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TUB aomtnvcKLE .pjflr:vtinmrt. > *' Jironwl upltwd bfckwny •gpSSSSe And "nrwH It* Icaveit, at de*y*v«, ( A ywMtfUM tn% den strayed; r .. •he *o rrtril br. e*e < ltiwed bl« cart#8**! An J with list tresses played. v < ,>* J Beneath the Row«n, a momint'a ?p*M, Star tripptiMt footsteps star: E^it* ' 8b* tip oe »t«udi*, with jrtrtwh gnwifc »» Tj break a snowy spray. * > ̂ With (tay caprice, she twines it firaf Around ltef«old<n haur; Th n tarn" anil Jays >t in his ' " •* - s- ** , And carele#*leaves it there. THE BATTLE. The tempWt-rlnnd* were all uniarlo ̂ t Tbe lUchtninu flash shot bj~ Jtl>ovc was heard the deafe Ot "Heaven's artillery." •> • • ft* . Dsrk .oqmdron-- faced, in stern arra|i(.: And gleami g sabers bared; = -- A The oannoaede kept steady It*T, The cannon's fii e glared! !¥W A Ptalwart rider halts apart; Hi* bright young head is litre; Unoovwvd, an be, rev .rentlv,: . Breathes heavenward a prayer. k* rV"»Y, :iC': v.W-* m t The lightning blazos oVr his curls, The storm-winds lift them high, If 5/ A». tearless in the battle's frtfui, He looks toward the sky. » * y • f A withered honeysuckle spr^f-I He raises, holds start, Atid lifts ifii*htlv to his lipS, "* "Llieu lay* it o er his hear.. \ Th°n, i-purring on his eager He dashed into the fight.; Around, aloft, above his " His saber circled bright. The strife grew strong and futfttla, »;«%• The air was dense wi h • moke; The brave young *tldier's temple ,'i Cleftbv a saber-stroke; 1"<+M But till he fought where bnllets ? A thick nnd awfn shower; -al» One found its way into his heart, .f". And eared his heart's dear flower* And when the battle- strife was o'er, , Among the dead he 1 y: Across his brow tbe saber stroke '.*>> > And on hi* heart the spray. » j * •• •> * • * * ' V Tliere was a honse where women eating >. f Brave women, sweet and fair; To nurse The w unded thither borndy ' :;.!•, With tender woman s care. ; j>,t | •- Andst oag arms raised the soldier bojr I From his cold, mossy be i; ' f i So calm and a weet his nobl tece, : Thev knew not he was dead. The b re him with the womidqd. ?«'; ..,<L Wh n they found his breatu was '• The laid him b a casement, W here the breeses came and went. On p; low white and gleaming hair • ' > Tne soft J ne'sun-i ays dart; t ;,e. They laid • he ha f-burnt flower they foud # Above his qniot heart. pJ Ul Beside him thrre a qniet kndt " , j Of stranger- standing by;: There entered in a fair yonnffgfxt • With timid step and shy. 8ke looked npor. the stalwart 1 tJfon the narrow bed; She sees tbe Sower she cave him • All bcrnt and scarred and dead. ̂ . She takes his hand--beneath her touch It never moves nor stirs; She stoops to kiss his stony MM* V That will not thrill to hers, v . Then at her soldier-lover's side-- ?';,i Unheeding ail the rest - She Kneels and lays her golden head Upon ids icy l.reast. F :% Since that (air mora in early #BM , ; 1 Jnsttwtntr years have paiMtt;' ® » I went to see her yesterday,1; niUM _ To see her for-the last. ,̂ .v ; And lily-white, and smilin - sweet, j Cold on her couch she lay; her Ur ast i hat heaved no m|l)Nt • • .1 ernesd. We hnfl no near aeaghbow, and any guardian's manner was so stiff and iwerved that he did not make, or jieis rnit me to make, any intimate friends. I Scarcely saw a stranger, except at ohuVoli* or in the most eeremoniona of calls. So that, with the exception of the servants of the house, my guardian and Mrs. Kingston were my sole com­ panions. However, I did not regret my limited chances of making acquaint- Maces, but was quite content with hav­ ing access to an extensive library, and liberty to roam, not only in the parks, but tlmmgh the forests and meadows of my estate, always alone. In the spring of the year 18--, a Mr. Rowan, a young man from the North of England, and a stranger to1 L. Parish, came to visit a friend living at a distance of some utiles from us. Mr. Rowan and I, chancing to cross each other in 9ur woodland excursions, became ac­ quainted. He called • oh me several times, mid mr guardian, although he did not openly object to his visits, seemed to disapprove of them. But Mr. Kbwan continued to* come, and just one month after o\jr first meeting we became engaged to be mar-' ried. It was Mr. Rowan's purpose to ask my guardian's consent immediately, but on the very day upon which we be­ came engaged he received a telegram stating that his father was very ul-- jrtttsiWy dying. Hie at onw started for his home, promising to return as rtoon< , as possible. In a fortnight's time he Wrote fo me, telling of his fathers con­ valescence, and his own intention of re­ visiting L. in a few days. I had ' al­ ready acquainted my guardian with my • engagement. He had sternly expressed his disapprobation and refused his, con­ sent. But, on receiving the letter men­ tioned, the disgrace into which I had fallen was completely lost in my pleas­ ure at the prospect of seeing Mr. Rowan again. One day my guardian called me into his library. He looked grave and sorrowful. "Elsie," he said, gently, "I have sad news for you, my child." I said nothing, but waited, trembling and fearful. "There was a railway ac­ cident yesterday and many lives lost." he continued; "Mr. Rowan was On his unconscious in her chair. Brave little Ainr sprang up, forgetting the presence in the room in hfiri«m*Jov her friend. But the appaskjwm. had strode swiftly down the apartmehj, and was bending ever Miss Elsie. He put Amy's little hands gently aside, atod, lifting the slander form in his strong arms, he t>ore her to th# Bftfwt sola and laid her there. "Bring some water," he paid to Amy, And she quickly and deftly obeyed. Meanwhile he threw oft" his cloak and sombrero and flung them across a till