Commenorating a Boy -Stir-us Event at the Third St. ME. Parsonage, Wil- Hamsport, Pa, Feb, ist, 1500, {Published through the courtesy of Rev, John A. Wood Jr.)— By Widow Bedott, Three little men in the parsonage below, Three little neroes, al! in & row, Three pairs of feet treading softly the floor Bringing three little faces through Mamma's room door. Wide with amazement ope three pairs of eyes As they spy in the cradle a wordrous surprise ; ! For cuddied on pillows taking their ease Lay two more little heroes as DUE as you please “Five kid" Says Perry the voluble, when He sees there are truly fico more little men ; “That's a little too much!" surveying the three, And grasping the fact, of five liltle brothers. Though looking sweet enough to be kissed, These two little pets keep doubling their fists, And asserting by all the words (?) that they say, “We feel quite at home and have come here to stay." Then Perry and [Gilbert and John say “All right ! Come to think of it now, it is quite a delight, A pair of new boys! Hurrah! What fine game, | PU Now, for each of the darlings, let us pick ont a name." Mischievous, fun-loving, teasing Papa, Hints Jumbo and Midget, or Jacob and Esau, “Little John" then locks a determined “No thanky," And calls the wee bairns “Moody and Bankey." Joseph Cook and Charles Wesley stand fora test ; Rather preponderous ‘‘wise-acres suggest; “More fitting to name them Silas and Paul” While another declares for Sam Jones and Sam Small, The discussion keeps or, and until it is through We'll call the wee cherubs No. 1, No, 2. Be they “bishops” or “presidents” may multiplied joys Fill the house that ie blessed with five little boys. Do Ii, If you have a thing to say, Say it. If you have a debt to pay, Pay it. If you're something less than men— Say that you are just u hen, With an egg to lay—why, then, Lay it. If you have a log to hew, Hew it. If there's something you should rue, , Rue it. For all things beneath the sun Teach us this as on we run If there's aught that shonld be done, Do it, — Sunset Magazine, THE AMERICAN. We stood under the shed of the Panama railroad company’s wharf, waiting for the tide to cowe in and with it the tug which was to curry us to the San Pedro. Captain Samuel Twizzle, master of that vessel, was stampiug around, cursing the heat, which was excessive, the smells wbich were atro- cious, and the dilatory tide ; and his face also hore traces of the impatience that bis tongue and limbs expressed. He was home- ward bound, after two months in the Tiop- ios, and in San Francisco there would meet him on the dock a woman of whom he dreamed continually, In his wander ngs in and out amid the raffle of fieighs piled nigh along the slips, he stopped under a huge shrashing: machine boowing clumsily in bright red and green paint. “Look here,” he gram- bled, *‘did you ever sce such an unseaman- like craft ? American make, 100. It's got a sign «renoiled on it, Manufactured in In- diana, U. 8. A. Weil, old luviann, you're Am:iican, anyway. amonga ot of oatland- ish stall.’ And ae rapped soundly on its resonant side. As if in response to this in- vocation there was thrust out of a slit in the machine a child's face. I'wizzie stared at it open-mouthed. ‘Is this a hotel ? or an incubator?’ he gasped presently. “Hey there, son ! Live here 2" To our astonished gaze were disclosed two gray eyes set in a dark countenance dignified by an aquiline nose of the most prenonnced character. ‘My name's Pat,” said thi« creature in a curiously nasal tone. “Fat !"’ roared the captain. ‘You black monkey, where'd vou get that name 2" The boy pas his head clear out, follow- ed it by a meagre body and in two Swists landed at our feet. “My dad was an Amer- ican,” he explained. Our interest was now unaffected. The boy was the color of cafe au lait, slender- limbed, pigeon-breasted, and 1n bis lean face gleamed the two gray eyes that had first startled us. His nose was bevond doubt that of ao aristocrat. His sole gar. ment was a pair of ragged overalls, rolled &t the waistband into a sort of sash around bis tarrow hips. He looked at Twizzle and then at myself with glances of keen- ness and anconcern. “What were you do- ing in that thrashing machine?” 1 asked blankly. He turned his head and threw his aqui- line profile against the lurid scarlet of the agricultural moostrosity. A thin finger wax laid upon the gilt stencilling. **Made in America,” he said shrilly. “My dad was au American.” “Can you read ?' T demanded. The eaptain was quicker than I. *“The United States arms are there as well,” he said. With sudden kindoess in his eyes he bent over the lad. “‘Make you feel kind of homey, son 2" The boy met his look squarely. ‘‘My dad was an American,” he said, and under the Stow of his dark skin showed a faint ash. ‘Good Lord I" answered Twizzle to my unspoken thought. *‘Nobody but a Yan. kee ever had that tin-horn voice. Who was your dad 2’ “He's dead.” unmistakably. “But who was he? What did he do? Where aid you come from ?"’ lance was the only response and Twizzle caught my eye. "Who's your mother 7"! I asked. ‘Some nigger . “But oe ‘Eoginesr on Number 8,” - the prompt . a died of the Severs and fell into thoughs. : The soft d's were foreign woman, I guess,” he { and its spawn. that in this riffiaff a balf-naked urobin | should have seized upon two busy men in dad was an American. raigned that went with his gray eyes and bawk-like nese. It was as if that heavy, stolid machine, made in a town in Indiana, had suddenly stirred at the call of Twizzle’'s kunckles and had given birth to him —Pat, with a solitary inheritance of ancestry. I looked about me, conned the outland- 1sh paraphernalia scattered under the shed, listened to the sinrring tones of some na- tives loafing in the -bade. But my eyes retarned perforce 10 the anwieldy machine It struck me as very odd this imperative and amazing fashicn. Twiz- zle echoed my thought hy exclaiming more vigorously than ever, ‘Good Lord !"’ The boy caught up the ejaculation and twisted it into a vile Spanish expletive de- livered with his marvelous American twang. “Shut op !"’ said the captain sharply. ‘“You've been messing with all this dirs since yor were born. Where'd you learn Eoglish ?"' “Tbe men working on the railroad tanght me,” rejoined the youth. ‘‘I ain't messed with any black trash. I speak English all right, all right.” Never was such assurance nor such im- dence. The captain turned to me. ‘‘He’s got nobody to look after him,” he suggested. ‘‘It ain’s right. I ain’t going to allow the kid of any American dad to stay here.” Belore I could interfere he had addressed the boy. ‘You come with me, son. [I'll take you to the States.’ Without a second’s hesitation the child forward. I was on the point of ve- bement speech, instinctively foreseeing a thousand complications if this bit of scum were taken into decency. The boy seemed to read my thoughts. He rested his gray eyes upon me. ‘‘My dad was an Ameri- cau,’ he said. I was silent. He claimed a birthright. We never knew more of Pat's life than the facts he gave ne on that wharf. With this vague and unsatisfactory past, in a pair of tattered overalls he came amoog us of the San Pedro. Twizzle called him a cabin-boy, and he was installed with the steward’s crew in the funny quarters on the maio-deck forward, where he was to learn to work, and thos fulfill in some measure the duties of his nberited blood. It may bave been a token of his father’s habits that the boy was cleanly in person. The San Pedro, being a cargo-steamer and carrying no passengers, called at every port on the Central American coast. This meant exhansting toil for all and little leisure. For two days after we left Pauon- ma I canght only glimpses of Pat. 1 ob. served that be bad attained the dignity of a singlet and shoes in addition to the over- alls. The third day, as I smoked an even- ing pipe with Twizzle on the upper deck, I diseerned in the faint glow after sunset, an aquiline profile against the white paint of a life-boat near which we stood. It was Pat, huddling in the shadow. Hello,” 1 said, “‘there’s that kid.” Twizzle removed his pipe from between his teeth and called to the boy to come out and show himsell. He came, silent in tread as a native. ‘‘How’re you getting on 2" demanded the captain. “Al right, sir.” “Where'd you get that cut on your cheek 2" “The ho’s’n bit we.” “What mischief had yon been into 2’? de- manded Twizzle. The lips nuder that Yaukee nose quiver- ed slightly. “1 said — and he said, ‘Shut up, yon nigger,” and I hit him. My dad was an American.” “An American wouldn't say ——,"’ said Twizzle slowly. ' Never bave I seen greater shame on any face. Pat's gray eyes were clouded, his swarthy «kin was underrun by a forious binsh, a blush so deep that even in the dim Light we hoth saw it and knew that his boat was true. The captain's mouth worked under his beard as he scanned that lear: and childish countenance in ite dis. tress. Bat all he said as the boy walked away in homiliation was, “Good Lord 2 Later we interviewed the bo's’n. *‘Pat’s a good chap,’ said shis worthy, ‘Bat he's full of the Old Nick. Where he picked np his talk, stumps me, sir. He talks Simon pare American and that face of his is mighty nigh white.” “I understand,’ said Twizzle, ‘that be tried to knock you out.” The bo's’n grew shy iostantly. Hie manner seemed to demand : ‘Who's been tattling ?"' He stammered and the cap- tain’s face grew dark. Suddenly, after much backing and filling, the bo's’n came oat plump : Bat he fights clean, sir, little as he ix. Doesn't bite or kick, sir.” Twizzle's frown vanished, and as we left the ho's'n he remarked to the sky, *‘I reckon the boy’s American, all right. Blood always tells on itself in a sorap. Aud when a clean fighter steps into a man forty times his size,’’ he went on, sudden- ly directing his words to me, ‘‘he's got pluck. These niggers will bite and kick at an elephant, bat they trust to foul means. Good Lord !" From day to day there reached my ears sundry and varied tales of the new cabin- boy's deviltry, The steward bewailed for two days the loss of his pet oat. It was found dead under the end of Pat's wat- tress, where, he unblusbingly explained, it served as a pillow. He added, when the captain's brow lowered, that it had not been hurt, as he killed it first. The cooks, who were Mexicans of little skill and evil demeanor, nearly mutinied when he in- formed the whole main-deck in shrill, na- sal tones, that they were sons of priests and unfit to associate with Americans, im- mediately following op this insult by suatehiong the knife away from one and burying is to the bafs in the meat-block. Bat the climax came when Captain Twiz- zle discovered the loss from his lockers of two whole jars of cold cream, the pride of his heart, for he was gallant of disposition, and never failed to present a portion of this useful cosmetic to consuls’ wives whose complexions he judged needed it. “It's something a woman appreciates,”’ was his remark. ‘You can ask the consul to have a drink, but bis lady must be remembered, too. When a search of the ship failed to re- veal the missing ointment, suspicion set- tled on Pat. ‘‘What notion ever got into that noddle of bis,” grumbled Twizzle, ‘‘Heaven only knows. I must call him down. He's got to learn a thing or two.” So the boy was summarily dragged out and leaned forward. On shone % of his ribs stuck, white and ineriminating, small lumps of the missing cold oream. said Twizzle. “Those Should have been astended But we were too busy. This fetoh ’em away. Then we'll stand to lose the funvel.” that Pat beard, Suddenly Twizzle sniffed With a quick jerk he whi the singlet over the lad’s head. furrows “You have been using it yourself, you ras- cal I" bellowed the captain. “‘You're plas- tered with it I” Pat gazed at his judge with what struck me as a very pleading look. Bus Twizzie was thinking of nothing save the los of his co.metic. “What did you think thas stuff was for?” be bawled. ‘Do you «'pose that was for a black-+kinned cabin. boy to grease his dirty hide with? Answer me! What did yon mean by stealing that 2” Pat cast his gray eyes over to me and then looked down. His lips moved. **Nothing !"" repeated Twizzle. *‘Look here, my son, dou’s lie to me. Americans don’t like lies.” Again that deep flush nnder the shadow- ed skin and Pat slowly raised bis eyes to his judge. His childish face was wrench- ed with shame and his slider arms were tight against his sides. *° ough t— he began, and stopped. ““You thought what?’ roared the cap- tain, “Go easy,” I pat in. ‘He'll tell you.” Neither heard me. Twizzle’s raddy face was bent loweringly upon the child and his huge forefinger apped oun that chest as if to evoke the truth hidden somewhere in its little depths. ‘I wanted,” Pat began again, ‘I thought’’— he paused an in- stant—''I thought it would make my skin white, same as you and the rest. My dad was an American.” Twizzle’s heavy forefinger was slowly withdrawn from the boy's chest. Rough and calloused as it was, the finger had shown remarkably white againse the cof. fee-tinted flesh. The pitiful reason, the shame of its confession and that simple plea of his parentage seemed to overwhelm the captain, and as pas left, dismissed by a nod, he mumbled in bis beard, breaking out once more with a curt “Good Lod!" The incident was never referred to again. As the steamer worked up the coasts Pat was seen on deck no more. Gradually be was initiated into such duties of a sailor as are practiced on a steamer, and when we left Ocos, Twizzle, who bad been watching the boy, giufily bade him leave the stew- ard’s mess and join the deck-crew. “There are enough viggers to wait on ue,”’ he re- marked. Pat, the inference was, was an American. There was one place where the lad could always be found when not engaged other- wise. This was by the after-wheel over the stern. Here he would sit, fossing with the band-gear, examining the life-huoys lashed to the rail or gazing up at the Stars and Stripes floating from the staff. Every evening when we were at dinner and the awnings were being taken in for the night, we could hear his shrill tones through the skylight as he chaffed and joked with the men. One night we came on deck and found the flag still flying, though the sun had set and the awnings had been stowed. Twizzle's eye caught it and he bellowed for a quartermaster. ‘What d’ve mean,” he stormed, ‘‘hy not taking in the flag? Are you going to let it whip itself into rags all night ? Step lively I" As the man threw the halvards off the pin Twizzle started forward, leaving me to see that it was properly done. The flag sank «cftly down the pole and into the quai termaster’s arms. I caught his eye, “The kid always likes to do this job,” he mumbled, “and he's busy below for a few minutes. Thought it wonld do no harm to wait on him, sir. He's so stuck ob it. Sort of takes to the old rag, sir.” Later the came night [ fonnd Put on the grating by the after-wheel, staring at the Southern Cross just burning above the ho- rizon. When he saw me he withdrew a little. “Don’t ran off,” I said. *“Tell me how youn are getting along.” “AN right,” he replied shyly. “Looking at the stars 2’ “Yessir.” We were silent awhile, he once more en- gaged in some dim astronomy, 1 in watch- in his face and pondering on the history that lay behind that profile. He interrupt. ed my musings by a low question. “Where are the stripes 2’ “The stripes,” I repeated, bewildered. He tossed his head toward the top of the s'aff from which the flag floated in day- time. “I see the stars,’ be said simply. “Bat I can’t find the strips. There ain't anv in the sky.” Some impulse urged me to probe a little deeper into this heart, to find something more definite of the spirit peering out from Pat's gray eyes. Without answering bis impossible question, I asked him. “Do you ever say your prayers 2’ He brought his gaze down from the vanlt and with incomparable assurance and arro- auce said : ‘Naw, only Dagoes pray. My ad was an American.” This was my last endeavor in that dereo- tion of catohing his thoughts, Thereafter he assumed toward me an attitude of re- spectful contempt. That foolish and un- considered question had undone me with the possessor of lively gray eyes and the nose of an aristocrat. And he never asked me any mote problems in astronomy. The San Pedro finally paid her last call before going up the California coast and as we left Mazatlan to cross the Gulf we breathed the shrewder air of the ‘I'rades with keen satisfaction. ‘‘Eight days more,’ said Twizzle, with a grunt. “Then home." Pat, going by on an errand, caught his eye. **Eigbt days more, son,” he said genially, “‘and you'll be in America.” Tue lad passed on aud Twizzle turned to me. “‘D'ye know what that kid's saying to himself?" I nodded and Twizzle took off his cap with clumsy hesitation: *‘D'ye koow,’’ he muttered in his beard, *‘I’d give a lot to be remembered that way.’ A little later, still bareheaded, he added, “He'd have a good woman for a mother, too.”” Then, as if heartily asbamed, he jammed bis cap over his ears and scanned the steamer, commenciog to stumble in the hig swells that ran from Corrientes to Cape San Lucas. “Hang it!” he growled, ‘those funnel-stays' aren’s going to hold much longer. Like as not this rolling will start ‘em to chafing. Must see to it."’ The next moroing it was very rough and the San Pedio was under a slow hell. Overhead the azure sky was flaked with lofty, rushing clouds whose vast shadows gave an angry color to the crested surges where they fell. I+ was smars waather, invigorating to men who had steamed for months in the pestiferous ports of the low- er coast. But I noticed that Twizzle seem- ed 4 preoseupled. He would scratch his head and look aft from the bridge with perplexity written all over his face. After mid-day he called the engineer up to the bridge. ‘I'm bothered about the funnel,” stays eo rotten. to ago. AE may “Ugly sea to fix ber in,” was the ohiel’s comment. *“Is is,” assented the captain. ‘If I had rest easy. But a deceus sailor aboard, I’ these blasted bands in the fo’e’s’le—well, I'd hate to risk any of their worthless lives, If the fuonel-stay fetches away, over the side with someone.” *‘Is looks to me as if the sooner we got “Fetch up a small cable and we'll fix it now while it's time. away from ue.” boiler-house, Twizzle superintending, mak- the top of the fannel. this, and then from the loop bring down new stays to the deck. The bard part was to get the loop in place. It would bave been simplicity iteelf if we had been sure of the old stays. But they were rotten and not to be trated. “*Now,’’ said the captain, when all was ready, “‘one of you men climb up there and get it 10 Dosition over the collar.”’ A man stepped to a stay, swong up on it and started to climb. Before he bad gone ten feet the wire frayed, snapped the last strand, and he fell to the deck. ‘Are they as rotten as all that ?"’ exclaimed Twizzle. “Take the alter-stay and try is again.’ The men hesitated. The top of the swaying funnel was a good forty .feet from the deck, thirty from the top of the boiler- Bouse. The bioken end of the stay lashed ornelly against the resonant cylinder at every voll. Twizzle roared at them. A couple moved forward and then stopped. *‘Haven’s I got a single American seaman on this ship ?'’ Twizzle yelled. ‘Are you all alot of greasers 2° The flood of his profanity fell amoug them futilely. They were afraid. They stared up at the buge stack and winced as it jerked and plunged to the three remaining stays. A voice rose above their murmured protests. It was a Sin, vasal pipe, and it eaid: “I'll go, sir. “You I" was the bellowed response. ‘You can’t do the work. This needs men." “1 can do it,” was the determined re- sponse. Pat stepped out in singlet and overalls, ridiculously small. Twizzle hesi- tated. The boy went on and eaught hold of the leaping stay. The captain nodded. **Up with you,” he said quickly, ‘*‘vou’re the only map in the fo'v's’le. Anyway, you're light and won’t break anything." A moment later Pat’s meagre face was tarned down upon us. “All right, sir,” he called. Wesent up the loop and it was gradually, by great exertions on the lad's part, fitted around the buge barrel of the foonel, Pat holding on desperately when the steamer lay over angrily, as if to shake him off. The job was nearly done. All that remained wae to take up the slack of the wire loop and bring down from it the new stays. Two of them were already bent and the ends in hand to make fast. ‘Stand clear I" bawled Twizzle to the boy above us. “Don’t let the loopslip down on you. Make fast there !"’ Just then the Ban Pedro rolled to lee- ward with a larch. The weather-stays cracked and parted and the funnel was hrought np with a jerk in the loop. But the breaking of the stays bad thrown Pat against the round of the fuvbvel, and as he hong there, the steel cable had slipped down over his body. For one instant we listened to hear some ory. There was none. He hung in that gigantic grip, his breast crushed agains the iron barrel, his legs limply pendant, his slender arms thrust against the oyliuder ahove him. Weconld not see his face. At the end of the instant, the steamer recover- ed and as the funnel lurched back the childish body dropped to the deck. The bo's'n and I lifted Pat up and car- ried him to the main bateh, where we laid him. A moment later Twizzle and the others eame from securing the funvel and joined ns. “Is he dead?" asked a voice. The ho's'n shook his head. ‘He is dying,” I said, my finger on his pulse. Without further sound we stood about bim. The gray eyes were open upon us. The hawk-like face bad lost none of its p'gnancy. But on the little pigeon breast were marks that rose and fell quickly. The very wind and sea had withdrawn that we might hear the rasp of bis last breathing. As we watohed, the eyes grew full of plead- ing and the childish face was turned, as far as might be, to some noknown quarter, in search of some nuknowa thing. Twizzle stooped over him. ‘What is it, son?’’ he asked hoarsely The crushed cliest heaved, but ne words passed the lips. The eyes still roved on their quest. Suddenly the bo's'n straight- ened ap. ‘Its the flag!” he said. A sailor ran aft, tore down the Stars and Stripes and came back holding it in front of bim. We all looked at Pat's eves. They rested on the flag. The sailor stepped closer, holding it out at fall length, till the hem of weatherworn bunting covered the lad’s bare feet. As we stood there, a faint flush reddened Pat's thin cheeks. He tried to aice his head, failed, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, we saw in them the vague shad- ow of death, but they fixed them- selves once more on the flag. His breast heaved. His eagle nose grew suddenly prominent. Hisgaze burned on the the emblem. ‘My dad was—" His boyish treble was hushed. From the sailor's hande the flag slipped down, covering as it softly billowed in its fall, the slender limbs, the bruised body, and hawk-like counte- ance of an American.--Bv John Fleming Wilson, in Everybody's Magazine. Personal Beauty, If either man or woman would realize the full power of personal beauty it must be by cherishing noble thoughts and hopes and purposes, by having something to do and something to live for that Is worthy of humanity and which by expending the capacities of the soul gives expansion and symmetry to the body which contains it.—~Upham. A Man of Action. Hicks—There isn't a man in town who can keep the conversational ball roiling like our friend Gayrake. Wicks —Nonsense! He never says anything worth listening to. Hicks—No, but he does a lot of things worth talking about.—Philsdelphia Ledger. He who feels contempt for any ly- ing thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.--Wordsworth. Standing Room Only, The Lawyer—So your wife has sued you for a divorce, eh? Will she have any standing in court? The Client— I'm afraid so. From the nature of the evidence she threatens to bring in there won't be half enough seats to accom- modate the crowd.—Chicago News. DE ——— at it, the better for all hands," I . “All right,” said Twizale with deomion. i Mustn’t let it get | | alwass goed. Of course, if the woman Half an hour later we were on top of the | Old, with white hair, it i not so satisfac- j lory. But the woman with brown hair ing read to slip a loop of wire cable over | should wear a brown hat, and the woman FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. A DAILY THOUGHT. Life ought tc be measured by thought and action not by Time.— Lord Avebury. CHOOSING A HAT. The following advice is given by a we!l- kuown fashionable milliner: *1 have one rale for most women. match the hat to the bair. The re