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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.