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SWAN SONG OF UNCLE JO.
bone time I'se bin a waitin’
In He waitin' seat below,
And now de rope am cornin’,
Cornin’ down for Uncle Jo;
Cornin’ down, it mought be slowly,
Cornin’ down, it mought be fas’;
But still its cornin’ for to come,
And sure to come at las’.
Ting-a-ling anodcr story !
I hvar de warnin’ bell;
Ting-a-ling ! it keep a-comin’,
I knows dat warnin' well;
Dat near er and de nearer,
De sweeter in my ear;
De ringin’ make me happy,
And chase away de fear.
De slidin’ doors am rollin’,
A-rollin, back for Jo;
De angel says, “ Git ready,
Git ready for to go.”
De chariot wheels am waitin',
De horses waitin’ too,
And dem dis chariot wuntst takes in,
Dey goes de whole way thro’.
Borne stop at de fust landin’,
An’ thankee for desame;
Borne hoi’s on to de second.
An' has no higher aim;
8ome gits a story higher,
An’ den dey has to stop;
But when I goes, I want to go
An’ keep on to de top.
Ff I could touch de button,
I'd touch him mighty quick,
For oh dis wicked, wrastlin’ world
I’m gittin’ tired an’ sick.
De debbel gits de upper han’
Too often for ole Jo,
An’ to de land ob promise
Tm longin' fur t» go.
Tes ! I see de rope am cornin'
Coinin’ down for Uncle Jo;
Long time I’s been a-waitin’,
I’s ready for to go.
Now start de elevator;
Good angel, hyst me home,
An’ soon I’ll be in glory,
An’ in the kingdom come!
Love in _Ash.es,
BY SARAH J. CLARKE.
“Scant of nine, and the washing all
out,” mused thrifty Mrs. Chutter as she
scrubbed the porch. “Deacon, I’ll get
you to set the big tub down cellar, if you
Will.”
“Certain, wife,” responded the deacon
from his cart in the door-yard.
“There comes Kendall’s new basket
wagon with two women in it,” pursued
the lady, wringing balks her mop. “Isn’t that
the horse that ?”
Being in the critical act of emptying a
four-gallon bucket of soap, the good
man vouchsafed no reply. When the
jellied mass had quivered and splashed
into the barrel in waiting he looked up
just in season to see the gay little pony
shy at the cart and go tearing down the
road.
“They’ll upset! they’ll be killed!
Run after em ! Do something!” shrieked
Mrs. Chutter.
“Don’t get excited, wife; they’re all
right now. That girl drives like a man.”
And picking up his bucket the moder¬
ate deacon marched off for a second sup¬
ply of had soap. But though the little inci¬
dent failed to shake his nerves, it
did make him oblivious of his wife's
wash-tub poised on the landing of the
dim stairway, and as a natural conse¬
quence he put his foot in it. The tub
rolled; the deacon swayed like a pestel
in a mortar; there was a lively succession
of bumps, followed by a clatter and a
thud,and deacon, tub,and bucket strewed
tbe cellar floor.
“Adab and Abihu !” ejaculated the fal¬
len saint, with sinful energy.
“What's up, uncle?” cried an anxious
voice overhead.
“I can tell you what’s down,” was the
grim response. “Come and brace me
while I try to step.”
The owner of the voice, a fine-looking
youth of ono-and-twenty, was already
groping his way among the debris, his
aunt in the rear with the camphor.
The deacon’s attempted locomotion re¬
sulted in a groan.
“I must have sprained my ankle, Har¬
vey. If I'd postponed this tub race till
after I’d been my rounds, 't would have
been better calculation.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about my
rounds, uncle. What’s tbe hurry ?”
“My customers expect me to-day,
that’s the point. I hate masterly to break
my word. Now, there’s tlio widow
Cleaves waiting for me to take her ashes, boil¬
bo she can scrub after me with the
ing suds, and up at Kendall's they’re
clean out of soap. ”
“And not clean without it, eh?”
laughed since the young man. “See hero,
uncle, you are going to feel ;o un¬
easy about disappointing the people,
why not send me in your stead ?’
“You, in your fine clothes ! I should
smile,” mumbled Mrs. Chutter, with the
stopper of the camphor bottle between
her teeth.
“Why, can’t my uncle’s intending mantle fal to
upon me, auntie? I was
borrow the frock.”
"Well, if I do say it, you’ve got the
Vance common-sense. Some young men
of your bringing up would be ashamed
to drive a Roap cart.”
“Hump! Some young men would be
fools,” said the deacon, with warmth.
“Nobody has any call to be ashamed to
deliver such soap as I make. If you've
a mind to run the team to-day, Harvey,
I shall be obliged to you.”
Fifteen minutes later the worthy
deacon was extending his aching length
upon the sitting-room lounge, and gazing
through the open window after his youth¬
ful proxy, who, duly initiated into the
mysteries of the calling, was driving
away in the big blue cart. Behind
jounced and creaked an empty ash-bin,
flanked by two covered barrels of soap;
but the swinging seat was clean and
comfortable, commanding a fine view of
the surrounding country.
A half-mile and more the road wound
through his uncle's fertile acres, for
Deacon Chutter was withal a farmer.
Farming, indeed, was his chief vocation,
soap-boiling being an accessory extensive venture
growing out of sundry experi¬
ments in the use of leached ashes as a
fertilizer. It was one of those tuneful
mornings in early June when all nature
jo ns in a glad doxology. The newlv
arrived bobolinks, tipsy with giee, car-
oiled in the meadows. The orioles, hang
iug their hammocks in the elms, could
scarcely work for singing. Gay breezes
whispered love to the graceful clover,
then danced away to flirt with the coy
hillside birches. Everywhere were life
and motion irradiated by the benignant
sun. For Harvey Vance’s study-weak
eued eyes there was too much glare, too
much flutter. He lost no time in putting
on his bine goggles. make look like
“Who cares if they me
a frog?” mused he, as he settled them
astride his aristocratic nose. “Thanks to
them, and to the chauge of air, my poo>
optics are undoubtedly improving. I
shall be back to college by fall. Ha !
ha! if the fellows could only see me
now 1”
And here, to the infinite surprise of
staid Dobbin, his new master broke into
a rollicking class in song—a road song revealed abruptly
ended as a turn the a
near farm-house.
“If I peddle soap, I’ll peddle it with
due decorum,” soliloquized the youth,
knocking upon the back door with (lie
handle of his whip. capable air with
To have seen the
which ho measured ashes bushel by
bushel, giving in exchange money, or
gallons of soap, according to the cus
tomer’s desire, one would have pro
nouneed him bred to the soap business,
Since his month’s rustication at his aunt
Chutter’s he had made the acquaintance
of most of the farmers along the river,
and these expressed their gratification
at meeting “a judge s son that wasn’t
afraid to work, but outside the parish
limits lu’s triumphial march terminated,
He was a stranger in a strange land.
One man asked if he had bought out the
deacon ; a second hoped he wasn t pro
posing to run an opposition team ; and
the loyal widow Cleaves could hardly be
persuaded to surrender her ashes, be
cause, forsooth, she preferred to trade
wl Deacon Chutter.
Obedient to ms uncle s instructions,
at her cottage the young man took a
cross-road to Kendall s, a summer hotel,
familiarly styled The Eyrie.
“You’ll find it a long three miles,”
had been Mrs. Cleaves’s parting remark.
“Three miles, and not a neighbor
between here and there. I couldn’t
blame the widow if she should want to
change her situation,” mused the dea¬
con’s deputy, scanning the western
horizon. “Shouldn’t wonder if that
cloud yonder meant business. I though t
the sun was too bright this morning
Well, a little high-toned thunder will
drown this everlasting racket.”
Facing about to wedge in position an
empty soap barrel, he observed two
ladies driving up the hilt in a basket
phaeton. like Kendall’s that
“That looks team
gave auntie such a panic this morning,”
thought he. “Those ladies are some of
his boarders, I suppose—Tom Cavender’s
mother and sister, for aught I know. I
have heard they were stopping at the
Eyrie. Goodness ! wouldn’t it be a joke
if I should fall in with them to-day !”
Meanwhile the young lady in the car¬
riage was merrily commenting conspic on the
quasi soap-man’s active figure,
uously and amply clad in the deacon’s
canvas frock and overalls.
“I hope he isn’t a perambulating
maniac, mamma.”
“It’s the very cart that frightened the
pony !” was the terrified response. “Do
let me get out, Lila! Oh! oh.”
But already the horse was backing
down the hill. Harvey sprang from the
cart, and grasped tlic refractory animal
by the bridle just in season to prevent
the carriage from overturning in the
ditch.
“Thank you, sir—thank you very
much,” said the girlish driver, the color
rushing back to her face. “Now, if
you’ll be kind enough to lead our pony
past your cart we shall be yet more
obliged.”
“A pretty girl—stylish too, but abom¬
inably patronizing,” thought the young
Sophomore, stalking resentfully at the
pony’s head. behind
“There, now your cart is us,
we shall have no further trouble. I’m
sorry to have detained you, sir. In¬
finitely obliged.”
In leaving the ladies Harvey mechani¬
cally raised yellowed his and hat, frayed the deacon’s by hat—
alas ! farm ser¬
vice. The touch set flying the ashes
upon its brim, giving our receding hero
the effect of being blinded, caught away in a
cloud. A little but laughing
behind his goggles, ho went back to old
Dobbin, and waited for the ladies to gc
on in advance.
But what ailed that surprising pony ?
would The young lady chirruped to him; lie
not budge. She snapped the whip;
lie stood as stiff as the wooden horse of
the Trojans.
“Oh, daughter, daughter, he’s balk
iug !” cried the elder lady, who appeared
to be an invalid. “If there’s anything
I’m afraid of, it’s a balking horse. ”
“Allow me, madam,” said Harvey,
again advancing.
He twisted the animal’s ear a moment
to divert his attention, then took him bv
the bit and led him several paces.
“See, mamma, the pony has got over
the sulks. Thank you, sir.”
The youug lady resumed the reins;
the refractious quadruped promptly * re
fused to stir
“Let me get out, Lila; I won’t go an
other step with him.”
“He doesn’t seem to be going,” said
the daughter, with a vexed laugh. “You
,,»•( „1k a Mi You'll surely Lays .
relapse, mamma, if you don’t sit still.”
Again tantalizing Harvey led stiffened the pony. in his Again bar
the nag
ness the instant Miss Lila took the reins.
Many a time was this farce repeated,
and many were the minutes wasted.
Meantime the sky had become overcast,
and thunder was muttering in the dis¬
tance.
“My mother has been very ill. If she
is caught in the shower she may get her
death,” cried Miss Lila, in distress. “Oh,
what shall we do ?”
“If you’ll pardon the suggestion, I
might drive yon to the Eyrie, if
that is vonr destination,” said Harvey,
with a deprecatory glance at his mas
' querading costume.
“ Oh. will you? But there is your
horse and cart*”
“I co-u’d come back for them ”
"And with all mamma's shawls and
pillows, the phaeton is hardly ‘ wide
enough for us two.”
“That is true; it is a Lilliputian affair.”
The vonth was gravely testing its light
springs and braces.
j “Is there danger of breaking down .
Then you go with mamma, and 111 drive
the cart.”
“Lila Cavender! The idea, expos¬
tainted the invalid.
“Tom Cavenders mother and sister,
by the ashes of my uncle ! Confound it,
! what a scrape !” was the young soap
j merchant s inward ejaculation, as he
awaited the ladies’ pleasure,
“Wliat better can I do, mamma. 1
shall ride famously. Unless horse,” you the re
afraid to trust me with your
young lady added, with a glance toward
Harvey. the least. He’s far from being
“Not in
a fiery Bucephalus.” incongruity of the
Struck with the re¬
mark from such a source, Miss Lila lost
all control of her dimples.
“That seat is suspended Mohammed’s between th«
heavens and the earth, like
coffin, mamma,” she jested, by way of
cloaking her untimely mirth. “One
ought to be shot into it out of a cata
pult.” To aid the lady in mounting,
young extended
Harvey silently a hand, whose
exceeding smuttiness was intensified by
a ae al ring that glittered upon the little
finger. Miss Lila glanced curiously at
the fine cameo with its quaint setting,
Who was this anomalous being who
sported costly ornaments and quoted
from the classics ? And where bad she
seen that peculiar cameo before, or one
j ust i; ke R ? Ah ! now she recollected:
Xom had worn it home last vacation,
when he and his chum had exchanged
rings. But how had this soap-man be
come possessed of Vance it? Could it be that
j ie an< j Harvey were identical?
Xom had said that Harvey was spending
th e summer in the neighborhood. This
mus t be he. Yes, she was sure of it.
Obedient to the young man’s will, that
unaccountable pony darted away on the
w ings of the wind. Close old behind, head
down, tail up, followed Dobbin in a
heavy canter which seemed to shake the
ver y i eave8 on the trees. Charged upon
j,y the empty soap barrel, Miss Lila
slipped to the other side of the seat, and
clung to the ash-bin. A mile was passed,
two miles. The gable-roofed Eyrie
loomed in the distance. On sped the
pony; on lumbered old Dobbin; on
swooped the storm-cloud. A dozen
guests crowded out upon the hotel piazza
to witness the exciting race.
“How white Mrs. Cavender looks !”
cried one. “Where did she pickup that
fantastic driver ?”
“Is that Miss Lila in the cart?” ex¬
claimed the gentleman addressed. ‘ ‘Well,
she’s a girl of mettle ! Ha, here comes
the rain 1”
As the phaeton dashed up he rushed
out with an open umbrella to escort
Mrs. Cavender into the house. In
mounting the steps she turned toward
Harvey.
‘ ‘You have done us a great service, sir.
I assure you we are grateful. My daugh¬
ter will see that you are recompensed for
your time and trouble. ”
“The dickens she will!” thought the
deacon’s indignant substitute.
Standing beneath the dripping down eaves,
with rivulets of lye coursing his
cheeks, he assisted the moist young
lady to alight. you,” “Iam—we she stammered, are deeply blush
indebted to
iugly. “My mother—”
“Has taken no cold, I trust,” he said,
loftily. “Good-afternoon.”
And horse, cart, and driver disap¬
peared kitchenward.
In putting the cart to rights that even¬
ing Harvey discovered a grimy object
caught between the seat and the ash -bin.
It proved to be a lady’s pocket-handker¬
chief, bearing in one corner the name of
“ Lila Cavender.” He handed it to his
aunt for blenching purposes, and re¬
ceived in return a letter from Tom.
“My mother and sister have perched
at the Eyrie, on Em den Hill,” it ran.
“My mother is getting up from a fever,
and is bound to get up as high as she
can. If you’re anyway near their se¬
cluded nest, do peep in upon them.
They’ll be charmed to make your ac¬
quaintance. ”
“I believe I’ll take that handkerchief
to Miss Cavender to-morrow, auntie, and
have it off my mind,” remarked Harvey,
carelessly, as he folded the letter.
“ Well—or you might send it by the
stage.” But Harvey was deaf to the
uggestion.
The nextevening,faultlessly attired,and
minus spectacles, he cordially presented welcomed himself at
the Eyrie, and was daughter, by
both Mrs. Cavender and her
Convinced that he was not recognized as
squire of the soap cart, he saw no ne
cessity for proclaiming himself such. In
making his first call why should he in
vroduee himself as a clown?
“You’ve made quite a visit,” was his
«nut’s salutation when Harvey entered
the sitting room. “Was the girl glad to
get her handkerchief ?”
"To tell the truth, auntie, I didn’t
give it to her.”
“Humph! Strange how a handsome
young woman will weaken a chap s
memory,” observed the deacon, slyly, as
his wife bandaged the offending ankle.
<<p don’t see but Harvey 11 have to call
again.” . and ,
He did call again, and , again,
again. Indeed, his rides to the Lyne
grew so frequent that his uncle one day
teasingly counselled him to buy a second
saddle-horse.
“Or get a carriage that will hold two,
amended his aunt. At which the youth
P T ate opmlon mat “ e was verj
a jP , ®’
. f rth J t th ‘ t evenin „_
even , to tl,e ,, . leB & ,, th of P roposun « to Mlss
Lila.
The little coquette only laughed, and
node him not to be absurd.
Absurd ? He would really like tokuow
^at he meant,
Oh. they were both so young,
that Harvey he, looked hurt, nearing and intimated down
at least, was the
kill of life.
And he didn’t know her well enough,
The youth eagerly protested that he
knew her well enough to love her.
“Besides, I’m not sure but I like
another young man better.”
‘‘°jV if ? ou care f ° r somebody else,
wt y, then—why. T ui that case—” Har
'’ey intricate, f und and the English tongue terribly ‘
rose with precipitation.
“I met him first, yon know,’’saidMiss
Lila, dropping her eyes apologetically.
“and I am under great obligations to
bim.”
“Oh, it’s all right. You’re all right,
I mean; but I think Tom might have told
me.”
“Told you what?”
“About this other fellow.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” said Miss
Lila, demurely. “He hasn’t come for¬
ward.” Harvey drew on his glove with
him a mystified day sir. “But I am looking far
any now, for the Eyrie is nearly
out of soap.”
“You bewitching little tease !”
Miss Lila’s cheeks were eddying with
dimples deep enough to drown a man’s
heart. Perhaps they made Harvey’s
head swim. I can’t say. I only know
that he laid hold of the young lady’s
fashion, hands at and that she moment seemed in quite the most willing gid~d.>
to
let him steady himself in this manner.
“Well, Harvey, I expect to be on my
legs again to-morrow,” observed the fa¬
cetious deacon, at breakfast: “and when
I call at the Eyrie I guess you’d better
let me give that young woman her hand
kerchief.”
“Thank you very much; I attended to
that last night.”
“It didn’t seem just right to keep her
out of it so long, Harvey,” remarked
his aunt, dryly, as she passed his cof¬
fee. “You ought to have paid her in¬
terest,"
“Humph ! don’t you be a mite con¬
cerned, wife,” said the deacon with a
mieliievous wink. "Depend upon it,
Harvey has squared accounts with that
young woman before this, and takes her
note of band. He’s driven business since
that day I set him up in the cart.”—
Harper's Bazar.
A Novel Exhibition.
A Connecticut man has a novel plan
for a public exhibition. It was he whose
robbery, New several months ago, in a Hester
street, York groggery, led to a well
remembered tragedy. He entered the
worse Shrewd drinking Yankee place though in the whole street.
he was, he fool¬
ishly laid down a $20 bill in payment for
a five-cent drink. His expectation of
getting the change was not realized.
The bartender first laughed at him, and
then swore, the gang of men and women
gibed and threatened, and he felt glad to
get out with his life. He appealed to
the turned police, and Roundsman Delaney re¬
with him and a warrant. A drunk¬
en slugger, who was in the place dozing
off the effects of a night’s debauch, fired
upon the officer, wounding him seriously
and was himself shot dead. That event
made the saloon infamous, and conse¬
quently it would have become prosper¬
ous, had not the police obdurately closed
the establishment. “The Connecticut
man proposes to get his $19.95 back, and
more too,” says the Boston Herald. “He
is having a panorama painted of scenes
in Hester street and its vicinity, showing
the vile resorts which have been de¬
scribed in the newspapers througlioutt he
country, and as to which, he calculates,
a good deal of interest exists. He will
lecture on the pictures, detailing his own
lively daring experience, explorers after the fashion of
who have survived the
hardships and dangers of travel in some
wild country. He will introduce some
vivid descriptive matter from the reports
of city missionaries, police officers, and
members of the Excise Board, and will
altogether make such a popular exhibit
of New York vice as will make country
people’s eyes stick out.”
The Old Ark.
A Turkish editor alive to the exigen¬
cies of the profession in a dry and thirs¬
ty time when there is nothing new or
fresh under the sun, has furnished the
bazars with an interesting account of the
discovery of Noah’s Ark on Mount
" Whether it is three hundred
Ararat.
cubits in length is a matter of conjec¬
ture, as it is embedded in a glacier, and
the inner compartments are impenetrable
masses of ice precluding made accurate gopher meas¬
urements; but it is of
wood apparently in accordance with the
specifications given in Genesis, and has
unlimited accommodations for man and
beast. It is also reported to be in an
excellent state of preservation, which is
an interesting point for naval construc¬
tors. What may be appropriately called
the genesis of such a tale as this is easily
explained. The last traveler from Ar¬
menia has repeated in Constantinople
the current belief of the natives at the
base of the mountain that the Ark is
there, and this has been enlarged upon
iu the interest of enterprising journalism.
When Mr. Bryce made his wonderful
ascent to the crest of Great Ararat a lew
years ago, he found the Armenian vil¬
lagers on his return credulous on one
point and incredulous on the other.
They believed that the Ark was some¬
where above their heads in the ice
gorges of the mountain, and they were
convinced that nobody had ever gone,
or could ever go, to the top. When he
told them that he had been to the sum¬
mit and had seen nothing of the Ark,
they respectively shook their heads and
refused to believe it.
CHARLEY’S POSTAL.
Charley Smallface has been sent into
the country for a vacation by his fond
parents, who are having an elegant time
at a fashionable resort. He doesn’t like
it. He thus postal cards to his aunt:
“I don’t like the country. They eat
breakfast awl'n] early, and send me off
two miles to drive the cows. I hate a
cow so early in the morning. My back
is mast broke off weeding onions. There
hasn’t been an ice creatn wagon by this
house since I’ve been here. Everybody candles.
goes to bed early so’s to save
The frogs holler awful in the night. If
they would only put the mosquitoes in
the barn it would be nicer. Send up my
1)ase k, a y. I W ant to ‘peg’ at the old
man. ‘Rural sweets’ is what dad calls
this place. I call it ‘country sour. »a
Selecting. —Sir W. Harcourt, the
English Home Secretary, enjoys the rep¬
utation of being personally the most
objectionable man alive. It is told,
ipropos of this, that twelve gentlemen
had agreed to dine together, and, as they
were in want of a much larger number,
<' . . .. arranged . that ... each .
riiould select, unknown to the other the
disagreeable acquaintance he had.
When the selections came to be exam
med it was found that all twelve corre
sprawled, and the individual on whom the
suflra « e feU wa? the Home Salary.
G- M- Jones & Company
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