an who has lost his way always travels in a
circle is vividly illustrated by the following narrative, told by a
Montana paper, of a heroic mail-carrier:

Casey carried the mail, carried by a two-wheeled sulky. He started in a
blinding snow storm, and the track across the prairie was lost.

As he did not reach the end of his drive at the appointed time, it was
assumed that he had lost his way. Mr. William Rowe, informed of the
circumstance, set forth, and in due time found a dim track where Casey
had left the main road. Following this, Casey was found, sitting in his
cart, which the horse was drawing slowly and painfully along.

He was in a doze, and Mr. Rowe shouted to him once or twice before he
was roused to consciousness. It was then found that his right foot and
leg were frozen nearly to the knee, and that his left foot was in the
same condition.

It is believed that his injuries are not serious, and that he will not
suffer the loss of either limb.

His story was soon told. The driver had been wandering over that
trackless prairie for ten days and nights, without food or shelter, and
with a temperature never above zero.

All this time he had moved in an almost perfect circle, and had picketed
his horse and camped every night in almost the same spot.

More remarkable still, he had daily passed within a mile and a half of
the Twenty-eight Mile House, which was his destination.

All this time, amid sufferings that would have crushed an ordinary man,
Bob Casey had only one thought, that he must stay with the mail and get
it through, whatever befell him.

And he did; not a single package was lost. Starving, half-frozen, and
dazed by exposure and privation, it was not of himself he thought. His
duty was still uppermost in his mind.

Here was heroic stuff. How many such can the postal service boast?
During all these terrible days and nights, the only thing that passed
his lips was tobacco and snow.

He had with him a goodly supply of the former article at the start, and
as day wore into night, and night into day, he began hoarding it with as
much avidity as ever did a miser his gold.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

PRINCE OF WALES' HOME.

A writer thus describes the country house of the Prince of Wales at
Sandringham, which is a model of comfort:

The large hall which you enter on arriving is fitted up as a
dining-room, with a pianoforte, easy-chairs and two large
writing-ta