a,
a ——————1-
THE STORY
OF LIFE.
JOHN G. SAXEs
‘Say, what is life? "Cis to be born;
A helpless babe to greet the light
ith a sharp wail as if the morn
Foretold a cloudy neon and night;
To weep, to sleep, and ‘weep again,
thh a A ?
With sunny smiles bevween—and then ?
And then apace the infant grows
To be a laughing, sprightly boy.
Happy despite his little woes,
Were he but conscious of his joy !
To be, in short, from two to ten,
A merry, moody child—and then?
And then in coat and trousers clad,
* To learn to say the decalogue
And break it, an unthinking lad,
With mirth and mischief all agog:
+A trasnt oft by field and fen,
And capture butterflies—and then?
And then, increased in strength and size,
To be, anon, a youth full grown;
A hero in his mother’s eyes,
A young Apollo in his own:
To imitate the ways of men
In fashionable sin—and then?
And then, at last, to be a man,
To fall in love. to woo and wed!
With seething brain to scheme and plan
To gather gold or toil for bread ;
To sue for fame, with tongue and pe
And gain or lose the prize —and then?
And then in gray and wrinkled eld
To mourn the speed of life’s decline ;
To praise the scenes our youth beheld,
And dwell in memorv of latig syne;
To dream awhile with darkened ken,
“To drop into his grave—and then?
———— i —————————
How he Bought a Sewing Ma-
chine,
Just across the street from the Meth-
odist Church, in the principal street of
Benton, is a small one-story house, con-
sisting of three rooms only. This is
occupied by Mrs. Cooper, a widow, and
her only son, Johnny, with whom it is |
our purpose to become further acquain- |
ted. When the great rebellion broke
out, Johnny's father was one of the first
to enlist. It was a great trial to him
to leave behind his wife and son, but
he felt if his duty to go. For more than |
a year he wrote cheerful letters home ; |
but one dark day there came over
the wires tidings of the disastrous
battle of Fredericksburg, and in the
list of killed was the name of James
Coeper,
It was a sad day for Mrs. Cooper;
but she had little time to mourn. ‘I'he
death of her husband threw the burden
a school companion, who seemed to be
in a hurry.
“Where are you going, Fred ?' he in-’
quired,
“I'm going to pick cranberries for
Squire Baker.”
“How much does he pay ?”’
“Two cents a quart.”’
“Deo you think he would hire me?"
asked Johnny with a sudden thought.
. Yes, and be glad to get you. He's
gota good many cranberries on the
vi and he’s afraid there willbe a
frost to-night.”
go. Just hold on a minute.”
“All right.”
Having obtained permission Johnny
rejoined his companion, and proceeded
at once to the swamp.
abundant, for the crop this year was
unusually good and Johnny found that
he could pick quite rapidly, When
noon came he found he had picked
twenty gnarts,
“(an you come again this afternoon?”
asked the squire,
‘Yes, sir,” said Johnny, promptly.
hands are searce,”’
Johnny had already earned forty cents,
and hoped to earn as much more in the
afternoon. He was so excited by his
success that he hurried through his din-
ner with great rapidity, and was off once
more to the swamp. He worked till late,
and found at the end of the day that he
had gathered fifty quarts. He felt very
rich when the Squire handed him a one
dollar greepback in return for his ser-
vices,
quence of stooping so much, but the
thought that he had earned a whole dol-
lar in one day fully repaid him.
“Mother,” said Jobnny, when he
got home, “if you are willing, I will
keep this money There is something
very particular I want it for.”
“Certainly,” said his mother,
shall keep this and all you earn. I am
very sure you will not wish to spend it
unwisely.”
“No, mother, you may be sure of
that.”
On Monday, it so happened that the
of maintaining herself and Johnny upon |
her shoulders. After a while she ob- |
tained a pension of $8 a month, which |
helped her considerably, One-half of |
it paid her rent and the other half paid |
for her fuel and lights. But it costs a |
good deal to buy food and clothes for :
two persons, and she was obliged to toil |
early and late with her needle to make
up the requisite sum. Johnny was now |
11 years old, and might have obtained |
a chance to peg shoes in some of the |
shee shops in the village, as indeed he
wanted to do; but Mrs, Cooper felt that
he ought to be kept at school. As she |
would not be able to leave him money |
she was resolved at least to give him as i
good an education as the village schools |
would allow. .
One evening, just after tea, Mrs. |
Cooper laid down her work witha little |
sigh. ‘Johnny, said she, ‘‘I will get :
you to run over to "Squire Baker's and |
say that I shall not be able to finish his
shirts to-night, but I will try to send |
them over in the morning before he
goes.”
“You don't feel well, mother, do
you ?"’
“No, I have a bad headache. I think
1 shall go to bed early and see if I can’t
sleep it off.”
“I don’t believe it agrees with you to
sew 80 much,” said Johnny.
+] sometimes wish I had a sewing-
machine,” said his mother. ‘‘That
would enable me to do three times as
much work with less fatigue.”
“How much does a sewing-machine
cost?"
“1 suppose a good one would cost
not far from a hundred dollars,”’
“A hundred dollars! That is a good
deal of money,” said Johnny.
“Yes, quite too much for our means.
Of course there is no chance of my being
able to purchase one.”
As Johnny went across the field to
Squire Baker's he could not help think-
ing of what his mother had said. He
had hoped the cost of a machine would
not exceed twenty dollars, for in that
case there might be some chance of his
earning the amount in time, Occasion-
ally the neighbors called upon him to do
odd jobs, and paid him small sums,
These in time might %mount to
twenty dollars, But a hundred seemed
quite to large for him to think of ac-
cumulating.
“still,” thought Johnny, “I’ve agood
mind to try. I won't wait for jobs to
come to me ; I'll look out for them. I
havea good deal of time out of school
when I might be doing something. If
I don’t get enough to buy a sewing
machine, I may get something else that
mother will like,”
The next day was Saturday and school
did not keep. It was about the first of
October. In the town where Johnny
lived there were many swamps planted
with crauberries, which were now ripe
and ready for gathering. It was neces-
sary to pick them before a frost, since
this fruit, if touched with the frost,
will decay rapidly. As Johnny was
teacher was sick, and school was sus-
pended. Johnny found no difficulty in
obtaining a chance to pick cranberries
He was deter-
mined to do a little better than on Sat
urday. When evening came he
paid for fifty-three quarts—one dollar
and six cents,
“] wish there were cranberries to be
picked all the year round,” thought
Johnny. *‘I should soon get a hnndred
dollars.”
But this was about the last of his
picking. Schoot kept the next day,
was
When the cranberry season Was over,
four dollars. After that his gains were
for a neighbor. Once he turned the
received the small compensation of one
cent from a rather parsimonious farmer.
when the thouglit came to him that,
small as it was, it would help a little,
So the autumn slipped awayy and
winter came and went. In the spring
Johnny found more to do. On the first
day of June he counted his money and
found he had fifteen dollars,
“1¢'11 take a long time to get a hun-
dred dollars,” sighed Johnny. ‘If
mother would only let me go to work
in a shoe-shop! But she thinks I had
better go to school. But by-and-by
there'll be a chance to pick cranberries
again. I wish there'd be a vacation
then.”
One morning Johnny had occasion to
cross the fields near a small pond about
half a mile from his mother’s house,
He was busily thinking about his little
fund, and what he could do to increase
it, when his attention was all at once
attracted by a sharp cry of distress,
Looking up, he saw a gentleman in a
rowboat on the pond, who appeared to
be in the greatest trouble.
“Boy,” he called out, ‘‘can youswim?"’
“Yes, sir,” said Johnny.
“Then save my little daughter, if
you can. She has just fallen out of the
boat. There she is.”
The little girl just appeared above the
surface of the water, Luckily it was
very near the shore, yet too deep for
any one to venture who was unable
to swim. Our young hero had plenty
of courage. Moreover, he was an expert
swimmer, having been taught by his
father before be went to the war,
Without a minute's hesitation he
stripped off his jacket and plunged in.
A few vigorous strokes brought him to
the little girl. He seized her, just as
glie was sinking for the third time.
He held her till her father could re-
ceive her from his arms into the boat.
“Tet me lift you in, too,” he said.
“No, sir ; I'll swim to shore,” said
Johnny.
“Come up to the hotel this afternoon,
1 want to see you.’
The father applied himself to the res
toration of his daughter, and Johnny
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went home and changed his wet clothes.
He had recognized the gentleman as a
merchant from the city who had been
boarding at the hotel for a week or two,
He felt a glow of satisfaction in the
thought that he had been iostrimental
in saving a human life ; for it was very
evident that, her father being unable to
swim, the little girl would but for him
have been drowned.
In the afternoon he went to the hotel
and inquired for Mr. Barclay, for he
had heard the gentleman’s name, He
was conducted up stairs into a private |
Mr. Barclay advanced toward him
with a smile of welcome. ‘I am glad
“Is your little girl quite recovered ?*’
“Yes, nearly so, I thought it best
to let her lie in bed the remainder of
the day, as she might have got chilled.
And now, my dear boy, how shall 1 ex-
press my gratitude to you for your noble
Under God, you have been |
the means of saving my dear child's |
I am quite unable to swim, and 1
shudder to think what would have hap-
courage.”
“I am very glad I was able to be of |
service,’ said Johnny.
“I cannot allow such a service to go
unrewarded,’ said Mr. Barclay. *‘Ade-
quate compensation I cannot offer, for
money will not pay for the saving of life;
but you will allow me to give you this
as a first installment of my gratitude,’
He pressed into the hands of the aston-
“One hundred dollars!” exclaimed
Johnny, in bewil ierment. *‘Do you
really mean to give me so much?”
“It is little enough, I am sure,”
“Oh, I am so glad!” said Johnny,
delighted. ‘‘Now I can buy mother a
sewing machine.”
“But don’t you want to buy some-
thing for yourself?’ asked Mr, Barclay,
with interest.
“No, sir ; I would rather have a sew-
ing machine than anything."
Then Johnny, encouraged by Mr,
Parclay’s evident interest, proceeded to
tell him for nearly a year he had been
saving up money, without his mother’s
knowledge, to buy her a machine, in
order that she need not work so hard in
future, But thus far he had only suc
ceeded in saving up $15. Now, thanks
to this unexpected gift, he would be {
able to buy it at once. ‘‘And it'll come
just right, too,” he said, with sparkling
eves, “for it will be mother’s birthday
in a week from to-day, and I can give |
it to her then, Only,” he said, doubt-
fully, *‘I don’t know whom I can get to
buy it.’
I can help you there," said Mr. Bar-
clay. “I am going to the city in a day
or two. I will select the machine, and
on your mother's birthday.”
“That'll be just the thing" said John
ny. “Won't she be astonished ? I
shan’t say anything to her about it be-
forehand. Here's the money, sir; 1
thank you very much for that and for
your kind offer.”
“I ought to be kind to you, my dear
boy, when I think how much yeu have
done for me.”
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“Good afternoon. Call again to
morrow, and you shall see the little girl
you have saved.”
Johnny did call the next day and
made acquaintance with little Annie
Barclay, whom he found a sprightly
little girl of four years of age. She
took a fancy to our young here,
with whom she had a fine game of
romps.
Mrs. Cooper knew that Johnny
had saved a little girl from drown-
ing, but never inquired what re-
ward he had received, feeling sure that
he would tell her some time. As for
Johnny, he had his reasons for keeping
silent, as we know,
At length Mrs, Cooper's birthday
came, Johnny was full of impatience
for evening, for then the express wagon
would ‘arrive from Boston with the
present for his roother. As soon as
he heard the rumble of the wheels he
ran to the door. To his delight
the wagon stopped at the gate,
“Come here, youngster, and give
us a lift,” called the expressman. ‘I’ve,
got something heavy for you,”
It was a large article, looking some-
thing like a table; but what it was
Mrs, Cooper could not tell, on account
of its many wrappings, ‘There must
be some mistake,’’ she said, going to
the door, “I mm not expecting any-
thing.”
“No, there isn’t,” said Johnny, *‘it’s
all right, directed in large letters to
Mrs, Mary Cooper, Benton."
“1 shall want fifty cents,” said the
expressman,
“I've got it here,” said Johnny,
seeing that his mother was searching
for her pocket-book,
“0, by the way, here’s something
else—a letter directed to you. That
will be fifteen cents more,”
“Indeed I” sald Johnny, surprised.
“Well, here’s the money,” and he took
the letter,
Mrs, Cooper was unwrapping the ma-
chine, “What is this?” she exclaimed
in delighted surprise, *A sewing
machine! Who could have sent it?
“Do you know anythiug about it
Johnny 7’
“Yes, mother, It's a birthday pre-
sent for you from me,’
“My dear boy! how could you ever
have made money enough to pay for
it #7
Then Jobnny told his mother all
And her eyes glistened with
with this end in view, and she could
not help giving him a grateful kiss,
which I am sure paid Johnny for all he
It was really a beautiful machine,
and, though Johnny did not know it
cost considerably more than the hun-
dred dollars he had sent, Mrs. Cooper
found that it worked admirably, and
would lighten her labors more even
“But you haven't opened your let-
ter,” she said, with a sudden recollec-
tion,
“So I haven't” said Johuny,
What was his surprise on opening it
to discover the same hundred-dollar
bill which Mr, Barelay had originally
given him, accompanied by the follow-
ing note :
“My Dear Youne Friexp--1 have
bought your mother a sewing machine,
which 1 send by express to-day. 1 hope
it will please you both, and prove very
useful. I also send you a hundred dol-
lars, which I wish you to use for your-
self. The sewing machine will be none
the less your present to your mother,
since both that and the money are a very
insufficient recompense fcr the service
you have rendered me, Contisue to
love and help your mother, and when
you are old enough to go into a store 1
will receive you into mine,
Your friend,
Hexny BARCLAY.”
There was great joy in the little cot-
tage that evening. Johnny felt as rich
as 8 millionaire, and could not take his
eves from the corner where the hand-
some new sewing machine had
pl aced.
been
And his mother, happy as she
was in was happier in
the had to
her through the good conduct of her
son.
her present,
thought that it
come
A ———
So many women have drifted into all
the past few years, and been successful
in them too, that it has come to be av
established fact that women are capa-
ble of doing anything they make up
their mind to do—that is those who have
any minds to make up, Among the
latest aspirants for favor in a new fleld
is Miss Emma Steiner, of Baltimore, or
rather formerly of Baltimore, of New
York now. She is under contract with
Rice as musical director of one of his
operacompanies. She manages the stage,
directs the music and leads the orches-
tra. Quite enough for one woman to
do, isn’t it? From her childhood up
she has been, as her friends express it
“music mad.” There is nothing about
music she does not understand, and
seems to be capable of doing the work
of half a dozen women. Miss Steiner
is slight and graceful in appearance,
with brown hair and which, to use a
man’s phrase, ““means business.’’ She
does mean business; nay, more than
that, she means success, Of the word
fail she knows nothing. She is of Ger-
man extraction and unites with ber
musical temperament a deal of that
hard-grained common, and which will
bring her to the accomplishment of all
her undertakings. Now that there is
such an interest taken in palmistry, one
involuntarily notices the hands of every
stranger he meets, Miss Steiner's are
emphatically a pair of musical hands,
long, slender, and firm, with well-knit
fingers—fingers capable of bringing
forth sweetest music or of arousing
great volumes of passion with their
touch. This young woman is decidedly
an outgrowth of the present decade,
She has a work to do and does it with-
out ever stopping to think whether she is
stepping outside the prescribed limits of
the clinging ivy. She is a keen, bright
business woman, and has, by her indus-
try and ability, added very waterially
to the fortune inherited from her fam-
ily,— Family Leader.
———— a MAA
TOMATO MARMALADE, — To wo
pounds tomato allow two pounds sugar
and the julce and grated rind of one
lemon. Scald the tomatoes, take off
the skins, mix the sugar with them and
boil them slowly for an hour, skim.
ming and stirring ; add the juice and
grated rind of the lemon and boil
another half hour, or until it is a thick,
«The Italians dry and pulverize the
pulp of the tomato. The ripe tomatoes
are macerated, and, when reduced to a
thin pulp, it is strained to remove the
seeds, cores, eto.
%
-_
Poisonous Leaves.
Beset as children and the ignorant
are, says Land and Water, by dangers
which they cannot measure, and can
hardly be blamed for falliug into, it is a
‘
fatal consequences, than
should sometimes eat leaves of an inju-
rious character, The only safe 1 ule for
children to observe is never to eat any-
thing that they have not been positively
assured is wholesome by their parents,
No doubt it is an excellent thing that
children should be so well nourished as
to remove to a large extent the temp-
tation to eat wild leaves, Moreover,
modern gardening has brought into
perfection so many table vegetables
that we are enabled to enlist a natural
dislike to the juices of uncultivated
plants on the side of caution, as com-
pared with the pleasantness of the
wholesome green meat of home, But
children sometimes will stray on a ram-
ble, and become hungry when at a dis-
tance from ‘‘shops’’ or home, and thus
it cannot be useless to know what are
the more dangerous kinds of leaves
which must be avoided by all who wish
to preserve their lives, The strongest
barriers of prohibition we can erect
should be placed to protect the young
from their own heedlessness, which at
times leads them to do all forbidden
things, and to test all maxims and
commandments, disobedience to which
is supposed to entail divers pains and
penalties,
Some of our most admired flowers,
which we should least willingly banish
from cultivation, are associated with
green leaves of a very poisonous char-
acter. The narrow long leaves of the
daffodil act as an irritant poison; the
delicate compound leaves of laburnum
have a narcotic and acrid juice which
causes purging, vomiting, and has not
unfrequently led to death. The narrow
leaves of the meadow saffron or autumn
crocus give rise to the utmost irritation
of the throat, thirst, dilated pupils
with vomiting and purging. The dan-
gerous character of aconite or monks-
hood leaves is doubtless well known,
instruction to avoid above all things
these large palm-shaped leaves, dark
green on the upper surface. The ut-
most depression, often blindness, ting-
ling all over the body, parching and
some of the horrible symptoms which
are preludes to death from this most
deadly of vegetable poisons. Almost
equally desirable is it to avoid the large,
ovate leaves to the foxgiove. The heart
has been known to be depressed so ex-
ceedingly by the action of these leaves
a8 to beat only seventeen times a min-
ste, with the pupils of the eyes widely
dilated. In a case of this kind it can-
pot be too forcibly recollected that the
sufferer should be kept strictly lying
down, to save the strength of the heart
as much as possible, The leaves of the
pasque-flower and the ranunculus are
to be named as being injurious and be-
longing to attractive flowers,
Leaves of coarse weeds, however, pro-
vide an sbundant quota of danger ; but
frequently their strong scent and bittér
of museous taste give timely warning
against their being consumed. The
abundant occupants of the hedge. A
peculiar “mousy” odor can generally be
recognized on squeezing the leaves,
which are deep green in color and trebly
compound, the small lobes being lanceo-
late and deeply cut. It is said that the
mousy smell can be detected in water
containing not more than a fifty-thou-
both an irritant to any sore place and a
genera! harcotic poison, producing head-
ache, imperfect. vision, loss of power to
swallow, and extreme drowsiness, with
complete paralysis of voluntary muscles
and muscles of respiration. The water
dropwort, too, a flourishing ditch plant;
the water hemlock and fool's parsley
must be ranked among our most danger-
ous poisonous plants belonging to the
Umbelliferous order. The fool’s-parsiey
leaves are sometimes mistaken for gen-
uine parsley, but their nauvesus odor
and darker leaves should prevent this,
Th# Nightshade order is another with
dangerous and often extremely poison-
ous leaves. Indeed, no nightshade can be
shade, with its oval, uncut leaves, soft,
regarded as safe, while the deadly night-
smooth and stalked, is in the highest de-
gree tobe avoided. Henbaveand thorn
apple conspicuous members of the dan-
gerous classes, Holly leaves contain a
juice which is both narcotic and acrid,
causing vomiting, pain and purging.
Even elder leaves and privet leaves may
produce active and injurious irritation
when eaten.
The leaves of the arm or cuckoo-pint,
large, arrow-shaped and glossy, have
often caused death. Two are sufficient
to produce great pain, vomiting, ete,
One of the very disagreeable symptoms
is a great swelling-up of the tongue
from the amount of irritation; children's
tongues especially may become so swoll-
en that the of remedies or
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case, the administration of melted fresh.
butter freely has proved beneficial ; and
after vomiting has taken place freely,
strong coffee should be given. Savin
and yew leaves are both most poisonous,
yew being narcotic as well as acrid, al-
though it is vulgarly supposed that the
from which some have suffered,
i RCA
Parrots.
———
Parrots are wonderful birds in many
respects, They have great individu-
ality, and their differences are as re-
markable as their likenessess, Some
of them show a great deal of friendship
and affection, and will follow their
owner like a dog. In the wild state
they live in companies, They eat vora-
ciously and are very destructive. After
gorging themselves they go in quest of
water, and frequently bathe until
soaked to the skin. They mate when
young, and the male takes tender care
of the female, never separating from
her ; she lays two eggs in a season. It
takes a couple ef years for the plumage
to get its full richness of color, The
birds brought to this country are cap-
tured when very young. There is a great
difference in talking capacity between
these birds. The gray African parrot
is the best talker, The Mexican
parrot is highly prized. These birds
live to a great age when well cared for,
and their owners become strongly at-
tached to them in a little while, Very
interesting stories are told of their talk-
ing. They catch phrases wonderfuly
sometimes, and make amusing ate
tempts to sing. Their sayings are so
apt at times that they alm st appear to
have intelligence. A capital story is
told of a parrot owned by Lady Stanley,
One day the Dean had several distin.
guished clerical visitors, and as the day
was warm and the windows were opened
Lady Stanley's parrot took the liberty
of flying into the yard and perching
himself upon the top of a tree. Every
effort of the company toenticeor fright-
en him from his high perch proved
suspended
operations and stood together looking
at thé handsome fellow. The parrot
the situation, and then said, with a
gravity the Dean never surpassed, “Let
So — A] a ————
Particular about His Society.
“Say Mister,” said a red-beaded man
the other day, approaching a gentleman
who had just alighted from a carat a
station to proeure a sandwieh ; *‘say,
Mister, are you acquainted with that
lady you were sittin’ with?” “Cer-
tainly, sir,” responded the gemtleman
indignantly ; ‘“‘that is my daughter.”
“Then you must know all about her,’’
continued the red-headed
fidentially. *‘I say, is them teeth
bern natural ¥° ‘““They are sir,”” re-
plied the gentleman, repressing his emo-
jon. ‘‘And that hair, is that hair bern,
or is it a wig ¥”* “That hair is perfect-
ly natural,” said the gentleman, sternly
with en uncomfortable itching in the
vicinity of the foot. “You don’t tell.”
man, CoOli-
own color ¥* “She does not paint, and
the bloom you are so goed as to notice
is the flush of modesty,” answered the
gentleman, preparing for the worst;
“Why do you ask these questions?"
“Pocause if all you say about her is
true 1 don’t mind sittin’ alongside of
her for a mile or two myself, but if you
are giving me any steer on the racket,
and I get onto it, I'll hoist you and the
the girl right up the stovepipe without
stoppin’ to ask where you come from or
where you're going to!” And when
the gentleman lifted him off the plat-
form with the toe of his boot the red-
headed man got up and announced with
a smile that he knew the girl was all
made up from the first, and he'd be
dogged if he was goin’ to ‘set’ down
by a curiosity that a man had to fight
for, not as long as there was a dog in
the baggage car that be knew was gen
uine,— Brooklyn Eagle,
WN
~Dr. Gostan Delaunay has just com-
municated an interesting paper to the
French Anthropological society, in
which he seeks to establish that right
handedness is not an acquired habit,
but is a natural attribute, characteris.
tic of the superior races, Savage tribes,
he states, and communities in an infe.
rior state of civilization, show a much _
larger of left-handeduess
than highly civilized people do. Idiots
and epileptios offer a very large peicen-
tage of left handed individuals, and
there are more left-handed women than
wen. His general conclusion is that in
the evolution of the species there has
been a steady tendency ‘to the develops
ment of the right side of the body at
se of the other, and that the
les of left-handedness still to ba
met with in the superior race are mere