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I ill i1! 8? fc' J! a.i 11* W *3 si OT $ V? t, s' ,(', t4 ~t AN HONEST SPRING POEM. BY 8. \v. ross. 6weet with odoriferous zephyrs comes the balmy breath of spring (For tli© first, lino of a vernal poom this is about tho thing). Thy bland nuroral odors cleave tho perfumed at mosphere (Just oK^ravate tho furnace, Jim 'tis cold as Iceland hero). You shnke the glimmering roses from your sheen of sunlit liaii ninoll window (Now. Jim. run out and cutu path through that big snowbank thore). Tho swoot mellifluous brooklet flows down I through the emerald vulo (Now, Jim. come in and break the ice upon this water pail). Spring liko a resurrection wakes all nature from tho dead I (If that big icicle should fall 'twould break some body'Bhead). So let me forth, a careless wight, through vernal glades to rove— (I'm freezing cold I'll go down-stairs and fiit upon the stove). —Yankee J3l«1e. GAVE UP ITS LOST. HY HAKLKS S. STOIlY. I'NOTF..—The following is a (.rue story of tho f"ea. Ntuuo* of persons and phicesas well us cer tain minor incidents have been elmug'/d, as feorne of tho characters arc yet living.] FfEKE, pood-bye, 'mother (.-od ble.js you." The scenc is in a New England cottage. he speaker is a young niau of twenty odd summers, the older of two sons, who is about to depart on a two years' voyage to the South Pacific. 'Ob, Frank, I cuiri Jet yon go," and the poor mother, I and willing hands clasping him convulsively, weeps upon his shoulder. "Don't cry. little gently, "the time will won't go again." "Oh, it is so hard hill) sob*. '"Be brave, mother soothingly. "I will try. Good-by, Frank, my boy. and God protect and bring you. home again." "One long, lingering kiss, one deep look into her face, as if to keep it in memory forever, and the door opened and closed. The weeping mother was alone. mother, he says, soon pass and I to give you up," dear," he says, She stepped to the window and through her tears watched him down the liower-bordered path to the gate, saw him turn up the road, and he was lost to her view. Frank Thompson? for that was the young man's name, walked rapidly on for some distance, then stopped before a little cottage, stepped to the door and knocked. The door was opened by a dark-eyed, dark-haired girl, sweet of face and fair of form. "Nellie," he said, stopping inside, "I'm going. The 'Flora May' sails to night. I've come to say good-bye." "To-night! So soon?" "Yes, to-night. Cau't you give me that little word that will make me happy in spite of jaarting't" She took one step toward him and then stopped. "Are you sure you want it?" she said. "Am I sure! IIow can you ask? Have I not told you again and again that I love you? You are almost cruel." "Please don't think that of me. I don't want to be cruel." "Why are you then? Don't be so anymore. Don't you love me at all?" Jace, "Yes, Frank, I do love you° dearly." In an instant, in the fullness of his great joy, Frank strained her to his breast and covered her blushing face with kisses. "I will be long gone," he said, at length, "but, Nellie, be true and I'll come back." "1 will be tiue, Frank." "Say once more you love me." "I love you, Frank." "Goodbye, my darling, be true." "Good bye, Frank." Only one more kiss, and he was gone. Two years have gone by. Several letters have been received by both mother and sweetheart. The last one was very short, but it brought great joy, for it said that having had a pros perous voyage the "Flora May" was homeward bound. Then followed anx ious months of silence. Then came another letter, written by a stranger, saying the "Flora May" had been lost with all on board. Seven years more have passed. No word has come from Frank, and he has long been given up as lost. The mother is now stooped with age and grief. Her hair, black when Frank left home, is now white. She seldom smiles, and never speaks of her lost boy. Yet William, Frank's younger brother, has often seen tears glistening in his mother's time-dimmed eyes and trickling down her careworn face, tell ing of her grief far more eloquently than words. It is a June evening. The fragrant balm of early summer loads the air. William has strayed down to the! home of his brother's sweetheart, Nellie, and together they stand at the open gate. "Nellie," he says, earnestly, "why wait longer? We are passing our youth. Seven years have fled and no word from Frank. Be my wife. Mother needs you I need you. Say yes, darling," and he attempts to take her hand. "Stop, Will," she said, "Frank's last word was 'be true,' and, oh, I can't give him up yet." "When will you? In a month—six months—a year? Will you be my wife in one year if Frank doesn't come home "Yes, in one year. But until then no word of love must pass between us. Then I will be your wife—if Frank doesn't come uome." Her voice irembled on the last words and her eyes grew dim with tears as she bade him good night. William turned homeward with a lighter heart than he had worn since Frank left. The time was fixed when she whom he loved and had long wooed would become his owr. It is nearly one year latei on a stormy Sabbath morning. The wind howls and shrieks around a New England church, and the rain drives in gusts against tha riuip^ A small congre gation is gathered to worship. The clergyman i® ottering the morning prayer. Let us listen "Oh, Lord, God of the storm and of the .sea, shield and pro:eel the tempest tossed mariner by thine omnipotence. Grant him a haven of safety and a har bor of refuge." Suddenly the clang or bells breaks in. It is the village alarm that a vessel ison the rocks. The minister closes his prayer and dismisses his congregation. They rush to the beach. Look! Half a mile out, in the fog, under the low scudding clouds ia the wreck of a bark-rigged vessel. See her crew clinging to her ropes and spars, while the waves are washing over her decks. A life boat is launched from the shore and starts toward them. Anxiously we watch its progress. Can it reach the vessel? Now jt mounts a lofty wave and now it disappears in a hollow or is hidden by the. flying mi:st, but, see, it goes forward steadily. It is almost there. Look! They ore taking the crew on board. "One—two—three— four—five six--seven— eight,"' couuts the minister. Eight forms are taken off the doomed vessel but can they get back with that loaded boat through the foam-liecked waves? They have started landwards they come with greater caution for the tempest is in creasing in fury. They are nearer, nearer. They are almost in. Their keel touches the beach. Tweutv strong seize and draw the beat up far out of the reach of the breakers. How tho gale roars, as with rage at being deprived of its prey. More than one prayer of thanksgiving went up from the hearts of tliat group that the lives of the brave men had been spared. "Are they all here?" asks some one. "One is left," answers a weak voice. One left! A shudder of horror runs through that storm beaten company. Must he see his comrades saved and himself left to perish? Heaven forbid! A manly form steps forth. "Are there four men here who will go with me and save that one?" Silence falls on all around. It is almost certain death to go out there now. At last, one by one, four brave fellows step out. "We will go, William Thompson," says one of them, for it is William who calls for volunteers. Silently they shake hands and pre pare to launch their frail boat on their erraud of mercy. For an answer she put both her hands care for her if I don't come backand, into his and said earnestly, with averted in a low tone, as he laid his mother in her arms, will you kiss me once be fore I go "Yes, and, Will, I'm given Frank up," she said, in the same voice. The solemn silence is broken by a feeble woman's voice,— "Oh, Will, Will, my boy, my boy, don't leave me, your mother. You're all I have left. Frank was lost at sea and now you are going to the same death. Stay." He turns toward her. It is the first time Frank's name has passed her lips in years. "Mother," he says, tenderly, pet haps this is some other motherless sailor boy and if he is lost she will grieve as you have grieved for Frank. Duty calls me and you would not have me stay. "You are right, my son, go only I can't bear the thought that I shall lose you," and she fell exhausted into his arms. "Take her, Nellie," he said, "and William turned to go on his perlious journey. Trembling hands pushed their boat out, and eager, loving eyes watched them as they pulled further and further away. Now they have reached the ship's side. They climb on the wet docks and disappear. Why are they so long gone? A moment seems an hour. See, there they are again. How slowly they move. They bear a foim to the gunwale and gently lower it into the life boat. They turn their prow shoreward. Tliey have left the lee of the wreck and are out on that storm-darkened water. They are coming, nearer and nearer they are, tossed by the white and maddened sea! They go down in an awful hollow. Where are they A cry goes up from the shore— "Boat ahoy!" No answer. They are all lost. No. Once more that hail goes out on the wings of the storm. "Boat ahoy!" This time comes the answer: "All right." A few minutes more and then the question rings out: "Have you got him alive?" A moment of suspense. Soipe one is standing in the stern-sheets!: It is William. He answers in a strange' voice, whose trembling can be heard even in that wild commotion: "Yes. And tell—mother and—Nellie —it is Frank." Got a #75 J'earl with His Dinner. Edward Malley was eating a dinner at Heublein's recently, and among the first dishes served was oysters on the half-shell. He picked up one of the oysters with his fork from the shell, and his eye was attracted by a white substance which had been concealed under the oyster. It was a pearl of ex traordinary size and exceptionally fine quality, although it was entirely in the rough state. It was examined by sev eral gentlemen who were present, and it was universally conceded to be a re-, markable gem. Mr. Malley placed its value at $75, and this estimate was ac-, cepted as being none too high. He proposes to have it finished up and mounted. The oyster in which the gem was found came from one of the local dealers and was taken from a bed in the Sound.—New Haven Register. SOME men divide their lives between trying to forget, and trying to recover from the effects of trying to forget. .5 r: *VA\+i ''.' \"f ']t MISSISSIPPI'S SOURCE. THE DISCOVERY OF THE HIDDEN LAKE BY GLAZIER. A Story by Ono of His Crow, Who Tolls l» an Interesting- Slunner Some Facts About tliu ICxploior Unknown Heretofore. ness of the claim that Lake Itasca, which was declared by Schoolcraft in 1832 to be the Veritas caput, is nothing more than an expansion of the great stream whose true head lies in a lake to the south of it. It may interest the geueral reader to know that the Mississippi, if not the longest river in the world, is in many respects the greatest, and as the years advance, and the cities on its banks grow in population and impor tance, its greatness will be vastly aug mented. Ferdinand De Soto, a grandee of Spaii and Governor Geueral of Cuba, came to this continent iu 1511 with a large retinue of his countrymen in search of gold, and accident ally discovered an im mesne river flowing south to the ocean. His Spanish followers at once named ii "Rio Grande"—the great river, but Americans and the modern world now know it oniy by its Indian name, the Mississippi—"the Father of Wtiters." "Although the discovery of the Mis sissippi was made over three hundred years ago, its origin or true source was unknown to geographers before 1881. Many attempts have been made to reach the head of the mighty stream but they had all failed from various causes —among others, probably, the difficulty of access to it. Father Marquette and Joliet, a Can adian fur trader, in 1073, were the first white men to view the Mississippi after De Soto, and made extensive discover ies in the vicinity of its headwaters, but the source of the river was hidden from them. La Salle, Father Hennepin, La Houtan, Charlevoix, Carver, Pike,Cass, Beltrami, and other great explorers ap pear prominent on the scene, and the source was proclaimed by them to be at divers points which have all subse quently proved to be erroneous. Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, geologist of the Cass expedition, in 1832 discovered a lake which he believed and announced to be the true source of the great river. But he has been proved to be mistaken. SOURCE of 1,582 HE discovery of the source of the Missis sippi River in 1881 by the Glazier expe dition to Northern Minnesota gave rise at that time to some controversy, espec ially in the North west, the result of which, however, has effectually estab lished the genuine WSi/AMO MISSISSIPPI 1582 FK3 ELEVATION A (184 kill OF MEXICO He named his discovery Lake Itasca, (its Indian name isOruushkos) and upon his authority geographers and map makers were satisfied for a period of nearly fifty years to aceept it as the source of the Mississippi, Doubts however, prevailed among a learned few as to the correctness of Schoolcraft's claim, and it remained for some more modern explorers to make further in vestigation and decide the disputed question. Capt. Willard Glazier, a native of St. Lawrence County, N. Y., led an explor ing party to Lake Itasca in July, 1881, and thence paddled through a narrow creek, hidden from view by a rank growth of giant bulrushes, into a beau tiful lake above and beyond Itasca. This new lake he found to be the true head of the river. It is two miles in length by a mile and a half in breadth, and deeper than any part of Itasca. Capt. Glazier soon after published his discovery to the world and secured its recognition bv geographers. It lies many miles from the nearest white set tlement, and would be difficult to reach by land on account of the swamps in its neighborhood. The Captain and his party entered it by water. Two small creeks flow into it* southern extremity and one on its western side. These spring from sand hills two or three miles distant from the lake. Having completed his survey of the new lake, the party returned through the same narrow connecting creek to Lake Itasca, and proceeded onward iu pursuance of the leader's design to navigate the entire course of the Mis sissippi by canoe, a distance computed at 3,183 miles from its newly located source to the Gulf of Mexico. The voyage occupied 117 davs, prob ably the longest canoe trip on record. The true source of the Mississippi is now generally recog nized as Lake Glazier, in latitude About 47 degrees north, at an altitude feet above the Atlantic ocean and Itasca has been relegated by our map-makers to its true position its the first expansion of the infant, Mississippi. Of Willard Glazier we have gleaned some interesting particulars from his biography by John Algeron Owens of Philadelphia. He was born in the town of Fowler, St. Lawrence County, New York, in 1841, and assisted his father on the farm until the age of 15. By self denial and industry he was enabled to take an academic course at the Gou verneur Wesleyan seminary, and in his 17 th year securtd a position as teacher I in Renssalaer County. He afterwards I entered the State Normal school at Albany. When the rebellion broke out he' was in Albany and, fired with patriotism, at once threw aside his books, enlisted in the ranks of the Second New York cavalry, under Col. Clarence Buell of Troy, and was soon on the march to the scene of the nation's conflict. At Falmouth Heights, Aldie, Fredericksburg, Cedar Moun tain, Second Bull Run, Brandy Station, and in many other fields, he followed the fortunes of Bayard, Stonemari, Pleasanton, Gregg, Custer u.ud lvil patrick. His horse was killed under him at New Baltimore, and he fell into the hands of the enemy. This was in October, 18(53, and four days afterwards he found himself within the walls of Libbv prison. Here he remained eight months and was successively removed us a prisoner to Danville, Macon, Sa vannah, Charleston and Columbia. From Columbia be made his e-caj e, but was recaptured in Georgia. A sec ond time he struck for liberty, but was re-takeu by a Texas regiment, uf Wheeler's cavalry. He was tried as a spy and kept in close confine ment until he effected his third and fiual escape from Sylvan ia, Ga. After twenty-eight nights of weary travel through the cypress swamps of S:uth Carolina and Georgia, he reached the Union line- Hi-, term of service had expired and he at once applied for a commission. He obtained a lieutenancy iu the Tv. enty-sixth New York Cavalry, iu which regiment he served until peace was proclaimed from Appomatox. He was then breveted as captain and honor ably discharged. During his military career, his bravery was frequently men tioned by his superior officers on the battlefields of Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania. Since the close of the war, Capt. Glazier has devoted his time almost ex clusively to literary pursuits. His "Capture, Prison-pen, and Escape" at tained a syile ol' over 400,001) copies. "Soldiers of the Saddle," "Battles for the Union," "Heroes of Three Wars," followed in quick succession, and of these the press has spoken in terms of well-merited approbation. A later work, "Peculiarities of American Cities," has also become very popular, and his latest production, "Down the Great River," has arrested the attention of many thou sands of readers. On May 9, 1870, Capt. Glazier rode out of Boston with the intention of crossing the continent to San Francisco on horseback. His object was to study at comparative leisure the country and condition of the people he came in con tact with. The tide was accomplished iu 200 days, lii ol' which were in the saddle. Capt. Glazier has justly merited the encomiums he has received from the press and other sources as an honor able aud enterprising man. and a credit to the State that nurtured him. His name will doubtless be associated with the Mississippi for all time. I'er Capita Consumption. The American negro, even in the days of slavery, was usually allowed a weekly ration of three pounds of bacon "and a peck of meal, besides vegetables and other products, either of the plantation or his own garden patch. This made at least 150 pounds j.er annum, not to mention the occasional possum and chicken that were respectively his legit imate plunder and this amount of meat is more than the average con sumption of any European nation, and two or three times as much as the aver age ration of several of