Ligonier Banner., Volume 24, Number 1, Ligonier, Noble County, 18 April 1889 — Page 3

: AN EASTER. SONG. "y Mf; 3l Eb R » /A ’/“';ﬂ’ ‘bore t: se* the sum- // t‘ '7"/‘?"' :"5 A mer go; i A /fl , @ We bore 10 see the S ‘f iy, ‘J i ruthless wind s VML 0Y Beat all the golden g “jf ~ leaves and red S\l ,/ .In drifting masses to \ . Ag;‘ bl ) ! Tmand fro, o : B g 2 not a leaf reN ’j[;\ k’ 'l"] mained behind; ° ,“@gf/: 7 iWe taced the winter's “\¥b ) S~ frown, and said: oy /Y /" %b W “There comes reward \ N~ for il our pain, - A £ s'[ §, For every loss there $ comes a gain; And spring, which never failed us yét - ) Out of the snow-drift and the ice amll some day bring the violet.” ¢ bore—what could we do but bear?— To see Youth perish in its prime, i ﬁnd Hope grow faint and Joyance grieved, nd Dreams all vanish in thin air, ; And Beauty, at the touch of time, Become a memory, half believed; * - Still we could smile, and still we said: ‘‘Hope, Joy and Beauty are not dead; God’s Angel guards them all and sees— Close by the grave He sits and waits—fhere comes a spring for even these.” We bore to see dear faces pale, Dear voices falter, s~ \ilag srAw-sran. oy And life ebb KE a tide at sea, 5 Till underneath-the misty vail ; Our best beloved, one by one, - Vanished and parted silently. We stayed without, but still could say: “@rief’s winter dureth not alway; Who sleep-in Christ with Christ shall rise. We wait our Easter morn in tears, They in the smile of Paradise.” 0 thought of healing, word of strength! O light to lighten darkest way! D saving help and balm of il1! ' For all our dead shall dawn at length - A slowly broadening Easter Day, A Resurrection calm and still. The little sleep will not seem long, The silence shall break.out in song, The sealed eyes shall ope—and then ; We who have waited patiently shall li)ve and have our own again. —Susan Coolidge, in N, Y. Independent. - AN EASTER BONNET. But It Was Not Purchased Until ; in June.

i H, SAM! Sam! Sam!” & ‘Shwear I never 00l %A% meant—" ' « L. T “Oh, bé silent!” o X o G 2 ¢Bilent . yourself! %i;» i Boys made me go—+ A 8 girls ' sho squeamo ) X% ism ’bout boys—boys —boys—" ’ ' =W “I thank the good 9| Father in Heaven [ s that our parents did ki) not live to see this i %’ day! lam glad they Cha L are both dead—did you hear me? Glad—glad!” - He may hear her, but the only answer phe gets is a muttering she can not com prehend, as her brother turns upon the pillow and goes off into a stupor worse ¢ven than his preceding state of garrulity—a state that had held him long enough to allow him tp make known to his proud sisjer a something that at its first hearing Iti%fd the very beating of her heart. ere 'is mot & moment to be lost, but tvhat shall she do? There is asmall key lying upon the boy's wash-stand close be‘ide the bed, a key that sends out little brassy gleams to meet the flare of the canflle in her hand. With a ory she pounces ppon it, seeing her way clear to a step’ she floes not for an instant hesitate to take.

With 'one backward look of infinite love and pity, she leaves the bedside, opens the loor, -dloses it softly after her, and flies swiftly along the passage to her own room. It is very late; but Virginia Waters could not sleep until certain of the whereabouts of her dez, easily-led, good-hearted, beautiful hrother Sam. ' !

He had come lumbering in, hours past midnight, with a noisy effort at a stealthy mounting of the two flights of narrow, ungarpeted stairs; had plunged along the lit-fle-hall-“a human vessel in distress—and had, at last, ‘found harborage within the limjts of Iris own four walls. Then Virginia had come to him, and with wide eyes and pale lips had heard the story of his first crimes. Not that of drinking alone—bad as that was in itself—but of the dishonest means by which he had bought the wine—at least that is what Virginia makes out . his maudlin speech to be—for this youth, trusted and loved for his frankness, amiability and—yes, beauty, had betrayed that confidence and taken money not his own. With a quick turning of the knob Miss Waters lets herself into her oewn room. It {s a plain little room, containing a narrow couch—-marvelously white—an ordinary bureau and washstand, two chairs and a magnificent organ; this last the only relic left to remind its owner of bygone days of plenty. It is the room of a nun; so clean, so sweet, 8o unpretending is it; a room strangely in contrast to the other apartments of this large building. ' For here, over the store-rooms below, are found the more publie offices of men of business—professional gentlemen, in the main, who occupy thesé rooms by day but who vacate them at sunset. Her's and her brother’s are the only living rooms in this large building, yet Virginia, although she knows that her foot-fall sounds upon no listening ear, walks softly all on tiptoe, as one bound upon a stealthy mission. o .And, alas! it is so; for out of the top drawer of the pine bureau comes a pocketbook, and, from this pocket-book, a little roll of bills, ;

“For this!” she cries, as she counts the roll carefully over, “‘for thishave I slaved and saved —for this. And yet I thank God that this is mine in this hour of need! Poor Bam! poor boy! Thus does my love reach out and shield you—oh, brother, brother—if you only knew!” : Down the silent, dimly-lighted stairway goes the girl. No fear assails her at. this fread hour of night save the fear of being

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gasps—her heart-beats seem almost audible; for now that her mission is almost a thing accomplished, the "tension of her nerves causes them to become like the wires of some delicate instrument, whereon agony and terror strike harsh discords. The contents of the pocket-hook fall into the money-drawer, which is pushed shut just as the sound’ of coming footsteps strikes her ear.: Itis the night watchman going his rounds. She sees a face peer through the panes, and suddenly a dark ‘lantern is turned full upon the long aisles between and behind the counters, As she cowers, blinded by the flash, she feels as though, in all the world to come, there will be no hour of torment worse than this, ‘But after this second’s flash all jis dark again, and the man, as if satisfied by what he did not see, goes on his way. : Is this Virginia Waters, this white-faced woman, who, an' hour' later, stands staring into the mirror before her? So white, 80 wan, 80 sick in her very soul-is this the cheerful girl who, until now, has battled 80 bravely with the great world—wrenching from it with her slender, musical hands enough to satisfy her meager wants? Aye, more than enough; for dimes and quarters coins smaller and even larger than these i:ave been carefully hoarded of late -money that now lay below stairs in the small «dark drawer behind the counter. But the Gay-dreams it has brought her as often as she has counted i¢ over and.over were vanished as utterly ard guickly as a rudelygrasped bubble! - SeIG T ¥or Love had come to her. The little blind god, in very opposition to his visual misfortune, had caused her own eyes to be opened to things unnoted heretofore. Never until he came had the black dress seemed 80 rusty, the old bonnet so very old, the shawl so shabby, the gloves and shoes so hideously patched and mended. The glorious wealth of hair shimmering in its silken beauty by the contrast of its loveliness made the headgear upon it all the uglier—and she, Virginia Waters, whose exquisite taste had, in the happy bygone, had full opportunity for its indulgence, fastened the faded basdue with a piteous glance at the worn seams and hunger in her heart for pretty apparel like to that of her favored sisters. g . '

To show him herself in a fitting frame—to feel once more the touch of new garments, the delights of silken textures, of crisp ribbons, of dainty laces! And upon Easter Day, this glorious day-dream was to have become a thing of reality; for to accomplish this end she had added -furtively to her stock of small coins which she turned into bills as they accumulated; but she breathed no word of it to Sam, who was to have been astonished beyond measure. The lights are all out now, and the great world is asleep. Into her own little bed creeps Virginta, who prays, as the tears flow fast and bitterly, that the dear dead on this one night come mnot into cognizance of things earthly—for Heaven would not be Heaven, she knew, to those who loved the boy and girl so fondly, could they look to-night into the hearts of either! The dream-angels fold their pitying wings over poor Virginia. Soft fancies, born in paradise, float through the soul's liberated senses, soothing and comforting her. The early dawn finds her still locked in slumber, even the sun looks inquisitively in at her windows, making yellow ladders wupon which the dust -fairies madly climb-and yet she sleeps. ‘“Virginia!” Her eyes slowly open. ‘‘Oh, Virginia!” : “Come in,” she says, sleepily, reaching out her hand and drawing the bolt of the door near her bed’s head. ‘‘ls it you, Sam?”’ There is mno recollection: -of last night's calamities. Dame Memory has mot as yet unlocked the portals leading to her mysterious domain. ‘‘Dear old boy!” This pet name, so fondly given, is too much for the loving, remorseful brother. With a great cry he throws himself upon his knees at his sister’s bedside, and, burying his face upon the pillow beside her own, weeps as if his young heart would break.

It all’ comes back then—that shameful thing that seems in this late, sunny hour to have been but ahideous nightmare—a grewsome creature of the hours of darkness. With this thought the remembrance of the sacrifice she has made comes back to her with four-fold bitterness, and in her heart of hearts she rebels. | :

But the throes of agony that rock the very foundation of his remorseful soul cut like so many knjves into the armor of her selfishness; and, before he hasshut the floodgates of his stormy grief, her fair hand falls upon his beautiful head and her low voice calls his name: :

‘‘Sam, don’t, dear! Be comforted, poor boy! Experience is a hard school, Sam, and* you have just learned a terrible lesson therein—such a lesson as you will never need to learn twice, Sam—always remember that.” : .

* Oh, Virginia! Virginia!” * Don’t, Sam!” ' ‘1 wish I were dead—dead —dead!”’ “" Sam !”

‘ The disgrace is worse than death, Virginia,” says the boy, suddenly throwing back his head and showing a face set and resolute. ‘I don’t know what I may have told you last night when I was—was—" ‘* Not sober, Sam.” : “ But I will tellyou now just how it happened. The ’cycle club boys came down at dusk and asked /me to go to see the run for aribbon at the rink. I started out with five dollars—my wages for the half week, Virginia, you know. Well, that went—too soon. I took a friendly hand with the boys, and I—l lost. What to do I didn’t know. Like a flash it came to me that I had deposited twenty dollars (payment for a pretty good bill of goods I sold after Mr. Arleigh left the store last night) in the moneydrawer, as he always told me to do. Itold the boys if they would come home with me I would pay this debt of honor.”” . ‘* Debt—of—honor!” b :

‘‘And so—and so I took it. Twenty dollars—it might as well be twenty thousand, as far as I amconcerned—what shall I do? What shall I do?”

‘‘Bam, have I been a good sister to you?” ‘“ Oh, Virginia!” wails the boy. *Will you try to think that it is through me that mother and father ask you to promise sacredly to resist hereafter all such temptations as these?”’ ‘ “ Virginia—" ‘

*“And it I should say: ‘Sam, no disgrace shall come to you—as much money as you took has long since been put back into the money-drawer. You are free from the condemnation of men, with nothing to make you ashamed save your own conscience’— how would you feel, Sam?” ‘* How do-s the wretch upon the scaffold feel when the pardon comes to lift the noose from about his neck?”

*Thus, then, I lift the noose of disgrace—my poor, dear, best beloved and only brother, you are free!” ,

When he comes to fully comprehend the great thing she has done for him he starts to his feet a new man. He catches his breath as one who has been buffeting with an awful flood, and has in the hour of despair beén thrown a saving buoy. He cries and laughs aloud, kissing his rister as he pours the rich store of his gratitude upon her. She turns him out at last, and he goes flying down-stairs to his duties in the “ghop.” ; ‘When he has gone Virginia gives herself up to many and various reflectiohs—some bitter, some sweet. And the most bitter is the thought that for a long, long time she must gown herself in her same old worn habiliments.

Next day is Sunday. The black dress has been carefully brushed, the bows on the black bonnet pulled and pinched and pressed, the patched shoes blackened, the gloves remended and all the articles of apparel donned. It is a short walk to the church wherein Virginia fills the office of organist, and she finds her way up the little spiral stair to her place behind the heavy, narrow curtains as the bells ring out their solemn invitation to saint and ginner, | i ; DR ' Mr. Fonda, the bass, is already there; so, ‘algo, is Mrs. Sindon, the contralto; but it 1s only when the 'bells have stopped their

pealing that the tenor and soprano enter the loft together —both a little anxiously, as if the knowledge of their tardiness is a consciousness that smites them., .

‘‘Page 57, Miss Roosevelt—take my Book, Mr. Arleigh,” says Mrs. Sindon. Oh! to play the sweet chords —tofetch the divine music from the magnificent instrument béfore her when her whole soul was one great, jangling discord—her heart full of inharmony! Miss Roosevelt's’ clear, full voice soars aloft and fills the edifice full of rich melody; and then the mellow tenor—his voice—weds hers and — ¥

There is a rustligg of silken garments —Miss Roosevelt sinks :down, with a pretty flush upon her fait face, into a chair very near to the stool occupied by Miss Waters. . She gives the organist a careless nod and turns a smiling face upon Arleigh, who has found a place beside her. Virginia has not seen the quick, keen look the one man of all the world has bent towards the place where she sits—has seen nothing but his entrance with Miss Roosevelt—Miss Roosevelt, the brilliant young society belle, who comes to sing each Sabbath day because she loves to hear the sound of her own beautiful voice; and who loves,also, to come thus into a closer sympathy with the handsome tenor, Jack Arleigh. The preacher passes wearily through the long ‘‘eighthlys” and ‘‘ninthlys”” and an hour passes. Then is Mr. Fonda gently pushed awake by Mrs. Sindon, who finds the place in the hymn-book for herself and

X ~ B\ ﬁr ‘LS‘M. f 4 fou 1\ ¥ N e Y o |\l | !.'4) 0’ i~ /5 L\ J rér\'”,/,:'ay' » 5 ; ‘;, i WSS i i §\\\ 3 : /Z% | W ! A Ty Y o %LW“ “"‘J'ﬁ"’il" \'s "ﬂ ;'\. f',' s Sy =\ (=< \(“ //:—w%~u ' \ \\ — I\ = \L| \ g s Y ~/ ’;, A ‘, -‘\?;g :':1 : ‘' YIRGINIA, WHAT I 8 IT?” friends. Virginia sends trembling chords of music from the gilded reeds above her, and, after a little while, the congregation move slowly out of the church. _** Miss Waters!” She turns and confronts Jack Arleigh. ‘ Oh, Mr. (Arleigh,” chimes in Miss Roosevelt, ‘“‘you must really tell me the rest of that amusing story—come!” There is a pretty insistance in her studiously careless manner, and all there is left. to be done by tenor and orgagist is to bow and part. Days creep by—weeks pass. Virginia's gayety has deserted her. Although she has saved her brother the first and only disgrace of his life, she can draw but scant comfort from the sacrifice she has made. After allit was such a shamefully useless expenditure ot the appropriated money—all gone for a ‘‘debt of honor”—honor!—what mockery was this? Sam notices the drooping of his sister’s spirits and his heart is wrung within him, and when his sorrow grows greater and not less as the hours pass, and he comes upon her bathed in tears, he demands fraternally the meaning of all this misery. Surely /e is safe; what other;misfortune could so affect her? 3 b

‘‘Virginia, what is it? Here's the fourth time I've caunght you weeping. Can’t—can’t you get over the remembrance of my meanness?”?”

“‘Oh, Sam! it's not that; it's only pure gelfishness in me—but—but—"

“What? Is there any thing I can do, Virginia? . Tell me.” *“‘No, Sam—no!” with a gush of tears that comes near annihilating the loving, cone trite boy. ‘‘lt isn’t you at—-at all!” “It isn’t me,” says the boy, sadly and ungrammatically; ‘“well, 'm thanktul for that.” ;

“It's—it’s—it’s —look at me, Sam! Look at these old clothes—these horrid old clothes! See these almost ragged elbows—these dorned gloves—thisugly, ugly, very old bonnet! Oh!” andthe young woman, who can be brave and daring and selfish when great needs require it, thinks mow wupon her threadbare estate and sobs aloud.

‘“By Jove, you are rather seedy-looking,” falters the boy, looking ruefully at the weeping girl's habiliments. ‘I mever mnoticed it betore, really. Don’t cry, Virginia —does it really hurt youso!” /

“Hurttme? It kills me—oh!” ‘‘Poor sister!”’ ‘‘And I meant to have a new gown and bonnet this Easter; but—but—" ; “Is that what you saved that money for?” *“Don’t think I regret it, Sam; but I'm so shabby—yes, it was!” iThere is nothing he can think of to say to Virginia to comfort her; but as he walks beside her through the bright sunshine of this glad Easter morning he vows a vow unto himself; and all through the beautiful services that follow he feels his heart grow glad with a great gladness. And the anthems sound like the voicing of rejoicing angels over this soul that, conquering, holds a strong and holy mastery over self. Up in the organ loft there is woe enough. Virginia’s slender fingers press the ivory keys while her small ears listen eagerly for the rich tones, that, directly, soar beyond the “deep baying bass,” only to be folJdowed by the contralto and soprano as they take their musical flight. And, besides the music, the loft is filled with rustle of fresh millinery, and sweet perfnmes make odorous the air of that curtained sanctuary. How the contrast deepens between the rich and the poor! How Miss Roosevelt's correct and elegant street dress, Miss Roosevelt’s exquisite ‘‘pattern” hat, Miss Roosevelt’s dainty boots ‘and delicately tinted gloves put to shame her own habiliments! Oh, to teel like that once more —to feel — ‘* Miss Waters—Virginia!” i “Yes, Mr. Arleigh.” “T wish,” he breathes softly, ‘‘l wish to walk home with you—will you—nay, I shiill take no denial!” . B

Walk home with her? She lifts her happy eyes to meet Jack Arleigh’s, but in their quick uplifting they encounter first the stare of two black orbs that look stonily out from under the mostmarvelous of chapeawz. In this stare she reads that which turns her eyes upon Jack Arleigh as if to question his gincerity, and which forces her to say softly, but coldly: : - “Ibeg you will excuse me, Mr. Arleigh; brother Sam is my escort to-day.” =

“Well, sir, what can I do for you?” “You can take this chair, please, the first thing, Mr. Arleigh I have a confession to make to you—l can no longer keep silent!” “All right, Sam,” laughing easily, as he leaned back against the tall desk behind him. ‘I am listening.” “T hardly know how to begin, sir; but, Mr. Arleigh—" : ‘ “‘Remember, boy, it hasn’t been many months since I was young mysélf - young, yes, and foolish into the bargain. So you ‘have my sympathy.” £ - “Your sympathy, sir, evén though I have committed a erime?”

“Crime? Hoity-toity! What tragedy is this! My dear boy, you will yet live to learn that mén and women are fit for nothing but the cheapest sort of comedy! Well, go on,, Sam—proceed!”’ ‘“You will call it crime and no comedy, sir, when you learn that I—l-took from yonder money-drawer a—a twenty-dollar bill!” | **Bhall I? And for what?” : 1 “To pay a debt of henor—no—Virginia was right—dishonor! 1 gambled with the 'cycle fellows and—lost!” Then follows the whole of the pitiful story. ‘Bo you took the vmonz{uhumphl” 1 gaid you would oall it a crime, gir—" ““Have ‘I called it that? My boy, it was simply an error—a mistake on your part.

We will call it that, if you pieass. A wish to set a wrong matter right—that was all; a desire to find satisfaction where it would seem that commodity was not to be found. You saw—at oncé—yeur—mistake, Sam?” “With Virginia’s help—yes. Ch, Mr. Arleigh, 'm a brute—a worse thun brute! When my wsister found out what you are pleased to call my ‘error,” she took alli her little savings—and—and—" “What?” : S syl

“Came down here alone at two o'clock in the morning and placed her own twenty dollars in the money-drawer. Twenty pitiful, precious dollars she had savel and scraped together for over a year so that she might -buy a new frock for herself—poor—poor—" and the lad breaks down and sobs like a girl. : . “Why, Sam, this is—awful! If you had only come to me—" s ‘‘She went at once, after midnight, sir, fearing you would find out my horrible—"’ ‘* Mistake. Poor Virginia!”

* And soshe couldn’t buy the new clothes she wanted for Easter,”” goes on the boy, wildly, ‘‘and I never noticed that her elbows were almost rags - did you notice it sir?”?

*‘She is an angel!” cries Jack Arleigh. ‘‘lf she were,” vouchsafes the boy, growing comforted and less unhappy at the turn his employer has tagen all through this disreputable affair, ‘‘it would be so much the better for her; think how easily she could fold her wings over those sad little elbows!? ¢ o

‘“Sam?” The door has opened and closed —somebody they both knew to be the angel of whom they have been speaking has entered. She advances at Sam’s response and stands outside the counter, opposite the big desk.: ‘‘Could you let me have a dollar, Sam?”?

“ I think,” interposes Jack Arleigh, ‘“‘that you could spare her twenty; don’t you, Sam? Miss Waters, you have come in time to hear some good news—that is, I am hoping ’twill seem good to you. Your brother, Sam,’is to be taken into partnership with me at once—Arleigh & Waters—Waters & .Arleigh—how does that sound? Euphonious, I hope?” : | Sam’s dark eyes grow so lsrge and lustrous with the wonder and amaze that has beset him that Jack Arleigh lawghs aloud, and sends him off to finish ‘his invoicing in the most remotie corner of the room. SVirginia!?. > : " “*Oh, is it true?” . SEeaie

“It is as true as that you, my sweet saint, need not the glory of the Easter lilies to enhance the beauty of your soul! Virginia, I know the story of the Doy’'s mistake—his first error; for he has confessed to me. Confessed, too, your martyr-like share in the sad little farce.” Overcoming the barrter between them by a sudden dextrous motion, he stands beside her. “And was it. because of the lack of fine feathers that I was not to walk beside you yesterday? Waa it, Virginia? Ah! do not answer, my daxling—there is no need. Sam!” ‘‘Well, gir?” “Your brother-in-law’s 'wife (that is to be) thinks she would prefer to buy her Easter bonnet in Paris. Will you consent to let us run away together? You won't mind keeping store alone for a few months —eh, Bam? That is, you know, with an assistant clerk —’ ‘‘And how about the money-drawer, sir? But, there—l consent—and—bless you, my children!” : And when kingly June stalks through the sunny avenues of Paris he meets no fairer vision than Virginia Arleigh, whose beautiful face is framed in blossoms that should have bloomed on Easter Day. . EvA BesT.

TOMBSTONE SOCIETY. : Doings of the Gay in the Pleasure-Loving Metropolis of Arizona. Bill Higgins, of Whackerville, is in town —the price of whisky has gone up ten cents a glass. It is rumored that Limpy Jake is engaged to an Apache half-breed. Shake, Jake! The engagement between the beautifu Miss Mollie Simpson and Mr. Ed Johnson has been suddenly broken off. Ed was lynched last night by vigilantes. Shorty French and Rose Jenkins were joined in the holy bonds of matrimony at the residence of the bride’s father af ten o'clock last Tuesday evening. The ceremony was followed by a reception, at which the elite of Tombstone society were present. The égifts -were numerous and costly. It gives us pleasure to announce that Rose will continue to take in washing. Our polite circles will grieve to learn éf the death of ‘Slim Charlie,’”” who has long been a favorite in fashionable society. One of the ranch boys caught him with a superfluous ace up his sleeve last Sunday, and dropped him. We mourn our loss. The *‘Olive Branch’’ Chapter of the *Arizona Benevolent Association’ held its monthly meeting at Murphy’s saloon last night. Only three members were killed. although several were badly knifed. It is thought that President Pete Riley will not live, as his skull was smashed in by a billiard cue, on account of a decision on a point of order. We alwaysthought Péte's 'skull was thicker than that. The billiard cue was turned over to the sheriff,

The ball at-the Skinner’s, last Saturday evening, was one of the most brilliant affairs of the season. Dancing ccizmenced at eight o’cldck, and continued until old man Skinner; came out with ‘a doublebarreled shot-gun and swore he would kill the next man who broke through the floor. Many of the costumes were beautiful, many had never been worn before, and many, it is hoped, will never be worn again. The punch was excellent, and as the reci is a favorite one, we give it for the beneﬁi of our readers: Take five gallons of good whisky (any whisky will do, if you can’t get good), strain through a flour sieve, and drink with a tin cup. This recipe originated with old Skinner’s grandfather, and has been jn the family ever since. The entire affair was a marked success, and we join in the hope that it may be soon repeated. - We may remark, en passant, that the body of the commercial drummer who tried to wear a suit of full dress, such as is worn in the effete East, to this affair started back to St. Louis’ this morning.— Tom Hali, in Life. o

The Usual Thing.

The detective slowly and cautiously lol~| lowed the man with the slouch hat. Heshads owed him from saloon to saloon, and from den to den. Jumping behind tree-hoxes, and changed his *cover” every five }ninutes. Finally hesaw him enter a low, dingy house on the North side, and .close his door with a slam. He had trailed the' criminal to his lair.. Thkis night’s sleepless work had been hard upon the old detective. He had met his victim four hundred times, drank with him two hundred and fifty times, talked with him one hundred times, and vaguely hinted at the crime just forty-nine times. He had changed his ¢ cover” at every corner, and had been knocked senseless twenty-five times by the pals of the criminal. The old detective went through that [terrible night’s experience merely for the purpose of giving a contributor to a weekly story paper a chance to write a blood-curdling tale. The criminal escaped, finally, through a coal hole, swam out-into the Chicago river, and floated on his back the entire length of Lake Michican. He was at last discovered in a palace hotelin Canada, living like a prince. But the stery was written, and thousands of ninnies had read it in serial form.. The heroine married the old detective, for the thousandth time. Yet there was ngr suit for bigamy. St e : ; - He Saw the Teacher, Said the teacher to oné of the pupils in the grammar class: : - “John, what is the past of seet” M Been, g . e ) o '_‘"Nb’.?bhgi,’ itiegaw. . oo : , “Yes, sir, and if a sea-fish swims by me ' &ﬁ{ea%ﬁmm 8 saw-fish when it is past L(e AR S B e your mother to soulk your feet in hot water,

PUNGENT PARAGRAPHS.--

—*“Who are the fools of the human race?”’ This is an easy one. If the query were, Who are the wise? it would be a poser.—Boston Courier. -

—Soarandflop (grandiloquently) — **Yes; it pays to do right. Honesty is the best policy after all.” TFrankley—“Why don’t you have it renewed?’— Time. - , —**What is the future of Ilreland?” exclaimed the Senator, in earnest tones. “Ireland,’’ssaid the new school ma'am calmly, ‘‘has no future; it is a noun.”— Burdette. 4 : ~ ~—As the warmer weather comes on, metals begin to expand. A ten-dollar gold piece reaches a great deal further when the gas-man and the coal-man have relaxed their grip.—Puck. —Dean Burgon once ended an animated sermon with—‘‘And so Jonah was lodged in the whale’s belly, where, my dear brethren, we will leave him until we meet again next Sabbath.’’ —The drama is getting more and more realistic. Real babies, real water, real burglars, are among the advertised realities. We have hopes of a future play with real actors. — Baltimore ‘American. ’

—Clementine—*‘lf T had known you married me only for my money I would never have accepted you.”” Montague —*‘And if I'd known you were going to be so close with it I would never have proposed.’’—Life. —Miss Backbite (who has been discussing several of her friends’ misdeeds)—*“Now, you know, I never repeat scandals—'' Mrs. Candor — *No, my dear, I’ve heard you invent them.””—Philadelphia Press. : —Picture Dealer (exhibiting a painting)—*That, sir, is a genuine Turner.”’ Purchaser—*Yes, I see. You have to turn it around a good many times before you can make out what it is.”’— America. : 5

—Oold Lady—‘My dear, doyoureally think you are fit to become a minister’s: wife?”” Engaged Niece (from the West)—<Yes, indeed. I don’t mind being talked about at all.”’—N. Y. Weekly. —-Father—*Well, how did you come out on the bean-guessing contest?” Dull boy—*‘l guessed there was 150 beans in the ;ar, and there was 9,200.” Father (sadly)—*l'm afraid you'll never be fit for any thing but a weather bureau chief.”—Philadelphia Record. —A warning: Jay Gould will pass throughk (or go through) the city at two o’clock this afternoon, en route to the Southwest. If the citizens will exhibit a little activity, perhaps they can get the town nailed down before Mr. Gould arrives.—Terre Haute Express. —Husband—¢‘Well, love, have yjou some cold chicken for supper, as you promised?”’ Newly-made bride—“‘Yes, darling; I bought a beautiful live chicken, and it has been yelling in the refrigerator for more than two hours. I think it must be cold by this time.”’— Lowell Citizen. !

—*Yes,” said Dumley, proudly, ‘I wasasoldier in the war of the rebellion, and if I do say it myself, I made a good one.”” The thrill of admiration which was about to start through the party was suddenly stopped by Featherly, who said musingly: “Let me see, Dumley, it was in ’64. wasn’t it, that you were drafted?’’—Epoch. —dJones (to Brown who had just dropped in to borrow a fiver)—‘Well, I'll do it this time, but I wonder you are ashamed to be always in debt. Look at me. I don’t owe a penny.” Brown—‘‘Dare say not, old man. You haven’t a borrowing face. Nobody would. trust you.”’—Pick Me Up. —¢] remember riding home in a horsé-car with Henry W. Paine one day,” remarked a story-teller, apropos of this eminent Maine jurist. ¢‘Paine was reading a sheepskin-bound volume of law reports. A mutual acquaintance hailed him and said: ‘See here, Paine, do you have to study law still?” ¢This isn’t law,’ said Paine, ‘it's only a collection of decisions of the Massachusetts Supreme Court.’” — Lewiston Journal. - 7

Sherman at the Theater.

General Sherman is a first-nighter, and usually sits in an aisle seat or a proscenium box. A peculiarity of the General’s is that he seems to forget that any one besides himself is in the theater. He talks to his companion about the performers on the stage without regard to his surroundings. The other night, at one of the fashionable houses, he broke in upon a silent bit of stage action which was being worked out by a young actress with the stentorian praise of: : “She’s going to make an actress.”

Every body near him stared, and then laughed. The General did not appear to be aware that he had been heard. He settled back into his big collar with an exclamation of contentment. At that theater, where every body knows the old warrior, his rumbling interruptions are accepted good-naturedly. But down at one of the Bowery houses the man in the gallery would bring down his rattan cane to command silence, and the gentlemanly usher would come down the aisle, touch the soldier on the arm, and say: *“Soy, old man, bite off yer stories ‘now, or go outsida and lose your voice.” —N. Y. Sun. '

Not Much on Orthography.

The grave charge brought by Artemus Ward against Chaucer that he ‘‘couldn’t spel wel” applies also to no less a personage than Mary Washington, the mother of the father of his country. In the Cosmopolitan Magazine Moncure D. Conway publishes a fac-simile letter taken from the original in the colleetion of Dr. Thomas Addis Emmet, which runs as follows, verbatim ot literatim: : : ; i 7 “JDLY the 2 1760 “DEAR BROTHER ; “This Comes by Capt. Nickelson you Seem to blam me for not writing to you butt I Doe a Shour you it is Not for want of a very great Regard for you & the family butt as I don’t Ship tobacco the Captains Never Calls one me 806 that I never knows when tha come or when tha goe. I believe you have got a very good overseer at this quarter since Capt. Newton has taken a Large peace of ground from you which I dear say if you had been hear your Self it had notbeen Don: Mr. Danial & his wife & family uwgﬁeoz:n ﬁnhm“h ‘has been m;.;;;oa & Liost ‘her husband She has one Child a boy pray give my Loveo St Ball & Mr. Dowiruan & i “M*W:%W INGTONY

. .——-—-——-—’ £ SR EASTER EGGS: . The top-knot biddy, with yellow legs, : Was Harry's, and every morn - He gave her orders for Easter eggs, ‘While he scattered the oats and corn. Day by day, for a week, he fed _Rations of every hue; - - : Chosen ears of yellow and red, , And Squaw-corn, white and blue. : “Now, Biddy Top-knot,” I heard him Easter will be here soon; . - . : A dozen eggs, at least, you must lay By to-morrow afternoon; - . 'Red ones, Biddy, the nicest kind, : And yellow and blue, real bright, . Speckled and striped and spotted; now mind Zat you make 'em zackly right.” But in spite of feeding and coaxing, too, His biddy would only lay, . Instead of red and yellow and blue, Just one white egg a day. And Harry's patience was sorely tried; 3 But he waited and watched the nest, " And stroked his biddy, and softiy sighed, I fink she will do her best."” 3 On Easter morning, wasn’t it fun ' ‘Tolook at him through a crack— He went to the nest, as he’d often done, But soon came capering back y ‘With his apron full of Easter eggs, - ' Striped and speckled and gay; The top-knot biddy with yellow legs . ‘Was petted and praised mat day. He told mamma just how it befell; She listened again and again; 'Twas such a pleasure to hear him dwell _ On the skill of his wonderful hen. And when he had gone to share his prize With Susy and Katy and Ned, M The dear mamma looked ever so wise, But never a word she said. —Youth’s Companion. ety (. . GOOD AND BAD PREFERENCES. Why Charleyrl‘ailemSecure a Very Desirable Place. Charley was whistling a merry tune as he came dow!\ the road, with his hands in his pockets, his cap pushed back on his head, and a general air of good fellowship with the world. He was on his way to apply for a position in a stationer’s store that he was very anxious to obtain, and in his pocket were the best of references concerning his character for willingness and honesty. He felt sure that there would not be. much doubt of his obtaining the place when he presénted these credentials. !

A few drops of rain fell, as the bright sky was overcast with clouds, and he began to wish that he had brought an umbrelld From a house just a little way before him two little children were starting out for.school, and the mother stood in the door pmiling approval as the boy raised the umbrella and took the little sister under its shelter in a manly fashion. Charley was a great tease, and, like most boys who indulge in teasing or rough practical jokes, he always took care to select for his victim some one weaker or younger than himself.

«T'll have some fun with those children,” ‘he said to himself; and before they had gone very far down the road he crept up behind them, and snatched the umbrella out “of the boy’s hands. In vain thelittle feliow pleaded with him to return it. Charley took a malicious delight in pretending that he was going to break it or throw it over the fence; and as the rain had stopped, he amused himself in this way for some distance, making the children run after him and plead with him tearfully for their umbrella. : S

Tired of this sport at last, he relinquished the umbrella as a carriage approached, and, leaving the children to dry their tears, went on toward the store. Gl

Mr. Mercer was not in, so Charley sat down on the steps to wait for him. An old gray cat was basking in the sun, and Charley amused himself by pinching the poor animal's tail till she mewed pitifully and struggled to escape. 0 :

While he was enjoying this sport, Mr. Mercer drove up in his carriage, and passed Charley on his way into the store. The boy released tHe cat, and, following the gentleman in, respectfully presented his references. “These do very well,”” Mr. Mercer said, returning the papers-to Charley. «qlf I had not seen some of your other references, I might have engaged you.” ) : : “Other reference? What do you mean, sir? asked Charley in astonishment. 3

I drove past you this morning when you were on your way here, and saw you diverting yourself by teasing two little children. A little later a dog passed you, and you cut him with the switch you had in your hand. You shied a stone at a bird, and just now you were delighting yourself in tormenting another defenseless animal. These are the references that have decided me to have nothing to do with you. I don’t want a cruel boy about me.” :

As Charley turned away, crestfallen over his disappointment, he determined that wanton cruelty, even though it seemed to him to be only “fun,” should not cost him another good place. —Winnie E. Kenney, in 8. S. Times.

BEING COURTEOUS. True Politeness Everywhere the Same—lt Consists in Dolng the Kindest Things in the Kindest Way. ; Spenser had an idea that courtesy went with gentle blood, for he said: ' “Of court it seems, men ‘courtesy’ do call, For that it there most useth to abound.” - We can go back to a much older and higher authority, however, and find the command laid upon all, whether high or low degree, ‘‘Be courteous.’’ Indeed, I believe, the root of good breeding isin the Golden Rule, and more of it than most of us practice lies in the Thirteenth chapter of I Corinthians. Of course there are men who think truth must be bluntness, and sincerity must be rudeness; that-a pill isn’t a pill even, if it happens to be sugar-coated! | ‘Do not be deceived. I wish you may receive into‘your hearts the truth that real courtesy is not inconsistent with a kind sincerity. @ The gentle nature shows itself in the gentle man. I believe a true gentleman might go anywhere in the world, and never -be mistaken for any thing else, though he _might be utterly ignorant of the varyIng customs. ‘‘Ceremonies are different in every country, but true polite‘mess is evergwhere the same,” so Gold~smith exprassesit; and there is an old ‘puvecry viiyme whioh rung o . “Politemessistodonndsay ikt i 1 hßt

I took a cold, and there came a day or two when I could not read, nor could I speak aloud,so conversation was impossible. Shall I soon forget one evening when Aleck brought his pile of picture . books to.my side, and for an hour or more turned the leaves patiently, and told me the story of every picture? He was not a bookish boy by any means; he liked active sports much better, but he did his ‘‘kindest thing in the kindest | way.”! e ot o Please notice also that nearly all the acts of courtesy which we are apt to consider ceremonious, and therefere ; meaningless, can be traced to some | kindly effort, to some unselfish atten- ' tion shown to another. ¢ 2

I know there : are good men, learneds men, who persistently ignore the! - smaller courtesies and excuse themw« selves on the ground of high occupas - . tion. They say: *I cannot remembej to lift my hat to a lady, or to rise and open a door for her, or place a chair, oi; _

always acknowledge a favor pre.nptly. My thoughts are full of such or such a subject.” Well, I suppose such-men wash their faces every morning without giving much thought toit! -

- Others there are who do offer these and similar attentions, but with such a fuss and appearance of trying, as to de~" stroy all their charm. These two extremes bring the lesson I would have you. heed; the lesson of a habit df courtesy. The best breeding does all kind acts, renders all polite attentions,

spontaneously but quietly, as if they cost nothought—as naturally as breathing. And this can come only from the constant daily repetition of such courtesies, as opportunities occur, until it would be far more difficult to omit . than to perform them. The boy must | begin as a boy, if he wishes, when a man, to bear ; %

Wi YYWithout'abuse . The grand old name of gentleman.”

‘Let us not forget also that to ‘‘do the kindest thing in the kindest way” will affect our manner toward those who are poorer, or in a lower position, or in any way less fortunate than we. . Ah! what rare delicacy it requires then, not to put on airs, not to seem superior, not to condescend in our politeness. | There is a very serious side to tifs subject. The outward act reacts up(h the inner self. He who thinks manneis are of no consequence, and persistinb’}ing careless or rude, runs great ris,k‘%! growing coarse in.spirit. . Theré is alBc much to consider in the real good to others, as well as the pleasure we afford them, by the regard we pay to the amenities of life. The great question of influence comes in here, and so yo’ld‘ see responsibility attaches itself to what we sometimes call trivial things. My boys, be courteous through and through, and do not forget the exhibition of it. You know a coxcomb, is one who only affects to be a gentleman. But you want to be a real ‘gentleman. Remember what Tennyson said of his friend: :

“For who can always act? buthe To whom a thousand memories call, Not being less, but more than all The gentleness he seemed to be, "~

Best seemed.the thing he was, and joined Each office of the social hour ol To noble manners, as the flower _ And native growth of noble mind.” ; —N. Y. Observer. : e D BEING AMBITIOUS. § A Much Misused Word—Striving to Exd?l In One’s Occupation. — ‘“My son Peter is very ambitious,” remarked Mr. Sanders, in ‘the villa.ge grocery. store. S ¢ “Is he, indeed?” said Mr. Coldcheese, the grocer. ‘l'm glad to hear it. ‘Wants to be a lawyer or doctor, I su?pose?”’ - : : “Not at all.” - el ok “You don’t mean to say he wants to be a professor !” Lo : “No,” replied Mr. Sanders, quietly; ““his ambition is to be the best carpen- * ter in the eounty.” ! o Thereupon the grocer and all the store loungers burst into merriment. Ambition to be a good carpenter. Ha! ha! ; : ‘

Yet Mr. Sanders and his son Peter were. right and the laughers were

wrong. ) Ambition is a much misused word. When a boy aspires to achieve wealth: and fame in what are known as the higher walks of life—such as the law, medicine or the fine arts—he is said to be ambitious,: and his parents are congratulated. Perhaps he does rot succeed, as, in fact, only a small percentage do succeed, and then he is commisserated over his failure; but he still looks down on the one who is en~ gaged in mechanical labor. * «*Oh, yes, John Thompson! I remember him—a builder or engineer, I believe. Well, John never had any ame bition, you know.” 5 :

What nonsense! Ambition to succeed in any branch is none, the less ambition. The one who strives to excel as a shoemaker, to make the very best pair of shoes that can be made, is ambitious. So with the carpenter, the' blacksmith, the painter, and even:the man who digs a ditch. The desire to reach by fair and hon~ est means the highest position that is attainable in one’s occupation is ambition of the purest kind. Nor does this prevent any one from seeking fame and money in other pursuits; on the contrary, it helps to raise one step by step until the fullest ambition is satisfied.— - Golden Days. Hn golß R S e Good Advice to Boys. .- Horace Mann gives this bit of advica to boys: “You are made to be kind, boys —Egeﬁerous. . magnanimous. .If there ils a boy in school who has a club foot, don’t let him kvow you ever saw it. If there is a boy with ragged clothes, don’t talk about rags in his hearing. If thereis a’lame boy, assign him some part of the game that doesn't require running. ~lf there is a hungry one, give him part of your dinner. if there is a dull one, help him to get his lessons. If there is a brightone, be not onvious of him; for if one boy is proud o 1 bi s, s anoshes onviousof them, there are two great wrongs, and e G s S ee R R LT o Wmﬁm“ fan e TR e bhgeilanpe nibins ninmmd v i b o