ALAS! Alsa, «la*. cfcru! That the sky is onlv b'.ue To gather from tho grass The rain and dew! Alas! that eyes nro fair: That tonrs may gather tloro Mist nml the breath of sighs v From the marsh of cure: ’ ■ Alas, alas, ehou! That wo moot but to bid adieu: That the sands in Timu’s auclent glass. Are so swift ami few! Alas, alas, chnu! That the heart is only truo To gather. where fulso fcot pass The thoru and rue! ■f The Actor’s Story. RY JOHN rOLI.tlAN. 1 CIIAPTER XVII—Ci>ntim:ed. '•Well. I never! Who'd have thought it? Talk o' tho Uoll! An’ how a aw' wi' ye, Curly?” « •: Mr. Cnrapboll—for it was ho—drew ' himself up tor a moment, coldly; then, recovering himself, replied with a pleasant smile; •■What, l’iko! Still on the road, old man? Don't you begin to fool tired of it nnd wish it were all over? Home times I'm of Antony’s mood after Acttuin, and feel disposed to cry— | •"•Unarm. Eras, the long day’s task Is I done.' But no, no. I suppose I've not cour age to taka olf my own armor. And. I After all we’vo only got to wait a lit- ! tla longer for the good time comlrg' i at the end of the journey; and then, j you know, as Cato puts it ‘My bano j and antidote aro both before me.’ ■■Hut -what a rogue and peasant alave am I' to go wool gathering thus! Who’s tho boy?” l'ike introduced me to Mr. Camp bell as "the juvenile hero of tbe com . pany. the coming man. tho future Ko bhu ” ate. Kilo oid gentleman said, with a aweot smile: ‘■Excuse me sip. old men will still fee talking: It's the ,pr!vilego of ago. You nre youDg and sanguine Ah! I kras young and san^uino once mysolf. 1 hope you will have bolter fortune (ban befell mo. You have an open brow and a frank eye Y'ou cun look a man in tho face; I'm sure you’re not afraid. It is a bad thing to be afraid One moment of fear blightod the life of a man 1 know as well as I know myself. Clean linos*, they say, is aext. to godliness but manliness is above everything. If a man insults jroa if he is as big as Goliath, don’t wait to talk, hit him first; hit him if your heart is quaking, if your nerves ans shaking; hit him if ho kills you afterward A bravo man can only die but once but tho coward! Ah. God help tho poor miserablo coward for ho dies every day, every hour he lives!’' He paused, and looked strangely round as he took off hU hat passed bis hand through his toeautifu; hair; then ho stooped took Up a handful of snow, and rubbed it On his brow, mopped it dry, and said with a low despondent moan; ‘Oh. God; I could bo bounded in a nutsholl and count myself a king of infinite space where it not that I Jhave bad dreams." Then ho con tinued lenr you will think me rather eccentric, and so I am; but I was not always thua was 1 l'lko? I was—-what was I? I’m sure { forget 1 Well, and bow is Madame la Pika and the young fishesP And the stock debt And do we still dolight the lieges with Sir Edward Mortimer, aud Pizzara and tho Bailtle and Cabcl Bladersione? And yet glorious ss of yoee on the mountain dew. fresh Cram Glenlivat?" Then In an altered (one and with a touch of sadness in his voice -Of all things else avoid (bat young gentleman. Remember, ^There's death in the pot’ Only begin with that and 'Facilis des «ensus AvernL’ All tho rest is easy; aiap, bang, down you go through the primrose path till you get to tfce abyss at tho bottom." P At this moment Pike cut in with We saw Lang Willi* last night at Ihlsley." -Old you." responded the other; , “then you saw one for whom v •• -Nature might stand up "Andsay to all the world_-Thu • nutn!' ” v Alter a moment’s pause ho began . *» hum "Annie Laurie" hnif aloud and half to bimselL At last Pike whispered him. then he changed ■ altogether, and said: "You' re a good fellow. Pike. What > hi It’ the Baillle says to Rob Roy? You’re a sort of a kind of honest t segue. ’ but as to money, ‘Keep your ' trash Baillle; keep your trash.' Sea although we have got to our last Koborlo, yet," and he sent a bright > new shilling spinning in the air and oaughtit deftly— • -what is it Cleo vatra’a mailed Bacchus says? "Yet 3 have we a brain that nourishes our aervea ’ not by and by. and he could ? hare bad much brains to spare when * ha made such an ms of himself for ’ the sake of that promiscuously . amorous and decidedly dissolute old JOrpsy. Good-by. good-by; good luck to you at Kilmarnock. May your ehadow never grow less; may your stock debt never Increase; may you ■ever share less than half a crown a night and candles to boot. Ta ta. Wo pray heaven to have you in its 3: holy keeping!" And sa throwing hie head aloft he walked rapidly down the hill singing as he passed / ant of sight the song of Autolycus: if- ’ on, Joi on, the footpath way, And merrily hont the stile a— - M . A merry heart goqs all the way j -j” Your sad one tires in a mUe a.” \>vThat, was how I made Curly's acquaintance; and. indeed, that was :the first and last and only time I ever \yoaw Donald Campbell until—but ] . must not anticipate, , A ■ With reference to the rest of out v journey— *■ •3'*? $: “As in a theitro. the eye of man. ■ After a weU-srnoed actor loaves the stage ' Are idly bent on him that enters next, H. ;■ Ttilpkiiig his prattle to be tedious." ’ y viween so would the reader regard, out H‘V • adventures at K Imarnock a* tedious and Irrelevant, so I passed them by. and lOuvo tho record (or another time and plnro. In the next chapter I will take up the thread of Curly's and Willie's story ns It came utmost under my personal cogni/unce many a long day after poor old Pike und 1 had patted company forover. CHAPTER XVIII. End of the Journey. Nearly tlvo years hud elapsed since tho day Curly and I met and parted on the queen's highway. I had emerged from tho •'crowd.” and was 'starring" at tho Theatre Royal. Glasgow, from whence 1 had ! to go to Aberdeen for six nights. I | closed in Glasgow on Saturday, and ; had to open in Aberdeen on Monday. Railronds wero now more or less all over Gotland, but through some prejudice, derived from the Darx Ages, there was still no communica tion between Glasgow and Edinburgh on Sunday. Sorely oxercised in my mind as to how I was to get through in time to open at Aberdeen. I strolled down Argyle street on Saturday morn ing toward the railway station, when 1 perceived In the crowd in the op posite direction, and o'er-topping every one around, a stately, white beardod man. with the head and ••front of Jove himself.” _ Although' I had never seen him since tho night in Taisley I could not be mistaken—it was "Lang Willie.” For years I had pondered on tho nobility, the beauty, the self-sacrifice of that manly nature—the misfortunes of his unhappy friend. 1 knew the prolonged struggles they had en countered with poverty, and I was really delighted at the though', that the prosperity of the poor lad whom he had holped in adversity might enable mo now. perhapa to befriend him, so I made my way toward Mr. jnraieson unu. sans ceremonial re minded him of the circumstances of our slight acquaintance five years back. • maple was the principle tree de manded of all other maples. Before that the sycamore maple had beep the favorite. Then the Norway’s turn came, and to-day it is the favorite, though it has by no means displaced the sugar, which is still very much j planted. There is again signs of re turning atTcction for the European sycamore. It is really a good tree, is of quick growth, has clean, smooth bark and large leaves. The only valid objection to it, and it is not a great one, is, that the seeds do not drop at once when ripe, but hang on the better part of the winter. The common silver maple, or white maple, used to be a favorite tree for the city, bat its very large growth when of some age unfitted it for the purpose, and to-day it is not so much used as it used to be. But it is a fine tree for wide avenues or for pasture lots or elsewhere where the free growth will not be undesirable. The led maple is the one usually found in low situations and which is so much admired be cause of the fine display its red flow ers make in early spring, and the brilliant hue its foliage assumes in the fall. It is a slow growing tree, but makes a largo and handsome one in time. There are many other medi um sized ones and shrubs, but the tree kinds are embraced in those named. The sugar maple is planted as much for fine autumn effect as for its shade. The bronze yollow of its foliage in the closing days of autumn is most beautiful. In this respect it much surpasses the popular favorite, the Norway, which changes its color but little at all, keeping green up to the time it fails from the tree. This tree is more round headed than any of the others, and has larger leaves ^ --iv - also, excepting the sycamoro. Whfle some trees are particular as to season of planting, the maple is not, doing well set in spring or fall, and fairly well in almost any situation. Diseased plums. - P. P. writes in Farm and Fire side: “What is the matter with my plum trees? Quite often they are full of bloom and bid fair to bear well, when lo, what ought to be a plum is a large, spongy mass, swel ling out in a few days to three or four times the size of the plum. Of ten the small leaves and twigs swell in the same manner. These swel lings soon dry up, leaving the trees unsightly and unthrifty for the sea son. Have sometimes found a worm in the center of the swollen plgm, but often nothing. Is the cause known, and what is the remedy?” The swellings are caused by a fungus growth (Taphnna prunii) which is supposed to live over in the wood of the tree. It shows itself, soon after the blossoms fall, by the abnormal swelling of the fruit, which becomes large and bladdery by the first of June. This disease does not spread rapidly, but is rather con fined to certain trees. Some varie ties are much more subject to it than others, and when a tree becomes diseased it is apt to remain so sev eral yeara The treatment of it should consist in cutting and burning tne infected parts. In doing this, cut considerably below the place where the disease shows plainly, so as to taxe off the parts of it th^t may be inside the wood and not visible. This treatment has often resulted in much benefit. The Colt'i Feet. It is' a great mistake for any one to attempt raising a colt to horse age when obliged to keep it stabled on a plank or stone floor all the time. It will most likely go lame from some cause. A run in pasture through the summer gives not merely needed exercise, but the cool, moist grass keep’s the colt’s feet add legs in sound condition. Even in winter it is wiser to let the -colt run out of doors at least in day time, and if there is a shed for shelter he can bo out night as well as day. With good feed a colt treated thus will be much surer to make a sound horse than he will if most of the time stabled.— American Cultivator. Sheep .Shearing, Feed the lambs even before they are weaned all the grain they will eat The future of wool may be uncer tain, but the future of mutton will be all right Lambs cannot be left to shift for themselves and produce a profit for the breeder. Old ewes run down rapidly if the lambs are allowed to run with them longer than necessary. The meat cf castrated lambs is better than that of those upon which the operation has not been per formed. , A shelter that is dark, yet cooled by arrangements by which the air can get through it, is relished by sheep in hot weather. Tests have shown that sheep will eat nearly 630 different plants, which gives an idea how easily sheep may be kept,and how useful they are as weed destroycra When sheep have scab it is not enough to dip the sheep. The fences, stables, everything that the sheep have touched should be, washed with some such mixture as carbolic acid. The cost of producing a pound of wool depends upon the circumstances, says a writer. If we raised no lambs and wool was the only product it would cost in the neighborhood of fifty cents per pound With well selected and well cared for stock the wool will cost nothing The lambs are the medium of profit Household Helps. Towels will give better wear ii overcast between the fringe before they are washed. Never put patent fasteners on shoes until they have been worn and stretched for a couple of weeks. Wnen you are packing your pretty dresses put soft paper between the folds, and they will crease very little when you reach your journey’s end. When the eyes are tired, or in darned from loss of sleep, apply an old linen handkerchief dripping with water as hot as you can possibly bear it. In ordinary burns and scalds the only remedy required is to thorough ly exclude the air from the injured part Cotton batting will do this most effectually. Ink stains on cloth may be taken oat by washing—first with pure water, next with soap and water, and lastly with lemon juice; but if old they must be treated with oxalic acid. A blotter can be made that will remove ink spots from paper. Take a thick blotting paper and steep it several times in a solution of oxalic acid. While the Ink is moist apply the blotter and the ink will be en tirely removed. Three lengths are now modish for capes—one barely to the hips and made very full; another to the waist, and likewise very full, and a third half way to the knee, made less full. The fullness falls from the ahoulder, the cape being either shaped or set full on a yoke. Isinglass and gelatine are entirely different articles to produce the same effect in the thickening of jelly. Isinglass is a little the more expen sive. It is said to tie mado from the bladder of the sturgeon, and tho best is that brought from Kussia. It is a little more delicate than gelatine. DICKENS* ^LONDON oON.^ rndltloM AuocUtcd wth *■ no Lancer B»»« ». ®* wHth, a matter of f«„» u V?** As a matter of fact iT**?“"• 1 the early books of ChaMo.^0*! is practically. as Mr^Curti Dicke« the drama. . '"I® the drama, “goM"*IiL\Urai9 *»id< Bays the North ’aZZ*1* «J “ >ry little ****«■ KrU Very little even remZS *"S | the places descrlK in t^‘ - works. Dickensland in U? >*N deed, has nowadays h^i0®' \ real existence than the J/rd‘“yH Hesperides or the island®*, luH But what does that transatlantic pilgrim to the sin-i J the master clamors to be ^ M house in which Mr. Plckwkw*, i tho court in which Mr. KrcJk such very uncomfortable eZ ', the actual public house ll- v played Mr. Samuel Welw‘Ch sive and peculiar knowfteV3 Why should he not be mtin J It is true that a great many r.uj hl? klDd !Were abs°lutely £"* able of certain identification at a,“lthat almost allot the ori inals of those which were actui portraits have been swept from ( face of the earth in the course o! a extraordinary changes which ha, practically given us in fifty year, new London ori the ruins of the old But the demand inevitably cre»2 the supply. Old illusions die W Dickensland lives again in tho vi imagination of the guidos, and ti truth of the old saying again asser itself—populus vult dedipi ot decit atur. 1 A curious instance of the wav 1 which people are sometimes quit unconsciously and innocently le into error in these matters is to b found in John Forster’s life of Chatle Dickens. Mr. Forster gives a pio ture of Tavistock house, which is, n doubt, accepted as a faithful repn sentation of the house as it w« when Charles Dickens lived in it But, as a matter of fact, it is not later tenant added a portico, o porch, to the street door; and thi portico, of which Charles Dickon knew nothing, figures in the picture This is, perhaps, a trivial matter but many of the Dickensland traili tions have received credence on ver similar, and equally inaccuratt grounds. Thus, for instance, to take a cas outside London, local tradition a the little seaside village of Broad stairs, in Kent, has given the nam Bleak House to the house on the elil above the harbor, in whicl Charles Dickens lived during two o three summers, and which, in hi time, was known as Fort House: an the legend, implicitly believed ii those parts, is that “Bleak House was written there. In point of fact although much of Charles Dickcn work was done at Broadstairs. note bly as regards “David Copperfield,' it so happens that “Bleak House' was one of the books on which n work whatever was done at For House. TALL HAILSTONE YARNS. Oae Piece of lee as Uls as a Mllliton Said to Have Fallen. During a storm at Alorbihan Jun< 21, 1846, the hailstones in some in stances actually attained the size o a turkey’s egg, and one measured 8 inches in circumference. May 4, 1697, a hailstone was found in Stif fordshire, England, which was 11 inches in circumference. VoiM, tells of a storm at Ponchartrain ii which hailstones fell which were ai large as a man’s fist, and one whicb he found himself weighed five ounces Volta records a hailstone found h the neighborhood of Como whic! weighed nearly nine ounces, am there is good authority for the state ment that hailstones weighing » much as a pound fell at Constanti nopie Oct. 5, 1831. But there have been still more remarkable mswm.c» says the Pittsburg Dispatch, ii accept the statements coming “P parently from reliable sources, bui lug a hailstorm at Cazorta, in Spain June 15, 1829, some of the blocks °< tee weighed four and a half penn » It' is the general - opinion amon, scientists that for hailstones to a tain such proportions several nu9 have been fastened together, ei c when they reached the groun while in descent. Under no otne circumstances can the possibility the above and the still more won ful phenomena to follow be adnu ■ Even so. there is good re®**® , doubt Flammarion’s statemon during the latter part of Oewoe 1844, an awful hurricane devasww southern France, in which hai s ; weighing eleven pounds fell, 0 of Dr. Foissac, who cites an in in which hailstones measuring feet in length and width, “ thickness of two and om-Q feet, fell to earth. When Dr. i was accused of esagg®ra ,h 0f emphatically insisted on tJ16 ^ his statements, and to bette ^ tain them added: “M. Hue, a ^ missionary in Tartary. ,r,;, a often hailstones of a remarkable s _ 0[ fell in Mongolia, and that ,yi them have been found to weig ; pounds. During a heavy s 1H43 a noise as of a terrible was heard in the air, and soon after was uearu m ~y ,_„m ouf there fell in a field not far , house a piece of ice large 4 millstone. It was broken u" tjwr hatchet, and though tee t0 was very warm it took thio melt it completely. ” Whispering Across rav1* In the cast-iron water pip® in tne caswrou r-, . which forms a continuous 5 crooks, tee only two slight crooK., ,stiECtly whisper at one end may 0 ' j, the - p other, althouge heard at t pipe u 3,120 ieet long.