Ligonier Banner., Volume 14, Number 29, Ligonier, Noble County, 6 November 1879 — Page 3

Clhe Figouier Bammer, LIGO;‘.IIER. '; : :o r .n: ro,;;l;’;;NA

. AT NIGHTFALL. ‘ ‘ ‘ sl 5 © . Coming along by the meadows, Just after the sun went down, ‘ : Watching the gathering shadows » Creep over the hillsides brown; . Coming along in the gloaming, ' thi;h \?:Kter a st:tar in thai sky, } : 0 8 went a-roaming, a-roaming. e ’{'hxoug'h days that are long'gone by. i Days when desire said, ** To-morrow, . To-morrow, heart, we’ll be gay!”’ D%gs ere the heart heard the sorrow hich echoes through yesterday. "Life was a goblet burnished, : That-with loye for wine was filled; The cu&i: bruised and tarnished, And the precious wine is spilled. ' But to the traveler weary, i Just coming in sight of home, . What does it matter how dreary The way whereby he has come? | i : gt . Coming along by the nreadows, - And watching the fading day, Duskier than night’s dusky shadows i Fell eshadows of yesterday. ! In the northerh sunset’s glimmer .+ ._The Great Bear opened his eyes; o : . Lowin the east a shimmer : Showed where the full moon would rise. Lights in & window were gleaming, _ And some one stood at the %ate, i Said: *“ Why do you stand there dreaming? And why are you home so late?”’ Y esterday’s shadow and sorrow That moment all vanished away ! Here were to-day and to-morrow— What matter for yesterday? : : . —@Good Words.

UP THE RIVER WITH A *LUNATIC. Avrr DixoN, Tom Giffard and I had %one up the river camping out; we had done our second day’s work. It was early morning on the third day, glorious weather. I was in the boat, getting the steering lines in order; Giffard and Dixon were on the bank, talking to Dr. Rawle. As I understood it, the doctor was at the head of a private asylum for lunatics. He was Giffard’s friend, not mine. He had been taking a constitutional when he happened to fall inwith us just as we were sitting down to our open-air breakfast; the chance meeting led to Giffard inviting him to share our gypsy meal. He did. He was a pleasant fellow, not too old and not too_youn%. I liked him exceedingly. We talked of things in general, and of lufiatics in . particular. Something led to his mentioning—l think it was speaking of the ecunning of a certain class of fTyunati‘c’s,—a,nd tﬁe difficulty of keeping them within four walls—the fact that one of his inmates had escaped a day or two previously, and had not yet been retaken. This was the moré singular as it was tolerably certain he had not gone far, and search had been made for him in every direction. . As Giffard and Dixon were saying good-by, preparatory to getting into the boat, the doctor ]aughingiy said: ‘“ Should you happen to come across him, I shall consider you bound to bring him back safe and sound. He’'s a man of forty-four or forty-five, tall and bony, iron-gray hair, and has a curious habit of showing his teeth and winking his left eye. Don’t look out for'a rav-

ing lunatic; for on most points he’s as right as you and I. He's wrong in two things. Whatever youdo, don’tiet him lose his temper; for whenever he does, though ever so.slightly, he invariably goes in for murder—he’s all but done for two keepers already. And don't talk to him of England or Englishmen; for if he should get upon his native land, he’ll favor you with some observations which will make you open %our eyes.”’ We laughed. Alf and Tom shook hands witE him, and got into the boat. We promised, if we should happen to meet him, we would certainly see him - returned to safe custody. Alf stood up and shoved us from the shore; we sang out a last good-by, and left the doctor - standing on ‘the bank. . ; It was a beautiful morning. The river was delicious, clear as crystal; we could see the bottom, and every stone and pebble on it; just a gentle breeze fanning the surface of the waters into a little ripple. We lit our pipes and took it easily. lam a good bit of a traveler, £NOW many lovel{ nooks and crannies » inforeign lands; I.have lived abroad as much as at home; but 1 will match the higher reaches of our own Father Thames for beauty and for charm against any scenery in Europe. And on an eafly summer morning, after a , spell of glorious weather, it is in all its ' prime; the water so cool, so clear; the - banks so green, so charming; the stately trees on either side; the mansions' seen over the meadows, or peeping out among the trees. You may choose your Rhine, your -Garda, or Nyour Maggiore, ~or your golden Bay of a’P]es, but leave Cookham and old Father Thames to me. Presumably we had come for river beauties and the camping-out—presum- - ably; but as a matter of fact there was a young lady lived not so far ahead, a mutual friend, Lilian Travers. Separately and jointly we had a high opinion of Miss Travers, not only of her beauty, but of other things as well; and having come so far, We%mlped we should not have to return until at least we had had a peep at her. Unfortunately, though we knew M}ss Travers, we had no acquaintance with Mr.—there was no Mrs. éVehad met the young lady at several | dances and such like; but on each occasion she was under the chaperonage of old Mrs. Mackenzie. Apparently Mr. Travers was not a party man. But Lilian bad promised to introduce us to him whenever she got a chance, and we were not unh'opetu% she would lget' that chance now. 8o you see_that little excursion riverward had more in it than met the eye. : o - We went lazily on, just dipping the ~ oars in and out; smokinﬁ, watc,ging the _smoke circlinf through the clear air. All thoughts of the doctor and his Farbi wox_l'lgs had gone from our minds. Vlé%talked little, and that little was of Lilian and the chances of our meeting, We had gone some two or three hundred yat£? ‘we were close to the shore. Alf could almost reach it by stretchin out his oar. We were dreaming anﬁ lazing, when suddenly some one qtepf)ed out from among the trees. He was close - to g—m.a&amn feetaway. == was a tall man, rather over than under six feet. He was dressed in a dark brown suit of Oxford mixture; he - had a stick in his hand, wore a billy-

cock hat, and his coat was ' buttoned right up to his throat. He had li%ht whiskers, a heavy, drooping mustache, hair unusually longl, iron-gray in color. He might be a soldier retired from his profession, or an artist out painting; he certainly looked a gentleman, We were passing on, when he raised his stick, and shouted out, ¢ Stop!”’

It was a regular shout, as though we were half a mile fromhim. We stopped, although it was an unusual method of calling attention. : “ (entlemen,’’ he said, still at the top of his voice, *‘ I should be obliged if you could give me a seat. I have a 10% way to fo, and I am tired.” e looked at him and at each other. It was a free-and-eas(f style of asking a favor; but he seemed a gentleman, and an elderly one, too. Common politeness dictated civility. : i “I am ‘afraid,” said Alf, < we have hardly room; she’'s only . built for three.” :

¢ Oh, that doesn’t matter,” he said; ‘‘you can put me anywhere, or I'lltake an oar for one of you.” I was on the point of advising a point-black refusaf not appreciating his off-hand manner; but Alf thought differently. : ' ‘s Al right,” sed he; *we dont mind, if you don’t. Steer her in, Jack.” e I steered heriin. No sooner were we near the shore than, quite -unexpectedly, he stepped almost on. my toes, rocking the boat from side to side. - “Hang it!"” I said; ‘‘take cadre, or you'll have us over.” ““What if I do?”’. he returned. <‘lt’'ll only be a swim; and who minds a swim in weather like this?”’ . L We stared at him; the coolness, not to say impertinence, of the remark, was amazing. Beggin§ a seat in our boat, knowing it was full, and then telling us he didn’t care if he spilled us into the river! He seated himself by me, setting the boat seesawing again, crushing me into a corner; and without asking with vour leave or by your leave, took the steering lines from m{f hands, and slipped them over his shoulders. ‘“Excuse me,” I said, making a snatch at them; ‘““but if you'll aﬁow me.”’ . : ““Not at all,”’ he said; *‘l always like something to do, and I expect you've had enough of it.”” : ‘His coolness was amusing; he was im(fenetrable.' I Know I for one regretted we were such mules as to have had anything to do with him. We waited. in silence a second or two. - “Come,” he said, ‘““when are you going to start?’’ ‘‘ Perhaps,” said Alf, a bit nettled, ‘“as you're in our boat a self-invited guest, you'll let us choose our own time.” , : . The stranger said nothing; he sat stolid and silent. Tom and Alf set off rowing; the stranger steered right across the stream. > :

‘“Where are you going?’ said Alf. “Keep us in.” “I'm going into the shade; the sun’s too strong.” : He hadg the lines; we could hardly insist on his keeping one side if he ‘preferred the other. He took us right to the opposite bank, under the shadow of the willow-trees. For some minutes neither of us spoke. With him cramming me on my seat, and ramming his elbows into my side, mf position was not pleasant. At last I let him know it. “}I) don’t know if you are aware you are occupying all my seat.” He turned on me short and sharp. All at once I noticed his left eye %‘oing up and down like a blinking owl; his mouth was wide open, disclosing as ugly a set of teeth as I should care to see. Like a flash Dr. Rawle’s words crossed my mind: tall, stron’E, about forty-five, ironf%-lray, hair; a habit of showing his teeth and winking his left eye. (%racious powers! was it possible we had a lunatic with us unawares? I know the possibility, nay, the probability, of such a t'.hin%l made me feel more than queer. If there is anything in the world I instinctively fear, it is mad persons. I know little of them—— have never been in their company. Possibly my ignorance explains my dread; but the idea of sitting in the same boat and on the same seat with a man who— . ,

Dr. Rawle’s warning, ¢ Don’t let him lose his temper, or murder will ensue,”’ made me bound from my seat like Jack-in-the-box. The boat tipped right out of the water, but I didn’t care. The man was %laring at me with cruel eyes; my muscles were strung, my fists clinched; every moment I expected him at my throat. o \%’hat the dickens are you up to?"’ said Alf. << What's the matter with you?” : : ¢ Excitable temperameat, hot-blooded youth,” said the stranger. I could have said something had I chosen, but T preferred 'discretion, I didn’t like his eyes. ‘“No-o—nothing,”” I said. I think I’ll sit in'the bow.” I didn’t wait to learn if anyone had any objection, but swinging round, I scrambled past Alf, and trip;')lgd full length on to Tom’s knees. The boat went up and down like a swing; it was a miracle he wasn’t over. . : . ““Is the fellow mad?"’ roared Alf. At the word ‘““mad” the stranger rose up straight as a post. *“Mad!’ he said; ‘“do you know, sir—"’ He checked himself and satdown. ‘Pooh! he'sonly a boy.” In passing Tom I whispered in his ear. ‘‘The lunatie,”’ I said. ‘“ What!” said Tom, right out loud. ‘“*Hold your row, you confounded donkey! It’s the man from Dr. Rawle’s.” ‘e The__.‘____ﬂ ’ ) He was going to say something‘ naughty—l know%e was; but he st:ﬁpe short, and stared at him with all his eﬁves. Either Alf overheard me, or else the same idea occurred to him at the same moment, for he stopped dead in the middle of a stroke, and inspected the man on the stearing seat. Tom and Alf went on staring at him for a minute or more. I kept my head turned the other wag' to avoid his eyes. All at once I felt the boat give a great throb. I turned: there was the stranger leaning half out of his seat, lookgg at Alf in a w.a{ I shouldn’t have cared to have had him look at me. . ““ What's the meaning of this insolence?”’ hesaid. @ =~ b

- The question was not unwarranted; it could not have been pleasant to have L{ieen stared at as Alf and Tom were taring then. : “If%eg your pardon,’’ said Alf, cool as acucumber. ‘To what insolence do you refer?”’ ; ‘Tom actually chuckled; I couldn’t have chuckled for a good deal; it seemed tome not only impudent, but risky; I couldn’t forget Dr. Rawle’s words about his homicidal tendencies. He turned red as a lobster; I never saw such an expression come over a man’s face before—perfectly demoniacal. To my surprise ﬁe sat down and spoke as ealmly and deliberately as possible. ‘¢ Thank you,” he said; ¢‘l shall not fmiget this.’ : here was a sound about his ¢ I shall not forget this’” I did not relish. Alf said nothing. Tom and he set off rowing as coolly as though * nothing had happened. lextemporized a seat in the bow, and tried to make things as comfortable as possible. : ’ I noticed, although Alf and Tom were 80 cool, they hardly took their eyes off him for more than a second at a time. His behavior before their furtive glances was peculiar; he saw he was being watched; he couldn’t sit still; he looked first at one bank, then at the other; his eyes traveled everywhere, resting nowhere; his hands fidgeted and trembled; he seemed all of a quiver. I expected him to break into a paroxysm every second. If I hadn’t called out he would have run us right into the shore; when I called he eclutched the other string violently, jerking the boat almost round.. I heartily wished him at Jericho before he had come near us.

No one spoke. We went slowly along, watching each other. Atlast he said something.. = “I—l will get out,”” he said, in an odd, nervous way. ‘ “.Withg)leasure,” said Alf; “in a minute.”’ - *“Why not now? Why not now, sir?” he said, seeming to shake from head to foot. ’ ‘ Where are you going to get?—into the river?’ I admired A%f’s coolness; I envied him. T only hoped he wouldn’t let it carry him too far. : The man glowered at him; for a moment he looked him full in the face. 1 never saw a look in a man’s eyes like that in his. Alf returned look for look. Slightly, almost imperceptibly, he quickened his stroke. A little lower down was a little hamlet with a well-known inn and a capital landing-stage.~ When we came alongside, the stranger said, ¢ This will do;%’ll get out here.”” He turned the boat inshore. No sooner were we near enough than he rose in his seat and sprang on to the beach. There were' several people about, watermen and others. Alf was after him in an instant; he rose almost simultaneously and leaped on shore; he touched him on the shoulder. - ‘“ Now come,’’ he said, “don’t be foolish; we know all about it.”’ The other turned on him like a flash of lightning. ¢ What do you meant’ . t But Tom was too quick for him; he was on the other side, and took his arm. ‘‘Come,” he said, ‘“don’t let’s have arow.” i : The stranger raised himself to his full height and shook off Tom with ease. He then hit out right and left in splendid style. Tom and Alf went down like ninepins. But my blood was up. I scrambled on shore and ran into him, dodged his blows, and closed. I am pretty strong. He was old enough to be mg father; but I found I had metmy match, and more. I was like a baby in his arms; he lifted me clean off my feet and threw me straight into the river. It was a splendif exhibition of BRrengtlh, - o S ;

~ Tom and Alf, finding their feet, made for him together, and scrambling out ‘as best I could, I followed suit. You ‘never such a set-out. We clung to him like leeches. The language %e used was awful, his strengt%u magnificent; ‘though we were three to one, %e was a matcrfl for all of us. Of course, the bystanders, seeing a row, came up; they interfered and pulled us off. ‘‘Here’s a pretty go!” said one. ¢« What’s all this?”’ ; : ~ ““Stop him! lay hold of him!’ said Alf; ‘“he’s a lunatic.” ‘““ A what?”’ said the man. = ‘“He’s a lunatic, escaped from Dr. Rawle’s asylum.” . Instead of lending a hand, the man went off into a roar of laughter, and the others joined. The stranger looked literally frantic with rage. A gentleman stepped out from the crowd. ““There’s some mistake,”” he said; ‘““this gentleman is Mr. Travers, of Tollhurst Hall.”’ You could have knocked us all three down with a feather, I do believe. Could it be possible? = Could we have ‘been such consummate idiots as to. have mistaken a sane man for a lunatic? and that man Lilian Travers’ father! I could have shrunk into my ‘boots; I could have run away and hid mysclf in bed. To think that we ~should have dogged, and watched, and insulted, and assaulted the man of all ~others in whose good books we wished to stand—Lilian Travers’ father! Never did three men look such fools as we did then. We were so confound?edly in earnest about it; that was the ’Wcrst of all. I don’t care what you say; you may think it a first-rate joke; but he must have been an eccentric sort of elderly 'lgentleman. - If he had behaved sensibly, if he had made one sensible remark, he would have blown our delusions to the winds. L ‘We tendered our apologies as best we could to the man we had gso insulted; but he treated us and them with loftiest scorn; and we got omne after another into the boat amidst the gibes and jeers of an .nngympathetic crowd. And as we rowed from the wretched place as fast as our oars would take us, we each of us in our secret heart declared we should never ’fouFét our,advenmreeuir:hﬂz river with a lunatic. And we haven't. From that day to this ‘I 'have never seen Lilian {‘ravers; nor do I wish to. — Horper's Weellly::: ow o dgl

—¢Some has bad luck from the shtart,”’ said Mr. O’Conemara, ‘‘and sorra taste av anything else iver comes to’em. Wid me, now, Oi was born a twin the same as me brother, and we niver had but wan birthday betune the two av us, until he doied, long loife to him!"’

o - Youths’ Department. . el e 4 BOY'S REMONSTRANCE. ' lAM feellnﬁg very badly; everything is going to smash: : All the thinﬁ I have believed in are going with a_cras, ; : The folks are efmwing learned, and all their wretched lore is Used to shake a fellow’s faith in his best-be-loved stories. The fairies have been scattered, and the genii . they have ggne., b : There are no enchanted castles; they have vanished, every one. Aladdindnever lived, and the dear Scheherazade, Though ver{a entertaining, was a much mistaken lady. ; Of course I see through Santa Claus, T had 10, long ago; : And Christmas will be going, the next thing that I know, : For I heard, I wasn’t listening—l heard the parson say, : He had rea.lly—g'es had really—grave doubts * - about the day. . And as for Master Washington, they say the goose should cateh it, : Who believed a single minute in that story of the hatchet. - They've given a rap at Crusoe, and dear old Friday. Why! : We'll (iuill lbelieve in Friday, we boys will, till we e They may say it’s not ‘authentie;” and such like, if they dare! When they strike a blow at Friday, they hit us boys. So there! And I've been reading in a book, writ by some college swell, That there never was & genuine, a real live William Tell! : That he was just a myth, or what we boys would call a sell: : That hebdidn’t shoot the apple, nor Gesler, not a bit— : That %lll{ffth_g other nations have a legend just ikeit. I thintlli iht.’s little business for a college man to . Against these dear old stories and send them out of sight. ; _ : And all the boys are just as mad! and so the girls are, too; e ! And 80 we called a meeting to decide what we ' should do. 3 And we %assed some resolutions, because that is the one And only way for meetings, when it’s all that ; can be done. gl . I send you here a list: Resolved, that there was a William Tell; That tf)y] lhis; bow and arrow the -tyrant Gesler ell, i Resolved, that he was not a myth, whatever that may be— e But that he shot the apple, and Switzerland : was free. | Resolved, that Crusoe lived, and Friday, and the goat. $ ‘ Reésolved, that little Georgy his father’s fruittree smote, : D And owned up like a herd. Resolved, that all the science ; Of all the learned professors shall not shake . _our firm reliance In the parties we have mentioned; and we do hereby make known The fact that we boys feel that we have some rights of our own— And request that in the future these rights be let alone. | —St. Nicholas for November,”

JIMMIE’S MESSAGE. Avunt LlzziE was papa’s only sister, and when the telegram came, saying that she was very sick, he felt that he must go to her at once. This was very hard, as mamma was also very sick, and he could not bear to leave her. Pulled two ways, what was poor papa to do? Dear, unselfish mamma decided the question for him. ¢ You must go, George,” said she. ‘‘lam in the migst of friends, and shall want for nothing. Lizzieis all alone. She needs you most. You must go.” Jimmie wondered why papa looked so funny when he bade him good-bye. He wasn’t crying, of course, ecause papas mnever cried; still, the sight of his face filled his little son with a vague apprehension, and quite arrested t}%: flow of certain briny drops which were all ready to fall from a pair of bright blue eyes. - ¢¢ Are you sick, too, papa?”’ ““No, my.son. Take good care of mamma.’’ And he was off. i

Jimmie was lonesome. He told Eddie Wheelock, privately, that he felt like ‘¢ a norphan boy.” He had one pleasure, however, to which he always looked forward with delight. It was the taking of a ‘‘letter” each day to the telegraph office. Every day, Jimmie, accompanied by his little friend, trotted off upon his important mission. Every day he ostentatiously handed his ¢ letter” to the ‘‘ roperator,”’ and every day his small brain was puzzled anew with wondering how the paper could get over the wires ‘¢ without anybody seeing it go. How did the man make it stick on?’ There was a delightful mystery about the whole proceeding, and it was no small gratification to the child to feel that he was ¢ in it.”* Jimmie didn’t want it to rain wuntil his father came home; but it did rain, nevertheless. Moreover, it rained 'so hard one morning that he couldn’t even get over to ‘“Eddie Wheelock’s ouse.” He was disconsolate, for Margaret didn’t want him in the kitchen, and the other rooms were too still for little boys. - Somehow he didn’t like still rooms; they made him think of so many things. He went softly up stairs ang peeped in at mamma’s door. She was awake. “O mamma,” §aid he;, *l'm awful tired of you being up here.”” .. . : - ‘“So.am I, deary,” she answered. “ But we won't forget to be good, will we, Jimmie!”” Then she stretched out her arms, and Jimmie crept into the bed beside her. o ' :

“+1 love you, love you, love: you,” he cried, ecstatically, with a succession of little hugs. *¢ You’re the nicest, goodest?— But just here Nurse Grey made her appearance with a covered bowl in her hand. ¢ Little scamp,” she said, looking laughingly at Jimmie. < How did he get in there?”’ + “] crawled in,”’ he answered, patting mamma’s thin face. i *¢ Then you must just crawl out again, sir. Mother must have her beef tea while its hot.”’ - ‘ ¢ Oh, dear!”’ Jimmie crept out with a quivering lip, which of course did not esca&e; mamma’s pitying eyes. ~ * What do you suppose Margaret-is doing?” she asked, with sudden animation. i , - ¢« S'pose she's skinnin’ rhubarb,” replied gfmmie, dolefully. “1 saw her skin the skin off: I don’t like rhubarb.” ‘- *¢l do,” said Nurse Grey, decidedly. “You don’t, do you, mamma?”’ *“ Not much,” answered mamma, wearily. ‘‘Run out now, darling, and —let me see—couldn’t you write a little letter to gapg_? Mrs. Grey will copy it {ﬁr you by-and-by, and ‘we'll send it , row:th'e ot : ‘fhﬁﬁl I write.” : . 4 ‘¢ Anything you happen to think of. Go now, thelgeys a goslc)ipgoy.” i Jimmie hunted up his slate and pencil, and took his seat at the kitchen window. He felt keenly the importance of %a letter, but what to say was the puzzling question. He looked up

. and down, but sky and earth were alike | uncommunicative. Margaret, seeing that he was quietly disposed, gave him an_approving smile. She was still ‘‘skinnin’ rhubarb.”” : i ~ ““‘Sure he's the little man that can’ -write a be-autiful letter,’’ she sa.id,, encouragingly. ¢lsit to papa, just?”’ “'cha';,‘g answered _Jimlx)nil;. ]“lt’s to papa. Iknow how to write a letter very well, Margaret.” - “Tobe sure.” . ‘‘ But I can’t think what to put in it.” Margaret laughed. “I'm just that way meself, darlin’,” she said. ¢ Just that very self-same way, for all the world.” It was evident that he must expect no help from Margaret. Poor Jimmie! His forehead was wrinkled, and his eyebrows ‘“all scowled up,”’ with the earnestness of his efforts. “Do you like rhubarb, Margaret?" he asked, suddenly. | \ “‘l've no objection to it when the sugar’s plenty.” : i ‘“ But do you like it? Say ‘yes’ or é n 0.7 ” : 1 ; c«Xes, then”

Jimmie went to his work with renewed energy. *‘ Nurse Greyand Margaret—there’s two that does; and me and mamma—there's two that don’t. Two does and two don’t,”” he said, thou%'ht.fully. And the stubby peneil traveled vigorously over the sKa;te, the red tongue keeping time with the dimpled fingers. _ : It seemed to Jimmie that the longer he wrote, the more he loved his absent father. Before he had finished, his poor little heart was quite - heavy with its weight of affection. He eou_{? not have papa staying ‘away off there” any Imager. He really couldn’t. So he added a few more words, and then took the letter up to Nurse Grey. His slate was covered with queer, straggling hieroglyphics which it would be impossible to transcribe. Nurse Gre *coulgg’t make them out at all. Jimm)ie had to tell her every word: He did this very slowly and distinctly that there might be no mistake. - - - ““For this is to go froo the office,’”’ he said, complacently. ¢ Isn’t it, mamma?”’ : - , v ‘“Yes,” answered mamma, absently. ¢TI want it fixed like papa’s letters are fixed,” he continued, eagerly. ¢“So, to nlease the little feﬁow, Nurse Grey wrote the address, just as she had written it for the dispatches. ‘¢ Take good care of it,. Jimmie,”” said she, ‘“and when we are ready to—'" But Jimmie didn’t wait to hear her last words. His delighted eyes had beheld from the window a tiny patch of blue sky. They had also seen Eddie Wheelock coming toward the house ¢‘as fast as ever he could.” He ran quickly down stairs to meet his little favorite. Strangely enough, neither mamma nor Nurse Grey suspected for a moment that the ‘‘office’” which Jimmie had in his mind was no other than the telegraph office, to which his small feet had taken him nearly every day for a fortnight; but so it was. Hand in hand the two children started upon their errand, chattering as they went along like a couple of young magpies. ' Jimmie walked up to the ‘‘square hole,” and boldly put his letter through. “That’s mine,” he said, proudly, to the clerk. | | But what made the ¢ roperator” look at him so? He couldn’t imagine. ¢“ls this to go?"’ asked the clerk, in what seemed a terrible voice. ‘ - Jimmie trembled a little, but*he answered bravely: ‘‘Yes, sir; that’s to go. That’s my letter.” “ ; . ““Mother know it?”’ et ‘“Yes, sir; she said—"’ g ‘“All right. Helps the cause along.. Pay at the other end, of course?”’ = °, 3 immie looked puzzled, but as the ‘“click-click,”” began to sound just then, the man turned away, and he had no chance toreply. He didn’t see Nurse. Grey again until dinner-time; but when Margaret brought in a crisp, flaky rhubarb pie for dessert, he suddenly remembered. _ . %1 sent it, Nurse Grey,”” he cried, exultantly. <I sentit.” - : _ ““Sent what?”’ : ‘¢ My letter. The one you writed off.”” ‘“But you didn’t:- have any envelope, and it needed a stamp.” “No, it didn't need a stamp,” said Jimmie, his bright face all aglow with excitement. “%t’s pay at the other end. The man said so.” A Nurse Grey dropped her pie-knife and held up both her hands. hs “You den’t mean to say you've telegraphed that nonsense,”” she exclaimed, in amazement. - - ¢““"Twasn’t nonsense. 'Twas my lettor: o 4 - |

Such a grieved little face! Such a sudden clouding of the sunshine in the blue eyes! Nurse Grey was not a hardhearted woman. She remorsefully essayed to comfort him. : “Never mind, Jimmie. It can’t be helped now. We'll-"’ But Jimmie had left the table, and was half way up the stairs, erying as' if his heart Wouldp break. - It was not until he had breathed his story into mamma’s pitying ear that he could be consoled. » Lot ¢ Papa will be very glad to hear from his little boy,” she said, reassuringly; ¢¢ but next time we’ll put the letter in a nice envelope, and Jimmie shall stamp it himself. That will be better, won’t it, dear?”’ i She wiped away his tears as she spoke, and Jimmie was comforted. As papa had been informed that no more telegrams would be sent him while mamma' continued to improve, he was not a little disturbed when Jimmie’s message was put into. his hand. He hastily tore open the envelope, and read with a puzzled countenance the following communication: ; DEAR PAPA: Two likes rhubarb, two don’t. Come home quick. JIMMIE. . ““ Conciseness itself,”” he thought, mechanically countin%)the words. ¢ Jimmie does well for a beginner. But what can it mean?'’ he continued, anxiously. ¢t Has an epidemic broken out in tge family that they are taking sides for and against this valuable drug?”’ i -, It was very Eerﬁlexing certainly, until all at once the thought of the inoffensive plie-?lant occurred to him asa partial solution' of the mystery. This relieved him somewhat, and the next day came a short letter, written by mamma’s own hand, which set his fear quite at rest, and over which he laughed A week later papa held his little boy

in his arms: in, and was e ly ‘drinking in !e?v,g:ry word of- his-eltﬁgsi prattle, when suddenly the conversation ‘turned upon the mysteries of the tele‘graph. ‘ . . o ‘* A horse couldn’t keep up with the ¢ click-click,’ could - he, papa?”’ : “No, my bey." = o A el'phant couldn’t neither, could it? k - - ¢I should think not.” ‘“D'you have .to pay for my letter at the other end!’ s : * * Yes, Jimmie.”’ , ‘* How much?”’ : “ Fifty cents? 0 00 i “ Fifty cents!” cried Jimmie, in astonishment. ¢¢ Fifty cents just for such a little piece of writing as that! Why, You can get'a whole printed newspaper down at Newman’s for five.”—M. C. Bartlett, in Christian Register. ;

FACTS AND FIGURES. Four of the largest trades-unions in Great Britain have, during a -comparatively brief term of existence, spent upwards of £260,000 ($1,500,000) in relieving the wants of members on striKes. WHEN the old * ecclesiastical regime in France was brought toa close by the great Revolution, the clergy owned a fifth! of the . soil. . Their property, in 1791, was estimated at $830,000,000 money-value of that day. + . IN 1877 the value of German commerce with this country amounted to more than twelve per cent. of the total exports and imports of the country. Of the imports into Mexico twenty-five per cent. were German, and fifteen French. - For September, 1879, the total number of telegraphic messages, exclusive of those for the press, sent and received at the Boston oﬂgée,‘wa.s 264,428, while for the same month in 1878 the total. was 204,382—a gain of 60,946 for the month. : o i L , THE largest bloek of gx‘anite ever ° quarried in New England has been' taken out at Woodbury, Vt. It was 230 feet long, 13 to 18 feet deep,. 15 feet wide, weighed 4,080 tons, and required 673 wedges, with 100 pounds of powder, to'startit: o .

THE . popular notion that the Russian deportations help to colonize Siberia is a fallacy. ‘When Western Siberia was conquered by the Russians, at the end of the sixteenth century, it had, according to the’ historian Muller, up‘ward of 5,000.000 inhabitants; now both Eastern and Western Siberia, covering an area of 190,000 square miles, in the temperate zone, have a popula‘tion of only 4,000,000, although 79,000 10120,000 persons are deported to Siberia yearly.. -~ -« STATISTICS of ¢érime in Italy show a fearful state, of affairs. The report of the Minis}f)shows that during the past year more than 2,000 murcﬁzrs were committed, an average per million of the population unequaled by any other country on the face of the globe. During the same time the number of ordinary robberies, burglaries, ete., isstated at 40,000, while there were 50,000 robberies accompanied with! violence. In her long catalogue of crime Italy stands without a peer.” . In 1789 the Royal Library of Paris contained 800,000 volumes and objects of every description. In 1859 the number was 1,200,000. During the last twenty years the increase has been .more sensible, and the actual number 1s estimated ‘at; 2,000,000. The mean annual increase from legal deposits alone is 20,000. - Out of these 2,000,000 about 450,000 are devoted to French history, 200,000 to theology, 90,000 to science and philosophy, 60,000 to natural history, and 20,000 to English history. i d : E. H. WALKER, statistician of the Produce Exchange, after a careful estimate from authoritative reports, places: the wheat crop of the United States for 1879 at about 425,000,000 bushels. The spring wheat. erop will not be so large as was at first expected, that of Minnesota being no more than 28,000,000 bushels, instead of '40,000,000 as estimated early in the season. The amount consumed by 48,000,000 persons, plus the amount required for seed and nther purposes, is placed at 250,000,000 bushels, leavin%&)%‘,OOO;OOO bushels for export, 160,000,000 bushels for Europe and 15,000,000 for other ports.:

Intoxication Among French Children. Sylvanus "Urban, in the Gentleman’s Magazine, says: ‘I shall, I doubt not, startle not a few of my readers when I state that during a recent visit to France I have frequently seen French children intoxicated. Strange as such an assertion may seem, I deliberately make it and stand b{ it.. Again and again at tables @ hote I have seen children sca,rcel?7 more than babies suffering distinetly ‘from alcohol. It is, as travelers in France know, the custom in all . districts south of the Loire to supply wine gratis at two meals, breakfast and dinner, at which the residents in an hotel eatin company. Repeatedly, then, in the hotels in French watering places I have watched children of . five years old and upward supplied b?f their mothers with wine enough visibly to flush - and ‘excite them. At Sables d’Olonne one little fellow, whose age could not be more than six, drank at each of two consecutive meals three tumblers of wine slightly diluted with water. The result was on each occasion that he commenced to kiss his mother, proceeded to kiss the person on the other side of him, continued by sprawling over the table, and ended by putting his head in _his mother’s lap and fa.‘llg 1z asleep. It never seemsto enter i_ntc}llt%e mind of a Frenchwoman that water may be drunk at a meal. 'When 1"9):5 journeys by rail are taken there is'always in the neat basket in which the French mother carries provisions a hottle of wine, or wine and water, out of which those of her children who have passed the stage of absolute infancy are allowed to drink. I can indeed say with truth that in the course gi a pretty long series of observation of the French, chiefly made, I admit, in gﬂiﬁe vehicles and hotels, T have rarely if ever seen a glass of cold water, 'unqualified with any admixture, quaffed by & native. It is now the fashion to mistrust water evi:n l:’vhen* b}e%i;d - with ‘wine, fool; ' which purpose the various Springs of the Ean St. Gelmier are largely omployed.” G s gy L