AGE,
+ The night-owl keeps its vigil hour
Above the ragged battlements,
And from the vault of its stone tower
Sends forth its lonely, long laments,
Here Time has sown the peace of age
To mingle with the hoary rust;
Tradition tells of lord and page,
And econsecrates the lore of dustd
0, Time, thou healer of all ill,
Bring to each crumbling life a balm;
In every aged breast fulfil
The blessing of thine ancient calm,
Let memory charm the world away;
Dring music sweet to falling ears;
Bring joy to thwart the sad decay,
And ransom for the dying years.
About each silvered crest of age
Weave there a crown of honor, meat;
Let peace the pangs of earth assuage,
And write a victory o'er defeat.
LI WS ER.
A GHOST STORY,
“I am going to be married, my dear,
I can see the tears in your pretty eyes
can never be as happy as we are.’
comse I cannot. No womsn can
does not marry her first love, while her
past is without regret and her future
without shadow, But I am going to
—perfection, Absolutely he has not a
fault, and the wonder of wonders is that
life of one who
am, He is clever, rich, amiable, good-
lookigg, thirty-two, respected of
praised by all women,
that dear manima, who has beén a little
are all loud
But then,
quaintances
gratnlations? as they say,
with them as to that, only it is not
worth while recalling such a very.old
and commonplace mishap, Indeed, I
mercies myself, for that a young woman
facing her thirtieth birthday so nearly
as I do, and who has played fast and
loose with such good ecards as kindly
Fate has hituerto thrust into her hands
—that sneh a young woman should be-
come Mrs, Brian Chester is truly =a
wonderful favor of Fortune. It is not
the first time that yon have seen his
name mn thy letters, and I dare say that
suspicions of what might come to pass,
Behold me at length on the eve of mar-
riage, figuratively, that is, for we are
not to pe married nntil June, and this
is ouly January, but it seems very near
to me,
“Shall 1 whisper something to you,
my Kate, so low that not even Harry
shall hear it? (I know you keep my
secrets even from him), 1 respect Brian
Chestor, J admire him, I am proud of
at rest with him than [ ever did in my
life—yet, oh, Kate! Kate! it is not such
a love as yours for Harry in the days of
or like mine for—
who wooed = rode AWAY,
I am twen®-eight, and
1 a flirt, as people say, or because
Mr. Chester's affection for me 18 so very
cheerful and matter-of-fact? He is evi-
cently incapableo! jealousy, and evinces
i ful ne, which my past
I ough
he kmght
8 it because
suck flirt
Faasbl mn
aldisil
to be
eh casteth out fear
Ve poor, passionate,
g humanity, Do not, however,
» me so foolish as not to know
t I am more nearly happy than 1
have been for years, and that I shall be
a very contented woman as Mrs, Brian
Chester, Kiss your small Violet for
me, and give my love to Harry, 1 can
trust him, whatever his criticisms may
be, not to say, as Bob Lisle did when
Mary Viney was married last month,
‘Another old landmark gone!’
“Always your loving Sey.”
With a taint smile at Mr. Lisie's very
uncivil remark, Miss Van Eyck addresses
1d far ao
1s
ALAA
}
the fire,
“I will give it to him to post,” she
evening paper,
For a seeond or two she glances in.
differently over it, and then she reads
earnestly while her face softens, her
paper as she drops it in her lap. Only
power beyond their truth, and yet they
can send her thoughts back over eight
years—such a long, long time of one’s
youth!—and make her hearl ache with
pith for the difference between the
woman of twenty-eight who is to marry
Brian Chester and the girl of twenty
who loved so foolishly and so tenderly
that the ghost of a handsome, fond, false
face can come between her and her fu-
ture husband,
Bios] Van Eyck is a young woman
usual
tageof becoming surroundings, but just
now she is quite unconscious that her
fair head and slender figure in its pale
blue trailing dress make a picture ve
in a orimson chair in
glow of the fire. Her thoughts have
hear the door open and close, nor a
man's quick step on the thick carpet.
expecting Mr, Chester, until he seats
start that he laughs,
hand be hus taken, he lets it go, and
leaning back iu his chair, makes him-
sell comfortable after the fashion,
more easy than elegant, of our genera-
tion,
Ble colors like a school girl, though
she is ** twenty-eight d such a»
dreadful flirt,” and nhe y the paper
out of sight under the train of her
dress,
“And if I had, sir,” the asks, lightly,
“I dare say you forget me, often
cuough, for much more than five min.
ies,”
“Never,” he sayn, rather shortly; and
thew, after au instant, “What were you
crying for just now?’
“Do you not know that we women ory
for anything or nothing?”
you wish to do so,”
“I assure you I haye no such inten-
tion,” she says, gayly. “Does your
lordship think that Ishall make you my
confessor?”
“Some day-—yes,” he answers, quiet-
ly, aud looking not at her, but at the
fire.
Very quickly she lifts her eyes to his
, face—a very frank and pleasant face,
with a look that shows its owner well
content with the world and himself, but
just now a little graver than its wont,
he too in the years which lie behind him
| ness,
| “You and I are too old and worldly-
| wise for that,” she says, rather sadly.
“Ola—you child!” his eyes meeting
hers with a smile half amused, half
tender.
| reached the awful age of twenty-eight,
| Miss Van Eyck, and that you have had
enough experience of the world to
make you wise, but, for all that,
{ you are a child, and a child in some
{ things you will remain as long as you
{ live,”
‘“‘Ahl you do not know how much
{ nicer I was ten years ago,” she says,
langhing nervously,
“If 1 have the bad taste to be con-
tent with you as you are, I do not seo
| that it is of any consequence,” he says,
| taking her hand. *‘‘Besides, I do not
believe it,”
“I wish,” she begins, wistfully, while
| tears stand in her eyes —“I wish that
{ we had known each other then, and that
I had never—never—"
“Never fancied you cared for some
{ one else,” he breaks in abruptly, “look
’
puts one arm about her, while he keeps
{ her hand. ““Tell me nothing yet; I
{am not a jealous man, nor afraid of
ghosts, and it is not your past
I want, but your present and your fu-
{ ture.”
When he is gone she stands before
{ one of the long mirrors, smiling at Lier-
self rather deflantly,
*You have found your master, Miss
Van Eyck,” she is thinking; *‘a good
master, a tender and true master, but
just a little too sure of himself.”
When Brian Chester enters his rooms,
the first thing he does after lighting
the gas is to find the evening paper,
and glancing hastily over it, to read
with sure instinct two verses in ils col-
umns,
“Very worldly-wise, indeed, my poor
little girl,” he says to himself, as he
lays it down with half a smile aud half
a sigh; aad a very shabby thing of me
wo hunt up the eatise of your tears after
refusing to hear it; but you are more
mine now than you think, and you shall
| be altogether mine yet, in spite of the
ghost.”
Jut, for all that, his eyes have a
troubled look not usual to them, snd he
smokes more cigars than are good for him
before he goes to bed,
“If I were a jealous man (which,
thank Heaven, I am not), I should en-
dure some exceedingly uncomfortable
hours,” says Mr. Chester, smiling pila-
cidly, he takes possession of Sib
for a waltz some six weeks later, at one
of the last parties before Lent: “for
| upon my word fe to
think that I have no right whatever to
more than a stray
“Peing a phil
Heaven, you are)
as
these fellows seem
lance.”
sopher (which, thank
I supposes it makes
ns
they waltz off.
“l admire their good taste, and am
thankful for what I can get at present;
also I nave some faint idea that Mrs.
Chester will give np round dancing,”
Sibyl pauses abruptly, and moves out
of the circle of waltzers,
**Do not you mean to be a philosopher
about-—Mrs, Chester?” she asks, softly,
| looking up at him with radiant eyes and
| flushed cheeks,
“Do you think that I am always a
philosopher now?”
Her color deepens, her eyes turn from
| his, and then, with a little ory, she puts
| her hand on his arn, growing suddenly
white, and gazing fixedly at somebody
| behind him. He turos instinctively, aud
| at Sibyl with more fixity than politeness
| permits,
“Take me away-—out of the room—
Very much bewildered, he obeys, and
presently tinds a seat for her in a small,
almost deserted room,
“You are tired,” he says, tenderly.
“Shall I get you a glass of wine?”
“No, no; stay with me, It is he,”
she says, looking up piteounsly in his
face, which at those very enigmatioal
words grew rather pale,
“Who?—the ghost?” he asks, unstead-
ily.
“Mr, Devereux, I have not seen him
think of me?” she cries, with a sudden
burning blush at the change and trouble
in his face. *‘Indeed, it is only the
“Of course, he says, positively.
lost.”
But in spite of his positiveness and
able silence falls upon them, which she
ball-room,
himself,
“Sibyl, dear,” says the lady, hur-
riedly,
claims to be an old friend, but donbts
whether your memory is so good as
his,”
swers, rather coldly, but with that utter
sell-possession which comes to most
women in bitterest need. *'{ perfectly
remember my scquaintance with Mr,
Deverenx,”
“Then that is all night, and I shall
SAgT} You off, Mr. Chester,”
"We shall go together, dear Mra.
Barns,” Bibyl says, with her hand still
on Brian's arm. “Mr. Chester is going
to take me to mamma,”
“Will you not permit me?” says
Mr, Devereux, speaking for the first
time, and in a voice which falters per-
ceptibly,
{ “Thanks, no; I will not trouble you.”
| "Then may I not have a waltz, or a
| square dance, for-—for ‘auld lang
syne?’ ” The last words are very low
| and eager, but Mr, Chester hears them
| as distinctly as if they had been spoken
{ in his ear,
| “My eoard is full, thanks,” is the
steady answer, and then all four enter
{ the ball-room, where Mrs, Barns takes
| Mr. Deverenx in one direction, while
{ Sibyl and Mr. Chester go in another
| to serch for Mra, Van Eyek, and
{ within half an hour they are driving
i home,
| It cannot be denied though Miss Van
| Eyok’s lover is not a man given to
| jealousy, that the next week is the long-
| est and most uncomfortable which he
| ean romember., Business compels him
after Mrs, Burns’ party that he does pot
| soo Bibyl again, and in spite of her dig-
nified repulsion of Mr. Devereux
ean not forget her pale face and piteous
eyos when she had first seen the
“i "”
ghost,
give you up!” he gasps,
“Give me up?’ she repeats, rising
too, and trembling very much.
“Yon never wrote me"—he begins,
passionately,
“Because I would rather tell you than
write,” she interrupts quickly.
wan leave the house after ho had been
here an hour, and I find you breaking
your heart for him. What have I done
that you should think I would necept
such a sacrifice? Do you think I want
that seems to have deserted him while
she stands silent, with down-bent head
and olasped hands, *‘I see it all,” he
says, presently, in a very low voice,
whose forced steadiness it takes all his
resolute will t» maintain, “You have
reconciliation, and he calls himself an
insane idiot for having refused to hear
the story or her first love, which Sibyl
had seemed to wish to tell him, for his
utter ignorance of the circumstances
prevents him from being able to judge
whether such a thing could come to
pass, To add to his auxiety, during the
four days that he is in Boaton he does
not receive even so much a line from
| her, thongh she had promised, half
Ianghingly, to write every day. The re-
sult of all of which is that, after having
been 80 absent-minded as to re-
turn to New York two days earlier
than he had intended, leaving his affairs
very much as he found them. An hour
after his arrival he is walking up
| familiar street on which the van Eyoks
live, with a great deal of outward cheer-
fulness, and an odd mingling of self-
contempt and anxiety at his heart, for
he will fate in another ten
minutes,
“My fate, indeed!” he mutttrs, with
rather a failure in the way of a smile,
“If I wore anybody else what a jealous
fool I shonld eall myself |"
Then he ted as if
t, for ascending the
Van Eycks’ house, with
manner of who does
the first time, Is Mr, Devereux. Very
stands Mr, C very still and
very pale for a man who 15 *“‘not jBal.
ous nor afraid of ghosts’ until Mr.
Devereux has rang and is admitted.
4]
not
momentary
confront him
though all |
Anglo-Saxon
§ Roane,
Ho walks rapidly down to the end of
the block, and returns slowly, with his
eyes on the Van Eycks' door; but Day.
eroux’'s visit bids fair to be a lengthy
one, and he las time to repeat his man-
couvre many times, to the great interest
of a ocuple of school girls, who, from
an opposite drew room window, are
speculating excitedly as to what “Miss
Van Eyek’s lover” can be about, It
t very fatiguing for & man to pace
:
and down a bloek for an hour, ar
Br
when that time hias « 3 }
eT .
OAAlY Worn an
tar's face
God pity u
r
oa
“we
know his
he had been
of the
onfident
for
ano sleps
the ©
50 not como
OL HOE COIN
still 1estor
will
long,’
¥
wait until be leaves: he will
he thinks, with a strong
to follow him and
sud Bibyl together,
life he has had the true
irror of anything like a
iQ
desire
4
3
i
I
in
up
Ase i,
haggard-looking
can most of us
hour, whose sixty minutes hel
nity of suspence, but tl
render thanksgiving all our days
feared in that hour only death. not
faitilessness, for our heart's beloved. It
is nearly six when the Van Eyocks’ door
opens and closes again on Mr, Deve.
reux, who walks quickly down the street
in an opposite direction from Chester,
but the latter scarcely glaces at the
rememope
An eter.
Ep
ot us
Wao
astaps,
passes in,
Outside it was nearly dark, and here
{it 18 quite so, except when the fire
| makes a blaze of light; but he secs her
| sofa by the chimney, and weeping—ah!
weeping as even women given to tears
| faint and sick, for he knows so well,
| with such wonderful, dreary conviction,
just what she has done, and what he
i must do now,
| look abcut the familiar room where he
| has been so happy, and then his eyes
| return to the woman he loves and suf.
{fers for, as only a man can to
{| whom neither love nor jealousy comes
easily.
“Sibyl 1” he says, abruptly, in an
| odd, hoarse voice, which vaguely sur-
| prises him, it is so unlike his,
ory so terribly; there is 5o need.”
Sha springs to her feet and faces him
in the fire-light with a low ory, and a
look that changes instantly from sar.
prise to pity and terror,
“Brian!” she says, tremunlously, tak-
ing his hands in hers. ‘‘Are you ill,
dear?—or has something dreadful hap-
pened?”
ever ullered his name, the first time
| those shy fingers have ever sought his,
| but she does no! think of that in fear
of the calamity which ean have so
| changed ealm, cheerful, philosophical
| Brian Chester,
| At the frightened compassion in her
eyes, he glances suddenly in the mirror
| over the chimney, and stares at him-
iself with the dull wonder men feel
| when they are brought face to face with
| the change an hour's agony can work in
them,
“I am a fool,” he says, presently, with
a mwserable laugh, and dropping nto
from hers and covers his face.
the despair in every line of the bent
figure gives her courage,
“Doar,” she whispers, kneeling be.
| side hum, “surely I, who am to be your
wifo, may share your troubles, and
comfort you?” and with a rush of ten-
derness that sweeps her old doubts and
fears away. forever, she tried to draw
his head against her shoulder,
But he springs to his feet, with a flush
woman you are; but he will be easy to
recall, 80-30 God bless youl” —and he
turns rather blindly toward the door,
But she stands swiftly before him
with outstretched hauds and tearful,
shining eyes.
‘Oh, Brian, I am no heroine, only a
foolish woman to whom God is very
good. Mr, Devereux will never again
be even a ghost to me, And you—do
you wonder that [ was crying for
those years when I fancied I cared for
him, and which ought to have been
yours, with all the rest of my lite—my
love ? .
SE I RDS
Physicians Scarce in Hussia.
in Russia and a pers
1 f
1s ¢
dred
and the universi-
wd to famale students,
sess as AAI 45550
The Karens.
The Karens are one of the gentlest
timid of all the Asiatic peo-
are a jungle people, and
is day when 1 go into their
on the distant mountains, the
desert their homes and rush
in the direst fear. Whole vil-
lages may thus be depopulated at the
approach of a single white man. The
converted Karens are now sending mis.
sionaries out among their fellow tribes
on the mountains, They seem to bear
some such relationship to the Burmese
as the American Indians do
home, They are a subjugated aborigi-
nal race, no doubt, When the mission.
villages
—— ————————
no religion, although
they cherished a good many religious
traditions that were extraordinarily
akin to the scriptural history of Chris-
tianity. Hence they have taken to
Christianity with phenomenal readiness,
Although this mission 18 ten years
younger than that among the Burmese,
they have 24 000 communicants as
against 2.000 Burmese,
of Burmese and only from 300,000 to
400,000 Karens. The difference lies al-
together in the recipiency ef the people.
When Buddhism once gains a foothold
among a people it is very hail to unseat
it.
A Brilliant Singer,
Mr. Sims Reeves, the tenor singer,
cause of his frequent failures to fulfil
engagements
throat. He calculated that during his
career he had lost £80,000 from this
cause, He said he lived quietly and
ale and drank sparingly. The reports
that he was a brandy drinker were ies.
He drank only claret and water. Mrs.
Reeves suid that Bims had led the life
their married life. H® had not gone to
a dozen dinner parties. He was an ab-
stemious liver, taking two light meals
daily, with a spper after performances,
the last consisting of only two eggs.
He claimed that his voice was as per-
fect 4s ever, and he proposed making a
tour of America as a triumphant close
to his artistic career.
The greatest wealth
with a little.
About the Rose. |
An old legend tells us that Flora, |
having found the body of a beautiful |
{ nymph, resolved to immortalize her by
| transforming her into a plant which
{ should surpass all others in its charms,
| She summoned Venus and each of the
| Graces to assist at the ceremony,
The Zephyrs cleared the atmosphere
to allow Avollo to bless with his beams
the new flower; Bacchus “contributed
nectar to
supplied its perfume, while
crowned it with a diadem which was
to distinguish it as the queen of flowers,
| The Rose;may truly be called cosmon-
politan, as it is fourd in almost every
country, and Is everywhere equally
prized for its delicate perfume and use-
ful properties,
Among the
valued, and from the earliest times
virtues and attractions have been ap-
preciated, and its charms have cause
it to be interwoven with the
romance and poetry of all ages,
The Rose tree is supposed to be a na-
tive of the east, as the word Syria signi-
files “The Land of Roses,” and one of
its rich
one of th i
Chaplets of Roses were early worn on
i , and Roses contributed
adornment of the
of the Greeks
1s
history,
world’s oldest cities,
INC OCCasion
to the (
homes and
OMANS,
The first Rose
have been given by Cupid to Harpo-
crates, the god of silence,
the
4
aver seen 1s sald to
10 engage
him to preserve secrets of
¢
armours of his
it became the symbol of silence :
i and was cary
banqueting
i
ed on
halls, and
A Bargiar's Love Making,
A Ban Francisco correspondent
writes, it has often been said that noth-
ing save business success and money
constitutes a claim to social recognition
before them, our Eastern friends can
hardly understand how absolute said
rule is here, we can hardly expect the
following perfectly true incident to be
believed out of our own State:
One night not long ago the daughter
of one of our best citizens was awaken-
ed bya noise in her room, and upon
sitting up discovered a man disguised
in a black mask standing beside her
hed and calmly contemplating her fea
's eye lantern,
“Don’t be alarmed, miss,” Le sald,
“I haven't taken anything yet.
**Bless me!’ sald the girl; “I do be-
teve it’s a burglar,”
i t ' said the house
breaker with an atifying ie a8
cigarette, “and I'm f
course |
ud o
pro
he lit a
it,’
“What do you want," demans
I did want to sample your
v i { 3 i“ %
sald the robber, but
all-fired
ir auburn h
1uldn't
owmian’t hb
pretty lying
A my
you
Iam
dark
50 i
bv S3vmad
ii . i
1s sve 1
ip Wakil
1 also had dark eves,
d of and
o
I]
light
hair
lady,
nus
IT
a“ a
su A
this dress,
ite 1s becoming
1i ciple of Jimmy
y the way, are you
(6 a fright in this—
nirary, w
id the
(
9+]
us
Ww
1 ¥
i whatever transpired dur
sed to denote BOCresy,
Rhodes
to some authorities,
and sweetness of
ts coins, still
i
id
Unlike many beautiful objects, the
WIFE
Worl
From it is distilled the altar
Roses, which forms an article of
mmerce in Syria, India and Persia,
The manufacture of this essence is
attended with so much difficulty and
expense that the cost of a single drop is
almost fabulous; but is so extremely
powerful that a vessel which has once
contained even the smallest portion of
it, will retain the delicious odor many
years after the last drop has disappear-
ed. As the poet beautifully expresses
it:
Ye
derful
of
Ul may break, you may shailer the vase, if you
Bat the abe nt of the Rose, will linger there still,
In Pharmacy it is used quite exten.
| sively, whole fields of Roses being cul-
| vated for the apothecary’s use alone.
from which he produces a variety of
compounds and extracts, among which
| are the ointment of roses, soothing
in cases of inflammation ; vinegar of
roses, a pleasant and refreshing remedy
| for headachs : conserve of roses, which
was considered by the ancients a sover-
| eign specific for a cold ; honey and oil
| of roses, beside the many perfumes for
the toilet, flavoring extracts and many
{ and pleasant.
The green, leaves of the Sweet Drier
| can be dried and used as a substitute
for tea ; the fragrant petals of the
flower are reduced to a paste and form-
rosaries used by some in devotional
| exercises are supposed to have been
| made originally in this way, and receiv-
| ed their name accordingly,
Winters In England,
milder than this last, exceptional as
| that has been, In 1282 so wild was the
| season that the trees were covered with
| leaves and birds built their nests and
if hatched their young in the month of
| February, In 1533 the gardens were
| bright with dowers in January, Neither
| fee nor snow was visible in 1650, no
| fires were lit in 1602, and the softness
{of the weather in 1701, 1807 and 1822
was phenomenal. In 1820 white blos-
soms were to be seen on the trees in
March and on the vines in April,
———
|
~ War 1s being carried on mn several
cities in this country against the “‘swing-
ing sign nuisance,” just now,
To hate excellence 13 to be at its
opposite pole.
:
{ as much,
i »
i KNOW
-a-cottage
Ww peg
stuffy
+3 y 1
wviiere 18
busi
aiong
5
ys
Was
A Snake in a Sleeping Car.
party, who 1
n his hand, partly wrapped
of «¢ had a
take it
ugh at
9 50
y vig Yas
ig i .
Eo ti
Mi 5
ie ear, That
nd allowed hi
reached a
cipck, a pretty young lady
aboard and took a berth at the end of
wear the ladies’ dressing-room.
10 o'clock I was at the other end
car, looking at the porter black.
ing 8, when suddenly there
came from the dressing-room some of
the shrillest screaming you ever heard
~80 keen that we heard it over the
noise of the train. I rushed through
the car, followed by the porter, and
found the little lady who got on at Day-
{ton perched on tiptoes on the wash.
| stand, frightened out of her wits, and
| pointing at something on the floor. She
was 50 excited that 1 couldn’t make out
what she was saying, but 1 looked down,
and there was a nasty little green snake
coiled up in the middle of the floor and
{ moving nis bead about from side to side,
| evidently ready for a fight. I wasn’t
| exactly afraid of the thing, but it did
| give me a creepy sorl of feeling to see
| it in my car, and ] was just about to
{ kill it when I heard somebody behind
| me yelling : ‘It’s my snake! Don’t kil
it] Don’t kill it! and the boy who
{had brought the cage into the car
{ rushed in and took the snake up in h's
{ hands, But when the boy had put jthe
| snake back in his cage I settled matters
{by dropping the cage, snake and all,
| out of the window. I felt like drop.
| ping the boy out, too. The boy had put
| the cage under the berth on the floor;
and when the porter was fishing out the
| boots he must have upset it and let the
| snake out.”
Dayton, w hh we
was put
t1
the bor
Isthmuses,
The Isthmuses of the globe have long
since received notice to quit. Engin.
eers look upon every remaining neck of
| land as only affording a fine opportunity
for testing their skill. The Isthmus of
Suez was cut through long ago: the
Isthmus of Panama i$ undergoing the
| operation, and now an attack = to be
{ made upon the Isthmus of Corinth,
| But the supply of isthmuges is growing
| short and engineering capacity and am-
bition are now turning to peninsulas
) for the exercise of these qualities, A
project has been recently launched for
digging a canal from the Atlantic to
the Mediterranean, converting Spain
and the adjacent portions of France in-
toan island, It would seem that engin.
oers have laid down a principle that
all ends of a continent mistook their.
vocation when they did not emerge in
the shape of islands, Perhaps the birth
of this wodern idea is to be attributed
to general Butler, who, during the war,
cut aship canal at Duteh Gap, on the
James River, in the face of hostile
batteries, thus shortening by many
miles the navigation of that tortuous
stream and conferring a lasting benefit
upon all sorts of vessels that ply on its
waters,
Brazil's navy consists of 3000 men
and 50 vessels,