TO, WEIS ROW RE % Love Makes the World go ound. Sometimes 'm faint and weary Of 1 is work-day world aoe life, With its endless round of duties, Aud all its cares and strife So tired of unmended stockings, Of buttons that won't stay on, Of answering unnumbered questions From Harry, Dick and John. Tired —of planning the dinners, Aud furnishing brains for the cook, Vith =carcq an hour of quiet thought, And never time tor a bo I marvel that we as women, Gave up our girthood's iif And took noon us the worries That (all to mother and wife, Tilll e 3 matden With no greater { or care Than the cut or the fit of a dress, Or the smoothness of her hair But when the day's work is over And still ench wee lisping tongue, When uiet reigns which all day long, With childish voices have rung, Aud when 1n the gathering twilight I draw out the easy chair, +1 feel that this world wosld be empty But for loved ones that are there! When I think of the love that is mine, Fiat tnakes my burdens its own, v grateful for my lot in | e— That "ma not a maiden lone. And so the problem now is solved, My question an answer found, "T'was ever thus and e’er wall be, That love makes the world go round. A ROMANTIC SKETCH. The following story I had direct from a son of the clergyman who performed from England to this country, where he is now 1m good business: “Qu the evening of a dark and lowry driven to the door of an inn in a manu- facturing town of Derbyshire, from which a female alighted, closely cloaked and veiled seemed to land bearted man, called him she the 8 Kil y of rare sweetness, y Cl a young person; you, good life, in the outset, m can come to you on my account in any legal way, 1 must be married. 1 y & wife within this hour; aud 3 d me a husband. at you will find a man who ake a wife; a man, not a a man who will t three sounds and give his solemn never to seek me, nor to speak to the final word of the mar- riage ceremony shall have been pro- vounced., If yom ean find such a man, ind tring him hither, aud then brivg a willing clergyman, you will do me a great favor.” “Bat the license, madam?" “I am provided, I have a special license wanting only the name of the bridegroom.’ It wok the host some little time to nake up his mind that the lady was in earnest, and that all else was right so far as the law was concerned. When he was satisfied upon these points he nodded and pleasantly smiled, Just the man ‘required was iu his employ. He went out into the stables, wheres he found Mark Conroy at work over a favorite horse, Mark was a splendid spec tal manhood, Nearly six feghtall per- feetly proportioned, with f regu- isr snd handsome, an eye IIRC a well of light, and = clustering mass of nut brown curls setting off hia shapely head, he was such a man as might win the love and esteem of any woman; and the only reason why he bad not mar. ried or courted any one of the many damsels who sought to attract him, was that bus love for his beantiful horses sugrossed his whole heart, Mark beard the landlord’s story, and went with him into the private apart- ment where the lady was, determined ¢ word, me after and she made it, though, when she had un him, standing so strong and so 1 RE y- But she got tleough with clmming from him the pledge before mentioned. by every means in his power tog glimpse of her face, but in vain, Yt he did not mass her voice, sweet to Ins ear, He loved masic, aod he did not think he should ever forget voice. It was to him an index to her character. ably ing of musie, “My dear lady,” he said, wilh a re- spectiul inclination of the head, *‘I will accept the money which you offer, be- it. Ordinarily T would not listen for a may be the weight in the balance that shall make my whele future; and, added to this, I may serve you Nob for a thousand times three hundred pounds would I lend myself to a plot that eonld work harm to yourseli.” *1t will save me, sir] oh, it will save me!” “Then 1 am ready.” *And—I have your promise" “I have given my word, It was never yet broken, and I do not think that to your harm I shall now make my first false step.” Somehow the lady seemed to be more shy than she had been at first, and once or twice she moved away from Mark, ns though she was afraid of him, aad crouched nearer to the landlord, Near at band lived an accommodating rector, He came jo, fully understanding the work Lie was to do, and after a few whispered words with the lady Le sigoi- fied his readiness to proceed. The name of Mark Conroy was filled into the li- cense, after which the work was quickly “Must 1 sign tho register?” the newly made wife bry uneasily. The insisted upon it. The law req it, Mark signed his name in a bold, strong round hand, Then the lady took the pen, and tremblingly wrote a name, “That is not the nsme by which I am known, but I have a sacred right to it, : Sis had waitin Temple.” | notes to her husband, Mark took them | and put them nto his pocket, and then | he drew from his purse a hall sovereign of gold, aud laying it upon the post of handed to his wife, { that this, to me, 18, and must ever be { while I live, a serious matier. Do not tremble, You have my word. of the man whose in rememberance who must henceforth be true to you?” { though to hide an emotion which she | did not care to have witnessed. One step, and Mark Conroy was by | her side. He took her hand, and raised it to his lips, “I do this reverently,” he said, almost {in a whisper. *‘And now, lady,” he { added, lifting his head proudly, and { stepping back, *‘know that I shall be | true to the vows this night taken upon royself. i | may command him without fear, | will never intrude, and he will never i i happily render. Adieu! May God and bless you ever!” » | was gone. The lady could not | spoken if she would, “I suppose,” said the landlord, as | the lady was ready 10 depart, ‘‘that you would have this kept a profound se. cret?” “No! nol” she cried vehemently, If | men should be upon my track—if they | should trace me to this place—tell them { that 1 am married, Tell them exactly what you have scen; but for his sake | my—my-husband’s—dn give name. Will you promise this?” The good Bouifac promised, and very shortly afterwards the arriage {| was whirling the his nos lady's ¢ rap away nto Cheshire, in the tower of the old was striking the hour of as the strauge woman drove away he Derbyshire Two hours iater—as the same bell hammer was pealing forth the eleventh hour—an- other carriage was driven rapidly’ up, from which alighted two gentlemen— { one an elderly man, with a hard, hawk- | like face, and the other, younger, and evidently a debauchee, Mark Conroy heard the srrival, and came in to see, The gentlemen were eager and breath- Had anything been seen of a young lady, appearing as the old man described, Mark contrived to whisper into the host's ear, to direct his questions, “How old was the lady?” asked the publican, “Nineteen,” answered the old man, “Was she handsome?" ‘She had the name--the shameless vizen!—of being the handsomest girl in Steflordshire,”’ Aud then the host told his story —told 40 church iid ki, less, not to molest the lady, but to protect ber into Staffordshire, for he had deter- mined to serve her if he conid, The younger man swore a big oath, and the elder man swore a bigger. were crestfallen and chagrined, Before they went away, the younger man discovered our hero, who had re. mained respeotinily in the background. “‘Hallo, Mark! Is that yourself?” And he advanced and extended haod with peifeot freedom of Yes, tay lord. just now,” “Ah, say, Mark, did you see tids girl we have been talking about?” “Why, my lord, as for seeing her, I | cannot say 1 did; but I saw the carriage, snd saw a womsu get into it and whisk AWAY. “Well, old fellow, there went the i most dainty bit of womanhood in the kingdom. Ezad! I snoposed I had her rd and fast Sir John 1s her gudr- nd had given her to me; but” h—*'she bas given us the ship. tnd bolts and iron bars » use, If she's been honestly married, Bir John's guardianship is at end. But, sav, Mark, 1 have a a manner, 1 am stopping here oat ! I: ok t been of ne an take in hand, ons things," Mark said he would give the filly a She promises tremend. | tlemen took their leave, {| "Who was that?” demanded the host, ls they drove away. { of Bently — Dick Temple.” as reemed to them best, a new man, He borrowed books, and and German schools, He had said that the three hundred pounds might be the making of him; nor did he mistake, The owner of a place near to Derby -—a raiser of thoroughbred stock—was glad to sell him a half interest, and in a very few years the horses from the sta. bles of Monkton & Conroy stood at the head of the list in Bagland. | The Earl of Bentley let his favorite { filly go to pay a betting debt, and Mark i bought the animal for twenty guineas, | Four years later the filly was known and | Derby for ten thousand pounds, and she won the money back for her noble owner in ono season, many. Mark Conroy had one greut sim of life, and in that direction he bent ' CN | manhood that any man might covet, for | it was pure, and, above all else, robust | in glowing, glorious health, | Eight years hacbelapsed since the day on whiok Mark Conroy was married, to twe-and-thirty, when he took a notion to make a tour of the continent, He {went to Paris first, and thence into Germany, From city to city, seeking | a pleasure he did not really find, until | at length he found himself in the quaint old walled eity of Ulm, on the Danube, He was standing in the quaintly con- inn, with innumerable nooks and cor. | ners, and dim recesses, when he was attracted by the sound of a famudiar voice, It was the voice of the Earl of { Bentley, and he was talking with his valet, a dark-visaged, powerful rascal, evidently engaged because of his physi. cal strength and daring, the Earl. “I have bought up her { maid, My boat is at the old landing, { I must not be seen here, Will you carry the lady to that boat?” The walet said he would do it. He | she would make no ontery, “Once she 1s in my power, i the Earl, *‘all else is simple. "” went on prove her professed marriage all a sham, | and she will marry with me, or—" The rest of the sentence was lost.” Conroy's heart beat nard and fast, {| He knew very well who was the lady | alluded to, He inquired of the landlord, however, and was informed that the ocenpant of the suite he had designated was an Eaglish lady, who had been with him several weeks-— Lady Isabel Cordelia, of Templeton, She was a beautiful womau, bat evidently unhappy. Mark Conroy found the suite of apart. nts, and did not lose sight of the en- About an hour after dark he maid out, sud saw her a man who has hiding in a Presently after that this man by another, whom he had low whistle, and the two chamber from which the maid came. A few moments, during which the watcher's heart beat furiously, and then came the sound of a smothered ery. With a bound Conroy was in the chamber, where he saw a lady strug. ghng in the grasp of two men, With a blow of his fist that might have felled an ox, he sent the valet to the floor; then with a backward sweep he sent the other against the wall; and then winding his left arm around the lady, he held her in safety, while with his right he drew a pistol and levelled it, ““My——!" exclaimed the valet, when he had picked himself up and looked upm the man who had knocked him down, "it's the horee-tamer— Conroy!” “*And you'll find him something more than that if you do pot take yourself out of this Go tell your master that Mark Conroy knows all, and that if he 15 in Ulm to-morrow morning be may suffer for itl” The two men siunk away, and then Conroy led the lady to a seat, and would have let her go, but she clung to him, He was able to speak with comparative calmuess, because he had carefully pre. pared himeeif for the meating. “Lady, I bave pot forgotten come ny you knew if not, me, even yol.” She looked up into his face, still clinging to his strong arm, and a variety of emotions were shadowed upon her surprisingly beautiful face, **You are Mark Conroy?’ “I am,’ “Do you know who I am?” “*] do.” “Do you know that you ever saw me before?’ “1 cannot say that I know, but my You may command bat you have the mate to this” Aud he drew from his bosom, where it had bung suspended from a mlxen cord about his neck, a tiny bag of fromm which he took a A moment she stood frresclute, and then while a rich glow suffused her cheeks mounting to her temples and eyes a living light, she drew from her a velvet peuch, the other half of the Conroy could contain his great heart Grasping both the lady's into her face, he said: “Lady, from that hour, of the other years—that nour in the old Derbyshire inn! have kept the faith then pledged, worthy woman, and 1 have held the devotion, I dare not, knowing who and what you are, ask you to share my lot; but Ol-if you." She put out her hand sud stopped nim. “Mark Conroy, from that hour I have not lost sight of you, I know bow youn have lived—how you have thrived and prospered" “But,” he eried, mterrupting her, “you do not know that the ons thought of yourself has Leen the blessed spirit of my uprising” “RBut—I have hoped it,” she said, “You-—have-=hoped?” *O! my husband! if you can claim me for your wife, and love me alwa I will be happy!” And so, alter the of waiting, Mack Conroy found reward; and he was not prouder or more happy than the Lady Isabel Cordelia, h of the vast estate of the Earl of ‘T'emple- ton, A distant cousin inherited the tits, but the wealth was hers, " S——— v - - i i THE LOGGING CAMP. | A Rough Life That has its Peculiar Fascinations, ——— snr A big shouldered, shaggy bearded { man in picturesque attire was musing {in front of a blazing fire at the Union | depot, Minneapolis, awaiting the de i parture of a train, His costume con- sisted of a blue Mackinaw jacket, red trousers of the same | buckled a wide, yellow leather band, “I have been in the woods a good {leg over the other and applying a {lighted paper to his pipe. *‘lt is a | rough, hard life, but there's a fascina- | tion about it somethin’ like diggin’ gold bo : | 80 that you kinder get into the way of iit and want to go back winter after win- | ter. Leastways that has been my 'speri- ence,” After a protracted interview,in which | the logger frequently strayed from his subject to spin u yarn, in which he him- self figured as the hero, facts regarding life in the lumber camps {of Minnesota and Wisconsin evolved from his inner conscionsness, A lumber camp is usually situsted in | a clearing near a good spring of water. | There are several buildings, of which the hook shanty, as it is called, is of | chief interest, Thus is built of logs and is about twenty feet wide aod sixty feet { long. The floor is of hard wood rnd | the root is composed of shake shingles, ! which are long and broad and overlap i each other in orthodox fashion, A | wooden table set on stakes nmled to {the floor extends down the middle of | the interior, Bough wooden benches | are placed on either side of the table, The spaces between the logs composing the walls of the shanty are plastered with a compound composed of cement and mud, making a building much more inhabitable during the cold days and mpights, when the mercury goes down almost out of sight, than the ave- rage dwelling houss in A sleep dimensions 1s Teo tiers of her s oo ba ide, on which th in their blankets repose in profound sintmber al hit, Vor bed-apring is a layer of bong ily mattress consists of a eit +r Wrapped 5 there their nig bemlook i tick traw obtained at the stables, A carpet mg or of old ciothes usually suflices for a pillow, and 1 t bundle a logger will declare that after a hard day's work mn the woods and a godd warm supper at night his sleep is as sweo!l as if he lay on a bed of eider down, There is a stable or two, a supply shanty, a blacksmith shop (if the camp is remote {rom settle- ment ) pig pen and chicken house. lustesd of a shake roof the stables have roofs made of straw, The boss is a conspicuous figure in every lumber camp. Ino many cases he is or a different pationalily from men who compose the crew, it having been found that when this precaution is taken there is less conflict of Whenever the word of the boss ceases to be jaw there is trouble in the He has his bed in the cook shanty, which is also the night quarters of the cook and the eookee. Avother conspicuous figure is the cook. He may be 8 Frenchman, Ger. man, lnshman, Norwegian, or of any other nationality, He reigns supreme in the cook shanty. Oceasioually his and sometimes a a nd once in a Wisconsin camp the men rebelled against the tyranny or the cook and took him out one night aud limug him to the branch of a tree, If it had not been tor the ftamely arrival of the boss, the unfortunate cook would | have been hung by the neck until dead, | Quite often the cook i= a master of the culinary art and serves the ravenous loggers who sit down at his table with i most toothsome dishes. The cookee is his lieutenant. His duties consist of potatoes and other vegetables, and rea dering lus chief what assistance he can. The men themselves are big, brawny, good -naturel fellows, who enjoy tle, rough as it 18. When a bad char | acter comes in it is not long before he | to move on, the first fall of snow, and when there is enough svow for good sledding the teams are brushed in, Wien the work i of the winter is fairly underway, there is little variation from day to day. The cook and teamsters are astir as early as half past 4 o'clock, snd breakfast is served about 6 o'clock. As likely as | not the bill of fare would comprise pork and beans, potatoes, hot bread and tea or coffee, There might be a little brown sugar to go in the coffee. Milk is a { luxury. The {able service consists of | tin dishes and plates—no crockery-—and {the meal goes on in a catch-as-cateh { fashion, {| Dinner is served in the woods, whither boss, The men stand around the fire, if it 18 & cold day, and munch their din- ner with an occasional interchange of words, There 1s a set of men for each part of the work, The awampers clear out the brush; the choppers fell the frees and trim off the branches; the sawyers di- vide the tree into loge; and the chain. men manipulate the chains dragged by the ox-teams in “toting” the logs to the skids, from which they are subsequently unloaded to sleds drawn by mules and horses. Besides these grag there are erase A SS —— | amusement that is hard to suppress, | Plugs of tobaceo, jackets and orders on | { the lumber company owning the camp fire put as wagers. As the logger does not receive his pay until the end of the i season, there is seldom any cash to change hands, Buaday is usually taken | { advantage of by the men to cut each | | other's hair, wash their clothes, write | letters, and read newspapers, The | | average logger 1s an inveterate letter | writer, and the mail boy that comes | into camp is very fat as is the one that | goes ont, The logger concluded his remark by | saying that Lo, the poor Indian, was | | Bot a success as a logger. He was too | | indolent and uncertain, No dependence | { could be put in him, consequently most lumbermen of late years refused to em- | ploy him. ‘Lhe half-breed was even | leas industrious than the red-bloooded | | child of the forest, i “The boys,” he said, *did not do! { much good with their money when they | got it,” after all their hard work and ex- | posure, When they return to town they | usually drink to excess, snd what | | doesn’t go to the till at the tap roem | is lost at the gaming table, I Oe, I. Some Predatory Birds. Many birds are especially constructed | {for feeding on the living ereatures which he buried iu the earth. As a type of this ¢! « we may take the com- mon rook, which feeds prineipally upon the grubs of the cockchafer, the wire- | | worm (itself the grub of a beetle allied | | to the fireflies of warmer countries, and | similiar beings. All these grubs are vegetable feeders and destructive to the crops, but are little suspected because {they are coucealed below the earth; | | while the rook which comes to eat them | { 18 thought to be the devourer of the | seed and the young plants which have | in reality beea destroyed by the unsus- | pected foes that lurk in darkuess, The | terrible turnip caterpillar is a much fa- | vored food of the tall is able to dig to a considerable depth, and drag the hidden cats rpillar from bis dark retreat. Wate the plow- man as he is at work, and yon { him followed by trains of rooks, | walk closely behind him in the furrow | for the purpose of picking up 1! which the plowshare has Anywhere near the seashore accompany the rooks in procuring food, sud after very weather will venture very far inland. Daring the spring of last year I was called upon to pass much timo in travel. ing upon the Scoteh ratlways, The win- ter had been a very sharp ope, and no sooner had it relaxed its grasp on the earth than the plowman were at work, In the repeated journeys winoh I made { between Edinburgh: and Glasgow 1 notioed that the gulls extended over the whole tract of country, snd that they were nearly, if pot quite, as plentiful as the rocks, ings are quite as useful as the rooks, | finding their principal food in the de- | structive grubs of the different species | of large tipu'm which are popularly called by the name of daddy long legs. Then again, there are all the predatory | birds, which for the most part live en. tirely on vertebrate ammals of their own killing, Such are the eagles hawks, | owis and shrikes, each of which groups finds its own food in its own way, and does not interfere with the others, The | eagle, for example, can successfully at- tack pigs, lambs, or even small sheep, and carry them off to its Dest, while it! | mostly lives on hares, rabbits, and even pike and salmon, Not that it disdaios the bodies of dead animals, For eagles have often been caught iu traps baited with a dead sheep or lamb; but 1t much prefers living to dead food. Some of this group, called ospreys, or sea eagles, live almost entirely on fish, i 1 rook, whose strong | will Bod which 16 ETHOS | irped gulls will 4 tt un, ol ns L488 mode Bey or ad their claws and carry away in a manner aimost unigne among birds, Holding the nook of the fish with one fool, the osprey grasps the small of its tail with the other, aud so flies off, striding as it were over the fish and effectually pre- venting it frqm struggling. drial — An Oregon Girl a mansion situated on Poverty Flat, |in the fromt yard, clenching a man's | | saddie on an Oregon horse that objected | to this proceeding, She was about the | age where “standing with reluctant feet | womanhood and children meet,” 1] offered my assistance as she was hop. ping around on her right foot, her left | foot in the stirrup, while she firmly | grasped the bridle bit in her left hand, The eayuse, meanwhile, was making mad bounds, bellowing as only an Ore- gon horse can bellow, and standing first on hia hind feet and then on his head. “No, thanks; 1 can manage | him!” she said, and vaulted into the | saddle, not sidewise but otherwise, The stant the girl gained the saddle and the horse felt that sho was there down went his head, an arch strung in his back, and away be went, jumping stiff-logged every sage-brush aix feet nigh, until horse and rider disappeared in the distance. Alter a while she came back at a thundering gallop, and reined up at the door a frifle excited, but smiling. “You sit your horse like a centaur, Where are you going Miss Oregon?” “Over to the Bully Creek Sunday school, You bet your life 1 can set him straight up, and don’t you forget i!’ | i A Clam Story. It was while we were at the Tonga Islands that I secured the services of and his boat, for the pur. pote of collecting coral and shells, We took advantage of the low tide for the tips of the One morning we were oul; 1 was in the boat, and the native, distant some wading about. Sud. denly 1 heard him yelling, and saw him waving his hands wildly sbout, My first thought was that he had I for soon saw that he was in distcesa, thought the water too shallow As I approached, I perceived that neath; he was lamenting pitecusiy, The water was very clear, and when I reached his side 1 saw the poor feliow’s leg was caught between the lids of a monstrous clam, five feat or more in length, if seems that those big clams hall sinking themselves in the dead coral; and when open, with the grest white animal showing itself, they can And To make the matter worse, the tide I immediately I first lapping his shoulders. set about trying to release him, between the halves of the shell, but that began to discolor the water showed that the knife-like blades were cutting in deeply. In desperation, I jammed the boat. hook into the auimal, but the point broke off against the iron-like shell, It i, There the poor fellow was, i just above the water, hanging » boat. You've heard of death sbb tide, but if came on the tide rose, begged of me to kill hum, I was on the pont of altem to eat ff his leg as a last resort, when it oc- curred to me fo cut the big muscle that held the valves together, There wasn't 1 minute to loose, es the walter was now nearly to the man’s chin, while his efforts to keep above it alm! sank the Hie eyes staring and veins stand- ing out, be was perfceily paralyzed with the horrors of his condition, I lashed my big kuile to a picce of bamboo that I had, and dived down to sce where to cut, Blicking the knife in at the angle between the lids of the shell, I sawed away until my breath gave out, and then I came up, Getung a new supply, I tried it again, and this time could feel the round muscle, or soollop, we call it, as big as a man’s thigh. 1 got the knife into it and cut it, and putting one foot agaiust one of the big valves, and bracing back, I the auaq OAL, fellow up. no wonder, I placed him in the canoe, and when he came to be was so grateful he He had fainted away, and leg was cut, and the bone crushed out of shape. All in all, it was about as narrow au escape as I ever saw or besrd of, wo o— - —— Ante On the Sealskin. A Lewiston, Maine, business man's wife has been away on a visii to the old home in another city, He has lived, during ber absence, ostensibly as home, but really has been living on porterhouse steaks at the bolel, and has just been elected president of a new whist club, in which he had a young red-cheeked girl for a partner, and while of course he deeply regretied the enforced absence of his own dear wile, be was managing to get along without pining away very rapidly, The other night be and his roseate partner had just swept the board, They had bad a thirieen-trick hamd and the rest of the table was nowhere, The Lewiston man went home af Things looked just thesame, He composed himself to write his castom- ary letter, begmniog, “9% is now hall- past 8 o'clock. 1 have just coms in trom my work on the books, I am much, I don’t want to burry you home, and I want you to stay as long as you feel like it, this time, for I shall not want to Jet you leave me again elo., ete.” He finished the letter and stamped and directed it, and then took = look at the stariit evening, and thinking he would finish his cigar (he never used to smoke mn the house) walked out te tha corner. .When he got back he heard a rustle in the dining-room and - The light had been moved, There was a head bending over the light. His wife's smiling face looked up out of the radiance beneath the shado and greeted him, SLe was reads ing the letter. His heart i : : § 4 i Ex 4] ; if § £ g f 5 5 : FE il i be i EE ; HH Ii Ie ; 1 i 1 g : £ £f
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