dean HoweUs. office. Some of bis first articles were set at the case. His father gave him a good common school education. The young man had a great love for books, and a tendency in the direction of the study of languages. He first acquired a good knowledge of Latin, and then learned the rudiments of Greek. From these he went to French and German, and picked up a good reading knowledge of Spanish. When lie arrived in Washington to push his application for Munich he bad the sym pathetic support of the two secretaries of Lincoln. They knew of him and his news paper work. They were anxious to help him. The President, however, gaye the Munich appointment to some one else, and told his secretaries that their friend Mr. Howells could have the Consulate at Borne. This was early in the history of the War of the Rebellion. In looking up this consul ate, Mr. Howells found that its fees were only 300 a year. He was then unmarried, with very modest ideas and a great ambition to go to Europe to study, but he did not think he could live on that-amount of money, so he appealed again to his friends in the White House. They secured for him the Consulate at Venice, which was then worth 5750 a year, and as Southern pri vateers were at that time becoming objects ot interest in foreign ports, Messrs. Nicolay and Hay were able to obtain the increase of the pay of this post to f 1,500 a year. This magnificent sum more than satisfied Mr. Howells. He Married in Paris. He accepted the post with joy, and the following year his wife met him in Paris, where they were married. He remained at this post for four years, and during tbat time acquired an accurate knowledge of the Italian language. His book "Venetian Days," written as the result of his life in Venice, is to-day the guide book of every American tourist who visits this city. I saw Mr. Howells some four years ago in Washington for the first time. He was the object there ot a great deal of attention. I recall one evening when he "came to my newspaper office and spent nearly two hours interviewing me upon my experience as a correspondent The other day I turned the tables upon Mr. Howells by nddressing him a note asking to set a time tor an interview. To this he returned a prompt and courteous reply saying that what there was left of him to interview would be found every afternoon between certain hours at his office. The lac-simile of his note will in terest the stndents of graphology. 'Mr. Howells is in the neighborhood of 60 years of age. In talking with him you give him the benefit of being on the right side of CO, no matter what his biography may say. He is of medium height and is quite stout, round and contented looking. His face is round. Nearly all the lines of his figure are curved. His bauds are fat and dimpled. A Pen Plctnre of the Man. His round face has the look of refinement, experience of the world, the good-natured indifference and the cynically happy disbe lief of a diplomat of experience and high" position. His eyes are a dark "grey, and deeply set His forehead is broad and high, covered nearly to his eyebrows with iron grey hair, combed down in what might be called a bang,' if there were not a semblance of a parting to destroy the character of such definition. An iron-gray mustache shades his firm-lined mouth. The nose is straight and not large. His chin is smooih shaven and forceful. His voice is very agreeable. There are certain notes of contentment in the tones of his voice which argue that Mr. Howells is satisfied with his career aud with the success he has made in life. In his office, in the Madison Square Bank Building,- New York, there is room fur a huge dest, a stufled leather chair for Mr. Howells, and for three or lour chairs for the literary aspirants who come in trembling to submit to his judgment the samples of spring poetry, essays and stories which come in endless procession to every recog nized publication. Sketches of proposed illustrations standing carelessly about re lieve the plainness of the office, which is rigidly business looking, much like the cor ner ol the average managing editor of a daily newspaper. He was much more frank than a politician. He refused to answer no questions put to him. He was first asked what led him to adopt literature as a pro fession. He said he could uot ans'rer such a question as that, and gave a specific rea son. He could not remember a time when he was not in literature. He could not re call the day when he began to read. His father was a man of books, and in the print ing office of the elder Hon ells his literary tastes were stimulated. Tim Author's Flrnt Esay. He said that his first writing was an essay upon the subject of life. This was not written, but was composed at the cac. He does not know what has become ot this con tribution to American literature. His next step in the direction of literary study was when he discovered the laws- of prosody. Tbat opened np to him the possibility "of writing poetry, and a lot of precious- rub bish he said it was tbat he composed at that time. Iu speaking of his career in literary de velopment. Sir. Howells dwelt upon Eu rope as his university. He thought noth ing tuat could have happened couiu nave done him more good than the four years or tranquility in a world steeped in tradition, a world of art, subject to the pow erful influence of the old civilizations which make such deep and lasting impressions UDon the minds of those who come from the newer world to study. Here he had four years of nerfect freedom, freedom from all financial care, and with perfect surround ings tor the development ot a writer, ne had sufficient leisure during his occupancy of the post to travel all over Italy, and to visit some of the other countries of Europe. It is Italy, howeverf which he knows best Upon his second visit to Europe he made rsf P-- & 2i-cJi-S r-rA Jf t r rcV Mr. EowcVf Letter. a tour of Great Britain and spent much time iu London, where he found his books circulating nearly as widely as at home. Walclne a Llylne at literature. I asked him then, considering his success in literature, what were the inducements of a hnancial character to bold out to a youth ful aspirant Mr. Howells said that hedid not think tbat anyone ever should go into literature on account of any great profits to be realized therein. A man who did not depend upon journalism might work a long time before arriving at an income of $1,200 a year. Literature is ill paid in compari son with the work of almost any other pro fession. Mr. Howells says: "I know very well the business value of my own reputation. I know exactly what I have accomplished in that direction. The success that I have ma'le, and the reputa tion that I have obtained, would in any other profession entitle me to at least four or five times what I now receive." He then added: "I make at the outside be tween 510,000 and $15,000 a yea-. This re sult, viewed from the standpoint of a be ginner in the literary work, has a colossal look. Viewed from the standpoint ot an equal success in other professions, the re sult is meager. But it is just to add that writers do not work as many hours as the men of other professions. This is not gen erally admitted, as the writers have had all there is to say upon the subject Of course the writer never underestimates the weary labor of his profession, but in reality liter ary people work less hours than do the members ot almost any other profession. This is equally true of artists. The artistic temperament takes kindly to leisure." Be Doesn't Believe In Moods. '"You do not believe in moods, then, tbat one hears so much about in the literary and artistic world?" Mr. Howells langhed as he said: "I am afraid I do not believe in moods, as they are usually defined. A writer or an artist is in a good mood for bis best work when he has overcome the natural disinclination to work, so as to assume, at least, the virtue of industry." His advice to young writers, people who are anxious'to become literary workers, was, first, to be sure they had something to say and then to seek to say it iu the simplest possible way. There should never be any straining alter effects, any hunting for un usual forms. There should be great tem perance in the emDloyment of adjectives and an effort to keep as clearly as possible to what is to be related. The writer should always sink his individuality. He should always bs subordinated to what he is trying to do. The difficulties in the way of cor rectly giving the picture of an ordinary in cident in life are enormous, said Mr. How ells. Correctly and simply to describe the act of a person in entering and going out of a room is only appreciated by one wno seeks to portray even such a simple inci dent as that No Mora I-Urritare on Sti'ts. The simplicity and naturalness of the present standards of good writing were in keeping with the trend of modern develop ment. The artificial writing of the" past, literature on stilts, has been retired to the background with the professional orator. The public speaker ot to-day does not de pend'upon flowery phrases, upon overloaded sentences and skillful climaxes. The thought with him is of more 'importance than such rhetorical ornaments. With the orator, as with the writer, the simpler his methods the greater his effects. During the other visit, Mr. Howells opened the conversation by discoursing upon the present tendency ol literature in the United States. He said, "When the copyright law was passed, we got out our ascension robes and were prepared for wondeiful things. We expected too mnch, however, and, naturally, there have been some disappointments, it i however, a step in the right direction. It is of greater advantage to the foreign author than to the Amciican, for, as Mark Twain truly said, 'We used to steal pounds from them where they stole pennies Iron us.' " Mr. Howells thought tha one of the best developments jn this country was in the writing of short stories. He thouzht in this the American writers excelled. The critics, who are enhanced with the .work of Guy Maupassant, and who set himup as an ex ample of perfection in description and as the ideal short story writer, could find his equal among the short story writers of this country. Ek:tchc if Travel. Mr. Howells said that he regretted very much to see that two features of literary work were apparently going out These are the essay and the travel sketch. There was nothing more delightful to him than a good travel sketch, yet the tendency of writers was to ignore such subjects because they say that everybody travels nowadays, and consequently the subjects of travel are no longer new, and consequently less at tractive. He thought this was a mistake. The fresh eve and the point of view were what constituted the interest in a travel sketch. People who have traveled are al ways more interested in reading about the places they have seen when described by someone else than those who have never made any voyages. Mr. Howe'lls, in speaking of his own methods of literary work, said: "I have long ago learned to distrust and utterly to disbelieve in the idea of losing oneself in ones work. Whenever I have given way to the so-called inspiration of the moment aud have worked with reckless enthusiasm, I have always found the next day that my work was rubbish and-all lost. The writer must not lose himself in bis characters or in his tory. He must retain his self-possession, his self-control, and be consta-itly in the position ot an outsider studying care fully his effects. He must be taying to himself, is this natural? is this right? in order to obtain the proper gauge ot the value of his picture. "I know this view is opposed by a great many enthusiasts, but it is my judgment that "the most artistic work is producid by the man who is in the clearest possession of all his faculties and who'is the least swayed bv his emotions, in the pursuit of purely in tellectual work. What would be said of a sculptor engaged in the modeling of a figure it he gave way to his emotions, closed his eyes to an ottttide view ot the general pro portion of his work, and plunged into a gen eral passion ot exe' ;n without any regard to the appearance o. ni work as a whole?" T. C. Crawford. Who would not give ia cents to Tree their house from roacbes. bedbugs, etct Buglne will do it without a doubt 4rl. RABBIT EUR IS HATS. The Finest Felt Is a Product From the Pests of Australia. NO THEORY ACCOUSTS FOR GOUT. Yibratorj .Appliance That's Successful la Cnrinff Deafness. THE RUBBER BASB IN CHEWING GUM iwairrax yoa.THE nisr.A.TCH.1 Great improvements have been made of late years in the felting industry. Felt is composed of wool, fur or hair, of which the fibers are so entangled and interlaced tbat they cannot readily be separated, and this is done without spinning or weaving. There is a tradition that felt was discovered by St Clement while on a pilgrimage. Having put a bat of carded wool into each shoe to save his feet from blistering, bs found at his journey's end that moisture and friction had converted the wool into felt Its use for caps, hosiery, floor cloth, cloaks and tents has long been known in the East by the nomads of the desert At present it is largely made from waste wool, which is first deprived of its ail, then carded and placed in a machine. Here it is kept wet with hot water and subjected to a process of beating by which the fibres ars made to move upon eash other nntil the interlocking of their parts and the curling of the fiber itself unite the whole into a compact sheet of felt The "fulling" ot cloth is but a partial felting of wool already woven. This felted wool is nsed for carpets, carpet covers, coarse hats, carriage linings, pads in saddlery, shoulder pads for men's clothing, slippers and shoes and even for cloaks and other garments. The cheapest woolen rags and other articles are worked into felt for covering steam boilers, although felt is gradually being superseded for that purpose by asbestos. Booting felt is a coarse kind, usually coated and filled with coal tar, and sometimes with tar and powdered slate. Felt stiffened with dextrine is nsed lor mak ing surgeons' splints. By far the most important use to which felt'is put is that of making hats, and David Mandel, Jr., has recently given an interest ing description of the process. Technically felt hats are of three kinds, "plain soft," "plain hard" and "napped" or "ruffed." The quality of felt hats has a wide range, and in the finer and more expensive quali ties the entire body is composed ot fur. For commoner qualities a mixture of fur and Saxony wool is used, and for the lowest kinds wool alone is employed. The fur used by hatters consists principally of the hair of rabbits (technically called