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FRIENDS.
Oh, give me friendsi
Plough other wants may wear my life away.
Though all the days seem cold and dark and
gray,
I shall not question that which fortune sends
If round me press a host of kindly friends.
I ask not wealth,
Nor from the ever open hand of Fate
I crave no robe of grace, nor place of state,
For in the hope which fickle longing lends
I seek no gift of fate, but countless friends.
And thus through life,
Though round me falls the shadow and the
care
Of bitter sorrows that I scarce can bear.
I shall not heed them if my faith but rends
The mist that shrouds me from my host of
friends.
—Madelon Grant leu.
EM’LINE’S SUERENDER.
BY WILLIAM I’ERRY BROWN.
..A early rains had supplemented the
thawing of the February snows upon the
big mountains, and the three forks of
the Citico River thundered down the
wild gorges of the LTnakas with an in
creasing power that cheered the spirits
of the loggers in Eagle’s Basin.
A tall young mountaineer, with flow
ing hair, tossed roughly back, stood j
playfully holding a struggling girl over J
the verge of the precipice called the j
Buzzard Boost, that towered over a j
whirl of waters surging through the
gorge at the lower side of the basin. The
girl was robust and muscular, yet this'
son of anak held her easily with one
hand, while he saucily shook a finger of
the other as he said laughingly:
“Ef you’lows ter fool me ez ye hev
some of the vuther boys in the basin,
you’ve jist gone ’nd treed the wrong coon.
Hit air a fact, Em’line.”
“You, Curt Cable!” she screamed, for
she was more alarmed than her rude ad
mirer thought her; “turn me loose—
turn me loose, I say!”
“My, Em’line, if I turns ye loose, ye’ll
fall, shore.”
lie still held her, as gently as he
could, while she clung to his extended
arm, her usually ruddy face now pale
with auger and fear. At length, with a
laugh, he pulled her toward him, half
embracing her with one arm. But, as
she felt herself rudely pressed, she struck
him a stinging blow on the face and re
leased herself w ith a supreme effort, then
sank down with her hands over her
face, sobbing violently. Though the
blow must have hurt, he smiled good
humorodly, bent over her and said:
“Thar now r , Em'line, tit fer tat.
You’ve paid me back; now I want ter
know ef you really air tryin’ to sarve me
like ye do the lest of the boys ez makes
out like they wants ter marry ye. Ye
know I love ye, Em’line. I’ve be’n a
courtin’ of ye monster time,’ an I’re jest
erblig’d ter hev a answer.”
As he spoke, she crushed back the
soJ)s, and now looked up with red eys,
angrily flaming.
“Hev ye!” I—l’d see in yore
grave afore I’d marry ye, the way
you’ve treated me.”
“Why, Em’line ”
“Don’t ye Em’line me nary bit more.
Thar’s no endurin’ of ye, ’nd from this
yer day on, 1 wants ye ter keep ter yer
eelf ’nd lemme erlone. Ef some yuther
boys wants ter talk ter me taint nary
bizness o’ yourn, Curt Cable.”
i She rose and confronted him—a
breathing statue of feminine resentment
—a Katharine in homespun, crushing \
this would-be Petruchio. As he slowly j
comprehended her meaning his smile j
melted into an expression of sadness, as ;
he replied:
“That’s all right, Em'line. You kin !
let on jist ez much ez you pleases; but
I knows that you know how much I’ve !
loved ye, ’nd waited for ye; and ef yore I
agoin’ ter let my foolin’ ’nd glabbin’ j
change ye, I’ll b’lievc what the boys sez
of ye air true. You don’t keer fur!
nuthin cep n ter make fools on us, but
after this ye caint hev yore way long o’
Ine, Em Kymer, for I’m done with ye.” 1
Em’line stood motionless while the hot
flush of anger slqwly receded before a
pallor of after-rising dismay at the result
of her words. The lashing of the tor-
below fell shiveringly upon her ear,
like an audible echo of coming trouble.
The whistle of a mocking b;rd singing
from the fox grape vines over the
foaming abyss, sounded like a rasping
counter irritant to the thunders below.
Yet overhead, through the March air
and sunshine, the clear sky basked in the
most restful and soothing of colors, lie
ceding from the basin on every side the
green and saiiron slopes rosp, browning
with distance, until they the
heavens, apparently far above all terres
trial care and passion.
