No More,
{n life, no more the leaves fell fast,
And all the heaven was ovoreast ;
We looked into each other’s eyes
We kissed one kiss between our sighs
It was the first kiss and the last,
In vain we wait with souls aghast
No more across the silence vast
Come protests faint, come faint repli ese
In life, no more !
No more in dalliance or in haste,
Io April airs, or autumn blast,
We meot—and every heartache flies;
We kiss and all division dies;
No more }--the moment came and passed.
In life, no more !
i
Yia Solitaria.
AN UNPUBLISHED POEM, BY HENRY Ww,
FRLLOW,
LONG»
Alone I walk the peopled city,
Where each seems happy with his own;
Oh! friends, I ask not for your pity
I walk alone,
No more for me yon lake rejoices,
Thoagh movad by loving airs of June
Oh! binds, your sweet and piping voices
Are out of tune
In vain far me the elm tree arches
Its plamoy in many a feathery spray;
In vain the evening's starry marches
And sunlit day.
In vain your beauty, summer flowers;
Ye cannot greet these cordial eves;
They gaze on other fields than ours
On other skies,
A
The gold is rifled from the coffer,
The blade is stolen from the sheath:
Life has but one more boon to offer,
And that is death.
Yet well I know the voice of duty,
And, therefore, life and health must crave,
Though she who gave the world its beauty
1a in her grave.
I live, oh lost one ! for the living
Who drow their esriiest lives from thee,
And wail, until with glad thanksgiving
1 shall ba free
For life to me is as a station
And I, as be who stands and
Amid the twilight's chil
To hear, app
vg Of white,
Thou, then,
Rtealing tk
I'll call The
ures one by one,
so when thou makest
‘he parted -one,
Srrreusen 18 1863,
An Old-Fashioned Love,
The house was unpainted and one-
steried. Down to the small-paned win-
dows, with their thick green glass,
sloped the roof, bearded at the eaves
i
—
| VOLUME XV.
{
§
yy
21,
APRIL
I" ——
NUMBER 17,
woman, an’ it stands to reason he's
| told his nephew so. That young man,
you may be certain, is pretty sure of
out as he's a-doin', Fine clothes, and
horses, and dinners, I'm told, at the
{ old place ;" and the old lady shook her
| head deprecatingly, as she held up an
unfortunate insect between her merei
less thumb and finger. All the color
had gone out of the girl's cheeks now;
silent.
| forgot John,
came home from school. He used to
he went to Californy on that unlucky
i business. Youn can't altogether have
| forgot John
i “Ob, no grandmother," said Hetty,
| quietly. “I remember him very well.”
i “An' how sudden he did take him.
| self off !
good by.
| because it wasn't his way vobow. And
| heard a thing from him since he went
{ It's a queer proceeding.
| Hetty, I did used to think that— Bless
| me, if young Campbell, ain't turned up
{ me with my old cap on!
| to see him, ohild.”
{ And Hetty did ‘see him" as she
{ had done before,
{a limb of an apple tree and came in
i over the sunken, vine-covered stone
{ wall and sat down on the grass, leaning
| on his elbow, with Hetty's sweet, fresh
{ made himself agreeable.
{ {feel at ease with him, for with all his
winsome spontaneity of
i
i
i
:
i
| his surroundings, that were all foreign
{ able to her.
* You will come some sfterncon for
drive with me,” fie was saying, as Hetly
{ admired the attractive turnout by the
{ roadside,
| day 7” headded, eagerly starting up. “It
{18 splendid going, and we have three
{ hours till dusk. We can go down the
jold mill road and get a look atthe
i river.”
{ Hetty's young heart filled with inno-
| cent anticipation. A drive behind snch
| & team was a treat.
| tion was a novel one to a Barnet, 3
| were a primitive people, and whoever
{ married into the family was sure of
woodbine just feathering out with deli-
cate new leaves. There was a stone |
step at the front door; it was worn hol- |
low at the side where the lilacs grew,
and formed a receptacle for the sweet |
dropped petals of the pink, old-fash- |
ioned rcses as well as for the pale par. |
ple flowers. A gnarled and ancient |
cherry tree shaded the quaint dwelling
and all about it stood crooked, un-
trimmed apple and wild plumb trees,
and all along its irregular stone wall
sprang currant bushes and blackberry
runners that twisted and tarned in and
out between the great loose stones and
stretched over the pathway.
The plsce was a picturesque bit in
the landscape. One came upon it
abruptly over a rise in the high road,
and it was like an old-lime vignette to
a whole series of modern and magnifi-
cent country residences that formed the
suburb of a large city. It had been oe-
cupied by generations of the same fam-
ily, and so litle had tbey varied in
physical or mental traits that it was
difficult to tell where sire left off and
ecn began. Their small farming had
continued from year to year without
perceptible improvement or change—
save that of the sessons; their gar-
ments descended by inheritance, and
they eschewed all modern ideas of liv-
ing or dying, and were at length laid in
silent rows, side by side, in the old
daisied graveyard on the hillside,
At the time of which I write there
remained among the living of this
family of Barnets but one widow and
her granddaughter, Hetty, a girl of
eighteen, A hired man attended to the
farm duties, as had his father before
him; he was faithful, simple and stub-
borrly set against all innovations,
Hetty Barnet—the last of the name—
according to ber neighbors, * favored »
her futher wonderfully, and the Barnet
men had been remarkable for fine
physique—well developed, clean of
blocd and tall of stature. Hetty was a
handsome girl, with a bright wild-rose
complexion, clear brown eyes and a
rich profusion of wavy chestnut hair.
Bite moved with a ferene young dig-
nity, unruffled by the stern exigencies
of fate, and looked out from under long
lashes with a frank, innocent expres-
sion that was foreign to all modern
coquetry. And yet the girl did not
lack for admirers, nor a pleasant con-
sciousness of the power to win them;
nature, in her changing color, her
sweet red lips and the flattering dimple
in her rounded, healthy cheek, did her
coquetting for her, and many a wistful
glance was cast under the cherry-houghs
where, in the summer-time, she was
wont to sit,
“Grandmcther!” she called, one af-
ternoon, as a dashing team accended a
not distant hill--* grandmother! who
do you think is coming up the road ? It’
is the Widow Campbell's son, What a
display he makes with his black horses
and handsome carriage |”
Old Mrs. Barnet put on her specta-
cles, smoothed her calico apron and
came out from among the beehives near.
the garden gate.
“Well, I declare to't, he does!” ex-
claimed the astonished old lady, “It’s
a new turnout as sure as I'm Mehitable
Barnet! Before his father, Ebenezer
Campbell, died, he didn’t know secarce-
ly where to get his livin’. That's his
Uncle John's money he's a-gallivantin’
on now, Hetty, you may be sure of it.”
“Why, grandmother, John Jay hasn't
left him what's his own—yet.” Hetty’s
mouth grew round as a puckered rose-
bud. * He isn’t dead.”
“Dead, child! Nobody said he was,
or goin’ to die either, but everybody
knows there ain’t no possible chance of
his marryin’, and young Campbell is
dashin’, I tell you, on his fature
chances. He ain't the kind to wait fora
‘dead man’s shoes’; he’s just a-wearin’
of em while his uncle’s a-livin’, He's
the only likely heir, Hetty, to the big
Jay property.”
“But Johu Jay is not old, grand-
mother,” returced the girl, vehemently.
“His hair way have turned a bit, but
be is not an old man.”
¢* Not so, as you say, Hetty,” and the
old lady looked sharply over her spec-
tacles at her granddaughter, “But he
has dandled you on his knee of'n
Hewy blushed, and devoted herself
to her task of shelling peas, but Grand-
mother Barnet was diligently looking
for insects on her favorite rosebush,
and saw nothing.
“You res,” she continued, “there
was some kind of talk, Hetty, about
John’s having had a disappointment
fragrant and pure as wild roses. To
accept '‘ promiscuous” aitention was
unheard of. But this sudden tempta-
attractions, made no serious objections,
and so the young couple drove gayly
away in the golden sunlight. How de-
fringed country road, into a woodland
path where the spicy hemlock branches
drifted across their faces, and up to a
height that overlooked the sleepy, wind.
ing river! It was an episode in the
monotonous girl-life, and she surren-
dered herself to a keen enjoyment
of it.
- » * &
* *
““ Who do you think has been here,
git] appeared, with the first star, at the
door. * John Jay.”
Hettie drew a quick breath, and the
light died suddenly out of her eyes.
* He asked most particular for yon,
child, as soon as he came in, and I told
him you'd gone off to drive with his
nephew. 1 thought perhaps he'd be
glad the young man wasn't with worse
company.”
“ And what aid—he
ag
£ay,
mother ?’
grand-
asked the girl, slowly.
him?”
** And you told him—" Hettie paused
with a choking breathlessness,
The old lady deliberately took ont
her glasses, rubbed them carefully on
the corner of her apron,and then placing
them on her nose looked at her grand-
danghter reflectively as she responded :
“ Well, yes, child; I didn't see no
reason for not telling him that young
Campbell bad been coming about here
pretty regular.”
“Ob, grandmother!” cried Hetty,
with burning cheeks,
““ Well, I did say this was the first
downright set attention afore
And I told bim, child, there wa'n't to
be found nowhers a likelier girl than
count himsell powerful lucky to get
you. The Barnet was always a particu
Jay knowing it. He don't want to throw
his property away, it aint’t at all likely,
on a relation with a shiftless wife,’
** Grandmother!” cried Hetty, again;
that!”
“Of course I did. The Barnets was
always an outspoken family.
body.
a8—,
It may as well be your husband
Bless me, Hetty Barnet!”
tears,
* What on earth is the matter, child?
You ain't got it into your head John
Jay is going to die, have you? He looks
amazin’ well and young, considerin.’
Don’t get notions—"
peared, and had hiddan herself from
ber loquacious grandmother behind
brighter through the purple night, and
the dew dampened the soft, disheveled
hair that was already wet with tears,
She heard the .onesome ery of the whip-
poor-will from the distant meadow, and
the sad call seemed to mock her own
loneliness,
“Hetty |”
The girl started up with a bounding
heart and outstretched hands to find
them clasped in a pair of stronger ones,
She was trembling like the slim poplar
in the corner of the yard, and only found
breath to say :
“] am glad to see you,” and even to
her own ears her voice sounded un-
natural and formal. Her fingers were
slowly loosed from the warm grasp and
fell down cold and limp; the tall,
bearded man at her side retreated and
paused fo lean heavily against the well-
curb. Then he ns in a voice well
under control :
“I am only in town for a few hours,
I shall make another trip later to the
Rocky mountains, Hetty,” he added,
after a moment's silence, ‘I believe I
shall never come back again. It is the
life that best suits me—this wandering
one—and who should care now?”
Heity’'s heart throbbed hard. He
was only corroborating what so many
declared—that he ‘never would marry,”
that desire for a love and home was
dead within him.
Bhe replied primly :
“Your sister will miss yon.”
‘“ She has her interests,” returned
Jobn Jay, his glance seeking passion-
some years ago. Leaslways, it ain't
ately out the sweet face in the settling
shadow. * My nephew-has his.
one needs me, no one will miss me
ering sigh that issued from the strong
man's breast,
“ Yes," he continued, ** aroving life
suits me, after ull. You are happy and
satisfied, Hotty ”
The apparently ocarcless question
made the girl's heart sink like lead.
But the Barnets were proud, and fol
dared not ory out. She only said, be-
neath her breath :
* Yes, happy.
change.”
“ Well, I am glad —glad,"” responded
Our lives do not
again the girl's cold hand in his, * 1
ean only hope you will aver be able to
Say 80,
| cessity now come to you, | wish you all
| joy und prosperity. Goodby, Hetty, I
am going now, child. God keep you!”
and the only man Hetty Barnet ever
loved was gone from her.
= *
* ® n - ®
“1 declare to't you're a queer girl,
Hetty Barnet!" her grandmother said.
The two women sat as of old under the
{ apple boughs. The face of the elder
was seamed with many new seams, and
{ her granddaughter's face opposite, and
her tremulous hands were useless for
all earth work. But to the end the
and Mehitable Barnet was not an ex-
i caption,
“Why, queer, grandmother?’ re-
i sponded Hetty, in her sweet, calm way.
‘‘ Because | do not choose to marry?
Am I not content with you? 1 could
not bear to leave the dear old place to
| strangers and neglect as 1 should be
obliged to if 1 married, and you would
not wish to live elsewhere, I think I
{ will always stay hero.”
But Mrs. Barnet realized her own ap
| proaching end, and fretted constantly
| at leaving her granddaughter alone and
| nnprotected.
** Hetty, child,” she said, quernlously,
“1 will always wonder about young
{ with you, and he was a good match,
{ And then after John Jay deeded him
| his fine place, too —"
{ “Dont, grandmother, please don't
| talk over that affair,” pleaded Hetty,
{It 18 so long past now. Ten years
| ago, only think of it, and Mr. Campbell
is married and has two children, 1
i never loved him, grandmother. Would
| you have a Barnet marry for money or
| family #
The old lady bridled with the dignity
i of her kind.
{ “No, never, child. You are right.
| The Lord will watch over you.”
| Hetty sighed softly and went on with
her work. She had not changed much,
this fair, healthsome woman: there was
a calmer expression upon her brow, and
{ a not infrequent look of yearning sad-
' ness in her eyes, but she was still the
{ last * handsome Barnet.”
Much had come to pass to fret her.
The faithful servant-man had been
| * gatherad to his fathers,” and matters,
| consequently, gone wrong on the un-
| productive form. There was a mort-
| gage, too, upon the place that threat
| ened her with trouble, and Hetty had
| no one with whom she might discuss
| business matters, so entirely had she
{ selves, But her love for the quaint old
| house was as that of all her kindred, and
| she resolved in some way to live and
| die beneath its roof-tree Day and
night she turned the problem in her
{ brain, and prayed for a speedy solution
{of it. Hetty had assisted her helpless
{ down to her favorite seat on the low
{ wall under the wild cherry tree. A
| Young moon curved its bow in tha pur-
| beads, and once again the lonely woman
{ listened to the faint, far call of . whip-
| poor-will in the distant meadow, How
| the past returned to her!
{ °° At times,” she whispered, softly, as
| memory broke within her past centro),
“I do believe John loved
| Why
| pride, shame, everything, and tried to
| understand ? So much seems clear to
| me now.
| taught to suffer mn silence—and so he
| went forever, Ah! me! 1
| where he bas been all these years? He
{ but I did not believe him,
jup all he possessed to his nephew
{ were all the rest,
{ long! how long!”
| Hetty pressed her hands over her
{ eyes, and the hot tears trickled through
{ her fingers. She brushed them ve
| hemently away.
** He never intended to marry,
{| know it. Nor do I.
| life !—a lonely life I”
| Plaintively came the cry of tha bird.
| Hetty wis alive with memories, and
{ she started.
| ‘Just so the bird cried out when ne
| said ‘good-by.’
| Her head sank on her arm, and the
| shadowy night folded her in dad
| roveries.
‘“ Hetty !| Hetty I”
{ Softly, tenderly the voice, out of the
| long ago, penetrated her dream of lost
| love.
“John!”
A firm footstep sprang into the shad.
| ow, strong arms lifted her out of it into
the starlight, and Heity knew the hour
| of her joy was come,
| “I have returned to find you!” cried
| ber lover, trinmphantly. “I dared not
Ten yoars!
3 I
Bnt it is a lonely
| My nephew is married, thank God, and
| you—yon, my only love, are free, and
| mine! Neither riches nor pride could
tempt you. When I learned this, I
dared to hope my earlier dreams had
uot misled me. And you have always
loved me, Hetty ?”
“I do not think a Barnet ever loves
but once,” said the happy woman, be
tween smiles and tears.
‘“ But, you remember, your grand-
! mother gave me to understand —"
“ Ah,” interrupted Hetty, clasping
her lover as though she might again
lose him, * remember, also, that a
Barnet never reveals her love unasked.
Grandmother could not know the way
of my heart.”
What plans the stars and leaves were
witnesses to that night one eannot
know, but Hetty made no delay to wed
with her first love, and the quaint
house received another inmate.
Still picturesque and moss-roofed it
stands beneath its gnarled old trees,
and children’s voices, that call Hetty
‘“ mother,” ure heard merrily mocking
the robins in the spring time.
Peace, plenty and Lappiness dwell
therein, and one is fain to say : “There
is no love like the old love,”
The German translations from Long.
fellow number 86 ; Dutch, 2; Swedish,
5; Danish, 2; French, 8; Italian, 9;
Portuguese, 4; Spanish, 1; Polish, 3;
Russian, Latir, Hebrew, Chinese and
Sanskrit, each 1.
Amsterdam, the ehief commercial city
of the Netherlands, is to have an inter.
pational exhibition from May to October,
LONGRESSMEN'S CHILDREN,
How They Make Things Lively inthe House,
|
Looking down from the reporters’
| gallery of the Houso the wialder of the
of witnessing some very funny sights,
{ and like a man up a tree, makes mental
comments and says nothing. It often
men have children, though why they
of the children are very good, and that
some are very pretty, and that othe's
are very ugly and very, very bad, exact
couterparts of their fathers, as it were,
to say a word or two of the children that
ent House,
To start with
Belford's boys,
headed cherubs.
{as to whose boys they are, for their
there is Congressman
chips of the old block. Thesa little
lads come up to the House quite often.
| They are each about two feet high and
very bright, Whether the father is
present or not they are by no means
disooncerted, and soramble over the
desks and make themselves at
home, and are favorites with
{ even the gravest statesmen. ‘‘Belford’s
{ boys" are frequently the envy of
the most juvenile of the pages, because
they are such pets. Such members as
have red hair are most considerate of
this pair. Shonld a gouty member
drop 1n some morning and anchor him-
sell on a bent pin, * Belford's boys"
are held responsible. Bhould another
find his ink well filled with water,
“‘ bellord’s boys" are blamed, and so
it happens that many boyish pranks of
which members are victims are credited
they may be.
Leopold Morse has a pair of bright
little lads who often visit the House,
They ara mischievous, as their venera-
ble paps used to be, perhaps, but more
daring. On more than one occasion
they have cagsed the heart of pater
familias to quake with alarm a5 (uey
approached and asked some sturdy Re-
presentative point blank questions, or
when they rolled spittcons over the
floor, or drew pictures with chalk ou
members’ desks. Morse is proud of his
heirs, but he can't manage them, and
the little fellows make it lively enough
for him sometimes,
The prettiest and most favored chil
bright-eyed, fair-haired boy and girl of
Congressman Skinner. Their pretty
manners and charming prattle has made
them popular with every one connected
with the House, They can elimb over
desks and all that sort of thing, but
unlike the majority of children of their
ages are not boisterous or inclined to
precocionsness. Mr, Skinner is proud
of them, and when the louse is in ses.
sion, aud he can sit behind his desk
with one on each knee, he seems the
happiest man in Congress,
Congressruan Hammond, of New
York, has a fine little son, who always
makes friends, and when he stands
around the floor he is dignified and po-
lite, and shakes hands and chats bright.
ly with members on all sides. He's a
friend of Belford's boys, and when these
little chaps are together it is a pleasant
picture to watch their many
I'wo of the brightest children are the
daughters of Congressmen Mills and
Dingley. They are handsome girls and
always prettily dressed. Little Miss
Mills is an especial favorite with Joe
in teasing her with reference to her
father's political status.
| burn, when talking with the little
miss, always speaks of him as being a
language her baby lips can command,
| rebukes Mr. Biackburn flercely ; a fact
{ which pleases the latter immensely, and
| always attracts a group of statesmen
| about the two.
Congressman Valentine's boy is
another who is a favorite in Congress,
{and is a friend of Master Harry Smith,
| son of the journal clerk.
These little chaps are bright, hand.
as ever adorned a Congress,— Washing
| on Oritic,
ere—
Norwegian Glaciers and Folk«Lore.
A correspondent of the Nature gives
of a Norwegian glacier known as Buer
| bree, near Odde on the Sorfjord. “1
| visited the place,” he says, ‘in 1874,
{ and the recent plowing up of a con-
| siderable bit of the valley by the vast
| irresistible ice-plow was very strik‘ng,
| while the glacier itself was very bean-
{ tiful, My object, however, is to repeat
| & strange piece of folk-lore, which tends
{ advance of the glacier must have been
{ long-continned. The legend was told
me by Asbjorn Olsen, an intelligent
| guide at Odde, who speaks good Eng-
{ lish. The tale was that long ago
{the Buner valley extended far
{into the mountains, and was full of
| farms and cultivation,
| village, a church and a pastor,
threatened, three Finns (i. e. Lapps)
in vain of the inhabitants,
{ Then the wrath of the heathen wizards
| was raised and they eolemnly cursed the
i glacier reached the lake below. The
| Lapps wereseen no more, but on their
| disappearing the snow began to fall,
proached by awful
degrees engulfed the cursed
| valley and farms. Nor is the curse
| yet exhausted, for the glacier creeps
down the valley each year, and has yet
a mile to go before it reaches its desti-
nation in the lake above Odde. I am
no judge of folk-lore, but this weird
tale seemed to me a genuine piece of it,
and not invented for the oceasion, as
Olsea gave it half jokingly as the
tradition of the district. The
farmer who owns the remnant of
the doomed valley wanted then to
sell it, as he saw his acres swallowed
up each year, but no one will buy. If
this tale be genuine it points to a pro
longed advance of the Folgefond, which
has led to the tale of the Lapps’ curse.”
steps, and by
The Wonders of Paper,
At the Melbourne exhibition, held
recently, there was a complete dwell
ing house made entirely of paper, and
furnished throughout with the same
material. There were paper walls,
paper roofs, paper ceilings, paper floor-
ings, paper joists, paper stairways,
paper carpets, paper bedding, paper
obairs, paper sofas, paper lamps, paper
frying pans and even the stoves in
which bright fires wero kept constantly
burning daily were of papier mache,
and when the fabricator of this man-
sion gave a banquet in this dwelling,
the tablecloths, the napkius, the plates
and cups and saucers, the bottles and
the tumblers, and even the knives and
forks, were likewise made of paper,—
Journal of Chemistry,
.
| How A. T, Stewart Bulit Up His Bus.
ness,
The discontinuance of this great
| Now York dry goods and manufacturing
concern of A, I, Btewart & Co., makes
the following account of how Btewart
built up his immense establishment
interesting reading: When Mr. Stew
urt, after years' experience as a school
teacher, started in the dry goods busi
ness in 1822, in Broadway, near Cham
bers street, he had between $1,200 and
| $1,600 capital, and his store was twenty-
two feet wide by thirty deep. When on
April 10, 1876, he died, his retail store,
| which cost $2,750,000, occupied a city
block, and covered an area of 2} acres,
| making, with its eight floors, a total of
eighteen acres under one roof devoted
to the retail dry goods business, The
running expenses of the establishment
were over $1,000,000 a vear, It was the
largest store in the world, nothing in
London or Paris approaching the build-
ing in size or in amount of busi.
ness done in it. Besides this,
he had the wholesale store
covering the Broadway end of the
block between Chambers and Reade
streets. The combined gales of the
two establishments aggregated $050,-
000,000 a year. In connection with the
business, he owned a number of wool:
en, silk and thread mills—the Mo
hawk, the Elbeuaf at Little Falls, the
New York mills at Holyoke, the Wood-
ward mills at Woodstock, the Yantic
mills in New Jersey, the Washington
mills near Utica, the Catskill woolen
ham curpet factory,
Glasgow, Scotland, He had branch
houses at Bradford, Manchester, Bel-
fast, Paris, Lyons, Berlin, and at Chen-
mits in Saxouy.
This great business was built up by
assiduous attention to details, exact
habits and rigid adherence to fixed
| prineiples of conduct. When he started
his wife lived in a room above
porter, A0Q uo Wo. Teme
eighteen hours a day.
anction rooms, picked up cheap lots and
attractively,
fully examined, creases were smoothed
cess was the
his dealings. Goods were
sented to be exactly what
were, The price fixed was as low as
possible, and there was no deviation
from it.
care save to find what they wanted
Lots of goods purchased unusually
cheap were sold very cheap, and Stew
art's bargains became famous.
thoughtfulness to have everything done
which could gain custom was unflag-
ging. When he started his
store he ordered that partionlar atten
tion should be paid to poor persons
coming in from the Fourth avenue side,
80 that he might attract the Bowery
trade, and he succeeded. In buying,
rigid honesty
repre-
He did not have 10 watch others to
tell what he wanted, and when
importations came in he made his se
comparing opinions and thinking over
and striking the market
against periods of commercial depres.
sion,
harvest to him. The collapse of credit
{ forced down values so that kis cash
could make its own price for
goods, The curtailment of his
wholesale operations caused by the
bad times, was made up for by
ratailing goods at wholesale prices and
closing out stocks direct to consumers
In his wholesale operations he gave
| only short credit, and no indulgence of
tardy payments was shown, Collections
were rigorously pushed, and com.
| promise of claims refused. An embar.
rassod firm must at least pay Stewart
in full, whatever might be the arrange-
ment it could get with other creditors.
| He was rigid and exact in the discharge
{ and demand of every obligation, and
{ he died worth about £30,000,000,
In the retail store 520-horse power
was required to heat the building, ran
the elevators, and work the sewing ma-
chines. There was an army of 2,000
{employes under pay. The store was
| as well known out of town as in the city,
and much of its custom came from tran-
tient visitors, It was frequented by ail
classes, from the wealthies!, to the very
poor. A constant line of ladies thronged
in and out of the blne-shaded doors
Carriages lined the curb, and liveried
coachmen of the firm opened their
doors, Inside the store it was difienlt
to get about because of the crowd. It
| attracted so many people to that part
of the city that the value of neighbor-
ing properly for store purposes was
greatly increased. It checked the up-
town movement of trade, and caused a
great many other retail honses to estab.
lish themselves in the vicinity.
Wit of the Lattie Ones,
“What is that man yeiling. at 2" in.
quired Tommy of his younger brother.
| “At the top of his voice,” replied the
{ little ona,
A little girl read a composition before
the minister. The subject was “a cow."
She wove in this complimentary sen-
tence: “A cow is the most useful ani
| mal in the world except religion.”
i
i
“Ma, am I all made now ?” said a lit
tle miss of three and one-half years aut
the breakfast table fyesterday morning.
“Why, dear?’ said the fond mother,
| “Because I have had my ears pierced
{and was vaccinated yesterday,” said
{ little Tot,
| Nellie has a four-year-old sister Mary,
{ who complains to mamma that her
| “button shoes” were “hurting.” “Why,
| Mattie, you've put them on the wrong
| feet.” Puzzled and ready to ory, she
made answer: *‘What’ll I do, mamma ?
They's all the feet I've got.”
i
A lady was singing at a charity con-
| cert in England and the audience in-
| sisted upon hearing her song a second
{ time, Her daughter, a little child, was
| present, and on being asked afterward
| how her mamma had sung, replied:
“Very badly, for they made her do it
| all over again,”
A young lady having * set her cap”
for a rather large specimen of the op-
posite sex, and having failed to win
him, was telling her sorrows to a con-
ple of her confidants, when one of
them confronted her with these words :
‘* Never mind, Mollie, there as good
fish in the sea as ever was caught.”
“ Mollie knows that,” replied her little
brother, ** but she wants a whale,”
——— IR ———
A recent return shows that in England
and Wales there are 1,267 building
societies. The membership of 1,015 of
these amonnts to 372,035, and the re.
oceipts of 1,116 during the year reached
the sum of £18,604,505,
SCIENTIFIC NOTES,
Silver is the most perfect reflecting
metal, absorbing less than three per
eent, of the rays of light,
The sardine has disappeared from
the coast of Brittany, where it used to
brine the fishermen an annual revenue
of 15,000,000 francs. M. Blavier thinks
that some change in the direction of
the Gulf Stream may account for the
fact.
MM. Mace de *Lepinsy and Nieati
were some time since on a mountain ex.
cursion and spent some five hours
among tha snow. When they returned
they found all artificial lights in the
town to appear distinelly green, and |
this eflect of temporary daltonism in- |
duced by fatigue lasted for about three |
hours, i
Professor Tommasi-Orudeli has lately |
shown that malarial infection may be |
caused by the keeping of house-plants, |
even in districts where malaria is un- |
known The unwholesome influence, |
however, is not due tothe plants them-
selves, but te the damp earth surround- |
ing them and the heated and badly ven. |
tilated condition of the rooms in which |
they are kept.
An examiner of recruits drafted into |
the German army states that a long |
series of careful measurements have es-
in every individual, The greatest change
half.
A remarkable phenomencn dus to re-
whole being intensely bright. Inabout |
is verti
106 stall +
——
to the observer the de- |
pestilence. ‘
s————
Popular Rescrts in a Spanish Town,
The people (of Toledo) gencrally
were very simple and good natured, |
traveler trom Barcelona whom we met |
The |
was lined with awnings |
reaching to the enrbstone in front of
acquaintance introdnced us to what
out into a spacious |
concealed cafe—that of the Two Broth-
him, to sip ehiccory and cognac or play
On these occasions he kept
friend with their initials, and heading |
All travelers in |
are by natives as |
Spain described
i
utation for a pure Parisian accent which
though brief, was glorions. To the Two !
Brothers resorted many soldiers, shop-
keepers and housewives during fixed |
hours of the afternoon and evening, |
Don Roderick’s palace. Another place |
theater, lodged within the ragged walls |
of a large building which had been half |
torn down. Here wesat under the stairs, |
luxuriating in the most expensive seats |
by a full audience of exceedingly good |
aspect, includieg some Toledan |
ladies of great beauty, and lis.
tened to a zarzuela, or popular comic |
The ticket
collector came in among the chairs to i
take up everybody's coupons, with very |
much the air of being one of the fam- |
ily; for while performing his stern duty |
he smoked a short brier pipe, giving to |
the act an indeseribeble dignity, which |
threw the whole business of the |
tickets into a proper subordination. |
In relurning to our inn about!
midnight, we were attracted by the free |
cool sound of a guitar duette issuing |
from a dark street that rambled off |
somewhere like a worm-track in old |
wood, and, pursuing the sound, we |
discovered, by the aid of a match |
lighted for a cigarette, two men stand-
ing in the obscure alley, and serenading |
a couple of ladies in a balcony, who |
positively laughed with pride at the |
attention, The men, it proved, had |
been hired by some admirer, and so our |
friend engaged them to perform for us |
at the hotel the following night. — |
George P. Lathrop, in Harper, |
——————
The Hindoos.
They are good-natured; honest |
among themselves, prone to verbal |
quarrels, but easily reconciled ; con-
siderate, after their own fashion, in
their treatment of women and the
aged; careful of and kind to their male
children, but apt to be careless of their |
daughters; frugal in their habits, |
except on special oocasions, such
as birthe, deaths and marriages ;
extremely submissive to authority;
industrious, with a somewhat fitful
and desuitory industry; careless and
unsystematio in most of their arrange
ments; very prone to lying, but is eften
the result of imperfectly understand-
ing what is said to them, and of a loose.
ness of thought and mental limitations
which are beyond the conception of a
European interrogator; averse to any
change of which the benefit is |
not very obvious to them, and orav- |
ing few boons of government |
except to be leit alone as much as it |
can find in its heart to leave them. *
* * On the whole, a likable, even
a lovable, though not unfrequently a
somewhat exasperating people; diffi-
cult to understand, but well worthy of
study; who will repay with interest the
expenditure, but all who have to deal
with them, of the whole of the avail-
able stock of the four great qualities
which they most require and most ap-
preciate—gentleness, patience, firm-
ness and thoroughness,— Garden of
India,
i
i
|
:
Friendly People,
The influence of genuine friendliness
is wonderful. We have met people who
were so kind and cordial in manner, so
responsive in look and greeting, and so
swift in doing and saying courteons and
gracious things, that they seemed to
diffuse a sweetatmosvhere around them.
How beautiful they were, even though
they had plain faces and rongh hands.
No face is ever hopelessly plain through
which a friendly soul looks out upon
tha world.
I —————
The number of books and pamphlets
published in Germany during last year
was 15,191, as against 14,941 published
in 1881
FOOD FACTS,
Maize, or Indian corn, is one of the
most nutritious of the grains, and eon-
tains more of the fatty eleiaents than
the others,
The substitution of from four to six
drams of glycerine for the amount of
water, is recommended in preparing
food for infants.
The better qualities of flaxseed con-
tain about thirty per cent. of oil, and
if well masticated may be eaten freely
by those whose system requires more
fat—such people us are recommended
to use ver oil.
Beans contain all the elements of
true aliment excepting fat. To obtain
this it is not necessary to bake beans
with pork. A fat piece of corned beef
is an excellent substitute and is ex-
tensively used by those who entertain a
prejudice to pork.
Daring the first two months of an
infant's life it should not be fed oftener
than once in two hours. After this the
interval between meals may be length
ened with advantage, and at the end of
six months farinaceous or starchy food
may be allowed in small quantity,
A writer in the Laws of Life, speak-
ing of pork parasites, tries to make the
ounce of flesh may containa quarter of
a million of the infinitesimal larvee of
the trichinm, and that a pork eater may
with a few mouthfuls fill himself with
50,000,000 vermicularis,
One who has made the calenlations
finds that as a flesh-producing food
eggs are equal to meat; that they sur-
pass it in ability as a heat and force-
producing agent; and that a pound of
corn will be more than twice as valua-
ble if transformed into eggs by means
of the hen, as when put mto the form
of meat by feeding to pigs.— Ur. Foote's
Health Monthly.
renee vam—————
Saved from Cannibalism,
On Christmas day, in the Pacific
ocean, three boat loads of people yut
Last evening, says the
panciseo Gall of recent date, the
an sand boat load heard
survivors of the'® .
from arrived in this city by the stone
Newbern from Mazatlin, The survivors
were Capiain McArthur, his wite, two
children and one sailor. They had been
from a Mexican coasting
by the Newbern on
down trip. Two days be
fore that the schooner had picked them
up, the captain and his fawily looking
little better than bronzed skeleton, one
sailor a gibbering maniac, the other
oenseless. A two-year-old child of the
captain's was dead. All bad been m an
open boat forty-six days. For many
ful of food and a spoonful of freshened
ocean water. When the Mexicans
schooner took them on board one sailo:
overcome all restraint and drank him-
self to death with the water furnished.
“‘For the love of God give me pass-
age to some place where my wife and
child can have proper care,” the wrecked
the Newbern, whea the steamer was ap-
proached by a boat from the coasting
schooner,
The survivors were taken aboard.
“There is a white man among them
lady on the Newbern said, * but how
dreadful that poor squaw looks.” It was
burned to a darker hue than an Indian's,
that the lady thought was a squaw.
The maniac sailor died from the ef-
fect of the water, which he hoped would
lifted on board the steamer. The
others were tenderly cared for,
The captain's little boy, only four
years old, looked wildly strange and
unnaiural. “ But, bless you,” an of-
ficer of the Newbern said to a Call re-
porter, ‘* we eonld just see him grow
The little fellow, who bad stood what
killed three of the stiong sail
ors, was soon & great favorite with
every man on the steamer,
The captain's wife, when Mazatlan
was reached, after being on the steamer
three days, gave birth to a son. It was
two weeks old when the steamer arrived
at the wharf, and a lively, bright infant,
Such is the story of their rescue.
Words cannot picture the sufferings
they endared in the forty-six days in
an open boat; days when the mother
saw oue babe waste away to death
for the lack of even such scanty nourish-
ment as had to be dealt to all; days
when the clear-headed captain had
to tie to the thwarts two of the
crazy sailors to prevent them from
feasting in fact upon the weaker
ones, upon whom their deliram-liguted
eyes flashed hungrily, longingly; days
when distant sails would loom up,
wildly revive sinking hope, disappear,
and drive hope into a greater, blacker
distance; days when the sufferings of
ination alone can attempt feebly to
paint,
“Ah!” the wife and mother said one
day on the steamer, as the passengers
were at dinner, “if my dear baby boy
water so lavishly dealt out here.”
General Torbet’s Way.
Torbet, of cavalry fame, who was
lost at sea last year with the ill-fated
Vera Orog, was a good fighter and a
hard worker. While having a kindly
heart for the trooper who was always
ready for “boots and saddles,” he
hated a shirk and had his own way of
meeting the complaints urged by shirk-
ors to get rid of daty, Just before
breaking camp in the spring of 1865
the general attended a sick call to see
the state of health in his command.
One after another of the boys came in
for prescriptions, and by-and-bye a
strapping big trooper, who was a no-
torious shirk, entered the tent with his
hands on his stomach. Torbet took
him in all at a glance and then thun-
dered out:
“ What are you here for ?"
“Bick,” was the faint response.
* What ails you?”
“Snake in the stomach.”
“How long has it been there ?"
“Six months.”
“Sargeon,” said the general, as he
turned to the officer, “call in two men,
cut this man open and remove the
snake! We are going to break camp in
ten days, and we haven't time to coax
the reptile up I” .
Fifteen minutes after that the man
was out on the line grooming his horse,
and by noon he looked well encu:h to
eat his way through a barrel of pork.—
Detroit Free Press,
Agricultural implements manufac-
tared in the United States for the year
1881 were valued at $69,374,086, and
gave employment to 88,620 hands,
IIIA i sess.
The two highest chimmeys in the
world are near Glasgow, Scotland.
One at Port Dandas is 454 feet above
joe! ground, and the St. Rollox 4354
An Ambidexterous Surgeon,
In an interesting obita notice of
Dr. Pancosst, the celebrased surgeon of
Philadelphia, the Times of that city
says: The great point in his career
Wha Me Sill us a . ules He was
ambidexter, eon orm opers-
tions of the most delicate intricacy with
bis left hand which were beyond the
skill of others using the right hand
only. It was, in , the extraordi-
nary facility with which be eculd em-
ploy both bands at one time which
made him so successful in the depart.
ment of plastie sugary. By the re-
moval of strips of flesh from the fore-
head and elsewhere he bas formed
no less than a dozen noses for
persons who, either through sceident
or disease, were without them. There
is 8 woman standing in the Callowhill
Street market for whom be made a nose
twenty-two years ago, and no one can
detect it now from nature's own handi-
work. He was the first to show that
after the eyebrow has been destroyed a
good-looking substitute can be made by
raising a flap of the scalp with the soft}
drooping hairs of the temple, and giving
it what 1s termed a *' long pedicle” to
run into a bed out for it in the brow.
He also furnished maimed humanity
with eyelids and ears. So far did
his fame as an operator extend
that one of the things whieh
visiting foreigners mar down
as of the greatest interest in Philadel-
phia was “to see Dr. Pancoast oper-
ate.” His bands jooked clumsy, but
he could take up a large knife as on
the occasion of the visit of the’
Japanese party some years ago to
seo him perform amputation at the
knee-joint, and the next mom:mnt he
could take the finest needle and oper-
ate upon an eye. He was among the
first to resort to the section of the
facial nerve for the relief of nenralgia.
He was remarkably successful in
operations for cataract, and early
improved Bp the operation of
“couching” by complete extraction.
In the treatment of strabismus, or
squint, he was in his day unrivaled. At
the same time the record of his larger
operations, from lithotomy to amputa-
tion of the hip-joint, is cne of extra-
ordinary brillisney, He was never sys.
matic, and was not at all particular
ge ction of instruments. Og
about his Te aed delical
several occasions he peri®
operations with an ordinary per
beenuee other instruments were not
ana.
do
[ite
Honoring a Painter,
Whoever may be the greatest of
painters, living or dead, no painter, dead
or living, bad ever such honors paid to
him as have just been lavished upon the
Hungarian artist Munkacsky. In Maa.
kacz, his birthplace, sn ioseription was
put up announ that in that town
were born * the founder of our
country, and Munksesky, the founder
of our art.” When he was expected in
Pesth special trains were run
from various parts of Hungary ia
order to ensble Munkacsky's fellow
countrymen to see him and shake
bim by the band. His famous
picture was on view, and as much as
£5,500 is said to have been made by |
exhibiting it. The Bishop of Pesth-
presched a sermon, or at least an ad-
dress, in praise of the priser whom
his country delighted to honor, and a
grand concert was given, which
Munkacsky was specially invited and at
which Hungary's greatest musician,
the Abbe Lisrt, was present. In the
course of the entertainment the painter
was asked whether he was *“ fond of
music ” and if he played on any instru
meni, He replied that he was devoted
to music, and thet he played on nature's
own instrament. He n to whistle,
when his performapce was received
with enthusiasm, and he was asked
to stand on a chair, that every
whistled an Hungarian national air, on
which the andience became Tpllons
and even hysterical. Men applauded,
women wept, and the Abbe Liszt took
the whistling virtuoso in his arms and
embraced him. It is recorded of the
late Ole Ball, a showy violinist who
passed with the Norwegians for a man
of genius, that on one occasion, at a
moment of political crisis, he was called |
upon by an excited audience to furnish |
suggestions for a revised constitution ;
and when the pianist Gottechalk died
at Rio Janeiro, a writer in one of the
Rio newspapers named, in a parox
of admiration and grief, the one
in the region of the blessed which so
sogelic a player could fitly occupy.
But the enthusiasm of which Mun.
kacsky has been made the object goes
beyond all previous manifestations of a
like kind. —8t. James’ Gazetle,
Attachment to Newspapers,
The strong attachment of subscribers
to well conducted newspapers is fully
confirmed by publishers. “Stop my
paper, ' words of dread to beginners in
business, lose their terror after a paper
has been established for a number of
years. Bo long as it pursues a just,
honorable and judicions course, meet.
ing the wants of its customers in all
respects, the ties of friendship between
the subscriber and paper are as hard to
break by outside third party as the link
which binds old friendsin business or
social life. Occasional defects and
errors in a newspaper are overlooked by
those who have become attached to it
through its perusal for years.
They sometimes become dissatisfied
with it on account of something which
has Sligped ioto its columns and may
stop taking it, but the absence of the
familiar sheet at their homes and offices
for a few weeks becomes an insupporta-
ble privation, they Sain jo Sie it
again, an sibly apologize for having
stopped. No friendship on earth is
more constant than that contracted by
the reader for a journal which makesan
honest and earnest effort to merit its
continued support. Hence a conscien-
tiously conducted paper becomes a fa-
vorite in the family.
I'he Sparrow Pest,
If the sparrow, whom the spring
makes more belligerent and obnoxious
than ever, would just take himself away
and let our native songsters, who have
been exiled by his puguacity, come
into our gardens and parks once more,
we would be willing to pardon him for
his unnumbered displays of ill-breed-
ing, ill-nature and general meannees.
By the way, has the reader ever noticed
wheat a difference there is in the feeling
the children have for this smudgy,
dirty, greedy wrangler of the streets
and his country cousin, the modest
gray-vested, cleaun-footed little chip-
ping-bird that used to hop inquiringly
along our garden paths until driven
away by the low-bred stranger from
over the sea? No child ever gathered
other than good impression from little
chippie—but the s w, brown-coat—
ugh! He is a devil of the gutter, who
has all the vices of the street Araband |
none of his possibility of amendment.
The moral influence of ‘‘Chippie” was
couraged the feathered
drove him away.— Our Continent,
Ex
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