/ r^~daovX two pints on the lee bow, Wt 6 carried into her as hard as we 8 Lid, hopin' to weather it, the wind 8 ted bufc stiU we keld on> tlle store fr jjoid, and we hoped to squeeze by. • i$ we £ofc tne about two pints $, j. o f the beam, and about a mile off, ■^"Ljrin' it to her with jib and spanker ffe s a carryin' her lee plankshear to the set} a, there came a most tremendous puff fffaW went tae fore y.artl' ri Sn^ in the g and at the same time the jib pen f carted, and away went the jib, "frttf itself to ribbons. This spiled all i, n C e we had of weatherin', and we tried " t her round to the east'ard if possible. mfre were scant room to wear, and we ■dto sfcsiy ner> Pat*m' *ac h^P down ; full this trash for'ard a-slattin' dead rl her way, and arter comin' head to the s he fell off again, and there were no fflfl v bat to wear her clear of the rocks. V f e ll off till she got the wind abeam, jjttin' the spanker off her, and haulm' ffflL mainsail as quick as ever we could d pttttin' the beam hard up. She were 1 jdin' now r'S at f°r tae rocks, and 1 a-driftin' onto 'em fast; but with her £ cr j 3a jl a [l gone she hung, and wouldn' tgo * hit more. We checked in the main and chick yards as much as we dared, but Cr!had to fill the topsails enough to give Itnfi ov tnere were no cnaace °^ ncr Leria' her helm. I suppose it bem' frk and rainy that we seemed, for to be Vher to the rocks than we really was, ythe breakers sounded awfully nigh, Id aft to the main brace, where I were, as if the eend of the jibboom laid knock the tcp ot the lighthouse. JLgre was no help for it, howsever, if she ithcW wav enou Sa fo? t0 steer ' sixe At go round clear, and if not she must oashore. It were about as anxious a L minutes as any chap ever had to see the rocks right ahead, to hear the breakers a-roarin" and to look over the side and to eeeher a-goin' through the rocks, and yet not fast enough to answer to her helm. •At la3t, ji-St as we was expectin' for to feel t©P strike, the light begin for to show onto the p°rfc bow. Then it growed iroader, and at last we stood by the manker outhaul and port main sheet ready 'he minit we got the wind into the star toard quarter to help her to come in with these sails. There were a minit more of ioubt, and then the old man sings out 'Allright, my lads, haul out the spanker, brace up the after-yards, main sheet and lee main brace!' and she come rapidly to, with her head east northeast, and we was javed. 'All this time this ere queer chap what I'm telling you about stood on the for'ard part of the poop, a-hanging onto the rail, and when the danger were all over the old man he sees him, and I heerd him S ay,' What the devil are you doin' up here ia the rain ? Ain't it bad enough for them as has to be up? Go down, mm, go down, and thank God you ain't dashed to pieces on them rocks yonder,' and as lie walked away I heerd the old man say agin,' It's no wonder if we do go ashore, with sich a Jonah as that aboard.' * 'Well, 'twas fine weather next day— gales don't last long down there—and we .got another yard rigged and sent it aloft, and repaired all the other damages and went on! The night we made the South Pass light, were fine and moonlit, and it TOe about seven bells in the first watch that we raised it. This here chap had teen on the poop a-walkin' all the watch, and the second mate left him there and went to report to the old man that he'd •made the light. When he come up agin this chap were gone, and the second mate •of course thought he had gone below. He had, too, but it were farther down than Mr White thought for, for we none •of us never seen him agin. The wheel were iv a little chubby house chuck aft, and Jimmy Jones, whose trick it were, said as how he recollected arterward to have heerd a kind of splash, but thought itweroaporpus. 'Of course this chap weren't missed at all till next mornin'; when the steward Tent for to call him to his breakfast, he Were a-missin' and traein' back, the last man as had seen him were the second mate. In his black bag was a lot of dun nage, but no cash. Howsever, as my chum, the steward, were uncommon flush that time in New Orleans, I had my own ideas about ?hat, but not bein' a suspicious man, never said nothin' to nobody. ' Sometime arter we arrived the steward told me as how the day we left New York there were a chap in the Tombs as was to be hung, and in the arternoon when they went for him he wore found dead into his cell; but there were some suspicions that, the dead man weren't him at all, and that 'he had got clean off. 'And I wouldn't winder, now I come to think of it,' says the steward,' if thatchap what come home 4Mnissin' aboard of us the night afore we got in, weren't he; and that's always been % opinion, too, sir.'

A Lawyer Outwitted.

A similar case to that of the Presbyterian clergyman commemorated in the Editor's Drawer of the January Harper's, occurred to a Massachusetts town of high repute quite a number of years ago. The town, flow a city, maintained a high school, IccoTding to law. A teacher was employed, at a certain salary, by the year. After a while his services were not found satisfactory to the school committee, and their chairman, a smooth-spoken member of the legal profession, was deputed to

perform the ungracious task of informing the master of the state of the case. After the settlement of preliminaries the point was reached and the propriety of the master's resignation was diplomatically and politely suggested. The. incumbent if not qualified to teach such a school, was a shrewd Yankee. He expressed his willingness to leave so readily that the committee-man became uncommonly gracious at the success of his mission. 1 But,' said the worthy pedagogue, ' if my services are not satisfactory here, they may be in. some other place; and as 1 must get my living, I presume you will give me a recommendation ?'

1 Certainly/ replied the committee-man, thinking only of releiving his own town of an inefficient instructor ; and accordingly drew up the paper on the spot. The master read it, and found it highly satisfactory. ' And now,' said he, glancing keenly at his employer, ' upon this recommendation that I am so well fitted to teach, I will thank you to pay me the rest of my salary for the unexpired half year.'

The lawyer was caught, and the money was paid.—• Hakper's Magazine.'

Saved By Emotion.

A STOEY PEOM THE FEEJTCH.

The frequenters of the Parsian Opera were lately attracted by the rare beauty of a young lady, whose presence was re marked at every representation.

Her eyes were superb, her form ex quisite, her complexion rivaled the lily, and her tresses, dark as night, fell on her shoulders in large waving masses. This beautiful girl was always accompanied by a diminutive, strange-looking man, with a complexion the color of saffron, and who resembled a resuscitated mummy, so closely did his skin stick to his sharp bones. How old was he ? No one could tell; he might be thirty-five, or he might be ninety. It was soon known that they were East Indians—that they came from Calcutta, and were father and daughter.

The father carried about on his person the signs of his opulence; five or six enormous diamonds glittering on his skeleton fingers, and on the embroidered bosom of his shirt. The extravagant splendor of his ornaments contrasted strangely with the simplicity of his daughter's costume. A dress of white muslin, confined at the waist with a green ribbon, was all she wore; nothing more, not the smallest article of jewelry—no necklace, bracelet, nor ear-rings The most refined coquetery could not have struck out a better style. *****

The poor man was a nabob, immensely rich, and dying with Asiatic spleen. He was gradually sinking away with languor, and his Indian doctors had sent him to Europe in the hope of saving his life. But the chance was a poor one ; for Europe is dull, and her civilization monotonous, to a man sated with the splendours and eccentricities of India. In truth, nothing astonished him, nothing moved him at Paris; an astonishment would have refreshed him, an emotion might have saved' him —'he would have paid for an astonishment, at the very least a hundred thousand crowns ; for an emotion, half of his fortune. After Paris, the aabob and his daughter were going to London. At first, the young and beautiful East Indian had manifested a desire not to remain long in Paris, but to depart immediately for London. Bufc soon this eagerness to depart waxed faint, and finally disappeared altogether.

1 Thiß is a charming city,' said she, ' and I am told that London is far from possessing so many and so great attrac tions.'

What she did not mention among the attractions of Paris, was a certain young gentleman, who had found the road to her heart; for the young girl was not as insensible as the father; a kind look, a a tender speech, had sufficed so awaken emotion in her bosom. Nevertheless, the nabob, more and more ennuied, resolved to try change of country, and issued his orders to prepare for their departure for London.

The day before the departure, a young man presented himself to the opulent East Indian, and said, without further preamble: 'I come to ask the hand of your daughter!' The nabob scarcely raised his eyebrows, but fixing on the suitor a dull and inanimate look, asked:

• What is your fortune ?'

' I have none,' replied the young man. ' Well, that is not of much importance,' said the nabob; 'my daughter has thousands. What is your position—your rank in life ?'

• I am nothing yet, but hope to disting uish myself hereafter.' :Whafc is your name, your title?' continued the impassible nabob. ' I have no aristocratic title,' he said giving his name —a common-place one. ' So,' said the Indian, 'you have neither rank; fortune, nor title ; and you demand the hand of my daughter ?' Yes, sir, I do,' was the prompt reply. The nabob had no idea of such unparal leled impudence, and for the first time in an immemorial period, he felt astonished —but not excited. After enjoying his astonishment for a few moments, he said to the young man with all his habitual sang froid: 'Sir, if we were in India, I should pro bably have you thrown out of the window

or placed in a lunatic asylum; at Paris. I have only the right to turn you out of doors, and I request you to go out.' ' I comprehend. My presence irritates you.'

• Ho, sir; if; annoys me.' The young man left the room, but scarcely had he passed the door-sill when a white hand clasped his and a sweet voice said:

'Well done! You have repeated the lesson exactly. Now you must write the letter I am about to dictate.'

The astonishment had a happy effect on the nabob's health, and that day he was much better than usual. The next day, at breakfast time, his daughter not having appeared, he gave orders to the servants to go and call her. At the same moment a letter was handed to him, which he opened with indolent fingers, and cast upon it a look, which, at first absent, became riveted as soon as he read the first words of the missive. It was very laconic, and ran thus:

1 Monsieur—l love your daughter, and she loves me. You would not give her to me —I have carried her off.'

These lines were signed with the com mon-place name which had been pronoun ced so humbly the day before. The domestic who had been directed to inform his daughter that the nabob was awaiting her, returned with the information that mademoisselle was not in her apartment, that she had left that morning in a carriage, as if for a journey, far she had taken her trunks and band-boxes. The nabob remained tor an instant motionless ; then, all at once he uttered a sort of terrible roar, and springing from his easy chair, with one kick of his foot he overturned the breakfast table. The domestics rush ing in at the noise, he threw himself upon them, beating and striking them right and left; then, left alone, he never stopped until, exhausted with rage and fatigue, he fell senseless upon the carpet of the devastated room.

When he came to himself a healthy re action had taken place in his system ; the crisis had produced an instantaneous and immense result. It was the emotion— emotion so long prayed for, which had came at the last to save him !

A messenger had now arrived from his daughter, to open negotiations for a reconciliation.

' Let her come, let her come!''exclaimed the nabob, ' and I'll'marry her to the man she loves.' The couple not were far off, and soon made their appearance. ' Monsieur,' said the nobob, adressing the young man, ' you have neither fortune rank, nor title ; but yesterday you caused me astonishment, and to-day you have produced aa emotion—in other words, you have saved my life, and that is a favour which well deserves one in return. Thanks to you, my heart is so kindled within me, that I, who was until now indifferent to every earthly thing, expe rience delight at the thought of procuring my daugter's happiness, by giving to her the husband of her choice. Thanks my son ! and it is I who am still your debtor.'

If this story has an air of romance, it is not our fault; it is nonethe less true, as a whole and in all its details.

Lord Houghton Interviewed.

Lord Hottghton—'old Outon,' as he is lovingly called —has been upon a visit to Washington, the guest of Sir Edward and Lady Thornton. 'Outon has been dined and wined to the necessary dyspeptic state incident to such .occasions. Our friend Uncle Samuel gave 'Outon a hand some dinner at Welcker's, in which ho was assisted by all the available statesman ship now in Washington. We did not have the honor of an invitation, but we are assured that there was no falling off in the entertainment, and the Widow Welcker reflects credit on John, who is gone from among us, leaving—well, all sorts of worthless people behind, alive and well. People we could readily spare, Our friend Mohun has had considerable entertainment out of people invited to meet 'Outon, who have rushed in, demand ing his Lordship's works. 'That's not it,' each would say. 'I don't want Monckton Milnes—l want the novels or poems, or whatever they are, of Lord Houghton.'

The most entertaining event that marked our noble buffer's visit was an attempt made by a newspaper man to get his views.

Lord H. was sitting in the elegant drawingrooms of the British legation when a card was brought in and handed to the solemn old subject of Jier Gracious Mijesty. Supposing the card to represent some one,, of the several distinguished Americans to whom he had been introduced 'Outon said, ' Show the gentleman in.'

This was not at all necessary, ior the gentleman had shown himself in, being at the heels of the servant. He was a slender, keen-eyed looking youth of forty or thereabouts, and advancing briskly, he seized 'Oufeon's right hand, and working it up and down like a pump handle, he cried cheerily:

• How are ye, me lord ? Hope you're well. Hope me Lady Houghton is well; and all the young Houghtons, how are they ?'

Old'Outon fairly gasped for breath as he gazed like a featherlesa owl at the lively intruder.

'■ Beg your pardon, my lord ; forgot to tell you; I am Jenkins of the daily newspaper—largest circulation of any journal in the world—was telegraphed to-day to get your views.'

' My views ?' ' Exactly; distinguished nobleman— name written in the annals of fame. American people anxious to have your views.' • G-awd bless my soul!' he gasped. ' Yes, precisely; no doubt he will. But we did not want so much a theological expression of your views as a political or social one, you see, Now what is your view as to the course of England in case ■we call Spain to account for her brutal treatment of Cuba ?'

Lord Houghfcen gazed about him be wildered. He was alone—rather old and fluffy. It was dreadful —worse than a first-class carriage with a woman in it. The reporter mistook the look, of course.

' Oh, never fear; we are alone. Thorn ton won't hear us, and it makes no differ ence if he did. Now, what coursj will England take in case we make the demand ■'

• Gawd bless my soul,' responded Lord Houghton,' I don't know.' 1 Exactly—that's it exactly ; wait a bit while I note it down,' And then he wrote. ' Now, here it is,' he added, reading. ' Lord Houghtou says that it is extremely problematical what will be the course of the English Ministry in case the Government of the United States should demand a cessation of hostilities in Cuba, or recognise belligerent rights in the patriots.' Then the reporter added: ' You see, my lord, Hike a gentleman I interview to read all I report, so he can have no cause for complaint. So much for Cuba. Now, my lord, has the visit of the Prince of Wales to India any political significance?' 'Gawd bless my soul, how should I know ?'

• There, there—all right;' and he wrote: • Lord Houghton says it is not known to him or in England whether the Prince of Wales' visit to India has any political significance, the ministry being very close on that point.'

' Now, my lord, had it any social signi ficance ? Wales, you know, was a wild boy, and it may be necessary to get him out of England. What is your view on that point ?' ' G-awd bless my soal, how should I know ?'

' Wait a bit, my Lord, wait a bit; this is of importance ;' and then he wrote and read: 'Lord Houghton, however, said further that the supposition expressed that Wales had been sent out of England to break off a tender but disgraceful domestic infidelity——' At that point poor old Houghton fell back in a fit, fortunately tumbling into an arm chair. The enterprising reporter hurried to a table where a bottle of wine and some glasses were. He drank three and threw the fourth in the face of the lord. Lord Houghton revived with a yell that brought in the entire force of the legation. ' Lord Houghton,' said the reporter, putting away his.notes and taking his hat from the floor,' had an attack of apoplexy while giving me some very important views ; better put him in mustard and a hot brick to the small of his aristocratic back. He'll be better in a day or so; then I will call and finish the interview.'

He then withdrew, leaving the dip lomatic Bulls in a perfect maze of aston ishment. —' Washington Capital.'

Whose Valentine Are You?

that's what he asked his dakling, and that's "what made the tbouble.

It was night, Tuesday night after Valentine's day, and the night winds lifted up the dust on the streets, and whisked in the faces of four pedestrians. These four were divided into two couples, and each couple consisted of one male and one female. They walked closely and rapidly, commencing their tramp on the corner of Fifth and Main street, and striking a bee line toward the south. The two men were married, but they had left their homes an hour before to attend a meeting of their creditors, and their wives remained at home to solve the problem as to how the expenses of the family might be cut down in order to meet the stringency of the times. The four pedestrians continued their tramp. At the junction one of them turned away. Where they went no one can guess now. The other two kept on, their faces turned southward. When they had arrived at the corner of Twelfth and Main streets they paused in the shadow of a church spire, and he said:

' Whose valentine are you?' And she put her head on the lapel of his coat and said, in a low, sweet way, 'Yours.' He didn't say anything for a minute, and then when the minute had vanished, he did. He said;

' Come to the masquerade next week. Look for the Heathen Chinee, I will be that one.'

And she said s ' I will be the peasant girl, coming through the rye.' And he said : ' Won't it be nice ?' And she said : ' I hope so.' And he asked her again, saying, 1 Whose valentine are you ?' And she said :' I am your valentine.' She never got any further with the santence. She went away as if she had been hurt. He put both of his hands up to his eyes and wiped the contents of three or four egg-shells out of his eyes, and combed his hair with his hands. Then when he looked around he was all alone. He walked off as though a miracle had

been performed, and looked around the corner to see if he could see anybody he ever saw before. ■ Then he went down town to the river, and washed his face. Then he went up town and took a drink..

Then he tried to persuade himself it was all a dream. Then he went home cautiously, and when he got at the gate he whistled to wake up the dog, to make sure he was at the right place, The dog wagged his tail, and the master went in. He kissed his own babes as they lay in repose with the angel smile upon them. He looked around to see if his wife was asleep, and she was, so far ss he could see. Then he warmed his toes, disrobed, and crawled silently into bed so as not to disturb the partner of his joys. Just as he was going to sleep, he put his hand cautiously over on her side of the bed to satisfy himself she was there, She never moved. ' That's all right,' ho muttered to himself, and straightened out.

Then she got up, silently. She went into the pantry, and came back. She had something in a basket. She turned up the light. He turned up his face, and she hit him between the eyes with an egg. He put his arm up and said •Dearie, what's the matter?' And she turned up the light a little more, and threw another one. It caromed on his nose. He dodged under the covre and held it down. She went to the foot of the bed, lifted it np, and ' biff' went another egg. He jumped out of bed, and said, ' Why, darling, what on earth —' Then she put her hands on her, hips, and, looking him in the face, said, with emphasis on the first word. ' whose valentine are you, anyhow ?' He sat up the remainder of the night, rocking the children. He knows who threw the egg 3at the corner of —th and Main streets. A.nd he don't go to the masquerade, either.

Stories of the American War.

It will be remembered that our bravo and dashing General Phil. Kearney was shot by some of the.Confederate infantry just at twilight of the evening following the battle of Chantilly, Virginia, while he was reconnoitering the enemy's position in person. The details of the death of General Alfred Mouton, a prominent Confederate leader in Louisiana, furnish an exact parellel to that of Kearney. Mouton commanded a division at the battle of Sabine Cross Roads, and was present with it all day. The battle closed with an unsuccessful attempt of the enemy to break our right flank. The charge was repelled by the First Division of the Nineteenth Corps, and the discomfiture of the attack at this point called forth tre mendous cheers from our line. These cheers it would seem, were mistaken by General Mouton for the expected yells of victory of his own troops, and he quickly approached the unbroken line of our First Division, with his staffand escort. What followed will be best told in the language of a comrade who saw it all:

" It was nearly dark. Our line remained quiet, awaiting further developments of the enemy. Boon a party of horsemen were seen approaching slowly over the open field. The faint light of departing day, and the clouds of smoke which were settling around us rendered it impossible for us to distinguish friend from foe. Captain Mathews, Assistant Adjutant- General of the brigade, thought the party was our own, which had been sent out to reconnoitre the position of the enemy. Their nearer approach soon disabused him of his opinion, and he directed them to halt. ' Federals !' cried one of the party, wheeling his horse at the same time. • Eire !' was tlie order, and instantly the saddles of that fated party were emptied, and not one ever returned to his comrades in the woods."

I am informed from another source that fifteen men were killed outright by this dis charge. The result was not remarkable, as the fire of at least one battalion was con centrated upon the unfortunate party, it was reported that Gen. Mouton's body bore seven wounds. Mouton was a son of a former Governor of Louisiana, and a com mander whose abilities were highly prized by the Confederates in the southwest.

After the action at Sabine Cross Eoads, our army withdrew fifteen miles to Plea sant Hill, where a furious but indecisive battle was fought April 9th. Both armies passed the night following on the field, expecting to renew the conflict in the morning, so that there was neither op portunity nor ability to succor the wound ded. Both armies had now fought two battles on two different days, and had marched the whole of the intervening night, and their energies were now thoroughly exhausted. They were now lying on their arms, not a "musket-shot apart, and any movement for the relief of the wounded, by either side, would cer tainly have been interpreted as a hostile movement, and would have drawn a volley of musketry, and precipitated a night battle. Hundreds of severely wounded men of both armies were lying helpless and suffering in the interspace, and their moans and cries for assistance were truly heartrending. The whole dreadful story of war can furnish no more hideous chapter than such a situation as his. I quote again from the statement of the' officer already referred to :

' A picket was thrown forward, that of our regiment occupying a portion of the ground where the Sixteenth Qorps had been posted, and where the fighting had. been severe. As the night advanced, it

E veiiiML^ Supplement» Jtetoy 6, IS^O.