Beyond. “Never a word is said, But it trembles 1u the air, And the truant voice has sped To vibrate everywhere; Aud perhaps far off in eternal years The echo may ring upon our ears “Never are kind acts done To wipe the weeping eyes, But like flashes of the sun, They signal to the skies; And up above the angels read How we have helped the sorer need, “Never a day is given But it tones the after years, Aud it carries up to heaven Its sunshine or its tears; While the to-morrows stand and walt, The silent mutes by the outer gate. “There is no end to the sky, And the stars are everywhere, And time is eternity, And the here is over there; For the common deeds of the common day Are ringing bells in the Far-Away." RIT, THE DRESSMAKER. “Yes, I'm up early,” said Ms, Ford, leaning ever the side paling to talk to ber next neighbor, “I'm going to have a dressmaker to-day to start my Henrietta cloth. She lives in town" ~—Mrs, Ford’s charming home was a little out—*‘and my brother Jim has gone for her with a dog cart, Stowe is ber name; I haven't seen her. 1 seat Bob's nurse girl to engage her.” “Stowe? There, now, I guess you've done 1!" said Mrs, Sayles, raising her inquisitive little upturned nose, with brisk enjoyment to Mrs, Ford’s tall, blonde prettiness. ‘‘1t isn't best to have her if there's a young man in the house. They all fall in love with ber, so they say. She’s pretty, you kmow, in that showy sortof a way—red hair and pink cheeks—and 1 guess she knows it. Mrs. Ritter had her a while back, and Paul Ritter was crazy after her; and they say she flirted with him awfully, and then threw bim over. I presume she thought she could do bet- ter, He isn’t well off as your brother Jim, for instance,” said Mrs, Sayles, shrewdly smiling. “But Jim,” said Mrs. Ford, serenely —*Jim never falls in love. He never has once, do you know? I think it’s because he’s so superior to all girls Oh, yes, of course, I should feel dreadfully! I feel that Jim is on my responsibility while he’s with me, and I should be broken-hearted. But there isn’t the least danger with Jim." The dog cart was rolling in the drive, and Mrs, Ford went across the smooth lawn, with six-year-old Bob at her heels, 80 Jim-—tall and blonde, and handsome | like his sister—was driving slowly to | the horse block. He was turned | squarely toward the dressmaker, and | his gayly enthusiastic tones were audi- ble to Mrs, Ford. He did not appear to know when he had reached the block; he talked ab- gsorbedly on. Mrs. Ford was thankful | that Mrs. Sayles was out of hearing. “Jim!” And Jim jumped out, lifted the | dressmaker down, presented her to his sister, walked with ber up to the porch | steps and pulled forth a chair. He was | brisk and smiling. Mrs. Ford sighed with relief that the | bay-window hid them from Mrs, Bayles. “We've a nice view from here, don’t you think, Miss Stowe?” raid Jim, eagerly. “Those woods over there, with the break where the sky ——" ‘I have everything ready for you, I think, Miss Stowe,” said Mrs. Ford, distinetly, and took Miss Stowe in- doors. She intended sewing In the dining- room—it was large and cool and light; but it was on that account that Jim was wont to lounge there. The up- atairs hall would do, There was a window at the back. She took Miss Stowe upstairs, “It's rather warm,’’ she apologized, “hut it will be cooler later.” It would not be cooler before 5 o'clock, but Mrs. Ford congratulated herself warmly, For Miss Stowe was pretty, with lithe form in a blue gown, and cheeks not vulgarly pink but softly tinted, and bright eyes, *[t is very comfortable,’ she said, cheerfully. *I will take your measure, Shall you like a basque?’’ And Mrs, Ford forgot Jim in pleas ureable planning’. But at the end of fifteen minutes there was a clatter below and a rush upstairs, “Why, I've been looking for you everywhere!” said Jim in injured tones, lifting Bob from his shoulder to the top stair, He sat down in the window seat, Miss Stowe sat near the window, “Ig there anything you want, Jim?" said his sister, with severe eyes upon him, But it was doubtful whether Jim heard. He was springing after a spool Miss Stowe had dropped. «1 want to show you that old cgin I told you about, Miss Stowe,” he de- clared. “See~-1710. Ou, stop that snippiog and look at it!” Put Miss Stowe, smiling and faintly flushing, jooked at it over ber snip- 2 ng. J ' : . ¥ PIS, io Brive into the yard?” Mrs, Ford demanded, cutting a gore at a wrong angle with nervous hands, she said, - « “Oh, Jeff Lowrv? 1 must tell you about Jeff, Miss Stowe. He's been wearing a beard for two years, and he went down town the other day without it, and the fellows didn't know him. He's? **[ thought you were going driving with him?” Mrs. Ford mterposed, “Oh, it's too warm!” Jim responded, as blandly as though rattling down shady roads was indeed warmer than the up-stairs hall, His sister watched him wofully. Jim, talking to a young lady, with siniling gusto and fascinated gaze, and ioregoing a drive and the morning papers and his cigar for this alone! He had stayed in his room for three hours to escape the Kenny girls, and came nigh to dying the evening Miss Markham had called, The Kenny girls and Migs Markham did. not have red lips and shining eyes, to be sure, and if Jim had told them stories, they could never have listened so prettily as did Miss Stowe, But was she the girl for Jim? Mercy, mercy no! 1t did not serve to calm Mrs, Ford that Mrs. Sayles should come over, and, alter inquiring of the girl, bustle up stairs, Her sharp gaze fixed itself on Jim, lounging in the window, his handsome head bent toward the dressmaker and his honest blue eyes unflinchingly upon her. *Y ou dressmaking too?’ cried Mrs, Sayles, with a triumphant glance at Mrs. Ford. “You mean that you are staying away from ball game-—you?”’ “Oh, 1 don’t don’t the care for it this weather,” said Jim, unblushingly— Jim, who had breathlessly watched a game last week from the sunnyside of the grand stand, with the thermometer al ninsty-eight. Mrs, Sayles laughed delightedly. “Yes I will have a point in the back, Miss Stowe,” said Mrs. Ford, with cold ignoring of Mrs, Sayles and her rejolcings. mental Mrs. Sayles’ small keen eyes which pointed and what she But she was in a despairing tnmult, seemed periods made complete and certain had tried not to believe. He was in love with her. And with Jim, who was ardent and single-minded it was likely—it was certain to be seri- ous, And who was she? Mrs. Ford did not know-—probably nobody did. She stared at the bastings with un- seeing eyes, Jim, with his good looks and clever- ness, and family histortes for both sides of the family, with a coat-of- arms in each-—the lions on their hind legs in the centers seemed to prance before her eyes—and a whom they didn’t even know! What should she do? What her? Jim hadn't been visiting ber. She side of the cloth. was Hob? His nurse was setting the dinner table, and his mother had meant to oversee him, but He might be over playing the wrong And where a sdia with those rough little Deldens for all she knew, “Well, I just ran over,” Sayles, alrly. “1 won't you're all so busy." And Mrz, Ford knew, as down-stairs, that the Dwyers 3idwells at least would know of affairs within half an bour, “You are basting those darts too high, Miss Stowe,” said Mrs. Ford shai ply. And Miss Stowe, who the darts exactly right, raised wondering eyes, “And I rever have my collars so high—'"" Mrs, Ford stopped. *“*What 1s that?’ she cried nervously. It was a sound of feet on the Mrs, since said stay, she ras and the the state a terrified little vo'ce that Mrs, knew, “It's Rob?” she cried, flying down stairs, It was Rob in the arms of the Bel dens’ gardener, and the three small Beldens were close bahind and all talk- ing together, otherwise. “He fell out of the hammock.” “We were swinging him, you know, awful hard.” “And you ought to heard him holler.” *‘And 1 guess he's broke his leg; be came down awful hard,” Mrs. Ford gathered her boy into her arms, ‘(Go home, yon little wretches!’ she sobbed hysterically. “Oh, my baby! And 1 didn’t watch him-I didn’t know where he was! Is the leg broken?” she demanded, wildly, of Miss Stowe, who had come down with Jim and stood beside ber, “171 see,” said Miss Stowe, 1t did not seem odd to Mrs, Ford that she said it, and she was not as- tonished when the pretty dressmaker took Rob into her own arms and laid him on a sofa, She watched her dazedly, wringing hier hands, Miss Stowe rolled down the small black stockings and leaned over them, “There isn't aoything broken,” she said, tremulously, “but the right leg Is distocated at the knee, The sooner it is sot the better, and I think, Mrs, Ford, if you will let ‘me, I can do " ~The color had gone from her checks; but she held Rob's hand firmly. “Let you,” ered Mrs. Ford. if you can!” “It will hurt,” said the dressmaker; “but only a minute,” And she gave a sudden, quick, strong jerk to Rob's leg; and then sat down quite pale and faint, while the little boy cried on his mother’s arm. “1 never did it before,” she sald; but I've seen it done, and I think I did it right. The doctor will know." Mrs. Ford went upstairs an hour later. Jim was already there, watch- ing Miss Stowe make buttonholes. “How could you do it?’ Mrs, Ford cried, with eyes yet tearful. “The doctor says you did it right, and he could’nt have done it better, Rob will only have to keep still a little to get it well, Oh, I am so thankful, my dear girl, Where did you learn it?”’ “My Grandfather Gorham was a doctor,” said Miss Stowe, quietly over- casting; “and I used to drive abou! with him, and I saw him set dislocated limbs two or three times, It is simple enough—just a jerk, I was sure I could do it; but it mace me faint.” “Gorham? sald Mrs, Ford, forget ting dislocations. “My grandfather was a Gorham. I wonder if it's the same family? What was his name?"’ “Oh, “Andrew,” said the dressmaker, “And my grandmother had a cousin Andrew.” cried Miss Ford, ‘“‘in——" “Fairfield,” said Miss Stowe, smlil- ing. “Yes, Fairfield,” sald Mrs, Ford, exultantly, and the lions in the centers of the coats-of arms still visible to her quished mien, we are cousins!’ “We're cousins,” sald Jum, shook Miss Stowe’s hand with an ardor disproportionate to the degree of Kkin- ship. * * “Why, » » “Yes, she is a pretty girl,” said Mrs, Ford, wheeling Rob about the lawn a week after the accident in his discarded baby carriage, and pausing to talk Mrs, Sayles over the fence, sweet tempered were right 80 and about her me lovely and bright? And you Jim, too. Heisin love with ready—dreadfully, He told And of course she likes him, she help 1t7? ried, ter at all, do you know? him from the first. I asked her, And do you know that her mother was Gorham, too, and we're distantly con- nected, We've a history of the family for two hundred years back, and so we know what it is, BO. And they're to be mar. tee “Indeed !’ sald Mra. Sayles, in tones embittered by defeat and disappoint Peculiaritios of Painters. Protogenes, the Greek painter, 6 painting a he was an impatient man. pice i met s dog, failed in every attempt he to imitate been foam that should have the dog's mouth. He was so provoked over it that hb sponge with which be cleansed his brushes, and threw iL against the pic. ture with the intention of It happened to strike mouth and produced, to seen on 6 seized the 1) spoiling it, on the dog's the astonish- mistently to imitate. Taul Veronese, | eccentric woods and odd hahits, ity of a family at their beautiful coun- | try villa, He assumed {during his visit, claiming absolute | possession of his room, allowing not He would pot | suffer the mald to make his bed, and ! i even a servant to enter, | every morning outside of the door for | her to remove. He slipped away with. | out bidding the family good-bye, On | entering the room the servant found | the sheets of the ved missing, and at i | have stolen them. ia roll | “Alexander in the Tent i curious way of recompensing his hosts for their generous hospitality. -_—_—— Cocoanuts. As many as 17,000,000 to 20,000,000 cocoanuts come into New York City every year, chiefly from Central America, though they are grown in nearly ail the tropical countries, Those from San Blas are considered the best, They can hardly be said to have a “sea- son,’ as the 1mports are nearly con- stant through the year. A well-grown tree will yield in the rainy season two nuts in three days, Many are lost by being blown off by the high winds be- fore they are ripe, A ripe nut falls of ftself, The nuts are sorted as they are unloaded from the vessels, the inspec. tors being able to determine whether a nut is good by giving it a single tap. They ave then packed in bags of one hundred each and put into the mare ket, There are two ways of getting through this world, One way Is to make the best of it and the other is to make the worst of it. Those who take the latter course work hard for poor pay. SALLIE'S GREEN TRUNK. Heme-~-Made Plcocture Books. Pictures and ro That is the name it goes by in the family, How It came to be so called, no man knoweth; but there are excel- lent reasons why it should have been called almost anything else rather than “Sallie's Green Trunk.” In the first place, there is no one in the house whose name is Sallie; in the second place, the individual dubbed Sallie does not own the trunk, In the third place it is not a trunk. It is a roughly made pine box, perhaps eighteen inches square and six inches deep, It Is painted green, and has a trunk lid. It was made years ago by one of Ballle’s brothers, to hold his boyish treasures, and when hs outgrew it and cast it aside, Sallie appropriated iL to her own use as a receptacle for stray pictures, If any person ever needed such a re- ceptacle, that person is Sallie; for straying pictures of all kinds stray in her direction, as if endowed with an instinct that told them where they would meet with a welcome and a chance to make themselves useful, Ad. vertising cards, pictures cut from the advertising pages ot magazines, from newspapers, almanacs, fashion plates and tradesmen’s circulars; colored pictures from florists’ catalogues, from the labels of fruit cans, from webs of sheeting, from raisin boxes, soap boxes, cigar boxes, starch boxes; all come as if magic, straight to Sallie. They do everything but hover over the green jut it is not magic; it 18 solely be- cause Sallie ‘keeps an eye out’ cone This continual inpouring has been From time to time, in leisure moments, pastes these pictures, one or many at a time (according to the length of the leisure books, made Sallie cambric together moment) inlo by stitching edges. The books vary in size and thickness, the largest of them holding three or four hundred the smallest not more than fifty or even pictures, Sallie has no children of her own, but fast as they are finished, makes a book attractive to even a three. the pictures a few stones and children rhymes and jingles, it is made a able as a Christmas gift toa child enough to read. Sometimes she one of the biggest ones into the ¢ cannot provide over-ab the and things of the Springtime of life. an books and toys other good times she sends one half crippled chiid that she has heard of. Wherever they into go, full appreciation, makes the most a I 5 Keeping at It, It is a great mistake to suppose that people of great strength and great oppor tunities, It is unquestionably an ad- vantage to have both these things, but neither of them isa necessity to the man results, Some of the who have had to struggle against such Darwin was rarely able to work long He accomplished his great ting every ounce of his force and every his energy, he never wasted an hour, and by steadily keeping at it, in spite of continual ill health and of long inter- vals of semi-invalidism, he did a great work, and has left the impression upon the world of aman of extraordinary energy and working capacity. Success is rarely a matter of accident, always a matter of character, The reason why so many men fail is that so few are willing to pay the price of self denial and hard work which success exacts, No Times for Honest Men. “These are no times for honest men,” said the sad-eyed man mournfully, wistfully wiping the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand, “When 1 was young, my friend, things was different. We was a straightfor- ward people then, There wasn’t none of this modern deception and pulling of wool over people's eyes. It was my mifortune to be born in those days, 1 say misfortune because, being by na- ture a confiding person, my early tra n- ing in the straight path unfitted me for the present times, It's a sad thing, stranger, to have to reproach yoursell for being honest. Sometimes 1 almost wish 1 was like other men, A man don’t get no credit for his virtues, 1'm a constant victim of swindlers, owing to my trusting, childlike nature. “Would you believe me, my friend, if 1 were to tell you that a man gave (ne a bad half dollar a little while ago. Think of any one playing such a mean trick on a trusting man like me, I only asked him for ten cents to get some- thing to eat, for these times has con. quered me, He gave me a half dollar, stranger, and I began to have a little faith in human nature again, but when 1 went into a sal—er—a restaurant down here and bought a gl—1I mean a meal, I found out the plece was bad. Of course they would not believe me when I explained how 1’d been cheated, They kicked me out and threatened to have me arrested, I could have stood being swindled, but it hurt me, stran- ger, to be accused of working a ‘skin game,’ as they called it. It tell you I’m getting so that I’m suspicious of everybody. There don’t seem to be an honest man left in the world. You couldn’t assist me? Couldn't, eh? All right, my friend, This is only one more disappointment in an unnatural world.” Cheerfulness an Ald to Cure. There 15 a faith cure not often con- sidered, but which is in constant oper- ation and quite as effective in iis work- ings as that practiced by professional “healers” or “metaphysicians.” It is the cure brought, or assisted, by the patient's faith in his Every physician knows the desirability of in- spiring this feeling, and the best met ods of establishing this persons under his treatment are made it only in part a question of medial skill, He may be recognized ss a man of great knowledge and ability, and may lack that characteristic that makes household. doctor. h- confidence in matters of professional study. is one essential him The quality is largely a matter of welcome possession in « of tempera- ment, and its usefulness is hardly re- cognized by the fortunate practitioner, though he may conscientiously culti- vate it through knowledge of the fact that cheerfulness is better than gloom in all the relations of life. It is the gospel of cheerfulness that this man un- ravety and unsympathetic jocularity Bayes) ’ i ’ friends, but a brightness of spirits that makes glad all who meet him. i —————— Health Commandments, | at meal time, 2. Thou shalt not { any pies or put into pastry likeness {of anything that is in heavens { above or in the waters under the earth. Thou shall it or try- make unto thee the the fall ait t {cr not fall to eating For the dyspepsia will children the it | ing to digest it, | be visited upon the to | and long life and vigor upon those tha { live prudently and keep the laws © | health. 3 3. Remember thy bread to bake it { well: for he will not not hat eateth his bread as dough. 4. Thou shalt not indulge sorrow | borrow anxiety in vain, 5. Six days shalt thou wash and keep { thyself clean, and the seventh thou | shalt take a great bath, thou, and thy ’ and thy maldservant, and the stranger that is within thy gates, For6 | days man sweats and gathers filth and | bacteria enough for disease; wherefore | the Lord has blessed the bathtub and | hallowed it. lemember thy sitting-room and | bed chamber to keep them ventilated, { that thy days may be long in the land | which the Lord thy God giveth thee, 7. Thou shalt not eat hot biscuits, 8. Thou shalt not eat thy meat fried. 4. Thou shalt not swallow thy food unchewed or highly spiced, or just bhe- fore hard work, or just after it, 10. Thou shalt not keep late hours in | thy neighbor’s house, nor with thy | nelghbor’s wife, nor his manservant, ! por his madservant, nor his cards, nor | his glass, nor with anything that is thy neighbor's, be kept around or i Son, 6. Louisiana Creoles. The usual mopression obtaining econ- cerning Creoles is that they are all of them possessed of dark and swarthy complexion, hair as black as the raven’s wing and eyes of ‘‘ebon darkness.” A New Orleans acquaintance says that many have lily-white complexions, gol- den locks and “eyes of heaven's own blue.” The Creole girl 1s usually re- fined and dainty, sensitive and sympa- thetic, light hearted and sunny tem- pered. She 13 usually brought up quietly, and she is content to remain at home. Of course the majority of Creole girls are dark-—they are nut. brown maidens, i AG M55 Place two perfectly bright and clean knitting les in a glass nearly full of the water to be tested, and add eight or ten drops of acetic acid, or a teaspoon. ful of vinegar. The needles should be carefully revolved occasionally, If Jesu! be present, dark or black spots will s00n appear upon the needles, and in six or eight hours they will be covered with a gray coating. the depth of color of which will depend upon the amount of lead in the fluid. A ing it necessary, o the amount of is exceedingly small, the deposit may not be immediately detected, but atter standing for twenty- four hours becomes yellow, FOOD FOR THOUGHT: Walt till after dinner before you fall out with the conk, Benevolence and closely into each other A soft yet persistent answer turneth wway a borrowing neighbor, Virtues need a double breastplate when they battle with Hunger. To eat without enjoying what we eat is a waste of time and material, Gireat talkers ave hike leaky pitchers— everything runs out of them, One of the most difficult things for a man to learn is that he is a bore. The man who ought to listen and learn usually does most of the talking. Deviltry is not moproved in character by calling it **Christian science.”’ The biscuit may rise but it cannot explain, The orator takes the cake, It is a good thing to be able to let go the less for the sake of the greater- Health is like money—we never have a true idea of its value until we lose it, There may be too much of agood thing—of salt in the soup, for instance. The good things a man does ara hard to remember, the evil thingsare dreadful easy. He who seeks fame will have a hard road to travel, and poor fare when he gets there, It is the sins of other people that self-appointed reformers make the most fuss about, appreciation fit and al- rectify de never afraid to say ways prompt to ackowledge and a Wrong. A stitch in time saves n was said before tb was invented. A pure and great and good them ever grow old. To Heaven is gratitude, no, Le te HE ¢ sewl nople Woman is lke newspaper—-neill * # % ¥ 3 and not abuse the se, Fine sensibilities are like lelightful luxuries of beauty to round a solid, upright stem standing; but very poor sustained by strength, they creep along the groundc. isi wooo ine who im- ven tt gresiest The greatest of fools is he poses on himself, and in concern U certains which he is inks s Knows has which he i8 INOS h : To be worth anything character mus be capable of standing fi feet in this world of daily work, lemp- tation and trial, and able to bear 1 wear and tear of actual life, Ci virtues do not account for much, rly upot 4 Jas admiration given to what- the worship deference known to by vesnitivinal continua The daily ever is expensive and rare, paid to success as such, the shown to men who are even dis- morable means, afford irishment to that keen which is Source meanness and knavery. desire for the of much A true man belongs to no oll or place, but i centre Ordinarily, everybody in Seciely minds us of somewhat else, or of other person. Character, reality, minds you of nothing else; it takes piace of the whole creation. “Home is head and an infiue whether “x4 there will 3 Het oe Frenc) right when, in re- ply to the monarch “What to secure the prosperity of “Good mo rs. gd inthe home, : The home-life untain lakes, always giving, always receiving, and so clear to reflect the heavens, The home that exists mereiy for the convenience of its inmates, becomes a stagnant pool scummed over with selfishness, some Nf nce, ried Ise } Wolnan was 's question, is needed kept When we are the objects of flattery, or witness its being administered others, we should examine and sider well the character and circum- stances of the person offering it, inor- der to judge if the act be an offence against good morals, and, if so, how gar it is so, If it appears to proceed from base motives, let it be treated with opsn contempt; if from the wish for « return, pass it as a weakness; if from good nature or excessive appreci- ation, excuse it for the sake of its ami- able source. Many people cannot see their own mistakes even after they are point=d ous to them, They do un t comprehend that error is not nearly so disgraceful as the attitude they assume toward iL Until we discover and deplore our de- fects we will not take pains to remedy them. “rankne 8 in confessing faul!s is a great grace. When cne becomes so perfect in his own astimati'n that he has no occasion to confess his fauits to his neighbors, his case is well hopeless, One of the chief roots from wiuch sympathy springs isa power of Imagi- nation. We may know something about ourselves; but we are left to imagine whatever we can about other people, Now, if any one were uiterly destitute of imagipation, he would likewise be utterly destitute of sympathy. He could form no idea of the condition of others, their thoughts or feelings, temptations or needs, sorrows or joys. How could he feel with or for them if he could form no picture in his mind of what they felt? Happily no one is left in so forlorn a state, “A man’s occupation or condition,” said a well-known medical writer, *'h s a deal to do with making his faci al expression. Intellectual pursuits like the studies of a scholarly profession, when cou with tem te and mor- al habits, brighten the face and give a person superior look. Magnanimity of nature, or love of study and art, will make a bright, glad face; but contrary to this, a man may have a face that does not please anybody, because of a love of self to the exclusion of all oth- ers, notwithstanding his learning and world y shrewneos, Soldiers get a hard, 3 over-worked toilers con- " look in- look studi- to Con- erdy Hagn
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers