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A .vnall, Sweet Way.
where’s never a rose in all the world
¥ £ Ut m .,kes some Kreen spray sweeter;
Ij-here’s never a wind bird in wing all the fleeter; sky
■ gutmakes some
I'fiiere's I never radianee a star but tender; brings to heaven
[jvnd Soae silver
never a rosy cloud but helps
I To crown the sunset splendor;
Vo robin but may thrill some heart
[ His dawnlight gladness voicing.
<iod gives us all some small, sweet way
To set the world rejoicing.
—[Youth’s Banner.
PLAYED AND LOST.
I A slight, pale-faced girl sat silently
tying with a piece of needlework on
te [handsome low porch of her mother’s house;
young man lay stretched
It her feet On the lawn another
loung couple were engaged in a game
If croquet. The sun’s last gleam
Iglited up Grace Munson’s face with
halo of beauty, and Hernard Norton
poked at her with undisguised ad mic¬
tion.
j “There is nothing so lovely as a
bvely woman,” he said aloud.
The pale cheek of Clarice Barton
;ushed as she quickly glanced at the
pcaker. It was the third time within
lie hour that he had referred to her
usin Grace’s beauty.
l * Grace is indeed lovely,” she said.
I would give half my life to be as
sautiful.”
I “And I would give half my fortune
ou so.”
No sooner were the words uttered
than Norton would have given much
recall them; hut he had spoken un-
■linkingly. Clarice shrank as though
■lie had been struck, arose quickly
flnd went into the house.
i“lam in a pretty fix now!” Nor-
fln muttered, as he arose and walked
■ross the lawn. “That was a nice
■>eecb for a fellow to ( make to the
■irl he expects to marry 1 Ami Clar-
Bc is as proud as Lucifer—liigh-
Itrung as she is qflain, and that is
laying a great deal; by Jove! I never
lioticediher lack of beauty so much
Before Grace came. A pity one can’t
End all things combined in one
[woman! ogize? Wonder if I ought to apol¬ in
Oh, well, I’m going away
ken day8 and she’ll forgive and for-
tek Absence makes the heart softer.
End with this consoling thought he
Itrolled ou to join Grace Munson,
■ hose companion was just taking his
pave.
I Grace wa6 like a delicate llower
[parkling with tho dew of morning, exquisite
phe had soft blue eyes, an
fcomplcxion and golden hair. Alto¬
gether she made a picture of rare
beauty aud it was no wonder Bernard
Norton found pleasure iu merely look¬
ing at her.
That evening Clarice did not appear
in the drawing-room, aud Norton was
tree to devote himself to her lovely
cousin. Mrs. Barton observed his
conduct with displeasure; from the
first she had not approved of her
laughter’s suitor, and wondered what
attraction the careless, frivolous young
man held for her sensible Clarice.
| Next morning a note was handed
Norton. Its contents filled him with
pningled annoyance and relief.
L “When you receive this,” Clarice
wrote, “I 6liall have gone to my aunt
jfor a time. You do not love me, Ber¬
nard, and it is best for our engage-
knent to end. Be happy in your own
kvay and be very sure I shall be in
kniiie.”
That was all, and Bernard’s self¬
isteem was seriously wounded by the
ipistle. But he consoled himself with
he thought that he was now free to
ivoo the charming Grace, and at the
md of the month made a formal
avowal of love to her.
“I have loved you ever since we
hiet,” he said. “Clarice saw this and
generously set me free.” And Grace,
iwho had become very much enamored
bf her handsome suitor, gave him the
^nswer he craved.
Two weeks later Mrs. Barton and
Clarice were on their way to Europe,
■nd Bernard was trying to submit to
Ihe stern decree of Grace’s father.
“Yes, sir, you can marry my daugh¬
ter,” Mr. Munson had said, “if you
love her well enough to wait three
years. I am opposed to early mar-
i 1 tul better.
It occurred to Bera.rd lh«t be «»
“kely to spend tlie greater r 31 °
vouth in the capacity of au “engaged
man, :
lmmor thereby.
Grace was an acknowledged belle
ami lot a time no was pleased at
success. But there w r as a secret hit-
terucss underlying his pleasure,
he saw little of his betrothed
in society’s whirlpool. There would
he no change in this state of affairs
uniil their time ol probation ended,
and feeling in a false position, he con¬
cluded to spend the remaining year iu
travel.
When he bade Grace good-bve he
was struck with the fact that she
looked much older than she did at the
time of their engagement. Two years
of dissipation had left their mark upon
her delicate beauty.
“Be careful, Grace,” lie said. “Keep
some of your roses for me until I
claim you.”
He said nothing of her fidelity; he
was only afraid she might lose the
beauty he worshipped.
Grace was sorry to iosc her lover;
slic felt desolate for a whole day aud
cried herself to sleep the first night.
But Bernard wrote her charming let¬
ters of travel and she soon forgot her
grief. She sent him in return the
briefest of notes, for the charming
Grace did not excel as a correspon¬
dent. But one glance at the porce¬
lain picture he carried consoled him
for that.
< « A fellow can endure weak, insipid
letters,” he thought, “better than the
sight of a plain face across his table
three times a day.”
Bernard loitered here and there.
then made his way slowly back. He
wae in no haste to reach Chicago until
a few weeks before the time appointed
for his marriage, which was to take
place in early autumn. One morning
in July he rang the hell of the Man-
son mansion and sent up his card to
tho ladies. There was a step on the
stair, the trail of a garment and a
woman entered—a woman of medium
height, with a beautifully rounded
figure aud a face of dazzling bril¬
liancy. She approached Bernard and
cordially extended her hand.
“I came down to make your wel¬
come a little less inhospitable, Mr.
Norton,” she said. “My aunt and
cousin are uufortunately at a concert;
they were not aware of your return.
You are quite well? I do not find you
so much changed as I expected.”
He looked at the charming speaker
iu mute wonder.
“I beg pardon—I—I”—he began.
Her face was a ripple of smiles as
she regarded him, waiting for him to
proceed. changed that
“Is it possible I am so
you do not know me? Have three
years aged Clarice Barton so much ?
For the first time in his life Bernard
Norton lost his composure. He sank
into a chair with an ejaculation of
wonder. “Why,
“Clarice Barton 1” lie cried.
it does not seem possible! When did
you return?”
“Nearly two months ago, ” Miss
Barton replied with her well-bred
composure as she gracefully seated
herself. “My dear mother died in
Rome last winter; Europe was unen¬
durable after that, so I came back to
America.” Bernard
“But you are so changed!”
murmured, after expressing regret at
her loss.
Miss Barton smiled sadly.
“The years change ns all,” she said;
“they leave their mark.”
“Oh, it is not that, iie iia t* n
sa y* ‘“Nou look not a i ay 01
when I last saw you; but—pardon
my boldness—yon are wonderfully
improved.” mother people, t>
“I ant like ray s
Clarice answered quietly. “Hier all
mature late; aud the climate of Italy,
where 1 remained most of the time,
beneficial to me. I hope to
was very months.”
return in the course of a few
They fell to talking of their travels
anil 12 o’clock struck before Norton
thought they had been chatting twent\
minutes. At that moment the hall
door clanged and steps came towards
them. He arose to his feet.
“Impossible 1” ho said, looking at
his watch, “I cannot have been here
an hour. Really’ remained
What he would have said
,~.hpd was very becomelv dressed,
falW lb .t .he owmed like tbe
l ,l ost t of o£ lier former eelf. Three years
1 L
cheek had lo;>t its bloom, the no3o was
sharpened and the beautiful eyes
lacked lustre, As she stood besido
j , Clarice for a moment she seemed ut-
j terly eclipsed by her once plain cous-
in.
The meeting of the lovers was con-
strained, and Bernard took his depart¬
ure, promising to call the next day,
which he did. Grace informed him
that he must wait patiently for t\v°
more weeks before he could see her
often, as she had engagements for
every hour.
“But you and Clarice can console
each other,” she said. “It will he
pleasant to compare notes of travel.”
Bernard was not slow to avail him-
self of this opportunity, and for two
bright, brief weeks he walked, talked,
drove and chatted with the charming
wo,nan "’hom he had once siiglded.
^ liat a blind fool he had been! It
was Clarice lie loved—Chirico he had
always loved. She was the hoy’s
fancy and the man’s ideal. It was
(his cultured, interesting woman who
suited him and not the faded, frivo¬
lous Grace. He grew mad with pain
and rage as he realized his position.
He walked into the parlor one
afternoon, where Clarice was playing
softly.
“Do not let me disturb you,” he
said, as she half rose from the piano.
“I am in a mood to have my savage
soul soothed by music. Are the ladies
out?’
“I think so,” answered Clarice, “1
have just returned from my walk and
have not seen them.”
Site played on softly, her dark,
dreamy eyes fixed on space. Bernard
looked at her with a brooding pas¬
sion. Suddenly he crossed over to
where she sat.
“Clarice,” lie cried, “my own Clar¬
ice, I cannot he longer silent! I love
von—I have always loved you. Years
ago you cast me ofl for a foolish whim
and I tried to content myself by form¬
ing other ties. I know now that 1
have never forgotten you. C arice,
take me back again!”
His voice was trembling with emo¬
tion; hut she stood coldly regarding
him and her voice was very hard as
she said:
“Mr. Norton, I cannot excuse this
behavior. I loved you once very
dearly, hut you made me ashamed of
that love and I cast it out. T have for
three years thought of you as my
cousin’s betrothed, almost her hus¬
band, and j'ott insult both her and me
hv your conduct. I supposed you
knew that I am to be married as soon
as my term of mourning expires.
Aliow me to pass.”
She 9 wcpt by him like a queen. The
alcove curtains parted and Grace stood
before him.
“I have.heard all,” she said. “Go,
and never let me see your face again.
She dropped the shining solitaire
which she had worn so long into his
hand and pointed towards the doer.
With bowed head lie left her presence
and went down the marble steps for
the last time. He had played for each
in turn and lost both.
hkinuing an Owl.
Walter E. Bryant gave an object
lesson before the California Zoologi¬
cal Club the other afternoon at the
Academy of Sciences, on the process
of making bird skins for scientific
purposes. Mr. Bryant is one of the
curators of the mammal and birds sec¬
tion of the academy. His audience
was very largely made up of young
people of both sexes, who came in
with their schoolbooks. The lesson
was illustrated by diagrams on a
hlackboard. Mr. Bryant came for-
ward with a very dry owl on which
to operate, He cut into its breast
and ran an incision in the direction of
the tail feathers, deftly removed the
body from the feathers, skinned the
throat and neck, eliminated some of
the wing hones and dug out the eyes,
He substituted cotting for the parts
removed, and showed how the shell
was sewed up and poisoned with ar-
senic. Finally he explained how to
wrap up a specimen to be dried and
how to label the same. The name of
the bird, the date when and place
where it was found, its sex and age
aud also the name of the collector.
are written on the label. Symbols
are used to denote the sex, the astro-
uomical sign for Venus signifying the
female and Mars the male. —[San
Francisco Call.
nv.VTKTE IVi\0.
How These Curious Animals
Build Their Homes.
Some of Their Subterranean
Settlements Extend Miles.
One of the most interesting sights
that greets the eye of the overland
traveler in the west is the prairie dog
and the prairie dog towns. Perhaps
nowhere can a more strictly American
characteristic he found than these lit¬
tle four-footed animals that are to he
found in colonies of thousands in
many localities throughout the great
west. To those of ns here in the east
they may readily be compared to the
common woodchuck, resembling them
both in structure and habits, although
the dogs are of a decidedly gregarious
nature, while the “churchi” arc only
nominally so. Just how the little fel¬
lows manage to live is somewhat of a
question, as they are usually found in
the very poorest sections of tho coun¬
try, often miles from the water and
where very little grass or vegetable
matter is to he found. In fact it is a
common saying on the frontier that
wherever a dog town exists it is a good
country to keep away from.
They arc curious little animal! 1 ,
easily alarmed, and the grotesque
sight of thirty or forty all diving into
their burrows at once is frequently
witnessed. The first thing that greets
the visitor is a white spot here aud
there on tho bare earth as he ap¬
proaches the village—these arc the
old holes, forsaken years ago—a little
further and rude misshapen mounds
of earth are found, with partly filled
burrows leading down into their more
recently abandoned dwellings and
then tho inhabited ones. A harking t
scampering lot of dogs welcome you,
and while some plunge at once out of
sight others squat low down at the en¬
trance and while keeping up a constant
harking carefully watch your move¬
ments.
Curious things, these burrows.
First a mound of earth is thrown up,
iu the top of which is the entrance
and from which the dirt comprising
the mourn! is brought. The opening
descends at an angle of about 45 de¬
grees for two or three feet and then
branches oil'at right angles, tunneling
the earth in various directions and
often making a regular network of
subterranean passages. Occasionally,
but not often, this angle is much less,
resembling the burrow of a wood¬
chuck for all the world, but 1 have
met with only a few such, probably a
half dozen in all. At the mouth of the
excavation the earthy is beaten down
hard, forming in some instances a
nm, near which the owner sits and
harks from morning until night. It
is useless to shoot one sitting thus, for
even if killed stone dead they manage
to drop back into the holes and out of
reach, while such a tiling as a wound¬
ed dog being captured is seldom heard
of.
When alarmed the dogs run for the
nearest burrow, three or four fre¬
quently diving iuto the same one.
This has given to many the idea that
several families live together, hut this
idea is erroneous.. Each pair appa¬
rently lias its own burrow, and
in case of danger do they make use of
one in common, when tne nearest
dwelling is a common haven of
refuge.
Another erroneous impression is that
the rattlesnakes, dogs and a small bur-
rowing owl that inhabits these vii-
la S e8 dwe11 together in harmony,
Travelers and writers have told this
for ma, *y > ears > but recent investiga¬
tions have exploded this pretty mod-
c-rn story of the lion and the lamb.
To begin with, the burrowing owl
when free from intrusion, will almost
invariably be found in the old deserted
burrows already mentioned, and here,
when hungry, the rattlesnake repaiis,
to feed on owls, young or old, that he
may be able to secure. Naturally
enough, when alarmed, all three are
apt to make for the same retreat, and
R is iu such cases that they have been
found and the story circulated,
Prairie dogs are cunning little
creatures, make amusing and inlerest-
ing pets, as they are easily tamed and
uan be taught to do a few tricks,while
to the hungry man they are not uu.
palatable as au article of food, and
oi\e W
delicate by some.
In Shackelford county, Texas, about
fifteen miles northwest of Albany, is
an immense colony, extending for
miles and covering hundreds of acres
of otherwise barren ground, while
near Albany (approaching from the
southwest) up to within a mile of the
town is a colony even larger. A good
idea of a prairie dog town can he ob¬
tained from the inelosure at the
Zoological Park, although here the
animals are not in their native cle¬
ment, and, of course, show to disad¬
vantage. Here they are tame, while
there it is difficult to approach w'ithin
thirty or forty yards.— [Washington
Star.
Where the Slones are Wood.
The Falklands produce no trees,
hut they do produce wood in a very
remarkable shape. You will see, scat¬
tered here and there, singular blocks
of what look like weather beaten,
mossy gray stones of various sizes.
But if you attempt to roll over one
of thoso rounded bowlders you will
find yourself unable to accomplish it.
In fact the Mono is tied down to the
ground, tied down by the roots, or in
other words it is not a stone, hut a
block of living wood.
If you examine it at the right time
you may ho able to find upon it, half
hidden among tho lichen and mosses,
a few of its obscure loaves and flow¬
ers. If you try to cut it with an axe
you will find it extremely hard to do
so. It is entirely umvedgeablc, boing
made up of countless branches, which
grow so closely together that they be¬
come consolidated into ono mass.
On a sunny day if you are lucky
enough to see a 6un»y day in Falkland
—yon may perhaps find on tho warm
side of the “balsam log,” as the Jiving
stone is called, a few drops of a fra¬
grant gum, highly prized by the shep¬
herds for its supposed medicinal pur¬
poses.
This wonderful plant is the Bolax
glcbaria of botanists, and belongs to
the Bamc family as do the parsnip aud
the carrot.— [Boston Globe.
The Foundering of an Iceberg.
The effect of a foundering berg al¬
most baffles description. Visiting »
bay on the southern coast of Labrador
a few years ago, we were surprised to
find no less than nine large icebergs
lying around in hut a short way inside
the entrance thereto. The tallest of
them was certainly one hundred feet
out of the water. Gazing at this
marine monster ono afternoon, it sud¬
denly fell to pieces with a tremendous
crash. The sea around, which before
was motionless, was lashed into leap¬
ing waves. By the force of the fall
every particle of tho berg sank, and
fer the space of a few seconds there
remained nothing to indicate the spot
iu which it had reposed hut a seething
mass of water. By and by the debris
began to appear, piece by piece, until
at length tho sea for a considerable
distance was covered with fragments
of ice. The largest surviving mass
reared itself sullenly aud lazily from
the bluo waters as a wild animal from
Its lair to the height of about twenty
feet. But the striking beauty of the
original berg had gone, and in a much
shorter time than it has taken to de¬
scribe it.—[Philadelphia Ledger.
Caught a Sawfish and If is Pilots.
Yesterday morning some men were
hauling a seine in the Gulf, and when
they were inside the second bar they
noticed a large fish in tho haul. In
shallow water the fish was found to
be a sawfish, and a large one at that.
The seine was dragged to the beach
and the fish secured. Oa its back
were six pilot fish, which held on as
if they were part of the prize. With
difficulty they were detached and four
of them saved. The sawfish meas¬
ured 13 1-2 feet in length and 4 1-2
feet iu breadth, and weighed 650
pounds.
The pilot fish were quite small. In
deep water they swim below the saw¬
fish on each side of the snout or saw,
aud ou leaching shoal water they at¬
tach themselves to the back of the
large fish by an oval sucker. This
sucker resembles the sole of au old-
fashioned rubber shoe, and the power
of suction is such that it requires a
strong pull to detach them. Their
special use or duty ha9 Jong I’emained
a matter of dispute.—[Galveston Daily
News.
