My Father's I'ortratt.
loved my father dearly, end he loved me dearly
too |
*d new, I have hie portrait, there la nothing olae
w* do
fo longing; ae, looking In the fare
Of uiy dear, old, reverend father, fraught with love
and grace,
1 remember when, tn childhood, how he amllod and
oft admired
Mv little ohtldlah, winning waya, and did what I
deal red.
And only onoe he chlded me, for eomethlng done
ami ea;
end when my eyee with tear* were washed he wiped
them with a klia.
■e wore a dark blue mantle, my eyee behold It yet,
Ad clerically ho atrodo the path until the nun did net.
Ia hli hand he held a pajwr, a abort Marked o'er
with Ink;
Ophlfni waa hta hopeful eye, intent hla prayerful
lip ;
Beneath the blooming cherry tree he walked, and
preached, and read.
Preparing for tha Sabbath day tha sermon he had
aiada.
I thought It was eo queer In pa—to talk to that white
cheat,
And cautioned me to be quite erttll, and t>adc 1110 not
to speak.
• d on the Sabbath day, with "kerchief clean and
white,
I aaw him In the pulpit stand, and then 1 thought
'twas right;
I now no longer .wonder at the strange white, papui
sheet.
For I seldom enter in the church, but there the aboel
1 nin t,
To remind me of my father In the daye he need to
preach.
In turning over paper leaves, the gospel plan to teach.
I am looking at his portrait, and "till I wonder yet
If he looke down from yonder height upon the aheete
he left.
Mj wonderlnga will never cease, but I hope to see tha
day
When sheets are scattered to the winds, and men
both preach and pray.
CHICAOO, 111. '
Satan's Mother-in-law.
In a certain town in Spain there once
lived an old woman called Aunt Holo
farnes. She possessed a crooked form,
a liideous face, and a temper so ac
cursed that Job himself would have
been unable to endure her. Her neigh
bors were so afraid of her that whenever
•he appeared in tho door of her hon o
ttiey all took to their heels. She was as
busy as a bee, and consequently had no
tittle trouble with her daughter Panfila,
who was so lazy and so great a friend of
Father Quiet that nothing short of an
earthquake would move her.
" Tou are as weak as tho tobacco of
Holland," cried Aunt Holofernes to her
daughter one morning. "A yoke of
oxen are needed to draw you from your
bs3. Tou fly from labor as from a pesti
lence. All yon want to do is to stand at
the window and watch tho boys in ho
■kreet But I've made up my mine" to
torn over a new leaf with you. Get up
directly, you shameless tiling, or JMI
make you move more swiftly than tho
wind!"
C ■ ' Penflla yawned, stretched herself,
'J arose, and, when her mother's back was
tamed, slipped out of the door.
1 Aunt Holofernes, without perceiving
J the absence of her daughter, began
■weeping the floor, muttering as sho
l did so:
\ " When I was young, girls worked
like mules."
Whish, whish, whisli, went the broom.
' And they lived as secluded as nuns."
Whish, whish, whish, went the broom.
44 Now, not one of them can be made
ho work."
Whish, whish.
" .All they ever think about is getting
i married."
Whish, whish.
" They are all—"
At this instant Aunt Holofernea
reached the porch, and beheld her
daughter standing upon tho steps, mak
ing signals to a youth across the street.
The dance of tho broom instantly
terminated in a vigorous blow across the
back of the amorous girl, which worked
the miracle of making her run.
The old woman hobbled in pursuit,
but no sooner did she rnako her appear
ance in the door than the youth fled as
swiftly as his legs would carry him.
" You accursed love-sick fool! I will
break every bone in your body !"
■ereeched the infuriated mother.
"Why?" asked Panflla. "Because
I am trying to get married? "
"You shall never get married, no,
never ! I will not allow it! " cried the
hag, flourishing her broom.
" Why will you not allow t?" asked
Panfila. "Did you not get married,
madam, and did not my grandmother
get married, and, also, my great grand
mother ? "
" There is not a day of my life that I
do not lament my marriage, for if I had
remained single yon would never liavo
■•en the light, you impudent girl," re
joined Aunt Holofernes; "and I wwh
yon to understand that although I got
married, and my mother and my grand
mother, I am firmly resolved you shall
not get married, nor my granddaughter,
■or my great-granddaughter."
In these delightful colloquies tho
mother and daughter passed their lives,
without any other result than that tho
mother each day became more ill-tem
pered, and the daughter more enamored
On one occasion, when Aunt Holo
fernes was engaged in cleaning linen, she
•ailed to Panfila to help her lift from the
fire a kettle of boiling lye.
Panflla, instead of obeying, ran to the
door to listen to a song wliich at that
instant a well-known voioe t>egan sing
ing in the street.
Anct Holofernes, seeing that her
daughter (lid not come to assist her,
grasped the kettle and tried to pour its
contents u, wm tho oloth; but Hhe was
very old and weak, and the fiery liquid,
instead of entering tho straining basket,
fell upon her feet and burned them se
verely. Hhe dropped the kettle and
gave vent to a shriek of agony, which
speedily brought Panflla to tho spot.
" Accursed one! twioo accursed one!
tiirice accursed one 1" screamed tho old
woman, transformed into a basilisk
" You can't think of anything except
getting married. May Clod permit that
you may marry the devil 1"
A few days later a young man, coming
from no one know where, made his ap
pearance in the town. He paid ardent
court to Panfila, and soon proposed to
her. Panfila, wild with joy, accepted
him. Ho entreated Aunt Holoferoeß to
give her consent to tho match, but the
old woman savagely refused. Then ho
gave her several valuable presents (he
was reputed to be immensely rich), and
Bho reconsidered her refusal, and reluct
antly gave him permission to marry her
daughter.
Preparations for the wedding were at
once commenced. While they were in
progress tho voice of tho people began
to rise in denunciation of tho stranger.
It is true that he was handsome, and
generous, and affable, and was not above
clasping in his white, jeweled fingers
the black, horny palms of tho humblest
laborers ; but they were not to bo won
over to him by his courtesy and conde
scension ; their opinion of him, though
AS rough, was also as hard ami solid a3
their hands.
The more Aunt Holofernes gazed at
her future son-in-law, the more she
disliked his looks. In spite of his thick
hair, her keen eyes detected upon bU
cranium certain protuberances that are
not to be seen upon the fieada of solute,
and she remembered with dread those
terrible words that she had hurled at lie?
daughter that memorable day when she
burned her foot with the boiling lye.
At length the wedding-day arrived.
Aunt Holofernes had made cakes and
refections—tho first sweet, and the lat
ter bitter; she had provided an olio
podrida for dinner and a harmful pro
ject for supper ; and she had prepared
barrel of wino that was very mellow ana
generous, and a plan of conduct that wu
very far from being entitled to those
epithets.
When the newly-married couple were
about to retire to the nuptial chamber,
Aunt Holofernes called her daughter
aside and whispered these words in her
ear :
"As soon as yon get in your room fas
ten all the doors and windows, and close
every aperture except the keyhole. Then
take a branch of blessed olive and wave
♦ r.er your husband. This ceremony is
customary in weddings, and signifies
that within the house the man is to l>e in
subjection to the woman.
Panfila, obedient for the first time in
her life, promised to do all that her
mother commanded.
When the bridegroom saw the branch
of olive in the hand of the bride ho lit
tered a shriek of terror, glanced wildly
around in search of some place of exit,
and then made a frantic dive through
the keyhole; for be it known that the
husband of Panflla was, as Aunt Holo
fernes had suspected, the devil in per
son. The sable individual is accredited
by fame with a great deal of knowledge,
but he learned to his cost that his mother
in-law knew far more than he. Just as
he was congratulating himself on having
made his escape, he found himself a close
prisoner in a l>ottle, the mouth of which
the old woman hod applied to the key
hole. In tones most humble, and gest
ures most pathetic, he entreated her to
set him at liberty ; but she resolutely re
fused. nobbling tip a neighboring
mountain she deposited the bottle upon
the summit, shook her withered fist
affectionately in her son-in-law's face,
and returned home rejoicing.
On the summit of that mountain his
Botanic Majesty remained ten years.
During that time tho earth was as tran
quil as a pool of oil. .Everybody at
tended to his own business instead of
his neighbor's; robl>ery eamo to bo a
word without signification; weapons
moldored, gunpowder was consumed
only in artificial fires, the prisons were
empty ; in fact, during this decade only
one deploreble event hapixmed—tho
lawyers all <'ied of starvation !
But, alas! this happy period could not
last forever. Everything in this werld
has to have an end, except tho discourses
of some eloquent orators. Tho end of
this enviable decode was brought alxout
in the following manner :
A certain soldier had obtained per
mission to visit his home, which was in
the same town in which tho events wo
are narrating transpired. The road that
he took wound around the base of the
lofty mountain upon whose summit the
husband of Panflla was imprisoned.
Reaching the foot of the mountain the
soldier determined to cross it instead of
going around it. On arriving at the
summit he beheld the laittlo in
which the son-in-law of Aunt Holo
fernes had for tho last ten years dragged
out a horrible existence, curung all
mothers-in-law past, present and future,
and composing and reciting satires
against the invention of cleansing linen
with lye. The soldier picked up tho
bottle, held it np in the light, and per
ceived tho devil who, with the lapse of
years, fasting, the hot rays of the nun,
and in ten ae mental suffering, had be
come as withered OH a dried plum.
" What monstrosity is this?" he ox
claimed, in wonder.
"I am that honorable and much
nlniHed personage whom men call the
devil," humbly and courteously replied
the captive. "My wicked motther-in
luw—oh that I had her now in my
claws! —lias kept ine imprisoned here
for ton years. Bet mo free, valiant war
rior, and I will grout you any favor you
may ask of me."
" I wish nil honorable discharge from
the army," said the soldier.
" You shall have it. Let me out now
as speedily as jsissible, for it is a mon
strous shame to keep shut up, in this
revolutionary time, the foremost revolu
tionist in the world."
The soldier half uncorked the bottle.
From the opening thus made came a
mophitio vapor which almost suffocated
him. Ho sneezed violently, and with
the palm of his hand gave the cork a
blow which submerged it so deeply that
the bottom of it struck the head of the
devil; causing him to give utterance to a
cry of pain.
"What are you doing, you vile earth
worm?" ho exclaimed. "Let me out
ns you promised ! "
( " Hold a bit!" said the soldier. "1
think the service you ask of me is worth
a larger reward than you have offered,
| In addition to an honorable discharge
from the army, I desire a thousiuid
i doubloons."
" lou avaricious hound, I have no
money !" cried the devil.
The soldier looked incredulous.
"Hy Satan ! by Lucifer ! by Beelze
bub ! I haven't a single maravedi 1"
i screamed the devil.
" Haven't a single maravedi I You're
u great monarch, you are I" said the
soldier, contemptuously.
" I have no need of money, and so
j I don't keep any," said the prisoner.
"You have need of money now, for
without it you will not get loose. Give
i me 1,000 doubloons, and I will set you
free ; refuse, and I will leave you here
on this mountain."
" I tell you I have no money 1" vocif
| crated the devil.
The soldier placed the bottle on the
ground.
"Well, I guess I'd better tie jogging
| along,"he said. "Good-by."
Ho lwgan to descend the mountain.
"Coino back I come back!" whined
' the captive. " I have indeed no money,
| but I will get soma for you."
The soldier retraced his steps.
" How will you got it for me?" he
asked.
"Set me free," said the captive, "and
I will enter into the body of the Pi bices*
of this kingdom. She will lie very ill,
and the royal physicians will lie sum
moned to attend her; bnt none of them
will be able to cure her. At the proper
time do you present yourself at the
palace and offer to restore her to health,
placing your compensation at a thousand
; doubloons. The King loves her dearly,
j ami will accede to your terms. After
you have doctored her for a short time 1
will go forth from her liody, leaving her
in perfect health, and you will then re
ceive your money."
"Agreed," said the soldier.
He uncorked thelnittie, and the devil
departed and entered into the body of
| the Princess. Bhe became very ill. Tho
royal physicians were summoned, but
were unable to euro her. Tho King was
in the extremeat affliction.
At the proper time tho soldier pre
sented himself at thepalaco and offered
I to cure the princess for a thousand donb
j loons. The King admitted his services,
but only on one condition—if the enre
was not effected within three days tho
presumptuous doctor was to lie hanged.
To this condition the Boldicr, who was
j very confident of success, raised not the
I least objection.
Unfortunately tho devil heard the bar
gain.
The first day passed without the re
covery of the Princess.
The uoond day passed and still she
lay groaning ujion her couch. Then
I tho soldier began to suspect that the
I dovil intended to remain in the Is sly of
j the Princess more than three days, for
the purpose of having him hanged. But
he did not despair.
When the supjxised docfor called on
tho evening of tho third day he beheld a
scaffold in front of tho ]>alaee. Enter
ing the sick-room, lis found the i>atient
worse.
The King commanded him to Ins
seized and hanged.
" Wait a moment," said the soldier,
calmly; " I have not yet exhausted all
of my resources."
He left the palace and gave orders iu
tho name of tho Princess that all the
hells in tho place should bo rung.
When ho returned the dovil nsked
him ;
"What are those liells ringing for?"
" They are ringing for tho arrival of
your mother-in-law, whom I liavo sent
for," answered the soldier.
The dovil shrieked, and fled so swiftly
that a ray of light would have been un
able to overtake him.
The Princess, frood from her torment
or, arose from her couch in perfect
health. The King was overjoyed at her
recovery, nod gnvo the soldier thrico the
sum that ho had promised.
Literary Construction.
Bret 11 arte writes only when ho feels
in tho mood, hut with most painstaking
earo, sometimes inditing very quickly,
sometimes slowly, and often, after all, re
morselessly destroying what ho has writ
ten. Wilkin Collins produces slowly
and revises constantly, inventing his
plots us rapidly. Ho will go over a pas
sage again and again, bestowing equal
share on Iho sound and meaning, and re
duces his incidents mercilessly.
Victor Hugo is never interrupted
when writing, and will sit completely
absorbed for hours, keeping steadily on,
while ho is in tho humor. Miss Prod
don writes only for a few hours daily,
but devotes her life to acquiring tho
technical knowledge necessary for so
voluminous a writer, and her subject is
clearly thought out before pen is put to
paper, Hlio writes with her blotting
pad on her knee, comfortably enseonsed
in tho chair she loves, her copy very
clear and free from corrections, and bus
always u good store of skeleton plots on
hand. Miss Edgeworth'# plan was to
write a rough skeleton, which she placed
before her father, and then wrote and
re-wrote it until loath were satisfied.
Mrs. Opie wrote slowly, but with great
mental effort, and invariably reinl her
compositions to friends before commit
ting them to print. Charlotte Bronte's
manuscripts were first written in a small
lwok and then carefully copied, accord
ing to the poet Rogers' plan, who ad
vised to write little and seldom, re-read
ing it from time to time and re-copying
often. French writers, as a rule, devote
each morning to their labors, and take a
holiday the rest of tho day, sometimes
resuming their work in the evening, and
many of our English writers have a
strong predelietiou for the midnight oil.
Jowett recommends daily labors of short
duration; and attention to diet and rides
of health have, there is little doubt, a
controlling power even over tho inspira
tion of tho js-n. Jules Bimon, Corlyle,
Gladstone, Buskin and hosts of others
are early risers, and show by practice
their belief that the morning hours, in
which they are freshest and strongest,
lw>th in inir.l and liody, should Iwi de
voted to work. But the condition under
which writers can produce their work
ntost largely depends on constitution
and personal feeling. While Victor
Hugo could not lie disturbed, Paul de
Cassngnae will send forth aluvt after
sheet in the midst of the ehattering of
friends with tho same piwer of mental
concentration as Bir Walter Scott, who
appears to have written some of the most
vivid scenes in his novels, not only in
tho midst of overburdened anxieties, but
amid distracting interruptions. Wliilo
Gombetta writes with only a sheet of pa
jxir liefore liiin, no litter of pamphlets,
and no apparent work of reference,
Thiers used to sit surrounded hy
books ; and Dumas keeps atemt him on
a writing table, with many pigeon-holes,
a store id all kind of tempting paper—
deeming nothing so appetizing as fine
piqier. Bunion sits at s large lint table
as does Carlyle, with a rending easel
near at hand ; and Wilkio Collins usee
the same massive table whence Dickens
sent so many of his works into the
w< >r'd-
On Kdueatlon.
It is conceded that s knowledge of the
German language is desirable. The
same may he said of the French and
Scandinavian languages. There are see
tiotis of the United States* almost on
tirely populated by immigrants from
France, other and larger sections have
been settled by Scandinavians. If we
must have German taught in our com
mon schools, the same argument applies
to the language of France, Sweden, Nor
way and other countries from which we
are constantly receiving large accessions
to our heterogenous population.
But tho free schools of this country
were never designed to afford a liberal
education. There are, in the illimitable
field of human knowledge, a vast num
ber of desirable things with which these
schools have no legitimate connection.
The object of free public instruction is
to fit children for citizenship and busi
ness. It is not right to tax oil the
jicnple for the benefit of z low. Only a
limited iiumbci oi children have time
to acquire more than n thorough educa
tion, in what are called the lower En
glish branches. They are compelled to
leave school and go to work at fifteen or
sixteen years of age. It is not right to
tax the parents of such pupils, to give
ornamental educations to the sons
and daughters of wealthy jiarents.—
Wiuhington Pout.
OVR of the most thriving industries ot
New York city is the importation of Ital
ian beggars, for which the market is
quoted firm and advancing. Tho dex
terity, insinuating address and smooth
mendacity of this particular brand of
beggars have given them the call over
all other kinds. If home industries are
to lie protected at all thero is obviously
need of the amendment of the tariff.
Italian lieggars should stand a specific
duty of 8100 a hod, an ad-valorem tax
lining, for reasons unnecessary to mar
tion. ont of the question.
A toper stood in front of a type foun
dry, spelling ont the sign as follows :
"Type f-o-n-n, fonn, d-r-y, dry, foun,
dry. Tha's jes' my condish'n. I'm that
sort of a type myself—foun, dry."
.tfaiiui'.tng a CUT*.
it la often charged that people living
In cities urc calloused and hard-hearted,
but incidents transpire dally to provo
that the contrary is true. A casein point
happened yesterday morning on Gratiot
avenue. An old man wn* leading a large,
fat cow into the city. The noise and
confusion excited her, and when lie
reached Hustings street lie had more than
ho could do. Twenty boys at once vol
unteered to assist him without hope of
reward and they cheerfully called to
their assistance about half its many dog*.
The cow had made up h<?r mind not to
stir a foot, hut in less than ten minutes
the boys lmd run her against a street ear,
cleared half a block of sidewalk, driven
her in and out a hardware store, pulled a
hitching post out by the roots, and
quieted her down in several other re
spects. Then a policeman appeared and
wanted to know why that cow didn't
move on, ami while the crowd was tak
ing a breathing spell he volunteered to
lead her a few squares, No man ever
lmd a purer motive, and no man ever put
in five such jumps to get into a grocery
before two horns got into him. At this
juncture a citizen came along in an open
buggy. If lie had been oalloueed and
hard hearted, he would have trotted past
without a care; but lie was not. He
kindly offered to hitch tlie cow to his
buggy and tow her anywhere within the
city limits, and after a great deal ol
trouble she was made fast. When the
horse started up it was a question ol
horse versus cow; but the cow con
eluded to go. She, however, differed as
to tlie direction; and when the rope
tautened, the buggy was slewed around,
the hind wheels came down with a crash,
and the horse disappeared around the
corner with the fore wheels and the box.
The cow then made off toward home
at a gallop, and her dazed owner was
offered advice as to how to catch her by
a crowd of more than two hundred peo
ple. Does this look as if we passed sor
row and misfortune without a sigh?—
Detroit Free I'rcu.
Mammoth I ndertaking.
A gigantic scheme of harbor improve
ment, costinfalsiul $7.*00,000, has just
beer, launched at Montreal, and, if car
ried out, even in a modified form, will
inakc Montreal one of the finest iiarlsirs
on this continent. The plan originated
with, and was submitted to the hoard of
trade by a practical mechanic and a
leading manufacturer of old standing in
that city. The plan is to direct the cur
rent of the St. La wren i e opposite t lie
city into the channel between St. Helen's
island and the southern shore, and this
he proposes to do by having variou- ob
struct ions removed from the channel and
running a dam or a peninsular, a- lie
calls it, from Point St. Charles, in the
west end of tlr- city, to St. Helen's is
land, midway in tin : : vcr. thus stopping
thecurrent from running through thepre
sent main channel between the city and
St. Helen's island. The practical ail van
tage- that will accrue to the city and the
liar 1 Kir from the carrying out of this pro
ject are several. In tlie first place tlie
dam will prevent the shoving of ice op
posite the city and tlie i inscqucnt Hood
ing of buildings in the Grifiintown dis
trict. which is annually very destruc
tive to property, and will make of this
a still-water harbor, where vessels may
lie during the winter. It is estimated
that the construction of the dam. which
would lie 2700 feet long, and 900 leet
broad, would raise the water two feet in
the river and lower it two feet in the
harbor. This would give a head of 20
feet for tnill elevators and factories and
the transportation of freight. The dam
would afford a roadway across the river
upon the construction of a bridge from
St, Helen's island to St. Lambert, thus
removing the necessity for a tunnel.
This could he utilized for a railway or a
road for carriages and foot passengers.
These are the main results anticipated
from the carrying out of the project.
A NEono in Paris, driven to suicide by
sheer want, wrote down his story, aeaiad
it in a tiu box, secured the box to kla
parson and drowned himself in tbt Hicne.
It appears from his statement that his
father was an African chief, tributary to
the Negus of Bbyasiuia, who, having
risen in revolt against his suzerain, wan
killed in flglit. Two of the chiefs sons,
the cider of whom was the suicide, were
•aptured by the Negus, but contrived to
escape. While wandering in the marshes
of liar-el-Azrak the elder brother
climbed a tree to survey the surround
ing country, and perceived a huge lioa
constrictor crushing his brother to death
in its ooils. Having lost hir fellow fu
gitive in tliis terrible manner, ho strug
gled onward through the great swamp
for seven weeks, at length reaehing the
Egyptian outposts, where he was kindly
received and forwarded to Cairo. The
Chodive not only relieved his want, but
paid his passage from Alexandria to
Paris, where, as his note-book observes,
he thought he could find a living
" But," he concludes, " here, as else
where, one must l>u of some use in order
to live—and I, alas ? have learned noth
ing. I prefer a violent death to perish
ing slowly by hunger."
Iw the breach-of-pronnse suit of Mo-
Pherson agt. Waruie, at Hhelbyville,
Ind., the defendant's counsel took the
broad ground that no woman of 57,
which was the plaintiff's age, could jxib
aibly form a romnntio love for any man.
The jury sustained that theory by their
verdict.
Bricklayers and parson*.
A Manchester curate, walking along a
street in the dinner hour, passed a lot of
bricklayers smoking their pipes, and he
heard one of the men say :
" I'd like to be a parson, and hav* i
nowt to do but walk along in a black
coui and carry a walking stick iti my
hand, and get a lot of bruss."
There was an approving laugh all
around, whereupon the curat/ tur.v-d
quietly around, and the following con
versation ensued :
"Ho you would like to be a parson
How much do you get a w#<-k ?"
" Twenty-seven hillings."
" Well, I am not a rich man, but I
will give you twenty-seven shillings if
you will come with me for a week and
see what my work is."
The bricklayer did not iike the j<r>.
posal, but his mates told him it wa- &
fair offer, and he was is/and to accept it.
Bo lie reluctantly followed the par- n
down an alley.
" Where are yon going t" he asked.
" To see a aick parishioner," was tha
reply.
" What is the matter with him ?"
'' Hmall-pox."
At this the man drew back. His wife
and bairns had never had the smaii-p i,
and he was afraid of taking it to then.
" My wife and bairns have never ! .1
the amall-pox," said the curate. " Con.<>
along."
'The man hesitated.
" O, but you promised to accompany
me wherever I went," urged tha curat.
"And where be you going next?"
asked the bricklayer.
" To see a poor family huddled in one
room, with the father dead of sear. t
fever in it, and themselves all down with
it ; and, after that, to see another par
ishioner ill with typhus. And to-m r
r 'W there will be a longer round."
Thereupon the bricklayer begged to
be let off. Twenty-seven shillings would
be jioor pay for that kind of work, and
he promised he would never speak ogain-t
the parson* again.— lAtrhjletd (JhureK
Whrt Shall the Hoj* Ho I
The very basis of the healthful prog
ress of any nation or country is the
practice of some mechanical industry by
the majority of the men. A certain pro
portion may earn a living in commer
cial pursuits or in the professions, and
seme may procure a living as aaloon
keejiere, bar-tenders, loafers and tramps.
But very few can be supported in idle
ness or in vice without laying a weary
burden upon the industrious classes. Of
late years a serious social danger is
threatened by the action of the various
trades' unions in re-fusing to admit boys
into shops as apprentices. Some years
ago there was a class of apprentices in
every large shop or factory, and in tima
those boys became skillful woikmen.
Now the supply of such artisans is cut
off at the very source, and the conse
quence must lie—and is, for we are all
discovering it in them-ist palpable man
ner—inferior materials and workman
ship in nearly every tool and machine
that is purchased. "The farmer pays
for all," not only for inferior work of
untrained artisans, but for the support
of idlo lioys and the vicious, dangerous
men that idle youths must invariably
beooine in time.
Fortunately there i* one industry into
which every boy will be welcomed.
There is scarcely a farmer in the land
who is not prepared and ready, nay,
eager, to accept the services of an ap
prentice for such a remuneration as hia
labor may deserve. Board, clothes and
a little spending money he is ready to
give, and, in addition, to teach him the
practice of his art, which is certainly as
intricate as sawing wood or hammering
iron. There are no trades unions on
the farm. The farms w ill receive all the
boys that workshops refuse, and the
boys will have no cause in the end to
regret tho ill-nature and selfishness that
drove them there.— ltural Arte Yorker.
Edison's Ileserted Village.
Confident as Mr. Edison appear*,
however, the lamp* used by him in his
exjierimenta months ago still stand grim
and silent witnesses of his failure at that
time, and the people living in the neigh
borhood do not entertain very great
hopes of his success in the future. Al
though Edison claims to have perfected
his light, he has not thought it inenm
ln>nt upon him to illnminate the neigh-
Imrhood of his residence with ita rays,
and the few residents outside of t,h
professor's employes sjs-ak very dispar
aginglv of hia ability to do so. Oil is in
general use and is likely to remain so.
Although Mr. Iklisou claims to have 10C
men employed at his works, only on*
man eonld lie seen in the workshop is
which Mr. Edison received the reporter.
Several buildings were grouped in th
vicinity that were pointed out as work
shops, but there were no sounds to indi
cate thai they were used for the pur
]mae* claimed. It was s veritable "I>e
aorted Village,"—Cbr. qf the New Fori
TVu/A.
I a man is determined to do tha
best he csn, whether he drives a cart,
conducts a business at a million dol
lara, or preaches tho gospel, he cannot
fail.