Requicsecat. All night the land in darkness slept, All night the sleapless sea Along the beaches moaned and wept And called aloud on me. Now all about the wakening land The white foam lies upon the sand. I saw across the glimmering dark The white foam rise and fall; 1 saw a drifting pbantom bark, I heard the satlors call; Then sheer upon my straining sight Fell down the curtain of the night, What ship was on the midnight deep What volces on the air? Did wandering spirits call and weep In darkness and despair? Did ever living seaman hall ‘The land with such a hopeless wail, ‘I'he flush of dawn is in the sky, The dawn breeze on the sea, The lark is singing sweet and high A winged melody; Hero on the sand, among the foam, ‘I'he tired sailors have come home, Their eyes, that stare so wide, so wide, See not the blessed light, For all the streams of death divide The morning {rom the night, Weary with tossing on her breast, “The sea at last bas given them rest. ‘I don’t know how it is,” groaned Kate Blessington, *but in our family things always happen cross-grained.”’ “What's the matter now?” said Georgia, the eldest sister, who, with a blue apron of checked domestic ging- ham tied around her waist, and her luxuriant flaxen hair confined in a red bandanna pocket-handkerchief, was cooking tomatoes for ketchup. “Why, here have the Morelields come to spend the day, and mamma has just taken to her sofa with an attack of neu- ralgia, and there’s nobody on earth to go to the train to meet the city boarder. You couldn't go, George, 1 suppose?” —with a faint gleam of hope, Georgia glanced up at the clock, and shook her head. ‘Couldn't possibly,” said she, “There isn’t time to get ready. Why don’t you send Peter?!’ “Pgter, indeed! He's cleaning the cistern out. Such a figure as he is!" “Then I'm sure,” observed Georgia, “1 don’t see what you are going to do.” “Couldn't I go, Kate?’ pleaded a small, sweet voice. And the second Miss Blessington be- came conscious of some one pulling gently at her sleeve. lv around. A tall, rosy girl stood there -a girl just arrived at the age where “brook and river meet.’ half child, half woman, but infinitely pretty in both her personalities, Sunburped, frock, and with she stood with face. A good ideal’’ said Georgia, tasting of the bubbling scarlet mass in the ket- tie. and adding a trifle more red pepper. let Chrissy gol” “But Chrissy can’t drive,’ “Oh, yes, I can!” urged Christine, the youngest and least presentable of all the Hlessingtons. “I drove old Jenks up from the farm yesterday with a load pumpkins, I've often driven him when you didn’t know it, George.”’ “Oh, you horrid tom-boyl" Georgia, balf-laughing. But Kate gave little Chrissy a sound box on the ear, wrathfully. “Christine,” said she, ‘I'm ashamed of you! You're a disgrace to the fam- ily. Don’t howl mnowl"” (as Chrissy rubbing her empurpled ear, broke into an indigrant wail), “The Morefieids will hear you. Go quick—-get on your there, an imploring ol said at the tea-table, Your new frock isn’t finished, and your old one isn’t half de- cent; and besides, you’ll be needed in the kitchen to wash dishes,’ The tears dried on Chrissy’s eyelashes at the prospect of driving old Jenks to tiie depot ail by herself, she made haste to pull a white worst- ed polo cap over her rebellious hair, and to scramble into the rather dilapi- dated buggy that was waiting at the door. ‘Get up, Jenks!” she cried, brandish ing the whip with gleeful countenance, ‘Pete, I'm going to drive to the depot!” “All right, miss,” said Peter, who, {fresh from the depths of the newly- emptied cistern, was holding old Jenks, as if there was any danger of that an- cient steed running away. “Drive keerful past Bowery Lane—he al’ays wants to turn in there—~and mind you keep a tight grip o' the reins, if you meet a load o® barrels or ane o’ them janglin’ tin-peddier’s wagons,’ Away clattered the venerable buggy, old Jenks falling into a stiff trot like an automaton horse, and Chrissy fairly radiant with delight, “Put Kate oughtn’t to have boxed my ears,” she pondered, as the first ela- tion subsided. *‘There was nothing wrong in driving the load of pumpkins home. I came by the back road, and nobody saw me, I don’t love Kate— por Georgia neither. They're always laughing at me and making fun of me, just because I grow so fast, They won't let me come into the room when they’ve got company, because I’m only a child; and they me for running races with the dog, because I'm a woman, [I wonder if they call that consistency? Never mind, 1'll pay ‘em off yet, see if 1 don’t.”’ By dint of extraordinary efforts on the part of Old Jenks, and 4 liberal ap- plication of the whip on that of his mis- tress, they contrived to reach one side of the depot building just as the train steamed away from the other. Christine looked up and down the platform, Most of had already started forth in different direc tions, but one man stood glanc- ing and down the s0ad, with a valise n a newspaper pro truding from his Stat-pocist, Chrissy hesitated what to do; then she rose 35 the y. ‘‘HaHol'’ she , in a sweet, high- soprano voice, ox Jou new pitched tom from the city — He advanced, with a rather puzzled “Yen,” said he, “lL ‘ “I've come to drive to the cot- wan” said Christine Blossington, ¥ “Jump in, please! Where's your trunk? There's room for it behind,” “My trunk is to be sent by express, But—"' “Oh, very well!” said Chrissy. ‘‘De quick, please—the horse won't stand!" The stranger cast an amused glance toward old Jenks, who certainly looked as little like a runaway steed as could be imagined as he stood there, meekly balanced on three legs, with his head hanging down. “And who are you?’ said he, pleas. antly, “One of the family?” “Oh, I'm Chrissy—the youngest girl, you know!" explained she, ““T'he youngest, eh? Are there many of you?” Chrissy eyed him with a sidelong glance, “He's curious about us,’ thought she. “Well, that's natural.”’ And she answered, complacently: “Well, there's Georgia-~she’s twenty- two. And she’s engaged to an officer in the army, although she thinks I don’t know it. And Kate is twenty, and she’s going to set her cap for the new principal of the school, At least she says so, She’s tired of making over old gowns, and dyeing old ribbon, and keeping genteel boarders. I don’tenvy the principal of the school,” Chrissy added, giving old Jenks an admonitory touch with the whip, as he showed an undue inclination to sidle toward the entrance of Bowery Lane, ‘‘Kate has got an awful temper. 8She flew into a passion and boxed my ears just before I started.’ “Boxed stranger, ation to laugh, you?" “I'm sixteen and a half,” Chrissy, almost wishing that she had not told the incident, as the crimson flush rose up to the very roots of her hair. *‘“*And she ouglhtn’t to treat me like a child! I wish she would get married and go away. I should be a deal happier without her, Ob, oh! there comes a load of barrels! Old Jenks is awfully afraid of a load of bar- rels, He always shies when he sees one,” “Lot me take the reins,’ suggested her passenger. And presently, under his charge, old Jenks, who, to do hum justice, had | evinced no particular emotion of any sort, was engineered safely past the fearful object. And then Chrissy pointed out various localitiss to him, told him about the ghost that was said to walk in old your ears!” repressing a “ Why, repeated the strong inclin- how old are the spring, and confided to him where to go if he wanted to find the finest nutting copses of the vicinity. subjects, old Jenks stopped sleepily at | the front gate of the pretty Blessington i cottage, All the Morefield heads were at the window — Mrs, Morefield, Jeannette Morefield, Susanna Mosefield, and the married Miss Morefield, whose present | name was Mrs. Josiah Stubbs, “Bless me!" sald Mra Stubbs, ina | stage whisper, “what a very genteel { young man.” “It’s the city boarder,” explained Mrs. Blessington, between the twinges of her neuralgia. **Doctor Buffer rec. { alr, | and needs change, and Doctor Buffer— { dear, good man—knew how we were situated, and that we had a nice front room to spare,’ “Humph!” commented Mrs. More- field. “He doesn’t look much like a sick man.” While Kate ran out to open the door, all smiles and freshly-tied pink rib- bons, *Is it Mr. Dorrance?’’ she said, *‘I am Miss Blessington” —with her most engaging air of welcome. ‘Please walk in. I hope you haven’t been very much tired by the journey?” “It’s Kate,”’ whispered Chrissy, sud- denly overcome by pangs of compunc- tion. “Don’t let her know I told you about her temper.” “I am afraid there is some mistake,” said the gentleman, pausing in the very act of taking his valise out of the wag- on, “My name is not Dorrance, And I was going to Mr. Falkver's place, where I have engaged board for the winter, I am John Wilder, the prin- cipal of the Graded School.” Chrissy dropped the reins, jumped out of the wagon and ran to hide her- self in the hay mows of the barn, The Morefields stared harder than ever. Kate Blessington looked infi- nitely puzzled, “Dear me!’ said she; “it’s one of Christine’s blunders. We were very foolish to bave trusted her, Do come in, Mr, Wilder”—with a still more winsome smile—‘‘and rest yourself, and have some tea. We are all anxiety to become acquainted with our new prin- cipal. Pete! Pete! don’t unbarness the horse! Go right back to the depot. Mr, Dorrance must be waiting there yet! But Mr. Wilder, with a curious ex- pression of the mouth and eyes, declin- ed Miss Blessington’s invitation, He would go immediately to Mr, Falkner’s, he said, if they would be good enough to tell him in what diree- tion it was, And so he bowed himself away, An hour or so afterward, the depot wagon from Smileybridge, the next station above, brought Mr. Dorrance, a withered little old man, who wore a wig and walked with a gold-headed cane, “There wasn’t anyone at the lower depot to meet me,” said he, “And I was told I could get a hack at Smiley- bridge, two miles further on; and I'm no walker, so I just stepped back into n; 80 here [ am! And I'd like “I'm so sorry that I said those fo ish things!” burst out Chrissy, with tears sparkling in her eyes, ‘‘Thatday, Jou know, that 1 took you for the city parder, and drove you to our house— please, please forget them! Kate and George are always telling me that I shall get into mischief with my tongue ~and now I know that they are r-r- right!” And poor Chrissy broke into a sob, m spite of all ner self-control, “My child, do not fret yourself,» said Mr, Wilder. “I will remember nothing that you would have me for- gt] At the end of the year, when the snows lay white on the hilltops, Mr. Dorrance was still boarding at the Bles- sington cottage, and tormenting every- body on the subject of his *‘diet.” Georgia was getting ready for her marriage to the army officer, Kate was lamenting her solitary biessedness, and Chrissy—little Chrissy, who was not yet seventeen—was actually engaged to Mr, Wilder, the new principal of the Grad- ed School. “Though, of course,” said Mrs, Bles- sington, ‘‘she can’t be married for a year yet, Why, she is nothing but a child!” “Hut I don’t mind walting a little while,” said Chrissy, to her fiancee. “For the family all treat me with re- spect now. Kate don’t care to box my ears any more,’ *‘I should think not,” sald Mr, Wil- der, mr ssn CU AR THE PERILS OF A COWBOY. Stampede, A letter from the wilds of Colorado gives the following interesting descrip- guard 8 till 12,” called the captain, with the additions looks The three men rose from stretched and yawned, and the pleking slouched away into the darkness, their clinking spurs sounding fainter and more indistinctly in the distance, low murmur as they handle their stak- el horses, a few hoof beats and the guard, half a mile away, are saluted with three laconic “‘relief good-nights’’ and the new guard are riding slowly around the bedded cattle, Perhaps half a dozen or so of the latter are standing and uneasily snufling toward the south- west, and the scrubby cedars of the South mingle their sweet breath with the air heavy with its weight of perfume, lowly that jar the of occasional sighs like the mutlerings The slow-riding guards start the old _. 5 songs to the cattle—quaint, old-fash- lullables—coaxing, with drowsy ens neither heelflies nor gnats to molest and roundups once in ten years lound sionally to converse THE DREAKING OF THE STORM, Eleven o'clock and the black clouds across the scud dart The bulis are on their feet, The thun- and bright horning them till they rise, factions, A motion, a rattling erash of Heaven's artillery, and the floodgates of wrath are opened, the deluge let loose, The morphoses the cattle into prehistoric yellow slickers, look phantoms as they flit around the surg- ing mass that commences to overflow back on the other. Back and around ride the threes men, ing to break and scatter anywhere, above and around it, side of the herd and settles the ques- tion, With one mighty cry of terror the panic-stricken mass surges to the oppo- site side. The living sea has broken its frail bounds and is pouring forth in terrible fury of fear, horn rattling against horn, crowding, slipping, tramp- ling and crushing, but flying us only stampeded cattle can, Side by side with the head of the herd race the guards, urging their little ponies with voices and heel, leaning forward and panting with their eagerness to go fast- er. On, on, over gullies and prairie dog holes, scarcely seeming to rely upon their feet, so little do they regard these death traps, the faithful little horses are carrying riders Indian file, with the first one racing neck-and-neck with the foremost long-horned pilgrim. A moment thus and then the rider's pistol sands a stream of fire hurtling about six inches in front of the steer’s nose and directly across his path, As the steer swerves to one Side tho poney stumbles, and horse and rider are hurl ed in front of those thundering hoofs as the herd goes rolling on. The next is now racing neck-and-neck in the first one’s place, and once more a come the heralds of the God of day to waken the world to welcome his com- ing.” The two wet and thoroughly chilled Justa hail his coming with infil. nite delight, while the feathered clioris- ters make the whole air vibrate to their musical welcome, . But two miles away lies one who will never welcome his coming more. The loving tingers of the sunshine kiss the brown balr and white set face and caress gently the cruelly bruised body. The hat has fallen off, but the cold fingers of his right hand still hold his pistol, while his left still clinch the reins connecting him with his faithful pony, whose one misstep cost both so dearly. So God's choristers sing his requiem, and so the searchers find them with God’s golden sunlight glorifying both alike, for both alike have been relieved, FOLLOWING THE HOUNDS. Cheat About Fox Hunting in England. What Its Defenders Say. The first week in November is the hunting starting point, and it con- tinues all through the winter until March without stop, check, impedi- ment or interruption, save by one inex- orable enemy. That enemy is a gentle- man popularly known as Jack Frost, No weather, be it wind, fog, hail, sleet or rain, will hinder hunting. Indeed a ‘*A southerly wind and a cloudy sings the old song, and no man {or woman who hunts) would dream of staying away from a meet because it It isa curious thing that following the hounds should offer to get a welling without minding it, the average English lady or geatiemen hunting proclivities are as much against going out in the rain as they are then in favor of it, or rather indif- Except when hunting is on the tapis they certamly *‘know en- Grener- ally a wet day keeps every one indoors, for “‘enough about at pool or pyramids in the billiard The ladies get no end of crochet vast stock of long neglected correspond. insvitable hand, ready for any shower or down up unawares, in the workl so wet; but if rain does, There is no hunting, there can be no hunting, when there is frost, two reasons: First, the ground would be too hard for the horses’ hoofs, and jumping very dangerous; second, there is no scent, hounds wouldn't Know where the fox had gone, A long spell of frost is there- fore a disastrous condition of things for fox hunters, Days and weeks go by, hopes that “this beastly weather would Last win- ter was a particularly hard one, in more than one respect, on hunting. One growl and stamp. ing but stand in their stalls and loose boxes eating their Leads off. Thus far roads are full of blanketed and hooded nags exercising with their grooms, I date say some people will differ with ne at first glance. But I wish to lay stress on the word regularly, Off and oun, as occas- ion offers, business and occupation per- thousands of others who hunt, they only hunt when they can. They hunt! whatever nags they may possess, from carriage horses to ponies. Some people hire a horse now and then, others get their friends or relatives to give in the scason, and army officers, on oc- casion, may so utilize their chargers, But such irregular proceedings cannot be dignified by the term **hunting,” or considered so, when hunting as a reg- sion. Did hunting depend upon such people, 1 am afraid it would very soon fall into disuse. Yet, I venture to say, and I think most men who know any- thing about it will agree with me, if you want to hear hunting talked up, descanted upon, praised, upheld and de- fended, you'll find it among these spas- modic sportsmen, To judge of hunting, and determine whether its observance as an annual custom is beneficial or injurious, one must weigh all the pros and cons worth considering, Judged by the principal of the greatest to the greatest number, it must fall to the ground. It affords a certain kind of sport; there is a vast amount of exhilarating excite- ment in a good run across country, if you are well mounted, and there is much that is pleasant in the social char- acter of a meet. You are thrown inal most daily contact with your neighbors; riding across country is said to give a FASHION NOTES. ~Bodices of red faille or surab, finely plaited on to a plain shoulder. piece and fastened around the waist with a belt, are very fashionable for young ladies to wear with various skirts, It is called the Odette bodice. It 13 said that the spring fashions will be remarkably rational, It Is to be hoped that this will prove true, The skirts of dresses are to be scarcely draped at all. Very many will wear the plain round skirt. ~Moire silks are also used much as underskirts, with tunics of cashmere, veiling or Bicllienne, A great success is the dolman cloth, which is covered with a pattern in relief simulating braid. This pattern, or rather this 1m- tation of braiding, is formed of a sort of frizzy velvet over a plain ground, Very pretty jackets are made of this new style of cloth. —Costumes of plain cloth or cash mere have the akirt draped up at the side over a wide panel in brald work. The close fitting amazon bodice has a DArrow platted plastron braided to match, ore simple and less expen- sive costumes have the self-colored skirt or tune draped over a striped underskirt. The striped material is also used for trimming the bodice and sleaves, —Bonnets made of gay embroidery, silver, gold, steel or jel passementerie, are worn at the theatre. Small they | are and pearched up high on the head, {| They always nave strings, which are | tied under the chin orin a long bow | pinned up tight, on each side with all sorts of jewels, These bonnets are worn with the most elaborate and gay- est open-neck evening dresses, Bonnets { are discarded only for grand opera. Feather fans rule the breeze. They are either gray or black tortoise shell, —Colored cloth will be quite the favored material, so thick, soft and smooth and shining as to resemble | thick silk, and its lights and shades so | harmonious as to recall the most beau tiful glace plushes and velvets, This fine cloth eciings closely to the figure, fitting like a glove, drapes beautifully, and will certainly be Lhe success of the spring season. Many fancy woolen materials are attempting to rival it, but without success, Sore, however, are exceedingly pretty. — Braiding looks remarkably well upon cloth, Very rich costumes and mantles are obtamned by braiding a close pattern in black over cloth of either a bright or light amber. With braided cloth fancy tissues striped with | great effect, ' are charming, forming wide stripes, | some plain, others speckled In various (colors, Bo are the phosphorescent moire velvets lovely with their brilliant | ehangeful tints glinting like sunshine on the crest of dancing waves. | Some of the new very elegant and { expensive sashribbons are made nto | pretty fichus that cover the waist and | shoulders almost entirely, The Per sian brocaded sashribbons thus ar- ranged much resemble the kerchiefs of | the Swiss peasantry, only they are of rich silk instead of cotton. The sash brought down and crossed below the | chest in front, Smshing with a large | buckle that holds the ends. In the | back there are loops and long ends fall | ing from the fichu. Some very lovely luncheon and tea gowns for summer wear are already on exhibition, These are made of China silks figured with small but gay Walteau designs, flower striped India | silk musling, real French challies as flue and sheer as the most expensive | veilings, and also a soft finished fallles {in plain shades of primrose, cresson | green, mauve, apricot, tea rose, cafe au lait, silver, fawn, bebe, blue or pale golden terra cotta with olive acces sories, These are fashioned in princess style and opened broadly over petti- coats of Persian silk net. ~The trotteur, or short costume for morning walks or shopping, is chiefly made of fancy checked cloth of va- rious shades of brown, with streaks of bright red, bine and yellow. The skirt ‘has one deep plaited flounce, with i stitched heading and short drapery. The amazon bodice, close and clinging, {comes down a few inches below the | waist and is buttoned down the front. | The out of door jacket of the same ma- | terial is lined throughout with fancy i striped silk. It is tight.fitting at the | back, with loose front; the neck is fin. ished with a turndown velvet collar and revers, and it is fastened with one double button only. ~The new silk-finished Venetien veilings are exceedingly delicate and beautiful, These come in plain shades of golden bronze, olive, Roman red, new terra cotta, moss green and other fashionable colors, and also in pale hued and neutral tints strewn with delicately colored buds and blossoms, These fabrics will be made into attrac. tive tollets for the summer season, with slight draperies and piain full skirts The corsages to such dresses will be cut in a V, or mediam low square in - : ; : I : i : : ie i g : : : Es HE 3 il Be i ; 6 fit 5 % HORSE NOTES, RE —— —Jm Gore is at the Louisville track. and he may stand training. Jockey Garrison has gone to Cali- fornia to join the Haggin stable. ~Gireen B. Morris has skipped his horses from New Orieans to Mobile. ~Mary Overton has returned to Nashville from his visit te Califor- nia, ~ American jockeys will soon be re- quired to procure a licenses to ride, as their English cousins do, — Dan Honlg’s 3 year old filly Omaha, by Tom Ochiltree, died at St. Louls, the first week in February from pneu- monia, —Columbus, O,, will have a fall run- ning weeting, commencing on Beplem- ber 6 and ending on the , in cele- bration of the Ohlo centennial, —T.ady Blueher, dam of Pirst Call, 2,214, dled at Janesville, Wis., recently. She was owned by H. D. McKlaney and was by Richards’ Belifounder. —Charles Marvin says that the Palo Alto colt will not come East next sea- son, but next year he expects to bring out a string that will do creait to Cali- fornia. — Axiom, a full brother to the great Tom Bowling and for half of which $1000 was paid as a yearling, does duly between the shafts of a dray at Lex- ington, Ky. ~The 2.20 list has an active mum- being new moterial, < the 2.19 class over fifty horses are liable for duty; of the 2.20 class the ratio increases. ~The American-bred horse Blue Grass, by Pat Malloy, out of Amy Farley, by Planet, took a prize at the recent horse show at Nottingham, England, —A number of prominent trotting horsemen and others are talking of giving a meeting at Belmont Course, They propose making the stakes $40. 000 each day, to have a $5000 purse. ~Unolala, 2.22}, sister of St. Ju- lien, 2.111, and St. Remo, 2.28}, died of paralysis at Woodburn Farm re. cently, Shé was in foal to Lord Rus- sell, and was owned by J. B. Bales, of Pittsburg. —The purchase of the stallion Alarm for $4000 vy B. G. Thomas, Dixiana Stud, Ky.. from Commodore N. W. Kittson, Erdenbeim Stud, Chestnut Hull, Pa-, is looked upon as a great bar. galn for Major Thomas, ~There is yet hope that Major Dickinson may vet become the owner of Bayonne Prince, 2.21}. Al present there 1s only a difference of $1000 be- tween the amount offered by the Major and the price asked by Mr, Cadugan, ~The Brooklyn Jockey Club elected this Board of Directors recentiy: P. J. Dwyer, M. F, Dwyer, Richard Hyde, I. C. Behman, A. C. Washington, John McCarty, John Delmar, B., A. Haggio and James Shevlin, —W. J. Gordon, of Cleveland, is m poor health and may sell ail his horses at public auction. Should his health tmprove Mr, Gordon will be represen Mambrino, Sparkie and Guy. —R, 8. Veech has secured the serv- joes of Phallas for the season ending May 1, when the horse will be returned to Hickory Grove, Phallas will be bred exclusively to Indian Hill mares, ex- cepting a few belonging to the Gilen- view Company. ~ Walter Gratz. the Philadelphia turfman, who has been spending some time in California, says he likes the Australian horse Sir Modred much bet. ter than Darebin, Mr, Gratz is pow in Mexico, and will visit the Sandwich Islands before returning to Philadel phia. —Manxman, the best stallion at Tas. carora Farm, Frederick, Md., died from infammation of the bowels re- cently. He was a chestnut borse, 15} hands. foaled 1882, by Harold, dam Fairy Belle by Belmont Tuscarora Farm is owned by C. M. DeGarmen- dia. —A Poston paper says that the for- mation of a jockey club in that city bas long been talked of, bul was never s0 near being realized as at present Charles Thayer, the manager of the Point of Pines Company, bas taken the initiative and decided to fix up the old half-mile track at the Pines, extend It to a three-quarter track, and have rac- ing there three days a week. ~The wife of a prominent breader of trotting stock, and one to the manor born, was chatting the other day with a lady friend who resides in the same house, and who has heard more horse talk than anything else for the past quarter of a century, something in the conversation caused the breeder's wife to exclaim in surprise: “Why, I don’t believe you know what a Apoiing sl” L. F. (ndignautly)—*Why, of course 1 do; the idea.” L, F. (triumph antly)—*“1t’s a mare that never had baby.” FE. 8, Edwards su that the 1
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers