Supplement to the Ashburton Guardian

Saturday, June 10, 1893.

- J Pr|! lt l ef! »nd P^'^iHhed by tk. Asaburton ?££^g^J££ESE BAXVBU4Y. Jww 10, itu*

-^J^ was drivea ftl . thoroughfare a? a pg^ij Pace» »h™ an°ther "^"7X£ > h" °PP°S. *• *rec tlon ™™ ** ™*£* »uflW>* f°rce * lo^B. horses head on the back of the other horse. The expected outburst of , , X.. .. , ,„„„. strong languace did not take place; W tg ="-- - *••«»•? that had been run into sat still, and. ... ... . . _ ' ..' . with withering politeness, ob3erved to ■ the other driver, " When your 'oss'ave seen all 'c wants to see across my W« J-^ - - S^i-tar j{" ■ * j : « f-k .?"? the D.you !thmk f°? could s^. J, a %***** have n0 P lace for you'

Just the Thing.

Brown-Jones—My dear Miss Youngold, pray don't think me rude, but are tho*e flowers natural or artificial? Miss Youngold—Artificial. Brown-Jones—Really they're most de | ceptlve. And how admirably they suit ! your hair and complexion!— Judy. ' — *—-1

j . . Quite Possible. ! A physician had as presiding genius to his culinary department a negro woman of 1 a social disposition, but of a Bomewh.it | Irascible temper. One night a youthful | admirer, who was accustomed to make frequent evening calls upon the ebony Maria in her kitchen, prolonged his visit to a tiresome length. After Maria bad ! worn out every topic of conversation ol i which she was mistress she essayed to give ; him a delicate hint as to her mental and ' physical weariness by a prodigious yawn. | i Through some miscalculation as to the i stretching capacity of her mouth, however, j she dislocated her jaw in the process. | The doctor was hastily summoned from '■■ above stairs by the distracted young man, who stood diffidently in the background while Maria's jaw was put into working order again. . The first use she made of her recovered 1 power of speech was to turn wrathfully upon the trembling visitor and say tn a tone of withering scorn: "P'raps de nex' time yo 1 goes a-callin an stays an stays till de lady gapes an sufflo cates her jaws, yo'll tak' it fer a hint dat it's 'bout time to be a-gwine home! 11 — , Youth's Companion. Delaying the Ceremony. Featherstone—You know Thistler, who Is engaged to Miss Vesper, the minister's daughter? I hear that his marriage hat been postponed a year. : Ringway—That is a surprise. What If ' the trouble? I Featheretone—He undertook to teach hw younger brother how to play poker.—Truth. j Not Much Acquainted with Him. ! "Your husband," said the caller sympa thieingly, "was a man of excellent quail tieu," "Yes," sighed the widow; "he was a good man, Everybody says so. I wasn't much acquainted with him myself. He be longed to Bix lodges."—Texas Sittings, An Experienced Architect. Architect—About what sise house would ;you like? Gottrich—rt need not be large, t have few friends. Architect—Ah, but you will have plenty of friends when your new house is done.— New York Weekly. j A Financial Origin. i "Lend me a dollar, Twemlo, I'm broke." "What's the matter?" . "Quarreled with my best girl." "What's tbat got to do with it?" "Just paid tbe postage on the letters ah* asked me to return."—Cleveland News.

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

The lively with suspenders, She is to me bo fair, so fair. That I would bo the sailor hat She wears npon her hair. And her shy eyes so Jealously I'd guard that scarce the sun should mol And I would be the surcingle About her dainty, dainty waist. And with my buckle bite the hand * Presumptuously placed Around her li then ess, and I would Make my vocation understood. And I would be her shirt waist. And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom, with Her laughter and her sighs, And my soft yoke should lie bo light It scarce should go unworn at night. * And, chief est, the suspenders I urgently desire to be, . Which from her sloping shoulders Depend so gallusly. And I would hug each shoulder blade Of this most most admirable maid. —New York Sun. " >~. .«•  :"

' * An Idyl of Peaec ' "Attention, Company Pi Hepl hep! Right foot, left foot, hep! btv!" The stentorian voice and lond of anus at midnight awakened everybody on the third floor of the big hotel, and guests, bellboys and chambermaids ran shrieking into the corridors. "What's up! Where are the soldiers?" "Are the troops ordered out?" "What's the row, anyway?" "Forward now! Present arms! Charge bayonets! Fire!" Heads ducked, and a foreign voice called out over a transom: "Vat eez 't? Zee ene> mcc has come? Ha!" " 'Boom ta-ra-ra boom de-ayr Company P! Halt! Left! right! Hep! hep! Ad vance on the left wing. Ground armsl Hepl hep!" Everybody gazed at a closed door on the Other side of which the military commands were thundered. As the noise increased so did the excitement, and soon the land lord, accompanied by his force of clerks, appeared on the scene. "Rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub," went a drum that sounded like a clarion of war, and as the landlord reached the door from which the sound proceeded he was greeted by th« din of an advancing army. "Charge! Wheel! S'lute your com manding officer, Company F." "Hello, there, Company P. Who are you f How did you get in?" called the landlord angrily. "This ain't no United States armory. Let me in there I" "Right foot, left foot, both feet—march!" commanded the voice, as the Hoor-yrssr" flung open, disclosing a small man wrapped in a quilt, carrying a very wide awake in fant and a toy drum. The crowd gave jußt one look, and then fell over each other in their hurry to dis perse, while the little man was explaining mildly: "I've been tryin to amuse the baby."— Detroit Free Press.

A MAD ADVENTURE.

THRILLING EXPERIENCES OF AN AMERICAN IN BRITISH INDIA.

During 1 an Attack to Recapture Pegu from the Burmese He Was Sungtruck and Left to the Mercy of Heathendom—His Escape from a Horrible Fate. (Copyright, 1892, by American Press Associa tion. Book rights reserved.]

DVENTURES galore there were in British India during the trou bles between the government and the natives, but the heroes the world knows about almost al ways hailed from the United King dom. Here is the

story of an Amer-

lean—a down east Yankee from Boston, at that—who went "through fire and water" in the British service and lived to tell of it. He was a snrgeon in the English fleet, and his com rades in the affair called him "doctor" limply, and In recalling his faithful narra tive I respect the Incog., which he pre ferred. .

It was in 1852, before the Sepoy mutiny, and the Incident was connected with the British conquests that led to the famous outbreak in 1857. The English captured Rangoon from the Burmese, and in retal iation the Burmese captured Pegu, the capital of a division of Burmah, whose people loved the British chiefly because both hated the Burmese. The ship to which the doctor was attached sailed up the river to recapture Pegu, but got aground when twenty-five miles from the town, and the troops were placed in cut ters to be rowed to the scene of assault. The banks of the river were lined with hostile natives, but they made no demon stration except to sound their wild alarms over the presence of a war fleet.

The heat was intense and the boats were without awnings, while the sailors were all clad in heavy uniform stuff that added to their misery. The doctor soon suc cumbed to sunstroke and became partly insensible. He realized after a time that he was lying on a litter upon the deck of a Burmese riceboat. His companions were a cabin boy of fourteen and some half naked Hindoos, who were litter bearers belonging to the hospital department. The boat was moored on the bank of the river opposite the place of attack, where there were supposed to be no Burmese enemies, and the sailors and medical corps were all at the scene of fighting.

Sounds of battle reached the doctor's ears, and the rattle of musketry, the booming of cannon and the horrible hubbub created by the Burmese war gongs stirred his al ready overheated brain to the verge of in sanity, and he could scarcely restrain the impulse to plunge into the river and hurry to the battlefield. Finally he awoke from a delirious spell to find everything silent— not a gong to sound the slogan, not a can non boom, not a musket shot to stir the heavy air of the low delta of the Irrawaddy.

The Hindoos were squatting on their haunches, smoking, but the cabin boy was alert, and tried in vain to arouse the intel ligence of the half mad doctor. Finally the Hindoos made a stir, put down their pipes and reconnoitered the high bank above the boat. Immediately they were seized with terror and began to shout, "Burmee, Burmee man; Sahib (master), Sahib—Burmee manl" The boy took it up, and again reconnoitering reported to the prostrate man that a force of Burmese was upon the bank, and wild shouts from that quarter confirmed the startling news. The riceboat was a floating house,, with a timbered roof and sides, and door and win dow openings, but was not proof against the bullets which the Burmese soon hurled at it. i The Hindoo attendants slipped off Into the water and swam away, leaving the helpless patient alone with the boy. The Burmese turned their fire upon the Hin doos in the water, and the boy took advan tage of the incident to urge the doctor to save himself, at the same time drawing a sailor's jacket and trousers over his naked chest and limbs. He also pointed through a door to the English warboats moored under the bank some distance up stream, and half carried and half dragged the poor man to the edge of the scow and hurried him into the water.

The doctor was in a state of excitement resembling, as he said, mania a potu, and he struck out madly, followed at every stroke by the bullets of the Burmese, who hadn't yet mustered courage to attack the cov ered boat. The doctor let his body low in the water, co as to expose only his head, and the bullets generally passed beyond him. An energy that seemed superhuman buoyed up the swimmer until he nearly reached the friendly boats, where he saw a few marines in charge; then suddenly he fainted. A sailor pulled the smallest cut ter from shore and dragged the drowning man on board.

The doctor relapsed Into semi-insensibil ity after his rescue, and was aroused by a sudden outburst of musketry to find him self lying under the awning of the ship's launch. The canvas above him showed by the little streaks of sunlight streaming through that the boat was a target and the shots were taking effect. The Burmese had

BfiOUTED OTRSKS AT TUB SAVAGES, followed the movements of the swimmer and discovered the flotilla sheltered under the high bank. The English sailors deter mined to die hard. They couldn't get Word to their friends on the other shore, nor could they safely abandon the shelter ing bank where they were. Carefully each man watched for a "John Burmah" to show himself on the bluff, and generally dropped him in his tracks. The doctor's rescuer—also a Boston Yankee, named Shields—took aim from the curved bow of the launch, where the Bides were like breastworks, and brought down a tattooed Burmese, who was performing a war dance. A dozen shots were returned on the bow

of the launch, but Shields walked back to the doctor's couch, sat dowu and taking tbe sick man's hand softly exclaimed, "If ever you goto Boston, sir, tell my mother." "Nonsense, man," replied the doctor; "you are not hurt." But when he looked into the poor- man's face he saw death there and tbe closing of the eyes. There was no re sponse to the doctor's remarks except a tightening of tbe grasp on his hand, and with that act the roaming sailor, far, far from home, fell back and expired.

On tbe death of Shields the sailors be came desperate and tried their boat bow itzer upon the Burmese, with no better re sult, however, than to expose the raeu who worked it and lose another hand. The bank was too high for the elevation of the gun. The upshot of the experiment demoralized the little band, and the middy in charge cried out, "Every mob for himself!" and jumped into the river, followed by all the others. The doctor managed to crowd to the Bide of the boat and roll off into the water. Again be swam the gantlet, but reached the oozy bottom of the opposite bank unharmed.

Crawling through the black mud until he was painted with it from head to foot, he reached the top of the bank and sat down half mad and half dazed and shook his fists and shouted curses at the savages across the stream. Wearying of that he wandered off into the jungle, as near as he could judge in the direction taken by the fleeing sailors, and On a well worn tiger trail. His maddened brain held a con fused sense of danger, but no comprehen sion of details.

"I was In the maudlin state of a drunk en man," he declared when recounting it, "reckless of danger because I was crazy. And yet I was not crazy, for I knew there were enemies and I hated them; I knew there was danger and I was cunning." While groping forward in the jungle a form confronted him and mutual recogni tion took place between the doctor and one of the wandering sailors, and the sick man Was lifted and carried to a group of friends. There Were British sepoys, officers, friend ly Peguans and sailors in the group. But before the doctor recovered full conscious ness there was a sudden stir in the party, a rattle of musketry and the shout of battle, then a rush to the river bank, and all hands plunged in.

The doctor, nerved again by mad energy, swam across and climbed the opposite bank. He was alone and delirious, but In lucid intervals conceived the idea that by following down the river bank he could reach Rangoon. He started, and at the end of a mile ran upon a Burmese boat, covered with an awning of mats, lying under the bank. Two stalwart tattooed natives stood on the bank unarmed. On seeing the strange figure—bareheaded, barefooted and black with the river ooze— the savages stared like children, but the doctor, by means of gestures and a jargon of Burmese and Hindoostanee, quieted their fear and induced them to agree to row him to Rangoon. They led him to a seat, took UP their oars and pushed off. "As 1 watched their movements," said the doctor, "I was occupied with but one thought, and that was never to turn my back to them. So I watched them imp* ishly."

As the boat sped on the doctor heard, or fancied that he heard, a confused clamor of noises as of tigers, elephants and

monkeys; of jackals, tattooed people and crocodiles, in short all heathendom in dulging in one diabolical howl. For an in stant he turned his eyes to take in this Imaginary pandemonium, and the tattooed oarsmen quickly drove their boat on the shore, leaped out and disappeared. This desertion put the doctor in a rage and he began to search the boat for a weapon.

Under the cover, huddled in a corner, he came upon a woman and child. With the Indifference of her class the woman be trayed no curiosity aud the doctor at last prevailed on her to give him water. This revived him, and armed with a rice stick used in cooking he awaited new adventures. For a time all was quiet. Then followed shouts, growing louder and louder; a crash in the jungle, and then a party of men burst through the canes near the boat. They were in hot haste, all armed and wearing the Burmese mark of red flags in their ears.

The doctor stood up in the boat brandish* Ing his stick and the savages halted. 16 did not take long for the half mad man to perceive that his wild appearance awed the superstitious beings before him, and he determined to use his power. The leader stepped forward arrayed in the full war panoply of his order, a gold umbrella over his head, red flags in his ears, a musket and a dhar or curved Burmese sword. The herd stood in awe while the doctor tore his hair, stripped off his jacket and stamped on it, sang, capered and made strange noises, the while beckoning the savages to approach.

The chief advanced first, and as the two Stood together on the deck the doctor placed his hands on the savage's shoulder as a Bign to crouch. The chief stood erect, and the doctor knew that until that man bowed in religious awe his own life wasn't worth a cent. By main mad force he pressed him down to the deck and mocked him. As the chief squatted on his haunches with folded hands, the doctor slipped the cord of his sword over his head with one hand and seized his mtlsket With the other, and with many grimaces, threats and gestures got possession of both. Two other Burmese answered the madman's summons and drew near, crouching.

They gave up their lances, but when the doctor attempted to remove their swords they hesitated. Seeing that, the doctor seized the chief's musket, cocked it and held it to the head of the first follower, and he quickly loosened the cord of his dhar and laid the weapon at the madman's feet. The second followed suit and at a sign stepped off the boat. As they .did so there was another remote noise of voices and tramping of feet, and a party of the Eightieth Irish regiment crashed through the brakes, firing right and left upon the Burmese, and the crisis was over. The doctor's feigned madness had saved his life. George L. Kilmer.

SLIPPED THE CORD 0? HIS SWORD OVER HIS HEAD.

Boy : " The teacher says ducks fly at the rate of two hundred miles an hour." Father: "That's nothing. Pheasants fly at the rate of a thousand miles an hour." Boy: "How d'ye know ?" Father : " I've tried to shoot 'em." " Yes, sir," said Jenkins ; '.* Pnrithers is a man who keeps his word; but then he has to." "How is that?" asked Johnson. " Because no one will take it." j Married Man: " Why don't you get married, Miss Perkins 1 You are getting to look like a 'back number —you will soon be an old maid." Miss Perkins : " If I were as easy to please j as your wife was. I would have been . married long ago." | Mother: "When do you suppose that young man who calls upon you will make known his intentions, > Laura?" "Loura: "I think he will propose pretty soon. Last evening he was very anxious to know whether I wild inn on SZQ * ywr,"

The Missing Hand.

Adapted from the French of

AUVELIAN SCHOLL.

By E. BRANFILL HARRISON.

CHAPTER I

On the night of the Bth of February, 1880, a litlle peasant of Laleu, who was spreading snares in the ditches of the preserves at L'Ormiere, was witness of a frightful scene. A window of Madame de Montevrain's chateau suddenly opened ; a man dashed through it, but before letting himself drop, he remained for some seconds hanging by one hand, as if to calculate the distance which sepa rated him from the ground. This hesi tation was fatal to him, for another per son appeared at the window with a hunt ing knife, and with one vigorous blow severed the wrist of the fugitive, who fell Uttering a stifled cry. The little peasant, frozen with terror, crouched down behind a hedge of wild mulberries, which borders the road from Vangoin to Port Neuf. From his hiding place he saw a light appear on the threshold of Madame de Montevrain's house. « A young man came out and, having gently closed the doaj| com menced to examine the ground beneath the still open window. He carried one of those j( , country lanterns that one ■ees everywhere, and was directing its rays on all sides of him. He stooped down, placed the lantern on the ground, and picked up a hand, still warm. He ' then made a hole in the grass with his J knife, and threw the bleeding hand into it. The little peasant watched him bring earth, and cover with several feet of turf the spot he had disturbed; after which, this person continued to advance, looking carefully all round him; from time to time he bent down, seeking for traces of the man who had just escaped him. He thus crossed the first avenue of the little wood which skirts the road from Laleu, and soon found himself near the little peasant who remained as still and silent as a stump. "What are you doing here?" said the man with the lantern. The little peasant began to tremble in every limb. " Sir," he murmured, " I was spread ing snares." "Oh ! you are a thief, a poacher ?" "Oh! sir, I have only taken this month altogether three hares and five partridges." " Get up, and answer my questions !" The boy obeyed, and stood up, cap in hand, with his eyes cast down. "What's your name?" "Francis Bibard." " What does your father do ?" The little peasant opened two big astonished eyes. "Oh! just now he is sleeping as loundly as possible." "Doubtless ; what is his business ?" " He is a vine-grower, and my mother goes out charring.'' "They live at Laleu?" " Yes, sir, down there, quite close to the church ; my mother is the Mother Bibard who comes every month to do the scouring at Madame the Countess de Montevrain's." " Do you know me ?' With a turn of phrase common to the folk of the Annis, Francis Bibard replies by another question. "Isn't it you who is going to marry Mile. Clotiide de Monte'vrain ?" "You are right, it is." " Then you are the Baron de la Mire, the son of the General who came to live here two years ago. 1 like the General ; one day, he found me in his purple vine, and pulled my ears —but not very hard." M. de la Mire seemed satisfied with Francis' answer. " Now that we know one another," he continued, "tell me exactly what you saw just now." Bibard replied without hesitation, "I saw a man get out of the wfndow.'' " Did you see what direction he went off in?" "It seemed to me that he jumped the ditch just this side of the small bridge." "And after?" " I think he must have crossed the high road, and that he has hidden some where near the farm of Grands-gardes, unless he pushed on as far as the mill." " Very well, Francis, you shall come with me, and we will try and find him." " All right, M.le Baron." M. de la Mire set off at so rapid a pace that Francis Bibard was obliged from time to time to trot to keep up with him. They crossed the high road, and made ft tour of inspection round the faim of Grands-Gardes, without discovering any thing, Francis examining carefully the scanty chimps of brushwood.,that broke the monotony of the wide cultivated tields that extend up tothe cliffs of La Repentie. "Tell me," questioned M. de la Mire, "would you recognise that man?" Francis shook his head with an air of doubt. "I only just caught a yiimpse of him when you entered the room—the light passed over him like a flash, and then he was down on the ground." " He was evidently a thief," resumed M. de la Mire. I would give a good round sum toanyone who would find him for me." Francis appeared deeply grieved at not having seen better; he heaved a sigh and said nothing. " How old are you ?" said M. de la Mire. "Fifteen next Martinmas." " Would you like to enter my service ?" " What shall I have to do ?" " My people will teach you." "And I shall be well-dressed like your servant, Joseph." "You shall have clothes exactly the same."

"With those beautiful buttons that hine like gold ?"

" As many buttons as you like." " And I shall be fed ?"

•' Fed and lodged. You will never need to concern yourself about those matters."

Bibard could not believe his ears. Never, in his most extravagant day dreams, had he dared to think of such a lot; but on second thoughts, regarding his ragged clothes and bare feet on the frost-bound earth, he had a doubt—a painful doubt. He thought himself too lowly to thus all at once attain to the dignified position of a servant.

He smiled sadly and asked

" Is M. le Baron laughing at me?"

" Not at all," replied M. de la Mire. " You can help me to find the individual who introduced himself just now at Madame de MonteVrain's ; so you see, I have need of your service ; and to keep you at the house, I must dress you re*

spectably, and give you something to live upon. If you behave well, you can always rely upon me. Come to-morrow to the chateau, and we will arrange everything."

Francis Bibard's soul swelled with joy and pride. He longed for to-morrow to come that he might announce this grand piece of news to his parents. Father Bibard had said that he would never be good for anything, and Mother Bibard was never tired of repeating that her urchin was a young scamp, who would never learn to do anything but eat and drink, and now this calumniated) slighted child was going to have his day of triumph.

" Where are you going to sleep now ?" asked M, de la Mire.

" In the hay-loft, above the cow. I get on to the manger, climb through the skylight, and I sleep in a corner where it is very "warm."

" To-morrow, then, my lad."

Little Bibard went off with a light step, whilst M. de la Mire re-entered the Chateau de Montevrain, a modern chateau,a square building relieved only by a flight of steps in the Renaissance styla which, plumped down at the foot of the building, had the effect of a picture by an old* master that has found its way by accident into a photographer's shop.

In the days when the nobility of Annis were in full possession of all their privi leges, there had been in that marshy flat, a lordly mansion with portcullis and drawbridge ; but the sea had receded, every year yielding a little scrap of land, so that Monte'vrain, which had formerly been on the shore itself, now only gazed upon the water from a distance. Nearly a mile and a half separate it from the beach, and one must ascend to the second story to see the fishing smacks of Saint- Martin and the island of Re\

The marshes, intersected by wide trenches, in which the brackish waters flow, have become fertile meadows, where the flocks and herds feed with relish upon a salt grass, of which they are very fond.

However, after the heavy equinoctial rains, Monte'vrain was still surrounded by water for three or four weeks, and it was necessary to use a flat boat to gain the district road, the roadway of which was raised about a yard above the fields it traversed, Madame de Monte'vrain had lived there for several years ; her daughter Clotiide had received her education there under the eyes of her mother, who had delegated it to an Irish governess, of rigidly Catholic principles, who had died of pulmonary phthisis, at the very mo ment when her pupil ceased to need her instruction. Clotiide had grown up in this obscure corner, under the shade of the big chestnut trees, which protect the vegetable garden from the north wind, Of the earth she knew two square miles , of the sea the portion between the headland of OleVon and the tower oi les Baleiniers.

On Sundays she would go to mass and vespers at the little church of Laleu, and she foimed her idea of the greatness oJ God from the perfume of the flowers and the brightness of the sunbeams; and of His wrath by the fury of the wavesj and the mutterings of the storm.

After General Brimond de la Mire re* tired and came to occupy an old house which thede la Mires had handed down from father to son from time immemo rial, there was instituted every evening a little tea-party at Madame de Monte vrain's. M. Marbran, who received the title of " doctor,'' although he was only •anitary officer, the cure of Laleu, and 0 neighbouring proprietor from Lousmaen who dated his patent of nobility from th< time of Louis XVIII, made up the party to meet the General.

They would play at " boston " for twc sous the counter, and at. the stroke o) ten each would return to his own house, lantern in hand. The General alone had his lantern carried for him by his old 11 valet," who enjoyed the peculiarity o never by any chance performing th( duties of a valet. Ex-fusilier Bricois planted out saplings, pruned away dead boughs, adjusted the casks aad rows ol bottles in the cellar, tinkered up the saucepans, but never had he been known to fold a coat or handle a brush.

The General attended to all his little requirements himself, and when he had finished his task, he would call his "valet."

Robert de la Mire, on quitting Saint lyr, had left for Africa, and one fine day he appeared in the midst of this circle) that was well disposed to admire him, twenty-nine years of age, with the cross of the Legion of Honour on his breast, Tndeed, Robert was a handsome young man, with a fine figure set off by the uni form of a lieutenant of chasseurs. He had some acquaintance with Paris, suffi ciently so to know life, and not suffi ciently to have become corrupted, Good, honest, and generous, he believed in womanly virtue, and when the General, speaking of Clotilde de Montevrain, said : " There is the wife I have chosen for you ;" he at once set himself to love

her in earnest, even before be had made . her acquaintance. ' At the very first interview there passed between these two young people what Stendhal calls a flash of lightning. This sweet, innocent girl was the lieutenant of i chasseurs' ideal, and this young officer, so devoted to his father, who always ad dressed Madame de Monte'vrain so re spectfully, was the husband dreamed of by Clotiide. Their two souls united at the first meeting, simply and without effort. Their hands met one another, ■, and all was said. j Under the apparent calm of this j household, however, there was a secret I I sorrow, which had wrinkled Madame de ! ' Montevrain's brow, and bleached her j hair. j The very day of Clotilde's birth, M. ! de Monte'vrain had quitted the country, j and for eighteen years there had been j no news of him. Was he dead or alive? No one knew. Doctor Marbran had been the witness of a family drama, and it was in him that Madame de Monte'vrain confided, and when the good lady heaved a sigh, raising her eyes to heaven, the doctor would press her hand affectionately, as if to say : " What can you do ? We can not command our destiny." Then she would cast a tender glance at Clotiide, and seem to resign herself. The General doubtless received a more or less complete explanation re garding this mysterious disappearance ; then the subject was dropped, and the marriage of Robert de la Mire with Clo tiide de Monte'vrain was publicly an nounced. The good people of Laleu remarked, from this date, the presence of two or three strangers in the neighbourhood. First of all there was a man of from thirty-two to thirty-five, dressed in black from head to foot, who, under pretext of purchasing property close by, presented himself at the notary's, and made aH sorts of enquiries. He was seen prowl ing about Monte'vrain ; he paid a visit to Doctor Marbran, and learnt from him that Clotiide had a dowry of five hun dred thousand francs, and a still larger fortune in prospect. This individual departed at the end of two or three days ; then, he was seen again, but this time accompanied by two people, who, to use the expression of the rural policeman, were neither quite like gentlefolk nor thieves. It was then that General de la Mire, fearing some danger obtainedpermissionfrom Mme. de Monte vrain to occupy, with his son, a room in the chdteau.

One night, Robert, hearing the floor creak, got up, and started to visit the ground floor. At his approach someone fled. Robert ran in pursuit of him, and had just reached him, when the unknown, sharply flinging up a window sash, sprang out. We have seen to what a sacrifice the unfortunate wretch owed his escape from M. de la Mire. The latter refrained from speaking of this mutilation, which would have grieved Mile, de Monte'vrain, but he hastened I the preparations for his marriage as much as possible. Since that night, a I disquietude possessed him, He felt as if some mysterious danger separated him from his happiness, Clotiide, too, was a prey to sombre presentiments ; often her head would droop upon her breast, and she would address ardent prayers to Heaven. One afternoon, she was seated in a bower of clematis, when she heard voices near her ; it was the well-known voice of Doctor Marbran, endeavouring to re assure Madame de Montevrain. "Perhaps," she was saying; "new trials are in store for me. These spies who surround us are doubtless sent by htm" " No, Madame, 3' replied the doctor ; " after eighteen years he would not dream ofenquiiing what has become of you. He went away with no intention of re turning, and it is almost certain that ht has put the ocean between you. The care he took to arrange all his affairs, and to take away his own fortune, while leaving you yours, is sufficient proof thai he was exiling himself for ever." After a moment's silence, Madame d« Monte'vrain murmured, in a broker voice: " Suppose he were going to take Clo tilde away from me I" " I beg you," said the doctor, " dismiss from your mind all these thoughts thai are troubling you. Clotiide is in safet) while she is with us, and in a few dayi her marriage will place her beyond th< reach of any such attempts, even wer« they possible."

The doctor and Madame de Monte vrain went away.

Clotilde passed her hand over hei forehead, and her eyes became clouded.

Of whom was her mother speaking! Who was this man who had gone awa) eighteen years ago, and who had th< power to tear her from the arms of th« mother who had cherished her?

The poor child had not dreamt 0: finding on the threshold of the life thai was opening before her so many vague troubles and menaces awaiting her.

When Robert de la Mire, who had gone to the town, returned to Monte vrain at the dinner hour, Clotilde tool) his hand, saying :

" Nothing has happened to you?"

"Absolutely nothing," said the lieu tenant of chasseurs ; " but what is th« matter with you ? How pale you are 1"

" I am for ever trembling for our hap piness. Never was a love-marriage an nounced with so many evil presages. There are, I am sure of it, some people who wish us evil.''

"They had better make haste then," said Robert, forcing a smile ; " for the two friends who are to act as my wit nesses, two brother officers, Philippe d'Attigny, and the Viscount de Riensi, will be here on Monday for the signing of the contract. The next day, you will be my wife according to the law, and some hours later my wife before God." (To be conlinutd.)

Never hear more than one kind of trouble at a time. Some people bear three kinds—all they bave had, all they have now, and all they expect to have. A farmer saw a recipe advertised for keeping wells and cisterns from freez ing in winter. Having sent a dozen stamps, he roceived the following;— " Take in your well er cutPjn at night and ■tend ft ia front of the iinV;

| " Was your watohman well recom mended ?" " Oh, not directly. I j used to see him in church, and as he stayed awake all through Dr Sonora's ; sermons, I concluded he was the man I wanted." I Pretty wife— v I knew you would j like this new hat darling. It is be-! coming, and nothing could be simpler, 1 could it?" Darling, thoughtfully—l " Nothing, except the man who has to pay three guineas for it, i A

Ludicrous deliverances are common in advertisements, especially in those of a personal naturei Here is onethat appeared not long ago in a New York paper: "Willie, return to your Jdis tracted wife and frantic children I Do you want to hear of your old mother's suicide ? You will, if you do not let us know where you are. Anyway, send back your father's meerschaum," I

FIGHTING AND FUN.

QUAKER CITY MEN WHO WERE NEI THER SOLEMN NOR PEACEFUL. Story of the One Hundred and Eight eenth Pennsylvania Volunteers (Corn Exchange Regiment)—A Record of Pluck Mid Daring. [Copyright, 1892, by American Press Associa ♦,•«„ B m i «i™v,f n reserved.] STAID Judge of Quaker manners would be puzzled to decide whether the City of Broth er 1 y Love had been scandalized the more by the levity or the pug nacity of the One Hundred and Eighteenth Penn sylvania (Corn Exchange) regi ment. The men were Phlladelphians re cruited under the patronage of the Corn Exchange association, and they turned out to be neither slow nor solemn, but the merriest of the merry; likewise neither too gentle in heart nor too tender in fiber, for many a stand up battle is scored upon their page in history. The formation of the regiment was sug gested in the second emergency of the war —midsummer of 186&—when recruiting had entirely ceased in the north and the losses in the Virginia battles aroused the people to a sense of their new peril. The work was completed within thirty days. Files soon grew to squads, squads to platoons and platoons to companies, and one day the field officers thought it high time for their fine, new and elegantly equipped regiment to exercise at battalion drill, never doubting but the new offspring would honor its parentage at the first chance. In due time the line formed on the crest of a slope and the order was given, "For ward, march I" "It was a delightful and inspiring sight," says the regimental his torian, who never loses sight of the fun While his pen traverses the field of blood. "The men moved down the slope with steady, ringing tread, in perfect line, the rifle barrels—with bayonets on them— gleaming and shimmering in the sunlight. They seemed invincible. As they marched on, the bands playing, the colors flying, a martial spirit in the very air, some unfor tunate trod upon a yellow jackets' nest hidden in the grass. There was music in the air. On, on, regardless of the stings of the indignant buzzers. But another nest was disturbed, and still others; the music increased. The yellow jackets made a spirited attack. The regiment hesitated, faltered, wavered, fled—fled in confusion, covered with stings instead of glory." For a day or two camp was alive with a restless mob of scarred up men, who never theless smiled behind their scars, fof these Were but patches of dry mud plasters. The field was cleared of hornets by cautious tactics, and drill went on until a call sum moned the men in haste to Antietam, there to measure stings with another species of bee.

The One Hnadred and Eighteenth joined Barnes' brigade of the Fifth corps on the field at Antietam, and on the 20th of Sep tember, the day after Lee's retreat, was ordered across the Potomac by the Shep herdstown ford to reconnoiter the enemy. Another division had already crossed at the sains ford on a similar errand. While the Corn Exchange men were wading the stream they were met by some of their vet eran comrades returning from the Vir ginia side, and in the spirit of guying the fresh recruits the latter called to them, "No enemy in Bight." The Philadelphians had the lead in the brigade, and when about half the regiment had crossed and the head of the line was toiling slowly up the Virginia bluffs by a ravine that cut into them at an easy slope an orderly dashed up to Gen. Barnes and reported the enemy on hand in heavy force. Gen. Barnes was to the front directing the march of the Corn Exchange regiment and told the colonel to get his men quickly to the top of the cliff, then rode back into the water to hasten the rest of his brigade across. Col. Prevost, of the One Hundred and Eighteenth, led on up the bluff. There, on the edge of a belt of timber they had Just quitted, stood several battalions of Confederates formed to advance. Col. Prevost sent out skirmishers, and at this challenge the enemy opened upon the hapless ranks exposed on the edge of the bluffs. The regiment was not fully formed, but the colors were on the ground, and after some slight wavering every company reached its place in the line of battle and every unwounded man responded to orders. Bullets flew with the rush of a wind storm, and dozens and scores of the men dropped in their tracks. The fire was re turned, as was supposed, with all the des peration the occasion called for, but, alas! the "enemy's ranks showed no signs of punishment, and the rammers plunged into the muskets of the Pennsylvanians gave back no solid sound, but stopped short of the bottom of the gun barrels. Their weapons were new Enfields received at the Philadelphia camp, and this hot ambush fight was the first test of their efficiency, They didn't go off, and there stood a regi ment of untried men almost at arm's length from a division of veteran antag onists and unable to fire a shot.

COt,. 0. M. PREVOBT. Not only that, but a steep bluff and a wide river behind debarred their orderly retreat otlt Of the useless contest. The boys had backed off from one hornet's fleet to swear in their chagrin that next time they would stick it out or die in trying, and for a moment it looked as though the Whole command would stay to be hurled from the bluff by Confederate bullets or bayonets. But suddenly a body of the ene my deployed between the luckless band and their line of retreat down the ravine, and Col. Prevost wheeled two companies about to oheck the movement. Supposing

this to be a beginning of a retreat the re main* g companies nearest th« ravine gave way, and in order to re-establish the line Col. Prevost took the flag into his own hands and rallied the men on their old po sition.

Aroused by this show of pluck the ene my's whole line charged in with a yell and brought the fight to close quarters. Foul muskets no longer made the slaughter one sided, and with clubbed guns, bayonets, swords and pistols officers and men de fended their lives. Col. Prevost fell with | a shattered shoulder blade while still wav ing the colors. He had twice received in direct orders to retire and had ignored them, but soon after he was wounded a I third imperative summons reached the field, and the officers led the men by com panies back down the ravine. During the fight a tree had fallen across it «o as to block up the pathway, and there the men were entangled and delayed until many were shot from the bluffs above. Others took a shorter course and jumped down the precipice to the river. While the mass was huddled there a Union battery across the Potomac opened fire with shortened fuses, and, before the effect was noted, killed or mangled a dozen or more unfor tunates.

1 The survivors reached the Maryland .shore by wading or swimming and en camped in sight of the field. The missint? ones numbered 269, of whom 78 proved to be dead, 86 wounded and 105 captured. Many of the dead lay on the shore or along the slope unburied within range of the rifles of Confederate sharpshooters. Seeing that there was nothing done to recover and bury the dead, a lieutenant in the regi ment, L. L. Crocker, asked permission to cross the river for that purpose. The re quest was denied. The lieutenant went ahead, however, on his own hook. He se cured the bodies of three fellow officers and carried them to the river bank, and was met by an order from corps head quarters to return to camp or he would be "shelled out." "Tell them to shell and be d-—d I" said he, and kept on with his work.

Shortly a Confederate general rode over the ground and demanded an explanation of the trespass in absence of a formal truce. Crocker replied that he was acting with out authority because the same had been refused him: that the dead and wounded Were his comrades, and rules or no rules humanity and decency called for action. "How long have you been in servicef' asked the general, who was an old regular. 'Twenty days," said the lieutenant proud ly. "I thought so." Argument would be useless on such a novice, and his earnest ness disarmed all severity, so the general stationed patrols around the field and kind ly pointed out a boat that would serve to ferry the bodies across the river. On re turning to camp Crocker was placed in ar rest, but no one had the heart to humiliate a soldier so brave and energetic, and the charge was dismissed.

At Fredericksburg the regiment followed the charging columns to within 300 feet of the stone wall, and remained a night and a day under a sharpshooter's fire that was fatal the moment a man exposed himself.

HALTING ON THE OLD LINE. The casualties were 61, of which number 14 died of their wounds. At Chancellorsville 160 men and officers made a brilliant Bkirmiah line charge and recovered a posi tion close to the enemy and raked by a steady lire of musketry. They passed a night in the captured works, and a storm coming up one of them, Capt. Henry O'Neill, who had volunteered for the en terprise and was equipped as a private sol dier, erected a shelter tent, lit a candle and passed the time in reading. When the sharpshooter's bullets made leak holes in the canvas he plugged them with wads of paper. O'Neill was a character who furnished no end of camp fun. When ha volunteered to go into the ranks at Chan cellorsville as a skirmish fighter he de clared that he was "joost tired o' marking time behind breastworks." He said he lit the candle in hia tent to charm away the lightning. Confederate bullets didn't wor ry him.

O'Neill was subsequently promoted to major, and on his first succession to the command of the regiment was ordered to hold battalion review. "He constituted himself both commandant and reviewing officer," writes the historian of the regi ment, "He appeared mounted, his trous* ers hidden beneath his 'seven league boots' and his sword at right shoulder 6hif t. The ceremony of presenting arms, opening ranks, music, etc., was entirely omitted. The major's habit was to run his com mands together with such rapidity that the words were scarcely distinguishable, con cluding with the command of execution— that he always had right in a high and piercing key.

Better probably that he did, for the lat ter alone Indicated the movement to be ex* ecuted. The cautionary directions were of his own phrasing and he disdained to be cramped by adherence to the manual of tactics. Familiarity with his methods and what he proposed to accomplish ex* tricated the battalion from staggering dif ficulties, On this occasion he announced the review and continued himself in com* lnand. From the right he began the cer emony with, "Break into open column of companies right in front; the kivering ser geants will be responsible for the distance —marchl" and then hurried off to his place As reviewing officer.

When the whole column had passed, the senior captain started to conduct it to the parade for a concluding "present." When tired of the operation, or believing that it had really ended, O'Neill suddenly broke Up the affair with the startling command: "Haiti Disperse and be d—d to yoUl Every mail to his quarters at once."

In the wheat field at Gettysburg, at the Wilderness, Spottsylvania, Cold Harbor, Petersburg and Five Porks the One Hun dred and Eighteenth bore its part in the fighting of the Fifth corps. Its victims to the number of 802 fell on twenty battle fields, and its death roll reached 141.

George L. Kilmer,

During an equestrian performance a number of ladies in the front stood up, thus obstructing the view of those persons who were seated. In vain were they collectively requested to sit down, till at last a happy thought occurred to one of the sufferers. He called out, in measured tones, " Will the pretty lady in front kindly sit down V whereupon about fifty old women briskly seated themselves.

Stranger (at the door): "I am try ing to find a lady whose married name I have forgotten, but I know she livrs in this neighbourhood, She is a woman easily described, and perhaps you know he r-^a singularly beautiful creature, with pink and white com plexion, seaahell ears, lovely eyes, and hair such as a goddess might rnvy." Servant; ••Really, sir, I don't know —— " Voice (irom head of stairs): " Jane, tell the gentleman I'll be down in a minute/

" How are you finding business, doctor 1" was asked of a physician. tl Capital," he replied ; "I have all I can to attend to." " I didn't under stand that there was much illness about." "No, there isn't. But we physicians do not depend upon sick ness for an income. Oh, no j most of our money is made from people who have nothing the matter with them."

A. wedding in the West.—" Do you take this woman whose hand you're a-squeezin' to be your lawful wife, in flush times an' skimp 1?" "I reckon that's about the size of it, squire." "Do you take this man you've j'ined fists with to be your p&rd through thick an' thin ?" " Well, you're about right for once, old man.' '• All right, then. Kiss in court, an* I reckon you're married about as tight as the law kin j'ine you. I guess four bits '11 do, Bill, if I don't hare to kiss the bride. If I do, it's aix bitg extra,"

The triumph of Art over Nature is illustrated in the fact that an artist recently made a painting of some beech trees in an old pasture, which he sold for JE2BO. The owner of the pasture parted company with his pro perty at about the same time for .£l5O, and ca'led it a good sale at that,

The mystery Explained.—The audi ence of a well-known London theatre were recently delighted with the fol lowing unrehearsed effect:—(Darkened stage. Enter jealous heroine, softly)— " 'Twas here that they were to meet. They little know that their perfidious love-waking will be overheard by me. I will watch my opportunity and con front him. But, soft! Methought I heard a footfall." (Disturbance in the dress circle, caused by gentleman with creaky boots proceeding hurriedly to his place). Voice of indignation from the gallerys "Why dop't you take













