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Having passed judgment in the few cut- ting words recorded above upon the scant claims to fersonal beauty possessed by the heads of 1; 1e Burke family, she went on to discourse more at length upon certain do- mestic and social traits of theirs which many years’ propinquity had brought to her notice. “Thim Bonr-rkcs, lavin’ oot Rosy, ez the foolishest folks iver, anny-we-ay,” said she. “I don’t see how the Lor-rd A’moighty cud ’a’ ma-ade oop hes moind to ma-ake ’em. He must ’a’ been grea-atly sthrook at the toime wid the desoire to cream-ate, widoot havin’ jist the might shtoof fer the porpose . at hand. \Vhy, they‘re wuss nor clenkers,’ cause thim ye can pound oop fer roa-ads’ but et’s a. bahd sor-rt o’ fnttin’ or whaylin £921 git over sieh a wobblin’ boddy as Frank ourâ€"rke. An’ as fer Ja-ane, ye cud la-ay , her cross-wa-ztys on a hill fer to ketch the ‘ wagin’ whayles an’ rist the bastes awhoile ; ‘ she’d niver wear oot in a huntherd year. She ain’t no more fet to breng oop cheldern than a sivenâ€"month haâ€"aby. God knows, she’s hed enoof 'of ’em, but soom pessons niver lear-rns. Why, last wenter was a. year, whin Ann an’ lettle Mikey was seck \vid dipthary, an grea-at nlsters doon their trou-ats the wuss sor-rt,wha.t do ye thenk thaht levin’ cratur’ of a. wnmlnan (led? She (led this : she wint to the sare-cus, an’ lift thim youngsthers ahl be thimsilves, only 1 their lettle brathers an’ sesthers, an’ soom 0’ the neighborin’ cheldren what ketched the ulsters from ’em’an’they ahl wrapped 001) in kerosene rags, an’a-playin’aroun’the foire an’ no wan but the Howly Vere-gin a-kapin’ ’em’ from exsh- lodin’; an’ their mahther awa-ay enj’yin’ ersilf en the niedst o’ howl- in’ wild bastes an’ haythens, What’s got more‘ hayer on their hids than decency annywheer ilse; an’ a lnkkin’atmin in nahthin’ but their own skens, lavin’ oot a. bet o’penk or grane ‘ selk, what ’ud be as goo-d awa-ay. An’ thim a~wokkin’ on the saylin’, an’ a-shtandin’ on their hids widoot hur~rtin’ ’em, ’eanse there’s nahthin’ en ’em to be hur-rted. An’ Frank he goes alahng wid ’er shtid 0’ kapin’ to ’is \vor-rk, an’ whin they coom bahk I’m hlist ef he ain’t tepsy, an’ thim poor cheldren seek an” scoferin’ an’ gettin’ ento ineschief ; an’it’s me an’ Mis’ Har-rt as lukked aft- her ’em, arunnin’ en to gev ’em a dawse 0’ kerosene noo an’ thin. An’ I says to um. says I, ’Et’s a mnrtherin’ sha-ame as ye can’t kape sthrwa-aight whin your own enfants ez-a-ailin.’ ’ An‘ says he. ‘ Do ye thenk l’m dhrunk I’ An’ I says, ’Sure, an’ I don’t thenk ye’re bastely sawber.’ Nor he wasn’t, nay" ther ; an’ thin whin lettle Mikey (liedâ€"Wid ehokin’ to death wid the nlsters en his tree- at an’ the pay-nuts an’ the pop-corn what his mahther gev um, thin they must have sech a \va-ake as ye niver seen ; an’ the enn- ocent enfant a-Iayin’ oot Wid candles, an’ a white coffin ahl dicora-ated wid flowers, an’ a white hear-rse an’ white hor-rses to dhmw et, an’ a. loine 0’ levery wagins what ud Ina- sze the sare-cus mor-rtified to Show etsilf, an’ Frank au’ Ja-ane-a-wapin’ an’ aâ€"pakin’ not behind their handkerchiefs to show their grafcrmow-ch 1” And granny dumped the ashes out of her pipe as if it was one of the seven Vials of wrath. “ Nor) thcer’s Rosy,” she went on, and her tone softened with her theme. “ Ye wudn’t thank she’d a bet o’their shtoof en’erâ€"wud ye? She’s o. nan-ate lettle pesson as iver was ; she ain’t wan o’bhe shlatterin sorvrt. Why, whin she was a. wee ba-aby I us‘n’to b’lave they gother roightly, though I was at the Iayin'in mcsilf, zm’ gov her the fesst shpank- in’ she iver got, to xna-ake sure she was aloivc ; but, she growed 00p thaht def’fcx'cnt from thiln what’s abobb her that I says offientoimes to Ja-ane, says 1, ‘Sure ’u’ Rosy’s not your own enfant ; soomhody‘s wint an’ cha-zmged her.’ An’ Ja-ane she got tmrin’ nmhd ivery toime I told her thaht ; a‘l’ says she, ‘It’s yoursilf as cha-anged her, t'lin.’ Howly Sa-aints! an’ me a-countin’ on that blissed ba-aby iver senco before she come onto the wor-rld for me gran’dahter : supposin’ she dedn’t tur-rn out to be a by, What wud I be aâ€"cha-angin’ her fer? “ But she was ahlw ays def’ferent. I niver seen the exthryardinary wa- -ay she tuk to boo ks ;a,n’ to 111k at her at foive year a- standin’ 00p, wid her rag ba- -a.by en her arrxuns an’ her hayer en lettle reng-cur-rls, a-resoitin’ verses loikc a. praste 1 What’s thim verses, 1100 ‘2 "The by shtud on the bur‘rnin' dick‘ (an’ a beg fool he was sure), but to see her sway ’emfiow ! et was pur-rty. “Ye’d jist know she’d tur-rn out a school- taycher, an’ a. foine theng ’t ez to be en- styhrooctin’ cheldern. I wis’ ye wudn’t taâ€" ake on aboot ct so. Rosy’s jist as fond o’ ye’s she iver was, .m’ it’s the trout I’m a,- sa-ayizx’. I seen her last Sunday was a fortni’t, a-pakin’ Got the windy as shloy’s a caht to ketch a soight 0’ ye ahl dllressed 00p cu yom‘ new claws, an’ \vhin ye putt your baht on the bahk 0’ your hid, to wan soide, I jist heard her sa-ay, ‘Ain’t he a. da-aisy fallow '3” “Noo, Tem, ye mustn’t be so poor-.llear-rb ed ; gyurls ez quare thengs soomtoimes. They’re jist thaht coontra-airy ye can ahl- ways ta-ake ’em to mane what they _dedn’t sa-ay, an’ whin they’ll not .loo-k at ye, et’s themsilves as’ll be a-lahngin’ for ye to en- quoirc the ra§011.” . . , n H, 1 This shameless “giving away” on granny’s ‘ part of her own sex was not without its 1 effect upon Tim, whose dull ear had been : iHSt awakened by the flattering remark al- ‘ eged to he Rosy’s, but which in truth was ‘ only a flower of fancy from the fertile soil of granny’s own mind, and then roused into eager attention by an expose of feminine in- consistency finely calculated to act as an alâ€" temtive upon his relaxed masculinity. For some occult reasonâ€"~one of those things un- discoverable by any fellowâ€"Rosy was try- ing to make a fool of him, and he had been tamcly consenting to the process. To think of his weakening after all those resolves tak- en on and since Monday night 1 But now let Miss Burke appear ! Let her be rigid with starch and stateliness ! Let herâ€" '1'At this moment was heard a. brisk, clatter- ‘ ing sound, suggestive of a. gentle wind in sails, or the flapping of a sheet stretched out on line to dry and sweeten in the sun and breeze. It was caused by the little boots of MissBurke tap-tapping against her petti- coat as she tripped along the hard coal~ash walk ; but for all its gentleness it came with the force of command to “ fire ‘.” and forth- with Tim shot like a ball from a cannon’s mouth through the door, right over the head of his grandmother, who calmly adjusted her cap frill, remarking to Rosy that “ she’d betther not go aboot tirrifyin’ young min thaht wa-ay or she’d have soomthin’ t’ ans- wer fer,” On Saturday morning Tim made an’ early AN ANTHRACITE IDYL. escape to work, and at three oclock “ shnaked bahk,” as granny said, like a. runa- way shwe, felicitating himself upon his suc- cessful avoidance of that fair-haired Gorgon who dwelt temparorily at No. 18. But between three o’clock end bedtime there are a. dangerous number of hours and minutes, and While making his toilet Tim resolved to go down to town, a way of spending Saturday afternoon not unusual with him, although of late he had pre- ferred hanging about home, in the hope of catching glimpses and glances which were at once exasperating and delicious. Yes, he would go to town, and come back late. and â€"-well, and trust the saints for his future safety. Passing a drug store he was reminded of the healing property there is in soda-water for a wounded spirit,andstraight way walked in upon Mrs Hugh Wilson and Miss Burke regaling themselves at that fountain of froth and “ fizz” ; so he betook his wounded spirit to the street again, hoping he had not been seen. Walking aimlessly about, he stum- bled no less than thrice upon these two seemingly uhquitous ladies, who smiled graciously at him, but not with the smile that says, “ Won’t you join us ‘3” So the disheartened youth strolled homeward, con- cluding that this world offered no asylum for poor hunted wretches like himself. a - _ 1,,V, fl, Miss Burke attended early mass on Sun- day, being not less pious then pretty. Tim was enjoying “ forty morning winks” as she went clanking by ;but that petticoat music mingled with his dreams in a way that made waking seem 5 cruel transition from paradise topurgatory. Still he ate a fairly good break- fast, and time somehow wore along. The day of rest- performed well what would appear to be its chief function, namely, to enforce the blessedness of that portion of the primal curse, which promises no other sauce for bread than the sweat of the brow. “ Blue Monday” approached 1 clad in the rose- colored robe of all to-morrows that hold out the hope of change from present misery. 2'. In April wheri’ the sun shines walrmly, four o’clock in the afternoon is not a bad time for a walk. Tim found it much plew saunter in the marshy meadows than remain- ing a prisoner in his own house, a butt for his grandmothers choicest ridicule. He climbed a grassy hill and sat down upon the ridge, with his back to the big town lying hazy by its winding river, while before him rose a. dark mountain wall stretching from east to farthest south. Throughout the Whole length of the narrow Valley at his feet was an almost continuous chain of breakers with their attendant culm heaps, jetty in the near foreground, but taking from dis- tance the rich hue and bloom of a. purple plum. L A strange spectacle with a charm of its own! But Tim had not climbed that hill for a spectacle ; he went there for peace and quiet, and a chance to make his mind up once for all. His mind, however, preferred remaining “in the raw,” and utterly refused to submit to the process of manufacture. His attention would not be drawn inward and concentrated ; it flitted likea butterfly ; alighting at length upon a smiling spot of pink at the foot of the verdant slope. This was a. wild crab-tree jubilant with budding promise. No bee ever flew straighter to its favorite honey pot lured by the color signal, than did Tim fly‘toward this \:ast posy.‘ The tree stoovd in a. corner of the meadow, nearly surrounded by a natural hedge of thorn-bushes and sumach. Its few leaves were of the newest green, but their bright- ness only served as an unobtrusive settinrr for a. million buds, whose form, texture, Emil ineffable hue have buc one counterpart; in 11ature»~t-11e little dainty cushions under- neath a. baby’s toes. Tim gazed at the sight which one might think even a cow could not pass unmoved. He was wondering if he had enough daring left to take home a bunch of these beauties to a certain person, when 9t singular shak‘ ing movement among the branches made him step nearer and look more closely up into the thick bloomin mass. Somebody was there, sure. A gir , too, for he saw a glim- mer of white. “Hello l” said Tim, in telephonic greet- ing - but no responsive hello came from the , tree. Tci’ln parted the branches. Seated upon a stout limb, with her feet in a crotch, was Miss Burke. At first sight there appeared to be no reason why she should not descend at her will, but he soon discovered that a. strong linen lace on her petticoat’s hem had fastened itself upon one of the huge thorns of the tree, quite beyond her reach. Both thorn and lace refused to yield, so there she sat, surfeited with sweets, like a cat drown- ed in her coveted cream. “ \Vhat you doin’ up there ‘3” he asked. A faint voice came down to him. “I’m cagght ! I c_zm_’t get 1093c.” “Hello!” said Tim again, when he saw who it was. A sudden change had come over him. This was no‘longer Miss Burke, asmstant teacher of Ironbrook school; it was Rosy, and he was Tim the tease, once more. He felt not in the least hurry to help her down. She could not possibly look prettier anywhere than she did up there, with her sunny brown head against a. bewildering background of blossoms, between whose shell-pink clusters tiny odd shapes of tender blue showed themselves. She was safe,'t~oo. He had her, so to speak, and he meant to keep her as long as he could. So he leaned against the trunk, comfortably crossing his arms upon a convenient lower branch, and proceeded to make himself agreeable. r)! r , “How long have you been here, Rosy f‘” said he. “Aim: you gettin’ some final? Better come down.” Rosy gavea tug at her skirt. “I can’t get loose.” ‘. . .. ~1- ., - ’ln :‘rn av V ,, , ,, “Oh that’s What’s aflin’, is it '3 \Vell, you see the tree ain’t content wid bein’ as purty as ’twas made, it wants all the more purty it can git,” replied Tim, whose pro- genitors had kissed the Blarney Stone, and transmitted its efi'ects. V35”. . V3“ ‘ “Oh you ‘.” said Rosy, in a. tone that might mean a dozen things, but which Tim construed as meaning one thing, so he went on : “I thought ’twas lookin’ mighty smilin’ when I seen it up on the hill, so I come down to find out what ’twas smilin’ about. Don’t blame it, neither. Guess I’d smile too if I was. the tree.” Here he received a shower of buds full in his upturned face. “I say, don’t ye be peltin’ me that way with them hard things, ’nough to break a fellow’s head. Look here ! Iseen a swarm 0’ bees when I come down, all flyin’ this way. The head one he says, “Smelt a new kind ie’s go have .8: stifig at it.” ,,I,‘A -0.” J ust now, in terrible corroboration of Tim’s words, a huge bumblebee, with rich pre monitory s~summ-m, swung heavily in among the flowers right over Bosy’s head. 1 u “0h, Tim, ‘take me dowvnâ€"take me down! 0h ! oh! I’ll be stung all pver. Oh, Tim, please take me down I” shrieked Roswodg- ing this way and that, and holding t two entreating arms that would have weakened Tim’s heart at once if he had not been so tickled with the thought of having her at his mercy. “u“- , . “You be easy, now. Bumblebees don’t sting.” He looked over his shoulder. “That swarm must ’a.’ got on the wrong track. Don’t seem to be a-comin’ this way yet. I say Rosy, you do look awful purty there. Guess I’ll climb‘np and take a kiss.” r‘11- ,, I, U. - -;‘.I\o, 5'0le sl1a.’11’t, ” said Rosy, filling her hands 21.1er \\ ith blossoms. “IV ow you know that can’t do me go harm,” said the heroic Tim, lookin up With unflinchin countenance at this would-be engine of estruction preparing to discharge its dainty projectiles. “You jest throw me a, kiss instead 0’ them things, and then may- be I’ll let you dowu.” The red lips pout- ed. “There, I see the kiss a-comin’ ; it’s most out. Jest help it along a. leetle, won’t you Rosy *ore ofi‘ the less obstinate thorns and presented arms. Tim paused, seated him- self astride of the limb Where his elbowshad rested, took out his pocket-knife, and cut off the largest thorn he could find then held ift out menacingly in imitation of his fair oe. g flowgr down yonder, sweeter’n honey; “I won’t holdcmy tongue, nor I won’t; go away, 1101‘ you don’t want; me to, neither. How’d you git down if I went away?” “Well, help me down, then.” “I will if you’ll give me a. kiss first.” “You don’t dare to kiss me.” “Don’t I?” And Tim began to climb the tree. Rosy smiled ; naturally Tim smiled too. Then Rosy burst intoapeal of laughter, and for a while the tree shook with their combin- ed cachiuations. “'hen this timely mirth had subsided, Tim started a fresh subject.“ “0h, Tim l”â€"â€"â€"in an exaspelated toneâ€"â€" “hold your tongue, and go a“ ay. “ I say, Rosy, you didn’t treat me so very well when I Went; over to Ironbrook that time. Never seen anything stiffer’n you was.” “I wasn’t stifl',” said Rosy. “Wasn’t you, though? Then a corpse is limber. “'ell, you made me feel still", any- way; kind 0’ thought I was laid out in my coffinâ€"«cold chills all runnin’ up and down me. \K’hat made you act so, Rosy?” Tim was realizing to the full the advantages of his present position, and waxed bold be- yondima ination. “’Tain’t a. nice way to treat a fe low you’ve always knowed. What makes you do it ‘2” ‘ p.- ...-___ _, ,V Rosy appeared to be tracing out cabalistic figures upon her palm with the whilom threatening thorn ; she looked grave, not'to say cross. Presently, in her starchiest tone, “HQYV diq I prqat you?” “Now look here ! I don’t want none your nonsense. I won’t stand it, nor I ain’t wgoin’ to tell you how you treated me nei- ther, ’cause you know’s well’s I can tell you, an’ you meant to do it, an’ you’re meanin’ it now.” Tim spoke with great severity, for he wanted Rosy to think he was angry, but twinkles twitched at the corners of his mouth and under his yelids. The latter he managed to conceal 12y keeping his eyes down, but the feathery red line upon his upper lip left the former cruelly exposed. He had been angry, but who could be so now, with little bird in bush and hand at once? He felt perfectly sure of her, but he would not let her know itâ€"not just yet. It isn’t every day in the year that you can catch your sweeiheart up in a tree like this : the pleasure must be lengthened out. So he was sternness itself as he went on: “I tell you what, Rosy, a. girl can play one too many tricks of this sort. A fellow gits kind 0’ disgusted after a. while. He says to him- self, ‘That girl ain’t no good ; she’s all slaty ; she won’t light a. fire worth a cent.’ So he goes off prospectin’ fer a vein what’ll pay fer the workin’. Now, if you think I’m a-goin’ to marry youâ€"â€"” ___. . ,. . A" u “ Don’t go and leave me.” Help me down first,” implored Rosy. Tim. relented slightly. “ All right ; but 'ou’ve got to promise me something before do.” “ VVhat’s that ‘2” “ Promise me you’ll marry me.” “I won’t do no sucfl'thing,” said Rosy, for- getting her school English in the heat of contest. ” Then I won’t let you down.” And Tim the tease reseated himseif, leanin back, and twirling what he had hopes wou (1 one day be a. mustache. The sun was sinking now behind the green hills, but the upper half of the crab- tree yet glowed with its parting beams. Rosy’s head was in this more favored por- tion, and herlight frizzled hair formed a. misty golden {florid around her brows. Tim sat in the shadow with uptm‘ned eyes, like an adoring wérshipper before a shrine. ”"Soon thoe sun digappeared, the glow van- ishing with it, and a. little shivering breeze went through the tree. I “ It 3 getting cold ” said Rosy.“ Please help me (1?“ n. ... n p 1 .1 - 1a “ Any time you like,” replied the amiable Tim, not stirring an inch, nor moving his eyes away from her face. An almost over- powering odox' from the myriad buds filled the cool air. “ Smells nice here. Guess I’ll stay all night.” And he folded his arms serenely, closed his eyes, and pretended to snore. The next moment Rosy be an to cry; the trunk against which Tim eaned trembled with her sobs, and all the pink ‘ bu(_ls quivered in sy‘mrathy.‘ ‘. 1. Il‘ Tim was suddenly revealed to himself .as an inhuman monster. In an instant his feet were upon the limb where he had been sit- ting, and his arms were where they had been acning to be for a longer time than he could tell. ” Rosy, Rosy, don’t you cry, Rosy ! I didn’t mean to make you cry. I deserve a lickin,’ I do. Put your head on my shoulder, Rosy darlin.’ ” But it was already there, the 9n you come dear little head, with its soft curly hair close against his cheek and neck, the tears falling upon his Sunday suibâ€"hap y Sunda suit! That strong shoulder undlzar its clot coat LThat Sin-on? shoulder under its cloth coat was quite he most agreeable place for a. ood cry that Rosy had ever found, and she Sid not try very hard to quiet herself, but kept on uttering gentle, hysterical sobs and snilfs, because it was so pleasant to have Tim patting her as if she was ababy, and saying, “ Sh-s'n !” and, “There, there, don’t cry I” But at length she managed to speak. “Let’s get down,” she said. “All right ; but I must stick to my word, you know,” responded her high-minded lover. “I said I wouldn’t let you down till you’d kissed mvmd promised to marry me, 7” an’ I won t. g A very wet face was lifted to lxis, the kiss bestowed bein perchance a. trifle salt for a critical taste, t ough Tim seemed wholly sut- isked with it. “Now say you’ll marry meâ€"quick,” said he, for love’s Wine was warm in his veins, and the branch had become a rather un- steady footing. Her answer came with all the Eromptnesls he could desire : “n u fi‘fifcofiréeI will, Tim dear Who else ngld I marfy _if 11qt_ you ‘7” ‘ Tim raised himself tip to the next notch, reached out a trembling arm, and disengaged the lace from the thorn that held it so obstiâ€" nately. In a few moments more they had both descended out of their roseate cloud- laml, and stood upon common earth again. Rosy had given her promise, but she made Tim wait a. year for its fulfilment. He must be getting better wages, she said, before they could marry, and she herself must teach some more to lay up money toward a. trousseau and house-furnishing. Such thrift and mod- eration delighted granny, who made daily public rejoicing that her grandson was ”hip in’ coomp’ny wid a gyurl what had her webs aboot her, an’ dedn’t mane to go floppin’ ento widlock loike a. 11in wid its hid off.” [THE END.] S, Including those in the mission fields the 'e are 212 presbyterics in the Presbyteri church of the United States. Of these 122 have already voted on the question whether revision is desirable, and four either fail or decline to vote at all. Of these 126 presby- teries thus accounted for, 82 are in favor of revision, a majority of about two to one. These presbyteries represent-3,742 ministers and 515,491 communicants. There are alto- gether 5,936.1ninisters and 753,749 communi- cants in the church, so that the presbyteries which have thus far voted represent a. large majority of the ministers and communicants of the church. The vote as it now stands makes it practi- cally certain that there will be majority of about two to one of all the presbyteries in favor of revision ; for it is not likely that the presbyteries yet to vote will materially change the ratio. This means that the task of revising the standards of the church will be imposed on the general assembly which meets in Saratoga next month. And the only questions now before the churchjthere- tore, are the extent and character of the re- vision to be made. That revision of any kind is distasteful to a large and influential minority in the Presbyterian church cannot be denied. But they will doubtless submit gracefully to the inevitable, and will now concentrate all their energies to the task of confining the revision within as narrow bounds as possible. ' " " The outcome of this greet movement has been a. surprise even to the revision ists them- selves. Yet in the hour of their victory they may be trusted to act for the best inter- ests, not only of the majority, but of the minority. If they do so, the issue may be settled Without any unseemly schism, and indeed without seriously disturbing the her- mony of the church. It is not at all likely that such changes in the standards as will be made by the general assembly will please the extremists on either side. But they will px‘obybly embody a compromise which will meet the approval of moderate conservatives and moderate revisionists ; and under the circumstances that is 21.11 that can be expect- ed by anybody. A doctor, trying to ascertain the natlzre of his patient’s illness, asked him :»â€"“ Well. i William, are you ever troubled with cold feet?” “ Ay am I,” returned William. ‘ “That’s an auld complaint 0’ mine, sir ; but l they are the wife’s.” Did you ever figure the exact distance that i one may be removed from a reflecting sur- face and yet hear the echo of his own voice ‘? It is said that one can not pronounce dis- tinctly 01‘ hear distinctly more than five syllables in a. second. This gives one-fifth of a. second for each syllable. Taking 1,120 as the velocity of sound per second, we have 224 feet as the distance sound will travel in one-fifth of a. second. Hence, if e reflectin surface is 112 feet distant the initial soun of an uttered syllable will be returned to the ear at a distance of 112 feet just as an- other syllcble starts on its journey. In this case the first fifth of the second is consumed in the utterance of a syllable and the nex fifth of the second in hearing its echo. Two syllables would be echoed from a reflecting surface 224 feet distant, three syllables from 336 feet, and so on within the limit of audible- ness. It is evident that a sharp quiet sound, the duration of which is only one-tenth of a. second, would give an echo from half the distance, or 60 feet. The above estimates are for a. temperature of 61 degrees Fahren heit, at which the velocity of sound is a. little over 1,118 feet in a. second. The velocity of sound when the mercury stands at freezing is 1,086 feet per second. She :â€"“Before we were married you promised that my path through life should i be strewn with roses ; and now I have to sit up nights and darn stockings.” He :â€" “ You don't want to Walk on roses bare- footed, do you? You’d get thorns in your feet.” “Are you looking fur anyone In particu- 511' ‘2” as the rat said whim he saw the cat watching for him. “ Tubbs ;â€"~“ I flatter myself that honesty is printed on my face.” (lrubbs 2-“ \Vellâ€"~ erâ€"yes, perhapsâ€"with some allowance for typographical errors.” A woman entered a provision shop and asked for apound of butter, “an’ look ye here, guidman,” she exclaimed, “ see an’ gie me it guid, for the last pound was that bad I had to gie’t awa’ to the wifie next door.” Presbyterian Revision. Only Said in Fun. The Echo. BY MAURICE THOMPSON. In training to shoot with the rifle what is called offhand firing should always be prac- tised. In doing this you stand firmly on both feet and fire from the shoulderâ€"that is, you hold the gun with the breech resting in the hollow of the right shoulder and with the weight of the barrel sustained by the left hand. To fire with ease and grace, and at the same time with perfect ecgumcy, de- mands a great deal of careful traimz and the utmost coolness and steadiness of Librve, for the slightest movement of the gun will send the ball wide of the mark. Formerly rifles were made zith hair trig- gersâ€"that is, with triggers hat fired the gun at the slightest touch, and they are sometimes so made now; but I do not re. commend. them to boys. Still, a gun moder- ately easy to fire is best. In other words, the trigger should be easily controlled by a. gentle pressure of the forefinger. V Now, to fire at rifle, grasp “the gun by the stock, just below the guard, with the right hand, while with the left you support the barrel. Lift the weapon steadily to the level of the eye, the end of the breech rest- ing against the hollow of the right shoulder, the right forefinger almost touching the trigger, the hammer cocked and the barrel level. Take aim by seeing the fore-sight, which is near the fore-end of the barrel, resting low in the notch of the rear sight, while at the same time it covers the exact centre of the object used as a target. It will take some practice to be able to make the si hts correspond as I have directed, and “glen this has been accomplished, the pulling of the trigger will, if you are not very careful, destroy the aim by causing the gun to web ble. Perseverance is the only road to suc~ cess, in this as in everything else. In long-range firing thevshooter is per~ mitted to rest his gun upon some object to steady it, though the best usage requires him to take some part of his own person for the support. Thus he may kneel with one leg while resting his elbow on the knee of the other, or he may lie on his back and rest his gun upon his foot or between his knees 01 across his leg. But in shootin ame it is always best to rely on offhang rm Figiim the beginning of his practice it is necessary for the shooter to study quickness and accuracy of movement, so that in time he may be able to aim and fire all at once without the slightest hesitation 01 appre- ciable pause. \Vhen he can do this he may begin shooting at moving objects. Habit is everything in shooting; if you your practice you will soon be able to shoot without knowing how or when you take your aim. "The best marksmen in the field never see the sights of their gun. At least they are not aware that they see them while firing. The act of shootin should be as in- voluntary as the act of ligting the hand to ward off a blow. Many expert riflemen close the left eye While aiming, but I do not approve of this. Keep both eyes wide open, but aim always with the right eye. This is a cardinal rule with me. Lifting the gun“ aiming and firing should be but one motio performed by a direct movement and witfi.‘ out pause. To some persons, however, this mode of firing is so difficult to master that it must be given up and the old deliberate sighting method be followed. . Habit is eGer thing in shooting ; if you form a. corljeet ringflhubit 8.} the_ optsqt of “The Fest way to ‘learn‘to aim" at running or flying game is practice at a. pendulum tar get \\ hich is simply a. target of any sort swung by a string so that it oscillates to and fro like a pendulum. A round wheel of wood rolled on the groum1 is also a good running target. At first it will be best to fire at short range, say, twenty or thirty yards, and you will need an assistant to s“ 111 r the pendulum and roll the wheel for you. There should alw age be a bank of em tll or some other obstacle behind the tar et to prevan t the ball from ricocheting an per- haps hurting some one far away. It is fine practice to shoot at a. potato or other small object tossed into the MI: by an assistant. In shooting at game a. few good rules must be ever kept in mind. The first is, never “ poke ” after the object of your aim. By “ poking ” is meant following the flying or running game with your aim, which is the Worst of all faults that a shooter is apt to acquire. Always aim a little ahead of an object moving across the line of your sight. Aim above a, rising object; and below a. fail- ing one. These rules apply more particu- larly to long-range shooting ; at very ‘short range aim directly a._t youi game. Avt all times in using a long-range rifle in a thickly populated country it is absolutely necessary to remember that your weapon may kill or injure some person or some do- mestic animal in the distance. To prevent the possibility of such a. thing you cannot be too careful. Next to the safety of others comes your own, which is to be preserved chiefly by keeping the muzzle of the gun always pointing ayvoy from you. ‘ Some little sensatlon was caused the other ,day in Paris, France, by the exec.1tion in 1 front of the gate of Le Roquette of two ju- venile murderers, aged respectively seven- teen and twenty-one. They had stx'an led an elderly concierge in broad daylight in t 1e Rue . . . . I Bonaparte, With a. \’le\V to robbing her. President Carnot was dissuaded from spar- l ing their lives, with a. View to dispel a cur- ‘ rent liut deeplrooted impression among the l youth of the dangerous classes that it is un- lawful to guillotine “ infants.” The one hardship in their case was that fifty~nine days were allowed to elapse between their sentence and execution, and the delay en- : couraged them to hope for a commutation of their punishment. They met their fate with courage. L No gun is worth having if it is not worth keeping clean and in good order. The in- terior of the lock and the inside of the barrel are the principal parts thbt need to be especially watched for the least appearance of rust or dirt, which mus be removed at once. As a rule, the 100 will not need cleaning oftener than once a year, when it is best to' take it to a profesaional gun-repairer. The barrel, however, should be cleaned thoroughly at the end of each day’s shoot- ing. \Vipe it out first with a wet mop of cotton cloth, then with a, dry one, after which swab it well with a. woollen mop slightly saturated with pure oil. ‘ I scircely need say that a. rifle must be lif‘Dt always dry and that the ammunition should be 1m 11.1 iably the best. A filthy gun and p001 loading 11111111111116 :1 (lufi'e1 of the most expe1t riflemm1.CIeanliness 15 said to be next to godliness, and the say 1110‘ holds good with the mmksnuxn. Juvenile Murderers Guillotined. HOW TO USE THE RIFLE.