A HOBBY RIDER CARRIED TO HIS DEATH.

SOME minds inherit a propensity to fix itself concentratively and abstractedly upon " one idea;" they become bright as the sun on the one theme, and proportionally dark upon every other.

Illustrations of this form of insanity, known as "hobby-riding," are daily multiplying. And yet in the white light of our philosophy it is neither reasonable nor safe to too suddenly check the rider in his high flight. The interruption may cause him to fail in gaining the immense benefits for mankind which he magnanimously seeks at every cost. With his blighted hopes, and the bright fires of his faith all suddenly turned to ashes, his mind might crumble and despair, like a woman with a broken-heart.

One of the most illustrative conceptions of the concentrated mental state-in which the hobby-mania is fully and fearfully developed-we find in the following synopsis, made up from an extended account in a Sacramento journal. The story (says the World's writer) is based upon the alleged mysterious death, not long ago, of an aged mystic, or maniac, named Gregory Summerfield, who met his fate by a fall over a rocky precipice

of 1,000 feet from a platform of a car on the Union Pacific Railroad, at a place called Cape Horn, near the north fork of the American River. On the same platform with the doomed wretch had been standing another man named Leonidas Parker; and, from this and other facts, popular suspicion in the Golden State inferred a cold-blooded murder, and caused the arraignment of Parker for the same. Indeed, the account, though not satisfactorily clear on this point, seems to indicate that the accused was twice tried for the supposed crime, and escaped both times through insufficiency of the circumstantial evidence cited against him. Summerfield, for some time before his frightful death, had been popularly known in California as "The Man with a Secret," and arbitrary rumor, with its usual facility or theory, associated Parker in some way with the assumed individual perils of said secret and the interest fancied to be dependent upon the removal of its possessor from life. It is always difficult enough to learn upon what bases the common mind founds its inferences of the personal histories of uncommunicative eccentric characters and their associates, and in this case the foundation of the popular idea seems to have been particularly destitute of known facts. It was certain, however, that Parker, who was a lawyer, had been more or less concerned. in the later mysterious story of poor old Summerfield, and had certainly induced the latter to make the journey upon which he lost his life. These were the only positive points adduced for the arraignment of Parker for murder, and they failed to accumulate sufficient

other evidence to sustain the accusation. Now, however, that the accused, tried, and acquitted man has himself passed from life, there has been found among his papers a letter purporting to tell the whole story of "The Man with a Secret," though still leaving the secret itself unrevealed. According to this letter, the acquaintance between the writer and the victim of the Union Pacific Railroad ride began in Texas, as far back as in the days just after San Jacinto, when both were young men. Parker was bent upon following law; Gregory Summerfield had scholastic tastes for chemistry, astronomy, literature, and abstruse philosophical speculation; and when the two associates of the Lone Star republic parted, it was for the lawyer to prosecute his chosen profession whithersoever it might lead him; while the student as fortuitously pursued the guidance of relative circumstance.

They never met again until very many years after, when, one day toward the close of last September, the mellowed lawyer, sitting alone in his office in San Francisco, was surprised by the entrance of a rather wildlooking old man, meanly dressed and carrying a battered leathern travelling bag, who, after soliciting a private confidential interview in a more retired back office, and turning the key in the lock thereof, introduced himself to the man of law as his old Texan friend, Gregory Summerfield. Though finding it hard to recognize the former youthful student of chemistry and metaphysics in the haggard spectre of age seated before him, Mr. Parker tendered a cordial and surprised welcome, and

mechanically expressed a hope that the other had "made his fortune." To this Summerfield responded calmly that fortune had not come yet, but should be compelled to do so speedily if the whole human world knew what was best for itself! The curious speech causing the lawyer to exhibit signs of mingled wonder and alarm, the visitor proceeded, still with perfect coolness of manner, to explain himself.

“You know,” said he, “that there has long been much talk among scientists of the feasibility of so decomposing water and liberating its oxygen as to make it as inflammable as oil. The practicability of the process is not positively denied, though Professors Henry, Agassiz, and some others maintain that the expense of the method must always prevent its use. I have discovered a chemical combination capable of setting all the waters of the world into inextinguishable flame, and can show it you here in a bottle in this leathern bag of mine. You know the characteristic of potassium: it ignites instantly upon contact with water. My discovery is apparently a globule, or pill of potassium; but the latter is only a coating, within which is contained the composition of my discovery. Cast the globule into a river, lake, or sea, and the combustion of the potassium liberates the subtle composition within. The latter, in its turn, decomposing the water and liberating its oxygen, adds that gas to the combustion of the blazing potassium. And the process thus begun goes on eternally; the decomposition and flame together producing an abnormal chemical condition that evolves afresh the composition

sustaining them; until what was at first but a little wisp of sputtering flame upon an inch of water, widens in endless burning circles to a whole ocean blazing inextinguishably to heaven!" Believing now that he had indeed to do with a madman, but willing to temporize with him until some other visitor should help him terminate the interview, the lawyer assumed an air of perfect credulity, and quietly asked his old friend if he had come to him for legal help toward securing a patentright for his wonderful invention.

"Patent right!" echoed he of the Elemental Pill; "I want nothing of the kind. What I demand is instant reward for a discovery to which I have devoted a quarter of a century's study, research, and sacrifice. I must have a million of dollars for my secret; and you, Parker, must get it for me. Otherwise I shall destroy the whole world and all that in it is, as many another planet has been blotted out with flames!" A new idea for temporization now occurred to the wily lawyer. "If," said he, "this composition of yours can set an ocean on fire, it ought to be capable of proving itself on a small scale. For instance, suppose you give me a specimen of its power in a bowl of water." He expected some make-shift objection to this proposition, but the visitor accepted it instead. "Bring your bowl," he said curtly, and drew from his leathern bag a bottle containing a number of globules about the size of common marbles.

Going to his wash-closet, the puzzled Parker drew a bowl about two-thirds full of water and returned with it to Summerfield. The latter deliberately poured out