rr?-i
Si " v ..
f-t
,' VE,
', -C)
t
2KJ-3't
1
(3"-ftt
REST.
Let us rest ourselves lt
Worry J- -wave- your band to it
K;M jonrflnger-tlps and tail 7
It f srewell a Ifctie wane.
Weary of tbo weary way
r We oaro come from yesterday.
Let us fret us sot, instead.
Of the weary way ahead.
Let us panto aud catch our breita
Oa the hitter aula of death.
While we see the tender shoots
Of the grasses sot the roots.
While we yet look down not op
To seolc out the buttercup
And the daisy, where they wavo
O'er the greca borne of the grave.
Let us launch us smoothly oa
Listless b:Ilows of the lawn.
And drift out acrors the mala
Of our childish dreams again.
Voyage off beneath the trees.
O'er the field's enchanted seas
Where the lilies are our sails
And oar seagulls, nightingales.
- Where no wilder storm shall beat
Than the wind that wares the wheat
Abd no tempests burst above
The eld laughs we used to love. i
Lose all troubles gala release
Languor and exceeding peace.
Cruising idly o'er the vast.
Calm mid-ocean of the past.
Let us rest ourselves a bit.
Worry! waro your hand to it
Kiss your finger-tips and smile
It farewell a little while.
-J. Whitcomb Riley, in N. O. Picayune.
MlRpl
Ike Bonce of HeateleiBalL
By Manda L. Crocker.
CoPTRiorrr, 1SS9.
CHAPTER XVII. COM1& VOX.
At a glance she saw that it was for
Miriam; doubtless the sender did aot know
that the Rest had changed hands. At any
rate the letter was Miriam's, so upstairs
sped Patty, wondering at a letter coming in
this post-haste manner. "I sincerely hope
it contains no bad news," she murmured,
going in search of the owner.
Hinam was half reclining, half sitting in
her favorite deep arm-chair near the win
dow. The rich crape folded about her
rounded form gave her pretty, proudly
arched neck and half-exposed arms a mar
ble whiteness by contrast with its somber
folds as she gazed dreamily away out to sea.
The jewel at her throat gleaming in its bed
of shadowy black lace seemed to. light up
her pale, proud face with a cheerfulness it
did not possess. The pallor of her sorrow
ful countenance was not so noticeable in
the light of the window as when she turned
in the shadows and you met the yearning
Jook of her sad eyes.
"The letter is for you, Miriam dear,"--said
Patricia, entering the parlor softly and
dropping the letter with a-strange-looking
.seal in her lap.
"For me!" and a little surprised look came
over the fine features. Perhaps father had
written, and and but no: a yes, wasn't
that the Perciral seal! Yes, the handwrit
ing was strange; it wasn't Sir Rupert's.
The beaier waits for an answer; waiting
below now," said Patty, almost forgetting
the pompous carrier in the waiting-room
in the strange, anxious light flitting over
.Miriam's questioning countenance.
"Indeed !" and Miriam broke the seal ex
citedly. Her face lost its questioning and
grew drawn and white, so white that Patty
knelt by her side in alarm.
Suddenly she sprang to her feet. 'I will
go ! I will go I" she exclaimed, almost wild
ly "Tell him so; no, stay. Write it. Write
that I shall come if it be the last thing I do.
Now I know why 1 have lived. Poor Allan 1
Poor Allan's son 1 My relative in sorrow,
as well as name."
An unwonted light burned in the depths of
her fine eyes, and an expression of sympa
thetic pleasure flashed into her face as she
took an excited turn about the room.
Although Patricia knew in part, she could
hardly fathom the spell the letter had
thrown over Miriam. She guessed, how-
ever, that the legend and malediction of the
Percivals had a part to play in the excite
.aent of her sister.
"Pen and paper," said Miriam, sinking
exhausted into her chair again.
Patty produced them, and Miriam, seizing
the pen, hastily wrote a reply.
"That is right," she ejaculated, hurriedly.
'Take it to the post-boy; 1 am so glad so
glad."
She talked incoherently; Patty felt no
little alarm concerning Miriam. She had
rgrown so strangely different, metamor
phosed, as it were, within the last half hour
that she was excusable in feeling no little
concern in regard to her.
Patty took the reply down herself and
gave it to the waiting carrier, who bowed
thimself out in haste.
When she returned to Miriam she found
her crying softly, her face buried in the let
ter she had received an hour before.
"Cousin Allan is very ill and wants me,"
explained Miriam, drying her tears and
looking up. "I never knew where uncle
went to after after his marriage, but
Cousin Allan is now in London, and Uncle
and Aunt Pcrcival are both dead. I shall go
to him at once, Fatty. It seemed good to
have some one care for me at last"
"Why, Miriam dear, I love you as an own
sister; you must know that, certainly," an
.swered Patricia, in a pained voice, looking
-at her with brimming eyes.
Miriam threw her arms impulsively
around Patty's neck and sobbed out: "Not
that, .Fatty; not that. I mean to have one
of my own house to speak to me, to care
lor; a real Percival, Patty."
"Ohl" exclaimed Patricia, enlightened;
there, there, do not weep in that heart
broken way, Miriam," and she soothed her
as she would a child.
"Sou will make yourself ill," warned
Patrica, "and you may not be able to visit
that dear cousin who, of course, would give
worlds to see you."
Miriam unclasped her hands at this, and
calmed herselt as much as she was able,
considering the unusual news she had re
ceived. Never in all her life had she heard
from a real relative; and this one wanted
her to come.
With a nervous eagerness Miriam set
about her preparations for leaving for Lon
don on tfM morrow.
CHAPTER XVIII.
When Miriam alighted from the com
fortable railway compartment at Charing
Cross Station, it was raining in little,
.disagreeable gusts. The pleasant weather
had put on another and colder phase aside
.from the dampness, and she shivered as
she drew her wraps about her.
Hollis and Patty had come down with
her. having an excuse to visit Mme. Mont
iaim a lew days, in order to accompany
her. They were kind and thoughtful, Mir
iam knew, and as Hollis bundled her into
a omnibus and gave the driverhisdiree
JiOBS,sae Bovedaerlips ia prayerfalthtiifrf
-Between the drizzling rain and the foggy,
sseky outlook, Miriam scarcely recognizea
the somber and place, as described in the
letter, when Hollis helped her up the steps
of die second-rate establishment in middle
London, with a shopon either side.
' "I will never be any better." the sick
man said, holding Miriam's hand in his
thin, almost transparent fingers. "I sent
for yon because I wanted some one
of my kin near me when I died.
I am aware of the shadow which has
cursed your life and mine. I had the reve
lation from my father; he said it was as
much his duty to give me the Percival le
gend as it was toliveaChristian, butlbave
never yet teen any good come of my know
ing it."
. No good to either of us," said Miriam,
with stony face.
The past came np in all its terrible me
nacing vengeance before her. and she shut
her teeth to keep back the imprecation
about to be uttered: not becauso of her own
wrongs; no, she could suffer with all the
calmness of a stoic, but this pale, fragile
cousin had also been smitten. Prone on a
sick bed be lay, the picture of bis handsome
father, her Uncle Allan, whose name he
bore.
"Uncle Allan was disinherited," said
Miriam, savagely, "and so was I, for the
same reason."
Tho dark eyes of the patient man on the
pillow sought hers inquiringly. "They
wero all disinherited for marrying in oppo
sition to paternal wishes, if I understood it
aright!"
"Yes," assented Miriam, 'and married
better companions than the petted children
who staid at Heatherleigh and courted
society swells."
Allan smiled at the show of hatred in
tone and manner, a strange, wan, pitying
smile.
Cousin Miriam's tone was the very
vnintrnrt of his father's, he remembered.
To be a Percival was to have a soul fitted
for hatred, he verily believed. In this he
was not a Percival, then; his mother's
milder blood warmed a heart fitted for for
giveness. He was only a Percival in name.
"Ahl me," and be signea audioiy.
"Tin not. irrtave- I bee-" said Miriam, soft-
vv w .. . , DT
ening, "the hopelessness of it is enough
- FBONB OK A SICE BED BE LAT.
without grieving to make it worse. Where
did uncle die!" she asked, (hanging the
drift of conversation.
"In Trouville, France; my mother, also.
is buried there. After their demise I came
back to London to be near you."
"Me!" asked Miriam. "How did you know
I was even in England!"
"Oh ! I knew," replied Allan, brightening
visibly. "The Montcalms are old friends of
my relatives on my mother's side, and
Hollis' engagement to Miss Fairfax led the
way to several other connecting links,
whereby I traced you to the Rest, that
lovely home by the sea. By inquiry 1 found
that you were my cousin, Uncle Rupert's
daughter. I wrote to you because I counted
it a heavenly privilege if haply I might
see face to face a genuine relative once
more." '
He reached out his hand and touched her
sleeve significantly. "Mourning," he said,
sadly; "mourning for Aunt Percival sweet
Lady Pcrcival, as I have heard, and your
husband, Arthur Fairfax. Ah! well, wear
a little knot of crape forme, after awhile,
won't you!"
His dark, serious eyes turned with plead
ing look wistfully on the handsome face of
his cousin for a reply.
"Yes," she said, tearfully. Then a deep
silence reigned in that gloomy apartment
where death and despair were preying re
lentlessly each upon their respective victim.
Outside the rain came in gusty dashes
against the pane, and in the corners of tho
room the deep shadows wero already gath
ering. It was evening. Hollis had taken his
leave and was now with Patricia, enjoying
the luxurious warmth and elegance of the
Montcalm residence in the aristocratic West
End.
She, with her proud soul almost rent in
twain, was sitting there in the close, unpleas
ant rooms of a dingy establishment in tho
busy, restless central part of the city by
the bedside of her only living relative, ex
cepting her unnatural father, who would
not recognize their relationship.
The sick man shut his eyes and remained
quiet; he felt contented to find ho had a
friend with him at the last. The physician
had said he could not last many days now,
and she, Miriam, his regal cousin.would re
main until the end came. He had not asked
this of her, buthe knew by the deep, grieved
expression on her beautiful face that she
wo aid grant him this priceless boon.
The attendant brought in lights and, un
derstanding that this woman was the ex
pected relative, showed her to her room's in
the adjoining suite. Miriam's rich apparel
and costly belongings set the servant to
wondering why she had not come before
and helped her relative financially before
he lay down to die.
The next day Miriam set about in earnest
to make tho sick-room as cheerful as possi
ble. "He did not dare to be moved," the
physician had said when she suggested
living in plcasanter apartments. That be
ing so he should have all the comforts and
luxuries money could bring into this stuffy
place, Miriam decided, and forthwith the
changes became so numerous and so happy
that the servant who felt that the fine lady
had been neglecting this sick relative be
gan to believe she had a heart after alL
But after a feeble protest from Allan,
that "it wasn't necessary to waste so much
attention on a dying man," that very
thankful fellow looked on in silent wonder
to see such blissful transformation.
"I believe," said Allan one afternoon as
Miriam sat by him, "I believe that I feel
better. There is a change for the better, I
am sure, although I can not explain it ex
actly. I feel as if I wanted to live now; be
fore I only wished to die, with a friend
near me."
He sought her face again with those wist
ful, magnetic eyes for an affirmative. Al
lan had wonderful, clear, expressive eyes,
and now they were continually filled with a
happy thankfulness toward this refined
and cultured woman who had flashed the
glorious light of loving care over Us dark
day.
Miriam looked at him, a hep kiadlag
t
within her bosom. If he only could live.
She bad wealth enough for. both, and to
spare. She would lighten any financial
burden he might have and send him on his
way rejoicing.
'I believe you will recover," she made
answer, assuringly, while a pleased ex
pression came into her white face. "Only
live, Cousin Allan, and we will at least have
each other. We can each say 'I have a
cousin,' which to me will be great happi
ness, knowing that we will always be
friends."
A mist obscured her vision, and she put
out her hand toward Allan with a gesture
of decn emotion. His thin, trembling fin
gers closed over it in silence. Neither of
tnem were aoio to sptrut lor sumo uuauu.
Then Miriam spoke.
"lam glad," she said, "so glad to have
found you in time. When I was bowed
down with grief and sorrow for the dead;
when my heart ached because of the cruel
decree, separating me from my bouse;
when I prayed for a friend, I found one!
Henceforth we are friends, inseparable,
whether you live a week or a lifetime."
'Amen! amen 1" responded Allan. "And
now I shall live," he continued, in assuring
tones; "instinctively I feel that I shall out
live my lonely, troublous existence and en
joy life. I am only thirty years old, cousin,
and it seems as if I ought not to give up
life so soon, especially with a sworn friend
at my side, and she a Percival."
A faint smile lighted up his wan face and
his fine eyes shone like stars. "God be
thanked!" he said, fervently. "I know
what it is to be hopeful and happy at last.
I believe I have groped out from under tho
curse, Cousin Miriam, and I trust it will lift
from both lives as well; it must."
"I have no hope for myself," said Miriam ;
"but if you aro only from under the maledic
tion I am content."
"Don't, don'.tl" pleaded tho sick man,
visibly distressed, and he turned away his
bead so that tho eyes resting on him might
not detect tbo gathering tears.
The physician came in and noticed the
change. "Much better, much better!" ho
said, encouragingly. "I urn hardly pre
pared to say why or for what reason this
happy change has taken place; but I could
shrewdly guess," and the little old man
glanced meaningly about tho room, and
then at Miriam, who was looking out of the
window.
"Yes," nodded Allan, with a happy smile,
"she has come and wrought the trans
formation. The tonic of her presence and
kindness of her care have helped you, doc
tor, to effect this marvelous change."
"Certainly, certainly," fussed the little
old physician, spreading out and counting
the powders he had been dealing. "I have
no doubt now but that you are on the mend,
finely, sir, finely. Now have a little care,
sir, a little care," emphasized tbo precise
doctor, with his hand on the door, "or you
may have a relapse. Don't get too ambi
tious, sir; remember you have been very
ill, very ill, sir."
The little nervous physician nodded in
emphasis, little jerky nods, meant to convey
authority, and the convalescent listened re
spectfully, although he knew the better
physician of the two was over there by the
window, where the dim sunlight sifted over
her becoming coiffure.
"When I am able to be about, cousin,
will you go back to the Rest!"
"Most likelr, for awhile, at least."
"And then!"
"Allan. 1 bavo a favor to ask of you; will
you grant it?"
"Certainly, if possible I will be glad to.
Cousin Miriam." His eyes held in their
depths such a glad light of anticipation
now that he might do something to reward
and please one who had done so muchifor
him.
"It isn't much," she said, half in apology,
coming near and taking a seat by the couch.
"But as yet you know nothing of my plans.
You have asked me 'where then,' or words
meaning the same. If I should tell you that
in a very short time I will leave for Ameri
ca, what would you say t"
To live there; make the Western conti
nent your home, Miriam!" asked Allan, all
tho eagerness dying out of his face be
clouded by gravest apprehension. Was he
so soon to lose her, his regal cousin!
To reside there," answered she, an odd
little shadow passing over her countenance.
"Oh, I should say, please don't go; what
earthly good can there be in that, Miriam!"
"I want -to forget," she answered, sad
ly. "I have a friend over there, at least a
friend of my dear dead mother's, who has
written me to come. I should have been
gone ere this had it not been for a severe
illness directly after the receipt of her
letter."
Then I would have missed finding you
and died!" Ho turned his head away
once more to hide his tears.
"I am glad I did not go," she replied.
"And you will be glad a second time if
you give up your plan now," he ventured.
"Oh! not when you get well and strong,
and do not need me."
"There never will be a day again that I
will not need you. Oh! Miriam 1" Then as
if shocked at his untimely confession, be
buried his face in the pillows and lay
quite still. Miriam went back to the
window, without gainsaying this outburst
of her cousin's. Poor, lonely, sick man, she
thought, he hardly knows what he is say
ing. I will not chide him. When he will
have fully recovered this thought will
have passed. No; she will not say any thing
now to hurt him. Doubtless her kindness
had almost turned his brain, in bis weak
state, and as ho convalesced he would for
get. The attendant came and thinking the
sick man asleep, went quietly out again.
The silence was growing irksome. Miriam
WHEN TOO ABB BETTER STILL COMB A5T
VISIT ME."
looked at her watch and then glanced
furtively toward the couch. Allan Percival
had not stirred.
"Allan," she said, softly; "it is time for
another powder, I believe. Jack would
have given it to you, but he thought you
were asleep. Shall I give it to you!"
Her cousin took his face from among- the
pillows and looked up. "Yes, if you
please."
Bis lace was very pale; all the vivacity
of hopeful convalescence had fled, aad even
his lips were white and trembling with
Miriam thought best net toaotioa It, aad
:-t4 J
M
gave him a powder in a little wine glass of
Maderia. It will strengthen him, sho
thought. Then she drew her chair near
him and sat down.
"Allan," she began, "what I wish you to
do for mo is this. When I am gone please
forget that you know of my whereabouts
should any inquiry come to your ears from
Heatherleigh. Will you do this!"
"Yes," he answered; "they shall never j
know through me if you desire to have
your voyage remain a secret."
I wish it, most assuredly;" and then she
told him of her visit to the Hall when she
was waved off by Sir Rupert in his fury,
dwelling tragically on the sorrowful recital.
"Now you know vhy I wish to be buried, as
it were, from sight and sound of Heather
leigh." "Ii-notc," he answered. "I will promise
any thing you desire; you will forgive and
forget my speech of an hour ago ( it grates
on your heart, cousin. I I I am too lonely
and desolate, and well, you will forgive?"
He reached out an eager band and Miriam
took in a warm, friendly clasp tho out
stretched palm.
"Don't grieve," she said, generously.
"You have said nothing wrong, Allan. But
wait uutil you are well and strong and per
haps you will forget it, too."
Miriam saw a puzzled, far-away look steal
into those splendid eyes; then a quiver of
the pale lips, aud she knew he was battling
with disappointed desires. She hesitated
for a moment, then passed her hand caress
ingly over tho noble brow, and up among
the dark, clustering hair. Ho was her
cousin, all the relative she had, and well,
sho would. So bending over the pitiful,
won face on the pillow, she pressed ber
lips to his brow.
"There is nothing to forgive, Allan; you
and I are the firmest, best of rfenfo." Then
she went to her own apartments, and the
attendant came and satout thoday by Allan.
When Allan Percival was ablo to sit up
and walk about the apartment Miriam an
nounced her intention of going home.
"Though Ihavcn't any," she added, bitterly.
Sho was thinking of two graves, side by
side, beneath the dark yew trees of the
church-yard.
Allan looked wistfully up, and a sudden,
yearning light almost glorified his handsome
face, uut he turned away bis head as
Miriam looked up.
She should not seo that j
he could not forget. She should know that
he could feel grateful, without making him
self offensive.
"When you are better still, cousin, come
and visit me. won't you?"
Miriam put out ber hand in a cordial,
cousinly manner.
With a questioning look he hesitated. "I
shall miss you very much," he stammered,
but'
"And I shall feel badly if you do not
come. I want you," she said, with a posi
tive, imperious air.
"Then I will come and gladly."
"Good-bve until I welcome you at tho !
Rest," she said, cheerfully, almost gayly.
"Good-bye, I shall remember, good-bye!"
and the hansom rolled away.
Allan went back to the gloomy, old silence,
and sat down with his head resting on tho
table. He was still weak and the parting
had unnerved him. though he fancied he
had borne up bravely considering how well
he loved this gloriously saintly cousin. Tho j
touch of her lips on his brow that day i
when she had kissed him forgiveness i
thrilled him to his very soul's center. But I
she was a genuine Percival, and if she
could' not return his love, why, sooner or
later, she. would cast him off without a
single regret, and he would goto the bad!
Oh! this this suspense but tho room
went around him with dizzy velocity and
he knew no more.
Ue was too weak to calmly count up tho
odds against him in this first deep, true love
of bis life, and had fainted dead away in
consequence. .
TO BE CONTIHtTED.
SELF-TORMENTORS.
Unfortunate Persons Wbo Cultivate the
Art of Maltinc Themselves Miserable.
There are few arts more assiduously
cultivated by the human race than that of
making themselves miserable. People who
give their minds to this melancholy branch
of mental industry are often frightfully
successful, and many attain such proficiency
in it that they fall a sacrifice to their own
skill. To such experts the future, which to
your jolly makc-the-best-of very-thing fel
low seems a fair white surface prepared
expressly for Hope to paint her pictures on,
is a black abysm athwart which horrible
shapes are continually Hitting. The imagi
nation of one of the ingenious self-tormentors
is a sort of magic lantern furnished ex
clusively with dismal slides, and projecting
nothing but infernal spectrums.
There is another set of unhappy creatures
who extract their misery from the present.
If a friend inadvertently passes one of them
in the street without a nod of recognition,
be or she fancies that an affront is in
tended. Remarks uttered at random, and
without the slightest idea on the part of the
utterer of giving offense to any human be
ing, are often construed by this style of
persons into innuendoes and sarcasms
covertly leveled at them; and, in fact, it is
scarcely possible for one to do or say any
thing in their presence without being sus
pected of a design to turn them into ridi
cule. Of course, scores of our readers aro ac
quainted with individuals wbo understand
and practice tho art of making themselves
miserable. Possibly a few are given to
dark forebodings, or have a knack of sup
posing themselves the special targets of
conversational small-shot aimed at nobody.
If so, we advise them for their own sakes
to abandon the thankless task of anticipat
ing difficulties and of misconceiving casuai
remarks to their own discomfort. Sufficient
for the day is the evil thereof and to be on
the alert for insult is a very foolish kind of
vigilance. The true philosophy of life is to
meet misfortune, when it comes, bravely
and calmly, but never to borrow trouble or
make mountains out of molehills.
The art of making the best of everything
is a noble and manly art. Cultivate it, and
leave its antithesis to moral dyspeptics.
N.Y. Ledger.
Aa UadefirrMBd CaaaL
"The strangest canal in the world is one I
never saw mentioned in any book or news
paper," said an English clergyman to a St.
Louis Globe-Democrat reporter. "It is a
canal sixteen miles long, between Worsley
and St. Helens, in the north of England, and
is underground from end to end. In Lan
cashire the coal mines are very extensive,
half the country being undermined, and
many years ago the Duke of Bridgewater's
managers thought they could save money by
transporting the coal under ground instead
of on the surface. So the canal was con
structed, the mines connected and drained
at the same time. Ordinary canal boats
are used, but the power is furnished by
men. On the roof of the tunnel arch are
cross-pieces, and the men who do the work
of impulsion lie on their backs on the coal
an-push with their feet against the cross
bars on the roof. Six or eight men wfli
draw a traia of four or five boats, and as
there are two divisions in the tunnel boats
pass eacn other without dilsculty."
A TAXXDnxisT at Pasadena, Cat, has
contracted to sta 2,000 honed toad to be
tent Eat
IN THE OLD DAYS.
Dear Grandmamma sighed
As she slowly untied
The packet we found In the loft;
The paper was bluish.
The words were too foolish.
The sentiments, ir thought, were soft
Now. if our dear Granny
Were younp, like our Fanny.
Who lingered last night at the gate.
It would not seem queer
To be called "love" and "dear."
And "prithee, sweet, tell me my fate."
But it sounded so silly
To sign '-Your sweet Willie."
"Who worships the ground at your feet"
Now Grandpa takes snuff
And thinks it enough
To doze, in the son in his seat.
When Gramlm was young
Her praises were sung
By rapturous lovers a score:
I wish 'twas the fashion
To record the blind passion
In verses of twenty or more.
Then pen. ink and paper.
Some wax and a taper.
Were all the expense incurred;
-Voir, costly bouquets.
Drives operas, plays.
And "seats in tho paniuette preferred.
Then, old-fashioned ways.
The minuet's maze.
The sonnet by messenger sent;
A scat meant tor one.
Her promise Is won.
And all without costing a cent.
Chicago Journal.
MY FIKST CIGAR.
Reasons That Determined Me To
Let It Be My Last.
"Go and buy a cigar."
Mr. JCimon was a carpenter employed
in building a warehouso for grain-shippers
at Wyekles, a littlo station on the
"Wabash railway, in Central Illinois, and,
as he spoke, ho handed me a five-cent
piece.
My parents lived at Wycklcs. I wa3
tho youngest of four sous, and was ten
years old at the time just the right ago
to think it smart to step around with a
cigar between my teeth.
I had always been a favorite wifh Mr.
Kimon, arid I suppose he thought he
was doing the right thing when he told
me to buy a cigar, or, ho may have
thought the attractions of "gum-drops"
and "taffy-on-a-stick" would bo too-much
for me and I would lay out tho nickel in
those luxuries instead of buying a cigar
with it. Rut. if such wero his thoughts,
he was mistaken, for I took the nickel.
I and, marching into a store near by, kept
by a cripple named Rradshaw, planked
t it down upon tho counter and asked for
a cigar with as indifferent an air as I
could assume,. with the doubts of my
ability to conquer the weed already as
sailing me.
