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For The Young.
I tick and Pluck.-An East Indian 8tory.
There was once a tiger that crept
close to an old woman's house, to get
away from the rain. He heard her
sighing about the water that came
through the leaky roof, and saying to
herself, “Oh, dear, a tiger or a lion
would not scare me so much as this
eternal dripping.”
“Why,” thought the tiger, “how
terrible this eternal dripping must be,
if it is worse than I am, or worse than
a lion,” and hearing her drag the fur
niture about to get it out of the wet,
he said, “That must be the eternal
dripping; indeed, it ha® an awful
sound.”
Now a potter was looking for his
donkey, which had run away, and
seeing by the light of a flash of light
ning the huge beast standing by the
old woman’s house, he thought it was
his donkey, and sprang on the tiger's
back and beat him furiously. “Ah,”
said the tiger, "this must be the eter
nal dripping; how it does hurt!” So,
for very fear, he galloped away to the
potter’s house, and let himself be tied
to a post.
The next day all the wc rid ran to
see the tiger standing meekly before
the potter’s door, tied to a post. The
news came to the prince’s ears, and he
said, “We will make this brave man
a lord.” So he gave the potter houses
and gold, and made him a lord and
the commander of ten thonsand sold
iers.
Now another Rajah (Indian prince)
picked a quarrel with this prince, and
led a great army to the borders of the
country. The people were in despair,
till some one said : “A man who can
tie a tiger to a post must be very
clever; make the potter general!”
“True,” said the prince; so he put
the army under the potter’s command,
and made him general in chief.
“Sire,” said the potter, “let me go
first to the enemy’s camp and see how
strong and fierce they are.” And
then he went home to his wife and
said. “What shall I do, dear wife ?
They have made me general, and I
must ride at the head of the troops,
and you know I shall fall off the
horse. I am to go alone to see the
enemy’s camp first; now get me a
quiet pony, or 1 shall surely be
killed.”
But, sad to tell, the prince sent a
fine he rse to the potter, asking him
to use it on his journey. “Alas 1 wife,”
he said, “I cannot use that nice quiet
pony now, for I must ride on the
prince’s horse, and I shall ceitaiuly
tumble off.”
“Oh, no,” she replied, “I will tie
you tight to the horse, and you can go
by night, and no one will know that
you are tied on.”
80 after dark this excellent woman
led the hor^e to ihe door. “Ah me,”
cried the potter, “I can never get up,
the saddle is so high.”
“Jump,” she said. So he jumped
again and again, but fell down each
time.
“I always forget how to turn when
I jump,” he said.
“Turn you face to the horse’s head,”
she advised.
“Ah,yes,to be sure,” said the potter,
and jumped again. This time he
bounced into the saddle, but with hiB
face to the horse’s tail.
“That will never do,” said his wife,
“get on without jumping.”
So, by dint ofholding the stirrup and
guiding his foot and shoving him up,
she got him seated at last, and in good
time, for the herse was getting more
restless every minute. Then she took
a strong rope and bound him firmly
in the saddle.
Now, when the horse felt the rope
dangling round his legs, he set off full
tilt over meadow and ditch, over hill
and dale, straight for the enemy’s
camp. The potter would not have
liked his ride ou any road, but when
he saw what direction the horse was
taking he was half dead with fear, and
aking one last efh rt t© free himself,
seized hold of a young banyan tree,
he vaiu hope that it would pull
off the horse. But the creature
going at full speed, and the tree
loosely in the soil, so that it came
y the roots, and the potter drew
rtr and nearer to the camp, hold-
g the tree in his hand.
Look!” cried the soldiers, seeing
approach, “ this is one of the vau-
rd of the enemy. He is a giant,
d he tears up the very trees as he
ushes through the country. Alas
f the others are like him, we are dead
eu.” So they ran to theirJRajah,
Here come the enemy, sire,
giants, mounted on huge
tear up the trees
their rage. We can fight with men,
but not with monst* rj.”
So the whole army was seized with
panic and fled from the camp, after
they had made their Rajah write a
letter saying that, after all, he did not
mean to fight, and prefi rred peace to
war.
Just as the potter’s horse galloped
into the camp the ropes broke; the
potter fell bang upon the ground and
the horse stood still with surprise.
Then the potter rose, and looked
about the empty camp, found the
Rnjah’s letter to his own prince, and
set off towards home, leading his
horse. His wife ran out to meet him,
full of joy at his safe return.
“Ah, wife,” he cried, “send a mes
senger with this letter to the prince,
and send the horse back also. His
Majesty will see by the horse’s
looks how hard I have ridden, and I
can walk to the palace. ’
So next day he went on foot to see
the i rince, and the people said:
“This hero is as modest as he is
brrave. See him walking quietly to
the palace door, instead of coming in
state.” And the Rajah met him on
the steps, and treated him with honor
and loaded him with riohes and titlep.
Terms of peace were concluded be
tween the two nations, and the potter
lived happily all the days of his life,
revered as the protector of his country.
i'oet’s Corner.
Bequiesoat.
He had the poet's eyes,
— Sing to him sleeping—
Sweet grace of low lepllee,
—Wuy are we w eeplng ?
He had the gentle ways,
— Fair dreams befall him I—
Beauty through all his days,
— Then why recall him ?
That whloh in him was fair
Still shall be ours;
Yet, yet my heart lies there
Under the flowers.
Chlorin.
They tell me thou hast others loved—
That others' arms have pressed thee,
That others' ears have drunk thy vows,
And others’ Ups caress’d thee;—
That at the shrine where I have lain
The love deem’d only ours,
Others before had brought their troth
To faJe like summer’s flowers!
1 fain had hoped thut in thy breast
When close to mine I’d fold thee,
A new-born passion glow’d to bear
The words of love l told thee;
I fain had hoped that first for me
The heart I press’d was beating,
That, girlhood’s lauolfs were like snow—
As stainless and us fleeting!
The spring’s first blossoms let the bees
Hip with the opening hours;
i’d rather wait to drink tbo sweets
Of summer's full-blown flowers!
lhy youthlul passions I'd bellove,
Lest greater woe befel me,
Know not the honey of true love
In spite ol all they tell me.
The False Prophet.
Eight thousand human beings killed
and wounded appears un extraordi
nary calamity, yet such is the report
which Dr. Sellweii)furth, the able rep
resentative of the British and Foreign
Anti-Slavery Society, telegraphs from
Soudan. The victims were Egyptian
troops, and the slaughterers were the
False Prophet and his adherents, who
lor the last three years appear to have
been mastirs of Nubia and the greater
part of the Soudau. This False Prophet
is no less a person than Hadji Ztcky,
the notorious slave dealer who caused
Col. Gi rdon so much trouble during
his administration of Upper Egypt,
and the Khedive has been so embar
rassed with more serious complications
in the vicinity of the capital that
neither troops nor money oould be
Bpared for a serious opposition to the
advance of this bloodthirsty pretender.
About a year ago Hadji Zioky took
possession of the roads, thus stopping
the Khedive’s Government from com
municating with the Soudan by land,
and he now threatens to adyance upon
Cairo. As a great portion of the Egyp
tian revenue is derived f rom the Sou
dan, and as all its ivory, which is the
mouopolyof the Government,is pledged
to the bond holders,Bteps will no doubt
be taken to stop the soi-disant Proph
et’s advance, and the British troops
noyy remaining in Fgypt may be call
ed upon to defend the country against
the invasion of a man who considers
not only Christians, but Mohamme
dans of every denomination, his ene
mies, and British and Egyptians, who
have hitherto been fighting among
themselves, may have to unite against
a common enemy.
A physician oonueoted with the
Julius Hospital in Wurzburg, Bavaria,
has discovered in chinolin (an ingre
dient of ooal tar) an excellent remedy
inet di
The Worries of Titles,
All that is wanted is that no title
should be copyrighted wl i h was not
registered at the aame time as the
book was published.
Some five or six years ago Mr. Chas.
Dickens, for whom, with my late
partner, I wrote a Christmas story,
after the title had been advertised
everywhere—I believe even after the
thing h«d appeared—received a litter
from someone, informing him that he
had himself once written a story with
the same title. He further intimated
that unless substantial damages were
at once paid him he would do dresdful
things. Mr. Dickens, after ascertain
ing that the story spoken of was long
ago dead and burled, wisely intimated
that he might go aud do his worst.
And nothing came of it. Another
story. A certain firm of publishers
with whom I am acquainted once re
ceived a letter warning them that a
work of theirs, then in the press and
already well advertised, bore the title
of a novel once written by himself.
The writer went on to add that he
contemplated issuing his book in a
cheap form, so that unless—same
threat as above. He gave as his ad
dress a public house near Drury Lane.
It was pretty evident from the tone of
the leth r what kind of a man he was
and what he wanted. He had, in
fact, published a novel under the title
named, which fell flat, and was long
since as dead as can be desired for any
book, so that the use of the title would
injure him in no possible way. How
ever these publishers, during to injure
no man, invited him to an Interview.
He came, bringing with him a printer,
who was good enough to state that he
had commenced negotiations for the
1 rinting of novel in question.
While the partners were thinking
how much they could offer the man
of unappreciated genius in order to
preserve their own title, he happily
brought the matter to an issue by
offering to “square the job” for a
guinea. Upon this he was ejected
with his printer, and has never since
claimed any damages. In fact, I do
not believe that where it can be proved
that no one iB injured any damages
oould be obtained. But, to prevent
disputes, let us register our titles.
Again, a title ought not t» be regis
tered unless it belongs to a book ; no
one ought to have copyright in so un
substantial a thing as a mire title.
Yet I have hesrd a story which, if
true, shows that there was, or is, such
a copyright. It is related of the late
Mr. Hain Friswell. He once met a
publishc r who confided to him that
he was about to bring out a new relig
ious weekly, but wauted a title. “Why
not,” said Mr. Friswell, call it-*—?”
The publisher grasped his hand warm
ly, and left him in baste. Thereupon
Mr. Friswell, repenting that he had
so carelessly parted with a good title,
called a cab and hastened to register it
at Stationers’ Hail. Wtiile the ink
was still wet, a clerk ai rived from the
publisher on exactly the same errand.
If registration of a title ten years or so
ago secured its copyright, does it not
secure that copyright still? Aud i^
there has been no registration, is the
title the property of author or pub
lisher ? I have only to add that I am
again a victim, and am Informed that
the title I had chosen for a new novel
belongs to a little book written for
children and published five ye‘ ra ago.
— Walter Besant in Athenceum.
Scobeleff and His Parents,
Women in the Field of
Industry.
In Germany, in 1881, a census was
made of the condition of trades. From
an abstract published recently of the
results of this statistical inquiry, it
appears that women are taking a more
and more active part in trades aud in
dustnes. Most of the female work
ing people ara engaged in the textile
branches, in victual trades aud in
leather and paper manufactures. The
age of these females is between 12
and 27 years. In all 245,753 female
laborers are engaged in the 93,554
German manufactories, which also
give employment to l,63i*K>G men.
There is no manufactory %i which
female workers are not engi
M. Tacohiui has publisheBhis ob
servations made at Rome oullie dis
tribution of the solar protuulranoes
faeulee and spots during tbe igscond
and third quarters of 1881. The licqjo)
extended to higher latitudes tium in
the first quarter, and the profiler
ances approached nearer the poles
In winter and summer most of the
protuberances appear in th<woutb 1 in
and auti
Seobeleff’s intercourse with his pa
rents was peculiarly touching. It is
seldom that there is such perfect confi
dence and mutual regard between
father and son as existed in the evse of
the older and the younger Scobeleff
An incident which illustrates the
father’s fondness for his famous son
occurred in my presence. 11 happened
two or three days after the successful
crossing of the Danube by the Russians
at Zimnitza—at which the younger
Scobeleff had fought as a volunteer,
carrying rifle and bayonet, and lead
ing the charge up the steep slopes of
Sistova. The mighty river was as yet
unbridged, and it became necessary to
strengthen the force of cavalry in
Turkish territory. The engineers, for
the purpose of building the bridge of
boats, had taken possession of the pon
toons which had been previously em
ployee in ferrying across the few
detachments of horsemen then on tbe
Sistova side. Young Scobehff sug
gested that the cavalry should swim
across and he offered to demonstrate
the practicability of his scheme. No
sooner said than done. He mounted
his white charger, wound his way
down the scarped clay cliffs at Zim
nitza, aoross the small bridge which
spanned a creek to the island of Ada,
and then, entering the river, the gal
lant horse, guided by Scobeleff’s skil
ful hands, made fi r the further shore.
The bold experiment was watched
with breathless interest from the high
ground on the Roumanian bank, and
no more moved spectator of the daring
enterprise stood there than the gray
haired father. With his binocular he
eagerly followed the progress of his
son and his gallant charger through
the swift current. Then his arms
began to shake, and his hands refused
to hold the glasses to his eye. He
who had headed eight hundred troops
in a fierce onslaught upon live thou
sand Turks was unnerved at the sight
of so venturesome a deed. Prince
Tzeretleff, who was by his side, noting
the slow course of his comrade in hiB
unequal struggle with the moving
waters, in response to the earnest
appeals of the old general, reported
every circumstance ot the exciting ad
venture.
By and by eim tion broke the voice
of the father as he exclaimed,ever and
anoD, “Ob, my 1 rjve boy! Is he
drowned yet?” And when young
Scobeleff touched the 111 lie shelving
bay below Sistova in safety, a ringing
cheir was given by the Russian sold
iery who had witnessed the rash feat ;
and the group which surrounded the
gray - haired warrior echoed his
“ Thank Go i!” as much for his sake
as for the success of au undertaking
almost unparalleled in its temerity.
The affection* of Scobeleff for his
mother aud hei’s for him was extreme
ly beautiful. I recollect at Philippo-
polis, in 1879, she spoke to me of her
“ noble, handsome boy.” He was
always a boy to her. And the fine
mobile features of the stately, high
bred and courteous dame worked with
emotion as she deftly touched on the
“deedso’ derring do” by which he
had attained his well-merited fame.
She had taken a deep ii.terest in the
Russo-Turkish campaign botli because
husband aud son were prominent fig
ures in the great drama, and because
with Aksakoff, she believed that its
results would be “the regeneration
not only of the Slavs of tbe Balkans
but of the whole Slavonic world.” At
the close of the war, her husband no
more, she came to Bulgaria,and found
at once consolation in her bereavement
and an outlet for her abounding energy
in the organization of hospitals for
Bulgarian childreu,and in the founda
tion of schools—f< r, like her son, she
had an enthusiastic belief in education.
When I met her, she was in the
midst of the preparations for establish
ing in the neighborhood of the battle
field a school, a hospital and church,
to be endowed out of her private
estate, in memory of her son’s great
victory of Seuova.
By the irony of fate, It was Soo-
belett's great love for his mother that
was the means of her sad and un
timely death. He had detailed as her
attendant and guard one of his own
aide-do-camp—a young Russian whom
he had literally out of compassion
raised to the position which he then
held. This scoundrel formed the
diabolical plan of murdering his
patron’s mother and robbing her of
her jewels aud a sum of £5000 which
she had in her possession for distribu
tion among certain institutions which
she had founded or taken under he
protection ; and the fell purpose was
accomplished while Madame Scobeleff
opolis
to Sofia. Scobeleff was at that time
engaged in his latest campaign of
subduing the Turkomans of the Yeok
Tepe, and I believe that he never fully
recovered from the stroke of the oruel
blow which his beloved mother’s
terrible fate gave him.
Gems of Sentiment.
Be charitable before wealth makes
thee covetous, and lose not the glory
of the mite. If riches increase, let thy
mind hold pace with them; and think
it not enough to be liberal, but munifi
cent. Though a cup of cold water
from some band may not be without
its reward, yet stick not thou for wine
and oil for the wounds of the distressed;
and treat the pocr, as our Saviour did
the multitude, to the reliques of some
baskets.—Sir Thomas Browne.
A Reverie.
Musing I stood upon a crag that told
Of force resistless working manifold!
Riving the rock of adamant with ease
As woodmen cleave the blocks from fallen
trees;
Bowlders dislodging, and in the mld-alr
Holding them poised and lightly balanced
there,
While peaks o’ershadowod the Inspiring
scene;
Fit pillars for the dome of blue serene,
Along their slopes glowed autumn leaves as
fair
With varied tintsas blooms of the parterre;
And in the glens reposing at their feet
The air with summer Incense still was sweet,
I seemed within a vast cathedral grand,
Whose spires majestic rose on every hand;
Whoso shrine colossal was the cliff aglow,
And Its baptismal font the lake below,
In strength and beauty stood the wonderous
fane,
Whose windows sunrise and the sunsetstaln.
Let us remember that God gives
liberal interest for every year that he
keeps our prayirs unanswered, and
that what becomes us is to wait at his
footstool, and not to hurry his arrange
ments. The moat luscious fruits are
those which are longest in maturing;
the richest blessings are often those
which take the longest in coming.
An unripe blessing may prove sour to
tbe teeth, and unhealthful when
partaken of. Impatience is almost
always accompanied by loss.—Rev. P.
B. Power.
Riches and piety are not Incom
patible. A man may be both rich and
pious. Some men of great wealth
have been men of great piety. Wealth,
like every other gift of God, is a talent
which may be perverted from its
proper use, or employed iu the accom
plishment. of great good. To men who
set their hearts on riches, and hoard
up their wealth to gratify their avarice
and pride, they become a snare and a
curse, but to men who use them wisely
aud properly, In doing good, they be
come a source of blessing and Joy. A
man who loves God above wealth, if
he possesses it, will use it for the divine
glory ; but if he loves wealth aboye
God, he will use it to gratify lAftawn
ambition and selfishness. It
more difficult for a man of gr
wealth to be pious, and give a pro
direction to bis means, the^it is for
man of great mental endowments
be pious, and give a proper directio
to his talents. Eiiher may be pos
sessed and properly used; or ei
may be possessed aud ter verted fi
its proper end. In determining ehri
acter, a man is not to be judged b^i
what be possesses, but by the use h«
mak( s of it. It mutters not how great
a man’s wealth in wordly possession®
or talent, he may have the grace of
God in his heart, directing and con
trolling him in all his ways, and
teaching hUn not to trust in uncertain
riches, but rather to be rich in faith
and good works.
Indian Summer.
The roadside bright with wealth of bloom,
The soft air sweet with faint perfume,
The birds In ecstaoy of tune;
"Ah, this is June, most perfect June!"
We cried, and plucked tue flowers gay,
“Oh, perfect June; oh, perfeot day !’•
The pathway led through foreits deep,
Where winds uuceaslng dirges sweep;
The maples fired the gloom with blaze,
And lured us Into uutracked ways.
“ \b, this October Is,’’ we cried,
“Ootober iu full pomp and pride !*’
The pathway wound a mountain steep,
Whero gorse and heather grew knee deep.
The summit reached, a chill wind blew,
Cold soemed tne overarching blue.
"November ’Us,” agaiu we cried,
“Farewell to thee, sweet summer tide l"
Descending luto valleys green,
Where oattle browsed, meek-eyed, serene;
Where babbling sped the noisy brook,
Aud eager Ushers baited book.
" ’Tls summer still I" once more cried we,
“Oh, Indlau summer, hail to thee I”
Peanuts ground or in any other way
reduced to a paste will furnish a great
variety of palatable dishes in the way
of soups, orequettes, cakes, coffee, etc.
As they are so abundant everywhere,
there is room for experiment for such
housewives as have a knack at makli
various nioe things froi