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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.