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••N »«*» •if 1 t*f ^ MlAlfKSGIVINO AT THE FA^n|: n r. mnuR aimraoii. !"* We *r« ell here to-night. Tia (he night of ffhsnks- «t*bsg-- Boe**jfether MM) mother sad dwr little Ned; Me tea been loet from the land of the living; srlsy, and Kate with her sweet early ^ P f c M N M f r t b * y w w e d H e h a s c a r e d n I' i' t •SetNMd hu qMlu, Ms love baa been our*, i IgWIIHte^MiHrllitOKhed or distressed us, 't"' '* -WKFM of ilfe'slhonaa lave been cinM with <•*««>.>< ?;*-H «owers. hi*h cmths table the flrultt of the season, *" ' i and the pears, 1 reason e*. wned with lavishing with ttmore. ;t ' > baruyaid, the cattle are lowing; ikol«iyf#nWH,IiBd ought to be fed, f, jurt glTe them the rank meadow mow- JMd then tto them op for the night in theshsd. weUI m"'-* mother? Xble U eosnfortl Xov, tat it, V M aee bow thoee children enjoy blind-man's- .... traff! - «. lliul Kitty and Hed tumble over each other, / A*d (he <»sy that they scamper la fanny snongb - ri* ' IN wndln are bright and the lire flickers oheery, | ehildren are roll of their laughter and glee, -* laldlet them happy and oareleaa and merry. Wtmttk Hed, almost man, to that oblld at your kaee. •#4w w« ê ted » great deal of thla mrid and ita ' treasures, 4 t y v < :\j£ -- h » w » 1 we, mother t I'm thinking to-night 'Hi,, t . ,; „ jBpA we should be thankful for all of our pleasures, fcty to bear all of our trouble* aright. ' • &afl )M know, after all, we're had little of trouble HI0I* !*t|i •••pfcred with oar neighbors--of sorrow and loss: i Joya of this life have appeared to na double t brought into contest with trial and ire happy- si least we should be so-- taakfm hearts on this Thanksgiving • ' * • .M . r: ' t *f tttt we are J, : v, _ *11 that we need--or at least t seems to me JrUt ! 1 =** ' '•»-- il Kwgaot be cheerful. Jos* ten us who mayT Zi'-. §*» «a**." "•» *•. 4 . ^ - • * v ° ̂ itkai«ees by her side, as in days long departed, ,. 1 19M first bora, sweet M»ry, the child that was hers, ' 1|̂ . , 4hp*the laugh of the innocent being, light-hearted, ^Tfce love at the mother awakens and stirs. '̂IP» MSS her still later--no Innocent maiden, sorely crushed in its beauty ana bkxxa, white! wildly without howls the blast, on her eyes, as to shield them and cover; heart 1b away with the d<ay» wbich are past. 1 with its burden of grief overladen, [ nothing for her bat the rest of the tomb. ^jr *>' " i'tiN* her Hood chill as the child's father tons her, ..̂ -4 & :& i iHrt-trokeB wanderer, o«t from bis door, K. Mat sbrtnkn from his tones as he muses and spurns •v... m*i $#?•.< inr MI1' ' > n >s»| Hum his home to the desolate mow. ll yw hftve passed on, bnt no word hss bwa - Mary 1 Poor mother! remembnuws still * It* •* cfctuTof her heart, and can never be broken it TU the fount of affection releases its springs. ma* Is Tfcwksgivlng now, and around her have gatfc- ^ '6% t • W' ?L •«;children, with Uughter, w«h nraste and play, ial.ns one alone from her fireside is severed.' Mc mourns for the lost one--the lamb gone astray. t"4|hny lisiiod is the aire, and the hot hatred burning *or her who disgraced oim has smoldered and died; '9*k bts Hps give no tokenj he seeks no returning, i-Sar asks why she lingers away from his side. I'll a liaoBetiow, to-night, as the storm whistles drcaiy, _The past has returned, and it will not det>art. pntoowa> how her heart in her bosom is weary, M MB" of her Mary--the child of her heart. , ijfcge-gMg, then, so good that with souls unforgiving •l i^Thsy live--in their blindness forgetting their sto? .^litarad oat I come back on this isdghi of Thanks. 4teiafter after thes« years he will welcome you in. is <i'£# tin eu the window; the latch raises slowly, • „ I .it.*- *w«n'6 form stands in the haif-onen door; prone on her face, as one oontrite and lowly, sinks humbly down at his feet on the flow. to joy in the heavens when one sinner re­ borns to the fold of the shepherd to rest. , •• Joy on that Ztight, when the father, re- Wlliii. ' slowly, and gathered his child to his . breast. . .j.a m .Mil m SHE miKsuiTue euEsr. -4^ ** W«|should be thankfollerif we were Igpiag to hftvetnilnj, and'pliim-padding, -<*pi note, and raimnw, and erezythiiig pM to deaant; if we were going to iff!** lots of company, and lived in a big Hue, like we need to, we ahotild be a •flApd deal thanktnller, diooldn't we, •Muuma ?" said Say, with xather a rnefnl tfMS attiie cold joint of meat that was to 4Kf« as their Thanksgiving, dinner. "We oaght to be fast as thankful for we have, mj dear," said Mis. Har- , W ** We'll mate believe that we have JhMk as good as anybody, and focget all «lKmi <«ie tiukey and pltun-paddiiig. Poos tfolke shoula be jast a® thankful f 4m ones." @10 idea to- epc^k ehccx- A EliMp-sjei KtUc Say saw ||Bf«?es w era moist. * - •'Btit I do want plnm-poddiug. I • fint be #umkf^i!" sfcioa^sl Wil # #loat nodliodox rebd&w.. And he' little grasey tents, who sent them an in­ vitation to dine. The roses nodded at UMB. and tagged them notto hurrrso so fast: The birds pressed than to attend a grand concert in the woods nearby. The butter-cups rasiied their satin dresses, and begged them to come and sit at their feet, i if only for one mo­ ment ; and the bees, though they wwre always so busy, half promised to keep holiaay with them, if they would wait Let as stay,' said one little brook to the other. ' Bee how dark our path is growing before us; and it is so pleas­ ant and sunny hare, and there are suoh merry folks to keep us company. Sure­ ly, we need not hurry to reach the river; and we have traveled suoh a long dis­ tance. Why shouldn't we hxw a holi­ day now V " But the other little brook said 3 " * No. I have holidays enough, and I shall hasten on. The Queen said it was time I was doing good in the world, and I long to be in the river, and help carry the beautiful ships.' " 4 Well,' said the other little brook, you oan go, but I shall stay here until nightfall. And, when you are in that dreadfully dark wood, yon will look bade at me playing in the sunshine, and wish you had stayed with me, I'm sure.' M So they kissed each other good-by over the nose or a blue-bell, and went their separate ways. It was dark and fearful iu the woods; the trees frowned down on ^the little brook like tall, grim giants, and it could not see the sky. But it kept heart by singing a merry song; and before it had time to grow discour­ aged it mushed the river. The great wide sky, without a clond„ was bending over it; and all the waves were filled with strange, beautiful voices. It felt great sails rustle over it; it seemed to be car­ ried along in the arms of cool winds, without any effort of its own; and its heart was filled with a delight it had never dreamed of before. " But the little brook fonnd it so pleasant in the meadows that he forgot after a while that there was any other life than that; that there was anything to do in the world but to Mss a dauy-bud and flatter a rose. When he did get tired of it at last, and remembered that he was on the way to the river, he found he had lost his path; and, after a long and vain searoh for it, finally died of weari­ ness in the noontide heat. And nobody remembered or cared anything about it, only a forlorn little bird, that had loved its singing. He came and mourned a little in its vacant place, but he thought, after all, what a foolish brook it was, for it might have lived forever, when it only lived a day." Will looked rather bewildered, but seemed deeply impressed by the reward­ ed virtue of the good brook, and clam­ ored no more for plum-pudding. Say had made the moral of the story rather more prominent than her mother had done when she had told it to her. 44 Mamma," said Say, after a little se­ rious meditation, " tmngs happen to everybody else; why doesn't anything happen tons ? Everything's always j ust the same. Nobody comes to see us, and we never go to see anybody; and you do nothing but just work, work, all the time. There is Hetty Eaton, she's poor, too, but her uncle came home from sea one day and brought her a parrot; and sometimes two aunts come to see her. Then there's little Mary Murphy, she's awful poor; her mother washes, but she's going to have company to-day. Her mother told her she might invite Bridget Collins. I wish I could invite somebody to dinner. Wouldn't it seem more thank­ ful to have somebody besides ourselves, anyway V* "Wno would you invite, my dear?" said Mrs. Harris,laughing. " I don't know of anyone who would be likely to come, with the exception of old Uncle Toby. He would be highly flattered by an in­ vitation from you, I've no doubt." Uncle Toby was an old colored man who sawed wood in the neighborhi and with whom May was v? She was socially incir» '^i^^Wlunate. friends with him in tw * "Uncle Toby has daughter's and he ^ key for dinner," » made ey for dinner. The unfortunai roused Will agoing ing influence of meditatively pj sister's rub " Don't oat to wj est tli< ible, Lamma, ivited to his to have tur- , regretfully, liraon of turkey after the quiet- &y's story, had been g off the head of his doll. it, Will, and Til take you after i have helf>ed mamma " said Say, ooaxingly. if I meet iuiybody whilo rrn Font--any very poor body, perhaps Ibwouldnotbe likely to have as good a ours, may I ask her to come ler fffV" them set out for the liver as soon as they oould. And they glad enough to obey her, for they r&xed of running in one little green a. n .1 _ ~ *«£say I want plum-pudding!" piped I -*'tflllagain, the absence of giants mak- iag fche stoiy rather taste to his critical ' "m% JBMISay went on, never heeding the ^^ftflnirupuon: " So they started together ' "* sunshiny morning. They took great l̂eaps.over the rooks; they struggled SS5o"gh little fairy forests of fern. •* **When it was dark they sang to them­ es to keep irom being frightened; When it was bright they laughed 'mama shouted so that all the biros began mimie them. And at last, after they very far, they found them- SB a merry green meadow. " * What a wide world it is !' said one litCfe brooks blinking its eyes with sur- ' And what a bonnie one!' said the pfj nuSher. tripping a blue-bell thai stood in J, \ its way. . * ** They found so many friends in the aaeadow that they oould hardly get along . £ or greeting ttkis one and that one. and dine with us ? May I ask anybody that 1 please ? Ill only ask one/1 And Mrs. Harris, whose thoughts were far away in happier Thanksgiving days, said yes, though she had not heed­ ed Say's question. So Say smoothed every wrinkle out of the snowy table-cloth, arranged all the dishes with the nicest care, and, after everything else was completed, she plucked a bright scarlet blossom from her geranium, and, shading it in the most artistic manner with a few green leaves, plaoed it in the center of the table in a little crystal vase. The sun­ shine came in, and made a great bright­ ness of its rich petals, the glasses sparkled like silver, and Say thought things did begin to look a little like Thanksgiving, after alL It was a clear, bright day, with just enough snow on the ground to make it look like winter. Say's shoes were so thin and old that her feet were cold, but she had grown so light-hearted all of a sudden that she did not mind it at all , "Mamma says sometimes that she feels as if something was going to hap­ pen,, and I feel exactly so now," she re­ marked to Will, who trudged sturdily along by her side. "And it's something good, Will--spmething very good, re­ member." "I'se been good to-dny, haven't I?" said Will, doubtfully. He had implicit faith in Say, and the idea of any good thing's happening made him reflect that he might be shut out in the cold. The bad boys in Say's stories were always as mercilessly punished as the good ones were vigorously rewarded. " Well, pretty good," said Say, wish­ ing to be as indulgent as her conscience would allow. " I think I should be goeder if I were to have some candy," he remarked, as they stood before the tempting window of a confectioner's shop. Say never could pass that window without peeping i», it was a little oon- ) ( ' "" ^ri*. solation to be allowed to look at such good things. There was a great candy eastle in the oenter, with a little candy lack standing in the door, taking a view of the tencmtfng heaps of bonbons that were piled up in her dooryard. Will wished he watt fa her place. Then there were dsitrty little baskets full of choco­ late cream-drops and carameh, and wine drops; gilded sheaves full of rich-col­ ored fruits, a great cake under a white frosting of lilies; and in the midst of this wilderness of sweets, in the oourt- yard of the castle, played a dear little fountain, whose trickle was wonderfully suggestive of melted sugar. " Couldn't you get only one checker- berry peppermint f" pleaded Will, catching at Say's dress. " No, dear, not to-day. I haven't any pennies. Some day I will." " Well, I oan't be good without it,"he announced, desperately; and began to cry with all his might. " Dear me!" said Say; " I ought to have known better than to stop here with him. Will, you must stop crying, or I shall take you home now. Some day I'll buy you a lot of candy, if you are good." *' 'Taint no use to be good," said Will, despairingly. *' I has been good." "Whars the matter with the little boy¥" said a gentleman, who had been standing near by for some time,, strange­ ly observant of Say's pretty wistful face under the old red noca. " Wants candy," said Will, speaking for himself. Say blushed and tried to draw him away from the spot; but a ray of hope had crept into Ma greedy little mind, and he refused to stir an inch. "Will you tell m© what your name is ?" said the gentleman, coming nearer, and bending over poor mortified Say. " My name is Sarah Fairlee Harris," •aid she, smiling up into his face. "I like him. He looks good," she thought; " and he is so handsome! He looks like the picture of the brave knight in my story-book." The gentleman changed oolor, and looked down at. the child's ragged old boots and faded gown with an expres­ sion fa his face that puzzled her very much. " And what's the name of the boy that wants candy ? " he said, pinching Will's chubby cheek. "William," said he, smiling with great amiability through his tears. " Well, I suppose he may as well have candy, if he wants it." And he rushed into tile store before Say oould say a word. " O Will! what will mamma say ? Ton just the same as asked the gentle­ man to give you oandy !" Will could not be brought to feel his guilt, but expressed himself as being confident in his own goodness, and was quite satisfied with the world just then. In a few momenta the gentleman ap- Seared, perfectly laden with dainties, uch a reckless profusion of chocolate cream-drops, caramels, cocoa-nut cakes and kisses had never fallen to the lot of either of the children before. " O sir, how very good you are!" Say exclaimed. "But I am afraid mamma will not like it." As for Will, he could hardly believe his own senses; and his eyes shone as much with wonder as delight. " Do you live near here ? " asked the gentleman. "I believe I used to know your mother*. I used to know her when she was a little girl, no larger than you are- Weren't you named for her ? You certainly are very like the little Say Fairlee I used to go to school with." " Why, how nice," said Say, "to think that you used to know mamma when she was a little girl! I was ni for her; papa named me. There was a Jbit ofjL_ , , friend's face whenjJ^r^^0? on Jj®* did not eioaafcaiP* named PaPa ̂ IflrSiays notice. you used to know mamma once, 'raps you'd like to know her again. And wish you'd come home with us," said she, artlessly. "I'd like to have you dine with us, and so would mamma, I'm sure, only"--and she hesitated--"we ain't going to have turkey or plum-pud­ ding; not a nice dinner at all. We are venr poor, you know, and mamma has had to work very hard since^papa died to get any dinners." Then your papa is dead ? " Yes," said Say, sorrowfully, "he's been dead ever since Will was a wee , bii of a baby--a very long time." And she did not approve of the gentleman as highly as she had done, because fee seol- bp looked pleased that her papa was " I should be delighted to go home with you," said he. " I'm a stranger in the village, and a hotel Thanksgiving dinner isn't likely to make one feel very thankful." " I'm afraid you won'* like our dinner; it's pretty bad, but then, we oan have cocoa-nut cakes for dessert, you bought so many." But before they reached home, her fears on that score had entirely vanished, and she was sure that Mr. Marsh--he had told her what Ms name was--was the very nicest gentleman she ever saw, as well as the handsomest. She chatted with Mm incessantly until she reached the door of their house. She confided to him all her little trials, all her little joys, and all mamma's grief and trouble, and he listened to her with suoh an in­ terested, sympathetic face! " Won't mamma be s'prised ? " she said, leading the way into the poor little kitchen, that served them as dining- room and sitting-room also. And mamma, was " s'prised " when she saw " My dear lifctleSay," said Mr. Marsh, at last, after they had said eraqthfaag they had to say. ten ttmm over, aooord- "yoa don't know how dear* friend your momma was to me. Do you know ahe promised to many me long before ever she saw your papa? Then something happened--a mistake was made, and we were separated. She thought that I had ceased to care for her, and! thought ahe had ceased to care 'or me: and we never found out the truth of the matter until it was too late. An •* now, after I have missed her all these long years, she has promised again to be my wife ; and if I nave my way, we are to be married this very day. what do you say, Say--will you be satisfied to have we for a papa ? Are you glad you invited me to come and dine with you ?" Then Say repented of her severity, and accepted him as her papa very gra­ ciously. £ " Mamma," she whispered, full of de­ light to see her so happv, 1' I think this is the thankfullest Thanksgivmg we ever had, after all!" And Will, with his mouth full of the remnants of the candy- feast, agreed with her fully. It was a thankful Thanksgiving truly; and after that there was a very different life for Say, and her mother, and Will. Mr. Marsh was a rich man, and he took them away from the miserable little place where they lived, to his own beau­ tiful home in*« .wn. the very next day. He and Mrs. Haitisw»re married in the morning, and Say stood by her mother's side during the ceremony, the most dig­ nified little bridesmaid in the norld. And though she has never since then been obliged to et«t a cold dinner in a smoky little kitchen, she looks back to it as the most delightful Thanksgiving day of her life. And so indeed do Mr. and Mrs. Frank Marsh, for its thank­ fulness has reached through all their other Thanksgiving days. the tall stranger enter in such an uncere­ monious way. "I invited some one to dinner!" ex­ plained Say, triumphantly. " You surely haven't forgotten me entirely, Sarah ? " said the stranger, ap- |>roaching her, and holding out his "Frank!" she exclaimed; and grew so white that Say feared she was ill. Then, to the little girl's utter amaze­ ment, what did Mr. Marsh do, but put his arms around her and kiss her! Say's sense of propriety was dreadfully shocked, and she looked on with se­ verity. But things grew worse and worse. Mamma plaoed her hand on his shoulder, and cried, and he comforted her with all sorts of endearing words and tender as­ surances. And they talked about things that she did not understand at all-- something about a mistake, and losing a letter; and all the while they, turned to forget that there was any one else bat themselves in the world. Vf '• * • • Wr* ' •• A Sew England Thanksgiving. It is November. The month of the year when ohiokens and turkeys go to roost nightly with fear and trembling, and shiver with apprehension at each approaching footstep; and as for the un­ happy geese, they are goose-flesh all over with fright. The proclamation is out, and Thanks­ giving is at hand. Grandma has read the Governor's primly-worded document through her steel-bowed spectacles, and pronounced it a real " pious " and " sensible " docu­ ment. The last Thursday in November, as usual. She and Sally have talked over the number of kinds of pies it will be neces­ sary to have; and the momentous ques­ tion of roasting or broiling the chickens has been discussed, and the best way of serving up a turkey has been settled up­ on, and it is decided to have boiled cab­ bage and beets, by way of salad. Charlie is coming home from Boston, and he likes apple " dowdy" and cream, and so that old-fashioned dish must have a jjtlace on the Thanksgiving dinner- Then there is Sadie, who has a pecul­ iar fondness for baked sweet apple pud­ ding, and Sadie's taste is respected and provided for accordingly. And Henry could eat his weityg^ m mince pie, and Annie prefers en fricasseed, and she is u_; " the b.b,, and ̂ jumbles. ' 1 ^jjffllsile and stir prevails in the ianp^oQge in preparation for Thanks- g. What stewing and roasting and boiling are going on. The kitchen is redolent of the smell of meats and savory stuffings, and rpioed pies, and luscious condiments. Egg shells strew the back yard, and the few disconsolate-looking biddies who have escaped the grand slaughter, linger forlornly around, and peok shyly at the shells, and cackle, and retire precipitate­ ly when they hear the sound of an open­ ing door anywhere. All their gay as­ surance of manner is gone, and the very rooster has ceased his lordly magnifi- oenoe of strut, and, with his toil at half- mast, sneaks around and cuts short his sonorous crow, and hides behind the barn whenever h© sees anybody who knows about Thanksgiving approaching. " Everybody is busy. Such quantities of raisins to be stoned, and odeh lots of currants to bo- picked over and