Indianapolis Journal, Indianapolis, Marion County, 4 August 1883 — Page 11

A Poor Man’s Wealth. A poor wan! Yet-; I must confess — No wealth of cold do I possess; No pastures fine, with grazing kino, Nor fields of waving grain are mine: No foot of fat or fallow land Where rightfully my feet may stand, The while I claim it as my own— By deed and title mine alone. Ah, poor indeed! perhaps you say— But spar* uie your compassion, pray! When I can’t ride, with you, I walk In Nature’s company, and talk With one who will not slight or slur The child forever dear to her— And one who answers back, be sure, With smile for smile, though I am poor. And while communing thus, I count An inner wealih of large amount The wealth of honest purpose blent With Penury’s environment The wealih of owing naught to-day But debts that 1 would gladly pay. And wealth of thanks still unexpressed With cumulative iuterest. A wealth of patlenoe and conteut— For all iuy ways improvident; A faith still fondly exercised— For all my plans unrealized; A wealth of promises that still. Howe’er I fail, I hope to fill; A wealth of charity for those Who pity me my ragged clothes. A poor man! Yes, I must confess No wealth of gold do I possess; No pastures fine, with grazing klne, Nor fields of waving gram are mine— But ab, my friend! I’ve wealth, no end! And millionaires might condescend To beud the knee and envy me This cpuleuoe of poverty. —J. W. Riley.

The Sweet Country Cousins. How dear to the hearts are the sweet country coital us When dog-uays of suiuruer begin to draw near, When bricks have grown hot and when sunstrokes bv dozens Fill body with angmaU and bosom with fear! The gropn waving field and the sweet-smelling breezes. The ’souping from turmoil to quiet and calm, The rich, oreamy milk, which the ready hand And e’en the browu cousins who live on the farm— The plain country cousins, the uncultuied cousins. The sweet country cousins that live on the farm. The sweet oouutry cousins! Oil, aren’t they a treasure; How handy to lihtc them at vacation time! Aad paying eue’B board is a too costly pleasure, When all oau be bad without spending a dime. Hovr pleasHQt to live on rich creaui and ripe berries Fresh golden-bued butter and cakes light and warm, Free use of the horses, the cart ft and the wherries, Os the sweet country cousius who live on the farm! How dear are the sweet country cousins in summer! How fragrant, the meadow, romantic the down! Hut straightway your faces begin to grow glummer At thoughts of their visit next winter t* town. The theater, the concert, tin- lecture, the money Expended in tickets! the thought gives a qualm; The sequel of summer is uot quiie so funny— Why oon’r. the sweet cousins remain on their farml The brown-visage.d cousins, the great awkward cousins, The clod-hopper cousins should stay on their farm. —Boston Transcript. The King's Evil. They brought them up from their huts iu ch e fens, '4’he woeful sufferers gaunt and grim; Thiey flocked froiu the city’s noi.-omo dona sffo the monarch’s throne, to be touched by ■ r him. “For his touch,” they whisper, “ia sovereign balm. The annotated king has a power to heal.” O, the piteous pruyera as the royal palm la laid on their necks while they humbly kneel! Blind hope! But the cruel and cold deceit A rich reward to the palace brings; A snare for the nutaugdt people’s feet. And a courtier’s lie for the good of kings. But the years are sands, aud they slip away Till the baseless wall like a trick lies baro; The royal touch has no balm to-day. Aud the right divine is the people’s share. The word remains; but the evil now Is oauaed not cured by imperial hands— The llghtlcss soul and the narrow brow. The servile millions in armed bands, The sweat-wrung gold from the peasant’s toil Flung merrily out, by the gambling lord, Who is reckless owner of serf aud soil, And master of church aud law ana sword. But the night has receded; the dawn like a tide Crops slow round the world, till the feet of the throne Are lipped by the waves that shall seethe and ride Where the titles arc swallowed and shields overblown. Our kings are the same as the kings of old, But a in;tu stands up whore there crouched a clown; The evil shall die when his band grows bold, Aud the touch of the people is laid on the crown! —John Boyle O’Reilly.

My Dream of Dreams. I dream of my little wee baby— My little one turned of two, With chubby bauds soiled and rus9©t, And little feet out, at shoe. With bale kissed awry and rumpled Atid peeping down into her ©yen. Which to me are my hope and heaven, And the gales of my puimli.se. I feel in my dreams the fingers Os my baby thread through my hair. That oft in my restless waking Have stilled, as a hymn or prayer The pain that was rhrobhiug through me And hurling me like a wound, Aud making uiy life a discord, As au instrument all untuned. And T dream how her arms slip downward, Till my head lies upon her breast. And the shelter is sweet and restful Aud warm as a robin’s nest, And T cry on her little bare bosom, And pray again aud again That the Father who knows my sorrow, Will shelter my bird from pain. I awake, and my arms are empty,— And I know it was but a dream. But my soul is as white with rapture, As lilies in meadow stream. Aud I feel in my hair her fingers, And her kisses upon my cheek. Andi pray in a sacred silence. For my soul is too glad to speak. Dearest one, suu of iny day-time,— Sweetest one, star of my nightPreolous one, best of mv treasures,— } Brightest one, light of my light,— Be with me, though I aru divamlng AH the long uignt time through, Until I shall wake some morning And find you are with me. true. —S. B. Me Mau us, in Clove laud Leader. Life's Mirage. Bad would the salt, waves be, And ooid the singing sea. And dark the gulfs that echo to tils sevenstringed lyre, If things were what they seem, If life had no fair dream. No mirage mad© to tip the dull sea-line with fire. But on the shores of time, Rearing the breaker’s chime, Falling by night aud day along our human sand, Tiie poet sits and sees, Borne on the morning breeze, The phantom islands float a furlong from the land. Content to know them there, Hung in the shining air, He trims no foolish sail to win the hopeless coast. His vision Is enough To feed his soul with love. And he who grasps too much may even hiuisclf be lost. —Edmund Gosse. Mrssrs. Mahan <fc Cos., druggists, of RookvlUe, Park© oounty, Inti.. say Brown’s Iron Bitters cves entire satisfaction.

A SUMMER ROMANCE. It was at Bar Harbor, and in the month of August. “He’s a supercilious peacock,’’ said Molly, digging her parasol in the sand. She was sitting on the rocks, below the town, with her sister-in-law, Mrs. Randolph. At a little distance was the five-year-old daughter of the latter, with the indispensable wooden shovel and pail, as irrepresible a little witch as ever lived, nicknamed in the family, Toots. “My dear,” said Mrs. Randolph, expostulating. “Yes, a supercilious peacock.” repeated Molly, tapping her foot impatiently. It was only the day before that they had nrrived, and already Molly had nearly broken her sister-in-law's heart. This was especially hard on Mrs. Raifflolph, who had left her favorite Saratoga because Molly had said: “I detest fashion, and want to go to some place ijvhere people live sensibly in summer. Mount Desert, everybody says, is just such a spot; let us go there.” So to Mount Desert they had come. They had arrived to find Bar Harbor crowded to overflowing. Gay New Yorkers, well-born Philadelphians, pretty Baltimoreans, dyspeptic Southerners, esthetic Bostonians, young gentlemen in knickerbockers, young ladies in navy blue, all stood crowded on the Rodick House piazza, watching the new arrivals, when Mrs. Randolph and her party appeared. Molly had preceded her sister-in-law a few steps—for the latter-had stooped for a moment to give directions about the luggage—when suddenly our heroine heard a voice close to her ear. “By jove,” it said, “what a pretty girl!” Molly turned, angrily, and saw a handsome young man, who looked quite thoroughbred, yet also more than contented with himself, staring decidedly, almost rudely, at her. “The impudent puppy.” sh£ said to herself, a hot flush crimsoning her cheek. The next instant the offender, recognizing Mrs. Randolph, advanced eagerly, both hands extended. “Can I believe my eyes?” he said. “You here, Mrs. Randolph? And outside the pale of civilization, as some peoplo might think? What has induced you to desert Saratoga?” “Oh! Mr. Peabody! I’m so glad to see you. But thereby hangs, not a tale, but a great many,” she replied, laughingly; “I’m too tired, however, to talk. Come to see me this evening, and I’ll tell you all about it.” "Well, I congratulate you that you are without a party, or a dozen debutantes in tow,” he said; for he had failed to connect Molly with Mrs. Randolph, supposing that our heroine belonged to some other of the arrivals. “You don’t know what it is here. Such swarms of girls seeking husbands,” with a shrug of the shoulders. “The grasshopper plague was nothing to it.” Molly heard all thi3, and turning, fixed a pair of stern, indignant eyes on the speaker; for was not she a debutante—this the first season since she left school? Fortunately for the young gentleman’s peace of mind he did not see this by-play. But hews made to realize that something was wrong when in the evening he came to pay his respects to Mrs. Randolph. That lady, after shaking hands, again sank into her arm-chair, and, tapping her fingers with her fan, said, indicating Molly with a gesture: “My sister-in-law, Miss Randolph. Molly, Mr. Peabody.” Molly rose and took the offered hand, but frigidly; her bow was as stiff as the Arctic circle.

“Conceited fop.” she said to herself. ‘‘He thinks he has only to throw his handkerchief and any girl will be glad to pick it up.” His soliloquy was not less to the point: “My beauty of the afternoon! She overheard me, that is plain. What a mess I’ve made of it. She’ll never forgive me.” But neither by sign nor word did he indicate this. He was too much of a veteran in society matters for that. “What,” he cried, with great effusiveness, “your sister-in-law. Miss Randolph, of whom I have heard so much? This is a most delightful surprise. Heretofore, whenever I have called I have been told she was at school. And, helloo, here is Toots. Why, Toots, don’t you know your old friend?”. And in a moment Toots was in his arms, memories of bon-bons and Mr. Peabody being synonymous in hei mind “You see, Miss Randolph.” said Peabody, addressing the young girl, and quite ignoring her frigid manner, “that Toots and I are fast friends.” “Ah!” replied Molly, indifferently. “We all know that the affections of Toots are very elastic.” But the young man, ignoring this decided snub, turned to Mrs. Randolph: “Couldn’t I induce you and your sister to try a game of tennis to-morrow? Or, better still, to come out on my buckboard? It will bo, at any rate, a novel experience.” Mrs. Randolph is charmed. But Molly stands the very picture of ill-huraor, looking prettier than ever, however. “Thanks,” she says, ungraciously, “but I hate lawn tennis, and I don’t care to drive on a buckboard yet.” At hearing which Mrs. Randolph is furious, and feels that she would like to box Molly’s ears. Peabody then begins to talk of the scenery. “I like coming to Mount Desert, he says, “because all along this coast you see mountains on one hand and sea on the other; a combination to be found nowhere else on our Atlantic coast. You must ascend Green mountain. The view' from it is better, I think, than that from Mount Washington, even.” But he fails to interest Molly, even in the least, in his talk. The next morning Mrs Randolph, Molly and the übiquitous Toots go do n to the rocks. Mrs. Randolph is quiet for awhile—too much so—it is the calm before the storm; and finally she wakes up and speaks her mind; and then Molly retorts in the words with which we open our story: “Why shouldn’t I call him a supercilious peacock?” she says, defiantly. “What on earth is Charlie Peabody to me? I didn't want to drive with him. and 1 abominate spooning.” “Molly,” answered Mrs. Randolph severely; “you know perfectly well that Charlie Peabody is the man of Bar Harbor. It is not of the slightest consequence whether you like him or not. In fact, I much prefer you shouldn’t, for he isn’t a marrying man, everybody knows.” Up goes Molly’s head with an air of pride. Mrs. Randolph continues, appealingly: “But it’s such a good thing to be seen with him. If he takes you up, you’re a success; but there’s no hope of that now,” and relapses into despondency. But Molly sits, a delicious little frown on her face, throwing stones occasionally, in a weak, futile way. at an obstinate patch of seaweed that will bob up and down. “Irma,” she exclaims, suddenly, “don’t let us quarrel. You may just make up your mind that I shall never be a success in society,” and she gives a solemn nod, “I haven’t the brains for it. A9 for spending all my life in remembering to be civil to one man, because he’s ‘the thing,’ I should be a skeleton in a week. Do let me have a sood time and be nice to people I like. Life isn’t long enough to fuss over horrid people like this supercilious peacock;” and she tilts back her parasol and stamps her foot. “What’s a silious peacock. Aunt Molly?” asks at this juncture a shrill, small voice at her elbow, and Molly, turning, sees the irrepressible Toots. Mollv gives a gay laugh. “Toots,” says she, solemnly, “come here to your aunt,

THiii INDIANAPOLIS JOURNAL, SATURDAY, AUGUST 4, ISB3.

You saw the big gentleman on the piazza this morning? Well, you thought he was a man like papa, didn’t you?” A solemn nod from Toots. “But lie wasn't. He was only a supercilious peacock. What’s that, you ask? Well, that’s a peacock who thinks himself better than others. Come now. Mamma’s gone on; we’ll be late. Let’s have a race. See which will get to her first.” Toots’s thin legs spin over the ground and her mass of browm curls floats out on the wind as she flies along, fairly shrieking with excitement. Molly is not much better in point of dignity, for she gathers up her white skirt in one hand and gives her big hat an excited push on the back of her head. Suddenly they turned a sharp corner. “Heavens and earth!” ejaculates Molly, as she sees Irma standing, gracefully composed, talking to Peabody. Toots, “the peacock, the silious peacock!” “Toots, be quiet,’’ commands that unfortunate relative, cold chills running up and down her back. “Toots, come here,” implores Mrs. Randolph. the horrors of the situation coining in upon her. But Toots, in all her live years of existence, has never known what it is to mind anyone; so she rushes up to Mr. Peabody like a small whirlwind. Tiiere she pauses, and begins a grave investigation. “Is you,” she says, with her head on one side, like an impertinent little sparrow, “is you really a silious peacock?” “A what?” repeats Peabody, naturally somewhat astonished, looking down on the small object in front of him. Molly gives a gasp of horror. In another second that wretched child will say, “Aunt Molly said so.” Get out of it she must. As she walks away her prophecies come true. She hears a shrill, childish treble: "Is you—Aunt Molly said so—a silious peacock?” “Ah!” she hears him answer, “Aunt Molly says I’m a peacock. But I don’t quite grasp the adjective.” “Never mind the adjective,” thinks Molly, grimly; and then she wonders if there be a corner in this wretched island where she can hide from that man; for, as to ever looking him in the face again, she never can. However, she need not trouble herself about that. He will probably turn his back upon her before she has the chance. She seeks refuge in the dining-room, which is beginning to fill with the crowd of hungry pedestrians. By-and-by in sail Irma and Mr. Peabod y. Toots has appeared. “Irma hss probably garroted her,” thinks Molly, with great satisfaction. They seem to be in the best of spirits. As they approach Molly, to her horror she hears Mr. Peabody say: “If you’ll allow me, Mrs. Randolph. I’ll take this vacant seat next to Miss Randolph.” "Is he going to speak of or mention it?” she thinks, in an agony. Peabody seemingly takes no notice of the wretched blushing little being at his side, at least for some minutes. “Poor little soul.” bethinks, "how wretched she is making herself. She shall call me a whole zoologigarden, if she only won’t look like that.” So, half in fun, half in earnest, he leans over her with, “I don’t mind a bit; indeed I don’t. I dare say you’re right; we men are wretched creatures.” He had a funny staccato way of speaking which in the morning Molly had decided to be particularly disagreable. Strange it doesn’t seem so now! Molly’s spirits return. “It's certainly very nice in him,” she thinks, “not to be sulky.” “Really,” says she, laughing, and looking a little bit in earnest through it all; “do you know I think it very nice of you. I should mind, immensely, if you called me names,” giving him a shy glance from under her long lashes.

“Perish the thought! You suggest an impossibility,” he retorts. "How delightful,” exclaims Molly, cheerfully. “Perhaps I may like you thed.” “Will you two people eat your dinner?” interrupts Mrs. Randolph, who has been watching this proceeding with the utmost satisfaction. And she says to herself; “Perhaps —supposing if—after all. It would be a capital thing.” But every Paradise has its serpent. The serpent at Bar Harbor turns up in the person of Mrs. Crosby, a widow, irreproachable in family, but envious, malicious, gossiping, and with a pale, dejected daughter thirty years old. Mrs. Randolph hears of this arrival with consternation. She rushes up to Molly, who is sitting on the piazza by a dining-room window, chatting with Peabody, “Our good time’s over,” she cries. “Mrs. Crosby is here, and Maria’s with her, and by to-morrow none of us will have any character left.” Peabody looks consternation itself. Molly cries: "The slanderous old tabby.” She had hardly spoken when a voice from behind the dining-room blind crie9: “Maria, my dear, will you close that window? The outside clatter is so tiresome.” And they knew they had been overheard. “Gracious heaven,” cries Mrs. Randolph; “she’s there, and listening!” Nothing followed this catastrophe, however, for many days, and Mrs. Randolph began to think they had not been overheard. Peabody even went so far as to begin to pay court to Mrs. Crosby, hoping to cut her fangs, if not to propitiate her. He had been talking to her one day, when he saw Molly In front of the piazza, without hat or parasol. By this time he and she had grown quite intimate, Mrs. Randolph, like a wise woman, looking on and saying nothing. They had ridden, walked, and boated together. and had sat for hours side by side on the rocks, watching the sea, off to the south. He now rushed forth with almost an air of proprietorship. “How can you,” he said to Molly, “stand out here, in that way, in the heat? A nutbrown maid Is one thing, but a Sioux, or a Cherokee ” “Are two,” interrupts Mollv, gavly. “It’s a hopeless case, Mr. Peabody,” and she holds out two little brown hands for his inspection, and then looks up into his face with laughingeye3. “Are you ashamed of me?” “I wish you would let me tell you how I do feel toward you,” be whispers, impetuously, and in an accent he has never dared to use before. Molly blushes furiously. She is utterly taken aback. She had never thought of this. What does he mean? Oh, perhaps he means nothing. She is saved a reply by the approach of Mrs. Randolph. Peabody is his usual cool-mannered, wellbred self in a moment. "Ah, Mrs. Randolph,” he says, “I am the bearer of a flag of truce from her majesty, Mrs. Crosby. She wants to know if you have forgotten her, and if you won’t bring up Miss Randolph to talk to her,” •'Must we back out of the royal presence when we retire?” says Molly, mischieveously. * "Hush,” answers Peabody, “here we are.” “Avery nice old lady,” is Molly’s judgment, as she listens to the bland, quiet voice purring away to Irma. Presently she hears: “Is this your first visit to Bar Harbor, Mrs. Randolph? But iiow. then—do tell me—did you know what a happy hunting-ground it was?” Mrs. Randolph was a courageous little woman, with very quick temper. In an instant she scented battle, and in another was fully armed and equipped. “But I didn’t,” site said, with a naive little laugh. “How do you mean? For what kind of game?” “Game?” rejoined the other, with a sneering laugh. “Good partis, of course. I hear that so far you’ve been moderately successful.” All the little group around were silent, Molly alone did not take in the meaning of her words. Peabody stood looking, as some one said afterwards, as if he were going to murder her. But what could he do? A man Interfere between two women? It was impossible. Mrs. Randolph was absolutely white with anger. The coarseness of the attack stunned her for a moment, but only for that. “Yes?” she said, with a lazy, indifferent

laugh. "You flatter me, I’m afraid. But ! you forget that Mr. Randolph still exists: j and Molly, you know, is still a child—years ' and years, I hope, before she will think of , anything of that kind. You wouldn’t lose your little Maria, would you, yet awhile?” With which she arose. “Ah. Mr. we were going sailing,” she said. "I wonuer if our boat’s ready? You are coming with us as usual, I suppose? Good-by, everybody.” And with a bright smile she tripped down the steps, followed by Molly and Peabody. As they went there was a low buzz, and then Peabody heard his name, coupled with Molly’s, of course. After that Mrs. Crosby’s cat-like voice: “Intentions? Why none, of course.” H* heard and so did Molly. But she walked on, her head proudly civet, her face blazing. Peabody dared not look at her. Mrs. Randolph was so angry that she felt absolutely ill. She said abruptly that she could not go boating; they must go without her; and turned back. Peabody and Molly walked along in profound silence. To this day Molly can see distinctly the landing, and the very plank on which they stood, whilst looking around for the boatman; and where, as the wind began to blow fresher, her companion insisted on putting over her her knit shawl. It was about 11 o’clock. The sm: was beating hotly down upon the planks, which sent out a faint odor of tar—to this day Molly hates tar. Peabody left her to signal to one of the little birch canoes bobbing lazily up and down in the water. Across the waters, Harvard men were singing college songs, and their voices came floating to her. Something, she didn’t know what, made the tears rise to her eyes. How dreadful it all was. How could she ever speak to Mr. Peabody again? Just then Peabody came toward her. “This way. Miss Molly,” he said, in just his usual voice. "Our canoe i3 here.” As he helped her into the canoe he caught sight of her quivering lips, her tearful eyes. “Don’t,” he whispered. "My darling, if you do, I shall most certainly kis9 you, and think how disgraceful that would be.” Molly ought to have been very angry, but she wasn’t—not a bit. Splash! went the paddle. Peabody’s idea of the view must have been vague in the last extreme: for Molly heartlessly interposed her scarlet umbrella between nerself and him, leaving him to occupy himself with all kinds of futile conjectures as to how she was looking and what she was doing behind it. Thump, bang, and they ran upon the little pebby beach. At one side was a steep hill, thickly wooded with pine trees, whose aromatic fragrantce came wafted down to them on the crisp morning air. On the other was a jagged pile of stern gray rocks, with nooks and crevices of delightful shadow. With the quickness of long practice Peabody at once selected the most comfortable and the most accessible spot. As Molly was handed to the shore she had a desperate feeling come over her. Escape, she must. But how? She stopped and looked but at the canoe. Peabody comprehended what was in her mind. Without a moment’s hesitation he stretched out his arms and drew her toward him. “Molly, dearest,” he said, tenderly, “don’t you know what I have to tell you?” Half resisting, half yielding, she stammers out a confused “No.” “Molly, Molly,” he went on, “don’t say no. It’s ‘yes’ you’re going to say to me. Tell me, dearest, ;s it?” Molly raised her happy confused face from his shoulder. “If I could only be sure," she whispered, “that you weren’t simply doing this to spite Mr3. Crosby, and that—and that —you didn’t think me one ot the grasshoppers .” Peabody, in spite of all, roars with laughter. Finally he sobers down. “Tell me,” he said, “do you think me a supercilious peacock now?”

THE ERRATIC BOY. His Search for “Fun” and How He Pays for It in Later Years, Hubert J. Burdette. Poor bov! Down to his grave he is selfwilled, disobedient, foolish, slow to learn, hard to manage, born to evil and full of corrections as a proof sheet. He reaches in the fence corner for a blackberry and picks up a “pisen” vine, and so he learns too late the mine he bought was “salted.” He is spanked in the cradle, flogged at school, and scourged all the rest of his life, and still it seems to do him no good. He lives under an unchanegable law of pains and penalties. Incessantly his ears are boxed, to every “thou shalt not” is appended a threatening “and if you do,” and every thundering “thou shalt” is seconded by the terrifying “or you'll wish j'ou had.” Inexorable is the master of his school. He can appeal to no board of pardons. No tenderhearted Governor, figuring for re-election, overlooks his misdeeds. The administration has no need of him or his influence. Do not keep such late hours, and do not eat hot suppers at midnight. But ail the same he does keep late hours and have good times on the sly, poor boy, thinking if he get 9 in at rollcall it will never be known. But as he answers to his the order 19 entered: “Dock that man’s life ten years.” Take care of your teeth is a regulation of the school. But, while nobody is looking, the foolish boy lets his teeth take care of themselves. So he is sentenced to lose half his teeth and fined $l5O, to be paid over to the nearest dentist having jurisdiction. “Do not bite on that broken tooth,” conies the com-mand-from the head of the table. But the boy tries it just to see what the master will do about it, and instantly he gets such a box of the jaw that makes him think tie has hit ou a thunderbolt. It is not a bailable offense, and execution of sentence cannot he postponed until next term of court. “Do not run through the wet grass'in your slippers,” is shouted to him from the up-stairs window. The instant the window' is closed he skips across the lawn, knowing no one can see him, and for this he is collared and led into the house, doubled up with rheumatism for ten years, or perhaps tortured all the rest of his life. He plays lawn tennis until lie streams from every pore. Then he hastens to refresh himself with a glass of clear, cold ice-water. “If you drink that ice-w’ater,” says his watchful master, "I will kill you.” He believes no one could be so cruel as that, and drinks the ice-water. Often the’conditions are ripe for the judgment, and the sentence is carried into execution. Sometimes the execution of this sentence is preceded by hours or days of fearful agony, to teach him that these laws are not to be trilled with. A Sudden Decline. Wall Street Newa. “Waiter,” he began, “you may bring me a spring chicken, a piece of lamb, a choice cut of—” He was interrupted by the appearance of a friend, who chatted with him for three or four minutes and then left. “Waiter, how far had I got?” asked the gentleman. “You were going to order a choice cut.” “Ah! Yes. I was then under the impression that the West w r as enjoying fine weather and tiie wheat was being Harvested iu nice shape. My friend says it has been raining every day for a fortnight, the harvest is delayed, and wheat is being badly damaged. Waiter!” "Yes, sir.” “I’ll make anew order, based upon a falling off of 1.1 per cent, in the crop. Bring me a dish of pork and beans and a glass of milk!” Real Life in Yankeedom. Sprintffleld Republican. “Mary, you little brat,” came harshly from the window of a clean-looking house yesterday, “come here and stop that racket, or I’ll pound you black and blue all over”—then the same voice in shrill soprano, “t will sing of my redeemer.” Are these the echoes of an ordinary family circle?

THE MOUTH OF HELL. The Strange Story to Which Thirty IVlen Made Oatli in Court. W. A. 31., in New York Sun. To those whose minds are troubled with doubt as to whether or not there is a hell the following from the British Naval Chronicle, 1807, may not be uninteresting: Au Abstract from the Journal of the ShipSphlux, in the Year 1686, Up the Straits. May 12.—When we arrived at Manson we found three ships lying there from London, commanded by the Captains Bristol, Brown and Burnaby, all going to Lipari to load. May 13.—These three ships sailed in company with the Sphinx (wind N. W.) to Lipari, where they anchored in twelve fathoms of water (wind S. S. W.) May 14.—The four captains and a Mr. Bell, a merchant, went on shore upon the island of Mount Stromboli to shoot rabits. AboutS o’clock they called their men together to go on board their respective ships, when, to their inexpressible astonishment they saw the appearance of two men coming very swiftly through the air toward them; one of them appeared to be dressed in black, and the other in gray clothes; they passed close by with the greatest rapidity, and to their extreme consternation, descended, amid the burning flames, into the mouth of that dreadful volcano, Mount Stromboli. At their entrance there issued tremendous noises; the flames rushed out most terribly, and Captain Burnaby cried out: “The Lord bless me, ibe foremost of the two, in black clothes, is old Mr. Booty, m/ next-door neighbor at Wapping; but I do not know the other.” He then desired them all to write down in their pocket-books, or note it on something, what they had seen: which was immediately done by the three captains and Mr. Bell, and likewise entered in the different ships’ journals at the same time. When these four ships had taken in their loadings at Lipari they sailed together for London. When they arrived in the river Thames, at Gravesend, Captain Burnaby’s wife came from London to him. He then sent for the other three captains to come on hoard his ship to congratulate him or. his wife's arrival. After they had thus met a little conversation passed between them in the cabin, when Mrs. Burnaby suddenly started from her chair and said to her husband: "My dear, I’ll tell you some news. Old Mr. Booty is dead.” He directly answered: “We all saw him go into hell!” and told her what they had seen, as before related, to her serious alarm. When Mrs. Burnaby had returned to London she went to an acquaintance and related this serious event—that her husband had seen the soul of Mr. Booty go into hell on the 14th of May last. This gentlewoman then mentioned the same to Mr3. Booty, widow of the deceased, who immediately took a writ out of the King’s Bench Court in the penal sum of £I.OOO damages, and arrested Captain Burnaby for defamation upon her late husband’s soul. Captain Burnaby pave bond to stand trial; and then took out of the Court of the King's Bench, in Westminster Hall, summonses for all the people that had attended the late Mr. Booty in his last sickness and at the time of his death; also the sexton of the parish who buried him; and the clothes he last wore before his sickness he had taken care of, to be introduced in court on the day of trial. When the trial came on the different persons with the black clothes were brought into court, and were there met by Captain Burnaby, the captains of the other three ships and the men of the four boats, with Mr. Bell, who were all on the said Island of Stromboli and saw the two apparitions descend into the burning flames on the aforesaid L4th day of May last. Ten of the men of the boats made oath that the buttons on the coat which the apparition had on were like the one present, being molds covered with black cloth, the same sort that the coat was made of. The different persons v/ho were with Mr. Booty at the tune of his decease made oath that his death happened at 3 o’clock p. m. on the 14th of May last, w’hich was in the year 1686. The jury then asked the captain of the Sphinx if he knew Mr. Booty in his lifetime. lie answered that he never saw him in his lifetime, but plainly observed the dress the apparition had on. which Mr. Burnaby said was Mr. Booty, in company with another, unknown. The judge then spoke: "The Lord grant that I may never see such a sight as that, for I think it impossible for thirty men to be mistaken.” The jury then gave their verdict against the widow Booty, plaintiff to pay the costs of the court. The foregoing are facts extracted from the journal of the ship Sphinx’s voyage up the Straits in the year 1086. The above trial is now to be seen on the records of the court of the King’s Bench, in Westminster Hall—Mrs. Booty, plaintiff, against Captain Burnaby, defendant. These records are written on parchment in Latin, in the lawyer's old text-haml writing, and are kept in a glass case in the clerk’s office, where, for the sum of one shilling, they may be seen by all whose doubt or curiosity may induce them to it.

A Cat Boarding-Huuge. Philadelphia Record. Another department of the refuge, and one that helps to support it, is the boarding of pet cats during the summer months while their owners are away. There were yesterday seventy' of these pampered pussies enjoying the delights of the establishment. The quarters provided for them include a large pen in the yard, with a number of wide shelves running around the four sides, and a little grass plat in the center. Leading up from this lower pen a covered box runs to the second-storv porch of the house, which is also fitted up with shelves and has plenty of ventilation through large windows covered with wire netting, while still higher is a third cage which can be used when the number of boarders becomes unusually large. To a lover of cats a visit to this department will be a source of much pleasure, for the display of felines is really very good and includes some remarkably fine specimens. Most of the boarders are sleek and fat, and are strong contrasts to their unfortunate kindred in the adjoining pen, whose general appearance speaks of a meager bill of fare ana hard times. The boarders live very amicably together and indulge in but few fights, spending most of their time asleep on the shelves. They arc fed three times a day, their menu being made up of raw meat, liver, milk and fish, and one handsome tabby lives on an exclusive diet of raw oysters and unskimmed milk, her luxurious fare being paid for at an advance over the regular rates of 50 cents a week. A Montana Town. Letter in Philadelphia Presa. Billings is what these people call a “paper town,” and as usual, the description is accurate. The plat inclosed 2,000 acres; sixty blocks were laid off as the business portion. Coulson, a town one year older, and a couple of miles down the river, was included as a suburb. Street-cars marked “Montana avenue to 124th street” were exhibited for several days at places along the road, and having served their purpose, have lain for several months on a vacant lot. Finally, a manifesto was sent East that auother metropolis was in the market, and the company cleared about $350,000. The whole thing is rather diverting than otherwise, but it was no joke for the New Yorker who came out to see his purchase and found his “choice residence lots” located on u rock-bound bluff 300 feet high and two miles from town. Another purchaser will have to swim to and from business, for his property is in the midst of a slough. People who do not live in Billing* love to tell this story: One of (J. P. R. James’s "solitary horseman, traveling alone,” was on his way to the town, probably to see his newlybought home. Stopping the only man he met he asked where Billings was. "Billings! Why, you’re in it now." “And where is

Starr <fc Bullock’s store?” “Just you ’keep eighteen miles down the left-hand side of this avenue; it’s on the first corner. OLD AND NEW KAIXTUCK. A Veteran Who In l)UtriHl(*d with the New Order of Things. Louisville Latter in Chicago Tribune. This morning .your correspondent was out for a he saw a figure hastening toward the levee with an old-fashioned pair of saddlebags on his anu. The correspondent followed him. overtook him, and made bold to ask him, calling him "Colonel” in advance. why he was going to leave the city just at this time. "I’m goin’ down the rivah, sah. on the fust boat. I’m tired of this nonsense and these flags. It’s gettin’ so, sah, that a Kaintuckian can make a biggah fool of hisself than Thompson’s colt. I see in Mr. Waiahson’s papah this inawnin’ the sheet, I have to read it—that that New York humbug of a preachah, what’s his name, Timmage, or somethin’ like ” “Ta Image.” "Yes, Tqlmage—that twin of Beechah, I call him—is heah. Actu’llv iieah in Kaintucky, boldin’ cjmp- aeetin’s ovah tlia on High Bridge camp ground. And that Govnah Blackburn is goin’ to make him his guest. By , sah, it makes my blood boil to see these things. Wriat makes mo mad is that these Kaintuckians act the hypocrits so about this business. When one of these Yankees comes down heah they nctu’Uy get Ca tha;* bellies and crawl to’em. Then as soon as the Yankee is gone these same Kaintuckians will come around to me and men like me, who made the State's fame, and they shut one eye and say, ‘We’ve got to do it, you know, until we get on top,’ and then they want me to take a drink. Fob one sah, I’m done with such business, aud if this is a sample of what Kaintuckians are cornin’ to, I’m goin’ to move across the rivah. I did hope I might be permitted to die in the old Commonwealth, and be buried in the Frankfort buryin’-ground, but I don't know as it would be a good place. Good day, sah; l heah the boat lettin’ oil steam, and I must hurry.” A Difficulty iit Dining. The only way to talk successfully to a Frenchman is not to ask him airy questions, but to deal out solid information and occupy all the time yourself. Even then they are always misunderstanding you. My cocher insisted that I called him a cochon, and said he was no more a hog than I was. and that he would drive me no farther unless 1 took it back. I did so; but when I paid for his dinner out at a case in the Bois do Boulogne I found I had hit him the first time. If you don’t give exactly the right slant to a word the native has not enough wit to catch your meaning. The first day out I told my driver where to go, and, my business finished, requested him to drive me back “to the Hotel Continental.” lie didn't know where the place was —never heard of it he said, though 1 had picked him up on his stand directly in front of it. After trying in vain to make him understand the word, I told him to return to the Column Vendonm, or “where we started from." When we got there I pointed to the Hotel Continental and repeated its name. His face lighted up suddenly, and he said: “Oh, no! that’s the Motel Continental”—with no emphasis except on the last syllable, where he bore down heavy. I suppose there is no coachman iu Paris who understands any English at all, nor any French, unless it is accented just as he is in the habit of hearing it. I had trouble the other day at one of the Etablissements Duval, on the Tuiteries garden, where we went to see what it was like (ami found it very good). One of the ladies of the party wanted some frogs’ legs, not on the menu, and wondered if the dish was out of season. "Grenouille” was frog. I was sure of that—just how to pronounce it was more doubtful. And “jaiubes” was legs. Calling the white-capped and and white-aproned Marie who was assigned to our particular table, I said, in my most elegant French: "Marie, avvy voo lay jham”—and hesitated. “We mussoo—h,” she said, with a felicitous drawl. "No, Marie,” said I, “voo navvy pas cornpree. Avvy voo lay j ham-lay zhaiu—day green wv?” She blushed, as if I had said something improper, and to hide her confusion turned her rather neat face upon one of the mirrors that face j r ou everywhere from every point in Paris. She had not caught my idea. T repeated it to myself. “Have jou legs!” “Avvy yoo lay zham!” She glanced shyly at her white apron, brushed it down and said faintly "No, musso-h ” “Day granoo!” I added. She moved a little farther away and looked at me as if she was very much scared indeed. “Marie!” I repeated with authority, “venny zeecy! Avvy voo—navvy voo pay lay zham—lay zham—this is an awful language, Marie day grain wee!” She timidly held a plate in front of her, and was evidently more terrified than ever. “Marie!” I said, “ragardav nura!” She looked at me while I put my fore paws together, humped myself gracefully and made a movement as if to plunge off a rotten log into a green pond. I thought it was very neatly done. And I was relieved to see that she thought so too. for her horrified expression relaxed, she smiled and said, “Oh, we, we, musso. zhullah konnaj'l” “You do,” I answered; “well, it’s high time; I’m hungry.” “O. we, we!” she added, “ume klombe! a pigeon!” Before she could bring the bird I stopped her and called in a loud voice, I fear, for the boss. He came forward smiling, and I told him what 1 wanted, hut the idiot couldn’t grasp the force of my remarks, "We have legs, mussoo,” he gently said: “What legs does mussoo want? Whose legs?” In utter desperation I took out a pencil, turned over my bill of fare, and on the back of it drew the picture of a frog. It was a life-like and agile frog, well filled in, with the protuberant eye and web-hoof of the familiar frog of commerce. I was never vain of my artistic accomplishments, but this was a happy inspiration, for it got us something to eat. Marie and the boss both came and glanced over, and even before it was finished showed signs that they recognized the beast. “O, we, we, we, we,” they said “certaiumong!” Then they took my sketch and passed it around among the other waiters, who admired it very much, while Marie went off to execute the order. In five minutes she came triumphant with a plate of pied de mouton—sheep’s feet All my native humility came hack tome and bore down hard. The ladies agreed with me that no Frenchman probably ever ate a frog’s leg in his life Giat this was not the time of year for frogs; that frog-legs were not good for much anyhow, and that sheep’s feet were something new ami tilling, and we would try them. Wc did. They were good. A Guarantee of Good Faith. Atlanta Constitution. It is told on Editor Maddox, of the Conyers Solid South, ttiat when he proposed and was accepted he said to his sweetheart: "I would be glad if you would give me a kiss.” Then, observing her blush, he added: "Not necessarily for publication, but as a guarantee of good faith.” Os course Maddox got his kiss and is now prepared to step off. Amt Return Them to Their Native Land. Philitileli'ltiH Pros*. Suppose we clothe the paupers front Ireland in the rags from Egypt. MAt. vniv from the tiudrnlnod Pontine marshcß, near R une, is a terror to traveler*. Ayer’s A into (’me is hii <ftVetunl protection from rim I disease. and a euro for those who hove become in i victims. It works just us effectually In all ' malarial districts o:i iir.s side ol the sou. Try It.

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