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Sea-Music.
Sink. sun. in crimson far away,
Float out, pale moon, above the roar,
While brown and silver, flame and gray,
’Round rock aud sand the waters pour;
For night had clew to all the store
Of wild wave-harmony that rings.
And Earth hath not in all her lore
Such legends as sea-music brings.
Here singing silver shallows fray
The ruby-tufted, golden floor,
Here wondrous twilit forests sway
’Round coral porch and corridor
Where lurk—but ah, why yet implore
The splendid dream that ’round them clings?
Where the dead lie who heard of yore
The legends that sea-music brings.
This is the sea that could not stay
The tides of in n, that evermore
Rolled westward still and cleft its spray
With hollowed trunk and dauntless oar;
Here Grecian trireme reeled before
Rome’s purple galley; here sea-kings
Left red on wave and black ned shore
The Lgends that sea-music brings.
Earth keeps not now the face sho wore;
The smoke trails dusk, the wide white
wings;
No longer as of old shall soar
The legends that sea-music brings.
THE DINNER PARTY.
EY EMMA A. OrPEK.
“You’ll come, won’t you, my dear?”
Eaid Mrs. Bostwick, adjusting her velvet
• wrap as she arose, the long jets on her
dress jingling'softly. “There will be
only ourselves and my future son-in-law,
Mr. Gilman, and Mr. Samson, our pas¬
tor, and Eveline Gordon and her broth¬
er. Just an informal little dinner. I’ll
send the carriage for you; you mustn’t
fail me.”
1 ‘And she called her lunch- party last
month ‘just a simple little affair,’ ” said
Jessie, sitting down on a stool at her
grandmother’s feet, when she had gone;
“and then how I felt in my old brown
cashmere, among the satins and the dia¬
monds! And I’ve nothing but my poor
old pink tiling for this. I oughtn't to
ljeep it up, grandma. She’s very kind,
of course, but because she was^ a friend
of Aunt Mary’s isn’t any reason why she
should try to get Aunt Mary’s poor lit¬
tle niece into society. And I can’t af¬
ford it; and it would be easier for me-if
Mrs. Bostwick would stop inviting me.
I don’t know why she does!”
Grandnia, smiling down fondly on the
gentle grand-daughter whom she had
brought up, thought she knew.
Even beyond Mrs. Bostwick’s un¬
doubted kindness of heart there were
obvious reasons. An uncommonly
bright and pretty girl was an attraction
and addition in anybody’s parlor and at
anybody’s table.
“Keep on if you enjoy it, dear,” said
grandma, kindly.
“I’ll go tonight, because I’ve prom¬
ised; and then I’m going to tell Mrs.
Bostwick,” said Jessie, biavely, “that I
can’t afford it.”
She was a sensible girl, and she felt
no regret for the decision, not even when
she stood before her glass, that evening,
in the “old pink thing,” looking her
prettiest and feeling her brightest.
The flowers at her corsage had cost
more than she could well afford, and the
bugled ruching crushed by her round
chin had taken the last dollar in her
purse, and she shook her yellow head
at her attractive reflection.
“You look as gay as a new penny!”
said grandma, admiringly. I l And you
call to mind—I wan’t thinking of it—
but you take me right back to one night,
summer before last, when we was out to
your Unc’e Joseph’s. You was going
down the road to some kind of doings,
with the young folks, and you had a
pink dress with some flowers stuck on,'
just as you've got now. S’pose you’ve
forgot it?”
Jessie’s face was lowered, It had
grown red and warm, and her eyes were
brightened, and yet softened.
Forgotten it? No; and she knew she
never should forget it. The dress
had been pink gingham, and the flowers
some wilty little “Chinese-globe-fiow
ers” that grew in Uncle Joseph's yard,
and the occasion had been a “pound
party” at the little parsonage.
But it liad been the happiest summer
in her life. In the face of all the gaie¬
ties that had followed, Jessie con¬
fessed it.
She was only seventeen then, and Al
fred Foster was twenty. He had lived
next to Uncle Joseph’s—a hard-working
fanner’s boy, tall, red-handed, brown
faced, and perhaps a little awkward. But j
he had fine eyes and a gentle voice, and far j
better manners than her cousins, Bob and !
Seldon, and they had won their way into
Jeseie’s soft heart.
Had he cared for her? She did not
know—only, coming home from the
minister's that night, he had been hesi¬
tant and stammering. It had seemed
as though he tv as trying to say some¬
thing he was half afraid to say; and
when lie left her at the door, he had
pressed her hand very hard, and ling¬
ered a little.
And the next week they had come
back to the city, and that had been the
end. ’
Well, it had been a boy and girl affair
at the best, and Jessie had tried to for¬
get it. But she had never quite suc¬
ceeded. And in the depths of her heart
she had cherished a faint hope of meet¬
ing him again some time.
It was not likely, since Uncle Joseph
had moved to Dakota. But the thought
would come up now and then. She was
thinking of it, dreamily, when Mrs.
Bostwick’s coachman left her at Mrs.
Bostwick’s imposing front tfoor.
“You look charming!” said Mrs
Bostwick, as she kissed her at the wide
parlor door. i i You'll captivate all the
gentlemen. George sent a college
friend, who is in the city temporarily,
with a letter of introduction. And he
is such a gentleman! I'd have given
him over to you > for dinner if I could
have managed it.
They were in the big, bright room,
and Jessie had nodded to pretty Miss
Bostwick, and stood waiting quietly for
introductions.
“Miss Brooks, Mr. Gilman—Mr. Sam¬
son—Mr. Fester,” said Mrs. Bostwick,
benignly.
And Jessie bowed.
Hut when she raised her eyes, she
stood quite still, quite silent and motion¬
less, save for her trembling hands.
Her heart seemed to have bounded up
to her throat. She wondered whether
she were not a little insane, or absurdly
dreaming. It was Alfred Foster himself
who had risen to greet her.
“Miss Brooks!” he exclaimed in frank
delight.
And then Mrs. Bostwick took Mr,
Samson’s arm, and Mr. Gilman offered
his to Jessie, # and Alfred took charge of
Eveline Gordon, and Miss Bostwick fol¬
lowed with young Mr. Gordon, and they
went in to dinner.
Yes, it -was Alfred!
If she had known ten minutes ago
that she should meet lihn so soon, she
would have felt nothing but gladness;
but now, there was a dreary pain in her
heart, a queer sense of loss.
It was he—lie in a dress-suit, his
bauds no longer red nor his face brown
—quiet, gentlemanly, low-voiced, and
certainly the handsomest man at the
table. And—George’s college friend!
Of course there was but one explana¬
tion. Had somebody left him a for¬
tune? or had they found an oil or gas
well on the farm? Jessie wondered al
,most miserably, while her soup grew
cc-ld. It was something of the sort,
surely.
Whatever it was, there was a great
distance between them now. She was a
poor girl, and he was—she did not know
what; but he was no longer the sirnple
hearled, hard-working young farmer she
had known.
She looked at him wistfully.
“I have met Mr. Foster before,” she
explained to Mr. Gilman, who, after a
dozen observations and vague responses,
had begun to stare at her.
“All!” he assented.
“He—was different then,” said Jes
sie.
Mr. Gilman restored her dropped fan
in wondering silence.
“It costs a good deal, doesn’t it, to
go to college?” said Jessie, timidly.
Mr. Gilman dissembled his bewilder¬
ment.
“Well, it depends, you know, You
can do it economically, of course; but I
guess I got away with three or four
thousand during my four years.”
Three or four thousand! Jessie gasped.
Across the table, Alfred Foster was
trying to talk to Miss Gordon. His fine
face was a little paler than its wont.
“Yes she is very pretty,” said the
young lady, mischievously, following
the direction of the young man's gaze.
“And you’re deeply in love with her al¬
ready. Confess it, Mr. Foster!”
“But you see, Miss Gordon, we are
old friends,” he explained, “And I
haven’t seen her in two years, And it
doesn’t look much as though I should
see her again — not acceptably. She
seems so much changed! Is she a very
great society young lady?”
“I know her very slightly,” said Miss
Gordon, good-naturedly. “I know that
Mrs. Bostwick is very fond of her.”
“And Mrs. Gordon would not be apt
to make a poor girl her protege!” Alfred
reflected, gloomily, “She wasn’t rich
then, but it
“I suppose she’s no end of money?”
he said, aloud, trying to say it lightly.
“There wouldn’t be any chance for a
poor fellow like me?”
“I dare say not,” said Miss Gordon,
laughing, with unsuspicious eyes on the
old pink gown, which was showy under
the gaslight.
“And the gentleman talking to her?”
said Alfred, with sober eyes on the two.
“He’s a millionaire, I suppose? aud de¬
voted to her?”
“Mr. Gilman?” said Miss Gordon, in
enjoyment of his pleasant humor. “Oh,
yes, Mr. Gilman is the richest young
man in our set; but I’ve heard that he’s
become engaged lately—”
“Why, to Miss Brooks, of course!”
Alfred supplemented, with a hollow
laugh. “Nothing is more likely.”
“It’s quite probable,” said Miss Gor¬
don, laughing with him.
IIow it happened, Mrs. Bostwick, who
was a model hostess, and a great
schecmer for the enjoyment of her
guests, could not have told, but her
pretty protege and George’s handsome
friend were separated during the entire
evening.
She was sure they would have liked
each other so much—a pretty girl and a
nice young man. Why not?
She was decidedly provoked. And her
provocation gave her courage for a some¬
what bold stroke.
“I’m going to send the Gordons home
in the carriage, and let Mr. Foster walk
home with you,” she whispered to Jes¬
sie, as the girl put on her wraps silently
at rather an early hour; she had com¬
plained of a headache, and she did look
pale. “It’s a lovely night; it will do
your head good, I’m sure.”
And Jessie went down the moonlit
street a moment later with her fluttering
hand on Alfred Foster’s arm.
“Did you have a good time, dear?”
said grandma’ sleepily, rousing from a
doze as her granddaughter entered.
“Lovely! ’ cried Jessie, softly. “Do
you know who was there, grandma?
Alfred Foster. Do you want to hear all
about it?”
She sat down, with her elbows on
grandma’s lap, and gfaadma listened, be
wilderedly.
“I mean,” she said, breathlessly,
“that we had a good time coming home;
we had a miserable evening. You re¬
member him, don’t you, grandma?”
And 1’vo remembered him. But he
looked so nice in a dress suit, and Mrs.
Bostwick said he w r as a college friend of
George’s, and I thought of course ho
must have got suddenly rich or some¬
thing, I didn’t know what; blit I didn’t
suppose he’d look at me, and I was just
miserable.”
She laughed a little happily.
“But he's only taking a two years’
medical course—he always did want to
he a doctor—and he’s worked awfully
hard for the money, and he says he
economizes dreadfully. He's in the city
to sec about the prospects for settling
here when he’s through. And the dress
suit wasn’t his, poor fellow; George
Bostwick had made him take his, for
fear he’d need it. lie said he’d meant
to hunt me up when he got here, But
do you know, grandma, that he was
afraid of me, too? He thought—well,
all kinds of ridiculous things. Wasn’t
it funny—both of us thinking so, and
being just wretched all the evening?”
“Yes,” said grandma, sympathetically
“And what now, child?”
“Well, he’s—going to write to me/
Jessie faltered.
“And he’s going to settle here, said
grandma, with a thoughtful premoni¬
tion of the loss of her pretty grand¬
daughter. ‘ ‘Well, well !”—Saturday
Night.
Chili’s Aggressive Enterprise.
Chili is maintaining her reputation as
the most enterprising nation in South
America. Her latest progressive move was
to contract for 10,000,000 ties and a
quantity of timber from the region about
Puget Sound. This material is to be
used in constructing a transcontinental
railroad through Chili and the Argentine
Republic, an 1 for building several new
lines in the mining region and one up
the coast into Peru. To make sure that
the work will be well done the govern
ment is sail to have engaged a number
of American civil engineers and practical
contractors. When the new lines are
completed they will connect the silver
mines of the Andes and the business
centers of Peru with the principal paths
of South American commerce.— Chicag*
Herald.
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AN HONEST DQCTOR,
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Copyright, 1888, by World’s Dispensary Medical Association, Proprietors.
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A Great Scamp.
Some miscreant who will be a marked
man if he is ever discovered, played a
contemptible and most scurvy trick on
the Chicago Freie Frcsse. At an early
hour yesteiday morning the party above office
allude J to broke a window in tho
and entered the composing apartments.
;IIe did not come to steal anything, be
cnise he was well enough posted not to
go near a newspaper office to pilfer, par¬
ticularly after the opulent editors and the
reportoriul wanted Vanderbilts pi—good, had old gone home. pi.
He German
Ilis soul yearned for it and he got it.
•grabbed Going to each of the printers’ cases, he
handfuls of German and Sans¬
crit type, and with the abandon of a
thorough villain, distributed them where
they would do the most harm. Lower¬
case “in’s” came into friendly juxtaposi¬
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“Ill’s” were eu rapport with the of
our daddies. The whole alphabet was
thus treated, This little irregularity
was not discovered until several columns
of matter had beeu set, and then the
proof-readers began to talk in a language
unfitted for use in Sunday-Schools.
Women are now authorized to practice
medicine in Canada, a license having
been granted to Miss Mitchell, a graduate
of Queen’s University, Kingston.
w B I prescribe and folly en
w dorse Big <; as the only
m r TO Corwin 6 uatS.^H •»d specific this dlseaeo. for the certain cute
lurutert i ul of
noHSulotnx*. no* ■ G. H.IN<UlA II AM, M. D.,
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ICrdcclj hy tho We have sold Big G for
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Chicago, 111.
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A. N. U...... .......Sixteen, ’89.
Bci'm The Gold Hunters 9 Ad*
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any child. Mias An.nik Gbeslino.
Feb. 11, ’E9. Columbus, Go.
Book on Blood Diseases sent free.
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