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: .V-.V-'O'• * f ,y,i t '* * t, , «<r> 1: As aleep, mother, rock me to sls«p." tit* reader pause? Why doM ah* • f Uliw/ll^he qulv'ring lip*, head bo wine low, <CMT»-wmu >nd wrinkled face, where the taftra #>* (RKD her childhood home, old and alone, , Xo«Ba, and nothing, to claim aa her own; . PMu«and friend* all are lost in th* part, Stand, in her old age, the poor-house at lan f "Soak me to aleep, mother, rock ma to aleep." • SkwUM the voice, for the mem'ries that aweep •B from the nnsT land, where ahe *ai young, Start O'er h«r heart as a harp long unstrung, Mnaic that OHM haa charmed, chorda lost ao ion*. , , , : i • 1IOT«'S awaateat harmonies, jo j a happy song. Come from th* silence so long and ao deep-- . '"Book me to aleep, mother, rock ma to sleep." ""Bock ma to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep," ; Just aa when weary of playing "Bo-Peep." Xiong, long ago, ahe would turn to her breast, i Teeming for iove words and kisses and rest. Torn* ahe to-niffht. a child now onoe more; "Mother, come back from the echolees shore 1" - What do her dim eyes see? What dot-a aha h*ar? it Why does she linger where tear follow* tear? {' Over and over in sobs low and deep-- "Rock me to sleep, mother, rook me to ale*p," Morn came, the aun, like a fond mother's face. Waked earth with kiaa from night'a atill em- bf|00| •r'Hashed were those lips In that peaceful repose, , - Only the friendless who find it o'er knows, -%»'3fotber bad come from "tho echolcss shore," . Claaped her again in her anus as of yore; -Open the book lay aside the lone dead, Tito-marked the lines o'er and o'er ahe had read. Nevermore here e'er to wake or to weep-- ':f"Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to aleep." ••Bock me to sleop. mother, rock me to aleep," !Oh 1 when the night shadows round the house creep, • When all the strife and the toiling are done, *Emptv and prizaleas the fame we had won, jFriends whom we loved passed^way from our sieht, sBopea we have cherished all buried in Bight, :f. jFondly wo turn to our childhood again, • Xonging for love and caresses, as then; v-4*1" Once mora the words from the waary heart . leap-- S®;' A'Boek me to sleep, mother, rook me to Bleep." "t--Youth't Companion. THE WIDOW BROWN. BY ANSA CERES FKRSCH. m m tttin )P«o»>aoiJ8K. (ennybody elese.' So, arter tea X oome • I away hum, but I «m detarmibed to -W ^*^"i5ttoIe?bdwsn4^Mtto! git *0 the bottom ov the bianess some- l and fll-h*alth awept har , how. ' Mrt tn Iter old age ahe found a poor-houae. One evening ahorMy | I SU8pl8llUDfld, OV OOUFSO, tOM tnem •ae was aitting by her bed, reading the boyshed bin a-hevin' » finger into !^hf de^th L^efo^m.r'and thr^ Clodhopper's pie, bqt I dasn't ask 'em ~ on "the echoiess shore."j right out, or they d smell the rat an' keep mum. Jake, he knows well ! enough, that ef his pa found out he'd ; bin helpin' to play tricks onto ennyone, he'il hev' to sweat fer it Josh's strict with the young ones, dread­ ful strict, an' always was. As fer Eli, he'd trimbla in his boots, ef he thort his ma'd find it out, seein' she's got him cat ont fer somethin' big; she's awful pertioler about his morrils an' acshuns when he's out in oomp'ny. Ef she knowed he'd been a-cuttin' up some didos out here to our house, she'd never let him come again. An' he sets sech great store by his visits, Eli does. It wouldn't a-done me no good fer to promise the boys that ef they'd tell me I'd keep it to myself an' let it go no farther. Somehow they don't seem to trust to my discreshun. I found that out more'n onct an' it's reel mortify in', so it is. Ef ever I try to coax Jake to tell me somethin' he's prom is t not to tell no­ body, he jest ses: 'Ye wouldn't want me to break my promise would ye, ma?' An' onot he told me that he'd as soon keep his secrets into a fannin'- mill sieve as to expect me to keep em fer him. "Cliildrin is a-gettin' so disrespect­ ful nowadays, 1 don't see what this world's a-comiu' to, nor how 'twill end. But then Jake takes arter his pa's famblv in his failin's. Josh's folks always was a peculiar set, the hull parcel on 'em. • „ • But where was I? Lemme see. Oh! ye-e-«, I startid to tell ye how I worked it so's to find ont what bnstid the widder's ingage- ment Bo I wait'd ontil it wus time fer the old settlers' meetin' to come off. ItV always held into a grove, two mile west o' here, which brings it about a mile from our place. My neffy, Simon Staples, lives to Nippersink, a good twenty mile from here, an' I sent fer him 10 come up to the meetin'. I al­ ways do, every year, seein' his pa's my brother, and Si was raised in these parts an' always lived here afore they moved up to Nippersink. Simon al­ ways thort a wonderful sight o' me an' the gals by what I say, amazin'. Wal, when he come, I sed to him, ses I: 'Si, ye'd better jest make up yer mind to stav a few days an' her' a good time with the boys, seein' your cousin from Chicago's here.' " 'I don't keer ef I do, auntv,' ses he. " 'Si,' ses I to him, 'Ef ye wanter hear some fun, jest ask Jake and Eli what they done over to Mis' Brown's, about three weeks ago. But see that ye don't tell 'em I sot ye up to it; or they won't tell ye a blessid word.' " 'All right, auntv,' ses lie, a-grinnin', Til see to that.' That night 1 jest made Si sleep with Jake an' Eli, cause I reckoned they'd like nothing better, an' besides I knowed that that would give him a good chance to ask the boys aboat the widder. j "The room where me and Josh sleeps into is next to where the boys sleeps. There's a chimly into my room an' in the wall betwixt the two rooms is a hole fer the stovepipe to run through. In that way one stove warms two rooms; which is a amazin' savin' in wood. In the summer time the stove is took down, but the hole is there jest the same. Wal, arter the boys hed gone up to bed, I slyed up there an' listened to the stovepipe hole. "It took some time afore they got done cnttin' up an' rompin' an' kiokin' each other out o' bed an' knocl'.in' each other over the head with pillers. That's boy style, ye know, an' it couldn't be expected no otherwise. But bymeby they got tired oat an' began to lay stilL " 'Eli,' sez Si, 'what ye'n Jake bin a-doin* to the widder Brown, hey ?' " 'What ye wanter know fer ?' sez Eli, short as pie crust " 'Oh, it don't make no difference to me,' sez Si, innercent like, 'only I heerd someboay'd bin a-play in' tricks onto the widder, an' I didn't know but ye an' Jake hed bin hevin' a hand into it, that's all.' " 'Jake,' sez Eli, 'it's too good to be kep', an' I bet Si wouldn't give us away; hadn't we better tell him ?' " 'I don't keer ef ye do,' sez Jake, 'only ef it gits out, it'll be through him, an' then I'll give him a tall hidin,' that's all I hev to say; git there, Eli, with yer story.' "With that, Eli sot to an' told Si all about the widder an' her promise to her fust man an' aboat-old Clodhop­ per. " ' When I heerd aunt sayin' that she wisht somethin'd happen to break off the match, an' that it won't no more'n right it should be broke off, I made up my mind to see that she got her wish. It would be aech fun, ye know, an' be­ sides, ef it got found out, nobody couldn't blame us boys, seein* she'd kinder sot us up to it,' ses he. "The scamp! I hadn't no idee he'd be that sharp, 'though I don't see how ennybody could blame me fer the match not comin' off; I never told the beys to hender it "Wal, when Eli got so for in his story, I bepun to listen with all my oars. " 'Ye know,' ses Eli to Si,'the widder believes in sperrits an' ghosts. When I heerd that, 1 reckoned there'd be lots ov fun to be got out ov her, an' me an Jake laid our heads together an' hatched ont somethin' lich. We waited ontil the dark ov the moon, an' then, one ex- try dark night we made fer her house!' 'Twas arter Annt Melindy an Unkle Josh hed gone to bed, an' expect'd wo wus fast asleep in . ourn. Jake, he knows the ran o' Mis' Brown's house in the dark, seein' he's so well acquainted over there, an' me an' him dim into the buttery winder. We upsot a pan o' somethin "Wal, Mis' Wimples," said Mrs, Me- tinda Haver straw, as she stored away iher plump person in the big wooden rocking-chair, "wal, I've found out the Reason why the widder Brown is so sot sagin' marryin' Bill Clodhopper, all ov « sudden, an' ye know, I've promist to %et ye know, ef ever I found it out" "Do tell!" ejaculated Mrs. Whaples, 3d' gi'n up ever hearin' about it I'm wo glad ye come over. Ill jest run up ian' git my work." And suiting the action to the words, she disappeared in the narrow stairway which led from the kitchen to the upper story, to return a few moments later, carrying a basket of "efeptive socks. "Now then," said she, "I'm ready to ten." "I guess I've told ye," began Mrs. averstraw, meditatively, rooking her- jself more slowly, "that me an' the wid­ der Brown wus gals together, an' wus jbrung up into the same naberhood, so f[ know all about her. What I'm ja-goin to tell ye happened lately, not I tnore'n a month a£o, an' I say it's Itoo good to be kep'. I ean't bear ' Iter enyway, ever since she come nigh |pttin' Josh away frnm me, when we Jwus gals. I guess she'd a-done it, too, ef ft hadn't a bin that he was ingaged to •ne fast an' sure. All ov our folks ijknowed it, an' so did everybody else, an' <jJosh he dasn't back out, 'cause he knowed well enough pa'd a sued him fer breach o' promise^ So I hed the . tipper hand ov her and she's felt dis'- |»'inted ever sence. • "She married Brown after'ards, and folks ses they lived middlin' happy to­ gether, an' that he sot great store by tier, 'though I fer my part can't see anything winnin' in her; no, nor never ipould. Why, when he laid onto his ifieath-bed he made her promise not to Snarry no man, no matter who'd jtnight be. I heerd it with my own ears; •cause I wus there when he died. "Wal, she kep' her promise purty qgood, fer eight or ten year, an' 'twa'n't mo more'n right she should, I claim. JBut within the last year or so, Bill dodhooper run there purty reg'lar an' .folks wus a-gitt'n so they looked fer 'em to be married soon, but I guess, JEvelindy an' Bill missed their calkil- ashun an' so did them that expected a invite to the weddin'. I fer my» part , Sfeel glad on it, reel glad, sarves her jest wight fer what she done to me, when I 7>wus a gaL "The way Evelindy Brown lost Clod­ hopper, is kinder cor'ns an' oncommon, *>nt my neffy, Eli Harris, what's bin a "roitin' to our house last summer, inows all about it; 'cause he was con- «arned in it I heerd him tell on it an' «o it comes to ye straight "That boy Eli, (he's my oldest sis- jter's son, an' wus brung up in Chicago,) • is dretful well-read an' has got a right ov book-larnin'. His ma sent him to school aturrible sight;'spect she's : a-goin to make a preacher or somethin' o' that sort ov him. "Wal, I wus a-tellin' about the wid- •der to our house an' what a shame it is fer her to wanter git married to another man, when her husbun' ast her not .to -onto his dvin' bed, an' how I wisht j somethin' 'd come up betwixt 'em for to •« upset their calkila-shuns. We wua all gpV ov us a-settjn' to the table when I sed ® 'that, an' Eli he wank so kinder sly at Pj my boy Jake. gL " 'What denominashun's the widder 5* -aatEli.' fife , " 'Ok- nothin' in pert icier,'sea I, "she Zffi. , don't blong to no church.' jfe "u 'Is she easy skeered ?' ses he. II ' " '^°"ses 'she's got a sight o' grit gll -an' aint afeard o' no cow-critter nor no boss; no matter how onrnly they be.' " 'Hain't she got no superstishuns, >noshuns I mean, aunt?' ses Eli. 'Oh,' ses I, 'yer needn't explain ysr xneanin' to me, I know all about them *jig words, all ov our family wus good skollards; 'twos borned in 'em. Yes, ahe s got some noshuns, b'leves in sperrits an'ghosts an' sich like,' se» I "to Eli "I knowed then, ma« h as oould be, that them boys intendid to git up some­ thin' fer to pester the widder an* Cloi- diopper, but didn't say nothin'. seein' *twa'n?t my biznesg. "Next Snnday Clodhopper didn't "Walk home from meetin' with the wid­ der, as he hed been in the habit o* doin' fer a consid'able spell back. I* took pertie'ler notice o' that; nor I hain't aeen 'em together senoe. I sorter in­ quired into it a leetle an' found out by our hired man, that Clodhopper's housekeeper sed that he goes 'round lookin' dretful dampish an' don't hardly •eat nothin'. 1 couldn't rest contentid, an' next arteruoon I jest fixed -took my knittin' •Over to Evelindy's to an' hooked the fishhook into the gnilt, nigh to the foot «od o' the bed. Tbm iia placed'tother end o' the liap through the hole in the door ift* I hung onto it When we got back into the closet, he left the door Open a little ways an' I begun to pull the string, a-yankin' the quilt mostly off the widder. She give a kind OT a grunt in her sleep an' grabbed holt on the quilt, a-tryin' fer to pull it apu I pulled the string some more. That woke her ape I yanked the qoilt offen her ag'in an' that skeered her like thunder. "'"Fer goodness grac'ous sakest what's that ?" she hollered. " 'It's me,' ses I, in a kind or a gruff •oioe. "'"Oh! outeh! outch! good land! Oh--oh--oh!!!" yelled the widder. " 'Evelindy, hark!' ses I, a-yankin the string again. "I'm the sperrit of yer husbun' Fete, cum back fer to hev a talk. Nobody ain't a-goin' to hart ye, now jest lay still an' near what I hev to say.' " ' "Oh dear me! is it honestly yon, Pete ? Ef I coald only feel ov the wart on yer nose, mebby I'd b'lieve it Oh dear! Oh, dear!" ses the widder. " 'I begun to feel sorry fer the poor critter, an' was fer tellin' her who we wus an' not to git so Bkeered, but Jake he punched me in the ribs an' whis­ pered he'd write it to ma ef I didn't see the fun through. " 'I reckon ye'll hey' to b'lieve me without the wart,'sea I; 'sperrits haint never got no warts, ennyhow. I come fer to remind ye ov yer promise to me an' to stop Clodhopper's a-tryin' to get ye to hev' him. Ef ye don't let go ov him, an' live an' die a widder sech as ye be now, ye may jest expect to git the bedclose yanked offen ye every night ov yer life, nor I shan't stop fer cold weather neither; jest make up yer mind to that " ' "Pete," ses she,Mef that's the oalk- ilashnn jest make yer mind easy about that I won't marry Clodhopper on* less " " 'There's no onless to it,' ses I, reel stern, 'either ye go over to his house ter-morrer mornin' an' tell him ye've changed yer mind an' fer him to quit rnnnin' here, or else " ' "I'll do ennything ye tell me to, ef ye'll only quit comin' here, ye skeered me so," and there she broke down and begun to cry. " 'That's all right, Evelindy,' ses I, 1 won't trouble yon no more. Jest see that ye don't marry Clodhopper, that's the main pint, good night. " 'Arter that, us boys sat on the closet floor a long time, waiting for her to go to sleep, so's we oould git the hook back, 'cause ef we'd left it. 'twould spile the joke next mornin'. The sky was gittin' red afore we got back up here; but I'll be darned ef we didn't stop her from marry'n' old Clod­ hopper.' "That's how I come to find out what broke off the match, an'* I reckon I worked it purty sharp, ef 1 do say it*" concluded Mrs. Haverstraw, compla­ cently. Wal, I should say ye did," observed Mrs. Whaples, admiringly, "but then, ye always wus one of the sharp kind, it's in the fambly, as ye say I" E5i an' slushy, a-fumblin' 'round in the dark an' got dretfal skeered, bat we come out all right; we jest happened to ketch the pan afore it fell; so there won't no racket to wake the widder up. Jake he ast me what the stull wus, an' I told him to lick off his fingers an' find out By the way he spit, I reconed he'd found out; it wus soft soap he sed arterwards. Jake, he took me by the hand an' led me from the buttery into the kitchen an' from there into a closet The closet hed another doOr that opened into the widder's bed­ room. 1 knowed by Jake, tliat her hired man hed a family ov his own an' slept to hum every night, way down tother side o' the hill where her house stands, The African Slaye Trade* f # The cruel part of the slave tra&fe fi the march across Central Africa from the Soudan. When a sufficient number of slaves have been caught to form a caravan the miserable procession starts across the desert. Each slave has to carry his or her own gourd of water and provisions of dried dates from sta­ tion to station, and to make the weary journey on foot In the forests and bush of equatorial Africa they are yoked or tied together, but in the sandy wastes of the Sahara they are not chained or mancled; for, should they try to escape, there is nowhere but the desert for them to go, and they would have to throw away their bur­ dens of food and water, so that a cer­ tain an^i lingering death would be the only result of gaining their freedom. At different points on the route parts of the caravan branch off from the main body and strike northward across the desert for Tripoli, Tunis, or the inte­ rior of Algeria, until the caravan arriveB at Timbuctoo. From this great cen­ tral mart they turn northward to Cape Juby, where the Northwest African Trading Company attempted to found a station on a small island just off the coast to tap the Sultan's trade with the interior and Timbuctoo, and would no doubt have been successful had not the Sultan sent several thousand troops to occupy the cape, with strict instructions to fire on any one who attempted to land. From Cape Juby to Morocco is but a short march, and then the slaves are distributed among the inland towns, and are sold by public auction to a life of comparative ease and comfort. Of the long trains that leave Darfour and the Soudan for Morocco, not more than 40 per cent reach the Sultan's domin­ ions ; the rest have fallen by the way, victims to the sun, to hunger and thirst, to blows and privations of every kind. If the horrors of this march across thousands of miles of desert are to be put an end to they must be stopped at the fountain-head. Nothing can bo done in Morocco; but slavery there is not of the Legree or Uncle- Tom type, which is the only one that English minds can comprehend: the slaves are well fed and well treated, and most European governments would lay themselves open to obvious retorts did they interfere to change the slaves' condition. It is at the com­ mencement of this journey of death that the cure must be effected. When Gordon swept the province of Darfour the slave-hunters found their occupa­ tion gone, and their hitherto profitable calling was changed to one of danger and doubtful remuneration; but when we abandoned Gordon at Khartoum we abandoned all attempts to check the slave trade in Central Africa. But the soft Soudan is a long way off and Africa is AHTBtiND TO SUIT THE CROWD. How Znb Vane* Kxplalned Hla Knllglsiia Faith and Captured the Votes. [Atlanta Constitution.! . Zeb Vance said that one time away back when he was running for Con­ gress against Holden ho had to go over a mountain range and down into a valley.-where he had never been before. The hamble people in that valley were almost eVt off and hid out from the rest of the World, and especially from that aide of the world in whioh Mr. Vance lived. He knew nothing about their politic^ pr religion. "North Carolina is a porioas State," said he. "Her re­ ligion is speckled and spotted like it had the measles. In one valley you will find the people all Episcopalians, however poor and primitive. The an­ cestors of first settlers came from old England and brought that religion with them, and, as nobody moved in or out, their descendants kept the faith of their fathers. In another valley you will find them all Presbyterians, because the ancestors came from Scotland. In another they will be all Methodists or all Baptists, and every one of these separate communities will have an old patriarch working in the lead, and he is looked upon as the bell-weather of the flock. Now, it is necessary that a politician should know tho religious faith of those with whom he is 'leution- eering' for votes. If he can't chime in with it exactly he mustn't say any­ thing 'agin' it "Now," said Vance, "when I got over into the valley to meet my appointment, I found about seventy-five of the humble sovereigns gathered at the cross-roads where there was a little store and a wagon shop and a meeting lionse. They had on their home-made clothes and were standing around ohewing tobacco and talking about 'craps' and waiting for me to come. I soon got familiar with them and got them in first rate humor, but as Holden was to come over in a day or two I wanted to fix things in some way so that he couldn't unfix them. Holden was a Methodist and I was afraid that these people were. I no­ ticed an old man sitting off on a chunk and marking in the sand with his long walking-stick. He had on big brass spectacles and his heavy, shaggy eye­ brows and big nose indicated character, and so I set him downas the bell-weather of the flock. After a while I got up close to him and was about to address him, when he gave a prayerful grunt and got up and braced himself on his stick and looking at me said in a solemn voice: 'This is Mr. Vance, I believe?' 'Yes, sir,' said I, giving him my hand. 'And I am Emanuel Stenor,' said he, 'and I suppose you have come over the mountain to talk to my boys about their votes.' 'Yes, sir,'said I, 'that is my principal business, and I--' 'Well, Mr. Vance,'said he, interrupting me; before you proceed any further with that business I would like to ax you a question or two.' 'Certainly, sir,' said 1; 'certainly.' 'Well, Mr. Vance, al­ low me to ax you what church do yoa belong to?' - "Well, that was a sockdolager and it came right straight at me, and for a moment I was demoralized, but rallied, and as the boys had all gathered around to hear the old man put me through, I cleared my throat and said; 'That is a fair question, my friend; a fair ques­ tion, and I will tell you about that. My grandfather came from England, and aa over there the established church was Episcopalian, of oourse he was an Episcopalian.' "I paused a moment to see the effect of this, but there was none that was favorable. The old man marked a lit­ tle more in the sand and spit his to­ bacco away off on one side. Sol continued: 'But my grandmother came from Scotland, and you know that John Knox left his mark upon that whole nation, and so, of course she grew up a Presbyterian.' I paused again, but there was no sign, no awak­ ening, no chord struck, and the old man marked some more in the sand. 'But, my friend, my father was born and grew up in a Methodist community, who were in this country, and converted by John Wesley, and, of course he be­ came a Methodist' I thought that now 1 had him sure, but I didn't There was no sign of sympathy from him or the boys, and so I took my last shot. 'But my good old mother, sir, was born and raised a Baptist, and it's always been my opinion that a man has got to go under water before he can get to Heaven.' A gleam of satisfaction spread all over the old man's face as he said: 'Give me your hand, Brother Vance. Boys, I told you so; I told you he was a Baptist afore he come. He is a man. You can all vote for him, but Holden won't do nary time, for they do say that he is one of these shouten, oa- vortin' Methodists.' " still the dark continent; and so we left the long caravans to once more plod their deadly path across the desert, and we passed on either side, content to chase a few dhows in the Bed Sea for the saving of our consciences.--Illus­ trated London Newts. up so we won't afeerd ov ennyone hearin' an' went • her, ef she'd git skeered an' go to hol- make her I lerin'. When we got inside the closet a visit an* stay to tea. I kinder I took a fishline with a stout hook onto pumped her some; but she wus mighty akittuh. I didn't git but plagid little satisfaction out ov her. I inquired after Mr. Clodhopper, but she actid techy and sed reel crusty: 'I don't see what l̂ boaU ICMir About him enny more'n one end ov it, out o' my pocket, while Jake bored a small hole through the closet door with a gimlet he'd brung a-purpose. We could hear the widder a-snorin', so we felt all safe; Jake he opened the door, reel aldw. vol keerftal Brand* from the Burning. First Sweet Girl (going home from a great revival)--I'm so happy; we've got religion, haven't we ? Second Sweet Girl (another convert) --Yes, that's what the minister said. You know, we promised to renounce the devil and all his works nnd lead better lives. I wonder" what that meant ? "I'm sure I don't know. We've got to renounce something, that's sure. We've been doing something awfully wicked, I suppose. I wonder what it is?" "I can't think. It must be something awful or the preacher wouldn't have talked the way he did. O l I knoWi I know now." * -:•'«•••• "What? What is it?" ' * "Ifagaun."--OmahaWorld. The "Light of Asia." But I had forgotten to speak of Sar- nath, the old Benares of many oentu-* ries ago. It lies some four miles out of the present city, and is all cultivated over, except where great heaps of broken brick mark the spot where its costly edifices once stood. A lofty old round tower-looking structure, about 10() feet in diameter and over that in height, a solid mass of brick, marks the spot there Gautama taught his re­ ligion, and probably beneath it were buried some of his bones or hair. A part of its outer casing of stone is in good condition, exhibiting exquisite de­ sign and finish in its elaborate and in­ tricate carving. It is said to be over 2,000 years old and is probably the original "stupa" from which the paga- dos of Burmah were modeled, they, however, taking more of a bell form. It was a touching thing to sit under this old "stupa," and go back in fancy twenty odd centuries, and to imagine myself listening to the gentle tones of this man, who abandoned the luxuries of princely possessions, the power of royal position, to become for long years a recluse, that he might spin from his-brain the thread which binds and unites man to his God; and who, after he believed he had found the soft, silken bond, gave himself up to a life of labor and deprivation while he preached his beautiful philosophy--teaching loveliness of spirit, absolute purity of life, love to God, and a boundless char ity toward all living things. Here, close by, he lived for many years, founding a religion which has more votaries than any other faith professed by men; here he preached that exquisite charity which can give pain to nothing breath­ ing the breath of life--which oan take life from no thing into which God has blown breath; which teaches that no living thing is so degraded that it may not hold a soul whioh God has created and whteh can never die. Here he lived, • who to-day is worshiped by countless mill ions "as a god. Here he walked and here he sat, uttering those maxims which soon crystallized into a faith, and this is claimed to be the "Light of Asia." I sat and thought. Aronnd me were more than a dozen little boyj and girls, bright, but all begging--lithe, healthy, and pretty, butallateeped in poverty and ignor­ ance, and all followers of Itaddha, or rather tin children of his followers. How muoh had his teachings to do with their degradation ? Though his phllos- ophy be so beautiful; though his re­ ligion be so fuH of charity--that qual­ ity which proves that man is akin to Deity; though he taught love for God and for everything He has created, yet his religion has depressed and repressed his followora. He taught that a life of purity was a life of tranquility and of calm, inactive reflection Man must constantly step forward. He must not stand still.--Carter H. Harrison'# let­ ter frovi Benares, India. Emotional Development la Girls, It is precisely in that natural apti­ tude for emotion, in that type of mind whioh is exquisitely sensitive to im­ pressions and generously sprayed by sympathetic feeling, that one of the great dangers to the perfection of wo­ manhood, physical and mental, may be said to reside. ' Many and varied influences tend to increase this emotional excitability until it often becomes a fixed habit of' mind; and undue sensibility of the su­ preme centers to emotional ideas is created, which can only be maintained at the expense ofrsound health of body and of mind. FirM among these are certain home influences that are brought to bear upon a little girl from her earliest childhood, which foster her self-consciousness and introspection. She is generally permitted narrower limits within which she can play, can dress, can succeed, than are allowed to her brother, even when her physique is equally alrle. She is housed more closely, her out-of-door sports are fewer and less interesting, and her dress is too often a limitation to her freedom. Such restrictions of her lib­ erty, and constant reference to the fact that her sex denies her this or that em­ ployment or pleasure, tend to make a child self-conscious and emotionally overactive. Methods of family disci­ pline which depend upon appeals to the emotional natures of children have like unhealthy results, for they promote a condition of mental commotion and un­ rest harmful to children, who require an even atmosphere for the mind as well as for the body. There are often undue claims made upon little children for the demonstration of their affeo- tions, and this is especially true of girls. In a paper on "Emotional Prodigality Among Children," read before a dental society some years ago by Dr. C. F.' Taylor, it was argued that stimulation of the emotions among children con­ duced not only to disease of the spine, but also to dental cares. Dr. Taylor says: "In my large prac­ tice among children, I am certain that scores are literally killed by the excess­ ive amount of emotional excitement which they are forced to endure. All this hugging and kissing and talking to them is to excite responses of the same emotional nature in the child for the pleasure and gratification of the par­ ents and friends." And again he says; "I believe that three-fifths of the spinal diseases which occur in children are directly traceable to mental overaction. And this because a large proportion of these cases get well without other treat­ ment than ct withdrawal from the ex­ citing cause of emotional disturbance." Popular Science Monthly. The Pangs of Authorship Nobody but us literary people knows how closely grows* the attachment be­ tween the author and his characters. It is related of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe that when, from the pages of manuscript, she read the death of little Eva, the entire family sat bathed in tears, nor could one of them speak a word,but all mournfully separated, go­ ing to their rooms as though they had just attended the funeral of a dear friend. Some friends met Thackeray on the street one day, and his counte­ nance bore traces of intense grief. "What is the matter?" they asked. "I have juat killed Colonel Newoome," he sobbed, bursting into tears, as he hur­ ried away. Charles Dickens had the same experience. So did I. Mine was even more harrowing. .When I wrote my lirst funny storv about Mr. Bilderback going up on the roof to shovel off the snow, and making an avalanche of himself and sliding down into the rain barrel, I was almost heart­ broken. I didn't kill Mr. Bilderback myself. Ah, indeed, I hadn't the heart to do that. The managing editor, that dear considerate soul, saw how I felt about it, and he killed him for me. He also killed all the other dear, lov­ ing, gentle characters in the sketch. And as I was leaving he remarked that he would kill me if I ever came back with any more such stuff. He meant it, too. People who saw me coming out of the office scraping dust, and lint, and pine slivers, and gouts of paste off my back, saw at once, by my grief-stricken face, that something had happened. I could not tell them what My poor, bursting heart was too fulL-- Bob Burdette. Paste Diamonds. "The great majority of people cannot tell the difference between paste and real diamonds at a ball-room," said a well-known jeweler to a New York re­ porter, "and there are more people who wear paste than any one would think. Once 1 was the assistant of a fashion­ able jeweler in Washington. It was then a common thing to loan out an outfit of paste to ladies who had not se­ curity to give for real diamonds. "What did you charge for those paste outfits?" the reporter asked. "Generally about $25. Once a pretty girl from one of the Western States hired one of these paste sets from us for a ball and captured the heart of a wealthy French Count--not one of the shady kind, but a real Count, rich as a Croesus, who was on a visit to thu country, and after a short courtship they were engaged to be married. "He obtained for her an invitation to the next official reception, for which we lent her real diamonds and sent our de­ tective to watch them. "When she came back with them she said: 'O, I wish you had given me real diamonds like you did the first time. These last were paste and any one could see by their dullness that they were not diamonds at alL' "I didn't say anything, but shortly after when she obtained the loan of an outfit we gave her the paste set and she came back highly pleased with the change. "In a few day* she had no need to hire diamonds. Her lover bonghther plenty of them." CHEMISTS have discovered that ozone is good for something else besides re­ freshing tired and decayed human bodies. It is now used to prevent cream from becoming sour. SKVEN varieties of fish examined by naturalists of the Challenge expedition are found totally blind in the deap sea, but whan inhabiting «hnllnw waiev. ̂ d Satire Imw aaf Wo««t |p Algiers. Arab house is al- ways commenced in the aane wav ; Whatever the shape of the lot of groniid is, then must be a square oonrt, some­ times with a fountain in the oenter, and a colonnade surrounding tho court; in the smallest a column, with ornamented balustrade between, at each corner supports on horseshoe arches the up­ per story, with a repetition of the same number of columns and arches sup­ porting the roof; then rooms of every conceivable shape, to suit the conve­ nience of tho owner and to make the best of every inch of the lot, are built Wound the court, the doors and win­ dows, with iron gratings, opening into it; the outer wall forming a kind of fortress, with few and very small win­ dows. The Arabs as well as the English can saj that "a man's house is his cas­ tle. " In the large country houses the same rule is observed on a larger scale, and with moie columns, with a very extensive outer court enclosed by a long colonnade and wall. Baia s house was of the most modest order, a mere nutshell; a court seven feet by four was converted once a week into an exten­ sive laundry, where Falma, a jovial and good-natured negress, was in her ele­ ment Under the stairway, just wide enough for one, was a well, next to which was a tiny room, which received light only from the court The lame and lonely woman who occupied it did all her cooking at the door, and when she was fortunate enough to fry any­ thing like a mutton-chop, I was obliged to leave my easel for the time being. Once a week „ everything is turned out, on the acknowledged system, for a thorough house-oleaning; buckets oi water deluged the tiled floors' of the court and under the little colonnade, while a mop was used for the bed­ rooms, which were also tiled. Wood is seldom employed in the construction oi floors, as tiles are cooler in summer, do not warp, are more ornamental, and cheaper. Her old mother abominated shoes, and to see her assist in the gen­ eral washing up on cold and rainy days, going barefooted about the house on the cheerless tiles, sent a chill to my very marrow. To acknowledge and re­ turn my sympathy, she expressed her discomfort at seeing me at work in a big overcoat and thick-soled boots. When I went to see our friend Belkas- sern at home with his family the rain was pouring into the open court of his dwelling, and his five children were standing about on their bare feet like forlorn wet chickens; the mother with a babe in her arms, was afflicted, like all her little brood, with sore eyes. It is a strange fact that many of the natives of the hot countries wear al­ most the same clothing winter and summer, and do not seem to suffer from the cold when the thormometei stands at a few degrees, in the severest weather, above freezing-point Arab women are always curious to see how European ladies are dressed, and ex­ amine attentively their clothes and jowelry. If the Europeans show the same interest, and inquire into the dressing of the natives, they often find to their surprise, on cold days, on lift­ ing the haik of Moorish woman, nothing but a gauze chemise and a thin cotton bodice covering the breasts and a very small part of the back, and from the waist to the feet cotton pantaloons, ample, it is true, but not warm. The haiksare often made of hand-woven wool, very thick and warm, others oi silk, while the poorer classes wear a few yards of thin white cotton stuff The large haiks are about eighteen feet long by five feet wide. With one oi these with their veil to the eyes and falling about fourteen inches, and with pantaloons made up of seventeen yards of white cotton tied at the waist and ankles, the reader will have but little difficulty in understanding how they can conceal their figures and keep themselves warm. But such ample drapery is comparative luxury, and en­ joyed by the wealthy only. On the other hand one pities them in hot weather for being obliged to wear the veil and follow the fashion among the ladies of their standing of burdening their frames with such a weight of apparel. With all this drapery the women's husbands and acquaintances readily recognize them by their bearing and gait; but one can form no idea, or a very inaccurate one, of a woman from what the exterior forms suggest--F. A. Bridgman, in Harper's Magatine. A Mysterious Well. In the neighborhood of Shiraz, Per­ sia, upon a hill, the traveler comes upon some wells which would seem to date back to the great King Darius, for the labor involved in their construc­ tion certainly points to a dynasty more magnificent in its undertakings for the royal pleasure than the Parthian, Sas- sanian, or the Arab. Near the top of the precipitous hill there yawns an opening, perfectly Rectangular, about eight yards by six, which is the mouth of a well going straight down into the bowels of the mountain. The shaft is cut in the live rock, the sudes are as perpendicular as the plumb line can make them, and the depth some­ thing under 401) feet, the bottom at present being dry. Within fifty yards on the same hill are two smaller wells, and local tradition asserts that there is underground communication between the three. This theory finds support in the fact that when a pistol is fired at the month of one of these wells to dis­ turb the pigeons that flock thither at the noontide heat, the noise made by their wings, at first very loud, gets gradually fainter, as though the birds were escaping through some lateral galleries. They certainly in some manner take themselves away from the perpendicular shaft without coming out through the upper* mouth, though there is no evidence that their exit takes place through either of the other two wells.--Christian at Work. Dust Storms* Showers of grayish and redish dust off the African coast and over southern Europe have been known from Homer's time. A "blood-rain" in 1775 covered 200 square leagues of northern Italy, making a deposit an inch deep in places; and a dust fall near Cape Verde, de­ scribed by Darwin, was 1,600 or 1,800 miles wide and reached 800 or 1,000 miles from the coast. A shower of dust near Lyons, in 1846, was estimated by Ehrenberg to amount to 730,000 pounds one-eighth being microscopic organ­ isms. The red oolor is due to oxide of iron.--Ark an saw Traveler. 1 . - T > - ' - L . y ' " ' • t ' v . - A - It Cheers but Not Inebriates. Cheerful Friend -- Hello, old man! You're looking frightfully solemn. Come over with me to Madison Square Garden, I've got a box. Doleful Friend (incumbered with the remains of a heavy jag--What's the good of going over there ? You can't get anything to drink. Cheerful friend -- You can always get a smile out of the acrobatic clowns, jay boy. Every one of them is * turn- pier fall of spirits.--Judge, PITH AKD P0IS*. Toothache^-- bonnets--- vj J A BOWLING swell Burlington Free Press. THE sweetest things Lasses.^-jVeu? York journal. AMONG the things that won't bear the light are shadows. --- Bmghamton Leader. A MAS has just died from the effects of Kcjntuoky whisky. He was not * Kentuckian. --Detroit Free Press. A FALL RIVER bank is called the Metacomet Many of the Cincinnati, depositors look as if they had, toa--r Puck. THE Crown Princess of German^ rarely smiles. How different from the Crown Prince of Great Britain!--Bos­ ton. Transcript NINE-TENTHS of the pianos now mad*, are upright pianos, but nine-tenths of the pianists at large are downright nuisances.--Boston Budget THE man was disappointed who ex» peoted to read something sensational Hi an agricultural paper under the head of "Harrowing."--Picayune. "PAPA, where's atoms?" "Atoms? I don't know my boy. You mean Athens^ probably." "No, I mean atoms; thfc place where everybody is blown to." "PAPA, what is patrimony?" "It is what is inherited from a father, nor dear." "Oh--and then is matrimonii something inherited from the mother ?* --Life. ' <£•*-. "A FAMILY of four persons at Berrieit Springs, Mich., live on 19 cents a week,* They get the nineteen scents from 1 livery stable across the street--Areola Record * A YOUNG man ought not to proposa too gracefully. If he does the girl may ^ get the idea that he has had more prao* ^ tice than she deems desirable.--Somer«• , ^ ville Journal. NEAR-SIGHTED Pedestrian (famil* iarly)--Hellow, Dick! (discovers mis­ take). Oh, oh I Excuse me, I thought Sj you were another person 1 Stranger-*^ -.g. Great Scott! Ain't I? jjh "I NEVER could see that Ananias told - such lies that he should be struck dead for them." "And who are you?* "I'm < a real-estate agent." "Ah! That ex- plains it"--Lincoln Journal. * TRAMP--I'll trouble you for yotcf \ watch and pocket-book, young feller. :s> Young fellow (hand them out;--Well, take them, but it's lucky for you that you didn't strike me a couple "of week* 1 ago, when I was training for the ama- "* P teur boxing champipnship.-- Texas . 3' Sifting 8. LIEUTENANT BOXER--I'm -ordered to. Morocco, Miss Elson. We're likely to* have trouble there, you know. Miss li Elson--You must be careful not to get captured. Lieutenant Boxer --I'll try S not to. Miss Elson--I would. Just • I think how ridiculous you'd look bound in Morocco. , - ^ HER LOGICAL CONCLUSION. \ < "Ah. no, I never work," he aaia; With prMe he gazed aloft. ? ^ "Iii'Ieed. I always sleep in glove*,. 'J •- It keeps iny hands BO soft " - ^ "Isee," the cruel maid replied, " < 'I "How you accomplish that; \ ^ And, pretty sir, when sleep-tut .*•&P-W- '• Do you always wear your batfKc fi *"*- -Judge. * '£'• ' A METHODIST brother, a licensed ex- horter on Martha's Vineyard, wal' teacher of an adult class in Sunday- school. The lesson was on the cruct* fiction. "We read here," said the teacher, "of two male-factors. 1 have studied the Bible quite carefully, but have found no mention of female-fad* tors. Will each of you during this wee|^ search as thoroughly as you have time#> to see if their be any reference to fe*; male-factors in any part of the tures?* The Organic Cycle. The idea of the indestructibility and ceaseless change of matter leads to curious reflections, Sir Henry Thomp*. son has remarked that when an animal body decomposes, whether the proeesi " occupies four hour, four months, foul* year3, or even four thousand years,-** any one of these periods being quitye possible,--those elements which a#> sume the gaseous form mingle at onoe with the atmosphere, and are taken uj»K from it without delay by the ever-opelt; mouths of vegetable life. By a thou­ sand pores in every leaf the carbonio acid which renders the atmosphere unfit for animal life is absorbed, the Carbon being separated and assimilated to form the vegetable fiber, which, aa wood, makes and furnishes our houses and ships, is burned for our warmth, df is stored up under pressure for coat; "All this carbon has played its part, and many parts, in its time, as animal existences from monad up to man. Our mahogany of to-day has been many negroes in its turn, and before tale African existed was interal portions a§ many a generation of extinct speciei. And when the table, which haa bornf so well some 20,000 dinners, shall ba broken up from pure debility and coil- signed to the fire, thence it will issuer into the atmosphere once more as car­ bonic acid, again to be devoured by tha . nearest troop of hungry vegetables-^- green peas or cabbages in a London market-garden, say--to be daintily " served on the table which now standi " in that other table's place, and where* they will speedily go to the making of 'lords of creation.' And so on, agaip^ and again, as long as the world lasts."-*- Arkansaw Traveler. Capt. Moses Rogers. The steamship Savannah, the steamship that ever croBed the ooeaiv sailed from Savannah, Ga., May 2-% 1819, and arrived at Liverpool on thij>- 20th of the following month. She waja commanded by Capt Moses Rogers, qf New London, Conn. It is remarkabla that Capt Rogers commanded the Fu|f ton, the first steamship on the Hudson||,«# 5 - the Phuenix, the first on the Delaware^;;, the Eagle, the first on the Chesapeake; . the first steamer to make the voyag# from Charleston to Savannah--namia ; not given--and the Savannah, the steamship to cross the Atlantic Ocean.: The Savannah was a full-rigged sliijL with the paddle wheels so arrange^ that they could be shipped on deck i* "' - thirty minutes. She carried seventy* five tons of coal and twenty-five cordf . of wood. The wheels were frequently , t a k e n o n d e c k d u r i n g b a d w e a t h e r ; i i a . « fact, she used s^eam only eighteen ou| of the twenty-six days whioh it took t0.",, - make the passage. Capt Kogers re« . > ceived many honors both in England and in Russia, whither he went directl* after leaving Liverpool. The log of/v the Savannah is at present in th§,'V<.-' - Smithsonian Institution at Waahingtoiy Sensible Johnny. -,v * ,) "Johnny, I want you to run over 10 ,-j the grocery on the corner and get me ft A can of condensed milk." "I don't want to go now, mamma." "Why don't you want to go now. Johnny?" , | "Because I want to wait until th# grocery man's wife goes to churchf* Then her husband will be in charge of the store, and he will give me a stick v of candv, ffbfli PfTtr Anas " Tn-riria Sifting* ' : ; ̂ X'" ft . : 1 r ' . i . . . JL,.,