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I Will Be Worthy of It. *
1 may not reach the heights I seek,
My untried strength may fail me; :
Or, half-way up the mountain peak, '
Fierce tempests may assail me.
But though that p'ace I never gain, :
Herein lies comfort for wmy pain—
I will be worthy of it.
I may not triumph in success,
Despite my earnest labor;
1 may not grasp results that bless
The efforts of my neighbor.
But though my goal I never see,
This thought shall always dwell with me—
I will be worthy of it.
The golden glory of love's light
May never fall on my way;
My path may always lead through night,
Like some deserted by-way.
But though life’s dearest joy I miss
There lies a nameless joy in this—
I will be worthy of it.
Il Wheeler Wilcoa.
A SERENADE. -
“Matty’s got a beau!” said Mrs, Hall,
in a sort of stage whisper, as she spread
out the various sections of her half
completed patchwork bed-quilt before
the admiring eyes of Mrs. Peckham, her
neighbor. “Keepin’ reg’lar company!”
“La me!” said Mrs. Peckham, at
once losing all interest in the ¢lrish
chain” pattern and staring full in the
face of Mrs. Hall. “Who is it?”
4] dunno’s I'd orter teil.”
sOh, yes, do! I won't mention it to
a livin’ soul. You hadn’t orter hev
mysteries {from me, as has been a neigh
bor to you so long.”
¢‘You're sure you won'’t tells”
4Yes, sartin sure."’
¢‘Well, then, it's Martin Paley.”
“Well, I never!” said Mrs. Peckham.
¢Me and Louisy, we’ve wondered this
long time why Martin didn’t marry and
gettle down, with such a nice farm as
he's got—real store carpets on the floor,
and a new cookin’-stove, with a water
boiler to the back on't, and everything.
And a nice, good-tempered fellow, too,
as ever lived!” she added, with a sigh.
“I suppose,’’ said Mrs. Hall, with
modest pride, *it ain't every girl would
suit Martin.”’
“Day set yet?’ said Mrs. Peckham,
her spectacle glasses all a-glitter with
curiosity.
¢‘Bless me, it ain’t got so far as that
yet!” declared Mrs. Hall ¢I didn't
say he'd propose, did I? I only said he
was comin’ Sunday eveain's.”
40Oh!” said Mrs. Peckham.
“‘But ot course,’”” added the mother
of Matty, ‘‘everybody knows what that
means. And tle next time Igo to
Budport I shall be sort o' lookin’ out
for bargains in dove-colored silks.”
9 4 supposed it would be just as well,”’
said Mrs. Peckham, wistfully.
“‘Louisy hain't no notion of gettin’
settled, has she?” hazarded Mrs. Hall,
in the height of her satisfaction.
T “Not that I know of.”
‘‘Well, you mustn't give up,” said
Mrs. Hall. “I've known girls marry—
and marry well, too—after they was
older than Louisy is.”
Mrs. Peckham bit her lip.
¢Louisy ain’t so very old!" said she.
¢sShe’s thirty, ain’t shet”
¢Yes; but I don't call that dying of
-old age!” retorted Mrs. Peckham.
¢‘Matty ain’t but three-and- twenty,”’
complacently observed Mrs. Hall
#But our family always did marry
early.”
Mrs. Peckham rose.
¢ guess I'd better be going,” said
she, a little nettled. *‘That walk across
the medder is awful hot arter the sun
gets high.”
Mrs. Hall looked after her with a
half-suppressed smile as she trudged
down the road, a subdued brown speck
on. the summer brightness of the land
scape.
¢‘Bhe’s dreadful jealous’cause Louisy’s
booked for single blessedness!’’ ‘said
she, chuckling. ¢Louisy, indeed—a
washed-out, red-haired old maid! No
more to be compared with our Matty
than a cabbage-stalk with a rose!”
While Matilda herself, dusting the
furniture in the best room, looked crit
ically at the well-worn figures on the
carpet.
¢Ma,” said she, ¢‘we must have a
new carpet this fall. This ain’t hardly
decent when a girl has steady com
p:ny.”
¢J dunno what your. father'll say,
~ Matty,” said Mrs. Hall, coming in from
the kitchen with a fried cruller impaled
_ ontheend of herfork.
R e
ing command which comported well
with her clear, pink-and- white beauty.
Mrs. Hall looked admiringly at her
daughter.
] guess likely he'll let you have
your own way,” said she. *“You al
ways was a great hand to coax. Just
taste o' this 'ere fried cake, Matty., I
ain’t certain whether I've got emough
cinnamon into the dough.”
Meanwhile, Mrs, Peckham had
reached the little wooden house on the
edge of the swamp, where her grand
daughter Louisa was hanging out the
clothes of the week’s wash—a tall, slight
girl, with large gray eyes, rather a col
~orless complexion, and hair of that
bright Rubens gold that Mrs. Peckham
had miscalled ‘‘red.”
“It's true, Louisy,” said the old wo
man, rather spiritlessly.”
‘‘What's true, granny #”
¢‘About Martin Paley and Matty
Hall.”
“Well,” with a quick twitch of the
upper lip, ¢‘why shouldn’t it be true?”
¢« sort o’ thought one time, Louisy,
that he was partial to youf"’
Louisa laughed, not a bad imitation
of careless indifference. .
¢Partial I’ said she. ¢‘He called a
few times, that was all. I ain’t a
beauty, you know, like Matilda Halll”
But when she came in to put to boil
the frugal dinner, her eyes looked sus
piciously red; and after the dishes were
clearel away, she went up to her own
room, took a withered rose-bud or two
out of her little Testament and flung
them out of the window, murmuring to |
herself: 1
“What a fool I have been to keep
them so long!”
The pleasant dusk of the next sunset
was purpling the hills when Mrs. Hall
called shrilly to her daughter from the
spare chamber up stairs: ;
¢Matty! DMatty! there’s one o’ them
bothering hand-organ men comin’ up
the path. SBend him away—quick!
Mrs. Deacon Dolby lost one of her
grandmother's silver teaspoons last
week, and—"'
Matilda, who was ironing out her one
embroidered pocket-handkerchief, set
the iron back on the stove and ran to
obey the maternal behest.
The broom, unfortunately, was not
in its place, as usual, but the kitchen
mop was the next handiest weapon that
presented itself. She caught it up and
brandished it at the door like a mod
ern Amazon.
‘“Be off about your business!” she
cried, in a voice to the full as shrill
and sharp as that of her mother. ¢We
don’t want no shiftless loafers about
here!”
The wandering musician hesitated,
but Matilda brooked no delay.
¢‘Clear out, Isay!” she cried, dex
trously flinging the implement of house
hold skill at the marauder.
It whirled once or twice through the
air, and finally buried itself in the
hedge of gooseberry bushes beyond.
The man with the organ beat a hasty
retreat.
Matty returned to her ironing, and
Mrs. Hall laughed aloud from her van
tage point above stairs.
4] guess you settled his business for
him, Matty,’’ said she, gleefully.
“I've no patience with no such vaga
bonds,” said Matilda, folding up the
handkerchief.
~ Louisa Peckham was working button
holes in a vest—it was the way she
earned her living—by the light of a
shaded lamp some twenty minutes
later, when there came a knock at the
door, and who should walk in but Mar
tin Paley.
“Good-evening, Louisa,” gaid he.
¢ didn’t know as I should find you at
home.”’
¢] ain’t often away trom home,” said
Louisa, coloring a soft flesh-pink, that
made her for the moment almost beauti
ful. *‘Bit down, Martin, won’t you?”
«I can’t stay but a little while,” said
Martin. “I've come on an errand. I
want to know if you will marry me,
Louisy.”
¢Marry youl”
{ - The needle dropped from Louisa’s fin
gers. b :
“I know it must seem sudden-like,”
apologized Martin, ¢‘but I've made up
my mind sudden-like. A man always
| does, Isuppose, at the last. Will you
i Wk ya-bapen et Shls
’w,” s S by P o 4”?;7‘, et
1 ] do." said in. “with all my
*But Ithyught you was keeplng com
pany with Matilda Hall?”
“Idid go there consid’able,” on°
fessed Martin, ¢hut Igo 0 gpercion
she wouldn’tguit me ]ic@ you would,
Louisy. Bot’s a bsgain, is it?”
‘ And whenhe weat away, he stopped
a minute to ke gomething out of the
| big cluster oiblasck currant bushes by
the gate. |
~ “Why, wat's that?” said Louisa,
who had #lloved him out. ‘A
trunk?” K ‘
¢N-no,” corfesied Martin, reddening
even in the staligit. *‘lt’s a hand-or
gan.” o f
¢‘A—hand- 731& i
““Well,”” sai¢ Mirtin, laughing rather [
shamefacedly, f"I nay as well own up,
Louisy. It wa’t do for me to have any
secret from yo{l Is’pose, arter tonight. l
But there wasp poor, wornout Italian
fellow came tdmy house this evening
with his monky, and said the hadn’ I
had no luck alday. And so I give
him s ome suppr and a bed in the barn, l
and I just borpwed the organ fora lit |
tle while. I hought it would bea
good idea to s¢enade with.” l
“To serena¢! But, Martin, you
didn’t serenademe!” :
“N-no,” sa.?(nMartin. I changed |
my mind. Bufthe tunes are real pretty,
Louisy. There‘\ tAnnie Laurie,” and
‘Home, Sweet Yome,” and ‘lwicken
ham Ferry,’ ad lots like that. '
Don’t you want me to play some for
you?” I
“Do!” said Lomisa. *T'm real fond l
of music.” | ‘
Out there in lthe starlight, tha old.
fashioned strain of music sounded so
plaintively thi{t even Grandmother
Peckham opendl her upstairs casement
to listen. i
Louisa had llever been *serenaded” |
before. She tl#ught it was like a page |
out of the ¢‘Arsbian Nights.” |
And honest l;?:zrtin did not regret his
hospitality to f'he poor, tired organ
grinder, who, vith his monkey, lay
coiled up, fast sleep, on the hay in the l
barn-loft at Palry Farm.
But Matty Hgll's ¢‘steady compauy” ‘
did not come ba'}:k to her. She could
not imagine why, when she dressed her- |
self evening after evening, and sat in‘
the best room by the big lamp with the
silk shade, nobody rewarded her per
sistency.
And one afternoon Mrs. Peckham
came over with a jir of Morella cherries
which she had just preserved.
“J knowed you like preserves,” said
she. ¢“Here's onc of our'n. By-the
way, Louisy was married yesterday.”
¢Married!"” echoed Mrs. Hall.
“Yes—quite quiet-like,” said the
grandmother. ¢To Martin Paley.”
Mrs. Hall turned a dull tallowy
white. She could hardly believe her
ears, :
And all the time Martin Paley was
saying to himself:
¢‘‘Haven’t 1 had a lucky escape from
marrying a woman with a temper like
that!”
There are some mysteries which will
remain forever unsolved; and to the
day of her death: Matilda Hall will
probably never know how it was that
she failed to become Mrs. Martin Pa
ley. —Baturday Night.
An Enormous Worm in His Ear.
~ The habit in country parts of stretch
ing oneself out on the ground for the
purpose of taking & nap is common
enough in the summer time; but from
a case that is reported from a village in
the Dordogue, in France, a nap on ths
grass is not unattended with danger.
A farmer residing near the village tired
with the heat of the day and with his
work, recently laid himself down to rest
beneath the shade of an oak tree in a
meadow. He was suddenly roused from
his repose by a sharp twinge of pain in
one of his ears, the pain increasing to
such an extent that before the poor fel
low reached his home he was half beside
himself. For several days he suffered
the greatest agony, which neither - the
doctors nor the remedies they prescribed ‘
could allay,and the patient was brought
to such a pass that he made up his mind
that he must die. It chanced, however, I
that a neighbor had the felicitous ide,
as the sequel proved, ‘of pouring a little
turpentine into his ear, the immediate
effect of which was to make the patient
fall back insensible on his pillow. On
recovering consciousness he remarked
‘that he experienced & strange focling of
| slained by the exit fiom his ear of an
o R e
AT TN 0. SR
. OSAGE INDIANS.
By Far the Richest Nation in the
World.
Each Member of the Tribels a
Dissolute Nabob. |
The Osage tribs of Indians is by far
the richest nation 1n the world. The
Osages are five times as rich as the av
erage of Americans, ten times as rich as
the average of Englishmen, and the
French and Italians are paupers in com
parison. There are among the Osages
no penniless people, and none in want
except that insatiable want that always
wants more.
The whole Osage Nation consists of
just 1501 persons, and the number of
children of school age is about 400. But
they already have two schools, supported
by a magnificent school fund of $120,-
000, yielding regularly annual interest
of S6OOO, or sls for each schoolable
child—a larger fund than any other
community in the world.
Let us see what is the actual wealth
of the Osages. There are 1501 of them
according to last year's census. They
have in the Unitel States treasury $7,-
758,694 of their own money, drawing
7 per cent. interest. This amounts to
a capital of $5175 apiece for the whole
nation—men, women and children.
But besides this they have 1,470,000
acres of land—equal to just about 1000
acres apiece. This land is mostly fine
and arable and would sell for anaver
age of $lO an acre, or SIO,OOO for each
individual’s portion. This makes each
individual Osage Indian worth:
Cash in United States Treasury......s 5172
Value of 1,000 acres of 1and....ee.... 10,000
Wealth of each member of the tribe..§15,172
8o cach O:age baby . comes into the
world with $15,000 in its doubled fist.
Not only is each member of the tribe
worth $15,000, but the property is so
protected that he can enjoy only the
income of it. He cannot get hold of
the principal to dissipate it, and he
cannot sell the land, so absolute pro
vision is made for the most inclement
of wet days. Each family possesses
S6O, 000 on an average, and the head of
it, if he be industrious and enterpris- |
ing, can grow SIO,OOO worth of crops ‘
a year on his 4,000 acres of land. He
is raised permanently above want and
above fear of want.
The Osage tribe has retrograded ever
sinee a big sale of wiid land made it
rich. The population steadily dimin
ishes. In 1858 the population. was
6,720; in 1869, 4,481; in 1878, 2, 391;
in 1889, 1,500. The rich Osages are
running out. There were seventeen
deaths last year and only three births.
Only one baby has been born during
the six months of thisyear, as far as
reported, and that is only about one
fifth pure blood. :
The Osages refuse to be civilized,
dress mostly in blankets, breech-clouts
and moccasins and are a lazy, ignorant,
worthless fragment of the human race.
They are mostly drunken when they
can get rum. They will not work, but
when they have any work that a squaw
don’t understand they hire white men
todo it. The government tries to train
the young without any good results.
The fact is that the Osage tribeisa
' community of copper colored loafers, of
profligate, dissolute, lazy, filthy nabobs.
They do nothing to better their condi
tion except constantly tease the govern
ment for more and more money. They
scorn and despise civilization, because
civilization means work. Like all peo
ple who are supported in idleness, the
Osages seem to have lost their manhood
and become not merely pensioners, but
mendicants. —Brooklyn Citizen.
% e e
Expenses of England’s Prime Ministers
The present Marquis of Salisbury,
says a London correspondent of the
Chicago Inter- Ocean, keeps dabout
‘ seventy in-door servants, exclusive of
dependencies of a higher class, such as
l private secretaries, librarians and chap
lains. All of the servants are only in
activity when the marquis is at Hatfield,
his London residence not requiring so
large a service. I give the catalogue
roughly in the order of importance.
' First, there i 3 a house-steward, who
| pays the other servants, and is charged
| e amietant, tho wndee. sterwacd, $350.
;w«* i %“v N"“‘wpw u,a,y«r
valet SSOO a year also. Then there are
eight coachmen, the best of whom re
ceive $250 a year; eight footmen, who
receive on an average $1756 a year, and
four grooms of the chamber, whose pay
is about the same. =
Of women servants, there are eight
kitchen maids, whose pay ranges from
$125 to $75 a year, cight house- maids
and four still-room maids, all of whose
pay is on the same scale as that of the
kitchen-maids. I have omitted to men
tion four larder-boys, whose pay is
probably very small, but who doubtless
have a good opportunity of getting fat.
Then there are a number of workmen
in constant employment on the house, a
large number of pensioners, and a long
string of professional or educated men.
Sometimes 130 visitors and servants are
at Hatfield at a time. The upper ser
vants dress for dinner, though for that
‘matter they are usually in evening dress,
and my ex-butler told mo that forty
‘servants, male and female, in full dress,
\ often sit.down to dinner in the upper
servants’ hall. This includes, of course,
the valets and ladies’ maids of visitors,
Of course, a very important item inm
the income of these servants is contribu
ted by tips, which they call ‘veils,” a
correct but somewhat unusual word.
The servants who come most in contact
with visitors receive fully half their
wages over again in the form of tips.
Lord Salisbury spends a fortune every
year among employes at Hatfield in
doors and out. He has, for instance, a
head gardener, with twenty-five assis
tants, and a forester with twenty men
under him. The total yearly expendi
ture of Lord Salisbury is about $400,-
000, and he is by no means one of the
richest of his class.
Facts About Fish.
The light has a great deal to do with
the color of fish. Small-mouthed black
bass caught out of holes six or eight
feet deep are dark in color. On bemg
placed in the aquarium they change to
a light mottled green. The channel
catfish, contrary as usual, come out of
the river a pale greenish blue. After
they have been exposed to the light of
the aquarium they turn to the -color of
blue black velvet. The famed fish of
the Mammoth Cave show every indica
ticn of being catfish for generations re
moved from all light. They have no
color at all, their bodies being
transparent. Small-mouthed black bass
are by all means the best aquarium pets.
Besides being the most lively and intel
ligent, they are the most hardy. The
large-mouthed bass makes his home in
quiet ponds, and he is not fitted for the
fierce contests of aquarium life. He is
casily wounded and his injuries usually
prove fatal. The small-mouthed bass
easily recovers from being caught in the
‘upper or lower lip with a hook. A
similar wound on a catfish generally
festers and often kills, The carp isa
pretty good fellow. In the hustle for
food he generally gets left. The reason
he does not feed on minnows in his
natural state is not, as is generally sup
posed, because he does not like them,
but for the more substantial reason that
he cannot catch them.
s e e Rt e
The Persian Shah’s Museum.
The Shah of Persia has a museum 1n
his palace that is described as a curious
place. It contains jewelry and treas.
ures of different kinds worth a fabulous
amount. The so-called Peacock throne,
carried off from Delhi 150 years ago,
is alone valued al many millions. In
this museum you may also see vases of
agate in gold and lapis lazuli, said also
to be worth millions; and alongside of
them empty perfume bottles of Euro
pean make, with gaudy labels, that
can be had at four cents apiece. You
‘will see priceless mosaics ard exquis
itely painted cups and ‘cans and vases
which were presented by some Euro
pean potentates; and side by side with
them you will notice horribles daubs,
veritable forty-cent chromos, picked up
no one knows how or where. You will
perceive glass - cases filled with huge
heaps of rubies, diamonds, emeralds,
sapphires, turquoises, garnets, topazes,
beryls of all sizes and kinds, cut and
uncut; and cheek, by jowl, with these
your eyes will see cheap music boxagg
jews-harps, squeaky hand -organamlgi
Shah must atsokx? /in a condition to
.ii B g
Fbl the markel. on poeciic 1R
b s ik G
PO e R T
