mY MOTHER, Of al the names to memory dear, And many names thera be, That claims affection’s fondest seal, There's one most der to me, "Tis graven deeply on my heart, Surmounting every other, Nor shall it ever be erased, The honored name of Mother. When first my infant tongue began To lisp that sacred name, Maternal teaching was the source From whence those accents came. And when in years of thoughtless youth, So prone to go astray, It was her prayer to Heaven that I Might find the better way. Through every period of my life, ¥rom childhood up to man, A mother’s cave was still the same As when it first began. And all the light that grace inspires To me was freely given, That I might tread the narrow path That leads from earth to Heaven NR THE OUTLAW’S DAUGHTER. Toward sunset of a summer’s even- | ing, in the year '59, a bronzed, athletic | man, whose age did not exceed thirty- | sight years drew rein in the shadow of | a plane tree, on the brow of a wooded slope, some five and-a-half miles from the town of Columne, in Southern Cali- fornia. The scene around him was wonderful in its exquisite harmony of color. Over the adjacent mountains hung soft, pur- ple shadows—dreamy and mystic; in the western sky was beauty indescribable as it was evanescent; the azure blue melted in the rose and glowed into flame, while the rich purple and fleecy white masses piled themselves in gor geous confusion against a back ground of gold, a myriad of tints and shades quivered into light and dissolved, ere the eye could determine or thought give thei color. From the pale blue and scarlet flowers which literally carpeted the earth, arose a richness of perfume | almost oppressive. Here and there at | the base of some solemn pine, rested a huge boulder, draped in Spanish moss, | whose sombre gray formed a pleasing: contrast {» the vivid crimson blossoms, Far in the distance gleamed the blue waters of the Pacific enveloped in hazy | light, ‘Nature knew how to wield her | brush when she made these California forests and wonderful sunsets! There is nothing of the kind in the East in com- | parision with them!” exclaimed the bsholder. gazing around him in admira tion expressed in face and voice. Then, forgetful of Nature, he continued: **But | my unknown friend, who is so solici- | tous of my welfare as to send me such a message, Lo meet her here, is appar- | ently forgetful of her trust. Perhaps | after all it is a heax or trap of some sort, I’m not so thoroughly popular in these regions as some men.” Here he | laughed, a low pleased laugh, and drew from an inner pocket a small note, writ- ten in a lady’s hand, the contents of which were: “] bear that to-morrow you leave Columne for the East-—your money, | perhaps your life is in danger, It isin my power to save you or at least put you on your guard, and I desire you to meet me, al sunset, on the summit, a mile from the old Mission. Do not dis- regard this warming of A Frigxp.” He glanced at the note, folded, and | returi®ed it to his pocket, Ashedidso, | the sound of iron-shod hoofs resounded on the hard path and in another mo- ment a rider, habited in velvet and | mounted on a steed as black as night, galloped into view and brought her flery courser to a stand-still beside the horseman gnder the plane iree The new-comer was little more than a child her age could not have exceeded sixteen, but her form was li and rounded and the ease with which she | managed her meddiesome Arab, showed she possessed nerve and capability. Her face was charming in contour and ex- pression, while her lips and cheeks wore the carmine of health, ‘Y ou are here!” exclaimed in a tone of relief, as her eyes rested on the horseman, “I feared you might heed my waning *' “Curiosity, if nothing else, would have compelled me to meet you,” was! the reply. “May I ask from what great danger you propose to save me?’ “A few questions first,”’ she respond- ed imperntively. “Tell me your name. “Philip Burmeson,"’ “You were sent West two years ago | by the Government to aid in breaking ! up an organized band of outlaws, whose depredation on out-going and in-coming stages, had become unbearable; while here you have amassed in the mines a large sum of gold, which you intend to sake with youon your return East; and, furthermore, you are to start for the East in the stage that leaves Columne to morrow at four o'clock—am 1 not right?" “You certainly display a wonderful knowledge of my affairs, for so young a lady and a stranger; but I believe all you have stated is correct. Will you now deign to enlighten me as to the cause of all these queries?" “Yes, I wished to assure myself you were really the person I sought, and now 1 tell you you must not leave Col- umne to-morrow, nor, if possible, per- mit the stage to go.” “You speak positively,’ said Burme- son, ‘what reason can you give for so materially changing my plans?” *“I'he very best of reasons,” respond. ed the girl, her tone growing more cau- tious and ber magnetic brown eyes bolding fixedly the steel-blue ones oppo- ste. “It is kmown toa band of the most daring outlaws in the West, that a stage, laden with booty, leaves Col- umne to-morrow and that you are to be among the A plan has been made to surprose and rob the coach. You are especially singled out, and they have determined to kill you if you make any resistance, which they feel sure you IL. They hate you because you have frustrated so many of their plans during the past two years, and as an enemy to heir cause they decided to show you no mercy, This, at least, is the plot of part of the band—but the leader, I am sure, is not so blood thirsty, however the ah Bait not “He is known as ‘Captain Dick.’ 1 think you have heard of him ere now.” ‘*Yes, indeed, I have!” exclaimed Durmeson, his eyes lighting with re. newed interest at the name. “That man is no common robber, he has brains, and uses them, ’tis a pity they are wasted in such a cause. So his party is to make the attack? Well, I shall be prepared for them, they may have a little wore trouble with Burme- son yet, before he says adieu to the vale of the setting sun and the bold Red Robins, At what time and place is this attack to be?” “You are bent on leaving Columne to-morrow then?” she evaded, ‘will nothing induce you to remain?’’ “*Nothing,”” was the response. [I'm just as eager to capture Captain Dick as he is to capture my gold.” “I feared you would answer thus,” said the girl, in a tone of disappoint- ment, and a troubled expression filled her face, while her voice took a hard, deflant ring, as she continued: **Unless you promise to ses that no mise me this?” ulous thing?’ cried Burmeson in amaze- would delight me more than his capture, and now you virtually ask me to set him at liberty, in case he is taken—why "tis absurd!” ner and place of attack, all I have told you but me, and I found them out quite Alf I ask for them is ‘Captain Dick’s’ liberty, I know he is Burmeson saw she agitated. was searchingly in her troubled brown eyes, **You are ‘oure young’—but yet—is he *‘1 have no lover,” she replied simply. “Then tell me what he 18,” repeated her interlocutor. of the loose, falling tresses of chestnut reply: “He is my father.” “Your father—impossible he cried in dismay, **why you are a lady-—you can- "wy not be an outlaw’s daughter! in his voice, and raising her proudly she responded: Philip Burmeson was a brave man and was also a generous gentleman, she now *I am sorry If I wounded you—I did bronzed “And 1 am glad her lover. But, tell me, vou are not compelled to follow your father’s for tunes, Do you live with him.” “Not exactly,” she answered, provides a pretty home for me, a few with whatever I fancy. An old Mexi can woman keeps me company, but often I grow lonely. Sometimes he visits me, and is very Kind, I have often urged him to give up this wild life and return to the East, where he has relatives, but he refuses to Listen to me, “The East is “too tame’ he declares, and the excitement of lus present exist. ence suits him too well to allow him to forsake it.” “Mr. Burmeson,’ “the property, and | am very mucl 3 depart without the information I cap give you? I repeat that without it you will lose your life, and that with it you no violence. equivalent 1 demand-—the liberty of ‘Captain Dick.’ "’ In her eageruess the girl laid her hand on his arm: and bent her face so close to his, that the long plume of her cap swept his swarthy cheek. Burmeson was humane, and the sweet face and pleading ¢yes touched his heart, “Very well,” he sid reluctantly, “I promise for your sake; but it is sorely against my will and better judgment. Now tell me all.” | A look of relief crept over the fair face at his words and her voice and eyes were full of gratittde, as she said: “Oh, thank you, i know you will keep your promise—and I am so glad!” Then, hurriedly, she detailed the Kime, inet gua nna of attack, and 16 which she thought they might be easily pws’ | attack was skillfully planed, dak Burmeson was forced to acknow that without the informa- tion this young ‘girl had given him, the Columns h would have been at fearful Her pian, too, was excellent, and, If rightly carried out, would insure sy to Burmeson. She could boast of many noble qualities t itied to her through her father, but might at least, thank him for her , cool head, The sun had dipped its golden wings into the blue waters, the sky had exchanged its brilllancy of color, for tonder opaline tints, ere the young girl and turned to had finished depart, Sarget your promise?” y of a parting admoni- “You will n she said, by tion may trust me,” . "I have never “5 awe wo fe fectly at home in these ‘lawless regions,’ you know, and besides, what have I to fear when with Abdallah? There is not a fleeter steed on the Pacific slope,’ and she stroked affectionately the glossy neck and flowing mane of her favorite, « Besides, every true western girl un- derstands how to use this,”’ and she touched lightly the silver mounted Der- ringer in her belt, *‘Balieve me, I am pot in the least timorous, and it might arouse suspicion were we seen together, I prefer to go alone.” **You are a brave girl,” said Burme- son, and he removed the broad sombreo from his head and stood uncovered, while the moist breath of the Pacific lifted the loose lecks of his hair, *‘] should be proud of just such a daughter, I hope this may not be our last meet. ing, and if you ever need a friend, do not hesitate to send or come to this address.” As he spoke he drew a card from his pocket, hastily penciled a few lines and handed it to her. She took it, her hand. “Good-bye! God bless you little girl!’ said Burmeson, pressing her hand “i00d bye,” she responded, simply her horse, and was soon lost to his view in the shrubby forest of thérny mezquit and yellow pine. The stage-coach left Columne the fol- it was not until they were several miles | from the town that Burmeson informed the driver and passengers that they might expect an attack from robbers, at a point known as Redwood Gulch, This was a deep mountain pass, and in Burme- | son had provided each of the passengers | with a pair of bracelets and a loaded revolver, with instructions when to use them, and just as the moou rose over the tall crags the stage entered the pass, Scarcely bad It done so, when, | | ver. file, and, simultaneously, six athletic | men surrounded the coach, clamoring i pants, While thus engaged Burmeson, the pass, and before the astonished out- | facing the suggestive cavities of half a dozen revolvers, in the hands of cool, steady men, while the click, click, of sounded in succession, It was all so sudden and unexpected to the outlaws, that they could scarcely that their golden dreams had their own web, “The game is yours, this time gentle. men.’ said one of the outlaws, in a cool | tone, then turning to his men, he con- | “Never mind, boys! thisisa| blunder, but ‘there is a tide in the all men,’ and our turn will | been betrayed, “We've Captain!” The captives were taken to the near- Burmeson, mindful of his | promise, watched his opportunity to the bracelets from the outlaw’s As he bent over him in the act, Burmeson whispered “1 do this for the sake of your daugh- vou. No further adventures were encoun- | during the remainder of the stage's journey, and it is safe to suppose | Often Burmeson wondered if *“*Cap- | had reached his home in | He had every reason to sup- pose so, but an accident might have | thes outlaw’s daughter ever know he had kept his promise. The thought troubled him not a little, but he had no means of ascertaining the truth. Often in imagination he pictured that sunset on the summit, The be waters of the Pacific, the glowing sky, the Howers | and mossy rocks, the evening breeze, | moist and salt from the ocean, and last but not least the young girl on her black charger. The sweet face and | pleading voice, were often in his mem- | ory, and he would have given much to | see the one, and hear the other again. But it was no time for idle dreaming, | stirring events were Lranspiring through- | out the country and men of brains were awakening to the fact that a crisis, in the affairs of the nation, was near at | hand. At last it came, ‘The Civil | War.” Four long years of carnage, | Burmeson enlisted as a volunteer at the very beginning, and served his eountry faithfully. He knew what long march- es, hunger and thirst, a blanket bed by the roadside, and flerce charges meant, His country knew also and testified Ler | appreciation of his participation in the carnage by making him a Major-Gene- ral It was during the war he made the acquaintance of a fellow-officer, Cap- tain Darrel, afine soldier and an honor: able gentleman. The friendship between the two was strengthened by many lit- tle acts of kindness on both sides, and when peace was declared, Captain Dar- rell insisted that Major Burmeson should accompany him home. The Major not finding it convenient at the time was obliged to refuse, but prom ised to visit him when times became a little more settled. The following summer he received a nding him trance, and a young lady sprang lightly from the saddle, A small colored boy led away the horse, and the young lady came up the steps, her habit held up under arm, a dainty little whip in her hand, and the loveliest tinge of rose in her cheeks, She crossed the wide ve. randa to where her uncle stood beside Major Burmeson, who was partly hid- den from her view by a flowering shrub, “My niece, Miss Clista Stratton,” said the Captain, **Clista this is Major Burmeson. an old army friend of mine —why what is the matter! Have you two met before?’ he inquired, in both Ciista’s gauntleted hands in his and looking radiant, while she was and eases of one who knew him, “Miss Clista and I are quite friends,” said the Major, old her again. Then in a tone intended promise,”’ falling over her bright face, “He died honorably at Gettysburg; and I come East to hive with Uncle Darrell. I am very happy, and, oh, so glad, to ses you again.” Her magnetic brown eyes were raised to his, her rose-red lips were smiling, her face was radiant, and as he gazed at her, something awoke in Philip Bur meson’s heart, that bad its birth one strewn summit, overlooking the sea, and that would never sleep again while life and he were one. The Major was not a young man, but was handsome and well-preserved. He was very much in love with Clista he gies while at Captain Darrell’s, promise of a speedy return, and he left ona pair of crimson lips a fond kiss, and on the slim finger of the outlaw’s daughter's hand a sparkling gem. ———— i A —— Biind sign Painter. I was running a weekly paper small northern Indiana town at the time I first met him, You know how the inhabitants of small places go wild over anything of a freakish nature, and the reigning sensation just then was the work of a blind sign painter. of advertising fakirs has just struck village, who decorated the dead walls the who was known as the ‘Only Blind Business with with them was rushing, every merchant in town coming around and wanting work done, for when the blind sign painter, who was none other than Riley, an artistie sign, halr the inhabitants of the place turned out to witness the feat, an original one and calculated to catch the multitude, all depended on the his- trionic ability of the Hoosier poet. vision of an eagle, When led to the foot of the ladder, A part of fully feeliffg his way, then crowd a face full of pain and pathos, This rarely failed to draw expressions of sympathy, and what was more to the point, additional adverlising contracts, slowing climbing the ladder he fingered the surface, measuring with hands the denly seizing the brush, the sign was average painter could do it, Another catching bit of *‘business” was to stumble on coming down, when one of the party gave him a shoving be- low, with an imprecation and a brutal order to be wore careful. “shame, shame! Some one ought to take the poor man away from those ruffians.”’ were sample remarks from the erowd on such occasions, One day, when he was up the ladder, I caught My suspicions had been aroun. sed, and he saw it in my face. Slowly he winked that gray eye of his in a way After that I was taken in his confidence, and finding that he was a gold mine of {a was not difficult, for he only regarded the “Blind Painter”, dodge as a boyish lark, and was getting Sired of the fun. paper career, The Prophet In Soudan. The spread of the doctrines of the prophet of Mecca in Africa during the past twenty-five years has been most remarkable. It has extended south and west from Upper Egypt till it has almost reached the English possessions in the distant south, All the more su- perior tribes and nations have embraced it. The negroes take kindly to the re- ligion of the Arabs. The latter gener- ally come among them as traders, but they preach ana pray while they buy and sell, They make converts in every village, where a mosque and religious school are soon founded. Known to Roms noe. Another Queen's private existence is not without its characteristic features, The name of the Queen of “Naples evokes a figure out of some romance of chivalry and legends. She appears to our fancy as a heroipe in tensational mdventures of love and warfare, some- times heading fantastic masquerades and mad revelry in the palace of the Bourbons at Naples, at others defending the last bulwarks of threatened royalty on the bastions of Gaeta; visiting the dying in the casemates under the bombs of the Garibaldians, or kneeling at the feet of the Pope to receive his blessing on “his dearly beloved daughter.” imagination, In reality the Ife almost monastical Rue near the Champs Elysess and abutting another Mary lost her life and her She had lived the long years of her in 1574. for the Hotel he and the Queen one lady and four men in waiting, A and four maids the whole of their private staff of servants, For avail themselves of the general resour- of public establishments, The of palaces. Even when visiting Mun- up unceremoniously at the Hotel Belle- vue, the quaint old hostelry, with its highly colored, almost rations, What 1t Costs Patil to Live, { 3 Patti makes a great deal of moneye and she spends a great deal, At the rate she lives It must cost her some, thing like $1,000,000 a year. She has a retinue of people and a large sulite of | apartroents at the Windsor Hotel—pri- vale table, of course—and her own chief, whom she brings with ber. Then she has a castle in Wales to keep up, and that is an enormous tax upon her income. Even when she does not live | there she has ten or a dozeu people tak- ing care of the house, and as many more on the place, The castle itself is as large as a small hotel, It has forty- five furnished rooms, besides other rooms that are not furnished, It is a { whim of Patti’s to keep up this place, | and she has enough money to indulge herself in expensive whims. Besides the movey that Patti earns, she has | $200,000 that can never be touched; at | least the principal can not be touched; she has the use of the income, of course, | But this she does not lay much stress { upon. The income of $200,000 is a small item to a person who makes as | much money as she dees, Christine Nilsson is really wealthier than Patti, Lecause she has more money lad up and better invested than is Patti's money. The castle in Wales, which represents a little fortune, isan expense rather than an income. All the money that Christine Nilsson bas in real es. { tate brings ber in a good round iuter- est. Then Nilsson is thrifty, She spends | very little money compared with Patti. It is hard to say which is the wiser— | the one who spends as she goes or the one who lays up ber money. Patti will always have §200,000 wo fall back on; so she saves very little earnings, | There is no one to come after her except Nicolini’s children, and to these she is very liberal now. of her Duchess de Castro resides in at the seaside and in Bavaria. sentation, even the social where she by so many illu- es more or less related to Almost her only amusement zr, eitler in the open air in a rid- shool, She owns large stables in the Champs Elysees, which she intends herself, and in wii the warmest interest. She never tertains., [lotel lite is a sufficient ex- cuse for the non-giving of balls or re- ceptions. Her only visitors are a few and tried friends, some travelers would be welcomed is guper- bs wl 3 iP BUE UAaN en- names are written on the same pages of past happiness and past sorrow. On but their number is always limited. She is intimate only with the Duchess d'Alencon. The Queen table undertaking set on foot by the rich, noble and fashionable women of the best world in Paris. The early the quiet, familiar figure kneeling every morning at the same hour, before the the man who accompanies her—a man with a black mustache, a Bourbonian nose, and the slight 1talian swaggering iles known as the uke de Castro. and Duchess Europeans in Pekin, A French writer gives this picture of the life of Europeans in Pekin : There to them, Communication the mandarin class is limited to official slowly to the capital of the Son of very little account. did not Pekin offer one and in the small circles which the Europeans form, there is no other After breakfast larger bric-a- load of cloissone enamels, the clerks of the brace shops enter with a gestion will dispose you to more optim- trick quite as well known to the Pekin tradesmen as to their colleagues in the west, The shops open to Europeans are in- useless and ugly to our eyes ; a visit is hardly worth while, But there are many practically closed to them because the proprietor Is afraid of the ** red. furred devils.” Should you enter one the merchant will not rise, He puts ndiculous prices on everything you ad- will insult you with some such epithet as **tribute-bearer,”” that being the only reason which a patriotic Chinaman can allow for the presence in Pekin of such dangerous savages as are the Eu- ropeans, MMA i They Were Dandies, Wash n, who died in 1799, wore ruffles on his sleeves, and half of the men who signed the Declaration of In- dependence wore powdered wigs. Jef ferson knee breeches, and Ma. dison was proud of having worn a suit of clothes of American make at his In- auguration. Daniel Webster usuaily wore a suit of snuff-brown color, witha large soft necktie. Martin Van Buren — —_—, The English Soldier, R. C. Drum, the Adjutant General of the army, spent two monthe 1a Eng- ] last summer, He is an enthusias- 1mirer of English troops, and be- that England and Russia will get | to fighting before long. He says that Hussia has been quietly working down towards the East India possessions of England, and that a conflict in the fue ture is inevitable. ‘The English sol- dier.” said General Drum, is the finest in the world, I make no exception. A regiment of Englishmen is the finest body of soldiers ever gotten together. “You will not even except our vol- unteer troops of the last war?” “No,” said General Drum; “we had | no regiments of the purely American type. They were mixed with the for. | eign element always.” | *““Which nation do you think would | win in a fight—England or Russia.” | “I donot believe that the Eaglish | troops can be beaten by any nation. | They love fighting. They are men of high intelligence, and their officers are | plucky fellows. The weak feature of | the English army at present is the ab- | sence of any staff system. They have no regular staff as we have in our army. No officer is trained up to hold an exe | cutive position. Officers in the British army are too apt to be placed in respon sible positions through favor or in- | fluence. This 1s the great fault of the | service. The Scotch make wonderful | soldiers. They are the only troops that | have made a reputation in military his- | tory for a capacity to rally under fire. { Unite them with the English and han- | dle them well, and you have an invinei- ble army.” msi sis A A On a Postal Card. -— She walked up and down the corridor | of the postoffice for ten or fiftesn min- utes before she asked of a citisen who was directing an envelope: : “ease. sir, but would you wrilea word or two on a postal ecard for me?” “Certainly, ma'am; where = it to go to?” | *“*To John Sessions, Cleveland, | Put Esq. after his name. I sometimes | forget it, and it makes hun mad." “Your husband “Of course. When I want a postal card written to a strange man it will be a cold day. Now, then, begin with ‘My Dearest Husband.’ *' “I've got that.” “Say that I am all right, the baby is all right, and I haven’t time to write any more.” “Yen “Then youll want a P. 8, that I have only $2 left, and shall look for him to | send me some next week.” “Yea’'m.™ “That'll be all, except to say from your true wife to my loving husband, and don't send less’n $5, and baby weighs eighteen pounds, and the wea ther is still cold. Thanks, sir, I'll do as much for you some day." al The Indians, a ul ope, No wars or extensive outbreaks of any kind. It was there fore a year of industry and in education. Steadily the wild, and hitherto roving tribes of the are settling down to permanent homes and are peacefully and industtiously cultivating their own lands and visions both to sell and to y now cultivate 230,000 land. The Indians exclusive w
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers