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. Udine.
A cloudy sky fills all tho west,
And all the east is da; k and cold;
A stranger, tarrying for h.s rest,
A shepherd gathers in his fold.
To faith all doubting doors unlock;
To faith there is no foreign flock;
The cloud, the cold, the darkling dome
Is framed of sunbeams arching home.
Rolls yawning black a sullen sea,
With savage teeth that glisten white;
'The wolves of water snap, but he,
The faithful, knows ’tis vain they bite
For him all winds to havens blow,
And all around him and below
The howling waves, the billows’ foam
Are the still waters flowing home.
Though dark the sky and barred the fold,
And the wreck lieth fathoms deep,
He findeth comfort in the cold,
And life in the eternal sleep.
And all things toil to bring him good,
And rest is in his tumult rude;
And all things whisper to him, “Com~
Abide with me, for I am home.”
BAB’S BONNET.
“Bab, I haven’t $10 in the world, and
the butcher’s bill came in yesterday.
' Cheer little girl, and mind
up, never
the new bonnet. Jack Snelling must
be no end of a cad if he minds what
kind of a frame your dear little face
looks out of.” The big brother of Bab
Nixon ended his words with a gentle
touch upon a round shoulder turned
petulently away from him, and after
waiting a moment for a word or a smile
from its owner in vain, his face clouded
slightly and he passed quickly out of
the breakfast room.
As the sound of his steps died away
• one dismally wet blue eye appeared
furtively above a scrap of linen cambric
crumpled into a limp wad of two baby¬
ish, dimpled hands, then the other eye
• came out, until finally the whole
dishevelled head was held defiantly
■ erect.
The general storminess of the domes¬
tic atmosphere seemed to have crept
even into Bab’3 saucy yellow bangs,
which puffed and crisped in unexpected
kinks about the pretty low brow and
' white temples as tho silky fuzz about a
baby’s head is wont to disport itself.
A breeze came in just then through
the open window, thrown up to lot in
the premature balminess of the sunny
March morning, and blew some of tho
loose locks intrusively about
her blue eye3. Up flow the
dimpled hand to push them aside
as a very cross young voice cried, “I
• don’t carel I—do—not—care I” with
• emphasis. “If I cannot have a new
bonnet I won’t go to church with Jack
and his sister, whom I never saw. I
think Ernest is perfectly mean, so there!
As if I wasn’t of as much importance as
the nasty, bloody meat that he eats,
bah I Butcher’s bill, indeed! Jack al¬
ways notices, too, and he’ll bo sure to
see how perfectly mangy my old blue
feathers are getting, and his sister is
. sure to have something straight from
Paris I If I could only make two rib¬
bons and a bit of jet look as ravishing
as Kate Arbuckle does my bonnets
wouldn’t cost so much, but I can’t, and
I don’t care! I should think Ernest
might let me get trusted ior just this
once, as long as he is going to get me a.
bonnet in a little while, anyway. I
mean to ask him this very morning, and
it won’t do any harm to stop on the way
to the office and see what Mme. Vau¬
rier has that will suit mo. Then I can
tell Ernest how much it will cost.”
Foolish little Barbara flew about the
dainty nest which the dear older brother
had sheltered her m through all their
orphaned years; giving an approving
nod at her trim tailor-made gown of
brown as she passed tho long mirror on
her way out to interview Mme. Vaurier
about the much-desired bonnet.
“Just the thing for you. It came
last night. Lizette, bring tho odd,
bluo affair, for Mile. Nixon.” Truly,
was it not “just the thing?” And oh,
how blue her eyes and how sunny her
hair shone under tho exquisitely pretty
structure, which Madame nestled with
assured touches upon her head. She
really never knew how tho matter came
about. Perhaps Madame talked too
volubly to hear her objections, or mark
her hesitation. “It made no difference
at all,” she assured Barbara, “whether
the bonnet was paid for now or in two
months.” She could not sell it to* any
one else without being dissatisfied, hav¬
ing seen it above Mademoiselle’s golden
hair.” The bill would “be in the box
to be paid when her brother pleased,”
and so little Barbara went out sure that
her bonnet was above criticism, but not
quite so sure that hero management of
the matter would bear as satisfactory in¬
spection when she told Ernest. As she
ran down Madame Vaurier’s broad stone
steps, a hat was lifted by some one who
stood by an open coupe in front. It was
Jack Snelling, who shot a glance of ap¬
proval after her from his dark eyes, as
he passed up the steps with his sister.
“Now, to tell Ernest,” thought Bab,
as she laid aside her wraps and prepared
to greet her brother’s return with a din¬
ner of his especial viands, that should
make him as wax in her hands.
Tho dinner hour came and Barbara,
fresh as a rose in her soft wool gown,
was ready to “’fess up’’ and be for¬
given. But when after waiting a long
thirty minutes beyond tho time a mes¬
senger came intend with a hurried note:
“Off for Philadelphia; send my traps
after me; care Wales Brothers, 1,244
Chestnut street. Will write”—her heart
sank. Now, what was to be done?
Clearly there was nothing except to
write and tell him all about it. So the
next day Ernest’s bag was packed and
forwarded, and a penitent letter went
by the first mail to Philadelphia.
Day after went day by and no letter
came in reply. No word from Ernest
of any kind; as though to emphasize
his displeasure. Aunt Valerie, who was
always ready in emergency, came to
stay with her, and then the groat storm
shut do wn all communication from other
cities, and poor, miserable little Bab
was left to imagine all possible and im¬
possible calamities as having befallen
her brother. Some delay in sending
home tho bonnet had been requested by
Barbara, who was a little uncertain as
to what Ernest’s rigid sense of justice
would prompt him to do, and then the
storm further delayed the delivery of
the tell-tale box.
But finally it came, and Bab locked
herself into her room to open it with a
“dreadfully gone feeling,” as she after¬
ward described it. She took off tho
soft layers of white paper, out of which
fell the bill. Sho lifted it mechanical¬
ly. “ Fifteen dollars" were the figures
she had seen on the box when Madame
took it out, and Ernest had said he had
not “ten.” “Oh, what a wicked, sel¬
fish va- Oh, my goo—oodness 1” she
ended with a gasp. Yes, there it was,
in good round figures—$251
To one imported straw bonnet.........$15.00
To one bird on same 10.00
$25.00
Received payment.
25! 25! 20! 20! 25! 25! 25! They
danced crazily before her eyes as she
sank in a dazed little heap on the floor.
What would Ernest say? She was hut
17, and it never occurred to her unbusi¬
nesslike ideas that Madame Vaurier was
taking advantage of her, and that she
could send the bonnet back. Aunt Va¬
lerie had money, but Ernest had forbid¬
den her ever to borrow a penny of Aunt
Valerie on pain of his deepest disap¬
proval. He was so proud and honest,
and shc,J“nasty little selfish thing,’’had
dared to call him “mean.” “He was
worth a hundred Jack Snellings, so
therel'’
That very evening Jack called with
his sister, who was very kind and cor¬
dial la her gentle, reserved way, and
tho invitations for Easter day were re¬
newed with some well-bred insistence,
upon learning that her brother was ab¬
sent and Aunt Valerie was to join them.
But there was good “stuff” in Bab's
sturdy little body after all, and even
while her eyes took in the quiet ele¬
gance of Miss Mildred Snelling’s attire
she was coming to a Spartan’s
resolution. She would go, but
she would not wear an un
paid for bonnet. Somehow she felt bet¬
ter after that, and when a telegram ar¬
rived before Sunday, saying that Ernest
would return the next Monday, she was
quite ready with a smiling welcome to
greet the unexpected announcement of
—Mr. Snelling. Something Jack had
to say kept him in such a ferment that
he would not wait, so he had called to
“put it to the test and win or lose.”
But somehow matters did not progress
just as Jack had anticipated. For,
when he had told her in his most manly
way how dear she was, and all that he
wanted her to promise, Bab simply
buried her blue eyes in two dimpled
hands and sobbed: “You wouldn’t!
Oh, you wouldn’t, if you knew wbat,
what a ho-orrid little wretch I am! ’
And then, the ice once broken for the
revelation, she told Jack all the miser¬
able tale. When she got through she
waited—not a word came from Jack.
“O my, he was too disgusted with her
to speak!” She “knew he would be,”
and began to sob afresh. This was too
much, and Jack drew away
the hot hands and wet hand¬
kerchief to show her his
own eyes, dancing with suppressed
laughter. “Didn’t you get any mail
tonight?” he said at last. “No—yes—
not—that is, I ■ got a—oh, I never
looked at it! Some one came in,” she
stammered, wonderingly. “'Well, go
and get it, please, now,” said Jack, re¬
leasing her, to run out and return with
an envelope, which she tore hastily
open. “Mme. Vaurier’s bill, receipt¬
ed!” she gasped. “What does it
mean?” “Read, and you will see,”
said Jack. “Mine. Vaurier happens to
be Mildred's milliner as well, and she
made some purchase the same date that
you did. The bookkeeper has mixed
the bills and sent them to the wrong
brothers, that is all. My sister's bill is
probably awaiting your brother’s return
at his office. Suppose you let the mat¬
ter go, as it will be, I hope, but a short
time till I may pay all your bills un¬
questioned. That is for you to say.”
It was answered satisfactorily, no
doubt, for a very rosy little Bub, gath¬
ered herself resolutely together a half
hour later and insisted upon taking tho
bill into tho library, where it should
meet her brother’s eye the first thing
upon his return. A littlo later she stood
in her clinging, pale-blue dress, leaning
against the deep saloon hangings in tho
archway. Her dark lashes, in startling
contrast with her yellow hair almost
rssted on her cheeks, a trifle pale now,
as she realized the serious and sacred
sweetness of the new tie.
“It is kind of you Jack, to wish to
shield me from mortification at my own
folly, but I cannot wear it until Er¬
nest has forgiven me, and he is tho only
one yet,” (with a shy little emphasis),
“who has a right to buy my bonnets.
I will not wear it tomorrow!”
*‘Oh, yes, you will, little one,” said
a voice behind the red draperies, as
they swung apart and Ernest Nixon
caught the startled girl in his arms as
ho entered tho room. “It was rather
mean to listen, Jack, but finding a bill
for my sistei’s bonnet with your signa¬
ture on my table upon my premature
arrival to-night, I naturally looked up
a prompt solution of the situation. It’s
dll right, and if you’ll look in before
you leave Til give you a check for your
autograph."
“You may as well hand me my sister’s
bill, which you will find among your
papers somewhere at the same time,”
said Jack, laughing.
And the next day two new bonnets
met upon tho heads of their fair owners,
with such damage to the heart of Ernest
Nixon that when he told Jack and Bab
later of bis successful Lusiness venture
in Philadelphia he also added that be
ore long he proposed that they should
exchange their sisters’ bonnet bills per¬
manently, a proposition which was
promptly accepted.--[Hartford Times
A Diamond in Her Tooth.
About a year ago it became fashion¬
able in New York for young ladies to
have a diamond set in one of their teeth,
which sparkled rcsplendently whenever
they smiled. The fashion grew in
popularity, and was adopted in other
of the large cities, but until recently
the extravagant habit did not reach
Louisville. Now, however, there is a
young lady who can be seen promenad¬
ing Fourth avenue almost any afternoon,
her red, ripe lips parted with a sweet
smile. At the point of one of her upper
front teeth sparkles a brilliant littla
stone, which is the occasion of the ever
pleased mood of its fair owner. Tho
young lady, who is the daughter of a
banker, recently returned lrom a visit
to New York, and while there “caught
on” to the craze. Sho has numerous
rare and costly stones, but it is safe to
say that none nor all of them givo
their fair owner half the pleasure ex¬
tracted from the diminutive gem im¬
bedded in her pearly front teeth. The
caso mentioned is probably tho only
one of the kind in Louisville. —[Louis
ville Courier-Journal.
Science vs. Purglars.
Science seems to bo doing well by
burglars, at least. At a recent meeting
of the Liverpool section of thi Society
of Chemical Industry an extraordinary
experiment was shown, which proved
that, by the application of some new
gas-heating apparatus, a hole, largo
enough to admit a man, could be fused
in any wrought iron or steel door in ex¬
istence. The whole apparatus can bo
carried up a ladder by one man, and
used in any position. At present it
works with noise, but it can easily bo
made noiseless, and small enough to
carry in a hand bag. At tho rate at
which things are moving, says the Bos¬
ton Courier, it will not be long before
we shall come back to the old system of
trusting for the safety of valuables sim¬
ply to personal vigilence and prowess.
As fast as a t.-ow device is found out for
safety, a corresponding discovery of the
means by which to overcome or to su¬
pervent it follows as a matter of course*
Kate Ilan? the Fire Bell.
The white mare Kate, which runs the
hose carriage of steamer No. 3 to fires,
recently went through her usual morn¬
ing training and also went one better.
When the gong sounded one at C a. m.,
to give the correct time, she started for
the bell-rope, caught it with her mouth,
and vigorously pulled it. Tho bell
ringing tho fire-call, brought out nearly
all of tho minute men, most of whom
livo in the immediate viciuity. They
rushed to tho engiuo house ready for
duty, only to find tho handsome Mrs.
Kate inwardly smiling at her conscious¬
ness of duty faithfully performed. Tho
station men were in the bedroom and
rushed down in wonderment, but could
do nothing beyond stroking Mr3. Kate’s
face and leading her to an extra supply
of oats.