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Address S. A. CUNNINGHAM.
Poetical Selections.
PAY THE PRINTER.
When the cold storm howls round the
And you by the light of taper,
Sit cosily by the evening fire,
Enjoying the last paper,
Just think of him whose work thus helps
To wear away the winter,
And put this query to yourself—
Have I payed the printer?
From eas* and west, from north and south,
From JLnds beyond the water,
He weekly brings you lots of news,
From every nook and quarter;
No slave on earth toils more than he,
Through summer’s heat and winter;
How can you for a. moment, then,
Neglect to pay the printer?
Your other bills you promptly pay,
Wherever you do go, sir;
The butcher for his meat is paid,
For sundries is the grocer;
The tailor and the shoemaker,
The hatter and the vinter,
All get their pay, then why neglect
Te settle with the printer?
Stories and Sketches.
MAUD’S LOVE STORY.
A long, pleasing July day was come
to its sunsetting, and the fervent heat
that crowned the sunshiny hours since
early morning was giving way to a soft
westerly breeze that stirred through the
trees, and lifted tho short waves of hair
off Maud Templeton’s sweet, upturned
face as she turned and looked wistfully,
thoughtfully in Neal Howard's eyes,
that were holding an expression of
half-frowning, half-appealing displeas
ure.
“ I would not have believed it of you,
Maud. I have been so happy, so per
fectly content and rested in your love for
me! I have been so impatient for the
time when our engagement should termi
nate in marriage; and here now, you
coolly, camly tell me that, unless I have
better prospects you think it prudent to
indefinitely prolong; our engagement.”
He spoke sternly, eagerly, and he bent
his handsome head, toward her in a way
he hud of doing whenever he was es
pecially in earnest.
She listened, her sweet, grave eyes
looking at him patiently.
“ You w r ould see I am right, if you
only would see, Neal. As it is, you only
make enough to take care yourself; then
how would it be if you were saddled with
the extra expense of a wife? As we are,
I am well enough cared for, and we can
be very happy as lovers—only until I
can see my way clear to come to you,
dear. Do you understand?”
Such a loving, appealing look as she
gave him I But he curled his lips
haughtily.
“Do I understand? Perfectly! Poor
people have no right to be happy, and
you don’t care much fora poor husband.”
“Oh, Neal! don’t be so harsh! You
know—you know I love you; and no
other one in all this world, rich or poor,
will ever hear me tell him so!”
He was sufficiently convinced by her
argument to be angry at its correctness;
so he shrugged his shoulders, as if in
sarcastic unbelief.
“You prove your words accurately.
Women who love generally desire not to
prolong their engagement. Or perhaps
you have some practical suggestion to
offer.”
A little faint, deprecating, blush
doomed on Maud's cheeks.
“ I did mean to tell you of a chance
for you, Neal; but you are so sarcastic
and—cross.”
“ Not at all! Cannot a fellow ever be
in earnest? What is it, Maud?”
She sent a shy, anxious glance at his
face.
“It is the foremansliip in the Man
hattan mills, Neal, and the salary—”
Mr. Neal Howard’s eyes flashed out
his disdain, and he compressed his hand
some lips a second, then interrupted her.
“ You seem to forget that I at least
lay claim to the position of a gentleman,
Maud! A foreman in a factory? Thank
you! I prefer my present position as a
tutor, even at the risk of your displeas
ure.”
She colored deeply; and yet the look
■he gave him was eloquent with love and
womanly sweetness.
“ I want you to do just as you think
best, Neal. I only mean that I think a
man is bound to do the very best he can
for himself.”
“So he is; hut not at the sacrifice of
his self-respect. A foreman in a factory!
Maud, I’m astonished!”
“Very well, theD, dear; consider I
have said nothing to annoy to you. As
I said at the beginning, I will patiently,
cheerfully wait until—”
He interrupted her hotly.
“ There shall be no waiting! You do
not love me; you mean to rid yourself of
me as gracefully as only a woman can
do. You are free—you will not be an
noyed by having to wait for me!”
And he plunged away into the little
woody dell near where they stood, and
his quick, angry footsteps went crash
ing through underbrush and over twigs,
ts Maud stood where he had left her, her
face pale and dazed, then pitifully
flushing as the hot tears rushed to her
eyes.
“ He is angry with me, and I meant so
well! He will come back—l know he
will come back, when his anger cools,
and admit that I was right, or at least
innocent of offense.”
And she went slowly back to the farm
house, the scarlet stain fading from her
“ Mr. Courtenay! ”
Neal Howard uttered the name in a
surprised sort of way, as, leaping over a
thick, low hedge, he came upon Fred
Courtenay and his sketching parapher
nalia under the shade of a tree.
The handsome young artist lifted a
pair of black eyes, that were just a little
deprecating in their smiling expression.
“ I’m sorry to have been so stupidly
near at hand, Howard; but what could
I do? I’m sorry, pon my word, that I
was an eavesdropper, and yet, How
ard —”
Mr. Courtenay hesitated and looked
thoughtful.
Neal frowned. He wasn’t pleased to
know that this stylish city gentleman
was a perforce confident of his and
Maud’s little lovers’ tiff.
“ I tell you what I was thinking—what
■truck me when I heard you speak. Let
me do you a favor, to atone, if I can, for
being a third party to your little confer
ence.”
Howard’s face was not cleared even as
he intimated his willingness to know
what the “favor ” was that Ferdinand
Courtenay could do him.
“ From what I heard, Howard, I take
it that you would not refuse a chance—a
fair good chance—to make a nice little
file of money. I can give you a chance;
would be glad to give you a position
that has been offered to me, and now
open, waiting my answer, which, how
ever, must be at once.”
He was evidently in simple earnest,
and Howard was suddenly interested
“ Give me a chance, Courtenay! I’d
go to Nova Zembla if I could come
home rich.”
Courtenay smiled as he took a letter
from his pocket.
“It’s almost as bad as going to Nova
Zembla; in fact, is quite as far in an op
posite direction—further possibly. But
there’s a good chance to make money, as
the firm who have written this letter
specifically say. They offer a position in
South Africa, at Port Elizabeth—quite
a civilized place—to look after their in
terests there—dealers and importers of
ostrich feathers—a big salary and a com
mission.”
“Why don’t you accept the offer?
Would you not like to make your for
tune?”
Courtenay laughed.
“ I don’t care to go so far south; I am
not enough of a salamander. Besides, I
am in a fair way to do better at home
with iny pictures.”
Howard frowned, puzzled and thought
ful.
“And you actually give me the
chance? Will the firm take me in your
stead?”
“ There’s not a doubt of it, if I recom
mend you. Will you accept? There’s
not enough time to do more than to de
cide. The shin sails to-night at eleven
o’clock from New York, aid you’ve
only time to pack a trunk and catch a
train to the city.
Howard’s face suddenly flushed ex
citedly.
“ Yes, I’ll do it! Write me the neces
sary introduction, and I will write a line
of explanation and farewell to Maude
Templeton, for you to kindly deliver
after I’m off. I’ll be ready in no time;
and, Courtenay, I thank you most heart
ily for your kindness.”
He shook the artist’s aristocratic white
hand eagerly.
“All right old fellow I Come back
rich and be happy ever after. Write
your note, and ITI write to Finch <&
Wing by you.”
So, all on the hot impulse of the mo
ment, Neal Howard went abroad, leav
ing a letter, half proud, and with a pa
thetic undertone of love in every word,
for the one girl he really and truly cared
for above all the world.
For Ferdinand Courtenay to deliver.
And while Neal Howard was walking
the deck of the ship at. midnight, and
Maud Templeton was sleeping and
dreaming of the morrow, when her
lover would come back to her, Mr. Cour
tenay was lying on his lounge in the
moonlight, with the ashes of Neal How
ard’s fareweli to Maud on the empty
hearth.
“And now I shall have everything my
own way. Fair Maud will be comforted
in due season for what she shall believe
is her lover’s defection, and I will be
the comforter? If it doesn’t end as I
prophesy—in Maud’s marrying me—then
I am not so shrewd as I flatter myself I
am. Port Elizabeth! Whew! Well,
he’s welcome to all he can make, for me.
I prefer the beautiful Maud and a tem
perate zone! ”
A year had gone by, and away off,
down by the Cape of Good Hope, Neal
Howard was wondering what in the
world was the reason he had never re
ceived an answer from Maud to the lit
tle farewell letter he left fo Mr. Courte
nay to deliver.
He had found his position not an un
pleasant one, and the climate did not
especially disagree with him. His sur
roundings were very delightful, his bus
iness hours short, and he found himself
making money by the handful: and if
only Maud had answered his letter 'he
would have been almost perfectly con
tent.
But Maud did not answer bis letter,
for the very good reason that she never
received it. And in the weeks that fol
lowed her recreant lover’s departure,
Mr. Courtenay was her comforter, be
cause to him only Neal had confided his
intentions.
And Ferdinand Courtenay made the
most of his opportunity—so much that
Eeople round about nodded their wise
eads, and said that Maud was readily
consoled for Neal’s defection.
Of course, among the occasional letters
that friends sent to Africa, the news
was more than once mentioned that
Maud and Mr. Courtenay were on the
most intimate terms, and Neal’s mother,
in one letter, actually announced the
gossip of their engagement.
Ferdinand Courtenay proposed to
Maud and was promptly rejected, and
he went away, disgusted and disappointed
and chagrined at his ill-luck; while
Maud, whose hopes were gradually dying,
whose spirits were slowly leaving her—
and leaving her depressed and silent—
went on her lonely way, patiently as she
might for the never-ceasing pain at her
true, loving, wounded heart.
Out at Port Elizabeth, Neal Howard
was leading his lonely, unloved life,
trying to put the sweet memories out of
his head and heart, after he had written
almost savagely to those who had volun
teered their information of Maud, never
to mention her name or Courtenay’s
■gain.
And so, widely diyided, these two
lived another year and another, he im
agining Maud’s happiness as the wife—
doubless long ago -of the man she loved;
and Maud feeling sure that Neal had
found his happiness in the distant coun
try to which he had gone. Until ©ne
day—one perfect October day—Maud
had gone out for a little walk, the way
she always went, because it was the way
Neal and she had been accustomed to
go. It lead past the village post-office,
where for many weary times, whenever
the papers announced the arrival of the
foreign mails, Maud had asked if there
was anything for her, until her sweet,
pale, tired face had made the post-mis
tress’ heart ache and tears come to her
eyes.
To-day, Maud was in no mood to in
quire. Why should she have been, when
for months, and months, she had been
slowly learning her lesson?
And so she was walking past, when,
like an inspiration, it came to her that
she would inquire just this once more—
just this once, because such a swift
strange yearning fiad come over her.
And so she lifted her lovely, pale face
to Mrs. Morrison, standing inside her
office window
“1 dare say I am very foolish, but per
haps there is something for me after
all?”
And, instead of the grave, pitiful
shake of Mrs. Morrison’s white-capped
head and she gentle, sympathetic, “ No.
dear, not this time,” Maud’s heart stood
still in almost suffocating emotion to
see a smile broaden on the kind old face.
“Well Maud, I shouldn’t wonder if
there was something at last. What’d
you say to the biggest letter from for
eign parts that ever came through this
omce, efi 7 (Jome in back, dear, and get
it!” _ *
To her dying day, Maud will remem
ber just how she felt as Mrs. Morrison
spoke. Then she managed to force her
trembling limbs to carry her into the
little back office, and there—
Neal Howard sprang to meet her and
catch her in his arms, and kiss her over
and over, and explain in eager, passion
ate words, what a terrible mistake there
had been.
Isn’t the story told?
The Dark Continent.
[Toledo Blade,J
Africa, from being an unknown land
full of dark, impenetrable mysteries, a
land whose glory lay entirely in the past
whose wonderful pyramids, which spoke
so eloquently of a race gone forever, con
stituted its chief interest in the eyes of
the world, is fast becoming of great com
mercial importance. The travelers who
have, of late years, penetrated Central
Africa, have found it a region of great
wealth, with a vast population of from
200,000,000 to 400,000,000. The climate
of the high regions is healthy, very dif
ferent from what has been imagined in
the past, when the only idea had was
that obtained from the low, marshy
lands upon the seacoast. The soil is
adapted for the cultivation of most of
the useful plants grown in the southern
part of our own country. The mineral
wealth is great, but it needs intelligent
development by means of men and
machinery, such as are employed in
other and better known regions.
England has become thoroughly awake
to the advantages of obtaining a foot
hold and influence among the people of
Africa, uncivilized as they are. In her
present depressed financial condition, it
is absolutely necessary that she should
find new lands to conquer in trade and
here is her golden opportunity. Already
her steamers are plying upon the Zam
bezi, and she contemplates placing them
upon the Niger. The plan of building a
railway five hundred miles long from the
seacoast to the interior costing $50,000,-
000 is under consideration in London,
and is most favorably regarded. It is
the hope of Great Britain that the future
development of this vast country, now
so rapidly becoming known by the push
and courage of different explorers,—and
the consequent civilization of its people,
will open and maintain vast commercial
interests that will restore the manu
facturing prosperity of England, and
give her again that pre-eminence of
which she has so long proudly boasted.
The Horse’s Wonderful Memory.
The powers of a horse’s memory were
illustrated at Rochester, N. Y., recently
where the driver of a book, and ladder
track tried an experiment. Three and
a half years ago the city sold a team of
horses that had been used for drawing
the truck, and since then they had been
employed in different work. One day
recently the driver took the horses into
the truck house and turned them loose,
whereupon each went directly to his own
stall, and when a gong was sounded they
ran out and took their accustomed posi
tions at the tongue of the machine.
“Is Life Worth Living!"
[J G. Holland in Scribner for November. |
Mr. Curtis once asked Mr. Greeley, it
respome to a similar question nut t#
him by the great editor, “How no you
know, Mr. Greeley, when you have suc
ceeded in a public address?” Mr. Gree
ley, not averse to the perpetration of a
joke at his own expense, replied: “When
more stay in than go out.” Mr. Mat
lock's famous question, answered by
himself in a weak way, and repeated by
Professor Mivart, and answered in a
stronger wav, is practically voted on
every day, by the entire human race,
and decided in the affirmative. “More
stay in than go out,” for reasons very
much less important than those consid
ered by Mr. Mallock and Pfofessor Miv
art, There are great multitudes of men
who possess neither the Roman Catholic
faith n<ir rightness of life nor love, who
yet live out their lives—men who are
open to no high considerations, such-as
would have weight with the Mullocks
and Mivarts.
There is a great pleasure in conscious
being. So universal is this that, when a
man occasionally takes his life, it is con
sidered. by those whom he leaves be
hind him as preumptive proof that he
is insane. YV e say of a man who de
signedly ends his life that he is not in
his right mind. One of the most pathetic
things about death is the bidding good
bye to a body that lias been the nurs
ery and home of the spirit which it has
charmed through the ministry of so
many senses.
Men find their pay for living in vari
ous ways. Hope may lie to them, but
they always believe her, nevertheless.
The better things to come of which she
tells all men, become indeed, the sub
stance of the things desired; that is,
expectation is a constant joy and in
spiration. The pay for this day’s trouble
and toil is in the reward which is ex
pected. to-morrow. That reward may
never come, but the hope remains; and
so long as that lives, it pays to live. It
pays some men to live, that they may
make money, and command the power
that money brings. To what enormous
toils and sacrifices the love of money
urge a great multitude of men! The
judgment of these men as to whether
life is worth living is not to be taken at
life’s close, when they sum up their pos
sessions and what they have cost, but
while they are living and acting. A man
whose life is exhausted may well con
clude that that what he has won is van
ity ; but it was not vanity to him while
he was wanning it, and, in the full pos
session of his powers, he believed that
life was worth living. * * *
If this be true —that character and
duty and love are better than any success
without them—then there is no
needs to say that life is not worth living.
But the people who do not succeed, wlio
are unloved, who live lives of pain and
want and weakness—what is there for
these? A chance for conscious nobility
of character and life; and if this be not
enough, as it rarely is, a faith, not in a
great church, but in a good God, and an
immortality that will right the wrongs
and heal the evils of the present life,
and round into completeness and sym
metry it imperfections and deformities,
It is not foolish, after all, to raise tlif
question of success or failure in treating
a life that is only germinal or fractional
Mechanical Chess Players.
Mr. Richard A. Proctor contributes
an interesting article to the Belgravia
Magazine on mechanical players. He
denies the possibility, on scientific princi
ples, of constructing an automaton capa
ble of making the complicated moves
required in a game of chess. It is
mechanically possible, humanly impos
sible. No man’s life is long enough to
adapt the machinery to the innumerable
variations required. He proves conclu
sively, we imagine, for most readers,
that the famous automaton of De Kem
peleu, which attracted so much attention
m this country under M. Maelzel, con
tained a living player. One amusing
proof which he gives we have never
seen on record before. A conjuror had
been performing his tricks in a German
town with great success and profit to
his purse, when the arrival of the
automaton drew off his audience to a
more powerful attraction. He went to
witness the performance of his rivals,
and was satisfied from his own methods
of working that the chest of the automa
ton concealed a cunning conjuror. A
simple test was suggested to his shrewd
ness, and at once applied, with success.
He raised the cry of fire, which was
caught up by one or two of his comrades
in the secret. The alarmed spectators
began to scatter, and curiously enough
the automaton shared the alarm, and
began to move convulsively, tottering
about as if mad. The conjuror was
avenged.
Mr. Proctor censures sharply the de
ceptions of Kempeleu and Maelzel, and
commends the frankness of the inventor
of Mephisto, another mechanical player,
now exhibiting in Europe. This inven
tor makes no claim that his machine
works automatically. He confesses that
its movements are guided by human
brains and hands, but the method of ac
tion is as mysterious as in the old
automaton, for the new is too small to
hold a living man.
—
1 KNOW I’m losing ground, sir,” tear*
fully murmured the pale-faced Fresh
man, “but it is not my fault, sir. If I
were to study on Sunday, as the others
do, I could keep up with my class, sir—
indeed, I could; but I promised mother
ne-he-never to work on the Sabbath, and
I can’t sir, ne-ne-ver;” and, as his emo
tions overpowered him, he pulled out
his handkerchief with such vigor that he
brought out with it a small flask, three
faro-chips, and a euchre-deck; and some
how or other the professor took no more
stock in that Freshman’s eloquence than
if he had been a graven image.
HAILING AKBCTTCS.
BY BOSE TERRY.
Darlings of the forest!
Blossoming alone l
When earth’s grief Is sorest,
For her jewels gone—
Ere the last snow-drifts melt, your tend®
Buds hare blown.
Tinged with color faintly,
Like the morning sky;
Or more pale and saintly,
Wrapped in leaves ye lie—
Even as child, en sleep, in faith's
Simplicity.
There the wild robin
Hymns your solitude;
And the rain comes sobbing *
Through the budding wood.
While the low south wind sighs, but
Dare not be more rude.
Were your pure lips fashioned
Out of air and dew ?
Starlight unimpassioned.
Dawn's most tender hue?
And scented by the woods that gathered
Sweets for you ?
Fairest and most lovely,
From the world apart,*
Made for beauty only,
Veiled from nature’s heart.
With such unconscious grace, as make#-
The dream of art.
Were not mortal sorrow.
An immortal shade.
Then would I to-morrow
Such a flower be made.
And live in the dear woods, where
MLv lost childhood played!
Clipped Paragraphs.
There are 30,000 deaf mutes in the
United States, and fifty places of wor
ship where services are conducted in the
sign language.
One man asked another why his beard
was so brown and his hair so white
“ Because,” he replied, “ one is twenty
■yfa ■ ,r e> ‘ban the other.”
The head of the rattlesnake has been
known to inflict a mortal wound after
being separated from the body. The
head of a turtle will inflict a severe bite
under the same circumstances.
Married persons in P rance are not so
often criminals as are unmarried persons.
Out of every 100,000 unmarried persons
33 are criminals, but out of every 100,-
000 married persons only 11 are crim
inals.
It cost an Ishpeming man SBOO to kiss
a woman on the streets recently.—Ex
change. Served him right, too! Here
in Catskill the kissing is done smack on
the lips, and all pecuniary consequence!
are avoided —CaUhll Recorder.
No mother wearing banged hair should
preserve her photographs. Twenty years
from now if her son should get hold of
one he would exclaim: “Oh! why did
they put my mother in the House of
Correction!”— Detroit Free Frew.
Indian uprisings are not always un
pleasant to Western settlers. A redskin
with a hemp knot around his throat,
ascending skywards on a rope thrown
over the limb of a tree, the end of which
is being pulled by strong arms, is the
sort of an Indian uprising relished the
most.
The Steubenville Herald contains this
startling, but pleasing announcement:
“Watch the credit opposite your name.
We want all arrears settled up.” Yes,
we’ve been watching it. It says X.
We presume you know how much that
is. Please forward without delay.”
The Ute Indians are a mean, treacher
ous lot; but none of them wear theii
watchchains dangling from the 4 p out
side pocket of their coats, nor part theii
hair in the middle, nor never pay theii
subscription to the paper, nor do a whole
lot of other things not much pleasantei
of contemplation than scalping a woman,
or eating a roast bady, with oyster trim
mings.
A man read that ho should endeavor
to draw something useful from every
thing he saw, and nobly resolved to profit
by the teaching. That night when the
moon was shining, he essayed to draw a
number of useful cord-wood sticks from
his neighbor’s wood-pile, and got filled
so full of rock-salt out of a gun, that he
won’t be able to taste anything fresh foi
the balance of his natural life.
“ Why did you weep so in church ? ,!
“ Oh, it was because of the thoughts
evoked by those solemn words, “ Dusl
thou art, and unto dust slialt thou re
turn.” “ You are an ass—a preferred
ass! If you were gold and had to return
to dust, you’d lose a hundred per cent,
by the operation; but as you are dust,
and to dust return, you neither lose 01
ain any thing—it’s a stand-off.”
Seeing a servant rushing out of a Lon
don house for medical aid, a rascal said:
“ I am a doctor,” and obtained access to
the room of a sick child. He feigned to
minister to* him for hours, read prayers
by his bedside, and then, descending into
the dining-room and taking advantage
the carelessness wrought by the approach
of death, took a good meal, and de
camped with all the portable property
he could lay hands on.
Two grammarians were wrangling the
other day, one contending that it was
only proper to say, “My wages is high,”
while the other noisily insisted that the
correct thing was, “My wages are high.”
Finally they stopped a day laborer and
submitted the question to him. “Which
do you say, ‘Your wages is high,’ 01
‘Your wages are high?’” “Oh, offwid
yer nonsense,” he said, resuming his
pick. “Yer naythur ov ye right—me
wages is low, bad luck to it.”
Poor Pay of Eminent Authors.
The pioneers of literature
were not too liberally rewarded. Edward
and Alexander Everett, Bancroft and
other leading writers of their day re
ceived but one dollar a printed page for
their contributions to the Forth American
Review, But then, Milton sold ’‘Paradise
Lost ” at even a less rate. But again
Shakespeare went in for loot as well as
laurels, and although we almost. deify
him, we think none the less of him for
not affecting to despise money