Ligonier Banner., Volume 14, Number 37, Ligonier, Noble County, 1 January 1880 — Page 3

The Ligonier Banner, LIGONIER, - TRDLANA.

A BABY GIRL. : A LITTLE one climbed in my lap last night— A fair little creature with shiny eyes, That seemed to have taken their radiant light From the fairest hue of the summer skies— And down on my shoulder she laid her head, . And settled herself with a quaint little twirl; And then, looking up in my ftace, she said, * Now, sing me a song of a baby girl.”” . “oOf a baby girl!?”” How my thoughts flew back To another time and another scene, Far, far adown on my memory’s track, With mang a joy and sorrow between—‘To another time, when at evening’s close, Tired out with the long day’s busy whirl, I, too, climbed up for a sweet repose = - On'my mother’s lap—a baby girl! ; How we chtlmge, how we change, a 8 the years g 0 on - There are silver threads in my h’air to-day; And the loving and cherished mother is gone To the leeasant land where angels stay. O, I wonder, I wonder, if e’er she looks down From “lthe beautiful city with gates of pear ” : From * the sounding harp and the gleaming c¢rown,”’ : : To follow the fate of her baby girl? | Whatlis this, little one? Ah, her head droops " ow : : And lhe’r fingers have loosened their clinging clasp , i For the innocent slumber but children know Holds her baby brain in its soothing grasp. And 1[) gatger more closely her form to my reast, - : And I tenderly toy with each clust’ring curl. When our labor is done, may our final rest Be as sweet as the sleep ot my baby girl! | - " —Anonymous. ——‘—&.——-—-_—— ; A LIFE'S LOVE. . I LOVED him in rhy dawning years— * Far years, divinely dim; = Ma’blithest smiles, my saddest tears, - @ - ere evermore for him. & i M* dreaming when the day began, he latest thought Ihad, =~ | Was still some loving plan ; To make my darling glad. ; | They deemed he lacked the conquering wiles That other children wear; To me his face, in frowns or smiles, ] Was never aught but fair. y They said that self was all his goal, . He knew no thought beyond; : To me, I know, no living soul Was half so true and fond. Ah, many a love was mine ere now, In life’s ca;l)ricious May, And many a lightly-whispered vow - The breezes bore away. . Yet, looking back on friends betrayed, And sweethearts left to rue, i My soul can say, ‘ In shine or shade, At least he tound me true.”’ : In love’s eclipse, in friendship’s dearth, | In grief and feud and bale, i * My heart has learnt the sacred worth Of one that cannot fail; - i "And come what must and come what may, : Nor power, nor praise, nor pelf, Shall lure my faith from thee to stray, - My sweet, my own—Myself. fios ; —Frederick Langbridge, in Tinsley's Magazine.

CHARLIE DUNCAN’S. LESSON. THE room looked cozy in the twilight, though the furniture was shabby, old and plain. An open wood-fire, burning brightly on brass . andirons, polished till you coulc. see your face in them, was not the suggestion of fashion or high art, but a necessity, resultin from astormy night in October, ang further from the fact that wood was cheap in that locality. Brass andirons were an every-day affair, and had been for fifty years, never having been displaced by modern heating monstrosities, or consigned to the garret as a relic of barbarism, and brought from thence as an evidence of culture. The old lounge, even though it was just the place to dream in, and the chintz-cushioned chair in the cormer, with the whitehaired granddame in it, hinted in some mysterious way of a welcome for all who entered. . : e ‘ Busy fingers had been at work, for spotless hearthstones are not the result of chance, nor do tea-tables, covered with snowy drapery, and glittering with glass and china, ‘drop from 'the clouds. The supply was limited, it is true, but the old blue china, an inheritance from the forehanded ancestors, would have been a God-send to-a connoisseur, with even a crack or two to advertise its antiquity. But our graadmothers, as a rule, washed their own tea things, and cracks and, niches were not in vogue. The storm beat against the window pane, and the wind came whistling down the chimnei in an agFressive fashion that caused the hickory ogs to blink with amazement, and the well-bred Tabby to elevate her back in dignified protest. At the kitchen door, with shawl drawn over the brifiht curls, and blue eyes peering into darkness, stood Maggie, the household fairy, . eagerly listening. : ‘““Why don’t Charlie come?’ she sighed to herself, and turning, went into the fire-lighted room that answered SO many purfioses in that small household. She knelt by the che_erly blaze, shivering more from the chill within than the cold without. . : Grandma’s eyes unclosed, and the placid face bent over the girl, almost a child in years, a woman in capacity for suffering. ¢ What is it, Maggie?’ and the withered hands gently smoothed the curls that the wind had been taking such liberties with. ‘ s “0! Grandma! Charlie hasn’'t come yet and it’s almost nine o’clock. He promised so faithfully to be at home at five, and now—l'm afraid, I'm afraid—" and the words died away in a shivering moan. ;

“Afraid of what, Maggie?”’ She crouched still glower, till the little head lay in grandma’s lap, and whispered, ¢ That he’s not himself.” | Wgat does that sentence, coined out of love’s vocabulary, mean to many a heart?”’ Indefinite in expression, sharply defined as the lightning’s track in the misery that it brings, it is the watchword of despair to wrecked lives and blighted homes. Grandma knew now; there was no need of words. But grandma also knew what MagEie had not yet learned—that through the conflict cometh victory. ““Poor child!” she softly said, and bendjng, kissed her, for one of the charms that made her almost sacred in Maggie’'s eyes was the knowinf when to be silent. The old-fashioned clock ticked on; the winds howled l);:at; more fiercely and Charlie still de ied,; his ctf»mingim Mrs. Duncan ldmfnk tde cup of tea that Maggie gently forced upon her, and ate agimo%sel ‘;(y;f the daga‘:;y toast that the little housewitf was 80 skilled in making. The table, with the cloth upon it, was pushed aside, and ve the room that ¢ waiting look” &y knew too well. Ten—eleven—

and still they moved not, listening, as if beating hearts and bated breath would hasten the footsteps of the wanderer. : At last he came—hChal('llie—gut not himself—as Maggie phrased it. Strange eyes {;oked ?xig(;l hers, and those du%l. thick tones were surely not the ones that said ‘‘good-by’ so gaily in the morning, anf warned her not to grow old an§ gray with fretting. No need to bring the-'table near the fire; he could not eat, but throwing himself upon the chintz-cushioned lounge, lay in dreamless slumber, while Maggie wept the night away. . Iger only brother, her handsome Charlie! When both father and mother died and left them alone in the world, with only fi'randma to look to, the memor{;V of that dying mother’s words, ““ While you live, Maggie, care for Charlie,” night and day in the years that had come and gone, had been the motive power for action in the young girl’s heart. To live for and with him, embodied all of joy that earth could give, And Charlie, kind-hearted, handsome Charlie loved her in return, but not as sisters love. Not alone to Maggie was he the hero of the hour, for that strange fascination which often proves the bane of its possessor, winning the hearts of old and young alike, was his by inheritance, and the mother’s death prayer was, that the curse that came with it to her husband, might not descend upon her boy. ' It was the old story of wasted talents, and squandered o¥portu-nities. At first, with that charm of manner that he believed all-potent, he turned the edge of reproof and blunted the weapons of his opposers. But later, the promise ‘‘to try again,” and really meant for the time, was worn as threadbare as the patience of those to whom it was given, all but Maggie and his grandmother. They never failed him. Good positions were offered him, and he was cagable of filling them. Life was made easy, for where many a boy must have fought his way single-handed and alone, with Charlie it was but to ask, and receive, and the gates of life opened before his dazzled vision, as the gates of Paradise. Thus was the fair beginning of the morning clouded before the sun had risen to the zenith, darkened, ere the noontide rest had come. Even Charlie found the scale had turned, nor deemed that his weakened purpose was the broken hinge. Jlndependent ot control, and reckless of consequences, at first he laughed to scorn the thought that he could not always find some one to whom his services were invaluable. But invaluable service implies more than entertaining company, and pleasant manners are not often considered an equivalent for neglect of duty. Sothe day came when Charlie Duncan, shaking the dust from off his feet at his employer’s door, turned his steps homeward with a wearied feeling that life meant something after all, that roses need constant training to insure continuance, that thorns anfll briars alone thrive on uncared-for soil.

“It’s no use trying, Maggie! The fates are against me. What can a fellow; do with such confounded luck. I'll see Norton in the Dead Sea beiore I'll ask him for the place again. The miserly upstart!’. ' There was no such balm for the boy’s conscience as abusing other people. The burden of personal responsibility is a heavy load for undisciplined shoulders to carry, and often the impossibility ‘of permanently shiftin§l it is resented as a personal injury. Maggie was not oifted in logic or- versed in rhetoric. The underlying feeling that occasionally would assert itself that Charlie was not wholly blameless in thus sufferin defeat was thrust aside as disloyal, an% the lad was comforted in his heart, but not to his soul’s content. There was one friend who justified the sacredness of the word, a man, though young in years, blest with energgi and uprightness, had already made his mark, a man to be relied upon in emer%eneies and trusted in direst need. uch a man had Mills Stanton proved himself to be. He seemed to have reached depths in Charlie’s nature that no one had ever touched. Fortunately for the wayward boy he had it in his power to give him another chance. That was the trouble. It was literally another chance—a hap-hazard purpose of reform tllllat is almost'as bad as no purpose at all. '

For weeks, however, all had gone smoothly. The restraint of regular hours and steady habits began to be irksome, and the slow method of progress was not suited to the nature of the ex-citement-loving boy. Maggie observed with sorrow the restlessness that is so often the precursor of a downfall. She tried to hope, even when hope itself trembled—but in vain. Now the climax had come. What would the end be? There is but one on a downward ' grade, and she knew it. That dreary night—she planned, but for what, and thought, but without purpose — trying in the whirlpool of conscious helplessness to find a foothold for returning faith, but, alas! she could not. When the morning dawned the poor child rose and began the dull routine of life, trammeled by the barrier of a hopeless future that lay across her pathway. The pleasantroom was as neat as hangs could make, for Charlie had the grace to vanish to his' own pefore the breakfast hour. Duty must be performed if hearts break, and coffee boiled, and eggs fried, when the right time comes, as if anguish were a thing unknown. A cliciua.t the gate—a knock at the door, and as she opened ‘t, to her surprise, and almost horror, Mills Stanton confronted her. ¢ Excuse myearly coming, Miss Maggie. But I wanted to -see Charlie. Mayg[l doso?”’ Some way, ~she hardly knew how or why, she led the way to the darkened room, and opening the door as if in a dream, said ‘‘Charlie!”” and left them alone to%sther. i gl hat passed between them, she never knew. Sounds of low voices reached her, and once she thought she heard a sob from Charlie, but wasn’t sure. She could only wait; still she went the round of daily cares, now and then kneeling by the chintz-cov-ered chair, and resting her head upon the dear old friend, whefe arms were ever open to receive her, and who could understand, when misery found no words to tell its story. What could ‘ : =l

it mean? She asked herself. Low tones still reached her, with many a ause between. With bowed head she Estened, prayed and wondered, and thus it was Mills Stanton found her, as he stood by the half-open door. As she sprang to meet him, with parted lips, she tried tospeak, but failed. But Mills answered the pleading questioning of that sweet face, with low words of sympathy. ¢ Miss Maggie, I believe your prayers arg answered, and Mrs. Duncan it was the thought of you and Maggie that he says has saved him.” ~ i It was late that afternoon before Charlie came to them, and their eyes beheld a somethin% they had never seen before; a deep humility that intensified his manhood, an unconscious dig-: nity, that is born of soul-conflict, crowned with victory. Not in himself, or by himself, was the battle fought that da&y. A stronger than Mills Stanton had been near, and the hand Almighty stretched forth to save. Mrs. Duncan, with face illumined, not by faith alone, but her twin sister, hope, drew the weeping Maggie to her heart that night, and whispered: ¢ Not unto us, but to thy name be the glory.” One does not scale at once the moun-tain-peaks of aspiration. Step by step is progress made. There is no royal pathway out of bondage. So Charlie found it. In all that year of trial, and sometimes discouragement, Mills Stanton proved himself the trusted friend. The little cottage needed him—that the inmates could readily understand. But that the bright fireside, the saintly smile of Grandma, the cordial greeting of Charlie, and above all the Eglf shy glances of Maggie's blue eyes, should become a like necessity to him, was more difficult to believe. That it was so, one day Maggie realized, when he told her of the first love awakened into life that dark October. morning, of its growth week by week, and month by month, and drawing her close to his side, asked her the old, old question—- ‘“ whether sweet love, strong as life itself, should meet with no response.” What Maggie said we know not, only that Mills was satisfied, Charlie triumphant, and Grandma content.—Calva Victor, in Chicago Standard. -

Some Facts as to How Far the Ringing of Bells May Be Heard. IN a hilly locality a bell will not be heard half so far as if the land were level, or nearly so. A bell will be heard a great deal further lengthways of a valley than over the hills at the sides. It is frequently the case that bell-rooms are lower than the . sur--I'ounding buildings and trees, and these obstructions brerfi( the sound and prevent its free passage to a distance. It is frequently the case, too, that towers have small windows or openings, with the lower boards so close together as to almost box up the sound. In cities the noise of steam and horse-cars, manufacturing establishments, carriages and carts rattling over the pavements, etc., is so great that bells are not expected to be heard at any considerable distance, and this is the reason why, in all cities, several bells are used for fire-alarm purposes, it being impossible for one bell, no matter how large it may be, to be heard above the thousand and one noises incident to every large place. The largest bell ever. made in this country weighed twenty-two thousand pounds, and, before it was fractured, hung on the City Hall, in New York. On one or two occasions this bell ‘was heard up the Hudson River thirteen miles, in the night, when the city was comparatively quiet. Water is a good conductor of sound, and aided materially in making the bell heard as above mentioned. It is a great mistake to suppose that bells can be heard in proportion to their weight; that is, that a bell of two thousand pounds will be heard twice as far as one of one thousand pounds. This is not so, for the reason that the larger bell does not possess anything like twice the resonant surface of the smaller one. What is gained and admired in the larger bell is its deep, majestic, dignified tone, which it is impossible to secure in the smaller one, the weight of a bell invariably governing its tone. A bell of 100 or 200 pounds, in an open belfry, on a schoolhouse or factory in the country, is frequently heard at a long distance, out of proportion, apparently, to one of 1,000 pounds in a church tower near by; and instances of this kind frequently cause no little comment in the way of comparison. The reason for this is, that the small bell has a sharp, shrill, penetrating sound, that must, of necessity, be heard a great deal further in proportion to its weight than the low, mellow ¢‘church-going’ sound of the church bell. The same principle applies to the whistle of a locomotiive, and it is heard a long distance simply because its tone is shrill and §enetrating. When hung stationary and struck, or tolled, bells will not be heard, as a rule, half as far as when swung. The swinging motion throws the mouth of the bgl up, and not only carries the sound off, but imparts to it a richness that is always absent when the bell is at rest and struck. . A great dealis to be gained by ringing a bell properly, throwing the mouth well up, and not lazily jingling it. It is not physical strength that is required in rinflng a bell so much as ‘‘getting the knack’ of catching the rope just right, Particu,larly on the second ‘“down pull.” The windows in the tower should be as open as possible, ‘and the tower should be cei?ed just iabove the windows.—Scientific American. j ‘

A ‘“Good Time,”’ My son, enjoy yourself. Have a good time; pleasure is eminently right and groper, but a good time isn’t secured y a headache that lasts all the next day. The simplest pleasures are the most lasting. After you have spent two years in Europe, you will come back and sit down by your own fireside and think of a picenic you wentto down at the Cascade one az;ernoon in June that cost you just sixty-five cents. The ‘‘good times’} that you daren’t take Your wife to, my son, that you would ie about rather than have your sister know about them, the ¢ goodness’ of them never comes back to refresh youn and gladden your heart as does the memory of that sixty-five cent picnic,

when you chattered nonsense with the girl you loved, and laughed just as the eaves rustled, because you couldn't help it. The “‘good time’ that wakes in the morning and wonders where it was and who saw it and where all its money is gone; the good time that tails itself off with a headache, there’s precious little fun in that. And it only takes a very little bitterness of that kindfto poison and cloud the memories of iyl'our past. It doesn’t take many such “‘good times,”” my boy, to mingle tears with your bréad and gall with your drink. The stini is the smallest part of the bee, but when you pick him up by it, though the rest of the bee were as large as an omnibus horse, yet would the sting outwei%h all the good, sweet, harmless, honey-laden portion of the bee, and you would think about it oftener and longer.—Burlington HawkEye. : .

‘ FACTS AND FIGURES. A CORRESPONDENT of a leading London weekly points out that there were in Ireland, in 1870, 526,628 tenants at will—that is, without any certainty or security of possession. Taking the average of each household at four, this gives 2,106,512 persons who are dependent upon sufferance for a home. THE receipts at seaboard ports, from January 1 to December 6, 1879, consisted of 10,444,156 barrels of flour and 293,593,409 bushels of grain. The corresponding receipts were in 1878, 9,128,756 barrels of flour and 238,614,760 bushels of grain; in 1877, 7,890,165 barrels of flour and 157,474,743 bushels of grain, and in 1876, 9,480,849 barrels of flour and 157,724,429 bushels of grain. —Exchange. THE change that has been effected in the foreign commerce of the United States of %ate years is more marked in the wolume of commodities imported and exported than in the value. During the last fiscal year our exports aggregated in weight 11,100,000 tons of 2,240 pounds each, against 2,500,000 tons in the fiscal year ending June 30, 1869; while the imports in the same period increased only from 3,500,000 tons to 3,800,000 tons.

A CORRESPONDENT of the American Machinist writesq Thirty years ago it required 1,800 day’s labor to construct a locomotive; now it will not exceed 1,500, and a far superior machine in every respect. There are 16,000 locomotives in the United States, and there are over 2,800 different pieces in each, all of which will have to be renewed every ten or twelve years. Locomotives that retain their identity twenty years or more, as claimed by some roads, are something like the boy’s jack-knife which he had ten years,but it ‘had nine new handlesand thirteen new blades. The present capacity of all the shops is not far from 1,700 locomotives per year, and the different roads build in their own repair shops about 100 ‘more, making 1,800 ayear inall. Now, allowing fifteen years as the avera%e life of an engine, you will see that the shops can build 27,000 in the meantime, showing that the present capacity of our locomotive shops need not he extended for a long time to come. THE receipts of grain and flour at the Western lake and river ports, from January 1 to December 6, 1879, consisted of 6,458,798 barrels of flour and 240,560,113 bushels of grain. These figures represent a large increase on the receipts of previous years, which consisted, in 1878, of 5,422,283 barrels of flour and 218,834,834 bushels of grain; in 1877, of 4,728,677 barrels of flour and 161,875,799 bushels of grain; and in 1876, of 5,260,057 barrels of flour and 165,670,587 bushels of grain. . The main portion of this increase, however, was in the movement of the old crop rather than in the movement of the crop of this year, as the receipts at the Western lake and river points, during the period from August 1 to December 6, consisted, in 1879, of 2,840,933 barrels of flour and 119,987,299 bushels, of grain, while the corresponding receipts in 1878 were 2,425,624 barrels of flour and 111,659,412 bushels of grain.—Ezchange. : .

THIRTY-FOUR railways reporting to the New York Stock Exchange show an increase in gross earnings during the month of November of $1,664,143, the gross earnings in November being $12,559,024, against $10,894,881 in Ngovember, 1878. Twenty-nine companies report an increase during the. period, from January Ist to November 30th, of $7,028,542, the %ross earnings in 1879 being $103,539,388, and, during the first eleven months of 1878, $96,510,846. The largest increase reported by any company in November was that of the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul, amounting to $291,788, and the largest increase reported during the first eleven months of the present year was that of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe, amounting to $2,112,588. The improvement in traffic has been nearly universal, as twenty-eight out of thirtyfour companies reported increased receipts in November, and twenty out of twenty-nine companies report an increase in gross earnings during the first eleven months of the present year.— Ravlway World. : —<¢“Where is our imerican Navy?” shrieks an exchamge. If this excited editor is laboring under the impression that it is concealed in this town he is mistaken. We haven’t seen anything of the American Navi, and we are in the vicinity of the Schuylkill Canal a good deal, too. If the na\} is lost the grice. of it should be deducted from ecretary Thompson’s salariy. We told him six months ago that if he did not put bells on the necks of our steam rams, the entire navy would wander away and lose itself. He said he could get up another one just as good inside of two weeks, and now let us see him do it.—Norristown Herald.

—Boys sustain the same relation to men that the buds do to full-grown flowers. Good men cannot be grown without first having good boys. Save the boys from vice and crime, give them a food training, physically, morally and mentally, amf the prosperity of the Nation is assured.—Lansing Republican, e

—Qcean navigation is a business in which the rich man risks his money and the poor man risks his life.

9 Youths’ Department. TIORB PARROT. ; WHEN but a little girl was I, There moved into a house, near by, A stranger lady, whom, we heard, : ‘Was owner of a curious bird That past all other birds was wise; That tlsélked and laughed and cried, and would, ‘When it was e%\wstioned, make replies . That showed each word it understood: A bird, it rather seemed to me, That must a captive fairy be. So, having asked at home consent, One morning to her door I went, And asked the lady if I might ; ‘Have of the wondrous bird a sight. As green as meadow-grass in spring— Except its lonq., red tail—it swung ; In its great cage’s gilded ring, | To which with stout black feet it clung: Its mistress stroked its glossy head: ; ¢ Speak to the lady, Poll,” she said. ‘ Come, Polly, pretty Polly, say ‘* How do you (fi)-?' ‘* A pleasant day;’ | Stretch out your claw for her to shake; | Does Polly want a piece of cake? Laugh, Polly, laugh, * Ha, ha! Ho, ho!’ ”’ In vain she coaxed the sullen bird: It not one cunning trick would show; It would not speak a single word; But, when to give it figs I tried, ; It bit my hand so hard, I cried. Soon Yassed my aching finger’s smart; Long lived its memory in my heart: A parrot seemed no more to me The fairy bird it used to be. One may have all things bright and gay; All honors to one’s lot may fall; A selfish, disobliging wa.{r, A spiteful temper spoils it all. The bird that not one word would say This lesson taught to me that day. Marian Douglas, in -Nursery.

. THE TWO SQUIRRELS. A ONCE there were two squirrels, who lived neighbors to each otherin a great forest. One pleasant but frosty day,when the nuts were dropping, they both started out from their holes in the big chestnut trees, and began to frisk about in the sunshine and to chatter and eat nuts.' These two squirrels looked just alike, but, in reality, they were very different; for one of them, after Playing a few minutes, began to fill his cheeks with nuts, and scamper off to his hole, to pack them away. But the other kept on playing and eating, and seemed to think of nothing but having a good time. F o ' “Why don’t you work part of the time?” said the busy squirrel. ¢¢Don’t you know that a long, cold winter is coming, when all these nice nuts will be covered with snow?’’

““There will be plenty of time to work before the snow comes. . We don’t have weather like this every day, and lam going to enjoy myself while it lasts. I can work when the sun doesn’t shine so warm and bright. If you choose to spend all of your time working, you can. But as for me, I intend to enjoy myself.” “So do I,” said the smart squirrel, “but I intend to get my work done first. After I get my hole full of nuts. I shall have nothing to worry about. No matter how hard the wind blows, or how deep the snow is, I shall have enough for all winter. I am well and strong to-day, and it is pleasant to work out here in the sunshine, but to-mor-row I may be sick or it may storm. : . *So I shall work, and you may play, All this bright October day; ; But when the storms of winter roar, & Don’t come begging at my door.” | So the dagrs passed on. Up and down, up and down, the busy squirrel went, until his hole was full to running over with ripe fat nuts. But the lazy squirrel played and frisked about, filled his stomach instead of his .cheeks with nuts, and laughed at those who were wasting such pleasant days in labor. But at last one morning when he waked up he was surprised to find how cold it seemied. He peeped out of his hole, and behold! it was snowing. The ground was already covered an inch eep. 3 ““ Whew!” exclaimed he, “‘the snow has come early, this year. It surely is not time for winter yet. I must go to work, after this melts away, as it surely must, and lay in my food for winter. But as he looked around at the bare branches of the trees, and heard the wind whistling through them, he thought to himself; ¢ this certainly seems like winter, but it cannot be possible that it has come so soon. But I must see what I can find for breakfast. I guess I can scratch away the snow, and get a few nuts.”” So out he went, and as he passed his neighbor’'s home, he glanced up slyly tosee if she were loofiing out. He felt ashamed. He went off quite a distance, and fintling a spot where he remembered he saw some nuts the day before, commenced to scratch away the snow. He found several, but it was cold work, and made his paws ache. He went back to his nest, wondering what he should do, if winter had really come in earnest. All day long the snow kept falling. Night came, and he had to go to beg without any supper. In the morning, he felt almost starved. He looked out; the snow was very deep, and more was falling. - He thought of all the nice nuts that lay under it, and wished that he had taken time in the warm, sunny days to gather them. But it was too late now. His heart was very heavy and his stomach very empty. He thought of his neighbor with her nest packed so full of walnuts, chestnuts and delicious little beechnuts. It made him very, very hunxrr{. As the day assed by, he felt as if he could net engure it any longer. So he went over to his neighbor's house and peeped in. There she was, as snug and warm as could be, cracking nuts, and singing to her mate: ; «I'm glad we worked when days were warm, | And saved for stormy wesather; : For had we not, in this bad storm | - We might have starved together.”

He stood there so ashamed that he could not sgeak for awhile. He had never begged before, and it was hard work—much harder than gathering nuts in the sunshine would have been—but he had to confess, at last, that he was nearly starved, and to ask fora few nuts. ' “1 should be glad to give you enough to last you all win‘er, if I Kad them to sgare,” said the squirrel, ‘‘ but I only laid in enou%h for my own family, and the signs foretell a very hard winter. I can give you a few for your breakfast thougg. So the poor squirrel took them, and went home. But they didn’t last long. Oh! the miserable hungry days that followed! The squirrel ;l)ined day after day for food. He was glad to get any-th-glg to eat. Sometimes he found a few nuts that had staid on the trees,

and when a thaw came, as it did occasionally, he could find some under the snow. Often he was glad even to chew bark, and nibble the buds from the trees. But it was a hard winter, and he was a thin, miserable-looking squirrel when spring came. But it taufiht him a good lessom, and when another fall came, and the nuts began to drop, there wasn't a busier squirrel to be found. When his neighbor saw how smart he was, she changed her old song a little. It was now, *First we’ll work and then we'll play, ' On this bright October day;” and he sang with her, at the top of his voice,—Lizzie C. Deering, in Examiner and Chronicle. Sl

Our ¢ Tip”—A Reminiscence. “Tlp's a going to die!”” and these words were spoken- by childish lips, quivering with such a burden of grief that you would hardly suppose that Tip was only a dog. Only a dog, but a good dog, for fourteen years a member of the household. The children’s constant playfellow and pet. =~ . - Tip was a black terrier, with the peculiar terrier antipathy for rats and strange cats, and with other personal qualities of a social nature which made him, to us all, a pattern of polite canine agreeableness. But Tip was dying now, sure enough. We. knew that his sports and runs were over when we found him that evening pawing feebly at the door. Poor, dumb animal; at that moment, so dim and incomprehensible to him, he wanted us, who had so frequently unraveled mysterious things to his brute intelligence, to be near him. J We carried him in gently, and with many tender, commiserating words laid him on the parlor rug, the softest place we could find for a (fog to lie. He had been ill before, and it had been a source of juvenile delight for us to doctor him back to life an% joyfulness again, but never so ill as this; and we all Félt,} aswe grouped ourselves about him, a woe-be-gone array of children’s faces, that our old playmate was going into the dark! Into the " dark, yes, that was what saddened us young .péople. If we could only tell where he was going. We had heard of no good place for our domestic pets. : o ; - Partly to suppress our own feelings, and partly to call some token of life from the prostrate dog in response, we talked to him in a child’s way; and the pleading look which would occasionally come in his eye made own eyes to swim and our voices to falter. . : : “Tip, don’t you remember the pleasant times we’ve. had. a fishing? You used to watch my cork bob upon the water, and jump and bark with delight when I landed a good one. Wake up, old fellow; we'll go again to-mor-row.’t. 2l b Poor dog! His fishing jaunts, when he served his young master so well as companion, were over., He made no response. . e : “Tippy, the old cat’s up in the crooked peach tree. = He will eat up ‘the bones you’ve got. hid under the currant busg. Go for him!” and we all l clapped our hands at the sudden recollection of the licketty-split chase he had given his feline enemy that day. But Tip had treedi/his last cat, and. the words which usually would drive him into a frenzy of excitement, he did not seem, to heed at all. He was quivering with the final pain. , . “Tippy, good dog, up up!”’ his young master leaned over him and said; ‘‘there’s rats in the stable, and in the shed, and under the old lumberpile in the corner of the garden. Don’t you hear them under the porch and in the cellar? Tip, Tip! rats, rats!” - e e " At that familiar martial clc'ly.,the old dog picked up his ears, raised his head in momentary expectancy, his tail struck the floor with three responsive raps—and he was dead. The children laid him away under the peach tree .of his former patient vigils, and it would have been a hard heart that would have smiled at the sincere sobs to be heard there. 'The death of the family dog is an event in the children’s life never to be forgotten. - Chicaqo Standard. '

Humors of Plagiarism. ‘ As A rule, says the Cincinnati Commercial, it is not safe to plagiarize; but to this rule, as to most others, there are exceptions. A minister of Western New York had been accused of preaching heresy, and was brought before the Presbitery to account for his offenses. He asked permission to deliver before the Presbytery a carefully-prepared discourse, in which he would set forth the doctrines he held. Permission was given him, and at the appointed time the sermon was delivered. At its close the members were called upon to pass judgment ugon it. . Some denounced it, several said it contained the rankest heresy, others considered it orthodox, and a few wisely declined to express an opinion. - Before the final vote was taken the accused.was permitted to make a statement. He told them that the sermon he had just preached was one of Dr. Chdlmers’s, and directed where it could be found: and remarked further that if they declared him a heretic on the strength of it they must declare the great Scotch divine to be one, too. Some of the brethren then got mad at the trick played upon them; but all concluded that the proceedings against the accused had better be dropped. oo S Another case of justifiable plagiarism was that of an eminent minister who outwitted a brother minister equally eminent. No. 1 entered the church of No. 2 just as he was about to announce his text. No. 1 tried to sit near the door, but No. 2"S£ied him, and invited him to a seat in the pulpit. No. 1 once in the pulpit No. 2 whispered to him, “You must preach for me this morning.” No. 1 said, “I came to hear you, - and I am going to.” No. 2 insisted, and No. 1 finally consented. So No. 2 removed his sermon from between the leaves of the Bible, placed it on a little shelf under the pulpit, and took a seat in the cong;'ega&a to enjoy his friend’s sermon. , No. 1, as he rose to preach, took the sermon from the shelf, and went thro;thh it word for word, no doubt greatly to the edification of No. Swhowow i . L e —lf time is rulgimone&. any man ‘ought to be worth his wait i ‘o%.