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~ THE COMMON CHORD.
The Rappahannock’s stately tide, aglow with
sunset light,
Came sweeping down between the hills that
hemmed its gathering might,
From one side rose the Stafford slopes, and
. on the other shore ;s
The Spottsylvania meadows lay, with oak
groves scattered o'er.
Hushed were the sounds of busy day; the
brooding air was hushed,
Save for the rapid-flowing stream that
chanted as it rushed.
O’er mead and gently sloping hills, on either
) side the stream,
The white tents of the soldiers caught the
sun’s departing beam—
On Spottsylvania’s slopes the Blue; on Staf
ford’s hills the Gray;
Between them, like an unsheathed sword, the
glittering river lay. -
Hark! Suddenly a Union band far down the
stream sends forth
The strains of ‘“Hail, Columbia,” the psan
of the North. e
The tents are parted; silent throngs of sol
diers, worn and grim,
Stand forth upon the dusky slopes to hear the
martial hymn.
So clear and quiet was the night that to the
farthest bound
"Of either camp was borne the swell of sweet,
triumphant sound.
And when the last note died away, from dis
tant post to post
A shout, like thunder of the tide, rolled
through the Federal host.
Then straightway from theother shore there
rose an answering strain.
“‘Bonnie Blue Flag” came floating down the
slope and o'er the plain.
And then the Boys in Gray sent back our
cheer across the tide—
A mighty shout then rent the air and echoed
far and wide.
“Star-spangled Banner,” we replied; they
answered, ‘‘Boys in Gray,”
‘While cheer on cheer rolled through the dusk,
and faintly died away.
Deeply the gloom had gathered round, and
all the stars had come,
‘When the Union band began to play the notes
of ‘“Home, Sweet Home.”
Slowly and softly breathed the chords, and
utter silence fell
Over the valley and the hills—on Blue and
Gray as well.
Now swelling and now sinking low, now
tremulous, now strong,
The leader’s cornet played the air of the
beautiful old song;
And, rich and mellow, horn and bass joined
in the flowing chords,
Bo voicelike that they scarcely lacked the
charm of spoken words.
Then what a cheer from both the hosts, with
faces to the stars!
And tears were shed and prayers were said
upon the field of Mars.
The Southern band caught up the strain;
and we, who could sing, sang.
Oh, what a glorious hymn of home across
the river rang!
We thought of loved ones far away, of scenes
T{ we'd left behind-—
e low-roofed farm-house 'neath the elm
that murmured in the wind;
The children standing by the gate, the dear
wife at the door;
The dusty sunlight all aslant upon the old
barn floor.
Oh! loud and long the cheer we raised, when
silence fell again,
And died away among the hills the dear
familiar strain. -
Then to our cots of straw we stole, and
dreamed the livelong night
Of far-off hamlets in the hills, peace-walled,
and still, and white.
-~ —James Buckham, in Harper's Weekly.
—————
THE MAVERICK SILVER.
BY 8. A, WEisS.
It was afstormy November evening,
with a high wind and a pouring rain—
such an evening as makes people ap
preciate the luxury of a pleasant home
fireside.
The Misses Maverick felt very comfort
able as they sat in cushioned chairs, one
on each side of the glowing fire, while
between them the little tea-table gleamed
with polished silver which reflected back
the dancing blaze.
No plated ware was this, but, as the
ladies often boasted, solid sterling silver
which had belonged to their grandfather;
and having nothing else to show in
token of what the Mavericks hadfen in
their day, they prized this batter& silver
service above all things. As Miss
Maverick often observed, she would pre
fer to lose the house over their heads,
though it had been left them by an aunt,
than part with one of those worn spoons
engraven with the Maverick monogram.
¢‘‘Alice seems very long about the tea,”
observed Miss Maverick, glancing at the
clock. “I am . almost sorry I allowed
Nancy to go to her sister’s. It is incon
venient, and I never feel safe without
her; in case of illness or accident. She
hasn’t been long with us, but I think
she's to be trusted.” .
_She is rertainly sufficiently out
"ci)oken,” said Miss Myra, nodding her
little gray curls. ‘‘What do you think
ahe eaidfo me to-deyS . ‘Miss Myya,'
says she, ‘if that young doctor’s too
poor to ;gpofllfiss Alico, a 8 1 heerd yo
say, couldn’t ye let 'em have the rooms
across the hall that's no use to anbody but
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¢Nancy must be taught to know her
place,” she said, sternly. ¢‘And as to
Alice, I have alrcady said that I will
never consent to her marrying Doctor
Darrel. Think of our bringing up that
child, educating and clothing her, in the
hope that she would make a match worthy
of a Maverick, and the first thing that we
know she wants to throw herself away on.
a poor doctor—the son of a plain farmer
—who has nothing to depend upon but
his practice, if he ever gets one.”
“‘He may succeed in time,” said Miss
Myra, who rarely ventured to differ from
her more strong minded sister. ¢‘They
say he's clever, and people scem to like
him. I would not be surprised if he and
Alice marry at last.”
“In that case they know what they
have to expect of us!" returned Miss
Maverick, grimly. I will give the house
to be an orphan asylum, and leave the
silver and everything else to the Home
for Decayed Gentlewomen. It will be
better there than with common crockery
on Farmer Darrel’s table.”
At this moment Alice entered, bearing
the tea tray, an office which she had
taken upon herself in order that Nancy
might have liberty to visit her sister.
She was a slight girl, with a fair, sweet
face, and a gentle, appealing look, con
trasting with Miss Maverick’s determined
expression. She did not look happy.
How could she, when she knew that to
give herself to the man she loved would
be to estrange from her the only relatives
from whom she had found kindness and
affection?
Alice poured out the tea, and theladies
had just helped themselves to toast and
marmalade, when Miss Myra gaveaslight
scream and pointed to the window opposite
which she was seated.
There between the curtains appeared a
man’s face, and as they looked he nodded
and beckoned.
“‘For heaven's sake, Alice,” said Miss
Meverick,startled, ‘‘see who it is and what
he wants!”
The girl raised the sash slightly, but be
fore she could speak, the man—who was
leaning over from the porch—stooped and
said, in a low and hurried voice:
“‘Don’t be alarmed. lama policeman,
and come to let you know that there are
burglars on your premises. Let us in
quietly, so as not to alarm.”
Miss Myra sank pale and trembling on a
sofa. Her sister, seizing a lamp in one
hand and with the other firmly clutching
Alice’s arm, went to the hall door and
quickly unlocked it.
Two men stepped in—one a dapper and
well-dressed little man; and the other tall
and stalwart, wearing a rough overcoat with
a large cape.
The moment he passed the threshold, he
turned the key and withrdew it from the
lock.
““They won't escape by this way,” he
muttered, and cautiously followed the
ladies into the room they had just left.
Here he opened his overcoat, displaying
a policeman’s shield and uniform, and
again buttoned it.
I am Sergeant Angus,” he said, speak
ing in the same low and cautious tone.
“This gentleman—Mr. Martin—has just
informed me that he saw two men enter
your house awhile ago——"
+‘By the cellar window in the side
yard,” replied Mr. Martin, who looked a
little timid and uneasy.
Sergeant Angus nodded and again ad
dressed Miss Maverick:
It is possible the servants may have
let them in.’,
¢‘Oh, dear, no! We have only one—
our cook—and she was sent for an hour
ago to see a sick relative.”
The Sergeant smiled—a peculiar smile.
+‘That's an old trick, taking oneself
out of the way to avoid suspicion. Iwill
warrant, ma'am, the servant has a hand
in this matter., Probably she knows
where you keep your valuables, and has
posted her accomplices. It is just there
that we can best trap them. I have a
man at the rear and will let him in.”
Miss Maverick was shocked and alarmed
out of her self-possession.
4] would never have dreamed it of
Nancy. = Butit's the silver they're after.
Part of it is here, as you see, and the rest
in the closet of my room, locked in an
old leather trunk. I would’nt lose it for
the world. Oh—"
+Pray be quiet, ma'am!” said the
Sergeant, almost authoritatively, ‘‘or
they will hear you and take the alarm.
which is your room?” ;
‘The one over this—"
{<Hist!"”
He held up his hand and listened.
“I think I hear a sound overhead.
They are probably at the closet. Now,
ladies, whatever happens, keep perfectly
quiet. Mr. Martin will stay by you, if l
you object to being left alone.”
He examined a pistol which he took |
from beneath his coat, then softly left
the room.
Mr. Martin looked around.
‘‘Hadn’t you better put that silver out
of the way,” he suggested, ‘‘and any
valuables that you have within reach?”
- “Certainly. Why didn’t I think of it?”
said Miss Maverick, all of a tremble. -
~ And while Alice attended Miss Myra
with vinegar and water, the elder sister,
- with Mr. Martin’s assistance, tied up the
slver in table-covor and thrust it out
"”“%?%*;
| Then she opened a writing-desk, and
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et »ffl AN,
treasures thus secured, stood rigid and
alert, prepared foz the worst.
Ten minutes of dead silence ensued.
Then they heard a step, heavy but cau
tious, coming down the stairs, It crossed
} the hall, and entered the room next that
‘in which they were.
A moment after there was a sound of a
‘muffled voice.
Mr. Martin started up, and hastily
motioning to the ladies to follow, glided
out of the room.
~ln her fright, Miss Maverick forgot
‘even the precious silver under the sofa,
and laden with the rest of her treasures,
‘while Alice supported the limp and
trembling form of Miss Myra, stumbled
‘out into the pitch-dark hall.
At the moment, some one rushed past
‘them. Miss Maverick was pushed rudely
against the wall, and fell, while a rough
‘hand grasped her throat.
~ “I've got you, you villain! Here, An
‘gus, lend us a hand! Why, hang it!” as
he seized Miss Maverick’s false front hair,
iwhich came off in his hand, ¢it’s a wo
‘man!”
~ Then there was a scuffle, a sound of
running feet down the cellar stairs, a
confused noise outside, pistol shots—and
Miss Maverick, in the midst of her books
and photographs, fainted dead away in
the darkness.
‘When she came to herself she was lying
on the chintz sofa, with Alice kneeling
beside her, bathing her hands in cam
phor, while Doctor Darrel bent over her,
stanching a slight wound on her fore:
head.
Close by Nancy was ministering to
Miss Myra, and indignantly discoursing:
¢ "T'was jist one o’ their cunnin’ tricks,
Miss Myra—bad luck so ’em! To think
o’ me bein’ cheated into goin’ off a mile
an’ more through wind an’ rain, to sce my
dyin’ sister an’ she dancin’ at the wed
din’!”
“Where am I?” said Miss Maverick,
feebly.
“Safe in your own house, my dear
madam,” answered the doctor, cheer
fully.
And Alice looked half-timidly from
him to her aunt.
““The silver!” gasped the latter, with
a sudden remembrance.
It is safe, also. 'We were in the alley,
on the watch for the rogues, and they
were compelled to drop the silver in or
der to escape.” i
Miss Maverick rolled her eyes upward
{ in a silent, but fervent, thanksgiving.
Then she put her hand to her pocket,
and her expression instantly changed.
No pocket was there, but a great hole
where it had been cut clean out—no
doubt when she was knocked down and
choked.
¢Jt was the fellow they called Martin,”
explained the doctor. ‘‘He and his com
' panion—the pretended policeman—were
‘ the burglars. They both escaped, though
Martin dodged a good while before he
would drop the silver which he had
'helped to hide under the sofa. As for
the contents of the pocket. he got off
with that. ;
Miss Maverick was too thankful at the
recovery of her precious silver to take
much to heart the loss of the money and
other things.
¢“Who gave the alarm?” she inquired,
feebly.
“I did, Aunty,” Alice said, with a
blush. “The hall door was locked, but
1 broke one of the side lights and called
for help, and Doctor Darrel, who was
just entering his office, heard me."”
¢‘She called him by his name,” said
Nancy, excitedly, ‘‘an’ lucky ’twas he
heerd her, for there wasn't a livin’ soul
on the street but him and me. An’ he
was over like a flash; an’ when she told
him there were burglars, he run for his
pistils, and sent his boy flyin’ for the per
lice, and the first thing there was a crowd.
An’ it’s him, mum, you've to thank for
savin’ your lives, an’the silver, an’ the
house from bein’ burnt over your head,
likely.”
Mis- Maverick made no reply; but on
the following day she pondered these
things in her mind, and came to a con
clusion.
“Myra,” she said, ‘‘that Doctor Darrel
is a very nice young man, after all.”
“I always said so.” -
*‘And he was certainly the means of
saving the silver, and was very kind to
m."
“‘He certainly was; and you—we had
not been very polite to him.”
- ¢‘Burglars may make another attempt.
I think we need a protector.”
“Undoubtedly we do.”
¢lf he should marry Alice—" said Miss
Maverick, thoughtfully. ¢They say he
is a rising man, and his family very re
spectable, though only farmers—"
“Yes,” said Miss Myra, eagerly.
«The house is large enough for us all;
‘and it is a good thing to have a doctor in
‘the family—and the silver would be
safe.” :
Whereat Nancy, who overheard the
whole from an adjoining room, danceda
soft and silent dance of satisfaction and
triumph—all for Miss Alice’s sake.
~ The silver shone very brightly on
Alice’s wedding night, and the Misses
Maverick have never since been troubled
by burglars.—Saturday Night. ;
A Wesiorn_collogo has a_school for
journalism in it. John,kill that editorial
half a column to ‘the Hsthetics of Canino
P e R S SR
Sibiany 0o Aognt T ‘M“““‘,
e R DS R
WELL PAID FREAKS.
Large Salaries Paid to Human
Curiosities for Museums.
Sums Ranging From Twenty-
Five to One Thousand Dollars.
The freak of nature possesses a veri
lable gold mine in himself. All prodi
gies, whether they be great or small,
one-eyed like the mythological Cyclops,
or possessing as many heads as a hydra,
can fill their purses, provided they mus
ter enough courage and strength to sit
in gaudy dresses loaded wih tinsel
on museum stools. The salaries of some
of these freaks are enormous, and not a
few make as much money in the course
of the year as the honored gentleman
who occupies the Presidential chair.
Their salaries range from $25 to SIOOO 4
week, and are determined by therelative
eccentricities or peculiarities of the
freaks. For instance, albinos with
pink eyes and silken white hair receive
from S4O to SSO per week, while those
with eyes and hair of the same ruddy
hue are valued at SIOO a weck because
of their rarity.
Among the high-priced {reaks are
the so-called ‘‘skelctons,” or extremely
thin persons, whose weckly salaries
range from $250 to SSOO. To be a
proper skeleton freak one must have
bones, skin and a little blood, with all
the vitals, but no flesh to speak of. Bow
legged skeleton freaks are preferable to
those who are knock-kneed, simply be
cause they are scarcer. Such prodigies
as woolly babies, or infants with
a remarkable growth of hair all over the
body, face and limbs, are worth a great
deal to the museum manager. They re
ceieve compensation of from SSOO to
S7OO a week to sit on a museum stool.
Rare curiosities like dog-faced boys also
come high. They, or rather their par
ents, guardians and owners, receive for
putting them on exhibition salaries rang
ing from S4OO to S6OO per week. Those
having faces resembling pug dogs get
SSOO a week, while others who more
fortunately possess shepherd-dog or grey
hound faces bring $750.
‘ The star freaks in dime museums are,
- however, midgets, and Mexican ones,
like the famous Lucia Zarate, who has a
maid and interpreter to aceompany her
around the country, draw salaries rang
ing from $750 to S9OO a week. Good
' midgets weigh from ten to twelve
pounds. There arc so many fat people
that there is a general impression
that prodigies in this direc
tion do not command large salaries.
This is not the case, however. They
are paid as high as S6OO a week, but to
earn such a valuation they must weigh
at least 600 or 700 pounds. Giants are
paid about $375 a week. Those from
Japan, for some unaccountable reason,
are the best drawing cards, and are con
sequently the highest priced. Aaztecs
receive the comparatively low compen
sation of $175 weekly.
Big-footed girls are much needed cur
iosities at museums. To possess large
enough pedal extremities to be called a
freak, however, itis necessary that ecach
foot shall be three times as large as the
owner’s head. For such a monstrosity
$450 is the price paid weckly. Armless
people who do all manner of work with
the feet are paid SIOO or more,according
to the skill which they may have ac
quired in making their feet do the work
of their missing hands. There are so
many ‘‘wild” girls that freaks of this
class receive only $125 a week. Ossi
fied men are paid from S2OO to
§3OO, and are considered very prefita
ble freaks in well conducted mu
seums. Genuine Hindoo snake-charm
ers receive about $175 a week. Glass
eaters draw weekly salaries ranging from
$75 to $125. Twins and triplets ve
ceive SIOO for the same length of time.
Men with remarkable memories, boomer
ang-throwers and such ordinary curiosi
ties get from $25 to SIOO a week.
Freaks are rarely kept in any dime
museums over two weeks at a time.
Managers find that if kept longer than
this they hardly prove sources of profit.
— Philadelphia Record.
_ Evidently Thrown In.
Pell—By Jove, old man, that’'s a
pretty necktie you have on!
. Mell—Yes; I flatter myself that Ihave
good taste in selecting neckties. Have
@OIgRRP L b ..
Pell—Thanks, - (Lights it) Umph!
pEavA eLkeR RR N B B
The Emotions of Man and Brate.
If we have regard to emotions as these
occur in the brute, we can not fuil to be
struck by the broad fact that the area of
psychology which they cover is so near
ly coextensive with that which is cov
ered by the emotional faculties of man.
In my previous works I have given what
I consider unquestionable evidence of all
the following emotions, which I here
name in the order of their appearance
through the psychological scale—fear,
surprise, affection, pugnacity, curiosity,
jealousy, anger, play, sympathy, ~mu
lation, pride, resentment, emotion of the
beautiful, grief, hate, cruelty, benevo
lence, revenge, rage, shame, regret, de
ceitfulness, emotion of the ludicrous.
Now, this list exhausts all the human
emotions, with the exception of those
which refer to religion, moral sense, and
perception of the sublime. Therefore I
think we are fully entitled to conclude
that, so far as emotions are concerned, it
can not be said that the facts of animal
psychology raise any difficulties against
the theory of descent. On the contrary,
the emotional life of animals is so strik
ingly similar to the emotional life of
man—and especially of young children
— that I think the similarity ought fairly
to be taken as direct evidence of a gen
etic continuity between them.—Popular
Science Monthly.
“Jerry.”
Jerry is only a poor, old, blind mule,
but read his history and decide if he
does not deserve to die in the mule land
of Beulah: Long azo when the Hoosac
tunnel was begun, Jerry was let down
the main shaft with orders to ‘“work his.
way out at the other end.” That he
might not be frightened at the explo
sions cruel needles made him blind. Life
is long, and time is not fleeting to a
mule. After obeying orders he served
in the army until the end of the war.
Till the day of his death he will bear
the letters “U. 8.” branded on his.
bruised and battered white hide.
Bought and sold again and again, it
is to be hoped he has reached almost the
end of a mule’s life journey. Living
now at Whateley, Young America
leads Jerry into holes and fences simply
to ‘‘see the fun,” and kicks and blows.
for breakfast, and kicks and blows for
supper, are poor living, even for a mule.
Thanks to his ¢‘ruling” pasion” Jerry
can return kicks with interest, and who
can blame him? Does he not deserve
from the United States government a
sufficient pension to keep him in food
and shelter for the rest of his natural
life, and to protect him from further ill
treatment and abuse? — Springfield
(Mass.) Republican.
Training Boys for Contortion.
What, then, is a contortionist! In
the first place, it appears that a contor
tionist is a person who has preserved in
his spine, and in some cases in his
joints, the infantile condition which in
most persons is merely transient. This.
implies a great flexibility of the spine in
all directions, great powers of twisting:
it. It is also very likely that there
are many small individual peculiarities
all favoring uncommon freedom of mo
tion. If a young boy without any of
this special fitness should be trained for
contortion, I think he probably would
meet with some success, but never
achieve distinction. So far as lam
aware, children are not educated for this
profession from thewr tenderest years, as
they are for several kinds of acrobatic
performances. Their capacity makes
itself know by accident, from which it
is fair to infer that it rests on an ana.
tomical basis.—Seribrer,
SR R
A Curious Religious Seet.
A curious religious sect has sprung
into existence in the Northwest; several
meetings having becn held in Minneapo
lis recently by a body of persons who
belicve that Christ is on earth. They are
led by one C. C. Whitney, who claims
that the fifty-fourth chapter of Isaiah re
fers to a new Christ. This wom;m, he
says, was a Mrs. Beekman, whom he
met in Kansas twenty years ago. She
was filled with the spirit of the Lord,
and fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah.
Her son is Rev. George J. Schwien
furth, now a resident of kahhqfli‘»
IN., who, Whitney says, is the true
Christ. There are none of the ordinary
signs of lunacy about Whitney or his
5 ey el bl ok ek Rk
