TUINGE THAT NEVER DIE, he pure, the bright, the beautiful, That stirred our hearts in youth; The impulse to a wordless prayer, The drears of love and truth; The longing after something lost, The spirit's yearning ery, The striving after better hopes— These things can never die. The timid hand stretched forth to ald A brother in his ned; The kindly word in grief’s dark hour, That proves a friend, indeed; The plea for mercy softly breathed, When justice threatened high, The sorrow of a contrite heart— Thess things shall never die. The memory of a clasping hand, The pressure of a kiss, And all the trifles sweet and frail That make up this life's bliss; If with a firm, unchanging faith, And holy trast and high, Those bands have clasped and lips have | mete These things shall never die. The cruel and the bitter word That wounded as it fell, The chilling wants of sympathy We feel but never teil— The hard repulse that chills the heart Whose hopes were bounding high, In an unfading record kept— These things shall never die. Let nothing pass, for every hand Must find some work to do; Lose not a chance to waken love-— Be firm and just and true, Bo shall a light that cannot fade Beam on thee from on high, And angels’ voices say to thee, These things shall never die. ETN SRL I a A BRAVE RESOLVE. i A long stretch of dusty road, across which occasionally a tree cast an invi- tine shade. On one side, the low | me: dow, kept fresh and green by the | brook which gurgled and sang merrily | as it made its way over and around the stones in its bed, or glided smoothly | along with a gentle murmur of content. | Cows knee-deep in the water or under | the pleasant shade of the trees, lazily switching their tails and chewing thelr | cuds. i On the other side, fleld after field of | moving corn, tossing its lofty tassels to | and fro as it was greeted by the refredl ing breeze, and shaking its leaves with | the mysterious rustie ti makes the timid ehild glance over his shoulder, and hurry on its way. A forlorn-l g hou by grounds as uncare r i ance as the house itself. A few chick- | ens scratching and clucking as on ordi- nary days, The sun, shining fiercely down upon $s 1 i | 4 at -looki sg surrounded § Al the place, stared in at the | uncurtained windows as boldly as at other times, not heeding bowed head of t! yr the unchecked | grief of tl n, as they gathered | arour dying wife and mother, The birds outside, as they gaily trilled and quavered, seemed not to care that a home was being made desolate —that there were hearts aching and like to break with the burden put upon them. A carriage approached the house, and | the father going to the door, admitted his eldest daughter, a girl of about sev- | enteen years. Scarcely waiting to re- turn her father's kiss, she looked hur- | riedly around the room, and as her eyes | lighted on the bed, she darted forward | with a low ery of “Oh, mother! mother!” the | LF SR The sight of the loved face of her first born seémed to bring her back for a moment from the borders of the other land, and the dim eyes smiled upon ber child, “Kiss me-—good-by,? she whispered, slowly and painfully. Annie did so, and throwing her arms around her mother, as if to keep her always with her, she cried: “Oh, I can’t let you can’t!” “Sh!” sounded from the pale ljps, and holding her husband and daughter | by the band, Mrs, Travers died. At sight of Annie’s distress, that of | the children broks out afresh, and | Annie, thus reminded of other grief as | great as ber own, went to them as com- | forter. Susie nestled in ber arms, and the others, tired with crying, were end- | ing with a low sob now and then. Rob, | lying face downward upon the shabby | calico-covered lounge, rose as Anuia | bent to kiss him, and threw his arms | around ber neck; but Sarah, standing | silently by the window, seeing but not heeding the beauties revealed there, made no response to her sister’s caress, | “Father, you haven’t yet told me | what ailed her. It must have been very sudden.” “She fell dewn the cellar steps day | ore yesterday—hurt herself some- | where, Doctor couldn’ find out where | ~but gave her somethin’ to make her | easy. Couldn't’ cure her. She’s bin watchin’ for you since early mornin’? —here Mr, Travers broke down, and burying his face in his hands, sobbed as only as a strong man can sob, The neighbors prepared the dead for burial. After a long afternoon, which was like a dream to Annie, but far more real—a dream in which there were low voices, quiet footsteps, coming and going-—the favuly was alone. Mis, Cary, however, stayed with them as she had done since Mrs. Traver's fall—be- ing a near neighbor and a friend. In the patior the windows were shaded, and all that was left of the lov. wife and mother lay thers. Annie ed to think, to plan, to comfort the | others, but how hard it was. with her | aching heart! Her loss was so sudden, so unexpected, that she could think of noth. ing else, Suppet was prepared by Mrs Cary, but w a mockery it was! What cared they for food and drink when slie whom they loved had gone from them? Fo Nl The neighbors who were to walch came In after r, and Annie, hoping to ease her . ng with sorrow and excitement, took the children up- stairs, Through the day she had vainly tried think, and now as vainly so hoes, ideas crowded Into her in, conceivable plan or g20, 1 can’t! 1 ® wa Ri It was Susie, who waking in the pight, had sought in vain for the mother to whose side she was used to nestle. Failing to waken her father from the heavy sleep which came to him after many restless turnings, she had made her way to Annie's room, “Come, dear, climb up by Nannie;” and the tired child, nestling close to “Nannie,” was soon sleeping quietly again, The next morning came Miss Stiles, Annie's dnarest frinnd, It was through this lady’s efforts that Mr, Travers had been induced to send his daughter to the Seminary at T'—, for she saw that the bright girl was worthy of a better training-—a more thorough education — a higher culture, than her native village afforded, She also saw that Annie's lowly birth was against her at home, for this little village boasted of being the home of quite a number of “‘aristo- erats.”’ Miss Stiles was a maiden lady with a small income whteh kept her in com- fort, and even in luxury. She ‘had Jost friend of old and young in the village. The young girls, however, were her Anme, for you. It's asad home-coming. but you know that you have our sincere sympathy.” A feeling of great comfort stole into the girl’s heart at the tone and words of sympathy, and she felt strengthened by the friendly arms around her. Only a i | | i { i i was dead? Of course, some were “had not the time funeral.’ Travers, anyhow,” And Annie was shocked and grieved that thou 8 like these sho come to her at this time, when she ought to be forgiving; but the proud girl noticed, with a sigh of relief, that but they every ani only who one present. None of those girls, as children had claimed none excelled ¢ refinement, intelligence and good looks, d few equalled her in like her, of co was really nobody.” Her father a common labo. rer, and “why! her mother can hardly read and write,” There were those present who had known and loved Mrs, Travers, for she had been a kind neighbor; a little above them as to refinement, perhaps, but as illiterate as they were, and not thei: equal mm wealth, for “Travers never could save a penny, and his woman was as shiftiess as him.” irse. but she we can the worst was yet to come. Going back oh, how coud she bear it! never felt it? The one left alone in the woman, but oh, ste was “‘mother!” whose place never could be filed, no, never. From that time Annie set apart a memory to be honored and cherished, and kept fresh in the minds of the dear and sacred memory, How she longed to be alone, to go to room and give way to Ler grief; but @ children, half frightened at the de look and fee g of the house, to look intuitively to her Her father, too, seemed to be restless and uneasy and why was it that they all turned to her? She could not tell, but felt her responsibility. Supper-time came at last and as they or swrte seemed comfort. Do not let my words disturb you, I only ask that you do what is best for your father, the children, and yourself; that you do what you really believe to be right, and I shall be satisfied. It is because I love you, and want you to make the best of yoursell in every way, that I speak as I do.” “Well, I am sure that the best thing for me to do, after spending all this time in study, is to live as I have marked out for myself. I have planned to send Rob to college, to educate the girls, and to do--lots,” taking refuge in that school-gir! word. “Oh yes, Miss Stiles, I'm sure that I'm right. I cer tainly shall return to school ? Annie was calm, now, and spoke de- cidedly, for she knew her plans were not only for her own advancement, but for others, and therefore must be right, “Well, Annie, I will see you before you go. I'll be in to say ‘good-bye,’ When do you expect to go?”, “I have decided upon Saturday, pro- vided I can find some one to come and stay, That will give me nearlya week. Father has a cousin living about eight miles from here, and as she is a widow, and see if she will come, Please come in often, Miss Stiles, you comfort me so much,” “I will, Annie, but keep up a brave heart, I am always your friend—ready to serve you at any time." When she was alone again, Annie found that she could not rid herself of her friend’s words, They came to her again and again: *“Who can take your mother's place fo them as well as yourselt?” She dismissed them, but still they re- turned, like faithful friends, loth to leave, even though driven away by un- kind words and looks. Susie claimed her attention, then the children, coming from school, must Daring all these preparations, the strog- was going on in Annie's mind, She revealed to her—and now to beshut out no, it was im- possible; she was firmly decided for the school, Knowing his daughter's ambi plans, Mr. Travers had no idea of staying at home, and a hot Was very busy le things to do | children. Miss Sule though she was disappointed that A had decided to turn chool, hoped that every g was for the | and said nothing re to dissuade her from her purpose. So Friday evening came, and found Annie ready t the morrow--—her Mrs. Howell domesti thing favorable for ¢ 3 But she could not sleep, refused to close, and stared wi for isekeeper. Du she many 4 : LO As her eyes $ the broad white space lighted by the moon. and herself children happily for father The pipe, and talking to his wife, who sat at her mending, or moved around clear- Here no ne sal better , night after night, wanting company ti i some fathers hu . 0 the saloon of the village ne jokes, too Sarah the moons's 1 Annie was very apt in regard and neat dress flitted from room room to tribute to the dear one gone before; the pretty mouth bad a sad droop when not in motion, but the eyes tried to look cheerful and pleasant load from other weak shoulders, For two weeks, she worked and smi- led and cheered, then her neglected studies rose before her reproachfully, school. one day Annie spoke to her on the sab- ject just then uppertnost in her thoughts, It bad been on the minds of both, but had not been spoken of, keep house for father, for I feel I must return soon, I am being left so far be- hind im my studies, I wish I could find the children. Mother them, and I dread having their disposi tions spoiled —and Annie's lips began to tremble. mother’s place as well as yourself?” asked Miss Stiles, laying her hand gen- tly on the girl’s shoulder. “Of course not, Miss Stiles,” she said, looking up surprised; ‘'but as I am to go away, the next thing is tosee if I can find a trusty woman.” “That is true, but 1% is our duty to do best.’ “What do you mean, Miss Stiles?” asked Aunie quickly, looking anxiously in her kind friend's face. “You don’t mean—-you safely can’t mean that I ought to give up my school? Oh, you surely don’t mean that?” “I do not intend to shall do, dear. 1 only what is right, and you are to judge for yourself," “But, Mis Stiles, think of what I would have to give up! The past three Tar would be thrown entirely away. k of how | have planned! What would bocome of my my what you to do enough ¢ 201 foot 4 A moment of the i leaving at the darkness, 11 aka beaming very Kindly upon all the world, another picture had taken the place of the first. The same kitchen and the same child- ren —but where was the father? Where the mother? Perhaps the father would enter soon, take his seat and ligh Was gone, make his way to the village, perhaps and Annie started at the thought—he would go to the saloon seeking todrown his trouble, Other, and better men than he, had done so, content no—and vartly filling her place, Aune saw Mra, Howell, not the best-natured woman in the world. What become of hot-tempered impetuous Bob, who need- ed a woman's patient and loving hand to guide him? Of cool, indifferent Sarah, who seemed alike careless of haustible store of patience? And where would little Sue, be? the pet, the bahy! Fo sensitive and loving that she never would become hardened, as Sarah might, from negiect or un- kindness, but would grieve and pine Involuntarily Annie drew the little Oh! she could not leave them-—and could she stay? A figure, all in white, slipped from the bed and knelt in the moounlight at itsside, with bowed head. The struggle was over—Cone science was at rest, and Sell lay panting and wonnded--worsted in the battle, In the morning Sue was awake as soon as Annie, and to be dressed to go down *‘wiv Nannie.” She jumped y along, trying to “make Nannie wun,” but as they reached the front hall, the smiles left the merry face, and the pretty lips began to tremble, for she saw the satchel packed and ready to go. “Muv-vers’s don an’ left Susie, an’ now Nannie’s doin’ 100," and tears be. gan to fill the blue eyes, exclaimed Annie, catoning the child up in her arms and hiding her quivering lps in the brown curls, “Nanale is ing to stay always with Susie, There, Lary, dear,” at the same time stri. ving to keep back her own tears. Sosie looked up surprised. “Is weally doin’ to stay wiv Susie gin’ an’ Wobbie, an’ Fav-ver?" “Yes, dear, abv, Seiied Aue, feeling already repaid se nial, as she saw the child's delighted look, She had So endurs fear of being thought fickle-minded was not as hard to bear as the incredu- lous tone mn Sarali’s voice, and the quiz- zical look in her eyes, Dut to all, she repled only that she had changed her mind, Then the had to Inform Mrs, Howell that her services would no louger be re- quired, nt which that la'y heightened her nose a hit, and mumb+d something about “Puople what never own mivds,”’ but otherwi: : she wus as gracious as usual, and too! her dismis- sal better than Annie had « xpected she would. Miss Stiles came about nine o'clock to say ‘good-bye,’ and was pleased, but not much surprised, to see no signs of departure, Annie saw her friend coming up the path, and sending Sarah out of an er- rand, received the lady alone. “Annie I thought that you would do your best! I am so glad you decided in this way!” said Miss Stiles, “So am 1,” replied Annie, “but oh! Miss Stiles, it was hard. 1 can’t think of it now, without” —and she bent low over the little stocking on her hand, to hide the trembling of her lips, “But you feel that you are doing right, don’t you? In giving up your studies you will find other and as plea- sant things to learn, and I know that you will never be sorry for your deci- sion.” “Oh, I don’t intend to give up my studies,’ began Annie, earnestly, while her friend nodded approvingly. **1 will send for my books, and after I become a little settled and used to housekeep- each day.” “And after a while pert arrange some weekly les Miss Stiles, and was rewarded more by the sparkle in Anne's eye, than by her eager: “Oh, Miss Stiles, how kind! 3mm 1 3 song”? How de- | a2 I hoped to do, but I can at least make | of myself and the children somebody of whom you need not be ashamed.”’ “I know it is a hard | have done, and I admire you | sympathize with you in the trial it has | been to you, but I am very it of your own free “Oh! but 1 didn’t! Your wonls . -» . Xe ie to thinki started to wr 3 Will, 1 me in the right way.’ “But if your hea | you would not have de I will give you the credit which y: child, for n fe t been right, a8 you d a. a de ambi- Our ais White Topaz found in Utah. Prof, J. E. Clayton has from a month's trip thiougl ern part of Millard o orth of Ravier lake, Deaver Lake disinct, Wah Wah mange, Star district and Bradshaw district. One of the objects of the trip was to ascertain mentioned in Lieu i s War Depar 1854, wherein hb und white topaz, 8 an exceadin a0 far found ¢ ; rr Seca 10 Fiy rare one, | yellow being 4 ight the only a few hours od rare, in- here being ne ne hood, he could making the collection, | deed, are these stones that there are nd enough in the world to give each eabi- net one, They are of no special value except as curiosities, Perfect ones ave, however, sometimes used for rng sets in imitation of diamonds, making the closest imitation to the real diamond of any stone. Professor George W. May- aard, to whom the specimens were shown, although he is a thorough geo- togist and mineralogist, and has traveled extensively through Europe and this | country, and has seen the specimens in {all the large mineralogical stated that he had never before seen a white topaz. The discovery isa very interesting one from a mineralogical | point of view. | — | I~ One Meal 8 Day. Two or three months ago a Detroit lawyer was in the northern counties on | staying at a farmhouse two or three of | the, neighbors dropped in and one of { them explained: “You see we heard you was a lawyer, and perhaps you wouldn't mind giving us a little advice. We want to get rid of our preacher.’ “What alls hina?’ “Well, he's good and kind, and a true Christian, but he’s no preacher. Fact 1s, he's too slow for the times®’ ““‘Have you thrown out any hints?" “Lot of em but he still sticks,” “How much of a salary does he get?” “Well, about $200 per year.” ‘‘Reduce it to §50." The advice was declared to be sound, and in the course of two or three days the minister was notified that his salary would be reduced to the re named. When Surday came he the notice from the pulpit and added: “My dear nds this step was ren- dered necessary by the continued hard times. I cheerfully accept the reduce hesitate on my. account, serve the Lord, and I can do it on one meal a day!” Ready Made Babjeots. In an interview with Ben Johnson, one of the murderers of the Deverly Taylor family at Avondale, Ohio, (who were killed to get their bodies), the fol- lowing statements were elicited: * What do you think of the future?” “Oh, sir—something-—something tells scrape. I shall be hung, and I know it. I shall be hung on the testimony of In- galls, That man can plot and scheme and lie better than I can. Ob, I've been thinking of a heap of things since I’ve been here. 1 believe in God, but 1 tell you something tells me that I shall never get out of this,” the grave robber continued, as he placed his hand over his heart, and the reporter asked: “How many graves have you robbed inall?” “Well, [*ve been only three times be- fore this.” “When was your first attempt?” “Well, let me see, ’’ the murderer con- tinued thoughtfully, as he laid a crum- pled letter from his mother-in-law, bearing the date of July, 1883, on the bunk, ‘It was just before Christmas.” “Week night?” “No. It was on Sunday ‘cause I had on my best clothes, night; 1 live property, in Avondale, Ingalls had the i night. very stable in Avondale to come at It wa if we ngalls said if I trusted to him nobody should out anyhow. Well, I ake t that house, trying to get eut for some bnt I couldn't, cause m . Pre: she went to her room door. [I snatched BI and shut the Lt. me just then, and in the buggy. Wed: cemetery and got the poin “Male or female?" “Oh, it was a man, “How deep wae it 1 “lout two feet, 1 g yu do witl we drove Is ve ou ’ 4 sireet, 5 Dear tu i NAY Very 1 Warming sister planets | ou almos- phere drawn round each world, The stin, he whirling on its axis, draws into Its poles the thin hydrogen, hyro-carbon, and oxygen of our sphere, ig Kindled, are projected outward at his equator into space. The accepted view is that the heat and light there radiated perish, as far as we are § concerned, except for thinks MITES, and these beir Siemens argues that this heat and light their chief work in decomposing the carbonic oxide and watery vapor which per- and restores by its energy the waste matter which has fed that energy. The theory author even to attempt such a task. Dr. Siemens, however, has had great experience with the phenomena of ra- diated heat, and his applications of the new view to the nature of the zodiacal light and of eomets is particularly stri- king. Of course it is startling to hear those who maintain that everything comes to an end, and that all mechani- cal energy must be gradually degraded and metamorphosed, will be slow to receive the new suggestion, AAs A bronse axe with the handle attach- ed—probably the first specimen known to have been discovered has just been found in Brittany by a Freuch antiquary. The tool has a cutting edge on one end and a kind of hammer-cap on the oth- er. LI, A writer in an Euogiish technical RE Cheating the Government, ar “One of the most difficult things to detect,” said an old importer, ‘1s the fraudulent allowance of rebate of cus- toms duties on goods alieged to have been damaged, Where the importer and the appraiser are dishonest the fraud is almost impossible of detec tion. The plan of operations is very simple, The law requires that the full duties shall be paid upon the withdrawsl of goods, Then, if goods are found to be damaged within ten days, the imporier a wotd to the custom house, and an sppraiser is sent to the importer's store or warehouse, and there appraises the damage, and upon his report is based the allow ance of duties to be refunded, This system leaves opportunity to eommit several kinds of frand. “There is, in the first place, an easy chance ww substitute other goods for those actually imported. There is a case on record where an importer of fruits kept a lot of damaged goods on hand for a year, and used them to | mix with every importation for the { purpose of securing damage allow- | ances. The goods heing in the im- | porter’s possession, it is simply 1mpos- { gible to detect a frand like that, es- | pecially where the appraiser is dis- | honest. | *““There is, of couse, so much de- | pendent upon the judgment of the | appraiser 10 such cases that there is a wide margin for fraud, The ap- | praiser, for instance, may report a lot f preserved fruit as moidy or sugared, | He may judge from an imperfect or | dishonest inspection that a class of such goods is entitled to damage al- { lowance, when in fact there was no lamage at all, The result in such | Cascs would be tw give the dishonest importer an advantage over his honest | competitors, “The frauds i have gone so far that Commerce, alter investigation, | reported in favor of sup ing dame | age allowances on goods not in them- | selves perishable, nor specially” subject i to suffer damage. They recommended that present system, { there should fixed percen rebates for 18g to be ascertained and established by reference to setual the past, such llowed on resrnc] hiatl { i pv FOOCH, ICUIET CGAINSE lien of the be F GAINS experience i fixed per- centages all perisha- ged or nol, of the 3¢ collusion of some ers with importeas of easy suce is obvious from the fact that importations of similar goods in the often been offered different prices by rs LE ap con. same steamer have for sale at widely the different imports is hat the importer who # lower ts The inference ells so much than his competitors has advan. over the importer pays bonest duties,” res who Ee A recent writer thus terrors of a Rigul which be passed on ithe Island of Trinidad: The weird rock scenery, with its dead forests, the strange birds that were “‘foul as the fabled : thelr manners, pped { fish from their me when *spproached, asd attacked us with fury,” More uncanny still were land crabs, as the ell om their that of ized in a horrid grin, » were cooking, they nountains in thousands @ threw them devoured describes the narpics in reels of MLNS freliol AA 50 as lumps of with crab- tis 8 1-crab at his dinner, A huge beast was standing a yard from me; 1 gave him a portion of fish, and watched He looked at me straight in the face with his outstart. inz eyes, and proceeded with hus two front claws to tear up his food, bring- ing bits of it to his mouth with one But all this while ree verance, alin, ng at me, And when I looked sround, io! there were half a dozen others ali steadily feeding, but with immovable | heads turped to me with that fixed ba- silisk stare. It was indeed hornble, and the effect was night-mareish in the | extreme, While we slept that night they attacked us, and would eertainly have devoured us, had we not awoke, They eat holes in our ciothes, Qae of us bad to keep watch, so as to drive them from the other two; otherwise we should have had no sleep. Imagine a sailor cast alone on this coast, weary, yet unable to sleep a moment on so- count of these ferocious creatures. Alter a fow days of an existence full of horror, he would die raving mad, snd then be consumed in an hour by his foes, In ali Dante's ‘Inferno’ there is no more horribie a suggestion of pun- | ishment than this, As I was keeping watch over the others I threw a large stone at one of two great crabs, that were approaching the sieepors. It broke through his armor and killed him, His death produced an effect on his companion that I little expected, and which, I confess, made me feel quite uncomfortable and nervous in my exhausted condition. The reptile stopped when his companion fell, a cc pious foam then from his month, and his two eyes started right oul of his head, hanging on the ends of two long tri of horns. When I saw this
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