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«aw |M1 ;; CANTON, D, T.

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CA&JEEB. BROTHERS, PubUshom. dhtt

V» t+aq lUl BJTMABY CI.KMXKB. .,.,,,; ,

?* 4Kedi$fi1 '•#» titfe the e*irt, mute days •"»Tfa##f%riro««nf fttful ways.

wVhtiibeaE U* timwgh the tangled maze, lt We call our life, the daysl the days I ,

I fat n would hold -them back betimes, I would not; baste lei reach the climes, Whose glad lnBrfbltaiiM ne'er say

!• t^Htedayi ihiiie frrtu, thou dear to-day t" •

•gMfflhTlnmilt r*mTTi --r chequered d»ys}^K:<«%; •"--rro^ these days that fly so last, ([<< daya that cannot last.

'Tls made of days our meager span, T ' .t^altaks.that bind for bliss or ban; . . •""Tfteyrold US id their shadows dun,-.s&Tbejr^tveM.thp qpl^ndor^ofthe sun;

* I <Th«y'b«r;put light, the ohill -mid days -.rXhaigimus.naught. The day that preys ®" And &ts our Heart,' while slow we Smile v tir^pe^ii'the'cfowd frithrpiteOua guile,

thee In t .••awsri DJILFTAH##68 W.L»FR>.!UID|FB|IU* *• BLAY,: ^••ffn mem6ry! they'gloom and shine,

Life's symbols Bad. The red-rose sign . ^W'lio+e'Xowh ^ay.- A Ifeaf or line 4

Tells where it filled or spUled itSjWine.

We bind th«tt: slowly in onr sheaves,! The day th^t jobs, tiieday th»t grieves,

__ Slqw.moving on, we cry: " Forget," • *'1 -Jljrsake the dark land of regret.1" ; regret,

n'ori the'garden of our slain, ,s<aA.light:of Joy untouched of pain, i Serene with promise slow doth shine,

'""tUlghtfrofm a later day divine.

The Indian summer of the'heart, It|,\yw{it^,f)f pahn hqals bitterest smart; From Duriea summer's passionate'heat Are born Its blossoms pure and sweet.

(oHefrt^g&ther itltthine aftermath, What far, faint fragrances it hath, AVhat calm Moods down the storm-swept way

•ji beauty veins the fair, meek day.

music murmurs fine and clear, W mit peace pervades, its atmospheres;

'^WtMiSMVei what'deair companionship jPgtf r fjrpmthe, eyes, tjje voice, the hps. r .

• ffilRW cpurpge, what high patience meet, What rest, what tenderness complete;

J ^Whafrtrust in God,rwhat faith in man, . In woman, meet in one day's span. I n , u a w o n . i i . '

The noontide of thv perfect baam , Must faint and fail. 6 day supreme!

ft mortal ekiea, . ' Tcnlay;nl^r on In Paradise.

THifh flay of daysl Thy pulses run Into my life ana we are one; Far qnjn deep content I'll say:

l|iyme began that day, that daj. ' — National Union.

-Jn>K V

ii -SECOND LOVE. v>v--•uK « '• tf •'

^niv.-il'.-'i -

^^uy^Ikelirt stature, with laughing i&lue eyes- and "dimpled mouth, smooth, ^ff 'Skin, coral lips, and vivacious face ^yiery lovely was Elsie Peyton. But it

t# only putward beauty of form an I o£\ffitafc, 'a»d"Selfish, a creature o'

«nstable'impulse8 and effervescent feel­ing, lived only, in the present, and had Adggn^pc' aim in jife than to be consid-«ed=the! reigning belle at a ball; or to A^^ i^ore ti? her Ions list of conquests. Jhul.yetshe had won the love of a noble man. pne, yho combined with the sterner

ra Riie manlinesss gentler and tendererqualities, so seldom found in

natures. im/Wfien.Oarar Temple first met Elsie Pe^t<^he;^aS'fascinated and bewildered wy Witchery of her yoyth.and beauty, «nti frequent meetings strengthened the JRlttfin of her beauty. He saw heir de-.Mit oi,character, but determinedly ^tishing back Judgment with her warn-JWg voice,Ihfc welcomed Passioii, with her .luring'wiles. ' So one night, as he sat be-*|j^;Elsie,.he thj:ew his love at her feet; tuw, with siren-arms about his neck, her ^heart^flutterin^ against his breast, and "her sweet,; #Uuring eyes flaming into his own, he vowed unswerving fidelity to her forever.<; In the ecstacy of succeeding

*W8f?tft^-moiiths 'in which Elsie answered vewiwith vow, and caress with caress—1

-hi* heart aung-the exulting paean, "She's aminer^aUmiue!"

theend soon came: Elsie quickly get tired of this last melodrama,

•«tia 'tighea for a new heart to conquer. ^ lover's keenness, detected

wuie,sighfi.6f ctisafiection, but fought de-tinedly his suspicions. ,^^l|fe .siMds'Jjeheath the chandelier, •her golden hair glistening in the flood of its soft light. She is in full dress, and is awaiting her lover to escort, her to a

Safo^he^tiayiHg with^a sparkling iam(mcl with' gTaces her finger, and her

lips aitf' gifted with Va musing smile, in the midst or a deli­

cious reverie -

"Carlos Oliverof 'I shall see him again to-night!" she murmurs, exultantly.

. ^reyfootsteps in the hall. She ''slartLlBtfm fier reverie, antl turns to

greet ner loVeK " ]. ' ' Gazing-jifikhdly updn h^r, he take^

both of her hands in. nis own, and kisses tfofS Jya. murmuring words of love.and

• jMmttal'ipnl [With a pettish movement, £het ^firq^firom his caresses, and envelops

.jSersft^ ̂ nau opera-cloak. A disappoint-i#d. lo$k stole across his features as he -acanned her half-averted face. .

.,«B«.^Why :do'.you greet me so coldly, •filsie?' Are you not glad to see me?" ; *'^Ohj:^e^j'but. one cannot always be

"'Wife 8aidf with a shru^ of the r"Come, it is nothing: we

"lkl£ "' fqwed hervo'ut'' to ,the carriage, Were.rapidiy: away. .'

jBwWgftWhj-^ergUtter. of; diamonds, apd 4&9awtjrastLe of dheeny silks.' Delicious .«n»kl8,3«f- Voluptuous music cose and

Mrfeifyifiying feet glided through the large dancing-^ooffi, steadily beating the lively

t^teiiffi^i Foremost amongst wie dancera -"VrSs^EliSe Peyton, her face1 suffused with

blush-roses, her eyes scintil-^l^^^^^'teciteii^ent, her lips slightly ij^Lftea^nd "her white breast panting and

delirious exercise. Her nlPli^MiWa^'Oarios Olivero, a tall man, .^vUhsele#! olive complexion, dark, fiery, ffeyes^iabdi profuse curls of black hair. •9£tg head was bent down towards the -fAir young face that almost nestled op

*httuMet," and her floating curls ^wuShfed Abross his face, and fell like lines .*W'|ow'i^n his dark beard. .^5 ...IftV^iMeepipmbrasure of a bay window ""Oscar Temple stood watching his be-

•V(^rg^d.with distracting emotion. Two cTgegtlemen. Stood near him, hidden from <uwiew^hy the long, trailing, curtains; but Jaibeir v&ices Were distinctly audible. •i« ^Little Mass Peyton is having a jolly "•ftrfcatibfl "dithr tiiat Spaniard, Olivero; "'Vkiif^rfej'wftlf'a laugh.

jr&f" 'answesed the other,

^ sh^!a^-, "»Thaak - ^^.gavea, sh^ .ui not my betrothed!"

-frd, ,1^Spe Ja gloriously beautiful. One cwSlaoce o(,h^r£a8hing eyes is enough to

ensnare the veriest anchorite, much less -•*«rthftt4>looded Spaniard." j In " Ifancy ahe is in earnest this tinie. ^GliTerO claims to be fabulously rich-i— b;<Bb!e famil^, bastle in Spain, and all

*ntB*t 'B6rt- of tiling. A regular Cla^d M Melnotte^ you know. She'll snap at the

^pldfed'hook; Mterfear." "But llfceitfs/'^jCeiriple. She surely

won't throw him over for that bewhis-kered jackanapes?"

•" She'll be true to her instincts— women always are."

Oscar Temple waited to hear no more. Goaded almost to madness by the bit of

credulous ear great estates, Expectations shattered by

gossip he had heard, he stepped throngh the long French window, which was opened and unshuttered, and walked hastily down the smooth lawn. Many colored lamps hung from the trees; the night was warm, and the long columns of yellow moonlight streamed through the trees. Many merry couples were straying along the liebbled walks? but avoiding them, he walked nervously for­ward, conscious of f naught but hie OWJL torture of heart, utifil a voice broke linf upon his abstraction.

Peering .through the trees, he saw El­sie's trailing silk robes glistening in the moonlight; and near her, very near, he could see the outlines of a manly ferm.

" Ah, Carlos!" she is saying, " I do love you—you know not how much!" " Then you will come with me to

sunny Spain, my bride—my peerless-bride?"

" But Oscar? " she commenced with a coquettish air.

"You do not love me!" he cried, fiercely, " or you would not speak of that haughty, cola-herted Temple!" • " I do, I do, Carlos-—" m !.«:• She did not finish her sentence, for the

interlaced boughs before her separated, and Oscar1 Temple stood before them, with such a look in his white face as made Elsie utter a low cry, and hide her face in her hands.

"It is true, then," he exclaimed, fiercely, " you are an arrant flirt, charm-irig with your distracting beauty only to ensnare and deceive! Thank heaven that I am awakened from my infatuation at last! I release you from the vows you were^ so ready to fofswear. Breathe them again to your new lover, with can­dor ana love smiling in your eyes, but with black perfidy in your heart ! Take her, and see what peace her love will bring you!"

Oscar Temple's grief and passion, which were so violent at first, soon were themselves out. He traveled, and in two years' time was as happy arid tran­quil as ever. A trifle more grave and taciturn, perhaps, but otherwise the same genial, upright man.

Elsie married Carlos Olivero in six months' time, and left her native land for Spain,

Her expectations were excited to the highest pitch by the well-varnished tales that Olivero had peured into her

of his noble family, lordly palace, &c.

that were cruelly the rude hand of

Olivero when he became her husband. To her dismay and chagrin, she found that he was of low extraction and mjser-bly poor; that his marriage had been a speculation, and that her money was all he wanted.

Olivero rapidly spent all her fortune in vile pleasures and wasteful dissipation. Elsie suffered all the horrors of abject poverty, made the more terrible from the fact that her child shared it with her. Years crcpt by. Sickness, induced by want and cruel anxieties, at last laid a heavy hand upon her, and death stared her in the face. Death, a welcome release to her; but, ah! what new evils might it not bring to her daughter, now a girl of fifteen.

The western sky is ablaze with the glory of sunset, and a long, slanting rays of the setting sun stream through the begrimed windows, and glance on the floor where Elsie is lying, gaunt, hollow-eyed, and wasted, with the hand of the fell destroyer hard upon her. Beside her kneels her daughter; there is no freshness or bloom of youth in her hag­gard face, and her scanty clothing hangs upon a figure sharp and angular. But there is the same wealth of golden hair, the same large violet eyes that made her mother so beautiful.

Starvation as Well as sickness is gnaw­ing at the vitals of the miserable mother. Olivero deserted her long ago; and al­though Clara, her daughter, has sought anxiously for work to earp money—ay, although she has begged in the streets-she has hot been able to keep the wolf from the door.

" Mother," she sobs, " I cannot bear it longer. Oh, let me go and try it once more. Surely, I shall meet some one who will pity us? '

"Don't go, Clara; don't leave me. Do younotsee that I am dying? There is no help for me upon earth."

"Don't speak so," cried the young girl, in an agony of tears; "you are faint with hunger. Keep up heart, mother; I will not be long; some one shall give to me."

Ana she rushed, frantically, down the shaking stairs to the street. A gentle­man was just passing; she clutched him eagerly by the sleeve. *

" Give me some money," she entreated. " Oh, give me some money to keep my mother from dying!"

The gentleman stopped abruptly, startled at the agony quivering in . her voice.

"You must give to me—quick, quick!" she cried, fiercely. " Every moment's delay fills my heart with wild misgivr ings." ' •

" Yes, yes, child; of course , you shall have it. Where is your mother? Is she in?" v •

' " Yes, ill and starving, sir." • v

" 111 and starving!" he said aghast, putting his hand in his pocket and draw­ing out Bome money. The young girl snatched greedily at the few coins in nis hand, and darted away. Almost before he had recovered from his bewilderment she re-appeared, with a bottle of wine and a small parcel.

" This way, sir," she said, breathlessly, " if you will come and see ier."

"Yes, yes, my dear; go oh—I'll follow you." ' : ' \ : .

Together they entered the crazy house, and began the ascent of the dirty stairs.

" Thank heaven you have come, Clara," said a faint voice, as they pushed open the door. " I thought I should die alone, and it was so horrible."

" Oh, mother, here is a kind gentle­man, and see, mother, I have some wine and cakes for you."

/ And kneeling beside the tattered mat­tress which supported her mother, she eagerly unrolled the parcels.

Elsie gave one glance at her bene­factor, whose figure was just discernible in • the - fast-fading light; then pushing back the.cake which her, daughter had eagerly put, to her lips, she burst into tears, exclaiming, "It is too latc—it is 'too late; 1 feel no hunger now."

" Oh, don't say so, mother," said Clara, sobbing too.

" Give her a mouthful of wine," said the stranger, stooping upon the bare floor, and raising, the dying woman in hisarmB.

She turned her glazed eyes with a thankful gaze to his face; ' >1' . "Good G#d," she' ejaculated; is it you, Oscar Temple?"

An ashen; hue stole over her face, and her ej.es closed in insensibility.

"Elsie/' he cried, with intense em$-tion. "Heavens, she is dead. Quick! the wine." • 1 j

And snatching the bottle, he poured some down hex throat. It. revived her, and laying her down, he took her thin hand tepderly in his own. ; 'l

"Elsie,'toy poor Elsie," he said; too much shocked at her condition to say more.

"Ah, Oscar, you are well avenged. See what misery I brought upon myself. Sorrow and suffering have been pressing

upon me all these years, killing by slow torture. I would have ended my life long ago, if it had not been for my child, Clara. Clara, my darling," clasp-her in her arms, " what will become of you now?" ^

" Mother," sobbed the girl, in •aroice, "* '.If- """ f "HUsjtui IjHsie," said Oscar is Calm Jroui»elf, andli8ten to shall never know want again., She &all be my daughter" v '

She looked at him almost wildly, hal"-doubtfully, half-joyfully.

"You would not be so cruel as to, mock me?" " Heaven forbid." "Then I can die in peace." And ovqr het-f^ce Stole a look of con-#

tent such as it haa riot seen for many a long yearr She did not speak again ; but lying quietly,with an expression of in­effable weariness in her face, she breath­ed shorter and shorter, until, with one slight gasp, the light of her lamp went out.

And so Clara11 Olivero came to the house of Oscar Temple, and gradually'a great change was wrought in her. A new feeling of happiness began to creep into her dead heart; the thin, angular form begati to fill and expand; the pale cheeks to gather roses; the heavy step to grow buoyant. "

Oscar did not take much notice of her beyond providing her with teachers, and supplying Her with every comfort. He had lived a life of lonely bachelorhood so long, that he had no desire for com­panionship. He went in and out, having nis amusements or attending to his bus­iness, without altering one of his long-established habits on account of the new inmate. Meantime Clara studied, and Conscientiously strpve to show herself worthy of her guardian's many kind­nesses.

Two years passed, and Clara had blos­somed into a beautiful girl of seventeen. She was very much like her mother at the same,age. Slight in form, with fair skin and violet eyes; graceful in car­riage, and cheery and lively in disposi­tion ; she had but one grief, and that was the careless, indifferent manner her guardian always maintained towards her. " " • (•••

Oscar Temple Was now forty years' of age, but as fresh and gay as when he first woed Elsie Peyton. His stalwart frame had lost none of its vigor, nor his black eyes their brilliancy. His hair, once black as a raven's wing, was somewhat streaked with gray, but it overhung his white brow in the same careless curls of his boyhood years. During the first sad days after her mother's death he seemed to Clara to be the embodiment of every­thing noble; and a warm affection sprang up in hei; heart for him, an affection wnich in subsequent months ripened into pure, delicate love.

It was twilight, and Clara skipped gaily through the garden to the rocky beach. It was her favorite occupation to sit on the great black rocks and watch the incoming tide as it broke into foam among the jagged rocks. The full moon was'just peering above the eastern hori­zon, momentarily increasing in bril­liancy as the daylight faded. Within doors the corners of the rooms were gath­ering blackness. Oscar Temple sat in the library, where he had been Dusny (wriir ing all the afternoon; and, as the light grew duskier, he arose,, with a sigh of weariness, and walked out into the garden. He was thinking vaguely, as he paced along, that the air was refresh­ingly cool, and that the murmur of the sea, as it came subdifed to his ear, sound­ed sweet and plaintive, when a wild cry smote his ear. He started. What could it mean? Again it sounded more clearly.

"Help! help!" Apd it died away despairingly. He stood bewildered an instant. Then

the truth burst upon him. Some one was on the rocks, with the treacherous tide slowly but surely threatening to overwhelm her. .

He uttered a loud shout, and ran hastily down the bath which led to the cliff. Another shriek arose—a shriek more hopeless and despairing; " Save me!. Oh, Mr, Temple! Oscar,

where are you?" And then he knew it was Clara. His

heart gave a great bound, and cold drops of perspiration stood Upori his brow as dashed down the cliff. He soon saw her crouching on a large rock; which, in high tide, was buried in the sea, but at low tide stood out, tall and jagged, con­nected by a chain of lesser rocks to the shore. He knew every convolution of the rocks well, and clambering down tbe steep cliff,he waded through, the seething waters that shut her from the shore. He reached her side. She clung con­vulsively around his neck, sobbing wildly;

.' Take courage,; Clara," he said; ." I will save you."

And clasping her about the waist, lie struggled towards the shore.' The angry: tide roared and dashed against theni: the sunken focts m'ade his footing inse-1

cure and dangerous, and the curling spray blinded him; but he struggled bravely oh#ard, arid reached the snore safely, but Bpent and breathless. The servants, who had been, alarmed) by the cries of .Clara, now crowded, near, and carried both Oscar and Clara to the house.' A '.change of clothing and a warm drink, under the maternal super-; vision of the housekeeper, quite restored Clara; and a c6iiple~ of hours' rest gave steadiness to the strained muscles of Oscar. Late in the evening they-met in tl\eparlor.r ; ,

Timidly and bluslpngly, Clara spoke her gratitude; apd her blushes increased fourfold as she met thie gaze of his dajrk eyes,' for intuitively she isaw 'that he fifed changed in his feeling for her.. Yes,-her peril had called into existence emotions which years- of , monotonous, every day life might never have done. He was, startle^ aT ttie thrill t^at shot through his .heart, quickening its pulsations and: intensifying his dif­ferent1 to "her presence; and seeded each day to discover some ndw and more erigagipg qualjty to admiire; and feeing her thus beautiful in both person aild' charadter^ he came'to love her,ten--derly ,and; earnestly. He thought his power to love'was gone; he felt startled and perturbed at the" passion that he felt springing* ;ut> h in .His Jsoid,, gathering strength each day. Would she love him?. He feared not; he was sovi]QUch her senior in years; was so grave and quiet—no^fiting companion for herewith her volatile spirits, and gay, thoughtless heart..

As for Clara, het heart was glad with a new hope. Many things seemed to tell her that he loved her;' and although blushing at her vanityf she hugged to herself a sweet thought that sdme day he would offer her the priceless boon of his love. ,y

„• Time dragged on, and Oscar Temple was torturedinconceivably. by hisdoubts and fears.* His planner towards C%ra was variable and sadly Duzzling to her; at one time ardent ancf impassiened as a lover; at another, calm and dignifieid as a "father. Poor Clara, vexed >and wondering, grew nervous and pale.*-" ;

One bright June morning, Oscar came down the broad verandah steps, equip­ped for a fide. His favorite steed, held by a servant, stood pawing the ground and champing his bit. A fiery animal,

one but few would dare to ride: but Oscar was a darin»-ea ueftriaiV, MML-took great delight in ajyt&ling -thi-soutgwhat vicious spirit of the animal. ' - He mount-ed; and with a bound theVanimal dashed off. The avenjw to the house was shaded bpon either sfcle by large trees, and un^ Per their ii^mced^ba^ghs Clai^a 01iv#ix was slowl^r strolling. ' She heard'' the heard the'(jittering poofs of the animal, and sprang, on one side just as he came •in sight. The flutter of her white robe startled the animal, and swerving quick­ly to one side, he reared, and plunged his iron-bound hoofs, dashing the slender figiilie of the girl to'the grouiid..' Ifc fta* but a moment ere Temple's firm hand contr'oled the frightened beast, but a moment "to him fraught with an apguish of "a lifetime. He leaped froih the sad­dle, and raising her in bis arms, kissed her pale face frantically, calling her by name. ' J ' " She is' dead !' Great heaven ! she is

dead!" ' But his voice penetrated her swoon;

-and opening, her eyes, she murpiured, ".Oscar,! " .

"Clara!—nay beloved—my beloved!" he'ejaculated, thankfully. !; i

Arid carrying her tenderly to the house, he laid her* upon a sofa.

The housekeeper quickly revived her, and in a few seconds, she \yas sitting up. She had not been hurt, only terribly frightened. ' *

The servants left the room, and they were alone. One moment of painful hesitation; then Oscar folded her in his arms.

" Clara, my darling—my wife! Say, shall itflot be "So? "

Arid trembling and tearfiii; but rap­turously happy; she sank upon his breast, murmuring, " Yours—yours always." J

" i Concerning the Telephone. From the Atlanta Constitution.

Old Si heard soinethingi about the tel­ephone and epdeavored to enlighten his friends,

" Now. de convenshuns of man is won­derful."

• " What are de riew imprdobaient dat de folks is laborin' under now?" queried Pete.

" Well, yer's heered tell ob de telegraf whar runs on de wiar from pole to pole and talks by de tip-tip motibn?"

"I'se seed dat." "Den agin yer's heerd ob de fournoj

ryfy dat jess ambertypes what de speak­ers say on de spot by the congregashun ob de fust prinserpuls, which are ae pot­hooks and rafters ob de writing book?"

"Oh, yes, dat's preockerpied my 'ten-tion too."

"Well, dis heah telerfone jess lays ober dem all wus dan toting water to ae elephint fer er free pass do ober crawling in under de Canvas.-'

" An' whar can de telerfone do dat hit ar' Bo solid?"

" W'y, yer jess goes along and sees er sorter young , woodin. dinnah bell—yer picks it up, talks in de big end, de voice transcommits itself along de wiar, an' de folks in de next state heans what yer says jess same ez ef dey wuz in de edjining' room wid de doall open."

• "Aw go 'way! " You's talkin' ez ef yer thought we niggers done loss' all our gumpshun!" " " Hit's er bo'n fack—hope ter die ef taint! Dar ain't ho hoodoo 'bout dis bizness!". " Look heah, ole man, you wants ter

go home and hang er hoss-shoo ober ye' ears ter keep, the witches from'roostin in them!" .' ''

"Dat's alius de way wid you niggers— nuffiri ain't never done fer yer dat yer don't try ter go back on it!"

• " How ar' dat?" " Kase dis heah tellefDne ar' de prime

'spensashun ob Proverdence fear the in­clusive benefit ob the culled race. Wharfs de use ob han'wiitin' ? Whar"s de needcessity obskools an' unervarsities? Whar's the vantiges of high-tone eddi-cashun, when enny kinder nigger kin jess holler in der tellerfone, agertate de wiah, an' talk bizness wid enny ob de folks outer • town ? Dat's what I wants ter kno'fupi de'sembly!"

The telephone was unanimously en­dorsed.

, . { — ; . {

• . 1 Boston Tramps An old tramp, with his face shrunken

with hunger, was overturning the con­tents of an offal wagon down Main street recently, trying to fish out a lunch, when a policeman came along and asked : "Why don't you go to work sawin' wood, or diggin' clams, or somethin', arid earn enough to git you a square meal, and not be stuffin' yourself with un­wholesome garbage? Bamby, 'afore you know it, you'll be dead, ana the city'll have to serid your corpse up to the Brighton abattoir." The ! did outlaw stepped doWn to the sidewalk, and as he wiped his tangled whiskers, he said: " Pretty tuff .times, boss, when er inan Jhez.ter, .git. his wittles ou,t of er .swill wagon! , Iliaiii't., used to sich business as this;'arid ddn't you fotgit it; my iacner was tine U1 tile Xiulicov continent once; he owned more'n half the City of Boston, and I was brought jip in the lap of luxury, as it ware; I gradu­ated at Harvard College, and X know'd twenty different languages; air about istronainy; could tell you how fur the, plan its Satan,' Versnvions, Jupiter and Vehicti w?s from the earth, and could repeat the whole Bible from' the first chapter of Adam clear through to the landing; of Noah's .ark on Plymouth Bock.'; Then the policeman looked as if lie was going to drop down for a mo­ment, then he rallied and started across the street; iriutttering: ' " Well, I aware, I never heird anything eqUail that for ignerenre,: never."

.11 4' Proclamation to Persons Who Smeke.

Ia a proclamatioii' addressed " to the smoking public," by Which we do not understand that it is irieant to be inti-mated that.the public is just now in a smoking condition, but merely to con­fine the address to those persons who use cigars, an association of cigar manufac­turers have made ;it pretty ^lain that a good many of' "the, cigars which are sold m -the shops :are! chemically flavored coun^erfieits, a.good many others ar£ un­wholesome, and.a good inapy positively nasty. As the 'buyer arid smoker of cigars'fs"left i'ri pldasing tinceftairity as to what cigars are properly to be avoid? ed as counterfeit, - which are unwhole­some and which are nasty, , the present appears to be a particularly good , time for a general s^earit(g off. , Wise smokers will abandon the u& of cigara and adopt the pipe insteiid, as the Scotchman re­fused to drink Wine, preferring Whisky— the more, he said, because there is noth­ing; against it in: Sprjpjture... I*erha^s still wiser smokers will abandon the habit altogether,: as'qne' whijeh is .in itself. Un-cleaply and. unwhole^^e.-^-York Efsming fotL ^ '

' A UTE Indian died recently near Gim-aron, New Mexico; His tribe buried him in good Indian style, killing his horses so that he wouldi r»ye something to ride in the haplpy hunting grounds. They would have killed his widow, but as she was old and ugly they came to the conclusion that if he could not find a younger and prettier one in his new home, he had better go it alone. ' ̂ M / " ' . * • ' * * . i 1 ' A '

J* ^>1 \ » wiASit.

BEFORE PLEYNA.

Description of the BOMIAII Camp—The Tnrklah PMIIIOB-A Motley i'ollee-Positlo tlon of Prlionera.

Bogot Cor. Philadelphia Times.