The store-keeper gavo me a quizzical
look, reached for a box, hesitated for a
moment, and then took down another.
Throwing tbo lid back, ho sot before
me somo very dark and ominouslooking
cigars.
Had I been an experienced smoker and
a judge of cigars, I would have known
that the ones before me were particular
ly dangerous specimens, but I wasn't,
and did'nt, and so," in blissful unconcious
ness of what was beforo me, I selected
one of the noisome weeds, bit off the end
(as I had seen men do), and then light
ing it, stuck it in my mouth and strutted
out of the store with my head thrown
back and chest expanded, puffing away
like one to the manner born.
Had I seen the amused smile upon
Bradshaw's face as I left his store, my
suspicions might have been aroused, but
I didn't see it, and so continued to step
round with the cigar between my teeth,
feeling, or rather, endeavoring to feel
for tho cigar tasted horrible, and made
me have a queer sensation in the region
of my stomach that I was every inch a
man.
Rut this state of affairs lasted but a
short time. Had I taken the troublo to
look at myself in a mirror after five
minutes at that cigar, I would have no
ticed an unusual pallor to my face, and a
whiteness about my lips foreign to them
in a normal state. And my stomach!
from a simple stato of sickness it had
broken out in open rebellion, and the
war which was waged between tho le
gitimate contents of said stomach and
tho poisonous saliva and bits of tobacco
which I had unwittingly swallowed was
Bnfitl vl.tlr, if loafrul anil if loaf nrt vllifA
long enough to suit me, I assure you.
VAmllnua it got- Tmti?lTka fllA fnlinfVA '
.1V(.UlVO V ".J, JJ1..UH WV WWV,V
conquered, and around behind somo cars
which wero standing on the sidetrack
where I had gone as quickly as a swim
ming head and staggering footsteps
would let me I was speedily relieved of
both contending forces.
Rut. oh! how weak, and sick and faint,
and wretched I did feel! not a bit like
a man now and thinking I would keep
quiet for awhile, until I felt better, I
crawled under one of the cars and laid
down beside tho rails. How it happened
that I went to sleep I do not know.
Perhaps it was induced by my particu
lar weak state, both mentally and phys
ically, at that time; but, be that as it
may, certain it is that I had not lain
there ten minutes beforo I was asleep,
sound as a top.
How long I slept I do not know, but I
was suddenly awakened by a queer,
grinding, gliding noise, accompanied by
a regular click-click! click-click!
I knew tho sound only too well, and
even if my eyes had not told me what
occasioned the queer noise, I wouldhave
known what made it:
The cars under which I was lying
waro moving, and at a speed which
would have made it dangerous for me
to have attempted to spring out between
the wheels, even if I had been on my
feet, braced, ready for the leap.
Rut I wasn't. I was lying flat upon
my back upon the thin layer of earth
which covered the crossties, between
the rails, and to attempt to regain my
feet would have been suicidal, for the
tracks of the cars would have knocked
me down and I would have been run
ver by the big iron wheels and killed.
What to do I did not know. I was
frightened, almost paralyzed with fear,
and I lay motionless, watching with a
species of fascination the rapidly revolv
ing wheels aad listening to their click
click! click-click! as they crossed the
joints where the emds of tba rails came
together.
Then a terriblo thought struck nit:
tho cars could not move without motivo
power, where was the engine?
There was about a foot of epace be
tween my body and tho trucks of tho
cars, and I cautiously raised my head a
trifle and glanced down along my body
in tho direction from which the cars
wero coming.
Horror of horrors! The engine was
on that end of tho string of cars, push
ing them, and only-to cars intervened M
between it and my trembling self! F
I was paralyzed with horror for a mo
ment. Tho ash-pan on all locomotivo
engines is beneath tho body of tho
monster, and is invariably only about
six inches from the rails. It would bo
impossiblo for it to pass over the body
of a child, much less that of a good
sized boy, without mangling, scraping
and tearing it to pieces.
I realized this with a chill of terror,
but what to do I could not think. It
really seemed as if there was nothing I
could do that I had no choice in tho
matter, but would bo forced to lie thoro
and be mangled scraped torn to pieces
beneath that awful ash-pan. and I invol
untarily closed my eyes and shuddered.
The cars wero moving at a rapid rato
of speed now. and as my eyes came open
again, tho rear end o tho first of tho
two remaining cars was just passing
over me.
Tho forward end of tho last car paed
rapidly, and tho other end approached.
It would be followed by tho tender,
then tho engine, under which was tho
ash-pan, which would manglo my poor
bodj- in another moment.
The horrible thought nerved me to
desperation, and, as the end of the car
reached me, I threw up my hands and
clutched tho rapidly-moving' trucks with
a grip made trebly strong by terror.
I was jerked with such suddenness
and force that my arms wero nearly
pulled out of their sockets, but I held
on with an energy born of despair, and
was dragged along with tho car, my feet
thumping against tho tics at a rato
which threatened to relievo my shoes of
their heel-taps if not my feet of tho
shoes themselves.
Rut I retained my hold. To lose my
grasp and fall upon tho trzck would bo
certain death death in a particularly
horriblo form, and I shuddered and
gripped the trucks wtth renewed en
ergy. As onward I was dragged, I mado at
tempts to draw myself up upon tho
trucks, but it was beyond my power and
I could only grip them tighter and wait.
Would the cars never stop?
Onward and still onward I was
dragged, across two cattle-guards. whero
tho wagon-road crossed the railroad, and
for fifty yards farther, when just as I
was on tho point of having to let go my
hold it really seemed as if I could not
retain my grasp a moment longer I no
ticed that tho speed of the cars was di
minishing. Little by littlo they slackened upH
slower and slower they moicd. but ns
until they had come to a dead stand-still
did I dare let go my hold and crawl out
from under the car.
This I did and then sank upon tho
ground beside tho railroad track, utter
ly unnerved almost fainting. And my
'
arms and legs, how sore they were!
was two weeks at least, Derore they re.
turn to any thing like their normal con
dition of usefulness.
Tho train took the care which were
loaded with shelled corn away with it,
and as I stood in tho middlo of tho track
and saw the old red caboose disappear
around the curve in tho deep cut a quar
ter of a mile to the east of the littlo sta
tion of Wycklcs, I thought, with a shud
der, of the narrow escape which I had
had from a horriblo death, and I regis
tered a vow to never, never again touch
tobacco in any form.
And I have kept my vow. S. A. D.
Cox, in Yankee Rlado.
SOME RARE OLD BONDS.
They Were Yellow Front Age. But Proved
to lie Worth 70,00l ia Gold.
It was while Judgo Folger was Secre
tary (said an old Treasury official.) Ono
morning an old man came in to me who
was from a New England State. Ilo
said that about twenty years ago ho
found some old stocks or bonds among
tho papers of an undo (mentioning his
name); ho bad been a man of National
reputation for ability, and had a com
fortable fortuno for those days that is
from 1830 to 1840 and ho had come to
tho United States Treasury to find out if
they wore worth any thing, as thoy
seemed to be United States bonds. I
looked at them. They wero ten of tho
"old dobt" bonds, and wero indeed curi
osities. They were old and yellow from
age, but wero worth, principal and in
terest, in gold 870,000, for there wero
ten years' interest duo on-them. You
can imagine the old man's amazement
when I told him this. "Why, I would
gladly have taken 55,000 for them," said
he, "and I offered them to a Roston
banker for less than that, but he rather
superciliously and contemptuously de
clined to buy them at any figure." I
took the old man in to see Judge Folger,
who was very much interested in tho
matter when I explained it to him. He
had never seen any of the "old loan"
securities, and after these were paid
and canceled I believe ho directed that
one of them be framed and preserved.
Well, in less than half an hours' time
the old Xew-Englandcr walked out of
tho building with a check in his pocket
on the New York Sub-Treasury for S70,
000 in gold. How that "smart" Roston
banker must have cursed his own ignor
ance and stupidity when he learned
what he had throws away." St. Louis
Republic.
A duck got into a queer fix near
Rochester, Pa., the other day. The
ducks of that place eat the acorns which
are scattered over the ground under the
oak trees, and this particular duck ate
so many that when the owner returned
from work in the evening it was lying
prostrate, unable to walk or squawk. He ,
looked into the mouth and saw that its "
throat was clogged with acorns. He
tried to drive them down, but as he '
failed ia this, he cut its head off, aad
nearly a half peck of acorn fell oat of
iteboey.
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