—— LIFE HARPS. The nfimor chords have all been touched Upon the harp of iife; All Joyous notes have all been hushed In thodim of its battle strife, But this is true of many a harp That sounds in human life, Che quivering strings within the soul, Of all awoot sound is 'refl, ANY who would care to live this life, When all its lights have flad, When nothing can the mind delight, For sil its joys are dead, Theres nothing in the past but pain Sinee memary's turned to gall; And backward views bring back agala 1ts woes $0 bruise and pall. Chesongs that once keen pleasure gave, Now ently pierce the heart, For every uote brings vruelly back Bach sharpened memory dart, Chen say who would not gladly fling This jogless life away; Whose every morning lHght doth bring Fieree pain that shrouas the day. wt thers is one who will extract Each shalt that rankies there; That Liuds the heart upon life's rack And eruel stabs and tears, Tes, Heo will take each crusl spear # rosa ont the bleeding Leart; Bin up each wound and dry each tear And bepe, and peace impart I STE, A PAINTER S PERIL. Is was the studio of one of Paris’ most renowned painters, and the time | the early part of the last century. Desehawmps, still a young man, in 1714 bad the world already, as the phrase is, | at his feet. His pictures were accepted | for the salon as a matter of course, | and thoy sold at fabulous prices; for to | «8 them was a matter of fame, | Be was pothing strange, then, in the luxurious style of his apartments, which | oconpied an entire floor on the Boulevard { Madeline near where it becowes tue Rae des Italiens, His work-room was the envy of poorer painters and the pattern fur richer. Yet it was not] choked with the usual paraphernalia of | the sctist; there were no pieces of | armor, no ancient weapons, no statues, go trophies of the chase in wild lands, | in short, it was dressed like the stage, | with wot og for show, but with every- | thing ti.: the work in hand might rendor fitting. His lounging-room, again, wassul generis—a room for com- | fore oe understood alone by men of art | or men of letters, Deschamps, though young and formerly used to a meagre | lite, bad now his own ideas of pleasure, | and knew how, with his large income, to csv them oul, ft was only in his reception-room that he bowed to the popular tastes, 'L'his | apartment was smali and richly though sombrously hung with heavy embroid- ared portieres; the rugs were indefinite in design, like the oriental mind that planned them; the furniture was of dark, foreign woods, upholstered in violet silk. It wes in this room at the dose of a winter's day that a wvisitor awaited, The wax lights were lit in thew sconces, but they only partially illumined the gloom of the lustrous sur- renadings. Lattle gleams shone fitiully from the carved angles of the dark woods, like the dark flashes of a dark eye which intimates yet conceals some terrible mystery. The caller had chosen a seat in the greatest obscurity that the woo afforded; but throwing aside her tieavy veil for a moment's glance at her surroundings she exposed a face which, even in the half-light, wonld have ap- peared of irresistible beauty, Her eyes were large and of a bue in which the | basal struggles with the jet; her nose, delicately Grecian; her complexion, oliwe; her eyebrows arched in a curve of which mathematics with its art could pever discover the equation. There was sbout the face, too, an exaggerated bamtenr and arrogance which marked in those days the woman of the nobulity. Her age was, probably, twenty-five, | "The veil was raised only for a mo- ment; «soft step was heard along the tall without, and the portieres, swing- mg aside, allowed the entrance of the | pamier, “3M. Deschamps?” The painter bowed and the lady con- tinned, with her veil still lowered: “Yon ara sbout fo produce a scens | from mythology?” “Yau “You find it necessary to quit Paris?" The painter, not understanding the | olject of these questions, remained silent, vit are leaving Paris,” the stranger | wer: on, “because yon eannot find here a Suilable model. You desire a woman | of refinement and intelligence as well as beauty. You ocousider the faces of ladies of ihe nobility lacking mm fresh- ness and nalaralness, Time were, indeed, Daschamps’ rea- sons for seeking & model outside of | Parts, Neither the rich nor the poor | of large cities are fitting figures in a painting which reproduces antiquity. “Knowing this,” continued the lady, with an added haughtiness of tone, *‘I tiave determined to take the part my- | sell. Tou will udnerstand now why, thus far, I have kept my face and name conoealed. If 1 have not sufficient wert" This last sentence was | begun in & manner as if her merits were a litile questionable, and she allowed the sentence to remain unfinighed, as if in so slight a doubt she had wasted | words enough. Bat the painter did not choose his models at such random. “My tended picture is Earopa,” he began to explain, “fihe was beautiful, was she not?” interrupted the stranger, ‘Nee if I am,” snd with a graceful movement she flung back ber veil, The painter was dumbfounded. The face was the most strikingly beautiful he had ever id, And it fy beamitu) fo Lud vor bahia, his visitor, “Pardom me,” he eried. ‘You sre the Princesse ———"" “I've Princosse de la Desgeneties, Do vou think me capable of represent. ing Plaropa?” “There is no question, Madame Ia Princess,” rep the young man, in great cubarrassmeut, ‘But, exeuse me, it cannot ba that you understand the design of my pestoctod wok. Allow me to paint you in some other charso- for. “I understand perfectly,” said the pi 1 h carelessly, i “But I shall attempt to portray Ku. pps st the moment when J , in 4x ¥ her to Crete: the figure will be full, Madame la Princesse,” “You wish a model, monsieur, and it only remams to know it I shall be a satisfactory one,” “That is already decided,” answered Deschamps. ‘‘Through your love of art, perhaps, you consent to supply me with the intelligent and refined face that I most needed. I can take the head from yours, at any moment you may find suitable.” “Dull!” replied the princesse; ‘‘you are dull. I desire to be taken from the whole figure. When can you begin?” The painter bad been lionized by all Paris, His rapid life had been full of the surprises of fortune, but this so great tha it staggered his credulity. “I see, Madame la Princesse,” he be- gan respectfully, *‘I see that you do not it, I implore you—" “‘As 1 have twice repeated,’ said the princesse, imperiously, “I understand perfectly; Japiter in the form of = white bull stauds contemplating En- ropa. ‘The female will be fuli, posed us i may decide, and undraped, Make no more excuses, Now when can you I leave St, Petersburg as **We can begin to-morrow and finish is a short time. We will set Be at my hotel to- morrow at 12. I shall pose there, An apartment will be arranged aud the necessary material provided. Give me the proper directions for this.” In a few words Deschamps explained what would be needed. wae to be of heroic size, to be set as a grove with tulted greea for turf. At the foot of a practicable tree wonld lie Earopa. The princesses made a few notes. “That The canyas | her last mandate: “I have one more word, Give it at- tention, Quis your stadio to-morrow, giving out that you are about to leave | Paris. Cone to me at the hour named in the disguse of a woman, You will be obliged to stay until the picture 1s | completed, and, as a man, yon might’ be recognized by some of the servants, It is necessary to take precautions, josides you will give me your word | model." “Certainly; but when the picture is hung it will be recognized,” The prin - | cesse made a little gestare as if this were a thing she had not taken into | account, “I may hang the panting Salon?” asked Deschamps, “That 18 your object in executing the work, 18 it fot?” said the princesse, nonchalantly, and dropping her veil, in the | Deschamps remained petrified. Could it be possible his visitor was the Prin- ccsse de 1a Desgenettes? He had beard of her, as all Paris had, and she hed been potated out to hun as she drove on the boulevards; but, by her rauk, even from the highest who called Des- | champs an sequaintanee, she was far removed. Hs knew simply that she was reputed to be the richest as she was the most beautifnl of Rassian | princesses, She was unmarried, and with , apparently, the strongest disposi- tion to love, had refused the bravest of her admirers, What should he decide? He could not pretend to wstruet ber in the obligations of ber rank. Even if she were not a faultless model he must paint ber ss Europa, To do otherwise wonld be an insult which Russian prin- cesses knew too well how to avenge, Why had she come to him? Ii was a mystery which Deschamps could not | satisfactorily sotve. ‘It is only a freak,” seid he; ‘‘perhaps she intends to buy the picture when it is done, and only poses as Europs because she | imagines I will exert mysell more for If that is the case I shall return a rich man,” The following morning he left his rooms in charge ol the concierge, drove | for a few moments to his ciub, and gave oul that Le was quitting Paris, and then, securing the necessary die- | guise directed himself to an obseure hotel, where he might make the meta. morphosis. A little later he set out to | keep his strange a) pointment, As he stood before the princesse’s magnificent hotel, who shall say what passing fan- cies were being conjured up by his always fortunate hopes? Perhaps the from a painter to a prince. Perhaps but he had no more opportunity for fow moments was iu the apartments of | the princesse, She gave a satisfied glance at his | dress, which represented bim a8 a | middle aged woman of the middle class, rected Deschamps to follow her to the “Is 1t well done?” she asked. It was perfectly done, Lights from above fell through natural leaves in bands, and banks and cylinders, In the centre, and where the broadest light fell, stood a tree-trunk with fan- tastic roots partially imbedded in the tawny rugs which served for the gazon, It was indeed an ideal grove, full of a light and transparent atmosphere which the real forest aves | The nossse gave no explanation of the princes ey which her orders for the work had been given. “Is there anything you wish to sug- gest?” she demanded. “Nothing; it is fanitiess.” “Then prepare your materials, I will return shortly. “Bat I was to make a promise,” stammered the painter, “It 1s not necessary. I had forgot. ten nothing except that you will con. tinue to wear your present dress,” “The painter disliked appearing to such disadvantage, but he could only submit, With her last word the prin. cease swept away to her dressing room, and Deschamps, having made is yup arations, took his piace at the and gn pg hh A He hed & few moments to perfection, such curves, such propor- tions, such color, He paused a mo. ment, and then, controlling his voice, said: “I will not draw you as in- tended, 1 will make simply an image of beauty, and by Jupiter's silent ado- ration 1 will show what the power of perfect benuty is, The princesse smiled and, sinking apon the turf, became a motionless statue, Deschamps seizad his caryon and began with ardor what he believed would be his greatest work, When the light failed he was given a private room and supplied by a servant with such comforts as were suitable for a woman of the class he was supposed to represent. His ordinary divertise- this was necessary as a part of the princesse’s precautions, ing day the work recommenced, and At first the young man was overcomeby the strange- bering how fortune liad hitherto favored had begun to entertain on his first ar- rival at the hotel, QOae day he had been singularly happy in his touches, and the piincesse, coming in from a drive which she took gress of kis work, first compliment he bad received, pos- to greater efforts, FEmboldened by this, he hinted his **Wait until the picture is finished,” her commands; but Deschamps lived in the hope of a noble alliance, elaborations of the The plain canvas had become glorious, Finally, work was done, *}t is wonderful,” he exclaimed with “It 1» marvelous that I | have been able to execute it, Bulore I wish my reputation to stand upon this alone!” As he said these words he forgot what the princesse, and with his thoughts on | the divinity, are, he longed again to be | in the world of men where he might prinoeese had retired. examined the picture rowly, and then, siguing to the aston- ished painter to follow her conducted | him by unused passages to a room on | the ground floor, when she motioned | him to a large arm-chair aud “herself | a moment Dare | “When this picture is in the salon? he began, She interrupted him, and there was a look upon Ler face which wis new to hima look of enuning and triumph, You amuse yourself, M Deschamps, in &« public salon. To-night 1 shall start with it to 8 Petersburg, avd 1} shall place it in my palace where no eyes hut mine will ever behold it, There will then remain oaly youisell who will know how the picture was oblained, Did yon consider when you csme here | that your possession of this secret | would be painful to me?” “Bat,” said Deschamps, “I am will- you." “You are very dull again,” replied the princesse, **If you took an oath and kept it—" ‘As T should,” answered the painter, with some indignation. “Even if you kept your oath,” con- * forget. You must be made to forget. Do you know how that can be done? | As you have had the gallantry to make | love to me, I will explain a method which I contrived before my first visit to your studio. Where are you now supposed to be?” “Oat of Paris.” “And who knows that you are here.” | “No one,” suswered the painter, | startled, “Do you see, now, how I shall make | you forget your disagreeable know. | ledge. 1 shall simply take your life, M. Deschamps, and it seems lo me — is.” Before her on the floor was a little knob, such as is used to ring Louse she moved her foot toward Deschamps sprang from his seat, He knew not what re- sult » pressure on the shimng brass He only felt that the result to him would be death. He sprang forward to arrest the princesse’s Her it. instant he heard as noise behind him. He supposed it was the rushing in of Where it had stood was an opening in the floor, By a rave presence of mind it immediately occurred to him that the Princesse tried to manage the af- fair by herself, After all it was noth. jing; the yawning space meant only » displaced opening into an annsed well or sewer, He turned back to the princesse. ‘Your scheme ol muemonios is poor,” he ened, banter ingly. “Let us return; but first, as you bave taken a trifling liberty with me, allow me the same privilege. With this, knowing that her cries might bring danger, he placed her naundkerchief in her mouth and fastened it with his own, Taking her back to the ting-room he found a problem to solve; he must leave the hotel and joined depravity and vanity, poisoned herself in prison. The fatal picture took its place in the salon; it became the struggle of the oritios as to which should find mn it the most occult merit, the struggle of Par- wians was to find a listener who had not yet hoard its tragioal history, The Wrong Limb, A large tree standing on the outer edge of the eust sidewnlk of Washing- ton Bquare, Philadelphia, was being cut down recently. As the prostrate tree was being eut into logs by a brawny-armed son of toil, who moved with that peculiar ease seen only in men who work by the day, a small crowd gathered about to yolunteer such expressions ol opinion as the oscasion seemed to warrant, Exasperated almost burst of emphatic exclamations, ““Lhere,” sald he, as he duffars think you can chop better than I can, just blez» away, A middle-aged man, whose ance suggested that he was chopper, who had in a fit ot sulks; *‘dou’t straight downward? must make a slanting cut like this,” The illustration was well-meant poorly excouted, The of haudie the boanded away from the middle-aged street-oar that was being dregged over the branches of the tree, Tue crowd cheered, and, feeling another at- different from formerly, Judging from the first stroke. As the implement de- scended the people could almost hear it whizz, There was ¢ wild howl of clutching his right leg in both hands, hopped to the pavement and yelled for As the axe was dull the man The tree was suab- sequently cut up with a saw, i Origin of Familiar Proverbs “Prath is stranger than fliotion,” was lie s0 moustrousiy ex- The original use of this proverb is continued until day. Whenever you ace a newspaper don't word you read under it, “I'll make 8 spoon or believe a spoil a horn his life, and who that he ooulda’t took a mean man's made a spoon in all knew perfectly well man who likes to take his born straight the introduction of a spoon always spoils ii, “A wink is as good as a nod to a was said by a man with a iff neck who wanted to nod but couldn't. Although why any sane man should wish either to wink or nod st a blind horse no one can teil, stiff slumber,” commonly sitnbuted to the pight watchman, who invented it in his dreams, by a police justice when he bound the tough over to keep the peace and fined him $15 85. by a murderer who killed a dude, “All's fair in love and war,” was the “One swallow does not make a sum- mer,” was the brilliant remark of a man who was trying to see how many swal- jows do make a summer, Nota Bene If the thermometer got half so high as the experimenter did, the dog days came right along on the heel of Christ mas that year. The record of the swal- jows, however, was Jost ju the dim musts of O'Blivion, the great Irish swallower, “Dead meu tell no tales,” was the joyous exclamation of the first editor who slew a man who came in with a continued story in 65 chapters, Ii was this same editor who, upon receiving » demand for ten cents from a poet for an epic poem upon which he had labored twelve years, saxd: “Write makes smite.” And again he smote him that he died, i WA lt An Island of Cannibal Crows, Ou the lower ridge of the Japanese trees, the home of crows innumerable remarkable, even in this land of crows, In the morning a of wings, discordant Don't Bould, Don’t scold. It is very true that you have more to contend with than any person you ever saw, bub Don’t scold. Your children, of course are worse than any children you ever saw, and want (0 eat oftener than any children in the world; they are harder to get to sleep and are easier to wake up than any other children, but Don’t scold. Your hired girl is the worst in town and you can do ten pieces of work while she is doing one, and nothing she does is done right, but Don’t scold, Your husband is the most careless man in the world: he never | where to put anything; he is | when he should be in a good forgets things that he should remember; seems to think of everything but home; can’t rock a child to sleep as well | you can; forgot to leave the grocery book as he went down town; forgot bripg up a pair of shoes; didn’t think | order a load of wood, bul hang it, { Don't scold. Why? Simply because it will do no good, 1f your husband is nervous it will make him more so, If he getful it will not in the east cultivate a retentive mory. must you do, eb? Stop and think. | That's all right now, don’t say that all of the lectures are for the women and rot for the men. Men have | like the deuce for bread, | bly deserve no credit for it because they $ LO tend to in to Men have received more women have, The | ever taken the part of women. Lures sentimentalist has has fifteen thousand and one vexations down town that he probably does not speak of at home. He has been out all day working for a living and he goes ! home to rest. Of course expected to go around on Uploe as though some one is ill, but it make him | think more of his home if you meet | him witha smile. No, you are not ex- { pected to laugh every tima2 your hus- you are to laugh, but you would make Mr, So- | and-So feel much better by meeling him with a smile, | lecting this. Yes you Lave, and you needn't deny it. You have been look- ing sour at him when he came home. | He has been absorbed in something that | you don’t care to understand, say he has been down town enjoying | himself, Probably he hasn’t. Don’t scold. Give the poor fellow a balf of ashow, | will you? You have thought that you were very “‘smart” when you asked tim a question that he could not an- swer immediately. He may have for- gotten where he was at a certain time. He may be honest but forgetful. **Oh, ves,’ some fellow who wants to be sen- timental will hop up and say, *‘look at the husbands who abuse their wives!” Hold on there, silvery-tipped artist of sentiment, you are no doubt the spected cl but bold on 14 for the severest He is not in an) He is not consid He couldn’ be ¥) IOEARnN unishment, respect a gentleman, ered in this discussion. I discussed with us. He beyond the line. The conversation is within border of refined consideration. Don’t scold, The main point spect fully { There is n nity 43 tha iit es £ 1a th a thing is to re- request that no one will scold. thing that makes a commu- satis‘actory as a scold, In | this regard, the smallest Kind of a cloud | can create the worst Kind of a hurr cane, but there is a remedy for this— Don't scold, Ah, ves, Mrs, Piggleworth, you think that a mean advantage has besn { taken of you, eh? | think that every one is wrong and that you are right. Bat there is a way that | you can do a great work for your fellow- | citizons, and that is, Don’t scold. dy iil i English Pablie ———————— Caterers, Every town in Fogiand of any eon- stderabie sige has caterers, who may be called in for public or large domestic | dinner companies st a few hours’ notice, and to whom every detail of such a dinner may be committed without the | lenst auxiety as to a perfect and salis- | factory result, And there are outside |'of the establishments of the caterers | men employed in municipal offices and i besd poriers In municipal or pablic | buildings, or church sextons, or young- erly men holding like positions, who | are ready st s fow days’ notice to en. | gage themselves to serve at a dinner company. These men, the most capa- ble, efficient and gentlemanly among them, ate to be seen in all the large | houses m provincial towns when formal | dinner companies are given, They will come in the early part of the evening, take chaage of table, see that iv is prop- the dessert, will select the wines and decide the quantities to be used, will seo that the dinner service is all in per. fect condition, and will, in short, be res ble for the efficient and satis- factory serving of the dinver, Such a well-known man would not expect for his attendance more than from §1.50 to $2.50, and, if he brought sssistants, probably their wages for the evening would not be more than §1.00 each, Expenses are not rectilinear, but cir- cular, Every inch dismter adds three to the circumference, Inviesble Writmg —1i, one should write upon a sheet of white paper with chloride of platinum, no mark would liquid is quite colorless. same shoot of g i : Hy : | A eH A Bailamander, Rochester, New York, is the pos sessor of the only living salamander now in this country. This wonderful natnral curiosity was secured in Japan by Professor Ward and brought home under his personal supervision. The salamander of fable is one of the big. gest frauds on record. A famous maker once named his safes after the salamander to indicate their indestruct- ible composition, but it 1s to be feared that if they could not endure fire more readily than the salamander, as he re- ally exists, none of their number would be found sgain after » fire, But the very fact that so much romancing has been done about the wonderful en- durance of this monster makes Lim an object of unusual interest. The spec- imen in question, which was viewed by a reporter shortly after its errival, is | called the Gigantic SBslamander or Sie- | boldis Maxima, It was named In honor of Dr, Von Siebold, who brought | the firet live specimen to Barope and placed it in s tauk at Leyden, where It | passed 8 period of many years in cape { tivity. Its length was about a yard, and 1t ig stated that two specimens were | brought over at the same time by Dr. | Biebold, bnt the male nnforinoately killed his intended bride and ste ber up, leaving himself to pass the remainder of his life in celibacy. It may be stated as a coincidence | that Professor Ward also started from | Japan with two salamanders—one a wale, the other a femmale—and that the female in this instance also came 16 an { uutimely end on the voyage, Bat her | desth was not due to any cannibalistic trait in the character of the male, but | rather to the fact that the wsier with which her tub was replenished apon one unfortunate occasion was too warm for | ber constitution. The sad event took place one day before the steamer landed at Ban Francisco, The survivor measures thirty inches | in length and is apparently fal grown, 8) far frem longing fora bath iu a fiery | furnace, this one cannot endure even the mildest form of heat-light, When brought from the dark recesses of the cellar in which it is temporarily housed, it eroeps into the dsrkest corner of the | tnbh in which it is confined. If has four legs with rounded toes, which remind one of the rog-babies in Nast's oar- toons. Its tail is long and resembles | that of a hizard, and its soft skin is of a | pale brown eolor, with darker mark. | ings. Its head is large and flattened, | being wider than any part of its body, On the forepart of its head it has small, dull eyes, which, unlike the jewels in the head of the toad, do not relieve the general ugliness. [ts entire body is covered with warty excrescences, The present specimen has pot esten any- thing in several weeks, the appetite of salamanders being very irregular. They feed chiefly on fish, which, des- pite their sluggish behaviour, they are able to catch, They also devour other animal substances, se AAA Ecucation for Boys. A majority of our boys are destined to be employed in business pursuits of one sort or another, and yet, strange to sav, few parents think it necessary to direct their education to that specific olije Of course, no objection can be made to the general education given at our ordinary schools or colleges. It is all necessary to develop the mind and qualify the boy for something that will | arise at some time or other in his future manhood. That, therefore, must not be neglected por abridged. But when it is intended that a youth shall follow a mercantile pursuit it wonld seem rea- sonable to suppose he would conclude | that it is necessary that a portion of his | education should be devoted to qualify- ing him specifically for the experience | that will occupy two-thirds of his wak- |ing existence. When our systems of | education gave no other instructions of | this kind than what was embraced 1n a theoretic study of the ordinary rules of | arithmetic, our boys had no choice in this matter; for they could only accept | such education as eaucalors had pro- | vided. But now that institutions are | provided which, within a brief course | of study, equip the ordinary educated | boy for any or every branch of business | employment, no youth intended for a | commercial employment can be con- | sidered properly educated untfl he has | passed through the specific studies of | one of our well condncted “business | colleges.” A few monthsat one of these | establishments is worth all the boy's previous education, in the very import. | ant sense that it gives point, applica i tion and practical bearing to all the | general education he has acquired ab | school. What the attendance on hos. | pital practice is to the medical student | the application of all he bas learned | in theory—a good business college is to {the boy who has finished his course of | school study; it is the application of he | education to business formulas, mweth- lds and practice. The training he requires in these institutions is aqUiva~ lent to the saving of two or three years’ imtiatory education m the office, and therefore gives the youth an advantage at his start in active life of the greatest value. What we have witnessed of the work and results of these establish- ments indooes us to direct the attention of our boys to this essential branch of sducation —essential, we say, because a youth without it bas no fair chance in competing with one who has had the benefit of such training. # b 4 oe
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers