B. P. SCHWEIER, THE OOIBTmrnOI-THE UHOI-AID TEE EITOEOIEIT OP THE LAWS. Editor and Proprietor. VOL. XXXVIII. MIFFLINTOWN. JUNIATA COUNTY. PENNA.. WEDNESDAY. AUGUST 20, 1SS4. NO. 34. 7Sk IMi JVnth guy smiles are pent op trars. From sorrow dwp, in moving yoir. The laugh that' loudest in It rin. Of joy, is but the mock and sting. He came, a hypocrite, in smiles. And won herore with luring wiles ; And when into her heart bad grown, lie left her with her grief alone. Another earns. Looked on her won, A Ktrwim of love quick on him now, liis heart aud life b"ll willing lay, It such one sorrow it will stay. SMie seems his love, so gladly greet, He lays hU life down at her feet. Lore? Hurled in the days had gone, Couu-anioulesd, the journeys on. Great wares of grief swift o'er him roll, He weeps within his burning soul, To know fore'er and sadly feel, llcr grief he can in no way heal. And she? what life so filled of gloom! A rose plant, that will never bloom. A dark and barren, stricken heath, A brow, beneath a withered wreath. ONLY i?htinrKTS. uOh, lere for a icttk, a year, a daa. But alas fur the love that loves aluray!" a man's rich tenor voice is singing, his heart iu the songas though he is feel ing the bitter truth of the sentiment expressed therein. A goodly-looking young fellow he is, standing erect be fore the piano. A pirl is playing the accompaniment for hiu.. looking as if "sweethearts" conveyed a good deal to her too. She is well and fashionably dressed, and wears her hair rolled away in a small knot at.the back of her smooth shapely Lead. A few locks stray naturally, or posiblv artihcially, about her temples. They look happy enough, these two young people, singing their love-songs it!i no shadow to darken their lives, By-aud-bv perhajw, when they have lived aud loved a score of years longer, tln-v nutv lixik like the proud sad face fianed in the white smooth hair the face of Miss Verschoyle, who is sitting In tl.e window, her hands in her hip, listening to the song. An oid lady to look sad over a love soug ? But so it is. As the words go on, a sadder expression creeps into her eves lovelv dark blue eves that must Lave been "things of beauty" once. Her pioud lips are closed tightly now 4 as her gaze wanders a wav over lawn and gardt-n. But Miss Verschoyle sees beulier the pair of lovers at the piano, nor tlie tennis-players, nor the f.aining geraiuius aud calceolarias under the w indows. She is looking far, far away b.tck into her own life, to the time when she was considered the beauty of the w hole country-side. As the song wails out "..l.'us for the love tiiat loves ahcay1." s-l.p recalls a vision which is as reality in its intensity. An old, old garden shut in by high red-brick walls, where choice fruits Lam rij-ening iu lavish plenty in the biazing summer sun, a noble profusion. that, like many oilier things, seems to Lave died out in these davs of rush and Lurry. Up against the blue sky stands an old srav house that has faced sum mer sun and winter storms for mauy and many a long year. Generation after generation has lived and died within t;io-t; hoary wal's. In the rose-garden, the fairest rose of all, lorothy Verschovle stands, her hands full of the fragrant flowers, her lovely face bent so that she may inhale their sweet odors. She is all alone there is not a sound but the splashing of the water in a marble fountain. All arouu i her are roses roses hanging from arches and poles, tossing their branches in the warm air aud scattering their petals on the grass and all over Dorothy Verschoyle, as she stands in the rosery in the glowing. careoSes of the setting sun. Vet straight and quick through the roses some one is coming even now, and 'ver Dorothy's face a sudden flush that dies a war as quickly and leaves her sinning and calm, as she holds out a white cool hand to greet the new-comer. lie holds it perhaps longer than neces sary, bis eyes on her face ; ana men they stroll away among the dowers and into the shady labyrinth of sombre yews beyond. In silence tliey walk at first ; aud then Dorothy looks from under her long lashes with a saucy smile up into the lace of the man at her side. "Well," she says, smiling and sweet, "have you nothing to say, Paul ?" He is her cousin ; but his name teems to come almost reluctantly from her lips. He notices it perhaps, as it falls hngeringly and sweetly. "1 never like my name so well as when you say it," lie whispers, looking down at the girlish figure in the fleecy white dress.. But Dorothy laughs a light-hearted little laugh. "Somebody else told me that before to-day," she says, smiling up at him provokingly. "Who?" a jealous light leaping into his eyes, at which she laughs again and bends her head over the roses. "Guess I" she says. "Oh, Paul, how cross you look I" And this time his name slips naturally and easily from her li. "Was it," he asks and there is no pleasant smile on his face "was it Sir Pereival ?" "Perhaps it was, and perhaps it wasn't," is the saucy answer ; and Paul gnaws his mustache in sulky indigna tion. "Was he here long ?" he asks. "1 didn't say he was here at all," laughs Dorothy, raising smiling blue eyes to meet the passion in his. "But he was, though, and he remained for four hours." "Aloue with you ?" "Yes, alone with me, ls'that such a Ienance, Paul ?" the wilful voice softening a little. He laughs a lond mirthless laugh that does not affect his listener in the least, "A penance 1 Oh, dear, no 1 I should think he found it very pleasant, and doubtless so did you." "Oh, yes!" she assents carelessly. "We were in the summer-house, and wchad strawberries and cream there ; it was very pleasant indeed, and I wish it was all going to begin over again." In spite of his Jealous passion, a sudden tenderness trembles in his voire. "Dorothy, couldnt you and I sit in the summer-house and" "Have strawberries and cream ? Of course we can : but I don't want any more straw berries to-day. I will have more to morrow." "When .Sir Pereival comes ?" "Ye3 when Sir Pereival comes." "Dorothy" and for one second the saucv smile dies out of her blue eyes Lis voice is low and intense with feeling f "for Heaven's sake tell me, was there anything bet ween .you and him to-day?" For an instant her face is grave ; then she laughs out gaily in the warm sum mer air. "Anything between us?" she savs. in the old mocking voice that brings the blood to the roots of his hair. "Yes, there were the table and the strawber ries and cream, and 1 think that was all." Her voice falters at the last and her smiling eyes suddenly grow serious. "You shall not treat me like that 1" he says nercely, and lays a sudden strong grasp on ner slender wrist. A little flushed, she looks up at him calmly. "Don't talk nonsense, Paul ! Please release my Land ; you are crushing my roses." He drops It at her bidding, aud stands with cloudy, moody brow. A bell clangs out on the evening air. "Dinner is ready," she says. "Conie grandmamma does not like to be kept waning. But he does not stir. "Come 1" she reiterates imperiously, "I am going away," he says, sulky and unsmiling still. The blue eyes look up into his face ; and the man is not born yet that can resist the pleading glance of Dorothy v rrocuuyie eyes. "Come," she says, and the black thunder-cloud vanishes partially from uis lace '"please, Paul." At that he gives in. If he ever in tended to hold out ; eyes and voice alter his determination ; and he follows her back through the rosery, past the foun tain, and up to the house, the old, old house, the inhabitants of which are getting poorer and poorer every gener ation the poverty of the ancient aris tocracy, who suffer and make no sign till decay begins to be visible. And all the world knows that the race of v er- schoyle have seen their best days ; but they are grander and nobler in thelr puverty than the wealthy parvenu who uoias tue golden key to fortune. The ivy trailing from the grav mas sive doorway Irushes Taul Tempest's head as he passes into the house, fol lowing the wnite guttering figure that lead's the way through the oak-girt shadowy hall, with smiling face turned backward over its shoulder. Tliey have dinner in the long dim dining-room the walls of which used to echo to the sounds of mirth and revelry; but to-night It looks gloomy in the ex treme with the quantity of white damask and ouly three at the long table meant for so many more. But, had there been thirty sitting around and a Babel of conversation substituted for the almost absolute silence, there would have been only one face and one voice for Paul Tempest. He would give a good deal to know what passed between Dorothy and Sir Pereival to-day. She sits, fair and lovelv. with blue dreaming eyes. ould she were creaming of me I" he thinks, and turns to speak to old Sirs. erschoyle, a silver-haired, placid old lady who lets Dorothy do as she chooses from morning till night. "Our regiment is ordered away," he says ; aud then slowly, "I am going to night ; I have business In town." "But we shall see you again, Paul.'" the old lady's voice is very quiet. "Xo," he answers ; "I shall not be able to come back aga'n." Dorothy soys never a word. Paul Tempest turns suddenly and looks at her. She is white as the lace at her throat, and a great joy comes into his eyes at sight of the momentary anguish in hers. But in an instant she is her self again, so quickly as to leave him in doubt as to whether he for one sec ond looked right into her heart. For she is gay aud smiling, tossing biscuits to the great solemn-looking St. Ber nard. Dinner is over. They had lingered over the dessert till the glory had well- nigh died out in the west, and Dorothy has talked as gaily as though there were not such things in the world as part ings, Paul Tempest's eyes nave resteu on her face for many seconds at a time; but, if he hoped to elicit any thiug thereby, he must have been mis taken, for ber color neither came nor went, and Bran was never once defraud ed of the anxiously-looked-for biscuit tossed so deftly by the small white hand, though possibly the throwing of macaroons broadcast might have been a sign of some mental disturbance or excitement, for Mrs. Verschoyle inter poses at length "JArothy dear, surety uran nas naa sufficient ?" There are two macaroons left in the dish. Dorothy tosses them one after the other to Bran, laughs a gay little laugh, and, rising, flits away out at the open window and towards the garden. Paul looks after her for a moment, ana then follows. Mrs. Verschoyle, in turn, looks after him, but remains where she is in the dim light at the head of the long table. "Mv poor little Dorothy I" she says aloud ; and Bran raps his tail on the floor it is the only answer ne can give. Taul Tempest overtakes Dorothy at the marble fountain. She is coolling her fingers in the splashing water, and he stands for a few minutes contemplat ing the white drooping figure. Dorothy turns with a start as Paul comes up and stands beside her. He has picked a white rose-bud, and holds it in his hand. "Dorothy." Tlia voir is verv low and solemn ; but Dorothy laughs gaily, and shakes the sparkling drops off her fingers "Paul 1" she says, m nioca anu ex aggerated imitation of his sober tones. "1 have come to say good-bye," he answers, reproach in his strong young voice. Dorothy, I thought you would have been a little sorry because 1 am going away. "So I am. I shall have no one to tease when you are gone" smiling up at him. . , . , "You will have Sir Perclval" he says, with a sort of grim fury. "Yes," she answers quietly, "I shall have Sir FercivaL" At her words he looks as if he would like to clasp his fingers round the slim milk-white throat and crush the mock ing maddening light out of the blue eyes for ever. "How long will you be away ?" she asks. "For ever I" comes shortly and stern ly from his unsmiling lips ; and then his voice suddenly breaks aud trembles, as he holds out the poor little rose in his hand. "Dorothy, will you nave in flower, and think of me sometimes t" ha tibM the rose, but the mocking blue eyes are smiling still ; and in the flush of her maiuen pnue nuo u iih tiiA'-whita rosebud, laying it on her sweet red mouth, idl caressing the .,....,o..,.,.w rtwor For five minutes perhaps she dallies with his parting gut, I and then carelessly lets it fall and lie unneeued on the grass at her feet. Paul looks down at it gleomtly, and then, with a sudden passionate move ment, he crushes the white rosebud under his foot. If Dorothy notices the act, she pays no heed ; but soft sad look comes into the beautiful scornful face when Paul Tempest speaks aeain. "Dorothy, must it be good-bye for ever ?" "I don't know," falls low and falter lngly from her lips. The young man comes a sten nearer. "Give me a flower." be savs. "one that you have touched, Dorothy ; for this is our last good-bye." She reaches up to the hanging roses above her head, but he stays her hand. "Xo, give me this" touching the crimson red rose she has worn all the evening so near to ker warm young heart. In silence Dorothy gives bim what he asks, and stands with folded hands and drooping face. Faul Tempest bends his handsome head and kisses the flower softlv. "Though years roll by." he savs. "I will keep this, because you have given it to me, Dorothy ;" and he put it away near his heart, the heart that beats only for her. "Dorothy." he adds, "shall 1 corns back again in a year or two r" "If you wilL Paul." comes almost in a whisper ; but he bears it, and into his neart comes a great hope. "I love you." he cries : and. oh. Dor othy, I thought you had no heart left ror me 1" At that she raises her eyes to his in tne moonlight. "It is all yours, Paul, if you care to nave it." And he takes ber in his strong young arms, and they vow to be true to each other. "You will wait for me, Dorothy dar ling you won't forget me ?" All the scorn and proud waywardness have gone out of her face as she looks up at him and says tremulously through ner tears "I will wait for you all my life, Paul." "It won't be so long as that, my dar ling. And she glows and flushes beneath his gaze, and they are as happy in the old garden as the lovers of long ago, though the happiness is fraught with bitter pain, for the hour of parting has come, and he clasps ber tightly to his heart in a last long embrace, aud in the moonlight they sob farewell. "Don't forget me," he whispers ; "love me always, Dorothy I" Her slim white arms are laid about his neck, her voice, broken with weep ing, answers "Till death, Paul I" "Dorothy, my Dorothy 1" he cries, and cannot let her go. At their feet lies the crushed white rosebud ; they see it not, nor heed it ; their hearts seem bursting with the an guish of this farewell. "Good-bye, good-bye I" and he Is gone. Dorothy stands alone, weeping in the moonlit garden. She has loved and teased aud tormented Paul Tempest for years, alternately making him mis erable and deliriously happy, and now he is gone ; - at the last moment they have undecstoed each other. 'Paul, Paul !" she murmurs under her breath, and, stooping, searches in the white patches of moonlight for the bruised broken rosebud, and, finding it. presses warm kisses on the crushed leaves for his sake. She stands with her sweet pure face filled with a great sad happiness. "May Heaven bless you, Paul 1'' she says aloud. if it has been hard to win her, the citadel has surrendered wholly, entirely, and unconditionally now. Dorothy has given her life's happiness into Paul Tempest's keeping for ever and aye. The rose-trees are bare and black. and the garden looks bleak and desolate in the winter sunshine. Up and down the wide walk two figures are pacing Dorothy, graver and more serious than of old, and at ber side Sir Pereival Montague, lie is not naudsome, like Paul Tempest ; he is only a plain coun try gentleman ; and he loves Dorothy Verschoyle with the love of his strong manhood. He might love her more, but he can never love her less than he does now, though she has told him to day, in the very spot where she plighted ber faith to Paul Tempest, that she has nothing to give in return for the great love he offers her : and he has taken the crushing of all his hopes like a man, never saying one word of reproach to Dorothy when her answer smote home, keen and sharp, right through his noble heart. Only one bitter cry comes from his lips as he realizes that he has lost her, that she has gone out of his reach for ever. "Great Heaven I Would that I had come first I" he moans ; and the hoarse agony of his voice pains Dorothy from its very hopelessness. She looks up with tear-filled eyes. "You will meet some one better worth loving than I am," she says, with grave simplicity. She has flirted and coquetted and bro ken hearts often.but Dorothy Verschoyle was never so much in sober earnest as she is now, when she tells Sir Pereival that he will meet someone better worth loving than herself. He smiles gravely, but does not say that he must love her because he cannot help it must love ber till his heart is still forever. Xo ; he only takes her hand very gently be tween both of his. "I had dreamed of great happiness." he says, in spite of himself, a tremor in his voice: "but do not look so griev ed, Dorothy it was not your fault. I will bear this trouble as best J can." Quiet simple words ; but Sir Pereival is ouly a simple honest gentleman, and cannot understand paining by word or act any one he loves ; and fo he says good-bye and manages to smile as be goes away. And Dorothy dries her tears. "He does not care so very much," she says, and dreams of Paul Tempest far away. She does not see beneath the roof of Pereival Towers a lonely man bearing his disappointment by himself, with arms flung on the table and head bowed with the bitterness of anguish, tie has pictured to himself the sweet smiling face of Dorothy Verschoyle brighten ing his old home. It has been ouly a castle in the air, after all ; but the de molition of the fair fabric is none the less bitter. Dorothv dreams of her lover, ana has forgotten Sir Pereival. He does not come near her for a long time, and then he Li much the same as he used to oe, though perhaps a shade graver. "He is forgetting." Dorothy thinks. and smiles at the deeper, stronger love that binds her and Paul, one to the other. It is five years later, and Dorothy, with grave blue eyes, stands once more by the marble fountain. The roses bloom around as they bloomed on that day five years ago when she promised to wait for Paul Tempest ; aud she is waiting still waiting with strong lov ing heart that never doubts nor wavers for one second, though she is a little weary sometimes. Some day she will see him coming with outstretched anus through the rose-trees, aud the long weary years will be forgotten in a mo ment. It is two years and more since old Mrs. Verschoyle died, aud Dorothy has an elderly maiden lady to keep her com pany. She is lonely enough sometimes ; but Paul will come back to her soon, and then A man's step sounds on the gravel, and over Dorothy Verschoyle's fair face comes a sudden red blush, for a wild improbable hope is surging at ber heart. "Paul!" is on her lips and "Welcome 1" in her eyes as the strong firm steps come nearer and nearer. It is not Paul ; aud a great blank disappointment blanches Dorothy's face. She looks up at Sir Pereival Montague and tries to smile ; but the smile Is a failure. - "You did not expect to see me, Dor othy," he says, as he takes her hand. "Xo ;" and, in spite of herself, a sudden mist of tears rushes to her eyes. She is timid and nervous, not the smil-ng fearless Dorothy of old, and Sir Pereival notices the change. He has come to say something, and he says it immediately. "Dorothy, I have come to ask you the same question that I asked five years ago." True aud steadfast, the blue eyes he loves are raised to his as she gives bim the same answer that she gave then, slowly and sadly, her heart full of sor row for him, her tears falling fast. "Must it be always so ?" he asks. And Dorothy answers, "Yes." "Till death, Paul," she said, her white arms around his neck, and "Till death, Paul," she says still, for she knows he will come back to her some day, strong, true, and loving. Sir Pereival goes away, a sorely stricken disappointed man. And Dor othy waits and longs and hopes year by year, and the blue eyes get very sad and weary. The seasons come and go, buds swell and bloom aud fade, the ivy creeps inch by inch up the gray stone walls, and Paul Tempest has not come home. Dor othy is etght-and-t weuty, fair and sweet in her womanhood, when a great hope leaps to life by a freak of fortune. Paul Tempest has become a rich man ; Dor othy bears it In her quiet home, and she tells herself that the time is coming at last. But the roses bloom and fade again, and he comes not. '"He has forgotten me 1" she cries, with an exceeding bitter cry, and so takes her sorrow to her heart to live fhere evermore. A sad fair woman, whose life is spent for others, whose eyes weep for the sorrows of others, whose lips never smile for any joy of her own, but only when some pleasure makes another face happy such is Dorothy Verschoyle ten years later ; and by her side is one pleading as he pleaded fifteen years ago. "Pereival," she says, "I plighted my faith once till death. We are too old, you and I, for much happiness now ; let us be friends always," "Dorothy, I love yoa still." Sweet and sad are the blue eyes which are raised to his. "He wasted my life ; but I love him stilL I am only a woman, Pereival. I can be happier with my dead hopes than in the love of any living man. Can you understand that V" "I can," he says, and so leaves her once more. And when, a few weeks later, a little knot of red-coated men are gathered round a prostrate figure lying dead in the hunting-field, sorrowfully looking down at the still face of Sir Pereival Montague, they cannot but think be is happier now, lying dead by that one false slip of his horse ; for well they know the story of his disappointed life that he has lived and loved in vain. They carry him home, and on the way pass a woman with a sweet sad face and weary eyes. Somebody tells her what has happen ed. Quietly she comes forward, lifts the covering off his face, and looks long and intently at him. Good-bye, Pereival I" she whispers; and on his quiet upturned face her tears are falling, the tears of the only woman he ever loved. Then she looks into the grave faces of the gentlemen around. "He is happy," she says "Heaven has taken him 1" and so passes on and they carry him to his lonely home that he left in health and strength that morning. www "Oh, love for a week, a year, a Liy, Hut alas for Vu love that loves altcay!" The song is over, the last notes die away ; and Dorothy Verschoyle looks up to see the lovers walking away, out at the long open window, as she and Paul Tempest walked so many years ago- ... "I am a fool I" sue says, ana aasnes an unbidden tear away. www The long modern fashionable draw ing-room is full of guests. The goodly young man is singing 'sweethearts" again for the benefit of the company. A strange scene is being enactea on a distant sofa. A tall white-haired man is bending and talking to Miss Ver schoyle, whose strange face is strangely agitated and well it may be, for she has met Paul Tempest again, and the scene in the rose-garden is fresh in the minds of both. "Forgive me," he is saying ; and she answers "I forgave you long ago, Paul." ! OA, lore prr a wceJt, a year, a fay, But alas for the love that loves alvcay " They have met again in life's jour ney. Paul Tempest Knows now or tue years of hopeless waiting. He reads the story in the sail patient face, and thinks of the fair sweet Dorothy he loved once ay, and well too till other fair faces came between him and her memory, and the love died out. He remembers throwing away the rose Dor othy gave bim not indeed before its petals fell, but long before the blue eyes wearied from waiting for his re turn. Ah. well, life has not been all mm-! shine for either of them ; and in silence they listen to the wailing refrain j "Alas for the love that loves alicayl" Faith is a higher faculty than reason. The Captala's