THE OLD COTTAGE ULOCK. A friendly voice was that old old clock, As it stood in the corner smiling, And blessed the time, with a merry chime, The wintry hours beguiling; But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock, As it called at daybreak boldly. When the dawn looked gray on the misty WAY, And the early air blew coldly; “Pek, tick," it said—*‘quick out of bed— For five I’ve given warning; You'll never have health, you'll never get wealth Unless you're up soon in the morning.” Still hourly the sound goes round and round, With a tone that ceases never; While tears are shed for the bright days fled, And the old friends lost forever; Its hearts beat on, though hearts are gone That warner beat and younger; ¥ts hands still move, though hands we love Are clasped on earth no longer ! “Tek, tick,” it said—to the churchyard bed — ““The grave hath given warning; Up, up and rise, and look to the skies, And prepare for a heavenly morning!’ EN SR. SAWIN FARM. Miss Elizabeth Sawin, spinster, She neat gxpanse of farm yard. Her glance covered the scene with irritable uncer- tainty. Her head turned in a listening attitude suggestive of a metaphorical “pricking up of ears’ and impatient desire to locate a sound. time, as she wrathfully manipulated the towel in ber hands, “Here I am, Aunt Liz!” came in “romantic nonsense,’ Infact, sheseemed to have a hatred for men and a con- tempt for the tender emotions, These | peculiarities did not, however, prevent motherless little daughter of her broth. | er, whose house she superintended and whose domestic affairs she directed with conscientious intelligence. Her abrupt manners and apparently | gable room entirely too small to contain | the shy delight she was ashamed to | display before Aunt Liz, the scorner, | or father, the quiet, self-centered man. | rous nonsense to the tenants of the barn, { to Nellie, her own little brown mare, | who put her satiny nose up to be caress- | ed as if she deserved thus to be rewarded How the turnpike and there came cantering along another foretop? | Ah, how Betz's little heart did flutter when she saw that handsome creature, the one in the saddle yho could lift his honest, and ‘‘well fixed’ in life as any to bel of him. So what could the lovers do of a great three-story building, combi- high above the well-kept sheds that were clustered about it hke around a giant. Each shed was weather-stripped and ral treasure, machines for sowing and i es both pride and care. Beyond these goodmanagement, spreads a vast billowy the tender green of acres of wheat the darker shade of oats. a smaller patch of buckwheat with its distinct shade, neighboring upon a glis tening field of young corn, tranquilly breeze that moaned a wild Folian strain® as it crept between the sharp edges of the maize fillet. To the left, edging the roadway, is the orchard, its varied assemblage of fruit trees branch- ing along to the very shalow of a clus- ter of fine old forest trees beginning at the foot of the hill, where they become the pretty little church on the top, gleaming even at this distance. With inscribed with names, that tell you this place is sacred to the dead. But this picturesque view, so beauti- ful, so refreshing to the unfamiliar eyes, possessed no familiar attraction for Miss Ehzabeth Sawin, better known as “Aunt Liz.”’ who at this moment mere- ly realized had niece an whereabouts of her sake, designated ‘Betz’ with an hatic added as a for- cible 1} ing adjunct a sort of alpha- bBetic bmilet after the failure of blank cartridge discharges, “Oh, your'e there, are you?’’ Aunt Liz gave her head a toss, then drawing a deep, inflammatory inspiration to enable her to poise properly for the bubbling sarcasm on her tongue, she raised her voice to its ablest treble and screamed; “Well, why don’t you show yourself? Do you think I'm a divining- rod, or do you think my eyes are gim- lets that can bore holes through two- inch boards? Show up, Miss Idleness, to the call of your betters, “Yours to command, Queen Bess!” laughed the culprit, appearing a central figure in the charming country scene, a flash more of beautyand picturesque life, that scattered tbe poultry adjuncts to the right and left across the yard to join her aunt. A breath of new existence, a sparkle ol intense vitality, magnetic and re- spousive, shie was in her womanhood of twenty years—a child just awakened to the needs of the creature—a soul but istely answering an emotion not yet analyzed by her: but it permeated her being with an intoxicating influence, sweet, strong. reverential, Betz, hike other girls, had been fond of dreaming. Her girlish, romantic if you will, imagination had often wan- dered broadcast over this vast world in search of the hero who would become her other self-—the “one” who some day would take her by the hand and lead her to that home nest of his own building—built for her alone to be its mistress, “Such ‘fool ideas were all bosh,” Aunt Liz declared, ‘Men were not ‘calculated’ to understand such ‘highfa- latin’ nonsens®’’ as Betz had imbibed away off in that New England school, Yet the young girl had often noticed Aunt Liz covertly wipe away a tear when sitting around the table evenings Betz would read some pathetic story while her father smoked his pipe and Aunt Liz attended to the family mend- Fyn si 3 Po ing. Betz had no mother. She recollected, as in a dream, being lifted for a mo- ment in her father’s arms and bade to kiss a pale, waxen face, mute and cold in the narrow compass of a dark long box. She remembered also how the sobs shook his frame, as kneeling there, with her standing awe-stricken at his side, trying to lift her hand above the of the coffin to look again upon that hushed face, while her father moaned in wh : “Mary, wife, oh, my God, you will A never speak to me again!’ Then soma instinct of un- comprehended sorrow caused her to Weop with him, until Aunt Liz came softly into the room and carried her BWAY. Aunt Liz was not the crabbed crea- inre then that later years had developed, Lut she never had much patience with course, both bound on their way to the town for the mail and the papers that made their appearance only once week? the having a hero of her own, romance the childish fable, who lived in Greece and died in Peace, and were buried to- gether in bag of sand would their lives be unto the end. How far away that end appeared to the young and happy. Oblivious to all Betz Aunt Liz such the but when shrill voice of the leaning absently against patient What can I do?” ‘“Tazy! I should say so. I wonder ain't ashamed to own it, have no sense of decency these days. “Things were different when you you 1" anticipating an oft quoted reproach. “I'm not as old, thank vou, as I be,” retorted the half-amused, half-angry old maid. auntie. 1 wonder If vom scolded as much when you were my age and scared all your admirers,” **Drat admirers! I'm tired of the job. critters, to hull such a tot of Shiftless dirt into It’s a fiuisance to have to pick a mess of beans over first every time a body wants to cook a In silence this labor of sorting beans was continued by the two women, the Jetz covertly watching the expression gave place to the usual not over con- tented calm. “Aunt Liz?” the girl's voice bad a ring of pleading in that caused the elder woman to look up quickly in some sur- prise, “Well?” “Fred Carter is coming evening.” “Fred Carter’d better mind his busi- ness and stay where he belongs.’’ “He is coming to speak fo father on business,’ Aunt Liz straightened up in her chair, dropped the beans she held as if zed and stared at the blushing Betz with eyes that had in them an emotion beside wrath and astonishment. The girl could not bear it. sively she cast her task aside and kneel- claimed: mother I have ever known. me now; don’t scold and blame because I have deceived you, But we—we couldn’t belp it, and oh, Aunt Liz, do try and be my dear, dear auntie, I loved him when you said he should not come here, and then we met going to town—and oh, Aunt Liz, why do you hate him so?" “He is the son of a contemptible man,” wag the bitterly spoken reply. His father did me wrong not to be forgiven. His unstable life has made my life the barren, solitary existence it 1s, He-—he robbed me of faith in man, he made me the ntter-tongued woman I have be- come, Take no heed what a son of such a man says to you. He will fail you at the last hour and make you an object of pity wherever you are known,” The habit of speech familiar to farm. hands and acquired in association with them was forgotten. The dignity of her wrongs brought to the surface the better education of her youth, Aunt Liz for a moment was another being. “Aunt Liz, dear, dear auntie—and I pever knew that you had suffered, How often have I not said cruel, un- thinking things that must have wound. ed your heart, but you never seemed to be so cold and not to care for anyone,’’ “Never mind, child.’ The words were tenderly spoken and the arm that had closed around Betz became a WATTIEer pressure, “Never again will I be thougtlessly unmindful of your feelings. And oh, Aunt Liz, you will let me love you dearly now and make up far Butl cannot, eannot give up Fred,” leaving the other sentence unfinished, “If he is like his tather, he won'twait for such a ceremony* on your part,” retorted Aunt Liz, with her usual acerbity. the momentary softness leav- the girl from her and hastily left the room. | With a brave front, but tremulous { he art, ths handsome young farmer ap- | proached the father of his **Betz’’ that evening, Calm and parent sat smoking'his after-supper pipe, | in the old-fashioned, wooden-bottomed rocking chair on the front porch, The white Swiss curtains at one of the win- dows just behind the unsuspicious smo- ker were set in motion by some agita- tion stronger than the gentle zephyrs that kissed the tip of a little nose peer- ing hike an advance guard between the drapery below, first one then another | anxiously quivering bright brown eye, “Good evening, Mr. Sawin.” “Good evening—good evening,” the farmer answered, with quiet cordiality, eminently encouraging to the young man, who seated himself on the bench running along the porch enclosure. i | i “I have come—"’ “So I see,” remarked the farmer dry- ly. A flush mcunted to the very tips of brimmed hat. him to his metal. A man coming with honorable intentions had, at right to be heard, was the thought which #lashed through his brain, “I have come to ask you —that is, sir, would like you to re- | gard me more favorably than you have | heretofore. Why you and Miss Sawin tion, arm and heart to offer the girl, I wife.”’ The poor fellow’s tones faltered here, and behind the white curtains a palr of brown eyes overflowed, and a pair of 5 lips murmured: ** Dear, dear Fred. cent piece, with which he pressed into At this instant the white face of Aunt Liz appeared at a window at the other ’ what your business is here to night?” “He does, sent.” “Then go home and tell him from Liz Sawin that a son of his shan’ have “Aunt Liz! Aunt Liz!" wailed Betz, set lips, was about leaving the place, indignantly silent. ‘‘If they drive you away with insults, Fred, I will go with you. If wrong has been done, you are innocent! Whatever injustice rests be- I believe in you. I love you.” Farmer Sawin looked at ms spirited daughter with admiration, not unmin- gled with pain, for she resembled, in her present attitade, the sweet, “*high- strung’ Mary—wife-——who had paseed out of his life after three short, happy wedded years, or could, take her place in his heart or home, “Petz is right, sister Liz.’" he quietly said. as that lady appeared in the door- way. “It is hardly fair to condemn mast honorable man, Surely you mistake few words he said that I loved your i the kindest and done you wrong? him. From the when I told him suffered wrong.” “Indeed,” sneered Aunt Liz “Indeed, yes, His manner, | for you, mingled with sadness, He said | he would welcome her as a treasure to | his home and mine,” | “What condescension!"’ | murmured implacable Aunt Liz. “I thought probably he had some time been vour unsuccessful admirver.” Aunt Liz hastily turned in doors, a gray pallor on her face, a hard glitter | in her eyes that looked as if tears would | have been a blessad relief, “Father, tells us what is the sorrow ironically “When she was about your age, Fred's father came to ask her to be his wife. It was gn open secret that the two were devoted to each other. She She was as proud and happy as you to- day, Betz. and trusted her lover as you trust Fred. The wedding day was set, the finery ali bought, when only a week before the day appointed, Kate Toba “My mother?” queried Fred. ‘“Yes; the adopted daughter of your grand-parents—came over, with swollen eyes and shame faced hesitation, and brought Liz a note. What was in it we did not find out for months, but your aunt changed as if she had become another being: The wedding things were destroyed. 1 never thought any one could be so hard and savage as the poor girl was when she, with her own hands, made a bonfire of her marriage dry goods. We had to humor her. We feared for her the worst that could come to mortal--insanity. She made us swear never to speak to him or ber of their past, He came begging for an interview a week or two later.’ In the meantime your grandmother had died, but all intercourse was at an end be- tween our families for eighteen years; then you two patched up a renewal. And hers we are,” “There ia a terrible mistake about that broken-off marriage. I am sure it could have been cleared up. But did my father get married soon after this trouble?” “Within a month,” A painful silence was broken at last by Fred's request to be permitted to go and return the next morning. 0 lovers parted as lovers will, for the farmer remembering his youth, had dis. | croetly vanished, and therebysanctioned Fred's hopes to call Betz his own. | About ten o’clock { furious biast of the dinner-horn, such | a8 no one but Aunt Liz could produce when in great nxcitement or impatience, “Brother!” she exclaimed, ‘*‘that Fred has brought his father! Oh after twenty years. What shall I do?” “Take adrink of water, Laz; you look ready to faint,”? | he had filled a glass with and handed her, with.” There was no protest to this authori- tative request, | two, once lovers, stood after long years | face to face, The man held out a | trembling hand; trembling not | grand manhood in middle life. A glance at the honest countenance, {once the idol of her maiden dreams, {and with a heart-breaking moan two | other trembling hands covered the face | grown thin and fretlined on the memo- | ries of a contemptuous desertion, | cruel, heartless note!” “1 never wrote you such a note!” “Then let the proof at him read: again, snd thrust { crumpled paper. a It You must | before. We cannot become man and wife. In justice to yourself I must tell you I love and honor above all others, Be as you were to me before and for- FRED, exclamation I give “My God!" the Turning to his son and Betz, he | sald: “T.eave us alone for a little while.” in a broken volee exclaimed: “This note cost me the most painful hour I had up to that time known, It She was a faithful She, unhappi let her undisci- I was forced to write what I Be merciful; the wrong the did us cannot be atoned for upon earth, I did not dream she crime like this under so seemingly good a heart, you with a message from me. day—I dared not leave her, a word of sympathy from you, who were 80 soon to be my wife, can you of coming to see my dear went with fenry to i you your cousin Hy word of condolence when was laid to rest forever, you had only given me to see you." “If, of, if,” moaned Aunt Liz, insulted pride could separate right. But you married y heal Your broken my 3 wy a ¥ Oh, 14 + an opportunity “ig wrong from Kate soon enough heart." “Ah, I was wid how you | the very wedding dress in which you had promised to become mine. What hope was left for me? You must have indeed have come to hate me, The girl seemed kind, womanly, sympathetic, after the note I had written her. She alone after mother's death, My life | was broken of its charm-—she was will- ing to take me. A belter wife stirnt irs she proved to the last. You will mot uncover the grave of my boy's mother —I, too, have suffered, Liz, but I can- not bear the lad-—-he is a noble lad, Liz —40 see his mother’s sin, now that she is in her grave and cannot plead a par- don!" “Oh, Fred, Fred, I, too, have sinned, { for I should have given you a chance | to right the wrong.’ Once more Farmer Sawin discreetly | “made himself scarce,” as Aunt Liz | would have said had she not been blind- | how the two old lovers got their heads | together after awhile and the leng lorn, | barren years fled, taking with them Imueh of Aunt Liz's brusquerie aud | snap. There were two weddings shortly on | the Sawin farm. And when old friends ventured to tease Aunt Liz about her improved appearance and remarked the devotion between the long parted ones, a little of the old tartness came crop- { ping up in her rejoinder. “Well, you know there's no fools like old fools!” Sometimes Farmer Sawin experienced a sense of isolation in the atmosphere of happiness that rei at both farm homes, then he would take his pipe and a little sack of tobacco and wander near the white stone engraved, ‘Mary ~ Wise,” he would sit and muse and smoke, finding in it a peace all his own. RI The New Mormon Tomple. The main walls of the new temple of the Mormon's in Salt Lake have been completed within the past week. The first stone was laid twenty-eight years ago, The material is granite, like Maine ranite, tull of shining ance flecks, and s hauled from the Zsountain back of Salt Lake with oxen on enormous wagons with wheels twelve feet high. The walls are exceedingly thick--ten foot —and the height is eighty-five feet, The cost to date, paid by tithings, has been $1,500,000, and six more years of work will be required to complete the structure, It has come to stay, whether Mormonism has or not, and it has been redicted that some day the State of tah, redeemed and purged of Jo gamy, will own It and use it for a capitol. A aoop reason: Irish witness (for the defense)—*‘Is it mysell that under stands the nature of an oath? Faix, and I t to; havent I been twice for perjury and convicted?” Bathing in Silks and Satins, The newest styles are of navy blue and Lansdowne blue flannel,” They made, with a pretty coquettish vest front, buttoned on to the rather low and cuffs, while bloomers of the mate- tached, or tied with blue ribbon and wearer. There are some like last year’s buttoned on, Except in some cases, where the plain yoke suited stout ladies Flannel is the principal fabric with the dry goods houses, unless a special order Laborers & Hundred Years Ago, Jt is not an easy matter to obtain accurate information of the eondition of the laboring classes in America a but enough is known to the condition of the laboring man of to-day 1s vastly im- proved over those who lived in the days wars of the American Revolution were Both as regards wages and the comforts of the laboring man times are vastly improved for the better, In the matter of clothes, the stuff was were one-half what they are at present, man who performed unskilled labor or helped in harvest time—received two shillings a day. If atthe end of the lace. The lace 18 “set up’ on the gown. It place where the sleeves ought to be. This garment was made with a yoke, in blouse pattern and belted in at the A more It is for a this costume. It cost $00. costly one was also shown. is of the purest silk also, and the blouse of the finest quality. honeymoon, and is a copy of one made for Mlle. Gaulolre, a reigning belle In Paris, The shape of the garment 1s Parisienne, and the sleeves are long, as Madame does, doubtless, not intend to exert her swimming propensi- ties after marriage, as these sleeves 50 hea vily laced would be in the way. “What does that cost?” questioned “One hundred dollars; it is not much when you consider the lace.’ “Do you ever make cheaper ones?’ “The lowest priced suit for this year the new Lansdowne blue and trimmed with narrow swlare braid, It is a plain plaited blouse and skirt. price is $25. Heal lase encircles the neck and finishes the corded sleeve band.” I hear that large French watering-places they are to have Ot man silk, and pale lavender and purple hues will predominate, RE —— is 0 pongee silk of ™ ue He af ai A Chinese Pastime, If it be one of their shillings-—a sum now about as much as $4 he was lucky, indeed, It was only by the strictest economy that the half. starved mechanic could raise his fami] His dwelling possessed few of t or refinements which decorate many a mechanic's home to- day. Carpets were unheard of; sand sprinkled on the floor served instead. v Matches were un- heard of, and cooking-stoves not in- vented, His wife struck a light with a flint or borrowed some coals from a neighbor, and cooked a rude, coarse meal, He was lucky if he tasted fresh meat a week, orn was three shillings a bushel, wheat eight shillings and six pence, a pound of salt pork ten pence. Fruits were comparatively un- known, Cantaloupes, tomatoes, rhu- barb, cauliflower, egrplant, lettuce and many varieties of pears and peaches unheard of a hundred years ago, Such luxuries as oranges and bananas were unknown ever to the rich while the fox grape was the only delicacy in the grape line that came to the market, The clothing of en was such 8s no tramp woul nowadays, Coarse leather breeches, a checked shirt, red flannel jacket, rusty hat cock- at the corners, si neat-skin set off with brass buckles, and a leather apron, completed the citizen's wardrobe, The leather was greased to keep 1t soft and flexible, The sons followed in their fathers’ fool- steps, and the daughters went out to service, The hired girl received $50 a year for her services, made the butter, ran errands, carne walter, mended the clothes washed and ironed and helped cook. Possibly she saved enough so that when she married the coachman she could furnish something toward housekeeping the most the table-ware. ii if once tae citi Wear 1068 of Siig 3 il played, called chai mui, the object of | TO Ai a time, One thrusts his extended and the other does the As the hands are extended each In other words, each than ten, man who by ol both fF uesses drin} hands, and the person wrong pays the forfeit king the wine, An example make plain: Ah Hol extends two fingers and calls out six, at the same time Ah Cheung puts pp three fingers amd call out four, As neither party has is also the case where both guess right, Next time parhaps Ah Hol thrusts out two fingers and calls six, Ah Cheung extends four fingers and calls out eight. In Ah Hoi wins, as he had zaouted th number of fingers extendad by both parties. Ah Chung pays hi forfeit by drinking a cup reddened out 18 caw Two Trawling Dogs, There is a famous traveling dog in England, known @& “Railway Jack” n making excursiows over the railroads of the kingdom, ani has even been in Scotland and Frame, Of course the railway hands all know him, and a few pathetic, and took grat pains to convey After Juck got out again he resumed hus travels, and quite recent. ly the English papershad an interesting account of the atteniions paid him by the Prince and Pringss of Wales, who met him ab a raliroac junctjon wailing for a train. There is another log, colley named “Help, * who has not been as long known as Jack, and leads a similar life, though nore useful, He is employed to make ollections for the “Railroad Servants’ Orphan Fund)” a pure Scotch #0 boisterons and provokes such uproar. fous laughter that 1 have been kept a wine party in the adjoining house. wildest excitement often 3 the liquor lacks strength, as I have seen scores of English Jack tars boozy for 10 cents, drunk for 20 cents and dead drunk and carried out fora half-dollar’s worth over his cheek and neck and knows he has had enough. A flushed face and a garrulous tongue are the only sign of intoxication one one ever sees in China. The prevailing beverage is tepid tea always at hand in the basket-teapot found on the counter or table of every shop and workroom throughout the land, nis ——— Healthy Dwellings. It has been stated that a new house containing a hundred thoufand bricks {each brick sucking up from seven to ten per cent. of its weight of water), contains upon reasonable calculation ten thousand gallons of water init, All this quantity of water bas to be remov- ed by evaporation, and the rapadity of this process will depend on the tension of the vapor at a given temperature The rate of transmission of heat through building materials depends upon thelr texture and composition. ID MI Ai Siniatie Rooks, In the Siniatic range of mountains there is 8 remarkable cone of sandy rocks called Gebel-Nakus. When a traveler attempts in fine weather to scale this miniature peak he hears a gound like that of distant bells, When there is no wind and the sand is damp with dew the sound is not heard, This phenomena is attributed to the friction of the silicious sand on the declivities of the cone. The atnvspheric vibra. tion which is thus started is supposed to be intensified by cavities which serve As sounding-boxes or resonators. ee a Men of few faults are the least anxious to discover these of others, amotnts to enough, 1 the course of the year, to support six orphan children He carries on this howrable canvass on all the railways, being “employed” by a charitable society, le has visited a great number of the chief cities in England and Wales, and has twice crossed the channel to France, This useful dog has a plated metal attached to his collar, bearing the fol- am Help, the agent for the orphanscfl railway men who are killed on duty My office 306 City Road, London where subscrip- tions will be thankfdiy recived and acknowledged.” Help nakes his eircuit of the trains under theéeve of the con- ductor. He does not paform any tricks, but silently exhibits hs medal, nn A PPA so Northumberian: House. is Upon a site now traversed diagonally - by Northumberland aveiue stood, until 1875, the last of the great riverside mansions of London —Jorthumberland House, Its facade exended from the statue towards Northunberiand stre and its gardens went lack to Scotian Yard, into which it hai a gate. North- amptonHouse, as it wat first called, was built about 1605 for Henry Howard, Earl of Northampton, by Benard Jansen and Gerard Christtoas—Chistmas, it is sup- posed. being responsibd for the flond gateway or “frontispiece.” From the Earl of Northampton't passed to the Saffolks, and chang its name to Suffolk House, a namevhich it retained until 1679, when becoing the property of the Percies, it was apin rechristened. Londoners, except upg such special oc- casions as Exhibition pars and the Jike, saw little of the place kyond the facade. Its original plan wa a quadrangle, uncompleted at first the garden side, Algernon Percy, tenh Earl of North- umberiand added a nw river fro and a stone flight of staig, which Mr. Eve- lyn regarded as ciupsy and *“‘without anv neat invention. 'tin the interior its chief glory was a dable state staircase chamber by Zuccaslli, The pictures which, with the wonderful stiff-tailed leaden lion so long familiar to passers. by, are now to Sion House at Isleworth, incl Titian's famous Corparo family (Ivelyn's * Venetian Senators”), and a number of minor masterpieces, Ong of the show cur. osities was a Sevrefvase nine feet high, presented to the Duke of North umberland by © X. of Franoa
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers