anaheim-gazette 1875-04-03

ANAHEIM VOL. 5. Mother Songs. On life's thorny, rugged track. As we tarry, looking back, Tender memories sweetly rise To the simple and the wise, And among the various throng Softly echoes mother's song. First o'er every sunny head, In its little cradle bed, Bent the tender face and true, With the love-light shining through. While the lips with mother-sigh Crooned the baby lullaby. When the little feet could walk, And the lisping tongue could talk, Then was put to loving use Wiser (?) songs of Mother Goose, Till the baby laughter rang Merrily as mother sang. Then as growing girls and boys, Tasting childhood's dearest joys, Mother's voice we loved to hear Singing songs of hope and cheer, Chanting hymns in her sweet way, Hymns whose echo lives to-day. Dearest mother, airs divine Ne'er can seem like hymns of thine, Blessed hymns we hope to hear When the heavenly land we near, Hymns of welcome, hymns of peace, When all care and pain shall cease. Charmed by the Cobra. De Leon's "Askaros Kassis" contains an interesting account of a lady being charmed by a cobra di capello while in the peril, and sure that the Egyptian knew best what the fearful situation required, implicitly obeyed his warning. Suddenly, while all remained in this horrible suspense, there sounded from the other side of the wall, the low, wailing notes of the Egyptian reed flute, followed by a peculiar call. As the Copt caught the call, his face brightened, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief, for he recognized the call of the serpent charmer, so well known in the East. The cobra seemed to hear it too. Through his vast and sinuous bulk there seemed to run a shuddering thrill. His uplifted crest sank; his huge folds sullenly and reluctantly unwound; and turning his head in the direction of the sound, he stretched his whole length over the intervening sward. A second and shriller blast of the flute, followed by a louder call, broke through the dead stillness; and then the serpent slowly twisted round its gross body, and, with a gliding motion, dragged it off in the opposite direction—its course indicated by the waving of the shubbery as its slimy folds worked through it with a rustling sound. "Not one of you know what trouble is." When the cobra first turned his head, and released the maiden from the spell of its glittering eye, a slight shudder shook her frame, and she leaned eagerly forward, as though to follow its movements. The next moment her eyes contracted, the lids closed wearily, her trembling limbs refused to support her, and she would have fallen heavily forward had not Askarios rushed up and sustained her fainting form on his sinewy arm. Writing Co. The very seems of torture at the village in attempting to "On "composition-day quired to bring his pressions and opinion times previously deserter, sometime left to lection. In either case was the same, tning with the shutting alone in a room wit per and ink. The filing that of heading title of the subject. It remained for him writhing in the vain thing about "The Cow." The horse nounced a "very unwhich both fact and to give down a droptention would wander fortunate fly crawlin pane, which, being on a pin, buzzed for song, thereby furnisher entertainment and for writer suddenly better time was passing, remained unenlightened "The Horse." A fright taken, and the author at "The Horse." sheet of paper begin and crumpled appear and there with spots ink. The author goes down. Anything no eat, a dog, a boy—interest in his eyes. Charmed by the Cobra. De Leon's "Askaros Kassis" contains an interesting account of a lady being charmed by a cobra di capello while in Egypt, a member of an English party on the way to their host's house on the environs of Grand Cairo. Those who believe in the power of reptiles to charm men, beast and birds, and those who do not, will form their own opinions as to a singular occurrence, but no one will dispute that some terrible influence, either that of terror or fascination, took possession of the lady in question: A shriek broke from the lips of Edith, who had been thrown to the ground, and had just risen to her feet. She stood immovable, as though from terror, trembling in every limb, her lips parted and her blue eyes—a strange mixture of fascination and horror in their staring orbs—fixed upon a point in the shrubbery just before her. At the sound of her shriek, Askaros, who was a few steps in advance leading the way, turned suddenly round; and his gaze, following her, was instantly riveted on the same object, with somewhat the same fascination. From the midst of a thick clump of shrubs, at the foot of a huge palm, gleamed forth what seemed two living coals, and beneath it—coiled in a huge bulk like cordages of some mighty ship—fold above fold, sinuous, undulating, writhed the knotted convulsions of a silimy serpent. The eye of Askaros bent upon the burning spots that made a gleam in the dusky shade of the shrubs, till he could distinguish the erect head of the monster—its forked tongue moving rapidly backward and forward in its poisonous jaws—while from the greenish eyes, full of evil fire, sparks seemed to scintillate. Then, glancing from the grim terror to the maiden, the heart of they oung Egyptian stood still, the hair bristled on his head, and the blood in his veins seemed to froze; for that wondrous influence which the serpent eye exercises over man, bird or beast—commonly known as fascination, which science may deride but experience has confirmed by testimony of many men in many lands—had wrought its strange spell over her gentle spirit. Her first impulse of terror and flight had not only been arrested, but changed into far different sentiments; and repulsion and horror had been succeeded by what seemed attraction—even pleasure. Her sudden flight was checked, changed to an attitude of eager expectation—her body bent forward—her lips apart—her hand placed to her ear—a yearning interest manifested in each strained feature of her speaking face. Still hot large blue eyes, the pupils unnaturally dilated, strained into the copse; and she stood there under the somber shadow of the palm, the living embodiment of that exquisite creation of the chisel that has made its sculptor's fame— Her parted lips moved slightly, and her hand raised itself with a languid moaning song of hope and cheer. Chanting hymns in her sweet way, Hymns whose echo lives to-day. Dearest mother, air divine Ne'er can seem like hymns of thine, Blessed hymns we hope to hear When the heavenly land we near, Hymns of welcome, hymns of peace, When all care and pain shall cease. Charmed by the Cobra. De Leon's "Askaros Kassis" contains an interesting account of a lady being charmed by a cobra di capello while in Egypt, a member of an English party on the way to their host's house on the environs of Grand Cairo. Those who believe in the power of reptiles to charm men, beast and birds, and those who do not, will form their own opinions as to a singular occurrence, but no one will dispute that some terrible influence, either that of terror or fascination, took possession of the lady in question: A shriek broke from the lips of Edith, who had been thrown to the ground, and had just risen to her feet. She stood immovable, as though from terror, trembling in every limb, her lips parted and her blue eyes—a strange mixture of fascination and horror in their staring orbs—fixed upon a point in the shrubbery just before her. At the sound of her shriek, Askaros, who was a few steps in advance leading the way, turned suddenly round; and his gaze, following her, was instantly riveted on the same object, with somewhat the same fascination. From the midst of a thick clump of shrubs, at the foot of a huge palm, gleamed forth what seemed two living coals, and beneath it—coiled in a huge bulk like cordages of some mighty ship—fold above fold, sinuous, undulating, writhed the knotted convulsions of a silimy serpent. The eye of Askaros bent upon the burning spots that made a gleam in the dusky shade of the shrubs, till he could distinguish the erect head of the monster—its forked tongue moving rapidly backward and forward in its poisonous jaws—while from the greenish eyes, full of evil fire, sparks seemed to scintillate. Then, glancing from the grim terror to the maiden, the heart of they oung Egyptian stood still, the hair bristled on his head, and the blood in his veins seemed to froze; for that wondrous influence which the serpent eye exercises over man, bird or beast—commonly known as fascination, which science may deride but experience has confirmed by testimony of many men in many lands—had wrought its strange spell over her gentle spirit. Her first impulse of terror and flight had not only been arrested, but changed into far different sentiments; and repulsion and horror had been succeeded by what seemed attraction—even pleasure. Her sudden flight was checked, changed to an attitude of eager expectation—her body bent forward—her lips apart—the hand placed to her ear—a yearning interest manifested in each strained feature of her speaking face. Still hot large blue eyes,the pupils unnaturally dilated,strained into the copse;and she stood there under the somber shadow of the palm,the living embodiment of that exquisite creation of the chisel that has made its sculptor's fame— Her parted lips moved slightly,and her hand raised itself with a languid moaning song of hope and cheer. Chanting hymns in her sweet way, Hymns whose echo lives to-day. Dearest mother,airk divine Ne'er can seem like hymns of thine, Blessed hymns we hope to hear When the heavenly land we onthe environs of Grand Cairo. Those who believe in the power of reptiles to charm men,best and birds,and those who do not will form their own opinions as to a singular occurrence,但 no one will dispute that some terrible influence,either that of terror or fascination,took possessionofthe lady in question: A shriek broke from the lips of Edithwho had been thrown tothe ground,and had just risen to her feet.She stood immovable，as though from terror,tremblingin every limb,hers lips partedandherblueeyes—a strange mixtureof fascinationand horrorin their staringorbs—fixedupona pointintheshrubberyjustbeforeher.Atthesoundofhershrubberytillhecoulddistinguishthecreetheadofthemonster—itsforkedtonguemovingrapidlybackwardandforwardinitspoisonousjaws—whilefromthegreenisheyes,fullofevilfire，sparks seemedtocintillate. Then，glancingfromthegrimterrortothemaiden，heartoftheyoungEgyptianstoodstill,thehairbristledonhishead,andthebloodinhisveinsseemedtofroze;forthatwondrousinfluencewhichtheserpenteyeexercisesovermanbirdorbeast—commonlyknownfasciationwhichsciencemayderildebutexperiencehasconfirmedbytestimonyofmanymeninmanylands—hadwroughtitsstrangespelloverhergentle Spirit.Herfirstimpulseofterrorandflighthadnotonlybeenarrested，但changedintofardifferentsentiments；andrepulsionandhorrorhadbeensucceededbywhatseemedattraction-evenpleasure.Her suddenflightwaschecked，changedtoanattitudeofeagerexpectation-herbody bentforward-herlipsapart—thehandplacedtoherear-ayearninginterestmanifestedineachstrainedfeatureofherspeakingface.Stillhotlarge蓝eyes,thepuppilsunnaturallydilated，strainedintothecopse；andshestoodthereunderthesombershadowofthepalm,thelivingsembodimentofth伊斯quitecreationofthechiselthathasmadeitssculptor'sfame— Her parted lips moved slightly,and her hand raised itself with a languid moaning song of hope and cheer. Chanting hymns in her sweet way, Hymns whose echo lives to-day. Dearest mother,airk divine Ne'er can seem like hymns of thine， Blessed hymns we hope to hear WhentheheavenlylandweontheenvironsofGrandCairo.Somehowbelievedinthenvironmentandforwriter suddenlybetweentimewaspassing，remainedunneededat“TheHorse.”Afreaken,andtheauthorat“TheHorse.”sheetofpaperbeginandcrumpleappearsandtherewithspotsink.Theauthorgrows.Anythingnoeat,adog,aboy—interestinhiseyes.withthepengraduethemselvesalltheinbeenspreadupowhereisinspiredtowatchisnoblean动物.Mayhewatehadehim.MyfatherbecausehethoughtthatThewriter'snamebottomofthisessaycareandprecisionthenconsequentonthecreethesteadultelyovertheyounglittereurvmovebyacleansingofhis tongue,andthesoiledareaofphotoreflectinOverlandMoon. TheKidnappedBody Henry，who isabnowbetweenseventellsveryromantictureswiththekidstwomenputhiminhimup untildark,himto-theriverbahinda skiff.rowedtothereylefttheskiffa longdistancethreetimeshewouldbecoulddroptothegriphimwithswake.AtlengthcakabinintheforestmanThey didnotbutstartedoutonpedition,theboybeyondthebegging,andto sayandhowtreated himharshilobtaina dollaracountpainment.Somethreeorfourdollarshewouldgetnewshrewdnesssoonleaveonhistyrants;whathanadollarhewactamounttheyhavethebalancehewwhenhefailedtoInthiswaythetwoweavedthroughIHe Kentucky,Akansas,theboybeggingmowomanlivingupwithdrunkeverymanyincidentsgrimage.Hesufflementofhis kidnowswoman died,andtheirwanderingsHeretheboyatthespeopleofthev Her parted lips moved slightly, and her hand raised itself with a languid motion. "Hush!" she murmured, as one speaking in a dream. "Do not break that heavenly music. It sounds like a song of the angels!" Then, on the second, a hoarse, hissing whisper grated through the elencled teeth of the Egyptian, who stirred not hand nor foot, but with a single glance warned back the astonished group who were about pressing forward. "Stir not—speak not—if you love her! It is the cobra di capello! They only strike when angered—movement will be death!" A chill struck to the heart of his listeners as they heard that dreadful name. They shuddered and obeyed. Motionless as the rest, but with every muscle braced as if ready to spring between the girl and that serpent—to interpose his own body as her shield, if necessary—and with his eyes riveted upon the monster, the Egyptian watched its every movement as the crest rose and fell, and the scales of the sinuous bulk writhed and twisted in its dark brown coils. Large drops of sweat rolled from his contracted brow, his breast heaved like that of an athlete after a deadly strain, and blood dripped on his white silk vest from the lips his white teeth tore in his agitation. Anxiety strained; agony was stamped on every feature, but with marvelous self-control he stood still. Twice the cobra raised his flattened head, projected the luminous cowl over the red eyes, braced his stiffening coils and seemed preparing for his arrows spring. And twice the Gosh bracing every muscle, seemed ready to launch himself between the monster and its prey. But twice the serpent lowered its head and relaxed his coil, and twice a deep gasp from the overburdened breast of the man proved one peril past—the strain past. The rest of the group stupefied by such agony as only a mother can feel. They were so far off I could not speak to them, but I could see them closing nearer and nearer to each other, as their little island grew smaller and smaller. "The sullen river raged around the huge trees; dead branches, unturned trunks, wrecks of houses, drowning cattle, masses of rubbish, all went floating past us. My boys waved their hands to me, then pointed upward. I knew it was a farewell signal, and you, mothers, can imagine my anguish. I saw them all perish and disappear, and yet—that was not trouble. "I hugged my babe close to my heart, and when the water rose to my feet climbed into the low branches of the trees and so kept retiring before it, till an all-powerful hand stayed the waves, that they should come no further. I was saved. All my worldly possessions were swept away, all my earthly hopes blighted—yet that was not trouble." "My babe was all I had left on earth. I labored night and day to support him and myself, and sought to train him in the right way; but as he grew older evil companions won him away from his home. He ceased to care for his mother's counsels; he would sneer at her entreaties and agonizing prayers. He left my humble roof that might be unrestrained in the pursuit of evil, and at last, when heated by wine, one might he took the life of a fellow being, and ended his own upon the scaffold. My Heavenly Father had filled my cup of sorrow before; now it run over. This was tremble ladder, such as I hope His Mercy will save you from experiencing." There was not a dry eye among her listeners, and the warmest sympathy was expressed for the bereaved mother, whose sad history had taught them a useful lesson. WELL STRICKEN IN YEARS.—A Scotch lawyer was attending a funeral. "How old was our departed friend?" he inquired of a relation of the deceased. "Very old," was the reply; "I believe he was in his eighty-four year." Not so very old," exclaimed the lawyer; "if my father had been alive, he had been one hundred and twelve." THERE is an old Indian in Kansas who has been alienated "Old Proh." When asked to prophesy of the coming weather, he sagely and safely says, "Mebbe snow; mebbe heap-hot. Better wait a little, you bet." TEXAS is looking hopefully forward to three penitentiaries. LIM GAS SUPPLEMENT. ANAHEIM, CAL., APRIL 3, 1875. Writing Compositions. The very acme of juvenile intellectual torture at the village school was realized in attempting to "write compositions." On "composition-day" every one was required to bring his written views, impressions and opinions on subjects sometimes previously designated by the master, sometime left to the pupil's own selection. In either case the agonizing process was the same, the operation beginning with the shutting up of the victim alone in a room with necessary pens, paper and ink. The first step was easy, being that of heading the foolscap with the title of the subject. That completed there it remained for hours, the composer writhing in the vain attempt to say something about "The Horse" or "The Cow." The horse was generally pronounced a "very useful animal;" after which both fact and imagination refused to give down a drop; and the victim's attention would wander toward some unfortunate fly crawling upon the window-pane, which being caught and immolated on a pin, buzzed forth a dismal death-song, thereby furnishing a few moments' entertainment and forgetfulness, until the writer suddenly bethought himself that time was passing, while the world still remained unenlightened concerning "The Horse." A fresh penful of ink is taken, and the author, "squares himself" at "The Horse." Meantime the clean sheet of paper begins to assume a soiled and crumpled appearance, flecked here and there with spots of variously shaded ink. The author gazes out of the windows. Anything now stirring—a passing cat, a dog, a boy—assumes an unwonted interest in his eyes. His fingers toying THE FIRESIDE. How to Keep Eggs.—The following is an extract from an article on the subject published editorially in the London (England) Former: For storing eggs a very good plan is to have a board pierced with holes in regular rows. Many breeders keep them in bran, and this latter method is, perhaps, best for those meant only to be eaten; but for setting hens the pierced board has many conveniences. They should always be kept with the large end downward. This direction being contrary to that usually given. We should state our attention was first called specially to the subject by a most intelligent lady who advocated the plan. Keeping eggs on the small end appears to me to cause the air bubble to spread, detaching it from the shell, or rather from its membraneous lining; after being kept so for a fortnight, the air bubble will be found to be much spread, and the eggs will have lost much vitality, though still very good eating. She then described her success the other way, adding: Owing to this method of storing such a thing as a stale egg has never been known in my house; and, as regards success in hatching, for several seasons, when I have been able to attend to my poultry myself, of many eggs set every egg produced a chick. KEEP THE FEET WARM.—Many of the colds people are said to catch commence at the feet. To keep these extremities warm, therefore, is to effect an insurance against the almost interminable list of disorders which spring out of a "slight cold." First, never be tightly shod. Boots or shoes, when they fit closely, Met a Fellow: There is a being who has caused more trouble to womankind than any other. It is the "fellow" who is always "met," and thereby keeps anxious females on the watch at windows at all sorts of untimely hours. How many years of her life does a woman spend looking out of the window for men who are overdue! I have not lived half of my three score and ten years yet, and I am sure I have wasted time enough in the fruitless operation to have made myself mistress of all the hieroglyphics ever discovered. One thing only have I learned, that man, like the peasant woman's "watched pot that never boils," never comes when he is looked for; and that hasn't done me any good; for still, whenever I have occasion, I invite the influenza by sitting in a strong draught with my eyes fixed on the farthest point possible, with visions of hospital ambulances and woeful telegrams before my eyes, whenever any one from my grandfather to my little nephew doesn't "arrive himself" in proper time. All women do it, and many thanks they get for their anxiety. You may cry your eyes weak and your nose red, go through all the agonies of hope deferred, become angry, get over your anger to plunge into the depths of woe, make sure that you are bereaved of your best-beloved relative, and wait in calm despair to know the worst, and when he comes, be he brother, husband or son, grandfather, uncle, or cousin, perchance a lover, he hasn't the slighest idea of your sufferings, and inquires, "Well, Polly, what's the matter? You look solemn?" Solemn! Well, you know enough not to fling yourself into his arms and cry: "The sea has The head of the newspaper is on a pin, buzzed forth a dismal death-song, thereby furnishing a few moments, entertainment and forgetfulness, until the writer suddenly bethought himself that time was passing, while the world still remained unenlightened concerning "The Horse." A fresh penful of ink is taken, and the author, "squares himself" at "The Horse." Meantime the clean sheet of paper begins to assume a soiled and crumpled appearance, flecked here and there with spots of variously shaded ink. The author gazes out of the windows. Anything now stirring—a passing cat, a dog, a boy—assumes an unwonted interest in his eyes. His fingers toying with the pen gradually accumulate upon themselves all the ink which should have been spread upon "The Horse." At last he is inspired to write thus: "The horse is a noble animal. My father once owned a horse. He ate hay, oats, and kicked. I rode him. My father sold him to a man because he thought he had the heavens." The writer's name is now placed at the bottom of this essay with such excess of care and precision that the joyous rebound consequent on the successful conclusion of the effort manifests itself by a triumphant flourish of the quill, with the immediate result of a huge ink-drop immediately over the signature, which the young litterateur vainly endeavors to remove by a cleansing process with the tip of his tongue, an effort that only widens the soiled area of paper. — Prentice Mulford in Overland Monthly. The Kidnapped Boy of Chester, Illinois. Henry, who is a bright, intelligent boy, now between seven and eight years old, tells a very romantic story of his adventures with the kidnappers. He says the two men put him into a room and locked him up until dark, when they conveyed him to the river bank, and placed him in a skiff, rowed to the Illinois shore. There they left the skiff and made him walk a long distance through the woods. At times he would become so weary that he would drop to the ground, and they would whip him with switches to keep him awake. At length they reached a lone cabin in the forest, occupied by a woman. They did not tarry long at the hut, but started out on foot on a begging expedition, the boy being forced to do most of the begging, and being instructed what to say and how to act. His captors treated him harshly, and required him to obtain a dollar a day on pain of severe punishment. Some days he would get three or four dollars, and at other times he would get nothing. His natural shrewdness soon led him to "play sharp" on his tyrants; when he obtained more than a dollar he would give them the exact amount they had fixed as his task, and the balance he would hide away to use when he failed to get the required sum. In this way the two men and the woman traveled through Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Kentucky, Arkansas and other States—the boy begging money, and the men and woman living upon it, and generally getting drunk every night. Henry remembers many incidents of this weary pilgrimage. He suffered from the ill-treatment of his kidnappers. At length the woman died, and then the men ceased their wanderings and stopped at Chester. Here the boy attracted the attention of the people of the village, and he was taken on a pin, buzzed forth a dismal death-song, thereby furnishing a few moments, entertainment and forgetfulness, until the writer suddenly bethought himself that time was passing, while the world still remained unenlightened concerning "The Horse." A fresh penful of ink is taken, and the author, "squares himself" at "The Horse." Meantime the clean sheet of paper begins to assume a soiled and crumpled appearance, flecked here and there with spots of variously shaded ink. The author gazes out of the windows. Anything now stirring—a passing cat, a dog, a boy—assumes an unwonted interest in his eyes. His fingers toying with the pen gradually accumulate upon themselves all the ink which should have been spread upon "The Horse." At last he is inspired to write thus: "The horse is a noble animal. My father once owned a horse. He ate hay, oats, and kicked. I rode him. My father sold him to a man because he thought he had the heavens." The writer's name is now placed at the bottom of this essay with such excess of care and precision that the joyous rebound consequent on the successful conclusion of the effort manifests itself by a triumphant flourish of the quill, with the immediate result of a huge ink-drop immediately over the signature, which the young litterateur vainly endeavors to remove by a cleansing process with the tip of his tongue, an effort that only widens the soiled area of paper. — Prentice Mulford in Overland Monthly. The Kidnapped Boy of Chester, Illinois. Henry, who is a bright, intelligent boy, now between seven and eight years old, tells a very romantic story of his adventures with the kidnappers. He says the two men put him into a room and locked him up until dark, when they conveyed him to the river bank, and placed him in a skiff, rowed to the Illinois shore. There they left the skiff and made him walk a long distance through the woods. At times he would become so weary that he would drop to the ground, and they would whip him with switches to keep him awake. At length they reached a lone cabin in the forest, occupied by a woman. They did not tarry long at the hut, but started out on foot on a begging expedition, the boy being forced to do most of the begging, and being instructed what to say and how to act. His captors treated him harshly, and required him to obtain a dollar a day on pain of severe punishment. Some days he would get three or four dollars, and at other times he would get nothing. His natural shrewdness soon led him to "play sharp" on his tyrants; when he obtained more than a dollar he would give them the exact amount they had fixed as his task, and the balance he would hide away to use when he failed to get the required sum. In this way the two men and the woman traveled through Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Kentucky, Arkansas and other States—the boy begging money, and the men and woman living upon it, and generally getting drunk every night. Henry remembers many incidents of this weary pilgrimage. He suffered from the ill-treatment of his kidnappers. At length the woman died, and then the men ceased their wanderings and stopped at Chester. Here the boy attracted the attention of the people of the village, and he was taken on a pin, buzzed forth a dismal death-song, thereby furnishing a few moments, entertainment and forgetfulness, until the writer suddenly bethought himself that time was passing, while the world still remained unenlightened concerning "The Horse." A fresh penful of ink is taken, and the author, "squares himself" at "The Horse." Meantime the clean sheet of paper begins to assume a soiled and crumpled appearance, flecked here and there with spots of variously shaded ink. Anything now stirring—a passing cat, a dog, a boy—assumes an unwonted interest in his eyes. His fingers toying with the pen gradually accumulate upon themselves all the ink which should have been spread upon "The Horse." At last he is inspired to write thus: "The horse is a noble animal. My father once owned a horse. He ate hay, oats, and kicked. I rode him. My father sold him to a man because he thought he had the heavens." The writer's name is now placed at the bottom of this essay with such excess of care and precision that the joyous rebound consequent on the successful conclusion of the effort manifests itself by a triumphant flourish of the quill, with the immediate result of a huge ink-drop immediately over the signature, which the young litterateur vainly endeavors to remove by a cleansing process with the tip of his tongue, an effort that only widens the soiled area of paper. — Prentice Mulford in Overland Monthly. The Kidnapped Boy of Chester, Illinois. Henry, who is a bright, intelligent boy, now between seven and eight years old, tells a very romantic story of his adventures with the kidnappers. He says the two men put him into a room and locked him up until dark, when they conveyed him to the river bank, and placed him in a skiff, rowed to the Illinois shore. There they left the skiff and made him walk a long distance through the woods. At times he would become so weary that he would drop to the ground, and they would whip him with switches to keep him awake. At length they reached a lone cabin in the forest, occupied by a woman. They did not tarry long at the hut, but started out on foot on a begging expedition, the boy being forced to do most of the begging, and being instructed what to say and how to act. His captors treated him harshly, and required him to obtain a dollar a day on pain of severe punishment. Some days he would get three or four dollars, and at other times he would get nothing. His natural shrewdness soon led him to "play sharp" on his tyrants; when he obtained more than a dollar he would give them the exact amount they had fixed as his task,andthe balance he would hide away to use when he failed to get the required sum.In this waythe two menandthewoman traveledthroughIllinoisIndianaOhioKentuckyArkansasandotherStates—theboybeggingmoney,andthemenandwomanlivingupit,andgenerallygettingdrunkeverynight.Henryremembersmanyincidentsofthisweerypilgrimage.Hesufferfromtheill-treatmentofhis kidnappers.Atlengththewomandied,andthenthemenceased theirwanderingsandstoppedatChester.Heretheboyattractedtheattentionofthepeopleofthevillage,andhewastakenonapin,buzzedforthichinematerialwithsuchexcessofcareandprecisionthatthejoyousreboundconsequentonthesuccessfulconclusionoftheeffortmanifestsitselfbyatriumphantflourishofthequill,theimmediateresultofa hugeink-dropimmediatelyoverthesignature,theyounglitternateurvainlyendeavorstoremovebyacleansingprocesswiththetipofhis tongue,naneforbitonlywidensthesoiledareaofpaper.PrenticeMulfordinOverlandMonthly. The Kidnapped Boy of Chester，Illinois. Henry，whoisabright,intelligentboy，nowbetweensevenandeightyearsold,tellsaveryromanticstoryofhisadventureswiththekidnappers.Henryshe saysthetwomenputhimintoaroomandlockedinhimupuntildarkwhentheyconveyedhimtotheriverbank,andplacedhiminakiskiffrowedtotheIllinoisshoreTheretheylefttheskiffandmadehimwalkalongdistancethroughthewoodsAttimeshewouldcomesowearythathewoulddroptocetheground,andtheywouldwhiphimwithswitchestowkeephimawakeAtlengththeyreachedalonecabinintheforestoccupiedbyawomanTheydidnottarrylongatthehutbutstartoutonfootonabeggingexpedition,theboybeingforcedtodomostofthebegging,andbeinginstructedwhattoayandhowtoact.Hiscaptorstreatedhimharshly,andrequiredhimtoobtaina Dollara dayonpainofseverepunishment.Somedayshewouldgetthreeorfourdollars,andatothertimeshewouldgetnothing.Henrynaturalshrewdnesssoledhimto“playsharp”onhistyrants;whenheobtainmedmorethana dollarhewouldgivetheexactamounttheyhadfixedashistask,andthebalancehewouldhideawaytousewhenhefailedtogettherequiredsum.InthiswaythetwomenandthewomantravelledthroughIllinoisIndianaOhioKentuckyArkansasandotherStates—theboybeggingmoney,andthemenandwomanlivingupit,andgenerallygettingdrunkeverynight.Henryremembersmanyincidentsofthisweerypilgrimage.Hesufferfromtheill-treatmentofhis kidnappers.Atlengththewomandied,andthenthemenceased theirwanderingsandstoppedatChester.Heretheboyattractedtheattentionofthepeopleofthevillage,andhewastakenonapin,buzzedforthichinematerialwithsuchexcessofcareandprecisionthatthejoyousreboundconsequentonthesuccessfulconclusionoftheeffortmanifestsitselfbyatriumphantflourishofthequill,theimmediateresultofa hugeink-dropimmediatelyoverthesignature,theyounglitternateurvainlyendeavorstoremovebyacleansingprocesswiththetipofhis tongue,naneforbitonlywidensthesoiledareaofpaper.PrenticeMulfordinOverlandMonthly. The Kidnapped Boy of Chester，Illinois. Henry，whoisabright,intelligentboy，nowbetweensevenandeightyearsold,tellsaveryromanticstoryofhisadventureswiththekidnappers.Henryshe saysthetwomenputhimintoaroomandlockedinhimupuntildarkwhentheyconveyedhimtotheriverbank,andplacedhiminakiskiffrowedtotheIllinoisshoreTheretheylefttheskiff和madehimwalkalongdistancethroughthewoodsAttimeshewouldcomesowearythathewoulddroptocetheground,andtheywouldwhiphimwithswitchestowkeephimawakeAtlengththeyreachedalonecabinintheforestoccupiedbyawomanTheydidnottarrylongatthehutbutstartoutonfootonabeggingexpedition,theboybeingforcedtodo mostofthebegging,andbeinginstructedwhattoayandhowtoact.Hiscaptorstreatedhimharshly,andrequiredhimtoobtaina Dollara dayonpainofseverepunishment.Somedayshewouldgetthreeorfourdollars,andatothertimeshewouldgetnothing.Henrynaturalshrewdnesssoledhemto“playsharp”onhistyrants;whenheobtainmedmorethana dollarhewouldgivetheexactamounttheyhadfixedashistask,andthebalancehewouldhideawaytousewhenhefailedtogettherequiredsum.InthiswaythetwomenandthewomantravelledthroughIllinoisIndianaOhioKentuckyArkansasandotherStates—theboybeggingmoney,andthemenandwomanlivingupit,andgenerallygettingdrunkeverynight.Henryremembersmanyincidentsofthisweerypilgrimage.Hesufferfromtheill-treatmentofhis kidnappers.Atlengththewomandied,andthenthemenceased theirwanderingsandstoppedatChester.Heretheboyattractedtheattentionofthepeopleofthevillage,andhewastakenonapin,buzzedforthichinematerialwithsuchexcessofcareandprecisionthatthejoyousreboundconsequentonthesuccessfulconclusionoftheeffortmanifestsitselfbyatriumphantflourishofthequill,theimmediateresultofa hugeink-dropimmediatelyoverthesignature,theyounglitternateurvainlyendeavorstoremovebyacleansingprocesswiththetipofhis tongue,naneforbitonlywidensthesoiledareaofpaper.PrenticeMulfordinOverlandMonthly. Expelling Rats.-A gentleman in Burlington,Vermont.of an investigating turn of mind,a week or two ago determined to “try it” again with rats which infested other ways.The managing woman can do anything; and she does everything well.Perceptive and executive.of quick sight and steady hand,she always knows exactly what is wanting,supplies the deficiency with a tact and cleverness peculiar to herself.-Science of Health. Expelling Rats.-A gentleman in Burlington,Vermont.of an investigating turn of mind,a week or two ago determined to “try it” again with rats which infested other ways.The managing woman can do anything; and she does everything well.Perceptive and executive.of quick sight and steady hand,she always knows exactly what is wanting,supplies the deficiency with a tact and cleverness peculiar to herself.-Science of Health. The Washinton Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washinton Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby school.Engle The Washington Herald formerly of Rugby学校.Engle The Washington HeraldformerlyofRugby学校.Englel act amount they had fixed as his task, and the balance he would hide away to use when he failed to get the required sum. In this way the two men and the woman traveled through Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Kentucky, Arkansas and other States—the boy begging money, and the man and woman living upon it, and generally getting drunk every night. Henry remembers many incidents of this weary pilgrimage. He suffered from the ill-treatment of his kidnappers. At length the woman died, and then the men ceased their wanderings and stopped at Chester. Here the boy attracted the attention of the people of the village, and he was taken from the vagabonds and placed in the hands of the parish priest. The rest has been told. Mr. Lachmueller killed the fatted calf, and having expended about $2,000 searching for his son, is now prepared to go to work again. Sorry He Wasn't There.—I have referred in my book to that coroner of ours who seized an Egyptian mummy that was brought into town, summoned a jury, held an inquest on the mummy, brought in a verdict of "Death from causes unknown," and charged the county the usual fee, with compound interest from the time of Moses. Well, that coroner is still in office, and is still enthusiastic about his profession. Last Sunday night he was at church. The minister preached a very solemn sermon upon Noah's flood, and after it was over I met the coroner in the aisle and said to him: "Very impressive discourse, Mr. Wheeler, wasn't it?" "Beautiful, sir! beautiful," replied Wheeler. "And yet it seems to be kind of mourful, too." "Indeed! Why, it doesn't strike me in that way. It was solemn, of course; but its tendency certainly should be to fill the heart of every truly good man with truthfulness and hope." "Oh, I know all that," said Wheeler, "but didn't he say there were several million people drowned in that flood?" "I believe he did." "Well, then, I say that when I think of all that mortality, and remember that I wasn't a coroner then, and isn't likely to be when there's such another freshet, it makes me sick. There ain't nothing cheerful about such reflections. I feel if I hadn't been treated right; 's if I'd been robbed."—Max Adler. Thunx is a seven year congressman, W. H. Barnum, of Connecticut, who never made a speech. EXPELLING RATS.—A gentleman in Burlington, Vermont, of an investigating turn of mind, a week or two ago determined to "try it" again with rats which infested his house. He purchased a supply of "coal tar" at the gas works, and placed small quantities of it in the rat-holes in his cellar, and elsewhere in their runways. The rats, bedaubing themselves, became disgusted with the manner of their entertainment, and speedily left the premises, and have not been seen or heard from since. A Batch of Receipts. JOHNNY CAKE.—Take a pint each of buttermilk and sweet milk, one heaping teaspoonful of saleratus, a half cup of sugar, one egg and a little salt. Stir in meal until thick, but allow it to pour readily. Butter your pans plentifully and bake brown. This, with a dish of warm apple sauce, makes a delicious breakfast. GRAHAM PANCAKES.—Into three pints of water stir about a quart of graham flour, put a half teaspoonful of salt and three teaspoonfuls of hot yeast. Set in a warm place over night. In the morning add a small teaspoonful of saleratus and bake on a griddle. CORN BREAD.—Pour boiling water on a quart of meal until moist. Let it cool to milk heat. Then add yeast, a pinch of salt and wheat flour, kneading a few minutes. Set in a warm place to rise. Bake slowly an hour, perhaps more. CREAM FRIETERS.—Stir into one pint of milk one and a half pints of flour, six eggs, well beaten, half a nutmeg grated, one teaspoonful of salt, and lastly add one pint good sweet cream; drop the mixture from a tablespoon into hot lard and fry the same as doughnuts. AUNT LUER'S SPICE CAKE.—Two cups of sugar, two-thirds of a cup of butter, two eggs, one cup of buttermilk, one teaspoonful of soda, one of cloves, one table-spoonful of cinnamon, one-half of a nutmeg, one tea-cupful of raisins; flour to make thick. IT is a good story that they tell of Dr. Hayman, formerly of Rugby school, England. While returning recently from the Brighton Congress, a fellow passenger undertook to draw him into conversation, and so far succeeded that the reverend gentleman asked him to what profession he happened to belong. "Oh," said the layman, cheerfully, "I am in the Manchester line." "Oh indeed," replied Dr. Hayman, urbanely; "there is a good deal of business going on there just now, I understand." "First class," said the layman with a punning smile; "and may I ask what is your line?" "I," said the doctor, patronizingly with the nearest approach to a joke he was ever known to perpetrate, "am in the spiritual line." "Blessed if I didn't think so," exclaimed his companion, knowingly; and putting one hand on the doctor's knee, be leaned forward eagerly and added, with an indescribable wink, "but I say, what a high old price you have got gin up to!" Dr. Hayman instantly collapsed. READ THE ADVERTISEMENTS.—Every thinking man wishing to keep pace with the times will make it his weekly duty to read the advertisements. There is the very soul of success in them. They contain the results of some successful brainwork of our people. When a man has planned and contrived for years to produce something necessary to satisfy the growing wants of our advancing civilization, and has succeeded in doing so, he immediately announces the fact to the world in your newspaper, his only medium. By no other means can he expect to reach the same number. Read the advertisements, and if you write to any one advertising in our columns, please oblige us by saying where you saw their notice. An actor seeking an engagement said he had not worked for six weeks and he was anxious to play. GAZETTE. NO. 24. Fellow: No has caused more than any other. It always "met," and was females on the all sorts of untimely other life does a woo-t of the window due! I have not once score and tenure I have wasted untitless operation to distress of all the discovered. One learned, that man, man's "watched potter comes when he that hasn't done me whenever I have occuenza by sitting in my eyes fixed on possible, with visions and woeful tele-whenever any one do my little nephew if" in proper time. And many thanks they You may cry your case red, go through deferred, become anger to plunge into take sure that you best-beloved relation despair to know he comes, be he son, grandfather, chance a lover, he idea of your suffer-Well, Polly, what's solemn!" Solemn! Not to fling your-errr "The sea has Stories of St. John. It was whilst St. John was residing at Ephesus that various stories were told of him which we do not find in the Bible. We cannot be certain that these stories are quite correct, therefore, but they accord with all that was known of St. John, and they agree with the letters and epistles he wrote at that time. One of these stories is this: There came one day to Ephesus a sportsman, who had heard so much of this wise old man that he went out of his way to see him, and his surprise was great when he found St. John engaged in gently stroking a partridge which he held in his hand. The sportsman could not help saying how surprised he was to see so great a man employed in anything so small. Then St. John said, "What have you in your hand?" "A bow," replied the sportsman. St. John asked, "Why is it not bent?" The sportsman replied, "Because if it was always bent it would lose its strength." "That is just the reason," said St. John, "why I play with the partridge. It is that my mind may be kept strong by not being always at work." What, do we learn from this story, my dear children? We learn from it that St. John, and great and good men like him, are glad, now and then, to see you at play, and to play with you. We learn that kindness to dumb animals is a thing that God expects of us. There was an aged lady, very excellent, wise, and wonderfully learned, who lived to be nearly as old as St. John was when he died; she was the famous Mary Somerville, who died last year in her 92d year. A very short time before her death she said, "I hope that the time may come when childish might teach me." Cannibalism Among the Ateses. One article of Nahua food demands special mention—human flesh. That they ate the arms and legs of the victims sacrificed to their gods there is no room for doubt. This religious cannibalism—pursues human sacrifice itself—was probably not practiced before the cruel-minded Aztec devotees of Huitzilopochtli came into power, or at least was of rare occurrence; but during the Aztec dominion the custom of eating the flesh of sacrificed enemies became almost universal. That cannibalism, as a source of food, unconnected with religious rites, was ever practiced, there is little evidence. The Anonymous Conqueror tells us that they esteemed the flesh of men above all other food, and risked their lives in battle solely to obtain it. Bernal Diaz says that they sold it at retail in the markets; and Veytia also states that this was true of the Otomis. Father Gand assures us that there were many priests that ate nothing but the flesh and blood of children. But these ogreish tales are probably exaggerated, since those who knew most of the natives, Sahagun, Motollinia, and Las Casas, regard the cannibalism of the Nahuas rather as an abhorrent feature of their religion than as the result of an unnatural appetite. That by long usage they became fond of this food may well be believed; but that their prejudice was strong against eating the flesh of any but their sacrificed foes, is proven, as Gomara says, from the fact that multitudes died of starvation during the siege of Mexico by Cortes: Even the victims of sacrifice seem only to have been eaten in banquets, more or less public, accompanied with ceremonial rites. A number of infants sacrificed to the Tlaloos were eaten each year, and the blood of in proper time and many thanks they You may cry your nose red, go through the deferred, become longer to plunge into make sure that you best-beloved relation despair to know he comes, be he son, grandfather, chance a lover, he idea of your suffer Well, Polly, what’s soolem? Solemn! not to sing your old cry, “The sea has far anything of that!” in an offended really calm one; and “dinner was burnt ago,” or that you cannot on ready for men until nine,” and motion. It is some- and then generally fellow.” fellow” is reason of staying out. Who, that he should out-sweetheart, daugherty should“a fellow” one never eases“a whole name. He is after him, and you are sort of a fellow to is never brought is not good enough; enough to upset a meals waiting, to midnight; to have for anything for N. Y. Ledger. DEARS.—The express many animals make matters of familiar of them is more sig-giving back and pres-e head, which indi-of mind. Mr. Dar- the means of expres-als, gives an ingenious movement. He may found in species teeth. All the car-call, so far as he has their ears when feel-may be continually ing in earnest and play. Cats, tigers, now the same peculi-able in horses, and then it gives to them But cattle, sheep or night, never use their and never draw back aged. The elephant, tusks, does not re- the contrary, erects at an enemy. The abiting, as a means of back the ears, as a uniform, and the ex-few, that Mr. Dar- of the origin of the able. He says that it in this way try to us; and, reversely, because the ear is a weak it back on the head the way. that they tell of Dr. of Rurby school, Eng- A Social Sensation in Washington: The latest social sensation, says the Washington correspondent of the Boston Herald, is that caused by the arrest of a young man named St. Clair, otherwise known as“Sis” Sinclair. This young man found great enjoyment in attending the numerous fashionable balls, parties and receptions given here during the present winter, attired in the clothing of a fashionable belle of the season. His“get up” was somewhat remarkable, and strange to say, he played his difficult part so well that he was not discovered until Wednesday evening last, while in attendance at the sociable given by the Minnesota State Association at Masonic Temple. There he attended and attracted much attention, being, as it were, one of the leading belles of the evening. He was arrested soon after leaving the temple. partridge. It is that my mind may be kept strong by not being always at work.” What do we learn from this story, my dear children? We learn from it that St. John, and great and good men like him, are glad, now and then, to see you at play, and to play with you. We learn that kindness to dumb animals is a thing that God expects of us. There was an aged lady, very excellent, wise, and wonderfully learned, who lived to be nearly as old as St. John was when he died; she was the famous Mary Somerville, who died last year in her 92d year. A very short time before her death she said,“I hope that the time may come when children shall be taught that mercy to birds and beasts is a part of religion.” Yes, it ought to be a part of our religion, and I trust that we shall make it so. Play, too, with your companions like St. John, remembering that all play and all holidays are given by God, like the unbending of the bow in the story, to help them to work better for the future. There is another story told of St. John: When he was very old, indeed, when he was almost 100 years of age, he used to be carried into the market-place, and old and young used to gather round him, to hear the farewell words of their venerable teacher whom they loved so much. He would say to them，“Little children love one another.” Yet they would still ask for something more, and his reply every time war,“Little children love one another.” At last they said,“Why do you always say this and nothing else?” He said，“Because this is the best thing I have to say. If you really love one another that is all I have to tell you.” What do you learn from this? We learn that the thing St. John was most anxious to teach was love to one another. This is the love which Jesus Christ wished to see in all his apostles, old and young. Keep it on as years advance. Always bear in mind that the first thing to be done is to try to help and befriend some one else. That will make you generous and just. That will make you active and courageous. That will make you feel how wicked it is to do wrong. That will help you to do good to men when yourselves grow up to be men. That will enable you to be the better able to do good. That will enable you to love God; who can only be loved by those who love their fellow creatures. Therefore I end this address to you as St. John ended his long life, by saying，“Little children, love one another.”—Dean Stanley. A Social Sensation in Washington: The latest social sensation, says the Washington correspondent of the Boston Herald, is that caused by the arrest of a young man named St. Clair, otherwise known as“Sis” Sinclair. This young man found great enjoyment in attending the numerous fashionable balls, parties and receptions given here during the present winter, attired in the clothing of a fashionable belle of the season. His“get up” was somewhat remarkable, and strange to say, he played his difficult part so well that he was not discovered until Wednesday evening last, while in attendance at the sociable given by the Minnesota State Association at Masonic Temple. There he attended and attracted much attention, as it were, one of the leading belles of the evening. He was arrested soon after leaving the temple. Motollinia, and Las Casas, regard the cannibalism of the Nahuas rather as an abhorrent feature of their religion than as result of an unnatural appetite. That by long usage they became fond of this food may well be believed; but that their prejudice was strong against eating the flesh of any but their sacrificed foes, is proven, as Gomara says, from the fact that multitudes died of starvation during the siege of Mexico by Cortes. Even the victims of sacrifice seem only to have been eaten in banquets, more or less public, accompanied with ceremonial rites. A number of infants sacrificed to the Tlalocos were eaten each year,and the blood of these and other victims was employed in mixing certain cakes,some of which were at one time sent as a propititory offering to Cortes.-From Advance Sheets of Bancroft's Native Race. Old Grimes Not Dead. The colored people at the South have very comical names; and a Northern gentleman on a plantation writes to say that“Old Grimes” is still living in N.Carolina,and not dead,the song makes him: Last night a little incident happened; my wife said I must tell you all about it.I was weighing up the pickers' cotton,so as to pay them for their day's work.I had about sixty hands at work,and all came in quite early except twenty.About dusk there came in an“old dark,”and put his basket on the scales.I was a little angry,bearing kept so late,sо I said—“What is your name?” “Grimes,sir—Old Grimes.” “What?” said I;“I thought Old Grimes was dead long ago.” “无，child,”said he;“dat was my folder.” (Mind you,此 old fellow was about seventy-five). I said，“Any more pickers out in the fields yet?” “Yes,sir,some of my children;dy will be heath directly,cild.” So on they came,我 asked each，“What is your name?” Each time it was，“Grimes; dat yar old man is my folder.” Eighteen times I got that reply;then said I, “Old man,aare all these children the fruit of your loins?” “No，child,said he，“ley don't eat fruit Only corn bread;and sometimes poke,当de good Lord gives it to us.” “You did not understand me，uncle；I mean are all these children your own?” “Bless you,yes,honey,and I has got four mo'at home,and one at the ole woman's breast,"was the ready answer. So you see,after all，Old Grimes still lives. Letter from Mark Twain. Mr. Samuel L. Clemens has consented to lecture in Hartford for the benefit of the poor.Following is his letter: HARTFORD,Feb.20. GENTLEMEN—I accede to your request with pleasure.Many months ago I permanently quitted the lecture field,and said I would not appear upon a platform any more unless driven there by a lack of bread.By the spirit of that remark I am debarred from delivering this proposed lecture,and so fall back upon the letter if it and emerge upon the platform for this last and final time because I am confronted by a lack of bread—among Father Hawley's flock.Most people lie by the Mr. Samuel L. Clemens has consented to lecture in Hartford for the benefit of the poor. Following is his letter: HARTFORD, Feb. 20. GENTLEMEN—I accede to your request with pleasure. Many months ago I permanently quitted the lecture field, and said I would not appear upon a platform any more unless driven there by a lack of bread. By the spirit of that remark I am debarred from delivering this proposed lecture, and so fall back upon the letter of it and emerge upon the platform for this last and final time because I am confronted by a lack of bread—among Father Hawley's flock. Most people lie by the spirit and the letter too, but I am not one of that kind, for I have been very carefully brought up. I wish to impose upon you that the expenses of this enterprise shall be paid out of four or five private pockets (mine to be one of them), to the end that all the money that comes in at the door shall go to father Hawley's needy ones, unimpaired by taxes on its journey. I am glad to know that you are going to put the tickets at $1; for what we are after now is money for people who stand sorely in need of bread and meat, and so the object justifies the price. As this will probably be the last time I shall ever have the opportunity of hearing sound wisdom and pure truth delivered from the platform, I wish to buy a ticket to this lecture, and I herewith send money for the purchase. I am aware that I can get in for nothing, and still be acting in a measure honorably; but when I run my lecture over in my mind and realize what a very bonanza of priceless information it is, I find I cannot conscientiously accept a free pass. Respectfully, MARK TWAIN. Men may, for a time, be attracted toward women who show a marked preference for them; but, as a rule, they value most that which there is most difficulty in getting. Indeed, in many cases it is the pursuit of a prize which renders it attractive rather than any particular merit of a prize itself. Thus, though damels may, in their eagerness to get married, draw men on to a certain stage, the chances are that the latter will shrink back before taking the last, irrevocable step, and leave the damsela objects of ridicule and compassion to those who are acquainted with what has transpired. If these latter were less wishful of getting married, they would make fewer mistakes and meet with less rebuffs than they do now.