Yet here she was—the queen of hearts
among these mountain wilds—balked
and tortured by the only man out of a
half score of suitors she had ever owned
to herself that she really cared for. He
had accused her of trifling, of heartless
ness, of insincerity. Had he not spoken
with some degree of truth? Without
knowing the*name, she felt herself to be
a coquette, realizing the delight of toy
ing with the hearts of others while her
own remained untouched.
Yet, was her own heart really invul- i
nerable? Standing there, with the
beauty and turmoil of that wild scene
enveloping her, she began to feel that
things were not altogether as they had
seemed to be. Nature was somehow be- .
reft of its usual charm. Without the :
sense of Curt Cable’s devotion—on which j
she had leaned, even while she tortured
him—her small atom of the world was
growing very cheerless.
But Em’line, as we have seen, had a
healthy fund of resentment to fall back
upon, and resentment loves to pick
flaws. After her first flood of dejection
had passed, she found some sad satisfac
tion in multiplying Curt’s foibles. His
rough humor, his cttreles- pride, the
masterfulness and persistence that had
characteriea his devotion, all these, hav
ing whetted her irritation, now bolstered
her pride. Yet she knew r , though re
luctant to acknowledge, that these
crudities were as foils to some nobler
attributes of character.
An hour later found her busy over the
raftsmen’s dinner in the low, long cabin,
planted centrally in Eagle's basin, before
the broadest sweep of the river above
Gripp’s Gorge. Bill Kymer, her father,
herded cattle in summer and logged on
the Citico in winter, while his wife and
daughter caoked lor more or less of the
dSHVStnigiy -x ,
A boom was here stretched across the
river against which thousands of logs
were pushing, now hourly increased in
number by the floods in the upper
ranges, when the three prongs that here
united came raging.
A score or more of mountaineers were
lounging in to dinner from the woods
and river. Curt Cable was with them,
but his usually cheery voice was now
strangely silent. He shuffled awkwardly
about, his gait and manner contrasting
oddly with his really handsome figure
and face.
“Wal, Em'line,” said Dow Axley, an
oft-rejected yet ever good natured visi
tor of the girl’s; what wur you adoin’
eroundthe Boost this mornin’? ’nd what’s
the matter long o’ Curt ennyhow?”
The men were eating and Em’line set
down a plate of “cooked greens” before
Axley with a thump, saying:
“Thar’s what I wuz adoin’. Ef hit
wern’t for me a projeckin’ eround hyu
’nd yander, hit air prashus little biled
poke ’nd mustard ez you alls ’ud git. Ez
fer Curt, ef yore so cu’rous ter know what
yails him, you’d better ax him; I’m not
a mindin’Curt Cable’s bizness, myself.”
Curt said nothing, though his brow
contracted, while Em’line gloried in her
independence of speech at the expense of
an additional heartache as she noted his
increasing gloom.
“Yet,” she thought, reassuringly, “if
he wern’t a keerin’ he w’n’dn’t shorely
look so mad.”
After dinner the men lounged before
the door awhile. Over the basin the sky
was clear, yet afar off the Unakas still
wore the gray garb of mist and storm.
The thunder of the rising river echoed
ominously to the practiced ear of the
woodman.
“That thar roarin’ means more failin’
weather, ’nd the fraish jist a cornin’ on.
A fraish air a good thing, but too much
puddin’ ’ud make a dog sick. I’m afeard,
boys, ez that thar boom ’ll go afore
night.”
So said Bill Rymer, after a long look
at the rising vapors gathering over the
Unakas.
“Ef them tliar thunder heads burst up
yander, thar’ll be a jam in Gripp’s Gorge
—shore.”
Gripp’s Gorge extends for nearly a
mile between two irregular lines of cliff,
in a manner not unlikely a rocky moun
tain canyon. The river sweeping fiercely
through, debouches into a more open
valley below. The “thunder heads” on
the “bigmountain” did burst; the floods
again descended, and about four o’clock
that afternoon the boom broke.
In less than an hour a jam was discov
ered near the lower end of the gorge.
The waters kept rising, while more logs
from above came thumping down by
the hundred. All swept through the
basin into the insatiable maw of Gripp’s
Gorge, and were burled against the
masses already piled in every conceivable
shape between the jagged walls. Some
thing must be at once done, or the jam
would soon assume such proportions as
to defeat all efforts at dislodging it.
Curt Cable, with two others, entered
the gorge from above in a “dug out”
canoe to see what could be done. It was
a forlorn hope, and the danger so great
that Curt, who called for volunteers,
was about to go alone, despite all
dissuasive efforts on the part
when these two came forward.
Em’line sat in the front porch of her
father’s cabin and saw the canoe leave
the shore.
“Pap,” she asked, “who ab* them a
goin’ ter risk tliur lives fer of
old logs:”
Mr. Kymer was approaching at a half
run from the riverside.
“You, Em’line,” he cried, “get out
that thar long inch rope we’uns uses ter
windlass the rafts with. Curt Cable,
’nd Jim Spratt, ’nd Doak Slover hev
gone down the gorge ter the jam. We
—why don’t yer git that thar rope,
gal.”
Em’line was standing speechless and
staring. Her father stamped his foot
impatiently, and she turned to look for
the rope like one in a dream, muttering
to herself:
“What ef Curt —never —comes back?”
Ten minutes later Bill Kymer and
several others were standing on the
Black Cliff, a huge priecipice that over
hung a large rock midway of the gorge,
round which the waters boiled and
where the jam had formed. Em’line
had followed them, regardless of the
supper she was to prepare—regardless of
all, save that Curt Cable had, perhaps,
gone to his death, and—that she loved
him.
How the results of her own pretty re
sentment now mocked her as she remem- j
bered his last attempt at reconciliation
which she had so causelessly repulsed.
She recalled his better traits —his gen
erosity, frankness and daring. She
owned to herself that if he had been
rough and rude, she had been guilty of
many shortcomings, And now—now—
where was he?
llow she climbed up the rugged,
perilous trail among the cliffs, clinging
to vines and bushes, tearing her clothes
unheeded, she hardly knew. Now she
stood beside her father on the Black
Cliff. Below was a savage roar and
white dash of spray, and the grinding
and thunder of descending logs. Her
ears, half deafened by the noise, were
j strained for the sound of voices that
might, even now, be forever silenced.
The sun was sinking; chilling shadows
were enveloping the gorge, though the
eastern mountains were yet bl ight with a
tender glow. The men were lowering j
the rope. Her father, lying upon the
rock, peered down into the seething
abyss. At last he raised his head and
said:
“Thar’s two men on that thar rock, ez
fer ez 1 kin make out. Hit seems like
they’ve bruk loose a part of tHe jam.”
“Only two men, pap?” cried Em’line.
She threw herself down, and peered
over. YYhat. if the absent one was Curt
Cable? For the first time since the “big
meetin’s” down in the valley last fall she
prayed —prayed silently, yet with her
mind in an incoherent maze of fear and
■ suspense.
“That’s hit, bey',” she heard her
| father say. “A leetle lower down—thar!
He hev kitched it. He’s got it yunder
his arms. Now—pull stiddy, boys, ’nd
don’t frazzle the rope.”
A human form was dangling over the
cauldron below, drenched with spray
and swinging wildly. Was it Curt? If
the rope should break—she shuddered
j and drew back from a sight that sickened
her. She hid her face, and still heard
i the horrible rasp of the rope over the
smooth edge of the cliff, the hard breatk
ing of the men—then, after anvhile, a
scraping of feet, and Doak Slover’s
heavy voice.
“Hit were a hard squeeze, boys, ’nd
a ieetle the tightest place I wur ever
in.”
“Who uns on the rock ’sides you?”
she heard her father ask. His voice
was as the voice of one afar off.
“That thar is Jim Spratt.”
Her heart gave a fearful leap—she
gasped for breath.
“Wall, Doak, whar’s Curt?”
Oh! the sickening suspense of that
supreme instant of dread. It was mad
dening. She sprang to her feet as
Slover’s slow tones came like an echo of
doom.
“Why, Curt—he—wal, jist afore tin
jam bruk loose, the eend of a log Jjit the
dug out, kerbim! ’Nd Curt, he went
down long with it.”
She waited to hear no more, but with
out a word, passed behind the unheed
ing group, conscious only that Curt’s
body was somewhere below the gorge,
that she would find it—and then die.
“Lower away, boys,” Bill Kymer
shouted again, but the words and the
safety of Jim Pratt were an indifferent
affair to her now. Was there ever misery
so poignant as hers? "Would any who
knew her have called her a coquette
now?
“He hev gone ter his death,” she
groaned,, “’thout ever a forgivin’ me. I
don’t keer how sune I goes ter mine—
p’raps I’ll meet him thar.” Where?
The despairing woman, who with
dilated eyes and torn garments, with
gasping breath and trembling hands,
struggled along the perilous trail above
the gorge that led to calmer waters be
low, found the above query unexpec
edly answered.
The form of Curt Cable, drenched,
bruised, his clothing half torn away, his
face unnaturally pale, suddenly glided
ronnd a sharp bend of the path and con
fronted her. Her limbs sunk beneath
her weight; she hid her eyes, exclaim
ing:
“ Lawd hev pity! Hit—air—his—
haant.”
She w have fall down the slope,
but strong ms grasped her; a warm
breath fanned her brow, and as her eyes
responded, she saw the “haunt” ap
parently working its will with her. But
the bauds felt lifelike and the voice she
now heard made her heart throb anew.
“No, Em’line, I haiut quite a haant
yet, tho’ I coin’d tolerable nur a gittin’
tur be one.”
“Why—why—” she whimpered,
“Doak, he said ez a log hit ye ’nd ye
went down—”
“Doak wuz skeered all thro’, ’nd
didn’t know half he wuz a sayin’, I
reckin’.. We’uns cut out the jam, but I
wuz in the dugout when a log struck it,
’nd I went down jest ahead of the jam
when hit bruk loose. Down below the
canoe split herself on a rock. I le’pt on
a log ez wuz a passin’, ’nd got whirled
yunder ’nd got knocked about purty
considerable. But I got ashore some
how, ’nd hyur I is. Now, Em’line,
what wuz ye a doin’ a gallopin’ down
hyur in thi.sli yer ityle?”
There was no answer. Yet her face
was nestled warmly against his ragged
and wet bosom.
“Now, Em’line, air ye still mad, or |
wuz ye jist a-puttin’ on?”
Still no reply; yet one arm stole softly
round Curt’s neck, who, feeling that his
time had come at last, made the best—
or, as the ladies might say, the worst—• |
use of his power.
“Air ye ever a goin’ ter git that way
long o’ me agfc ’Em’line?”
The arm slightly tightened its clasp of
his neck for an answer.
“There. Em’line, I wants ye ter kiss
me right smak in the mouth.” -
But this last humiliation was post
poned by the appearance of Bill Kymer
and the other men. The father stared
at Curt and his daughter, then said to
his friends, with a knowing grin:
“lie air a right peart kind of a corpse,
boys: jist erbout peart enuff ter cause
weddin’ about hyur afore long, I reckon. ”
Bill was right. Em’line had finally
surrendered, and when the affair thus
prophesied came off, as it did in dud
time, half of her old beaux were there to
dance and congratulate with such heart
as this result Lad left them.— JS'askcillA
Ameri an.
Tantalized With a Counterfeit.
The newest phase of the .counterfeit
dollar game, says the New Y'ork World,
is to be seen now even in some of the
most popular Sixth avenue cafes. A
good imitation of the “plunk” is nailed
firmly to the floor just in front of the
; bar. The audience sit innocently down
;at a table some ten feet away. The vic-
tims come up one at a time to the bar,
over which they lean in a nonchalant
manner while attempting to sample with
their toes the glittering prize so near
and yet so far below them. The bar
keeper, who is in the secret, turns his
back to draw the beer they always
order, because it requires him to turn
his back. As he turns, the victim, with
eyes glued on the Ganymede’s back,
squirms and stoops almost low enough
for his fingers to clutch the coin. The
barkeeper turns like a fla-h, and the
victim, with a well-feigned smile and
yawn, straightens up, drinks off the
beer and calls for another. The same
thing is repeated until the audience
I are so convulsed with la ghter as to be
-1 tray their game, or until the victim has
! spent more than a good dollar in the
frothy chase after the imitation.
A Cure lor Emperor Frederick.
Among the packages brought in from
Mexico recently to El i’aso, Texas, by
the Wells-Fargo Express Company was
a cubical box about one foot each way.
weighing thirty pounds, addressed to
“His Majesty Frederick HI., Emperor
of Germany, King of Prussia, Berlin,
Germany.” When opened by the cus
toms officials the box was found to con
tain four quart-bottles of dark-colored
liauid carefully packed in chaff. Each
bottle was wrapped in tissue paper of
red, white and green, the Mexican na
tional colors, and a piece of ribbon of
the same patriotic colors covered the
cork of eacn bottle. The liquid was
stated to be an Indian vegetable juice
prepared by the discoverer and sent from
an interior city of Mexico to insure a
speedy cure of the sick monarch is taken
according to directions. The sender
pays all express charges and custom duty,
—Nrw York World.
The new St. Catherine’s Eight, Isle of
Wight, will be the most powerful elec
tric light in the world.
KLEPTOMANIACS.
PEOPLE WHO STEAL FROM
NECESSITY OR CHOICE.
An Agency Projected Which Will
Protect Merchants From Their
Depredations Respectable
Women Shoplifters, Etc.
“Why is it that so many persons pre
fer stealing to making an honest livings”
asked a Washington Star repoiter of a
detective the other day.
“There are various reasons,” replied
the detective “Some persons steal be
cause they can't help it; others because
they find it easier than working, while
others steal simply because they have an
opportunity. There are some persons
who steal thousands of dollars’ worth of
property before they are caught. Often
they are ladies, the wives of respectable
citizens, who would never for a moment
be suspected of anything wrong. Some
of them, as I said before, do it simply
because they have au opportunity.
Others commit these thefts because they
like to dress well and fashionably, and
are not allowed enough money for that
purpose by their husbands. Such
women always dress well, and usually
have enough money to spend for ordi
na- v wearing apparel, but not enough to
keep pace with the fashions. They
usually confine their operations to three
or four stores. They will do their shop
ping in such few stores that their pur
chases at each amounts to considerable
in a year. They become acquainted
with the proprietors and clerks of
the stores, and are regarded so
highly by them that they are
given full sway, and can go about the
stores without ever being watched or
suspected, and even if they acted sus
piciously no notice would be taken of
them. In this way they manage to se
cure considerable property. They are
not always satisfied with robbing the
stores, but will sometimes pick up a
stray purse, carelessly placed on the
counter by another customer, who is
making some purchases, or who is being
fitted to a cloak or trying on a bonnet.
Then when the purse is missed, com
plaint is made, but she, ot course, is not
suspected. The only other persons
‘about are the clerks, upon whom sus
picion rests, and sometimes such clerks
are closely watched and sometimes dis
charged and the suspicion hangs to them
jfoiever afterward. There is another
class of persons,” continued the detect
tive, “who need considerable watching.
Young men who are employed as clerks
in the stores at salaries ranging from s:>
to $lO per week. They are frequently
from fifteen to twenty years old. After
hours, when the time is their own, they
frequently fall into bad company and
bad habits soon follow. They have to
pay board at home, and after that amount
is taken out of their week’s earnings
they have but very little left. With
that small sum the/ cannot hire buggies,
put up champagne and go about like oth
ers, and the consequence is they soon be
gin to knock down.
“To avoid so much of this class of
stealing,” he said, “I think it would be
a good plan for the merchants to organize
a sort of protective agency or society,
and have in flieir employ detectives who
would watch the scores of clerks after
business hours, and note the habits of
each. Monthly reports of their conduct
could be made and the merchants would
then be able to know or at least have an
idea of how the clerks conducted them
selves while not attending to business.
Take a case for instance where a clerk
receiving a small salary would visit
saloons and other places where he would
spend money freely, and spend more in.
a night or two than he actually earned in
• week, his employer would certainly
know that there was something wrong
and could then take special notice of the
particular individual.
“Another class of persons who steal
are porters. They usually open the store
in the morning, and there is ample op
portunity for them to wrap up bundles
and secrete them in the celler or other
convenient places, and when they start
out to deliver goods they carry the plun
der with them. Sometimes ajporter in a
dry goods house will cut a silk dress
pattern and pin it to the lining of his
coat. He can then put his coat on and
twa'k out of the store undiscovered.
Then there are some persons who steal
on account of poverty. Such persons,
i however, are lew, and their thefts
| amount to but little.
“A great amount, of stealing done re
sults from the carelessness of persons in
employing servants,” continued the de
tective. “Householders frequently em
ploy servants who come as perfect
strangers, without any recommendation,
unless it be the recommendation of some
unknown person, which any person can
pet from some one. They receive their
pay and leave, and, if they ask it, will
often he given a recommendation. Be
fore such a servant has been gone any
length of time a theft has been discov
ered and the police are called in to in
vestigate the case.
“There is another class of persons who
steal for nothing else than to get money
for the purchase of whisky. This class
of persons travel about in the guise of a
tramp and go from door to door asking
for something to eat. There are very
few persons who will refuse such hungry
looking individuals something to eat,
and will either invite them in or tell
them to wait at the door untill they
return. In the former case they usually
manage to pick up some trilling ornament
which will get them a drink, and in the
latter case they will step in and clean the
hatrack, and when the charitable persons
return they have disappeared.
“Then there are persons who have dis
honest sons. From time to time they
miss pieces of silverware or clothing, and
the servant is suspected. The unsus
pected member of the family continues
his systematic robberies until the matter
is reported to the police, and an investi
gation follows. '1 he ollicer soon learns
the place frequented by the son, and
when it is shown beyond a doubt that
he and not the servant is the guilty party
there is trouble in the family. Persons
who rob their parents in this way usually
do it because they have fallen into bad
oompany or are addicted to the use of
intoxicants, or some other bad habit, so
that there is po doubt but that innocent
persons are often susj ected of theft and
their reputation injured.
New York, with a population of
1,400,000, has 77,235 dwellings.
German Dairy Schools.
An European letter, noticing agri* :
culture in general in Europe, has the
following in relation to the dairy school ‘
of Paeselez-Meinersen, near Luneburg,
opened in 1884, and under the direction
of H. Hassclmann, says the pupils follow
four sections of work—the dairy, school,
household managament, and the kitchen
and flower gardens. The schooling is
confined to reading, writing and arith
metic, the latter with special reference
to keeping simple accounts. The flower
and kitchen garden, in the light work
of which they take part, is limited to
cottage and farming wants. The house
keeping is in great part restricted to that
of the kitchen. For the dairy the girls
have to assist in all the processes of
butter and cheese-making, to keep a
register of the yield of each cow, and to
test samples of the milk. The director
gives every theoretical explanation re
quired.
The school manipulates sixty-six
gallons of milk daily—the pupils being
seven girls. Some milk is furnished by
contract from farmers. The Laval hand
separator is in use. From time to time
the Swartz and Holstein butter systems
are tried. Since the adoption of the
hand separator more butter, and
of a superior quality has been obtained
as compared with older methods.
The experience of M. Hasselmann
respecting the utilization of the skim
milk is important. He considers it is
very suitable for making into cheese,
but is, above all, excellent for feeding
calves. He sho.vs by his books that
when skim milk is made into cheese, or
employed for hog fattening, it is not so
remunerative as when given to calves.
Ilis plan is to give calves uncreamed
milk daily, fresh and pure; on their being
able to consume their five quarts he sup
plies them with as much unskimmed
milk as they can take. In the course of
eight or ten weeks they are fattened, not
very fat, but fleshy. M. Hassclmann does
not believe in the theory that to obtain
whiteness of flesh feeding on whole milk
is essential. He maintains that the
aptitude for whiteness is inherited by
the calf from its mother, is dependent on
race, and the kind of food given to the
cow. M. Hasselmann has tried every
variety of substitute for milk in the
rearing and fattening of cattle, and con
cludes that substitutes are of little utility,
but often quite the contrary, as they can
prove a danger. — Farm, Field and Stock
man.
Perpetual Supreme Court Messengers.
Every Justice of the United States
Supreme Court selects his own clerk, but
he must take the messenger bequeathed
to him by his predecessor. The other
Justices all feel that it is due to them
that anew and untried messenger should
not be brought into their confidential
circle every time there is a change upon
the bench.
When Mr. Wait© died his messenger
continued in his old place, serving the
bereaved family and making himself
handy around the court. As soon as the
next Chief Justice qualifies this man
will go to the apartments of his new
masters with his shaving, blacking and
brushing outfit, and will proceed to do
his duty in spite of any partiality that
the new-fledged jurist may entertain for
an old servant.
Justice Matthews did not understand
this rule and precedent when he first
came to sit on the bench. He arrived in
Washington late in the evening and took
lodgings temporarily at a hotel. The
moment he stirred in his chamber the
next morning he heard a rap at his door.
On responding a very respectful and
businesslike darkey walked in with his
' arms full of toilet tools.
“I didn’t ring,” the new Justice said,
mistaking the intruder for an employe of
the house.
“No, sah; but I thought you might
need some barbering. I’ll brush your
clothes, sah, and shine your boots. ”
“You needn’t mind, sir,” the Justice
said severely, as lie still hold the door
open. “My valet will attend to that.”
“ ’Scuse me, Air. Justice, but I’m your
man.”
“What is the matter with you? Leave
the room.”
“’Scuse me, Air. Justice, but I was
left to you by Air. Justice Swayne, and
the clerk of the cote ordered me to re
poteto you this mawnin’.”
He knew his duty and the traditions
of his place, and he stuck to them and to
the reluctant Air. Aiattliews. He is with
him to this day. —Boston Globe.
The Bug that Cuts Up Metal.
Mr. William Beutenmuller, the ento
mologist of the American Museum of
Natural History in Central Park, New
York, at the last meeting of the New
York Microscopical Society, stated that
the American Museum had just received
a specimen of the curious metal cutting
Yucatan beetle, the Zopherus. Down in
Central America, where the beetle has
its home, it is known as the “maqueche.”
Not long since, many newspaper para
graphs were current about a pretty
beetle which the Southern ladies were in
the habit of wearing on the corsage,
where it crawled at will, held by a
tiny gold chain. This beetle is the
maqueche. It is perfectly inoffensive,
has no odor, and dees not deface or
stain the most delicate fibre. The
adjusting of the golden harness is a nice
operation, the metal being soldered on
it. The harness consists of a girdle
about the insect’s waist —between the
thorax and abdomen—to which above
and below is joined a sleuder band
passing over the posterior portion of the
body, longitudinally, while a small chain
is attached to this harness by a little
staple, which chain terminates in a hook
or pin to fasten in the bodice.
By many Mexicans the insect is re
garded as an amulet or mascot and is
usually highly prized by foreigners when
obtainable. Parties who have owned
insects of this kind have often attempted
to maintain them on sugar and water,
but the beetles always perished in a short
time. But if fed on decayed wood, which
is their natural food, they may be kept
alive and thriving for more than a year.
The wing covers or shell of the beetle
is exceedingly hard. Its color is a light
chocolate shade, and when full grown it
is about an inch and a half long. In New
York it was stated that this beetle can
cut through soft metal, and this fact is
one of the most interesting about it.
When placed in a glass jar covered by a
thin pewter liu it has been known after a
few hours of chipping and cutting to
make a hole sufficiency large to allow it
, to pass through.
IN THE SWING.
Here we go to the branches high I
Here we come to the grasses low!
For the spiders and flowers and birds and I
Love to swing when the breezes blow.
Swing, little bird, on the topmost bough;
Swing, little spider, with ropß so fine;
Swing, little flower, for the wind blows now;
But none of you have such a swing as min*
Dear little bird, come sit on my toes;
I’m just as carelul as I can be; /
And oh, 1 tell you, nobody knows
What fun we’d have if you’d play with me!
Coma and swing with me, birdie dear,
Bright little flower, conic swing in my hair*
But you, little spider, creepy and queer—
You’d better stay and swing over there.
The sweet little bird, he sings and sings,
But he doesn’t even look in my face;
The bright little blossom swing and swings,
But still it swings in the self-same place.
Let them stay where they like it best; J
Let them do what they’d rather do; J,
Afy swing is nicer than all the rest,
But maybe it’s rather small for two.
Here we go to the branches high!
Here we come to the grasses low!
For the spiders and flowers and birds anl I
Love to swing when the breezes blow.
Swing, little bird, on the topmost bough;
Swing, little spider, with rope so fine;
Swing, little flower, for the wind blows now}
But none of you have such a swing as mine,
—Eudora S. Bumstead. in St. Nicholas.
PITH AXli roIXT.
A bad fit—Epileptic.
A bad spell of weather—Wether.
Down in the mouth—The tongue.
AVarranted to wash—A Chinaman.
A paying practice—The paymaster’s.
The book agent should wear a canvas
suit.
A sonny retreat—A boy’s orphan
asylum.
An old woman who paints—Age hold
ing up a flag of truce to time.
Why toll fire alarm bells when a good
man dies? — Boston Commonwealth.
Antiquarian—A human crab, facing
the past and walking backward to tho
future.
This is a world of pain and suffering,
even a base ball has a stitch in its side.
—Dansville Breeze.
The second is a hard worked man,
being expected to serve in a duel ca
pacity. — Mtreliant- Tea celer.
Kind lady: “llow old are you, my
little lellow?” Youngster: “I ain’t old
at all, ma’am; I'm nearly new.”
The crank appears to be a person who
mows down the mental weeds in a whim
sickle way.— Duluth Puraqrapher.
A Alilwaukee Judge has decided that
a hen is not a domestic animal. He must
be trying to make a game of her.—
Picayune.
It seem 3to be settled that the Gov
ernment cannot hold the Mississippi
river, no matter how often it levies on
it.— Siftings.
An “anti-chap toilet cream” is ad
vertised. It will never become popular.
The girls are too fond of the chaps.—
Detroit Free Press.
A young lady in Philadelphia is said
to have had five lovers all named Sam
uel. Her photograph album must be a
look of Sams. — Drake's Magazine.
Stranger —“What is this? Ink, pens
and paper— one thaler! What writing
have you had to do for me? Landlord—*•
“Why—the bill '."Fliegeiule Blaetter.
Ah, why did she make him leave her?
Ah, why so cruel, the fair?
When a boy he’d hail scarlet fever,
And it settled in his hair.
— Judge.
The civilized world spent years in try
ing to break into China. Now it is
making strenous efforts to keep tho
Chinese from breaking out. Philadel*
phia Enquirer.
Hear tho wailing of the ladies,
Bee their faces worn and thin,
And the cause of all their sorrow
Is —the bustle is called in!
— Siftings.
The peach crop i 3 in a marketable con
dition. The fruit is large and luscious,
but owing to frosts in March and April
the baskets are gnarled and dwarfish. —
Cin iunati C minercial.
Wife —“Dear me, John! What’s the
baby doing with that paint-box?”
Artist Husband (taking it from the
baby)—“Just trying to mix the colors
on his palate, my love.”
You never hear the bee complain,
Nor hear it weep nor wail;
But, if it wish, it can unfold
A very painful tail.
Washington Critic.
In the cigar store —“Here is a cigar
that I can confidentially recommend.”
“H’m! Well I guess I’ll try some other''
brand; I’ve been in the cigar business
myself. ” — Boston Transcript.
“And so the ice-cream season
again upon us, George,” she said shyly.
“Yes,” he responded, “I never pics
up a paper now that I do not expect to I
find some awful case of poisoning. I
Epoch. A
“What’s the matter, Dumley, you I
look discontented and unhappy.”
am; I just found a thrco-cent piece, and I
when I saw it on the sidewalk I’m blamed I
if I didn’t think it was a dime.'—l
Epoch. f
“How do you like your new pl*oe,l
Bridget?” asked the servant gi r ‘ s ß
best beau. “Net at all. Sure the m:s-|
tress wears such small shoes that 1 can B
get me feet into them. — New lorlM
Journal. J
Taking the temperature —She (at tn«*
races) —“What’s the trouble on t u
judges’ stand, George!” He— “Tncr»»
is some dispute over the last heat. ■
She—“ Aren’t their thermometers aug
alike, George?”— Siftings. ,■
Queen Victoria has sent a message <>■
sympathy to Mr. John Bright. If
will be no dispute among doctors oj ■
his condition as has been the case
the Emperor. Everybody knows " fl
Bright’s disease is.— Picayune. % I
A sailor for sea, m
And a spinster for tea. *
A lawyer for talk and a soldier for ugh ' B
A baby for noise, if
And a circus lor boys,
And a typewriter man to do autograph •' my
inff- , . , r fui
A bunker for chink, H
And a printer for ink, .J
A leopard for spots, and a wafer for
ing; . ffl
A crack baseball flinger, E
An opera singer, .•* I.
A. shotgun, a n»io and a choir for kickw«