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MY SORROW.
I Haw Deaf i’n angel as It catne from heaven
'Mill cloud unci blast, ;
I said: ‘‘I pity those who nionru to-morrow
Much comfort from my own their hearts shall
borrow
When It has passed
And tafeen fom the mourning ones their
cherished;
V\ hen they have seen
Their loved one s suffering, changing, dying !
Have looked their last
Upon them ’mid the roses In the coffin—
So like—so strange.
Yes, I will comfort them while saying,
With upraised finger,
Turning their eyes to the blue sky o'erhead,
be hopeful; but a moment you shall linger,
Then Join your dead
Mid beauty fadeless and 'mid Joy ecstatic,
To dwell for aye. .
This and much more of faith and resignation
My llp8Shall say ;
For all Is well that Is—the Father orders.
Go stricken one,
Mourn not the dead; they rest from toll and
danger;
His will be done!
Death’s angel nearer came. Lo! my poor cot
tage
He did not pass,
But took from out my arms my cherished
darlings;
And now, alas!
Not one of all the words can remember
I would have said,
Had death left me my own loved ones and
taken
My friend’s instead.
Chinese Caution.
“I tell you what,” I said, “I shan’t
come for the account any more. This
makes six times I have called for that
four hundred and seventy dollars, and
I shall put it in my lawyer’s hands.”
"No, no ; quite lightee you, sabbee.
Pay dollar all soon. Call again.”
I was reminded of all this by seeing
tt e Chinese ambassadors the other
day, and It carried me back to San
Francisco, full five years ago, where
I was dealing largely in various com
modities which were much affected by
the Heathen Chinee.
I found them a patient, civil, indus
trious class of people, ready to bargain
and get things as cheaply as possible ;
but scrupulously honest and ready to
pay with the grea est promptitude as
long as I dealt with one man. WheD I
had to do the work with a partnership
concern, it was a terrible matter.
For instance, I had trusted one firm
to the amount of five hundred dollars
and no money was forthcoming.
I bullied my collector terribly, for he
always came back with an excuse in
stead of ffioney, and the same tale,
that the firm was perfectly honest and
trustworthy, and that the money
would be paid.
“Then, why don’t they pay, John
son?” I exclaimed.
“I wish you would give them a call
yourself, sir,” said Johnson..
And I said I would, and did, going
to the Honger mercantile company
seven times, and always being put off.
It was always the same ; they were
perfectly^illing to pay, and messen
gers were sent, but to return,' some
times with one, sometimes with two,
or even three or four of the firm ; but
when these Chinese Spenlows prof
fered themselves as ready to pay, there
was always an obstacle in the way, in
the shape of the absence of that
heathen Chinese.
At last I expressed myself as I have
•said at the beginning of this story,
and was going out of the place when a
smiling Chinaman came up to me,
and, holding his head on one side, he
exclaimed: *
“Ingly Hong man, come again a
morrow. Payee them all—payee
ebbery dollar, oh, ciss.”
‘‘Well, look here,” 1 said, ‘‘I will
come in here to morrow, at eleven
o’clock, and shall expect to be—”
‘‘Oh, ciss, payee all dollar. Give
long, big order, lot. Goodte thousand
dollar.”
"I’ll talk about taking your ordei,
my Chinese friend, when you pay for
the last,” I said gruffly, and I went
away.
“The fellow looks honest,” I said;
“but there’s no. trusting these for
eigners. They t ike delight in trick
ing an Englishman or Melican man,
as they call it. Perhaps to-morrow
when I go, they’ll ail have pulled up
stakes and gone east.”
it was with some satisfaction then,
that reaching their great shed ware
house, the next morning, I found Mr.
Pigtail, In his long blue gown and
bland smile standing at the door,
ready to salute me with a dose of
pigeon English, which I could hardly
understand.
"Well, Mr. Ah line,” I said, as 1
followed him into the bale-orowded
waro-hoase, which certainly looked as
prosperous as the great iron safe in
the corner wa.- substantial—“well Mr.
Ah Res, I hope JO u are prepared to
pay my little aocou.t tbls morning?”
“Cis3, cIse—readee payee,” he said. ;
And placing a wicker chair for me, |
he went off and dispatched a couple of
messengers, with urgent orders in his
barbarian tongue, to each. This looked
bad, for it was only a repetition of the
tactics followed on former occasions—
tactics which always resulted in a
put-off. I looked terribly gruff; but
Mr. Ah Ree, who was the senior part
ner, smiled and rubbed his hands as
he beckoned me to follow him into the
farther parts of the warehouse, and
then showed me specimens of silks and
sample teas, with coarse Chinese pot
tery.
“Well,” I said to myself growing a
little more easy in my mind, “there’s
plenty to seize, at all events.”
The result was that after my bland
friend had talked to me for about a
quarter of an hour, I booked a thous
and dollar order for what au English
man would call sundries.
“There,” said I, closing my book
with a slap, “this order shall be exe
cuted as soon as your last account is
settled.”
“Ciss, ciss—payee allee dollee,” he
said, smiling and pointing to a seat.
Meanwhile, by slow degrees, five re
spectable-looking Chinamen had come
into the warehouse or store; and they
came around me, smiling and talking
in a bland, smooth way.
“You mean mischief,” I said to my
self, and my hand went involuntarily
to my pocket, where, in accordance
with San Francisco customs, I carried
a revolver, 1 Ytu mean to get rid of
me and your debt together, my
friends. Very good ; but if you do I’ll
take one of you by way of receipt.” I
suppose my face did not betray what
I felt, for they closed around me in the
calmest manner, making excuses, and
asking me to be patient a little longer,
for their messengers were out, as I un
derstood them, to collect the amount I
needed. It seemed to me that they
were getting me farther from the door
into the gloomy obscurity of the ware
house, under the pretense of showing
me fresh goods, till at last I telt that
the time for action had come. In fact,
one of the biggest of the party whis
pered something to his companions,
and I seized my revolver and was
about to draw it as a fresh Chinaman
entered the building, and they
hurried to meet him with a look of re
lief.
“Lucky for some of you, my
friends,” I said, drawing a breath of
relief, and following them toward the
doer, meaning to take the first oppor
tunity that offered to make a run for
It. To my great surprise, though,
Mr. Ah Ree came, and taking my
arm, led me toward the great safe.
“Iron coffin, eh ?” said I to myself.
“Counteeout de dollar,” said Mr.
Ah Ree.
And the last arrival of his six com
panions went up to the safe, placed a
kep in a hole and turned it. Then a
second did so with another key in an
other hole, and so on, till six had un
locked six locks of the great safe, when
Mr. Ah Ree took out a similar key to
his companions and went up to the
safe smiling, as he said to me:
"Great Hong Company —poor China
men. Big safee— big dollar. Sdben
partnee take seben key, open, get de
dollar.”
As he spoke he unlocked the safe,
and turned the door on its massive
hinges, and then , pulling out a drawer
he drew forth a bag marked four hun
dred and seventy—the amount in dol
lars of my account—and handed the
bag to me.
. “No trustee no man,” he said, smil
ing, as he shut and locked the door,
his six partners locking it in turn.
“No trustee once mans ; ail come at
once, epen door—all right.”
From which I understood that, as to
our tradlug communities, two or three
or even four partners have to sign a
check to make it negotiable, my
seven Chinese friends, all partners in
their Hong or trading community,
could make no payment without every
man was present to help unlock the
treasure safe. I laughed at the plan,
for the heavy dollar hag made me feel
in a veiy good temper. They laughed
too, and shook hands very warmly,
after the English fashion, as I took
my departure.
“No once man run away all dollar,”
said Ah Ree,laughing.
“I see,” I said, laughing. “You
shall uave your goods In soon.”
I sent them ; and for a long while
after the Hong of Ah Ree and I did a
good deal of business ; but it always
took seven keys afterward, when I
wanted money, to open that safe.
Some people are always late, lik
the Duke of Newcastle, “who lost half
an hour every morning, and ran after
it all day without being able to over
take it.” A
The Dog.
The dog is a digitigrade carnivorous
mammel. This will be news to most
persons, who always supposed that a
dog was simply a dog.
It has been bruited about that the
dog is the best friend to man among
the brute creation.
He pants after the thief, aod when
once he gets hold of the thief’s pants
he makes breeches.
The dog leaves off his own pants
during cold weather.
A barking dog never bites; that is to
say, when he begins to bite he stops
barking. Conversely, a biting dog
never barks, and for similar reasons.
The hair of a dog will cure his bite.
This is a cure-ious superstition among
hare-brained young men who are fast
going to the dogs.
Dogs are dentists by profession.
They insert teeth without charge.
The dog never barks except when
he is awaKe. H i is always awake.
The dog has no other way to express
his joy than to bark. He always feels
joy when he sees a man. When there
is no other man to see, he expresses
nis joy to the man in the moon.
As we remarked, the dog is always
awake. This is no tale, though he
carries a tale in his wake.
The 9ea dog loves his bark. Did you
ever see dog that did not ?
The head of a dog has a dog-head
look.
The bark of a dog is unlike the bark
of a tree. Even a dog-wood know
this.
Dogs are not always kind, though
there are many kinds of dogs.
Every dog has his day, although
dog days last but a few weeks in the
year.
There must be a Sirius error here.
Thje dog’s star is the dog’s planet.
They planet so that thtir days come
while the star is in the sky.
They do not fear it. It is not a Skye
terrier.
When a dog enters a pitched battle
he uses dog’s ’tar.
Brutus said : “I had rather be a dog
and bay the moon than such a
Roman.”
He had seen the dogs roamin’
around on the bay.
They never get over the bay.
Sea?
The Jews considered the dog un
clean.
And yet the dog will clean out a
crowd, no matter how dirty.
But the dog Spitz.
A living dog is said to be better than
a dead lion. There’s no lyin’ about
this, but a dead dog is dog gone bad.
Tray was a good dog, but tress is
word% than the deuce when it is against
you.
Dogs were the original Argonauts.
They have never given up their search
for the fleas.
The bulldog is a stubborn fellow.
He is not easily cowed.
Of course the gentler sex is the more
stubborn of the two. You have heard
of the dogma.
A great many stories about the dog
Jiave obtained currency. The man who
has left a part of his clothing with the
dog has cur rent. See ?
Puppies are born blind. They are
not see dogs then.
There are many types of dog, includ
ing the doguerrotype.
The dog has four legs ; two of them
fore legs.
But perhaps we had better paws
here.
Howl this do for the dog?
English Country Seats.
Contemporaneously with that re
vival of church architecture in Eng
land which grew out of the Oxford
movemeut came the restoration, both
there and in Scotland, of family seats.
In the,reign of George III. many of
these were in a most dilapidated con
dition. The measures taken by the
earlier Stuarts to drive away the gen
try from London were of so radically
vigorous a character that they could
not fail to have the desired effect, but
iu the time of Charles II. a much
moie lenient rule prevailed, and the
younger ai d gayer portion of the aris
tocracy flocked to town, an 1 the habit
continued to grow in force for a long
period. In fact, from the time of
Charles II. until the close of the reign
of George III., although the gentry
llv#d in the shires the nobility passed
most of their time in London or at
Bath and Harrogate, and spent little
of their means on their country-seats,
while many of the prelates—notably
the Irish—absented themselves for
years from their dioceses; indeed
Archbishop Blaokburue, of York,
scarcely ever parsed a month in the
year within his province. All over
the country were yast mansions dating
from the twelfth pentury upward in a
state of more or less decay. Drumlan-
rig Castle, now for many years au-
tumnally the scene ot the princely
hospitality of the Duke of Buccleuch,
whe. e for weeks together as many as
thirty guests at a time are entertained
in the perfection of sumptuous com
fort, was for years abandoned to care
takers, while scarce a stick of timber
was left where now fine woods are
waving. Bowood, the name of which
has for forty years been suggestive of a
concentration of refined hospitality
and Intellectual intercourse, experi
enced a like fate under the preseut
L >rd Lansdowne’s disreputable great-
uncle. Alnwick was a very poor
affair compared with the ancestral
castle of the Percya to-day. Bretby,
from which it was < bierved that Lord
Cuestei fidd dated but one letter iD all
his correspondence with his son, was
utterly neglected, and indeed has only
been completed of late years by the
present Lady Cuesterfield. The pal
ace which the first Eirl ot Salisbury
reared at Hatfield was in sorry plight
when the grandfather of the present
I Tory leader in the Lirds rehabililated
it—and this though it was only twenty
miles from London. Very few of
these houses were allowed, however,
to pass into decay beyond recovery.
They were simply terribly out of re
pair, with their gardens unkempt,
and their parks neglected.
With the close of the war in 1815,
and the macadamizing of roads, came
a revival of country life among the
grandees. Tne “swells” who had
been fighting took to fox-hunting and
found that the Tally-ho and Quicksil
ver would carry them up to town in
what seemed then extraordinarily
quick time should a frost set in. Then
came the railroad, bringing Northum
berland and Cornwall within a day’s
easy journey, and enabling people to fill
their houses witn London friends,and
be no longer dependent on local “abo
rigines.” This probably did morethan
anything else to make the great land
lords the country-life people they have
been during the reign of V ictoria. Never
before has there been in England such
a large number of fine places so regu
larly occupied for a portion of the year.
Iu fact, when the bad time set in
seven years ago they found the big
houses in such perfect order that even
if they are ^neglected for the next
twenty years they can stand it. Proba
bly the number of country houses on a
grand scale which will be built in the
England of the future will be very
few o.nd far between. In fact, in the
past twenty years they have not num-
. bered more than five or six. Mr. Hol-
ford, the inheritor of a vast commer
cial fortune and owner of a mansion
which taken altogether is the finest in
London, has raised a vast edifice on
his estate In Gloucestershire. Mr.
Elwes, who enjoys some of the hoards
of the celebrated miser of his name—a
miser is a pleasant person to those
who inherit his money bags, if to no
one else—has created a stately man
sion in the same country. Lord Elles
mere has built a very fine home on
his mid-England estate, and Lord
Bute is rearing a palace at Mount
Stuart. These, with one or two fabrics
raised by the iron princes of the
North, are about all the grand seigneur
creations of later days, but any num
ber have been rehabilitated.
Many men are so obviously over
housed that they offer an awful
example deterrent of would-be brick
and mortar makers. Thus the Duke
of Buckingham would probably almost
sacrifice an arm if by so doing he
co;ild only see Stowe well off his Uands
and a big balance at his banker’s in
stead. His Grace is not rich, he
doesn’ticare a straw for show, Stowe
was gutted of Its treasures—almost its
sole attraction—under a forced sale in
the time of his father ; it lies iu an
ugly country, it is enormous, it is ab
solutely unletable, and, lastly, he has
another and very desirable home. Can
anything, then, be more of a white
elephant than Stowe? And there
must, too, l>e tiui^s, we should fancy,
when the Duke of Devonshire may have
reflected that five country residences,
four with deer parks,and a vast mansion
in London, are almost more than are
absolutely necessary for the happiness
of a widowed septuagenarian, even
though he can pay for them, while we
can imagine that the Duke of Buc
cleuch would readily admit that fewer
than his nine residences would suffice
him. Fortunate is Lord Derby with
nothing but Knowsley and a villa
near London. Many of his noble
brethren burdened with places to keep
up must envy him, particularly in
such times as these.
The Culture Market.
It is generally felt, however, even
by the veriest Phili tine, that cidture
is somehow a more intangible and
subtle kind of thing than any ordi
nary article of merchandise. You can
buy your picture ofl hand, and have
dnne with it forever ; it exists thence
forth as a permanent monument of
your taste. You can hung it up in
your dining-room aud say to your
admiring friends: “Thin is art; this
is by Blank, R. A. I bought it at 8o-
and-feo’s sale very cheap; little more
than two thousand guineas.” Nobody
can deny that there you really have
got high art—something to be acquir
ed, not, like a picture, by paying
down its money price at a single trans
action, but like Green or Parisian ac
cent, by taking lessons to which you
yourself contribute a certain amount
iu personal exertion. Acxrdingly,
large numbers of excellent people,
most of them in the middle ranks of
life, have set to work during the last
ten years at a mature age to acquire
culture; not because they feel the
need of it, but because it is now being
talked about so much in the papers.
They have no doubt at all as to the
ultimate practicability of their chosen
method. You can buy books; you
can buy Japanese fans, old china,
Chippendale chairs, San Murano glass-
work ; you can buy grand pianos,
Chopin, Schubert, the music of the
future ; and are not these things the
component elements of culture?
Therefore you can buy culture itself.
Or if it comes to learning, >ou can
read books on the Renaissance—the
Renaissance is so very fashionable;
and you can get little primers on lace,
and pottery, and textile fabrics, and
ivory carving; all stamped with the
official approbation of the Department
of Science and Art, South Kensington.
If you shake your head dubiously, if
you hint in passing that Bedford Park
furniture and Oriental blue and sub
dued colors, and all the rest of it, are
at best but the outward and visible
signs of an inward and spiritual grace,
without which all these good works
avail nothing, the bewildered Philis
tine hears you with unfeigned dis
tress; tcarce knowing what thing he
has left undone that he ought to have
done. He wants, without any previ
ous care or preparation, to take the
kingdom of culture by storm. He
wishes, like Simon Magus, to purchase
an inner grace by a simple and unaf
fected offer of money.
What the individual middle-class
Philistine is now doing in his own
home and his own person, the
collective middle-class Philistinism
of the great manufacturing towns
has long been doing in its cor
porate capacity. And now that
thevhave doDe all, they turn and say :
" What else would you have us do ?
We get pictures by Rossetti and Hol
man Hunt. We put up stained glass
by Burne Jones in our chureh win
dows. We ask Professor Huxley to
discourse evolution to us every autumn.
We read Pater, and Symonds, and
Matthew Arnold, and ‘Iseult of
Lyonesse.’ We cover our chairs with
velvet from Wiliiam Morris, and paper
our walls after designs by Dr. Dresser.
We lay The Portfolio, The Contempo
rary, and The Nineteenth Century in
conspicuous places on our drawing
room tables. We go to hear the Wag
ner cycle. We even know all about
the Hittites and Matteo’s poems, and
Filippino Lippi, and the marks on
Rouen faience. And if all this isn’t
culture, tell us what more we ought to
do.” To which the objector can only
answer: “All these things are very
well in their way, but they are only
the externals of culture; they are not
culture itself. If you send your child
ren to the colleges you have built; if
you bring them up in the houses you
have ha 1 decorated for you by compe
tent upholsterers and filled with pic
tures and sculpture by true artists; if
you teach them betimes to read and
digest the books that lie so obtrusively
upon your drawing-room tables—you
may in the end make some few among
them, who have natures originally
adapted for it, into people of real cul
ture. You are doing the best you can ;
but you yourselves cau never get more
than the veneer, whereas what is
needed is culture in the grain. Profit
and enjoyment no doubt you may
find in what you do; but it i&no more
culture than a oap and gown Is erudi
tion or than going to chapel twioe ou
Sunday is religion.
A six-button kid: A little hoy,
proud his new jacket, informed his
sister that he was a six-button kid.
Use either snuff or ammonia to
separate fighting dog-i. A pail of cold
water will in most cases answer.