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Said a maid, my fortune telling,*
Loan ago, in days of old
"Never heart will ache for you,
Never heart will break for you,
sShould grief strike your soul with anguish,
Or you lie beneath the mould."
-Some one near me kissed me softly
"Heed it not, dear heart," she said
"Fate or fortune, who can know it?
Or the future who can show it?
JMind you not the idle talking,
Of a foolish gypsy maid."
.And I said, my soul unfearing,
All rny blessings unforgot
"It were well I gave no sorrow
From, that thought my strength I borrow
can be content, my darling.
Other lives to darken not."
Uut, ah me! the thought is dreary,
Musing by myself to-night.
"All alone!" the words keep measure
Gone is all the old-time pleasure
I. can see but sweet dead faces
Upward turning to the light.
What the wonder! What the wonder
That my soul is numb and cold?
Never heart may ache for me,
Never heart may break for me,
'Should grief strike my soul with anguish,
Or I lie beneath the mould
Annie B. Bensel in the Lynn Union.
MI) BETTIE BENNETT.
BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD.
There is no moral at all to what I
-am going to tell you about Bettie Ben
in*tt. At least the real fact of thefeet.
case is that it is all very immoral.
-But that's neither here nor there.
I had been watching the play some
titneI generally looked upon by the
fortunate others as an old maiden
*Iady probably without experience,and
certainly without hope. The play
went on at the sea-side serious play,
for the stakes were high, high as when
.some old eastern potentate risks his
ilovely Circassian girl, body and soub
his antagonist. The players were
mot eastern potentates, but all the
the same, lovely girls, body and soul,
rwere the stakes. I used to think of it
iwhen I saw Laura Stock wood, that
.stately beauty, and Jeannette Dean,
ifche dashing one, and Caro and Elsa
and the rest. And among the rest
could one forget Betty Bennett? She
was not a person who allowed herself
Ao be forgotten.
And yet you did not understand
-what it all meant, this furor about
iher. She was not a beauty she had
aio accomplishments to speak of she
was not an heiress. But she had ev
erything her own way the summer
^through. If you had to describe her
you would say she was a dark and
slender little person, with arch ways
..and the gayest laugh in the world and
pfchat would be all there was about it.
.All there was about it? Oh, not in
the least! In the first place, there was
"the readiest wit, the greatest good
^nature, the most perfect grace. In the
next place, there were the most won
derful toilettes. This morning robe
ot filmy blue India silk, garnished with
,|ace of the same slight hue, and finshed
with a collarette and chatelaine of
-old carnelian beads, not to be bought
now for love or money this bathing
*dress of burlap dripping with rock
erystals, and worn under a cloak of
white plush, thrown off at the right
xnoment for the wave this distracting
dinner dress of white silk bound about
with autftmn leaves, nothing but a
strip or the bright vine making the
shoulder strap and to-morrow's brav
ery as fine as this, with soft, creamy
wools made softer with their edgings
of ostrich tips, cambrics sheer as hoar
frosts, and covered with thread lace,
lustrous satins of pale rose fittingper
fectly the perfect shape, and dark vel
vets and tulles and gauzes and now
a brocade stiff with gold thread, such
as they might have worn in the days
of Msdici and now a black Spanish
Za.ce, with high comb and mantilla
t&ww*, taken with her little foot, made
-an Andalusian of her.
"Well," I said to her, after a week
or so, as she rested by me a moment,
"it must cost all of a fortune to dress
you. I don't see where you get it."
"So it does," she said, with encour
aging frankness. "Take my toilettes
.and gloves and boots and folderols
.-and 8/11, and the interest of it would
'take care of one poor person for life.
Itsn't it wicked?" and she looked at
cne with an irresistible drollery.
"Yes, I think it is," said I. For I
had known Miss Bettie of old, and I
knew that if she got through thissum
jmer alive, she wouldn't have one pen
a left.
"And the worst of it is," continued
:she, "that when you think you have
^enough for a queen, you find you've
only made a beginning, and have to
Jkeep ordering more from Pelisser and
4rom Bobinet and the others. It won't
do to be suspected of any tarnish.
You must be fresh, or nothing. Why,
I'm in debt up to my eyes!"
"Bettie, I don't know what you can
think of yourself!" I said, in conster
nation, "You have nothing to pay
with. It's dishonest: it'sit's swin
dling."
"No, it isn't. It's my business. If
1 carry out my plans, my pin-money
mext year will pay my debts."
"And if you don't?"
"Well, then, they can have the things
fback."
"Bettie!"
"To look out for that is more troub
than I can take, with all the rest
Ahat I have. I'm in for it. I've got
to do it. And I've got to be a suc-
cess."
"Bettie, if people knew about you,
you'd be anything but a success."
"I don't intend they shall. And it's
A pity if I can't trustyou."
"You canyou can. I don't ap
prove of you, but I shan't hurt you.
If you were content to sit still, as I do
//in one or two gowns, and see the show
tgoby
&? ^M^'l't^^^
"And let somebody else marry old story, and I sha'n't have a part
Mr. Dunrobin! No, thank you. I'm
not content. But I shouldn't have
gone into all this extravaganceit
makes my very soul ache to
see those sownsif I were not obliged
to be all the time en evidence."
"I don't really see the need of that."
"I do. If you're to beasuccess. And
I didn't come here to go home again.
And I came here not only to rule this
summer, but to have my rule remem
bered in all summers to come."
"Noble ambition!"
"It isn't ambition, I tell you it's
business."
"But, Bettie, you're not a beauty."
"So much the more to my glory."
"You ridiculous midget!"
"She's little, but she's shrewd."
And off she sped as young Penny castle
came along for an hour at tennis and
I saw her coming back in time, sur
rounded by an awkward squad of the
young society men.
"Yes, they are an awkward squad,"
she said, in answer to me by-and-by.
"And stupidstupid beyond any
thing'"
"The idea of taking so much trouble,
Bettie, to please them, then!"
"I'm not doing it to please them,
the jackanapes! Yes, they are jacka
napes! They don't know anything
but society small-talk and attitudes.
They can danceoh, how they can
dance' First one and then the other,
till there are holes in the soles of your
slippers. Sometimes I go to bed so
tired it seems as if baths of hot al
cohol wouldn't put any life into my
But I'm up in the morning as
fresh as a rose with the dew
on it. I have to be. It's what I'm
here for. And they're a part of
my success, these little swells. I've
got to go about with a train of them
as certificates of it. They're just like
itwhere one goes all go.Oh, yes, in
deed thank you, Mr. Vonderbust
you're always so kind! It is just what
I was wishing. Do you know I some
times think you're the most" And
I caught no more of the silvery sen
tence, for she had gone off with Mr.
Vonderbust, catching upherdraparies
as she flashed along all light and grace,
and presently tripping down the stairs
in a close-fitting dark serge, with a
cock's feather in her little turban hat
and half a dozen other youths had
sprung to hold her parasol, to button
her glove, to walk beside her to the
spot where Mr. Vonderbust waited
with his new Hambletonian, whose
pace they were going to try together.
When Bettie came back she came di
rectly to me where I sat on the piazza
with my crocheting. "If you don't
mind going in to lunch with me?" she
said. I didn't understand till after
ward that I was apart of her role too.
It gave people pleasant things to say
of her kindness to a forlorn old spin
ster, for one thingand I'm afraid if I
had comprehended it in the beginning
I should have put an end to it out of
handwas that, quite innocent and
ignorant of it all, 1 was her chaperon.
"It is such a misfortune," she said to
the right people, "that my own dear
chaperon, who always takes me about,
was obliged to leave almost as soon
as we came and I should have had to
go too, and beburied alive somewhere,
I suppose, if my dear little Miss Bug
gies had not happened to be here, and
she has taken charge of me so kindly!"
Take charge of that minx! I should
as soon have thought of taking charge
of a will-o'-the-wisp.
"Now, you see what I mean when I
say it is necessary here to be always
en evidence. You're forgotten if
you're not. Out of sight, out of mind.
I am here to be seen. If I hadn't been
sitting here with you, that absurd lit
tle Vonderbust wouldn't have asked
me to drive, and the others wouldn't
all have gone to pulling caps about
waiting on me to the dog-cart, and
Mr. Dunrobin wouldn't have seen it
as he sat there with his cigar. When
I have filled everybody's eyes, Mr.the
Dunrobin will begin to see me. So I
am always very plainly visible with
my train of idiots. Oh yes, I am as
froth, but its a game as deep as the
sea underneath."
"Bettie, I'm ashamed of human na
ture when I hear you talk."
"No occasion," crumbling her bread.
"You wouldn't be ashamed of me if I
were trying to make a fortune by what
you call honest labor. Well, if this
isn't labor, I should like to know what
it is."
"Labor!" "It's labor enough, let me assure
you, just to talk to these whipper
snappeis. It's more trouble than it
would be to write a book, tograduate
your conversation to the level of their
little intellects, if they have any intel-
lectsPenhurst and De Lacy and Van
Stout and the whole set. You have
to make believe to each one that you
find him perfectly delightful. If you're
the least atom above his comprehen
sion in your talk, or silent, or slow,
good-bye and good-bye to one, good
bye to all. If one of them sees anoth
er hanging over your chair, he thinks
there's something worth while there,
and he is coming in for his share but
if he doesn't see anybody, he's going
where it is plain there is something the
other fellows admire. Do you see?
Here they come I thought they
would."
She ran into my room one night be
fore going down to the german. "Am
I all right?" she said. "Come down
with me, that's a dear,"
"Why don't you rest to-night?" I
asked, not yet aware of my chaperon
age.
"Rest!" she said. "As if there were
any rest in the middle of a campaign!
I'll rest when I'm through."
"Bettie, I'm afraid"
"What of? That I shall fail? Well,
what if Ido? Folks have tailed before.
And if I fail, life won't be worth a cent,
and there's always the river, you
know."
"Bettie Bennett! I'll have nothing
more to do with you at all. I think
you are"
"As bad as bad can be! Then come
down and help me not to fail. I've
got to dance to-night to the last dance,
and take ices and drink champagne
with the best of them or the worst of
them, just as if I were to the manner
born. If I don't dance the first dance,
then the others will think something's
up, or nobody wants me, or I'm an
rier all the rest of the night. It's kill
ingthis plaee. Do you think I am
falling off any?"
"Fallingoff?" said I. "There's noth
ipg to fall off. You'll be the more piqu
ant and taking the more faded you
Are. You'll be prettier at forty than
you are at twenty. But, oh, Bettie,
you're awfully old at twenty!"
"Well, my dress is new. And isn't
it lovely?"
It was a bright colored gold satin,
fitting like a glove and with it sheWells
wore a quantity of topazes, and there
was a black swan's down wrap to be
left on her chair or to pull up if she
were chilly, and set off with its soft
shadow the perfection of her perfect
little shape. "Topazes, are cheap,"
said she. "You can buy beauties as
big as the tip of your thumb, for two
dollars and a half apiece, in the old
country jewellers' shops. It's the set
ting that costs but nobody need
know that it isn't eighteen carat. I
isn't everybody would dare to wear
topazes with yellow satin no contrast
you know. But don't they make me
look just dripping with light?"
"Yes," I answered "they make you
look like a constellation half seen in
sunset. But you're wasted here, Bet
tie. You ought to be in countries
where there are kings you'd be direct
ing affairs of state presently."
"I shall be content if I can direct
this affair," she said, with her gay
laugh. "Come! I've just given Caro
my turquoises, by-the-way. To tell
you the truth, they're not in the least
becoming to me, and she admired them
so. There's another part of the labor
you have to keep on the best terms
with all the other girls, unless you are
so perfectly assured that there's no
need of it,or else they will tear you to
pieces. Sweet life!"
It was a tiiumph that Bettie had
that night. The beauties,the heroines,
the bas-bleus and the sangre-azuls
were nowhere.as she said afterward,in
her own dialect. She was surrounded
like a queen bee with workers. She
had bouquets by the dozen, so that
her lovers had to help her hold them.
She gave some quietly to the bouquet
less girls, in pursuit of her plan, you
might have said, but really,I daresay,
because she had a kind heart under
all her artifice and audacity. I only
gave one to Helen Patterson and an
other to Virginia Lamb, that happen
ed to be duplicates of some I kept, be
cause their mothers were getting so
mad at their neglect, and I was
afraid they might begin to show their
claws," said she, next day. "Why,
didn't you see me go and sit down by
Mrs. Lamb? I was praising Virginia
to her. I was wishing I only had Vir
ginia's complexionand I wish I had!
Oh, you have to kotou to the chaper
ons, too, or else they'll ruin you, the
old tabbies! They put me in mind of
hens, pecking the heads of the other
hens' chickens. It's apart of the la
bor you think so lightly of. Why, I
actually got a partner for Julia Drink
water! Oh, I tell you, if I do get an
establishment and a fortune, I shall
do lots oc good things. I shall make
any number of people happy that
wouldn't be if I hadn't the fortune. I
shall make it a particular charge to
establish girls in life, to give a nice
wardrobe to this pretty person who
wants itwhy, sometimes a wardrobe
is half the battlelook at me! Peo
ple will think a world more of you with
one than without one, let me tell you.
Yes, a particular charge to have one
taught a trade and one set up in busi
ness and I shall have a matchmaker
of matchmakers. I've felt the need of
it. So you see I'm not 'so unprinci
pled as you think."
"Bettie!" "I'm looking out for a great many
others than just myself."
"At any rate, it's doing evil that
good may come, Bettie!"
"Well, it's better to do that," said
incorrigible girl, "-than nothing at
all. Now tell me did I dance well?"
"Like a little flame. Yes, I must
admit that you danced like a ball of
firelike a golden butterflv on thefrom
wind."
"I don't know how well that would
be. But that's the way I like to hear
you talk: so I'll reward you. Look
here."
It was a basket of the most superb
orchids that I ever saw, a priceless
affair, from which she drew the scarf
she had thrown over it.
"With Mr. Dunrobin's compliments.
Eh? He has seen me you see."
"Well, then"
"Well, then, this morning Jeanette
Dean is going to mount her hunter and
leap five barred gates and things I
shall let her do it. And Laura Stock
wood is going to drive into town shop
ping she'll go alone. And Elsa and
Caro are going to the woods let them
go. I am going to findJVIr. Dunrobin
and to thank him just as sweetly and
modestly as a little milkmaidI do
write such a bad hand! And then I
am going to get my water-colors and
go out on the rocks. I sha'n't do
much sketching, every man in the
house will be down on those rocks.
Then I am coming up to read with
youthat means get a nap and then
lunch. And after that I drive with Mr.
Vonderbust, and later I sail with Mr.
Kilgore, and then it's dinner, and
then talking and promenading on the
piazza, and then the concert and sup
per. That's 'Well, then.' And to
morrow there's the archery and the
picnic to the Wells and the yachting
out to Red Reef Light."
"For gracious sake, Bettie, day after
day, it will kill you!"
"You can't stop. You have to keep
it up. Stay to rest and you're like
the dead man in a battlethe others
walk over your body."
"Does it pay you really, Bettie?"
"It will pay. Don't you know how
I love ease, beauty, splendor, luxury,
fine houses, equipages, gardens, laces,
jewels, bank accounts? Well, that is
what I play for. My little pittance
would board me in a country town.
I had rather die. So I throw it all at
one tossheads I win, tails you lose.
I shall have not a basket of orchids,
but an orchidhouse. I was made for
it all. I perish in any other atmos
phere. It isn't like a girl that wants
money merely for the sake of money.
I want it for the sake of living, living
my own life."
It was Mr. Dunrobin with whom
Bettie was promenading the piazza
that evening after dinner, and before
the concert and the dancing. He
wasn'-t a dancing man He was only a
millionaire, well born and educated,
a quiet, middle-aged gentleman of unas
suming manners. She flashed me a
glance as she passed that might have
put out the evening star. He sat be
side her at the concert he went with
her next morning to the archery he
rode beside her all the way to the
he sat beside her as they sailed
to the Red Reef Light. He walked
with her the next day after dinner,
but this time they stepped down and
away from the lighted piazza, down
the pebbly walk, down the rocks and
out on the sands and along the beach
in the starlight. When Bettie came
in she was drenched with dew but she
looked divinely happytoo divinely
happy to notice the dark disapproval
on the brows of all the mammas.
And the next morning Mr. Dunrobin
was gonehe and his trunks, and hi3
horses,and his yacht and his man. It
was a little yellow wreck of Bettie that
came into my room and threw herself,
face down, on my lounge, and sobbed
out the story.
"Well" I said, soothingly, feeling it
no time for a homily, and pitying the
little wretch for all, "there are plenty
left."
"There's nobody!" she cried. "There's
nobody. I'd just as lief you'd know
it as not. I 1 love him! And oh,
the worst of this is, I deserve it! But I
can't let these people see. I must go
on just the same. "I'll put a little
rouge on. My heart's broken. I'm
dead, dead, dead. I shall look in the
glass while I'm doing it, though, and
say to myself, 'And Bettie, give this
cheek a touch of red one need not.sure,
look ugly, though one's dead.' But
let me hide here this morning. Have
you got any rouge?"
Nobody would have dreamed that
Bettie was disappointed, broken
hearted, dead, or anything of the sort
that night. She was recklessly, des
perately gay. Dancing on the edge of
the volcano, she called it. And so
she was the next night, and the next,
and for a week running, till all the
chaperons in the house were getting
wild about her and expostulating with
meand that was the way I learned
that I was supposed to be her chaper
onand I couldn't think where it
would end. And then she went to bed
sick for a couple of days, and then I
said to myself that this was the end,
anyway. And then one morning, when
I thought she was in bed still, and was
just getting ready to go and see her,
she burst into my room, radiant, rosy
U3 a peach, fresh as a new-blown flow
er, and caught me, and covered my
old face with caresses. "Oh, I must
kiss somebody!" cried she. "And he
isn't here. And I must tell you. I
can't let anybody see it, actually see
it, it's too precious!"
And it was a letter from Mr. Dun
robin, and in it he told her frankly
that he had run away from her, if she
chose to call it so, because he felt there
would be no happiness for him, or her
either, in a marriage with such differ
ence in age and taste and tempera
ment. And now he had discovered
that there could be no happiness with
out it. And he was coming back to
learn his fate.
"Oh!" she cried, bursting into tears,
"it's perfectly dreadful that I'm socouncil
wicked. I'm not fit for him! I don't
deserve him! I ought to be punished!
I shall beoh, I shall be! shall tell
him everything. I shall tell him just
how I manoeuvred and schemed and
plotted and"
"Bettie, it will finish everything."
"It ought to. I can't help it if it
does. I won't let him take me believ
ing I'm all I'm not. If there's anoth
er world, he wouldn't know me in it.
And, oh, I'm afraid he wouldn't want
to! Oh, isn't it too bad I should be so
wicked, when I'd die to do him good'
And perhaps the best good I can do
him is to die."
But when that night she came in
the beach, dripping with dew
again, and hanging on Mr. Dunrobin's
arm, her face pale and shining as a
star, she stopped and bent over me,
facing a line of angry mammas, and
kissed my forehead.
"Well, what did he say, Bettie," I
whispered.
"He loves me, he adores me," mur
mured Bettie. "Hehe said he didn't
care."Harper's Bazar.
Was The Man.
Probably every one has his detract
ors, but it is not always that a man is
innocently informed of the opinion
which the world entertains concerning
him. A stranger in Maine desired to
enter into negotiations with a farmer
in a town in that State for the purchase
of some live-stock. Meeting a man
driving an ox-wagon, the stranger in
quired,
"Can you inform me where Mr. West
lives?"
"There area number of Wests living
about here. Which one do you mean?"
"This one owns some fine oxen."
"They all own pretty fine oxen."
"I don't know thi? man's Christian*
name, but he has oxen for sale."
"I guess any of'em would sell if they
could get their price."
"Yes, but this Mr. West is wealthy."
"They're all fore-handed."
"But this West is said to be a close
fisted man, and hard at a bargain."
They air all of them kind of close
fisted."
"Well, I don't know as I can give
any other quality by which you will
know which West I am after. Oh yes,
I did hear that there was a story afloat
that this West once robbed his own
brother's hen-roost," said the travel
ler, laughing. Of course it was only a
story."
The ox-driver smiled grimly. "Well,
stranger," he said slowly, I reckon
I'm the man."
Illinois has more miles of railroad
within her limits than any other
State. The six having the most miles
are aa follows: Illinois, 9,204 New
York, 7,406 Ohio, 7,352 Iowa, 7,-
530 Pennsylvania 7,943 Texas, 6,-
338.
Fatal Results of Religious Mania.
A traveller lately returned from
Australia tells the following story,
some of the details of which were pub
lished in The South Australian Adver
tiser: Charles Hampton, formerly an
overseer of one of the trades in Pent
ridge Prison, lived with his family,
consisting of Mrs. Hampton, age fiftyi
and several boys and girls, in Coburg.
The mother for some time had shown
symptoms of weakness of mind,
though the fact was known only to
her household. On the night of Janu
ary 25 she went to bed with her
daughters in one part of the house
and the father and eldest son in rooms
in another part. At midnight the son
was disturbed by a cry of distress
from his mother's room. He got up
and. awakened his father, and they
went to Mrs. Hampton's room. The
door was locked, but their alarm was
allayed by either the mother or one of
the daughters, who said that one of
the girls had been taken sick, though
not seriously. The father and son
returned to bed.
At six o'clock the son was ar jused
by one of his sisters, and the story she
told induced him to hurry to his moth
er's room. There the first object that
met his gaze was the dead body of his
youngest sister, Ethel, aged nine, roll
ed up in a blanket and "covered with
blood, with the head almost severed
from the trunk. His mother and her
elder daughters were lying down,
smearad with blood, traces of which
could be seen all over theroom. Two
daughters had a frightful gash in each
of their arms above the- elbow, from
which the blood was flowing freely.
The other girl was similarly cut in one
arm. The mother was not wounded
at all. Search was made for the wea
pon with which the crime had been
committed, and a white-handled pen
knife, stained with blood, was found
hidden between the mattresses. Mrs.
Hampl on appeared to be perfectly un
conscious of what had occurred. The
girls were much excited, and being
asked how the crime was committed
said that they had all sworn not to
tell. The police were soon on the spot,
accompanied by a medical man. The
wounds of the girls were dressed, and
the flow of blood, which threatened to
be fatal to them was stopped.
Eventually the youngest girl made a
confession. Her statement was to the
effect that something was influencing
them to be wicked and their mother
asked them which they would choose
death or a wicked life, and they de
cided for death. They agreed to put
an end to one another's lives and
asked God if they were doing
whatf
wished
TfT^dl'T^hi*e^^kl3o
He
rd
S tilht
ai3
window^
which they took to be an answer i A they
the affirmative. Aft or a conference
they decided upon killing Ethel, the
youngest first. and one
of the daughter5?Thedmothechil
hel the down
and hacked her to death with a pen
knife and a razor. Then they be^an
to kill themselves. Th^y cut one an
other's arms with a view of severing
the main arteries and bleeding to
death. After a while, however, the
bleeding stopped, and other incisions
were made. Thsn they held another
and decided that the mother
should not be killed. Mrs. Hampton
waited to see the others die but in the
meantime day broke, when one of the
girls fetched her brother.
The general belief is that the tragedy
occurred through religious mania. The
mother, who was arrested showed un
mistakable signs of insanity.
Tlie Tragic Death of Mrs. Long
fellow.
From the popfs biography, by Rev.
Samuel Longfellow: "On the 9th ol
July his wife was sitting in the library
with her two little girls engaged in
sealing up some small packages of
their curls, which had just been cut
off. From a match fallen upon the
floor her light summer dress caught
fire the shock was too great, and she
died the next morning. Three days
later her burial took place at Mount
Auburn. It was the anniversary of
her marriage day, and on her beauti
ful head, lovely and unmarred in
death, some hand had placed a wreath
of orange blossoms. Her husband
was not thereconfined to his cham
ber by the severe burns which he had
himself received. These wounds healed
with time time could only assuage,
never heal, the dteper wounds that
burned within. He bore his grief in
silence only after months had passed
could he speak of it, and then only
in fewest words. To a visitor who
expressed a hope that he might be
enabled to 'bear his cross' with
patience, he replied: 'Bear the
cross, yes but what if one
isits
stretched upon it?' Whennot till
five years laterhe began again
to write verses of his own, it is only
infrequent phrases and lines that re
veal the sorrow lying ever at his heart.
Eighteen years afterward, looking over
an illustrated book of western scenery
his attention was arrested by a picture
of that mysterious mountain upon
whose lonely, lofty breast the snow
flies in long furrows that make a rude,
but wonderfully clear image of a vast
cross. At night, as he looked upon
the pictured countenance that hung
upon his chamber wall, his thoughts
framed themselves intothe verses that
follow. He put them away in hisand
portfolio, where they were found after
his death." These verses never before
published, pear thedate July, 1879:
In the long, sleepless watches of the night.
A gentle lacethe face ol the one long dead
Looks at me from the wall, where round
its head
The night lamp casts a halo of pale light.
Here in this room she died, and soul more
Tvhite
Never through martyrdom of fire was led
To its repose nor can in books be read
The legend of a life more benedight.
There is a mountain in the distant west
That sun-defying in its deep ravines
Displays across of snow upon its side.
Such is the cross I wear upon my breast
These eighteen years through, all the chang
ing scenes
And season changeless since the day she
died.
A Novel Bit of Brain Work.
A Springfield, Mass., .bookkeeper has
perfected a. machine that is designed
to aid brother bookkeepers and ac
countants in running up long lines of
figures. He has been at work on the
invention since 1873, and had the
thing patented something like a year
ago. The machine is cased in a light
wooden box about eight inches square
and three deep, and, lifting the cover,
the interior is seen to hold an en
amelled white surface, on which are
two dials, and which shows the brass
keyboard in the lower left-hand cor
ner. The larger dial of the two i on
the left of the machine, and is divid
ed into 100 sections. The rim of the
smaller dial is likewise cut into twen
ty sections. The hand which moves
about the first dial is called the unit
pointer. That which moves about
the smaller one is called the hundred
pointer. A little finger play on the
brass keyboard makes the object of
the dials and the reason of the point
ers' names quickly understood.
The nine keys on the board are
numbered from one to nine, and are
placed in regular order, but also in
two rows, 2, 4, 6 and 8 being above,
and the odd numbers, below. The key
is a brass upright, and as the finger
draws on it a spring allows it to slip
back toward the lower end of the box.
The pulling of each key on the board
sends the unit pointer along on its
journey around the dial as many
points as there are units in the num
ber of the key. Pull the 9 key. and
the dial set at 0 goes to 9. Pull the
same key again and the unit pointer
moves to 18. Pull the 1, 2 and 3
keys now, and the pointer goes consec
utively with a hop, skip and jump to
twenty-four. When the unit pointer,
keeping up its agile athletics, has
reached its starting point again, there
is a quick little motion on the right
hand dial. The pointer then has
"dotted and gone one." Tne ma
chine's internal clockwork is more
accurate than a human head can
hope to be. It isn't troubled with
malaria, nor is it ever larger in the
morning than it was the night before.
All the accountant has to do is to run
his eye up and down the columns,
pulling each respective key as he reach
es the corresponding figure. A day is
sufficient in which to learn the key
board, and the motion of the hand
quickly becomes almost involuntary.
The expert can run the figures in his
head and on the keyboard simulta
neously, thus "proving" his work by
one trip up or down the column.
Carrying is performed by setting the
pointer at the number to be carried.
TIonecessary set the unit pointer all that is
key 1 and
a number
one les- than th one carried. On re
leasing the lk^y the pointer is on the
desired number. The hundred pointer
can be moved in either direction.
The hand easily operates the nine keys,
thus: Nos. 1,2 and three with the first
finger, 4 and 5 with the second, 0 and
7 with the third, 8 and 9 with the
fourth. The inventor claims for the
machine unerring accuracy and sur
prising rapidity. He says an expert
can add 240 figures a minute with it.
is to hold down
tur
rh in
torww
^fW^^m^f-:,l.rj^M&^jM^ii't-.
Lincoln's Diplomacy.
A New York special to the Philadel
phia Press tells the following:
A new light is thrown upon one of
the most famous dispatches sent out
by the Government at Washington
during the rebellion. This dispatch
was from Secretary Seward to Charles
Francis Adonis, who had succeeded
George M. Dallas as the American
Minister to Great Britain. It was in
the troublous time just after the firing
upon Fort Sumter, and while there
was no longer a question that much
blood would be shed. Mr. Seward's
dispatch was dated May 21, 1861,
and such was its fineness and strength
that it did much toward keeping the
British Government out of the great
struggle. This fineness and strength,
as it now appears, was due largely to
Mr. Lincoln, for to him Mr. Seward
submitted the draft of the dispatch,
and by him it was handled with a
skill quite remarkable in view of
his many distractions. In June ot
that year congress asked the president
for the original draft of the dispatch,
but it was not furnished for state rea
sons well understood, and no copy of
the draft has ever appeared in print.
Allen Thorndyke Rice now conies for
ward with the original of the dispatch
and a fac simile of the text, showing
Mr. Lincoln's corrections in Mr. Sew^
ard's copy, will be published in the
April number of the North American
Review.
A part of this great state paper, in
original form, is in the handwriting
of Mr. Seward, and other parts of it
were e\idently written, at his dicta
tion by several ol his clerks. The pres
ident went over the document thus
prepared, and ordered numerous
changes. He directed that omissions
be made he smoothed asperities he
heightened the dignified politeness of
Mr. Seward he changed even the syn
tax of the paper, and no unprejudiced
mind can fail to admit that every one
of his changes was an improvement.
In the general opening of his dispatch
Mr. Seward bad said- "We intend to
have a clear and simple record of
whatever issue may arise between us
Great Britain." Mr. Lincoln
wrote "Leave out."
But the most important chance
made by the President was probably
thisMr. Seward had said: "When
this act of intervention is distinctlv
performed, we, from that hour, shall
cease to be friends, and become once
more as we have twice before been be
forced to be enemies of Great Britain
Hefiist changed, and then struck out,
the most vehement words of Mr
Seward's dispatch. With reference to
England, Seward had said: "If that
nation will now repeat the same great
crime. Lincol^nm changed both
Kl^w
r\
I -J
grar of this phrase.eth
th
If that nation," said he, "shall now
repeat the same great error." Here
the President relieved England from,
the imputation of culpable motives.
t: i
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