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NEWARK. NEW CASTLE COUNTY, DELAWARE. OCTOBER 20. 1883. NUMBER 44 . VOLUME VI. a. or . liijIjBy, Manufacturer of all kinds of RAG CARPET Next to Lutton'a Shop«, NEWARK, DELAWARE, tW ALL WORK QÜARANTBBD. Say, A W i» To With And To Happy To A And To And A And And To A A To In And To With To And pure rnuas, rf MEDICINES, rf CHEMICALS, PATENT MEDICINE8, SOAPS, BRU8HE8, PERFUMERY, SPONGES, ETC AT JAY'S DRUG AND CHEMICAL STORE, MAIN STREET, Newark, Del., Near the P. O. To •©"Prescriptions Careftilly Cora pounded at all hours. Day or Night To To To To And Fashions. —New fans form begonia leaves in dark or shaded velvet. —New French drawers have a gore taken out, are trimmed with lace, and tied with ribbon, to match chemises. —A beautiful dress fan is of black gauze, with butterflies, hand-painted, upon the leaves. The sticks are dark shell. —The ribbed silk stockings in dark shades are the most fashionable for day wear, unless they are selected to match the dress. —A charming dress worn at a casino entertainment was of pink and white with fringe of small pink aud white crabapples. —The most fashionable collar for the street is at upright velvet bund, over which lace is tunu d, aud which is fin ished in front with plaited ends of lace and a velvet rosette or bow. —There is a popular tendency to tuck the front of bodices, particularly those of black or gray wool. Instead of tuck- but lug them to the waist they are best tucked as a deep—not wide—square, and outlined with black velvet. —The London Queen reports a depart- ure in the style of skirts of young ladieB' ball gowns, the hitherto indispensib e waterfall drapery being replaced by skirts of tulle and uet arranged ballet- fashion in flounces of equal length, which are trimmed with perpendicular rows of satin ribbon fastened lightly uiton them, producing a pretty and novel effect. - At a recent reception given to a party of artists it was noticeable that black aud yellow were the favorite col ors—not used in one toilet, but all black or all yellow dresses seemed to be in the majority, the yellow ranging in hue from palest canary to deep amber—a sort of treacle—aud lastly to a golden yellow-brown, with a reddish tinge in it suggestive of wall flowers. —Waistcoats are revived with cloth dresse*; many of them being made in chamois leather, which looks particu larly well with fawn, brown and mouse gray, all of which are fashionable shades. Dull-gold colored waistcoat* look well with black, dark red with dark green, and old blue wit^i bronze ; the buttons lire wrought metal or plaques, very small and often liligreed. —The capote, gauged and protruding like an ancient Quaker's bonnet in front, is very popular. It is trimmed with cockade bows of narrow ribbon, in two shades of color such as pink and red or light and dark blue ; narrow strings, bridling the capote over the eai s, art tied near the left ear. The favorite colors of the season are terra-cotta, old copper and crushed strawberry. —Pretty Marguerite corsages foe young girls are made of royal-blue, laurel-green or ruby plush, pink, mauve or pale-blue velvet, to be worn over airy skirts of tulle veiling or embroi dered muslin. In front they open broadly over a dainty lace chemisette russe. The very short sleeves are edg< d with frills of lace, and frtq'uently the edges are cut in blocks, with lace shell plaitings set underneath. —The number of mantels of thin br< - caded materials upon a transparent ground has hotably increased of late These materials are chiefly brocadid silk gauze, with raised designs in silk, velvet, or of finest silk grenadine in raised patterns of satin. The man tels are in the shape of pelerines, large fichus or elegant pelisses. They are lined with gold, mauve or scarlet surah, and the effect is exceedingly rich and stylish. —At a recent English wedding the bride wore a dress of rich white satii v draped and flounced with old Brussels lace ; a veil of the same costly fabric, kept in its place by diamond stars, was becomingly arranged over a wreath of orange blossoms and jasmine, and she carried a huge bouquet, composed of camélias, white roses, orange blossoms, the beautiful orchid odontoglossum, aud other white flowers. The bridesmaids* tasteful costumes were of crimson plush, trimmed with marabout, and Kubeus hats, with large crimson ostrich feathers. The bridegroom presented each lady with a brooch, the design be ing a coral arrow running through two pearl horseshoes, aud bearing the in itials of the bride and bridegroom. They all carried bouquets of beautiful single dahlias (ruby), camélias, Roman hyacinths, white roses, etc. The bride groom wore a fine gardenia, and the six groomsmen cut flowers of tube roses and myrtles. odist sisting her our ted. out, to to he a but the battle list death of her it for good two early up 11 a shce w he she good sigh. you say you I sew Of THE 9TORY OF LIFE. JOHN Q. SAXE, Say, what is life ? ' fis to be born ; A helpless babe to greet the light W i» h a sharp wail as if the morn Foretold a cloudy To weep, to sleep, and weep again. With sunny smiles between—and then ? And then apace the infant grows To be a laughing, sprightly boy. Happy despite his little woes, Were he but conscious of his joy ! To be, in short, from two to ton, A merry, moody child—and then? And then in coat and trousers clad, To learn to say the decalogue. And break it, an unthinking lad, With mirth and mischief all agog: A truant oft by field and fen, And capture butterflies—and then? And then, increased in strength and size, To be, anon, a youth full grown ; A hero in his mother's eyes, A young Apollo in his To imitate the ways of In fashionable sin— and then ? And then, at last, to be a man , To fall in love.to With seething brain to scheme and plan To gather gold or toil for bre ;d ; for fame, with tongue and pen. And gain or lose the prize-and then? and night ; and wed ! To Inkled eld and To mourn the speed oflife's decline; To praixo the scenes our youth behold, And dwell in memorv of lung syne ; To dream awhile with darkened ken, To drop into his grave—and then? And then in lar got keep very shall very for paid and and four for cent day Cooper, It was a sad day for Mrs. Cooper ; but she had little time to mourn. The six How he Bought a Sewing Ma chine. Just across the street from the Meth odist Church, in the principal street of Benton, is a small one story house, con sisting of three rooms only, occupied by Mrs. Cooper, a widow, and her only son, Johnny, with whom it is our purpose to become further acquain ted. When the great rebellion broke out, Johnny's father was one of the first to enlist. It was a great trial to him to leave behind his wife and he felt if his duty to go. For more than year he wrote cheerful letters home ; but one dark day there came over the wires tidings of the disastr battle of Fredericksburg, and in the list of killed was the name of Janus This i* , but death of her husband threw the burden of maintaining lierself and Johnny upon her shoulders. After a while she ob tained a pension of $8 a month, which helped her considerably. One-half of it paid her rent and the other half paid for her fuel and lights. But it costs a good deal to buy food and clothes for two persons, and she was obliged to toil early and late with her needle to make up the requisite sum. Johnny was now 11 years old, and might have obtained a chance to peg shoes in some of the shce shops in the village, as indeed he w rated to do; but Mrs. Cooper felt that he ought to l>e kept at school. As she would not be able to leave him money she was resolved at least to give him as good an education as the village schools would allow. One evening, just after tea, Mrs. Cooper laid down her work with a little sigh. "Johnny," said she, "I will get you to run over to 'Squire Baker's and say that I shall not be able to finish his shirts to-night, but I will try to send them over in the morning before he in He it, be to of ripe goes." "You don't feel well, mother, do you ?" "No, I have a bad headache. I think I shall go to bed early and see If I can't sleep it off." "I don't believe it agrees with you to sew so much," said Johnny. "1 sometimes wish I had a sewing machine," said his mother. "That would enable me to do three times as much work with less fatigue." "How much does a sewing-machine cost ?" "I suppose a good one would cost not far from a hundred dollars." "A hundred dollars ! That is a good deal of money," said Johnny. "Yes, quite too much for our means. Of course there is no chance of my being able to purchase one." As Johnny went across the field to Squire Baker's he could not help think ing of what his mother had said. He had hoped the coet of a machine would not exceed twenty dollars, for in that case there might be some chance of his earning the amount in time. Occasion ally the neighbors called upon him to do odd jobs, and paid him small sums. These in time might amount to twenty dollars. But a hundred seemed quite to large for him to think of ac cumulatmg. "Still," thought Johnny, "I've agood mind to try. I won't wait for jobs to come to me ; I'll look out for them I have a good deal of timeout of school when I might bo doing something. If I don't get enough to buy a sewing machine, 1 may get something else that mother will like." The next day was Saturday and school did not keep. It wan about the first of October. In the town where Johnny lived there many swamps planted with cranberries, which were and ready for gathering. It was neces sary to pick them liefere a frost, since this fruit, if touched with the frost, will decay rapidly. As Johnny was coming home from the store, he met a school companion, who seemed to be "Where are you going, Fred ?" he in "I'm going to pick cranberries for Squire Baker." "How much doe8he pay ?" i "Two cents a quart." ! "Po you tliink he would hire me ?" asked Johnny with a sudden thought, "Yes, and be glad to get you. He's in a hurry. quired. got a good many cranberries on the vines, and he's afraid there will be a frost to-night." "Then I'll go and ask mother if I can go. Just hold on a minute." "All right." Having obtained permission Johnny rejoined his companion, and proceeded at once to the swamp. The fruit was abundant, for the crop this year unusually good and Johnny found that he could pick quite rapidly. When noon came he found he had picked twenty quarts. "Can you come again this afternoon?" asked the squire. "Yes, sir," said Johnny, promptly. "I shall be very glad to have you, for hands are scarce." Johnny had already earned forty cents, and hoped to earn as much more in the afternoon. He success that he hurried through hi« din ner with great rapidity, and was off once more to the swamp. He worked till late, and found at the end of the day that he had gathered fifty quarts. He felt very rich when the Squire handed him a one dollar greenback in return for his ser vices. He felt pretty tired in conse quence of stooping so much, but the thought that he had earned a whole dol lar in one day fully repaid him. "Mother," said Johnny, when he got home, "if you are willing, I will keep this money There is something very particular I waut it for." "Certainly," said his mother. "You shall keep this and all you earn. I am very sure you will not wish to spend it unwisely." "No, mother, you may be sure of that." On Monday, it so happened that the teacher was sick, and school was sus pended. Johnny found no difficulty in obtaining a chance to pick cranberries for another neighbor. He was deter mined to do a little better than on Sat urday. When evening came he was paid for fifty-three quarts—one dollar and six cents. "I wish there were cranberries to be picked all the year round," thought Johnny. "I should soon get a hnndred dollars." But this was about the last of his picking. School kept the next day, and though he got a little time after school, he could only pick a few quarts. When the cranberry season was over, Johnny found himself the possesser of four dollars. After that his gains were small. Occasionally he ran on an errand for a neighbor. Once he turned the grindstone for about half an hour, and received the small compensation of one cent from a rather parsimonious farmer. .Johnny was about to throw it away, when the thought came to him that, small as it was, it would help a little. So the autumn slipped away, and winter came and went.- In the spring Johnny found more t o do. On the first day of Jun e he counted his money and found he had fifteen dollars. so excited by his "It'll take a long time to get a hun dred dollars," sighed Johnny. "If mother would only let me go to work in a shoe-shop 1 But she thinks I had better go to school. But by-and-by there'll be a chance to pick cranberries again. I wish there'd be a vacation then." us got Mrs. of be the all for will then." One morning Johnny had occasion to cross the fields near a small pond about half a mile from his mother's house. He was busily thinking about his little fund, and what he could do to iucrease it, when his attention was all at once attracted by a sharp cry of distress. Looking up, be saw a gentleman in a rowboat on the pond, who appeared to be in the greatest trouble. "Boy," he called out, "can you swim?" "Yes, sir," said Johnny. "Then save my little daughter, if you can. She has just fallen out of the boat. Theresheis." The little girl just appeared above the surface of the water. Luckily it was very near the shore, yet too deep for aliy one to venture who was unable to swim. Our young hero had plenty of courage. Moreover, he was an expert swimmer, having been taught by his father before he went to the war. Without a minute's hesitation he stripped off his jacket and plunged in. A few vigorous strokes brought him to the little girl. He seized her, just as site was sinking for the third time. He held her till her father could re ceive her from his arms into the boat. "Let me lift you in, too," he said. "No, sir ; I'll swim to shore," said Johnny. "Come up to the hotel this afternoon. I want to see you." The father applied himself to the res toration of his daughter, and Johnny .rent home and changed his wet clothes. He had recognized the gentleman as a merchant from the city who had been boarding at the hotel for a week or two. He felt a glow of satisfaction in the thought that he had been iastrimental in saving a human life ; for it was very evident tliat, her father being unable to swim, the little girl would but for him have been drowned. Iu the afternoon he went to the hotel the in i and inquired for Mr. Barclay, for lie had heaid the gentleman's name. He was conducted up stairs into a private parlor. Mr. Barclay advanced toward hipi with a smile of welcome. "I an; glad to see y«u my brave boy," he said. "Is your little girl quite recovered ?" asked Johnny modestly. "Yes, nearly so. I thought it best i to let her lie in bed the remainder of ! the day, as she might have got chilled. .. j And now, my dear boy, how shall I ex- ! J press my gratitude to you for your noble ( conduct ? Under God, you have been I the means of saving my dear child's life. I am quite unable to swim, and I shudder to think what would have hap pened but for your timely presence and courage." "I am very glad I was able to be of service," said Johnny. "I cannot allow such a service to go unrewarded," said Mr. Barclay. "Ade quate compensation I cannot offer, for money will not pay for the saving of life; but you will allow me to give you this as a first installment of my gratitude." He pressed into the hands of the aston- • toni8hed boy a one-hundred-dollar bill "One hundred dollars!" exclaimed Johnny, in bewilderment. "Do you really mean to give me so much ?" "It is little enough, 1 am sure." "Oh, I am so glad 1" said Johnny, delighted. "Now I can buy mother a sewing machine." "But don't you want to buy some thing for yourself?" asked Mr. Barclay, with in le rest. "No, sir ; I would rather have a sew ing machine than anything." Than Johnny, encouraged by Mr. 1'arclav 's evident interest, proceeded to tell him for nearly a year he had l>een saving up money, without ids mother's knowledge, to buy her a machine, in order that she need not work so hard in future. But thus far he had only suc ceeded in saving up $15. Now, thanks to this unexpected gift, he would be able to buy it at once. "And it'll come just right, too," he said, w»th sparkling eyes, "for it will be mother's birthday in a week from to-day, and I can give it to her then. Only," he said, doubt fully, "I don't know whom I can get to buy it. ' "I can help you there," said Mr. Bar clay. "I am going to the city in a day or two. I will select the machine, and arrange to have it sent down by express on your mother's birthday." "That'll be just the thing" said John uy. "Won't she be astonished ? I shan't say anything to her abort it be forehand. Here's the money, sir ; I thank you very much for that and for your kind offer." "I ought to be kind to you, my dear boy, when I think how much yeu have done for me." "Good afternoon, sir." "Good afternoon. Call again to morrow, and you shall see the little girl you have saved." Johnny did call the next day and made acquaintance with little Annie Barclay, whom he found a sprightly little girl of four years of age. She took a fancy to our young hero, with whom she had a fine game of romps. Mrs. Cooper knew that Johnny had saved a little girl from drown ing, but never inquired what re ward he had received, feeling sure that he would tell her some time. As for Johnny, he had his reasons for keeping silent, as we know. At length Mrs. Cooper's birthday came. Johnny was full of impatience for evening, for then the express wagon would arrive from Boston with the present for his mother. As soon as he heard the rumble of the wheels he ran to the door. To his delight the wagon stopped at the gate. "Come here, youngster, and give us a lift," called the expressman. "I've, got something heavy for you." It was a large article, looking some thing like a table ; but what it was Mrs. Cooper could not tell, on account of its many wrappings. "There must be some mistake," she said, going to the door. "I am not expecting any thing." "No, there isn't," said Johnny, "it's all right, directed in large letters to Mrs. Mary Cooper, Benton." "I shall want fifty cents," said the expressman. expressman. "I've got it here," said Johnny, seeing that his mother was searching for her pocket-book. "O, by the way, here's something else—a letter directed to you. That will be fifteen cents more." a to "Indeed 1" said Johnny, surprised. "Well, here's the money," and he took the letter. Mrs. Cooper was unwrapping the ma chine. "Wliat is this ?" she exclaimed in delighted surprise. "A sewing machine 1 Who could have sent it ? "Do you know anything about it Johnny ?" "Yes, mother. It's a birthday pre sent for you from me." "My dear boy 1 how could you ever have made money -enough to pay for it?" Then Johnny told his mother all about it. And her eyes glistened with pride aud joy as she heard, for the first time how he had worked for months with this end in view, aud she could i not help giving him a grateful kiss, which I am sure paid Johnny for all he had done. It was really a beautiful machine, and, though Johnny did not know it cost considerably more than the hun dred dollars he had sent, Mrs. Cooper found that it worked admirably, and would lighten her labors more even than she had hoped. "But you haven't opened your let ter," she said, with a sudden recollec tion. lie He ?" best of .. . _.. . ... ex- ! ïseîfd by exji^toîdly™*!^ 1 "^ ( it will please you both, and prove very been useful. I also send you a hundred dol "So I haven't" said Johnny, What was his surprise openiug it to discover the same hundred-dollar bill which Mr. Barclay had originally given him, accompanied by the follow ing note i I "My Dear Young Friend—I have • to to lars, which I wish you to use for your self. The sewing machine will be none the less your presei , to your mother, since both that and the money insufficient recompense fertile service you have rendered me. Continue to love and help your mother, and when you are old enough to go into a store I I will rece/ve you into mine. Your friend, Henry Barclay." a very There was great joy in the little cot tage that evening. Johnny felt as rich as a millionaire, and could not take his eyes from the corner where the hand some new sewing machine had been placed. And his mother, happy as she was in her present, was happier in the thought that it had come to her through the good conduct of her son. to 1 it to is Anecdote of Beethoven. Beethoven passed one evening by a small house in Vienna, and heard some one play a passage from his sonata iu r. He stood still and listened, and heard a soft voice say: "What would I not give to hear this piece played by some one who could do it justice 1" The great composer opened the door and en tered a small room, next to a shoemak er's store. "Pardon me," raid Beethoven, afraid to come near, "but I heard some one play and was tempted to enter. lama musician myself." The young girl who stood before him blushed, and the young man who stood by her looked rather severely at the intruder. " I also heard some words you said," continued Beethoven ; "you wished to hear —that is, you wanted—well, let me play to you." "Thank you," said the young shoe maker ; "but the piano is bad, and, be sides we have no notes." "No notes ?" replied Beethoven, "but how does the voung lady play ?" He stoppod and reddenfd, for the young girl had turned her face to him, and her sad, darkened eyes told him that she was blind. "I ask a thousand pardons," he stam mered, "but I did not see directly— then you played from memory ?" "Certainly." "And where have you heard this mu sic ?" "In our street. They play the piano near here, and when the windows are opened"— She said no more, and Beethoven sat down to the piano and began to play. He may but seldom have played with so much feeling as he did on that evening, on the old piano, for the blind girl aud her brother. At last the shoe maker got up, approached the com poser, and asked him softly: "Wondeiful man, who are you ?" Beethoven raised his head as if he had not understood. The composer smiled, as he alone could smile—with his wonted serious, melancholy smile. "Listen," he said, instead of answer ing, and began the sonata in F, which the girl had played before. Brother and sister sprang up and screamtd with delight. They had recognized the player ; they called out "Beethovenl" He had ended and wanted to go, but they detained him, and begged—"Play it only once more. " He was led back to the piano ; at that moment the rays of the moon came through the uncurtained window and fell upon the gentle face of the blind girl, beautified by inner excitement. Beethoven's pitying glance met that of the brother, who called out, "My poor sister 1" "1 will play the 'Moonshine' for her," the master said, solemnly ; his fingers were already on the keys, and he began that sad but Bwoet melody, whose tones filled the room like the soft raye of the moon—that heavenly melody which the world later admired as the "Moonlight Sonata. ' '— Exchange. The Kitchen. Baked Quinces. —Quinces baked with the skins on are delicious when served warm. Put one on a saucer at each plate. If mashed with h knife the core is easily removed ; then put on a little butter and plenty of sugar. In process of baking the quince loses the strong taste which is disagreeable to many, and retains a delicate flavor that is excellent. Quinces as Sweet Pickles — Quinces make delicious sweet pickles. Peel them, cut them in quarters, stick two or three whole cloves iu each quarter, then steam them until tender, aud let them boil for a very few minutes in the vinegar prepared for them; or make the syrup of vinegar, sugar and spices first, aud boll the quinces in it till soft ; proceed just as for pickled pears or peaches, only that the quinces being of so tough fibre, need cooking longer Seal in cans, and they will furnish a good relish in days to come. Crab-apple Marmalade. — Mar malade made of the common Siberian crab-apple is not to be despised, and for the children's lunch or for tea with good bread and butter it is looked upon as a luxury. Stew the apples, skins and all, till they are very soft ; mash them adding light brown sugar to your taste. This may be put up in can« or in little earthern jars and sealed for winter use. Marmalade may also be made of nice peach parings, with now and then half a peach left in. This latter dish is not recommended ex cept when fruit is scarce, and you feel like making the most of every part of it. I Poisonous Leaves. A Beset as children and the ignorant are, says Land and Water , by dangers which they cannot measure, and can hardly be blamed for falling into, it is a wonder rather that they so seldom incur fatal consequences, than that they should sometimes eat leaves of an inju rious character. The only safe j ule for children to observe is never to eat any thing that they have not been positively A Msured is wholesome by their parents. No doubt it is an excellent thing that children should be so well nourished as to remove to a large extent the temp tation to eat wild leaves. Moreover, modern gardening has brought into perfection so many table vegetables that we are enabled to enlist a natural dislike to the juices of uncultivated plants on the side of caution, as com 1 wired with the pleasantness of the wholesome green meat of home. But children sometimes will stray on a ram ble, and become hungry when at a dis tance from "shops" or home, and thus it cannot be useless to know what are the more dangerous kinds of leaves which must be avoided by all who wish to preserve their lives. The strongest liarriers of prohibition we can erect should be placed to protect the young from their own heedlessness, which at times leads them to do all forbidden things, and to test all maxims and commandments, disobedience to which is supposed to entail divers pains and penalties. Some of our most admired flowers, which we should least willingly banish from cultivation, are associated with green leaves of a very poisonous char acter. The narrow long leaves of the daffodil act as an irritant poison ; the delicate compound leaves of laburnum have a narcotic and acrid juice which causes purging, vomiting, and has not unfrequently led to death. The narrow leaves of the meadow saffron or autumn crocus give rise to the utmost irritation of the throat, thirst, dilated pupils, with vomiting and purging. The dan gerous character of aconite or monks hood leaves is doubtless well known, but each generation of children requires instruction to avoid above all things these large palm-shaped leaves, dark green on the upper surface. The ut most depression, often blindness, ting ling all over the body, parching and burning of the throat and stomach, are some of the horrible symptoms which are preludes to death from this most deadly of vegetable poisons. Almost equally desirable is it to avoid the large, ovate leaves to the foxglove. The heart has been known to be depressed so ex ceedingly by the action of these leaves as to beat only seventeen times a min ute, with the pupils of the eyes widely dilated. In a case of this kind it can not be too forcibly recollected that the sufferer should be kept strictly lying down, to save the strength of the heart as much as possible. The leaves of the pasque-flower and the ranunculus are to be named as being injurious and be longing to attractive flowers. Leaves of coarse weeds, however, pro vide an abundant quota of danger ; but frequently their strong scent aud bitter of nauseous taste give timely warning against their being consumed, tall hemlock is everywhere known to be piosonous, and it is one of the most abundant occupants of the hedge. A peculiar "mousy" odor can generally be recognized on squeezing the leaves, which are deep green in color and trebly compound, the small lobes being lanceo late and deeply cut. It is said that the mousy smell can be detected in water containing not more than a fifty-thou sandth part of the juice. Hemlock is both an irritant to any sore place and a genera 1 harcotic poison, producing head ache, imperfect vision, loss of power to swallow, and extreme drowsiness, with complete paralysis of voluntary muscles and muscles of respiration. The water dropwort, too, a flourishing ditch plant; the water hemlock and fool's parsley must be ranked among our most danger ous poisonous plants l elonging to the Umbelliferous order. The fool's-parsley leaves are sometimes mistaken for gen uine parsley, but their nauesus odor and darker leaves should prevent this. The Nightshade order is another with dangerous and often extremely poison ous leaves. Indeed, no nightshade can be shade, with its oval, uncut leaves, soft, regarded as safe, while the deadly night smooth and stalked, is in the highest de gree tobe avoided. Henbaue and thorn apple conspicuous members of the dan gerous classes. Holly leaves contain a juice which is both narcotio and acrid, causing vomiting, pain and purging. Even elder leaves aud privet leaves may produce active and injurious irritation when eaten. The leaves of the arm or cuckoo-pint, large, arrow-shaped and glossy, have often caused death. Two are sufficient to produce great pain, vomiting, etc. One of the very disagreeable symptoms is a great Bwelling-up of the tongue from the amount of irritation ; children's tongues especially may become so swoll en that the swallowing of remedies or of emetics is very difficult. Iu such a case, the administration of melted fresh butter freely has proved beneficial ; and after vomiting has taken place freely, strong coffee should be given. Savin and yew leaves are both most poisonous, yew being narcotic as well as acrid, al though it is vulgarly suppose d that the fresh leaves are not injurious—a mistake from which some have suffered. as The a or be —The cost of stopping a railroad train is said to be from 40 to 60 cents. 'Twas like a dove s wing soft and warm— Around his neck, and feared no harm. Not all his deeds of valor won, Nor genius proved'neath foreign sun, so honored Marshal McMahon. That instant swept the l.ne along, A deafening shout that echoed long— Twm like a victor's triump ^ Good Luck. * by ADA CARLTON. "I wish I could help you, mother." "You do help me, Rick." "Earn a lot of money, for you, I mean, to pay off tliat wretched old mortgage. I do try to, mother, but somehow folks that have me once don't want me again. I hate to hoe com aud dig potatoes so, and maybe that's the reason. I'd a good deal rather be dig ging amongst the rocks at the foot of old Mount Cain." That was exactly what the people of Garland were saying about Rick Da vidson. "He's a good boy," Squire Ballard declared to his wife, "and he don't seem to be actu'lly lazy, but he don't hev no kind o' heart in his work." And so Squire Ballard had gently hinted to Rick, when his day's work was done, that his services in the corn field would not be further required. And Rick carried his sore heart and the hard-earned half-dollar home to his mother ; and the next morning he got up and stood out at the low door under the swinging hop vines, with his hands behind him and his dreamy gaze wan dering across the country to rest on old Mount Cain, outlined against the deep blue of the sky ; and then he said : "I want to help you, mother, and I will. There must be something for me somewhere." Mrs. Davidson smiled ; she was very proud and fond of her boy. "If it wasn't for the mortgage," continued Rick, "we'd manage well enough ; but $100 with 12 per cent, in terest is a big sum for us—for you to pay, mother." "Yes," said Mrs. Davidson, with a sigh which she could not repress ; "but we can sell the cow if bad comes to worst, Rick." "No, we won't," said Rick, deter minedly. "That old Captain Ridley Our Boys and Girls, A Child's Influence. BY QBOROK B. GRIFFITHS. A little white-robed girl, they say, Magenta's hero met And handed him a sweet bouquet— Rare blossoms from some rural glen ; He raised her up, and kissed her then In sight of twenty thousand And she, upon his saddle borne, As all toward gay Paris turn, Caressed the warrior, bronzed and wc Aye, kissed him thrice, and wound day, "I'm going to sew for Mrs. Ridley to-day," interposed Rick's mother, with a quiet smile. "You might weed the garden, Rick, and then you'll have time to dig among . ne rocks a little." Rick kissed her. "You're the best mother a boy ever bad, ' ' said he ; and he weeded their small garden with great care before he betook himself across the fields and fences to old Mount Cain. It was so pleasant there to search among the bowlders and ledges for new stones to add to his collection of curi osities. How they talked to him, those fragments of rock, aud how hard he tried to understand Yheii language 1 He studied and poured over his bits of pudding-stone and feld-spar and granite as he never pored over bis books at school. G school. So he passed the day just as he had passed a great many other days. It was when the lengthening shadows told him it was quite time to return home that a streak of good fortune found Rick. Ina cleft he discovered a beautiful prism, green, and ending in a three-sided pyrair'd. "I never saw anything like that, ' he cried ; "it is lovely I" Then he began to look for others; and very soon he had found nearly a dozen, some red and some green, one or two black, and one of a clear shining pink, very large and perfectly shaped, aud ex ceedingly beautiful. There were more, though he scrutinized the ledge long and carefully. Going home across lots he came upon Algy Verner, who was helping drive the cows from the pasture ; he was Judge Verner 's son. When he saw Rick he called out to him and made room for him on the grassy knoll where be was sitting. "Jonas has gone to hunt up old Brin dle," said he. "Where have you been, Rick ?" "Over on old Cain," answered Rick ; and without more ado he tumbled the wonderful prisms out of his pockets. "See l" said he. Algy caught up the pink one with a cry of admiration. "What a splendid tourmaline I" he said. "I wish my Uncle Henry could see it. I believe he'd almost go crazy. You see, he's great on such things, and this beats any thing he's got in his cabinet. I say, Rick, I know he'd give you.fifty dollars for it, and maybe more." Fifty dollars ! Rick's heart bounded. "Would he ?" he cried eagerly ; "do you think he would ? It can't be worth so much.*' "You'd last let him say whether it not," laughed Algernon. "I'll bet he'd buy the wnole of 'em if you'd sell 'em. They're the prettiest ones I've ever seen, aud I've seen scores of tour malines." "Are these called tourmalines?" "Yes," said Algernon;and then Jonas came up with the brindled cow ; and the two boys arose and said good-night to each other. "Now you'd better send those things to Dr. Henry Fortescue, 59 Acron ■ street, Brogna," said the judge's son. "It'll be worth while, I tell you." Rick walked home on air. "I on't tell mother," he decided ; "because, maybe, she'd only be disap pointed, after all. I'll go to Dr. Fer tescue myself." He went to Mount Cain next morn ing, but he found no more tourmalines ; and when he had ended a long search he said to himself that there was no more to be found. "But it's funny to think how many years those lay there waiting for me, when there ain't another one anywhere," said he ; and he went home tired and ._ , „ , . . . -_ ^PPy enough. He meant to start for Brogna in the morning early ; aud he to his mother as they wt together * n toe twilight after their frugal supper bad been eaten : "Will you let me go somewhere, mother, and not Know where it is? And I want my satchel full of some tiling to eat. Da-oay I can, mother." But Mrs. Davidson didn't feel that she could say so. It was not until Rick had used a great many persuasive arguments tüat she finally gave her con sent, "Iv'e often thought I could trust you all lengths," said she, "and I'll think so yet, and you can go if you want to." Well he found his way to 59 Acron street, and bravely mounted the impos ing stone steps, though his heart beat painfully. But you may imagine his surprise and delight when, on being ushered into a handsome room, the first % face his gaze fell upon was that of his friend Algernon. "You see, Algernon explained, "I started after you did, but I came by steam. And I've told Uncle Henry about the tourmalines. This is Uncle Henry." A tall kind-faced man shook Rick's hand at that moment and shook it cor dially. "And you've walked all this way my boy," he said. "Then you miist dine aud get rested before proceed to business." Not until the boy had partaken of a substantial lunch would Dr. Fortescue look at the contents of a small canvas bag that was fastened for safe keeping about his neck. Rick, watching the doctor's face, saw it light up with pleas ure. "These, particularly the pink on«, are the most perfect specimens of the kind, I ever saw, said the doctor. My boy, I will give you $150 for the Lot One hundred and fifty dollars! Why. that was $25 more than enough to pay the mortgage. "Oh, I thank you," said Rick, "and I thank Algy. I don't know what mother'll say." He wondered a great deal what she would say, during that short, swift joiirney home. It seemed as if he had been away a long time. The old familiar place looked strange to him ; and he almost wondered whether his mother would surely know him. She surely did. Can you imagine the welcome she gave him? Must I tell you how they cried and laughed togeth er? And how Rick said to his mother, in the twilight again, looking across to where Mount Cain stood wrapped a hazy vail : " I love that old mountain, moth er. I i lways did love it and I always will. It's just like a dear old friend to me. " And not a tourmaline has Mount Cain yielded up from the day of Rick's discovery until this, though the boys of G arland have spent many holidays in the search. As for Rick, he is tramp ing this summer through town, county and State in company with an eminent geologist ; and there is reason for be lieving that in future years he will be come an eminent geologist himself.—■ Portland Iranaciipt. ; a False Hair. In the days of the Emperor Trajan a market was established in front of the Temple of Apollo for the sale of false hair and dyes and cosmetics of many kinds, and it was in its time as fashion able a rendezvous as the baths. All Rome gathered there of a day. It was in the glorious summer of prosperity at a period when golden hair was the rage. The women tried in a thousand ways to obtain the precious tint. They bought eagerly all kinds of preparations from foreign countries—pomades from Greeoe and soaps from Gaul. The water from the river Chrathis, which was supposed to possess the Midaslike virtue of turning all it touched to gold, was one of the most popular "washes" ever offered to the Roman public. When this wonderful water failed to produce the desired result there remained but one thing to be done, and that was to shave the head. Then a fine crop of golden hair came. It came from Germany or Gaul, and from that day to this the trade in human hair has continued in the hands of the French and German merchants. it Tomato Marmalade. — To two pounds tomato allow two pounds sugar and the juice and grated rind of lemon. Scald the tomatoes, take off the skins, mix the sugar with them and boll them slowly for an hour, skim ming and stirring ; add the juice and grated rind of the lemon and boil another half hour, or until it is a thick, smooth mass. nr —The largest bell ever cast on the Pacific coast was lately made for a fog signal alarm at the Alcatraz Island. It weighs 3333 pounds.