WHAT WAS HE?
The winds blew fierce; the sun was red
And snow covered streets and moor
Bupplies of coal and meat and bread
fe left at a widow's door.
This was his deed
And he did well,
What was his creed?
I cannot tell,
He gently rapped at the door and turned,
As it opened and walked away;
And which were the happler tears that
burned
On his or the widow's cheeks that day
I do not know,
He spoke no word—
Only whirring snow
In the wind was heard,
Where waut and hunger and cold abode
He never was far away.
And when the chimes in the tower
tolled
He never was heard to pray.
Yet inte the box
His alms bestowed.
His faith? What was it?
I do not know.
were
He kuew no sect, Jow, Greek or Moor,
Nor Christian, nor church, nor race,
But the way to the homes of the attic poor
And the basement damp would trace,
in heat or cold,
By night or day,
His creed: What was it?
I cannot say.
For the hungry poor he believed in bread,
And clothes for the ragged and cold,
And fuel for hearths, where coals were
dead;
And hearts that never grow old.
His sect? His creed?
His faith? Who knows?
*Tis the ‘greatest of all”
His warm heart glows.
RI ART IO,
JILTED,
Claude Melner, a young artist, sat in
hus studio in New York one morning,
puttiog the finishing touches to the life
«ize portrait of a young lady.
him.” Melner, senior, was a well-known
» »
ter, whose piclures fetched handsome
prices, The son inherited a certain
share of his father's artistic genins,
but had
His life had hath-
The
aspiraat for fame.
erto been smooth and uneventful,
flowed into the som’s studio. Claude
would not have awarded him, and to
make enough to keep him afloat—when
frequent presents that came out of the
their ou'y,
sun.
So Claude painted leisurely.
never in a hurry to'push a picture, or
and in some respects spoils,
and butter were sure, even if they were
not the fruit of his own exertions. He
bad only himself to care for, There
was no wife and child in the background
oclamoring for food, clothing and shel-
ter, As yet he regarded his palette
and brush more as playthings than as
held out any aitraction for him, Ap-
preciative of industry in others, he
disliked it himself, He was genial and
much liked by his brother artists, who
inherit wealth, even if he did not attain
his father’s professional success. Sev.
eral of them envied him, for Luey
Blake, one of the prettiest girls in New
York, was his betrothed. Inpeed, it
was her portrait that he was then com-
pleting. But though Claude was deeply
in love, he had not the divine .4flatus
and devotion to work which marks the
true master, and nilimately makes him
tower above his fellow-students in the
world of art, His was more the ooca-
sional dilettante pencilling of the ama-
teur than the steady application of the
professional. And parties and the park
claimed a considerable share of his
time, especially since his engagement
to Lauoy.
While thus employed on the portrait
engaged in building—not art—but love
castles in the air; and thinking of hie
approaching wedding and marriage
tour with his bride, over the art galler-
ies of Europe; for he knew that Lucy
~—herself of a literary turn—was as
suxious as himself to revel in their
beauties,
in uniform, opening the door suddenly
after knocking.
“Waii a moment,” said Clande, an-
noyed at being interrupted in retouch.
ing a delicate flesh tint.
“It's marked ‘in haste,’ sir, and I
think you'd better read it,” continued
the boy.
This made Claude fake it up and
open it. it was from his mother and
rend as follows:
“Your father is dead. Dropped sud-
denly in the street an hour ago from
apoplexy, Come home immediately. i
am distracted,”
To his disappointment and the great
surprise of everybody, the old gentle-
man died very poor, leaving ouly a
comparatively small sum in the bank
and a little veal estate, barely enough
to support his widow for the remainder
of her days.
Clsude was thus thrown suddenl
his own resources, But what of that?
With Lucy to cheer and spur him on,
he believed that he conid do wonders,
and, at least, earn enough to keep them
in moderate comfort,
on
He had been reckoning without his
A A OE
ioned, and too full of expression for a
baby’s.”
“Well, Linoy,” nsked Olaude, after a
time, ‘“when is it to be? Have you de-
cided yet? Two months ago you said
soon,”
“Our marriage, do you mean?”
“Yes, Lucy, How can you pretend
to misunderstand mo?”
*I must take time to think over it,”
answered Liuoy, evasively,
Aud this was all the answer he could
get from her,
Bo she dep irted, leaving her lover in
8s great do:ot and anxiety regarding
her and his future as ever: for the two,
as he thought, were now indissolubly
connected. After she had gone he could
not help thinking that her manner ap
peared colder and more reserved than
usual, and he puzz'ed himself with
thinking why.
Next day brought a solution of the
diffienlty 1n the form of a small note,
| in which Liney desired that their en-
| gagement should be at au end, It was
| not her wish, she said, but her father's.
| Her love. she declared, was unaltera-
ble; but she dared not disobey her par-
hearing from bim in the future.
Claude knew her father, and eould
and unexpected decision,
merchant would not place his daugh-
ter's comfort and happiness in the
His father's death had lowered him in
the social scale,
ing it, and he had to look the fact in
the face.
grounds, bat love forbade him to eriti-
cise her conduct too severely or think
too harshly of her.
In more ways than one the future was
now a blank before him: and the world
not quite so sunny and joyous, For a
{the sun of his happiness had forever
set. But though hearticssly jilted, he
| or of committing suicide,
{all his faults, ho had a fair share of
good, practical common sense. At
length his innate self-esteem and hope
—those twin blessings, without which
thousands would go to the wall—came
In spite of
ier and more manly view of things, and
nerved him for tue real battle of life
| before nim, With God's help and his
own right arm, he saw no reason why
he should not do what others had
| done and attain equal success, So, his
| mother being ocumiortably settled, he
determined to forget Luex and ove, if
he could, and make art his
thought. And bidding New York fare-
| well, though with a stil] heavy heart,
{ he sailed for Earope.
Before reaching Rome, his final des
tination, Claude visited all the great
galleries and famous pictures in the
various capitals and churches of the
continent,
| The Eternal Uity was at length
| reached, and there he settled down to
| steady work, his imagination and son!
{ fired with a praiseworthy ambition to
| become like his father, a leader in the
artistic world. Throwing the unhappy
{ hack, he looked forward tos bright
| future,
{ "I'he heart must have
| Clande pow knelt before that of his
noble professsion, And in the end his
{ love cross, instead of marring, was the
| means of making him, But for thas he
{ would never have soared above the rank
{of medioority. As it was, his lsteot
talent, fanned by a healthy competition,
and aided by application, soon made him
| conspicuous, and in a few years wafled
| his name to America as one of the most |
| promising artists in Rome, thereby
| bringing him many valuable commis.
sions, and wvitimately a pressiog invita. |
| tion to settle in his ative country and |
| make his birthplace his home, This he
| finally accepted.
| In New York his success was great,
| Work and wealth poured in on him.
{ His society was courted, his opinion |
| valued, his advice much sought after |
| and his position apparently an envia- |
ble one. Bat all this time he bad not |
forgotten Lucy. Hehad tried to banish |
her image from lus heart, but fouud it |
impossible, He could not bring him- |
self 10 believe that she wns tojblame |
for discarding him. And now that
misfortune had overtaken her, he falt
more drawn to her than ever, sod |
longed to discover her whereabouts |
and cheer or aid her if necessary; for |
her father, after suffering a crushing
reverse in business, which ruined him,
had died, leaving his daughter in pov-
erty, Soe had since then left the city,
and no one that he knew conid inform
him where she had gone,
One day » well-known publisher con-
sulted him with regard to illustrations
for a volume of poems, and left the
manuseript for perusal.
“What do you think of ‘Musings
Among the Mountains?’ ” asked he, a
month afterward, ‘Have you had time
to look them over?”
“Yes The sonnets are particularly
good; and also some of the longer and
more ambitious pieces. “Altogether, it
1s unquestionably a first-class produe-
tion Bot here and there it betrays
the hand of a noviee in poetical compo.
sition, 1 should say it is by a female.
Her descriptive power is wonderful, and
will materially facilitate)the illustration,
which I can undertake, but would first
like to meet the suthor or author.
ona,”
“80 you shall, if ¥ can prevail upon
her to let you into her secret: Sue
writes under a nom-de-plume, and
wishes her name to be suppressed, If
possible 1 shall ar am »
Ere long Claude an invi w
meet the unknown suthoress at dinner
at the house of his friend, the pub.
hsher.
“Allow me to introduce mr. Claude
Melper,” said be, as the latter entered
the parlor, nnd found himself visa vis
to a yonug lady clad in deep mourning,
who started violontly and blushed
deeply in evident astonishment, as the
rae reached her ears,
Nor was Claude less surprised to find
that the fair authoress was his former
iriend and Lucy Blake. Bhe
met him frankly, and he was too pleased
to nee her again under such
tual explanations followed, and their
friend, the worthy publisher, at whose
house she was stopping, was soon let
into the secret of their former inti-
Claude seized an carly opportunity
to have a private iuterview with her
to ascertain her feelings toward
him,
‘‘Liney,” he said, “may I ask if it
was your wish to have our engagement
broken off 2"
“In a sense it was, Still, I was true
to you and loved you; bat did what I
then considered my duty, and yielded
to my father’s judgment,”
‘“Yousay you loved me, Lucy, Don’t
you love me now?”
Bhe made no reply, but o dy erept
closer to him, to be folded to his heart
and loved and prized more than in times
of yore, in his younger and more
thoughtless days,
Twenty-Five Cent Meals,
‘*‘How can you manage to furnish a
| meal at such a price?” asked a custom.
{ five cent dinner check al the counter of
a well-known restaurant in Chicago.
“IL couldn't if I bought the material
{ only for myself, or even for myself and
i
i
|
i
buying for a great many hundred meals
| meet and make a handsome
( profit be-
| sides,”
twenty-five cents?”
| such a variety, but includes tea or cof
| fee,"
i
ant item?”
cost so much here in winter,"
| cooking and service gratis?”
“Not ordinarily, but with the system
buy meats vegetables and fruits when
| they are cheap, and bold them for use,
lmproved in flavor and tenderness by
| Storage, n
“Do you buy sour meats in bulk?”
“No; I buy only loins and quarters,
using up the rougher pieces, Buying
in large quantities, of course I get low
prices, even better than most of the re-
| tall dealers can obtain, and then with
my storage facilities I am not subjected
to waste, It may seem strange that 1
can furnish a complete meal at barely
twice the retail price of the raw meat
used, but it is the fact Now, take
fowl, for instance. Previous to Thanks-
from sixteen to eighteen cents a pound,
The wholesale price was fourteen. A
change of weather alarmed dealers, and
one, rather than run the risk of having
entire stock at nine cents, and I have
good condition as when I bought them.
In fact, many citizens wonder how I
can sel them oul meals =0 much finer
than they can buy, but it is mainly due
to storage.’
“Then I have other advantages in the
matter of oysters and canned goods,
which I buy in such quantities that 1
can get at dealers’ rates from frst
bands. There isn’t such a mystery in
it, you see, after all, but I need to have
plenty of ready money, though, and to
watch the markets closely for bar-
gains,”
“How many meals do you set ina
day?"
“1 have set as high as 800 and fre-
quently feed people at the rate of 175
Of course
I have to guard closely against leakage
and don’t have much, and generally
have something over, besides, for the
Little Sisters of the Poor.”
“Yes, I'm very well satisfied with
the profits, and the puble seem to be
ER hee
Three Famous ['ocuments,
the Declaration of
Rights of 1688 and Magna Charta of
The original of the first
Lowlon. It is written in a small bat
plain hand, in English, and covers a
parchment twelve inches wide and
nearly thirty feet along. Such was the
The orignal of the great Magna Charta
of King John has had a varied history,
having been many times moved, and
barely escaping destruction in the great
fire of 1666. It is written on very heavy
parchment, in size 30x42 inches, and sur-
rounded by the seals of the eighteen
barons who foreed the Plantagenet kink
to execute the document on the plains
of Runnymede on that June day 660
years ago. The textis in old Latin, the
exact translation of which has given
rise to a great deal of learned contro-
ver-ary. At the bottom right hand
corner is the signature of the king in a
bold hand, and through it runs a leather
thong which sustains the seal-—a black
and white quartz rock the size of a wal-
nut, or thereabouts, The interesting
old document is now preserved in one
of the mammoth safes in the British
musenm, and is shown to visitors only
upon an order from the lord chamber
lain,
A wise housekeeper is careful where
she keeps her flour, for she knows it is
more readily tainted than milk,
Black Varmsh.-To make a good
black vuiush for iron or other metals,
dissolve by heat three ounces of asphai
four of boiled oil and eight
Pb i Th Cant
circumstances, to be unforgiving. Ma-
2 #
Sh of
pound with tarpentine while cooling,
@
Carnegie’s Castle,
John Kessler of Allagheny has re-
turned from Camberland Island, Ga,
This is where the historical mansion
of the [mous Lee family was located
until shoided into a rain during the
late wa, The “Dungeness,” as this
place wes then and Is «till known,
is now ihe property of 1: and Mrs.
Thomas MM. Carnegie. Ti vy haye just
floiehed n magnificent pasos on this
island, nud Mr, Kessler hile there
was doing the plumbing aul gasfitting
work in thie beautiful hom. Hos was
visited at his house one afternoon by
8 reporter, and upon being asked to
give his impressions of tis historie
spot, said with great enthoriasm,
“It is paradise. When I was not
working I was roaming about the plant.
ation and becoming as familiar with its
beauties as my inquisitiveness and the
romance of my nature would permit,
There was no ome there to talk to,
| beside Mr, Carnegle, but the eolored
{ folk, and when I had time I got the
| superstitious people to amuse me with
their strange stories, 1 often received
irom them bits of interesting history
about this romantic place, The most
| happy at Dungeness, This sland is one
main land by Camberland Sound,
| the dock to Dangeness it is
| miles by water,
built on the spot where the
{ ancestral mansion once stood,
old house wa# oue of the grandest in
the South, and had sheltered some of
the greatest men of this nation. It
was seventy-five feet square and three
stories and an attic in height, The
{ walls were two feet thick and built of
| shell rook, which is the common strue-
old Lee
of the country. When Mr. Carnegle
built his new house he erected it on
the exact former location of the old
house, which had been ruined during
Federal gunboats.
the most beautiful specimer of Gothic
architecture in this country, 7 have
| worked in some splerdid houses, but
this one goes ahead of
seen, It
1s situated on the highest
{over 3,000 acres are in cultivation
Cotton is the principal product. It is
the best cotton growe m the world, I
am told, but as I am no judge I don't
know whether that is true or not. The
piantation is mostly covered with a
grove of live oaks, and one of the finest
bits of scenery on the sland 1s woere
is lined with these trees. At the end
{of this roadway may be seen the new
house, which is built of red granite
brought from Maine. It has a slate
stands one hundred feet, and can be
seen for miles out al sea, Ob, every.
| thing about that place is lovely enough
to suit the most capricious nature,
' buried 8 number of eminent men, he-
roes of every war this country has ever
had since its independence was declared,
| and ladies who are sll now persons well
known in history,
all members of the old Lee family,
stones in fhis graveyard a number of
the inscriptions, Here is one of Light
It reads:
Sacred
To the memory
of
fame,
Obiit 25, March, 1818
Aet, 63,
“You will notice soine of the words
are in Latin, Here is another:
TT. XN.
Memory of
Caannes Jaomsox, Esq, or Nmwros,
Massachusetts,
On the 234 of April, 1767,
ucated at Harvard College, and was
a Commissioned Officer in the
Ameriozu Revolutionary
War, sad for several
Years a Conn
sellor-at- Law,
| who died on 25 Oectober, 1801, at the
i mansion of Phineas Muller,
Cumberland Island,
“I made a copy of one, of a cele
brated Southern lady of fashion in the
old Continental days, It reads us
follows:
Louisa ©. Suaw,
Reliet of
youngest
daughter of Maison Gryxrran
Naroasien Gazex,
Of Army of the Revolution, Died at
Dungeness, Ga., April 24, 1831,
Aged 45 years,
“There were others, but it wonld
fill a big book to tell all about those
people. I would like to know if there
are not romantic surroundings to this
Dungeness? I found them so, any.
how.”
—--——
On a Raliroad Train,
“Bridal couples yon meet almost
every day?” was remarked to a rail
road auctor,
“Yes, and it's amusing to watch
them sometimes, Human silliness
usually reaches its climax when newly
marned oouples begin their honey.
moon, Who ever saw a bride and
bridegroom on a wedding tour wno
could let each other alone, and not
give themselves dead away by their
demennor? The paiae oar or the
al oar onto a newly
SOUP or horses quick as he does onto
an nnblacked pair of boots, The hotel
waiter detects them surely snd nner
ringly, and the bell-boy and the cham.
ber-mamd scent game and grow
extra stieutive and more than aktally
numerous, expectation
happy bridegroom will do the hand.
some thing in the way of foes, About a
weok azo [ had a couple on my train
that attracted more than ab
Sentitn bickuse of their ad
turtle-doves, and no mistake, In
sleeping-car, when everybody else was
quiet, this giddy old Benedict was
heard to say to his bride: ‘Who's a
httle lamb? And she replied, in her
most gushiog tones: ‘Bote of us!’
Then a pair of toothless mouths met in
noisy osculation, and the other pussen-
gers tittered, Haman nature in mo-
tion, by fast express or accommodation,
is the same as human nature elsewhere,
and so far as opportunity ean be had it
will in any and every place assert itself,
“Confidence men? Well, yes, they
continne to work the trains to some
¢xtent, thongh not as much as formerly.
| The railroad companies have detectives
coustartly on the lookout for sharpers,
and the roads runming out of Chicago
are now comparatively free from them.
They are giving their attention mostly
to new roads in the north and west, such
as the Northern Pacific, where I under-
stand they are as thick as fleas, Three
eard men have had their day in railroad
work, People have learned to be afraid
of them, no matter how eleverly they
{| how simple their little game may ap-
pear, If Canada Bill were alive,
suppose he sonld still make the racket
to him, Jill bad the
write a
AUCCessor equal
chek once to
$10 000 a year for ihe privilege
working the trains on that road.”
“Is un conductor's life a pleasaut one,
iin the main?”
side, too,
| that he 18 almost constantly watched by
| spies and spotters hired by the com-
| blamed for taking this precaution,
| The conductor is exposed to temptation,
and, as I smd, human nature is the
| same on the railroad as elsewhere,”
| ““What tricks are practiced by dis
| panies?”
**The commonestone is the knocking
| down’ of cash fares, This is done
every day, aud is really the secret of
{ the sudden elevation to wealth and
{of 8 man after he begins to run a train.
It isn't in the nature of things that a
can rise from poverty to opulence
within a few years, and be strict
| honest, unless he fall heir to some ric
{ relative’s estate. I have known con-
| ductors, however, who never knocked
| down a dollar of the cash fares they
| collected, and yet made a barrel
| money outside of their salaries.”
“*How did they do it?”
“By crooked “dealing in tickets,
Unless 8 conductor punches a ticket it
remains good, of course, He can
pocket certain tickets without canceling
¥
of
{other persons at a reduction,
working this plan carefully and system.
| atically a mint of money may be made,
Some of them bave a special arrange.
i ment with ticket agents of the road
with whom they form a secret parther-
ship and divide the spoils. Others do
business solely with the scalpers, It's
very risky, though, this thing of steal-
ing from the company, and the shrewd.
est of "em sometimes get caught, 1
suppose you noticed what a clean
sweep was made by the Pitteburgh,
Cincinnati snd St. Louis folks last
winter. All but one of the ocondne-
tors on this division were bounced,
{and it was about the same on all the
| other divisions, They were defected,
| you see.”
“Was it the work of spolters?”
‘Yes; but not the regular railroad
{in getting ono them. These were
{men from Pinkerton’s sgency, as
| have been told, and they put in about
| three months testing the conductors
jof that road. I koow a man who
insed to be with Pinkerton, and I
| jemrned something from
| their methods. He says that in test
ling conductors tuere are usually two
| detectives in each coach-—one oeoupy-
{ing =» seat in the centre of the car,
{and the other as near the rear as
| possible, When the conductor collects
‘a oash fare they note the
lingly. A conductor is required to
of the road ofl the cash fares collee-
ted on each run, and by comparing
his report with those of the detectives
it can easily be decided whether he is
making full returns or not. Some.
times the poor fellow inuocenily steals
the fare paid by the detectives them-
selves, The also take note
of every failure on the part of the
conductor to punch tickels as he takes
them up, and Af "he permits an inti.
mate friend or relative to ride, the
fact is re A conductor who
never hi i ol friend or a fellow
employe over the road gets himself
disliked, and becomes excesdingly un.
popular, and vet he eanuot do so,
except at the risk of losing his position,
The fact is. a conductor's friends sel.
dom consider the magnitude of the
snerifiGe $A¥ 1b coal) ask him to make
as a special favor them, and the
consequence is that many a conductor's
generosity has been his ruin,
i
Bine Blood.
The Binion of Austria makes good
bread. Queen Victoria's girls were
brought up to do needlework snd make
pre~ and puddings, The Crown Prin.
cess of Germany goes this month to
Italy to remain until May with her eld-
est daughter, both : restoration
‘of heaith
The Queen is
The little Japanese oe who
dog tal b Madame J Bartok
nant “
ETT
years old, The Duohess of
“lth tened her mourning,”
MI IAN SS
It an easter to suppress the first desine
than to satisfy all that follow it,
ix 1
How Boys Nuooeed.
A few years ago a drug firm in New
York City advertised for a boy. The
next day the store was thronged with
applicants, Among them was a queer
looking little fellow, accompanied by a
woman who proved fo be his aunt, leu
of faithless parents, by whom he had
| been abandoned. Looking at this walf,
| the proprietor said, “I can’t take him;
| besides he is too small.” /
“I know he is small,’ said the wo-
man, “but he is willing and faithful,
and never diinks, uses tobacco or pro.
fane lapguage.”’
There was a twinkling in the boy's
eyes which made the merciant think
again, A partner in the firm volun-
teered to remark that he 4:41 Bee
what they wanted with such a boy—'pe
wasn’t bigger than a pint of +¥ider,
But after consultation, thefigoy was set
to work, A few days lalglF a call was
made on the boys in the #loee for some
one to stay all night. Whe prompt re-
sponse of the litile fellow contrasted
well with the reluctange of others. In
the middle of the night the merchant
{ looked in to see if all was right in the
store, and presently discovered his
| young protege busy geissoring labels,
“What are you dping?” said he, “I
| did not tell you to work nights,”
*I know you did not tell me so, but
I thought 1 might as well be doing
something.”
{ In the morning the cashier got orders
{ from the merchant to **double that
{ boy’s wages, for he was willing,"
Only a few weeks passed before a
show of wild beasts passed through the
street, and, wery naturally, all the
hands in the store rushed to witness the
| spectacle, A thief saw his opportunity,
{and entered at the rear door to seize
something, but in a twinkling found
| himself firmly clutched by the diminu
{ tive clerk aforesaid, after a struggle
| wis captured. Not only was a robbery
prevented, Fbut valuable articles {from
other stores were recovered. When
asked by the merchant why he stayed
behind = to watch when all others quit
work, he replied:
“You told me never to leave
{ store when others were absent,
i thought 1°d stay.”
Orders were immediately given once
more, ““Double that boy’s wages; he is
willing and faithful.”
To-fay that boy is getting a salary of
{ $2,0000 and next month will become 3
menber of the firm.
rt A Ws
Anecdote of Spurgeon,
ot
the
I
and
Mr. Spurgeon. the great London
preacher, whose fiftieth birthday has
récently been celebrated, began to
preach while a mere boy. An anecdote,
Associated with these early ministra~
tions, illustrates the that, hike
ost precocious bovs. he not only
| self-reliant, but a little free with
{ his tongue.
In the early part of his ministry
Spurgeon was asked to preach in a
! neighboring village, and when he came
on the Sunday morning Mr. Brown,
the pastor, said to him:
“i did not know you were such a
boy, or 1 would not have asked you to
preach for me.”
“Well,” he sad, ‘I can go back.”
“But,” said Mr. Brown, ‘“‘the people
have come from ail parts in all kinds
of vehicles,” and then he put his hands
under his coat-tails and asked what the
world was coming to whea the boys
who bad not got rid of tha taste of
| their mother’s milk went about preach-
ing.
However, he did preach, and Mr.
Brown planted Limself on the pulpit
stairs,
Spurgeon read a lesson from Pro-
verbs, and upon coming to the passage,
“Gray hairs are a crown of glory to a
man,’ he said he doubted that, for he
knew a man with a gray head who could
| hardly be civil. But the passage went
on 10 say: “If it ve found in the way of
righleousness,’’ and that, he said, was
a different thing.
When he came down from the pulpit,
| Mr. Brown said to him, “Bless your
Leart, 1 have been thirty years a mipis-
ter, and I was never better pleased with
a serinon; bul you are the sauciest dog
that ever barked in a pulpit,” and they
were always good friends afterward.
an
Canada as a Winter flesort.
fact
Was
Loo
i “How shall I bope to describe what
i has been done to make Canada as a
| winter resort better known to all the
world? The first snow-fall is an in-
{ toxicant, Boys go snow.-mad. Mon.
| treal has a temporary insanity. The
{ houses are prepared for the visit of
{ King North Wiad, and Canadians are
| the only people in the world who know
{ how to keep warm outdoors as well as
indoors, ie streets are gay with Life
and laughter, and everybody seems
determined to make the most of the
great carnival. Business goes to the
w There is a mighty march of
tourists and townspeople crunching
over the crisp snow, and a constant
jingle of sleigh-bells. If you go to any
of the toboggan slides, you will witness
a sight that thrills the onlooker as well
as the tobogganist. The natural hills
were formerly the only resort; but some
one introduced the idea of
erecting a high wooden structure, up
one side of which you drag your -
gan, and down the other side of whit
you fly like a rocket. These artificial
slides are the most popular, as they are
easier of ascent, and can be made 80 as
to avoid cahots, or bumps,
“Within the last few years a score of
regralar toboggan clubs have been or.
ganized. Everybody bas gone crazy
on the subject, and men, women and
children revel ih the dashing fight.
The hilis are lit by torches stuck in the
snow on each side of the track, and
huge bonfires are kept burning, around
which gather picturesque groups, Per.
haps of all sports of the carnival this
1s the most generally enjoyed by visit.
ors. Some of the shides are very steep
dangerous, and the sensation
of rushmg down the hill on the thin
strip of basswood is one never to be
“How did you like it?” asked a
Canadian fin of an American visitor
whom she steered down the steep
est slide,
“Oh! I wouldn't have missed it for a
hundred dol ”
won't ig m
:
“You'lltry
“Not foc n