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HOW LONG WILL IT LAST?
Lights from (he windows ara gleaming and glancing, Music and laughter are echoing near, Save where the twain move apart from the dancing, Uttering vows each was longing to hoar. Tender his tones, in their low modulation. Timidly downward her glances are cast, Fyes matched with sapphire, cheeks with carna tion; Fair is the picture—how long will it last ? Think, when old Time, of all jokers the grimmest, Whitens the tresses and furrows the brow, Changing the forms that are lithest and slimmest, Will your affections be steady as now ? True that to-day, in its ardent devotion. Love takes no heed of the future or past— •• Curbing and checking the tide of emotion. Prudence should whisper: How long will it last? All were in vain, though the caution be needed, Prudence is ne’er the companion ol youth; ■Passion for aye leaves unnoticed, unheeded, Warnings ot wisdom and promptings of truth. Forging the fetters that bind them together, Gilding ths hours that are flying so fast, ‘Careless of sunlight or stormiest weather, Lore never questions: How long will it last? a ssemluolor. BY L. G. C. A morning sun illumined earth and sky. It flooded the grim old fort with mellow light, that softened sharp angles, and seemed like a smile on the taco ot age. It lay along the sea wall in wait for venturesome waves from the incoming tide, whose silver spray it caught and studded with countloss jewels. It blazed upon open, sandy places, and crept into the old town's nar row streets, defying shadows that still lurked, under overhanging galleries, or clung to un smiling coquina house fronts; and it lit into vivid colors figures that moved about the morn ing’s occupations with that languid ease dis tinctive ot Southern temperament. A little later the streets would be full of tourists, pleasure-seekers from Northern States, but now complexions of every shade from olive to ebony recalled the fact that Spain once held domin ion here, and that later, on the vanishing hori zon of our own time, cruel slavery was lord. In the East deep blue above bent over deep bine below. Floating downy cloud-masses flung purple shadows over sea and land. A breeze swept from oft the shining water to mingle with perfumes ot rose and orange flow ers and steal through open windows, carrying to late dreamers tales of a reality as sweet as the visions of their dreams. Miles and miles away it was Winter; stern, hard ft inter; but here, in St. Augustine, it was midsummer warmth anti beauty. In the open, sandyspaco between the sea wall and that immense barn-like structure, known as the St. Augustine Hotel, waited.the familiar eight of a group of horses ready saddled, ap parently much dejected at being reduced to the indiguitv of soliciting riders. Before the ladies’ entrance to the hotel, which opened on this place, and attended by a darkey whose dilapi dation compared admirably with that of the horses, stood three of these melancholy animals not a whit inspirited by having been chosen from heir fellows. On the piazza near by were two young ladies in riding habits, who were looking with amused faces at a gentleman coming toward them from the horses yet unengaged. He, too. was in rid ing costume, and he gave a dismal shake ot his head as he approached and stood below the railing against which the ladies leaned. “ It’s no use ; they have no better one's now, if they ever bad. lam assured that these are ‘ fine animals.’ and perhaps it’s my uneducated mind that deems them otherwise. But mule riding would be bettor , than walking in this £lace. Ho ended with a disconsolate glance at is dust-covered feet. “ Never mind, dear,” said the shorter of the .ladies, smiling, and patronizing, aster the fashion of some happy young matrons when addressing their liege lords. “We don’t care; we can put up with dusty roads and poor horses as chances of travel; beside it is in Augustine." Her husband laughed, and beckoning to a small darky, pointed to his polish-needing ehoes. “ Madame allows no one else to cavil at her beloved Augustine, but I seem to hear the faint echo of a grumble over the wreck of a dainty pair of boots last night.’’ Mrs. Willett tried to twist her laughing face into a frown, and failing, covered her small de teat by remarking that it was time they started. Through the hotel parlors, the ball, and down the steps went .the two graceful figures, out into the sunshine, seeming a very part of the glad young morning. Grace Alyng, following her friend, stopped to smile into the eyes of a small lady in her nurse’s arms. “It is just nine o'clock,’’ the tiny lady's mamma was saying, as she sent her baby for an airing. Jack Willett put his wife on her horse, looking at the saddle-straps with the care of a man who trusts his most precious possession io the string he examines. Mies Alyng had stopped on the lowest stops, making a dreaming picture framed in by the arched entrance ; her dark hair was brightened by the sunlight; the faint red of her cheek was deepened by the fresh sea breeze ; her face was bent over some roses which adorned the front of her smoothly-fitting waist. “ I suppose it is folly to try to keep these flow ers in place, but they are so beautiful it’s a pity trot to wear them,” she commented, giving them ■a final pull under the pins that held them, and ■crossing the narrow walk to where the others were. “It would be a shame not to dothat much when you sent their giver off for the day,” ob gerved Willett, smilingly. Miss Alyng tucked the small piece of fine lawn and colored embroidery, called* a handkerchief, between the buttons under the roses: the op eration took quite a moment, then, as she gave an approving glance at the effect, remarked that the roses were a much pleasanter addition to their ride than the giver would have been. “ Ab, that is heartless! that does not sound like you, Grape,” exclaimed Mrs. Willett. The girl made a little, deprecating gesture. “Whatis one to do? He did not ask me to Accept them ; he just sent them to mo; he will not know that 1 wear them, and they are so lovely it’s a joy to have them near me despite the giver. ’ She looked at her companions with an expres sion of mischief and trouble blended: an ex pression that brought out fully the beauty of her face—the half-sad depths in the gray eyes, and the curves about the red mouth. She was surely fair to see. So thought some one coming toward her from the sea-wall; some one to whom the sight of that girlish face had once been a daily delight, but to whom it now came with a strangeness almost painful. Something—was it idle chance, or did hie eyes draw hors ?—something made her turn, and but of the morning fled the sunshine and the sweet ness, the gay world became a sepulchre ; she seemed to stand with only a clutch on her heart, -and a ghost before her. It was a much mate rialized ghost, with a well-knit figure, clad in garments of more fresh elegance than is gener ally believed to belong to grave clothes, and it was coming toward her party with firm, elastic tread. She turned quickly toward her friends. “Is Mollie made of glass that it takes you no long to mount her, Jack ? We are losing time ; do let us start. Thanks—l’m all right,” and with hardly a touch from Willett, she was on her horse. Willett swung himself into his saddle, but even as he did so a low exclamation from him proved her haste in vain ; a second more and he was standing beside the charger exchanging the heartiest of greetings. Earth and sea rocked before the girl’s eyes in the moment that followed, but by the time Wil lett led the newcomer forward she had herself under control, outwardly at least. “ Mollie, you have often hoard the name of Ned Allerton ; I’m glad to show you the pos sessor of it. You never met my wife, Allerton 1 She was somebody else when I last’ saw von ; but,” after a moment, in which Mr. Allerton had expressed his pleasure at meeting the wile of his old friend, “ but 1 think vou knew Miss Alyng.” The stranger bowed before the girl, who bad made no sign of recognition. “I had that honor, but Miss Alyng has so many friends it would be strange if she never forgot tho least fortunate of them.” Grace smiled coolly. “ Oh, no I Mr. Allerton, I have not forgotten .you, but it sometimes takes a moment to place ■one’s acquaintances. How do you happen to be in thia place ? 1 thought I heard somewhere that .you were to spend the Winter on the Nile. , “ I did that last year.” * She held her hands up in pretended horror. What an age I’ve grown to that time flies so fast!’ She looked very ancient, in truth, all bright ness and glow, smiling gayly. Allerton remem bered Iho last time he bad seen her; tear •stained her face had been then ; the tones that now fell so smoothly had that day been full of agon.y. Ho thought ot the last words she had spoken in her sorrow and indignation: “I will forget you: do not think I shall let you spoil any life I” It was beyond his belief that she had difficulty in “ placing ” him, but she had certainly not allowed care for him to affect her <!eeply. No man in his senses could believe drer calm courtesy anything short of indiffer •enco. As those thoughts danced through his brain me waw answering Willett’s many questions, fie had been m Augustine a month, but was off by the morning train to meet friends at Tocoi with whom he was bound for the Ocklawaha. It was a great mistake he hadn’t known tho others wore in town these two days, but surely they might arrange a meeting later on I’eonle were always meeting again in Florida, thov knew. Fortunately he was unengaged till train time; would Mrs. Willett allow him to inflict himself on her party? and no, he did not wish to spoil their ride, might he not come too ? “Just nine o’clock.” “By the morning train.” With Allerton’s voice came back words before unheeded; an hour and a half he might stay with them and catch that train; what an eternity of endurance it seemed. . It did not take .long to get another horse and find Allerton’s leggings, and they were off, Miss Alymg leading with tho cry that she would reach Ban Marco first. horses proved better than had been fear *“> . ,® httle cavalcade drew rein after a ®P? r b oanter on the high ground bv the old drawbridge. Grace had been as goo’d as tor word about getting there first, and was a trifle breathless as she halted with her face to ward the brwnci water. Her gaze swept over tho broad river, the low island with its dense chapparall and it funereal lighthouse, to where the white breakers roll up and river and sea struggle to each other over the treacherous sand-bar. For a moment her spirits lightened. She drank in the exhilara ting air eagerly. Vagrant breezes toyed with the loose rings of hair that escaped from her close riding-hat, one falling over her eyes was pushed carelessly back as she threw an upward, longing glance to the barbette. “One can see so much better up there: oh, for' P’qgasus to mount with me 1” she exclaim ed in pretty extravagance. Her horse gave a sleepy, sidewise look, as if in answer. “A most particularly stupid Olympus you would carry too.” She laughed. “I’m surprised that you and Mollie don’t ride straight over this magnificent draw-bridge, or attempt it, Grace. I suppose, Allerton, that those two infants would not know,, until they fell through, that the holes were not so sus taining as solid wood. Their hearts, and heads as well, are lost to this old fort; they are deaf if one happens to call it Fort Marion, instead of its old Spanish name, San Mareo. I shall do well if I get them away alive, and,” with a martyr-like air, “ 1 firmly expect to get the fe ver myself in my struggles- tokeep them out of the musty old angles that are full of it. My wife says I have lost my romance. Well— “ Jack, dear,” broke in a demure voice, “ don’t you think you can keep up appearances for the tittle while Mr. Allerton is to be with us? I assure you, Mr. Allerton, he has the worst form ot the fever now. Poor fellow, he does not know that he is raving ’ He is not dangerous at present but I fear for him if wo do not get him away from San Mareo; he seems to owe the dear old place a positive grudge.” On they rode—out past the old Spanish cem etery, past the stray residences along the way; back past the old city gates, sometimes with the sweet salt wind blowing in their faces, some times caught in a cloud of their own dust, dash ing out of that to walk their horses past groves where green loaves, yellow fruit and white blossoms hung together; lingering to drink in the perfumed air or admire rose gardens; has tening past hotels, where now the long piazzas were covered by bright figures in Summer ap parel; drawing rein hastily as they went around a sharp corner lest some startled pedestrian be run down. On again, through tho narrow streets, with their gay little shops and tho idle, happy-looking people passing from one to an other; past the long unused slave market; along the road to where the whitish line of sea-wall ends; past the United States barracks to the soldiers’ cemetery beyond, where at last they stopped under friendly overhanging trees. All the way they bad chatted and laughed as best they could 'with their riding ; but under the gay s'urfaee was a darker current for one of the group at least—for the girl whoso speech had brought the quickest laugh to the others, whose own laugh had seemed lightness itself, while she jested so merrily, she had lived over in memory two months of a Summer three years dead’; two months, during, which she anjl this man who reappeared so suddenly to-day had said over love’s sweet lesson together, un til—by her at least—it had never been forgot ten. How it all came back to her! the long, dreamy, Summer days, and the silver nights ; the joy of the lore, the misery of the ending, the trouble brought in by others. Ahl the wretch edness in tho thought that hers had been the jealousy ; his the cold demand that her faith must need no explanations to uphold it. She had thought the suffering over; had believed the humiliation gone of loving better than she had been loved ; had deemed the time come when she could hope for forgetfulness ; and now—now she knew it must all be lived over; all except the belief that some time she might forget. “ Grace, are you plotting some more atroci ties for our tired brains ? Don’t, I implore. I think a good way of reducing you to the level of ordinary folk will be to send you in to study epitaphs.” “That depends upon the epitaphs,” put in Grace,” saucily. T , “Silence, frivolous child I” frowned Jack. “Allerton, will you go with the ladies? I’ll take care of the horses.” Mr. Allerton dismounted, and helped £lrace down. One lit the roses, loosened from her dress, fell into the dust. He picked it up, but instead of handing it to her, stood looking at it. “ Go, lovely rose,” she mocked, “ By your leave, I will,” he responded, coolly. “ It would never do to offer Miss Alyng a dusty rose.” And, fastening it to his button-hole, ho went to dismount Mrs. Willett. “I think I will let you bo guide for Miss Alyng, Mr. Allerton. I have been in so often, and we have little time.” Grace was about to exclaim that She did not care to go in either, but fear that Allerton would know her dread of being alone with him de terred her, and she walked quickly past the sentrv, whose monotonous step went on, though his eyes seemed to find something of unusual interest in the vision that went by. Passing the memorial pyramids which rise above the dead heroes, pausing here and there in the silence to read an inscription, they came to the opposite side of the enclosure, where trees and monuments hid them from those who waited. Over the fence they approached loaned a small boy, about to descend and get a ball that had fallen inside. Stepping forward, Miss Alyng picked up'the bright-colored plaything and tossed it to the child, smiling as she did so. Even in her misery she could smile at a child. The youngster stood with wide, bright eyes, wateliing her as she turned away. “ If one were only allowed to pick these blos soms,” she said to Allerton, looking up into the flower-laden orange trees above their heads, and speaking merely to break a silence which was growing oppressive. The small boy dashed away. Coming back, a moment later, he held out to Grace hands full of tho waxen beauties she had wished for. “ Here,” ha said, shyly. “ You brought these lor me ? How very nice. What made you ?” “So that you’d smile at me again,” the child answered. What ho wanted came swiftly, daz zlingly, but Allerton’s voice tightened the grasp on her heart, and the smile faded. “There is a compliment dainty enough to have come from a courtier, and honest as . well —but Miss Alyng is doubtless so well used to such speeches that she hardly needs them.” His words cut her line a sudden blow; she failed to catch the faint bitterness they hold; ho seemed the same as of old, his manners saying so much more than his words; how natural for a woman to think herself of special value to him I She clenched the hand that held the blos soms so tight that a stray thorn pierced her glove. “What is it?” asked Allerton.‘seeing her start. “ Nothing,’’ she responded,’as if her heart were not breaking at his indifference, “only I have just found out what it takes some people years of wretchedness and misery to learn—that thorns may lurk among orange blossoms,” and, holding up the thorn, she smiled at him as if a thought that connected his lite and her’s were beyond imagining. His face darkened, and he made no answer. Tho girlish voice went on: “Thank you, again, little boy, for giving me these lovely flowers, and some other day I’ll come and find yon, if you live about here. But now, Mr. Allerton, do you know that if we stay much longer in this dreamy place you will miss your train and your friends at Tocio?” He did not speak, nor did he seem in haste, but he turned as she did, and walked slowly beside her. She talked on rapidly, recklessly, not caring what she said. “I’m sure you will find the Acklamaba charming. Perhaps you do not know that it is tho correct thing to see a great many alligators up there, but it is. W’e saw fifty-four, but lam quite determined not to be outdone in the mat ter of alligators; if I meet any one who saw more I shall make a new count, and be con vinced that I saw a hundred. That is the way they do in politics, is it not ?” Iler nonsense was evidently hardly heard; her companion’s face showed him gravely pre occupied, and his answer was at random. A moment ot silence ensued, during which she wondered if she could live through many more like it. Then Allerton stopped before an old stone, saying something about being interested in epitaphs. She found that she had still the power of speech. “ Yes,” she said, “is it not droll what people will put on tombstones ? Did you ever hear that touching and impartial in scription put up by a double-bereaved wife in memory of two departed lords: •'Here lie two husbands, A wife bereft, Rickard on the right hand. And Henry on the left i" Allerton smiled despite himself, but made no effort to keep up tho conversation. Her des perate bravery ebbed and went out; her last bold on life seemed to give way as silence again fell between them. Through tho leaves filtered the sunlight, checkering the green with light and shade, but it neither brightened or cheered for it fell over graves; the song of a bird floated down from above, so sweet, but so sad, for the bird sang over graves; the flowers she held and those she wore sent their mingled fragrance up to her, but were not dear dead things, al ways covered with the sweetest blossoms. 0 The world was made of graves, and her heart was tho deepest of them all. Down into the depths came a sound ■ she could not have told, at first, if there were words, but something called her up, and up to a world that seemed suddenly turned to glory by the words that at last she heard. “I know now what bas been the matter with these three years ; why the interest was gone out of everything; why no other woman has charmed me for a day. I had you in my heart, higher and sweeter than any other could be. I never was worthy of you; never shall be, except that I love you so—better than in the old days, Grace. Blind fool that I was to demand your faith, your confidence, and. deny you mine ! I will never let you go again if it takes my life time to win you back. Tell me I have not wholly lost you. Bo mercilul; speak to me, I be".” Speak to him ! She had no voice for speech nor power to lift her white eyelids and let him read the joy she felt. He only saw her down cast face, paler than it was before, and his voice grew husky as be spoke again : “Am I too late ? Is there some one else ?” he asked, whiter than horself. A voice, not hers, rang through the stillness. “ Allerton ! Allerton I” it called, “ you are going to be left!” “Coming,” was his brief answer. His one word broke the spell. She lifted to NEW YORK DISPATCH, JANUARY 11, 1885- him sweet, startled eyes, full of tho fear of his going. He ca> ght his breath. “ Is it true ?” he whispered rapttirously. Her face, drooping again, but no longer pale, seemed to give him answer enough ; for a sec ond his eyes closed to shut in the ecstatic vis ion, then:" “Ah.it is maddening to have to leave you now,” lie exclaimed. “ Yes, I must go to Tocoi to-day. I will go no further. Look at me again, my darling, my darling ! that I may know what it is I am coming back to."—Chicago Inter- Ocean. j HIS BY H. L. When, after a prolonged resistance on the part of tho ratepayers, the school board at ; length invaded the suburb of Abney, N. W., i and erected schools superior in every respect ; to those already existing in the parish, there was no one whom the change affected more than it did old lleuben Sparrow, the master of the ’ Free College tor Boys. His pupils had never liked him much, and now they dropped off one ; by one till the embittered and sorely-mortified man was compelled to resign his post. Fortunately he had saved enough to live on; and so, having no need to go in search of fresh employment, he was able to devote tho best part i of his time to the studies in which he had for- i merly delighted. He was now a man of nearly seventy, with < broad though rounded shoulders, and a-face that would nowhere pass unnoticed. Deep 1 furrows scored his forehead and bracketed his i firmly-closed mouth ; sparse white hair was brushed unevenly about his head ; beneath i heavy brows peered out the pedagogue’s eyes, i alert, shrewd, suspicious. Ha was quick to i find fault, impatient of ignorance, slow to trust, hard to please, but—is there not a saving clause i in every nature?—he was capable of strong,, self-forgetting affection; and the wife, who for i forty years had been his faithful helpmate* i often said that she had never had an unkind word from him. His distress may be imagined when.one day this cherished wife, who had fretted herself into , a low state of health over his recent humilia- i tion, fell grievously ill. Reuben sent for the i doctor, a young man in the first flush of his pro- ■ fessional gravity and dignity, who, after ex- j amining the patient very carefully, seated him- , self to write a prescription iu ominous silence. Reuben watched him at once anxiously and dis trustfully. i “ What dost think of her, young man ?” he ; asked, at last. • “She is in a very critical .state, and ought ] never to be left. Is there no one to share the i nursing with you ?’ ’ Reuben threw up his head sharply. “ There 1 isn’t a woman in the place but ’nd be proud to ] bo called to tho bedside of my Mary, but I 1 won’t trust any of ’em. She and I, we've : always done for one another, and I can’t hive a j meddlesome neighbor in now,” “ Have you no daughter ?” , “ None but my son’s wife, and she’s naught but a tricked-out'fool. Used to be a milliner’s j gal, and learnt to dress the outside of her head , instead o’the inside. Got affine long name like , a lady’s, but don't know who Julius Ca’sar was, and calls tho top of a pudding the bottom be- , cause it’s turned out lowest—pooh 1” A sort of grim smile flickered across Reuben’s face as he made this last singular charge against his daughter, but it only lasted a moment. “ The old woman’s bad, then?” he said, his eyes fastened apprehensively on the doctor’s face. “I am afraid so,” said Mr. Walters gravely. “I wouldn’t reluse help in the nursing it I wore vou. You might regrot it when it was too late.” “ Let me alone, young man!” retorted Reuben, fiercely. “ D’ye think I’m no better than a silly woman ?' I've got a good head on my shoulders, and my wife’s more to me than she is to any one else.’ Tell me what ought to be done, and I’ll do it." “ Very well, Mr. Sparrow,” said the doctor, coldly; “ but remember that you are human, and if sleep overtakes you just when you are most wanted, you will bo responsible for tho consequences.” Ho gave several minute directions, and left the house, vexed at Reuben’s obstinacy. But the next morning, when he called, the son’s wife was already installed by the patient’s bed side, and Reuben, with an air of immense knowledge and superiority, was passing on to her the instructions received by him tho pre vious day. “ Now, girl, lift her a bit. Lor! can’t, ye do it without sticking a stack of hair into her eyes? Stand aside—now see I” He put his arms under the old woman,whose breathing was quick and difficult, and cleverly raised her into an easier position. The doctor came forward; a little curious to see the disparaged daughter-in-law. As far as exterior went, she answered pretty accurately to Reuben’s description of her, having a figure obviously molded by tight lacing, and a face shadowed by a quantity of black hair, brought down to her eyes. Her clothes were unsuitably dressy, and on the table lay a number of cheap silver bangles, apparently taken off at Reuben's direction. But she had a pleasant, intelligent smile, and bore her father-in-law’s strictures with a modesty and good temper which augur ed well for her readiness to submit to instruc tion and to pick up the little devices of nursing upon which a patient’s comfort depends. Old Mary Sparrow was much worse, and Reu ben, who turned his penetrating eyes alternate ly upon her face and tho doctor's, fait cheered by neither. “You look worn, Mr. Sparrow. Go and lie down,” urged Mr. Walters.l “ Mind your own work, young man. I’m not . your patient. How is she ?” Mr, Walters did all he could for the sick wo man, and then, drawing Reuben out of the room, broke to him as gently as ho could the certainty that his wife could not live many hours. Reuben would not believe it, and gave vent to expressions of savage contempt for tho whole race of doctors. But next day poor old Mary died, and the stricken husband shut himself up to be alone with his grief. Even at the funeral he would not exchange a word with the many kindly mourners who gathered round the grave. - The following morning, however, he sent foiv his son and daughter-in-law, and made ar rangements to live with them and their little boy. “ Gwendoline,” ho said, more gently than usual, “you did your best lor her. You’re worth more than I thought. Wo’d better all live together.” S“Oi course, father,” said his son, heartily; “ wo’ll make you comfortable, and Gwen ’ll try to take mother’s place.” “Keep a sensible tongue in your head, boy,” said lleuben, with slow scorn. “ Your wife’s a well-meaning gal, maybe, but as ignorant as a baby. Mother’s place, indeed I My Mary’s place !” Ho leaned his heavy head on his hands, and would not speak again. As Luke Sparrow walked away with his wife, he asked her seriously whether she was ready to bear with the old man’s difficult temper. “Nobody couldn’t help puttin’ up with an old man like that,” replied Gwen, whoso grammar was hardlv as genteel as her name. “Nover you fear, Luke; we’U get along all right.” Bnt heroin Gwen was too sanguine. From the time she and Reuben became the inmates of tho same little house, her every action was harshly criticised, if not severely blamed; her management of the house unfavorably com pared at overy turn with that of her mother-in law; her ignorance made the source of daily complaint; her occasionally flighty manner the theme of never-ending lectures. Nothing bnt admirable patience and good hu mor, and a real humility that accepted his judg ment as better than her own, could have enabled the girl to persevere as she did in her determination to please tho old man. In defer ence to his wishes she’ simplified her style of dress, put her thick hair tidily off her face, and discarded all jowelery save her wedding ring and a little brooch given her by old Mary. Sar castic and unkind as was Reuben’s “tone in speaking to her, she undoubtedly profited by his fault-finding, and after a time she discov ered that Luke was right in saying his father’s bark was worse than his bite. More than once, when some small domestic difficulty perplexed her, Reuben’s watchful .old eyes perceived it, and she found herself at the same time snarled at as a fool and helped out of her quandary. Again, the old schoolmaster took very kindly to his grandson, and Gwen, wfeo was keenly conscious of her own want of education, was ready to put up with much churlishness to hor self for the sake of getting the boy taught by Reuben, whose learning inspired her with pro found respect. Often when she dusted his book shelves, where Horace, Virgil, Cicero, Thomas a Kempis, Shakespeare, one or two works on education, and a little old-fashioned volume' of Bacon’s Essays and Locke's “ Con duct of the Understanding,” leaned side by side in friendly tolerance of one* another’s contents, she would scan their titles and read a page hero and there, wishing she had had more schooling, and that Peter might grow up “ book-wise.” ’ One day Reuben caught her at it. “Put the books back I” he exclaimed peremp torily. “All the years we lived together, the old woman never so much as opened a book of mine, and Lore are you, a gal that can hardly spell her own outlandish name, poking into them, spoiling ’em, and wasting your time 1” “I wasn’t hurtin’ 'em, father,” said Mary earnestly; but unluckily she had laid bis favor ite Shakespeare open, face downward on tho table, and the old man broke out afresh. “ What’s the use of trying to make anything of you ? Surely, any fool ’ud know it hurts a book to lay it so 1 Get along 1 I’ll put the shelf right myself; never you touch it again.” “Very well, father,” said Gwen quiatlv; “but I was only thinkin’ o’ Peter, and wonderin’ if p’r’aps some day you'd teach ’un what’s in the books.” “ Well, wall 1” said Reuben, somewhat molli fied, “ he’s a good little ebay, and sharp enough too. Ho puts mo in mind ot Luke when he was a little ’un, but he’ll hardly come up to his father. Luke’s gbt a first-class head, if only he’d stick to steady work, and not take up so with inventions that’ll never come to any good. He's a fmo lad--he ought to have married a woman o’ breeding.’’ Poor Gwon winced, for of all the shafts in Reuben’s quiver ot abuse, this was the one that wounded her most cruelly. The sting of the words lay in their partial truth, for she knew that her kind, clever young husband might have made a better match. And yet she loved him so dearly, and et-rove so har'd to Vo worthy of him ! It vexed her, too, to bear Reuben speak so slightingly ot Luke’s inventions, for, as a matter of fact, the young engineer had sold the patents of various small labor-saving contriv ances for considerable sums. Only in one case had he failed, and it wao hard that Reuben should seem to remember that so much better than the successes.. Gwen delighted in her hus band’s work, and -rather than let him be dis turbed by domestic worries, played out all her woman’s tact in the endeavor to make it appear to him that the fault-finding to which Reuben sometimes subjected her, even in bis son’s pres ence, was merely the froth on a calm sea of good understan ding. She little imagined 1 , however, that thia view of the matter was Reuben’s own, till one day to her astonishment a neighbor remarked: “ Old Mr. Sparrow thinks a deal of you, Mrs. Sparrow, doesn’t he? He drops in now and again, and tells us what, a good manager you are, and how comfortable you make him. 'He says you are wonderful thoughtful for such a yonng woman,” Gwon could hardly answer for surprise, but the discovery that Reuben praised her behind her back encouraged her greatly, and she tried harder than ever to improve, not only in her management of the house, but in speech, style, and manner. “ You are becoming quite a lady, Gwen,” said Luke one evening; whereat she flushed with pleasure, and Reuben gave a grunt of dubious significance, which Gwen choose to interpret as an expression of assent. “ Some day, father, I’ll speak quite correct— quite correctly, I mean.” “Ihopeso.’’ said Luko, so eagerly thatCwen looked quickly up at him, and perceived the strange excitement in his eyes. “ I hope so,” he repeated, drawing a deep breath, “ for I believe I am going to make my fortune, and that would be a lift-up iu the world for us all.” Reuben’s face assumed its most skeptical ex pression. “ You ought to be shrewder than to believe in fortune-making, boy. Nothing but steady, straightforward work pays nowadays.” “ And isn’t it straightforward work to plod away the elements of invention for years ?” said Luke, warmly; “to get to know every discov ered application of science to mechanics, so as to be familiar with one’s tools, as it were, and then to effect original combinations? I don’t want to boast, but my small inventions haven’t failed, and I am justified in believing my big one won t. I have invented an electric tramcar which is bound to supersede all others.” “ Ah, well, my lad, if the patent fetches you the money it has coat you, I’ll congratulate you.” Luke was accustomed to his father’s incredu lity, but to-night it seemed to affect him pain fully. I “ You must try to have faith in me, father,” | he said, endeavoring to speak calmly, “ for I have made up my mind not to sell the patent, but to work it up rnysolf, to do which I must throw up my present clerkship, and start an of fice on my own account. It may involve living on very little for a while, but it must pay iu the end.” Luke’s face was full of the exaltation which proceeds from the sense of great achievement— the look of the man who originates, whether artist, poet or inventor. Gwen, with worship ing eyes, knelt beside him, and drew his arm round her shoulder. “You will trust me, littfe woman, and put up with being on short-commons for a bit said Luke, smiling down at her. Reuben's thin lips were pressed together as he sat and grimly watched the pair. At last he stood up, pushed his chair back, and addressed them with deliberate, chilling contempt: “Luke, you’re a fool ! Your wile's never been anything else, so I needed say the same of her. But for a man who has one grain of sense to throw up a good place for tho sake of pushing a rubbishy invention, that's what I call the act of a fool, and I’m ashamed to have such a fool for my son. If you think I’m going to spend my little savings to keep you out of tho work-house, while you’re waiting for a fortune that’s to be made out of a tramcar, you’re a fool for that, too. As soon as ever you can’t.pay up, I wash my hands of yon, and quit the house. I shan’t miss you; there’s nothing your silly wife does for ms I can't do better for myself.” ’ Luke was in far too excited n utate to beast this quietly, and answered with violence, which. Gwen sought in vain to soothe. There was, a. terrible scene, and at the end ol a few minutes the fair edifice of home peace, which she had i labored at so long and patiently, lay shattered before her. The hardest time of her married Isfo fol lowed, for Luke, in a state of irritated deter mination to succeed, was sorely tried by tho dilatoriness and procrastination of everybody whose approval an .i co-operation were neces sary to the bringing out of his invention, and Reuben was more cross-grained than ever. It tell to Gwen’s share to cheer and inspirit her husband, to bear the freshly-kindled fire of her father-in-law’s, vituperation, and to make her diminished allowance cover the most necessary expenses. At last the tramcar was given public- trial, and from that day tbs tide slowly turned. No body harried to take up tho invention, but still the capital to form a company was gradually subscribed, and Luke felt his way grow clear and easy bo ors him. A steady demand sprang up for the Sparrow tramcars, and the dividends rapidly rose. Luke was made much of now, and on all sides manufacturers and speculators sent him orders for specified inventions, offering him large sums if he could meet their requirements. Some of the requests were absurd, bnt many presented problems possible of solution, and the demand for his productions preceding the supply, Luke’s work was freed from the anxi eties of the man who invents first and finds his market afterward—if he oan. At home, it seemed at first as if his success would widen rather than heal the breach be tween his father and himself, for Reuben grew more silent and moody as his son went up in the world. During the days o anxious poverty, while assailing Gwen with ceaseless reproaches, he had exorcised much ingenuity in secretly supplying the wants of the household; but now that tlio privations ot the young qouplo were at an end, lie chose to believe that they wished him dead or gone, and when Gwen told him one day that Luke intended to take a larger house, the old man broke out bitterly. They i wero getting too grand for him, he said. The furniture which he and his old woman had bought when they married, and which he had brought with him to his son’s, wasn’t good enough for a fine new house, and he’d better betake himself somewhere else with it. “Don’t say that father,” said Gwen; “wher ever we go’, your rooms shall have pi<j things in.” “ Oh, of course! The old things are good enough for the old man 1” retorted Reuben, un reasonably. “ You’ll stow me away in the back and get new friends to suit your new furniture. No, no 1 I’ll get a roam somewhere and have a woman in to look alter me. I’m used to nogloot.” “ But, father,” said Gwen, patiently passing over a charge she had heard over and over again, “ I want you more than ever now. You see, Luke wants me to be fit to talk to the gen tlemen who come to see him, and I thought perhaps you’d teach me out of the books, so as I may know something. Luke hasn’t tune, and I don’t feel as I could get on without help. ' Be side, I can t bear to think of your living away from us new.” “ I’on’ro talking nonsense,” said Reuben, shortly and sharply. “I’ve not been so kind to you that you need sot yourself against tho parting.” “ You are rars good to Peter, and when we were in a bad way you stood by us, father. That’s what I remember. I know well enough your savings are a deal smaller for what you did for us.” Tho old man uttered an impatient “ Pooh pooh i” and, rising from his chair, fidgeted about the room. Then he sat down again and silently watched Gwen’s needle as it flew in and out of the work upon her knee. “D’ye really mean you’d like to learn o’me ?” he asked «t last, doubtfully, “ after all the hard things I’ve said to you ?” “I couldn’t have gone on doing for you so long,” eaid Gwen, encouraged by the gentle ness of his tone, “if I hadn’t known that yon thought kinder -mere kindly o’ me than ever you said. You didn’t mean it just now, when you eaid that you were need to neglect.” “No, lass,” said Reuben, taking her hand. “I’d no call to mean such an untruth as that. You’re a good gal; I’ll teach you what you like.” A'ter this it was surprising how well Reuben got on with ins danghter-ln-law. Herintell’gence delighted him, and he was never tired of boast ing ot the progress she macle in history, arith metic, grammar and geography. Not but what he olten spoke snappishly, but the old, constant friction was at an end, and past resentment quietly forgotten. . “It seems to me Peter and Gwen are running one another close,” said Luke, looking up from his papers with a smile one evening. “Blessyou, no 1” declaredlleuben. “Peter's a sharp little lad, but he’s nowhere beside his mother. She’s one in a thousand, I tell you— one in a thousand !’’ OUR TELEPHONE GIRL. AND STILL SHE SMILES. (Fi-om the Through Mail.} The telephone girl had just cut off a non subscriber, and was laughing at his frantic ef forts to have her restore the connection, when No. 666 dropped with a sharp click and pro longed clatter. The call was evidently a fir® alarm, so she hustled around pretty lively, hel loing, and vainly endeavoring to stop tho call er’s persistent ringing. “Hello!” she cried, but the ringing went right on, as if she had made no reply. “Hello! Heli,o! HELLO!” The ringing ceased for an instant, and the caller thrust his mouth up to the instrument and shouted “ Fire I” and then began ringing again like mad. “ Hello 1” cried tho girl, in 'agony at tho de lay. “ Hello, I say ! My gracious, why does he not tell me where to send the department’ Hollo! Hello 1 Hello ! HELLO 1” “Well.” “ Well, where is the—” “ Fire 1” yelled the man, ringing again with all his might and main. “Oh dear I What a fool he is. Why his house, or whoso house it is, will burn down be fore I can find cut where the firs is. Sav ’ Hel lo ! Hello !” . “Well, what do you want?" “ Where is thq “ Fire I” yelled the caller-agaia, and again made the machine lairly clatter. The poor girl was nearly crazy with oxeito ment and anxiety, and was--frantically endeav oring to attract attention again, when the ring ing suddenly ceased. “ Hello !” sha said, shasnit; “Hollo I” Where is that fire ? Fhrty hotsses could burn down before I could tell the-department whore to go,” “ Well, what business o 4 your-s to if where the fire occurs ?” “ A good deal I” said the-girl; ringing up the police headquarters and reporting the case of a false alarm from 666, and then switnhing on the chief, who replied : “ Well, I’ll send down right away.” “ The fire is in my stove/’ said-, tlio man who had given the alarm. “Now-1 gwess wo are about even on jokes.” “ Oh, no,” the chief replied-;; “ but wo will bo even when the Police Judge gets- through with you.” And the telephone girl smiios hlaadly because she is still on top. WITH BY M. QUAD. ■ “—seven—eight—nine ! Do you hear that ?” asked the old clock in the corner. “Hero it is a full hour after your and yet you sit there staring into the fire 1” In front of the fire sat an old woman—gray haired, wrinkled, feeble. The voice of the clock did not disturb her; but as she watched: the fitful flames one could have read her. thoughts. “ But it’s excusable onihis-night,” continued the clock, in softer tones, “Heigho ! but it’s the last night of the old; year t Three hours more and we are done with 1884. You and, I are going to watch the old year out together. Let’s see ! How many years have I seen come aud go? Forty—exactly forty with this one. That’s a long, long rima,” The woman rocked gently, to and fro, and, by and by the clock suddenly called out: “ What! Tears in your eyes 1 Como, now, but that’s no way to cad the year. Wo were thinking of the same thing, Yes, ho was a good and loving husband, aed- I’ll say this for both of you, that I never heard one unpleasant word between you. It is twenty years since ho died. I could look into hisdace as ho lay on his dying bed, and if Heaven swer sent its light to lead a, soul across the dark.,valley it was given to him. I remember your tears and moans and sobs, and you prayed that- death might came to you, as well.” The woman wipadher tears away, and there was a feeling of, suffocation as she let memory. bring up the events of other years. “ eight—nine—fen.’” called the clock alter awhile. “ How time does fly ! It se.ems scarcely a month sincelwas striking tao last hourp.of 1883. Let mesas- J Some one wept with you at that bedside. There was a eon ami a daughter. Ah I now I rocaiS their faces—their gentle ways —their loving words. Two years later there was another death-bed—moro wails and, cobs, and I saw tha pall-bearers as they carried the daughter’s.body out of the house. It seemed as it the last blow must crush you, aad.li well remember of saying to myaelf that it wouldn’t be long befora you were oUled to go.” The woman held her faso, in.her itaads- and sobbed, “Ccmot Como!" chided the clock, “Death is over basy, audit must.come to.aaoh and everyone.. The past ie a past, and we must put it behind us. How happens it that- you are alone to night ? Whore is ,tho . son, of whom I spoke ?” Ths woman choked, back her cobs,, and her lips moved as if sho-were speaking ths names of hor. dead. ones. For. many minutes her reverie was unbroken, and ,sba. heard not the tick-tack I tick-tack ! of the steady old clock. nine -ten— eleven!” suddenly called the clock, “The san?. Ah! how. absent-minded I have become ! Well do I.remember the day a woman with pale face, and- frightened eyes opened the doar and a letter, which bore the insignia of death. You opened it with , trembling fingers, and nsxt. moment you were like one dead. There.tSßßa.da.y9 and d'ays when, you hovered, between life and death, and for my part I gave up all hopes. Died in a foreign 1 land—buried among strangers over the sea. It was a blow aimed at a, heart twice broken,” The woman covered her face and moan-od in anguish, and. the dock continued: “Don’t grieve so; the dead are at rsd for ! evermore. Life’s, mistakes may need. to bo washed away with tears, but the dqad have reaped their reward. You are old and poor and broken, but who can tell what E-P-w friend's the New Year may raise up for yon.?- I. cannot tell you to forget ths past, for a mother’s, heart ever goes, out for her dead, but tha New Year may have more sunshine. Corso, now, I am about to strike the Old Year out and the New Year in. Let ns greet the New with a smile of welcome as I count—ten.—eiaven— twelve- -a. happy New Year!” Th®, woman did not move. “Heigho!” called ths dock; “ wo hav* left th®, old behind !” Her hands had dropped beside her and her head had fallen. “Dead!” ticked ths clock, as the last faint echoes of his bell died away. “ Verily, it is so! The Old Year will lead her soul from earth to eternity!” What must have been Uio feelings of this de voted when he received HIS SWEETHEART'S REPLY. My love and I walked from the play— Serene and starry was the night; I felt she could not say me “nay ” Mid scenes so calm, so fair, so bright. I plied my suit with eloquence— Assured her of my fervent love; She spoko not in her innocence; My darling one, my duck, my dove ? Sho leaned and sobbed upon my arm, As if by some great fear oppressed. I told her she need fear no harm. As I her suffused cheek caressed, At last she summoned strength to speak — I thought her little heart would burst; She said, imploringly and meek, ** I want two links of Weineruurst.” Wo have here a not pleasant reminiscence Oi CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. It was cool 1 .- planned and deliberately executed ia cold blood. They sat by the fire, and as he perused his paper she was busy with thoughts of Christmas. By and by he waked up and asked : “ Did any parcels for me come up to-day ?" “.No, dear," she replied, as her face grew white as snow. “ Have you been buying anything ?" “ No, nothing much. I happened in at Blank’s this afternoon, and, as he was soiling out his slip pers at cost, I bought me three pair. Guess I’ll be fixed for the next ten years to come." “ You—bought—slippers sho gasped, as sho pressed her hand upon her heart. “Yes, and Dash came to the door as I was going past and asked me in to take a look at his stock ot dressing gowns." “And—and—" “And I bought me a couple. Rather handy gar ments, you know, these are something extra nice." “ Do you mean to Uli mo that you went and—" “Why, dear s how you tremble," ho interrupted. “Yes, I bought two of them, and when Dash hap pened to mention that I ought to have a smokiag cap, twelve new shirts, aud a smoking-set and cane, I I told him to go ahead and send them up. I’ll order a new silk hat, wristlets, gloves, sleeve-but tons, and six neckties to-morrow, and then I guess I’ll be provided for. Come and kiss your old hubby." . But she didn't. She rose and up gasped and rush ed out of the room with tearful eyes and clenched I teeth. Tho pl timbers receive the particular atten tion of the humorists. The latest attack on the plumbers explains HOW A MALADY OCCURRED. Plumber’s wife (sitting by his bed, clad in an em bossed velvet gown, and with $125,000 worth of jewels scintillating on her ears and fingers)—“ Is he dangerously ill, doctor?" Doctor—'• No, indeed. He is the most comforta bly off of all my patients." “But what makes his right arm and hand shake so?" " That’s only scrivener’s palsy." “Palsy?" she exclaimed, with a clasp of her jew eled bands; “ what could have so prostrated my dear Algernon?" “Ho has been writing too much without rest," smiled the doctor. “Ho tells me he has been steady at work day and night, for four months past, mak ing out his annual bills." In this skit from the Philadelphia Call there is BOTH TRUTH AND SARCASM. Deacon De Blank—“ Yes, dear, I know the church ought to have a new organ now that the opposition church in the next square has one, but I shall not subscribe anything toward it." Mrs. De Blank—“ But all the other members are subscribing liberally toward it, and wo must do something." “I know; but I can’t afford it, my dear. My in come has totally stopped." “ Good gracious I Why, what has happened ?'* “The police have raided, cleaned out, and demol ished No. CO Slum street." “But what has that to do with us ?" “ That was my property." It is of a Chicago wife and husband that is told this STRANGE STORY OF AN EAR. “Lend me your ear a minute," remarked Mrs. Brown to hdfr husband the other evening. " Will you give it back to me ?" he inquired, with mock anxiety. “Of course I will, you idiot I Do you suppose I want to start a tannery She got the ear. Each section of our glorious country has its own peculiar methods of celebrating holidays. If this anecdote is true THE WOMEN OF THE SOUTH ARE VERY PECU LIAR. “Georgia, defir," said she, “didn’t you say you spent last Christinas in the South ?’’ “ Yes, Kitty, and I enjoyed it very much." “I suppose you did some kisiing under the mistletoe,' didn’t yon, Georgie, dear? You know that is a favorite amusement in that section." “I—I—no—I" — “ What ? Didn’t you kiss her under the mistle toe ?" “ She—l—she told mo to but I—I" — “Why didn’t you do it then •• Why, I wasn’t going to kiss hor foot." If this isn’t an accurate-description of stock axchange transaot-WQ»'W&' haw never met one. It shows THE PRICE TO 1 EXPERIENCE. A speculator camo home recently, where he bad a> new wife, just from a-co&ntry town>, waiting to Deceive him. He had been caught that day, and was not happy. “Oh, my love,” she -wailed, “ wha£ has gone wrong with you?" “Everything," he answered‘dejectedly. "Nos not everything, darling, for I ana still true sad; loviag." •“Yes, you aro aU righVbut’ itfertbat infernal stock exchange.” “The stock exchange.’’ “ Yes/’ “What Js the stock exchange, love-?" “ It’s- a place, dear, where any blamed fool can exchange big stock of caoh for some other man s stock of experience, without--being able to use tho experience." “ Why r dear, have you met-a fool to-day ?’’ “Oh, love; the other-man mot the fool —but let’s talk of something eIEG*-youMl ha-ro to wait un til Spring for your sealskin..” Wo have seldom read ao--good< AN EXCUSE FOR KISSTOCL It wan a case of breach ef-x promise. The defend ant wae*allowed to say a word in his own behalf. “ Yea," he said, “ I kissed hor almost continually every evening I called at her house," Lawyer for the defendant—“ Then you confess it?" Defendant—“ Yes, Ido confess-it- but I had to do. it." Lawyer—" You had to -do-it? What do you mean.?" Defendant—" That was way I could keep her from singing." The jury gave a verdic-S- fof-defendant without leaving their seats. Ws-oan see from this that there are DULL TIMES-OUT WEST. A.Hooton man got hold of a. westerner the- other dav‘in-hopes of getting eomaconsolation out 3>f the look of affairs toward Sundown, but the man promptly replied : “I toll you things !>&•*• ju-ot squatted cut our way.’’ “Won’t wheat look upaAittia ?’’ “ Not a look.” “Any new enterprises?'’ " Not so much as building a woodshed." “ How’s matrimony ?" “Deader’n Joseph’s old boots,” was tho confiden tial answer. “ A year ago you could have married anything or anybody and counted on 6 per cent, dividends, but the general depression has* flattened matrimony until a widavz worth $20,003 has got. to hunt a man down with.a gun." In this case it will be. acknowledged; that A PHRENOLOGIST WAS NEEDED. “None of these bexsels are labeled wiife the nature of their contents," caid the wholesale liquor dealer to.his clerk; “ this is-agreat blunder. We shall be obliged to bore thera,and ,draw off a. little of the liquor or wo shall not. be able to tail whether we are selling whisky or runt." “Suppose we send-for a phrenologist,” suggested the clerk. “A phrenologist/? What for ?” " He may be able to tell us what £» in the, barrels by examining thsir heads. SCINTILLATIONS, “ Women, in arms”—Well, where should they A market reporter says that his sweet heart encouraged him, and hiT thought of marrying her at once, but that a further advance was follow ed by a decline. Counsel— (i Then you think he struck you with malice aforethcaght ?" Witness (indig. nantly). “ You can’t mix me up like that. I’ve told yoq.twice he hit me with a brick.” Between book-levers: u Say, ohl fel low, lend me this book." "Sorry, butt coa't do it. Nobody over think&.X returning a baok he has borrowed. Just look my library them*-all bor- books !’* A piece of sponge-cake rejule by a Vassar girl has beon presented to president-elect Cleveland. It is saifi£4hat Mr. Cleveland prizes it highly, and will it as . a paper weight when be g*es to the Whitq. House.. If you notice a,young contorting himself into positions at trying to reach the lower part of his lefi ahoalder-blade with his right ham?:, you needn’t bo alarmed. He has. got on a newv&iait of; flannel underwear, that’s all. In spUe of all the incentive genius cf this country, no .one has.&wr- succeeded in making a aleeve-bixtton that will permit a young m&a to hug his bast girl without tearing a hole in her dross at the i>oint where her bark-bone saws iniv- his arm. “Let us go .to. Ms. Simpson’s wedding, my de.ar,” said a asjv.ly.-nxarried wife tabor hus band. “ Oh, no I Lst us stay at home ; it-will be a dreadful, bore.” “But. my dear, you, must re- Uiomber Mr. Sampson attended your, wedding.” “So ho did " (gi’inily.) : “ I had forgotten that ” (re vengefully). “I, shall be there." “If living.” In all policies of insur ance theses among a host of othw? questions, occsh’- “Age of father, if living ?" " Age of mother, if liv ing ?’’ A man in the country w.ho filled up an ap plicatifcaa, made his father’s age, if living, one. hun dred and twelve years, and his mother’s orte hun dred and two, The agent amazed at this, and fancied ho had secured an excellent customer; but, feeing somewhat dubious, ho remarked that the applicant came of a very long-lived family. "O, you see, sir," replied he, "my parents died many years ago, but ‘if living,’would ho aged aa there put down." "Exacsly—l understand," said tho agent. A gentleman, having playfully sev ered a lock of hair from the head of a young lady to whom he was attached, although ha had made no formal declaration, received, next day from her a letter urgently requesting the restoration of the stolon lock. To this he replied as follows; By one only recompense can I be led With this beautiful ringlet to part. If I have to restore you th a lock of your head, You must give mo tho key of your heart. The lady immediately replied: Who forces locks cannot require a key; 1 im at home to-day from 12 to 3. STORYJFjt CAT. A REMARKABLE CASE OF JEAL- OUST, Says a writer in tho London Daily Xi-ws . Not long ago wo had a largo, strong toia cat, whom almost no excitement or hunger would cause to mew, and hardly any provocation would induce to use his teeth and powerful claws within doors. The youngest child m the house might pull him about, lift him by the legs or tail, ar make a pil low of hira. without disturbing his feline, peace ful, or philosophical temper. If really hurt on any occasion or over-teazed, he uttered a melan choly little cry of pain—never of anger. On the other hand, ho got sulky if people laughed at him too much, when ho showed his feelings by retiring under table or chair or by staring stolidly ont of the window ; nor would ; any vocal coaxing or blandishments induce him to move Irom his position until his better naturo had overcome tho sense of wounded vanity. Out of doors his charactor was different, aud in tho evening or early morning his fine powerful alto caterwauling was the delight of his many female friends and tho envy ot Lis own sex, His vandyked ears and many an honorable gash and scar in the region of the eyes and nose showed that he was not unacquainted with the delights ot battle. In an evil hour my son brought home from school a jackdaw in a wicker cage. Now this bird was what Artemus Ward would call “An amoosin’ little cuss.” His cage rested in the breakfast-room (also much used as a play-room or study, according to circumstances), and he was frequently allowed to have the run of it. On such occasions his slyness, predatory hab its, and general wickedness were a source of great attraction to the younger members of the family, and though his manners aud customs did not perhaps give equal satisfaction to mo and my wife, or even tho elder children, still, for two or three weeks, either in blessings oi cursings, this wretched bird monopolized a great deal of attention. In the meantime Goli ath (so called from his promise of size as a kit ten, though Ins proportions never reached tho gigantic) moped and sulked, forsook the hearth-rug for the coal or beer cellar, ne glected his meals and his ablutions, and shortly became, in fact, a disreputable character that no petting could reclaim. The jackdaw, however, turned ont a failure ; his wickedness ceased to please, and his manners were ob.actionable. Finally, my son returned him to the boy who had 'bestowed him. No sooner was he gone than Goliath came forth from dark and dusty corners, licked himself clean iu no time, and onco more took his place on the rug in the doll's cradle (a favorite place for a siesta, where he might olten be seen with his head on the pillow, and a doll on each side of him), or the knee or lap that looked most in viting.' It must bo remembered that during the jack daw s short popularity his rival had suffered from no real neglect. His food was in abund ance, the rug was at his disposal, but ho saw that for the moment our hearts—as he imagined —were alienated, and it nearly broke his own. Will anyone who denies affection for the human race as an attribute of cats, explain poor Goli ath’s fits of sulks and jealousy in any other hy pothesis than that he acted ’as ma’ny Chris tians do under similar conditions of mockery and desertion on the part of those they love and respect ?” fl t hase suffering from th© Hl A* ra KVIBh 9 B finffec-t. <f yo-ithfnl error-, »os fr?i Sfl S s lij! weakness, early de- cay, lost inan’hood, etc., I will sand you particulars of a simple and certain means of self cure, free of charge. Send your O. FOWLEB, Moodus, Oonn. MATH DAW Used for over 25 years with great success by the physicians of Paris, New York and London, and supe rior to all others for the prompt cure of all cases,recent or of long standing. Put up only in Glass Bottles containing &l Capsules each. PRICE 75 CENTS, MAKING THEM THE CHEAPEST CAPS V LES IN THE MARKET. A strengthens, enlarges, and ‘ HS J'» body. SI.W : ga.l V. 1. JLVmVilv _^’ ervoU3 Debility Pills, SL. la-ffi ; Hvigorating Till, sl. All post-paid. Address £3 New England Medical Institute, ra fc « * «• «• « 'k' & *r * * K *»- * * * •“ I* *. * * ■ ’* * * ** LYmA E. PIMKSIAM’S * VEGETABLE COMPOUND * * * *~ A POSITIVE CUffE * * * « * For slid of those Painful mplalhts aad * * W'Fak’ftose99-so common Csfcour best * * *it * *3?JEHfAKE POPULATION. *** * * It w»Li. avßsr enterelt the wcijsrr form or Fg-i MALB AM, OVARIANMPROUBLBS, In 4 FLAM WATTON-AjNl> ULCERATION. IDLING AND rLACEKBXTS, AKD THE CONSEQUENT SPINAL WeAK-I NESS, IS PARTICULARLY ADAPTED TO TUB Change op.-Lite. * * *»■*#*«> * It WILL DISSOLVE and expel '’HtmOrs from the - UTHRU SLN AN EARI.Y STAGE OF DHTffLOPM K NT. Til S ’ TEN DEMOY TO CANCEROUS IS CHECKE VERY S4?»EDILY BY ITS USE. * * * * < * * It RflMOVfiffc Faintness, Flathlsnoy, destroys; . ALT. CRAVING FOR STIMULANTS, AND.BELIEVES WEAK-} NESS OF THEtSTOMACH. It CURES BLOATING, HeAl>4 ache,. Nervous Prostration, General Debility j Depression and Indigestion, * Thao?reeling of Bearing D»wn, causing Paina Weight? and Backache, is always permanently CURED BY ITS USE. * * Ar * ' * * * * *lt WALL - AT ALL TIMES ANTIeWDER AM. CIRCUM STANCES ACT IN HARMONY WITH THE LATV3 THAT GOVERN THE FEMALE BYST ***** * WIT 3 PURPOSE IS SOLFBY for the LEGITIMATE lIKAMN&-OF DISEASE AND 7 UK RELIEF OF PAIN, AND THA r .'?IT DOES ALL IT CL/viMS TO DO, THOUSANDS OF LADIES GAN GLADLY' TESTIFY, “©ft * * * * * * Kor the cure of-Kidney Complaints in EITHER SEX THIS IS UNSURPASSED. * » * Ii’SDIA E. PINKHAM’S VEGETABLE COMPOUND ft ■ prepared at Lynn, Ma-s. . Price sl. Six ) for $5., Solari; all druggists. mail, postagerpoid, in fpran of Bilte or Lozenges on w-elpt of price &sabove. Mrs Pinkham’s "Guido to Hr-rith’’ will lw mailed free to any’. sending stamp. confidentvdly answered. ° - * Wo family should be without LYDIA.E. PILLS. They Constipation.BiliousnesspndL”' of tholxivo’ c ig. cents per bex. * # ♦ 3 ToHit® r Talbotton, Ga., Sepi. 12. .1834,—Yjr little son, now sev on years old, broke-aut when a babo»®f three weeks with what tho doctors called eczema, beginning,on,t;h^ : beadl and gradually spwfading over bip. whole body. He treated for live or more by . rjrious physicians with out relief, and the little was, completely broken down. About a year ag fs> I yvas inducci.fco use on him Swift s Specific, and two hotties cured him.sound and well, andiihece has been .20 £iga pf a return of th® di3eaae - F Poisoned ay a Nurses Some years ago I inoculated waih poison by nurse my with bipod t jiat, The little child lingered along uny£ it was about two years old* when its little life wa?..yielded up Vo tlce fearHil poison-. For si&kmg years I hu\eo suffered untiihi misery I covered with sores r.&d ulcers from, head to foot, and ia my gaeat extremity to die. Nq language feelings of woe during tb ;se.long six yea,yu t ha&the best medico treatment. Several physicians sue ceaa&lvely treated r*e, but all to purpose. met ciwy and potash...seemed .to’ to the awful ftam® which was me. three months ego I waa advised to try . u 3, M re- Swift’s Spe- vi?s in in y cine We dibreast; but so, and I Hffll» ■rrilFT lm 11 flaw > alas I wo had spent 'imuch for treatment that ,we were too poor to.-buy. Oh: Chs-agony ol that mynontl Health,, and within reach, but toc.p/jor to grasp I however. te»these who were &&le and willing help m«j» and I have taken Swift’s and am upw?. sotind and well oteep.more. Swift's, Spepiflc is tha-best bloodiPuriSoc la tfc&world, and is greatest bl easing: 1 he age. Mrs. T. W, GreenvilV?,. Aja. A jfftf-uggist 'd,». Years. Auburn, Aj,a ; . Sept. 8, 188&--1 air, an old phaxmaetst, and have hadjtodo largely with blood disMißps for over twenty 11 I havej<z&alt in,all Wood puri fiers, and not besitato.tr> say, that Swift’:., Specific is the be.-t anti has given general salislaaction than any other I &ave ever handled. Last 'ycry; a young student came t«>my store eiwydatod. find wltl? sores. K’ recowaendfed 8. S. S, Ho topk'only fiLeoWdtlcs, and tbx* sor*+s. l>is throat heaiftd up, and bis .x’Uq CipAred oil. His was smooth and fresh as that.of a child, and he gained ten nsimds. 1 scarcely know •vni when he r^tei'nod ; alT>or ci several weeks, tie claimed renewed ii\ i'?psh and spirit. A number t>i ot.jer east\i iest* have come nnd(.*-i»y ob~ s“rv;i!ion,all with tn<- hpst results. Swift’s Specific is an topic, nndns an antidote for iahaa no Many ladt-2> Hro using it as a tciiic for gen eral Jftj.jihty, a,nd vt'..he most satisfactory one ever I.se i j have dealing in Swift’s Specific for five v >;!.;•< or more, \ud r u n ?ai that lao nut place too •ugu >:i uir its merits. G. W. DIXON. !t■ -a'.;,.e on Blood ;n l Bkin Diseases mailed free. Thh 'ki. \tVfifa,pa. '-piSSs MILD POWER CUBES.*- In use 30 years.—Special Proscriptions ot an eminent Physician- Simple. Sale and sure, XJSTOFPRIN T CXPAT4NO3. CURSS. 1| S'evoi‘% Congestion, Inflammations.. 31 WcWEO’h Worm Fever, TVorm Colic... • 3? Ck’ vl ng Colle, or Teething of Infanta Di&n'iiea of Children or Adults 5? IMsoatery, Griping, Bilious Colic.. . $5 6l Cholera Morbus, Vomiting yjCoujybs, Cold, Bronchitis. 82 Wouralgla. Toothache, Faceache.... .585 K-leadaebo.itx.Sick Headache,Vertigo .4;» 108 IJygpepsla, Bilious Stomach.3s 11 ? Suppressed or Paluful Poriotls »‘<3s OiIEOPATHIC 1® Whites, too Profuse Periods «25 1 3 Cs'cxap, Cough. Difficult Breathing.... Salt libount, Frysipelasj Eruptions v/3<j 15 Kiieujnai.i'nn, Rheumatic Pains 1G Soever and Ague, Chills, Malaria..... »s<> 17 Piles,Blinder Bleeding 39 fi.9 Catarrh, acute or chronic; Influenza ,50 30 WhoopingCougbA’iolent.Coughs .50 24 General IJebs lify, Phya IWeakness .s’o 547 TsCidney ITiseaso •48 Nervous Mobilityi»<M 30 Urinary Weakness, Wetting Pod .50 32 Diseases of the Heart, Palpitation 1.00 g o j£ by D rU rrgjgt 3l or sent postpaid on receipt of price.—Send for Dr. Humphreys* Book on Disease, dJc. (144 pasji^): also,(Data-* Sossaie, free, — Address, HCMPHitEVS’ ‘MedlciEa-3 Coe 9 109 JPu-Uou. Wt., Newlforh# BBANCH STORE, NO. 823 BROADWAY. otraiiz, i The Well-known Specialist, and proprietor and consulting physician of tho New York Botanic Medical Institute, 513 3d ave., Now York City, has made the treatment of PRIVATE DISEASES o! MEN* special study and practice for many years. Over 4,000 cases treated yearly. Recent cases of private diseaset cured in a short time. Ulcers, Humors and Blotches on Face or Body cured witheut giving mercury or other; poisons. is the curse of the human race. Your children will suffer from its effects. Avoid it as you would any deadly drug. These diseases are boing cured at this institute without mercury. Dr. FRANZ is a graduate of a regular Medical College, is well known over the United States and Canada by'' thousands of old and young men he has cured, and it is a well-known fact that tor years he has confined hi ms -If to the study and treatment of Sexual and Chronic Diseases, thus giving him advantages that few possess. Dr. FRANZ addresses himself particularly to those who have already tried various physicians and remedies from whom they have received no benefits, and who, in fapt, bavet done them more harm than good. By a combination of remedies of great curative power, Dr. FRANZ has so arranged his treatment that it will afford not only im» VniiMP mediate relief, but permanent cures. ‘ UJhU lYiLft Who are guttering from the elects of youthful indiscretions showing some of tne following symptoms: Nervous and Physical Debility, Impotence (incapacity), JLcst Manhood, Abuses oTthe System, Exhausted Vitality, Confusion ol Ideas, Dull and Loss of Bril liancy to the Eye, Aversion to Society, De spondency, Pimples on the Face, hoss of Energy, and Frequency of Urinating. You may be in the first stage, but remember you arc fast ap proaching the last. Many a bright and naturally gifted young man. endowed with genius, has permitted his case to run on until remorse racked his intellect, and finally death claimed its victim. So lay as-de your pride, and consult one who thoroughly understands your ailment,’ and who will know your cave, and find permanent relief flor an ailment that has in ide day a drudgery and night, hide >rs. Thousands upon thousands of men, in good standing in the social world, are to d ty suffering troni !be fruits of their doings, the seeds of which were sou 11 during moments of thoughtlessness. Young man. turn an I gaze upon thy com panic n, or seek tbe mirror for proofs to substantiate this fact; so embrace-the opportunity and enjoy life and happiness longer. It you can c’a m to be a man, act your part man! ■. L'o not con=o!e yourself w.th the thought, that Nature will help itself, tor in doing so you not only fan the flame, but wreck Nature and. your self. “ Little ills germinate fatal diseases.” MIDDLE-AGED M-N 3S S !S AM excesses or youthful follies, and who are troubled by too frequent evacuations of tho bladder, often accompanied by a slight smarting or burning sensation, and finding a depo.-it or ropy sediment in the urine, and sometimes small particles of albumen will appear, or the color will first be of a tnin or milkish hue, and agin changing to a dark and torpid appearance, causing nervous debility and loss of vitality. Remember, this is tb.e second stage ot Seminal Weakness. In ali such cases a perfect cure i» guaranteed, and a radical rest oral io 1 01 the Genito urinary Organs. All interviews and letters are sacredly confidential, but ali letters must have $1 inclosed lor advice, or they will not be answered. Advice and ex amination at Institute $1 without medicine. No lu-.m bug business here, nor advice and medicine lor a dollar. Alt charges according to case or monthly. No physician that gives you first-class treatment can afford to give vou bis time and also medicine lor a dollar. Investigate your self and find year mistake. Cheap medicines and cheap dectors are no good. Medicines packed so as not to excite curiosity, and sent by express, if full description of casa is given, but one personal interview in all cases preferred.. Call early and avoid crowding. Office hours. 9A. M. to 4 I’. M.6t08 P. M. Sundays, 10 A. M. to 2P. M. Please mention in what paper you saw this notice. TAPE WORMS REMOVED TN TWO HOURS. A PERMANENT CURE GUARAN TEED IN EVERY CASE. Prof. A. W. ALLEN. No. C»’H GRAND STREET, New York City. ALLEN’JI SWEET WORM WAFERS, a positive cure tor STQMACU aud worms, AUDruggisfcfe ‘ 7