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LOVE AND PRIDE.
Love and I went wandering
lhro’ pleasant places;
Life was so sweet^my life was in its spring—
Soft winds blow in our faces;
• My name is Pride.
Love softly whispered, “I will be the guide;”
“Not ao,” I laughed In gay disdain,
For “Love is blind.”
And on we wandered, thro’ the summer
weather,
Crushing the fragrant flowefs be oeath our
careless feet,
Unheeding all the glory, only feeling “Life
Is sweet.”
Love and I together.
Hope sang lor us, nd we were glad and gay
But I was "Ulde, and so we lost our way.
Weoome to desert places, dark and dreary, I
Ail pleasant sights and sounds are gone ; |
And Love, sv eel Love, sinks down aweary— |
But I pre-s on.
And all around me Is the desert waste,
And I, alone, In agony of diead and fear.
There is no light, ao way* no one to comfort
my distress,
And, even now, my haughty words sound
on my ear.
Yet, even here, borne to me on the desert
wind,
I sceut the fragrance of the dowers l crush
ed beneath my feet,
And left, unheedli g, far behind.
Ab, me! their perfume is so rich, so sweet!
And l crv out with sudden, bitter palD,
•‘Oh, take me back 1 Let me but wander
’mid the flowers again 1
“Sweet Love, be thou the guide!”
“Alas 1 l cannot now,” is Love’s reply—
“For Love is blind.”
The Beautiful Singer.
Gustavua Adolphus, Sweden’s
heroic kit'g, was fond of music. The
sweet voice of s< ng, especially fr'in
the lips of childhood, often moved
him to tears. Ouce upon a time Gus-
tavus Adolphus, aft< r long aud severe
fighting:, had cot quered a strongly
fortified town in which were citizeus
who had been born within the limits
of Swedish rule, but had since found
new homes. And all these people # he
condemned to death. They were at
nightfall marched out from the town,
to be held in camp until the lollowing
morning, when thev were to be shot
for treason. His officers interceded
with the king for the lives of these
poor peopie.
But Gistavus felt that he had al
ready granted enough. First, in the
ruddy heat of his passion, he had
consigned the whole tribe to death,
but since then greatly modified the
sentence, condemning only former sub
jects of Sweden who were taken with
arms in their hands, and fr>:n this no
power of persuasion could move him.
All the talk of his old chaplain about
these people having only joined their
fellows in protecting the h -rues of their
wives and children moved him not
an atom. ‘ They are traitors, and as
traitors they shall die I” he said.
At a late hour—it was past midnight
— Gustavus Adolphus threw on his
cloak^and drew his slouch hat ov*r
es, and staff in hand, wandered
>’o. Ah/ 4 * darkness. Without
.v’dPTer he went, he slowly
ywailed him. A^mfeh his
^ere arrested by a strain of
UH13.
1 Who is that?” he asked of a sen-
ti he chanced to meet a moment
ter.
‘‘It is one ol the i rlso’ era, sir. The
■wife and children of one of their chief
men had permission to spend the
night with the husband and father.”
The king nodded his thanks for this
information and moved on. Slowly
he approached the tent from which
the music issued, and as drew near
he heard a deep, manly voice :
‘‘Hush! Weep not! God will pro
vide.”
The king loosed through the open
seam in the cloth aud saw a gray
haired man with au imposing pres
ence—a grand head and flashing eyes
—surrounded by his wife aud chil
dren who clung to him passionately.
“Hush,” he said. ‘‘Let us not make
these precious moments darker than
they need be. It is but the fortune of
war, wy loved oues. (J une, Hermi-
ene, sing ouce more our dear old song
of the Fatherland. For, though Gus
tavus will take my life, I love the
land of my birth. God bless Sweden
now aud evernure. Now, Hermlone,
sing—let thy voice cheer my pocr
heart.”
Presently a beautiful girl of fifteen
or sixteen summers threw back the
silken hood from h< r golden curls and
began to sing. Her Bong was the
Swede’s oldest and most cherished
piece of music—the words full of love
aud devotion for home aud ojuutry
And never had the king heard it sung
so grandly. The words fell upon his
cars with new meaning aud the music
touched his spirit with a strangely
, awakening power. As the charming
felled grand* r and
grander tones atid the voice of the
singer deepened aud strengthened,
the listener felt his neart hushed with
awe. And finally, when the last rich
cadence had died away in melting
echoes upon the upper air, he press*d
his bauds over his eyes and burst into
tears.
After a time Gustavus lifted his
head and looking again through the
aperture iu tne wail of the tent, he
saw the family upon their knees, and
huard the voice of the old man raised
in prayer. He listened for a few sec
onds and then turned and stro ie away
towards his quarters, where he found
two of his attendants sitting up wait
ing for him. And to one of them he
said:
‘‘Colonel, I wish you to go to the
prisoners' quarters, and in the largest
tent nearest to t_ie river—it is at the
extreme northwestern ctr.itr ot the
camp—you will flud tue family of a
prisoner named Hoven ; and of that
family Is a girl named Hermioue.
Bring her to me. Assure her that no
harm snail befall her.”
And when the messengers had gone
he turned to his table aud went t>
work at his writing. He wrote rap
idly and heavily, like one moved by
ponder us ideas ; and he had jutt fin
ished when the Colonel came in and
wit’i him the gentle songstress.
‘ F«.ar not, my chilu,” the King
said,as the maiden stood trembling be
tori him, ‘‘I navesent for you because
I wish to repay you for a great good
y» u uuconscioudy dnl me this night.
Du you call to rnlud that you sang tne
detr old soug of ihe Vasas—the hyrnu
of toe Faiht r*and ?”
‘‘Yes, your majesty, I sang it for
my father, who is to die on the mor
row. Though no long*r in Sweden,
he dearly loves the memory of the
laud that gave him birth.”
‘‘Well, I chanced to hear you sing
and you shall ere long know how your
song tfLcted me. Here I Take this
paper and go with it tr the camp of
the officer commanding the prison* n.
Colonel Foisby will go with you.
Aud, my child, the next time you
siug that song, think of Gustavus
Adolphus Vasas, and bear witness
that Ins heart was net all hard nor
cold.”
i he girl looked up into the mon
arch’s face as he held for.h the paper,
and when she saw the kindly look
that beamed upon her, she obeyed
the impulse of the moment and
caught his hand and kissed it
And when she went away she bore
with h r the royal order for the free
pardon and instant release of all the
prisoners. The old General to whom
the older had been directed for pro
mulgation and execution was one of
those who had earnestly pleaded in
behalf of the condemned, and we can
readily imagine the joy with which
he received it. He fairly caught the
beautiful messenger in his arms, and
kissed her upon the forehead, and
blessed her ; and he went with her to
the tent where her faiher was held,
aud allowed her to publish the joyful
tidings.
And with the dawn of day the pris
oners—to the number of 200—were
n u tered into line, many of them be
lieving their hour had come, to receive*
the intelligence of pardon and free
dom !
Wnat transpired beyond that can be
imagined full as well as we can tell.
We only add that Gustivm Adolphus
by that act of mercy secured the
friend hip whioh was to be of incal-
culable value to him in coming time
And one dtlier thing. In less than a
year from that time Col. Ulric Forsby,
of the King’s staff, gained for a wife
the beautiful stuiitr whose sweet notes
had melted the heart of Gostavus
Adolphus, and given life and liberty
and joy to the sufferinv men.
Willing to Come Down a Little.
In riding over to Lost Mountain
from Marietta I came across a young
man who was digging post holes for a
barbed wire fence, and when I told
him what I wanted, he replied :
‘‘1 11 go with you. I was in that
fort myself, and I kin point out every
position.”
When we reached the ground ne
began telling where this and that regi
ment was stationed, and finally he
halted beside a huge boulder and said ;
** Right here, stranger, was where 1
squatted for four hours. I rested my
gun right thar on that ledge, and I
reckon I killed exactly twenty-eight
Yanks that day.’’
“No!”
“ 8 ilemn fact, aud I know a dozen
men who’ll swear to it.”
“ Let’s see? This battle fought was
in 1864?”
“ K’rect you are.”
“ That’s about eighteen years ago?”
“ Jist about.”
“And you are about twenty-five
years old?”
“I was twenty-five this spring.”
Then I looked at him for a long
time, but he never winced. When we
Short Rules.
were going home, and after a long ! al Pb*bet.
Put self last.
Takejittle annoyancas out of the
way.
When any good happens to any one,
rejoice.
When others are suffering drop a
word of sympathy.
Tell of your own faults rather than
those of others.
A place for everything and every
thing iu it place.
Hide your own troubles, but watch
to help otliers cut of theirs.
Take hold of the knob and shut every
door behind you without slamming it.
Carefully clean the mud and snow
from your boots before entering the
house.
Never intarrupt any conversation ;
wait patiently your turn to speak.
Look for beauty in everything and
take a cheerful view of every event.
If from any cause you feel irritable,
try the harder to do little pleasant,
things.
Do not keep your good manners for
company,but be equally polite at home
and abroad.
Wneu inclined to give an angry
answer press your lips together and
Our Young Folks.
A little girl in Sunday school who
had been pulling her doll to pieces
during the week, was asked by the
teacher, “What was Adam made of?”
“Dust,” replied the little girl. “And
what was Eve made of?” “Sawdust,”
was the answer.
A boy was teuq t d to pluck some
cherries from a tree which his father
had forbidden him to touch. “You
need not be afraid.” said his compan
ion, “fer if your father should find it
out, he is too good to hurt you.”
“Ye3,” said the brave fellow, “I know
that, and it’s the very reason why I
won’t take any. He wouldn’t hurt
me, but it would hurt him to kuow I
didn’t mind him.”
silence, he suddenly re-
p^riod of
marked;
“ S ranger, don’t you believe I was
thar ?”
“ Perhaps you were, but you see you
were not quite seven years old on the
day of that fight.”
“ Thai’s what I’ve been figuring
on,” he continued, in a very serious
voice, “ aud I’ll tell you what I’m
willing to do.”
“ Well ?”
“ I’ll call it twenty-four instead of
twenty-eight dead Yanks iu front ot
my position! That’s fair, isn’t it ?”
I told him that nothing could be
more liberal, and cordial relations
were at once re established.
cc<riing to The T xtile Manufaot-
urtr, a fine gold yellow has been re
cently obtained from the wood of in
different kinds of pcplsr. The
young branches era ground, boiled in
solution of alum, the proportions
being 10 lb wood, lib powdered alum,
and 141b water. The solution is kejt
boiling from half an hour to one hour,
and then filtered. By cooling it
thickens, a greenish yellow precipitate
being formed. The liquor is filtered
again and again, and exposed to the
air f r three or four days. Under the
ii fl lence of light and air it is oxidized
and becomes of a rich gold Yellow.
The color is now ready for use. With
Prwsian blue it gives a green, and
with carmine a brown color ; mixed
with cochineal it gives an < range or a
scarlet. With the first precipitate,
paper, etc., can be dyed also. This
color has been largely employed for
staining paper.
Frontier R-trospection.
Not long ago an old pioneer, who
had lived in Texas in the early days
of the colonists, wa* boasting of the
good old times. “Why, sir,” said he
“I was offered a league of land for
pair of old boots.” “Didn’t you take
It?” said the party he was talking to,
“No, sir; I didn’t,” “No-accouut laud
T reckon.” “Why, bless your heart
sir, it was the best piece of land out
doors. GrasH five feet high, a clear
stream of water running through
and au undeveloped silver mine in
one corner.” “And why in thuude
didn’t you make the trade?” said the
other. “Because,” said the old man
in a sad and r-gretful tone of voice
*. ecauae I—I didn’t have the boots.”
A New Yellow Dye.
Always speak politely and kindly to
your help, if you would have them do
the same to you.
I think the best way to train child
ren would be to observe towards them
a scrupulous politeness. I would go
so far as to say that we should make
it as much a point to listen to children
without interrupting them, aud to an
ew* r sincerely aud respectfully, as if
they were grown up. Aud, indeed,
many of their wise, quaint sayings are
far better worth listening to than the
stereotyped commonplaces of the most
morning callers. Of course, to allow
uninterrupted chatter would be to sur
render the repose of the household, but
it is very easy if children are them
selves taught scrupulously to respect
tlie convenience of others,and to know
when to talk and when to be silent.
Some Ideas About Women.
Who Won I
Our readers may find amusement in
solving the following puzzle : A croo-
odile stole a baby, “in the days when
animals could talk,” and was about to
make a dinner of it. The poor mother
begged piteously for her child. “Tell
me one truth,” said the crocodile,
“and you shall have your baby again.”
The mother thought it ov*r, and at
last said, “You will not give him
back.” “Is that the truth you mean
to tell ?” asked the crocodile. “Yes,”
replied the mother. “Then by our
agreement I keep him,” added the
crocodile “for if you old the truth, I
am not going to give him back, aud if
it is a falsehood, then I have also
won.” Said she : “No, you are wrong.
If I told the truth, you are bound by
your promise ; and if a falsehood, it is
not a falsehood until after you have
given me my child,” Now the ques
tion is, who won ?
A Fortunate Escape.
The accumulator of the Locan 'Eu
reka Consolidated shaft at Virginia
City, burst with a tremendous noise,
which was heard In Eureka, two and
a half miles distant. The shaft was
shattered to pieces from top to bottom,
a distance of seventy-five feet. The
explosion tore away the eastern side
of the works, aud pieces were hurled
through the air far away. Oue piece
of ca-ting, weighing about a ton,
struck Newtown, a quarter of a mile
* ff, but fortunately did no damage. A
piece weighing 300 < r 400 pounds
h ruck the cabin of William L >wrv,
30i) yards off, t >ok off one end of it
and passed within a foot of the miner’s
body. The missile then hurtled
through a chicken coop aud burled
itself in the ground. Smaller frag
ments filled the air aud tell like hail
on the net
entra easte;
new and s
shaltt rad nn|
ir >n roof wi
and rattled'
Pickled Grapes -Fill aj »rwith
alternate layers of sugur and bunohes
of nloe grapes just ripe and freshly
gathtrad; fill one-third full of good,
.old vines
boring housetops. The
psrt of the immense
bstantiai building was
is a mass of ruins. The
crushed like an egg-shell
about with a deafening
noise in th.igalo which was bowing
at t >e thnM. One large piece of the
accumulator was hurled inward and
s ruck nfir the pump eugiue, going
he finer near the engine.
lent ufter the explosion the
vlng in the vicinity ran in
crowea to the w orks, wliiob appeared
atfiiwsight to be totally demolished,
as Newtown lies east of the shaft.
T^ie women came up wailing aud
orying and frantioally inquire! fir
their husbands and other loved ones
about the w« rks, who were supposed
to be crushed beueath the wreck.
By stranA) good tortuue, however
ously hurt.
Don’t you know there are women
that can’t get through this valley
without men folks, iu some shape or
’nother? If there ain’t one round,
they’re as miserable as a peacock de
prived of society that appreciates
spread-feathers. You know the kind
I mean ; If it ain’t a husband, it’s a
flirtation ; if she can’t flirt, she adores
her miuisi* r. I always said I didn’t
blame ’em, ministers and doctors and
all those privileges, for walking right
on over women’s necks. It isn’t in
human nature to take the trouble to
step off the thing that’s under foot.
Now, then ! There sra women that
love women, Mr. Yorke, care for ’em,
grieve over ’em, woiry about ’em, feel
a fellow feeling and a kind of duty to
’em, aud never firget they’re one of
them, misery and all,—and nonsense
too, may be, if they hadn’t bettei
bread to set; and they lift up their
strong arms far above our heads, sir,
like statues I’ve read of that lift up
temples, and carry our burdens for
love of us, God bless ’em! . . . .
Doctor never talks about her cases.
She admires Doctor Penhallow above
all. Ha was her preceptor. He’s old
enough to be—well, it would be a
young sort of father; but he’s well
along; he couldn’t be so famous if he
wasn’t; nor she wouldn’t feel that
kind of feeling for him,—that looking
up. He’s the only man I ever saw
Dectorlook up to. She ain’t like the
rest of us; we wear our upper lips
short with it. I declare ! It seems to
me in course of generations women
wouldn’t have any eyelids; they’d be
what you call nowadays selected
away, by worsbipin’ men-folks, if
Providence hadn’t thrown in such lots
of little men,—mites aud dots of souls
too short for the biggest fool alive to
call the tallest. Then, half the time,
sire gets on her knees to him to make
out the difference. Ob, I’ve seen ’em J
Down on ihtir knees, aud stay there
to make him think he’s as bigas he
waLtr to be, aud pacify him. Then
auother thing, added Mr*. Butter-
well, geutiy, is babies. You’ve got
to look down to your babies and that
keeps the balance something like even.
Providence knew what he was up to
when he made women, though I must
say it looks something as if ho had
made an awful botch of it.— E.
Phelps 1 Doctor Zny.
A Child Worth Her Weight in Gold.
A few years ago a steamer was com
ing from California. The cry of
“Fire ! fire !’’ suddenly thrilled every
heart. Every effort was made to stay
the flames, but in vain. It soon became
evident that the ship must be lost. The
burning mass was headed for shore,
which was not far off. A passenger
was seen buckliug his belt of gold
around his waist, ready to plunge into
the waves. Just then a pleading
arrested him:
“ Please, sir, can you swim ?”
A child’s blue eyea were piercing
Into his deepest soul as he looked down
upon her.
“ Yes, child, I can swim.”
“ Well, sir, won’t you please save
me?”
“ I cannot do both,” he thought. “ I
must save tbe child and lose the gold.
But a moment ago I was anxious for
this whole ship’s company ; now I am
doubting whether I shall exchange
human life for paltry gold.” Unbuck
ling the belt he cast it from him and
said, “ Yes,little girl, I will try to
you.” Stooping down he bade her
clasp her hands around his neck.
“ Thus, child ; not so tight as to choke
me. There, hang on now, and I will
try to make land.”
The child bowed herself on his broad
shoulders, and clung to her deliverer.
With a heart thrice strengthened
and an arm thrice nerved, he struck
out for shore. Wave after wave wash
ed over them. Still the brave man
held out, and the dear child on, until
a mighty mountain billow swept the
i^weet treasure from his embrace, and
cast him senseless on the bleak rocks.
Kind hands ministered to him. Re
covering his consciousness, the form
of the dear child met his earnest gaze,
bending over him with more than
angel ministrati ms, and blessing him
with mute but eloquent benedictions.
A boy wrote a composition on the
ubject of the Quakers, whom he de
scribed as a sect who never quarrelled,
never got Into a fight, never olawed
each other aud never jawed back.
The i reduction contained a postscript
iu these wtrJs ; “Pa’s ^Quaker, but
isn‘
I S ail S'eep Wiv Him To-
Night.
The father was a railroad man whose
duties called him away from home
nearly tl rae-fourtlis of the time. It
was his habit, whenever he was abou*
to start for home, to telegraph to his
wife apprising her of the faot.
these telegrams he never failed to
tion the name of the little four
old, aud the dispatches usually r
follows; “Tell Artiur I shall
with him to-nigbt ” The bab
waa very proud of these teleg
which his mother would read ove
him, and he considered the “teledra
a gr at institution.
The other night, when the fever
done its work aud the mother
sobbing out htr augulsh, the little o:
turned calmly in his bed, and said
“Dou’t ky, mamma; I s’all s’eep wi
Dod know. Send Dad a teledra
and (ell Him I s’all s’eep wiv H
night.” Bot the message went
ui^th* re withoukihe oiick
e rustle ot