Newspaper Page Text
Oil
8
“Onr Ambition is to make a Yeracions Work, Reliable in its
YOL. I.
It is said there is a single county of
Iowa that raises more wheat each year
than all the New England States.
An English authority computes that in
the last three or four years more pigs
have died in the United States from
cholera than have been raised in the
British Isles.
A Swiss engineer named Ritter wants
the City of Paris to adopt his plan for
obtaining an “inexhaustible” supply of
water from the Lake of Neufchatel,
Switzerland, 312 miles away. The cost
is given at about $60,000,000.
The new metal turrets with which
France has been experimenting have
proved unable to stand the new projec
tiles hurled by the modern high explo
sives. This, says the London Times,
condemns all ironclad ships without
giving them a chance of showing what
they could do.
The National Cemetery at Fredcreks
burg, Va., is the third in size, there being
over 15,000 soldiers buried there, drawn
from the neighboring battlefields of
Chancellorsville, Spottsylvania and the
Wilderness. The cemetery itself lies on
the battlefield of Fredericksburg and in
the midst of most solemn associations,
yet only two Decoration Day services
have ever been held there. These were
in 1886 and 1884.
Some idea of the extent of the use of
natural gas in Pittsburg, Penu., and
vicinity, and the profits of the business
maybe’had from the report of one of the
companies just presented. It states that
on February 29 the last of the treasury
stock had been sold, so that the entire
capital stock of $7,500,001) is now sub
ject to dividends. Rents, operating ex
penses, interest and taxes for the year
amounted to 46.65 per cent, of the earn
ings, or $1,709,792.74. Monthly divi
dends of one per cent., amounting .to
$842,626.50 have been paid. The num
ber of house connections made from the
lines of the co mpa ny during,, Jji; . ye^r
4887 was 4712.~ A year ago the com
pany contracted to operate the lines of
two other companies. The united busi
ness of these three companies amounted
on March 1 to the supplying of 678
manufacturers and 11,955 dwelling
houses, and, through other distributing
companies, the supplying of 113 facto
rias and 10,961 dwellings, or a total of
23,707 contracts.
“The spiritualists of France,” says the
New York Commercial Advertiser, “have
lately been celebrating the anniversary
of the death of their great apostle, Allan
Kardec, who was removed an almost in
appreciable distance from, this world in
I860. It will probably surprise most
people to learn that about a hundred
spiritualist journals are now published,
of which M. Birmann, who spoke at the
Kardec celebration, gave some account,
and that, according to his estimate,
there are about two million spiritualists
in the world. What seems unaccount
able is that more of their journals are
published in Spanish than in any othei
language. One is printed in Hindostanee,
fourteen in France, one is issued at
Geneva, four in Belgium and one in
Buenos Ayres. The Sphinx, the great
German spiritualist organ, is published
at Leipsic, and is said to be ‘purely
scientific,’ being problematically so and
according to the science of the late ill
fated Dr. Zollner, who, if we remember
tightly, was a Professor at the University
°f Leipsic, went mad over spiritualism,
2nd died in a lunatic asylum.”
The New York Surds resident corre
sponclent at Stuttgart, Germany, sends
an extraordinary account of precocious
depravity. A boy of eight, living iD
! he little village of Oberndorf, became
-he possessor of a new pair of boots
■which excited the envy of a comrade of
twelve. This premature highwayman
Bd the little proprietor of the boots into
a deserted quarry, crushed in his skull
"with stones, took off the coveted boots,
put them on, walked home, and supped
with a good appetite. The body was
^ ‘Uund, and
the boots, of course, revealed
1 ;e tnurderer. The boy’s monstrous de
pravity appears to be hereditary, as his
ath ® ta< i just finished a term in prison
Jor homicide. To set off this tale ol
I Tubful wickedness, here is one of even
® 0r e P rec ocious heroism. An inquest
at
* ' t0 *> England, on the body of Frank
enkins, aged six months, moved the
■ Ur y to a vote of admiration for Johnny
enkins, aged four years. Frank, hav
been left to play with a lighted
ern ’ set himself on fire. Johnny, whe
3 ” charge, took the baby out of his
‘ a e and dragged him down stairs,
jutmg f or assistance. A neighbor
an d put the flames out was too
to MTe the child.
GRAY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, AUGUST 4, 1888.
THE BEAUTIFUL.
Beautiful faces are those that wear—
It matters little if dark or fair—
Whole souled honesty printed there.
Beautiful eyes are those that show,
Like crystal panes where earth fires glow,
Beautiful thoughts that burn below.
Beautiful lips are those whose words
Leap from the heart like songs of birds,
Yet whoso utterance prudence girds.
Beautiful hands are those that do
Work that is earnest and brave and true,
Moment by moment the long day through.
Beautiful feet are those that go
On kindly ministry to and fro,
Down lowliest ways, if God wills it so.
Beautiful shoulders are those that bear
Ceaseless burdens of homely care,
With patience, grace and daily prayer.
Beautiful lives are those that bless—
Silver rivers of happiness,
Whose hidden fountains but few may guess.
Beautiful twilight at set of sun,
Beautiful goal with race well run,
Beautiful rest with work well done.
Beautiful grave where grasses creep,
Where brown leaves fall,where drifts lie deep
Over worn-out hands—oh, beautiful sleep!
THE HEIRESS.
BY EMMA A. OPPEIi,
She was known as Aunt Lucinda by
all Boynton, because that is what Phebc
Williams called her, and Boynton liked
to do what Phu'be Williams did.
When Aunt Lue'nda and Ph ebe had
bought Squire Branch’s house, and come
to live in Boynton, the general verdict
had been that Aunt Lucinda’s niece was
an weeks uncommonly of acquaintance pretty had girl. A few
settled the
fact that she was, moreover, a remarka
bly nice girl; and Boynton had never
had occasion to alter its decision.
What, alas! had been a powerful con
sideration _ with a certain portion of the
town was the well-grounded belief that
Phoebe was Aunt I ucinda’s heiress.
There was no proof of it, since nobody
had mustered the courage to ask them;
but it was a self-evident fact.
She was, confessedly, Aunt Lucinda's
sole living '
relative. What was more
likely, more a matter of course, than that,
the fine old home and the rich furnish
ings with which Aunt Lucinda had era
bellished it, and the solid fortune which
the proceeding bespoke, should, upon
Aunt property Lucinda’s of her niece. d'eqjise* Nobody become the
doubted it.
Of course, the bright and pretty heir
had ess to plenty a delightfully mysterious fortune
of ardent admirers. Just
which of them were admirers of the for
tune and which adorers of sweet Phcebe
Williams herself was an ever fresh sub
ject of speculation and con ecture in
Boynton. Truth to tell, it was a puzzle
to Ph 1 be herself.
Nobody would have believed that she
was greatly concerned about that or any
th! ig else, however, who had seen her
on a certain winter’s evening when all
the youth of the town had swarmed to
Aunt Lucinda’s for a candy pull.
The heiress’s entertainments were fre
quent and always lively, and nobody who
was invited ever had a previous engage
ment.
Aunt Lucinda, in a shining black
satin and a white lace cap—and a very
impressive figure she was, being a hand
some old lady—roamed about from room
to room, smiling on this one, conversing
for a moment with that, and patting a
third on the head or shoulder.
8he was a very cordial old person, and
very popular in Boynton, being second
in the hearts of Boyntonians only to her
niece.
Pha’be was in her element. She wore
a red dress with profuse colored head
ings, flitted which shimmered and down, and sparkled as
she up and in and out,
like a moving flame.
Her costumes were a perpetual wonder
to Boynton girls, and indeed she would
have excited admiration anywhere, as
would also her pink-and-white complex
ion, her long-lasbed eyes and her fresh
lips. The candy had been
boiled to precisely
the proper point, and had been set out
on the snow in pans to cool just enough
for pulling, the waiting company filling j
in the time with a lively quadrille or •
two. |
And now the front yard was comforta- i
bly lessly-adjusted filled with giggling and girls, in care
wraps, young men,
with hats stuck hastily on the backs of
their heads, somebody having suggested
pulling the candy out of doors, fora
change. clutched
Everybody a generous bunch
of it in greased or floury hands; shoul- j
ders bent to the task: elbows worked in
in and out, and tongues chattered.
Pheebe Williams stood by a snowy
evergreen tree, with Harrison Belding at
her side. He was tail, good-looking and
altogether quite distingue, so Boynton
thought. Belding’s son,and
He was Colonel pros-,
pective heir to a property of no mean
proportions. Boynton girls admired and
coveted him, but he had hardly looked
at one of them since Phoebe Williams
had come to town.
“Charming night, Miss Williams,” he
said, shoving a cuff to a safe distance
from the sticky substance in his hands,
“Yes, delightful,” Phrnbe assented,
lifting her bright eyes to the starry sky.
“Wasn't I lucky?” lucky,” Harrison
“You’re always re
joined, bending his own fine orbs upon
her. “I wish I was!” he added, enig
matically. Mr. Belding?” said
“Why, aren’t you,
Phorbe, in pretty concern. burst forth,
“I don’t know!” Harrison
fcoldiy. “It s for you to decide.”
“Why, what can you mean?” Pha-be
murmured.
“Well, I mean this," Harrison re
joined, determinedly—“that I shali con-
y
oouhty
1* #
4
m
u
2
sider whatever luck I’ve had so far in
life as nothing—worse than nothing—if,
to crown it, I cau’t have you. Miss Will
iams—Phoebe—you this. Come; must have known
I can’t live give me one word of hope.
without it!”
He came closer to her, with a frantic
but unsuccessful effort to free his hands
from their sticky bonds.
Phoebe moved back gently, with a
timid, upward glance.
“Oh, Mr. Belding—’’she began, dc
precatingly.
“Don’t say no—don’t, Miss Williams
—Pliirbc!” Harrison implored. .
“But I can’t say yes,” said Phoebe,
softly. “1 don’t know, Mr. Belding,
whether I—care for you or not.”
“But you don’t know that you don’t,”
cried her lover, tearing frenzied ly at his
sugary shackles.
“N-no,” Phoebe admitted, with her
eyes cast downward.
“Then I can hope!” cried Harrison,
triumphantly; Williams—Phoebe—that “and I’m confident, Miss
you’ll decide
favorably. Nobody loves you so deeply:
nobody could make you happier. I
may not? hope for a speedy answer, may 1
I may call for it soon?”
“Yes,” Phoebe responded, sweetly.
He did look very handsome standing
there, tall and manly, under the stars.
Phoebe bestowed a faint smile upon
him as she slipped timorously away.
Eben Lake stood leaning against the
fence. He interposed himself in Phoebe's
path, with a calm smile of proprietor
ship, and Phrebc slopped, not quite un
willingly.
Eben Lake was, in a sense, the pride
of Boynton. He had been uncommonly
had bright at school, and an admiring uncle
sent him to a law-school, whence
he had emerged with high honors. Now
lie had a lucrative practice in the largest
town in the county, and was known
among his fellow-practitioners as a
sharp fellow; and he was not yet
twenty-five. Boynton was justly proud
of him.
“Stop here, Miss Williams!” he com
manded. “I haven’t s qp q anything of
you all the evening.”
“Oh, Mr. Lake, I danced a quadrills
with you!” said Phoebe, reprovingly.
“Oh, I don't count that!” Eben de
clared. “To tell the truth, Miss Will
iam’s, I don’t count anything, unless-
unless it has a meaning, and you under
stand it so. There! do you understand
that?”
... I don . ,, t know, , „ said ., Phoebe, , some
what unsteadily.
Another! What was she to do?
“Well, I’ll explain,” Eben proceeded,
e8d ou ^ ^uiuess. 1 mean,
Miss Williams, that I waut you to tflarry
me. I have had this in mv mind for
some time—in fact, since I first sow you;
and it has lately occurred to me to settle
matters. I don’t need to tell you of my
esteem for you—ol my love; you must be
aware of that. May I not hope that you
return it?”
He was pulling his candy with strong
hands and perfect self-possession. Miss
PhA'be glancing up at him from beneath
tlie pink scarf on her soft hair, felt a
thr 11 of admiration for his strength and
his cleverness. She hesitated, prettily.
“If you want time to consider it,”
said Ebon, reassuringly, “you shall have
it. I know this may seem sudden to
you, but my feelings would not endure
a longer repression. I shall return.to
tho city in three days. You will give
me my answer before I go, will you not?
You will never meet with one more de
voted to your best happiness, Miss Will
fems!”
“1 appreciate the honor you dome,”
Phoebe murmured; “but I will take the
three days, please, to think it over.”
Lben waved a courteous hand.
“In three days I confidently expect to
be engaged to the piettiest girl in the
State!”
He smiled, tenderly and triumphantly, .
as Phiebe fluttered past him, her color
heightened and her lips parted tremu
lousiy. standing in . the mid
John Wells .
was
die of tho snow-piled paused flower-bed, in
solitary state. Phtcbc at its
edge. look like patience
“1 ou on a monu
ment!” she declared, with a hall hyster
ical laugh.
“I don’t feel unlike it.” _ said _ John,
joining her with a long stride.
“Why?” Phrebc demanded, calming
down under the friendly glance of John’s
pleasant gray eyes, and taking a bite
from her candy,which was getting hard.
“Well,’said John, slowly, “when I
have to stand still and see you talking
to Belding or Lake, or anybody else, lor
that matter, patience is all that keeps
me—well, sane!”
He laughed apologetically as he said
it; . and he said no more.
I hnebe found herself wondering if he
never would say any more. Not that she
wanted him to. Two proposals m an
evening, and those unanswered, were
quite enough. . ,
But John hail said things of the same
kind before, and always stopped short at
the most incomplete point.
Not that .John Hells flirted. No;
Ubnebe knew better than that, *'U-nc
was a clerk in a hardware-store, and the
so ' e support of and his 1 heebe mother ana heir- two
younger sisters; was an
ess -
No; silence had been John’s rolehith
erto, and he had told himself, sternly,
that so far as Pirr-be Williams was con
cerned it would continue to be.
“Don’t you think it's of pulled something enough?”
said Phoebe, for want het
ter to say, holding out her stiffening
twist. “Pm going to eat mine. See—
everybody is. Why don't you eat
yours?” feel hungry, ’ said . John,
“I don’t so
bcrly. he looked hungrily at Phcebe,
But
nevertheless. then. Will
“You can have mine you
eat that?” ^akl Phcebe, breathless at her
own -daring. thrust it ... into his band, and
And she
saucily snatched his own, and ran away,
I
y) <>
Candid in its Conclusions, and Just in its Views. ”
leaving bling the young man red and trem
with a pleasure that was half
pain.
■*
Three days afterward, Boynton was
shocked and sympathetically grieved by
the news of Aunt Lucinda's very sudden
death.
Shocked and grieved, but—alas, for
human nature!-—far beyond these emo
tions in depth and intensity was the as
tonishment and horror which greeted a
second and complementary piece of in
telligence.
Aunt Lucinda had not possessed a for
tune, Phoebe and, Williams as a natural not consequence, heiress!
was an
The report was well founded. Phoebe
herself had told Judge Campbell so with
her own lips, when he had called to as
sist in the funeral arrangements, and had
put Subject. a delicately-framed inquiry on the
j Aunt Lucinda had had no money!
Th:.t was the news which set all Boyn
ton agog. Where had the flue house
fnd the finer furnishings come from?
’ Chat had they lived on? What would
1 ho'be do now? Boyton well-nigh lost
i s reason in the breathless discussion of
tiese sphinx-like riddles.
Plccbe Williams sat in the richly-fur
r ished parlor, late on that exciting day.
1 er sweet face, sad and subdued, was
s vector than ever in its black rushings,
lussibly Harrison Belding, who stood
tifore her, thought so. If he did, how
e 'cr, he gave no sign of it.
“I was dreadfully shocked to hear of
yiur aunt’s death, Miss Williams,” ho
w ‘Accept is saying, in properly-modulated condolence!” tones.
my heartfelt
“(She was all 1 had,” said Phoebe,
gmtly. “I don’t know how I shall get
oi without her—dear Aunt Lucinda!”
Harrison cleared his throat nervously.
“I—you will excuse me, Miss Will
iams, if I intrude upon your grief
Mith an apparently inappropriate matter,
l it—pray excuse me—but is the report
t tat your Aunt Lucinda was penniless a
correct one?”
“Aunt Lucinda?” Phoebe repeated.
Aunt (h, yes, quite correct, Mr. Belding!
Lucinda had nothing.”
Harrison paled, reddened, and moved
ifceasily from one foot to the other and
lack again. hardly how put it, Miss
“I know to
Williams.” he stammered; “but this—
ah—intelligence regards naturally affects Naturally, my
flans as yourself. ad
L.jj._» Williams—naturally, you must
L pR^be rose
Rt.jvVou mean, Mri Belding,” she said;
pleasantly, ^ “taat you wish to withdraw
p ‘ r0 £ p 0sa i w ith which you honored
mo t he ther evening? »
it —j— we u | Ju t you must see,
( faltered, with his
Williams,” he Harrison
ey?g on t floor, “that a fellow—that
m;n _»
<p geG) certainly, Mr. Belding,” glad said
Phjebe, quite collectedly. “I am
to Je able to release you. Be assured
tha; I do it freely!”
Xr Belden, passing down the front
s t C rs met Eben Lake coming up. He
car ,i e <i a satchel, and a cane and um
b re i a strapped together, and he bowed
] je p ro pi la >be, in the parlor, in a hur
r ; e( j wa y.
<<;am on my way to the station, Miss
"vviljams,” he informed her; “but I
wished to assure you of my deep sym
t>;l1.1 17 in your bereavement.”
“'Tank you!” said Phoebe, raising
her <an did eyes to his.
44 u t Eben avoided them.
“Forgive me for mentiouiug such a
thin^at such a time, Miss Williams,” he
coutnued, hastily, “but as this is my
only ihance—is it true that your Aunt
Lucinda was not possessed of the for
j une s i ie W as generally believed to
have ”
“Perfectly true,” Phoebe rejoined, in
mild ‘
tones.
Eben took out his watch.
“I lave not a moment to spare, Miss
Williims," he said. “You must, forced over
look my abruptness; but I am to
tell you that the matter I mentioned to
you the other ever, mg, is or-at least,
jf that 1 no will longer desire to proceed withdrawal. in it, I
you consent to my
am exceedingly sorry at being ~ obliged to
say this, you know, but—” door,
He was already half way to the
Phoebe followed him with calm eyes.
“Certainly, Mr. Lake,” she said,
cordially; and the door closed behind
p,im.
Five minutes later the waitress won
deringly admitted a third gentleman. longer,”
*q couldn’t stay away any
sa j ( j John Wells, standing in close his. “I to
pheebe, with both her hands call
am so sorry for you, dear! May 1
you that? Will you let me take care of
you uow as well as I can? I can’t be
sorry Aunt Lucinda was poor, because if
she hadn’t been—well, you knew how it
wftgj didn’t you? Perhaps it was foolish
j n me—false pride —but I couldn’t help
it. If I had known, though, that
did care for me, I guess I’d have risked
jt in spite of your thousands!” doubt
For there was no longer a
his bounding heart; the tenderness in
her soft eyes settled that. Still,
was an expression in them which he did
not understand. He started back sud
denly, _
“Have I made a mistake?” he said, _ in
confusion. “Has everybody made
mistake? Was Aunt Lucinda rich—and
you’re an heiress after all?”
“No, no!” cried Phoebe,
him as he retreated, with both hands
round his arm. “No, she hadn’t a cent,
but I’ve never let her feel it. I’ve taken
care of her for a lon<; time, and
The money’s mine, don’t you see?
been an heiress for years. And I
think much'of Boynton for not
ing it.”
“But—" said her lover, slowly.
“But what? but nothing!”
Phu-be, tenderly. “You’ve asked me
marry you, and I’m going to do it,
1 shan’t let you off. 1 think it’s you
liked all the time, dear!”
Everybody in Boynton knew the
of the case within twenty-four hours.
How ever it. leaked out concerning Har
rison Belding and Eben Lake was a mys
tery did ; but hear those the enterprising subject young for men
not last of the a
long Night. and heart rending time .—Saturday
v A.
Remains of a Ruined City.
The surveys at present being made fof
the Kansas City, El Paso ana Mexican
Railroad, which will be built in a diag
onal direction through New Mexico from
northeast to southwest, promise to bring
to the light of of modern remarkable exploration interest
some which regions have heretofore closed the
been to
scientist on account cf their inaccessi
bility. The surveying parties have passed
along the lava flow which by tho local
population is called the Motpais, which
is probably the most unique of its kind
in America. It consists of a sen of
molten black glass, agitated at the
moment of cooling in ragged waves of
fantastic shapes. These lava waves or
ridges are from 10 to 12 feet high with
combing crests, and the whole having formation been
presents the appearance of
made Tho at lava a comparatively flow modern period. long
is about forty miles
from northeast to southwest, and from
one to ten miles wide. For miles on all
sides the country is the most desolate
that can be imagined. It has been liter
ally burned up. Itconsistsof tine white
ashes dug to any depth which, so far, lava has
been down. To the north of the
flow,and lying in a country equally deso
late and arid, the surveyors have come
upon the ruins of Gran Guivera, known
already to the early Spanish explorers, white
but which have been visited by
men less often even than the mysterious
ruins of Paleuquc in Central America.
Only a few people at Socorro and White
Oaks, New Mexico, have been at Gran
Guivera, because it is at present forty
miles from water. Tho surveyors found
the ruins to he of gigantic stone build
ings made in the most proportions, substantial man- of
ner and of grand One
them was four acres in extent, All in
dications around the ruins point to the
existence here at one time of a dense
population. No legend of kind exists to how
any destroyed ns when it
this great city was or
was abandoned. One of the engineers ad
attached to tlic surveying expedition
vances the theory that Gran Guivera was
in existence and abundantly supplied vol
with water at the time the terrible
canic eruption took place .—New
Times.
, _
Opium _ , Cult _ nation. .,
Opium occupies the first place in the
foreign trade of Persia. It insures tho
largest and most direct cash return to
j the producer, and, as a natural conse
quence, the area under cultivation is
! increasing greatly. The two principal
markets are Hong Kong and London,
The quantity of morphia contained in
Persian opium is 11 i to twelve per cent,
while tries it in other exceeds op’um producing coun- I’a
rarely 94 per cent, of
paver somniferutn, or white poppy,
j which opium is the inspissated juice, is
grown principally in and about Ispahan, being
Yezd, and Shiraz, that of Ispahan
superior both in quality land and quantity, about
The preparation of the begins
Septembers, and consists in plowing,
harrowing, fertilizing abundantly with
ashes and detritus, and laying off into
squares to facilitate irrigation. After
sowing, the fields are irrigated After three
times, at intervals of fifteen days.
that there is only more winter. irrigation— the
about the middle of the In
spring, irrigation takes place on March
20, after which the land is repeatedly
harrowed and hoed in order to extirpate
all parasitic weeds. The plants are
thinned, and then watered every ten
days until flowering begins, when atl
work must cease. When the heads have
formed and have fully ripened, a last
flooding is given. Then six slight in
cisions are made at about the junction of
the stem with the head. This should be
done at noon. The juice that exudes is
collected the next morning, and the
morning following at daybreak. When
these first incisions have ceased <1 "la
charging, others are made lower down,
and the operation may be thus thrice rc
peated, the opium obtained after each
successive incision bc'ing proportionately plantsthem
inferior quality. down Next, and the the heads sold,
selves are cut
the natives use the seed on bread as a
substitute for butter. 'The end of May
is the season for harvesting .—Chemist
and Druggist.
South American Mosquitoes,
One of the pests of life in South
America is the ubiquitous mosquito,
■which there attains such an enormous
s j ze an( ] venom that his victims are nurn
hcred by the scores. Not long ago a
B er( i 0 f valuable cattle taken from the
United States to a ranch upon the Mag
daleria River became so desperate under
the attack of the mosquitoes that they
broke from their stalls, jumped into the
water and all were drowned. Passengers
intending to make with the voyage usually in
provide themselves protection
Hie shape of mosquito and when bars, head nets
and thick gloves, on deck are
compelled to tie their sleeves around
their wrists and pantaloons around their
ankles. Even these precautions are not
always effective. Large as the insects
are they seem to have the power to creep
through the smallest crevice, and it is
often necessary to change day one’s clothing
four or five time a on their account.
Day and night they give the sensitive
skinned travelers no rest. I have been
solemnly assured that very often when
they have attacked a boat and driven its
ca ptain and crew below they have
broken the windows of the cabin by
plunging in swarms against them and
have attempted to burst in the doors,
Although this may be something of an
exaggeration it is nevertheless true that
frequently horses and cattle, after the
most frightful sufferings, have died from
mosquito bites on board the vessels.
NO. 39.
A SPRAY OF APPLE BLOSSOMS.
They lay on the broad, low window ledge,
Where the hand of a little child
Had placed them—dewy, and fresh, and
sweet—
And the grandmother had smiled,
And softly stroked with her wrinkled hand
The curly, tumbled head;
And then the needles bright ware still;
Unrolled the snowy thread.
For, borne on the breath of the apple
bloom,
She lived in tho golden past;
She saw an orchard where blossom snows
Wore falling thick and fast—
Falling upon the fair, bent head
Of a maiden in girlhood’s prime,
Reading a letter, worn and creased
From folding many a time.
“When the apple blossoms are hero one*
more,
I shall come back, Allaire—
Shall come for my answer.” The scented
vriud,
Which riifiled the maiden’s hair,
Brought to het* ears a well-known voice,
She turned in a startled way—
•'I have come for my answer; what Ls it,
dear!”
What could she do but Jay
Her bands in the eager, outstretched ones*
Ah! life is sweet in June,
When hearts keep time to the liquid .flow
Of life, and light, and tune;
And when, in her snowy, floating veil,
She stood on her bridal morn,
She would have but the tinted apple bloom
Her white robe to adorn.
Through the open window the western wind
Blew soft on the wrinkled face,
When a smile shone, sweet as that could he
Which had lit her girlhood grace.
A little voice called hor truant thoughts:
“Grandpapa sent me to see
If you knew that the clock has been striking
six!
And he wants you to pour his teal”
—Good Housekeeping.
PITH AND POINT.
A plane lalkor—The carpenter.
Diamond dust—Money paid for a soli
taire.
The way of the world— Twelve ounces
to the pound.
Artists ought to know how to draw
(he color line.. -
Cats arc the poets of the lower ani
mals. They alone cultivate the mews.— ,
Pittsburg Chronicle.
The painter of still life should natur
ally look for his best subjects among the
moonshiners. —Boston Post.
When a burglar breaks into a house he
generally steals upstairs, and everything
else he can lay his hands on.— Life.
New York has a baseball club called
“The Girls.” It is doubtless referred to
as the Femi nine .—Norristown Herald.
How astonished some dead men would
be if they could get out of their grave
long enough to read their epitaphs.—
Life.
The judges are now nearly as well paid
as the baseball players, but the game is
not nearly so interesting .—Toronto
News.
“ A kiss goes further little than a blow,”
Huid Kit, the wizzard.
“ It may perhaps,” was John’s reply,
“ Un.ess the blow's a blizzard.”
— Washington Critic.
Fair Friend—“And do you ever soak
your brushes, Mr. Palette;” Artist—•
“No, I’m happy to say I never was re
duced so low as that .”—Harvard Lam
poon.
The cook ing school lectures are closed
until fall to allow the pupils to experi
ment on the new compounds and give the
dyspeptics a chance to recover.— Boston,
Glo e.
Judges should certainly wear robes.
It doesn’t seem right to be sent up for ten
years by a man who wears a three-button
cutaway coat and a speckled trout waist
coat.— Life.
If, with tho poets, wo believe
That Adam sinned to be with Eve,
We’re sure the sacrifice he mude
Eve’s daughters the nobly have repaid,
For over all earth since then
They kindly stooped —Boston to marry Courier. men.
“Speaking about clubs,” remarked Mr
L'umso, who had just been elected a
member of the Manhattan, “they are tho
sign posts of civilization. You never
hear of savages forming themselves into
societies for mutual improvement and
pleasure.” “Oh, heard nonsense!” of Indian replied clubs Mrs.
Cumso. “I’ve
ever since I could walk.”— Tid-Bits.
Rental Transplantation.
The last discovery in dentistry—trans
plantation—is not quite so new as it is
supposed to be. “In 1715.” '1 talked writes
Horace Walpole, “the only thing
about is a man who draws teeth for six
pence, and puts them in again for a
and shilling.” The operation that is nowdearer, should
it is only right it be
more skillful. The new tooth, we are
told, must be a healthy one,and presum
ably taken, as it were alive from a
healthy person. Of course there will be
“compensation for disturbance;” “a
tooth for a tooth” will not be given with
out a good round sum into the bargain.
But I am much mistaken in case of this
market be generally opened, if it is not
made a democratic grievance. It is bad
enough to hear of the tresses of a penni
less damsel being shorn off to supply
false hair to her richer sisters, but she
gets another crop; whereas the exhibi
tion of a toothless young person upon a
platform, she had with a placard explaining that
parted with her ivories to sup
ply grinders to the mill of Mammon, wul
create deed.— a Independent. very unpleasant sensation in
Miss Glass has been married to Mr,
Brittle in Pittsburg.