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Kissing the Rod.
Oh, heart of mine, we shouldn’t
Worry so!
What we’ve missed of calm we couldn’t
Have, you know!
What we've met of stormy pain,
And of sorrow's driving rain.
We can better meet again
If it blow.
We have erred in that dark hour
We have known.
When our tears fell with the shower,
All alone—
Were not shine and shadow blent
As the gracious Master meant?
■Let. us temper our content
With His own.
For, we know, not every morrow
Can be sad;
•BV Torgetting all the sorrow
We have had,
Let us fold away our fears
And put by our foolish tean,
Ami through all the coining years
Just be glad.
—f James Whitcomb Riley.
THE DOCTOR’S BOY.
“Mother, it’s awful cold to-night!
Can I put a little more wood on the
lire—only one more log?”
Mrs. Netley glanced grudgingly to-
ward the wood-box in the corner—a
receptacle which, by the way, was not
too well filled.
“I suppose so,” said she. “But be
careful John; wood gets away so fast,
and the price always goes up toward
winter.”
And kneeling on the braided rag in
front of the tire, John Netley amused
himself with building up the founda¬
tions of a cheery sheet of flame, while
on one side of the table his mother
made buttonholes on vests, and on the
other Aunt Eunice stitched busily away
at shirt finishing for a factory near
by.
Mrs. Netley was a pale, hollow-eyed
little widow. Eunice White was ten
or twelve years younger, and although
T»ot in the first bloom of youth, might
hove been pretty if her cheeks had
been a little rounder and her eyes less
•mournful in their expression.
The room, although furnished with
a pitiful plainness, was neat and clean.
A very old blackbird gave an occa-
sional spasmodic chirp in its cage near
tbc ceiling, and a lean cat watched in¬
tently at an infinitesimal mouse-hole
behind the bureau.
-“Well, mother,” said Oohn, who
was the only real young creature in
the rootn. “why don’t you ask what
luck I had?”
I* “Because,” sighed Mrs. Netley, bit-
ing off the thread to save the trouble
®f reaching for her scissors, “you
■ever do have any luck. Folks don’t
•seem to want a boy.”
“The new doctor does, though,” said
John, chuckling, as he reviewed the
result of his architectural dealings
with the fire. “And heVengagcd me
to look after his horses and cow.
There!”
Mrs. Netley paused, with her needle
suspended in mid-air.
-“Well, that is luck,” said she. “The
new doctor! I .nppose lie's a very
grand gentleman, eh?”
“Ile's very nice and pleasant,” said
John; “that’s all I know. And he’s
going to give me two dollars a week,
And lie says I mustn’t be discouraged,
because he was a poor boy once, with
empty pockets and never a shoe to his
feet” Itet *
“And now,” said Mrs. Netley, “he’s
bought that big stone house and
grounds. It’s well to be lucky.”
“But,” cried John, “he says it isn’t
luck. He says it’s nothing but hard
work and push. And I mean to work
hard too, and buy a nice house, some
day, for you and Aunt Eunice to live
in.”
“What's his name, Johnny?” ' list-
lessly asked Miss White.
“Dexter,’ the boy answered
4 ‘Doctor David Dexter.
“Mercy on us, Eunice!” cried Mrs.
Ketley, “what possessed you to give
«ucli a start?’’
“I—I pricked my finger!” mur-
mured Eunice. “Can’t we have
Mother lamp, Mary? Ibis sort of
Ihing is ruinous to the eyesight.’
Mrs. Netley rose to bring another
-•tarved-looking little lamp.
John sat and stared at the fire, with
tpeculative eyes.
“Im only to feed the horses, and
tarry wood and water to the kitchen.
aud look after the fancy Brahmas and
Leghorn fowls,” said lie. “Doctor
Dexter has a man to drire around
with him. So you see I can study at
.home evenings, just the same as if I
went to scliool; and I’m sure Aunt
Lunice is as good as any school-teacher
going, to keep me up with my
geography and arithmetic.”
“Iwo dollars a week will be a
great help to us,” said Mrs. Netley.
And then she coughed that dry,hard,
rattling little cough that John disliked
to hear so much,
“It seems strange, don’t it,” said
she, after John had gone to bed, and
the two sisters were putting away
their wearisome work preparatory to
seeking their own pillows, “the idea
of a new doctor settling here, after old
Doctor Plymptou had resigned for
forty years? How times do change,
tc-be-surc!”
“Yes,” said Eunice, almost inaudi-
bly.
Mrs. Netley looked sharply at her.
“Eunice,” said she, “what does ail
you tonight? You ain't sick, are
you?”
“Yes,” said Eunice. “Sick of liv-
' n » Slc k °f drudging—sick of this
ent *^ ess %ht for daily bread! ‘Oh,
Mary, Mary! what a fool I have been!
^ ^ could only undo the past!”
“Eunice, what do you mean?”
“Do you remember when I taught
school at Milford, Mary, when John
was a baby, and you were living over
ftt Dawson s Point, before Albert
TV ell, I had a lover then,
lover that really * loved
a me—
^ or * was tole, ' a Uly good looking in
those days. But he was plain and
quiet and not very well-to-do. I
thought I could do better, and I found
it great fun to tease the poor fellow as
I've seen boys play a trout in that lit¬
tle crooked stream up the hills. And
I ended by refusing him, and he went
away.”
“I’ve heard all this before, haven’t
Isaid Mrs. Netley, with a puzzled
countenance.
“Yes; but you never heard his
name. It was David Dexter.”
i * Goodness me!” ejaculated Mrs.
Netley.
“HushI” said Eunice. “Don’t
wake John. Oh, yes, I know I’m
rightly served; but it don’t make the
dose any the less bitter to swallow.
Doctor Dexter is a rich man now, and
I hope—yes, I do really hope—that he
has a good wife, one worthy of him,
by this time. But I can't help think¬
ing what a dreadful mistake 1 made in
those old days. He was so good and
true.”
“Well, said Mrs. Netley, slowly,
“ il ’ s tlone and ifc can’t be undone. So
far as I can see, folks are always
making mistakes in this world. Don’t
fret, Eunice. It’s small good crying
aftei spilt milk. And it’s past ten,
and the fire’s clean burned out, and
we’d better go to bed, I guess.”
John Netley went to his new place
the next day, and any boy who has
been thrown on his own resources can
easih imagine the delight he felt when
Doctor Dexter placed two big, round
silver dollars in his little brown
1 3t " ,0 c,ld of lho fl, st "■ eeli < wi,h
,lie P loas!> “ t w0,,ls:
“You have well earned them, my
boy.
It was a dreary November evening,
with the windy air full of flying dead
leaves, when Alison, the old cook,
came to the office door iu Doctor
Dexter’s fine stone house.
.ri>i ‘-Please, doctor,” said she to her ,
master, who had just seated himself
with a book before the red light of the
fi re , “do von know what’s come of
little John? I've called and called,
] 1]e j * t there.”
am sn
« Not there?’’ repeated Doctor Dex-
ter. “And I let Collins go home to
8pend Sundav. Call again; the boy
must be there.”
night <.He he isn’t liadedt doctor since It's £hhed the first
him. And now I come to think of it,
he had an awful hoarse cold this morn-
ing, w'hen he came in for the chicken
feed. Perhaps lie’s sick.”
Doctor Dexter laid down his book,
“I’ll go down and take the horse
out of the traces myself,” said he.
“YVhere does Johnny live?”
Alison did uot know; neither did
the doctor.
j }nt as Dexter opened the stable-
door, outside of which the patient
horse stood waiting, his mane and tail
drooping before the knifelike wind,
the flash of a lantern greeted his eyes
with unexpected light.
“So you are there, after all, John?”
said he.
But it was not John Netley. It was
the tail, slight figure of a woman that
shrank back from its task of throwing
hay into the manager of General, the
big iron-gray horse.
“Why,” cried Doctor Dexter) in
amazement, “who are you?”
“Iam John's aunt,” faltered alow
voice. “He’s sick, and he fretted so
much about the horses’ supper that I
told him I would come and put hay
into their mangers ar.d water them. 1
am not timid with cattle,” she added,
“and I did not suppose any one would
know.”
“John’s aimt!” repeated Doctor
Dexter. “Let me take that lantern a
minute, please! Why do you turn
your face away from me? Is it true?
You are Eunice White, then?”
‘‘Yes,” she cried out, passionately,
“I am Eunice White. But I never in¬
tended you to know r it, David Dexter.
Fortune lias dealt very diflerently with
me from what it has with you. Open
the door* let me go back home. I'm
sorry I ever came here.”
“You are cold,Eunice,” said he gent¬
ly ; you shiver. Come to the house
and let me give you a cup of tea.”
“No,” she said, resolutely, “I wifl
go home!”
i i Then I will go with you, Eunice.
I must see Johnny. Do you know,
even without being aware that he was
any kin to you, I have got fond of that
boy? I shall be fonder still now. I
have wondered this many a day, Eu¬
nice, where yon were and what had
become of you?”
“Have you?” Eunice’s heart had
begun to beat strangely now; her
cheeks glowed deeper than any dam¬
ask rose. “Well, that is a question
easily answered. I am living here
with my widowed sister—John's
mother—and I am sewing for a liv¬
ing.”
It cost her something to make that
confession, for Eunice White was a
proud woman yet. But she scorned
to dissemble.
“Eunice,” he said, looking wist¬
fully down upon her, as he walked by
her side, “I could have done better
than that by you. I’ll do it still, Eu¬
nice, if you will let me. I'm not oue
of those that vary and shift with every
change of the moon. I loved you
then, and I love you now. And as
for these twelve years that have sepa¬
rated us, I’ve loved you steadily all
the time. I've remained single for
your sake. Now you can decide. Is
it yes, or is it no?”
Was not loyalty like this worthy of
a return? Eunice White thought so.
She put out her cold hand and let it
rest in David Dexter’s warm grasp.
“It is yes,” said she.
Old Alison was quite ont of patience
that night when the doctor did not rc-
turn to the dinner of clear soup,
salmon-steak and roast grouse which
she had cooked with so much care,
until it was all spoiled with standing,
But when at last he came in with a
bright face, and told her the cause of
his delay, she did not so much blame
him.
“Fve always said,” declared she, in
her quaint Scotch way, “that the one
thing you wauted, doctor, dear, was a
wife to rule the house. And if she’s
1 , ,
„„ whv . . ’ be coiitv ntecl to call It 7’ her
„
“I’m T , sure you will like her, Ali-
son,” said the doctor, rubbing his
hands.
' ?! ,, .. . , !Tr Sa ’ d John *
you how good Doctor Dexter
" aS ‘ A, ’ d "° W he S to be niy real
^ 1 ° Ut a " d h ° M hia
°' C1 J ‘ ay: , l° U are to live
1 ^’ mother ’ and rost Gom all this
dreadful sewing that's wearing your
lieai 1 aiui e ves . out - Oh, Aunt Eunice,
^ f ° U ° d * ld
“John, you are a goose!” said Aunt
Eunice.
But she laughed and blushed as she
spoke the words, and John knew very
well that she was not angry with him.
A Novel Fog Horn.
A fog horn operated entirely by
steam and compressed air has been
established at the light station at Son
Bird point, which is the eas;ern ex-
tremity of Discovery Island, The
horn will sound blasts of eight seconds’
duration, with intervals of one minute
between blasts. The fog-alarm buTd-
ing is situated about 300 feet south-
westerly from the lighthouse and is of
wood, painted white, with brown
roofing. The horn is elevated about
fortv-five feet above h»gh water mark.
BANDIT LUN-KY.
A Tonquin Desperado and His
Band of Cutthroats.
Captured Frenchmen Pay a Dig
Ransom for Their Liberty.
Lun-Ky is a desperado who leads a
bandit hoj-de in the mountain fastnesses
near Dong-trien, in Tonquin. He is
hardly more than 20 years of age, is
of commanding stature and singular
ferocity, and has operated so actively
during the last two years as to hjve
become an object of terror throughout
that part of the country. It is believ¬
ed that unrequited love impelled the
youth to adopt this lawless life, for
two years ago he was a reputable lad,
apprenticed to a saddler, and assiduous
in his attentions to the daughter of one
of the local magistrates, This girl,
however, suddenly wedded with an
old and rich neighbor, and in a few
days Lun-Ky disappeared from Dong-
trien and presently blazed iuto notor¬
iety as the boldest bandit chief in Ton¬
quin. It is, perhaps, the ambition of
the misguided youth to acquire so
great possessions as to occasion his old
and fickle inamorata severe heart¬
burnings.
At all events, the riches which Lun-
Ivy has amassed in two years are said
to exceed the bounds of credulity,
Somewhat of a dandy in his tastes, lie
weais gorgeous silks and feathers,
and covers his bosom with a network
of gold, his weapons are of the finest
quality and include in their category
jeweled scimeters, cbony-slock car-
bines, and ivory-hilted poniards,
Two months ago the brothers Roque
and M. Costa, three Frenchmen tern-
poiaiily residing in Tonquin, were
captuied by Lnn-Ky’s band. At the
same tine a companion, one Sing-Yi,
a native tradesman fell into the hands
of the brigands.
As soon as M. Briffand, the French
consul (or “resident” at Dong-trien),
eard of this outiage, he applied him-
self industriously to securing there-
lease of the captives, but the brigands,
with whom intercourse was finally
opened up, demanded an exorbitant
ransom, nor would they accede to any
compiomisc. One day, therefore, the
consul, accompanied -by the village
puestaud attended by an escort of
I.-each marines, repaired to the moua-
tains, bearing the required ransom.
Having reached a lonely spot supposed
to have been about five miles from the
bandit camp, this little company was
halted before ’ a bamboo post upon
which was hung an inscription saying
tha- the troops must not go farther
without parley.
About this time Lun-Ky himself ap¬
peared in the distance, ar.d announced
that the consul and the priest should
proceed together, leaving the marines
behind. It was another Hobson’s
choice. So the troops remained, and
the consul and the priest went for¬
ward with the beasts bearing the ran-
som. Reaching the assigned place,
perhaps two miles distant, the ransom
was carefully inspected and counted.
It consisted of 100 pieces of silk, 12
watches, and $J0,000 in coin. Luu-Ivy
objected to the silk, because it was
not, as he complained of the best
quality.
But the consul, speaking through
the priest as interpreter, represented
that the silk was the very finest that
could be obtained in Tonquin, and
finally the chieftain was persuaded.
Then the captives were delivered up,
the bandits to the number of 400
kneeling all the while in a circle, with
leveled rifles, ready to fire at the first
signal. As soon as the consul, the
priest and the released men disap¬
peared down the hillside the bandits
struck camp and made ofl' with proper
haste.
The native tradesman, Sing-Ai, who
Was taken into captivity with the
Messrs. Costa and Roque, was not re-
leased with the others, and it is be-
lieved that the bandits murdered him.
lie had, it seems, identified several of
the bandits and had prepared a letter
to a Canton mandarin giving certain
important information and asking that
the families of Jhese bandits be heid
amenable for the lawlessness of the
bandits themselves. Discovering this
letter and recognizing in Sing-Yi an
enemy who knew to;> much, the ban¬
dits put him into close confinement,
and it is supi»osed that they subse-
auently beheaded him.
The ransomed Frenchrntm
that during their captivity th^ *
kept manacled and that the most
ing indignities were heaned^ h'
them. They say that Lun-Ky
erenced by his fellow-bandits a < an
spired being, and that hi s a
chieftain is practically an absol
monarchy. Lun-Ky has thou-Z
gi\ cn it out that as soon as the numi
of his followers has reached 70o
S "°°P own upon his na.j> e
a » c » ca P llre 8 °Id sweetheart,,
s * ,an = e JC1 'meiable husband,!
however, cutting off the latter’s a
and nose, that being a partieui.
humiliating offence in China, :
announcement has, as you would j
pose, occasioned a distinct feeli a
uneasiness in certain quarters— -f
cago News.
Boiling Lakes in the Sierras,
About 100 miles north of Oroifl
at the foot of old Lassen, there J y
boiling Jake, covering several 1
The depth of the lake is unknown
its entire surface constantly boils! beat]
a huge kettle. The degree of
do not know but we were there disj aJ
ten years ago, and remember
ly that it would scald the skin f] 1
the fingers in a very few seconds.
Our party agreed that it would!
an egg in four minutes. The sniel
sulphur pervaded the atmosphere J aM
the lake, and around its borders scrape!
thing like sulphur could be
in handfuls. This lake is near
Spring valley, at the base of HiJ
Lassen. Between it and the mod
there are perhaps a thousand trJ bol
bubbling, hot springs and in
about these springs the uncomfort] 6olcs of i
sons’ shoes become
warm. The North Feather rived
the base of Lassen, in its trick!
snows and springs, and in a clear fewl J
and beautiful stream but cominJ a
wide, flows through this I
of hot springs. bubble!
Some of these springs |
boiling water within a span of J
river. Standing in the midst of eJ
springs a peculiar sensation is
rienced. At a thousand places! J
earth emits a vapor of smoke, jarrl
under the surface there is a stJ
roaring noise as if hundreds of and]
engines were in operation, uncert!
earth produces a feeling of I
t y. A short distance south of lake,wl the
ing Jake and near Willow there!
is beautiful, cold and clear, J
seve ral gevsers that shoot up st I
of hot watcr from five to tcn fe I
diameter and eighteen to twenty J
hig]u Th;it is a gmnd all(1 n cl
couutry about Mt . La SSon , pres 1
every variety of natural beauty stJ
affording unfimited fields of tJ
the geologist. If it is desired
into the crater of an extinct voleanB
trip to the summit of Lassen will®
ify the wish. ■
The high Sierras of Northern fl
fornia are little known except to®
pectors and trappers of a past a<re®
their wonders are vet to be deser® Cuu®
—[Red Bluff (Cal. ) People's
A Ulov Aimed at Oleomargaria
“The authorities of the Stilt
Michigan have of late come to the<
elusion” states the American Dairy!
“that it is not right to further i
the insane of the State on oleouis^
rine instead cf butter, and havetW
fore ordered a change under the
pressed opinion that oleomargarine
a tendency to create a disturbing
the stomachs of the patients, I
we believe, is the hardest pracW
blow the oleomargarine people H
received, it is to be presumed H
those patients have been fed on M
for years past without any P 0! »
suspicion crossing their minds H
they were not receiving the P U1V ® ®
le of buttC1 ' that they pr ol!
thought they were eating, hnt -I
end their stomachs rebelled given® agaiu^B
stull', which was probably public
in the true shape that the again®
get it if there were no laws fl
manufacture. Thus we see.
without a trial, what would bethfj
suit if oleo was given au open eri*
to come on the marked. This douj
makes us feel that we have
injustice to anyone in our two
opposition to free trade i.i the 8.'
a
dear as Crystal- B
Foo!—“What’s the cause ol ■
11011 *d weather?
^ Vise mau (with dignity)
caused by an area of low bar°