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