IS IY WORTH WHILK? Is it worth while to jostle a brother Bearing his load on therough road of life? Is it worth while that we jeer at each other, In blackness of heart that we war to the knife ? God pity us all in our pitiful plight. God pity us all as we jostle each other; God pardon us all for the triumphs we eel " ‘When a fellow goos down ‘neath his load on the heather, Pierced to the heart; words are keener than steel, And mightier far for woe than weal. Were it not well in this brief life's journey, On over the isthmus, down into the tide, We give him a fish nstendl of a serpen Ere folding the hands to be and abide Forever, and aye in dust at his side? Look at the roses saluting each other, Look at the herds all in peace on the plain, Man, and wan only, makes war on his brother, And laughs in his heart at his peril and pain Shamed by the beasts that go down on the plain, is it worth while that we battle to humble Some poor fellow down in the dast? €iod pity us ali | Time too soon will tumble All of us together, like leaves in a gust, Humbled, indeed, down into the dust, TWO PLAYERS LOVES, A man is seated on a worn horsehair sofa, head bent on his hands, sobbing as only strong men whose best and dearest feelings have roceived a death blow can sob, At his feet lies a crumpled letter, where he had thrown it in the first pang of the agouy it had inflicted on im, There 18 no need to enter minutely into the details, It is the old, old story of man’s love ard woman's incon- stancy. Hardly two years before Richard Hamilton had stood before the altar by the side of the woman he loved so weil, and she had vowed before heaven to “love, honor and obey” him, to be faithful to him through good and through evil report until death, and now she had broken those vows, and ter pted by money, had left her husband, who was only a struggling actor, and fled with a rich man who had been attracted by her pretty face. For hours Hamilton sat there in his great desolation; then he arose and put his sorrows from him by a mighty ef- fort. No matter how great hus grief, the public must be amused— his engagement fulfilled. He was what is called *‘utility man” in a touring company, and that night he had to play a rather good low comedy part. He remembered he had been pleased when he first saw the cast, feeling that he was rising at last in his Jrofieion; bul now what did it matter? t him mse or fall, who would eare? He played that night as if he were in a dream, His senses seemed dazed, but the dark phantom of his grief seemed to overshadow him. He had studied the part well, however, and he never missed a oue, so the audience were good humored, and remained silent at what they certainly could not ap- pland, The other members of the company bad heard of his trouble, and rallied round ham with that unselfish kindness found in the theatrical profession. He had ouly to play the first scene of his part, auother gentleman insisted on playing it for him, which he did fairly well. The “heavy man" (i, ¢., the villain of all the pieces), who was, by-the-by, a thoroughly good fellow, walked home with Hamilton that night, “Don't grieve for her,” he said, “She's not worth it; no woman is.” Hamilton rested his aching head on his arm as he leaned against the door- post. He was completely crushed, and made no reply. “Of course you'll get a divorce,” went on his friend, after a pause. “Look here, old fellow] Lawyers won't do the thing for nothing, you know. Cheap justice is out of the question; and so you see, we—the company, I mean will raise enough to begin with at any rate, and Wiggins is going to let you have a benefit, and, of course, what little you owe us you can pay out of the damages you recover wherever you like,” “No,” said Hamiltcn, rousing him- self; I will get no divorce. Do yon thi*k 1 know so little of the world as to believe he'd marry her if she were free?” “Perhaps not; but then, if divorced, you would be free yourself.” Hamilton laughed bitterly, “1 would waste no money on myself,” he replied. “I%on’t care whether [ am am free or not." “Bat still she bears your name- the name of your family. Don't let her disgrace them further, Sever the legal tie that binds you, as she has severed are right,” said Hamilton, “Yes, 1 will try for a divorce.” Hawilton had po difficulty in obtain- ing a divorce; indeed the case was un- defended, and lie might have been awarded heavy but he would not sccept the money, which seemed to him the price of his wife's guilt, Ten yoars away, in which Richard ton had raised high in his profession, He had studied inces- eantly—more to drown his regret than from love of his art, but fame snd money had rewarded his efforts; and when we see him again be was touring with his own company, and playing to large au- diences, All this time he hed heard little or what bad tempered old lady, if all ac- counts were true; but Muriel kept ber home troubles to hersef, and went about with a bright swile, giving a helping hand to all whe needed it. Sweet, courageous, gentle, unselfish, all that is most pure and womanly, as she was, who can wonder that Richard Hamilton, weary of brooding over the dead past, turned to her for comfort ? She was a cisver aotress, leo, Always graceful and ladylike, sympathetic and tender, there were times when the sweet voice would be raised in p'eading or in mortal sgony, when the expressive face would become changed, her whole being absorbed in the character she was playing, It was at such times as these that the depths of her heart were ro- vealed, and the firmness and passion that lay as yet dormant therein were disclosed, The e¢mpany was playing in a town in the North of Boeotland, and the rain was pouring down heavily, so Murinl was forced to find occupation and amusement in her somewhat “‘stufly” lodgings, In a cupboard in her sitting room she found some old volumes of an illus® trated paper some nine or ten years old, and as she sat idly turning the leayes, her eyes fell on the name of Hamilton, It was headed: “Theatrical Divorce Suit Hamilton vs, Hamilton and Disney.” Aud then she read the story of Rich ard Hamilton's great trouble, By the time sell-made men rise in the world, the unpleasant stories of their early lives are generally forgotten, and Muriel had never heard of this before, She kvew he had been married, but she alwas believed his wife to be dead, With a white face she laid down the book and walked calmy to her own room. Once there, she locked the door and fell on the bed with an exceedingly bitter ery. Even while she had read the lines the truth liad dawned on her, and for the first time she realized that the loved Richard Hamilton, When at last she left her room all trace of emotion had disappeared. She had locked the secret in the depths of her own heart, and vowed that none should ever know of ber suffering, How often has the Spartan boy been quoted as = model of courage and en- durance by those who would seem to forget the herces and heroines of every- day life? Muriel Mervyn had taken up her cross bravely and gone oat to fill her accustomed place in the world, with a smile on her lips which jast before had uttered such passionate prayers for help. That night she avoided Hamilton, and certainly gave him no opportunity of speaking to her alone; but on the fol- lowing morniog when she was out in the town, they met, and he took his place beside her, For some time he talked of indiffer ent subjects (things theatrical, of course; actors always talk “‘shop’); and then he brought the conversation round to himself-—old her that he loved her, and asked her to be his wife, “Oh, stop!” she said, ia a low, start- ling voice. ‘‘Remember your wife!’ *‘Bat the law has—" “Freed you, you would say, Mr, Hamilton, you both vowed once to re. main true to each other till death parted you, If she broke her promise 4t is no reason why you should.” ‘‘In the eyes of the law, of society, 1 am a single man,” “Yes; but in the eyes of heaven you cannot be free. ““Leave me, Mr. Ham- iiton; you have my answer,” “Is my life to be ove long disappoint- ment?” he asked sadly. *I loved my wifé passionately, but not with the strong, deep love 1 have given you, Muriel, That wes the romantic passion of a boy; this is the love of my man- hood. Oh, my darling, the world has been so cold to me; don't let your hand be aga pst me, tool Think of my lonely wretched life! Will you not come to cheer me, and help me to be a better man?” “Don’t tempt me!” cried Muriel, with a break in her voice, which he was quick to notice, “Yell me, Muriel, will you not re- lent? Perhaps I have been too hasty, Take time, dear; consider your an. swer,” “It would bo useless,” she replied, with gentle firmness, “for until you can come to me with proofs of your wife's death we must be straugers,” ‘And then?” he asked, J **it is ungenerous to ask me now.” “You love me, Muriecl-—you love me I will wait, since you must have it so wait for my freedom?” “Oh, no!” she cried with a shudder; “I could not bear to think that for my sike you were wishing for her death.” “] cannot help it; I must hope un til I am assured that you do not love me,” ‘Such, then, is the ease,” she said, quickly, “What, Muriell-—-are you you mad? You love me, do you not?” “Nol” she said, And then, turning away with averted face,, she fled homeward, leaving him stunned by her words and unable to un. derstand thom, It was a sud she knew it, but she had spoken for the best, “L wil go away from him,” she tuought, ‘and thon as be thinas I do ret love him perhaps he will learn to forget me,” ‘he next week the Slowing pu am t Gn I among th “Wo understand that Miss Mervyn pearean Company, au amicable arrange- ment having been come to, and intends resting for a short time to recover her ‘men Another has passed. Hamilton to tl on hi prolonged our, ud Mariel ah Said Ih senly spring, a wel, nok an La Baw 8 woman q eye on ns it were, . she m be the bearer of Thinking BOWE Message, for her, Muriel ‘asked: Are you waiting for any one?’ The woman looked up helplessly, shook her head in reply, and attempted to move on; but as she did so she stag- gored and would most likely have fallen ad not Muriel caught her, “You are ill,” she said, anything to help you?” “No,” enid the woman, in » weak, hollow voice, ‘I am very ill, I know, but I wanted to purchase some things, 80 I had to come out to-night.” “I hope you do not live far ficm here?’ “No; in John street.” “That is my way,” said Mariel. “You will let me see you home?” The woman consented--in faot, she seemed foo weak and ill to resist—and Muriel loft her at what she said wus the door of her home, I: was evidently a very poor place, in which she rented but one back room, but it seemed respectable, and Miss Mervyn, whose pity was aroused, said at parfing, ‘‘Liet me call to-morrow to inquire it you are better,” After this she often called, and was soon very interested in Mrs, Bmith, as the woman called herself, She had only been in her present lodgings a few weeks, and wad evidently miserably poor, very ill, and quite alone, She would never talk of the past, except that once she told Muriel that she had been an actress, “Miss Mervyn, we may be sure, did not go empty handed to that poor lodg- ing, and she even persuaded Mrs, Smith to have a doutor, Bat all was of no avail; and one day, in the middle of May, when Maurie] called, she saw a terrible change in the worn, pale face, ‘Miss Mervyn,” she sa'd, as Muriel entered, ‘tho doctor has told me I shall not see another day dawn, Do you be- lieve it?" “Yes; I fear it is true,” Muriel said, gently, “Well, I am glad of it. I havetaken the doctor at his would, sud sent for one I should never dare to meet if I were uot dying. He may, perhaps, be here soon, for 1 telegraphed last night; but I feel my strength is ebbing fasf, and before he comes (I may have no time afterward) 1 should like to tell you the story of my life, Will you listen?” “Certainly,” said Muriel, gently; “tell me anythiag if you think it will make youn happier,” “Mine is a tale of sin too bad, per- haps, for your ears,” went on the woman; “bat I must tell it, I married when very young, a man who loved me far better than I deserved, for after we had been marned 1wo years I listened to the sophistries of a man who temptel me with his wealth, and 1 fled with him. There was ihe usual result. Alter a time he grew tired of me, and a your after the divorce was decreed I found mysell alone and penniless in London, What my life has been since I must leave you to guess; and at last I found myself ill, dying, with a small sum of money in my possession, 1 came here, and by your kindness my path to the grave bas been smoothed, Miss Mer- vyn I have repeated, but I cannot di until 1 bave had my husband's forgiven- nest, I have telegraphed for him, and-—Ah ! stairs,” The door opened and a man entered, “Can I do i i i i The Care of Grates. What is more cheerful during these raw, cold winter days than a bright open fire?Jand yet, the housekeeper who knows not from experience how to care for a grato fire and trusts entirely to oareiess servants, will invariably ex claim they are cheerful, but so dirty; if you tut touch the fire everything is covered with dust; and the pleasure is quits counteracted by the thought that you can never uave aoclean room, Now this is quite unnecessary. In the first place, if you will have a little opening made into the chimney on each side of the ash-pan, so that the bottom of the opening is on a level with the hearth- stone on which the pan sets, and the top is only a hittie higher than the ash- pan, you will find tha! when you brash up the graté there will be a draft that will carry all the dust inlo the bottom of the chimney, and a2 occasional clean- ing of the acoumnulations there will be all that is needed. A long poker made with a eross-piece on the end like a letter T will easily draw out all that collects. Those who ara about having grates put in their houses, will find that it is a great advantage to have this provision made against dust, and it could be done after the grates in place if the chizaney has not been filled in solidly with brick, If the ordinary raking and brushing through the day is dons with the chimupey-damper open and the blower on, there will be no dast, When the ashes are to be carried out and the grate put in order for the day, have a plece of old cramb- cloth or carpet, about two yards long and a yard wide, to spread over the carpet, Take the rug oat and shake it and in its place spread down the cover- ing and set all the parts of the grate on it aftar you have brushed and dusted them. Brush toward the fire and do all the work you can with the blower on, so the dust will be carried away. Whenever the fire goes out have the grate cleaned, and the kindlings and coal Jmd, ready for lighting; then, whenever it is needed, there 1s noth- ing to do but touch a match to it. Ifa continuous fire is desired, red ash coal is the best. Its ashes are not as light as those from other kinds of coal, and therefore do not iy as easily. To keep the fire over night if it is in good con- dition, sprinkle some chestout coal over it, or some clean cinders, If it is low, rake it slightly, put on some grate coal, spriokle the fine coal or cinders over it ciose the damper, and you will have a good foundation for a fire next morn- ing. ms ANGI Fl Armour, The Armour boys were born on a farm in northern New York, not far from Watertown. Perry H, Bmith was raised on a farm in the neighborhood of their homestead. The best codutry tavern for miles aroand was kept by Perry Smith's father, Everybody in the lo- cality kuew the Armours, not because they were rich or influential, but be- cause the boys had all of them such surapping broad shoulders and looked pod. Phil Armour was going to the county scadeny, A gentleman now in Evauston wus principal. The boy shadow, “Alice,” he said, coming forward, “you see 1 have come; bat why did you send for me?” “‘f ask with my dying breath for forgiveness." “Impossible!” he said, shortly, “You your a riage with a borrowed horse and buggy. panion., [he pedagogue was inexor that if he could get released from his forgive!” **But with my dying breath I ask it!” criod the woman. *'Oh, grant 1 to me, Richard Hamilton, as you hope for meacy |” *‘I canoot,” he smd, shortly, Muriel came out from the shadow and knelt by the bad before him like a far angel in that humble home, “Murisi!” he exclaimed, **you here? This is no place for you!” It is,” she said, still kneeling there, “Death makes us all equal, and, Rich- ard, for my sake, forgive your wife.” He hesitated for a moment, and then, crossing to the bed, took one of his wife's wasted Lands, +I forgive," he said, simply, “Forgiven—all forgiven!’ And Alics Hamilton sank back upon the pillow exhausted, Presently she sank into a deep sleep, Other watchers joined those two, and just as wight began to fall she passed away. With asigh, Hamilton went to Mariel’s side, . “Dearest,” he said, “you told me once that when I could bring you proofs of my wife's death I might speak to you again. She lies there dead. What do yon say? Muriel rose, and laid her hand in his with s look of unspeakable love, Thus, in that chamber of death, these two, #0 long parted, were united at last, Richard Hamilton and Mariel were married and lived very to- gother, They have a theatre of their own, and are doing very well in every sense of the term, “By-the-by, dear,” said Hamilton, one day, not long after their “do you know you onoe told me t you did uot love me?” “That was the only falsehood I will ever tell you,” she rejoined,, *'I said so to prevent you thisking too much of me, “And all the time Jou liked me?” XY wippose 2 " su must take Anis aa another Do of the worthlessness of ‘A Woman's No." ” SE Neuralgia treated by the tuning fork : Dr. Rasori the fork : From the day he reached California to a day somewhere along iu the sixtios, when he entered into partnership with Mr, Plankinton, in Milwaukee, he had made money with amazing rapidity. He had gotten together about $500,000, It was with hin a toss-up for awhile whether to go iato lumbering or pork- packing. Fioally he bought out the interest of Mr, Layton io the firm of Layton & Piankintou, Daring the war all the pork-packers over the country made money, Half of them were kept going filling army con- tracts, Chicago was not then the only great packing city in the world. Cin cinnati, St, Louis, Cleveland and New York were the headquarters for ths great pork kings, The firm of Plankin- ton, Armour & Co, were kuown as a wealthy and weli-condaoted concern, but its partoers were scarcely spoken of in the same breath with some of the milliovafre partners at BL Louis and Cincinnati, Pork was going just belore the close of the war at $40 a barrel Armour says he dreamed one night that there was to be a great break in it, It set him thinking. On the way to his office he stopped at Mr. Plankinton's house. *“Pork's too high,” said the junior partoer, “1 think so, $00,” answered the senior; “take the train this morning for New York and sell what you oan,” “1 oan’t get through,” replied Ar- mour, “Neyer mind,” said Plankinton, “get as far as you can.” Armour got to New York, went *‘short” of pork ot $40 and never took it until it was selling at $18. This was his first great stnke, It made him easily a millionaire; but that New York experi ence, he said, was the most terrible he ever had in his life—worse than the trip across the @ ton times over, There and Kent oto the great provision pot, Armour would not go near the meetings and wonld bave nothing to do with the pool, He insisted npon selling. but found it no easy thing to do. He or- dered his agents to sell a largs lot of Jo, They asked mm it he had it to sell, It was none of their business he said, If they wanted margins, let them name the sum. Selling “short” was, they delared, wicked business, They'd never done it and didn’t approve of it. They tried to persuade Armour that he was wrong, but would give no decisive re- fasal. Stepping across the street to a well known broker's office, he gave an order to sell 10,000 barrels, simply an- nouncing his name, ‘‘Before I knew that the order had been given,” said Sr. Armour, not long ago, in describing this experience, ‘‘the sales were re- ported, 1 asked the broker what mar- gins he wanted, He said that he would arrange it in the morning,” This was the first of his short selling. He con- tinued it to the terror of the whole provision marge! for three months, From morning until night, day in and day out, for ninety days he haunted the office of his agents, Customers whom they would refuse to sell to he would intercept aud accommodate, The Cleveland, Indianapolis, Cincinnati and New York pool celebrated his depar- fure, Pork had tumbled about 85 a barrel since his solling began, When the Milwankeean was about to leave for home, Kingan, a great operator of that day, said he wanted to make just one trade more. “I'll sell you 1,000 barrels of pork.” “I'll take it,” replied Kingan; *‘you’ll want it back when pork is $60.” “I'll deliver you that pork,” said Armour, ‘‘when the price is 818,” He did. The packers, with a few exceptions from one end of the country to the other, were ruined Armour and his partner became the greatest provision men in the world, To Wallace & Wicks, who had treated him 80 shabbily, he declared, “I'll drive you out of business,” He did Messrs, H. O. Armour & Co, were soon after established, and au office taken next door to Armour’s former repre- sentative, Within a very fow years the sign of Mesars, Wallace & Wicks came down, Only the old traders now remember them The mullionsire packer admits that this wonderfully successful operation, just belore the close of the war, was a huge gamble. If Grant and Sherman had not succeeded, or if their success had been delayed aud the war continued a year longer, the bet might have been lost instead of won, Armour hazarded an immense stake upon the sucoess of a couple of generals, 1t was the last risk of the kind, however, he claims, he ever took. The yast sales of 1864 were staked upon eveuts over which he had not the slightest cmtrol, avout which he had no definite information, The enormous purchases of pork in 1578 and 1879 were in in n> such sense a gamble. They were made upon the information which the packer had of the world's supply and demand, and the cost of manufac ture and of his owa resources, Armour 13 popularly set down as a gigantic spec- ulator, immensely rieher and sharper than the other gamblers in prodoce at Chucago, but no better, i ——— Concerning Songs, Chief Justice Daly Jectured before the New York Historical Society recently on songs, The Chief Justice consider- ed masical instruments at length. Egyptian hierogiyphics proved, he said, that the oldest nation on the globe had these instruments, and used them. How they used them was a mystery to mod- ern people. Ancient mural paintings showed beyond a doubt, however, that the Egyptians had music for religious ceremonies and social entertainments, They were a lively, cheerful, ana gay people, who liked social enjoyment. Their instruments of music were prototypes of modern imdlements of melody. In a mausoleum in Thebes, some time ago there was found a harp, with catgut strings, that had lain silent for three thousand years. The moment a human hand swept the strings they gave forth the old delightfel harmony. In their hisrogiyphics the Egyptians also preserved their songs. One in par. ticular was translated, and found the the song of threshers who beat the wheat, Two Babylonian songs were recently discov which Babylonian plowmen sang when driving the plow, The lecturer considered the trouba- dors, They flourished for 250 years. They were poets who carried the struc- ture and rhythm of verse to an exocel- lence that had never been surpassed Their breathed an extraordinary devotion for woman. But it was ideal sentiment that would hardly do for the nineteenth century. Ag a knight the troubadour selected almost invariably and pledged his life w defen] her hn god his te gave him a ring and a kiss in token that she accept- od the devotion. The kiss was the first . and dhe_Arabs ired professional rs lor them, They ran ay them Tk fell down in adoration, much the same as modern , Jone do over celebrities. utch Grandtathers, Pansy says the play was thst Diclas should be grandfather, and the cousin Faye should bo grandmother, and the children should come to visit them. So the grandparents made ready. Dickie got out grandfather's big slippers, and stepped into them, put the gold spectacles astride his Ji nose, then went to grumbling in his gratia tone: “Where is the morni It does seem strange that that = oan not be jet alone! Every day I havs to hunt for it until I get so tired that when itis found I dont want it, Seat! you wretch! Oats are always under foot,” And he gave an imaginary cat a vigorous kick with his slipper, which must have hurt, for there was & mizera. ble yowl mn the room at ones; so natural that it brought Grandmotner Faye to sos what was the matter, “Isn't Mull here?’ she asked, thought 1 hear? her.” “No, she isn’t here!” declared Dickie, in a grandfatherly sharp tone, “I just kicked her down stairs; she’s always prowling under foot. 've told those children a dozen times never to let her into the library, but that is all the good it does. No attention is ever paid to anything I say. Do tell those children to keep sell, I want a few minutes of quiet if it can be had in this house,'’ Whereupon he settled himself back in the arm chair, his feet on a hassock, his large handkerchief thrown over what was supposed to be the bald part of his head. “Why, Dickie Daulap!’ said Faye, *‘you don’t act the least bitin the world like a grandlather. They never seold and Kick cats and speak cross about the children.” “I should think they didn’t!” said Dickie in utter astonishment. “Haven't I heard them do it ten hundred times? This very morning my grandfather scatted Muff out of this very room, and told me if ever he found her in here again he'd have her drowned in the lake; and he 1s always ana forever fuss- ing about the noise we cluldrea make, and the psper 18 always gone; mother says she belisves it is alive and slips away on purpose.” “Well.” said Faye, “maybe there's a difference in grandfathers; but ours always speaks to us in the moest voice, and when mamma thinks we make too much nowe, and says, ‘Hash!’ grandpa says, ‘Never mind, mamma, Jet the kitiets frolic, so long as their voices are pleasant, I don't mind the noise; itdoes my old heart good.’ And he says, ‘dearie’ to me and ‘grandpa’s little man’ to Arlhur, and he's just lovely all the time,” “I should think there was adifference in grandfathers!” declared Dickie, ‘Grandfather never calls mic litt 'e man; and I've heard him say children are a nuisance, all cats ought to be drowned sud ali dogs should be shot; and he thinks this is a mean, ugly world all the time, except when he is taking a nap.” Meantime Faye was still thinking. ‘But Dickie,” she began again more earnestly, “wo never lef grandpa Lunt for the paper, We childrea see that it is ready for him every day after dinner, That is our business, If we should forget it mamma wouldu't like it at all, And when be is busy reading we don’t go into grandpa’s side of the library, only when he invites us, and we never meddle with his things. Mamma wouldn't nke it, and we wouldn't like to bother him either.” “Well,” ssid Dickie, a roguisu light in his eyes, “may be there sa difference in grandchildren, too. I shouldn't wonder.” od | on Lost fn a Cave, Three young men of Lilie, France, on a holiday excurtion, resolved to explore the famous subterranean recesses at Le- Provided with a common candle something in a cellar, a c:cerone led the three young men confidently into the very curious but sometumes dangerously intricate underground labyrinth. At first the volunteer guide, who after all had beng entirely consumed, recourse was had to the box of matches, which were lighted and burned ose afler the other until no more remained. i i ; i
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers