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