(0 DUST AND ASHES- She practiced on him all her wiles Till in love's silken net she caught him, And showered on him her sweetast smiles When to her feet she captive brought him. But when he pleaded with the maid To be regarded as her lover, She sighed a little, blushed and said, "Please wait until the summer's over." And then began love's golden dream; To every picnic, every dance he Took her, bought her lemon-cream And other things that maidens fancy. At beach hotels with her he hopped, For she was quite an ardent dancer At length the youth the question popped And waited for the maiden's auswer. It drew the sweetness from his life, It burned andjscorched him like a blister; 'Twas this: "I cannot' be your wife, But I will be to you a sister." Boston Courier. DESERTED LOVERS. "Our ship! our ship! See, Henry, she is sailing away without us. What can it mean?" The speaker, Lucy Morril, was a beautiful girl a dark-eyed brunette; the person whom she addressed was her lover Captain Henry Cavendish a young man of twenty-six. They had left the vessel in the dingy, only an hour before, to visit one of those isles of the Pacific ocean, near which the ship was then lying "off and on." The name of the craft was the Swal low, and she was the joint property of Cavendish and of Lucy's brother. She contained a valuable cargo, which the two owners expected to dispose of at Sydney, Australia, at a profit of many thousands. His share would, the captain had an ticipated, afford him the means to com merce married life with, and he had already won a promise from the sweet girl, who had accompanied her brother on the voyage, to become his wife as soon as the cargo was sold. Now, at Lucy's exclamation, her lover, who was in a small valley, gath ering llowers for her, ran to the sum mit of the hill on which she stood. "Aye, what can it mean?" he cried in surprise and dismay. The ship had made all said, and, be. fore a fair wind, was receding from his gaze at a rapid, rate. He gesticulated waved hat and kerchiet m vain. On went the vessel and at last her hull was invisible, and only her upper sails could be seen. Gradually these dipped lower and lower, until every vestige of the craft was lost to view in the distance. The two looked at each other with blanched faces. Here they were, left by themselves on this tar away isle ot the Facihc, which they knew was out of the track of passing vessels. "Something is wrong," said the cap tain sadly. "I fear I have lost every thing. I was in a fair way to be hap py and prosperous. Now 1 am poorer than a beggar. Tears rose in Lucy's eyes. I advised you not to go into partner ship with my brother," she said, "but I did not believe he was dishonest. I thought he was only wild and reckless. Now I do not know what to think." "It has spoiled our happiness," said Cavendish. "Probably we will never see the craft again, and as I am thus penniless, I cannot think of obliging you to mini your promise ot being mv wife." For several moments Lucy's dark eyes were veiled by their long lashes; then she threw herself weeping on her lover's breast. "Can you believe me to be mercen ary?" she said. "Oh no, Henry; I am yours the same as ever." "But," replied Cavendish, "we have no money to live on now, if I should make you mine." "We hardly need money here," said Lucy, smiling. "That is true; but we will want food." "We would want that whether we were married or not," said Lucy softly. "And so you are willing to be my bride to marry me now?" "I I did not say so," she answered shyly. "It is for you to say." "Who is here to marry us?" "True enough; but but I don't know I have heard that missionaries are sometimes on these far away is lands." "We will go and look for one," said Cavendish, offering his arm. They had not proceeded far when they met a native a dusky, wildly-ciad man, with long, black hair. He show ed surprise on seeing them, and asked them many questions in broken Eng lish. From him the lovers learned that there was a missionary on the island. Heguicled them to that person's house; a small building, with a thatched roof. The missionary, an aged man, re ceived them kindly and heard their story. "It is seldom that vessels pass this way," he said. "Iam afraid you will have to stay here for months. You will have to live principally on fruit and fish." "Can we get plenty of that?" inquir ed Cavendish. If you have a boat, you can go out and catch all the fish you want. As to fruit, it grows wild on some parts of the isle, but to make sure of getting enough, you had better cultivate a plantation of your own." The young man had no difficulty in inducing the missionary to perform the marriage ceremony. Assisted by the good 'man, the cap tain then set out about erecting a hab itation. It was finished in a few days, and the missionary loaned the young couple a few utensils to "commence housekeeping" With. For a pocket knife and a silver tobacco-box, one of the female natives sold to the captain half-a-dozen dresses, which she had ob tained, in exchange for fruit, from the master of an English vessel that had once anchored off the island. These dresses, Lucy, who was skillful with the needle, soon altered to fit her per son. And now, while Cavendish never ceased to legret the loss of his vessel and cargo, he and his pretty wifecould not help enjoying their island life. Thecaptain eventually had a thriving plantation, on which he cultivated not only fruit, but also vegetables. In his boat the Dingy he would row miles a way from the island to ob tain fish, and often Lucy would ac company him. Happy in eachother's society, the two at last became attached to their snug little island home, which stood, with its thatched roof, perched on a rising bit of ground above the beach, where the sea waves came rolling in white and high. One morning, after they had lived there almost a year, Caven dish left his wife to go on one of his usual fishing excursions. It was a calm, still day, and the young man, rowing far from the isle, was soon lost to the gaze ol Lucy who was watching him in the misty distance. An hour later a terrific gale sudden ly came sweeping over the ocean. The wind and the sea together roared with a din that was almost deafening, and it seemed to Lucy that thegreat waves, scattering sheets of spray that filled the air like white clouds, were as high as mountains. Terrified and anxious on her hus baml's account, she watched in vain for his return. "He is lost! He is lost!" she cried, wringing her hands. "His boat could not live in a sea like that. Oh, Henry! Henry!" The old missionary made his ap pearance. He strove to console her, but he could give no hope, for he, too, could not help thinking the captain was lost. The spray and the rack of the storm covered the raging water for miles, so that no object could at present be 6een through the cloud-like curtain. Straining their eyes to the utmost, the two anxious watchers vainly en deavored to pierce with their gaze rush ing masses of vapor. All at once Lucy fancied she saw something like a black speck tossed and buried along towards the island. "See! What is it?" she gasped. "An overturned boat," said the missionary, when the object had drifted nearer. "It is his boat!" Lucy cried in agony. Such was indeed the case. Broken and battered, the dingy in which Cavendish had left the island, was at length hurled high upon the beach. It seemed as if Lucy would lose her reason. With wild eyes she gazed upon the boat. Not a sound escaped her. She stoodlikea statue, staring at the broken dingy, as if she could not tear herself away from the spot. "Come, child," said the missionary; "come. It is hard, but you must try to control yourself." "I will stay here. I will watch for his body," she groaned. "It must soon come." But she waited in vain. The waves refused to give her the remains of her husband. She tottered to the lit tle house, and, throwing herself down on a rustic lounge there, she gave way to hergrief. "To think that I will never, never see him again!" she cried "Oh; I wish that I, too, was dead!" There was a bright, hectic color on each cheek, and a restless gleam in her eyes. The words of consolation offered by the missionary fell unheeded on her ears. A delirious fever was fast tak ing possession of her brain. The old missionary went outside of the house, and walked to and fro, his mournful gaze turned seaward. The violence of the gale had now abated and the atmosphere had cleared. Far away the watcher beheld a large ship, apparently headingfor the island. "Here comes a vessel!" he called, hoping thus to turn the young wife's mind a littlefrom the grief. She was on her feet and out of the house in a moment. With eager in terest did she gaze on the approaching craft. "I know that ship," she cried, in a voice of agony. "It is my husband's and my brother's the swallow. But it has come too late! too late! My Henry has gone, and I will never leave the island. I will die here, and when I die I must be buried in the sea, where he lies, and there weshall meet again." Wildly shone her eyes as she spoke, and the missionary feared that her mind had already begun to wander. Meanwhile on came the ship, until she was within a mile of the beach, when a boat was lowered and pulled shoreward. As it drew nearer, there was a sim ultaneous cry of joy from Lucy and the missionary, for they recognized Captain Cavendish, standing in the bow, waving his hat to them. "He has been picked up and saved.'" cried Lucy'scompanion. "Aye, aye, safe and well!" shouted the captain, hearing the words. boon alter the boat s keel grated on the beach, and Luey threw herself into her husband's arms. "Have you no greeting for me?" said a voice near them. Lucv looked up to see her brother, whom she had not recognized on ac count of his thick beard. As the cantain released her. he em braced and kissed her. "This is, indeed a. happy day for me," he said. "Out in the storm, just as it commenced, I fell in with your husband, struggling in his little boat, and I was fortunate en oush to pick him up. The boat however, drifted away from us before we could secure it. Now I find my sis ter, well and happv, still, I hope, hav ing faith in her wild scamp of a broth er. "Why did you desert us?" inquired Lucy. "Why leave us on this island?" "It was not I who deserted you; but the men. They rose in mutiny, which they had probably been for some time planning, knocked me and the two mates down, tied our hands and feet, thrust us into the hold like pigs, and then, clapping on sail, headei away from the island. "Their object as I afterward learned, was to take the vessel to some South American port, there sell the cargo, pocket the funds, and then make ofl inland, leaving the craft in our posses sion. They were not good navigators, and, therefore, they were many months beating about the Pacific Ocean. "At last they were within some hun dreds of miles of the South American coast, but by this time half the num ber concluded that their plan was not a feasible one. They would, on reach ing port, be boarded by the authori ties, questions would be asked, and detection, it seemed, would be inevita ble. They were unanimous for freeing us and returningto their duty, provid ed we would promise not to punish them severely for what they had al ready done. "Two others did not like this propo sition; the two parties quarreled, and the end of it was that they all finally resolved to desert the vessel in a body, and make for an island they saw in the distance. They did so, first setting us at liberty. They took the launch the best boat we had and many useful things from the ship. With the cook and steward, there now were only five of us to work the ship. A few days later, however, we shipped some Portuguese sailors from the Felix Islands, off which we then lay becalmed. "As these men wanted to go to Syd ney, and would not ship until I had promised them I would make a 'straight wake' for that place, I was obliged to head in that direction, in stead of retracing my course to the distant shore a thousand miles away on which you and Cavendish had been left. "A fair wind favored me, and I final ly arrived at Sydney, when I disposed of our cargo to a much better advan tage than I had even expected. Then I shipped another crew, and headed for this isle, off which, it seems, I ar rived just in time to save your hus band's life. I have to add that his share of our profits is with mine, safe under leck and key, aboard ship." A few days later, Captain Cavendish, now the fortunate possessor of many thousands, sailed away with his wife from the island. In due time the hap py couple reached London, and on the outskirts of that city they erected a comfortable cottage their future home. GROWING OLD, Growing oldl The pulse's measure Keeps its even tenor still; Eye and hand nor fail nor falter, And the brain obeys the will; Only by the whitening tresses, And the deepening wrinkles told, Youth has passed away like vapor; Prime is gone, and I grow old. Laughter hushes at my presence, Gay young voices whisper lower, II I dare to linger by it, All the stream of life runs slower. Though I love the mirth of children, Though I prize youth's virgin gold. What have I to do with either? Time is telling I grow old. Not so dread the gloomy river That I shrank from so of yore; All my first of love and friendship, Gather on the further shore. Were it not the best to join them Ere I feel the blood run cold?" Ere I hear it said too harshly, "Stand back from us you are old." All the Year Round. SYMPATHY AND LOVE. THE BLUE GRASS REGION. The Cultivated People of This Section and Their llupiy Pastoral Life. Letter in the New York Evening Post. That one may hear the English lan guage spoken here in purity; that the best magazines are read; that Ameri can authors are discussed and intelli gently liked or disliked; that young ladies know good music and are as well dressed as those of New York; in short, that there is hereaclass of people who, in all that goes to make up culture wealth, travel, manners, morals, speech, etc. are the equals of the best Americans to be found anywhere, are truths unsuspected ' by many, and doubtless incredible to many others with whom invincible ignorance or in grained prejudice are obstacles to faith. The pastoral life goes on prosperously and happily year after year in the bluegrass region. It is necessarv that discrimination be made at the outset as to locality. Between the dwellers in this rich rolling plain and the in habitants of the river and mountain counties is all the difference, as re spects cultivation and peacefulness, that one might reasonably expect to find between different races. Undoubt edly by the stranger who should visit this country for the first time, the class of people first to be met and studied are the more prosperous and intelligent farmers, lie need not go among them armed to the teeth. In the vicinity of the towns he will find that some of them are men of busi ness in town bank officers, profes sors, lawyers, etc. And so they are men of ideas. They have private li braries, they drive the most beautiful of horses over the most beautiful of level white limestone roads. The grounds and the woodlands around their homes are sometimes worthy of an English park. Of course you will expect to see the herds of Jerseys and Durhams grazing over their fertile meadows. One of them may show you the stables where famous trotters or racers are being groomed. Anoth er may take you to the aromatic shed where his men are pressing the tobacco which has of late begun to be so largely cultivated in this part of the State. Another may open for you the bonded warehouse, where "old Bourbon" is st ored away, barrel above barrel, tier after tier, and, of course, if you have a mind to, you can find out what "old Bourbon"is when you return to the shaded veranda. You walk to some k'ioll, and from its summit cast your eye over the succession of mead ow , field and forest . The negroes are fol lowing the ploughs down the long rows of the young Indian corn. The shuttle of the reaper is heard in the wheat field on the distant hillside, and the faint scream of a locomotive as it rushes along the banks of the winding river. A cool wind, sweet with the odor of wild rose and elder bloom, with the sa lubrious smell of freshly cut clover, or newly ploughed earth, blows from this quarter and from that. Above you is , the deep, serene blue, with white clouds drifting over. Under you is the deep green of the velvet turf. Around you is an atmosphere the most luminous and crystalline. To you come the coo of building doves, the notes of the speckle breasted lark, the shriek of the i.iritated blue jay, the drowsy tattoo of the woodpecker, driving his bill against the top of a dy;ng walnut. You think of the heat and dust and din and weariness of the great city, and ihank your stars that you are in the blue grass region of Kentucky, j Taking tea the' other evening with an old acquaintance, now professor in a New England college, the conversa tion recalled some of the friends of our younger days, and he surprised me with this remark: "A woman's sym pathies lie nearer her heart than her love." . But he surprised me more by the story he told to prove it. "I guess it was seven years," he said, "that our chair of astronomy remained vacant. You know Dr. Merdon? It was justly that the world finally gave him fame. Well, after his death, the trustees were at a loss to fill his place. A weak man would have been insufferable there. "Do you remember his family? Charming wife and daughter. They spent several years abroad after his death, and when they returned, not withstanding that the widow still wore mourning, the number of our little so cial events doubled. The daughter had a string of millionaires after her constantly. Female society, perhaps you know, was limited, and it was with a foundation of truth that the fellows grimly joked about calling on the girls their fathers had courted be fore them. Charlotte Merdon was as fascinating a young woman as her mother had been, so say the old folks, and it was to her that Professor Lutz quoted from Horace, 'Oh, daughter! j more beautiful than thy beautiful ! mother!' when he brought down on j himself the ridicule of the mountain : day party. Yes, she could have had the pick from a dozen rich boys, and I ! think she would have taken it, too, if she hadn't discovered that hermother j was trying to influence her in their favor. At the senior party that year, Char I lotte held court, as she did every where. She was surrounded by the rich fellow's of Charlie Elliott's set. Elliott was happy that night. Charlotte had been unusually gracious, and her mother had made her favor clearer than ever. i " 'Ed,' said he, turningto his chum, 'I tell you what will be great sport. Bring Seymour up and formally pre- sent him to Miss Merdon. It will con- I fuse him. He won't know what to do, and there will be a deuce of a scene.' "The chum complied, and in a mo ment he had the reluctant Seymour by the arm. The scene that followed must have been all that Elliott desir ed. For a moment the poor student stood before the belle. It was not un like the beggar and the princess. Her easy attitude contrasted strangely with his painful awkwardness. Elliott had not miscalculated. The effect was immediate. All eyes were turned to ward the couple, and a smile went around. "Charlotte Merdon saw it, and her cheeks flamed. She had diined the heartless joke. To the surprise of those about her, she begged Seymour to be seated insisted that he should be seated. Then she tried to draw him into conversation. But it was impossible. Embarrassment seemed to have driven his wits away. Only one remark he ventured to make. Glancing at a protrait on the wall, he stammered out, 'That's a good picture of the president.' The protrait was taken thirty years before, and was anything but a good likeness of the president as he then appeared; the un fortunate remark caused another smile. Elliott was delighted: His joke was a splendid success. Poor Seymour twisted about in his chair and hung his head. His discomfiture was com plete. "Miss Merdon took a deliberate look at the picture, and did not smile. 'Yes' she said 'it is called a very good likeness of him just after graduation. Have you seen the president's flowers, Mr. Seymour? Let me show them to you.' "Rising and excusing herself, she led the young man into the greenhouse adjoining the parlor. '"The devil!' said Elliott. 'I didn't look for anything like that.' "Seymour, rescued in this way from the trying ordeal, hardly knew what to do or say. He felt as if a millstone had been taken from his neck. The pain and the manner of relief worked strangely on his sensitive nature. He elt that he was in great debt to his companion. He wanted to kiss the hem of her garment. He wanted to cry. He knew he was feeling and act ing like a fool. He felt that he would make a greater fool of himself than in the parlor. But some way he didn't care. He had lost all fear of the beau tiful girl. Her act of mercy had brought him nearer than years of acquaintance could. He talked rap idly of the flowers, for he knew of them. Charlotte listened, listened wondering why she cared to listen, lit tle thinking that her sympathy had brought the awkward student nearer than he would have been had she known him a life-time and had never Been him in pain. So, whenhepointed out the observatory where he worked, the queerly-shaped building that showed its dark outlines in the moon light, just over the campus on the hill, she wondered what it was that prompted her to beg him to take her there, to exact the promise that on the very next night he would conduct her through the buildings that had been built after her father's orders. She persuaded herself that it was a desire to see some manuscripts of her father's which Seymour told her had been left there. Perhaps it was. "Notwithstanding her mother's mild remonstrance, the next evening found her with Brent Seymour in the telescope room of the observatorv. The roof had been let down and she was watching the stars. "'I wonder if father often studied them from his room?' said she. " 'Whenever the sky was clear.' t ; T wnnilor if 1 wi no 1-1 t-4- V, . 91 hvuuvl u vain oco liicui L1J vv : " 'No, I think that through one of them he is looking at us.' "Far from science and astronomy, far, very far from his scholarly stand point, the man's childish reply had taken him, but it carried him nearer to the heart of the girl than he dreamed. "Mrs. Merdon's disapproval of her daughter's visit to the observatory with Seymour broadened into anger as his calls were repeated, and repeat ed often. An intimacy grew between the young people, that even to them selves they did not undertake to ex plain. The girl's friendship had open ed a new world to the hard-worked student. Had he known more of life, he would have known he was falling in love. Over the other a secret was steal ing as steadily as comes over us the morning. A month had passed since the senior party. The two sat in the telescope room. She seemed to be studying the stars. " 'And do you remember,' she was asking, 'that evening you thought through some of them father was look ing at us?' " 'Yes.' " 'Do you suppose he can see us now?' " 'Yes,' (in a surprised way.) " 'Then, hesitatingly, 'do you think he is glad is glad to see us together?' " 'Won't you,' (the voice was very husky) 'won't you answer for me?' " 'Yes,' she said, in a voice as clear as a harp-cord, 'I know he is.' "Seymour wondered if his senses were giving away. He hardly knew what followed. He meant to ask if she did not think her father would be glad to see them always together. Somehow the words seemed long and heavy and he could not make the words come. He had a chok ing sensation in his throat and his eyes were blinded with tears. He felt just as he did in the greenhouse, the night of the senior party. He wanted to kiss the hem of her gar ment. He felt that he was in deDt to her and falling deeper in debt every moment. He knew he was making a fool of himself, but he didn't caret He was the happiest fool that moment in God's happy world. '"You are just as much mine,' she said at last, her hands resting on his head which some way or other had found a place in her lap, 'you are just as much mine as if I had done all the wooing myself.' "The Merdon mansion had never seen such a storm as followed Char lotte's avowal of her betrothal. Her mother insisted that she should never consent, never in the world, and the girl who had always honored her wishes above everything else wras in distress. " 'But you did not marry a rich man yourself, mother; why should you want me to?' she urged. " 'I married a man who was great whom everybody knew; why, if you were to marry the man, whoever he is, who will fill his chair, I should be hap py forever, but this fellow,' and her shelett the room. It was late in the evening when Char lotte stole up stairs. Passing her mother's room, she saw the door was partly opened. She knew what it meant. Women, even among them themselves, make their reconciliations gracefully, gradually. She pushed the door open as her mother intended she should, and went in. The lady sat by her writing table; her head resting on her hand, and she was evidently sleep ing. A little pile of letters lay before her, a picture beside them. Tears had dropped upon the letters and the pic ture bore the stain of tears. Char lotte looked at the picture closely. The face was familiar. Surely she had seen it before. But where? She could not place it among her ac quaintances. Whose face was it? A broken uncertain voice seemed to say, 'That's a picture of the president.' UHer lover's remark of the portrait on the wall, the picture that her mother cried over. It was all clear, very clear, and she didn't care to read the open letter by the picture. '"My poor, dear mother, she thought, as, without awakening her. glidedfrom the room, carrying withher the greatest secret of her lifetime, save one. "It was after midnight when Mrs. Merdon awoke. She had hoped her daughter would come in. She wanted to tell her that she was no longer angry, she had been carried back over parts of her own life, and she wanted to tell Charlotte, that after all, she must follow the voice of her heart that her own experience had taught her so. She was almost ready to confess to her although she had married a man who was great, whom every one knew, she no, no, no, she could not tell her daughter that she could not tell her daughter that! Very slowly she put the letters away, saying, 'Yes i loved him then, and, God for give me, I have loved him ever since.' "At noon the next day, a servant brought a note to the president's study: Charlotte E. Merdon requests the pleasure of a few moments private conversation. " 'I wonder what Addie Mather's daughter wants of me,' thought the old bachelor, as he passed down into the reception room. 'How that girl brings her to mind!' j "In a dignified manner that evens surprised herself, Charlotte began: " 'I understand that the trustees have given you the power regarding the professorship which 'my father's death made vacant?' " 'Yes. " 'Have you made any provisions yet?' " 'No.' " 'I have a candidate to present.' " 'What! you! A candidate! Who is it?' " 'Brent Seymour.' "Charlotte's intimacy was not un known to the president, but this as tonished him: " 'It is impossible,' he said, 'I don't see how you can think of it.' " 'Would you not do much to bring to you one you loved?' she asked boldly- "A peculiar light came into the grey eyes behind the steel-bowed spectacles " 'Yes.' " 'How much?' " 'Anything.' " 'Would you give a professorship? "The peculiar light increased, ft was almost ablaze. "'Yes.' " 'Will you give me this professor ship if I bring you one you love?' "The grey eyes were now fairly aflame. She was understood. He sprang to his feet. "Age seemed to fall from him like a scale. " 'Girl' what do you mean?' be shout ed. " 'That she loved you all the time." Exchange. Essayon Toothache. From the Pittsburgh Chronicle. . There are a great many alleged cures for the tooth ache, such as hot poul tices, cayenne pepper, dynamite, to bacco, etc. If the sufferer is noc ad dicted to the use of the last-named remedy, it might give him temporary relief that is, it will make him so hid eously sick that he won't have time to think about anything else than the trouble with which he is grappling. One chew of tobacco will give such a person about an hour's relief from toothache then look out. Perhaps the best remedy is to sit on a dentist's door-step; sometimes look ing at his sign is all that is necessary Still, it is best not to trust too im plicitly on this means of relief. I have known people to travel for miles in search of a dentist, and when they finally reached his door the toothache would disappear, and they could only look foolishly in the servant's face who answered the door-bell, and say they didn't want anything that they had pulled the wrong bell, etc. And I have known those same people to co home grinning all over at how they had out witted their teeth and saved 50 cents into the bargain; but the moment their own door was reached there: came a blood-curdling, nerve harrow ing, hair-raising twinge of pain, and the accompanying shriek of agony told', that the "battle was on once more,"' and the dentist several miles away.. Then the first performance was re-enacted, with the exception that the sufferer walked right in and sat down in the inquisitorial chair, and had the offending tooth removed without any more ceremony than being hauied-irom his seat and around the room at the end of a pair of forceps. It is an ex perience that once enjoyed is never forgotten; it will return at the dead hour of midnight to threaten a man until he is almost scared out of his boots if he happens to have them on at that unseemly time. It will cast a shadow of gloom over the most soul satisfying enjoyment in the world to think that in another hour a fellow's wisdom tooth will resume its satur nalian orgies, and make him regret . that he was ever born. Personal Gossip. Queen Victoria wore the Koh-i-noor " diamond at Beatrice's wedding. The actual cost for Gen. Grant's funeral, at a moderate estimate, will be $875,000. This for the city of New York alone. The late Colonel Fred Burnaby prided himself on his descent from Ed ward I., and when reminded that monarch was a tyrant, would say; "No doubt . But I would sooner be descended from those who dared op press the people then to belong to the people who are cowardly enough to submit to oppression." Somewhat astonishing is the fact that the formerly notorious Victoria. Claflin Woodhull is married in London to John Biddulph Martin, a wealthy banker, whose cousin , George Biddtilpb,. is married to the daughter of Lord Sal borne, who is connected by marriage with Lord Salisbury. Charles Neuville, a gentleman with a talent for matrimony, has just died in the State Prison at Columbus, Ohio, to which he was sent in Decem ber, for bigamy. His usual plan was to provide for an illegality in the mar riage, and to plead that when arrest ed, but the thitreenth case proved un lucky. He left a message to his wife at Peterboro', Canada, declaring that she was his only love, as she was his . only lawful spouse. The appointment of General Mac Pherson as successor of General Rob erts in the command of the British army at Madras, in India . is significant. . He greatly distinguished himself hi the Afghan campaign, and is one of the best fighting men of the British army. The new British Cabinet is putting the best men at the front in India. It is said that Mrs. Sartoris wflR make a short visit to England this fall, and will then come back to this; country with her children for the pur pose of educating and bringing them. up as Americans. It was the wish of tieneral Grant that the children should be so educated. Besides this, Mrs. Sartoris is anxious to be with her mothtr for some time at least, and Mrs. Grant wishes to have her children about her.