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Wifeâ€"~Certainly, my dear. You ought to see the bonnets they are making now- adays at Smith’s. I stepped in to-day and saw a beautiful thing in pink for only $37, and others were of course a good deal more expensive. A $50 gem just took my eye, but I thought I wouldn’t get one that cost as much as that before I saw you. Of course I can talk about something besides dresses, you dear old hubby. â€"When a man affirms that " there‘s lots of money in leather,” don’t dispute with himâ€"purses are made of leather. Irate Husbandâ€"O dear, can't you talk about nonlethilggbesides (greases? Among the Pilgrim Fathers who came to Salem, Mass, in the second cargo brought by the Mayflower, in 1629, was Thomas Beard, “ The Shoemaker.” Boston was not settled, or known even as St. Botolph's Town. Beard brought a letter to Governor Endicott, stating that he was sent by the Massachusetts Bay Company in London, and was to be maintained by them, and commending him to the care and helpful favor o! the Governor. From their knowledge of the few cattle here, and the needs of the people, the company wisely shipped some ” hides ” in the Mayflower’s cargo; these probably being tanned sides of leather. The little colony of Naumkeag gave a warm welcome to their new fellow- oitizen, and his address and credentials moved them to present him wity fifty acres of land. After this pleasant event he seems to have lived so peacefully that he had no further history ; but he is the first one of whom our records tell as being an Ameri- can shoemaker. That boy will do to depend on ; I hold that this is true. From lads in love with their mothers Our bravest heroes grew. Earth‘s grandest hearts havo been loving hearts Since time and earth began ; And the boy who kisses his mother Is every inch 9. 1mm. He went up the pathway singing : I saw the woman's eyes Grow bright with s. wordless welcome, A: sunshine warms the skies. “ Back again, sweet-heart mother,” He cried, and bent to kiss The loving face that was npliltcd For what some mothers miss. I thought my spirit and my heart were tamed To dendness ; dead the pangs that agonize, The old grief spxiugs to choke meâ€"I am ashamed Before that little ghost with anger eyes, 0, turn away, 1017 her not see, not know I How should she bear it, how should under- stand ‘1 O, hasten down the stairway, hasten and go, And leave her dreaming in the silent; land. In through the porch and up the silent stair ; Little is changed, I know so well the waysâ€" Here, the dead came to meet me ; it was there The dream was dreamed in unforgetten days‘ But who is this who hurries on before, A flitting shade the brooding shades among ? She turnedâ€"I saw her lece~0, God i it wore The face I used to wear when I was young] “ There is no diamond in the mine, nor pearl beneath the wave, There is no fretted coronet that soothes a princely grave, There is no fate nor empire in the wide infinity, 05.11 stand in grace and virtue with the gift you had from me.” deep ?" " I thank you for the word," 5110 said ; your game are fair of form, But when did jewels bind the depths, or splen- dorslstill the storm ? 8110 Could Talk About Something Else. “ Will yog surrenfier now,"h0 said, " the ancient He pressed mruby on her lips, whose burning blood shone through ; Twin sapphires bound above her eyes, to match their fiery blue ; And, where her hair was parted back. an opal gem he setâ€" Type of ~her changing countenance, where all dehghta were met. ‘ fudge you keep Untirpg angd unuttered, like murder in the See how strangely things befall ! Anotherâ€"not thinking of Fame at allâ€" Who was on his way to the breadfruit tree. To provide for a. wife and children three‘ Went straightaway into the Temple of Fame, And innocent] asked its name! They unaware him. With a. quizzical face. He rerparlggd, “ It's a most uncomfortable place i" ' Then on he wont to tho breadfruit tree, And home to his wife and children throe‘ Good gracious me!" cried Smith and Jones. “ Good gracious me I” cried Brown : “ A London leper in our midst! For God's sake, hunt him down 1 Our Prince, whom no one would deceive, declares this leper stands In that. great mart whence comes our meat. That meat goes through his hands I" In pnhig London salesmen met. ; the retail dealer cne , " Ofind this leper butcher outâ€"search, search on every side I The hue and cry rang clear and shrill from east, went, south and north, And every day the London press in leading type held forth. The awful rumor ran the round, like wildfire fast it spread ; Men gazed upon their steaks and chops in doubt, dismay and dread. With fear meg eyed the tender joint ; the thought per ups it might Have come from where the leper worked de- stroyed their appetite. The ran the man to earth at last, and found- ,_tha.nk_th_e £94293â€" Then died the sudden pzmic down, the nine days waxed and waned. And with them ceased the sudden fame “ our The first one soon broke down, of course ; He saved his saddle, but lost his horse ! The second met the regular feteâ€" Dnllied too long, and was just too late The third, I grieve and regroa to say, Did not get thereâ€"for he lost his way. He thought so much of his regular trot, To look at siguboards be quite forgot. The moral 'Pâ€"Well, if you can’t find it, Write it outâ€"for Islmu't mind it I E6 0515' firéndedi odds and ends outside the mar- ket gates ; The lepgr's hands were never laid on Dives‘ A 1 men . He only touched the common stuff that Lazarus must eat. only leper " gained; Society was satisfied, as soon as it felt sure The only meat the leper touched was eaten the poor. same. The first rode forth at a rattling pace, Like a. jockey who wins an excitlng race. The second set outwith caution, slow, That, when need was. he might faster go. The third rode steadily. quietly on, At a quick jog-trot he could reckon upon. And which do you think the winner be ; The bare, the tortoiseâ€"or number three 1’ Three riders set out for the Temple of Fame, Each booted and spurred and equipped the The Boy in Love With His Mother. I onder of all wimmin air ike Lizzie is when we go out To theatres an’ concerts where Is things the papers talk about Do other wimmin fret nn' stew N ow Lizzie knows that gran‘mn's them To see that everything is right, Yet Lizzie thinks that gmn’ma‘s cure Ain’t good enufl‘ f'r baby, quite; Yet what am I to answer when She kind uv fidgets at my side, An' asks me every now and then : “ I wonder if the baby cried ‘2" Yea, wimmin folks is all alikeâ€" By Lizzie you kin jedge the rest ; There never wuz a little tyke But that his mother loved him best, And nex‘ to bein’ what I beâ€" Tbe husband uv my gentle brideâ€" I’d wisht l wuz that croodlin’ wee, With Lizzie wonderiu' of I cried. Seems like 8110 seen two little eyes A-pinin‘ {’1' their mother's smileâ€" Seems like she been] the pleadin’ cries UV one she thinks uv all the while ; An‘ so she‘s sorry that she come. An’ though she allus tries to hide The truth. she'd rather stay to hum Than wonder of the baby cried. Like they wuz bein’ crucified-â€" Frettiu' a show or concert through, With wonderin' at the baby cried ‘? The First American Shoemaker. The Temple of Fame. The London Leper. The Old House. Bay-gains. Lizzie. â€"Julia Ward Howe. â€"By George R.Sims. â€"â€"0hicago Newa. Only for a moment the train stopped at the station, and than it moved swiftly on, leaving Maude standing upon the platform with her mother and John, while Max resumed his seat, and, pulling his but over his eyes, never spoke again until New York was reached. A week later and a. ship or ” God bless you, Maude, torrall you were to Grace. When I can I will write to yog. _ qud-bye. Few where -the words spoken between them during the journey, and those mostly of the dead woman lying under the snow at Mt. Auburn; but when Merrivnle was reached Max took the girl‘s hands in his own and pressed them hard as: he called her a. second time by her name. “ I shall go home to mother,” Maude replied, and that afternoon she took the train for Merrivale, accompanied by Max, who was going on to New York, and thence to keep his appointment in London. “ What will you do now? Go back to your teaching?” she asked, after the funeral was over. “ She did it at Grace’s request, and to please me,” Max said; and that silenced the lady, who was afraid of her brother, and a little afraid of Msude, who did not seem quite the girl she had last seen in Merrivale. Grace was dead. and Maude made her ready for the coffin. her tears falling like rain upon the ehrivelled feet and on the waxen hands which she folded over the pulselese bosom, placing in them the flowers ner mistress had loved best in life. She was to be buried in Mt. Auburn, and Maude went with the remains to Boston, as Grace had requested her to do, caring nothing because Mrs. Marshall-More hinted broadly at the impropriety of the act, wondering how she could have done it. Here her voice grew indistinct. end for a. few moments she seemed to be sleeping ; then suddenly opening her eyes wide, she exclaimed, as an expression of joy broke over her face: “It is hereâ€"4km glory which shineth as the noonday. In another moment I shall be walking the golden streets. Good-bye, Max; goodâ€"bye.’: “ Here ! ” and Maude knelt, sobbing, by the dying woman, who went on: “ She has been everything to me, Max, and I love her next to you. God bless you both 1 And if, in the heaven 1 am going to, I can watch over you, I will do it, and be often, often with you, when you think I am far away. Who was it said that? I read it long ago. But things are going from me, and Heaven is very near, and the Saviour is with naeâ€"closer, nearer than you are, Max; and the other world is just in sight, where I soon shall be, free from pain. with my poor, crippled feet all strong and well, like Maude’s. Dear Maude I tell her how I loved her ; tell her -â€"-â€"-â€" .” Max‘s only answer was the hot tears he dropped upon her face as she went on: “ You will not forget me; that I know; but sometimeâ€"yes sometimeâ€"and when it comes, rememberâ€"I was willing. I told Maude 50. Where is she 7” “ I think it has grown cold and dark, for I can't see you," she said, groping for his hand, which she held tightly between her own as she went on: “ I have been dreaming, Maxâ€"such a pleasant dream. for I was young againâ€"young as Maude, and wore my bridal dress, just as I did that day when you said I was so pretty. Do you remember it ‘I That was years ago â€"oh I so manyâ€"and I am getting old ; we both are growing old. You said so in your letter. But Maude is young, and in my dream she wore the bridal dress at thelast, and I saw my own grave, with you beside it and Maude, and both so sorry because I was dead. But it is better so, and I am glad to die and be at rest. If I could be what I once was. oh 1 how I should cling to life ! For I love you so much 1 Oh, Max, do you know, can you guess how I have loved you all these years, and what it has oust me to give you up? ” He stayed by her all that night and the day following. in order to give Maude the rest she needed. but when the second night came they kept the watch together, he on one side of the bed, and she upon the other, with their eyes fixed upon the white, pinched face where the shadow of death was settling. For several hours Grace slept quietly. Then, just as the gray-daylight was beginning to Show itself in the corners of the room she awoke and asked, “ Where is Max ? " “ Here, darling I ” was his response, as heubvenfi. 9V9).- yer. and kissed heg\pnllid_lip_s. ” Do you think a hundred trips to Europe would keep him from you if he knew you wanted him? “ Maude asked, and Grace replied: “ Perhaps not. I don’t know. I only wish he were belie.” This was the last of February, and after that Grace failed so fast that with the hope that it might reach him before he sailed, Maude wrote to Max, telling him to come at once, if he would see Grace before she died. She knew about how long it would take the letter to reach him and how long for him to come, allowing for no delays, and on the morning of the first day she could by any chance expect him she sent the carriage to the Canandaigua station, and then all through the hours of the long, dreary day she sat by Grace’s bedside, watching with a sinking heart the pallor on her lips and brow and the look she could not mistake deepening 9n her_face. “ Co‘ine," Maud said to Max, who follow- ed her to the 3in room, Where she left him alone with Grace. “ Yes, he is hero. I sent for him and he came," Maude replied, while Grace fell back upon her pillow, whispering faintly : “ Bring him at once." She had given him her hand and he was holding it fast as she led him into the hall. She did not ask him when or where he received her letter. She only helped him off with his coat, and made him sit dowu by the fire while she told how rapidly Grace had failed and how little hope there was that she would recover. She baa left Grace asleep when she went to meet Max, but on ra-entering her room found her awake and learning on her elbow in the attitude of intense listgning. What if 5H8 shovuld die before ha gets here, or what if he should not come at all ‘1 ” she thought 3}! the 119qu Want by. _ “ Thank God I ” she cried as she went out to meet him, bursting into tears as she said to him, “ I am so glad, and so will Miss Raynor be. She does not know that I Wrote you. I didn’t tell her for fear you wouldn‘t come. Heuhadvbeen very sorry that he could not keep his promise at Christmas, and tried to find a few days in which to visit the Cedars between the close of the suit and his departure for England. But he could not, and his passage was taken and his luggage on the ship, which was to sail early in the morning, when aboutGo’olock in the evening Maude’e letter was brought to him, changing his plane at once. Grace was dyingâ€"-the woman he had loved so longI and although thousands of dollars depended upon his keeping his appointment in London, he must lose it all, and go to her. Sending for his luggage, and writing a few letters of explanation, the next morning found him on his way to the Cedars, which he reached on the day when Maude expected him. She was more afraid of the latter, and when she saw the carriage coming up the avenue she strained her eyes through the blinding snow to see it he were in it. When he came before, he had stood up and waved his hat to them, but there was no token now to tell if he were there, and she waited breathlesst until the carriage stopped before the side entrance, knowing then for sure that he bud come." “ You will help her if anything can. I am going to prepare he: now,” she said. nn_d_. goiquut, she left hiq thefe aloyg. “ Oh, Maude," she said, “ Ems it a dream, or did I hear Max speaking to you in the hall 7 Tell me, is be here ? ” FIDELITY AND LOVE. That very afternoon she had received the first check from her publisher, and been delighted with the amount, so much 7‘ Mr. Gordofi in town! ‘1 supposed he was in Europe 1 ” she exclaimed, feeling herself grow hot and cold and faint as she thought of Max Gordon being so near to her. ' Max was up early the next morning, wondering how soon it would be proper for him to call upon Maude. He had no thought that she would come to him, and was some. what surprised when just after breakfast her card was brought by Mrs. Martin, who said ehe was in the parlor. Maude had heard of his arrival from Mr. Martin) {who had stopped at the cottage the previous night on his way to the village. “And is the house more honored now than went she was simple Maude Graham? ” Max asked; and the old lady repliedo ‘-‘ To be sure it is. Any house can have a. baby born in it, but not every one an authoress 3 ” and with that elm hustled off to see aboat supper for her guegst. “And to think,” she said, u that she was born here in this very house 1 It seems so qqeeg.”_ " But where will you stay ? Both houees are closedâ€"only the one at Spring Farm has in it an old coupleâ€"Mr. and Mrs. Martinâ€"who look after it in the winter,” she said, and Max replied, “ I will stay fit Spring Farm with the Martins. I went to see the place.” And the next day found him there, occupying the room which, by a. little skilful questioning of Mrs. Martin, he learned had been Mauae’a when her father owned the farm. Miss Graham was home, she said, and at once launched out into praises of the young nu‘t‘hpre‘as .of yy]1_or_n_Me_rrivaI_e_waa s_o proqd. It was the 2nd of April, and a lovely morning. with skies as blue and air as soft and warm as in the later days of May. And Spring Farm, for the season, was looking its loveliest, for Mrs. Marshall- More had lavished fabulous sums of money upon it, until she had very nearly transform- ed it into {what she meant it should be, an English Park. She knew that Maude had once expressed her intentign to buy it back some day, but this she was sure shecould never do, and if she could, Max would never Sell it, and if he would she would never let him. So, with all these nevers to reassure her, she went on you: after year improving and beautifying the plane until it was worth far more than when it came into her hands, and she was contemplating still greater improvements during the com- ing summer when Ma: suddenly walked in upon her, and announced iris intention of going to Merrivale the next day. With Max to will was to do, and among the list of passengers who sailed from Liverpool, March 20th, 18~â€"â€", was the name of Maxwell Gordon, Boston, Mass. “ And I will go." he said. “ Five years of penance have stoned for five minutes of forgetfulness, and Grace would bid me go, if she could, for she foresaw what would be, and told me she was willing.” And the next steamer which sailed from New York for Europe carried with it Maude’s book directed to Max Gordon, who read it at one sitting in a sunny nook of the Colossem, where he spent a great part of his time. Grace was in it, and he was in it, too, he was sure, and, reading between the lines what a stranger could not read, he felt when he had finished it that in the passionate love of the heroine for the here he heard Maude calling to him to come back to the happiness there was still for him. “ Grace trusted me, and I was false to her and will punish myself for it, even if by that means I lose all that makes life desire- able," he thought; and so he stayed on and on, year after year, knowing always just where Maude was and what she was doing, for Archie kept him informed. Occasionally he wrote to her himselfâ€" pleasant, chatty letters, which had in them a greal deal of Graceâ€"his lost darling, he called herâ€"and a little of the places he was visiting. Occasionally, too, Maude wrote to him, her letters full of Grace, with a little of her life in Merrivale, for she was with her mother now, and had been since Miss Raynor’s death. A codicil to Grace's will, bequeathing her a few thousand dollars, made it unnecessary for her to earn her own livelihood. Indeed, she might have bought Spring Farm, it she had liked; but this she would not do. The money given for that must be earned by herself, paid by the book she was writing, and which, after it was finished and published, and after a few savage criticisms by some dyspeptic critics, who saw no good in it, began to be read, then to be talked about, then to sellwuntil finally it became the rage and was found in every bookstore and railway car and on almost every parlor table in New England, while the young authoress was spoken of “ as a star which at one flight had soared to the zenith of literary fame,” and this from the very pens which had at first denounced “ Sunny Bank,” as a milk-andâ€"watery effort, not worth the paper on which it was written. All Mrs. Marshall-More's guests at Spring Farm read it, and Mrs. Marshall- More and Archie read it, too, and both went down to congratulate the author upon her success, the latter saying to her, as he beat his boot with his cane, and looked admiringly at her through the glasses he now wore, “ I say, Maude, your prophecy came true. You told me you’d write a book which everyone would read, and which would make mother proud to say she knew you, and, by Jove, you have done it. You ought to hear her talk to some Boston , people about Miss Graham, the anthoress. you (1 suppose you’d been her dearest friend. I wonder what Uncle Max will say. I told you you would make him your hero, and you have. I recognized him at once; but the heroine is more like Grace than you. I am \going to send it to him,” the Cunard line was plowing the ocean to the eastward, and Max Gordon was among the passengers, silent and abstracted, with a bitter sense of loneliness and pain in his heart as he thought of the living and the dead he was leaving behindâ€"Grace, who was to have been his bride, dead in all her sweetness and beauty, and Maude, who was nothing to him but a delicious memory, alive in all her freshness and youthful bloom. He could hardly tell of which he thought the more, Grace or Maude. Both seemed ever present with him, and it was many a day before he could rid himself of the fancy that two faces were close against his own, one cold and dead, as he had seen it last, with the snowy hair about the brow and a smile of perfect peace upon the lips love to himâ€"the other glowing with life and which had never said aught but words of girlish beauty, as it had looked at him in the gathering darkness when he stood upon the car step and waved it his good-bye. CHAPTER X. AT LAST. Five years had passed since Grace was laid in her grave in Mt. Auburn, and Max was still abroad, leading that kind of Be- hemian life which many Americans lead in Europe, when there is nothing to call them home. And to himself Max often said there was nothing to call him home, but as often as he said it a throb of pain belied his words, for he knew that across the sea was a face and voice he was longing to hear and and see again, a face which now visited him in his dreams quite as often as that of his dead love, and which he always saw as it had looked at him that summer afternoon in the log house among the Richland hills, with the sunlight falling upon the rings of hair and lending a warmer tint to the glow- ing cheeks. Delicious as was the memory of that afternoon, it had been the means of keeping Max abroad during all these years, for, in the morbid state of mind into which he had fallen after Grace‘s death he felt he must do penance for having allowed him- self for a moment to forget her who had believed in him so fully. HE mAcus, fickle appetite, failure of eye- sight, tube gasps in urine, frequent desire to urinate, especially at night, cramps in calf of legs, gradual loss of flesh an; dropsical swellingâ€"any one or more of the above dis: orders are symptoms of advanced kidney disease or Bright's Disease, and Warner's Eafe Cure should be freely used according to directions. Dr. Wm. E. Thompson, of .the city of New york, says : “ More adults are carried off in this country by chronic kidney disease than by any other one malady except consumption.” The late Dr. Di‘o Le’wis says, over his own signature, in speaking of Warner’s Safe Cure : “ It I found myself the victim of a serious kidney ‘trouble‘, I should use your preparation.”_ And here We shall leave her, happy in her old home and in her husband’s love, which is more to her than all the world beside. Whether she will ever write another book we do not know. Probably she will, for where the brain seeds have taken root it is hard to dislodge them, and Maude oftens hears around her the voices of new ideal friends, to whom she may sometime be compelled to give shape and name, as she did to the friends of her childhood. It was a lovely July day, when Max and Maude returned from their bridal journey and took possession of the old home at Spring'Fnrm, where Mrs. Graham met them with a. very difierent expression upon her face from what it were when we first saw her there years ago. The place was hers again, to enjoy as long as she lived ; an}; if it had been beautiful when she left it, she {ound it far more so now, for Mrs. Marshall-More’s improvements, for which Max‘s money i’iad'psid, were mostly in good taste, and never had the grounds looked better then when Max and Maude drove into them on this July after- noon. Although e. little past their prime there were roses everywhere, and the gmssy walks, which Mts‘.’ Marshall- More hue substituted in place of grayel, where freshly cut, and smooth and soft as velvet, while the old-fashioned. flowers Maude loved so well were filling the air with their perfume and the birds in the maple tree seemed enrolling a. welcome to the bride, so full were they of_ song. There was a short trip to the west, and a flying visit to Richland and the Cedars. so fraught with memories of the past and of Grace, whose grave on the wedding-day had been one mass of flowers which Max had ordered put there. ” Her wedding-garment,” he said to Maude, to whom he told what he had done. “ She seems very near to me now, and I am sure she is glad.” “ But I did not know him then; did I, Manx ‘I " Maude said ; and the bright face lifted to her husband told that she was far from hating him how. Aunt Maude.Arehie called her,aa he kissed her two or three times and asked if she remembered the time she cried on the neck of the brown ox, and declared her hatred of Max and all relations. It was very bad taste in Max to select the 20th of June for his weddingrday, and she should suppose he would remember 20 years ago when Grace Raynor was to have been his bride, Mrs. Marshall-More said to Archie, when commenting upon her brother’s approaching marriage, which did not altogether please her. She would far rather that he should remain single, for Archie's sake and her own. And still it was some comfort that she was to have for her sister one so famous as Maude was getting to be. So she went up to Merrivale early in June and opened her own house, and patronized Maude and Mrs. Graham, and made many suggestions with regard to the wedding, which she would have had very fine and elaborate had they allowed it. But Maude’s perference was for a quiet affair with only a few of her more intimate friends present. And she had her way. Archie was there, of course, and made him- self master of ceremonies. He had received the news of Maude’s engagement with a keener pang of regret than he had thought it possible for him to feel, and suddenly woke up to a consciousness that he had always had a greater liking for Maude than he supposed. But it was too late now, and casting his regrets to the winds he made the best of it, and was apparently the gayest of all the guests who, on the morn- ing of the 20th of June assembled in Mrs. Graham’s parlor, Where Max and Maude were made one. more than she had expected. There was enough to buy Spring Farm, if Max did not ask too much, end she resolved to write to him at once and ask his price. But that was not necessary now, for he was here and she ehould see him face i0 face, and the next morning she started for Spring Farm immediately after their breakfast, which was never served very early. What else he said, or what she said, it is unnecessary for the reader to know ; only this, that when the two walked back to the cottage, Maude said to her mother, “ I am to marry Mr. Gordon in June, and you will spend the summer in our old home, and John will go to college in the fall." " Will he find me greatly changed, I wonder,” she thought, as she sat waiting for him, her heart beating so rapidly that she could scarcely speak when at last he came and stood before her, the same man she had parted from five years before save that he seemed a little older, with a. look of weariness in his eyes. " Five years is a long time to wait for one we love, and I have waited that length of time, with thoughts of you in my heart, almost as much as thoughts of Grace, whom I loved dearly while she lived. But she is dead, and could she speak she would bid you grant me the happiness I have been denied so many years. I think she knew it would come some day. I am sure she did, and she told me she was willing. I did not mean to ask you quite so soon, but the Eight of you, so beautiful and sweet, and the belief that you care for me as I care for you, has made me forget all the proprieties, and I cannot recall my words, so I ask you again to be my wife, to give yourself as the price of Spring Farm, which shall be your home as long as you choose to make it so. Will you Maude '1 I have come thousands gt miles for your answer, which must not e no.” But that lifted' the moment they rested uponApel-L _ -“ Oh, Maude,” was all he could say as he held her hands in his and looked into the face he had seen so often in his dreams, though never as beautiful as it was now. “ Maude,” he began at last, “ I can- not tell you how glad I am to see you again, or how glad I am for your success. I read the book in Rome. Archie sent it to me, and I have come to congratulate yOE.)) “Yes, a great deal more,” and Max seated himself beside her upon the sofa, for she was now sitting down; “ butI think you can arrange it. Don’tlook so sorry. It is you I want, not your money. Will you give me yourself in return for Spring Farm ? ” ’He “had her hands again, but she drew them from him, and, covering her face With_t.hem, begar} to my, while he wenfi 0’11: He was talking so fast and pressing her hands so hard that he almost; took her breath away. But she relenssd herself from him, determining to have the business off her mind as soon as possible, and began abruptly : ” How much mm you give?" Max asked ; and without stopping to consider the strangeness of the question, Maude told him frankly the size of the cheek she had received, and asked it it were enough. “ No, Maude,” Max said, andvover the face looking so anxiously at him there fell a cloud of disappointment as Maude replied, “ Is it much more you ask ‘2 " “ I was surprised to hear of your arrival, and glad, too, as it saves me the trouble of writing you. I can buy Spring Farm now. You know you promised to keep it for me. What is your price ‘1 ” THE END. “ Maria,” said the Chicago husband, “ I bag of you to listen to me.” " No, sir; I am resolved, and you can say nothing to change me. I will have a divorce.” “ But, Maria, one word." “ Well.” “ Even your best friend would tell you that you haven’t a ghost of a show on the stage." Gently Corrected: Miss Chntty Lufite (of Chicago, at the Seaside)*There goes a. crab. What a strange creature it is I Don’t yogi think so, Miss Somerset? Miss Minerva. gomegaet (of Boston)â€"-It is pass- ing strange, yea. Miss Ghatty Lafite’You mean it is passing atrngel'ygmo doubt. That's one on you, Miss Bomarset‘. » Mrs. Dam seyâ€"“ For shame, Willie! You’ve been ghting again. Your clothes are torn and your face is scratched, Dear me. what a trial you are! I wish you were a girlâ€"girl's don‘t; fight.” Willie Dumpsey _“ Yes, ma. but don’t you think it's better to have a. good square fight am} get all the mud out of you, than to carry it around, the way girls do, for montha?”â€"Lawrcnce American. Statistics show that the months in which the fewest suicides occur are October and November, while the greatest number occur in April. May and June. July and Septem- ber also have a goodly share, the latter possessing a peculiar fascination for women. This refutes the old idea that suicides occur more frequently in damp and gloomy weather, for the months just mentioned as being the most prolific are certainly those in which the skies look brightest and the earth is fairest. Another remarkable fact in this connection is that the progressive increase and decrease in the number of suicides coincide with the ‘ lengthening and shortening of the days, and, as M; Guerry has shown, not only the seasons of the year, but the days of the month and the week, and even the hours of the day, exert an influence, the constancy of which cannot be mistaken. As a result of his elaborate resaarch he found that the greatest number of suicides among men occurred during the first ten days of the month, and from Monday to Thursday of the week. This is accounted for by re- membering that the majority of working. men I- receive their wages either on the _1st of the month or the last of the week, and that 4“ pay day ” is often followed by diesipation,-debanchery and remorse. Oet- tingen completed this interesting observa- tion by showing that the larger number of suicides among women take place during the last half of the week, when they are i most apt to feel the etffects of man's prodigality and wrong-doing. In regard to the hours‘of the day, we know, from Brierre I de Boismont’s examination of 3,993 cases of suicide in’ Paris, that the maximum number occurred between 5 am. and noon, and thereafter regularly declined, reaching the minimum at the hour before sunrise.â€" Populqr Scienpe Monthly. In an article under the above heading a writer in the Pall Mall Gazette says he has learned from Dr. Hunter, of South Queens. ferry, that, including five drowning cases, the fatal accidents from all causes in con- nection with the Forth Bridge amount to fifth-three. As regards those killed in the actual construction of the bridge there have been forty-four lives lost, death taking place either at the time of the accident or : soon after. One man trusted himself to , work at a height of 120 feet over the waters of the Firth. simply grasping a rope. His hands got numbed with cold, his grasp relaxed, he fell backwards down and down into the water, and he was fished up alive. In another instance a spanner fell 800 feet, knocked ed a man’s cap and fell on the wooden stage at his feet, and went clean through a four inch plank. In another case somewhat similar, a spanner which fell from a great height actually tore a man’s clothes from his waistcoat to his ankle, and left him uninjured. One of the most thrilling incidents was that in which the “ staging,” or scaffolding on which the men work high up in mid-air, gave way, carrying a number of poor fel- lows in its fall. Two of these men, striking some portion of the work in their descent, were killed before they reached the water ; one or two others who fell clear of the girders were rescued from the Firth little the worse for their fall and immersion. Two others. however, managed as they fell to grasp at one of the struts high up above the water. and there they clung for dear life; to eifect their rescue was itself an undertaking of no slight danger. But efforts were promptly made, and before long the man who happened to be nearest the rescuers was reached. And this brave fellow, hanging there to the ironwork, actually dissuaded the rescuers from delay- l ing to take him off before they saved his companion. “Never mind me,” he said, 5‘ I can hold on a bit longer; go and see to my mate, for he's getting dazed, and he’ll drop." Happily this hero and his mate, too, were saved. England’s Latest Supply Shipâ€"A Quick Fighter and a Fast Sailor. A. new acquisition to England’s navy was launched recently and christened the Vul» can. She is designed as a twin-screw torpedoâ€"boat ship, but is a fast protected cruiser and a formidable fighting craft as well and represents an entirely novel type. The construction of the Vulcan was begun on June 16th, 1888. She is of 6,200 tons displacementâ€"larger, in short, than any of the large Indian troopshipe and three times as large as many a cruiser. She is built of steel, her hull alone welghing 3,170 tone, and her principal measurements are as follows: Length, 350 feet; beam, 68 feet ; mean draught, 22 feet. The vertical keel is of an unusually heavy and substantial character and is 3 feet 6 inches high. The cast-steel U~ shaped sternpost is extra strong, weighing five tons. The vessel is divided into numerous water-tight compartments, and is protected by a continuous steel deck six inches deep in the slope and 2% inches elsewhere. The engines are of the triple expansion type, and will give a collective indicated horse power under forced draught of 12,000. They will drive the ship at a speed of 30 knots (23 miles) and 18 knots (20.7 miles) at sea. There will be storage for 1,000 tons of coal, an amount sufficient for 3,000 miles steaming at 18 knots an hour. She will have a balance rudder that will enable the new war ship to turn a complete circle of not more than 400 yards in diameter in little over three minutes. As a torpedo depot ship she will be admirably adapted for the work. She will be a floating factory, full of forges and workshops for the repair of torpedo boats and torpedoes, submarine mines and all the necessary gear for submarine work onal‘arge scale, and she will also have upon her decks a small flotilla, pro- bably eight in number of second-class torpedo boats of the largest size. These she will be able to hoist overboard and dis» patch in all directions at a few minutes’ notice. The vulcan will also have a tor- pedo armament of her own, consisting of six launching tubes, some of which are to be under water. Regarded more particu- larly as a cruiser, she will possess qualities which will entitle her to rank among the most formidable unarmored cruisers in the world. She will have weapons which at close range will be capable of penetrating armor up to nearly sixteen inohess thick. The quick firing arrangement will be the most powerful of any ship in the world. It will enable her to discharge on each broad- side a storm of from eighty to one hundred and fifty projectiles a minute ; and should she ever be attacked by unarmored cruisers or topedo boats, she would be able to give them a warm receptionâ€"New York llr’orld. The Death Roll of the Forth Bridge The Favorite Times fur Suicide. Willie Was Quite Right. A NEW NAVAL TERROR. Miss Prynne â€"I Wonder why they always call_shi_pp “ she ?_ T. Gnmann STEWART, M.D., F.R.S.E., ordinary physician to H. M. the Queen in Scotland ; Professor of Pmctice of Physic in the University of Edinburgh, writes of Bright‘s Disease as follows : “ Oatarrh of +he intestine also occasionally occurs, Eometimag relucng an exhausting diarrhoea.” Mnefls Sn. :6 Cline cares the Diarrhms by first removing the cafisai ’ r‘ Two children belonging to Duncan Hartelle, of Cornwall Centre, died this week from diphtheria. The mother has been suffering from the same disease, and the 0358 is made all the more sad by the fact that poor Hurtelle himself does not know anything about the hand of death cutting down two of his bright little chil- dren, he being an inmate of the Rockwood Asylum. He was sent to that institution onlys. few months ago. The deeply af- flicted mother has the sympathy of all in her bereavementâ€"Cornwall Freeholder. Long live the State of Mesanaip ! The Governor, long live be! If ever the moon should run away may he there to see ! Should’hostile‘powers invade his land at some far distant dny, may he find the foe that wastes his State before it goes away. And great good medicine had it been, for the land of the sunny South, had the Gov- ernor oloseé hi's smooth-bore eyes and looked with *his long-renge Lgoutho;Bur- delta in the Br'aoklyn Eagle. ' " ' They rallied and squandered, those men at arms,they searched the country through ; and another Governor came along, and joined the searchers, too. They looked in the clock and under the stairs, and under the bed they peered, and out in the kitchen and everywhere, but the trains had disappeared. They felt in their pockets and looked in their hats, and lowered a man down the well, but where all those sluggers had disappeared to, there wasn’t nobody could tell. They asked a boy at Lowery’s store, and the blind man down by the hall, and the woman who keeps the candy shop, but they hadn’t seen nothin' at all. They dragged the pond at Sawyer‘s mill, and they questioned the toll-gate man, and all through the lot at the back of his house, the Governor raced and ran. But all in vain, for wherever he looked, the people he sought were gone, and the only place he didn't look was where the fight was on" And he never knew there had been :1 fight until a wok and a day, then he sent a constable after the men, four thousand miles away. ‘ The Governor sat in his easy chair, a spy-glass at his eyeâ€"“Has any one seen three thousand men and a. train of cars go by? A. pilot train with the bad men on, one more, and another one still; with rattle of wheels and clank of bell, and shriek of the whistle shrill? They travel not as the flying ship, in silence and in fear ; they whoop and holler and howl and yell for all the world to hear. They have advertised the place of the fight. for six long weeks or more, and Ifear that I cannot find the place, ’till the brutal fight is o’er. Oh, rally and squander, my men-at-arms, and look if you can see where three railway trains and three thousand men have hidden may fromnmpl’ Mr. Flynneâ€"Beoause they are all craft- Five Hundred and Forty Miles in Twelve Hours and Fifty Minutes. This season the railway companies have again begun to “ race” each other, with this difference, as compared with last year, that the fastest speed is attained by trains running between Aberdeen and London, instead of by trains from London to Edin- burgh. It is now possible for passengers from the “ Granite City ” of Aberdeen to make the journey to London by the G. N. W. Railway in the course of the same day, for the traveller who leaves that city at 6.15 in the morning will reach London at 7 o’clock in the evening. This is a mar- vellously quick run for a distance of nearly 600 miles, the quickest, indeed, that has ever been attempted between Scotland and England. This train is declared to be the quickest in the Kingdom. Besides being a. great boon to travellers from Aberdeen, the new train will enable letters that leave that place in the morning to be delivered the same evening by the last post in London. On the return trip you may travel the 540 miles to Aberdeen in 12 hours 50 minutes leaving at 10.30 a. m. and arriving 11 20 p.111. By the Great Northern the time taken is 13 hours, or slightly more than by the rival routeâ€"10 sun. to 11 pm. Some Good Advice to the Young D1911) Learning His Trade. thn ayoung man starts out to learn his trade, says the Stationary Engineer, and goes into a shop totally unschcoled in the manual performance of his duties in the new field of life on which he is entering, it is important that he should bear in mind this fact, viz; That his position, so far as it relates to himself, is intrinsically an eduâ€" cational one, as much so as in the school or college from which he may have recently graduated. The simple performance of so many hours’ work per day, while it has a certain financial measure of value to the employer, has a value to himself when pro- perly considered that is greater than can be measured in currency. As his progress and standing in the school depended on the thorough mental understanding of each pro- gressive step he took, so, only in a more material sense, his advance in mechanical skill and knowledge is dependent on his thoroughlyunderstand- ing not only the routine details of his work, but the why and wherefore of each operaticn. There always has been, and probably always will be, two classes of mechanicsfithose who stand at their bench and go through the manual motions of their work like automatic machines, with little more conception of why the results are as they are, and the other that class of men who make no moves without knowing why and how results are obtained and the relative importance of each step. This is the mechanical education that counts, the education that schools the mind to a clear comprehension of the principles equally with details, and leads unfailingly to that higher field where skill, diligence and marked ability find their natural level. The young man who, on beginning his mechanical education, realizes and acts upon these truths, will develop that ability which is not gauged by mere manual dexterity, but rather that which, when in later years he may be called to design, lay out and superintend the work of others, will enable him to creditably fill the position. Such positions come to those who bring thought and brains, as well as manual dexterity, to assist them in their work. To such men we owo the improvements of the age in every branch of mechanics. It is a fact that too many mechanics work along day after day accomplishing their work by ” main strength and foolishness,” which is the direct and legitimate result of a lack of proper and thorough application in their earlier mechanical life. The point em- phasized is that the mind that is able, through careful training and application to bring to bear a knowledge of. the principles involved, as well as execution of detail in the work, is one that approaches that standard of ability which should be the aim of every young man who is beginning his mechanical cducationâ€"â€"his work in the shop. When he has attained this no ques- tion of wages will ever trouble him. Such men are always wanted. The supply is not equal to the demand. RAILWVAY RACING TO SCOTLAND. THE VALUA BLE MECHANIC. The Governor's Chase. An Old Brute. A Sad Case. â€"He is a fool that praises himself and he a madman that speaks ill of himself. â€"â€"Here is Senator Wm. M. Evarta’ defl- nition of a. contingent fee; “ It is a. very simple thing. I can explain to you What a contingent foe means in a few words. In short. if I lose your suit I get nothing ; if I win your suit you get nothing." The Mexican wasp is built entirely for business. ’ He is over two inches long when he is of age and is about the color of a buy horse. His plunger is fully en inch 10117, and as fine as a spider‘s web. Unlike tv‘r stinger of the common bee, the stinger of the Mexican wasp is non-forfeitable. He doesn’t give it up after one lunge, but has it always in readiness for an all-day ’ job if necessary. The mission of the Mexican wasp seems to be merely to hunt up people ami run thht gtinger of his into them; The natives say he will go ten miles dot of his way to gate. whack at a person. The né~ tives seem to get fat on snake bites, centi: pede bites and scorpion stings, but if they discover one of these wasps in the neigh‘ borhood they hunt for cover without daisy. â€"â€"T0mbstone Epitaph. THE COWS BEST FRIEND For many years the manufacturers of Dr. Sage’s Catarrh Remedy, who are abundantly responsible financially, as any one can easily ascertain by enquiry, have offered, in good faith, a standing reward of $500 for a case of nasal catarrh, no matter how bad or of how long standing, which they cannot cure. The Remedy is sold by druggists at 50 Cents. A Happy Family. There is no cheerfulness in the world comparable to that afforded by the daily life ofa. large family. There may be a depth of bliss where only two are together of which the life lived by ten or a dozen could afford no idea; but for the cheer of varied interests, of lively voices, of going and coming, of song and laughter, what can be desired better than a. large family ?â€" Wilson Star. “ Que breaks the glass and cuts his fingers; But they whom Truth and Wisdom lead, Gun gather honey from a weed." ' Those who are wise, and who lqve the truth, will believe What we say when we tell them that Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prea- cription has done more to relievethe eufler- ings of women, than all other medicines now known to science. It cures all irregu- larities, internal inflammation and aloe;- ation, displacements and kindred troubles. It is the only medicine for women, sold by druggists,under a positive guarantee from the manufacturers, that it will give satis- faction in every case, or money will be refunded, This guarantee has been printed on the bottle-wrapper, and faithfully carried out for many years. Mrs. Parvenuifier teeth drop out while she is talkingâ€"Burlington Free Press. “ Golden Medical Discovery ” is the only medicine for the diseases it is recommended to cure, sold by druggists, under a positive guarantee from the manufacturers, that if it don’t either benefit or cure in every case, the money paid for it will be promptly re- {underl A Vocal Impedimont. Mrs. BIoodgoodâ€"I understand that Mrs. Chataway, who has jusa moved into our block, has an impediment in her speech. What is it? Do you know? 7 fl, _.V.,‘v__,, w, Pierce made; . And as sound as a. nut is 1115 health today-â€" " Logic is logic, that’s 21.111 Bay.” worse Must be cured, in spite of a. slender purse. Au ocean voyage was out of the question, A Florida trip a. nrelcss suggestion; ' Yet die he wouldn’nl His money he paid For the “Golden Medical Discovery," by Dr. hum,“ .w- .1.. Now there WM; the case of our friend McKay: He said to himself, in his resolute way, That a. cqqgh which was growing from bad to Retainers of the ‘Old Nobility and Their Peculiarlties. '1 he best domestic servants in the world are undoubtedly to be found in England, writes a New York Sun correspondent. Nowhere else can such thorough, trust- worthy and willing service be had. The servants of the aristocracy in the middle ages were a class apart, and they have re- mained so ever since. To-day a servant in Great Britain considers himself of a lower order of mankind than his master, and brings up his children in the same belief. Humility is the creed. Tho masterâ€"per- haps a drunken, sottish and poverty- strioken gambler, graced by neither birth nor positionâ€"curses his servant like mad and flings his boot-jack at him. The ser- vant, who is as likely as not an intelligent, honest, frugal and temperate man, dodges the boot-jack, bows respectfully and murmurs the perennial “Thank you, sir." The domestic servants of England are creatures of remarkable foibles and con- oeits. Thackeray immortalized the flunkey's speech and manner, but it is doubtful whe- ther the ridicule he poured upon them has had any effect toward correcting their ex- travagance, as it would upon that of any other class. These servants still ape" atrocious English, but with an unmistak- ably aristocratic accent, and although their pay is seldom high, they look down with lofty contempt upon workingmen, or, in,“ deed, upon any one not holding the social rank which entitles him to treat them with insolence. In England the law assigns to every one, from the ranks of “ gentleman " or “ esquire" upward, a distinct rank or precedence on the social ladder. The ser- vants, of course,- are not included in this, but among themselves they give every man or woman his or her place in the strictest manner according to the rank of the master. A duke’s servant takes precedence over that of a marquis’ and the servant of either of these nobilities looks down upon a man who is the servant of merely a “gentleman." A thing which helps them greatly in maintaining these distinctions is that under no circumstances do they ever do work outside that apper- taining to their particular offices. A but- ler, for instance, would be much less likely to put a hand to work which should be done by a footman than a duke himself. The upper men servants have usually acquired, as a result frequently of heredi- tary transmissions, an air of aristocratic vacuity or superciliousness. They are not allowed to grow mustaches, but that only serves to make more prominent the aquiline nose and half scornful lip. It also makes one think that they must be relatives or friends of the great men of the earlier Vic- torian period, such as Sir Robert Peel, Lord Palmerston, or the Duke of Welling- ton, and that they are survivals of that period. They are almost incomprehensible to the majority of Americans in their in- tense arrogance. Seedy Comedian-‘Yes, I‘m playing a small part at the Fashion Theatre. “ What salary ‘2” “No salary; but the part calls for a meal on the stage, and I get something to eat." Played For All It Is Worth. Seedy Tragedian (on the Rialto)â€"Got an! eggaggmenti yet ?7 \Vill You Read This for $500 ? BRITISH SERVING PEOPLE. This) Mexican stm BONI- 32 89. Logic is Logic.