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HER INFINITE VARIETY,
1 love her as "Faith," when the sunlight
Through the church's heavy nir |P%%l|I
A radiant saint, byrayside she kneels, Jw
And her soul goes up in prayer.
I love her as "Charity," when her purse
Has always another mite
To lift the weight of poverty's curse
And make some weary heart light. ","'
But when she stand in an earthly guiser**
With her perfect love confessed,
In the trusting glance of her brilliant
It's as •'Hope'' that I love her best. *v(
—Harry Eomame in the LadicV Home
Men jeer at women for their way
Of prattling secrets night and day
But there's one secret I'll engage
She will not tell for wealth and aye
She will not tell it though she die—
That secret is her age.
—New York Herald.
AN OLD LOVE AFFAIR.
BY EMILY LENNOX.
GOOD many cir
bined to a
Lydia feel that
she was growing
old at 28.
She had been
four years abroad
as Mrs. Grosve
she had done a
great many things—her duty, notic
ably—and yet her life held no sort of
She grew very sad when she re
flected. She had often wondered why
it was but now she had come to the
conclusion that it must be her ownruined
fai^lt—all owing to her own weakness.
The truth had been forced upon her
by a certain episode. Dr. Severance
had asked her to marry him, and he
seemed both surprised and angry
when she told him she was already
engaged—had been so for over six
"What are you waiting for?" he had
'•We are both poor," Lydia an
swered bravely. "He has his mother
to support and two sisters to educate,
and it is very difficult for a young
lawyer to make any headway."
"In that case, I should give it up,"
said the Doctor bluntly. "Are
going to waste your youth in waiting
for this man, Miss Dayton? Don't
you think it would be much moie sen
sible tor you both to dissolve such a
relationship? I am not speaking now
as a lover, but as a iriend. You are
both old enough and reasonable
enough to take the matter philosophi
cally. If you were free, you might
marry some man who could make
your life sweet and pleasant and per
haps he might lind some rich girl who
would help him out ol his difficul
These words had sunk deep iato
Lydia's mind she thought of them
for months. It was not that she
oared to marry Dr. Severance she
knew she could never do that under
any circumstances, and he knew it,
too. He had given up all hope of
making her his wife, and gradually
they were drifting into a friendly and
conlidential intercourse which suited
them much better. Still, the Doctor's
suggestion had lingered inN Lydia's
memory. She lelt the force of what
he had said, and was trying to come
to a conclusion. Of course, she must
have ceased to care for Henry Osborne
as she once had, or she could not have
argued the matter as she did. Butreplied,
she was still very fond of him, and
when she had made up her mind to
break off her engagement, the resolu
tion cost her many a bitter pang.
She was a long time in writing the
letter which explained the motives of
her action but she sent it off at last,
together with the little plain gold ring,
now somewhat worn away on the
edges, and a great many letters signed
in a bold hand: "Yours faithtully,
She felt as though she had been to
a funeral when she came back from
the post-office and in the sorrowful
fullness of her heart, she told Dr.
Severance what she had done.
"I think you have acted wisely,
Lydia," he said, in the friendly fash
ion which had grown natural between
"I think so, Doctor," she replied,
"but if I could only be perfectly sure!"
"Nobody ever does any important
thing without doubts," he said, kind
ly, "nobody can tell about the issue
of anything. But that ought not to
concern us. What we have to deal
with is the principle, and I think you
are right there."
"I don't know," Lydia answered,
her eyes filling up with tears. "It
seems very false and treacherous
when I think of throwing him over
]ust because he is too poor to marry
"If he is a man of sense," said the
Doctor, warmly, "he will see it as you
do. It certainly is not right for either
of you to prolong such an affair for
ever. What does an engagement
mean, if not marriage? Yours was
nothing but a mockery, Lydia. It ab
sorbed your thoughts and energies
without any return. It was bad for
both of you."
"Perhaps it was," said Lydia, with
a wan smile, "I don't suppose happi
ness is worth calculating.
"'There is a blessedness that is
li'gher than happiness,'" quoted the
Doctor. "Don't you remember, Ly
dia? I was in love with you once, and
yet I have come down to common
place friendship, which is a great com
fort to me."
"Yes," said Lydia, with afaint sigh.
"But I fancy you were not so much in
Jove with me after all."
Womanlike, aha was na without
some vague regret that in gaining a
friend she had lost a lover.
It was several days after this that
Lydia received a letter from Henry
Osborne. It was dated a week before,
but owing to a slight elligibility due to
hasty writing it had made a" round
about tour and reached her much
belated. Wben she received it she
fancied it was an answer to her own
letter but the moment she opened it
she knew it was written before hers
the two, of vastly different tenor had
passed each other on the way.
"My darling," it began, "I cannot tell
you with what strong feelirg I write you
ibis morning. I am so beside myself with
joy that I fear I cannot give you a verv in
telligent account of what has changed the
whole aspect of my life—our lives, I mean
to say. Years ago—you remember, I told
you—my uncle left me seyeral smalL lots in
a little town in Western Pennsylvania.
was only a boy at the time, and no account
was made ot the legacy—for the property
was worth only a iew hundred doll are,
and it lias lain idle ever since. But now
it has suddenly become valuable. The dis
covery ot a laree oil well on the adjoining
lands has made my poor lots
worth an enormous sum. Today I have
sold them to a New York syndicate for a
large sum. I am a rich man, dearest, and
you know what that implied I am coming
to you at once! Alter all these years of
waiting I have suddenly grown impatient
I want to be married immediately. There
is no reason why we should wait any long
er. We have lost so much time that we
cannot afford to lose any more. Oh, my
darling! I am so proud and happy when!
remember how faithfully you have waited
for me all these years of poverty and sepa
ration. My heart glows when I think or
it, and I thank God heartily for the bless
ing of your love1 I bhall be with you in a
week. I am settling up my business with
a view to taking you abroad for several
years. Till I see you, then, darling,
and through all time to come. Yours
Poor Lydia! Every word was a
dagger in her breast. She knew, as she
read it, that her own letter had by
this time reached its destination that
Henry had read it, and that he would
not come to her now. She laid her
head down and wept bitterly.
Lydia was not a mercenary woman.
It did not affect her that she had just
her chances of marrying a rich
man but she had a passionate thirst
for happiness, a wish to make the
best out of her life and its possibil
ities. She had always known that as
Henry Osborne's wife, she would find
that sweet content which would make
her always appear the best her nature
would allow. She had not given up
this hope without a struggle and now
—oh, how his generous praise of her
fidelity lacerated her very soul! But
she was not too proud to write to
him—such a letter! It must have
moved Henry Osborne to forgiveness,
so full was it of remorse and reawak
ened love, of passionate entreaty and
desperate fears but he did not re
ceive it. Her first epistle had reached
him on the day when he was starting
to come to her Overwhelmed with
anguish and bitterness, he had not
his journey lie went on in
the same hot impatience, but he went
in another direction—whither no one
knew—and Lydia's second message
was returned to her unopened.
Lydia did not mention this to Dr.
Severance. Her own pride would
have kept her from it, even it she had
been less considerate of her friends
feelings but both reasons influenced
her to silence. It was a curious thing
that Henry Osborne's name had never
been mentioned between them. There
was no occasion for it, however.
When Lydia had told the Doctor of
her engagement, it had been in general
terms. So the matter was quietly
dropped between them, and the Doc
tor made a poor guess at what ailed
Lydia, who grew very pale and
as time went on.
It was two years afterward that he
called for her one morning in his car
"I have some news for you," hein
said, shaking her hand very warmly.
'I have succeeded at last in finding
somebody who will marry me!"
-"I congratulate you," said Lydia,
smiling. "When is it to be?"
"As soon as possible," the Doctor
briskly. "Put on your hat
and coat. I have come to take you to
call on her. I am sure you will like
her, Lydia. She is one of my patients.
I have cured of a spinal affection, and
she means to repay me by becoming
,"I don't call that such a heavy bill,"
said Lydia, thoughtlessly.
"If you had to pay ic you would,"
said the Doctor, laughing. "Come,
Lydia, I want you to go with me."
This was how she happened to drive
with the Doctor to an elegant house
on Fairbank Avenue, where they were
ushered into a laige room, dusky with
draperies and rich furniture. From
somewhere out ot the shadows came
a slight girlish figure.
"Why, Frank," she cried joyously,
and then stopped, at the sight of
Lydia, to recover her shy
dignity. A gentlemamvho was seated
on the piano stool rose hastily, and
"Edith," said the Doctor, taking the
hand of his fiancee and holding it
quietly, "this is my friend, Miss Day
ton. Lydia, this is my future wife,
'•I—if I am not mistaken," Edith
said, with great embarrassment, "we
have met before."
She held out her hand awkwardly,
but Lydia did not seem to see it.
Back of Edith stood Henry Osborne,
looking at her with a proud, cold
"We have met before," Lydia falter
ed. "Dr. Severance did not tell me it
was Miss Osborne—"
"My brother Henry," Edith said,
breaking through the stiffness of their
meeting. "Henry, I—I think you re
member Miss Dayton."
"Quite well," he said, coming for
ward, with a smile which struck a chill
to Lydia's heart. "I hope you are
well, Miss Dtyton."
Dr. Severance looked puzzled but
before long. Henry was chatting
volubly with Lydia about his foreign
travels, and Edith was uttering
gracious things which only heightened
Lydia's' embarrassment. At last she
got away but the doctor was as
tounded when she burst into-tears the
moment they were out of the house.
"You might have told me!" she
cried, passionately. "I'd hava died
sooner than gc there!"
asked, with considerable annoyance.
"I didn't know that you were
acquainted with the Osbornes.
never said so." %w
You never mentioned their names,
and I—I told you I was engaged to
"Good heavens!" ejaculated the doc
tor, on whom the first ray of light was
dawning. "Lydia, you never men
tioned Henry Osborne's name to me.
How was I to know to whom you
"What will they think*of me, going
there after—after—Oh, she added,
fiercely, "I never want you to men
tion their names again.
"I am sorry," the Doctor said,
with genuine chagrin, "I hoped you
and Edith would be good friends.
Henry is a strange fellow—very quiet
and exclusive. Edith said he had
been disappointed in a love affair,
and took it very hard but upon my
word! See here, Lydia, I believe ypu
are fond of that man yet!"
"I am not!" she cried angrily. "You
are an old friend, Dr. Severance, but
you are going too far."
"Well, „well, I beg your pardon. We
won't say anything more about
He sat Lydia down at Mrs. Gros
venor's door and drove away in a
"If those two people are not in
love with each other still," he mused,
"I'm a quack."
Nevertheless when the Doctor and
Edith were married, Lydia did not go
to the wedding, a fact which he con
vassed thoroughly some time after
ward in conversation with his wife
but nothing came of the conversation.
The Doctor's brother-in-law was
taken ill soon after the wedding. It
was a bad fever of remittent type,
which left him intervals of deep des
pondency. Dr. Severance attended
him. One day, when he had his finger
on the patient's pulse, Henry opened
his eyes and looked'fixedly in his face.
"You need not be afraid to tell me,"
he said, weakly. "I know I am going
"Dr. Severance started to say some
thing, but Henry stopped him.
"You needn't attempt to deceive
me," he said. "1 see my verdict in
your face. I am very well satisfied
that it should be so, but—I have one
request to make of you. Doctor. I,
know I cannot live many days, Will
you—will you ask Miss Dayton to
come and see me before I die?'
The Doctor'3 eyes brightened.*
"I will do anything I can for you
Henry," he said kindly. "I am glad
you are so resigned. It is best to be
always ready," for no man knows
when his hour is nigh."
"I don't think she will mind coming,
under the circumstances, do you."
"I think she will come," the doctor
rejoined, confidently. And he was
right, for when to Lydia he said.
"Henry Osborne wants to see you
before he dies," she went at once.
They were quite alone in that event
ful meeting. Henry, pale and weak,
lay back on the pillows an^ greeted
her with a smile.
"It was good of you to come," he
said, softly, holding out one hand,
which she clasped, and, tailing on her
knees, wet with tears. "I blamed you
at first, Lydia but you had a perfect
right to break our engagement if you
chose. I don't feel hardly toward
"I was not right," she sobbed. I
knew it afterward, when I wrote
again, but you sent back my letter
I suppose you thought
that the money had influenced me
but it didn't. I would not have writ
ten you from any such motive."
"What are you saying?" he asked,
bewilderment. "I never received
any letter, much less sent it back, ex
cept the one in which you asked met
"You never opened it. It came back
to me with the the seal unbroken."
"It came from the Dead Letter of
fice, then, or—or some one sent it who
knew your writing. I never saw it.
Lydia, I loved you too well to refuse
my happiness at your hands, no mat
ter how it came to me."
"And I have never ceased to love
you, Henry," she faltered. "Afterward
—I don't know why but it seemed like
a ret»ibution—I loved you more than
"And now?" he asked feverishly.
"I love you still!"
She raised her head, and he put his
arms about her.
"I believe you," he whispered. "You
could not deceive a dying man. Kiss
me, dear. It is such a long time, and
I have been«o lonely."
When Dr. Severance came in, he
started out again but came back,
with a merry twinkle in his eyes.
"Well," he said clearing his throat
by way of warning, "how is the dying
Lydia did not attempt to withdraw
herself from her lover's embrace.
Henry's head was resting on her
shoulder but neither replied to his
ghostly question, and the Doctor
broke into a low, chuckling laugh.
"You think you are going to die, do
you?" he said touching Henry's arm.
"Well, you're not going to do anything
of the sort! We'll have you out of
this in a couple of weeks, if Lydia will
only help us nurse you,"
"Do you mean he is not goingto die?"
"Not a bit of it."
"But you said—"
"I said what Henry said. Sick men
get unaccountable notions into their
heads sometimes. ,He made up his
mind he was going to die, and I hum
ored him because—well, he'd never
have sent for you, Lydia, if he hadn't
bolieved his last hour had come
would you, Henry?"
"No," he replied, but all his resent
ment was swallowed up ignis new
found happiness. I 0
"Don't be cross with me, Lydia,"
said the Doctor. "I had a hand in
breaking your engagement and I took
it upon myself to mend it."
"I am afraid I have lost the power
of being vexed," Lydia said, with a
joyous smile. "I am too glad and
thankful to mind a deception which
has brought about such happiness."—
We haste to read the lives of menft
The_ books drawn out with ink and pen,
Which authors write with wondrous ease,
And paint a life the world to please.
'Tis plain we all are authors„4oo.
Writing a life lor angel's view.
Each day records in Heaven's light
What thoughts and words and deeds indite
Upon the scroll of God's expanse—
'Tis the look of his remembrance.
Death ends that volume, small or
No friendship can its faults abate,
Or malice mar the good portrayed
We beauty add or blot evade,
That book is ours, as must apr
Our autograph is„written there
Tha book is ours as must appear— W&L-'l
-Lizzie P. E. Evan«.
'Farmer Kendrick had brought in
an armful of snow-covered logs from
the wood-pile at the north end of the
house, throwing them down on the
stone hearth with a noise like a small
earthquake, when Carrie Brown start
"Five o'clock! Oh, I had no' idea it
was so late. I must be going home."
"Allow me to accompany you, Miss
"You will let me see you home, Car
Capt. Logan and" Fred Jones both
spoke at once, but Carrie shook her
"I prefer to walk home alone," she
"About the sleighing party to-mor
row night?" asked Fred, anxiously.
"I—I have promised Capt. Logan,"
said the village beauty, a rosy" tint
suffusing her cheek.
"But, Carrie, I thought itwassettled
between you and me two weeks ago!"
exclaimed Fred with a frown.
"Was it? I am sure I had forgotten
Fred was silent. Cajit. Logan's
smooth, soft-toned voice broke the
"I exact no promises," he said gal
lantly, "but if I am not punctual to
the hour and the spot Miss Brown
may draw her own conclusions."
And Carrie went home.
She was very pretty, this bright
eyed New England damsel. Fred Jones
had loved her ever since they were
children together, and Capt. Logan,
who had come down to spend the
Christmas holidays with his cousins,
the Kendricks, had become so fond of
those bright blue eyes and golden hair
that he had prolonged his visit into
'Pon my word, she's a regular
beauty," said the captain, staring
through the tiny window-panes at
the retreating figure of Miss Brown.
Fred Jones looked quickly up at
him, asifhewonld havelikedto knock
him over into the fire-place, but he
refrained from any such demonstra
"A beauty," went on the Captain,
"and it's a thousand pities she should
be wasted on any of the country
bumpkins who vegetate among these
wildernesses. Sam, you young villain,
are those boots of mine blacked yet?"
"No, they ain't," said Sam, crossly.
"Well what's the reason?"
'Cause I ain't had time."
"See you find time then, quickly,
too," said the Captain. And
glowered after him as he went gaily
up the stairs.
"Just wish I had the hrin' of him
out," said the boy, gloomily. "It's
Sam, do this,' and'Sam do that,' and
'Sam where's the warm water?' and
'Sam what intheduce do you mean by
letting my fire go out?' and not a cent
has he guv me yet—no, nor so much
as a pleasant word. I wonder if he
mean to stay here always.
"You and I are about equal in our
love for him, Sam," said Fred Jones
"I heerd him talkin' with Miss Car
rie about goin' sleigh-ridin' to-morrow
night," said Sam, shrewdly. "I'd jes'
like to put 'Kicking Tom' in the
shafts I would if it weren't for Miss
Carrie. He don't knownothin' about
horses, that there militia cap'n
don't." And Sam chuckled.
"I say, Mr. Jones, why don't you
get beforehand with him? Miss Carrie
don't really care for him she's only
Fred Jones frowned slightly honest
Sam was not exactly the kind of
Ganymede he cared to have ineddre
with his love affairs.
"Miss Brown must choose for her
self, Sam," he said, and Sam went
back to his work, secretly wondering
how a young lady, gifted with ordi
nary sense, could hesitate for a mo
ment between the Captain and Fred
The night came—a perfect night for
sleighing expeditions and rustic loye
making, the roads hard and well pack
ed and a glorious moon shining down
whitely, as if a rain of silver were del
uging the 'whole world.
"Couldn't be better weather," said
the captain. "Sam, where are the
"Dunno," said Sam. "There's them
old jingers in the garret that used to
belong to Deacon John Kendrick,
that was in the revolutionary war,
and there's the two cowbells that
Mary Jane might scour up witn ash-
"Pshaw!" said the captain. "Do
you take me for Rip Van Winkle?"
There's a pretty little string some
where, for I saw them when Mrs.
Kendrick went out day before yester
"I hain't seen nothin' on 'em," said
"Come, come, Sam don't make
youself out any stupider than you be
by nature," said the farmer, laughing
nevertheless, for the Captain's airs
were fast wearing out his welcome,
and he secretly sympathized with the
much abused Sam.
"I guess they're out in the barn
chamber. You better go with him,
Captain, if you expect to find 'em—
our Sam's dreadf ufthick-headed when
he chooses to be."
*r "Come along, my fine fellow," said
the Captain, collaring Sam and march
ing him off in the direction of the old
red barn. "We don't need any lan
tern in this moonlight, that is one
"Where are the'* stairs?" demanded
the Captain, as they entered the barn.
"Ain't none," said Sam, "It's a lad
"Up with. you. then," said Logan,
but Sam shrunk back.
"I wouldn't, not for$50,"saidSam.
"Old John Kendrick hanged himself
from the middle beam fourteen years
ago, and folks say he stands up there
with a rope around his neck every
moonlight night." 3%
"Stuff and nonsense'" cried the'eaf)-*
tain in accents of contempt. "You
cowardly lout, stay where you are.
then, and I'll go myself." Z^l
He sprang lightly up the rounds of
the ladder and disappeared through
the trap door.
"Where is it?" be called.
"The ghost? Right under the middle
beam by the windy was the place
"Blockhead! I meant the string of
"Look for 'em yourself," said Sam,
sulkily. "I don't know where they
be, and what more, I don't care."
"I'll settle with you, my fine fellow,
when I come down," said the captain,
threateningly, as he groped about in
the dim light which came through a
cobweb-draped window at either end
of the barn chamber.
]'Don't hurry yourself, Cap'n," re
joined Sam, in a jeering tone.
As the Captain plunged into a dark
corner there was a jingle, and the
string of bells suspended from a nail,
hit him directly on the neck, so like
the grasp of death-cold fingers that he
could but start.
"Oh," said the captain nervously.
"Here they are. Catch 'em, Sam!
Hallo! Where's the trap door?"
And it took the worthy Captain
fully sixty seconds more to realize
that the tiap-door was closed and
fastened on the lower side. He rush
ed to the window and threw it up
only to see Sam speeding up the hill.
"Hal-lo-o-a!" yelled Capt. Logan.
"Come back, you scoundrel!—you ill
conditioned lout!—you imp of evil!"
Sam turned around and executed
that peculiar gyration of the fingers
in connection with the nasal organ,
which is supposed to express the ex
tremity of scorn.
"You'll find the ladder on the barn
floor, Cap'n," hooted the j^oung rebel,
"an' don't be afraid of the ghost it's
very harmless if you let it alone."
"But, Sam—Sam, come back! I'm
to be at Mr. Brown's at 7 30!".
"Don't worry'" bawled Sam, "Miss
Carrie won't wait long before Mr. Fred
'11 be on hand."
The Captain danced up and down
on the floor in an ecstasy ot rage, as
Sam disappeared ovei the crest of the
hill. He knew very well if he possessed
the lungs of Boreas he could make no
He sat shivering down on the hay,
starting nervously at the sound of
horses' feet below, and thinking how
disagreeably a bar of moonlight which
streamed down from a crack in the
ruof resembled a tall white figure
standing under the center beam. He
could almost fancy the rope around
his neck. Pshaw! And the Captain
jumped up again, with starting dew on
his temples, even in the freezing at
mosphere of the barn chamber.
"What is to be done9" he asked
himself. An echo, if echo has any
sense, would have answered:
"Just nothing at all!"
Sam had outwitted him. And pret
ty Carrie and Fred Jones, with his
red cutter and a great chestnut horse!
The Captain was wild at the thought
surely he was vanquished.
"I won't wait another moment for
him," said Carrie Brown, coloring up,
with tear? in her blue eyes. "Go on,
girls, I shall spend the evening at
"There's plenty of room for you in
our sleigh, Carrie," coaxed her broth
er. "Bessie Andrews will be glad to
have you along."
"No, she won't either," pouted Car
rie. "As if I would spoil all her fun'
No if I can't have an escort of my
own I'll stay at home and mend
stockings and I never, never will speak
to Capt. Logan again."
Charlie Brown was on the point of
arguing the matter with his sister
when the door opened and in walked
"Not gone yet, Carrie? Where is the
"I don't know," said Carrie, tartly,
"and I don't care. Am I Capt. Lo
"Will you go with me?"
"Yes, I will," said Carrie, her eyes
lighting and shy smiles dimpling her
"Of course," said Fred, "I can't
expect to make myself as agreeable as
the city captain, but—"
"The Captafn, the Captain!" cried
Carrie, a little irritably. "I'm sick of
the sound of his name. I never want
to see him again. What a nice new
cutter this is, and how easy the wolf
"Carrie," whispered Fred, as he
touched up the horse and felt her nest
ling, close to him, "js it tor always?"
"Yes, always," she answered.
"Jerusalem!" said Farmer Kendrick.
It was past 10 o'clock at night, and
the old gentleman had come out as
usual before retiring to rest, to see
that thedumb members of his family
were all straight and comfortable.
"I do believe that's old John Ken
drick's ghost come to life again, pound
in' like all possessed on the barn
"It's m-ee! It's m-ee!" bawled the
Captain. "Unfasten the trap door
and let me out!"
Slowly the farmer lifted the ladder
to its place. With rheumatic awk
wardness he climbed the creaking
rounds and undid the hook from its
"How in all creation came you
here?" he demanded. "Why, I thought
you was out a-sleigh-riding with the
"It was all the doing of that villain,
Sam!" gasped the infuriated Captain,
his teeth chattering with mingled rage
and (fold. "I won't stand this sort of
thing. I'll leave the place to-morrow
"As you please." said the farmer
to whom the prospect of losing hia
guest was not unpleasant. "I'm.
dreadful sorry this should have hap-
though. I'll talk seriously to
"So will I," gnashed the Captain
"I'll break every bone in his body."
But Sam had taken particular care
to go over to his grandmother's six
miles across the snow fields, to spend
the night, and the only person the
captain saw was old Mrs. Kendrick
sitting by the kitchen fire.
"You've lost your chance, Captain.'**
said she good-humoredly. "Dorcas
Smith has just gone by on her way
home from the sleighing party, and
she says Fred Jones brought Carrie
Brown in his new cutter, and they're
The Captain left the next day, and
Mrs. Fred Jones has never seen him
since. And when the affair came of
Sam got apiece of wedding cake big
enough to give him the dyspepsia for
a week.—Boston News.
PRINCE AND FLOWER-SELLER
Anecdote of the Father of the Pres
ent Emperor of Germany.
A pretty story of the late Emperor
Frederick is told in one of the German
papers. Some years ago, shortly be
fore the death of the old Emperor of
Germany, a tall, handsome gentleman/
jumped into a third-class carriage of
a local railway at Berlin just as the
train was leaving the station. An old
flower-seller with a basketful of newly
cut hyacinths was the only other oc
cupant of the compartment. He
asked the old dame to sell him a
bunch, and mollified by his suave
manner, she chose the freshest and
largest and handed it to him. It
price was a penny, but as the gentle
man had no coppers and the old
woman no change, not having sold
any of her goods yet, she was paid
with a mark piece which, she said at
once, was a thing that had ne^er been
heard of before in a third-class rail»
Presently the stranger and the
flower girl were in deep conversation,
and it turned out that the poor wom
an was the only bread-winner of the
family of four. Her son was crippled,
her granddaughter a little school-girl,
and her husband had for some months
been out of work, since a new railroad
official had dismissed him as being too
old to do much work. The stranger
then suggested that she should apply,
on her husband's behalf, to the rail
|'That is no good whatever,'' she re
plied as she wiped her tears with her
apron. "If you haven't the Pope for
your cousin nowadays you can't get
anybody to listen to you." "Then
try the Emperor," the stranger went
on. "Alas'" she sighed, "if the old
gentleman was allowed to see the pe
titions that are sent it might do some
good, but he does not get to know
about us poor people."
"Well, then, let your husband write
to the Crown Prince." "Yes," she
said, "he might do that," and she
would tell him so as soon as she had
sold her flowers. By this time the
train had got to the terminus, the old
dame had bundled out her basket and
noticed with astonishment that the
officials and the crowd on the plat
form looked at her carriage and salut
ed and cheered. "What's up?" she
asked. "Why, the Crown Prince was
in the same compartment with you!"
Then the flower-seller held her head
high and told every syllable of what
had happened to the delighted crowd.
Her flowers were sold before five
minutes were over, and a fortnight
afterward her husband was at ork
again in his old place.
WILD FLIGHT OF A CASK.
Down Hill In San Francisco With Un
disputed Right of Way.
There was a lively commotion at the
Telegraph Hill end of Kearney street
the other day, and that no one was
injured was almost a miracle, says the
San Francisco Chronicle. Near Vaile
jo street, on Kearney is a wine saloon
where many gallons of wine are con
sumed. The proprietor left a huge
empty wine cask on the outer edge of
the sidewalk. That part of Kearney
street is on Telegraph Hill, the steep
est block in the city.
A drunken man felL against the cask
and started it rolling. A second later
it was making great bounds through,
the air and covering twenty feet of
street at a single flight. People seeing
the danger shouted to those down the
street to get out of the way. Broad
way was cleared at a single bound,,
and the cask narrowly missed crush
ing a laundry wagon into splinters.
On it went at a Palo Alto speed,
scattering people right and left. A
Union street cable car was stopped in
time to prevent a collision. The run
ning cask evidently meant mischief,
and apparently to prove the superior
ity of wine over water, it headed for
Dr. Cogswell's fountain on Kearney
street and Montgomery avenue
Temperance people may say that
there is a moral in the fact that it
did not demolish the grarite fountain
erected by thedoctor to his own glory.
A bundle that a frightened pedestrian
dropped turned the cask aside, so that
it barely missed the cold water resort.
However, it took its revenge by smash
ing a small fruit stand all to pieces,
scattering the fruit in every direction.
The lower deck of a boot-black's stand
was carried away and a cigar stand
got a blow that rattled down the box
es on the shelves.
At last the cask was stopped near
Jackson street by colliding with a
hitching-post. The bootblack imme
diately claimed the cask for the dam
age to his stand. -The owner of the
cask stood at the top of the hill and
wisely decided that it was better to
stay where he was than to venture
among those whose places had been,