Newspaper Page Text
r A MODERN VAt.KNTINE.
JVs written it, love, with a stiff steel pen;
For the Reese, I unders tand.
Are so learned, now, that their quill*, I
, trow,
Mast supply their ? wn demand.
|*ve secured it, love, by the aid of glue,
Instead of a strand of hair.
Which I cannot obtain, for 1 sea, with paJu,
I have really none to spare.
I send it to yon by the postman, love;
For G'ipi(9, I grieve to hear,
I* afraid of Shu cold, and has grown so old
That ho doesn’t go out this year.
But the message is ever the same, my love,
Waile the stars their course fulfil.
Though to me and to you it may seem quite
new,
*Tis tbe old, old story still.
—C. IV, Latimer, in Harper’s Magazine.
TEE PIECE OF GOLD.
BY YAUGHN.
■HERE are times
ay ™ ia every circle
of story tellers,
1 ft lit when a spirit of
i reverie seems to
. come upon every
) one. Thus it
VM ij learned was when judge the of
f & I
,, V w». v\ the court, sit
m '■p ■ i lated friends, of ting one an with instance had who his re¬
fils (a through trying
m to defraud a sis¬
ter of her share
m the father's
property, o u t
witted himself
* and came to a
miserable end.
For several minutes no oue spoke. At
last, the lawyer said:
is worse than an enchanter; it
is a demon. As you said, judge, men
will sell their very souls for its posses¬
sion. If any one of us could be given
the power of seeing all the passions and
motives of men laid bare, it would drive
him crazy in a day. If what men con¬
ceal could be opened to the light, how
men would recoil from their own doings!
,It is only by concealment that the petty,
the mean, the dishonest can be satisfied
!With themselves.”
“Very true,” said the judge, still in
dined to be silent.
Another spell of musing, which was
broken by the lawyer. “I once bad a
t<jueer experience in my own practice, iu
lact as odd a case as 1 ever knew. One
of my first, clients ih New York was a
wealthy, retired merchant, named Ber
itraud. He lived very simply, alone ex¬
cept for his housekeeper, in a retired,
/but very respectable part of the city. He
bad a nephew, Frank Bertrand, a broth¬
er's son, whom he regarded as a scape¬
grace, and with whom he was not at all
on good terms.
“Frank seemed to me tqbc a modest,
sensible sort *f a fellow^nVl wondered
at the o f^B-i.fc^?mg tow ards him,
when he was the only relative he had ia
the world. My curiosity aroused, I pon¬
dered the matter somewhat, and came to
the conclusion that the fault was the old
man's, not Frank’s. He was rather high
spirited and wilful about making his
own way in the world and doing as he
pleased with himself, instead of allowing
fetis rich uncle to dictate what be should
do. This seemed to be the extent of
bis ofience, so far as I could learn. Tht
old man was testy and choleric, and
childish about having his own way (i
family trait, I gues>), and not only for¬
bade the nephew the house, but required
me to trake his will, cutting Frauk off
«rith only a very insignificant sum. All
the test of his large property he gave to
bis housekeeper, because, as he said, she
had been kind to him, and would take
care of him as long as he lived. I talked
with Frank about this disposition oi the
property and advised him not to throw
away such a chance but to attempt a
reconciliation with his uucie, so he might
change bis will. The young fellow was
obdurate and would promise nothing.
He was an artist and his whole soul was
In his work. This his unde detested
more than all else as a species of vaga¬
bondism he could nev».r tolerate. No
reconciliation was possible while this re¬
mained, ana I could not help admiring
the boy's energy and spirit when he de¬
clared he would not give up his profes¬
sion for all the fortunes in New York.
He said he had no ill wilt against his
uncle, his property was his own to do
with as uncle's he pleased; peculiar he spoke pleasantly bis
of bis notions, tem¬
per and bis weaknesses, and mentioned
tbe housekeeper kindly as one who had
treated him well. As he left my office 1
said tc myself, ‘Well, Frank Bertrand,
you deserve afoitune it you don’t get
one. A man has reason to be proud of
such a nephew as you.’
“Not a month alter that interview
word was brought me that Mr. Bertrand
had been found murdered in his library.
1 summoned tbe best detective I knew
of and hastened to the spot. An en¬
trance had been made through tue or¬
dinary passages of tbe house, a9 there
was no bieakiug. The victim had been
struck from behind as hesat in bis chair.
The instrument used was a heavy oue;
the skull had been crushed and death
was instantaneous. At first we thought not
* thing in the room had been touched,
but the housekeeper called my attention
to the fact that a nugget of gold wnich
remained attached to a piece of its quar z
matrix, the 6ingle geological specimen
SDd curio whicn adorned the library,
was missing, as well as the little velvet
lined box in which it had rested. Every¬
thing else was in its usual place as if
nothing had happened there. Tnis was
our omy clue, and to my astonishment
and dismay it speedily led to the arrest
of Frank Bertrand as the murderer.
“I Lad foirued go good an opinion of
fhe boy, and his manliness seemed so cer¬
tain, that I found it bard to believe that
ha wa» even accused of murdering his
uncle. That he was guilty was to my
mind besoud the bounds of probability.
t resoJuelv put that down for a fact. It
being learned that he was seen in the
vicinity of the house at the time of the
murder, the detective went to his room
to interview him as to his knowledge of
the affair, and found him standing in the
middle of the apartment in a state of ex¬
citement, and holding m his hand that
same tell tale nugget of gold. So ab¬
sorbed was he in it that he did not notice
the quiet approach of the officer until he
was close upon him. Then he made a
movement as if to hide the nugget. It
was a perfect case of circumstantial evi¬
dence against him. Being arrested he
impetuously defied his accusers, aud
would have resorted to violence against
them, had I not appeared on the he scene burst
and bade him desist. Seeing me
into a flood of tears.
“I demanded a further investigation
of the case, but the detective informed
me that it would be useless to look further
for the murderer.
“Of course, my first move was to
secure a calm, rational interview with
Frank. This was in his cell. I will not
repeat his indignant declarations of in¬
nocence, nor his pitiful appeal to me not
to believe it of him. How came he by
that piece of gold, and why was he at
his uncle’s house? Those were the ques¬
tions to he answered.
“ ‘I can answer tbe last easy enough,’
he replied, ‘but about the nugget I
know no more than you.’
ti« You were tnkeu with it in your
hands,’ I said.
‘“I know it; I had just taken it from
my pocket.” in pocket?*
t .« How came it your
“ ‘I don’t know.’
<i« Weil, that’s singular, to sav the
least,’ said I. ‘Now, how cam s you
there?’
“ ‘Mrs. Blaod called and said my
uncle wanted to see ine. I went, of
course.’
“Mrs. Bland was the housekeeper. I
thought I had struck a fact that would
help us, and whi-tled softly. ‘Did you
see her when you got there?’ I asked.
“ ‘I saw no one there,’ Frank replied.
‘My ring was not answered, I tried
the door and it was fast, I did not
want to disappoint him after he had
kindly sent for me, so I attempted to go
in the back way as I had used to do,
but I found that fast also. Then, as I
could l ouse no one, I turned and .came
away. Wuea I had got back in ray
room somewhat nonplussed at not being
admitted alter my uncle had sent for
ine, I happened to put my hand in my
pocket, aod found tuere the nugget. I
knew it was my uncle's for I had often
seen it there, aud how it cane to be in
my pocket was a mystery that excited
me somewhat. It seemed like witch¬
craft.’
it I Devil-craft, more likely,’ said I who
was now more mystified than ever. ]
did not doubt the truth of Frank's
story in the least. ‘Same one put it in
your pocket to throw suspicion on you;
hut how, and when, and where? Did
Airs. Bland come close to you when she
came to say your uncle wished to see
you?’
44 4 Ns. she did not come in. She left
word at the door. But from my window
l saw her go by. I’m sure it was her,
but she could uot have put the nugget
in my pocket.’ that the
“I may as well say here
housekeeper had been inveitigated aid
was conclusively proved to ba elsewhere
when tue murder occurred. ‘*Vas she
an accomplice?’ was the questioa I was
pondering. A thought occurred to me.
‘Did you find in your pocket tbe little
velvet-lined box, taal held the nugget?’
[ asked.
“ ‘No, there was nothing but tbe
piece of gold, that l saw,’Frauk replied.
“I went straight to Frank’s lodgings
and made a careful searen. I seaic led
the Bertrand mansion for the missing
box, but found nothing.
“Mrs. Bland seemed very much dis¬
tressed over wiiat had happened and was
much concerned for Frank. She de¬
clared she didn’t believe a ward of tae
story that he was guilty. She said his
uncle called to her Irom his room, as he
often did, and directed her to call
Frauk. As she was going to a neigh¬
bor's she stopped on the way for her er¬
rand. She locked the house behind her
on leaving, as was her custom, aud found
it locked ou her return. She did not
see Mr. Bertrand wnea he spoke to her;
only beard his voice.
“I then went to ray office and shut
myself into my private room to quietly
analjze the situation. Wtto, besides his
housekeeper had a motive for murdering
Mr. Bertrand? I pondered the question
over and over again, lhat there was an
answer to it, I was sure. But who had
that motive. That once settled fairly in
my own mind, I would look furtaer for
the little box. I could easily see how
Frank Bertrand had a strong existing
motive to keep his mcie alive uutil he
should make a different will. In his
death he lost all hope. Only sudden
anger under strong provocation could
have moved him to the deed. But he
was already out of my suspicion.
“I am a great believer in motive as
the lever that moves human beings in
the commission of ail deliberate crimes.
I’.iat it was not mere robbery, in this
case, was evident—since only the nugget
of gold was taken, and that f attributed
to a momentary fancy rather than to any
previous intention. It could not be
hatred, tor the old man had not an
enemy in the world that we
could discover. It must then be
greed of some sort, some advantage to
be gained though Mr. Bertrand’s death.
Here was another diiem as. His home
keeper was to have all the property, and
could not have co omitted the
murder. It must then be somebody
further, somebody hopiug for
through her. But the old woman
not a telative in the world that I
ever heard of. She had lived very
many years in the family, and I thought
her relatives would have been hcarJ
from, if there were any greedy enough
commit murder iu order to give her
which they might not get after
Had she a lover?
“Tbe thought struck ms with such a
of its affording a solution of the
mystery, that it was like an electric
shock. She would not marry while Mr.
Bertrand lived; his death would make
her free, and besides would make her
wealthy, two great points to be gained,
which might have a strong influence ou
a weak minded man. I was sure also
from the taking of the nugget, that
whoever he was he would be found to
have been a miner or a collector of ore?
or minerals. Full of my new idea, I
started out to investigate. Bland’s
‘•I had In irreat faita in Mrs.
honesty the matter, but I did not
think it prudent to go to her now for
informatiou, for I had not proved her
integrity as I had Frank’s, and she
mi-ut, if an accomplice, give a warning
that would defeat my purpose. I wear
to the few persons she was intimate with
aod made cautious inquiries about her
gentlemen frien Is. It is almost needless
to say I found one.
“He was a tall gaunt fellow, and
swarthv. like those who have been much
exposed to tha sunlight. He had been
a miner in Australia. Mrs. Bland had
confided to a female friend that the man
proposed, hut she refused him, ‘because
sac could not leave Mr. Bertrand.* I
now decided to go straight to Mrs.
Bland and ask if this man knew of the
contents of the will. Tears came into
her eyes as she admitted that he did.
Sue had inclined to favor his proposal,
and had agreed to marry him after Mr.
Bertrand’s death.
“£ found where the man had his lodg
ing, and taking an officer made all haste
there. His rcom was shabby enough,
l>ut ah, there were the minerals, as I had
surmised. We arrested him ns the mur
derer of Henry Bertrand, and after some
search among his rather mixed belong
ings found there the box with the velvet
lining. brought forth, his .
“When that was
defiant manner fell away from him and
be begged for mercy like a child. He
confessed all, even to brushing against
Frank Bert rand on his way home, to slip
the nugget intc his pocket. At the time
of the murder he caught sight of the
gold lump, and was suddenly possessed
of a fancy for it. Realizing later how
dangerous was its possession, he dis
posed of it to throw suspicion upon
Frank. Ail my theories were tiius
curiously verified."
The lawyer paused, apparently at the
end of hi* story. There was one present
who had the general appearance of a de
tective, who had been careuilty follow
ing his narrative. He asked:
“Pardon two questions, sir. How
came the murderer ia tbe house without
the housekeepers knowledge, and who
was it sent for the nephew?”
“I was going to tell you that present
ly,” said the narrator. “fno fellow
explained that he had been determined
tor some time to get Mr. Bertrand out of
the way, as that meant for him both a
wile aud a fortune. He had beeu wait
ing for an opportunity. Going to door the
house that nay, he foun l tne
unfastened aud slipped in and concealed
himself. He heard the old man give
directions to have drank called, and
heard Mrs. Bland say soe was going to
stop awhile with a friend. Fortune was
favoring his plans. Not only that but
the lear came that Bertrand was relenting
towards h's nephew and might spoil ail
his hopes unless speedily despatched,
Frank Bertrand would be brought to
the house just in time to be accused of
the deed. It was the propitious time.
“The blow fell, the old man passed to
his reward, and he fled. To his auaoy
ance the door locked with a spring
behind him, and Frank, whom he was
watching as he came, could not get in.
Tuen came tue thought to fasten the
crime on him more severely by putting
the nugget in his pocket.
“It nas been truly said that men com¬
mitting great crimes always do some act
or leave some act undone, despite all
their precautions, that tells the ta'e of
their wrong doing. So this man, who
seemingly had all his plans perfect, in
his eagerness and excitement, forgot to
put ou Frank’s person the box as well as
its conte its, anl now it ro3e up a con¬
witness against him.”
‘•Now I’ve got a questioa,” veature 1
listener. “iVuat did the old
lady do witn the property? D.d she
up another husoand, or, as some of
do, give it to au asylum?” good
“Neither. She was a really
woman, and was struck with horror at
villainy of the man who wanted to
her lor her prospeciive mraey. I
that every day, for she is now
she thanits the L iri that sao e®.
the fate of marry ing him. She
the wuole property over to Frans,
she had uo doubt his uncle would
releatei toward him if he hal
Sue lives with him, macing a
for him like a anther, aud tuey
a great deal of eac i o:her. Tha
of gold and the velvet box which
so important a psrt in the tragedy
their lives, still rest in their old plhCh
the library.”—VTankee Blade.
The Giant of All Ti iiepleios.
The greatest hcrological wonder in
world to-day is the gigantic clock in the
tower of the immense “Public Building”
at Philadelphia. Wiiea everything is
in running order this marvel of the clock
maker’s art w’ill be stationed a distance
of 35 L feet from the pavement. Its bell
weighs between 2J,0UJ and 25.0JJ
pounds, aud is tbe second largest boll of
any kind iu America, the great bell at
Montreal being the largest, weighing
2d,U0b pounds. Tne dial of this Phila¬
delphia titan is twenty-live feet iu di¬
ameter, and the striking hammer is as
large as a pile driver weight, Tue
minute hand is twelve and the hour hand
nine feet in length. Tae machinery is
arranged so that thecloet will strike
every fifteen miuutes, the quarier, half,
three-quarters and hours. The Roman
numerals ou the face are two feet eight
inches in length, the dark part of the
figures being inches in width. As it
is°entirely out of the question by hand, to talk three- of
winding such a monster a
horse power engine has been placed a(
tbe square of the towsr for that especial
purpose. _ _ ____
MARDI GRAS.
now LENT is ushbrkd in at
NEW ORLEANS.
The Climax ol More Than a Week’s
Series ot Ke-tivities—The Ar¬
rival ot llex-Uraiul I’a
raileot Floats.
JULIAN RALPH _____ says in . Harper „
Qj I that on ward, gras, the day be
fore the beginning of Lent is the
time to be in New Orleans, par
ticularly . for a stranger, because in the
scenes of the carnival is found the key
to the character of the people. They
ere not like the rest of us. Our so-called
carmva.s wherever and whenever we
1)a ™ tned to bokl them > kave bec “ ffi " r C
commercial , venture?, illustrated with ,
advertisements, carried out oy hired
men, and P»'d for by self-seeking per
sons, who had not the backing of any
populace. But in New Orleans the car
nival displays are wholly designed to
amuse and entertain tbe pleasure-loving,
light-hearted, largely Latin peop.e who
originally took part in them, but who
Have surrendered active participation to
the leaaing and wealthy men of the
town.
The actual mardi gras csiebrafion is
only tbe climax of a series of festivities
lasting tea days or more. First is held
the Bal Des Roses, in the week before
the week which precedes the public car
nival. This ball is purely a “society
affair,” like our Patriarchs’ Ball in New
York.
»r be which follows is one of al
most daily sensation?. First, on
the Argonauts begin the
festivities with a tourney and
raciDg. A bal! at night follows.
Tuesday the Atlanteans give their ball,
q 0 Thursday Mom us gives a ball, with
tableaux, in costume. On Friday of
g a j a week is held the Carnival german,
g'he Carnival German Club is composed
0 f twenty—five society men, who
^ be g e rtnan by subscription. Only sev
enty-flve couples participate in it.
The carnival proper is celebrated with
pagentry and dancing that occupy
afternoons and nights of Monday and
Tuesday.” Rex, the King of the
carnival comes to town on Monday af
ternoon. Who he is a few persons know
^ j- be tjmg. wbo h e was JS sometimes
published, as in ISOl, and more often is
not# What is Cilled a roya i yacht is
ca< EC \ to brim* him irom some myster
jous realm over whiefi be rules in the
Orient, to visit his winter capita!
jn the Creseert City. Last time
the royal yacht was the revenue cutter
Galveston, but ordinarily tne societies
b j re 0 n e of f b e b jg river steamboats,
Tbe jjjf yacht is always accompanied by ten
or een 0 t ber steamers, gaylv decor¬
a ; ed< crowded with meu and women and
appointed with bands of music and all
ma | ie 3 good cheer. It is supposed
that the yacht has taken the king aboard
a ^ t ^ e j c ttie9. The fleet return®, and
roya ( landing is made upon the levee
a( . ^ j oot b f Ganal street, amid a fan
f arona fl e 0 f the whistles of boats, loco
motives and factories and the firing of
g UB8> The king is met by many city
officers and leading citizens, who are
cabed f be dukes of the realms, and___ can¬
B titute his royal court. These temoor
ary nobles wear civilian attire, with a
gold badge and bogus jewelry as decor¬
ation. Many persons in carriages ac¬
company them. A procession is formed,
and tbe principal featurdl of the display
are a gorgeous litter for the king, a lit¬
ter for the royai keys, and a number of
splendid litters in which ride gayly cos
turned women.
The king goes to the City Hall accom
panied as I have described. The way
is lined with tens of thousands of spec¬
tators; flags wave Irom every building;
music is playiDg, the suu is shining, the
whole scene, with the gorgeous pageant
threading it, is maguificent. At the
City Hall, the Duke of Crescent City,
who is the Mayor, welcomes Ilex, aud
gives him the keys and the freedom of
tbe city. The king mysteriously disap¬
pears aider that, presumably to his pal¬
ace.
That night, the night before mardi
gras, the Krewe ol Proteus holds its par¬
ade and ball, and in exrent and cost aud
splendor this is a truly representative
pair cf undertakings. “A Dream ol the
Vegetable Kingdom” wa3 what the last
Proteus parade was entitled. It con¬
sisted of a senes of elaborate and splen¬
did floats forming a line mauy blocks
long and representing whatever is most
picturesque, or can be made so, among
vegetable growths. The float that
struck me as the most peculiar and
noteworthy bore a huge water¬
melon, peopled, as all the devices
were, with gayly costumed men and
women, and decked with nodding
blossoms,waving leaves,dace ng tendr.ls,
and the glitter and sheen of metal,
lustrous stones, and silk. Butterflies,
caterpillars, birds, a great squirrel on
the acorn float, snails, and nameless
grotesque animal forms were seen upon
tbe vegetables and their leaves, wuile
meu dressed as fairies, of both sexes,
were grouped picturesquely on inartistic every
one. These devices were not
tawdry. They were made by skilled
workmen trained for this particular
work, and were not only superior to any
of the show pieces we sec iu other page¬
ants elsewhere—ih y were equal to the
best that are exhibited in theatre®. Tiny
were displayed to the utmost advantage
ia the glare of tbe torches and flambeaux
carried by the men who led the horses
and marched beside tbe hidden wheels.
Tne figures in Paris-made :ostumes,
theatrical paint, and masks were 15D to
£0J members of tbe Krewe—serious and
earnest men of affairs during the other
days of the year.
Oa Tuesday, mardi gras, Rex really
made his appearance, leading a pageant
called “the symbolism of colors,” just
such another display of the blending of
strong and eolt colors, but a thousand¬
fold more difficult to render satisfactor
ily by daylight. The twenty enormous
floats in line represented boat*, castles,
towers, arches, kiosks, clouds and
thrones, and one, that 1 thought the be3t
of all, a great pamter’s palette, lying
against two vases, and having living fe
male figures recumbent here and there
to represent such heaps of colors as might
be looked for on a palette in use. Canal
street, one of the broadest avenues in
the world, was newly paved with human
forms, and thousands of others were on
the reviewing stands built before the
faces of the houses, over the pavements.
Toe sight of suca a vast concourse of
people was us grand as the chromatic,
serpent-like line of floats that wound
across and across the street. That night
all the people turned out oice again and
witnessed the parade of the Mistick
Ivrewe of Cointis, a Japanesque series of
floats called “Nippon, the Lord of the
Rising Sun.” The display was, to say
the least, a3 fine as any ol the season.
Salt and Civilization.
Though playing an unobtrusive part
in human economy, salt has been a pow¬
erful factor iu tbe politics, commerce, has
and wealth of Nations, and its u=e
marked the advancement of civilization
itself. Liebig once said that the state ol
civilization and the prosperity of a Nation
might be measured by the quantity of
soap it uses; but a more shrewd observer,
SchleideD, claims that a better estimate
of a people’s advancement can be formed
irora the amount of salt they consumed,
The first trade routes were established
for the traffic in salt, and incense; bar¬
baric people waged war over the posses¬
sion of salt springs; Venice owed much
of her magnificence to tbe revenues from
her salt lagoons; while the Fiench Rjvo
lution is indirectly attributed tc the in¬
exorable gabelle, the cruel and exorbi¬
tant salt laws which oppressed the French
people through four centuries. In
Europe, even to-day, the salt works are
either owned or controlled by Govern¬
ment; while the Chinese jealously pro¬
hibit the export and import of salt.
Thus the policy of kings, prosperity
of Nations, the progress of civibzition
have hinged upon this uaconsidered trifle;
but aside from them, common salt has
had, in all times, among all people, and
in all creeds, a deep religious signifi
cance. The Greeks and Romans made
salt a part of their sacrifices, and it was
offer eci in direct propitiation to piacate
the gods of the infernal regions. Among
the Hebrews, all flesu sacrifices offered
in the temple were seasoned with salt;
and the most binding and sacred com¬
pact was the so-called “Covenanr of
Sait,” all such treaties beiug made over
a sacrificial meal, of which salt formed a
necessary part. The early German tribe;
thought the ground holy where salt was
found, and their prayers more readily
heard in such places; while to this day
the priest places salt in the mouth of a
person receiving the Catholic sacrament
of baptism.
Tbe reason of this deep and far-reach¬
ing significance is not far to seek. Salt,
because of its preservative qualities, has
ever been the symbol of eternity, iucor
ruption, fidelity, wisdom, justice, and
peace. Christ called Hts disciples the
“salt of the earth,” meaning that in them
lay the perpetuity of the Christian spirit.
It had also, particularly in the Bible, «
terrible and sinister meaning, betokening
sterility ana irtevocable ruin, as shown
in the account of sowing with sali the
site of a city destroyed by siege.
Moreover, salt is the inviolable symbol
of hospitality, every meal inclu ling salt
—among the ancients, and iu the Orient
at the present day—having a sacred
character, aud creating among the par¬
takers thereof a lasting bond of friend¬
ship.
“Attic salt” is the commonest synonym
for wit; and it is recorded that the
Romans who made salt the symbol of the
immortal spirit, termed a mail’s soul his
-alillum, i. e., salt-cellar.—Demoreit's
Magazine.
Why Ara L3avui (iron I
Attention has been drawn to the fact
that all the world over leaves are of a
green color, but, wade the greea of
plants and vegetables remains tbe sams
in all latitudes, the colors of animals
vary considerably according to the region
they inhabit. It has beeu suggested
(and partially proven, I believe) that the
green color iu leaves is due to a sub¬
stance called chlorophyll, which the leaf
structure absorbs from the atmosphere.
It is a well-known fact that leaves re*
move Irom the lower strata of our at¬
mosphere all the poison that the breath
of man and the lower animals throw into
it; therefore, the importance of leaf
structure should not be lightly over¬
looked. Botanists of unquestioned
ability tell us that a full-grown tree in a
crowded community is in reality one of
natuie's mo9t perfect and complex filters,
straining and purifying the air just as a
filter does impure water. Tnis impor¬
tant filtering of the tree is only carried
on under the stimulus of sunlight, leaves
having but little or no power of absorp¬
tion ou cloudy dt,ys or at night. Wnat
we call “growta" in plants is merely tna
power of that particular plant to convert
co its own uses the energy of the sui.
Another peculiarity of leaves may be
noticed in this connection: Tie general
arrangement of the Ieives on limbs and
stalks ol trees and plants secures between
each sufficient space to prevent one leaf
Irom interfering with another. And,
not only are leaves so arranged as to exist
mdependestly of each other, but, in a
general way, they have taken upon tuem
seives the torms best adapted to secure
the maximum of sunlight as it is show¬
ered upon them in different latitudes.
At the equator, where the sun’s rars are
vertical, we find large flat leave?, like j
those of the banana plantain and tne ;
various species of the cacti. Farther
North, wnere sunlight strikes at an angle,
small leaves and pine “needles” are
found. TheD, again, note the peculiar
ity of the Australian gu n tree: Instead
of exposing their broad faces to tbe sun,
the edges only are so turned. Were it ,
otherwise the sun would rob them of all j
their moisture, it being a well-known 1
fact that the gum tree grows in the j
driest region on earth.—St. Louis Re-!
* KISSED his mothe
-— W
She sat on tbe porch in the sunsbiaftW
as I went down the street— ■
a woman whose hair was silver,
But whose face was blossom sweet—
Malting me think of a garden
Where, in fp te of frost and snow,
of bleak November weather,
Late fragrant lilies grow.
I heard a footsto behind me
And a sound of a merry lsurb.
And I knew the heart it cirae from
Would belike a comfort ng staff
In the time and the hour of trouble.
Hopeful, and brave, and strong;
One of the hearts to lean on
When we think that things go wrong.
r turne d a t the click of the gate latch
And me( . his manJy look;
A face like his gives me pleasure,
Like the page of a pleasant book;
It told of a steadfast purpose.
Of a brave and daring will—
A face with a promise in it
That God grant th3 years fulfill.
He went up the pathway singing;
I saw the woman’s eyes
Grow bright with a wordless welcorn?.
As sunshine warms the skies.
“Back again, sweetheart mother!”
He cried and bent to kiss
Tbe loving face that was lifted
For what some mothers miss.
That boy will do to depend on; ,
I hold that this is true;
From la Is iu lova with taair mothers
Our bravest heroes grew.
Earth’s grandest hearts hava been loving
hearts
Since time and earth began,
And toe boy who kisse 1 his mother
Is every inch a man 1
—Eben E. RexforJ.
PITH AX 1) POINT.
t bouffe _A French duel,
A tramp steamer Fne station-hous#
lodging room.
A reformer is a naan who is sure that
his interest is the public interest.—
Puck.
j t j s eas ; er to reetore a smashed egg
Bbe q than to bring back confidence one*
j ost> _Truth.
The milk of human kindness would b#
a good deal richer if it wasn’t skimmed
so often.—Puck.
XVhen a ship begins to pitch the
passengers all are anxious to make »
home run.—Chicago Inter-Ocean.
“Why do you love cried. me, Love, so mu A?”
I passionately
She pouted, muse I, taen said “Because!”
AuU i wassatisaeJ.
—Puck,
Mr®. Plume—“Don't you think my
new bonnet is a perfect dream." Plum#
—“Yes; and a mighty bad ou@.”—
Puck.
It is curious how much faster a street
car hu ups along when you are running
after it than when you are riding on it. 1
—Richmond Recorder.
Judge—“What is your age, rardam!”
Aged Witness—“I have seen thirty,
seven summers.” Judge—“How long
have you been blind?”—Texas Siftings.
“ A ell,” said tbe man who banded his
last cent to tbe lawyer, “I suppose turn
about is fair play. I broke tue law and
tbe Jaw broke me.”—Washington S-ar.
How many su lien griefs wjnld flit
Far fro a tuis world of buns,
If ail umbrellas Usd to fit
The same as oversaoeal
— iVasaington Stir,
There are too many singers in the choir
who do not know any more about the
gospel they sing than the town p imp
does about the tasto of watjr.—Ram’s
Horn.
Willie—“Papa, someone has invented
a magazine guu. Wuat kind is that?”
Papa (reflectively)—“It must be oue
that goes eff ouce a mouth.’’—Pittsburg
Bulletin.
Oue good way to discourage the man
who thiuks he has an aptitude (or saying,
funny thiugs is to call Him bick soberly;
and induce him to explain his joxe3.—■
Somerville Journal.
Mrs. Youngwife—“To-n has a dread*
/ul disposition I lied.” Mother—“What
does he do?” Mrs. Y->ua gwife--“t)o,
why he never gets mad wueu I do.’’—
Ch cago Inter Ocean.
“Where are you staying? I’ll call and
•eeyou.” “Don’t. You’ll only Hint
the worse of me when you see my sur«
round’nga.” “O b my know.’—PaaeUf" dear fellow,
that’s impossible, you
A conflict is approaching, it corpus nearar
The everyday; >
foe no longer seek® fie ai 1/of stealth;
And we won ter w >icu wul cohquar in ta#
The world-important trav, of '
bacillus or tna o »o-r health.
— Washington sitar, •
Mr. Grigson—“I wonder what old
General odious.y Buliedogge/ican made^V), see tu that
Bmnche D ipuis?”
Miss Golightly—*’0.i, the old war horsn
likes the smell of powder, I guess.”—
Judy.
Herbert—“If she loves him, why
doesu’tshe marry him in spite of her
father's objection?” Stella—“MercyI
isn’t it a good deal easier to aive him up
than toaimitshe is cf age?”—Chicago
Inter-Ocean.
“I consider.” said the new man on the
staff, deeply hurt, “taat [ have beeu
snubbed. I am chockful of unwritteu
editorials and they’ve tent me out te
write up the home-made pie iuJustrv.*
—Chicago Tribune.
“Yer lock bad, Jim. Been camnia*
out?” “Sorter. To day’s the fust time
I’ve been out er doors in three mouth*.”
, <Wuot th wouldn’f
., Nothin ’ ; but tbe Judge
lieve it.”—Comic be
Cues.
Mother “oohnnie, . why arc you cry
. ^ *J he
m on S I>1D .” to away a week
y° ur P a P» wdl be home with you.”
**No, he wont; he’s going to
“Going to Rome! Why,
hild, what do you mean?” “I heard
iQ sa y he would make Rome
when you left. r “On, indeed!
Ml i, Johnnie,”—.