Ligonier Banner., Volume 24, Number 12, Ligonier, Noble County, 4 July 1889 — Page 3

i . . v The Ligonier Danner, LIGONIER,* s e 4V INDIANA TT3 L 3 P Y A eHbATME A T TGP T) e THE REASON WHY. It isn’t that I've got a thing ag'in you, ‘rarsva Peck; i ¢ Nor ag'in the many tried an’ true, I've met there ev'ry week. i It's not for this I've stayed away so many Sabba’ days iy From the little mount’in meetin’-house, where oft I've j'ined in praise. ) But listen—if you care to know—an’ Y will tell you all. ; : : I think 'twas 'bout two year ago, or was it three last fall? ! ‘The wealthy members voted that they'd have the seats made free, Andmost of us was willin’ with the notion to agree. .

‘Perhaps the meanin’ o’ the word I didn't quite understand; - i , For the Sunday after, walkin’ 'long with Elsie hand-in-hand— : “You know the little blue-eyed girl; her mother now is dead; ' And I am Elsie’s grandpa; but let me go ahead. “Well, thinkin’ o’ the Master, and how home-like it would be o 5 ‘“To take a seat most anywhere, now that the seats was free; e : i I walked in at the open door, an’ up the center aisle !

An’ sat down tired, but happy, in the light of Elsie's smile, ’ : I listened to your preachin’ with an *“Amen" in " my heart; . An' when the hymns was given out, I tried to do my part. e : ; An' my love seemed newly kindled for. the one great Power above, AAn’ somethin’ seemed to answer back, “For love, T give thee love."” 2y - But when the benediction come, an’ we. was passin’ out, , s A few words whispered with my name, caused’ - me to turn about ] S “Twas not exactly words like thess, ‘but that which meant it all; ; “It's strange that paupers never know their place is by tlie wall.” ; It wasn't.’bout myself I cared, for what the speaker said; : But the little blossom at my side with pretty upturned head. ; ) JAn’ lookin’ down at: Elsie there, I thought of Elsie's mother, ¢ An’ thoughts my better natur’ scorned, I tried in vain to smother. ; T've been to meetin’ twice since then, an’ set down by the wall; : ‘But kept a thinkin'—thinkin'—till my thoughts was turned to gall; ; An’ when the old familiar hymns was given out to sing, 3 ‘One look at Elsie's shinin’ curls would choke my utterin’. :

An’ so, I thought it best awhile to stay at home an’ praise, : ‘Or take a walk in field or wood, and there trace out His ways. “‘lt's better so,”” my old heart said, “than gather with the throng, sE ; An’ let your feelin’s rankle o’er areal or fancied wrong." e ; o But I'm prayin” Parson, all the time, an’ wish yvou'd help me pray, “When one an’ all are gathered home, in the ) great comin’ day; . : 'When men are judged by honest deeds, an’ love to fellow men, ¢ Jlshan’t be thought a pauper, in the light I'm ] seen in then. £ g —Katharine H. Terry, in Good Housekeeping.

MADGE.

‘The Plucky Girl Who Saved the Red Gulch Stage.

“Click, click, click, click,” went}the types ‘as they were thrown into their respective boxes by the type setters in the Daily Calliope office. It -was early Sunday imorning :and they were almost through with the night’s work. One of the compositors, a «dark-haired girl, was particularly deft at her task; and the nimbleness of her stained fingers as, without an error, she rapidly sorted the letters, was a sight worth watching. Though the only lady in the office, and but a child at that, she was as quick and rapid a worker as any: , The Calliope was one of the experimental dailies, that had started in western towns for ““booming”’ purposes. : . The city would be called a mere village by Eastern visitors, but standing as it did far out on the plains, amid the foot hills of the Rockies, it had quite a metropolitan ap‘pearance. After the leagues upon leagurs «of unbroken prairie or rolling bluffs and precipitous banks, itreally appeared like a «center of civilization, and despite the ram‘bling character of its buildings and the smallness of its population, its daily paper, electric lights and ‘water works did not seem :80 much outof the way. ‘ = As the fingers of the girl werenearingz the -end of their task, a voice was heard behind her. She recognized it as that of Mr. Ferrard, the editor. He said: *‘Miss Madge, ‘here are three short items 1 wish you would ‘put in type. Take pains, please, for I will not have time to look at your work.” = - The morning paper was nearly ready for ‘the press and handing her three slips of 'manuscript covered with his almost unreadable scrawl, he left her and went to attend to other matters demanding his attention. 3 4

“I wonder what that can be,” thought the girl, puzzling over the badly-written sentences. ‘‘Oh yes, I see now,’”” and- she quickly put into type: St *To-day is the glorious anniversary of the resurrection—Easter. The word is sweet with suggestion, It speaks of hope, of joy, of a new life. That our readers may enjoy hope and happiness and that a new life may come to each heart is our wish.”

It was a short editorial squib. Then she took up the next one, a news item: ~ -

.~ ‘*“We learn that Ben Haven, the well known #tage driver on the Colorado and Kansas line between here and Red Gulch, has been dis. «charged and his place filled by John Horris, Horris started out on his first trip Friday morndng, and will return to-morrow night.” s The girl hesitated. She disliked having ‘the words go forth to the world. They told 'of her father being thrown out of employment, and though the editor had not said so, overy body would know that Ben Haven ‘had ““lost his job’” on account of his dissiJpation.: 1 | “I must do it. though,” she thought, “for Iwant to keep my place here now,” and ‘this itém, too, was made ready for the press. The third, and her last work of the night, had evidently been handed in from the telegraph office. It read:

““A terrible blizzard, said to be the worst of “"the season, is'raging in Wyoming and Western Nebraska. Itis sweeping southward and will reach here about noon Sunday. Coming so late in the season it will find many unprepared and «do much damage.” ) . ‘ That was all, and throwing her thin cloak around her, she left the office and, through _ the chill, gray morning, sought her unat~tractive home«-a frame cabin, perched far beyond the outskirts of the town, on the side of Indian hill, with only the government stage road between it and the Smoky river, There was a peculiar clearness in the air and the stars twinkled with a strange magnetic brightness. She thought little of it, however, and before the Easter sun rose or noisy carrier boys had delivered: the morning Calliope, she was fast asle'_ep,‘rest-f ing from the lahors of the night. | “Madge,” called her father, six 'hburs’ later, “haven’t you slept long enough? I'm hungry. Get up and get me some dinnerm{ - The girl wearily arose and began getting ~ the meal that her father had so roughly de- ~ manded. They two- were alone in the ‘world, and the double duty of the printing _ office and ﬁ%‘??ﬂﬁmeﬂ tglzlupon :ﬁtig girl’s - shoulders. Her father had come to make his days much like hers, when he was not enployed—sleop nearly all day, and alas! ~ beaow , night. ww . Calliope which had long ago arrived, | Bilsseprstins Pbhes™ 5o ekt o, Gl idiac TG ;‘”‘3 w@égfﬁé‘:ﬁf@%% % e R e ﬁfﬁ%“{w@«y SR ( i St “'b"‘;' 'n" ; \“;“ '5 " 2 :L,‘ E '»5;43;,»\35'4:’»‘, R ,‘~ ﬁ%?&?g}‘

'“Yes, I saw it,”” was the meek response, “Why didn’t you keep it out then? I don’t see why the editor should attack me that way.” : |4T couldn’t keep it out, father. Withat do you suppose Ihave todo with things that go into the paper?’’? _ ! {4O, you don’t care. You’re like that worthless brother of yours; if yon were a boy, you’d desert me like him—that’s all you care about your father.” i | He was in a grumbling mood tn-day and did not spare the patient slave who served him. She would not allow, however, the allusion to the boy who, four years ago had gone forth with a mother’s blessing, to seek an honorable livelihood. g

| “What has Will done?” she asked, hotly. ‘‘To be sure, he has never come back, but he has sent you money and will some day come to us. But never mind, dinner is ready.”’ :

| She saw that he was waited on, and then went to the window. Fardown in the town she could see the people thronging churchward, for the special Easter services had been widely advertised and the churches would be crowded. The sky was covered with a gray, misty cloud that was drifting swiftly to the southward. She listened to the gusts of wind that shook the building, and she thought of the blizzard that the dispatch had said was coming, “I'm goin’ down town, Madge,” said her father as he rises from the table. | “Stay with me,” she pleads, but a slam of the door is all the answer she receives.

|lt was a l6ng and dveary Easter. The biting north wind grew fiercer and wilder. At three o'clock the snow commenced falling. Notin large, feathory flakes as in wellregulated Eastern skies, but in tiny, icy particles, that pierced the skin of the traveler exposed to them. The storm howled on, and by five, when Madge saw her father come unsteadily around the corner of the house, on his way home from a favorite lounging place where he had spent the day, the snow \_lvas blinding and tte cold had almost congquered the feeble efforts of the kitchen stove. : i

| “Well, air ye goin'to the office?’”’ asked ?aven, in a somewhat liquor-weakened oice,

| “No; there is no paper on Menday mornifng,’ you know,” leplied the compositor, | “That’s so, forgot about it. It’s mighty ¢old here; what's the matter?”

| “The coalis néarly gone. Didn’t you get some yesterday?” - . | “Didn’t have no money, an’ now I’'m out tlf a job, I'can’t| get none. What'll we do, Madge?” o : - | “I'll' have my month’'s wages soon, and then it’ll be all right.” ‘| “I heard somethin’ ter-day.” ' | “What was it, father?” :

| “That Horris told on me, so as to get my lob. Said to the comp’ny that I was a good-for-nothin’ an” got meé discharged. I’ll get even with him, doggon hisdoggoned picter,”’ and the man clenched his hands angrily. Suddenly h’s face lighted up with a strange expression. ‘‘He comes back to-night from the Gulch, doesn’t he?’ he blurted out, and then went to the door. The wind was still fiercer, and the air was fairly black with snow. T)e thermometer had been registering below zero for two hours, and- now was drawing near to the twenty degree mark. No church bells could be heard ; indeed that Easter Sunday is to this day remembered ‘as one upon which no evening services were held, or account of the terrible.storm. Up from the stream to which the steep banks, separated from the house by the narrow ‘'wagon road led, came the roar of the waters as they dashed eastward, as if getting a good headway for their long, sluggish journey across the plains to the sea. - “Pf]l fix him, the girl heard him mutter in his half-drunken frenzy, and then taking a lantern from ‘the closet he went with it out into the night.

““What can hebe doing?”’ she thought, and weited with breathless anxiety for his retum. It was a long time, but when he came it was without the light and with a blusterirg and blowing that told he had been facing tie storm. :

| “Whereis the lantern, father?? she inlquired. | i | “It wenti out, and I had to drop it, to hang lon to myself,”” he replied with a leer. .. Sheisnotsatisfied,butcan get no otheranswer; and, asthefireis dyingandthe bitter |coldis creeping over her flesh, she goes to the |single up-stairs room of the swaying cabin, |where she prepares to sleep. Before doing {so, she peers through the curtainless winYd()ws, She can see nothing, but she can |feel the dust-like snow sift against her face las it is driven through some crevice in the wall. Allis black outside. Just as she is [turning away, however, she thinks she sees la twinkle of light toward the river. She [looks again. Yes, surelf it is there. Can a [traveler be abroad in' such a tempest? |Surely not, for the light remains still. She \puzzles over it a moment and thena thought ‘comes to her that makes her tremble. | It is the lantern which her father has 'hung out—why? There can be but one an|swer—to misguide his rival, who must force ihis way through the storm to-night and | bring through the mail and stage from the {Gulch. The light will cause him to turn to |theright and throw stage driver and horses |over the bank, and send them rolling to a ‘{.death plunge in the ice filled river below. | “Inhis drunken fury he is not himself,” |she thinks, in excuse of the deed, and deter|mines to undo the crime which was about | to be committed. ; j |"» Hastily wrapping a cloak around her 'shivering form, shecreeps back tothe lower room. Her father is sitting before the } stove, apparently brooding over his coming | revenge.. As noiselessly as possible she opens the outer door; and though the man ! turns and sees her slipping through, she has | vanished into the blackness of the storm be- | fore he can call to her. .

In an instant he recognizes her errand; the thought of the slight girlish form battling with the fearful tempest, sends the blood back from his heart and makes a sober man of him in a flash.

He rushes to the door and calls, “Madge!” with all his strength. It is of no use. Nothing but the wind and the roaring Smoky reply. Putting on his overcoat, which, ragged as it was, would afford some protection, he starts to the rescue. Hgq turns the corner of the house, and as the blast strikes him, he is almost driven back. But he struggles on and reaches the spot where he thinks he left the lantern—none is there, nor can he find a trace of the daughter whose body is somewhere being drifted under the snowy covering. Back to the house, reached with difficulty, he takes his course, and in agony alternately upbraided himself and mourns theabsent child. . ;

‘‘Bless me, driver, but this is a hairy sort of a night,” and the only passenger of the Red Guleh stage drew his ulster closer about hjm and even then shivered a little. with the cold. -v “Yes, we’d orter hev stopped back yender until mornin’, but the mail haz ter go through if we kin git- it. Ye see, they is ' awful pertic’lar about it an’ I ain’t been on the route before. I don’t want ter fail on ‘ my first trip.”’ : : | - “You don’t mean to say you don’t knqwi this road?” far “Wa’al, I calc’late I know it pretty well, | but I ain’t a reg’ler driver, that’s all. The horses hez ben along here oftert enough.” : #Are there any bad places?” { ‘“‘One that’s rightbad, 'bout two miles this side o’ town, ’long side of Indian hill. The road’s between the hill and the Smoky river. Haven (he’s the old driver) used to have'a light in his house along there to guidé him when he came in late. ’Spect there’ll be one to-night. The horses’ll just bear off to the right o’ the light, an’ we’ll be all 0. K.” i L : - The rickety old stage lumbered on for an ‘hour, It was quite dark and mgm, Wweary and confused by the now whirling T D ey Hewips _ “We're almost thar,” volunteored the T e

+ & ok “ things on down to the hotel, and I'll be down in the morning.” ) G

They had reached Indian hill, and the river’s angry roar came up from below, vieing with tg; northern blast for supremacy of sound. i Suddenly, midway in the cut, the horses stopped. As Horris attempted to urge them on, a we;kj;e voice came from the blackness beyond their heads. ~ “There’s somebody there exclaims the passenger, and in a moment he is groping his way to the heads of the horses, and then lifting from the drift a little, girlish form which, while being carried to the wagon, dropped into insensibility and was like a dead thing in the man’s arms. Y When, an hour later, the storm-beaten company drew up to the hotel and the light of the office lamp streamed full upon the girl’s face, the bystanders, who were watching i‘for signs of returning life, were surprised to see the stranger kiss her lips and cheeks passionately.

“See hytr,” blurted out Horris, ‘“no insults, young man, in these parts. We know Madge Haven too well.” “Insultg 1" repeated the youth (for he was scarcely more), as he relinquished his charge to the hands of the landlady, ‘‘she is my sister.” i

And so it proved; for when he signed his name upon the register, it read, * William Morris Haven, Portland, Ore.”

An hour'later, Ben Haven came to the village to/organize a searching party. His relief when he found his child safe, though chilled and still insensible, at the hotel, can not be told in words.

The shock and the agony of that night made & néw man of him, and his tenderness toward the daughter who shared with him the secret of his remorse, though they never sppke of it to each other, was re marked by all who knew them.

So effectusl and lasting was this reform that the Daily Calliope was able to give, a few »Wee]gs later, on the same day that it told of Miss Madge’s first appearance upon the street, this item:

“Mr. Bé&n Haven has accepted his old position on the.Red Gulch stage line, his successor, Joe Horris, having resigned to go to the nﬁineé.”-——Chaﬂes M. Harger, in Yankee Blade. | s

LIFE IN MADRID.

The Spanﬁsh Capital’s Prsydo_and Its Seduo-

tive Attractions,

Although the French fashionable bonnets are gradually invading Spain and becoming much in vogue among the Spmﬁsh belles, the elegant national costume, the mantilla, is still predominating. ' It is worn and arranged with a natural grace which enchants the beholder. | A Spanish lady seems always to have some little matter to adjust which sets off to advantage the quiet elegance of her deportment. The mantilla is drawn a little more forward or gently moved a little less; it is crossed in front ;or uncrossed, and through its transparent network of blonde lace are seen t:hl%3 lovely head and beautiful throat rising from a bust of most elegant con’t;)ur. These mantillas are both white and black, but the latter are, to my tastef, the most becoming. ,

And the abanico! the fan! O, what magic t?xere is in that little zephyrcoaxing telegraph! Folded and unfolded with a careless ease which none but Span}ish women can display, moved quickly in recognition of a ‘passing friend, ehevated, opened over the head to frame it, so to speak, the fan plays an important and most attractive part in the hand of a Spanishlady. During the delightful summer nights, when the moog sheds her pure light around, ‘the PradP presents the most romantic picture. | Canopied by the blue vault oﬁ,heaver], with all its bright spangles, many a love tale is there told and listened |to with favor. In the Prado is a,ssem*)led nightly the cream of the society of Madrid, and it may be said with trnth that there is a sociability on this beautiful promenade that does not exist in places of analogous resorts in: larger metropolitan cities. Individuals and families are known to each other, t lere is a succession of salutations anﬁ greetings, and to a looker-on it seems as if the promenaders were vast lines of family or friendly connections. %he botanical and public gardens, called “las delicias,”” which adjoin the Prado, add greatly to the beauty df this lovely promenade.

The royal palace, which isone of the most magnificent castles in Europe, rises dazzling white against the sky on the opposite side of the city toa height of 100 feet. It is built on the site of the ancient Moorish Alcazar and occupies an larea of 221,000 .square feet.— Madrid L_etter.

SCIENTIFIC GOLD MINING.

The 'Chqmist and the Engineer Must As. sist the Capitalist. Gold-mining is in many minds still associated with a flannel-shirted, longbooted, gambling class of doubtful manners, who, with pick, shovel and pan found fortunes in the hill streams of the far West or of the land of the kangaroo. But thisrace of miners is rapidly becoming as extinct as the redskin of balifornia or the black boy of Australia. As the superficial deposits which attracted the pioneers were exhausted, the aid of machinery and science became essential, and anew order of things began, introducing the capita.ligt, -the chemist and the engineer. | Moreover, in their haste to get ricth, and with their rough-and-ready- appliances, the early diggers only worked the richest ground and passed over tons—acres—of stuff that, with modern methods, would pay handsomely. : : To convey an idea of the perfection which has been attained in some of the processes of to-day, one illustration will suffice. During a quarter’s (three months) working last year of the alluvial deposits of Daylesford, Victoria, some 33,560 tons of gravel were treated and gave an average yield of 18} grains troy of gold from each ton of gravel. That is to say, of all this enormous mass of material dug up, passed through the apparatus and redepos-l ited, only one eighteen hundred and fourteenth part was of value, the other 1,813 parts being useless. In otherJ words, | suppose an acre of land fifteen feet deep to be turned over, broken up to the most minute proportions, and bodily removed, in order that it might be made to yield up a hidden treasure S e it ST S ‘which could be easily held in a small coal sbutdle. Ao this wagmhgzgé ; plished presumably at a cost which o oot mangin o proe R e (o e T ‘mining, As n rulo, the metal or ifs oro a v of the mineral, lead 85 to 87 per cent,, 0.9 goroant; while the gold in. the. L A TSy ﬁ"awﬁfsﬁg‘»ﬁ«qu AllB | »,,g‘ S ,rf 2 mf"*’n, nﬁﬁm\lifﬁ‘?w‘ﬁ” 5»\‘?&%;,;523 ', »*, Sy ":‘,ﬂtw b 5? ‘?3& ”*‘}

" NAMES IN HISTORY. - A Study That Has Produced Exceedingly 3 ; lntgéreutlng Results, : An intereésting study bas lately been | made concerning the possibility of | tracing the career of a ngtien by means of the specific character of the names of those combining to make the population; that is, not of telling that here a battle took place and there a king was murdered in his palace, but the way up from barbarism to culture, and down again through wealth to decay. The thing has already been quite thoreughly done with coinsand medals, ~which not only tell the story of dynasties by likenesses and inscriptions, but the progress and abasement of art in their design and execution. The result of this study of names has been exeeedingly interesting in more than one case. Take, for example, the names prevailing among the Hebrews, and the primitive simplicity, the pastoral, poetic and religious nature, which they picture in a wonderful manner. These people called the mother of the race Eve, which signifies life, and no more subtle flattery was ever given woman; the father was called Adam, whose interpretation is the red earth, and which is surely at the very root of things primitive; presently they ave putting the syllable ab into names, ab meaning father, and then we have Jabel, a wanderer, the father of such as dwell in tents; while Abraham, the father of a great people, and many other combinations of the syllable, point also to the patriarchal character of the race. But soon the syllable el, meanni ing deity, comes in, in such names as Melchizedek, Samuel, Ishmael, Elihu;l and then comes those with combinations of Jah and Jo, with the same signification, and we have Elijah, to be translated Jehovah is God; Eliab, God a father; Elimelech, God a king; and Joshua, God a savior, which sufficiently portrays the religious nature of the people. Meantime the poetry of their feelings appears in names such as Jubal, a blast of trumpets; in Isaac, born to his parents in their old age, and called, out of their. gladness. only laughter; in David, signifying beloved; in Isreal, a prince with God; from all of which it is plain that the wearers of these names are a people of simplicity, at first of tent life, then governed by princes, full of poetry and of deep religion, worshiping one God, as the word Elijah shows, and seeing in that God a king, a father, asavior, as others of the name indicate. The same thing ‘again is evident in Greek names. Many of the earlier ones had the root Lye, from lycos, a wolf; as in Lycurgus and ‘Cycaon; and others had Leon, as in Leonidas, Leontes, all betraying the rude element, admiration and cultivation of brute strength. After this comes the word hippos, a horse, as in Philippos, the lover of horses; Hipparchus, horse tamer, Xantippe, yellow horse, and Hippomachus, a horse :‘wa.rrior,-' whence perhaps the idea of the ceutaurs—here again showing the advance from the rude element to ‘the martial spirit, the subjection of the inferior, and the love of the chase and of warlike sport. But awhile after this comes the the prefix Lys, from lysis, meaning free; whereupon we find Lysander, a fres man, and Lysimachus, a free fight, from which it is easy to conjecture that a democracy has come to pass among them. But shortly appear the combinations of the word cratos, power, and we encounter Socrates, safe power, and Calicrates, noble poweﬂnd we can -again conjecture that Ith and authority have the upper hand at last in an aristocracy, and there comes an end. Again, with the Romans in the early generations, there is Ancus, a servant; Servius, a slave; Marcus, manly; Curtius, short; Agricola, a farmer; Coriolanus, a worker inleather; -and many others similar, the simplest sort of names appearing and reappearingthrough the whole period of Roman history. After a tin‘;e one comes on those more descriptive or imaginative, as Nero, strong; Pompey, splendid; Aurelius, golden; but all the time we have Scipio, a staff; Crassus, slow; and those of kindred sort—names, too, that show in the character of the bearers a far less artistic sense than there was among the Greeks. The theory again finds proof in the old Saxon nomenclature, Hengistand Horsa, the early conquerors, both s}gnifying the horse, and both giving the key-note of the courageous and warlike atmosphere of the time. Then comes the termination wulf, a wolf, in Ethelwulf, Eadwulf, evincing the savage state of society that upheld and ennobled mere physical force again. After this the moral element appears with the syllable ed. meaning truth, as in Edgar, truth| weapon; Edmund, truth-speaker. This is in turn followed by fred, meaning peace, as we have it in Alfred, Winifred and Ethelfred; and this is succeeded by the religious idea in the word dred—Edred, happy fear; Mordred, more fear, and ahostof the kind, till there come in the Norman conquest and the French names of culture. All these are certainly very amusing and interesting ideas, and they may be followed out in social circles of historical study with much entertainment and some profit.— Harper's Bazar. =

Effect of Creosote on Chimneys.

Attention has lately been called to the peculiarly corrosive and consequently destructive effect of the creo gote of wood soot upon chimneys, owing to the fact that the creosote thus formed from the slow combustion of wood contains so large a proportion of _pyroligenous vinegar or crude acetic acid; this acid being formed in large quautities when the combustion of wood is slow, many quarts, in fact, being condensed in cold weather where a large wood fire is. very much. checked, only a few hours being required for such condensation. The acid in question dissolves lime readily, carrying it away in solution, and in this manner the mortar is*ﬁ'iquently entirely removed from the tops of chimneys in the country, new ones suffering the same way as the old, instances being numerous where the top courses of brick in. chimneys.only two years old have become entirely without support. other 7 mf% e Aw‘ﬂ ‘ i

PUNGEMT PARAGRAPHS.

—The watch-maker knows as much about spring cleaning as his wife does. —Oregon Statesman.

—lf you charge ajwoman with powder and paint she is likely to go off mad.—Terre Haute Express.

—Pastoral innocence is not all it is painted. The gentle shepherds have crooks among them.—Picayune. —“Whom the gods love die young.” And the more one sees of the survivors the more one appréciates the taste of the gods. :

—When a married woman goes out to look after her rights her husband is usually left at home with his wrongs. —Boston Courier.

—Love-letters may be all very well in their way, but they ought never to be written in any kind of ink that is meant to last over night. —Somerville Journal. >

—Tubbs—*T flatter myself that honesty is printed on my face.”” Grubbs ‘“Well—er-yes, perhaps—with some allowance for typographical errors.”— Burlington Free Press. —Mr. Blobson—‘What idiots there are on the newspapers nowadays!’ Mrs. Blobson—*Yes, you havé been sitting on that copy of the News for the past half-hour.” :

—A Kansas man paid ten' dollars to the fund to buy old John Brown’s rifle for the State Historical Association, and then mortgaged his team to raise money to pay his taxes.—Kansas City Star. |

—*l always look out for No. 1,” remarked a selfish fellow, who had just ‘married a widow. ‘‘Well, you needn’t worry yourself about it any longer,”’ she replied significantly. *No. 1 will look out for youhereafter.”’ —Washington Critic. ;

—Small boy — “Papa, what does ‘monotonous’ mean?"’ Father (wearily) —‘Wait till your mother begins to talk dress with your grandmother, my boy. Then you'll realize the full meaning of the word.”—N. Y. Journal.

—English Count—¢l want a wife with diamond eyes, golden hair, ruby lips and a silvery voice.” American girl—“ And I suppose her friends will find her in a pawnshop before the end of the honevmoon.”—Jeweler's Weekly. S :

—Seaside hotel p?oprietor (anxiously)—‘‘Hasn't the sea serpent Dbeen reported to-day yet?” Office boy—*No, sir; no one hez seen it.” ‘Look! There comes a.sailing party in now. Rush down to the beach and ask them if they saw——"" “No use, sir; that's a temperance crowd.”—Philadelphia Record.

—“I can’t understand, Bobby,” said his father, ““why you should quarrel so much with Tommy White. Your mother tells me you quarrel with him most of the time.” I can’t help it, pa,’”’ replied Bobby, thoughfully. «I guess 1 must get my disposition from you and ma.” o —Particular boarder — ¢ This fish, waiter.” Truthful waiter (promptly) *“Was killed this morning.”’ Particular boarder (approvingly)—‘‘You did right to kill it.”’. Truthful waiter (inquitingly)—*‘Yes, sir?” Particular boarder (firmly)—*‘Because it had been ashore 80 long that it had forgot how to swim and would have drowned if ever it went to sea again.”’—Burdette.

—Deacon Skinflint—*“This is an age of irreverence. I read to-night about some fellow who has engraved the Lord’s Prayer on a. ten-dollar gold ‘piece and wears it on his watch chain for a curiosity. This is all wrong, very wrong. There are some things too sacred to be trified with.” Carper—“To whichido you refer, Deacon, the prayer or the gold piece?’— Terre Haute Express.

—Husband—*“Wife, I read a great many accounts of women being robbea by pickpockets on the street. Do you know how to carry your purse so as to frustrate them?”” Wifg—<Yes; just as I always have since I marrjed you. If any pickpocket can be satisfied with a recipe for making spiced pickles and a faded proof of the 'baby’s picture grandma paid for last fall, he’s welcome to it. . lam always prepared for pickpockets.”

The Queen of Portugal.

The most dressy royallady in Europe is the Queen of Portugal. She orders not only bonnets and hats, but dresses as well, by the wholesale. Her pale complexion and auburn hair permit of her wearing any color or shape in the way of headgear that she may fancy. I have made her immense hats, and small toques, and capote bonnets in straw, or gauze, or fur, or velvet, or gold ‘embroidery, with rimmings of ostrich plumes, or of artificial flowers, or of brocaded ribbons. Whatever may be the fashion of the hour she likes it and will try it. She orders toilets and bomnets, not by the score, but by fhe hundreds. "It is almost impossible that she should ever wear out half the elegant things which she purchases. Withal, she has exquisite taste in dress, and perfectly understands the art of suiting the accessories of each of her dresses to the dress itself. And she sets off a toilet by tlr singular grace of her carriage and the regal dignity of her movements. Even under the simplest conditions of everyday life she looks ‘every inch a queen,’—Galignani's Messenger. ;

Stranger Than Fiction.

A retired clergyman, the sands of whose life have nearly run out, writes to us as follows: ¢‘ln the year 1879 1 was pastor of a church in Herkimer. One Sabbath, having made a call upon a parishioner who was very ill, 1 was detained in my preparation for the morning service, and just as the second bell was ringing a collar button. which 1 was endeavoring to force through a new three ply linen collar, exceedingly stiff and with rather a small button

‘hole, slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor. Casting my eyes in the direction which it would naturally take, I saw the button lying in plain view close to my foot, just where I expected to see it. I picked it up, fastened my -collar with little or no trouble, and leisurely walking to the church ar rived thers in ample time, not in tha ‘least excited or hurried: and conducted the service 4s usual.” .+The hearings of this observation lays in the applicas o 8 ul i Bpokiyn Engle. -.- eLT e e e i

FOR OUR YOUNG READERS.

MORNING AND NIGHT.

Good-Morning peeped over her eastern gate, To see if the children were up; ; And laughed at a. bumblebee coming home late, Who was caught in a hollyhock cup. : Good-Morning has eyes like the glint of the skies ‘When they’re bright as the sun and the stars mixed together, - And her lips are so sweet, and her steps are so fleet, ; . She can dance like a thistledown, fly like a feather, You “‘never have seen her?”’ Oh, me! Oh. me! What a dull littie sleepy-head you must be!

Good-Morning can sing like a brook or a bird; She knows where the fairies all hide; Some folk, hard of hearing, say they never have heard g Her sing, though they often have tried. Good-Morning has hair made of sunshine so rare, ; : The elves tried to steal it to weave in the . - weather; y : Which made her afraid, the bonny wee maid, To swing on the gate many.minutes together, You “never have seen her?’ Ah, me! Ah, me! What a cross, lazy lie-abed you must be!

Good-Night is her neighbor, a dear little soul, - ‘Who swings in a hammock, and not on a gate. She half shuts her eyes with a great yawn, so droll, ‘ - It would make an owl laugh, I will venture to state. 5 Good-night always brings the most wonderful things, -To hide in the children's beds, glittering and gleaming ! ) Such tales she can tell, and she tells them so well, ! You could listen all night, and believe ;‘mu were dreaming! : You “never have heard her?' Oh, me! Oh. me! What a small naughty wide-awake you must be!

Good-Night has a_house full of beautiful toys, That she keeps for the children—no grownfolks are there; : : And she carries them off, the wee girlies and boys, : el To her magical palace, and, oh, how they ~ stare! ) Z Good Night never frowns when she sees the white gowns ; S Come trooping to beg for more stories—the : ‘dear!—.. But with kisses and smiles, the time she beguiles, . And bids them to come again soon—do you hear? : You “never have been there?’ Ah, me! Ah, me! What a very sad, grown-up young chick you must be! —Rosa Evangeline Angel, in St. Nicholas. TOM’S DOG. A Singular Companionship, and How It . Was Formed. If you were to meet my dog Tom by night, as he paced to and fro about the house, keeping guard over the sleeping family, you would perhaps -be alarmed. His head is enormous, and his expression is fierce. His eyes are red; his large mouth is usually half open, showing ,his long, stout teeth; his eoat is rough and shaggy; his tail is formidable, and his footsteps leave in the dust of summer or {the snow of winter marks as big as the palm of a man’s hand.

And yet he is a most peaceable animal. Thefchildren ride him bareback. The babies clinch their pretty fists in his hair and hang on to his tail and pull his ears, and he bears it all with unfailing amiability. Moreover, if you come suddenly upon him, as he lies in the path, and by accident tread upon his tail, he will perhaps make a dignified protest, but he will bear no malice. There is one thing, however, that Tom will not permit, and that is, any sort of interference with his dog. What! Tom’s dog? Yes, he has had a dog of his own for two years. I will tell you how it happened. One'day, as I sat on the veranda smoking a cigar, I saw Tom come to the usual place for his dinner. The cook had put out a big dish of meat and potato for him, which he speedily devoured, and then he turned to a generous heap of chicken bones, which seemed to serve him in some manner as a side dish or possibly #s\dessert. Just at that moment a dole&;}ooking' object crawled out from under the hedge. It was a wretched little animal, yellow in color, -its hide bare in spots, long-nosed, gaunt, its ribsshowing like the hoops on a powder-keg, and bedaubed with dirt. There it crouched, with its tail between .its legs, its muzzle thrust ,forward, its ears drooping, sniffing the aroma of the feast—the very picture of a halfstarved, ill-used, friendless canine. It was, indeed, one of the most wretched of all living beings, a dog without a master, a dog that gets kicks instead of caresses, a dog that is never fed, a dog that wanders from place td place, sleeping under barns or warming himself under haystacks—a poor, despondent, suffering animal that ought to arouse the pity of every kind heart.

Well, this little wretch was attracted by Tom’s dinner, and I watched to see what he would do. He looked at the bones, and then at Tom with supplicating eyes. He crept slowly toward the spot, and then slunk back, whining and trembling. He was so hungry, and yet what would become of him if that great, fierce beast were to become angry and turn upon him? One stroke from Tom’s big paw would end his misery forever. : But nothing of the sort. Tom showed no sign of wrath. On the contrary he looked at the new-comer with an indulgent air, as if he were saying: <‘Poor chap, he must be very hurgry!” The yellow dog felt encouraged, and drew a little nearer, goaded by hunger, held back by fear. He arose, crept along a few steps, then crouched down again. Tom became more and more iriendly. He looked at the stranger, then at the bones. Then he moved a yard or so, in order that his immediate presence might not be a source of alarm. _ o

. The yellow dog took the hint and _sprang upon the heap of bones. There | was a crunching sound, a few gulps, and the bones had disappeared. Tom’s dessert was the stranger’s chief dish. When he had eaten the whole and licked his chops, he began to be congcious of a sensation of gratitude. He then walked toward Tom, wagging his tail, and finally paced slowly clear aroudd his benefactor, watching him with eyes which seemed to say: ‘‘Are you willing I should stay with you?’ Then he lay down in the sun near. the _kitchen-door step, put his head on his forepaws, and went to sleep. ~ ~ From that day my doghad a dog, not ‘& companion or & friend, because that implies equality, but a servant. Tom i the master, the yellow dog is the _humble, devoted. attendant. When ‘bt ing EWW e oe el R Ty

the new arrival does any thing doolish, such ag barking at the heels of a friend of the family, Tom growls in a way that soon brings him repentant to the kennel. It is useless for me or for any one else to try to call the whelp. He will not answer to any human voice, nor will he lie down when he is told to do so. He is simply indifferent. *‘What does that person want?” we can imagine him saying. ‘What right has he to give me orders? lam not his dog!”

- So I have not even given him a name. It would be utterly useless. I may coax and whistle and snap my fingers—heé will not obey. But -if, on starting for a walk, I have a fancy for canine companionship, I call: '

s, ne ] _" To%n;mstens' to my side, his great pays/going ‘‘flop, flop,” like an elephant’s tread. :

*Call your dog.”

“Waw.”

- The yellow dog is on the spot in the twinkling of an eye, and we start, Tom at my heels, the yellow dog pattering along in Tom’s track. Then if we go down the road, and, as sometimes happens, the boys think the end of the procession is fair game, and begin to shout “Sick ’em!” and fling stones, you should see Tom. Slowly he turns about, like a big seventy-four getting ready for action, opens his mouth and utters alow growl. - ‘Let my dog alone!” ;

One warning is enough. The hoys tumble over one another in their anxiety to get away. Then Tom shakes himself, and the procession moves on as before. It is giaerally understood now throughout the neighhorhood that it isn’t safe to meddle with Tom’s dog. —Boston Beacon. : ;

WHAT MADE ' BILLY NERVOUS.

Good Reasons for a Gentle Animal Becoms= S ! ing 'a Fractious One.

Billy was a strong, beautiful horse, and the Beltons, who had recently bought him, pronounced him to be “just the thing for family use and family petting.” . They did not keep a coachman, but Tom White, a boy of fifteen, was hired to do odd jobs about the house, and to take care of Billy. Mr. Belton gave Tom very careful directions in regard to feeding and grooming the horse.

For a time Billy was perfectly satisfactory, and as he seemed to be sleek and well fed. Tom’s care was also pronounced all that could be desired. As the weeks went on, however, the horse began to show faults which no one had suspected in him. He started as soon as any one had entered the carriage, giving his driver no time to gather up the reins; he was perpetually uneasy, and finally developed a habit of snapping at any one who approached his head. . g 4

It is odd,™ said Mr. Belton, when he was told about it. ¢Billy is not the horse I thought him.” :

‘His wife made no reply, but a forte night later she told him she had a report to make on Billy’s condition. “I have been 'playing detective,” said she. '“I made up my mind that a gentle animal wouldn't become™ a fractious one without cause, and I had my suspicions that the cause was—Tom. So for two weeks I have been watching him, and I find my suspicions were correct. He teases the horse whenever he has a chance.

“If he sits in the carriage, waiting for one of us to make a call, he keeps flicking Billy with the whip, and what with the expectation of the tickling and the tickling itself, the horse becomes too nebvous to stand still.

. “At other times Tom passes in front of him, and gives his nose a sudden rap to make him jump, and I have actually seen him creep softly into the barn and suddenly appear at the horse’s head, to surprise him into starting back. = Tom means no harm, but he is ruining the horse, nevertheless. . Billy’s nervous system can’t stand the strain.” : :

Next morning Tom was discharged, and his place was filled by a steadygoing fellow, who not only loved animals, ‘but understood them, and who was given at the outset a serious lecture on the treatment necessary to keep a horse good-tempered and happy. : e In a month Billy had begun to regain his -old confidence in human nature, and before the winter was over he was gentleness itself.—The Presbyterian.

—Among ~ Washingtoniah = relics called to notice this year is the epitaph of John Custis, father of Martha Washington’s first husband. His wife was a good deal of a Tartar; and so, indeed, was he; but she generally managed to say the last word in their wrangles. When he died he left orders to his son, on pain of disinherit< ance, to put this legend on his tomb-~ stone, which was done: *‘Under this marble toib lies the body of the Hon. John Custis, Esq., of the city of Williamsburg, parish of Bruton, formerly of Hungar's Parish, on the eastern shore of Virginia, and county of Northampton, aged 71 years, and yet lived but seven years, which was the space of time he kept a bachelor’s home at Arlington, on the eastern shore of Virginia.” And so he had the last word. —One great cause of baldness, says a barber, is the habit some people have of changing the style of hair cutting half a dozen times a vear, or nearly as often. They insist on a ‘‘short pompadour” in the hottest months, a ‘less pronounced crop in the fall and then wear their hair longer as the weather gots colder, gradually approaching a shave again when the ‘thermometer gets up in the ninoties. Now all this may be very comfortable, ‘but it is very bad for the hair and scalp.. yenr round, brush it freply sad trust, ‘%é : m:‘:ﬁ;"ﬂ:“‘u 3';“ “ﬁ“ I“'}?% jﬁ‘ ; %ﬁ' ;3:\\@"~“'§,’%"’*§£ f: ‘zf, il "I;\:*%¢‘l»=K:} e ” a ‘" "‘fi"‘h‘uw