occupied, be laid his satchel and shawl upon 
a family of its kind, belonging to the angel 
in gray, and took from his pocket a ten dol¬ 
lar hill which ho placed in the little hand 
which returned him his cap. Further dam¬ 
age the poor fellow received when a second 
smile and Warmly-worded thanks lor his 
liberal contribution were dealt him from the 
beautiful mouth. 
Dick was in the midst of an elaborate re¬ 
ply, when the cars stopped. He lingered 
yet another moment, seized his satchel and 
shawl, with ids eyes still on the face of his 
charmer, and then, even as the cars were in 
motion, he bethought himself of the Doctor, 
and hurriedly left the car ami joined his 
friend mi Hie platform. 
“ Well,” ejaculated that worthy,“I began 
to believe you'd concluded to go and bury 
the dead baby, and make the protecting 
beauty Mrs. Angelica Murcy. Isn’t she a 
stunner ?” 
“ Townsend,” returned his friend, “ don’t 
use slung in speaking of the noble creature.” 
lie looked after the train just disappearing in 
the distance. “ 1 wish to heaven,” lie con¬ 
tinued, “ I’d remained aboard. IIow stupid 
1 was to leave it. 1 might have learned her 
name and residence. And now-” 
“Now, in all probability,” broke in the 
Doctor, “ you’ll never meet her in this vale 
of tears. But you’ll know her in heaven, if 
you behave yourself well enough to get there, 
by her wings; she’JI have the biggest of any 
of them, seeing they’ve commenced to sprout 
on earth.” 
Ami tlius rallying his thoroughly capti¬ 
vated friend, the two made their way to the 
house of an acquaintance, with whom they 
were to remain that night, and go on the 
next day to their destination—St. Louis. 
After the first salutation, our hero went 
to his room to remove some of the evidences 
of his long ride from New York. lie had 
removed his coal, vest and collar; he had 
splashed and washed till his damp curls 
clung close to his shapely head, when lie 
made a startling discovery. 
Flushed and breathless, lie burst into the 
next room upon his friend. 
“ Townsend !” cried he, “ what on earth 
do you suppose ? I’ve got. the wrong bag. 
I’ve changed baggage with lhe Angel of 
Mercy. Look at that slipper. See that 
thimble, Contemplate that glove.” 
“ It’s evident, you’ve got the lady’s satchel. 
And what was there in yours V” 
“ Don’t bring up thill dreadful idea,” said 
Dick. “ Cigars and a hair-brush, a pack of 
cards and a comb, pocket flask and a tooth¬ 
brush—everything disreputable. If I am 
judged by that bag, I’m u lost man.” 
“And this 1 took for a clean shirt,” and 
Dick held up a frilled and fluted sack, such 
asjlo duty for more extensive night-dresses 
with ladies when traveling. “ I’d like to 
see Angelica when she opens my satchel." 
And Dick fell to musing, with the slipper 
perched on two fingers, and the frilled white 
sack spread out tenderly on his knee. 
* 4 * # * 
In the upper apartment of a handsome 
mansion in St. Louis, on the evening of the 
day our heroine first made tiie reader’s ac¬ 
quaintance, beautiful Belle Alden, the pelted 
and only daughter of the house, sat contem¬ 
plating Lhe various articles her confidential 
maid was disposing upon the table—articles 
taken from no less a receptacle than Dick 
Marcy’s traveling bag. 
The cards and cigar case lay side by side, 
and a highly scented party they were. 
“ What’s in llie little silver flask, Rosa?” 
said the fair mistress. 
“ Brandy, ma’am,” replied the maid. 
“He can’t be very dissipated to travel 
with such a little bottle. That’s in case of 
sickness, 1 suppose," returned Belle. 
“ JL is my belief," said Rosa, who was a 
Shrewd girl, “ that the gentleman was a 
mighty nice one, else you’d not so readily 
excuse the cards and the bottle.” 
“ For shame, Rosa. All gentlemen play 
euchre traveling, and even clergymen take 
a little brandy in case of sickness,” answered 
Belle. “And this man was a gentleman, 
and a liberal one, too, for lie gave lhe poor 
emigrant woman ten dollars. What’s that, 
Rosa?” 
For, at that moment, Rosa held between 
her fingers a letter. 
Whether it was wrong to read a stran¬ 
ger’s letter vexed Belle for a moment, as her 
eyes glanced at the superscription and hand¬ 
writing, 
“ Why, of all things 1” exclaimed the de¬ 
lighted girl, seizing the letter. “ Wiiy, Rosa, 
this is Jenny Marcy’s writing, and addressed 
to Richard Marcy—her only darling brother 
—who was in Europe when we two gradu¬ 
ated at Madame Hitler’s, in Brooklyn.” 
Belle read rapidly till she had reached the 
middle of the letter, when she burst into a 
merry laugh. 
“ Hear this, Rosa,” she said, and she read 
from the letter: 
Above all things, Dick, dear, don’t fail, 
while in St. Louis, to see my best friend and 
schoolmate, Belle Alden. I know you will 
fall in love with iter, for besides being the 
best girl in the world, she’s a beaut}' and an 
heiress, and father’s choice above all others 
for his son’s wife. He used to talk it, over 
at home, and hope Belle would not marry 
before you came home from Europe. She is 
full us anxious to know you, and wears your 
bait and mine in a locket father gave her 
last year. Give her lots of love, and beg her 
to overlook your many imperfections, for the 
sake of her old school-fellow, Jenny.” 
“Then this gentleman is, of course, Miss 
Jenny’s brother, said Rosa, “and what will 
she say when she hears of your having met 
in this romantic way V” 
“ I don’t intend to tell her of it till I go to 
New York this fall,” said Belle. “ Perhaps 
her brother will call.” 
But in this supposition Belle was wrong. 
The month passed, and she saw no more of 
tiie golden-haired Richard. 
And she carefully separated the yellow 
lock in the little keepsake from the dark 
tress of Jenny’s, and put it in its place alone, 
while another locket held the bit of Jenny’s. 
And somehow Belle looked very often at, the 
wee golden curl, and she never did so hut 
the rest of the handsome head sprang up be¬ 
side tin; lock; and she would sit and con¬ 
template the picture her fancy wrought for 
her, little dreaming the interest she was al¬ 
lowing to grow in her bosom for Jenny’s 
brother. 
in the fall Belle and her father went to 
New York, anil the first, day after arrival 
found her sitting with her old friend, who, 
alter the effusive meeting was past, sat down 
to empty her soul. 
“ I am so glad that you are here this 
month,” Jenny said, “because I am to be 
married in October, and I have always been 
crazy -to have you for a bridesmaid, and 
Dick is to be Harry’s best man.” Belle 
blushed. 
“ But Dick lias fallen hopelessly, madly 
in love,” Belle turned pale. 
“ Yes, I was dreadfully provoked when 
he passed through St. Louis and never went 
near you. But lie went, wild over some lady 
he met on that fatal trip. He will talk to 
me by hours of his Angelica. And when 1 
have spoken of you ho has been positively 
rude, and asked me to have done bothering 
him about my freckled school friends—you 
know that your picture shows freckles. But 
bless me, you haven’t any now ! And your 
picture don’t look any more like you than 
it does like me, not a hit.” 
“ But tell me,” said Belle, “ is your brother 
engaged to I Ids lady V” 
“ Engaged! Why, dear heart, he don’t 
know her name, lie just found some ol her 
old clothes somewhere. He's got her old 
slippers under a glass case; lie’s got her 
gloves stuffed under another; lie’s got her 
nightgown done up in lavender; he’s got 
her gold thimble hung on Ids watch chain, 
mul I do believe lie’s got a hair brush and 
some hair plus next to his heart! Oh, U’s 
folly to interfere! lie’s beyond all hope. I 
did think the excitement of my wedding 
would wean him from it; hut not a Hit of it. 
He looks at my new tilings as calmly as an 
oyster, and only said—it's not kind of me to 
repeat it, though,” broke off Jenny. 
“ What was it he said?" inquired Belle, 
laughing now, heartily. “ Don’t fear for my 
feelings.” 
“ Why," he said, “ I’ll stand up with your 
friend, Belle, and see you safely married; 
and then I’m off to winter in Paris; I’m 
done with love on my own account. It’s 
positively awful.” 
And so Belle thought , as she looked at her 
old slippers and gloves lying beneath a globe 
on either sidepf the faithful Richard’s mantel. 
“ And,” said Belle, “ since he desires only 
to meet me on t he morning of llie wedding, 
so shall it he. I will lie introduced only as 
wo are leaving the house, atld lie can do as 
he pleases about continuing the acquaint¬ 
ance afterward.” 
Belle was radiant with happiness when 
she returned to her father, and delighted his 
fond heart by the change, for Belle had been 
very quiet of late. 
Jenny and Belle shopped, and talked, and 
visited together for the next few days, and 
when the eventful morning arrived, and 
amid a bevy of beautiful girls, Belle shone 
like a queen, the bride was eclipsed, and de¬ 
lightfully acknowledged it. 
“ Oh, Belle!” she said; “I long to have 
old stoical Dick see you. Hark! there’s his 
step. Come into the next room now, and 
be introduced. Don’t wail till tiie carriages 
come—it’s an hour yet.” 
And Belle, with a healing heart, swept 
through the door, and stood even as Dick 
. first saw her, only in place of the gray 
traveling dross, a magnificent white satin 
fell in rich folds about her, and upon her 
lovely white throat lay the turquoise locket 
that held Dick’s golden curl. Upon the 
beautiful head, crowned by its chestnut hair, 
a coronal of pearls added to the grace and 
beauty of an image that, shrined in Dick’s 
heart, was already an angel. 
Belle did not look up, hut she felt the 
presence, as Richard Marcy came up and 
was introduced to little Jenny’s old school¬ 
mate. Then, as he held out his hand, she 
raised her eyes, and laid her liny palm in 
his and said: 
“ 1 think we lmd better rectify that mis¬ 
take about the traveling hags, Mr. Marcy!” 
“ Good heavens, Jenny?” said Dick Mar¬ 
cy. “ Why didn’t you tell me that your 
friend Belle was my ‘Angel of Mercy?”’ 
“ Because I didn’t know till last night, 
and then Belle made me promise not to tell. 
And, besides, you didn’t want to meet. Lhe 
freckled faced school girl till it was positive¬ 
ly necessary,” returned Jenny mischievously. 
It would be hard to say which of the four 
that made Jenny’s bridal party was the hap¬ 
piest that day, 
Dick did not go to Paris that winter. He 
found tlial St. Louis contained more attrac¬ 
tions than any foreign city. 
But the next fall did see Dick and Belle 
on their wedding tour, and lie vows he will 
have the old romantic traveling hags brushed 
up for the occasion. Dr. Towusend, who is 
to go along, says lie knew, the minitle lie 
saw the girl, she would one day he Angelica 
Marcy, as he “ felt it in the air.” 
-- 
MRS. BUFFOPS NERVES. 
“ But my poor nerves, George I" 
“Ah, yes, your nerves! Confound your 
nerves, Sirs. Buffon; you arc always throw¬ 
ing your nerves in my face. 1 say the wife 
of a poor man has no business with nerves. 
There!” 
And Mr. Buffon spitefully hit off the end 
of his cigar, pulled his hat on his head, and 
strode away to his place of business. 
But. before Mr. Buffon had readied the 
wholesale store down town, where he was 
employed as a salesman, his temper was gone 
—and then he was ashamed of himself, as he 
always was; for George Buffon was a good 
hearted fellow, despite his fiery temper. 
“ Poor girl I” lie muttered ; “ poor Emily ! 
I am too hard on Iter. She's the mother of 
my children, and a good wife, if man ever 
had one. It’s not her fault if she lias bad 
nerves.” 
And the more lie thought about that busi¬ 
ness of the evening cigar, the more lie saw 
that it was bis duly to heed I ho little wife’s 
wish, timidly as she had expressed it. And 
still thinking, it occurred to him that it 
would not he a had idea if lie were to quit 
smoking altogether, lie whipped a lead 
pencil out of his pocket and made a calcu¬ 
lation. 
“ Four cigars a day—that's about my aver¬ 
age—at ten cents a piece, that’s forty cents a 
day. Three hundred and sixty-five days in 
a year—multiplied by forty—whew !—wliv, 
it’s one hundred and forlv-six dollars a year! 
Who would have thought, it! Hum—hum 
—must think it over seriously.” 
And thinking it over seriously, he re¬ 
solved, that, yes, he would give up smoking 
altogether. 
And Mrs. Buffon! No sooner had her 
husband left, the house than she reproached 
herself for her selfishness. 
“ Poor George!” said she; “I ought not 
to ask it of him. He has hut few enjoy¬ 
ments, and I suppose it is my duty to endure 
his cigar. Oh, what a thing it is for a woman 
to have nerves I" 
That night as the family sat around the 
fire after supper, Mr. Buffon took to playing 
with the children, and did not take out his 
cigar case. 
“Why don’t you smoke, dear?” asked 
Mrs. Buffon. 
“ Oh, my wife’s nerves won’t allow it," 
said Mr. Buffon, with a good liatured laugh. 
“ 1 was to illume, George," said the wife. 
“ Smoke if you want lo, dear. I have made 
up my mind that after all a cigar is not such 
a dreadful tiling. I ought, to be thankful 
for my good husband, who always spends 
Ids evenings at home with his family, us 
you do.” 
But Mr. Buffon did not smoke; and the 
evening passed away pleasantly. No fur¬ 
ther allusion was made to the subject. 
The next morning Mr. Buffon took out his 
cigar case as usual, and put a cigar between 
his lips, and bidding his wife a pleasant 
good-by, walked away; and when lie got to 
the corner where he usually lit his cigar, he 
did not light it, but took it carefully from 
his lips and put it hack in his cigar case. 
The next evening came, and the next, 
and still no cigar was lighted. Mrs. Buffon 
was thankful—grateful; and ns month after 
month passed by, and she saw that the even¬ 
ing cigar was given up for good, she de¬ 
clared there never was so good a husband 
in Lhe world, atid that she would do some¬ 
thing to give him an agreeable surprise. 
‘When a woman makes a resolve of litis 
sort, you may he sure something will cer¬ 
tainly come of it. 
One night, a year later, as the family sat 
around the fireside, Mrs. Buffon said : 
“ George, it is just a year to-night since 
you gave up your evening cigar?” 
“Just what I was about to observe, little 
wife,” said Mr. Buffon. 
“ Yeni wero so good about that, dear, that 
I thought it was my duty to make an extra 
effort to please you. So come into the bed¬ 
room, dear, and see what I have got to show 
you.” 
They went and Mrs. Buffon uncovered an 
object which had stood hidden in the cor¬ 
ner, revealing—a curious little iron and st/eel 
concern, in beautiful shape. 
“A setving machine!” exclaimed Mr. 
Buffon. 
“ Yes, dear—just what I have been -want¬ 
ing for so long a lime, you know. It. will 
save a great deal of expense : for now I can 
make all tiie children’s clothes myself, just 
as well as nothing—to say nothing of your 
own shirts, George.” 
“ Where did you get tiie money, Emily?” 
“ Saved it from the grocer, the butcher, 
and the baker, George. Ah, you don't know 
how a few cents a day will count up.” 
“ Don’t I ? ” whispered Mr. Buffon. 
“I got the machine yesterday all complete, 
for fifty-five dollars, and I have six dollars 
left.” 
“ But your nerves, Emily I A sewing ma¬ 
chine will drive you distracted with its 
racket." 
“It will make no noise at all, dear,” said 
Mrs. Buffon, sitting down at, the machine 
ami setting it to work. “ 1 can run it close 
by bailie’s cradle, when Hie little fellow is 
asleep, and it won’t wake him. It. won’t 
make noise enough to interfere with you in 
the evening, when you are reading aloud to 
me.” 
Mr. Buffon kissed the little wife silently, 
and they returned to the silling room. 
“ Well, dear,” said he, after they were 
seated, "you have given me, a pleasant little 
surprise, and now 1 think I’ll give you one." 
Mrs. Buffon’s face flushed. 
“ What would you call that Emily?” said 
lie, drawing a bulky document from his 
pocket. 
She opened it eagerly. 
“ George ! This is an insurance policy.” 
“ An insurance in a life insurance com¬ 
pany, my dear, for $7,500. If I die lo-mor- 
row, you will gel tiie money.” 
“And it costs you $150 a year, George?” 
“ About that.” 
“ Where, where did you get so much 
money ?” 
“ It’s cigar money, dear.” 
Tears stood in (lie wife’s eyes. And when 
lhe husband said that, besides giving up his 
evening cigar, he had given up smoking 
altogether, she could not help throwing her 
arms around his neck and kissing him so 
fervently that the children looked on in 
astonishment. 
“ But you went away every morning with 
your cigar in your mouth,” said the wife, a 
minute later. 
“ And put it hack in the case as soon as 1 
got out of sight,” said lie. “ See, Emily ! 
Here is the old cigar case with three cigars 
in it. They are lmdly chewed about the 
ends, you see ; hut these three cigars have 
lasted me a year.” 
“ Oli, you rogue !" 
“ And now I guess I will light all three 
of them together.” 
So saying lie threw them into the fire. 
Mrs. Buffon declares that that night was 
the happiest of all her wedded life. 
-- 
§>abbafij jfcabing. 
BRAVE MISSIONARIES, 
Miss Yonge’S biographies of missionary 
heroes, just published in London, under the 
title of “ Pioneers and Founders, or Recent 
Workers in the Mission Field," is well 
spoken of. Tt contains sketches of Eliot, 
Bminanl, Schwartz, Henry Martin, iho 
Seram pore missionaries, Adoniratn Jttdson 
and his three wives, Bishops llebcr, Wilson 
and Mackenzie, John Williams, and others. 
Tiie London Spectator pays a curious com¬ 
pliment to the author by observing I hat her 
high church principles do not prevent her 
from doing full justice to the splendid labors 
of the Baptists in India, or of John Wil¬ 
liams in Polynesia. William Cary, the cob¬ 
bler, and Joshua Murahman, the school¬ 
master, were extraordinary men, and 
achieved -wonders. Carey, who was a had 
shoemaker in England and a bad indigo 
planter in India, displayed a genius in mas¬ 
tering the dialects of India, and when Lord 
Wellesley founded the college at Foi l Wil¬ 
liam, tiie only person at that time in Ben¬ 
gal able lo teach the Bengalese language 
was the Northamptonshire cobbler. The 
Government, had forbidden the missionaries 
to enter their territories, but Carey would 
not accept the post offered him unless lie 
was still regarded as a missionary, and ids 
claim was granted. Carey and Ward, sm¬ 
other well-known Baptist missionary, lived 
together for twenty-threeyears. Then Ward 
died of cholera, but Marsh mao and Carey 
lived and worked for many years longer. 
“The self-educated men,” says Miss Yonge, 
“had, by their accurate knowledge and 
deep study, become most eminent authorities 
in matters of language and philology; and 
by their usefulness had actually compelled a 
prejudiced government to depend on them 
for assistance, and thus to support the work 
for which they cared.” 
Miss Yonge’s sixth chapter is devoted to 
Judaon and his three wives, and abounds in 
details which are interesting to American 
readers. The capture of Rangoon by the 
British involved the American missionaries 
in frightful trouble. Judson, who was at 
Ava, was hound and carried to the death 
prison, where his first wife could only gain 
a sigh I ol'him by the help of a large bribe. 
Often she was unable to see her husband for 
days together, but would write on a roll of 
paper hidden in the long nose of a coffee¬ 
pot. in which tea was sent to the prisoners. 
During this time of anxiety a child was 
horn. Of the British officers confined in the 
prison with Judson, all but one died. Then 
it. was reported that the English army was 
advancing, and the captives “ were loaded 
with five pairs of fetters and thrown into 
the common prison among Burinun thieves 
—a hundred in a room without a window, 
and that in the hottest season of the year." 
The prospect of death was imminent, hr 
the order had been given for the execution 
of the captives, and after Judson had recov¬ 
ered from a violent fever, lie was suddenly 
dragged from his prison with a rope round 
LITTLE JOKERS. 
How to make time go fast—Use the spur 
of the moment. 
A joint affair with but. a single party to 
it—Rheumatism. 
Those who have their millions have a 
right to put on aires. 
Wren a man is lantern-jawed can he be 
called light-headed? 
When is a card-player like a lawyer? 
When lie follows suit. 
Whvms the sun like a good loaf? Because 
it’s light when it rises. 
It is often necessary to have a bit of edu¬ 
cation in using a taught rein. 
Modern Knights of the Golden Fleece— 
The New York’ Tammanyites. 
The most suitable window for a single 
lady when on the look-out—A how. 
When do men’s heads resemble their 
dwellings? When they are covered with 
tiles. 
“Put money iu thy purse,” as the pick¬ 
pocket-said when he robbed a man of an 
empty one. 
A newspaper advertisement calls for a 
plain cook, able to dress a little boy five 
years old. 
“ Oh, Nanny, wilt thou gang wi’ me?” as 
the fellow said when lie was trying to steal 
a goat. 
Marriage —An altar on which a man 
lays his pocket book and a woman her love 
letters. 
New Arithmetic. — “How long shall 
you he gone on your vacation, Ned ?” “ Oh, 
about three shirts’ time.” 
Fun, commenting on the proverb, “ Peace 
hath her victories,” savs, “Just so; more 
fall in love than in war.” 
When is the most dangerous time to visit 
in the country? When the trees are shoot¬ 
ing and the Liull-rushes out. 
A man is iu no danger as long as he talks 
love; but when he writes it lie is impaling 
himself on his own pot-hooks most effect¬ 
ually. 
his waist and “ literally driven ten miles in 
the hottest part of the day." So lacerated 
were his feet that he could not stand for six- 
weeks afterwards, lie was chained to an¬ 
other missionary, hut on (lie death of a lion 
which was supposed to he connected with 
the English colors, and was starved to death 
in sight of the prisoners, Judson “ was al¬ 
lowed the reversion of its cage.” Then Mrs. 
Judson was attacked with a fever and her 
infant was nearly starved, and Judson on 
his release from captivity had a return of 
fever and became delirious. Again, on the 
advance of the English, he was sent hack to 
Ava, where he obtained permission of the 
governor of the gaol lo visit his wife. Miss 
Yonge writes: 
“At the door lie saw a fat, half-naked 
Burmese woman, with a child in her arms 
so dark with dirt that it never occurred to 
him it could have been Ids own ; and enter¬ 
ing, he found, lying across the foot ot the 
bed, Ids wife, ghastly white and emaciated, 
her hair all cut away, and her whole ap¬ 
pearance that of a corpse. She awoke ns 
he knelt down by her in despair. She had 
been ill at this time with a horrible spotted 
fever." 
When Mrs. Judson died not very long 
afterward, in her husband’s absence, Judson, 
though he was never the same man again, 
“endured patiently, thought of Ids wiles 
sufferings as gems in her crown, wrote chee 
fill letters mid toiled indefatigably ^ii io.it 
breaking clown.” A remarkable accoui t 
oiven of Judsoifs asceticism after Ids vi es 
South, of Ids retiring for forty da^h.Hj 1 ' 
„| e haunted by tigers, of his seveie fasting, 
of iiis resignation of his whole paU-iuHniy, 
and how, “ having bv nature a peeulM 
ror of the decay and mouldering 
he deemed it pride and self-love, and dug J 
grave, beside which he would eu medflaU’.j, 
nil the appearance of the body after tie* 
This was four years after the death ‘ 
wife, and then revived, as it were, by in s 
votirf.mf.ni lie commenced a new 
