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k. "If ^-WH.* "^ â- *•'• SIR HUGH'S LOVES. •I " ' K»y,' he wid, quietly, ' 1 ain only Bpeaking for your good. Y on ie young, CiTBtal, but you must be oonscions, indeed your manner told me bo last night that you have grace, beauty, and talents, triple gifts that the world adoree. You will bo its idol. Ma ke your owii election, then, my child, for you arc now a woman. I will never seek to intlnenoe yoo, I am only a humbU prient. AVhat has auoh a one to do with a ball-room queen; the world's ways have never been my ways, for from my youth 1 have determined that " for me and my house, we will 8er>e t\;s Lord." ' "His calm stctadfast voice awed me; every word aeemid to rebuke my vanity and prebumption. Ah, I saw it all now. Raby was disappointed with my choirs: ; be bad hopedâ€" be had hoped otherwise. " We had reached the end of our walk by this time. Before U3 was the poor cottage where Lettie White was dj ing. I took my hand from Kaby'is arm and sat down on the little stone bench by the beehives. Raby •eemed to linger a moment, as though be expected me to speak to him, but I remained silent and he tamed away with a quick si^h and went into the house. Soon after I heard his voice through the upper window, where the white curtains were flapping in the breeze, and Lettie'a weak tones answering him. " Biforc me was a field of crimson clover; some brown bees were busily at work in it. There were scarlet poppies too gleaming in the hedge down below; the waves were lapping on the sands with a soft splash and ripple ; beyond was the sea â-¼astand crystalline, merged in misty blue. Did I hear it with a dull whirring of repetition, or was it the voice of my own conscience ; ' For me and my boose, we will serve the Lord .' " Kaby came out presently, and we walked home, still silent. The dignity of his oflice was upon him ; his lips were moving, perhaps in petition for the dying girl. " When we reached the house he went up to his room. The evening came. I gotout our German books â€" Raby and I were studying together â€" and presently he joined me. In hie absence of mind he had forgot- ten all about the ball, as I knew be would, and we were both absorbed in Schiller's magniiioent li'allnutrin when Margaret entered, looking what Hugh Redmond oalled his ' Marguerite of Marguerites,' his pearl among women. " Raby started and looked parpiexed. " ' What, IS it so late? You are dressed, Margaret, and this careless child has not oommenced her toilet. Pray help her Maggie, she will be dreadfully late.' " Margaret gave me a w^istful smile. "'The carriage is here already,' ste answered, quietly, 'and Mrs. Montague is waiting. Crystal u not going to the ball, Kaby.' " ' Not going ? ' He turned and looked at me, our eyes met, and then be under- stood. •• â-  Docb not Margaret look lovely,' I asked in assumed carelessaesH, when the hall door closed, and he came back to ths room. " For answer he took me in his arms. " ' Mot half ao (air as my Kstliar,' h« •aid tenderly, ' thoogli she is not wearing her regal dress. ' I thank God,' and here his voice grew low and sulemu. â-  I thank God. Crystal, that my darliug has diosen the better part that shall not be taken away from her.' CHAPTER XXV. oo HACK TO BUiV. calm grand tjta. eitingniitisd in a itortu, Uiuwti uut likoli^u o'arict'laucliuly avas, Ttaoagh klirieked for by the Bhip»TM'k<4. oiny dark: Iff oloOii -to BO before mt evur\ day, While I p.i I'ver towards the wildemem, 1 Huuid Ibiit yuu could mi« mt- bare u* tiie soul. JiltMabeth Barrett Browning. " Things went on very happily for a long tiiiie aftor this. The church at Bandy- olifTe was finished ; Raby gave up his onracy, and read himself in ; and then came the ilay when Margaret and 1 heard him preach. •Shall 1 ever forget that day -it wa Eastertideâ€" and all that belonged to it ? the last uticloaded Banday that was ever to rise on me; thetiDyflower.de<ked church already crowded with worshippers, the memorial window that Raby and Margaret had put in, sacred to the memory of their father, with its glorious colors reflected on the pavement in stains of raby and triolet ; and lastly, the grave beautiful faoe of the young vicar as he looked rounil upon his little flock for the hrst time, his eyes resting for a moment as though in silent benedic;tion on the vicarage seat. •' Were 1 to tell you what 1 thought of that sermon, you might think my praise lifted the kind hand to my lips as though he were a king. a • • • • " Raby was very zealous in his profession. There was little to do in Sandycliffe. but he offered himself as ooadjutor to the vicar of Pierrepoint, and as there was a large poor population there, he and Margaret, and Mrs. Grey, found plenty of scope for their energies. •• Mrs. Grey had no ties, she was rich and lonely, and she sought relief from her sick heart in ministering to the needs of others. Uer health was delicate, and the air of SandyclifTe suitedherâ€" she had taken a fancy to the place ; and the pretty cottage she had rented was more to her taste than her hoase at Sonth Kensington. " Margaret and she were always together, their natures were congenial to each other, and a warm friendship grew up between them ; Kaby was also much interested in the young widow. I heard him say more than once that she was a rare creature, and so humble in her own estimation that one would never have guessed how cultivated and accomplished she really was ; ' her man- ners are so perfectly gentle,' he went on, no wonder Margaret is glad to have found such a friend.' •• 1 began to think she was Raby's friend too, for nothing seemed to be done in SandyclifTe without Mrs. Grey â€" ' our Mrs, Grey,' as Baby called her. Scarcely a day passed without seeing her at the Grang, and very often, as I knew, Raby called at the cottage. " When I was with him their conversa- tion was always about Pierrepoint, about the workmen's club Haby had started and the mothers' meeting that was Mrs. Grey's hobby ; she was certainly, in spite of her weak health, a most active creature; liaby always seemed to defer to her opinion. Ue told Margaret that Mrs. Grey was one of the most clear-headed women he had ever met, that her large- minded views were always surprising him. I used to listen in silence to all this. I liked Mrs. Grey, bat I began to be jealons of her intinence ; I thought Raby was too much guided by her judgment â€" perhaps he was fascinated by her sweet looks. " ' Small beginnings make large endings.' 'Behold how great amatteralittJefirekiDd- leth.' Kven in a small country place like SaudychfTe there are busy and mischievous tongue*. Presently a whisper reached my earb that fanned the smouldering embers of discontent within to a scorchmg dame. " Raby was a young unmarried man, and Mrs. Grey was young and attractive, what if people declared mat her heart was buried in her husband's grave, and that she would never marry again ; they knew young widows always haid those sort of things. Perhaps the vicar would induce her to change her mind some day. It would be such an excellent match, they went on ; they were evidently cut out for each other, both bO good ; and then she was rich, it would be such a fortunate thing for Mr. Ferrers, especially when his sister left him ; and then looking at me. they supposed I should go to lledniond Uall with my cousin when she married. I'eople used to talk like this to us both. Margaret used to laugh as | though she were amased at the notion, and j she seemed to expect me to laugh too ; then she got a little indignant, and contradicted the report gravely. Nothing of the kind dould ever happou, she said â€" she wished those busyboaies would leave Raby and Muna alone ; Mona washer friend not liiH. liut somehow I did not believe her. Fern, you look at me reproachfully, you think I ought to huve been wiser ; but how could I know; I was Raby's adopted ihild. his i>et, but Mrs. Grey was more his e()ual in age and she was very pretty. Her fair delicate style of beauty, and her extreme softness and gentleness might be dangerously attractive to a man like lUby, and I fearMâ€" I distrnsted her. " Alas ! in a little time I learnt to look upon her as my deadliest rival ; to hear her name on his lips would send a jealous thrill through me. " They were always together, at least it seemed so to me ; but perhaps 1 was wrong. By and by I dropped all pretence of pariah work ; it did not suit me, I said. Raby seemed grieved, but he was true to his word and did not try to influence me. I'erhaps he thought I was restless and was pining for excitement and gaiety. Alas ! he little knew I would wander miles away, that I might not encounter them coming up the village street together, or witness the frank cordial smile with which they parted. Mona s look, her touch, her soft vibrating voice set every nerve on edge. I was pin- ing with a disease for which I knew no name and no remedy, and which was prey- ing on my health and spirits. " And worst of all, I was completely misnuderstood. When in the une>|ual struggle my appetite failed and sleep forsijok me, and a sort of a fever kept me restless and irritable, and still no physical character,' he replied ; â-  she is so strong and yst ^i wotnanly, so very, very gentle. " Something in Raby's words touched tiio sensative a chord, and after a vain attempt to control myself, I suddenly burst into hysterical tears, and left the room. They thought it was my strange temper, but I was only miserable that the enemy â€" my Philistine â€" was upon me, when he was only larking iu ambush for the time when my weakness would render me an easy prey. "Let me goon quickly, for the remem- branoeof that day overpowers me. They never came near me. Raby always treated me him- self at such times, and sometimes he would not allow Margaret to come to me; it was so now, and yet her dear face and sympathy might have saved me. I sobbed myself quiet and then I lay on the couch in the morning-room, feeling strangely ill. I was faint and sick. I had eaten nothing, and I wanted food and wine, and to be hushed and comforted Uke a child; and no one came near me. Of course not ! they thought it was a fit of the old passion. No doubt Raby was in the village talking it over with Mona. It grew towards evening â€" cool quiet evening, but there was no quiet in my heart. I was barnicg with inward fever. "I bad bad little sleep the night before, something odd and tumultuous seemed rising in my brain : a gleam of fair hair was blinding me. He loves fair women, I thought, and he calls me his dark eyed Esther. Ob, Raby. I bate her ! You shall never marry her! You shall never call her your darling '. I felt as though I shonld kill her first ; for, indeed. I was nearly wild with passion, they had left me too long alone. " Presently t he door opened, and Ra came in. He looked very grave, I though as he sat down beside me. His quiet glance recalled me to myself. " • Crystal," he said, gently, ' have yon been ill again, my dear?' They alway* called the paroxysms ' illness ' now, but the word displeased me. "'Where is Margaret?' I asked, sullenly. â-  I cannot talk to you, Raby. I am weak, and vou do not imderstand. If I am ill, as you say. yoa should not keep Margaret from me. " ' She is at the schools,' he returned, soothingly, ' I left her with Mrs. Greyâ€" thay will be here directly ; but. Crystal, my darling, before they come in I want to have a little talk with you. You are better now, are you not ? I want to tell you what I have decided to do for my child's welfare. I am going to s«-nd her away ! ' " I sprang up with an exclamation of diamay, but he pat me back firmly and quietly on the couch as though I were a child, and went on with his speech. ' Crystal,' he said, rather sternly, ' I claim obedience as your gtiardian ; I claim it legally and morally.' Never had he spoken so severely before. ' I am doing what costs me a great sacrifice. I am going to send you away from us for a little while for your own good; for your own peace and happiness. .Mas I 1 see plainly now, how we have failed to secure either.' I tried to speak, bat I could not. I crushed my hands together as though they were a vice, as I listened. " â-  Heaven knows,' he oontinaed, sadly, ' how 1 have trted to do my duty by you, and how Margaret has tried too; how we have loved you, prayed and cared for you, never thinking of oarselves, but only of you. What have we done that you should hide your uuhappiness from as ? Why did you not comti to me and tell me frankly, and like a brave girl, that the sacrifice I asked was too great for yon to vield ; that your youth and temperament demanded a different life to mine; that the ijuiet and monotony were killing yon ; would any thing have been too hard for your brother's love ? ' " I shiveretl at the word. Oh. Haby, why- why did you utter it ? who v% ere, who never could be a brother of mine. Ue had never used that word before ; it bore a terrible meaning to me now. 'I have spoken to Dr. Connor,' he went on more quickly. ' and his opinion coincides with mine; and so I have arranged it all with Mrs. Grey ; surely a kinder or a sweeter soul never breathed, not even our own Margaret. Y'ou are to go abroad under her care for six months ; I)r. Connor advises it. Yes, it will be hard for ns, but never fear, my darling, the time will soon pass.' (To IwooDtiBued.) ITNIQUB HMPITAUTT. A Boston Woman Who Compelled a Caller to Take a Bath. One of the Providence Joumal't Boston sketches is appended : Mrs. Y. is a brilliant Boston woman of abundant executive ability, shrewd wit and delightful hospitality. The exigencies of her husband's business led to the keep- ing up of an establishment in the west, where Mrs. Y. passes some months of the year, and where she entertains a great many people. One day there was brought to Mrs. Y. the card of an English gentle- man, accompanied by a letter of introduc- tion from friends of the Y'.'s abroad. The hostess went down stairs and greeted the guest cordially. " We are so accustomed to travellers here." she said, " that we know just what to do with them. We ex- pect everybody to arrive travel-stained and exhausted, and we let everybody take a bath the first thing. I spoke to the servant before I came down, and every- thing is all ready." " But," stammered the stranger. " I cannot think of patting you to so much trouble. I " " Ob, I know just how you feel," interrupted Mrs. Y'. ; " "a bath is the only thing that re- stores me to my normal condition when I've been travelling; and yon have come right through from Boston." The guest demurred, bat Mrs. Y. was too executive and too traly hospitable to allow his scruples to prevent the carrying out of her kindly intent. The Englishman was shown upstairs to the bath-room, where it is to be presumed he combined with the progress of his toilet reflections upon the originality and practicality of American hospitality. In due time the guest de- scended again to the parlor, where Mrs. Y'. awaited him. " I hope ycm fotmd every- thing to your mind," she said. " Oh, yes," he repUed, " I have had a delightful bath, and now I must bid you goou afternoon, as I have to catch a train." " What '.' " cried the hostess aghast ; " you are not going ?" " Unfortunately I must ; I only stopped over a tram to call on you." " Mercy !" she exclaimed iu dismay ; " I thought you had come to remain. You certainly cannot go away when I haven't seen you at all !" " I really must," was the reply, " bat I assure you I have bad a most refreshing bath, and I shall always remember with sincere pleasure your unique hoepitalitv." The story was too good to keep, and Mrs. Y'. told it at her own expense, greatly to the entertainment of her friends, who declared that this fashion of entertaining callers was one which deserved to be widely introduced, as it would solve many a perplexing question of the proper method of disposing of guests who were not easy to amuse. partial, but there were many there, Hugh i illness was at the root, they misconstrued Redmond among them, who commented afterwards on the elo<juenoe and vivid power of the preacher. Hugh Redmond bad aooompanied us to church, for be and Margaret had l>«eii engaged some months, and they were always together. Hedeclareil that that sermon had made a deep impres. ^n on him. I "Many were sifeoted that day by Kaby's deep searching elujuenoe, but none more so than a lady who sat alone under the pulpit, and who drew down her cra|ie veil that no one might see her tears " 1 Knew her well ; she was a childless . .widow who had lately ujiau to live at BaiidyclifTe in a pretty cottage about half a mile from the Grange, and with whom Margaret had become very intimateâ€" a fair gentle locik.iig woman who had gone through much trouble, and who wished to devote her life to good workb ; and as I looked at lier now, my own eyes misty with sym pathy, did X c\er imagine that the time was last approB>''.hing when I should wrong her with the bitterest hatred, and even seek to lift my hand against her. " And yet you were one of Ood's dear Mints, Muna ! "The service over, we lingered for a moment in the shady churchyard, Hogli and Margaret and I, until Ruuy should join us. He came out at last, a little [>ale and tif ad-looking. Margaret mal him, hsr eyes shining like stars. "Oh, Raby,' she faltered, 'God has fiv#n me tuy heart's desire.' He smiled, at his hand t^ent out to the iri standing silently behind him. " ' What does my child say ? ' he whis. pered, when the others had gone on a little; but 1 had no answer ready, he was so good, BO far above me. With a sudden impulse I the symptoms and attributed my depressiui to another cause. I baw in their looks that they distrusted me ; they thought my | old enemy was coming back, and rt>doubled . their gentleness and care. Then Raby > would bpeak tenderly to me, till every j word sounded like a caress ; and Margaret ; would follow lae from plaue to place like i some guardian spirit, as though she did I not wish to lose sight of nie. But they ' never guessed the causeâ€" how could they? for as the weeks went on, a cold forbidding When to l>e Married. In a letter to the ^'u'udit/ Herald on the marriage ijuestion, Ella Wheeler Wilcox makes the following sage remarks : It is an erroneous idea of romantic niinds that early youth is the season of deep and passionate emotion. Physicians and the wise men of the Catholic Church, however, know that the emotions of women in our .\tnerican climate are moat fully developed between the agae of '25 and 3.5. The Church guards during that time with especial care all those destined to a life of celibacy, knowing full well that they are more sus- oeptible to temptation than at an earlier and more undeveloped age. It would seem, then, from a purely scientific standpoint that an attachment formed after 'ii> would be far more intense and more enduring than one formed in the haughtiness hid their child's.uffering heart ; '^''IT.n?^ ±''^'^T:JZ± from them. I would die, 1 said to myself recklessly, before they should guess my secret. "Raby's faoe grew sad and then some- what stern. I knew the old doubts were I Physically our American women do not fully develop until the age of 25. Given a healthful moile of life, employment for the mind, and sufficient out.QOor exercise, and they are far more attractive at that age h^iVas'sing him " h7f JaTed 7heTr"quiet"rife \ '^'^ ,*' l"' "»PPy 'V^lnn,tn ^^^.t^^^ . " ' . . _ > . I the heart of such a woman, with her was irksome to my you;h, that I was fret ting in secret for the gaieties and triumphs I had renounced. " One day we three were sitting at lunch- eon together; I was playing with the food on my plate to prevent them noticing my want of appetite, as though I could ever evade Raby's eyes, and longing to I'Scapo from the room, for I felt more than usually miserable. " liaby was watching me, I could see, though his conversation was directed to Margaret. Bhe had been talking about the new schools that Mrs. Grey proposed build, ing at Pierrepoint. " ' She wants to sell her hoase at -South Kensington,' she said ; ' she never means to live there again. It is a^reat pity, 1 tell her, for it is such a oomfurtable house and so beautifully furnished. But she will have it that she feels happier in heroottage; how good she is, Raby.' Yes, indeed, hers la almost a perfect ripened beauty, her develoi)ed emotions and her wise appreciation of the really worthy things ot life. » In the Cnited States Court at Boston, a decision was rendered yesterday morning sustaining the demurrer of the Bell Tele- phone (Company against the Government suit and the case was dismissed. A Dakota farmer laid upon the nearest editor's table a vegetable that weighed five pounds ten ouuoes. After all the agri- cultural sharps of the village had tried to tell what it was, the guesses ranging from a rutabaga to a pumpkin, the farmer told them it was a radish, and proved it to them after the manner of proving a pudding. At Newport, R. I., yesterday, theSupreme Court granted a divorce to Mrs. Henry A. Hulbert. jon., of New York. This settles an interesting case of fashionable New York society parties. Wlun the CoagT9g»tion Mods. A betjuest of Richard DoyeiTT, of Farm- cots, England, dated It'io'J, had in view the payment of 8 shillings annaally to the church of Claverly, Shropshire, for the payment ot a person to keep the people awake. On the 17th of April, 1725, John Radge be<jueathed to the parish of Trysail, in Shropshire, 20 shillings a year, that a poor man might be employed to go about the church daring the summer and kyp the people awake. At Acton church, in Cheshire, about thirty years ago one of the church wardens used to go round in the church during service with a huge wand in his hand, and if any of the congregation were asleep they were instantly awakened by a tap on the head. .\t Dun church, in Warwickshire, a per- son bearing a stout wand, shaped like a hay-fork at the end, stepped stealthily up and down the aisles, and whenever he saw an individual asleep he touched him so effectually that the spell was brokenâ€" this being sometimes done by fitting the fork to the nape of the neck. A more playful method is said to have been used in another church, where the beadle went roand theedifice daring service carrying a long staff, at one end of which was a fox's brush and at the other a knob. With the former he gently tickled the faces of the female sleepers, while on the head of the male offenders he bestowed with the knob a smart rap. 8ACBKD HCSIC. Some of the Tanas Buaplciuuslj Uke Seeniar Airs. Says the " Casual Observer "-of the New York Graphic : A mosician who is not much in the habit of taking that kind of exercise went to church on Sunday and, desiring to experience as much uowlty as possible, he did not go to any boaMifuUy appointed aesthetic Episcopal service, nor did he feed his spiritual nature on the dramatic embodiment of the Christian religion given by the Roman Catholic Church. No, he wanted to do the thing up brown now that he was in it. and for that end he felt it to be necessary to install himself in the more or less uncomfortable pew of one of the most protesting of Pro- testant sects. Now, what he found most curious in his unfamiliar experience was the familiarity of considerable portions ef it. One of the opening hymns was. " O could I speak the matchless worth," and he was struck all of a heap to hear this sung to the mangled remains of a duet in Mozart's opera, " Die Zauber- flote," wherein Pimtina and the bird catcher, Papageno extol " The manly heart with love o'erflowing," posing together before the footlights. It was not such a shock, bat it was still a surprise when later he heard " Thou Art, O God, the Life and Light" stmg to "Consolation,' one of Mendelssohn's " Songs Without Words." If there is anything that definitely dis- proves the Wagnerian theory of the special, intrinsic significance of music in itself and altogether independent of association, it is this habit of hymn-book makers of put- ting sacred words to all sorts of secular music. Whether or not there is signifi- cance in the music itself â€"and as even the hymn-book makers have not yet turned " Captain Jinks " to account, there is still a little grotmd for the belief that there is â€" there is a great deal of significance in it by association, and musical associations are very strong, and it is pretty hard on people of retentive ears to find their most sacred moods broken in upon by tones that have hitherto lightened altogether different hoars. "The Lord is my Shepherd' is often sang to a slightly disguised version of that popular air, " Scenes that are Brightest," in Wallace's opera of " Mari- tana." The air, "Nearer, My God, to Thee," has now become so associated with the hymn that the shock would probably be with most of tia to find it reanited with its original mate, "Oft in the Stilly Night." The only explanation of the possibility of this state of things is that the people who go to church don't, as a class, hear any music anvwhere else. Tliackeray's Views of Ucath. X don't pity anybody who leaves the world, not even a fair young girl iu her prime ; I pity those remaining. On her journey, if it pleases God to send her, depend on it there's no caase for grief, that's but an earthly condition. Out of our Btorniy life, and brought nearer the Divine light and warmth, there must be a serene climate. Can't you fancy sailing into the calm ? Would you care about going on the voyage, but for the dear souls left on the other shore ? But we shan't be parted from them, no doubt, though they are from us. Add a little more intel- ligence to that which we possess even as we are, and why ahouldn't wo be with our friends though even so far off. • • • Why presently,thebody removed, shouldn't we personally be anywhere at will â€" proper- ties of creation, like the electric something (spark is it ?) that thrills all round the globe simultaneously ? and if round the globe why not Veberall > and the body being removed or elsewhere disposed of and developed, sorrow and its opposite, crime and the reverse, ease and disease, desire and dislike, etc., go along with the body â€" a lucid intelligence remains, a per- ception ubicjuitous.- i>'ro7rt r/ic Thackeray Letter! in Scribner' » for October. Seventy. two years ago Robert Tirrell, of Rhode Island, then a soldier in the British army, deserted and came to America. The old man, who is 93 years old, has just received a pardon from the granddaughter of the king he deserted, and is going back to the old country to die among his kins- folk. William Milan, a merchant of St. Joseph. Mo., has gone to Australia to marry a voung lady whom he has never seen, but »ith whom the engagement was brought about by correspondence. The young lady is a handsome heiress, and Milan is also rich. Mrs. Foshay (to prospective ni>:o.r/ maid)â€"" You are fond of childri.n, of coarse?" P. N. M,â€" " Fond of 'em? I should say 1 was, ma'am. If I hadn'li been 1 wouldn'ta nursed my sister's nine young ones that was down with scarlet fover till every blessed one of them died, ma'am, and buried the last of 'em a week come Friday." Tbejr Had Got I'sed to Babies. " Say," said a woman wearing a faded yellow dr«ss, as she came out of a Western Dakota house which stood near the road, as we drove up, " you didn't see no yoimg 'una down the road, I reckon ? " " No." " Coaple o' mine missin' again, guess," and she surveyed a good sized flock who were play ing around the house. " Or, hold on, I guess there ain't, either." She began singling them out with her finger, saying : " One, two, three â€" stand still, you brats, till I count you !^four, five â€" come back here, Ophelia, till yer counted â€" aix, seven, eight, an' two at school makes ten, an' the baby is 'leven, an' two out'n the field is thirteen. All right, stranger, they're all here. I 'lowed two or three o' 'em "had lit out, but the census is correct! " " You have a large family, madams. " " Lawks, family till yon can't rest! An' say, do you know what's a fact, gen'l'men, when the fust one, Sheridanâ€" he's out'n the field shuckin' corn now â€" when be was a baby what d'ye think me an' the old man used to do to him ?" " Give it up." " I'sed to wake him up to see him laugh I Yes, sir ; regular thing every time he went to sleep ! Sometimes one big fool of us an' sometimes the other would sneak up an' chuck him under the chin an' say : ' Wake ut, oo tootsy wootsy, and' laugh oo caiiuin' 'ittle laugh toroopaph!'" "Didn't never wake up any of the other twelve?" â- Well, not hardly, straiigerâ€" we know a powerful sight mor'n we did. Here, Washington, quit hurtin' yer little sister or I'll give you a switchin' you'll remember till yer loi) years old!" â€" Chicago Tribune. At the Sunday School. Teacherâ€" William, what ia the Golden Text today ? Wilham â€" Danno. Teacherâ€" It is " Watch andâ€"" what else ? William â€" Dunno. Teacher â€" Think again. What did your papa do just before breakfast this mornisg ? William (with animation Iâ€" Kissed mamma ! How'd you know ? Why Ue WhUtlvd. Old lady (to grooer'sboy)â€" Don't you know boy, that it is very rude to whistle when dealing with a lady ? IJoy- That's what the boss told mo to do, mum. Old ladyâ€" Told you to whistle? Boyâ€" Yes'm. He said if we ever sold yoa anything, we'd Ik ve to whistle for the money. Some Kxcow for Uini. " Oh, no, ma'am," pleaded the tramp, " you may think my life all sunshine, but itaint. Wherever I go I am beset with dangers. In short, ma'am, I carry my life in my hands." "Ah, I sec," exclaimed his temporary hostess, "that accounts for your not wash- ing your hands. You don't tlaro to do it for fear you'll drown yourself."â€" ficm/on TruH- Hcripl. A run was precipitated upon a saving bank in Binghamtou, N. Y., on Monday last by a " practical joke," and it took the efforts of some of the solidest men in the city to stop it. A French countryman was asked why he was so bitter against one of his neigh- bors. " BL>cause he is a boor. He comes to our house half a dozen times a day, and â€" would you believe it ?â€" he has never asked once to see our pig 1" Surveyors wdo are sub-dividing tfae town- ships near Lake Temisoaiuing, preparatory to their being opened for settlement, report very favorably on tho quality of the land. Advices from Tangiers say that the Sul- tan of Morocco is dead. Col. Blanton Duncan, of Kentucky, in an article iu the Toledo Hkde, proves to hiB own satisfaction that the second coming Christ will ooour A, D, 1913-14. â-  «