Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 April 1884 — Page 6

JOHN BROWN S LEGS. The Poet Laureate begs A tear tor John Brown's less; Those lacerated 1-gs, Cntand carved about the knaa, Which twere flUful to see. What service they have done, What royal errands runt Now (formed with gore, Alas! no more They chase the hens and find the freshest eggs. Those faithful legs, those lacerated legs. Dressed In his Highland rig. His ulomcd bonnet and bright checkered rlaid, A bonnier, braver lad Tban John Brown never danced a jig Upon the breezy heights of Balmoral. Stately as cedars upon Lebanon, Mats ive as are the pillars of Karnak, His mighty legs beneath ills ucat. kilt shone, A sinewy sight to look unon. And send a thrill of pleasure down one’s back! j Alas! no more On Scottish hills or by the sad sea shore Those legs will now be seen Gay gamboling o'er the green. Nor Buckingham nor Windsor's gate shall see Them, firm but supple, waiting there for me; for scratched and cut and scarred. By btaok adventure marred, They ro stiffer than were ev.r Silas Wegg's, Those lovely, lamentable legs. On such a pair of legs Antaeus stood £n a stout wrestle that fired all his blocd; Huch Hercules, when hun iug for a stew, The marble-jawed Nemein lion slew; Mid on such legs the stalwart Samson strode When Giza's gates he carried off by night As lar as Lonaon's l'rom the Isle of Wight, And hulled them fiat upon a mountain road; When also with the jaw bone of an ass He mad - a dicartful and a fatal i as?, Apd left ten thousand Philistines, or more. Upon tiir neld to welter in their gore. 6 logs! legs! legs! On, legs wi hout compare! O hanpy rtays, when John displayed them bare! Now carefully mewed np in salvo and rags, Resembling naugut so much as clumsy „ bags, Stuffed out with cotton—what mishap was there! Milton his loss of sight deplored In lines of sounding sorrow; but his loss To bear was not by half so hard a cross As Brown’s, who, without legs, was floored! What's man without his iegs, or what to him Hnnlight or moonl.gnt, morn or twilight dim? He'sees with envv the domestic fly Over his dinner swiftly pattering by; Even the snail moving on his track. Bearing his household goods upon his back, Stirs sharp regret that lie, like any log, Fixed in the depth of some Cimmerian bog, Must heli'less l.e and st 11, Against his sovereign will. Thus Brown was fixed, and could not stir his pc^s. Those manly and Inimitable legs. Mourn, Albion, then, along thy ?eight shore, Ad Scotland, too, repeat the sad refrain. And let the British 1 on rump and roar; For never, never shall John Brown again Skip like the kids the hills and vales among Upon those legs, now scratched, and cut, and sore. Those logs whose praises I have feebly sung, Those legs, legs, legs, For which the poet begs Tho tribute cf a tear, those legs of faithful Brown, Which in the Queen’s own pages, Shall reach all future ages, Of all historic legs the legs of most renown.

DOLLY'S LAST FLIRTATION.

\ lam Kitty, and Dolly is my twin-sis-ter. I was always sedate, mother used to say; but Dolly was giddy, and fond of flirting. When we were 17, Dolly became engaged, with our mother’s consent, to Drank Wilrnot, a young fellow of 24, son of a banker, free and cheery in manner and disposition. He was very indulgent to Dolly, 4or he felt so confident of her love, and was himself so loyal and sincere that the admiration she excited was his triumph; the freedom with which she received and encouraged it never pained him, though mother and I used to watch her with serious anxiety. Sometimes our mother would say a few impressive words; then Dolly would throw her arms round her, and with kisses assure her siie would be a better girl, or she would pout a little, with tears in her bright blue eyes. She would be very demure through two balls, and at the third worse than ever; scarcely could Frank get one waltz for liimself. One evening lie brought to our house ■ a cousin of his, a barrister, a man some years older than himself. He was rather famous, though only 30, being an acute lawyer, and consequently looked up at the bar. Dolly owned to me that evening that Frank had confided to her that I was Jack Dacve’s ideal womau. “So don’t blush so angrily, darling,” said she, “for it would be the most delightful arrangement. He is Frank’s ideal man and dearest friend. It would be the happiest thing for us all!” And Dolly gave me a hug and a kiss and ran off to bed. Mr. Dacre came very often after that one visit, and I soon found that he was my ideul man, for ho strangely resembled my father, both in manners and bis chivalrous courtesy to women, as well as in appearance. It was with a chill at my heart that I was the first to make the discovery that he was falling in love with Dolly—lie, the soul of boner, seemed bewitched by the charms of his bosom friend’s affianced wife. I •knew it before he did, but of course ■not before Doily, who had a genius for muerringly detecting every symptom, ihowever obscure, of dawning iove, •either in her own case or another's. My mother and Frank were utterly ■blind to the danger. I was very unhappy, and exceedingly sorry for Dolly, for b rank, for Mr. Dacre, and, I own it, for myself; for, though I had not fallen in love with Frank’s cousin, I must say he was tho only man I had eeen whom I felt I could* fall iu love with. An accident brought matters to a climax. We were sitting in the drawing-room After dinner one evening, when a noise in tho street drew us to tho window. The pole, of a carriage had entered the shoulder of a cab horse. Dolly became ill and faint attbe sight, and Mr. Dacre, who was at her side, threw his arm around her to save her from falling. Ho led her to a sofa and stood aside as Frank drew near her; but fj-om that night lie came no more. Ho and I only had seen tho half-petulant way in which Dolly had turned from Frank, had caught another expression on her face, had seen her vivid blush. From that evening she became cold, Ktulant, teasing to Frank. At first he ighed, then was huit, and finally the engagement was broken off. This is soon told, but what my mother and I suffered must be imagined-- I dared neither to tell hor the t nth nor to hint to Dolly that I knew to whom her heart was given, though I loved her so dearly; and I felt so sure that tliis was tho first true love of her life. This dete: mined, decided, somewhat stern man was suro to oharm our little outterfly, if she noticed Mm at all. ml*- .. -

Mother and I arranged that Dolly should go away on a short visit. Frank was to come one evening to return the letters Dolly had sent him. They would not feel the abruptness of this rupture so much as if they were placed personally by him in my hands; and I had his letters also to give to him. Mother was quite unequal to seeing him, for she loved him dearly, and the task was left to me. I was not sorry, for I felt I oould say all that was likely to comfort him, loving both of them so deeply. So poor Frank produced his sorrowful little packet, received the one I had for him, and stood leaning against the chimney-piece, while I sat quite unable to utter a word, but with tears di opping quietly from my eyes. At last he told me that he knew Dolly had been faithless to him. He felt sure she and Jack Dacre loved each other, and he spoke so humbly of himself, and as if it was quite to be expeoted that his cousin should be preferred above any other man, that 1 was greatly touched, and my tears fell faster and faster. “Jack is Ihe soul of honor, Kitty; but I must make it clear to him that he is free to do as his heart dictates. His and her happiness must not be wrecked. I will get my father to send me to onr branch house in India, and will not return till they are married. J ack is rich enough to marry at once. I shall ombark on Thursday.” Then he charged me with tender blessings for Dolly, and, at his request, I went to ask my mother to bid him farewelL Presently she glided in, pale as death. She held out her trembling hand in silence, but Frank folded her in his arms, .and she sobbed on his breast. I stood by, weeping bitterly, and, when wo were calmer, Frank embraced ub both finally, and, placing me in my mother’s arms, left us. Poor fellow: how brave ho was, how gentle and patient! In a month from that time Dolly was affianced to Mr. Dacre, and the marriage was arranged to take place at the beginning of the long vacation. We were by this time convinced that it was the best thing that could happen. No one could see Dolly and doubt for a moment that this was tho only man she had loved. His calm, intense character impressed her; his great talents awed her; and her pretty, innocent pride in her manly lover, her meekness and quietness were most promising symptoms of happiness in her married life. Dear mother was so serenely happy! I was very fond of my new brother; he was such a power for good aud peace iu our home that we never had been so contented befote. Frank wrote freely to us—manly, patient letters, full of unselfish interest in all around him. His sorrow had sweetened, not embittered, his character. He had set himself to alleviate his anguish by doing good, and his first act on reaching his destination had been to use his keen commercial gifts for the welfare of the widow and children es an officer of the army, and, at the cost of time, talent, and energy, to rescue her small fortune from unsafe hands and invest it profitably. His letters were filled with similar incidents, naturally and simply told, and our affection increased for this truly brave man. Dolly’s godmother took it into her head that it was her godchild’s duty to pay her a farewell visit before her marriage. Though, as she had never troubled herself much about us, we were rather startled at this demand; all thought it would be best to accept J the invitation—for my sister was not looking well—and it was settled that she should go and spend a month with the old lady in her lovely North County home. Mr. Dacre was pres-ed to go as often as his professional engagements would permit; so Dolly left us in pretty good spirits, in charge of the elderly servant who was our substitute for a regular lady’s maid. She wrote to tell us how she was enjoying the repose and beauty of the country. Mr. Dacre had to run down from Saturday till Monday at the end of the first week, and had of course made a great impression, but was afraid ho could not come again—a long case was pending at Westminster. The letter which followed this I give in its entirety: High wood, July "o.—Dearest Kitty: I hope you will get this in time to send my hat hero instead of to grand mama’s. lamon a fortnight s visit to Lady Milioent North. Such a charming woman—a widow about S 8 years old! tho persuaded Mrs. L’oyd to lot her have mo for a week or two; and, as her dau hter-in-law, a oonttrmod invalid, was coning to spend Just that time with her. my godmother was glud to get me out of the way, I know. lian’t write much, for the post leavos here atand we drop our latest! lottors into tho hall box as we go into dinner. 1 expect the gon i every minute, lhis p aee Is lovely, and tho new Baronet—Sir Charles—is the doaro.t . The gong I Tour own Doily. I felt unoasy concerning this letter. I ‘was sorry Dolly shonld have left her | godmother’s quiet home to visit a gay j young widow just as she was sobering down and growing such a thoughtful little love. It might unsettle her again to pass a fortnight, in a ccuntry-liouse | with a fascinating Baronet; and I knew | Jack Dacre would ne\er permit, never | pardoh the smallest suspicion of flirting. He had pardoned her defection in Frank’s case, for Frank himself had ! pleaded eloquently, saying that she | was very young, so naturally affection- | ate. But mamma and I felt, sure that j not for one hour would he permit the slightest approach to disloyalty to bis i deep tenderness for bis girlish betrothed Neither her youth, her love of fun, nor her merry heart would plead one atom in her favor, so I read this letter with a heavy heart. My answer was as follows: . | Dearest I ol'y: Your letter reached me in j tin oto ha e t o box sent to Highwood. You will ioo.-Ivc it s * n a ter this reaches you. Write vor fuliy, so • your loiter was tantalizi Ing. fend mo a lull description of every I one, for you bavo rousod my curiosity as to ; “Bir Charles," who n "ti e ditir »st ” i The rest of my letter.contained borne ! news, and I need not transcribe it But Dolly’s answer I will transcribe: I “You ask me for a description of everybody, darling, Lady Milioent is very beautiful, clever,and devotedly attached/to thiß Sir Charles; but 1 feel sure her heart is buried in the grave of lie* noble husband. I send her photo, so need waste no words in describing her. “Sir Charles is very fascinating, though I fear my description- may not

predispose you in his favor; but you beg me to be particular. He is short and stout, has a very fine head, but rather thin light hair, fine eyes, good month, but not much of a nose—in fact, it is all tip—-very nice hands and feet. He is, I belieTe, very talented, but does not employ his' gifts, seldom talks, never reads, is a little fond of eating. In spite of these drawbacks, he is very charming, and all the girls far and near make a great deal of him. Of course, he is rich. He likes Lady Milicent to live in the She has complete influence over him.” ~ I was much relieved after reading this letter. I felt so easy in my mind that I told Dolly how X had feared for her. “But,” I wrote, “of course you never could really admire a fat little man, who never reads or talks, and with a nose all tip, and who cares for nothing but eating.” It turned out that the most unfortunate thing I could have done was to oonfess my fears to my provoking sister. She answered me by'vehemently declaring that Sir Charles was the most lovable fellow she had mot for a long time, and really was so excited that I posted a letter to her at once. “You distress me, Dolly. You know Mr. Dacre would never "forgive yon if he saw your letters. I hide them even from mother. Oh, pray do think before yon madly risk the loss of his love, for that will follow the very hour he loses his high opinion of you!” This is how Dolly answered my tender appeal: “What a lecturing little thing you are getting, Kitty! I am very much attached to Sir Charles; and, if Jack is ever so angry, I can’t help it.” Thus flippantly the letter ran on, I was really angry and distressed, but resolved to try no more lectures; they clearly made matters worse. So, the next time I wrote, I gave a full description of a day we had spent in court hearing Mr. Dacre plead. I described his dignified appearance, his easy, graceful gestures—above all, I dwelt on the beauty of his nose. Dolly answered: “I am quite shocked at you, Kitty, to make such an idol of a nose!” And then she continued, as usual, about Sir Charles. Meanwhile Mr. Dacre seemed quite happy, and said he had his daily letters from Dolly as regularly as when she was with Mrs. Lloyd. Was my beloved sister growing deceitful? I kept all this from my mother; but I grew more and more wretched over Dolly’s letters. A picnic would be “glorious,” for Sir Charles was going. She had spent the whole morning “quietly with Sir Char las.” Once lie was indisposed, and she had “nursed him, played for him, sung to him.” Well. I could do nothing more. I resolved to say not another word about him to any one else. I began to dislike the very sound of his name, or rather the sight of it; and when Dolly declared I should like him as much as every one else did, I made up my mind that I hated him. I wrote one more tender appeal, which I said was my last. Every Tuesday mother and I had Dolly’s letters, but one day there was none by my breakfast plate as usual. Mother read hers. “Dolly says she has written to you,” she observed presently. “How can it be that you have not received it?” Mistakes of the postoffice are so rare, we could but suppose she had omitted to post it. By the next delivery, however, I received a letter from Mr. Dacre, containing an inclosure which turned out to he a letter to me from Dolly. A few lines from him ran thus: .Boar Kittle —I had read too much of the nclosed before I discovered tho mistake. If you rece<vc a letter from Dolly before this reaches you, you will have discovered she has mieeeot tho letters. 1 shall run down to Highwood without loss of time. I had not received any letter then, but by the second country delivery came one directed to Jack at once. The letter he had read began thus: All you say Is useless, my darling. I love Sir Charles devotedly, and he has this day declared he loves me. You ask mo, does he know I am engaged? I told him a gentleman was coming to soe me; b it ho seemed little concerned at this piece of information. So far Mr. Dacre had read, and the mine was sprung. I locked my room door and fell back, despairing, into an easy chair. I was resolved to hide all from my mother till Mr. Dacre had seen Dolly. I hunted up Bradshaw, and found that a train started about 4 o’clock that would convey me to Highwood by 7:50. If Dolly wrote to me at once I should get her letter by Thursday; but of course I should hear from Jack on Wednesday. I dreaded every ring, every postman’s knock. All day Wednesday passed and no letter arrived from my sißter or her lover. ' On Thursday morning I ran down when I heard the usual welcome sound. On the table lay a thick letter adi dressed in Dolly’s handwriting. I ran up to mamma and gave her the one I found inclosed in it for her; then I sat down to read mine, after fortifying myself with a cup of coffee. I must give every word of it: “You are well aware that a catastrofiho has happened through my heedessness. The best thing will be for me to describe fully the whole consequences of that misfortune. On our return from the garden party on Tuesday I found a telegram .awaiting me from Jack—‘Shall be with you by 7:56.’ Of course this awoke no fears in my mind, for I knew J ack might run down at any moment the trains permit. Lady Milicent sent me off at once to be dressed by her artist-maid. What she made of me you must have seen to believe, Kitty. I would not look at myself till the whole process was complete; and, when I glanced in the long glass, I was really amazed at what I saw. It was the result, I now know, of many discussions between Lady Milicent and this gifted young person. You may imagine how I exulted in the thought that Jack would see me look as he had never seen me look before, for I am so improved in health that my whole appearance is changed. Well, the bell rang. Lady Milicent received Mr. Dacre in the morning room, and came to-send me down at once, f I ran down with my heart bounding.

1 1 entered the room. I noticed Jack give one start; bat he received me ir snch a very un-Jack-like manner that 1 was terrified. ‘Mamma—Kitty?’ I j cried. ‘Quite well when I left them,’ said Mr. Dacre; but when he placed j me in a chair, and took- one opposite to i me, I felt matters were desperate. ‘What is wrong?* I gasped. ‘Dearest Jack, pray speak!’ ‘Only an address, said he, find put the unfortunate envej lope in my hands. ‘This contained a letter for your sister, which I, perhaw fortunately, read before I perceived the mistake. I have just seventeen min utes before I leave for the return train; so, if yen wish to say anything, let me beg of you to speaicatonce.’ “I sank book in my chair and covered my face with my handkerchief, trem bling with agitation. * Will yon heai my explanation?’ I stammered. ‘Need less; the letter can have but one meaning. I came to release you from yom engagement to me. Did this scoundre. know you wero engaged?’ I covered my face again. To hear Sir Charles North called a scoundrel was too much for me. I did not speak for severs minutes; but time was flying fast, am. at length I said, ‘lf this is in truth our last meeting, grant me one favor; say that you will before I tell you what it is. Of course it is a reasonable, honorable request that I wish to make; but 1 own it is one you will not like to grant.’ He paused a moment, then said, ‘I will do whatever you ask.’ ‘I ask you to see Sir. Charles North.’ He wineed, but bowed silently. I left the room to see the Baronet. I found him in his own room, intently studying an immense book—but only the illustrations, I believe. I' asked him to come with me to speak to a gentleman who was waiting to see him. He flatly refused. Time was rushing on. I knelt by him, implored him. At last I kissed him, and he yielded. “Taking my hand in a firm clasp, he descended with me to the room where I had left Mr. Dacre. Jack stood, moody and stern, pale as ashes, where I had left him. We entered. I led Sir Charles toward him. ‘Mr. Dacre,’ said I, ‘let me present you to Sir Charles North, Baronet.’ Jack started—paused —seized Sir Charles in his strong arms, and—threw him out of the window?— no, kissed him! For this‘scoundrel,’ this ‘fat, greedy, idlo little man’ is the dear littlo son of Lady Milicent, aged just 2 years! Now you see, Miss Kitty, you had better have had a little faith in your sister for once. You put all this into my head, and I could not res st the joke; but it shall be my last, for never more do I wish to see such a look of pain in the face I love best in all the world. “Jack did not go back by the return train, though he was obliged to leave early this morning; but I do not think I can stay away from him one day over a month. Lady Milicent says you must come to take my place. She will write and ask mamma. You will soon be as madly in love with Sir Charles.” And so it proved. I went to stay with Lady Milicent; and of all the darling, quaint, noble, chubby littlo pets I had seen, Si* Charles was the king. At the end of the year Frank returned in time for Christmas. He did not go back to India; he settled in England. He and I were married about six months after Dolly. We both live in a lovely part of Kent. Dolly’s husband pets and loves her devotedly. My husband adds to all his love a delicate, tender homage, infinitely precious to ipe. “Kitty, dearest, ” my mother once said to me, “you aud I have tasted the fullest earthly happiness. We both know that reverence is the perfectly peerless jewel in love’s crown; hut we must earn it.” A brave Eton boy spends as much time with us as his mother can bear to spare him, and the most welcome guest in Jack Dacre’s home is Sir Charles North, Baronet.

The Cantilever Bridge.

Tile new bridge over the Niagara river, which connects the Canada Southern road with the New York Central, is a mechanic novelty in the way of bridges. It is called a cantilever bridge. This name is borrowed from architecture, and means a bracket to sustain a balcony. In this new bridge, the only one of the kind in America, there are two brackets opposite each other, each resting on a pier. The shore ends of the brackets rest upon and are fastened down to another pier; the outer ends, projecting over the water, sustaiu a central span, merely resting upon them, and free to respond to the change in the temperature. To get a rude idea of the principle of the cantilever bridge, place two chairs two feet apart; put a foot-rule on each ch lir, held down by a book; the ends of the rules will not meet across the space separating the two chairs, but by resting a third rule upon their ends tlie bridge is eofnpleto. This is a skeleton idea. Now, in place of the chairs substitute four piers of masonry; instead of the two rules, balance upon the piers two beams resting upon the intermediate piers with the shore the beams placed upon and fastened to the two extreme piers; another span resting upon their outer ends substituted for the third rule, and this is the cantilever bridge. There is another brid ;e of this kind building in Scotland over the famous Frith of Forth —DemoresVs Monthly.

Queer Things in This World.

The world D chock full of incongruities. There is, for instance, the big bearded man with a voice like the Bull of Bashan. He somes before the audience and sings “I Fear No Foe” in bravura style, and in a way that drop* bits of plaster from the ceding. And in two hours thereafter that man will be going up stairs in his stocking fort lest he wake a 110-pound wife. And next morning he gets up meekly and kindles three fires.— Pittsburgh lelc-graph-Chronicle. In the Isle of Wight a snider was observed dragging two or three leaves to the water. It fastened them together with a web, then launched the raft, and sailed away. Italarted off a ter insects upon the water, and returned to the raft to devour them.

THE BAD BOY.

“Your pa got OTer being s;arod oat of his boots?” said the grocery man to he bad boy, as he took up a handfal of hickory-nuts and began cracking them between a conple of fire-pound weights on the counter. “ What do yon mean ? Who told you pa had been scared?” asked the boy, as he put his thumb in his mouth, after knocking the nail off with a weight. “I didn’t know as anybody knew anything about it but me and the girl." “O, a brakeman that runs on the Chicago train was here this morning, and he told me your pa came up on the train last night, and along there about Kenosha he went through tlje train as though he had been kicked, and got into the postal car and crawled under a lot of mail sacks, and rode all the way to Milwaukee, sweating like a butcher, and as pale as a ghost. What was it all about? You haven’t been playing another trick on him, have you?” and the grocery man picked up the hickorynuts the boy had left and threw them in the basket, while the boy wrapped a handkerchief around his thumb and looked mad. „ “No, I didn’t play anything on him, but I saved his life. He is an old smarty, and got himself into a scrape. \ou see, pa aud me went down to Chicago on a pas 3 pa got somehow in politics. We took in tho Battle of Gettysburg, where a fello# can see all about the war without getting shot in the back. We came back on the 5 o’clock train, and of course pa couldn’t sit with me, but had to go and sit down in the seat with a girl that was alone. Pa hasn’t got any more sense than a cow about such tilings. A girl don’t want an old duffer io sit with her. What she wants is a young feller, that has got bear’s oil on bis hair, and smells sort of drug-store liko. But pa thinks be is just as entertaining as when lie was young, and if he went into a car where ail the seats but one was vacant, aud that one had a girl in it, he would go up to her in liis insinuating way, and take off his plug hat aud show his bald head and sav, "Miss, is this seat engaged?” and before she had time to say anything he would sit down with her and begin talking about something she didn’t care any more about than she would about the process of embalming Egyptian mummies. Well, pa sat down by a girl who was knitting, and lie began lo talk sweet. He said lie was a traveling man, getting sii,ooo a year and a share of the profits. He found fault with the railroads, the cars, the hotels, and everything, and to hear him talk you would think he was reared in a palace, always traveled on special cars, and was worth $11,000,000. I sat behind him, and heard what he said, and it was all I could do to keep from asking him if he thought ma would ba expecting us home to-night, but I have had experience enough with pa to know that when he is engaged in business that causes his brain to expand aud throb, that the safest way is to keep still. He told the girl she was purty, and asked her all about herself, and if she was going far, and ho put his arm on the back of the seat, and acted as though lie was going to bug her, but he didn’t, cause just as his arm began to get real near to the girl’s small of tier back, I imitated the brakeman and shouted, ‘Lake Forest,’ and pa thought the brakeman was right behind him, and he drawed liis arm away so quick he hit the funny bone of his elbow on the back of the seat, and it hurt him like everything. The girl luffed, and pa blushed, and in a little while he had his arm there again. The conductor and the brakeman watched pa, and just as he got close to the girl, and was whispering to her,the conductor touched him on his shoulder and asked him what the number of bis pass was. Pa had to take his arm aw..y to got his pass, and then he put it back again, and was commencing where he left off, to give the girl some taffy, when the brakeman touched pa on the shoulder, and asked him if it was his dog in the baggage car, chewing the hinges off the trunks. Pa said he didn’t have no dog, and the brakeman went away. The girl was real disgusted with pa, and I could Ree she wanted to have a rest. Just before the train got to Waukegan the girl said she wanted to send a dispatch to Racine, and pa gave her some paper and she wrote a message and asked pa to send it for her. Pa didn’t want to leave his seat, so he said to me, ‘Here, little boy, you get off at Waukegan and send this message for tho beautiful young ladv-y’ and lie gave mo the dispatch and a dollar. I went out at Wakegan, and read the message and didn’t send it. It read like this, ‘Father, come dow'n to tho depot with a horsewhip. There is an old drunkard on the train who has made-himself very obnoxious to ine, and I want you to maul him within an inch of his life.’ Well I wouldn’t contribute to pa’s being mauled, so I kept it, and after the train left Waukegan I called pa into the other end of the car and told him I didn’t think it was best to send that dispatch, so I kept it. He was mad in a minute and told me I had no right to think anything. "When I was told to do a thing it was my business to do it, and ask no quostions. He said he was ashamed of me, and told me when the train got to Kenosha to go right out and send it quick. He was going to start back to talk with the girl some more when I handed him the dispatch, and told him to read it, and then if ho wanted me to send it I would. He read it, and his face got as white as chalk, and the few hairs on his head raised right up so they were stiff’ enough to tack down a carpet with, and big drops of perspiration Btood out all over his face, and his collar just wilted right down, and he was not half as tall as before. ‘Don’t say anything about this,’ he said in a whisper. ‘I know the clerk in the mail car, and he has often wanted me to ride with hiin, and I guess I will go in there. There is not air enough in this car.’ Pa went forward about i s sudden as you often see an old man go while a train is in motion, and I went and sat down behind tho girl. I said to her, ‘The old party who sat with you has gono out to ride on tho cow-catcher to get cooled off.’ She said she wished lie would fall off and get left. 1 asked her if tho old man was her pa, and she said he was an old fool,

j and I agreed with her and we had quite a nice visit. I think if old people would keep oat of the way, and not be so fresh, ' young people could have more fun. I sat down in the seat with her, and got 1 real well acquainted, and when she got j off at Baoine, I helped her off, and I | could imagine pa in the postal car just a sweating. Well, pa didn’t show up : rill we got to Milwaukee, and then he | came out of the side door of the postal car all mussed up, and smelling mildewed like old sacks. He asked me if I noticed any unusual commotion at Racine, and I told him there was nothing special, only there was an old prize- ! fighter on the depot steps with a black- ; snake whip, and lots of people seeming i to expect a row, and I guess the girl j sent another dispatch. Pa shivered i and said, ‘Let this be warning to yon, | my boy, not to ever allow any female j strangers to get acquainted with you, | and become familiar.’ I told pa I didn’t j see any barm in it, ’cause I rede all the | way with that girl, after he left, and j she seemed to like it, and never once j thought of having me horse-whipped. ! Pa is getting calm again, but it will be a long time before bis hair lays down smooth again, the way it did before he got scared.” , “Well, your pa is a la-la,” said the grocery man, “and ought to be kept locked up as a monk in a monkery, somewhere.” The bad boy agreed that a monkery was about the prescription his pa needed, and he went out and caught on behind a cutter and was tipped off in the slush, and went home to run himself through a clothes wringer.— Peck’s Sun.

An Uncomfortable Companion.

A gentleman having, at the invitation of the Superintendent of an insane asylum in Massachusetts, inspected the interior of the building, asked leave to go out in the grounds, The Superintendent showed him the way, and then left him for a few moments, with the assurance that the patients who were at work in the garden were harmless. The gentleman was met as he stopped into the garden by a quiet, respectablelooking man, who bowed pleasantly and asked if he might show him through tho grounds. Taking him for the gardener, tire visitor thanked him and accepted his offer. They walked together, and the visitor was surprised at his companion’s intelligence and refinement. He was apparently a thorough horticulturist, and spoke tlroughtlully upon the flowers they examined. Pausing before a gorgeous bed of pansies, be stooped down and picked half a dozen kinds and handed them to the visitor with the words: “Observe those colors, different in each flower, and yet each color is so placed as to blend, or to make an agreeable contrast with the color beside it. No bad taste there, sir. I tell yon when God sorts the colors He doesn’t very often make mistakes!” They walked slowly along, talking on various topics, and as they jmssed by a grass-plat, the man picked up a sickle that lay near by, and trimmed the border of a flower-bed w.tk it. Then, with the instrument still-in his hand, he continued his walk with the visitor. This act confirmed the latter’s conviction that the man was a gardener, and he was more than ever surprised at his intelligence. As they retraced their steps to the house, the man with the sickle suddenly turned to the visitor and exclaimed, “You have not, I think, noted anything strange in my conversation?” “Why, no,” answered the visitor, in surprise; “except that I have enjoyed it exceedingly, and am much obliged to you for your kindness.” “There is nothing in my appearance to cause you to doubt my sanity, is there?” “Not at all,” replied the other, beginning to ft el a little uneasy. “You wonld, then, take me for a sane man, wouldn’t you?" “Cer—cer —tainly. ” “Well, to be frank with you, I am sane on all tho subjects we have touched upon. But do you know,” said he, as he drew a little nearer and whispered in the visitor’s ear, “do you know, I sometimes have an irresistible longing to cut a man’s head off? I can’t control it when it comes over me. I haven’t had such a longing to-day, but I never can tell when it will seize me. It may be at any moment. I can’t tell.” Imagine the feelings of the visitor at this confession! Just then the Superintendent appeared, with an anxious look on his face. He was attended by two keepers, who took the sickle from the man and led him into the building. The Superintendent explained to his frightened friend that the man was a dangerous patient. By some trick he had that morning escaped the vigilance of his keepers and strolled into the garden. The visitor congratulated himself on his escape, but was nevertheless so shocked that insane asylums are not at present his most attractive visiting places.— Youth’s Companion.

Drummond’s Phlox.

In the year 1835 Mr. Drummond, a botanical collector in the service of the Glasgow Botanical Society, while traveling in Texas, discovered a very pretty species of Phlox, which boars his name. It was oue of the last plants that he sent homo, for soon afterward he visited Cuba and died there. ' Sir W. Jackson Horkes, in naming the species, remarked that he did so in order that it might serve as a frequent memento of its illustrious, but unfortunate, discoverer. Never were words more truly spoken, for wherever annual plants are grown, the different varieties of Drummond’s Phlox aro found to be occupying a prominent place; and if the illustrious Drummond had only given n« th's single plant, he would well deseryo our deepest gratitude and i respect. —Floral World. A plant is found near Damascus, in Syria, which coils and uncoils according to the changes in the weather, indicating any change from.twelve to forty-eight hours in advance. It indicates in advance of mercury, and can l)e destroyed only by fire. The e is nothing useful or beneficial that nature does not provide in the shape of plants.