Charity. "Rich gifts that Heaven delights to see The poorest hands may hold; The love that of its poverty Gives kindly succor, prompt and free, Is worth its weight in gold. One smile can glorify a day, Ope word new hope impart; The least disciple need not say There are no alms to give away, If love be in the heart, The gentle word, the helping hand, Are needed everywhere, Fod's poor are always in the land, And :mall things done for them shal stand Largs recompense to share. qo earthly pen the tale may write Of cup or crust so given; But angels have such deeds in sight, WWrit large, in characters of light, On records kept in heaven! ARIE CURED BY A PHOTO. Charlie Cornwall and his wife enjoy- meres —- SS se——. | —-——— . might have made during that period of festive enthusiasm which usually marks the elose of bachelor life. It could not have been Stella, of the Jocosa Theatre, or that pretty girl in the pink dress that he met at Henley or—— No; he was positively sure that even if he had dis. tributed little mementoes of this nature amongst his fair friends he would not have been such a fool as to write on them so criminating a sentence as that by which he was now confronted. Mrs Cornwall, of course, observed his embarassment and naturally construed it as an admission of guilt. “Charles,” she said, “there will not be another day of happiness between us until the mystery of this photogiaph is solved and until I know who has been “My dear, don’t be silly,” said her husband, ‘‘If I tell you that I haven't the faintest recollection of having given my photo to any body, male or female, except yourself and our friends, it ought to be enough. You've no right to doubt my honor and fidelity on ac- count of a trumpery discovery like this | and if my assurance cannot satisfy you | vou must remain unsatisfied. It’s un- | ad, during the first vear or so of their marriage, the blissful belief that each | had been the other's first love, Still, | although Charlie was fully persuaded | that his Lucy had never seen anything | lovable in m before she met him, and | although Lucy was convinced that her | husband loved her with true and una- | dulterated affection, Mrs. Cornwall gould not entirely throw off the distrust of the opposite sex which is always to some extent innate 1m woman, and being | aware that there is a very popular code of ethics which makes marriage equiva- | lent to license, she kept a jealous eye | upon her husband. Nothing, however, | happened to interfere with the harmony | piness of their life together un- | rlie, having answered a very | tempting advertisement in the Field, | anent a shooting-box in Inverness-shire | which was to be let on application to a | egertain “X. Y. Z.,” and having con- eluded the necessary arrangements, had transported himself and wife thither, Upon the first day after their arrival, while Charlie went round with the keep- | #r over the ground which it was propo- | ged to break on the morrow, Mrs, Corn- | wall was pretty fully occupied in arrang- ing the house to their require- ments. rience of country house visits and seaside apartments had taught | Lucy Cornwall, among other things, | that the drawers of wash-hand stands are very n the receptacles of the most ndinary ish and odd and ends, but during all thi nee she had "yr al i 'y y } lie ext such a shock as explorations of ighland shooting box. I drawers stograph of her Charlie, one hich she remembered he had n their billing and cooing was upon which was writte in his handwriting: “From your true and affectionate Charlie, But for writing she would have | regarded this discovery as being merely an extraordinary coincidence, but the inscription was a damning f and this littl In found a of a set taken w in full swing, : remote one of the aloresal 3 fie sor 1g t 1 4] ever this L340 fact when she put two and two together, and | recalled his ardent professions of fidelity | to and affection for her at the time the | photograph was taken, at one fell swoop | was shattered the pleasant belief into | which she bad lulled herself to her | husband’s immaculate behavior before | his marriage to her. There was not an extenuating circumstance conceivable, | The photograph had certainly not been given to a man, or such an inscription | would not have graced it; but had with- | out doubt been given to some woman, | who. finding herself deceived, had | thrown it away in disgust, ! So she waited the arrival of the conscious Charlie with that stern which woman, as well as warriors, sometimes feel; determined, no matter at what cost, to find out to whom he had | been ‘‘ever true and affectionate’’ at a time when he was continually swearing that she was his only idol on earth. Her | heart beat quickly when a well-known | step and a careless whistle down stairs | proclaimed the approach of the vietim, | and she made no answer to his “*Luey! Lucy! Where are you! Here's a High- | land welcome for a fellow who has been tramping about since breakfast time, and who is tired, wet and hungry! | Hullo!” This last ejaculation was the result of | his first glimpse of his wife's face, He saw at once that something had hap- pened during his absence and therefore composed his features to a suitable | gravity. i “Why what's the matter, Lucy?’ he | continued. “You look as if" : Mrs. Cornwall cut him short with | magisterial severity. “Charles Cornwall,’”’ she said, hold- ing up the photograph, “explain this if | you please!’’ The unfortunate man gazed at his own couterfeit presentment and the | color fled from his cheeks, ‘Explain what? Explain this photo?"’ | he stammered. ‘Why, my angel, 1I| wonder you're not ashamed to keep such a hideous work of art. It was done | whilst we were sweethearting, before I grew my beard. There's a coat! There's a head of hair! Ha! ha! I never did come out well—never!”’ “Charles Cornwall.” continued his wife, still keeping her relentless gaze fixed on the unhappy man’s guilty face, “I found this photograph in a drawer upstairs, Now how did it get there?’ “My dear, good soul, how on earth am I to know?” replied Charlie. “I ve it Jo some fellow, 1 suppose, and $ “No, Charles,” said his wife, ‘‘not to some fellow. hen one man gives his carte to another, he does not as a rule describe himself as ‘ever true and affec- tionate.” Women may be fools, Charles, ‘but your wife is no fool, There's a m Here which I must and will have cleared up. O Charles, Charles! How often you have sworn to me that I “was your first and only love!" “So you were,” said Charlie; ‘‘and you can’t prove anything to the con- “No, but this ph could,” answered Mrs, Cornwall, “You've given it to some woman and I shall make it my business to find out who she was, - The wretched man groaned inwardly . and racked his brain to recall any inju- of this kind he as or ~ ry it il % i 11 $ tt L iin- i JOY warranted, it’s cruel and its absurd.” Of course, Mrs. Cornwall fell to sob- | bing at this unexpected display of spirit | and whined out something from Byron | to the effect that love was a thing apart from man’s life. but that it was wo- man’s whole existence. I'm which frame of mind the cold-blooded Charlie left her. glad at the success so far of the attitude he had taken up, but by: sure of innocence as he made | himself out to be. So for two or three days the relationship between man and | was what in political language would be termed *‘strained.” About a week afterwards came in from shooting and sad: “My dear, I met *X. Y. Z.’ to-day for time. He is very anxious to know if we are quite comfortable here | i) Charlie do himself the honor of paying us visit.” “H'm! Perhaps the lady whom you so will come with hun,” said Mrs, Cornwall, with sarcastic em- | phasis, ““We shall see,” replied her husband. “‘He didn’t say anything about bringing | Shall I ask him to?’ , of © replied ““Y ou must be anxious | hom you are ever true | and affectionate after all this time. Oh, It would be { of courtesy toward a “Oh, dear, nurse,’ Mrs, Cornwall, LO see one Yes § 0 Ww a delicate t t What is *‘X. Y. Z.’s’ name?" Richard F "re 3 ordyees.? “Fordyce like to go south again.” a sudden who had been, up to a few seconds viously, in robust health made Charlie Cornwall ponder. Why should name of Reichard Fordyce produce su a ige and immediate effect? Evi dently ther below the the past erable per- ands of | vife, he was to leave any stone untu turn the Such indisposition of one pre- the i afm - bas was something surface, and as he had during an in $1 secution at thel 1 ¥ Pie by which be could tabl her. So he replied: “Nonsense! 1 haven't accustomed already of going south ve go Besi my dear, this affair of the pho- £5 On been here | $ #3 0 i Les, ask him if he knows anything about it, Remember you have made a very grave me, and although 1 have not said much, it has been a source of great annoyance and grief to me."’ “Oh, never mind about that, Char- hie.”? said his wife; ““I haven't been very well for some days and when one isn’t well one 18s apt to be irritable at trifles, unsaid and let us get | But Charlie, whose turnfit was to be | the place a trial of a few days longer, entreaties, Mrs. Cornwall had to yield On the very next morning Charlie, as | he was smoking his after-breakfast pipe, saw Fordyce coming up the garden, but, for reasons of his own, he did not allow himself to be seen and did not go out to He listened, however, attentively and after hearing his wife run hastily down stairs, he heard Mr, Fordyee’s cheery voice sing out: | “Why, Lucey! who would have thought | of meeting vou in this out-of-the-way | corner! We haven't seen each other | since— | Here * Mrs, Cornwall, interrupting, | wall now, We must not be as we were to each other, for if my husband were to know that we were acquainted I can’t think what he would do. Asitis, T'm in a dreadful fix on account of a photo- graph of his which I found up stairs and which" At that moment Charlie, who had in- tently followed the little chat up to this point and who feared that further ab- sence on his part would prevent the truth about the photograph becoming known to him, appeared. “Glad to see you, Mr, Fordyce,” he said, extending his hand, “I don’t think you know Mrs, Cornwall—but-."’ It was difficult to say who looked the more uncomfortable, Lucy Cornwall or Richard Fordyce, and Charlie, who now saw a chance of being able to pay off long arrears of jealous persecution, en- joyed their embarrassment thoroughly and continued: “But perhaps you have met before?’ “Y.yes, Mr. Cornwall, I think I once had the pleasure,’ sheepishly murmured Fordyce, " Ld Jheagn Charlie he must have made a jolly good use of that ‘once.’ I rather think there's something more to come out,” Tut he only said: “That's all right, then; I needn't in- troduce You,’’ And to his wife's relief about the he went on wy dicious little present house and the prospects of the season AE rp SS TN SH A ens ey and of one thing and another, until she was almost lulled into a sense of security | and began to think that after all he was not 80 very anxious to solve the mystery of the photograph. She was not so well pleased, however when Charlie insisted that Fordyce should {come back to din- | ner after the day’s shooting, for she | knew very well that men wax very much more eloquent upon certain sub- jects over their after-dinner claret than in the presence of their wives. So when Fordyce had gone she seized the oppor- tunity and said to Charlie: “I think itis very inconsiderate of you, Charlie, when I tell you that I don’t feel well, to ask a man in to din- ner.” “All right, my dear,’’ replied her hus- band. ** You need not turn up if you don’t feel equal to it, and we will start for the south to-morrow if you wish it, At the same time I cannot help remark- ing upon the extraordinary suddenness of your indisposition and its coincidence | with the arrival of Mr, Fordyce upon our little world here, But as 1 have asked him to dinner, 1 can’t put him off | and I think he would remark your ab- sence, especially as he seems to be an It may be imagined that Mrs, Corn- wall’ passed a sufficiently miserable day. If she could but get hold of Fordyce she be able to off what now but he was | out on the moors and the only grain of stave naturally not be particularly eloquent on a subject which was of rather a deli- would not get much out of him. She accordingly appeared at dinner, ny affability; and nothing occurred during But when she rose the to their wine, Charlie said: “You don't mind smoke, Lucy, it will be uncommonly dull for alone in the drawing room, so us, I am sure Mr. Fordyce w the departure from con two men and . al YOu au v with pardon vent Of both gladly acquiesced. “Yes, Mr. Fordyee,’ in continuation of a ‘we are exceedingly COUrse the visitor and Lucy said Charlie, as y ff oon i & 115+ : y able here, In Yes,’ dear $ 5 Tit I, JUSt rin uj AlN all wtograph for Mr, Ford Mrs. Cornwall rose ¢ ‘harlie zeal tl § guest: } i 4 § & phe S41 Fordye unders the world and Of course, I see how ere presence of mystery 1 Luey i teve that would have no and of y %¥ x 7 as to bel a other admires course I never believed | told t sl ’ 5 bu i il has tha £ 1 any one lous, and 1 giving he i Understand, eh?’ Fordyce nodded, and Mrs. ( H entered with the photograpl 1116 { 1 r a lesson 1 don’t we gO. “1 want vou to look at it,’ is 4 p sek } 3% trial lie, in a calm, judicial lid with al tone, * x be quite cand vou, it has caused f us, and when two people marry f we did, and eacl the other’ love, such a calamity | to be impossible,” Then, turning to Mrs. Co whose exquisite misery during pose of the state of affairs to flame may be imagined, he said: **All want to do, my dear, is to clear myself | oF as 118 11rd feeling ough as 1 14 rnwall FW ARE, this ex- an old in your eves by having it plainly proved | that this photograph was never given by me to any other woman, as you suspect | to be the case." Fordyce began his answer with a roar of laughter, “Well, Mr. Cornwall,” he said at length, ‘‘vou have been so exceedingly | Mrs, Cornwall's agitation was painful to witness, If she could have frowned, | or shaken her head, or touched Fordyce | without attracting her husband’s atten. | tion she would bave done so, but she Fordyce went on. “This photograph, Mr, Cornwall, I took from the lady who is now your wife, when I was head-over-heels in love with her.” “That was going on, then, at the same time as my courtship of her,’ said Charlie, quietly. “Yes,” replied his visitor; “I was a rival of yours, although I did not even know your name."’ “And I had no idea that I had a rival,” said Charlie determined that, the arrows now wounding his wife should be well barbed, “Then, when I found that she had a hotograph of you,’ continued Fordyce, ‘I was jealous, and took it away from her. And then I lost sight of her alto- gether, although I heard she was mar- ried, forgot all about the photo—proba- bly threw it away in my disappointment ~and there it has been ever since. ”’ “Now, Mrs, Cornwall,” said her hus- band, with affected severity, *‘I hope that you are satisfied that at any rate I am not the sinner,"’ “Oh, yes, Charlie dear, of course I am!” sobbed Lucy: “I've been yery cruel and wicked, and I hope you i forgive me!” THE SOOTHING WEED, Why Men Smoke at Various Times and Places. —————— A number of literary men smoke sim ply to make an income, They have learned that with a pipe in their mouth thoughts not only come more readily, but in better order. and that while it is often difficult to get the proper word if they are not smoking, it runs to the point of the pen the moment they “light up.”” Psychologically his is the most interesting; and the reason womans kind can not grasp it probably is that psychology is not, unfortunately, taught in the ladies’ seminaries. Smoking is a great safeguard against infectious dis- eases, It is only by reading up the sub- ject scientifically in medical treatises run every day. In the country during | the summer months, when men are on | they look forward to | Then it does not so much ing. { of other | infection. It that men smoke | the hills, Their countenances little i is | i Hes own weather-beaten stand the flies, but would not only #1 t susceptible wives and dren, but would disfigure That is what a man can not ent You may have seen picnics on the among the fields, with men sm¢ can those demons spoil the summer for our TS them t viel $i LE ald Ccili~ t as well, lure, rin iv 3 er | king | and the ladies standing quite near them, With many smoking is an excuse for staying at home. A man looks foolish 1 evening doing nothing, Yetheis ired to do much. A cigar supplies | we amount of labor he requires, and he not mind the trouble of smoking it | him to stay at home | 4 it | 1 i long as it enables y and look over admiringly, and yet undemonst at his wife, income be an epicure ratively, | Should a man with a small , OF natu Il add greatly 3 home if he comix And, at hard as we or less, a cigar times Sy to hen Cry One ni 1 $id excellent st hstitule Semmens IIE ——— Type Setting in Japan. nia reel, and sane floor, i the same dancers | s and t maze of noise and | anfusion confusion bring- | ig printed order! It was a sight to be “How many different characters are there in this case, anyhow?’ wel asked our guide. Then our guide asked the printers, and none could answer bet. | ter than say: “Nobody knows, sir! no- body knows—many thousand.” Later we repeated the same question to a more | who said: ““At least | That will account for the re- | y vet out of ¥ 1 3 ii person, 50.000." to and fro of the compositors., Just why made so clear > -— Macaulay's Tribulations. In his last days Macaulay was griev- | wrote to him case might be. The historian in his journal mentions the clergyman who wrote to him three times to ask what the allusion to St. Cecilia meant in the account of the trial of Warren Hastings, A Scottish gentleman, who wished to publish a novel, wrote that he would be glad to come to London and submit his manuscript to the judgment of the essay. ist, if the latter would remit him $250, A cattle painter appealed to him, ‘“‘as he loved the fine arts,” to hire or buy him a cow to paint from. A schoolmaster in Cheltenham, who published a wretched pamphlet on British India, full of errors, received a courteous note from Macaulay pointing cus two gross mistakes, whereupon the schoolmaster issued a new edition, which was adver. tised as “revised and corrected by Lord Macaulay,” These are the penalties of popularity, and, as the story now goes, Jord Tennyson is suffering yy the same affliction. He has been obli- ged, it is said, to give up answering, even by secretary, his multitudinous correspondents, and so the manuscript they send him to his private Balaam box. SxooTs~*'1 may, Bangs did you know the Broadway street railroad rails have been painted red?’ a “No! What did they do that Snoots-—**To cover up the steal,” “Turns can be no great men with- out n Kate Field, No and there can be no grand. without grandfathers. Give mothers : the old mau a chance, Kate, The Savings Bank. You know that I lost my father and mother in my infancy, and that 1 had not a relative in the world. I was wild and thoughtless when I began my ap- prenticeship as locksmith, My master was, on the other hand, a grave, reserved man, 50 that a very few words from him were important, When for the first time he paid me a week’s wages he gad: “Peter, you do not need more than half of what 8 due you; the other half I will set aside for the savings bank.’ And so it was, I showed my book to my companion, and he told me that it was perfectly correct, That night when we laid down side by side to sleep, he said, *‘Peter, you and I can be rich, and will have noth- 1 He where the will give us the money to make the voy- age? “Haven't you your bank book?" “You call it a trifle yourself.’’ “We will make something better it.” said he striking a light. idea, Get » apita of 11"? he eried, when I had g “Nobody will ha Le ‘Received this day crowns,” I w and we will | ing on 15 1 began said I, this ought be done. 1 will not permit it.’ “Let alone.” said show You now ¢asy it is.” A fatal curiosity woke in said to him: “You can de Try another paper, poil my book, and 1 riven him my book. ve th i htest suspicion, Of ‘five hundred,’ f start Hye «1 Al HN make Ive Liu Is HIS « Al the “My frie i iI 4 £5 WOT vo § s+ Ji} FEEL he: we An this © 1 i i 4 ) 1 Way. Or 3 ghouid as jose . i possess,’ he would 11s failure would deliver not succeed, and ti i LO iid have wished him to succeed. “Tet me alone,” he sl Yr i e angry, or else mj) will tremble and I sl evervihi $A 3 i : ‘ chest, and him change arms on my watched re 1 O11 my precious b as if my heart w he took a } a few I was had come for my 3 said ale I must go at ence with LSE, counsellor’s name d my fault be alrea ded not g. and had never sh ie I'l to use * of evervihing oid Ad ritheless. F wen be autiful these Hie 1 aid Ave wor ttle Catharine rooms for so “1 have plenty make up my » Ie 3 Wii replied. ryihing. iW one Wnt} ¥ whether tT i Livin ving SOON 3 ue is served with a golden spoon or a brass The essential thing : peace with a good conscience,” At these wonds 1 could no longer find 4 Li ia \ ’ one, i3 W0 AVE i At length, however, I opened the casket and my eyes were dazzled at the contents. Un- der a blue velvet cushion glittered a set Catharine stepped to the door and called her master; but sooner had he glanced at the casket than he rudely no with the large diamond in the centre is I shook like a poplar leaf. I was “How can you think * she said, “1 “Be stilll We will examine you too!” to me, said that he should search me rine might have hidden the diamonds pale as death with her braids all un- bound. Naturally the counsellor found noth- ing on Catharine or on me. 1 remem- ber that in parting I said to the young girl: “Be patient: I will make up to you all you have suffered through me.’ The affront 1 had suffered paralyzed my conscience. I sought often to see Catharine, but seldom successfully. She said she was afraid that if we were seen together it would cause fresh suspicions, One day, however, she met me with a joyful expression. == iiGod be thanked! we are now com- tely justified. My master’s sister has written him that she forgot to put the brooch into the casket.” Nop is not jue counsellor going to my pardon “He wishes me to do 80,” she replied, “and asked me to do so for him." 1 never felt so happy before, 1 told Catharine that 1 would yet be rich and would give her a beautiful carriage, harnessed to four horses, and she prom- ised to be faithful to me, should I come for her on foot. The thing I had done still seemed nothing in comparison with the humiliation I had suffered, Palm Sunday having come I decided on the instant of the to draw my sy in order to try my fortune in fhe wor and make on ne my wife, I wished t 'alatin accompany me to the bank, but he refused, I entered the counting room. Coun- sellor Menninger was there, At first I was frightened, and then the sight of him gave me new ardor. He wasthe man who had insulted me. While I waited the sweat trickled down my limbs, and my book stuck to my fingers if it never could be shaken off, At last my turn came. The Coun- scllor put on his spectacles and looked at my book, I could hear no sound but the monotonous tickings of the clock My heart knocked hard against my side, “You have been very economical,’ said the counsellor. “Will you have coin or paper?”? I said I would have paper, and he gave me a little roll of notes on each of which was written: ‘100 crowns,” 1 trembled so that I could hardly hold these notes in my hands, and when he asked if the right sum was there I could only nod my affirmative, Sudfienly ha looked attentively at me, : ‘Are you not the locksmith,” he asks ed, “whom I had summoned on Christ. an : “Yes,” said 1. { “I am delighted to see you again. i | beg you to forgive my unjust suspicion | of you, which must have caused you { pain, If I can render you a service it | will give me great pleasure, what is the matter? Are you ill?” | {el f “No, no a back Les jut \ ow } i 100 ny KNees crying. Take i 1 i iY, And I told him all hii. I He counsellor was i id spoke a good man, He to me kindly YAR : oe v (1 bv SAW IY aespair ar Ob Curious Product Central of America The Nature in i Then each man t was still in the wa- » point of his knife sepa- aver of the inner bark from one the strip. The layer wag then taken in the fingers and gently pulled, whereupon it came away in an even sheet of the entire width and length | of the strip of bark. Twelve sheets were thus taken from each strip of bark and thrown into the water. A light broke in upon the stranger’s | mind. Without a doubt these stripe were to be sewn together into one sheet The plan seemed a good one and the | fabric thus formed might do, he thought | if no better cloth could be had. The men were not through yet, how ever, for when each strip of bark had yielded its twelve sheets, each sheet was taken from the water and gradually stretched sidewise, The spectator could hardly believe his eyes. The sheel | broadened and broadened until from g close piece of material six inches wide | it became a filmy cloud of delicate lace over three feet in width, The astonished gentleman was forced to confess that ne human-made loom ever turned out lace which could surpass in snowy whiteness | and gossamer-like delicacy that product of nature, ni AI Wins A Black and Horrible Tempest. ¥ ctriny i i i i i i ! Like all passions, anger has degrees, ascending from slight vexation through deepening clouds to rage and, finally, fury, which is a black and horrible tem- pest. In its mid-region, where it is neither too little to be motive nor toe furious to be ungovernable it has its usefulness, For all feeling is as fuel, and where there is none life has no fire, and then no flame of ascent, no glow apd nollight. Wherefore anger bestows stréngth as a motive, in this being like all But it agrees with only some and nota- bly with wr in that it is a waste of force and Anger mses up a freed YE 0 ASlaah of explo. sion, and has none left to apply te labor. Herein it is lke a stimulant, DE A Dut Zon lips a bitter and gloomy reaction,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers