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BY LUCY LARCOM.
a crumpled paper in her band
Old Madeline wept.
Plmly the candle flict ered on the stand ;
Vp the dark cftimney flared a smouldering brand;
The whole bouse slept.
Aad Hadeline's care bad made that eleeptng sweet;
For all day Ion;
She pattered to and fro with Mfrht, quick feet;
And while her broom made nook and corner neat
She hammed a song
A broken sinrin?, thin and pitiful, ''
' And yet in tune.
With all that THltM trrt-at Ivrlr. mnilral
It stopped tbe children, harrying ont of school,
- At night or noon. -
Sow a quaint hymn ; now "Jamie on the sea;"
That anng in fur tnankrgtvinirs used to be,
In eavage days before the land was free ; -
, A glee or catch;
Xo matter what the children gathered near
For all and urh.
Pathos of moaning wind thronjrh branches sere.
u.mi m vi wtos uiai uib in nunrot ci ar
On some lone beach.
To-night she eM fa silence. Every night "
For year and year.
Hire had she cower -d by the lae candlelight
Orer the worn-out print, and blnrred her Tk-ht
. .. Heading through tears :
To one name, written on the list of " Dead,"
Her tired eye. grew.
Falling In the march, pursuing roes that fled.
Borne whero beside the road be lay, ta-y said;
His grave none knew. .
Tbe Uttered newspaper spread out to her
A p-cture wide.
Atone vast alien hills the battle's stir.
A foath-bed where none came to minuter
To him who died.
A spot of green beside a mountain road.
By warm winds kissed.
Where strange large roses opened hearts that
And over him tbeir blood-red petals strewed
, Whom love had missed.
For sweet maid Madeline had never gne -sed
Ralph eared for her
Save as a friend ; while vainly be songht rest.
Bore that no tender feeling in her breast
- - ' For him would stir.
And stfJl his Imae bnrie4 she within.
Beneath her thnnfrht
Wondering what happier girt his heart would win.
She drowned her vexing dreams in work -day din;
And after he had fallen, a comrade came,
and told her how
TTnon the batne-eve be breathed her nitM
Thea Madeline said: " None else my hand (hall
And kept her tow.
With her n. lightest wooing ever sped, r
No man might press
A soothing hand n pan her weary bead.
Or whisper comfort to the heart that bled
For Madeline said : " Ralph surely waits for me
Beyond Death's gate; . :
And I might mite him through eternity
By joining fates with one tees loved than he.
1 too can wait.
"I could not bear another lover's kiss.
Because 1 feel
That somewhere from the heights of heavenly
His spirit hither yearns, as mine to his, -Forever
This to her silent heart alone she said.
Hushing its moan ' ' '
That yet into har merriest singing strayed ;
While all declared, " A cheerf uler old maid
Was never known."
Xor ever was there. As her poor song worth
And witchery stole
From muffled minors, in them bad Its birth.
Out of crushed joy sprang kindliness and mirth;
Her life was whole.
Whole, though it seemed a fragment, rent apart
From its true end.
Downward from deathless clinging reached her
Beadier to comfort for its hidden smart
To all a friend.
X one saw her tears save God and her lost love.
Surely that dew
Kept memory blossoming fresh in fields above;
Against death's bars he must hare fed the dove
That fluttering flew.
So lived she faithful, an on wedded bride. "
His hand of snow
Age laid in blessing on her head. She died.'
Do Ralph and Madeline now walk side by sidef
—N. Y. Independent.
Sleep is nearly as great a puzzle as ever
ft was. Much hag been discovered con
cerning the bodily peculiarities manifested
daring this portion of our existence; bat
all whose opinions are best worth listen
ing to admit that they are enly on the
threshold of the subject yet. Why, for
instance, can some men maintain their
bodily and mental rigor with eo small - an
amount of sleeps as falls to their share f
Lord Brougham, and many other great
statesmen ind lawyers, are known to
have been content with a marvelously
email quantity of sleep. Frederick the
Great is said to have allowed himself only
five hours; John Hunter, five- hours;
General Elliot, the hero of Gibraltar, four
hours ; while Wellington, during the Pen
insular War, had still less.
How, on the other hand, to account for the
cormorant sleepers f Da Moivre, the mathe
matician, could (though it is to be hoped
he did not) sleep twenty hours out of the
twenty-four. Quin, the actor, sometimes
slept fortweniy-lour hours at a stretch. Dr.
Read, the metaphysician, could so manage
that one potent meal, followed by one long
and sound sleep, would last him for two
days. Old Parr slept awav his latter days
almost entirely. In the middle of the last
century a young French woman, at Tou
louse, had, for half-a year, fits of
lengthened eleep, varying from three to
- thirteen days each. About the same time,
girl, at Newcastle- on-Tyne, slept four
teen weeks without waking: acd the
waking process occupied three days to
complete. Doctor Blanchet, of Paris,
mentions the case of a lady who slept for
twenty days together when she was about
eighteen years of age, fifty when -she wss
aoout twenty, and had nearly a whole
year's sleep from Easter Sunday, 1862, till
March, 1863 ; during this long sleep (which
physicians call hysteric coma) she was fed
with milk and soup, one of her front teeth
being extracted to obtain an opening into
her mouth. Stow, in his " Chronicle," tells
tts that "The 27th of April, 1546, being
Tuesdaie in Easter weeke, W. Foxley,
potmaker for the Mint in the Tower of
London, fell atleep, and so- continued
Bleeping, and could not be waked with
pricking, cramping, or otherwise, till the
first day of the next term, which was full
fourteen day eg and fifteen nights. The
causes of his thus sleeping could not be
knowne, tho' the same were diligentlie
searched for by the king's physicians and
other learned men ;yea, the king himselfe
examined v. said YV FotIpv w-hn was in
all points found at his waking to be as if
ne haa slept Dot one night." .
Another very notable instance was that
of Samuel Chilton, of Timsbory, recorded
in one of the volumes of the "Philosoph
ical Transactions of the Royal Society."
In the year 1694 he slept for a month, and
no one could wake him. Later in the
same year he had a four months' sleep,
from April the 9th to August the 7th ; he
woke, dressed, went out into the fields
(where he worked as a laborer), and found
his companions reaping the corn which
he had helped to sow the day before his
long nap ; it was not till that moment that
ne Knew of his sleep having exceeded the
usual duration of a few hours. He went
to sleep again on the 17th of August, and
did not wake till the 19th of November,
notwithstanding the pungent applications
of hellebore ana sal ammoniac to his nos
trils, and bleeding to the extent of four
teen ounces. . He woke, asked for bread
and cheese, but went off to sleep again be
fore it could be brought to him, taking
another spell of sleep, which lasted till
the end of January. After this it is not
recorded that he had any more of these
strange relapses. . . -
There are instances of sleep so ia tensely
deep as to deprive the sleeper of all sense
of pain. The records of the Bristol In
firmary present an extraordinary illustra
tion of this. One cold night a tramp lay
down near the warmth of a limekiln, and
went to sleep. One foot must have been
close to the fire-hole of the kiln ; for dur
ing the night the foot and ankle was so
completely burned away as to leave noth
ing but black cinder and calcined ash. lie
did not wake till the kiln man roused him
next morning, nor did he know what had
occurred until he looked down at his char
red stump. He died in the infirmary a
fortnight afterwards. Scintifie American.
A f 5,000 duxoxd hag bees found in a
iMcCONNELLSyiLLE, OHIO, FRIDAY, JULY 28, 1871.
A WISE LITTLE WOMAN.
A WISE LITTLE WOMAN. I.
Our morning studies with Scot were
over, end I, Charles Brett, was lying down
lor my Hour s rest oelore luncheon. .Ten
nie was leaning with folded arms -on the
back of my sofa, provoking Scot as indus
triously as she could, while he slowly
closed and put away die bookie she had left
m contusion on the table. ' This room in
which we studied was no regular school
room, but Lae pretty morning room, which
Pennie sole mh-tress and tola daughter
in the house insisted on my appropriat
ing ; acd opposite where I Iny the wall
was mirrored between ihe two - low wia
dows. In this mirror I could see just then
a sunny, bright rcn etion of us all : aud
the contrast in our three faces struck me
almost as it had never struck me before.
Pennie's came first (one could hardly
help noticing Pennie first, ia whatever
group one saw her) ; a small, brilliant, pi
quant face, with merry, mischievous lips,'
and laughing, dark-blue eyes, that seemed
to know no sorrow and no pain. Yet.
though no one else In all the house1 had
seen the gay eyes melt to infinite tender
ness, or the arch-curved lips quiver with
sympathy, I had, many and many time, as
my -little only sister krjtdtoetiJenie la my
pain. Before this radiant little face lay
my own, upon the bright blue cushions,
thin and languid, but a little flushed just
now not from my studies, as Pennie
said, but from the many wide thoughts of
which she was the center. Then, ket of
all, before my couch stood " Scot Cowen,
my tutor, yet scarcely "older than I. with
his pale, grave, thoughtful face, and slight,
nervous figure.: He was looking across
me into Pcnnie's eyes, and telling her. in
the clear, earnest voice which I had learn
ed so utterly to love and lean upon, that if
sne wanted her t ran? ration to be corrected
she must re-wri:e it legibly for him.
" I shall have to write it out legibly
after you have corrected it." she said.
" Surely that is enough labor to bestow on'
the tamest bit of all the book.
" I cannot read it as it is." began Scot.
but corrected himself. " at least, I will not.
To morrow. Miss Brett, you will, I think,
have prepared a readable copy for me.
Her eyes flashed upon him as he went
quietly on with his work.
"Is Charlie's written carefully J" she
Yes. He gives me very little trouble
mat way, you snow.
1 snow," she replied, touching my
hand softly, " and I give you a good deal.
nut let me assure you that you give me
infinitely more, Scot. If it were not that
you are oddly gifted with the power of
cringing dead and buried facts (chiefly fic
tions) into the modern sunshine, lor my
small brain to grasp, I would rot come
and try to l?aru from you at alL So stiff
you are, anu stern ana exacting.
boot s lips, at that moment, were stern
"Then don't come in sny more, Pennie,"
said L laughing a little, though I spoke
wnn anxious earnestness.
I must, because I must know all you
know, Charlie," she answered, stooping
impetuously to kiss me- -a little act of hers
which always thrilled me with pain when
did it in this room, while scot was
If you had been anxious for instruc
you would have stas'ed at school. I
should think. Pennie " I laushed.
" Uh, ladies cannot teach, the- said," in
her pretty and thoroughly laughable little
assumption of dictatorship, " no lady ever
laugut me anytrung."
Cscot laughed quietly. "SiO one can
teach," he said, "unless tho pupil will .re
spect their teaching. I cannot teach you
tnat reason. - - --
M Why, Scot," said Pennie, raising her
eyeDrows, and purs nig up her small, red
lips, " I respect you intensely. I always
a kind of awe overshadowing me when
are near me. I would hardly dare to
venture into your presence, only I must be
cl-. vt-r as Charlie, so I must be taught
" Charlie's tutor is aiwavs at your ser
vice," returned Scot, gravely; " but while
teach you, you must obey me. - While I
teach yon that is all I ask. When lessons
over, I claim no further authority."
" Of course not," laughed Pennie, "and
claim is small. From ten to one you
require authority unlimited, arid I think it
ten to one you will have it. . , -"
Then I shall decline to give you an
other lesson at all," rejoined Scot, quite in
earnest, tnougn ne laughed a little.
"All right, Scot, only you see I have
learned (among smatterings of dead lan
guages) to know that you always say that,
always don't enforce it. You should
enforce your laws, my tutor.
Looking at Scot, and waiting for his an-
1 saw his face change. While his
handswere still busy, a patient, far-off
stole into his dark, grave eyes, and 1
knew without tumisg who bad opened
door behind me. Walter Cowen, his
came up arid leaned beside
Pennie, looking never once at me, giving
no nanasn&Ke, no tnougnt, until ne
feasted his eyes upon the little win
ning face, which had brightened so won
derfully at his coming. Before I turned I
glanced a moment into the mirror again,
somehow I could not help fancying
me wnoie picture was change;. Wal
ter's handsome debonnaire face, and lazy,
lounging figure had brought some new ele
ment into the scene a quick, throbbing
happiness, an idle, careless unrest. , .
Breaking in upon my sudden, silent
thought, Scot's few quiet words had an
How is my mother to-day, Walter?"
Complaining a little, as usual, old fel
and, as usual, very unwilling for me
Did she send me a message f"
"Not a bit of it Her only parting
prayer to me was not to ride Salanella."
"And I suppose you mounted her imme
diately f I asked, beginning to feel a lit
tle tired, and wishing they would go.
No, for I was in the saddle when she
lou will ride with me this after
noon, won't you, Pennie f "
And Pennie, who loved these rides with
Walter more than anything else through
her day, blushed gladly as she nodded
"Come now for a stroll in the garden.
came early on purpose for that," said
Walter in the loving tone of approbation
led Pennie irresistibly.
She whispered good-bye to mo, and
went off together through the low,
window; their happy voices coming
to us on tne scented summer breath.
after day Scot and I watched them
walking together; yet though they filled
hearts, we never spoke of them when
two were left behind.
shall leave you now, Charlie, for
"Where are you going?" I asked, for
generally sat with me reading through
hour. ' '
"Not far, deaf fellow," he answered,
my pillows -comfortably for me,
shall be ready to drive you at our
Left to myself, I tried very hard to think
nothing; and, of course, thought of
many things ; trying to put them
straight and pleasaut for us all, but failed
the effort, as I had foiled often aud
before. Then I tried to let a quiet
creep into my heart and still the
anxiety which Was now its con
stant guest. ' --
Years ago, when 8eot was - only a boy
boy at -the Easterwood Gramuicr
and taking all the prizes, I guessed
no; hardly guessed,: I jkotw "Jvt ho.
my sister better lhau anyone else in
world. True, he had no very near
relations of hia own to love ; but if he
had had I fancy it would have been lust
me same, i was a young lourth-torm boy
in those days, at home on sick leave three-
quarters ot t lie time; and rcunio a way
ward, mischievous little girl, attempting
all my lessons, but never taking the small
est heed of her own t yet we never fancied
beot at an superior to us, because ne was
himself so thoroughly unconscious of
superiority. viie did not come to our
house very much, he worked too hard for
this; but hia halt brother, alter a pop
ular boy, who was a. proverb of idleness.
and who ,d:d .not work Jiia way into the
shell until he was leaving came so per
petually, that he grew to seem a very part
of our home life. , He was such a pleasant.
winnmg lad tnat his very vanity seemed
excusable; his very selfishness, amus
ing; and his love of pleasure na
tural and irresistible Pennie noticed
none of these qualities in Walter.
She saw him from the first a handsome,
daring protector and patron ; a boy-lover,
who took it for granted, that she loved
him, and won her. heart for doing so. And
now that Walter was a tall, handsome fel
low--at three- and - twenty. ' ami - Jennie,
with her gleam of childishness, and fitful.
authoritative humors, was nearly eighteen,
his love is just the love it. bad Wa from
thtJ first unharassei by. tuy doubt: un
disturbed by any quarrel; untouch 3d by
any passion : lresh and gay. and glad, do
spite the deep and troubled shadow which
it cast upon the lonely path that ltforever
crossed. - ; ' ; :
Walter's widowed mother lived about'
two miles from us, at Easter Hill, and had
a very comfortable property of her own,
which, of course, Walter would inherit.
Poor Scot, her step-son, had 50 a year of
his own ; but he had wealth enough in his
deep, clear head ; and there was as much
truth in Mrs. Co wen's indifferent opinion,
"Oh, Scot is sure to get on, penniless as
he is," as she was in the proud .addition,
" Dear Walter would never have done to
be poor." I don't think Mrs, Cowen dis
liked Scot, at all, she was only utterly in
different about him, and neglectful ot him.
Her heart was so entirely filled by Walter,
that she really had no room for any one
else; not even for Pennie, though I do be
lieve she tried to love her because Walter
When Scot left Oxford, where, with his
talents, and 50 a year, he had won him
self glorious honors, he became my tutor
for a time, and lived with us entirely. All
my life I shall be glad and grateful for
this, for he his taught me as no one else
could have done; making my studies
healthful and pleasant to me, and rousing
me cheerily from the languid, idle lif
which, in my weakness and inactivity, I
might so easily have led. But, during all
Scot's lessons, I had one sore heart-ache,
and this was through Pennie's determina
tion to hate lessons with me ; to learn all
I learnt, and for Scot to teach it to her.
And she would not guess what I knew so
well. Would not understand with what a
dangerous mixture of pain and pleasure,
and joy and anguish, she troubled all his
days. Poor Scot! It would have been
difficult work to teach her (with her puz
zling questions and frequent inattention)
if he had not loved her, but, loving her m
he did, and knowing what he knew, I did
not wonder at the old, still look which
was creeping into his young face ; my own
watching eyes grew aim as I read its un
whtspered struggle. . And stiiL in defiance
of all my entreaties, Pennie would insist
on being taught with me; mastering
quickly and brilliantly what my lower na
ture could not grasp ; entering into Scot's
opinions, and reading rapidly his own half-
formed thoughts. Turning round and
laughing at his pedantry ; flashing scorn
ful, provoking words and glances at him;
then daintily and proudly, in his very
presence, parading the happy, trusting
iove she gave his brother. - -
All these things 1 was thinking over, as
had thought them over many and many
lonely time before; when the luncheon
bell rang, and rennie danced in, that
Walter might give me an arm. - - - - -
I knew Scot was cut, because 1 saw
him plodding up Easter Hill," she said.
What has he gone home lor? .
I told her I did not know, and she
looked across at Walter rather puzzled.
then she laughed. . -
i know. Walter. He is atraid-your
mother may be frightened about Satanella,
and he has gone to reassure her." :
1 hope he may succeed, replied Wal
ter, a little sneeringly. '
" I hope he has ridden Satanella him
self;" I said. " Not walked all that dusty
" No ; he was walking," answered Pen
nie. You may depend that was the reason
I say. It is just the sort of thing poor
Scot would be likely to do."
"Poor Scot, indeed!" echoed Walter.
And I slipped my hand from his arm, and
went alone into the dining room.
Scot did not appear through the meal,
but just as Pennie had declared her do
termination to drive me instead of -riding,
cams up to us; his face" was- very
white, as it always was when he was tired
hot. . . '
"I am glad to see you back to-day.
Scot," said Walter, with a heavy emphasis,
he ordered Pennie's horse; "for we
were' nearly missing our ride. Come,
Pennie, it will be doubly valuable to us
"Charlie, whispered Pennie, an old
wist ulness in her big, bright eyes, " you
look as if you didn't want me to go.
Shall I drive with you instead?".
1 laughed a negative; and yet I did feel
strangely unwilling for her to go, guess
ing that this ride would bring them nearer
than they had ever been before. We
watched them ofE Then Scot took the
reins and we followed them through the
open gstcs; turning the opposite way.
spoke very little to each other we
were real friends enough to be silent to
gether when we would, and I remember
feeling oddly relieved when Scot drew the
pony up again before the door, and I saw
waiter lounging there with his cigar.
"Charlie, Charlie," whispered Pennie,
coming in to me as I rested, and putting
arms round my neck, and her eyes
close to mine; "some day I am going to
marry waiter. Are you glad? Aly
ar.de tr brother, are you glad for me,
glad for Walter, and glad for your
self?" - --
What could I tell her but that I was
glad? How could I but be glad for her,
with the dancing, love-filled eyes so near
mine? How could I but .be glad for
alter, knowing what her love made my
home ? But how well, there was
enough to prevent the words being false
when I told her I was glad.
"iteaiiy, tjnarue? "
I kissed tbe quivering lips, and told her
Walter would be a happy fellow, and I
should miss her sorely. The tears gathered
her loving eyes, and I think we must
nave penaved very chudicssly lor a
minutes, there alone, in the tender
evening sunshine. :
Ibegged Walter to leave early that night,
ft ar his mother should be nervous
about the young, scarce broken horse he
brought; but he declined. ' He was so
happy, and gay, and pleasant, that his re
fusal did not sound iu the least harsh or
unkind ; and no one thought it so. He
Pennie were so entirely engrossed by
other that my fathtr being out, and
having left the dining-room early, and
appeared since, X supped sway into-
utly. Here Scot was sitting with his
lie looked up and smiled, but I lay
without a word, and he read on.
lieht failed. Soot -closed his book
ithout rinsing for lights, and still sat
leauinp back in his low chair. I heard
Satantila'a fiotsteps as she was being led
from the yard, and soon after Pennie
openca ice door sottly and came up to ms.
"Are you so tired, Charlie tliat you 1 utcs'
could not stiy with us ? " she asked, bend
ing over mine a face on which still linger
ed the parting smile which had beengiVcn
and received a few minutes before.
" You did not want me, dear, " I said,
half sadly, half jestingly,; . .. w
"Indeed, iiit.eed we did, " she answered,
earnestly, laucying, perhaps, that her own
loving feelings iniut be shared by Waller,
too. "We always shall. Anil not your
own and only sister, .Charlie, and is not
Walter going to be your own and only
brother?" " '
Even in the- dviag li-'ht.I could see
Scot roiso a Sharp,;" qU'Stiomng face; and,
reading its agony, ' 1 involumarily laid my
hand on Pennie's lips. Then I laughed
ncrvouf-iy at her astonishment. .
fScot is waiting to hear your secret
from your ownlipa,.'' I paid, wishing with
all my heart I had told him myself while
we sat alone there in the twilight
" Oh, Scot," she began, with shy hesita
tion, "I did not see you, else I would have
told you. At least I think soif If -Walter
hat tAS" '.-: ..-
" You have kept Walter so entirely to
yourself, little lady;" I put iny hurriedly,
that he cannot have told anyone."
" He and I," said Pennie, in slow, hap
py tones, but with timid, shrinking eyes,
as she looked at hiui, " are engaged,
" Yes," said Scot, qnietly. r '
She paused a nuhute4 waiting for him
to say more, then U)3sed back her bright
little haad, and looked down comically at
me. ' ' l '
" Ought not Scot to say he is glad, or
something of "that kind, Charlie f .- Isn't it
considered right ?'
I saw that he was speaking at random,
and that her cheeks had flushed aud her
eyes filled with tears as she read what was
so sadly familiar to me in the grave, kind
face. ' ' - ;
"I think you need no congratulations,
dear," I sairf vaguely ; "you have enough
in your ownneart. : ";
Her little lingers closed tightly on mine,
yet she had recourse to her old p.-tulant
" Scot is hard, and stern, and coid tome,
as usual," she stammered hotly. "Ju-.t
because I made a few mistakes in a paltry
Scot was standing against tbe table close
tons then; his blighuigure leaning a lit
tle ; his face white and proud.
" If I can be hard aud stern and cold to
you, child, then let me be so, child, in pity ;
for under it all my heirt burns with a wild,
strong love, which I cannot; always gov
ern. Let me bnrn it out if I can, whatev
er comes to take its place." ' "
There was a long, motionless pause
among us ; then with a startled movement,
as if something was made clear to her,
Pennie left my side and stood close to
Scot. She laid her two little hands on his
and spoke whh glistening ejes."
" Some day, Scot, when you have taught
Charlie and me all tnat we enan D3 ante
to learn (it isn't much, you know), you will
go out into the great world and find a hap
piness like mine, only deeper, and when
you tell me of it ai yon will do, because
we shall be always friends I shall say,
what you are saying to me now, with your
kind eyesr ' God bless you in your hap
Scot took the little earnest hands and
held them closely for a minute ; but if he
spoke at all, I did not hear what he said.
Then he went away, and,-Pennie sat
down beside mc;'vry still and" silent;
while the pitying darkness crept in and
hid her lace.
"Isn't that a true verse, Charlie
'Theirs is the sorrow who are left be
hind?'" Ponnic was driving me home from the
station. We had been to see Walter off
London on his way to the continent,
where he was to spend six months with a
party of old college fiiendn.. The reins
were unnecessarily tight in Pennie's
hand, the little rouuded cheeks were very
pale in the fickle March sunshine ; and the
young voice was blight only by a great
" Which, I suppose, is a very soothing
reflection for you," I said, smiling. "As
love Walter so much better than your
Yes; but I was thinking of some one
else, too. May we drive on to see Mrs.
Cowen? She said this parting would
break her heart."
" Never mind to-day, Pennie. Scot is
there. He is best to be with her now
best to be with her always, if she did but
" Not better than Walter, Charlie," she
replied, her eyes all aflame in thuir sorrow;
not better than such a dear, dear, pleas
ant fell iw. Scot is not the very idol of
mother's heart like Walter.
"No; in consequence of his mother's
heart being set aain-t him." But I stop
ped with a laugh, for I would not vex
Pennie to day with this old argument of
" Now Charlie " she said, her face so
happy in iu love, so wistful and tender in
nrst pain ot parting, in spite ot ail
choose to say of Scot's goodness and
Walter's thoughtlessness, you kuow i
well that . everybody likes Walter
They tan't help 11 'No more
She seemed to miss Walter very much,
she was j oat her own willful self all
time always waiting on me,' teasing
and acting the pleasant, demure little
mistress of the house when our father
home at night Often I felt very
angry with her ; and at last one day when
had one of his old hard struggling
mornings, I followed her out and told her
could not stand by and see his brave,
patieut pain. ...
" You ought never to come in to study
us," I said, holly. " You' should
nothing all your life rather than
from hun now.
"But there is no one else to learn from," back
shepouted. "Solmust." me
"Then I wish to heaven he would care
for my good, and go away for his own
That would be very unkind ; though I
say that he will do so soon," said
You, of all the world, should judge
most tenderly and kindly, Pennie," I
And so I do, dear Charlie," she an;
swered, with quick earnestness.
Then have him to himself. I shall
you woefully, .as you know; but I
would ra her you never came until our
is over, and wo will meet on equal
ground." ... .. , , .
Charlie,? she said, in a voice of utter
solitariness, " 1 am - always ' lonely and
restless and mischievous away from you ;
I will not come in again."
And then of course I was miserable,
mougn x nau gained what I wi.-heu.
Alter that, Pennie's b. havior tn Scot
changed. Day alter day she forgot to join
studies; forgot it in the most easy and name
naiunu manner imaginable, olleriug no
reasons, showing no conscious em
barrassment, and day after day she grew
quieter and quitter to Scot: not kinder
exactly, - or more conceding, but more
thoughtful. She went alone very often to
Airs. Cowen, but these visits never
cheered her. The mother s blind and de
voted idolization of her son, contrasted
the sou's easy carelessness of the
mother, fretted Pennie's tender heart sore
ly. I saw how her thoughts ran upon it
har visits, and at these times 1 never
a word ajiinst Walter. Yet some
times, when Pennie told nie how he &aid
had not tiin'j to write home, and so she
go aud tell hU mother about him. mv-
impatient word would escape ; and I said hand.
a man who could not tase a few mln-1
trouble to please a mother who loved. 1 piKlrt
him so dearly, was not worthy to win any
. 'Walter had been away about three
months, when one day Scot was sent for
home in haste, Mrs. Cowen being ill. He
was away all night, but at ten in the morn
ing, when Pennie and I strolled into the
sniiiy, there he was, waiting for us.
" Why, 8cot," I exclaimed, meeting him
gladly. " I didn't expect you back ; cer
tainly not to work. Have you breakfasted
yet? How is Mrs. Cowen?"
" A little better, thank you," he said,
turning slowly from me to take Pennie's
offered hand. "I have breakfasted long
"nave you sent for Walter?" asked
Pennie, her eyes fixed upon his face.
And then he sat down calmly in his
place, and we read together, while Pennie
stood silent, leaning against the window
frame. I did not know whether she was
glad that she should see Walter so soon, or
sorry for his pleasant excursion to be in
Each day now, as soon aa our studies
were over, Scot went home, and in the
afternoon Pennie drove me to Easter Hill,
and leaving me in the carriage at the gate,
went up to the house on foot to see Wal
ter's mother. She never stopped very
long, though I am sure that if Mrs. Cowen
had liked to have had her she would have
taken np her abode there to watch and
nurse by night and day. But the sick
mother cared for no one; only counting
the hours before her son should come, and
fretting that Scot had not made him
hasten. The day w hen Walter mighthave
arrived had passed, and only then I could
See- how unquestionably Peunie had de
pended on his coming. She seemed be
wildered, unable to believe he was not in
the train, and she stood on the platform
as it rolled away, her yearning eyes fol
io wi n g it pi teously.
" There were so many hindrances pos
sible," I told her;, "so many unforsecn
things might have occurred to delay him."
But she never answered me a word ; and
when that whole week went by and still
he did not' come, her silence grew more
distressing to me than passionate grief or
anger. : - ' .
On the lost day the post brought two
letters. One for Pennie, which she read
with cold, tight lips, then threw across to
me; and one for Scot, which he had taken
away with him unopened. . -
The old lady was so fidgety. Walter
wrote, that it would be ridiculous to sup
pose that she really meant him to come
home from such a distance, and have the
bore and expense of goinp back when her
little attack of fear had subsided. She
wanted him with her. - In the meantime
he had written to her and it would be all
I read no more. I folded the letter, and
passed it back to Pennie, asking her if she
did not think it would be better for Scot
to have a holiday for a time, that he might
not feel his duties pulling him two differ
ent ways. '
" No, Charlie," she said, at once. "Papa
and I both think (as you would if you had
been to see Mrs. (Jowen) that it is better
for Scot to have his old work. If he were
constantly with her, fretting as she always
for Walter, it would harass and weary
him more than this chauge does. She
never expresses a wish to have him al
ways there ; yet he is a tender, cheerful
I did not answer, for just then Scot
came in, greeting us both with his gentle
smile. He had been to the station a
fruitless errand now, and Pennie had nev
er been since that first hopeful day and I
could see by her glance at his solitary fig
ure, as he came up, that the old hope had
been with her this morning. I had
thought it would be so, because by this
time Walter might have arrived, in answer
the letter she herself had sent urging
him to come.
" I think my letter must have miscar
ried, Scot ?' she asked, with a quiet wist
fulness; "don't you?"
" Oh, he would be sure to come," Scot
said, looking quickly away from her face.
There was no placing dependence on
foreign po ts."
"Suppose you were to write again?"
proposed Pennie, deferentially.
That was exactly what ha had been
thinking. There must have been some
mistake in the last address. .
" Wouldn't it have come back in that
case ?" I suggested.
" We certainly ought not to expect it
back so soon," he decided. But he would
wait for it; he would write again, at
And after he had left us, I could not help
telling Pennie what I had heard at the
post office tllat every night a letter went
from tcot to his brother with a large
"Immediate " on the envelope,
Pennie turned away from me in angry
" What does he write, then ? Why does
not write what will bring Walter home,
not fret and worry him, yet keep him
there w hile his mother is dying?" Then
wrath and courage broke down, and
leaned her tired little head against me,
sobbed out the fear, and love, and dis
appointment which she had hidden so
Alter that she was very petulant with
; more petulant even than in old times.
when the subject which I knew to be
always uppermost in her thoughts was
mentioned, she would say impatiently that
all made a ridiculous fuss, .that Mrs.
Cowen was not really very ill, only fancy
it; that Walter, of course, would come
soon as he could ; and that she was tired
death of the worry there was in the
house juit through the stupidity of Scot's
Siy ing nothing of her own letter, which
been equally unavailing, I would try to
tempt her to read to me, or play, or drive ;
she would only refuse me with a quick
"No," and leave me suddenly, coming
presently to throw her arms around
anPd sob tat she was a wretched, un-
grateful girl, and did not deserve to be
loved by me or Walter. And as this
wearying time went on, she went about
houe with small, tight lips, and rest
less hands, and grew always harder and
contradictory to Scot whenever she
spoke to him at all.
Four weeks had gone by since Pennie's
letter had been sent to Walter, when
on one sunny August morning, Scot
a messenger to tell us that his mother
dead. I had to tell Peunie myself,
when I had done s j In a few sad words,
broke from me and ran up stairs.
Through that lorg, lonely day she never
near nie, and I began to realize what
would be to Live without either Pennie
sent a telegram off to Walter at once,
announcing his mother's death though I
sure Scot had done so. And at last
fatht r came in, and Pennie crept into
place among us.
ciol once Old sne mention waiters
to me; and on the night before the
luutral, when following the arrival of the
London express a cab drew up to the
I heard her tell the servant she was
engaged "to every one." He, knowing he
not misunderstand her quiet, firmly
spoken order, told Walter s), and let him
away in the darkness to the home
was so doubly darkened now.
funeral, and I was sitting in our pleasant
study, bask log as invalids love to -ao, in
morning sunshine. Leaning at the
window, in hur old attitude, stood Pennie
looking out upon hur cherished flowers,
seeing little of their beauty. Scot was'
siukiff at his table, bis head' upon his
Whether it was the long, vaiii
watching for Walter, or the sleepless
and hard days work, or the ojd when
hidden grief, I did not know, but certainly
his face was white and haggard as I never
seen it before. Suddenly he looked across
at me with his own brave smile.
" Come, Charlie, we have been idle too
long, dear fellow."
I had risen and was sauntering toward
him, wnen the door was opened and
familiar face looked in upon up."
" Pennie, Pennie, darling ! Fancy never
coming to meet me!" Walter cried,
throwing down his hat and coming for
ward, grand and handsome In the glow
ing s una tune. " rennie, darling. Here
a in." And he was close beside her, his
arms open to receive her.
She gave one look into Lis face, so swift
that she only seemed to have moved her
eyes from the garden into the room.
" Where are you goiDg, Scot?" she said
"Please don't go away. This is your
room, not ours, i am going myself when
1 have spoken to you and Walter. '
" Pennie, are you angry, darling ?" whis
pered waiter. -. -
" No, not at all," she answered, moving
from him and standing beside the table at
which Scot had sat down again. l can
not now make myself feel even angry
with you, Walter.
"Thank you. Thank you, dear," he
said, joyfully. Come out with me.
want to tell you how it was."
"Tell me here," she answered very
"That's hardly fair," he complained
(with reason, I th nght, ' but, of course,
my darling, I never fancied my mother
was really so ill.
" I told you," replied Pennie, still more
"Yes, you did say so," replied Walter,
looking for the first time a little nervous
and anxious ; " but I knew she was always
fanciful, and I thought this was one of her
false alarms. You ought to be sorry for
me, Pennie. 1 thought you would feel for
me in this grief"
She did not look into the face, where
was a shade of real grief; and he went on
passionately in her silen .e.
- Pennie, I want to speak to you. Come
away. Why do you stay here ?
" Because," she said, moving a little, and
laying her hand on tbe back or Ucots
chair, " because I would rather speak here.
Scot will listen to me ; and teach me once
again ttacb me what to do."
She paused for a few moments. Walter,
leaning against the table, looked down
upon her in astonishment.
" Scot, If I have learned that I have made
great, great mistake in thinking that I
loved your brother more than any one
else, in't it best and kindest to tell him so
now, before it is too late ?"
Scot did not answer her, and she repeat
ed the question, her beautiful eyea child
like in their pleading.
" Would it be right to tell bim so, Scot,
or go on in the falsehood ?"
" Right to tell him so," nswered Scot,
in tones low and quiet.
" Then Walter," she said, raising her
face to him as it flashed and paled rapidly,
I will tell you of my "iistake cow, before
your brother and my ou. mere were
once two gilt oi love witnin my reacn
and the one which my eager, ignorant
hand grasped, because it seroea most
bright and winning to my dazzled eye, was
not the one which could satisly my heart.
did not understand either then ; I was as
powerless to feel the deep self-forgetful-
Drss of the one as the shallow selfishness
the other ; but now that I know my own
heart, Walter, I cannot hide its disappoint
ment. Some day I myself shall be old and
suffering, perhaps fanciful, too, I dare
say; those who give much love, to win
but little in return, often are and I should
not like to feel that when I summoned you
my dying bed you would not heed the
summons. 1 should not like ail tnrougn
my life to pour out a wealth of love on one
who could laugh at me lor tne exacting
intensity oi the gut. And so i am very,
very grateful I have read this in my heart
before it was too late.
" This is nonsense, Pennie," interrupted
Walter, with a forced smile. "Come and
me explain to you."
" You have done so," Pennie said, still
with her hand on Scot's chair, and still
with her eyes clear and undrooping. "You
have explained it all to me during the last
few weeks. Siow it is my turn, and 1 am
trying to do so ; only it seems as if I could
say much even now of what is in my
own heart. Your mother had a faithful,
careful nurse, Walter, in all her illness;
by him no duty was neglected, no
pleasure sought. Charlie, did Scot seek
own pleasure? did he fail in any of
duties, through all the time that Wal
was securing his own pleasure cease
lessly, and failiug in this one chief duty?"
" not one, ' sne repeated, me uiue nana
tight on his chair, but her lace never
turned to Scot. " Not one. Did any re
membrance of this pain weaken his
hand, or chill his heart ? Did it, Char
lie?" " Never," I said again, looking for a
moment into Walter s vexed and moody
"Never," she repeated. "Did anyone
thought of himself make him shrink from
duty to you, Charlie, because I made it
better to him? or from his duty to his
mother, because she blamed him always
her own idolized son had left her to
" Walter, the love or such a heart is a
prize to be grateful for through all years ;
through all years i win .De grateiui
once this prize was mine. Scot, dear
Scot, you have taught me all the little
I know ; teach me what to do now
my heart is hungering wearily for
a love as that nom which 1 turned
away not long ago." . ,
Not a word did Scot answer, while his
was hidden in his hands. . .
" I am waiting for your answer, Scot"
The hand that had been on his chair
loosened its hold ; the ' little standing
50la i . standing
beside him; and both hands were
upon the tremulous white fingers
pressed so tightly In his hair.
"Look, Scot, how I am wsitirg for
answer," she breathed. "I have
never been obedient to yon before, much
you have taught me ; but I am wailing
obey you now."
What a face it was that her gentle touch
uncovered! I could hardly bear to look up
on it in its wondering, bewildered joy ; for
told so plainly of the anguish that had
lived through. Pennie's low cry
involuntarily from her shaking lips
she saw it
O, Scot, forgive me for it all I"
With the angry scarlet burning in his
Walter left the room. I have
seen him since. He writes to
occasionally short, gay, selfish letters ;
month after month he delays his com
ing home, and the house at Easter Hill re
mains without its master. For some time
lived there alone, settling Walter's
for him, and still coming to me for
morning studies, but Scot has won his
now. Yesterday he was chosen for
new headmaster of the Easterwood
Grammar School ; and it ia the youngest
headmaster who had been elected for a
century, they say. To-night we are ex
pecting bim back from Cambridge, and
Pennie is standing at the window watch
for him, the tvening sunshine linger
on her bright head, and another rest
ful, happy sunshine in her eyes. Earnestly
I kuow that the restive little pupil who
to give him so mnch pain hit given
now a deeper and more gladdening
There is a house in Tolland County.
on the walls of which still remains
which has been there since J737,
the house wm built
THE MILLERS OF LABORTOWN.
BY REV. T. NIELD.
Twain lired three miller, in Labortown,
Eaca owninr a bis .tone mill
On a (treats where tbe waters tumbled down
From tbe rapid, beneath the bill.
With a roar beneath the hill.
First, Simon Coon waa an eajr nl.
And nothing dietarbed old e'oon; - .
And often he watched the bi? wheel roll,
And he amooked hie pipe till noon;
And that waa his worn till noon.
At noon he complained it was ao hot,
Ana half dozed the hours away:
Then at night was sad to think of what
He might have done that da j
Each beautiful aanuner's day.
Next, Hoses jar was a restless man;
Of a fortune dreamt old Jar.
And ererj morning he had a plan
For a cri.tt of gold that day.
That he meant to grind that day.
Great things be was just about to do.
When tbe mill waa wrcliad on his hands.
And his life-grist only amonuted to
A sackful of worthless plans.
Though gold waa ia all his plana.'
Then Jacob Spry was a thrifty man, r -.
Ana a nmrnt nrebaa old spry; . . ,
E. planned his work, and he worked each plan.
And bad irom a Terr boy, .
For a man waa in the boy.
Hit days went on like the water-wheel,
8o busy, and steady, and true.
And never a day was allowed to (teal "
Away wunoni someimng to ao,
Ana that he would always do.
Who knows the millers of Labortown?
Who do too think they could her
J oat lend ns an ear and sit rljrht down, . .
Ana we it ten oi an ine loree,
Until you know all tbe three.
The boy who will waste life's golden day.
iu monnog ana men lis noon, t
Who, when he should study or work, will play.
i. a nine on Bimon two
A thriltless and worthless Coon.
The boy who'a at ways gnintj to do
Some wonderful things each day,
Tet finds each nlirht his plana fail through.
w ny, ne is oia Moses Jay
A simple, chaueriug Jay.
Bat he who ia up with the rising son.
And, before tbe day goes by.
Baa his grist of stndy or work well done,
is a unity oia jacoo spry
A steady and true old spry.
The world has no nre for an idle Coon,
Nor yet for a Jay of a boy.
Bat in its heart there are warmth and room
For every industrious Spry.
And iu blessing will fall on Spry.
Let Well Enough Alone.
Is there a young mas or woman in the
country who is impatient to have a com
fortable home, kind and true friends, or
means of gaining a livelihood to travel
the city in quest of grander opportuni
ties some place where their love of dis
play and excitement can be gratified, in
stead of plodding along in the seclusion
the country ?
We would say to him or her, do not
come with ton sanguine hopes of success.
Good situations do not go a begging, and
coming without money or friends in search
work is oft attended with sufferings in
mind and body.
In the great, bustling eity nobody cares
what becomes of one stranger, and you
might walk from morning till night and
scarcely receive a kind word of encour
agement. People are intent upon their
own pursuits, and have so many applica
tions for work and help for the needy,
that the addition of one more to the num
ber of suffering ones is not felt by any
body. Not that everybody in town is sel
fish and uncharitable.
Many a kind hearted man or woman
would give you money for a night's lodg
ing, or to buy something to eat ,- but yon
no begger you ask for work and are
proud to receive charity. They have
work for you, and perhaps you may go
hungry many a day before yon find a
place, and then, in desperation, accept a
situation you would be too proud to take
Working on a farm Is much easier than
life of a city clerk, who must work
twelve, fourteen, often sixteen hours a
day, in close, dark rooms, year in and year
always the same drudging life.
lou long to see we I Btay wnere you
even if you imagine yourseii very
miserable. Such misery is joy compared
the struggles, privations, desperations
crimes "which wear and weigh upon
darkened spirits of the multitudes
who have come before you.
You might succeed, be very happy, and
make a great fortune; but, dependent up
on your own efforts, all alone, unaided by
counsel of kind parents and the com
oanionEhiD of friends, the chances are de
cidedly against joa. Elm Orleu.
Girls, Don't Talk Slang.
Girls, don't talk slang! If It is neces
that any one in the family should do
let it bj your big brother, though I
would advise him not to adopt " pigeon
English" when there is an elegant, sys
tematized language that he can just as well
But don't you do it. You have no
how it sounds to ears unused or
averse to it, to hear a young lady, when
is asked if she will go with you to
much! 'or, if
some TJlace. answer, "not
requested to do something she does sot
wish, to hear her say, " can't see it !"
Hot long ago 1 heard a young miss, wno
educated and accomplished, in speaking
a young man, say that she intended to
iro for him 1" and when her sister ssked
assistance at some work, she answered,
Not for Joe!"
Now. Tonnf ladiea of unexceptionable
character and really good education, fall
this habit, thinking it shows smartness,
answer back in slang phrases ; and they
slip flippantly from their tongues
a saucy pertness that is neither lady
like nor becoming. " I bet" or "you bet"
be well enough among men who are
trading horses or land ; but the contrast is
startling and Dosilively shocking when a
young man is holding the hand of his
to hear tnose words issue irom
lit. They seem at once to surround
with the rougher associations of his
life, and bring her down from the
pedestal of her purity, whereon he had
placed her, to nis own coarse levei.
know the bricht-eyed girl who reads
will think the matter over, and do
is right, and discard slang and un
ladylike phrases. Exchange.
Keep Away from the Wheels.
Little Charles Williams lived near a
manufactory, and he was very fond of
among the workmen and the young
people who were at worK mere, i ne lore-
would say to him : " Keep away from
wheels, Charlie." Charlie did not
and would often say: " I can take
of myself" Often he would go near,
the wind of -the wheels would almost
him in, and two or three times he
so dizzy that he scarcely knew which
to go. At length, one day he stag
gered while amid the wheels, and fell the
way; tbe band caught his little
and drew him in, and he was dread
fully mangled. '
it is, boys, when you go in the way
temptation : you may thine: you can
care of yourselves, and keep clear of
wheels; but oh! you may find your
selves dreadfully mistaken. Before you
aware of it, you may be caught and
destroyed. Keep away irom the wheels.
Young Reaper. ' -
Yotrso lady (indignant at being brought
the Academy-of Design too early):
Now, I told you, pat this wasn't the
fashionable hour. We'll have nothing but
horrid picturts to look at tUl the
come I '
Gbakdmajtma is so old, she has so many
wrinkles, and her hair U quite white; but
her eyes shine like two stars. Yea, they
are much lucre beautiful ; they are so mild,
so blessed to look into. And she can tell
the most delightful stories, and she has a
dress of thick silk that rustles; it is cover
ed with lurge flowers.
Grandmamma knows so much, for aha
lived long teft re papa and mamma, that
is certain. Grandmamma has a psalm
book, -with thick silver clasps, and she
reads ia it often ; in it there lies a rose ; it
ia quite pressed and dry; it is not so fine
as the roses she has in the vase, and yet
she always smiles most kindly at it ; there
even comes tears in her eyes. How can it
be that grandmamma looks always so fond
ly upon the withered rose in the old book f
Do you know t Each time that grand
mama's tears fall upon the flower, its color
revives, it freshens again, and the whola
room is filled with the scent of it: the)
walls disappear as though they were only
fog, and all around is the green, beautiful
wood, with the sun shining through tho
leaves, and grandmamma yea, she is quite
young! She is a beautiful girl with golden
locks acd blooming cheeks, engaging and
lovely; no rose is- more fresh; yet the
eyes, the mild, blessed eyes, they are still
grandmamma's. By her side is seated a
youth so young, handsome and strong I
He offers her the rose, and she smiles but
not thus smiles grandmamma! Yes! the
smile comes. He is gone; many thoughts
and many forms pass by; the handsome
youth is gone, the rose lies in the psalm
book, and grandmamma yes, there she
sits again, as an old lady; gazing at the
withered rose that lies in the book.
Now grandmamma is dead. She sat in
the easy chair, and told a long, long, de
lightful story. " And now it ia over, she
s&id, "and I am quite weary; let me sleep
alia le." Then she lay back, drew a heavy
sigh, and slept r but it became- more andr
more still, and her face-was so fall of peace
and joy, it was as if the sun - shone upon
it; then they said she was dead.
She was laid ic a black com a. - enshroud'
ed in pure white linen; she looked so
beautilul, and yet her eyes were closed.
But all the wrinkles were gone ; a sweet
smile played on her mouth t her hair was
so silver while, so honorable, no one could
be afraid to look at her; it was still the
same kind, benign grandmamma. And
the psalm-book was laid under her head,
as she herself had desired, and the rose
liy in the old book and so they buried her. -'
On her grave, close under the church
wall, they planted a rose-tree and it stood
full of blossoms; the nightingale sang
over it, and from within the church the
organ played tbe most beautiful psalms
in the book that lay under head.
And the moon shone right down upon
the grave ; but the dead one was not there ;
every child could fearlessly go thereat
night and pluck a rose, there by the
church yard wall
One that is dead knows more than all
we living know ; the dead know the dread
we should feel at anything so strange aa
that they should come to us ; the dead are
better thtn we all, and so they do not
come. There is earth over the coffin,
there is earth in it The psalm-book with
its leaves is dust, the rose with all its as
sociations has crumbled into dust; but ;
above, fresh roses bloom above the
nightingale sings, and the organ plays;
one thinks of old grand mother, with the
mild eyes, ever young.
Eyes can never die ! Ours shall one day
see her, young and beautiful as when, for -the
first time, .he kissed the fresh red rose
that lieth now dust in the grave. JIan
A Chinese Death Bed.
Tub Chinese have many customs pecu
liar to their nation, which strike the
"outside barbarian" as being unnatural
and strange. Their religious traditions .
are so deep-rooted and so strongly foster- '
ed by superstition as to give little en
couragement to missionary laborers. The
most striking of these superstitions are
those pertaining to the disposition of their
ing and dead relatives. Very often the -dead
bodies of Chinese men and women
are found in untenanted buildings in the
Chinese quarter of this city, and those un
acqunitited with their superstitions are
prone to set the desertions of dying friends
down as acts of selfishness. This, how
ever, is not so, as the Chinese believe that
persons die in a house that they lived in
before death, their spirits will haont the
place ever after, and give unpleasant evi
dence of their presence to all who remain,- .'
In order to prevent the manifestations of '
the restless spirit, as soon as the doctor
gives it as his opinion that a patient can
not survive he is taken to another place
and left alone to die. Yesterday a case of
this kind was reported to the Coroner. A
young Chinawoman, who had been given
up by her attending physician, was carried
by her relatives to an untenanted house
Ellis Place, off Pacific, above Dupoint. '
They then dressed her in her best cloth
ing, spread a new matting on the floor,
and laid her on it They brought in pre
serves, meats, fruits, candies, boiled rice, '
ete., lighted some punks and retired, leav
ing her alone to await the coming of the
common destroyer. During the day she
died, and was found last night. Coroner
Herman removed the body, and it ia
now at the Morgue awaiting the further
action of the relatives, who will probably
leave her to be disposed of by the city, aa
generally their practice in all such cases.
Many Chinamen those of the wealthy
classes do not desert their dead friends,
and for the furtherance of this desire
there are several hospitals fitted up, in
order that those about to die may be re
moved there until they have paid the debt
nature, after which they are buried with
the ceremonies of the dieciples of Con
fucius. San Francueo Bulletin.
Ink Lings by Josh Billings.
The most valauble thing in this world iz
Time, and yet people waste it as they do
water, most of them letting it run full
head, and even the most prudent let it
The devil himself, with all his genius,
allways trivels under an alias this shows
power of truth and morality.
If a dog falls in love with you at first
sight, it will do to trust him not so with
One of the harden things to do is to be
good listner. Thoze who are stone
deaf succeed the test.
Thare are men who seem to be born on
purpose to step into everything; they
kant set a common rat trap without get
ting ketched in it.
A sekret is like an aching tooth, it keepa
ineasy until it iz out.
I hay larn't one thing, bi grate experi
ence, and that iz, I want az much watch
ing az mi nabors do.
The only way to learn sum men how to
ennything, iz to do it yourself.
I don't reckoleckt now ot ever hearing
two dogs fighting, unless thar was a
man or two around.
A wise man is never so much alone aa
when he is in a crowd, and never so much
a crowd az when he iz alone.
I am satisfied that there is more weak
among men than malice.
Thare iz no man in the world so easy
cheat az ourselfs.
I don't know ov ennytblng that will
a man so quick as p raize that he don't
Repent anse should be the effecktov love
The soul has more diseases than the
Things that we kant do wouldn't he OT
use to ua, if we could do them.
Amongst animals, the most ignorant are
most stubborn, and 1 wonder if this
sn amnnct men.
A phool seems to be a person who has
will than judgment, and more vanity
In repenting ot sins, men are apt tew re
pent ov thoze they hain't got, andoTerlook,
thoze they hav. . :
A dandy never yet fell In lore only
himself. ' , ' . .
Revenge surnames sleeps, but Tanlty al
ways keeps one eye open. -
Thoze folks who. expeckt to fail in an
enterprise, nist generally do. . - .
AHarttord horse. seizes rata In his
mouth when they come to his -manger to.
his oats, shakes them like a temtr
satisfied they are dead, and then
throws them out ot the bio.