Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 July 1884 — Page 6

LUVXS S KKTKOSPKCT. Sweat-hearted maiden. In my wealth of floWrs You ate the rose Whose fragrance makes sweet the vanishing boors In life's dull prose. I meet yon by the arbor’s covering Of blushing bloom; Von give me a flower, passion b scathing Its rich perfume. I ask yon for the priceless rose of love — Yon smil assent, Sadi happiness is not in realms above 1 I am content. I take your band. I clasp your waist. Your Idas Is ecstasy The years roll on! but ne'er shall fade that bliss From memory. Sweet-hearted maiden, in the scent of flow’rs The pa->t appears: I see yon, and forget the dreary hours And lapse of years.

PETTIGREW'S PREDICAMENT.

BY LILY M. CUBBY.

Pettigrew is one of the best-hearted young fellows I ever knew. He comes to dine with me occasionally, and we have a good, long talk afterward. He likes me, I fancy, because, whilst sympathizing with him in all his fortunes, good or ill, I have never yet been foolish enough to fall in love with him. The darkest days of all his life, ho says, were those of the autumn in which I first made his acquaintance—before, and also at the time that we roonfed neighbors in the top of that horrible <Lown : town building, scarce better than a tenement. You see, I cannot wholly avoid exposing a certain Bohemianism of my own past life while touching upon my friend’s battles and bitterness; nevertheless, that shall not deter me. “The darkest days,” says Pettigrew, with a sigh of thankfulness that they have been safely weathered, “were upon me when I found myself landed, that chilly November evening, supperless and penniless, in the divary room I had rented during the afternoon of the old Irish janitress. You know, I believe, that I had come West the June preceding, secure upon the promise of a good position in a railroad office, a position which had turned out a mirage, I might say, leaving me in a sad predicament. A thousand miles away from the little New England town I ha 4 called home for twenty years, and where were the only people I knew or who knew me; with no relations or connections to write to for aid; with $3.17 in my pocket, and nothing to pawn. I stood thus alone in the great rushing Western j cfty, and endeavored to consider the matter. Common sense introduced me to a cheap lodging-house and a morning paper with a column or two of advertisements for male help, the most of which I responded to in my most clerkly hand. The following week I was fortunate enough to obtain a situation in the notion department of a ‘CheapJohn’ store, where the lower classes traded and the vilest smells abounded. I stayed at that place through all the hot summer weather, earning a salary just sufficient to pay my board. The first of August the floor-walker got mad and had me discharged. “I did some copying for a week or so, at 2 cents a page. Then I went on the wage, as a supernumerary, and learned how to oarry a spear or a torch amazingly well. My healthy longs availed me now: I eould bellow out the bass part of uie chorus of almost any light •pea, once I had learned it, though I didn't know one note from another on Eper, and had never taken a singingwon in my life.

“So off aud on, along through August and September, I made enough to keep life and body together and shoes to my feet. Then came October, but nothing act or sing I did some more Spying and bridged over into Novemr, and landed one bitter night in the room where yqujfirst knew me. I was tired and hungry ,enough to do almost anything. I remiiiibej. ed having read 4bout some poof ’’deVil of a newspaper *nan who hesitated One night for an hour •<C two, not knowing whether to cut his *throafc or to sit down and write a funny paragraph, and who finally did the latter and was very successful the rest of 'his life. I l*t the gas to warm the iroom and crawled into bed, trying to ■be thankful X had not, to sleep in the flutter. The e’s nothing like compar--ufcg yourself with people worse off. TMany a time I’ve gone along the street with an empty* gnawing stomach and made myself positively happy by pitying some poor cripple or blind beggar. And, mind you, all this time I had been watching out for a respectable situation at any work. *

“Next morning I got up and Baid to ®ay. elf, ‘ Pettigrew, this won’t do. You've got to have some breakfast, and where will you get it? That’s ,tjie question.’ It was pretty Cold, but I dressed and went down into the e.reet, where it was much warmer because of the sunlight. I turned into the heart of the city, pondering the dubious prospects 6f breaking my fast, and casting wistful eyes upon such alluring signs as ‘ We give a piece of pie with every 15-eeqt rfieal. ’ "I had walked but a few flocks, when a heavy hand- fell upon my Afcoul»der, and, turning, I beheld the familiar face of a fat basso who had beetMa •chorus comrade of mine in the last -Opera. Possessing a phenomenal voice, though one as uncultivated as my own, be had ,been engaged to go upon tlie road with the company, and I had not afeen him for a month or more. -I was glad to shake his pudgy hand and greet him with a ‘ How are you? ’ ‘First-rate, oD»adoring,’ he replied. ‘ But it is no jgreat fun traveling when you make so ■many one-night stands. We’ve had precious little sleep but what we oould snatch on the cars. And such jumps! Three hundred miles and the like; and if we did get to any hotel in the aaernmg, and thought we could take a map, they’d call a rehearsal.’ *‘l« that so?’said L * Well, at least •you’ve had better luck than L’ ‘How im that V said he. ‘Nothing,’ said I, m ‘ Come and take you*, with me.’ needed no second nmto&m. The «Md sool ordered lartokly, ami we bad *“ *mg

i walking along the street. ‘Nothing,’ I said, frankly. ‘l’d be glad to get hold of anything, for I’m hafrd up, and I don’t know which way to turn.’ “He looked very sympathetic. ‘I wish you were going with t£e company,’ he sa d. ‘But there’s no use asking. I tried to get them to take my brother Jim; he’s got a good voice. Bnt they wouldn’t take another soul, they said. We start out again Sunday for the Northwest. Speaking of Jim, I shouldn’t wonder if he could help you to something. He works at Z ’s, the caterer, you know. He is sent out to private houses for evening parties mostly, and it’s not hard work at all.’ “I swallowed the lump of pride that came into my throat at the notion of acting as waiter at an evening party, and accompanied him to see his brother. Jim was quite as good-natured and almost as fat as the basso. Their name, before I forget it, was Taylor. “How he managed, I havea’t the faintest idea. I believe there was some one sick of the regular force; and he must have fibbed endlessly as to my qualifications. However, they hired me, and I was sent that very night along with him and two others to a large ball. “In his hour, cl ess good-nature he had hustled around and secured for me the regulation dress-suit and nther necessities. Thus appareled, I differed only from the male guests of the evening in the matter of gloves, the gentlemen appearing bare-handed, according to fashion's latest decree. “Taylor, my good friend, had given me any amount of instruction as to my duties; it was of great importance that I carry myself a$ stiiHv erect as possible and affect a broad English accent. For the jest, I strspre against bewilderment at the; beauty of the decorations and the radiance of the ladies' toilets, kept an eye upon Taylor, and asked directions at intervals.

“The fore part of the evening passed without mishap, and we attendants, though necessarily limited to the sup-per-room, heard easily the delightful music, and caught many *n- glimpse of Hating beauty. "Hhl “The programme of miscellaneous dances, which w'as later to be fallowed by the german, was yet in progress, when all at once there seemed to come to us a brief space of idleness. The company appeared to have quite for.gotten the supper room. “Impelled by curiosity, I ventured, forth and down the wide passage to a long mirror near the entrance .'to the ball-room. I paused before this mirror and regarded my anglicized austerity with mingled delight and amusement. Suddenly, however, I started and a superstitious chill crept up my spinal column. There were two reflections in the, mirror—two images *f myself. Two Pettigrews, and one was looking over the dther’s shoulder. I turned quickly and stood facing my other self, in the flesh, who had just emerged from the ball-room. e . : “He stared at me in -a sort of holy horror; glanced agaus*i|i tlie%inirroiv then back at me. T !: dtd likewise. ‘Twins, by George!’ he ejaculated. Then I saw that he wore no gloves. But, apart from this, we were identical in face, form, and costume. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. Suddenly I remembered instructions and jerked myself up into the required attitude.' He saw the movement and laughed. ‘Come,’ said he, ‘I want to speak with you in private. I’m the host’s sbtn' “I followed him unhesitatingly, and' he led the way down the grand staircase to the conservatory. There I chanced to be no cooing lovers in the ' dimness of that cool retreat, and so we ! stood safe.

“ ‘Who are you?’he asked a second time. ‘You’re not a reporter, are you? My mother’s dead set against society papets.’ ‘No, sir!’l answered. ‘Nor a detective?’ ‘No, sir,” I said, shivering a little. ‘l’m only a caterer’s man.’ ‘That’s all is it?’ said he, as if he felt relieved. ‘Well, but how the deuce do you look so like me? I never saw such a resemblance, as when I looked in the glass up stalls. You’re no relation of mine?’ ‘Not that I know of,’ said I. ‘l’m in a deuce pf scrape, and you’re just the man to help me out of it.* Get your gloves off, quick. Can you dance —waltz ?’ ‘ Yes,’ I said, ‘I can waltz as well as any one—valse, I should say.’ ‘pood! Now, if you’ll do as I tell you, and help me out of an infernal bother, I’ll make it well worth your trouble. I give you my word for it, and Herbert French’s word has never been broken yet> I’m engaged for the next number, a valse, to a certain young lady, but I want to get out of it—for reasons of my own, I want you to take mjF place. 11l fix it this way: I bring her here to the conservatory and leave

her While I go to get her an ice. You will come back with the ice, and she'll nevet know tho (Jifi'erence. If you waltz well, 'yoa’Jl have no trouble. You nefed say very little— Small talk and compliments. She’s dressed so peculiarly, you Can make no mistake; costume <0 bsue%nd §reep, quite bizarre. Ana her matne iS’—he lowered his voice—‘Miss Ritchie—Agnes Ritchie. Don’A forget.’ ‘I won’t Jo r € ;et,’ I Baid. . ‘Ritchie and Poorey will have one valse together. It’s appropriate.’ He grimaced slightly. ‘l’ll - teli you the rest when pp meet again presently,’ lie said, ‘you go to the * supper-room and I’ll come for the ice directly.’ -‘AU right,’said I, and obeyed, j “I went at onoe to Taylor, and told I him the host’s son required my. presj encefor a short time in the greenhouse. Taylor was busy dpWripg more champagne, and merely n<sMd‘ I spofce. I fixed an ice and passed into the ball, where my other self awaited, pie: He plucked the white chrtiatidti ‘ Sthf from his lapel and fastened-it upon my own. ‘After the valse, he said, ‘promenade with her for a few moments, then take ! her back to the conservatory. Leave her there, and come for another ice, or , wine, or anything, yott kadir, 'and meet Ime here. And dow, I take it you’re a gentleman and hard-up for timebeing. I want you to- accept a little’— and, poking a small wad into my hand, he pushed me along. ‘Go on,’ he said, smilingly. | “I stu ed the wad in my vest pocket, j and hastened down the staircase. Sore enough, there she sat—a comely dami sel, in a bizarre costume of blue and

green. She motioned me to sit beside her, and spoke sweetly. ‘How quickly you returned,’ she said. Compliments and small-talk, I remembered, were my instruct ons. ‘Would you have had me stay much longer?* I asked, lowering my voice to a soft reproach. “ ‘Yon should not ask such a foolish question,’ she answered, and tasted the i ice in a delicate, pensive fashion. Presently she darted a shy, half-knowing glance up at my face. ‘Rosalys V she queried. *Um?’ I asked, to make time. ‘What about Boa&lys?’ she repeated. ‘Can you ask ?’ I said, deprecating the question merely because I didn’t know anything else to “do. Who or what was Kosalys? ‘Yes,’ she persisted, softly, ‘I can ask. Because she is angry with me for—absorbing yon, as I suppose I have done this evening. Or—as—as you have me.’ Her hesitation was very pretty. ‘She may be angry if she choose,’ I said, carelessly. “Miss Ritchie tapped "my arm with her fan. ‘Fie!’ she cried; ‘do yon fancy the rumor has not reached me?’ ‘What rumor?’ I asked, innocently. ‘Why, the rumor of your engagement, of course. It is true, is it not ?' ‘Now, who could have told you such a thing ?' I asked. *A little bird, perhaps; but no matter. Do you hear the music ? It is our valse.’ “I rose and offered her my arm, and we were soon reascending to the ballroom. Mr. Herbert had been flirting with the lady, I was quite certain. And Rosalys was his affianced, and objected. He was, perhaps, desirous of conciliating her and had chosen this time. I led her boldly into the dazzling light of the ball-room, and we essayed to join the giddy whirl. We got on bravely . together. As we paused to promenade, she whispered softly, ‘I never knew you to dance better.’ ‘One ought al-. ways to dance well with yon.’ I hazard; ed. ‘Better than with Rosalys ?’ ‘Why name Rosalys ?’ I ‘said, indifferently. % “My lady glanced sharply about the room. ‘I believe she has gone. Ido not see her anywhere,’ she said. ‘Do you?’ ‘No,’ I said. ’But. you are not looking.’ ‘I km looking at you,’ said I, fervently. “She blushed, and said, presently: ‘Pray tell me the remainder of tliat story.’ ‘What story do you refer to?’ ‘Why the one you were telling me before we went to the conservatory. Did they go to Newport?’ . ‘Had I tqld you aa far as that?’ *1 asked. ‘Why, of course. lam eager-dp know if they went.’ ‘Ah, but I dare not tell you.’ ‘Dare not tell me! What a notion! Bnt you must. Did they go?’ ‘Did they go?’ I repeated, hesitatingly. ‘Answer me, Herbert,’ she cried as imperiously as she dared, under cover of the promenade music. ‘Yes,’ I cried in sudden desperation. “ ‘Ah,’ she said, as if she felt greatly relieved. ‘Well, go on now. slay, I think mamma is motioning. Let ns go to her.’ ‘Not yetj’ I pleaded. ‘But why ?’ ‘Because—because’—l caught suddenly at an excuse, ‘I fear she may think we have danced together too often. liear she will separate Us.’ ‘O,’ said the lady, but she Was not displeased. “It was about time, I knew, to free myself of this fair responsibility and render an account to the real Herbert. But I had not the nerve to face any dragon of a mamma, if it could be avoided. “ I have something to say to you,’ I said, gravely, a moment later; ‘but it cannot be said here. Shall We not go again to the conservatory ?’ She was very willing, and when she was once more safely seated in the dim retreat I said I would go and get another ice for her. And off I posted—in search of Mr. Herbert.

“Horrors! He was not there. But some friend of his was coming out of the supper-room and caught my arm. ‘Herb,’ he cried, ‘I want ’ “ ‘l’llbe back in a moment,’ said I, rushing past him, in an agony lest the real Herbert appear. I inade for Taylor, and, passing behind him, stepped within an alcove, where I bent over some jellies and so kept my face hidden. In a few moments I heard again the voice of the gentleman who had detained me; he was addressing the host’s son: * Why, I didn’t see you come out. I want ’ and I couldn’t hear the rest. “I began to wonder how Miss Ritchie would regard the delay. As soon as I dared, I went to the door, and then Mr. Herbert saw me and came up. “ ‘ Well?’ he asked. “I shoved a dish of ice into his hand. ‘For heaven’s sake take it!’ I cried; * she’ll think you had to wait for it to be frozen. She’s in the conservatory this fall hour.’ “He smiled, ‘ You’ve done me a great service,’ said he. ‘ Fact is, the lady I’m engaged to vexed me last week. To punish her, I pretended to flirt with this other one, to-night, and carried it a little too far. I had to make it clear with my affianced. That’S what I’ve been doing. If ever you want a friend—:—.’

“ ‘Good heavens! ’ I interrupted, ‘dqp’t thaujk fiae toq much. I’ve only beeh making a wm?sa mess for you. You told me to gi\w her compliments and small ,talk.’ He looked a little dazed, and fled with the ice. “I went lt back into the supper-room, and examined the little wad he had crowded into my h tnd before sending me to the ybithg lady. I was pleased to find it a sso bill. But somehow I began to feel nervous over the affair, and to wish I were out of the house. ‘Taylor,’ said I, ‘I feel ill. I’ll have to go home, if you can spare me.’ “ ‘You do look pale,’ said Taylor. ‘Go along; I can manage without you.’ I hurried out along the passage and down the grand stairoase, the foot of which I had •* reached safely, when to my horVtfr I beheld advancing all unescorted, the lady I had conducted, more than half on hour before, to the conservatory. Mr. Herbert had evidently not gone to her. She rushed to my side and 1 clasped my arm with both her hand*. ‘Herbert,’ she cried, ‘where have you > been ? What does it mean ? Why did von leave me so long?’ I fa rly gasped. My hat was in my hand. ! ‘Where are you going?’ she demanded. Twice I tried to speak but could only stammer and sputter. ‘Oh, oh,’ she fairly sobbed. ‘Can it be you have taken too much wine. Oh, Herbert, I wouldn’t have believed it/ I beard

footsteps on the stairs. ‘l—l’m s ek, going for the doctor,’ I cried in my desperation, and breaking from her, rushed out and down into the street, and theD np the darkest alley. “Nor paused I onoe until I drew j breath at my own stairway, and, entering, climbed slowly the interminable flights to my garret I fumbled in my I pocket and fonnd the key to my bed* ' room, into which I let myself and lit the gas—at full head. It was after 4 but I was flushed with exeitemant I had earned twenty dolars, besides dancing at a swell reception, with a charming young creature whose diamonds alone must have cost thousand . I examined my countenance in the mirror, and felt sure it was no less attractive than that of Mr. Herbert French. I removed the white carnation and laid it tenderly on the dressing-case. Then I began mentally to make use of the twenty-dollar bilL I decided finally to pay my rent a month in advance and bay a restaurant ticket. At least I should not starve or freeze. “Then I began to think of retiring. I had orawled into bed and doubled the pillow under my head, when suddenly I became very thirsty, and had to rise once again for a drink. Alas 1 there was no water in my pitcher—not a drop! “Directly across the hall, as you remember, was the door of the small closet with sink, where water was drawn. There was no one astir, and I thought I might slip across, draw a small pitcherful, and come back, without stopping first to dress. I thrust my feet mto my shoes and, opening the door, passed out and across the dim halL I drew the water and turned to go back. “Great heavens! I found I had shut myself out of my room. The spring lock was down; the key was within, in my trousers pocket. I retreated to the closet and looked helplessly across at the transom over my door. It appeared to be a stationary affair, shut and fastened on the inside. There- wasn’t a article of furniture in sight that one coulfi climb upon. “There was but one of two things for me to do. Either I could remain wherei I Was until, morning and run the risk of freezing to death, or I could venture down two long flight of ptairs and horrtfv the old Irish janitress to perhaps cry ‘Bloody murder!’ at s:ght of me. WTiat I did do was to remain in the sink-room, shivering and shaking for three weary hours. “There was an old colored man who came early every morning to do chores about the building. I listened longingly for his arrival. “And when the interminable hours had finally passed and I could hear his welcome footsteps, I put my head out and called to him, blessing him mentally with intense fervor. “ ‘Joshua!’ I cried, ‘O Josh! come here, quick!’ “He came along quite deliberately. ‘For heaven's sake go down to Mrs. McFarland and get her pass-key. I’m locked out of my room.’ “He chuckled at my plight. ‘Laws-a-massy!’ he said, ‘you’d a heap rather have some doe’s on, hadn’t you, Mr. Pettigrew ?’ “ ‘Now, open my door,’ said I as well as I could for numbness, when he came back. ‘And get my coat and my trousers.’ “And he got them without delay, you may be sure. “Yes; I’ve been in many a strange predicament during my life. But it’s all right now that I’m in business again.’ “But, dear me, I must go. I’ve been gabbling here for hours. So goodnight,” said Pettigrew.

For Sale. A citizen in the western part of the city, who has a house for sale, says that he has learned more of human nature in the last three months than during all his life before. Nine people out of ten who come to look at his SIO,OOO house haven’t $lO to buy with. The same proportion are deliberate liars. Nineteen out of twenty want every room changed about. Ten out of twelve go all through the house and then object to the street. Not one single woman out of the scores who have called at the house had any other idea than to satisfy a temporary curiosity. One woman had every room measured to see if her carpets would fit and then suddenly discovered that the house was a whole block from the street cars. Another sat for two hours and planned how she would fix every room, and tlien left the place in a huff because there wasn’t a iftethodist Church on the next corner. A third was about to leave S2OO to bind the bargain until next day, when it suddenly occurred to her that her sister out in Pontiao might not like the location. Out of sixty or seventy men who have called, every single one liked the location, thought the proporty cheap, and would return next day. The citizen finally got tired of such conduct, and now when any one calls he asks I “Do you wish to look at the house or the furniture?” “Oh, the house, of course.” “Well, this house stands on the north side ol the street. It is on block 14, lot 42. The house is of wood. It is forty rods to a ohurch and eighty to a Bchool-house Street cars do not pass the door. Circus processions never come this way. Now, then, have you any idea of buying?” “Certainly. We must move next week.” “Very well. Please deposit $2 for my trouble in showing you over.” “Two dollars! I’d- like to see myself! Why your house is the poorest one for sale ;n all Detroit, and I’d not live in it rent free!” “But you came here to buy ?” “No, I didn’t I happened to be passing, saw your sign, and I thought I might as well tramp over your premi es as to go down town. Good morning, sir! You’d better insure your house and set fire to it !”—Dclroit Free Press.

A Bismarck young man received a letter from a girl in Pennsylvania in which she said: “i*h huney Los for You invillopa Mi hart iu Chanes of gdldeq Fier And swamps mi sole in a see of Roaay blis,” The case is more serious than he thought it was.

THE BAD BOY.

“Did your chum show up on his return trip from Kalamazoo?" ashed the grocery man of the bad boy, as he came in and began peeling a encumber. “Tee; he got to Bay View at the appointed time, and I met him with some of my pants and a coat. He had a shirt, or a part of one,* and a hat. But, O my! how he looked when he came up the railroad track. If every boy in this country who thinks of running away from home could have seen my chum on his return from his trial trip with the circus, there would be less runaways. He was thin, and seemed to have grown a foot longer than when he went away, and he was hungry. The first thing he asked me for was a bologna, and I gave him a link, and he couldn’t eat it fast enough, and he tried to talk and hug me with the bologna in his mouth. I like hugging as well as anybody, but when a fellow hugs me with a stick of bologna sausage in his mouth, and the end of the sausage runs down my shirt collar, I have got enough. I told my chum not to be too demonstrative, an<r~fib let up, and we went down behind the rolling mill so he could put on my clothes. I brought him some clothes that I wore two years ago, and they were too quick for him. They fit him too near, and when he got his hind legs in the pants his feet and ankles and the calves of his legs went clear through, and I don’t know but the pants would have kept on going clear up above his knees if I had not grabbed hold of them and held them down. The lower end of his legs were tanned, and they looked like a couple of sassidges that the ulster has been peeled off of. The coat was too small, and my chum was inclined to find fault, but when I told him he couldn’t expect all the luxuries of the season, bologna and a drees suit, he said he was thankful to get home and even get into such clothes as that. He said he wondered if the veal that the prodigal son’s pa fed him with when he got back from the Stock Yards tasted as good as that bologna. Well, after dark I took my chum home, and I had been to his pa and ma, and got them to crying beforehand about their boy being far away, and no one knew whether he was suffering or not, and I got his pa to say he would forgive him if he would only come home, so it was easy enough for my chum, cause they nearly hugged him half to death, and his pa was so tickled he cried, and then he told us how he ran away once when he was a boy, and then I came away and left them, and they were awful happy, and there will be no more running away there, I tell you. Say, this is a pretty good cucumber, ain’t it ? “Good enough cucumber,” said the grocery man, as he went to the book and charged the boy’s father with four cucumbers. “But 1 have often wondered what made you peel a cucumber eight square. There, yon see those slices you eat are octagon shape. What good does that do ?” “Well, you see, cucumbers give a fellow kolick. Now, if the cucumber goes down you solid and round like, the cholera morbus medicine has to go to work and bore a hole right thre agh the whole mass of cucumber. Now, I peel them eight square and swallow the pieces whole, and they lay right on top of each other inside of me, like a stack of poker chips, and when I have kolick I swallow pain killer, and it goes right down the sides of the stack of cucumber chips, where I peeled it, and fills up the air chambers with red peppersauce, and knocks your kolick higher nor a kite. I am going to get that patented.”

“You are an original fellow, sure. But what is this I hear about the church going for your pa for going fishing on Sunday? He ought to know better than that,” and the grocery man looked as though he had lost confidence in everybody. “Pa didn’t go fishing, and when the matter comes up in the church I can clear pa in a minute, though appearances were very much against him. You see, all our family, and one Of the deacon’s families, and several other folks that belong to our church, went out riding last Sunday in the country, cause the minister was having a vacation, and we went to one of the little lakes, where there is hotels, and we laid on the bank and sweat all day, and eat lunch, and catched bugs in our trousers, and did everything but fish. None of us would fish on Sunday, though we watched the. people catch fish, as they rowed around near the shore in boats. It’s awful tantalizing to see people catch fish as fast as they can pull them out, when you can’t go fishing. One woman got a big ba son her hook and it was all ma could do to keep pa from wading right in and helping her land it. He didn’t touch her polo, but he told her, in a few wellchosen remarks how to handle the fish, though she was a total stranger to him. Well, when we all got in the bus to come home, a boy who had a b g string of fish asked me if he couldn’t hitch them on under* hind axletree of our bus, and I didn’t think it would be any harm, so I told him to hitch ’em on. I thought it would save him lugging them all the way home, and he said when we got home I could take them in our house, and he would walk home and call for them in the evening. No one knew the boy hitched his fish on our wagon but me, and as we rode along home I noticed people on the streets looked at the fish and laughed. One place there was a crowd on the sidewalk, and they all laded, and one skoffer hollered to the deacon that was on the seat with pa, and said, ‘You had pretty good luck for Sunday, didn’t you, deacon ?’ Pa looked at the deacon, and the deacon look at pa, but they didn’t know what the wicked man meant. Some of the fellows on the sidewalk up to ward our house would ask the deacon if be used minnows or a spoon hook, or angle worms, and, when we stopped at our house, about forty people came to look at the fish. Well, you’d a dide to see pa and the deacon, and ma and the deacon’s wife, when they jumped out of the ’bus and saw the people, and then saw the fish. The deacon leaned against a tree-box, and turned pale, and said, ‘A charge to keep I have,’ pa turned green, and ma turned blue, and I thought the deaeoi’s wife would turn a back summersault off the back step

of the 'bus. One neignl>or went up to pa and said, ‘Where did you catch ’em. Squire?’ and another tried to find out from the deacon all about it, and I was under the wagon uni tying the string, when pa braced up : enough to ask me where them fish come from, and I tried to tell him about the little boy who-was tired and asked permission to tie his string of fish to our wagon to save carrying them so far, and I thought it would be real kind to help him; and the crowd laughed and ; wouldn’t believe it, and they chaffed pa and the deacon till I got the fish on the sidewalk. If pa ha<lii’t been a church member I should say I heard him use some very peculiar words to me for lending a helping hand to that poor, tired little boy. Say, do you think I did wrong, Mr. Groceryman, when I had been taught to be kind to those who were in distress ?" “If I had been your pa I would have broke you in two, and I would have made you swallow a pickerel whole, tail first. You might have known people would think your pa and the deacon caught the fish,” said the grocery man. “ What did you do with them ?” “O, I put them in the ice box, and the boy came after them after" dark But the meanest thing, I thought, was for pa to take two of the biggest fish from the boy for bringing them home. If I have to testify before the ehnrch committee as to pa’s innocence I ghn.ll mention that matter about his eating some of the fish, and then the deacen will be mad because he didn't get any. Well, I must go,” and the boy held his hand on his stomach, and looked surprised, as though he had a bite, and went home to find the pain-killer.— Peck r*s Sun.

Value of Beauty.

The most lasting and valuable species of beauty is that which is least cultivated. The young and capricious miss, with an elegant person and finely modeled face, illuminated by brilliant orbs and splendidly bedecked with dark, shining locks, very often destroys the moral beauty of her nature merely to humor the perverseness of her physical attractions. She trusts in the power of her bodily charms, and she even refuses to provide herself with those of a less perishable nature, which are not only servicable while the bodily beauty remains, but especially so when it is fled forever. She prides herself in her wardrobe of silk and satin, and would encounter any species of pain or hardship to increase it and to furnish herself with gold and with diamonds r but the wardrobe of the mind and the heart she takes little care to replenish, as if a young beauty were independent of this, and, if she played her cards well, might make her so tune without it. It is time enough to begin to be amiable when you begin to be ugly, say some young ladies, or they seem to say it. But nature punishes this perversity in a very striking and remarkable manner. They who refuse to cultivate the moral beauty during the reign of the season of physical beauty lose the opportunity of possessing themselves of it, and moreover, they destroy their favorite species of beauty by their independence and neglect of the other. The temper imprints its mark upon the countenance, which very speedily reveals the character of the disposition which lurks behind it. Being a growing power and a vigorous power, which is even strongest at death, it g aduallv overoomes every obstacle which stands in the way of its own escape into outward obse vation. It wrinkles the brow, lowers the eyebrows, bends down the cuive of the mouth and pouts the lips whenever it happens to be of a disagreeable nature; and it gives life and animation to all the lines of the face whenever its course of feeling happens to be of a kind and generous character. It comes out at last and shows itself, and once shown and impressed upon the face, it is there so long as it continues to act from within, and that is generally for life. It is no easy matter to begin to be amiable with an unamiable expression of countenance and an unamiable and fixed habit of behavior. lew have strength of will sufficient to make such a change in their mode of life. It is not by a mere moral resolution that such a conversion can take place. We are far more likely to become worse than better when we find attraction of the person to cease after a heartless and imperious reign of saucy beauty. It is no easy task, indeed, to resign ourselves to our fate when our attractions have disappeared, and all at once to correct the scowl and the frown, and the haughty air and the satirical grin, and the heartless sneer, which have already left their imprints on the face and made themselves quite at home in the very citadel of expression. Philadelphia Call.

Nothing Mean About Him.

An old woman sat in the Michigan Central station wiping the tears from her eyes. It was nobody’s business in particular to inquire whether she had fallen heir to a million dollars or was traveling through life with a broken heart, but one certain man s’epped forward after a time and made some inquiries. Thi nhe passed around among the crowd and said: “Gentlemen, here is a poor old wowoman who wants to go to Coiambus to her friends. Let’s t.ikt np a collection.” In the course of four or five minutes a parse of $3 was ma le np, but when he had connted it, the m.m said. “Gentlemen, lets chip in enough more to buy her a new dress. I’m a poor man; But here’s a quarter for the old lady.” The purse was now increased to nearly $7, and the woman had jnst pookefced the money when a man stepped forward and said to the collector of the purse: “Why, Banks, is this you?” “Of course it is,” “And that woman is your own wife?” “Well, Mr. Knickerllocker,” replied the man os he buttoned his coat, “it’s a mighty mean man who won’t ohip in a quart* r to bny his own wife a dress and help her off on a visit I” —Detroit Free Press. A Tennbssfk woman has written a biography of her husband. If he carried a latch keg it must be a dog’s Ufa