„ you can ?" ■■Then where is she?" ■■In the Carquinez Woods, in the arms Ithe man you were just defending—Low, room had become so dark that from inroad nothing could be distinguished. My the momentary sound of struggling *_t was heard. "Sit down," said Braces voice, "and I n't be a fool. You're too weak, and it t't a fair fight. Let go your hold. I'm living—l wish to God I was !" "There was a silonco, and Brace resumed : i^Ve'vo been .rivals, I know. Maybe I trimicht my chance as good as yours. If •tat I say ain't truth, we'll stand as wo food before—and if you're on the shoot ivTvour man when you like, whero you liko or on sight, if you choose. But I can't L. to sco another man played upon as I've been played upon—given dead away _I'vo been. It ain't on the square, I'Thorc." he continued after a pause, mthat-right, now steady. Listen. A week „__hat tiirl went down to Indian Spring. ?f was given oot, like this, that she went to the Burnhams'. I don't mind saying, Dunn that I went down myself, all on the __a_, thinking 1 might get a show te talk to her, just as you might havo done, you know if you had my chance. I didn't como across her any whore. But two men that I met thought they recognised her in disguise going into the woods. Not sus nectinf' anything, I went after her ; saw Lr at a distance in the mi idle of tho woods in another dress that I can swear to, and „.__ just coming up to her when she vanished -went like a squirrel up a tree or down like a gopher in the ground, but vanished." . .... " Is that all ?" said Dunn s voice. And lost because you were a d—d fool, or had taken a little too much whisky, you "Steady. That's just what I said to my self," interrupted Brace coolly, "particu larly when I saw her that same afternoon in another dress, saying 'Good-by 'to tho Burnhams, as fresh as a rose and as cold as those snow peaks. Only one thing—she had a ring on her finger she never wore before, and didn't expect me to see." "What if she did? She might have bought it. I reckon sho hasn't to consult you," broke in Dunn's voice sternly. "She didn't buy it," continued Brace quietly. " Low gave that .lew trader a bearskin in exchange for it, and presented it to her. I found that out two days after wards. I found out that out of a wholo afternoon she spent less than an hour with the Burnhams; I found out that sho bought a duster like the disguise the two men saw her in : I found the yellow dress she wore that day hanging up in Low's cabin—tho place where I saw her go—the rendezvous where she meets him. Ob, you're listenin' now, are you ? Stop ! Sit Dow.n ! "I discovered it by accident," continued the voice of Brace, when all was again quiet; "it was hidden as only a squirrel or an Injin can hide when they improve upon nature. When I was satisfied that that girl had been in the woods I was deter mined to find out where she vanished and went there again. Prospecting around, I picked up at the foot of one ot the biggest trees this yer old memorandum book with grasses and herbs stuck in it< I remembered that I'd heard old Wynne say that Low, like the d—d nigger that he was, collected theso herbs, only he pretended it was for science. I reckoned the book was his, and that he mightn't be far away. I lay low and waited. Bimeby I saw a lizard running down the root. When he got sight of me he stopped." "D—nthe lizard! What's that got to do with where she is now?" " Everything. The lizard had a piece of sugar in his month. W There did it come from? I made him drop it, and calculated he'd no back for more. He did. He scooted up that tree and slipped in under some hanging strips of bark. I shoved 'em aside and found an opening to the hollow where they do their housekeeping."

" But you didn't see her there; and how do you know she is there now ?" I " I determined to make it sure. When . she left to-day I started an hour ahead of her and hid myself at the edge of the woods. An hour after the coach arrived at Indian Spring rhe came there in a brown duster, and was joined by him. I'd have followed them, but the d—d hound has the ears of a squirrel, an.l though I was five hundred yards from him he was .in his guard." " Guard be blessed ! Wasn't you armed ? Why didn't you go for him ?" said Dunn, furiously. "I reckoned I'd leave that for you, said Brare, coolly. "If he'd killed me—and if he'd even covered me with his ritle, he'd been sure to let daylight through me at double that distance—l shouldn't have been any better off, nor you either. If I'd killed him, it would have been your duty as Sheriff to put me in gaol, and I reckon it wouldn't have broken your heart, Jim Dunn, to have got rid of two rivals instead of one. Hulla ! Where are you going ?" " Going ?" said Dunrt hoarsely. " Goinjr to the Carquinez Woods; by God ! to kill him before her. I'll risk it if you daren't. Let me succeed, and you can hang me arid take the girl yourself." j if! Sit down, sit down. Don't be a'fool,' Jim Dun 11 You wouldn't keep the saddle a hundred yards, Did I say I wouldn't help you? No. If you're willing, we'll run theTisk together, but it must be in my way. Hear me. I'll drive you down there in a buggy before daylight, and we'll sur prise them in the cabin or as they leave the wood. But you must come as if to arrest him for some offence—say, as an escaped Digger from the Reservation, a dangerous tramp, a destroyer of public property in the forests, a suspected road agent—or anything to give you the right to hunt him. Tho exposure of him and Nellie, don't you see, must be your making. If he resists kill him on the spot, and no body'll blame you ; if he goes peaceably with you and you once get him in Excelsior gaol, when the story gets out that he's taken the belle of Excelsior for his squaw, if you'd the angels for your posse you couldn't keep the boys from hanging him to the first tree. What's that ?"

He walked to the window and looked out cautiously. "If it was the old man coming back, and listenin'," he said, after a pause, "it -can't be helped. Hell hear it soon enough, if he don't susg _ct something already." "Look yec, Brace," broke in Dunn, hoarsely; " d—d if I understand you or you me. That _og, Low, has got to answer to me, not to tbe law ! I'll take my risk of killing him—on sight and on the square. I don't reckon to handicap myself with a warrant, and Tm not going to draw him out with a lie. You hear me ? That's me, all the time !"

" Then you call-Hate to go down thar," rsaid Braje contemptuously, "yell out for Sum and _ellie, and let'kirn line you on a rest from the first tree as if you were a grizzly.

There was a pause. "What's that you were saying just now about a bearskin he sold?" asked Dunn, as if reflecting. "Ho exchanged a bearskin," replied Brace, " with a angle hole right over the heart, He's a dead shot, I tell you.'' "D—m his shooting," said Dunn. . I'm not thinking of that. How long ago did lie bring in that bearskin ?"

" About two weeks, I reckon. Why ?" " Nothing. Look you Brace, you mean well —thnr's my hand. I'll go down with you there, but not as the Sheriff. I'm going there as Jim Dunn, and you can come along as a white man to see things fixod on the square. Come 1" Brace hesitated. "You'll think better of my plan beforo you get thoro—but I've snid I'll stand by you, and I will. Como, then. There's no time to lose."

They passed out into the darkness to gether. " What are you waiting for ?" said Dunn impatiently, as Brace, who was supporting him by tho arm, suddenly halted at the corner of tho house.

"Someone was listening — did you not see him ? Was it the old man ?" asked Brace hurriedly.

" Blast the old man I It was only one of them Mexican packers chock full of whisky, and trying to hold up the house. What are you thinking of ?—we shall be late." In spite of his weakness, the wounded man hurriedly urged Brace forward, until they reached the latter's lodging. To his surprise the horse and buggy were already before the door.

"Then you reckoned to go anyway?" said Dunn, with a searching look at his com panion. "I calkilated somebody would go," re turned Brace evasively, patting the im patient Buckskin ; "but come in and tike a drink before we leave."

Dunn started out of a momentary abstrac tion, put his hand on his hip, and mechani cally entered the house. They had scarcely raised the glasses to their lips when a sudden rattle of wheels was heard in the street. Brace set down his glass and ran to tho window.

" It's the maro bolted," he said with an oath. " We've kept her too long standing. Follow me." And he dashed down tho staircase into the street. Dunn followed with difficulty ; when ho reached the door he was already confronted by his breathless companion. ""She's gono off on a run, and I'll swear there was a man in the buggy f He stopped and examined the halter-strap still fastened to the fence. " Cut! by G°d!" . ~n , Dunn turned pale with passion. "\\ho s got another horse and buggy?" he de manded. "The new blacksmith in Main-street, but we won't get it by borrowing," said Brace. " How then?" asked Dunn, savagely.

" Sei-o it, as tlie Sheriff of Yuba and his deputy, pursuing the confederate of tho Ingin Low—the horse thief !"

(To be Continued)

My First Attempt at Printing.

To "do my own printing," as the adver tisemente have it, was tho height of m\ ambition. Accordingly, preparations were made, in the shape of numerous strong and urgent appeals to an uncle of mine, for the necessary appliances, which of course, in the first place, meant the " hard cash" to purchase the necessary wherewithal, which I had quite made up my mind was to be the basis of my "fortune." My afore said relation, no doubt perceiving in me the germ of future greatness, invested on my behalf the munificent sum of i's, whicli purchased a " complete printing office !" Now the world at largo would have an idea who and what sort of an individual was existing. Could not my words and ideas bo ventilated north and south, east and west, of the vast metropolis ? The thought was inspiration enom d- No sooner had the necessary equij B*_tt; arrived than the work of editorship commenced. The ques tion, of course, arose as to what should bo the first production. Should it be a poem ? If SO, we were certain the demand would exceed the supply. Visions of stereotyping and working all night, and in fact, the profits by the sale of this wonderful poem were in reality being spent in imagination in purchasing some more long primer. Abs ! the poem never was written, much less printed. The real query was " what should we print ?" An order for twelve mourning cards was generously given to us by way of astart. Of course we must keep a day book. How remarkably eligiblo that first order was entered, and although it was a mourning card and emblematic''of decay, yet our morning of fame was just commencing which we hoped would break forth in the full noontide of future prosperity. Now for business. . The .composing stick was brought forward, carefully and critically examined whether "true," tho leads ad justed, the screw turned, and item No. 1— the measure was made up. We walked up and down the back attic as though we were traversing the office of some London daily ; and then surveying our three cases, which held four or five founts, began the mystery of composing. The card being duly " set,", which occupied something like three hours —pf course we were learning—the printing operation commenced. Here, oi course, were all our capabilities called into requisi tion.' Our ink-slab was a piece of slate, not very clean, but that did not matter ; it was found in the dust-heap and we had washed it; that made it clean enough—at least we thought so. Of course the ink re quired mixing, turps being freely and copiously used, until our slab resembled an ink-well, the difference being that our ink ii-as a shade thicker than ordinary ink. The roller in due courso appeared on tho scene,' not so soft as we imagined a rollor ought to be ; for to hear it drop on the floor, whach it did once or twice, you would have thought it was something harder than a printer's roller. Then oommenced the actual printing; when we did pull the proof—and I can as sure you we did pull it—our first impres sion on gazing at it suggested the idea that we had unexpectedly produced a book for the blind, as the raised surface of the paper certainly strained itself far more _ian we ever intended it should. After hours of patient perseverance and toil, we were en abled to present to our worthy customer his mourning cards. The order was for one dozen, but of course we allowed for srioilago and gave him tico, a specimen of which is before you—

IN MEMORY OF JOHN PICA, HAGED TOO YEARS.

The rules, of course, did not join so nicely ns the above, and the printing was decidedly not so good, but at all events, ire did not charge him for the cards. And the next time he saw us he politely in formed us that he intended having another dozen done, but he thought he would make one or two alterations. He promised to call and see us, but at present he has not fulfilled his word. We wonder why.

'■ How is it that Wilkins and bis wife live so happily together? Why, theyve been married . two-and-twenty years and never had a row I" "Oh, that's a very simple matter I She is out the whole day washing, and he is a night-watchman, and out all night I"

JACK BROWNE'S MISTAKE.

Jack Bnow>.-_ and a seloct few of his brother officers sat in solonin conelavo in

tho mess-room one evening after their seniors had retired, discussing the dcs-

perate condition of his affairs. Jack was a foolish, extravagant, young subaltern in a line regiment, who had contrived to get deeply in debt without tho slightest chance of extricating himself from his difficulties. His only relative was a strong-minded maiden aunt, who not only refused to assist

him, but even threatened to withdraw the allowance she had made him since ho entered the army. Jack considered he was very hardly treated, for tho truth is he did not properly appreciate what his aunt had already done for him. There wasno doubt, however, that he was in an awkward pre dicament, for on the one hand he could not possibly remain in tho regiment unlesß his debts were paid, and, on tho other, his aunt declared that if he resigned his com mission she would havo nothing more to do with him. Jack did not at all relish the

pros;icct of being compelled to earn his living, especially as he had no idea how to set about it. Moreover, he was extremely popular in his regiment, and was conse quently loth to leave it His brother officers, unfortunately, could only assist him by their sympathy, nnd by suggesting various expedients for raising money, none of which wero practicable. " I should try the old lady again," urged one of his friends : " make a clean breast of everything and work upon her feelings." " She has none," returned .lack ruefully. "Hor venerable bosom is insensible to

;endcr emotions."

"I suppose you haven't concealed whnt a serious fix you arc in?" suggested another. "No. At least I've put my position to her as plainly as I dare,' said Jack, "but its no go." " Won t Isaacs do a post obit ?" suggested somebody, "My dear fellow, the only jiossiblo way I could raise a shilling would be by pawning my boots, and as they are not paid ior I might get into difficulty over that," said .lack, iis he plunged his hands deeper into his pockets. " Besides, I've no evidence that I'm named in her will." " I've an idea I" exclaimed his particular

friend, Charlie Bashford. "Why don't you volunteer for service in Egypt?" "Volunteer to catch cholera! No, thanks," said Jack, making a grimace. " Besides, there is no fighting going on now: so what would be the use ?"

"There is a dovilish deal moro danger iow than thero was during tho war," re-

marked Charlie, savagely. "Yes, but no glory. If I wanted to exchange I would go to India j but the fact is I'm past thatdodge. My creditors would be down en me directly if they hoard 1 was off. They are down on me enough already," he added despondently. " What I meant was that you might bam boozle the old lady. Hang it all, Jack ! She must care for you, or she would have thrown you over long ago," said his friend, with charming candour. "Perhaps if she heard you had determined, in desperation, to go to Egypt, at tho risk of your life, sho might relent." " Well, there's something in that," said Jack, brightening up; "at all events, she might give mc a cheque for an outfit. The worst of it is I don't want to go." " 1 know a namesake of yours in the—th. Jack, who is going out next month," interposed another. "If the worst came to the worst, you might go by proxy." "By Jove! I really think that might be managed," exclaimed Jack, excitedly. "It is just possible, ns Charlie says, that the old girl would pay my debts to keep me in England. If she doesn't, seeing the other fellow's name in the papers she will imagine I have gone." " You can easily keep up the joko be getting your namesake over there to post some letters for you," chimed in Charlie Bashford. "If slie doesn't beg you to re turn after a week or two, you can pretend to be laid up with the cholera. That will bring the old lady up to time, if anything will':'but in ease it doesn't, you can bo ordered homo—see.

" Meanwhile 1 shall have to keep quiet, and go away on sick leave," added Jack, in a great state of excitement. "Here, give me a pen,and paper, ' I'll are off a letter at once." ' ... Impulsiveness was one of Jack's failings, and on the spur of tho moment he sat down and wrote the following heart-rending epistle:— " My Dear Aunt,—Your refusal to assist me further leaves me no alternative but to quit my native shores for ever. I have volun teered for service in Egypt, whore, as.you know, the cholera is raging. I start on the second of next month perl', and 0. steamer Capua, and proceed to join the — th, which is stationed in the centre of the most in fected district. It would be useless to at tempt to conceal the fact that I shall en counter terrible risks from the dire disease, but tho desire to serve my country at a post of real danger is no less an inducement to me than the prospect of being released by the hand of death from my debts and embavrasments. I can hardly hope, from our recent correspondence, that my depar ture will be a source of concern to you, but, at all events, I shall always gratefully re member your many kindnesses. My outfit means a matter of £200, but whether you care to assist me in getting it is a question which you alone can decide. Hoping your rheumatism is better.—Believe mo, your affectionate nephew. J. L. Bkowne." All tho company had a hand in producing this masterpiece of compo.-tion, which was universally admired. Tke general opinion was that tho old lady would be entirely overcome. Jack was easily persuaded to indulge in hopeful anticipations, though he had secret misgivings. Unfortunately, his forebodings turned out to be well founded, for his aunt did not attempt to dissuade him from going. Her reply was so cold and formal that Jack could not help suspecting that she doubted his good faith, the more especially as, in consenting to pay for his outfit, she stipulated that the bills should be sent in to her for settlement. Jack was somewhat unreasonably aggrieved at this precaution, which, however, reconciled him to the idea of carrying out his project of deception. He had no difficulty in securing the co operation of his namesake, and by arrange ment with this fatally good-natured young gentleman, ho succeeded in securing the best part of the money which his aunt advanced for his outfit. The old lady little suspected that she was paying the bills and passage-money of a perfect stranger, and that the latter handed to Jack the amount he had intended to devote to that purpose. Jack suffered qualms of conscience while hatching his conspiracy. His necessities, however, were so pressing that he could not resist the chance of getting a little ready money. Had he anticipated that his aunt would have manifested genuine emo tion when he went to bid her farewell, he would probably have abandoned his scheme. But by that time it was too late, for he had paid away the £200 among his hungry creditors, and the date of his supposed de ■ parture was fixed for the next day.

Jack applied for three months' leave of absence train his regiment to obviate the risk of his presence in England coming to his aunt's ears. The Colonel, knowing no thing of his plans, but sympathising with his pecuniary troubles, granted his request without asking inconvenient questions. Jack's brother officers were pledged to secrecy, and one of thorn—the incorrigible Charlie Bashford—wrote tho old lady a pathetic account of his friend's departure, jack, on his part, retired to a remote vil lage in North Wales, where he could solace himself with trout-fishing, while awaiting the issue of his equivocal manoeuvres. Ho was not without hope that his aunt would speedily recall him from Egypt with a pro mise to pay his debts. He had authorised his Damesake to open the old lady's letters, and to telegraph to him immediately n caso his anticipations should be realised. Meanwhile, he had furnished his fellow conspirator with a number of letters to be posted in Egypt from time to time, and these contained such harrowing details of the ravages of cholera that his aunt could I hardly fail to become seriously alarmed and uneasy. Jack rcmainod a month or six weeks in Wales, during which his schemo worked without a hitch. His aunt was completely deceived, and even forwarded his first letter from Egypt to his friend, Charlie Bashford, to read. The note in which she enclosed tho letter plainly showed that her heart was softening towards him, and Jack began to feel a good deal ashamed of himself During his solitary walks and rambles he had fits of penitence which considerably damped his satisfaction at the success of his experiment. Ho even felt tempted at times to abandon the deception he was practising, but before ho had arrived at any determination to do so he was surprised at receiving a visit from his friend, Charlie Bashford.

"Hullo! What brings you hero?" de manded Jack, apprehensively, as they shook hands.

"You've heard the news, haven't you.

mid Charlie, mysteriously. " What about?" snid Jack,

" Haven't you seen the papers lately?" asked Charlie, opening his eyes. " Not for a week or ten days. What is

" Then yon don't know poor Browne is dead?" said Charlie. "We all of us thought you knew of it, or I would have written. It was in all the papers a week ago. He died of cholera, [roor fellow." "What! you don't mean tho man who went to Egypt the other day?" gasped Jack.

" y es _yonr alter ego, or double, or what ever you like to call him," said Charlie, un able to repress a grin at his friend's dis may. "Well, but that is devilish awkward for mc I My aunt must be under the impres sion that lam dead. What tne deuce shall I do ?" exclaimed Jack.

"I wrote tho poor old lady a letter of condolence to keep up tho deception," said Charlie.

"What an infernal fool you were, then !" exclaimed Jack, vigorously. "What on earth did you want to do that for I" " Well, 1 did it for a joko, Imt I was sorry for it afterwards. In fact, as far as the poor old lady was concerned, I've re pented it ever since. However, there is no harm done as far ns you are concerned," added Charlie cheerfully. "I'm not by any moans sure of that," growled Jack. " I can't be perdu for ever, and tho matter must come to my aunt's cars. If you had written and hinted that there might bo a mistake, you would have done mo a good turn. As it is, you've only made matters worse." " We thought you would be in a devil of a stew when you heard tho news, and wondered at your keeping so quiet," said Charlie. " I came down out of pure charity to ease your mind. You have had a lucky esca| >o." "An escape !" repeated Jack, vaguely. "Yes, The poor old lady is dead, so, as I said before, there is no harm done to your prospects. The announcement was in this morning's paper, and I thought I would bo tho first to congratulate you," said Charlie,

seizing his hat. Under the circumstances, it is perhaps excusable that Jack's first sensation was a feeling of intense relief. A moment ago he was fairly horrified at learning the awkward position in which ho was placed by tho death of his namesake. Considering that his future prospects depended entirely upon his aunt's goodwill, it seemed as though ruin stared him in the face. Exposure of tho trick he had played upon hor was apparently inevitable, and her forgiveness could hardly have been hoped for. Of course, he had known all along that he had rim this risk, but ho had never anticipated the sad event whicli upset all his calculation, and had con sidered himself tolerably secure from detection, whatever else happened.

The grief and remorse which lurked in lack's bosom in consequence of his aunt's

death wero therefore, at the moment, over shadowed by mingled relief and excite ment. Tho vital importance of tho sad event as regarded his private affairs not unnaturally prooccupied his mind. If, as ho not unreasonably believed, he was tho old lady's heir, he would bo able to pay ot! his debts and make a fresh start under favourable conditions.

lie hurried up to town without a moments delay, and went straight to the office of his late aunt's legal adviser. He knew that this gentleman was her executor and had the management of her affairs, and ho was anxious to put an ond to the suspense and uncertainty regarding his future prospects. In his eagerness he forgot tho surprise his sudden appearance was likely to cause, and consequently felt ruthcr abashed when the lawyer started back on seeing him. " What, Mr Browne!" exclaimed the old gentleman, as soon as ho could speak. "Why, I—l—and everybody else thought you had died in Egypt tho other day." " No. Tho fact is, it was all a mistake," said Jack in a shamefaced manner. "Oh. Then I suppose you never went there at all?" said the lawyer, after a short pause, during which he fixed his sharp eyes on the young man's fuce. "No; I did not," said Jack, overcome [ with confusion. "I—lam very sorry."

" Well, so you ought to be, sir, for you killed your aunt. " Ah, you did, indeed ! I mean what I say," he added sharply. "When the news of your supposed death appeared in the papers, she had a fit, and never recovered the shock. But if she had not cared for you more than you did for her, sho would be alive at this moment." "She did not suspect, then, that 1 had deceived her," said Jack, who had sunk into a chair overcome with horror and re morse. "No, poor lady, on the contrary, she blamed herself for being the cause of your death, and that intensified the shock,"said the lawyer, somewhat softened at Jack's evident distress. " Had she followed her own inclination sho would have made any pecuniary sacrifice to keep you out of danger. But she thought, for your own sake, you had better do a little campaign ing ; and besides, she was inclined to sus pect—rightly, as it now appears—that you did not really intend to go." • "I'm glad at all events that she never j found me out," said Jack, wiping away the ' beads of perspiration that had gathered on

his forehead. " Sho did not suspect what a brute I was in return for all her kindness."

" No," said the lawyer fixing his keen glance upon Jack's face again. "Unfortu nately for you, sho never doubted you were

dead." . "Why unfortunately?" inquired Jack, absently. , "Because she sent for me at the last moment and made a fresh .will, in which your name is not mentioned, Up to then you wero herresiduary legatee."—" Truth.

ODDS AND ENDS.

Old Annie Swan, who was a little weak in the intellect, lived with a sister who, being bedfast with ill-health, ordered Annie to clean up the house, or sho would rise and thrash her. Annie, making for the 'door, said, "Them that's lit for war is lit for walk ; riso and dae it yersoP." "Edward, what do I'hear?—that yon have disobeyed your- grandmother, whotold you just, now not to jump down those stops?" "Grandma didnt tell us not to, papa; she only came to the door and said, ' I wouldn't jump down those steps, boys,' and I shouldn't think she would—an old lady like her !" An imaginative Irishman gave utt.cranco to thin lamentation : "I returned to tho hall of my fathers by night, and I found them in ruins. I cried aloud, 'My fathers, where are they.' nnd echo responded, 'Is it you, Patrick McGlathery ?'" A polite little girl was shown a set of playthings and a doll, and asked which sho would have. Sho looked nt the doll, whicli was a line one, and then, drawing her mother's head down, whispered—"! would rather have the playthings, but please don't tell the doll."

A party of gentlemen came ono day on a boy who was dangling a line over tbe brink of a brook. " Hilloa !" said one of them, "what arc you doing?" "Fishing," replied lie. "Of course ; but what, do you catch?" said the gentleman. "Fish, of course," he shouted. Mr Curran, the late celebrated Irish ad vocate, wiis walking ono day with a friend who was extremely punctilious in his con versation ; heaving a person near him say curosity for curiosity, ho exclaimed, " How that man murders the English language !" "Not so bad," replied Curran, "he has only knocked an I out." A stable-keeper, who invariably cautions his patrons against driving fast, repeated tho injunction to a gentleman who was hiring a team of him the other' day, and received the following response:—" I am going to a funeral, and must keep up with the procession if it kills the horse." Ho was permitted to drive on. Doubtful Politeness.—" When we have sat together for some time, you'll find my son very entertaining," said a fond father to a friendly visitor. "My dear sir," said tho visitor, "I can wait. A Scotch landlady, being told by a customer that he hoped she put no per nicious ingredients into her liquor-, retorted, "There's naething pernicious put into onr barrels but the excisemen's stick." A Vulgar Fraction.—" Humble ns 1 am," said a bullying American spouterat a meet ing, " I still remember that I am a fraction of this magnificent Republic." "You arc indeed," said a bystander, "mid a vej=Jf vulgar one." Local Milkman.—" Oizay, be thee taking told cow to be slaughtered?" Irish drover —"Whist! Don't tell her, and sure she'll belavo to the last she's going to the dairy show,"

A handsome youth being questioned by a rather sty'ish lady as to his occupation, replied that he was " an adjuster of move able alphabets." He was simply a printer. Fox was asked the meaning of the verse,

Ho clothes himself with cursing like as

with a garment." Fox replied, "It is clear enough ; tbe man had a habit c£ swearing." Kissing a pretty girl "down South' a young gentleman asked her " what, made her so sweet?" "Oh," she replied in utter innocence, "my father was a sugar planter."

"I say, boy, how far do these rocks run Into the sea," asked a gentleman of a half clad tousy-headed fisherman's boy. " Thty dinna rin ava, sir ; they just lie there," was the response. It is not always a mar- of frankness to possess an open countenance. An aligatcr is a deceitful creatine, and yet he presents nn open countenance when he is in the very

ict of taking yon in- Said a teacher -"Suppose you have two tticks of candy, and your big brother gives ,-oti two more, how many would you have lien?" The little fellow, glancing smilingly

at the teacher, replied, "Ah, you don't know my brother ; he's not that sort of boy." A mcdic.il journal devotes a whole column to what causes cold perspiration. Anyone who has gone up a dark alley and stepped on a dog'would be wasting valuable timo reading it. They knew he had once been the warden of a Western State prison, and were asking him how he came to lose his place, and he answered, with a sad shake of the head: "I made Assad mistake." "How?" "1 stood in wi Mi the beef contractor, and tho meat was so bad that the prisoners kicked upa row. A committee investigated, and I got the bounce." "Where was the m_ r tako?" asked one of the gror.p. after a long silence. "Why, if we had stelen all tho meat the prisoners wouldn't have had. any shanks or neck-pieces to kick about."

The Coliseum.

In 404 Honor-it* was Emporor. At that time, in the remote deserts of Lybia, thero dwolt an obscure monk named Teleniachus. He had heard of these awful scenes in tho far-off Coliseum at Rome. Depend upon it thoy lost nothing by their transit across tho Mediterranean in the hands of Greek and Roman sailors. In the baths and market places of Alexandria, in the Jewries of Cyreno, in the mouths of every itinerant Eastern stor-y-teller, the festive massacres of the Coliseum would doubtless be clothed in colours truly appalling,yet scarcely more appalling than tho truth. Teleniachus brooded over these horrors until his mission dawned upon him. He was ordained by Heaven to put an end to the slaughter of human beings in the Coliseum. He made his way to Rome. , He entered the Coliseum with the throng at the time the gladiators were parading in front of the Emperor with uplifted swords and the wild mockery of homage— MorUuri te salutanl. Elbowing his way to the barrier, he leapt over at the moment when the combatants rushed at each other, threw himself between them, bidding them, in the name of Christ to desist. To blank astonishment succeeded imperial contempt aud popular fury. Tele machus fell slain by tho swords of the gladiators. Legend may adorn the tale and fancy fill out the picture, but the solid fact remains—" there never was another gladiatorial fight in the Coliseum." One heroic soul had caught the flow of popular feeling that had already begun to set in the direction of humanity, and turned it. Ho had embodied by his act and consecrated by his death the sentiment that already lay timidly on the hearts of thousands in that) great city of Rome.—"Footprints in Rome." (By the Rev. H. R. Haweis, in "Good Words.")

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, DECEMBER 15. 1883.

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