Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 8, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 March 1894 — Page 6

IT WAR WITH HERSELF.

iH» Story of a Woman's Atonement, by Charlotte M. Braeme. CHAPTER XI.IV. Captain Flemyng had very pretty Kms in Castle street, Weildon. was not often here, but he retained toem for himself. He was very popalar with his landlady—rather a severe maiden lady, who was accustomed to •peak of him as "quite the gentleman. ” , On this June morning, when so great a change-was to take place in his circumstances, he had risen late. Miss JMnvera had sent twice to say that (breakfast was ready, and yet he did wot appear. A third tima the little page knocked at his door —this time the message was of a more startling description. • “A lady is waiting to see you, Capt. Flemyng, and she says her business is important. ” i “A lady," repeated Paul; “who can it |be?" 1 He never even dreamed of Leonie; bis only impression was it might be some one soliciting charity—some one about a fancy fair, or a bazar, or something of that kind. How little he thought that waiting for him were the title of Earl, and the inheritance of ,Crown Leighton! | “A lady," the little page had said: so Capt. Flemyng hurriedly completed his toilet and then went down to the drawing-room, where the visitor awaited him. He saw a lady closely veiled and wearing a large traveling-cloak. He bowed, inwardly wondering who •he was and what she wanted. Then the veiled figure came up to him and a faint voice murmured his name. He started back in surprise. “Leonie!” he cried. “Great heavens! what has happened, what has brought you here?" He saw then that she held In her hands a paper packet. She placed it in his. i “Take this, Paul,” she said, simply; *it is yours.” He took it, wonderingly, and then ■he threw back her veil and gave a great . gasping sigh as of one who te relieved of a deally burden. He looked at the beautiful, colorless face, with its strange expression of peace after a storm. “What does it mean, Leonie?" he asked. “You astonish me—stay, you shall not speak one word until you have taken something. You look so ill, my darling.” Still holding the packet in his hand, ■ever looking to see what it was, he led her to the little couch and made her sit down, and then he poured out a glass of wine. She would have refused it, but he told her he would net listen to her until she had drunk it. _ The generous wine brought Lack a tinge of color to the sweet face. It was all sweet now; that torrents of tears seemed to have washed away the former pride, hardness, and coldness forever. He was struck by the softened beauty, and bent down to touch the white brow with his lips, but she shrank from him as she had never done before. “Do not do that, Paul, until you have heard what lam here to say. Look at what is written on the document I have given to you.” He looked and saw—- “ The last will and testament of Ulric, Earl of Charnleigh.” “Leonie, ” he cried, “what does this mean?” But she .had risen from thß Tittle •ouch and was kneeling at his feet. He eried out again when he saw that; he tried to raise her, but she bent her head in lowliest humility. “Listen, Pau) —listen to me. I am worthy only to kneel here, not to stand by your side, dear; for I have willfully robbed you, knowing that all I had was yours. ” “Robbed me!” he exclaimed. “What •an you mean, Leonie?” “Read that will, and you will understand.” He opened the document, and as he read a murmur of wonder that souiftled almost like regret came from his lips. “Mine,” he said—“it is not possible! Mine, Leonie, and not yours!” “Yes; I have robbed you, Paul. I found this will long months ago, and hid it. I came down to Crown Leighton. this morning purposely to destroy ft, never intending to give to you what is your own, but I could not do it; Heaven was merciful to me —I could not wait" He seemed quite bewildered. “I do not understand, Leonie. What is it you say? Explain to me clearly—you have startled me.” Kneeling there, she told him the whole history of her sin—from the first moment when she found the will on the eventful night of the charades to this, when, humbled and repentant, she came to confess the truth to him. She did not spare herself; she told him how, one by one, she had discarded her own self-respect, her love, her honor, her hopes of Heaven. She did not •pare herself; she did not hide from him one single incident of her wrongdoing. “It was a terrible temptation, Paul," •he said, “and I yielded to it. I have not one excuse to offer. I repent of my ■in now, but that will make it none the less heinous.” Paul sat like a man suddenly bereft of his senses, unable to speak, unable even to think clearly. “I am dazed, Leonie,” he said, at last; . “I cannot understand your words even yet.” “I have robbed you,” she said—“l have deceived you in every way. I have kept this will back from you, trying to compromise with my conscience, trying to make myself believe that if I married you it would be the same—it would not matter which had the inheritance, you or I.” He tried to speak, but she went on hurriedly—“l did not love you. Paul. I loved Bertram Gordon; and the greatest wrong I could have done would have been to marry you, for I love Bertram with all my heart’s love." “Was it only to be Countess of Charnleigh that you promised to marry me?” he asked) sadly. “That was all. I love you just as though you were my elder brother. I have never had a lover’s love for you, Paul; perhaps that was the worst part •f my sin." He let the will fall, and with a low moan buried his face in his hands. She tried to draw them away. “Do forgive, me, Paul—Paul, my dearest friend—Paul, my brother, do pardon me! I am so sorry—so sorry lor my sin!” He looked at her. “Leonie, I do not value Crown Leighton, er the title that goes with it; but I do value you and your love above all earthly things. You have made me an earl, yet I am poorer than the poorest pauper. You Are worth a thousand earldoms to me,” •1 ant a‘trder woman, dear, kneeling here and giving you up, than I should be if I married you. ‘ J cannot marry you, PauL HeaVen helping me, I will •ot speak falsely dr act falsely again while I live.” “You are a noble woman, Leonie. You might have destroyed this; you might have defied the whold world to prove my claim. You have acted loyally after all '

“Yes, after all; but that ‘all’ oomprises much, Paul. I have sent from me the man I loved. 1 have done my best to break an honest heart. Now listen to me, Paul. I know my own strength and my own weakness. lam going away—going where, with hard work and privation, I may forget the enervating lessons I have ’earned—where I may do my best to atone for my sin. Y r ou must not persuade me to stay, neither must you ask me whither lam ging. I have cne favor to request of you. Will you take care of Lady Fanshawe? From your abundance you will spare something for her. For the rest, you will do what you will. Make the discovery public it you choose: if you can spare me, do. Ido not ask for mercy, but you will show it to me. No one but you need know that the will was found so long ago: thez will think, when they read of it. that the discovery has just taken place. You can spare me so far, Paul.” “You are a noble woman,” he repeated: “the world holds none nobler." She smiled sadly. “I am going now,” she said. “Letme be the first to call you Lord Charnleigh. Ah, you will forgive me, Paul, because I have suffered so much. You will forgive me before I go?” “My darling,” he said, with a deep sob, “I cannot part with you. I love you so dearly, Leonie. Do promise to be my wife—forget all this, and renew your promise to be my wife.” “I cannot,” she returned. “Please Heaven no other false words shall pass my lips to you while I live. I cannot marry you because I do not love you; and I do with all mv heart love some one else. Say you forgive me, Paul.” “I forgive you, Leonie,” he said; and then before he could interfere to prevent it, she had quitted the room.

CHAPTER XLV. When Leonie Rayner left Paul she gave no thought as to whither she was going. She never thought of Florette waiting for her at Crown Leighton; she had made the great sacrifice for which she had strained every nerve, and the reaction was fast setting in. She told the coachman to drive her to the railway-station; she had some vague idea of going to London and losing herself in the crowds of that vast city. One thing she knew was impossible, and that was for her to meet just at present those belonging to the old brilliant life now passing from her forever. She would go to London and find some employment there; but first she must have rest—rest. She said the word over and over again to herself; it was all she could hope for—rest. A sweet peace seemed to float around her; she was aroused only when the carriage stopped at the station. The coachman came up to her, and touched his hat. "Have I any message, my lady, to take back to Crown Leighton?” She started as the familiar words fell on her ear. “No, none. You gave me a title that does not belong' tb me, Simmons. lam no longer Lady 'Charnleigh. The will has been found that makes Captain Flemyng Lord Cfiarideign-the heir to Crown Leighton. Hfi will be your inaster now. ” Her voice was low and clear, every syllable distinct. The man looked at her in astonishment too great for words. “It is can tell all the servants when you return. " "I am very sorry, my lady," and Leonie was touched at seeing tears in the man's eyes. He did not leave her until he had seen her comfortably placed in the London train. Then she was alone for the first time since she had trampled on her temptation and put away her sin—alone, with a strange feeling of weariness and peace - alone with strangely mingled thoughts. The brilliant life was over forever. Leonie, Countess of Charnleigh, was dead—no such person existed. How would they speak of her in that world she had loved so well? They would say that it was a short, brilliant reign, and that she had been much admired; and they say also that she died a queen. There had been nothing paltry—nothing mean in her abdication, bhe had given up entirely —she had not reserved to herself jewels or purses of gold, as tome women might have done. She was proud as on that June day when, amidst light and shade, the lawyer had announced to her the fable of her wealth.

A strange weariness was creeping over her; she laid her head back and closed her eyes; she i emoved the thick veil from her beautiful, colorless face, that the air might refresh her. Strange fancies crowding on her mind—strange fancies floated before her—then a calm, deen brooding darkness fell, and the tired senses seemed to sleep. Nature must have its reaction. After a great storm comes a calm. Such a calm came over Leonie Rayner as she closed her eyes—darkness and silence seemed to enfold her, and she knew no more. The strain upon her nerves had been terrible; forlqng months past she had known no peace; night and day she had been at war with herself. Now the war was over—the evil spirit vanquished—arid she fell as a warrior might fall who had fought a hard battle and, wearied out, dropped by the wayside She remembered no more. The train was one not much used—there were few passengers; nor did it stop until Euston square had been reached. There a porter, opening the door, was startled to find a lady with a white, beautiful face, lying like one dead. He gave an alarm, and there was a rush of people to the spot. It happened most providentially that in the booking office, sending a messenger to Crown Leighton, was Ethel Dacre. There had been great alarm when Leonie’s sudden journey was discovered. Lady Fanshawe was amazed, annoyed and disconcerted. “Such a thing to do in the very midst of the season—to rush off "to Crown Leighton in that eccentric fashion! What would the world say?" But what the world was to say or think mattered little now to Leonie Rayner. Lady Fa&sbawe could not be pacified until EtheTTiad promised to go herself to Euston,/ square and 'send a messenger to Crowi£Leighton. “Send a letter to Lady Charnleigh begging her to let us know what she is doing and when she intends to return.” So Miss Dacre, who began to have some faint glimmer of the truth, went at once and while she was engaged in dispatching a messenger she heard the people _ saying that a lady had been found in a railway carriage either fainting or dying. A sudden conviction seized her that it was Leonie. She found her instinct had not deceived her—Leonie, cold, silent and motionless, but with a look of peace oq her white face which Ethel had not seen for months, was lying in the ladies’waiting room. She guessed at once what Leonie had done. “She has been to Paul Flemyng and has told him all.” Ethel knew that that calm, serene expression could come only from a soul that was at peace. Even while she stood at Leonie’s side she formed her resolution; she decided that the giil should not be carried to that magnificent mansion where she had been

queen. Westfield, her father’s home( was but a few miles from London; she would take her thither. She dispatched a messenger to Lady Fanshawe, telling her what had happened and what she had done, and then ordered a carriage and took Leonie home to Westfield. The doctors pronounced it to ba a case of brain fever, from which there did not seem any chance for the patient's recovery. It was a June day on which Leonie Rayner had turned from her sin and fled from further temptation—fled, resolving to be loyal and true for the rest of her life, come what might. The wheat was standing in huge golden sheaves, and the fruit was hanging ripe on the trees, when she opened her eyes to reason and light—such feeble reason, such dim light. At first she was conscious of no other sensation but that of lying at rest, and then, when that became familiar to her, she began to understand that she was more helpless and feeble than a child. She tried to raise her hand, but could not; she tried to speak, but the trembling lips could form no words; then she looked round, but the place was all strange to her. Near the window she saw the outline of a woman's figure; Leonie raised one of her hands, and it seemed to her that it must belong to some one else, it was so white, so thin, so frail. And then, slowly, gradually, the once active brain began to work again; memory and reason, the power of thought, began to return to her. She sighed deeply, and the figure at the window hastily turned round. “Ethel!” she whispered, faintly. “My darling! Thank heaven, you are yourself once more!” and the next moment Ethel Dacre was kneeling by the bedside holding the frail, trembling figure in her arms. “Tell me where I am, Ethel,” she said. “You are in my home—Westfield; you have been here ever since you were taken ill." “How long is that?" asked the faint voice. “More than six weeks, Leonie. But you must not talk—you must rest." “Rest!” The word fell like a chime of half-forgotten bells—like the faint, sweet music of a dream. “Rest!" The poor, half-dazed mind dwelt on the word —it opened the whole past to her. “Does every one know, Ethel?” she asked. “Yes, my darling; everyone knows, and everyone says you are the noblest woman in the world. ” Her fair name had been saved from all stain or reproach. She turned her face away, and fell into a sweet, dreamless sleep, every moment of which was full of healing to her. It was some weeks longer before she was able to leave her room. Once or twice she thought to talk to Ethel about that terrible past, but Miss Dacre would not hear a word. “When you are stronger, Leonie, you shall say what you like, but not now. Make haste and grow strong. Papa wants to take us both to France. Would you like to visit Reims, where your mother’s family live? We will go there and stay until you are quite well.” The idea of visiting Reims delighted her, and then, by degrees, as Leonie grew stronger, Ethel told her how Lady Fanshawe was still at the London house, superintending affairs, and how Paul had taken possession of his estates, and now was installed as Lord Charnleigh. “How is he, Ethel? Did you over see him?” she asked. “Yes—l see him everv day, Leonie. He drives over to see how you are.” Then, noticing that the sweet face grew pale, she added, “You will not see him, Leonie. Dr. Markham has forbidden me to allow anyone to see you until we return from France. Half fashionable London has sent to ask about you.” “Then people do not like me less became I am no longer a countess?" she said.

“I think all sensible people like you better than ever,” replied Ethel. “When you are stronger I will show you what all the papers have said about you—l have carefully preserved them —and then you will understand how you are appreciated.” Leonie did not grow strong as soon as Miss Dacre had hoped. When she was able to travel, Sir Huntley took them both to Reims. The brave old general had grown very fond of the girl who had acted in what he called a truly brave and loyal fashion. He would have done anything for her. Leonie begged hard that she might see Lady Fanshawe before she went, but Ethel was firm. “Lady Fanshawe was grieved very much about you,” she reinarked; “indeed, for a long time she persisted in saying that there must be a mistake about the will. If you were to see her it would only bring about a rush of painful memories. You must wait until you return. ” “Ethel," said Leonie, “you evaded my question the other day. How is Paul?"" Miss Dacre’s face flushed. “Leonie," said she, “Paul loves you too well to be happy; he would give back his earldom, dear, to win you.’’ ’ But Leonie Rayner looked with frank, clear eyes into her friend’s face. “I shall never act falsely again, Ethel, while I live; and I cannot man y Paul, because with all my heart I love Bertram Gordon. ” |TO BE CONTINUED. I

HARD TUSSLE WITH A FISH.

Colo Thought that the Sturgeon Was Dead, but Found Out Otherwise. Manly Cole, of North Wolcott, N. Y., made a remarkable catch near the shore of Lake Ontario late yesterday afternoon, says a correspondent of the Philadelphia Telegraph. In company with Abraham Griswold and two other companions he was walking along the beach from Red Creek to Port Bay, when a large fish was observed floating on its back twenty rods out in the lake. It was thought to be dead, but its large size led Mr. Cole to desire its possession. So, stripping off his clothes, he plunged into the water, thinking to tow the fish to land. As he drew near the fish he noticed about four feet of rope dangling from its gills. He seized the rope and started to tow the monster to shore, but the fish was not nearly so dead as it had seemed, and in an instant shot off in a direct line for the Canadian shore, dragging Mr. Cole after it. Mr. Cole, being a plucky man and a fine swimmer, made up his mind to hang to the rope. A desperate struggle ensued. First the fish had the advantage, then the man. This was kept up for a full hour. Then the fish succumbed and was towed to the beach more dead than alive. Mr. Cole was so exhausted that he was unable to speak. The captive was found to be an Ontario sturgeon weighing seventy-five pounds. It is supposed that it had been caught and anchored by a rope through its gills somewhere up the lake, but had escaped. Such fish are rare on the south shore of Lake Ontario, though common enough in Canadian water*, and this is the first one captured near Port Bay this year. It is probably the first ever captured in this manner anywhere. It was shipped to Newark, N. J., last night, where sturgeon sells at 12 cents per pound.

