Ligonier Banner., Volume 15, Number 2, Ligonier, Noble County, 29 April 1880 — Page 3

Che Ligonier Banner, LIGONTER., ——— TNDANA

PATCHWORK. My lady’s hair is white as milk, i And dainty lace is o’er'it spread, = Lace fine as a.ng spider/s,web; Her dress is of the richest silk, : Her e{les are tender; briﬁht and blue, - And she sits sewing all day through. Bits sewing with a patience rare : A cushion tinted manifold; FiE Of richest satins, cloth of gold, : And softest velvets wondrous fair; " Of glancing silks and rich brocade, .. In cunning skill and beauty laid. Thus sewing all the long days through, She said, ** I make my story, dears— A story full of smiles and tears. - Amber and crimson, white and blue, - Bright greens and pinks and purple pale, Are but the chapters of my tale. * This dainty square of rosy hue Is from the dress I wore that day : Your father stole my heart away; - This white, with silver-threaded through, My wedding suit. What days divide The widow from the happy bride! * This sable velvet, thi, this. that, Are portions of some splendid vest (Your father still was nobly dress’d); This circle was a rich cravat; 1 had a dress the same that year He went to Washington, my dear! *My Harry's tie of sailor blue | - And Charley’s crimson sash are here, And Kour first ball dress, Mabel dear: Bweet baby Grace you never knew,. She died so soon—this tiny square, Is from the bow that bound her hair. ** 80, darlings, let me dream and sew:. . These strips of g_mk and ;({lra.y and gold The story of mg ife unfold: - i And as the still daysicome and go, The happy Past comes back to me, ; In all Love’s tender fantasy.” | - , ‘ —Harper'e Weekly.

¢ CLUBNOSE.” ; It was in a hospital at the east end of London'that I first made the acquaintance of ‘ Clubnose.” An old college friend of mine, who was one of the resident surgeons, was showing me over the wards, and there passed us two or three times a hospital nurse, whose remarkable appearance arrested my attention. She had I. think, the most hideous and repulsive face I ever saw on man or woman. It was not that the features were naturally u%ly, for it was simply impossible to tell in what semblance nature had originally molded them; but they had been so completely battered out of shape, that one would have fancied she must have been subjected to much the same treatment as the figure-head on which Daniel Quilp used to vent his impotent fury. The hero of a score-of unsuccessful prize-fights could not have shown worse facial disfigurement than this tidily dressed, : cleanly looking woman. When we had finished our tour of the wards, I turned te my friend, and pointing to the receding figure of the nurse, who had just passed us again, I said: “ What a dreadful ill-looking nurse you have there! Why, it. must be enough to send a patient into fits to have that face bending over him.” L L Q! said he, laughing, * thats ¢ Clubnose.’” Then lowering his voice, he added: ‘“She’s not a nurse really—she’s a detective.”’ v ¢ A detective!”’ I exclaimed. ‘¢ Why, you don’t mean to say that the police dog the steps of a poor wretch even in the hospital?”’ ' _ | ¢ No,” he replied; I don’t think she has her eye upon any of the patients—it is the friends who come to visit the patients that she watches. Itis her way of doing business. Whenever there has been a crime committed in a neighborhood, she goes out as a nurse to the hospital, of ghe district. I don’t’exactly know what her modus operandi is, She has a progfr certificate as a nurse, and gerforms er duties like any of the rest; ut it is understood - thagt every. facility for getting the information she requires 18 to put in her way, without of course exciting suspicion. How she picks up her information I don’t know, but I suspect it is by listening to the talk of the gatients and their friends, on visiting ays. At any rate, I believe she has obtained clues under this disguise when aothers have failed her; and ig the game wasn!t worth the candle, I don’t suppose she’d try it.”’ . ¢ Do the other nurses know her real character?”’ B ey 4 “ No. . They may have their suspicions; but it is IZept a secret from all but the authorities.”’ ! ““Is ¢ Clubnose’ your nickname for her, or is she generally known by that sobriquet 2’ 1 asked: = - _ ‘“ No; I did not" christen her so; it is the name she is known by in the force. Her real name is Margaret Saunders. She has a very queer history, 1 believe; but she is exceedingly reserved, and I hav?,never had a chance of drawing her -out. : e And this was all I learned about #¢ Clubnose’? on that oceasion. =

Three or four days later two ladies, with whom I was intimately connected. were robbegd of a e(')ns'idera'.'zle quantity | -of valuable jewelry, and I was intrusted with the investigation of the case: I had paid numberless visits to.S¢otland Yard, ! and had had no end of interviews with detectives, but still there “was no satisfactory clue to the identity of the thieves, One evening 1 was gitting alone after . dinner, when the servant entered and said that ¢“ a person’’ wished to see me. “ Man or woman?"' I asked. - ‘“ A woman, sir—says she wishes to see you partickler, sir.” ‘¢ Well, show her in,”’ Isaid, inwardly wondering who the strange female might be who wanted to see me at so unreasonable an hour. évitle ] : The door opened, and a resgectablelooking woman Wwearing a thick veil was shown in. I requested her to take a seat. She did so; and as soon as the servant had retired and the door was elosed, she threw back her veil and revealed the distorted features of < Clubmose.”” , : 2 : I remembered her in an instant; indeed who that had onge seen that face could -ever forget it? a ““You have come from Scotland Yard?" I said, interrogatively. ‘ : - “Yes, sir,!’ she answered, quietly. ¢I am Margeret Saunders, from the detective .department.”” = ﬁe_r- voice was harsh and unpleasant; but there was a firmness and decision - about her manner, and a look of intelli_gence and resolution in her keen gray e§, which at once inspired confidence. ﬂa bonnet she wore concealed to a cer-

’ tain extent the terrible disfigurement of her face; but even then the most reckless flatterer dared not have called her physiotgnomy prepossessing. It was not a bad face; but one could not look at it without a shudder, so frightfully was it ‘mutilated. The nose in partieu{ar I noticed had been knocked into a grotesque- | li fantastic shape, thereby giving rise.to the sobriquet b‘{ which she was familiarly known. She had come to inform me of a very important piece of evidence which she had discov"ereg, and which, I say at once, led ultimately to.the identification aud conviction of the thieves. Into the details of the case I need not enter; it was only remarkable bhecause it introduced me personally to ‘‘Clubnose,” and enabled me eventually to.learn from her own ligs the story of her life, which I purpose here briefly setting down. ~ Some five-and-twenty Izrea,rs ago a crime was perpetrated in London which was markeg by such exceptional features of atrocity as to send a thrill of horror through the whole community. A mid-dle-aged gentleman of eccentric habits was attacked in his own house, and not only beaten and left for dead, but mutilated in a peculiarly shocking manner. The miscreants adso carried o% a considerable quantity of valuable property. The victim of this atrocious crime, stran%e to say, in spite of the horrible injuries he had sustained, was not killed outright, and though for weeks his life was despaired of, he eventually recovered, only, however, to be for the remainder of his days a helpless cripple. For some time the police could find no clue to the perpetrator of this barbarous outrage; but at last suspicion was attracted to a womhan who was knowh to have been occasionally ‘employed about ‘the house to do odd jobs of cleaning. A person answerin%to her description, it was discovered, had been ‘seen leaving the house in company with a man on the day on which the crime was committed.. Some minor -circumstances tended to confirm the suspicion that this woman was implicated in the affair, and she was accordingly arrested and charged before a magistrate. After one or two remands, for the purpose of obtainin further proof, the magistrate decideg that there was not sufficient evidence to justifﬁ him in sending the case for trial and the accused woman was dis‘_chax;%ed.‘ That woman was Margeret Saunders. She had all along emphatically protested her innocence, and after her discharge, she vowed that she would never rest until she had proved it by bringing the real offenders to justice. The police, baffled by the failure of their charge against herself, were compelled to confess themselves completely at fault; from them, Magaret Saunders could expect no assistance. Alone and unaided she set to work upon her self-imposed task. At the very outset, when it seemed to her that every moment was of value, she had the misfortune to fall down a flight of steps and break her leg. This necessitated her removal to the hospital, and it was as she’lay therée chafing at the enforced delay and inaction, that there came to her the first ray of light to guide her on her search. In the next bed to her there was a woman who was also suffering from a severe accident. On visiting-day she heard this woman say in a low, anxious voice: ¢‘ls. Robert safeP”’ : “Yes,”” was the reply, also in a woman’s voice. ‘‘He's in Glasgow, ready to bolt, if necessary; but there’ll be no need for that, the bobbies have chucked up the game, as they mostly do ‘when they’ve failed to fix a charge upon the first person they spot—unless there’s an extra big reward offered, which there ain’t in this case.’ How it was suddenly borne home to her that this ‘“ Robert’’ was the man she wanted, ¢ Clubnose”’ told me she never could quite make out. It flashed upon her all of a minute, she said, and she never had a doubt of the correctness of the instinct that prompted her to the conviction. She lay and listened, but could gatch nothing more. She got a good look, however, at the woman who was a visitor, and felt certain she should know her again anywhere. Before leaving the hospital, Margaret Saunders had scraped up a speaking acquaintance with the patient who was so anxious about ““Robert,”” and learned enough to-find out in what part of London she must look for information about the character and antecedents of the said ‘¢ Robert.”’ It was this incident, by the way, that suggested to her afterward the value of assuming the disguise of a hospital nurse. The ingenuity with which she ferreted out the facts which eventually determined her to track ¢ Robert’ to Glasgow, was wonderful. And not less wonderful was her dogged patience. Even when she had run her quarry to earth and wasconvinced in her own mind that she had her hands upon the real criminal, she had te wait until she could piece the bits of evidence together, and above all, until the victim- of the outrage, whose brain had been seriously affected by the injuries he had received, had sufficiently recovered his mind and memory to give some intelligible account of the attack upon him. Even when he could do so, he professed himself exceedingly doubtful of being able to recognize or identify his assailants; he knew, however, there were two of them—a man and a woman.

It was nearly eighteen months after the perpetration of the crime before the atience and perseverance of Margaret }S)aunders were rewarded with sufficient success to justify her in communicatin with the police. = The Scotland Yar§ officials were at first hardly inclined to credit her; but her earnestness convinced them at last that there was ‘‘ something in it." ' Perhaps they were helped a little toward that conviction: by ‘the fact that she solemnly swore she would never ﬁ:ger a penny of the reward. ¢ She had hunted this man down to clear her own character and set herself right with the world,’’ she said, ‘ and not a farthing of the reward would she touch.” It is unnecessary to dwell upon the sequel. Suffice it to say that ¢* Robert’” was arrested, that his accomplice, who was the niece of the vietim's housekeeper, was subsequently taken also; that the pair were tried, convicted, and sentenced, the woman to ten years, the man to penal servitude for life. " . Margaret Saunders was hi%?ly complimented by the Judge upon the sagacity and acuteness she had displayed, his Lordship observing that she was *‘ a born detective.”” The press too was loud in her praises; and a subscription was set on foot as an expression of the public sdmiration for the indomitable courage,

resolution, and patience, and the extraordinary astuteness which had enabled her to bring two great criminals to justice. : - The journal which had suggested and started the subscription deputed a member of iits staff, well known as a master of the ¢ picturesque’’ style, to interview Margaret Saunders and write up a sensational article upon her. He applied to the police for her address, and an inspector from Scotland Yard volunteered to go with him—Sir Richard Mayne, the then Chief Commissioner of Police, having expressed a desire that something should be done for Margaret Saunders to show the official appreciation of her conduct. The journalist and the inspector accordingly proceeded together on.their visit to the heroine. They found Margaret Saunders among very unsavory society—in one of the lowest of the filthy dens that swarm about the London docks. Not a very inviting subject for interviewing, and but a sorry heroine for a sensational article. However, they did interview her, and she soon, in language more vigorous than polite, gave them her mind upon the proposed recognition of her services. She wouldn’t have any,_thing to do with any subscription ar reward—wouldn’t touch a farthing. “Look ’ere,”” she said, doggedly; ““what I done I done for my own sake, and nobody else’s. I meant rightin’ o’ myself, and I have righted myself. That’s my business—not yours. I don’t want nobody’s money nor praise. Let ’em keep that to themselves. But I"ll tell you what,”” she added, turning sharply to the inspector, ¢lf you mean true by all them fine compliments——"’ “Most certainly we do,” interposed the insg;ectorr : i ¢““Well, then, I'll tell you what you can do to show it.”’ ¢ What is that?’’ asked the inspector, ‘“ Why, make me one o’ yourselves. If I'm as good as you say, I might be worth something in your line. Make me one o yourselves—a detective. That’s all I ask; and if you won’t do that, I don’t want to have nothing more to say to ye.”’ ; : It was a novel and startling proposition, and the inspector was somewhat taken aback by it; however, he faithfully promised to lay the matter before the authorities at Scotland Yard, and let her know the result; with that, he and his companion left her. The end of it was that her wish was granted. Margaret Saunders was duly enrolled as a female detective, and a most active and intelligent officer she proved herself to be. That is in substance the strange history of ¢ Clubnose’s’’ connection with the police, as she herself, told it to me. I questioned her also upon her professional career; but here slt)xe was more reticent; still, I gathered that it had been marked by many exciting adventures and hair-breadth escapes from death. 1 learned, for example, that she owed the horrible disfigurement of her face to the polite attentions of two water side ruffians whose lady companions she had ‘been instrumental in consigning to the tender care of the jailer of Pentonville. - They took it out of me werry hot,” she said, in her rough but undemonstrative manner. - ‘“ I-reckon they ‘thouﬁht they had done for me, but bless ye, I'm tough, and they got their seven years apiece for me—though mind ye, the Scotland Yard folks would never let on as I was one o’ them. They was tried and convicted for assaultin’ of me as a ordinary person. The lawyers tried to make out as I was a policy spy; but they couldn’t prove it. %Ou‘t I had to keep clear o’ that district for a long while arterwards.’’ '

I was curious to know how with such a remarkable physiognomy she was not recognized ‘in a moment wherever she went, and I put the question to her as delicately as I could. I at once found that I had touched her hobby. If there was one thing that she prided herself upon more than another it was her power of disguising herself; and indeed I afberwar§ learned from one of the inspectors that she had good reason for being proud of this accomplishment, for there was no one in the force who could compete with her in the cleverness and variety of her disguises. Twice, however, she admitted that her disguise had been penetrated, and on each occasion ‘she nearly paid the penalty with her life. On the first occasion, she was pitehed out of the window and had her leg broken. On the second—which happened not more than a year before my first introduction to her in her professional capacity—she had what she herself called ‘“a precious narrow shave o’ bein’ sent to kingdom-come outright.’’ She had been for weeks on the trail of a very clever gang of thieves, and had actually been admitted a member of the fraternity, and wormed herself into their secrets, so perfect and artistic was her disguise. On a certain évening it was agreed that the police were to swoop down upon the ga.ng, acting on ‘‘information received”’ from ¢ Clubnose.”” On this evening it unfortunately happened that there was present for the first time an old member of the gang who had just got his ticket-of-leave. %’hether ¢¢ Clubnose,’”’ through over-confidence in the perfection of her disguise, committed ~some indiscretion or not, she could not tell; but at any rate in some way the suspicions of the returned convict were roused. .He communicated them pri_vately to some of his ‘¢ pals’’—a rush was made at ‘‘ Clubnose;’’ she was overpowered, stripped. of her disguise, and then ¢ welted,”” to use her expression, about the head and body with pokers, bars, legs of chairs, and any other available wea;;on, until she was left ‘‘a mass o’ jelly.” She contrived, however, before they knocked her senseless, to break the window and sound the whistle she carried. The police burst in, too late to save her from the vengeance of the thieves, but in time to make an important capture. They found ¢ Clubnose’ with her skull fractured, and with hardly a whole bone in her skin. The injuries to her skull were so severe as to necessitate the operation of trepadning, which was successfully performed; but, she said, she had never been herself since, and was constantly troubled with terrible Pains in the heai e ¢ Ay,” she added, with the rude kind of philosophy which was a curious trait in her character, *that was a gallus bad job, that was. They nigh done for me; but it might ha’ been worse. Supposin’ now, they’d ha’ smashed me up a.?ore I spotted their little game, eh? That v:o’\,ﬂd ha' been somethin’ to grumble at. A e pEh

It was a worse *‘ job’’ for poor ¢ Clubnose’’ than she imagined. Within six months after my last interview with her she was dead; the cause of her death being an abscess in the brain, groduced by the frightful injuries to. her head on the occasion when ‘‘they nigh done” for her. She must have been missed in the force; for she was—as the Judge described her at the trial which first brought her remarkable qualities into prominence—*‘ a born detective;’’ and it will be long before the police of this or any other country obtain the services of a woman possessed of the nerve, the astuteness and the dogged resolution of ¢¢ Clubnose.”'— Cham%ers’ Journal.

_ Women in Afghanistan, ° The dress of Afghan women, especially those whose husbands have rank or -wealth, is extremely picturesque. A short tightly-fitting bodice of green blue or crimson silk confines the bust, and buttons closely up to the throat. .The bodice is generally embroidered with gold, and tﬁen becomes so stiff and unyielding that it is virtually a corset. In this col% weather the short arms of the sari are continued down to the wrist, and the vest itself is padded with wool’ for the sake of warmth. Trovsers a la Ture, baggy and flowing as Fatima's, and tightly fastened at the ankles, a broad silk iiummerbund of almost endless length, with the ends so disposed that they become skirts, dainty white socks, and a tiny slipper or shoe, gold embroidered—such is the indoor (ﬁ'ess of a Cabulese lady while covering and hiding all save feet and ankles is the voluminous white garment drawn over the head and face, and falling to the heels. These veiled beauties have jewelry scattered over their forehead, hands, wrists, arms and ears; while handsome gold loops secure the yashmak at the back of the head; the hair being lightly drawn from the forehead, and tied tightly into a knot, Grecian fashion. Thelength of a silk kummerbund which circles a lady’s waist is sometimes astonishing; one I saw must have been twelve ards long by eighteen irMches broad, ang the end was even then not forthcoming. - The slippers and, shoes are of Cabulese make, ang are very pretty. On .a pale green background beautiful patterns are worked with gold and silver thread and parti-colored silk, until the effect is more like that of a fairy slipper than one for daily use. But a stout leather sole is put on, with high heeld rudely bound with iron, and then the work of artis complete. The stalls in which their slippers and shoes are made are the gayest in the whole bazaar. A Cabu%ese lady’s foot is small, almost to deformity, and the baggy trousers by contrast make them appear exceedingly petite. From the few faces seen and those chiefly of old or passee women, it is difficult to judge _ofp the famed beaut{ Cabulese are said to boast of. The children are certainly, as a whole, the prettiest I have ever seen. Their complexions are red -and white, with a tinge of olive pervading the skin, eyes black and lustrous, \W.ell-shaped features, teeth to make a Western beauty envious, and bri%ht, intelligent looks that sadly belie the race \to which they belong. Their mothers - must be beautiful, for their fathers are enerally villainous looking; the men 'ﬁ)sing all the pleasing ftraits which as ' boys- they possessed. The lady I have 'described as seen in the zenana for a .moment was certainly handsome and was far lighter in complexion than a Spaniard; her eyes were really worthy of the praises sung by Hafiz, but the sensuous li{)s were a little too full and pouting. It was just such a face as one imagines in a harem, and would be in keeping with the languorous life of a voluptuary to whom sensuality is a guiding star. Such faces always lack character, and would soon prove insipid in the eyes of the West. The Cabulese lady, when journeying, is either carried in an elaborate wickerwork cage cov~ered with the inevitable flowing linen, or rides, Amazon fashion, on a pony be- ' hind her lord.— Calcuita Pioneer.

The Animal in the Box. There is a sad young man up Michigan avenue to-day. He got up very early on the morning of the Ist and rigged up a box and hung upon it a sion reading: ‘“Don’t annoy the baboon.”” A great many people looked into the box and were annoyed by hoots and yells, and the inventor of the sell was waxing fat, when along came a six-foot farmer with his weather eye open for living curiosities. When he saw the box and the sign he hitched his team and made an inspection. There was no baboon in the box. No, sir; there wasn’t even the faintest trace of one. The young man was leanin(% against the fence and laughing his sides sore, when the farmer approached and asked: gon * Did you have any baboon in that box?” ¢« No, of course not.” : ‘¢ Then why that sign? If there isno baboon there how can he be annoyed? I'd lick a man who’d annoy a baboon of mine.”’ : *“ Why, it’s only a sell,”” explained the young man. . o ‘“What’s a sell?’” . : : ** Why, to-day is April-fool day.” ‘¢ Never heard of any such day in my life. Young man, don’t you dare lie to me!® I can take a joke as well as the next man, but, I can’t be babooned to-day or dny other day. Where's .that animal?”’ . : ¢ Never had any.”” ¢ Never had a baboon in the box, yet You hang out a sign that people musn’t poke him up and annoy him! %oy, that’s false pretenses!”’ - - t¢ But can’t you take a joke!” £« A joke? %Vhere is the joke in forbidding us to annoy the baboon when there isn’t a baboon within a thousand miles of us? Other folks may not resent it, but I can’t be imposed on without a rumpus!”’ ; He hauled the box down, kicked off the slats, and fthen he picked up the {v(;lllsng man, turned him end for end, isted him up, and jammed him into the baboon box. It was an awful close fit, and there was a heap of kicking, but the baboon got thﬂref,aﬂ,the same, and after the farmer had driven awaﬁ they had to pull the box apart to get the living ouriosity out.—Detroit Free Press.

—There are 84,400 lay preachers in the Methodist Church of England. Theydo ten times as much preaching as the ordained clergy. 1 '

Jor Poung Beaders. \CHILDHOOD'S GOLD. : They need not go so far away, ' Through heat and cold, to hunt for gold; They might beside us sit or stray—- . Our hands are full as they can hold. Gold? Gold is poured out of the sky . From rise of sun tiil day is done; With falling leaves it flashes by; In liquid gold the rivers run. ’T was scattered all the way from school, In stars and belig adown the dells; ‘We children gathered aprons full, ! Where little Dandelion dwells. And yellow Cowslip to our feet b Came, like a king, his hoard to bring; And Columbine, with nod so sweet, i Shook gold upon our path—gay thing! What goblet glistens with such wine As the bee sups from buttercups? What gold beads on the wet grass shine, 2} Sparkling to breezy downs and ups! Our homes are sweet upon the hills, Where love is sure, and life is pure, And sunshine every season fills; How can a country child be poor? No robber scares our midnight hours; No coffers cold our treasures hold; Dewdrops and sunbeams, stars and flowers— Gold! IGroldl Who shares our childhood’s . gold? : ' —Lucy Larcom, in St. Nicholas.

THE TRAGIC FATE OF THE OLDEST INHABITANT. _ When New England was first settled, and labor and tools were scarce, people used to fence in their land with what were called stump fences. After the trees had been cut down the roots were pulled out of the grou‘nd by means of horses or oxen, and then piled together to form fences. They made very durable fences, and would not only keep out cattle and wild animals, but also those tame animals known as boys. These stump fences were very dangerous to that part of a boy’s apparel which is most exposed to danger during the process of climbing a fence. Some twenty years acTro such a fence inclosed a large vacant lot in the outskirts of a lovely New Hampshire village, and under this fence dwelt Mr. Toad, with his wife and two children. -He was the oldest Toad in all that re%'iOn, and was held in great respect by all his race on account of his great age and his very old and aristocratic family. His father, grandfather and gteat—grandfather had all lived and died there. Indeed, Mr. Toad had been known to say that his family was the oldest family in town, for they had already settled before the white men Ilocated the present town. And he was often heard to lament the good old times before the forests were cut down, and when all was jubilant with the melodious croaking of his cousins, the frogs, the singing of the birds, the dignified growling of bears and the plaintive cries of panthers. Now, he said, his head ached continually frem hearing the din of machinery, and the yelling of those horrid bipeds, boys. And Mrs. Toad declared that she could scarcely sleep through the winter on account of the bells—factory bells, school bells, church bells and dinner bells—which kept up such a racket that she wondered how she managed to live through it all. Mr. Toad had married quite late in life, owing to an accident which had befallen ﬁl‘rlim when young. He was then about to marry, and had gone out for his breakfast on the morning of his wedding-day. He happened to see a fat beet%e sleeping in a sand-hole just under the edge of a large stone, and thinking he could relish it for breakfast, hopped down to get it. Just at that moment a large dog came boundi along in full chase after a rabbit, aggtumbled the stone over, burying Mr. Toad heneath it. ¥rom this unmerited imprisonment he was not set free V’for about nineteen years. Then a thriving young woodchuck happened to select that spot as the site of his home, and began to excavate. When he had dug down under the stone to where Mr. Toad lay, he began to feel tired and went to lie down in the sunshine to rest awhile. Just then Mr. Toad was awakened by the tresh air blowing on him, and ﬁndinE himself free he hopped up and hopped home. He found that during his enforced absence his lady-love han,dg married another, and had grown so fat and homely that he felt very thankful that she had not waited for him. As for her, she privately informed her husband that she thought Mr. Toad had grown insufferably awkward and old-fashioned, and that she was to be congratulated for her lucky escape. - / '

Not long after this release Mr. Toad met and married the present Mrs. Toad, and they bad led a very happy life, with nothing to mar their felicity, except that of all their numerous familﬁ but two had lived beyond infancy; all the others having been eaten by each other and by fishes during the tadpole state. It was whispered among the neighbors that Mrs. Toad was a terrible scold, but Mr. Toad never complained, so the nei%hbors surely need not have felt troubled about it. Indeed he had been heard to- say that Mrs. Toad’s spicy conversation afgree-. ably diversified the monotony of his life, and that the more she scolded the more he had to laugh about. So the years passed on and Mr. Toad was prosperous. and happy. But at length the shadow of a coming trouble forced itself upon their attention. The village had grown so rapidly that it had nearly overtaken the vacant lot containing their home. Andone day Mrs. Toad, who was always prophesying calamity, said to her husband: T declare there is no limit to the impertinence of those horrid men! They, will soon be putting up one of their great buildings on our own premises unless your stir yourself.” : “ My dear,” said Mr, Toad, blandly, “I don't suppose any stir I could make would affect their doings at all; I am a very humble indiViduai” ’ “I'm sure no one knows that any better than I do,” sobbed Mrs. Toad. “I often say I don’t know what would become of this family without me.” ¢ And I sincere){y, hope we may never find out,” said Mr. Toad, _tendex{y,.. et ¢ Then I think,” returned Mrs. Toad, angrily, ‘“you might pay some attention to what I say, so you won't have it to regret when I am gone, for I know those dreadful builders will be the death of me yet." , Ve o ¢ My dear,”’ answered Mr. Toad, *I am paying you my undivided attention,

but as for anything being the death of you, I am sure you are likely to outlive me many years, for you are much younger than 1.”? e Lok . “Oh, yes, you can talk!’ said she, contemptuously.- ' : , ¢ Dear wife,”’ said he, politely, “I can never hope to equal you in that accomplishment.” : \ This was so true, that Mrs. Toad could not helg . laughing, and that restored her good humor. el But the calamity which she had foretold was really about to come upon them. The vacant lot was soon occupied by a company of builders, and that part of the stump fence opposite the home of the Toads was removed to admit teams loaded with brick, stone and heavy timbers, and a house commenced to go up within ten feet of Mr. Toad’s home. One day when Mrs. Toad and her son had hopped out for an airing, and were watching the workmen, one of them a.ccidentzﬁ’ly stepped on young Mr. Toad and- crushed him to death. Mrs. Toad hopped home alone to tell the dreadful news to her husband and remaining child. : “T told you - how it would be,” she sobbed. ¢ When one of those dreadiul bipeds takes up one of his great feet, three or four times as large as our whole bodies, there is never any calculating where it will come down again. Why den’t they hop as we do, and then we should know how to dodge thera®! - o e . ! But this was only a beginning. A short time afterward young,Miss Toad walked out a short distance to meet her lover, whom she could not see at home, because her father was opposed to the match and had forbidden him the house. She was waylaid by a group of ‘idle boys, who were playing about the new - building, and who thought it would be good fun to torment the helpless - creature. -They punched her with sticks, and when she attempted to pass them they would goke her back, and roll her over. inally they began to pelt her with stones, and at'last a large stone put an end to her sufferings.. When she had been gone nearly all day her parents became anxious, and at night went in search of her, only to find her dead body. ~ “Itold you how it would be,” said Mrs. Toad to her husband. ¢ They will be the death of me next.” And so they were. A few days afterward, as she ventured out after dark to get some grasshoppers for breakfast, a loose timber fell and crushed her body; her head was not under the timber, and when Mr. Toad found her she was alive, and had just strength enough left -to murmur ‘I told you so,”’ and instantly expired. Mr. 'l{)ad'was now alone in his old age, and, having nearly lost the use of his eyes, he seldom ventured beyond his own: threshold. W -

Time passed on and the new building was finished and a family moved into it. In this family was a little girl about two years old, whose name was Una. She was a beautiful, happy little creature, with great gray eyes and lovely sunny curls, that floated on the breeze as she ran hither and thither in her play, for she nearly lived out of doors. One day Mr. Toad, feeling the need of more air and exercise, had gone further from home than usual, and found himself quite near the new house. In fact he was almost under the window whexe Una’s mother sat sewing and watchi;% the little one play. Suddenly little Una ran toward the window, and as she reached Mr. Toad he hopped to get out of her way. Una had -never before seen Mr. Toad or any one like him, and was so frightened that she gave a quick succession of piercing screams, such as only a thoroughly frightened child can give. Mr. Toad thought the end of the world had come, and so it had for him, for he never thought again, and'never moved. After a while Una’'s mother went out-and touched him but he did not move, she turhed him over and found he was stiff and dead. . Una is a young lady nosw, but when she reads this story she will be sure to remember the poor toad that she frightened to death when she was a little bitof a girl. —Mrs. M. D. Bisbee, v Golden Rule.

A Girl’s Fight With a Burglar., Miss Ella Duffy, who lives with the family of Mr. Lloyd Wiegand, at 520 North Forty-third street, .%hiladelphia, drove a burglar from the house the other morning by pouring a saucepan of scalding water over him. Miss Duffy is twenty years of age and of petit ‘ﬁ%lure. At about three a. m. she thought she heard some one getting over the back fence. She raised her window and locked out, but could not distinguish any one. Next she heard lass breaking, and soon afterward ﬁmught she heard voices on the firss floor. She waited nearly an hour, listening intently, and then stole silently down the stairs leading into the kitch~ en. When she reached the foot of the stairs she pushed the door open, and, to her surprise, there stood a strange man near the gasligcht. He wore a mask. With an oath the burglar turned upon her, raised a jimmy which he had in-his hand, and struck. her on the head. The girl fell to the floor, and the blood gushed from ler nose and ears. = As she fell she caught sight of a saucepan on ‘the stove. It was full of boiling water;, and as the burglar rushed at her again, she jumped to her feet and dashed the contents of the pan into his face. With a yell and many curses he ran out of the back door, and cried to his accomplice-who was standin%in the yard: ‘“Run, I'm scalded.” The girl set up a shout, and as soon as the fellow got out of the kitchen she bolted the door. She also fastened the cellar door, which had been burst open, and then she fainted, and is now in the doctor's hands: Jt is feared that her skull is fractured.—Cor. N. Y. Sun. —Miss Roseberry wanted to marry Mr. Deputy, at S:Xm(mr,; Ind., but her father commanded her to marry Mr. Bowers, and a.phminted a day for the wedding. On the evening before she secretly became Mrs. Députy. She was . on hand for the’ oﬂherumm however, and it prbeéed@d*.’bﬁiﬁﬁ ily as far as the question fwhath‘o{r,}&nj(bmy;ﬁbiected. ‘when Mr. Deputy remarked that he had an objection—a trifling one, which he felt some reluctance abou mentioning‘ ———tixe lady Wﬂa’lﬁs* ' “%y