PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY
IN
MUSSEP/S EUILDING.
Corner ol .llnin and Penn 8I. nl
SI.OO PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE;
Or $1.25 if not paid In advance.
Acceptable Correspoato Solicited.
137"Address all letters to
"MILLHEIM JOURNAL."
The New-Old Story.
Aoross the vsllev , from hill to hill,
A bird is tiring to meet his mate:
Across the summers, from will to will
Young Love is shooting the threads of Fate.
The miller's girl and the farmer's boy
In the village ihurch give glances shy;
And each to each is a glowing joy,
As the ruddy yeais sweep waltzing by.
To the home tree bring each hippy bird
A lock of hair or a bit of clay;
So build the lover.*, by look and word,
A cosy n st for a coming day.
In branching willow} beside the rill.
The young birds mimic the old birds' notes;
Ar.d cbildreu are shouting above the mill,
As they run to launch their tiny boats.
Oh, ever the stream runs sweet and clear.
Outpoured auew from the springs above;
And ever the world keeps young and fair,
Since love is its life and its life is lovo.
- The Continent.
A Plot that Succeeded.
"Well, Vincent, and what docs she
nay ?"
Mrs. Morrison asked the question
with conscious pride. J>ho was quite
certain that tho impending verdict
would be in her favor, llow, indeed,
could it be otherwise?
She sat there in the cool shadow of
her jessauiine-covered porch, in a dress
of pale-green muslin, strewn all over
with coquettish little bars of rib
bon, a book in her lap, a lily fastened
into her belt. Her housekeeping tab
lets were on the bamboo stand beside
her, and a recipe for "snow pudding"
was half copied on its l;ist leaf.
The fact was that Mrs. Morrison
had just taken the helm of her house
hold. and that she took a true woman
ly delight in its management. And
this soft summer day had been espec
iajly sanctified and set apart by the
fa t that her husband's mother had
made her first visit on it.
It hal been a little embarrassing,
too. Young Mrs. Morrison had scarce
ly known what to say. She had only
<asked the elderly lady's advice about
this, that, and the other thing. She
ha I deferred to her opinions, and writ
ten down one or two infallible recipes
in the tablets as to moth-eaten furni
ture, fermenting preserves, and cheese
cloth bed comforters.
The dinner had been very nice.
Bridget had not committed a single
solecism in waiting, and Mrs. Morrison
could not think of a single flaw in the
day's entertainment So that now,
when Vincent had returned from driv
ing his mother in a little basket phae
ton to the depot, she claimed her meed
of praise with eager smiles.
"What does she say, Vincent?"
Mr. Morrison laughed, and kissed
the fresh, upturned face.
"She says, Polly, that you are a nice
little woman," he responded.
"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Morrison.
"You know very well that that isn't
what T mean at all, Vincent. About
the house, you know. And the dinner,
and all that."
"She thinks, my dear," said the
young husband, a little awkwardly,
"that you do very well, considering
your inexperience."
"Oh, considering my inexperience I"
said Mrs. Morrison, with somewhat of
a pout I "Well, what else?"
"But she suggests that you ought
not to keep but one girl," added Mr.
Morrison, bluntly.
"Why not?"
"Oh—hum—ha !" hesitated Morrison.
"The family is small, you know, and
my mother thinks—that is, it has
always been her experience—"
"Well, go on," cried Polly impatient-
Iv.
w
"That every housewife ought to un_
derstand practically the workings of
her own household machinery."
"But I don't comprehend," said
Polly, arching her brows. "Does she
mean that I ought to black my own
stoves, and scrub my own kitchen
floor, and wash my own dresses ?"
"I suppose so," said Vincent. "And
really it's a capital idea, when one
comes to think of it. So I told her,
Polly," rubbing his hands a little
guiltily, "that we would send Bridget
away and get along with little Betsey.
Betsey is very quick ana handy, you
know; and, as my mother says, there's
io reason why a strong, healthy young
woman like you should sit with folded
hands doing nothing."
"Oh J" said Polly.
"Now don't go to getting vexed,"
Baid Mr. Morrison, with a blundering
sort of a perception that all was not
right "Because, of course, you must
see that there is a good deal of sense in
this view of affairs."
"Does your mother think that Ido
nothing at all?" cried tolly, with a
rising lump in her throat.
"Well, she thinks, don't you see? that
every woman ought to have a practi
cal knowledge of—"
"Pshaw !" cried Mrs. Morrison; and
she jumped up and went into the
house.
Vincent looked after her, with a low
>vhistle.
the pli I 111 rim Journal.
DEINUNTGFR & BUMILLER, Editors and Proprietors.
VO!.. LMI.
"Xow she is angry/' said he to him
self. "And the right of the matter is
so evident, too. Women are queer 1"
But presently Polly came b;u'k, the
smiles returned to her faee oneo more.
"Forgive me, dear," sho said. "I
lost my temper for just one half-quar
ter of a second. It's all right now.
Did you say you had given Bridget
warning ?"
"Well, yes. That is— "
"Aery well," said Polly. "I'll go
and get some iced mil'; and pound-cake
for you. A"on must bo dreadfully
tired and thirsty after yuur long drive.
And," she added, demurely. "1 dare
say that there's a great deal of good
sense in vonr mother's advice."
"You'll take it, then?" said Mr. Mor
rison, much relieved.
".f you say so, dear," said the obedi
ent wife.
But when Mr. Morrison was smok
ing iu the little porch after tea, Folly
sat down and wrote an affectionate,
confidential little note to her husband's
uncle. Commodore Chesson, who had
taken a father's place to him since he
was ten vears old. She wrote;
"Dr.AU Uncle! Do come to me at once. The
roses are in bloom, the cherries ripening on the
trees, anil ICo need you so terribly! 1 want coun
sel, help, advice! Do come. Affectionately,
r.U'LINA MORUISOX.
Commodore Chesson smiled.oll the
hurried note as he read it.
"What is the matter with tho prec
ious little humming-bird now?" he
said to himself. "Is there a little
cloud 110 bigger than a man's band
across tho horizon of her domestic
bliss? Well, well, I will go to her! I
never had a daughter, but when I am
with Paulina, I can imagine how a
father's heart is stirred with the deeps
of tenderness."
He went to Briar Lodge, and he had
a'long chat with Polly, before her hus
band came home.
Vincent was glad to see his uncle-
He was always glad to see the bland,
courteous old veteran; but he was a
little mortified when Polly joined
them, after tea, with an intinitessimal
smudge across her nose.
"My darling," said he, "what is that
on your face?"
Polly glanced at the glass.
"Oh?" said she, rubbing it off with
her pocket handkerchief; "blacks! I've
been doing the kitchen range. Su' ha
job!"
Vincant cleared his throat with
some embarrassment.
"Can't you give us a little music*
Polly?" he said.
But Mrs. Morrison shook her head.
"Couldn't, possibly," said she. "I
ran a little splinter into my finger this
morning, scrubbing the kitchen closet
floor, and it has been poulticed ever
since. Besides, since I have been
doing Bridget's share of the cooking, 1
never get any time to practice. One
can't do two things at once, you
know."
Mr. Morrison rose quickly.
"Shall we go down to the stables?"
he said to his uncle. "The roan horse
has something the matter with his
foot. Perhaps you could advise me
about it."
But, once arrived at the stables, only
one stunted little lad could be found
in charge of the premises.
"Owen!" Mr. Vincent called, some
what impatiently; "Owen! What can
have become of that lazy fellow?
Where are you, Owen ?"
' "Oh," said Commodore Chesson,care
lessly, "it is Owen Linn you are call
ing. I sent hiin about his business
this afternoon! A great, lazy, hulking
fellow that don't earn his bread!
What do you need of anybody irior e
than Billy here?"
Vincent stared.
"But who is to groom the horses?''
said he.
"Do it yourself!" said the commo
dore, briskly. "Why, when 1 was
your age, I could have groomed a
whole stableful of horse 3 before break
fast every morning, and not even feel
it. An able-bodied man like you has
no business with such an army of re
tainers! A man is best served when
he serves himself. That is my max.
im."
Mr. Morrison winked, involuntarily,
as if an unexpected verbal shower-bath
had decended on his head.
"And about that horse's foot," said
Commodore Chesson. "It's the shoe
ing, I dare say. Nobody seems, nowa
days, to understand how to shoe a
horse."
"Wixon, down by the wind-mill has
a pretty fair idea of his business," be
gan Mr. Morrison.
"Nonsense !" said he. "Do it your
self'
"What? Shoe my horse?" exclaimed
Morrison.
"Why not? A man ought to know
everything about his own stables."
said the commodore. "Get the iron.
Set up a little forge. Make your shoe,
and you'll be sure it is properly made.
Shoe your horse, and you'll be certain
lie's not crippled by clumsy hands."
"I'm a little afraid that it might be
MILL! I KIM,
the other way," said Vincent, rather
ruefully. 1 don't know anyth.ng about
such things."
"Then you ought to learn," said
Commodore Chesson, with a cheerful
a r.
"I shall miss Owen, dreadfully 1"
grumbled Mr. Morison.
"Don't accustom yourself to be de
pendent upon any one," said the com.
modern. "It is never a good plan.
Here's this fence falling down. Are
vol! going to allow your property to go
to ruin in this sort of way?"
"I'll speak to the carpenter to-mor
row," said Vincent, faintly.
"Do nothing of tho sort," said the
commodore. "Buy a plane, a hammer
and a pound of nails, and do it your
self."
"My dear uncle, I'm not a carpen
ter."
"But you should be," shouted the
old gentleman. "Every > uin ought to
understand practically the details of
his own establishment."
"Mr. Morrison glanced up quickly;
but Commodore Chesson preserved im
perturbable gravity of manner.
"But, don't you see, uncle Chesson/'
said Mr. Morrison, impatiently, "that
that sort of thing would make a per
fect slave of me? Here 1 shall be all
this glorious summer evening, rubbing
down the horses and patching up tho
garden fence."
"There's nothing like being practi
cal." remarked the commodore. "A
stout young man like you should not
bo afraid of work."
But this time a truant twinkle in
his eye betrayed him.
"Uncle/* cried Vincent, "this is a
plot ! You and Polly are in league to
gether against me."
"Not in the least," said Commodore
Chesson. "She simply told me what
your mother said. Now, L think it's
hard if your uncle can't also have a lin
ger in the family pie. If she lias got
to be practical in her kitchen, why
shouldn't you be practical in your
stables and garden? 1 don't suppose
she likes to drudge any better than you
do."
Vincent Morrison pulled his
moustache thought fully.
"Xo," said he, "to-be-sure not ! But
isn't it strange, unci'*, that 1 never
thought of the matter in this light
before?"
"Yes," said the commodore, half
smiling. "it is strange what a selfish
world this is! But now listen to nm
my lad. Take ray advice not to take
other people's advice. Owen has only
gone to Penncassett, to bring Bridget
back again. Your wife is your com
panion, not your drudge. Don't try to
mould her fresh young bloom after the
dried-up pattern of a hundred years
ago. She's simply perfect, as she is
now 1"
"I think so, too, sir," said Vincent*
with enthusiasm.
Bridget came back before it was dark.
Owen resumed bis old place in the
stables, and not a word was said about
the mysterious changes in the house
hold machinery. Except that Vincent
Morrison stopped just long enough tc
kiss hi 3 as he went up stairs that
evening.
"Forgive me, dearest!" he whisper
ed. "I see that I have been wrong.
Hereafter, my wife is too precious to
be made a slave of."
Polly kissed him back again, with
true, wifely tenderness.
"It's all right, 1 see," said Uuole
Chesson, when his nephew was gone.
"Yes," said Polly, brightly, "it is all
right!"
Rights of the Bull in England.
A recent decision by Lord Coleridge,
C. J., in the queen's bench division, as
quoted by tho New Jersey Lav; Jour
nal, sounds singular here, where stat.
utes and municipal regulations so gen
erally prohibit estrays, and hold their
owners liable. I nfenced highways
are increasing under the protection of
these laws, and in some New England
cities and villages there are long
stretches of front yards and lawns
without any defensive protection from
the traveled street or roadway. Tho
judge in this case ruled that the owner
of an ox, which had entered the plain
tiff's open shop door while being driv
en through the street, could not be
held liable for damage done. lie said:
"We find it established as an exception
upon the general law of trespass, that
where cattle trespass upon unfenced
land immediately adjoining a highway,
the owner of the land must bear the
loss (qubtiDg authorities). I could not,
therefore, if 1 would, question the law
laid down on such eminent authorities,
but I quite concur in their views, and
I see no distinction fur this purpose
between a field in the country and a
street in a market town. The acci
dent to the plaintiff was one of the
natural and inevitable risks which
arise from driving cattle through the
streets, in or out of town. —Scientific
American.
