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All the others come and bring
Things for me and father;
I Little things—because they know
Wu would ho much rathc:r.
But he sends a hamper up —
Flowers and fruit and, under,
Things that must have cost so much
That they make us wonder.
Sonny boy, your world is full,
But there’s not another
Holds you in hi r heart of hearts
Like your poor old mother!
Come b fore that day comes when
'Twill Lo you can’t bear to
Think of how you didn’t come
’Cause you didn’t care to!
—Margaret Vundegrift in Youth s Companion.
A REALIZED IDEAL.
Miss Rossiter sat alone in the li
brary, gazing rather pensively into
the fire. When the servant camo
with tho lights, she had sent him
away, saying that she preferred sit
ting by the firelight, and now she
leaned back luxuriously in her great
easy chair, preparatory to the rath
er unusual indulgence of an intro
spective mood.
She could not bo called introspec
tive as a general thing, for she was
far too busy with charities, flower
missions, Tolstoi clubs, church and
society in all their fullness, to allow
herself tho popular fad of self anal
ysis, and then there was Tom Len
iield. She had been engaged to Tom
for nearly a year.
He was a dear good fellow and
was succeeding so well in his busi
ness, and yet—well, she was vague
ly conscious that she had not been
as deeply disappointed as an en
gaged girl should bo when she had
received his note that day telling
her he had been called out of town
unexpectedly and might not be able
to return in time to be with her
that evening, as he had planned.
She wondered if, after all, she did
love him as she should.
She sighed a little and determined
to allow’ herself the pleasure of feel
ing rather miserable upon this sub
ject.
Tom was a dear, she thought,
but if he only had a little more love
and appreciation for tho things she
cared for!
Not that he was not all love and
appreciation for her, she admitted
to herself, for she knew that he con
sidered her the very loveliest and
cleverest girl in the world; still
there was no denying that Tom was
rather slow sometimes, and so prac
tical. She remembered how at the
art exhibition they had stopped be
fore a picture of the impressionist
school that it was the thing to ad
mire. To be quite honest, she was
not entirely sure whether she real
ly understood and admired it her
self, but she had heard so much talk
about, it from people whose judg
ment she held to be entirely above
criticism that she had at last per
suaded herself that to her, too, it
was replete with life and meaning.
At any rate it was annoying to
have Tom look at her in undisguised
amazement as she praised its vir
tues and to hear him exclaim: “That
daub! You surely don't admire
that ?” But then he was so penitent
when she had explained it to him,
and even if he did not understand
it was pleasant to hear him say:
“You are the cleverest girl, Nan. I
often wonder how you can care for
a fellow whose only pretense to
good taste is his love for you.” She
remembered how, a few weeks ago,
at a symphony concert, she had
looked into Tom's face to see if in
some degree he did not feel the joy
of the music that flooded her soul.
He was fond of music, in his way,
but he was candid enough to confess
that a bright, pleasing bit of light
opera brought far more pleasurable
emotions to him than the most soul
ful melodies of the great masters.
On this particular occasion Miss
Rossiter remembered that he had
returned her rapt expression with
one of anxiety and had murmured
tenderly: “What is it. darling? Are
you sitting in a draft?”
Oh, dear, it was always drafts,
or something equally annoying to
her. She wondered, if she could
•’CAUSE HE DOESN'T CARE TO,"
Yet, they *1) are coming heme,
And they say it'e “Jolly."
Every one is married now,
Even little Polly.
And I keep on saying “all,”
For 1 just can’t bear to
Think of one who doesn’t cons
'Cause he doesn’t care to.
He has never told me so.
Seasons? Yea. a plenty!
But one reason has more weight,
To my mind, than twenty,
And I somehow feel as if
I should like it better
If his reasons did not £ll
Quite so long a letter.
There’s the turkey in the coop—
Hu can hardly gobble,
He’s so fat—and those two ducks—
They can't walk, they hobble.
And the mince meat turned out well,
Pies will need be plenty
And thu pudding good and big,
For we’ll sit down twenty.
How lie used to prance about
When he saw me baking!
Seems to me I see him now.
Everything I'm making
Brings him right before my eyes.
Yet I wouldn’t dare to
Bay to father, “Ho don’t come
'Cause he doesn’t care to.”
Father doesn't seem to think
As I feel about him —
“Johnny always told the truth.
Why should we misdoubt him?"
But he’s saying in his heart—
Yes, I’m sure it's there too —
“Johnny isn’t coming home
’Cause he doesn’t care to.”
choose for herself, what her ideal
picture would be like.
She pictured to herself several
types of her own creation, finally
wavering between a dreamy Burne-
Jones figure and a hero of the Chev
alier Bayard type, so dear to most
women. Somehow or other Tom’s
vigorous personality would persist
in mixing itself up with her brain
portraits until they were such a sad
composite that in despair she gave
up the personal appearance of her
ideal.
“Not that I care so much for
looks,’’ she said to herself, “but
how pleasant it would be to have a
lover who understood my every
thought, who anticipated every
wish, and who would know what I
was about to say before the words
were formed, whose knowledge was
boundless, and whose soul should
be in touch with all that was good
and true and beautiful.’’
Oh, if she could but see such a
one, she thought to herself, how
she could unburden her soul to him.
Conversation would be a rapture,
and how ennobling, how elevating,
life with such a one would be? Just
at this point in her reveries Miss
Rossiter (who rather prided herself
upon her calmness under the most
surprising and trying circum
stances) gave a sudden start and ex
clamation. She rubbed her eyes and
gave herself a little pinch to see if
she could be dreaming. No, she was
wide awake, and in the easy chair
near her sat a man, a stranger to
her. Strange to say, she felt neither
alarmed nor embarrassed, and after
the moment of surprise at this sud
den visitation she stole another look
at her unexpected companion, who
was gazing intently into the fire.
He was rather tall and slender,
and his regular features and dark,
dreamy eyes were pleasant to look
upon.
She had a vague impression of fa
miliarity as she watched him, and
a haunting resemblance to some
one, perhaps a mere brain image,
puzzled her.
Just then he turned toward her
and smiled slightly.
“I do not wonder that you like to
sit here,” he said in courteous ac
cents. “It is a pleasant room and
gratifies one’s aesthetic sense. You
love to watch the firelight glimmer
through the room, now playing up
on the gilt of the picture frames, or
suddenly lighting for a moment
some dusky corner; but, best of all,
you like to watch the warm glow
leap over that marble Psyche. You
have a passion for color.”
“Yes,” she said wonderingly,
“but how did you know? Who are
you?”
“There is no thought of yours
that I do not know,” he said, “and
I came here in response to your
wish. I am your longed for kindred
soul—your realized ideal.”
Miss Rossiter was silent for a mo
ment and sat vainly trying to recall
the theories that Herr Gundlach
had advanced before the German
club concerning kindred souls and
affinities. If she remembered right
ly, he had said that each soul had a
kindred soul, but that sometimes
there were limitations of time and
space which in another' world—but
just here the stranger interrupted
her thoughts by saying:
“Yes, that is true. But sometimes,
under peculiar conditions, as to
night, time and space are as noth
ing. And so it is that lam with you
now’.”
He ceased speaking. Surely it was
the opportunity of Miss Rossiter’s
life for unbounded soul revelations;
but, odd to relate, she felt strange
ly silent.
A number of naturally curious
questions flitted through her brain,
but she checked her thoughts a lit
tle guiltily, as it occurred to her
that in all probability the stranger
was cognizant of her thoughts and
might consider her inquisitive.
“No,” he remarked politely, “I
am not permitted to reveal the laws
which govern me, nor can I tell how
long I may be able to remain with
you.”
Then he really did know what she
was thinking.
She had never imagined how very
perplexing it would be to constant
ly control one's thoughts—to put a
check rein on them, to quote Tom’s
language.
She turned a little uneasily in her
chair, and in doing so inadvertently
revealed one of her daintily slipper
ed feet.
Now, Tom had a special weakness
for a dainty slipper, as she well
knew, and, forgetting for a moment
that it was not Tom who sat there,
she looked up in apparent uncon
sciousness of any little feminine art,
only to meet an amused smile in the
stranger’s eyes.
“Yes, most men like to see a pret
ty slipper,” he commented benevo
lently. “A coquettishly placed rib
bon, a flower in the hair, are so
many arrows to the masculine
heart. Little men dream of the time
and thought that have been given
to what seems to them some uncon
scious little arrangement.”
