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L A BARM-T.IHI) TRAGEIIT.
■re ANCIENT AORICUTOTKIST INTO THE 31'MWER
■ boarder:
E Milkin’, friend—why, it’s easy 'miff—
A So, there, boiA- consara your tail!
H O’ eourae there's cows tlmt’wiil act r'linh—
That's right, darn ye, mash the pail!
■ You’d like to try one, eh?—all right;
■ Thar’s a stool, thar, in the shed,
H An’ here’s a pail—now take that white,
■ Or, no, stranger, milk that red.
Hey! ’tother side - thar that's the way;
H So, so, bossy, steady now!
H She won’t hook ye, H i just her play—
v* Ye oan’t tind a gentler cow.
■ I gat her from ’Squire Skinner’s Joeh;—
H Oh, yes, milkin’ is prime fun—
Hold on, gnat scotr! I swon, by gosh!
JP Darn it, she’s killed him, sure’s a gun I
[ Oh, say, old fellow, 'raise yer head;
Bg Come now, set up, show yr sense.
■ Ho, sirec, ye ain’t a bit dead—
She just kicked ye o’er the fencer
■ Where are you now? Why in the yard?
H Your hat? say—up that tree;
H Well, yes, she’s (trapped you pooty hard—
■ What was the cause? that beats me.
I What’s that you nsk? Wlwt trade her kick?
■ What madi -hor kick—wall, I swar;
B Yearucst? Why,’twas just the trick
jf O’ milkin’ with a lit cigar 1
THE GYPSY COUNTESS.
Romantic Incident in the Life of Napoioon Boneparte.
BY S. A. SMITH.
Paris was wild with enthusiasm, and
shouts of “Long live the Emperor” came
from eveiw street and lane of the great
city. Applause, congratulations, and
expressions of confidence came to the
great conqueror from all quarters. At
the palace the scene was a brilliant one.
The magnificent dresses of the ladies,
their costly velvets, and flashing jewels,
kthe rich uniforms and court costumes
with gems of the courtiers and
brave Generals of France, then the thou
sand gleaming lights, the gorgeous furni
ture and ornaments, the parade and
pomp of royal etiquette made up a
bright, glowing picture, equal to a fairy
land.
Seated uuder a silken canopy was the
Emperor Napoleon, and at his side
Josephine the Empress, whose quiet yet
regal demeanor would have marked her
anywhere as a distinguished personage,
f Napoleon, with his pale, intellectual
| countenance, his dark, piercing eyes,
and haughty air, looked every inch* the
great General and conqueror. The Em
press, noted for her love and splendor,
was attired in a rich, white silk, thickly
covered with gold embroidery and costly
lace; on her dark, shining hail 1 rested a
coronet of diamonds and a necklace of
the same gems flashed like a river of
light on the white throat. Her mantle
was of imperial purple, relieved by
small, white flowers formed of pearls.
She was surrounded by a bevy of beau
ties whose fresh, young charms far out
shone those of the creole Empress.
After the affairs of court and camp had"
been discussed and the royal pair had
received the congratulations and compli
t ments of those by whom they were so
I greatly admired and revered, Napoleon
I and Josephine retired to the prirhey of
I their own apartments, and then each one
[ gave themselves up to the gayety and
| enjoyments of the hour.
“What say you to a visit to the gypsy
1 camp?” said the young Count St. Aubyn,
one of the handsomest gallants at the
court. “I hear that among the tribe is
a beautiful girl, a sort of Queen, to
whom all pay homage, and this Tara, for
* such is her name, has a wonderful gift of
seeing into the future, can lift the mystic
veil and read a page imm each life for
those whose curiositjPprompts them to
take a peep into the dim beyond. ”
“With aU my heart, say I,” exclaimed
a bejewelled and perfumed exquisite,
who stood near the Count; “I am all
impatient to catch a glimpse of the
gypsy Queen, and to see what the future
has in store.
All the ladies were ready and eager to
accompany the gentlemen on their visit
to the camp, and soon carriage after car
riage, with their gay and lovely occupants,
rolled away over the shaded avenues out
into the beautiful country where the
roving band of gypsies were encamped.
It was a scene for an artist. On all sides
an autumn-hued forest, which the rays
of the declining sun were bathing in a
sea of liquid, golden light. Through
the leafy interstices a picturesque en
. campment of gypsies could be seen at a
little distance. Standing apart from the
other tents was a small one made of
alternate stripes of crimson and white.
It was near a silvery stream, the music
i of whose running waters made a sweet,
low melody. As the party of high-bred
court beauties and gay cavaliers ap
-1 preached the tents, men, women and
children came out and gazed curiously at
fc the elegantly-dressed group.
Approaching a man who seemed to be
the chief, St. Aubyn said, in imperious
tones:
“We want our fortunes told. Bring
the woman hither, for we are not used to
waiting!”
“Indeed,” replied the man, laughing
scornfully, as lie very deliberately sat
down on the mossy ground and took a
child in his an ns, “me-tbinks, my
haughty gentleman, you forget you are
away from court, -where cringing and
fawning is the fashion of the hour. Here
you are in the forests, out in free air,
not more free than we, whom you address
bo loftily. We are not used to such a
manner. Nay, I care not for your frowns;
I am king here and brook no commands.
When you ask in a more fitting way to
see my daughter I may comply with
fyour request,” and, rising, the man was
about to retire, when Blanche Deveigne,
the belle and beauty, the rarest flower
amid all the court exotics, came forward,
and with * smile upon her lovely
countenance and a sparkle of mischief :n
her violet eyes, said, in her well-bred,
silvery tones:
“Monsieur, pardon; but you would
not disappoint so many, especially the
ladies? We are all so impatient to have
our fortunes told by the pretty queen
who is said to have the rare gift of
sooond sight. Surely yonr majesty will
deign to notice my request, made in the
most humble ninnner possible," and the
maiden made a iow, sweeping courtesy
to the dark-browed man before her, who,
fora moment, hardly knew* whether to
be pleased or vexed with the merry girl;
but at length, vanquished by the lovely,
smiling face, and more by the shining
gold piece she slipped into his hand, he
answered:
“Ton think, perhaps, that my child is
nxde, ignorant and coarse; that she is
nothing but a vulgar, wandering vagrant
like her tribe. You are mistaken. She
is fit to mate with the eagle, and she
shall. But you shall seo her,” and
putting a whistle to his lips the man
blew a shrill call. The flowing drapery
of crimson and white at the door of the
tent occupied by the queen was drawn
aside, and at the entrance stood the
slight, girlish figure of Tara; a dark
complexion, but with a vivid blush upon
her cheeks and lips. Her hair was bluish
black, and was braided in massive
braids, falling far below the slender
waist; her eyes were intensely dusk and
full of fire, her teeth white and beautiful.
Her dress was crimson, and around her
waist a sash of crimson and orange: on
her bare neck jujd arms were bauds of
gold, and a small circlet of gold was
bound across lier forehead. In coming
forward, with a light step, she bowed,
but very distantly and somewhat
haughtily, and waited for her visitors to
speak. All, both ladies and gentlemen,
were astonished at the beauty and , ap
parent refinement of the gypsy fortune
teller.
“Will yon oblige us,” said the hand
some St. Aubyn, “by telling our for
tunes? We have come far for that pur
pose, and hope you will not refuse.” And
for once the happy gallant was quite
humble in his demeanor, for the charms
of the girl before him had subdued tlio
anger ho felt at the insolent conduct of
her father.
‘‘l will read the future of those who
wish it. Let one at a time come to my
tent, ask me no question, but listen to
my words and follow niv advice.” The
girl spoke in low, musical tones, standing
gracefully and in a careless attitude be
fore the group. At length, turning, she
entered the tent.
Blanche Deveigne, her costly silkeu
robe trailing over the bright-hued leaves,
and her white hands flashing with gems,
looked the very embodiment of beauty
and patrician birth; yet even sho felt
somewhat awed by tlie imperious manner
of Tara. Entering the tent, she found
the gypsy seated on a pile of crimson
cushions, and as Blanche let the drapery
fall at the entrance, Tara, with one little
hand, motioned tlie court lady to ad
vance. She did bo; and the fortune
teller, taking the snowy, jewelled hand
within her own b’rS’tvn piyUn, examined
the lines very attentively.
“You are fated to see many changes,
and a foreign soil will ed your days.
You will one whom you love.
ript i tnit- ***.4o •
lady, you may avoid all the sorrow that
will come if you will give up your high
station, your riches and luxury, and
marry one who truly loves you but is too
humble for one so haughty as you to
notice. You will meet him soon; marry
him and be happy, or wed the noble and
your life will be full of shadows.”
Ending abruptly, the girl motioned
her visitor away, and Blanche, pale as a
lily, after placing some money in the
hand of Tara, left her presence. To each
one the sibyl predicted coming events,
gave them warning and startled even the
most sceptical by lier wondrous skill.
That night there was great rejoicing in
the encampment, for Tara had received a
large pile of shining gold from those who
had come from the palace.
About a week after tho visit of the
court party to the gypsy Queen, Tara, at
the close of a warm October evening,
was seated in her favorite haunt, near
the silvery stream. Tho moon slowly
rising above the distant hills transmitted
the soft gleam to amethystine mist, the
foliage of the trees looked mottled with
silver, while their shadows lay under
neath in great black patches; now and
then could be heard the sweet notes of
the whip-poor-will and the merry chirp of
crickets. Deeply lost in thought, the
girl noted not the beauty of the night,
nor heard the sound of approaching
footsteps.
“ I must, I will he great, I care not by
what means, but rich and powerful I
will become; my father tells me that my
mother was a lady, the daughter of a
wealthy land owner in the north of Eng
land, that she was well educated but .silly
and romantic; meeting the lr udsome
gypsy lad at a fair she fell in love with
him, ran away from home and in two years
after died in a decline, brought on _ by
exposure and her rude wandering life.
From her I get my refined tastes and
love of ease and luxury. From my
father the art of deceiving and talent for
reading character. My little spy and
helper Antonio is of great service. He,
by going to the servants’hall and pre
tending to read their future, finds out
the secrets of each family, and now will
he come? I have waited long and pa
tiently to gain the desire of my heart; I
must and will be great.” Such were the
thoughts of Tara, and so deeply was she
meditating she had not heard the foot
steps that came softly and rapidly over
the mossy ground, and not until a deep
but musical voice addressed her did she
awaken from her dreamings.
“I wish to see Tara, the gypsy queen;
can you direct me to her?” and looking
np the bright moonlight revealed to the
girl a gentleman, dressed in plain, dark
clothes, with nothing about him denoting
rank or wealth; but underneath his
chapeau gleamed out a pair of keen,
dark eyes, and his face, pale and intel
lectual, was stamped with nobility, while
he had an air as though born to com
mand.
“ Sire, you see before you the humble
personage you deign to seek; command
me, for I am your obedient servant.”
And the wily gypsy knelt humbly at the
feet of Napoleon, for she knew him im
mediately.
Struck' by her great beauty tho Em
peror raised her from the ground, and
with looks of admiration, which were not
lost on the cunning, artful fortune-teller,
he bade her lead the way to her tent, as
he wished his fortune told. He lmd
heard of her wonderful talent at prediet
ing future events, and he wished her to
tell him something of the past, a little
of the present, but more of the future.
An hour passed, and when the Em
peror left the gypsy camp it was with a
lighter step and a smile on his stum
countenance, for in nature
there was much ox superstition, and ho
te . lv hi* oalisTod all that Tara had told
him. She had flattered him by the bright
pictures she drew of the brilliant future,
telling of more victories, more conquests,
and that emperors, kings and princes
would humbly sue for favors at his
hands. Nothing was said of defeat., dis
appointment or sorrow; all was rose
lmed and full of brilliant promise.
One year passed rapidly away. Then
there appeared at. court anew star,
a fresh exotic amid tho bouquet of rare
flowers—one whoso <Jark, rich beauty tar
outshone the cold, stately lily, Blanche
Deveigne. All recognize in Madame,
Countess de Lisle, Tara, the gypsy. All
but tho Empress. She knows tier as the
wife of one of the haughtiest and most
powerful nobles of the empire, and his
romantic meeting with the beauty, love
at first sight, the marriage, sanctioned
by the Emperor, etc.; all these facta
were known; but tlie infatuation of Na
polean for the gypsy Countess, lr s daily
interviews, her predictions, and her in
fluence, these facts were a secret even
from the vain old Count, who fondly
imagined his fair wife was a pattern of
prudence and virtue. One night a
masked bail was given by the Empress.
The costumes were all that wealth
could make them, perfect, and costly in
the highest degree. Among the maskers
the Emperor could be distinguished l>y
his air of haughty reserve, and his favor
ite attitude when standing apart from
the crowd. Hovering near him was a
lady in the garb of a Spanish dancer, the
short, orange-satin skirt, gold-embroid
ered bodice and tiny velvet cap making a
charming costume. While the merri
ment was in the highest a man, wrapped
in a long, dark mantle, and masked,
stole to the side of the monarch, who
stood in an alcove watching the dancers,
and in another moment the flash of a
dagger was seen by the Spanish dancer,
who threw herself between the would-be
assassin and the Emperor. The blade
passed through the rounded am, and
the Countess de Lisle sank fainting at
Napoleon’s feet, while the man who at
tempted the murder was secured. He
proved to be one of the many enemies of
the great conqueror, whom he styled
“tyrant and murderer.” From this time
Tara, the gypsy’s was in the
ascendant, and even Josepliine began to
notice the attentions and favors f]> t were
lavished upon the beantifu ,fmdtesß.
At length the eyes of the old yount were
opened. Under a pretense of failing
health, hi) asked leave to travel, and per
mission was granted. The Countess ac
companied him. When they arrived in
Wales, where even to this day can be
seen ruins of old castles and strongholds
built centuries ago, the Count, who had
property here, left by relatives who lmd
emigrated from La Belle France to this
ragged, hardy, and romantic place, he
confined his guilty spouse in one of the
gloomiest castles, that was situated in an
isolated spot, far away from any other
habitation.
Here day after day the beautiful wo
man languished, seeing only her stern,
unrelenting husband and her keeper.
At length, after two months had passed,
Tara, with a fierce light in her dusky
orbs and a smothered wrath darkening
her fair face, resolved that this tyranny,
as she termed it, should end.
All the long gloomy day she had sat
at the barred window of iier room, her
face pale but determined, until at twilight
her husband entered, telling her this
was his farewell visit, “for,” said he, “I
am about to return to France; soon the
tyrant, the despot, the one who has
wronged me so deeply, will feel my
vengeance. I have concocted a plan
for his death that will not fail of being
achieved, and I shall rid myself of a
dangerous enemy. To-night I leave
Wales. You are to remain here until
my return, and until the death of your
lover, the Emperor, is accomplished;
then, madame, you will retire to a con
vent, there to pass the rest of your days
repenting of your sins.”
Tara answered not a word, put clenched
her little hands together and muttered
softly, “My mind is made up; I will en
dure no longer;” and wlnle the Count
arose to ring lor supper to be brought, his
wife, taking abox of ivory from her bosom,
concealed it beneath her handkerchief,
awaiting'the advent of the evening meal.
When the Count, as was his nightly
custom, drank a glass of mulled wine
prepared by his valet, he did not notice
the slightly bitter taste, but in a few
moments he complained of dizziness and
faintness, and being carried to bed he
became delirious, and before day dawned
was no more.
“He brought if on himself,” said his
wife, as she gazed upon him. “I could
not endure confinement-,-!, who have
always been free as the wild bird, to
pass my remaining days in a convent—
that thougLt made me desperate. ”
When carried to England for trial (fot
Tara was proved guilty of poisoning her
husband) she was sentenced to death;
but, brining her jailer, she escaped to
France, where she once more gained her
former influence over Napoleon. But
when misfortunes came to the conqueror
—defeat, exile and despair—then Tara,
the gypsy, forsook her protector and
friend.
Years passed. In a far-off city, miles
away from the gay French capital, a poor
old woman, wretched, sick and infirm,
wandered about, asking charity of those
who passed her by. Every one noticed
that around her throat was a blood-red
cord, and day after day, as the beggar
woman sat in tho sun holding out her
hand for alms, the oord about her with
ered throat seemed a huge serpent en
wrapping her in its folds.
One day sho was missed from her ac
customed place on the steps of the moss
covered cathedral, and some charitable
person, wandering amid tho haunts ol
vice, found the mysterious woman with
the oord encircling her neck. She was
dying, and her last confession was that
she was once the Countess De Lisle; lmd
murdered her husband, was condemned
to death, bnt escaped, and when, years
afterward, she again visited England, she
was recognized, was arrested, but through
some unknown influenoo, was released,
but was condemned to wear a cord about
hor neck for the remainder of her days.
Thus ended the life of the Gypsy Coun
tess, and Napoleon, once her friend and
protector, died in exilo. Truly, our sins
will find us out.
Who was Bluebeard?
A gentleman who saw the gray, forbid
ding castle of Bluebeard rising above tho
station of Cbumptoce, France, tells who
the frightful hero of the nursery was:
Some reader may ask, “Who was this
rqal, historical Bluebeard?”
T answer that in Brittany he was tho
Sieur Gillcs de Retz, a great feudal lord,
who possessed vast estates and great
power in this neighborhood in the latter
part of the fourteenth and beginning of
the fifteenth centuries, and was, besides,
a marshal of France.
This castle was 1. is stronghold, and he
ruled it And the Loire country around
with a hand of iron aiul a sword of fire.
Gifted in youth with physical strength
and beauty, and an enormous fortune,
he impaired both by all sorts of in
dulgences.
When too lato, with n. defiled and
bloated body, lie found himself lashed
by tho scorpion whip that is always sure
to follow sin.
Instead of growing penitent, he only
became more bloody and relentless.
Seduced by a wicked and cunning
alchemist tobelievo that by bathing in
human blood ho could claim back his
vanished health, beauty, and spirits, he
entrapped children and young persons of
both sexes, murdered them in the dun
geons of the castle with his own hand,
and bathed in their warm blood.
It was believed that more than a hun
dred were thus murdered.
After years of impunity the matter bo
came so notorious and spread so much
fear through the country that tho people
rose in a mass against fiito, made him a
prisoner, and carried him to Nantes.
There he was tried by his suzerain
lord, the Duke of Brittany, and con
demned to lie burnt alive at the stake, a
judgment carried into execution in 1440
on what is now the Chaussee de la Made
leine, on the Glorietto Island, in front of
where the great hospital now stands.
w>-
A Story of a Screw.
A singular accident happened to a
family named Hollsclier, residing on
Pearl street, near Market, a few days
ago. The father died about a week ago,
and was buried at Lone Mountain. On
Saturday morning the mother visited
the cemetery to decorate the grave with
flowers. During her absence the chil
dren were at homo under the care of a
servant girl. A little boy 3 years of
age, in playing about the room, got hold
of a small brass screw which ho pushed
into his nostril. The girl in alarm tried
to get it out, and in doing so pushed it
further in. Then she ran and called
some of the neighbors in, and they, in
trying to get hold of it, pushed it out of
sight. They continued their efforts un
til the screw-head was beyond reach.
The mother was sent for, and after a
night of alarm the child was taken to
Dr. Laine, who, after trying to withdraw
the screw with surgical instruments, put
the little sufferer under the influence of
anesthetics, and cut open the nose to
prospect for the screw. He succeeded
in disfiguring tho child, probably for
life, but failed in the object of his
search, and the child was taken homo to
die, under the belief that the screw was
working up into the brain. It lmgcred
along for three days, • suffering appar
ently only from the cutting of its lace
and nose, and on Tuesday morning
passed the scrow without distress, and
then it occurred to those interested that
the screw, instead of going up into the
brain, had merely followed the air pass
age from the nose to the roof of tho
mouth, and had there been swallowed.
Caster oil effected what the scalpel of
tho surgeon failed in, and the child is
now recovering. —Sun Fruncwco Chron
icle.
Entertaining Company.
I pray you, O excellent wife, not to
cumber yourself and me to get a rich
dinner for this man or this woman, who
has alighted at our gate, nor a bed cham
ber made ready at too great a cost. These
things, if they are curious in, they can
get for a dollar at the viliiage. But let
this stranger see if he will, in your looks,
in your accent and behavior, your heart
and earnestness, your thought and will,
what he cannot buy at any price, at anv
viliiage or city, and which he may well
travel fifty miles, and dine sparingly, and
sleep hard, in order to behold. Certainly
let the board be spread and the bed
Iye dressed for the traveler, but lot not
the emphasis of hospitality be in these
things. Honor to the house where they
are simple to the verge of hardship, so
that the intellect is awake and sees the
laws of the universe, the soul worships
truth and love, honor and courtesy flow
into all deeds.— ll. W. Emerson.
Don’t pick up a child for a fool. He
will ask you some questions that the con
densed wisdom of the world can not
answer.
Telegraphic Blunders.
A gentleman who had gono to the
oountry to find a summer location for his
family telegraphed to his wife. “ Home
to-night," aiul so the wife posted into
the country at once, while the husband
was making his way iu a contrary direc
tion.
Not long sinoo a message eamo to fclio
principal of a business house in this oity
from his traveling agent, who had
reached Philadelphia—“Am at Continen
tal Hotel. Bend some hash by mail. ”
The agent did not intend to reflect on
the food at the hotel, but wanted “ cash ”
sent by mail.
An affectionate uncle was informed by
telegraph : “ Mary is to l>e buried on
Wednesday. Come sure.” Mary, who
lived in Chicago, was his favorite niece,
and, as he had not heard of her illness’
the sad intelligence gave him a severe
shock. Ho dressed himself in deep
mourning, and made a hurried journey
to the west to find a jovial party assem
bled at Mary’s wedding. The wires had
arranged for her to bo “ buried ” instead
of “married.”
Probably tho worst blunder ever made
vac one that occurred in tho case of a
St. Louis merchant, who, while in New
York, received a telegram informing him
that his wife was ill. lie sent a message
to his family doctor, asking the nature
of the sickness and if tliore was any dan
ger, and received promptly the answer:
“No danger. Your wife had a child.
If wo can keep her from having another
to-night she will do well.” The mystifi
cation of the agitated husband was not
removed until a second inquiry revealed
the fact that his indisposed lady had had
a “ chill." —From the Hour.
Miss Mulock’s Romance.
It was “ John Halifax,” published af
ter she was thirty years old, that brought
her fame, and made tho task of earning
her daily bread a little less arduous.
Seven years later she was awarded a
pension of three hundred dollars a year.
Bhe was nearly forty when she married.
In 1805 Capt. George Lillie Craik, nil offi
cer iu the English army, who had been iu
the Crimea, met Miss Mutock, and, al
though some years her junior, addressed
her and succeeded iu winning her hand.
They proved most congenial companions,
and their married life was all they could
wish, with but one exception. The wo
man whose love for children amounted
almost to a passion, who wrote “ Philip,
My King,” was denied tho happiness of
feeling baby fingers upon her cheek or
of ever hearing herself called mother.
This was a severe sorrow, but even this
pain has been partly assuaged. Strangely
enough, one dark, rainy night, while sho
and her husband were speaking of chil
dren and of the joy and brightness they
bring to so many dwellings, there came
a loud ring at the bell ami then a furious
knocking. On opening the door, lying
upon the sill they found a basket en
closed in many wrappings. When they
were removed they discovered a lovely
little baby only a few hours old. The
• fl^erfln "
was pinneS a note begging Mrs. Graik to
be kind to the little waif thus brought to
her door, and assuring her that no mean
blood flowed iu its veins. Tenderly sho
lifted the little thing in hor arms, and
her heart opened as warmly to take in
the poor little deserted creature. They
called the child Dorothea, God-given,
and sho became their legally adopted
daughter, as tenderly cherished and as
passionately loved as though she had
been their own.
Sod Houses.
On the prairies, far from the woods,
where log cabins are impracticable, the
sod house is made as a substitute. To
build one, a man goes on to the prairie
with his team and breaking plow, and
turns a straight smooth sod some three or
four inches thick. This sod is very tough.
When sufficient lias been turned over
the sod is cut into squares and laid up iu
a wall as though it were flat stones. Door
frames and window frames are set in as
the wall rises. When the height of one
story is reached a small timber is. set up
at each end, and a ridge-pole placed upon
them, and the sod wall built up or into
this gable. On this ridge there rest smaller
poles for rafters, and <m these sod is laid
in courses, the courses overlapping each
other like shingles, “so many inches to
the weather.” The only money outlay
is caused by windows and doors. Jf well
built, the house will stand for years.
Inside one may “sweeten to taste.” In
the ruder huts the walls are left uncov
ered. fn others some are covered with
cheap doth, some with building paper
anil wall paper pasted over it, while some
[ire plastered and made as comfortable as
any room need to bo. Once inside, you
would not know but you were in a stone
or brick house. Tli -n you will some
times find elegant furniture, the remains
of better days, sometimes a piano and
tliij skill to play it; choice books, which
indicate literary tastes; the latest pa
pers and magazines, which show that the
inmates keep up with the times. Indeed,
it is surprising to know how many families
of refinement and cultured taste, being
unfortunate, make a fresh start iu life on
the vast prairies.
Have the Itrain.
Do not overtax the brain. No man
should do more work of muscle or of
brain in a day than he can perfectly re
cover from the fatigue of in a good
night's rest. Up to that point, exercise
is good ; beyond are waste of life, ex
haustion and d'-cay. When hunger calls
for f<ssl, and fatigue demands rest, we
are in the natural order, and keep the
balance of life. When we take stimu
lants to spur our jaded nerves or excite
an appetite, we are wasting life. There
is wrong and mischief in ull waste of
life. A man should live so as to keep
himself at his best, and with a true econ
omy. To eat more food than is needful
is. worse policy than tossing money into
the sea. It is a waste of labor and a
waste of life.