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Things Immortal.
The pure, the bright, the beautiful,
That stirred our hearts in vouth;
The impulse of a wordless prayer,
The dream of love and truth.
The longing of after something lost,
T.ie restless spirits cry,
The striving after better hopes—
These things can never die.
The timid hand stretched forth to aid
A brother in his need;
The kindly word in grief's dark hour,
That proves a friend indeed;
The plea of mercy softly breathed
When justice threatened high,
The sorrow of a contrite heart—
These things shall never die.
The memory of a clasping hand,
The pressure of a kiss,
And all the trifle* sweet and frail,
That make up life’s first bliss;
If, with a firm, unchanging faith,
And holy trust and high,
We feel and act the‘better part—
These things can never die.
r.et nothing pass, for every hand
Can find some work to do:
T/Ose not a chance to awaken love,
Be firm and just and true.
-So shall a light that cannot fade
Beam on the form on high,
And angel voices whisper tnee:
These things shall never die.
—Myna Jack in Atlanta Constitution.
4 LITTLE VENTURE.
Cornelia stepped from a Fifth avenue
stf–gc at Fifty-second street. Being in
ms unsettled mood, she turned and
strolled, with an enjoyment of aimless
sKSs toward the east, though her proper
destination was in the near we3t.
But she was fond of exploring New
York by herself in those few interims
when she was not seeing it, as it were,
fwofcssiouaUy with Aunt Sarah and
their New York relatives and friends
—Willard O.iver among the latter.
She had declared to Willard Oliver
that she didn’t know how she should
‘live through it when they went abroad
;n the fall if Aunt Sarah conducted the
slight-seeing. He had adec l if it was
■quite settled, tlieir going. He had de
murred and looked down at his shoes
tad pretended to be serious and sulky.
Yes, pretended!
Sulky on her account? He? Oh, no!
For of course he knew all about her.
W Iren, there was any danger of people
not knowing it—that she was Aunt
Sarah's orphaned and adopted niece,
■md not her heiress—she always obeyed
a nervous djsire to set them right im
mediately. But of course Willard Oli
ver knew it.
"She remembered that it had occurred
to her just to mention it tho day he had
''liken them, being down town, into his
•sumptuous looking law office, where he
Ifc–d a client wait while he took them
up on tho roof for the view.
tShe had meant, indeed, to tell him,
i or further clearness, all about her
several schemes for self-support since
Saer graduation from Madame Moufoit’s,
n.ad of Aunt Sarah’s horror and calm
defeat of them eaeli in turn; but he
bad given her no chance.
She had frowned at the thought of
call he had done for them. Why had
•tans done it ? lie need not have taken
fibem to the theatre more than once or
twice, but he had taken them five
’•tunes. If he would let them alone!
Me, a rich New York lawyer, and she—
Then, suddenly, and with indignant
surprise, she found herself crying.
Well, it was high time to go home! If
Aunt Sir,ih should know her condition
-.he would put her to bed.
She found herself in Third avenue,
strolling northward. There was a small
crowd about the open door of the shop
ahe was passing — a “delicatessen,”
saelih a German name on the sign. In
side there was a clamor of tongues,
which grew louder, till a rotound man
‘m a white aproa backed out through
the door, both his fat hands forcibly
gesticulating.
“I vill not hear your!” he was reit
erating, his heal thrust forward and
violently shaken— l ‘I vill not! You
irioost go—I vill not haf you. Veil!
you hear?”
A girl had followed him to the door
—a shabbily dressed girl, pretty enough
to rouse some sympathy. Her sallow
tiicc showed traces of tears.
“Phew! she’s the cashier,” said a
butcher's boy in the gathered knot,
•wtustling. *
“And phwat has she done!” a woman
in a shawl demanded.
“Vat has she done?" the shopksoper
repeated, with spread hands. “She
2»s stole vun, two, tree time alretty—
she has stole my money. 1 vill haf her
hacked avay!”
A red- haired young man in a blue
cardigan jacket, who had lounged out
from a fruit store next door, inter
cepted.
“What are you blowing about,
Schwab? How much has she got? 1 ’ he
demanded.
“Veil, she has got soorn money, I
haf found her tree time at it,” her em
ployer responded, his small kindly eyes
warmly alight. “I haf gif her goot
v.igcs alretty. Now I vill find ‘a police
man!”
The fruit store clerk eyed the girl.
“You better bundle right along,” ho
said sharply. “That’s all right, Schwab.
You liain’t lost much. It’s too small a
ca c for a policeman to tackle; you
find one ’t would touch it.”
The girl went without a word.
Schwab, with a resigiod shrug and a
gradual return to good nature, followed
a customer into his shop; the red-haired
clerk, conscious of the admiration of
the gioup, strolled hack.
It was over. The butcher boy went
on liis way.
Cornelia lingered. She looked up the
street after the girl’s disappearing figure
and sighed with pity.
She was ready to cry again, but re
strained herself because the red-haired
you ig man was looking at her over a
pyramdof oranges. She saw vaguely
lhat they were fifteen for a quarter.
Stiil her lips trembled. She knew
she was not herself, or lhat Aunt Sarah
would have thought she was not.
The idea that was forming itself
alarmed her, and yet held and dazzled
her.
Why not?
There was no good reason why not.
there was every reason why—the same
reasons that had always been. Only
she had never got so near to it as this;
Aunt Sarah had always prevented if.
She went up to tho window. It had
pinked sausages, bottled olive3 and fruit
cans attractively arrayed.
Should she? They would be in New
York only a month or so longer—could
she stay on alone? But it would be a
beginning.
She pressed her gold umbrella hard
against her face to cool its warmth.
She thought of Aunt Sarah with a
suddea fright, but then she went in at
the door, her unsteady hands tightly,
determinedly claqoed, and said to the
staring shopkeeper that she w'ould like
to try (o fill his cashier’s place.
*
Willard Oliver walked up Third ave
nue at 8 o’clock that evening.
He had stopped at two points below
Fiftieth street, and he had still a point
to mike above it. He walked fast and
looxed worried, for he feared he would
be kept out too late to make a certain
call that night.
He thrust his stick under his arm and
strode hard.
If he could make it by 8:45 he would
drop ia anyhow. He didn’t think she
would mind it, though her aunt might.
Or, if he did not have to go home aad
dress—if she would overlook the un
conventional tie he had hated himself
for having put on that morning! He
thought she would, though he didn’t
know about her aunt.
He didn’t care about her aunt, cither,
only as regarded her weight and influ
ence with her.
But then he was certain, whenever
lie could rouse himself to look the mat
ter in the face, that influence of the
most favorable—yea, and any amount
of it—would avail him nothing with—
her.
Therefore he looked the matter in the
face as little as possible.
He brought up at his destination
sharply and burst in at the door.
If there had been a hindering rush of
customers he knew he should have gone
crazy. He eyed a girl with a pail of
pickles scowliugly, and cringed with
impatience as the proprietor went to the
cashier’s desk with her bill.
“Feefty from vun tollar, mees,” he
said, with a certain politeness.
“I’m late, Schwab,” his caller broke
in, following him. “It doesn’t incon
venience you?”
The shopkeeper smilingly shrugged.
“It vouldn’t do me no hurt uf you
all dc time stayed avay,” lie declared,
jocularly. “Acli! it is dc rent dot
keeps us poor, vc storegeepers. Dot
man moo3t be reech like de Rothschild—
ch, Mr. Oliver?”
“Well, he’s richer than you or I,”
Mr. Oliver rejoined, taking a receipt
from his pocketbook.
He leaned again d the desk while
Schwab went to hir safe. A hat and
jacket hung on a nail near him.
Ilia eyes remuined fastened to them
SCHLEY COUNTY NEW’S.
wonderingly; he turned to look respect,
fully at the girl who wore things so
much like hers. • The back of her head
was toward him. He thought the like
ness followed eve 1 here, and his inter
est was warmly aroused, H j made a
remark to her about the weather.
There was a blank pause when she
l-.al turned to him.
He stammered her name and blushed
for his ruieness of amazemet and strove
to speak, but lie only faltered fragmea •
tarily.
l i It souulel like you: voice,” said
Cornelia—she tried, with bewildered
eyes, and a thu n ting heart, aid tremb
ling lips, tt smile—“but I couldn t be
lieve it was you.”
“And I couldn’t believe it was you,”
he said. “It’s a mutual surprise.”
lie looked at her, eager,y smiling
through the latticed wires that topper
the desk.
“1 was on my way,” he added—“1
w r as hurrying tremendously to get to see
you.”
‘ I shall be going soon,” she fail.
She held her head well up, though
her chin quivered.
She felt ashamed that it should, He
would have known it sooner or later—
she would have told him; and why did
she feel it somehow cruelly ridiculous
that he should find her thus?
But there was only a pleasant smile in
his eye3 as he looked at her, and she
went on hurriedly. He was asking if
he might not, then, take her home, but
she did not hear him.
“I will tell you—I know you are
wondering,” she said, But I—I
thought you knew I was poor, and—’’
Sue tried to be candy deliberate as she
told him, anti she was pi zzled that she
should be incoherent.
And she did not know why he should
keep on smiling, even when she ac
counted for it all—even Avhen she anxi
ously gave him her motive—her long
desire for self-support and independence
of “cliari'.y.’'
Sue put it at its worst; at least, there
uv<;s no worst to come.
She did not look at him again; she
did not want to see how he Looked after
that.
But he laughed explosively, pushing
back his hat to rub back his hair, with
boyish exc.lenient.
‘ I didn’t know that—that it is ‘chari
ty’” he said, breathlessly, trying to
look over the grating. “i didn’t know
it. I needn’t stand quite in such awe
of you any more, need 1? if I am a poor
lawyer who collects rents after hours to
help out, and g ,es about on false pre
tences trying to make ag>cd impression
on people—certain people—trying to
give them an effect of solid wealth be
cause of his awe and fear aad an inter
est—a certain interest--”
The wires were too high. He stooped
to the small oval chauge winiow.
“You couldn’t take care of yourself,’’
he whispered, with a mingling of scorn
and exaltation. “You’ll have to let
me take care of you.”
He reached down her hat.
The shopkeeper came up with a roll
of bills for the agent. His round face
broadened.
“Yy, you are ogwamted?” he said,
beaming.
The agent, joyously laughing, gave a
brief explanation.
“She wouldn’t suit you, Schwab,”
he concluded. “She doesn’t know
anything about keeping books or mak
ing change.”
“I am sorry,” Cornelia faltered.
She felt, with all the rest—tho bliss
ful rest—rid culously de fcited.
Sue looked protestingly into her lov
er’s twinkling eyes. He took down
her jacket and held it for her.
“What wail your aunt—what will
your aunt—say to you?” he queried.
“She doesn’t know it yet,” Cornelia
murmured. “I telegraphed her that I
was detained. She’d think I’m at
Cousin Mary’s.”
Schwab, cheerfully uncomprehending
save for the main fact, waited for her
at the door with a silver dollar and a
bow.
“I vill pay then, vat I owe,” he said.
“No, no!” cried Cornc! 1 ' 1 ..
But her lover took it.
11 We may need it,*’ he said, drawing
her hand snugly through his arm. “Or,
if we manage to worry along without
it, I shall keep it as a souvenir.”— Sat
urday Night.
Reasoning From Analogy.
Father—“You will never bo tall, if
you smoke, my son.”
Son— “Why, pop. our chimney
smokes and it’s over twenty feet high.”
CITY WAIFS.
Taking Care of Lost Children in
the Metropolis.
Parents Seeking their Little
Ones at Police Headquarters.
A great policeman, big enough and
strong enough to have fellel a horse
with a single blow, carrying in his arms
a little golde.i haired girl, upon whose
sleeping face the tears had washed clean
places in the dust and grime, walked
briskly toward Police Headquarters in
New York city. The child was slumber
ing as comfortably as though she had been
iu the little crib at home, and the offi
cer was as tender as if the little one
was his own and helped make sunshine
in his home on his days off duty. Half
a dozen children of the street, quick to
catch sight of the pair, followed close
on the big policeman’s heels until, says
a Sun scribe, he went up the step; to
the marble building in Mulberry street,
and was lost to view behind the swing
ing doors.
Bluff Sergeant Kelleher was on duty,
and when he saw the little bundle of
humanity brought in, he sat down at
his desk and began to turn, in a busi
nesslike way, the leaves of an enormous
book which lay in front of him. He
kept turning until he came to the page
where he hal written last. Then, after
carefully adjusting his eyeglasses, and
dipping his pen in the big inkstand, he
queried;
“Boy or girl, officer 2”
“Girl. » >
“How old ?”
“ ’ Bout four years. * J
“Where did you get her 1’
“Sixty-fifth street and Third avenue. ”
“Take her upstairs.”
“Upstairs” meant to the top floor of
the big building where Matron Webb
presides and acts the part of foster
mother to the waifs and strays and
foundlings of this big city who are
picked up by the police.
The same scenes are enacted every
night, and each day see3 the pages of
the big book which Sergeant Kelleher
keeps fill up one by one with the brief
stories and records of lost children.
Every night in the year fathers and
mothers visit Police Headquarters and
ask for the children who have been lost
during the day. On pleasant evenings
they sit on the stone steps and wait, if
the child has not already been fouud,
and on stormy nights they go home, to
return again later on.
A woman comes running down the
street. She is one of the East side poor.
A shawl answers the purpose of cloak
and hat. She stops long enough to ask
of an idler on the corner:
“Where is the headquarters?’’
“Down where you see the green
light,” is always the answer and she is
off again. Up the steps she runs eager
ly. As she passes the swinging doors
she almost runs down old Joe, the door
man, who keeps a little private record
on a slate of the children who arc
brought in during the night, Joe’s
voice is gruff, but it belies his nature.
“What’s the matter?” he growls.
“Have ye found me baby?” and the
toil worn hands clutch nervoudy at the
frayed edges of the old red shawl.
“Boy or girl?”
“A little girl with light hair.”
“Go upstairs and look—top floor.”
The stairs are steep and tiresome to
climb, but mothers on such errands
don’t tire easily, and up she goes. Five
minutes later a step is heard on the
stairway. She is coming down again
and the red shawl is the background for
a head of golden hair. Two dirty,
chubby hands arc about her neck. The
woman is smiling now. She is about to
go out to the street, but Old Joe again
is in the way.
“Go in there and give your name,”
and lie points to Sergeant Kelleher, and
chirrups at the baby.
Tho sergeant takes the woman’s name
and address, and, hugging tho lost one
tightly, the woman passes out into the
street. *
Stowaways.
The ship was hardly well out on the
ocean when two stowaways made their
appearance, aud later in the day five
more. The next 1 morning si* more
came up, and during tho two following
days they kept coming up in twos and
threes until they numbered 25 all told.
Tho ship seemed to be teeming with
stowaways, and the officer on watch
was fairly bewildered. There was a
plaintive pleading in his voice as ho
said to the last comer: “Say, hadn’t
you better send the rest up at ones V
“They are all up now, sir,” replied the
stowaway with repressed checrfuln ess,
and the officer gave a sigh e f
relief. When the vessel arrived at Que
bec the captain sent a dispatch ashore
with the pilot boat to be forwarded to
Montreal, asking that a dehc–jaent of
the harbor police be at hand when tile"
vessel came alongside, to arrest the
men. The police were in readiness on
the wharf, hut the steamer stranded in
midstream, and lighters had to be sent
off to relieve her of part of the cargo.
One of the lighters was alongside when
darkness erme on, and she had to lie to
hntil sunrise. When the lighter was
fully loalei she drew to the wharf to
discharge, but hardly was she moored
when there was a movement among
some sacks and a stowaway leaped out
and made a break for the wharf. An*
other immediately sprang out from the
other side, and in another instant the
whole deck of the lighter win alivo
with stowaways, running up the wharves
and leaping over the obstacles that came
in their way. The captain was power
less with amazement, and did nothing
but stand and look on in a dazid sort
of a way. AVhen the last of them Lad
cleared the vessel’s side and things had
quieted down a bit, he recovered him
se.f, and. walking over to the sacks, he
poked carefully about among them, but
finding nothing he resumed his former
position. Suddenly anothir stowaway,
who had been unable to get out with
the rest, jumped up and cleared. This
was too much, and the captaia shouted,
“If there's any more passengers going
ashore they hail better go now.” But
the whole consignment had esc.ipad free
of duty. — Chambers' Journal.
A Dog Thief.
When the other afternoon we saw a
great dog receive an umbrella in his
mouth from the hands of his mistress
and then bound off with it across the
lawn to the station, where the train
from the city had ju3t left his master,
we thought what an intelligent animal
is this. But, alas, that very day's
paper contained an item going to show
to what base en Is the intelligence of
even the brutes may be debased.
It seems that a Newfoundland dog
had j ist been arrested and taken to the
lock up in Baltimore, charged with
robbing a house. A pol.ceman had
seen him trotting out of an alley with a
bundle in his mouth, which proved to
be a soft cushion. The officer watched
the dog, and soon saw him return for
more booty of a like nature, which it
seemed he secured from a house in the
alley, the door of which had been left
open. The articles were deposited at a
certain corner three blocks off, where.
it was surmised, the thieves who had
doubtless trained tho dog for his
criminal career, were in waiting to re
ceive them. — Golden Argos /. 1
A Famous Wooden Leg.
A celebrated wooden leg lias been
discovered in an old Vinceanos shop,
which was once a smithy. There is
abundant evidence to prove that the
relic in question is the sham limb which
replaced the leg which General Dau
mesnil lost in the big wars of the First
Napoleon. This rugged old warrior
defended the fortress of Vmcennes
against the allied army, and is famous
lor having said to the invader- 1 , when
summoned to give up tho place, “Bring
me back my leg which you shot off and
you shall have my keys!” The wooden
leg now found had been sent by Dau
mesnil to a Vincennes smith in order to be
“shod,” as the general himself
expressed it. Before tho article was
sent back the old warrior died suddenly
and his sham limb remained in the
ancient smithy until the prosent day.
It will now be placed in the artillery
museum of tho Hotel dci Invalides
among many other martial aud historic
souvenirs. —London Telegraph.
The East Indies.
The name East Indies is now gener
ally disused; it was former y applied
vaguely to that part of Southern Asia
lyiug c ist of the r.ve: Iu lu3 and to the
islands adjacent, Thus it took in on
the mainland Hindostan, Burmah, Siam.
Annam and Malacca and the islands of
Coyloi, Sumatra, Java, Borneo, the
Celebes, the Philppincs and the rest of
the great archipelago. More recently,
according to Colton’s atlas, the name
was applied to those places, excluding
llindostan and Ceylon. So the term
takes in both mainland and islands.