Newspaper Page Text
VOL. I.
The Useless One,
Torts should not reason;
Let them sing!
Argument Is treason—
Hells should ring.
Statements none, nor questions
Gnomic words,
Spirit-cries, suggestions,
Like the Birds.
lie may use deduction
Who must preach;
He may praise instructio
Who must teach;
But the poet duly
Sills his part
When the song burs
From his heart.
For no purpose springing
For no pelf;
He. must do the singing
For itself.
Not in lines austerely
Let him build;
Not. the surface merel
Let him gild.
Fearless, uninvited.
Like a spring.
Opal-words, iulighted,
Let him ting.
As the leaf grows sunwart
Song must grow;
As the stream flows onwar
Song must flow.
Useless? Ay—for measure;
Boses die,
2!ut their breath gives pleasure—
God knows why!
- John Hoyle O'Reilly.
THE LUCKY CAKE. j
|
!
There was bustie and preparation in | j
the farm house at "Oak JLil.
Mary Chester, the farmer's eldest j
daughter, was to bo married, and a
wedding did not take place at Oak Hill
every day.
Indeed, the last one had happened
twenty years ago, and that being tho J
wedding of Mr. aud Mrs. Chester,
neither Mary nor her younger sister j
Kate could bo expected to remember ;
much about it. ;
“No; weddin’s don’t come along |
everyday—the more’s the blcssin’. Au’ I
I’m goin' ter see ter it my own self,
that this one’s what it hed ougliter bo—
lucky cake an’ all. No knowin’ who
that cake might affect. An’ cf I do
say it, as hadn’t ougliter, I defy cuuy
one ter beat me on that,” said Aunt
Hetty Blake, Mrs. Chester’s maiden
sister, as she took her post in the
kitchen, and valiantly refused to leave
it.
To tell the truth, no one tried very
hard to persuade her to do so.
It was a pet superstition in tho city,
that a certain kind of cake, compounded
by a certain recipe, would surely infiu-
enee the destiny of one, at least, of the
family or invited guests, and while all
of Aunt Hetty’s cooking was excellent,
her lucky cake was always as perfect as
could be, although she had never had
any use for any herself.
Bo, while the wintry air without was
filled with feathery snow-flakes, and
the cold, north wind sighed through
the leafless branches of the great oaks
around the house, within the great
kitchen tho air was fragrant with the
steam of viands, which surpassed eveu
Mrs. Chester’s far-famc-l Thanksgiving
feats.
“’Pears like you waru’t much good
hero, Mary,” cried Aunt Hetty, with a
nervous laugh. “An yer ain’t ter blame
-
a bit, child. Amos is ar likely a feller
as the sun shines on, an’ a gal don t go
ter her own weddin’ so often as ter go;
used to it, I reckiu. So we’ll excuse
r e fer bein’ dreamy-like; but I guess
f e’d better go an’help your mi about
ratting things to rights. Kate an’ me
kin manage here, with 8,:ry Ann’s help.
Tain’t good fer a bride ter see her cake
afore she’s married, much less ter help
make it; an’ jest now l’m goin’ about
;hst lucky cake, so
“Oh, I’ll go, aunty,” answered Mary,
hastily, as she espied a manly form
coming down the road,and remembered
(hat the parlor had not beau inspected,
“Only be very careful about that cake;
for, as there are no invited guests, it is
lure to oring good luck to you,or Sarah
Ann, or Kate.”
“Jt ain’t likely ter be me!” answered
Aunt Hetty, with a deep sigh.
“Law, Miss Mary,’taiu’t me noway!”
cried Sarah Ann, with a toss of her
head.
But her face flamed as she remem¬
bered what Tim McCarthy, the young
butcher, had said to hertha day baforc,
when be came to buy Mr. Che tor’s
prize oxen.
Kate said uot a word, but she bent
her head lower above the raisens she
was stoning, that the others might not
see tho happy lovelight in her eyes, as
she looked half guilty at the new ring
on her finger, which no one had noticed
in the hurry
A modest trinket it wai-ouly a neat
band ol gold with a (rue-lover’s knot
m the centre, and one linv pearl—but
Charlie Turner had placed it there just
the evening befoft, and bis whispered
words gave value to the golden c’rc'e,
“Come, Knte, don’t you go ter
dreamin’, tool Them laisins must be
THE ENTERPRISE (
dusted with flour, a-ready at tho very
minute 1 want 'cm. ’Taint right to
have no drawback in this cake. Be
spry, an’ you shall have the bigge "
slice ter drenut over touight. Dear,
dear I Ido hopa there won’t be no
heavy streaks in flt! There was in Nan¬
cy Parson's, au’ she died ju loss'n a
year,” said Aunt Hetty, beating brisk¬
ly the foamy mass and dusting the
spice in carefully. “Pm afraid these
eggs ain't none too flesh. 1 allers do
like tho old white turkey’s eggs fer
lucky cake, but it ain’t the right time
of year fer 'cm. Laud sakes, Kate!
you are most cs droaray es Mary.
Hand me them raisins. You ain’t fit to
dust’em, I know; fur if you get the
leastest milo of flour morc’u you need,
it ’ill make a heavy streak. P’raps
you kin beat these eggs. Beat ’em (lie
same way all the time—mind that,
now!”
And Katie, sitting by the window in
the winter sunlight, thought the world
a Garden of Eden.
“There! that’s all you kin du,child,"
said Aunt Hetty, taking the yellow
dish from her hands. “Run an’ tell
your ma not to worry one mite. Every¬
thing is coinin’ on jest es nice cs kin
be. Why—what! What ye lookin'
fur? Los t any tiling ? ”
“No—yes—no!” stammered Kate,
groping among the chairs and. under
the long table. ‘ ‘It’s all right, aunty
—I mean it’s—iffs nothing;’’ aud she
flashed out at the hail door, leaving tho
good lady to wonder over her disturbed
manner aud white, startled face.
Straight to her room she rau, with
beating heart and dim, misty eyes.
She would look for it again, when
Aunt Hetty and Sarah Ann were gone.
Ob, what would Charlie say? The
pretty , newriDg , wilU the onc plm .
, )oai q an q the true-lovcr’s knot, was
j ost |
Charlie had wanted to excliauge it
for a smaller one, but no luck ever
came of exchanging an engagement
ring—and she wanted to wear it, to
know that she really had promised to
be Charlie’s wife in the happy spring¬
time.
But it was worse than exchanging it
to lose it, and Charlie would notice tho
loss at once.
It was a very sorrowful figure that
crept to tlio ball door to welcome
Charlie in the early evening darkness,
and a white, troubled face looked up to
him in the wintry moonlight that shone
upon the newly-fallen snow, and fell in
a broad, mellow line upon the floor.
“Just a splendid night for the wed¬
ding, Kate,” he whispered, clasping
her hands. “1 wish that you and I
were going with them tomorrow; but
you won’t keep me waiting long! Why,
where is your ring? Too precious to
wear, eh?’’
“It’s—it’s gone, Charlie 1” she
sobbed.
That was the beginning, and lovers’
quarrels arc inueb the same tho world
over.
They quarrelled fearfully, of course,
aud all because Charlie was sure that
he had seen George Lyon have the ring
he had given to Kate as a love’s pledge
and she could not prove it false, for
she did not know where it was.
That is, Charlie quarrelled, and said
many hateful things, to which she re-
plied only by sobs;but. then-re was a
man, and they will be unreasonable.
“But-bnt you'll stay to the wed-
ding? You-you are the best man,you
know? ’ she faltered at last.
“Certainly, I shal stay. As we
have told no one yet. the o is no need
of making auy bagger fool of myself.
Of course I shall stay!’ Ire answered,
bitterly, and strode into tho parlor,
where tho family were beginning to
assemble.
Neither of them could remember
much about the ceremony, aucl certainly
their gloomy faces were a marked con-
trast to those of Amos aud Mary.
The first that Charlie clearly realized
ho was seated by Kate’s side at the
wedding supper, and Aunt Hetty, all
fuss and flutter, was distributing tho
lucky cake.
“I told ye you should have the big-
: gest piece, Kate, an’ here ’tis,” she
said, laying a great slice beside her
plate. “An’ here’s another fer you,
Charlie Turner. May it be Incky fer
ye both!”
“Thank you, Aunt Hetty! I hope it
will,” answered Chaclie, as lio began
10 eat if ‘ mechanically.
But Kate left her s un asted.
: What could lucky cake mean to liert
j Suddenly a low ejaculation of sur.
prise arousrd her.
No onc else noticed it; but, as she
j glanced up, she met Charlie’s eyes,
fil ed with wonder, remorse and earnest
pleading, and in his hand, among the
fragments of spicy cake, shone the
golden circle, with its true- lovers knot
and ono tiny pear!.
“Forgive m?, dear!” he sai l, when
thoy ha 1 slippoi away from the jiyous
company to the deep, moonlighted
window-seat in the hall. “I was a
CAKNE8VILLE. GA., MONDAY, MAY r>. 1890.
brute—I might have known—but, bul
I will never oifeud again, doarest."
A man’s plea. But she ncceptod it,
and believed him with a woman's bliud
faith!
Aud so it proved a lucky cake as woll ■
as an unlucky one to Kate Chester.
Of course, she had dropped the ring
into the eggs as she beat them, and
Aunt Hetty had stirred it into the cako
without noticing it. But her sorrow
was overcome by joy and forgotten.
An Adventure In California.
“I'll never forget an adventure 1 bad
some years ago while in California,”
said a gentleman to a Cincinnati Times-
itar reporter.
“I was at Los Angeles aud with five
boon and adventuresome companions
determined to go to a p ace called
‘Portuguese Bend,' situated ou a prom¬
ontory about twenty-five miles away. It
loomed up at least 800 feet above a
little whaling station ou the Pacific
coast. Wo started out on u Friday
morning in September to reach the
•Bend.’ All were jolly and never
dreamed of the privations in store for
us. The first ten miles were all right
Then came the tug which was simply
awful. Friday night found us penned
in by towering hills. Saturday all day
long we climbed and fought tlio
rugged cliffs, aud when night
came we had made less than
two miies. Not a drop of water had
we seen since our start. Ali min suf¬
fered greatly, as did the horses. Sat¬
urday night was passed in sleepless
misery. The next morning we were as
lank, lean and parched as skeletons aud
yet no prospect of anything to slake our
teuible thirst. AU forenoon Sunday
we searched in vain. I struck off into
the mountains and wended my way up
in a deep canyon whose towering walla
seemed to pierce the very skies. Final¬
ly I got Way up Iho deep crack, as it
were, in the mountains, when I plunged
into a den of white owls. Thero seemed
to be million i of the things, rvith their
ghostly, fiuttsring wings. I was fright¬
ened almost uto a lit before I got ou*
of the terrible place.
“I was‘gone nearly all forenoon, bu.
found no watei. My companions had
searched high i.-nd low for mo. When
I got back I was exhaustel and com¬
pelled to lie (low i. 1 had consider
able money with me, same of it being
$20 gold pieces. 1 would willingly
have given $100 tor a drink of water.
But no, not a drop could I get with all
the gold I might command. It seemed
that I suffered the most. My compan¬
ions carried me the remainder of the
afternoon, and along toward evening,
when the groat sinking sun was shoot¬
ing its lurid rays across the Pacific,
we came to Portuguese Bend and found
water. Oh, what bliss I I never was
so happy in all my life before. No
man knows what thirst is unless ho has
experienced it. Hunger is nowhere in
comparison. r»
Women’s Family Names.
There is a lawyer who does a good
deal of real estate conveyancing, ono of
the chief of whose grievances in li fc is
the scant respect that women show to-
ward their uamei. The fact that a
certain alteration taker place in the
name at marriage destroys, so he claims,
whatever regard a woman might be ex-
tQ t(> au exact rcwleri
and Jh(j fact lhat legnl significance
^ any cage attacb t0 the form secm9
t<> ^ bovond lho of the
average bfain> If a irl bab
. g christened Elizaboth she will fii
^ ^ to her nam(J
to deod ftftei . she is
° n> Lhz] u E!is0j Lisbct
r Lisbethj according to which
diminutive happens to bo her favorite
y or j be yearj and w jh 0 mit her middle
nam(N g i va it in f u n or b y initial, or
gign instaf d of her owd her husband’s
name, according to her sweet liking.
The task of the lawyer who has to trace
up half a dozen of these signatures to
make sure that they all refer to the
same person is not calculated to make
easy the task of his wife who has to
soothe liis rutiled temper with a good
dinner. That the married women
should ia all cases retain her own famly
name, preceeding it by her given name
and following it with her husband’s
family name is the lawyer’s plea if he
is to be saved from insanity. Frances
Folsom Cleveland, Julia Dent Grant,
Louise Chandler Moulton, Julia Ward
Howe, Elia Wheeler Wilcox and other.,
set in this respect a good example.
Rich Food for Ducks.
William Masou, who lives about a
mile from Bluebill village, thinks there
may be a gold mine on his farm, and
proposes to investigate the matter this
spring. Several ducks killed by him
have had pieces of gold in their crops
and as they have spent most of their;
time in a newly deepened pool, the
bottom of which is gray sand, it is
thought this is where they got their
uousuaiiy rich food.— Lewiston (Me.)
Journal.
HAT BEFORE SLEEP.
It is the True Way to Obtain
Refreshing Slumber.
To Sleep on an Empty Stomach
is to Awake Exhausted.
Goiug to bed with a well-filled
stomach is tho ossential prerequisite of
Refreshing slumber. Tiro cautious so
often reiterated in old medical journals
against late suppers were directed chief¬
ly to tho bibulous habits of those early
times. When at every late feast tho
guests not unseidom drank themselves
under tho table, or needed strong as*
sistance to roach their couch, tho canon
against such indulgence was not un¬
timely. Nature and common sense
teach us that a full stomach is esseutial
to quiet repose. Every man who lias
found it difficult to keep awake aftor a
hearty dinner has answered the problem
for him-.elf. Thero are few animals
that can be trained to rest until after
they are fed.
Man, as be comes into tiro world, pre¬
sents a condition it would be well for
him to follow in all bis after-life. The
sweetest minstrel ever sent out of para¬
dise cannot sing au infant to sleep on
an empty stomach. We have known
reckless nurses to give the little ones a
dose of paregoric or soothing syrup in
place of its cup of milk, when it was
too much trouble to get the latter, but
this is the one alternative. The little
stomach of tho sleeping child, as it be¬
comes gradually empty, folds on itself
in plaits; two of these make it restless;
threo will open its oyos, but by careful
soothing these may bo closed again;
four plaits and the charm is broken;
there is no more sleep in that house¬
hold until that child has been fed. It
seems to us so stiangc that with this
example before their eyes full-grown
men are so slow to learn the lesson.
The fanner does it for his pig, who
would squeal all night if it were not
fed at the last moment, and the groom
knows that his horse will paw ia his
stall until ho has had his. meal. But
when lie wishes to 9loep himself he
never seems to think of it. To sleep,
the fulness of the blood must ieavo the
head: to digest tho oaten food the
blood must come to the stomach. Thus,
sleep and digestion are natural allies;
one helps the other.
Mau, by long practice, will train
himself to sleep on aa empty stomach,
but it is more the sleep of exhaustion
than the sleep of refreshment. Ho wakes
up after such a troubled sleep feeling
utterly miserable until he has had a cup
of coffee or some other stimulant, and
he has so injured tho tone of his stom¬
ach that he has little appetite for break-
fast. Whereas, ouo who allows himself
to sleep aftor a comfortable meal awakes
strengthened, and his appstite has been
quickened by that preceding iudul.
go rice.
The difficulty in recovery comes
from the fact that we are such creatures
of our habits it is impossible to break
away from them without persistent
effort. In this case the man who has
eaten nothing after <> o clock and rc-
tires at 10 or 11 takes to bed an empty
stomach upon which the action of the
gastric juices makes him uncomforta-
ble nil the night. If he proposes to
try our experiment he will sit down
and eat a tolerably hearty meal, He is
unaccustomed to this at that hour and
has a sense of discomfort with it. lie
may try it once or twice, or even long¬
er, and then he gives it up, satisfied
that for him it is a failure.
The true course is to begin with just
one or two mouthfuls the last tiling be¬
fore going to bed. And this should be
light food, easily digested. No cake
or pastry should bo tolerated. One
mouthful of cold roast beef, cold iamb,
cold chicken, and a little crust of bread
will do to begin with, or, what is bet¬
ter yet, a spoonful or two of condensed
milk (not the sweetened that comes in
cans) in threo times as much warm
water. Into this cut half a pared poach
an< I two or three Itttle squares of bread,
the whole to be one-fourth or one-sixth
of what would be a light luuch.
Increase this very gradually, until at
the end of a month or six weeks tlio
patient may indulge in a bowl of milk,
two peaches, witli a hal f hard roll or a
crust of home-made bread. When
peaches are gone lake 1> iked apples
with the milk till strawberries come,
and eat the latter till peaches return
again. This is the secret of our health
and vitality. We often work until
after midnight, but eating the comfort¬
able meal is the last thing we do every
night of the year. This is not an un¬
tried experiment or one depending on
‘.he testimony of a single witness.—
American Analyst.
Mrs. Hardhead—That’s our milk-
man’s wife. Mr. Hardhead—She’s very
becomingly attired. Mr-. Hardhead—
How so? Mr. Hardhead—She wears
watered silk. _
They Split the Difference.
Adjutant-General Mullen was" in s
reminiscent mood. “I will tell you a
little experience I had down in Louis¬
iana in 1802,” ho said. “I was a mem¬
ber of tho Connecticut Volunteers. The
opposing armies had corns into protty
close quarters, and Confederate out-
pickets, stragglers and skirmishers
were around us and doing considerable
mischief. Three companies of our reg¬
iment wore ordered out on skirmish
duty. We marched down, five paces
apart, according to regulations, into a
perfect morass. Tho water was waist
deep everywhere.
“I am not very tall, and found it
uecossary to hold up my cartridge belt
lo keep it from getting saturated. The
Confederates were scattered through
this swamp, aud wo to k a number of
prisoners without opening fire. I met
with a misfortuue. .My foot caught be¬
neath a couple of parallel branches be¬
neath the water, and I was socurely
pinioned. My companions continued
ou their way while I struggled hard to
extricate myself from my unpleasant
predicament. I finally pulled my foot
out with a desperate effort, but my shoe
was left behind. I could only secure
it by plunging my Jtcad beneath the
surface of slimy, noxious, muddy
water, but it had to be done. I had
no sooner got the shoe tied ou again
than a Confoderato came in sight from
behiud some bushos. Intuitively our
muskets were simultaneously raised.
“Surrender!' thundered the Cm fed.
erato.
“Surrender yourself?’ I returned at
the top of iny lungs.
“Then wc stood aiul eyed each other.
Each had his gun cocked and levelled
at the other, but neither pulled a trig¬
ger. Why we hesitated is more than I
can explaiu. By delaying, you see,
each was practically placing liimsel f at
the mercy of tho other, or so it would
seem. Suddenly tho Confederate’s gun
dropped and I brought mine down
also.
t i ‘See here, Yank,’ he begau, in a
much milder tone, ‘if I should shoot
you ray side wouldn’t gain much; and,
again, if you should shoot mo your sido
wouldn’t gain much. Now, I’ve got a
wife und two babies over yonder, and
if you dropped me they wouldn’t have
nobody to take care of them. Now,
it's a blamed mean man what won’t
split the difference. I’ll let you go if
you’ll let me go, and we'll call the thing
square. What do you say?’
“Well, what should Isay? I walked
over half way, aud we mot and shook
hands and parted. About a year after
a letter came to our camp addressed to
‘Little Yankee that split the differ¬
ence.’ 1 had told lrim my regimont,
you see, but not my name, The letter
was a cordial invitation to visit tho man
at liis homo in Louisiana. He wanted
me too see the wife ari l babies whose
members had prompted him to propose
to split tho difference, and I have al¬
ways regretted that I was unable to ac¬
cept the invitation.”— St. Paul Pioneer
Press.
Worship of Flowers by Persians.
A recent traveler in India gives the
fo’lowiug description of flower worship
as practised by the Persians in Bom¬
bay. A true Persian, in flowing robe
of blue, and on his head a sheepskin
hat—black, glossy, curly, the fleece of
Kar Kill—would saunter in and stand
aa( j meditate over every flower ho saw,
and always as if half in vision, And
when the vision was fulfilled, and tho
ideal flower ho was seeking found, ho
would spread his mat and sit before it
until the setting of the sun and then
fold up his mat again and go home.
And the next night, and night after
night until that particular flower had
faded away, he would return to it and
bring his friends in ever-increasing
troops to it and sit and play the guitar
or lute before it, and they would alto¬
gether pray there, and after prayer still
sit befor it, sipping sherbet and talking
the most hilarious and shocking scandal
late into the moonlight, and so again
every evening until the flower died.
Sometimes, by way of a grand finale,
the whole company would suddenly
arise before the flower, and serenade it
together with an ode from' Hafiz and
(lapart. — Cassell's Journal.
Homely Women of Portugal,
The Portuguese men are rathor be¬
low the medium height, of olive com-
plexion and have brilliant black eyes.
For the most part they are very hand-
some. The women, on the contrary,
are excessively homely, but dress in
very good tasto. Both gentlemen and
ladies copy the Parisian fashions. The
prettiest women are the fisher maids,
who go about the streets barefooted
with their baskets of fish on their heads,
after the fashion of the Egyptian women
their pitchers of water. Some of
girls are remarkably pretty, and,
to say, their feet are small aud
delicate looking and their fornrs graco-
fql,
CHILDREN’S COLUMN.
T11E “ooodkkt” motuicb.
Evening was falling cold and dark.
And the people harried along the way,
As if they were longing soon to mark
Their own home candle's cheering ray.
Before rue toiled in the whirling wind,
A woman with bundles great and small,
And after her tugged, a step behind,
'1’he bundle she loved the best of all
A dear little roly-poly boy,
With rosy cheeks amt u jacket blue,
Laughing and chattering, full of joy.
And here’s what he said 1 tell you true;—
“You’re the goodest mother that ever was.”
A voice as clear as the forest bird's;
And I'm sure the glad young heart had cause
To utter the sweet of the lovely words.
Perhaps the woman hud worked all day,
Washing or scrubbing; perhaps she sewed;
1 know by tier weary footfall’s way
That life for her was an uphill road.
But here was comfort, children dear!
Think what a comfort you might, give
To the very best friend you can have here —
The mother, dear, in whose house you live,
If once in a white you'd stop und say,
In task or play, for moment’s pause,
Amt tell her in sweet and winning way,
“Toil’re the goodest mot her that ever was”
SAY ED BY A HAT.
There is an old poem which tells a
pretty and true story about a rat, aud
shows that kindness can work wonders
even with creatures which we are accus-
tomed to look down upon. There was
onco a gentleman wire was noted for
his kindness to everyone. It did not
matter to him whothcr a person wore
rich or poor, old or young, beautiful or
ugly, ho did bis best to make everyone
he came across happier, But. besi lo
being kind to human creatures, he also
loved all animals.
Perhaps this kind-hearted man was
disappointed by some one to whom lie
had been good; at all events, he was
rather sad ono evening. Thinking
much about tho ingratitude which ani¬
mals as well as men sometimes show, he
fell fast asleep.
Ho was woke suddenly by the tame
rat. It was nibbling gently at his
cheeks aud nose, determined to wake
him, yet uot wishing to hurt him.
Starting up, be found that he had
upset the lamp with his arm as he slept,
and bul for the kind rat he must have
lost much of bis property, if uot his
life.— Nos York Journal.
A J.liSSON FOB r.OUlH.
Uncle Jack came in one cold ruorn-
ing looking for all the world like a
bear, Louie thought, in his big, shaggy
overcoat. Ho caught Louie up and
gave her a real bear hug, too.
“Hello, Mopseyl where's Popsey?"
he asked.
Popsey was Louie's baby-sister, two
years old, aud her name wasn’t Popsey
any more than I.ouio's was Mopsey.
But Uncle Jack was all tho time calling
folks funny names, Louie thought.
“Her’s gone to sleep,” said she.
Thou Uncle Jack put his hand in his
pocket and made a groat rurtling with
paper for a minute, before he pulled out
two sticks of red-and -white candy and
gave them to Louie.
“Too bad Popsoy’s asleep,” said he.
But I’m afraid Louie was rather glal
of it. She took Iter little rocking-chair
and sat down by the window to eat her
candy.
“Aren’t you going to save ouo stick
for Grach.?” asked mamma. Popscy’s
real name was Grade.
“1 guess 1 won’t,” Louie salt), speak-
ing low. I don’t b’licve candy’s good
for little mites o’ hits o’ girls. ’ Bides
I want it myself.”
Just as she swallowed the last bit
there was a little call from tho bed¬
room; ‘'Mammal’
“Hello,” said Uncle Jack, “Pop-
soy's awake! And in a minute out
she came in mamma’s arms, rosy and
smiling and dimpled.
Then there was another great rust¬
ling in Undo Jack’s pocket, an l pretty
soon—
“Here’s for Popsey!” said Uncle
Jack.
She took the two sticks of candy in
her dimpled han Is and looked at them
a second—dear little Popsey! aud then
sbe out the one that was a little
; on g,. r |j lau the other to Louie,
“Dis for ’on," she cooed; “and dis
f or rac ”
Poor Louie! Tho tears rushed into
her eyes. She hung her head and
blushed. Somehow she didn’t want tea
look at Uncle Jack or mamma. Can
you guess why?
“Dis for 'ou, ” repeated Popsey,
cheerfully, pushing the candy into her
hand,
“Take it, Louie,” said mamma.
Aud Louie took it. But a little while
afterward mamma overheard her telling
Popsey:
“1 won't be never such a pig any
more, Popsey Baker. And I m always
going to’vide with you, all the time,
after this, long’s I live. t t
And mamma sapl “A.mcn.” —. Youth's
Compan : om
It need not bq wood -red at that the
excitement of tho canvass is io-tunts,
NO. 18.
The Voieo of the V0I4.
I warn, like the one drop of rain
On your face, ere the storm;
Or tremble in whispered refrain
With your blood, beating warm.
I am the presence that ever
Hu tiles your touch's endeavor,—
Gone like the glimmer of dust
Dispersed by a gust.
1 am the absence that taunts you,
The fancy that haunts you;
The ever unsatisfied guess
That, questioning emptiness,
Wins a sigh for reply.
Nay; nothing am I,
Hut the tlight of a breath—
For I am Death!
—George Lathrop in the Century.
HUMOROUS.
Flower girls—Tho miller's daughters.
Hailstones intended for publication
are usually as big as hens’ eggs.
Whou a man knows that ho caunot
get out of tho mud his next impulse is
to go in doepev.
Landlady—Will you pass the butter,
Mr. Johnson? Mr. Johnson—That
butter will not pass, madam?
A sailor is considered a good skipper
when he understands tho ropes, The
samo may be said of a little girl.
Writing poetry is recommended as a
mental exorciso. You can got physical
oxerciso by attempting to road it to the
editor.
Photographers are tho most charita-
blo of meu, for they are always anxious
to take the best view of their fellow-
creatures.
Miss Gabble—1 liavo hud that parrot
for three, months now and it has nevor
spoken a word. Ciller—Perhaps you
liavo never given it a chance.
“No," remarked Bonos by, enthusi¬
astically, “there's nothiug like the hot
water curei It will brace a man up
when all other remedies fail—er—Mr*.
Blimdiet, just let me have a cup of tea,
is you pleasei” m
Student (writing to his father); I
beg you, my dear father, not for a
minute to think that I need this money
to pay debts with. I give you my
word of honor that I want It only for
myself, and that there is no question of
debts.
Cuts and the Moon.
Everybody knows tho superstitions of
sailors, particularly, of course, in re¬
gard to their sailing on Friday; bul.
they aro also superstitious on other
points, and from this fact we get the
saying, “Rats desert a sinking ship.”
Again, they resent tho presence of a cat
on board, and usually that of a corpse,
although as regards both of these in¬
stances tho superstition is not suffi¬
ciently widespread to altogether pre¬
vent tho occurrence. Speaking of cats,
it is well-known that thoy were held in
such high respect by the ancient Egyp¬
tians that their mummies nr.) met with
about as frequently as human beings,
and this was from a superstitious
belief in their intervention in
tho affairs of mon. A special
goddess among the Egyptians was rep¬
resented witli the head of a cat, and a
tomplo was ereetod to her at a town of
tho name she bore—Bubastis. In the
Egyptian mythology Bubastis was the
child Isis and Osiris aud tho sister ol
Homs. What is uot so generally
known is tho fact that the cat among
the Egyptians symbolizod tho moou.
As to the moon there was in ancient
times many superstitious. Our word
“lunacy” is derived from tho latin
name of that planet, and the disorder
is still bolioved by many to bo caused
by it at its full. Sailors in tlio tropics
have been known to become temporari¬
ly deranged because of sleeping with
their faces exposed to the rays of the
full moon, while fresh fish hung up on
deck under the samo conditions aro said
to spoil in a short time. —Star - Sayings-
Costly Canine Collars.
“Some dogs in this town wear collars
that cost $200,” said a dealer in
those articles to mo yesterday, “Of
course, such valu tbles are worn only
by the pampore 1 pots of the rich; the
average owner of dogs thinks ho or she
hits done wot! ia investing $3 dollars fn
a collar, and by a good many a plajn
leather strap, with natno plate, ii
deemed ample for safety and identity.
Of Course, a dog with a $100 or a $200
collar has got to be watched pretty care¬
fully, and they usually ride in the ear-
raige of the master or mistress, The
existence of a good many Fifth avenue
and Madison avenue dogs might well
be envied by tho poor of our city.
They have ail the advantages of wealth
in the way of luxury and easy living,
without any of the attendant anxieties,
from which even Gould) and Vandet*
bids are uot free.— M.te York Star.
A Medical School Jest.
Firstdoctor—Have you a skeleton?
S.cond doctor—Ye3.
First doctor—Let’s seo it.
Second docto/~rC’an’t very well; fact
is, I’m wearing it under my flesh,
Thi
