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liltiLYKE. r«t>t >-- PvMtohK. IV, " • fr ft i A COVMTRT PICTtra®. )a plain and It'll tho sunshine founder Ilea*, &iMt Wftaod warm the clr wl h summer's staf? " • of blue rest all tho rlreamtnjr pkles, litewly past its senith moves the day. 11)><* ar fails ever and anon • robin's son?, or thrushes' liquid notes: Aperies the Ion • hawk. 11 >ar the far-off san, . As gracefully, at rest, he oirclln* floats. Through grassy meadows and amongst green hilla merry brook goes da^clngr every hour, While j rom a million Hps great Nature tills lhe air with precious perfume of tho flower. :!i?&Pbe gentle kine food in the pastures fair, • " Or undi r patriarchal branches lie Xtalf doslnglii the snade, with not a care Ste mlu- their o.se the while the hours go by. In yonder Held the plowman piles h;s task With checrlul heart from morniig uatll even: HO sweeter, grander labor doeth he ask Whose l fe is pure, who lives with thoughts of heavon. V Oft from the farmyard comes the cock's ahslll crow. And iw tterlng swallows sport about the eaves: Deep In the wood where nils the sun's bright ' glow Jhelono. fair dove sits through the teura and gTieves. > . *' jiTpon the village grepn the house of Gcd Uplifts Its st- epio to the peaceful skios; Bow m»n; a time and oft its aisles I've troJ With those who oiuio to offer sacrifice! yllard by. of lowly lo"«kt yet pleasing air, The schoolhouse stands n ' yore as where oft in days of 10n humbe bench I sought to leara with care The page I deemed so full of learning's store. ' v%Fhile yonder ties the little grave-yarJ, where !In the still earth some wearv hearts repose. Whose p eace eternal mocks, nor sin nor eare, But bloom t ie loving violet and the rose. At home the wife goes on her eeaseless rounds. Her presence lending to the so jtae a grace; And at her toil the maden's sweet voice sounds , With happy, artless song that fills the place. Let loose from school, the chil iren homeward run, : Or pause to play onoc more ere oomes the (iark; While o'er the far hills sinks the dying sun. , And on the ear is heard th? watch-dog's bark. ; Across the land some cooling breezes blow, And all around the cricket chirps his lay: Athwart the skies drift cloudlets white like snow. And earthward looks the moon with visage gray. Now from the field tho farmer drives hi? team, And seeas that boon for which tired Nature lonjts: Loved Hesper sheds through azure deeps her beam. And n ght oomes down and croons her res - ful songs. -- Youth's Companion. DAD'S JO, Sv u is Just noon of a warm, bright day at Block Island. On the broad, shady piazza of the great hotel there is an un­ broken stillness. The roses clambering over the railing, nod lazily in the breeze; the lace curtains at the long windows Bway gently to and fro; the parlors beyond are silent and deserted. TJp at the beach the waves are sleepily lapping the glistening sand, while the bnght-colored suits are drying in long lin*B behind the bathing-houses are the only reminder of the merriment which existed less than half an hour ago. One or two of the ox-teams are slowly creeping along the road, loaded with trailing sea-weed of variegated hues; here and there is a group of bronzed fishermen mending their nets. These we the only signs of life. Everybody is down on the pier. The "Bloek Island" is overdue more than twenty minutes and the rickety boards creak and tremble as the anxious crowd press to the very edge, each one eager to catch the first glimpse of the steamer AS she round Clay Head. The excitement increases. The fish­ ing-boats huddle closer together be- "hind the breakwater, the hackmen, growing impatient, vociferate loudly; the Marine band in the pavilion on the hill strike up; and yet "Here comes Jo!" some shouts. "Depend on't the boat'll be in soon, now," says a grizzled, old fisherman standing close by. "Jo's a sure sign. Nigh on to a year since she's watched that boat come in every day, and I never knew her to round the Head un­ less Jo was here." All eyes turned toward the road. An antiquated specimen of a carriage is coming down the hill as rapidly as the lean and bony horses in front can drag it along. It draws up on the wharf besides the more pretentious vehicles, a yonng girl jumped out, ties the horse, lays her arms lovingly around his neck a mo­ ment,.then hurriedly pushes her way through the throng to the end of the pier. A tall, angular-girl, clad in a home­ made dress of the coarsest material, scant and patched, yet very clean, with a rough straw hat tied down over hair "which is long, straight and decidedly led. A girl with nothing pretty and attractive about her, but there is such a brave, pathetic look in her great, blue eyes, that one involuntarily turns and looks at her again and again. Swiftly and silently she passes' along to the farther end of the pier and lift-/ ing one hand to shield her eyes from ithe sunlight, gazed steadfastly at the distant horizon. ' "I know he will come to-day," she •ays, seemingly unconscious that she is •peaking aloud. "Just a year ago to­ day he went over there, Dad did. He went to get some fixins' for me, and he promised to come back soon, but it has been so long. Oh! he will surely come to-day, won't he?" she asks, turning to a weather-beaten, old sailor who is gaz­ ing at her with just a suspicion of mois­ ture in his eyes. , "Aye, lass, that he will," he answers. "I've got extras for dinner, to-day," she goe* on, brightening up, "'cause he'll have a mighty appetite after being ; at them furrin' places so long, and I've made a cushion for his chair that sits by the window. I brushed up the team, too, and old Boss seemed to know he was coming, for she brought me over in nb time." "Quite like hell come to-day," says the old skipper, "and he'll bring you so many smart things that I'm afeard you won't be Jo any longer." "Yes I will," replied tbe girl. "Ill alwayfe be Jo to Dad anyway. Dear old Dad. He's told me many a time, how he picked me up out of the water that dreadful night; and when no one «>eemed to want me, he took me home with him; me, a helpless baby with nothing on earth but a ring on my fin­ ger with 'Jo' scratched on it. Oh, I wish I could do something big for him, so he would know." - "Well, cheer up, lass; he's waiting for •ome good reason. P'raps he can't fiud what he wants for yon just yet." "Oh, I know now; that's it. He was me a blue gown with a big eoilar on it and a great, gold star in --eh earner, bat I begged him to try •$d grt a white one; white is so pretty Arel* in all my iife/VgUimng down Jt the home-spun cotton, fjfjfcy like he ad to go nnd go, 'fore he ttmla get it." For a few moments she gazed earn- ILLINOIS* j ®stl7 over tbG water. Is it smoke-- mmm j that long, thin line of gray? Yes! just » \ around the headland something white 'is coming into view. A few more min­ utes and the great steamer, gaily be­ decked with flags and pennants, "burst into sight. Slowly, too slowly for Jo, the boat plows along through the blue water, until all dripping with foam and sparkling in the sunshine, the huge wheels cease revolving and the "Block Island" is in at last. The ropes are fastened, the plank is thrown out and the passengers come ashore. Into every face Jo peers eagerly. He might have changed in a year so very much, that she must watch closely. One by one they oome; friepds are greeting friends; they are all off now, and--where is Dad ? "With one despairing cry she bounds down the plank and searches for him in the cabin. "Come, come, more along my girl," says the Captain, roughly. "What do you want here f" Oli, I want Dad," she sobs; "he was coming to-day, I know. Tell, me, haven't you seen him ?" How should I know him," he an­ swers grulHy. "Move along, we are late to-day and can't be bothered." Jo turns slowly away and mechanic­ ally passes up over the gangway. What does it matter to her that the sun is shining, that the band is playing its sweetest music? All the brightness of the day: has gone for her. Calmly she walks along, slowly unfastens Bess, and climbing in the wagon, silently drives away. But her face is very pale and there is such a strange, strange look in her great blue eyes that more than one honest-hearted sailor draws his brown hand across his oyes and murmurs, Poor little gal!" It is evening. A sudden and fear­ ful storm is raging. The sea has arisen, and with a roaring sound rushes in­ land to dash itself against the great hotel, the huge drops of rain dash against the windows, and the guests gather together in the splendid par­ lor, shudder and tremble with every re­ turning flash and deafening peal. Down on the beach the angry surf is rolling in, mountains' high, and the fishermen are anxiously gazing out upon the dark waters as if fearful of What such a storm might accomplish. Suddenly there comes a vivid flash, a terrible reverberating roll and in the awful silence that follows, the group of waiting men gaze with horror in each other's face3. Then comes another flash close by and on the outer edge of the breakwater--they see a ship is go­ ing to pieces. There comes the sound of a signal gun, once, twice. All is con­ fusion now. The little boat is manned, pushed out and beaten back. Above the argrv shrieking of the wind can be heard the shouts of those on the beach, the faint despairing cries of those on the doomed vessel, and tbe sobs of the women who are endeavoring to keep back their loved ones from seeking death in those terrible waters. And it iB death. Six stalwart forms, so full of life only a few moments be­ fore, are stiffening on the damp sand. It is of no use; no boat can live in such a storm, and hundreds of lives must perish while they stand there, un­ able and power]ess to help. The storm redoubles its fury. One sharp shaft of lightning and a cry goes up from the terrified women. A figure can be seen near one of the dismantled masts; a figure with gray hair and beard flow­ ing in the wind. It is Jo's Dad. They must try again. They cannot let him die when' she expects to see him so soon. Five pair of hands are ready. Can they have one more ? In another moment it will be too lata * But Fee! Someone is hurriedly ad­ vancing toward them through the dark­ ness and mist; a slender figure, wrapped in a shawl, with pale face, and eyes that burn like coals in the dark­ ness. . It is Jo. She springs into the life-boat beside them. Her presence nerved thom on, and they pushed of into the seething waters. They have come back, and have laid her unconscious on the damp sand. Some beam had struck her, and she had not spoken since. The blue eyes are closed, but there is a smile on the still, white face, and the small hand is firmly clasped in the grasp of a trem­ bling old man, who is stooping over her, and smoothing back the thick masses of hair from her pale forehead. A hush falls upon them alL Tend­ erly they take her up, and, with her hand still clasped in his, sadly wind their way to the littte cottage where she had waited for him so long. It all happened only last night The storm had gone down soon after they had carried her home, and the sun is shining brightly, lovingly, as though there is no sorrow and never a storm or wreck. They had laid her on the little white bed in her chamber, from which the 4iarbor could be plainly seen, and save for one or two kind neighbors, had gone away and left them together; she, lying so still, with closed eyes--he bending over her, silent and unmind­ ful of the presence of others. Just before noon she slowly opens her eyes, and gazes at him in silence. Then, with a little sigh, she says feebly: "I knew you'd come, Dad; I knew you'd come. 'Twas a hard voyage you had, Dad, and a pretty rough landing, but you didn't mind it, because your little gal was there." She is silent for a few moments, and then raising her head, she asks: "The white dress ? You didn't for­ get it? The white dress with the gold stars on the corners that you were go­ ing to get for your little girl?" "Oh, Jo!" The tears are streaming down the old man's cheeks. "I bought the purtiest one for ye; all soft and white, with stars on't, and a great long sash; but I--lost--it--in the wreck-- Jo!" "And a great long 'sash." This is very slowly. "Oh, Dad, if I only could see it. But don't cry; I guess 1 won't want it; I'm going to leave you a little while, just a little while. I'm going up there, where they have lots and lots of white dresses, all shining and pretty; and soon you'll come, too, won't you, Dad? I'll watch for you,Just as I did here, and there won't be* any storms-- Dad--the vessel will sail--right in on the blue water--and I'll be looking for you. I'll have 'em give me--a dress-- with a big, shiniag star on it--an' you'll know me sure--1 knew you'd come!" One last feeble pressure of his hand, one little smile, and Jo waits and watches no more on earth. A strange calm falls upon the old man. They cannot persuade htm to leave her for an instant. He. is utterly deaf to their entreaties, and, kneeling hjr the bed, he presses from time to Ml H time her ioe |̂̂ jB»| to MslJpe. ATI KEEPS HIS silent watch, and when another morn ing breaks they flttd him still there Mechanically he watches them rob3 her for the last resting-place, in pure white garments that a kind-heurtei neighbor has brought; unmoved he sees them plaoe a few snowy budc in her hands. Presently the door opens suddenly* a rough looking fisherman comes in, and bending over tho coilin, his tears fall like rain upon tho face within. "The little girl was so happy, yester day;" he says, turning to the old man, who, even now, will not remove his gaze from her. "I'll never forget her standin' there an* sayin* as how she wished she could do something big for Dad; an* she has, she has, poor little girl." Covering his face with his horny hands, he breaks into bitter weeping, and, turning leaves the room. The old man leaves the room. His whole face changes. The terrible calm has broken up, but no tears come. Only a look of unutterable gladness and. joy. "I know'd it, Jo; I know'd it. Somo- thin' big for Dad! Dear, little gal! Wait just a minute, Jo; I'm comin'! His head f .lis forward upon the cof­ fin. Some one comes in presently and finds him there. He is quite dead. They bury them side by side, in one grave, close by the murmuring sea; and ftt the head they place a simple white wooden shaft, with just these two words roughly inscribed upon it "Dad's Jo!" -- The CurreftL An Lstiuiate of Holmea. If the question is asked, would the verse of Doctor Holmes be held in so much favor if he had not confirmed his reputation by prose replete with poetie humor and analogy ? the fairest answer may be in the negative. Together, his writing surely owe their m in success to on approximate exhibition of the author himself. Where the man is even more lively than his work, the public takes kindly to the one and the other. The jester is privileged even in the court of art and letters; yet if one could apply to Holmes--the jester, homilist, and man of leel ng--his own process, we should have analysis indeed. Were the theme assigned to himself, we should have an inimitably honest sitting forth of his merits and foibles, from this keen anatomist of mind and body, this smile-begetter, this purveyor to so many feasts. As a New Englander he long ago was awarded the highest sectional praise, --that of being among all his tribe, the cutest. His cleverness and versatility bewildered outside judges. Is he a genius? By all means. And in what degree? His prose, for the most part, is peculiarly original. His serious poetry scarcely has been the serious work of his lifej but in his specialty, verse suited to The frolic or pathos of occasions, he has given us much of the best-delivered in his own time, and has excelled all others in delivery. Both liis strength and weakness I:e in his genial temper and his brisk, speculative habit of mind. For, though almost the only modern poet who has infused enough spirit into table and rostrum verse to make it worth recording, his poetry has appealed to the present rather than the future; and, again, he has too curi­ ous and analytic a brain for purely ar­ tistic work. Of Holmes as a satirist, which it is not unusual to call him, I have said but little. His metrical sa­ tires are of the amiable sort that debars him from kinsmanship with the Juve- pais of old, or the Popes and Church- ills of more recent times. There is more real satire in one of Hose a Big- low's lyrics than in all our laughing philosopher's irony, rhymed, and un- rhymed. Yet ho is a keen observer of the follies and chances which satire makes its food. Give him personages, reminiscences, manners, to touch upon, and he is quite at home. He may not reproduce these imaginatively, in their stronger combinations; but the Auto­ crat makes no unseemly boast when he says: 'It was in teaching of life that we came together. I thought I knew something about that, that I could speak or write about it to some pur­ pose.' Let us consider, then, that if Holmes had died young, we should have missed a choice example of the New England fiber which strengthens while it lasts; that he has lived to round a personality that will be traditional for at least the time granted to one or two less characterictic worthies of rev­ olutionary days; that--"twas all he wished'--a few of his lyrics already be­ long to our select anthology, and one or two of his books must be counted as factors in what twentieth-century chroniclers will term (and here is mat­ ter for reflection) the development of 'early' American literature.--E. C. Steclman, in the Century. Negroes as Sailors. 4<I>arkies beat the world as sailors," said Captain Tom Mason, of the bark Brazos. "They are good-natured and spry as cats. I never had any serious trouble with them. They need to know who is boss and then they are gentle as lambs. The majority of crews I have commanded have been composed of ne­ groes. I have such a crew on my bark now that I brought around from New York. The best sailor I ever had aboard my ship was an old darky who was called Peter Bean. He was a boat­ swain with me in 1862 and 1 think must have been killed in the negro riots in New York. I never saw him afterward. No one knew hjs age--he didn't know himself, and might have been 100 vears old. "The old fellow was very vain. He braided his wool and kept it well greased with a pomade of tar and slush out of the cook's galley. His head was as hard as a rock. One day a lignum vitie fid fell off the maintopsail yard and struck the old fellow square on his head. He dropped like a sack and we picked him up for dead. I poured a glass of rum down his throat and he was all right in a little while. It didn't even raise a lump on his skull, but it ruined the fid. "At another time 6a. a voyage from Mobile to Liverpool in the old ship George Hurlbut, one or the crew--the blackest negro I ever laid eyes on--fell from the maintopsail yard and -fell head fint. He struck the deok with a terrific crash and I thought certainly that I had a dead man on my hands. He got up on his feet, rubbed his head and limped off. I examined his skull and not a hair was turned. His ankle was sprained and my long boat that lay across the hatch was damaged. The fellow's head had stove in a plank."-- Philadelphia Times. WHEN vessles or timber sink to great depths in the ocean the pressure is so great that water is forced into the pores of the wood and it becomes to heavy to rise again. Even when a ship is broken up the detached portions sink like lead. This pressure makes it impossible for divers to descend to any gretf depths. -- The Kgryptian Obellak Bapidly Disinte­ grating Under the Influence of American Climate. The completion of the greatest obe­ lisk in the world at Washington recalls attention to the smaller but older and no less noted shaft that stands in Cen­ tral Park, in this city, the gift of the Khedive of Egypt. When it was brought here from the Nile detla, a few years ago, much speculation was rife as to the effect upon it of our American climate, which, with its mois­ ture and its sudden and extreme changes of temperature, differs so wide­ ly from that of Egypt, which is dry and equable. Opinion was freely expressed that the huge Btone would be de­ stroyed, either scaling and flaking, like the brown stone, with which so many New York house fronts are veneered, or crumbling away like fine powder. I visited the park and took a close look at the obelisk. It was seemingly unchanged. The hieroglyphs were as cleanly cut as ever. Certainly it was not ruined yet. Looking on the ground immediately surrounding its base, Bow- ever, I saw something of interest in the shape of reddish sand, in some places lying quite thick. I had no difficulty in gathering up a spoonful or more of it which I carried away for examina­ tion. It was stone powder, but some graino were as large as the kernels of wheat. It was just the color of the obelisk. I took it home and compared it. under a magnifying glass, with a bit of the obelisk that had been chipped off in transportation, and which treasure among other bric-a-brac. The two were identical. Evidently, said I to myself, Cleopatra's Needle is going to the dogs. Calling that day on Prof, Doremus, the well-known chemist of the College of the City of New York, I expected to surprise him with the result of my in­ vestigations. But I didn't He knew it all before me, and he had a bottle-- yes, two or three, or more, bottles--full of just such tiny bits of the obelisk as I had gethered. 'This, is,"'said he certain proof that the stone is being disintegrated, and that, I believe, by the action of our cli­ mate. Now, I don't like to say *1 told you so,' bnt as a matter of fact I did predict this when the obelisk was first wrought here. I even urged Com­ mander Gorringe and the others to adopt some means of protecting it from the weather, but they didn't I sup­ pose they thought that, as it had stood 4,000 years in Egypt, it would stand 4,000 years more in America. I have been watching it closely ever since, and from time to time have gathered up samples of the fragments that fall from it. I have them in theso bottles, each labeled with the date of its collection. I asked the Doctor how long the shaft would probably last, if left where it now is. He said he had made no satis­ factory calculation of the rate at which it was crumbling away. "It will doubtless go faster and fast­ er, year by year," he said. "It, of course, suffered a great deal in Egypt, as you could see from the weather­ worn appearance of the carvings when it was brought here. But I suppose over there disintegration was so slow that, had it been lert there, 4,000 years hence the heiroglyphs would still have been visible plainly." "But it will not "last so long here?" "Not by a good deal. I doubt if the carving will be distinguishable 500 years hence. This disintegration of stone in America is a big subjoct you know, and it is one of my pet hobbies. All our public buildings and private houses are suffering from it. You can see it as you pass along the street. Brownstone suffers most, perhaps, but no kind of stone is entirely exempt. Even bricks, which are by many peo­ ple regarded as more durable than stone, crumble away from year to year." "Exactly, what is the nature," I asked, "of this disintegration?" Principally just this: The water enters the pores of the stone, freezes and splits the stone, just as it would break a water pitcher if it were allowed to freeze. All stones are porous. Those that are most so succumb quickest to the weather; those that are least so last the longest" "And how can it be prevented?" "Several ways are in vogue. One is to polish the surface of the stone. That is expensive and not alwavs prac­ ticable. Besides, the polish will wear away in time, and then the stone will be as badly exposed as ever. Another plan is to paint the stone with linseed oil, which soaks in and fills up the pores. But that only lasts a short time, and besides it discolors the stone and ruins the appearance of the build­ ing. The best plan, I believe, is to ap­ ply paraffine. It is colorless, and only makes the stonework look fresli and bright, and it lasts a great deal longer than linseed or any other oil. It has been used with considerable success on many public buildings in this city and also in England.--New York Letter. The Campo fSanto, or Cemetery, ofGenoa* The Campo Santo is about a mile and a half irom the eity, and is built in the form of a vast square court, with tombs of the rich in raised galleries on the four sides, and the graves of the poor in the flat ground in the middle. All the galleries are built of white mar­ ble, with roofs and long lines of pillars; and the tombs are generally placed along the inner side of the galleries, and the greater part of them are sur­ mounted by groups of lifo-size statuary. It is these statues, all of them the work of famous modern Italian sculp­ tors, which give to the place i's queer and peculiar character. Many of the groups consist not only of , statues of the persons buried in the tombs, but life-like figures of the surviving rela­ tives dressed in modern clothes. In one p'ace you will seo a father on his death-bed, his wife, dressed in the fash­ ion of the present day, Bitting by his side, while his son, a young man in double-breasted sack coat and striped trousers, and a daughter, wit'i a polon­ aise and pleated skirt, stand at the foot of the couch. These figures are so well done that they almost seem lo be alive; and as the member* of tho family come year after year to the cemetery, they must be content to see the clothes they were sculptured in getting more and more old-fashioned. Soma of the designs are tine and artistic, although to our ideas very strange. In one part of the grounds we per­ ceive a young laJy richly attired in a dress with a long train trimmed with a double row of ruffles and lace, and wearing a cape edged with scalloped lace, kneelnig at the foot of her father's tomb, while a grand and beautiful fig­ ure of Christ rises out of some clouds just in front of her, and with one hand over the recumbent statue of her dead father, and one over her head, offers her consolation. In another place there is a group of two sisters, who are kneel­ ing by the door of the tomb of a third sister; the door of the tomb is partly, open, and the bnxied sister, in company ti-LUEE JOUttHEY. id holds tor by foi cwne owt df 4t, and h ruing toward the sky; as these figure; are life size, the effect is very striking. Close to this tomb is one which is planned upon an entirely different idea; a large old angel with a long beard and very grim and^evere countenance is silting solemnly npon a closed tomb. His expression gives one the idea that he has looked around upon the young lady who has been liberated by the angel, and that he has said to himself: "The person in the tomb on tvhieh I am sitting need not expect to get out until the proper time comes." There is do doubt that these groups are con­ sidered very appropriate monuments to deceased friends and relatives by those who have placed them there, but some of them cannot fail to strike Americans as strange and odd.--Frank H. Stock­ ton, in Ht. Nicholas. . r*u. .A ji Church Religiofc . t, , V'* I What is my opinion of ciiuroh relig- gion ? There are two religions, one the religion of the church, and the other the religion of Christ; and, while I have all love and honor and respect for the simple beauty, noble unselfishness, and perfect charity of Christ's relig­ ion, I am forced to confess that church religion does not exert upon me that influence one would suppose it should, deprived as it undoubtedly is, from Christ Himself. It has become human­ ized I think, until its Christliness is obscured, and in the effort to make its humanity artistic, it is dehumanized, and there is remaining a nondescript principle, alike unsatisfactory to God and man. There is a constant wail among church people that the growth of the church is slow, and they attrib­ ute it to the wickedness of the world. The werld is wicked, but wickedness appreciates personal comfort and friendliness of meeting, and greeting and association, and that, I am sorry to say, prevails far more in Wicked places than it. does In tho churches. The divine spirit is of course first to be con­ sidered, but the consideration of it de­ mands the preliminary of physical con­ sideration, and the church should be attractive in its people and an induce­ ment shown distinctly, by the actions of those who profess" Christ, that this religion does not make them so aristo­ cratic or so fashionable or so high toned that they cannot extend the right hand of fellowship to a stranger within their gates, or the wanderer who1 seeks the fold. A little bit of thoughtfulness goes a long way, but it must be started before it can go. Faith is not worth a hill of beans if there be not works, and it is works that make the church tem­ poral a succcss and transforms it into a foundation upon which shall be built a superstructure of faith, whose towers and pinnacles lift their summits into the light of Christ's love, and whose hospitable doors are open to all of earth to come. Revivalists, evangelists, and that class of religionists are suc­ cessful and build up the churches, be­ cause they preach Christ's religion, not church religion. They belong to no church, antT so assert, but they work for tbe church, for that is the only fold they have to put the rescued in, but they wouldn't know their converts in a couple of years if they should meet them, and their converts wouldn't want to know them, for church fashion de­ cries the recognition of the common herd, and represses any feeling, save cold formality. I don't know how it will come out, and I wouldn't want to say all these cold people would not go to Heaven, because if they went the other way, they would freeze the place over and knock the eternal fitness out of half of our hereafter.--Mrs. Brown, in Merchant Traveler. Funniest Thing on Becord. During an excursion from Pitts­ burgh, while at Cleveland the Kennard House was crowded, when a druggist appeared late at night at the hotel of­ fice and demanded a bed. The clerk replied that there were only two vacant beds in the house, one wherein was quartered a Pittsburgh morning newspaper man, and the other a Pitts­ burgh^ evening newspaper man, who were wit It the excursion. "To toll the truth, they are both pretty drunk; so you may take your choice as to which room you will sleep in." The druggist said he would take his chances with the evening newspaper man, and he would doubtless be so drunk that he would lie quiet all night. He w.ent to bed and was soon sound asleep. The journalist, however, awak­ ened about 12 o'clock, and, thinking it a long t me between drinks, dressed himself unconsciously in the druggist's clothes and sailed out. Ever and anon he muttered as he treated all present: "Funniest thing I ever heard of. Whe I went to bed last night I only had 25 cents to my name, and now I've got over $100 (showing a corpulent roll of bills), and I'm bound to spend every cent of it before morning." He did.-- Pitts burgh Chronicle- Telegraph. The Japanese Lo!' , The chief object of interest to the traveler in Yezo, the island dependency of Japan, is the remnant of the Aino race, the aborigines of Fezo, and not improbably of the whole ot Japan, peaceable savages, who live on the coasts and in the interior by fishing and hunting, and staijd in the same rela­ tion to their Japanese subjugators as the red Indians to the Americans. A rough census of the Ainos, made in 1873, gives their numbers 12,281, and they are believed to be decreasing in num­ bers. The "hairy Ainos," as these sav­ ages have been called, are stupid, gen­ tle, good-natnred and submissive. They are a wholly distinct race from the Japanese. In complexion they resem­ ble the peoplo of Spain and Southern Italy. The hair is jet black, very soft, and on the scalp forms thick, pendant masses, occasionally wavy, but never showing any tendency to curl. The beard, mustache, and eye-brows are very thick and full, and there is fre­ quently a heavy growth of stiff hair on the chest and limb.-!. Their language is a very simple one. They have no writ­ ten characters, no literature, no his­ tory, very few traditions, and have left no impression on the land from which they have been driven.-- The New Age. Qneer Customs. Mrs. De Blank--"Of all things." Mr. De Blank--"Well, now what?" "Oli! nothing. I just happened to ^ee a curious item about a Mexican servant who was paid $40, his three months' wages, and immediately spent $35 of it for a hat, a sombrero, you know." "Yes, a Mexican is very proud of his sombrero. Some of them cost $250." "But the idea of a man paying such a price for a hat." "Oh! tpe men in Mexico can easily afford to do that The women don't wear any bonnets, you know."--Phila­ delphia Call. THE Sunday Christian will become a weak day angeL Alilttl IIow Yanrferbllt was Hauled from Erie to Cleveland In Kighty-elght Minutes. "It was a pretty fast run," said en­ gineer John Gill, "in fact a trifle the liveliest I ever made over the Erie di­ vision, and that is saying quite a good deal. It was on the Kd of May, 1874, the date of the annual meeting of the Stockholders of the Lake Shore in this city. Vanderbllt, not the present own­ er of the Lake Shore, but his father, who had left New York the previous evening on their special train. He had telegraphed to some of the officials here that he would arrive at 7 o'clock the following night The special train met with bad luck the first twelve hours of the trip. Up the Hudson Kiver division the way trains and ac­ commodations persisted in getting in front of it, and Albany was reached forty minutes behind the schedule ar­ ranged for the trip. The trip from Al­ bany to Buffalo was hardly more satis­ factory. Hot boxes, danger signals, or 'blocks.' kept the train continually changing speed. There was something the matter at Utica, something more at Rochester, and something else at Syra­ cuse. Buffalo was reached at a few minute3 late, and here the party stopped for dinner. The special finally pulled out of that city at 3 o'clock and headed for Erie. This run was also made under disadvantages, and Erie was reached at exactly 5:30 o'clock. It had taken two hours and thirty min­ utes to make the ninety miles between Buff alo and Erie, when it had been ex­ pected that it could be done in thirty minutes lass at least. My engine was waiting in the Erie depot "to bring the special to Cleveland, and we had on a great head of steam. 'John,' said the conductor to me, 'the old man wants to reach Cleveland at 7 o'clock. Make it if you can.' I backed down and hitched on, the conductor waved his hand, and at precisely 5:31 we pulled out of the depot. There were two cars, the special and a long, heavy baggage car put on to steady the train. We w^nt out of the station at a great rate and started for Girard, fifteen miles away. We reached it in fourteen min­ utes precisely, and had climbed up hill a portion of the way. Then we skipped for Ashtabula, twenty-six miles further. Here we went for all we were worth. The old engine rolled, tossed, and leaped around, and the cars swayed back and forth like a boat in a storm. I expected every minute to hear the bell ring to slow up, but it didn't Round curves and over bridges we went at the same awful speed, and slowed up at Ashtabula at precisely 6:00. We had come forty-one miles in precisely thirty-five minutes. It took us about a minute and a half to drop enough water in the tank to last us un­ til we could get to Cleveland, and my watch recorded G:08 o'clock when we pulled away from Ashtabula. The track was clear. Away we rushed, re- gardless of everthing but fast time. We had fifty-four miles to make in fifty-two minutes, including the stop at the target in Painsville. There was a great head of steam on and the throt­ tle was wide open. It seemed as if tho wheels didn't touch the track more than half tho time. It was a balmy day in May, without a breath of air stirring, but the current created l>y the speed of the train was terrific. Stonos the size of a hickory nut were caught up and whirled against the buildings with great force, and the whole train was covered with a dense cloud of black smoke, dust, and oinders. We passed Painesville at 6:30, and, after losing a minute at the crossing, headed for Cleveland. It was a race against time. I had promised to get here on schedule time if it could be done, and was de­ termined to do it. We came up the home stretch at a lively gait The track is pretty straight and there are few heavy grades. I don't think I would have failed reaching Cleveland by 7 o'clock if $100 would have pre- vented it, and yet we were doing some­ thing that had never been attempted before. Ninety-five miles in eighty- five minutes was what we started out to do, with three stops in our way. We didn't Blow up much when wo reached the city limits, and sailed through the yard at a rate of Bpeed that made some of the men think it was a runaway train. When I brought the train to a standstill in the depot here, the station clock pointed to exactly 6:59. Yander- cilt was as happy as a child. There was quite a party of railroad men with him, and he wanted them to know, as he knew, that the Lake Shore was a daisy. I guess that was the fastest time every made on that road."--Cleve­ land Leader. A Reminiscence of Webster. Mr. Webster was favorably impressed with turnip culture, and believed that it might be profitably introduced into Massachusetts, notwithstanding the high price of labor. He endeavored to introduce English and Scotch hus­ bandry to some extent on his fnrm at Marshfield, beginning by keeping large numbers of cattle and sheep. His farm at Franklin was cultivated in tbe old New Hampshire style, and he was very fond of making comparisons be­ tween the two. He had some of the products of his farm sent to Washing­ ton, and his blazing black eyes would gleam with joy, while a smile of satis­ faction would light up his swarthy face, as he would ask a guest at the dinner- table to partake of boiled mutton of his own raising, with potatoes and tur­ nips of his own growth. What such a dinner cost him he never explained, but he must have been somewhat like Mr. Alvin Adams, who accumulated a fortune in the express business, and who said to some friends who visited him at a magnificent estate which he cwned near Boston: "Gentlemen, Bhall I give you a glass of Alderney or of champagne? The cost to me is about the same."--Boston Budget. Where a Fifteen Franc Roast Looks Best. Dumas, the elder, had an enthusi­ astic but expensive cook, whose beef and bills were the delight and despair of his life. "That was an extraordinarily fine roast of beef we had last night at din­ ner," he said one d^^; ̂ That did it cost ?" • -' _ "Fifteen francs." i . vt "Very good; it was excellent; but don't have any more. A fifteen-franc roast of beef is only seen at its best en somebody else's table."--From the French. a Relics of the Revolution. A New York visitor to Boston was interested and puzzled by tho constant­ ly recurring "H" on houses at street corners. "What are those H's for ?" the strang­ er asked. "They were dropped by the British when they left Boston," was the solemn wply. * A FACTOBY in Elk Rapids, Michigan, makes 2^p vj;^Uons of wood aleoh$) every dayi - * , . -.it- TBE opium joints shonld be dislooat- - A ROLLING mill--• rough and tumble prize fight. A coNsoiEimotrs milkman never wears pumps. As important suit--a man's wedding garments.--Burlington Free Pres». . BEAU--"Why do yon prefer a wood fire?" Belle--"'Cause it pops!"--The Judge. THESK dime museums make no bones of exhibiting live skeletons.--Boston Globe. EXPERIENCE is the best teacher--par­ ticularly if it is someone else's experi­ ence.--Louisville Journal. A MAN who is habitually forgetting can't very well be trusted, for he is apt to forget his principles.--Peck's Sun. "I MET Mr. Smith in a shabby coat a while ago. He has not failed has he?" "O no, he only puts on that coat when he goes to the Assessor's to give in his property for assessment,"--Texas Sift­ ing s. "DOES the shining steel blade I hold in my hand cause excruciating pain?" inquired an Oil City'barber. "What?" "I asked if the razor hurt you ?" "Is it u razor?" "Of course it is. Why?*' "I thought it was a saw, but, if you are sure it is a razor, go ahead."-^j$$>{%te, Bltistard. THE OLD MAN'S COAL. 8oon the wintry winds wilt whljUe " " > The town and con lit rv o'er, . '!? : <A'"1 the younjf man and his mlBB'il < Not staud In the entry door. = >. . Jlut beyond, with 11 the parlor, • They will seek love's blissful goal, / . While the tire keeps u-burniny i ^ " Up the old man's costly coaL 'A --Sorneri'ille Journal. V WEBSTER'S spelling book, it is said, still sells at the rate of 1,000,000 copies a year. And yet it is never called for at a public library, while half a dozen volumes of Ouida's novels may be tak­ en out in one day. The plot in Web­ ster's spelling book is not thrilling enough to please the patrons of public libraries.--Nor r is town Herald* HE. . ';V ' I'd like a kith. My prettv mith, Bccauth a kith ith tliweet. Tnay. do you know That kit heth yrow Where lipth of overth mc^tf -' SHE. Oh, yeth, I know Wheie kitheth jirow, • Without your h ntingr lookth; Becauth, you thee, •le he! te ne: I read of it in bookth. AN Albany gentleman, who broke a rule of the Associated Charities by giv­ ing alms on the street, tells an instance which gives a curious commentary on human nature. A poor woman with a child, met him and said: "O, sir, yon are rich and happy, and I should be perfectly happy if I could only have $5 for the children at home." The gentleman 6aid: "Well, if $5 can make any human being perfectly happy here it is." The woman, seizing it, replied: "O I wish I had said tenl" A TRAVELER in Nebraska noticed at a small station that the men collected on the platform all wore a most dejected look. Their subdued manner and sor­ rowful appearance indicated that a se­ rious disaster had occurred. "What's the trouble ?" lie asked through the car window; "a lot of people mur­ dered?" "No, stranger; it's woser'n that," said a citizen; "The White Ele­ phant burned down las' night." "What's the Wh te Elephant?" "Hit war the only likker store in town, stranger."--Detroit Post YOUTHFUL Inquirer--A statasmatt is one who states; and the speaker is a man who sits in a high chair in front of the statesmen, and decides who shall state and who shall not state. The Speaker is provided with a mallet and a loose board; and, when a statesman stales too long or states anything de­ rogatory to the party to which the Speaker belongs, it is the duty of the latter to pound vigorously with the mallet on the board. The, Speaker dis­ likes to hurt the statesman's feelings, but he has to do his duty.--Columbus Dispatch. HE had a dozen rat-traps slung over his shoulder as he promenaded up New street in search of customers, and when asked the price he replied: "Down -- way down. Bat traps have followed Wabash, and you can take your pick for 50 cents." "Bnt that's too high." "Well, being as Western Union has shrunk, you can take one for 45." "Too high." "What! Well, I must follow New York Central. Well say 40." "Come down." "Say, mister, do you want a rat-trap at Texas Pacific fig­ ures ?" asked the old man. "What are they?"' "Why, you take a trap for nothing and I give you a quarter to hoy cheese with."--Wall Street News. "I INTENDED to tell Jane to bring a fresh bucket of water," said the wife of Prof. Nottlehead; looking up from her sewing. "You doubtless mean a buck­ et of fresh water," rejoined her hns- band. "I wish vou would pay some little attention to rhetoric; your mistakes are embarrassing." A few moments later the professor said: "My dear, that picture would show to better advantage if you were to hang it over the clock." "Ah!" she replied, "yon doubtless mean if I were to hang it above the clock. If I were to hang it over the clock we couldn't tell what time it is. I wish you would pay some little attention to rhetoric; your mis­ takes are embarrassing."--Arkansaw Traveler. A Phase of Modern Journalism. If a barn should blow down, there will be a diagram of the premises; view of the barn before being blown down; view of the barn while being blown down; view of the ruins; interview with the hired man, who said he always knowed it was going to blow down; in­ terview with the owner, with his and others' theories on barns blowing down; interview with Professor Mugwump, the dintinguished Chicago savant, with his views as to the reason why barnB blow down rather than up; compara­ tive table of barn mortality in this and other states for the last forty years, showing percentage of barns blowing down compared with the illiterate vote; history of loss from the earliest t me* to the present; statement of loss--$500* --San Francisco Argonaut. How Mexican Ladies Shop. The ladies take their exercises usual-* ly in closed carriages. Etiquette will not let them ride except with their husbands, father, or brothers, and for one to invite his cousin to go out with him would be sufficient canse for a duel, as it would imperil her good name. The Senoras and Senoiitas are seldom seen in open carriages, and I do not be­ lieve there is a pha ton in all Mexioo. They even shop in their carriages, the high-toned ones, and compel the-clerks to bring the goods they want to look at to the curbstone. It is a common thincr to seo n row of carriages liefore a fashionable store with a row of clerk;, bargaining with the oconpanta.--rGMeap go Inter-Ocean.