washed. And it is such a job to pick over currants. And there is the sugar to bo sifted, and the egga to be beaten, and such wonderful pyramids of cake to construct and froat ana spot with currant jelly. The nigM before Thanksgiving all the cupboards and pantries areorowaed with the tempting good things, and the fam­ ily, tired .but happy, put on their "good clothes," and wait for the train--for, alas! the days are over when stage coaches brought the loved absent ones to the very door, and the driver got his drink of sweet cider and his hands full of doughnuts out of the household f und of edibles and overflowing happiness. Thanksgiving! Holiday long ob­ served and honored £ Season of feasting and marriiJiges--of rejoicing and festiv­ ity ! Happy for those who have dear ones to come home and gather around the board! doubly sad for those whose kindred have taken the long journey from which Jao proclamation of Thanks­ giving oan bring them back!--Kate Thorn. graceless trio smiled in silent chorus, and MI old rheumatic mop that <was standing on the porch listening to the conversation through the keyhole booked itself against the door in an eo- •taey of delight, and fell fainting across the wheelbarrow with one leg that was waiting on the walk for somebody to come along and fall over it--Burling­ ton Hawk-Eye. THE DEADLY COAL-MIHE. FMcitat explosion la • Fernssylvanl* Col­ liery. [Rcrsntwn (Ps.) dor. Chicago Tribune,] A terrific explosion of fire-damp took f>laee this morning in the Jermyn ool-iery, within the city 1imitnt while the mine was in operation, fatally injuring a number ef men and boys, and producing a scene of the most inteniM Pxrnt«menfc. About 200 workmen were in the mine when the accident oocurred, little dream­ ing of danger until they were enveloped in the awful darkness which followed the flash and the underground tempest by which they were overtaken. The explosion oocurred nearly 2,000 feet from the foot of the shaft, where a force of workmen were building a cross-cut to regulate the course of the air in a dis­ tant portion of the colliery. It is sup­ posed that one of their lamps was held too high, and cam© in contact with the explosive gas which usually seeks the surface. Then followed an appalling scene. The thundering shock was felt throughout the mine, and made the massive breaker above the shaft shake like an aspen leaf from base to tower. Men felt the coal-pillars which they clasped torn from their grasp and shat­ tered into fragments. Mine props were swept from their places. Goal-oars were overturned and demolished, and mules were cftrried several sbsmbers distant, and their drivers buried in the debris of the chaos. A miner no ined Malia, standing at the foot of the shaft, nearly 2,000 feet from the scene of the occurrence,, was flung bodily into the dump, and the ooal car. by which he stood upset over him. In some instanoes loaded cars were swept twenty yards away. As soon as the storm had spent its force, those who had escaped unhurt proceeded to assist their less-fortunate comrades. At a short distance from the fearful spot Antony Collins and Patrick Brennan were found buried beneath a heap of rocks and coal, and moaning piteously. They were set free and carried out in a dying oondition. Both are badly burned and lacerated about the head and body. They cannot possibly recover, although at last accounts they were still alive. A driver boy named Luke Burns was found lying crashed beneath a shattered coal-car, with one of his legs almost torn off. His recovery is doubtful. William Lanyon, of Green Ridge, was found with a leg broken. Max Phillips, of Ward street, was frightfully burned, the flesh almost dropping from his bones. He is also internally injured cannot live. Mr. Metz is ' ^ burned and maegled, and sewjjifothers are more or less injured. Jffne news of the accident spread bhfT wildfire, and men, women, and chjfldren ran from all parts of the ctd[ the mouth of the shaft, each njgering anxiously forward to see the faflCg 0f those brought up from depth, and fearful lest some dear friend had met his fate. night I drssssA s George Francis Train as a Witness. Mr. Train stood up. He waved off the Bible which was handed him and professed himself ready to affirm. " You do selemnly, Bincerely and truly declare and affirm," the clerk "be­ gan. "No, no; not solemnly. I object to the word ' solemnly.'" But the court explained that it was necessary, and Mr. Train graciously overlooked the point, and GoX Soovel began the question­ ing : Q. Where do you live? A. Madison square, New York. Q. What is your occupation? A. I am a loafer, [Great laughter. ] I have no occupation. I sit ten hours a day in Madison square as a bummer and loafer. I have no business. Q. You are a gentleman at large ? A. Iam a large gentleman. [Laughter.] Have been traveler, merchant, nblwav builder, leoturer, punter, author, and I have been in jail. Q. On the charge of insanity? A. On oharge of obscenity [laughter] at the time of my Pre~iu. ' * New York Sun. Household Fables. " How many thumbs ?" smilittgly «sks the sitting-room carpet, looking up at its colleague, the battered stove-pipe. With a innk at its disjointed elbow, the stove-pipe, riveting its gaze on its friend, replies, " Only three, but I've raked enough skin off the other knuckles to make a pair of boots." Chucklingly re­ sponds the carpet, " Not so well as you did last year. I got a couple of finger­ nails, two whole trousers' knees, started a good crop of hang-nails on every finger in the house,, and I think I have & divorce suit pending." " That's a pretty good spread," replies the pipe, and then, turning to an exhausted lack-hammer tnat was resting itself on the window- sill, asked, " How is your score?" " Oh, don't ask me," gasped the tack- hammer. "I've been busier than the Master's gavel on a Chapter night, I haven't missed but one knuckle simoe I started in, and then I oaught the b&ll of a thumb, plumb center, and raised a blood blister as bigaa a walnut." And-then the TMM OUDTBAMT, „ 6003 and ** P"* • nedy- Xon •35 ̂*****1-4 • trlfl* I mlsMd]& tmin--thstts fmmy, toe .i«nS then I w*IkM (fen rail; I found mjr bwl, ss I always do, wh*m fm oonnso- UoosfslL , •• sad S never Ursa «g*tab«#o»Itooktiiis 1 ~W SoMsofcm* ott*r 4*7*--Our1™ climbed the erfslittwers so Twas a bsnqnet spread ta that oM ktas. and all „ were gaihsrid there. To crowd arottnd the festal tKMad-nfaawtal lls» Y°U"teSr4 m l**in'eb' days so AaI ,aî ^®r«^di«Vbed toUpettedovs of k poor tramp printer has a heart beneath his raoed ggyK • """"" Hard Timee la rooming through the land, and we have felt his barb; 4nd, strangers, when I woke this morn, wUfacraeape and mental pain, May Ood forgive my wicked wish--to never wske sgain. Tve wade some jnsttfleattoa In this aprtont, battsrsd form, ' And my benzine wssb I're thrown aside, It's brought to me much harm; . My proof taM been oorreeted, a revise .'̂ rll needed For He who searoheth hearts win many errors see. My tramp Is almost ended now--old «m wfll win the race; Ton see my hands are tranbly, and X ieaohot bold a But I've made an application at the oHy built of fold, ! long to hear th yon can hold." •old, And I long to hear the answer: " Hi » PITH AH0 POlHt:1 • •• • Ai*i®rifeaa Art. W. W. Stoiy> the soulptor, has been talking to a writer in the Boston Herald about the growth of American art abroad, and how it compares with that of other countries. He does not think that our painting is anything to brag of, but, as to sculpture, he says 1 "It has developed to such a degree that I think it compares excellently with England, or almost any other art nation. The idea of building soldiers' monuments has given a considerable impetus to American art. Some very fine ones have been made in Borne." Of American art­ ists abroad, Mr. Story says that Florence is becoming a more favorite place for them than Rome, and that generally there is among them muoh genuine good-fellowship. seven Years a Mllttary P* Icestr. Lieut. Lebrun, of the French artil­ lery, who for the last seven years has been a prisoner in Germany, ha« just succeeded in esoaping and has arrived in France. That officer was made captive at Sedan, and was interned at Strasbourg when the peace was signed. He quar­ reled with a German officer in a'cafe, and in the heat of the moment slapped his face. For that offense he was con­ demned to ten years' imprisonment. He reached Marseilles through Austria, Italy and Genoa. As the month of the Humber river, England, is an island which 180 years ago comprised an area of two and a half square miles. Subsequently it came into the possession of the crown, which granted new leases on condition that at least 2,700 acres of alluvial deposits which had accumulated around the original embankment should be re­ claimed. Not only was this secured? but as further deposits were made they SIBO were reclaimed. In 1875 the lease fell in «d the island was relet for $67,- 250 a year. It has still plenty of room to grow. leaves--Just of December. No MAN oan make any headway play­ ing poker with arinan who holds* hectic A OOOD many theatrical ventures now­ adays begin with bill-board and Mid with board-bill. IF a miller was to sell four bags of flour to an auth oress, what would he be pretty sure to dc ? Answer--He would take her four sac cs home. SrLiiY-GisM.--Major: In all guns of great caliber you find a great bore. Mi­ nors In a man of small caliber you find a great bore. Conclusion: A .man of small caliber may^easily pass for a great gun.--Harvard hampoon. T1 "-J A. VOTING IfOET's LAMENT. ' fHwas ever thus, from childhood's time, • I've seen my fctadest hopes deoay. ; ' ' "Ifce'er sent in s little rhyme jBut what It was ,returned next day. . >•!-never offered eVw p Terse, ^jA poem, ballad, out a sonnet, •..... <, Stat what, and oft with mattered own6, The editor est down upon it. ' --New York Commercial, t j COTTLD anything be more polite or con­ siderate than this eri " the gentlemanly Sheriff" of --p^-txranty, Ind., who, hav- reii an almost successful at- his prisoners to break jail, in upon them with drawn revol­ ver, and exclaimed, " Gentlemen! gen­ tlemenI desist from the further prosecu­ tion of your designs, or, by the power vested in me by the State of Indiana, I'll shoot you dead!"--Harper. THE citv chap had been out of town shooting his gun at a mark, when he suddenly turned and asked an old farmer standing near: " What's the law about shooting prairie-ohickens in these parts? >--when can I kill them ?" " Never," was the old man's quiet response. " Never 1" shouted the genteel gunner. " Never," again replied the aged plow- Jogger. And then, looking from the mark on the fence to the would-be sportsman, he continued: "That is, if ye don't learn to shoot better'n ye do now, boy." THH latest of the diagonal title series is " That Awful Boy." We dare say the young lady who wrote the same would like to get even with him for mixing prepared glue with her hair oil, putting tacks in her slippers, or hiding behind the sofa and telling at the breakfast, table next morning that she had called young Sophted a dear man, and kissed twice to his once. No boy oan ever have any fun in a house where there is a grown-up sister without stirring up a Nemesis that is surer than taxes, though it may be a trifle slow. Cincinnati Breakfast Table. "How WAS the sermon this morning, my darling?" asked a fond mother of her daughter. "Oh, it was horrid, stupid and dull, ma--something about-- let me see---' Thou shalt have s© idols'- I don't .IVIUEMBCT cxzctly. for I was s put out by that silly fli.stE Belle . Hino- saw coming into the next pew with four- teen-button kids when • I only had twelve that I couldn't keep my thoughts collect '--Cineitmati Br&iiifa&v Tt,\ hie. HAWX-KXTXMB. You can get a month of agony out of] the sting of one week bumble-bee. "Where there's swill there's away,'*) as the pig remarked when it climbed: ten-rail fence and tunneled under Osage hedge to get at a barrel ef slop the back yard. " Alonzo " writes to ask who Mark An] thony was? He was an uncle of noble old Roman, Susan B., and he the author of the celebrated Fourth-oj July oration: "Duleeet decorum Cleo pair ia mori." Johnson's boy fell into a cistern other day, and his mother, hooking . garden rake into the young man's si penders, hauled Mm safely to the top the cistern. And then Johnson we| and ealled it " a raise for life." Half an hour's practice on a pia every day will bring on fatal attacks] {>aralysis in eight months. (This: ie, but, if the press will kindly assic giving it the widest circulation, a gr ful people will neither misinterpret^ fail to reward the generous and hi motive which prompts the item.) They made ever so much more America about a little crooked than they make in Egypt ovejj <»ooked ile. ABTIFIOIAX. parchment is mad^ ping a sheet of strong paper il tion of sulphuric acid, mixe tenth of its weight of pure wafl held in this liquid for about] onds, and then washed thoi dried. Experiments lately Dresden show that the papei pared has a power of resi times as great as before its ii The process is sometimes 1 many tax less delicate velopes for sausages and 1 tridges.