Ligonier Banner., Volume 14, Number 22, Ligonier, Noble County, 18 September 1879 — Page 3

/0 * @,‘ : Che Ligonier Lanmner, J. B. STOLL, Editor and Proprietor. ' LIGONIER. : :. : INDIANA.

: MY LOST LOVE. _ WHEN the silence of the midnight Cleses round my lonely room, : / And faintly struggling through the curtains, Mystic moonbeams light the gloom; ; When above the fevered fancies -~ Of the weary heart and brain, Kindly slumber, creeping near me, , Re-asserts her weleome reign— - ‘ In the seeming . Of my dreaming, B In all the glow that used to be, : My lost love comes back to me. 1 When the fair delusive phantom ; Kades before the wakening dawn,. 4 And the rosy smile of sunrise Gleams athwart the dew-drenched lawn, Gazing from the opened lattice, : Yearning memm?' pictures there, Shadowed by enlacing branches, Sweet blue eyes and golden hair, 7 ; And the sunlight : ; Takes the one light s That it had for me erewhile In my lost love’s happy smile. * i In the glory of the noontide . Her low ringing laugh I hear; i In the whisper of the leaflets : Her light footstep springing near; In each snow-white lily’s swaying Is reflection of her grace; : In each rose’s opening beauty S Shines for me her fair young face— Till through the falling Shadows calling, : As even darkens hill and plain, I hear my lost love’s voice again. . S 0 the hours are peopled for me, i Through the haunted days and nights,” While fancy mocks my lonely vigils - With the ghost of dead delights; And I let loud life sweep by me, : Dreaming by the silent hearth, Where the vigion of my darling Gives old gladness back to earth, While through each gloaming Softlv coming, e In sweet false lights of joy and truth, My lost love gives me back my youth. fp —All the Year Round.

IN THE SHAWANGUMS. MR. SLINGERLAND VALENTINE sat in his capacious arm-chair, his hands resting on its broad arms, his forehead puekered up into a nest of wrinkles, his eyes staring with intense, puzzled thoughtfuiness out through the window - of his room into the beauties of the park beyond. : ' “I wonder what everpossessed me," he thought—*l do wonder what ever possessed me? Here I am, fifty-seven years old, and fool enough to imagine I couldn’t get along the rest of my life as well as fieretofore, and must go and actually ask pretty little Effie Herman to marry me—marry ‘me!’”’ : As if the idea were appalling, Mr. Valentine arose from his chair, and be‘gan a restless, desperate sort of promenade around his room. - g ‘“Not that she isn’t the sweetest little creature that ever lifted a pair of blue eyves to a man's face——a dainty, flower-like girl, whom anybody wou{d love; but to think—why, what a_ confounded fool I've been, and I old enough to be her grandfather!”’ A stern, half-in(fignant look came to his eyes, and he paused a minute, as if to more fully appreciate the folly of his position. |t « - ¢Of course it's impossible the child cares for me; of course it’s my money —that has won her, and the consent of her mother. Well,” and the hale, robust old gentleman drew a long, deep sigh, and plunged resignedly into the depthis of his Turkish chair again. ““Well, there’s no getting out of it now. I'm not the first man that has made a fool of himself over a pretty face, but at fifty-seven, Slingerland Valentine, you certainly were supposed to know better!’' . ' And then he solaced himself with man’s infallible comfort, a choice cigar, while, in another room, in a pretty little cottage not far away, Effie Herman was sitting in the vine-wreathed baywindow, makin% an exquisite picture of herself among the swaying foliage, and *looking very bewitchingly frowning, as she flashed a glance from her blue eyes across the room at her mother sitting ‘stately and elegant in her gothic-back chair. ' ' : ‘1 never hoped to hear such nonsensejfrom a child of mine, Effie. The idea of not wanting to marry Mr. Val.entine! Why, he can give you everything in the world you ecan think of. To be his wife means a bridal tour to Europe; to, be mistress of his magnificent mansion on Fifth avenue; to dis- ~ pense hospitality at his Long Branch villa; to have command of ,afi ‘that is luxurious, elegant, in every sense. And you don’t want to marry him!”’ N Effie pouted her red lips. ~ ~ “No, I don’t! Mamma, your side of the -picture is ver{* tempting, but my side all the time keeps showing me a fat, bald-headed, stumpy old man, who wears false teeth, .and ‘pads his coat, and tries to look and act as if he were twenty vyears younger than he is. Mamma, I don’t want to marry him at all!”

- And something very like a sob came piteously from the girl’'s lips. - ““You ought to be ashaméd of yourself,” Mys. Herman said, severely. “You shall not be allowed to throw away such - a chance for the sake of sickly sentiment. You know what a struggle my life has been, on account «of poverty and obscurity, and I resolved, years ago, to save you from a like fate.”’ ' ;

Effie opened her blue eyes wide{'{; : ‘¢ Poverty, obscurity; mamma? Why, I think we have a %ovely home, and »enm}gh of everything—"’ “That will do, Efl%e! You need bring no imaginary arguments to confute my .assertions; and, as far as Mr. Valentine is ¢oncerned, your word is pledged, -and the wedding day set for -}l)lly %5.” Then a sudden léttle resolution shone in Effie’s eyes, and she ceased toying with the swaying spray 6f strawberry lant. - ‘ - P Mamma, I have told you, as kindly .a 8 I know how, that I Jo not want to ‘marry that old gentleman; but, as you seem to take no notice whatever of my wishes, 1 will not marry him!” : And the blue eyes flashed, and a scarlet stain ecame on both cheeks. it

- Mrs. Herman‘lathed lightly, ¢ You foolish child! What wei%ht do {9ll ima%ine your words have with me? You will not marry him? Effie, you will, and that settles it!"”’ - «No, mamma, it. does not settle it; for the very next time I see Mr. Valentine I shall tell him so!” ,

For a second Mrs. Herman grew pale with anger; then she looked co%‘dly, sternly at her daughter. . ¢ You will not dare to do it against my positive commands. I will myself see Mr. Valentine, and prepare him for any insanity you may dare to perpetrate; and while I am pushing forward the preparations for your marriage, and Mr. Valentine is superintending the refurnishing of his seaside villa - for your occupancy, you will be sent into the country to your Aunt Hepzibah’s—a quiet, “stupid place—where you will speedily come to your senses, and learn to thank me for having saved you from yourself.” ‘ And, twenty-four hours later, Effie Herman was én route for the mountain farm-house away up in the Jersey Shawangums, and Mrs. Herman was coldly congratulating herself. ‘“She shall marry him! If there’s any understanding between her and Frank Fielding—which I have ' once or twice imagined—l have effectually put a quietus on that. My letter to sister Hepsy contained strict orders that no living soul, male or female, was to be allowed to see Effie, except members of her own family; and Hepsy was always/ afraid to offend me—so there’s no danger on that score. And two dr three weeks will work wonders. She’ll be glad to come back, and finish the season at Long Branch and Newport as Mr. Valentine’s bride, and go to Europe in the winter.” ' And then Mrs. Herman leaned back in her chair and indulged in a little cat-nap, composed and calmed by the plaudits of a good conscience.

Such a place as the Berrian farm, up in the Shawangums! Effie had all her life imagined it the most dreary, desolate, forsaken place in all the wide world, and her rapture knew no bounds whén she fouwd that it was the very ideal of picturesque, romafrtic, luxurious loveliness, and that fi;mt‘ Hepsy was a genial, jolly soul, brimming over with good nature and good sense; that ‘Uncle Zebedee was worthy to be her husband, and that the girls—Jessie Dunbar and Gwen. Comfort—were just the very ideals of cousins and prepared to make a pet and plaything of their beautiful, dainty ecity cousin, who somehow (they did not quite understand) was in a sort of disgrace, on account of .a rich suitor she would not accept submissively. " : To Effie, the life in the country was just perfect. To get away from Mr. Valentine and his attentions was happiness enough;. and, still adamantine in her resolution to ‘never, never” marry him, under any circumstances, she nevertheless contrived to have a very good time with Jessie and Gwen, uncle and auntie, and— i Jessie and Gwen’s brother, uncle and auntie’s son, Effie’s own cousin, whom astute Mamma Herman had quite forgotten in her inventory of things at the farm-house; or, if not quite forgotten, had at least placed an innocent estimate upon. _ However, they bécame astonishingly good friends, Harry Berrian and Effie, and before a month had passed. Effie had confided all her sorrows to- her handsome, sympathetic cousin, who assured her vehemently that it was an outrage that she should be so deliberately bargained for; and that, were he to be her counselor, and she followed his advice, she would stick to her resolution, and never give her hand where she could not give her heart. And then he looked at her in an eager sort of way, and Effie drooped her eyes, and that was all that there was about it. . . It seemed as if Fate itself was working in Mrs. Herman’s behalf, for Mr. Valentine had not at all taken it amiss when she informed him she had sent ‘Effie, dear,” up among the mountains for a few weeks’ recreation, so that she might be bright and fresh-spirited for the wedding. Indeed, in his own heart he felt considerably relieved, and was gayer in his own spirits than he had been for many a day. Until, very suddenly, a terrible attack of rheumatism seized him, and put him. completely at the rather doubtful though well-meant mercy of his hired servants; and in sheer rage and despair Mr. Valentine telegraphed to his sister-in-law, away ug in Vermont, to come and look after him. B

“If only I had been able to nurse you, dear Mr. Valentine!”” Mrs. Herman cooed, sweetly. ¢ But Madam Grundy would be sure to be disagreeable. If only you were married now, just imagine how devoted dear” Effie and I would be! As it is, I do really think the best thing you can do is to send for Mrs. Grey.?’ e S And Mrs.” Grey came——a plump, cheery, comely little lady, with soft, shining brown hair, all in waves and ripples, and merry, intelligent eyes, brown and big, and a sweet, vibrant voice, the very sound of which held ‘a comfort and strengthfulness in its soothing tones. ] : She was a born nurse, and a born housekeeper, and even in his sick-room Mr. Valenfine was conscious of the noiseless running of the domestic machinery, while, in the mangr pleasant, confidential talks they had, her good common sense was always apparent. - “‘lt's no wonder Jack worshiped her —poor fellow,” he thought. ‘ And you are gotu‘;fly going t«g be married, Slingerland? I was quite surprised when fhaard of hit; aga a charming young girl I hear she is! %‘%en%y%s; I believe I am thinking about it, Amy. Yes, Miss {ierman is a very sweet, pretty little girl!”’ ‘ “ I?Mrepyou }trhoughtggsriously over it before you decided; it’s an important thing to do, Slingerland, and specially important when a man comes to Koun age and wants a dyOung wife. Ido hope you’ll be satistied.”’ Mr. Valetine puckered up his forehead, doubtfully. : “Oh, dear me! yes, I hope so. A man’s bound to make a fool of himself once in his life, and it's happened to me later than to most. Oh, yes, I dare say Effie and I'll get on very well.” A curious little smile crept to Mrs. Grey’s red lips—such ripe-red lips, like luscious damask roses.

““You don’t talk like the enthusiastic lover I expected to find,” she said, brightly, biting her pretty liK'l to keep from laughing, for shrewd Mrs. Grey

was quite well convinced that her brother-in-law was repenting his word. i ‘“And I don’t feel -enthusiastic, either,”” he blurted out, his face reddening under her surprised, innocent blue eyes. <¢The fact is, I went bewitched gver a pretty face, and somebody oug%]t to have kicked m 2 from here to Jericho before I made é‘uch a deuced —ass—yes—of myself.”” ~ Jack’s widow drew down the white shade, so that the invalid bear would not have the western sunlight too direct in his eyes.- : “It isn’t so bad as that, I hope, Slingerland, is it? Well, don’t let’s bother about it any more just now. Be quiet a little while, while: I run down and see what I can find for your supper.’ :

~ She went away, leaving Mr. Valentine thinking all sorts of curious thoughts, very prominent among which was what a good wife poor Jack had, and what a lgeuced fine-looking woman she was yet, and how amazingly he liked to have her around, and what the dickens he would do when she went away. !

Up in. the Shawangums the August days were royal in their pulsing ardor, and Effie and Cousin Harry had, quite some time before, decided that it was the most delightful summer of their lives, when, into all the sweetness and beauty and content, one day there came a letter to Aunt Hepsy from Mrs. Herman, saying that Mr. Slingerland Valentine was coming to see his betrothed, and that Effie was to treat him accordingly. : < And, three hours later, the gentleman himself appeared, to the awe of Jessie and Gwen, and the admiration of simple-minded auntie, who ushered him, and all his glory of massive gold watch-chain and sparkle of diamond studs, into the prim, cool, dark ¢ parlor;”” where the chairs—six of them—sat in straight rows, and the carpet was the identical striped one that had been a bridal present—and a rarely costly one in those days—to Aunt Hepsy and Unecle Zeb. . : '

Effie was all aflush as she went in to greet him, and her eyes were shining resolutely as she crossed the floor to shake hands with him. And Mr. Valentine also had an unusual look in his florid face, and not a little resoluteness in his eyes as he rose to meet her. 5 ‘I hope you are well, Miss Effie; you are looking, as usual, most charmingly. Sorry I have such a short time to stay, but—but the fact iy, I just ran up on a little matter of business, you see, and I won’t detain youflonger than is necessary.”’ ’ His heart was thumping very undisciplinedly, but when one takes into consideration the ¢ business’” that had brought him, it was scarcely to be wondered at—business which only the memory of Jack’s plump, buxom widow made him brave enough to transact, after he was actually face to face with this blue-eyed little girl. ‘‘ He means to give me a lecture, and mamma has told him what I said,’”’ was Effie’s thought; ¢“and I'll never, never marry him, and I'll tell him so——now, this minute!’’ - - % So she looked up at him, very frankly, very honestly, very bewitchingly. ¢ You have good reason to be vexed with me, I know, Mr. Valentine, but what I told mamma to tell you I must repeat. I don’t love you, Mr. Valentine, and--and I cannot marry one I do not love. ' Please don’t be angry, will you?”’ s : Angry! Every nerve in his body was dancing a jubilate. Angry, to be thus gracefully, charmingly given the freedom he had come to crave. - He laughed outright. -' ¢“Can it be possible? * Why, Effie, I came purposely to see if you wouldn't let me off, because, you see, my brother's widow is a very fine woman, a‘nd__” , ; T{len Effie caught his hand impulsively. o ¢¢Oh, that is just the very thing for you. "Mrs. Grey! Yes—why, you ought to have thought of that long ago. And I —and a delicious blush came to her lovely face—¢l am engaged to my Cousin Harry, Mr. Valentine, and oh, I do love him so!” And that was the result of the trip to the Shawangums, and Mrs. Herman bit her lips in vain at the result of her own little bit of generalship.—Saturday Night.

Spelling Reform. However absurd and troublesome the spelling of the English language may be, neither Briton nor American will grapple with the question of spelling reform, and the opinion is gaining ground that this reform must come by egrees, as it has already been doing through all the generations since Chaucer's time. Our own Webster probably gave the good work the greatest lift of any one man by abolishing unnecessary ‘‘u’s’”’ in such words as honor, labor, etc., and cutting off k in almanack, and some other excrescences. All that has been done, however, is little compared with what remains to be done. Plough isindeed reduced to plow, ‘but »“lau%h” is not yet ‘“laf,” nor though ¢‘tho,” as it should be. The most obvious and easjly-remedied excrescences are those which should be cut off first, and if we could get a number of leadihg newspapers th‘rou%hput the Union to agree with us in a optin% some not only desirable, but we might almost say necessary, changes, we think they might easily become general. = The first raid, perhaps, should be made on the double letters. ‘L’ has only one sound, and doubling it does not vary the sound in the least. One 1" is, therefore, as good as two. In Spanish, doubling the ‘1" makes it a different letter, giving it a liquid sound, as if “y"- were incorporated with ¢l.”’ In French, also, the double ¢1I’”” has a liguid sound, in which the “I” is ~scarcely perceptible; but in English doublinfi the 1’ has no effect on either the pronunciation or the sense, ‘and it should, therefore, clearly be given up, thereby saving an immense amount of uncertainty with mang;smll‘ers whether to double it or not in such words as collision, collusion, conciliation, balance, ballast and multitudes of others. Tinre was ' when final “I's” were almost invariably doubled, but

during the past century the unnecessary “‘l'" was dropped in such words as ‘“doubtful,”’ < hateful,” etec., though, singularly enough, it is continued in ¢full” when not compounded with other words: In like manner ‘l"’ need never be doubled either for sound or sense, and thus all doubts in an ordinary letter-writer's mind about the spelling of ¢ correction,” *correlation,”” **coralloid’’ and many other words would vanish. Insome classes of words the consonant.is doubled to make the previous syllable short (which rule, however, is violated 1,000 times), and it must be allowed that there is some use for the double letter in that case; for instance, in ¢ baring’’ and ¢ barring,” the sound of the ‘“a’ is altered by doubling the *r.”” Andso with ¢]” in baling and balling.. In these cases it would ge better to give us:different ‘“a’s’’ to represent the two sounds; but that would be a radical change, and require new -type. Beside, American writers find no difficulty in spelling waggon with only one ‘““g,” and the double letter could as easily be omitted in the above instance, Jeaving the sense to decide the pronunciation, as we have to do now with the present tense ‘‘read” and the participle ‘‘read,” and ¢live,” a verb, and ¢live,”” a noun. ,/The double ‘£’ ghould be discarded. The letter ¢‘s” is doubled sometimes to make the sound. soft, as in dessert, contradistinguished from desert; butin the latter word, and in all words where ¢s" has the sound of ¢z,”’ the latter letter should be used. The thousands of words ending in ¢ss,”’—as ‘“less,” ‘‘ness,” ‘“class,” “press,” etc.—should drop one ‘s,” as it is utterly useless in conveying sound or sense. What is it in the alphabet for except to be used where its sound is required. This would be another great aid to foreigners and ehildren in reading English.

The next most obvious raid should be on the final ‘“e’s.”” Whenever these are necessary to give a long sound to the previous vowel they would have to be retained, as in stone, alive, fate, tube, etc.; but when the vowel is to be sounded short, the silent ‘e’ is not only unnecessary, but misleading, as in verbs, live, have, bade, gape, gone, etc. These should clearly be spelled liv, hav, bad, gap, fon, etc. In all such words as glove, dove, etc., the ‘e” should be omitted, though there is reason for retaining it in drove, stove, ete. Were all double letters and silent ‘“e’s,”’ except what were required by the sound of the word discarded, and ¢z’ substituted for ‘“s’’ wherever ¢ "’ has the sound of ‘“z,”’ a great deal of simplification and precision would be attained. :

These reforms might be enough to begin with, and, as newspapers rule the reading world, we think there should be a congress of newspaper men to decide the whole question. Not merely to save labor for themselves—that would be a trifling result—but to save labor for the rising generation and for the vast number of foreigners, and even, we might say, some nations which are now desiring to learn English. Spain has gone ahel;a of all other countries in spelling. By the highest literary authority in that country it was decided to conform the spelling exactly to the sound, and to have only one letter for each sound, the sound of that letter to be invariable; and also to have no silent letters. Without remorse, all the Latin-Greek spellings were relinquished and philosopho became filosofo. Ph in all words in Spanish, and néarly all in Italian, is changed into f; and so it should be in English. This, of course, would appear strange at first, but it does not trouble any reader of a Spanish book now. - With singular inconsistency, however, the letter ¢g” was left with two sounds, namely: its-ewn hard sound and a guttural sound before “@’ or ¢“1." ¢J” has the same guttural ‘sound always, and so has *x.” Hence it is indifferent to the Spaniard whether he spells Mexico as we do, or Mejico, or Megico, all three having the same guttural sound which is entirely wanting in the English and French languages, but which is common enough in German and Scotch. The letter ¢h” pronounced hard through the throat comes nearest to it. We mention the successful Spanish ceform of spelling to show what might be accomplished in English.——N. Y. Witness. ‘

s A Midnight Vigil. 'THE night is dark, the air is raw and chill and damp, the storm is raging. An old and eminently respectable citizen, out on North Hill, is sleeping the sleep of the just with the snore of the wicked, and the private clocks, on their respective brackets and mantels throughout the city, for Burlington has no town clock, are tolling, as well as they know how to toll it, the hour of half past one a. m. . A violent jangling at his door-bell awakes the eminently respectable citizen. Shuddering, he crawls out of bed; niuttering, he gropes across the floor. . Swearing under his breath, he falls over a ro’_ciing—chair.‘ At last he finds a match, lights a lamp, and, descending the stairs, opens the hall door and admits a gust of wind that blows out the lamp and a torrent of rain that drenches him to the skin. ‘“ What is wanted?'’ the respectable citizen asks. ’ ; ‘“ Are you the resident owner of this property?”’ promptly inquires the caller. “I am,” wonderingly replies the eminently respectable citizen. £ “Were Jou in bed when I rang?”’ “I was,”’ replied the eminently respectable. ik . “That was right,”” cheerfully exclaims the caller; ¢‘that is the place for aman of your age at this time of night. lam sw§fiBe§ to see you out of it. Get back to it, and pleasant dreams—’ 1 ' All is silence after the crash that ensues, save a mocking smile that dies a.wa{ in the distance. The fragments of the lamp that are revealed on the sidewalk by the coming of the .dawn indicate that either the %amp fell out of a balloon at the height of about twen-ty-nine miles, or was hurled at some object with great force. When will the mgstery be solved?—Burlington Hawk-Eye. . g ; ONE out of a hundred—99.

i 3 il I - Youths’ Department. -—-——-—-——4:——-—__.___________,. THREE LITTLE TRAVELERS. DEeAR little baby, with eyes so blue, Fretted for something funny and new; "T'was plain that she wanted to go to ride; But the rain was falling fast outside. . Then up came Charlie, with eyes so gray: : ** Baby, you shall have a ride to-day; We ean’t let dear little baby cry; We'll give her a ride—at least we'll try.” Then up came Elsie, with eyes so brown, Dragging a table turned upside down; And in got baby, with blue eyes bright, Laughing and shouting in great delight. ' She had a grand ride all over the floor— With a horse behind and a horse before; £ Dear little Blue-Eyes, Brown-Eyes, Gray; Unselfish and loving the livelong day! : When Blue-Eyes had taken this funny ride, She came to a halt at her mother’s side, Clambered up gayly on mamma’s lap, And closed her eyes for her morning nap. \ “Now, Brown-Eyes,” said Gray-Eyes, “Tll have a ride e In a grand old carriage with you by my side; I'll take you to Boston, or Salem, or Lynn, And, wh‘en you are tired, come home again. So they harnessed old hobby to papa’s chair, (Oh never was seen such'a merry pair), Got into their carriage and took a ride, : Then came to a halt at dear mamma’s side. And sflileaas she kissed thém, was pleased to n ; Her children so happy and, gentle and kind; : Dear little Blue-Eyes, Brown-Eyes, Gray, : Unselfish and loving the livelong day! : SR e —Nursery.

PROF. HUXLEY TO BOYS. Amip the flood of good things said on Commencement platforms, we have heard nothing, on the whole, wiser, apter or more sagacious than Professor Huxley’s address to the prize-winners. at the University contest. Had he added that rel’igion is the strongest force in the conduct of life, while “he would not have sacrificed’ anything of the philosopher to the preacher, he would have put a key-stone to his beautiful arch of argument and appeal: : ¢“ 80, boys, let me tell you that it hds given me great pleasure to come among you to-day, and to hand you the prizes you have won for proficiency in ali sorts of intellectual agc{ some physical exercises; and, as I have perfect confidence in the judgment and in the justice of those who : award these prizes, I am sure that you deserve the honors you have obtained, and I offer you my hearty congratulations upon them. You have a right to take an honest pride in your success, and I would even excuse a little vanity, if the fit is neither too strong nor too long. But though selfsatisfaction, if one comes by it honestly, is a very good thing in its way, the whole value of success, here as elsewhere, does not lie in. self-satisfaction. In the present case I should say that the chief value of success lies in the evidence which it affords of the possession of those faculties which will enable you to deal with those conditions of hu-man-existence into which you will be launched, to sink or swim, by and by. ~ ‘“Let me appeal to your knowledge of yourselves and of your school-fel-lows. What sort of fellows are those who win prizes? Is there in all the long list which we have gone through to-&ay the name of a single boy who is dull, slow, idle and sickly? I am sorry to say that I have not, the pleasure of knowing any of the prize-winners this year personally—but I take upon myself to answer, certainly not. Nay, I will go so far as to affirm that the boys to whom I have had the pleasure of giving prizes to-day, take them altogether, are the sharpest, quickest, most industrious and strongest boys in thé school. But by strongest, I do not exactly mean those who can lift the greatest weights or jump farfhest—but those who have most endurance. You will observe again that I say take - them altogether. 1 do mot doubt that outside ,the list of prizewinners there may be boys of keener intellect than any who are in it, disqualified by lack of industry or lack of health, and there may be highly industrious boys who are unfortunately. dull or sickly; and: there may be athletes who are still more unfortunately either idle or stupid, or both. Quickness in learning, readiness and accuracy in reproducing what is learnt, industry, endurance, these are the qualities, mixed in very: various pfoportions, which are found in boys who win prizes. ¢ Now there is not the smallest doubt that every one of these qualities is of great value in practiecal life. Upon whatever career you may enter, intellectual quickness, industry and the power of bearing fatig;le are three great advantages. But I want to impress upon you, and throufgh you upon those who will direct your future course, the conviction which I'entertain that, as a general rule, the relative importance of these three qualifications is not rightly estimated; and that there are other qualities of no less value which are not directly tested by school competition. A somewhat varied experience of men has led me, the longer I live, to set the less value upon mere cleverness; to attach more and more importance to industry and to physical endurance. Indeed, I am much disposed to think that endurance is the most valuable quality of all; for industry, as the desire to work hard, does not come to. much if a feeble frame is unable to respondto the desire. Everybody who has had to make his way in the world must know that while the ocecasion for intellectual effort of a high order is rare, it constantly hapg::ns that a man’s future turns upon his being able to stand a sudden*and a heavy strain upon his powers of endurance., To a lawyer, a physician, or a merchant.it may be everything to be able to work sixteen hours a day for as long as is needful without yielding up to weariness. Moreover, the gtience, tenacity and: good humor which are among the most Important = qualifications for dealing with men are incompatible with an irritable brain, a weak stomach, or a defective cireulation. - If any one of you prize-.w?mers were a son of mine, agd,a; a good fairy were to offer to e»%uip_ him ‘according to m}' wishes for the battle of practical life, I should say, ‘I do not ‘care to tiféi:ble you;fil)f;} , mfre cleverness; put in_as much ‘:gus 'y, as you .can instead; andmgf,' if you nglx,ey,s,;e,‘ 2 broad deep chest and a stomach of ‘whose_existence he shall never know ‘anything” I should be well content with E}m _prospects of a fellow so en- ~ “The other point which I wish to impress upon you is, that competitive ex-

ey o el 3 BT - amination, -useful and excellent as it is for some purposes,‘is only a very partial test of what- the winners will be worth in practieal life. There are peo‘ple who are neither very clever nor very industrieus, nor very strong, and who would probably be nowhere in an examina'%ign, and who yet exert a great influence -in virtue of what is called force of character. They may not know much, but they take ecare that what they do know they know well. They may not be very quick, but t.h_e;]mov;rlX edge they acquire sticks.. They may not even be particularly industrious or enduring, but they are s,tron,%rl of will and firm of purpose, undaunted by fear of responsibility, single-minded and trustworthy. ‘- In practical life a man of this sort is worth any number of merely clever and learned people, Of course I do not mean to imply for ‘a moment that success in examination is ineompatible with the possession of character such as T have just ‘defined it, but failure in examination is no evidence of the want of such character. ; ¢ And this leads me to- administer from my point of view the crumb of comfort which on these ocecasions is ordinarily offered ‘to theose whose names do not appear upon the prize list. It is quite true that practical life is a kind of long competitive examination, conducted by that severe pedagogue Professor Circumstance. " But -my experience leads me to conclude that his marks are given much more for character than for cleverness. Hence, .though I have no doubt that those boys who have received prizes to-day have already given rise to a fair hope that the future may see them prominent, perhaps brilliantly distinguished ‘members of society, get neither do I think it at all unlikely that among the undistinguished erowd there may lie the making of some simple soldier whose praetical sense and indomitable courage may save an army led by characterless cleverness to the brink of destruction, or some plain man of business who by dint of sheer honesty and firmness may slowly and surely rise to prosperity and honor, when his more brilliant compeers, ‘for lack of character, have gone down, with all who trusted them, to hopeless ruin. Such things: do happen: Hence let none of you 'be discouraged. Those who have woen prizes have made a good beginning; those who have not may yet make that good ending which is better than a good beginning. No life is wasted unless it ends in sloth, dis~ honesty or cowardice. No success is worthy of the name unless it is won by honest industry and- brave breasting of the waves of fortune. Unless at the end of life some exhalation of the dawn still hangs about ‘the palpable and the familiar; unless there is some transformation of the -real into the best dreams of youth, depend upon it whatever outward success may have %athered:round a man; he is but an elaborate and a mischievous failure.”—English Independent. : : ,

- Buttered Pease, in Choctaw. THERE was oilce' a man who had studied all his life and become very wise--so wise that he could say ¢ Buttered pease,’” in' Choctaw. = Everybody 1ooke({)1tp to him with great :Rmiration, and the little 'chilfif'en stopped their play and put their fingers in their mouths when he passed by. And when a little boy one day asked what was the use ‘of saying ‘‘Buttered pease,”” in Choctaw, all the children standing near, that were properly brought up,-cried out with astonishment: ks ‘“‘Why, you ought to know better!"’ ¢« Of course.”” : ; ‘“ Why, how can you speak so!”’ : Saying this gave them a feeling that they had done a right and noble thing, and made the little boy feel very ignorant and miserable. o

But, at last, the King heard how wise the man was, and he sent a herald to him congratulating him on. having attained such results of his life-study, and appointed a.day when he would assemble his court and hear him say ‘‘Buttered pease,”’ in Choctaw. . = So, on the appointed day, the hall of the palace was filled with people eaiger to see and hear the wise man. The King and Queen were seated on a splendid throne at one side of a raised platform; and, at a given signal, a herald approached from the other side and made .a long speech, - introducing the. man who was to introduce the wise man, and when the herald had finished, - the man whom he introduced made a grand. oration, an hour long, saying : how great the wise man was, and praising his self-denying life in' being’ willing to endure severe privation for™ the: saT{e of being able to say ‘¢ Buttered pease,”” in Choctaw. 'And when he had finished, and gathered up his embroidered robes, and passed off the stage, a little man dressed in shabby eclothes, with bright cves and a bald head and spectacles, trotted up before the King, and, stopping in front of him, ‘put his hands together and made a queer little bow. e : ; Then, while all the people held their - breath to hear, he saig ‘¢ Buttered . pease,” in Choctaw, and bowed afhi_n,h and turned about, and trotted off the stage. And all the people gave a greati cheer, and, as they went home, said to one another how grandly it sounded and what a learned man he must be.— St. Nicholas for September. <~ | * - THE income tax of Great Britain, according to, a Parliamentary return jut - issued, was ehatgfg last year on a total of $660,000,000. This shows an increase of $5,775,000 over the previous year. The number of perséns paying tax was: 897,750, being an increase of 15,778 over the number in 1877, It Wfigfi seem that there are 1,487 persons whose incomes are assessed between $4,500 810,000 thore e 13.408% ndk L5OOO 10,000 there are 12,403; undex $15,000, 3,860; under 820,000, 1.824;-.;@@@%5,; 000, 980; under $50,000, 1,870; under ‘5250,000, 994; over m,wg, 9& 5o —Budd Doble says »mmmwt% away from aracemekvtoosfi % 2P wants to save hisi‘g%%tan n A %‘9 s man. Budd bk becn. Jockéying il his life, and he ought to know just how _ —The difference between a hen and & picsCiug s Yook Wil oM set itself.—~Stillwaler Lumberman.:. > oA T S G S sS R