them, includ ing with the peasant and artisan the citizen and nobility. The average consumption of meat in the United States is probably not less than 175 pounds per annum. Of other civilized nations, oniy Great Britain exceeds 100, and many of them scarcely average fifty pounds. The consumption of cereals by man aud beast is three times as much iu proportion to popula tion as in Europe. For the past ten years the average has been forty-five bushels for each unit of population, while the usual European consumption does not vary greatly from sixteen bushels per annum. Whi.e all is not used as food for man, no small part contributes to the meat supply. The average consumption "of wheat for bread is nearly five bushels, and about three bushels of maize and one bushel of oats and rye, or approximately nine bushels for each inhabitant. The average European consumption of wheat is about 3.5 bushels. In the consump tion of fruits the difference between this and other countries is marked with un usual emphasis. Small fruits, orchard fruits of all kinds, and tropical fruits, as well as melons of many varieties, are in profuse and universal daily use in cities and towns, and in the country the kinds locally cultivated are stiil cheaper and more abundant, in their respective localities, though scarce in the regions of recent settlement, and those uusuited to a wide range of specie--.—American Miller. A Oiuiu iti Ik irk" The Gazelle, of Los Angeles, Cal., has the following interesting" item con cerning one of California's exhibits at the exposition: "The section of the big redwood tree for exhibition at the World's Fair at Chicago is from the largest and most perfect "big tree" in California, cut for the purpose from the forest in Tulare County. It measures fullv ninety-nine feet in circumference at the base. Tha height of this monster specimen was 312 feet, being 172 feet to the first limb, which limb measured three feet in di ameter. The tree is supposed to ba nearly 3,000 years old, taking each con* centric ring to be one year's growth. It is to be taken from an altitude of 6,325 feet above the sea level,aud thirty-three miles from the nearest railroad." THE WIFE'S WAGES. Site Is Oltcn i'aiil than I was asked to speak at a farmers'in stitute the other evening on the subject of the wife's share. This is "taik" of which I never tire, says T. D. Berry, in Jiiwal Neio 1 or/i er. An it I took occa sion to speak of the grumbling way iu which some farmers dole out money to their wives how ti wi often has to ask and almost br for what is simply her own in justi. The next day I was talking with .. well-known manu facturer and chant in tho town on the subject, ile thought I did not overstate he ma-'^r. He said that a farmer and his were in his store tradin.". N", I can that the man was trading, ai.il the wife, or servant, or slave, was standing by. While doing this, she picked out three or four lutle articles on the 5 cent counter, (only costing 5 cents each) aud asked her husband to let her have them. She pleaded that she would like them so much. He answered, with an oath, "No, by you can't have any money to s).o: on such tom-!oo!ery." Web ster define- slavery as having one's will under the control of another. Isn't that woman a slave Are there not a great many farmers' wives, and town rnoivs wives :o, who are slaves to a greater or less extent? Aud still I suspect that even the ntan spoken of above was not really as bad as his voids might indicate. Let us in charity, while condemning the deed in st,rouge language, think as well oi the man as possible. Doubtless money came slowly and hardly to him. Per haps lie was brought up by a lord and master father or little by little he had come to lord it ovei his mate, until thoughtlessly, let us hope, not inten tionally, he had become a veritable tyrant. In regard to town wives, I have it di rectly li-om a lady living in the city that sue is, unknown to her husband, scrimping their living expenses and laying upfcmall sums Irom time to time in the savings bank to her credit. This is saved from money grudgingly given her, oftentimes, for household ex penses. Aud she says she knows a neighbor's wife who has quite a little money in the savings bank, which she has from time to time taken out of the money drawer at her husband's store when she could do it unseen. At another time when her husband was called down stairs at night she took some money from his pocket-book. The remark was made that she had got through begging for what washer own she had found out a better way. These cases I can vouch for. A lady says on this point, in a recent number of the World: "Husbands sel dom pay their wives the compliment of thinking they can manage a bank ac count. What is the result? The wife grows cunning and underhanded, aud condones the ways and means she em ploys to get money from her husbaud as legitimate self-defense. She en ters into unholy alliances with her dressmaker and milliner to send in bills for larger amounts than she really owes, aud through their connivance re ceives the difference. She resorts to coaxing and all the pretty juggling a woman possesses—nay, she even lier husband's pockets at night." I think it was Beeclier who said that if you wanted a mau born right you must begin with his grandmother. I would like to know what sort of men we are likely to have in the future from such grandmothers as the above men tioned women I liope everv man who reads The Iiural will do what he can to put an end to this terrible state of af fairs. If he isn't yet prepared to take his wife in as a full and trusted partner, let him at least surprise her, beginning the first of next month, by handing over to her a reasonable amount of cash, ac cording to their circumstances, once a month, to do as she pleases with. Let this not be less, if possible, than she could earn by doing housework for some one else. If it doesn't luring tears of joy to her eyes and gladness to her heart, in many cases, enough to well pay you, I miss my guess. But do it because it is simple justice be cause it is right. Do it for the good of future generations if you haven't any love left for your patient, hard-work ing, faithful wife. Give her a little t.aste of the freedom you enjoy. But, for heaven's sake! if you must continue to be lord and master, and the head at home in private, when you go to the store to trade, and other people are around, do not make your wife's lot doubly hard by showing" up your true character. A Quandary. "Was the man drunk when you saw him?" asked Justice Clark of a cautious witness, concerning the prisoner at the bar. "Well, I wouldn't swear to that, your honor," was the reply, "but he seemed to be in a quandary." "A quandary?" What was his quan dary the justice inquired. "Well, sir, he was standing in a mud hole, holding to a post, and wsyiting to go home. He knew that if he let go he'd fall in the mud, and if he didn't go home he'd catch cold but he was still undecided when I left, and that was about 2 o'clock in the morning. Justice Clark fined the accused, and then his wife came in aud found him, aud paid the bill. She seemed to be a very business-like woman, and had an air about her that gave the lie to the testimony about accused wanting to go home.—Fairhaven Herald. Too High. "How do you sell strawberries'" asked a hungry-looking man as ho bus tled into a confectionary store on Woodward avenue yesterday afternoon. One dollar," the clerk answered, reaching for a box of the fruit. "One dollar a peck or a bushel?" asked the prospective purchaser, hesi tating. the^)o.Uar^'" Ba^ c*erk replacing The man staggered, grasped the counter for support, and said" in sub aued ies: "Gr me five cents' worth of fies Detru., Free Press. TLES in the air are walled in br fan remarked the poet. "Faith Id a rale fence," said Pat. 3* CBTLBRGh The pleasant flavor, gcntlo tlio More J'oorly SorvuHts. soothing effects of Syrup action W: •on 0f |i-|gs need of a laxative, and if tho mother be costive or bilious tho tying results follow its use, so that"*1 best family remedy known and ev ily should have a bottle. freaks are in the samo fix. "NE'ER Copyright, 1S90. 'V511 Cry THE man who "feels himself fn, ferent from other men" slm.^i ways brag about it. Dime a UlSeu seek a wife till you and a lire burning." und even th„« u'°usi that she uses BAPOLIO If vo,, cloan, cosy home., sUrj wsat /Ms vq Fashion's favori\ fad, centers in that famous, fascina ting game—lnwn tennis. But there are women who cannoj engage in any pastime. They arl delicate, feeble and easily exhausted They are sufferers from weakness! and disorders peculiar to females] which are accompanied by gal!oJ complexions, expressionless eyes ana haggard looks. 1 For overworked, worn ont,1 run down," debilitated teacherJ milliners, dressmakers, seamstresses! shop-girls," housekeepers, nurs'mJ mothers, and feeble women gen| erally, Dr. Pierce's Favorite Prel scription is the greatest eartliljl boon, being unequaled as an appeJ tizing cordial and restorative tonioj It's the only medicine for women! sold by druggists, under a posithJ guarantee from the makers, of eatJ isfaction in every case, or money reJ funded. This guarantee has beeij faithfully carried out for years. S. 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