Ligonier Banner., Volume 14, Number 42, Ligonier, Noble County, 5 February 1880 — Page 3

Che Zigonier Banner, LIGO;NI.ER. ‘ ,:‘ :0r l'n: ; I;TOD;.ANA.’

: NEIGHBOR JONES: e I'M thinking, wife, of Neighbor Jones, the man with the stalwart arm— He li\;es in peace and plenty on a forty-acre i arm; v . . il g When men arenll around us with hearts and : hands a-sore, i : ' Who own two hundred acres, and still are wanting more. . .. ", : He has a pretty little farm, a pretty little house; ° i ‘ He has p loving wife within, as quiet as a mouse; | ke His children play around the door, their father’'s heart to charm, . ! Looking just as neat and tidy as the tidy little farm. , No weedts are in the comﬂéld,uo thistles in the oats; ; The horses show good keeping by their fine and glossy couats; i _ : The cows within the meadow, resting 'neath the beechen shade, : ; Learn all their gentle manners from a gentle milking maid. : : Within the .field on Saturday he leaves no cradled grain ! : ‘To be gathered on the¢ morrow, for fear of : coming rain: He li\ées in joy and gladness, and happy are his ays; ; : He keeps the Sabbath holy, his children learn his ways. ¥ / { He netVer had a lawsuit to take him to the own, . 2 ) For tl:le very simple reason there are no fences own; - 5 "The bar-rdom in the village for him has nota icharm; ; - i I can always tind my neighbor on his forty-acre - farm. ‘ His a%res are 80 few that he plows them very eep; ’Tis his own hands that turn the sod, ’tis his own hands that reap; : He has aPlace for éeverything, and everything in place; ; ; ; The sunshine smiles upon his fields, contentment on his face. : May we not learn a lesspn, wife, from prudent : neighbor Jones, i And not sigh for what we hdven’t got—give vent to sighs and groans? : | The rich aren’t always happy, nor free from | life’s alarms, | But blest are those who live content, though | small may be their farms. . — Atlanta (Ga.) Constitution.

VALENTINE DAY AT SEA. IT was the 12th of February that I stopped the hack on my way to the ‘ocean steamer, and alighted at a shabby stationer’s store to buy some reading matter for the voyage. While waiting for my order my eye caught sight of the gay-colored valentines, and suddenly, to the amazement -of the shop-keeper, 1 ordered so many of them . that he must have thought I was intendin§ to paper my house; but I hurried off to the ship without satisfying his curiosity. , " I was fortunate enough to have some acquaintances on board, who, in turn, had theirs, and tiu’s the prospect of a general acquaintanceship, which is so essential to the pleasure of ocean travel, was very fa.vorablz{l ~Among the goodlooking young women on board was one pre-eminently {begntiful. '‘She was in the company off anj old,man, whose apparently jealous fvi'ﬁilance over her naturally heightened her charms. =

The names.on the passenger list of Colonel and Miss Parke were the only clue to their identitfy. I begged Mrs. Ray, who, with my friend, her husband Fred, was taking her bridal trip, to bring about an interview. But she was a timid little woman, and thought of breaking through the old man’s reserve very much as she would have thought of storming an enchanted castle to rescue a captive Princess. The father and daughter kept close to each other, as if prepdred to discourage all advances, and they neither talked much to each other nor seemed interested in the. chat-. ter of their fellow-passengers. Although it was calm the next day neither of them appearéd, and I learned that the old man was keepin% his state-room and the handsome %'u was staying to take care of him. sat almost alone on deck in the bright sun and fresh breeze, and to pass the time took out a favorite cousin’s letter containing her photograph. I carelessly dropped it, when the wind sent it skwrrying over the deck around to the other side of the saloon. I expected every second to see it blown into the sea. It was.suddenly stopped by the folds of a dark | dress, and a woman sat gazing at it. -Asl came up she raised her beautiful face to mine and said with undisguised surprise: _, : ‘“ Why, it’s Lottie Gray.” 5 It was my turn to be surprised, but I stooped and handed the picture to Miss Parke, and the n.rgmoving my hat, presented her with my card, which read: “ MR. 'ARTHUR GRAY.” ““You know her, then?’ I said, in a tone of timid respect. v “Oh, yes, we are great friends,”’ she replied, lgoking nervously around. ~ ““Then, as I"am her cousin, I hope you will grant me the pleasure of your acquaintance. I‘'have heard her speak of youin terms which warrant any man’s wanting to know you. This is Nina, is it not?”’ :

She blushed deeply as she answered: “] am Miss Parke, Nina Parke. I ought to have told you. I think father will require my attention,”’ ghe said, offering to rise. ; “Not in the least,” I said, boldly pushing my advant’a%e. ‘¢ Sea-sick people need to be neglected, and the servants are sure to see to that. Do you think it good?’’ I asked, referring to the picture. But she did not answer. [ thought she was shy, perhaps, and resolved to put a stop to that. (L ‘Lottie's a good little thing, isn't she?’ said I. “She’s quite a pet of mine.” . ; : This aroused her. o ‘“ Fancy anybody’s Fatronizing Lottie Gray as a good little thing. I wish she could hear you,” she exclaimed, earnestly and indignantly. I didn’t, for if there was any patronizing to be done between her and myself Lottie was the one that was capable of it. However, this difference of expression broke the ice, and it must have been more than an hour before Mr. and Murs. Ray interrupted our absorbin% conversation. Fred caught his wife’s arm and was dragging her away, but I -called them up and introduced them, -adding: e o “‘Miss Parke is an intimate friend of ‘my cousin, which we ought to have found out twenty-four hours ago.” Mrs. Ray's natural sweetness of disposition soon put the two on the best of

terms with each other, and in a few hours they were fast friends. In faet, the young girl was lonely and very g]ady of companionship. She seemed so concerned for the welfare of her father ' that I think we even lost some of the prejudice his surliness had excited. After the passengers had retired that nicht a man stealthily crept into the cabin. The steward brought in a small glass show-case and set it on the table, while the first intruder fastened a long pasteboard box, with a slit in it, to the side of the case. 'l'hen, contrary to the rules of the midnight prowler, he sat down to the table with a light, wrote and rewrote, corrected and erased, until he feit some degree of satisfaction with his work, J)ut it into an envelope, and, sealing, addressing and dropg‘i,ng it into the %)ox, left the cabin. as this his will, and was he about to commit suicide? ‘ b The next morning the Captain anncunced that it was St. Valentine’'s Day, and said that those who wished to buy them could do so at the show-case of one of the young boys who had consented to act as salestnan. The proceeds, he added, would be devoted to the relief of two sick children in the steerage. The gou‘ng merchant soon found himself doing a brisk trade. The purchasers, remembering the charity, paid handsomelly, and the enterprise proved very popular. . : Just before luncheon the Captain came to distribute the contents of the letter bag. The young and gayer members of the party assembled in noisy expectation. To my great disappointment Miss Parke did not appear, and I sent Mrs. Ray to fetch her. She came after some dels:iy, saying that she knew noone on board who would be at all likely to send her any, though she enjoyed the fun others found in it. J “But,” I said, ‘““you may have a score of unknown admirers who may take this opportunity of declaring themselves.”’ “I do not think anyone would dare to be so rude! Do you?”’ ¢ O, perhaps not,” I said. ' - She received onec from me, however, a be-doved and be-cupided thing, and another from [Fred. But, much to her surprise, the last one in the bag proved to be for her also.. She looked at it, was startled, and then flushed with anger. She thrust it back into the envelope, went into her state-room, and did not appear until dinner. We were sitting on deck that evening when she drew an envelope from her pocket, saying, gravely: “I'm going to tell you about this. See what somebody has had the impertinence to write to me! I am so indi%sant; and papa would be in a rage.” ith mock surprise and indignation I read my own effusion, which, I am bound to say, sounded to me then not only impertinent, but intensely silly. Miss Parke referred to one part of it with especial indignation. ‘ ‘“Fancy his saying that I don’t know him, but that the admiration he will show in his eyés when I meet them will reveal hilm to me. I wish papa was well, and I wouldn’t mind so much; and I will have to trust you or Mr. Ray to save me from any ru(feness.” What copld I do after this but assure her of my protection, and declare boldly that if I once intercepted one of ‘‘the horrid man’s” %la.nces I would kick him into the sea? Miss Parke at once objected to my carrying matters quite so far, and I coulg only repeat my promise to defend her for my cousin Lottie’s sake. ‘“How often Lottie has talked to me of you!” she said; ‘it seems odd to think of it now.”’

~ *“And what did she say?’ I asked, glowing with a consciousness of the tone of my cousin’s remarks about Nina. To my delight I saw a little flush mount to her cheek as she answered hurriedly: ‘O, nothing special. She used to say she wanted me to mieéet you, and that she liked you very much.” : ““Well, I'm thankful that her wish was granted,”’ I replied. In spite of my increasing interest in her I was very seasick after this and so was she. - When I crawled out again she was nowhere to be seen, but the old gentleman, her father, was comfortably settled in the saloon with his books and papers, having apparently got over his attack. I hesitatéd a moment and then walked boldly up to him, explained my relationship to ‘his daughter’s friend, and described the accident which had led to our acquaintance. I begged if there wasany way in which I could serve him, either now or in the future, that he would call upon me. His countenance, I thought forbidding, melted at the mention of his daugf;ter’s name, and he was so courteous and civil, and thanked me in such a fine way for mly kindness to her, that I almost fell in love with him, too! He asked me to present him to my friends, the Rays, and it proved that Mrs. Ray was a daughter of an old friend of his, which further strenﬁb ened our friendship. By and by Miss Nina came out, gentler than before. The next two daiys were passed so pleasantly that I was sorry enough when we sighted land. However, I learned that %Ir. and Miss Parke’s destination was in the south of France, and as I found my business would take me there we parted with the expectation of meeting again. And in three wecks more we did so. I finished my affairs in London and posted off to the cortinent with all speed. Oh, those ha‘E})y days that followed! sailing on the Mediterranean; walking and driving down by the shore; sitting under §alm trees and in’ rose-gardens with Nina, who grew lovelier every moment. I seemed to have satisfied the old man’s inquiries about my relatives and my Ipro‘fem;ion which he put with adroit delicacy; if he divined wgat' was going on, it was plain he did not disapprove. v One lovely evening as Nina and I were sitting on the little veranda of their house, her father reading within, I said, suddenly: ¢“Miss Nina, have you ever forgiven the author of that impudent valentine?”’ i ¢ Oh! I’ve almost forgotten him,’’ she replied, ‘‘he was too rude and disagreeabqe to be remembered.” ~_ ““8o when you do think of him you don’t think in a very kind way?’ ¢ Of course I don’t; but he must have

ot over his admiration for me or have ﬁeen only in fun about it. I never found out who {e was.”! - ‘¢ And if you did find out, and were to meet him, would you always dislike him for it?"’ “Of course I would. A man whom I did not know had no right to do such a thing.” : ‘“‘But suppose you did know him,” I ‘ said. _ Bt 1 didn’t.” o ¢ I beg your pardon, but you did.” ~ She opened her great eyes and stood marveling. ¢ Why, I only knew you and Mr:. Ra(i/ Surely it was not Mr. Ray,” she said. ' ““No, it was not Mr. Ray,” ladmitted, meekly. “You!” she exclaimed, in amaze‘ment; ‘“why, what on earth made you do such a thing?” “I can’t tell you that unless you'll tell me what you think now about the author of the valentine.”’ ‘““I always said he was ‘a horrid man,’ ’’ she answered, smiling archly, “and I must stick to it.” : “If you do,” I replied, ¢‘there’s nothing left for me bur to walk down and leap into the sea. You know that was to be the fate of the sinner when discovered, and only your clemency can reprieve him.” “¢Don’t go until you tell me what it was that made you do it,”’ she said, laughingly. I leaned forward then and whispered four little words in her ear. An hour later and I wished her good-night. . “One more question,’’ I said, in alow voice, as I kept her hand in mine: “ When?” : ; 0, I don’t know about that,” she answered, laughing softly; ¢if papa approves, and you get as much better and wiser in the future as you have in the past, and you promise never to tell, and half a score of other things, why, I’ll say next Valentine’s Day—perhaps.”’ —BSherrill Kirr, in Detroit Free Press.

A Lost Husband. ONE of the officials' of Justice alley was lately waited on by a man who said his name was Smith, and who volunteered the further information that he was about to get married. The only stumbling-block was the fact that he would not agree to leave off drinking. He had come to consult his Honor on that point and see what was advisable. ‘“Well, I'd promise, I guess,” replied the Justice. ‘lt's a bad habit, anyhow, and the sooner you break it the better.”’ : , “Well, I guess I will,”” answered the man, and he went out. In an hour he returned and said: : ‘¢ What do you think? After I promised that, she wanted me to promise to leave off chawin’ tobacco!”’ “Well, I'd do that, too,” said his Honor.: ‘lt is another bad habit, and yo,l’l’ll feel all the better for breaking it. : Smith went awa, again, and when he returned he lookeg' twice as solemn as a frozen whitefish. ““And now she wants me to promise to stop swearing!’ he gasped, as he fell into a chair. o : “Is she a nice woman?’ asked his Honor. . ¢*Sheis.”’ ‘““And you truly love her?” : 1 do” . ‘““ Well, then, I'd stop swearing. Itis a senseless habit, anyhow, and you lose nothing by promising.”’ The man concluded to promise, and departed quite happy, but when he once more returned, after an interview with the bride-elect, he was mad. ‘“There won’t be no marriage,” he announced; as he sat down and pounded the table: “Why? What now?” ““What now? Why, when I promised to stop drinking, quit chawin’ and leave off swearing she said I must promise to clean up, shave up and go to church with her!” : ‘¢ And you won't do it?”’ ‘““Judge!” replied Smith, after a struggle with his mental agitation, ‘do you silfppose I’m going at 1t and cha.nﬁe myself over to a gentleman just for the sake of marryin aforty—g'ear-old widow with a mole on %er chin? Never! You can go home! There won’t be any splicing to;do, and from this time out I’l§ drink and chaw and swear around four 'times werser than ever! It’s too much—it’s the last straw on the camel’s back!'’—Detroit Free Press.

An Armenian Wife, A GENTLEMAN on a visit to Armenia writes: “I went, the other day, with the pastor, to callupon a leadin%l family. The master of the. house showed us ever attention, and asked us to stay and eat supper with him. We told him that if he would bring all his family to§ether to eat with us we would stay. ou must know that no husband in-this country, unless he be a Protestant, ever eats with his wife. But our host saw the pointin our request, and, after a little Eo_od-h'umored chat upon the subject, he agreed to our proposition. The food was brought in und set upon the table; the father and mother of our host entered the room, and in came his five ﬁne-looking children. All gathered around the table, and we were asked to “situp.” *‘No,” we said, “vour wife is not here. We want to see all your family,”” and we reminded him, laughingly, of his bargain. Off he went, and we heard him in the next room coaxing her to come in just to please us. At last she complied, lookinﬁ sheepish and scared. Never before had that woman ‘been asked to eat with her husband. A blessing was asked, and all began to eat —all but three of us. . The pastor had whispered to me that although the wife sat at the table she would not eat; and so it proved. When we were urged to begin, we good-naturedly re liecf that we were waiting to see Lucig. eat first. Then there was more coaxing. We stood firm and carried out our point. But a defeat was coming, Presuming on victories alrea,di gained, we went a step further. Ta ing up a '})iece of sugar, the pastor asked the wife what it was. But in the presence of the mother-in-law the woman dare not utter a word. We entreated, we scolded, we urged, but all in° vain. Not one word could we extort from Lucia. The old moth-er-in-law said, in a half warning, half apologetic tone, ‘‘She dare not speak.”

i - FACTS AND FIGURES. During last year seven ‘‘opera ‘houses’’ were burned in Texas. They ~were built of pine boards. , THE Normans revived round dances in the twelfth century; the Behemians invented the redowa{, the Poles the polka and the Hungarians the mazourka and galop. The cotillon is as old as the time of Louis XIV. - THREE HUNDRED and ninety-one soldiers’ orphans, now under the care of Penbsylvania. are to be discharged from various soldiers’ orphan schools during the Ppresent year, as they reach the age of sixteen years. ABOUT 15,000 varieties of colors are employed by the mosaic workers of Rome, and each of these varieties has about fifty shades; so that in all 750;000 tints are afforded, which the artist can distinguish with the greatest facility. 'L | AN elm tree at Wyoming, N. Y., is said to be the largest in Western New York. The trunk at the base measures twenty-four feet in circumference, and the spread of the branches, thirty-four feet from the ground, is one hundred feet in diameter. THE number of suicides in France is at the rate of 628 per million for widowers, 273 for bachelors, and 240 for married men, and that of offenses against the person is fifty per cent., and against property forty-five per cent. less on the part of married than unmarried men. o ‘ - Frowm statistics just published it appears that there are about 75,000 houses in Paris, exclusive of public buildings. Their total value is estimated at £23,000,000. The superficies of the capital is put down at 20,000 acres. There are 600,000 yards of sewers. The population numbers 1,990,080, or about 100 inhabitants per acre, ; DUuRING the year 1879 the deaths in New Hampshire of persops ‘who 'attained the age of 90 years or over were 124, divided by sex into 45 men and 79 women. The ratio was one in about 2,566 of the population of the State. The average age of the men was 92 years 7months and 26 days, and that of the women 93 years 5 months and 16 days. In the whole number the average was 93 years 1 month and 20 days. ‘ THE highest inhabited houses in the world are. says the Scientific American, in the Western Hemisphere; one, a miner's house on Mount Lincoln, Colorado, | is 14,157 feet high. Another, in Peru, a railway village, called Galera, is 15,645 feet high. Near this place is the celebrated railway tunnel of La Cima, which is being bored through the peak of the mountain. This tunnel is 3,847 feet long, and is 600 feet above the level of perpetual snow. | THE production of cider in France at--tains the very respectable annual value of $20,000,000. Much stress is being laid upon the importance of improxgng the quality as a substitute for the failing supply of wine and also as an article of export. Consignments of cider from France to South America have been made with profits, the article arrivingl in good condition, and finding a ready sale. Does this not suggest an oppor- ‘ tunity for our American farmersP— Farmers' Review.. | . | TaE following tabular statement, prepared by Sharon Turner with great research and labor, will present a proximate:idea of the growth of Christiunity through all the centuries. The number of believers at the close of each century was as follows: * Century. About.| Century. About. First. ... ... 500,000 Tenth.... .... 50,000,000 5ec0nd....... 2,000,000 Eleventh..... 70,000,000 Third.... ... 5,000,000 Twelfth....... £0,000,000 F0urth....... 10,000,000/ Thirteenth... 75,000,000 Fifth......... 15,000,000 Fourteenth... 80,000,000 Sixth.... ..... 20,000.000 Fifteenth.....loo,ooo,ooo Seventh..... 24,000,000'Sixteenth . ...125,000,000 Eighth....... 30,000,000 Seventeenth.lss,ooo,ooo Ninth.... .... 40,000,000, Eighteenth .. 200,000,000

An Old Stage Driver’s Reminiscences. THE Boston Journal gives some reminiscences of an old New England stage driver, from which we take the following: ‘“Yes, I've carried people whose wives, husbands, daufhters or sons were sick nigh unto death, and they fussing and fretting because the cattle didn’t get over the reoad faster, and blaming me because there was so many hills to climb.. I remember one mdn who had a sick wife at a house on the road, and he heard just afore I started from Boston that she was dying. "We had a light cargo that trip, and the man kept urging me to go faster, he was so anxious. I was driving as fast as I dared to send the cattle, ’cause it was a pretty hot day, and told him so. He asked me how much my horses were worth. I said about seventy dollars apiece. Horses were cheap in those days. He just pulled his wallet right out and counted out two hundred and cighty dollars, handed it to me and said he wanted: to buy them, but that he must drive. Well, as I could get as ood ones for the momey, and seeing ﬁow worked up he was, I just J)ut the money in my pocket and handed the lines to him, telling him to go ahead if he wanted to, and didn’t he go? He just kept the long whip-lash tickling the flanks of the leaders all the time we was on level ground, and the only breathers they V"got;, was when they climbed a hill. e finally reached the house his wife was stopping at about three hours ahead of time; he found her alive, and rushing from the house made me a present of the team. I refused them, but he insisted, and so, as the cattle were all right the next day, not hurt at all, I congcluded to let the company keep the horses and I the money. | ‘I was once carrying a young couple —girl and her sweetheart—to Haverhiﬁ. I had taken them up at different places on the road. Pretty soon the young fellow was a urging me to drive faster, and I see that he and the girl was kinder nervous like, and it wasn't till the lg-irl herself coaxed me, with tears in her eyes, that I began to drive faster. Then they told me they were running away to get married, and as soon as the girl was missed her folks would be a.!%;; her. You see I was young myself then, and so I just sent them cattle for all they was worth, and when I pulled up at tﬂe parson’s house they was white with foam. I went inside the house with the cquple and saw them hitched together, and just as we was & coming out up comes the %irl’s father and bmher.‘buf, it was too late. I know [ had a warm enemy in that ‘household for years after.” §

- 9 Youths’ Department. -_— - CLAP YOUR HANDS, BARBY. WHAT is my pretty one waiting to see? : Hark! how the kettle is singing for tea! Mother is here, and the pussy beside; Why do the baby’s eyes open 8o wide? ° First at the table, she’s sitting alone, In her high-chair, like a Queen on her throne. See! how her rognish eyes brim with delight! Clap your hands, baby, for father’sin sight! Oh, the sweet kisses those rcse-lips will get! Oh, what a world of love waits for my pet! Even the clock, with its dull, drowsy tick, Seems to say, ‘Father is coming, quick, quick!” There shuts the gate! how my babysbird knows! _ ; Oh, what a sweet, joyful welcome she crows! Sing away, kettle, 80 loud and so clear; Clap your hands, baby, for father is here! ; : —George Cooper, in Nursery..

} NANNETTE’S LIVE BABY. A Goop %ood many years ago, in the City of Philadelphia, lived a&ﬁttle girl, named Nannette. One summer afternoon her mother went to pay a short visit to her aunt, who lived 'near by, and gave her little girl permission to amuse herself on the front door-steps until her return. So Nannette, in a clean pink frock and white apron, playing and chatting with her big, wax ‘“Didy,” which was her doll’'s name, formed a pretty picture to the passersby, some of whom walked slowly in order to hear the child's talk to her doll. ““ You’se a big, old girl,”” she wenton, smoothing out Didy’s petticoats, ‘and I’ve had you for everand ever, and I'se mos’ six. But you grow no bigger. You never, never cry, you (ﬁ)n’t. You'se a stupid old thing, and I'm tired of you, I am! I b’leve you's only a make b’leve-baby, and I want a real, live baby, I do—a baby that will cry ! Now, don’t you see,’’ and she gave the doll’s head a whack--*‘that you don’t cry? If anybody should hit me so, I'd squeam m-u-r-d-e-r, I would! And then the p’lissman would come, and there would be an awful time. There now, sit up, can’t you? Your back is like a broken stick. Oh, hum, I'm tired of wyou, Didy.” Leaving the doll leaning in a onesided way against the door, Nannette posed her dimpled chin in her hands, and sat quietly looking into the street. Presently a woman came along with a bundle in her arms, and seeing Nannette and *‘Didy”’ in the.doorway, went up the steps and asked the little girl if she would not like to have a real little live baby. : ' . ¢ One that will cry?’ eagerly asked Nannette. ‘“ Yes, one that will cry, and laugh, too, after a bit,”” answered the woman, all the time lookin% keenly about her ; and then in a hushed voice she asked the child if her mother was at home. ‘“No—she’s gone to see my auntie, shall I call her?’ replied Nannette, jumpin% to her feet, and clapping her hands, from a feelinF as if in some way she was to have her long-wished-for live baby. ; : ‘“ No; don’t call her; and if you want a baby that will cry, you must be very quiet, and listen to me. Mark me now —have you a quarter of a dollar; to pay for a baby?”’ ‘“I guess so,”” answered Nannette; “T've a lot of money up stairs.” And running up to her room, she climbed, into a chair, took down her money box from a shelf, and emptying aliy her pennies and small silver coin into her apron, ran down aEain. ¢“'This is as much as a quarter of a dollar, isn’t it?"? The woman saw at a glance that there was more than that amount, and hastily taking poor ‘little Nannette’s carefully-hoarded pennies, she whispered: ¢ Now'carry the baby up stairs and keep it in your own little bed. Be careful to make no noise, for it is sound asleep. Don’t tell anybody you have it, until it cries. Mind that. When rou hear it cry, you may know it is {un . = Tﬁén the woman went hurriedly away, and Nannette never saw her again. : » Nannette’s little heart was nearly breaking with delight at the thought of having a real, live baby; and holding the bundle fast in her arms, where the woman had placed it, she beFa.n trudging up stairs with it. Finally, puffing and panting, her cheeks all aglow, she reached her little bed, and, turning. down the covers, she-put in the bundle and, covering it up carefully, she gave it some loving little pats, saying softly, ‘“ My baby, my real, little live baby that will cry!”’ And then she carefully tripped out of the room and downstairs again. iy ; Very soon Nannette’s mother came home, bringin% her a fine large apple, which drove all thoughts of the baby from her mind, and it was onlg when night came, and she was seated at the supper-table with her papa and mamma that she remembered her baby; but at that time, suddenly, from somewhere that surely was in the house, came a baby’s cry; and clapping her hands, her eyes dancixag with joy, Nanpette began to slide down from her chair, saying, with great emphasis, ‘ That's my baby.” : | Her mother laughed. ¢ Your baby, Nannette?”’ o o |

““ Yes, mamma, my baby; don’t you hear it cry? ’Tis hungry!”’ And she started to run up-stairs, but her mother called her back. ““Why, Nannette, what ails you? What do you mean about your baby?” she asked in surprise. ¢«Why MY BABY, mamma! I bought it for a’quarter of a dollar! a baby t%a.t cries—-not a mis'ble make b’leve baby. Oh, how it does cry! it must be awfzy;l hungry!’ And @way she darted up the stairs. - Her father and mother arose from their seats in perfect amazement, and followed their little %irl to her room, where, iying upon her bed, was a bundle from which came a baby’s cries. Nannette's mother began to unfasten the wrappings, and sure enougl:x there was a wee little ¥irl not more than two or three weeks old looking up at them with two great, wet eyes. : Of course Nannette was questioned, and she related all she could remember of her talk with the woman from whom she bought the baby, Her papa said perhaps the baby hady beenjstolen, and

that something had' been given to it to make it sleep. ; e : ‘“But what shall we do with it?” asked both the father and mother. ‘Do with it?"* eried Nannette. ‘¢ Why, it is my baby, mamma ! I paid all my money for it. It cries, it does! 1 will keep it always.”’ : : ‘ =i It would take a laiger book than Wide-Awake in which to tell all of Nannette’s experiences in taking care of “my baby,” as she called the little girl, whom she afterward named Victoria, in honor of the then young Queen of England. £ 3 y\? ictoria is now a woman, and she lives, as does Nannette, in the city of Philadelphia. She: has a little girl of her own, ¢“mos’ six’’ who is named Nannette for the good little *sistermother,”” who once upon a time bought her mamma from a strange woman for a quarter of a dollar, as she thought. And this other little Nannette never tires of hearing the romantic story of the indolent “Du{f'” and the ‘‘real little live baby that will ery.”’--Mary WagerFiske, tn Wide-Awake. ”

Why Patty Spoke in Chureh. . Irthe minister had asked any other question, it never would have happened. If it had been on any other day than that one particular day, it never would have happened. - If any other boy in the Wwhole wide universe excepting Robby had been with Patty, it never.would have happened. . - e $ o Above all, if it had been two strapgers standing before the altar instead of Sister Susie and Willy Norris, it never could have happened. - But it did happen, and that is all I know about it. - ¢ If any one here é)lresent,” said the minister, looking kindly upon the sweet bride with the brave youn% man beside her, and then glancing calmly over the little churchful of wedding—guests, “knows of any reason why this man and this woman should not be joined together in the holy bonds of matrimony, let him speak now, or —" ‘‘ What's all that?’ whispered Robby, in great scorn, to Patty. I guess he doesn’t know. There ain't any bounds of materony about it.”? That was enough. Robby was her oracle. Up jumped Patty, anxious to set things right, and determined that the wedding' should go on, now that Sister Susie had on her white dress and oranlge-ﬂowers and everything. ““I do!’ she called out, in a sweet, resolute voice, and holding up a warning finger. ‘I do. Please wait,. sir! There ain’t any materony about it at all. . They came on purpose to be married!”’ ‘ : ““O" course they did!”’ muttered Robby. ; Everybody stared at Patty. It was a dreadful moment, but the wedding went on, all the same.. = And Patty and Robby were the very first to kiss the bride.—Joel Stacy, in St.” Nicholas for February. :

A Pennsylvania Hunter’s Battle With a - . Panther. HENRY LASCAR is an old hunter who has been familiar with the forests in this neighborhood for many years. He came into the village, on Monday last, with torn clothes; the leather of his high boots cut into strips, his face seamed with ugly v%ashes, and- his general appearance indicating that he had been having a conflict with a threshingmachine or a grizzly bear. He was reticent at first in regard to his unseemly appearance; but, after being warmed a little, he said that about ten days ago he started out on one of his expeditions, with' the intention of being away perhaps a week'or two. -He built a small shanty of hemlock boughs, where he spent his ni%bts sleeping before his camp fire. - The warm weather had not melted all the snow in the depths of the forest where he was, and one morning he noticed the foot-prints of a large animal, supposing at first they were those of a bear. ﬁ"‘ut, after closer examination, Lascar knew that a very large panther had passed. Animals of this species have rarely been seen in this neighborhood of. late, many old woodsmen believing that theg are extinct not only hereeﬁ)outs but throughout the State. ] : Lascar hesitated at first to follow up the trail, but his "hunter instincts got; the better of his caution, and he started. Over the pathless wilderness he wandered for several hours, passinF at length a place where the animal had cam%lht a pheasant and left its blood and - feathers scattered on the snow: The trail was fresh, and the hunter increased his caution, moving watchfully and slowly. Ina few minutes he stopped in a narrow ravine having high rocky walls on either side, and trees growing so thickly overhead that the spot was in deep shade. The footprints that he had been following all led to a hole in the rocky wall. Standing at a distance, he threw a stone into the hole, getting in response a snarl and a hiss that was not comfortable to hear. After waiting a few minutes, the hunter climbed up and, looking inteo the darkness of the hole, saw a pair of fiery red eies glaring at him. Then he raised his gun and with a hasty aim fired. The next instant he was knocked over, and before he could get to his feet again the animal was on him. It.seized the gun with its teeth, and bx“eakin% off the nipple rendered the piece useless. ‘Then, first with one paw and then with the other, the huge beast knocked the hunter about over the snow as a cat plays with a ‘'mouse. Lascar tried to draw his hunting knife, but at every attempt ge' was grevent’ed by a sharilfblow from ne of the animal’s paws. His face was scored deeply at every stroke, his clothes soon torn- into strips, and his whole body covered with blood. At lmtfth he managed to draw his knife and plunged the blade deep into the beast’s flank. It bounded away a few feet, lo%ked atzghe hunter a mmutil o(xltwo, and trotted away lifting one hin leg very carefully and disag%peuiqhin the woods. Lascar bound wup his wounds and, after a journey of nearly a day, returned home.—Lafayette dfners (Pa.) Cor. N. Y. Suni = -

- —A man having fallen down in a fit in a tailor’s shoF, an envious rival said, “That’s the only fit ever seen in that establishment,” £