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CHAS. O. MOREAU, Editor and Publisher.
VOL. I. A TRIAL. , Cupid as Judge—Youth at bar. bneiD—The charge, I understand, U this— I You stole, la your youthful baste, a hiss; | But lam lenient with youth, j Confess— It outh— I— yes— that Is the truth. Cuph>— And thent Be brave and tell me alt Youth—No lamp was lighted In the hall— i And, standing In the darkness, there, I 1 beard a step upon the stair. - I bad no time for second thought, So forthwith in my arms I caught The outlined form, which I believed To be the damsel who received My every thought—l kissed her brow— The recollection pains me now; j For by some turn of horrid ohanoe J kissed the eldest of her aunts— ' - A maid of forty-four— Cupid— Hard fate I , Qo on—why do you hesitate t Youth—And ere I found time to explain— \ That kiss was wanted back again. But have you seen her? Oye saints! j She’s wrinkled—ugly—and she paints 1 I She asked too mush - CUPID— But you must not | Keep what you so wrongly got. I You must return it. YoUtu— Mercy! 1 Cease— CUPID— Return it to her by her niece. —Flavol Soott Mines, in Life. E c E~r r L Y ; —** -Uj while traveling rV A'Tjk ~ nay attention was directed to , a lady and two f- '' children occu pying a seat in front of me. The lady was neatly dressed and looked so bright and .happy and so lovingly amused her pretty chlhjren that I dis carded a rather dull book and gave my self wholly up to watching my neigh bors. ( After a time something in her face struck me as being strangely familiar, but where I had seen it, and under what circumstances, 1 had not the slightest idea. ! Backward over the years went my thoughts, knocking at every dusty chamber of my brain, yet of no avail. Suddenly an attitude unconsciously as sumed by the younger of the chil dren, a girl, furnished the key that un locked a long disused chamber, and I remembered distinctly. I had seen her before, but under such different cir cumstances that it was a wonder that I ever recalled the greatly changed face. | A lair face with streaming eyes was vividly impressed on my mind by what ,was nearly a tragedy, and to think that this happy, smiling face was the same, seemed incredible, yet so it was. | Although my interest in her, twenty years ago, was very great, 1 could not be so heartless as to break the spell and rudely plunge her into that past, which was now so clearly forgotten. Happily, she was so engrossed with the children that I was unnoticed. Silent ly I watched her and thought that sel dom had it been my lot to see such a happy woman. When the brakeman called the town of L she gathered up her belongings, but before she could leave the car a stalwart fellow rushed in and, with an embrace that seemed to include all three, was so outspoken In his joy at seeing her, as he helped them to the depot platform, that every looker-on smiled. ! It is strange how memory can bridge chasms, and although many years had passed since I had seen that woman, yet it seemed as yesterday. I was then police reporter on a metropolitan pa per, and as this brought me in contact with crime and misfortune of all kinds, it was a dull routine, seldom varied by romance. One morning a woman was brought insensible to the police station.' She was well dressed and quite young. She had some money, but for some rea son had tried to drown herself. It was a simple story that the colored man who rescued her told. He had seen her get off from an incoming train as it stopped at the depot and, almost reel ing, start toward the river. Suspecting evil he followed her and arrived in time to rescue her from a suicide's death. 1 To a reporter the story was disap pointingly devoid of sensation, and the articles found in her possession clearly identified her, but told no story. The girl was a good-looking Swede, that there was a story she could tell if she would made her an object of interest to all the police reporters of the city papers. Someway we all took a fancy to this unfortunate girl, and frequently vis ited her at the hospital, where she was slowly recovering strength. When reason was recovered she could not speak to us, but to an Interpreter she flatly refused to make any explana tions. Despite her protests we knew there was a story behind the attempted suicide and resolutely set about to in gratiate ourselves into her go od graces, that the story might be told. Aside from the Intense competition for a “scoop/’ wo all were irresistibly drawn to this sad young girl, who could only look at us with mournful VJbc cy and wity qot & ywi ite So iiasl (Pctoi. of our language. The tell-tale eyes told plainly of the effort to conceal, but what it was we were unable to im agine. Two days before she was to resume her journey, I was promised her story. She was to write it and give it to me on the evening of her departure. At the appointed time I was at the hospital door, only to be handed the promised letter and to be told that she had gone on the morning train. 1 was deeply disappointed, for I had grown to like this incomprehensible girl. The only scoop that 1 got out of it was the announcement of her depar ture, for I did not tell the boys anything about It. nor did I tell them of the ex istence of the letter. When the day’s wdrfk was ended I hesitated long before-opening this let ter, in spite of my past eagerness re garding it. It seemed to me as if a pretty little fancy-built romance would fly away, as my aircastles had a way of doing, the letter was written in her own hand and inclosed was a translation. As I read I was glad the other boys knew nothing of it, and I determined then and that they never should. The latter was as fol lows: “My Friends, the Reporters: To show you that I appreciate your great kindness to me while an inmate of the hospital, I will try to tell you of the unhappy event which you have been puzzling over for weeks. “Strange and unreasonable as it ntay seem to you, I am glad that I at tempted to drown myself, and oh! so glad that the merciful God allowed me to be rescued before 1 died. This may seem wild to you, but I mean what I say. “If- was five years ago that Olof Swenson began making love to mo. I was a ohild of thirteen years tkv,n, and he a boy of nineteen. We loved each other ardently for two years. Then my mother conceived a violent dislike tot Olof, and as my father was complete ly under her control he soon forbade Olof to come to the house. “Our love was too deep to be thwart ed, and while I was at school Olof found frequent opportunities of visit ing me. We would have married then, only we were too poor. “One night my lover came to me and said: ‘Ellen, if I were lost at sea, would you be faithful to me?’ “I saw that he was downcast and heavy hearted and had something on his mind. “I said: ‘Why, Olof, what do you mean?’ “ T mean,’ he said, and tears filled his eyes, ‘that—l am going to Amer ica.’ “ ‘Oh, Olof,’ I cried, and wept bitter tears. “Then he told me of his plans and how, when he became rich, he would send for me. We both promised to be so true to each other, and ige became almost happy in thinking <st the good times in store for us in far away Amer ica. * “I bore up bravely, for I knew how hard it would be for poor Olof away off so far from friends and working so hard for me. “His letters came as regularly as working men’s letters usually come. After awhile his writing seemed un certain, as though his hand was weak, and 1 could hardly read his letters. Then I knew that he was sick but would not tell me. “1 felt that I must go to my lover. The ocean is wide, but a trustful heart can span it and fly like a freed sparrow “he was making love to another.” to its mate. I sold some of my clothes and borrowed some money from my brother. Then, when I was all ready, I told my parents. They were angry and sorely perplexed, but I was bound to go and they could not keep me. * ‘On the morning of my departure my brother brought me a letter written in a strange hand. It tqjd me that Olof was dead and in the letter was a lock of hair 1 had given him when he left. A friend of Olof’s had written the let ter. It said that my lover’s dying re quest had been to send the hair to me and tell me that he loved me to the last. “Grief is hard to bear, but I bore mine as bravely as I could, and in a month 1 started to America to go to my lover's grave, and then go on to live with a brother in Utah. "In your country directions are easy, and I arrived safely in the town where he died. On the evening of my arrival I bought a bouquet of flowers and started to the cemetery to find his grave. Near a house I stopped to rest. I saw a man approaching and heard him whistling an old Swedish air I knew so well My blood tingled and y kfiM* Iwpefl fov.Joy, It ww ft BAY ST. LOUIS, MISS., SATURDAY, JANUARY 23, 1892. old tune that Olof was fond cI before lie was laid in tWs churchyard. The man entered the bouse as I drew near. 1 passed the windbw. It was Olof him self. He was making love to another girl* His arm was around her and he was looking into her eyes as he used to look at me. “Thus had the dead come to life again and I had been deceived. 1 ran away and came here. How, Ido not know. A terrible something pursued me. It seemed the phantom of him I had loved so truly. I could not forget, and, in desperation, I tried to drown myself to get away from my thoughts. As I have lain here, I have forgotten. 1 am as one who has recove red. from a long illness, weak but painless. That is why I am glad that I tried to drown myself, for the cold water of the river has washed away the memory of him I loved, and henceforth I do not think of Olof as he is, but as he was when first I saw him. Now you know all there is to tell. lam now going to my brother, who will be very glad to vjpl comerae. Good-by. Ellen Hegman.” „ *. J. Lekfobd Brady. - m * ——- WHAT OUR MINISTERS WEAR. Their Black Swallowtail Attire I* Pre scribed bj a Statute of Congreis. I hav4 been-pervading the suburbs of Washington diplomacy recently with a view to knowledge. It would appear that the United (States never sends abroad what nations name as ambas sador. An ambassador is a sort of a diplomatic king-pin, bnt we don’t usq ! him in our game. * We are content with ministers and consuls. The American court dresi, prescribed gravely by statute of 1867, is black—black cut ala swallowtail. This severe garb is a very hard costume to wear, and makes many of our rep resentatives look like farmhands. • This stavute of 1867 was found nec essary to nip a budding gayety of dress, set growing by John Quincy Adams. It is not my intention to discourage ad miration of the Adams family. It be gan well with old John and has main tained its lick with fair repute to pres ent times. But John Quincy, with all bis bright ness, his vigor, his wit, must now and then have been decidedly off his mental reservation. He wrote poetry, for one thing, and even bethought him of mak ing a drama, albeit he never did. Back in his day, too, he fabricated an American court dress —a garish thing which would well beseem the manl with the big stick who precedes a band. Diplomats of his hour, and indeed until the frosty statute indicated, were wont to caparison themselves therewith. It called fora blue coat bedigbt with buttons of brass, gold braid and epau lets of the sort common in pictures of Gen. Scott. White breeches of the knee species accompanied this elegant coat and a pair of white silk stockings and shoes with big buckles completed the story. A cocked hat and cockade and a sword and scabbard of gold, capable of a most gallant jingle as its wearer walked about, put a finish to the Adams uniform. But congress took away the sword and the cocked hat, dyed the coat and breeches the color of a funeral, and there you are.—Wash ington Letter, in Kansas City Times. On the Judge’* Side. A story is told of a wefil-known judge who is noted for his fondness for con veying to jurors, in his charges to them, his own opinions with regard to the merits of the case. In one case he had done so with great plainness, but to his amazement the jury remained out for hours without coming to an agreement The judge inquired of the officer what was the matter, and learned from him that one juror was holding out against the other eleven. He sent for the jury at once, and, stating to the jurors that he had plainly intimated how the case ought to be decided, said he understood that one juxor was stand ing out against the other eleven. He proceeded to rebuke the juror sharply. The obstinate juror was a nervous lit tle man, and as soon as the judge was done he rose and said: “Your honor, may I say a word?” “Yes, sir,” said the indignant judge; “what have you to say?” "Well, what I wanted to say is, I am the only fellow that's on your side.” The Comic. Tbo Telephone In Scotland. An interesting adaptation of the tele phone to existing telegraph lines has been successfully made in Scotland. The telephones used are the French type, with microphones. The line used has two intermediate stations, but this in no way impaired the speaking; in deed, it is proposed to add anothei to two intermediate stations, making six telephones served by a single wire. Though the telegraph instruments were employed simultaneously there was no interruption; and it is intended that the telegraph instruments shall be discard ed. Another feature of the adaptation is that as the wire runs along the canal the barger can fix a portable telephone on it at any place and speak to the termini. —Young Mrs. Codling (to her papa) —“Oh, papa, what does the word ‘con tract’ mean?” Papa—"lt means to make smaller, my dear. For instance, heat expands and cold contracts. ” Mrs! Codling—“Then it’s all right. Harry told me he was contracting some havy debts, and I was so nervous till yoq ex pJftloedlt,”—Harper'* Biwart “FSAZUjIiaS IN ATiXi THINGS.” USEFUL AND SUGGESTIVE. * —Raised Cake. —Two cupfuls of bread dough, one cupful each of sugar and chopped raisins, one-half cupful of but ter, one egg, one-fourth teaspoonful of soda, spice of all kinds. Let it rise be fore baking.