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Ciadle Son? ot the Poor.
DELUDE PROCTORt Huht cannot bear to 6ee thee btietch thy tiny hands in vainf* Dear.I have no biead to give thee, Nothing, child, to ease thy p?in! When God 6ent thee first to bless me, '*r Proud and thankful, too, was I Now, my darling, I, thy mother, Almost long to see the die. Sleep, my darling-, thou art weary God is good, but lite is dreary. I have watched thy beauty fading. And thj strength sink day by day, Soon, I know, will want and fever Take thy little life away, Famine makes thy father reckless, Hope has left both him and me, We could suffer all, my baby, Had we but a crust for thee. Better thou should perish early, btarve so soon, my darling one, Then in hopeless sin and sorrow Vainly live as I have done. Bettei that thy angel spirit With my joy, my peace, were flown, Than thy heart giow cold and careless, Reckless, hopeless, like my own. I am wasted, dear, with hunger, And my brain is all opprest I have scarcelj' strength to press thee Wan and feeble to mv breast. i Patience, baby, God will help ub, Death will tome to thee and me He will take us to His Heaven, Where no wan* or pain can be. Such the plaint that, late and early, Did we listen we might hear Close beside usbut the thunder Of a city dullb our ear, E\ ery heart, as God's bright angel, Can bid one sonow cease, God hnsgloiy when His children Bring his poor ones joy and peace. On The Other Train. BY A DEPOT CLOCK. There, Simons, you bloclcfiead Why didn't you trot that old woman aboard her tram? She'll have to wait here now until the T, :05 A M." Yes, I did tell you! You know well enough. Twas only your confounded stupid carelessness "She' You fool! What else could you expect of hei Probably hasn't any wit beside, she isn't bound on a very jol ly journey- got a pass up the road to the poor-house.'' I'll go and tell her, and if you forget her to-night, see if 1 don't make mince meat of you'" And our worthy ticket agent shook his fist menacingly at his subordinate. You've missed your tram, ma'am," he remaiked, coming forwaid to a queer looking bundle the cornel. A tienabling hand raised the faded black veil, and levealed the sweetest old face I e\ er aw. 'Nevet mind," said aquaveiing voice. "'Tis only thiee o'clock now you'll have to wait until the night train, which doesn't go up until 1:0"5." ''Veiy well, sir I can wait." "Wouldn't you like to go to some ho tel? Simons will show you the way." "No, I thank you, sn. One place is as go )d as another to me. Beside, I haven't any money." "Very well," said the agent, turning aw ty indifferently "Simons will tell you when it's time." All the atteinoon she sat there so quiet that I thought sometimes si_e must be asleep, but when I looked raoie closely I could see eveiv once in a while a gieat tear loll downhei cheek, which she would wipe away hastily with hei cotton hand kei chief The depot was crowded, and all was bustle and huuy until the 9.50 tiain go ing East came due, then every passenger left e\cept the old lad v. It is veiy rare indeed that any one takes the night ex press, and almost always after I ha\e struck ten the depot becomes silent and empty. The ticket agent put on his great-coat, and, bidding Simons keep his wits about him for once 'in his life, departed for home. But he had no'sooner gone than that functionary stietched himself out upon the tableas usualand began to snora vocifeiously. Then it was I witnessed such a sight as I never had bffoie and never expect to again. The in had gone downit was cold night, and the wind howled dismally outside. The lamps grew dim and flared casting weiid shadows upon the wall, By-and-by I heard a smothered sob from the coinei then anothei, I looked in that direction. She had lisen from her seat and 0 the look of agony on the p'oi pinched lace. "I can't believe it," she sobbed, wring ing Ler tain white hands. "0! I can't believe it' Mv babies! my babies! how ofien have I held them in my arms and kissed them. and how often they used to say back to me, Ise loves you, mammy and nowr, 0 God they've turned against me. Wheie ami going? To the poor house No i no! no! I cannot! I will, not! O, the disgrace I" And sinking down upon her knees, she sobbed out in piayer: "O, God, spare me this" and take*me home' 0, God, spaie me this disgrace, spare me!' The wind, rose higher and swept through the cievices icy cold. How 'it moaned,jii^d, seemed sob like some thing hufnan $fet'is hnit. I began to shake, bat the kneeling figure never stir red. Th thin shawl had dropped from her shoulders unheeded. Simons tui&ed over and'drew* his* heavy iblanfcet*ftore over him. O, how cold! Only one lamp remained burning, dimly the olher two had gone out fwr want of oil. I could hardly see, it was so dark. "VVSu*^ At last she l|ecame quieter^and ceased te moan. Then I grew drowsy, and kind of lost the run of things after" I had* struck twelve, when some one entered the depot with a bright light. I started up. It wasjhe brightestjight I ever saw, and seemed to fill the room full of glory. I could see 'twas a man. He walked to the kneeling figure, and touched her on the shoulder. She started, and turned her face wildly around. I heard him say: Tis train time, marm. Come!" A look of joy came over her face. *~ta "I'm ready," she wiuspered. Then give me your pass, ma'am." She reached him a worn old book, which he took, and from it read aloud: 'Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you iest.' That's the pass over our road, ma'am. Are you ready The light died away, and darkness fell in its place. My hand touched thp stroke ot one. Simons awoke with a starj, and snatehod his lantern. Tne whistle sound ed down-brakes the train was due. He ran, to the corner, and shook the old wo man. Wake up, marm 'tis train time." But she never heeded. He gave one look at the white set face, and, dropping his lantern, fled. The up-train halted, the cdnductor shouted all aboard, but no one stirred that way. The next morning, when the ticket agentcame, he found her "frozen to death." They whispered among themselves, and the coroner made out the verdict "Apop- lexy," and it was in some way hushed up." They laid her out in the depot, and ad vertised for her friends, but no one came So, after the seconed day, they buried her. The last look on that sweet old face, lit up with a smile so unearthly, I keep with me yet- and when I think of the oc currence of that night, I know she went out on the other tram, that never stopped at the poor-house. Old Soup. The following curious anecdote is from a book about elephants, written by a Fiench gentleman, named Jacolliot, an we will let the author tell his own storv: In the autumn of 1876, I was living in the interior ot Bengal, and I went to spend Christmas with my friend, Major Daly. The major's bungalow was on the banks of the Ganges near Cawnpore. He had lived there a good many years, being chief of the qui termastei's depaitment at that station, and had a great many na tives, e'ephants, bullock-carts, and sol diers under his command. On the morning after my arrival, after a cup of early tea (often taken before daylight in India), I sat smoking with my fiiend in the veranda of his bunga low, looking out upon the windings of the sacied nvei. And, directly, I asked the major about his children (abov and a gul), whom I had not yet seen, and begged to know when I should see them. "Soupramany has taken them out fish- ing," said their father. "Why, isn't Soupramany your great war elephant?,'I cried. "Exactly so. You cannot have forgot ten Soupramany!" 'Of course not. I was here, you know when he had that figbt with the elephant, who went mad while loading a tiansport with bags, of i ice down yondei. I saw the mad elephant when he suddenly be gan to fling the rice into the river. His 'mahout' tried to stop him, and he killed the mahout. The native sailors lan away to hide themselves,and the mad elephant tiumpeting, charged into this inclosure. Old Soupiamany was here, and so were Jim and Bessy. When he saw the mad animal, he threw himself between him and the children. The little ones and their nurse", had jus*- time to get into the house when the fight commenced." "Yes," said the major. Old Soup was a hundred yeais old. He had been fram ed to war, and to fight with the rhinocer os, but he was too old to hunt then." And yet," said I, becoming animated by the reccollections of that day, what a gallant fight it was! Do you remem bei how we all stood on this porch and watched it, not daring to fire a shot lest we shou'd hit OldSoupianianv? Do you remember, too, his look when he drew off, after fighting an hour and a half, leaving ris adversary dying in the dust, and walked straight to the corral,' shak ing his great ears which had been badly torn, with his head bruised, aud a great piece brokea from one of his tusks?" Yes, indeed,' said the major. Well, shsce then, he is more devoted to my dear little ones than ever. He takes them out whole days, and I am perfectly content to have them u^der his charge. I don't like trusting Christian childem to the care of natives but with Old Soup I know fhev can come to no harm." Beside the children, on the banks of the Ganges, stood Old Soup with a bam boo rod in his trunk, with line, hook, bait, and cork, like the children's. I had not watched him long before he had a bite for, as the religion of the Hindoos forbids them to take life, the risrer swaims with fishes. The old fellow did not stir his little eves watched his line eagerly he was no novice "the gentle craft." He was waiting till it was time to draw in his prize. At the end of his line, as he drew it up was dangling one of those golden tench so abundant in the Ganges. When Soupramany perceived what a fine fish he had caught, he uttered one of those long, low gurgling notes of satis faction by which an elephant expresses joy and he waited patiently, expecting Jim to take his prize off the hook and put on some more bait fqr him. But Jiai, the little rascal, sometimes liked to plague Old Soup. He nodded at us, as much as to say, "Look out, and you'll see bme fun, now!" Then he took off the fish, which he threw into a water-jar placed there for the purpose, and went back to his place without putting any bait on Old Soup's hook. The intelligent animal did not attempt to throw his line _.*i&A* -p V- W!^ PS, V3 into the water. He tried to move Jim by low, pleading cries. It was curious to note what tender tones he seemed to try to give his voice. Seeing that Jim paid no attention to his calls, but sat and laughed as he handled his own line, Old Soup went up to him, and with his trunk tried to turn his bead in the direction ot the bait-box. At last, when he found that all he could do would not induce his willful friend to help him, he turned aiound as if struck by a sudden thought, and, snatching up in his trunk the box that held the bait, came and laid it down at the major's feet then picking up his rod, he held it out to his master. A ll "What do you want me to do with this, Old Soup?" said the maior. The creature lifted one great foot after the other, and again began to utter his plaintive cry. Oat of mischief, I took Jimmy's part, and, picking up the bait box, pretended to lun with it. Tne ele phant was not going to be teased by me. He dipped hi? trunk into the Ganges,and in|an instant squirted a stieam of water over me with all the force and precision of a fire-engine, to the immense amuse ment of the children. The major at once made Soup a sign to stop, and, to make my peace with the fine old fellow, I baited his hook myself. Quivering with joy, as a baby does when it gets hold at last of a plaything some one ha3 taken from it, Old Soupra many hardly paused to thank me by a soft note of joy for baiting his line for him, before he went back to his place, and was again watching his cork as it trembled in the ripples of the river.St Nicholasfor May. The Fascinations ot Archery. So long as the new moon returns in heaven a bent, beautiful bow, so long will the fascinations of archery keep hold of the hearts of men. I can demonstrate this fascination, and can give the reasons why it exists. But first a word a3 to the fact of its existence. Since the publica tion in this magazine for July, 1877, of an article on aichery, I have received nearly five hundied letters of inquiry, and men have come hundreds of miles to see what mannei of bows and anows I use. You have but to mention an archer or archery to your friend and immediately his interest is aroused. He may scoff at the bow and Sneer at the airow but he will inquire and show curiosity, Hang along bow and a quiver of arrows conspicuously in your hall or libiary, and you will soon discover that no exquiste painting or bit of statuary will receive more attention from guests than will be accorded to these ancient weapon". No doubt if one could procure a bhell strung with gold and silver cords, after the fashion of the old time instiument where with the gods made music, the same fasi nation would attach. Indeed music and poetry sprang from the bow as did the old first lyre, the inonochoid, the fiist rule of fine art, and is as insepaiably connect ed with the history of culture as are the alphabets of tne learned languages. What the fragments of Sapphic song and the Homenc epics are to tne liteiature of to-day, the bow is to the weapons of to day. When a man shoots with a bow it is his own vigor of body that drhes the anow, and his own mind that controls the mis sile's flight. Not so with gun shooting. The modern weapon is charged with a power acting independently of muscular operations, and will sshoot just as power fully for the schoolboy or the weakling as it will for the athlete. The Sapphic songs were the natural music of love the Homeric epics were the natural out-pour ings of a great, strong, self-sufficient soul surcharged with inspiration of heroism and when Apollo is represented with drawn bow he is the symbol of the natu ral perfect physical man-hood in an at titude displaying its highest powers and graces. I- is curious to note how suiely the bow and arrows have found their" way into the hands ot all wild peoples whose mode of lite has made physicial culture a necessity withjthem, and it is equally interesting and significant to discover that among these wild peoples a chief tain is invaiiably chosen on account of his ability to draw a mighty bow. We are nothing better than refined and en lightened savages. The fiber of our na tuieisnot changed in substance it is polished and oiled. The wild side of the prism of humanity still offers its pleasures to us, and it is healthful and essentially necessary to broad culture that we ac cept them in moderation. Sport, by which I mean pleasant physicial and mental exercise combined,play, in the best sense,is a requirement of his wide element, this glossed over, physical, heathen side of our being, and the bow is a naturiai implement From Merry Dayst with Bow and Quiver,'1'' Thompson, Scnbnerfor May. Maurice sS J^jjHe Thought He Had *Em. It was evident that he had been on a long aiduous spree. His face was red. his eyes were bleary,and his hands shook. He stepped unsteadily from the slippry snow into a Sixth avenue car. The seats were occupied by ladies who were out shopping, and he had to stand. He clung to a strap, and tried hard to as sume a calm, dignified manner but his assumed stiffness became limberness whenever the car stopped, started, or turned a corner. Yet he seemed to be satisfied that ne impressed the ladies as a sober, self-possed man, whereas his pit iable condition was apparent to all. His eys fell on one of the.panels over the windows where the advertisement of an express company was framed, with a horse's head so hung in a'central open ing that it moved with every jog of the car. He did not know that such figures are a new device in horse-car advertis ing. He stared, with widely-opened eyes, Ha ll at the nodding head of the beast, and then resolutely turned away, determined that the ladies should not be made aware of what he thought was a slight touch of delirium tremens. In another panel was a shoemaker's advertisement, and he be gan to read it, hoping to divert his mind fiom the queer fancy about the horse. He perused the first printed line, which led his eyes along to a picture of a shoe maker seated on a bench at work. Sud denly, as the car ran over a chunk of ice, the man in the picture moved his arms, as though sewing the boot in his lap, and nodded his head violently. The drunkard involuntarily ejaculated Hon. Clarence Newcomb, prominent member ot the Young Men's Christian Association, and son of ex-U. S. Marshal and ex-Congressman Newcomb, under went an experence a few days ago which he will not soon forget. The sportive humor of a fiiend led to the perpetration of a joke which came near having a senous termination. Mr. Newcomb had stepped into the- vault attached to the office of Lonergan & Thiel, of the Detec tive Agency, where he is interested. The vault is used for the scoring away f valuable books, papeis, etc. A gentleman who was in the office at the time closed the door upon Newcomb by way of a piactical joke. The door closed "with a snap, and Mr. Newcomb felt some mis givings as he found himsel surrounded with a darkness which was mo3t palpable. His fears were increased by the recol lection of the fact that, except himself and Mr. Thiel, no one was in possession ot the numerical combination by which the safe was unlocked, and that Mr. Thiel had stepped out a few minutes be foie. In the meantime the practical joker went out exulting in the funny plight in which his victim must find himself when he discovered that he could not get out. Mr. Newcomb's reflections were becoming-more and more serious eveiy moment. He could not hear any sounds from the outside, and wondered what had become of his friend. He tried t cry out. but knew that his voice, even if rased to its highest pich, could not pen etrate through the thick walls that sur rounded him. He tried, but the rever berations of his voice in the narrow tomb, were almost deafening. He pounded against the walls, bruising his hand in an attempt that he knew must be ineffect ual to attract attention. A strong and powerlul man, he felt himself to be a helpless prisoner, almost without the slightest hope of rel'ef The ticking of his watch, plainly au dible in the dense darkness, admonished him of the rapid flight ot time. The in tervals between the seconds seemed long er than he had ever known befoi e. The quiet had become so intense that he could plainly hear the beating ot his heait. It thumped against his side like the sound of a pile-driver, falling at regular inter vals, and drivingso he thoughthis burial place deeper and deeper into the earth. He thought he could hear his blood as it was pumped out of his heart and coursed thiough his veins. It re minded him of a muniur of a brook flow ing thiough the woods and tricklingtiver mossy stones. The action ot hi* lungs had become suddenly and strangely aud ible. Respiration was becoming diffi cult. The fregular inhalation and ex halation of his breath sounded like a bel lows that was being worked with diffi culty The labored action of his lungs, constantly becoming harder and harder, brought to his mind the terrible question how much longer he could live in this confined astomsphere. He calculated how much air was con ained in these ^narrow walls, and how it would support life. At the farthest it appeared to him that he could not live more than twenty minutes, and then he would have to breathe this vitiated air over and over again. He cried out again, but stopped at the reflectibu that this was a useless expenditure of the very hydrogen on which he must depend for life for some time to come. The silence began to be broken by a murmur which he could not at first understand. The murmur gradually increased to a loud buzz, and then he realized that this must be caused by a rush of blood to the head, the effect of his continued confinment. The buzz ing increased to a roaring thunder. He felt himself stagger and then lost con sciousness. At this moment Mr. Thiel came in^ hurridly, having been informed of the situation, and unlocked the safe. Mr. Newcomb had fainted,* but was restored by the free use of water, mixed with some stimulants.St. Louis Font. p. The new French life-saving mattress is highly commended. It is formed of I two row. of blocks made of cork cuttings mft (iii J*4*&*i.siiXi,.ii& Sti*tw. ^^v''^ffl^V?^^fli^giripg-^i.' Ah-h!' and stared in hoiror. The ladies regarded him wondeiingly. A stretch of smooth track made the figure quiet, and the perturbed passen ger, with a strong effort regained his composure. He took a firmer grip of the strap, pulled himself up to a yery up right attitude, and coughed violently, so as to make the ladies think that his ejaculation had been caused by something wrojg in his throat. The color of his face which hid deepened to purple, was slowly paling to scarlet, when he saw a placard of a mustard manufacturer bear ing the trade maika cow. The car jolted and the cow's head and tail swayed gently and naturally. The sight doubt less destioyed the drunkard's last linger ing doubt, for he cried, "I've got \*m," and started for the door. Casting his eyes at the pictures, he saw that the shoe maker was sewing faster than before, the horse was nodding with renewed vigor, the cow ws sahaking her head and tail with vicious energy, and even the mouth of a dog was rapidly opening and shut ting. "Yes, I've got em, sure," he said, as he blushed past the conductor and lumped from the car. _^a. A Fool's ''Joke." ^'j^-^y +ire kiii^^ wqgMfyMjiy lightly compressed by machinery within a waterproof case, and the whole covered with cauvass. It forms, ordinarily, a mattress, which is intended to be placed in every ot or berth, and makes a bed which is said to be very elastic and easy to lie upon. Its weight is about six pounds, and it is constructed in such a manner that it can be quickly put about, the person, forming then a double belt and attached in such a way that it cannot possibly be displaced by the gwinds or waves. The Wee, Wee Uairnie. W H. in Kelso Courier. "Step gently, step gently." W* 'i""x'i m~* I stepped hastily back. I feared I had been treading on some of the old man's flowers, j^ji 0} r*^/,,^v* gp-Vv it He leant on his SDade, and made no motion for some minutes. At length he raised his head, and in a husky voice be gan: "Aye, sir, I mind the time as well as 'twere yesterday, and its forty years since, when our wee bairnie died. It was his fourth birth day, and he stopped up tae wait till I came home wi' a bit of present for him, I sat doon be' the fire tae wait for my supper (my wife was ben the house bakin), when I heard the pat terin' o' his little feet, an' I looked up an' held oot my arms for him. He didna come mnnin'tae them sae quick as usual, an' when I had hi: on my knees, sajs I, "An' fa'll ye be, ye wee bit nickum?"' I'm foy ther's wee, wee bairnie." An'wi'that he nestled closer to me. He didna seem cheery, see I ca'd the dog gie came lazy-like fi ae his coiaer stretrh in' his legs. The bairnie put doon his little hand. But he didna get up an* play wi't, an' seemed tired like." "Janet," ca'd I ben the hoose, "what ails the bairnie?" "Ai's him," said she.*' "Awa' wi' ye naethin' ails him." But he's tired like." Hoot," says she, nae wunner sittin"* up till this time o' night." Ah! but it's nae that, it's mair than tired he is, Janet he's nae wee." Janet took: up the child in her arms. Aweel," said she, an' he's no weel, I'll put him tae bed when I hae done wi' the bakm'," an' wi' that she set him down i' the floor. Forty years is it since but I can see the laddie standm' there yetwt his head hangm" owre his clean fiock, an' his wee bit leggies bare tae the knees. "Pit him tae bed the noo, Janet, Din na' min' the cakes." She took him up again in her arms and as she did sae, his wee facie became as pale as death, an' his little body shook a' ower. I never waited a nieenit, but awa' I ran out at the door for the doctor as hard as I could lin, twa miles across the field, wi' my heart beatin' hard at every step. The doctor wasna in. Wi' a sair heart I turned back. I stopped runnin' when I got till our gate,and walked quiet ly in 'The doctor nae in.' Waur luck,' said I, as I crossed the door. Nae a word. I turctd ronn' intae the kitchen, an' there was sich a sicht I could never forget. In ae corner was my wife lying on the grun', an' beside her the wee bit bairnienae a soun' frae either o' them. I fouchit my wife, l'th* shouther, and she lcokit up, an' then rose upwi'outa word, an'stood beside me, lookin' at the little laddie. Suddenly he gied a sfart, an' held out his arms tae me" Am I no yer am wee, wee bairnie, fayther?" 'Ay, ay, said I, for I could hardly speak, an' 1 knelt down beside him an' took his little hand. My wife knelt doon on th' other side of him and took other band. 'Yer wee, wee bairnie,' he muttered, as tae himsel'foi he gied himsel' the name an' then he laid his head back, an' we could see he was gone. The doggie cam'' an' lookit in his face, an' hckit his han' an' then wi' a low whine an' lay doon at his feet. Niver a tear did we weep but we sat baith o' us lookin' intae the sweet wee facie til' th' moinin' broke on us. The neebois cam' i' the mornin,' an' I rose up and spoke to them tae them but my wife she never stirred, nor gied a sound, ane o' them them spoke o' when he wad be carried tae the auld kirkyaird. 'Kirkyaird!' said she. kirkyaird 'Nae kirkyaud forme My bairnie shall sleep whaur he playedoor garden. Nae step layer.' 'But it'll niverbe allowecV 'Al- lowed cried she, 'the baine shanna stir past the end o' the garden. 'An' she had her way. Naebody interfe/ed an' there he lies jist whaur ye were gaun to pit yer fit, an' theie he'll lie ta the lesurrection moinin'. An' ilka evenin' my wife comes an' sits here wi' her knittin,' an' we nev er o' speakin' o' him that lies be- neath." And the old man bent down and pass ed his hand over the loose mould as if he were smoothing the pillow of his "wee, wee bairnie." K* fi pgfc&fy *4* A tsignillcant Reply. |4f?| A fine example of courteous rebuke was the answer of a distinguished Eng lish navy officer to a hasty friend. The late Commodore Hollins was once sailing fwith an American commodore who used often to msult his inferior offi cers, and apologize to them afterward. After such an insult had been offered to him, Hollins was called to the cabin of the commodore, who said: I am a man fof very passionate' na ture, and have treated you as I should not have done, and now I wish to apolo- gize." C*i i ^r ^fk Hollins replied, I, too, am a passion ate man, but I notice, commodore, that I never get into a passion witn my superi or officers, always with those beneath me." i Said a friend to a bookseller, "The book trade is affected, I suppose, by the general depression^What kind of books feel it most?" Pocket-books," was the aconic reply.