Indianapolis Journal, Indianapolis, Marion County, 18 October 1884 — Page 11

Anselmo. Year:- did I vainly seek the good Lord’s grace,— Prayod, fasted and did penance dire and dread) Did kneel with bleeding knees and rainy face, And mouth the dust, with ashes on my head; Yea, still, with knotted scourge the flesh I flayed, Rent fresh the wounds, and moaned and shrieked insanely; And froth oozed with the pleadings that I made* And yet I prayed on vainly, vainly, vainly! A time, from out a swoon, I lifted eye, To find a wretched outcast , gray and grim, Bathing my brow, with many a pitying sigh, And I did pray God’s grace might rest on him.— Then, io! a gentle voice fell ou mine ears.— “Thou shalt not sob in snppliance hereafter; Take up thy prayers and wring them dry of tears, Aud lift them, whit© and pure with love and laughter!” * So is it now for all men else I pray; So is it I am blest and glad alway. —James Whitcomb Riley. Communion, I sat beside my happy hearth. And yet in paths of dole and dearth With you I wander in the earth. I look in eyes with love aniline, 1 join the dance, I taste the wine, 1 pray, and yet from song or shrine With you, dear heart, in thought I go, In all your wanderings to and fro, Whero fierce suns shine and fierce winds blow. I feel the bitter storms that beat Upon your head; the rain and sleet, And all the thorns beneath your feet. I shiver with your cold: I weep Your tears, and. while they say I sleep, With your dead dreams my watch l keep. With all your burdens do I cope: I pray your prayers; with you I hope; In all your darkness, love, I grope. I share with you all dread and dole, The waters of despair that roll 9L Above you overwhelm my soul. ■F Your smallest choosing is my choice; in all your triumphs I rejoiceIn all your songs lift up my voice. So, on the sea and on the land, T stand in spirit where you stand. And in the spirit clasp your baud. And still beside my hearth, ’tis true, I live my life—so must I do; And yet, dear heart, God knows—and you? _ (.arietta Perry. Adjustment. The tree of Faith Is bare, dry boughs must shed That nearer heaven the living ones may climb; The false must fail, though from our shores of time The old lament be heard. Great Pan is dead!” That wail v>f Error's from his high place hurled, This sharp recoil is evil undertrod. Our time's unrest, and angel sent of God Troubling with life the waters of the wot Id. Even a they list the winds of the Spirit blow To turn or break our century-rusted vanes; Sands shift and waste, the rock alone remain* Where led of Heaven the strong tides come and go, And storm-clouds rent by thunderbolt and wind liOave, free of mist, the permanent stars behind. Therefore I trust, although to outward sense Both true and false seem threatened; I will hold With newer light my reverence for the old, And oalmly wait the births of Providence. No gain is lost, the clear-eyed saints look down Untroubled on the wreck of schemes and creeds; Love yet remains, its rosary of good deeds Counting in task-field and o’erpeopled town. Truth has charm'd life; tho Inward Word survives And, day by day, its revelation brings; Faith, hope, and charity, whatsoever things Which oan not be shaken, stand. Still holy lives Reveal the Christ of whom the letter told, And the uew Gospel verities the old. —John G. Whittier, in Andover Review. Oak Knoll, Danvor9.

Together. Til© winter wind is wailinsf, sad and low, Across the lake aud through the rustling sedge; The splendor of the golden after-glow Gleams through the blackness of the great yew hedge; And this I read on earth and in the sky—“We ought to be together, you and 1.” Rapt through its rosy changes into dark, Fades all the west; and through the shadowy trees, And in the silent uplands of the park, Creeps the soft sighing of the rising breeze; It does but to ray weary sigh, “We ought to be together, you and I.” My hand is lonriy for your clasping, dear, My ear is tired, waiting for your call; I want your strength to help, your laugh to ohoer, Heart, soul, and senses need you, one and all. I droop without your full, frank sympathy— We ought to be together, you and I. W© want each other so, to comprehend The dream. the hope, things planned, or seen, or wrought? Companion, comforter, and guide, and friend, As much as lovo asks love, does thought need thought. Life is so short, so fast the lone boors fly— We ought to be together, you and I. What la Poetry? What is poetry? you ask; While your blue eyes smiling look Through my soul—their open book. Can you ask? Ah, eweet, to me You are poetry. # HER LOOK. To-day the earth and the heavens broad Smile and sparkle from pole to pole. The sun shines down in the depths of my soul, With light that shall last through eternity. To-day I saw her—she looked at me— To-day I believe in God. HER KISS*. For one of your looks the world well lost; For ono of your smiles. Heaven’s dearest blissFor one of your kisses! Ah. me. the cost! What should I give for your kiss—your kiss? * WHERE GOES LOVE? Sighs are air and return to air, Tears are water—to water How. Now, tell me. woman, where does love go When lovo is forgotten—ah, where—ah, where! —From the Spanish of A. liegnor. The Mourning Dove. Listen! A voice of tears from the wooded hill, Now' broken and lost, now waking its plaint &ne.*} I heard it in summer’s youth, I hear it still: “Who, who, who?” Only this; but I catch at the slender clew, And follow it back till I reach the heart of a song: “Who, who, who delays thee so long?” “Who meets thee amid the rustling full-eared maize, Who. where the trees of strength ther ripeness strew, Or where the Willow above her mirror sways? Who, who, who? Who and where?—l call thee, the long day through; Gome thou wouldst, if thy lovo as thy wings were strong;— Who, who, who delays thee so long?” It is the wild dove’s vanishing note I hoar. She sits her nest, and darkness and sun and dew Touch her soft throat, but never to utterance clear: '•Who. who, who?” Only this; but I catch at the slender clew, And follow it back till I reach the heart of a wrong: ( “Who, who, who delays thee so long?” —Edith M. Thomas, In the Critic. Immortality. “What shall I do to ho forever known?” Thy duty ever. This did full many who yet sleep unknown. Oh, never, never? Think’at thou uerchance that they remain unknown Whom thou kuow’st not? By angel trumps in heaven their praise is blown; Divine their lot. “What shall T do to gain eternal life?” Discharge aright The simple dues with which each day is rife. Yea, with thy might, fire perfect srlimnp nf action thou deviso Will life bo fled: While he who eve*' aot an conscience cries Shall live, though deed. —Schiller. Flildng with the Lash of a Whip. Montana Sun. A gentleman coining from Butte City to Gridley the other day saw a small pond, the water of which was more or less acitated. He investi- , gated, and found the pool to bo swarming with i fish of the perch and sucker species. Ho killed j twenty-four in less than ten minutes with a bugpgy whip. Tlifc shortest measured thirteen luohes. “100 Doses One Dollar’' is true only of Hood's ■ Sarsaparilla, and it is an unanswerable argu . tuflbt as to strength and economy.

A MAGDALEN OF THE FRONTIER. “A. D. F.,” in San Francisco Argonaut. The sin forgiven by Christ in Heaven By man is cursed alway. The coach came sliding and grating down the long hill; it swung floutingly through the miserable hovels of the Mexican quarter, rattled past the brilliant temptation of the “Continual" saloon and the less tempting facade of Trelleott’s opposition establishment, “Big Jim.” the driver found an untlionged spot on the side ot his horses, and so persuaded them to a Anal spurt, which should emphasize tho suddenness of the pull-up on the postofiico corner. All the mon lounging there under the cottonwoods swayed and surged for a vantage ground whence to peer into the stage. “Notad —dpassenger!”criedAlfDixon. “Boys, this camp’s peterin’ out just about as fast as the law allows, an’ a little more so. This is the fouiih night the coach’s come in empty. What the h—l” “Dry up, Alf!” It was Bruce Stewart, the blonde young deputy sheriff, who rode guard over the treasure box, now nimbly springing down from the top, Winchester in hand. “Give us a rest on your French talk. That’s an old lady in there—a saintly old tenderfoot—God help her here!” He opened tho coach door and made a baluster of his strong young arm. “Now ma’am, here you are at the office, if you’d like to inquire. Maybe some, of these old citizens might tell you about your daughter — sorry I’m a stranger here, you might say.” with an admonishing frown at the crowd. He guided the old lady into the house, and pulled forward a big chair, then faced the gathering group, flushed and breathing hard. “Well, this stumps me!” He pushed his way to the door, then raising his voice again, cried loudly in slangy Spanish: “Play numskull, every man-jack of you! That poor old soul has come out here to find her daughter, that she thinks is teaching school — she told me all about it, coming up on the stage. It won’t do to let her find out about it to-night, anyway—it's Carrie!” Then Mr. Stewart retreated with precipitation. He had killed his man at Georgetown, an adjacent camp, and, as to physical daring, perhaps no man in the county bad greater hardihood. But his moral courage was not equal to this situation, and so Bruco Stewart fled tho field. Every man in the postoffice drug store had understood the young deputy’s admonition, and all eyes turned on the tiny old figure sitting in their midst, all quaint and travel-worn, but still quit© self possessed. Avery little old lady she was. with delicate features and wax-like coloring. A bunch of feather.' -white curls escaped from her bonnet at either temple, in a fashion of years long gone. Her raiment was not antiquated, either as to fabric or fashioning, and yet, to a fanciful mind, it would suggest a lingering fragrance of lavender and faded rose leaves, or kindred essences, whose very memories now are relegated amid the things of a shadowy past. After the secession of Bruce Stewart, the old lady sat a few moments glancing about with quiet composure. If the novelty of the scene surprised her she made no signs. Neither did she succumb to fatigue. She held her light shape erect as a girl’s when she approached the postmaster. “Are you the gentleman in charge:** she said, with a precise courtesy; and her thin, soft tone was a vocal rendering of of old-fashioned, slanting. Italian chirography, “Ah —tho postmaster —yes. Then no doubt you will bo able to direct me to my daughter—Miss Platt. She—she is engaged in the profession of teaching.” Doctor Lucas adjusted his glasses on his thin, sharp nose, and looked at here closely. He was probably the only man in the room who had not i'olt a thrill of chivalric sympathy at sight of her. He was a lean. dark, sallow, snappish little man. in chronic ill humor, thanks to the rapid decline of business in the town, and the browbeating of his virago wife. To-night lie was in even worse than usual temper, on account of the coach’s late arrival and the crowd in the drug store keeping him on duty there, wnile an over worked deputy, visible through the glass front of the postofiico iuclosure, struggled alone through distribution of the mail. He would have liked to drive the concourse without and close the doors upon thorn. Failing safety in that- measure, ho obeyed his instinct to bully a creature weaker than himself.

“There's only one schoolma'am in town, and he’s a maul” he snarled. T don’t know anything about your daughter—she's not my sort. You’d better go over to Daniel's. Guess they can give you all the information you want." She looked at him in doubt and wonder. In all her life her exquisite delicacy and femininity bad warded off from her such roughness as this. A murmer of indignation began in the room, but it was silenced by one sweeping glance of significance from the bright blue eyes ot a man who came forward and bent his stately head to the old lady with perfect creole grace. “That suggestion is not a bad one; our friend hero is uncultured and unmannerly, but he means well —we will take it for grantod that he means well. Madam, will you accept my escort to seek your daughter? It may he an undertaking of time—life in this section is busy and hustling—people are self centered, and pay little attention to their neighbors—the faculties of perception and observation become diminished" As he led his charge away, the pleasant cadence of his soft, Southern tone died away in the safe generalizing of platitudes, uttered with the intent of soothing while he gained time. Every man in the drug store breathed freer, satisfied of this issue of this difficult and painful matter, since George Locke s tact and ingenuity would direct its arrangement. But one young fellow walked briskly to the postmaster, rubbing his broad hands in a very agony of indignation and disgust. His jaunty attire, astute, slim German face, and sliding step made up an anomalous ensemble. This was Barney Heiman. the batcher. He exercised a shrewd business faculty. and was always amply in funds: his unfailing generosity witli these resources gave him an assured standing among men. and might have secured him position in the heterogeneous social life of the town had he cared for such distinction. Moreover, his very soul was instinct with the innate chivalry that strikes root deeper than that which is learned at court. “See here, Dr. Lucas!" he said. “I’m peacefulminded and all that, but I just can't stand no such o’n’ry way of talkin' to a lady—and an old lady, too! I’d have taken a hand myself, but—why. to talk to a lady, it just breaks me all up. But Id just's soon tell a man what I think of him—even if it's not very complimentary—as I would to lasso a critter. And I think it's "mighty rough for you to abuse and talk hard to an old lady about her daughter that she can't help about, and you got half a dozen lialf-breed kids runniu around up hero in Chihuahua, without any schoolin', and learuin' to steal and fill the dance houses. I believe a man can be a man, if he is a gambler—if he ain’t a tin horn gambler—and I think a man ran stand way up in a town and stiil.want jumpin’ ou the worst kind. And I wouldn't step much at doin’ it." Barney’s tirade met with approval: more particularly the clause referring to the hapless halfcast children Dr. Lucas had ignored sinco his marriage. Such a storm of reproach assailed Dr. Lucas as to make him bend his craven head. Matters might have become serious for him but for tile reaction of laughter ovet Bob Nugent's tipsy dictum. Bob was a gentleman, drunk or sober —more commonly drunk, poor fellow!—and he voiced his scorn of the druggist. “'8 not worth thrashin’, Banes'! Doc. yo’ d'sherve duckin’ 'n tailin' pond; 'n I’d give 't t' yo’ 'f I wasn’t drunk. ’’ George Locke, timing his free step to the careful tread of that tinv figure beside him, swiftly revolved in his mind the situation, and deter mined to conduct his charge to a hotel, assumed to be “Daniel’s,” where he could, by collusion with the people, defend her from undesirable in formation, at least until she should be strengthened by a night's rest What, then, was his dismay when the dainty footsteps paused on the boad sidewalk before a door whose streaming light made distinct the sign before the buildine —“Daniel’s." She dropped his arm ana went straight in at the wide doois “Is —is Daniel's a tavern! Have I come into the wrong place!" She looked about at the unwonted surroundings—tiers of barrels, long shelves of flasks and bottles. Some young men were lounging on large cano arm-chairs, and another, coatless, came forward from a tall desk.” “What place of business do you keep!” the old lady asked politely. Ho was a dark, boyish-looking young follow, until one noticed the thoughtful brow and gray

THE INDIANAPOLIS JOURNAL, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 18, 1884.

eyes, that belied his smooth cheeks and ploasureloving mouth. He flushed as lie answered, very gently: “We are liquor dealers.” The old lady staggered slightly, almost ns if the winey fumes began to affect her. Then she turned, with a certain timid fierceness, to George Locke, standing in the doorway, pale and disconcerted. “Why did that man send me to find news of my daughter here—at a saloon?” Young Daniel’s face flushed. Tie could hardly have gotten a keener stab than this that struck home to his own deep sense of shame in his business. There was something very noble and brave in the young man’s nature, subject as he had been to life-long evils of circumstance —surrounding and training. George Locke hardly know which of the two he most pith'd as he inter•posed: “Oh, that’s simple enough. You see. all the news from outside comes here to Daniel’s first. Jack"—with a look of meaning and caution—“have you heard how Carrie is getting along with her new school over at Flintvilie? This lady is her mother. She dou’t know just where Carrie is just now.” His peculiar emphasis put on guard tho young man, ready-witted aud clever, and educated to quick expedients by tho practical exigencies of the section. “No,” replied young Daniel, pleasantly; “no mail has come yet. You know she only went over to Flintvilie last Monday. We’ll hear from there to morrow or next day.” “We might go around to the hotel and make sure,” said George Locke. “Mrs. Piatt, will you await me here? Oh! I assure you there is no impropriety. The most irreproachable ladies of the camp make no scruple of coming in here to see the collection of minerals and ores. These things are different on the frontier, you know. Here, Henry, will vou show Mrs. Piatt your cabinet?” * * v • # # # “Your plan seems to me far-fetched and melodramatic,” said young Daniel, gloomily. George Locke had unfolded his plan of action, based on information his protege had given m their slow walk from the postofiico to “Daniel’s.” But all the Southerners magnetic eloquence could not convince the younger man. “It is a bit theatrical.” Mr. Locke continued, “but practical, 1 think. At all events, it’s our only salvation.” “What is the use to discuss the matter," said Jack Daniel bitterly. Mrs. French would no more let tho Aylmer come into her house for any purpose whatever than she would go down to the ‘Continual* and accompany the Aylmer in one of her songs!" “Mistake, Jack. You don’t know Mary French’s true heart and sweet, womanly charity as I do. Jack, it’s a great pity you two couid not have met on equal ground. Or. failiug that, it’s a pity you ever met at all. Ooufound this free and easy frontier life! In any place where social regulations exist Mary Freneh would never have come in contact with a man in j our position, and you’d have been spared a deal of suffering.” “George,” cried the other, fiercely, “what’s the matter with you to-night 1” For, indeed, this turning tho knife in another’s wound was most uncharitable of George Locke, the tactful. He put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Jack.” he said—and the tenderness of his tone was like the tenderness of a father — “Jack, don’t you know I saw how deep a wound you got to-night from Carrie’s mother? You’re fighting against your own soul, Jack, as well as against your love. Give it all up, and go away from this. Begin all over in anew country, and with Mary French—l believe you could do it. You ought. Nature made you for each other.” “See hero,” said Daniel, doggedly, “if you want to risk your own fate don’t let any scruple about interfering with me deter you. I’ve had my little lesson; I shall never aspire to Mrs. French's hand again. Meanwhile, that poor old soul is left, forlorn and weary, in a place that seems to her polluting, uo doubt.' “Jack,” said Locke, “I will tell you a bit of a secret. lam cot a marrying man. 1 was married at twenty-five, and within a year my wite became insane. Hereditary, but it had been kept from her, poor girl! She has been in the insane asylum these twelve years. Now, as you say, let us return to Mrs. Piatt. Make some excuses for my leaving her, and dally about for a while before you bring her un to Mrs. French’s. I must have time to explaiu to Mary.” “All right; but you understand 1 have nothing to do with to-morrow’s business. Barney Herman will help you. He’s just tho man—honest, and hearty, and true; not so overburdened with style as some of the fellows who rank him." “You'll come with Carrie, yourself,” said George Locko, bluntly. “Not I! Good God! don’t you see tho difficulty of the situation—the delicacy? How can 1 meet Mary French in company with the Aylmer?” “None the less you will do it Precisely for tho reason of j’our complicated relations we don’t want Barney Heiman or any other involved. Come, Jack, brace up and have some style about yon,” said Locke, disguising his sympathy in slang. “You must meet the obligations you have incurred. You're not the first mau who has found ‘his honor rooted in dishonor. ***

*#**## Physically, Mrs. French was an admirable match for the noble mold of George Locke's commanding type. Her well-built form was large, compact and plump. Her cheeks were ruddy, her gray eyes clear and her round facial lines all sweet and wholesome. Sne was the sort of woman men are apt to fancy—a sort of domestic goddess. But it does not always chance a goddess smiles on the plans of the sons of men. George Locke was astonished to find that his friend's objection to his proposition was based on personal reasons. The mere detail that it involved juggling with the religious faith of another had had nothing repugnant to her strong rationalism. He perceived quite plainly that between her compassion for the unfortunate mother and the zest she found in his original if irreverent idea, she was fairly inclined to confederacy—until the statement of Magdalen’s identity. Mr. Locke had, of course, been quite cognizant that Mrs. French had broken with her intended husband a week before the day set for their marriage, on discovery of his entanglement with the Aylmer. And yet he had confidently expected that generosity and sense of justice would ignore personal feeling in dealing with the matter in hand. “You talk as if that poor girl were the only sinner in the world!” cried George Locke at last, exasperated by her obstinacy, while time was flying. “You are thoroughly unjust to her. and you are less generous than she. I didn't know you could be so narrow.minded. Mary French, this woman yon despise tries more sincerely—ah, 1 beiieve she does more—to help the weak and sinful than you do.” Mrs. French lifted her bowed head in abasement. But George Locke's noble, kindly, countenance was full of stern sincerity and rebuke. “I mean what I say. She preys on men, as in the manner of her kiud—poor girl! But no man pays tribute to her at the expense of a family. Her speech is as blameless as your own, amid all the ribaldry that surrounds her; sometimes it has even seemed to me that her sweet songs purify the atmosphere about her. “On, Mary French, you need not sneer. Men are not always full of evil. I do believe that many a ono goes there to let her music work its spell ou heart-chords that havo long boen silent.” ••Do the people of the ‘Continental’ saloon find this mission work profitable, or is it a labor of love?’’ inquired Mrs. French, with meek sweetness. He went on, ignoring the feminine sarcasm. “She has made a veritable crusade against the young lads, mere boys, who used to haunt the saloons—calls them up to her piano, aud talks to them like a mother. Ah, bah!” cried Mr. Locke, “it is folly to expect ono woman to show another mercy. And yet,” he added, his voice tremulous with some tender memory, “I have known one woman to warrant such confidence.” Mrs. French looked up. “Would that woman havo done what you ask me to do?” she demanded, a certain grievance in her tone. Mr. Locke smiled to himself at that littlo touch of emulative jealousy, tending as it did to confirm his suspicion that Mrs. French’s pride had suffered, rather than her affection, in the rupture with her lover six months before. He must have been more than man if he had failed to preceive that her interest in himself was deeper than was strictly consistent with hopes quite blasted. It would have been abnormal, too, had he failed to take advantage of that weakness for the furtherance of his wishes. “There was no selfish taint in her whole nature. She would have aided to the utmost what I thought right.” Mrs. French rose and looked into his face with eyes full of infinite enthusiasm and yearning pity, well nigh divine. “When will she bo here —that dear. old. lo.iely mother? Oh, we will be so good to her, will we

not? And you—you really believed in my heartlessnesa—you know you did! What right had you to think me a pharisee? For shame, George Locke! I thought you kn**w me.” “In the nick of time!" thought the man, following helplessly as she moved to answer the knock announcing the weary pilgrim’s coming. And he was not the first man —nor yet the last —constrained to own that, as compared to the nimble wiles of women, men’s artfulness is but a clumsy and transparent effort. And so it was that twenty-four hours later Mary French, with diplomatic, deferential interest. sat listening to tho disclosure on spiritualism. into which she had skillfully led her guest. It was not difficult to understand how all the more mystical and poetical phases of that doctrine had taken hold in this gentle, unphilosophic, mind of antiquated simplicity. “I do not doubt that our dear ones return,” she said; “but we do not perceive them often, for our senses are dulled by tho world’s gross usage. I have tried strenuously to comply with the conditions in order tuat I might receive the materialized presence. I have sometimes thought that if"my daughter—” She stopped short with a little, faint cry. A woman’s form stood in a window fronting upon the long front gallery—a figure graceful small, of perfect mold, about with flimsy, misty clouds of vaporous white, the little head was banded round with bands of waving golden hair; the great blue eyes were full of mournful resignment: the sweet, faultless lips were sad; the whole face was the face of a suffering angel. She held one lovely hand toward the twain within the room, and the sweet, sad lip spoke: “Mother—return!’’ Then swiftly and silently tho vision was goue. * * * Jack Daniel did not tarry with the pseudo news ho bore. The mother bad not spoken when he came in. The details of his story had been skillfully devised. Small-pox bad broken out in Flintvilie the week of the teacher’s advent there. She had contracted the scourge, and a sudden chill had driven it in with swift congestion. Death had come very soon, and immediato interment had been needful. She had died with her mother’s name upon her lips. Watching the mother carefully, the young man was going on with tentative platitudes of sympathy, and the regrets of those who knew tho dead girl. The old lady covered her dim eyes with her hand; her delicate lips wrung piteously. “You are very kind." she said, still with precision; “but—will you leave me in solitude with my sorrow? Dear young lady, will you come to me later on? To-morrow —I will leave you.” Without a word Mary French and Jack Daniel went sol tty to the room where George Locke was watching beside tho Aylmer. She cowered like some stricken creature, still veiled by the foamy masses of clinging tulle that had made her appearance at the window ghost like. The creole touched their hostess, bending down humid eyes. *'• “Say something to her.” he said pitifully. “I think her mother's suffering hurts her less than her position with j 7 ou. She would not stay in here with Daniel, but made him go and leave me with her.” That argument was an unwise one. It was not enough, then, that her oid lover stood here, with his face downcast in conscious shame for his relation with this fallen creature. She must ply her nefarious acts ou some other man trading ou his chivalry. Mrs. French's face hardened us her heart grew hard again. The crouching woman lifted her tear-stained visage and came to stand before the other, with pleading written on every line of her bearing. “1 have no right to even thank you. she said, “and yet I would lay down my life for your pleasure. Don't think Ido not feel my shame; I even recognize the mockery of being wrapped in this," she bent, her lips gratefully and reverently to the airy gauze about her. It was Mary French's bridal veil that she had brought out hastily when their project had been found to lack such an accessory. “Oh, there is nothing like a woman’s kindness to a woman! The love of man. at best, is only a selfish passion. In all the greatest crises of a woman’s life she wants a woman’s ministering. 1 have been so long shut out from that sweet, consolation: oh, for my very soul’s sake, speak to me and help me!" But Mrs. French stepped back and auswered coldly: “I am sorry for your distress. I think your unfortunate mother will bo needing me. My parlor is at your service, as anything you may require to recover your composure. Mr. Locke, mv hospitality is in your hands.” if if * if ♦? if

A fire at their corral disabled the stage company's rolling stock, so that the out going coach was not in readiness to leave until the lamps lighted in the “Continual” saloon twinkled their reflections in the malodorous pool above the dam. The usual knot of loungers stood in waiting as it swung around to the postoffice under the cottonwoods. Young Daniel, standing despondently near by, spoke to the driver. “Wait, Jim, George Locke will bring another passenger shortly.” Jim put out his under lip, in jealousy of his importance. “That's all right. I know. Told mo he’d see the old lady down to the mil road. Georgo is a good fellow—for a rebel that wa_ ” The crowd took up the word. “Old lady,” “Carrie’s mother,” “Goiug back,” “Jack, how diu Locke settle that business? He’s kept it mighty mum.” “Ask him,” said young Daniel, briefly. “Seems’s if it’s kind o’ rough for Carrie to havo to play to-night,” hazarded ono rugged prospector in overalls. “Rough nothing. Business is business,” said a pert, young accountant. “Wonder how the firm'll like the lonesome kind of tunes she’s giving us to-night.” “Go slow ou that. Here's Locke and the old lady.” As the pair settled back in their seats, a steady flow of wind set for some moments thither, and brought the singer’s voice and words so clearly that Jim delayed, with whip in air, to catch the old familiar strain: Sing, then, Mid unto my soul it sha“ seem Womanhood's years have boen only a dream Never hereafter to wake or to weep— Rock me to sleep, mothei. rock me to sleep. Mrs. Piatt half rose from her place. “That—oh. that voice sounds like ray poor dead daughter’s!’' And, as the coach lurched away, she hid her face on Georgo Locke’s shoulder, with an outburst of tears that were the first she had shed in her sad. sorrowful sojourn there. Editor Dana’s Crockery Craze. Letter in Philadelphia ilecord. I met Mr. Dana, of the Sun, in a bric-a-brac shop the other day looking at some fine porcelain, with an eye to purchase. But there is very little that Mr. Dana buys of the sort nowadays. His collectioh is so very nearly complete that there is not much that ho can add too it to make it any better. A well known dealer told mo the other day that Mr. Dana’s collection of porcelains was the finest in the country. He has a special liking for the Hawthorne pattern in porcelain, which is one ot the most desired by collectors- To tho average man or woman a piece of tho finest Hawthorne looks very little better than an ordinary ginger jar; it is the same shape, and the decoration is in blue on white ground. You can get a ginger jar filled with ginger for $3 or $3 at the most, but you can’t get the Hawthorne jar for less than S6OO, and one particular one that Mr Dana has, the coloring of which is especially admired by collectors, cost him $11,500. If was on exhibition, with some of Mr. Dana’s other porcelain, at the Loan Exhibition held here last winter It certainly was a beautiful piece of porcelain. but $3,500 is a great deal of money for so small and so brittle a thing. But when a man who has the means of gratifying such a taste as this once gets the fever there is no price at which ho will stop to possess what he wants. Jellies as Food. Popular Science Monthly. The separation of jellies is an operation of cookery, and one that deserves more attention than it receives. I shall never forget the rahat lakoum which I once had tho pleasure of eating in the kitchen of the seraglio of Stamboul, in the absence at tho summer palace of the Sultana and the other ladies for whom it was prepared. Its basis was the pure pectoso of many fruits, the inspissated juices of grapes, peaches, pine apples, and I know not what others. The sherbet was similar, but liquid. Well may they obey the prophet and abstain from tho grosser concoctions that we call wine when such ambrosial nectar as this is supplied in its place! It is to imperial tokay as tokay is to table beer! Tt is rumored that the sale of Dr. Bull’s Cough Syrup has taken such dimensions that tho proprietors are unable to supply all orders. We advise out* druggists to prepare themselves for all emergencies, a* the people rely on them for this valuable remedy.

HUMOR OP THE DAY. “Yes,” remarked a landlady, “it costs money to get knives sharpened ever}' week, but its cheaper than buying tender meat” “The bones of Red Jacket,” read Mrs. Pina plior, with a puzzled expression. “If a red jacket is anything like a corset, they must be whalebones.” —Norristown Herald It has been discovered that accordions were invented before the Christian era. This fact makes it all the moro remarkable that a Christian era should have ever arrived. —Norristown Herald. Little boy to juvenile neighbor—“My pa’s a Christian an’ reads the Bible every day an’ prays to God; does yourn?” “Naw,” (indignantly), “my fadder's a Democrat and swears by General Jackson.” “Is land high in Vermont?” asked a speculator of an old Green Mountain farmer. “You just bet it is!" was tho reply. “If the trees wasn’t so stunted, tho clouds couldn't get by at all!"—Burlington Free Press. Doctor—“ You see, wife}* dear, I have pulled my patient through, after all; a very critical case, I can teli you!" His wife —“Yes, dear hubby, but then vou are so clover in your profession. Ah! if f had only known you five years earlier I feel certain my first husband—my poor Thomas—would have been saved!” No Difference. “The politician spoke in husky tones," was the words the reporter wrote. “The politician spoke in whisky tones,” was how the compositor set it up. “Same thing." was what the proof-reader re marked when he saw it. Latest Boston Agony. San Francisco Post “No," said Mrs. High flight, “now that Sunday breakfasts are so fashionable, I really don’t get time to attend church any more; but I send one of the servants to sit in the pew and put my card on the plate. 1 understand it’s ail the go now in Bosting.” And Now the Weary Maiden. Rutland Herald This is the season of the year when the yonug lady who is so delicate that she can do nothing to assist her mother about the household duties can tramp about over tho hills half a day at a time in company with a broken-down dude, in search after dead leaves and withered ferus. What It Was. Atlanta Constitution. “My dear brothers and sisters," continued the minister, winding up his farewell sermon; “you have uo idea what is pressing next my heart, it feels—” “I know," broke in a lad. “What is it?" smilingly asked the clergyman. “Your liver pad!” yelled the boy; “hit's got loose, an’ is rubbing the wrong spotl” Was Not a Candidate. Pittsburg Chronicle. “Why, Jeremiah Jarphly!” angrily exclaimed Mrs. Jarphly, as her husband came trailing into the house covered with mud and oil. the other evening, having assisted in a torchlight proces sion, “wheie did you got that mud on you?” “Been par rad in', be*n par radio’. Martha: that’s all. Patriotism, S'mrs. Jarphly. patriotism. All for slove of country!” “That is all right, Jeremiah, but whero did you get. covered with mud? You are not a candidate for the presidency.” The Flour of the Family. Yonkers Statesman. “You were down to see Miss Fussanfeather last ni it. Charlie, weren't you?” said little Mollie Crimsonbeak to her older brother. “How do you know whero 1 was?” replied the young man. a little provoked. “Well, didn’t 1 hear you tell papa yesterday that she was the flour of the family?” “Well, suppose you did?” “Well,” went on the little girl timidly, drawing nearer and brushing the lapel of her brother’s coat; “I see some of her has rubbed off on you!” What He Got. Atlanta Constitution. Fitzgoober bought a ticket in the lottery last month, and up to the day of drawing he was positivo of getting the capital prize. The eventful day arrived, and his wife was alarmed at seeing him rushing madly home. “What’s the matter?" she gasped. “I—l—got it!” gasped Fitz. “Got what?” “Don—don’t you remember the lottery ticket?” “I do,” cried the excited woman, “what did you get?” “Got disappointed," sadly answered Fitz.

An Honest Campaign. Tho Graphic. “What a magnificent sight this is,” observed the editor as he looked out of the office window upon the torchlight procession. “How the martial strains stir my soul! What is the meaning of this imposing array?” “It. is the parade of the other side. They have a mass meeting to-night,” replied tho city editor. A few minutes afterward the editor made an editorial paragraph to the effect that “the riffraff of the city, the off scum, the rag tag and bob tail were out in force last night, making tho streets hideous witli their yells. If the police had understood their duties tho entire mob would have boon arrested.” A LOST DEVIL. A Tramp Eucliered Out of His Ownership In a Gentleman with Horns aud Tail. Detroit Times, “I don't know jest what it was as told mo to go to church in Detroit last Sunday. I hadn’t been to such a place since I left the neck o’ woods, years an’ years ago, but ail at once it scorned to me as es I'd orter go—an’ I went. I wish I hadn’t. I s’posed. of course, ev’ry thing would bo jest the same. Well, sir, I couldn't tell you how it was, or what I saw there, es it was to save my life, I only knowed ns how it was altogether anew deal, as far as I was in the game, and that the feller as shuffled the cards must have put up a very scaly job on me. The only place as I could work in a play was where the clergyman—that’s a big word—tried to tell me about tho new style of heaven, an’ hell, an’ his dude devil, and that only happened once in all the hull course of the game. All the rest of the playin’ was dead aginst me, an’ I couldn’t catch ou. He said a good deal about suthin’ as he called ‘advanced thought,’ but I didn't hold a card as would take it up. He got the lead on me at the very start off an’ kept it right through to the end of the game. He came at me with the ace of suthin' as lie called the ‘beneficence of the Infinite,’but I couldn’t match it with the ‘Jesus loves even me’ ten spot as I had brought with me from the old meet in’house, an’ had to pass. The only trump card as 1 had in my hand was the king of Tt is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven.’ I had taken a pile of comfort in t hat card when I had gene to bed ou a cold winter night in an ashbin, with my recolleckshun of the old truckle bed as my only blanket, an’ I laid it down in last Sunday's game with a good deal of satisfacksun. You see, I know’d as how it was a trump, an’ reckoned it’d bring me in suthin’. Well, sir. that clergyman sort of winked at me over the top of his gold-iiiumed spectacles as he gathered in my only trump with the right bower of ‘Wealth is the great lever of the universe, and without it wo become, very properly, but the oarsmen who pull others into power.’ Well, that settled the hull biz ness. I couldn’t play at that sort of a game, so I threw up my hand, and wont out of that church without winning a trick. That new-fangled clergyman had not only euchred mo outen what he was talkin’ about, but had stolen my personal devil an’ my mother’s harp. A devil with a white necktie aud swallertsil coat ain’t no sort of company for mo, an’ 1 know I never could bo satisfied with a choir of four singers an’ a big pipe organ in heaven.” Dusted Gilt and <Bided Dust of Literature. Vhii Dyke, In tho Critic. For the time being, flippant art and flippant literature seem to bo enjoying the airy end of the see-saw; an appreciative audience applaud; their senses arc delighted by both picture and poem. The critic sings proans of praise unmixed. and the reviewer draws no bow to shoot this folly as it flies. Every one seems pleased except a few cynical fogies who sit idly by and dare to doubt the enduring power of that house,

the only strength of which lies in its pretty exterior, the scroll work ornaments and its gilded cornices. The grumbler alone looks sadly on and murmurs that lie is compelled to choose between tho dusted gilt of the past and the gilded dust of the present He alone sighs for tho pure gold—the rugged metal of thought burned pure of dross in tho crucible of expression. STUDENTS OF COBBLESTONE. Young Men Questioned About the Moral Obligations of Inspectors ot J’uving, New York Sun. Four young men sat with their feet coiled up under benches in the City College yesterday afternoon. and waited for the beginning of tho civil service examination of applicants for two vacant inspectorships of pavements in tho department of public works. Tho board of examiners turned on the test questions at precisely 2:46 o'clock. Professor Arthur H. Dondon presided. Deacon Dan B. Smith held a big bunch of written questions as he said that only practical questions would be asked. First the four applicants wrote sentences to show that they knew how to write. To prove that they knew something about figures they jotted down answers to these: 1. Write $10.053. 1)5 correctly. 2.. Add $103.27. $96,763.1 1,'and5103,791.21. 3. Subtract 950.732 from 1.000,001. Divide 1,000,000 b\ 039.999. Multiply 41,133 by* 331.144. “Gotham pavements and sewers,” observed Chairman Dondon, in an explanatory way, “cost more and last about 160 years less than those of ancient Romo. The remedy is to build them better. To build them better the inspectors must have technical knowledge of their duties. Examiner Moir will ascertain what tho applicants know about cobblestones and other pavements.” Examiner Moir had just extracted a fine cigar from his waistcoat, put it between his teeth, and was lighting it Chairman Dondon gazed at him in astonishment. “Mr. Moir,” he exclaimed in mild rebuke, “forgets that tho civil service rules prohibit smoking,” “Correct,” returned the examiner, as he ruthlessly crushed tho ignited end of the cigar on the chairman's writing-pad. “For tho moment I had forgotten. I beg the pardon of the chairman and of the applicants. The young gentlemen will please write down for me an answer to this: ‘What are the duties of an inspector of pavements?’” The young men were asked all about cobblestones; how they are selected,what they ought to be made of, how you ought to lay them when you get them, and what you ought to pay for them when you buy thorn. When the shades of night were beginning to fall, Deacon Smith startled the four anxious young men by asking them this poser: “What moral obligations rest on an inspector of pavements.” They buried their heads in their hands, raked up their reminiscences of the catechism, and wrote them down, while Chairman Dondon wrote his conception of the moral obligations of tho cobblestone inspector for the benefit of the Sun reporter, as follows: “He should possess an unyielding integrity, which would prevent his being bribed or improperly influenced by dishonest contractors. An inspector should be a man of great moral courage, who could not be frightened or intimidated in the performance of his duty by bulldozing contractors or their hirelings.* Inspectors should not forget that a large proportion of contractors are dishonest, and will seek to swerve or improperly influence him in the discharge of his duty. They will tell him what great political power they wield, and how they could use it to secure his removal, or prevent him from getting on another job. But if the inspector understands his work, is honest and intelligent, and has good moral courage, he cun hold any contractor up to a propel performance of his contract The in spector has it in his power, at all times, when work is being improperly done, to stop all operations until the matter can be adjudicated by someone in authority.” It will be a week before the four anxious young men will know which two of their number stand a chance of being recommended for inspectorships. When they will get the appointment after being recommended is one of thoso things that no applicant can find out.

The Prominent Citizen. Detroit Free Press. He was supposed to be worth a hundred thousand dollars, and he flattered himself that when he slept an hour later than usual in the morning all the business of the city waited for him to get out of bed. When a letter arrived a sow days ago demanding his presence in New England for three or four weeks he hesitated to go. He knew just how broken up the city would be, and he had his fears that nothing would bo done in tho paving line, and that all building would at once stop dead still. However, the prominent citizen at length decided to go. and he got off quietly. Nobody rushed out to stop him aud beg him to put off his journey, and as far us ho has since learned tho council has passed no resolutions of regret. He returned the other evening, and great was his surprise to find the city still here. It hadn’t strayed or been stolen. Tho city hall hadn’t tumbled down, and he couldn’t find grass growing in auy of the business streets. This was bad enough, but as he walked up street ho met a friend who called out: “Hello! Blank, going away?” “No, sir. I have just returned from a month’s trip to New England.” “Indeed! Why, l hadn’t even missed you.” A few steps further on he encountered another, who was still more surprised to hear that he had been absent, and added: “And the papers didn't even mention tho fact!’* The prominent citizen reached homo to find everything running as smoothly and satisfactorily as when he left It was a great, shock to him, but the climax came when ho was called to tho door to seo a humble looking raau who said: “You know I was talking witli you three or four days ago about trimming up your trees, and I called to say it would boa job worth about $4. The promint citizen had returned. What of it? A Perennial 31rs. Hardeli. Loudon Letter in San Franciaco Chronicle. Au old lady. Mackleton by name, living in a pretty detached house at Bayswater, is continually making applications to the magistrates for warrants to arrest noblemen and gentlemen of wealth and position on charges ot bigamy. As a matter of fact, the old lady has never been married, but enjoys a handsome property which she inherited from her father upwards of forty years ago. It is very funny to listen to tilts old dame as she gravely relates to the magistrates how my Lord this or tho Earl of that married her fifty years ago in tho Isle of Man, resided with her for three weeks in a castle, which she professes to own. in the middle of the island, and subsequently deserted her. With much apparent accuracy she will then give the date of her would bo victim’s marriage and numerous particulars as to his family, aud wind up demanding that an officer be sent thou and there to arrest him. They are, however, good-natured toward the old dam© at the courts and usually give her a piece of blue paper and tell her to go and execute the warrant herself. After this she goes quietly home and it may boa mouth or two before she conies again for another warrant for a more or less distinguished member of society. A Nose Show Over by tho Blue Danube# Paris Letter in Newark Advertiser, Wo are to have a show of feet and hands in Paris. In the meantime Vienna has got the start in the “Nose Exhibition,” which is called “Zarzography." l’he classes include “long.” ‘‘straight,’’ “aquiline,” “broad,” “divided.” “fleshy,” “upturned,” “white,’’ “red,” and “blue. ' AU these have their language, like flowers, aud indicate genius, energy, adventure, audacity, diplomacy, wit, science, envy, hatred, malice, and all uncliaritablenoss. A tip-tilted. j knocker suggests joviality. * His Slippery Glass Eye. “The ‘Squire,” says the author of “Tho lloosier Schoolmaster,” “wore one glass eye and a wig. Tho glass eye was constantly slipping out of focus, and tho wig turning around sideways on bis head whenever In* addressed the people of ) the Flat-creek district.” Sad spectacle. Parker’s Hair Balsam preserves and promotes tho growth of the natural hair. Tt also restores tho ! natural color to hair whi h has i ided or become j eray. Clean, elegant, beneficial, highly pop* J fumed.

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