AUTUMNAL LESSONS. DR. TALMAGE CONSIDERS THE SOUTHWARD FLIGHT OF THE BIRDS.

They Know When to Start--They Fly High and Call on All Their Kind to Go With Them, but Men Have Not This Wisdom.

BROOKLYN, Oct. 21.--Rev. Dr. Talmage, who has left India and is now on his homeward journey, has selected as the subject for his sermon today through the press "October Thoughts," his text being Jeremiah viii, 7, "The stork in the heaven knoweth her appointed time, and the turtle, and the crane, and the swallow observe the time of their coming, but my people know not the judg-

ment of the Lord."

When God would set fast a beautiful thought, he plants it in a tree. When he would put it afloat, he fashions it into a fish. When he would have it glide the air, he molds it into a bird. My text speaks of four birds of beautiful instinct--the stork, of such strong affection that it is allowed familiarly to come in Holland and Germany and build its nest over the doorway; the sweet dispositioned turtledove, mingling in color white and black and brown and ashen and chestnut; the crane, with voice like the clang of a trumpet; the swallow, swift as a dart shot out of the bow of heaven, falling, mounting, skimming, sailing--four birds started by the prophet 25 centuries ago, yet flying on through the ages, with rousing truth under glossy wing and in the clutch of stout claw. I suppose it may have been this very season of the year--autumn--and the prophet out of doors, thinking of the impenitence of the people of his day, he hears a great cry overhead.

A Sublime Lesson. Now, you know it is no easy thing for one with ordinary delicacy of eyesight to look into the deep blue of noonday heaven, but the prophet looks up, and there are flocks of storks and turtledoves and cranes and swallows drawn out in long lines for flight southward.

As is their habit, the cranes had ar-

ranged themselves in two lines, making

an angle, a wedge splitting the air with wild velocity, the old crane, with commanding call, bidding them onward, while the towns, and the cities, and the continents slid under them. The prophet, almost blinded from looking into the dazzling heavens, stoops down

and begins to think how much superior the birds are in sagacity about their safety than men about theirs, and he puts his hand upon the pen and begins to write, "The stork in heaven knoweth her appointed times, and the turtle, and the crane, and the swallow

observe the time of their coming, but

my people know not the judgment of the Lord."

If you were in the field today, in the clump of trees at the corner of the field, you would see a convention of birds, noisy as the American congress the last night before the adjournment or as the

English parliament when some unfor-

tunate member proposes more economy in the queen's household, a convention of birds all talking at once, moving and passing resolutions on the subject of migration, some proposing to go tomorrow, some moving that they go today, but all unanimous in the fact that they must go soon, for they have march ing orders from the Lord written on the first white sheet of the frost and in the pictorial of the changing leaves.

Mansions Ready For Them. There is not a belted kingfisher, or a chaffinch, or a fire crested wren, or a plover, or a red legged partridge but expects to spend the winter at the south, for the apartments have already been ordered for them in South America or in Africa, and after thousands of miles of flight they will stop in the very tree where they spent last January. Farewell, bright plumage! Until spring weather, away! Fly on, great band of heavenly musicians! Strew the continents with music, and, whether from Ceylon isle, or Carolinian swamps, or Brazilian groves, men see your wings or hear your voice, may they yet bethink themselves of the solemn words of the text, "The stork in heaven knoweth her appointed times, and the turtle, and the crane, and the swallow observe the time of their coming, but my people know not the judgment of the Lord." I propose so far as God may help me in this sermon carrying out the idea of the text to show that the birds of the air have more sagacity than men. And I begin by particularizing and saying that they mingle music with their work. The most serious undertaking of a bird's life is this annual flight southward. Naturalists tell us that they arrive thin and weary and plumage ruffled, and yet they go singing all the way, the ground the lower line of the music, the sky the upper line of the music, themselves the notes scattered up and down between. I suppose their song gives elasticity to their wing and helps on with the journey, dwindling 1,000 miles into 400. Would God that we were as wise as they in mingling Christian song with our everyday work! I believe there is such a thing as taking the pitch of Christian devotion in the morning and keeping it all the day. I think we might take some of the dullest, heaviest, most disagreeable work of our life and set it to the tune of "Antioch" or "Mount Pisgah."

Song and Praise. It is a good sign when you hear a workman whistle. It is a better sign when you hear him hum a roundelay. It is a still better sign when you hear him sing the words of Isaac Waits or Charles Wesley. A violin chorded and strung, if something accidentally strikes it, makes music, and I suppose there is such a thing as having our hearts so attuned by divine grace that even the rough collisions of life will make a heavenly vibration. I do not believe that the power of Christian song has yet been fully tried. I believe that if you could sell the "Old Hundred" doxology through the street it would put an end to my panic. I believe that the discords, and the sorrows, and the sins of the world are to be swept out by heaven born hallelujahs. Some one asked Haydn, the celebrated musician, why he always composed such cheerful music. "Why," he said, "I can't do otherwise. When I think of God, my soul is so full of joy that the notes leap and dance from my pen." I wish we might all exult melodiously before the Lord. With God for our Father, and Christ for our Saviour, and heaven for our home and music for future com[?], and eternity for a lifetime, we [?] strike all the notes of joy. Going through the wilderness of this world let us remember that we are on the way to the summery clime of heaven, and from the migratory populations flying through the autumnal air learn always to keep singing:

Children of the heavenly king, As ye journey, sweetly sing. Sing your Saviour's worthy praise, Glorious in his work and ways. Ye are traveling home to God, In the way your fathers trod. They are happy now, and we Soon their happiness shall see.

The church of God never will be a triumphant church until it becomes a singing church.

Away Beyond Danger.

I go further and remark that the birds of the air are wiser than we in the fact that in their migration they fly very high. During the summer, when they are in the fields, they often come within reach of the gun, but when they start for the annual flight southward they take their places midheaven and go straight as a mark. The longest rifle that was ever brough to shoulder cannot reach them. Would to God that we were as wise as the stork and crane in our flight heavenward! We fly so low that we are within [?] range of the world, the flesh and the devil. We are brought down by temptations that ought not to come within a mile of reaching us. Oh, for some of the faith of George Muller of England and Alfred Cookman, once of the church militant, now of the church triumphant! So poor is the type of piety in the church of God now that men actually caricature the idea that there is any such thing as a higher life. Moles never did believe in eagles. But my brethren, because we have not reached these heights ourselves, shall we deride the fact that there are any such heights? A man was once talking to Brunch, the famous engineer, about the length of the railroad from London to Bristol. The engineer said: "It is not very great. We shall have after awhile a steamer running from England to New York." They laughed him to scorn, but we have gone so far now that we have ceased to laugh at anything as impossible for human achievement. Then, I ask, is anything impossible for the Lord? I do not believe that God exhausted all his grace in Paul and Latimer and Edward Payson. I believe there are higher points of Christian attainment to be reached in the future ages of the Christian world.

Get Out of the Old Ruts.

You tell me that Paul went up to the tiptop of the Alps of Christian attainment. Then I tell you that the stork and crane have found above the Alps plenty of room for free flying. We go out and we conquer our temptation by the grace of God and lie down. On the morrow those temptations rally themselves and attack us, and by the grace of God we defeat them again, but staying all the time in the old encampment we nave the same old battles to fight over. Why not whip out our temptations and then forward march, making one raid through the enemy's country, stopping not until we break ranks after the last victory. Do, my brethren, let us have some novelty of combat, at any rate, by changing, by going on, by making advancement, trading off our stale prayers about sins we ought to have quit long ago, going on toward a higher state of Christian character, and routing out sins that we have never thought of yet. The fact is, if the church of God, if we as individuals, made rapid advancement

in the Christian life these stereotyped prayers we have been making for 10 or 15 years would be as inappropriate to us as the shoes, and the hats, and the coats we wore 10 or 15 years ago. Oh, for a higher flight in the Christian life, the stork and the crane in their migration teaching us the lesson!

Dear Lord, and shall we ever live At this poor dying rate, Our love so faint, so cold to thee, And thine to us so great?

Before It Is Too Late. Again, I remark that the birds of the air are wiser than we because they know when to start. If you should go out now and shout, "Stop, storks and cranes, don't be in a hurry!" they would say, "No, we cannot stop. Last night we heard the roaring in the woods bidding us away, and the shrill flute of the north wind has sounded the retreat. We must go. We must go." So they gather themselves into companies, and turning not aside for storm, or mountain top, or shock of musketry, over land and sea, straight as an arrow to the mark, they go. And if you come out this morning with a sack of corn and throw it in the fields and try to get them to stop they are so far up they would hardly see it. They are on their way south. You could not stop them. Oh, that we were as wise about the best time to start for God and heaven! We say: "Wait until it is a little later in the season of mercy. Wait until some of these green leaves of hope are all dried up and have been scattered. Wait until next year." After awhile we start, and it is too late, and we perish in the way when God's wrath is kindled but a little. There are, you know, exceptional cases, where birds have started too late, and in the morning you have found them dead on the snow. And there are those who have perished half way between the world and Christ. They waited until the last sickness, when the mind was gone, or they were on the express train going at 40 miles an hour, and they came to the bridge, and the "draw was up," and they went down. How long to repent and pray? Two seconds! To do the work of a lifetime and to prepare for the vast eternity in two seconds! I was reading of an entertainment given in a king's court, and there were musicians there, with elaborate pieces of music. After awhile Mozart came and began to play, and he had a blank piece of paper before him, and the king familiarly looked over his shoulder and said: "What are you playing? I see no music before you." And Mozart put his hand on his brow, as much as to say, "I am improvising." It was very well for him; but, oh, my friends, we cannot extemporize heaven. If we do not get prepared in this world, we will never take part in the orchestral harmonies of the saved. Oh, that we were as wise as the crane and the stork, flying away, flying away from the tempest!

The Frost of Sin.

Some of you have felt the pinching frost of sin. You feel it today. You are not happy. I look into your faces, and I know you are not happy. There are voices within your soul that will not be silenced, telling you that you are sinners, and that without the pardon of God you are undone forever. What are you going to do, my friends, with the accumulated transgressions of this lifetime? Will you stand still and let the avalanche tumble over you? Oh, that you would go away into the warm heart of God's mercy! The southern grove, redolent with magnolia and cactus, never waited for northern flocks as God has waited for you, saying: "I have loved thee with an everlasting love. Come unto me, all ye who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Another frost is bidding you away. It is the frost of sorrow. Where do you live now? "Oh," you say, "I have moved." Why did you move? You say, "I don't want as large a house now as formerly." Why do you not want as large a house? You say, "My family is not so large." Where have they gone to? Eternity! Your mind goes back through that last sickness, and through the almost supernatural effort to keep life, and through those prayers that seemed unavailing, and through that kiss which received no response because the lips were lifeless, and I hear the bells tolling, and I hear the hearts breaking. While I speak I hear them break. A heart! Another heart! Alone, alone, alone! This world, which in your girlhood and boyhood was sunshine, is cold now, and, oh! weary dove, you fly around this world as though you would like to stay, when the wind, and the frost, and the blackening clouds would bid you away into the heart of an all-comforting God.

No Comfort In Worldliness. Oh, I have noticed again and again what a botch this world makes of it when it tries to comfort a soul in trouble! It says, "Don't cry!" How can we help crying when the heart's treasures

are scattered, and father is gone, and mother is gone, and companions are gone, and the child is gone, and everything seems gone? It is no comfort to tell a man not to cry. The world comes up and says, "Oh, it is only the body of your loved one that you have put in the ground!" But there is no comfort in that. That body is precious. Shall we never put our hand in that hand again, and shall we never see that sweet face again? Away with your heartlessness, O world! But come, Jesus, and tell us that when the tears fall they fall into God's bottle; that the dear bodies of our loved ones shall rise radiant in the resurrection, and all the breakings down here shall be liftings up there, and "they shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more, neither shall the sun light on them nor any heat, for the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall lead them to living fountains of water, and God shall wipe all tears from their eyes." Take All Your Family. You may have noticed that when the chaffinch, or the stork, or the crane starts on its migration it calls all those of its kind to come too. The tree tops are full of chirp and whistle and carol, and the long roll call. The bird does not start off alone. It gathers all of its kind. Oh, that you might be as wise in this migration to heaven, and that you might gather all your families and your friends with you! I would that Hannah might take Samuel by the hand, and Abraham might take Isaac, and Hagar might take Ishmael. I ask you if those who sat at your breakfast table this morning will sit with you in heaven. I ask you what influences you are trying to bring upon them, what example you are setting them. Are you calling them to go with you? Aye, aye, have you started yourself?

dren with you. Come, thou and all thy house, into the ark. Tell your little ones that there are realms of balm and sweetness for all those who fly in the right direction. Swifter than eagle's stroke put out for heaven. like the crane, or the stork, stop not night nor day until you find the right place for stopping. Seated today in Christian service, will you be seated in the same glorious service when the heavens have passed away with a great noise, and the elements have melted with fervent heart, and the redeemed are gathered around the throne of Jesus?

The Saviour calls. Ye wanderers, come. Oh, ye benighted souls, Why longer roam? The Spirit calls today. Yield to his power. Oh, grieve him not way. 'Tis mercy's hour.

A QUEER DIVORCE CASE. Unusual and Extreme Cruelty Without Recourse in Personal Violence.

The counsel in a recent divorce case, remarkable even in the annals of the Chicago courts, ought to defeat the plain-

tiff's case on [?], but fortunately without [?]. The wife, who sought the divorce, was a particularly mild and obedient woman, and the husband had [?] of [?] ing cruelty without [?] frequently to personal violence. He compelled her after her [?] for her father and to [?] aunts, with whom she had [?] she wished nothing more to do with them. The letters, which were dictated by him, and which she was compelled to send them contained insulting and [?] expressions. At the least sign of a failure to obey him promptly the husband directed his wife to stay in bed for periods of from a day to two or three weeks, only allowing her to rise to prepare his meals or to attend to the horses. When she was sick, he pushed her on one occasion to

the floor, and when she cried he told her that she could stay in bed a day for every sob and counted them until the number of 14 was reached, and then directed her to stay in bed 14 days and restricted her to a diet of bread and water. On one occasion he made her stay all night in the [?] shed, though he gave her a revolver with which she could alarm him if a burglar disturbed her. He took her young [?] away from her and hid it away without allowing her to know where it was until a month

or two later, when she finally revolted and began the divorce suit. The details of the case were most heartrending, and Chief Judge Tuley, before whom the case was tried, said that the facts showed a case of cruelty to which in over 10 years of [?] on the bench he has never known the equal.

The law in Illinois, however, requires that "extreme and repeated cruelty" must be shown, and it has been held that [?] into the charge there must be more [?] physical violence shown. An attempt was made to prevent the divorce on the ground that the defendant did not violently lay his hands upon his wife [?] on one occasion, when he [?]. Judge Tuley, however, breaks away from old rulings, although he says the tearing away of the child from the arms of the mother might be considered a second act of physical violence. He holds that there may be the most extreme cruelty inflicted on a refined and delicate woman which would not be cruelty toward a [?] and brutal nature. The Chicago Legal News protests against the attempt to follow in Illinois the antiquated rule based on the case 100 years old that there must be at least two acts of physical violence.--New York Tribune.

The Pope's Simple Meals. The pope is by etiquette deprived of the comfort of companions at table, a circumstance which his holiness very much deplores. This is his daily menu: Breakfast, a cup of milk and coffee and a roll without butter. Dinner, soup, several kinds of meat, pastry in Italian style, a roast and either fried potatoes or vegetables; with this the pope drinks a glass of old Burgundy and finishes with a little fruit. At 6 o'clock Leo takes a cup of bouillon and a small glass of claret, and 10:30 he takes his supper of cold meat and a cup of bouillon.--New York World.

Mrs. Stevenson In the Chair.

Mrs. Stevenson presided at the recent convention of the Daughters of the American Revolution. The wife of the vice president has evidently never opened the covers of her husband's authorities on parliamentary order. But she was not blind to her own defects, so she supplied them quite easily by engaging as adviser a mild mannered man, who nevertheless knew all about overruling and quashing and laying on the table. This man sat at Mrs. Stevenson's elbow, told her what to do next in all cases and scuttled a number of ships in the shape of resolutions offered by adventurous

Daughters.

The first little incident of this sort was when a motion was offered by a distinguished looking woman from the Mount Vernon chapter. Mrs. Stevenson was standing at the time, and without waiting for any discussion asked the yeas and nays and got them, too, before the little man or any one else had a chance to draw a long breath. Immediately there was a storm of opposition. Then the mild parliamentarian whispered something to Mrs. Stevenson. She pounded in a ladylike manner with her pretty

gavel and said:

"The question before the congress, ladies, is the resolution. We can do one of two things with it. We can either--we can either what?" she blandly and frankly asked, turning to the blushing parliamentarian.

It was so openly done that it brought down the house. Mrs. Stevenson laughed, the little man laughed, everybody laughed, and order was not restored for several minutes. Then they had the resolution on the table and went gayly on about their business.--New York Sun.

WRITING WITH BOTH HANDS. Vertical Writing and How It Prevents the Evil of Writer's Cramp.

We have all heard of the barber who cuts hair "with ambidextrous facility." Here is Mr. Jack of West Norwood, writing to The Morning Post to say that we should all write in the same bimanual fashion. It is well known, he says, that scrivener's palsy or writer's cramp is caused by excessive use of the muscles engaged in the act of writing. It is also generally known that [?] to this serious malady [?] almost exclusively from the [?] obliquely writing community. [?] this results from the fact that [?] majority of our people were [?]

sloping writers, or, as medical [?] authorities declare, from the [?] effects of slanting the writing [?]

all, it is not for us to say, but [?]

surely know that vertical writing is actually the only hygienic system and that it does not induce the disease above referred to, as witness the typical case

where a sufferer from the cramp fully recovered after abandoning the sloping

style and adopting the upright.

One of the best known specialists in nervous disorders writes just recently

on this very question and gives as his

opinion, founded on the observation and treatment of a large number of cases,

that vertical writing must be used if the disease is to be averted, or, as the alternative, ambidexterity must be taught and acquired. Since upright penmanship is the only method equally adapted for both hands, this is tantamount to saying, "Write vertically with one hand or both, but write vertically," and writer's cramp will then become matter of history. We have here an almost irresistible argument for the universal adoption of vertical writing, the acquiring of which is so wonderfully

easy and simple, whatever the age or ability of the writer.

After these preliminary observations, what about left handed penmanship? Is it desirable or necessary? What are its advantages or claims? Surely the attitude of The Lancet is sufficient reply. For, first, is it not quite true that thousands--nay, tens of thousands--of persons write for very long periods--eight, ten, twelve or even fourteen hours daily--and this often for years together? Is it not also equally true that many of these persons, quite a large number in the aggregate of these electrical machines, soon get out of order and work irregularly, while an alarmingly large proportion of them cease working altogether at a comparatively early stage utterly disabled? Now, if these failures result from overworked muscles, and they certainly do, it is obvious that they could be avoided if the cause of them were removed.

Teach and practice lefthand writing, and the object is reached. The clerk, copyist or author tires his right hand, arm, etc., wearies the muscles and deteriorates their powers, say, in the first half of the day. He then has recourse to his reserve set of muscles, and for the remainder of his time the left side hand and arm are put into requisition, the right hand thus obtaining that rest which in no other condition could be secured. Or, assuming for the time being that both hands wrote exactly the same style, they could be alternately used several times during the day, and thus neither set of muscles would get strained or fatigued at all. Thus the first great advantage to be derived from left hand writing is the avoidance of writer's cramp--an affliction that is becoming more prevalent every year--and similar troubles, and the second advantage is reducing to a minimum the extreme weariness consequent upon long hours at the desk. Ambidexterity in handwriting should certainly be taught to the rising generation. It could not do harm, and it certainly would do a great amount of good. It would not occupy more time, and the results would be widespread and in every way beneficial.--Westminster Budget.

WONDERFUL BOYS. Calculated Instantly the Number of Seconds In Forty-eight Years.

There are of course many excellent books which deal with boys in fiction, and there are also actual biographies which narrate what promising your persons certain individuals were who in later life achieved greatness, but in the latter case the prophecy is made after the event, and somehow or other the youth thus eulogized has generally too little of the boy about him to be quite believed in. What I venture to propose is that some sympathetic writer should tell us "what boys have done" when they were boys.

This is by no means so small a matter as may be supposed.

There are of course the musical boys. Handel, who at 9 years old "composed a church service for voices and instruments every week" and at 15 brought out three successful operas, and Mozart, who also at 9 had a reception in London "such as the curious give to novelty, the scientific to intelligence and the great to what administers to stately pleasure." At 10 he "composed a mass for the dedication of the Church of the Orphans of Vienna and acted as director in person." These were certainly boys who made some noise in the world. Then there were the calculating boys, who, it is noteworthy, distinguished themselves as juveniles much more than as grownups--Zerah Colburn, who astonished the scientific world of London as a child "by mixing the number 8 progressively up to the tenth power," and whose mind was a fertile soil for cube roots when his contemporaries were learning addition. One gentleman, by way of a side dish during a feast of figures, asked him how many seconds there were in 48 years, and before the question could be written down he answered it correctly. George [?] made even this youth take a back seat, for, at 12 years old, when taken to the stock exchange, he was asked this little question, and answered it in one minute: "If the pendulum of a clock vibrates the distance of 9¾ inches in a second, how many inches will it vibrate in the course of 7 years, 14 days, 2 hours, 1 minute, 56 seconds?" Even with pencil and paper I know persons, who shall be nameless, that could not answer this is in seven years.

Then there was Chatterton, "the marvelous boy, who perished in his pride," and in quote another line of business. Thomas Matkin[?], who died not "a dotard at 7," but undeniably the greatest scholar of his age. He was an "all around" genius. He knew more about Greek at 4 than some people, again I forebear to mention names, at 14.

At 5 he made copies of some of Raphael's heads so admirably that connoisseurs prophesied he would be a great artist. His most remarkable feat, however, because it showed imaginative powers of a high order, was his description of a visionary country called Allestone, of which he considered himself king.

He wrote its history in a number of tales and letters and drew maps of it, giving names of his own invention to its mountains, rivers and seaports.

He was probably the most remarkable boy, though indeed he was but a child, who ever lived.

The most excellent boy from the financial point of view was, however, undoubtedly Willian King West Betty, better known as "the young Roscius," who at 15 years of age retired from the stage, having made something like £30,000 for his family.

Here was "something like" a boy, though, in fact, he was not in the least like one, and happy should be the father who has his quiver full of such.--James Payn in London Illustrated News.

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Floating Palaces.

Sir Nathaniel Barnaby, the chief constructor of the British navy, has given the weight of his high reputation to the possibility of constructing a ship for Atlantic navigation which will be 1,000 feet long and 330 feet broad, with engines of 60,000 horsepower and an ocean speed of 15 knots. The ship he described as a "steel island," which will be incapable of entering any dock, at any rate as at present constructed, having several engines working side by side. He thinks that a draft of 26 feet of water need never be exceeded. "I do firmly believe," said Sir Nathaniel, "that we shall get the mastery over the seas, and that we shall live more hap-

pily in a large marine residence, capable of steaming 15 knots an hour, than we can ever live in a seaside town. This project is not, however, intended to shorten the duration of a transatlantic voyage, but to make it more tolerable while it lasts.

Most of the effects hitherto made to deal with the problem of Atlantic navigation have aimed at speed as the first essential, and have left out of account the possibility of making such mechanical pro-

visions against and [?] as would enable the most squeamish of passengers to contemplate an Atlantic voyage with perfect equanimity. In this direction the achievements of the last half century have been truly marvelous."--Manufac-turers' Gazette.

The Old Deadwood and the New. If the occupants of the graves in the Deadwood cemetery could come forth and talk, what a wonderful story they could tell! I kept a general store in Deadwood in 1876 and was there when Rev. Henry Weston Smith was so cruelly murdered. He was on his way to Crook City to preach a sermon when he was ambushed by Indians, who mistook him for Frank Curley, a desperado who had stolen a squaw and ill treated them. They shot Mr. Smith from behind and cut him to pieces after he fell from his horse. I once saw two gamblers take a man out of a den on what was called Two Pair row and march him up to the head of the street, where they shot him through the head. He had been cheating them at their own game for more than a week, and the night they caught him he happened to be unarmed. All that is past now. You might think you were in a quiet mining village gin Pennsylvania. The site of my old store is occupied by a little Methodist church. The place called the Bad

Lands, where there were so many gam-

bling saloons and so many murders, has never been rebuilt since it was burned several years ago. The old time miners who worked on grub stakes have disappeared. Their places have been taken by wealthy corporations. Placer mining has been abandoned entirely. Once in awhile an old fellow will bring in a bag of gold dust, but not often. It is hard to make gold mining pay nowa-

days without plenty of capital, because with all the new appliances for [?] work used by the big companies the individual operator has very little [?]. --New York Mall and Express.

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A Lost Ring. A very swell and very pretty girl, who lives not a mile from the big Fifth avenue cathedral, has been receiving countless condolences on the announced loss of her engagement ring, a sapphire between two big diamonds. She has been partially consoled by the gift from her family of another handmade ring. Now she is begining to quake and have all sorts of [?], both [?] and mental, because she is afraid some one of the six persons who know the truth about the loss will tell that it occurred at the poker table [?] moment of frenzy [?] put up the ring to call [?] and lost it. This is an absolutely true story, as six persons who read [?] by this [?].--Molly Knickerbocker in New York Recorder.

W[?] was [?] and [?] worked at the beach.

Cleveland Before the Camera.

Sometimes the unexpected prevents the photographer from getting a celebrity before his camera. This happened at Lakewood two days previous to the second inauguration of President Cleveland. Both Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland were willing to grant the favor I asked, and the

nurse and Miss Ruth were accordingly sent for. "I fear you will find the nurse a little suspicious," Mr. Cleveland said. The nurse came in promptly, but without Ruth. She put her foot down, as women will sometimes, and declared: "She shall not have her picture taken today. If she should, Mr. Cleveland will never live to be inaugurated." That settled it, for the will of Ruth's custodian was law in that household. Then I turned to Mr. Cleveland and asked him to sit for me. "Well," he said in his calm way, "you photographers [?] me a great deal, and I do not care much about having my picture taken." "Let me [?] you standing in front of your house. Possible you may not care particularly now, but 10 years hence these pictures will recall pleasant days and scenes." The idea seemed to strike him favorably.

"You may get them all together for me some day," he replied. And my request was granted.--G. Fach in New York Herald.

Lifting a Dead Tiger.

When one comes to lifting a dead tiger, one becomes fully aware of its weight. So does one arrive at due appreciation of its strength after once feeling the forearm, which is one splendid mass of steellike muscle. The one understands how the tiger in his prime can throw a bullock over its shoulder and canter away with it. Then, too, one may well come to poohpooh the claim of the lion to be styled the king of beasts. But however interesting may be the study of the tiger in this partic-

ular phase once or so, it palls after a time. Lifting it is peculiarly hard and hot work, and it is dirty work also, and is sometimes made particularly exasperating by the laches of the elephant selected for the carriage of the tiger, for that intellectual beast is required to kneel to receive its freight and to kneel

long enough to allow that freight to be

hoisted on the pad and fastened on. And as often as not it will rise at the critical moment just when the tiger has been raised to the edge of the pad and tumble the tiger and some of its lifters on to the ground, and so bring about the status quo ante. The elephant has wonderful intelligence in some utterly useless directions. It will, for example, pick up a pin with its trunk, and I dare say with suffi-

cient encouragement would swallow that and convert its interior economy

into a pincushion, but I have never known one to direct its talents to the simplification of tiger padding, although

I have seen many devote their minds and bodies to the unnecessary duty of adding to the difficulties of that opera-tion.--Blackwood's Magazine.

What He Regretted.

One of the govern[?] broke a chair over his wife's [?]. When taken to jail and conversed with by the chaplain, he displayed a good deal of repentance. He said he was very sorry that he had permitted [?] the [?] to do such [?] was a good [?] he knew he was [?]--San Francisco [?]

[?] Friends.

The Prince of Wales [?] much time with the [?] wife is a [?] with her royal highness and [?[ grateful and stately girl, [?]--The [?]

[?] long that [?] to it.

The late Fre[?] is said to have been the owner of the largest crysttal in existence. It measures 7 inches in diameter.

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