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I Will Be Worthy of It.
I may not reach the heights I seek,
My untried strength may fail me;
Or, half-way up the mountain peak, ;
Fierce tempests may assail me.
But though that p’ace I never gain,
Herein lies comfort for my pain—
I will be worthy of it.
I may not triumph in success,
Despite my earnest labor;
I may not grasp results that bless
The efforts of my neighbor.
But though my goal I never see,
This thought shall always dwell with me—
I will be worthy of it.
The golden glory of love’s light
Mav never fall on my way;
My path may always lead through night,
Like some deserted by-way.
But though life’s dearest joy I miss
There lies a nameless joy in this—
I will be worthy of it.
~Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
A SERENADE.
“Matty’s got a beau I” said Mrs. Hall,
in a sort of stage whisper, as she spread
out the various sections of her half
completed patchwork bed-quilt before
the admiring eyes of Airs. Peckham, her
neighbor. “Keepin’ reg’lar company 1”
“La me!” said Airs. Peckham, at
once losing all interest in the “Irish
ch.in” pattern and staring full in the
face of Airs. Hall. “Who is it?”
“I dunno’s I’d orter tell.”
“Oh, yes, do! I won’t mention it to
a livin’ soul. You hadn’t orter hev
mysteries from me, as has been a neigh
bor to you so long.”
‘‘You’re sure you won’t tell?”
“Yes, sartin sure. » >
“Well, then, it’s Alurtin Paley.”
“Well, I never I” said Airs. Peckham.
‘Me and Louisy, we’ve wondered this
long time why Alartin didn’t marry and
nettle down, with such a nice farm as
he’s got —real store carpets on the floor,
and a new cookin’-stove, with a water
boiler to the back on’t, and everything.
And a nice, good-tempered fellow, too,
as ever lived 1” she added, with a sigh.
“I suppose,” said Airs. Hall, with
modest pride, “it ain’t every girl would
suit Alartin.”
“Day set yet? ’ said Airs. Peckham,
her spectacle glasses all a-glitter with
curiosity.
< i Bless me, it ain’t got so far as that
yet!” declared Airs. Hall. “I didn’t
say he’d propose, did I? I only said he
was cornin’ Sunday cvenin’s.”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Peckham.
“But of course,” added the mother
of Alatty, “everybody knows what that
means. And ti.e next time I go to
Bud port 1 shall be sort o’ lookin’ out
for bargains in dove-colored silks.”
“I supposed it would be just as well,”
said Airs. Peckham, wistfully.
) “Louisy hain’t no notion of gettin’
settled, has she?’’ hazarded Airs. Hall,
in the height of her satisfaction.
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, you mustn't give up,” said
Mrs. Hall. “I’ve known girls marry—
and marry well, too—after they was
older than Louisy is.”
Airs. Peckham bit her lip.
“Louisy ain’t so very old!” said she.
“She’s thirty, ain’t she?”
“Yes; but I don’t call that dying of
old age!’’ retorted Airs. Peckham.
“Alatty ain’t but three-and-twenty,”
complacently observed Airs. Ilall.
“But our family always did marry
early.”
Airs. Peckham rose.
“I gues3 I’d better be going,” said
she, a little nettled. “That walk across
the medder is awful hot arter the sun
gets high.”
Airs. Ilall looked after her with a
half-suppressed smile as she trudged
down the roai, a subdued brown speck
on the summer brightness of the land
scape.
“She’s dreadful jealous’caum Louisy’s
booked for singlo blessedness 1” said
she, chuckling. “Louisy, indeed—a
waaked-out, red-haired old maid! No
more co bo compared with our Alatty
than a cabbage-stalk with a rosel"
While Alalildv herself, dustiug the
furniture in the best room, looked crit
ically at the well-worn figures on the
carpet.
“Ala,” said she, “we must have a
new carpet this fall. This ain’t hardly
docent when a girl has steady com
pany.”
‘•Idunno what your father’ll say,
Alatty,” said Airs. Ilall, coming in from
the kitchen with a fried cruller impaled
on the end of her fork.
“I*a hasn’t no business to be so
stingy,” said Alatilda.
She was a black-eyed, rcd-cheekcd
girl, with ebon hair growing low on her
forehead, and a certain air of domineer-
SCHLEY COUNTY NEWS.
ing command which comported well
with her clear, pink-and-white beauty.
Mrs. Hall looked admiringly at her
daughter.
“I guess likely he’ll let you have
your own way,” said she. “You al
ways was a great hand to coax. Just
taste o’ this ’ere fried cake, Matty. 1
ain’t certain whether I’ve got enough
cinnamon into the dough.”
Alean while, Sirs. Peckham had
reached the little wooden house on the
edge of the swamp, where her grand
daughter Louisa was hanging out the
clothes of the week’s wash—a tall, slight
girl, with large gray eyes, rather a col
orless complexion, and hair of that
bright Rubens gold that Mrs. Peckham
had miscalled “red.”
“It’s true, Louisy,” said the old wo
man, rather spiritlessly.”
“What’strue, granny?”
“About Martin Paley and Matty
Ilall."
“Well,” with a quick twitch of the
upper lip, “why shouldn’t it be true?”
“I sort o’ thought one time, Louisy,
that he was partial to you?”
Louisa laughed, not a bad imitation
of careless indifference.
4 i Partial!” said she. “lie called a
few times, that was all. I ain’t a
beauty, you know, like Matilda Halil”
But when she came in to put to boil
the frugal dinner, her eyes looked sus
piciously red; and after the dishes were
clearel away, she went up to her own
room, took a withered rose-bud or two
out of her little Testament and flung
them out of the window, murmuring to
herself:
“What a fool I have been to keep
them so long!”
The pleasant dusk of the next sunset
was purpling the hiils when Mrs. Ilall
called shrilly to her daughter from the
spare chamber up stairs:
“Matty 1 Matty! there’s one o’them
bothering hand-organ men cornin’ up
the path. Send him away—quick!
Mrs. Deacon Dolby lost one of her
grandmother's silver teaspoons last
week, and—”
Matilda, who was ironing out her one
embroidered pocket-handkerchief, set
the iron back on the stove and ran to
obey the maternal behest.
The broom, unfortunately, was not
in its place, as usual, but the kitchen
mop was the next handiest weapon that
presented itself. She caught it up and
brandished it at the door like a mod
ern Amazon.
Bo off about your business!” she
cried, in a voice to the full a9 shrill
and sharp as that of her mother. “We
don’t want no shiftless loafers about
here l”
The Wandering musician hesitated,
but Matilda brooked no delay.
“Clear out, Isay!” she cried, dex
trously flinging the implement of house
hold skill at the marauder.
It whirled once or twice through the
air, and finally buried itself in the
hedge of gooseberry bushes beyond.
The man with the organ beat a hasty
retreat.
Matty returned to her ironing, and
Mrs. Hall laughed aloud from her van
tage point above stairs.
“I guess you settled his business for
him, Matty,” said she, gleefully.
“I’ve no patience with no such vaga
bonds,” said Matilda, folding up the
handkerchief.
Louisa Peckham was working button
holes in a vest—it was the way she
earned her living—by the light of a
shaded lamp some twenty minutes
later, when there came a knock at the
door, and who should walk in but Alar
tin Paloy.
“Good-evening, Louisa,” said he.
“I didn’t know as I should find you at
home. » >
“I ain’t often away from home,” said
Louisa, coloring a soft flesh-pink, that
made her for the moment almost beauti
ful. “Sit down, Martin, won’t you?”
l I can’t stay but a little while,” said
Martin. “I've come’on an errand. I
want to know if i
you will marry me,
Louisy.”
“Marry you!”
The needle dropped from Louisa’s fin
gers.
“I know it must seem sudden-like,”
apologized Alartin, “but I’ve made up
my mind sudden-like, A man always
does, I suppose, at the last, Will you
marry me, Louisy?”
“Why—y(8—I suppose so,” shyly
acquiesced Louisa, pretending to search
for the missing needle—“if you really
mean it, Alartin, that is. ”
“I do,” said Alartin, “with all my
heart and soul. ”
“But I thought you was keeping com
pany with Matilda Hall?”
“I did go there consid’able,” con
fessed Martin, “but I sort o’ suspicion
she wouldn’t suit me like you would,
Louisy. So it’s a bargain, is it?”
And when he went away, he stopped
a minute to take something out of the
big cluster of black currant bushes by
the gate.
“Why, what’s that?” said Louisa,
who had followed him out. “A
trunk?”
“N-no,” . ,, „ confessed , Martin, reddening „ .
even m . the starlight. , ,. , “It s a hand-or- .
g an )>
“A—hand-organ!”
“Well,” said Martin, laughing rather
shamefacedly, “I may as well own up,
Louisy. It won’t do for me to have any
secret from you, I s’pose, arter tonight.
But there was a poor, worn out Italian
fellow came to my house this evening
with his monkey, and said the hadn’
had no luck all day. And so I give
him some supper and a bed in the barn,
and I just borrowed the organ fora lit
tie while. I thought it would be a
good idea to serenade with.”
“To serenade I But, Martin, you
didn’t serenade me!”
“N-no,” said Martin. “I changed
my mind. But the tunes are real pretty,
Louisy. There’s ‘Annie Laurie,’ and
‘Home, Sweet Home,’ and ‘Iwicken
ham Ferry,’ and lots like that,
Don’t you want me to play some for
you?”
4 i Do!’ said Louisa. “I’m real fond
of music.”
Out there in the starlight, th9 old.
fashioned strains of music sounded so
plaintively that even Grandmother
Peckham opened her upstairs casement
to listen.
Louisa had never been “serenaded”
before. She thought it was like a page
out of the “Arabian Nights.”
And honest Alartin did not regret his
hospitality to the poor, tired organ
grinder, who, with his monkey, lay
coiled up, fast asleep, on the hay in the
baru-loft at Paley Farm.
But Alatty Hall’s “steady company”
did not come back to her. She could
not imagine why, when she dressed her
self evening after evening, and sat in
the best room by the big lamp with the
silk shade, nobody rewarded her per
sistency.
And one afternoon Mrs. Peckham
came over with a jir of Alorella cherries
which she had just preserved.
“I knowed you like preserves,” said
she. “Here’s one of our’n. By-the
way, Louisy was married yesterday.”
“Married!'’ echoed Airs. Ilall.
“Yes—quite quiet-like,” said the
grandmother. “To Alartin Paley.”
Mrs. Hall turned dull tallowy
white. She could hardly boiieve her
ears.
And all tho time Alartin Paley was
saying to himself:
“Haven’t I had a lucky escape from
marrying a woman with a temper like
that l”
There are some mysteries which will
remain forever unsolved; and to the
day of her death Alatilda Hall will
probably never know how it was that
she failed to become Airs. Alartin Pa
ley. —Saturday Night.
An Enormous Worm In His Ear.
The habit in country parts of stretch
ing oneself out on the ground for the
purpose of taking a nap is common
enough in tho summer time; but from
a case that is reported from a village in
the Dordogue, in France, a nap on the
grass is not unattended with danger.
A farmer residing near the village tired
with the heat of the day and with his
work, recently laid himself down to rest
beneath the shade of an oak tree iu a
meadow. lie was suddenly roused from
his repose by a sharp twinge of pain in
one of his ears, the pain increasing to
such an extent that before the poor fel
low reached his home he was half beside
himself. For several days he suffered
the greatest agony, which neither the
doctors nor tho remedies they prescribed
could allay,and the patient was brought
to such a pass that he made up hi} mind
that he must die. It chanced, however,
that a neighbor had the felicitous idea,
as the sequel proved, of pouring a little
turpentine into his ear, tho immediate
effect of which was to make the patient
fall back insensible on his pillow-. On
recovering conscioumojs ho remarked
that he experienced a strange feeling of
relief, the cause of which was soon ex
plained by the exit from his ear of an
enormous worm, which had taken up
its quarters thero during tho farmer’s
sleep .—London Standard.
OSAGE INDIANS.
By Far the Richest Nation in the
World.
Each Member of the Tribe is a
Dissolute Nabob,
The Osage tribe of Indians is by far
the richest nation in the world. The
Osages are five times as rich as the av
trage ° of Americans, ’ ten times as rich a3
the of , Englishmen, ,. . and , the
average b
French and Italians .
are paupers in com
parison. There are among the Osages
no penniless people, and none in want
except that insatiable want that always
wants more.
The whole Osage Nation consists of
just 1501 pci ions, and the number of
children of school age is about 400. But
they already have two schools, supported
by a magnificent school fund of $120,
000, yielding regularly annual interest
of $6000, or $15 for each schoolable
child—a larger fund than any other
community in the world.
Let us see what is the actual wealth
of the Osages. There are 1501 of them
according to last year's census. They
have in the Unite 1 Slates treasury $7,-
758,694 of their own money, drawing
7 per cent, interest. This amounts to
a capital of $5175 apiece for the whole
nation—men, women and children,
But besides this they have 1,470,000
acres of land—equal to just about 1000
acres apiece. This laud is mostly fine
and arable and would sell for an aver
age of $10 an acre, or $10,000 for each
individual’s portion. This makes each
individual Osage Indian worth:
Cash in United States Treasury $ 5,172
Value of 1,000 acres of land.... , 10,000
Wealth of each member of the tribe..if 15,172
So each O age baby come9 into the
world with $15,000 in its doubled fist.
Not only is each member of the tribe
worth $15,000, but the property is so
protected that he can enjoy only the
income of it. He cannot get hold of
tho principal to dissipate it, and he
cannot sell the land, so absolute pro
vision is made for the most inclement
of wet days. Each family possesses
$60, 000 on an average, and the head of
it, if he be industrious and enterpris
ing, can grow $10,000 worth of crops
a year on his 4,000 acres of land. He
is raised permanently above want and
above fear of want.
The Osage tribe has retrograded ever
since a big sale of wild land made it
rich. The population steadily dimin
ishes. In 1858 the population was
6,720; in 1869, 4,481; in 1878, 2,391;
in 1889, 1,500. The rich Osages are
running out. Thera were seventeen
deaths last year and only three births.
Only one baby has been born during
the six months of this year, as far as
reported, and that is only about one
fifth pure blood.
The Osages refuse to he civilized,
dress mostly in blankets, breech-clouts
and moccasins aud are a lazy, ignorant,
worthless fragment of tho human race.
They are mostly drunken when they
can get rum. They will not work, but
when they have any work that a squaw
don’t understand they hire white men
to do it. The government tries to train
the young without any good results.
The fact is that the Osage tribe is a
community of copper colored loafers, of
profligate, dissolute, lazy, filthy nabobs.
They do nothing to better their condi
tion except constantly tease the govern
ment for more and more money. They
scorn and despise civilization, because
civilization means work. Like all peo
ple who are supported in idleness, the
Osages seem to have lost their manhood
and become not merely pensioners, but
mendicants. — Brooklyn Citizen.
Expenses of England’s Prime Ministers
The present Marquis of Salisbury,
says a London correspondent of the
Chicago Inter - Ocean, keeps about
seventy in-door servants, exclusive of
dependencies of a higher class, such as
private secretaries, librarians and chap
lains. All of tho servants aro only in
activity when the marquis is at Hatfield,
his London i-esidence not requiring so
large a service. I give tho catalogue
roughly in tho order of importance.
First, thero is a hou.se-steward, who
pays the other servants, aid is charged
to a certain extent with their manage
ment. lie receives $1003 a year, and
his assistant, the under steward, $250.
I lie butler is paid $750 a year, and the
two under butlers $250. Two French
cooks are paid $500 a year each, and a
valet $500 a year also. Then there are
eight coachmen, the best of whom re
ceive $250 a year; eight footmen, who
receive on an average $175 a year, and
four grooms of the chamber, whose pay
is about the same.
Of women servants, there are eight
kitchen maids, whose pay ranges from
$125 to $75 a year, eight house- maids
and four still-room maids, all of whoso
pay is on the same scale as that of the
kitchen-maids. I have omitted to men
tion four larder-boys, whose pay is
probably very small, but who doubtless
have a good opportunity of getting fat.
Then there are a number of workmen
in constant employment on the home, a
large number of pensioner}, and a long
string of professional or educated men.
Sometimes 130 visitors and servants are
at Hatfield at a time. The upper ser
vants dress for dinner, though for that
matter they are usually in evening dress,
and my ex-butler told me that forty
servants, male and female, in full dress,
often sit down to dinner in the upper
servants’ hall. This includes, of course,
the valets and ladies’ maids of visitors.
Of course, a very important item in
the income of these servants is contribu
ted by tips, which they call “veils,’ a
correct but somewhat unusual word.
The servants who come most in contact
with visitors receive fully half their
wages over again in the form of tips.
Lord Salisbury spends a fortune every
year among employes at Hatfield in
doors and out. He has, for instance, a
head gardener, with twenty-five assis
tants, and a forester with twenty men
under him. The total yearly expendi
ture of Lord Salisbury is about $400,
000, and he is by no means one of the
richest of his class.
Facts About Fish.
The light has a great deal to do with
the color of fish. Small-mouthed black
bass caught out of holes six or eight
feet deep are dark in color. On being
placed in the aquarium they change to
a light mottled green. The channel
catfish, contrary as usual, come out of
the river a pale greenish blue. After
they have been exposed to the light of
the aquarium they turn to the color of
blue black velvet. The famed fish of
the Alammoth Cave show every indica
tion of being catfish for generations re
moved from all light. They have no
color at all, their bodies being
transparent. Small-mouthed black bass
are by all means the best aquarium pet 3 .
Besides being the most lively and intel
ligent, they are the most hardy. The
large-mouthed bass makes his home in
quiet ponds, and he is not fitted for the
fierce contests of aquarium life. He is
easily wounded and his injuries usually
prove fatal. Tho small-mouthed bass
easily recovers from being caught in the
upper or lower lip with a hook. A
similar wound on a catfish generally
festers and often kills. The carp is a
pretty good fellow. In the hustle for
food he generally gets left. The reason
he does not feed on minnows in his
natural state is not, as is generally sup
posed, because ho does not like them,
but for the more substantial reason that
he cannot catch them.
The Persian Shah's Museum.
The Shah of Persia has a museum m
his palace that is described as a curious
place. It contains jewelry and treas
ures of different kinds worth a fabulous
amount. The so-called Peacock throne,
carried off from Delhi 150 years ago,
is alone valued at many millions. In
this museum you may also see vases of
agato in gold and lapis lazuli, said also
to bo worth millions; and alongside of
them empty perfume bottles of Euro
pean make, with gaudy labels, that
can be had at four cents apiece. You
will see priceless mosaics aud exquis
itely painted cups aud cans and vasc3
which were presented by some Euro
pean potentates; and side by side with
them you will notico horrible daubs,
veritable forty-cent chromos, picked up
no ono knows how or where. You will
perceive glass cases filled with huge
heaps of rubies, diamonds, emeralds,
sapphires, turquoises, garnets, topazes,
beryls of all sizes and kinds, cut and
uncut; and check, by jowl, with these
your eyes will seo cheap music boxes,
jews-harps, squeaky hand-organs. The
Shall must also be in a condition to
“bull” the market on pearls, for here
is, for instance, a big glass case twenty
four inches long by eighteen inches
■wide and high, which is more than half
filled with pearls (mostly from the Per
sian gulf fisheries) of all sizes and de
grees of loveliness