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The cummer sun is on the trses
And a path is shady
You sit within the porch to read,
A very dainty lady.
And ls't a poem ma es you grave,
Or jupt an old love-story
Of maided bright, and valiant knight
Who rides away to glory?
I know the kind of story well:
fhe maiden's hair is golden,
The knight wears armor as they did
In days we now call oldeu.
They make their vows by moonlight,dear
In language rather stilted.
And then she pines alone for months,
And wonders if she's jilted.
But he comes gaily back, to find
She is of maids the truest,
And loviier far than maidens are
With even eyes the bluest
Notlovlier, sweet, than you to-day,
With sunshine ou your bower,
A leafy nook, in which you look
The v*ry fairest flower.
Would I might read the story, too,
And chat with you about it
Perhaps it's just as well I can't
Indeed, I do not doubt it.
A pretty ptcture, dear, you make,
And in my heart I'll frame it
I do not know what your cal'ed,
And so I cannot nameit.
THE ST05E-CL ITERS STORY.
He was whistling over his work, care
less, from lng custom, ot the solemn
signifh ance of the letters he was cutting
in the white marble. The June sun was
nearly at tte end of the day's journey,
sinking slowly to rest upon the bosom of
the broad Atlantic, whose waves washed
tl shores of the little seaport town of
Monkton. A stranger, handsomely dress
ed in gray, with large, lustrous brown
eyes, came to the fence that was
around the yard where the stone-cutter
worked, and read the lettering, almost
completed, upon the tombstone:
LOST AT SEA, JANDAKY, 1866.
The last six was nearly completed. A
strange pallor gath red for a moment
upon tie stranger's face and then he
drew a loDg, deep breath and said:
"Is not ten years a lone time to be
letters on a tombstone, friend?"
The stone-cutter looked, shaded his
eyes with his brown hand, as he turned
his face to the setting sun.
"This is 1876." was the grave reply,
''and fliram Goldby has been then years
under the waves."
"Well sir, that's the questionis he
"Is he there? Your stone tells us he
is and has been for ten years."
"Yes, sir, so it doesso it does. And
yet shehasorleredit. She came over a
week or so back with a worried look upon
her sweet face that I have never seen any
thing but patient in the long years, ana
she said to me: 'You may cut a stone,
Davy,'she says,'and put "it up in the
churchj ard, and I don't want to see it.
I'll pay you whatever you choose to ask,
Davy,' she says, 'but he's not dead, and
don't want a tombstone.' 'Lor, mum,'
says I, he a turned up all these years if
he was not dead But she shoe her
pretty head, the prettiest I ever seen, sir,
and she said: 'My heart never told me
fiat he wap dead, Davy, and I'll never
believe it till my heart tells me so.'"
"His sweetheart?" questioned the
"His wife, sirhis loving, faithful wife,
that had poverty, and loneliness and
misery, her full share, and might ha' bet
"How was that?"
'Mr. Miles, sir, the richest shop owner
ereabouts, he waited patiently lor seven
*ong years, trying to win her. Then he
said that she wasfiee even if Hiram came
"Enoch Arden," muttered the strange
"What did you say, sir?"
"Nothing, nothing. "What answer did
the widow make, Mr. Miles?"
If Hiram's dead,' said she, 'I'm his
faithful wife.' "Maybe you are from the
citv, sir, and haven't heard the story of
"What story is that?"
"Well, sir, it's been told many times,
more particularly in the last year, but
ye' re welcome to what I know of it
There, that six is done, and IT leave the
Scripture text till morning. If you'll
come to the gateway and ake a seat on
Borne of the stones, I'll tell you, that is if
you care to hear it."
"I do care," wasv the Grave reply "I
want very much to hear the story."
"Maybe you're some kin to tin Pearl
of Monktonthat's what they call Mrs.
Golobv hereabouts. It's a matter of
thirty-three years back, sir, that there
was a wreck off Monkton rocks, that vou
can see from here, sir, now tide's low.
Cruel rocks they are, and many a wreck
they ve seen, the more the pity. You see
"I see them."
"Well, sir, this one wreck, thirty-three
years ago,. there was nothing washed
ashore but a bit ot a girl-baby three or
Dur years old, with a skin like a lily .eaf,
and great black eyes. Hiram Goldby
found her on the rocks. He was a boy ot
twelve years, strong and tall, and he
carried the child in his arms to hih
mother. You may see the cottage, sb,
the sjcond white one on the side of the
"I see it."
Well, Hiram took the baby there, and
Mrs. Goldby was the same as a mother to
ita good woman, God bless her soul
the Widow Goldby."
"Is she dead, then?"
Aye, sir, six years agone. The baby
I was telling you of, sir, talked a foreign
lingo, and was dressed beautiful in rich
clothes, that must have cost a power ot
money. But never would Hiram or the
widow sell them, putting them up care
fully in case the ch Id was ever looked
for. She was that pretty, sir, and that
dainty, that everybody called her Pearl,
though she was not like our girls, but
afraid, always deadly afraid of the sea.
I have seen her clench her mite of a hand
and strike at it, for she had a bit of a
temper in her, though nothing to harm.
When Hiram made his first voyage,
for they were all seafaring men here
abouts, and there was nothing for a lad to
do but ship, the Pearl was just a little
washed out lily, a fretting until he came
home again. And it was so whenever he
went, tor they were sweethearts from the
first time he nestled her baby face on
his breast, when he picked her up
from the wreck. She was sixteen when
they were married, as near as we could
guess Hiram was a mtn of twenty-four.
She prayed him to stay at home then, and
he stayed a year, but he fretted for the
sea, and he went again, thinking, I s'pose,
that his wife would get used to it, as'well
as all wives hereabouts must do. But
she never did -never. It was ju9t piti
able to see her go about, white as a corpse,
when Hiram went away, never looking
at the sea without a shudder like a death
chill. All through the war it was just
awful-, for Hiram enlisted on board a
man o'-war, and Pearl was just a shadow
when he came home the last time."
"After the war?"
"Yes, sir but he made no money
of any account, and so went away
again, after staying at home a long spell.
Well, he never came back. 'Twasn't no
manner of use a telling Pearl he was lost
she'd just shake her pretty head aDd say
'He'll come back.' Not a mite of mourn
ing wonld she wear, even after his own
mother gave him up and went black:
tor, sir, it stands to reason he's dead
"It looks so."
"Of course it does nobody else doubts
it but Mrs. Goldby's last words were
'I'm going to meet Hiram,' and thfy say
the dying know. But even then that
didn't make Pearl think so. She wore
mourning for her who bad been the only
mother she knowed of, but not weeds
Weeds was for widows, she said, and she
wasn't a widow."
"But the stone?"
"Well, sir, I'm coming to that. A year
ago, sir, a fine gentlemaa from France
came here hunting for a child, lost on
this coast. He'd heard of Pearl by hap
pen chances, if there is such, and came
here. When he saw the clothes, he just
fainted like a woman."
"She was related, then?"
The stranger's voice was husky, but th
sea air was growing chill.
"Her father, sir."
"He took her away?"
"He tried to. Hetoid her of a splend
ed home he had in New York, for he'd
followed his wife and child, s.r, to the
city they had never reached. He was
rich and lonely. He begged his child to
go, but she would not. 'Hhaui will come
herp lor me,' she said, 'and he must fin
me where he left me."'
"On what has she lived?"
"Sewing, sir, mostly. The cottage was
old Mrs. Goldby's, and bless you, Pearl
did not eat much more than a bird, and
her dresses cost next to nothing But
there's no denyiDg she was very poor
very, and yet the gland home and big for
tune never tempted her. So her lather
came on and on to see her, until April
An' he died, sir, and left our Pearl all his
fortune and the grand house in New
York But she'll not go, sir, she'll die
here, waiting for Hiram, who'll never
The stranger lifted his face that had
been half hidden in his hand and said:
"There was a shipwreck in the Pacific
Ocean, Davy, years and years ago, and
one man was savedsaved, Daw, by sav
ages who made hi a slave, the worst of
slaves! But one day this sailor saved the
life of the chiefs daughter, who was in
the coils of a hugh snake, and the chief re
leased him. More than that he gave him
choice spices and woods and sent him
aboard the first passing ship. So the sai
lor landed in a grsat city, sold his pres
ents and put the gold in safe keeping
Then he traveled till be reached the sea
port town where he was born, and com
ing there at sunset, heard the stoiy of
his life from the lips ot a man cutting his
Not a word spoke Davy. Standing
erect, he siezed an immense sledge ham
mer, and with powerful blows from strong,
uplifted arm, dashed the arble into
fragments. Then, panting with exertion,
he held out his brawny hand to the stran
gera stranger no longer.
"I've done no
etter'work in my life
than I've done in the last five minutes,
Hiram. Go home, man, and make Pearl's
heart glad. She don't need it, Hiram
she don't need it. You asked me about
the stone. neighbors drove her to
ordering it, twitting her that now she was
rich, she grudged the stone to her
husband's memory. So she toid me to
cut it, but says, 'Don't put dead upon it,
Davyput lost at sea for Hiram's lost,
but he'll be found and come back to me.
She never looked at it, Hiram, never. And
there's not an hour, nor hasn't been tor
ten years, that she hasn't been looking for
you to come back. Go to her, man, and
the Lord's blessing be upon both of you.'
So, grasping the hard, brown uand.
Hiram Goliby took the path to the little
white cottage where he had been born
forty-five years before. The sun had set
and the darkness was gathering, but a
little gleam of light streamed from the
window of his cottage. He drew near
softly, and standing on the seat of the
poarch, looked over the ha I curtain into
th neat bur poor sitticg room.
It was not the grand house, Pearl's
heritage in New York, but Pearl herself
was there. A slender woman, with a
pale, sweet face, and black hair smoothly
banded and gathered into rich braids at
the back of her shapely head. Her dress
with a plain dark one, with white ruffles,
cuffs and an apron.
She had been sewing, but her work was
put aside, and presently she came to the
open window and threw aside the curtain
She did not ee the tall fiuure drawn
closely against the wall in the nar ow
poarca, but her dark eyes looked mourn
iully toward the sea, glimmering in the
"My darling!" she whispered, "are you
dead, and has your spirit come to take
mine where we shall part no more?"
Only the wash of the wave oelow an
swered her. Sighing softly, she said:
"Is my darling coming? I feel him so
near to me, I could almost grasp him."
She^ stretched out her arms over the
low window sill, and a low voice answered
The arms that had so long grasped on
ly empty air, were filled then, a3 Hiram
stood under the low window.
"Do not move, love," she whispered,
pressing her soft lips to his "I always
wake when you move."
"But now," he said, "you are already
awake See, Pearl, your trust was heav
en-given. It is myself, your fond, true
husband, little one, who will never leave
"It fs true! You have come She
cried at last, bursting into a torrent of
happy tears. "I knew you were not dead.
You could not be dead and my heart not
tell me." It was long before they&could
think of anything buc the happiness'of a
re-UDion after the many years of separa
tion, but at last, drawing Pearl closer,
Hiram whispered"I walked from
love, and am enormously hungry."
And Pearl's merry laugh chased the
last shadows from her hpppy face, and
she bustled about the room preparing
"Supper for twa!" she cried gleefully.
The grand old house in New York is
tenanted by its owners, and Hiram goes
to sea no more but in the summer time
two happy people come for a quiet month
to the little white cottage at Monkton,
and have always to listen to Davy's tale
of the evening when he was cutting Hir
am Goldby's tombstone, and ended by
smashing it into atoms.
"For," is the invariable ending ot the
tale. "Pearl was right, and we were
wrong, alt of us for Hiram Goldby was
lost at sea, sure enough, but he was not
dead, and he came to her faithful love a?
she alwavs aid ho w^iild."
A Tin-Clad Dog.
In these times of mad dogs, one which
got his head into a tin jar a few nights
ago at the residence of W. T. Chandler,
Beaver Valiey, Del., was the maddest of
all, but happiiy he was not mad from an
attack of hydrophobia. Spooking around
Mr Chandler's back yard, he found in an
open summer kitchen a tall tin jar, with
something in the bottom which made him
thrust his head in a considerable distance
to reach the palatable morsel at the bot
tom, which we believo, was potato yeast
Probably not from the effects of 1e yeast,
but from some cause, the dog's head from
the nose to behind the ears grew so large
that the can pesisted upon remaining on
his head. When the dog found that he
was fairly caught and not being able to
howl himself, he commenced a series of
gymnastics that made more noise than
half a dozen dogs. Hf tugged at the can
with his feet, he snorted ana sneezed and
would have growled if he could he rolled
over on his back, stood upon his hind feet,
and shook himself, but that can was
"thar" and he could not remove it. Tak
ing a cruise around the id he jabbed
the big end of his tin elongation against
the yaid fence, jairmed through a bunch
of dahlias, swept down a swath through
the potato patch, and emerg
ng to the
onion bed he took a roll in it, and
comming back to the open kitchen again
he sent the breakfast table hors de com
bat, legs upwards. By this time Mr.
Chandler had so far recovered from the
tears ingendered by the terrible racket
below, that he ventured from his bed to
see what was the matter. Opening the
kitchen door, the dog hearing a noise
made a bounce in that direction, almost
ramming the bottom of his tin can that
stuck to him "close" than a brother" into
Mr. C. 's face. Frightened for the in
stant at such a queer kind of an animal.
Mr. Chandler shut the tin-headed beast
out, but after a moment's consideration,
he grasped the situation and boldly went
out and grasped that tin can, and with a
dexterous effort he threw the fuzzy end
of it over the fence, but held on to the
tin end. The dog pulled and Mr, Chand
lor pulled, and at last the separation
came, Mr. C. performing a somersault on
one side of the fence and the dog at the
At the Soda Fountain.
Hand in hand they entered and stood
before rhe machine, gazing wonderingly
at its beauties, when the bustling vender
of the "ejffervescent," with his hand on
the valve, in his unctuous tones de
manded, "What kind of syrup?" This
was something "Jake" evidently wasn't
prepared for, but he took in the situation
at a lance, and determining not to ap
pear ignorant, in a tone which implied as
strong as any thing could imply that the
b. v. aforesaid knew his business, and
could fit out any pair of country sweet
hearts who called on him, with just the
right kind of syrup, and no other, he re
maiked, "Wall, I reckon as I ain't par
ticular." Down goes the valve, and the
bottom of Jake's glass is filled with lemon
syrup, that being the cheapest, while the
v., with his most winning smile, turns
to the owner of the little finger mentioned
pbove, and propounds the same query.
No A the gentle creature had heard the
query when addressed to Jake, and won
dered thereat, buc was reassured by the
answer as she had caught it. though why
she had smiled at it at the time was rath
er puzzling but now, when it was put to
herself, she hesitatid, stammered,
blushed crimson, and finally, with a sly
glance at Jake, blurted out, "I guess I'll
take a tickler, too." The b. v. disap
peared under the counter for two or three
minutes, during which a strange sort of
noise, as of a bubdued earthquake, was
heard from that direction, after which he
wasfe-'u to i r- to thi- reir ot 'he ^toie,
ana a boy shortly appearing, took his
position at the soda apparatus.
A JJay of Jane.
0 happiest day of summer time!
1 see the shadows shift and climb
The peaceful hills, as down the west
The sun goes journeying to its rest,
The riyer's song is low and sweet,
Where lily-leaves, a fairv fleet.
Are rMng, falling, by the shores,
Like boats adrift with idle oars.
All day the elves of June have swung
The lily-bells the grass among.
And filled the air with melody
Like that which comes in dreams to me.
And lilac trees from nodding blooms
Have spoken incense like perfumes,
To lull men in a Lotus dream
Of drifting down an enchanted stream.
The sky has seemed.the whole davthrough
Like a great violet, overturned,
With sunshine filtering through its blue:
While careless, idle, unconcerned,
I lay among the grass and heard
The happy carol of the bird,
And saw the clouds go drifting by
Between me and the tender sky.
No discord mars the low, sweet tune
To which is set, this day of June,
A poem from the heart o'. God,
Wrote out on sky, and tree, and sod,
And I, who love te dream away
The long hours of the happy day,
Have talked with Nature, and have heard
Her voice in brook, and breeze, and bird.
euch strange things as she has told
The secret of the sunshine's gold
The mysteryof the tasseled corn
How roses break apart at morn!
This happy day I have been near
To Nature's heart and felt it biat
So close that I could feel and hear
Her loving thoughts and fancies sweet.
The Long and the Short of It.
'Tis the curious-est thing'"
Along in the early spring, when the
plow had turned the moist brown earth
open to the sun. Mother Crinkle's heart
was stirred within her. The oddest lit
tle woman she. It was as if she had ex
baled and all left was a trim, scant
dress, with a crook in the back, a tidy
neckerchief a*d a funny stick-up cap.
Only under the cap was a live, sweet
face, and under the kerchief was a live,
sweet heart: else how could it have
stirred within her when the earth was
For scores of years, every single year,
when this strange old planet had whirled
around into its spring-time, Mother
Crinkle had dug and hoed and raked
over her beloved garden-patch, and
drawn her seed bags from the topmost
sell, and had sown and planted the seeds
in the hills and straight rows waiting
And then had watched and cared for, and
weeded and watered, and guarded from
bug and beetle, until at last, *when the
strange old planet had slipped into its
autumn, everything was gr wn and
ripened, and she gathered and garnered
the roots and the fruits of it all.
Then she folded her hands and was
glad. And the garden-earth was glad,
because it wanted to rest
'Tis the curious-est thing," she
It was an uutumn day. Fair upon the
hills in the sunlight stood the sheaves
of corn, finished and waiting. Piles of
red-cheeked apples lay under the trees
a hundred yellow pumpkins were tum
bled in the fence corner pears dropped
now and then iron the bent boughs, pur
ple grapes hung heavily from the vine
lovely, idle clamistis was one wreath of
plumes creeper clung tenderly to the
old wall, its five-fingered leaves full of
scarlet and amber and crimson and gold
an army of goluen rod hedged the lane,
nodding its crests in the wind, the great
elm above hung out a banner or two
while at its feet the astors stood ready
to grieve out their stary blue eyes. Eve
rything, like the corn, was finished
Even Mother Crinkle's busy hands
were stayed, or she would never have
paused to say, "Tis the curious-est thing."
Mother Crinkle sat in the door. As
she spoke, Joey, the mottled cat, rubbed
fondly against her and Shep, the dog,
lazily winked off a fly and looked up
into her face and the chickens stopped
to listen, and the boy Ned turned from
his Jack-o'-lantern to hear wnile the
maiden, leaning against the fence, turned
her graceful young head. For all wanted
to know what was curious to Mother
Crinkle, as she sat looking down across
her garden-beds. And she told tnem.
Last spring, dears, I planted that bed
with seedsthe costliest seed in all the
seed-book, with the greatest, longest
name and the beautitulest picture to look
at. Well, I looked and looked an' never
a seed of 'em all came up. An' I says to
myself: All my care has been for
naught! But by and bywhat do you
think, dears? Some how, by hook or by
crook (how the clouds only knowI
don't), one single squash seed had got in
to my nice ground, and it came up, ana
it grew, and it grew, and grew, till it
spread all over eyervthing and went over
the fence-top besides. Then it blessom
ed, and the squasnes set an' set and
then they grew, until I thought they
would burst themselves. And there I
have now a family of twelve squashes, as
big as ever you saw and as yellow as
butter, all a settin' in their green leaves
An' nobody ever asked 'em to come! So
you see, my children, how the first is
last and the last first an' there
ain't no knowin' how things will
turn out. An' it is the curious-est thing
in all creation how the Lord gives an'
takes, and helps an' hinders and that is
the long is the long and the shsrt of the
And Mother Crinkle laughed a little
mellow laugh, that almost had a tear in
Goodwin perceived one morning that
the milk he was pouring into his coffee
cup was none of the richest. On this he
said to his hostess, "Haven't you any
milk more cheerful than this?" "What
do you mean by that?" "Why, this milk
seems to have the blues." She fainted.
A great many men eke out what they
really have with what they pretended to
A man who is poor and generous has
fewer friends than the man who is rich
So live that when thy summons comes
you won't fear the constable who serves
it on you.
A doctor enioys bad health without
ever having tried it, though he has the
patience to do so.
Why* is a woodpecker like a tramp?
Answer. Because he bores for his grub.
There iz lots ov pholks in this world
whose only importance konsists in their
It is the silent watches of the night
that render alarm clocks necessary.Cin
cinnati Saturday NigM.
Any man pays too much for his whistle
when he has to wet it fifteen or twenty
times a day.Saturday Night.
We are never more deceived than when
we mistake gravity for greatness, Solem
nity for science, or pomposity for erudi
There is a sort of constructive consola
tion in thinking that a great many peo
ple will freeze to death next winter.-
N. 0. Picayune.
An audience cannot be too thankful
when it hears a letter read from a states
man instead of listening to an expected
Alexander the Great used to say that
he was mora indebted to Aristotle for
giving him knowledge than he was to
his father for life.
See how the little busy bee improves
each shining minute :how gayly lights he
on your nose and sticks his stinger in it,
Envy is frequently the foundation of
false reports. There is a jealousy which
renders the success of others a provoca
tion of raelevolence.
The man who continually does wrong
under the impression that no one will
find it out is simply rubbing his nose
against his own grindstone.
Early to bed and early to rise makes a
man healthy, wealthy and wise but early
to ryes and tardy to bed makes a mans
nose turn caidinal red.
The heart of many a burned-out mer
chant has been hurt by thoughtless insur
ance companies inquiring into the cause
of a fire.iV 0. Picayune.
There wouldbeless willingness to go to
war if the shot of the enemy were distri
buted like prize moneythe largest part
to the higher ranks.
How sturdily English was the declara
tion of Cobbett: "I speak not only that I
can be understood, but so that I cannot
Cider may be a goodtemperance drink,
but I kan manage to git so drunk on it
that I kan't tell one ov the 10 command
ments from a bye-law or a base kail
All the favorite old infidels aad hum
bugs are just now busy maping out their
lecture route for next winter, while the
good man is wondering where his fuel is
to come from.
There is no need of almanacs in this
country. One can tell the approach of
spring and fall by the number of men
who shakp hands with him and pick out
the fat offices they hanker to fill.
If the man who kills himself on ac
count of disappointed love could only re
turn to earth and loaf around until the
nearest daily went to pres, he'd see where
he didn't miss making a fool of himself.
Young man, perhaps yu had better be
a munky than a philosopher if yu play
the munky well,'mankind will look upon
themselves az superior to yu, and toss yu
haffs and quarters, but if yu play the
philosopher they will rkonsider yu
superior to them, and shun yu ackordinly.
How tunny! If you see a merchant
studying up the sailing days of foreign
steamers, you form a high opinion ot hia
business but if a cashier does it you
draw your deposit from his bank ia-
No man can go down into the dungeon
of his experience, and hold the torch of
truth to all the dark chambers and hid
den cavities, and not come up with a
shudder and a chill as he thinks of the
time when he undertook to talk politics
with the deaf old father ot his first sweet
heart while the girl was present.
A Practical Sweetheart.
A nice young man employed in the
Kansas Pacific office resolved the other
day to present his beloved girl with a
nice pair of shoes. He accordingly pro
cured her measure and went into one of
the fashionable stores on Main street and
purchased a two-dollar pair of shoes. 'In
order to make the present appear more
valuable he marked five dollais upon the
soles of the shoes, and at his request the
clerk put a receipted bill for five dollars
into one of the shoes. The presentation
was made, and the lovers were happy, as
lovers should be. But mark the sequel.
The girl examined the shoes in the day
light and was not satisfied. She was con
vinced that her iover had been cheated in
the purchase of such a pair of shoes at
that price. She decided to go and change
the shoes and obtain a bitter bargain
Yesterday she appeared in the store and
selected a pair of shoes, price $3 50, and
politely requested the clerk to take back
the shoes for which she said her husband
had paid five dollars. The receipted bill
was produced in proof, and the boot man
found it impossible to go "behind the re
turns." The smart girl took ber $3.50
pair of shoes, and obtained $1.50 in
money, and went borne happy and satis
fied. The boot seller sent a bill for three
dollars to the young man, who promptly
paid the difference, but he thinks that
girl a little too smart for him.--Kansa*
City Timet, -f C7