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CHASt G* MOREAU, Editor and Publisher.
VOL. 11. HOME QOINO, After Ojb day-long battle. Blest are the weary feet. Bent on the homeward Journey, Loved ones there to meet. Where the good wife la waiting, Bairns, and a bounteous feast, Care, the would-be intruder. Finds he la last and least. When the meal is over. Before the laugh and shout That fill the “children's hour,” Troubles are put to rout "Bedtime" quickly follows, Blest with its sweet "good nightt* “Now 1 lay me"—softly— Sleepy eyes shut tight. Then with the dear companion, Seated within the glow Of a happy, peaceful fireside, How quick the swift hours gol After the day-long battle. Blest are the weary feet, Bent on the homeward journey, Loved ones there to meet. —William & Lord, in Good Housekeeping. AN UNLDCKY DINNEK. Its Many Trials Ended Happily for All Concerned. OP’ S coming' home and a man never was such a m an, never; pany home on never fails." the wet apron, hair, that so persistent ly will be untidy, owing to the crinkle in it, and with cheeks *rouged by heat and suds to an alarming degree, go out in the sit ting-room to meet father and his “man,” as foretold by little Jennie— is peeping in at this very instant through the hall door, making an oc casional grimace at me. Father, in his usual enthusiastic way, Is entertaining the said “man” with one o'* his never-ending tales on his fa vorite hobby (we all have hobbies, you know, so I won’t particularize), but he does pause long enough to say: “My eldest daughter, Susie, Mr. Smith; my housekeeper, you know, and a very jewel she is, too, I assure you.” Mr. Smith rises and bows. He is tall, rather good looking and exceedingly cool and self possessed. lam not. 1 "want to shake father for that unlucky compliment. The idea of calling any one a jewel of a housekeeper, who has ■othing better for dinner than cold boiled salt pork, beans, steamed bread and a half of a pie for dessert! In my hurry to return to my sudsy kitchen, where at least I can enjoy a good cry, I run plnmp against the stool at the doorway that Jennie has drawn p in its way, in order to peep through the transom, for Jennie is one of the “terribles.” There is a grand crashing fall, as the tall stool goes over, but Jennie, with her usual agility, lands upon the floor like a cat. Father immediately runs out and de mands what has happened. I point to the stool and reply as calmly as I may: “Jennie left it in the doorway.” As for the child, she is already safe within the kitchen, as demure as if nothing had happened. “Yon should be soundly whipped for snch conduct,” I say, angrily, then I remember the awful prospect before me. A dinner for a guest who is a complete stranger, nothing with which to prepare it, and not a cent of money. “If father would only remember that We’ve used the last of the pension , “there's your rino." check —if ho only could remember," 1 sigh, and then I add: “Poor father!” Jennie is regarding me demurely. There have been times when her fertile brain has come to the rescue. “What are wo to do?” I ask, hope lessly, looking at her. "There’s your ring.” "My ring!” I cry, “my one treasure,” and I snatch my hand away from her gaze and then the tears flow in very truth. “Oh,” said Jennie, “I only meant to pawn it; you can redeem it, you know. Father pawned his watch.” “So he did,” I say, hotly, “and never redeemed it.” But-my ring! a heavy gold band given me long ago by the bashful, half-way lover, Clarence Baylor, my old friend and schoolmate, who sailed away across the sea and returned nevermore. (*>vea me with a request to “remember him,” nothing more; and he died, they said, of some fever, the handsome, dark-eyed boy, and my rjpg was all I had of "what might have been.” "I don’t know of anything else,” re peated Jennie, heartlessly. "Nor I, either,” I say, slipping It from my Anger. Then I write down a few items of things the child is to get, give her the ring in my little worn purse and send her forth. I could not go myself, and she is equal to it. It is a passable dinner. We manage to get through somehow, but as 1 hand father his second cup of coffee, he does see the very thing I least desire him to notice—the ringless hand. "Why, Susie, pet, have you lost your ring?” In vain I try to stop him, perhaps the sorrow in my face makes his question the more pointed. “I—l put it away,” I say by this time. "I have been washing, you know.” “Oh, yes,” says father, entirely satis- Aed, but the shame of the little subter fuge, the loss of my ring, render me anything but a sociable hostess. lam congratulating myself that it is to end well, after all, when again father's usually all unseeing eyes no tice a small bit of paper on the Aoor; he stoops down and picks it up. “Is it yours?” he asks, handing it to our guest, when, oh, horrors! 1 see it is a pawn ticket, the ticket undoubted ly for my precious ring, that heedless Jennie has forgotten to give me. Our guest smiles and says: “Oh, no, not mine.” “My eyes are not as young as they were once,” continues father placidly, beginning to twist the old ticket in his Angers, and going on with his story— for father always has a story in prog ress, ad doesn’t seem to mind inter ruptions—but the ticket is likely to be torn into atoms when the interest grows stronger. What can I do? lam in agony. The very unobservant guest has completed his pie, the quiet smile about his lips betraying nothing. Once more I turn to Jennie for help. I tell her as plainly as eyes can tell, to save my ring, at least save mo the chance of once more possessing it. Jennie is a child of resources, but not always the most prudent. “Pop,” she whispers, slipping up be hind him, “gimme that ticket.” “Hey!" says father, not understand ing her, “what is it, dear? a show ticket "you COULD TAKE A CAR.” that you and Susie are going to?” in a joking manner, as he turns it over to her, luckily intact. They go back into the sitting-room once more and then I lay my head upon the table and sob bitterly. “Don't,” says Jennie, with her small arm around my neck. “Don’t cry! The pension money will be here in a day or two, and the ring's safe, and he,” meaning our guest, “didn’t under stand,” for Jennie is old for her years and dimly comprehends my feelings. I bathe my hot eyes and go out to bid our guest good -by. “Ho is coming soon again,” says father, cheerfully; “he’s particularly interested in—” Then they are off and I shut the door with a feeling of in tense relief. It is three days later, the pension check has been cashed, and I am has tening to the pawnbroker’s for my precious ring. There is a slight rain falling and I have no umbrella; do not possess one that is good enough to be of any service. Somebody hurriedly passes, pauses suddenly, lifts his hat, then with a smile holds his umbrella over my un lucky head. It is Mr. Smith. “Miss Susie, for you see I remember you quite well, the shower is growing worse, you are likely to get wet. Won’t you take my umbrella—or let me walk your way—l believe I prefer the lat ter,” with a friendly laugh. Here is a nice predicament! Almost at the door of the pawn shop, and this very kind and obliging young man waiting most cheerfully to dance attendance upon me even in a rain storm. . For an instant 1 stand helplessly be fore him, my cheeks aAame, tlien I manage to say: “If you could take a car and—and—” “Certainly,” he said, coldly, handing me the umbrella. “You can call for it, you know,” 1 add, blushing most dreadfully. He turns an instant, a wondering ex pression on bis face, bows, and is in the passing car and gone. “Oh,” I say with a gasp, “what a girl he must think me—and then that I begged him to call for this umbrella! I’d like to toss it in the river. I’d rather have gotten wet through than to have met him to-day just here.” They are busy in the pawn shop; it is many minutes before 1 receive my precious ring and slip it joyfully upon BAY ST. LOUIS, MISS., SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 25, 1893. my finger, the only article of the kind I have ever possessed—and then the memory of from whence it came, of the sea that parted us, of the bigger sea that now must forever roll between, causes a tear to roll slowly down my cheek. I take my handkerchief and wipe it away, raise the borrowed umbrella carefully and go out into the storm. Somebody is rushing by, somebody who it seems did not care to take that car, since his own business must have compelled him to return to the neigh borhood. It is all over now; he has seen mo come out of that dreadful place; he understands now to whom that pawn ticket belonged. But he little dreams that for his sake was the sacrifice made. Then, three days Inter, he calls for that unlucky umbrella—at least I call it unlucky. It is evening; I am all alone, for father and little Jennie are out walking. He looks particularly well and partio ularly handsome, I think, giving him my hand, shyly, for the memory of all that has been does not help to render me calm and cool. He talks easily of poor old father and his dreams; of little heedless Jennie, apd then talks of me, of myself, trying to draw me out, and before I know it I am telling him much of the life of trials and privations, and wind up with the history of my ring. I don't know why I tell it, but I do. and then —and then, somehow, before the re turn of father and Jennie, I discover that Mr. Smith has not called for his umbrella, but wholly and entirely to see me. He does not say as much in words, but 1 know. And I think, as he holds my hand and watches my face with those dark eyes, he reads aright the reason of the blushes that come and go. Later on he tells me so gently and so fondly how he knew all about those dreadful happenings and how he pitied me and wanted to help me. And then I laugh and tell him that pity is akin to love, and he might have known his danger. But he says he “fails to sec the dan ger.”—Abbie C. McKeever, in Yankee Blade. Elephant with Expensive Tastes. The London courts will be called upon soon to decide one of the most curious cases that ever puzzled legal brains. A lady was seated a few weeks ago in the Zoological gardens, and for security’s sake removed from her pocket to her lap a purse contain ing six sovereigns. The show elephant shortly afterward came on its rounds, and, mistaking the brown purse for a bun, gratefully transferred it to his trunk and thence into its stomach. The management of the gardens were at once appealed to, and emetics were applied, but no more than two of the sovereigns and munched bills of the purse were recovered. The solicitors for the lady are now, therefore, suing the Zoological society for the missing four sovereigns, and, seeing that the society possesses the elephant, and the elephant possesses the sovereigns, the plaintiff claims t'h have a clear case. London Chronicle. Caught the Thief. A farm editor received the following story and sent it to the curio column collector, who returned It because ho knew it stated facts and not fiction. A horticulturist had missed many apnles every night. Finally he set a watch, expecting to trap his neighbors’ boys. In the dim night light he saw the limbs of the apple trees shaking and then he heard the fruit fading. He had aeon no one enter the orchard. Nonplussed, he crept up to the shaking tree. He saw a hedgehog descend from the tree, roll over on the apples until its back was laden with the fruit attached by the quills and wabble off. The farm editor didn’t doubt the story, but won dered what an insect-eating animal wanted with the apples. “For the worms,” triumphantly explained the curio man.—lndianapolis News. Medicine Taken by Dial Time. Mrs. John Rose Magruder, a daugh ter of the late Henry D. Cooke, the banker, has made her home for the last ten years in Mexico, where her husband has mining interests. During the greater portion of the time she is the only woman in camp, and on this ac count, as well as in order to be of aid in case of illness, she has acquired con siderable knowledge of medicine. A clever device adopted to show the igno rant native women when certain pow ders or pills should be administered was to make a little sketch of the coun try in that immediate vicinity and mark off on the mountainside the different stages of the sun from early morning to evening at which the medicine was to be administered.—Washington. Horace Porter’s Airy Plight. Gen. Horace Porter says that, being called upon to speak at a public ban quet in London soon after he had ar rived in that city, he made a playful al lusion to the "ocean lane,” referring to the main route of the steamers, and said that the passengers beguiled the tedium of the voyage by gathering the flowers that grew beside it and listen ing to the songs of birds in the over arching clmr- The remark was re ceived with silence, and after he had taken his seat he heard one solemn Englishman say to another solemn Englishman: “Picking flowers along the ocean lane! Now, did you ever hear of such a thing as that? What liars these Americans are!”— N. Y. Bun, “ fealhijEss m at.t. things.” SELFISH OR UNSELFISH. The Difference Between a True and a Faint Economy. It is to be regretted that the terms meanness and economy are not infre quently considered as synonymous and interchangeable; and that the indi vidual who gives a thought to saving a dime, a quarter, or a dollar is thereby considered as Ims generous, less con siderate, than he who spends profusely, yet a second thought may show that it is thougntless and lavish expenditure which is selfish, and a reasonable re gard for economy which is unselfish; that there may be a spending which is merely idle waste and a saving which has its object in spending—in a way to represent higher needs than the caprice of the moment. Take, for example, the fad of the day that is more polite in the city to send notes and letters to friends by special messenger rather than by post. To pay from fifteen to fifty cents for messen ger service would be no great matter as an occasional or exceptional thing; but, when this is multiplied every day, and perhaps several times in one day, it be comes during the season a sum large enough to have purchased a symphony rehearsal ticket for a friend who could not obtain one; or an invalid’s chair to meet a need; or to pay a girl’s board in college; or to make someone happy with gifts of books or subscriptions to magazines. Mrs. Lydia Maria Child was eminent for her genuine thoughtfulness—that saved on the non-essentials to spend for essentials. Her personal economies were untiring and extremely scrupu lous; but when contributions were needed for noble purposes, she had al ways something to give. There are few people who, whatever their resource s, do not all the time see about them needs they would gladly meet were their means commensurate with their desires; and one aid toward giving one’s self this privilege is the habit of small savings, which, in the aggregate, amount to a sum that repre sent something of importance. There is a refinement in economy that is not inherit in lavish and reckless spending. The individual who is thoughtful, generous and considerate is not one to throw away money in the ways of self-indulgence. Money is representative. We spend our money for that which we like, and we are like that for which we spend our money.— Boston Budget. DAINTY GIFT BOOKS. Pretty and Inexpensive Holiday Tokens For Your Friends. Where it is advisable to give some small token, rather more than just a card of greeting and yet nothing elab orate nor expensive, it is a good plan to buy little gift books with suitable poems or words, such as may be pur chased in any quantity at this season, carefully selecting them, as they vary greatly in artistic and literary merit, and then to cover them with white silk, writing on the title with gold lettering artistically rendered. A number of these might be suitable presents for a class of children, or to be given in a guild or so ciety, where each member receives some little memento of the season from the teacher or presiding officer. A beauti ful gift could be rendered a labor of love for one who would appreciate it in the following manner: Choose a num ber of unmounted photographs of the pictures of famous artists, illustrating step by step the story of Christmas, and make them either into a little book, or else paste them on cards joined together so as to open screen fashion. The method of arranging them must be a question of individual taste. They may be enriched by suitable borders, letter ing and other devices. Texts of Script ure, or appropriate lines of verse, should bo written beneath them, and the establishments made as simple, artistic and suggestive as possible. The cards on which the photographs are mounted must be. thick enough not to wrinkle when they are laid on.—Ladies’ Home Journal. Y’uung Girls and Jewels. It is in America alone that the matter of jewels would be likely to come up for consideration in a young girl’s toi let. Excepting a string of small pearls, or some dainty brooch miniature affixed to a band of velvet around the throat, ornament of the kind is almost unseen in full dress among the really well-bred people heretofore alluded to. Indeed, it has been recently a fashion amount ing to a fad among girls fortunate in round, white, well-covered necks and throats, to omit every vestige of jewel ry on the person (and to have no orna ment in the hair, if a tiny bend or bow of ribbon be not suffered to nestle in those silken solitudes). Cheap jewelry, masquerading in the guise of real; the thousand and one bow-knots and Rhine stone pins, and false-enamel trinkets that now glitter in the shop windows— and their adoption among maidservants and shop-girls—are no doubt respon sible for the forsaking of much that is fascinating and appropriate for wear in the goldsmith’s art—Ladies’ Home Journal. —“Have you been reading poetry late ly?” said the bank president to the cashier. “Why, yes,” was the reply; “I have been troubled with sentimen tality of late.” “Well, I wish you’d give it up. You are getting that ‘far-away’ look in your eyes, and it worries th di rectors.”—Washington Star. “What are you doing with those sar dines, Bridget?” “I do be Inkin’ to see if that do be rale silver they wears on tbim. READY FOR ANY EMERGENCY. A Thrifty Maine Couple Who Experienced a Set-Hack. ‘‘They hain’t no convention nor noth in’ in town, is they?” asked a long haired man who, with an elderly lady carrying an enormous reticule, stepped falteringly up to a counter in a Lewis ton hotel the other evening and looked the proprietor fair in his weather eye. “Not that I know of,” said the pro prietor; “What kind of a convention, mister, were you looking for?” “Wa-al, Baptis’. Baptis’ is my first pick. I’m Baptis’. Ilesty, here,” nod ding at his wife, “she’s got a Meth’dis’ leanin’, but ’twouldn’t matter much either way, would it?” he replied, smil ing at his modest partner. “Did you come to town expecting a convention?” inquired the proprietor. “No! O no! Not's I know on. We’re both Y. M. C. A., ye see, and she’s tem p’rance, and I’m considerable in the grange, and she’s a Uebekah, and I’m one of the G. A. R. post up in my town. We come visitin,’ but the folks is away. We’d orter let ’em know, but we didn’t We’ve alius had good luck conven tionin’; alius staid a good while and had plenty to cat and a mighty good time, and it hain’t never cost us nothin’. We generally intend to do most o’ our visit in’ in strange places as dellygates, but hero wo be, and the folks we was a goin’ to visit has gone away, and thought’s I, if there’s a convention in town its mighty slim show, but I’d be one of the brethorin and she’d be a sister in less’n two minutes after we seen headquar ters. I thought I’d ask the question. No harm, ye know. Ef there was a convention o’ any kind—republican or democrat, Unitarian, Congregationalist, old school Baptis’, good templar, sons o’ temperance, temple er honor, patrons o’ husbandry, P. U. O. W. F., G. A. R., sons o’ veterans, or anything of the kind—you’d know it, wouldn’t you?” “There is no convention of any kind.” “Come on then, Ilesty,” said he, wearily; “we’ll have to stay here and settle. ” “Sam,” said the landlord, “give this couple the bridal chamber.”—Lewiston Journal. BUSINESS WAS SECONDARY. The Peddler That Wai Paid for Getting Off His Speech. “I will detain you, ma’am,” said the peddler opening his pack, “only a—” “But I don’t want to buy anything,” she interrupted. “Moment or two,” he went on, tak ing out a cake of reddish transparent soap. “My object in calling—” “I told you I didn’t want anything!” “Is to introduce to your notice a su perior brand of—” “I’ve got no time to listen to you, sir!” “Sassafras soap. I guarantee this soap, madam, to remove grease spots from a rag carpet or a lace curtain without a particle of injury to either. As a—” “How many more times have I got to tell you,” said the woman, raising her voice, “that I don’t want anything!” “Shavingsoap,” persisted the peddler, raising his voice also, “I can recom mended it as the best in use. It makes a beautiful—” “Of all the bold, impudent creatures I ever saw you are the boldest!” “Creamy lather, that does not dry on the face. Used according to directions it will cure chaps, remove freckles, ob literate tan and sunburn, and ” “Take it somewhere else! I don’t want it!” she vociferated, shutting the door in his face. “Wash stains out of marble and fur niture,” yelled the peddler, “without leaving a mark of any kind on their polished surface. To introduce the soap into this neighborhood I am sell ing it at ten cents a cake, and I don’t care a pinch of salt whether you buy or not, ma’am! Do you hear that? I’m paid by the day to go round and get off this speech, and when I strike a house,” he continued, in a voice that jarred the windows, “I’m going to get it off if I have to howl it down the chimney! That’s all I’ve got to say this time, ma’am, and I’ll be around here again in exactly thirty days!” Ho turned on his heel, wiped the per spiration from his face, took a chew of tobacco, and moved on toward the next house.—Chicago Tribune. Conducive to Grace. She (at the ball) —Have you noticed Mr. Downton’s remarkable deftness and grace? No matter how great the crowd, he never bumps against any body. He—Y-e-s, I guess he gets his lunches in a stand-up restaurant, where every fellow holds his own coffee.—N. Y Weekly. Opportunities of Information Cut Off. “Is there anything going on in the neighborhood?” asked a transient visi tor of the postmistress at Persimmon ville. “I really don’t know,” she replied. “People is puttin’ on style now, an’ writin’ to each other in letters, ’stead o’ usin’ postal-cards as they used to.”— Judge. A Peep Into the Future. Lawyer Brief—l can’t believe in your doctrine of soul transmigration. I can't imagine anything in nature into which my soul would pass. Theosophist—Did you ever hear of a lyre-bird?—T ruth. —“Do you enjoy good health, Mr. Testy?” asked “Yes, when I get any,” snapped the old dyspeptic*, TERMS; SI.OO Per Annum in Advance* RELIGIOUS AND EDUCATIONAL..^ —President Jordan, of Leland Standi ford, jr., university, receives a salary of jj $15,000 a year. —lt is said that the University of , Pennsylvania will soon throw open al%; its departments to women. —lt is vain to think we can take any | delight in being with Christ hereafter, '■ if we care not how little we are in His company here.—Adam. —A wooden building costing $5,000, and accommodating 6.000 people, was , built expressly for the meetings held by Mr. Moody in Dublin, Ireland. —lt is said that there is not an infidel book published in the Welsh language. The Welsh are greater Bible readers than any other race of people. —Mr. H. A. Massey, of Toronto, has given $2,000 toward the building fund of Wesley college, the new Methodist institution to be erected in Winnipeg —The watchful Christian is one who would not be over-surprised if he found Christ coming at once; he would not have something to do first, something to get ready.—Newman. —The students of the department of industrial and fine arts at Pratt insti tute, Brooklyn, have established a Charles Pratt memorial fund for the aid of pupils wishing to pursue an exflfended art course in the department. —Greek letter fraternities have been recommended by the faculty to be for bidden to freshmen in the Chicago uni versity, but upper class men may join them under certain restrictions. Final decision in the matter rests with the trustees. —Bishop Nicholsen, of Milwaukee, has received a check from a New York millionaire, who requests that his name be kept from the public. The money is for Nashotah seminary. The donor is believed to be the same man who gave $500,000 to Bishop Potter for the pro posed New York cathedral a few days ago. —The question of making the en trance examinations in English harder than at present at Harvard university is being discussed with much interest. The matter has been forcibly brought to public attention by a report of the committee on composition and rhetoric.' appointed by the board of overseers This committee consists of Charles Francis Adams, E. L. Godkin and Jo siah Quincy. —Yes, God has his eternal decrees—a purpose, an end for which he is work ing, not blindly or haphazard, but in telligently and according to fixed plans. Does this impair human freedom? Not at all, for this freedom is a part of his fixed plan and enters into all his work. Does it interfere and hinder your sal vation? By no means, for it is his sure and fixed decree that every one who be lieves on the Lord Jesus shall be saved. •—United Presbyterian. WIT AND WISDOM. —Keep true to the dreams of thy youth—Schiller. —The Up of a tipsy man isn’t a straight tip.—Rochester Democrat. —The time when it makes a man the maddest to call him a liar is when ho knows you tell the truth.—Ram’s Horn. —We are born to be sociable to one another; therefore either reform the world, or bear with it—Marcus Aurelius. —Passenger—“What's the matter ■with the east-bound train-baa it changed again?” Agent—“Yes.jfe; it’s snow-bound now.”—lnter Ocean: The Term Defined.—Mabel.—Papa, what is meant by the higher criticism? Her Father.—Cracking jokes about the jewels in the prima donna’s hair.—Jew eler’s Weekly. —Little Tommy—What is that man cutting the trees for, papa? Tommy’s papa—Ho is pruning them, my bojq Little Tommy—How soon will the prunes be ripe?—Philadelphia Record. —The Application of It.— He wrote a book on “How to Got Rich,” Which really was a snorter. Last week he met me on the street, And wanted to borrow a quarter. —Detroit Free Press. —Agnes—Really, Helen has improved in her music wonderfully since she went abroad. Edith—ln what way? Agnes—Why, she never plays anything now that sounds the least bit like a tune.—lnter Ocean. —He was Hungry.—The Court—lt has been proven that you snatched this man’s stud, wrenched the gem from the setting and swallowed it. Wayward Wigley—Yis, yer honor, I’ve beentowld that a man can live on paste.—Jewel er’s Weekly. —The Close of the Discussion.—X. Peck—l’d have you know, madam, that I have as much right to ventilate my opinions as you have. Mrs. Peek—Hut, my dear, your opinions don’t need ven tilating. They’re all wind, anyway.— Indianapolis Journal. —A significant commentary on the old-style tombstone epitaph is credited to a little boy in West Philadelphia, who was recently taken for a walk through Woodlands cemetery. He was greatly interested in the inscriptions, and that evening at the tea-table he was unusually quiet for a while, and then said: “Papa, where are all the bad people buried?' 1 —“I have no doubt you still love me, Henry,” said bis wife, “but you never take me on your knee now as you used to do, and yet you promised to do so at the altar.” “Promised to take you on my kneel” exclaimed the husband in astonishment. “Well, as good as that.” *T don’t remember saying any such thing.” "You said, ‘to have and tq bold,"—N. Y. Press. NO. 7.