Ligonier Banner., Volume 23, Number 45, Ligonier, Noble County, 21 February 1889 — Page 3

Tive Zigonier Bamner,

LIGONIER, : : INDIANA.

A TREASURED KEEPSAKE.

While turning some old keepsakes over ~ In a sorrowful mood and forlorn, "The gem of them all I discover

In a child’s sampler, faded and torn, With faintly-worked letters unfolding An incomplete motto, a-stare, And the time-yellowed canvas still holding A ringlet of pale golden hair.

“I Love My Dear Papa Forever,"” Runs the legend, the rest being blurred, “While the last of the childish endeavor - Fritters out in a half-broidered word; “Though all that was'meant is completed In the woof that my miem'ry unrolls, Ever since the small worker’s soul fleeted Ta the Giver and taker of souls.

Only a child’s sampler, faded, With poor straggling letters inwrought: But, ah! how distinct and unaided It emblazons its beautiful thoughtt { Only a yellow curl treasured In the limp, flimsy, many-creased plaits, But instinct with affection unmeasured .. By earth’s feeble standards, or fate’s?

Oh! again and again do I kiss it, With herimage still freshin my mind! And that artless child’s love; how I miss it, Since no more with my life ’tis eombined? Save as Death, the light-footed purloiner, By Love is run down in the end, And as Faith still abides to rejoin her In those heights she was first to asé¢end.

Omnce again with your ntates I return you,Dear Keepsake! more precious than all, And again in the Past I inurn you, As life’s shadows, deepening, fall. : Once more in the casket I set you, And, turning the Key, I depart, . ‘With no fear that I'll slight or forget you, Since your motto is-worked in my heart. —Nathan D. Urner, in Once a Week.

A VISITING CARD.

Embarrassing Results of a Slight

Mistake.

It was a rainy day in January. Large drops were beating monotonously against the windows of a red brick house, whose ‘white stone trimmipgs and other heavy architectural ornamentations wore that air of having been manufactured by the thousand which characterizés the dwellings of those good people who hayve gained wealth without gaining taste. Behind the guipure curtains on the first floor stood a handsome blonde looking out, with a bored expression in her cold blue eyes. This was Solange Tarvenue, the only daughter of a respectable bourgeois, who, having made his money in trade, now lived a gentleman of leisure in this fine new house. ‘ : I“Heaven!” exclaimed M’lle Tarvenue, thow tiresome this rain is! One can’t go put to make any calls, and no one comes to 'see one. It’s enough to give one the spleen |”? ’ “The spleen? What’s that??’ asked M. Tarvenue from the depths of his paper. “Something you don’t understand, papa,”’ said the young lady, impatiently. - “Suppose you practice a‘little, my daughter,” suggested Mme. Tarvenue, putting up some stockings she had been darning. “That piece, you know, you are to play at the Paulpiur to-night.”? e “Yes, it would be worth while, would it not?”’ sneered Solange. ‘‘People who don’t know one note from another! As though there was any one in the Ville-Abbe, anyway, who did. What is the wse of having any talent for any thing when one lives in the provinces?” e “Q, the provinces again! Solange isin a bad humor. I'll get out of the way,’ remarked M. Tarvenue. '

“Leave the child alone. The temperature affects her. It is psychological,” said Mme. Tarvenue, who flattered herself that she understood her daughter, and was upon the same intellectual level, albeit the latter had been educated in Paris.

She went down stairs ‘with the girl, and there Solange, with—one must be just—a good deal of mere digital brilliancy, began to practice one of those showy and utterly hollow musical productions in which there are technical difficulties in profusion, but absolutely not one note that can speak|to the heart or the mind. J

In the midst of these trills and chromatic scales the bell rang. | e

“‘There!” cried Solange, stopping shont, *l’m sure that is a call. You see, mamma, you were very wrong to say that you were not at home to visitors. Every one is not as much afraid of bad weather as you are.” *‘My dear child, what are you thinking of! Such a day as this! Why, the parlor furniture would have been ruined by peeple’s wet clothes!”

“People’s wet clothes! Itis to be hoped the people we know would wear waterproofs, as long as they come on foot,” added the young lady, bitterly. ' She rang the bell. A young servant girl Lame lin. ¢ -

*“Bring the cards that were left justnow.” ' The servant returned. Solange threw an indiffegent glance on the bit of pasteboard. Suddenly her face lighted up; she exclaimed quickly: i |

“Mamma! It was M. de Prevaret! And you didn’t receive him!» !

. “M. de Prevaret!” wailed Madame Tarvenue. A~

“Dear me! What a pity, now!” cried Solauge, sourly. -

M. de Prevaret was considered the very best catch in Ville Abbe! Youngand handsome and clever, and the possessor of alarge fortune, he lived with his mother, the dowager.countess, in one of the most sumptuous residences in the town. And this young man, on whom every woman of rank with a marriageable daughter smiled, had rung the doorbell of the Tarvenues, and left his cards for them! Hebowed to them, because they bowed to his mother, but he had never been introduced to the ladies. ;

““What can it mean?’ asked Mme. Tar‘venue, anxiously.

* Bolange was standing before the glass, “Why, it seems to me that it is very «clear!” she replied, with deep complacency. ‘‘Haven’t you noticed, my dear mamma, that ‘every time we go to hear the band play M. de Prevaret is there, too?’ 4379

“What!—why—do you think—2» Mme. Tarvenue did not dare finish, so audacious did her thought seem to her,

*“And why not?’ demanded Solange, throwing up her blonde head with g triumphant air that made her really immensely handsome.

“You are right,” marmured poor Mme, "Tarvenue; ‘“‘you are pretty enough.” . It was quite true that Solange Tarvenue was handsome enough to inspire a passion, ‘but she would never have had any attrac: tion for a fastidious man. = This young person, with her sculpturesque form, her opulent contours and her dazzling coloring, was absolutely lacking in innate refinement or distinction. No reflection of a gentle nature, an elevated soul, ever gave that indescribable charm to her regular features that such attributes only can convey. She was clever enough, but it was a thoroughly material sort of cleverness, and it was Joined to a most extraordinary amount of egotism and vanity. She had played, in «childhood, behind the paternal counter; but she had been educated in a tashionable Parisian school, from which she had brought away all manner of ambitions, In her dreams for the future she saw noblemen at her feet, and she would not have thought a «rown misplaced had it been made to rest ‘on her magnificent yellow hair. It was, _therefore, no wonder, that the Comte de ~ Preovaret's visit had not much surprised e !&mfifimmemwmt . [when Be Feturned, with s superior smile of “%@"fiw”%@ %«e* b

grandeur, exclaimed agitatedly: *“lf you only knew whom we have just missed !” “Oh! You think Idon’t know,’’ replied the good man, trying to look very subtle. *“So he has come to make his proposal, has he?”’ *To make his proposal?’ quavered Mme. Tarvenue. ‘‘You knew, then?” *‘lt is to be hoped that I did know,” remarked M. Tarvenue with importance. ‘*‘He safd to me only this morning: “It is time we came to an understanding.- Eusebe is fairly wasting away; he is so rauch in love with Solange.” ‘*Eusebe! Of whom are you talking?”’ “Of my friend Ramillat, who is most anxious that Solange should marry his son.”

“M. Ramillat did not call. Butthe Comte de Prevaret rang the door-bell while you were away.”” And Solange, having pronounced these words, majestically left the room. ’

‘M. de Prevaret !’ exclaimed M. Tarvenue.

“Why, yes,” said madam, imitating her daughter’s self-possessed and indifferent mien. “Solange is not astonished. He has been noticing her a great deal of late. And if he should want to marry her there would ‘be nothing surprising in that either. Sheis handsome enough to make a messalliance possible.” A discussion then arose between Mme. Tarvenue and her daughter as to whether they should call, in their turn, on the dowager countess—a discussion which was thus concluded by the young lady: “On general principles it shouldd be papa who returned the call. But he would not know how to appear in a way that would do us justice. Now, if it were I, having the habit of the world, I should know how to manage perfectly. o, it is best that mamma and I should go to call on the countess. By doing so we will make her understand that we are very willing to know her, but not willing to accept the attentions of her son against her wishes.”’ The plan was cleverly conceived, and a week later was carried out.

On the same day the dowager Countess de Prevaret was chatting with her son in a large salon filléd with fine old furmiture. He, who was the most touchingly devoted of sons, had been asking his mother how she had passed the -afternoon. She had been too tired to receive, she said., But there had been several callers. ‘“Among others - these”—and she took. up a card “Mme. Tarvenue” and mademoiselle.

“Do you know these people?” asked the countess. *I was surprised to get their card.” s

- I know them and I don’t. Fle uséd to be a linen draper, I think. He is out of business now. They sit near you in church; the father is a little man with spectacles; the mother very stout and rubicund; the daughter a superb creature, a blonde, who dresses very well. You must have seen them??

“0, yes, I remember now. I believe they bow to me. They are good souls, I should think, they go to church very regularly.” . “Good souls, perhaps,” laughed her son, “but frightfully ordinary. The mother is impossible. As for the daughter, we call her the empress. I assure you the name suits her. She is a tremendous poseuse.”’ “But why should. they come to see me?”’ asked the countess. : :

. **Perhaps to solicit subscriptions for some charity. The mother and daughter belong to different church organizations, I think.” . “Perhaps.- I don’t care to know them, but I want to be polite. I might leave my card some day at their house. That would not commit me to.any thing.”’ 7 “Of course not, especially with the Tarvenues.” | )

The lady little dreamed what a commetion the square of pasteboard her footman deposited at the Tarvenue mansion door one afternoon would cause in that household. When Solange, who was at the window, recognized the Prevaret livery, she forgot all her assumption of indifference, and rushed down to the kitchen to tell the servant that the ladies would receive. Then she threw a hasty glance into the drawingroom to assure herself that all things were in order there, and, still running, returned to her room and began to make an appropriate toilet. What was mot her: disappointment when she heard the carriage drive away again. *“Idiot!” she cried to the servant over the banister. “Why didn’t you say we were at home as I told you?” ‘“But, mademoiselle, the footman didn’t ask. He gave me the card and I said, ‘Madame is at home.” Then he said, ‘Well, give her that, then.’”? :

‘“Very well,” said Solange, with acerbity. “But you might at le#t have refrained from saying that we were at home, since you hadn’t been asked.” Nevertheless the sight of the countess’ card somewhat appeased her. That a grande dame, of the countess’ age, 00, should have taken the trouble to drive out in the cold in order to leave a vard at their housb proved conclusively that she wished to sanction her som’s course. Thus did Mme. Tarvenue think likewise, and the two ladies resolved that the least they cowld do would be to call once more upon the countess without delay. This had been arranged when M. Tarvenue, who spent an hour at his club every day, came in with a ver y clouded brow. “Something very serious has happened.” said the retired linen draper. Then—“‘We have no secrets from you, my daughter, and you know already that'my friend Ramillat had spoken to me of his desire of making a match between you and his son, I expected an official proposal from him three weeks ago. I did notreceive it, and since then he has seemed to avoid me. I did not Hke to call upon him because that would have been undignified nnder the circumstances. Finally, I met him to-day on the street, and althoygh he pretended not tosee me, I accosted him: ‘What’s the reason one never sees you any more, Ramillat® ‘lt seems to me, sir,” he answered stifly, that it is scarcely my place to call upon you again after the step I took three weeks ago, and which you failed to recognize in any way.” And now it turns out that he came here, left his card, as I wasnot at home, and thought, of course, as we had had a conversation on the subject the previous day, that I would understand the visit as a formal demand on his and his son’s part for Solange’s hand. Here we are at loggerheads, and all because you did not give me his card. e ‘‘But he never came, he never left a card,” cried Mme. Tarvenue. ‘

“In any case there’s a good match off,” grumbled M. Tarvenue. - “Do not deplore it, I beg,”” remarked Solange, with her most superb mien. 1 should not haveaccepted M. Eusebe Ramillat in any event. I hope before long to present to you a son-in-law of qui te another stamp.’? Inless than eight days Mme. Tarvenue and her daughter repaired anew to the dowager countess. Solange was enchantingly handsome in a suitof dark blue with astralkhan trimmings, 'and a toque of the same on her golden hair. s

Mme, Tarvenue, in plush and jets, had assumed an indifferent and contemptuous air which she thought in the best possible form.

‘When the countess saw the two Jaddes enter her drawing-room she suppressod a movement of surprise, but she received her guests with that gracious amiability which 80 successfully keeps people at a distance. “I was sorry,” she said, in her slow, musical voice, ‘‘not to have been at home when you came some little time ago to see me.”’ . . “The loss was entirely ours, madame,” said Solange, with empressment. “Certainly, certainly,” said Mme. Tarvenue, who was very red and very ill at ease, - “Iregretted the coincidence all the more that I thought you might have wished to see me with regard to some church charity.” BSolange understood the allusion, and her eyes flashed fire. “No, madame, T am linterested in church ‘work, but I do not solieit aid from others,” shie announced trenchantly. ‘“We havecome simply to prove our recognition of the visit by which you were pleased to show us that o sppeoved o;figmmwamagig%, s i bl e N e o

people? The daughter was preity, very pretty. : “I did not: know that my son had called upon . you,” she said with her grand air. *‘But his friends are mine. Ah! There he is now. Gerard,” addressing the young man who now entered with a smile, “will you not introduce me to Mme. and M’lle Tarvenue?”? :

“It seems to me that it is you who ought to introduce me,”” remarkefl the young man. bowing low before his mother’s guests. : “It is true, Monsieur,”? said Solange, while her mother wished that the earth might open and swallow her up; ‘‘we regretted not being at home when you called some time ago.”’ o The young man bowed again, and looked embarrassed, and said nothing. “My daughter alludes to the visit you made us at the beginning of January,” here threw in Mme. Tarvenue.

“I wish that I, too, might allude to it, madame, but I_am afraid there is a miswnderstanding, since I would never have permitted myself, not having the honor of knowing you, -to present myself at your door. Now, however, I shall,” he continued, with a profound bow, ‘‘certainly beg for the pleasure of doing so.” ¢“Mme. Tarveunue desperately rose, and, followed by her daughter, left the room. When Gerard had returned from' seeing them to the door, his mother said to him: “Tell me truly, my son, did you call on those peoplet” *Never in she world, my dear mother, and. I don’t in the least know what all this means!”? | : .

In the street meanwhile Solange was biting her lips till the blood started. _What idiots we were! We have spoiled every thing! He had come to the house without letting his mother know, and we have let the cat out of the bag!” she raged.

‘“What a pity! If he only comes back again !”}sa.id Mm. Tarvenue, prayerfully.

The next day there occurred Mme. Tarvenue’s smatl weekly reception. The lamps were lighted and Solange was setting out some dominoes nonchalantly on the baize table. 3

“Is every thing ready?’ demanded M. Tarvenue.

“0, yes_n 7 i : “Well; because I hold a.good deal to this one evening in the week, when I can gather my old friends around me,”’ said the old fellow. ‘‘lmiss one, though, Ramillat,’”” and he sighed.

His guests soon bégan to arrive. Solange, with a book'in her hand, abandoned herself to golden-tinted reveries. That very morning the Count Gerard had bowed to her profoundly, and on this incident, trivial as it was, she had begun to erect a visionary scaffolding of dreams. . Suddenly the ' door opened again and M, Ramillat was announced.

M. Tarvenue hurried forth to meet him. *“My dear friend, at last!” i

*“Why yes, here lam again! But let me tell you—all of you—the most extraordinary and laughable occurrence imaginable. You know, Tarvenue that I was offended because of you'rvhaving failed to take any notice of a certain visit I paid you three weeks ago. You said that you had not heard of it. I was sure that I had left cards. Well, Ileft cards and you never knew it.”” : He broke out with a loud laugh. ‘“TeM me, Tarvenue, do you know the Comte de Presgraret ?”?

‘Very little, but he comes here.” “Ah! he comes here? He came here on the 6th of January, eh? Well, I left his card!” *

Solange, who had raised her head from her book, now approached. “And this is the way of it: It's all the fault of that good-for-nothing engraver, Bladell. . I ordered some cards for January 1. Probably the Count Gerard did the same®’ .Now what do you suppose I discovered after three weeks? That the cards were mixed inadvertently—half of them were mine angd half those of the Count Prevaret. That is how it happened that you received a card from that gentleman and that is how——"?

Solange, whiter than a sheet, had risen with difficulty and retreated into the embrasure of a window. Her mother followed her.

“Courage, Solange! Be kind to M. Ramillat. After all, Eusebe is not such a_ very bad match!”

“What! When one thought one was going to be a countess.” “fixcuse Solange,” said Mme. Tarvenue. “She is feeling indisposed.” - Three months later Gerard de Prevaret was married to one of his cousins, and the same day M. Eusebe RamiHat, disdained by Solange, conducted to the altar the daughter of his father’s partner. : They say that Solange Tarvenue will not marry at all.—From the French.

SELECTING AN EMPRESS.

The Peculiar Method iln Vogue in the Celestial Empire, An edict from the Dowager Empress of China has been published announcing that Yeh-hoh-na-la, the daughter of the Manchu brigadier general, Kweisiang (younger brother of the dowager empress), has been selected as the consort of the youthful Emperor of China, and that two girls named Ta-ta-la, daughter of Chang-shuh, a Manchuy vice president of the Pekin Board, aged fifteen and thirteen years respectively, have been chosen for the harem. ; ;

The process of selecting the Emperor’s consort is interesting. After two inspections, at considerabie intervals, the number of candidates was reduced to thirty-one, who are the daughters of mandarins of above the fourth rank, and, of course, of Manchu extraction. These thirty-two young ladies were - conveyed in carts to the palace in the early morning at two o'clock. They entered by the “Gate of the Southern Sea,” which they crossed in six boats, and were conducted to the palace, which they reached at three a. m. A splendid banquet was then spread before them, after whjch they were ushered into the presence of her Majesty, the Empress Dowager, by groups of four or five. It may interest the ladies to know that her Majesty wore on one occasion an apricot yellow silk long dress with a black velvet jacket. Each girl carried a tablet bearing her name and age, also the name of ‘her father, banner, etc., which was presented to the Empress while the girls stood before her. After some interrogations, and in no few cases even monitory words for having continued to shave the forehead, her Majesty formed her opinon of the candidates, which, when unfavorable, was signified by handing the girl’s tablet to oue of the eunuchs, with the order to. present the rejected aspirant with aroll of silk. The girl with the silk was then taken back to her cart, never more to participate in the imperial matrimonial competition. The selection of a new Empress inflicts a serious burden on ‘many poor men whose daughters are eligible and must be presented, but expenses incidental to journeying to amfww*gh%mw bolhobs AR bl bl e

HAZING IN COLLEGES.

It Is as Bad in Female Colleges as One Could Well Imagine.

Human nature is very much the same in all institutions of learning, and firstyear students who venture to be too presumptuous are usually disciplined by theis upper classmates. It makes no difference whether they are attending a college for the development of foot-ball players and crack oarsmen, or are cultivating the graces of dancing, music and needlework in an institution where the sterner sex is not admitted. The fresh girl is treated very much the same as the freshman. When a young miss enters a boarding-school she generally thinks she owns the half of the world which does not beJong to her strapping brother who is just matriculating at . college. He sports a high hat and carries a bag and cane, and the same spirit prompts her to climb into high-heeled shoes and don a sealskin sacque and wear a bustle. In such a case the youth is put through a course of sprouts by the maturing sophomore, and the same thing must be done to her of the bustle to mold the giddy girl into something like womanhood.

This is how it works. The young lady of fifteen determines to wear a sealskin coat, although such articles are prohibited by the sophomore girls of the college. A sealskin fight follows just as naturally as a cane-rush. It would not do to tear up sealskin promiscuously, so when the young lady wants to appear defiant she dons an imitation seal-skin, sometimes made of cheese-cloth, and parades before her irate elders. Then the fun commences. Half a hundred young Amazons pounce on her, screaming and shouting, and the way that imitation seal-skin is ripped and torn would shame a flock of vultures. Within two minutes the sacque has lost all resemblance to a neat fitting garment, and the victorious sophomore girls go on parade, each decked with a sort of imitation sealskin bouquet-de-corsage. : High-heeled shoes meet with much the same treatment. But the glory of the.-female college Shines brightest in the bustle fight. It’s a bold, first-class girl that will wear a bustle before she has aged a year in college. ‘But now and then some warlike Boadicea determines to take to herself that article which has been likened to ‘‘manufactured to-back-her.” She purchases one of abnormal size, and once arrayed in it, starts forth to:- onset. The bag fight, the hat fight, the cane fight are nothing to the slaughter that follows. She's torn by finger nails, crushed, scratched and pinched until the bustle yields and is made into a football. As the girl draws off for a breathing spell, there goes floating off in the breeze tresses of hair shaded all the way from Auburn to Schenectady. But the result of. this harsh treatment is that the fresh girl is no longer fresh. She gives up her lien on a large section of the globe, and is not thereafter head and shoulders above her mates. Sometimes fresh girls receive a different kind of treatment. One method is for the sophomores to summon them to a feast, the yiands of which are cooked by sophomorehands. Imagine the misery of such dining. But the civilization of the nineteenth century is driving out those middle age horrors.—Phila~ delphia Record.

STURDY ECONOMY.

The Example Set to His Countrymen by » Benjamin Franklin. : Time was when the life of Dr. Franklin was considered a stock book to present to young men starting out in life, whatever their business. But of late vears I suppose it has been considered as rather behind the age. Indeed, many not very familar with the subject are apt to think of him something in the light of that public speaker, not over friendly to Puritan traits, who spoke of him as ‘‘the incarnation of the New England character—hard, calculating. angular, incapable of conceiving of any higher object than the accumulation of money.” So often, impulsive, generous-hearted youth is apt to look upon thrifty maxims of close economy and steady industry as rather ‘‘old fogy” in their days, as ‘something narrowing and hardening to nature. It is true that Franklin’s teachings in this line impressed themselves deeply on the age in which he lived, and they have come down to usin a straight line these hundred years, and become no unimportant part of the warp and woof of the nation’s history. No doubt the ¢‘‘pattern’” would be greatly marred, if not the very fabric itself, if his influence, direct or indirect, could be wholly eliminated. * Yet his careful “‘taking care of pence”’ did not make him hard or unsympathizing, or deaf to appeals on his generosity. Indeed, his very care _of the pence enabled him to dispense with a geunerous hand to those who had a claim upon him. It was not very mer‘cenary in him to buy a house in Boston for his poor old sister Jane, and send in every fall enough money to lay in a plentiful store of fuel and food. And yet from the midst of the gay French court he took time to write her such funny, cheery letters that she said the pleasure they gave her “made even his great presents but a secondary joy.” His thrift and economy had not soured his disposition; but, despite his home-made blue stockings, his genial spirit made for him a welcome in the highest court circles. Indeed, his faithfulness to a friend often exceeded what we should estcem a wise prudence, giving even half of the year’s income to help a poor fellow who wae his com_panion in London, whom he loved with all his faults. Itdid not show a very _mercenary spirit to give his three years’ salary of six thousand pounds to .works for the public good; nor would ot ks e is il :fim&;hfl el i o S of by eskup Jo butbens: 4 e 01d principles of sturdy economy oby o B i g Ll S Sr

PUNGENT PARAGRAPHS.

—Patti says plenty of sleep is the secret of preserving one's beauty. The hired girl believes this.—Baston Courier, :

—oOlive—*‘l do not think I am quite myself this evening.”” Jeannette—*“Allow me to congratulate you.”’— Life, -

—Anybody can tell you what to take for a cough. The man who can cure one has not yet appeared.—N. O. Picayune.

—An experiment recently made in Scotland proves that the tortoise can .fixlk a mile in four hours. When compared with the boy who delivers parcels from the stores the tortoise has no flies on him.—Detroit Free Press.

—She was decorating her room with pictures, and she perched her husband’s picture on the topmost nail; then she sat down to admire her work, and remarked, gquietly, “Now everything is lovely, and the goose hangs high.” :

—Dumley (whose credit is not firstclass)—*‘l say, Brown, can you lend me $lO for a few days?” Brown (reluct. antly pulling outa roll of bills)—*‘l—er —s'pose I'l} have to,Dumley.” Dumley —“Thanks. Yeu seem to have plenty of money, old fellow.” Brown—*Yes, [ seem to have more money than brains.” —N. Y. Sun. {

—*l notice in the paper,” said Mrs. Barracks, pouring out Mr. Barrack’s eoffee, ‘‘that a Brooklyn clergyman says that women should be permitted to whistle.”” ¢Yes,” retorted Mr. Barracks, agreeably. ‘He is right. We should surely not deny to women a privilege we accord to tug boats and tocomotives.””—Harper's Bazar. . —Where Larders Are Full.—Young Tramp—*‘Let's break /into the kitchen of that big house to-night, and git something to eat,” - Old Tramp—‘We wouldn’t find much there. Them folks puts on too much style. Git into the kitchen o’ steady-goin’, old-fashioned folks ef yer want terstrike a banquet.” —N. Y. Weekly. - : —Tom—¢l dreamed last night that [ had died.” Harry—+*That was certainly & mosthorrible dream.” Tom—- “ But there was a still more horrible axperience connected withit.”” Harry —“lndeed. What was it?” Tem—*l had to read the obituary poetry that some well meaning but unpoetical [riend wrote about me.”’

—An. Augusta store: Genial and jozose proprietor. Enter lady. ¢ls Mr. A. in?”’ ¢‘He is not, madam.” ¢Do you know when he will be in?”’ *I do not.” ¢“Will I find him at his house if B call there?’ ¢Do you take this for an intelligence office, madam?”’ asked the proprietor, ¢‘Not after I look at your face, sir,’” and the door slammed after a willowy feminine form.—Augusta (Me.) Journal.

—That delicious and juicy fruit, the grange, is often refrained from in company because ‘‘itis so hard to eat it gracefully.’” In its native haunts it is managed thus: In Havana the orange is served whole on the table, peeled down to the juicy *‘meat of the fruit,” and you present the golden ball to your lips on the prongs of a fork. A Floridian fashion is to cut the orange in half and pass its juice and pulp to the mouth with a teaspoon.

—¢Mrs. Graham, said the young man, ‘I have traced to you the story that I have been divorced fourteen times and arrested seventeen for cruelty to my wife, and I would like an explanation,” “Mr. Bailey, I am certainly astounded. The only story I have told about you lately is what you informed me last Thursday—that you had just been engaged.”” ¢May I ask you where you mentioned that?”’ “Why, certainly; it was at the Friday afternoon sewing circle.”—Time. —Col. Plunger (patronizingly) — *“Ah, Miss Grace, you handle the ribbons wonderfully. Quite a woman after my own heart. 1 inherit a love of horseflesh, you know. My father, the General, was a superb tandem driver in his time.” Miss Grace (calmly)— ““Yes, I have heard of the General’s earty efforts in driving”’—¢Ah!—may [—ask—how you—?” Miss Grace—- “ Well, you see, grandma told me of it. She was often a passenger in the canalboat drawn by the first tandem driven by your father.”” :

NICARAGUAN WOMEN. Their Simple Cont—e_t;;-ment‘arid Love of Nature and of Home. This lake, called Tiscapa, is the public laundry of Nicaragua’s capital, and here the lavendaras (washwomen) come to cleanse the city’s soiled linen. A rugged roadway leads down to the water, where at all hours of every day a novel scene is presented. Standing knee-deep or waist-deep in the water, dressed (or rather undressed) accordingly, the native women pound the clothes on flat stones and afterwards dry them on the surrounding bushes. The industrious workers are themselves the most striking pictures, clad in but a single short, sleeveless and extremely ‘‘low-necked” garment, and even this slight trammeling they discard in the ardor of business if comRrlelled to seek deeper rinsing places. Honi soit qui mal y pense. And these creatures seem to be the perfection of innocence, for they remain entirely undisturbed if, perchance, a company of passing muleteers descend the mountain path and proceed to water their beasts and bathe themselves as unconcernedly and as unnoticed by the women as though each were alone in the wilderness. ¢ ol .

Among these workers, ranging in age from maidens of twelve to matrons of fifty, one may see some surprising beauties, whose advent in New York in e¢ivilized attire would turn the heads ‘and capture the hearts of all the dudes in - that beauty-adoring metropolis. Though the Phoenician blood, which Nicaraguauns are so proud to claim, is probably lost in the now more clearly defined Spanish and Indian, yet these mild-eyed, sweet-faced and graceful children of Central America have retained in their characters many of the _traits that distinguished their earlier _ancestors, 'including simple content. ‘ment and a passionate enjoyment of M svl of howio - Mokcagin

FOR OUR YOUNG FOLKS.

ANY ONE KNOW SUCH A BOY?

Out of the street, after ringing a bell or two, Inte the house, with a rush and a yell or two, ' ‘Kitchenv»:u}-d. lured by a savory smell or two=—

Dinner inspires him with joy! Off goes his hat, with a dexterous fling to it; Off goes the cat, with a mischievous string to it; : i

Up starts the baby, because he will sing to it—

Any one know such a boy?

Up stairs and down stairs, a very cyclone} is he; . .

Deep into mischief whenever aloneishe; | Terror of sisters—to tease them quite prone is he; ‘ ‘ Doing his best to annoy. ; Grandmother shudders—with shouts he will frighten her, Though quite as often his fond kisses brighten G hers ‘ i : : Then, by sweet coaxing, of goodies he’ll lighten her— »

Any one knqw such a boy?

Wila with his comrades as any Comanche is; Rough as a steer on a far western ranch he is; Burely of mischief tite root and the branch " he is; : ' Yet there's pure gold in alloy.

Tender and true at the ‘ilenrt‘s”ébv;é, though

small he is; § = Brave and chivalrie, whatever befall, he is; Mother's own torment and blessing through all he is— %

Any one know such a boy? —Geo. Cooper, in Golden Days.

EVERY DAY.

The Things That Seem Hardest fot the Young to Bear Often Prove Their Groatest Help in Later Years.

There comes atime in every boy's and girl's life when the duties required of them seem irksome, unnecessary and even cruel. They get out of all- sympathy with their lives at home, and feel themselves ill-used or unappreciated. This feeling comes generally when marbles, top and velocipede, dolls and child's books and amusements, have lost all attractions. The father and mother feel that it is quite time that at least a limited amount of work™ and responsibility take the place and time of the outgrown toys. Here and there we find a boy or girl who cheerfully accepts the change, who puts on the new duties and responsibilities as they would the long dress in place of the short one, or the long trousers in place of the knickerbockers; but the majority of boys and girls feel themselves martyrs if they are compelled to do certain things that minister to the family life and comfort. They go to school every day willingly, and perform their duties there more or less faithfully. If they were asked “Why?” they would be surprised at the question. ‘Education was necessary. A man or woman could not amount to any thing if they did not have an education of some sort. Of course they would go to school, to prepare for being men and women in the worldl' : : ) The education out of school is sometimes far more valuable for living than any acquired in school. Mis Alcott, just before she died, wrote ‘‘Recollec+ tions of My Childhood” for the Youth's Companion. Many of you, no doubt, have read it. She tells, in her own delightful way, of the naughty pranks of her childhood, the thoughts and feelings' of her girlhood. In describing the family life after the return to Boston, she says: ““Anna soon found little pupils, and trudged away each morning to her daily task, pausing at the corner to wave her hand to me in answer to my salute with the duster. My father went to his classes at his room down town, mother to her all-absorbing poor, the little girls to school, and I was left to keep house, feeling like a caged seagull as I washed dishes and cooked in the basement kitchen, where my prospect was limited to a procession of muddy boots.” - Could any girl live a life that caused more self-sacrifice than this? With Miss Alcott's intense love for all things beautiful, love of the freedom of outdoor life, every minute must have been a trial. What doesshe say of it? *Goed drill, but very hard.” It was that very experience, no doubt, that enabled Miss Alcott to writes*Polly,” a story that has made little economies noble to hundreds of girls. It isso hard for us to learn that every day is just a preparation for the day to follow, that we can not separate our lives into pigeonholes numbered from one to three hundred and sixty-five, or into groups of twelve, or separate years from each other. Life is like a building having several parts but all under one roof, and to be symmetrical, sound, beautiful, every part must bear its right relation to every other part. Sometimes the ‘things that seemed hardest for us to bear will prove our greatest helg when we become men or women.

The writer, when twelve years old, wanted a dress of a certain kind. The woman who acted the part of mother to her told her she could have it if she would make it. Such a proposition staggered her, and all thought of the dress was given up. During the week she was sitting under a tree making a polonaise for her doll; she thought: ¢lf I can make clothes for my doll that fit and look pretty, why should I not make clothes for myself?”” = She ran into the house at once and announced that she would make thedress if she could have the materials. They were bought and’ carried to her room, ard there was fought a tremendous battle. The skirt of the dress was sewed on and ripped off thirteen times before it was pronounced right. During the week the little girl cried oceans of tears, it seemed t 9 her, and she felt that all kindness and goodness had gone out of life. Years after, when she was a woman, it became necessary for her to earn money, #nd the first money she earned was for making a dress for a rich, kind woman. If she had not learned to work for herself, depend on herself, she would have been helpless when necessity came. Like Miss Alcott, she says: ‘‘Good drill, but very hard.” ; e : e

' Men testify again and again that it is the learning to do things that seemed i hard and unnecessary that fitted them to be men in the business world. Doing - drudgery is the best way to master any business, any profession. A. T. Stewart knew how to sell goods over a counter ~ before he built up a business that sup- - ported hundreds. The founder of one [» e Ifia %Mfi”@%%

and studied before there is a mastery that commands respect. Not the boy or girl who scorns-the period becomes master, but the one who sees in it the stepping-stone to higher things. How you would laugh at the little child who, crying, protesting, or- scorning refused to learn how to add because he wanted to work problems in algebra! There are first steps out of school as well as in school.

Ability to work algebra depends ois the quickness and accuracy in addition. —Christian Union.

THIEVISH RATS.

They Even Steal Things of Which They Can Make No Practical Use—Cunnlng An= imals. ;

Rats are not only very wise creatures, but they are also notorious thieves. They constantly steal things, especially bright and glittering articles, that are not of the slightest use to them. A wood rat once formed a hoard in a stove in a house in California which h£ not been ° occupied for a eouple of years. During some repairs the mest was found, and a curious sight it presented. The outside of it was entirely made up of nails, all neatly arranged, points outward. In the middle lay the nest, composed of fibers, finely divided, of hemp packing. Then, mingled with ‘more nails, were two dozen knives, forks and spoons; three butcher's knives, a large carvingknife, fork and steel; several plugs of tobacco; an old purse containing some silver; matches; nearly all the small ’ tools from the tool-chest, but some large augers among them; the case of a silver watch in one part of the heap,’ the glass face in another part, and the “works” in another. Here, therefore, you have an instance of rats taking the trouble to bring tfogether from all quarters of a house a variety of things they did not and could not make use of. This seems to show ‘that rats have a real mania for thieving, simply for the sake of stealing.

But they are also very cunning animals. How do you think a rat managed to transport a big potato to his home? Lying on his back, he placed the potato on his breast and held it there' with his paws, while his mate dragged him along by the tail like a sledge until they came to a hole in the floor. Down this hole the potato was rolled, and- the rats went tumbling after! i : ’ : .

However, we must @ot do the rats an injustice. There is no doubt thatin many cases they behave very kindly to one another. Here is a pleasing example of such affection. A poor blind ! old rat had acquired a great liking for cod-liver oil (doesn’'t this prove that they are sensible beings as well as thievish, and cunning and kind?)—a fondness which had probably grown upon him before he lost his sight. Of course he was unable without help to gratify this taste of his, but a young rat, pitying his forlorn state, used to . lead him to the oil-flasks. Now, when ‘a rat wants any thing out of a bottle, he does not knock the vessel over and break it; that would be clumsy and wasteful. No; he slips his tail into the liquid "and then licks his tail. Well, when the young conductor arrived at the'cod-liver oil, he dipped his tail into thé bottle, and allowed his venerable friend to lick the oil off. This done, the guardian carefully conveyed his charge back to his lodging. Was not the young rat really a good Samaritan? Little Folks.

UNMERITED PRAISE.

How Jennle Was Cured of an Unhappy

: Trait—A True Story. Jennie was, I'm sorry to write, a very indolent little girl. Any thing that savored of work she was very loth t¢ do. Her head would conveniently ache, or something was generally the matter if she was called upon to perform the least task; and yet, strange as it may seem, she disliked to be thought or called lazy; indeed she aimed to get the name of being industrious. But she was cured of that kind of deception in a very unpleasant manner. : -Jennie had a very sensible mamma who tried in every way to overcome her little daughter’s selfish fault—for laziness is nothing dbut real selfishness. She vainly tried to make the tasks interesting. She would take much of her own precious time cutting and trimming dolls’ clothes, hoping thereby to conquer her daughter’s indolent habits by instilling a love for sewing. il

. There was one task above all others that Jennie hated; yet her mamma insisted upon her doing it every week, and doing it well. This was to darn her papa’s socks and her own little stockings. ‘ . Elis

One day, an elderly gentleman—a distant relative of her papa’s—came from Ohio for a short visit. Jennie was bustling about quite lively during his stay, and she did not wait, as usual, for mamma to produce the dreaded stocking-bag, but set herself at work with a very industrious air. =~ She soon caught the smile of approval upon the gentleman’s face. - “What a busy little maiden!” exclaimed he, putting down his newspae per and doffing his spectacles.

RENEE . I R e iy | RO R e M T Yoy ot «J always mend papa’s socks,” said she, fishing for more praise. ; s“lndeed, papa is highly favored. Do you find it a pleasant taskP” ~ #Oh, yes! See, can I not do it nicely?’ said she, handing him a sock, which was examined by the gentleman and praised to her heart’'s content. He then arose, went to his room, and returning, brought at least a dozen pair of socks that were decidedly the ‘‘worse for wear.” o 4 :

“Perhaps,” said he, ‘‘you would like to mend these up for me, as I have no wife or nice industrious little girl to call upon. It will not take. you long you seem 80 spry with your needle. I may go away this evening, so please fix them up to-day. Had Isnchasmaré little girl to mend ' them onsthe start they would not be -so badly worn. ‘A stitch in time saves nine,’ you know.” Vainly Jennie wished that somebody had taken the old. mhem’v in time;” but there was no other way than for her to wearily ply her -darne . ing noedle the ‘livelong day.” It ame ekb S bB R