When Summer Comes. When summer comes, A bh, so we longing sigh, ' ‘When summer winds are nigh, ‘When winter comes; Our pulses, like the rill That now lies cold and still Beneath the snow, Will joyous flow When summer comes. When summer comes A messenger will bring New life to everything, When summer comes; Aud unto you and me, Now parted, there may be A moment sweet, What time we meat, When summer comes, When summer comes, Ah, the sweet, longed-for day May be, yet pass away, When summer comes; And our sad feet have missed The long expected tryst; What shall we know Of joy or woe When summer comes? When summer comes, Alas, our hearts may yearn For winter to return, When summer comes; The future we forcast, We dream its joy shall last— I'o-day is fraught With but one thought, “When summer comes.” JACOB AND POLLY. Jacob Cattley was a messenger to Messrs. Perkinson, Goldchest & Co., the rich bankers in Lombard street. At least he always considered himself at- tached to the establishment as a mes- articles” with the principals, and was just barely tolerated outside on the pave- ment. at an acute angle of the building and three feet from the street doors, where customers and clerks were not likely to tumble over him. He had been hanging outside this big bank for many years now, and it had become the cus- tom of late days to send him on little errands which were not within the pro- vince of a regular which the clerks’ of Perkinson, Gold- form at any price whatever. If any- one; if balance on the books shown the way to the Bank of Engiand, or Billingsgate, or the Tower, Jacob was in the sl sand witch, gram. Jacob received no salary, but was sup- ported by voluntary contribution, like a hospital, and what those contributions amounted to in the year there had been much speculation concerni at t bank, amo the clerks, was set down, by yo! as a ‘pretty But ing bala was, to the vr Ady ngst It penny, take it altogether!” tak Jacob Cattley miserable old man, live. and always on the brink of failing at it. A shabbier old gentleman Ww not to be found; but he rags, and he always boasted a clean face under his rusty-brown top hat which he poised at the extreme back of his grey head. Hedidn his contributions, but grew thinner and more pinched with week of his outdoor service there, Still he had what the clerks called his “tips;”” and Mr. Goldchest, every Sat- urday morning, when he left the bank, and before he stepped into his carriage, the do which Mr. Catteley always opened for him, gave him something, it was 1 wr every ig iw of the certainty, closing so quickly on the gift. junior clerks thought it would a “threepenny,” Mr. Goldchest not being a liberal paymaster, in their humble opinion, forcibly expressed each quarter- day, but Jacob, probably of a reticent be emoluments, and in the rainy and frosty seasons caught many a cold and cough, and wore, winter and summer, the cotton neckerchief, relieved by white added, by way of protection, toa giraffe- like throat. Jacob was considered a poor hanger- on: but Jacob had his hangers-on 100, and people whom in his turn he took upon himself to patronize, There are always depths below depths in this eccentric world of his dependent in the background, and regularly after banking hours on Satur- days, as he waited and watched for Mr. Goldehest about noon; and this depend- veyor of penny ‘‘button-holes’ and two- regarded Mr. Cattley as a customer on Saturdays, one who was always good for a penny, sometimes even twopence, when he had been extra fortunate in the city. Jacob, it maybe said, never purchased his flowers in Lombard street; no one in that busy center had seen Jacob Cattley spend a penny-piece upon anything, but once away from the city proper, and hurrying on towards Blackfriars bridge —on the Surrey side of *which he lived and which he crossed regularly twice a day to and from **his place of business,’’ —any one who had taken the trouble to watch him—which no one ever had— would have seen Jacob somewhere in the neighborhood of Ludgate hill bar- gaining with Polly Baxter for a nosegay every Saturday afternoon. Jacob Cattley would even condescend to patronize Polly Baxter, and to occa- sionally pass a remark upon the weather, or the extent of her stock in trade; but all this was done in an austere, stand- offish way, which did not encourage conversation in return, and which was a washed-out copy of the great Goldchest manner, when the big banker skated across the pavement to his carriage. Polly Baxter did not know git and thought it was very kind of the gen- tieman in the queer-looking comforter to sav u word of two to her now and then—words which, with all their cold- ness, had a little ring in them of interest or sympathy, or something not easy to comprehend, and which the flower-girl did not attempt in any way to account for. Suddenly Jacob Cattley was missed from Lombard street, and from the neighborhood of Ludgate hill; and Polly jaxter’s basket blushed with flowers in vain for him. Every day Polly Baxter had been accustomed to see him be- tween 4 and 5 trotting homewards, with his sharp face set due south; every day he had said “Good-morning,”’ in a grave, fatherly way, and with a solemn bend of his long neck; and on Satur- days, as we have intimated, he always stopped to bargain with her for her gay- est pennyworth. And now Jacob was missing; and no one knew where Jacob lived, so that the mystery of his disap- pearance might have been solved by a friendly call, “‘He’s dead, for sixpence, poor old cove,” said one of the junior clerks, a pert and slangy and over-dressed youth, | whom Jacob had in his heart disliked, despite the offer of a penny now and then, “He's off, depend upon it. I'm sorry T was so deuced hard on him last week.” Baxter wondered more about hun than the rest of the community aware of his existence. She did not know why she should ‘bother about the old man,” but she did. He was asome- Polly thing removed from her life, a regular customer gone, and that was to be re- | grevted when regular customers were | When she had bought her | flowers at Covent Garden market in the early morning, and had taken them to | scarce, she caught | little | penny bunches for the day, herself thinking of the *‘funny bloke.’ and of his grave, old-fashioned | ways. Polly Baxter her own Living honestly, and made the best of her position by thrift and industry, | coming very close to starvation once or in i twice in the hard times which will turn cal ned ! up to the hard.workers, Still she fought | on, and had begun teach herself to read and write of late days, and to find | her way on Sundays to a little chapel | down a back street, and listen with much surprise to what they told her | there, and to wonder why it had been kept from her all these years, and why 10 er life had said a word about it, Possibly thinking of this had her think of h folk as filtered a little through ‘olly Baxter's life, think a great deal of the poor old-fash- joned little man who seemed to have y became a g made er OL ness of 1 ¢ and it speculation why he had ever pig + WETS OL ghost, matter of bought fl il on minor | 80 regular a customer, too with a sigh ¢ ith y the regular customer, how- turned up again one Saturday, six | weeks or two months after everybody thought he was dead. It was like rising up in Lombard street, ane ' taken unawares by ippearance J # indeod.” Mr. Goldchest i whom he had lost; he iano A apped aronnd his humble deg i ive fear even that there might | “eatehing’' from Mr. lose proximity, and he stepped with alacrity into his carriage and drew up his window sharply. He did not re- ward Jacob on that occasion: he gave pendent; ther accumulated during Jacob's absence from his duties, and the old man walk- ed home very thoughtfully, and with a expression of countenance, On his way home he encountered Polly Baxter, who also was disposed to take | him for a ghost, and nearly dropped | her basket into the London mud at the first sight of him. “Why, lor,’ sir, who'd have thought she exclaimed. “Thought of what?"’ curiously. “Of your iz alive and moving | about like this again. I'm so glad, | Where have you been sir? Laid up?” | This Mr. inquiry | also, but not conveyed with so much in- terest. And Lis answer was the same as before, “I've had a loss." “Not—not money?’ “I've lost my daughter; all I had in he asked, a little | being + t 1An} ’ VAS (zoldchest’s “Yes: but here, hold hard, old un,” to have any flowers to—"’ The “old un’’ hurried away from ber, heads and omnibus wheels, with almost she alacrity of youth. Reaching Gravel lane he was astonished and discomfited again to find Polly Baxter at his elbow, exceedingly red in “the face, and short of breath, “Well, you jest can stump out, guv’- nor, and no flies,’ she said. “What do you want with me?’ he asked testily now; “what is it?" “I only want to say I'm sorry like,” she blurted forth. “I didn’t think, all at once, about the flowers, and that you wanted them for her, of course, who's one now, and who was fond of flowers, twig, I see; you won't mind what I say-—will you now?” Jacob Cattley stared at her, but he croaked forth, No.” “11 never ax you again—I'll never look your way again; but take this, please, for this once, won't you?" And Polly held out his usual-sized bunch of flowers, at which the old man shrunk as though it had been a pistol levelled at him. “It isn’t for the money,” said Polly, excited now herself; “I don’t want any money—keteh ‘old, do. Jest to make believe you're them to her the same as ever, sir.” The old man stretched out a tremb- ' ling hand towards the flowers at this suggestion, and Polly thrust them into his grasp and fairly ran across the bridge again, leaving him looking after her open-mouthed, and with some salt tears brimming over his blinking eyelids and making their way down the deep furrows in his cheeks, On Monday Jacob passed her as usual on his homeward route, and with his old patronizing bow, and with a steadier stare at her too, as if no longer afraid to face her. But Polly looked the other way and would not see him-—fell into the habit of hiding from him even-—and on the following Saturday would also have eluded him, had he not come up the reverse way of the street, and taken her unawares by a flank movement, “Tet me have a good bdnech to-day a twopenny bunch,” he said, in quite a business-like manner, Polly Baxter was surprised, but she gave him the flowers he required, and “But you don’t want ’em now do you?’ she murmured, “Yes of course I do. That good thought of yours, child, last week. And I took the flowers to her.”’ “Oh!” ejaculated Polly. ¢* And shall do so every week, making believe, as vou say, that she’s waiting for them. It’s nota bad thoughtatall,”’ flowers.” “How old Polly. “About your age, I should say.” “And ailing allers was she?”’ “For the last three or four years, ves, and then away, and tius time she did not attempt to follow him. It was from this time that Jacob con- trived be as regular a customer to was your gal?” Jacob to movements of the old in fair weather o1 foul, plodding on to When 1 od flowers OWers, the winter time and grew very scare an 4 compelled to raise old man looked very pale and pinched with cold, and did not sustomary alacrity the limped painfully at times with matism which had seized hi One very cold Sunday she sale suddenly: “You ain’t well?” “Well te came on her prices, the move ong 311 contrary, : 2 - il not quite as well he answered be, perhaps,’ “1 don’t some other t hurriedly, *‘if “If a full stop. self much differenc Im ab 9 wit you're miss ‘em now,” “Thankee.”' he said gently, and he looked very hard at her from under his tangled, wiry eyebrow at's a Kind Wi thought child hat did you say name was?’ YOIll $s vour name Poll) “Yes, that's it.’ “You're wanted in OTe No. 20, My lodger, the old man used to buy flowers of vou. wants to see you precious bad.’ Ge : who £1 8 “He ain't dead then, “well, I am glad.” “Don’t see what you’ about,” said the woman sharply; no. he ain't dead vet. He's | 1, sharp enuff. ”’ Polly Baxter trudged away at once to George street, and to No. where on eried Polly; 3 : 1 ve got to be giaa “but ooking it My he world, and with very little life in him. last. and fever had followed, and this was very nearly the last of him, as the redd-faced woman had prophesied. As Polly entered the room, he smiled at her, as at an old friend. “Polly,” he said, speaking with great an old offer to me." “What's that sir?"’ “1 want you to open a credit account with me.” “And come and tell what they tell you there; will you, child? I should like to know. "”’ “To be sure I will, sir.” “When you come back from her." Then he gave his directions, which Polly Baxter carried out faithfully, un- til the end came, and Jacob Cattley was buried with his daughter, After his death, Polly Baxter went regularly to the cemetery just the same, and laid her little bunch of flowers on the grave of him who had said kind words to her in life. That was the end of him, and of the story, she thought, until one day, a week or two afterwards, a prim little gentleman in black called upon her, and asked her many questions, and made perfectly sure that she was the vender, before he surprised her with his news, Jacob Cattley had been a bit of a miser, after all, and had sc 1 to- gether, by his faithful and humble ser- vices in Lombard street, the sum of £150. He had died without a relation in the world to eare for him, and he had left his money to ‘Polly Baxter, of 39, St. James’ Row, City, E. C.,” in re- membrance of her kindness, and ‘‘in Sk i of his credit account with Polly Baxter is married now, and she and her husband haves flourishing little greengrocer’s are man’s grave at Tooting, and one grate- ful heart keeps his memory green. sam Great needs demand a great Saviour, CANADIAN SALMON POACHERS, Spearing the Fish by Torchlight---An Effective Charge of Bhot, “Well, what's up, now, Adam?” Adam had suddenly ceased paddling forward and began to back water vigor- ously, at the same time keeping his eyes fixed on a white object floating in the water at the edge of the stream, With- out answering the question he swung the canoe shoreward, and in a moment leaped out and held the white object up for inspection. It was a female salmon of about 10 pounds’ weight, which from its appearauce could not have been dead more than a few hours, Some sharp object had gashed her right side Irom spine to belly, making a wound in which Adam thrust two of his thick fingers. “What did it?” “Poachers.’’ “When?” “Last night. These infernal French- Canadian settlers will persist in burning the water during the spawning season, lead will over with it. and nothing but a dose of stop them. Suppose we lay night and fill their hides shot?" “Burning the water?” “Yes that's what they call it. It is on the ground. The calla made a bright spot in the car, and they were proud of it. The train sped along day after day, until one night when they retired they were told that the next morning would bring them into the beautiful San Joa- quin valley. When morning broke the train seemed to have been transported into a new country. The air was warm and balmy. The face of nature was entirely changed, The bleakness of winter had given place to the warmth and bloom of spring. The Boston maid- ens were awake early, They did not tire of the seene, but they discovered something that called them together in hurried consultation, They observed every few miles great growths of tall white flowers. They were strangely like callas, only they were three and four feet tall and ply enormous. They than once over this spectacle, finally understood that the flowers as callas, whisp red and it was they recognized Then they began It these the pot, beside was insignificant queens the w slopes, Suddenly the raised the window, while the other with | a quick movement seized the pot and quickly dropped it out of the w It was all done in an instant, | but Col. Woodward too much feeling for thing about it, of estern one of indow, and noone saw it, an + had them to say ar iy iV About of killing it, and the poor beast BWIINS i: ’ i die, just as {iO done.” “Certainly: kind of thing. } we shall put a st [18 go int were,’ alternoon arty of t o fish one It as't Sunday.) d the rig hi f Ww hres lease just south of ay. paying $250 for the e season, and myself and e¢ making a preliminary it were, from in order to get some | 1 privil { 16 walter, as nouth, awaiting us when we can wile limit ‘mposed 06 { t fishermen by the C made the i Aan A315 were not only fishis good U nited SU de LH INAnRLer. Adam knew what lared that th upon uch 1 1 iil of No. Bahotl was not st heavy enough 10 } eh WIO Were i ¥ wh ie] Wi Ha but a + i pelletts through olved itself int ire, and, by keeping closel ringed bank, we manage lose enough not only steal the a ‘‘hab- im at his unholy {0 see » was burning in the canoe of itant.”’ but to watch The circle of light in which he sat made the surrounding darkness im- penetrable, and his absorption in t work at hand closed his ears, h ii He ing its head right, and the Canuck was over the side, Suddenly he lifted him- self to his feet, and like the lunge steel bow, his right arm shot out and sent a spear int hissing to beautiful fish writhing on the weapon. It was strung half way down the spear The aim had “sportsman’'s in the back. How many unborn fry of the spear thrust destroyed? I was asking myself that question rang out over the water, There was a howl! from the fire canoe, and then the habitant sat down sb suddenly that the frail shell turned under him, and Moses ~his name, probably, was Baptiste and the light went ouf simultaneously, We heard him splashing about and swearing in the darkness for the next five minutes, “We may go now,” remarked Adam. “He will understand what that was for quite as well as we do, and, more, he will tell his friends, who are as much in fear of birdshot as they are of bul- lets, and, you may rely upon it, there will be no more burning of this river this season, ”’ ——————— oi A The Fate of a Calla Lilly. There was just a touch ot the pathetic as well as humorous side to a story told me recently by Col, J. H. Woodward, of San Francisco. It was an occurrence of his last trip from New York to the Pacific coast, n December, 1885, In the car were two ladies from Boston-- “old maids’ of the New England school that is, charming, ed and re- t to school OF get married, ccna — How Parisian Toys are Made, Any one who has eve: one of the in N. Y. ondered walke ugh toy-importing houses at holiday t taste «1 thie great 10 ne, ond and Ingenuity ¥ rench i WOTrKinal ndicates n there that COIN. and tl he governmens children 5 years old generally perfect, age the defect ind lower schools from 15 to 20 per cent of the affected; higher schools the proportion reaches i to 50 per cent. It far in the professional | schools. reaching fully 70 per cent. of theological students and over % per | cent of medical students, The physicians ascribe the trouble to #3 wi scholars are is worse holding books too near the eyes. It might be well to make a similar examination in our ewn coun- for this growing evil. Itisa grave mis- fortune if public education creates a | near-sighted nation. ———————— A Taxpayer. “Please, sir,’ said a man at the sta- tion who said he was a farmer, but who looked more like a tramp; *‘please, mis- ter. won't you lend me a dime? I live out in the country a piece, and will give it to you when 1 come in again. Ye see, 1 have come to town to pay my tax- es, and I find myself just ten cents short. My brother owns a farm just at the edge of town, but I hain’t got time to run over there ‘fore my train goes. Give me a dime and I'll bring you in the big- watermelon grown on my farm when they get ripe.” The Station Agent listened to the old chap’s request and finally passed over the dime. But he didn’t seem satisfied. He kept watch of the farmer, who had started of brisk- ly toward the Court House. The Sta. tion Agent watched him. He slipped into a saloon, The Agent quickly fol farmer was just wiping you,’ cried the in- NICE, BUT NOT PROFITABLE. The Patronage of Ladies in the Iles taurant—A Case in Polat, ’ The tinkle ot glasses and the subdued | clatter of dishes such as are heard in a well-condueted restaurant were keeping up a certain rhythmic movement in a fashionable lunching room of the shopping district, when a reporier stopped a moment at the desk, “You seem to be doing a thriving business,’’ he remarked, indicating as he spoke, the rows of occupied tables before him. “Hm,” replied the proprietor, let ting his eye wonder judiciously in the game direction; ‘do you know young { man that I shan't take in enough off that crowd to buy one of Macy's li tie peachblow jugs? This is the time o’ day | when the ladies, God bless "em, come | to lunch with me, and except the pleas- of their tiny faces and soft speeches, my reward must be treasured up in heaven, for certainly 1 don’t get it } here,” “Is this a straight tip?” | experienced reporter. “I'm telling vou sober truth,” restaurant man replied with much ear- | nestness of manner. ‘“Take that lady | over there, for instance, pointing to one | sitting about halfway down the ro vy one of dozens like she cane in ure queried the the sy a, ner big i x . and she is onl I here three wery day. {she and her little boy; she walked | through until she found a table unoc- | cupied an 00k The table accommodates i love you, it barely hol send a messenger { i there be any charge?’’ madam.” Come, Dickie.” and the reporter each reath and looked at one PAY another. “Olive Trees in Flower. | The olive tree, when In flower, is gn | object of rare beauty, and we think | that even as an ornamental tres the | olive should be planted everywhere. Fresno, or indeed California, is exceed- ingly well adapted to olive culture, pro- | vided the right variety is placed in the ight place. The olive trees in our immediate vicinity are now In full blossom and are setting fruit, In the olive orchard of the Fancher Creek Nursery some twenty varieties are | grown, and of these len or more are now blooming. Some varieties only two years old are literally covered with bloom, and the olives are setting freely. This speaks volumes for the success of olive culture, the profits of which are 80 large and so regular that in Europe a very few trees suffice for the sus- tainment of a family the whole year round. The olives now promising the most are the Nevadillo Blanco and the Manzanillo, both the best varieties of Spain, the former for oil and the latter for pickled fruit. The Mission does not produce a highly flavored oil, and 18 in this respect very inferior even to the Picholine, which, though small-fruited, produces a highly flavored and valuable oil, ————— An Objection to Electric Lights. Electric headlights for locomoti have been tried the Russian railways and given up. The powerful throwing a beam mile ahead of the ly the illumination of the rallway the locomotive drivers
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers