THE SABIATH BELL,
«Peal on, peal on, 1 love to hear
I'he old church ding-dohg soft and clear!
The welcome sounds are donbly blest
With future hope and earthly rest,
Yet wore no ealling changes found
To spread their cheering echoes round,
There's not a place where man may dwell
Bit he can bear a Sabbath Bell,
{io to the woods, where Winter's song
Howls like a famished wolf along;
Or when the south winds scarcely turn
The light leaves of the trembling fern—
Although no cloister chimes ring there,
Fhe heart is called to faith and prayer;
I'or atl Creation’s voices tell
ihe tidings of the 8abbath Dell,
#0 to the billows, let them pour
In gentle calm, or headlong roar;
wt the vast ocean be thy home
I'hou’lt find a God upon the foam;
in rippling swell or stormy roll,
I'he crysial waves shall wake thy soul;
And thou shalt feel the hallowed spell
Of the wide water's Sabbath Bell.
I'he lark upon his skyward way,
I'he robin on the hedge-row spray,
The bee within the wild thyme's bloom,
The owl amid the cypress gloom-—
All sing in every varied tone
A vesper to the Great Unknown;
Above—below-—one chorus swells
Wf God's nnnumbered Sabbath Bells,
Janet Elwood stood in a low, vine-
wireathed doorway of her home, a com-
fortable Maine farm home, at the close
of a sultry July day. Her glance was
lirected toward a manly sunburped
uung fellow, tall and broad-shouldered,
who was making her way toward her
through the wide, sweet clover meadow.
Nearer he came, until a smile broke
the naturally grave expression of his
handsome mouth, and he stretched out
his arms and drew her to his breast,
Janet, instead of nestling close against
the manly heart which she knew beat
always warmly and truly with love for
her, drew petulantly away.
A deep red flush mounted suddenly
tothe young man’s forehead. He looked
at her averted face, her indifferent atti-
tude, with amazement. Was this the
girl who had put her hands in his over
six months ago and pledged herself to
be his *‘own little wile?”
“Janet,” he said, “what is it?"
* What do you mean, John?" Janet
kept her eye fastened on the toe of ber
little shoe, that, notwithstanding her
appearance of coolness, beat a lively
tattoo against the painted boards.
(zlancing up she saw an expression on
that face Lending sternly over her that
caused her te add, “I am tired. Ihave
been helping mother get ready for the
boarder who has engaged the front
chamber for the summer,”
*I did not know you expected to take
boarders, Janet.”
“He 13 the only one, He came last
week, while mother was at the sewing
circle, and I showed him the room, and
he engaged it for two months, and
and—that's how it is,”’
Jauet’s cheeks grew pink as she
thought of the dashing stranger's look
of admiration, as, in her pink print
dress, she had stood at the gate when he
went to the city for his baggage. Her
tongue seemed unloosened now, and she
gave an animated description of her new
boarder, informing John that he wasan
artist from Boston, wealthy and of good
family; his name was laycliffe—
Eugene Rayeliffe. She pronounced it
Iingeringly twice over.
John was {ar from being elated at the
prospect, Ile could not see the delights
of the Boston artist's high-toned society
as plainly as Janet. He said so in so
many words, a trifle more energetically
than the occasion warranted, perhaps,
but Janet was very pretty and the hon-
est young farmer was very much in
love,
**Anybody would think he was an
srgre,’”’ pouted the young woman, see-
mg with ber quick bright eyes the state
»f mind her lover was in.
‘There he comes now,’ she cried,
Mr. Eugene Raycliffe smiled under
his drooping jet mustache as he noticed
Janet's lover,
“Some country bumpkin boring her
haif to death, I’ve no doubt; but I'll
soon settle him.”
These remarks, made mentally, were
accompanied by such an : ir of self-
satisfied complacency, as he threw his
satchel on the steps and sat down beside
it at Janet's feet, that John Wentworth
scarcely bowed In answer to the languid
“glad to know yeu” which followed
Janet's introduction.
John seemed suddenly overgrown and
awkward, Mr. Eugene Rayeliffe’shands
were 80 exquisitely white and delicate
that his own seemed by contrast redder
and of more gigantic proportions than
ever.
His attire seemed rough and ill-fitting
compared with the natty *‘store clothes’
of the artist from Boston, and altogeth-
er John felt awkward and uncomfort-
able standing with his broad back
against the lattice df the porch, and
observing with scant approval the up-
ward giances from Mr. Rayeliffe’s black
eyes to Janet's brown ones,
“Your friend seems slightly displeas-
ed at something,” sald he, as John, with
a brief farewell and never a second
glance at Janet, walked away with a
firm step and head well up,
John had no fancy for standing about
ungoticed, especially while the girl to
whom he was engaged coolly allowed a
comparative stranger to monopolize her
smiles and society,
“Don’t go off angry, John,” said
Janet, trying the witchery of her eyes
* on her farmer lover. ‘‘He is so deeply
in love with me that I can wind him
around my finger,” she thought.
And ii would be very fine to huve
two swalins sighing at her feet, especi-
ally two like John Wentworth, by far
the best cateh’in the country around,
and the stylish, dashing Raycliffe, the
new arrival, is sure to create a furore
among the maids and matrons of Suu.
nydale,
John would not soften, spite of the
moonlight of Janet’s upraised eyes,
shining under the fair curly lashes.
“I will come back when you can treat
a fellow decently, Janet, I am not go-
ing to be fooled to the top of my bent to
please you any longer. Good evening.”
This was the Inst Janet saw of John,
But she had little time to think of him,
while Mr, Rayecliffe devoted himself so
entirely to her amusement. IIe painted
her portrait, and while she sat for him,
beguiled the time reciting in tender
tones, yards of tender, sentimental
poetry; they went on sketching tours;
they sat on the piazza in the twilight
and sang together: Janet had a sweet
alto voice, which the boarder was not
long in finding admirably suited his
own.
Things went on until Janet's mother,
with many a nod and beck and wreath-
ed smile, intimated that there was an
‘“anderstanding’’ between the two
young people. John Wentworth was
well epough in his way, honest, sober
and industrious, and shrewd as néed be,
but she looked higher for Janet, Janet
had been to boarding school, she had
the education of a lady, she could sing
and play the piano, and Mr. Raycliffe
praised her drawing more than a little,
Aud, by the way he hung around (his
time to go back to the city was up, but
month,) she was sure something would
come of it. She could sniff weddings
in the air, and went so far as to ask Mrs,
Brown's opinion as to the most fashion-
able way of making dresses, a very nice
one, suitable—and then Janet's mother
hesitated, smiled and looked very wise--
suitable for a wedding dress, Of course
Mrs. Brown knew at once that the dress
was for Janet, and through Mrs, Brown,
who was sometimes called **The Sunny-
dale Daily Tattler,”’ the rest of them wese
informed without the loss of precious
time,
The report came to the ears of John
Wentworth, Like a sensible fellow he
concealed whatever feeling of disap-
ment aroused from the prying busybe-
ies, He did not stay away from
church or from any of the social village
gatherings of young people, because he
met Janet and her devoted adores there
Not he; he danced and loved the more,
although the pain in his heart, which
he determinedly hid from view, was in
reality long in dying out,
Janet
however lightly she had loved
¢
a8
not forget her in a day, try as he might,
when one hazy October day Janet rode
over in her little pheton to ask Jonn
and his sisters to go berrying, he looked
her straight in the eye and wished hes
a “happy future’ without a tremor hn
lids,
‘Eugene has gone to Boston,' said
Janet, flicking the flies off her gray
pony, and leaning forward. ** We should
have heard from him yesterday. I feel
a little worried. [Ie had a good deal of
money with him. We sent to the city
by him for things we could not get here,
and several of the neighbors—Judge
Jordan, Squire Ellis and others—paid
him in advance for portraits. dreamed
last night of his being robbed and killed.
Ugh! it makes me shiver. I know I'm
foolish, but I can’t feel easy.”
Bills began to fall due, and Mr. En.
gene Raycliffe was still like the unknown
quantity represented by x. People be-
gan to talk. Janet's mother took to bed
with: a sudden illness, and of a nature
unexplained and obscure.
Janet grew pale waiting for a letter.
Finally, one bright Sunday méming
Sunnydale, individually and collective-
ly, wus agape over a startling headline
in the Boston Journal,
“Arrest last night of Joseph Ray-
mond, otherwise known as ‘Dashing
Joe,” and having for his latest alias
Eugene Raycliffe. Several well.to-do
residents of Sunnydale victimized by
the accomplished and gentlemanly
scoundrel.”
“The affair was a nine day's wonder.
But after a month or two had passed
way and the excitement had quieted,
people began to wonder if John Went.
worth would “take up with his pretty,
early love.”
Encouragement for him to do so was
not lacking (so the matrons of Sunny-
dale will tell you) from Janet's mother.
Janet herself wrote a little note on per-
fumed paper to Johny and this was the
closing part of his reply:
“I don’t want to reproach you for
your throwing me over as you did.
You have been punished quite enough,
But for a man like me it’s no use trying
to go on with things as they were now.
Better each go our own way, And,
although I cannot feel toward you as 1
did once, believe me that I bear no fll.
will toward you, and regard me if you
will as a friend still.”
When, a year after, on another still
October day, John told Janet of lis ap-
proaching wedding to a yrune lady in
v
§
3
i
:
A HO UO A emo a cop
Boaton, Janet eried a little, and offered
faint, lachrymoess congratulations, with
a fury of regret and jealousy in her
heart that the young lady of Boston
fortunately knew nothing about. And
Janet's mother frets Summer and Win-
ter because Janet is an old maids but,
nevertheless, she frowns severely on any
luckless man who offers a “‘Summer
boarder’s’’ remuneration for her spare
front room. It 1s not to let,
RG URIS Re
A Street-Car Romance.
“Do many woman travel on the cars
alone at night,’ was asked of a Chicago
conductor,
More than you wouid ever think,
Two years ago a lady doctor used to
be my regular passenger. She got in at
Clark street every night for nearly
twenty months at 10.30 o'clock and
rode to May. She boarded in a house
in the middle of the block and was as
cowardly as the most timid of her sex,
She was in mortal dread of passing
the alleyway which was just this side
of her home and I used to get off and
wait until that lane of terror had been
reached. She would stop there, peer
into the darkness, and if all was well a
shrill, short whistle was the signal for
me to chase my car. It always came,
summer and winter, moonlight and
storm, every night in the week, but she
Lever left the car until I promised to
come if I did not get the signal. Who
wus she? One of the sweetest women
the Lord ever created. At that time
hie was about studying medicine with
+ doctor who was blind, He Lad tal-
ent, skill and a large practice, which
was very remarkable. But he pre-
scribed and she was his eyes, She ac-
companied him on all lus rounds, kept
Lis books, and was with him from 8
o'clock in the moming until 10,30 at
night. He had an office on the south.
weil corner of Clark and Madison, and
gave most of his attention to office prac-
He was about 45 years old, and
some fifteen years the lady's senior.
After awhile they were married, and the
next time 1 met her she said that the
doctor had eaten something at the wed-
ding suppor which produced some dis-
of the stomach and killed him
three days after the marriage. She was
very much affected, gave me a book of
Lice,
CASE
her old home, and I
agam.
pever saw her
Ao
Bairthaays in Germany,
An important matter in a
household is the birthdays.
German
Nothing
seems to give more pleasure than cele-
brating one. The birthday of one of
the housekeeping young ladies was in
June. The night before, a box came,
addressed to the lady of the house from
her home. Upon going down stairs at
we were surprised
o SE NO appearance of coffee, 80, open-
ow
bg
ng the glass doors, went into the gar.
den, where a gay scene presented itself,
A large arbor was hung with garlands
and white curtains,
Was a
and in the center
fable covered with white, on
which were spread the presents, and a
’
nopor, surrounded by a wreath of flow-
ers, and in the middle a candle was
burning. Outside were two smaller
tables, with coffee, cakes, ete.
standing around which was a large
partly talking and laughing. Upon sce-
ing us approach they came forward to
wish us good morning and to enjoy our
looks of surprise. The birthday ehild
(a substantial malden of 21), advanced
blushing, with 8 wreath of flowers on
her head. The young ladies of the
house had teen up early, decorating
the arbor and making things as home
like as possible for her on her birthday,
The winter birthdays were equally in-
teresting. That of the lady of the
house was adorned with branches of
trees from the woods and wreaths sur-
rounded the table laid out with presents,
One table was devoted to useful articles,
such as pots, pans, etc., and these were
also surrounded by garlands, At 4
company began to arrive, but with no
invitation, although preparations in
the way of coffee and supper had been
made for above twenty, and it isa great
disappointment if friends fail to appear.
Trefoll,
In places of Germany when a young
girl finds a leaf of trefoil divided into
four instead of three parts, it is a sign
that she will be married within a year;
at all events, she carefully preservesthis
leat till her wedding-day. On Christ.
mas Eve the countrymen are accustom-
ed to drive out a great deal in sledges,
They think that this will canse their
hemp to be more abundant and higher.
They do not fall Lo visit the ale house
and to drink heartily the same evening,
being convinced that this is a way to
make them look well till the following
Christmas, They never destroy erick-
ets by fire, being persuaded that those
which escape will destroy their linen
and clothes. When a peasant loses
his way in the wood after sunset, he
avolds calling any person to show him
the way, being convinced that in any
case the evil spirit of the forest would
cause him to plunge still deeper into it
recesses, .
Cane chairs are more used than ever.
are painted in colom, others
the backs snd seats enshioned
th plush, while the arms chairs are
ornamented with ribbons and bows,
Stenm Corks,
Several flights of narrow, rickety
stairs In one of the great business blocks |
on Franklin street, Chicago, lead to a
large loft in which half a dozen ma-
chines of simple appearance, but of the
most ingenious construction, are in
rapid motion, each one turning out fifty
thousand corks of all dimensions and |
shapes every day, The manufacture of
that exceedingly useful article by ma~
chinery is in its infancy, not only in
this city, but in the world, Until a
comparitively recent date corks were
cut by hand, and it took an experienced
workman a whole day to finish a thous-
and marketable corks, with a great
waste of material, To day a machine
run by steam and attended by a small
girl does fifty times the amount of work
with unerring precision and the small.
est possible waste of material.
The large plates of the raw mater'al
of the trade are assorted as to thickness
corresponding with the length of the
corks to be manufactured, and placed in
sieam chests, where they are rendered
pliable by the moist steam. Any rougl,
excresences that might be on the outer
or inner surface of the plates are then
removed by a steaw planer which gives
an even thickness to the plate. The
latter is next cut into strips of a width
corresponding to the of the
top of the cork to be obtained, and
then the cutting process begins,
diareeter
Corks for the bottling of wine and
beer are not tapered, but are cut out of
the strips sraight by a circular knife
run upon a piston driven by steam.
The operator simply presses the strip of
cork against the knife, which cuts the
the cork out evenly and quickly, and
deposits it in a chute leading to there.
ceptacle for the fimshed corks The
process is very simple, and a good oper-
ator with first-class material finishes
80.000 straight corks a day with ease
All the shavings are carefully col-
lected and sold for various industrial
purposes. The finished corks are as.
sorted as to quality, those of the finest
grade to be without any flaw, and are
ready for the market, Tapered corks,
mostly for smaller bottles and phials,
are calculated to be used oftener than
once, and have to pass through a second
cutting process, Like all the work in
a modern cork-cutting establishment,
that of giving a conical shape to the
cork is done by a machine driven by
The automatical cutter is
rapidly revolving steel disk running un-
der a clasp into which the straight-cut
cork is inserted by hand. The clasp
can be regulated to
against the sharp edges of the disk in
any angle corresponding tothe shape to
be obtained, The finished corks dropped
futo one receptacle the shavin.s
into another,
steam. a
and
nr AAS
Swimming for Life.
Details of a remarkable swimming
feat, have just comé to hand from Auck-
land, New Zealand. The facts as stated
in the local papers which are before us
are verified, if verification
were needed, by private letters to the
relatives and friends ia this eountry of
the hero of the exploit, namely, a Cap-
tain Haultain, ron of Colonel Haultain,
who is 32 years of age and weighs, we
are told, feurteen stone, and commands
a sailing vessel on the New Zealand
coast. The night of September § was,
it appears, an excessively stormy one, a
strong gale blowing from the east-south-
east, dark, rainy and unusually cold,
About 2 A. M. his ship was making for
the entrance of the Whangerel harbor.
The Captain himself was upon the deck
occupied with some alteratron in the
rigging, and while clearing away some
ropes was caught by the peak ‘down
all” and flung clear off the ship into the
raging sea. Capt. Haullain bad on at
this time a beavy overcoat. high sea
boots up 0 his thighs, two pairs of
trousers, two shirts and two undershirts,
Taking it for granted that a boat would
be sent back to look for him as soon as
possible, he swam with these appalling
incumbrances upon him, as near as he
could tell, about half an hour in the
wake of the ship, coo-ee-ing, after the
fashion of antipodeans by land and sea.
No boat, however, appearing, he felt
that his ealy chance was to strike out
for the shore, At this time he was no
great distance from the Frenchman at
the mouth of the harbor and succeeded
in stripping himself of the load of
clothes and of the long boots, an opera
tion which in itself must have been ex.
hausting enough, necessitating, asit did,
frequent dives, To makethe nearcst land
he soon found was hopeless, on account
of the strong ebb tide that was running,
and he had nothing for it but to head
for the opposite shore of the harbor,
three miles distant, which two or three
lights made visible through the dark-
ness, This extraordinary feat—extra-
ordinary, that is, when the cireumstan-
ces are considered—he succeeded in ne-
complishing, and he was picked up,
after being three hours and a half in the
water, clinging to the beach with his
hands, half senseless, his legs having
lost all power of action and the surf
breaking over him. In the meantime
his men on the schooner had lost no
time in putting off a boat to the rescue
of their captain, After rowing for
some time they gave up the search as
fruitiess, and, the boat being small,
were themselves in no great security.
The schooner, left ys Was
any such
its captain sowe time before the lat er,
and the boat beading for the same point
was capsized in the surf, the men strug.
£ ing ashore as best they could, though
without loss of life. ‘They remained
up mn the beach about three hours, till
day izht sowed them where they were,
Traveling then along the shore in the
direction of the nearest house they
heard cries as from a man struggling
in the water, and eventually found their
gallant captain in the surf, as before de-
ecribed. The force of the sea that wus
running all through that night, say the
local accounts, may be realized by the
fact that the vessel was driven so high
and dry upon the beach that at high
tide it was possible to walk up to her
dry shod,
The Auckland papers speak of it as
the most wonderful performances that
bas ever been enacted upon the New
Zealand coast, and claim for Captain
Haultain the mantle of the unfortunate
Webb, They note the fact, also, that
he was such a determined abstaine:
that when half dead and totally numb-
ed with exhaustion he refused to swal-
low a spoonfulof brandy. They exult,
and with good reason, in the fact of
this heroic swimmer being a native of
of such a feat should bea production of
their soil, The three mile swim on »
cold night in a storm would have been
in itself mean accomplishment,
though far from being an unparalleled
one; but when it was, as in this case,
preceded by half an hour of waiting in
the water for the boat to come back in
clothes such as would have sent an or-
dinary swimmer to the bottom in five
minutes, then supplemented by the ex-
tra task of disrobing under such circum-
stances, not to speak of the first futile
attempts to reach the nearest shore, it
would be hard to imagine a greater test
of human endurance. Captain Haul-
tain has, jt appears, been long noted as
a famous swimmer, One of the New
Zealand papers finishes up its account
of the adventure thus: “‘His escape 18
phenomenal, but he is a phenomenal
no
the walter with his hands at his hip pad-
dling. This we are informed by many
who have seen him giving an exhibition
his wonderful powers when lying
with his vessel at the wharves.”
of
I ————
Whittier st Home,
with the single exception of the ex-
quisite lines entitled **DBenedicite,” he
has given the public no clew to the
of youth, His sister
Elizabeth, sympathizing + ith him com-
pletely, of a4 rare poelric nature.and
fulsidigus taste, and of delicate dark-
eyed beauty, was long a companion that
must have made thé want of any other
less keenly feit than by lonely men
in general. The bond
sister and brother was
any of which
except that between Charles and Mary
Lamb, and Con.
ditions were of perfect moral and men-
tal health,
relationship the pages of the poet bear
constant witness, and Amesbury vil-
age is full of traditions of their af-
fection, and of the gentle loeviiness
and brilliant wit of Elizabeth, whom
the people admired and reverenced al-
most as much as they do the poet him-
self. For his old neighbors have the
closest affection for Mr. Whittier; ex.
cept very occasionally; what was his
tought has been theirs; and now that
he is pot with them daily, they miss
him sadly, and among those who miss
him most and make the most complaint
about it are the children on the street.
This is not remarkable when one re.
members that Mr, Whittier does not
stand on his dignity, but joins in the
game played in his presence, writes his
nonsense verses on demand, has the
kegnest sense of the ludicrous, and
loves all sorts of innocent fun. We
have heard him say that he was known
among the children as the man with a
parrot—the parrot being a remarkable
bird, that used to stop the doctor's
gig with his “whoa!” and when the
school bell rang would call from his
lofty perch, “Run in, boys! run in!"’—
the fact being that the children felt
the parrot to be a bond between them,
and he was less of a demigod and
more of a man to their imagination on
account of “Charlie.” Mr, Whittier
is of course very fond of chidren, and
has been known to risk the loss of an
important train with equanimity when
the easy-going, good-natured hackman
had been overtaken by an uproarious
school of children, and had gone with
them for a little drive, appearing at
the door at length, the carriage over-
flowing with the rosy faces of the
laughing little people, who cared noth-
ing about time, tide and the train.
romance his
between the
mon
than
in this instance the
Vieased by the Flood.
A recent visitor to Caseyville, Ken-
tucky, writes : I noticed one man who
leaned against the guards of the boat
this morning, gazing out across the tops
of the trees that have begun to lift
their limbs from the waters, His was
a clear-cut face with strong deterinined
Kentucky lines. His eyes were gray
and cold, but 1 could fancy in passion
they would blaze into white heat. ile
wore a jean shirt, His breeches evi
dently were guiltless of any acquaint-
ance with suspenders, and were strapp-
ed about his waist with a piece of rope,
Beside him stood a girbof 8 or 9 yews,
a strange, shy child, who lifted her eye,
occasionally with a scared,
glance,
“This is a bad lockout,”
as a method of picking
ship. The man
from a dream.
¢ 4 § gr
IaruYe
I olserved,
uy acquaint
tote
1K lea
er to him and slipped her hand In his,
“Ma’m, I wuzn’t thinkin® on what
you wuz gayin’,” he replied. I repeated
my remark. A light flashed
face. He drew the child nearer {
“1 don’t rightly know as 1 care much
on it now, ma’am,”’ he said, ‘‘since it’s
| guv me back my little
“What do you mean?”
{ “Don’t you know “bout way little gal?
Why, I reckon you don’t live ‘round
these parts, then? She’s been stoled
goin’ on two years, and I'd never found
her if it badn’t been for thisrise. Why,
I s’posed everybody knowed "bout my
little gal bein’ stoled,”’
““Tell me how it was,”
“*Twas her dead mother’s brother
as dope it—God an’ bim knows what
fur. Spite I reckon. Ile sneaked her
off’n the night. Tother day I wuz
out'n a skiff goin’ te feed my hogs over
there on the foot-hills, an’ | seed some-
thin' floatin’ along way clingin’ toa
log. I made right furit. Then I seed
it was a man. He cried out wild like :
‘Fur God's sake pick me up, can’t
hoid on much jonger.” I knowed that
voice. I knowed that cursed white face
Fur two year I'd ben a hearkin’ an’ a
{ lookin’ for them. I rowed up to him
mad. Then 1 rased an
struck him on the breast
his hold on the log, an’
reachin’ out clutched his har. Sez I:
‘Y oy———geoundrel, tél me whar's
my gal, or I'll bang yer on the head
{ with an oar. ‘He looked at me, gritty
| like an’ sez: ‘Take me in an’ I'll
| ye.’ Sez 1: *You tell me before I count
ten or I'll kill ye.” He sez: ‘She’s in
the orphan ’sylum at Evansville, Bill.’
‘Far God's sake, what did ye put her
thar fur? 1 yelled, an’ Icould have
drowned him then if IT hadn't sort o’
| promised I'd save him if he telled fhe.
| T tuk him in. ‘Ye miserable whelp,’
' I sad, ‘yer not worth savin’ an’ yer net
i worth killin’, Then I took a yiwl a
{rowed up hyar to git the derned fust
pocket. An’ 1 found her; I fond Polly.
| shuih, in that 'sylum. Look at her ban’s,
started as il
The ¢hild
i if
wiilal
oA
over his
gal.
| like
OQ/l,
to loosen
toll
vel
| will ye?’’ and he held up the poor little
| scrawny members, seamed and marked
{ by “Look at her thin little
| shoulders, will ye®” he continued.
**That’s all been done up thar, #n’ by
that infernal villain’s work. The pore
child’s ben worked like aderned mule,”
He put his hand up to his eyes,
winked bard, and turned his face away.
“What did you do when you first saw
her in the asylum?’ I inquired.
“1 jest hugged her right smart.”
“What did she do?”
“She jest hugged me right smart.
Thar’ll be a fatted-calf racket at our
house to night, risen’ or no risen’. The
watah won’t keep us from that.”
labor,
a
N. FP. Willis' Cuff Buttons.
The statement is now made that Mr.
Aldrich has abandoned his plan of writ-
ing the life of N. P. Willis for the
American “Men of Letter’ series for
want ‘of time, which reminds me that
when Mr. Aldrich began to collect ma-
terial for this biography be called upon
Mrs, Eddy, Mr. Willis’ daughter, ask-
ing for letters and memorials of her
father. In the course of the call Mr.
Aldrich showed ber his cuff-buttons.
“Do you recognize these?’ he inquired.
“Certainly I do,” she answered, “How
came you by them?” “I was calling
upon Mrs. Fields the other day,” Mr.
Aldrich answered, “and she gave them
to me with the remark, ‘Lord Beacons:
field gave them to N. P. Willis. and N.
P. Willis gave them to Mr. Fields, and
now I want you to wear them. '™
“That is all very fine,” Mrs, Eddy ob-
served, ‘but I gave the buttons to Mr.
Fields myself. le wanted something
that had belonged to father, and after.
ward used to delight in saying that he
wore the cuff-buttons of N. I’, Willis
and the collar stud of Charles Dickens,
As for Beaconsfield, be never saw them;
I bought them myself in & most un-
romantic shop in Broadway.” “Well,
don’t tell,” the caller said, laughing;
“the bigger story is a good deal better.”
But he boasted of Beaconsfield s sleeve