Newspaper Page Text
VOL. II.
Life.
Once * thronged thoroughfare that wound
afar
By shining streams, and waving fields and
woods,
And festal cities and sweet solitudes,
All whither, onward to the utmost sta
Bow a blind alley, lurking by the shore
Of stagnant ditches, walled wit h reeking
crags,
Where one old heavy-hearted vagrant lags.
Footsore, at nightfall limping to Death's
door.
_r\V. D. Howells, in Harper’s Magazine.
MRS. CROLY’S BURGLAR.
Elijah Croly, my husband, was
owner and captain of a coasting ves¬
sel, doing a good trade; and we occu¬
pied an old-fashioned and somewhat
dreary house at Stepney. Elijah liked
the place more than I did, and it was
on his account that wo stayed there so
long. I thought it could make very
little difference to him where we lived,
for lie was at home only''two or threo
weeks out of every ten. I was often
alone two months at a time; and lone¬
ly enough it was sometimes.
“Get some one whom you like to
stay with you, my dear,” the captain
said, when I told him one day bow un*
pleasant I felt to be alone so ntucli.
“Get any one you please, aud before
long I hope I shall be able to stay at
home with you myself.”
I took his advice, and after some in¬
quiry I found a woman who 1 thought
would suit me. Her name was Emily
Sands, and she was a plcasant-faced
woman of about forty. She told me
that she had been left a widow, with
no means, and had since earned her
living'by needlework; and although I
lmd intended that the woman who
came every morning to do my house¬
work should still come, I found Emily
so willing that I soon discontinued the
services of tho other. She was so
amiable and so vivacious, that I was
satisfied that I had done the best that
I could in the matter.
Tho captain remained at home this
tinio barely t wo weeks. On the morn¬
ing that he left to take his vessel for
another trip, just after he had taken
up his hat to go, lie called me into the
chamber and shut tire door.
“Here is something, Fanny,” lie
said, “that I want you to keep safely
for me till I comeback.” Aud lie took
a paper package from his breast pocket
as he spoke. “There are ten fifty-
dollar bills in it—$2500 in all. 1 will
lock it up hero in this bureau drawer
and give you the key.” And he did
so. “No one would think of coming
here for money.”
“Do you think you had better leave
it here, Elijah?" I asked. “Why not
put it in the bank?”
“I meant to; but I shall not have
time. The money was only paid me
last night. But no mattor, the money
will be safe whore it is, and there will
be no danger about it; or if you don’t
think so, you may deposit it yourself.’»
The evenings were rather long, and
Emily and I sat together in the dining¬
room after the table was cleared, she
reading aloud and I listening, as was
our custom. When the clock struck
10 she laid down her book and I took
my lamp, and biddiug her good night
went up to my room.
My chamber occupied the whole
front of the second story, and Emily
bad a back room upon the some floor.
A bell-wire ran from my room to hers,
so that I could summon her at
pleasure.
I placed the lamp upon tho bureau,
shaded it, and returned and locked the
door. Then I drew mv easy chair to
the middle of the room, put on my
slippers and sat down for a few min¬
utes before retiring. And immedi¬
ately I became vexed at myself to find
that I was looking at the drawer that
held the money, and that I was feeling
in my pocket to see that the key was
safe. I felt no alarm; I had almost
cured myself of uiy uneasiness; but
it seemed as if that money and the
danger of its custody would obtrude
upon me.
In the impatience of the rnonien It
turned my chair half round and looked
towards the opposite wall. The slinde
that I placed over the lamp confined
its rays wilbin a small circle, beyond
which the bed, the furniture, the car¬
pet and the wall paper were obscure.
In the corner, to the right of tho
door, was an antique, high-backed
chair, a favorite piece of furniture
As I turned my own chair from the
bureau my eyes rested on this object;
and I saw by the same glance that a
human figure was sitting in it.
There I was, locked up in a room
with a ruffian, waiting, trembling and
expecting to hear him speak, or to be¬
come the object of some violence.
For although, as I have said, I could
not distinguish whether it was man or
woman, I did not doubt that it was
the former and one of the most des¬
perate of bis kind- And presently, a*
f
my eyes fell to the floor, I saw a great
pair of boots thrust out upon the car*
pet within the radius of the light.
I do not know how long we sat
there in the semi-darkness of the room,
facing each other, but motionless aud
silent; it might have been three
minutes or thirty. The thought of
alarming Emily suddenly occurred to
me, aud I reached out for the bell-
cord. I should have been within easy
reach of the spot where I sat; but my
hand failed to find it.
A low chuckle came from the occu¬
pant of the old chair.
“That was a clever thought of yon,
missus,” came forth in a deep, rough
voice, and in a tone of easy insolence.
“Clever thought, marm; but bless
your simple soul, do you think I was
a-going to leave that ’eve cord there
for you to make a noise with? Not by
no means. l;’s well to bo careful
when you’re in this kind of business,
marm; and so when you left me alone
here before dirk—I then being under
the bed, you see—I crawled out and
took a survey of the place.”
My strength was returning. I be.
came reassured as I saw that the man
intended no violence to myself.
“What do } r ou want?” I asked.
He chuckled again, and replied:
“Now, that’s good; you’re a business
woman, inarm. You como right to
the point without any nonsense. I’m
going to tell you what I want.”
He rose from the chair as he spoke
and crossed the room to the bureau,
passing so close to me that his boots
brushed the skirt of my dross. 1
shuddered and drew my chair back.
I could not help betraying my fear.
‘•Be quiet, marm,” lie said. “1
don’t mean to hurt you, if I can help
it. Keep still and I won't. Let’s
have a look at each other.”
“You don’t know me,” ho re¬
marked, in an ordinary tone. “No,
of course not; it’s best for you that
you shouldn’t. I thought at first there
was something familiar in your face;
but I fancy I fra3 mistaken. Well, to
business, marm!” And he assumed a
sharp tone and looked carefully at the
bureau, “I’ve got a pistol here,
missus” — and he slapped his
pocket; “but you’re too sen¬
sible a woman, I take it, to
make me use it on you. I want that
money. There’s twenty-five hundred
dollars of it iu this drawer. You have
the key—give it to me!”
I handed it to him without a word.
“I’ll leave you now in a minute,
missus,” he said, rapidly inserting the
key, turning it, and opening the
drawer, “with many thanks for your
good behavior. Is this it?”
He took out the package and held it
up. money,” I said.
“That is the
He had thrust the package into his
pocket and was about to close the
drawer, when liis eye was caught by
something within it. He started,
thrust liis hand Into the drawer, and
taking out an object that. I wns well ac¬
quainted with, Tie bent over and scru-
tim'zed it,holding it closer to the lamp.
How I did wish that I could see the
expression of his face at that moment!
He held in his hand an ivory minia¬
ture of my husband's face, a faithful
picture made by an artist years before,
at request.
“Whose face is this?” tho robber
demanded, in ft voice that trembled
with eagerness.
“My husband’s,” I replied.
“Your husband’s? Yes, yes—but
his name!”
“Elijah Croly.”
“Captain Croly?” he demanded in
the same tone.
“Yes.”
“The same who commanded the
bark Calvert, that used to run out of
Liverpool?”
I nodded my head. I knew the ves¬
sel named was the last one that my
husband had sailed on the ocean be¬
fore he bought liis own coaster; in
fact, it was the same in which I came
to England.
“And this is Capt. Croly’s money?
—this is his house?—you are his
wife?” he asked rapidly, giving me
no time to answer liis questions.
“Yes, yes—I see it all. Great God!
—to think what I was about to do!”
He dropped into the nearest chair,
apparently faint with emotion; but
while I sat in deep surprise at the un¬
expected turn that this affair had
taken, he said,* “You have uo reason
to fear now; I will not rob you; I
will not harm you. On|y don’t make
a noise. Please open the door, aud
you will find Jane—your woman, I
mean, waiting in the passage.”
I obeyed; I did not know what else
to do. I unlocked and opened the
d<for, and there, to my astonishment,
stood Emily Sands, arrayed in
bonnet and shawl, with a bundle in
her hand—waiting, 1 have no doubt,
for a signal from within. She
upon seeing me; but the man
CARNESVILLE, GA., FRIDAY, APRIL 24.1891.
ately called to her by the name of Jane,
telling her to come in.
She passed by me as she did so, and
i whispered: “Ob, Emily, how could
yon betray me?”
“I’ve a very few words to say to
you, ma’am,” said the man; and all
the boldness and insolence had gono
out of his voice, leaving it gentle and
sorrowful. “Just a few words to ask
you to forgive us for what wo meant
to do, and to (ell you what has hap¬
pened to change my mind so suddenly,
and why we can’t rob you, as wo meant
to do.’’
He took tho package from his pocket
with the words, mid tossed it into my
lap.
“That money belongs to the man
that I love and honor more than any
other on earth. I’m a hard customer,
ma’am; we live by dark ways and do¬
ings, Jane and I; and I wouldn’t havo
believed when sho let me in here to¬
day and hid me, that I could leavo tho
house without that money; but if I’d
known whom it belonged to, I’d sooner
have held out my right haud to be cut
off than come here as 1 have, and for
what I came. I used to be a sailor
and I was with Capt. Croly in the Cal¬
vert. He was the very kindest and
best master that ever handled a spoak-
ing-trumpet, and there wasn’t a man
aboard the bark but loved him. One
night off Hatteras all hands wero sent
aloft to reef in a heavy gale,
and when they catne down again
I was missing. ‘Where is lie?’
tho captain asked, but none
of them knew. They hadn’t noticed
me since we all sprang Into the shrouds
together. ‘Overboard, I’m afraid,’
said tho mate; and the men seemed
fearful (hat I was tost. The captain
hailed me through his speaking-trum¬
pet, aud there came back a faint, de¬
spairing cry, only just heard above tho
piping of the storm. Croly never or¬
dered any one else up; he cast off his
coat and threw down his trumpet, and
went aloft before any one could get
ahead of him. He found mo hanging
with ono elbow over the foreyard and
just about ready to fall from weakness
and pain, for my other arm was twist¬
ed out of joint at the elbow by a turn
of the ropes. He caught me and held
me there till help came up from below,
and then they carried mo down. It
was Capt. Croly that saved me from a
grave in the sea; and I would have
robbed him tonight! Forgive us,
madam, if yon can. Wc will leave
you in peace. Come, Jane!”
The two passed out of my chamber,
and from the house, leaving mo like
one in a dream. Tho woman I never
saw again: and I have little hope that
she ever reformed. She was one of
the crafty, hypocritical kind, whose
hearts aro entirely bad, and who
generally come to bad ends. But I am
very hopeful that tho man entered
upon a new life after tfiis occurrence.
He made no promises, not even an
intimation that he intended to do so;
but I havo faith to think that tho heart
that could treasure up a debt of grati¬
tude, and stay the execution of a
crime, as in this case, must have some¬
thing in it strong enough to turn it to
virtuous ways.— [New York World.
Three Mysterious Water-Holes.
Scientific inquirers are puzzled by
certain mysterious water-holes in tho
ledge on the shove of the Boolhbay
Land Company’s territory in Maine.
They are on the eastern side of wliat
is known as “Spruce Point,” close to
the famous “Lovers’ Walk.” Tbero
are three of them, eight inches to ono
foot in diameter, and about ten inches
deep. They arc bowl-shaped, perfect¬
ly circular, and in stone as hard as
the hardest flint. Locally thoy are
ascribed to the Indians, and aro sup¬
posed lo have been used by that
people in pounding corn. Ono thing
sure, if they were ever used for that
purpose it was in ages long past, when
the surf line was much further out
than it is at present. In this day and
age sea water fills them twice a day,
rendering them wholly unfit for any
such use. Is it possible that the pen¬
insula of Maine and New Brunswick
is slowly sinking beneath the waves?
The very idea is startling.—[St. Louis
Republic.
A Big Pension.
Col. Clements yesterday paid out the
largest individual pension ever granted
to a pensioner in this division. Mrs.
Laura B. Whitney, widow of Co).
Samuel B. Whitney of the
Illinois Volunteers, was the lucky per-
son. TEe sum she received
$9326.40. She is entitled to $30
month from Uncle Sam’s treasury.
With one exception it was the
amount ever paid to one
from the Chicago office. The
tion was Mrs. Abraham Lincoln,
received $15,000. This, however,
by special act of Congress, and
under the Pension law,
Journal.
“CALLE FLORIDA.”
Sidewalk Life in a Fashionable
Street in Buenos Ayres.
Nightly Gatherings of insipid
Young Men.
Tho Callo Florida is the most fash¬
ionable street in Buenos Ayres. Here
aro llio finest shops for tho sale of
objects of luxury; the swell jewellers,
milliners, dress-makers, tailors, hat¬
ters, shoemakers; tho fashionable res¬
taurants, Mercer, RptLsorio,Francaiso,
Sportsman; and, above all, tho crack
Contlteria del Aguiia. A conlltoria, it
must bo explained, is a shop
for the sale of bonbons, confection¬
ery, sweetmeats, and refreshments,
and at the samo time a sort of
cafe and bar-room, where nil kinds
of drinks and liqueur* may be obtain¬
ed; it is the Argentine equivalent of
the French cafo. Such shops abound
in Buenos Ayres; there is hardly a
block in the city Ihut lias not its con-
iiteria. Tho one in the Callc Florida
bearing tho name of del Aguiia has a
facade of white marble, surmounted
by an eagle and two allcgoiieal figures,
and Us windows form recesses along
the sidewalk capable of accommodating
each half a dozen dandies. Tte door¬
ways of the coiifitoria canjaiso accom¬
modate a considerable number, and
those who find no room at (he Aguiia,
struggle along the street and seek
(shelter in other doorfiteps, for It must
be added that the Callo Florida is au
old-fashioned narrow street, and that
tho sidewalk will permit only two
persons to walk abreast; hence
the necessity for the dandies of finding
rccessos where they can stand without
impeding the circulation and incurring
tho wrath of the people. And so here
they congregate, the rich young creoles
who pass their days gambling at tho
Club del Progreso, and tlJb bard-
worked counter-jumper, the diulc who
has dined at the Cafo de Taris, and the
dude who has dined at the tenth-rate
Italian “hash mill;” both aro armed
with cigarettes and toothpicks, both
wear stupendous lightrcolored cravats
and enormous diamond pins, and
both are well dressed and prodi¬
gal of immaculate shirt fronts.
Thoy stand and they smoke; they ad¬
dress each other with tho word clie, of
universal use throughout the Argen¬
tine in the signification of “man”;
they converse in husky or guttural
tones, pronouncing tho words with
monotonous precipitation; and when¬
ever a woman passes they look at her
and say: “Ilermosa rtibia” (Beautiful
blonde); “Que cabccita tan liuda!”
(What a pretty little head!); “Que
boca tan adorable!” (What a lovely
mouth!); and other insipid words.
That is all. They stand;
they smoke; they make their
silly observations; and at ten
o’clock they disperse, and Florida, like
the other streets of Buenos Ayres, re¬
mains empty until midnight, when
the people returning from the theatre
give it a momentary supplement of
animation. There is a rush for tho
last horse cars, a clattering of hoofs
of Russian trotters, a bangiug of the
doors of elegant coupes, and then once
more all is silent and deserted; the
bright polished tramway rails glisten
and dark vanish and in tho long streets; prospective and with of the the
narrow
moonlight silvering the blue and white
glazed tiles of the church domes and
towers, and forming strong contrasts
of sheen and shadow amongst the
irregular masses of the houses and
shops, Buenog Ayres becomes for the
moment clothed in mystery and charm,
and resumes that tingo of Orientalism
which suggests itself in the distant
views of tho town from the rivor.
Such is sidewalk life in Buenos Ayres,
or, as it may be called iu Spanish,
sidewalk and candy-shop life—la vida
do confitcriay do vereda.—[Harper’s
Magazine.
Known by Their Hats.
A rnan who knocks about a great
deal and is a close observer said re¬
cently: “There is a man in this town
who makes his living out of the manu¬
facture of hat linings. Ho has stamps
of all the leading hat houses in this
city and New York and Paris. You
know, maybe, that a man is often
known by the hat be wears. There
are a few bat men whose names take
the lead, and the young men who want
to appear as if they were at (lie head
of the procession get the linings of
these well-known hat manufacturers
from the man of whom I have just
told, and he puts them in cheap hats.
The customer tarns up his hat then,
whenever he takes it off', and shows
the stamp of a well-known house, and
thus, in some circles, he establishes
hiinsels without the assistance of any
letters. The hat lining do?* it,”—
[Chicago Tribune,
How a Convict Poet Saved a Tree.
But life in tiie bush was not all
made up of tragedy, or oven of misery.
To tho poet there was consolation, and
almost happiness, in tho glorious open
air, amid tho grand primeval troos,
and tho strange birds aud beast* of the
antipodes. The land about him lay at
the world’* threshold. Strange moiv-
stoi*S of prehistoric form still peopled
the forest, mo niter* of the vegetable
as well as of the animal kingdom.
Oho incident will lllustrnto his love
of nature, which, curiously enough,
found more frequent expression in
his prose than in his verse, ami was
still more a part of his life than of his
writings. For, while lie passionately
loved and keenly enjoyed all the de¬
lights of communion with nature, his
joy and iovc were personal pleasures.
They formed no part of the sermon
which it was his mission to preach.
The text of that sermon was Human¬
ity. To that ho subordinated every
impulse of mere sentiment. This long
preface to a short story is excusable,
because tho criticism has been made,
and with justice, that O’Reilly’s poetry
is strangely wanting in tho purely de¬
scriptive element. Tho only long
poem to which that criticism least ap¬
plies is his “King of tho Vaseo,” in
which arc many wonderfully strong
and beautiful pictures of nature.
It happened that (ho road gang with
which he was working, in following
the course laid out by the surveyors,
came upon a magnificent tree, a giant
among its fellows, the growth of cen¬
turies, towering aloft to the sky and
spreading enormous arms on every
side. The wealth of an empire could
not buy this peerless work of nature.
The word of an unlettered ruler of a
convict gang was potent enough for
its destruction; for it lay right in the
middle of the surveyed road. Tho
order was given to cut it down.
O’Reilly argued and pleaded for its
preservation, but in vain. All that he
could obtain was a reluctantly granted
reprieve, and appeal to a higher power.
He went—this absurd poet in a striped
suit—to the commander of the district,
and pleaded for tho tree. The official
was so amused at liis astounding au¬
dacity that ho told his wife, who,
being a woman, had a soul above sur¬
veys and the right of way. She in¬
sisted on visiting the tree, and the re¬
sult of her visit was a phenomenon.
Tho imperial road was turned from
its course, and a grand work of nature
stands in the "West Australian forest
as a monument to the convict poet.—
[Life of John Boyle O'Reilly.
The House’s Symbol of Authority.
The mace remains upon its pedestal
until tho House goes into Committee
of tho Whole. Then it is lowered and
remains lowered till tho committee
rises. Notwithstanding its prominence
and significance, a man might serve
six months in the House of Repre¬
sentatives without noticing it. But
let a storm arise; let [ho pulses
of the members be quickened with
passion and hot words bo uttered; let
clinched fists be shaken and members
rush toward tlie main aisle iu rage and
fury and the mace will appear. It
will be born aloft majestically over the
arena in front of tho Speaker’s desk,
up the main aisle and down the side
aisles, calming the tempest,cooling the
disputants, calling the House to its
sober self, and causing members to
resume their seats. They rocognizo
Us significance as a symbol, and sub¬
mit to the authority which it repre¬
sents. It was used for (his purpose
five times during tho Fifty-first Con¬
gress. It was carried around tho
House twice in the Fiftieth Congress'
— [New York Sun.
Prowl of His Orchard.
About a century ago, when the com¬
missioners who had in charge tho se¬
lection of a site for Bowdoin College
were attending to this duty, they
pitched upon New Gloucester, Me., as
combining more .advantages than any
other place they had visited, but the
owner of the land refused to part with
it if it was to be used as the site of a
college, though willing enough to sell
it if it was to be put to any other use.
The reason that lie gave was that the
students would steal Ids apples in an
orchard in which he took groat pride.
So it seems that this is the reason why
New Gloucester is noted for its apples
rather than as being the scat of Bow¬
doin College. — [Portland (Me.) Trans¬
cript.
The Trlchinai’s Vitality.
Experiments recently made in France
with a view to discovering the amount
of vitality in specimens of trichinae
show that, though they be subjected to
a temperature of twenty-five degrees
below zero for two hours, they again
become as lively as ever on a return
of a normal amount of light and heat.
— [St. Louis Republic.
FOR THE HOUSEWIFE.
now to non. potatoki.
Evory woman thinks she knows how
to boil potatoes, but very few boil
them properly. When boiling them
with the skins on, some only half wash
them, then tho dirt boils oft’ into the
water, aud gives a bad flavor to the
potatoes. Others throw them into a
kottlo of boiling water just when it
happens, whether it lacks one hour or
two of meal-time, ami still others put
them on and lot them simmer over a
slow flro instead of boiling them
quickly. It is well to keep a brush on
purpose to scrub potatons with, then
rinse until tho water 1* clear, throw
them into cold or hot water, as you
prefer, but keep them boiling after
they commence until done, then drain
dry, immediately sprinkle salt over
thorn, and leave them uncovered so the
steam cun escape. Keep in the kettlo
until ready to serve. Some prefer
them taken to the table with the jack¬
ets on, as they keep warjnor, others
wish thorn peeled.—[Now York Ob¬
server.
ABOUT CANNING BEE*.
A correspondent asks if it }s possi¬
ble to put up cooked beef In cans to
keep for future hso at homo, *ay six
to nino months, aud wishos a good
recipe for corned beef and dried
smoked beef; also where liquid smoke
can bo bought.
In roply Mrs. Craine writes: I have
never had good success in putting up
cooked moat in cans to keep well ill
hot weather. Tin should be used, and
the sealing must bo by means of solder
dropped over tho small hole for the es¬
cape of steam. I find it cheaper to
buy (ban to tnko tho risk of imperfect
sealing.
The best pickle for corned beef and
for smoked beef that I have found is
one I have known for many years.
Rub each piece of bcof well with a
little salt, and lay away for the blood
to drain out, which will bo in twenty-
four boms. Then wipe dry, pack a 8
closely as possiblo in a sweet tub or
proper vessel. For 100 pounds of
beef, boil in fqurgallons of soft water,
with ton pounds of coarse salt, four
pounds of sftltpotro and two pounds
of brown sugar. Stir until dissolved,
then skin while just boiling until clear,
and when cold pour over the meat,
weighting it down to keep under (lie
pickle. Place tho meat to be smoked
next the top. It will be ready for
smoking in twenty days. Wipe dry
and smoke with corn cobs, or sound
green wood, for a few days, and then
hang in a cool place to dry.
Creosote is sometimes called liquid
smoke, and a very little is used iu the
pickle. It may be bought of any drug¬
gist. In its concentrated state it is
poisouous, and should not bo used if
the moat can be smoked in llio usual
way.—[I’rairie Fanner.
SEOIPES.
A Steamed Fowl—If yon wish to
roast an old lieu, dress and stuff it;
put a thin cloth in the bottom of the
steamer aud sot it over a kettle ot
boiling water; put (lie fowl in and
sicain three-fourths of an hour, then
put it in the oven and bake as you
would a young fowl-
Queen's Budding—One pint of bread
crumbs, one quart of milk, four eggs
(yolks), two tablespoonfuls of sugar,
grated rind oflonc lemon. Bake about
one hour, then spread the top with
currant jelly. Beat the whites of four
eggs to a stiff froth; add ono cup of
sugar dissolved in the juice of a lemon.
Spread over the pudding and brown.
Corn Beef Hash—Chop enough
corn beef to make one cupful; allow
twice as much potatoes chopped fine;
mix the beef and potatoes well to¬
gether; put a little butter or beef drip¬
pings in the spider, and when hot put
in the hash. Taste to see if it need*
more salt. Stir to keep it from burn¬
ing. When nearly warm add half a
cupful of thin cream or sweet tnilk.
Chicken Toast—If you have some
boiled chicken left over, pick it off the
bones, leaving out the skin; chop it
fine; warm it in a little chicken gravy.
While it is warming have the pancake
griddlo hot aud toast a dozen slices of
bread, if your family is large enough
to eat as much; spread with butter and
prepare half of them with a spoonful
of chicken on each slice; serve im¬
mediately; then, if you have chicken
enough prepare the rest.
Rice Muffins—One pint of sweet
milk, one quart of flour, one pint of
cold boiled rice, three eggs, two table¬
spoonfuls of sugar, half a teaspoonful
of salt, three teaspoonfuls, even full,
of baking powder sifted into the flour.
Beat tho eggs and add the milk, then
stir gradually into the flour. When
smooth add the rfee, beat well and
bake in greased muffin rings. This
will make three dozen. For a small
family make half the rule.
NO. 16.
I Will Not Let Thee «o.
I will not let thee go. i
End all our month-long love In this!
Can it be summed up so,
Quite In a single kiss?
I will not let thee go.
1 will not let thee go.
If thy words’ breath could scare thy deed*
As the soft south can blow
And toss the feathered seeds,
Then might I let thee go.
I will not let thee go.
Had not the great sun seen, I migh
Or were he reckoned slow
To bring the false to light,
Then might I let thee go.
1 will not let thee go.
The stars that crowd the summer skies
Have watched us so below
With all their million eyes,
1 dare not let thee go.
1 will not let thee go.
Have we not chid the changeful moon,
Now rising late, and now,
Because she set too soon,
And shall.I let thee go?
i will not let thee go.
Have not the young /lowers been content
Plucked ere their buds could blow,
To seal our sacrament?
I cannot let thee go.
I will not let theo go.
I hold thee by too mauy rands;
Thou sayest farewell, and loI
1 have thee by the hands,
And will not let thee go.
— [Robert Bridges.
HUMOROUS.
How to make an army fly—Broakits
Wings.
The buyer who tiles to bent you
down is a price-fighter.
Our spare hours aro well named;
tlioy seem the shortest of tho day.
What a wife, who thinkR her hus¬
band lias told her all, hasn’t been told,
is simply appalling.
Wo all respect tlioso who know more
than we do; but wo don’t wish them
to run our business. ■
A proposal.—She (piqued): I don’t
know exactly what to make of you,
Mr. Bland? He (eager to suggest):
Er—Why not try a husband?
.“Mr. P. Cunious is a bright, breezy
fellow, Is lie not?” said llobb, and
Dobb replied: “I should think he
might be, ho is always trying to ‘raise
the wind.”
Dora—I showed my portrait to the
Mayor yesterday, and he said that it
didn’t flatter me. Bosom Friend—
Oh, but it does, dear, and so did he!
(Thoy ore not on speaking terms now.)
Little Johnny—Say, father, what
makes a baby cry every time it wake*
up? Pa—Well, from what I know of
babies, It cries from vexation to find
that it has kept still for a reasonable
length of time.
“I am going to bo your hub,” *aid
the young carriage-builder from Bos¬
ton, as they stood before tho altar.
“Yes,” said his blushing bride, who
intended always to havo the last word,
“and I will supply the spokes.”
“And I,” wound up the clergyman, as
he joined their bands, “am the tie-r.”
“Five years ago,” began tho stranger
to Weulman, “I sought that wornau to
bo my wife. I believed her congenial,
light-hearted and beautiful. Has our
married life been pleasant? No.”
“No? Why not?” asked Wentman.
“Why not? Because she declined to
marry me.”
Names of the Months and Days.
Our names of the months are all of
Latin origin. March was the first
month of tho Roman year, and was
named for Mars, the god of war.
April is from aporire, to open; May
from mains or magius, the root of
which means “to grow.” June is
named after Juno, queen of the gods.
July is named for Julius Ctesar, who
was born July 12, A. U. C. 652 (100
B. C.) Before Antony changed the
mime it had been Quintilis, or fifth
month, Augustus changed the
namo of the sixth month
for him. September, October,
November, December are respec¬
tively the seventh, eighth, ninth and
tenth months of the Roman year, al¬
though they arc tho ninth, tenth,
eleventh and twelfth months of our
year. January is named for Janus,
the Roman god who kept t?e gates of
heavon, and February is so called be¬
cause the Februa, the great feast of
purification, was held in preparation
for the coming of the new year in
March.
Tho names of the days of the week
como from more than one source. Sun¬
day comes from the Latin dies solis,
day of the sun; Monday is the Saxon
equivalent for the Latin day of the
moon; Tuesday comes from the Saxon,
and is named for Tiw, tho god whom
we invoke when wo say,--“Wliat the
deuce.” Wednesday is Wodin’s day
or Odin’s day; Thursday is Thor’s
day; Friday is Freja’s day; these are
from the Saxon. Saturday is from
the Latin, Saturn’s day. The god
after whom each day was named wai
worshipped on that day.