Democratic Sentinel, Volume 20, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 June 1896 — Page 5

WORTH WINNING

CHAPTER XlX.—(Continued.) That meeting set Horace thinking. Ever since he had watched Acton's eyes ■when they rested upon Camilla’s, and been jealous of him at the Hasham ball, he never till now dreamt of her having betrayed him for any one else. But if Acton was really not engaged to anybody, what could it all mean ? Was there all this time a third lover in the case, of whom he had hitherto heard nothing—only seen for that brief moment in his false one’s arms? “Except at the ball,” Horace told himself, “I have somehow never detested this young Acton as a rival; on the contrary, I have so far rather liked him, and albeit, he has not a good countenance, I am' fond of men who have like him a head upon their shoulders. “He was there though that night. The chestnut hack is always proof of his presence. . Still he may have been only helping a friend, but who in the wide world, could that friend be, whom Acton, loving her himself, as I am almost sure he did, would yet throw, so to speak, into her very arms, while he stood calmly by, or at all events kept watch in the neighborhood? “It is all very strange—mysterious to a degree. “After all, what matters it to me? There was some one in her arms, and that is enough. Am I not engaged to another?” And here he pitched down a pen he had been abruptly biting, thrust his hands into his pockets and strode excitedly about the room. Finding himself at the window he saw that the great physician’s brougham and pair had drawn up to the door, and soon after Sir Ewing Crofton entered the room. “I am glad I was sent for,” he said, "a change of treatment was required.” “Jack is worse, then?” “N—no, but there are complications; as I have told you, the case is serious not desperate. I have only time now to say that if Mr. Forbes has any relations they ought to be sent for.” “His parents have long been dead, and strange to say the only relative I know of has just left this room—Cyril Acton, Lord Hammersley’s son.” “Ha! he would be a cousin. Yes. The Hammersleys were formerly friends and patients of mine.” “So he was saying.” “Yes, yes, sad history! of course you know. Ay. ay, Cyril, so it was.” “All before my time, Sir Ewing, I know nothing.” “Ah, indeed, oh, most painful. However, we’ll talk of that when I have more leisure. Just tell me, is he quite an object?” “An object?” “Well, a cripple is always more or —* * “A cripple ” “Do you mean to tell me that this young man is not a ” “My dear Sir Ewing, there is some mistake; Cyril Acton is remarkably handsome, taller than either of us, and as straight as a die!” “But I tell you Cyril was born a helpless cripple, and must ever have remained so. I feared also that he would turn out an idiot. “Well, my friend Acton is not that at any rate!” And Horace could not restrain a laugh at the incongruity of the idea. CHAPTER XX. Jack Forbes’ illness turned out to be a bad case of rheumatic fever, attributable to the length of time he had been in that lake on the day of the accident, and to the neglect of proper remedial measures afterward. A somewhat uncommon feature of the malady was often present, from the very first night, in Forbes’ case, and this was prolonged and violent fits of delirium. Fortunately, there never was any one ' more utterly without secrets than our friend Jack, but of this Sir Ewing could know nothing, and he was bound—since he had it in his power—to place by his bedside a thoroughly confidential person. Fortune, while hitting her hardest blows, yet constantly and proverbially selects just such a moment for flinging to us some compensating favor; and now when she had prostrated this good youth upon a bed of racking pain what does she do but send him as nurse under the visible providence of Sir Ewing, the very woman who had tended and weaned him as an infant. “And so you have got back an old favorite of years ago, eh, Mrs. Barrow?” said Sir Ewing Crofton, one day, as the patient lay drowsily resting after a delirious night. “Lor’ bless ’im!” piously ejaculated the nurse; “and of all I ever tended, the only one I' ever loved; and to get him back in such a state,” she added, bending over the invalid as if he were her own offspring, and smoothing his hair and pillow. “But you will save him, sir, won’t you ?” “If your patient pulls through I feel sure you will have a grateful nature to deal with. I suppose he has not yet recognized you.” “Oh, bless you, Doctor, no, sir, and I thought him too ill to put questions to.” It was during his convalescence that Brudenell rode up to speak to Cyril Acton, who was leaning over the rails in Rotten Row. “Ah, Acton,” said the former, bending from his saddle to shake hands, “how are you ?” “All right, thanks. How is Jack?” “Well, he doesn’t get on as we could wish.” “By-the-bye, talking of him reminds me. A very old friend of your family is most anxious to meet you.” “Well, who is he that craves the honor of seeing me?” “Sir Ewing Crofton.” Acton grew livid, to the great surprise of Horace, who was looking straight at him, and who vainly asked himself what it meant. “He seems—Sir Ewing—to mix you up somehow or other with your brother who died a few years back.” Acton had resumed his hat and with it his habitual cool aspect and manner. “Ah! I dare say. Oh, I have often heard my people talk of him. Tell the old gentleman I shall be very glad, charmed to meet him, I am sure.” No sooner had he ridden off than Acton, quitting the crowded walk, struck across the Park to its solitude. “Sir Ewing!” was his first ejaculation. “Confound his long memory! Of course he has always been my rock ahead, my most dreaded source of danger. I had hoped that after so many, many years—yei, it is nearly a quarter of a century—that he would have forgotten.

BY JEAN MIDDLEMIS.

“Well, seventeen years pass by, and then Cyril—Lucius, as the world believes —dies. Accordingly, Sir Ewing expects to find in me a lad of twenty-two, bearing unmistakable signs of having come into existence as a rickety, imperfect being, for the case was pronounced from the first a hopeless one. “If I meet him as proposed, I am ruined. for he would say: ‘How is this? No cripple infant, like the one I knew, could ever develop into what you are. You, therefore, are Lucius, and my patient here, Mr. John Forbes, is heir presumptive to Lord Hammersley and not you, as the “Peerage” ignorantly states.’ What is to be done? It is of little use to be clever as Lucifer when no good move exists! lam clever, thank my stars, and I know it. No time is to be lost.” CHAPTER XXI. It is June at Silvermead. At lovely, stately Silvermead, where that leafy month is wont to be so proud of itself. But this year sorrow well nigh unbearable forbids Camilla Harding to revel in—almost to see its gladsome pageantry, or even to taste its perfumed breath. She had not bowed to her doom without making a desperate effort to right her destinies, but when the news of her recreant lover’s engagement arrived, she gave up all hope and happiness. Lady Prendergast, who was, as has been seen, completely in the dark, even more so than Camilla, as to the real facts of the case, very naturally concluded that if Horace Brudenell’s marriage was proclaimed in the papers, no practica) result could reward her interference. One morning a servant entered with a letter for her ladyship. It bore no stamp, and the man said an answer was waited for. Camilla had already recognized the hand, and with considerable surprise. When her relative had carefully perused the letter in silence, she said: “Camilla, this is from an old friend of yours—Mr. Acton.” “And what does he say?” “Read, dear, for yourself.” Camilla, of course, obeyed. The contents Were as follows: “My Dear Lady Prendergast—You will no doubt be surprised to find that I am back again so soon in your vicinity. Somehow or other, I found myself getting quite out of health and spirits in hot, crowded London, and our friend Mr. De Basle has persuaded me to come down and catch some of his famous trout. ‘ Now, I know that when I was last here appearances were against me; and you deemed it necessary, in pursuance of certain views to which I need not further allude to ask me to discontinue my visits, and to insist upon my holding no intercourse with Miss Harding. x write this letter to ask you to remove these restrictions on condition of my taking a solemn engagement which, when you urged it upon me before, I did not feel justified in entering into. My friendship for others did not then allow it. I am now ready to give my word of honor to be no one s ambassador, 6r intermediary, in any sense whatever for her father. “Believe me, sincerely yours, “CYRIL ACTON.” “Well, gran’ma,” said the girl,” you believe him, of course.” “I hardly know what to say.” And she reflected: “Girls are unaccountable things. Her old friend and playmate may amuse, or at least distract her. She may even in time grow to—who knows?” “Well, gran’ma?” asked Camilla. “Just write him, dear—- “ Dear Mr. Acton—Can you not dine with us to-day at half-past seven? Do if you can. At any rate I shall be very happy to see you on the understanding you propose, a remain, truly yours, “ELIZABETH PRENDERGAST.” And so tife letter was sent to Acton, who awaited it with an anxiety he had tried hard to conceal in the sought-for careless woruing of his note. CHAPTER XXII. It may be supposed that Acton was not likely to miss the opportunity so frankly extended to him. He firmly believed that time and tact were alone needed to en» able him to eradicate whatever girlish feelings about Brudenell might still linger in Camilla’s b.-east, and to implant an admiration and appreciation of himself in their stead, which should finally ripen into a new love. ■ And now, now, what was his next move to be? First of all he would court and propose to her. If, contrary to all probability, she rejected his suit, well then he had yet a strong card to play to turn the losing game in his favor, or rather he reckoned upon having it in his cruel hand by the needed moment. For the girl herself, the young man’s company was at the best a distraction, but it pleased Lady Prendergast, and so she gave him as much of her society as he desired; moreover, she never forgot her debt of gratitude. It never for an instant dawned upon her, as the weeks passed by, that her old friend, her almost playmate of former years, had any designs upon her whatever; and yet that very day he had spoken to Lady Prendergast concerning her, intended that very evening to ask her to become his wife. Lady Prendergast was naturally anxious to learn the result of the proposal which Acton had, she thought so honorably, submitted to her approval, and during the first hours of the following morning, she waited patiently in the hope that Camilla might speak about it of her own accord. But the girl made no allusion to it whatever; so that as the two sat at luncheon after the servants had left the room, the old lady said: “Come, Camilla, I was in hopes you would have had something to tell me today.” “Yes, gran’ma, I know what you mean about last night—Cyril Acton. I am so sorry—l mean for him.” “It is no, then?” Camilla gave a little astonished laugh as she lifted her eyes for the first time from the deerhound to the speaker. “Now, gran’ma, am I a likely person to love twice?" “Oh, as you will, darling. lam sure I would not take the responsibility of urging any girl—much less my own little pet, to a marriage distasteful to her. I am sorny it is as you say; a little for his sake, poor boy, but much, much more for yours. I am, I own, disappointed, but what of that? Life is one long disappointment —mine has been so at least!” and she sighed, audibly. While the above conversation was being held Cyril Acton was actually doing what he had ostensibly come into these

parts expressly to do. He was catching trout. He rightly judged that it could serve no wise end to present himself today at Silvermead; he was not in the mood to sit idly still and brood, and so, for once, he betook him, with some little gusto, to the sport he loved not. He had spent a restless night, and the exertion of whipping the waters for many hours would, he calculated—he was always calculating something—tire him nicely for the following night. He felt somewhat humiliated, of course, but had no touch of despair. Why, indeed, should he, with such a fine game as still was his? Only it is so much pleasanter to succeed by fair means than by foul. Up in London things were, apparently, going quite to his bent; at any rate as far as his dear friend Cave Harding was concerned, and he had written him a long letter that morning. The following day he presented himself at Silvermead with the accustomed offering of trout and nothing unaccustomed whatever in his air or demeanor. Camilla could not but feel puzsled on finding the man who had so passionately set forth his ardent love, wild hopes, the agony of not winning her, and had frankly refused, upon her almost solemn adjuration, to renounce his suit, now suddenly relapse into the serene friend of her childhood; and, albeit her experience was not large, an intuitive penetration made her ask herself whether Cyril had not been more probably acting during his love scene rather than now. The girl was conscious, she could hardly tell why, that Cyril Acton had, by his proposal, and even more by the manner of it, lost ground in her feelings and good opinion which he would never pecover. And so the first few days went by. Needless to say that a certain letter ordered from poor Cave Harding, and copied verbatim, arrived with touching punctuality. To be sure, it contained nothing which his own inclination might not have prompted; but had it been far otherwise, I am afraid to see what sentences, even about his Camilla, the poor gamester might not have been goaded into inditing, in fear lest he might not be sent the three hundred pounds which Acton so artfully let him divine were probably dependent on his compliance. (To be continued.)

A BROKEN FRIENDSHIP.

It Was Terminated by a Bullet in a Frontier Town, It was in the early days of a town In Southwestern Kansas. The deadly “45’ : was the most respected law of the place, and daily and nightly, In the halfdozen saloons which the embryo city supported, were congregated aa rough a set of men as could be found In any town of the size west of the Mississippi, spending their time in gambling and carousing. Monarch of all the roughs was Ed Prather. He had eight notches in the handle of his trusty 45, signifying that by his hand eight human beings had been sent to their long home. Prather’s bosom friend was Billy Welle. He, too, was a “bad man,” in the Western acceptance of the term. Damon and Pythias were not more fraternal than these two desperadoes. When one was seen the other was always near. If one got into trouble, the other was always on hand to assist him. The tragic end of this friendship came one summer morning. Prather had just successfully “stood off” a sheriff and his posse, and the crowd of roughs was congregated in his saloon, congratulating him, drinking to his health, and celebrating the occasion by filling themselves up with what Is known In Western vernacular as “forty rod,” preparatory to terrorizing the town. Suddenly Prather drew his revolver from the scabbard, and saying, "Boys, watch me put a hole through Billy’s hat’” fired. There was a yell of agony and Wells fell to the floor wounded to the death. “My God, have I killed him?” were Prather’s first words. Then, throwing down his revolver, he sprang to the side of the wounded man, just as the last quiver come over the prostrate form, and the soul went to render its last account. For the urst time in years a solitary tear coursed down over the hardened features of the men whose hands were newly stained with the blood of a fel-low-creature, but ashamed of this momentary evidence of emotion, he hastily brushed away the tear and, turning to the bar, called “Drinks for the crowd,” and the carousal went on. Thus was one more chapter added to the history of frontier life.

A Forgotten Hero.

Instances of individual heroism were not lacking among the colored races, both negro and Indian, during the war of the colonies for Independence. One of the most noted among the black men who fought against the British was Austin Dabney, a young mulatto living in Pike County, Georgia. Austin was a free man, and was known to the planters for his sobriety and industry even when a boy. He shouldered a musket and joined the army, working in the trenches and fighting bravely during three years. He was severely wounded in a skirmish in the winter of ’77, and was carried into the house of a planter named Harris, where he was kindly cared for and nursed back to health. As soon as he could walk he joined the army again and remained until the end of the war, when in recognition of his bravery a pension was granted him by the Government. The State of Georgia also gave him valuable land. Dabney tilled it so skillfully as to become a wealthy man. He had neither wife nor children. His benefactor, Harris, had died, leavinga helpless family, and the grateful negro gave all of his means and his life to their service. He supported them as long as he lived, sending the oldest boy to college and then to the law school. When at the end of three years young Harris came up for examination, Dabney stood up in the court-room trembling with anxiety. When the boy passed triumphantly and was welcomed as a member of the bar, the old negro burst into tears. He lived to a great age, and was honored throughout his native State, not only as a veteran who had fought bravely for his country, but as a man of ability and high integrity. In the records which Afro-Ameri-cans are now making, for their own encouragement, of the men of‘their race who have achieved success and distinction struggling against heavy odds, they should put the story of th? poor Georgian soldier, Austin Dabney Truth Is the root, but human sympathy is the flower of practical life.— Chapin.

GOSSIP FOR THE FAIR SEX

ITEMS OF INTEREST ON THE FASHIONS. How to Combins Colors—Tailor Gown*. Stylish Pique Gowns—A Nobls Japanese Woman—Fashion Notes. BIG BEAUTY BILLS. A complexion doctor says that the beauty bills of a good many of her clients run into three figures for cosmetics and massage, etc., every year. There are half a dozen women in society who actually enamel. Several go to her to be done about every three months. It is a painful, tedious, and expensive thing. ONE NEWEST SWEATER. The newest sweater is made with a deep-pointed V-shaped yoke which la outlined with little knots of the wool. The sleeves are decidedly puffed, though it is said that before long the sweater is to discard entirely this frill of fashion, and that the sleeves iu ] sweaters for both men and women are to be made alike—small. Sweaters in two colors are much more the vogue than in one. Beige and white fawn and dark blue are new color combinations. The sailor collar is now as much worn as the one which is straight, merely rolling over a little at the top, and, of course, every well regulated sweater buttons on the shoulders.— Chicago-Times Herald. HOW TO COMBINE COLORS. Black combines well with almost all colors except those which are so lucking in brightness as to be too nearly like it. Black and pale pink, blue, yellow, green, red, lavender, and even rather dark shades of blue, clear brown and green are excellent combinations. Brown combines well with yellow, gold and bronze If It is the shade of brown which has brightness. It Is effective also with black and with certain tones of green. Very dark green is effective when brightened by linings of narrow trlining of pale blue. A medium shade of green unites well with old pink. Brownish greens look well with bronze and copper color. Darkened blue may be brightened by lines of bright, rich red by lines of old rose or of clear yellow. Blue ot the “electric” and “cadet” varieties Is best combined with black or white figured silks in which the same shade predominates. HER MALADY IS CLEANLINESS. “I have a strange case now in charge,’ remarked a well-known physician. “The patient'is a lady who lives in the fashionable part of the city, and in rather a fine house. Her malady is cleanliness, and her efforts to keep the things about the house clean are wearing her out. She labors under the idea that everything about her and her house is dusty and dirty, so she turns the contents of her entire house upside down every day. Not satisfied with the reports of her servants that thework is all done, she takes up every rug, sheet, pillow case, blanket, curtain, or any other article she can Lift from Its place and shake it vigorously out of the window. She is known in the neighborhood as the ‘shaker.’ She has ishaken herself down from the ordinary weight to almost a skeleton. She works from 7 In the morning until 6 every evening, only to go all over the same self-imposed task the next morning. Still she thinks everything is dreadfully dirty about her.—Washington Star.

TAILOR-GOWNS. The tailor-gown, like the blousewaist, is always with us, but it never looks more attractive than on spring days, when it comes out with some new or specially chic touch to announce that it is fresh from the skilled worker’s hand. Although a great many mixed Cloths, tweeds, cheviots and Irish friezes, are made up in these gowns, they have by no means displaced the smooth, fine fabrics. The handsomest tailor-gowns are made .of covert cloths, corkscrews, W’hip cords, and mediumweight plain cloths in solid colors, dark green, blue, brown and tan. These show to advantage the stitching aml cloth bands which are the favorite finish. Coats arc of medium length or quite short, and the majority have ripple backs, which flare so the colored silk lining shows effectively in every flute. The fronts of many of these coats are half-fitting and lap broadly to the left, being fastened top and bottom only with large pearl buttons. The regulation small coat-revers and turndown collar finish the neck, which opens just low enough to disclose a tiny bit of the cambric or linen chemisette worn with the new stock necktie. This is a stiffened band of satin, fastening in the back, whence the narrow ends are brought forward and tied in a prim, conventional bow under the chin. STYLISH PIQUE GOWNS. Pique in dead white, but with its cords so thick that they make it seem like cloth, is shown in white, wood, stem-green, Mazarin and navy blue, as well as in plaid designs somewhat larger than shepherd’s plaid, but with hair lines so crossing each other that an extremely fine plaid is achieved. Scarlet and white, blue and white, and purple and white, stem-green and white, and purple and white are the contrasts offered in this plaid. The pique dresses are simplicity itself, and as much care is taken to make them fit well as if they were of cloth. A typical one shows the stem-green and white plaid. The skirt has the usual flare, and to increase It there are two rows of skirt boning around the lower edge. The jacket bodice is somewhat longer than those worn during the winter, and flares away from the front to show a waistcoat of stem-green fastened with bullet pearl buttons. The broad revers on the coat are of the pique, and the high stock is of stem-green taffeta ribbon with a large bow in the back. The full sleeves shape into the arms, and each has three rows of the bullet buttons on the upper side. With this is worn a sailor hat of white straw having about it a band of stem-green ribbon; while five stiff stalks of mignonette stand up

«d the left side. The gloves are of white glace kid closing with four large buttons.—Ladles’ Home Journal

A NOBLE JAPANESE WOMAN.

AU college women of America must feel an especial pride in the career of the charming Steimatz Rama Kana, one of the three young Japanese women educated at Vassar College twenty years ago ny the Japanese government. Private letters from the island empire continue to bring Interesting word of this remarkable woman, the wife now of the Marquis Oyama. one of the heroes of the late war and beloved of his nation. The marquise seems to be. fulfilling the prophecies of her classmates of two decades ago, who felt that her personality must make an imprint on her time. Intensely loyal to her country, she yet left here thoroughly imbued with American principles, and determined to aid in the uplifting of her sex in Japan. Her last words to her friends here were to the effect that her ambition in life henceforth was to enlighten and raise her.native sisters to the American standard of education and dignity. Of noble blood, her position, with her education, has afforded her unusual opportunity to promote this desire. Her home is the very essence of refinement, with a decidedly foreign style as to arrangement, though the gardens about are royally Japanese. With three charming children Stelmatz—for so her classmates affectionately speak of her—is dispensing a beautiful and uplifting influence to all who come in contact with her. While the war lasted her practical work was constant. She sent out from her own hands, aided by women of all grades of society, enormous quantities of carbolized gauze, with great packages of other sanitary supplies, to the seat of battle. She is promoting many philanthropic schemes, but none of them has she so much ab heart as the education of her sisters. She Is using the influence of her own and her husband’s position to bring about a change of native opinion concerning Japanese women. Believing firmly in education as the chief factor In the elevation of women, in this direction she bends all her energies and arguments., There is little question that her early American education lias been, through her consistent application of it, the keynote to the growing liberality of the Japanese toward women and an American policy in general. Her progressive spirit was no transitory notion, but a deep, underlying conviction and motive of action, which she has been able to direct upon the thought of her compatriots at a most fortunate time.

New veilings show medium large chenille dots or open circles. Ribbons of all widths, flowered, striped and phuln, are a conspicuous feature of trimming on thin gowns this season. Linen collars nnd cuffs look very fresh and neat, but thqy are hardly conducive to comfort in the extremely hot weather. If It is necessary to remodel more ordinary costumes, the Insets should be made of shirred or plaited silk without covering. Coarse laces, In all the varieties of Maltese, yak and torchon, are coming into vogue again, nnd will appear on summer gowns. A few dresses have fancy cuffs made of puffs, plaited ribbon, shirred satin or India silk, and one model han a bracelet cuff made of soft silk and Jets. A new sleeve has the cuff portion slashed Into square tabs. These are corded, with the silk either matching the goods or In contrast, and have the usual lace frills. Jeweled effects are more and more In evidence on dresses as well at hats, and very dressy waists are made of coarse black net, embroidered in Jet and emeralds, arranged qver green silk. All the colors of fruits are apparently used. Prune, damson, apple and pear are shown as being the very latest, and these in a softness and a sheen over the silks that certainly do resemble the indescribable bloom of fruit. The majority of the new sleeves have ruchlngs, although they are not an absolute necessity as yet, but probably will be before the end of the season. Nothing Improves the appearance of the hands more than soft lace ruchlngs. No special departure has been made in the adjustment of hat trimmings this year, and the difference seems to lie principally in the height attained over last year’s styles. Broad effects are still sought, and cnchepolgnes of flowers retain deserved place. • Silks and velvets of all kinds and colors are utilized for making yokes. Small figured china silks are worked up most effectively in some of the cheaper lines. Lace beading, run with narrow ribbons, forms a pretty trimming on the light silks. It is rumored that the latest skirts for wash materials, grenadines, thin silks and net are made of straight breadths, shirred down five or six inches from the wallet and plainly hemmed at the bottom where they hang loose from the gored lining underneath. A close-fitting bodice of clotl»-of-gold is covered with odd designs of Mme and green spangles, outlined with Jet beads. Green velvet draperies over the bust are held by gold filigree buttons set with rhinestones, and other loose draperies of this material are over the top of the sleeves, with similar fastenings. Skirt of green cloth having a tiny panel of the cloth-of-gold on either side. Ladies who have old-fashioned dresses of handsome materials are remodeling them on a very useful and available plan. The breadths are ripped apart, and between them are set In narrow Ashaped sections of some contrasting material, covered with cascades of lace flouncing. This fashion is strictly for dressy wear, and only handsome materials should be worked over in this way. The best taste does not approve of lace on more common dresses. In sleeve shapes the leg-o’-mutton remains the favorite, although it is modified and reconstructed in various ways. A great deal of trimming is seen on sleeves, especially of cloth dresses. One imported model has a most elaborate scroll pattern done in narrow ribbon. This ribbon is dppliqued on to the fabric, and is in a contrasting color. The dress is ecru cloth and the ribbon te a clear shade of olive green.

FOR THE YOUNG FOLKS. weighing thz baby. How much does the baby weigh, All in all ? Oh, who can say ? . Not his dainty flesh and bone. Not his sweet pink clay alone, Not his limbs so soft and fair-, These are trifles light as air. These are but a thing apart. When we weigh him in the heart. Who can weigh the light that lies In the heaven of his eyes ? Who can weigh his sunny smiles, Or his sweetly winsome wiles? Who can estimate the worth Of an angel’s kiss at birth Dimples playing hide and seek In his round and rosy cheek ? Who can know the hopes and fears Of the mother’s smiles and tears > Who can weigh the prayers expressed For the loved one at her breast ? Who can tell the father’s joy Wrapped within that baby boy? How much does the baby weigh, All in all? Ah, who can says —[Nixon Waterman.

AN OBLIGING BLKPHANT. A child at the Zoological Gardens, in throwing a biscuit to the elephant, dropped it between the cage and the barrier, and out of reach of the child or the elephant, when the latter blew the biscuit with its trunk till the child could reach it and again attempt to throw it into the elephant's mouth. This happened not once, but several times. Not that elephants have perfect reasoning powers, as the sequel to this story will show. After the small child had made many vain attempts to throw the biscuit far enough, a good-natured lad standing near thought be would help and took the biscuit from the child. This displeased the elephant, who thereupon dealt the lad a severe blow on the arm, causing him a good deal of pain. dan and onio. Dan and Chic lived in a fine house In the pretty city of Burlington, Vt. They had lots of fun frolicking in the garden, or on the green, velvety lawn, and seemed very happy. Dau was a big St. Bernard dog and Chic was a fat, fussy little pug Dan wore a handsome collar, while Chic wore a bright yellow ruffle round his neck. One day they went to the barber’s with Mr. Brown, the owner of the fine house where they lived. hen they got into the barb -r’s shop, Mr. Brown said, “Lie down, Dan!” Dan lay down right away, minding what his master said, as a good dog should. Then said he, “Lie down, Chic!” The little pug wriggled, and wagged, and fussed, and finally, after being told two or three times, lay down, just as you have seen some little boys and girls do—minding papa or mamma, because they were obliged to. Then Mr. Brown sat down to be shaved, and as soon as his back was turned Chic, the naughty little pug, jumped up and ran away. When Mr. Brown got up from the chair and saw that Chic was gone, he said “Dan, go find Chic!" Up jumped Dan, nnd off he went. In a few moments he came trotting back, with Chic, yellow ruffle and all, In his mouth, carrying him just as you have seen an old cat carry her kitten, nnd set him down with a hard thud, as much as to say, “Mind better next lime, chic."

A SUNBEAM. A sunbeam crossed my path yesterday, a sunbeam in the shape of a sweet little girl of nine years. She lived In the beautiful country, where daisies and butter cups and clover grow, and with her little hands full of these sweet blossoms, she was on her way to the busy city, to one of the large stores where her mother was taking her to find necessary summer garments for her little daughter. Alth >ugh it was a warm day. and the child’s dress was a heavy one. her thoughts were not of the pretty things she was to have, but of a pleasure so far above them, that her face was full of sunshine and smiles. She sat by me. as we journeyed along, and slipping her hand into mine, she told me of her garden at home, and of the lovely flowers she hoped tj have. “We all have gardens," she added, “Elsie and Marjorie and Hooper and I, and we dig them up in the spring ourselves. Hooper and I weed every day, and our gardens are just lovely; O. it is so beautiful!” and her sweet little face was more beautiful than any flower could be. Although she let ine peep into the big box she carried, this dear child did not tell me why she had gathered all those golden buttercups, and fresh pink clover, and bright-eyed daisies, and had so carefully placed them between wet papers in this box. When I returned to my home, later in the day, I met again this little girl and her mother. Her bands were empty, she had neither box nor flowers, and when I said; “Did you give your flowers all away, dear V she answered simply; “Yes, I did." Not a word from her sweet little lips of what cheer she had carried to others less fortunate that day. But when she did not hear, her mother told me of the child’s request to take some of the wild flowers she loved so well to the little cash girls in the big store to which they were going, and of her silent but intense joy when the little cash girls took them eagerly, with great delight. She had brought the sunshine and beauty from the field < to that big hustling store, besides teaching us all a lesson by her thoughtfulness and sweet trouble for others.

OHILDBBN OP CHINATOWN.

While the Chinese quarter of San Francisco is picturesque, and might well be taken for part of the Chinese empire, this picturesqueness covers a multitude of sins. What delights the eye oftm offends the nose; and a worse combination of evil smells can hardly be imagined than those one meets in this crowded and filthy quarter. Its picturesquenesi, however, is its redeeming feature; and the prettiest things that greet the eye arc the bright-eyed and quaintly clad little children. The streets abound with children of all ages and conditions; and while nearly all of them are born in this country, many are as ignorant of the English language as if they had been brought up in the heart of China. Others again, true “street Arabs,” though Chinese, are too familiar witli slang phrases of the language of their adoption. As a general rule, however, their education is bv no means neglected. In this strange and curious meeting of the oldest civilization of the East with that of the youngest of the West, queer neighborhoods are sometimes formed. Christian churches are found next to Chinese temples, and while the organ of the former peals forth its melodious tones they mingle with the pagan chant of priests and acolytes of the neighboring “Joss house.” There exists in the heart of Chinatown a public school for Chinese children, in charge of the San Francisco Board of Education, and it is attended by many bright, studious little pigtailed pupils, ail

eager to gain an American commoo-scboot education. A few doors from this institution is a school kept by an old Chinese schoolmaster- a wise and learned man especially imported from China to teach these little pagans the wisdom of Confucius and other Chinese sages. The pupils of the former school are taught to read and write English as well as Chinese: they learn arithmetic from our well known text-books, and also are taught the true geography of the world. In the latter school they puzzle their litt'o brains over problems in arithmetic on the Chinese counting-board. In Chinese geography they learn that, with the exception of a few small, half-civilized countries. Cbim represents and controls the world. In addition, they are taught also polite deportment, to read and write the complicated Chinese characters, as well as the teachings of their great philosopher Confucius. In other words, they receive the same education as that of a boy living in the shadow of the great wall of China. A most pleasing and notable feature in this school is the politeness with which the pupils treat one another. I have often seen a cinesof ten or fifteen of these little boys marching out of school in single tile. Each carried his countingboard and books under his arm. and all chatted merrily as they passed along. When they reached the corner of the street where one or more of them left the rest, all stopped a moment, and made a low bow to the departing ones, and theu went on tl.eir march, keeping up the same ceremony until they had all bowed one another home. The boys who went to this Chinese school were mostly the sons of wealthy merchants, while those of the public school, as a rule, belonged to the poorer classes.

Mystery of a Railroad Track.

On the Carolina Central Itallrona there is a piece of track about six miles In length that haa been a puzzle to tluofficers and workmen, and the locality is regarded by many wttn a good deal of superetttlon. All trains going and coming go to grinding and start a terrible squeaking when they get on this six miles of track. The noise comes not from one car, but every locomotive, every coach, and every ear of whatever kinds sets up a grinding as If turning a curve. The noise Is something like the screeching of ox cart that has no grease on It, nnd It is made by every truck In a train. The track Is perfectly straight, and as there Is no curve at all the cause of the grinding and squeaking has mystified the railroad people. Every effort haa been mode to ascertain the cause of Cite difficulty. The locomotives have lieen examined, the coaches and cars have lieen scrutinized, Avery cross tie ami every rail has lieen Inspected, every Joint has Imii looked at, every foot of the track has Ihmti regauged, but no explanation could lx* found. The section master has almost crawled over the six miles on his knees in search of the cause; the rondniaster hits tried his best to ferret out the matter; mid the superintendent has lieen over the track and insiiected It—all of them making repeated efforts time and again to find out what Is the matter — but they have given It up as a bad Job. They have not only been unable to discover the cause of the noise, but have not been able to discover any theory to explain the mystery.

About Musical Mice.

In the window of a certain bird fancier's shop in North London is a sign which reads: “Singing Mice a Specialty.” “Yes," said the fancier, In answer to a query, “they are a rarity; In fact, I am the only man in London who keeps them. They ore the most profitable stock I ever had, and I get good prices for them. Sometimes 1 charge a couple of guineas apiece when they are scarcer than usual." The fancier brought one of his mice anti put It on the counter. It was an. ordinary pleimld tame ifiouse, apd it commenced a sort of piping symphonywhlcb was not exactly a song, but was really musical, nnd seemed out of place in such a small animal. It was quite a pleasant sound. “Teach 'em, sir? No, I don’t teach them. There’s a special strain of mice that can sing like that and I keep the strain and foster it. I am the only person who knows anything about singing mice." “Some folks say It is a kind of lung complaint that makes them sing, but I believe it's a natural gift. All my mice are healthy enough.” “Some people have extraordinary Ideas of what the mice can do. One gentleman, a violin player, brought back a couple he’d bought of me, because he said they didn’t sing In tune. A week or two ago an old lady came to me and asked for a mouse that could sing ‘God Save the Queen.’ She offered me SSO for such a mouse, but I hadn’t one, and she went away disgusted.”

Amenities of City Life.

Mrs. Anderson wanted to hang out her washing ait the same time that the Bradleys were lieatlng carpets. She had as much right to hang out the washing as the Bradleys had to beat carpets. The Bradleys conceded her that right. They told her to go ahead and hang her washing on the Mne and they would go ahead and beat the carpets on the next line. The Andersons occupied the first flat and the Bradleys the second. In the dispute as to the clothesline the Bradleys won. Mrs. Anderson dared not hang her clothes on the line while the Bradleys were beating up clouds of dust. But she had her revenge. That evening she took little Florence to the front window, and the two sat there and watched Mrs. Bradley learning to ride the wheel in the street. Mrs. Bradley Is a large woman, and she was timid in proportion to her bulk. Mrs. Anderson sat at the front window and smiled scornfully. Little Florence would occasionally laugh aloud at Mrs. Bradley’s efforts, and then her mother would say, so that the neighbors could hear: “Hush, Florence, don’t laugh at her.” ; z Maybe you think that there can be peace in the flat building after that! ■ ■"

Perseverance of a Young Cuckoo.

Colonel Montague, the well-known naturalist, relates that he once saw a young cuckoo with indefatigable perseverance for four whole days continue to expel a newly hatched swallow, which he took core to replace each day beside it; after this period it lived on the best of terms with fts little companion.