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LIFE’S CONTRASTS.
Ferfume of roses and warbling of birds,
Sweetest of sweet June days,
Kindliest glances and tenderest words,
Shadiest woodland ways
Murmuring brooklets and whispering trees,
Drowsiest song of the soft hvtbaming bees ;
Hope, love, trust, peace
1 and he, he and I.
And besides —
Wintry windsrustlingthe fallen, dead leaves,
Sullen and lowering the sky ;
Creeping mists hiding sad earth as
grieves,
Mourning for days gone by ;
Cataracts foaming ’neath bare, leafless trees,
Chilly blasts sweeping o'er lone, barren
leas ;
Heartache, doubts, tears,
And besides—
I alone, only I.
BREAKING THE ICE.
A
m
very thought
attendance upon such a carousal, with
its rouud dancing and square dancing,
would have seemed almost impiety.
Henry Kuchenbach was likewise a
member of that strict sect, but not
quite so narrow is his ideas as his
more pious neighbor. Yet to him
also the suggestion of his daughter be¬
ing a participant in such frivolity
would have met with scant approval.
But William was longing to dance.
For many years he had secretly and
fondly cherished the belief that he
was possessed of much inborn ability
in that art—a genius compelled to re¬
main dormant by the narrowness, the
strictness of his family’s ideas. Many
a rainy afternoon had he given vent
to his desire by swinging corners and
deux-et-deux-ing about his father’s
barn floor, with no other partner than
a wheat sheaf, and no other music
than that produced by his own capa¬
cious lips.
It was for this reason that when on
one beautiful July day William Lar¬
ker, attired in his best—a plain black
frock coat, trousers of the same ma¬
terial reaching just below his shoe
tops, a huge derby hat no longer
black, but green, as a result of long
exposure to the elements, and a new
pair of shoes well tallowed—stepped
into his buggy, tapped his sleek mare
with the whip and started at a brisk
pace toward the Kuchenbach farm, his
stern parent believed that he was go¬
ing to the great bush-meeting at
Bunkertown, twelve miles up the pike,
and was devoutly thankful to see his
son growing in piety, and when Mary
Kuchenbach, buxom and rosy, wear¬
ing a plain black dress, the sombre
ness of which was relieved solely by a
white kerchief about the neck, and a
gray poke bonnet, as became one of
her sect, climbed up and took the va¬
cant place beside him, Henry Kuchen¬
bach, standing at the gate with his wife
by his side, called after them as the
vehicle rattled away : “Be sure an’ tell
Preacher Book when he comes this
way to stop in an’ get that crock o’
sausages we’ve be’n keepin’ fur
missus. ”
And good Mrs. Kuchenbach threw
up her hands and explained: “Ain’t
them a lovely pair?”
“Yes,” replied the husband grimly,
“an’ they’ve be’n keepin’ company six
years now, an’ that there fellow ain’t
never spoke his mind.”
Meantime the buggy sped aloBg the
smooth road, the rattle of its wheels,
the clatter of the sleek mare’s hoofs
and the thrill call of the killdee skim¬
ming across the meadows being the
sole sounds that broke the silence
of the quiet country. A mile was
gone over and then the girl said fal
teringly: “B-e-e-11, a’n’t et wrong?”
William in response hit the horse
a vicious cut with the whip and re¬
plied :
“Et dou’ seem jest right to fool ’em,
but you’ll fergit 'bout et when we git
dancin’.”
“I a’n’t never b’n ter one o’ them
picnics an’ I feel afraid.”
Then there was a silence between
them—a silence broken only at rare
intervals, when one of the pair ven
’tured some commonplace remark,
which was always rewarded with a
laconic reply of “Yais” or “Yer don’t
say ?”
Up hill and down rattled the buggy,
following the crooked country road
across the wide valley. Over three
low, wooded ridges, then several
miles up the broad meadows that line
the picturesque Juniata it wended its
way, until at length the green grove
in the centre of which lies the Blue
Bottle Spring was reached.
The festivities had already begun.
The outskirts of the woods were filled
with vehicles, of every description—
buggies, buckboards, spring wagons,
omnibuses and ancient phaetons.
The horses had been unhitched and
tied to trees and fences, and were
munching their midday meal of oats,
gnawing the bark from limbs or kick¬
ing a<- the flies, while their owners
gave themselves tip to the pursuit of
pleasure. After having seen his mare
comfortably settled at a small chest¬
nut, from which she began playfully
tearing all the foliage, and taken the
lunch basket on one arm and his com¬
panion on the other, William Larker
proceeded eagerly to the inner portion
of the grove, the portion from whence
came the sounds of the fiddle and cor¬
net.
They passed through the outer cir¬
cle of 'elderly women, who were un¬
packing baskets and tastfully arrang¬
ing their contents on table-cloth,
spread on the ground—jars of pickless
cans of fruit, bags of sandwiches, bot¬
tles of cold tea, and the scores of other
dainties necessary to pass a pleasant
day with nature. They went through
another circle of peanut, watermelon,
lemonade and ice-cream venders,
about which were grouped many el¬
derly men discussing the topics of the
day and exchanging greetings, and at
length arrived at the centre of inter¬
est, the dancing platform. The young
Dunkards joined the crowd, which
was watching the course of the dance
with eager interest.
An orchestra of three pieces, a bass
viol, a violin and a cornet, operated
by three men iu shirt sleeves, sent
forth wheezy strains to the time of
which men and women, young, old and
middle-aged, gayly swung corners and
partners, galloped forward and bask,
made ladies’ chains and gentlemen’s
chains, winding in and out and then
back and bowing until William Larker
and his companion fairly grew dizzy.
The crowd of dancers was a hetero¬
geneous one.
There were young men from the
neighboring county town, gorgeous in
blazers of variegated colors; there
were young farmers whose movements
were not in the least impeded by the
sombre, heavy clothing, or the high
crowned, broad-rimmed hats that they
wore; there were a few particularly
forward youths in bicycle attire, and
three gay young men from the neigh¬
boring city of Harrisburg, whose
shining high silk hats and dancing
pumps made them the envy of their
more rustic companions. The women,
likewise, in beauty and dress, went
to both extremes. Gayly flowered,
airy calico, cashmere and gingham
bobbed about among shining, frigid
satins and silks as modest aa their
owners in demeanor. Now in appar¬
ently inextricable chaos; now in per¬
fectly orderly form—six sets; now
winding into a dazzling mass of silk,
calico, high silk hats and blazers, then
out again went the dancers.
“Oh, a’n’t et grand !” exclaimed Mary
Kuchenbach, clasping her hands.
“Thet’s good dancin’, I tell yer,”
her companion replied, enthusiasti¬
cally.
She had seated herself upon a stump,
and he was leaning against a tree a
few feet away.
“Good dancin’. Jest look at them
three ceety fellers, with their high
shiny hats, a swingin’ corners. Now
a’n’t they cuttin’ it? Next comes ‘a
la-man all.’ Jest watch ’em—them t,wo
in th’ fur set, th’ way they throw their
feet—th’ gal m pink -with th’ feller in
short pants and a striped coat. Now
back. Thet there’s dancin’, I tell yer,
Mary. ’Gents dozey-dough’ next.
Thet ’ere feller don’t call figgers loud
enough. There they go—bad in the
near set—thet’s better. See them ceety
fellers agin—swingin’ partners I Grand
chain ! Good all ’round—no—there’s
a break. See thet girl in blue sating
—she’s turned too soon. Thet’s bet¬
ter—tother way—bow yer corners—
now yer own. All over. ”
The music stopped and the dancers,
panting from their exertions, fanning
and mopping, left the platform and
scattered among the audience.
William Larker’s eyes were aglow
with excitement. The opportunity of
his life had come. He was to dance
to real music, with a real flesh and
blood partner, after all those years of
secret practice w T ith a wheat sheaf in
the seclusion of his father’s barn. He
would put his arms around Mary
Kuchenbach, a feat for the accom¬
plishment of which he had probably
longed more than the other. While
his companion, seated upon the stump,
gazed curiously, timidly, at the gay
crowd around her, he, his hands thrust
deep in his pockets, stood frigidly be¬
fore her, mentally picturing the pleas¬
ure to come.
His feet could hardly keep still
when a purely imaginary air floated
through his brain, and he fancied
himself “dozy—doughing”and “goin’
a visitin’ ” with the rosy girl beside
him.
The man witn the bass viol began
to rub resin on his bow; the violinist
was tuning up and the cornetist giv¬
ing the stops of his instrument the
usual preliminary practice, when the
floor manager announced the next
dance. One after another the couples
sifted from the crowd and clambered
upon the platform.
“Two more couple,” cried the con¬
ductor.
“Come ’long, Mary. Now’s our
chanc’,” whispered the young Dunk¬
ard to his companion.
“Oh, B-e-el, really I can’t. I never
danced in puberlick afore.”
“But you kin. Et ain’t hard. All
yer’ll hev ter do is ter keep yer feet
a-movin’ an’ do what the fellar that’s
callin’ figgers says.”
The gil hesitated.
' HEN William Lar
k e r irrevocably
made up his mind
to take Mary Kuch¬
enbach to the great
county picnic at
Blue Bottle Springs,
he did not tell his
lather, as was his
custom in most mat¬
ters, To a straight
laced old Dunkard
like Herman Larker
“One more couple!” roared the
floor master.
“You kin dance with th’ best uv
’em. Come along.” Jest
“Really, no. I’m too narvons.
wait.”
The ’twang of the fiddle com¬
menced; the cracked, ’quavering notes
of the horn arose above the buzz of
conversation.
“Bow ver partners—corners,” cried
the leader. And the young man sat
down on the stump in disgust,
‘'We’ll hev ter git in th’ next,” he
said. “Why it’s dead easy. Yer see,
this ’eres only a plain quadre-11.
Youse orteo see one ’et ain’t plain.
One of them where they had such Ag¬
gers ez ‘first lady on th’ war dance,’
like they done at the big weddin’ up
at Bunkertown three years ago. These
is plain. I’ve never danced before
meself, but I’ve seen ’em do it, an’ I’ve
be’n practicin’. All you’ll hev ter do
is mind me.”
And so the following dance found
the pair on the platform among the
first. The girl trembling, blushing
and self-conscious; the young man
self-conscious, but triumphant and
composed.
“Bow yer partners,” cried the floor
master, when the orchestra had start¬
ed its scraping.
Down went the gray poke bonnet;
down went the great derby, and a
smile of joy overspread the broad face
beneath it.
“Swing yer partners!” around
The great arms went the
plump form, lifting it off its feet;
their owner spun round, carefully re¬
placed his burden on the floor, bowed,
smiled and whispered, “Ain’t et
grand?”
“Corners!”
The young woman in blue satin
gave a slight scream that was meta¬
morphosed into a giggle as she felt
herself swung through space in the
arms of the muscular person toward
whom she had careened. Her partner,
one of the young city men with a high
silk hat, grinned and whispered in
her ear, “Oat cake.”
“Leads for’a’d an' back!”
William Larker seized his partner’s
plump hand and bounded forward,
bowing and twisting, his free arm ges¬
ticulating in unison with his legs and
feet. He was in it now, in the thick
of the dance; in it with his whole
heart. Whenever there was any dozy
doughing to be done William was
there; if a cousin went “visitin’” he
was with them; when “Ladies in tbe
center !” was called he was there; in
every “Grand chain” he turned the
wrong way; he gripped the ladies’
hands until they inwardly growned;
he tramped on and crushed the patent
leather pumps of the young city man,
and in response to a muttered some¬
thing smiled his unconcern, bolted
back to his corner and swung his part¬
ner, and whispered: “Ain’t it grand.”
The young women giggled facetiously,
and -winked at their acquaintances in
the next set; the forward youth in the
bicycle costume talked about road
sweepers, and the city young man said
“Oat cake.”
But the young Dunkard was uncon¬
scious of it all to the end—the end
that came most suddenly and broke up
the dancing.
“Swing yer partners!” bawled the
floor master.
William Larker obeyed. A ragged
bit of the sole of his shoe, worn
through by shuffling, caught in a
crack and over he went, his partner
clasped tight in his arms, off the high
platform.
There was blood on the big boulder
and a gash in William’s scalp when he
was picked up a moment later and car¬
ried down to the spring. The doctors
poured water over him and bandaged
up his head, and when he recovered
his senses lie found himself the center
of all eyes.
His first glance fell upon the white
face of Mary Kuckenbach, who, seated
on a stump, was weeping heartily,
despite tbe efforts of a large crowd of
sympathizing women to allay her
fears. He looked up and his eyes met
those of the young woman in blue
satin, who was looking down on him,
and he saw her giggle, and turn and
speak into the crowd. He thought
that he noticed a high silk hat and
heard the word “Oat cake,” and then
and there he resolved to return and
never again depart from the quiet ways
of his fathers.
They drove home in the early morn¬
ing. William Larker and Mary Kuch
enbach. And they had crossed the
last ridge and were looking out over
the broad valley toward the dark
mountains at the foot of which lay
their homes, when the first word was
spoken.
The girl looked at her companion
and said: “Be-el, ain’t dancin’ dang’
rous?”
the i^The fyoung man cut the mare with
whip, blushed, and with much
confusion, replied: “Yais, kinder. But
—but—I’m sorry I drug you off th’
platform like that.”
She covered her mouth with her
hand and giggled. William just saw
the corner of one of her eyes as she
looked up at him from under the gray
bonnet, and replied: “Oh! I didn’t
min’ that. Et was jes’ lovely—tell we
hit.”
The mare swerved to one side to¬
ward the fence and the driver seized
the rein he had dropped and pulled
her back into the beaten track. Then
the whip fell from his hands and h* I |
clambered down into the '
stopped and he
road and recovered it. But when
regained his seat in the buggy he ;
wrapped the reins twice around the
whip, and the intelligent beast trotted
home unguided.—New York Sun.
SCIENTIFIC AND INDUSTRIAL.
They cut glass now by electricity.
A horseshoe to be affixed without
nails has been invented.
Leon Lilienfeld, a young chemist in
Berlin, has produced artifical white ol
egg ’ , „
An injured nail on the right - hand
will be renewed ten days or two weeks
sooner than if on the left.
Parisians are introducing porous
glass for windows on account of its al¬
leged ventilation facilities.
Cast-iron blocks are being substi¬
tuted for granite blocks along the
tramway rails in Paris streets.
A new application of electro-plat¬
ing is the sealing of cans of fruits and
meat, and of bottles of chemicals.
A fatal fall from a great height is
said to be painless, as unconsciousness
precedes the crash of concussion.
The extreme cold of the poles is
mainly due to the fact that the Arctic
Ocean is certainly, and the Antartic
probably, a land-locked sea.
Lord Kelvin estimates that the
“running slow” of the earth iu its
daily rotation round its axis amounts
to twenty seconds per century.
Careful computation shows that the
total capacity of generators and mo¬
tors in use in railway work in the
United States aggregate half a million
horse-power.
Southampton, England has a fur¬
nace for burning garbage which cost
$18,000. It consumes from twenty
five to fifty tons of garbage daily at an
annual expense of $1100.
Soap has bee<a substituted for wax j
on the recording surface of the phon¬
ograph by Berlin inventor. The :
a
advantage gained is that soap is unaf¬
fected by ordinary changes of tem¬
perature.
An enterprise on foot is the collec¬
tion of wave power on the seashore by
building conical tunnels in the rock,
up which the billows will send the
water to be collected for use in eleva¬
ted reservoirs at the top.
An instrument known as the “gas
tograph” has been constructed for the
purpose of recording the action of the
stomach of a patient under treatment,
the movements of the food while it is
undergoing chemical action being
carefully and minutely recorded by
means of electricity.
According to Invention, a building
has recently been erected by Herr
Wagner, an architect at Limburg,
solely of materials formed of ashes,
without any admixture of sand. It is
claimed that hard natural stones of
almost every variety have been sue
cessfullv imitated with this very cheap
material.
The Danger From Matches.
We wonder how our ancestors man¬
aged to get along at all before the in¬
vention of matches; they are so indis¬
pensably handy that we keep them in
every room of the house, the “men
folk” carry them in their pockets,
leave them hanging in their “other
clothes” in a dozen closets in all por
tions of the house ; we have a handful
resting within reach while we sleep;
they are dropped here and there as we
attempt to handle them; if it is light,
and we readily see them, they are
picked up, otherwise they are left till
a more convenient season—which
generally does not come, simply be
cause they are forgotten, being “only
a match ’—we can get plenty more for
a cent, and time is too valuable to be
wasted over so insignificant a trifle.
The moral is obvious; familiarity
has bred contempt, and in the use of
these dangerous little conveniences we
have become extremely careless. It is
time to turn over a new leaf. Keep
matches in but a few places in the
house or the office Let those few be
fireproof receptacles, m which the
matches could burn to ashes without
endangering anything. Remember
that combustion cannot go on without
a supply of air, and for that reason,
as well as to prevent accidental scat
tering, the match boxes should always
be kept covered.—Good Housekeep- *
Jacketing Guns.
mu Ihe officers /v. at the Washm gto Navy
n
Yard have decided to return to the
old system of jacketing guns. The re
cent test of the Sellers method has
proved somewhat unsatisfactory. It
was tried m the case of an eight-inch
nickel steel gun, and while the jacket
was put in place, the operation was
attended with some difficulty. Under
the Sellers plan the jacket is heated in
a horizontal furnace, and the tube is •
then inserted in it. Hereafter all the j
big guns will be assembled in the old ,
way by heating the jacket in a vertical
pit and then dropping it over the gun ;
tube. The 34 orkmen have become so i
® -----ler the old j
%nd system the that officers accidents have concluded rarely occur, j
that i
better results can be obtained under
it rt- ban under the Sellers plan. —Wash- *
03
HEEDED NOT HIS LAWYERS.
Colonel Evans Was Advised by p oli>
ticians to Be Sworn In.
A Nashville special says: It has tfe
ve i 0 p e d that H. Clay Evans’s attor.
neys> w jth the exception of Colonel
A. S. Colyar, were opposed to his be
ing sworn in and that he acted on the
advice of politicians rather than attor
neys. He has made no attempt to
assume the duties of governor, while
Governor Turney has pursued the even
tenor of his way pardoning two men
Thursday and signing several bills.
Governor Turney’s petition, setting
forth specific objections to the count¬
ing of the returns of the counties to
which objection was made, was filed
with Speaker Pillow, of the senate,
and a copy served on Mr. Evans by
the sergeant-at-arms of the senate.
The petition is very lengthy and takes
up each county in detail, showing the
districts of each county in which the
poll tax law was violated and the num¬
ber of votes cast. Mr. Evans has five
days in which to reply, and Governor
Turney has two days in which to
answer the reply. will
The general assembly probably
take a recess pending the investigation.
EX-MINISTER STEVENS DEAD, jg
He Was an Active Aider and Abettor
in the Hawaiian Revolution.
Hon. John L. Stevens, ex-minister j %
to Hawaii, who has been critically ill j
at his home at Augusta, Maine, for |
several days, is dead. Mr. Stevens j
was sent to Honolulu by President I ■
Harrison and was the representative i
of this government there when the
revolution which resulted in the over¬
throw of Queen Liliuokalani and the !
establishment of the republic occurred, j P
He was an ardent advocate of annexa- p
tion and was believed to have actively L
aided and fostered the revolutionists. ;
| .
Because of his unauthorized and of- &
fensive conduct in this matter he was ] I
removed from office by President
Cleveland and the Hon. James G.
Blount, of Georgia, who has previous- |
ly been sent to the islands as a “para¬
mount commissioner,” appointed in I
his stead. On Mr. Blount’s return,
Albert Willis, of Kentucky, was given
the place Stevens had filled.
A MISSING STEAMER.
The La Gascogne Has Been Overdue at
New York More than a Week.
The big French line steamer La i
Gascogne, from Havre to New York is
more than a week overdue, and the
opinion of many shipping men in New
York is that she will never be heard
of again. Many ocean steamships
have arrived, but not one of them
brought any news of the missing boat.
The agents of the company are the
most confident people of all. They
think she is still afloat. In fact they
won’t even allow for the suspicion
that she is not safe.
An unverified rumor came from
Halifax Sunday afternoon to the effect
that the La Gascogne had been heard ll
of in the vicinity of Sable island, but 1
not being confirmed, the agents of the
company don’t place much reliance in
the story.
THE ELBE INQUIRY.
■
Inquest Over the Body of One of the 9 I
Victims.
A coroner’s inquest on the body of
Friedrich Erast, which was picked up
by the fishing smack Verena, was be
gun at Lowestoft Tuesday. It is now
Baid that Ernst was not a steerage
passenger, but a seaman belonging to
the crew of the Elbe. The coroner, in
opening the proceedings, said it was
his intention to make a thorough in
quiry into the circumstances of the
loss of the Elbe and would adjourn the
inquest for three weeks after the for
mal evidence had been taken, in order
to communicate with the board of
trade in regard to the exact course to
be pursued. The German vice consul
and an agent of the North German
Lloyd’s Steamship Company were
present.
LIL TO BE TRIED.
The charge of Hi h Treason Preferred
A nin S t e V
* ^ • fr , Honolulu TX , state , . that ,,
,°* .°“ likely
ft queen is
1^1? * ee f , charges l g and ? specification e fol i°^ ing ; ;
‘
T ere 8erve d U P° n her on Jauuar Y J 218 *
u important x part of the evidence
against her will be from her own diary
found at Washington palace after her
arrest. The chief witness against her
be Sam Nowlein and her private
secretary, Kaal. It is believed that
she will plead guilty, but that not- ,
withstanding this a full trial of her
case will be held. There is no doubt i
but that the execute will extend to the
ex-queen the utmost clemency consist- |
ent with the public safety,
To Reorganize the Trust. i
A New York special says: At a re
quest of a majority of the stockholders
of the Distilling & Cattle Feeding
Company, the following named gen¬
tleruen have been appointed a reor
ganization committee : Richard B.
Shortslione, president; John I. Water
bury, F. Lockwood, J. S. Bacheon
and William Hutton, the latter of Cin
cinnati.
It is B misfortune that even pro
n ids exhibit the most shy¬
ness. I*-