Miss Rossiter flushed angrily and
drew her foot back with a jerk.
Really, this thing of laying bare !
one’» every little thought was too
much, and yet was it not exactly
what she had wished for—to be per
fectly understood?
She ought to be above such little
weaknesses anyhow.
Perhaps if she tried books the
conversation might become more
animated.
The stranger followed her glance
as it rested on a small table near
her, where several books were lying.
“You have been reading,” he re
marked. “Ah, yes, I see—lbsen,
Browning, Tolstoi.” He smiled a
little wearily.
“You, of course, have read them
all,” said Miss Rossiter a little shy
ly, for she happened to think that
“boundless knowledge” was one of
her wished for ideal’s attributes.
“I? Oh, yes, ” he answered. “You
do not quite know whether you care
for Ibsen or not, do you?”
Now, this was indeed true, but as
the president of an Ibsen club Miss
Rossiter had. nevei’ before faced the
fact.
She was a clever girl and accus
tomed to being looked up to as quite
an authority on literary matters by
her own special coterie. Had not
Dunning Jones, the most successful
journalist in the city, told some one
that Miss Rossiter was a very inter
esting girl, well read and up in ev
erything? But before “unbounded
knowledge” how could <ne talk
easily or air one's little opinions?
For the first time in her life the
self possessed, cultivated Miss Ros
siter felt shy, crude and ignorant.
She was really a very superior
young woman, of lofty aims and
ideals; but, being a very human and
very charming person, she had her
little limitations, all of which she
would have confessed to you with
refreshing candor. Still she could
not help wondering for a moment if
life with a person who “thoroughly
understood” her would, after all, be
as helpful as life with some one
whose love exaggerated her virtues
and blinded him to her defects.
As she said to her most intimate
girl friend afterward: “It never oc
curred to me before just how many
of my so called virtues were called
out just because Tom thought I pos
sessed them.
“You see that touched me so, the
implicit confidence in me, that I
would immediately proceed to culti
vate all my supposed good quali
ties, so that I might keep my place
in Tom's regard with greater satis
faction to myself.”
This night referred to, however,
she did not allow herself to so dis
tinctly foimulate the thought.
more she turned the conver
sation to books, to art and to music.
But what pleasure could there be in
a conversation where the other par
ty concerned knew before she spoke
all that sh a would say. He even in
directly apologized once for antici
pating her.
“I cannot help it, you see,” he
said. “I came in answer to your
wish, burdened with the conditions
it imposed upon me.
“It does make conversation awk
ward, I admit, but we may as well
make the best of it, for I am power
less to leave you unless”—
“Unless what?” said Miss Rossi
ter with more of the “speed the
parting guest” in her tone than was
consistent with true politeness, but
the stranger only smiled and looked
once more into the fire.
A sense of injury commenced to
rankle in Miss Rossiter’s mind.
“And all because of a foolish wish,
that I have heard a dozen girls
make, my life is to be spoiled in this
way,” she thought. Perhaps Tom
would not have loved her so deeply
had he really understood her.
The past tense of that last thought
sent a pang through her heart.
Was she always to be tied to this
dreadful mind reader of a realized
ideal t
She supposed the only thing left
her to do was to live upon such a
high plane that she need not object
or fear to be as a printed page for
him to read.
And yet, oh, the weariness of the
idea!
No more half severe, half coquet
tish lectures to Tom on his stupid
ity, always ending in increased
adoration on his part and increased
affection on hers, for it always
pleased her fancy, after having
firmly established her claim to ideal
ship in Tom's mind, to be so ex
tremely gracious and penitently af
fectionate that the “large and ap
preciative audience of one,” as Tom
remarked, went home happy.
But all those old, happy times
were over, she thought.
Such a deep pity for herself filled
Miss Rossiter’s mind that the great
tears gathered in her eyes, and one
had escaped from beneath the long
lashes and was slowly rolling down
her cheek when two strong arms
suddenly enfolded her, and a sym
pathetic voice, Tom’s voice, was
saying, “What in the world are you
dreaming about, you poor dear?”
Now, Miss Rossiter was not as a
rule wildly demonstrative, but upon
this occasion her manner was warm
enough to gratify the most ardent
lover.
elung tq Tom as if be had
just been rescued from eome dread
ful calamity and she feared to lose
him again, and when he begged her
to tell him what was the matter,
that he “didn't understand,” she
exclaimed rather hysterically: “Oh,
that is the beauty of it. I don’t want
you to understand, Tom, dear, and
I'm so glad you don't. I don’t think
I ever care to be understood again.
It was only a dream, and he’s gone,
thank goodness, but you can never
know how I suffered.”
Tom looked deeply puzzled at
these seemingly random and inco
herent remarks, but at her express
desire forbore questioning her.
Whatever it was she had dreamed,
the effect produced was that he had
had a warmer welcome than ever
before during their engagement,
and he was satisfied.
At the next meeting of the Ger
man club Miss Rossiter, who a few
weeks before had read a stirring
paper advancing the theory that
some time on this earth there would
be a golden age, when kindred souls
would live in the full delight of
realized ideals, read an equally stir
ring paper combating and flatly con
tradicting her own pet theories.
On the way home from the club
Mrs. Denny, who prided herself on
finding the hidden springs which
produced action in her friends’
minds, suddenly remarked:
“Nan Rossiter, you have some
reason for so suddenly changing
your mind about those theories of
yours. ”
“Yes, ” replied Miss Rossiter, with
an inscrutable smile. “I have a rea
son, but that, as Kipling says, is an
other story, and one I refuse to
tell.”—Agnes Brown in Philadel
phia Times.
Testing an Atlantic Cable For Leaks.
When the insulated strand, or the
“Core” of the cable, as it is hence
forth called, passes from this opera
tion, it must go to the testing room
to determine if the insulation is
really perfect, or if a little electrici
ty still can escape from the copper.
It would be useless to make this test
in the air, since even without an in
sulator the current does not pass
readily into air. It must be tested
under water, in the medium in
which it is to be employed. Shallow
tanks filled with water receive each
section, and after a section has lain
24 hours in the water in order to
come to tho same temperature as
the water the test is applied. If the
effect which ought to be produced
on his galvanometer by passing in
to the core a certain quantity of
electricity does not result, the elec
trician knows that there is a flaw
and that the insulation is imperfect
—that is, that the electricity is es
caping.
There is nothing that can be
measured with more accuracy than
electricity. The laws which govern
its flow in a body are perfectly un
derstood. The electrician knows
how much he pours in. He can draw
it out, measure it, treat it, in short,
as if it were water in a pipe. A leak
in an electric wire is dealt with al
most as a leak in a water pipe and
can be located quite as exactly.
When once located, it is easily re
paired.—McClure’s Magazine.
The Question of Luck.
In replying to the query, “Does
not luck sometimes play a goodly
part in a man’s success?” Edward
W. Bok, in The Ladies’ Home Jour
nal, writes;
“Never. Henry Ward Beecher an
swered this question once for all
when he said, ‘No man prospers in
this world by luck, unless it be the
luck of getting up early, working
hard and maintaining honor and in
tegrity. ’ What so often seems to
many young men on the surface
as being luck in a man’s career is
nothing more than hard work done
at some special time. The idea that
luck is a factor in a man’s success
has ruined thousands. It has never
helped a single person. A fortunate
chance comes to a young man some
times just at the right moment. And
that some people call luck. But that
chance was given him because he
had at some time demonstrated the
fact that he was the right man for
the chance. That is the only luck
there is. Work hard, demonstrate
your ability and show to others that
if an opportunity comes within your
grasp you are able to use it.”
Hammers.
Hammers are represented on the
monuments of Egypt, 20 centuries
before our era. They greatly resem
bled the hammer now in use, save
that there were no claws on the
back for the extraction of nails. The
first hammer was undoubtedly a
stone held in the hand. Claw ham
mers were invented some time dur
ing the middle ages. Illuminated
manuscripts of the eleventh century
represent carpenters with claw ham
mers. Hammers are of all sizes,
from the dainty instruments used
by the jeweler, which weigh less
than half an ounce, to the gigantic
50 ton hammer of shipbuilding es
tablishments, some of which weigh
as much as 50 tons and have a fall
ing force of from 90 to 100. Every
trade has its own hammer and its
(>wn way of using it,
DANCING TURTLES
The Curious Trainin; to Which They Ar*
Subjected In the Far East.
The spectacle of an old, bearded
man, with lonj, tangled locks, dress
ed in a fantastic costume, attracted
the attention of passersby one day
in one of the large seaports of Ja
pan. Some said he was an Aino,
pointing to his long hair and beard,
and that he was a bear worshiper
from Nagasaki.
The old man stood on the deck of
a houseboat quite as disreputable as
he himself appeared and gave an
exhibition that was in every respect
remarkable. He held an old brass
drum, upon which he beat with sev
eral sticks, keeping time with his
: foot, and in obedience to this strange
■ summons a number of common high
I back river tortoises of various sizes
crawled out of a box, and, forming
themselves in line, began to march,
one after the other, to the slow, dis
cordant music. Around they went
in a circle, the big ones ahead, the
smaller ones following on behind,
and at the word of command the
larger ones took their places be
tween two boxes and formed a liv
ing tortoise bridge, over which the
small ones passed from box to box,
the others then following suit,
whereupon all the tortoises arranged
themselves in groups, like plates
about a table.
The Japanese have another tor
toise, which they train to perform
simple tricks in the water. It is a
little creature, about three or four
inches long, that from a life of in
activity has become covered with a
long growth of green pond weed,
which streams behind like hair as it
swims along.
These people are also famous for
their strange fishes of the carp fam
ily. Some are short and chubby,
with eyes that protrude so far from
the head that they look like tele
scopes or the stalked eyes of some
crabs, with which the little crea
tures can see in every direction.
Others have a broad lacelike tail,
that hangs gracefully like a mass
of lace and appears to be divided in
to three parts. Others have a per
fect black cross marked upon the
back, which, against the deep red,
which is the prevailing color, pre
sents a magnificent appearance.
Others are called the fish of the
white cross, the latter being white
against red.
These beautiful creatures are
trained to perform a variety of
tricks. They rise at the sound of a
bell, ring a bell themselves, follow
one another in a row at the signal,
and then in many ways show their
remarkable intelligence.
The Japanese also import the
famous fighting fishes from India,
which they keep in an aquarium
and match in contests, which are, it
must be said, decided without blood
shed, though the little creatures
show no little ferocity.
The tortoise and crane are both
sacred animals in Japan, and the
former is often seen with the stork
walking about the villages, paying
no attention to the people, and as
safe as is the sacred ox in India.—
New York Sun.
Thoreau at Cape Cod.
In Cape Cod, Thoreau gave his
natural drollery full play—an al
most antinomian liberty, to take a
word out of those ecclesiastical his
tories with the reading of which
under his umbrella ho so patiently
enlivened his sandy march from Or
leans to Provincetown. “As I sat on
a hill one sultry Sunday afternoon, ”
he says, “the meeting house win
dows being open, my meditations
were interrupted by the noise of a
preacher who shouted like a boat
swain profaning the quiet atmos
phere, and who, I fancied, must
have taken off his coat. Few things
could have been more disgusting or
disheartening. I wished the tithing
man would stop him.” Charles
Lamb himself could not have bet
tered the delicious, biting absurdity
of that final touch. It was not this
Boanergian minister, but a man of
an earlier generation, of whom we
are told that he wrote a “Body of
Divinity,” a book “frequently sneer
ed at, particularly by those who
have read it. ” The whole Cape, past
and present, was looked at half quiz
zically by its inland visitor. The
very houses “seemed, like mariners
ashore, to have sat right down to
enjoy the firmness of the land, with
out studying their postures or ha
biliments”—a description not to be
fully appreciated except by those
who have seen a Cape Cod village,
with its buildings dropped here and
there at haphazard upon the sand.
—Atlantic Monthly.
Different.
Little Pierre, a French boy, went
out to w.Jx with his father in the
ro. 1 end was badly frightened by a
dro\ e of cattle.
“Why should you be afraid,
Pierre?” h;s father asked. “Why,
you eat such creatures as tha' at
dinner, you know.”
“Yes, papa,” said Pierre, “but
these aren’t well enough done.”—
London Fun.
Zanzibar, in southeast Africa, is
7,572 miles from
| THE BEDOUIN AT
Arabs of the Desert and Tholr Hospital,
ity and Domesticßy.
An English artist, R. Talbot Kel
ly, writes for The Century a paper!
entitled “In the Desert With the
Bedouin,” for which the author fur
nishes a number of striking illustra
tions. In describing his visit to an
Arab chief, Mr. Kelly says: On
reaching camp my reception was
most gratifying—a perfect blend
ing of respectful solicitude and hos
pitable welcome. After kissing my
hand, the sheik assisted mo to dis
| mount, bidding me welcome and
saying that my visit brought a
blessing on his house. Conducting
me to my tent, he added: “This
house is yours and all it contains.
Do what you will with it and with
us your servants"—a truly Biblical
greeting and one which immediate
ly suggested the days of Abraham,
an illusion heightened when water
Was brought, and hands, face and
feet were washed before I was left
to rest on the cushions in the tent
and the sheik retired to prepare the
evening meal.
Under the Mohammedan code
three days of hospitality is a right
wayfarers may demand, though in
the case of accepted friends the roy
al bounty of the host heaps favor
after favor upon the guest without
stint or limitation.
Probably the first distinct impres
sion I received from the Bedouins
was the close resemblance of their
life to that of Old Testament times.
Their loose, flowing robes added to
their naturally tall and imposing
appearance, and their strong, majes
tic faces, slightly Jewish in type,
together with their gracious, old
world courtesies, irresistibly sug
gested the patriarchs of old. Their
lives, thoughts, sayings and occupa
tions remain unchanged through all
these centuries, and the incidents
and conversations of my daily in
tercourse with them were always*
Abrahamic in character.
Though nomads, tho Arabs are
rovers from necessity rather than
from choice, and where fodder and
water are found in sufficient abun
dance they form permanent camps,
surrounding their tents with a com
pound of durra stalks and frequent
ly building stone or mud lodges for
their gut? ds.
When on the march, they are con
tent with very small tents, easily
packed and carried, but in their per
manent camps their homes are of
regal proportions. The one I occu
pied covered some 2,000 square feet
and was about 11 feet high in the
center, sloping to 5 feet or so at the
sides. The tent cloth was, as usual,
made of goat hair and particolored
in broad stripes of black, green,
maroon, blue and white, while from
the seams depended tassels from
which other cloths are hung to di
vide the tent into separate apart
ments when occupied by a family.
The furniture is simple. Rugs are
spread over the sand and reclining
cushions scattered about them. In
the corner is a zeer, or large water
pot, and by it a cubi yeh, or drink
ing cup, of brass or copper. Round
the side of the tent is a row of
painted boxes, in which are packed
the household goods and chattels
when moving, while a few quaintly
wrought lamps and, half buried in
the sand, a large earthern bowl used
as a fireplace complete the list.
Very domestic in their habits, ev
erything about them has personal
associations. The tent cloths are
spun, dyed and woven by their
women and children, as also are
their saddle cloths and trappings,
and these are so highly prized by
them that money cannot buy the
simplest product of their wives’ in
dustry, though they may give them
freely in token of friendship. Gen- (
erally married to one wife, the Bed
ouin regards her and her children
with a devotion not general among
orientals, and I believe that the
Arab word “watan” is the only real
equivalent in any language for the
English word “home.”
Water Impurities.
If water comes in contact with
animal waste, organic or nitrogen,
containing substances, it is very
likely to absorb them to a danger
ous extent. An oxidization of the
decomposing matter immediately l
follows, forming carbonic ammonia
and nitreous acids. These soon de
velop into salts of nitric acid, which,
of course, render the water un
healthful. It can rcaf-Jy 1-■ under
stood how germs may drift into the
oyster in this way, attach them
selves and thrive on some portion oi
the oyster within. New York
World.
A Wine Father.
Mrs. Ferry—l had
getting Bobby to take his medicine
I begged him to be good in all the
words I could think of. Int u©
wouldn't do anything but
head.
Mr. Ferry—You didn’t go at him
in the right way. What does a boy
of his age care whether he is a good
boy or not? You ought to have
dared him to take it.—Cincinnati
Enquirer.