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A BLUE GRASS PENELOPE. CHAPTER I. She was barely twenty-three years old. It is probable tqat up to that age, and the be- ginning of this episode, her life had been uneventful. Born to the easy mediocrity of such compensating scenes as a small farm- house and large lands, a. good position and no society in that vast grazing district of Kentucky known as the Blue Grass region. all the possibilities of a. Western American girl’s existence lay before her. A piano in the bare-walled house, the latest patented mower in the limitless meadow, and a silk dress sweeping the rough floor of the un- painted " meeting house,” were already the promise of those possibilities. Beautiful she ,: u”; Lyn“- mun “mu, R” v... - u v v . . _ . _ V wan, but the powerr of that beauty was limit- ed by being equally shared with her few neighbors. There were small, narrow arch- ed teet besides her own that trod the un- carpeted floors of outlying log cabin: with equal grace and dignity ; bright, clearly opened eyes that were equally capable of looking unabashed upon princes and poten- tatesâ€"as a few later didâ€"and the heiress of the County Judge read her own beauty with- “.n _._I-_‘_U1 out envy in the 'rank glances and unlowered crest of the black smith'a daughter. Event- ually she had married the male of her spe- cies, a young stranger, who: as school-mas- ,,..2I:_._1 A.- _,___ V"“'I "' I'_â€"D ‘--â€"' u . ter in the nearest town, had utilized to some local extent a scant capital of education. In obedience to the unwritten law of the West, after the marriage was celebrated the doors of the ancestral home cheerfully opened,and bride and bridegroom issued forth without regret and without sentiment to seek the further possibilities of a life beyond these already too familiar voices. With their de. Earture for California as Mr. and Mrs. pencer Tucker, the parental nest in the Blue Grass meadow: knew them no more. They submitted with equal oheerfulness to the privations and excesses of their new conditions. Within three years the school master developed into a lawyer and capital- ist, the Blue Grass bride supplying a grace and ease to thee transitions that were all her own. She softened the abruptness of sudden wealth, mitigated the ansterities of the newly acquired power, and made the most glaring incongruity picturesque. Only one thing seemed to limit their progress in the region of these possibilities, They were childless. It was as if they had exhausted the future in their own youth, leaving little or nothing for another generation to do. A ,A:_nL A soutfwesterly storm was beatingagainst the dressing-room windows of their new house in one of the hilly suburbs of San Francisco, and threatening the unseasonable frivclzty of the stucco ornamentation of cor- nice and balcony. Mrs. Tucker had been called from the contemplation of the dreary prospect without, by the arrival of a visitor. On entering the drawing-room she found him engaged in a. half-admiring, half resent- ful examination of its new Iurniture and hangirgs. Mrs. Tucker at once recognized Mr. Calhoun Weaver, a former Blue Grass neighbor ; with swift feminine intuition she also (elt that his slight antagonism was like- ly t') be transferred from her furniture to herself. VVaiving it with the lazy amiabil- ity of Southern indifi‘erence she welcomed him by the familiarity of a Christian name. “I reckoned that msbbee you opined old Blue Grass friends wouldn’t. naturally bitch on to them fancy doin’s,” he said, glancing around the apartment to avoid her clear eyes, as if resolutely setting himselt against the old charm of her manner as he had against the more recent glory of her aur- roundings. "but I thought I‘d just drop in for the sake of old times.” -'-“th;;iolildfi't you, Cal!” said Mrs Tucker with a frank smile. “Especially as I’m going up to Sacra.- msnto to-nignt with some influentialfriends,“ he continued with an ostentation calculated to resist the assumption of her charms and her furniture. “Smaior Dyce of Kentucky and his cousin Judge Briggsâ€"perhaps you know. ’em, or maybe Spencerâ€"I mean Mr. Tuckerâ€"does. " "I reckon,” said Mrs. Tucker, amilim7 ; "but tell me something about the boys and girls at Vmevilleâ€"and about yourself. You’re looking well. and right smart, too.” She paused to give due emphasis to this lat- ter recognition of a huge gold chain with which her visitor was somewhat ostenta- tiougly“ Erlflihg. ‘ ., u ,,,, A7, “I didn't know as you cared to hear any- thing about Blue Grass,” he returned, a lit- tle abashed. “I’ve been away from there some time myself,” he added, his uneasy vanity taking fresh alarm at the faint sue- picion of patronage on the part of his boat- ess. “They’re doin‘ well, thoughâ€"perhaps as well as some others.” “And you’re not married yet,” continued Mrs. Tucker, oblivious of the inuendo. “Ab, Cal,” she added archly. “I am afraid you are as fickle as ever. What poor girl in Vinevxlle have you left pining?" The aimple face of the man before her flushed with foolish gratification at this old- faihioned ambiguous flattery. “Now look yer, Belle,” he said chuckling, “if you're talking of old times and you think I bear malice agin Spencer, whyâ€"â€"-" I. '1. But Mrs. Tanker interrupted what might have been an inopportune sentimental re- trospect with a. finger of arch but languxd warning. “That will do! I am dying to know all about it, and you must stay to din- ner and tell me. It's right mean you can’t see Spencer, too ; but he isn’t back from Sacramento yet.” Grateful as a. tete-a-tete with his old neigh- her in her more prosperous surroundings would have beenâ€"if only for the sake of later gossiping about itâ€"he felt it would be inconsistent with his pride and his assump- tion of present business. More than that, he was uneasily conscious that in Mrs. Tucker’s simple and unsfiected manner there was a greater superiority than he had ever noticed during their previous acquaintance. He would have felt kinder to‘her had she shown any “ sits and graces," which he could have commented upon and forgiven. He stam- mered some vague excuse of preoocupation, yet lingered in the hope of saying something which, if not aggressively un- pleasant, might at least transfer to her in- dolent serenity some of his own irritation. “I reckon,” he said, as he moved hesitating- 17 toward the door, “that Spencer has made himself easy and secure in them business risks he’s taking. That 'ere Alameda ditch aflair they're talking so much about is a. mighty big thingâ€"rather too big if it ever got to falling back on him. But I suppose he’s accustomed to take risks}: “Of couirrae he is,” said Mrs. Tucker gayly. “He married me." BY BRET HARTE The visitor smiled feebly, but was not equal to the opportumty offered for gal'ant repudiation. "But suppoae you ain’t accus- tomed to take risks?" . .v. u ,rx‘u'... Tucker. V Mr. Calhoun Weaver was human, and succumbed to this last charming audacity. He broke into a noisy but genuine laugh, shook Mrs. Tucker’s hand with efl'usibu said, "Now that’s genuine Blue Grass and no mistakel” and retrealei under cover of his hilarity. In the hallhe made arallying stand to repeat confidentially to the servant, who had overheard them: "Blue Grass all over, you can bet your life;" and opening the door was apparently swallowed up in the tem- pest. ‘77.. Mrs. Tucker 5 smile kept her lips until she had returned to her room, and even then languidly shone in her eyes for some min- utes after, as she gazed abstractly from her window on the storm-tossed bay in the dis- tance. Perhaps scme girlish vision of the peaceful Blue Grass plain momentarily usurped the prospect; but it is to be doubt- ed if there was much romance in that retro- spect, or that it was more interesting to her than the posxtive and sharply cut outlines of the practical life she now held. Howbeit she soon forgot this fancy in lazily watching a boat that, in the teeth of the gale, was beating round Alcatraz Island. Although at times a mere black speck on the gray waste of foam, a closer scrutiny showed it to be one of those lateen-rigged Italian fish- ing boats that so often flecked the distant bay, Lost in the sudden darkening of rain, or resppearing beneath the lifted curtain of the squall, she watched I wrather the is- land, and then turn its laboring, but persis- tent course toward the open channel. A rent in the Indian-inky sky, that showed the narrowing porta‘s of the Golden Gate be- yond, revealed, as unexpectedly, the destinA tion of the small craftâ€"a tall ship that hitherto lay hidden in the mist of the Sau- celito shore. As the distznce lessened be tween boat and ship they were again lost in the downward swoop of another squall. When it lifted the ship was creeping under the headland toward the open sea, but the boat was gone. Mrs. Tucker in vain rub- bed the psne with her handkerchief-it had vanished. Meanwhile the ship, as she neared the Gate. drew out from the protecting headland, stood outlined for a moment with spars and canvas hearsed in black against the lurid rmt in the horizon, and then seem- ed to sink slowly into the heaving obscurity beyond. A sudden onset of rain against the windows obliterated the remaining prospect; the entrance of a servant completed the di- version. “Capt. Poindexter, ma’aml" Mrs. Tucker lifted her pretty eyebrows interrogatively. Capt. Poindexter was a legal friend of her husband, and had dined there frequently; nevertheless she asked, “Did you tell him Mr. Tucker was not at home?" “Yes, ’11).” "Did he ask for me?” ItYes.7m-n "Tell him I’ll be down directly." Mrs. Tucker’s quiet face did not betray the fact that this second visitor was even less interesting than the first. In her heart she did not like Capt. Poindexter. With a. clever Woman’s instinct, she had early de- tected the fact that he had a superior na- ture, stronger than her husband’s ; as a lay- al wife, she secretly resented the occasional unconscious exhibition of this fact on the part of his intimate friend in their familiar intercourse, Added to this slight jealousy, there was a certain moral antagonism be. tween herself Ind the Captain which none but themselves knew. They were both philosophers, but Mrs. Tucker’s serene and languid optimism would not tolerate the compassionate and kind-hearted pessimisms of the lawyer. “Knowing what Jack Poin- dexter does of human nature,” her husband had once said, “it’s mighty fine in him to be so kind and forgiving. You ought to like him better, Belle." "And qualify myself to be forgiven " said the lady pertly. “I don't see What you're driving at, Bella; I give it up.” had responded the puzzled husband. Mrs. Tucker kissed his high but foolisq fore- head tenderly,and said, “I m glad you don’t. dear." Meanwhile her second visitnr had like the first, employed the interval in a critical sur: vey of the glories of the new furniture, but with apparently more compassion than re- sentment in his manner. Only once had his expression changed. Over the fireplace hung a large photograph of Mr. Spencer Tucker. It was retouched, refined, and. idealized in the highest style of that polite and diploma- tic art. As Capt. Poiiidexter looked upon the fringed hazel eyes, the drooping raven mustache, the clustering ringlets, and the Byronic full throat and turned down collar of his friend a. smile of exhausted humorous tolerance and affectionate impatience curved his lips. “Well, you are a dâ€"â€"d fool. aren’t you I” he apostrophized it, half aud- iblv. He was standing before the picture as she entered. Even in the trying cantiguity of that peerless work he would have been call- ed a fine-looking man. As he advanced to greet her, it was evident that his military title was not one of the mere fanciful sobri- quets of the locality. In his erect figure and the disciplined composure of limb there were still traces of the refined academic ri- gors of \Vest Po’nt. The pliant adaptability of Western civilization which enabled him, three years before, to leave the army and transfer his executive ability to the more profitable profession of the law, had loosed sash and shoulder strap, but had not entire- ly removed the restraint of the one or the bearing of the other. “Sp'e'ncer is in Sacramento,” began Mrs. Tucker in languid explanation, latter the first greeflngs w_ere over. 7 _ “I knew he was not here,” replied Capt. Poindexter gently, as he drew the proffered chair toward her, “but this is business that concerns you both.” He stopped and glanc- ed upward ut the picture. "I suppose you know nothing of his business? Of course not,” he added reassuringly, “nothing, ab- solutely nothing, certainly.” He said this so kindly, and yet so positivelyâ€"as if to positivelyâ€"as if to promptly dispose of that question before going furtherâ€"that she as- sented mechanically. "\Vell, then, he's taken some big risks in the way of business andâ€"Wellâ€"things have gone bad with him, you know. Very bad! Really, they couldn’t be worsel Of course it was dreadful rash and all that,” he went on as if commenting upon the amusing waywardness of a. child: “but the result is the usual smashup of everything, money, credit, and alll” He laughed, and added, “Yes, he’s got cut offâ€" regularly routed and dispersed] I'm in ear- nest.” He raised his eyebrows and frowned Why not? married him,” said Mrs tl‘gh‘ky, 3.3 if to deprecate any correspond- mg hilarity on the part of Mrs. Tucker, or any attempt to make too light of the sub- ject, and then rising, placed his hands be- hind his back, beamed half humnroualy up- on her from behind her husband's picture. aufl repeated, "That’s 50.”. :._-l__ LLAL L- Mrs. Tucker knew instinctively that he spoke the truth, and that it was impossible for him to convey it in any other than his natural manner, but between the shock and the singular influence of that manner she could at first only say, “You don‘t mean it!" fully conscious of the utter inanity of the remark, and that it seemed scarcely less cold-blooded than his own. Poiudexter, still smiling, nodded. “Where is he,” she asked. “At sea, and I hope by this time where he cannot be foundâ€"or followed.” Was her momentary glimpse of the outgo- ing ship a coincideme, or only a vision 1 She was confused and giddy. but, master- ing her weakness, she managed to continue in a lower voice: “You have no message for me from him? He told you nothing to tell me?" "Nothing, absolutely nothing," replied Poindexter. “It was as much as he could do, I reckon, to get away before the crash came.” “Then you did not see him go?” “Well, no,” said Poindexter, "I'd hardly have m’maged things in that way.” He checked himself, and added. with a forgiv- ing smile, “but he‘waa the bestjudge of wba.‘v he needed, of course.” “I auiygogo iivrvil) hear from him,” she said quietly, “as soon as heis safe. He must haye bod enough else to think about, poor Mlow. She said this so naturally and quietly that Poindexter was deceived. He had no idea that the collected woman in front of him was thinking only of solitude and darkness, of her owu room, and madly longing to be there. He said, “Yes, I dare say," in quite another vozce, and glanced at the picture. But, as she remained standing, he continu- ed more earnestly: "I didn’t come here to tell you what you might read in the news- papers to marrow morning, and what every- body might tell you. Before that time I want you to do something to save a fragment of your property from the ruinâ€"do ym nn« derstand! 1 want you to make a. rally and bring 03' something in good order." “LIFO? Min," aaiduMnT Tucker with bright- eningieyes. “Wellâ€"yesâ€"of courseâ€"if you likeâ€"but as If for yourself. Do you know the Rancho de los Cuervos?" “I do.” "It’s almost the only hit of real property your husband hasn't sold, mortgaged or pledged. \Vhy it was exemptâ€"or whether orly forgottenâ€"I cannot say." an ‘ “I‘ll tell you why," saici Mrs. Tucker, with a slight return of color. "It was the first land we ever bought. and Spencer al ways said it should be mine. and he would build a new house on it.” Cpr. Poindexter tm‘vled and nodded at thé pncture. "Ob, he did say that, did be? Well, that’s evidece. But you see he never gave you the deed, and by sunrise to mor- row his creditors Will attach it â€" un- lessâ€"--" "Unlessâ€"2” repeated Mrs. Tucker,with kindling eyes. “Unless,” continued Capt. Poindexter, “they happen to find you in poasession.” “I'll go,” said Mrs. Tucker. ‘ Of course you will,” returned Poindex- ter pleasantly. “Only as it’s a big contract to take suppose we see how you can fill it. It’s forty miles to L03 Cuervos, and you can’ttrust yourself to steambon or stage- coach. The steamboat 19ft an hour ago." 7 “If I had only known this then," ejaéulat- ed Mrs. Tucker. He then carefully detailed his plan. There was so little of excitement or mystery in their manner that the servant, who had re. turned to light the gas, never knew that the ruin and bankruptcy of the house was being told betore her, or that it’s mistress was planning her segretfifiight. "Good affénmon. I will sée you to-morrow then,” said Poindexter, raising his eyes 10 hers as the servant opened the door for him. "Good afternoon,” repeated Mrs. Tucker. quieLly answering his look. “You need not light the gas in my room, Mary,” she con- tinued m the same tone of voice as the door closed upon him; “I shall lay down for a. few moments, and then I may run over to the Robinsons for the evening.” She regained her room composedly. The longing desire to bury her head in her pillow and “think out" her position had gone. She did not apostrophize her fate, she did not weep; few real women do in the access of calamity, or when there is anything else to be done. She felt that she knew it all; she believed that she had sounded the profound- est depths of the disaster, and seemed al- ready so old in her experience that she al- most fancied she had been prepared for it. Perhaps she did not fully appreciate it ; to a. life like hers it was only an incident. the were turning of a page of the' illimitable book of youth; the breaking up of what she now felt had become a. monotony. In fact, she was not quite sure she had ever been satisfied with their present success. Had it brought her all she expected? She wanted to say this to her husband, not only to com- fort him, poor fellow. but that they might come to a better understanding of life in the future.She was notperhapsafl'erentfromother loving women, who, believing in this unat- tainable goal of matai ony. have sought it in the various episodes fortune or reverses, in the bearing of children or the loss 0: friends. In her childless experience there was no other life that had taken root in her circumstance] and might suffer transplant- ation: only she and her husband could loose or pxofit by the change. Tue perfect under- standing woull come under other conditions than these. She would have gone superstitiouely to the window to gaze in the direction of the vanished ship, but another instinct restrain- ed her. She would put aside all yenning for him until she had done something to help him, and earned the confidence he seemed to have witheld. Perhaps it was prideâ€"perhaps she never believed his exo- dus was distantpr complete. With a. full knowledge that 10-morrnw the various ornaments and pretty triflas around would be in the hands of the law, she gathered only a few necessaries for her flight and some familiar personal trinkets. I am constrained to say that this self-abnega- tion was more fastidions than moral. She had no more idea of the ethics of bankrupt- cy than any other charming woman: she simply did not like to take with her any contagious memory of the chapter of the life just closing. She glanced around the home she was leaving without a lingering regret; there was no sentiment of tradition or custom that might be destroyed; her roots lay too near the surface to suffer from dislo- cation: the happiness of her childless union had depended upon no domestic centre, nor was its flame sacred to any local hearth- stone. It was without a sigh that, when ‘ night had fully fallen, she slipped unnotic- ed down the staircase. At the door of the drawing-room she paused and then entered with the first guiliy feeling of shame she had known that evening. Looking stealthin around she mounted on a chair before her husband’s picture. kissed the irreproachable mustache hurriedly, said. "You foolish darl- ing, you!” and slipped out again. With this touching endorsement of the views of a philosopher, she closed the door softly and left her home forever. The special peculiarity of the group of America’s venomous serpents called rattle. snakes is that they make asharp rattling noise by vibration of the tail. Hence the family name is Crotalidze, from crotali'a, jingling ear-rings of pearls worn by the Roman girls, or crotalum, a castauet. The fat-bodied, sluggish, terrestrial serpents bear their castanets at the extremity of the tail, in the shape of a varying number of hollow, and somewhat rounded segments, terminating in one of a more globular form called "the button.” These are hinged loosely togetherfigiving them considerable play, and the number of pieces, as well as their shape, varies greatly in different snakes and different ages ; while two species â€"the copperhead and the massassaugaâ€" have none at all, but can boast only a horny tip to their tails. There are records of forty-five. thirty-two and twenty-one rat- tles; but three to fourteen is the usual number in full-grown crotali of the largest- sized species. They show no accurate index ofage. notwithstanding the contrary has been so long the popular belief. But though it is possible that. by playing upon the curiosity or even by deceiving through mimicry, the crepitating tail might now and then become useful, we do not think that as an aid in food getting it is ever of more than accidental service. As a matter of ‘ sober fact, the rattle is not heard when the crotalis is seeking its prey. which is pro- 1 cured by stealthin crawling and by lying ‘ ambushed, patient and rigid, in the accus- ‘ tomed haunts of small animals until chance favors. That the rattling of the crotali answers the purpose of a call we know from the fact (recorded in many places) that other rattlesnakes quickly respond and hasten toward the one ringing the alarm. Moreover, in the latter part of the summer, the snakes sometimes make the sound loud- ly and long when they have no apparent reason to be alarmed, but, by the argument from analogy, cm reasonably be supposed to be calling the opposite sex. That the rattling of one serpent in captivity has an immediate effect upon other crotali within hearing is constantly observed, and in many cases where the young have been seen to run int) the mouth of the old one for pro tection they appear to have been summoned and informed of their danger by this signal. The instant the snake suspects danger it throws itself into the coil of vantage and sounds its long roll, varying the swiftness of the vibration, and the consequent loud- ness of its note, as its apprehensions in- crease or diminish. The following incident occurred'during the early days of the Californian gold fields. A miner had died in a mountain digging. and as he was much respected, his acquaintances reiolved to give hima "square funeral,” instead of putting the body in the usual way intoaroughly made hole, and saying. by way of funeral service, “Thar goes an- other bully boy under 1” They sought the services of a miner who bore the reputation of having, at one time in his career, been “a. powertul preacher in the States.” And then, Far Western fashion, they all knelt down while the extamporized pastor de- livered a prodigioust long prayer. The miners, tired of this unaccustomed opiate, to while away the time, began, digger fashion, fingering the earth that had been taken from the grave. Gradually looks were exchanged, whispering commenced and increased, until it became loud enough to attract the attention of their person. He opened his eyes and stared at the whispering miners. “What is it, boys?” Then, as suddenly his eyes lighted on sparkling scales of gold he shouted, "Gold. by jingo l And the richest kind 0’ diggin' ! The congregation is dismissed I” Instantly every man began to prospect the new dig- ging, the parson not being the least active of the number. The body had to be hurried elsewhere ; but the memory of the incident lived from the name given to the locality. for “Dead Man’s Gulch” became one of the richest goldfields in all California. “Molly, I wish you would be a better little girl," said an Austin Lther to his lit- tle daughter. “You have no idea. how sorry I am. that mama. has to scold you all the time.” "Don’t worry about it, pa," was the reply of the little angel ; “I am not one of those sensitive children. Half the time I don’t hear what she says.”â€"Te;ms Siftings. (T0 BEICONTINUED.) “ Dead Mnn’stulch." Rattlesnakes. \MOM Remarkable Case of Punished Innocence The Victim Living Only for Revenge. An Erie (Pa.) despatch says : Three days ago a. well-dressed, finely formed, self-poss- esszd gentleman knocked at the door of the humble cottage occupied by widow Gates, who lives in the back country, some twenty miles south of this cityI and inquir- ed concering the widow’s son. who had left home ten years ago. In a short time the stranger’s identity was revealed and the widow’s long-lost son was in her arms. The name of the gentleman is Charles Stafiord. Ten years ago he was a rough, uncultured, backwoods lad. His life since then has been passed, until Wednesday, in the Peni- tentiary at Alleghanv, and the story of the transition from aboorish to arefined con~ dition discounts the fiction which was the primary cause of the change. Last Wed- nesday Gov. Pattisou signed Stafi‘ord’s pardon and liberated him, after serving ten of the fifteen years to which he had been sentenced for a crime that had shocked this part of the State. The victim of the crime is now a young matron, living in the vicin- ity, and morbialy sensitive on the subj act. Stafi‘ord, the ignorant, uncultured wood; cutter, was arrested, and was convicted upon strong circumstantial evidence. The ‘ strongest link in the chain was the fact that when arrested he wore the red vest which the Victim of the crime noticed upon her masked assailand in the woods. The lad’s assertion that he had been induced to swap vests with a man named McGahan, who said he was going west, was uncorroborated, and when a number of other links were supplied by some witnesses named Rockwell all-(i one Reeder Moore. there was no doubt in the minds of the jury, and they convicted him in less than ten minutes. Four years ago the man named by Stafl'ord as the person who swapped vests with him died in the charcoal woods of Michigan, and before dying confessed to the truth of the prison- er’s story. He denied being the actual perpetrator, but said Stafford was as inno- cent as an unborn babe. The confession was duly attested and sent on here, but was considered too obscure by the authorities. Two years later Reeder Moore. the witnesl‘ who gave the most damaging testimony, committed suicide, and while in the throes of death he confessed and exonerated Stafford. The community began to fear that an innocent lad was languishing in prison. Lawyers of eminence nnd citizens of prominence profi'ered their ser- vices, and by degrees a. mass of evidence was obtained that conclusively established Staf- ford’s innocence. anough the tedious process of the Stite Pardon Board his re- lease was finally eflected on \Vednesday. Being interviewed by our ccrrrespondent, he stated that when he arrived at the peni- tentiary and reflected upon the fifteen years to be prssed there he almost went mad. His ignorance he saw was against him. The Judge who sentenced him had adverted to his unintellectual condition as being in harmony with the brutish nature of the crime, and he had seen the approving nods of thejury. He felt that he could never help himself or prove his innocence with. out education, and so he resolved to possess the power which knowledge gives. Through the kindness of the officials he learned how to read and write, and then he launched into the study of mankind as re- flected in the daily press. The newspapers furnished to the convicts were devoured by him with avidity, and soon he knew more of the world and its doings than thousands o itside the prison walls. One day be pro- cured Dumes's “Count of Monte Cristo," and upon that work of fiction his future life was shaped. Stafford, after reading this book, was more than ever determined to acquire that knowledge which gives power. There was no learned abbe in the penitentiary to dig into his cell, but for cell companions he once had a minister who had gone wrong and a. lawyer who had not done right. From these he had obtained some useful information. He lived now for revenge. Upon his knees he swore by the eternal God that each of the wretches who had sworn away his liberty should be made to sufier as he was suffering. By the force of his newly acquired intelligence he reasoned out a theo- ry which plainly indicated the guilty party and laid bare the cunning plot of the con- spirators. What was dark to him when an ignorant lad was now clear as daylight. The perspicuity of the letters he sent to his lawyers was remarkable and materially aided them in their search for the facts. United States Detective Benson followed up the clues thus furnished and succeeded in arresti_ng four of the alleged perjurers. Stafi'ord’s plan for revenge is to make the law his instrument in crushing them. Some of them have grown wealthy in the meantime, one being a. rich banker, but he proposes to devote the remainder oi his life to the purpose of establishing their quilt. The wife of the man whom he charges with being the actual perpetrator of the crime has made damaging admissions, which Staf- ford was engaged in copying when the re- porter found him. ‘Vhen he read of the death of the man in Michigan and the sui- cide of Reader Moore, he says he cried with passion and railed against the king of terrors for robbing him of his prey. The death of the Judge who sentenced him was regarded by him as the fulfilment of the curse which his old mother hurled at the Court after her son's sentence was pronounced. Taken al- together it is one of the most remarkable of kindred cases. A MODERN MONTE CHRISTO To be worthy of respect demands virtue, honor, truth, and sincerity. It demands theta man be agood son and brother, a. good husband and father, an industrious and faithful Workman, a. just and kind. master, a. loyal and trustworthy citizen. If he be these he is respectable, for he has claims upon the respect of all who know him. He may wear homespun or broad- cloth, may live in an attic or palace, may work with his hands or his brain, may have but few friends or be the centre of an admir- ing crowd, may be dependent upon his day's labor for support, or possess the wealth of a Rothschildâ€"his true ,respectability is neither heightened by the one or lowered by the other. It where: in this character, not in its belongings. It is dependent upon 1 what he is, not upon what he has. "Daar me, Janet! you’ve spilt water &1 over my play-house," complained sister. “Oh, but never mind,” said Janet. “We‘ll play it rains so fewly in their coun- try the dolls will be glad." -â€"<M~.~>N’â€"â€"â€"- Looking on the Bright Side‘ Worth of Respect.