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CARNESVILLE, GA.
“Fot Would You Take?”
Bhc wn< rfndy for lx-d and lay on my arm,
In hrr little frfllod cap ao flue,
With her frolden hair falllntr out at the edge,
Like a circle of noon sunshine.
And I hummed tho old tune of “Banbury
Crops 11
And “Three men who put out to sea,” her
When she sleepily said, as she elosed b,ue
“PnpuVfot would you take for me?”
And I answered: “A dollar, dear little hoart,"
And she slept, baby weary with play;
But I held her warm In rocked my love-strong arms,
And rocked her, and world away.
O, the dollar meant all the to me,
The The lowest land and depth the of sea the and lowest sky, place,
The highest of all that's high.
The cities with streets and palaces. of
Their pictures and stores art,
7 would not take for one low, soft throb
Of my little one's loving heart.
Nor all the gold that was ever found
In the busy wealth-finding smile past, of darling's
Would I take for one my
face, It must be the last.
Did I know
80 I rocked my baby and rocked away,
And I felt such sweet content,
Tor the words of the song expressed to me
more
Than they ever before had meant.
And the night crept on and I slept and
dreamed
Of things wakened far too with glad to bo,
And I lips saying close In my
ear:
“Papa, fot would you tako for me?”
—8. B. MoManus.
TOO CLEVER BY HALF.
I am a very quiet, literature. retiring gentle¬
man, love dabbling in and such-like Short es¬
says, poems, articles
emanate from my pen, without, how¬
ever, making mv name famous.
Now, although I have stated myself
to be ambitious. retiring, yet, at one time, I was
very I play in
wrote a week fifty-two playing, acts, that each
to OQOUpy a in so a
year would necessanly be occu¬
pied in producing it, and, what’s more,
1 meant I to perform in it myself.
found too best way to get it talked
about was to attend regularly from
twelve till three at a certain bar, cen¬
tral to West-end thoatros.and there listen
to ear- wigging actors, discuss my tre¬
mendous effort, which was to bring me
both fortune and fame.
1 had a pretty fair stock of coin at
the time, but it was marvellous how it
dwindled away at the bar.
I was constantly until standing treat to
actors and others, the barmaids
—beautiful creatures, with such be¬
witching smiles, and hair of different
shades (I mean that each angel went
in for one particular understand shade, what of course)
—began ed, whenever to I made was want¬
my appearance,
by placing some brandies, one Irish,
ditto Scotch cold, a pint of stout,anoth¬
er of mild and Burton, two lemonades,
and a dozen fourpenny waiting cigars, upon the
counter, without even for my
order.
K qually, as a matter of course, my
forefinger and thumb pocket, were and placed in
my half-sovereign right waistcoat ( of tokens) a real
pi S3 one beside your drinks,
taken out and P ced the
which, together with tho money, disap¬
peared in a marvellous wav.
It seemed to be a settled thing that
no one was to ask me to have refresh¬
ment. At all events, nobody did, which
I thought wonderful, but others didn’t.
Perhaps modesty it was owing that to they their innate
sense o f forbore
treating me. of intellectual calibre
A person my
was not on the samo platform as oth
era.
I stood alone as far as standing
drinks, etc., was concerned; but had
plenty of companions when I entered
that particular bar, a choice gardenia
my buttonhole, a well-brushed Paris
hat, clothes of unexceptionable cut,
lavender kid gloves, spotless linen, a
heavy albert, and a chronometer at¬
tached to it.
“Good morning, sir,” used to come
from quite a chorus of voices, und hats
were Of slightly I raised smiled in graciously my honor. in
course, re¬
turn, and stroked my auburn rnous
tacho caressively and complacently. A
cynical wrotch once called the color
carrots, at that particular bar, because
I had refused to part with a “sov.,'’
and also, as a matter of .course, paid for
tho usual drinks.
A few, I might say three, of tho hab¬
itues of tho bar (at least, they were all
there whenever I put in an appearance)
addressed usually mo by my surname—Nog- with
gles—and shook hands
me. They all admired my description would
of tho famous drama; said it be
sure to make a hit. and send rival man
agers mad, especially those of them
that had not been so fortunate as to se¬
cure it first.
.But, up to the present,* no one had
made a bid for it, or for my services,
although I had once played in Othello
at an amateur theatrical cannibals, performance
in aid of the Fiji to whom
several missionaries were sent out in
consequence, stomachs and stayed of there, that inter¬ en¬
tombed in the
esting “Noggles, race of beings. boy!” said of
dear one my
intimates, about who was things a theatrical, regular walking “why
directory don’t drama licensed by
you Chamberlain?—that get your will be
the Lord
the first step towards success—mana¬
gers will nibble at it then!”
For this brilliant idea I was mulcted
in a five-pound note religiously (only as a loan, of
course), Doomsday to I be for, from returned the hour at
of parting, suppose, the the
has up to returned. present, mon¬
ey not been
I acted on his advice, and, packing
up the MSS. and sketches of the scen¬
ery in a very roomy portmanteau,
chartered his fortunes a hansom, conveyed when Noggles and
were to the au¬
gust Chamberlain’s office.
I fancied 1 noticed a look of dismay
on the reader's face when I kept diving
into the portmanteau as if I were dip¬
ping oral into a lucky dive, bag. aJi bringing neatly tied up sev
acts at a with
aetena silkoanL — - -
~'“Is that aTT?” he asked, blandly,with
just gently a tinge wiped of satire in his tone, as I
my brow with a brand
new silk handkerchief.
“Yes!” I replied, with a sigh, regret¬
ting ried at the moment original that intention I had not of car¬
out my ex
tendin lg the play to two years, as they
do in China and Japan.
“Will you kindly oblige e mo with a
list of the titles?” he asked, a peculiar
smile playing about tbe corners of his
mouth, which, I must confess, savored
of chaff to me.
However, the arbiter of my dramatic
future was too mighty a personage for
mo to show my resentment to, although
a time might come when he would be
obsequious MSS. to me.
“The you see before you, sir,
all belongs to a single drama,” I re¬
marked, drawing myself up proudly.
“Nothing I trow.” like it has ever come before
yon, “How there?” he ask
many acts are
ed.
week.” “Fifty-two, each act to last the entire
“You’ll have to pay full license for
each act,” he remarks, with a ferocious
grin, as I thought, “the sum of one
hundred and four pounds in all.”
“What?” I exclaimed indignantly.
“All that money for reading and li¬
censing Drawing a drama? himself Preposterous!”
he said severely, he up glanced magisterially,
as at my
card:
“Mr. Noggles, do you suppose that
the valuable time of her Majesty’s ser¬
vants can be taken up fora whole year,
reading your drama, for the modest
sum of two guineas, or three at the out¬
side.”
“Think of the blessings it will bring
upon our native land,” I remarked, as¬
ing suming hand, a theatrical with attitude, smile full and wav¬
my a of be¬
nignity. “That’s sir,”
marks, sententiously. a moot point, “What will he re¬
you
again,” “Take I replied mj- colossal work home
with asperity. “The
manager who produces it will have to
pay for the licensing.”
ing Having remark, delivered I myself of this crush¬
forthwith packed up the
fused precious drama, bade the man who re¬
to immortalise himself by reading
my precious effusion good morning,
and, staggering under my load, made
my way out, followed by derisive
laughter, At last I as I could the have of sworn.
got man—whose ear a manager— ambition
,n enterprising colossal, like
was my own.
But the introduction cost many a
sov.; in fact, I came to the conclusion
deucedly that getting a play produced was a
However, expensive something affair. that for¬
it was
tune smiled upon me. What mattered
how much I had spent in pursuit of the
fickle jade now that I had got her in
my grasp. chartered hansom,
Once more I a
and, full of smiles (failure never enter¬
ed my head for a moment), was driven
to the manager's office, accompanied
by “Take tho colossal drama. Mr. Noggles,” said tho
a seat,
great gun, with urbanity, eying me crit¬
ically—and with approval, as I flatter¬
ed I myself. had read and heard of
many a gen¬
demalion; ius having but been here in appearance I spic a tatter¬ and
was a
span swell, just turned out by a Bond
street tailor, faultless as to dress, and a
man “You of parts, have something as I flattered good, myself. I hear,”
he remarked, blandly. “A drama in
fifty-two acts.”
“Yes! my dear sir, you have been
correctly informed,” I will replied, pleas¬ tho
fortune antly; “something of enterprising that make
an manager,
and smash up all his rivals; you.” with your
permission, “Thanks!” I will he replied, read it drily. to “I have
waded through your ‘Scenario.’ Yon
mention a real thunderstorm; how is
that I liked to be done, familiar my dear Noggles?” augured
his tone; it
well, “Oh, and that’s I replied easily lightly: managed—a slid¬
ing roof to be uncovered when a storm
is raging.” “But it might at time;
besides the audience occur might a wrong object it.
to
You see, real rain and thunder and
lightning are all very well out of doors,
but not In.” ,
I confess I didn’t like these objec¬
tions, which savored too much of the
practical; but, of course, I kept my
feelings marking: well under control, merely re¬
“My dear, sir, matters of detail need
not tronblo great minds like ours. The
thing is to produce my drama.”
“Exactly, tee.” my dear sir; my sentiments
to a
My hopes began to revive. The bait
had evidently taken, and the name of
Noggles covered with would laurels descend of fame. to posterity,
“You will produce it?” I remarked,
•grasping his hand with fervor.
“Yes! under certain conditions: cash
down to the tune of five thousand
pounds, similar and bills at if decent intervals I for
a amount; you agree, guar¬
lic antee promptly, to place regardless the thing before of expense.” the pub¬
“Yes!” I thought, “at my expense.
Ten “I will thousand think the pounds! over,” Impossible!” I said.
matter
“Of course, money is no object with
me, sir.”
Ho smiled graciously, and I*took my
leave—a sadder, but a wiser man. Tho
bar at a certain famous restaurant saw
me no more; the the name of Noggles there. was In
a thing of of extreme the past noises I made
consequence landlady somewhat great vulgarly styled
them (my “hawful rows”) I received warn¬
ing, and had How to vacate my that pleasant misfor¬
lodgings. true alone. it is
tunes never come
I managed and to secure ferocious lodgings did in a
quiet street, so I my
disposition work invent become that infernal at once machine set to
to an
that would annihilate a whole army at
one blow.
My window overlooked a wardrobe
establishment just opposite, at the
drawing-room window of which ap¬
peared a lady, daily, of exquisite love¬
liness, I and short-sighted, richly apparelled. owing the
was still to
drama I had written, but, it was
ing sufficie ntly <3 good the to lady make in question. out the charm
In graces the house fel
same as mine was a
low-lodger. who, morning and evening,
played toe flute. ...............
“He is serenading her,” I thought.
“Noggles, you must enter tho lists.
She is very lovely, has money, no
doubt, and is evidently smitten with
you. Your rival must be silenced.”
I was no mean performer on (be
rouble bass, an instrument 1 Iiad too
long neglected for the perfidious
■drama.
One eveningl produced it, and flatter
ed myself that the flutist was nowhere;
I completely drowned his tootling. My
nstrument gave forth a volume of
sound, at times groaning as if attacked
by a very bad colic. My base rival
gained the sympathies of our landlady
in some underhand way, and she gave
me Butd warning. equal the occasion. She
was to
kept three cats, two dogs, a domestic parrot,
several canaries, besides
fowls. Taking down an old volume, I
pretended to read an Act of Parliament
prohibiting more than one of a kind of
any bird or beast being kept in any
house in the United Kingdom.
I heard no more of having to leave;
but I did of my rival, who began to
learn the trombone, against whose so
norous notes my poor double bass
stood no chance.
A diabolical idea occurred to me—I
would invite him to visit me, and play
him a trick that would force him to ab
dicate both the lovely lady opposite and
the lodgings in my favor.
I succeeded beyond my most san
guine expectations, as willpresentlyap
pear. Procuring number of yellow ginger
a
bread cakes, I placed them on my ta
ble, attaching to them pieces of wire,
When he appeared I said, ferociously;
“Ah! Ah! You die! The yellow Swear sub
stance before you is dynapaite! favor—
to abdicate everything obnoxious in^piy trombojie—or_
even to the
you are blown to simthereens!” *'“*'''*
He fled wildly from the spot, and I
laughed But gleefully. and
constables presently an inspector off two the
came and took me to
station, gingerly placing the bag, gingerbread and despatch- cakes
very in a
ing them to Woolwichfor inspection.
l languished in prison a whole week,
when I was released, and rushed to my
lodgings, had been only to burned find that down the in wardrobe ab
shop my
Scnce.
Judge of my astonishment on learn
g that the lady I had fallen in love
with was only a wax figure. Now I
eschew ambition, and conclude that all
my troubles arose from being “too
oleyer by half.”
Dresses for School-Girls.
One of the most gratifying awakening signs in of
progress is tho general re¬
gard to school-dress. It has hereto¬
fore been considered enough to dis¬
courage a lavish display clad of jewelry, in cold
but weather; a girl she could could be thinly change from thick
wool to thin silk; she could encase her
arms in skin-tight sleeves and pull her
dresses together within a quarter of an
inch of her life—and no one thought Btft of
protesting against her folly. accomplished gym¬
nastics In school have
something; they have established the
fact that with ordinanr dress the ami girl it
cannot use or raise her arms,
has at last dawned upon teachers and
intelligent mothers that ought to
use them elsewhere than in the gymna¬
sium. The principal of one of the
most fashionable schools in New York
will not permit material her pupils wool to wear a
dress of any save or cot¬
ton—the former in winter, the latter in
mild weather, if they choose. A girl
wearing a velvet suit ono day her was dress sent
homo with a message that
must bo changed to one adapted to
school wear. The mother of tne girl
returned with a reply that it was a last
year’s suit which must be utilized or it
would be out-grown. The teacher was
inflexible. She said the sehool-room
was no place for cast-off finery; the final that
the moral effect was bad and
result was worse than tho present loss.
The lesson was a salutary one.
A school in Massachusetts recom¬
mends to its 200 girl students a sensi¬
ble school-dress, of which tho First, following it
are somo of the features: is to
consist of single layers of clothing, equally dis¬ so
that tho warmth will be
tributed over sufficiently the body. loose Secondly, im¬ it
should bo not to
pose restrictions upon the free and ac¬
tive use of the muscles. Third, the
materials should undistinguishable be soft, unexciting in in
color, and pattern.
Fourth, tho design should suggest rath¬
er than outline the figure, unless tho
material is elastic, and should be di¬
vided into few parts in order to be free
from distractions. Fifth, it should
avoid whatever is unnecessary or that
takes time and strength that could be
better put into work or play. of
The combination undergarment both, the
knitted wool or cotton, or
skirt of plaited wool attached to a lin¬
ing waist cut with a spring over “jersey” the
hip, and all a polonaise requirements or woven for such
supplies dress. If the the polonaise is employed
a
the lining waist may be extended so as
to require only a deep-plaited flounce
of the wool to bring it to the length of
the walking-skirt, thus rendering it
lighter and cheapor.
The polonaise should fullness be pleated being at
the back a part of the
taken out of the waist and cut with a
whole saefit 'sleeves front which could be belted
in. The should be cut very
high and somewhat full at the top, so
as to surround the arm at the socket
and allow free movement
“Cuts.”
In producing new plays “cuts,” or
shortening of speeches be made, or s scenes, for near
ly always nave to no mat
ter how experienced or able may have
been the direction of a play, before nothing
but an actual performance an
audience will reveal the weak or tire¬
some passages. Frequently the alter¬
ations are of a radical nature, though that
it is not often they go as far as
suggested by the famous J. Byron. English This wit
and dramatist, Henry the first
gentleman formance of was present of his plays. at The per¬ first
one
act had gone very slowly, and during
the wait Between that and the second,
a great noise of sawing was audible
behind the curtain.
“What’s all that sawing, his Byroa?” box.
asked a friend who shared
“I don’t know,” replied the dejeo
ted author, “but I act” think they are cut
ting out the next
The Senate’s Official Stenographer.
“Yes, I have been a good while at
*t,’ said Mr. D. F. Murphy, the official
stenographer of the Senate, as he sat in
fie handsomely-finished stenographers’ Capitol,
room at the Senate end of the
Its windows look out upon the spacious
grounds ft at the front of eligible the Capitol, for
is one of the most rooms in
the entire building, just by the the massive marble
doors, and looking out end upon of the
portico of the Senate east
front of the Capitol. On the ceilings
are beautiful and highly dead artistic Brumidi, fres
coes, reminders of the
and stretching around the wall are long
cases filled with official documents,
bills, reports and other documents of
this sort that are most likely to be need
ed at a moment’s notice,
“Yes, it’s over thirty-five years,”
he said, “since I began reporting the
Senate proceedings. has A long quickly, time, and is it
not? and yet it gone
with it a good many men of great abil
ities and reputation.” recollections back far
“Your run as
as Webster, then, do they, Mr. Mur
phy?” “Yes,” he answered musingly, “I
re
member him very well. A very slow,
careful speaker, easy to report because
of the extreme moderation with which
he spoke. Yes, I reported Webster
and Clay and Cass, and, later on, the
great men who took their places, Sum
ner and Seward and all the others.”
“Do you join in the often-expressed departed
opinion that greatness has
from the halls of Congress, ana that
the statesman of to-day is a pigmy of
compared with that of a quarter a
century “No; ago?” the contrary,I think that the
on
Congress of the United States, take the
members as a class, averages better
now than it did in earlier days. There
are not, perhaps, just now, any very
great minds which tower up beyond all
the rest, as seemed to be the case with
Webster and a few others then and
since, but, take the average statesman
then and now, and I think he of to-day
bears comparison very well.”
“How long has Congress been steno
graphically “The Senate reported?” first reported in
was so
1848. There were one or two attempts
earlier, but they were The unsatisfactory
and soon abandoned. present sys
tern began in 1848 in the Senate, and
about 1850 in the House, and has been
continued since.”
“Will the present much-criticised
system, which permits members to re¬
vise their speeches before publication,
be remedied, do you think?”
“Doubtful, I think. There has al¬
ways been talk about it, but only talk.
There were efforts twenty-five years
ago, eliminated, perhaps and more, to have have the that debates feature
to
printed exactly as they occurred. I re¬
member that Jeff Davis was one of the
most vigorous in denouncing revision
and in urging that the debates be
printed exactly as they occurred. And
yet Davis was one of the fastest speak¬
ers >' f the Senate at that time, and it
wo I seem that if anybody needed to
revise his remarks it would or the stenographic he.”
report of them be
“Did he often do so?”
“No. He scarcely manuscript.”—Letter ever looked at his
speeches in to
Minneapolis Tribune.
Well Supplied With Brass.
A good story in which brass is min¬
gled fs with brains to some purpose,
told by the Americas (Oa.) Record¬
er:
The hero is George Parker, for many
years a conductor on South Carolina
railroads. He was smart, but of a
fiery disposition, and was continually moved
From getting into trouble and being
one railroad to another. At last
he had gone the rounds of the railroads
in that state, and through some of his
friends got a place on the Brunswick,
Ga., road, through they board the wire-grass the trains re¬ in
gion, where
gangs and refuse to pay fare. Ho
taclded a party of three one dav who
refused to pay fare, and nearly dis¬ got
killed. When he recovered he was
charged, and went back to his old
home in Augusta. One day asked he him met
Gen. Wade Hampton, and
for a job. Hampton said: “George, I
don’t know as I can letter do anything President for
you but give you a to
Hayes.” George took the letter, pawn
ed his watch, went to Washington, and
presented his letter. Mr. Hayes said:
“Mr. Parker, what do you want?”
George answered that he would like to
bo consul to-. Hayes this said he
had just promised from that, Gen. but as Hampton was
the first request
be would give him a place as consul to
another eastern port. George thanked
him, went out and managed to get
back to Augusta, where nis friends
helped him to funds, and he left for
his consulate. salary, He promptly eventually repaid tho
loan out of his mar¬
ried a countess, and has his old posi¬
tion still.
Soap-Bubble Parties.
Soap-bubble parties are the latest.
Twenty or thirty common and clay gentle¬ pipes,
for as many young ladies
men, have ribbons of different colors
for every two, and are separated in
equal piles, from which each person
selects one, and, by matching colors,
finds a partner, so medium-sized to speak, for table the
blowing. On a
stands a bowl of soap and water. The
partners in turn blow bubbles, of’ trying
three times, amid the efforts the
others to annoy and embarrass them.
The one whose bubble remains un¬
broken toe longest is entitled to a
prize. Some of the prizes painted lush
are p
shaving and handkerchief cases, p pam
ted picture frames, Russian leather toil¬
et cases, blotters, others plush boxes tasteful of writ¬ and
ing-paper, and are
useful mementoes. At a recent party
all bore the date of the evening in gilt
letters. The prizes are sometimes ex¬
pensive jewelry. There is always a
special prize given to the one whose
babble has lasted the longest of all.
A judge selected before the blowing
announces the decisions. After all havo
blown their bubbles, the prizes are
drawn by numbers. Then come the
usual dances and a supper.— N. Y. Sun.
George Ball, a rich banker of Gal¬
has given a #70,000 school
to that dtv.
SHOP-GIRLS. -
How They Live and Why They Marry—
Their Objection to the Kitchen.
“You say that flesh and blood is
cheap,” said the floor-walker in a mel¬
ancholy way as he paused in his mo¬
notonous promenade and gazed about
him at the endless which prospective of of damsels Coun¬
ters behind rows
danced attendance upon capricious least,” cus¬
tomers. “It is cheap, at he ad¬
ded, “ in the dry-goods business. Peo¬
ple generally know that the women
who work in the shops are ill-paid, but
how pitful the remuneration hardly they get in
reality is you can be aware.
There are probably 250 establishment, women and girls and
employed in this
the highest pay they can attain is $5
a week—the head of departments get
that. The saleswomen, who constitute
the great majority $3.50; of the female em¬
ployes, get thought only be and well the cash
rirls are to paid at
$1.50 a week. I am not surprised that
you ask how it is possible for a woman $3.50
to live on so small an amount as
a week, but it is not so mysterious after
all. You see, among the poorer class
of work people, to shops which belong, the women who
in the each member
of the family is a bread-winner—all but
the very little ones—and although the
earnings of each may be small, yet every
little helps. The family of which that
pretty member girl lives at th e ribbon comfortably counter is a
very indeed
in a pretty little house on the North
Side. Beside herself there are two oth¬
er sisters and two brothers. They all
work in the shops. The fatherearns $13
a week as a salesman in this establish¬
ment, and one of the other girls is em¬
ployed here as head a cash-girl. of department The third
sister is at the a in
another great bazaar like this. The boys
make $9 between them. Thus you see
that the aggregate amount covered by
the family is no less than $32 a week,
or more than $1,500 a year—a very de¬
cent income for humble folks. The
mother stays at home and manages
the house. The girls are all pretty, and
will some day marry well, for they have
plenty of beaiyx. The bread-winning
being ordinary distributed accident, in such such a loss manner, no
as of em¬
ployment could by them a member of the These family,
cause distress. are
the sort of people who have the tenden¬
cy to something better, and although
they are not ashamed to work in tne
shop they will surely rise above it.
“Speaking reminds of the marriages that I have of shop- fre¬
women me
quently been astonished and refined to girls see really
sweet, pretty, marry
the most digusting specimens in. the
way of men, about whom there seemed
to be no possible attraction beyond the
fact they wore trousers. But it is un¬
questionable that in this class of society
the women are far superior to the men
both in refinement and intelligence, and
of course the women have to take the
best they can get, since they must mar¬
ry some one. The fact is that the aver¬
only age shop-girl possible regards matrimony from as the
avenue of escape the
counter; take first and she is only too ready to
the opportunity that offers of
marrying. mode Usually she either changes
her of existence to become a
drudge for a selfish and brutal husband,
or is compelled to go back to the shop
to support him. It is very sad.
continued “It is hardly the floor-walker, possible, as you say,”
“for a wo¬
man to live by herself and support her¬
self on $3.50 a week. Of course the
necessities from which these women suf¬
fer are a constant temptation, especial¬
ly to those of Nevertheless, them who are young and
attractive. as a class,
shopwomen are all respectable and vir¬
tuous, despite one hears to the con
tra iry.
“T1 he principal proprietor of the estab¬
lishment pist. One is day something I asked him of a if philanthro¬ he did not
think it would be a charitable thing to
raise the pay of all the female employes »
say $1 a week all round. ‘My dear sir,
said the old gentleman severely, pur¬
sing his lips, ‘yon principles are evidently of una¬
ware of the first political
economy, It would give me great p leas
ure from higher the philanthropic all point employes, of view
to pay wages to my
but the labor market must be upset in
a lamentable manner were I to do as
you suggest. Labor, like anything else,
has its market value, and if I pay more
than is paid in other stores for the same
labor, the employes of the other stores
would at once raise a clamor for an
equal eral advance, and there would be gen¬
discontent. I advise you to study
John Stuart Mill.” So it appears that
politico-economic true philanthropy principles. can only exist on
“The life of a shop-girl has, despite
its drawbacks, a peculiar fascination.
There was a very pretty little French
woman here who sold pms and needles
and thread at the same counter for near¬
ly seven years. One day she told me
in great glee that she was going to be
married and get away from the pins
and needles forever. ‘And, Monsieur,’
she said, ‘my husband that is to be is
quite well off, and I need never do any
more work. ’ So she went away and
was married: but six months later she
came back again and told me that she
had felt so lonely while her husband
was the away in and the bustle daytime and missed
so roar and life of the
shop work. that she preferred to come back
to
“People the frequently class ask why it is that
women of who work in the
shops prefer livelihood such drudgery to earning
an easier as domestics. The
pay tic of a woman employed as a domes¬
is quite as good as that which a shop¬
sides girl receives, well and she lodging. gets her board be¬
as as her She is bet¬
ter fed, and perhaps more comfortable
in every way. But the secret of this
lies in the love of liberty and independ¬
ence which is a dominant instinct of
the human heart. The shop-girl, though
she be a slave during ten hours of the
day, is free when the clock strikes 6.
She can go to theatre with her young
man, or ao whatever pleases her, But ana
there is nobody to say her nay. the
domestic is a ‘servant,’ and the shop¬
girl looks down upon her with all the
hanteur of a social superior. Two or
three years ago there was an insurrec¬
dry-goods tion at Macy bazaar, s, the because great New York
of an attempt
on toe part of the management to
transfer a number of girls from behind
the counters to the restaurant attached
to the establishment to serve as wait¬
resses. be law their They dignity, considered and threatened it decidedly to
leave in a Body iTTt were attempt
enforce the order.
“The lot of a woman entirely <w
ent upon her resources, who earn*
living indeed behind pitiable. the Just counter of a sW
such think of t
to exist on a pittance as
week—60 cents a day. Whv J it
vationl’ ’— Chicago Tribune s!
.
Dreams and Strange Fulfill met
A French writer says that to d rt
well vre must act well while ,
awake, and to bring down bei n #g
celestial origin to converse with™
our sleep during we must the struggle in the cat
of virtue day. Thedrei
of Caesar’s wife, when the Ides of Mai
had come, as related by Plutarch
full of interest. Caesar was much j
turbed by the groans she uttered fad
sleep and awoke her. She then:
him that she had dreamed of holf
him murdered in her arms. Oaj
following impressed day, so her deeply mind was the drt
upon and so r
the terror it inspired, that she impl(
him to remain at home that day*
adjourn startled, the meeting and knowing of the Senate! ]
was her to 1
woman of fearless mind and, in noisi
consulted superstitious, astrologers, he offered by sacrifices*
whom he«
advised to adjourn the Senate. Bat
was persuaded to do otherwise by a
of the conspirators dream against his life, ,;
laughed at the and urged CV
were about to crown his ambitious i
sires. Caesar listened to the treat 1
ous voice and went to meet his de i*
Lord Bacon records a dream he In
in which he saw his father’s house
the country plastered and he all over y
black mortar, had no doubt
awakenin g that he would hear f
tidings. His father died on the ve
night on which he dreamed.
A gentleman relates the follow!*
“One brother, evening officer some two in years sir
my an the army, t; an
prised me with a late visit, just as a
family was he, retiring in to excited rest ‘Brother,
exclaimed an manna howdl
‘mother is dead!' ‘When and
you hear it?’ I distance replied, as from she was i
mg at some the ton
where we were, and was, so far as*
knew, in good health. ‘I have seen Is
pass me twice this evening in my rooin
while I was in bed, with her heal
bandaged up, and I could not rest unfi
I saw you,’ of his was entreaties his answer. and In erase,
quence conviction
it was determined to take the first tra^
to the locality where arrival our mother rs
sided, and upon our we found
to our great surprise, quite that she died tb
evening before, suddenly, at th
exact hour my brother dreamed he sai
the Franklin apparition.” had several of his
decided for him by dreams. project Goeii
says in his memoirs: “The object
which had occupied my mind durio|
the day often reappeared at night j
connected dreams.” The celebrate
dream of Thomas Lord Lyttleton, ii
which he dreamed a bird flew into th
room where he slept, and while i
looked at it it changed into the form <
a female whom he had wronged, wh
told him to prepare for another world
as in three days he would die. H8 ws
well then, and laughingly said death, he di
not look like a man so near as
that he intended to. ‘ ‘bilk the ghost
Some hours after saying this he wei
with Mr. Fortescue and Captain Wok
to Pitt Place, Epsom, ate for suppers
egg, went cheerfully to bed and sui
denly expired in a fit in the presence i
his servant .—The Celtio Magazine.
He Didn't Know Her.
“There is not a man here, I suppose,'
said a lawyer, “who does not remem
ber the K-— divorce suit. It was i
great case and made quite a stir at th
time. Lawyer V- C- was iu i
and appeared before Judge G-oi
an important motion. It so happens
that the learned had been judge’s playing second the toe deuo a
his left foot
with him the night before and hi
Honor was not in a sweet humor i
consequence, Now, as a rule, ther
never was a better tempered judge give e
the bench, or one who would
lawyer a better show; but when tha
toe was on the rampage it was not i
safe thing to his Honor 1 !
presume on
patience too much. Well, Lawye
V--C-made a tremendous argil
ment, over an hour and a half long
full of flourishes of rhetoric and elf
gantly molded sentences, delivered!
a semi-clerical style of voice. Pcrio
after period flowed and still the sol
and somewhat affected tones of th
learned counsel filled the otherwis
silent court room. At length hand
V--C-raised his right closed at
aiming it at the learned judge questio'
splendid climax with the
‘lour Honor, was Joseph?’ not Potiphar’swi
much older than
“ ‘I know nothing at all about ne
sir,’ said his honor, almost savagel
leaning forward and wagging his hei
to emphasize each word.
‘ ‘Lawyer Y-C- sat down
though he had been shot. It knock
the wind clean out of him.”
Hint to Yonng Mothers.
One reason why so many yo i
mothers do not look so tidy and
tractive as it is the bounden duty of “
women to look, is that they do not W
cept the inevitable with the p r0 W
spirit, and then adapt themselves to
for instance, it is impossible to cw
for a baby as it should be eared m
and yet to wear as good a dress as_ Jte
would if you were simply sitting do*l
to do fancy work. The usual area
when engaged in this occupation snoii*
be then, of material that and wiU bottle bear of spong duut 1 ^
a sponge a
ammonia should be kept near at
Of aprons there should be an unfauifl
supply, of different sizes and degre® of m
Do not faU to have at least two
same length as your dress, and ot t
full breadths. A white one ot
style, trimmed all around with scarW
machine embroidery, is actually
coming to most women, and will s ■
the cost many beneath. times over Clothe by preseryiq y° ar *®j
the dress rocking P"
suitably, and then enjoy pleasures vou
baby. All other the joy
hope to have repeated, but
being the mother of a baby w
which may be yours but once, am
for so short a time that it will seLlu
most dream-like in a very few year.
N. r. Post.