A PAPER FOR THE HOME CIRCLE.
'A., THURSDAY,SEPTEMBER IS, ISB3.
THE YELLOWSTONE TARE.
A Tract Larffrr than Ithode Island and
llcliiwrara Combined-Knarred for n
National I'ark— Interacting l>aacrtp-
UOH.
It will surprise most readers not fa
miliar with western distances that the
Yellowstone park is larger than the
states of Delaware arul lihode Island
together. It is situated on the borders
of Wyoming and Idaho Territories,
and was set apart for a national park
in 1872, though its striking character
istics wero discovered ten years before.
It is sixty miles long, from north to
south, and fifty-five wide from east to
west. It has a number of lakes, but
its largest stream is the Yellowstone,
and its largest lake has the same name.
It has a number of mountains, rang
ing in height from seven to ten thous
and feet, capped with snow all tHe
year, and full of geological curiosities.
Volcanoes and glaciers were evidently
in operation there at a lato period.
The roads run through chasms and
gorges and over the beds of streams
now dry. The greatest variety of wild
animals is there. There ere buffaloes
in the basins, and elk graze on the
mountain sides. Moose haunt the
marsh and heavy woodlands. Six spe
cies of hears inhabit the forests, and
small game abounds,though reptiles are
few and far between. Two-thirds of
the area of the park arc clothed with
dense forests of fir, spruce and pine;
choke-cherries, gooseberries, and cur
rant both black and red grow along the
streams. The meadows are bright
with familiar flowers. Pasturage is
excellent. The nights are frosty, even
in summer; very hot days are seldom
known; and the winters, though
snowy, are not severely cold. The
most remarkable features of the park
are its calcareous springs, whose depos
its harden into terraces as they dry
and glisten in the sunlight. The
waters are hot and secth up from
below with angry aspect. There are
many immense geysers, the earth
around which rumbles and shakes, and
the air is hot with fetid odors. There
are springs of boiling mud, white,
orange, green, violet, purple, brown and
blue. There are liuge cones with open
ings at the tops, tvhenee issue clouds
ol noisy steam. Tliero are petrified
forests, where the ground is strewn
with trunks and limbs of trees which
have solidified into clear, white agate.
There are mountain sides worn by gla
cial action into spectral shapes that
look almost human. There are cata
racts of the most stupendous majesty
and power. There are cratered hills,
with rochs all around that are warm
to the touch and hollow to the tread-
There is a natural bridge, a rival t<>
that of Virginia. In describing the
Hot Springs of the Yellowstone Lakc t
Mr. "VVisner says: "Seldom are the
water and deposits of any two springs
alike. There are coral, honeycomb,
basinstonc, pebble, scale and crystal
formations, the whale making kaleido
scopic groopings of color and design.
Down in the limpid depths of many ol
the springs are grottoes and arch-like
structures. One dazzling white pool>
the very type of purity, entrances the
visitor, who stands with wondering
eyes, to look far down below upon
what may only be likened to a resplen
dent fairy grotto of frosted silver en
crusted with, pearls. Another crystal,
clear, and colorless basin has a rim
blazing with hues of sapphire, opal,
ruby, and emerald. Still another
full to the brim, has the corrugated
sides of its profound deeps adorned
with tints of reddish gold. Several ba
sins of unknown depth are mantled
with a saffron skum of the consistency
of calf s leather. This leathery sul>-
stance is not of a vegetable nature, but
is deposited by the mineral constitu
ents of the springs. It forms in layers
which arc brightly mottled with red t
yellow, green and black on the under
surface, and the lowermost strata are
solidified into pure, finely grained
sheets resembling alabaster." It was
certainly a very happy forethought and
wise act on the part of the Federal
government to set this wonderfully
picturesque region apart for a nation
al park, to be kept- f° r the enjoyment
of visitors forever.
Peonage in Mexico,
The system of peonage still exists in
Mexico. In case of debt the debtor's
personal services, or wages earned
from another employer, belonging to
his creditors until the debt is paid; but
it has been modified of late years, so
that it does not now apply to debts
over $lO. If a man trusts another
over that sum, he does so at his own
peril, if he lias no property. lie can
command his services up to $lO worth,
but n farther. The old life-servitude
is thus done away with, to a great
extent, although many of the lower
classes manage to keep perpetually in
debt, and„ consequently, practically
daves. The law, whether it be good
or bad, is executed in Mexico.
AN HERB FARM.
A Unique Farm In Fnitlnnd Where
J*lanta and Floweri Csad for Medical
and Other I'urpom ara Urown.
Near the small village of Mitcham
in the English county of Kent, is a
farm which is peculiar, and is the only
one of its peculiar kind in the world.
It is used for the production of plants
and flowers for the manufacture of
essential oils, scents, and medical prep
arations, as well as for their use direct
ly in medicine. There are acres of
roses for making rose-water; \iolets,
lavender, peppermint, and other herbs
for oils and scents; licorice, grown
for its roots, which contain a peculiar
kind of sugar that is found in no other
plant, and known as "glycynhizine,''
and appears as the common black
sweet gummy substance used as a
medicine for coughs and colds; chamo
mile, grow n for its pleasantly bitter
and tonic flowers; the white-tlowered
poppy, whose round seed capsules are
used for making extracts and for fer
mentations; lovage, whose root is used
as an aromatic stimulant; a species of
cucumber from which a purgative
drug, called "elaterium" is made; the
red cedar, grown for its leaves, from
which a powerful medicinal oil is dis
tilled; a white flowered plant, "Solan
urn nigrum," so called because it be
longs to the family "Solanacea," to
which the potato and tomato belong,
and which has blackberries that are
virulently poisonous; also the related
plants belonging to the same family
and equally poisonous, "Atropa bella
donna," the fatal deadly nightshade,
which has beautiful purple flowers
formed very much like the blossoms
of the potato; the common henbane,
and our very common jimson weed,
both well known as puisonous drugs
used in medicine, litre are grown
sweet and bitter, fragrant and fetid,
wholesome and deadly, beautiful and
repulsive, and all derive their opposite
qualities iruin the same kindly soil,
the same warm sun, the same gentle,
sweet dew-drops, the same benevolent
showers, and the same life-giving air.
From this garden and laboratory,
with its stills and alembics, the whole
world is supplied in part, and the
business of this Mitcham herb farm is
world renowned. Its harvest time is
a scene of picturesque activity. Many
women and children are busy here
in the fields cf roses; there among the
white-flowered chamomile, which is
grown much as our common sweet
herbs, the plants three or four feet
apart each way, and is planted annual
ly. Lavender and pepperraent last
three years, new beds being made by
transplanting from the old beds suc
cessively. Licorice is newly planted
every spring from cuttings of therrooft f
which are long, and go down several
feet into the soiL The business of the
farm is a rich one because it is a high
ly skilled one, and is a branch of agri
culture in which there is very little
competition.
llalcyou Days.
According to the ancients, the king
fisher, called in Greek, Halcyon (from
"the sea" and "brooding upon"), was so
named from Haley me, a daughter of
JEolus, and the wife of Ceyx. The
story goes that Ceyx was drowned
while on his way to consult the oracle,
and that, in a dream that night, Ilal
cyone was informed of the fate of her
husband. Next morning, as she wan
dered disconsolately on the shore, she
found His body washed up by the
waves, and, overcome with grief, threw
herself into the sea. The gods, in ad
miration of their mutual affection,
changed them into kingfishers.
The kingfishers were supposed, at
that time to make their nests during
the seven days proceeding the winter
solstice (about December 21st), and to
lay their eggs (luring the seven days
directly following it; and it was a pop
ular superstition that the sea remained
calm and tranquil while they reared
their young. And, therefore, these
fourteen days were called "halcyon
days," or days of calm, pleasant weath
er. On this account the ancients re
garded the halcyon as the symbol of
tranquility, and because it lived near
the water it was consecrated to Thetis,
a sea-nymph. The bird about which
such wonderful stories were told was
probably nothing more than the com
mon kingfisher of Europe, the habits
of which are very much like those of
the belted kingfisher.— St. Nicholas.
Like a Fair of Shears.
"Marriage resembles a pair of
shears," says the Soinerville Journal
so joined that they cannot be separat
ed ; often moving in opposite directions,
yet always punishing anyone who
conies between them." But very often
they meet only to sever.— Statesman.
"There's no place like home," repeat
ed Mr. Ilenpeck, looking at a motto,
and he heartily added: "I'm glad there
isn't."
Terms, SIOO Per Year in Advance.
CHILDREN'S COLUMN.
"I Know a Tltlitv <*" Two.'
"My dear boy," said a f;tlior to his
only son, "you are in had company.
The lads with whom you associate in
dulge in bad habits. They drink,
smoke, swear, play cards and visit
theaters. They are not safe company
for you. I beg yoil to quit their
society." *
"You needn't be afraid of me,
father," replied the boy, laughing. "I
guess 1 know a thing or two. I know
how far to go, and when to stop."
The lad left his father's house,
twirling his cane in his fingers ami
laughing at the "old man's notions.''
A few years later, and that lad,
grown to manhood, stood at the bar of
a court before a jury which had just
brought in a verdict of "guilty" against
him for some crime in which he had
been concerned. Before lie was sen
tenced lie addressed the court, and
said, among other things: "My down
ward course began in disobedience to
my parents. I thought I knew as
much of the world as my father did,
and I spurned his advice; but as soon
as I turned my back upon home, temp
tations came upon me like a drove of
hyenas, and hurried me to ruin."
Just (he Time to be I'lensant.
"Mother's cross!" said Maggie, com
ing into the kitchen with a pout on
her lips.
Her aunt was busy ironing, but she
looked up and answered Maggie:
"Then it is the very time for you to
be pleasant and helpful. Mother was
awake a great deal in the night with
the poor baby."
Maggie made no reply. She put on
her hat and walked off into the gar
den. But a new idea went with her.
"The very time to be helpful and
pleasant is when other people are
cross. Sure enough," thought she,
"that would be the time when it would
do the most good.
"I remember when 1 was sick last
year I was so nervous that if any one
spoke to me, I could hardly help being
cross; and mother never got angry nor
out of patience, but was just as gen
tle with me. I ought to pay it back
now, and I will."
And she sprang up from the grass
where she had thrown herself, and
turned a face full of cheerful resolu
tion toward the room where her moth,
er sat soothing and tending a fretful,
teething baby.
Maggie brought out the pretty ivory
balls, and began to jingle them for the
little one.
lie stopped i retting, and a smile
dimpled the corners of his bps.
"Couldn't I take him out in bis car
riage, mother? It's such a nice morn
ing," she asked.
"I should be glad if you would,"
said her mother?
The hat and sacque were brought
and the baby was soon ready fc his
ride.
"I'll keep him out as long as he is
good," said Maggie, "and you must lie
on the sofa and get a nap vhil* I am
gone. You are looking dreadfully
tire
The kind words and the kiss that
accompanied them were almost too
much for the mother.
The tears rose to her eyes, and her
voice trembled, as she answered:
"Thank ycu, dearie, it will do me a
world of good if you can keep him out
an hour; and the air will do him good,
too. My head aches badly this morn
ing."
What a happy heart beat in Maggie's
bosom as she trundled the little car
riage up and down on the walk!
Bhe had done real good. She had
given back a little of the help and
forbearance that had so often been
bestowed upon her. Sho had made
her mother happier, and given her
time to rest.
She resolved to remember and act
upon her aunt's good word: "The very
time to be helpful and pleasan' r, when
everybody is tired and cross."
Animals Before Engines.
Generally a cow will stand facing the
engine with horns uplifted until the
cow catcher reaches her nd rolls her
from the track. Trains arc occasion
ally wrecked by an animal robing in
under the locomotive's drivers. Trains
kill great numbers of sheep every
year. A few years ago a flock of 200
sheep were being driven along the
dusty road near Yarmouth, Me. The
stock stampeded from the road to the
track, huddled into the narrow notch,
and the locomotive mowed a clean-cut
swath through them, splashing the
track and rocks with blood. Out of
200 only 30 were unhurt A hog is
the worse to run into, and a flock of
turkeys, once on a track, are there
only to be killed, no amount of whist
bng being powerful enough to frighten
them away.
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NO. 36.
On the Beach.
I clasped in mine her tender hand,
And Hide by side, with loitering paoe
And panning sometimes lace to face,
We wandered slowly on the Btrand.
We left behind a iuughing crowd;
We felt no noed lor company;
Ourselves, our thoughts, the beach, the sea*
Ihe clear Line heavens that o'er us bowed,
Made us a ported solitude.
Where ull with peace and joy waa filled;
Where jarring loars and cares were stilled,
And speech w ere interruption rude.
So, on we wandered, hand in hand,
O'erglad to be to each so near,
So heart-oontcnt, so lond and dear,
Alone upon that pleasant strand.
And when our iootsteps we retraced,
The comrades we had left behind
Exclaimed: "Well, wlmt's ujion your mind
Old boy ? What fancies have you chased.
"While wandering slowly and alone?
You aro not wont to stroll away;
What do the wild waves say to-day,
By us uuluncied and unknown?"
X smiled. They could not see the hand
I clasped in mine, the upturned face;
Their duller eyes beheld no traoe
Of Little iootprinte in the sand.
But that sweet hoar along the sea
Will never vanish irom my heart,
When, silent, Jrom ail else apart,
I walked with unseen company.
—B. S. Conant,
PUNGENT PARAGRAPHS.
"Time levels all thiugs," exclaimed
the man, when a large clock fell on him
and knocked him down.
It is when a woman tries to whistle
that the great glory of her mouth is
seen without being very much heard.
" My wife's sister, out in Injanna, is
dead, and she's wearing mournin', and
she thought it'd be more appropriate
like to use black tea for a while now."
Before the Police Commissioner:
" Isidore Ferblantine, this is the
thirteenth time that you have been
arrested for theft" "Ah, it is s
humiliating to beg! "
"I meant to have told you of that
hole;" said|a gentleman to his friend,
who, walking in his garden, stumbled
into a pit of water. "No matter," said
the friend, "I have found it"
" Show me the way up to a higher
plane," says Ella "Wheeler, the western
poetess. Certainly, Ella; just step up
into the elevator and tell the con
ductor to let you out at the top floor.
Plenty of room up there.
"Mamma, what's a book-worm?"
"One who loves to read and study and
collect books, my dear." The next
night company called. Miss Edith,
who wears rings innumerable, was
present "Oh, mamma, look at Miss
Edith's rings. I guess she's a ring
worm, ain't she?"
Some young ladies have invented h
new plan for securing husbands.
"They go out boating with a man of
their choice, contrive to upset the boat,
then grab him and save his life, the
victim generally showing his gratitude
by marrying his preserver." It is a
novel scheme—for young ladies who
can swim; but the probabilities are
that a few years after marriage the
man will regret that his life was
saved.
"Tell me something I don't know,"
squeaked a silly youth who had been
chattering like an ape to his compan
ion for several minutes, greatly to the
annoyance of the other passengers in
the car. "Well, sir," said a dignified
old gentleman, "I will tell you some
thing you don't know. You are a
jackass, sir!" When the admiring
audience had ceased applauding, the
youth who had thus suddenly acquired
some valuable information was not in
sight.
Germs of Disease.
It is fortunate that only an infinit
esimally small proportion of the germs
of disease that are always abroad in
the atmosphere can ever meet with
the combination of conditions that is
essential for their development. Ac
cording to Professor von Pettenkofer,
of Munich, a germ, ere it becomes ca
pable of producing actual disease, must
not only find a susceptible subject, but
must also find that subject in a favora
ble locality and at a favorable time;
and, as disease germs are not, as a
rule, very long-lived, the vast majori
ty of them die without encountering
the necessary conditions. If such
were not the case, it is certain that the
human race would cease to exist; for
the chief of the micrographical depart
ment of the Paris observatory has re
cently discovered that the number of
disease germs of one kind or another
contained in a cubic metre of the air
of the French capital is in winter 7,-
1)00; in May, 12,000; in June, 35,000;
in August, 23,000; in October, 14,000;
and in November 8,000; and it cannot
be supposed that the atmosphere in
London and other large cities is much
less tainted than it is in Paris, or that
the air, even of the country districts,
Is wholly uncontaminated. — St. James
Gazette,