Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 18, Number 29, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 7 January 1888 — Page 2

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A SEASIDE CALM.

Tlie morning air was pure and cool— Asleep the silver bay; Each object on the shining sands,

In shade reflected lay.

rS

The giant cliffs in long array Wert* drawn up by the Bea, Their heads thrown back with lofty pride

In musing Majesty.

The Sea methought did woo the Earth In low, fond tones of love The: silent Sky hung stooping o'er,

And listened from above!

The herds of clouds were lying down— The haunting winds were gone Their angry bark was heard no more.

The weary chase was done.

A calm, ambrosial consciousness Did Nature's bosom steep A stillness, not so stern as Death,

And more profound than Sleep.

'Twos music mute, and voiceless speech A quiet, creeping spell Repose—without Forgetfulness—

And Silence audible.

—Alfred Domett.

DETECTIVE AND PRISONER

Two men sat together in the rear seat of a smoking car on one of our railroads and chatted familiarly of the ups and downs of a miner's life, the topic being suggested by a landscape dotted with coal breakers and furrowed with coal roads.

The freedom and interest of their conversion did not seem to be dampened by the fact that the younger of the two carried a revolver, while his companion wore a pair of those uncoveted articles of jewelry which are known in criminal circles as "bracelets."

The few passengers who had observed them learned from ths confidential brakeman that they were a noted detective and his prisoner on the way to trial. As far as ages went, the pair might have been taken for father and son, the fine gray head of the one contrasting strongly with the crisp brown curls of his captor.

What crime had been committed tlie brakeman did not know, but hazarded a conjecture that it "must have been a pretty bad one or George Munsen wouldn't have took the trouble to put them things on his wrists."

Presently the brakeman and the conductor satisfied the joint demands of etiquette and curiosity by stopping to exchange a few words with the detective the former then perched himself upon the coal box directly behind the prisoner, and the latter dropped magnificently into the seat in front. The train was sweeping around a curve and past a ruined trestle on the hillside at which both of the passengers looked with some interest. "I remember that place," said the older man. "So do I," responded the younger "I was born there. Came near being buried there, too," he resumed, after a moment's pause. "IIow was that?" "It's a pretty long story," said the detective, "but I guess we'll have time for it between this and the next station. Way up there on the slope is the little settlement where I made my debut, so to speak from it to the bottom of the hill there used to be a gravity road—a long, winding track reaching from the settlement down to the top of a blank wdll of earth whore a slide occurred the year I was born. On both sides of the track grow saplings that had sprung up since the disaster (what I am telling you happened Ave years later), and they crowded the road and hung over the old rusty rails on which the coal cars used to run. You must, remember that the houses were built near the mouth of« the pit—that was one or the first mines worked in this country, and one of the first to be abandoned. Time 1 am telling about, some men were walking up track, and a lot of children playing near the top, little dev's, climbing in and out of an old car which had lain there since it made its last trip, with the broken spraggs still in its wheels. "The men were miners, all but one of them, who questioned his companion about their work and the country they lived in. He was evidently a stranger— probably a newspaper man. "Presently, as they talked, a shout from the top of the slope attracted their attention, and they looked up just in time to see the car begin to move slowly down the grade. "There was an impatient exclamation from the oldest man in the party. 'Them brats is always up to some mischief,' ho said. 'They have started that old thing off at last I've been expectin' to see it go any time this live year. They'll be breaking their necks yet with their tomfooling.' And another of the group added: 'We must, dust out of this lively, unless we want to get our own necks broke she'll either jump the rail or go to pieces at. the bottom lucky there ain't no one on board of her.' "The stranger was looking anxiously up At the approaching runaway. His quick eye had caught sight of something round and golden above the black rim. 'There's a child in that car,* he 8aid, quietly. "It. was a second or two before his companions realized the awful meaning of that statement. A child! That was, as if he had said that in a few moments some one—perhaps one of themselves—would be childless. "With one impulse they turned to look at the broken rails by the edge of the fault. Shuddering, (hey fixed their eyes again on the approaching mass, then hope1 ossly on each other. They could not dream of stopping the progress of the car.

But. quick as thought almost, the stranger took hold of a sapling and bent it down till it nearly touched the track. 'Hold it,' he said to one of the men 'it will help to check her.' A rod further down another and then a third and fourth were held in the same way. So four of the party waited for a few breathless seconds, while the two remaining ones hurried further down: but one more effort and the car was upon them. The first obstacle was whipped out of the hands of the strong man who held it and the car rashed on to the second with scarcely lessened fore*. Again, the barrier was brushed aside, but this time the speed of the old wreck was perceptibly less, Bv tlie time the fifth obst ruction was reached the new comer was able to clamber aboard and throw the child into the arms of his companion, but before he had time to save himself the old truck

had

regained something of its mo-

Tuemtnm and was plunging on toward the pivti 'ice. W ell, the man lumped jest as they readied the edge. just.

IK1fore

the vehicle

shot over itwo the aii\ but he had very little time to.choose his ground, and so lauded,

as

luck would have it on the only

heap of stones in sight. The others picked him tip for dead and carried him np to the settlement, where the miners held a regular wake over him. But he cauie to life in the middle of the festiv— the obsequies, I mean—and it was found Uat he was only crippled for life.

"The miners, folks not easily moved, were enthusiastic about the affair and gave such testimonials as they could to show their gratitude and appreciation. One of these expressions took the form of a souvenir, Bigned by every man in the place, and stating in very grandiloquent language what the poor fellow had done. His quick wit seemed to them more wonderful than his courage and devotion in a community where neither quality is unusual at all. "The man who takes his own life in his hand every day, and has frequently to fight for the life of some companion, values a 'brainy' action. In the box with the testimonial was a purse of $50 and a curious old gold cross, that had been treasured by the mother of the lad who was saved, as her piece of finery. On it was rudely engraved these words: 'Given by the miners at the Notch to the man who risked his life.for a child.' "That was all. Tlie poor fellow went away and would have been forgotten, only that the old miners told the story sometimes to their children."

The prisoner was looking out Of the window. The conductor rustled around as though ashamed of the interest he had shown in the story—a story which he did not doubt was pure fiction. Only the brakeman gave way to his sympathy, and asked whether the man had ever been found. "Not that I know of," replied the detective. "And was you the boy what he saved?" "I was the kid." "And you never heerd tell what became of the man? Wlmt would yon do if you sh'd come acrost him some time?" Evidently the brakeman had an imagination which was trying to &°sert itself. "Oh, I'd try to even the thing up somehow. I suppose common deceucy would demand that I'd treat him as well as I knew how." "Look here," said the prisoner, turning from the window with an apparent effort to change a conversation which, for some reason, had not seemed to interest him, "look here, old man, I've got a little keepsake that your story just reminded me of, and if I could get at it I'd ask you to take charge of it for me till—till this thing is over. If you'll put your hand in there and pull out that bit of ribbon so"

The conductor almost jumped out of his seat. "D if it ain't the cross that you've just been telling about!" he shouted.

A month later the detective was undergoing a cross examination Jby the conductor and brakeman. "Yes, he was a bad lot—oh, yes, he didn't have a leg to stand upon the facts were all as clear as day. All true about the cross and the rest of it? Just as true as gospel. What had he been doing? Throwing bombs the last thing. Punished? Well, to tell you the truth, they won't be apt to punish him till they catch him aarain, I guess. Fact is, he got away from me somehow that same night. Who. me? Oh, no. I'm not on the force any more: I've been bounced."—Edgar Mayhew Bacon in The Epoch.

First Experience as an Honest Man. Frank Dey is a reformed gambler and typical of the members of that fraternity. He is witty and good natured. For the past three years Frank has scorned to look at cards and has turned his attention to drumming up city trade for a New York wholesale house. "You see," said Frank lqst flight) "my little wife worried abciut pie night after night and week after week when I didn't show up at the house, but when I did 'cash in' and go home once in a while. never a word of reproach would I get. It was always a kiss and a hug and a good supper or breakfast, and it didn't make any difference at what time of night it was either. Well, I got to thinking how much better it would be to come home regular and make home pleasant for the little woman. Then, again, the boys were getting big enough to understand things, and I didn't want them to have a gambler father as an example to follow, so I made up my mind to get at some respectable business. I had a hard time at first, but my nerve made it easier after a while. "My first experience doing honest work was a curious one. I walked into a store on Greenwich street the other day. I called for the proprietor. He was a surly man, and particularly so on this morning. "'No, I don't want to buy anything,' began the proprietor, after ^1 had put my stereotyped speech to him. "'But I assure' 'Do you see that door?' said he. "'Yes, sir but'

1

'«'Git out! Git out! or I'll put you out,' said the man, motioning to the door. "I walked slowly out of the door, and turning around, said: 'Say, mister, will you allow me to stay in New York a couple of days?' "It broko the man all up. He smiled and I smiled. He broke out into aloud laugh, and I walked into the store again. "I took that man's order for $150 worth of goods, and he is today one of my best customers."—New York Evening Sun.

Calors of Paris Shops.

Business people in Paris have long since formed a color speech by which certain trades are easily recognized. First of all, the color shops are distinguished by being painted outside in squares and stripes of the most brilliant colors. Viennese leather,* bronze and trinket shops have begun to use the Austrian colors, yellow and black then the Spanish wine shops use yellow and red the Italian, green, white and red. The business places where furniture carts for removal are kept are painted yellow, as well as the wagons—why, not even the proprietors know. Pastry shops are light brown outside, and within white and gold, so that one is reminded of the pastry itself.

Milk shops are white and blue both inside and out. The washerwomen now begin to paint the outside of their ironing shops a bright blue, while the carts that take the linen to the wash houses in the country are bright green. Wine houses are all painted brown, or a dull red, which is exactly the color of the vin ordinaire mixed with cranberry juice and logwood. Still darker is the color of the charcoal shops, which the dust soon renders completely black. Bakers are fond of light brown and white, with much gilding and large mirrors.—London Court Journal.

May to Bell.

Dear Rtlii III write you a short letter Tossy that I'm wonderfully better: How much that means you ought to know. Who saw me Just one month sgoThin, nervous, fretful, white as chalk* Almost too weak to breathe, or talk Head throbbing, as If fit for breaking, A weary, ever-present aching. But now life seems a different thing: I feel as glad as bird on wing! I say, and fear no contradiction. That Pierce's Favorite Prescription Is grand! Why I'd have died without it. It's driven all my ill* away: act route and see! Yours ever, MAv.

away.

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

FATE.

Kan makes his fate according to his mind: Tbe weak, low spirit Fortune makes her slave Bat she's a drudge when hector'd by tbe brave: If fate weave common thread, I'll change the doom, And with new purple weave a nobler loom. I" —Dryden.

BEHIND THE ROSES.

"I say you shall not go there," said George Atwood, angrily. "And I say I shall." answered Florence Atwood, in a voice that, for anger, surpassed her husband's.

The stalwart, handsome young man of six and twenty glared at his better half, and his better half, although six years his junior, returned the glance of her natural protector with interest.

Neither spoke again for a few moments, but stood facing each other, as husband and wife sometimes do.

A pretty scene, truly, for a young couple who had not yet celebrated the first anniversary of their wedding day.

With a mighty effort George Atwood mastered his temper, and when he spoke again his tones were cold and even. "Florence, I warn you! if yoU go to Mrs. Grey's to-night you will regret it!" "Then, let me regret it for go I shall!"

George Atwood seised his hat aud left the room without another word. '•'George! do not leave the house in such a passion," said Miss Strickney, following the young husband out into the hall.

Miss Strickney was Florence Atwood's spinster cousin, and had been a witness to the scene of anger. "I'm not in a passion now, Mary." "It would be well if you neverwete. You know Florence is a spoiled child. Why don't you reason with her quietly, George?" "Haven't I reasoned with her until I am tired. She knows I dislike August Marsh. I dislike his bland manner, his fascinating smile, his smooth face and gleaming white teeth, that remind one of —well, no matter what. She knows I hate his attentions to her. He will be at Mrs. Grey's to-night, and if she goes there I will never forgive her!" and George Atwood strode away with the air of a man who meant what he said. "Mary, will you come with me to Mrs. Grey's to-night?" "My dear, I hope you will put all notion of going to Mrs. Grey's out of your head. Take care, Florence, how you trifle with your husband he is bitterly opposed to your going, and I will not accompany you." "What absurd nonsense. Why, George will get bravely overall that before he comes home. He has warned me, though, that if I go to Mrs. Grey's I will regret it. What an idea. Well, I've made up my mind to go. So if you will not go with me, Cousin Mary, I'll go alone."

Miss Strickney knew that her willful cousin would do as she said so, of course, she must accompany her, for she knew it would moke matters much worse to allow Florence to go alone.

Mrs. Grey's brilliantly illumined parlors were filled with "fair women and brave men," and fairest among the fair was Florence Atwood, her beauty enhanced by the glow on her cheek, brought there by some remark of Mr. August Marsh's, who was leaning over her chair in a very lfltver like manner.

It was growing late, and Miss Strickney asked Florence to go home. But Florence refused to go she begged her couM^to remain, for1 in her fcecref heart ihfe thraght every moment would bring her husband. "Yes, George will surely come," thought Florence "and I do wish August Marsh would go

It would be dreadful if

George came and found him at my side!', With this thought Florence turned her eyes toward the door opposite, and there, with his face as white and rigid as if his features were at rest forever, stood her husband.

For one moment their eyes met, and then he disappeared froai the doorway. "Mary, I want to go home," said Florence as she gained Miss Strickney's side. "Why, what, ails you, child? You're looking like a ghost." "Did you see George?" Florence pered."No 'was He here?" "Yes I just caught sight of him standing in the doorway a few minutes ago. and, oh!" said Florence, with a shiver, "I am so sorry I came here. His face was so deathly white. I shall never forget the way he looked at me to-night.''

Florence Atwood entered her own apartments. Her maid, half asleep in the armchair, was waiting for her. "Has Mr. Atwood been here?" asked Florence. "Yes, madam Mr. Atwood was here about fifteen minutes ago."

Just then Florence noticed a sealed envelope on her bureau. "Miss Strickney has just entered her room tell her I wish to see her, Jane, and you need not return. I shall not want you to-night."

Florence picked up the envelope. It was directed to herself, in her husband's handwriting.

Pale and trembling, with a terrible foreboding of what was to come, she tore it open and read its contents.

As Florence finished reading the letter, Miss Strickney entered. "Oh, Mary! my husband—he's gone!" and Florence Atwood fell forward in a deadly swoon.

Five years passed away. Florence Atwood sat in the bright, little sitting room of her spinster cousin.

Five years of repentance in sackcloth and ashes made Florence Atwood a pale, sad faced woman. All the old selfwill that had ruined her life was gone but at 25 she was far mort beautiful than at 20.

For the last five years she had been a wanderer over the face of the earth. Never despairing, but every day hoping to meet with the object of her search but she only sought in vain and home to her native land she came, despair at last gnawing at her heartstrings. "Florenee, Mrs. Wharton will be offended if you do not go. She is such an old friend, you know." "My dear, do not ask me to go. I would only be a skeleton at the feast." "Florence, if you go on in this way you will be dead before a month. You must rouse yonrself. I accepted the invitation more tor your sake than my own, for I have not frequented such places of late. You will go, just to please me, won't you, dear?" "I would do anything to please you, my cousin. What would I have done all these years were it not for your good advice?"

That night, at Mrs. Wharton's party, nearly all the old faces greeted Florence again. How glad they all were to see her among them once more. How they rewinded her of the past.

Turning her head to took after an old friend, who had passed her by witfeout seeing her, hex eyes fell on one that brought the past more vivid before her than all the rest had.

It was August Marsh, the man who had

done his part to separate her from her husband. She felt his eyes upon her she could not speak to him again, and with a sickening sensation she turned away to look for her cousin.

She made her way among the throng of dancers, but her cousin was nowhere to be seen.

Passing the conservatory, which was but dimly lighted, she looked in. There was no one there, aud with a sigh of relief she entered and sat in front of a pillar of roses.

She had not been seated many moments when a shadow fell across the floor. "My dear Mrs. Atwood, this is an unexpected pleasure," and August Marsh seated himself on the settee by her side.

Mr. Marsh lavished his fascinating smile, whispered in her ears the same low, tender tones of five years ago.

But how disgusting they seemed tonight! The fascinating smile she returned with a look of haughtiness the* tender tones she answered with the most frigid politeness.

But Mr. Marsh was not to be cast aside so easily. Her freezing manners only made him the more determined in his advances. "Mrs. Atwood, rumor says that you are divorced from your husband. Florence, forgive me," and Mr. Marsh seized her hand "forgive me, but I may say to you now what I dared not say years ago. Florence, I love you."

Florence Atwood wrenched her hand from his clasp, and in the twilight of the conversatory Mr. Marsh could see the flash of her blue eyes and ..the crimson tide in her pale face. "Sir, in my case, as in all others, runior takes an unwarrantable liberty. I am not a divorced wife, nnd no man can ever take my husband's place in my affections." "Florence forgive me I" "Leave, sir, this instant!"

Mr. Marsh detested scenes, and lie left the conservatory without a word. "Oh, George, George, if you could witness this scene you would forgive me!" and Florence buried her face in her hands. "Florence, my wife, I do forgive you."

With a low cry, Florence sprang to her feet. Was she dreaming? No standing before her, with outstretched arms, was a stalwart, handsome man, awfully bronzed and bearded. "My husband—at last, at last!" said Florence, rushing wildly to his embrace. "Oh, my husband! how could you leave me? Tongue can never tell what I have suffered all these years," cried Florence, clinging to him. "My-darling, what have I not suffered for the last five years? I have often during these years beeti near you and God only knows, whether you would have been aware of my pi'esence to-uight were it not for the scene I witnessed from behind that pillar of roses." "And we will never again be separated in this world, my husband," said Florence with a sob. "Never again, my own dear wife."— "H. W." in New York News.

How He Woos the Western Belles. A young man Who prides himself on being a lady killer has patented anew idea, which he is now working for 'all there is in it, and will continue to do so if the newspapers, which are unwilling accomplices, do not take stringent measures to suppress him. His scheme is to carefully examine the "Personal and Society" columns of the papers each day, and make note of the^ujnjjj Indies from a distance who are viSw.^-botfy^s where he has the' entree. He then hies himself to a. newspaper office, gets permission to look at the exchanges, from which he selects those that suit his purpose and secures the consent of the editor-to carry them away. In his leisure minutes he reads them over, advertisements and all, and in this way becomes acquainted with the names of streets, persons and events happening in the place from which "the young ladies come. When he makes his call where she is temporarily stooping he is able to produce, by his previous preparation, a favorable impression in talking rtn matters which have a home interest to his listener, and thus fondly imagines that he has made another conquest. Sometimes he varies his system by getting the young lady to talk about her home, and then, at an opportune time, casually produces from his pocket a copy of her favorite, local paper.—Indianapolis Journal.

Importing Champagne Corks. The production of light wines in the United States is nicely emphasized in the consular reports, which show that American firms have imported $500,000 worth of champagne corks alone. The reports do not say whether the corks weve branded with standard names or how many went to New York, where there are a dozen houses engaged'exclusively in the business of manufacturing foreign wines from the native product of Missonri aud California by injecting more carbonic acid gas and drawing off a certain quantity of wine from each bottle. This change keeps a wine from becoming heavy through having too much grape juice, but the artificial stuff is terrible in its effects on the coating of the stomach.—Globe-Democrat.

Ruins of Itegamnende.

A city at the bottom of the sea was seen toward the end of October near Treptow, in Prussia, when a powerful south wind blew the waters of the Baltic away from the shore, uncovering a portion of. ground usually hidden from sight by tshe waves. It was the ruins of the city of Regamuende, once a flourishing commercial station, which was swallowed by the sea some five centuries ago. The unusual spectacle was enjoyed but for a few hours, when the storm slackened and the waves returned to cover up the place which had once been the residence and field of labor of busy men.—Chicago News.

The Study of Art.

An artist who has lately returned from study in Paris declares that in art, as in many other branches of knowledge, instruction can be obtained in this country

as

satisfactorily as abroad. The Parisian studios are most unpleasant places for work, much crowded and filled with unventilated air that is almost insupportable. Criticism from the best professors is the same in both countries.—Chicago Times.

Gazing Toward Germany.

They say that in one of the parks in Paris there stands the bronze figure of a mighty lion gazing toward Germany, and guides tell tbe tourist that the inscription for the statue is yet to be chiseled upon its base. Perhaps tbe Frenchman dreams of tbe time when the legend has been carved and made to read: "I s'.ept, and I was peace they roused me, andl am war."—Cleveland Leader. sgj

Regulate the Regulator with Warner's Log Cabm

S&rsaparilla.

Manufactured

by proprietors of Warners Safe Cure. Largest bottle in the market. All druggists sell it.

SELECTED.

Life's a vast sea,

That does its mighty errand without fall. Panting In unchanged strength though waves are r- changing. —George Fliot.

Only grant my soul may carry high through death her cup uospilled, Brimming though it be with knowledge, life's loss drop by drop distilled. —Robert Browning.

TALE OF A TIGER HUNT.

Unlike most Anglo-Indians, I am nothing of a sportsman. Like the rest of my tribe, I have always possessed a Colt's revolver, with a sufficient complement of cartridges nor have I ever been without a good central fire, breech loading, double barreled gun. But the former has, through all the years of my Indian career, waited mutely for the burglar, who, thank goodness, has never invaded my bachelor bungalow, and the latter has chiefly justified its continuance in my possession by giviog my faithful bearer something to do in cleaning its almost unused barrels. When I say that my gun is a choke bore, you will understand that it is more suited for snipe shooting and the pursuit of ducks and plover than for the destruction of larger game. In 1880 I was in camp at the foot of the Tipperah hills. My tent was pitched under the shade of a vast banyan tree, and on the bank of a picturesque little hill stream, close to the station where his highness the maharajah of independent Tipperah collects tolls from such of our fellow subjects as cut timber in his vast forests. Hard by was the collection of thatched huts in which lived the maharajah's agent, a Mohammedan gentleman of much local influence, hospitable, as almost all Indians of position are hospitable, especially to those in authority over them, plausible and pleasant in his manners, as Mohammedans nearly always are, and bent upon showing nie—who was, alas, quite content to take him at his word—that lrj was as good and stanch a sportsman as any Sahib of them all. For days before my arrival the hill folk had been warned to look out for tnaces of tigers or bears, and it was with obvious pride and satisfaction that my friend announced to me one lovely, cool morning in December that he had succeeded in putting nets round a patch of jnngle in which lurked a fine tiger. There was nothing for it but to make a hasty breakfast and to start with my trusty gun aforesaid over my shoulder for the agent's house. Unfortunately the only cartridges I had with me were loaded, if you will believe me, with snipe shot. I was loth to damp my friend's enthusiasm by admitting that I was insufficiently armed for a tiger hunt, and I resolved to trust to his skill in forest warfare for the conquest of the tiger and the safety of our skins. To me was allotted tha post-of honor on the buck of a sma'a and, as it seemed to me, extremely nervous young elephant, whose movements were so erratic that it was as much as I could do to hold on to the ropes by which the 'pad' on which I sat was bound and I could not help wishing that I were gifted, like an Indian god, with an extra pair of arms for the due management of my weapon. To make matters more uncomfortable, the mahout, or driver, behind whose back I was perched, was either very cold or very frightened,-for his teeth chattered dolefully, and, unlike most of his class, lie seemed unwilling to talk.

We were a picturesque procession enough as we started for the forest. I led the way on my elephant next, came my Mohammedan friend, with a gaudy skull aip perched very much on one side of his flowing and curly locks over his shoulder was slung an ancient single barreled, muzzle loading gun and it was no small comfort to notice that, whatever my own inward doubts and tremors might be, my friend at least was full of enthusiasm and pleasant anticipation of an exciting day's work. Behind him came two or three Mussulmans armed like himself and the rear was brought up by a miscellaneous crowd of Tipperans, Manipuris and plains people, who had been impressed as' beaters.

It was a lovely morning—bright, clear and cool—and, even in my somewhat exCited state, it was impossible not to admire the lovely glimpses of forest scenery, which opened to our right and left as we made our way slowly up the bed of the little stream by which my tent had been pitched. Every now and again we passed a small Tipperah village, the wooden houses raised like those ot all the eastern hill folk, on pifc?s some six or seven feet above the level of the ground. In one an ancient headman, gray and bent with age, advanced to wish us success in our effort to rid the countryside of a pest whose ravages had thinned the cattle of the •neighboring villages wofully and as I acknowledged his salaam's, I heartily (wished that my place could have been taken by some one better armed and more skillful than myself. But soon the villages grew rarer the patches of golden Tpaddy, set in a frame of dark, dense jungle, more infrequent. We heard the shrill cry of jungle fowl iu the woods, and the cooing of innumerable doves in the feathery branches of the wild bamboos. Soon the path became almost impassable and the elephant and its driver were busy tearing down branches and clearing a way for us through the dense undergrowth of treefern and gorgeous flowering creepers. Where the shade was densest, the air struck chill even to my well clothed limbs, and I could sympathize with the tremors of my half naked mahout and again, when we emerged into a clearing, deserted by the migratofy cultivation of the hill people, the sun struck fiercely and rendered the protection of one's huge sun hat very grateful. At last, and, as I thought, only too soon, we reached the patch of forest which had been netted. The beaters disappeared by jangle paths to right and left the Mussulmans climbed into convenient trees, and, with an occasional friendly shout to me, peered anxiously into the dense jungle below. Presently we knew that the beating had begun, for we heard the distant sound of shouts and tomtoms, a sound which raised a strange elation and excitement even in my uusportsman-like bosom, and for a moment I forgot that I aud iu my hands only a choke bore gun loaded with snipe shot that I was holding with might and main to my uncertain seat on a nervous and untrained elephant and that, if the tiger charged, I should be in a situation of very considerable danger. Fortunately, there was not much time for thought, for the roar of voices and of drums came rapidly nearer, and my Mohammedan friends grew more eager and excited. At last, close on my right, and with startling suddenness, I heard the mighty roar of a tiger. Impelled by I know not what impulse, I managed to draw both triggers of my gun, and, almost simultaneously, I heard two other shots fired in rapid succession. But the proximity of the tiger and the sound of firearms were too much for the nerves of

Wtik

the elephant, or the mahout, or both, for the next moment I found that I had dropped my gun, and was holding on for dear life to the ropes, as the terrified beast beneath me plunged headlong through the forest.

How far we went before the mahout regained his control over the beast I cannot say ani it is with unbounded thankfulness and wonder that I think, evert now, of the escapes I had from the overhanging boughs and coils of clustering creepers through which we forced omr headlong way. As often happens in situations of extreme peril, my mind was singularly clear and tranquil, and, among other incongruous thoughts, I remembered wondering what anew Byron would make of the story of an Indian Mazeppa on a frightened elephant. At last, however, the mahout was able to guide the animal's movements and after along and weary journey—very slow, because we had to clear our way as we went—we emerged into the open paddy fields. It was with a sense of inexpressible happiness that I saw my white tent gleaming under the dark spreading branches of the banyan tree and saw my servants awaiting my return. But I was not a little astonished when I found that they were gathered round the body of a huge tiger, which they said the agent had sent over as the spoils of my gun. I had heard, it was true, of a desperate man who had slain a tiger at close quarters by firing a charge of small shot straight into his eyes. But I had fired almost at random and at a considerable distance and an examination of the animal's body showed that it had been killed by a lucky bullet which had pierced its heart. My Mohammedan friend presently appeared in person and loaded me with undeserved praises of my coolness and skill and apologies for the unsteadiness of his elephant. It was obviously useless to tell him my real reasons for being positively certain that the magnificent beast which lay at our feet hail not fallen to my gun but I was able at last to persuade him that my elephant had turned to bolt before I could take a correct aim, and so to induce him, not very unwillingly, to accept the credit of the tiger'8 death. He insisted, however, upon giving me the skin, which lies before me as I write, a reminiscence of my most exciting tiger hunt.

I am older now, and I trust wiser. Cer-A tainly no consideration of pride or profit would now induce me to go shooting tiger with snipe shot and my only excuse for venturing to inflict the story of a very f* foolhardy adventure upon you is that the tale is strictly true, and there lies the skin to this day to testify to it. If ever I go tiger shooting again it shall be with a good express rifle in my hand, and if I ever mount an elephant I shall take car® to ascertain that ho can stand fire.—Chambers' Journal:*

'J

ll.*

Physicians, Lawyers, nnd Business Men are enthusiastic in their indorse* ment of Salvation Oil. It cures thp worst cases of rheumatism. '25 cents,

She sat on the piano-stool ^vitli heir hands tightly clasped, looking tragic and miserable-she did not sing a note. I gently suggested Dr. Bull's Cough Syrup The next day she was singing and thrilling like the first birds in the Spring. Sensible girl!

The relail price of coal at Pasadena, Cal., is $25 a ton.

If you have catarrh remedy—Dr. Sage's.

use the surest

her SI

Kentucky still heats hdr State House with wood fires in old-fashioned open lire-places.

(,%

After the Holidays,

When stomachs were overloaded with goodies. Paine's Celery Compound should be used. It will surely cure the indigestion and dyspepsia caused by the Christmas dinner, and drive away that out-of-sorts feeling. Just try it. vy.-ig-%•...

Health is impossible when the blood is impure, thick and sluggish, or wl.en it is thin and impoverish. Such conditions give rise to boils, pimples, headaches, neuralgia, rheumatism, and other disorders. Ayer's Sarsaparilla purifies, invigorates aud vitalizes the blood.

I have be afflicted with catarrll for 20 years. It became chronic and there was constant dropping of mucous matter. It extended to my throat, causing hoarseness and groat difllculty in speaking, indeed for years I was not able to speak mqre than thirty minutes, and often this with great difllculty. I also, to a great extent, lost the sense of hearing in the left ear, and of taste. By the use of Ely's Cream Balm all droppings of mucous has ceased and my voice and hearing has greatly improved. Jas. W. Davidson, Attorney at Law, Monmouth, 111.

I 4eU|

English Spavin Liniment removes all Hard, Soft, or Calloused Lumps and Blemishes from horses, Blood Spavin, Curbs, Splints, Sweeney, Stifles, Sprains, Sore and Swollen Throat, Cougns, etc. Save$50 bv use of one bottle. Warran Sold by W. C. BUntin, Druggist, Te: Haute, Ind. tf.

KIRK'S

WW

FLOATING SOAP

18

THE CHIEF

FOP

the Bath, Toilet and Laundry., Snow White and Absolutely Pur«.

If ronr dealer does not keep White Clotid Soap, wad 10 cent* for sample cake to the maker*

JAS. S. KIRK & CO.,

CHICAGO.

PARTS

PBIIEYILOPED

of th6 bod7 eotarged and itreiigtb«D€u. Fall psruo*

f^mied) free. SR1K

USD.

CO., Bmtalo, N. T.

JULIUS F. ERMISCH STEAM DYE HOUSE,jf

650 Main Street, McKeen'it Block?" Cleaning and dyeing of all kinds of Ladle and Genu clothing. Oents garments al* neatly repaired. Wnte for price list.