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ROSE OF KILL ARNE?,
feb ! fair are your daughters by Shannon’s blue
waters,
And lovely the maidens of Clare and Clon¬
mel ;
And look the world over, you’ll fail to discover
Such colleens to love as in old Erin dwell;
Yet there’s none on the island, in lowland or
highland,
From the soft-bosomed lakes to the wild
ocean shore,
Who praises could share with, or half way com¬
pare with,
Dark Nora, my rose of Killarney, asthore!
jji, Norah’s the beauty to love’s more than
duty, and
In the glance of her eye there’s a charm
a spell,
And her voice, like the linnet, has love’s mean¬
ing in it,
And rings through my heart like a musica
belL
Oh, to woo and to win her would turn saint to
sinner ;
Her beauty compels you to kneel and adore,
But with sighing and suing in vain you come
wooing
Bark Nora, my rose of Killarney, asthore !
You hear me entreating with heart wildly beat
ing,
You know how I lore you, and still feign
surprise !
J fear you’re deceiving, with glances still weav
mg
Those snares for my life in your beautifu
eyes.
But no! your lids glisten with tears as you
listen,
Oh, fly to my bosom and leave me no more !
I’ve but this to give you, love, a heart fond and
true, love;
Bark Nora, my rose of Killarney, asthore !
ADouble Misunderstanding
One day in last December Mr. Hamib
car Thomlove found his boots soaked
through, and taking them off in his store,
he flung them down to dry. It was an
act of trifling importance to any but a
very discerning mind, Yet it was
fraught with dire consequences to Mr.
Thomlove. But what could be know of
the future, poor soul ?
“What poor soles they make nowa¬
days !” he murmured. “I will put on
my slippers and step into my neighbor
Justont, and see if he can’t settle his
account to-day.”
He was a man of his word and did so.
While he was gone, in came his
friend, Paul Hobbleden, and asked
where Thomlove was. He was told to
wait a few minutes, and while be was
waiting, as he was only an old bachelor,
accustomed to look only after his own
health—he drew off his boots, toasted
his toes for half an hour, and then, an
gry at waiting so long, hastily shod him*
self, and went away grumbling.
Thomlove soon after returned, also
cross. Justout was not in, and now ho
heard that Hobbleden was gone out.
This made him doubly peevish.
“Hobbleden gone 1 I wish be would
stay gone. That man haunts me three
times a week at the house and as often
here. I have known Hobbleden ever
since before I was married, and be knew
Ophelia before 1 married her ! Perhaps
that’s why he never got married. Might
be. Sticks to me like a barnacle. Af
ter me so often and nothing particular to
say. Perhaps he comes to see if I am
here, that he can go to see Mrs. Thom
love. I’ll watch Hobbleden I How the
snow stretches boots 1” He drew them
on.
When Thornlove went home that even
ing he felt ugly and tantalizing. He
had caught cold from going in his slip
pers. Ophelia played a pathetic air on
the piano and sang to soothe him.
“Don’t do that, Ophelia. Oh, don’t
I’d rather hear a funeral sermon.”
“Thought you liked sentiment.”
“Hate it.”
“Shall I sing something funny ?”
“No, you think more of fingering that
old music-trap than you do of me."
“What shall l say?”
“Anything—or nothing would suit me
better,” he growled. “I’m bound to
.have a row !” he reflected.
“You’re as odd as any old bachelor ! ’
“Don’t you like’em ?” said he. “Hob
bleden is one of them.”
“But he’s an old friend of ours.”
“Of ours?” emphasized Thornlove.
“I shonld think so. He’s here enough.”
“I suppose the poor man don’t know
where to go,” said Ophelia, sympa
thetically.
“I should think he did know where to
go—he goes here, that is to say, he
comes here, as regularly as an old owl
to its roost.”
“It can’t be that you’re jealous of
Paul Hob bleden, can it ?— a man that
you’ve known for so many years ?” said
she, curiously.
“No, it can’t,” replied he; and then
thought “Ah ! she’s trying to pump
me, but she won’t,”
“I have to be pleasant when he
comes; mustn’t be inhospitable, must
I?”
“Of course not. Oh, of course not.
He’s something of a bore, though.”
“So are all old bachelors. I wouldn’t
give you for a hundred of him, Ha,
ha ! Old Hobbleden l”
‘‘She’s laughing at my simplicity.
Thinks I don t know it. 111 keep my
eyes open, night and day.”
Paul Hobbleden returned to Thorn
love’s store in about a week. This time
limping,
“A confounded com kept me away so
long.”
“Shouldn’t wear tight boots. When
a man gets to be dandified it’s a sign he
is in love. Who’s to be the happy Mrs.
Hobbleden?”
“Don’t joke.”
“Don’t wear tight boots.”
“Don’t you know any remedy for a
com ?”
“Cut your toe off ?”
“You are inhuman I”
“Any old bachelor who is dandy
enough to wear tight boots ought to have
corns all over him.”
“Had—had he? Good morning!”
jried Hobbleden, exasperated. “I’ll see
f I can’t find sympathy somewhere
ilse. ” And awa/he went.
“God bless the com!” thought Thom
ove.
“Why don’t Mr. Hobbleden come to
see us, I wonder ?” that evening said
Ophelia to Mr. Thomlove. "I declare
it lonesome without him, ”
seems
“You’ll have a chance to keep feeling
lonesome for some time to come. I do
not think he’ll ever darken these doors
again.”
“You don’t mean he’s dead?”
“Not quite, my love; he was lively
enough this morning; he was corned.
Ha, ha!”
“Intoxicated? Poor fellow ! Lonely,
I suppose. ”
“Poor fellow! That’s pretty well. If
J** ““S
but had a corn on one of his dear toes,
I joked about it, but he went off in a
rage.”
“He is very sensitive; corns are pain¬
ful. I’m sorry.”
“I’m glad. It will be company for
him, that he don’t see you. ”
now
“ You make yourself so disagree¬
able ! ”
“So is be. Uncomfortable to him¬
self, too. Wears tight boots to make
bis feet look small.”
“That was needless; I always noticed
he had very small feet.”
; “No smaller than mine,” said Thom
love, elevating a foot. He prided him
self on his small feet,
“His are two sizes smaller, at the
very least,” said Mrs. Thornlove, re¬
vengefully. “Yes, nearly three; yours
are like horse-cars compared with
^is! ,
“This is unbearable!” be exclaimed.
J “Always pitying . . and praising . . Hobble- ,, ,
den, always neglecting and sneering at
me!”
“And you are eternally hinting--”
“Don’t talk to me!”
“Nor will I; hope you'll have a nice,
sweet, quiet night’s rest, after all this!”
And she hurried tearfully to her
chamber.
“I reciprocate just what you mean,”
he bawled after her, and went scowling
to his private couch,
Mrs. Ophelia Thornlove did not ap¬
pear at the breakfast table next day.
Frederick mused gloomily over his
I lonely coffee. ,
“I foolish, very, to make such a
j fuss about my feet.” He held them up
&ad frowned at them, “Now that I
take a partial view, they are really none
of the smallest! Besides, the right
trotter-case looks longer than the other.
If I hadn’t bought ’em, shouldn’t sup¬
pose they were mates. He pulled his
pants up. “By ginger! they are not
mates! One’s shoraer than t’other.
And I hope to be happy,” he added,
with mcreased earnestness, as be exam
the leg of one, “if here isn’t the
name of Paul Hobbleden! This is a
j discovery! Oh, powers of darkness,
who bring so much to light! How does
it happen that Hobbleden’s boot is on
my leg ? Is the thing called Hobbleden
a man or a monster ? Or am la lunatic,
and this name, Hobbleden, no name at
at all ? It is not my boot. How could
it come here unless Hobbleden walked
in with it? But now—now—” and he
struck his eye softly with his frenzied
fi s t_“now, I have it! Hobbleden’s
boot has betrayed him. The fiend in
mortal shape must have been in this
house last night! Oh—Ophelia!”
He rang the bell and his servant,
Babble, came,
“Babble, take care now what you
say — don’t be alarmed though — I
believe I have always treated you as a
father would a brother—I mean as a
brother would his son—dam it, you
know what I mean—answer me truly;
was or was not Paul Hobbleden, my
particular friend, in this house last
night ? Take care ! ”
“No, sir; he hasn’t been for a long
time.”
“Was he here for a short time?”
**}S T o sir, not at all.”
“Babble, that’s a lie. Did you black
these boots this morning ?”
^ >»
„ Did ycra black my others ?”
« No sir i ^ not sir , No &
« Look at Ulat le
“Paul Hobbleden,” said Babble,
reading.
“Precisely, And of course that boot
belongs to him. Now, how could it be
here unless he was ?”
Babble swore that if Hobbleden had
been in the house, somebody else must
have let him in, after he, Babble, had
gone to bed.
“Babble, you may go—that is, you
may stay, in my employ. But mind you,
don’t say anything of this to my wife—or
I'll discharge you.”
Babble turned pale and faded out of
sight. Thomlove
Mr. Frederick was very
solemn for several sullen, watchful days.
One day he came home and found
Ophelia painting a watch-case. At first
she tried to hide it. Then she said it
was intended as a surprise for him.
With a ghastly smile—he said he knew
that 1
The horrible com gave Paul Hobble¬
den such dreadful pain that finally he
repaired to Mr. Chiropedowski, the
great com-doctor and Polish exile. He
gouged it out for him, with heroic lack
of emotion.
“But these little trifles sprout again,
don’t they ?” said Hobbleden, handing
the count a greenback with a saw-horse
on it, emblematic of the cross he had
borne.
“You must wear boots that fit,” said
the chiropodist. “Were these made for
you ?”
“Of course! or they wouldn’t have
pained me !” said Hobbleden, sarcasti¬
cally. “One wouldn’t.”
“Your feet are not of the equal size—
eh?”
“More likely the boot," comparing
them.
“They bees not mates,” said the sur¬
geon.
“True !” exclaimed Hobbleden.
“Never noticed it before. Blamed the
snow for it; but they looked like mates
when I bought them. I’ll go and blow
up the shoemaker, to make sure.”
At the shoemaker’s he had a ferocious
controversy, but was at last persuaded
he must have changed the boots since
the purchase—especially as he now recr
ollected he did take off his boots in
Thornlove’s warehouse one wet day.
“Must have taken Thornlove’s boot—
feet are small like mine. But there is a
pair of breeches between me and my un¬
feeling friend, and I scorn to call and
ask him for my property. Let me see.
Best thing for me to do, without being
humilated, is to wait till Thomlove gets
to bed, and then go and ask Babble to
go up and change the boots.”
That very night with mingled thoughts
of wife-murder and suicide, subsided
among the surging feathers of his soli¬
tary bed, the jealous Frederick Thorn
love. If to die were but to sleep no less
comfortably, he would gladly have taken
in his arms a sea of feathers, and by re¬
posing ended himself. He addressed
himself to sleep, but she refused to em¬
brace so vindictive a person. Wakeful,
therefore, near mi dnigbt he heard some
body opening his chamber door.
“ Can it be the brazen, false Ophelia ?
No; it is a heavier weight. Blessed if it
isn’t Babble, actually coming in here. Is
that you, Babble ?”
‘ ‘Yes, sir, ” faltered Babble. “Thought
I’d shine your boots to-night, instead of
in the morning. ”
“Take ’em. Don’t come up again.”
“No, sir.”
And the servant joyfully hurried down
with them to the kitchen.
“I’ll bet a bale of greenbacks that
Hobbleden is in the bouse and has bribed
him to get that boot. I thought that
man would be coming, finally, and now
I’ll overwhelm him!”
Thornlove went down in his stockings,
and listened at the partly open kitchen
door. Hobbleden was really there.
“That’s a mischief-making article!”
said Babble to Hobbleden, who was
drawing it on. “I came near losing my
place on account of it; Mr. Thomlove
saw your name in it one morning, and
thought you came to the house secretly
;
and that I knew it. He suspected that
I had shined your boots and his together,
and had blundered when returning them.
Separate apartments for him and her,
this long time, you see. ”
“Good gracious 1” whispered Hobble¬
den in a cold sweat of horror; “could he
suppose so ?”
“But now that you have been telling
me bow you took off your boots one wet
day in his store, it is all explained, and
I’ll ease his jealous mind to-morrow.”
“I have awaked from a horrid dream,
at last J” joyfully reflected Thornlove, at
this unexpected disclosure; “I’ll make
amends at once. Come to my bosom, my
dear old Hobbleden !” he cried aloud,
rushing into the kitchen in his gown and
stockings; “I have been long bewildered
by a false dream, but now I know the
naked truth, all things are on a proper
footing, and everything is as it shonld
bo.”
Hobbleden did not reject the affection¬
ate salutation of his old friend, who,
after a further revelation of their mutual
sufferings, insisted upon sharing his
couch with him that night
They slept serenely and when they met
Mrs. Thomlove at breakfast in the morn¬
ing the only point upon which they dis¬
agreed was, that they denounced while
she blessed the boots which had exorcised
from her household the green-eyed mon¬
ster forever 1
The Ideal Soldier.
Well, what is the ne ed of describing
him, seeing that, because of fallen
human nature, he is all but an impossi¬
bility? But as the marauding “Yank”
philosophically remarked to Gen, Sher¬
man: “You can’t expect all the cardi¬
nal virtues, uncle, for $13 a month!”
No, but you can get a good many of
the simpler martial virtues for less
money. There is not much subtlety
about the ordinary ran of martial vir¬
tues. My own belief, founded on Borne
experience of divers nationalities in war
time, is that most men are naturally
cowards. I have the fullest belief in
the force of the Colonel’s retort on his
Major. 0 “Colonel,” said the Major, in a
hot fire, “you are afraid; I see you
tremble!” “Yes, sir,” replied the
Colonel, “and if you were as afraid as I
am you would run away!” I do think
three out of four men would run away if
they dared. There are doubtless some
men whom nature has constituted so
obtuse as not to know fear, and who
therefore deserve no credit for their
courage; and there are others with
nerves so strong as to crash down the
rising “funk.” The madness of blood
does get into men’s heads, no doubt. I
have the firmest conviction that in cold
blood the mass of us would prefer the
air quiet rather than whistling with
bullets. Most men are like the Colonel
of the dialogue—they display bravery
because in the presence of their com¬
rades and of the danger they are too
great cowards to evince poltroonery.
Thus the average man made a capital
soldier in fhe old shoulder-to-shoulder
days. British yokels, British jail-birds,
German handicraftsmen, German bauers,
French peasants, and French artisans,
were all pretty much alike made credi
table “cannon-fodder.” They would all
march into fire and thole its sting, each
man’s right and left comrade reacting
on him and his rear file supporting at
once and blocking him. In the fire the
national idiosyncrasies developed them¬
selves. The .“funk” zone, so to speak,
had been traversed, and the Briton
marched on steadfastly, the German ad¬
vanced with slower step, the Russian
stood still doggedly, and the Frenchman
spurted into a run with a yell. When
the blood began to fl ow and the struck
men went down, the passion of the bat¬
tle became the all-absorbing question.
And so, whether by greater or less dash,
the battle was won or lost. Till the
culminating point, no man ever was
thrown wholly upon his own individu¬
ality or ever lost the consciousness of
-ublic opinion as represented by his
imrades.— Archibald Forbes.
Sliding Down Hill.
Did you ever stand near a bill in
winter, and watch the boys coasting,
and not wish that you were a boy
again just for an hour? How jolly a
crowd of coasters are. Every boy seems
to have an idea that he must talk and
shout or something will burst, and they
all try to do it at once. The keen, fresh
air, and invigorating exercise, make
the lungs demand exercise, and nature
asserts her sway by making the boys ex¬
ercise their lungs by shouting and talk¬
ing. See the laughing, sparkling eyes
and rosy cheeks of the youngsters.
Fnn? Was there ever a place on this
earth where a boy gets more fun than
while coasting? Why, a boy will get
more fun out of sliding dewn a steep
bill on a barrel stave, if he can’t get a
sled, than he could at almost any other
sport. It don’t seem right to prohibit
the sport. We must not forget that we
were boys and as boys bad our fun. It
might be a good idea, however, to use
the middle of certain streets for coasting
and let the fact be generally known, so
that there can be no reasonable excuse
for accidents to people crossing those
streets, but it does seem a little too far
reaching to arrest a boy for sliding down
hill, no matter what hill it may be.
France and Egypt. —France’s propo¬
sition, made through M. Waddington, to
land troops at Suakim and march them
to Khartoum to relieve that city, leav¬
ing the ultimate settlement of the Sou¬
dan question to a conference of the
Powers, is a generous and magnificent
offer, but hardly helps England out of
her scrape, as ' it contemplates the sub¬
mission of the whole subject of domin¬
ion in Egypt to the judgment of Europe.
This time France strikes while the iron
is hot.— Herald.
Two crviL righfs bills are before the
Rhode Island Legislature—one to pro
tect colored persons, ahfi the other for
eign-born citizens,
QUAKER CITY JOKES.
4 FEW THINGS ACCIDENTAL
HEARD BY THE a>
“EVENING CALI,H C
WESTERN RAILROAD f SVSTElt,
First _
Western Railroad Man-'.]
it . stated that a commissioner has
sent and over by the West Russian govern^
is coming to study our raiW
system. ” **
Second Western Railroad Man-“V
but I don’t see why the Russian
ment should go to all that trouble ’’
First Railroad Man—“You don’t?"
Second Railroad Man — “Certain!
not; plained our to system the Russian could have been I
Western government by
any man who happened to be
over there. ”
First Railroad Man—“That’s true'T
did not think of that. It could be done
with a paper and pencil by just malm
dots resent to the represent roads, towns and lines to rZ ^
same as on a map ”
Second Railroad Man-“Exactly, and
writing under it: Cut-throat rates be¬
tween competing points must be mad, 6
up by big charges on local traffic,’’
RESTORING THEIR CONFIDENCE,
Jones—“Lend me five dollars?"
Smith—“Can’t do it. Just paid out
my last five dollars for a big advertise¬
ment of property stolen.”
Jones—“Stolen property?”
Smith—“Yes. I offered $8,000 re¬
ward for information that would lead to
the conviction of the thieves who en¬
tered my house and stole a lot of jewelry
and other valuables, including a $25,000
diamond necklace.”
Jones—“See here, I happen to know
that you never owned $200 worth of
jewelry in your life.”
Smith—“Hist! My creditors don’t
know it. I want to restore their con¬
fidence.”
THEIR VALUE APPRECIATED.
Mrs. A.—“You will have to get Johnny
a new high chair, dear.”
Mr. A—“What is the matter withth
old one?”
Mrs. A.—“It is broken in such aij
that it can’t be mended. I am son
about it, because such chairs are highia
price, but Johnny must have something
to sit on, and we can’t let him use the
dictionary or tiie family Bible. ”
Mr. A.—“Certainly not; no need to,
I will write to my friend, the Senator,
and get him to send me some public
documents at once.”
A GREAT DIFFERENCE.
“You say that Mr. Smith gave you
twenty dollars for officiating at Ms wed¬
ding, and Mr. Brown only gave you two
dollars ?” said the wife of a clergyman
to her husband.
“Yes,” he replied. continued
“That seems very strange,”
the lady; “Mr. Smith is a clerk on a
small salary, while Mr. Brown, I have
always understood, is a very wealthy
man. ”
“He is, my dear, but this is the
second time Mr. Brown has been mar¬
ried.”
MATTER OF HEALTH.
Mrs. D.—“Who would have thoTgM
it?”
Mr, D.—Thought what ?” ,
Mrs.' D.—“In this article on ‘Health
the writer says it is far wiser to sleep
till one wakens naturally.” „
Mr. D.—“Oh ! I knew that long ago.
Mrs. D.—“You never told me.’
Mr. D.—“Your memory is very short
Haven’t I told you hundreds of tunes to
let me sleep until the fires aie fixed, the
children dressed, and breakfast ready to
put on the table ?”
ms NAME -
Circus Manager—“Well, every . 8 ^
ready posters now and for getting handbills, up next excep ssaso^
.
name.” ?
Elephant Keeper—“My name have not
Circus Manager—“Yes, yon
given that to me yet.” i ^
Elephant Keeper—“You
well that it is Don Caesar De - •
Circus Manager —“Oh! that wi
do. That was your name last year, ^
you remember, you wereki e -
eleukants last fall at St. Lotus,
•——~
FAMILY PRIDE. half so
Little Nell—“Your family aU1 in’t
stylish as ours. ”
to , ^
Little Maud—“I’d just like
why it ’taint.” do: an
Little Nell- (( 9 Raise we’ve stylish- (|
family ghost, an’ dey is awful sin’s
Little Maud—“Pooh! That -
got sometlung niflw
nothing. We’ve mamma talk
stylish than that. I heard
to papa about it. ”
Little Nell—“What is it?” ^
Little Maud—“A skeleton in
closet. ”
It seems as though
This is leap year, ,as they
all the years are leap year,
by so rapidly.