Storx. "I can never pass that spot without thinking of an event that happened two years ago." said the Captain of the : "t ly-by-A Ight," a Lake passenger-boat trading between Detroit aud Port Hu ron, as he pointed to a small house two miles away on the American shore of Lake Huron. It was a trim white ot- tage with green lattice work, a well kept little lawn, and in front of it a tall flag-iole set into the roof of a pagoda I like Summer-house. Below it, at the lake, was a dock, and on a huge sign- I iost one could read, '"Warner's Land- I lng." "it belonged," continued tne Captain, "to old Capt, Warner, who aailed the 'BoscobeL' He died and left the property to bis nephew, in the State of .New York, who brought bis wire and little boy with him to live there. He was a gentlemanly young man, well educated, aud on the right side of 30. His wife was as trim a little lady as I ever saw; pretty as a picture, and as light-hearted a school-girL Xot one of your namby-pamby fashionable young women, but a fresh, healthy .New Eng land girl with a woman's heart and a man's courage "But the gem of the family was their boy W ill te, who was nearly seven years old. and I do think the cheeriest and most sensible little fellow in the State. Sailors have always a soft spot in their hearts for children, and the way that youngster carried on during the trip from Detroit, when we brought the family up here, was a constant pleasure and surprise. He was the king of the boat. The steward's cabin, the pilot house, the porter's pantry, the ladies parlor he appropriated to himaeif a free pass everywhere, and used it liberally. He found a snug corner for himself in the hearts of all on board. Why, I re member one day, after the family had been in the house there about three mouths, a deck hand, a surly fellow who never had a civil word for anyone, lug ging out of his pocket a colored picture book and leaving it at the Landing, with 'For Willie, with Joe Price's love written on it. "It was a lonesome spot for such peo ple to settle in, and I often wondered how they could reconcile themselves to it, untd I learned that Capt. AVarner had made it a condition of his will that they must live at the Lauding for two years. "One day, when they had been there about six months, we took up the river from Detroit to them a small pleasure- skiff with 'The Willie' painted in gilt letters on the stern. "I never saw a child so pleased. He took to that boat like a duck to water. We used to see hiu on nearly every trip as we passed sculling himself about In the slip like a born sailor. 1 don't be lieve in allowing children to be too ven turesome on the water, and so I told his father; but he laughed, and said be thought Willie was sensible enough to take care of himself. "One day we were signalled to stop at Warner's landing. William Warner was going to New York. His wife aud boy were on the dock wishing him as tearful a good-bye as If be were on a two years' voyage to Greenland. "He too was hi low spirits. He came and sat by me in the pilot-house, and looked as glum as if there d been a death in his family. At last he said, very solemn aud earnest. 'Do you be lieve in preseutimeuts of evil,Capt Ken yon?" "Xol' I said quite sharply, for I don't like to see a man give way to such non sense. "He went down on deck then, half offended, aud left the boat at Detroit without eveD bidding me good-bye. We were late leaving on our return trip that night, and 1 was surprised to see, Just before we started. Warner come on board. He had a small parcel in his hand. "Captain, he said, I want you to be sure to leave this at the Landiu on your way up.' "I cant," I said, for I saw it was only an excuse to get me to call and see that the folks were all safe. We're late here, aud at Port Huron we've a lot of staves to take on, which will make us later stilL "But he persisted, and when I saw how down-hearted be looked, I told him to give the parcel to the clerk and I would see what I would do when we arrived opposite the Lauding. We left Port Huron in the middle of the follow ing day. It had been very hot all the morning, but as the afternoon advanced a st'ff west wind, accompanied by a drizzling rain, began to blow. "It was so late when we reached the Landing that 1 had quite determined not to call; in fact, we stood out in the lake a mile further than our usual course. I was taking a dog-snooze in my berth, when the mate awoke me. "There's a woman, sir, on Warner's Landing signalling us, and I think something's wrong there.' "I was on deck in a minute. Give me the glass,' said I, and I soon made out that it was Mrs. Warner, making frautlc gestures to catch our attention. She was bare-headed, and stood in the rain at the end of the landing. Then she ran into the house and began to wave a white table cloth from one of the tipper windows. "Very likely she wants to know if her dear William got to Detroit safely,' I grumbled; 'but I suppose we'd better round to.' "As the boat made the dock the clerk sprang ashore, and in a few moments we had the whole story. Willie had been playing with the skiff in the slip, as he had done scores of times before. Mrs. Warner had been busy over some household duty and did not notice that it raiued. When she did, she went at once to call Willie in. But she could not find either the boat or the boy. Both had vanished as though the lake had swallowed them up, "Abe had not dared to go inland to the village to seek help, for fear of mis sing our boat as It passed, but she had for hours been running up and down the shore calling in vain to her darling. Some of the lady passengers wrap(ed the distracted mother in shawls, for she would not delay a moment, and we put out into the hike. "I followed the course of the wind as well as I could, for I knew well enough that the little fellow had been blown out into the lake, where there was but a small chance that we should find him, for it was unlikely so frail a boat could live long in such a heavy sea. "For an hour we beat about without seeing an object on the water, when away in the distance there was a dark spot that came occasionally in sight on the top of the waves. 'Tom,' said I to my mate, 'can yoa make out what that is on the starboard quarter? Is it a log or a boat? !'It i a loa adrift, sir." "It's not! I'm sure it's not! It's a boatl" shrieked a voire cloafl by me,and I saw to mygiirprise, Mrs. Warner, who I supposed was in the cabin, peering wildly into the drizzling rain. To all my appeals to her to go below, she kept crying, "It is a boat ! it is a boat 1 He is saved 1" "Without a glass to aid her vision, her strong mother-love gave her keen ness of sight denied to us. It was a boat. But it was only on my threaten ing to abandon the search that the wretched woman consented to go below. "Two minutes later the mate cried, 'Yes, sir, it is a boat, but its empty so far as 1 can see. There's nobody sitting in it." "It was true. There the little skiff was tossing about, like a cork on the waves, with one scull dugling in the oar-locks, but not a soul could be seen in her. 'Tom." said I, nervously, for I felt sure the boy was not in the boat, and I actually trembled with apprehension lest the sad news would kill his mother. 'will you go down aud tell that poor woman what we have seenr" " 'Xot for all the gild in California 1' raid the mate, decidedly ; and yet he's as brave a fellow as ever sailed the lakes. "We passed word to have Mrs. War ner taken into the cabin, as we neared the skiff. I felt so angry with that poor patnted toy of a pleasure-boat, that I had half a mind to run it down. But of course I wasnt quite foolish enough for that. The mate and two of the deck-hands put off in the yawl, for our wash would have capsized the skiff had we gone any nearer. With a listless eye I watched them approach the boat, for I felt a leaden weight at my heart, because I was sure I should be obliged to tell the young mother of her loss. I saw Tom "get hold of the painter, and then spring into the skiff. Then, "Safe 1 safe I The boy Is here !" "It appears that the little fellow, tired of play, had lain down under the seat, and bad gone to sleep. In the meantime the boat had drifted into the lake and it had begun to rain. The drizzling rain did not wake him, and he lay in as sound a slumber as if he was in his bed at home, and not a hair of bis head hurt. "But what a fuss there was aboard ! The women were all crying, and the men too, for that matter. And the young mother, clasping the boy to her heart, went straight down on her knees and thanked God before them all for sparing his life. I don't think words ever came from a minister's lips that went straigtiter to the throne of grace than that young woman's prayer. "The family are living East now. William Warner Is one of the few men I claim as personal friends, and as for his bright little wife, if she were my own child, I couldn' have a deeper re gard for her. And the presents they send me I 1 here is no use in my try ing to choke off their gratitude. Xot the ltast. Aud every parcel comes marked, 'With Willie's love.' " singular Snakes. While looking at some small pictures hanging crooked on the wall in India, writes Walter Severn, I noticed what struck me as being very odd, a red blanket protruding from a hole in the wainscoting, near the mantel piece. In reply to my inquiry as to what this meant, my host said : "Oh that is where we keep our snakes ; are you afraid of snakes?" Before I could stam mer out reply, and while I was trying to steady my nerves, he thrust in bis arm aud pHlled out with the blanket a lot of serpents which tumbled on to the ground and the table. Another dive brought out the rest of the blanket and with it two large snakes, which he in formed me were special favorites a python and a boa constrictor. These at once coiled themselves around my host s body, in ana out oi his arms and about his neck. Dazed with astonishment and shak ing with fear, 1 tried to retreat, but he assured me, in winning accents and soft words, that the "dea things" were quite tame; and for some minutes we stood, I close to the window which I thought might afford means of escape and he between me and the door. Suddenly my eccentric host, who had very) large, excited eyes, called out that he must really fetch down his wife and shoveling off the two monsters on to the floor (which he did not do with out difficulty), he darted from the room closing the door behind him. I leave you, kind readers, to imagine my feel ings! I experienced a creepy sensation in my hair, and strange feelings of fasci nation, faintness and fear stole over me as I stcod rooted to the floor, afraid even to look round at my possible win dow escape. The two huge monsters' crawled stealthily up the sofa and kept stretching out their necks to gaze a me, and their eyes staring with what seemed to me a devilish inquisitiveness: The silence was only disturbed by the beating of my poor heart, and I knew not how hong It was before the door opened and my host reappeared with a pretty lady, who, altera smiling courtesy to me, lifted the snakes from thefofa, or rather, leaning toward tkem allowed them to entwine themselves quickly around her comely figure. Al though still frightened I began to heave sighs of relief, and I could not help be ing impressed by the picturesquenessof the scene. The lady's black velvet bodice showed off to great advantage the large snake coils, with their curious markings, and her rich brown hair was soon charmingly milled by the caresses of the snakes, as they poked their noses through it. In a few minutes two lit tte girls appeared, and tripping np to their mother, began playing with the snakes, calling the boa "Cleopatra, dear," and actually kissing its nose until the snake tried impatiently to withdraw its neck from their fond little hands. Mrs. M who seemed overweighted with the two snakes, asked her husband to relieve her of the python, aud she then proposed that wo should have some coffee, which was brought in by the little girls. By this time I had gained my self-possession, and watched her with the keen interest of an artist as she poured out the coffee and tapped occasionly the head of the boa, which was inquisitively stretched out toward me. During this time the smaller snakes were all about the room, a green one half hidden in the blotting book, and others hanging from the table and chairs and from Mrs. M.'s pockets. Sitting Bull's address is Standing Rock, Da. Ty. Paper peach baskets are belnc used A Tailor Tmlka. The proprietor of a Broadway cloth ing establishment sat in front of his store last night, gazing at the passing mulutude, or rather that portion of the multitude who wore trousers and coats. While to the moralists the crowd represented human weakness and human vanity, to the tailor it was but the con stituency of diagonal and broadcloth, much of which, be thought complacen tly, had emanated from his own store. The tailor had a book in his hand. He bad been reading. He had just ordered an employe to put a handsome remnant in the window among $13. suits, and if any one should happen to select that remnant, to say it was the last piece and could not be had, but that some thing could be purchased closely resem bling it. Having successfully manipu lated this stroke of diplomacy, the tailor turned to a young man who was anxious to ask questions. "You don't want a suit?" he asked. "Xo; I see you want to talk. Well, I like to supply any information in my power. I don't think we shall have any very strikingly new things this winter. Men's fashions never change radically. There has been a rumor to the effect that knee-breeches are to be worn this winter, but I dont believe it. People spoke about it last year, and there was no result. Do you know why there never will be?" The young man did not. "Well, it's simply this: Men would be ashamed to show what feeb'e calves they've got. Those who would patro nize knee-breeches would be society men, and their calves ain't worth a cent, as a rule. I suppose you know that absence of calf is a sign of a deteri orating species. That's not an original idea, but an old established fact. The lowest kind of savages have no calves and you don't suppose our Xew York, era would lay themselves open to a new classification, do you? I know them better. I could mention to you a dozen prominent men lawyers and brokers who haven't a calf among them. Comes from sedentary habits and an indifference to athletics." '"Didn't Oscar Wilde wear knee breeches? I am sure his habits were sedentary enough." "Ha, La!" laughed the tailor, "there by bangs a tail. Oscar's calves were padded with nice little wads of cork and silk, and while such deceit may exist in one man, I don't believe it could in twenty. Xo, air, you'll never see knee breeches, though I know the question will be brought up again." "Will there be no new styles in everyday suits?" "Look here, young man; I thing that very soon the question of dress suits will be taken up. Among my custo mers there's a growing di.like to the clawhammer. Mea have come to the not unreasonable conclusion that twould be well to be distinguished in some way from their valets and waiters. The ordinary swallowtail is undoubtedly more suited to the waiter than to the gentleman. Dear me!" said he of the scissors, laughing, "how I remember an awful mistake I made. I was at the Casino concert one Sunday night, about two months ago. Ange'e was singing, and Capoul was in the lobby listening and waiting for her. I came in and ran up to a drejs-coated man who was standing by an aisle, and who, thought, was an usher. 'Show me to a seat,' says I, for I was in a hnrrv, 'and be quick about ft, Y'ou should have seen the glance of hate and impo tent rage he cast upon me as he ex claimed. Tonnerre de chien! vous ni'lnsultez,' and he was about to strike me when I suddenly became aware of my mistake and apologized. I, a man of cotton and tape, to be caught by the tricks of clothes," remarked the tailor in disgust. '"Xo, sir, I strongly favor the new movement, which would adopt auother form of dress apparel for gen tlemen. All the dudes are with me, 1 am glad to say." "Why glad?" "1 like dudes." said the tailor, fondly, "They're good fellows. They don't want credit; they're inoffensive and kindly, and the only thing they require is admiration. They are clothes-wearing men, pure and simple. Only look at them and they're quite satistled 'merely this and nothing more.' With the dudes on my side I'll win the dress suit contest." Aeora Brwad. The Indians scattered along the foot hills of the Sierra are a quiet, inoffen sive people. They do not appear to be governed by any tribal laws, yet adhere to many of their old traditions. One or two men of superior ability and industry form a nucleus around which others less ambitious gather. Here they fence with brush and logs a tract sufficient for their requirements of hay maying, pasturing, etc. Although they often indulge in the food of civilized nations, the. acorn is still a favorite arucle of diet in every well-regulated wigwam. The process of converting this bitter nut into bread is curious. Under the branches of a grand old pine I found them at work. They had shucked and ground in the usual man ner a large mass of the acorn meats. A number of circular vats had been hollowed out of the black soil, much in the shape of a punch bowl. Into these was put the acorn pulp. At hand stood several large clothes baskets filled with water, and into these they dropped hot stones, thus heating the water to the required temperature. Upon the mass of crushed bitterness they carefully lad led the hot water, making it about the color and consistency of cream. Xot a speck appeared to mix. A buxom muhal stood by each vat, and with a small fir bough stirred the mass, skill fully removing any speck that floated upon the surface. The soil gradually absorbed the bitter waters, leaving a firm, white substance, of which they made bread. I asked to taste it, at which they said something in their lan guage, and all laughed. I asked again, and after more laughter I was handed a small particle on a fig leaf, and found it sweet aud palatable. They began to remove it, and so adroitly was this done that but a small portion adhered tothesolL They spread It upon the rocks, and in a short time it was fit for use. This, I am told, they mix with water, put it into thin cakes and bake before the fire. Of 11,000 bills Introduced at the late session of Congress only 3U0 pass ed. "So yon say your husband loves you, Mary?" "Oh, he dotes wildly npon me." "Indeed: but he'd soon get over that," "What makes yoa think so?" "Because men generally soon get over sowing their wild dot," NEWS IN "JKIEF. Boston spent l.S'O.TSG c it3 pubic schools last year. Cuba has 1,0-vi inhabitants, in cluding 4fi,tW8 Chinamen. Berlin street rail vays lnlSS3ca l ed seventy million passengers. Texas ha-t gained i',,Ort0.ino in taxable value a.-vsessmnt of 1SS3. The hay crop in some parts of Western Massachusetts is a failure. Xinety-four Indian children attend a Catholic school near Fort Totten. Vermont school teachers are pro hibited by law from the use of tobacco. The births in Spain during 1SS.. numbered 4."3.000, and ihe deaths 41S, 000. The first torpedo boat ever known was launched in Xew York harbor in 1776. It is estimated that 51(5.000.000 bushels of wheat will be harvested in 18)i. Since the war over 600 colored Bapti-t churches have been established in Tei-i. The five-cent piece is the smallest coin (In value) in circulation in Xew Orleans. X early 5000 worn jn are employed in the various government offices in England. . A London World writer declares that no epidemic ever got hold of a Swiss town. Over fifty thousand post-ofSee3 are required to haudle the mail matter of this country. Philadelphia has 120 Presbyterian, 80 Baptist and 112 Methodist Lpisopal churches. Lincoln's tomb, at Springfield, 111., is reported to be in d.uiger of falling to pieces. The annual loss by fire in the United States is estimated at about flUO,000,OW. The Xew York elevated railroads carried nearly 100,000,000 passengers during 1SS4. In fifty-six years Mexico has had fifty-four Presidents, one Kegency aud one Emperor. The French originated the indus trial exhibition; the first was held in Paris in ll'JS. During 1SS3 4"0 lives were saved on the British ooa-sts by means of the rocket apparatus. "Iowa has a new law under which the keeier of a disreputable house can be sent to prisou for live years. Mississippi is credited In seme quarters with having the third best State library in this country. A sturgeon caught recently at Pitt River, British Columbia, was 11 feet long and 732 pounds in weight. There are not less than 15,f00 persons locked up in the various jails and prisons of Xew York at present. Arizona taxes drummers $200 a year, and Montana J10 a year for each county, with ?2o extra for Butler City. The Hungarian Baud, which has been 7ery popular in London, has been engaged for a series of concei ts in this country. The black Sea is aytin infested by pirates, who lately plundered two small merchantmen and robbed them of their cargoes. A blue heron measuring five and a half feet from tip to tip of it- wings, was shot the other day on a mill-dam at Armville, Ta. Sixty-nine of the citizens of Rochester, X. Y., who fifty years ago voted at her first charter election, are still living there. The only defiuite feature about the news concerning the next Italian oiera season is that it is decidedly unreliable and confusing. The present strength, numerical!?. of Freeniasonary throughout the world Is placed ut 1-.-..m55 lodges, with 14,- lOU.ol i members. At present there are, it is stated. thirty-four nch mineral aud agricul tural counties In Tennessee without a foot of railroad. A Liverpool bicyclist who was rid ing down a steep hill near that city was fired through a cottage window by the breaking of his machine. Aberdeen, M.is., derives its water supply from artesian wells, which are several squares apart and bored in the middle of the mam street. Thirty-eight million barrels of petroleum are stored in tanks in Penn sylvania, enough to make a lake a mile square and ten feet deep. Out of Japan's total population of 30,000,000 there are only 10,000 paup ers, and of these more than 1,000 are at Tokio in the work house. Honey raising Is a prosperous French industry; l,671,S0o hives are in operation, and the value of the honey and wax surplus is $0,000,000. The district around Galena, Kansas, is credited with being the larg est zinc producing locality in the world. Last year 70,000 tons were mined. Type-writing has been introduced in the Chicago public schools in an ex perimental way. A class of twenty five practices two hours a week on the machine. The'value of the annual butter-product of the United States is f3.",4o0, 000, and of thecheese-product f 35,200, 000, with eggs and poultry about the same. Queen Victoria has issued a com mand that when the Prince and Prin cess of Wales dine out In London, the number of guests to meet tbein is not to exceed fourteen. Since 1S77-7S the exportation of wheat from India has grown from 317, 000 tons to nearly 1.000,000. There still remains vast tracts of suitable land to be placed under cultivation. Taylor, the noted sculler of Pitta bnrg, has a grandson, ot four-and-a-half years old, whose 'talent for acq ua ties" is so precious, that he is about to give an exhibition in England. The trial of the electric light, which was made in a proportion of the House of Commons, has given such, great satisfaction that it is the inten tion of the authorities to extend it all over the building. Berlin has a "Municipal Building Commission," and it has made a re quisition on the Berlin City Council for an appropriation of 1,000.000 marks, "out of the surplus of 1S33 W." Of ninety-six railroads fn the State of Xew York, only fifty paid dividends in 1383. The total capital stock of the railroads is $02S,713,59O,' and the total amount ot dividends paid was $13,07 A,-. 114, or about 2 per cent of the vmtyft r! - i
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers