Democratic atdjn Bellefonte, Pa., Oct. 14,1892 For the WarcumAN. THE FUTURE. M. V. THOMAS. Oh ! who would draw aside the mystic veil That hides the future from our curious eyes? And who is here, that wishes to behold ‘What danger in the road before him lies ? Oh! who would care to contemplate the grief That must be ours ere we can go from here ? Behold the spectre looming from afar? . Torob us of our strength ere we are near. If we could see the pain that we must bear, The cares we must assume, tears that must flow; We would our terror-stricken hearts grow faint— Long ere that time sink neath our weight of woe. Could we but see what boulders bar the way, What deep abysses, there, before us lis— Our courage would take flight; and how soon we Helpless and weak, would lay us down and die. If we could see the joys that will be ours When these onr present years will een have passed ; Anticipation soon would make them, old. These flowers of life whose freshness cannot last. If we could see all things before they come ; No new surprise would we find on our way, No longer would life's wayside flowers be bright. T*‘would be one changeless scene from day to- day. Oh! Wisdom great! that hides from us our fate ; Oh! Mercy kind that will not let us see ! The wondrous things that we must know and feel, Till from the bonds of earth we are set free. ——————— ON A FIELD SABLE, BY KATHARINE FESTETITS. Twelve o'clock had sounded some minutes ago, and Miss Virginia Yerby sitting at her desk in the Patent Office, had pushed aside her “briefs”? for the time, and was assuming to eat her lunch, All around her other,clerks of the division were really eating theirs —-gay young girls laughing and chat- tering over their chocolate e'clairs ; stout practical matrons disposing stolidly of thick boarding-house sand- wiches; thin nervous-looking spinsters nibbling bakers’ trash as a mere ac- companiment to the sirong creamless tea which they brewed for themselves in little clubs of two or three over a gas fixture, and upon which they depended for the factious strenth which was to pull them through the long dragging tacks of the afternoon. Allof them seemed to be enjoving the brief “interval for refreshments” more than Miss Yerby. She bit into her roll with an abstracted air of not knowing whether it was tougher than usual or rot, and her glance reverted modily from time to time to an unop- ened letter which lay on the desk be- fore her—unopened because its con- tents were easily conjectured that the girl seemed in no haste to verify them, but went on nibbling her roll, the look of care meanwhile not unmixed with a certain sad annoyance deepened in her grave gray eyes and about her sweet firm lips- She folded up her little fringed napkin presently with a suppressed sigh, and replaced it in her shabby black silk bag : all the “lady clerks” brought their luncheon to the office in black silk bags, more or less shabby, according to the degree of remoteness from Christmas or from their seyeral birthdays. Then, with a resolute look as of one who prepares to meet the in- evitable disagreeable, she took up the letter and broke the old-fashioned splotchy seal, “My Duar DavenrEr,” it began, and the sight of the tremulous handwriting feebly traced in ladylike pale ink soft- ened the girls resolute look with a touch of tender patience—*I write these few lines to inform you that I am not enjoying good health, and I hope it will not find you the same. My ruma- tiem distresses me dreadfully this win- ter, and it seems as if this house grew damper all the time. Like its pore mistress, it is getting 61d and no ac- count—wore out in the service of oth- ers, If I could afford to keep better fires, it would not be so bad, but I don’t think of indulging myself in these hard times. Ab, itis sadly different from what it was in my dear Father's day. Every Virginia gentleman in those times had as much woods land as farming, and the great logs used to be piled up to the jaws in kitchen, parlor and chamber. But those times, is past, and you must not think I am complaining. No. I've learned in my declining days to be grateful for any mercies, no matter iow small ; and I trust, my dear Ginnie, that you too are cultivating a spirit of thankfulness to your heavenly Parent. I hope your appetite is good ; but then you have I am pleased to think, everything to tempt it at the fashionable “boarding- house where I see you are still staying, in spite of the high charges. My own is but pore. Friends tell me If I was to coax it with beef tea, oysters, fresh eggs, and the like soft nourishing food —but I never was one to pamper my- gelf. | They say also that I ought to have a bit of fur for my neck, now that the cold weather is coming on, "But I tell them my daughter needs all the fine clothes to keep up with gay society in Washin’ton and my text is, ‘The Lord bath given, and the Lord hath taken away ; blessed be the name of the Lord.” Do take care of yourself, my dear Ginnie; don’t wear your stren’th’ out’ working for that miser- able black Republican ‘gov’'ment, If it wasn’t for them, we'should be living still in the midst of our broad ances terl acres, instead of my pinching in one or tworoomsof the old house, while the rest moulders to decay; and | | ‘Never mind,” ; : answer to her own vain . conjeetyre ; | a low-down carpet-bagger bas g morgidge on everything except the family graveyard, where I expect soon to be laid beside your dear Pa. It's a disgrace to the proud old name of Yerbr that one of its female descendants should be working for her living at all; so don’t give those tyrants any more than you have to ; and take time at the office to write oftener to ; “Your Faithful and Devoted Mother. “PERMELIA STANHOPE YERBY.” A dark red color had slowly paled the clear pallor of Virginia Yerby’s cheek as she read, and now as the Jet- ter dropped from her fingers, the usual mixture of feelings—shame, pity, an- ger, surprise—consequent apon most of the epistles from that source agitated her loyal young soul. “Mother |” she said to herself, with an almost bitter intonation of the name which lingers so lovingly on most girls’ lips. “How can she bring herself to write to me so, when she knows how I pinch myself to send hier every dollar I can? And those old Tabbies who set her on to goad me in this way know it too. Heavens! I give her nearly half my salary; on the rest I have to live at a fashionable boarding-house- Poor mother! If she could only see its shabby gentility, taste of thedainties of its table—that roll, for instance, that I've just worked my way through ! And my dress—well,” with a shrug of her gracetul shoulders. “I don’t know anybody else whose grograin-gray'lasts quite go long as mine. I walk back and forth to save car fares; I shut my eyes to the temptations of violets and caramels ; a church sociable is the wildest expression of gayety in my life; my one only piece of selfishness—' But here some swift soft recollection coaxed away for a moment the look of hurt protest from the girl's face. It returned, however, with deepened in- tensity as she went on with her bitter inward colloquy. *The few dollars I squeeze from my actual necessities, monthly,to help make that possible one of these days—I suppose it will have to go too. And yet, for Heaven's sake, what does she do, what can she do, with all the money I send her ? No houserent to pay, the garden worked on shares and full of vegetable the orchard of fruit, old Aunt Thany there to look after "poultry and eggs, her clothes Jasting forever—what can she want with more money ? And why doesn’t she have all ‘the fires and all the oysters she wants, when there are the woods and the creeks shore right at hand ?” Miss Yerby sat looking straight be- fore her, perplexed, annoyed, pained, for alittle ; then, with an effort, she cleared the cloudy flush from her face. “Oh, well, poor mother!” she sighed, ‘She has a great deal to try her all these. last hard years since father died. She shall never have an- other wish ungratified that I can help. I am young yet, and he—he is not a bit old. We can wait a little longer.” She picked up her letter, put it back into the envelope, and that into her bag, and then addressed herself with determined steadiness to her afternoons work. It seemed perhaps a littie dull- er, drier, drearier than usual, this breathless winding in and out of the mazes of deeds, assignments, transfers, in searchot clews adroitly hidden in thick meshes of legal verbiage ; but she plodded on with patient perseverance, until at length four o’clock struck the welcome signal of dismissal. Miss Yerby rose from her desk with the others, arranged and locked it, and fell in with the crowd on their way to the dressing-room. She did not linger to- day for even the ordinary brief kindly chat with her fellows, She avoided the enforced contact of the elevator, and took her way alene down the long steep flights of stairs, throngh the great pillared portico, down the broad outer marble steps, and so out into the wide windy street. The dust was blowing there as if from all quarters of the earth at once z bits of paper, sticks, and withered leaves were whirled upon the Novem- ber blast. Miss Yerby shivered com- ing out from the close, heated office. Her coat was none too thick, and dat- ing two winters back, was not provided with the “storm collar” which to-day oflers such grateful protection from a sudden change of weather. She hag thought of buying a little Astrakhan tippet with which to supplement it. The long soft boas into whose caressing warmth she noticed so many fair young throats nestling were of course not to be inspired to. She found herself, as she drew her black silk muffler closer about her neck, re- calling involuntarily her mother’s fay- orite winter garment, the large double Paisley shawl of finest cream-white wool, bordered with richly woven ar- abesques in soft dull dovecolors, a relic of ancient elegance which the old- fashioned gentlewoman preferred to any stiff, modern, businesslike imita- tion of mannish attire in the way of Jacket, coat, or ulster. “Females in my day,” she would say, with a little brindling dignity, did not try to look like men, Ginnie, They preferred their own graceful feminine attire ; and the men, I think prefered it for them.” Virginia thought it very likely they did. “Bat fancy us office-tramps tak- about our shoulders in the dark harry- ing winter mornings, or to keep them from being torn of our backs in a met- ropolitan car between four ‘and 4ve o'clock of an afternoon I". Now, however, as she remembered how ladylike and how comfortable her mother always looked in this garment of by-gone elegance, how softly and warmly the creamy folds gathered themselves about the fair, slim wither- ed throat and met there the fall of the large black thread-lace. veil, which was another relic, of better davs, she could not help a puzzled” wonder as to what need or place” could be for “a bit of fur” in addition, “°° °° ; she aid again, in ing time to drape shawls jartistically | “whether she needs it or not, she wants it, and she shall have what she wants £0 long as I can get it for her,” And pulling herself together with an- other little irrepressible shiver, as the sharp wind came whirling round the corner, she turned into Ninth Street and walked briskly along the busy thoroughfare to the Avenue. She had some trouble in finding what she wanted. Only something soft and fine would suit either her mother or her mother’s Paisley ; and this, in fur, meant money, of which Miss Yerby had none too much. She settled at last upon a small sable col- lar, with the head of the little animal serving to hold the fastening loop, It was not what she wanted ; shethought it looked rather jaunty and youthful 3 but it was the most satisfactory thing to be got for the sum she could ‘spend; and as it was, it absorbed not only the projected Astrakhan collar, but the sum she had never failed since she had been “promoted” to put by for a cer- tain secret purpose, which, until it ap- proached fulfillment more nearly, she hadnot been able to speak of to a mother who was just a little “pecu- liar.” “Never mind,” said Miss Yerby once more to herself, shutting reso- lutely out of her mind the vision of a parlor rug, a dining-table, a set of kitchen furniture, a hundred things that were wanted for the furnishing of the little house, the first payment on which “he” was almost ready to make. Aloud she said : “No, you needn't putitup. The wind is sharp this af- ternoon. I'll just wear it home, I reckon.” “Ard very becoming itis to you, miss,” remarked the shop-girl, pleased at having made the sale. Virginia was honest enough to own to herself thatit was as she glanced in the mirror, and saw how the soft shaded brown of the fur toned in with the creamy pallor of her cheek and the hazel tints of her eyes and hair. It brought a certain girlish pleasure to her face. She nodded, smiling, the girl as she walked away ; and as she reached the street, after threading her way through crowding throngs of “office shoppers,” lo! there before her was the sight which is the pleasantest sight on earth—the face which bright- ens with joy at your coming. In an- other minute she was tucked up close to the side of a tall hat and overcoat, and a pair of eager brown eyes were smiling down into hers. “So! Been treating yourself, have you, you reckless little woman 9” as the eyes caught sight of the new pur- chase. “And not pay-day either, How ever do you manage it? I'm so glad. You needed something of the kind ; and it's awfully chic—shic—whatever youcallit. Only I don’t know"”—he whispered this mischievously as he helped her up on the car platform— “but I'm jealous of that saucy little head tucking itself so coolly there un- der your chin.” “So warmly, you mean,” laughed Virginia, nestling the said chin down into the soft fur. “But you won't have to suffer from that pet ailment of yours very long, Edward. It isn’t mine ; I bought it tor mother.” “Oh I'* The exclamation was invol- untary and neutral, but its tone con- veyed a certain subtle intimation of what Virginia had before divined— that her betrothed considered her gen- erous to her mother at the cost of jus- tice to herself, and felt even a sense of personal injury in the fact that she sacrificed his liking tosee her well dressed to what he chose to consider unauthorized exactions on the part of an elderly lady living in the country, The car was packed to an indecent excess, as usual ; the conductor’s ur- gent cry, “move up front, please I” was incessant, and Miss Yerby’s com- panion allowed himself to be pushed on with the rest of the struggling mass instead of quietly holding his place by the corner he had found for her, Vir- ginia’s eyes followed him with a cer- tain appealing look, but a fresh entry of tired humanity presently shut off even a glimpse ofeach other. Her stopping-place came before his. It was almost impossible for him to get out ; he chose to find it quite 86; and Mies Yerby was obliged to turn the corer in the side street on which her boarding-house stood without so mach as good-by glance. And it was not his evening for coming round! The landlady’s daughter was also “keeping steady company,” and that young per- son's mother had blandly suggested that the “courting couples” should not intrude upon each other. “She needn’t ha’ looked so high an’ mighty about it, neither,” she com- mented afterwards. “I’ve no patience with the 'ristocratic airs some of these gov’ment clerks put on. Who cares how old their fam’lies be? Some of ‘em is old enough theirselves. And it ain’t everywhere she'd get the use o’ the parlor all to herself three evenin’s n a week. Never had that same parlor looked dingier and tawdrier to Virginia than it did that same afternoon, as she glanced in on her way up to her own sky-chamber ; and even that small re- fuge, to which she had contrived to impart something of a homelike look, wore to-day a bare and forlorn aspect. She did not take off her things. She had to go out again to the express-of- fice, to send off her mother’s tippet, and she regarded it now a little drear- ily as she loosed it from her neck and prepared to make it into'a parcel. “It wag a foolish thing ‘for me to do, to wear, it at all,” she said to. herself. “Of course it is only . nataral that Ed- ward—when even I—Still I had rath- er have no secrets from him, déar old fellow 1’ She tied up the package,’ wrote the address, and went out again into: the dust'and wind, dinner and to bed, she took her moth- éi’s letter ont’ of her pocket ‘to put it away. A certain bit of cramped writ- ing crowded into one corner, which bad escaped ‘her notice before; now up to the light, she made it out: “If you should feel as if you could afford,” it said, ‘to get me gomething in the way of fur, don’t buy it yourself. but send me the money. I may change my mind, and if I don’t Cousin Peggy Bayly is going to Balt'mer City next month, and she has such good judg- ment. The color flew into Virginia's cheek. She thrust the leiter into her desk, set her lips, and got herself into her chilly ed. When Miss Yerby arrived at the office next morning and approached her desk, she saw lying there another missive, but not this time with the palo tremulous superseription and splotchy wax. It was instead of those ominous yellow envelopes which no woman can ever see addressed to her- self without a certain involuntary con- striction of the heart. Virginia felt that sudden tightening about her bos- om as she opened the envelope with trembling fingers and read the mes- sage. The same old story, repeated generation after generation in the Yer- by family : “Sudden stroke: No hope Come at once. Looking herself as if she had had a “stroke,” the girl rose, shaking from the seat into which she had dropped, and tottered across the floorto the chief clerk’s desk. Speechless, she placed the telegram in his hand and without waiting for a word, turned and made her way as she could to the door. She had no intimates among the ladies of her division. but she had made no enemies. Glances of wonder and sympathy followed her from a dozen pairs of kindly eyes, and one fresh-faced girl started from her seat as she passed. “She has got some dreadful news ; she looks as if she might drop any minute. I’m going to see her through, whatever it is. Just tell him, will you ?”” she said hurriedly toa com- panion, and then made her way quick- ly to the dressing-room. “Now don’t try to speak, don’t tell me a thing, dear.” she said, when she found the stritken girl trying in a dazed way to get into her hat and coat. ‘‘Let me button you up, There! Here are your gloves, and you have your bag still on your arm. Now which car do you take ? for Iam going to see you home, “No, not home. The depot—Sixth Street—by way of Baltimore, My mother—"’ The pale lips moved with difficulty, the words were indistinct, but the quick woman's ear caught them. “Ane you can get along without going home first ? You have money enough about you? I have some; Just let me put it in your pocket-book to make sure, till you come back. And you have your lunch, and here comes the car. We can catch the train, I think.”— Harper's Weekly. (Continued. ) — The Daisy. The daisy is everywhere. I have traveled somewhat extensively in the Old World, but have not been lucky enough to see it anywhere as prolifically bappy asit is with us. It isnot the daisy of the poets— the daisy of Burns, which is taking to wildhood in our east- ern states, though finding itself at home in British Columbia, but a species of chrysanthemum and is distinctively known in the Old World as the oxeye daisy. Like the buttercup, it is offen- sive to cattle, and indeed to almost all things. In a dry and pulverized condi- tion it is fly powder, so destructive to all insects, In those portions of our country where Indian. corn isa staple crop, neither the buttercup nor the oxeye daisy are dreaded by the farmer. The hoe harrowing destroys it utterly, but in the New England states, where past- ure is of more consequence than grain, they rob the farmerot halfhis profits while giving pleasure to the eye of the traveler. ——— Mahogany in Great Demand. There is probably more mahogany imported to New York now than ever before, and the wood is put to a great- er variety of uses than at any time since its beauty was first discovered to the world.” It is true that old mahogany brings enormous prices, and that archi- tects eagerly watch the destruction of old buildings for the sake of purchas- ing stair rails and mantelpieces of ma- hogany for new houses. But the gaudy barrooms now so popular, demand more new mahogany in a year than was ever consumed in a like period for the din- ing tables of our grandfathers. The largest logs, when not sawed up into veneer, go to make bar slabs.—