STRANGE CREATURES.

INSECTS THAT RESEMBLE TWIGS AND LEAVES. Queer Animate Forma That Aboond in the Troplea and Which Are Occasionally Met Within Temperate Climes—lmitative in Color and Form. Like Growing Plants. There is perhaps no large group of insects all the members of which present such extraordinary forms as the so-called walking sticks. These creatures abound in the tropics. Among the most remarkable of these

THE COMMON WALKING STICK.

Insects are the walking leaves. Of one of these we print an illustration. As may be seen from the figure the resemblance to a leaf is very striking,

and the foliate expansion of the legs add greatly to the deceptive appearance of such a creature in its native haunts. This form of walking leaf is rare, only about 20 species being' known. Of the' walking sticks proper there is an almost infinite variety. One species, the diaphero mera femorata. is common in the United

States, where the insects are called “witches’ horses” in the north and various other names in different States of the South and West. One peculiar kind of insect is the phanocles of Mexico. The length of this creature is eleven inches, while the body is no thicker than a crochet needle. Another attenuated kind of walking stick is the phibalsoma of Brazil. Perhaps the ceroys of Nicaragua head the list for beauty and peculiarity of form. The insects of this species seem like so many growing plants. Imitative Creatures. All of these creatures are imitative tn color and form and hence the names, walking sticks and walking

leaves, from the resemblance to sticks and leaves. The bodies of the walking sticks resemble the roughened bark of the trees among which they live, or they seem to be little flecks of moss or lichen growing to the trees. The naturalist, Wallace, in speaking of these insects found in the Moluccas, says that they so closely resemble the dead twigs Of trees as to be absolutely

CEROYS.

indistinguishable from them by the eye alone and he had to use the sense of touch to learn the distinction. Of a specimen of walking leaf exhibited in Edinburgh a naturalist says: "For the greatest

period of its life it so exactly resembled the leaf on which It fed that when visitors were shown it they usually, after looking carefully over the plant for a minute or two, declared that they could see no insect. It had then to be more minutely pointed out to them; and although seeing is notoriously said to be believing, It looked so

PHIBALOSOMA AND PHANOCLES.

absolutely the same as the leaves among which it rested that this test rarely satisfied them, and nothing would convince them that there was a real live insect there but the test of touch. It had to be stirred up to make it move.” The end gained by this dose resemblance to its surroundings Is to protect the insect against attack. Some walking sticks, however, have their bodies covered with spines, while others exude a spray so offensive as to repel any predatory, insect? ivorous creature.

A Chinese Strong Man.

A Hankow correspondent gives an account of the discovery of a young Samson at the militia examinations. There were about 900 candidates, of whom sixty-three obtained the degree of promoted men. They are tried in archery, lifting, sword and spear exercise, etc., also in writing. The senior wrangler was a young man, only twenty-two years of age, from Kinhau. His particular success was in lifting, and his strength is estimated at 800 catties (the catty is about one and one-half pounds), though really they say it is only 600 catties. This is tested by lifting a square stone of 300 catties weight as high as the breast. This man not only lifted it to that height, but gave it a little toss up and caught it as it came down. The governor was astonished and asked him to repeat the feat. The young man, supposing that he was suspected of having some secret help, threw off his coat,'exposing his bare body, and repeated the feat to the entire satisfaction of the judges. Though in archery and other practices his skill was not conspicuous, he was awarded the first place on the list of successful candidates, and the governor did him the honor of asking who had been his teacher and trainer.

He replied that It was his father, who was himself a military officer and had served at Ningpo and elsewhere.—San Francisco Chronicle.

He to Study the Dictionary at Once, However. A man with stooped shoulders and a general air of lassitude strolled into the editorial rooms the other afternoon. He found a pale-faced young man busily engaged in cleaning a briar pipe. “Good-day,” said the stoop-shoul-dered man. “Howdy,* said the other. The stoop-shouldered man coughed a couple of times and then said, nervously: “I just came in to say that I’ve been a subscriber to tips paper for a good many years and this morning I noticed that you used the word ‘apotheosis. ’" “Well,” said the pale-faced young man, “what of it? That’s a good word, isn’t it?’ “Oh, certainly, certainly," replied the visitor. “It’s a good word, a very good word. But, you see, I was brought up in poverty, and I didn’t have a chance to get an education. There are a lot of things I don’t know. I just happened to be going by and I thought I would drop in and ask you what that word meant?” The pale-faced young man ceased operations on his pipe and looked at the visitor in undisguised amazement. “Is it possible,” he finally said, “that there is a man or woman or child in this fair city who does not know what that word means? I cannot believe, sir, that you are speaking earnestly to me. You must be joking.’ The stoop-shouldered man blushed painfully. “Of course,” he stammered, “I think I know what it means, but, you know, I didn’t have much of a chance to go to school. Come to think of it, though, I am perfectly sure I know what it means. ” “Well," and the pale-faced young man’s air was very patronizing, “I thought you knew better than to ask such a question. Good day, sir.” The stoop-shouldered man turned and went out into the hall. As the door closed the pale-faced young man dropped his pipe and shouted: ’Jimmy! Ob, Jimmy!” A small boy put in his appearance. “Jimmy,” said the pale-faced young man, “get me the dictionary and get it blamed quick. Some other chap may be up here in a minute.”— Buffalo Express.

PHYLLIUM SCYTHE.

About forty years ago, when Dr. Bence Jones was a leader and a great authority among the scientific organizations of England, he received a letter from Germany, saying: “You English are the oddest people. Here, to our laboratories, comes every year a young Irish schoolmaster called Tyndall, with the quickest brain, the most honest capacity for research I have ever seen. Would that our German youths were run from the same mold! “This brilliant young fellow has never received the smallest recognition from English men or institutions, and he tells me to-day that, quite disheartened at last, he is preparing to emigrate to America.” Tyndall went through London, not long afterward, to make preparations for visiting America, and Doctor Jones took care to meet him. He fell at once under the spell of his wonderful talents, and determined to bring him to public notlca “I won’t take any middle course,” he said. “I think you can leap to the top at once. I shall announce that you will lecture at the Royal Institution.” The announcement was made, and all London trooped to hear “Bence Jones’ wild Irishman.” As the great physician drove his protege down to the hall, he suddenly exclaimed: “But, Tyndall, where are your notes?” “Notes?” was the reply. “I haven’t any notes. ” “No notes!” rejoined the other, almost in agony. “Do you realize that you are not going to address a parcel of Irish gossoons, but an audience of famous experts on your own subject?” Tyndall smiled. “Well,” said he, “I’m afraid it’s too late now.” The hall was crowded. All the leaders of science were present. Tyndall, who had never lectured before, stepped into the famous tribune, smiled, bowed, and poured forth the results of his marvelous experiments without faltering or pausing. He closed his address in the midst of wild applause; he had become in a single night a famous lecturer.— Youth’s Companion.

Probably not one person among a hundred has even an approximate conception of the illuminating power of one of the great modern electric search lights, and it Is only vaguely understood that it must be something enormous. As a matter of fact, with the projecting reflectors in use, which serve as multiplying factors fqr the actual candle-power of the electric arc, the illuminating capacity of the beams issuing from one of the large modern search lights has been placed at the equivalent of something over 200,000,000 candles. . Just what this is not easily realized, though a popular measure of the lighting power is afforded by the statement that, under favorable atmospheric conditions, one of these large lights can be seen nearly 100 miles away, and will illuminate objects at a distance of almost twenty miles with sufficient clearness to make their examination possible with the aid of a field glass. —Cassell’s Magazine.

Lo, Are There Not Others Like Her?

Mrs. Go frequent—“ These are delightful oranges. Best I ever tasted. Where did you get them?” Mrs. FlyjLbo,ut—“At a social our Society, for Intellectual Advancement and Ethical Culture gave last night for the benefit of the poor. We had a splendid supper. Two dollars a plate. Everything was donated by business men, you know. It was real inean, the way some of the ladles acted. They carried away every bit of the fruit cake before I could get a chance at it, buv I was bound to have my share of something, I tell you, and I got a nice sack of grapes and a basket hf these oranges and a package of fresh macaroons. I do hate to see people act like pigs. Don’t you? Have another orange?”

SAVED HIS REPUTATION.

Sudden Fame.

Power of Electric Search Lights.

WOMEN WORKERS IN PARIS.

Hardy Old Peasants Who Manage to Look Picturesque While Bw«epl nK Streets. It is not altogether certain that the women who sweep streets and shell oysters on Parte streets would feel unduly elated if they were to be congratulated as “pioneers in an unusual field of woman’s work. ’ More

THE OYSTER SHELLER.

than likely they would go on about their several occupations without paying any more attention to the remark than proverbial French politeness would demand from them as representatives of the “polished nation. ” But the fact that they do both kinds of work remains. Picturesque figures they are, too, with that peculiar neatness which even in old clothes the women of Paris, from Princess to peasant, know how to preserve. Artists find in them that which sets their fingers itching for a pencil and a sketching pad, and all travelers would be sorry indeed to miss them from the boulevards and markets Not only in these two kinds of labor, but at the fruit and flower stalls, with the milk carts, and in a score of other capacities, one sees them

THE SWEEPER

Sometimes one catches a glimpse of a pretty young girl who looks as if she were playing a part in a comic opera instead of really working; but oftenest wrinkled old peasants, made hardy by years of outdoor labor, satisfy one’s sense of fitness.

The Steepest Railroad Grade.

Much has been written about the construction of the mountain divisions of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad in Colorado and the wonderful engineering skill displayed in ascending the California mountains south of Tulare Valley through Tehachapi Pass. But after all this, the little feeder of the Leadville division of the Rio Grande exceeds all other roads in its steep grades and short curves. When the line first went into operation many accidents occurred by the trains breaking away at the top and running back down the steep grades, wrecking locomotivesand cars and destroying limbs and sometimes lives. Later, however, extremely heavy locomotives have been built and the most skillful and the bravest train hands are employed, who never flinch in the supreme moment of danger. The result has been that accidents now seldom occur. It is said that the sight of one of these trains descending is one of thrilling interest, the sparks from the car-wheels cutting a pathway of light down the mountains which can best be described as having the appearance of a molten stream of fire rushing down to the river bed of the canyon.

Gladstone’s First Speech.

Mr. Labouchere has come into possession of a photograph of a sketch of Mr. Gladstone making his first speech in the House of Commons in 1883. The sketch, which is said to have been drawn at the time, represents Mr. Gladstone, then a member from Newark, speaking from the front bench below the gangway in the old house that was burned down the next year. Mr. Gladstone’s very first utterance in the House of Commons was made, not from the front bench' below the gangway, but from under the gallery, where he was almost inaudible to reporters; and, curiously enough, it was in reply to Rigby Wason, then member from Ipswich, and father of Mr. Eugene Wason, who now represents South Ayrshire as one of Mr. Gladstone’s stanchest supporters.

Three of Them.

A little Brooklyn girl astonished her mother the other day by her proficiency in philological pursuits. “Mamma,” said she, “there are three, kinds of ‘by’s,’ aren’t there?” “What do you mean, my dear?” responded the mother in surprise. “Well,” sweetly lisped the little one, “there’s one ‘by’ when you go by some one on the sidewalk, and there’s another when y u go to the buy something, and then there’s byWsh!” The mother was not long in reaching the conclusion that her daughter needed a little careful instruction in the minor morals.—New York Tribune.

The Word “Vagabond.”

“Vagabond” was once only a traveler going from place to place on Dleasure or justness.

OUR BUDGET OF FUN.

HUMOROUS SAYINGS AND DOINGS HERE AND THERE. Aotaaa and JokeleU that Are Supposed to Have Been Recently Born—Sayings and Doings that Are Odd, Curious, and Laughable—The Week’s Humor. Let Us AU Laugh. A man is like a gas-jet. The more he blows the less light he gives out —Boston Transcript In an autograph book: “Be consistent Never accept advice. Not even this.”—Fliegende Blaetter. “How do you manage to live in this dead town?” “Fine; I’m the undertaker. "—Atlanta Constitution. Speak gently to the erring or you won’t get an invitation to the killing of the fatted calf.—Elmira Gazette. Tom—How old is your sister Mabel? Ned—Her count, do you mean, or our family Bible record?—Somerville Journal Generally the more aimless a boy is, the better he likes to run around with a shotgun.—Binghamton Republican. Artist—“ Madam, it is not faces alone that I paint; it is souls.” Madam—“Oh, you do Interiors then?”— New York Sun. A new mixed drink is called a “business brace,” but its practical tendency is more that of a business suspender. —Siftings.

She—Before we were married you used to call me an angel. He—And now I wish you were one. Isn’t that just as well?—Truth. One reason why it is often difficult to find a ruiaway team is that the horse usually takes the traces with him.—Lowell Courier. Gayson—“She answered me rather shortly when I asked her to be mine.’ Townson—“lndeed! Gayson —“She said ‘yes. ’ ” —Truth. Landlady—You haven’t touched your coffee, Mr. Jones. Anything unusual the matter with it? Mr. Jones—Well, yes; it’s hot—Truth. Business Man—“ And your nephew has had trouble in his bank, they tell me?” Aunt Sarah—“ Yes, they’ve appointed a deceiver.”—Plaindealer. Aunt—“ Child, you certainly don’t call yourself dressed with your shoulders all bare like that?” Nice—“Of course not, auntie ! 1 Gowned."— Puck. Fogg—Come, Figg, have a smoke.” Figg—l’ll die first Fogg—Oh, well, every man to his liking. I’ll do my smoking before I die. —Boston Transcript. Mrs. Russell—“Oh, Edward, you should say palm, not pam.” Mr. Russell—“ Well, that being the case will you please pass me the halm?”— Truth.

“Money talks,” remarked the business man who was ruefully contemplating a lot of idle capital; “but it doesn’t talk in its sleep. ”—Washington Star. “Harduppy tells me he never destroys a receipted bill.” “No; he’s more likely to have them framed and hung up in his parlor as curiosities.” —Tid Bits. Possibly the roped arena may represent a serious battle, but any girl knows the kind of an engagement the real prize rl’jg stands for.—Philadelphia Times. Jack—“l have a confession to make, and you shall be my priest I—l love you.” Jess —“I forgive you freely; but—but priests don’t marry, you know!”—Puck. Boy—Pa, the minister said to-day we’d all have to be born again. Father of eight—That means another fortune for drinks and cigars, I suppose,—Puck. “Did you know Mrs. Plentirocks has stained glass all through her new house?” “No; but what a pity! Can she get anything to take it out?”— Rochester Democrat. “How do you know she is plainlooking? You haven’t seen her. ” “I wrote to her in praise of her intel-' lectuality, and she didn’t get miffed." —Boston Transcript There is much mystification in London over the expedition against the Sofas, and the indications are that somebody’s been lying on them. —Philadelphia Ledger. Mrs. J.—Are there any good dry goods advertisements in the paper this morning? Mr. J. —Really, I don’t know. I usually read the other part.—Somerville Journal. “How is Dykins getting along with the farm he bought?” “Pretty well. He tells me he saved money on it last year.” “How?” “Rented it to another man. ” —Washington Star. Pat—“Phat is the Metropolitan Opera House I hear so much about?” Dennis—“lt must be a storage warehouse—for all them big millionaires have their boxes up there.”—Truth. “I suppose you have been shopping all day again, ” said Mr. Snaggs to his wife at the supper table. “And I suppose you have been bucket-shop-ping again," retorted she.—Pittsburg Chronicle. Mrs. Rusher—Has Mr. Goldcoin, with whom you have been dancing all the evening, at last declared his intentions, Mabel? Mabel Yes, aunt. Mrs. Rusher—l am so glad! And what did he say? Mabel—He declared he would never marry.— Vogue. Mr. Binks (after an absence) — And so you shot a burglar while here and unprotected. You are a brave little woman. What became of him? Mrs. Binks—The other burglar car-. Tied him off. Mr. Binks—Which other burglar? Mrs. Binks The one I aimed at.—Puck.

A Suggestion to Agriculturists.

Bulgarian peasants have given up grain growing to a great extent and are raising roses. Attar of roses is now worth from $lO to sls for eight teaspoonfuls. It seems that Bulgarian farmers , could give points about changing, their products to some agriculturists of the eastern part of the United States, who continue to produce spaall quantities of wheat in competition with the west, instead of paying more attention to dairying and to the production of articles for which all the cltied furnish a profitable market. Rochester Herald. »