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Miriam rapidly placed more covering on the
child.
‘Perspiration!’ she cried, exultlnglv, 'that is a
good sign!’ '
Jnst then, the grave-digger’s wife entered the
room. She was exceedingly astonished to see
Miriam, but did not dare to reproach her. She
only said:
‘The child felt so warm that I removed the
covering.’
*.That was not wise.’ said the mother; ‘the per
spiration must not be oheoked.’ Then she
crouched down beside the bed, feeling as if now
everything must end well;
An hour later, a carriage stopped before the
house. A stranger alighted; it was the doctor
from the castle.
He looked at the child, felt its pulse and then
carefully covered it up again. Then he asked
the woman for the causes and the symptom* of
the fever.
‘There was great danger,’ he said, when he
had heard all; ‘it is over now. It was very for
tunate that you immediately recognized the
signs of perspiration and carefully covered bp
the child.’
Miriam's eyes shone.
VAnd if that had not been done?'she returned.
The physician looked at her in surprise,
‘What a strange question.’
‘Answer!’ cried she, ‘I pray you answerr
‘Well,’ returned he, without taking thought,
'then the child would have certainly, or at letf t,
in all probability, have died.’
‘God, I thank thee!' cried Miriam. And with
proudly beaming eyes she turned to her neigh-
‘Now will you assert that I am accursed of
God, I, for whom He has just worked such a mi
racle ? Was it not a miracle that those good peo
ple who brought me home were at the inn just
as I come there ? Yes, a miracle, for else my
child would have been lost.’
The child recovered.
And the people of Barnow ? Had they sus
pected that it was only love, the fervent love of
a mother, that had conquered hate by its heal
ing and saving power, they would probably
have contin ued to bear ill-will against the wid
ow and her child. But here, obviously, a ‘mira
cle of God’ had caused. And a miracle that
God himself performs, that alone is mightier
than—an ordinance of the ‘wonder-working
Rabbi.’
DOSIA
THE TAMING OF A GIRL.
BY IIENH.T GBLTILLi.
Translated from the French, 'or the
"Sunny South,”
BY FBOr. OHAS. V. CAIMAEB,
XII.
The Princess proposed to return to the park.
The ladies who had come from Saint Petersburg
were escorted to the railroad station, and the four
other promenaders went under the large lindens
that have such a sweet fragrance during July and
whose shade is so much sought after.
Plato was walking a few steps in advance with
Dosia, who tried to keep as far as possible from
her cousin, whom, for the time being, she detested
cordially. t>
‘Mademoiselle Theodosie,’ said the young Cap
tain, ‘how do you like our Tsarskoe ?’
‘Charming,’ answered the young girl, ‘but if
you dont want me to change my opinion doit call
me Theodosie. I am not to blame that they gave
me such an ugly name when they baptised me.’
‘But it is net an ugly name.’
‘It is the name of so many chambermaids. I
can’t help it, so call me Dosia.’
‘Well, Mademoiselle Dosia, do you enjoy your
self here ?’
She hesitated a moment.
‘Yes,’ she answered at last, ‘that is—no—decid
edly no. There is not enough liberty here.’
‘And you said you like to go into the world; it
is worse there yet.’
‘Do you think so? But .there are compensa
tions ?’
‘Very few; you will see it yourself. But I am
wrong to take away your illusions, you will lose
them soon enough when the time comes.’
‘That is what my English governess used to tell
me. You know that I have had an English gov
erness.’
‘No, I did not. What was that governess telling
you?’
‘My dear Miss Bucky ! I have never seen any
thing more funny. Think of it, Monsieur Plato,
a long pole, dry, angular, with new dresses that
looked old. hair which she forced to curl and that
immediately resumed a vertical position, long red
ears ornamented with immense lava ear-rings, and
long white teeth, even longer than her earrings.
Dear Miss Bucky, how I did love her 1’
‘How long ?’
‘Two summers. Mother took her only dnriDg
summer time, so that we could learn English; but
as Miss Bucky’s idea was only to learn French
I had to become her teacher myself in the oourt
language.’
‘Did she progress ?’
•Considerably!’ answered Dosia,'^laughing.
‘What did she specially learn ?'
‘A few songs which my French governess had
left me. Lc Petit Chaperon Rouge, Mailre Corbeau
and Le Petit Oiseau. But I had changed the airs.
Tou ought to hear her sing them. Such a ftinny
way she had.’
•I see what Miss Bucky has learned at your
house, but I do not see what she taught you.’
‘Oh! many things. The ballad of Old Robin
Gray, the art of making landscape with a brush
and some pulverized black lead. You know the
black dust is first spread all over the paper,
then it is rubbed off to make light and shade.
‘What else did she teach you ?’
’Morals, philosophy and English synonyms.
That’s all.’ . .
‘It is something,’ said Plato, trying to_ keep
serious. ‘What did you learn from yonr French
rSTSL one was a revolutionist. She tanght
me history, embroidery, Victor Hugo’s poems, ana
the immortal principles of 1789. Th °?. e I un er j
stood at a glance. We have I
That was splendid. I dreamed cf
■ red cap and
shed tears. _ , T ..
nothing then but goddess of Liberty,
revolution. She was perfect too at> making; pres
erves and starching linen. But she didnotstay
long; mother said that she was making me too in
dependent.’
‘How is that ?’ . . , v a _
‘You see, according to onr principles, when
mother forbade me to do something without
explaining the why and wherefore, I did,
course, what she had forbidden.
of
Hence iatermin-
‘What did your governess say on such occwnons
‘She said that I ought to obey mother, that chil
dren thust obey their parents and goveroesa. Ifl
rebelled, she punished me. That ma<k me think
that there were principles and P n “°' p ’ bett , r
that are good for the rulers and some thatarabet er
for those that are ruled, and I came to the eon
elusion that when I conld be among the rulers it
would be a great deal more pleasant for me.’
‘Very good !’ said Plato.
‘Sines then I never could like theories. They
do very on paper but when yon oome to practice
there’s no use; if you have a rebel pupil you must
punish her, in spite of the immortal principles and
other big words.’
‘Bravo 1’ exclaimed Plato, ‘this is a practical
reasoning. How long did your revolutionist stay
with you ?’
‘Only two years, and I regretted her very much.
She was certainly the best of onr governesses; so
kind when she was not dreaming of her theories.
I think she was a little, ’ Dosia touched her
forehead with her finger. ‘But,’ she continued,
‘she had an excellent heart, an unbounded charity.
She used to give everything to poor peasants who
didn't belong to her country and surely did not
care for her immortal principles. I loved her a
great deal more than I did the Herman governess
who came next.’
Count Sourof was greatly amused at her pratt
ling. He looked behind and saw his sister and
Pierre following them and speaking with anima
tion. He then turned back to Dosia, who looked
medit .tire, and asked her :
‘What are you thinking about ?’
‘I am thinking of my German governess; she
was so funny with her large mouth always full of
nice sentences, instead of the teeth that were miss
ing : Wallenstein, Die Roeber, Ich habe genossen das
trdische Gluck; she quoted all. She made me play
Schuman’s pieces for four hands—which annoyed
me terribly.— Wheft time came to settle with
mother, that German governess show herself a
real Shylock. But what nice words, what sublime
thoughts, thoughts that oome from the heart—
the stars and etherean immensity, angels taking
souls away, disillusions and disappointments,
ideal of duty, disinterestedness, abnegation of the
myself, the meeting in a better life, the lotus on
the river Gauge—pah !’
I understand,’ said Plato, ‘you have a limpid
ity of speech that does not leave any room for
mistake.’
Dosia looked at him a moment, uncertain how
she ought to take the raillery, but soon smiled and
said :
‘The best of all was my Russian governess ; but
I had her only three days. She wore short hair
and blue spectacles, and was a nihilist. When
mother saw on the table of the classs-reom Force
et Mature, you know, she told her softly, with her
worn-out voice :
‘ 'Mademoiselle, you may pack np your trunk.’
And the blue spectacles disappeared for ever from
our horizon.’
‘I see that your education has been very much
mixed up,’ said Plato, with a tint of pity for that
bright intellect so badly cultivated.
‘Yes, but I made something by it. I learned how
to judge of things.’
Such a conclusion seemed so strange to the
Captain that he burst in a laugh, and sit down or
rather fell on a bench. Dosia joined her hands
behind her and putting her head on one side,
looked at her hilarious companion.
Pierre and Sophie came then , ready to join in
the laughing. Mourief did not need any explana
tion; the countenance of his cousin seemed to him
sufficiently eloquent.
‘Dosia has said some nonsense, at last,’ he said,
I have been looking for that ever since this morn
ing.’
Dosia’s retort burst out like the firing of a pistol.
‘Nobody ever waited so long for yours !’
‘Bravo !’ exclaimed Plato when he was able to
quit laughing, ‘You are sold. Pierre.’
The latter was gravely bowing, hat in hand.
‘I found my match,’ said he to Dosia. ‘Highly
respected cousin, from this moment I surrender.
I cannot compete with you.’
‘It is right!’ she said with the gravity of a
queen, ‘this conduct shows that my cousin has a
salutary fear, which is the beginning cf wisdom.’
XIV.
They were near the lake, and the moon was
shining brilliantly over the water.
’What a beautiful night!’ said the Princess, sit
ting down by her brother.
‘A night made for lovers,’ answered Plato; ‘we
unbelievers, ought to remain at home. We are not
deserving of such weather.’
He was looking at Dosia to see the effect of his
words upon her mind, but the young girl seemed
absorbed in the contemplation of the spots on the
queen of the night.
‘Ah ! for the time,’ she sighed, ‘when I believed
in the man in the moon !’
‘How old was you, then ?’
‘Nine.’
They laughed again, bnt Dosia continued :
‘Yes, it was when father taught me how to ride
on his beautiful Negro, which he had brought from
Caucasius, a horse that used to belong to a Geor
gian princess, and could pick up a handkerchief
from the ground, while at a full gallop. A nice
and good horse ! I never have been happier than
then. Pa and I used to ride at night, and
we looked at the moon. Pa said there was a door
somewhere, and that from time to time the man
in the moon opened it to watch what little girls
were doing. Dear me! how often did I fall on my
hands and knees while I was looking so high 1’
‘Many have fallen like you,’ said Plato, almost
to himself.
Dosia looked at him; her childish face seemed
completely changed when she said gravely;
‘It is beautiful for one to fall while looking to
to heavens.’
Plato, surprised, looked at her, and to him she
seemed transfigured.
‘Do you believe it ?’ he asked without raising his
voice,
His sister was explaining to Mourief a very
complicated machine to thrash wheat.
‘Father told me so, and I have always believed
all that my father said. He a hnndred times repeat
ed to me not to be discouraged by obstacles, never
entertain any vulgar thought, but always look
higher.’
‘Your father was a good man,’ said Plato.
Dosia took the young man’s hand and pressed it
warmly in thanks for his words.
They remained silent for a while.
‘I very seldom speak of my father,’ continued
the young girl, ‘at home, it makes mother cry;
my sisters dont like it, because I was his favorite
child.’
‘We will speak of him as much as you desire,’
answered Plato. ‘I shall be happy to know a noble
soul by the marks he has left in his child’s mem
ory.’
They continue the conversation in that tone.
During this time, Pierre was the happiest of
men. Seated by the Princess, he was listening to
the description of the machinery of the farm, and
the number, size and shape of every screw or bolt
seemed to have for him an extraordinary import
ance. He was full of admiration for the fortunate
wheels that enjoyed the happiness of performing
their duty under the Princess’ eyes, when she
visited her farms, and the thought that Bhe would
soon leave for an excursion of that sort came to
mar his contentment.
‘When will you leave ?’ he asked in the middle
of the description of a patented system of ventila-
tion.
‘In five days. I will bring yotir cousin back
home, and then leave. ’
‘For a long time?’ asked Pierre, sadly.
‘For one month.’
‘One month ! great heavens! what will I do dar
ing that time ?’
‘What was yon doing before ?’ asked the Prin
cess, smiling.
‘At that time,’ answered Pierre, ‘I did not know
you; I was good for nothing.’
‘1 will leave you some books.’
The Princess’ voice was very low. They kept
silent for a while, then Sophie said :
‘Gentlemen, let ns go, it is late.’
The young officers escorted the ladies home,
took a cup of tea and left for the camp.
On the way, Pierre said to his friend .
‘Your sister is admirable ! I have never seen a
lady so sensible, so practical and so kind.’
‘There is only one Sophie in the world, as there
is only one Dosia Zaptine,’ answered Plate, smil
ing.
A few days later, the Princess’ carriage stopped
in front of the same piazza where Pierre had
brought back his cousin to her anxious family.
The same family—calm this time—welcomed the
Princess, who soon found herself seated at the table
for tea.
‘Did she give you much trouble ?’ timidly aske p.
the good Madame Zaptine.
,Not the least, madame,’ answered Sophie.
A blush of pleasure tinted Dosia’s cheek.
‘Is it possible! Here we dont know what to do
with her.’
Dosia blushed again, but contentment disap
peared from her face, and she kept silent.
‘I believe,’ said Sophie, softly, ‘that the system
you have followed for her education did not exact
ly suit her disposition.’
Madame Zaptine raised her eyes and hands.
‘I did not follow any system,’ she said sadly,
am not to be blamed on that ground.'
‘Precisely,’ replied Sophie, ‘I think that a good
system, well appropriated to her disposition—
‘My husband was against all systems. He had
begun this child's education, would to God he
could have achieved it!’ said Madame Zaptine,
putting her handkerchief to her eyes.
The Princess understood that all she could say
would be useless, so she determined to try another
way.
‘I leave to-morrow,’ she said; ‘we are told that
night is a good adviser, so think of the proposi
tion I am going to offer you, and give me an
answer in the morning. Are you willing to let
me have Dosia for this winter? I will take care
of her until you come, as usual, to spend three
months in Saint Petersburg. Then you can intro
duce her into society.’
Dosia jumped from her chair—not without caus
ing it to fall—and threw her arms around Sophie’s
neck with such a vehemence that a number of
cups of tea were spilled all over the table.
All her sisters uttered an exclamation of indig
nation.
■You see, Princess,’ said Madame Zaptine, pit
eously.
Sophie aughed.
‘This is nothing,’ she said, ‘we will change all
that. I do not pretend that I could be a model
mother of a family, but ’
‘Neither do I,’ interrupted Madame Zaptine.
‘But,’ resumed the Princess, ‘I feel assured that
Dosia would improve a great deal if you give her
to me. She has been six days at my house and
she did not break nor spill anythiug while there.’
‘I suppose the atmosphere of this house is what
inspires her,’ put in the elder sister.
Dosia was the beauty of the family, and conseq
uently not much loved by her marriageable sisters.
She opened her mouth to answer, but Sophie put
her finger on her lips, at the same time looking
at her, and she kept silent. She only smiled and
put out a small bit of her tongue in defiance to her
sisters, as soon as the Princess turned her head.
(to be continued.)
GORDON ELLIOT;
Dangers outlie Railway
BY BATCUFTB.
Gordon Elliot was the son of a widow. Hers
was the sad tale so often heard within the last
ten years -widowed and impoverished by the
war. Gordon’s heart was wrung and his obival-
rous spirit aronsed by the privations endured wuo v
by his mother, sisters and baby brother. His ) unselfishness,
father had placed them on a small farm bought I ‘Miss Biar done sen you some things, Miss
near the end of the war, and in the very last i he said, and handed her the basket with
‘Oh ! mother, what nonsense, ! yon will be so
bnsy and it wonld only interrupt yon. Besides,
what wonld the other “hands” say to my yell
ing out every time I passed here ?’
‘Never mind what they think my boy, you
think of yonr mother. I will know then that
yon are alive. Your sister or I will always wave
to you. God bless you, my son.’
So Gordon worked or the railroad and always
waved his cap and cheered as he went by in the
day and gave a shrill whistle as he passed at
night, to which his mother listened with a fer
vent ‘Thank God,’ whether in her bnsy school
or on her restless pillow.
After some months Gordon begged his mother
to give him her written permission to take the
permanent place of first brakesman by which
his pay wonld be iuoreased, and he conld then
add many comforts to the home he prized more
highly now, it was so seldom enjoyed. The
dreaded second payment hae been made, so
Mrs. Elliot begged he wonld remain where ha
was lest another position might be more danger
ous. But Gordon’s argument and entreatiets
prevailed; two more payments were to be made
and the yonnger children to be ednoated. She
signed the permit as the guardian of her sen.
She did not know the pay was in proportion to
the danger.
The last day of the month the cars stopped
but a few moments in front of Mrs. Elliot’s
house, Gordon’s merry call was answered by
the whole family running oat to meet him.
‘I have not time to stop this morning’ he cried
•but you will all hear from me to-morrow, for
I draw my pay this evening. We won’t be down
before two o’clock to-night, so I will leave the
packages with Mike at the tank. Every one of
you shall hear from my big pay. Good-bye’—
and the cars moved off. Little Edward burst
into tears and sobbed out; ‘Gordie, did’nt tell
me good-bye—he did’nt say nothing to me.’
The mother raised the little fellow in her arms
and called to Gordon to speak to him. The
tears were stopped in a moment by the whoop
that followed and by the kisses that were thrown
to him.
That evening Gordon drew his pay. The
usual sum for the debt on the farm was laid aside
a package of sugar for bis mother was bought,
then simple, inexpensive piesents for eaoh one;
a ruff for one sister, a neck-tie for another; a
cheap knife for one brother a cravat for the
other; a bright head-handkeroheif for his old
•mammy’ and a dollar set of enff-bnttons and
stnds for little Eddie, who wanted to button his
shirt like Gordie’s. He wrote a note to his
mother fall of tender devotion and promises to
make her one day very rich when he should
become a great engineer like his hero, Steven
son; one to the sisters full of castles in the air;
one to the little brother fall of big words, such as
catastrophe beginning with the picture of a cat,
dogmatic with a dog These notes were put
in his vest pocket ready to be banded to the old
negro Mike at the tank. With a light step and
a happy heart Gordon went to his post of duty;
no presentiment of evil overshadowed him;
those sad presages so frequent before great calam
ities did not for a moment cloud the sunshine
of his gladness. Happy thoughts filled his mind
as he sped on through the darkness. The shrill
whistle of the engine did not still the song whioh
lightened his lonely labors. With a merry laugh
and a gay jest he roused the sleepy officials
along the way. Under the dense shadows of the
Bine Ridge his dnty called him to attend to the
machinery of the front carriage. He lifted the
lantern and bent over to see the working of the
wheels. A sudden jar from a small impedi
ment on the track dashed the lantern from his
oareless grasp. He tried to catch it but lost his
balance—he saw his happy little home—then all
was dark—life was crushed out of the mangled
body.
A half hour after as the train thundered by
the mother held a lamp at the window and the
sister waved a handkerchief in the bright light,
but no voice answered from the train.
‘Gordie did not come down to-night,’ said
Mrs. Elliott, and smiled to think of the quiet
sleep he was enjoying.
On ! quiet indeed.
Early next morning a little negro boy oame to
Mrs. Elliott’s with a basket ot fruit and vegeta
bles, sent by the wife of the conduotor who lived
not far off. Gordon had endeared himself to all
who worked with him by his cheerfulness and
Confronted by His Nine Wives.
At the opening of the Coart of General Ses
sions yesterday nine of.the wives of Adolph Hoff
man, alias Adolph Hnsman, were sitting in the
compartment reserved for witnesses in the rear
of the rooms. It was noticed that they were all
well dressed.
‘Adolph Hoffman to the bar?’ said Assistant
District-Attorney Rollings. This order caused
some excitement in the compartment where the
wives were seated. They crowded as near as
possible to the aisle. The prisoner walked out,
neatly dressed and wearing on his finger the
sparkling ring which it is said assisted him so
materially in his conrtships. When he turned
the angle he looked at the bar; but as he ap
proached the witness-stand his eyes fell on his
nine wives. He trembled and came to a sudden
halt. ‘Go on!’ shouted the Court officer who
was at his side.
‘My God,’ he said, ‘look ahead. It’s all np
with me, now.’ He prepared to go forward and
had just taken two steps when he was seized
upon by one of his wives. Her fingers clutched
his hair and she pulled it viciously. ‘Give it to
him,’ the uther eight shouted out in chorus.
Two of them reached out for his ears and palled
them and the others ponnded him. For a while
no attempt was made to rescue Hoffman from
his wives. Roars of laughter came from all parts
ot the room- Finally one of the court officers
interfered, and after much difficulty, daring
which he received some of the blows intended
for Hoffman, rescued him from the wives.
‘You are indicted for obtaining money under
false pretenses?’ said Clerk Hall. ‘Are you
guilty or not gnilty?’
‘Guilty,’ answered the prisoner.
‘You are indicted for bigamy,’ continued Mr.
Hall- ‘Are you guilty or not guilty?’
‘Guilty!’ said the prisoner, and turning to his
counsel, he inquired, ‘Is that all?’ Assistant Dis
trict-Attorney Rollings then moved that the
prisoner be remanded. The motion was
granted, and on the application of Hoffman two
officers were detailed to accompany him to the
prisoners’ box to prevent another attack from
his wives. It is said that Hoffman’s operations
were net confined to New York. From what the
detective, who has investigated the case has
learned, it is believed that he was successful in
Philadelphia, Washington, Baltimore and Bos
ton. Yesterday Max Eller, a lawyer of No. 35
Pine street, called at the District-Attorney’s
offioe and said that a lady who was a client of
his was one of those to whom Hoffman had paid
attentions. One evenning about a month ago
Hoffman paid her a visit. They were in the
parlor for some time, and then the lady went to
an adjoining room. Daring her absence Hoff
man disappeared, carrying with him a pocket-
book containing some money and a silk um
brella. She never saw him afterwards.—N, T,
World.
Modern Greek Men and Women.
battle he lost his life. The poor lady thought
the little piece of land wonld always be a home
for her children and she straggled to keep
his shaking right hand and looked at her pity
ingly with eyes distended with horror. He
held his left hand behind him. So great was
it. Her fair hands were pnt to all menial work; j * he excitement over the basket that no one no-,
her daughters were taught all work a woman ! the boy. t., • , . ,
conld perform, and her sons cheerfully followed How kmd Mrs. Blair always is, said Mrs. El-
the plough. One payment was made, and the Lot, while the children pressed upon her to see
next drew on apace. All the labors and econo
my of the family scarce sufficed to feed them;
what was to be done ? While the tired mother
taught the children at night she plied her
needle for scanty pay. The older sister kept
the clothes of the others in order. If the sec
ond payment was not made the home must be
sold and the money already paid, be lost. The
lady’s fair brow became more corroded in spite
of her ready smile. Gordon felt he must do
something; the older brother conld manage the
farm; he must put his hand to some work which
wonld bring ready money. He came to his
mother and told her of his pnrpose.
‘No, Gordie,’ she said, ‘you are too young to
go out into the world yet, mother can keep her
little flock together awhile longer. Public
schools are to be established throughout the
country and I have the promise of the one for
this district The Superintendent has just left
Thank God, he came before I had consented to
your going.’
So Gordon stayed awile longer. His mother
added to the oares of her honsehold the teach
ing of thirty ohildren of various ages and dif
ferent attainments. Still every economy was
to be practiced for that terrible debt hnng over
them. The ohildren were to be tanght in the
day so the house work must be done by night
Gordon could stand it no longer. Again he
sought a private talk with his mother.
Mother,’ said he, ‘I have never disobeyed
yon.’
No, my Bon, yon have been a blessing to me
from yonr cradle.’
'But I mnst leave yon now; do not forbid me.
I have already taken the plaoe of brakesman on
the railroad.'
You, my son, yon a breaksman on the rail
road ?’
'Yes, mother the pay is sure and pretty good,
and I get my board besides; so I oan turn over
to yon every cent I make until March and that
will be enough to meet your debt I have clothes
enough for the present and you will have one
less to provide for at home. I eat lots of sugar
and butter. I will be very near yon and will
see yon often. There is the railroad jnst at onr
door, the tank is not a hnndred yards off; we
will all have a jolly time when we stop to water.’
The widow hesitated: 'Gordie, it is such
dangerous employment’
‘Pshaw I mamma, everything is dangerous.
Don’t yon remember the man in the Bible, who
ran from a lion into his house, placed his hand
on the wall and a soorpion bit him?’
I have always had snoh a horrible; presenti
ment abont a railroad aocident’
‘I, have a strong presentiment if I stay at
home, a horse will kick me in the head—if I
don’t starve first—or break my heart seeing yon
work so hard, my poor, dear mother. I must go,
mother,I have promised.’
‘Weil Gordie,’ sighed the mother, 'will yon
call to me every time yon pass, night or day.’
I what was in the basket. Sophy, the eldest,
gave way to the little ones and so nad an oppor
tunity to observe the peculiar looks of the boy.
Seeing her notice him, he drew from behind
him a pocket-book, handing it to her he said:
‘Ain’t this Mas’ Gordie’s pocket-book ? I pick
it up on de rail-road.’
Sophy handed it to her mother who opened it
and saw the photographs of herself, her husband
and several young ladies, friends of Gordon.
‘Yes, it is: how glad he will be when he comes
up to know we have found it. How strange it
should have been dropped just here.’
She was about to look for a small coin to re
ward the boy when he slowly drew forward his
other hand, saying:
‘I’se fraid he's dead. Ain’t this pieoe of his
vestcoat?’ He held before her the torn bloody
half of a vest which she at once knew to be his.
‘Oh! my boy, my boy is killed,’ she oried.
Sophy seized the vest, thrnst her hands into
the pocket and drew out the notes addressed,
with many a gay flourish to those to whom they
were meant to gladden. He might be wounded,
not dead, no not dead. She seized her hat and
sped along the rail-road. There lay his hat by
the side of the way; then a torn caff with the
button still in it marked E. which she had knit
socks enough to bay for him last Christmas.
Her heart died within her but she slackened not
her pace until she neared the depot and saw the
conductor and others with sorrowful looks scan
ning the track in front of the np-train jnst ar
rived. Then she knew he had been missed and
they were looking for the remains of her, so
lately bright and happy brother. She sank
fainting on the way. She was tenderly cared
for by the hard-handed men and carried back to
her desolate mother.
How hard to say, ‘Thy will be done,’ bnt the
Christian triumphed over the mother. There
were others still to live tor. So she bravely lives
on with her sorrows buried deep in her heart
and makes life as happy as possible to others.
Men as Lore Makers.
Men are never so awkard, never so ungrace
ful, never so disagreeable, as when they are
making love. A friend is a luxury, a husband,
ditto, I suppose; bnt that intermittent olass of
beingB denominated ‘lovers,’ are terrible bores,
it does very well for a*woman to blnsh and look
flustered now and then, when occasions make
it desirable; but to see a man with a face as red
as a ripe cherry, and a real paroel of strong-
mindedness, self-reliance and masonline digni
ty, done np in broad-oloth and starched linen,
quaking from the top of his shirt oollar, his
month dry, and his tongue twisted into convul
sions in the vain attempt to say something sweet
—O gracious !—Kate.
Judging from the papers there seems a lull in
(he shooting and murdering business.
Much has been said In praise of Grecian
beauty, and the men are handsome in every
sense of the word; we might well imagine them
to have been the models of Phidias and Praxite
les. Their large eyes, black as jet, sparkle with
glances of fire, whilst the long silky eyelashes
soften the expression and give a dreamy ap
pearance of melancholy. Their teeth are small,
white and well set; a fine, regular profile, a pale
olive complexion, and a tall, elegant figure, re
alize an accomplished type of distinction.
As to the women, they seem to have left phys
ical perfection to the men; some possess fine
eyes and hair, but as a rale they have bad fig
ures, and some defect in the face generally spoils
the good features. It is among them, however,
that the old Oriental customs are most strictly
preserved; whilst the men are gradually under
going the process of civilization, they in a moral
poins of view remain stationary, and are just as
they were fifty years ago. li may indeed be
said that, with the exception of Athens, the wo
men possess no individual existence, and coant
as nothing in society; the men have reserved
every privilege for themselves, leaving to their
helpmates the care of the house and family. In
the towns, where servants are kept, they are the
poorest class of peasants, who know nothing and
receive miserable wages. The families are gen
erally large—seven or eight little children de
mand a mother's constant attention.
The morning begins by directing the work of
each servant, repeatingthesamethingahundred
times, scolding, screaming, even beating them
to be understood. In the evening, when the
children are sleeping, if there remain some little
time, the poor, worn-out mother sits down to
her spinning-wheel to spin silk, to sew or knit,
or, if it be summer time, to look after her silk
worms and cocoons, happy if she has not to do
the work of her incompetent servants over again.
Such days leave little time for pleasure or in
struction of their children; indeed, they never
think of that. The children are left completely
to themselves, rnnning over the house in a
state of nature, wallowing in the mud, among
the stones, or in the water, not fearing the hot
rays of the sun, and soon learning to walk with
out leading strings.
Everything grows under the favoring sky of
Greece, like the thistle-down which the wind
carries away and sows on its passage, to bnrst
forth in the sun’s rays. Happy for the mother
when her young ones reaoh the age of seven;
they are then sent to the parish school, which
is now established in every town and village.
It might well be imagined that some women
would absolutely refuse such an existence, but
not one seems to harbor the thought. They
have always a sad air of resignation, as if their
eyes were fixed on an ideal after whioh they
dreamed and wept; but at their first words it is
apparent that all feeling is dead within them,
under the influence of long continued
habit
There is neither comfort, affection, nor any
thing like happiness in the home; and yet the
only aim of the young girls is to be married.
Such a thing as an old maid cannot be found.
Illusion soon vanishes after marriage; bnt they
learn to live as their mothers did—for their hus
bands, their children, or the riches of the house
—leading a hard, monotonous existence, bnt
free from all blame. The grandmothers are the
only persons who can rest; they live in their
son-in-law's house, and eat, chatter, or frighten
their grandchildren with oomio grimaces and
remonstrances, counting one by one the per-
furued balls of the comboli or ehaplet, whioh is _
carried by both Tarks and Greeks for a distrao- '
tion. Their presence is accepted with indiffer
ence as a dnty, and when they die the tranquil
philosophy of the national character soon con
soles the mourners.—Exchange.
A TERRIBLE TORNADO.
A tornado visited Miohigan on the twentieth,
carrying death and destrnction in its path. It
was proceeded by a sadden darkness, a death
like stillness and a close atmosphere difficult to
respire. The frightened people took refuge in
their oellars. The storm descended with awful
power. Every structure in the town of Chip-
S ewa was swept away. Many people were hurt,
ut only one was killed, as the cellars afforded
protection. Heavy logs were whirled like straws
for miles throngh the air. At Greenville, the
Baptist church was blown down, killing Mich
ael Tigh, a workman. Many buildings werede-
molished at Pentwater, and Mrs Gnffin crushed
to pieces. The meeting of two storms caused^
the tornado.