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Tl!n Rlis AX.EHTEN X.Y8.XC. She trips no ire ,, With light foot o'er luc^Tlie ball-room floor iBut dai'7 ..i-arn t"e tity, A took auB ere, And says her prayers, For Lent i» hero. tf'I^She puta away ,1, Her fine array 111 ww Till Easter Dav unc 1 dav, No more flirtation, But contemplation, ffans Self-abnegation. 'J! -i. •ak 'U And fervent piety, o! li To maids becoming, And for variety. A little "slumming." With this to ehoer hot On her way, As she draws near lt 6 0 Clfr MtWs Easter Day. lUTe,This pleasant thought Urei i« iTo cheer her heart, ll|d, Whene'er her mind dwells on it lit las .On Easter Day lxm She'll come out $ay v li* »cd I °«m 5 ipuUtfdj, And wear a daisy bonnes. )urself. rE —Boston Courier. SUSIE'S DIPLOMACY. nount en uirel "If I had been born poor, instead of oh, I firmly believe my life would 'ley*»ve been much happier," said Richard [aur.with a sigh. "ff'r*,,?-' Richard was sitting with a friend on 't duly*bench overlooking the sea. He would l"j^&ave been a remarkably handsome fel- ha. w, were it not for the discontented |^™*us pression, which always clouded his siy tkdxjce. i»n$i- Qn tjje 0ther hand, Mlorncri. at the rthur Renmore, was his companion, a plain-looking with nothing to redeem his waut May,-f comeliness but a bright pair of eye:-,, at day Q(j winning smile. a |,Jts akou't. 'At first sight, women were struck by iiiiE4chard'8 appearance, but. after a time igStw'»ey gradually began to fool a prof* to the *jence for Arthur, because he talked i&usingly, and ale. one Cin,, To tell the truth MUNDlfoud and reserved ttorneyuj8 Paren*s *ia,l ^tcn do himself so agree- llichard was too -a fault for which to blame, for he &d been a spoiled child. .-y~ ''Do you really believe what you say, Jo you only make that assertion to iartle one?" asked Renmore in answer his friend's remark, "I really believe that if I had been irn to poverty I should be far happier ian I am now," returned Richard pavely. "Then HI show uu a \vay out of your „TTp jouble," said Renmore with his clieer laugh. "Hand over all your wealth me, retaining only a pound a week for KL011. I fancy I should get on com- iXD PATE rtably with the gold you despise, not speak of being able to marry Susie." "Your offer to relieve me of my ealth is extremely kind and consider e," said Richard, unable to repress a ^re^,,aile. "I appreciate the sacrifice you it u»"e willing to make for nie, but on con ur is & deration I find I cannot do with out 'inerly. oney. If I had been accustomed to xchang^ jverty it would have been a different FamUys atter but, having been reared in lux iliorts foi :y, I cannot resign my gold, even if it i better me it vou loe- to destruction. The luxury I tl to ot gpol^en of is necessary to my exist Comer ,/ fourwb*"! thought you would draw your 3 the pro :ciikuM jarly love to grumble." "T have something to grumble about, n fancy," said Richard. "I don't see it you ought to be the appiest fellow in the three kingdoms." "Ought I?" i. "Decidedly." linn "Just let me know why?" UUl "u "-"-D e in the'jrns, old boy, when I mads the lyYoufc-jaal. Like most Englishmen, Ullll "You wish me to answer frankly, and on't take offense if I give you my real rinion CITY A,-v JI'KKTV and sold sold °r 111 CH'1 "Speak on. I promise I won't take Tense at anything you say. I should .....i^ke to see myself as others see me." "Well, in'the first place, you are too oNVli roud, and think yourself superior to think in on rerybodv. You fancy yourself ill eated because the world doesn't value ?u ydU value yourself. To tell the utft, yon? conceit stands in your way, ichard." "Conceited and proud!" exclaimed ihed top' ichard Maur, coloring with anger, ou have utterly misunderstood my laraoter. I am shv and diffident." AND Pi "Shy and diflident!" cried Renmore, iterrupting him. "You are nothing of i® kind. Your sole reason for remain yi» 4 Vjjig silent is that you would rather re ain from making any agreeable re ark than be lead to deliver a foolish 16. Now 1 rattle away, saying the rat thing that comes into my head, id yet I am regarded as a very pleas it companion." "That is what puzzles me," returned iohard. "Yon say nothing very wise CURIT* Buret*' witty, and yet you always manage to tereat everybody." a. f0ii!MBMMpeI try to please others and y rget the existence of Arthur Ren lore," said his friend "but, joking art, old fellow, what is amiss with ra this morning." Richard sighed more heavily than be- i IIA^ ,re. digging holes with his cane in the round. While staying at the seaside he had JLUmi hopelessly in love but his natu- ral suspicion hal prevent -d linn from declaring las attachment. "Arthur," he said, 'how can a wealthy man ever believe the disinterested at tentions of a woman "Oh," said his friend with a whistle, 'sits the wind that way? I had my sus picions, old boy. Rut you don't mean to say that you entertain such ungener ous ideas! I could not think so badly of Susie." "Because you know she is only wait ing on you to make a home for her. The case is utterly different. A man without money has the satisfaction of knowing that be is loved for himself alone." 'liah!" cried his friend contemptu ously. "You either do not love the girl, or you are a bigger fool than I take you for. Strange how pet.pie who have no troubles will go out of the way to make them. Well, I am off to get some luncheon are you coming?" No, Richard would stay where he wis. He felt rather glad to be left alone with his thoughts. Young, rich and handsome, he was as utterly miserable as any mortal with such advantages could be. His money seemed to stand between him and hap piness, and yet he would not have parted with it for any consideration. He prized it so much that he feared that it might have the same value in the eyes of the girl he loved. What if it induced her to give him her hand without her heart? Editli Palmer was comparatively poor, and he know she loved pleasure. She had often tol 1 him as much, and complained of the dullness of her life. He remembered how her cheeks had Unshed and her eyes sparkled with ex citement when lie had spoken of the gay world of fashion, or described the differ ent places he liod seen. "No. I will not a^k her to be my wife," he told himself with intense bitterness. "My money is to great a temptation for any woman to resist. She would accept my oiler if she didn't love mo, and I should discover it afterwards, and be wretched for life. I will ave S-~as sunn as possible, and try to forget her." He had risen now and turned his hack upon the sea, and some children who were playing in the sand gazed af ter him in surprise, wondering what made that big man look so cross. He certainly hud anything but an agreeable expression on his face as he walked along nibbling the ends of his' long mustache. "Hallo, Mr. Maur," said somebody at his elbow, in a clear, young voice. "Oh, is it you. Jack?" returned lticli ard. "Where are you off'to now Jack was Edith Palmer's brother, and Richard had shown him many kind nesses, completely winning his boyish heart. "1 was looking for you," said Jack. "Come up to the house and see Joe, will yoa? -Father says he does not like the look of him. Do come thero is no body at home Edith has gone to see Susie Brown." "All right, 1*11 come," returned Rich ard, relieved and yet disappointed that he would not see Jack's sister. The Palmers lived in a small house near the sea, and Jack dragged Rich ard into a small back parlor, commu nicating with the drawing-room by fold ing-doors. 'Wait here," he said, "while I go and look for Joe." And he dashed out of the room in search of his retriever before Richard could utter a word of remonstrance. The.voung man sat down on one of the shabby chairs, and relapsed into thought. The more lie saw of the pov erty of the Palmers, the stronger grew his' conviction that his money must have some influence on Edith. Presently he began to grow impa tient at Jack's prolonged absence, and the next moment he heard a sound of voices. "I am so glad I persuaded you to come back with me,"—it was Editli Palmer who spoke--"I should have felt so dull all bv myself." "I am very glad I came," said Susie, for he instantly recognized the voice as belonging to Arthur Renmore's sweet heart. "What on earth is the matter with you, dear? You are not the girl you were." "Thero is nothing the matter with me," cried Edith, and to prove it she burst into tears. "Don't crv," said Susie, wiping away the bright drops with her own little lace handkerchief. "I do believe you have some secret you are keeping from me. Have you seen Mr. Maur lately she added abruptly. "Do you think I am crying about Mr. Maur?" askel Edith, coloring with an ger. "I don't know, I am sure," returned Susie. "I could cry if I was in your place. The man cught to propose after all the attention he used to pay you." "Susie!" "Don't look so cross," cried her friend. "You know it is true. He did take up your time, and led people to believe he was serious. It is shameful of a man to treat a girl as he has treat ed you, I will say what I think—there! He is a mean thing, and I would like to tell him so to his face." Now it happened that Miss Susie was sitting opposite a looking-glass, and happening to lift her eyes, she saw Mr. Richard peering in upon them. She was a very quick-witted young lady, and did not regret at all the allu sions she had made to him. As she sat looking into the mirror a plot was be ing formed in that youthful little head of hers within soft golden curls. Her own engagement was such a hap py one, in spite of its length, for she had been engaged eight years, and had two more to wait until Arthur would be iu a position to marry, that she longed for her friend to experience the s-uw happiness. Perhaps a few judicious words would bring the laggard in love to the point. She hoped so, for he had looked veiy affectionately at the back of her friend's head. She felt strongly inclined to indulge n a tit ot laughter, but she resisted the impulse, feeling that it would spoil all. She resolutely averted her eyes from Richard's rellection, after satisfying herself that he was waiting eagerly to hear what they had to say, and said, iu a preternaturally solemn voice: "Edith, I do believe you love the man." The words almost caused Richard tt betray himself. He trembled like a leaf, for on Edith's next words depend ed the joy or misery of a lifetime. Thero was a deep silence for a few minute*, and then Susie lifted lier friend s head and looked at her tear stained face, which was suffused with blushes. "It is but too true," said Edith, "Ido love him. Yon have discovered my secret, and I know you will not betray it. I would die with shame if he knew I I had given my love unasked." 1 But, Edith, he loves you," said Susie. coloring at her friend's words, for she could see the delight iu Richard's eyes as he listened to Edith's avowal. ''He loves ine!" cried Edith, almost contemptuously. "Why, Susie, he might marry anybody with his wealth and position." "Bother his wealth!" cried Susie. "You don't love him for his wealth." "Heaven knows I don't!'' said Edith. "If he were to lose all his money it would make no difference to me." "My d.irling!" i And Bichard pushed open the i'oid in^-door-- and caught Edith in his arms, while Susie discreetly retired to the next room, and took up a book, leavimr the ardent lover to make his mm cuso for playing eavesdropper. "Oh, Mr. Maur." cried Jack, tlasiiri:.' into the room. "Why where is lie. Susie? I left him here just now." "He is engaged." said Susie demure ly. "Why, what's the matter, Jack?"' The bov walked over to the window and put his hands in his pockets, whist ling but there was a suspicious moist ure in his bright eyes, and Susie anx iously repeated her question. "Father had Joe shot," he said. "He was sullen and fidgety but I know Mr. Maur would have put him right if he had seen him. Poor old Joe!" "Don't grieve, Jack," said Susie, putting her hand on his arm. "You've lost your dog but you've found a broth er-in-laiv," "What?" 'cried Jack, "is it true? Where are they? Let me go to them." And he daslied unceremoniously into the next room, the loss forgotten for the moment in his delight at the unex pected news. Susie smiled and sighed as she fol lowed him into the presence of the hap py lovers. But her own happiness was not so far off as she thought, for Arthur, com ing into an unexpected legacy, insisted that it should be a double wedding, and in this he was ailed and abetted by Edith and Richard. "To think that all my happiness is owing to these folding-doors," said Richard to his friend. "And Susie's diplomacy," muttered Arthur. "What?" asked Richard, enquiringly. "Nothing," returned Arthur. "We are two lucky fellows, old boy!" "Indeed, we are," saul Richard. And up to the present time neither of them has had cause to alter his opin ion. De Lesseps on the Soudan. From an Interview in the Pans Matin. I have repeatedly warned the Eng lish that to send an expedition to the Soudan was to send soldiers to certain ileatli. As for ancient Nubia or Ethiopia it is a country in which, as if in a sea, whole armies of conquerors have been engulphed. Canibvses left 100,00o men on the deserts, anil he was only too glad to return home with a handful of follow ers. The son of Mehemet Ali was burn ed in his camp with his army. To at tempt to conquer the Soudan by force is a dream. It is quite possible to give laws to and to govern these intelligent, heroically brave races. In order to reach Khartoum, whatever the route taken, one must cross deserts in which there is absolutely no water. An army wheth er going or returning will always be an easy prey to the warlike population of Nubia. These can turn on the enemy 100,000 fighting men for whom death is only a secondary consideration,and who would be scoffed at by the women if they returned to their villages without having avenged the deaths of their com panions. The longer the struggle is continued against the Soudan the more difficult will be the effecting of a settle ment. Two years ago it would have been easy to negotiate now it is difficult, the animosity of these fanatical soldiers having been roused. The latest move in the celebrated case of Bishop Rosseau of Turnai, of the diocese of Belgium, against the VUle Marie bank, Montreal, for the re covery of 37,000,000 marks occurred re cently. when a true bill was returned by the grand jury against William Henry Weir, son of the president of the bank. NEGliO F11AILTIE8. Home of the Trials Which tit Southern Hotupkwppr Must Fixture. Light and darkness, sunshine and i shadows strangely bleutl together all 1 through life and in Ihe negro eharac tor the good and evil is intliscriiuin ately mixed up, with tin? down weight in favor of the evil. In all human natures I question if any can call forth as many petty, annoying, disagreeable i traits of character as that of our ebony I hued domestics. Self-interest is the ruling power which prompts every ac lion, and the reward to come actuates very proffer of assistance. 1 do not speak unadvisedly when I aflirm that it is a part of the freed i man's religion to dislike the white man and to injure and secretly appro priate his property. Sti'l, underlying i their ironeral demeanor there is a spe eios of urbanity, deference, and humil ity which is an outcrop of their policy and not of their true, genuino good will to "de white folks.' Yet I think i the negro man is less bitter and pos sesses more agreeable characteristics than the dusky daughters of our soil, for I will place the sulky, contentious, sluggish "freed lady of color" against the entire domestic world for disagree ableness. They can try you to the ut most limits of your patience and exult in your discomfiture and annoyance and maintain their stolid indifference to the end. It is not generally conceded that the darky is very apt or possessed of un usual inventive genius, yet they com bine the two qualities in an unusually exalted degree, for who can deny that where a negro is caught in a very tight place they are extremely apt at in venting a very plausible excuse be ing in that place. I have known a "hand" to be caught in the field with a well-stuffed bag of corn on his shoul der lo solemnly allirm that he "jis dun tuck dat sack away from a strange nigger and 'fore de Lord he wus jis i dat minit a-gwine to foteh it to de I boss.'1 He wouldn't "in no wise steal 1 corn. kae he could gel null' jis fur de axing.'" They cling as tenaciously to a fabri cated statement of their own fertile Imagination as if it were gospel truth, and as unblushingly as if their charac ters for veracity were unimpeachable. Perhaps, just at present, I am not in a very charitable frame of mind to ward the darky world, for I aTn for the twentieth time undergoing the trying ordeal of having my help •'seek relig ion.1' This simple statement will call forth the sympathy of many a southern housekeeper, and palliate ray bitter- ness. but for the benefit of the inox- Your work is sadly neglected, I "kase" your help "ain't got no hart to wurk while she is a seeking de sal bation ob her soul," and altogether I hardly can determine which is the greater of the two evils, an acute at tack of chills or a prolonged spell of "religion seeking." Oats and Peas, We have for many years grown oats and peas together. i)n good, rich land, sown early, you can got a great mass i of fodder* and grain. The drawback in the older states is the poa-weevij, The peas are affected with the "bug," and we do not sell them, but feed them i out on the farm to pigs and sheep, principally to the former. The pigs do not object to the bugs. What the bugs think of it is not reported. The I tanning-mill will separate nearly all i the oats from the peas. No matter if a few of the split peas will remain with tho oats. If cut before the oats get too ripe and the crop is carefully cured, the fodder is nearly as good as hay. As to the variety of peas, sow any that you can buy cheap enough. The seedsmen charge too much for it, or the White or Black-eyed Marrowfat would be good. The common Canada creeper or any other small, round pea answers a good purpose, and a bushel goes farther than the larger varieties. We moan that it is not necessary to sov them so thick. Two bushels of these small peas and a bushel of oats is enough seed per acre. The marrow fats should lie sown at the rate of not less than three bushels per acre and a bushel to a bushel and a half of oats, thoroughly mixed together. Early sowing is very desirable, and as sod' can be plowed earlier in the spring than stuhble land, wo prefer to sow on sod, putting in the seed as fast as the land is plowed. The crop can be drilled in or sown broadcast. If a drill is used, keep the grain well mixed, or tho peas will be apt to sink to the bottom. If sown broadcast and tho land is well plowed in narrow fur rows, sow on the furrows before har rowing. Then harrow and roll, and the peas will be well covered. You can rely on that. —.!?/«Ayrieult is! for April. Talk to Girls. i 1 perieneod I will describe the symptoms I of a sinner suffering under the convic tion of unpardoned sins. A very long face, with a more mournful express ion than the one which denotes "sulks," ushers in the proceedings. The listless air, preoccupied manner, tightly-closed mouth, the martyr bke bearing, constitute a picture so fresh and vivid that I shudder even as I write. To smile is indeed a crime of serious magnitude, for which double penance must be paid in the shape of a still more lugubrious expression of countenance. Each and every little repremand is construed into a "censc," which miKt be borne I)}' the "seeker" with all meekness— the greater the trials the more complete the victory. But all things must end, and early some morning you will be rudely aroused from the blissful matutinal dreams by the soul-freed shouts of your "heart's trial," and he regaled with the pleasant information that "I'se dun eumfrew wid de the blessid religion ob our sabior I'se sarched de Lord airly and late, and, frank de High King, I'se dun foun' him I'se bin to de golden gate, I'se knocked, and I has entered into do kingdom I is a reseiTieted sinner, and I is washed as white as snow." Knowing full well your help is far too happy to descend to the sublunary realities of cooking breakfast, you mechanically don your clothes and proceed to the kitchen, while the liberated sinner sallies forth to scatter abroad "de blessed news." It is just a scene like this, and the enforced necessity for preparing such a meal suggested this exposure of negro frailties and which prompts the wish that all our work could be done by machinery. Girls are no more angels than men are apes, and there are other viees be sides impurity, such as envy, uncharit ableuess, malice, untruhfulness and ill temper. Are all the vices on our side? Post-nuptial blaokslidings are worse than ante-nuptial divagations, and if the balance is to be struck after mar riage it it not easy to say on which side it would be. There is one lesson whi.'h we, all of us, in whatever rami, or society we may be, have to learn, and sooner we like it the better—the lesson of humility, of modest}', of economy. We art no longer the lords of creation. We have no longer a monopoly of capital or production. Rents and interests will fall lower still. Unless we realize the situation, come down from our high horse and I moderate our views of stylo and ex penditure, very serious trouble will overtake society. Wo Had better give up sneering at those 'dirty foreigners,' and imitate a little of their frugality. i The more thought is filled with bliss and rest at the same time. I must compromise with my better self by ex tending to the descendants of our old "uncles and aunties" my best wishes for their future advancement and prosperity, for the kindly remem brances of onr childhood "mammies" prompt many kind thoughts for their worthless latter-day representees.— li/ iladelphia Times. Demoralized by Marriage. "Have you noticed how Mary D. has changed of late?" asked a stately beauty, caressing a diminutive blaek and-tan whose collar was ornamented with silver bells. "What's the matter with her?" was the query. "Why, you know, she was married last week, and her maid informs me that she has not fed her dog once since her marriage: has scarcely noticed him, in fact. She actually seems to prefer the society of her husband." Exclamations of astonish ment.—Boston Cottrier. But the example must be set by those above. So long as the leaders of the oreat world indulge in display, those below spend their last shilling in an insane attempt to be in the running. Diamonds, lace, costly fabrics, wheth er for dress or furniture, long and lavish dinner parties, heavy suppers after balls—all these things might be made unfashionable by a wave of Ze nobia's wand. Unless some change of thi* kind is made in our habits, or un less some happy revolution occurs in our economic history, thero will be fewer marriages than ever in Vanity Frir."—National Review. Morphine Parties in Pari& I hear of morphine parties of the small-and-early kind in the higher couches sociales. Those invited to such little gatherings are known to the hostess as being in tho habit of resisting ills to which flesh is heir by i subcutaneous injections of the nar cotic above named. Tho injection is performed with a little instrument, I the manufacture of which is passing from the surgical instrument maker to tho jeweler, and is becoming an I objet art. Guests and the lady of the house sit in a circle and listen to a concert in a distant room. They de scribe their sensations to each other. 1 Novices derive peculiar beauty from I the morphinizing process. One sees in many of tho portraits at tho Mirll tori the traces of morphine in the general morbidezza of the faces and the brownish circles that surround eyes which are at once brilliant and softly languishing. It may be remem bered that the late Duehesse de Cliaul nes killed herself with subcutaneous injections of morphine. She resorted to them to soothe irritated nerves and vary her undoubted beauty and had to continue them because it became impossible for her to leave them off. I know of a confirmed morphioaman iae who would not for the world eat two kinds of meat on the same day in Lent or indulge in the pleasure of 9 waltz. The Archbishop of Paris will, I take it, soon issue a pastoral against the fashionable narcotic.—Paris Letter to London Trnth. •Seeing Stars. They were young and romantic, and, although ihe minute hand was pointing to 1- o'clock, they stood up on the "porch gazing at the stars. "That's Jupiter, dear, isn't it?" she murmured. "Yes, pet, and that is Sirius," he replied, pointing to anoth er star. "Are you Sirius?" she cooed. He kissed her several times. Then lie pointed upward and said: "That's Mars, dove." "And that's pa's," she whispered, as a footstep sounded inside, and if the young man hadn't scooted ho would have seen more stars than he ever dreamed of. Her pa wears a 12J with a brass toe.— Wash ington llatdicl.