—Good Housekeeping. —A wire salad basket, such as can easily be obtained at a hobse-furmsh er’s, saves a great deal of time and an noyance in freshening and drying sal ads. • Patting the green herbs after they are washed with a cloth often bruises .them. A genuine French salad basket is broad at the base, rather deep and quite narrow at the top. —N. Y. Tribune. —Com Soup,—Cook together, in a saucepan, until well mixed, but not browned, an even tablespoonful of but ter and two level tablespoonfuls of flour, then add a pint of cold water; and when it boils add a can of tender corn; simmer ten minutes, add a pint of rich milk, boiling hot, season to taste with salt and white pepper and serve. —Bos- ton Globe. —Avoiding Dust—One way of avoid ing dust nracticed by some nice house keepers is as follows: After taking up all the dirt from the carpet that a car pet-sweeper will remove, wipe the car pijt'or floor with a mop wrung very dry from clean water. This will leave the earpet cleaner and brighter than can be done by sweeping, and no dust will lie raised to settle on nice furniture and Srlc-a-brac.—Christian Inquirer. —A rest may be made for a valuable book by covering a piece of wood, • just the length and breadth of the book and half its thickness, with a sheet of cot ton batting and then with gold-colored satine. The closing stitches may be red silk herring-bone. This is to pre vent the binding of the book from be coming injured by opening, and falling so that the cover touches the table. This “rest” is desirable for large illus trated folios. —Demorest’s Magazine. , —Cherry Birds' Nests.—Make a nice baking powder biscuit dough, as soft as can be rolled nut Roll to a thick ness of about half an inch and'eut with a large biscuit cutter. Cut this filters from half of the cakes; moisten the edge of the whole ones; put a spoonful of drained and sweetened cherries on each, lay the rings on top, and press the edges together. Bake or steam until done, and serve with plenty of rich, sweetened cream.—Old Home stead. / —German Coffee Cake.—One quart milk, eight ounces sugar, eight ounces "belter, a littlo‘"salt, two ounces flavor, flour, six eggs. Make a soft the milk, yeast and flour; let it rise. Then add all other ingredi ents. Make a stiff dough, adding all flour required.. Let rise again, roll out, pt on a pan and let it rise again. Brush it with egg, sprinkle sugar and chopped almonds on top and bake. The almonds may be omitted if desired.— Ladies Home Journal. ROOKS IN LONDON. A Noted Bird That Is Now Scarcely Evei Seen lu the Great City. One of the most interesting birds figure in London bird life Is, beyond doubt, the rook. His connec tion with London is historic. The rook has long since forsaken the precincts of the temple, and even living memory can not connect him with the place. But it may surprise many to hear that we have still a rookery in the very cen ter of London, a sight which certainly constitutes one of the greatest curiosi ties connected with the city. Almost within a stone’s-throw of the heart of London, a little to the east of where Chancery lane debouches into High Ilolborn, one may notice on the opposite side of the way a low arch way. Through it a passage leads be tween high buildings to an open space nearly surrounded on all sides by legal offices. The place is know as Bray’s Inn gardens, and is well kept and little frequented. The sooty stretch of grass, which looks ns green and fresh as it is possible to look in the center of Lon don, is studded with a large number of tall plane trees in good condition, which give the place a charming rural aspect quite unexpected in such a quarter. It is here, separated by some miles on every side from the open country, that there still exists in dwindling numbers one of the most ancient colonies of rooks. The nests still hang in the branches of the plane trees, and up to the present the birds have always re turned in the spring to put them in re pair and hatch out their young. At one time this rookery was far more extensive than it is now. Even in 1878 there were twenty-eight full nests in the breeding season. This year I count eighteen nests only. An inter esting feature of the place and the one which doubtless tends to attach them to it is the care which is taken of the birds They are fed regularly, the food given being dog-biscuit steeped in water. It is spread by the gardener on an inclosed mound in the center of the gardens, and it proves very attractive to a host of sparrows as well as the rooks. The rook, most conservative of all birds as he is, is now almost driven out of London. —lllustrated Eng.ish Maga zine. Riches That Are Valueless. Howell—And do you think you will propose to Maude? Fred—No. Her father, they say, is almost penniless. Howell —But she is a beauty. I never saw such a rich complexion. Fred—Well, a fellow can’t live on a rich completion, PHi HOISTING A SAFE. Phonographic Report of a Dialogue la Chestnut Street. He was an elderly gentleman, with a Micawber-like appearance. He stood looking at a number of men engaged in hoisting a heavy safe into the fifth story of a large building on Cheatnnt street the other afternoon. After gazing for some time at the tackle that was being arranged, he ac costed the man who was directing the work and said: “Will you let me speak to you a min ute, young man?” “In a few minutes; Fm busy now,” replied the rigger. “But it is important that I should speak to you at once,” persisted the old fellow. “Very well,” exclaimed the other, impatiently. “Hold on, Dan. Now, then, what is It?” “Do you think it is safe to attempt to lower that safe up your way?” inquired the “crank,” hesitatingly. “Certainly I I know my business, *’ “That’s all very well, young man; but I’m a leetle bit older’n you an* know more about this world’* you do.” “Yes; all rigbtl” shouted the rigger. “Go ahead, Dan.” “But hold on, young man. I have a better way. If you will lot me show you—’’ , “Standback there, please.” “Yes, But I’m afraid you will let that thing drop an’ hurt somebody.” “No danger.” “Now I will Just throw that rope osrer your what-do-you-cali-lt an’ then bring It through the thtng-um bob 1 think—” “I think you are a blasted old crank!” “What! Young man—” “Stand back, old fossil!” shouted the rigger, ’ ‘or we’ll drop the axmaravel- j reus/ as you would call It, on your -bead.” “You impudent young rascal! Yon should know better than to address a man old enough to be your father in that manner. Will you try my way?” “No! That settles it, old stick-in-the mud. Got out of the way. ’’ “Hum! Fiddlesticks! Young men these days know too much for their breeches anyhow. All right! A.U r’jfht! You folks had Vuer git far i&ck. That wild, imj ..lent boy will jet that thing drop as sure as guns are made of iron. If he would only try my way he might save life and labor. But I’ve warned him.” And he retired to the rear to await developments.—Philadelphia Press Satisfaction Guaranteed. “I’m nearly always disappointed in the Christmas gifts my husband buys me,” confessed Mrs Dimmick to Mrs. Kickshaw. “Is that so?” “Yes He means well, but he doesn't seem to get me the things I want. I try to appear pleased, of course, but I’d rather have things I care for. I give him hints, but he never seems to catch them.” “Now I never have any trouble like that with Mr. Kickshaw.” “How do you manage it?” “Easily enough. I buy him for his Christmas present just what I want to have myself, and he gets for me just what he thinks he would like to have, and then we exchange the articles with each other.”—Harper’s Magazine. He Offered a Suggestion. “This makes the sixth time you've been here for begging on the streets,” said a Toledo judge to a tramp before him. “Well your honor,’’ was the compla cent reply, “I can’t help it I’ve got to live somehow, and if the people in your town was liberal and would put up half way decent when I strike ’em, instid of chippin in a penny era pants button, I could get along like a millionaire and not put you to any trouble at all But they ain’t, and you’d better try re formin’ the town and let me go, hadn’t you?” He went—to the works.—Detroit Free Press. An Eye to Furore Needs. Small Boy.—" Gimme a bottle of nerve tonic.” Clerk.—“ For yourself?” Small Boy.—“ Yep, for myself." Clerk.—You, don’t look as if you needed nerve tonic.” Small Boy.—"Nop, guess not, but ex pect to in less’n a week. You see, I’ve taken, lately, to lickin’ every boy in our part o’town, and ma says the very next boy I fight, she’ll shut me up in a room by myself where I’ll have to be civil. That time is sure to come pretty soon, and (with a sigh) I expect it to bo awful wearin’ on me.’’—Pharmaceutical Era. Classical Item. “Have you got a copy of ‘Milton’s Paradise Lost?’ ” asked Gilhooly of Hos tetler McGinnis, who is not one of the most educated men in the world. “What in the world is that?" replied McGinnis. “It’s a book,” responded Gilhooly. "No, sir, I have not got such a book. Whenever I find anything that is lost 1 return it to the owner. When did Mr. Milton lose his book? What reward is he offering for Its return?”—Texas Siftings. Liked Mimic. Chief Marshal—Lookee here! You said this horse liked music. The very moment the band began to play he sprang ten feet into the air and has acted like a cyclone aver ajpce. Livery Man-Yes, sir. He's Irvin’ to y. Weekly. L • TERMS: SI.OO Per Annum In Advance. MISERABLE MARRIAGES Union* Which Produce Discord and In* happiness. Here are two gloves. They are with out stain and without rip, and are of excellent quality and color and work- But they are both for the right hand-assd they will not make a pair. So, then, as far as their proper design goes, they are useless and irri tating. These two half-pairs represent precisely the cause and conditions of many miserable marriages. Husband and wife are both excellent people; both young, handsome, intelligent and, at first sight, apparently well suited to each other. Their similarity seems to promise a happy union; on the contrary, it is like the similarity of two gloves for the same hand. They prove to be equally young and inexperienced, equally fond of authority, equally sure that their own way is the best way, and so equal ly*elever at repaitee that "tiffs” are their daily bread. They both love music, and each soon finds the practice of the other a “little trying.” Both talk so well that domestic conversation is as blocked as lower Broadway on a steamer day. Both have such exqui site taste in dress that tailors' and mod istes’ bills are equally extravagant. Both write and paint a little, and both are equally blind to their own errors of style and wide-awake to those of the companion of their life. It ft, indeed, a fact that the common possession of someone talent is a great promoter of conjugal hot water. Some counteracting element of sufficient po tency to maintain the balance of happi ness is wanting—there is no left hand glove in the domestic intercourse. It would have been better that one hand there should have been a love of direc tion, on the other a disposition to be led; on the one hand a clever talker, on the other a patient and intelligent lis tener; on the one hand skill with the brush or pen, on the other appreciative admiration of the talent Two positives make a negative in most of the circumstances of life; and matrimonially, the circumstances are so final and important, it is better not to risk two positives. Two minds, two tastes, two dispositions of the same kind are apt to be as obtrusively irri tating as two gloves for the right hand. The situation has in it also much that is very depressing. For, as the glove less man reflects, he must take the journey on which he has started with such an unlucky pair, wiihout any op portunity of repairing the mistake; so the man unhappily married, but not paired, is perpetually reminded of the hopelessness of his wrong selection. It would be a miracle if he should now ever find the mate to his right hand glove, and if he did find it the recogni tion being too late for appropriation, would be a misery. In general circumstances the thing to be avoided is that similarity which breeds difference, and the thing to be looked for is that exquisite differ ence which insures completeness. And as the selection of a wife is not an ex perience of frequent occurrence in a man’s life he may certainly look well to find the complement of his own nature, or else ask himself candidly if he is willing to go through life with the useless superfluity of two gloves for the same hand.—Amelia E. Harr, in N. Y. Ledger. NATURE’S MEDICINES. The Advantages of Exercise and Tera. peranoe. The human stomach is surely a mar velous contrivance, or it could never as similate the incongruous mess that is put into it at a luxurious, modern din ner. Soup, fish, flesh, oil, vinegar, wines, pastry, ices, confectionery, fruits and numberless minor ingredients of conflicting chemical qualities are among the materials “thrown in.” Truly, man is “fearfully and wonder fully made.” No other creature could exist on such diet It would kill a go rilla in a month It does kill, though more slowly, thousands of that high and mighty variety of the human race commonly called gentlemen. Univer sal temperance in eating and drinking would quadruple the general health and add years to the average life of the race. Exercise is as essential to health as temperance. In fact, intem perate eaters and drinkers sometimes stave off disease for many years by using their muscles manfully. Asa rule, however, your gormandizers and guzzlers are indolent There is a story in the “Arabian Nights” of a physician who cured a sultan of plethora by intro ducing certain medicaments into a mallet, with which the patient ham mered every day until he fell into a pro fuse perspiration, when the virtues of the panacea in the mallet passed through the fibers of the wood into his pores. This is merely an allegorical way of enforcing the great lesson that bodily exercise is beneficial to health— that exercise is excellent physic. Every body who knows anything about the mechanism of the human frame sees, of course, that it was made to work, and we may add that if it does not ful fill the conditions of its structure it is sure to corrode and drop to pieces pre maturely. Exercise and temperance are nature’s medicines, and they have this great ad vantage over all others, that while they promote health and long life they se cure for all who put trust In them the means of Independence. —N. Y. Ledger. —The nobbiest thing in boots Is a bußloQ.'-TexM anting* NO. 3.