"The most exciting chase I ever had," he said, "happened a few years ago in Russia. One night, when sleighing about ten miles from my destination, I discovered to my intense horror that I was being followed by a pack of wolves. I fired blindly into the pack, killing one of the brutes, and to my delight saw the others stop to devour it. After doing this, however, they still came on. I kept on repeating the dose, with the same result, and each occasion gave me an opportunity to whip up my horses. Finally there was only one wolf left, yet on it came, with its fierce eyes glaring in anticipation of a good, hot supper." Here the man who had been sitting in the corner burst forth into a fit of laughter. "Why, man," said he, "by your way of reckoning, that last wolf must have had the rest of the pack inside him." "Ah!" said the red-faced man, without a tremor, "now I remember it did wobble a bit."--_Philadelphia Public Ledger._ A TALL TREE YARN. Scott Cummins, the poet of Winchester, Woods County, was a cow-puncher in the Northwest many years ago. His outfit came to Snake River one day with three thousand cattle. Cummins, with a poet's license, relates what happened: "The river was too dangerous for swimming, but after following the bank a short distance the foreman found a giant redwood tree that had fallen across the river. Fortunately the tree was hollow, and, making a chute, they had no trouble in driving the cattle through the log to the other side. "As the cattle had not been counted for several days, one of the cowboys was stationed to count them as they emerged from the log. The count fell short some three hundred head, but about that time a distant lowing was heard. "Their surprise may be imagined when on looking about they found that the cattle had wandered off into a hollow limb."--_Kansas City Star._ REMARKABLE ECHOES. President Murphy, of the Chicago National League Club, told at a baseball dinner a remarkable echo story. "There was a man," he began, "who had a country home in the Catskills. He was showing a visitor over his grounds one day, and coming to a hilly place, he said: "'There's a remarkable echo here. If you stand under that rock and shout, the echo answers four distinct times, with an interval of several minutes between each answer.' "But the visitor was not at all impressed. He said, with a laugh: "'You ought to hear the echo at my place in Sunapee. Before getting into bed at night I stick my head out of the window and shout, "Time to get up, William!" and the echo wakes me at seven o'clock sharp the next morning.'"--_Detroit Free Press._ Alas, it is not till time, with reckless hand, has torn out half the leaves from the Book of Human Life to light the fires of passion with from day to day, that man begins to see that the leaves which remain are few in number.--=Longfellow.= The Graves of Our Presidents.