Indianapolis Journal, Indianapolis, Marion County, 30 November 1884 — Page 6

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Gli mptes. Tlio ro©s’ crush of crimson lush, Haul's he*vy*gceateil in the air: Tlie mellow hneh of summer's flush Holds haunting languor everywhere; I breathe bewildering draughts of bliss And deem nil else well lost for this. From out the dreamy, slumb rous weight, A maiden's voice sobs desolate: *‘Jt the yonr had known no summer, Or its red heart, warm and bleeding, Could have laid within its coffin. Ere a low voice ciune a-pleadmgj While the roses fell to soften Its delusive, mocking laughter; For which silent interceding, 1 could crush them ever after."jj The skies could be no bluer than The crystal waters are to-day; The light and breeze no softer to The rowers out i?oon the bay. I staml’and watch with wistful eyes: The liquid sea seems paradise, To me upon the burning strand. Down from the drifted sallow sand A woman’s voice wails passionate ; "I hate its fair beguiling grace; It looked like this upon the mom lie sailed away with smiling face; Sailed out into the wan sea white; But when the stir, swung low hie light All that my soul had loved the best Lay pillowed on it treacherous breast.” They tell me autumn’s beautiful. In scarlet, gold and russet grays; That nature steps resplendent out To bid farewell to summer day*. I turn my face. 1 dare not glance Upon her last mud wildwood dance; My heart is cold; I close the door, And ope to autumn’s glee no more. It Was one day ’mid falling leaves They laid her still to sleep between The earth and trampled heather bells. That wrapped within the closing scene. Dance on, young joy, and hasten time To seal again this broken rhyme. Ah! well-a-day. From out one’s woe Another smiles. ’Tis better so. —lda May Davis. Despondency. 0, gloomy world that rolls in weary space And moans wild music to the broken spheres, Whose rivers wander into seas of tears, Despair lias bound thee in a close embrace; A birth, a life, a death; man is no more! Death glows beside existence, and with time Is comrade of its changes; cycles roll Their heavy circles through the human soul And pour their dirges into mournful rhyme; A birth, a life, a death; man is no more. He gropes in shadows for a happy beam That shall delight his bosom; into mist Dissolves the substance that ambition kissed "While greatness grows the garland of a dream; A birth, a life, a death; man is no more. Kndeavor struggles to an early grave; The past is lost in monumental dust Where age on age in angry ire has thrust The wise, the strong, the mighty and the brave; A birth, a life, a death; man is no more. • The years are shades that totter from their tombs, The ages ghosts which live in catacombs And lure the Present to their awful homes, Whil e ancient races wander in the glooms; A birth, a life, a death; man ri no more. Oblivion welcomes men with gentle arms And presses them, like infante, to her breast, Repeats to them her lullabies of rest And guards them from all sorrows and alarms; A birth, a life, a death; man is no more. Then hasten, world, and let my battle cease; I core not where I stay nor when I go; For action gives unhappiness and woe, While Lethe brings forgetfulness and peace; A birth, a life, a death; I am no more! Hillsboro, Ind. —Freeman E. Miller. In Tbne to Come. The flowers are dead that made a summer splendor, By wayside nooks and on the sunny hill, Aud with regret these hearts of ours grow tender, As sometimos all hearts will. W r loved the blossoms, for they helped to brighten The lives so dark with wearying toil and care, As hopes and dreams forever help to lighten The heavy loads w e bear-. How like the flowers, whose transient life is ended, The hopes and dreams are. that for one brief houi Make the glad heart a garden bright and splendid About love’s latticed bower. One little hour of almost perfect pleasure, A foretaste of the happiness to come; Then sudden frost—the garden yields it* treasure. And stand* in sorrow, dumb. Oh. listen, heart,! The flower may lose its glory Beneath the touch of frost, but does not die. In spring it will repeat the old, sweet story Os God’s dear by and by. In heaven, if never hero, the hopes we cherish— The flowers of human lives we count as lost, Will live again. Such beauty cannot perish: And heaven has no frost. New York Mail and Express. A Better Day. O child, lift, not such dreary eyes to me As if the God of Love himself were dead. Because thy little hour of joy has fled: Surely thy life shall not be always gray, Toward th’ evening shall thy sky be red With hojieful promise of a brighter day. Thy heavy glances se k the sombre earth: "What use,” thy saa heart answers, “if the mow Come creeping grayly, like a thing forlorn, To tell me that the evening shall be gay; Just ere the dark and awful night bo born With hopeful promote of a brighter day.’ Ides not the awful night betwixt the two? The awful night of which we nothing guess; Whether we rest in quiet forgetfulness, Whether old thoughts and longings with us stay. Thou canst not even know pur eye*- may bless The happy dawning of a brighter day. Oh, sad and fair—which of us hath not wept The death of love we did immortal doeirrt Who hath not found all bliss utitfui gleam Across the dark? Ah! child, we needs must pray That hope forsake us not —still let us dream Th ere is a promise of a brighter day! —Margaret Whitechurch,

Robin Affair. Ax Suuy f*v llrakam. What’s the dull town to me? Robin'* not there. Whom wast I wished to wee? Robin Adair. Where’s now that joy and mirth Mhdo my life a heaven on earth? Uoue with him who gave it birth, Robin Adair. What made the ball so fine? Robin Adair. What made th’ assembly shine? Robin Adair. What, when the play was o’er, What made my heart so sore? *Twas that. I should see no more Robin Adair. Now thou Rrt lost to me, Robin Adair. Oh! I shall ne’er more see Robin Adair! Thou whom I’ve loved so well. How much words can never tell, Still in my heart thou’lt dwell, Robin Adair. Thanksgiving. Lord, for the erring thought Not into evil wrought; liord, for the wicked will Betrayed and baffled still; For the heart from itself kept. Our thanksgiving accept. For iguor*nt holies were Broken to our Mind prayer; For pain, death, dorrnw* sent Unt*> our chastisement* For all love <*f seemim: good, Quicken our gratitude. -W. D. Howell*.

AX ACT OP JUSTICE. *‘Ah, this is the country! How quiet it seems after the bustle of the city, and how deliciously fragrant the air is! But it’s warm, though. I wonder if Ira near my destination?^ Pausing, the soliloquizer transfers his satchel from his right hand to his left, while with his handkerchief he wipes his brow. Just then, chancing to glance over the low stone wall beside him, he sees a charming picture. Seated upon the dasied grass, beneath the shade of an old tree, is a young girl, busily wreathing her straw hat with roses. A great cluster nestles at the throat of her cambric dress, while another fastens her belt The delicate pink harmonizes with the tints of her own perfect complexion, while wound about her small head are a wreath of soft braids whose purely golden hue would make a society girl sick with envy. After gazing until he is satisfied, the stranger coughs gently but audibly.

As the girl looks up and sees that she is observed. she springs to her feet. "I beg yonr pardon for alarming you,” the young man hastens to say. “Can you direct me to Brier wood Farm? I was told that it was a couple of miles from the station, and as I have been walking some time, I thought that I must be near it.” A charming smile broke over the lovely face as the girl, recovering her self possession, answers him with the welcome announcement: “You thought rightly, sir. This is Brierwood Farm.” With a light spring the young man clears the fence, and comes to her side. “I inust confess that lam very glad. It is the essence of coolness and shadow here, but out upon the open road it is scorehingly hot. Is Mr. Arnold at home?” “No, sir, but my undo is.” As they walked together to the house, under the welcome shade of the green trees, the stranger says, smilingly: “If Mrs. Arnold is your aunt, why, then, we must be cousins. My name is Rupert Arnold, and my father is related to Mr. Arnold.” “I am Rose May, the niece of Mr. Arnold's wife,” the girl replies as frankly. “Appropriately named,” the young man says pleasantly, with a significant glance at the flowers that adorn so lavishly his companion's simple toilette. “I hope you will allow me the friendly privileges of a cousin,, even if we cannot claim the relationship through ties of blood.” “Have you never Deen to tho farm before?” Rose asks. “Yes, once, when I was a little chap of five years. But that’s a long time ago.* “It must be,” Rose answered demurely. By this time they are at the farm-house door, which stands hospitably open, and ushering their visitor into the sitting room, Rose hastens to apprise her aunt of the arrival. “A perfect little jewel! How she will shine in the golden setting that awaits her, and how glad I am that I fell in with mother's views!” Rupert Arnold thinks as he answers her smile and listens until the last echo of her light step dies away. “I am on my summor vacation, and remembering that my father had cousins out this way. I thought I would look them up. He was speaking of your husband the other day, and lamenting that his busy life prevented him from keeping track of his relatives,” Rupert explains later. The cordiality of his reception leaves him nothing to desire, and when Farmer Arnold urges him to spend the remainining weeks of his vacation at Brierwood Farm he willingly assented. Os oourse, in that time his asquaintance with Rose makes rapid progress,and Rupert soon flatters himself that he has sounded the height and depth of her simple mind. Her beauty is of a kind that could never pall—that he acknowledges; but to the habitue of society, the absolute truth and candor of her character after the first cease to interest. “However, do not fear, mother dear, that I am going to spiol your plans. Although I must confess that, after the £irls of our set, this country maiden’s attractions pale, still a hundred thousand is not to be picked up every day, and, if possible, I do not mean the tidy little sum to go to any other than —your dutiful son, Rupert.” Such is the conclusion of an epistle Rupert dispatches to his mother during his stay at the farm, and which brings a smile to the receiver’s face of mingled amusement and gratification. But Rose is not so transparent as Rupert deems her to be, and lias already formed her own opinion of the visitor who is so pronounced in his admiration of herself, and who has so eagerly availed himself of the privilege tacitly permitted him of calling her by the title of .cousin. She by no means dislike him; his vivacity and companionableness would preclude that; but she gauges rightly the vanity and shallowness of his character, and when she mentally compares him to someone else who towers as high above him iu meutal attributes as he does in stature, could Rupert read the verdict, chagrin would mark him for his own. As it is, however, he leaves the farm with his self satisfaction unimpaired. “A season in town to complete what these two weeks have begun, and Rupert, old fellow, your future’s assured. No more need to quail before the governor's eyes when the dues come pouring in! As to fun and freedom, a Benedict is as much his own master as a bachelor, if ho chooses to be.” Buch are tho thoughts that fill the young mail’s mind as tho train bears him upon his homeward journey. Two mouths go by and then two letters come to Brierwood Farm, one addressed to Mr. Arnold, the other for Rose. They ure both from Mrs. Arnold. Rupert’s mother, aud contain an urgent invitation for Rose to visit her uncle’s cousin in their city home. The letters are worded with such graceful tact and such Watm cordiality, that even had the wish to say no been strong, it would have been difficult to do so. “Would you like to go, Rosebud, to see with yonr own eyes what tim wonderful city is like?” Rose’s eyes fairly shone. “Indeed 1 would.” she cries. “And John—what does he say?” the old roan asks, with a glance in the direction of the tall youn£ man, who, leaning against the mantelpiece, is gazing with a world of ardent tender nesS and admiration at the fairly golden-haired girl, wlios© aniftnated face turns to hiui at her uncle's query. “Thai I shall be glad for Rosebud to hare a chance to see the gav world and its doirtes before she settles down into tho humdrum existence of a farmer's wife,” he says, heartily. And so it is settled; and Rose departs for a three-months’ visit to the Arnolds’s home. At first the dazzling gaietV and constant round of pleasure bewilder and almost frighten the little country girl. But she soon learns to take everything as a matter of course, and to enter into aud enjoy it all. Society dearly loves a sensation —something novel and out of tho ordinary—and, were Rose less carefully trained in purity and truth, her head would surely bo turned by the adulation that hes fresh young beauty creates wherever she goes. But those who love Roso need have no fear for her. Instead of spoiling, the brilliant scenes in which she is a participant only serve to amuse and divert her, and to form matter for the voluminous letters that wend their way weekly to Brierwood Farm, and to auother homo in’ the village some few miles distant, where they are persued by manly eyes that grow soft and tender when they read. One morning the Arnold residence welcomes three new guests in the persons of Mrs. Arnold's sister and her two daughters. The day passas amid pleasant conversation, and, at length, in the hour between sundown and dusk, a game of hide-and-seek is proposed by one of the young people. Slipping quietly into the* library, Roso on sconces ljerself gnugly behind the draperies of the bay window. Hardly has she done so when the door opens and Mrs. Arnold and her sister enter. Ito#e does tot stir, thinking that tho room's sudden accession #f inmates will insure her own safety, for, ftffconrse, both ladies will disavow having seen asy of th# hiiler*. They begin at one# to converse. “How handsome Rupert is,’ J Hi's. Moore says.

THE INDIANAPOLIS JOURNAL, BUN DAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1884.

“Maria, when is li ; s engagement to Miss Mar telle to be consummated?" “Oh, that was off six months ago,” Mrs. Arnold answers. “Her father failed disastrously, and, of course, with Rupert?* ideas and ta6tes. she was no longer a suitable wife for him. He seized the first opportunity to withdraw.” “In that case, Maria, I must ask you if you consider a country farmer’s niece the proper person to throw into daily association with a young man whose fancy will bo in great peril from her face, which, I must confess, is the prettiest I have over seen?” “Spare yourself any anxiety on that score, Sarah dear. Let me tell you something. That girl, although as yet no one knows it but my husband and Rupert and myself, is an heiress. You remember meeting that old eccentric Hugh Heydon at ray house? Well, he died three months ago and left my husband tho sole manager of his estate, tho whole bulk of which ho left, entirely disregarding his only child, whom he had disinherited years before, to the daughter of a woman whom he had loved and been separated from in early youth. “Os course, as my husband was his lawyer as well as his confidential friend, no one but ourselves know as yet the tenor of the will. Ino sooner heard of it than I saw at once this was just the chance for Rupert His father is iu easy circumstances, but by no means able to shoulder Rupert’s extravagances. Do not think that I am disparaging my son; ho is only what his educaiion has made him, and not one whit wilder than others of his sort. Once settled down with a rich wife, he will be all that his relatives can wish.” “But the girl—you do not seem to think of her in the matter,” Mrs. Moore suggests. “Oh, she admires Rupert exceedingly. He has played his game well.” “Ah, I see!” And Rose, listening with flushed cheeks and indignant eves, sees too. A few hours later, in the conservatory whither Rupert has led her apart from the rest, she listens while m tones of well-simulated ardor he pleads his suit. She waits until lie pauses, then looking up straight into his eyes, she says quietly, with an emphasis upou the first word: “Cousin Rupert, you surely would not have spoken as you have just now had you known that the girl you addressed was already betrothed. But to counteract any disappointment this knowledge may cause you, let ine hasten to assure you that, although Rose May has recently been left a large fortune, she will be in no wise benefited by it, for uudor no consideration could she be induced to accept a farthing that right fully belongs to another. You look amazed. Yes, I know all.” Rupert’s face of utter astonishment and embarrassment is a study. When Rose rises with all the dignity of an injured queen, he can only gaze at her speechless, and when she goes he makes no attempt to detain her. He is foiled, and his mother's well-laid scheme is a failure—there is no dubt about that. And. with a perturbed mind, he seeks the latter to confer with her upon tho unpleasant surprise he lias just received. He finds her prepared, for. with her usual frankness, the instant she loft his side Rose had gone directly to Mrs. Arnold. Never before in all her short life has the girl felt so outraged in every fibre of her being. She longs to flee at once from an atmosphere where treachery and duplicity lurk beneath the guise of courtesy and pretended affection. As swiftly as it is possible her arrangements for departure arc completed. Mrs. Arnold makes no endeavor to detain her. For once her worldly tact deserts her, for by her own words she has condemned herself. A few evenings later, with her hand clasped in her lover’s, Rose relates to him a part of the above—only a part, for she speaks alone of tho inheritance that has so unexpectedly been left to her. She means—oh, subtle Rose!—to try this lover, who seems everything that is noble and just. Her recent experience has raised our little country maiden from the unsuspicious trust and faith with which her young eyes have hitherto re garded every thing and everybody. John’s face grows very grave as he listens. “And is it possible, Rose,” he exclaims, “that you, with your high sense of honor, would accept an inheritance that rightfully belongs to this man’s disinherited child?” His tone of rebuke and remonstrance is too unmistakable to be misunderstood. For a moment Rose remains silent, then looking up with a gleeful laugh, she nestles closer to his side. “I know just what you would think and say, my great hearted John, and I, too, quite agree with you. I have my fortune—a richer one than gold mines could give. What care I for any other?” And so, through the nobility of character of a perfect stranger, a poor husband and wife in the far West have cause to give thanks when, in the midst of dire straits, a fortune, lifting them forever beyond want and suffering, comes unexpectedly to them.

President Arthur's Illue Satin Red-Rooiu. Washington Letter. As President elect Cleveland has been so in variably described by those who know him best as a man who is very simple in his tastes, and looks upon his acceptance of any public office as a pledge to work on his part, instead of extracting all the pleasure and luxury possible from the position, those acquainted with the prese.nt condition of the private rooms at the White House have wondered what he will think of Presidens Arthur's beautiful blue bed room. No previous President has ever had the room in which he has slept so daintly furnished, not ever, those whose wives wero with them. The bedroom used by Presidents Grant, Hayes and Garfield with their wives, was tlie same, and the same furniture was in it from 1873 until after President Arthur’s accession. It was handsome furniture when new, hut nothing to compare to that which President Arthur had put iu tlie opposite room for his own use. He would not occupy the room his three last predecessors had used, because when he moved into the White House it was so soon after President Garfield’s long and painful illnoss in that clu mber that his successor seemed to have a horror of it, though, being on the southern side of tho building, it is an exceedingly cheerful room. The one he has been nsing for three years is furnished like the boudoir of a care-loving woman, in blue satin. Even tlie woodwork around the doors and windows was painted blue when the room was refitted for him. Tho bed has a canopy of blue satin and lace, and a lace counterpane lined with blue satin. No ono who knows Governor Cleveland thinks he will oocupv it. It is the room which was used by the last two ladies married in the Wiiite House, Miss Nellie Grant and Miss Piatt (President Hayes's niece), up to the time of their weddings, wherefore it was conjectured when President Arthur fitted it up in blue that it was designed for a bride, which has proved uutrue. Riding Double. Nimrod, Mr. Russell, a famous M. F. H. in the west of England, was, on one occasion, running a fox hard. in a wild and unfrequented part of his county, when, on account of a strong wind and deep cover, he had for a short time lost all sound of the pack. Suddenly he overtook a miller, who, having tied his donkey, with his sack of Hour, to a hedge, was joining the chase and running for liis life. ' 'Have you seen or heard the hounds?" said Russell, in a hurry. “Y'es, sir,” said the miller; “they’re just afore, running like hell's bells; don't ye hear m J ” “Jump up,” said Russell; “my horse shall carry us both as far as he can;" and he actually carried the miller be hind him till the fox was killed. Mr. Russell would ratiier have one sportsman out with him than twenty fine gentlemen who put on the scarlet coat merely for the love of the fashion. Concerning Mis* Langdon, a Belle. New York Gossip iu Troy Times. Marion Langdon, our famous American beauty, whose home is on Fifth avenue in this city, and who was one of Carrie Astor’s chief bridesmaids, will not, as has been rumored, attend tlie coming inaugural ball ut Washington, because she is now preparing for an extended visit to Paris, where she is to sit for a portrait to Meissonior. Miss Langdon is not, except in full dress, a striking beauty, having that quiet, pale Madonna-like face and expression peeuliar to a nun. Her promenade costumes are so simple one would take her on the street for a young religious novice or a demure convent girl, but for grand occasions there i not a lady in tho land who commands such an array of luagnifi cent toilets or respleudeut jewels. Cai.L aud examine our smoking-j&eket# and dressing gowns. UopkL Clutiuno Cos.

Tlie Seaboard. The waves are a joy to the soamew, tho meads to the herd, And a joy to the heart is a goal that it may not reach. No sense that forever tho limits of sense engird. No hearing or sight that is vassal to form or speech. Learns ever the secret that tdmdow and silence teach. Hears ever the notes that or ever they swell subside. Sees ever the light that lights not the loud world’s tide. Clasps ever the cause of the lifelong scheme’s control Wherethrough we pursue, till the waters of life bo dried, The goal that is not, and ever again the goal. Friend, what have we sought or seek we. whate'er betide, Though the seaboard shift its mark from afar descried, But aims whence ever anew hall arise the soul. Love, thought, song, life, but show for a glimpse, and hide The goal that is not, and ever again the goal. —Algernon Charles Swinburne. WHIMSICALITIES. “I just went to see someone,” said he, in answer to her question, as he tried to lean his cane on tho back of an orchestra chair. “Yes,” said she, picking up a bill of the play, “you’ve beeu to see the Evil One.” “Why,” said he, laughing, “do you see tho cloven foot?” “No,” was the roply, “but I smell the cloven breath.” And for the rest of the evening not even the bellowing of the big trombone was able to smother the silence that settled over these two young hearts. The late Dr. Macadam used to tell of a tipsy Scotchman making his way home on a bright Sunday morning when the good folk were wending their way to the kirk. A little dog pulled a ribbon from the hand of a lady who was leading it, and as it ran from her she appealed to the first passer-by, who happened to be the inebriate, asking him to whistle for her poodle, “Woman!” he retorted, with that solemnity of visage which only a Scotchman can assume, “woman, this is no day for whustlin 4 .” Georgia Cracker: A young negro man looked in at the window of the’ Atlanta police station and anxiously induired: “Capt’n, is you alls got Bill Davis in the callyboo.se yet?” “Yes. Da you want to see him?” “No. sah! I dess wanted to know whudder I cood go down ter his house ternight.” “Well, you can ask him.” “I don’t want ter ax ’im; I dess wanted ter know es he was hyar 'an gwiueter stay in.” “What do s’ou mean?” “Well, boss, I’se co’tm’ Bill’s gal, an’—an’—yer see, l’se de bery same nigger what he busted down er panel ob fence wid las’ Chuseday night. ” Texas Siftings; “What is the meaning of that red line above the fourth story'of your house?’ asked a stranger of a man near Pittsburg. “That is a water mark. That mark shows how high the water was during the great overflow about a year ago.” “Impossible! If the water had been that high the whole town would have been swept away.” “The water never was that high. It only came up to the first-story window, but the cursed boys rubbed it out three or four times, so I put it up there where they can’t get at it. It takes a smart man to circumvent those boys.” The Horrible Frog;. Pittsburg Chronicle. “James,” remarked Mrs. Innocence, “I was just reading about a frog seizing a man by the foot and holding him until a railroad train cut off his leg. Isn’t it horrible! And just to think that those awful French people eat the hideous things. A Happy Thought. A Terre Haute lady called her husband into the dark recesses of tho front parlor, and they held a council of war. Said the lady, who appeared to bo the stronger vessel: “Mr. Blank, winter is upon us.” “Well?” (helplessly). “Well! Do you see that young Sniggles has been fooling around our Mariah all summer, and is likely to keep it up all winter?” “Why doesn’t he propose?” “Why doesn’t he! I have An idea though.” “Gracious heavens! You don’t say.” “Let’s hire him for a coachman.”

The Wages of Waiters. Philadelphia Call. Guest—“ What are the wages of waiters in this hotel?” Waiter —“Fifty dollars a week, sah.” “Fifty dollars! It strikes me that is phenomenally high!” “Yes, sah! That is what we think, sah.” “You really think so yourself then?” O, yes, sah; and we have 'titioned the proprietor to reduce it, sah. but he won’t” “What! Won’t reduce the amount he has to pay his waiters?” “O, he don't pay it to us, sah.” “He don't?” “No. We pays it to him, sah.” Why He Wouldn’t Insure. Boston Courier. “My darling, I would die for you,” he said, as he bent fondly over her chair. "You would?” she asked. “I would. There is nothing I would not do to show the strength of my attachment.” “The rates of insurance are pretty low,” she said, musingly; “suppose you get your life insured in my favor for SIO,OOO, and then die for me? That will be a strong proof of affection.” “I would do it but for ouo thing,” he 6aid. “What is that?” “Some other fellow would luxuriate on the insurance.” And when he said that he showed that he knew what women are. Application to Business. .Detroit Post. “My dear sir,”said a venerable old gentleman to a convict in the penitentiary, “it grieves me to see you here.” “It grieves me to be here," responded the convict with feeling. • ‘The world is full of opportunities for intelligent young men like you if you could but avail yourselves of them. If you had let rum alone, and applied yourself to business, you wouldn’t be here now. ” “I never drank a drop of liquor in my life. In fact, it was too close application to business that brought me here.” “All, no,” said the old man sndly; "that is hardly possible. What was the nature of your business?” “I was a burglar, sir." The Latest by Cable. Pittsburg Chronicle. “Well, what’s on tlie bill of fare?" politelv asked the Atlantic Cable of The Latest from Cairo. “Hem, lommo see. Oh; General Gordon has been the prisoner of El Malidi for the past month,” said the Latest from Cairo. “Oh.no. Don’t want it. The whales aro getting sick of that Givo me' something fresh,” remarked the Cable. “Gordon still holds Khartoum nnu El Mahdi’s troops are rapidly deserting hi in.” “That’s too old too. Ain’t you got something lively like for the sick whales?” “How will this suit you, ‘EI Malidi says he wili not make an attack on Khartoum during the month of El Harrem because it is contrary to the law of the Prophet, and will do more Harrem than good.’ ” “Oh, that’s better.” Aw Episode of Ancient History. Rochester Post-Express. “What means this ‘Veni, Vidi, Yici’ business?” said Marcus Junius llrutus, toying with a bit of lemon peel at the bottom of his tumbler. "It means," said Caius Trebonius, "a threatened despotism against which we must rise, appealing to tlie Romanism of tlie people.” “And what, to this, says Cassius?" “I am for rebellion.” nervously answered Cassius, as he knocked over a catsup bottle in reaching for a cracker. “Enough,” said Brutus. “Wo understand each oilier. I know this Cmsar well—have loved him— have borno much from him—but when he fires three V s in succession at tlie Roman people he taxes my friendship too far. The man who fools with tlie mother tounge threatens liberty. (To the waiter) —“Dardaniusl three rum sours. So now, my friends, fight fire with fire, and let our Watchword be, ‘Rum, Romanism and Rebellion.’ If alliteration is tlie game well play it” The conspirators sallying forth met Burchard at the door in a black toga and white fra vat, and whispered in liis ear the countersign. Fired with enthusiasm, Burchard immediately rallied a thousand Roman augurs and crossed over to the Fifth avenue Hotel. Meeting Caasar at the foot of the staircase be became excited aud the

alliteration went off at half cock. Crosar said, “‘Et tu Burchard,” and the game was up. He lingered four days. Nor did the slaughter end here. Thousands of the Volscians whom Ciesar had fluttered heretofore got slowed and remained so far several days. Bnt Caesar returned to Augusta and finished his Commentaries. Her Intentions Were Good. Boston Courier. “Os course I have no objection to your having a beau, Jennie,” said a fond father to his marriageable daughter, “but you must not keep him so late. Keeping a fire running all night lengthens the coal bill, you know.” “That is true pa,” gurgled the fair girl, “but I had thought of that, and, consequently, have been very economical with the gas. The saving in gas will offset the additional expenditure in coal, and I must do George the justice to say that his views entirely coincide with mine in practicing economy in the matter of light.” “You foolish girl,” said the father; “how little you know. Let me inform you, my child, that the gas bill never diminishes, no matter how little you burn.” “Still you must admit, pa, that my intentions were good.” “Certainly, my child. Kiss me and we’ll say no more about it” The Tail of the Ticket. Rochester Post-Express. To Caius Julius Caesar, riding in a seven-mule chariot, at the head of a triumphal procession in which were 100,000 white elephants, and other spoils of war, came a Roman of distinguished bearing, his countenance wreathed in smiles, who said: “Would it not be well, most noble Roman, for us to withdraw a little from the public gaze, and agree upon a division of these hundred thousand white elephants?” To whom Caesar, in .% tone of surprise: “And who the devil are you/” “The Tail of the Ticket, at your service,” responded he of the smiling face. “Tail of the Ticket, are you?” cried Caesar, in a rage. “Well, Tail of the Ticket, get out of tkiß procession, aud when 1 want you I’ll send for you.” “Why, that fellow,” said he, turning to Georgius Curtins, who was led in chains behind the chariot, but whom, nevertheless, he addressed kindly, “that fellow could not have put on more airs if he’d been editor of the New York World.” The Tail of the Ticket immediately started for home, taking in two or three banquets and torchlight processions on the way, at each of which he was particular to say that he and Cmsar had not decided what to do with the elephants. This seems to have been one of the occasions, very rare in Rome, when, in the exhilaration of triumph, ihe Tail of the Ticket lost his head.

A CAR-DRIVER’S WIFE. How She Fed Five Hungry Little Girls with Good Tilings. Pbiladeipliia Times. “The boys all call me Father Christmas.” said Joe Troy, “but if anyone ever deserved the name of Santa Claus its my old ’oman. I’ll tell you about what she had for my Thanksgiving dinner. You’d never guess yourself. You know I only get a quarter of an hour to dinner, but then I only live about a block from the depot, so I ain’t got far to go for it When I gets to the door to-day I smelled somethin’ good, and I tell you it made me hunery. There was my old ’oman a-standin’ in the doorway waitin’ for me. 'Come on, Joe,’ she says, ‘hurry up, ’cos I’ve got comp’ny to-day, an’ they can't be kep’ waiting’ ” “I wondered who it could be, but I got inside and the smell o’ the cookin’ made me feel hungrier and hungrier. It wasn’t long afore I’d slipped off my wraps and went into the kitchen where the dinner was all sot out. An’ what do you think I see? You'd never euoss. Well, if there wasn't five little girls a siltin' round the table I wish I may never eat a Thanksgivin’ dinner again. " ‘They’s children o' some o’ them poor weavers as is out of work,’ says my old wife. An’ I tell you I just took the old gal and kissed her. We had a little 'un ourselves once, you see, but she died. It was a good dinner, too; there was a frickseed chucken an’ cranberry sass, an’ buttered hot rolls, and sweet potatoes, and mince meat puddin’ an’ hot corffee. An’ the way tnem kids filled np would ha’ made yer open yer eyes.’ The Father of the British Army. Whitehall Review. In the late General England has died not only the “doyen” of the Royal artillery, hut also the “father” of the British army. As the deceased, who was in his ninety-seventh year, was the oldest officer in her Majesty’s service, his death surely merits more than the few lines of obituary notice with which the papers have recorded liis end. He had obtained his first commission “by command of his Majesty, King George III,” as far back as Slay, 1805, and within a few weeks of liis name appearing in the official Gazette was ordered with his battery to the Weser, where he took part in the now almost forgotten operations which were undertaken in co-operation with the Russian forces in North Germany. Os this bloodless campaign, which ended in the withdrawal of our forces, General England was the last survivor. In 1800 he was sent to South Africa to share iu our operations against the Dutch, who were at that time in possession of the Cape Colony. From the Cape lie went to South America, and was at the investment of Montevideo, our unfortunate attack upon Buenos Ayres, and other ill-starred operations, which ended in the withdrawal of our forces from the Rio de la Plata. Os this campaign, too, he was the solitary survivor. General England finally shared in the closing scenes of the Peninsular war.and was at the battle of Vittoria and siege of San Sebastian. He was not at Waterloo, and saw no further service after the peace of 1815, but has survived until the memories of the operations in which he had shared had almost passed away. His death makes us regret that one of the last of the ' 'lron Duke's” army has left us. An Historical Kitten. Manhattan. Yarbach was a little village in the valley of the Tauber, which had been nearly laid waste by the passing of various armies, so that, when the scattered peasants were able to return to their homes, they were obliged to begin afresh the accummulation of domestic goods. By defrees, tbeir prosperity in flocks and herds and roods and litters was renewed. Only a cat was wanting; and a cat was not to be bad for love or money, although the milk and butter in the dairy, the eggs in the barn, and the grain in the ? arret were suffering from the lack of that useul animal. At last somebody heard of a kit ten to sell in a distant settlement, and a messenger was dispatched forthwith to secure the treasure. It cqst a good, round sum, too. But the mail returned in triumph, and tlie kitten became at once the pet of the whole village. Every door stood open for her entrance, every bed was at her service for tlie necessary oat-naps, and, doutless, the richest cream and daintiest meat would have been her portion if she had not been surfeited continually with flesh aud blood of her natural enemies. She reigned alone to a fat old age, when an enterprising peasant, who lived in a hut on the hillside, went into the business of importing cats for sale, and soon tlie wholo country was overstocked, so that kittens wero bought no more, and probably the beds were no longer considered the appropriate place for their slumbers. Hard Words to Spell. At a competitive examination of teachers to select a principal for a district school, where the salary was $1,500 per annum, eighteen gentlemen who had been principals and four ladies were examined. The following words were given to spell: Poniard, Allege, Separate, Exhilarate, Business, Hymeneal, Mingle, Case-paw, Scintillate, Daguerrean, Mignonette, Bouquet, Privilege, Excellent, Ethereal, Supersede, Ecstasy, Ventilate. One lady, a graduate of Packer Institute, Brooklyn, spelled all correctly, and she was the only person that did. Orine Wilson’s Legs. Atlanta (hroetitntioDThe New York papers are getting so they have pictures of fashionable weddings. Recently one of these illustrations represented the groom kneeling with his back to the reader, thus giving u most excellent photograph of his hind legs, which, accoiding to the rules of perspective, were st least 700 yards long.

ROBES OF A PEERESS. How the Titled Women Were To Be Drened Under William the Fourth. Cassell’s Family Magazine. A peeress’s robe of state follows in the order of degree of :hat of her husband, but for coronations there are often special orders issued, as or the occasion when William IV and his queen were crowned. Then it was ordained thev were to have “surcoats or kirtles (kirtles meaning loose robes) all crimson velvet, close bodied and clasped before, edged or bordered with minever pure two inches broad, and scalloped down tho sides from below the girdle, and sloped away into a train proportionable to the length of the robe or mantel for each degree, vix.. about a third part thereof. The sleeve of the surcoat also to be of crimson velvet about five inches deep, scalloped at the bottom, edged with minever pure, and fringed with gold or silver. The caps of their coronets to be all of crimson velvet, turned up with ermine, with a button and tassel of gold or silver on the top, suitable to the fringe of their sleeves.” Tho length of the train was regulated by th® rank of the wearer, thus: “That of a baronrs# might be three feet on the ground, of a ess one and a quarter yards long, a countess on# aud a half yards, a marchioness one and threefourths yards long, and a duchess three yards.* 4 ‘The petticoats to be of cloth of silver or any other white stuff, either laid or embroidered, according to each persous fancy.” “The mantle to hang back, being fastened on each shoulder with cordons of silver and suitable to f their fringe, with tassels of the same hanging down on each side of the waist. Tho surcoat or kirtle to be open before, that fthe petticoat may appear.” Then followed still more minute directions as to the order of peeresses. “The baronesses crimson velvet caps are t n bo furred with minever pure powdered, with two bars or rows of ermine, the mantle to be ed&ad round with minever pure two inches in breadth, the train three feet on the ground, and the coronet according to their degree; viz., a eireJc with six pearls upon the same, not raised upon points.” The countesses’ robes or mantles were to be the same as heretofore, only the cape was to be powdered with three rows of ermine •agings three inches in breadth; the train one yard and a half; the coronet composed with snail strawberries above the rim, The viscountesses’ robes or mantles were to be like those of th baronesses, only tlie cape powdered with two rows and a half of ermine, the edging of mantle two inches as before, and the train on yard and a quarter; the coronet to be according to their degree, viz., a rim or circle with pearls, thereon, sixteen in number, and not raised upon Doints. The marchionesses’ robes or mantles were also to be as before, only the cape war to be powdered with three inches aud a half of ermine edgings four inches in breadth; the torn one yard and three-quarters; the coronet to bo composed of four strawberry leaves, four peu-t* raised upon points of the same height as the. leaves alternately above the rim, and the cap* of crimson velvet, turned up with ermine, a total of gold at the ton. The precision with which all this is laid down shows the importance attached to the several items. A PATRIOTIC GERMAN. Tlie Effect of Eatiiic Raw Pumpkin u* Thanksgiving Day. Philadelphia Times. “Vot dot again?” inquired Mrs. Gaertner of hep husband, Carl, the saloon-keeper at Eighth and. Spruce streets, yesterday, ns Carl, at the eu.'ef a heavy dinner of sauerkraut and pork, set dew* a big brownish-yellow sphere on tiie table, “Dot? Vy, dot is a bumbkin." “Und vot is a bumpkin yet?” “Veil, I heardt it vas for America, like sar,-r----kraut for Germany. Everybody on Danksgi! x* Day eats dot.” “Mit vat?” “Mit itself yust. You take de knife und jet*, cut him so und den you sclilich him so ltfs. 1 und so und so." “Und den you cook him?” “Cook him! No; you eat him alretty.” “Raw!” “Yes. Vy not? Like vatermdHionen.” “Aoh! ya. Like vatermellionen.” “Eat yet a hieee once?” “Ya. Ach! Himuiel, Carl!" “Yes, Hulda.” “Nein.” “Hump! It’s new. Hulda, yust acm elc-i wii pefore 1 was naturalized. You know vat i \*a yet. An American droo and droo. Cud, “Yes, Carl.” “I will eat dese bumpkin es I die for it.” “I’m mit you, Carl.” Ten minutes later. “Carl?” “Yes, Hulda.” “Ve peen done it.” “Ve done it, Hulda.” Nine o’clock last night “Carl, oh, Carl, run for a doctor or I'm “X can’t, Hulda. Ach, himmel, vy did we to it? I'm dead alretty yet” Midnight Dr. Frederick Stoltzkopf, of 3391 South Ninth street: “They will recover in allewr days. It was a natural mistake, arising og of! misdirected patriotism.”

The Average Age of Animals. The average age of cats is 15 years; of sqn" , rels and hares 7to 8 years; rabbits, 7; a hear rarely exceeds 20 years; a dog lives 20 years, ■* wolf 20; a fox, 14 to 16. Lions are long lived, th one by the name of Pornpey living to the age wf 70. Elephants have been known to live to Ora age of 400. When Alexander the Great had conquered Poms, King of India, he took a great elephant which bad fought valiantly for the king, and dedicated him to the sun, and let him go with, this inscription: “Alexauder, the son of Juptaer. dedicated Ajax to the sun.” The elephant mta found with the inscription 350 years after. Pigs have been known to live to the age of 20. aoA the rhinoceros to 29. A horse has been know* to live to the age of 62, but averages 25 or 31k Camels sometimes live to the age of 100: stag* are very long lived; sheep seldom exceed the ag of 10; cows live about 15 years, Cuvier considers it probable that whales sometimes live 1,000 years. The dolphin and porpm attain the age of 30; an eagle died at Vienna at the age of 104; ravens have frequently reached the age of 100; swans have been known to live * the age of 300. Mr. Masterton has the skeleton of a swan that attained the age of 200. Pelican* are long-lived. A tortise has been known to live to the age of 107 years. The Manner of a Hostess. Baltimore Herald. No hostess is to be more dreaded than the one who frets under her duties. If she is absontr miuded at the table and conscious of the blunders in the service, she is ar. affliction to all about her, Let mistakes go. An easy, attentive bearing is worth all the angel's food, and wine, and jelly in creation: for is it not the very essouefcof the angel itself—that which puts us thoroughly at our ease? Oblivion is an absolute essential after the guests are seated at the table. One must be unconscious of mistakes if they occur. We have known instances where an evening has been marred by the obvious anxiety on the pert of the ladies that nothing should go amiss. la consequence, everything went wrong. Let us then have frequent entertainments and less expensive ones. He Always Returns. “Yes, I try something else now and then, 1 fess, Some powder, or tooth-wash or paste, But, sooner or later, I give them all up, And back to my first love I haste. “For there's something so cleanly, bo so pure, In the working of Sozodont sweet, That I never can like anything I have tried So well as that tooth-wash complete.” Thus spoke a wiso man from the dopths of Uff heart, His experience is matched far and wide, For nothing can ever compare in the world With sweet Sozodont, stable and tried. Ask far Sozodont If you want a dentifrice —as you probably do—which will protect your teeth from decay and render them white. Sozodont is in vogue witls the professions, which, of all others, are called upon to display their teeth the most—to-wit, the musical and dramatic. It is especially attrativa with the fair sex, a portion of the community who make a point of looking attractive, Tha breath is rendered delightfully fragrant by Sotodont, which is certainly a desideratum to of fine tastes.