Ligonier Banner., Volume 15, Number 30, Ligonier, Noble County, 11 November 1880 — Page 3

S (era . . ) : Che Zigoniey Banner, J. B S'.l‘()l:;:];;mnd Poicw LIGONIER, ::/ : INDIANA.

A NCW POEM BY TENNYSON. . ‘Charles Tennyson Turner, in whose memory this poem was written, was the brother of Alfred Tennyson and was himself a poet. He was born July 4, 1805, He gmduutcép at Cambridge in 1532, and became Vicar of Grasby. By the will of a relative,who bequeathed hima small estate, his surname of /** Tennyson’” was exchanged for that of * Turner.”” He died April 25, 1879. His brother, the poet-laureate, says ¢f his sonnets that some of them have all the tenderness of the finest Greek epigram, and that a few of them are among the noblest in our language. ; = / MIDNIGHT, JUNE 30,1879, ’ 3. - Midnight—in, no midsummer tune 5 The breakers lash the shore; " The cockoo of a joyless June . & Is calling out-of-doors. . And thou hast vanish'd from thine own To that /which looks like rest, . ; . True brother only to be known f A By those who leve theebest. : Y ” Midnight—and joyless June gone by, And from the deluged park = ' " The éuckoo of a worse July . - Is calling thro’ the dark. 3ut thou art silent under-ground, : And o'er thee streams the rain, ¢ True poet, surely to be found : " When Truth is found again. : . : 111, -And now to these unsummer'd skies The summer bird is stiil, ° T Far off a phantom cuckoo cries - From out a phantom'hills ; -~ . ‘And thro’ this midnight bréaks the sun Of sixty years away, . : " The light of days when life begun, ° - The days that seem to-day, o Ly , s . When all my griefsiwere shared with thee, ~ And all my hopesiwere thine— | As all thou wert was ong with mey : May all thou art be mine! : s : : /: . —Hurper's Magazine.

- GENTLEMAN JIM. - " That's what we all called him;, Sir— Gentleman Jim. | - 4t was in' the winter of '73.. . Ever been through the Lakes, Sir? Up the Soo and then on through Lake Superior as far as Marquette? ‘Well, that's where we weve that vear, twenty or thirty of us, geéttin’ out lumber for the Eagle Mills. o O, no! Notin Marquette. Marquette was a city, with- a -Mayor and a Board of Aldermen, oraded schools and’waterworks. even then. Not miany pine-trees growin’ in her streets, if she was voung! The Eagle Mills were nine miles out —up the railroad. . Not much of a settlement. Just the Mills and the company’s -office, and a great barn of a boardin’-house. and l{:?lf a dozen shanties, and one snug little house,not much bigger'n a bird's-nest, where Mr. Sterle —he - was our young boss, sir—had ‘brought his wife the year before. A queer place for a bride? Well, it was. Lonesome? That's no word for it. The piney woods had crowded close up round the Milis once, but the best of the trees had been cut downand the woods on one side had been burned over time and again. So now, as far-as you, could see toward the south there were blackened stumps and charred lozs, and here and there tall, bare trees standin’ out' against the sky, like black ghosts, as it were, ' ‘ » . Further on was what I once heard a high-flier of a lecturer call the ¢ forest primeval.”’ “You might have gone on for days and days, till you came out at ‘Mackinaw and nevern seen a white man’s face nor the smoké of his camp-fire. Beforé and behind stretched the narrow track that ran from Marquette to the ‘iron mines and the cars went thundering by many times a day. But there were noroads tospeak of, noneighbors; ‘and beyond the Mills were the woods where we were at work fellin’ the trees and/ doin' our level best to spoil that side, as we had t'other. For the woods are all right as long as you let ’em alone. It is onf‘y when men begin to meddle with 'em that they grow strange and awesomelike, with shadows comin’ and goin, : . - _But, as I'was a-sayin’ it was astrange place for a bride to.come to. We men wondered a-bit as o how she would take to the new life when we saw her step off the cars onto the little platform and look round over the wild place, witheves that wereas soft and dark as a young fawn’s. She wa'n’t over twenty—a slight young thing, - with brown hair all waves and little wind-blown curls, .and lips as red as strawberries. That was all we saw that day, for she put her hand right into her husband’s and he led her into the little house and shut the door behind ’em. L

But, bless you, sir, if there’s love inside the house it don’t seem to make ‘much difference to a true wife what's outside of it; and, as for her, she didn’t seem to be a bit more lonesome than that sparrow does on the bough yonder. Ever read the ¢ Arabian Nights,” sir? I thought so. Most folks has. Waell, you'd ha’ thought of 'ém if you could ha’ just stepped out o’ the wdods into that little house after she’d been there awhile. Flowers a-blossomin’ in the ‘windows and vine a-wanderin’ everywhere, and books and pictur's and "a pianner and all her little useless trinkets, such as women-folks set store by. It was just as pretty as a pictur’. - - I don’t know a great deal about women, not bein’ a married man myself and havin' lived in the woods mostly; but she seemed just as contented as the ‘ladies I’ve seen in the cities this winter. Anyhow, it brightened up the place for every man of us' just to catch glimpses of her now and then, with a flower in her hair; or sometimes of a summer evening, to hear her singin’ like allark or, leastwise, like a brown-thrasher.’ I ~don’t’ know much about larks, either, not bein’ used to’em. And of a Sun~day she used to sing hymns. It was as .good a 8 goin’ to meetin’, every wait, You think she might have been afraid sometime? Why, what was there to be afraid of? There wa'n’t a man about ‘the place who wouldn't ha’ laid down his Iri)fe' for her. - still, I don't say but what some women would ha’ been afraid; for there were half-breeds round and it was rough up there, no mistake. - But, if she was, she didn’t show it. + A good deal of snow up there? I %uess 80! You never saw snow. You on't know what it means, ; ‘ You've seen it three feet on a level? “Three feet! Humph! What would you think of seein’ tfme cars come in day -after day for weeks together between

two walls of snow as straight and solid as blocks of marble and so high yvou could only see the top o' the smokestack? What would you think o’ walkin’ on a snow-drift right up on to the roof of the highest mill? Or of walkin’ on the crust over a train of cars as completaly buried out of sight as a potato you've just planted? I've done that, as late as the seventeenth day of April, too. ‘ e o ~'l'he hardest of it was when thé/trains couldn’t run for days together and we were just shut intb that white world of snow. And that happened pretty often. No, sir, you folks down here don’t know anything about snow—the beauty of ‘it nor the terror of it either. = y -~ Last till midsummer? Well, that’s the queerest thing about,it. - When it goes, it makes a business of it. Itdon’t melt, and melt, and drizzle away by inches. It just sinks right down into the sandy soil and vanishes, and before yvou can catch your breath thére are green things and flowers -everywheré, and birds a-singin’, and all ‘he words are pink and white with May-flowers. You myake such a fussjabout ’em down here when you happen to find a: handful. Why, they used to blossom, out right under our feet in the mill-yard, and it was as much as we, could. do to, keep the dainty little beauties - off the railroad track! Faet, sir. 0 - . - Trailin’ arbutus? Well, yes, I believe that’s what some folks call it. DBut I was goin’ to tell you about Gentleman Jim. We got to callin’ him that, in the first place, because we were a set o’ blackguards, I suppose, and wanted to run some sort of a rig on him. He dropped down on us.one day out o’ the sky, as it were, and wanted work. John Smith had broke his leg the day:before, and Mr. Sterle ‘'was just goin’: up to Negaunee, to see if he. could find a ‘hand. So he looked Gentleman' Jim over sharply for a minute, and then stepped off the platform. ‘¢ All right,” says he. ¢There’s work-enough to do heye, if you can do it.”’ . - ~ ““Ican try,” says the fellow, quietly like. © And the next day he went into the woods. o . ,

I as foremian .0' the gang, and as was only my duty with a new hand, I watched him pretty close, and to this day sir, I can’t tell what it was about the man that madé me mistrust at once’t Lhe wa'n't quite one of us. But 'twa'n’t none ¢ my business, and so I said nothin’. ; "The mén didn’t take to him at first. They sneered at him behind his back, and called him ‘“the dandy”’ and ¢ Miss Nancy.” I don’t know why. His clothes were as rough -as the roughest; but somghow he wore ’em different-—wore ’em like a man who had been used to better ones. He'd been with us a day or two when some one called .out: . '*¢ Look-a-here, stranger, what might yer name be, if ’tain’t too good to be spoken here.”’ o - He pulled his cap down over his eyes and he colored up clear to his forehead. Then he said: ¢ Call me Jim. Jim— Leonard, -it you like.”’ ' g But somebody muttered: ¢ Twon't do to be so familiar, boys.”” (And L won’t say but what there was a word with two ds; to it went before that ‘familiar.”” As you seem to be a minister I'll leave out the swearin’.) ¢ Better call him Gentleman Jim.” So Gentleman Jim he was from that day. It was just-abit o’ deviltry. There wa'n’t any downright malice in it and he took it in good part ‘enough, just laughin’ and touchin’ his cap to the first man 't called him so. Butit wa'n’ttwo weeks before the sting had all gone out of it and the men called him Gentleman Jim just as they called me Judd Mason, The name: fitted him, somehow. o

There wa'n’t a steadier or a harder worker in the woods that winter than Gentleman Jim. He was a slight-built man, thirty-five maybe, though his hair was gray 4s a badger. He looked as if he’d seen trouble. And he wa'n’t over'n above strong, but he made his Wits serve him in place of muscle, and whoever else shirked ahard job it wa'n’t Gentleman Jim. He asked no odds of any man and always played fair. He never had much to say and was the one man in the woods who never told aroughstory: never seemed to hear ’em, either, for that matter. ~ As the monthg went on lused to wonder what became of his wages. He was paid up prompt every week. There was nobody belongin’ to him, as we could find out. He didn’t write any letters nor get any. He never touched liquor and he spent next to nothin’. There was a savings-bank down to Marquette, but he had no‘account there:. Yet, in one way ’or 'nother, bein’ foreman and kind o' head man amongst ’em, I used to learn a good deal about the men’s af~ tairs without asking questions. 1 most generally found out by Monday night 't he hadn’t a red cent in his pocket—not a cent. . ' We cut down some splendid trees that winter, regular old stagers. I declare I was as proud as a peacock o’ that lumber. * One day, along in March, the men were at work upon one of the biggest whex | 1 happened to' think that maybe Mrs. Sterle would like to see it come'down. So I piled some buffaloskins and blankets on one of the oxsleds and went after them., =~ = How far, did you ask? O! only four: or five miles. fiut we had sort. of a camp up there—a roughly-built house, with two rooms down %)elow and a loft overhead, with bunks for thirty men. One of the hands lived there with his wife and boarded the rest of us. But, as I was saying, I went down after the boss and- his lady. She was ready enough for the lark, and, after she had ‘wrapped herself in furs and hood, with some soft, white, fleecy thing over all, we tucked her up in t{e buffaloes and off we started. , ‘Ever been in the woods in winter, Sir? Then (f'ou’.ve lost a good deal. Though I don’t suppose the woods hereabouts are like those up north, anyhow. It does seem kind of impertinent to meddle with ’em. Don’t. it now? Ileaveit to you, sir. Just to think o’ cuttin’ ‘down trees that ha’ been growin’ and growin’ .and drinkin’ in the sunshine and dew for hundreds of years, just to make floorin’ and timber for the use o’ such a short-lived creeter as man. Why, the one we felled the other day was a good-sized saplin’ when Christopher Columbus discovered - America. We counted the rings, sir, and when it layon the ground if you were on one side you coulf]n’t see the oxen and men on t’other side. - It was clear and cold, thawing a little

in the sun. The sky was blue as a harebell, and the air was like wine, it set your blood to dancin’ so. The woods were full o’ winter birds—gay, fearless, creeters, that just sot still and' looked at us as we passed by, and the snow .was covered with the tracks o’ wild things that we never could catch sight o : ' I ain’t much of a Christian, sir, so to spvag—that is, I don’t belong to no church; but I never could be out in :them woods and see all the life that went on in ’em, even .in the dead o’ winter, and think o’ all the flowers that were. livin’ under the snow, without feelin’ sartin that the One that took care o' them would look out for us. And I hope He knows I thought of Him. : oo B Did you see them dark blue flowers that girl carried by just now? Vi'lets, I b'lieve they call’em? Well, as we rode ~along that:day, every little hollow in the snow was lined with just that color —a shimmering blue light, that seemed to fill ’em with a sort o’ glory.~ You'd -ought to see it, sir. . | ~ There had been a flurry o’ snow the ’ nicht before and- the road was pretty well filled in: It took me longer to go .and eome than I'd caleulated on, and as soon as we got to camp I see’t the tree was about ready to fall. It shivered and trembled against the sky, as if there was a thrill running all through. its great body. We had planned to cut it o 't would fall in a partly cleared _place, where the standin’ timber wa'n't l good for much, and. it was leanin’ a little mite in the right direction. The men were all at safe distance, except Gentleman Jim and another fgllow who .were to give the death-strokes. I gave 'em thesignal. The swift, sharp strokes rang out and we waited, waited, holding our very breaths.. e - My Lord! Just asthe great top began to move some one gave a loud cry, for Tight there on the edge of the clearing, én.a line with the toppling tree, were Jack Elliott’s two. children, coming straight toward us, as' careless as could be? They had come up on the crust to see the big tree go down. | :

‘Every man of us started on the run. But what was the use? We were rods away. Then Gentlemen Jim bounded forward, like o deer, caught those childrén, one at a time, and, with a mighty effort, hurled them far out into the Snow.?” - - o And the great tree came down, down, down, cleavi®’ the air with a swish and a rush, like the sound of many waters. O, no! He wa'n’t killed, sir; though we all thought he must be. He lay on his face where he had been. knocked down, with “a great weight o' green boughs a-pressin’ on him, but he wa'n't dead. It took us a long time to cut away the branches. The body o’ the tree, had missed him as by a hand's breadth. Then we earried him into the house and laid him on the bed in the little room that opened out o’ the livin’yoont. - w 0 e -He was alive and that was all. I could just feel his heart beat. You never see men so cutup. They crowded into the outside room and stood with their caps in their hands as if—there was a king a-dyin’ in there. Jack KElliott, he was a-cryin’ like a haby andthe two children sat on a log outside the door, lookin’ scared and dazed. They was old enough to understand what had happened and how it happeaed. DMrs. Sterle called ’em to her pretty soon and made’em cuddle up beside her under the . buffaloes. - She . always took to children. L : ’ 7 . Meanwhile one of the men had dashed ‘down fo the Mills to catch the firsttrain for Marquette, after the doctor. .But it would be hours before he could get back. By and by Mr. Sterle came out of the bed room. S . - “The house must be ¢leared, my men,’”’ he said; in a low voice. ‘“We must have air’and quiet. You will all go'away but Judd” (that was me, sir) ¢ and Jack Elliott, and we will do the best .we can for the poor fellow.” "We undressed him as carefully as we could, and I own up that I was astonished; though, as I said before, I had mistrusted all along that Gentleman Jim wa'n’t exactly a lumberman born and bred. But Mr. Sterle he looked ‘puzzled enough. : ' The man’s outside clothes were rough and coarse. Se were his[fiamfi{els. Just such as the rest of us wore. Butunderneath ’em he had on a shirt and a pair o’ drawers o’ soft white silk, tine enough for the Queen o’ Great Britain. I took notice of his feet. They’d never done much hard trampin’ before that winter. Not a real hard callus onto ’em and the skin was as smooth and white! I just pointed to ’em and says I to Mr. Sterle: ‘““Look a-there, sir!” : £ X?es, I see,” said he. And then he never spoke another word. Not one.

. Mrs. Sterle came into the house and Jack Elliott took his children home on the sled and came back again. And then we waited and waited. It must ha’ been four o’clock before he stirred or made a sound. Then he began to mutter or whisper and he seemed to be feeling round after something. But wewouldn’t make out a word he said, though his hands flew round pretty lively, and his face grew hot and his voice was hoarse and strained. All the time he was feelin” about over the bedclothes and his own clothes. Mrs. g’érle went.up to him and put her hand on his forehead. ' He drew it down against his cheek and was ‘quiet for a minute. ' But pretty soon he was feelin’ round again. .. L A ““ Look in his pockets, Will,”” she said. But there was nothin’ in ’em he could ha’ wanted. His pocket-book ‘was empty, asusual. It was pitiful to see him, with his eyes fixed on her face and his lips a-movin’. The little lady’s eyes filled with tears. . ¢ Come here, Will,”” she said to her husband. ¢ See that black ribbon under his shirt. There’s something hanging round his neck.” ‘ Mr. Sterle took hold of the ribbon and pulled out a little oiled-silk bag. Gentleman Jim gave a cry when he see it, and catchin’ hold of it, lay quiet as a | lamb. : : o “There,”’ thinks I to myself—:‘‘there’s where he keeps his money; and I'm glad of it, if he’s going to be laid up. .And if he air’t, there’s his funeral.” You see I knew how it would be with myself, sir., When I die, I don’t want to be buried like no pauper! He dropped away again as soon as he got hols o' the bag and lay just like a dead man till the doctor came. :

It was old Dr. Porter. He looked at Jim for a full minute, liftin’ his eyebrows and shuttin’ of his lips, before he touched him or said one word. Isee’t he took notice o’ the silk shirt and o’ other things. Truth was, as the man lay there, with his hair brushed out and ‘his courseé clothes off, he didn’t look no more like a workin’-man ‘than—than—you do yourself this minute, sir. : One of his ribs was broken and he was bruised all over and there was con-| cussion o’ the brain or something. | - The Doetor shook hishead. *ltwill o hard with him,”” he said, ¢ though if he were where he belongs he might! pull throngh. But here—" ‘And he looked round over the bare, ‘rough room. ¢ You see, Mr. Sterle, he’s not exactly—well, perhaps I might say not quite the man you would expectto find up here with the wood-choppers.” ““Yes, I do see it now,” said Mr. Sterle; ““ but the fact is he has been in camp all winter and I have hardly spoken to him. I really do not know what to do.”” . o - ““I do,” said Mrs. Sterle, her cheeks growing red. ** He mast have Dbetter care than' he can have here, or he'll die, surely.’ Lift this bed onto the'sled and take him down to Millcote.” For that was what they called their little nest in the woods. L " 1 see’t Mr. Sterle’'s face hrightened up, though he made some objections. on account of the trouble it would give his wite. But she wouldn't hear to hiny and I think 1 never was gladder of anything in my life 'n'l was when we got him safelv down there. S

. She opened the door of her pwn room,’ -on the ground tloor, and we carried him in and laid him on the bed. I tell you, “havin’ just come out o’ camp and all,-it -did seem just like Heaven in that white, .quiet room, where the Blessed Virgin and the Holy Child were a-hangin’ on \.‘the wall. High up against the ceilin’, runnin’ round like a frieze (I Db’lieve that’s what they tall it, now-a-days),. there was a sentence printed out in red ‘and yellow-leaves. I read it as I came out. ‘‘He giveth his beloved sheep” —that's what it was. : e - I thought Gentleman Jim ought to get well there, if anywhere. But as the ' days/went by I began to have my doubts about it. He didn’t kmow any of us. } Mr. Sterle and Jack and I took tirns asittin’ up nights. But he wouldn’t take 3 one drop o' medicine or one hit o' food from anybody but Mrs. Sterle. 'Lord! 'how his eyes did follow her. And all l §he time he hung onto that bag for dear -life. - : = lA - Why didn’t we examine it? Why, because 'twas plain as the nose on your face 't he didn’t want us to. DBesides, we stposed his money was in it, and what did we want o’ that? ' But one day he seemed lower 'n ever, and when the Doctor came 'n seei’t he was sinkin’ he looked real down in the mouth. He'd got kind o’ interested in’ the case, no doubt. - P ‘¢ Can’t you manage to get hold of | that bag?’ says he to the lady, speakin’ ! low. = **There must be somebody in the lr‘world who knows the poor fellow. We can't afford to waitany longer.” j l «* I'll try,”’ says she. And just then, -as sure as you live, he dropped asleep ‘ and:let go o’ the bag. She whipped out a pair of scissors and clipped that string | quicker 'n lightnin’. ' We went out-in the other room. I ' see she was all of a tremble. - *“ You open it,”’ says the Doctor, kind o’ quiet. . | - ; - : There was something thin and flat in it, folded up in a piece o’ tissue paper. Nothing in this wide world but just a white card, with the dried stems of a rose and two geranium leaves fastened on with a drop o' red sealin’-wax! The leaves and the tlower were all erjished to a dry powder from- bein’ held in his poor, hot hand so long. , Ly “¢¢ Anything written on the card?” the Doctor asked. . . : o ‘* There has been,” says she, her eyes all wet and shiny and her lips in a quiver; ‘‘but it’s rubbed so I canlt make it out. Judd, run over to the office and get Mr. Sterle’s magnifying glass. Aslfilhim to bring it.” Y She caught the glass as soon as he came in and ran to the window. This was all there wis of it. : b ‘“ Marie, - June 10, 1871,”’ in a woman’s hand-writin'! Wasn’t that a queer way to spell Mary, though? Below it ‘was written, in a man’s hand: ‘“June 10, 1872. All withered but the thorn.”” Mrs. Sterle put the card back in the little bag, with every grain o’ dust from the withered rose-leaves, and fastened it round his neck again. And when I .looked at him the next minute he had hold of it tight as ever. . It went down into the grave with him, sir, and that's all we ever knew about it. : e But I found out afterward that there wa'n't a sick man, nor a sufferin’ womi an, nor a feeble child within five miles o’ there that couldn’t ha’ told me what became of Gentleman Jim’s wages.— Mrs. Julia C. R. Dorr, in N. Y. Independent. ¢ -.- o L

Taking Leave. ‘ - It is not easy to terminate a visit or call in a thoroughly easy manner. Some people do not know now to leave aroom. - It is painful to see them anxious to beat a retreat from a call ora visit, and yet apparently as unable to escape as rats in a trap, although noth-. ing bars their egress, and all persons’ concerned would ladly dispense with their company. "1%16 art of science of departure, both from localities and positions, is worth studying in .great as well as little matters, “and calls for the exercise of tact. No visitor is likely.to be popular who has not the tact to leave at the proper time, a house at which he may be staying. One of the greatest difficulties in bidding farewell to a host is to convey to him the impression that you have enjoyed yourself. Expressions of thanks fora pleasant visit are apt to have a stereotyped amd conventional ring about them. A hospitable man likes to know that his friends have been happy; but when each of them mutters a sort of little grace on his departure, he feels that they are but paying bim an ordinary social compliment. A smile, or a cordial pressure of the hand 1s more eloquent than words.— Rural New Yorker. f 3 = e w; —There is & man in Surry County, Virginia, who claims to have read no newspaper and no book but the Bible in ten years. = Lo G

Hor Poung Readers. e ; bras (s . FOOLISH LITTLE TROUI. fo e | ! - ITwas a gay little trout ) That one mornimlr gave out He oould shift for himself, and couid catch his b own fleal i . Said his mother, * Take caré.f ] - - ~ And of angler's beware!” ! For this mother was steady, and cautious, and . wise. j : ; “Oh, humph!’ gurgled Trout, . Splashing boldly about, . **The very tirst tiy that I see 1 shall snap! Mother foolishly thinks, , "I'wixt her naps and her winks, i That everything tewmpting s meant for a who i trapls . [t : L [Off ‘he went to the Falls, . . o | [Waere he made many|cails, Where he raced with the minnows and danced . | . ‘svith the¢ parch, 1 : . .- |Whilst he did not forget . : . «iHe was hungry, as yet s Thoug‘lx no iy, wormy or cricket rewarded . his : search. | : f ¥ 2 : In the brook’s deepest flow, : i e Lying hid down below, ) Tired, at lasr, slept tne Trogt, though his tyes did not ciose,’ : When there dropped from a stump, 7 With un innoceat plump, A crimson-hued tly, pausing over his nose. Little Trout, all alert, ; Dashed at once. with a flirt, At this morsel that promised so sweet a repust. ! I e I : Nay, he stopped nét to look . : For a possible hook, | : : So he found himself airily dangling at lastr 7 : He was luckily small, : i | Aund not wanted atygll; Thus he found himself bigk in the brook, in i arceat pain. o I am suve he.grew wise - f ‘ As he increased in'size, ; . Do youthink that he ever wis captured again? —Fwela Forresier, in Youth's Companion.

SAL > I NO ARITHMETIC, Arithmetic, he would have told you. was the worry of Rob Henry’s life. His other studies were, as a rule, easy enough—perhaps because- he Tound them more interesting, and so liked them better—and he stood well in his classes; but in arithmetic he was always foot, and at twelve years old was stuck fast in the multiplication table, which could not be persuaded to stick fast to him. e - He had been kept in one afternoon, over a large sum in fractions, and came’ home late, to find a cold diuner and his mother out. G Indeed, a cold dinner was always part of the penalty for beingkeptin. School was out at'half-pasttwo, and the dinner hour being three, allowed plenty of time for Rob to be punctual, so Mrs. Henry never suffered dinner to be kept hot for him. | | - ; » e This day, cold mutton and cold potatoes, with cold batter-pudding, were not inviting to even a hungry bo¥, and Rob went up to the sitting room thoroughly out of humor. ’ L ~ He| threw his books down on the tabie and himself on the lounge. : ~ “1\ hate’ arithmetic,”’ ‘he said. ¢I wish there.was no such thing in the world.’* - e ¢“Good morning!” said a strange voice at his elbow.. : - He looked round, and there stood the. oddest-looking little man he had ever seen. It was not himself but his dress that was so queer. One sleeve was long and the other short; the legs of his trowsers were not matches, and his toat looked more like a bag than a coat || - , “Would you like to take a walk?” said this queer little man. o ““Walk? Where?’ asked Rob, rubbing his eyes. , i There was nositting-room, nolounge, no table near. Instead, he was lying on the ground, just outside of what seemed to be a town of some sort. “Where am I?” P A ¢ Oh, this is No Arithmetic Land!” answered his eompanion. ‘“We have no mathematics in this country, and qugq_rybody is forbidden by law to count more than ten. Come, let me show you our Qi[ty»-‘” ; I ; : City, indeed! Rob thought of the tall, regularly-built houses at home, the well-laid-out blocks and smooth pavements. This place was all a jumble. The houses, it houses they could be called, were of all sorts—wigwams, logcabins, cave-like dug-outs in the.side of the hills, and brush shelters, for all the world like those built for the cattle on his uncle’s farm in the country. “What funny-looking houses?’ he excflaimcd, with more truth than politeness. ¢ What makesyou build them so? Why don’t you have them like other people?” . | . Tfixe little man looked at him in astonishment. e

““Pray, how could such houses as you are used to be built withoutarithmetic? How could you measure the doors and windows and calculate the size of the rooms? Then the bricks would have to be counted, and I have alreadytold you that it is against our law to count more than ten!” : _ ~ ¢4Oh!" said Rob. : Just then they came to a stand where some tempting-looking - fruits were piled for sale. Rob felt hungry and #ook up a large red apple. - s * How much for this?’’ he asked. ‘¢« One piece,” replied the vender. - Rob took out his whole pocketmoney, a silver half-dollar, and handed it to him. To his surprise, the. man coolly pocketed the money and gave vim no change. e <1 want my change, please,’”’ remonstrated he, but the man shook his head, and his guide hurried Rob off. « Hush!’’ he said, looking around to see if any one.had overheard. = ‘ Nobody can make change here. Did I not tell you that we are forbidden to count more than ten?”’ L ¢t But that was all the money I had,” said Rob, ¢‘‘and I am hungry!”’ = ¢ Are you? All right, come in and have dinner; this is my house.” ' The little man spoke with some pride, and, indeed, compared to the other ‘habitations in the town, it was quite a stately dwelling, being a double logcabin, with a loft above each part. _ A rudely-fashioned table was set for “dinner in one of the rooms, and in this room were the wife and children of the little man. They were all as queerly dressed as he was, in clothes that were made without the least effort at reguantyy o . : ] suppose,’’ thought Rob, it is because they have no tape-line or yardstiek, and so cannot measure. Dear me! who would have thought that arithmetflc was 80 necessary to the comforts of life? _ G They sat down to table on benches

and stools and & singular meal it was. Fruits and vegetables were plenty, ani there was tea, made in an earthen jar. But thers was no bread, only hominy, and thick molasses instead of sugar, | “We have no bread to oifer you,” said the host. ¢ Only those fei of us who have traveled havé ever seen it. ‘We can have no milis to grind our corn, as nobody can build them without machinery and many caleulations.” = - " Rob stared. but helped himself to the hominy in silence. - When his tea was handed him, he meekly asked for the ShoAr. | e ‘1 do not understand you,”’ said the lady, but her husband came to. her assistance. - e o ‘“We have none here,” he said. *This sirup is the nearest apprdach we can make-to it.. ‘But then this is all that is' needed —something to sweeten the tea. Think of the freedom we enjoy! No multiplieation-table, no hard sums, no fractions! - el ““Yes, sir,” answered Rob, who was beginning to feel doubtful about the blessings of such liberty.. ** Will you please tell me what o'clock it is?” - 'The whole family looked azhast, and the host whispered auxiously: *“For pity’s sake, my young friend, Spfe;lk lower! Such-a question is forbidden. by law, and: there may be spies unider the window!?* = .- & “But,”” said Rob, ‘‘have you no means of telling the time of day? How do you manage? ... . ‘ 0 - “‘Oh, that is easy enough!” answered the little man. <*We have daybreak and sunrise; noon, when the shadows fall directly under us, and sunset.. What more dowe want?l =L o - «Oh!” said - Rob, not knowing what else to say: o “I have been-thinking,” said the little man, ‘that perhaps' it would be a good thing for “you -and my oldest son to exchange places. He has a fondness for figures, and gives us much anxiety and trotible by his vice in that direction. ~Now you hate them, you say, so we will send him back in your place, and you can stay here in his.” - He made this proposition with the air of a person gontbrring a great favor. Rob-was _h()rr(ifi,ed. Sl i o 8 . *‘No, L thank you!”’ he cried. | S What! said the- little man, making a plunge at Rob, who fell from his'stool, in his etfort to £scape. i - e Lo, and behold! he was sprawling on the sitting-room {loor, and his' mother was. asking him: i : .. “What 1s the: matter, Rob?"’ ’ + ¢Oh, mamma, 1 have had such a curious dreat!’ I. have been in! No Arithmetic Land, and I didn’t like it a g Lo e . And 'then he told his mother about it. I should think not!”’ she said, when he ‘was through. - *‘But.the wonder is that they had anything at all—how they managed to buy and” sell, .or do anything without arithmetic!”’ —Mrs. M. P. Hardy, in Golden Pays. = i . &}

o 0 Dandy’s Cunning, - Dandylived on afarm in Rhode Island, and had become quite famous for his sagacity. Mr. Bundy, his master, had several friends at his house,. and in speaking to them about, Dandy,. said, “He -seldom fails to do whatever I set him at. Sometimes I am almost certain that I see human ' iutelligence in . his eyes.")| E Dhaaie B - ~The company were all anxious to see what he could *do.: They were trying to think of something to propose, when Harry, a bright little fellow, exclaimed, “Papa, I know something that. I.don’t believe Dandy can do.” = Then he whispered- to -, his . father, ' saying, “Dandy mustn’t hear me, betause he knows-every word 1 say.”” = 1 . Dandy looked as if he knew perfectly what was going on, and stood quietly by, as if sure of his ability to- perform any task set him. Showing him a handkerchief, his master said, ‘“Thisis what' we want, old fellow,” and then directed that he be taken tothe barn, and chained, | . o t Harry hid the handkerchief under the cushion of grandmother’s ‘easy-chair, and grandma promised to remain seated in the ehair. Then Harry ran out to the barn, shouting to Dandy to come and find the handkerchief. . ~ Dandy trotted up to the house, made a careful survey, and finally begged to be admitted into grandma’s room. Here, after looking around as before, he at last placed his ?()I‘é’-p&WS on grandmothei’s lap, and looked his Wis?l that ‘she should leave the chair. fo . - “Down, Dandy!” cried grandma. I must not be disturbed ® to-day: go away!’. But Dandy continued his appeal, wagging. his tail, and now and then giving vent to a short, sharp bark. At length he slowly walked to the open fire; stretched himself before it, and appeared to sleep. = Occasionally, however one eye would, carefully turn upon the grandmother, showing it ‘was only a game he was playing to put her off her guard. - e ‘Some time passed in this way, when suddenly he sprang up; and no roguish boy ever had mischief more plainly written on his face, than had Dandy at this moment. Grandmother’s bed was her special care. -It was always white as. snow, and @ perfectly arranged. Upon this bed the dog 'sprang,:anf be‘gan tossing the clothes with his teeth and.-paws. . ;| - e - *«Harry,” - cried grandma, - take Dandy away! Down, down! naughty dog, downd? o oie = B e (68 O*grandma,” begged Hfl.l‘l'y, «“ do lgt ,I’lim stay, just to see what he will B A , : i " But, all of a sudden, Dandy changed his course. Jumping from the bed with a pillow between his teeth, he ran to the fire-place, and threw. the pillow directly upen.the blazing fire.. | Grandma, with a seream, hastened to save the pillow, when Dandy rushed to the chair, pulled out the_—cusfiion, seized the handkerchief, and rushed with it in ‘triumph to his: master. =~ - *« Dear good old Dandy!”’ cried Harry, and he fell on his- neck,jhugdgip% and kissing him, Dandy very modestly receiving the praise for his success.— Nurgery, " 0 omo

BALLOONISTS say that when at the height of two miles they have heard women calling over the back fence ta borrow flat-irons and starch. | Actors should be watched closely on election day.- They are professional repeaters. . oo : i