ile. Then he knelt reverently beside the conch and held the water to Miss Elsie's lips. We saw her sweet eyes opqn and meet his. "Come," I whispered, and we all stole softly out and left them alone together. We stood in the door of "Dane Hall" and looked out on the calm, silvery landscape. The storm was over. The winds Avere lulled, a gentle western breeze was stirring; the rain-drops clung to the shining leaves and glist­ ened in tlie light of a full moon. All nature seemed softened and made love­ ly by thte storm that was past. Missi Elsie's mystery is cleared at last. She has told me how Mr. Rowan had couxe to Dane Hall at the appoint­ ed time; how her guardian had met him and said that "his ward was in London, at the house of a friend, pre­ paring for the coming wedding. For Elsie, although so young, had bee* affianced to a young Londoner for a year." He then delicately intimated a fear that Mr. Rowan had been deceived by his ward's heartless coquetry, and gently implied his sympathy and re­ gret. Mr. Rowan at once determined to leave England, and find a rough and toving home in Mexico, far from the sweetheart he loved. Before he went, he came to look once " more at the, place where they had been so happy together. Then he had l>een seen by her whom he thought false, and who thought him dead. - For Miss Elsie's guardian had woven his web subtly, and equally deceived them both. So this man, for the sordid purpose of keeping his ward's. fortune under his control, and within his possible reach, way here, and his name was among j had saddened and clouded two sunny those who were killed instantaneously." | young lives. At 21 and 17 each thought I heard no more, for I fainted for the life's golden, brightness lost forever, first time in my life. When.I recovered One mourned a faithless, one a buried consciousness, I was in my own room, dead love. Hp became a roving solita- wit-h kind Mrs. Kingston bending' over ry' wanderer; she the sweet, gentle me. I was very quiet under my great j woman whom we have all known and tovod. And we have heard how, after his long exile, he had learned by chance that Elsie was "sweet Elsie Dane" still; how he had come back to England and ridden through the rain and storm, and strode, unasked, into Dane Hall, and then paused on that threshold in doubt and fear, lest his love should not wel­ come him back; the rest we could guess. They have forgiven the man who dark­ ened their young lives: so cruelly; the man who died--nursed and tended hy the girl he had wronged--with his sin , unconfessed. For they have now all earth can give l!o her hap­ piest children--love, honor, stainless hearts and lives, health, riches and grief. I do not think I realized the? full extent of it as yet. The dreadful tidings had come to me so suddenly that I felt half stunned by them. 'When at last Mrs. Kingston left the room for a few moments on some errand, I rose and opened the casement which, looked out on the "Elm walk." I shall never forget how everything ft>oked that night. The moon was in her last quar­ ter. and had just risen over the river. She looked queer and ghastly, and cast a dim red reflection in the water below. There was not a breath of wind stirring, and the elm-tops lay stiff and stark against the pale sky. Not a sound to be heard--not even the moan of a ATtaueyHuck'.e spray. W II«IK kblllil whippooraill or the "buzz of aft insect • youthful brightness and beauty, too; ' sr'lfcAr FOBD LAlTftg£. The rain was dashing wildly ^gainst -the window-panes, the £rees were rock­ ing and sighing, the winds were moan- •»ng like a chorus of banshees. The 'flickering firelight made weird iand un- •Oanny shadows on the high walls and in -dark nooks of the old room. The tap- Histried hangings and rich curtailis *-tustled eerily; the canvas lords and . ladies in their narrow, old-fashioned wames tapped and trembled against V- the wall. Even we, the bright young f roup seated round the glowing hearth, ad forgotten our. merriment in the < tadness of the storm. A light-hearted company we were, and often made the - ' told house echo with the sounds of our luirth, as we played "hide-and-seek" in Hie queer lobbies and closets, paced the winding corridors, or danced the "coun- tlry-dance" in the spacious hall. For , fliiss Elsie Dane's grand old mansion Was the gathering place of the young • " ^people for miles around. We all adored Our gentle hostess, and she never seemed I^Jpappier than when surrounded by ns in * §091 merriest and noisiest moods. But / that night We were all gathered, sober f ; Mid silent, clode to Miss Elsie, and she, ^ her silver-grey dress and soft lace, *; Was seated in a great tapestried chair, fiv' ^apparently lost in meditation. Her 1% yvweet face and dark eyes looked lovelier _ than ever. And so we all sat, listening to the furious storm and beating rain, tmtil Fred Denver lifted his handsome face in the bright firelight and said, Abruptly: "Just the night for a ghost-story. >/ won't somebody tell one? Who has Have you, on the wing. The river seemed to have •eased to flow seaward, it lay so still and cold. It was another world from the one in which I had moved and laughed and sung, that very morijing. I could hardly believe that cold ayenue to be tl^e one on which we ha<l, walked, lie laid I, in the early nprnihgs, ^iih the wet, dewy grass, undeg (p jEtet, pale sunlight stealing through tne elm boughs overhead. • Then I thought I would go and walk there once more, and, if it and all the world were the same, how could he re­ fuse to coihe or send some fokeii to me? as I stood on the spot where he had last seen me--where we had parted ? How could he l>e silent or unconscious while I Btood there and prayed and wept for one sign that he had not forgotten me ? His spirit must be within the reach of mine, I thought. I had never been su­ perstitious, but I think I Relieved firm­ ly that night that I had still power to communicate with him. I prayed that it might be so. I thought that if one little farewell word from liim could on­ ly reach me I would be more content, though it were the last I should hear oaeaith. I had on a thin muslin 4re8s and the night was chill, but just as I was "I stole away on tiptoe, fearful lest for Mr. Rowan's chestnut curls and blue eyes, his bronzed face and stal­ wart form, 90uld never have been hand­ somer ai one-and-twentv than they are And Elsie ("Miss Elsie*' no long-Oow. > erVlooked a hundred times lovelier jfhan before/' am? shet stood at his side with bridal flowers on her dark hair and a misty veil over her face, pale no more, but lit With a faint, exquisite tint like ftn apple blossom. And for the bless­ ings that are not of this world, no one Avfco knows those two can doubt that the/ will have their part in them. Our dear 61 d church was crowded with smiling/friends come to see Miss Elsie's lmppv bridal. Little Almy was her first bridesmaid, and stood close to the altar, clinging to Fred Denver's arm. There was a joyous wedding feast at the fiall, and we all danced under flower garlands twisted and twined about the grand old walls. Mr. Rowan's step was light, and hip blue eyes full of laughter, and "Mistress Elsie" as merry as any of us. Sd they are married &t last. Hay they "live happy ever after!" . . - i . ' l i . . 1 , . A New England H asking Bee. . . . . W h e n t h e g u e s t s h a v e a l l a r r i v e d , t h e , . a.T, ou. tiptoe, fearful lest I j l>oya go to work and pull great arm fills should l»e heard. I reached the hall j 0f ]iay from the mow,which tliey spread strength, I j around the heap of corn. Then each , , , . , 'i^vy bolt, ! seats himself bv his favorite girl, draws and shj>ped out into the* night. The j a bundle of husks into the hay between fierce mastiff we kept chained by the ; them, and the husking begins. steps sprang fofward with an angry, ' jg by door and, exerting all my contrived to withdraw the Work , . . - , is by no means suffered, however, to half-breathpd^grO|Wl, but I hud mv hand ! interfere with play. The merry joke 'j •vol* seen a real live ghost? , .Miss Elsie ? " Wr< all smiled as we looked up at the " Gddrt'£jsed; to our surprise she 'WW SjnMt&ted and did not answer. > "8he lias! she has!" cried Amy Ful­ ton, springing to her feet. "Tell us *TBbout, it, darling Miss Elsie!" v But Mis?; Elsie looked grave, and Amy. in-the enthusiasm yf her curiositv, jfcamc to that lady's side, caught her ^lender hand and f.iirlv kissed it. Then ^ . fihe looked up with such an appealing | . look in her blue eyes that Miss Elsie, j|U . never proof to Amy's coaxing, relented. "At her bidding we nestled closer to- 3 ;Mftigether and prepared to listen to the <»ming revelation. Amy seated herself a little stool at Miss Elsie's feet, f •**" And Fred moved his chair to Amy's side, iii. v^n(i 80- ker slim, white hand, with its f* j • single flashing diamond, renting on V , Amy's golden curls, sweet Miss Elsie " , *told her story, to the accompaniment of pP^HijiblttOg winds and rustling tapestry. ; "A, MISS ELSIE'S STORY. , , •**$ Ten years ago I was living here, in Jthfc same old house, with my guardian. "1 .He was a distant cousin of my mother's % iand, strangely enough, the only living r,,: ^. relative I had. My parents died when j|<#J«I was a mere child, *nd left ine to this f" i yoardian's care. In case I died before , , „ be did, he was by my father's will to in- i = - 1 lierit my estate, unless indeed, I, when willed it away otherwise, which "" " '""**1 was at liberty to do. A portion of ' my mother's property had reverted to V Itfmon her death. At the time of which hv-'-- <; I apeak, I was just 17, and he a middle- & aged man, stern, grave and silent. I bad one other companion, Mrs. Kings- f-^ ton, a sweet old lady who had cared for me since my mother's death, and was f£fp| |dways. kind and affectionate to one. I was very fond ot her. My education ind been completed Ti year earlier, so I ' .""was no longer under the care of a gov- ' • j ' on his rough head, and at the touch of my fingers he cowered at my feet. I trembled lest the growl or the clank of his chain should have t)6eC> Iteard, but no, all was silent! -?« Then I passed 011 until I reached the entrance of the "Walk." There I stopped and turned cold and sick at the accomplishment of my own wish. For there, down the avenue, under the dark trees, I saw the form of a yoK^^y man, tall and graceful, and wrappc a long traveling cloak. I could see his face for his head was tin away; but what matter? I knew it was. He moved away and cognized the quick, decided motion stalwart figure, although tlip latter half-oljscured by the heavy folds o riding cloak. I could see the dim n And a ur- tion of Little ti that erg and )erate8 center ection. rtion of Hh^r light touching chestnut curls, like 1 a'er 'n I remembered so well, and a bright at his heel. Then my momentary was lost in joy and I stepped for to speak. I could not. The froze on my lips, and before I < even call his name he was gone, nnder the shadow of the trees. lowed, but could see nothing despairing and hopeless I turned to­ ward Dune Hall again. I found Mrs. Kingston looking for , me ,pnd much distressed by mv disappearance. I sub- n."fed rather impatiently to the kind old lady's coaxing and inquiries. I was burning with eagerness to be left alone -- that I might think over what I had seen--what I would have given worlds to see again. ~ Here Miss Elsie's voice faltered and ceased. For a strange sound had been heard--no sob of wind or rustle of tapestry. We all shivered, for a cold gust of wind swept through the room, and the heavy oaken door swung slowly and noiselessly back on its ponderous hinges. On the threshold stood a tall, stalwart figure, in a dark, heavy riding- cloak. A sombrero hat shaded his face, but we could catch a glimpse of short, clustering chestnut curls, glittet- ing and heavy with rain-drops. A moment that seemed a century passed. We all sat dazed and silent. Then he raised his hand and pushed 'back the sombrero from his brow. He looked sternly across the room, not at us, but straight at Miss Elsie. His steady, bright gaze seemed to pierce the dis­ tance between them. Miss Elsie tried to rise, then to speak, but her pale lips quivered, and she sank back white and goes round; the stolen mitten travels about tlie circle and back to its owner at last. If a girl happens to pull the husk from a dark-red ear, she must for­ feit a kiss to the lad nearest or quickest to snatch it. As fast as the ears are re­ moved from the husks they are thrown into separate piles, one for each party, on opposite sides of the heap; and there is sure to be a deal of pleasant rivalry to i K l a r l l 1 0 l a i y r h e f t i i o f 11. Because y.»n will IfMkr LH active to aid you in getting your mnrtoain logs as to secure your patronage i'or li„i, panics. " 12. Because every one of the above }Ug C!,ln b£fi.,1|y ve"*ifled by calling on E, A,he phy, E. See dons. J. W. Miller, fromth* experience, and an the entire circle1®" acquaintances from observation. >*n In behalf of the Old Reliable, the p ' of Hartford, Connecticut. I take jrreat ure in returning the the thanks of thf»W pany to Mrs. L, I). Kelly for her proia>v<4 and unusual presence of mind in extin - lusra lire at her residence, kindled fit1™ burning of E A. Murphy's residence *>k morning of the 13th inst .as by her inrh l effort, property wa«.saved on which tltf11" pany had a po'icy of *2,000 ASA W. TVW »*ld: *>nt " " *ii r ij i jMn u » nts. Great platefuls of dougluimirffta -flit­ ters," and slices of snowy cake, pie cut in generous pieces, cider and apples, nuts and home-made candy are passed around. The "old folks"'come stamp­ ing in by twos and threes, and are im­ mediately assailed with conflicting sto­ ries of individual prowess and associate achievement, and then stuffed with good things to stop their laughing. By 11 o'clock the festivities are over, and the merry company disperses, two and two. The farmer takes down the lant­ ern, closes the big born, and retires to the kitchen to smoke his pipe and cal­ culate how many bushels of corn he will have when" it. is "off tlie ear. "--Ttpv Times. ' •• • • , • • • . A CHAP' once entered a restaurant aboutjtlie usual hour for dinner, but his actions indicated that it was somewhat difficult to makfe pp his mind as to what he really wanted. "Possibly," remark­ ed' the polite attendant, "Monsieur would like a bill of fare?" "Yes," was the response, "bring me that and some fried potatoes." old ananrs wife. How, She' K«pt Htott fehbm an When Gen. Jackson was a candidate for the Presidency, in 1828, not only did the party opposed to him abuse him for his public acts, which, if unconsti­ tutional or violent, were a legitimate subject for reprobation, but they de­ famed the character of his wife. On one occasion a newspaper, published in Nashville, was placed upon the Gener­ al's table. He glanced over it, and his eyes fell upon an Article in which the character of Mrs. Jackson was violently assailed. So soon as he had read it, he sent for his true old Servant, Dun- woodiet "Saddle my horse," said he to him, in a whisper, "and put my holsters on him." Mrs. Jackson watched hfm, and, though she heard not a word, she saw mischief in his eyes. The General went out after a few moments, when she took up the paper and under­ stood everything. She ran out to the south gate of the Hermitage, by which the General would have to pass. She had not been there more than a few seconds before the General rode up with the countenance of a madman. She placed herself before the horse, and cried out: • "Oh, General, don't go to Nashville! Let that poor editor live." "Let me alone," he replied; "how came yon to know what I was going for?" She answered: "I saw it in the pa- Eer after you went out; put tip your orse and go back." He replied furiously : "But I will go--get out of my way." , Instead of this'she grasped his bri­ dle with both hands. He cried to her: "I say, let go my horse! The villain „ that reviles my wife shall not live!" She grasped the reins the tighter arid began to expostulate with him, saying that she it was who ought to be angry, but that she forgave her persecutors from the bottom of her heart, and prayed for them--that he should for­ give if he hoped to be forgiven. At last, by reasoning, her entreaties and her tears, she so worked upon her hus­ band that he seemed mollified to a cer­ tain extent. She wound up by saying: "No, General, you shall not take the life of my reviler--you dare not do it; for it is written, 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saitli the Lord!'" The iron-nerved hero gave way be­ fore the pleading of his beloved wife and replied: "I yield to you; but, had it not been for you and the words of the Almighty, the wretch should not have lived' an hour." ' ; " The Coming Age of Intuition. ; We hide our best selves, lest we be not understood. Had we, more faith in, and less distrust of our fellows, we might often find a comrade in spirit, where now we gaze askance and dis­ consolate, cherishing our dumbness in an agony of soul. Each soul as it comes in contact with others is cognizant of a feeling "of at­ traction or repulsion; could we, but realize that this snbtle, yet potent, in­ fluence, that speaks to our inner con­ sciousness, is the witness that giveth the soul's true measurement of its Environ* ments, we would lean upon its eeuooils in all trustfulness, rather than upon tbe admonition that comes from the in­ tellect alone. But excessively worldly. wisdom, basted upon a narrow circle of so-called facts, tends to warn tls contin­ ually against our better selves. Our intuition is, I apprehend, our reason blossomed out, and too long has this higher power been subject to a lower; tqo long has our ideal been snubbed by the so-called real. The coming age fe orte of intuition. Therein will woman assume something of her natural prerogative, reigning queen among those who have styled themselves her lord. Our poets, phil­ osophers, seers aud sages have each in their turn been styled fools and mani­ acs, because, forsooth, their mental processes were not so cumbersome, as that of their fellows. But mankind will ever cultivate and cherish whatso­ ever is held in high esteem and valued most among their fellow-men. Says Lewes: "Intuition is the cflear vision of relations." And again: *AI1 great discoveries were seen intuitively long before it was possible to exhibit the correctness of their ground or dis­ entangle the involved data." When, therefore, these trutlis shall be fully accepted in the lives of men; when the intuitive faculties shall be trusted, hon­ ored and valued, not only for their beauty but for their utility,then will they be cultivated; and mothers will feel honored in handing down to their sons an inheritance heretofore despised; for, "like father like son," is not half so true as "like mother like son." And woman from time immemorial has lieen sneered at as illogical, because of the superior­ ity of her intuition; but the time is near at hand when this item in the category of heredity will be thought of par­ amount importance--at least, to the cultivation of a certain variety of farf- tailed pigeons! . .. W', 0 * Being Neighborly. ( There are people who seem to base- friendship on borrowing as long as you will lend to them. Neighbors of that stamp illustrate the impudence that demands without consideration, and the familiarity that breeds contempt. The following appears in the New York Mercantile Journali He was a small boy, with dirt on his nose and a faded straw hat onr his head, and feet so long unwashed that it was hard to tell where his toe-nails were located. He walked boldly up the steps, pulled the bell, and, when the lady came to the door, he said: "Say, can you lend me your telephone for a few minutes?" ' "Why, I can't," she gasped out. "We'll bring it back in half an hoar." "But I oan't lend it, child. You don't seem to know what a telephone is. Who are you?" "We live around the corner--just moved in, and we want to be neigh­ borly. I tried to borrow your wheel­ barrow and shovel, but your boy wouldn't lend 'em, and our hired girl has been over to borrow tea and sugar and couldn't get any. We kinder thought we might borrow your tele­ phone or something, and ma would bring it back and get a chance to see your style and ask you to run in with your old clothes on." , Some of His Own Medictae. On the matter of lawyers' brutality t will tell a new anecdote. A few years past John R. McLean, the youthful publisher of the'Cincinnati Enquirer, was made a witness in a suit, and George T. Hoadley examined him with BBOOKLYN has sixty-six public schools, 200,000 scholars and 1,843 teachers. _ ̂ There are beside aboat 25,000 pupils J" wfiat the witness tfvouMit pgdtie ad van- in private schools. I tage and severity. "You old scamp: * said McL$rai|i$^|4spei<»t the court­ room door, "I will be at your office as soon as yon get there." Arrived at Hoadley's office, McLean closed the door coolly, and began: "You had me in a place that gave you your way, didn't you? I saw you enjoyed it. Now, you old reprobate and coward--" Here Ed­ gar Johnson, generally called "Egg," because he is under Hoadley's yolk, be­ ing his partner, interposed' "Edgar," said McLean, "if I hear anything from you I will hoist that window and drop you down the area." Then turning to Hoadley he gave what the lawyers learnedly call the exordium. The first sentence took Hoadlev's self-respect in the front and flank, the second made him dance, at the third he said lie wouldn't stand it. "Won't you ?" said McLean; "what are you going to do about it ? I had to take yours where you had me foul. Now, you old villain, you don't enjoy it?" Mr. Hoadley never was satisfied after that day's homeopathy till he went into the wild, wide busi­ ness of starting a newspaper. -- New Ymk)Tribiine. ifrW«< THE FAMILY CIRCLE ̂ /,! MAKE THE HOME HAPPY.--There is •a fearful responsibility resting on pa­ rents surrounded with budding sons and daughters. It is enough to awaken all of the energies and virtues of the wisest men. Thd best and noblest work any inan or woman can do on earth is rearing a family of children so that they will honor their parents, con- scientously observe the laws of God, and bless the world with faithful ser­ vices. And it is around the family altar that this can be the easiest and most effectively done. And on the farm there is no time so convenient as the winter evenings. And this opens a field wide enough to satisfy the ambi­ tion, or indulge the desire for happi­ ness of any parent or child. Make the home happy. Make it a school of in­ struction. Make your children com­ panions, and exert all your time and energies to be able to lead them in all branches of information. Jt is a noble work; the best man or woman can be engaged in, and if faithfully performed your evening skies will be cloudless, and your sunset clear and glorious.-- Farmer Clarkson. SECURE A HOME.--We would have every true man build for himself a Jiome, be it ever so humble in the be­ ginning. Industry and frugality and (rood judgment will make of it the most lovely spot on earth. The man with­ out a home is like a sojourner without a country. The richest, happiest and the best man in the wide world is he who has a pretty, comfortable home of his own, a family, good health, and owes no man a cent, even though his entire possessions would not sell for a thous­ and dollars, and though he had never held so higli an office as town constable or road-master. We sometimes feel constrained to doubt whether a man Without one Clan at best be but an in­ different patriot. He can not feel that interest in other people's real prosper­ ity, th^t he feels in his own, and with­ out such property we would have no country worth a name. He would scarcely risk his life in defense of the hearthstone Of his landlord, but let that hearthstone be his own, and woe to thf» invader who should threaten it with desecration. The homes of the people are the strength of the State, fcuild them, peautify them, own them aim <>t* happy. This is the fair deduc­ tion from hosts of instances, and in the true philosophy of home making and home owning, .. EMPLOYMENT FOE CHILDREN.--Here is something which will give employ­ ment to the children on days sometimes dreaded by quiet-loving mothers, when the sehools are out and the house is full of noise and frolics. Get some plaster of Paris Hiid water, and provide some moulds; these may be boirowed from the kitchen--pudding moulds, blanc­ mange moulds, scallopped cake-tius, and even plain but prettily shaped bowls, will any and all answer every purpose. Now set the children to work; let them mix the plaster and water, and fill the moulds. If any of the articles they make are of such size and shape thfjt they can be hung 011 the Avail, pro­ vide some loop or ribbon or of braid, and when the mould is about half full of plaster lay the end of the loop in and then pour more plaster over it. When the plaster has hardened the loop will be found to be securely fastened in, and capable of sustaining the weight of the article. When the plain bowl is used, or a deep' plate, the article moulded will resemble a plaque, and can be dec­ orated by casting some bright pictures or painting some designs on it; and by the way, I know of nothing that which so,happily occupies the sometimes tedi­ ous hours of a child's life when he seems to have exhausted his resources;, as the employment of a paint-brush and &'few tubes of paint. It may be also bo made to conduce to his education in the matter of color, and--for I would furnish him with a little bottle of oil-- he may learn to- be neat, to use his oil and paints without soiling his hands or clothes or dropping any on the carpet. It is conceded that it is a mother's duty to bring up her daughter to be a good wife, and so» it ought to be conceded that her son should have some of the training which will prove of inestima­ ble benefit to- him as a husband, and one of the most wished-for virtues is that of neatness. This we may surely teach^our Jwyaw--New York Post* Ckmpfag Out. , We had camped out often enough to have the rough edge of our desire for such dissipation worn off. We knew that camping? wt meant a saddle for a pillow, for a bed "the yielding earth1* that always develops extraordinary solidity and sharp-cornered stones dur­ ing the night; for a covering "the star- 'besprinkled dome of night" andan old horse-blanket full of holes. We knew that it also meant getting up at about midnight, untangling your horse h*om the rope wound all around his legs; turning out again at 2 a. m. and prowl­ ing around in the dark looking for wood to renew the fire and keep from freez­ ing to death. It meant getting ants in your ears, creeping things up your trousers legs, and finally getting up at daybreak sore and bruised, shivering over a camp-fire, getting smoke in your eyes, overturning the coffee-pot and getting cussed by all the .rest of the partyw-r-T&ra* Sij'tingx, Anliiot. "• An idiot is a man who approaches a Georgia mule from the rear without notifying and pacifying the front end first. The wise man is he who never goes near the mule at all, but is simply a looker on in Vienna while the mule is making gestures with his liind feet. This statement is true in moral as well a i i i n h U t o f y . -- 1 - ( G o . ) Neibs, < CM** There Is no experienoe of a man'* life that causes more bitter reoollectiot^thah do his boyhood days, wnen he M wear clothes that were made ove*1 from those that had been worn out bjr bis father or uncle. The very thought of the suffering makes a man grate his teeth'and swear that his own boy, if he ever has one, shall dress decently, if hp has to saw wood to buy clothes for him. In a country place a man's clothes be­ come a part of him, after he has worn them a few years, and when he finally sheds them, and his good wife overhauls them and makes them over for their boy, there is no way of disguising the fact that they are tlie same old clothes. Everybody knows it, and the boy who wears tliem knows it better than any­ body else. The other boys laugh him, the big girls giggle at him, and he feels as though it was a great mistake that he was ever born at all, and hp wishes he could get out of the world somewhere, and hunt rabbits, and never go to school again. There is no way to disguise an old suit of clothes that has been made over. The good mother"may color them with blue dye, and think she has ddne her boy proud, but the odor of the blue dye, and the fact that it will "run" when it gets wet--and all boy's clothes get wet--gives the boy away, and just as he thinks everybody is de­ ceived, and thinks he has got a new suit, right from a tailor, some big boy will ask him if his father has gone to bed, while he wears his father's clothes, ahd then all the crowd laughs, and the crushed boy makes a solemn vow that he will murder that big boy when he gets able. The worst thing about made- over clothes is haying your girl stick up her nose at them. Every school-boy has some girl he thinks of marrying. That is, they do up to about fifteen years of age. There is one girl in the school who looks better to him than all the others, and he will carry her over mud holes, draw her sled up hill, and follow her down to see that she does not tip over, or to pick her up if she does. She may be homely as a stone fence, and wipe her nose on her apron, and go barefooted in summer, and stub her toe nails off, and she may interfere, and have warts on her hands, and sore eyes, and she may eat onions, but she is all the world to him. The day that she lets another boy haul her sled to the top of the hill is a dark day to him, and he wonders that lightning does not strike his rival. The demon of jealousy enters his soul and he compels her to give up the brass ring he had given her, and which he got off the tail of an old Dutch pipe that an emigrant left at his house. The next day she lets him carry her dinner basket home, and the sun comes out brighter, and he gives her the brass ring again, and all is well. It is a trying time when he puts on his new suit of old clothes, and he wears them on back streets until he gets courage to appear in them among his playmates. If his girl sees them and admires them, and does not ask any questions about his father's clothes be­ ing made over for him, he is happy, and the worst is over. Some of the bitterest enmities of the world have been engendered by well-dressed boys making fun of the made-over .clothes of a poor boy, and we sometimes think the poor boy makes greater efforts than he otherwise would, to amount to some-, thing. He does not wish, any harm to come to those who have made life a burden to him, but when he sees one of his well-dressed persecuters, in after years, discharged from a position for dishonesty, or lose the money left them by relatives, and be compelled to come down to patched pants, and *iadeJover clothes, there is a feeling in the heart of the poor boy who has begun to climb the ladder, that he don't care a conti­ nental, as lie is not to blame. A boy who is well fixed and can wear good clothes to school, cannot afford to make fun of a poor boy who has to wear out his father's clothes. Time, which makes all things even, will some day change places with those two boys, as sure as eggs are eggs, and the poor fellow that had four colors of patches on his papta, will come out all right and have all the whole clothes he wants, while the smart mutton-head who thought the clothes he -wore would make a man of him, will see the day he will, wish he had some of those old clothes to make over. The sufferings of the poor boy who has to skin alohg on revamped dt^thes of his father, and stand the gibes and jeers of thoughtless boys who are better fixed, are great, but tlie future always pays him ten fold for his humiliation, and this article is to brace up poor boys, who feel as though they never would get to the top, and show them that they are liable to take the cake, and to shame well-dressed school-boys, so they will never again make- fun of those who are poor.--Peck's £fatri. A Beggar's BUM, A man of genius, but somewhat seedy and negligent of apparel, called on an old friend, an Insurance agent down town, whom he had not seen for several months, and after the usual greetings the conversation, by mutual consent, dropped into matters of literature and philosophy. "By the way," remarked the genial visitor, "here's a good thing from Em­ erson. You know, when • a good thing strikes me, I j«t it down. It exactly fits my case in the present instance." Taking a scrap of paper from his pocket, he read!: "If you visit your friend, why need Sou apologize for not having visited im, and waste your time ana deface your own act'* Visit him HOW. Let him feel that the highest love has come to see him in thee--its lowest organ. Or why need you torment yourself and friend by s««ret self-reproaches that you have not assisted him or compli­ mented him with gifts and salutations heretofore? Be a gift and benediction. Shine with real light and not with the borrowed reflection of gifts. Gommon men are apologists for men; they bow the head, excuse themselves with pro­ lix reasons>and accumulate appearances because the substance is not." "How keen, how philosophic, how true!" exclaimed the visited. "The genius of truth!" added the visitor. Then, buttoning his coat, he arose and prepared to go. As he approached the door he turned back, and, with a nonchalant air, remarked: "Oh, I forgot. You haven't a dollar about you, you are not going to use for •n hour or two, have you ?" "O, certainly; come again," was the sympathetic answer. -- Indianapolis Herald. «jr Fanners. TO 'taake a good serviceable tele­ phone, good from one farm-house to another, only requires enough wire and two cigar-boxes. First., select your boxes and make a hole about a half an inch in diameter in the center of the .-a. - i _ . stove-pipe wire, make I loop 1 and put it through the hole in your gar-box and fasten it with a nail; theifl- draw it .tight to the other box, supporti' . ing it, when necessary, with a nod|. . cord: You can easily rtin your Ite^in- to the house by boring a hole through the glass. Support your boxes witl slats nailed across the window, your telephone is complete. Thi writer has one that is 200 yards long and cost 45 cents, that will* carry fou. sic when the organ is played thirtjf feet away in another room.--America^ Farmer. PITH AN© POIHT. Trife* Study ot History--(haildM| And so you like Edward VL best, Jbdjl^ why? Mary: Well, then, because--fiety only a page and a hail long. , HABIT takes hold on man. A Nfc, York Assemblyman wouldn't -role for bill increasing -his own Mkiy-vj .somebody paid him a bribe to do so. THEEE was a young lady called Nannr Who tor brick-a-trric had each a fank»/ i f, That a family jar 'Twixt her par and her mar . y, t 1 Delighted the soul of Miss Nai^y. 1 NEW ORLEANS Picayune: Girl#;-'" should take a supfdy of parched coltob alohg with, them to the theater to keep their young men from going put for it! ; between the acts. FRED, aged 7, was handling a valua­ ble book carelessly, and his fnofhwr told him to put it down on the table. He did so unwillingly, and remarked: "When I'm married, I shall not fiave to obey mamma.*' A LADY was lamenting the death of a young professional man who had never entered into the bonds of matrimony, and she concluded her remarks in thin way: "Yes, poor fellow, he is dead, and only nineteen 'young ladies tfaM&l him." WHY is it that a voung man and a young woman will sit for hours to­ gether in a parlor without saying a word; and then, when it is time for him to leave, stand an hour talking earnest­ ly on the front stoop, in the still, pneu­ moniae air?--Fuck. 4 A CALLOW youth asks the Philadel­ phia Times "where he shall put bis kiss." If he could get ten dollars for it, he would "put it up the spout" at his " "uncle's." When a young man doesii't know where to put a kiss, he should keep it in his head, if it doesn't make too much noise rolling round in, the vacuum.--NorrisUnon Herald. "MAMMA," said a little 3-year-oJd, "what dress didn't I have oil when I didn't go. to see auhtie?" At another time she entered a room where her auntie was sitting entertaining a gen­ tleman who had called. As they stop­ ped talking when she came in she look­ ed at them a moment and said: "Why don't you go on savin' tvhat you wasn't talkin' about?" "WHAT'S orbs, Sallie?" "Orbs? Why, as to how, Maggie? Who said bo?" "Well, you know that city chap's was sparking me last night, an'he looked me square in the face and sung out: "Oh! if I could always bask in the ef­ fulgence of those bright orbs." "Humph! I guess that must be what they call eyes that squint; but what do you suppose he wanted of a basque?" A PRACTICAL joker went to a famous; doctor and told him he was a sufferer from ©very dissass known ii) m»/Kfni science and a whole lot of others. The doctor asking which he wanted to be cured of first, he said it was a matter of absolute indifference to him. "Well, then," said the doctor, "suppose I begin by trying to cure you of your chronic, and if ear incurable, idiocy." WE learn from an exchange that an important clue in a celebrated case nas been obtained. It appears that "the uncle of the defendant was told by* hist son, who heard it from an aunt in the country, who got her information from a neighbor, the latter having overheard a stranger tell another that he wns told by a man that the report touching this question was told by a man who said he had been told that the defendant had always kept a dog." That ought to set­ tle it.--Norristoum Herald. ' ACCURACY in journalism: A Chicagt> newspaper reporter %ho was walkiug along the road in the neighborhood of Concord, over which the famous Jumbo had just passed, observed the foot­ prints of the huge animal in the mud and taking out his notebook entered the the following memorandum of a society item for tlie journal with which he was cpnnecte«l: "It is understood that Mrs. B., of St. Louis, who eloped a fortnight ogo, is making a pedestrian tour of New Hampshire."--Brookly n Eagle. • TONY LEK, a player in King Charles H.'s reign, having a violent cold; oould not forbear coughing as he lay dead upon the stage, having been killed in a tragedy. This occasioned a great deal of noise and laughter in the Verase. Tony waggishly lifted up his head, and addressing the audience, said: "This ; makes good what nay poor mother used to tell me; for she would often say tliafr I should cough in my grave, because I used t& drink with my porridge." This set the house in such good liumor that it produced a° thundering round of ap~- plause, and made every one pardo& tlie solecism lie had committed. Distance Lends Enchantment Bralt suppose your neighbor, or sev­ eral of your neighbors, did go to En- rope last summer, what did they see? Well, eight oat of ten of tbem saw just dirt piled up in different pvof tor­ tious, and water in larger or smaller quantities, and set in different places, and more trees, and of a different sort, and always, always the 'Same animal, more or less wise, or stupid, or con­ ceited--the human one meets in travel varies far less than the inanimate ob­ jects with which he conies in contact-- just eight of ten saw this, and nothing more. Yet on one of the most heavenly of these days, take almost any ©ne driving with these cheap pleasures unfolded be­ fore him, and how tamely he expresses his admiration! Place that same bit of sky, and gold, and crimson and purple splendor pf fo­ liage, with the dreamy background, in-- for instance, Italy, and listen to his rap­ tures.--Hclty A. Morrison, in Indian­ apolis Herald. What Is Pare Religion! ( "De pure an' undefiled 'ligion,7 says the Rev. Plato Johnson, "is always to be. foun' in a man's pocket. Dat is a curus place to look fer 'ligion, but ef tain't there den tain't nowhere. De man dat can't put his hands on his 'ligion wen he puts on his hands his pocki et-book ain't got none. When a man talks loud 'bout his ligion, dat is only purtense; but wen he shells out de hard cash he aint fooUn'---hfe mean* bizness," > • J; ?«<•»* .