They hastened to the town to tell

Their story-free from fear;

How that "white man" would do them well,
That God preserved him here.

The Count gave to these wild red men
His friendship warm and true;
And planted in the land of Penn
The Christian faith anew.

Tho' nought remains of fame to tell,
Nor history's records give

How long he toiled, how bravely well,
Yet Christian deeds shall live.

L. P. WALTON.

THE BOOK AGENT BEATS THE BANDIT.

BROWN, Jones and Robinson, three of as good fellows as ever melted the heart of a country trader to the merry music of the pliant chin, sat one evening of last week in the smoking compartment of a chair car on the R. and T. H. Western Railroad. With them was a tall, thin, dyspeptic man with sandy hair, dressed in a rusty suit of black. Nature had endowed him with long legs, and his tailor with short pants. His coat collar was rich enough in accumulated grease to keep a soap factory going for a month. His mouth was of brass, and his cheek as hard as last year's cider. He was a book agent. Already had he gobbled up the drummers for a Life of Christ and Pocket Encyclopedia of 215 numbers, when suddenly a real Jesse-James-like train bandit opened the door and stood, pistol in hand, before the quartette.

Brown's soul sank down into the heels of his boots. Beads of perspiration big as snow balls stood on Jones' classic brow, while his hair lifted his hat two solid inches from the crown of his head. Robinson murmured the

first verse of "Ever of Thee I'm Fondly Dreaming," and thought he was praying. But the book agent bounded from his seat with a "How do, stranger? Delighted to see you. Do let me show you my superb 'History of Boone County,' a perfect bonanza of domestic peace and happiness to every householder who is fortunate enough to possess one. Three hundred pages of elegant letter press, printed on toned paper and embellished with fine steel engravings and an official map of the State. A carefully compiled, correct topographical and historical

"Shut up!" roared the bandit.

66

Shut up? You bet it will, and fastens itself with a double-action brass clasp-my own invention-and from its simplicity of design and beauty of construction worth half the price of the book. Given away, sir; literally given away, for $3 in boards or $4.50 in morocco with beveled edges."

"If you say

I do say it, sir. Look at this exquisite title page with a vignette portrait of the gifted author. Here you see a genealogical abstract chart in which you can write the names of your illustrious ancestors and beloved family-births, marriages, deaths and

Stop!" shrieked the bandit, as the agent grasped him by the buttonhole.

"You may well say 'stop,' sir; I've said enough to make you ache to possess this beautiful volume, but I haven't begun to

"Sit down!" the robber roared in a voice that made the puffs of the engine sound like the sighs of a sick zephyr, and loosened all the joints of Jones's limbs.

"Biographical sketches of eminent men, glowing obituary with an original poem on death, agricultural statistics, tables of mortality, valuable notes on immigration, trade reports, all the geological-"

"Lemme go, or I'll blow the roof of yer head off,” shrieked the robber, as he wrested himself from the agent's grasp and dropped off the rear car into the gathering gloom of the coming night.

Then Robinson drew from his pocket his faithful

revolver and looked big. Jones rolled his sleeves up and asked where the villain was gone to. Brown fished from under the spittoon a roll of bills and hoped they didn't think he had been scared. But the agent sank wearily to his seat, and for the first time in all that long journey was silent for nearly four consecutive minutes. EVANSVILLE ARGUS.

IN THE SIGNAL BOX.

[A station master's thrilling story.]

YES, it's a quiet station, but it suits me well enough; I want a bit of the smooth now, for I've had my share o' rough.

This berth that the company gave me they gave as the work was light;

I was never fit for the signals after one awful night.
I'd been in the box from a youngster, and I never felt

the strain

Of the lives at my right hand's mercy in every passing

train.

One day there was something happened, and it made my nerves go queer,

And it's all through that as you find me the station master here.

I was on the box down yonder-that's where we turn the mails,

And specials, and fast expresses on to the centre rails; The side's for the other traffic-the luggage and local

slows;

It was rare hard work at Christmas when double the traffic grows.

I've been in the box down yonder nigh sixteen hours a

day,

Till my eyes grew dim and heavy, and my thoughts were

all astray;

But I've worked the points half sleeping-and once 1 slept outright,

Till the roar of the limited woke me, and I nearly died with fright.

Then I thought of the lives in peril and what might have been their fate

Had I sprung to the points that evening a tenth of a tick too late;

And a cold and ghastly shiver ran icily through my

frame

As I fancied the public clamor, the trial and bitter

shame.

I could see the bloody wreckage-I could see the mangled slain

And the picture was seared forever, blood-red, on my heated brain.

That moment my nerve was shattered, for I couldn't shut out the thought

Of the lives I held in my keeping and the ruin that might be wrought.

That night in our little cottage, as I kissed our sleeping child,

My wife looked up from her sewing and told me, as she

smiled,

That Johnny had made his mind up-he'd be a points

man, too.

"He says when he's big like father, he'll work in the box with you."

I frowned, for my heart was heavy, and my wife she saw the look;

Why, bless you, my little Alice could read me like a

book.

I'd to tell her of what had happened, and I said that I

must leave,

For a pointsman's arm ain't trusty when terror lurks ir his sleeve.

But she cheered me up in a minute, and that night, ere we went to sleep,

She made me give her a promise which I vowed I'd always keep

It was ever to do my duty. "Do that and then, come what will,

You'll have no worry," said Alice, "if things go well or ill."

Now the very next day the missus had to go to the market town,

She'd the Christmas things to see to, and she wanted to buy a gown;

She'd be gone for a spell, for the Parley didn't come back till eight,

And I knew on a Christmas eve, too, the trains would be extra late.

So she settled to leave me Johnny, and then she could turn the key

For she'd have some parcels to carry, and the boy would be safe with me.

He was five, was our little Johnuy, and quiet and nice and good

He was mad to go with father, and I'd often promised he.should.

It was noon when the missus started-her train went by my box

She could see, as she passed my window, her darling's sunny locks.

I lifted him up to see mother, and he kissed his little hand,

Then sat like a mouse in the corner, and thought it was fairyland.

But somehow I fell a thinking of a scene that would not

fade,

Of how I had slept on duty, until I grew afraid;

For the thought would weigh upon me, one day I might come to lie

In a felon's cell for the slaughter of those I had doomed to die.