Ligonier Banner., Volume 15, Number 38, Ligonier, Noble County, 6 January 1881 — Page 3

The Ligonier Banuer, LIGO.I\I,[.I«:R. e or;m Ib;r;)z:m.

. THE RAGPICKER. ' Crossing the busy thoroughfare, to-day, Picking my way along the muddy flags, A Wr'e.vt ched crone one moment barred my i ay— A : : > Stooping to gather there some scattered rags ‘That in the kennel lay. | v T wes not moved just then by kindly grace, And, angered at the stop, I curtly said: o Com(la, cogne, good woman! Give us passers place! i 5 . Don’t block the way!" At that she raised her head ‘ : And looked me in the face. Her visage wan with agre and trouble seamed; H"""‘t;g""{“ was doubled by the weight she re! ; : And ?mmpfg impression o'er me faintly gleame ; Thuf; somewhere during life those eyes beore Had on me terribly beamed. ' With trembling finger raised, she said aloud: {* You're rich and honored greatly, Hubert T Leigh; { , And yet, for all you are sohigh and proud, You once were ready to give place to me, ‘ Head bent and body. bowed.” - i Then from the darkness of her eyesthere leapt A light indignant, as her form she drew To its full hight and from me anery swept; _While I, thrilled by the baleful glance she itarew, S My way unsteady kept. : : What story/ was there in those strangé,. wild eyes? . f : : Where had I metthem insome former state? They brought the sight of tears, the sound of sighs, : e A pang of woe, the shipwreck of afate Unhappy and unwise. e What time, if ever, was it that T knew That wretched hag, in this life or the last? Was pre-existence, as some tell us, true? Injsome metempsychos:s of the past Had those eyes crossed my view? - o - Then woke my memory with a sudden start; "Fhe past unrolled before me like a seroll. Th’i&:‘ was the wierd of her who held my heart - In.days gone by; who was my other soul, From which 'twas death to part. L ‘Her frown was torture mui hersmile was bhiss; I wouldhave pledged existence on her truth; "Twas rapture even her garment’s hem to kiss, The idol worshiped in my eariiest youth. And had she fallen to this? i . Sho spumed my Bu mble suit, Bince I was poor— I could not promise luxury with her life; 80, crushing love. position toinsure, ' She sold herself to be a rich man’s wife, And thought her state secure. We parted, ag we thought, forevermore; I found my loyve in gain, and wooed it weil; Year after year I ndded fo my store— On my §ide of the fence each apple fell The tree f Fortune bore. + . Whnt(-'olri my fingers touched was turned to gold; i Sm:cessrbecnme my lackey; but success, - Though generating for me wealth untold, 18 not epough my desolate life to blessg— - Now lam loneand old. - : ¢ ‘lt comforts not, as heve I wallk alofig, ; : Thnlt she who stabbed my. soul has sunk so s oW ; . I would I had not met her in the throng, .. Reviving memories buried long ago, Bringing to life my wrong. : = R crojvd out yonder. What the words they say? ¢An ]:»llrll 11‘1{;1'-1)'1«-,1(@1', stooping, struck and ’ gilled . : i . Bya runaway horse.”” Stillkecpsthe world its way., ‘ .Since last her glance my heart with anguish - thrilled e 'Tis forty years to-day. ; —Thomas Dunn Inglish, in the Independent.

MISS COMFORT’S SILK QUILT. ““Ish’d think Mirandy might ’a give me-jest a serap or two of that silk gown she wore to John’s weddin’—now! An’ she could if she wanted to.. That's what Lsay!”’ ; s Miss Comfort snapped her big shears together with a vicious click and. gave her head such a bob that the two rows of little sprightly-curls each side of the plump, fresh cheeks danced out wildly for a second; then, as if ashumed‘)f “their flightiness, settled down steadily again into the sobriety becoming their age. g“ O, now, don’t Comfort; I wouldn't feel so,”” said a tall weather-beaten woman, on the other side of the table darning stockings as if her life depended on it. » ' - Now, to be told with a very virtuous air, that another person ‘¢ wouldn't feel so’’—particularly when one hasn’t got what she wanted—is especially trying. And so Miss Comfort Henderson seemed to find it, for she snapped out, in a tone that matched the ring of the sheass: 0, well yes, Matildy; we all know s what you wouldn’t do. An’ it's all very well to set an’ talk. T know Mirandy Peck’s well’s ‘anybody does, I guess; an’ when she’s a mind to grip on to anythin’, the Lord himself can’t skurcely git it away from her!” ‘““1 don’t see how vou can talk so, Comfort,”” said Miss Matilda, rolling up her eyes in horror; while her ;long face lengthened yet more dismally ‘“an . give your tongue such liberties. It's dreadful, I'm sure; 'm glad Parson Beals don’t hear you.”” : - ¢ Parson Beals is welcome to hear me, or anybody else,”’ retorted Miss Comfort ® coolly, with another toss of her head, that sent the little wiry curls _out on a tangent; ‘I don’t care; I don’t mince my words for no one.” ' : “Youw needn’'t mince your words,” said Miss Matilda, severely regarding her sister; ‘‘but there's no need of - speaking of the Lord that way. It's dreadful, I think.” . *“The Lord knows what I mean, I guess,” said Miss Comfort drily, ¢ as well as the next one. I never did hum an’ haw my way throughlife;an’ I ain't a-goin to begin now. Come now, sister,”’ -Bhe added briskly—whileshe got up and went across the room to a high, oldfashioned secretary and pulled out the ‘top drawer—‘¢let’s keep to the text, as ‘Deacon Bidwell says. Rfirandy Peck is the one I'm talkin’ about; 'an’ I ain’t a—E‘oin’ a-streakin’ on to land knows what. See here now.” v o She tossed up with quick, restless fingers, a few bits of silk of varioushues, interspersed with woolen and calico pleces. . o i o *“ I've got about to the end of my chain,” she said, decidedly, viewing the collection with evident disfavor. ¢ shall have to shut up shop and stop work pretty soon, if somebody don't tage pity -on me.”’ ' il ¢ It’s a dreadful waste of time,’’ said - Miss Matilda, setting stitches with painstaking care, ‘‘sewin’ snips of silk as -small as those are into a quilt. Chintz an’ calico’s good enough for me.” ‘lf you don’t spend time a makin’ -Bnips,’” said Miss Comfort, turning away . from the drawer—‘‘ I don’t see where the waste comes in. for my part, any mor’n to darn all your days, wi}éh stocking at twenty-five cents a pair. When _you can have a pretty thing, I d’no’s

there's any need making a bed-quilt | look like a fright.”” o ‘¢ A quiet conscience will sleep under ‘calico,”” said Miss Matilda, with her most moral air—‘ an never want for better.”” - ; * Well, my conscience. don't trouble me none,”’ said Miss Comfort, airily, ‘‘ an’ silk makes me feel nicer, an’ more like the Hendersons,”” she finished, holding her head as high as her short, fat .n_ecfii. would allow. ** So you needn’t worry about that, Matildy. The only ‘bother now is, to get some of Mirandy Peck’s blue silk. /¢¢ An’ that you won't get,” returned ‘her sister, composediy. » ¢ No, Idon’t suppose [ shall,” saidMiss Comfort, in a vexed little way. ‘“ An’ the tormentin’ part of it all is, 1 that she’s got a perfect dicker of small bits, just the thing for me. I saw 'em in her work basket yescerday, when I was over there. An’ she knows I want em’ bad:-enough. Well, lét her keep Wem.” i ' Miss Comfort turned toward the door of the ‘“ keepin-room’’ that led up stairs. “I'll bring down that old green parasol cover, Matildy,” she said, pausing amoment; *¢that was sister Jane's—and the black one that was mine—an’ strip ’em up, if I can get around the holes an’ find inch pieces, an’ finish up the quilt, an’ bind it off, an’ be done with it. T'm tired of dawdlin’ over-it; and it will be a quilt, at any rate.” ‘ STwon’tbe a very scrumptious lookin’ one,’ remarked Miss Matilda,her long nose in the air, ** with those old duds sewed into it. * If I was goin’ to have a silk quilt I'd have a silk quilt that was somethin’ like.”? : |

“ Accordin’ to your way of thinkin’ I shall sleep just as well under it as if "twas pretty,’’ said Miss Comfort, laughing. ¢ But I d'no, it’s dreadful homely, an’ I do think it'll give me the megrims more’'n once. Mercy! here comes Johnny geck! Now what does he want, I wone - A shambling noise sounded through the back entry, as of small but heavy feet; then the latch of the ‘‘keepin’room’ door was lifted, and a voice, without the slightest preamble in the way of a *“ good morning,”’ said, ¢My ma'd like your paper.” = ¢ How d’ye do, .Johnny?’ said Miss Comfort, coming back into the middle of the room. “Pritty well,”” said Johnny, who was saving of his words. Then he twisted his hands through his shock of light hair, and stared at Miss Comfort. -+ ° “« Well, I don’t see’s we can let her have the paper,”’ spokeup Miss Matilda sharply, and laying down her elaborately darned stocking. ¢ There may be something in it that we haven't looked at' yet, Comfort. You better say no.” 40 yes, we can,’”’ said Miss Comfort, in an easy tone. ‘I wouldn’t refuse a neighbor, Matilda, whatever you do.” And she began to turn over the bisx pile of newspapers on the table, between the windows, under the old-fashioned look-ing-glass. : : - **An’ M'randy says she wants your sack pattern,”’ said the voice, without a change of .expression, belonging to Johnny Peck; who still stood, running his fingers through his hair, in cool deliberation, waiting for his commands to be fulfilled. 2 Miss Comfort stopped; short from fumbling over the Weekly Budgets, and turned around with one sharp look at the importunate youth. But then it was ¢ Johnny Peck,”’—so, swallowing something very hard, she twitched out the last paper from the pile, and dumping it on the chair nearest to their guest, said quickly: “I'll run up an’ fetch the sack pattern, an' be back in a minute.” *“Bring me down that other pile of stockings you'll find on my bed,’’ called Miss Matilda after-her. e - But Miss Comfort came down with nothing in her hand but the sack pattern. There was a small red spot in either cheek, as she marched sturdily up to Johnny, and a decided ring to her voice, that made thatindividual stare in wonder that kept him from using what wits he had on the message she was rapidly saying. : “You tell your sister,”” Miss Comfort began, ¢‘that she can ltive my sack pattern for some snips like that blue silk gown she wore to John Folinsbeets weddin’. I'd ery my eyes out for it,” added Miss Comfort jocularly, as she twisted up the pattern into a comfortable roll, and handed. it to him.

“Yes'm,”’ said Johnny, stolidly. Then he picked up his paper and started for home on a steady trot. : In just about ten minutes, Miss Comfort, feeling very sure of her long-de-sired bright bits, had given up the expedition into the garret for the parasol covers—and now sat comfortably swaying back and forth in a low rocking chair, her work-basket on another chair by her side, while she turned over and over the nearly-completed quilt, settling in her mind just where ¢ Mirandy's snips’’ should go—when back came Johnny, who looked as if he had ran himself to death. n ‘“She says—she—won’t have your—old—sack—sack—so!”’ he puffed. . His little eyes protruded fearfully, as he tried to glare malignantly at Miss Comfort; and he threw the offending pattern, which had now assumed the ap-Eearance-of a wad, as if some angry ands had been at work on it, into her lap. : ‘“ Hey?' exclaimed Miss Comfort in amazement, stopping her rocking so suddenly that Master Johnny nearly reversed his 'posihion. (0, she won’t, will she? Well, then, you may just tell her that she meedn’t, that's all I say about it. And if there’s anybody meaner'n Mirandy Peck round here, why, I'd like to know it. Now, that's all?’ . - “I'll tell her! I'll tell her!” cried Johnny, with more animation than one would have supposed could possibly have been collected from his whole make-up. And perfectly delighted, he raced out of the house and 'putgad homeward. : : “Now you’ve done it!"’ exclaimed IXl\issr Matilda, consolingly. ¢ An’ got that Mirandy Peck around your ears! I sh’d druther never see a quilt, then to have such carryin’s on.” : ‘“She’s mean as dirt!"’ cried Miss Comfort, her little %'ray eyes snapping with indignation, while the zed spots on either cheek boded just retribution for the absent Miss Peck. ‘¢ The very idea! An’ such an in-switin’ message to send by that youngster. My old sack pattern, indeed!”’ iy - Miss Comfort jumped up and begzan a

vigorous pacing back and forth, sputten:i.F every other step, such a series of small gusts, like the crackling of popped corn—that Miss Matilda's slow, heavy sentences found no place at all. «I’ll have that quilt now, some way! she exclaimed, explosively, ¢ an’ it shall be pretty, now I tell you, Matildy, if I die for it! -An’ I shall send it to. the next sewin’ society an’ donate it to Mis’ Parson Beals. Then we'll see what Mirandy Peck’ll say!” - . ““ My goodness!"’ cried Miss Matilda, startled into a moderately quick tone; and raising both long, thin hands in horror; ** you don’t say you'll give that quilt away, Comfort. After all your work on the pesley thing! Well, I never!”’ i ““Yes, Tdo, too!” cried Miss Comfort, recklessly. *‘l'd give every thread of it, jest to let Mirandy Peck see that she can’t stop me from makin’' it as handsome as I'm determined I will make it mow. So there! She wants to stop. me finishin’ it at all, I see throuo-g her.. But it shall be finished, Matildy? ¢ | . © ““Yis, an’ biteioft your nose to spite your face,”” answered that individual; being unable to utter more than the ancient proverb. - 2 * I'm goin’ to strip up that piece of lavender brocade Helen gave me—the piece you know——"’ = ‘“ What, that piece of handsome stuff that Helen brought from up country, last summer, an’ give to you!" exclaimed Miss Matilda, in more astonishment than ever. ‘“That you set such store by; strip up that?’ ' ““Strip up just that,”’ replied Miss Comfort, in her coolest tone and looking her sister firmly in the eye. ¢ It's mine to do what I -have a mind to; an’ I have a mind to do that, an’ nothin’ else. I did expect to make a pillar of it; but now it's goin’ into that quilt, an’ that quilt’s goin’ to Mrs. Parson Beals —s0!"? ; She marched determinedly to the door legding upstairs, went up with a steady step and presently came down again, bringing with her a little old waist of a dress, cut very high up under the arms, and finished off with very long and puffy mutton sleeves. This she proceeded to rip—every stitch being followed by most exasperating groans on the part of Miss Matilda. - “I wish—O! how I do wish Helen hadn’t a give it to you!”” was the final groan, as Miss Comfort’s scissors proclaimed the task over; and then there came a long steady cut—cut; and a piece appeared out of the center and stood ready for service in the new quilt. *“ But she ‘did do just that very thing!”’ retorted Miss Comfort, exultingly. “Now says I, here goes for Mirandy Peck!’ and she settled down to steadv work. :

At half-past ten of the morning of the sewing society day Miss Comfort rolied up the completed quilt in a monstrous old towel, and ran across lots to the parsonage. With manyinward quavers. as to her gift, being tendered wholly; through love and esteem, she yet had elation considerable in both face and gesture. at being able to present it at all, to do the donation exercises in . a manner highly gratifying to all the parties concerned. . ‘““An’, now I'll freeze to death myself, I s'pose,’’ she said to herself, when the little ceremony was over, and she ran back home again. ¢ For I won’t have a ealico one anyhow. Well, I'm glad I did it; yes I am! An’ I'll wear my red bow to-night at the society; an’ I'll go early so’s to see Mirandy's face, an’ git the whole of the fun!” e _ But as it turned out, Mirandy Peck’s attention, and every one else’s too, for that matter, was too much absorbed by ‘an event of so much overshadowing importance as to campletely cast into the shade the quilt and all other minor matters. - A cousin of the parson from a ‘western State had unexpectedly arrived about an hour after Miss Comfort had left her gift to warm and enliven the parsonage—a fine, gray-haired, graybearded man, whose importance grew no less when it began to be whispered around from one' to another, between the mouthfuls of biscuit and the swallows of tea, that he was ‘¢ a bacthelder, an’ awful rich.” ‘ At last; Mrs. Parson Beals, in_the lull of sharing with her good husband the honor of handing around his cousin, bethought herself of her other sensation, and immediately started the bed-quilt on its rounds for inspection and admiration. . / Miss Comfort Henderson was just in the act of raising a big flowered tea-cup to her lips, when the parson’s cousin darted up between herself and the doctor's fat wife, and planted himself squarely in front of her. | “ May I ask—Miss—Miss—l declare I have forgotten your name,” he said, abruptly. And then not waiting for it to be supplied, he dashed odf at full speed, ‘ But where did you get that concern from?’ he asked, pointing backward with his thumb. His eyes were bent on her face full of excited interest, that could scarcely wait for her to answer. / : | ‘““What?’ said Miss Comfort, not knowing or thinking of anything beyond his. queer manner; and setting down her tea-cup in utter wonder. ‘“ Why, that thing the women are all oh-ing and ah-ing over,” he said carelessly.,; ‘‘lt’s got a piece of, I don’t know what you call the color of it; but it’s my grandmother’s wedding gown. Up in the top left-hand corner as they're holding it now.”” He glanced over his shoulder to the center of the room, where a group of female parishioners were shoving each other and wildly craning their necks for a good view of the last donation t the parson's wife. Miss Comfort craned her neck to see, too; and her heart sank down for a moment as she saw the bit of lavender brocade shining back at her in all its silvery sheen! And then she did, what to save her life she could no more help doing than anything in the | ]world-—burst out “into a hearty, merry laugh! : : | & Hey—hey?” exclaimed the parson's cousin, whirling around in utter astonishmentito look at her. < Why, it’s my ’grandmother’s wedding gown, I say. L e ’Y‘I can't help it”’—said poor Miss Comfort, unable to stop herself. ¢ You must—excuse me—sir—but it really isn’t my fault if ’tis?"’ And then she ‘was off again. _ : - This time she had plenty of company.. The ‘¢ parson’s cousin,’”’ bringing down

his astonished eyes to Miss Comfort’s surroundings, suddenly discovered that the doctor’s wife had vacated her chair, to add herself to the group .around the quilt. So down he settled himself into it, at the same time yielding to the ¢ontagion of his neighbor’s amusement, which was bubbling over at the absurdity of the whole thing. | “Well now,” said the gray-haired, gray-bearded gentleman, at last, when they both gave signs of returning equanimity and bestowing a vigorous mopping up to his shining countenance, ‘“as I believe wg've both got through laughing, if you’ve no objection, Miss— Miss——" ““My name is Henderson,” replied Miss Comfort, with as much dignity as she could muster, considering the circumstances. : ‘“ Ah—Henderson. Well, Miss Hen-, derson,” said the ‘‘parson’s cousin,” turning around to look into the rosy, plump face beside him forthe first time, with the least appearance of interest—““will you now have the great goodness to'tell me how you got hold of that bit, of silk?? S

‘“lt was given to me,”’ said Miss Com-, fort solemniy and looking up at him out of a pair of very clear gray eyes. ; * But Aow—where—and by whom 27 he persisted, bringing out each syllable with redoubled force and lightning rapidity.: ; ~Miss Comfort hesitated. Should she tell him @//—how the cupidity of his relatives had sacrificed the bit of ancestral wedding gown, around which so many associations must have clustered. *“ I'm glad one of the family has had a spark of feeling,”” she thoucht to herself, as she sat there and scanned keenly the strong-featured face bent down to hers; “ for I've always despised the whole lot, ever since Helen told me about ’em!’ ' ' Then, since she told the truth when she said she ¢ never minced matters,”’ she opened her mouth aud began: : ‘I have a niece,”—she said, folding her plump hands demurely in her lap. Notwithstanding his intense eagerness to hear every word, the ¢ parson’'s cousin’’ found himself noticing how very shapely a pair it was thus folded. Then astonished at himself he wrenched his mind back to the subject that was to bring him the desired information—- ¢ Helen Bartlett,”” Miss Comfort was saying i aclear, even tone, ¢ an’ she's very tond of old-fashioned things; because I s'pose she don’t have to live ‘mongst ’em, but has a home chock full of everything that money can buy. Well, she was up in York State last ‘summer, in a little country place that she took a notion to—Hafie;fi’s Station——"’ ‘ w The gray-bearded man started suddenly at hearing the familiar name. ‘“I was born there,”’ he said, with sparkling eyes, ‘‘and grandfather and grandmother’s old place stood till I moved out West. Did your niece say anything about the look of things generally? I'm on my way there now: haven’t seen it for ten years. Do go on and tell me all aboutit.””. ; Miss Comfort didn’t seem to think it necessary to inform him that she was .stopping for his own convenience, but taking up the thread of her narrative, cpmmenced again. ‘““ An’ my niece is always a-lookin’ out for * antiques’ as she calls 'em. An’ —well, I must tell you, she found the folks she boarded with, John Beebe's family, quite ready for a bargain. 'ln fact—they —they’’ Miss Comfort sent up one swift glance into the eager, questioning eyes—then blurted out, ¢ they grabbed at a trade, an’ 8o Helen made i e The eager, questioning eyes returned the look; then the ‘¢ parson’s cousin’ said honestly: ¢ Iknow it, John’s bad enough for the dollars; but his wife—well there, she's tight as the bark of a tree, and no mistake!”’ - » ‘‘She made a mistake there,”” observed Miss Comfort, drily,. and with unmistakable signs of contempt in voice and look, ‘¢ when she sold that gown-waist, an’ a few other things I could menticn. - I've no patience with her!” . ;

The gray-haired man turned a look of decided admiration on the indignant face that was before him-—as if to say, ‘- Here is a woman for you!” ‘“ An’ Helen came down to our house on the way home,”’ said Miss Comfort, going on undisturbed by his steady gaze; ‘* an’ showed all her bargains; an’ just like all other young things, she got tired of some of 'em, an’ declared she wouldn’t carry em’ any further; so she give me the gown-waist; an’ two days ago I ripped it up an! sewed some bits of it into that quilt over there; an’ this mornin’ I run over an’ give it to Miss Beales. An’ that’s every blessed scrap I know,about it all!”’ . . : Miss Comfort having finished her narrative had nothing better to do than to lean back in her chair and be stared at. “You say,”* said the ‘¢ parsons’ cousin,” when he had looked a sufficiently long time to prevent his failing to recognize her again when they met, ‘¢ that you disposed of some'of the pieces in this highly-creditable way, as a gift to my respected relatives. Now, would you object, marm, to my walking over to your residence sometime —to-morrow say—to get the remainder?’ ““Not in the least,” replied Miss Comfort, coolly, feeling rather than seeing, ‘““ M'randy’s” fishy eye, from the other side of the room, widen at the protracted conversation. ‘¢ You can have every thread that's left. I'm sure I don’t know who's a better right. = I'm only sorry that any of it’s cut.” “‘Never mind; never mind,” exclaimed ‘¢ John Beebe's brother,” in the most reassuring of tones. ¢ If 'twasn't for you I should have lost the whole,””—and plunging gayly into an interesting talk concerning the villafie and the village news, for which he didn’t care two straws, he soon had Miss Henderson in a perfeot stream of conversation that lasted till Parson Beales rapped on the table for concluding prayers. i . Before the company stopped gossiping to put their heads decorously down, however, Mr. Beebe with admirable forethought, secured Miss Comfort’s company on the way home from the society. _ “You'll have to let me,”” he whispered, under coveér of the parson’s first words, ‘‘to show me the way. How eise can I come for my grandmother’s wedding gown!” : In some way best known to them-

selves, it took some time for the two preservers iofOELe Beebe ancestral treasures to select them out and put them up in the proper state for transportation. In the first place, Miss Comfort had to pick out all the stitches, which on account of her zealous hurry over the finishing of the quilt, had been thought not worth a care. Then Mr. Beebe must watch with painstaking precision, - each little bit and notch to be sure that it was his grandmother’s weddinfi gown! The whole of this, interspersed and interlarded by so many anecdotes told on both sides, of heir looms in general, that the whole morning was found to be pretty well consumed when the call at last came to anend. . . And then, on the next day the *‘parson’s cousin’’ had to come over to apologize for it; the enormity of the breach of etiquette, seeming to have just come to him! And on Miss Comfort’s assuring him she didn't consider it worth feeling badly over, he came over the third day witéxout the faintest shadow of an apology at all! el : _ Until it got to be quite a settled thing, and matters: drifted along with them, just exactly as if they were two young things, instead of on the sober, shady side of forty! And Mr. Beebe wisely concluded he would defer his visit to “ Brother John's" and the old place, until he could take somebody with him to supply comfort, amid the devastation of the ‘‘antiques!” L Miss Comfort hugged up the ample revenge shenow enjoyed over ¢ Mirandy Peck’ and fairly reveled over it! inviting her to the wedding, and otherwise loading her with attentions that turned to gall before they were fairly given. “Do ryou s'pose I'd come to your weddin’,” almost shrieked the recipient of the honor, in an exasperated tone, ‘“when you said I was a snip, an’ that I wanted John Folinsbee an’ me to make a weddin’, an’. that I cried my eves out to get him! I'd seé you ehoked fust!”* |And the indignant Miranda turned on her heel, utterly refusing and scorning lanother overture to the marriage festivities. ¢« I never said so!”’ flatly denied Miss Comfort, her cheeks as red as a blaze. ¢“So there now, M'randy Peck. Never in all this world!”’ and she stamped her trim, shapely foot into the red and green carpet that adorned the Peck’s front parlor, with more. vigor than grace. | | : . | : ““You/did, too!” exclaimed the injured Miranda, turning back to- look her foe in the face; with very wide-open eyes. ‘‘You told Johnny so yourself, an’ I sent back your old sack pattern quicker, you better believe. I wouldn’t a touched iE any more'n if it had a been pison, I’<:ftel'{ that!” : “0, my goodness gracious!” cried Mrs. Thomas Beebe, that was to be, tumbling on to the old hair-cloth sofa in sheer/inability to stand up straight; “ somebody bring out that little wretceh of a Johnny, an’ beat him! 1 don’t know as they’d better, either,” she added, with a bright little blush, ¢ for this weddin’ never’d a been, M’randy, without %is/finger in the pie!” “ I"ll change Johnny’s sentence then,’’ said the/ “Barson‘s cousin,” who had just dropped over to see Miss Comfort home, 111 time to hear ¢ the conclusion of the WholT:al matter.” ¢ He shall dance ‘at our Wedjling; and be the best man!’ —Springfield (Mass.) Republican.

Inoculation With Snake Poison. A wonderful prophylactic for snake bites (if true) is given by Madame Calderon de la Bareca, in her ¢ Life in Mexico.” Speaking of Tamptsico, she says: *“We have just been hearing a curious circumstance connected with poisonous ‘reptiles, which I have learned for the first time. Here and all along the coasts, the people are in the habit of ‘inoculating themselves with the poison of the z‘atfiesnake, which renders them 'safe from the bite of all venomous animals. The person to be inoculated is pricked with the tooth of the serpent on the tongue, in both arms, and on various part of his body; and the venom introduced into the wounds. An eruption comes out which lasts a few days. Ever after these persons can handle the ‘most vénomous snakes with impunity; can make them come by calling them; have great pleasure in fondling them; and the bite of these persons is poisonous! You will not believe this; but we have the testimony of seven or eight respectable merchants to the fact. ““ A gentleman who breakfasted here this morning says that he has been vainly ' endeavoring to make up his mind to su.bmgt to the operation, as he is very mueh exposed where he lives, and is obliged to travel a great deal on the coast; that when he goes on these expeditions he is always accompanied by his| servant, an inoculated negro, who has the power of curing him should he be bitten, by sucking the poison from the wound. He also saw this negro cure the bite given by an inoculated Indian to a white boy with whom he was fighting, ana who was the stronger of the two, The stories of the Eastern jugglers and their power over these repbiles, may, f)erhaps be accounted for in this way. Icannot say that I should like to have so much snaky nature transferred fintq my composition, nor to live amongst people whose bite is venomous.” | : » ;

.| Tarkish Houris, S The Turkish beauties of whom we read, exist chiefly in the imagination. Seeing them face to face, one finds little to admire. lln general they have oval faces, clear olive skins, languish ing dark eyes and beautiful hands, soft as velvet and white as snow—beyond this, mothing. They- lack the natural grace and Fretty coquetry of our Levantine belles, the firm tread, elegant manners and becoming modesty of European women. Their figures are clumsy, their features somew%xat harsh, their lips full and often thick’; they walk with a roll (their legs being bowed), and even their natural attractions de}i‘end more or less upon artificial aid. hey thickly powder their faces, blacken their brows and die their eyelids and lashes, so that when half-veiled by the yashmak Bcreen they are certainly striking and present a dazzling effect; but under other circumstances most of them would pa’ra unobserved. Their chief beauty 18 in the mystery that surrounds. them. — Exchange. 1 _ —The favorite day for marriages iz Paris is Saturday. .

-~ SCHOOL AND CHURCH. = —There are eleven colored churches in Nashville, Tenny @ & &8 —A Presbyterian church of ninetythree members was recently organized among the Nez Perces Indians in the Indian 'fertitory. SRI : -—Hartford has a free evening school for street boys which is & success. No text-books are used, instruction being oral, assisted by the use of maps and globes. i e G e —The English Soeiety for Promoting Christian Knowledge has just published the Gospel of St. Matthew and parts of the Prayer-book in Ojibway, and a Manual of Devotion in the Beaver. Indiandialect. . w 0 0 —There are seventeen different school ages in the States and Territories, seventéen years being thé longest period and six years the sh_‘ertest.éfi‘he earliest age at which pupils are admitted tothe public schools in any State is four years. ~—There are at present in South Carolina twelve. colleges, two professional schools,” - three industrial training schodls, eighty-oné . private academies, fifty-nine public academies, three evening elementary schools, 208 private elementary = schools and” 2,793 public schools. Sl il e —The preliminary agreement between’ Russia and the Vatican provides for the equality of the Russian and Polish languages in religious teaching, for free communication between Polish Catholics and the Pope and for the removal of all ecivil disabilities on conveits to Bomanism: . i : —The Austrian Government has recently made the instruction in agriculture, horticulture and agricultural lezislation obligatory in all the male normal schools. In the female normal schools the students. are obliged to follow the courses in needlework and domestic economy. ‘ ‘—The International Lesson Committee, at. its recent meeting, decided to give the entire year 1882 to the study of the Gospel of Mark.: It also recommended that that Gospel be, committed to mentory by Sunday-school scholars. This is the first time that the (Old Testament hras had no place in the plan of study for a year. After 1882 the plan of six months in each Testament will be resumed. - o 0 B . —M. Jules Ferry, Minister of Public Instruction of France, has - issued a circular, dated September 2d. 1880, by which all the lyceums and commercial collezes are directed to introduce, at the beginning of the next school year, the course of study prepared by the new Council of Publi¢ Instruction. In the new course more- time. is allowed for modern languages and natural sciences, while the number of Greek and Latin lessons is somewhat reduced. o - —The Harvard * Annex,” as the Private Collegiate Instruction of Women at Cambridge is called, has made its first annual report. The institution is not officially connected with the college, There have been twenty-seven students, ‘two of whomhave withdrawn.'foug have taken the regular college examination for the freshman class, and the rest have only pursued special studies. -

. “Permanent Pastnures, . Where much grain is raised there are frequent rotation of .crops. This does not tend to make the best pastures. New ones when well set may. produce as much feed for stock but it is not as good and nutritious as old pastures where there is a greater variety of grass. - Besides analyses have demonstrated that grass and hay on old meadows or pastures contain a greater proportion of albumenoids and less of woody tiher. We - want more permanent and better pastures. - And. while blue . grass, timothy, orchard grass and June grass are good, yet our meadows and pastures need a sprinkling of red clover to keep the soil rich, light and damp, and thus capable of producing a larger amount of the most delicious -food. Our' farmers cannot afford to seed downa pasture rightly and then plow it up inithree or five years. The profit of one acre of good pasture is more than the profit from any acre of corn or wheat, with one-half the labor. In the New England States, and especially in the rich Connecticut Valley, where .all operations are conducted with the strictest economy, they consider three tons of hay from their old meadows of fifty years’ standing as equal to five tons of. hay -from ‘néw meadows. This matter of permanent pastures and their superiority over tem- | porary ones might be a good subject for granges, clubs and alliances to in-, vestigate this winter. Slipshod farming maust be abandoned and things done by system and judgment. Competition is going to be sharp and must be met by economy.—llowa State Register. ‘

.. A Woman’s Defense of a Fort. . In his ‘“Sketches of the History of - Man,’’ Lord Kames relates: an extraordinary instance of presence.of mind united with courage. Some Iroquois in the year 1690 attacked the Fort de Vercheres, in Canada, which belonged to the French, and had approached silently, hoping to scale -the palisade, when someé musket-shots forced them fo retire. On their advancing a second time they were again repulsed, in wonder and amazement that they could per¢eive no person, excepting a woman who was seen everywhere. This was Madame de Vercheres, who conducted . herself with as much resolution and courage as if supported by a numerous garrison. The idea of storming a place wholly undefended except by women. occasioned ' the Iroquois to-attack the fortress repeatedly; but, after two days’ siege, they found it necessary to retire, | lest they should be intercepted in their - retreat. Two years afterward a party of the same nation so: unexpectedly made their apf)eara,nce before the.same | fort that a girl of fourteen, the daugh- ' ter of the proprietor, had bnt just time to shut the gate. With this voung woman there was no person whatever except one soldier. But not at all intimidated by her situation, she showed herself sometimes in one place, sometimes in another, frequently changing her dress, in order to fix're some apc{,‘enra.pc’e of a grris’onan,f alwags fired opportunely. . short, the faint-hearted Iroquois once more departed without success. Thus the presence of mind of this iyoung.:glrl, was the means of saving the fort.