Ligonier Banner., Volume 14, Number 15, Ligonier, Noble County, 31 July 1879 — Page 7

The Ligonier Banner, J. B, sxonfi.,ndxtor and Proprietor. WIGONIER, : : : INDIANA.

THE PIAZZA TRAGEDY. ArGErNON'S Ethel’s papa has a Newly-painted front piazza. He has a . : : Piazza., When with tobacco-juice 'twas tainted, They had that front piazza painted— That tainted : Piazza painted. ; Algernon called around, perghance, That night, arrayed in goodly pants—- : That night, perchance, i In gorgeous pants, Engaging Ethel in & chat, < 'On that piazza down he sat—- : In chat i ‘ ‘ ! They sat. And, when an hour or so had pass'd, . He tried to rise, but, oh. stuck fast—- ’ At last ‘ : . Stuck fast! : {Fair Ethel shrieked. ‘lt is the paint!"’ .And fainted in a deadly faint—- ' This saint . - Did faint.® _Algernon sits there till this day— He cannot tear himself away ; -Away?. e By oyl oo Hispantsare firm, the paint is dry— He’s nothing else to do but die; . ' . To die— : ‘ Ob; my! , i —St, Louis Times-Journal,

ALONE. *SHE stands beside the cottage door To watch the dying day, .Her raven hair is islprinkled oer . With flakes of silver gray; ; <And many a line of sadness sears ; That Earle yet lovely face, , ‘To mark where slow and silent tears - Have left their lasting trace. . : .And still her whispered thoughts will tell Of scenes that are no more, And scan the onece-loved forms that dwell On Mem'ry’s shadowy shore; Agfu:n the little cot to deck . hat now so empty stands; . Again to feel around her neck ’ - The touch of tiny hands. How long, the weary stpirip ories, Within this world of pain,Ere 'neath the never-fading skies I meet them once again? : And as she views the silver night, Slow sweeping to the west, . A murmured prayer in faith takes flight To Him who giveth rest. . : —Harper’'s Weekly.

A LUCKY DIE. ““ WHAT the deuce ails me? ‘Where am I, anyhow? Wherever I am, springs and mattresses must be scarce, for I know I 'am laid on some mighty hard substance. ~ Wonder if itis on a dissecting board? Wonder if I’'m dead? I feel’ mighty like 'it. Maybe I am stretched out ready for the doctors to carve me.”’ : : These were my first thoughts, very cheering, indeed, as I became conscious. I could neither speak nor move; but I soon learned that I could hear. A-.door opened, footsteps approached, I felt a cloth removed from my face, and ‘a voice which I recog;nized as that of my intended father-in-law, said: ““ He hasn’t changed much,” and his companion, Whosg voice I recognized as Sowerby’s, the undertaker, said lightly: , . : “ There's just where you are mistaken, Mr. Muffins; he looks a great sight better dead than alive; but how does Priscilla feel about it? Take on much, eh?’’ . i *Oh!no, just enough to appear well!”’ said the father of my affianced, with a chuckle. ¢ She never cared much for Smith; ’twas his stamps that she fancied.. My Priscilla is a practical girl and' went in for his dimes, his carriage and greys, although at the same time I must own she was spooney on bald-pated Howard, the artist; but he’s poor as Job's turkey, as the saying is.” o <« Well, she can have him mnow for all this poor cuss, can’t she?”’ said Sowerby, beating a tattoo with his digits on my chest. % , “]I presume s 0; but she will wait till ‘the year is up, for fear of gossip, you know.‘)’ 2 s ' ‘“ But who gets his money, seeing the poor cuss has no relations?’’ queried ‘the undertaker. ‘ ~ ¢ Oh! that's all right. You see my Priscilla is a sensible girl. Before she promised to marry him she had him 'make his will in her favor. Poor ‘Smith was rather sappy, you know; -had nothing against him, however, although he was deacedly homely, and -such a barn-door of a mouth, always open.”’ = - ‘¢« Well,” said the cheerful voice of the undertaker, ¢ his mouth is shut tight enough ,now, I. reckon; he’ll never open it in tnis world again. I reckon his immortal part is now. with the angels?) o« . S And my mortal 'ga’rt. is also with the angels, thought I—a fine pair of angels! I felt indignant at their -clumsy ridicule. I tried to shut my fist, but never a shut was to it. I -could do nothing but listen. He then began to measure me for my coffin. I had heard that undertakers whistled joyfully when they got a measure. I believed it to be only a joke on the -craft; but Sowerby actuvally struck up ‘the air ‘‘ Pull down the blinds,” in a :subdued thrilling whistle ' while he measured me. - ¢« A nobby casket and one hundred hacks, eh, Mr. Muffins? Must make ‘big thing of it. The, cuss: left lots of money, and remember he was to be _your Priscilia’s husband. Must make a splurge, Mr. Muffins,”” said the worthy undertaker, with an eye to his -own pocket. e ~ S ¢« Well,"l1 don’t mind if the coffin is a little nobby lookjngg but one hundred hacks! The deuce! Just send -one or two for the mourners, and the rest who come to attend the funeral -can furnish their own rigs or hoof it, whichever suits them.” They covered my face again and left ‘me to my own reflections, I had often ‘heard 1t remarked that meditation was %’ood for the soul, and this was the best chance I ever had of trying it. An hour must have Jmssed, and the door was again opened, and -twofllll)ersons came whispering along to where Ilay, and the voice of my promised ~wife fell on my ear. _ v ‘I dread to look at him, Mr. How--ard, he was so homely when living, he must be frightful when dead.” I ground my teeth in rage as I remembered how often she had gone into raptures, or preétended to, over

‘my noble brow and expressive mouth, and would solemnly declare that if I were taken from her she would enter a convent, take the wveil and never more behold the sun. , , One of them raised the cloth; I knew they were looking atme. Howard was the chap she was spooney on, whora her father had mentioned. ' ~ *“Seems to me you don’t feel very bad about his dyinf, Miss Muffins,’’ exclaimed Howard, deliberately. ¢ Well, to tell the truth,” said my betrothed, ‘I don’t care very much about it. If he had lived I suppose I should have married him, because he was rich; but I was iettin§ about sick of my bargain, for I know I should always be ashamed of him.” ‘ ““But you loved ' him;’’ remarked Howard. : ' “No, 1 didn’t! My affections were wasted lon% ago on one who never returned my love.”” And my fast-fading idol sighed “heavily. They had now covered my face again, and were standing within a few feet of where I 1a,i.l ~ ““About how long ago, Miss uffins?”’ asked Howard. ¢ Oh, about a year or so,’”’ with another sigh. , - ¢ About the time I went away?’’ interrupted the cautious Howard, coughing a little.. - . ‘“Well, yes, about that length of time,”” assented my dear affianced. . ¢ Now, Miss Mu-Muf-Muffins—you—-oh! you don’t mean to insinuate that, I-I-I, oh! oh! oh! too much bliss=am the lucky—"’ : L - ‘I don’t mean to insinuate anything, Mr. Howard;”’ and the angelic sweetness of her voice became somewhat metallic. , . ‘“Now, see here—Pris-pris-cilla—oh! let me call you by that melodious name. -See here! I always loved you; not for your beauty, but for your artlessness; ’pon my soul I did, and would have proposed to you only I heard you were engaged to the chap that is stretched there.” - ¢ Oh! Mr. Howard!” said Mrs. Smith that was to be, giving a little squeal. ‘“Don’t Mr. Howard me. If you return my affection you must call me by some pet names. Call me Harry; call me Lovey; but for heaven’s sake don’t Mr. Howard me, my own Priscilla!” said Howard, in a quavering voice. Then I heard amovement of feet, accompanied by a loud lip explosion. Moses! how mad I got! I tried to kick or grate mfiy teeth, but never a kick or a grate could I raise. I wasobliged to grin and bear it. Bear it I had to; but grin I couldn’t. L Soon my company left, and I was again entertained by my own pleasant thoughts, until I again felt the cloth gently removed from my face. A soft, warm palm was laid on my forehead, and the low, sweet voice of Minnie Rivers whispered—well, no matter what. -

. “Night came—so did the neighbors to my wake, and from two old crones who sat near me I learned to -my horror that I was to be buried next day. . ¢¢Of course you are coming to the funeral to-morrow, Mrs. Frizzlebaum P’ said one of them. . - “Oh! dear, yes, surely. I hope it may turn out a fine day, for I want to enjoy the ride to the cemetery.” . I then lost consciousness, and the next I heard were the grating voices of Priscilla, my fiancee, and her mother. Apparently they were brushing, dusting and giving the room a general slicking up before the funeral. @~ *“ls Howard to-be one of the pallbearers?’’ asked thevoice of my moth-er-in-law that might have been. ‘He would be gladly, but he hasn’t a suit of black clothes,’’ said my sweetgBt oo . ’ o ¢ Why, Priscilla! my child, don’t you remémber Smith’s black broadcloth; the suit is brand new. I know it will fit Howard. Call him in, he’s sitting in the kitchen, and let him try them on.” :

Now, this black suit was a particular favorite of mine, a perfect fit, that set my person off to great advantage, and it made ‘my bloo%i boil to hear them talk so coolly of transferring it to my rival, to be worn at my own funeral. I was getting very mad now. I felt the crisis was near, and thatlshould either die or explode if they meddled with my black suit. Priscilla took itdown from the peg—ll know it, for I heard the buckles jingle—and made for the door. I tried to shake my fist, and yell at her, but all in vain, and -there I lay outwardly calm as a lamb, my inwards boiling with wrath. It was too much! The deepest trance could not haveheld out against that suit; with a powerful effort I sprang up and howled. Priscilla dropped my clothes, her mother the duster, and both bounded out of the room squealing like shot rabbits. With difficulty I managed to get my clothes, and had just got inside of my pants when Mrs. Muffins and her daughter, headed by the undertaker, peered in at the door, a motley company of women and smutty-faced children stood in their rear. Such sacred-looking owls; enough to -amuse a dead man. So I laughed. It was not very becoming; but I laughed ' peal after peal till my sides began to ache. Then the undertaker ventured near me, saying, rather dubiously: i o “So you are not dead yet, Mr. Smith P’ : : ‘¢ Well, no, not exactly; sorry to disappoint my friends about ‘the funeral, however.” ‘“Yes,”" he assented, absently; ¢ bad, rather—that is—ahem!"’ - Fooled out of the dimes, amria%? and ;§reys,v my gal, thought I, as I looked at Priscilla. . - . “ Go speak with him,’’ said her father, in an undertone; ‘ act your part well.” - _ . - They now began to gather around me and to congratulate me on my narrow escape. I noticed they cried a i%reat deal more than when I was dead. Priscilla came and hung on my neck, sniveling desperately. % gave her a not over gentle push from me, and told her to wait next time till [ was safely buried before she meddled with my clothes. : : “Oh! ’m soglad?!’ she said, sweetly, without appearing to notice what I said about my clothes, ¢‘that you are not dead, dear. My heart seemed withered and broken to see you lying so cold and white. I wept bltterlf over your pogr, angelic face, my darling.”

““Oh! yes, so you did. I heard you and Howard- take on at a furious rate. It was a very lucky die for me, my dueky.” B : ¢ Could you hear?”’ she ga.sp‘ed. I rather think I could,” I replied. ** So good-by, my noble girl; you can have the pleasure of calling Howard all the pet names you can lag your tougue to.”” She made a bee-line for the open door, and her pull-back was the last I ever saw of her. Howard never married her, and I hear she still lives a life of single blessedness. As I am writing this piece a quiet little figure steals te my side, and a soft, white hand, which sends a thrill of pleasure to my heart, is laid lovingly on my shoulder; yes, the hand of Minnie Rivers, now Minnie Smith, my wife.— Detroit News. . :

: The Captain’s Story. = ¢ WELL, it’s purty hot,”” answered a lake Caprain in one of the ferry dock saloons yesterday, ‘‘ but it isn’t nothing to the summer of 1836. We had it at least twenty degrees hotter than this right along for six weeks. I was runnix:F the Mary Jane between Chicago and Buffalo then, and I’ve: seen the thermometer stand at one hundred and thirty degrees in the middle of Lake Huron.” v ‘ 2 ‘“ That was awful,”’ sighed.one of the sitters. - ¢ : ‘“ Well, it was fairish, but we didn’t call it very hot till we got into the St. Clair River and the mercury went up to one hundred and fifty degrees when hanging against the water-butt. The boys used up seven hundred and twen-ty-eight palm-leaf fans on one trip that year. On one of our trips down we were becalmed for three days on Lake Huron. We got it there, and no mistake.” A : - ¢¢Purty hot, eh?” : ““Well, I'm an old man, and I don’c care to go to lying at this day, but I'll tell you a few solemn facts. Every sail on that schooner smoked and smoldered till they fell to pieces on deck and left us under bare poles! Yes, sir, we hadn’t a rag aloft as big as your hand. That was just at sunrise in the morning, and within an hour ‘we had to wet down decks to pxg; vent them burning. I went down stai to consult the thermometer, and it lay on the floor, all melted into a chunk of glass and tin! Then I began to realize how hot it was, and I got frightened.” - ““What could you do?”” - ““Well, not much. We had begun to rig lines over the lee side,®so that all could take to the water, when the top-sail yard came down and killed the cook. The links in the chains had melted right out! I never knewa case like it since, but then the weather has cooled off greatly since 1836.”” ¢« And about the cook?”’

‘“Nothing about him. When we picked the body up to heave it overboard it had spread out in a mass about four feet square, and we had to use shovels before we got through. He was a good young ‘man and a perfect gentleman, and his mother never blamed me in the least for scoop-shovel-ing his remains over the rail. We finally rigged our lines and got overboard.” . ¢ And it was much cooler?”’ ¢ Ah! young man, how little you reporters know of the great lakes spread out before your gaze on the maps! Cooler! Why, the minute we struck the water we begun squirming like so many eels. The lake was red hot. The water would have cooked an egg in four minutes. I was blistered from head to heel in neo time. Some day I will take off my coat and vestand show you mg back. The flesh was actually cooked to a depth of two inches, and for over two. years the dogs used to scent cooked meat when I walked out, and follow me by dozens. Five surgeons fainted away in a heap at the sight of my left shoulder, and the only man I could get to dress my back was a butcher under sentence of death.” ‘lt must have been terzible. How did you come out of the calm?’ ¢ Well, while I was squirming in the water a white squall struck the schooner and down she went. 1t was all over in a minute, and air and water were hotter than ever. I struck out for the Canada shore, over a hundred miles away, knowing that it was sink or swim, but in half an hour I was safe.”’ - ¢ Picked up?’”’ _ | - ‘““Well, no,” replied the Captain, as he scratched his leg, ‘I struck an iceberg and climbed up into a cave near the top! I tell you it was a grateful chan%e,to.me, and that’s one reason why I can never see a hunk of ice and a lemon without feeling grateful to the man who invented both—with a very little ‘gin in mine, if you please.”’— Detroit Free Press. ;

In a Water-Spout. THROUGH the prompt assistance of the Managers of the South Park Road, the damages done to the track in the Platte Canycn and near Buffalo by the waterspout are speedily beinghrepaired; and the customary travel on the road will be resumed very soon. In conversation yesterday afternoon with a gentleman who was stopping for a few days at the boarding-house, near the saw-mill at Thompson’s, the informant said: ¢« We had a terrible hail-storm shortly after three o’clock, and stones as. big as hen’s eggs fell thick and fast. While we were standing at a safe distance from the windows, for nearly every pane of glass was broken, we saw a most remarkable phenomenon, accompanied by a dull, heavy, roaring sound like distant thunder. A large volume of what we afterward found to be water was seen at the top of the mountain, coming closer and closer, like an immense funnel. As it apgr‘oaelied, the noise became almost deafening, and one old gentleman who, wag standing in the door—for we had all assembled in and around the doorway — exclaimed: ‘lt's a waterspout!’ Outof the house and up the opposite hill we ran as fast as it gas possible, to almost the summit. ne of the parties, who was furthest down, in terror turned around and beheld the water rushing and tearing down the opposite side, carrying with it huge ‘boulders, uprooted trees and all sorts of debris. It struck the house and the saw-mill simultaneously and carried ‘them away like straws, not a vestige of

either remaining. We stood there in terrorfor a long time, hardly daring to speak a word, but finally, becoming more used to the scene, we began to look around us and takein the situation. When the height of the excitement . had abated some little, an anxious mother missed her infant child, and instant search was made for the lost little one. Afteran hour spent in the water and mud, one of the gentlemen discovered the child in & pool of water, and the stream still coming down the mountain side, lying close up%y a rock which also supported a large bureau, under which the little one sat in the apartment intended for a lower drawer. The child was not a bit frightened, but seemed to be rather pleased with its situation, and, strange enough, had hardly a scratch upon it. The joy of the distréssed parent can easily be conceived when the wet youngster was placed safe and sound in her arms. The water continued to rush down the gulch for several hours, and we had to prepare places to sleep on the side of the mountain. Early the next morning I joined a number of men who desired to reach Denver as soon as possible, and started to walk to the train, about seven miles distant. When we reached there we found it was a wrecking train with a coach attached, and after being delayed several hours for the wreckers to prepare the track, we started on our way home.—Denver Tribune. :

FACTS AND FIGURES.: THERE are 20,000 French in Lower Egypt. - % THERE are 300,000 Russian exiles in Siberia. . . . THERE are now 120 torpedo-boats in the Russian navy. - = - ~ THE negroes of Georgia own $6,000,000 worth of land. v THE Cornish mines have been worked for over 1,000 years. ] WasHINGTON TERRITORY last year exported 160,000 tons of coal and 21,000,000 feet of lumber. - LAst year, according to official statements, there were 33,318 conflagrations in the Russian Empire, causing an aggregate loss of $45,000,000. ; - BETWEEN 1871 and 1878, both years inclusive, three million eight hundred and sixty thovsand persons were employed in Pritish mines, and nine thousand anc fifty eight of them lost their lives. e THERE is a bottle of wine over 1,800 years old that will be opened shortly on the anniversary of the destruction of Pompeii. It was dug out of the ruins, where it had lain since the year 79. At the cheapest possible price, the cost of it, if invested at compound interest, would by this time exceed our National depbt. : E It has been calculated that if a single grain of wheat produces (fifty grains in one year’s growth, and these and succeeding crops be planted and yield proportionately, the product of twelve years would suffice to supply all the inhabitants of the earth for a lifetime. In twelve years the single grain will have multiplied itself 244,140,625,000,000 times. » - THERE is a large number of acres of wild pasturage in the State of Maryland, and yet that State has only about 151,200 sheep. The reason given why more sheep are not kept is, that seven per cent. of the sheep are annually killed by dogs. The entire South has less than 7,000,000 sheep, and of these 500,000 are said to be destroyed by dogs. Yet the South has summer pasturage and winter keep for from 70,000,000 to 100,000,000 if rightly managed. : (o : A EUROPEAN contemporary says it may be interesting to mention that there are in Ireland no less than 155,675 mud cabins, not one of which contains. more than one apartment. These 155,675 cabins are occupied by 227,379 families. . There are, however, 357,126 mud cgbins of the better class, which afford accommodation for 432,774 families. At the lowest estimate, there are about 100,000 small farmers who occupy mud cabins of the worst class, in a vast number of which the cows and pigs share the solitary apartment with the family. : THE New York Chamber:of Commerce has been -collecting information about the railroad aid extended by local municipalities of the State, and it is found that the total county, town and village bonds for this purpose amount to $30,978,000. The bonds outstanding for other purposes amounted to $11,487,000, so that three-fourths of the bonded debt incurred by rural municipalities appears to have been for railroads. The cities are excluded from this calculation; were they included, the aid extended to railroads would be found to be about one-fifth ghe total local indebtedness within the tate. : ‘

THE French savant, Dr. Bertillon, has given the results of his study of the mortality statistics of every country of Europe. He comes to the conclusion that marriage is conducive to health, long life and morality, and is, so to speak, a limited insurance against disease, crime and suicide. He says that a bachelor of 25 has not a better prospect of life than a married man of 45; that among widowers of from 25 to 30 the rate of mortality is as great as among married men of 55 to 60. Taking the French bills of mortality, he shows that while the annual death rate among married men between 20 and 25 years of age is rather under 10 per 1,000, bachelors of that age die at the rate of 16, and widowers at the rate of 19 per 1,000. These figures apply to the whole of France, while, taking Paris, it appears that the rate for men of between 20 and 25 years of age is 15.7 per 1,000 for married men, 27 per 1,000 for bachelors, and 82 per 1,000 for widowers. With advanced life the difference goes on increasing. With regard to crime, Dr. Bertillon- asserts that offenses against the person are 50 per cent. less, and against property 45 per cent. less, among married men than a.monfi unmarried.. The difference is still more remarkable among women, amounting to 250 per cent. The number of suicides is at the rate of 62811})91' million for widowers, 273 per million for bachelors, and 246 per mill‘jon for married men. . '

9 ; i Youths’ Department. . HAPPY-GO-LUCKY. . HAPPY-GO-LUCKY is always gay, Laughing and singing the livelong day, Searching vhe attic, sliding down stairs, : %o(gung mls_ cg‘)}t,;hes' with n:f tz)wytlt]léesn tears: appy-go-lucky, merry and bright, Happy-go-lucky’s my hea;:r.’n delight! . He falls in the water and swims like .a duck, He never is hurt, for *‘it isn’t his luck;"’ | He/climbs and he tumbles—he’s up with.a grin; Yor bumps and for bruises he cares not a pin; Happy-go-lucky, my darling, my ducky There's never a lad like Happy-go-lnclgty! e —Alice Williams Brotherton, in Nursery.

-' ONLY FIFTEEN. : 4 e THAT was a rather cruel, unfeeling remark of Mr. Earle to his daughter Sadie, or Sarah as she now wished to be called, because, ‘¢ at least she wasn’t a baby!” e ““No, sis, you're neither a little girl nor a woman; but just between hay and grass, as one may say.”? . Sarah gave an extra push to her already well tied-back muslin overskirt, and started for school with a smoldering spark in her eye. , “It's true what father says,’’ she soliloquized, as she walked along. “I'm too old to wear my dresses short, and too young to wear them long; too old to let my hair go loose and comfortable, and too young for frizzles, puffs and coils. And as the cows in the spring, when the hay is gone and the grass not well-grown, have to put up with odds and ends, so I have to take all Hat's and Jen’s cast-off dresses and hats; or, if there is anything awfully unbecoming to them I get that,whether 1 like it or not. Then in the work, what I have is just what everybody -else hates to, do, like washing dishes and cleaning lamps—just what nobody gets credit for either, only blame for not doing well.” o ‘ By this time this ambitious girl of ours had reached the school-house; but the teacher had an enga.gement, so the card attached to the door-handle told the scholars. Sarah started at once to retrace her steps; for it was a two-mile walk, with only here and there a few old apple-trees to shield her from the sun’s glare. ' . As she walked her thoughts reverted to the morning’s conversation, partly, perhaps, because the scent of newmown hay greeted her. Like any girl of her age it struck her asa queer, backward sort of comparison to speak of childhood as the time of hay. 0, yes!”’ she exclaimed aloud, as a thought struck her, ‘I see how it is!”’ and she at once resolved to write the coming week’s composition on that very subject. i . “I'll say,” she soliloquized, ¢ that childhood is cared for by the garnered love of father and mother. That’s the hay, you see! But, at last, the youth oes out! into the world and gathers ?ove for himsclf. And I shall give it a moral turn; for, somehow, I think young people ought mot to be selfish, even if I am so—but ought to gather love by loving. -~ ' e

“ What's the use of talking, though? it 1 reall%'V wanted to be usefu% 1 couldn’t. ho’d ask me to sit up and watch with sick people, for instance? I couldn’t even'keep awake all night. I wish I could be sure I'd be the right sort of woman, and then, seems to me, it might be beautiful to be wrinkled or gray; for, by that time, one is sure of one’s self.” ; : Then she sudderly stepped down from her mount of moral enthusiasm —a feat, alas! so easily accomplished, so hard to account for, often. = ‘¢ Before I get to be good and gray, I'd like some nice times aud some nice things. This muslin overskirt and ‘waist are pretty enough and for once, new, but—why—what!—"* " : L She ?rang -quickly out ot the road in sudden terror, for she thought a loose horse was plunging furiously down the road behind her. She had not scrambled half-way up the steep bank before he came in sig_%’t, but, :to her relief, he was not riderless. Squire Wait’s boy reined him in with difficulty, just within view, and, . turning in his saddle, shouted at the top of his voice, evidently to isome one in a neighboring field: : ¢lf Doctor Ainslie ain’t to home, what’ll I do?”’ o Sarah could not hear the reply; but the boy a{:peared satisfied, for he quickly settled himself in the saddle, applied his whip to the horse, and was out of sight in an instant. o Sarah hurried up the bank . and looked over the stone on its top. .At no great distance she saw a man I{ling on the ground, and three others standing by him. In a jmoment she saw who it was, and, as she ran toward the %'roup, she guessed the truth, which was that quire, Wait himself had received, at the hands of one eofthis blundering workmen, a severe cut iy the leg from a scythe while mowingl./ o : -The bright arterial blood was pouring from the wound, a deathlike pallor had overspread the sufferer’s face, and his eyes were already half-closed. Sarah whisked the muslin overskirt over her head like a flash. - :

<Bt HelP me tear a broad bandage out of this!’ she cried. The men were dull-looking, plodding laborers; but one of them seemed encouraged by her air of deterimination, and, in & moment, from the back of the skirt a breadth was torn, Without any words Sarah tied a strong knot in this breadth. Then she stooped down, and, with one great heart-sinkin§, one cry of the flesh against the spirit, she lifted the rent garment from the gaping wound to see- just where it was; then she J»resse‘d the knot just above the wound with all her strength. ‘¢« John,”” said she, steagily, ¢ tie this bandage under the leg, and one of you others go as quick as you can for a stout short stick.”” - o The blood, already affected in its flow by her pressure, oozed more slowly from- the wound. The stick was brought in & trice, and slipped under the bandage where John had tied it in a ‘‘hard knot.” - ' i ¢ Now, John,” said Sarah, calmly, ‘“twist the stick till you tighten the bandage so the blood shall stop altogether.”” e B{ the time this was done poor Mrs. Wait, trembling and terrified, arrived on the scene wfih a little old-fashioned

Ppocket bottle ;of smelling salks, and &/ cruet of vinegar wherewith“to buthe ' her husband’s head. These restoratives answered well enough till the doctor arrived. : e o ““You're a right sensible girl!” said the. doctor, when he héard what Sarah had done. ¢ Any one of your fellows,” continued he, ‘could have stopped the blood, or mostly stopped it, by pressing the limb above the wound with your. finfiers till help could be got.”” ’ - ext morning Sarah stopped at the Squire!s gate to learn how he was. John was spreading hay in a field close by, and he came out to the road to gpeak to Her. . ' = & = ; _‘“lsay,” he said, contemplating her slight form with genuine admiration, ‘ such a little creeter as you be to ha’ ben so knowin’ and so smart! Why, you can’t be more’n fourteen or fifteen at the outside.” = =~ o ¢ Only fifteen,” answered Sarah,with a queer litlle smile. ¢ Just between hay and grass.” . e e ‘1 never did see the beat!”’ responded John. ‘ How’d you- know so well what to dew? that's what I'd like to know!’ - . Aot - ~¢¢0! I learned it at school,’’ answered Sarah, with .a _little air of patronage and: humility - combined. ‘‘You see, John, .the blood that comes = straight .from -the heart 18 bright red, - and comes in jets as the heart beats; didn’t you notice that?”’ s L - *“Yes! yes! I see his life was beatin’ away, but nothin’ we could dew wouldn’t suit him; and, fact! there didn’t seem to be nothin’ we could dew.” . : : : ‘““ Well,” continued she, finding his wandering thoughts had - come home again, ‘“ when the blood comes that way and .is bright red like that, you must do something at once. You must put your force on a knot as I did, be- - tween the wound and the heart. And, while. a knotted . ba.'n’dafe is getting ready, you ought to hold the limb up high as ¥ou can. That will check the blood. -I forgot that at the time.”’ _ ““1 mever did see the beat!’ repeated John, his limited vocabulary allowing no more elegant phraseology in which to express his wonder and esteem. Sarah ‘'was ‘moving on, when John called after her. . - : ‘“Say, sis, it’s' a shame! but those num’b-{eads went to work and tore that pooty muslin thing of yours all to bits, thinkin’ ’cause you asked for one bandage you'd want twenty more. Mis’s Wait was dretful sorry. Said ef there’'d been enough leftfor an apron’twouldn’t ’a’ben so bad.?’ i ~Sarah laughed and went on, smoothing down a dust,y). alpaca overskirt—an old one of Jenny’s cut dgwn. b A few>days after, the Earle family were all in the kitchen at supper,when there came a knock at the front door. Hattie rose and went to the door. She returned directly with a package in her hand, reading on the ' outside wrapper in . & rather .disgusted tone as she walked in: ; i . “To the little girl who learns her lessons at school so well.” : “¢Susie, of course,’”’ said Sarah, with a lofty air; for Hattie- had looked at her, while Susie was aged six. : ‘I don’t know why it mayn’t mean you, too,”” retorted Hattie. ‘lt looks like Squire Wait’s hand, though a lit- - tle shaky.” T i o Sarah had half a mind not to take the proffered bundle. As she took off the newspaper wrapper shesaw a note, slipped under the string of a brown pa- . per parcel froftsome citystore, as was - evident by the advertisement. The note was directed to ¢Miss Sarah Earle,” and read as follows: S

*“Dear Sarah: I was dredful sorry you lost your overskert and the squire was, too, and said you sliouldn’t lose nothing hy it. So I went up to the city, and went round and round till I was tired to deth, and my head was all of a daze. Finerlly, 1 went into the nicest looking sture and the one ‘recermended the highest, and was showed to the proper clerk for such things, and I says to him, in'a despairing way, I expect: * Show me the genteelest, handsomest, and most sootable dress for a young lady of fifteen years.” He asked was ¥ou da.r% or bland? ~*BBays I, ‘Middling, ‘with a_ rosy cheek and a_ hright eye, and such a look as you might gess a girl to have that tore ' her brand new overs%xirt. all to bits to stop my husband. from bleeding to deth.” I can tell you, fokes near by was interested to here all about it; and one gentleman giv‘me the book you find inclosed, with his respects. -The end of 1t all was, that the head one of the store came up and sold me the dress very reasonable, and leave to change if you don’t like it, and likeways = put in the piece of muslin for a school overskert, as near like yours as I could see. f7ree, a Wit;h my earnest hopes that you will be as good a woman as girl, 1 remain, mE'om: obedient servant, : ‘M. E. Warr.,” . . Sarah had read the note aloud at the eager request of the family; but it had - been hard work for her, and she now burst into tears and was running off ‘without even lookinF at her treasures, when her father called out, cheerily: ~ ‘“Come, Sadie, let’s see what the Squire’s wife boughtfor you! I allays thought she was a close woman, and I guess it’s a pink calico.”” o “How can you, -father!” asked Sarah, indignantly. But she did dry her eyes, nevertheless. s There was a chorus of “Q’s!’ and ¢ Splendids! I’ when a piece of silvery summer silk was unrolled. ' - Enough,” said Hattie, ¢ for awhole suit; and you deserve it, Sadie, and I’'m real glad ofab’ - » ¢ That’s orga.ngy muslin- and very nice,”’ remarked Jenny, as the muslin . cameinto view. . . The book proved to be a pocket edition of Whittier.' She said softly, as she took it in her hand: - . « +. = ‘ That’s the best of all, beeausel can keep it always.” *© e i ‘On the fly-leaf was written: e __*‘Miss Sarah Earle. A tpk§n 9‘.6 a.dnfx,rahox? ff‘)?‘ her fig‘fii{’ ggg;ivlsxg:} e - It was from one she never knew, nor was likely to see; yet it was all the more delightful to think that, to one . person in the world, she would always seem ‘‘noble.” Her soul /thrilled at the thoupht, -~~~ = ¢ o Asshe rose to carry awa.;;her precious - bundles, her father spoke far moreg'en%y than was his wonv: - = _ *“The best of all, I think, is, that you did it without' thought ‘of ‘reward.”— " Mrs. M. A. Parsons, in Wide-Awake. - .—A Detroiter cured a lon find - severe attack of néuralgia by falling' down stairs. - That's nothing. - Some years ago & Norristown: youth Was cured of a bad ‘habit of W”‘? by falling off ‘ia;che;rri-‘firbiie.} - Nota- fi: ‘ gnth has seuaped s g et W fall broke his neck,—Norristown Heralds: e e g e