coneys) and hares, with some proportion of nutria, musquash and beaver hair, and generally any parings and cuttings that can be ob tained from furriers. Furs intended for felting are deprived of their long, coarse hairs, after whicn they are treated with a solution of nitrate ot mercury, an operation called carroting or "secretage," which greatly increases the felting properties of the fur. The fur is then cut by hand or machine from the skin, and in this state it is delivered to the hatmaker. Babbit fur for hat making now comes in large quanti ties from Australia, and it is also largely collected in the United Kingdom and in Northern Europe. A considerable a-nounc of rabbit fur is exported trom Great Britain to the United States. Bobber In Chawing Gam. Ordinary chewing gum is made of gnm chicle, sugar and a variety of flavors. Gum chicle is merely a form of India rubber. The gum has a certain quality -of suzar added to it to sweeten and make it palata ble. It will be noticed that in chewing gum after it has been in the mouth awhile the suear and flavor ore entirely gone, and what remains is the rubber-like product which is the chicle gum nearly pure. This gum is the sap of the sapodilla, a Mexican tree. It is collected like India rubber sap, by cut ting incisions in the bark between the months of November and April, and after the gum has been gathered it is packed in sacks, 200 pounds to the sack. It is then a light-colored mass, Spparenlly about half way "between gutta percha and India rubber. In the factories it is washed, dried and mixed, aud when run off on spreaders is cut into sticks, wrapped and packed ready for shipment Within a few years the industry has assumed large pro portions, and the demand for it seems to bs growing. In England they do not chew gum, looking down on the habit as vulgar and even disgusting, but Australia seems to have taken to it kindly, and is already making large demands on the resources of the American gum manufacturers. The Theories of Gout. An English physician has excited m lively discussion by stating that it is much more reasonable to suppose that the causa of gout lies in food than in drink. This is totally at variance with the conservative idea which associates gout with the reddest of noses and the crnstiest of port But a "ood case is made out for the new theory. There is no doubt that in Scotland, where whisky is the favorite beverage, gout is rare, and in Spain, the home of the delin quent port, the diseass is almost unknown. When the blame for gout is shifted from wine and spirits to malt liquors, it is asked, how is it that the malady is but seldom met in Germany, where the consumption of beer is universal and enormous? The causes of gout are yet unexplained. It affects the most civilized nations and the upper classes of society, attacking the strongest and best fed persons in otherwise good health, and it prevails among men far more than women. There may, after all, have been reason on the side ot the wine merchant, who, in defiance of popular belief, insisted that his port was a sure cure for gout, even although the English noble man to whom he had sent a sample replied: "Sir, I have tried your port and prefer the gout" New Care for Deatnen. The vibrometer is a newly invented In strument for the cure of deafness. The principle of its operation is the massage of the sound conducting apparatus of the ear by means of vibratory forces. By this method various conditions can be relieved hirh could not bs reacbe by tne regular modes of treatment, and which are the nrincinal causes of deatness in a very larea proportion of those afflicted. The phono- grapn nas Deeu useu mi mis jjurpusc, unu although its adaptation was effected in a comparatively crude manner, the results at tained justified the beliel that an instru ment embodying special improvements on the same lines would be of the utmost volue. Such an instrument is the vibrometer, and so successful has been its application that many persons whose deafness was from five to 15 yeors' standing can now, through its use, hear ordinary conversation from 10 to 20 feet away with their backs turned to the speaker, and others, with never-ceasing noise? in their ears, have been com pletely relieved. An Anti-Corrosive Process. An Austrian chemist has patented a,new method of preventing corrosion which ha calls the "electro-browning" process. Ha selects lea J for the purpose, the peroxide ot lead being the form in which it is used. One great advantage is that it can be ap plied to manufactured articles in a cold state, thus obviating the disadvantages at tending the heating necessary in other pro cesses. OntxAwsisos Entirely new and fast in 1 colors and exquisite In de'tans. at ilamnux 4 Son's, 539 I'eiin avenue. TeL 197A wsii Fablor f urnl ture reuphol ste red. wsu Hattqh & KsKtAir, S3 Water street. i&Ai
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers