pr ‘WHY THE DAISIES ARE WHITE. “Once on a time a quarrel rose, : “Tis said, between impatient Spring And that old graybeard Winter, who Yet louger to his throne would cling. “My turn it is quoth, "Mistress Spring, “To reign, and clothe the earth anew. How long must all my beauties lie Concealed for fear of such as you?” Then to the sunbeams coaxingly She turned and said, “To you alone 1 look for help earth's chains to loose, And drive this loiterer from the throne. So, tempted by her smiling face The Sunbesms answered to her call, And though old Winter battled well, His kingdom soon began to fall. ‘But if you think,” he coldly said, All traces of me to wipe away, My memory still shall haunt and lie Tpon your meadows day by day, And on that night & messenger, By Winter sent to daisyland, Upon each daisy blossom laid A sheet of snow with lavish hand. And Mistress spring when she beheld The souvenir of Winter's reign, Smiled as she softly kissed her pets, And foiled his purpose once again; For in the heart of each white flower She laid a bit of golden sun And bade it fiestle closely there Until sweet daisy life was done And thus the fair field flower grew, Spring's golden sunshine, warm and bright, At rest forever in its heart ; The while its leaves, like snow, are white. ~MARY D. BRINE. My Wedding Tour. I was only seventeen when Charlie married me, and I wrote myself for the first time Mrs. Charles Vail, Jr., and saw the initials of the same blazoned on my new Saratoga trunk, when we started on our wedding journey, wedding journey! I can speak of it calmly now, but the time was when it harrowed up my inmost soul. To this mentioned, and says it is my “‘con- founded imagination ;"’ but he knows, and I know well, that that is only one of those covenient little loopholes through which big masculinity can crawl on emergency ; and the facts re- maining unchanged and indisputable, I shall defy Charlie and state them to the world. Imagine then, reader or listener, whoever you may be, that the silken train has swept itself out Trinity chapel, and the last note of the inevitable “Wedding March’ shud- derered itself out of the big groaning organ, and that Charlie and I are mar- ried. Also, that the Kissing and crying over is achieved, and the voices of my husband’s sisters and my maiden aunts, hailing down blessings on our heads, are happily lost in the distance ~that the only sound we hear is the rattle and roar of an express train thundering eastward, and 1 am looking out into the golden noonday watching the fields and roads and villages and woodlands race past up, and sweep back into a room. like running water, There we sat. two blissful young fools—but it isn’t of our bliss or either, that I am going to tell you- only of the single adventure of our wedding tour. Charlie hadn't told me where we were 10 go, and I rather liked bei left ignorance, knowing no more than that we were being swept away Lo some lit- tle paradise of our own—it might be an gsland of the Hebrides, or Crusoe’s kingdom, or Eden itself, We stopped at a good many stations by the way that looked anything but paradisical ; but I saw everything through a glass, rosily, as I sat there demure and mute, by Charlie's side. The shadows were growing short, and it was just noon, when we stopped at some ‘-ville’’ or other, whose long, low, straggling build- ings, crowded close upon the track, and the broad, dusty village street, branch- ing off at right angles, are photographed upen my memory. Not for anything intrinsically remarkable ; there were only a good many teams and farm wagons, and open carriages, and light carryalls standing about, with the lazy horses rubbing against the old worm- * eaten posts, under the row of drooping green trees, and plenty of people on the platform, crowding together for greet Ving and good-byes ; it was a common- place every day picture enough, and mot even a pretty one, except in frag- nents, There was a general exodus from the car, and a rush dinnerward, as we supposed, toward the swinging ' sign of some “‘house’’ or other down the lazy little country street; and «Charlie, looking at his watch, said it was twelve o'clock—and didn’t I want some lunch ? Of course [ didn’t, but of course he said I must have it, and immediately started up. He wouldn't be five min- utes, he said, and I musn’t move till he came back. 1 was to guard our two seats and let no one come nigh them, and above all, I was to sit still and not be led astray by any possible warning ‘tochange cars. “We're going through,” Charlie remarked, ‘so just keep the seats, and don’t pay any attention.’ 1 nodded obedience, and Mr. Vail marched out of the car, leaving me to peer after him in the crowd and catch the last glimpse of his straw hat van- of our foolishness, no ng in ' as one does in a crowd when they have nothing better to think of. Presently { the door banged open, and the voice of some unseen functionary shouted, “Change cars for Boston !" Everybody. began to scramble their bags and bundles and canes together, and there was a rush among the few who remained my fellow passengers. 1 watched them go without emotion, and | merely settled myself more comfortably | for the solitary journey ‘through’ | which Charlie had indicated—wonder- | ing a little where its terminus might be, { but in no wise disturbed thereat. I | stared out at the people for five minutes | longer-—at least so said the fat faced clock in the ** ladies *’ room opposite my window, though I made it fifty at least by mental calculation, and then the door swung open again. This time a head projected itself into the car, roared “ Allout !''—evidently at me—and van- ished again. ‘‘I won't getout,” I re- plied, defying the empty air. * Charlie told me to sit still, and I'm going to. Oh, Charlie ! why in the world don’t you come back ?”’ But no Charlie came to answer Ine, and I began to stare out in the crowd with rather more anxious eyes, and to grow a little hot and uneasy, and to think, with certain unpleasant thrills running down my back, what would be- come of me if the train should start and Charlie shouldn't come back at all ? At this awful point in my meditations, | the locomotive gave vent Lo an unearth- | ly screech, which I took for a premoni- tory symptom of departure, and was so i terrified that I started up from my seat, i just as the little door swung back for head. feet high, and was a grim, not to irate, visage, grufly. *‘ I told you so twiee before !’ I'm to sit still,” I replied meekly, “I'm going through.’ was the right I thought this thing to say, because the right effect. “ Change cars then—there’s the ton train over there. This car back to New York." I simply runs stared at the person, in a dogged way that he seemed to very ill “Come!” he exclaimed, waxing im- patient, you know. go?’ “[—J—don't know,” 1 stammered. “I was told to sit still, and I—1 must 3 * You can't sit here al Where do you ‘ waittill the person comes back.’ The person stared back at me with interest. ** Where's your ticket,"’ said he. extending a dirty hand. ‘1 haven't got it,” I answered My- the gentleman who in | meek and coneiliating tone, *' at least me has got them both.” “ The ge must be ! ntleman ! Told you to sit still, I made ne reply to this unwarrantable lack of respect in referring to my ab- sent lord, but drew looked severely out of the window, myself up “ Well, you can’t go back to New marily. ** The best thing for you to de is to get out and look for your gentle- man, miss.’’ Saying which he jerked my bag from the rack, turned .the opposite seat, which Charley had inverted, back into its place, and, by a species of moral guasion, caused me to pick up my shawls, parasols, etc., and follow him in abject submission to the door, “ Now where did the gentleman go 7?’ he demanded, as he handed me out on the platform.” “ He went to get me some lunch,” 1 replied, almost ready at this crisis to disgrace myself and ery. “ And told you to sit still, did he ? Well, you stand right here and Keep a lookout for him. There's the Boston train over there, goes in fifteen minutes, and he can’t get into it without your seeing him, if he ain’t inside of it already ; and my advice to you is, stick fast to him if you find him, for he mw need looking after |” With which remarkable words he set down my bag, and winked ata by- stander. “ What's the row?’ inquired the person thus invited to participate in the enjoyment of my woes. Then they whispered—about me, I suppose--and everybody turned and stared at me, Poor little bride! There I stood, holding fast my parasol, with a shawl on one arm, my own sialler satchel on the other, and Charlig’'s bigger one at my feet, feeling like a very *“ lone lorn critter’ indeed. There stood three men in a knot, contemplating me, and any quantity of the same species coming and going, who all looked at me as they passed, and then turned round and stared again—and there was no Charlie visible in all the range of surrounding country. Dire thoughts began to be born within me, and to turn me cold and damp with extreme terror ; the nightmare of my ‘Infaney—** being lost’ ——came back Charles Vall, Jr., with a swoop, What was to become of me ¥ Supposing there had been an accident, and Charlie knocked down and awfully mangled, or that he had just vanished away, as one occasionally hears of respectable gentle- men having done, and never would appear again, or be heard of at all; supposing I were just to stand there waiting, the trains shrieking away in the distance, and night coming on, and all these strange men staring and whis- pering ? Pretty soon I should begin to and here I began to feel for my pocket handkerchief, and that reminded me of my pocket-book as a slight resource. I dived to the utmost cover of my pocket before I remembered that I had con- fided it to Charlie, with wifely duty, at the outset of our wedding trip. At this alarming discovery, a cold moisture broke out upon my entire frame. A night passed under the lee of the depot, crouched among my little possessions, now loomed before me—un- less I could deposit the same posses- sions, or pawn my diamond ring and my gold bracelets for a night's lodging and a ticket back to New York. I suppose the horror depicted on my countenance was a sufficient challenge for inquiry, I don’t know what an extreme it must have reached, but somebody appeared to find it moving, for a benevolent voice presently saluted ny ears, “ Are you waiting here for anybody, miss ?' I turned around with a gasp of which subsided, when I met an elderly face, spectacled alarm, however, and benign in the extreme, “Excuse me, miss.” said the gentleman, in a sympathizing tone “i i I came to a dead stop. ‘My husband’ iy ii bag “Is there anything 1 can do for “ [don’t know—where to go!" 1 “They told out. me ii My new friend looked and then came a step nearer, ‘“‘are you alone ?"’ ““ No, no,” I said very quickly, unde “Who is with you 7" said he, with confused me, not understanding My—a ds He gentleman,” 1 faltered went out 4 10 gel me some not move ; and 1 were to take change cars don't Know ar we don't see him anywhere,’ Here 1 choked, bit my lips, ‘“ A gentleman !'’ repeated my trifnd, 3v this time two more men drawn near to listen. Your father 7?" ST “ Your brother, then ¥'' very riously, “N-no,"” I began to get very red and uncom- fortible and to wish stare so. “Where are you going, my dear?" inquired the first Samaritan, after a solemn pause of some minntes, myste- they wouldn't “1 don’t know,” I answered faintly. . He didn’t tell me ; he just said, when he went to get me some lunch, that I wasn't to move if the man said to change oars, for were gong through ; and I told the roan so, but he made me change.’ “That train is a-going back to New York.” said one of the last arrivals, grinning. * Going through to Boston, was you?’ “1 don't know where | was going,’ I answered very shortly. we LE “Jot me see your ticket, old gentleman, feelingly. He had a compassionate way at look- ing at me over his spectacles ; and he looked queerer still when 1 answered faintly : “He's got it—and-—my money-—and ~«gh, why don’t he come ?"’ Here I cast loose all ceremony, and burst into tears, “Oh, don’t ery now,” said the old gentleman, soothingly, “Don’t, now! It'll be all right—you'll be taken care of. Where did the—your friend-- where did he go? which way?" “1 don’t know,” 1 sobbed from be- hind my handkerchief, “Went to get some lunch, did he say? Well, now, can’t you tell me what sort of a looking person he was, and perhaps we can find him? Was he old or young?’ “Young,' I murmured, still behind a barrier of cambric. “‘W-with a yellow mou stache, and g-grey clothes, and a straw hat.” said the upon me, and crushed my sevemteen “ Pretty bad business!" one of the men —— So ———————————— muttered aside to another, ‘Sharp fellow!” dryly responded asecond. And then there wers some antistrophes of “What's the matter?” “It's ashame!’’ “Left her, did he?’ from a small erowd that had by this time started up around me, Well, now, just come in here and sit down,” said my old gentleman paternally, gathering upmy bag, ‘‘and compose yourself, my dear, and we'll see what can be done. Don’t cry! it'll only flurry you, and won’t do any good, you know. There, that's right?’ For sob, pulled my veil down, and was turn- ing to follow him, when, behold! as 1 swept the landscape o’er with one last look of desperation, there appeared Charlie—grey clothes, and straw hat, and yellow moustache—coming in the distance, with a brown paper parcel under each arm, “There he is!’ I shrieked, dropping bag and parasol in my ecstasy, and rush- ing down the platform with extended arms, ‘There he Oh, call him, somebody-—tell him here! Make him look this way!" “Where? Which? is! I'm Tt Where ishe 7 “Him bundles! in the with the Halloa, Halloa! Stop and three small boys and one BLIraw sir! him!’ one man started in pursuit, Poor Charlie! There he came, hur- along in our direction, rather and with a smiling face, when my four And they uplifted their voices, and champions gave chase, just as just as Charlie's eyes, sweeping the surrounding scene, appeared to light upon them did we had been the locomotive behind sitting a few min- utes before, and which had been backing riing and advancing and backing again, after the manner of trains, ehess its time to set up a shriek and a violent ringing of the bell, and to go puting on its way back to New York. And ie first stared wildly, and three small bovis { the man shouts But » train very long, Charlie couldn't keep and the his efforts seemed to break up with } impotency | of him upon | suddenly, after he had run himself | hot and damp, and shed all the hot buns | from his brown paper parcel for twenty He turned is pursuers like a | and figuratively speaking, they fell | yards along the track. { faced hb and man at bas upon { him, # * dtoy Where are you going 7"! top, ‘ Come back after your young “AIn't | self?" shouted the small } | “Wanted to 1 did | it this time, old feller I» | “What the d—-do yo | Charlie there ! dy, 3 vou ashamed of you i an ' § amp ir- IV In eCSLASY. IN AWAY, vou? Didn't 3 mgs lv iv $3 , fiercely, only he i word instead of wi £ re’ L Sarah y “There she is I" roared a dozen ve | with appropriate action of as washed hands ‘Ain't got | 80 easy vet } fey I will draw a decorous veil over the embrace that followed, and the profan- | ities with which Charlie punctuated it, and the compliments exchanged by the populace, who evinced the wildest joy at what was supposed to be the discorn- fiture of villainy. 1 will merely observe that the whistle of the Boston train cut short our little scene, and that I was hauled up on the last car amid the cheers of the bystanders, greatly multiplied and speeded on my way by a parting roar from one benevolent personage to ‘keep a tight eye on my young man, for he warn’t to be trusted as far as you could see him! Also that Charlie shed bank notes as well as buns in the excitement of the chase, and that my fine parasol, with an agate handle, the wedding gift of my beloved Ambella, is probably marching around Blankville, now poised in the lisle-threaded hand of some vil lage belle. Getting Even With Blumenthal. Mr. Isaacs and Mr. Blumenthal kept rival clothing stores on the Bowery, within a few doors of sach other. Mr. Isaacs was always to be found with his head out of the door soliciting custom from the verdant passer-by. Mr. Blum- enthal objected to this shoddy manner of doing business having found that the watchful Isaacs had captured several of his customers, and one day be went up to Mr. Isaacs andsaid : “Look here, Mr. Isaacs, vv don’t you keep your ugly face inside? You might peeter get a jackass to stand by de door. He would make a big improvement.” “Vy,” said Isaacs, “1 did try dot vonce, und all de peoples day pass py say to him : ‘Good day, Mr. Blumenthal ; I see you've moved.’ "” “Name the great bays.” Small by: A Zulu Path. The history of your first attempt to follow a Kafir path is usually some- approaching, and your impatience to reach your halting-place growing proportion, the road suddenly makes an enormous and seemingly quite unneces- sary curve in the wrong direction, while at the same moment an opening in the long grass on the other side conveys an insidious suggestion of a short cut. i The Spice of Life. ———" In making wills, some are left out and some are left tin, “Don’t pull me around 50,” said the thiaf to the policeman, “I have a felon “And I have my a felon,” remarked the upon my finger!’ upon Scene on railway platform at Heidel- berg. Traveler to university student : | without mishap you begin to think complacently of Cooper’s Pathfinder and Chingachgook, and mentally to class yourself with them. In the midst of these self-congratulations your promising path suddenly disappears altogether, and is replaced by three or four other paths, which wind away in every possible direction but the right one. You try the most hopeful looking of these, which leads you right down { i i $ i and then Feeling deserts the unhandsomely somehow that you. correct dismount and look about jump off, Instantly an elastic quiver under your left heel thrills you with the fearful that have trodden on a venomous snake, and your you, You consciousness you apprehensions are only calmed by dis- covering that it is the pliant root tuft of grass. Calling to mind "all that you have read about the wonderful sa- gacity of horses, you remount, throw the the neck of gallant steed, and leave him to reins upon his own way is to stop short and eat grass, this plan At another j length you accidentally ath, and following it up, denly find yourself back in the re from again, considerably further goal than when you diverged, and dened with a crushing of SIRE ( iil if the insdequateness strongest guage to express your feel tf ! he whole affair. Cullis. “The index of civil mm,” in emphatically Bays an faltimore The tisement the News, index deny it. Civ pear! powder box. The following item will as showing the successive changes in the government of the State and Tr various d ms ivi of this territory ‘Timber’ Woods, boat Ra Ol house Burlington, Iowa, At th was born The a near ory. house One en of Michigan. in the self-same of Wisconsin, the territory of Iowa.” the ti and the th Was in Some one was one day rallying Con- gressinan rog 1 that that he some time ago I wrote t $ replied. ** Why 0 a man, thank. ing him for a elipping cut from a news: paper about me, and asking the name and date of the paper: ' ‘1 am much obliged to you for your and will follow it, believing that my claim will go through, and I will at last get my pension.’ " advice, The London gays: “‘In place of Fraser, Messrs, Longman in- tend to try an experiment in cheap literature, a magazine of 120 pages, discussing every subject except politics and religion, conveying information, and lightened with good novels, but sold for sixpence, Such a magazine, if well done; should be a sixpenny Corn. hill, and obtain a quarter of a million of readers. In the changed conditions produced by the spread of education, such an experiment is nearly sure to succeed ; as would also, as we believe, a sixpenny Nineteenth Century, devoted mainly to politics and religion. The body of readers begin to tolerate grave thought and even to pay for it, to an extent which publishers as yet hardly estimate.” “Argus,” in Land and Water, writes: ‘‘The msthetic school has fallen into disrepute in society of late, owing in some degree to the doings of its chief apostles in America. The common opinion of Mr, Oscar Wilde is very wide of the truth. He is not the puling sentimentalist that he postures on the platforn: or appears in the draw- ings of Du Mauries. He is as shrewd and practical a youth as any I Know, He came to London to make a reputa- tion and set about it in a business-like fashion. Finding the ordinary methods of acquiring it slow and tedious he de- vised a method of his own, created the wsthetic school, and in less than a year became one of the most talked-of men in London. Now he is in America amassing a fortune, and contemplating ~rather dubjously-—marriage with a rich heiress. If this is folly, there is Sperta tor method in it.” Btudent—fiercely : “Don’t you like it ¥ allow me to tell you that I am at your service at any time and place.” Trav- eler—benignantly : “Ah, indeed, that is very kind of you, Just carry this satchel for me to the hotel,” Why Hobson objected : *‘Hobson," sald Muggins, *‘they tell me you have school, What's that for 7” ** ‘Cause,"’ said Hobson, ““the master ain't fit to im.’ “Ob,” said Muggins, “Well,” replied Hobson, apologetically, “all I know is he wanted to teach my boy to spell the word ’taters with a pt 7 The Hidalgo's Glasses. A poor Hidalgo 1 ved in Bpain Bo says Gil B a, who ought (0 know, And when it rained, he let it rain; They say that Spaniards all do so He lived sometimes on scanty fare; Small dishes on his board grew great, For on his nose a wondrous pair Of glasses sat when er he ate ives turned Wo turkey grew # that he earned he hardly knew pickled ol And quail on towsl The small Fre 1m OTRLEER When through his magic Dry bis rose 10 (ORY tf cherri { cherris glasses soon 2s of bread n tail to head 3 Asie, 1 Care There :s +} on uu is al who stands 1 way to the railroad station here. lind beggar As I passed him this morning. he said, “Dhrop a copper into a poor man’s hat. ™’ dropped a shilling, } ad on fingering, he recognized im- “Good luck to your ‘anner,”’ said be, ‘‘and may the blessings,’ ele, ste. ‘Sure, an’ it’s the first piece of silver I've touched for a month.” “Come now.” 1 remonstrated, “No, by the holy h. May the iz back f "Say a Sire, blessings.’ it's 'n a4 mont rom the station, 1 the same appeal, and this he out- life to ycur 'an- silver I've * exclaimed the old f the purest truth “Why, you 1 & sixpepce into { “long bit 5 o’ in accents His face underwent a change, but he instantly answered in a tone, “Are you the gen- gave me the shilling ; sure you #0, i wouldn't have told the lie this morning.” deprecating tleman that didn't an’ now, why say Fas cp fn Small Jokes. One of Guibollard’s friends called to see him very early the other moming. After having knocked several times, the door was at last opened. “Well,” said he, ‘‘I have knocked along while.” “Oh, 1 beard you," replied Guiboliard, “but 1 slept so well that 1 hesitated about waking up I’ A gentleman who had been thinking of buving a hack, having wisited a men- agerie, comes home radiant with joy. “I'm going to buy one of them zebras,’ he says: ‘‘one of those rifled horses. They must carry you much further than the ordinary sort I" “I thought,” remarked the victim, after the dentist had dragged him around the room several times, “I thought you advertised to extract teeth without pain.” “So I do, sir,” replies the op- erator, blandly ; “it doesn’t hurt me at all to yank® em I" “You are mistaken, sir,” said Miss Bnifkins, haughtily, to bashful young Thompson, who had just stepped on her flowing robe, “my train does not carry any passengers.” * Jmpudence., — Professional : ‘Please gimme ten cents, sir, to buy some bread ¥' Mugging: “Why, I gave you ten cents not half an hour ago.” FPro- fessional (taking inthe situation) : “Yes, sir, I know, sir, but I--I'm a terrible
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers