ALtxm, ^WKDS&SDAf, Sftt'f EMHKR 11 A LOVE SONG. My little leaves, why arc you glndf Answer, quivering little leaves, Small clapping leaves, so freshly clad In a gteen world that, never grieves. Answer iiio, for my heart is sad I Love God, love God! they stng, «Jay as tho birds a-wing. My littlo flowers, what's your delight? Now answer, for my soul believes In youf sweet petals, pure and white, Sweet purity no man deceives. Answer, my flovr'rets fair and bright. Love God, love God! they sing, (3ay BS the bisds a-Wing. fresh blades of grass, you cheerful seein. What is it that all grief relieves? $hiek ye upspring, a fair sunbeam In your low stems its brightness weaves. Mow do you keep that sunny gleam? Love God, love God! they sing, Gay as the birds a-Wing. *fhe flowers and grass make their reply, With all the merry clapping leaves, And echoing the holy cry The drooping heart its joy retrieves. All voices to their Maker fly. Love God, love God! they sing. Gay as the birds a-wing. —Constance Hope in Good Word*. HRST LOVE. I have for years led a roving life and am most at home in railway carriages, Waiting rooms, hotels and restaurants. On this account my reading has been of all kinds, and I have given tip wishing to be dainty in my literary diet. Only German and French romances arid novels by authors unknown to me, or writers whose style I do not enjoy, inspire me With an unconquerable respect. Books by these authors I never venture to open, even in tho greatest dearth of reading matter. Besides I eagerly welcome everything published by the latest journals and look through each weekly and monthly periodical that I come across in dining or waiting room. That is why I have a succession of fragments of a considerable number ^of stories in my head, and as their classification does not especially interest me it thus happens that I occasionally join the end of one to the beginning of the other. Some of these dovetailed stories please me quite as well as the noted novels of famous authors. This is a matter of taste, and I allow myself no criticism. Sometimes I finish for myself a story, the beginning of which I have read, or invent the first chapter for the conclusion of a romance •which has fallen into my hands. Then, after a time, it is difficult to distinguish between what is mine and what is not mine. In most cases indeed I have of a morning when I leave a city forgotten what I have read there on the preceding 1 evening. But when a story has pleased me I enjoy repeating it to myself in the railway carriage, and then it becomes fixed iu my memory and recurs later, at irregular intervals, as' something personally experienced or again invented by myself. . • - • The following narrative is. one of these tales. I have forgotten where I read it for the first time. Whether the tale was exactly as I now have it in . my mindJ do not: any longer know. But the idea is not mine., 'I believe I found it in a Paris review. Then it must have been many years since, for several omnivorous read- era among my French acquaintances, of whom I made inquiry regarding that easily recognized sketch, could not remember to have read it. It is also possible that I found it iu Berlin or London. Should the owner at any time reclaim it, I will return his property with thanks. Here is the story as it has shaped itself little by little in my head : The numerous guests of the countess had been slowly retiring since 1 1 o'clock, and about 12 there were only some half dozen people assembled in the salon, the very intimate friends of the house. The handsome Palamede had pronounced his verdict upon the notable toilets of the evening, Bene had recounted the last duel, Edmond the last steeplechase. The scandal of the day had been commented upon in the usual philanthropic fashion, and for the first time for half an hour the conversation had languished. The countess turned to her neighbor, the quiet Gaston. "You are making more noise than usual this evening," said she. "You have been sleeping this half hour with open eyes, " The gentleman addressed, who had been sitting upon a low chair, earnestly engaged in keeping up a fire in the chimney, in which he had displayed the ability that, according to a French proverb, is a privilege of lovers and philosophers, turned slowly and made answer, "I am thinking of my first love," "Gratitude does honor to the receiver and to the giver alike," said the countess. "Tell us the story of the first love that still makes you dream today. " Gaston slowly rubbed his thin hands, as was his habit, and without waiting for further urging began as follows ; "When I say my first love, I dp not mean the very first, This indeed caused me in its time much pain and anxious joy, but that is Jong since forgotten, Many a time, when I now recall it, it seems as though I thought of another's love tale and not my own, I was, at the " time perhaps 13 or 18 years old, and she '•' t was the sister of my schoolfellow Jacques. ' ' « I saw bey for the flr^t time upon ow " " Playground, Where fte appeared with, • hep WQtber, during an intermission, to f i gee hw brQtbev, It was winter, The yaw !'''"* was full of sn,ow,.a«d a fierce .battle .wagea between the opposing factions, sahoQl was again dtatr upon me the solicitous glance of the beautiful maiden. "In the evening I invented for myself the most marvelous heroic deeds wherewith 1 would fain have aroused her astonishment* and compelled her admiration. Anything else 1 neither desired not expected. The unconscious dawn of love in the heart of youth belongs with its peculiarities only to pure childhood. '' The young heart is foolishly happy in sacrifice, quietly content and blindly conceited and vain, tt caiinot yet love, it needs but to be loved and admired; to bestow happiness is not its object, and the only joy it knows is a blissful unrest; its only need, to receive love Without bestowing it. In after years one gives without receiving and is very Well off with that. So everything in the world is arranged in the best manner, Where there are people Who find their joy in giving, and others Who are happiest in receiving. "But how short and sweet, is the one time when one gives and receives, when one loves and is beloved I I have known it, but she who then made me so inex- pessibly happy has now left me. How beautiful was the world when 1 saw it •\yith her; how blue, the heaven; how soft the air! We hastened, hand in hand, from place to place, and wherever we went, laughingly joy stepped forth to greet us, begging us to linger. We went laughing, singing, rejoicing along, assured of our good fortune everywhere. "Sometimes our riotous delight, overstepping all bounds, startled sober people. But the stern glance softened when. it rested upon us: 'They are yoimg. Let them enjoy themselves,' said the old, and went along sorrowfully smiling. She clung so tightly to my arm, she nestled so closely to my side, that I thought I could never lose her. The idea of a possible change never came to me, never troubled me. Thus I lived a long time. Weeks, mouths, years flew by, and I heeded them not. "One evening, after we had spent the day yet more madly and merrily than usual, she suddenly appeared to me discontented and cold. A terrible fear which I am not able to describe fell upon me. An icy coldness crept over me. 'She will leave you,' said I to myself, 'certainly, surely, she will leave you.' It occurred to me how little I had really concerned myself about her, how I perhaps had expected too much of her truth and constancy. For the first time I felt my trust in myself and in her waver, and anxiously I gazed into her eyes. But her glance turned wearily from me and gave me no answer. "My rest was gone, my life no more the same. It is true she still pressed me impetuously to her bosom again and again, but the sweetness of her kiss had vanished. Often she pushed me coldly away, and I saw to my unutterable sorrow that my love wearied her. And when I once at a later hour returned home, tired and dejected, I found the room dark, cold and empty. She, my joy, my light, my all, had vanished. "Now began a miserable existence for me. The loss that I had suffered gnawed at my heart, but my care was to conceal this loss from the world. '. I endeavored to. show a cheerful, happy countenance. I sought the society of gay young people. I bestowed great and hitherto unknown and ridiculed care upon my person and toilet. My enemies said of me that I had for a long time rouged in order to hide the paleness of my cheeks. That is not true, but I may as well confess that I bought a little flask of newly invented tincture that was to restore the color of youth to my whitening hair. "This hypocritical farce did not long continue. I was soon tired of the strife, and today the opinion of the world troubles me no more. I know that iny darling has left me; that nothing will bring her back, and every one who knows me may perceive and recognize in my appearance the loss which I suffered. But I ever lament the lost one. She is wanting everywhere, Nothing, nothing can take her place to me, and I would willingly give everything I possess and every joy and happiness that is prepared for me to once again call her mine, to once more live through that beautiful, fleeting time, during which alone I was happy." Gaston ceased, and stared fixedly into the dying fire, and fell to the characteristic, slow rubbing of his emaciated hands. "What is the name of this wonderful being?" asked the countess, ''My youth,'' answered Gaston, without turning his eyes from the fire,—From the German For Short Stories, THE He knows, tho rogue on tho tree, That over mountain and lea The spring is coming, coming, Faster than eye can seo. Last week he was stark with cold, Went heavy, scmgless and old. Why, hark to tho tuno he is humming! 'Tis a song for the days of gold. And her voice that calleth tho swallows Home, and tho gold wren follows, Nearer is coming and nearer, Thrilling the hills and hollows. And ho knows, the rogue on the tree, 'Tis the queen from over the sea. Her voice is sweeter and dearer Than any blackbird's can be. —New York Tribune. NONA, Some years ago 1 passed several weeks at a fishing village on the coast of Brittany. What a hole it was I But how picturesque I A miserable anchorage, for ten boats at the most, a single stony street, which I can Compare to nothing better than a mountain torrent. On top of the hill a church, a veritable gothio toy, which stood in the middle of n cemetery from which a magnificent view of the ocean was obtained. Finding myself in the vein for work, I lingered in this ont of the way corner until the end of the mouth of September, which by a rare chance in rainy Finis- tere, was that year exceptionally mild and clear. But one cannot always compose verses and write, and a walk Was my hygiene and my distraction. My most frequent promenade was along the beach, having on my right the bleak and rocky cliffs and on my left the uncovered stretches of sand—an immense desert of sand left bare by the outgoing tide. Two or three times I had exchanged civilities with some custom house officer going his rounds, his gun slung over his shoulder. I was so regular and peaceful a prome- nader that the sea swallows were no longer afraid of me and hopped in front of me, leaving the print of their star shaped feet in the wet sand. I walked six or eight kilometers a day and returned home with my pockets filled with those dainty shells which are found by burying tho hand deep down in the damp pebbles. This was my favorite excursion. However, on the days when a strong ttfere—just a little more to the star- toard. There were fout men in the crew *f*-the skipper, two sailors and my poor Pierre. But the sea only gave up three of the drowned men and retained my comrade. Nona became an orphan. It goes without saying that I did my best to replace her father. But the child, even after the first sorrow passed away, did not seem to console herself. And do fou know why, monsieur? Because of as idea all the women around here have. They beliero that a soul must remain in pain unto the judgment day unless it t e- poses iu consecrated ground, we men do not believe in all this nonsense when we know what happens when there is a death on board ship. But Nona could not be forced to believe other than the women had taught her and continued to burn candles at all the pardons in the Neighboring towns for the repose of her father's soul. "However, in spite of everything, time is a famous merchant of forgetfulness, and Nona after a few years appeared to me to become somewhat reconciled. Besides, her grief had not prevented her from growing handsomer and taking a pride in herself, and it is not because I loved her like a father, but, upon my honor, she was the freshest and prettiest young girl in the parish. We lived so happily together. We were not rich, to be sure, but we lived, and we enjoyed ourselves all the same. I had my pension and my medal, and then we used to go together to hunt for lobsters in the rocks. The trade is a paying one, and there is only one danger, that of being overtaken by the tide. Ah, unfortunately that was how she met her death, poor little one! "One day when my rheumatism confined me to the house she went fishing alone. It was just such a day as today, the sky clear, the wind high. When the rock searchers gathered together with full baskets, they perceived that Nona failed to respond to their calls. There was no possible doubt. Great God, she had been delayed and surrounded by the. rising tide! She had been drowned I Ah, what a night I passed, monsieur! At my age, yes, a hard hearted man like me, I sobbed like a woman. And the remembrance came to me of the poor child's belief that to go to heaven she must be interred in consecrated ground. Therefore as soon as the tide went down I went to the shore, and, ttAlE, GIRLS ING PARt WlfH tHElR CROWN-GLORY FOR A FEW CENtS. BERKSHIRE PEOPLE. breeze was blowing and the tide was very high I abandoned the seashore, and climbing the village street I strolled along the sandy moor, or else I settled myself with a book on a bench in a corner of the cemetery, which was sheltered by the church tower from the west end. It was a Ic-vely spot, conducive to sadness and rovery. The church tower stood out against the autumn sky, over which dark clouds were scurrying. Crows, whose nests were in the steeple, flew out with their hoarse cawing, and the shadow of their large wings glided over the scattered tombstones, almost hidden in the grass. In the evening more than at any other time, the last rays of the setting sun At Chinese JSIoney, It is held'by some that the coinage of China was invented especially for the confusion of the foreigner. At any rate, two market villages 30 miles apart are quite certain to have a different rate of exchange, aud—but this may be only a, coinoideuce-»-the foreigner is not the one who profits thereby, Thus, suppose you tender $1 at Stone Umbrella mart, and af ter much weighing and testing thereof are given in exchange 1,080 brass coins strung ow a string, of varying weight and thickness. ' Arrived at the Plain of Peace, you buy §1 worth of fowls, and put down your 1,080 coins, only to be told that the exchange is 1,160, and yon. have to find, the balance. JJest day, having u»- vested all yojw? savings in cash, you ye* torn to stone Umbrella, intending to buy up j»)l tb§'silver in circulation at AliMor- ,youj. &qpes.|. You »re rat with, a 9iMJfc' M W»«»..wh wp__tw bathing the sea as . though with blood, the ragged branches of the skeleton of an old apple tree silhouetted against the crimson sky and the deep intense stillness of the wild home of the dead flooded my soul with melancholy. It was on such an evening as I have just described that, wandering among the tombs, many of which bore under the sailor's name this mournful legend, "Died at sea," I read on a new cross the following words, which astonished and puzzled me: "Here reposes Nona Le Maguet. Died at sea Oct. 26, 1878, at the ago of 19." Died at sea 1 A young girl! Women hardly ever go out in tho fishing boats. How did this happen? "Well, monsieur," said a gruff voice behind me suddenly, "you are looking at poor Nona's tomb?" . I turned around and recognized an old sailor, with a wooden leg, whose good graces I had acquired by the aid of a few glasses of brandy, which I had given him in the taproom at the inn. "Yes," I replied. "But I thought that yon fishermen never permitted women to go out with you. I have even been told that they bring you misfortune." "And that is the truth," responded the good man. "Besides, Nona never went into a boat. Would you like to know how the poor little one died? Well, I will tell you. " "First of all, I must tell you that Pierre, her father, was a topman, like myself, and an old comrade. At Bourget, when'Admiral La Rouciere raised his golden helmet on the point of his saber, and we flung ourselves, hatchet in hand, on the embattled houses, we marched elbow to elbow, Pierre and I, and it was he who received me in his arms when those cursed Prussians put a ball in my thigh, That same evening in the ambulance at the fort Pierre held my hand to give me courage while the surgeon amputated my limb, and he was there at my bedside when the ad* miral brought me my medal. But those rascally Prussians got the best of us, and we were sent- home. I, with m y wooden leg, was practically helpless. But Pierre, who was uninsured, hired oil board a fishing smack. Very soon afterward his wife died from, an intermittent f eve,r, leaving him the care of little Npna, who was going on, 10 years' of age, - . "Jtfatwilly wb»l°the widower was at sea; it was J, his comrade, I, the old bachelor, whP eared fop the little She was a gQQd 8.»d' pretty " £5 courageous SPO, sweet.... „ ,„ very ofte.n.wen.t*tQ the wks at low . r „ , ,„_,.,„. gjjj^npg^ jprawn.i ,OU] "'" ,with the others, searched for the body. "And we found poor Nona," con tinned the old sailor in a trembling voice. "We found her on a rock covered with seaweed, where, knowing that she was going to die, the poor little one had prepared herself for death. Yes, monsieur, she had tied her skirts below the knees with her fichu, through modesty, and with her old idea uppermost had attached herself to the seaweed by her hair, her beautiful black hair, certain that she would thus be found and interred in consecrated ground. And I can say, I, who know what bravery is, that there is perhaps not a man brave enough to do likewise.'' The old man was silent. By the last -gleam of .the twilight I saw two great tears rolling down his weather beaten cheeks. We descended to the village side by side in silence. I was profoundly touched by this simple girl's courage, who, even in the agonies of death, had retained the modesty of her sex and the piety of her race, and before me in the distant immensity, in the solitudes of the heavens and the sea, gleamed out the beacon lights and the stars. Oh, brave men of the sea! Oh, noble Brittany!—From the French of Francois Coppee For Romance. Dickens' Characters. Not even Dickens, I think, found room for a butcher amid his Babylon of trades. A bailiff he has and eight sheriff's officers, half a dozen beadles and half as many more brokers. The sheriff's officer is, of course, a familiar enough figure from the days of our literary drama. An ingenious American has compiled a list of Dickens' characters, classified by callings, and it reads like nothing so much as a trades directory. There are architects, auctioneers, bankers, barbers, boarding house keepers, blacksmiths, carpenters, carriers, chandlers, chemists, cle,rks (a perfect army of them), coachmen, coal merchants, constables, corn chandlers, costumers, detectives, doctors, domestic servants, dry gaiters, engineers, engine drivers, farmers, fishermen, gamekeepers, grocers, green grocers, haberdashers, hopgrowers, jailers and turnkeys, laborers, lamplighters, lawyers, law stationers, locksmiths, manufacturers, merchants, medical students, money lenders, notaries, hostlers, pawnbrokers, parish clerks, plasterers, porters, postmasters, potboys, reporters, robemakers, saddlers, sailors, sextons, shipwrights, stewards, stokers, stonemasons, sugar bakers, tailors, teach" ers, tobacconists, toymakers and merchants, undertakers, watermen, weavers, wharfingers, wheelwrights. The list might be made longer, but that perhaps is long enough to make you realise how amply provided with tyiides and tradesmen are the teeming streets of Piokens 1 imagination. —-Mao* millan's Magazine, IricUuin, singularly enough, iridium, though a metal of such comparative rarity, is said to. be a source of no spall trouble in the Derations of our mints, on account of jibe difficulty experienced there jfe sepa* 'rating it feora gold bullion. Practically, aji is' w,e,ll kjjown.jtbis metal js utilised JJQ wo? estent ton roaming instrument! # delicacy which-require to possess *•*<* "' ' • "notcorroding,a»disobfe a natural alloy oj Jewelry and Wigs Are Made of the est of Crops—Information, Some of It of an Odd Character, From ft Man Who Makes ThtnRS of Hair. It was quite by chance that the writer of this article happened on a man who has spent his lifetime in the manipulation of human hair, transforming it into wigs, crowns, frizettes and all the other kinds of "false" hair and Weaving it into watah chains, eyeglass guards, bracelets, as well as mounting it in lockets, rings, .pins, earrings and brooches aud working it up into all kinds of floral designs and emblems. "A charming head of hair on a woman," he said, "is a thing of beauty and indeed a crowning glory, but to a hair worker it is of little value. Even the longest hair, before it has passed through the hands of the manufacturers, is well nigh worthless. The hair of a woman's head which is 80 inches in length, for example, would not bo worth more than GO cents. "I remember a woman coming into my shop one night. aud offering to sell her hair. Sho said she was a seaman's wife, and not having heard from him for many months was in desperate straits for money. She Wanted to know how much I would give her for her hair, which was of considerable length. I refused to cut it off. I wouldn't cut any woman's hair off. It is such a demoralizing, degrading thing to do, and the fact is emphasized When dire need is the cause of the sale. However, I was in a position to obtain her assistance until her husband came back. "We got our finest descriptions of hair," continued the subject of this interview, "from France and Italy,whence come all shades of black and brown. France, again, Germany and Spain supply the market with brown, light flaxen and red hair. Gray hair, being found in every parcel, is described as universal "On the continent there are regular hair harvests. During the summer time you can see at every fair peddlers surrounded by girls with their beautiful hair nicely combed out standing in file waiting their turn. The peddler has in his hands a pair of shears, each girl bends her neck, a few snips, and the hair is off, tied into awhisp and thrown into a basket standing at the shearer's side. And how much do you think that the girls get for this? A few cents, a guady trinket or a bright silk handkerchief. "Some peddlers travel from cottage to cottage plying their trade, and the same performance is gone through. An average head of hair weighs four ounces. When sufficient hair is accumulated, it is sold to the hair manufacturers, who submit it to a process of cleansing and sorting into various lengths and shades. It is then ready for the wigmakers, who buy it as they.require it, paying at the rate of 20 cents or so per ounce for lengths of 10 inches to 12 inches to as many shillings as there are inches for lengths of 36 inches and upward. The greatest demand is for hair from 14 to 24 inches in length. The longest female hair on record is 72 inches." The tycoon of Japan once confiscated the hair of a whole province and had it woven"into a ship's hawser over a quarter of a mile long. Then he discovered that steel ropes were in existence, and now the cable, composed of the pigtails of the unfortunate Japs, reposes before the eyes of the curious in Bethnal Green museum. The gentleman interviewed possesses a magnificent trophy of hair, in size some 8 feet long by 2 feet high, in the form of a basket of flowers, every leaf, every petal and every stem of which is composed of cunningly wrought hairs from the human head. How long it took to create it, it is impossible to say, but years unquestionably. He has other similar displays, mostly the work of himself or his son, though they pale into insignificance beside the monument of patience in question. The working of hair into ornaments has gone out of vogue considerably of late years, biit seafaring men even now are great lovers of this form of memento. Naturally their favorite designs assume the forms of anchors, compasses and other things nautical. One day,a gentleman came to the subject of this article and desired him in a most mysterious manner to weave some hair, which he gave him, into the form of a serpent. The head and tail were to be of gold, and the tail was to be fixed into the mouth. The serpent was to be in two coils and to encircle a golden heart pierced by a dagger, In order to thoroughly comprehend the design he had to be let into the secret, and this was the- explanation which was offered ; The serpent was to represent the na- t\we of a certain young Jady to whom the hair belonged and who' had jilted the gentleman in question. The golden heart was symbolic of his pure and worthy affection, and the dagger showed how deeply be had been wounded. The tail of the serpent being i» its mouth in* dicatecl that in injuring her quoridsm lover §he ha4 also bitten herself. The jilte4 swain was w 08 * particular about the ewmtioft of the wo?fe, sent it bacfe twice for alterations w<l finally refpsoa to h&ve. jt at all, b,atbQS, Sp'-flteii fttid tntfileetnal fo*ce* Stroftg Artiong Then*. Aud this region, eo favored by nature, owes much of its character and ia- tere.Rt to its history as well. Settled, later than the seaeoast, tho western parfe of the state was in its beginnings made of rnoro varied elements than the- np — eastern. From the valley of the Connecticut colonists pushed through the mountain gaps into that of tho Housatonic t the hills attracted settlors from the flat and sandy lands of Cape Cod, While the Dutch from New £ork have left ia name and character their impress upoii the Berkshire people of today. Spiritual and intellectual forces were largely prominent in the laying of its foundations, and snch forces have contributed and continued their influences ever since. , Missionary zeal, represented by such names as Eliot and Sargeant, founded Stockbridge. Jonathan Edwards hero spent the years which represented the prime and fullness of his powers. Ephraim Williams, the fighter in tho French and Judian Avar, dying on .the battlefield, left his fortune to plant and endow tho college which bears his name. Mark Hopkins, Berkshire born and bred, another Arnold of Rugby, set his stamp upon a whole generation j throughout its history soldiers, saints and scholars have both represented and impressed its life. The reasonings of Jonathan Edwards, which for good and evil have had so great an influence upon theological thought, found their most powerful expression in his treatise OK the will, which was written while he lived in Stockbridge. Lenox heard the last public utterances of Chonning; his successor, Orville Dewey, born 100 years ago (1794) at Sheffield, long made that place his home, and there, too, were born the two Barnards, one the president of Columbia college, the other^the soldier scholar of our civil war. Oliver Wendell Holmes lived for years afc Pittsfield. Catharine Maria Sedgwick drew around her at Stockbridge and Lenox a distinguished circle of the besfc literary society of our own country and many cultivated wanderers from the old world. Fanny Kernble here ,made for years her home. Longfellow, Lowell,. Hawthorne, Herman Melville, Beecher,, G. P. R. James, George William Curtis, Matthew Arnold and others lingered among and loved the beauty of these hills, where plain living and high thinking have found noble expression in the past and where here and there they still survive, spite of the inflowing tide of wealth and luxury that floods the Berkshire of today.—Arthur Lawrence in Century. Trees Tliat Die When Men I-ive Near Then*. The deaths of nearly all the pino trees in Asbury Park give rise to an interesting question as to whether or not it is true that this tree is so wild by nature that it will not endure domestication. It is tho breed of pine that grows in the sand close to the seashore of which this seems to be time. Asbury Park:, is-, built iiporr.a former .sea beach extending three miles inland to the edge of the great forest that reaches from Ea- toutowu, back of Long Branch, to Cape May. This forest is called ' ' The Pines, ' ' because of the preponderance of pine trees in it, tho other trees that are plentiful there being mainly oaks of four varieties, with a few magnolias, tulips, sassafras and hickory trees and hollies and laurels. The pines still flourish in the woods behind Asbury Park, but in the town a large fraction of the few that remain are sickly and dying. Thousands have died and been cut down since the tree embowered town was built in the woods a quarter of a century ago. The villagers say they die because it kills them to have human beings walk beside them. They say that even in the forest the pines that stand beside the footpaths are the first to die. Others credit their destruction in the village to the shaking of the earth by the heavy trolley cars and steam railway trains, and still, others declare that manuring, watering and topsoiling the sandy ground is what has done the damage. The truth is yet to be determined, but certain it is that they are dying fast, and that already Asbury Park has lost most of its noblest ornaments. — New York Sun. Rebuked by Hannibal Hainlin r Mr. Harnliu was a true gentleman. , Punctilious himself in the observance of all tho requirements of gentlemanly intercourse, he was equally exacting of every courtesy due him from others. He permitted no man to be rude to him or ' to assume the attitude of a superior, OB one occasion one of the able pen and leaders of the senate, distinguished for a self conscious, lordly air in his deportr ment, in the change of seats which oor ours once in two years in the senate chamber had gained a seat by the sicte, of Mr. Hamlin and began at one? to, practice upon him those little e$action,$ a»d annoyances which he badbeen\a<jw oustomed to impose upon, others. Affaf a few flays of yielding to these enwoa®£> ments My, Hamlin turned and in, a tcjpt that 4id not require repet4tiani<68i&:, "Sir, if you expect to be treated. • gentleman, you must prove one," Tjjerewas sever oco&sjqn, ward to repeat the admonition, It, Pawes in. Century, ;:« "That bicycle sujt of y fi,po,e, "js the '
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