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^If^TOWBBfrVl^^WflWWftT. AtmtJST ,8, ?894> THE SAND HILLS. \Hero now, trader, aisy, aisy. Quick- sands I've seen along the sayshore, an •up to me halfways I've heen in wan, wid a douhle an twist in the rope to pull me out, but a suckin sand in the open plain-^aw, trader, aw, the like o' that, no, niver-a hit, awl\ So said Macavoy, the giant, When the thing was discussed in his presence. \Well I tell you it's true, and they're not three miles from Fort O'G-lory. The company's men don't talk about it—what's the use? Travel- ers are few that way, and you can't get the Indians within miles of them. Pret- ty Pierre knows all about them, better than any one else, almost. He'll stand by me in it—eh, Pierre?\ Pierre took no notice .and was silent for a time, in- tent on his cigarette, and in the pause Mowley, the trapper, said: ' 'Pierre's gone back on you, trader. Perhaps you haven't paid him for the last lie. I gc one better, you stand by me—my treat —that's the game!\ \Aw the like o' that,\ added Mao- avoy reproaohfully. ' 'Aw, yer tongue to the roof o' your mouth, Mowley 1 Liars all men may be, hut that's widwimmin or landlords. But, Pierre, off another man's bat like that—aw, Mowley, fill your mouth wid the bowl o' yer pipe I\ Pierre now looked up at the three men, rolling another oigarette as he did so, brat he seemed to be thinking of a distant matter. Meeting the three pairs of eyes fixed on him, his own held them for a moment musingly. Then he lit his oigarette, and half reclining on the bench where he sat he began to speak, talking Into the fire, as it were: \I was at Guidon Hill, at the com- pany's post there. It was the fall of the year, when you feel that there is noth- ing so good as life and the air drinks like wine. You think that sounds like a woman or a priest? Mais, no I The seasons are strange. In the spring I am lazy and sad; in the fall I am gay; I am for the big things to do. This matter was in the fall. I felt that I must move. \Set what to do? There was the thing. Cards? Of course. But that's only for times, not for all seasons. So I was like a wild dog on a chain. I had a good horse, Tophet, black as a coal, all raw bones and joint and a reaoh like a moose. His legs worked like piston rods. But, as I said, I did not know where to go or what to do. So we used to sit at the post loafing, in the daytime watch- ing the plains, all panting for travelers, like a young bride waiting her husband for the first time.'' Macavoy regarded Pierre with rich delight. He had an unctuous spirit, and his heart was soft for women, so soft that he never had one on his conscience, though he had brushed gay smiles off the lips of many with his own. But that was an amiable weakness in a strong man. \Aw Pierre,\ he said coaxingly, \kape it down, aisy, aisy; me heart's goin like a triphammer at thought av it. Aw, yis; aw, yis, Pierre.'' \Well it was like that tome—all Bun and a sweet sting in the air, at night to sit and tell tales and suoh things, and perhaps a little brown brandy, a look at the stars, a half hour with the cattle—the same old game. Of course there was the wife of Hilton, the factor—fine, always fine to see, but d§af and dumb. We were good friends, Ida and me. I had a hand in her wed- ding. Holy, I knew her when she was a little girl! We could talk together by signs. She was a good woman—shehad never guessed at evil. She was quick, too, like a flash, to read and understand without words. A face was a book to her. \Very good! One afternoon •we were all standing outBide the post -when we saw some one ride over the Long Divide. It was good for the eyes, I oannot tell quite how. But horse and rider were so sharp and clear out against the Bky that they looked very large and peculiar —there was something in the air to magnify. They paused for a moment on the top of the divide, and it seemed like a messenger out of the Btrange country at the farthest north, the place of legends. But of oourse it was only a traveler like ourselves, for i n a half hour she was with us. \Yes it was a girl dressed as a man. ate did not try to hide it She had dressed so for ease. She would make a man's heart leap in his mouth—if he was like Macavoy or the pious Mowley there.\ Pierre's last three words had a touch of irony, for he knew that the trapper had a precious tongue for Soripture when a missionary passed that way and a bad name with women to give it point. Mowley smiled sourly, but Mac- avoy laughed outright and smacked his lips on his pipe stem luxuriously. \Aw now, Pierre—all me little fali- bi's—aw I\ he said. Pierre swung round on the bench, leaning upon the other elbow, and cherishing his cigarette presently continued: \She had come far and was tired to death, so stiff that she, could hardlyget from her horse, and the horse, too, was ready to drop. Handsome enough she looked, for all that, in man's clothes and a peaked cap, with a pistol in her belt. She wasn't big built—just a feathery kind of sapling—but she was set fair on her legs like a man, and a hand that was as good as I have seen, so strong and fine, and like silk and iron with a horse. Well, what was the trouble, for I. saw that there was trouble? Her eyes had a hunted look, and her nose breath- ed like a deer's in the chase. All at once, when she saw Hilton's wife, a cry came from her, and she reached' out htr hands. \What Would women of that sort do? They were both of a kind. They got into each other's arms. After that there was- nothing for us men but to vruit. All women are the same, and Hiltun's wife was like the rust. She mint g.' the secret first; thou the nwu shoui-i know. We had to wait an hour. Thru. Hilton's wil'e beckoned to us. We went inside. The gMwajs asleep. There was something in the touch of Hilton's wif< like sleep itself, lilje^music. ltjss_hei. voice,,, fh.a$ t touch. She could not speak with, her tongue, but her hands and fact were language and music. Bien, thert was the girl asleep, all clear of dust and stain, and that fine hand. It lay loose on her breast, so quiet, so quiet. En fin, the real story, for how she lay ther< does not matter, but still it was gooc to seewhen wo knew the story.\ The trapper was laughing silently tt himself to hear Pierre in his romantii mood. A -woman's hand—it was th< game for\ a boy, not an adventurer, foi the trapper's only oreed was that worn en were like deer—spoils for the hunter, Pierre saw it, but he was above pettj anger. He merely said: \If a man have an eye to see behinc the face, he understands the foolisl laugh of a man or the hand of a gout woman. That is much. So Hilton's wif< told us all. She had ridden 3Q0 milel from the southwest and was making foi Port Micah, 00 miles farther north For what? She had loved a man againsl the will of her people. There had beei a feud, and Garrison—that was tht lover's name—was the last on his owi side. There was trouble at a Hudsoi Bay company's post, and Garrison shot a half breed. Men say he was right t< shoot him, for a woman's name musi be safe up here. Besides the half breed drew first. Well, Garrison was tried and must go to jail for a year. At tin end of that time he would he free. Tht girl, Janie, knew the days Word had oome to her. She made everything ready. She knew her brothers wen watching—her three brothers and twe other men who had tried to get her love. She knew also that the five would oar- ry on the feud against the one man. Sc one night she took the best horse on the ranch and started away toward Fori Micah. •\Alors you know how she got there, after two days' hard riding, enough tc Mil a man, and over 50 yet to do. Sh« was sure her brothers were en her traok. But if she could get to Fort Mioah and be married to Garrison before they cams she wanted no more. There were onlj two horses of use at Hilton's post then —all the rest were away or not fit f oi hard travel. There was my Tophet and a lean chestnut with a long propelling gait and not an ounce of loose skin OE him. There was but one way—the girl must get there. Allons, what is thj good? What is life without these things? The girl loves the man. She must have him in spite of all. There was only Hilton and his wife and me at the post, and Hilton was lame from a fall, and one arm in a sling. If the brothers followed, well, Hilton could not interfere, he was a company's man, but for myself, as I said, I was hungry for. adventure. I had an aohe in my blood for something. I was tingling to my toes; my heart was thumping in my throat. All the cords of my legs were straightening, like Iwas in the saddle.\ Pierre sat up. It seemed absurd foi him to speak as one who could be hot and shivering with excitement, for his movements were always quiet and pre- oise as a hammer. But in his eyes there was a furnace burning, and his small, iron hand caught the air with a snap. Macavoy had seen Pierre when dangers crowded around them both, and he knew that the little man was worth three of himself, in spite of his own great height For the others, they did not know, and if they had lived with Pierre all their lives they would never have understood him. \Aw Pierre!\ said Macavoy admir- ingly. \Aw the ache in yer blood— that's-it! Aw, yiB, yis, an yer thighs all bendin like wire, an the prairie be- yant, an the lady there asleep wid the hand fallin soft where the heart beats up like the swell of a tide I Aw, yis, the like o' that—swate, swate, an you wid the ache in yer blood, an the long ohestnut pawin the ground—aw, yis!\ Pierre nodded at Macavoy pleasantly, for after his fashion he oared for the gi- ant, and a little man loves the admira- tion of a large man, as Pierre himself had said more than once. He knew man's vanity and his own weaknesses. But he turned his looks on the trapper now, for i t was his way to conquer at the points of great disadvantage, not by many wonders showing, but by a deep persistence and a singular personal f oroe. \She slept for three hours. I got the two horses saddled. Who could tell but she might need help? I had nothing to do. I knew the shortest way to Fort Mioah, every foot, and then it is good to be ready for all things. I told Hil- ton's wife what I had done. She was glad. She made a gesture at me as to a brother and then began to put things in a bag for us to oarry. She had set- tled all how it was to be. She had told the girl. You see, a man may.be —what i's it they oall me?—a plunderer, and yet a woman will trust him,' comme oal\ \Aw yis, aw, yis, Pierre, but she knew yer hand an yer tongue niver wint ag'in a woman, Pierre. Naw, niv- er a wan—aw, swate she was, wid a heart—a heart, Hilton's wife! Aw, yis I\ Pierre waved Macavoy into silence. \The girl waked after three hours, with a start. Her hand oanght at her heart. 'Oh I' she said, still staring at us. 'I thought that they had cornel' A little after she and Hilton's wife went into another room. All at once there was a sound of horses without and then a knook at the door, and four men enter- ed. They were the girl's hunters. It was hard to tell what to do all in a minute, but I saw at once the best thing was to act for all and to get all the men inside the house. So I whispered to Hil- ton and then pretended that I was a great man in the company. I ordered Hilton to have Hie horses cared for, and not giving the men time to speak I fetched out the old brandy, wondering what could be done. There was no sound from the other room, though I thought I heard a door open once. Hil- ton played the game well and showed nothing when I ordered him about and lied With mo when I said no girl had oome, laughing when they told -why they weVo after hor. More than one did japb ^b|^igje m aj^first;J^u^|isjbwyl .what have I been doing all m/fife toTet supF fellows double? Sq the ,en;d of i t wae that I got them all inside tne house. There was one thing—their horses were __ all fresh^js JHiltpnwhispered to me. \ They had. only ridden tlTem* a'f ew miles. They had' stolon' or \bought them at a ranpk to the, wesiTqf' us. I could not make up my mind what to Ao. ' But it Was clear I must ieep them quiet till something shaped. ' 'They were all drinking brandy when Hilton's wife entered the room. Hei face was, mon Dieu, so innqcent, BO childlike! She stared at the men, and then I told, them she was deaf and dumb, and I told her why they had oome. Voila, it was beautiful—like nothing you ever saw! She shook hei head so innooehtly and then told them like a child that they were wioked tc ohase a girl, I could have kissed hei feet. Tohnere, how she fooled them' She said would they n °t searoh the house? She said all through me, on hei fingers and by signs. And I told them at once. Put she told me something else—that the girl had slipped out as the last man came in, had mounted the chestnut and would wait for me by the spring, a quarter of a mile away. There waB the danger that some one of the men knew the finger, language, so she told me this thing in signs mixed up with other sentences. \Good! There was now but one thing to do—for me to get away. So I said, laughing, to one of the men, 'Come and we will look after the horses, and the others can search the place with Hilton.' So we went out to where the horses were tied to the railing and led them away to the corral. ' 'Of course you will understand how I did it. I clapped a hand on his mouth, put a pistol at his head, gagged and tied him. Then I got my Tophet, and away I went to the spring. The girl was waiting. There were few words. J gripped her hand, gave her another pis- tol, and then we got away on a fine moonlit traiL We had not gone a mile when I heard a faint yell far behind. My game had been found out. There was nothing to do but to ride for it now, and to fight, if necessary. But fighting was not good, for I might be killed, and then the girl would be caught just the same. We rode on—suoh a ride—the horses neck and neok, their feet pound- ing the prairie like piston rods,rawbone to rawbone, a dingdong gait. I knew they were after us, though I saw them but once on the crest of a divide, about three miles behind. Hour after hour like that, with 10 minutes' rest nnd now and then at a spring, or to stretch our legs. We hardly spoke to each other, but God of love, my heart was warm to this girl, who had ridden ISO miles in 24 hours. Just before dawn, when 1 was beginning to think that we should easily win the race if the girl could but holdout, if i t did not kill her, the chest- nut stuck a leg into the oraok of the prairie, and horBe and girl were on the ground together. She could scarcely move, she was so weak, and her face was like death; I put a pistol to the chestnut's head and ended it At that the girl stooped and kissed the poor beast's neck, but spoke nothing. As 1 helped her on my Tophet I put my lips to the sleeve of her dress. Mother of God, what could a man do, she was BO noble I \Dawn was just breaking oozy and gray at the swell of the prairie over the Jumping Sandhills. They lay quiet and shining in the green brown plain, but I know that beneath there was a churn which could set those swells of sand in motion and make deadly Bport of an ar- my. Who can tell what it is? A flood under the surface, a tidal river—what? No man knows. But they are sea mon- Bters on the land. Every morning at sunrise they begin to eddy and roll, and no man ever saw a stranger sight. Bien, I looked back. There were four horsemen coming on about three miles away. What was there to do? The girl and myself on my tired horse were too much They saw also and hurried on. There oame to me a great idea. I must reach and cross the Jumping Sand hills before sunrise. It was all a 'deadly chance. \When we got to the edge of the sand, they were almost a mile behind. I was all sick to my teeth as my poor Tophet stepped into the sand. God, how I watched the dawn I Slow, slow we toiled over that velvet powder. As we reached the farther side I felt that it was beginning to move. The sun was showing like the lid of an eye along the plain. I looked back. All four horsemen were in the sand, plunging on toward us. By the time we touched the \brown green prairie on the farther side the sand was rolling behind- us. The girl had not looked baok. She seemed too dazed. I jumped from the horse and told her that she must push on alone to the fort; that Tophet could not carry both; that V I should be in no danger. She looked at me, -I cannot tell how, then stooped and kissed me between the eyes. I have never forgotten. I struck Tophet, and she was. gone to her happi- ness, for she reached the fort and Her lover's arms. \But I stood looking baok upon the Jumping Sand hills. So was there ever a sight like that—those hills gone like a smelting floor, the sunrise spotting it with rose and yellow and three horses and their riders fighting what cannot be fought. What could I do? They would have got the girl if I had not led them across, and they would have killed- me if* they could! Only one cried out, and jthen but onoe, in a long shriek. But -after all three were quiet as they fought until they were gone where no man ceultl see, where none cries out so we can hear.'' There was a long pause, painful to bear. The trader, sat with eyes fixed humbly as a dog's on Pierre, At last Macavoy said: \She kisse'd ye, Pierre —aw, yis, the did that I Jist betune the eyes. Do yes ivc r see her now, Pierre?'' But Pione, though , looking at him, made no answer. —Gilbert Parker. There \hcabeerinsuocesslonbf extensive freight oar robber|e6.,ne^Dctrat<}d,alpng the line of the W,, 0. &B. 'raiiraadf. and the company's officials were at their wits' enda. ..- An Accident enabled Freight Engineer. Billy Burton tadjiscaver .the thieves and enabled the ooinpany_to recover a largo quantity p^the WoTcmTjobds.^ A substantial money reward was ten- dered Mm for hie services, but It was only after being.repeatedly urged to accept it by the president of the road himself that he accepted It, \You've earned it honestly,\ urged his superior, \for our.offer extended to every- body. Now t am going to put you on the Imperial,\ And this was more gratifying to tho young engineer than that money reward, for the Imperial was a through fast ex- press of Pullman, cars, and .ts -rapine which whirled it from one end * :• t» ether of the W., O. &B. line was the fastest and handsomest piece Of mechanism that ever delighted tho heart of a locomotive engi- neer really loving his profession and the implements of his palling. As a further ovidence of the trust re- posed in him, Billy was given a two weeks' vacation with full pay. One of Ma first acts was to \dress up\ and pay a visit to his sweetheart, pretty little JJettie Byrnes, whose father, old Larry Byrnes, had died while Billy was serving an apprenticeship at \firing\ on the engine which Larry had run for many years. For a year past they had been engaged, and there was no reason, Billy thought, Why the marriage nay should not be fixed upon. Of course Nettle was delighted to hear of her lover's good fortune, and when he pressed her she blushingly consented to fix the wedding day. It was nothing strange to them that Billy should consider himself a man very muoh to be envied when upon the expira- tion of his leave of absence he laid a firm hand on the throttle and f olt the big ox- press locomotive throb beneath his touch. For a month he oontmued without ad- venture in his new position. Then, much to his regret, he was obliged to \lay off\ for several days to tes- tify in court against the freight car rob- bers who had beon .arrested through his efforts. When they were called up for sentence, the leader, a white faced, snaky oyed man, turned fiercely upon the engineer, and shaking his fist called down upon the young man's head the vilest and most hor- rible curses. \I'll have your life for this, you hound!\ he cried. Nettie had been sitting beside Billy,and when tho robber turned upon her lover she uttered a frantic cry and dung to him convulsively. About a week after the trial Billy and Nettie wore married and began housekeep- ing in a pretty little cottage at the end of tho young engineer's run, so that he could \lay off\ at home. Nettie had often ridden on the engine with her father, and as Billy could not afford to take her upon an extensive wed- ding tour she had laughingly deolared that she would make a honeymoon trip upon the big express locomotive. So it happened that the morning after the wedding found her snugly coiled upon tho engineer's \box looking very fresh and charming in her pretty, neat fitting white dress. And seeing that she was comfortably fixed he kissed her again, and jumping from tho engine walked down the plat- form to the dispatcher's office to deliver a message to his friend, Tom Stafford, one of the telegraph operators. \By tho way, Billy,\ said Tom when the engineer deolared that \time was up,\ and he must get back to his ongine to be ready for the signal, \the head of that gang of freight cor thieves escaped from the penitentiary early yesterday morn- ing.\ His face was so grave when ho returned to his engine that Nettie Inquired anxious- ly if he were ill. For the first 80 miles of the run the Im- perial made no stops, and they had nearly completed that distanco when they onter- ed a considerablo forest and approached a sharp curve just before crossing a high trestle bridge that spanned a rooky guloh, through which tumbled a shallow, brawl- ing stream of water. As he approaohed the ourvp he seized the throttle with one hand and tho air- brake lever with the other and leaned out of the cab window. Like a flash they rounded tho curve. As they did so B.Bly's trained eyes saw a terrible sight. Four heavy ties, one on top of the other, had been spiked across the rail in the cen- ter of the bridge. At the same time a strange overpower- ing influence seized Billy, and he stood rigid, helplessly clinging to the throttle and the brake lever. On dashed the engine toward certain destruction, and Billy's brain reeled with horror. Suddenly thore was another terrible flash of lightning, and a great tree in the valley below was splintered from top to base and fell with a orash. Simultaneously the power of action re- turned to Billy's paralyzed body, and with his teeth firmly set he threw his weight upon both throttle and brake lever. So sudden was the check that the shook nearly threw him from his feet, and Net- tie tumbled from her perch. Would it never stopf Slower, slowor, and not 10 inches from the obstruction the great locomotive came to a standstill, and Billy, with a cry of joy, reeled baok upon his bench uncon- scious. When he recovered his senses, Nettie was crying and sobbing over him, and men were ooming up the bank bring- ing between Hiora a dead man—the mis- creant who had spiked down the ties. He had been killed as he was running aoross the valley by the flash of lightning that had seemed to loosen Billy's momen- tary paralysis, Nettie teok one frightened look at the face, and a cry of wonder escaped her. It was the robber who threatened Billy in the courthouse.—Fixchange. A. CHAT'S ESCAPE. *'An innooont man nccd-nover bo afraid. to face a jury.'' So spoke, a .young lawyer but lately admitted. \Well said I, from a laynjan's stand- point of law, \ I thiuk that if I thought the chances against nip, no matter how in- nocent! were, I would deolihe'the honor,\ I had just dropped in for a friendly chat and smoke with myfriond, Eiohard Boyn- ton, an old lawyer well known fop an ex- tensive,.clientele among staid, and quiQt old Knipkerbooker families. Turning to him, I said as I lighted a oigar, \What say you, Dick?\ \In theory I agree with our young friend; in practice, with you. I'll give you a case in point, if you like. \It is about 10 years ago when Iwnsi aroused about 2 o'clock in the morning by a messenger from a police court, the bear- er of a hastily scribbled note from an old client et mine. He was a childless wid- ower, much interested in Egyptology, and consequently spent muoh of his time in Egypt. Being rich, ho could afford this expensive hobby. \The note I received ran: \DEJLB BOYBTOK—They have \brought me down here pa some absurd charge or other. Come and arrange for my release Immediiitoly. ''B. RoWMSY. \I hastened to the reliof of my olient. Now, I must tell you, he was very fastid- ious in his dress and particularly natty, and trim in his appearance. Ho wore a brown beard, cut in Vandyke fashion. \judge then, of my astonishment when I was shown a man dressed in a particu- larly flashy ifcyle, of the kind affected by the sporting fraternity—a clean shaven face, save for an inch'or two of side whisk- ers. \ 'Ah, Boynton, get me out of this quick.' \ 'There is some mistake,' I said to the policeman. \ 'How?' asked he. \ 'Why, this is not Mr. Eowley. This Is not tho gentleman I came to see.' \ 'That so? Well, this is the man who gave me the note I sent up to you.' \At this I looked up at the man before me and said: \ 'What made you use Mr. Rowley's name?' \He clutched me by the sleeve and gasped out: \ 'Why, man, what do you mean? Do those clothes so alter me? Speak.' \I looked at him very keenly, and grad- ually there dawned on me that, after all, this was my old^riend Rowley. \ rHeavensI Is it you, Rowley ? What are you doing here? Oome, man, compose yourself, and let's get at the bottom of this.' \I sat down on the bench by his side; but, notwithstanding my cross question- ing, all I could get from him was nothing more iShan that he had arrived the previous evening in New York, had engaged a room at a hotel, had had some Welsh rabbit and a bottle of ale and had gone straight to bed. About midnight he had been aroused by a violent knooking'at the door, and on opening it had been gruffly told that he was under arrest, and that he was to dress pretty quickly. \Hurried by the officers, he had hastily dressed himself, protesting uselessly that the clothes he was hustled In were not his, and was hurried off to the station. \No amount of cross questioning could get him to vary or enlarge his story, nor could he give me the slightest reason for hfs arrest. As to his beard, that had easily been oxplaimed in answer to a question of mine. Owing to a slight skin eruption contracted in Egypt, he had it shaved off some time ago. \The next step was to get him bailed out. This, I found, was not so easy a task. My nonrecognition at first of my friend was against him. The police justice next morning protested that this prisoner was a confidence man wanted for various of- fenses, and that he was a certain Wilcox, alias Boucher, alias Palver, alias Moroney, and scomnaly declared he would not let him out under $3,000 bail. \I did not stay to argue the matter out, but in less than an hour was baok with a couple of friends of well known wealth and standing. \Next morning my client was in a state of fever. I easily got a certificate from my physician exaggerating the illness. \He remained in my house and in bed for nearly a week. During that, time I found out enough to solve the mystery to my moral satisfaction, but not enough to convince a jury, or even any outsider. The solution of the mystery was this: \The m«B with many aliases had come by the same train as my friend Rowley, had registered at tho same hotel and had been assigned a room on the same narrow corridor. By some chance my friend, after supper, had been given the key of Mr. Wilcox's room and had gone straight to bed. \Mr. Wilcox's keen mind, ever bent on covering up his tracks, on finding that he had beon given the wrong key, said noth- ing, examined my friend's valise, and then the idea evidently came to him that it would he a good thing if he could pass out of the hotel as Mr. R. Rowley. \The probability was that he (Rowley) was in his room. To open the door was an easy trick for the crook. Then he must have taken my friend's attire, leav- ing his in its place. This effeoted, he paid his bill as Mr.'Rowley, saying he was go- ing to catch the 11:45 p, m. night express for Syracuse and so vanished. \His resemblance in Wilcox's attire was so like tho photos sent on to the people, and so unlike his own photos, that, with the correspondence, papers, cards and odds and ends which Wilcox had, either fn haste or Intentionally, left in the coat and vest pockets, and whioh the polioe at the station had seized when they had searched him,, I shudderingly felt the chances were all in.favor of a speedy conviotion.\ \What did you do?\ asked the young lawyer. \What did I do?\ you ask. \I smug- gled him off on a boat to Cuba and for- feited the ball. He was, as I said, a rich man. It waa the simplest way out of the diffioulty and the surest. Still my olient, though perfectly innocent, is now a fugi- tive from justice.\—Exchange. Competent. Showman—To be a trainer of wild ani- mals, my friond, requires absolute fear- lessness, indifference to peril, iron nerve. I am afraid yon won't do. Applicant—I was a book agent five years. Showman—Would $BI50 a week be any temptation?—Printers' Ink. Domestic Retaliation. When a man points out to his wifo an- other woman who dresses, as he says, just the way ho would like\\ to see her dress, she can usually get her revenge by telling him how muoh the other woman's clothes must oost.—Somervillo Journal. Smoking Statistics. A reoord kept at Yale for eight years shews that nonsmokers are 20 per cent taller, 25 per cent heavier and have 60 per cent more lang capaoity than smokers. An Amherst graduating class recently showed a stfll greater difference, the non- smokers having gained 24 per cent in weight and 87 per cent in height over the smokers, and also exceeding them in lung oapaeity.—Now York Tribune. Art. The Boston Teaoher—Tommy, do you know what art is? Tommy—Yessum. It's talkin a lot, an B o'clook teas, an wearln your best clothes, an havin \at homes\ on Thursday's.— Chloago Record. ''Fearful extravagance!\ \Sfrs. Jerome Watson' spoke With em- phasis and'• feeling; and Mr. John 0bx heard her meekly/with a faint smile,hov- erlng arOund'hls lips. \What is it now, Fanny?\ he asked, •lookingupfrom his newspaper at his sis- ter's flushed face. \Elizaj\ .. .. \Ellza.suitsme he. sold-lazily. \She keeps the house in order and never both- ers,'\ \Keeps the house in order!\ said Mrs. Watson, with supreme soorn, \But Fanny\ \I will speak,\ was,the rejoinder that out short theicontemplated remonstrance. \If I did not opme over now and then and exercise some little supervision, I believe Eliza Would make you pay for food enough to support a family of 10. John, you must get a wife.\ \No I thank you, Fan.\ \But John, do listen to reason. You are rich, and you ought to have a family around you. You are nearly 40 now, and it really is time you hada wife, if you ever intend to have one.\ \But if I never do Intend to have one, Fanny?\ \And leave your money to a charity hospital or an almshouse.\ \I might do worse:\ \Well John, I give it up. I will try to resign myself to the foot that you are a confirmed old bachelor.\ She smiled often as she drove home- ward and once or twice nodded her head as if well pleased at some unspoken sug- gestion of her busy brain. It was the dear- est wish of her heart to see hor brother married, and for many years she had tried to accomplish this end. It only caused her to speak hor vehement indignation when it was suggested that a bachelor uncle would probably bestow large legacies upon the little Watsons. She did not want John's money, she would declare truthfully. She wanted to see John himself happily married. \ John,\ she said when he strolled Into her parlor tho next evening, \we are go- ing to the Groves next week. When are you coming?\ \I think I shall travel this summer, Fan.\ \If you will come, I won't have any- body at all—not a young lady. You may live and die in single blessodness, if you really desire it.\ \Then I will come. But you told me last time we spoke of the Groves that Miss Murray was-going with you.\ \Oh sho is suoh a mere child, a snub nosed, sandy haired miss, soarcely out of the schoolroom. Still, If you wish it, I will postpone hor visit till you are gone.\ \Oh no. Bon't alter your arrange- ments on my account. She will not inter- fere with me.\ ******* Laura Murray was very fair, with large gray eyes and a profusion of light hair. Sho looked upon the middle oged baohelor brother of her host ess with rospeotful like- ing, which developed into oordlalgoodfeel- ing in a few days. The promised month was nearly over, and Fanny pleaded for a few weeks more of her brother's society. \Don't leave me now, John, when I am going to make tho house pleasant.\ \It is pleasant enough, Fan.\ \You are a dear good fellow to say so, but I know you must have been bored, John. Dancing attendance upon a school- girl must have been simply horrible for a man of your refinement.\ \Not at all. Besides Miss Murray has left school.\ \But sho Is so young yet.\ \There is a great deal of undeveloped power there, Fan. Sho brings a fresh, vivacious intelligence to bear upon almost every subject.\ \I think you are very kind to speak of her in that way, John. Poor littlo thing, she is very plain.\ \Plain Fan, plain! Pshawl But I can- not talk any longer now, Fan. I promised Laura a drlvo. Will she stay any longer, Fanny?\ \Oh yes. All next month.\ \Well don't engage my room for any- body for a week or two.\ John was scarcely out of sight when Mrs. Watson twisted around and astonished young Watson in an impromptu waltz, singing: \Oh John, John, you are very far gone.'' Before retiring that night she paid a visit to Laura's room, and with wily pur- pose brought tho conversation to bear up- on her brother. \Ho is a nice old dear,\ sho said. \Old! Why, Mrs. Watson, surely you do not call Mr. Cox an old nianl\ \No but ho is middle aged and fussy.\ \How is he fussy? I thought he was always courteous and gentle.\ \But still, you know, Laura, a man of his age does get fussy, especially if he is a confirmed old bachelor.\ \But Mrs. Watson, he—he—you know —perhaps—is he a oonflrmed old bache- lor?\ she said desperately at last. \Oh yes, dear. John will never marry. He has told me so.\ \But today, when we were riding—you know—and'' \Yes dear. I know he is very kind about taking you out.\ \But—when we were riding today\ \My dear, there is nothing astonishing in John's taking you to ride.\ \No—but today—he—he—please don't be angry—he asked me to marry him I\— Boston Globe. Nest of a Tree Ant. The nests of an extraordinary tree ant, Ecophylla smaragdina, are cunningly wrought with leaves, united together with web. One was observed inNew South Wales in the expedition under Captain Cook. The leaves utilized were as broad as one's hand and were bent and glued to each other at their tips. How the insects man- age to bring the leaves into the required position was never ascertained, but thou- sands were seen uniting their strength to hold them down, while other busy multi- tudes were employed within in applying the gluten that was to prevent them return- ing baok. The observers, to satisfy them- selves that the foliage was indeed incur- vated and held in this form b\y the efforts of the ants, disturbed the builders at their work, and as soqn as they were driv- en away the leaves sprang up, with a force muoh greater than it would have been deemed possible for suoh laborers to overcome by any combination of strength. The more compact and elegant dwelling of E. virescens is made of loaves, cut and masticated until they become a coarse pulp. Its diameter is about six inab.es . It is suspended among thickest foliage and sustained not only by the branches on which it hangs, but by tho leaves which are worked into the composition, and in many parts projeot from its outer wall.— L. D. Badonooh in Popular Soience Monthly.
