Bloomington Telephone, Volume 10, Number 8, Bloomington, Monroe County, 11 June 1886 — Page 2

uabkow son a.

BT E. k. BOWEIf. Qnn Elizabeth sat one day. Watching iier mariners rich and gay. And there were the Tilbury gunfj at play And tiitre -was the bold sea rgver; Up comes TiVon. so brisk and free, Makes his bow, and he says, says he: Gracious qnecn of tlie land and sea, From Tilbury fort to Dover " Marry. come up," says good Queen Best, "Draw it shorter and prose it lens : Cheches are things we chiefly blesa When ono we have got thorn over; Ope neer carries you well along. And the swan of Avon is rich in song StiiU we have sometimes found them long; mod the bold sea rover 1" ""Onen," he says, "I have got in store A beautiful school from roof to door ; ' And I have a farm of acres four, And a meadow of grass and clover; 60 may it please you. good Queen B,f Give me a charter, firm and free ; J?wr there is Harrow, and this is me. And that is the bold sea rover I" Bad little boys, says she. "at school Want a teacher to rede and rule ; Train a dunce, and you find a fcol ; Cattle must have their drover; By my halidcm, I propose Von be teacher of verse end prose CWhat's a halidom, no one knows, Even the bold sea royfT I) And this is my charter, firm and free, This is mv royal, groat decree Hits to the rail shall count for three. And six when fairly ovr' ; And if any on? comes and makes a fuss, Send the radical ofT to ns, And t will tell him I choose it thus, And so will the old sea rover V

FATHEK RYAN'S VOEM "REST1

are woaried, and my hands are tired, Mv soul oppressed

Idosire. what I have long desiredBest only rest.

ta fcaxd to toil, when toil is almost vain, In barren ways; Vm hard to sow. and nev?r garner grain. In harvest days.

burden of my days is hard to bear, But God knows best ; I have prayed, but vain has been my prayer,

For rest sweet rest. hard to plant in Spring and never reap The Autumn yield ; bard to till, and when 'tis tilled to weep O'er fruitless field.

so I cry a weak and human cry, So heart oppressed; so I sigh a weak and human sigh. For rest for rest.

Mr way has wound cross the desert years, And cares infest tfy path, and through the flowing of hot tears I pine for rest.

lam restless still: 'twill soon be o'er;

For, down the west -Xile'a tun i setting, and I see the shore Where I stall rest.

knew if lie but knew all, he would exonerate me from all such meanness ; he would judge me justly, and forgive me. Like him, I am but the creature of conviction; and niter deliberately weighing the demands upon me, both from the King and the people, I felt that the latter had the greater elaim. Speak, Lucille; let me go hence with a blessing from you " "A blessing on him who may, on the niorrov--slay my father? Pledge my faith to one who betrays hibenefactcr and his King" ' "Do not say so, Lucille!" he cried. "Have pity on me, spare me these cruel words, which you well know cannot, with justice, be addressed to me. My lif 3 is your father's it is yours and it is the people's; the first which claims it hath it. In any case," and his voice grew low and mournful, "I have nothing to gain personally. I have no hopes of surviving the fray " Here she clung to him in an agony of

To lose him altogether had not

IOYE AND DUTY, Among the mauv fair women assembled

the night of the 18th of February, 1648,

in the palace of the Tuileries, there was one who for her youth and beauty shone con--qncaotisly above all. The retiring modesty, the eweet earnest nature, the kindness of eeoi and genuine goodness of heart which he possessed endeared her to all who &new her. She was seventeen years of age, and the daughter of the noble host, -mho as an old leader of legions enjoyed a high and confidential post under Louis Philippe. In fact, he was devotedly at--Caehed to, the old Bourbon cause, and inatead of having him simply "king," they aonght to bring back to Louis Philippe the days of the Grand Monarque. This young girl, while the dancers were "whirling beneath the splendid lusters in the midst of the enchanting music, was standing in a retired corner, leaning on the back of a chair. By the slight paleness on her face she was evidently waiting for aome one The great curtains of a window opening to a balcony half shrouded her, and her eyes glanced nervously now and then toward it. While a sense of the gorgeous delights around her, luxury, the pride of birth and station, the dazzling of the lights, the sound of the thrilling harps, all these for a moment gave a proud Hush to her beautiful face, it vanished instantly afterwards, for .a low and gentle voice whispered the word Liocille' in her ear, and she grew pale as she started and turned round. The next -moment she stood in the embrazure of the window, face to face with her young lover. The son of a comrade who had died on -fiie battlefield Lucille's father had taken the orphan, St. Marcel, under his charge, and had brought him up in a manner befitting the name and condition of the father he had lost. The old soldier was a staunch royalist; on St. Marcel's young, enthusiastic mind the idea of a republic had began to dawn. He had been at school : in the devolution of 1830, or else, boy as the then was, he would have shouldered Jus mnsket and joined the men of the barricades in the streets. The Marshal did not know of this disloyal tendency, but Lfiicille did, and dreaded it. Well, well," ejaculated Lucille, with a tremulous impatience; bat her lips were -pale and trembled, and she looked with a sort of dread upon the noble face of the youth, which now wore an expression so dignified and lofty, as if the heroism of the cause he now held 6acreu had prepared

thim for a great sacrifice. "You are stern you are silent," said Iocille; "have you, then, forsaken me, St. Marcel?1 and she gave a great gasp of agony, as if she were choking. '"Never, Lucille!" he replied. His voicevras deep, and melodious, and earnest. "Never, wiiile my heart beats; I have only taken a course that the instincts of my soul have pointed oat." You have, then, joined with the misgaided men who are said to be preparing ifor an outbreak to-morrow?" "I have not merely joined them; I am to lead a number of them," he added prondiy; 4 and there will be " It is true, 'hen? this rumor is true?" ZiQciile demanded. "True!" ejaculated the youth, retreating bflcka step. "Yes, it is true, Lucille. Men err for a republic, and their crv will be heard." " ' But here they will not believe it," alluding to the company within. My father laughs at it; General only shrugs his ahoalders. My God! it is true; and I to know that my father's life will ba perilled to-morrow by one he hath proved a parent to! I dare not tell them so. Either way I .am in torture. Oh! St, Maicel, but this is cruel of you!" "Lucille," the lover gravely said, "do not judge me unjustly. Duty is above all aarthly consideration. Everything must gsive way when our country culls upon us. Men have been trampled upon so much and so long under foot by injustice and oppression, tbut they will endure it no more. It im a religion to them, is this sublime liberty; and 'tyrant' must be expunged out of the language of the human race. It

must mean Komelhing old and obsolete only; for the future it shall Kignify crime and infamy. Lucille! my beloved Lucille!" said he, taking her hand and kissiag it fondly, "do not rend my heart utterly by this great agony. God knows that I have adnred nmch'in making my decision, for one way or the other I must have chosen. I Jwve decided for the people, and cannot change. The remembrance of Vhat I owe to your father has haunted me; because the idea of ingratitude will assuredly strike him, and he will look upon me as a viper 4that he ath w aimed in his bosom. If he

passion

yet entered her thoughts; now the weight upon her heart was unbearable. Sho was stricken dumb with fear, and St. Marcel attributed this to other things. "If I have offended thee so d eeply, my Lucille, it is I who will endure all the great anguish of our eternal parting. Thou hast been a light of glory to my path; thou hast been the sole object of my dreams, waking and sleeping. To love thee, to be worthy of thy love, has been tie sole aim of my exertions; but think not thnt a word of blame or murmur shall pass over my lips; filial piety is strong, and I am willing that thy father should be greater in thy consideration than myself. But give me a word of farewell a word of love, of Messing for we may not meet more on earth." "With a great effort, Lucille placed her hand upon his forehead, and the dazzling beauty of her face never struct him so powerfully as then. Making an effort, she rose to her feet, and they both stood within the large open space afforded by the window. It was evident that she wished to speak, but what? He could not tell; he only feared; and this last movement indicated something like a weariness at the length of their interview. An expression of sublime regret passed over Ids face, as she sank on a seat and pressed her hand on her brow. Mistaking the action, he said, "Lucille, farewell! adieu forever!" and emerging at the window, by means of a pillar he descended lightly into the 6treet unseen of anv.

He was soon on the Quai d'Ecole and ;

began to go with hurried but uncertain steps towards the Faubourg Sr.. Antoine, where he had a rendezvous with those he was to lead on the following d;iy. His thoughts were distracted between Lucille, of whom he felt that he had taken an eternal farewell, and the glory 0:: a patriot, that with smiles seemed to open out her arms to receive him. He thought not of the balmy breeze that swept musically by, of the glorious moonlight flooding temple and tower. He was passing by' the end of one of the bridges leading to the Isle de

Cite when the form of a man started from the darkness and met him. "Welcome, St. Marcel," said he; "you are faithful and true, I see; and our trust has not been misplaced. And Lucille " "How! what know you of her?" demanded St. Marcel. "I know that she is good, and kind, and

beautiful," said the stranger. "Ah!" ejaculated the young Republican, "you do her justice. She is a pure, angelic being." "Exactly," replied the man dryly; "but

these are not the times for heroics. Pardon !

me," he added, "I do not wish to wcund j

your feelings, for I know you have sustained that which a man may not easily forbear. Look to your future, however; there lies the greatness for which such as you must hope for." "I have no future which can apply to me," returned St. Marcel mournfully. ''My hopes are dead; I can only hope to behold our endeavors crowned with success and die also." "Die! bah! Let slaves and cowards whine thus," replied the man, in a bold, jovial voice. ''Look yonder, and tell me whether the regeneration of a people who dwell in a city like this is nothing to hope for;" and he led him further on the bridg in order to point out the picture he alluded to. Trulv it was so. Star on star were pour

ing down their softened light through the! filmy sky, and sparkledin the rolling waters )

of the Seine. Far down the river he could see the Tuileries, and the broad white space

of the Place de Carrousel. Nearer rose the

Louvre, and from the Place de Chatelet rose the pillar from the Fountain of Palms. Thick, dense, yet well defined, mansions, palaces, and steeples filled up the picture, on both sides of the river. From the city rose, black a& gigantic, the turrets of Noire Dame, burying iu gloom the houses beneath its shadow. Its Pomanesque and gargoyled carvings at the turret angles stood in bold relief against the sky; beyond, on the right, was seen the pinnacle of the "Saltpetriere;" and, westward, the eye fell upon the steeple of St. Genevieve. St. Marcel was lost for a moment in the contemplation of the stately picture, when his reverie was suddenly broken. "This is a scene lovely to look upon is it not?" demanded the stranger. "It is indeed beautiful bevor.d belief,"

replied St. Marcel, warmed by the magnificence which surrounded him. "It is worth all human sacrifices to make this place and its people worthy of each other." "Good! 'tis well spoken," observed the man. "You and I have met ere now, as you well know, and I have taken some interest, and more pride, in weaning you from

the ties of tender association, and ihrough that of royalty, than you wot of. What of j that? You will thank me our country will ! thank me for bringing one heart and head ! full of boldness and talent, ono strong arm I to the field. If everv man did but make his j

proselyte, there would be no blow left for the morrow to strike. It would be an impassive revolution." St. Marcel was gazing into the man's ffice all the time, as if he would endeavor

to recall to him some face tha.t was once

familiar to him. "Look upon me, and know me, bov,"

I said the man, his grand, powerful voice j slightly shaken by a profound emotion; and

bowed his head. St. Maicel beheld a man whose shoulders and chest were gigantic. His s alure was proportionate, and bis great masculine beauty was quite as strikiug. "Th'it face, said St. Marcel, "is very familiar to me even now, beyond remembering that I have seen you often; but I know not where I have seen it, so that I can say you are one I have known when a child." "I am your father's brother," said the man, hurriedly. "We shall meet again;" and he suddenly hurried away. The next day came. As wa; expected,

the great reform banquet which had been arranged was expressly forbidde n. n this . h "barricadenis" had counted, for theiv prompt and vigorous measure? were well taken. Crowds of people assembled in the ; streets singing the "Marseillaise." The devolution had begun, and for a few hours, in the meat struggle that ensued, we lose

sight of St. Marcel, who also lost sight of

: everything else but the work mi hand. I jjy the dawn of morning of the the 1 progress of the insurgents was very great. M:irsh,l Jiugenud, with 100.000 men, found he had his w,k to do. BaiTie:ules wero formed; the Rational Guard fraternized , with the people; the Municipal Guard

hesitated, and withdrew. Louis Philippe, at the last moment, beheld his error, dismissed M. Guiot, who to the lust remained faithful to him. Count Mole formed a Ministry which was disagreeable to tho people. M. Thiers, aided by Odillon liarrot, the man of a prior resolution, formed a new one in the depth of the night, while tho air was rocking with the sound of cannon, tho cry of horses, and the strife of men. The people were irresistible. St . Marcel was in the midst of-the hottest of the fray. Heading a grim bund of blouseclad warriors, men of the old devolution, some of whom even had been at the storming of the Hastile, on tho 21th they bent their way through a most slaughterous fusillade, towards the Palais lioytd. A band of the Municipal Guards held this place with unflinching bravery; but the cool hardihood of the people was a mutch for anything. St. Marcel had brought his men almost to bay againF-t a charging squadron. The officer who led them on came dushii g at the head of his troops, and for an instant only the brave men of the barricades were about to give way. Tho loud, clear, shrill voice of their youthful leader rallied them, and a short rattle of musketry, which unhorsed many a brave trooper, tilled the ear. Men were now punting with the desperate fight. The horses were trampling on the living and the dead; and the butt-ends of the fusils were opposed to the sabres of the dragons. The cap of the officer fell off beneath a blow; and the gray hairs of St. Marcel's foster-father were st .earning in the wind. The youth beheld this. With a bound he was among tho struggling mass, liy dint of herculean exertions he made wav to the officer just us a huge smith was about to give the finishing stroke to tho Mow which

unhorsed the rider. "Spare him, mv friend," cried St. Marcel. "Mercy for the fallen." "Good!" said the man, holding back his hand. "What you, my young captain, command, ought to be respected." "Thanks shanks!" returned the youth, hastily; and while extricating the officer, he assisted him into a neighboring house. The eyes of the soldier gradually opened. His deadly sickness passed away. Pace to face foster-father nnd foster-son stood; hut the young man, profoundly respectful as he was, did not blench beneath the indignant glance of the other. "It is you, frhen, whom I have loved like my own child, you, son of my friend, that I find in arms against your King and country." "Against the King for my country," replied St. Marcel. "I regret it," replied the other; "and if it were not for the want of magnanimity in the very words. I would say that I regret yon saved my life. It is the fortune of war; I thought to have seen you engaged in a better cause. A braver man there is not within the bands of the insurgents, but your bravery is dedicated to an ill cause." "I will not argue the matter with you now with von to whom I owe so much; judge me fairly. I have acted as my conscience and my honor dictated, without ambition and without ultimate hopes, having even severed myself from the love of Lucille." "Lucille!" The old soldier started. "Was it indeed so?" he murmured. "It was so, my benefactor," replied Si. Marcel, who overheard him; "for I loved her with every energy of my nature. Well, because I believe this caus-e was just and holy, I have evrn given up all everything. Say that you panlon me this lapse, which must be excused by a logic of a loftier moral kind than I have now time to urge. Say you forgive me, nay that Lucille is well, and then I depart, for my comrades will want me. You will be guarded" in safety to your home, where you will be safe you are wounded " "Nothing," said the old man, a tear trembling in his eve. "You loved Lucille!

this, then, is the secret of her sorrow." "Sorrow!" ejaculated St. Marcel; "has she. then, thought of me?" "She loves you, St. Marcel, with all the fondness of a woman's devotion; I behold it all now. This morning I would have cursed you for an ingrate, now I have beheld your magnanimity. Be it so; if you survive the conflict, Lucille is yours. Revolutions must not be called treason." And he had parted from her, believing that her prejudices were? greater than her love. He had left her, believing that she would soon be enabled to forget him. Men more loyal might be also more welcome to her. Such were the thoughts which rapidly passed across his mind, liut now! it was rapture and something more. She was promised to him. and St. Marcel felt certain that some divine a-gis would bo held over him in danger. The Marshal and the young leader parted; the one to be safely led to his home, the other to plunge afresh into the battle. The strife mged with tenfold violence. But the people were at last victorious. The monarchy felb and the revolutionists stood triumphant upon its shattered rums. At tho taking of the Tuileries, St. Mured was desperately wounded and carried to a neighboring house, apparently on the point of death. He did not die. This was owing to the nursing he received from Lucille, who had flown to his bedside. And on his return to consciousness the old Marshal also presented himself, and St. Marcel and Lucille were married. Tho young hero rapidly recovered health and strength, and retired eventually with his bride to a beautiful chateau belonging to his father's brother, the mysterious man who had met him the night before the devolution. lie had hud, said his uncle many a time afterward, "the grand privilege of striking a blow for his country's freedom, and had, moreover, mxcceeded in securing a loving, handsome, usul wealthy wife." A Bad ( use. "I know u man who forgot his mime and did not recall it for two years' said a newspaper man, "but i this case the forgetting was assochu with pathetic misfortune? followed by long period in which there was in. memory, lint the othcrlay a f riend of mine came into rny olhce about 1 o'clock, spent half an hour in looking: over the papers, nnd then mid : I can't imagine what makefl me feel ho queer today. I don't remember ever to have had such symptoms as I have experienced within the last hour.' He stopped short in his explanation, and exclaimed : 'By (ieorgo, T forgot to eat mv breakfast this mornum;.' AikI

he had. This is the worst case I have known of forgetfulness in what we may call the ordinary walks of life." A Student of Human .Nature. Stranger (to fellow passenger) Excuse me, but am I not right in taking you for a professional inunV Fellow l'ussengor Yes, air. Stranger Thanks. It's not often that I make a mistake in judging my fellow men. Your work is head work altogether, of eon-rse? Fellow Passenger Oh, yes sir, entirely so. Stranger Er Lawyer ? Fellowr Passenger No, sir; barber. JVeuJ York: Hun

Westminster Palace, The old houses of Parliament wero burned to tho ground in 18; 1-4. The new building was erected on the sumo site as the old, but on a much grander scale. Kir Charles liarry was the architect, and work was begun on the structure in 1810. The building is known as Westminster Palace, and is one of tin most magnificent buildings in England. Its entire cost was about SX,()00,0H). It is t)00 feet in length by JJOO feet in width. It was built o: limestone taken from the quarries of Yorkshire, and was very beautifully ornamented with many tine ligures and carvings. Unfortunately, the stone used proved to be very easily injured by exposure to the atmosphere, and the tine effect of the ornamental figures has already been much marred by their decay. The principal rooms of Westminster Palace are the House of Lords and the House of Commons, which occupy the center of the Imilding, and run on the line of its greatest length. They are separated by an octagon hall with a diameter of 70 feet. From this ball one corridor runs north to the House of Commons, and another south to the House of Eonls. The House of Lords is 10) feet long, -lo feet wide, and 4") feet high. This room is profusely gilded and ornamented with a series of frescoes. In niches between the windows are eighteen statues of liaronsAvho signed the Magna Charta. In this room is the gorgeously gilt and canopied throne on which the Queen sits when she opens Parliament. In the center is the woolsack of the Chancellor of England a large, square bag of wool, covered with red cloth, used as a seat, though without back or arms. The

House of Commons is the same height and width as the House of Lords, but not so long, and it is not so gaudily decorated, though of very handsome finish. At the north end is the Speaker's chair, and there are galleries along the sides and ends of the room. Besides these two rooms there are a number of others in the building. The entrance to the octagon hall is by a passage known as St. Stephen's Hall, which communicates by flights of steps with an entrance in the east front, and also with Westminster Hall, a much older building, on the north. At tho southwestern extremity of the braiding is the state entrance of the Queen, which communicates directly with what are known as the royal apartments, the Queen's robing-room, the guard-room, etc. The libraries and committee-rooms are on the river front of the building. The palace is surmounted in the ceater, above the octagon hall, with a tower tt00 feet high. There are also two other lofty towers on the building at the southwest corner, the Victoria tower, ?.M feet high ; at the northwest, the clock tower, surmounted by a belfrv spire 320 feet high. This clock ha four faces, each 30 feet in diameter, and it strikes the hour on a bell weighing nine tons, called "liig.Ben." Inter Ocean.

Short on Months. Johnson came down town the other morning looking !ike his mother-in-law had just arrived with a full purpose and desire of remaiixcg all summer. "Hello old fellow," exclaimed a friend meeting him, "what's the awful matter with you anyhow?" "Why you see," replied Johnson, leaning up against a lamp post and jabbing the toe of his boot by lits and starts against a brick in the pavement, in a reflective way, umy trouble dates back several years. When I was a young married man, sixteen or eighteen years ago, I was romantic, and when the- lirst little Johnson appeared to bless our happy home, I didn't want to be prosaic and call him Thomas or JoLn or any of those ordinary names, so I concluded I'd name him January, audi follow this calendrical idea in naming such others a& the Lord in His goodness saw lit to send to our household." "That was an excellent idea," remarked his friend, "for it not; only would keep you posted as to their order, but it saves your friends asking questions as to the precedence in age." 'Must it" smiled Johnson brightening; "it caught me exactly in the same place, and everything went lovely, and wben the last came three years ago, we called it December and thought our cup of bliss and ouar family were full." "Well, weren't they ?" interrupted the friend. "Yes, until this morning' went on Johnson, "but this morning at one o'clock twins came, and here I am at mv time of life with the calendar lilled up and a pair on my hands with nothing to draw to for names." "Bad, bad," saiJ the friend sympathetically. "It isn't the twins I care so much about, as the names of them," pursued the dejected father, "for I ain't likes lots of men who might kick on twins, when they had already to set twelve plates at the table, but its tire miserable poverty, the culpable incapacities of the almanac that I enter my protest against. It is. too much, too much!" "Yes, two too much," responded the riond, and taking Johnson by the arm i led him into a drug-store, where ibey sold poisons, plasters, arnica, and tooth brushes, but it was none of these the friend asked the druggist to pour out for the heart-broken sire of the surplus twins. Merchant Traveler. A Woman's Courage. "War is a terrible thing. The first tight I was in was tho battle of Shiloh. I tell you, bovs. mv heart was in my mouth when the rebels commenced tiring on us," mid old Tommy Haylield to visiting neighbors. "You were a coward, Tom," remarked Mrs. Hayfield. "It would doubtless have frightened me if I had been a soldier in that battle; but it wouldn't have scared me till my heart jumped, into my mouth." "Oh, I don't doubt it, w retorted tho dd man. "You are a woman, and a woman never lets her heart get in her mouth." "Humph!" ejaculated the old lady, 'I suppose you think that the reason a woman never gets her heart in her mouth is because she hasn't anv heart V" "No, my dear," replied the old warrior, between whin's of tobacco smoke; "it's because if her heart wero in her

month she couldn't talk." Newman Independent. A Portrait of Castelar. It was my good fortune to meet Castelar in the autumn of 1869, when ho was Hushed with the triumph of "the greatest effort of his life," his fervid speech on the Spanish Constitution. The first impression one has on seeing him is that nature has exhausted herself in building a perfect machine tor human vocal utterance. Slightly above the middle height, and stoutly built without positive corpulence, his notably erect carriage gives to his splendidly rounded chest seemingly titanic proportions. The effect is enhanced, perhaps, by his habit of wearing a low-cut waistcoat and a slender necktie, leaving a snowy expanse of linen, on which a rare ink-spot at times attests the absorbing character of his studious pursuits. A low collar shows the prominent sinews of a neck of almost taurine contour. Square, powerful jaws enframe a large, straight-cut mouth. The lips, slightly sensuous in their fullness, are half hidden by a heavy moustache of wiry, dark-brown hair, curved enough to reliove it from the suspicion of bristliness. He is always cleanshaven fis to cheek and chin, which makes the clearness of his slightly florid complexion more noticeable, and brings into relief a rounded button of a mole just below the left corner of his mouth. I saw no trace of stubble on his face, even in the saddest days of the Republic, when he, the responsible head of its power, saw the inevitable end approaching, and, lHte the poor Lincoln after Fredericksburg, might have said: "If there is a soul out of hell that suffers more than I, God pity him !" His head, thrown well back, tip-tilts his nose more than nature intended. It might be a better nose, but lie seems to be satisfied with it. The eyes are limpid, neither strikingly large nor dark, but they have a way of looking one frankly through and through, as with self-consciousness of integrity of convictions. Wellrounded brows slope upwards into a somewhat receding forehead, made more conspicuous by baldness. One looks, and sighs for tle superhuman frontal bulk of Webster. Cas,telar s chin, too, is inadequate. It is delicately rounded, but there ought to be more of it. If he had possessed Serrano's forehead aud chin, the Spanish Republic might have been a living thing to-day. But his voice! Like Salvini's, once

beard it is never to be forgotten. Whether in the softly modulated tones of conversation, when the peculiar Anualusian accentuation is now and then characteristic, or rising to the sober force of demonstrative declamation, or trembling with feeling, or sweeping all before it in a wild Niagara of invective, it is always resonant. His slightest whisper pierces to the farthest corner of tho Hall of Deputies, his fiercest Boanerges-blast is never harsh. This orator found his chic test implement ready fashioned to hiss use. He never had to fill his mouth with sea-shore pebble. A. A Adee, in the Century. How Books are Made, If yon will go into any great library you will tind there shelf after shelf loaded with books of travel, adventure, and exploration; and you will lind on the title-pages of these books some of the great names which vou are con

stantly seeing: in the newspapers and hearing in lectures and sermons. Take one of the oldest ad one of the latest of these names. The first shall be Marco Polo a famous traveler, who was born at Venice in the middle of the thirteenth eentnrv, fifteen years before a u the great Italian poet Dante. His father was an eminent merchant in a citv which was then the great merchant city of the world, trading with the far East and the far West of that day. Marco 1030 was taken bv his father among the Mongols when he was a young man, and. he learned their language and customs so rapidlv that he soon became better acquainted with them, if it were possible, than the Mongols themselves. His judgment and ability were soon recognized, ami he was employed as an agent to transact business with the lioighhoring rulers. Wherever he went Le made it a point to-study the people, and know how they lived, and what their customs were. In this spirit he be came acquainted with a part of China ard with the great cities of Eastern Asia, many of which hail never before been seen by an European. On his longest j umey he passed through China, acid, taking a vessel, made the journey of the China rfea ami the Indian Ocean, tiaiall-v reaching Teheran in Persia. Later he returned to his own country, ard in a notable battle between the Venetians and the Genoese was taken prisoner, and shut up in a dung-eon in Uenoa, the city which was afterward to be the birthplace of Columbus. It w as while he was locked up in this dungeon that he wrote his travels, just as Bunyan wrote the "Pilgrim's Progress" in Bedford Jail. He was afterward liberated, went back to Venice, and died in IH'23. His book remains one of the oldest and one of the most interesting records of travels which Ave have. Turn now to the latest work of the same kind Lieutenant Greely's "Three Years of Arctic Service." The story of that wonderful voyage, and of the terrible hardships which are a part of its history, are too well known to be repeated here. It is enough to say that tbese books are a story of travel, adventure, and discovery. Lieut. Greely has simply written out what he saw, discovered, and suffered in those terrible three years' struggle with the Arctic darkness and cold. In like manner all books of travel, discovery, and adventure, so far as they are trustworthy, are simply records of fact. There is no invention in them, no imagination, but a straightforward account of what actually is, or has happened. They are pictures of life or of the world, as brave and self-saeriticing men have seen both, in distant countries, and often amid terrible hardships. Christian Union. Hk that from childhood has made rising betimes familiar to him, will not waste the best part of his life in drowsiness aud lying iibed. Locke. F.wons to the ungrateful aro like colors to iAiQ blind.

CHARACTER IN AN ELEVATOR

Telling All About lh Different Fopl Who King the Kl;ctric Hell. A visitor was going up in the elevator at the Blank Building, when somn one rang the bell. It was a quick, timid ring, as if the person who called had just touched the key with the tipa of his lingers, uncertain whether to ring or not. The sound had scarcely c eased when there came a loud, decided, defiant ring, evidently from another floor, one of those rings in which the full ower of the battery is invoked, not prolonged, but long enough to show that the ringer is expecting to be called for in duo time to be carried down. Then came one of those prolonged rings that vex the ear and make one impatient, as if the person calling thought the elevator was put in for his sole benefit and run for his particular accommodation. "What blank fool is that?" someone remarked. "I know who that is," said the elevator man, w ho is a deep student of passenger nature. "He always rings in that way. I've got so," he continued, "that 1 can always tell who the tenants are when they ring. I can't id ways tell anyone else, of course, but I know the ring of each tenant perfectly. There ia a similarity in some, but yet all are different. One is a shade louder, or longer, than another, but by watching closely I've got so I can tell them every time. There is a great deal of character in the way one rings a bell. I've studied into it a good deal, as I have been traveling up and down here for three years, and I fancy 1 can tell something of the character of each tenant in the building. I make a study of the tenants as they pass up and down. I notice their motions, the expressions of their faces, their build, their companions, if they have any, and 111 venture to say that I can tell to a T what sort of a fellow everv tenant in the buiKling is, at home for instance, and what he is at home he is everywhere. Does he give the bell a timid, light, hesitating touch? Depend upon it, he is that sort of a fellow. You'll find him to be a timid, noncommittal, hesitating man, unsuccessful in business, perhaps, a modest man who doubts whether he has any rights at all in this world. Does he bring out all the power of the battery by an impressive, commanding ring ? That's he every time. You'll always know where to tind that man. He has business on hand and is readv to atend to it. He is a frank-hearted, gen;erous man of positive convictions. Is he a lawyer? See him in the courtroom; he has his case thoroughly in hand; he looks the judge squarely in the eye; his argument is clear and -convincing. He means what he says. Is he a broker? Yoivll find he lives in a square-built, brown-stone house on Madison avenue. It is paid for, too, every dollar ; no mortgage oa Tii property, and " "Well, what about the maai who rings the bell so long?" the visitor interrupted. . "Ho ?" replied the elevator man. "Why, he is selfish, narrow-minded, foppish sort of a chap who had a fortune left him by an aunt, I, lelieve. When he gets into the elevator, it would tickle you to death sometimes to see him. He takes a position squarely in the center of the car and gazes at himself in the mirror. He pulls up his shirt-collar, pulls down his waistcoat, stamps on the floor, gives an extra twist to his feeble mustache, carries- a bundle of papers in his hand, the same one every time. He claims to be a lawyer, I believe, but he is what I call a consummate " Just then the bell began to ring and never ceased till the seventh: floor was reached, and there stood the "consummate " New York Tribune.

Priming. One of our chief aims h to form an evenly balanced, open, symmetrical head, and this can often be accomplished better by a little watehSiluess during the season of growth than at any other time. If, for instance, two branches start so closely together that one or the other must be removed in the spring pruning, why let the superfluous one grow at all? It is just so much wasted effort By rubbing off the pushing bud or tender shoot the strength of the tree is thrown i:ato the branches that Ave wish to remain. Thus the eye and hand of the master become to the young tree wlkat iostraction, counsel, and admonition- are to a growing boy, with the difference that the tree is easily audi certainly managed when taken in time. Trees left to themselves tend to form too much wood, like the grape-vine. Of course fine fruit is impossible when the head of a tree i& like a thicket. The growth of unchecked branches follows the terminal bud, tfetis producing long naked reaches of wood devoid of fruit spurs. Therefore tfoe need of shortening in, so that side brandies may be developed. Whea the reader remembers that every dormant bud m early spring is a possible branch, and that even the immature buds at the axil of the leaves in early summer can be forced into immediate growth by pinching back the leading shoot, he will see how entirely the young tree is under his control. These simple facts and principles are worth far more to the intelligent man than any number of arbitrary rules as to pruning. Reason and observation soon guide his hand in summer, oar his knife in March, the season when trees are usually trinimeel. Beyond shortening in leading branches and cutting out crossing and interfering boughs, so as to keep the head symmetrical and open to b'ghtand air, the cherry does not need very much priming. If with the lapse of years it becomes necessary to take off largelimbs from any fruit tree, the authorities recommend early June as the best season for the operation, E. P. Jtoe, in Harper's Magazine.

It Was the Judge "What a murderous-looking villain the prisoner is," whispered an oKi lady in a court room to her husband. Td be afraid to get near him." "fch!" warned her husband, "that ain't the prisoner. He ain't been brought in vet. " "It ain't f Who is it, then?"It's the Judge." Exchange.