, , Now that the investment of Plevna is pomplete we haye^settled into the mo­notony of a regul&r round of daily bom­bardments, which" make plenty jof noise, Wt from all that^can be seen do little or no damage to th^eneiQy. -The details of the capture of the last Turkish positions along the Sofia road have already reach­ed you by telegraph, so I will not de-scripe them. No correspondents were present,' fOr the whole corps had been under a ban for several weeks, and the reports of . a few,.authorized visitors, who are aCcrediteii at headquarters as visitors and not as correspondents, are the only ones whiclf have been sent from the front lately. < The - headquarters of the grand duke Nicholas were moyed to this village ten days ago, and the Eipperor came at the same tirhe to Poradiri," a yillage some two hours' ride to, the rear, whence he makes frequent trips to the front. Bogot is about two miles behirid the batteries on the'RadisiVO ridge, fend fibril'the upper side of the village, where the quarters of the grand duke are, can be seen the white; puffs of smoke from the seige guns all along the northern horizon, and the rumble of the cannon shakes the air all day lbrig. Gen. Tbdleben has ordered the batteries to fire by volleys, directing their guns upon certain points in the Turkisn lines indicated by telegraph, and by concentrating the fire in this way he expects to retard the further construction of redoubts arid to damage those already builtn-a plari which reads well, but results only -iri an enormous expenditure of ammunition. : The; investment of Plevna is by . no means as strong a? it would seem from reports. I have visit­ed all the redoubts from the Grevitza to the. Lot'tcha TOad, and can speak from ac­tual knowledge. The redoubts them­selves* are strong and well built, but are isolated arid with low parapets, and oc­cupy positions so,far distant from th# Turkish lines as to be of very little use in offensive operations. From the Ra-disovo ridge tne panorama of nearly the whole, of; both Turkish and Russian works is before me, and at only a single point are the lines anywhere near one another, and that is at Grevitza, where the Roumanians are within speaking dis­tance of their enemy. There is no such thing as a continuous line of entrench ments'on the Russian side. Couipar d with the seige of Petersburg, in the re­bellion, this is little more than play. To be sure; the lines are within rifle range of one another the whole distance around Plevna, but, with such bad marksmen as there are on either side, absolutely no Injuries are, inflicted inordinary picket firing. Withal there are a great many casualties, because the Turkish rifles carry a great distance, and whenever there is a little riot between the picket lines a shower of bullets falls into the camp of the reserves, and frequently kills and wounds men and horses there. Remembering, how uncomfortableit was in tbe trenches before Petersburg,II con­fess I' did riot care to walk along the open, from one redoubt to another when I was conscious that I was on the sky­line and perfectly visible to the Turks in the hollow below- In .a few moments it was apparent that a hitSvas an accident, and then, of course, the sense of inse­curity vanished.

From the redoubts one> can see per­fectly plainly the red fez of the Turkish soldiers as they stand in the trenches. They wander about the fields quite at ease, and ohen gather in crowds to watch the Russians when an officer passes or when some great gun is put in place. If there was anything like sharp-fchooting this freedpm of: action would be impos­sible. As it is, they seem to do about as they like in the face of their enemy. Russian batteries keep at work, almost without intermission; the shells go plump into the yellow sides of the Turk­ish redoubts, one after another, and that is all. When the great herds of beef cattle are driven out upon the hillsides to ^raze thei-ejeomes a volley of shrapnel from the Russian batteries, which iriakes a stir among the flock, and they are hur­ried away behind some ridge, where they feed in security, .The. prisoners are all well supplied with good hard tack and appear Well fed enough, so it r the opin­ion of the majority of the Russian offi­cers that it is useless think of starving out the army of Osman Pasha before another njonth at least. There is some expectation that he will make a break through the lines, but in whatever di­rection he goes it is always sure disaster to him,.'and when this army is used up the end of the campaign will be near at hand. • " Within the last fortnight nearly .ten

thousand prisoners have beeri taken, and a more motley setof human beings never was collected together. Negroes from Nubia, the blackest of the Dlack; fine •types, of -Arabs and. Egyptians; blonde Bohemians and Poles, ana several Eng­lishmen, and then all the riff-raff of xuricey in Europe, among them sorne of the most fiendish faces that ever were seen. They, were fresh: from: their muti latiop . of, iRus^ian dead and wounded when I sayr them first, and although the story of their participation in the barbari-ties was Well known to the .guards; the mild Muscovite treated the captives with a kind consideration that, under the cir­cumstances; 1 was painful , to see, The escprt was a. very small .ope,! but was quite effective, because the Turks, well fed, warmly clothed and with plenty of money' to buy little luxuries outside the regular rations, were having a sort of pic-nic all the time. . ; ,

: A Ghinese.Tlunksgiring Dinner. At 36-Mott street Chinamen gathered

in the dining-room before the usual dinner hour, because the dullness of busi­ness at"the Cigar-stands and in the laundries caused' many of them to Suspend" operations. There were seven small oblong tables, without cloths, ar­ranged about the room. By . the side of jea^p. china plate were a pair of ^hop-sticks^ a spoon, and a minute china cup arid'kaucer. T#i$ ''ifpo6h8'l^e'''al(N> of china ware, pictured like' the plates and cups. TJho bowl Of each spoon was drawn »out at one'side into a handle three inches, lopg.. ,Beside, one of the windows some dried ducks were suspend­ed by their necks. They had beeri opened on the "breast, and 'flattened with a "btOad Weight, so that the plucked wings and Jpaitof the legs Were pressed into the fiesh of the; back., They had been dried,.qp the foqf,. and preserved with­out salt,, iP ihu]Be dish in the middle of eacn",t(l,i)le was a &ew which had been i&adi of onfe of these dried ducks, eut up into' small pi^es. Hie guests helped themselves to ttie stew with a china .ladle. Then, tfyey picked out the pieces of duck with their chop sticks, arid sipped.the liquid part from their china spoons. A large dish of rice, which had beeri boiled with 80 little Water that the kekfoeb had Swelled almost to dryness when they were taken.fnun.the kettle, was placed, hesida the, ^teyr. [Die third p^oniy.ptjier was composCd of broad scallOped red leaves, Served as a kind of greens. These leaves are dried in China and imported. There was no sugar or milk on the tables. The tea, wnich was made by pouring hot water

over the dried leaves, was drank from the little cups. When a visitor to the dining-room asked how potatoes were dressed, the carterer laughed in scorn, and said; "No havum potate." The room was filled with Chinese patrons. The odor of burning opium issued from several rooms ^ the building, but was not perceptible in the dining room. The little box of white sand bristling with half-burned Joss sticks had been placed an the floor under the side table. The walls were adorned with cheap Ameri­can prints, and several Chinese pictures filled with symbolic mountains, treesand men.—New York Sun.

THE DEAD HAND.

>4fc

It Beckons the Discoverer to UieCrav* of tbe Murdered Victim.

A strange story comes from Vincen-nes, where for six months the history of a dastardly murder has been slowly but steadily revealing itself through the operation of law, assisted by tne still more powerfulhand of fate itself. Some time during the latter portion of last May a barter named Barleau, or Bar-lieu, who came there from Cheviot, county, Ohio, and was employed in , the Union depot barber shop, disappeared suddenly. At the time of his disappear­ance he was known to have had about $700 on his person, besides a fine watch and other trinkets of value. A strict search was instituted, and on the 23d of June his clothes were found, or at least a portion of them, in the vault of a sink. The discovery was made during the heat of the agitation caused by the Tailroad strike, and on this ac­count did not create such a sensation as it would have done under ordinary cir­cumstances. It whetted'the determina­tion of his friends, however, who set to work in earnest, and on the 26th of June they made an important discovery. Henry Burner, a carpenter employed also in the Union depot, was discovered wearing some articles of clothing which had belonged to the murdered man, and for the possession of which he could give no satisfactory explanation. He was ar­rested and carried before Judge Heiden-ricb, but there was no proof of his com­plicity in tbe murder, and it was appar­ent that he must be acquitted.

Barleau's friends, however, determined upon holding this clue, and hanging on the hope that something must turn up which would throw further light upon the damnable mystery, pressed~the pros­ecution to further effort, and on the £9th of June, Burner was sent to jail in de­fault of bond on the charge of larceny, based on his possession of the clothes. He has been in jail ever since awaiting trial, and is there at present.

Yesterday morning a great sensation was created in Yincennes by the dis­covery of the body of the murdered man. It seems he had a favorite dog, which siace his disappearance has been nanging round the Union Depot. About three weeks ago he was observed to go very often to a clump of trees on a common or field about a quarter of a mile from the depot, aleng the line of the Ohio and Mississippi railroad. He would disap­pear in that direction and be gone for an hQur or more, and then come walking back slowly to the depot. This was re­peated almost every day, and yesterday morning a gentleman observed him witn curiosity. He saw the doe go and scratch under one of the trees in the clump.

The gentleman, desirous of unraveling the mystery, followed him, but on ap­proaching the spot, the dog singularly enough became enraged and showed fight. The gentleman, not to be driven away by such an exhibition, armed him­self with some stones, and soon made the [dog retreat. He then proceeded to the place and to his norror and surprise, saw a dead man's hand protruding from the earth and sticking up with open fingers. He examined the place and found that the dog had scratched much of the earth away from the body, which was buried only a few inches from sight. It was about 7 o'clock in the morning, but the discov­erer of the horrible mystery soon pro­cured assistance and the body was taken up.

It was much decomposed, but was readily identified as the body of the un­fortunate barber, E. A. Barleau.

This opens the terrible story afresh, and may lead to the truth of this mys­terious death.—Evantville Journal.

. The Asa and the Angel; From Harper's Magazine.

B., when years enough had passed to make him the father of a good sized family, received a visit from Dr. , a specially congenial member of the old seminary class. Neither his own olive

Elants, nor the rather early gray hairs of is visitor, seemed to have touched the

spirit of former days, and like regular old boys, as they were, the two could pot wait for toilets to be completed the next morning, but began an old time run of jests and nonsense through the bolted door that separated them. This went on successfully, until at last it struck B.'s youngest, peacefully waiting his turn in its cradle, as a mvsterious and disorderly proceeding, and he began to signify his disapproval by an outcry that no par­ental effort could subdue.

" What's the matter with that baby?" called Dr. —— at last, his patience un­der the interruption beginning to give way.

"Oh, I don't know," drawled B.; "I suppose, like Paul, he hears a voice but sees no man. No—probably more like Balaam."

"Ah," retorted Dr. , " he sees the ass, but does not see the angel."

The laughter inside that room left the baby free to * come in on any key it pleased for some indefinite t.im» follow rug] , f - • ,

How it Feels to be Shot. - ; _ Capt. Henry Romeyn, of the Fifth in-fantry, is now in Detroit recovering from wounds which he received in the last battle with Joseph's warriers. He tells the story thus: "You see, I had been stiuck five times. One tell shattered my field-glass; another raised a disagree­able lump on my left shoulder, and the others only damaged mv clothing. I ought to say that vefy early in the fight my horse was killed, and when I saw Gen. Miles riding close up, apparently unconscious that he was getting into a hot corner, I warned him to keep away. I had been lying comparatively hidden in the long grass. I stood up to take an observation, when more rapid than a flash soine warrior singled ine out arid let drive.' I felt as if a red-hot iron bar bad been thrust through me. I stood rooted in my tracks for a moment, gasp­ed, and felt the air coming in at my back. The next moment my mouth fill-®d with blood, and then I knew that I bad been shot in the lung. I walked about seventy-five yards and then fell."

THE Germans are using cork as a as a stuffing for bed-coverlets, instead of dc&n. And sow ' whoa- the. Teutonic husband reels into bed after returning from a lodge-meeting, and his wife aits up on her elbow ana snuffs the balmy night air suspiciously, the old gentle­man merely puts his head into the pillow and remarks: " Dem champagneconr cofferlets vas shmell awfool shtronir to­nights, ain'd it?" p i - i » A " :

WIT AND HUMOR. m . ."!? fit j j "Lira is made up ov su

shadow—about five shaddos to one sun-shine, , ' i . / t i tonLI -

IF your landlady's daughter is pretty," you may say, "Please pass me that, noney. • •

KENTUCKY i* great. It has a cow that eats chickens, a mule that'lay twwiat-and hatches them in a mart's heif. * • '•

A MONTREAL minister is' lectitfng on * " An Hour with Burns." It must warming entertainment. u

WiDEpantsaire on thetapifeagahu^»* Ex. " Tapis," we presume is French for legs.'-*;'

A HAND in th« bird is worth two in ' the bush, especially, if it happens to be a -briar-bush.—iVeti York Weeklu. n

SOME time ago the pewspaper corre-' sondents left the seaside, since then the sea-serpent has not shown his hfead.>-~! Derrick. '

THE Richmond Enquirer printed " an*'' article on the " Good Time a-ComTri£;,lM

and the next day suspended pubKeatien* Could that have been the good time re«~. ferred to! 1» e v? ./oc

" YES, my child, your French teacher, is right in saying that 'stove' is of the masculine gender. You know: it i» * he-ter." " Well, yes, mother, but it if* shee-tiron."—Graphic. • * . «

TBE time of year is approaching wfipoL the wife borrows, begs or steals $50 antl upwards from the frugal husband, tof invests seventy-five cents of that sum iff a Ohristmas gift for her deafhiibby.;

A KENTUCKY matron named Nickeii has just presented her husband with thfl'^ twenty-first pledge of her Affection," it is thougBt the neighborhood ought ton be well supplied with small change, .

A BURGEON at Williamsburg, New*« York, says he would like to getlield somebody who has beeri cut in two by a « buzz saw. He wants to see if the edges are frayed or clean cut. ,.

"SILENCE in the court!" thundered' a Kentucky judge, the other mornibg. ' " Half a dozen men have been convictedj already without the court's havingfbeen able to hear a word of the testimony."

PHOTOGKAPHER—Now, sir, if you'JL# look a. little less as > though yoty |ad a bill to meet, a little more as though you had been left a legacy, you'll get apio$ ture.

NEW YOKK lawyers have cqpie down a little more in the matter of fees, and -are willing to leave' a'client-a pair of boots to walk home in—if they are old. ones. " , \f

AN old shoe was found in the East Haven river, recently which ^contained about 500 little oysters, beiilg completely covered with the bivalves.—iVeu> Register.

DUKING the uproar following the ap-

Searance of Darwin, clad in his scarlet octor's gown, at Cambridge University0

recently, a stuffed monkey,waa, lowered from the gallery, bearing the legend: "The missing link." '' '*'••• -TI

"Well, may I hope, then, dedr, that at some-future time I may have the happi­ness of making' you my wife?" " Yes, I hope so, I am sure," she replied, "for If am getting tired of suing fellows for4

breach of promise," • t

WOMAN consumes .thirty-six buttons on her single pair of kid gloves; whereas man buttons his suspenders with a; singre nail. And yet folks will ask, ''Button, button—who's got the buttonP'—lPcr^ cester Press. ;. «-

IT is said that the age of superstition'^ . passed, but there are yet a grtat manjf* women who-wouldn't have a dress cut on Friday for the world. What the. dear creatures most hanker after is a Wed-d i n ' s - d a y d r e s s . r ? : ' l ,

THE judge of a county court in New, England declared a few days ago that, there is more perjury; committed ip his court by women—ten tipies over—than by men, and added: " They don'tisfeert to care what they swear."

SAW a sign in a barber's window the' other day, " Boots Blacked Inside."® Couldn't for the life of us think why-' anybody wants the inside of his boota-blacked. Should think it would rain a fellow's stockings. < -

TOLER, afterward Lord Chief Justi&' Norbury, was asiced to contribute a sHil-ling toward the expense of burying apoor London attorney who had died. a shilling to bury an attorney!" he ex­claimed; "here "is a guinea; go, and bury-twenty-one of them. , , "

A PROMINENT limh of' the law, wio travels on the'Carondclet str^et carss enj" tered a car the other day, put his hand into his pocket, took out a piece of chok­ing tobacco, and depositing it in tone box, deliberately put a nickel in nis mouth;—New Orleans Picayune.

" SPEAKING of riddles, said a landlady of a Cincinnati boarding-house the other day,", can you tell ihf difference between a beefstake ana s shingle?" "No." "Then I. will pron you a shingle hereafter pverytpornin^ for breakfast instead of beefsteak. Jones has moved. ^ .

AN Indian was hanged at. . last Friday. An<J we are convinced tn»t the Indian can never be civilized. didn't look with profound contempt®? the persons who were present, a^d ne didn t insinuate that he wai the happien person and the only saint in the crowa. —Rochester Democrat. ,

A NEW bracelet has a tiny mu concealed in the clasp. This will asairt vain yourig ladies in "putting on «» The Worcester Press says the beauty,01 suck a trinket is that a fellow have it pretty close to his ear in orae to hear it. But who wantS a box on tne ear? j: -p. :'! >!/ 1' f--r.)TAVy

AN old man named Johnson, with hi8

head whitened by the frosts rf eighty* six winters, " went over the mil to tn poor-house " the other day in Bow»o county, Kansas, and died after bewg there two dayB. A.sad fate, indeed,#^ one so old, and especially for one w was found to hkve $900 iri his pocket;

Two Irishmen, on a, certain bc?*?W occupied the same room. In the ing one Of them inquired Of the otnwi

thunder?" ies; 11 toumuc.iw „ • hiven and earth would, come togetn^ - v j " Why the deuce, ttfeb/didn t ye f I me, for ye know I can't slape jwheq thunders?" ft . ftjt

Oft a railway line, recently, arPfjTr ger "stopped ;the' oonductor, " Why does not the train run fas " It goes fast enough tosuiti^.^Jj . . ... . don't like therate_of; . walk," was the rejoinder, back in replied, the passenger, ^ his seat, "but my friends woman -JI for me until the train conies in, . don't want to bo waitiinr around tn station two or three hours. < • .

A San FRANCISCO boy, - .̂̂ 1 years old, was observed snaking q . morements with his elbow. asked him what he was doing. u gut

ing my elbow," ^ Pre^°Sow iof, what axe you crooking ye" " 'Cause I wan't to det „a ni«> tfa-gt

strawberry nose.?! Tohnny." won't make a strawberry, "Yes it will, for the cook_ say" WjJ wouldn't have the big noseif he didn't crook hisdbo^ 9^ .

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