Newspaper Page Text
The Montgomery Monitor.
0. C. Sutton, Editor and Proprietor.
CAPRICE.
A summer night with perfumed breath
To'd love tales to the listening trees.
And hedge row buds, in guise of death,
I.av divaming of the lips of lives,
While wheeling, circling, faint and far,
A lire Mv showed its shimmering spark,
And, like an evanescent star.
Painted its life along the dark.
And I, who wandored in the lane,
Grew env nuts of n thing so free,
And sighed and gazed and sighed again,
And cried: “Kind Heaven, give to me
The fire-fly’s liberty.”
My love came tripping down the lane;
The I toughs lout low to touch her head;
The clover never felt the pain
Os death beneath so light a tread;
And ere t knew, the fire-fly’s wings
" ore tangled in her burnished hair,
Tlio tremulous, fair glimmerings
Illumining a face more fair.
Then I, who felt my heart Vieat wild
The love-light in her eyes to see,
Beearno capricious as a child.
And prayed: “Sweet Heaven, grant to me
A like captivity.”
—Francis Howard Williams, in Current.
AJVME THERIOT
1!Y M. IS. Wit.MAMS.
It was an old French chateau on the
hanks of the Loire; and when it was first
built, or conquered, by flic ancestors of
the Comte do Maupassant, no one knew.
Hut flic beautiful domain of Beaujolais
had deeended to the Maupassant, for
centuries in one unbroken line.
The present owner, Count Guy, was
Perhaps the wealthiest and proudest of
his race, as he was also the last. His
only child. Blanche, a little girl about
ten years old, was the sole scion of that
once numerious and powerful family,
and what affection her father had was
lavished upon her. But, like all the
Maupassants, he was cold-hearted and
haughty, and when his wife, whom lie
had married from motives of interest,
drooped, faded, and died, in the uncon
genial atmosphere of the old chateau, he
gave her scant mourning.
As for the little Countess, she had
her governess and her bonne, and,
being extremely wilful, was
allowed to do pretty much as she pleased.
Her father, who spent the greater part of
his time in Baris, was quite content, on
his visits to the chateau, to sec his
beautiful lit'Je daughter heidthly "id
happy, and the greatest little despot in
the household, which was wholly sub
missive to her wildest whims.
What a life she led them! She re
belled against the constant watchfulness
of governess and maids, and nothing
delighted her more than to run away
from them, and pass long hours in
wandering alone through the deep
forest and broad fields of Beaujolais.
Her governess, a good, indolent woman,
was in utter despair at these escapades.
“But, mademoiselle, I forbid you to
go alone!” she cried. “It is not comme
il faut for the Countess de Maupassant to
wander about alone, like one of the com
mon peasant children.”
“Then I wish I was a common peasant
child!” the little lady cried, stamping
her feet angrily. “They have gotchildrcn
to play with them, and I've got nobody
but you and Bonne Marie; and you are
old, old, and you can’t jump and run and
play. I will go by myself; and if you
watch me, or try to follow me, madame,
I will go outside the gate and run away
to Paris. There now!”
Poor Madame Dulocshookandshivered
at this threat. She knew the child would
keep her word, and then what would
happen? As for punishing her refractory
charge as she deserved, that she knew
was utterly impossible, and would cost
her an easy and lucrative situation. So
she weakly strove to compromise.
“If you would only take Celine,
mademoiselle, then you might stay out
as long as you please.”
“But I am running away from Celine
and everybody!” she cried, impatiently.
“I hate to be watched, and if you will do
it, I will run away. I will go where I
choose.”
Poor Madame Duloc raised her hands
and eyes in despair, but before this “will
go” she knew she was powerless. She
did what she could; she exacted a promise
from Blanche that she would never go
beyond the park gates. Wilful and un
governable as the little Countess was,
she had never broken her word, so
Madame Duloc was forced to yield the
point. She would climb laboriously to
the high tower, and watch the child
through the fields, and until she was lost
in the recesses of the forest. But after a
time, when Blanche came in regularly,
glowing with health and ready to study
more sedulously than she had ever done,
she ceased her espionage.
The lonely little girl found her life
full of interest now. She made friends
with the birds and squirrels, and all wild
things of the field and forest. She was
a warm hearted, loving little creature,
though her best impulses had been re
pressed bv her artificial life, and it was
her greatest pleasure to stop and chat
with old Theriot, the gardener, and his
assistants, who were always busy about
the grounds.
One beautiful sprins morning, in her
wanderings through the spacious gar
dens, Blanche came to an arch twined
with the fragrant Provence rose, ihen in
full bloom. They were high above her
reach, nor was there a foothold on the
arch where she could climb. She
looked around. No one was in sight
but a tall lad, who was weeding one of
the beds.
“Here, garcon. come and get me some
roses.”
He came obediently, and gathered her
a large cluster.
“You are very tall,” she said, “to
MT. VERNON, MONTGOMERY 00., GA.. WKDNKSDA V, JUNK ••>!», I SSL
reach up there. Where do you live, and
how old are you?”
“I am sixteen,” he said, “and, mad
emoiselle, I live here. I am Andre
Theriot.”
“Ah, you are the gardener Theriot’s
son. I like him,” nodding her head
gravely. He is a good man. Uu lets me
pick the nectarines myself. Do you want
a rose, Andre?” holding out one, with
the air of a young empress. Andre put
out his hand for it, when she drew it
back with a mischievous laugh.
“Come, now, I’m going to treat you as
madame does me, when she gives me
bonbons. You must spell ‘rose’ before
you get it.”
The lad’s handsome face flushed crim
son.
“But, mam’sellc,” he stammered, “1
can’t spell. I don’t know my letters.”
“Don’t know your letters, you, a big,
strong boy of sixteen! Oh, you must be
very lazy! Why don’t you learn?”
“But, mani’selle, my father is too poor
to send me to school. I wish I could
learn. Ah, if I could only learn to read,
[ would be too happy!” clasping his
hands, with the big tears in his eyes.
“You shall learn to read, Andre!”
Pity and sympathy were at work in that
warm little heart. “I will teach you
myself. Meet me to-morrow morning at
the summer-house on the lake. 1 will
bring books, and I will teach you.”
“Yoiqmam’sclle!” Andre cried, stupe
fied. If an angel from heaven had of
fered to teach him, he could not have
been more astonished than at this con
descension from Ills beautiful little
chatelaine.
“And why not? Os course I shall not
tell Madame Duloc or anybody, for they
would make such a fuss. But be in the
summer-house to-morrow.”
Os course Andre did not fail to obey.
He never dreamed of disputing her
orders, and the lad was wild to learn.
Blanche was an exacting and impatient
little teacher, but Andre was so bright
and eager that in five months he had al
| most reached the limit of Blanche’s own
small acquirements. She had grown ex-
I tremcly fond of the handsome lad, so
ready and willing to amuse her; and ns
j for him, he was her abject slave. All
distinctions of rank were forgotten in this
pleasant companionship, so soon to
j cease.
One morning the Count returned unex
pectedly from Paris. “Where is Blanche?’
he asked Madame Duloc.
“Mademoiselle is out on the grounds,”
she said, tremulously. “I have sent Celine’
for her.”
j “Without you, Madame Duloc!” he
! said, sternly; “do you tell me my daughter
; is allowed to wander about alone?”
“Ah, but she will let no one follow
her!” the poor governess cried, desper
ately.
‘ ‘Since you cannot control the Countess,
madame, allow me to tell you, your
services are no longer needed at Beau
jolais.” The Count strode off in search
of his daughter in a terrible fury. It
did not lessen when, after a half-hour’s
j search, she was not to be found. When
near the lake.he heard voices and laughter
in the little summer-house.
Pushing open the door, he saw a sight
which nearly struck him dumb. Side by
side on the bench sat the representative
of the Maupassants and a peasant boy.
They were bending over the same book,
and the golden curls of Blanche mingled
with the black hair of her companion.
“Blanche!" cried the Count, in a voice
of thunder.
The little girl sprang to her feet, turn
ing pale, but she did not trcmblo.
“What arc you doing here with that
boy?”
“I am teaching him to read, papa.”
The little girl’s tones did not falter,
though she was horribly frightened.
“Teaching him to read!” the Count
was so furious that his voice trembled.
“Buck with you to the chateau, you
wicked child, and I will settle with you
later. But you, you base-born, insolent
peasant, I will lash you like the hound
you are!” He raised his riding-whip,
but Blanche seized it, and confronted
him with a pale face and flashing eyes.
“You shall not strike him, papa!” she
cried. “I made him come. He dared
not refuse. If you strike any one, strike
me, fori did it.”
Andre through his whole life never
forgot that picture. The man with his
face convulsed with fury, the little girl
looking up with her brave eyes, ready
and willing to suffer in his stead. After
a minute the Count seemed to recover
himself.
“Go away from here boy,” he cried,
“for if ever Imeet youagain I will cut off
your cars and your tongue. You to want
to learn! Bah!”
This was no idle threat at that time in
France. Grand Seigneurs had theliberty
of mutilating, or even killing, their vassals
at their own free will, and the hoy knew
that his father’s house was no longer safe
for him. But his thirst for knowledge,
begun by the lessons of his little mistress,
led him to a Jesuit college, where his
uncle, a priest, was one of the professors.
There he remained for six years, while
the thunders of a great Revolution were
growling in the distance.
When Andre left college, the guillotine
had already cut off many of the greatest
and noblest names in France. His
education and ability and hatred of
aristocracy soon secured him a position
of confidence with Petion, one of the
Revolutionary leaders.
Andre shuddered at the bloodshed and
violence which had turned France into a
butcher’s shambles, but then he dreamed
| that the outcome would be liberty.
He had heard that the Chateau of
Beaujolais had been burned to the
j ground, and the Count and his daughter
had escaped. Where the Count had gone
,he knew not. and cared less; but he
knew that Blanche bad been concealed
bv old Theriot,.his father, who had been
1 loyal to his young mistres3 in her hourof
j ueril. He had never seen her since th»t
“SUB DEO FACIO FORTITER.'’
fateful day when they had been surprised
by her father, but his gratitude and al
most adoration had never lessened. One
day, in Pet km’s otfice, he overheat’d a
few words which made his heart beat
fast.
“So that old satan, De Maupassant, is
in the last batch of prisoners? They
will all ‘kiss the basket’at noon to-day."
“Good 1” Petioq answered; “lias the
viper any brood?”
“One daughter, as handsome and inso
lent as an aristocrat can be She is in
hiding, they say, with one of her old ser
vants; lmt that bloodhound Caresso goes
in search of her to-morrow. He never
fails, Caresso does not, and she will be in
La Force before twenty-four hours.”
As soon as the visitors left, Andre pre
sented himself before Petion.
“General,” he said, “l want a pass to
absent myself for several days, and to go
where I wish. Give me one, too, at tho
same time, for my sister.”
“Aha, Theriot, of course, my boy!
Something for the good of the State,
hein? Good patriot that you are! De
scribe yottr sister, and let Nicol there
draw up the passes.
I have no space to tell of Andre’s jour
ney to Beaujolais, and how, in disguise,
Blanche escaped with him to the nearest
seaport, where betook passage for her in
a vessel bound for America. Andre had
a cousin settled on the Tcchc in Louis
iana, and it was to these humble folk tho
Countess de Maupassant was going.
“Farewell, mademoiselle,” said the
young man, as they stood together on tho
deck of the vessel, “You have money
for your present wants, and I will for
ward more to you. Perhaps, too, I may
come and see you.”
Blanche raised her face, streaming with
tears.
“Come with me now, Andre!” she
cried, in her old impetuous manner.
“How can I go alone, alone to a strange
land?”
lie went. Two years after this the
young Countess married the gardener’s
son. and their union was a happy one.
Their descendants are numerous now on
the Techo. and you can hear this story
more graphically told by them than in
this short sketch. In tlicir graves the
Countess Blancho and her devoted hus
band lie side by side, on a green knoll
near the silver waters of the Teche. —
Youth's Companion.
A Professional Woman Whistler.
The appearance of Mrs. Shaw, the wo
man whistler, at Mrs. Harriet Webb’s
benefit in Chickering Hall was the oc.i
sion of tho introduction of a piece writ
ten for her by Miss Laura Collins, a
young woman nearing her twentieth year.
It was called “The Message of the Night
ingale,” and was as pretty as its title. It
was especially calculated to exhibit the
capabilities of Mrs. Shaw and the
beauties of her accomplishment. Mrs.
Shaw visited friends in Washington re
cently and accompanied them to a pri
vate afternoon reception of Mrs. Cleve
land’s. It was during the short stay of
the President’s sister, Miss Rose Eliza
beth, at the White House. The latter
knew of Mrs. Shaw’s musical talent, and
when she mentioned it Mrs. Cleveland
eagerly requested her to whistle. An
hour later the President’s wife let her
atop, not because she had heard all she
wanted to, but to lie polite and consider
ate in not asking too much. Mrs. Shaw
will soon visit Washington again, and
has several engagements there during tho
Grand Encampment of the G. A. R. She
has engagements us far ahead as in July.
'l’he frantic gesticulations of women
who want to stop a street car and their
funny little squeals when they do decide
to make a noise for the same purpose, are
so familiar to drivers and conductorsthut
Mrs. Shaw sometimes astonishes them
into a helpless condition of wide eyed,
open-mouthed wonder. Whistling comes
so natural to her that she sometimes forgets
herself when a ear that she wants to take
goes rolling by the corner with the driver
looking persistently in another direction.
Her loud, clear signal brings him around,
and after braking up the ear as speedily
as possible, be looks for the man. The
astonishment comes in when he finds that
his passenger is not a man, but an
elegantly dressed lady, whose face is by
this time all straightened out, and whose
severe dignity of expression and hearing
are utterly inconsistent with anvthing
like a whistle. Mrs. Shaw has indulged
in a little freedom with the ancient
proverb that slow conservatism might
apply to her case, arid renders the couplet
thus:
Whistling girls and hens that crow,
Will make their way wherever they g».
Mrs. Shaw’s claim to position as a
musical novelty does not signify that she
is the only woman whistler. There are
two others, but they are widely different
from her in plans and purposes, as well
as method. One is Miss Chamberlain, of
Boston, and the other is Miss Adelaide
Detehon, who is now in London, giving
society recitations, and varying the pro
grogramme with whistling. She will he
remembered in New York, where she
appeared in comedy on Wallack’s arid
other stages. — New York Hun.
General Washington’s Politeness.
“Should a white company salute a col
ored company when passing it on the
march?” has been one of the questions
propounded by military tacticians re
cently. This reminds us of en old story.
General Washington was walking down
Pennsylvania avenue in the city of Wash
ington one day when he was met by a
negro, who bowed to him. The General
bowed politely in return. “What, Mr.
President,” said an acquaintance, “do
you bow to a negro?” “Sir,” replied
Washington, “do you think I would
allow a negro to outdo me in politeness?”
And the negroes were then aiavea, and
Wa -iiington owned a good many of them.
Mobile
THE HEAD LETTER OFFICE.
AN INTERESTING BRANCH OF THE
rOSTAB DEPARTMENT.
Great Sacks of Mail Matter Received
Daily- How the Betters are Dis
posed of—A Postollice Museum.
The Washington Star says that mail
matter for the Dead Letter Office comes
every day in great sacks from all parts
of the country. The sacks are shot up
stairs by an elevator into a great hall
with a lofty veiling running through two
stories. The floor of this hall is covered
with desks, long tallies, and sacks, full
and empty. There is a busy corps of
clerks, some armed with sharp, glittering
knives, and others bending over ledgers.
A wide gallery runs around the hall, sup
ported iiy spiral columns, a dark green
curtain above the iron railing shuts off
from view the clerks occupying the gal
lery, who are mostly ladles. Tho sacks
come piling in, and each day’s mail brings
over lit,ooo letters and packages the year
around. One hundred and four pairs of
brisk hands seize upon this mass of mate
rial, and in a short time it is arranged,
classified, and the records made up, so
that all that enters the office can be ac
counted for.
There were over 5,000,000 pieces of
mail matter received at the ollice last
year, an increase of five per cent, over
that received during tho previous year.
Os this number over 4,000,000 pieces are
dead matter, pure and simple, 5,500,000
being ordinary unclaimed matters.
The letters find their way to the
openers’ desk, which is a long table di
vided into compartments by low wooden
partitions, and before each of the com
partments sits a clerk. There arc eleven
openers at present. Their business is to
open letters. To read a letter is not only
against the regulations of the oflicc, but
is against the law. All day long t hey are
obliged to sit there thrusting their long
pointed knife blades into one corner of
tho envelope and then ripping it open,
remove the contents, fold it with the
envelope, and place it in a pile on their
desks, and then go on to the next. They
are all men—and old men at that. Staid,
sober, steady-going men, fathers of laini
lies, and patriarchs in the Church.
The women already number three
fourths of the clerical force oj the office,
and in their lofty perch in the gallery
they examine the opened letters for the
address of the writer, or some evidence
upon which to base a reasonable conclu
sion at to the origin or destination of the
letters.
When money is found in tho letters,
or, indeed, any inclosure, the openers are
required to make in a book provided for
the purpose an entry of the amount of
money found and the character of the in
closure, of whatever kind. This record
passes into the hands of other clerks,
constituting a system of checks, which
experience has shown to be necessary,
and it is believed that there is no loss
through dishonesty of the employes. The
system has been the growth of years, and
ie the few eases that have occurred in
the past of dishonesty on the part of em
ployes, the weak points in the system
have been brought to light and remedied.
11 is surprising to learn Low much money
is yearly intrusted to the mails, and, al
though the number of such letters that
find their way to the Dead Letter Office
is probably only a small proportion of the
entire number mailed, yet last year there
was received at the office over $51,000 in
letters. Os this over $51,000 was restored
to owners, nearly $5,000 remained in the
hands of postmasters awaiting restora
tion, and over SO,OOO could not lie re
stored and was placed in tho United
Slates Treasury, where it remains for a
period of four years, subject to he re
claimed Liy the owners.
Perhaps the most interesting feature of
the woik of the ollice is the treatment of
letters which are sent there because of in
sufficient or incorrect addresses. These
letters represent for the most part the
carelessness and the hurry of the Ameri
can people. A businessman in this city,
writing a letter to an acquaintance in
Philadelphia, lor example, dashes of his
signature at the close of the letter, and,
while directing the envelope, is thinking
of the next subject that demands his
attention, and instead of writing Phila
delphia lie scribbles off the word “city,”
as he does a hundred times a day, sup
posing, of course, that the majority of
his letters are local. He does this the
more readily if his correspondent’s
address in Philadelphia happens to be
one of the numbered streets. When the
letter comes to the Dead Letter Office it
is handed over to a lady clerk, who has
referred to her over a thousand of such
letters each day. By long practice with
dealing with such conundrums the
address is properly amended and the
letter is sent on its way again. Home
people drop letters into the office without
any address at all, others write the ad
dress so illegibly anti with such
disregard for the rules of ortho
graphy that no one but an expert,
is able to decipher the meaning.
Mistakes of all kinds are made in
addressing letters. The wrong State is
given, or else the wrong town, perhaps
both town arid State are omitted. Home
humorous per-ons wiite out the whole
address in rhymed verse, and, like a good
deal of more pretentious versemaking,
sometimes it is possible to ascertain the
author’s meaning, and then again Ihc
meaning eludes the most careful study.
When it is considered that the combined
carelessness and ignorance of the entire
country has a daily and hourly opportu
nity to develop an aptitude for blunder
ing, it is surprising tliat the proportion
of such letters is not much larger than it
rca'Jy is. But when samples of this part
of ihc mail bag of the Dead Letter Office
are examined, it is surprising to learn
that 90 per rent, of the letters of thi
< baracter whirji «rw rooetvod each day an
corrected ar.i delivered to thspersons an
d re-sed.
When letters contain no enclosures,
either of money or liletvhanriise, and
every method has liei*n exhausted for re
turning them either (o tho writer of tfi
person addressed* they life bundled to
getlier Uud sold for waste paper. There
arc over 5,000,000 letters and parcels
which are disposed of each year itt this
way, and the revenue derived from tin
sale is turned into the Treasury, together
with the money received in letters tor
which no owner can ho found, Luff year
there was nearly SO,OOO deposited in the
Treasury on this account, A visit to the
museum of this ollice shows the manifold
Uses to which the mails are put in the
transportation of inatterothcr than letters.
In this collection, which preserves only
the most notable objects, may bo found
boots, shoes, coats, shawls, lied quills,
hoop skirts, rattlesnakes, horned toads,
gloves, lace collars, photographs, jewelry*
false hair, etc. T.'.e articles received in
the mails are retained for two years, and
then, if not called for, are sold at public
auction. The sale last year realized over
$5,000.
T WORDS.
Love is wit lulu, prudence, nnd anger is
without counsel.
To whom you betray your secret you
give your liberty.
The credit that is got by a lie only lasts
till the truth conics out.
It is a good virtue to love, to give, and
to follow good counsel.
Tho only failure a man ought to fear is
failure in cleaving to the purpose he sees
to l>e best.
What men want, is not talent, it is pur
pose—not the power to achieve, but the
will lo labor.
The strongest men are the most tender
hearted. The coolest and sweetest, waters
(low from under tin - greatest rocks.
Historian Bancroft, aged eighty six,
say*: “ Work is pleasant, without worry,
and, unlike worry, it docs not kill.”
Though all afflictions arc evils in them
selves, yet they are good for us, because
they discover to us our disease and tend
to our cure.
Bin is never at a stay; if we do not. re
treat, from it, we shall advance in it;
and the further on we go, the further we
have to cotno back.
Time never works; it, eats, and under
mines, and rots, and rusts, and destroys.
But it never works. It only gives us an
opportunity to work.
Every genuine work of art has as much
reason for being as the earth and the sun.
The gayest, charm of beauty has a root in
the constitution of things.
Feelings come and go like light, troops
following the victory of the present; but
principles, like troops of the line, arc
undisturbed and stand fast.
A Treeless Forest.
Away down in Devonshire, in the
southwestern part of England, there is a
very interesting tract of land. It, is
known as Dartmoor Forest, and is so
named in all old deeds and grants of
land; yet, with the exception of a small
grove of dwarf oaks, it, is almost, entirely
without trees! This strange contradic
tion is said to be due to the fact of the
greater part of Dartmoor having actually
been a forest years ago, but it, was so in
fested with fierce wild animals that the
people were forced, in self defence, to
set tire to the trees, und so by degrees the
forest was destroyed.
Certain it, is that the soil of tho moor
is composed of rich, black vegetable
matter, arid that remains of tree trunks
have been found under the ground.
Moreover, the people of one district
have for generations enjoyed the privi
lege of free past urage, through a grant
awarded their ancestors for services in
destroying wolves in Dartmoor Forest.
For the same reason they are allowed to
gather the peat which abounds in the
fens or marshy lands, and which makes
excellent fuel. The atmosphere of the
moore is nearly always moist and foggy.
Indeed, the people who live there say
that
“ The west wind always brings wet, weather,
The east wind, wet, and cold toget her;
The south wind surely brings us rain,
The north wind blows it back again. ’
So it seems the people of Dartmoor
have very little dry weather, hut in spite
of tliis salt dampness for perhaps because
of h) the region is one of remarkable
health fulness, and the little barefoot
children of the moor, who live in low
huts made of sods, are as fat and rosy a
set as can be found anywhere.— American),
Agriculturist.
The Schools of Europe.
In Russia there are 32,000 schools,
j having each an average of thirty-six
scholars, 'i ll's is one school for 2,500 in
habitants, at a cost of less than a half
penny a head of the population. In Aus
tria, with 57,000,000 of inhabitants,there
are 29,000 schools and 5,000,000 scholars.
The average number at each school is
104 and the cost per inhabitant 9 I-2d.
In Italy, for 28,000,000 inhabitants, there
are 47,000 schools, one school for every
000 people, at a cost of 3 1-2 d. per head,
j The average number of pupils at the
I schools is forty. In Spain there arc
3,000,000 scholars, 29,000 schools, hav
ing an average of fifty-six in each school
and one school for every 000 inhabitants,
as in Italy. The school bill comes t* Is.
2d. a head. The number of schools
given for England is 58,000, which is
one for every 000 inhabitants, with an
average attendance of fifty-two per school,
aad a cost of Is. (id. per head. The tier
mans have a school for every 700, giving
a total of 60,000 schools, with 100 pupils
in each, and Is. 7d. per inhabitant.
France lias 71,000 schools, being one for
every 500, with sixty-six in each school.
France would, therefore, seem to have
more schools than any other great
European country. These schools cost
the country Is. 2 l-2d. per inhabitant. ~
/‘all Mall Uatette.
VOL 11. NO. 17.
LIGHTENING THE UUHBaN.
••Let me carry your pail, my dear,
Brimming over with water t"
“No ! I ll take hold, and you take hold/'
Answered tlio farmer’s daughter.
And she would have her own sweet w*y.
As her merry eyes grew brighter}
Ho she took hold, and ho took hold,
And it made the burden lighter.
Anil every day the oaken pall
Over the well-curb slipping,
\V as upward drawn by hands of braw
Cool, and so softly dripping.
And every day the burden seemed
Lighter by being divided;
For ho took hold, and she took hold,
lty the self same spirit guided.
Till by and by they learned to love
And each trust in the other,
Till she for him, one twilight dim.
Left, father and left mother.
The wedding bells were rung at man
Tho bridal blessing given,
And now the pair, without a care,
Entered ail earthly heaven.
When storm and sunshine iningM»tfc*of
Would seldom trouble borrow, .
And when it came, they met the same
With a bright hope of to-morrow.
And now they’re at the ovo of life,
While the western skies grow brighter.
For she took hold, and ho took hold,
And it made the burden lighter.
—M. A. Kidder M Ledger.
HUM Oil OF TIIE HAT. '«
When Sol pours down his genial beama.
Tho girls are sighing for ice creams.
Huston Courier.
A party finest ion l —“At what time do
they serve the spread!”— Boston Commer
cial Jfulletin.
A vetern of Kcno Post says ho was in
ten engagements —all Southern jjirls,
too. — Willianuport Grit.
Nine-tenths of the blind men in poor
houses are bachelors. They probably
lost their sight trying to thread uewllea.
Omaha World.
After all has been said against the
barbed wire fence, the truth remains that
it has a great many points in its favor. —
Lowell Citizen.
Perhaps the place where electric lights
arc most needed is in a barber’s shop.
The llow of gas would be diminished at
least.—2W't* Haven Neics.
We regret to learn that the Chicago
Anarchists have disbanded. Wc have
always thought they should hang to
gether.—Philadelphia Press.
A York State man has invented a con
trivance to pick apples. 11 it beats fifty
pounds of freckled urchin the superiority
of art is established. — GoodaWs Han.
“I have a theory about the dead lan
guages,” remarked a Brown University
Freshman; “I think they were killed by
being studied too hard.” Providence Tel
egram.
“Teeth pulled while you wait” is a sign
which adorns a dentist’s office in New
York. The question that perplexes us is
how can a man have bis teeth pulled if
he doesn’t wait.? Jlurlington Kree Press.
“I see that you can get Government
land free in the West,” observed the im
pecunious boarder at the breakfast table.
“I think I’ll go there and settle.” Mrs.
Hardtack —“Better settle in New York
first.’’ —New York Hun.
'J’lio farmers, now, think on the days
Os beet, beet, beet.
The trarrifxjrs now will nuike a “raise”
Os f«*ot, feet. feet.
Soon will the young ami old complain
()f heat, heat, heal.
Tho boys, who would the |xmniint gain,
Will meet, meet., meet.
Tho polo clul m will look ho lino
An« I neat, neat, neat.
They’ll lie invited out to din**.
And treat, treat, treat.
Tho mating bird will sing and Hit
Ho sweet, sweet, sweet.
We’ll tell the Hkeeters to “git up and git n
Ami sheet, skeet, sheet/.
— (jQuditll't t Sun
Butter and BiiUcrino.
It is not a little funny to walk through
our makets nowadays and note the re
sult of the oleomargarine law. You
shall find a score of stands selling oleo
margarine and belt'line, but hardly a
single one where butter is otiered. 1 here
are many tempting signs, such as “Pure
Creamery Butter,” or “Choice Western
Iteserve Butter,” but underneath either,
if you look closely, will be found, iu
much smaller type, the additional legend:
“Now known as oleomargarine or but
terine.” Little frauds are still per
petrated. There is one girl, for exam
ple, who has been selling “pure country
butter” for six months selling it in
market on market days, and between
times selling it in person at houses on
both sides of the river. Her boxes and
pails are legally stamped, if you look
closely, but her language is free. Every
ounce of her wares is butterine. The
genuine butter trade lias almost dis
appeaied from the markets and gone to
the fancy groceries. There the price is
from 40 to 50 cents, and it is not by any
means certain that you do not buy half
oleomargarine or butterine even then.—
< incinnati Enquirer.
How to Stand.
On one of his visits to New Haven to
deliver the Yale Lectures, Mr. Beecher
went into a barber shop near the chapel
to he shaved. The barber, seeing that
he was a minister, but not recognizing
him as the great Brooklyn preacher, said,
“Goin to the lecture?”
“Who speaks?” asked Beecher, in
Yankee fashion.
“Why. Henry Ward Beecher.”
“Y<s' I think I will go.”
“Have you got a ticket!” the barber
went on, “if not, you’ll have to stand.”
“There! there!” said Mr. Beecher, “it
seems as if I always did have to stand
when I hear that man speak!”