NIGHT THOUGHTS,
The day 1s done, and I for one,
Would at its close review,
‘What in the light have done "twas right,
And what have failed to do,
Whether, throughout my daily hours,
I've tolled for self alone,
Or whether by some small denial,
Have helped another one.
The crickets chirp their mournfull lay,
With never-faltering voice,
To the great God who reigns above,
And bids the world rejoice,
They use the talent God has given,
Inferior though it be
To that of man endowed with wisdom
And a soul for eternity
To whom the Lord hath given much,
Of him much is required;
Then let us work with dilig
Never becoming tired.
mee,
mission hare below
is but to wo will,
To help some ow-traveler
Striving to climb life's hill,
Perhaps o
Perbaps a little friendly word
Is all that we can say,
But even that is better far
Than idling time away.
fo let us work as God directs,
Asking of him each day
To show us where our duty lies
And help us to obey.
When day is done, then we as one
May, at its close, review
How in the light we've walked aright,
And tried much good to do.
A ETSI,
NELLIE’S NEIGHBOR.
“At last,” said Nellie Parsons, as she
folded the letter she had been reading,
“iat last I am an heiress! Who would
have thought it poseible?
girls?”
which consisted of two factory girls,
and toil, with but few pleasures,
The collar at Nellie's wiute throat was
gnowy in its cleanliness; but the plain,
dark dress w patched and darned in
many places; { while the face would
have graced a palace the attire spoke
of pinching poverty in every one
threadbare folds,
“A fortune!” said Mary,
There will be one less drudge on our
floor.”
be our misfortune, for we two will be
alone,
reom-mafte,
Mary.”
or take a cheaper room,
-s
letter once more. ‘‘My brother, who
left home when mother died, and never
seemed to care for me at all, has remem-
bered me on his death-bed, He has a
little child, and in looking about for
some one with whom to leave him, Dan
be kind to him,
eight miles from bere, His lawyer writes
built exsetly alike,
of them, if I will be a mother to Willie;
and Willie is to have the other when
he is a man. In the meantime, the
rent of it is to support us two, Well, I
only hope that I will like the child, and
that he wont quite distract me with his
noise,”
The uext dey there was an affection-
been companions for many a weary
month, and a few tears were shed at
the parting.
hopefuily.
you can sfiord to visit me occasionally,
and remain with me over Sunday. I'll
have something extra nice for you when
you do come.”
Nellie felt just a little nervous at the
she had never seen,
awkward with her new responsibnlity,
and perhaps canse the child to aislike
eyed, golden-haired little boy of six
sunny summers bounded into her arms,
and showered his affectionate kisses
upon ber face, calling her, “My darling
Auntie Nell!” how could she help giving
him ‘‘love for love?” And the strange-
ness of the new position was gone in an
instant,
“You're to be papa an’ mamma an’
everybody to me,” eonfided Willie,
when they had examined the new home.
“Yes, darling,” said Nellie, gently,
“Now run out and play, while I make
some arrangements for dinner,”
Willie did not need a second invita-
tion, and he soon discovered that the
other house had well kept grounds, and
that there were lovely flowers blossom-
which
piece,
“That's my house over there, an’ of
course I've got a right to the posies, ’
he reasoned, “I'm a-goin’ to make my
Auntie Nell a present of them.”
But when he attempted to squeeze
through the opening in the hedge fence,
8s dozen thorny branches reached out
and clutched him firmly,
A moment later Willie's lusty screams
bad brought a gentleman to the scene
of the aceoident,
“Make ‘em let go of me!’ cried Wil.
lie, as the gentleman, in dressing gown
and slippers, approached from ‘Willie's
cottage.”
“I was just agoin’ to get spme of
them posies to take to Auntie Nell,
They ‘long to me, ‘cause that is my
hotse, Do you live in my house?”
“Yes, my little man; and because I
pay for the use of it, the flowers are
mine, But I will send a bouquet to
yonr Auntie Nell,”
Willie eyed the stranger for a mo-
ment in silence,
“Where are your little boys?” asked
after having settled some .
a i el AT
laughed the stranger.
had quite an opening in one
”
Gb
he walked away, disdaining to notios
the stranger further, and quite forget.
ting the flowers,
“Auntie Nell,” he said, on entering
the room where Nellie was preparing
their noon meal, ‘there is a horrid man
lives in my house; and when 1 asked
where his little boys were, "cause he's
too big to fight, an’ I thought maybe
Lio had a littler boy'n me, he said there
wasn't any little boys, ‘cause he was a
patcher!”
“A bachelor!” laughed Nellie, mer-
rily. ‘Is he old, Willie!”
“Old, I guess he is, Hum! he's got
the biggest lot of tisker onto his face
ever was.”
“1 detest old bachelors!” soliloquized
Nellie, with a half-pout on her rosy-
lips; ‘and he's my nearest neighbor,
too. Dear me! I hope he doesn't keep
dogs.”’
And Mr, Leroy, as he gathered a
bouquet of his choicest lowers for Wil.
lie's “Auntie Nell,” mused in this
fashion:
boy. Delightful neighbors, I must say,
old maids, and especially cats,
she is one of those spinsters we hear of
occasionally who don’t keep cats.”
The flowers were sent to his neighbor
| by a boy who consented to do the er-
rand for a dime; but Nellie received
them as coldly as they had been pre-
| conversation with their next door neigh-
| bor,
to him,” she thought, with a warmer
glow on her cheeks,
even,”
The next day Nellie dispatehel Willie
to their neighbor with a dish of deli-
{ cious cream cakes,
Many times she obliged Willie to re-
presenting them.
| obliged for the flowers,” she said, “and
| cept these cakes in return,”
“Because,” she added, reflectively, in
undertone, never thinking that the
an
message, ‘‘an old bachelor like him will
| be glad to taste a bit of
nice,”
em,” he mused, ‘Horrid old butcher!
many at home for me,”
When Mr. Leroy opened the door in
answer to Willie's knock, Willie was
cream-cake which he had been eating,
many cakes might make
| sick,
about the child's rosy mouth as he said,
speaking rapidly, as though repeating a
well.learned lesson:
“Auntie Nell is much welcome for
She said that an oid
think these
the cakes to me.)
butcher like you would
cakes was awlully nice,
“What did he say, Willie!” asked
Nellie, as soon ss the child reached
home,
“He ain't got the least bit of mau-
pers,” said Willie, disdanfally, ‘‘May-
be, though,” he added, reflectively, "he
was 80 glad to get the cakes that he
couldn't say much,
well, it meant ‘thank you;' an’ then he
got red in the face, an’
coughed, an’ I heard him a-coughing
| in his room "till 1 got home, I wouldn't
wonder ‘s he's got the hoopin'.cough.’
“] am sure there was nothing about
my simple little return of favors to laugh
at,” said Nellie, with tears of vexahon
in her eyes.
Oo Sanday,
amuse himself,
ehnrch,
Nellie
while
Willie to
attended
loft
she
with dismay that it was raining,
umbrella,” she said, regretfully.
| dressed young man stepped forward,
| snd without waiting for a reply, held
his wmbrelia over her pretty new hat
All through the service he had ad-
mired Nellie's fresh, sweet face, and
wondered who this little stranger, in
their quiet village could be,
Glanecing up, she discovered the one
face which had attracted her own atten-
tion,
Having introduced himself and learned
ber name, in return he said:
“As you are a stranger in our village
and to me, it will be necessary for youn
to direct me to your home.”
On giving the desired directions, he
| anid;
“You live on the street with myself.”
Then began a pleasant conversation
on various topios, and each discovered
that the other was a most delightful
companion, leng before they reached
Nellie's gate,
“Such an entertaining young man!”
thought Nellie. “Can converse well on
apy subject, I hope I shall haye the
privilege of meeting him often,”
“Bach an agreeable little gill”
thought Me, Leroy. ‘Tt really does a
fellow good to meet a sensible young
lady, who oan think of somelhing be-
sids her own pretty face. I shall make
this event the begioning of a pleasant
acquaintance, if I can.”
“This is my home,” said Neliie, paua-
ing at the gate,
{0 glanced up in surprise,
At that moment a golden head ap-
peared at the door, and Willie's shrill
voice ealled oat;
“That's my Annile Nell, Mr, Bulcher-
wan, an’ you can't have her! Hay, did
1 the cakes?”
people in the drizeling
rain at the ooked into each other's
ein
“Won't you come in and have'an-
other?” she asked, shyly, with a merry
light in Ler blue eyes,
He did not wait for a second bidding,
but accepted the invitation at once,
As for Willie, Mr. Leroy soon won
pockets were perfect mines of wealth to
good little boys with blue eyes and
golden bair,
Willie was Mr. Leroy's sworn friend
from that day, and sounded ‘‘Auntie
Neil's” prawes in his ears from morning
until night,
Through the combined efforts of Mr,
Leroy and Willie, the opening in the
hedge-fence was made large enough to
endangering face or clothes, and hie was
ullowed to wander about at will, with
the understanding that Mr, Leroy was
“Auntie Nell,”
the course of
for all
three; and when Nellie’s two young
avd gathered flowers to his heart's con
tent,
mime AAI SI
Ten Plantations In India.
India. The soil and climate in
their production. During years of resi-
terprise. Chinamen, trained in their
own country to grow and manufacture
tea, were brought to the province, and
tea
The gov-
lent quality was produced,
field open to private enteprise,
greater number to companies, ori
ted and sustained by European ci
The management of some of {
est plantations has been intrusted
Scotch gardeners,
have soon made themselves acquainted
the tea growing and
tea-making, and have dispensed with
Process Of
whom have returned to their own coun
The entire work is now done by
of the province under Europe-
Most of the gardens are
laid out on tracts of mountain and for-
the land has conse-
qhently been acquired with an
which would not have been practicable
such matters are mancavring to a de-
gree which few Europeanscould follow
and haggling to an extent the most pa-
tient can scarcely hear.
Of the many thousands of pounds laid
out on these plantations a large portion
of wages, We have often seen the
people in the flelds and in the factory,
and we do not remember to have seen
them once subjected to the whip or the
They are well looked after to
prevent them from shirking work and
from stealing tea, but we have observed
no instance of cruel treatment. In fact
they know well that if cruelly or unjust.
ly treated they have only to go to the
authorites to obtain a patient hearing
We have occasionally approached a
tea plantation on a Saturday afternoon,
and we have seen them trooping away
were miles distant—with their
week's wages to spend the Sunday with
t] families and return on Sunday
night to the plantation to resume work
on Monday morning. Among tea plan-
tat the diversity
rthaoir
iia
wie
which is found in every class, but if we
can judge from what we have seen--
and we have seen much—of their rela-
tion to their workmen, we can say the
relation is as pleasant as can well be
Ms
Esproration of Alaska.
tender, Thomas Pope. Purcell reports
that before proceeding up the river the
volcano. They noticed little change in
it, except less smoke, and sand spit was
forming to the westward of it, July 8
Story reached Hatham Inlet, Into which
the Putnam river empties. He intend-
ed to ascend the river as far as his barge
jJaunch would carry him, then go nto
winter quarters. The expedition would
then divide up into sledging parties for
the purpose of exploring Northern Alas
ka. As socn as navigation reopened he
intended to come down Patnam river
and explore Natak river, which empties
into the inlet north of Putnam river.
Lieutenant Purcell reports the party all
well at the time be left. The expedis
tion intended returning next fali.
Afghan Boundary.
Sir Peter Lumsden, who was recently
disappointed in not meeting the Russian
Commission’ on the Afghan boundary,
Las turned his recent travels {o good
account. He recently read a paper be-
fore the Royal Geographical lety,
London, in which be described the
Marghab Valley and its e. He
also quoted from Captain Yale a very
interesting account of the salt lake of
Yan-Otlan. The valley of the lake is
said to be some six miles square, sur-
rounded by high hills go dificult of
ascent that there is bot a single road by
which baggage animals can reach it,
The bed of the lake is one mass of solid
salt, perfectly level, covered by an inch
or two of water. To ride over it was
like riding over ice or cement. After
ng away a surface sediment, pure
is found, whose bottom no
ta oth a egos 5
e :
which the salt is not 80 pure.
Smmmm——————
“You really do not seem to know,’
said Mrs, Moore to her husband. “how
ugly that little one is. Is she not Wil-
Ham?"
And Mr. Moore gravely answered his
wife:
“But my dear, you have already said
it 100 times, and were you to say it 100
times more Rose would not become less
ugly for ygeir saying so.”
Rosanna was a little girl of about 14.
She was their only child, and, to do her
mother justice, was really very ugly—
nay, almost revolting—with her little
gray eyes, flat nose, large mouth, thick,
protruding lips, red hair, and, above
all, a form remarkably awray,
Rose was then very ugly; but she was
a sweet girl, nevertheless, Kind and
intelligent, she possessed a mind of the
highest order.
compensated her with every good quali-
ty of the heart for the want of every
beauty of person. :
The poor little thing was profoundly
hurt as she listened to her mother’s ob-
will never get a husband.”
Eight o'clock
was sorely vexed,
“Go to bed, Rosanna,”
",
struck, Mus,
her mother to give her the kiss of good-
night,
“Tis useless, ”
you little monster,’
A tear rolled from the little one’s eye.
presented him the yet
He kissed her tenderly
“1 am not altogether miserable,”
murmured leaving the room.
she
be able tb present it to her mother
when she rose in the morning. The
She had just finished,
and, putting it by, the little 1 calmly
resigned herself rest, repose
was undisturbed,
On the morrow Rose presented
What was the pain
little ones experienc when
motlher received it and expressed
¢ of nder sentiments which
were 10 have been the sweet little one’s
reward. Her eyes
over a neighbor:
Y es she ¢
fe
gil
LT) Her
$1
wie
Ci
4
LLOse Le
2, glanced
" 8." “1 am
ugly-they are it" '—and she sought
Ler young hea
UR LNess,
And then |
wounded the littl
first lmpressio
girls of her own age;
80 good, so amiable, §
they approached, then
then eid her. Now * indee
was Lappy.
One day Mr, Moore went home in a
violent passion, and became, in conse.
quence of some trifling prevaracation,
highly incensed against his wife, Their
domestic felicity was troubled for eight
long days—for eight long days Mrs,
Moore was costinually crying.
pa in vain racked her young brains Lo
discover why; but her father still con-
tinued angry and her mother was still
continually weeping. At last she
flected in her mind how to reconcile
them.
irid-—new pangs
wae's heart
A
all the young
one
¥
¥
x
lor Mr. Moore was arranging the fire
when this was concluded he threw the
1
again, in a violent humor, cast a ferce
glance at his trembling wife, and hur-
Rosanna, deeply moved, clasped her
arms about his neck as he was about to
rise, and affectionately caressed him,
He could not reject her mmnocent coax.
ing, and the li
succeeded in ching his heart, Look in
her hands moistened handkerchief
ber weeping éves, and dried them a
ly embraced her mother, who returned
er's fondness,
The parties being now favorably dis-
posed, naught remained but to establish
the peace. This was 00 easy matter
neither would make Lhe {rst overture
little
reconciliation would uot i
She took her father’s hand between
pressed it to
hand and joined it to her father’s, as it
lay near her heart, Human pride could
embraced each other.
them both,
Six years after this, Rosanna, the ugly
Rosanna, was the ornament of every
society to which her mother presented
her. Amiable, witty and observing,
her conversation was universally court.
One summer evening the sun, which,
during the day, had shed over nature an
intense heat, had just disappeared, leav-
ing the horizon covered with long wide
braids of red—clouds more and more
dark were heaping themselves on the
eastern sky-the atmosphere was suffo-
cating, and one would deem the earth
was returning to the sun the heat she
had been receiving from the latter du-
ring the day, All was heavy and weary
~the air inhaled seemed rather to suffo-
cate that nourish A drowsy languor
overcame every one,
In a saloon, whose every window was
thrown open, might be seen ghding hers
and there in the darkened jight, groups
of young females, whose white dredses
slightly agitated by the rising breeze of
the evening, offered something mysteri.
ous and poetical wherein the imagina-
tion loved fo dwell, A low, languish.
ing whisper was then heard, like the
soothing murmur of some distant rivu-
let. A young woman sected before a
plano, was expressing ber heart's senti-
ments by an ext now
and tender, now
vis: wh but a
0 more general
silence, took place, for ers was a celes-
tial symphony,
Lord iit fis, hanson
melody that bis frame seemed
by a momentary
the
monizing with the sweet tones of the
instrument, and felt an indescribable
sensation thrill through his frame,
The music ceased, but the sweet voice
vibrated on Malton’s ear, and there was
a charm in the witty and original trifle
where he stood,
“How beautiful must that young girl
be,” thought Melon, * Happy the man
on whom may fall her choice,” and he
involuntarily sighed,
Suddenly lights are brought in, The
young woman was the ugly Rosanna.
Lord Melton was stupelied he closed
He gazed on her
her less
haunted his memory.
a second time, and he found
Lord Melton wedded Rosanna, and
men
most
of women,
Beauty deserts us;
talents, the falthiu
lives accompany us even
virtue and
ns of our
r graves,
EE
Indian Juggliers.
The jugglar is perhaps the
execution
ost famous
neatness of
m
They generally travel
in pairs, one being the musician and the
The musiclan’s
dress is certainly grotesque, and con-
wrapped around his
between his legs in many a fold,
Around
such a manner that it
lips a reed
chest in
iNsLT
FF (
keys widely sepa
the squeak of a pig to the mel
Shaking out his bag of deat
proceeds to the exect
an innocs
YiCl
ts all tl
Lal emp
i yt Pax i
t «1 from his nose and mo
after swallowing a pound of raw
fine thread is drawn (ron
nose. This is all done by a half-nake
man in an open plain. But perhaps the
gore gushes «
e
ton
ii F134
iis iila
+
3
i
which may with justice in this connec-
tion be repeated here is the mango trick,
Taking up a common garden pot, the
juggler hands it round for inspection.
He then scrapes up some of the earth
and filling the pot places over il a
shawl, and blows on the sarth, also re-
peating a prayer. This he continues
wows Lo the bystanders
a green and ten-
Again he covers the pot and
uncovers. There is a
tree in a muniature, with shapely leaf
and blossem-—and agam the tree has
height of four feet, with
full turned fruit and bark and then he
t, and before the eyes of the
spectator the tree has vanished and the
garden pot and earth are
away the shawl:
the sprouting head of
there alone.
A A—————_
To Kill the Biues,
Generally speaking if
fed with the “blues,” and cannot
why, you may be certain that it springs
from physical weakness. Instead of
iving on a sofa and courting painful
you are a despairing lover, a
hiypochondriac, or a valitudinarian, you
1 be up and stirri yourself.
of a melancholy man Is thick and
creeping sluggishly through Is
like muddy waters in a canal; the
blood of your merry, chirping phil
pher is clear and quick, brisk as a newly
Try, therefore,
to set your blood in motion. To effect
go to guzzling down brandy
gin-cock-tails, or any of
other juggling compaunds
ehohol is disguised, for every artificial
stimulant will drag you down two de-
it lifts
at barter. Try,
walk will do for
motion on rough,
you are troub-
shoul
wl
up.
always bealg
you; sel your pegs in
build a stone wall; swing an
ax over a pile of hickory or rock-mapie;
lofty tumbling," pour
ard you will soon cease to have your
Cowper did, “like an inferpal frog out
of Acheron, crowned with the ooze of
melancholy.’
SAI AI
Slag Wool.
The production of slag wool and the
appear 1o be largely on the increase,
By the action of strong jets of steam
the slag is transformed into a fibrous,
whitish silicate cotton, which, being
mineral, is Incombustible, like asbestos;
it is advantageously and extensively
pew houses with Mansard roofs, the
espace between the interior lath or pan-
eliing and the exterior covering of zinc,
slate, or tin, being filled with wool,
the effect being to protect from the
rigor of frostin winter and from intense
heat in stunmer, It is also said to pre-
vent and bursting of taps
spouts and water pipes if these are cov.
ered by the wool in winter.
Ws sn,
A—————
A Riek Temple.
A A SAIS
THE FASHIONS.
~In relation to new dresses a fresh
design in jackets for the autumn shows
| straight revers buttoned back ou the
garment from the throat to the edge of
the loose hanging fronts, a high, straight
| collar, and sleeves of rather more ample
| size at the wrist,
The first choice for street costumes
| of the highest grade thisseason and the
| coming winter will be a woolen fabric,
The richer muffs, silk velvet, plush,
| ete,, occupy a secondary position, save
i for full dress apd in-door occasions,
—A handsome tollet has the skirt of
cream-colored pongee edged with che-
| nile, The bodice is of cream and olive-
| green striped faille also edged with che-
The hat to be worn with this is
| of olive~green straw, lined with cream
| satin and trimmed with grasses and
oats. The parasol is of olive-green crape
lined with cream lace,
i nille,
| Figaro jackets are made sleeveless,
| with a small epaulet, under which are
| worn sleeves to match the skirt, These
| sleeves attached to an underbodice, and
| if the jacket be open, a vest of the dress
| material forms the front of the bodice,
| If the bodice of the dress worn be in-
| tact, the jacket is #lipped on without 11s
accompanying underbodice,
—A new feature in the models for
| autumn tailor-made costumes is the
long draperies which the English tailors
call second or double skirts. Flounces
| are abandoned on the skirt, and when
plaits are used they are shallow instead
| of being folded nearly double, as were
| the heavy skirts formerly worn, The
| plain skirt will meet with great favor
{ on account of its light weight,
—The *“dalmatique Theodora” is a
Parisian novelty for full dress, tis a
revival of the Greek chiton, so dear to
the hearts of the classic beauties ten
As its name implies, it re-
the dalmatica, It is mads of
transparent materials of and is
Wort over princesse robes, It
} gathered at
8 in folds to the edge
ned 10 the walst
sembies
lace,
faster
the 1
8 coniined 1
¥
an cash
manu.
texture, and
of boucle, tra-
ne or many
white bands of
together, when they
yusine cloth both in
Others are fine and
ors, one of them form-
t or other small pattern.
materials for autumn
1 winter wear show the roughest ef.
Many of the goods are so shabby
jt is doubtful whether they will
prove acceptable to persons of quiet
taste. The preference for tailor-made
dresges is an indication that soft woolen
fabrics will gain the ascendency. In
Paris there is a decided tendency in
favor of smooth-faced materials, and
the English models show a preponder-
ance of soft-finish and diagonal cloth,
—Some of the elegant fancy woolen
fabrics brought out recently are as ex-
pensive as silk or satin goods of fine
quality, and are far maore popular for
| street wear than either of these materi-
, if we except perhaps the dark dura-
le surahs., The new vigognes, for in-
tance, are shown with exceedingly rich
broche figures, small, but magnificently
colored, over plain, rich, darkly dyed
grounds. The broche designs, although
showing a mingling of Dersian colors,
are always in perfect harmony with the
| prevailing shade of the goods they dec-
orate, reminding one of the autumn
foliage, a trifle subdued from its Brst
vivid brilliancy of coloring, against the
background of a dull, dark September
{ sky. These rich figures are nol woven
in clusters, but detached and sprinkled
at quite wide intervals over the soft,
yandsomely finished fabrics.
—Mantels and visites are shorter
than ever; they have backs which are
ery little longer than the waist. Some
of these have large jet epaulets which
| fall over peculiarly cul sleeves lined
colored silk. They are trimmed with
Jace plaitings, draped back and front in
fichu style, and have long, square ends
drooping jet ornaments. Jerseys
| retain their hold on favor. They are
trimmed in many showy ways, and,
when of silk, are very costly. Among
| the most elegant jerseys one may be
mentioned of light-colored silk with a
| fichu plastron of garnet velvet, cuffs to
match and passementerie epaulets,
Small shawls, mantiilas, scarfs and
| hoods of lace, lined with silk, of fine
woolen goods, or of surah, tulle or em-
| broidered silk, 15 the latest style. The
mantillas and scarfs are arranged in
various ways, They are of the usaal
| fabrics,
—A Parisian costume for country
| use is of woolen guipure lace over silk.
| The false skirt Das a deep plaited
flounce, The guipure tunic forms &
| kind of round skirt raised near the left
| hip under a worsted cording. The
| waist isa kind of cloth, cuirass, It
| forms a deep point back and front.
| Over the point in the back are ribbon
| loops and Jong ends. Around the bas
{que is a fancy woolen galloon. The
| same trimming starts from the neck
and is taken down the front of the
| waist in the shape of a *‘veste Figare."™
The straight collar and tightGtting
sleaves have the same galloon, Another
simple model 1s of veiling and change-
able silk. The milk skirt has a narrow
| plaited flounce of veiling. In front of
the skirt is a plaiting of veiling. Down
either side of the skirt is a breadth of
d as Ww the
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