Indianapolis Sentinel, Volume 34, Number 11, Indianapolis, Marion County, 11 January 1885 — Page 12

"Pi , J

THE INDIANAPOLIS DAILY SENTINEL, SUNDAY MORNING, JANUARY 11 18854

thh esotr as gel.

Tfce cU1h-bns danced that winter eight; Cid Eraitleboroagia rann with glee; Tbe windows overflowed with light: Joy ruled each b earth and Chritas tree. Cat to one the beh mad mirth were naught, Uta loul with du-per Joj was Iraught. II waited until the guets were gone: lie waited to dream hit dream alone; And the sight wore oa. Alone he standi In the silent night: He piles the snow in the Tillage quare; With spade for chiK:l, a ititne white From the cental qcarry rites lair. Ho Uxor, aTe the stars, to gn!de his hand. i-Jt ice 1 re age obeys Mi Kura command. ibeky is draped wüb fltecy lan. The lUti ktow in the early dawn, ' . Bat the lad toils on. And lot In the morn the peot'e came To gaze at the wondrous vllon there; And tb y called It "Ihe angel," divining lti name. For It csuie In silence and unaware. It teemed so mortal band nt d wrought The uplifted l.ce ol pryerfal thought; Bat :u features wuird in the urn . Its llle went oat ere the day was done; And the lal dreamed on. And hit dream was this : In the ye r to be 1 will carve tbj n;rel Id lasting alone; In another land, bejond the hi, I Iii toil in darknes, will drtam alone; . "While other ai.ep I will iiud a wy Cp through the night to t.e light of day. Tbere a uothing de-irel beueath etar or inn Which patient enlu la net won. and the hoy tolled on. The Tears 10 It. He bun wrought with might tie haa gained renoan in the land of art Eut the thonght implied that Lrinraa night Still kipt in place in the .cn'ptor" heart; And the dieam of the hoy. that iwelted away In the light of the sun that Vinter oay, . Ii etnbodkd at iat in endurin tune, Enow Angel la marble-hia purpose won; And tbe wan toils rn , Wallace Bruce, in Uarptr's Magazine lor Janu MI. , THE FAIKFIELD POET. IMary II. Catherwood, in Harper's Bazar.l Tragedy, which is sever far from the mos! prosperous lives, coutlnually trod upon the tendemt hearted wen an in J. airbeld. bhe hated Fairfield a a background to her ex istence, but there had fate tailed her for life.lt waa the forlornest of Indiana railroad Station, looking like an ucly tear on the face of a beautifully woodfd country, peo pled by the descendants cf p or white Caro llnians and Tennesteeans. The mail portior of the community sat on the railroad plat form in yellow jeans, sprawling their naked toes to the sun, whittling, and jetting like true tobacco fountains upon the meer tchaum-colored beards. The women might have lived lives of primitive simplicity, dignified by child-bearirg and neighborly sympathy with etch oth-r. but they a talced their human kindness with slander. And this one among them all felt the progress of the age tearing her heart-strings out while her circumstances kept her at a standstill. I do not say her life would have been more symmetrical or her experience richer it she had lived in the whirl. Ehe was a plain, ground-loving woman who enjoyed the companionship of her fruit trees and flowers and worked with her hands. Indeed crowds annoyed her, and she was undecided what toilettes ought to be made f r a large public. The strip d silk drc sses of her pros perous days, the fringed crape shawls and gimp-edged mantillas, agreed ill with bonnets of the passings season, and she had more respect for what was rich and old than for all your new inventions. Bat ehe wa fieicely ambitious for her children, especially her eldest son, and for him in spite .f his misfortune. Tbe younger boy and gin w ere still leaning like colts urxm their few remaining acres, sonnd in limb and wind. " - .. with the hop. a of a future sheathed in their hzaltby present, when Willie was tall as a man, and far up in his teens. His mother had a picture of him taken when he was going to school in Cincinnati under his uncle's care. At that time hiauburn curls were unshorn, and he wa hantifnl. A. few days before cottons took their terrifle rise dnrinir the war. Mr. Harbison had atAcrred In thnnaand nf var Jo. Thr n Fairfield's best days, and he kept a general etore, making money eo rapidly that the laiy people around him felt helplessly ini'ortd. He began his fine brick house, buildDgon a generous and artistic plan, at the edge of Fairfield, where he could surround himself with f rait trees, and have fields tor hii cattle. Whether it is a more distinct misery to build the temple of your home and see some one else inhabit it, or to ebel tsr yourself for years in a house you have not the power of finishing, the latter fate waa reserved for tbe Harbisons. With a cr&sh they came down from what had been Fairfield a opulence nearly to a level with Fairfield 8 poverty. They kept the boue and grounds and a meadow, but under socb weight of mortgages tbat it was compara-l tively no grief at all to see the ornamental cornices ljine around the partly plastered i triors, talnetradcs and newel-poet standing I on end beside tbe skeleton stairway, and to fiod the bath-room nseles except as a rub bitfh 'cloaet. The tnau who hud employed 1 half of r airfield was now obliged t become himself an employe, and the general verdict of the world against tho'e who fail was em-1 phasized by communistic envy. But the habit of beir.g a woman of consideration is not easily forgot ton. Mrs Uarbitoa still made the village respect her. 6he had something to giye to the poorest. She waa the wife of a man who bad made a fortune betöre he lost it, and sat in the Stat? Dan ate. More than all, she had her chil dren, the eldest of them a continual surprise to her. He seemed born to stir her pride and tenderness to iheir depths. He was taU, fair, and Kiman featured, shy as a girl to ward everv one bu' his mother, and so ravf 1 1 1 . V. . I 1 U.n U I college when bis fatoe him home. Then he was seized and approached ihe he left part cf his facu .1. . OTllt.a V. n , . . . .1 . 1 ..ij . I cooia near poimi g, a.u e m spoae an aaaioie Foru- j. .iuu uuj, wuo what had been the shyness of a country bred youth became the set apart seclusion of a iroat eared faun. Willie Uarbison was to be e-n vr Irring as noiseless as a bat upon his h?vrl arrraa the ooen eround at dusk. He I wa met coming from the woods silent as an Indian, and bis eyes were on everytning in rth or akr exceDt the human beings iust before him. I Whatever were the faults of Fairusld. it lored and reepected Willie Harbison, and humored hia self-withdrawal. And he loved Fairfield with a partiality which saw mere cicturcsQueness in the row of whittling men, and various forms of mothrhnodcr sisterhood in the women. He vjonld dismount from his wheel to let the knti tilt with it at the o'd warehouse. He invedthe woods: he loved Wildcat and Kit.kl which r.Ioushed rock-bedded I nnela throUkLh the woods; and what joy in life he fished out of those waters only 7illie himself xnew. xie loyea 10 waten from tbe mill on aciearmornrginatpiume of ftfim the SOUin-DOunu iraru eem arouna the curve, to watch another piume roll oyer

"bui mats so gooa." iira itaroison Ärv lover of oetrv will re with a spotted fever, mo vd her lips, repeating It to herself. "And! JT, J'JZlr fwVhi.

urxi worm so ciose mat sviuS kuiu aujiuiu K t h tt rMh

ities and was mt joa wnte? Jre heard of people getting LÄntoof Br0n's Childe 1

the first, and nnauy tose me tram siana rtn aeiiou ewuimy aau ua oiiwi- edge the ball was given in the "Palais d' suddenly on the grade, .6 harp cut against the light stillness, Mrs. Harbison put on a clean Aea .1 a large building that adjoins the palaky. All common life was pleasant to him. apron and took her sun-bonnet to make her aee of tne tiüS, 0f the Belgians and is now TVho but bis mother could be witness that a call of condolence. It was likely they would used as a barrack; while a third affirmed it

doubla nature dwell uncer nisinowtry mm- want watcners at martin s, ana sne was t0 hftTe Den heid in the handsome hotel adclotbee? fiy to do anything. She had helped bear joining the Chamber of Deputies, which was Willis worked in the mill with his father, the burden of life and death so long in Fair formerly occupied by Sir Charles Bagot, the

Where tne roar v K" 5 w"4U.auu the whirr of belt- maue eueni iiveiinessi trsund hlni. "ID" cuierness to a . 1 TT7 1 1 liA chAnM a mm ilk hial DJ motner--ufr td alone; but sne acceptea it aa tne resun r-f hit nht tical misfortune, Tfc parier w're Willie's workshop, In T7hica l a sawed, hammered and glued, or r-'t coixs'ess invention together. A car-r-nttr'abench was set before two uncaced

f-'Vn to hU unnercantHe me. Its lock was r-vr cpened nnless Willie had somet!T- which ha could force himaelf to show to L'j nolh?r. Tba: npe instant arriving tl--t ber in her kitchen, her garden, rS L'7 t-izz'.z-nhl up staira, and seized t'i t7 i t:jd ßbe ent wlth him 10 the 2t'7 f-tsned tbe door a, Willie nn-

ri'tf I ina lilt imiui a uit c iui o wcik . svt V. 4. w V ,ti . I 1

" tun pucci hi pipti q Lti

fingers. The paper Itself was sometimes brown, sometimes the blue cap left from the .tore, sometimes gilt-edged note having pen

el led landscapes along the margins, or the flowers he rhymed of done in water-colors; for his hand was as skillful as his eye was dimming The poems were usually short, and sensitive in rhyme and rhy trim. Willie's themes were the common sights and the common pathos or humor of the situations in which he found the people around him; his interpretation of the flicker's feelings; his delight in certain thick fleeces of grace; the panorama of sky and field as it marched across hi eye; the grotesque though heartily nnuan family party made by old man Parsons and his wife, where half of their de scendants, unable to get into the small house sat on the fence while the rest ate dinner. Willie was deaf, but he had inward music. Every smooth and llauid stanza was like wine to to his mother. She com nared his poems to Burns, and could not find the "Mountain Daisy" a whit better than her poet's song about the woods In frost. Even Mr. Harbison thought well of Wil lie s performances. They were smugzled t bim by the mother, ard carefully returned to their place when the poet was out of the house. Mr Harbison knew all that was go tng on In the world. A dozen times a year he left the grinding of tbe mill to meet hi old choms at tbe capital, or to quieket (be action of his blood in Chicago. A coup! of stimulating data tinctnred and made en durable his month of mill work. Aman of luxurious tastes can not lose his tastes with his means. He was a judge of poets, and 'aid Willie might as well take the poetiy a to anything, lor business did not pay a man of ound faculties in thee days. The hum of bees could be heard all around this rnön'shed brick house growing mos? at the gab es, and its shadow was long ou thf afternocn sunshine. It was that alert and happy tin e cf year when earth's sap start new from winter distillation. You could hear the voices of childrer calling in play as they loitered home fron school; the days were so long that the cow would not come up the pasture until nearly 7 o clock. Winne trudged across lots to supper Mrs. Harbison met him at the north side o home, haying her garden knife and ra. e ii her hands. Bhe put tbem on the steple. frontdoor sill, which never had been and never would be pressed by the foot of an ar riving guest. Thi stone sill was high enougb for a seat, and she Eat down, tilting her sun bonnet back, and smiling at Willie. He I was floured from head to foot. Little of hi boyish beauty except its clear innocence re mained to him. His nose was largo lor hi head, and on his head the ' auburn curls vere shorn to a thin, crisping layer. His young fister was putting supper on th table In tbe dining room, his brother ws fishing with another boy on the railroad and up the cow lane came his faiher with the slow step and somewhat of the ponderous white presence of the walking statue in vol Giovanni. But, closest knit of all this family, mother snd son talked together in silence, some birds in the mulberry-tree over their head making the only calling and replying that could be heard. Before Willis reached her he held up his hands and sighed in the deaf mute language. "The preacher has come back." Mrs. Harbison raised her hands and darted ber fingers into various shapes, eajing there bv. "Did vou see him?" No." Willie replied, as swiftly, I 'onl . s iw his coffin in tbe wagon, and ISancy Ellen sitting beside it Bhe had to bring him the I . . a m whole twenty miles from where he died, in a wagon." "Because it wasn't on a railroad?" Willie nodded. His mother wove on: "Poor Nancy Ellen! Her father wouldn't let her have the preacher for bo loner, and turned her off when she did mairv him. Now she is a widow in her honev-moon. and old man Martin saving he told her a preacner asold as himself wasn't any match for her. Did you tee her father? How did he act?" "Heget into the wagen by the driver," said Willie's fingers. "Well, that was something for him," "And thev drove to his place." "I aappese he'll let her come back and live at home now." "I wish you had seen Nancy Ellen." "I'm going to see her after the milking U done." 8een her by the preacher," insisted Willie's passes. "She looked like a captive coming in chains to Rome " "Yes, I'll be brond she did. Every jolt of that twenty miles is stamped in her mind." "l wisn," nasneci Willie, "i Knew wna the preacher sung to himself all along the road " "What a notion! You'll have to fix it up in poetry now, won t your" Willie shook his head many times and reddened. Yon said tbe preacher used to hing home from meeting in the dark." "Yes, he did," afftrmed Mrs. Harbison. 4 And Nancy Ellen used to listen for him to go by their place." Their talk paused, and Willie looked up at the birds in the mulberry. Having afterward caught his mother's eye, he wore out 1 . slowly, "When in the tree above his head Tie sap goes U' glios through the bark, She will remember It waa dead. And hear him stnlns la tne aark." "Ob, Willie, is that the first verse or the ten it down? ' 1. nnttfnn- hin h, last? Have you written Willies smiled shyly, putting his heat' down toward one shoulder, without making nv iePl7- His mother urged, with eager hegers: "Print it In some place when you get it Inn a in trr VIIAn nnlil hA n ' trim. nit.M,t Anun.. rr - ------ TVw 4li "11"" " m. v w T " J "Bat if you would let your father fix up your writing"." she continued, repeating an old plea, "and send them to some publishing bouse, I know they would put them in a book for you." The gate, weighted by a stone, slammed to behind his father coming to the evening meal. But before his mother rose, Willie found time to make dance before her eyes 'he characters indicating th s promise: "Some day I'll get on my bicycle and ride and ride uotil I come to a publisher. If yon miss me, you'll know wnere 1'ye gone. You can jnstssy to yourself He's off haviDg his poems published.' Walt till then, mother; that will be soon enough." "You'll never do it," said the mother. having no idea how near the time was. 6he gave her family their supper and helped to milk th cows. The cows were fra kraut of pasture gracs and of fern along the fence corners. 6he thought of Willie'sstanza ween me mua urst mdk a iue pan, ana aepi repeating 11 nn 1 we rising irom urowneu au boudu vi iuo lasuiug aireams quite at ner pan a nrim. "r l""k "V.1"' ,rw -uJf W4 ö ujr tenons oreatniets presence in any nouse was peremptory invention to ner. T K a Kab mmm lawift Ma. anrl. Aa W I . u'uBUU C , arouna me warenouse ana as sue crossea the open lot she saw the usual .ine of wise men sitting on the edge of the platform with their legs across the rail, as if they bad all agreed to make an offering of their feet to tbe Jnepernaut cf tbe next passing train. Willie darted like a bat or a night bird on his bicycle far up and far down the smooth wagon read. Now he took a turn, and came spinning among the boys, scattering them before him, and escaping as often as they chased him. In one of these excursions be crossed his moiher'i way. The lamps were lQst lgQted in the station, and they poured full over his laushing ace. Besides, the

4 iwu6u. " . V -; ''.r-"""' v: then In h as xileth tear.

ra Mftnaa hrnn.hll " m in HD mir? TWWI " VRTtH WIIIIA I

ii r:d iMtii3 tzi xuu tux::: üzaü utn

notgoe out of the sky, and there would

ave given her more than tbe silhouette of Willie. She lifted no her hands and scelled. 'Are you starting out to hunt a publisher now?" And Willie laughed and nodded and made her a sign of gcod-by. me pleasant stillness of the evening " fell around her like a blessing as she went on. ire-flies were filling one field, as if a consgration under that particular ground tent up endless streams of sparks. She swelled the budding elders, and was reminded of He-like bits in her past, fitted oddly to gether. Martin lived but a few step) beyond the village. She hd been talking a mere mo raent with Nancy Ellen, and had not yet en tered the room where the preacher lay, when some other neighbor came In wrh excite ment, and said aloud, over tbe whimpered aik of tbe mourning house, that something was wrong down ar the depot "That express has run into something again." proclaimed the neighbor, "and ooks, by the way folks run. as it wasn t cow this time. Enough cows and nigs has been killed by that railroad." 1 naven t seen tne express, FJarbison, feeling her head full of wheels. oaiva a It was all quiet when I was there a minute ago." "Tha express has stopped. Goid reason ' there's something on the tra:k, I tell je iftld the neighbor. Willie's mother was eure it could not oe Willie. He was conscious of his infirmity and so cautious that she had long ceased to be anxious about him. He knew the times f all tbe trains with nice exactness, aho Yet she started from tbe house without ppeakiag another word, and ran until she reached the crowd. The engine stood hissing; it confronted her with the glare of its eye, Qorrid and remorseless fate, ready to go its way with bell-clanging and ail cheerful noue. no matter who had been ground under it wheels. Tbe conductor was just stepping on board for time and orders wait for nothing. The pcineer bad already climbfd back to bis ab; he ssw a running woman kneel down on the platform and draw the boy up from the boards to rest in her arms. Having seen much, the engineer turned away his head and wept out loud; and the train moved on bearing pale laces that loosed nsccward iong as they could discern anything Mrs. Harbison had stumbled over Willie's bent wheel first. When she found him in deed laid in the midst of the crowd, she did not believe it. He was not mangled. Hi bones were sound she felt them with fiercely quick hand. There was no mark about him excepting a dirty-looking spot on she temple. 4 Willie."she Eaid, shaking him. "Willie Willie!" "We'll have to carry him home," said he husband at her side, his voice sounding fa oil as if it came strained through some dens medium. She looked up, and could not understand it. "He's knocked tenseless," the exclaimed "Why dosn't somebcd bring water?'' "lie never snowed what hurt him," cau tiously (aid one villager to another. "Th train was goin' so fast, and he come up fron among tbe bouses onto it so fast that it wa done in a flash." "And I don't never want to see no bette boy than Willie Harbison wai," responde the other. But only his mother when she bad hin at home lying in that pomp of death wit which we all shall impress beholders could have pronounced the true oration over him Through her dumb tragedy she wanted to make deaf-mute signs to some intelligence that tie re lay one of Nature's poets, with a gift virgin and untarnished He had never huntd a public. Hispublic was tbe woods and sky, and his critio one fond woman. rot a Ime of uneamEed am oition marked nis placid race. Me nad lived a humble, happy life, and sung for the eake of expression, not for the fake of praise. He had. after all, only gone t J find the best pub Usher, and his mother could always hear him 'sicgiDg in the dark The High chool Girl. On Saturday she walks abroad Id jersey, lawn, ortatln: Ber tame 1 Addie. My, or Maud, bhe idolizes Latin. She loves to chat of him who sang "Arm Tlrumqne cano;" And sneers at brainless belles who bang The bothersome piano To boys be pays but little beed, No matter how tDey tease 'er; Of men, she only k no ws the need Of Cicero and Caesar. -In algebra she does no less To quantities consign us; XI divided by zs Is equal tox . Her heart s ambition the preserves Like rn3teriis nmonlc. Bur talks of nympattif-tic nerve And centres ganglionic. Of nights she often latces a turn At Oviq (Ars Among); Or dream of hearis wi'h love that burn As DaphoU did for Clitoris. And if you kUsed her blooming cheek Sfie'd murmur, dtop! Oh, Ldlei" 8ne's pretty, witty, My, ind 6ltei:, is Addie, May, or Jlnudie. "A round of Revelry by hV' As Lord William Lenox was at a breakfast party, 1 took tne opportunity to ask nini a nnllon wlta regard to a disputed point 1 had Ute,y visited Brodels, the city in hich I had passed my echooiboy dajs, and which was consequently endtared to my mind by many youthful association?. Tne mother of Lord William, the beautiful Duchese.of Richmond, had given agreat ball on the night preceding tne oattle of Water loo, in June, 1815, at which Lord William, was pment. Ev member tne splenball and of the occurs in the third Harold.' The pasB08e 13 ULSuruBaseu iu ny language for the Vgcr. the picturesqu.ness, and the magnifikence of its thoaght and diction, and in it ielation to one of tbe most stupendous events in modern history. There was a found of reveiry by night. And Belgium's capital had gatn'rtd then Her beiuty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps thone o'er lair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily: and when Music arose wiih its voluptuous swell. Soft eyes looa'd love to eyes which spake again. And all wen merry as a marriage bell ; But hush' bark I a ceepsound strikes like a rlfclDc aneii. It has been generally averted and believed that the ball as given by tbe Dachen in the grand bail of the stately Hotel de ille in tha Grande-place, and when iu Brussels heard the assertion repeated oy many peo pie, tnougn denied by others une old citi zen, who rememoered tne oattie well, af firmed to have beeu at tbe Hotel de Ville, which he saw brilliantly lighted up for tbe occasion, and passed accorg the crowd of equipages that filled tbe Grande place, when sitting down and taking up the ladies who graced lhe assembly with their presence. Another equally old and trustworthy inhabitant declared that tohisptrsonel knowl British Ambaesador to lirusseis and the jHagne in 1S30. Thinking there could be no better author . - tty than one who was present on tne cccasi0Dne .moreover ,who was S3 nearlyallied totheeiver of tbe. entertainment I asked Lord William to decide the point He replied at once that all these assertions were unfounded. His father, the Duke, took a large bouse in the back: street called the "Rne delaBlanchiserie"(treetof the laundry). abutting ou the boulevard opposite tbe pres ent Botanic Garden, and that the bail took place in the not extraordinarily spacious drawing room of that mansion. He eaid, moreover, that the lints. Within tne window's nlcbe of that high hall Eat Brunswick's fated chief ton. j conveyed an idea cf magnitude which the: KCllci"hJti hilT'dld cot In reality pczzt, 1

the nonü

. u aui dcaüicHl that sxm kavt uiruc ux t'.'M tci where each oae tu established bin ncarU ud the i am of his poe6ion and fortunes, Lease be will net depart If nothing call his wir; whence if he has departed he eeejja to t s tanserer, and if he return he ceatea to ws d;r rinr.iuoa iron civil Law, Then ruy at tons nj hean, and nv The bird is &afct In the net; O'er all that fluuer their wings ana fly ciw is hovering In the sky." Leutffcllc TOÜNG FOLK. Slee pj I ind. BY LAURA E. RICH AEDS. Baby's tefn la SleeryJand, Over the billa, over t- e hills; Bdby'a oetn in leepy;aud. All the rainy morning. From the crd!e where she lay, lip in- jaii.ped and flew ay. For SleepyUud is bright and gay .Every rainy iuoiulug. Whf t did you Fee in 8Ie epyland. Baby JUtiet, baby iretuiT What dil you e in Meepyiand, All the rainy inorniug? aw the sun that shown fo twlnkly, Eaw the ?Ta s tht umvel po crinsly, fca tr.e irook that fiotd to llnkly, All the loveiy morning. What did joa hear in Sleepyland, Over the hiils. over the l iii ? What diet sou bear in Sleepyland, All ;he raluy morning? Heard the wind that wooed so wooingly, Heard the doves that cooed to cooirjgiy. Heard the cows that ixiootd so inooiugly. All thu lovely morning. ' What did you do In Rl epyland, Baby litUe-t, baby prettiest! Wii&t did you do in Sleepyland, All the rainy morning? Sang a sontt wih a blue canary. Danced a danca with agotdcu fairy, Kode about 00 a cinnamon brary All the lovely raoming. Would I could go to fepyland, Over the nills. over th nill. Would I could go to Sloepyland, Every rainy morning. But Sleeptland rcay never behold Any one mor tban two year old, So p"cr old mammy stays out in the cold, Every raiuy naoruing. Grardpa'a School. Mrs. C. E. Eamford in New York Obscrver.l Although Grandpa Brown was nearly seventy years cf age, still he was not old to teach a queer little school for the benefit oi his grandchildren. At precisely three o'clock every Situr day afternoon, grandpa tinkled his little hand bell, and in live minutes there werc ated in a row before him five wide-awaXe grandchildren, three girls and two boys. the pupils brought no baoksto Btudy, but bn'ore taking their eeata they deposited fclir oi paper in granapa s cat, on wnicn were written certain questions tbat he was answer, inese qoesnors were upon any fUbject tbe chtldreu might fceltct, but they usually cad reference to something heard -ten, or read during the week, and the chi dren were always on the alert for a pozzl (ineeiion. remaps a aecnption or tne ex erci&es upoi. one afternoon may prove inter esting. As soon as the children were all seated grandpa put on hia spectacles, took: hia La rroni tue taoie, ana opening tne nrst paper he read as follows: "Dear Grandpa The past week I have been learning from an o'd eailorhow to tie various kind of knots, such as reef knots loop anois, ngure eigot Knots, etc ; now this tailor says he can tench me to tie si kinds of knots but the Gordian knot.' Can yon tell me what that is and how to tie it? Frank. "Ah," eaid grandra, when be bad finished reading, "that r a hard question, indeed: could tell you better how the 'Gordian knot was severed than how it was made." 'That will do just as well," replie.l Frank "Well," Siidgiaudpa, "the 'Gordian knot was made by a rustic king cf Phrygia nac.ed Gordius. The cord was made from the fibrous bark of the cornel-tree, and the knot fastened the ox yoke to the pole of a wagon which KiDg Gordius had used. The knot proved eo intricate that no one could Unna it, or even una wnere k Degan or ended." "The oracle had declared that he who should untie tbe knot ehould be master of Asia. Aieianderlhe Great was rebtiDg hit army after a battle in the city of Gordiuni, a boat the year öös betöre Christ, and he de lenuintd to untie this celebrated kuot. but not being succtstul, he became impatient. and striking witn bis sword he severed the knot with one blow." "That is a good 6tory, grandpa," replied Fran i ; "tne nxt time l eee tne sailor must tell him all about it." The tecond slip was then taken from the bat, and tb question was this: Gratdta is it right to thro stones at irxus. Julia." When this question was read, Willie and Frank looked troubled, as though guilty of such coiiduci. J ran dpa did not appear to notice thie, but remarked that frogs were quite sensitive to pain, and he thought that no pupil ot bis would De guilty of pelting frogs. Then turning to Frank he eaid, "I wian yo'i would briDga frog to school next Saturday, for I want you to eee what a pecu liar toDgue Ubas. "Is it forked like a snake's tongue?" in quired Frank. iNo. uiv son, but you know tbat tbe tongue nf most animals lies with the tip pointing towaras tue ups; now tue oase or arge portion of the frog s tongue is joined to the point of tbe lower jiw, and tne tip pon.te down the throat. So, whenever the frog catches an insect, it is quickly thrust back nto the throat by the tongue, and its fate U sealed." Tbe third question was from Emily, It was this: ' Grand pa, can the people on the moou eee the earth?" "It is not known," rfplied grandpa, whether the moon is inhabited; but if so, the earth must preeent to them all tne phases that the moon presents to us, oaly in a re verse order. For instance, when we have a new moou they have a fall moon. Only one ide of the moon is turned toward us, thereore the moon inhabitants upon tbe opposite ide might have to take ioDg journeys to akeaptepat cur planet, but it would doubtless weil repay tbem, fur the earth would look heu full fourteen timesas lare as our fun moon." "Wouldn't it be a grand sight! I wish I could see such a large mon as that," Emily. said Mamie's question was in regard to the echoes She hid been in the woods with soe of her friends the day before, and when tbej shouted the sound was repeated, some times in one syllable, at other times iu two. Her question was this: "Cau more than two syllables ever be heard as an echo? ' Graodna replied that "when several par alltl surfaces are properly situated the echo may repeat backward and forward miny times. For Instance, in Virginia there is au tcho which is said to return twenty notes played upon a Hate, and at Woodstock England, there is one whl:n repeats seven teen syllables by day and twenty by ni-ht when the exclamation 'ha: is quickly and sharply spoken, there returns back a 'ha, ha, ha!' " Tbe last question was from Willie. He was a growing, hungry boy, and could not be.ieve tbat persons might sucer more tnirst than from hunger. He writes: "Grandpa, is water more important to life than food? I have eaten five meals since yesterday morning, and I haven't drinked a drop of water; now, I am not thirsty one bit, but I feel as though I could eat two meals at occe." "You may not have drinked clear water' replied grandpa, "for two days, but do you not take milk with every meal, and haven't you eaten apples, melons, potatoes and turnip since yesterday morning?" "Yes, sir," replied Willie. 'Well," laid grandpa, "all of these things contain a great amount of water, and that tccounts far j oax not being thinly. Our

,l.i

bodiss are c a en posed mostly of water, and will sutTer extremely if it is not supplied in some manner. ater is so plenty that we do not realize its worth. Eliza Cook well says: Travene te desert and then yon can fell What treasures exHt In the cold, ce p well; tlnkin w.epair on the rel parched earth. And then ye may reckon wnat water is worth.' Florida Robinson Crnsoca I Harper's Magazine, 1 We cade a trip to Pine Island, which lies wedge-like parallel with the outer key. Here we found the cocoa-nut and lemon tree?, the ranches laden down with mag nificent fruit Were we came across certain diminutive Robinson Cruscea which excited our eympathies. Oa this island, with a fad looking and dilapidated father, lived four children. You approached the place through shallows barely navigable with a iiiht draoght boit at high tide. A ramshackle tructure on rotten piles was the landine This settlement was twenty miles from anywhere. The home, tbe size of asmall stable, looked as if built years before, and was open to all the winds of heaven. As the wines, however, are never cold here, tbat perhaps was not important, but from April, as the very flood gates of heaven are open, that family mnst have bee drowned out for n.onths. Sometime before, so we learned while the father was absent, the mother died, and thete poor bairns with their owr hands du a grave and buried their mother How that family managed to eke out an ex itei ce God only knows. Shells of the go pher, th land tortoise, were strewn around, sugcestive of miserable food. Fi?h. though, might have been plenty. Two gr m dogs, lean and lank, think around the hoaee The master of theSe surroundings told us tbe dogs were only in good condition when alligators were plentiful. The house contained ecarcely anything. There was a grimy table. and a few baxes serving as chair. We saw not a cup or saucer; there were no beds. A tame crane, mat did not seem to heed our preser.ee, flopped around. That bird was a convincing proof tbat those little girls had bestowed their love on something, and this was their pet Fancy a lad of twelve having for a toy a squirming alligator bo nie three feet long! Not a very lovable companion, nor one to be ou intimate terms with. Bat it was the only thing tbe boy could fand. Evidently it was something not to be fooled with, for the 'gator's jaws were bound with a bit of rag. At our requett this ligature waloosed, when this ugly brute at once madtfor the boot of one of the party, and fastened hia teeth in It, and would not let g until his moath was forced open. The chil dren could read a little, and strange to say, the Vicar of Wakefield had been thir horn book. It was the only bound volume the father possessed. There were, though as ad ditions to the library, a few tattered num bers of children s magazines of years Ion gone pjt. There was a elate, ana at once the artistic youna fellow stacked his gun drooped his Abrozzt manner, and drew f jt the children pretty and funny pictures,until that poor miserable bouse echoed again with aaghter and er es or delight. The lad, in stead of marbles, played with the ugly fangs or the 'gator, and was nimself the slayer of saunans. io juoge rrom a miseraoie nrer arm we feaw.Deiongicg to tne lamer, l should think the risk tbe boy ran was greater tban that of the alligator. Then the misanthro put of the party, who often wondered why people ever wrote nooas or magazine stone and was always amazed why people read them, made up his mind that that library on nne island sbouia be increased, and ii the mail facilities have not quite gone wrong. it is eupposable that before this these children have a supply of juvenile literature ;umcient to last them lor some time to com. Pete. fSu Nichoias.1 "I'm Fete. An' I'm a newsboy. This etory ain t writ by me, ctz I can t write. Nor 1 can't read, so if any thing's took down wrong, it won t be my lauit. "A gentleman in one of our offices says to me: l ou ten me tne story oi your young un, an' I'll take it down and get It printed.' Au' he sivs to begin at the werry bininnin'. w'en I fust bead my young ,u a liu:e chai ot I fouu' arter his father died, au' he hadn't nothin' but a fiddle in the worla. When I fust trees ud to birn in ihe Prt down to City Hall, and asks Mm to play, he takes his stick an' pulls it acrost an' acrost tae atrin. an' makes the wnst u'ise ve v.r heerdin jer life. He felt so took down when I laughed that 1 asked him, serious, to keep O " " at it, till be eays, lookm ap inter my face, drefful dsippöinied, "They's awful n'ites, ain't they ?' I says. Wal, no; I've heerd tne cats make ten times wues onea nor that. 1 cuets it'll come some time if ye keep a tryin' ' an' it cheered him heaps. So he hugged up bis fiddle an' we started a oaoy Jten, an' ne a nave to live witn me. . ai .iAn he eays, 'Will you take care o me? Au' 1 says, 'Yed. I will. An' tbat'a tbe way he come to be my yonng un. "I axed him wot was his name, an' I can't tell yer it, fur it was one o tne in blamed fur rin names, an' I couldn never get it right 80 I alius balled him les 'loung Un.' Au' be axt-d me wot was my name, an 1 telled him, 'Pete,' an' then we knoaed each other. 144 We're do ye live. Fete?' he saya; au' 1 fcez. Wal, I live loun its abjut roun' here, Igues?. Ye eee, I moved this mornin'.' An' he says, 'Were did yer move ter?' Au' that mas a stunner. I waxn't a newsboy then, ye know; I was on'y a loafer. But 1 seed a airy; so I eays, 'Wal. we 11 wait till all the lights is put out down stairs in this bouse, au then we II live here lernigbt out we ui .s go fast au' git our bed afore it's dark,' I .ays. b) we walks rouu' to a lot a 'ere they was buildiu , an' he waits wile 1 digs out the bed from uuder a pile o' stones. Yer see. I bad to bury it iu tbe mo rum's fur earo rag-pickers, 'cause it was a werry go, hi bed an' cooil table, 'specially in aines. Wot was it r It was a ole piece o carpet wot I loan in frwnt uv a house wunst arter tome people moved away from it, an' it was ez.long ez tz long ez you air.sir, an longer. too 1 takes it under my arm, an the yoang un hoi a on to my otner nan' au' we und the airy ana. Bat we has to loaf roun good wile 'fore tha lights is put out. w en t 8 all dark we goes down under tbe step. an 1 rolls up the carpet aind e loose an' tells him ter crawl inside it. 'Will thef be room far the riddle, too?' he eay; coz. if there won't I don't mind, I ken .leep out ide. Pete ' An' he looks sj worrited that II sings out. Of , coarse, ther' will! 1)j yer think I'd leave the fiddle out ter cotch his death o' cold the orspital?' a a' be laid ud an' tooken to An' that makes him iaueb ' I an' then hecrawis in fust, au' I crawls in last, an' then, theer we was. all three of us, squeedged up comf'table tcgethe. "This was a long time ago, atore I was a newiboy. w en l was tryin' to sot up broom at the cros.in's; but brooms was uard to git. We tried all next day beggin', an o iygottwo cents.au' we was bo cold an' hungry that I says to youngun. Let's begin again in the mornin', and let's have a treat to night.' we did;au we hat re'lar good fan goin' to a shop to bay our sup per, 'ste&d of beggin' it. I mikes him au' the baker womau iaueh axin' her to guv me 'the mot she can of anything for two cents ' An , I tell ye wot, she was a jolly woman. too. for bhe guv us a lot o' bread, an' then she told us to hold on a bit, au' she went into another room an' bringed us out in her apron a lot o' splendid tale goodie3 an' some elegant bits o' ttjgar wot was broke off a real weddin' cake She did somethin else, too. When the young un looked up at her an' sajs. You s good!' and tut hold cf her gownd, she stocped down suddent an' she put her two arms roan him and kused him. An he dropcei his fiddle think o' that! He dropped his fiddle, wot he never let go of night or day afore. An' he put he put his arms roun' ber necx an nia nis iace again her. An' she saya to me, 'Be good to him, for hs'i littler nor you.1 An' he tings out, '

down to the corner Au'lsays, 'W ere air ijesisiucs tne Drancn mil nis aao an' crept ye goin'?' An' be saya, 'Now'ers.' An' J into the straw alongside o' b im. saye. Don't e live now ers?' An' he says, "l didn't sleep very mach' en' I woke Up No.' An' I says they wasu't no use in it, iur (Q9t to the tnomin', and I waited for him to be couldn't no more take keer of hiaseif tban ke, spectin' he'd bust egin we'n be sed

'He is good to me! They ain't nobody to good as Pete in the whole world'' Then he

rotcnes neu o me an' we nirta nn that PA. cue. an tne woman orens the door for Uf, an tells us not to forgit whet r the shop Is. bnt to come to her w'en we'e stuck an can't gitnosupper. But I don't know wot made her stan' at the dor an oy while she was lockin arter us. We didn't do nothin' to make her cry. An' I dont know wet made tbe yocngnn cry nnther. An' bust me! I don't know wot made me moat up an cry too. I wonder wot It was? 'But that ain't wot I wa? goin' to tell yer about 8anty Klau, cn'y it was jutthattime we used to have lots o fun loo kin' in the sboD windies seein' the Christmas trees an' thincs. An' wot tickled bim more nor anything else was the Santy Klau?es with the bags o' toys an' thircs pi'ed on thir backs He axed me wunst 'Did I b'lieve there was reely a 6an y Klaus?" Wal, the night afore Chrismus we was sleepln down to B. F. Harriman & Co.'s in a big psckin' box full o' ftraw, wot they'd left on the pavement, an' heaystome, 'Pete, ain't this the iiignt r-anty Klans comes an' puts things in chil dren's stockiu'e wet's hong up in the chim bley r Au' l say, 'I've berd fomethin' 'bout it, but I don't much b'lieve it, an' I ever triea it. au- ne says. fete, do ye think he'd come tJ this box ef we hanged cp tocsin's to tne top ti it? Will ye let's try. I'ete?' An' 1 says. 'Weer's the stockin? An' tbat äs a stunner. An' he eay. 'O, at. a. . yes, we ain't got none, an1 you ain t got do -hoes ntither, Fete. Ain't yer feet c'd? he aays. Then be eays. 'I tell ye, Pete, les hang up my xhoes one fer ycu atd one fer me, an' les see it ne u come." bo 1 pays there warn t no harm in tryin'. an' 1 hung 'em np fast to two nails by the strings, au' I staffed the youngun's feet inter my cap an fixed the trawToutid him an' toie him fer to go to sleep fas , but I kep a watch to see if th? ole feller'd comes or not. An I kep a watch n tbem twothoes, an' I thought of all the things I d ever wished for iu my life, an' 1 wondered if ole bany d leave on top o' the the box wot he cou'dn't git inter the shoes Twice I beerd a noise, an I thought sure 'null there he was, an' I laid mytelf down quick an' commenced a snonn . bet it warn't him, au he never ccme n igh the box. Onst I thought maybe it was true wot I'd heerd 'bout nis leavm' empty the stocking f bad children, an he might a left mv sh.e empty an' i d a believed in him. But if he thought my youugun was bad any aays jes let mm or anyone eise say a word agm that youngun, au' I'll I'll well jes' you let em try it, mat s an. I never thocght of his bein so awful sorry nex mornin or I d a done somethin', but when he waked up an' reen tbe shoes swingin there with nothin' in them, his face kinder shook itself all over, an' as hard as be tried he couldn't help bis eyes a cryin'. an ne eaya, witn trie creaain' m bis voice. "Iben we s forgot!" l ',nmps up an' says Look ee here!" We didn't do it fairl" "D 1 T . - ,, 1 ... you a pose, rie, ue tajs, - it s nein' snore an' not stocking ud make a difference?' "No," I cays, "but I guess o!e Sanly has too much to do to git r all done iu one night an meooy it we haDg the shoes oat agin to night he'll come.'' You'd ought to seen hi. face ebine up when I says that, "Do you it nine so, rete, ne tays, an I sajs sqaar out, "les. 1 do," an' l never lied such a lie since I wag horned, au' I made up my mind tnat I was a coin' to have tomethin' in thai theer shoe of his that night 8j I took him to a ole musicianger wot lived up in autiic, an wot got to tecchin' him a little eometimehow to play a chune on the fiddle, an' I left himtheie w lie 1 went out by myself to loos forsomthin', I tell ye, I 6tud at tbe croffl a . V j 1 V . . a . in s an' waicneo tne people witn bundles to seoif they d drop somethin', an' I kep mv je on people to see if I couldn't git a cent somehow. An' nobody never guv me nothin', an naa to tase nome tue yocng un a sapper, wot I begged at lst, an' nothin' else Tnere he was a waitin for me. 'It s mos' night, Pete, he ays, 'an' it'll soon be time to hang upine snoes again, won t it? An' be wafeelin' so glad that he couldn,t stop a talkin'. ' xou a walked a long way to day, Pete.' he saye; have ye had a good time 'thout nie?' An' 1 says I'd a jolly time, but it was a A.n.' I had ter lie again we'n he wasn't i lie. goin' to eat anythtn till I did, an' I said I'd had bfcl my supper. "Arter supper, I piled him into the box again and hu ng up tbe shoes. I waited tili he wft3 to bleep, an' then I went oa again to nuni. dui x waicueu una waicnea. an' I watted an' waited, au' Icouldu't find nothin at all bat a little piece of branch wot wa oroaen on irom atnrmmas tree, it warn" I 1 L l A. T A. . 1 no "'eeer nor ray nai, out i iuk it nome, an' r Q l gottbeer an' seen the youngun sleep 1,1 oun an' tinder langtim' m bis sleep, as if be seen Old 6anta Klaus with a whole bundle o' toys for him; au' we'n I looked at on y the leetle green things m my baud, I ome nigh bastiu myself. But he moved, eo his shoe an' nothia' but the green thing in it. Bat wot do you think be did? He waked up. an ne seea it, an ne lumpta riint up an' sung out, aehiverin au laugbin', 0 Pete! Look! It is true! They is a Santy iiausi fcee: tie naa to no an roun everv wheer, au' w en he got to jou an' ma. he hadn't only this left. He put it into my shoe, but he meant it for you too It's a sign, Pete; it s a s:gn. We am' t forget. They is somebody eomewheer to take keer of us! That t wot he b iieved, an heallers6tuck to it. an kept the green thing buttoned up in his jacket. An' he kep' it till we got -tuck on account of his bein' took sick, an' went to the baker-woman's an' 6he kep us put bim into a bed. en wouldn't let us go. bat bhe an' me tock care of him An' the muaicianeer come very often to see him an learn him the chunes. An' ho makes meeit ou the ced aside nira, "jror,' he tays. 1 wants you, Pete; au' I wants vou to put yer head down here, on the oiUow cloee to mine' 6o I does u an' 1 hears hiri say: 'You's werry tired. Pete. I euesr. ion's walked a hundred miles for me An' oh. ain't it good, Pete, to be oa a bed? a real bed! An' tbea h says, werry soft, Pete! I I. leer someoony a-iasiu' aeer oi usi uo you f-el 'ern 'An 1 axes him. 'Is it the woman, young nn An' he says. 'ISO.' An' I axs Is it tbe musicianger? An' he eays, No Pete. Taey's werrv good, but I feels Some body e se, too. I don't knov who it is. but I thinks Im fii:diSg 'em out, an' l'il know werry soot), i'ete werry to n, iaceed.' "An' they is one thinz wot is queer: be says that si often tbat I kinder cets lo b'lieve somethin' too. I don't know wot it is, 'cept that it ain't anything 'bout Sant Klaus: but I believes somethin'. An' I't sare of It, one mornin w'en he's sittin up MQ Ded, an' the woman's there, an' the masili V . l . a . v m . t i j j i m c'anBer 9 neipm- mm io now menaaie, ior L .1 B 1 1 . n . ne s it-arneu a couue at ia.t. au ne aata to p ay it ti me. lie plays it werry fcoft, an feeble, an shaky, an' he has to atop some timestorest.bat he plays it an' he won't euv it up till be comes to the end or it. 1 Lei he stvs: 'Pete, that's my chune. an' its natue is Home, Hweet Home. I used to think it meant home weer me an' fader au' this fid dle lived, an' here weer tbe woman lives, but it ain't it's sorueweers else An' Pete ' he says, hupein' of his fiddle,' 'you must keep my Christmas tree till till . "You see, sir, tbe littlr chap was set on it that he was a goin' but he didn't go. A week from tbat day he took a turn, ana mended faster'n he'd gone down. Bathe was alius kind o' saint wise arter that, and kind o' hot me to bein' eo blamed patikular agin doia' wrong things that tnat well, you see, sir. It s led me inter good, noneet, steady bizoess. and I don't look upon Ijin' saje as I used to, no how. As fir tbe young un hiseelf, sir, he was coaxed away agin bis will an' my own, by the musicianger who's been a teacbin' an' doin' to well by bim. tbat, if you'll believe me, sir, he's soon coin' into a orkistry, my yoang un is." Those that can take that crabbed tree (the cross) handsomely upon their back and fas ten it on cannily, a hall find it sucb a burden as wings are unto the bird, or sails to a ship, Samuel Eatherfoid.

IN TIME TO COHK. BT lEXX Z RIXrORU.

Tho flowers are ' ipemlur dead that aada a Sataraer Br wayside nooks and oa tbe sunny Mil And witn regrets these hearts ol oun pro der. As sometimes all hearts wiU, tenWe loved the blorsoins for they he'oed dt igh ten The live so dark with wesryicg toll and cart As botes and dreams forever help to hhttn ffce heavy lods we bear. How like the ended. f owers. wfco?e trazslent life Is The hop- and dreams are. tbat foroce trief hour. Make U.e clad fceart a garden bright and iplead d About lore'a latticed tower. One little boor of alrrost perfect pleasure. A for taste of tue tapp.ntM to come, lien indden fro.; the garden yields Its mature. And iiandc in orrow, dumb. Oh, llsttn. heartl lte flower may lofe 1U glory Eencaih tne locb cf froft, but docs co; die. In spring it will repeat ite old, sweet story Of Ood's dtar by aLd bj. IqIIeavcn.il never here, the hopes we chcrisi Tfce flowers of human lives we count as lost Will live agin. Suca beauty can not perlah; And ileaveii ha no fro. t SEVEN rilM Hll.NURkU HORSES. How They are Fed aud tionsed and Cared for Under one ltoof. (New York Tribnne. "Hi, there shouttd a grntl voice. A Tribune reporter moved to one side and a team of horses were driven into the main depot of the Third Avenue Sarface Railroad Company. "A team comes in and goes out every two minutes," eaid John r . Waller, the company's foreman. 4 On each day in the year?'' reporter. queried the "Xo " was the answer, "but in seasons like this. When we are at our busiett a team goes out and one comes in every thirty seconds." The company owns about twenty one hundred "head of cattle" to use the technical term but four hundred cf them are required for Its othir stables. Mr Waller haa made a ttndy ef the horse and is able to tell by glancing at an aniual whether or not it is in condition. "I laughed," saia he, ''when an old horse doctor told me years ago that be could tell the condition of a horse by looking at him. I have since discovered that the old 'Vet' knew what he was talking about. If you soendyourdaysandoften your oights, for yeaia, among horses and keep your eyes half open you can't help un drstanding tbem. They have much in common with the human family The old hor.es, for instance, never take kindly to a new horse, and will kick at him when they get a chance. As soon as tbe stranger be nins to ftel at home the kicking stots, because be has plucked up spirit enongb to kick back. They often tight over their feed, rhe horse first .erved is looked upon with feelings of envy by those that have to wait a little loncer. They ee'dom kick any of the men, except if a man happens to pss close to their heels with a box of feed. Then they sometimes attempt to kick. There is one msn in the stable who had his head almost kicked oil latt year. Two horses were fighting. One made a terrible kick with his hind feet j ast as the man was passing. One of the feet struck him in tbe face and dashed him up aain.t a tall. No, tbe queerest part of the business was that he didn't die. Hallo, Mike," he cried, rai-in his voice. Mike came forward. His face showed a scar reaching from aoive his right eye brow to below his right cheek bone. It formed an indeliable "beauty mark," but Mike cared nothing for this, as everybody had consoled him at the lime th accident occurred with the information that his recovery was out of tbe question. Tne stable occupies three stories of the huge building, which covers a Binare. The descnt to the floor below the grade of tbe street is as steep as the ascent to the floor above the graand, but tbe horses manaee o make tbe trips without accident. ' Each horse, or ratber each pair of horses, for every horse has a male, is expected to work three hours per day. A team which starte from Harlem makes one round trip, daily. If an accident happens to a horse while on duty, the driver informs tbe foreman of it. with the attendant circumstances. If a driver fails to do this and the Leiliger.ee is dis covered, the company bas no further nse for mm. Tne best possible care is taken of the stock for obvious reasons. Car hortes are injured in a variety of ways. Tbey run tbe greatest risks during the hottest part of the samraer and the co'rest part if tbe winter. Tht-se two jericda gregate about four and a half months. the month of September is the hardest month of the year on car horses. An niwarm term came on the heels of a cool period and the resilt was the prostration of a large number of car horses in this cty as well as in many eiher parts of the country. Leaving inteniely hot and cold weather out of the queatiou. the most perilous se&sou for the car horse is drj, windjrweather. Thecobblestor.es over which he travels are then as smooth as polished glass. Not a par:ic!e of any foreign substance can get a foothold on them, and the sharply shod aoof will slip from them with the same ea'e as the hunan foot w;li slide of the smooth side of a banana i-kin. 8ome of tbe roadbeds oiler even moreehan the usual facilities for accidents of this nature. Tbey are constructed on the shape of a watershed, sloping from the centre to the tracks On these the car horse has a hard time indeed ia wintry and windy weather. Comparatively few accidents happen in we: weather. Unless they happen to break a limb, only a .mall percentage of horsf a which slip and fall suffer permatent injary. With rest and care they generally recover from sprains and strain Oat of 1,700 horses the Third Av enue Company loses but one a week, accord ing to its foreman. The latter has ninetythree hostlers under his eye, besides a large number of men employed in other capaci ties. Eich hostler Is expected to groom wenty hones per day, and to leed and bed them. ', The tablts are as clean as it is passible to keepthero. The horses are in keeping with their surroundings. Hoisea are purchased Ht all sasc ns, but the best are bought in the fall. Tbe seller is willing to take much lees it tbe beginning tban a4, the end of winter. The company has a standing price of $155. Some splendid specimens of hoiee fieeh have been b.tuht for this figure. Gray is the color preferred. Horses of this color are .aid to saßer less from beat Iban b'ack and bays. From eight to ten hcr.ee are used in a snow sweeper, and one team possessed by tbe company attract much attention as tbey rattle through tbe avenue. The ten grays whirl the bnge sweeper along as if it were a lignt road wagon. Several uf these horses 'taod seventeen hands biph. Every new purchase is subject to an attack of p'nkeye. This is attributed to a change of climate and surroundings Most of the horses come from the West, and tbey are found to require from week to two weeks to obtain their k,eeahg4." It is a common opinion tbat the lot of a car horse is not a happy one. In comparison with the fact of a large number of horses which receive but little sympathy, the car horse is to be greatly envied He ia not overworked; he is well fed. well housed and is seldom ill treated with impunity. I cried to Love. O, c o awayP And tien oue little sunny ray bet all tny creams to Joy sgain: J love tLe more lbs more ine pain. And "ten it setzni 'twould go away I strain it nearer still to tay, A hundred times. "O. to," I say. Ani iu tne c:oMer fall snd piay Bat ia n eitep tome old refrain Gel tangled Id my life again, Tbat when 1 wke ita tears X knotr 1 can not, can cot, let thte pel Love aeenis too great for eaxih: tb tri fa Is wone tban dtatb, aad core than Hie, Arbe. for Love cornet by. and pain Is . paegkd on bis wings and train; lie toocr.es taitb, to l:ve on hlfh, "0 kia ce once and let n die 1" The Uaiquia De Leavilla.