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ra
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i
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ISTAddress all letters to
"MILLHEIM JOURNAL."
The Mnslc of the Rain.
falling, on the house-tops,
With a music quaint and rare,
Like tho sound of human heart-throbs
On the silcut midnight air;
Or the tears ol angels falling
When they weep with those who weep,
Or the lullaby of mothers
When they rock their babes to sleep.
Like the drowsy wine of poppies
With its wierd, enchanting power,
Coming to the weary listouer
Like the dew to drooping flowers;
Like calm fleep to those who suffer,
Or like tears to those who mourn;
Like remembered words of lored oues -
FrotnViur aching bosoms torn.
Strangely sweet, bewitching music,
All enthralled my souses lie,
As I watch the mystic Future
With the shadowy Past go by,
While a calm and holy quiet
Steals upon my heart and brain,
Then I tall asleep, still listening
To the murmur of the rain.
So, mayhap, sometime hereafter
1 shall lay me down to rest,
Overweary, and shall listen
For the musio I loved best;
When, its gentle cadence tailing
Through the midnight silence deep,
Soltly soothes my troubled spirit,
While it lulls me into sleep.
When, at last, my soul has fallen
Into sweetest, glad repose,
That oa earth sunshine nor shadow
No awaking ever knows—
Like the voice ot waiting angels,
Or the vesper bells in toll,
May the soltly-lalling raindrops
Chant a requiem tor my soul,
—A'inne in Baldwin's .Monthly.
SPEAKING TOO SOON.
It was a sunshiny May day, with an
immense bee booming among the lilacs
and peonies in the school garden, an
intense glow of golden light on the
grass, and a dreamy languor in the air
that made Alice Hopkins sleepy in
spite of herself, as she sat with the
little children's copy-books in a pile
before her, inscribing the month's
marks upon their covers, according to
their respective merits.
Alice was scarcely more than a child
herself. Barely nineteen, with a
slight, young figure, a color that came
and went at the slightest variation of
her pulse, and pleading hazel eyes, it
was the hardest work in the world to
assume the dignity that was necessary
for her position as assistant teacher.
"I never saw such babykhness in
my life!" said Miss Negley, Hie princi
pal; "and I shall not put up with it,
Miss Hopkins—don't you think it!
Dignity, in the educational line, is
everything. And I do not call it
fitting to the position of assistant prin
cipal to be racing around with the
children in their noonday games, and
dressing a corn-cob doll on the sly for
little Priscilla Jones, to say nothing
about bursting out crying like a gTeat
baby, when Billy Smith killed the
robin-redbreast with a stone. Dignity.
Miss Hopkins—dignity should ever be
the watchword of our profession"
Miss Negley was tall and grim, with
heavy black hair, a sallow complexion,
several missing front teeth, and some
thing very like a moustache.
Alice Hopkins cowered before her
severe glance.
"I'm very sorry!" faltered she. "I'll
try to be good!"
"More like a child than ever!" said
Miss Negley, despairingly.
"I—l mean," Alice hastened to cor
rect herself—"l will endeavor to set a
guard upon my rash impulses."
"That sounds more like it!" said Miss
Negley. "And now, Alice, see here! I
expect some of the school trustees here
to-morrow."
"Oh, dear!" said Alice, remembering
the signal failure of her class upon a
similar occasion, not so very long ago,
"It isn't another examination, I hope?"
"Worse than that," said Miss Negley
—"far worse!"
Alice lifted her hazel eyes in amaze
ment. What could possibly be worse
than Fanny Dow spelling cat with ak,
and Lucy Malley asserting that Balti
more was situated on the left bank of
the river Nile.
"There is a proposition on foot to re
duce our salaries," said Miss Negley.
"Actually, to reduce our salaries!"
"Oh," said Alice. "But mine is very
email already. Only one hundred dol
lars a year. I don't think they can re
duce it much."
"They can reduce it to fifty, can't
they?" said Miss Negley, shortly.
"In that case," ventured Alice, "I
could go and be a shop girl in my
uncle's store in the city. One must
live!"
"You've no proper pride," said Miss
Negley. "A shop girl indeed! But 1
don't intend that they shall carry out
their nefarious plans. If— My good
graeious me! there comes Mr. Bar
thorne now jogging along on his old
gray horse just as composed as if he
wasn't bent on an errand of evil.
They do say that old Barthorne is the
head and front of the whole business.
I'll show him! A reduction of salaries,
indeed! I dare say he means to
Itie ffliUhdm Journal.
DEININGER & BUTVTILI-iER, Editors and Proprietors.
VOL. LVII.
wheedle a consent out of us before
hand, s that everything shall seem
smooth to-morrow when the commit
tee meets. But he'll find that he has
mistaken his customer Litis time!"
Little Alice began to tremble all
over, and to grow pink and white by
turns, after her usual fashion when sho
was disturbed.
"I—l am so frightened!" hesitated
she. "Flease may Igo home?"
"Yes, you little coward," impatiently
responded Miss Negley; "that is, if you
haven't the courage to stand up for
yourself and your rights."
"But Mr. Barthorne has always been
so kind to me," faltered Alice Hopkins,
"and if he should tell me that it was
best, I almost know that I should con
sent to having my salary reduced.
\ ou know, dear Miss Negley, that if it
hadn't been for him, I never should
have received the appointment at all."
"I don't wonder," said Miss Neglev,
apostrophizing the ceiling, "that they
aren't willing to allow women the
privilege of suffrage in this benighted
country. And you, Alice Hopkins,
you may go home! You certainly will
be of no use at all to mo in fighting
this battle,"
And Alice, heartily thankful for
this grudgingly-accorded reprieve, put
the copy books into the desk-drawer,
piled up the dictionary and deliner,
caught her little pink lawn sun-bonnet
from its nail, and vanished like a flying
shadow into the nearest patch of cedar
woods.
Miss Negley sat very upright, with
folded arms and prominent elbows,
her nose slightly tinctured with the
rosy hue of coming battle, her lips
slightly compressed; while Mr. Bar
thorne, a pleasant-faced gentleman of
five-and-forty or thereabouts, trotted
up to the school house door, leisurely
dismounted, tied his horse to the hitch
ing post, and, totally unconscious that
he was observed, alike by Miss Negley
from her post of authority on the
school room dais, and little Alice Hop
kins by the spring in the woods,
paused to dust his boots with his
yellow silk pocket handkerchief, and to
adjust Ills lllick. daiiv 2 U yl.. .A' V Xv_/1 C AIA. j
rapped on the door.
"I'm glad I'm not there," said Alice
Hopkins, with a long sigh of relief.
And then, having cooled her face
and hands in the transparent spring,
she sat down to think.
To her, a reduction of her scanty
salary meant nothing less than starva
tion. As things w ere she could scarce
ly pay her board and other expenses.
And sitting there in the shifting
shadows of the wind-blown branches,
she cried a little, to think how- solitary
and friendless she was in the world.
Miss Negley, however, was in a very
different mood.
"Come in!" she had answered,
brusquely, to the knock at the door,
without taking the trouble to move
from her seat.
And when Mr Barthorne entered, he
espied her sitting stiff, silent, straight.
"Good afternoon, Miss Negley!" said
the trustee, depositing his hat on the
nearest desk and venturing on an apolo
getic bow.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Barthorne!"
Miss Negley answered, with just about
as much warmth as an icicle in her
address.
"I hope Ido not intrude," said the
trustee, civilly.
"Oh, not at all!" said Miss Negley.
"A—hem!" said the trustee, evident
ly ill at ease. "It ain't easy to broach
the business I've come on, Miss Negley.''
"I should think not," said the lady.
"But I called just at this hour, when
I expected to find you alone—"
"Oh, yes, I haven't any doubt that
you did!" Miss Negley interrupted
in accents of fine sarcasm. "Even
you, Squire Barthorne, would be
ashamed to hint at such a thing before
the poor, dear children "
"Eh ?" said Mr. Barthorne, instinct
ively retreating a pace or two, for
there was something pythoness-like in
Miss Negley's attitude, as she rose and
darted her head forward at him to em
phasize lier words.
"I know what you're going to say,'
said Miss Negley; "and I won't listen
to a word of it—not one word! No one
but a set of narrow-minded misers
could have thought of it. I'll leave
Wyndale school first!"
"Well, well, no harm done," said Mr.
! Barthorne, clutching at his hat. "If
I'd have known that you'd taken
things as hard as this—"
"How did you suppose I was going
to take 'em?" said Miss Negley, with
a scornful laugh. "Did you mistake
me for the dust under your feet?"
"I assure you, ma'am, that nothing
of the sort was in my mind," humbly
uttered Mr. Barthorne. "I wish you
good afternoon!"
He hurried out, remounted his gray
steed, which, poor beast, was just com.
posing itself for a comfortable doze in
the sunshine, and rode off, making, to
Alice Hopkins' intense dismay, straight
for the shady cedar-woods, where she
still sat arranging ferns around the
ribbon of her hat.
"There's no use trying to run
away," thought she. "1 may as well
stay where 1 am. And after all, why
should I be afraid of Mr. Barthorne?"
Mr. Barthone checked his rein as he
saw tho pretty young school teacher
there under the cedar. He nodded
pleasantly.
"Fine day. Miss Alice!" said he,
wiping his brow with the identical
yellow si.N\ pocket handkerchief which
had but now served as a duster for his
boots.
"Yes," said Alice, standing like
some fair wood nvmph beside the
spring. "Please, Mr. Barthorne, what
did she say?"
"What did who say?" said the mid
dle-aged gentleman, turning scarlet.
"Miss Negley. Don't think me in.
trusive," she added: "but 1 know all
about it."
"The deuce you do!" said Mr. Br
--thorne. "Why, she wouldn't let me
get in a word edgewise—that's what
she said. Perhaps, however, I've had
a lucky escape!"
"But you must own that it is hard,"
said Alice, earnestly.
"Hard?" echoed Mr. Barthorne. "1
should have supposed it would have
suited her exactly! But," a new idea
bursting athwart his brain, "there's as
good fish in the sea as ever were caught
out of it! Miss Alice, what would
you say if I were to ;isk you to be my
wife?"
Alice Hopkins looked at him in
amazement.
"I, Mr. Barthorne!" she exclaimed.
"You are young enough to be my
daughter, sure enough," said the I
worthy man, not without some bitter
ness. "But I'm not so very old, cither,
and I've a good home to offer any
woman who will take pity upon my
loneliness."
"Loneliness?"
Alice looked at Mr. Barthorne in
surprise. It had never occurred to
her little innocent heart that Mr. Bar- j
thorne. in the big white house, with
j'UU ol l)l3rta UUU nw |
carriage, could ever be lonely. And
perhaps there was something in the
dewy brightness of her eyes, as she .
raised them to Mr. Barthorne's face,
that emboldened him to plead his
cause with more energy.
"1 should love you very dearly, |
Alice," he said, with a tremble in his
voice. "I would be very good to you. ,
Won't you answer me, Alice?"
Her head drooped; there was an in- j
stant of silence, and then she said in a
low tone;
"Yes, Mr.Barthorne, I'll marry you.'*
He bent and kissed her forehead.
"You'll not regret it, my lass," said
he. "And you're the very girl I would
have picked out of a thousand. I'm
glad, now, that Miss Negley wouldn't
listen to me."
Alice started.
"Oh, Mr. Barthorne," said she,""wea e j
that your errand?"
"Of course it was," said Barthorne
"Dr. Smiley said she was the very '
woman 1 needed to regulate my house ;
hold. But the moment I hinted at the
subject, she as good as ordered me ofi j
the premises. Not that I'm sorry foi
it. She has a face like a man, and $
figure like a Prussian grenadier!"
Alice broke out laughing. She
could fancy exactly how Miss Negley
had looked. There was comfort in the
reflection that Miss Negley would
never lecture her more.
Miss Negley battled with the com
mittee next day, but in vain. The
ruthless trustees reduced her salary one
half, and when it transpired, in some
unaccountable way, that she had
actually refused Mr. Barthorne (with
out being asked) she felt that life was
indeed a failure. And the arrival ol
Alice Hopkins' wedding-cards did not
better matters.
"Oh, dear, oh, dear!" she said, "J
spoke too soon. Why didn't I wait tc
hear what Mr. Barthorne had to say
before I answered in such a hurry?
My tongue always was my besetting
fault!"
Opium Smokers.
Most authorities agree that the first
opium smoked by a white man in
America was consumed in California
but there is a division of opinion as to
when the vice was introduced. Dr.
11. H. Kane of New York, who has
given the subject careful study, says
that in 1868 the practice was begun in
the United States by a California
"sport" named Clendnyn, but Dr. Allan
McLane Hamilton says that he saw
white smokers in San Francisco joints
lng before that time. The habit
traveled rapidly Eastward, and reached
New York in 1876. In Park, Mott
and Pell streets among the Chinese the
first joints were opened. Now more
than 6000 Americans are said to be
slaves to the habit of opium smoking.
MILLHEIM, PA., THURSDAY, JUNE 21, 1883.
The President ai a Nehoolmeater —An
Karly Poetical lCfTualoii--How He En>
a Olflldcnt Youth.
A pleasant reminiscence of Presi
dent Arthur's college days is told by
I)r. Asa G. Stillman, of Albia, a sub
i urb of Troy. In the little village of
North Pownal, Vt., thirty-one years
ago, Chester A. Arthur, then a stu
dent of Williams college, taught school
during vacation at the college to earn
money to help defray the expenses of
his education. Among the country
lads who were placed under the in.
struction of tho struggling student was
Stillman, then a boy of eight sum
mers. It appears that the future presi
dent of the United States was unusual
ly strict in tho rules governing his
rural school, and rigorously insisted
that each of the young ideas in his
charge should speak a piece every ex
amination day. Young Stillman lacked
tho courage to declaim in the presence
of the visitors who called to note the
progress of the pupils. This want of
bravery served as a sufficient excuse
for exemption until Mr. Arthur re
solved that it was no longer available,
and insisted that Stillman should spout
! with the rest of the boys. Stillman
had been led to believe that the pieces
I tho other lads had recited were all
! original, and complained that he was
unable to compose anything that
would prove acceptable. The day be
fore the examination arrived, and all
the scholars excepting Stillman were
prepared for a burst of eloquence on
the morrow. Stillman was requested
to remain after the school had been
dismissed, and visions of a boy receiv
ing tho beneiit of a birch rod. wielded
by our chief magistrate, flitted through
his mind. The scholars had all de
parted, when Mr. Arthur, addressing
the quaking Stillman, said smilingly:
"Don't you think you am speak a
piece to-morrow V"
"I haven't got one," was the answer.
"Will you learn one if I write it
down for you ?"
"I'd try, but I can't read writing
well enough," was the reply of the
"Then I'll print it for you," said tho
persistent tutor. "Will you learn it if
I do?"
"I'll do my best," sighed the juve
nile, cornered at last.
Mr. Arthur thereupon printed in
letters large and distinct the following
"poetic gem." The original manuscript
has been preserved by Dr. Stillman
since the day President Arthur printed
the verses in that little Vermont school
house:
Pray, how shall I, a little lad,
In speaking make a figure;
You aro but j*-sting, I' m "Iraid,
Do wait till 1 get higher.
But since you wish to hear iny part,
And urge me to begin it,
I'll strive tor p'ftise with all my art,
Though smull uiy chance to win it,
• I'll tell n tale, how Farmer John
A little roan colt breJ, sir,
And every night and every morn,
He watered and he led, sir.
Said Neighbor Joe to Farmer John,
"You surely are a dolt, sir,
To spend such ilaily care upon
A little useless colt, sir."
The farmer answered wondering Joe,
"I bring my little colt up
Not for the good he now can do,
But may do when he's grown up."
The moral you may plainly see,
To keep the tale Irom spoiling,
The little colt you think is me,
I know it by your smiling.
I now entreat jou to excuse,
My lisping and my stammers, views,
And since you've learned my parent's
I'll humbly make my manners.
When Asa Stillman made "his man
ners" after relieving himself of the
above, he was met with tho congratu
lations of his teacher, his parents and
the visitors. President Arthur fre
quently refers to this maiden effort in
letters to the physician, whose first
son he named Chester Arthur Still
man. This boy, at a Sunday-school
gathering, a few evenings ago, re
cited the simple lines, he having then
arrived at precisely the same age as
his father was when the latter deliver
ed them.— Chicago Tribune.
Loceinotive Caprices.
It is perfectly well known to expe
rienced engineers that if a dozen dif_
ferent locomotive engines were made
at the same time, of the same power,
for the same purpose, of like material,
in the same factory, each of these loco
motive engine would come out with
Its own peculiar whims and ways, only
ascertainable by experience. One en
gine will take a great meal of coal and
water once; another will not listen to
such a thing, but insists on being coax,
id by spadefuls and bucketfuls. One
is disposed to start off when required
at the top of his speed; another mus t
nave a little time to warm at the work
and to get well into it. These pecu
liarities are so accurately mastered by
skillful drivers that only particular
men can persuade engines to do their
best. It would seem as if some of
these "excellent monsters" declared,
! Dn being brought from the stable, "If
It's Smith who is te drive, I won't go;
A PAPER FOR THE HOME CIRCLE.
AKTHUR AS A POET.
if it's my friend Stokes, I am agreeaiole
to anything." All locomotive engines
are low spirited in damp and foggy
weather. They have a great satisfac
tion in their work when the air is crisp
and frosty. At such a time they are
very cheerful and brisk, but they
strongly object to haze and mists-
These are points of character on which
they are united. It is their peculiari
ties ami varieties of character that are
most remarkable.— Eleaitcd Railway
Journal.
THE CUSTER MASSACRE.
An Account of the SUiuhlcr Ulvtu by
au Indian Woman.
Since General Custer and his com.
mand of 300 were massacred by the
braves of Sitting Bull, two or three ac
counts have been given, each of which
purported to be a correct history of
tho fight. But of the particulars of
the scene there have been only meager
accounts. The St. Paul Pi inter Press
publishes an interview between a cor
respondent at Standing Rock Agency
and the wife of Tatatukahegleska, or
Spotted Horn Bull. This woman is
first cousin to Sitting Bull, and the
story is vouched for as being a true
account of the battle. After describ
ing the advance and tile retreat of Ma
jor Reno—whom she declared to be
either drunk or crazy and his men
thoroughly panic stricken—the wom
an stated that the retreat and its con
sequent slaughter was scarcely ended
when the blare of Custer's trumpets
told the Sioux of his approach; but
they were prepared for him. The men
quietly crossed the river, and hundreds
galloped to his rear out of range at
first but soon hemming him in constant,
ly narrowing circles. The woman
mounted her pony and rode behind
her camp, where she could get a good
view of the hills beyond. She saw the
troops come up and dismount. Each
fourth man seized the bridles of three
horses besides his own. The rest de
ployed and advanced on the run toward
the river. She saw the terrible effect
of the withering fire which greeted the j
Approach from the willows on the In- i
as she said: "Our people, boys and all,
had plenty of guns and ammunition to
kill the new soldiers. Those who had
run away left them behind." Slowly
trotting north along the outskirts of
the encampments, she noted the Indians
who had crossed getting closer to the
troops. She watched the latter —those
who were left of them—retreat to
their horses and mount. She heard
the yells of her kindred and the shouts
of the whites; but soon, as the former
grew plentier and the latter fewer, she
could distinguish little save here and
there an animated cluster of men and
horses.
Slowly her pony jogged down the
stream. When she reached the Minne
conjo camp, on the extreme left, not an
hour's ride, she said not one white
soldier was visible on the field. Of
horses there were plenty; these the
Indians spared. The Custer men were
soon stripped and the Indians knew
they had killed the long-haired chief
by his buckskin coat trimmed with
beaver which they found upon him.
The Sioux lost thirty killed, and more
than twice as many wounded, the
Indians numbering five thousand in
all.
Preserving Power of Salt.
It is well-known that in soil where
lime abounds, dead bodies are fossilized
in a few years or even a few months
after burial. In soil where there is no
lime there are sometimes other ele
ments which often preserve the fear
tures of a buried body unchanged for
many years. The philosophic Hamlet,
musing by an old grave over the fact
that man turns into dust, and dust into
earth, exclaims:
"Imperial Caesar, dead and turned to clay,
Might atop a hole to keep the wind away !"
But what would have been his mus
ings if he had stood beside the disin.
terred body of his father and seen brow
and form appearing as natural as when
he gave "the world assurance of a
man?" Yet this might have been,
for there are numerous cases on record
where bodies disinterred for removal
after years of interment, have been
found to be as well preserved as if
they had been only a few days dead.
General Washington's features were
quite perfect when his body was taken
up to be put in the sarcophagus where
they now repose. The same was true
of General Wayne, when his body was
removed forty years after death; and
of Robert Burns, twenty-one years
after burial. But it seems almost in
credible that the body of John Hamp
den, who was disinterred 200 years
after death, should have been in a
similar state of preservation. But
Lord Nugent records the fact. His
word is not to be questioned. Possibly
the most remarkable fact of all these
cases is that the bodies crumbled to a
heap of dust soon after exposure.
Terms, SIOO Per Year in Advance
FEABLS OF THOUUHT.
Idleness is the door to all vices.
Success is a fruit slow to ripen.
Egotism is the tongue of vanity
Many are esteemed only because they
are not known.
Conscience warns us as a friend be
fore it publishes us as a judge.
Hints are like thistlo-down. You
cannot tell where they will light.
Those who set up a standard must
expect to be judged by that standard.
Lose not thy own for want of ask
ing for it; it will get thee no thanks-
Thought is slow-paced—imagina
tion often reaches the goal ahead of
it.
A torn jacket is soon mended, but
hard words bruise the heart of a
child.
You may depend upon it he is a
good man whose intimate friends are
all good.
The light of friendship is the light
of phosphorus—seen plainest when all
around is dark.
We seldom find people ungrateful
so long as we are in a condition to
render them service.
Envy is a passion so full of coward
ice and shame, that nobody ever had
the confidence to own it.
UNDER WATER.
A XMver's Experience With Sharks and
Other Creatures of Uie Vaty I>etp.
Harry H. Ballard, of New Orleans,
one of the eighteen marine or salt
water divers of the United States, was
found confined to his room in the pay
ward of the Cincinnati hospital by an
attack of inflammatory rheumatism,
caused by exposure as a diver.
"Did you not fear the sharks in your
diving expeditions?" asked an Enquir
er reporter.
"That is a subject about which there
is a great deal of humbug. Old sailors
with lots of idle time on their
hands love to spin yarns about the fe- i
KM&f i$ a cow- J
less you provoke the quar
rel. I have met thousands of them !
and had them swim all around me,
with their horrid, glassy, deathlike
eyes glaring at me and their huge
mouths under their belly snapping as
though ready to swallow me. The
noise that the air makes roaring into
the shells frightens them and then
they see that the man is moving about
At Callao harbor, which is a regular
sharks' nest, I went down forty feet or
more and met lots of these ocean dev
ils, but none of them offered to molest j
me.
Divers have various expedients for
avoiding these animals, and one was
told me on the Peruvian coast A di
ver was at work on the wreck of a
Spanish man-of-war in West India
waters. A safe containing $3,000,000
was the object of his search, and after
hours of patient labor the treasure
was found. While he was shackling
heavy iron chains to the treasure box
a dark shadow, long and motionless
suddenly attracted his attention.
Looking upward he saw a huge spot
ted shark, twenty feet long, poised
above and watching every movement
as a cat does a mouse. The diver for
got about the $3,000,000, and walking
a short distance, was on the point of
signaling to the tender to pull him up,
when a glance convinced him that it
would be sure death. The shark
watched his every movement, and
with a scarcely perceptible movement
of his tail, overshadowed his victim
with its huge proportions. Never be.
fore had the diver more need of cool
ness and nerve, together with his wits
about him. He spied a long layer of
mud close at hand, and he moved tow- j
ard it. The shark followed, gliding
stealthily toward him, while a thrill
of horror ran through his veins. With
an iron bar he stirred the mud, which
rose thick and fast above him; the
clear, golden light of the water disap
peared, and the diver escaped.
"The only scare I ever had with a
fish was when I first went down off
the South American coast. I had a
great big crowbar in my hand, which
perhaps fell about a foot or eighteen
inches below my feet. Just beneath
mo lay a huge cuttle-fish fast asleep.
Of course I did not see him, and the
crowbar went clear through him. The
cuttle-fish has a peculiar mode of at
tack. He discharges a black humor
whioh manes the water look like ink.
The first thing I knew it was so black
all around me I could not see my hand
before my face. I couldn't imagine
what had broken loose and I signaled
to pull me up. The natives all laugh,
ed and told me it was only a cuttle
fish. Not long after the cuttlefish was
worked ashore and there was my crow
bar gone clear through him."—Gin
cinn>iti dnauirer.
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NO. 25.
The Train.
Haiti
It comes!
It hams!
With ear to ground •
I catch the sound,
j The warning, courier-roar ,
That runs along before.
The pulsing, struggling now is dearer!
The billaides echo "Nearer, nearer,"
Till, like a drove ol rushing, frightened cattle,
With dust and wind and clung and shriek and
rattle,
Passes the Cyclops of the train!
J see a lair luce at a pane,—
Like a piano-string
The rails, unburdened, sing;
The white smoke flies
Up to the skies;
. j The sound
I Is drowned—
Hark!
Charles H. Crandall in the Century.
PUNGENT PARAGRAPHS.
"A dream of fair women" —rich
men.
What a mother lacks in skill she
makes up in enthusiasm when she
cuts her boy's hair.
"I'm going to turn over a new leaf,'
as the caterpillar remarked when he
had successfully ruined the one he was
' on.
Strong as is the power of imagina
tion you cannot make a woman be
lieve that she does not need a new
bonnet.
"Whisky," said the doctor, "hardens
the brains." "Maybe it does," replied
the horrible example, "but it softens
the knees most won'erfully."
A Venetian glass manufacturer is
fabricating ladies' bonnets by the thou
sands, and selling them, too. That
style of bonnet ought to make good
looking-'lasses.
"Where are the springs of long ago ?"
writes Edith M. Thomas, in sweetly
flowing verse. Give it up, Edith. Some
of them may be hanging in that old
hoop-skirt in the attic.
"Let us pursue the subject a little
farther," said the medical students at
the bedside of a dying patient. So the
next night they went and stole the
j body from the cemetery.
I through the Body ola mure vj iuo —
Mississippi cyclone, so the story goes.
Even a cyclone has to approach a mule
* sideways to get the better of him.
The scene is laid in a railway car
riage, where seven passengers are
smoking furiously. The eighth pas
senger, courteously: "I beg your par
don, gentlemen, but I do hope that my
not smoking doesn't inconvenience
you."
He had turned and twisted in his
seat for nearly an hour, vainly trying
j to make an impression on the young
lady who sat behind him. At last he
asked: "Does this train stop at Cic
ero?" "I don't know, sir," she quick
ly replied, adding: "I hope so, if you
! think of getting off there."
A Canine Critic.
In the year 1839 a phenomenon ap.
peared in the musical world which
attracted considerable attention in
Germany. A gentleman well known
as an enthusiastic musical amateur of
Darmstadt, in the Grand Duchy of
Hesse, had a female spaniel, called
Poodle. By striking the animal when
ever music was played, and a false note
struck, she was made tohowL At last
the threat of the upraised stick was
equally effective, presently a mere
glance of the master's eye produced
the same howl, and at last the false
note itself. A German paper of - the
period says: "At the present time
there is not a concert or an opera at
Darmstadt to which Mr. Frederick S
and his wonderful dog are not invited'
or, at least, the dog. The voice of the
prima donna, the instruments of the
band, whether violin, clarionet,
hautbois or bugle—all of them must
execute their parts in perfect harmony,
otherwise Poodle looks at its master,
erects its ears, shows its grinders and
howls outright. Old or new pieces,
known or unknown to the dog, pro
duce the same effect." It must not be
I supposed that the discrimination of
the creature was confined to the mere
execution of musical compositions.
Whatever may have been the case at
the outset of its musical career,
towards its close a vicious modulation
or a false relation of parts produced
the same result. "Sometimes to tease
the dog," says our German authority,
"Mr. S. and his friends take a pleasure
in annoying the canine critic by emit
ting all sorts of discordant sounds from
instrument and voice. On such occa
sions the creature loses all self-com
mand, its eyes shoot forth fiery flashes,
and long and frightful howls respond
to the inharmonious concert of the
mischievous bipeds. But the latter
must be careful not to go too far, be
cause when the dog's patience is much
tried it becomes savage, and endeavors
to bite both its persecutors and their
instruments.— London Society.