As he wished to market a large quantity of his manufactured diamonds before their artificial character should leak out, he determined to conduct his experiments very secretly; consequently, he put the man-of-all-work at his country place upon the job. This faithful and useful servant was to report the progress of the work regularly at the city office of his employer. After trying several experiments with black gunpowder, the man reported that the scheme didn't work--that no diamonds were produced. The financier then told the useful that he had evidently reached the limit of power of black gunpowder. "Now try dynamite," said he. There was a break in the chain of reports, and he wrote the useful, asking him why he did not report. Still no answer. After waiting some days, the idea suddenly struck the financier that possibly the process had proved successful and that the useful planned to betray him. He accordingly sent a peremptory telegram to him to report at once on pain of discharge. The next day a vision, swathed and bandaged and perambulating on crutches, entered his office. "You infernal old scoundrel!" yelled the wreck, as he entered. "Blow a man up with dynamite, and then threaten to discharge him for not reporting!" THE ELEVATION OF WOMANHOOD I had a certain man in my employ down at Maxim by the name of Benjamin Billings, whom we called Ben Billingsgate. Ben held views very strongly prejudicial to dogs and matrimony. He was all that is implied by the term "all-round useful." Though an erratic fellow, he was bright and energetic and seemed to be able to do anything under the sun when he set about it. But he lacked initiative, except in the expression of his opinions about those two abominations--dogs and matrimony. When he was young and ardent he had married Sukyanna, a maiden who was dominated by the delusion that she had been born with a mission, to which all other considerations were secondary and should be subordinated. She was also a woman with a pug dog. Benjamin's nerves had been frazzling out for some time, and his patience was sorely tried by the division of the lady's affections between him and the dog--with a decided leaning toward the dog. One day he brought home to his wife a beautiful Christmas present, which consisted of a large colored photograph of himself, mounted in an exquisite gilt frame. The expense of the thing represented a week's hard labor, but he wanted to create an impression upon his wife. He believed in doing things by wholes and in striking hard to win. His wife was very pleased--with the frame. On his return from work the following evening, he took a sidelong glance toward the mantel over which the picture had been hung. He did not recognize himself. There in the frame was a life-size photograph of the pug in place of his, which Sukyanna had removed.