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TEE WASHINGTON MONUMENT.
Jn still, unstudied majesty!
Speak not the name that shall endure
Oh, silent orator! Stand pure
And proud and silent, white as he.
Point upward through the purple dome !
Point upward ! Aye, point ever to
The imperial stars, the imperial blue,
The imperial splendors of his home !
Man’s path is upward. Youth or age
From far about the laud shall trace
Thy finger, pointing to his place
Of proud, eternal heritage.
Joaquin Miller.
DUTY.
Surely the happiest life for man
Is not the fevered life that brings
A storm of stubborn questionings;
And baffled, ends where all began.
But his who neither looks behind,
Nor on the shadowy space before,
Nor swerving sideward to explore
Life’s darkuess learns that he is blind*.
Who, heedless of all vain dispute,
And weary voices of the night,
Seeks only to observe aright
The bit of path before his foot.
J. Dow.
A BIT OF BEAT. LIFE.
The capitalist was sitting in his library
after dinner, haviDg retired to that com¬
fortable apartment to enjoy the cigar
with which he would not profane the
drawing-room atmosphere. To him
presently came his wife, a pleasant*
matronly woman, not far from his own
age, and handsomely dressed, as be¬
came the wife of a millionaire. There
was nothing extraoiamary about this
couple. They were rich Americans,
quiet, unpretentious people, who lived
handsomely, went to church on Sunday,
alio endeavored to biing up their chit
dren in a common-sense way.
lhey were on excellent terms with
each other, being of domestic tastes, and
neither had ever contemplated proceed
lugs for divorce. In short, they were,
with the sole exception of being some
what richer than the average, very
creditable specimens of the great ma
jority of well-to-do Americans who do
not get into the newspapers.
The capitalist laid down his paper as
the lady entered. Really, to judge from
his eyes, one would have said he was
rather glad to see her. As for her, she
had evidently “something on her mind,”
and her husband for the time being was
of secondary importance.
Sitting down she shaded her eyes from
ibe fire. “John,” she said, “I am
troubled about Margaret.”
• ‘So am I,” said John. ‘ ‘Was think
ing about her to-day.”
“Is there auything that can be done
to make her life pleasanter after she is
married ?”
“Well—yes, I think there is,” and
then he proceeded to detail a plan
which so thoroughly coincided with his
wife’s views that she actually—forty
five as she was—went c ver to him and
kissed him.
“That’s a good boy!” she said,
“Margaret’s‘man’must soon be here for
his usual evening visit. I’ll give orders
to have him brought up aud you oan
talk to him.
After giving the necessary directions
she went back to the sitting room.
Presently a heavy tread was heard in the
passage way and a big, sturdy man was
ushered into the library by an excep
lion nil t neat aud trusty-looking maid.
The‘ capitalist rose and shook hands
with Ilia somewhat abashed visitor,
“Thankyou, Margaret,” he said to the
woman, “I’ll ring presently. I want to
talk a little business with Mr. Brown.
You may shut the door so that we shall
not be interrupted. ”
Margaret blushingly retired, wonder
ing greatly in her honest heart what the
“business” might be, and resolving that
she would make Tom tell her directly
after the interview was over.
“Well, Brown,” began the capitalist,
after giving his visitor a chair, on which
he sat as if it were the most uncomfort
ab ] e p j ece furniture in existence.
„ We]1> Brown you J know Margaret has
*
, been with , us now going on fifteen years,
and though we are very sorry to part with
her, we are glad to know she is going to
marry a man who will make her a good
husband. I don’t doubt you are that
kind of a man, but being a good hus
band isn’t everything. You want to get
on in the world and make a good home
for you both to pass a comfortable old
age in. Now you’re a bricklayer, I be
lieve. I don’t suppose you get more
than three dollars a day, and that only
in busy times. Margaret says you have
rented rooms in a tenement house in
Avenue A.
“That’s all right, and I don't doubt
you will be very happy there for awhile,
but five years hence perhaps there will
be three or four children, and you will
still be earning three dollars a day part
of the time and nothing at all the rest.
You will, in all human probability, be a
poor laboring man all your days. Her
life and your life will be spent in a
crowded tenement; your children will at
, best , , have , but , chance , to . .
a poor rise in
„ the world, ,, and , they will have no end of
chances to tail-no matter whether they
ar ® oy8 8 *
“Now, _ T I propose to . give - yon a show ,
to in the do better town, to to hove become a good a lading home man ol
your own instead of paying rent in a
tenement to have fresh a.rtobreahe
and opportunities, if yon are industrious
and enterprising, to make a fortune. I
will give yon and Margaret one thousand
dollars if”—the capitalist paused, an
Brown locked up amazed ; he had never
thought of owning so much money at
once, and the idea dazzled him—*‘if yon
^-j]j go out ^iVest to a place that I know
and build yourself a house and get a
quarter-section of laud.
“There is plenty of work for good
bricklayers there, at higher wages than
y 0 u can get here, and you will see a
hundred ways in which you can save
and make investments which will be sure
to yie i (i you a g0()( i return,
<*j ust think 0 f jp Here, a crowded,
un kealthful tenement. There, a house
0 j your own under the blue sky. Here,
"
no ohance to do better. There, almost
a certainty, with your habits and char
ac ^ erj 0 f laying by a comfortable for*
tune Margaret will be the wife of one
o{ t he be8 t me n in town, instead of
ta jjj n g j n washing to help along when
you a r 6 ou t 0 f work here.
“What do . you say, „ Brown-will you
d ° it ?
Brown , 8 e ? es h g , hted , , U P’ and , he . , had ,
straightened his shoulders instinctively . . .
03 capitalist bad briefly set fort i e
possible contrasts in these two mes o
life. But when the question was put
direct he hesitated, snuffled with his
feet uneasily, and at length managed to
say:
“Well, sor, it's kind o’ suddin like.
I’d like to talk it over wid Margaret,
g0 r, before giving an answer. It’s very
good o’ all the same. ”
you, sor,
“That’s all right, Brown. Talk it
over as mU eh as you like until the wed
day, and ihen let me know your
decision. The thousand dollars will be
rea< j y for you the day you start for the
West.”
Xbe wedding day came, and Margaret
and her beau waited on their would-bf
benefactor, and, , with some shamefaced- , . ,
ness, made known then' dete uni nation to
stay in the city.
* * * * * * * *
The conversation, substantially as re¬
ported, actually took place some six years
ago. Since then Mr. and Mrs. Brown
have moved every first of May from one
tenement to another. They have three
children, aud Mrs. B., the neat nurse
maid that was, is earning the major pai
of the household revenues by taking in
washing; for Brown, when the cares of
married life bagan to weigh upon him,
took to ward politics and drink, and the
kids are in a fair way to bring up in the
workhouse, unless some most unforeseen
interposition of Providence keeps them
out of it .—New York Hour.
A CREDLE BOOK SHOP.
The Queer Sort of Things the Wayfarer
May Find In Nrtv Orleans.
Suddenly my foot struck against
something. It was a book. I picked 1*
up, glanced around me and found myself
in front of an old—yes, very old—
French house, the open door of which,
giving immediately on the banquette*
showed whence this adventurous vol¬
ume had strayed. Despite the semi¬
obscurity of the room, I saw books,
books everywhere. They were heaped
in irregular masses on the-floor; they
were piled on tables, on the few totter¬
ing chairs, and mounted in double, nay,
sometimes triple, rows on shelves that
reached the ceiling. They were all, like
the volume I held in my hand—which
was minus half its cover and with sev
eral tom leavee-old books.
There were no ngns ot human hfe in
this mysterious J abode; no creature
stirred on the sunlit street outside,
with one „ hort „ j , onna lf in
^ room How ,
If there were any J windows, /„ the mouldy
M book8 h<a hi d(m lhen 0 , that
a „ me of tiem
j n a distant corner was a door open
fa toto anolhe , room 6yen more
shad / thail the fl „ t , fter j had
looke OTer ^ cnrioTO ola book „
awbae> from the dim twilight of the
f ar , ber room on6 shadow gathered more
distinctness than the rest and ap
poached bio through the open door,
It was a tail, gaunt woman, whose flow
robe of black hung in great folds
about her form. Her eyes, far-seeing
jr>(j inscrutable, pierced my very soul;
ber hair, dressed in some weird fashion
about her ears, made me know her at
It was the Sphinx, ij addressed
her in a trembling sentence of English.
No answer; only that unfathomable
giize. In my fright I forgot the few
words of Egyptian I had learned from
Ebers’ novels; but remembering in time
that the Pyramids had studied French
under Napoleon, I essayed a remark in
that language. In full, deep tones, that
seemed to come from several thousand
miles away, she answered me.
“Where is the Carmelite Convent?’’
“Go down two squares, T ’ she said
“and you will come to la Rue Quartier.”
“Quartier !” I ejaculated; “where is
that ?”
“The next street is la Rue Bayo, the
next la Rue Quartier,” she made reply.
“You must be mistaken,” I said;
“the next street is Hospital, the next
Barracks.”
“Je ne connais pas ces noms” (I do
not know those names), she answered,
with haughty contempt, “Since my time
they have changed everything, even the
names of the streets. La Rue Conde,
I am told, is now called la Rue Char¬
tres.”
To appease her wrath I asked her the
price of the book I still held. As she
vouchsafed me permission to lay the
sum named in the depth of a hand hid¬
den until now beneath the black folds
of her robe, I emerged into the street,
feeling as if I had walked out of a dream.
— N. O. Letter.
The principal pawnshop iu Mexico
is owned and run by the Government,
and occupies the old palace whore the
viceroys lived while the counfrv was a
colonial possession of Spain. The vice¬
roys seldom lived in the Government,
palace, which stands on the location oi
the great Aztec temple. There is a tra¬
dition that every man who has lived in
that building ended his days iu mis tor
fortune and misery. So the viceroys
had a palace built across the plaza,
where they lived without fear of this
superstition.
THE MARDI GRAS PAGEANTS.
i. Visitor’s Impressions of BrilliantStree*
Spectacles of New Orleans
The whole city gave itself up reck,
leasly to the Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday),
writes a New Orleans correspondent.
No pageant of any kind that New York
has ever seen can compare with the
Carnival processions. The fun began
on Monday, the day before Mardi Gras,,
with the arrival of Kex. The King this
year was personated by a young cotton
broker, who is a well-known dab man
and popular about town. His name is
supposed to be a secret, but it is well
known who he is. He was received at
the station by a military escort, and
three or four wagon loads of harl equina
and'jugglers. He was mounted on a
milk-white steed, and the grand cortege
proceeded to the City Hall, where the
keys of the city wore presented to him
by a curly-haired and awkward Mayor,
who made a speech which nobody heard
excepting a very obvious reporter, who
was quite the most important person
present. He wore a high beaver that
looked as if it had borne the brunt
of action, and his willowy form was clad
in a faded ulster that was buttonless and
frayed. His gold-rimmed glasses rested
on a nose that was decidedly ol the ac¬
quisitive order, and a pair of out-at-the
finger gloves adorned his hands. When
he first appeared he came rushing up
the street as though the fate of nations
depended on his speed, and stalked
majestically through the crowd. A
large pie-plate shield glistened upon
his shoulder. He sprang up the steps
of the City Hall and shouted for the
Mayor. Men, women, and children
stepped aside, and he suddenly found
himself alongside his Honor. The Mayor
looked at the pie-plate badge, and was
impressed. The reporter burst into a
glassy but engaging smile, said “How
are you ?” and then glanced around at
the admiring multitude. He took up
his position alongside the Mayor, and
produced a roll of white paper in which
grocers usually wrap tea. He drew a
penqil oat of the breast f Hltfrir- t]l ir -
coat, and glanced critically at the vast
throng. Then he made a pleasing re¬
mark to the Mayor, who looked gratified
at the attention, and straightway began
to take copious notes of the scene be¬
fore him. Two thousand eyes were ad¬
miringly fixed upon him while he reeled
off page after page of notes.
Thou Bex appeared in the distance,
and the eyes of the throng were for a
moment diverted. A moment later Rex
stopped, and the Mayor began his
speech. It was uttered deep dowu
in his Honor's throat, and was only
heard by the reporter, who proved an
appreciative and volatile listener, shout¬
ing “Bravo!” “Very good 1" and “Hear I
Hear !” at intervals, so that finally the
Mayor turned around and delivered the
whole speech into the reporter’s ear,
the reporter meanwhile displaying a
a smile that outshone the radiance of
his badge. He took notes with earnest¬
ness all the time.
Then a very small girl iD pink, hold¬
ing up a very large cushion on which
rested a gilt key, was carrried down
and placed beside a charger which the
King bestrode. His Majesty took the
key and the procession moved on. That
night there was a procession of floats,
It is impossible to give any idea of the
beauty of these night pageants. The
floats are two stories high and of enor
toous size. They are splendid in gilt
and tinsel, and with the living figures
in costumes are as spectacularly beauti- *
full as any of the great show pieces on
the New York stage. If the most strik
ing tableaus of the “Black Crook,’*
“S .rdauapalus,” the “Seven Ravens,”
and “Excelsior” could be seen in rapid
succession, they would be disappointing
compared with the Mardi Gras night
pageants—except in the matter of
shapely organs of locomotion.
Shovelers are digging out snowbound trains
in New England.