TO CO RR ES DENTS.
A’’ comtnunicjitionn for this* paper should hearronv
panied by the name of the author; not necessarily for i
publication. but as an evidence of good faith on the
part of the writer Write only on one side of the pa
yer. He particularly careful In giving natneftanddatet
to have the letter* and figures plain and distinct. Prop*
cr names are often difficult to decipher, because of the
careless manner in which they a re written.
st he yarn for to-day.
Strength for to-day is all that we need.
As there never will be a to-morrow:
For to-morrow w ill prove but another to-day.
With its measure of joy and sorrow.
Then why forecast the trials of life
With such sad and "rave persistence.
And watch and wait for a crowd of ills
That as yet have no existence?
Strength for to-day what a precious boon
For the earnest souls who labor.
For the willing hands that minister
To the needy friend or neighbor.
Strength for to-day—that the weary hearts
In tlie battle for right may quail not.
And the eyes bedimmed with bitter tears
In their search for light may fail not.
Strength for to-day—on the down hill track, ,
For the travelers near the valley.
That up, far up, the other side
Ere long they may safely rally.
Strength for to-day -that our precious youth
May happily shuu temptation.
And build, from flu* rise to the set of the suu, ;
On a strong and sure foundation.
Strength for to-day in house and home.
To practice forbearance sweetly;
To scatter kind words and loving deeds.
Still trusting in (Sod completely.
HOW BROWN WAS SOLD,
“ Well, well, we won’t discuss the !
matter longer, sir. As I told you the
other day, my mind once made up it is
not to be changed, and were you to bore |
me all day as you have the last half hour i
it would do no good, not the least in the I
world, sir. Bless me! nearly twelve j
o’clock! ahem! excuse the apparent rude- !
ness, my boy, but I must ask you to let ]
the gentleman outside take your place, j
He comes on business of far more im
portance than your nonsense, pardon j
me!”
“ But, Mr. Aown, one moment, sir! !
If you knew me better, I’m quite sure j
you would reconsider my request, and— j
and ”
“Pooh! pooh! I know you well
enough. A very nice young fellow.
A good son, no doubt, clever and
all that, and as a friend in our fami
ly you are always welcome, since Josie
likes you, but beyond friendship, sir,
you must not advance one step. Josie i
is too young for such foolishness as love ! ,
and lovers, and you are—ahem! well,
your business all'airs are rather unsettled, j ,
you must admit, and I should rather j ]
Josie, when she marries, marry a rich j ,
man. Good morning, sir!” j (
Mr. Brown inclined his stately, gray !
head as he spoke, and Archer Langdon ! ,
knew his dismissal was indeed complete; |
so, with a grave face, the young man i j
passed through the outer office, and from ,
thence into the street, where he was im- j
mediately joined by Mr. Brown’s son, j ■
who, home from college on a short vuca- j |
tion, passed part of each day in his j
father’s private office. He had known ,
the reason of Archer’s call upon his j
father in his private office, and judged,
by the downcast expression of his friend’s j
face as he passed again into the street,
that the cal! had resulted unhappily.
“Never mind, dear old fellow,” said ]
Rob, as he joined his friend; “ the gov* l
ernor is a bear sometimes, and we get
used to a little growling. But keep up j
courage, Archer; between Joe and you j ,
and myself we’ll try and head father off, j
can't we? He didn’t forbid your coming |
to the house, did he?”
“No, no!” replied Archer, “ but what’s .
the use, Bob? A fellow can’t keep on \
being only a friend to a girl when he’s
head' over heeis in love with her. I can’t, i ,
anyhow, and if Josie is kind enough to j
miss my visits, just please tell her why j
I keep away: that’s a good fellow. No, |
I’ll go myself to-night for the last time |
and then I’m oil somewhere —I don’t care |
where!”
Bob felt sorry for his friend and prom
ised anything in the way of assistance.
“ I’ll even coax Joe to elope with you,
Arch, and make the ladder of ropes my
self, only don’t look so down in the
mouth.”
The young men parted soon after,
Archer going to his widowed mother’s
home, only a cozy little house, plainly
furnished, but rich in the blessings of
love and contentment, with but little re- |
gret for the days of wealth long past, I
save that, as Mrs. Langdon thought oc- I
casionttlly, it would be an advantage for j
Archer just now as far as his love for j
Josie Brown was concerned.
Robert went to his stately home, where I
the fair Josie reigned queen next to the j
sweet head of the household herself, the
gentle mother to whom even the pom
pous lord and master occasionally yielded
a cherished opinion. And to her went j
Josie, after listening indignantly to her j
brother’s recital of Archer’s woes.
“To think of papa’s snubbing poor j
Archer so unkindly!” she exclaimed,
standing with flashing eyes before her
mother and bursting into tears upon that
mother’s shoulder the next moment. “ I
shall never care for anybody else as I
care for Archer Langdon, mamma!” she
sobbed, “ and if papa is not willing to
receive Archer he shall never have a j
son-in-law! I’ll die an old maid and I
shame him 1 And then, what do you j
think he said beside? Why, that I was |
too young to know anything about love j
and lovers. The idea!” and Josie’s small I
foot tapped the ground angrily. “ I’m i
seventeen years old, nearly eighteen, in j
fast, and’’—here a dimple appeared in
Josie’s cheek, and a smile gathered in the
corners of her tear-dimmed eyes—“ I’ve
had three offers already, if papa did but
know it.”
Mrs. Brown couldn’t help laughing at
her daughter’s expression.
“Now, mamma, don’t you turn on the
enemy’s side. I’ve only you and Rob to j
take my part, and—and—O dear! I I
wish papa would remember when he was
young and wanted you, he wouldn’t he j
so unjust to mo, I know. You will ask j
him, mamma, won’t you, to listen to
reason, and I’m suro he’ll oblige you— |
he always does.”
Mamma promised, but in her heart
dreaded the task imposed upon her. For !
herself she felt really attached to poor
Archer. His mothershe valued as a wise |
and sincere friend. Archie and Josie
had been playmates when both were j
school children, and Mr. Brown had
many a time patted the boy’s head wit/
a kind compliment on his gentleman/
behavior, lie had liked to see the ■
dren, his own two and Archie, tog etf
and hud himself gotten for the v
when at a proper age a clerkship which
the young man still retained. But when
the question of marriage between Josie
and Archie—no longer boy and girl—
came up before the house of Brown, it
j was quite another thing, and the old
| gentleman acted accordingly.
Mr Brown, on returning from his of
fice that afternoon, found Josie in a si-
I lent mood, for which he felt guilty, as
I he suspected his conversation with young
Langdon had by that time reached her
ears. However, he was not to be thrown
off’ his guard by girlish frowns or boyish
: reproaches, so with stately step he en
j tered the cozy library where his wife was
sitting alone beside the fire, waiting in
| the pleasant dusk for the “cruel papa”
I she had promised to reason with. Josie,
! after her rather cool, silent kiss of grect
i ing, had gone up to her room, Rob, the
| fun-loving brother, was lying unseen
upon the front parlor sofa, thinking of
his friend Archie, and pitying Joe, his
| pretty sister.
Mrs. Brown, after a wifely kiss of
welcome, took her husband’s cold hand
i between her own, and he, looking down
■ at the lady’s delicate fingers, saw the
j glisten and shine of their wedding ring
!as the firelight danced upon it. It made
| him clasp the hand he held more closely,
; and very tenderly he spoke of the day
' long ago when he had placed that ring
I upon his bride’s finger. Gentle Mrs.
! Brown considered his words a most
j happy beginning to tbe subject she was
: about to begin upon, and skillfully
j enough she brought him to the matter
| of his daughter’s love and present un
■ happiness. But alas! instantly the old
gentleman bridled up.
“I see through all your round about
j speeches, my dear wife,” be said, “ but
pray drop now and forever the subject,
t told Archie this afternoon that he was
welcome as my daughter’s friend to this
house, but tbe subject of love—what
! utter nonsense it is, to be sure!—must
: never be mentioned between them. I
; positively forbid it. In fact, no man
shall make an offer of marriage to my
daughter save through me, and, though I
shall never force Josie to marry unwill
ingly, yet she should understand that the
fact of my bearing an offer to her in the
name of any honorable person is guar
antee that I am willing she should
please herself in the matter of reply. I
should never, you understand me, wife,
accept for Josephine an otter which I
could not approve. And this notion of
Archer Langdon’s, that he could make a
good husband to Josie, is so absurd when
one considers the fellow’scircumstances,
of course I can’t tolerate itfor a moment.
Come, isn’t dinner late?”
Mrs. Brown sighed and considered the
matter hopeless. She was glad when
the dinner bell rang, for it put an end
to a silence that-was growing very op
pressive.
Rob rose from the sofa with an idea in
his head, something new and cute, he
thought; but then his ideas were so
many and varied, one never knew which
of them was the one singled out for act
ive service.
Before Josie retired that night she
had had a long, quiet talk with Archer,
who called to bid her good-by (he in
tended leaving the city the next day, on
leave of absence, to go he didn’t know
where, but too far from Josie to make it
possible for him to yield to the tempta
tion of coaxing her to elone according
to Rob’s suggestion that afternoon).
“I can be an honorable fellow' if I am
poor,” he said. “ And since your father
forbids my loving you, dear Joe, I can
at least keep out of temptation's way.”
Then Rob and he and Josie had a long
talk all by themselves in the darkest
corner of the large parlor, while papa,
from liis favorite reading chair in the
library, glanced rather uneasily in their
direction now and then, and mamma
watched him with no little anxiety mean
while.
The evening over, Josie, with a smile
that gladdened her mother’s heart, and
with dimpling cheeks and voice that
seemed to have lost its sad tone, kissed
her parents good night.
“ I’m glad to see you cheerful again,”
whispered mamma.
And Josie replied roguishly in low
tones:
“We’ve planned something splendid.
Oh, you just w T ait and see!” Then she
! was off like a flash, her merry laugh
| ringiug in her father’s ears as the door
| closed.
i “ Humph! Tell me that little witch
j cares a fig for Archer? Not she! As a
| kind of brother, I suppose, she may be
j fond of him, but do you think if she
knew the meaning of real love she could
be so merry and bright, particularly
when Archer says he is going out of
! tow'n to-morrow? O no, wifey, she
\ doesn’t love him yet, and my course is
I very sensible, you see.”
With a feeling of relief the old gentle
man finished his paper, and Mrs. Brown
kept her own counsel.
Day after day and week after week
passed. Josie received her friends as
usual. Bob remained faithful to his
father’s office, and, as he confided to
Joe, “ made the governor think him a
! pattern boy.” Archer Langdon had left
J town at the time he intended doing so,
and the Browns had heard nothing from
| him since—at least the elder gentleman
! of the family had not.
On Valentine’s Day, which came round
] at last, and kept Cupid and his messen
gers busy enough, Mr. Brown returned
earlier than usual from the office, and
his family saw an unwonted expression
of merriment on his usually grave face
“ Come here, Josie, my girl,” he called,
after hat and coat had been hung up and
boots replaced by fur-lined slippers,
which the dutiful Josie had warmed for
papa—“ come here, I’ve something to tell
I you. First, how many foolish valentines
I have you had to day?”
Josie answered truthfully: “ Oh, about
twenty or so.”
“ Twenty hearts laid at your feet, eh?’
: laughed her father. “ Come, that’s do
j ing well for a child of your age. Bui
| there’s one more heart ottered you which
was placed in my keeping for you this
: morning, and as 1 promised to break the
! ice this evening, so that the bashful fel
may call to-morrow, 1 may as well
ve ; v\, at once. You remember Mr. Ed
He usc d visit h ,,ru frequent
gathered itself into t
good,'\ t “rememberhint, and vert
riomaP ' You liked him be
> hated him becausi
he was—was —well, he was horrid! And
: the question he has asked you concern- j
ing me to-day he would have asked me !
! long ago but that I prevented him; that !
is why he hasn't been here lately.”
“ Then you don’t, care to listen to all.]
he said?”
“ No, sir, I shall never marry Mr. Ed- I
wards nor any other man, save Archer ]
Langdon—and ”
“ Hold on, Josephine, don’t mention !
that boy again!” interrupted her father; j
but Josie, who had enough of the Brown !
obstinacy about her to make her indeed I
her father’s own child, lifted her pretty ]
head defiantly and replied:
“ If you had brought me a letter from ]
Archer, sir, or a proposal like this of
Mr. Edwards from him, you would have
gladdened me beyond words; but I beg
[ you not to give yourself future trouble |
with such messages from any other of ]
our gentlemen friends, since I shall only
answer as I now answer—no!”
Mr. Brown’s face put oil' its jovial
look, and, rising from his chair, he said,
sternly:
“ When I bring you a letter from
Archer Langdon, miss, or a word of love
from him, you may most assuredly mar
ry him! But, mark my words, your
chances of marrying him on those condi
tions are about as poor as that I shall
change into —into a saint; ha! iia!”
The insanity of the latter idea restored
Mr. Brown to good humor, and he Sud
denly remembered some valentines r ' .
Josie in his coat pocket. \JL’ ’
“ By the by, Bob asked me to give you j
one or two of those ridiculous things-s
--two, I believe—which some friends gave
him, particularly for you. 1 thought
valentines were secret and mysterious
affairs; but it seems these fellows didn’t
care if they were known. He got them
from his overcoat inside pocket. Bob
said he wouldn't be home until late.”
Josie took the dainty things, and in
differently, to all appearances, asked her
father if he knew who sent them.
“No; Bob didn’t say, nor I didn’t ask
nor trouble to look at the things.”
Soup in her own room Josie read her
valentines, and laughed over one, while
the other brought tears in the midst of
smiles.
With the middle of the evening came
Bob, and somebody else who waited out
side in the hall until Bob had silently
motioned Josie out of the parlor. Then
that somebody took the girl closely in
his arms, and Bob sat down on the low
est stair to laugh if possible, without
making a sound. Then—Mr. Brown,
reading his paper, was interrupted by
two figures who stood beside him arm iu
arm.
“Father dear,” said Josie sweetly,
“Archie wishes to thank you for your
gracious consent to our betrothal, and so
do I,” kissing the astonished paternal
face and throwing her arms about the j
old gentleman’s neck.
“Betrothal be hanged!” was Mr. j
Brown’s reply. “ What is all this tom- j
foolery? Archie Langdon, I thought I
you a gentleman, sir, and yet you have
dared to speak again to my daughter of
love.”
“Father, your own words gave con
sent to our marriage. You promised me
this very afternoon that when you
brought me an offer from Archie I should
consider your consent gained. With
your awn hanil win or uv i > nil' ' - ail..’,' 1..1
ter, and a little merry note from Bob j
which you, poor, innocent, dear papa, j
believed to be valentines. Now you will I
not take back your promise to your only |
daughter?”
“ Who has played this miserable trick ]
on me?” growled the exasperated man, I
and Bob fearlessly came forward, look- ]
ing the very image of the wife Mr. Brown i
loved so well, and with his handsome, |
boyish face full of restrained laughter. ]
“Father, I plead guilty; forgive us]
all, and acknowledge that you have been
* done up Brown.’”— N. F. Mercury.
Mr. Plumb’s Dog.
Mr. Plumb, of Nelson street, having
a strong desire to own a dog, has been
balked in its gratification by the ob
stinacy of Mrs. Plumb. Mr. Plumb
wanted a dog for the protection of bis
property. Mrs. Plumb was just as de
sirous as he to keep the property from
the hands of the robbers, and was per
fectly willing to secure that object
through the instrumentality of a dog, if
the dog didn’t bark so. But the racket
in the night made her nervous, and
through the day it irritated her. A dog
could not, of course, keep off a burglar
without barking, but it was the want of
discrimination in the animal that dis
gusted her. He barked at everybody
coming on the premises. Mr. Plumb
must have had on trial a dog a month
for the past year, but none suited. They
would bark. About a week ago Mrs. I
Plumb heard of a dog that would answer
the purpose. He would allow anyone
to come on the premises, and would not
molest him, but he would not allow any
one to leave until his owner came. He
carried the idea that there was no harm ]
in receiving visitors providing he did not j
let them depart until they were seen by !
the proper persons. We never before
heard of a dog of that kind Neither
had the Plumbs. Mr. Plumb hastened
away to see the owner after hearing the
news from his wife. The dog was just
as represented, and he bought him, and
located him in the woodshed, where
he made a bed for him. The next day
was Saturday. Mr. Plumb went down
town about eight o’clock in the morning.
Mrs. Plumb was busy with her baking
and her dinner. It may be well to men
tion that Mrs. Plumb is a model wife. !
Her house is as clean and bright as a ]
house can be made, and she prides her
self on her cooking. In addition to the
baking she was preparing an extra fine
boiled dinner. About ten o’clock, find
ing the oven was a little slow, she went
to the woodshed for a basket of light
wood. Pinch, the dog, was there. If
Mrs. Plumb had not had her bread in the
oven she would have stopped to have
| made his acquaintance, but she was in
j too much of a hurry to bestow more
I than a word on him. She filled the
] basket and started for the door. Then
i she particularly noticed Pinch He
I stood facing her, with his tuil to the
j door, every hair on his back standing
j straight up, and the skin about his neck
| drawn very unpleasantly forward.
“ Mercy!” ejaculated Mrs. Plumb,
' hastily stepping back.
The hair on Pinch’s back softly set
tled down.
“Pretty doggy,” observed Mrs. Plumb,
j in a conciliatory voice.
| Pinch made no reply, but stood there
] looking at the lady.
j “Nice doggy,” added Mrs. Plumb, en
] deavoring to diffuse a smile over a very
j white face, and taking a step forward at
| the same time.
In an instant every recumbent hair on
: the dog’s back lifted itself, two rows of
] teeth glistened forth, and a most depress
j ing growl escaped therefrom.
The unhappy woman gave a cry of
alarm, dropped her basket and scrambled
with all haste to the top of a box. There, j
having drawn her limbs in under her for
better protection, she sat and trembled
and looked.
The sagacious dog made no attempt to
retard this movement; on the contrary,
he appeared to be highly in favor of it,
and when it was over he squatted down
at the door and, fixing his eves upon her,
licked his chops in a painfully suggestive
way.
Poor Mrs. Plumb! Her bread was in
the oven, her dinner on the stove, and
there she sat, an object of attention to an
intelligent and faithful dog, and a prey
to the most poignant emotions. Several
times she offered him a sop in the shape
of a pleasing title. He made no mani
festation of disapproval to this course,
but when she sought to follow it up with
her body the hairs on his back sprang to
their feet, the wrinkles flowed up his.q
,’£ck,, his teeth appeared, and the growl, i
'fjep 1 and ominous, followed.
i* was no use. There she was, and
had she been under a ton of iron she
could scarcely have been more a pris
oner. She thought of her bread and the j
dinner until the tears coursed down her j
pale cheeks in unbroken streams. Once |
in a while a subdued sob would break
from her bosom. Her face grew whiter j
and w hiter as the moments rolled by, and |
the despairing ache in her heart grew
more intense. But there was no relief.
The cold was benumbing her body, while
the pain was rending her soul. Her re
flections finally grew so bitter and agon
izing that she hid her face in her apron
and sobbed outright. And there she sat
and cried, and there he sat and watched,
true and faithful to the last. And there
Mr. Plumb found them two hours and a
quarter later when he came home to din
ner, and after a nervous search for his
wife. Mrs. Plumb had to be lifted bod
ily from the box and carried into the
house, her long position in the cold hav
ing rendered her limbs almost powerless.
She never had been so glad to see her
husband since the time when Sunday
nights were a specialty with the twain,
but she could not look pleased, she
could not utter a word. The pain in her
heart was too great. There was no need
of Hying to the oven to see the bread nor
to lift the lids of the pots to observe the
dinner. Everything in the way of bak
ing and cooking was manifest to the
most casual observer on entering the
kitchen. It was the event of Mrs.
Plumb’s life. Her brown hair has be
come a snowy white, and her face looks
ten years older.
Pinch is working in a brickyard for
his board.— Danbury New*.
Bogus Coin, and llow to Detect It.
W. E. Du Bois, Assayer of the United
States Mint at tn., i...j„t ~i,;
. ..uuierreiters generally content them
selves with the cheap and quiet process
of casting from molds, though sometimes
they strike the pieces from dies. The
mold is made from the genuine coin, and
yields a fac simile. They use a type
metal, somewhat hard and sonorous by
the addition of copper, and the whole
being slightly silvered over in a battery,
and the gate neatly rubbed out on the
edge. Such a piece may pass while
fresh and new. They are, however,
rather too white and too thick, or if of
the right thickness too light. There is
something about the genuine coin that
ordinarily puts it above suspicion, par
ticularly after the new white surface has
given place to the inimitable and per
manent nine-tenths tint. It may have
been abused by heating or staining, or
by contact with gum-elastic bands,
or disfigured with tin foil, for the
small purpose of provoking a bet. In
rare cases it may have a flaw at the edge,
or shut in, which destroys the ring. But
generally it speaks well for itself as to
color and sonority. The genuineness of
a half-dollar is something worth looking
after, to any of us, and especially to
store-keepers taking them often through
the day. It is, therefore, worth the
trouble to have on the counter one or
two witnesses easy to be had. First—A
balance, which need be no more than a
thin strip of wood eight or ten inches
long, neatly poised. Place a good piece
on one end and the suspected one on the
other; and have a weight of three grains
lat hand. If the difference is more than
that decline taking the piece. Secondly
—A liquid test, composed as follows:
Twenty-four grains of nitrate of silver
in crystals; one gramme (say fifteen
grains) of nitric acid, and one ounce of
| water. Any druggist can put this up,
j in a small bottle with a pointed glass
j stopper, made for lifting drops, taking
care to use pure ingredients. Remove a
little of the surface of the coin by a
knife, and then touch the place with a
drop from the stopper. If good, there
will be no action; if bad, it blackens at
once.* It should be observed this is not
the compound we use for examining
gold counterfeits and jewelry. And,
further, some people use nitric acid
alone, which will discolor a good coin as
well as a bad one. As for the pieces
I struck from dies they are generally such
j poor imitations that the taker almost de
] serves to lose by them. Such a pii ce,
[ dated 1876, is now before me; good
color, feeble and faulty devices, right
weight, but quite too thick. R would
be caught by the gauge already men
tioned. It is a whitish brass, with silver
plating, more substantial than the
electro-plating.
•■
—lt was “ John Phoenix” who invented
I the phrase: “Invincible in peace, in
] visible in war.” His real name is Capt.
j George 11. Derby, and being stationed at
j San Francisco, where he was invited to
a public dinner given by the State militia,
[ a.td on this occasion being called on for
] a toast, he tired the above phrase as a
blank cartridge at the heads of his hosts,
t And it hit.
Mas. Pajitington remarks that few
j persons nowadays sutler from sugges
| lions of the brain.
o)nr Doniffi Jfolha.
XAATJXG THE CHIFKEXS.
There were two little chickens hatched out by one
hen,
And the owner of both was our little boy Hen;
So he set him to work as soon as they came,
To make them a house and give them a name.
As for making a house, Benny knew very well
I hat he couldn't do that; but his big brother Phil
Must be handy at tools, for he'd been to college.
Where the boys are supposed to learn all sorts of
knowledge.
Phil was very good natured, and soon bis small
brother
i Had a nice, cosy home for his chicks and their
mother;
Aud a happier hoy in the country just then
C'otiid not have been found than our dear little
Hen.
Hut a name for his pets it was harder to iind.
At leant just as suited exactly his mind;
No mot fir r of twins was ever more haunted
With trouble to And just the ones that she wanted.
There were plenty of names, no donbt about that,
*ut a name that would do for a dog or a cat
Would not answer for chickens as pretty as
these;
Ur else our dear boy was not easy to please.
These two little chickens looked just like each
other;
To name them so yomur would lie only a bother.
Hut with one in each hand, said queer little Hen
“ A want this one a rooster aud that one a hen."
Henny knew them apart by a little brown spot
On the head of one that the other had not;
They "rew up like magic, each fat. feathered
chick;
One a/ length was named Peggy and the other
/ named Dick.
Henuy watched them so closelv, not a feather
could grow
Wfbe dress of those chickens that he did not
1 know; ?
And he taught them so well they would march at
command,
Fly up on his shoulder, or eat from his hand.
But a funny thing happened concerning their
names—
Rushing into the house one day Benny exclaims; !
**U mother! O Phil! such a blunder there's been
For Peggy's the rooster and Dick is the hen
HOW I DID NOT MIND MY MOTHER.
The children had a sailor-boy cousin.
His father and mother died when he was
only a little fellow, and as he grew tired I
of living with uncles and aunts he made
up his mind that he would run away. He
had always thought that it would boa
splendid thing to live od a great ship
and to sail away off over the ocean and
see other countries and some other peo
ple. lam very sorry to tell you that he
was not always a good boy. He was not
careful always to speak the truth, and
he learned to say bad words, and made
those who would have been glad to love
him and make him happy a great deal of
trouble. One day, after he came home
from school, he told his auntie that he
was going out to play for a while. She
said, “ Very well, James. Be sure aud
be at home before dark.” But by and
by the lamps were lighted, and then the
tea was all ready, and so the hours
passed along; but James did not come
home any more. His aunt and uncle felt
very badly, aud could not sleep that
night; for they wondered where James
was and if he could have met with any
accident. \ cry early the next morning
they inquired all about, and at last
learned that he had really gone off in a
big ship, away off to China. This is all !
that I will tell you about the sailor-boy, ]
James, just now. But don’t forget, about
him, as presently I shall tell you how he
came back, years after; how he made me
disobey my mother; and all the trouble
that came of it.
1 suppose you have often heard of
- children whose grandpapas had
grandpa had a splendfagleat t'Ju’lH, wTtfi
cows, and oxen, and horses, aud pigs,
and sheep, and hens, and turkeys, and
ducks, and ever so many beehives.
There was such a grand old barn, too,
and from some of the cross-beams, high
up near the roof, there hung the dearest
old swing! I have never forgotten it. J
It hung low, so that we couid push our
selves with our feet; and the air was so j
sweet from the fresh hay that was stacked
there during the summer time, so that it j
could be ali ready for the horses, cows ]
and oxen to eat when the stormy, snowy j
days came, ami they could not wander j
about the fields and nibble the green
grass. On each side of the middie of ]
the barn where the swing hung were the
stalls, where the cattle were chained j
during the winter. Sometimes they j
would be fastened there during the sum
mer; but they always frightened me and i
I would run away. I didn’t then and I
don’t now like to look at a cow’s eyes. |
They look at you so steadily and go on ]
chewing their cud so solemnly, just as if i
they were making up their minds wheth- ]
er or not they would give you a toss up
in the air with their horns. High up
among the beams the swallows had built
their nests, and such busy little people
as they were, flying in and out through
the windows, talking and chattering to
each other in a fashion that I suppose
they could all understand. Perhaps they
were building some new nests, and one
Mrs. Swallow would say to the other:
“ Just come and take a peep at my new
house. See how firmly 1 have built it.
See how soft it is. Will it not be a lovely
nursery for my little baby swallows by
and by?” Very busy little housekeepers;
and they made a great noise about it,
too. Well, this summer that I wish to
tell you about I had gone with my moth
er and my brotuers and sister for a long
visit at grandpa’s farm, and who should
be, there but the sailor-toy cousin that I
told you about. He had been on several
long voyages, but had written no letters
home, and when we supposed that per
haps he had died, far away, he as
tonished everybody by going to grand
pa’s farm, too. Just across the road
that ran in front of the house there
was a large, lovely, green meadow; and
at the foot of itjthere was a bright, clear
spring of water, and it overflowed, mak
ing quite a good-sized pond. In this
pond there were the very prettiest little
trout—so shiny, with their spotted backs
glistening in the sunshine. Now, my
mother had often said to me: “ Mollie,
be sure that you never go down to the
.spring unless lam with you.” And I al
ways minded her, till one unfortunate
night. It was just about sundown, when
Cousin James took his long fishing-pole
and line, and Margaret, my grandma’s
hired woman, took a pail; and just as
they were starting off 1 saw them and
asked: “ Where arc you going?”
“ Down to the spring, little Mollie, to
try and catch some fish. Didn’t you
want to go too?”
Oh! how I did want to go. I wanted
to go dreadfully; but what should I do?
My mother had gone to ride, ntul I could
I not ask her leave; and she had often for
bidden me aud told me to keep away
I from the spriug.
“Come, little Mollie," said Cousin
James, turning round. “We’ll be back
before your mother, and she won’t know
that you went. I sba’n’t tell.”
It was too much for me to say no
again; and, thinking I would just go for
this once, and be home before mother, j
after all, I started off on a run to catch
up with them. For a little way, as IT
trudged along, I was so happy! I waJ ■
going fishing—just the very thing that J
had been longing to do. ' Then wo/t Si
come the question to my mind: “JjHjfc
you minding your mother, Mollie, IjW
will you not be acting a lie if, when yotL
go home, you do not tell her?” But i? >(
was not my plan should \!
be carried out, as you will presently see,/ 1
We walked on, till at last we came*'
the spring; and Cousin James mf
ready his fishing-line and dropped it X
the water. He sent me a little way
for fear that I would make a noise d?
disturb the fish. I walked' along til *
came to one part of the pond where s 4
boards were laid, and on them you eqf
cross one corner of it. I thought tl/
would try the little bridge, and stai ’
off bravely. 1 walked safely on
board, and w T as just stepping ov*
next, when, oh dear! myfootslippe
off I went into the water. I caugb '
of the board; but thewaterwas up ,
my waist and it was so deep and
I screamed and thought of my mi
expected the fishes would swim u]
bite me; and that, at last, I shoe .
drowneitl
“ What in the wide world are you
about, Mollie?” said Cousin James.
“ Hold on. Don’t be frightened. I’m
coming.”
In a moment he was by me, and his
strong arms lifted me upon the board
again. But w'hat a plight I was in!
Muddy, wet, cold, crying and frightened.
He helped me out upon the grass, sav
ing: “Too bad, little Mollie. Toobail.
Not much fun for you to-night. Now
don’t cry; but hurry home and go to bed
before your mother comes.”
It was all very weil for him to say
hurry home, when I could scarcely walk,
my clothes were so heavy with water.
And how 1 hated to go home, all dripping
as I was; and what would my mother
say? Margaret started along with me,
and almost dragged me over that long,
meadow. It did not look the same loveiv
green meadow that I had always fancied
it; but a long, lonesome sort of a place,
and it seemed as if Grandpa’s house was
miles away. I did hurry all that I could;
but I just cried out loud when I saw the
carriage drive up the road and my
mother get out at the door. My hurry
ing was of no use. She must see me in
my bad fix; and know, too, that it all
happened because I was disobedient. As
we came to the house 1 heard her asking:
“ Where’s Mollie?” It was too much for
me, and, calling out: “Here I am. And
I’m all wet through and through. And
I didn’t mind you, and I went down to
the spring, and tumbled in!” I burst out
crying louder and more bitterly than be
fore. She did scold when she saw me,
with my new pink calico dress all
spoiled and shoes and stockings covered
with mud, and I knew very well that I
deserved it; but when she saw how terribly
I felt, how very sorry I was, she forgave
me. She put my feet in hot water,
tucked me warmly in bed, and left me
to cry myself to sleep. But the next
morning she told me how very naughty I
hiyteh'oecaase'untfsin James’ nha coaxea
me, she said that she could not excuse
me at all, and if I only minded her when
I was not tempted to do wrong she could
have but little confidence in me. Cousin
James left us all before long, and it was
some years before we saw him again. I
have never forgotten thatsummer’s even
ing when I disobeyed my mother and
fell into my grandpa’s spring. It is a
great many years since then, and now I
have some little children of my own;
and I always advise them, and all other
little people, to mind their mothers, if
they would be hattpy and keep out of
mischief. —.V. }'. Independent.
A Grasshopper Story.
Two men were traveling in Kansas
last summer, and when about fifteen
miles from Lindsey, on the Solomon
River, the grasshoppers appeared over
them in such swarms as to make it as
dark as twilight. Suddenly they began
settling down'in swarms right where the
two men were riding along on horseback.
The jerky birds came down by countless
millions, and all traces of vegetation dis
appeared as if by magic. They covered
the ground several inches deep, and sud
denly seemed determined to settle on
the men and -horses: One of them, a
man named Dan Kavanagh, was thrown
to the ground by the frantic plunging of
his horse, and the grasshoppers, appar
ently attracted by a green calico shirt
which he wore, swarmed upon him, and,
in less time than it takes to tell it, had
eaten every shred of clothing from him,
and, horrible to relate, began devouring
him alive! His companion, a young Ger
man named Fred Keiser, had a black
snake whip, with which he managed to
fight them off and tried to save poor Dan.
The horse reared, fell and rolled over
with him, but he managed to regain his
seat, and it was not until Kavanagh had
been skinned alive, and all of the mus
cles and flesh eaten from his breast and
ribs, that Keiser gave up and galloped
away. About seven miles from the
j scene he found a ranch and was cared
for. He was so bitten that his hands,
j arms and head swelled to twice their
j natural size, and he luy in the greatest
agony and delirium for a week. When
he recovered his horse was dead, and
j the ranchmen went with him to the scene
jof the disaster. They found nothing
[ hut the skeleton of his companion, the
] hones picked clean and almost buried in
the mass of grasshoppers, which still
j covered the ground to the depth of a
j foot. His horse’s skeleton lay near him,
j the voracious insects having eaten flesh,
j hide and hair. As the ranchmen own
nearly a whole township in that vicinity,
j which they are about to sell to an En
j glish colony, they swore Keiser to seere
|cy in regard to the affair, gave him a
| horse and entire new outfit, and let him
:go on his way rejoicing.— Cheyenne
j (IFy.) Leader.
—The Petersburg (Vn.) Index says a
1 gentleman of that city, while walking
over the battle-ground of the Crater,
] picked up two minic-bulis flattened and
| imbedded in each other. One was a
[ Federal and the other a Confederate ball.