The DmraM Obi.
Oh, Miry, go sod mil tbm uUb
And mil Uwoattls hnn
And mil th* cuttle boon%
Arrows lh mnd* o' Dm —
Hw western w*rr wiw wild sad dm*
And nH nlono want aha.
rbe creeping tide mana op ah** the land.
And o'er and o'ar Ilia aand,
And round and roond Urn aaad.
Aa for iu ojro could woe;
IV blinding miala onme down and hid tha
land,
Aud never homo came sba.
Oh, ia it wwhl, or fish, or floating hair?
A trass o' golden hair.
Of drownod maiden's hair.
Above the neta at eea -
Wae never snlinon yot that abiua ao fair,
Among the stake on Don.
They powasi her in arrow* the roiling foam.
The crnel scrawling foam.
The cruel hungry foam.
To her grave liewide the sea;
Bat still the boatmen hear her call the cattle
home
Across the sands o' IVe.
—Char In KimfjiUry.
A PRECIOUS AMULET.
A little farm-house door was wide
ojien, so that Mrs. Thalia Thaxter, sit
ting at her knitting, could act! the al
ternate sweeps of elouds and sunshine ■
over the distant fields, and the green
billows of the apple orchard tossing to !
and fro.
Along the fenee ml currants were
ripening; neat carnations, tied up to;
green-painted stakes. lifUxl their heads
toward the purple and pink eon vol vo
lus-eups that ran riot over tho stone
wall, and the gray eat, sunning itself
on the doorstep, was half asleep. So i
was Mrs. Thalia
" The house seems so still without
Dora," the old lady pondered, as she,
caine to the seam-needie and let the |
half-completed stocking fall into her
lap. " She's been married six months j
now, and I declare to goodness it seems
like six years! I never knew how dear
the child was to me until she went i
away. And " —suddenly pausing, with i
an intent, listening look—"if I wasn't
mortal sure that she was in New York,!
living in a flat, I should say that that
was her footstep!"
And in the same breath, Dora Wil
ton, the dimpled, dainty little bride,
who had been brought up in this very
farmhouse, ran into old Mrs. Thalia
Thaxter's arms.
" Why, Dora!" said the old lady.
"This ain't you? Nothing has hap
pened, I hope?"
" No, aunty," sobbed the girl. " Hut
I did want to see you so much; so as !
soon as Herbert went to the office, I
took the express train and came down
to spend the day with yon."
"Anda very good idea, lam sure," j
said Mrs. Thaxter, bustling cheerfully j
around to remove her niece's things.
" And I'll make you a rup of tea
directly, and I'll cut you a piece of the 1
blacklx-rry short-cake I male this morn
ing, and we'll make believe it was old
times, and you never married at all
—eh ?"
And Dora who sat moodily playing
with her bonnet ribbons at the window,
burst into tears and exclaimed:
" Oh, aunty, if only it was old times!
If only I had never married all!"
Mrs. Thaxter stopped short, with the
qnaint little Japanese teapot in her {
hand.
" Why, Dora dear," sail! she, " what
is the trouble ? Aren't you happy ?"
" No!" sobbed Dora—" oh, no, no!"
" Anl why not, in the name of com- 1
men sense?" demanded the old lady.
" You loved him and he loved you. And
when you two were married, and went
away from here, you were the happiest
couple that ever 1 saw."
"Yes, 1 know," said Dora, still keep
ing her face averted from the old maid's
questioning gaie; " but Herbert dotsn't
love me as he used to."
" My dear," said Mrs. Thalia Thaxter,
" whose fault is that 7"
" Not mine, I am surer said the bride,
firing up in her own defense. " No
body can he expected to lie always as
amiable, its the patient Urisclda. And
jf hedoren't want me to speak short, he
shouldn't he everlastingly finding
fault."
Mrs. Thaxter looked at her niece witli
a little sigh.
" Yos," said she, " I see. It's the
little foxes that spoil the grapes. You
could endure a severe test of your
love—"
" But not these little, pricking,
worrying trials," spoke Dora, with
spirit. " Oil aunty I what shall I do?"
" Dora," said Mrs. Thaxter after a
brief silence, during which she made
the tea and poured it out—a clear and
fragrant licVerage— into little cups of
antique china, with spoons shaped like
miniature soup-ladlrc, and bearing the
" hall mark" of a hundred years ago,
% all this is no new tale for me to listen
to. The world repeats itself in every
generation. I, too, when first I was mar
ried to your Uncle Thaxtot passed
through just such an cxpelfftace as
this."
fi.. 'a ■ ' :, vr
"Didyou,aunty?" with sudden in
terest.
" For a little while, and then It passed
away."
"But how?" said eager, tearful
Dora.
" I used—a charm !" said Mrs. Thax
ter.
" A charm ?"
Dora looked almost incredulously at
her aunt.
"A charm," repeated the old lady;
" which 1 Inherited from my own
mother."
" Was it effectual?" Dora asked, won- 1
deringly.
" Entirely so," answered Mrs. Thax
ter.
" ()li, aunty! what was it ?"
" Weil, dear, I don't mind telling
you," said the old holy. " And I'll give j
you the amulet itself. 11ere!"
Nlie unclasped a string of dull gold 1
Wads from about her neck as she spoke
—old-fashionisl globes of pris-ious
metal, whose patterns of ehasisl ara
besques bad long since Wen worn off J
into glisteningsuiiNithness twenty-one j
of them, neither more nor less, strung on j
a pie< silken thread.
" Your gold beads, aunty!" cried
Dora.
" My magic spell, child," answered ,
the old laily. "1 never wore them
round my neck in those days. I carried
them hidden away in my pocket. You 1
must dot lie same. IW not let Herbert
suspect they are thcrp. Ihit when lie
speaks a little rrisply, and you feel in- j
dined to retort with sharpness, stop and
count off three i>l* these Wads with your ■
lingers. Then say what you please."
I)i>ra laughed hysterically.
" Youarcniakinggameof me,aunty," 1
said she.
'• I am speaking tin* solid truth," said
Mrs. Thaxter. " 1 don't ask you to be
lieve in me or in my amulet. I only
ask you to give it a fair trial."
" But," argued Dora, "it seems so
ridiculous."
"Very likely," said the oh! lady;
"but I hail the beads from my mother,
arid she taught nic their spell, which I,
in my time, found so efficacious. But
mind, you are not to utter a syllable
until you have counted throe Wads—
one, two, three. One fur faith, two for
hope, three for charity. Then trust me,
niece Dora, you will find the fever will
burn out of your heart, tin* harsh, nettle
stinging words will slide unspoken from
your tongue."
" Well," said Dora, taking tho beads
and glancing almost supT*titiouxly at
their dull glitter, " 1 will try them.
But lam almost certain that they will
not do any good."
"And I am certain that they will,"
said Mrs. Thaxter, quietly. "Now let
us go nut into the garden and get some
of tin* early Sweetwater pears, and
gather white currants for tea."
S> Dora spent the day happily at the
old farm, ami went ha-k in the sultry
summer twilight to her new home.
Herbert Wilton was there la-fore her,
impatiently pacing tin* tloor.
"This isn't a particularly pleasant
place to route back to and find de
serted," said he, sharply, " Why
couldn't you have told me you were
going away, and t!u*n I could have
sja-nt the evening at the rlub."
" Because 1 am not a five-year-old
child to ask leave every time I go out."
was the answer that ruae hotly to I>>-
ra'sli|s; but she cheeked herself as she
remembered Aunt Thaxter's amulet,
and slipping her hand into the jus-Wet
of her dress she counted off one, two,
three of the glittering beads.
And by that time a little of the
dreariness of the urilighted apartment
struck into her own lu-art. It was a
cheerless place for Herbert to come
home to!
" I'll light the gas directly, dear," she
said. " And |>erhaps I ought to have
told you that 1 thought of spending the
day at the old farm. I did want to see
dear old aunty so badly."
Herbert's frown faded away ; and
naturally enough, too, he said :
" Suppose we go down together on
Sunday, Dora. It must lie rattier
stupid for you here, with nothing but
the canary and your needlework to
amuse you. Now sit down, and I'll
read the evening pajuTs to you."
An almost superstitious thrill passed
through Dora's heart, as she recognized
the success, in this first ordeal, of the
old lady's amulet.
The next morning, Mr. Wilton,
dressing in a great hurry, found a but.
ton off bis shirt.
" Here's a button gone again !" he
i-xclnimed, flinging the shirt on the
floor. "It does seem to tne, Dora, that
you might lie a little more careful
about these things."
" That is no re,-iion that you should
lose your temjier," trembled on Dora's
tongue.
But tliP amulet—the amulet I It
flashed across her memory, as if the
dead gold of the tlino-jwllshed halls
were yellow lightning. .
" I'll look them all over thifl morn
'nff ITerbert," she said, pleasantly.
"You shall find every button Ugh",
after this."
Fin laughed.
" I should'nt have spoken so quickly,"
said he. " But a button off a man's
shirt is a proverbial trial to Ids temper,
you know, Dora."
At breakfast the coffee was thick and
turbid, the muffins of a sheet-lead con
sistency.
Mr. Wilton pushed back his chair.
•• What sort of stuff do you call this?"
I said lie, angrily.
Dora flushed to the roots of her hair.
" If you don't like it—"but then she
paused, without adding " you can let it
alone," and told over the magic heads.
Yes, It was true. The hot coffee was
very had. the hot bread was not fit to
eat; and die said, quietly:
"I'll try to instruct Bridget a little.
She is very ignorant, but she seems will
ing enough. In the meantime, if you'll
have a little patience, I'll run out and
I make a fresh cup myself."
Herbert, as amiable as lie was iinpctu
| ous, was reconciled at once.
" No, darling," said he—"you shall
not do that! Do you suppose I want
your pretty face roasted over the hot
coals? Give me a tumbler of milk, and
let us IIOJH- that Biddy will have better
■ luck next time."
| And wlien be was gone to theofllce,
leaving the affectionate good-bye kiss on
Dora's check, she drew out the amulet
, ;iml pressed it to her lips.
" You darling, glittering old tiling!"
she said, aloud. " You have already
j begun to lift me out of the slough of
despond! Herbert I|IK-S lovo me; and
I I am learning to control that pettish,
wayward, uncontrollable tongue of
auino a little, thanks to you, good am
! lllet!"
At the end of a month she went
j down to the old farm house again.
" Well, Dora," said Mrs. Thalia Thax
ter, "and how ds-s the spell work?"
j "Oh,aunty," cried Dora, "I am so
J happy. And so thankful to you! And
j oh!—might I keep these precious old
! beads?"
"Of course, mv dear—of course!"
' said Aunt Thaxtcr. " Though in re
spect to their qualifications as an
amulet—
" You needn't tell me. aunty," said
Dora, laughing and coloring. " I have
discovered that already for myself. It
isn't the three !>cads so much us it is
the stopping to think. Nor the charm,
so much as the controlling one's tem
per. I was too quick and irritable; and
Herbert didn't always think. We are
both better children now. We have
made up our minds never, never to let
a sharp word come lw-tween our two
hearts! And we are disciplining our
selves—oil, yon can't thi-.x how splen
didly! But all the same, aunty, I
should like to keep those old gold tn-ads,
which have M-on in the family for a
hundred years!"
"And you shall, my dear," said Mrs.
Thaxtcr, with a pearly mist gathering
ion her spectacle glasses. "Henceforth
they are yours."
" lb-cause," iKua added, " they have
really l**en to me • A I'rccious Amu
let!'"—//-"/"I Fon*t t/rorv-t.
" I nilcr the Rose."
This expression ti*>k its origin from
the wars l*-tween the British houses
of York and Lancaster. The parties
respectively swore by the red or the
whit, rose, and these opposite emblems
were displayed as the signs of the two
taverns, one of which was J>y the side
of, and the other opposite the I'arliar
ment House in Old Palace Yard, West
minster. Here the retainers and ser
vants of t lie noblemen attached to the
Duke of York and Henry VI. used to
meet. Here, also, as disturbances were
frequent, measures, either of defense or
annoyance, were taken, and every trans
action was said to tie done "under the
rose," by which expression the mint
profound secrecy was implied. Ac
cording to others this term originated
in the fable of Cupid giving tho rneeto
Harpocrati-s, the god of silence, as a
brilie to prevent him lietraying the
amours of Venus, and was hence
adopted as the emblem of silence. The
rose was, for this reason, frequently
sculptured on the ceilings of drinking
and feasting rooms, as a warning to the
guest that what was said in moments o(
conviviality should not be repeated,
from which, what was intended to be
kept secret was said to bo held "under
the rose." Itosee were consecrated as
presents from the pope. In 1 526 they
were placed over confessionals as the
symbol of eeorecy. Hence, according
to some, the origin of the phrase.
Ills First Impulse.
" Boy," said a stranger to a lad who
was blacking his tamta in front of a
hotel yesterday, "if 1 should give you a
dollar would your first impulse be to go
to the circus?"
" No, sir," was the prompt reply. "My
1 first Impulse would lie. that it was a
1 counterfeit biiii"— Deimit Fr* Prut.
LA I) IKS' DEPARTMENT.
Allium. Muallrs.
Light colored cloths in the cuir and
ficelle shades are used for dressy man
tles and jackets for the autumn. The
mantles are in visite shape, half long,
with square sleeves, and are cut wpuri
usually from the waist down in the
middle of the back, in order to make
room for very bouffant tournures; in
deed, all new wraps, though made very
clinging to give slender effects, are
made with provision for very ample
drapery. < 1 ray ficelle lace in two full
frills, with passementerie of gray satin
cords is the trimming for these grace
ful visitcs.— B(Uar.
Nratou*a l.nrr llnbr^
A nurse at a Saratoga hotel during
the past summer had in charge a young
lady of three months of age, who was
known to the most of the guests as the
la e baby. The infant charmer was
brought out each day in as many toilets
as a full-grown belle. One morning
its long Valenciennes lace frock was
worn over a pale blue slip, and on an
other day soft rose-color revealed the
exquisite meshes and needlework in
which it was swathed. The lace baby
was covered with a lace-trimmed cloak
and reposed on a lace cushion carried
In the arms of a maid, whose cap rile
bons and kurchiefs matched the color
of the baby's costume each day. The
poor little pink face was sunk
nest of lace ruffles, and its lace
trimmed garments made its wardrobe
as costly as any dowager's. Valen
ciennes, rluny, lloniton, and even
point lace was worn by this squalling
bit of humanity in most lavish quan
tities, and in tie -<• first blinking months
of its existence there was a fuss and
ado made over it that it may never
on joy again.
Old .Wnld*.
The Philadelphia Record has a good
word ti> say al>ut "old maids," which
does crisiit to its sense of justice. After
alluding to some of the disagreeable
types of elderly spinsters, it says:
Hut there is another side of the pic
ure—the g-ntle, sweet-fared maiden
adv, with a heart as light as that <J
innocent childless), and voice as sil
very as her hair. Which of us cannot
rival! among our acquaintances some
such sweet-naturisl, lovable woman,
whose days seem to IK- spent in filling
up the joys of our lives; whose only
words arc those of love and tenderness
and whose presence sheds sunshine and
happiness upon the circle In which she
moves? Many such there are who,
it would M-ein, remained single in order
to sow blessings around them and 1-
general comforters. The blight of dis
appointment; heartache and sorrow she
may have endured; but thecloud*have
not olmcured the light that springs
from a noble life, and affliction has but
deepened the depth of her sympathy.
The children love her and look
up to lier as a sort of fairy godmother
—the never-failing source of kindly
talk and pleasant surprises ; the young
people confide in her and counsel with
her in their tribulation ; you will never
hear her disparaging the marriage state
or railing against mankind—and
woman, tdo, for that matter—in general;
she looks upon wedded life as the
highest and holiest sphere for woman,
and perhaps through her wise admoni
tion many a love match is aided. What
though she has missed woman's purest
earthly bliss, the disappointment has
not soured her disposition, nor turned
the affection* of her nature into worm
wood. A nobler life may sometimes
spring from the grave of earthly hopes.
The sympathies of such a one are
boundless and ever ready. Where
there is poverty and sickness and
sorrow she moves as a ministering
angel. In the church, in the social
circle or almut the family hearth she is
always welcome; anil when her pure,
unselfish life is ended she is mourned
with a sincerity that tells more truth- j
fully than epitaph how dearly she was
beloved and how noble and lieautiful
her earthly can-er has been.
FMSIM Xntri.
Embroidery of chenille and Kensing
ton silks is on the new felt hats.
Old green, with brown or white red,
forms a fashionable contrast of colors.
Old green, old Sevres blue, and old
rouge are among the new shades for
autumn goods.
India cashmere and camel's hair will
remain in favor it withstanding the
revival of the repped woolen goods.
Gathered mull sun-bonnets, with
bows of ribNin on the crown, are worn
In the country by ladiiWand children
alike.
A row of short thick curia la added
to the low English coiffure worn by
ladies who have spent the summer in
Europe.
A white sca-gnll la a stylish orna- j
ment for trimming the large new felt j
1
bats that have brims of the most exag
gerated size.
Amazon cloth and Henrietta cloth
that is heavily twilled are two woolen
stuffs that will las most used for next
season's dresses.
Polonaises are revived for early
autumn wear, and are made with
paniers or without as the wearer's
figure may require.
Dark all-wool cheviots inline heather
j mixtures, bright, but very fine in com
; bination, are selling in large quantities
I for fatigue costumes.
Buckles of old silver are being used
to trim overdresses and Bllpjs-rs. They
j are placed in the straps of bows of
| satin or velvet ribbon.
Sailor bats, trimmed with a wide
hand of ribbon, with some upright
loops at one side, are tin- latest revival
for young holies' wear.
The largv detached flowers used on
summer satines arc repeated on the
! "lark calicoes and low -priced wooj
goods for every day winter dresses.
Eggs witliin eggs and rings within
ring- will le more fashionable in the
new autumn g'od* than the present
dot and moon spots worn at present.
Silk mitts for autumn are "solid,"
that is, they have no lace figur-H as
borders on the hand and arm. They
are most stylish in black and (lark red
silk.
Stockingnet or wool webbing, for
making Jersey jackets, is imjforted in
lark old green, ruby and strawberry
riils, and in electric blue and seal
brow n.
The fathers of barnyard fowls with
the heads and hacks of pullets that
, have brown and yellow shades are now
iiM-d bv milliners for trunining English
turbans.
Kiflc-green of the darkest shade is at
present the fashionable Paris color for
trimming hats and for the many flow
ing IMJWH that form the garniture of
summer dresses.
Byron collars of fine needlework
'lone on lin'-n cambric, with square
turned-over cuffs to match, are among
the (in- lingerie brougl-J home by ladies
who have done their summer shopping
in Paris.
The "Enats" is a garnn'A which en
velops the whole figure, after the same
style of the paletot ; we find them
made in mohairs, light cloths, and
some in sateens, they ar<- and will IK- a
|Mtpular outer dress for fall wear, and
■ "tie which w ill not tire the eye of the
oliserver.
The simplest associations of black
anil white are upper dresses of whits
wool triuimi-d with black velvet col
lars, cuffs anil loops of velvet ribbon
worn over skirts of Mack velvet,
lustrous surah or repped Victoria silk
A richer grade shows satin d<- Lyons,
-atin merveilleux and velvet, com
bined with white f'huddah, summer
vigogne, wool crape, etc.
The "Capellnc" is a garden bonnet*
very much used by the Parisienne, it
is in shape similar to the jstke bonnet,
made of light fabric with several rows
of shirring on reed, and to the edge a
double row of plaited lace, a very full
crown finished with lace almut the
neck. This jaunty little lionnet Is ad
mired for its airy and stylish appear
ance, and appreciated alo for the com
fort the wearer realizes.
For almost all informat black and
white toilets the garniture is black vel
, vet, while for those more dressy there
are embroideries of black floss studded
with minute jets, and costly appliques
jof lace or of cut-out velvet. White
needlework embroideries on mull are
used upon black, ami those of black
upon pongee and China crape are used
upon white. Dresses of black vigogne
,or of French hunting are trimmed
with Florentine cut-out work, or with
Irish guipure, or with Jacquod ma
chine work. Mack velvet riblion form
ing bow s and loops additionally.
A Warn I nr.
Not content with offering repealed
| insults to our shipping on the high
was, the S|>aniard* are liotind to get
the best of the United States in some
way and break this country all up in
business. Their latest ruse is sending
several ship-loads of Spanish mules
over to this country. It is said that
those mules that kick in a foreign
tongue are terribly fatal and stutter so
liad with their hind feet in attempting
t< master the dialect of this country
that they are worse than the explosion j
of a powder mill to turn loose among
people. Uncle Sjiin should put his
foot down on Hpain and stop such
underhanded work that will undermine
ihe liberties of our people and kick
folks all over the western hemisphere.
They are treacherous fellows those
• Spaniards, liiliraukrr Stm.
The United States produces 27,237,-
980 pounds of cheese annually.
WORDS OF WISDOM.
Flatter not thyself In thy faith to
od, if thou wantest chanty.
It in hard to chrtoM between a sacred
personal duty and lons of life.
Every noble crown in, and on earth
will forever be, a crown of thorns.
Recollection is the only paradise
from which we cannot Is; turned out*
Whoever has a good work to do must
let the devil's tongue run an it pleases.
The noble passion, true love, con
tains all the elements of self-sacrifice.
Though we cannot control the wind
w<- can adjust our sails so as to profic"
by it.
In prayer it is better to have a heart
without words, than words without a
heart.
Words are the adulterated skirn milk
of life, of which example is the pure
eream.
" One soweth and another reapeth,**
is a verity that applies to ewl as w ell
as good.
Pain must enter into its glorified
life of memory before it can turn into
•-ompaasion.
Charity oblige* us not to distrust a
man ; prudence not to trust biiu before
we know him.
Virtue dwells at the head of a river,
to which we cannot get but by rowing
against the stream.
Leisure is sweet to those who have
l earned it. but burdensome to those who
get it for nothing.
Power turns a deaf ear to the nv
proaehes of those who are powerless to
redness their wrongs.
God hears no more than the heart
tp'-ak** and if the heart is dumb. God
w ill certainly be deaf.
An evil mind will le sure to put the'
worst construction on another's actions;
who can stand before envy?
The Sweet Family.
A eorresjKindent at Narragansett Pier,
R. 1., writs* as follows: I have inci
dentally mentioned Sugar Loaf hill-
Almost at its base stands an old house
associated with the Sweet family,
the " natural bone-setters." Bone-set
ting has lieen a sjeeialty with the
family for more than a century. They
have always been called natural"
1 .one-setters, but I have heard this tra
dition touching the manner in which
the gift was first acquired and then
passed orailv from father to son. I >r.
William Hunter w :g one of the most
eminent surgeons of his day. He had
held a commission as surgeon in the
British army in England, and after
his arrival in America lie joined
the expedition against Crown Point
as surgeon. One day a country
man passed his office in Newport, and
on looking in chanced to see a skeleton
hanging in its case. Pausing a mo
ment. he said to the
defect in your anatomical preparation.**
The doctor on looking up and seeing
an uncouth-100 ng fellow at the door,
smiled as he asked, " Wherein is it
wanting?" "Ota, you may laugh,"
said the countryman, "but one of
those 1 sines in that hand is out of
place." The doctor looked and said:
" You are right; now tell me how it is
, that you know anything of anatomy."
•'.Some day, doctor, you will be called
to Narragansett ; when there stop at
the door of Job Sweet, and I'll
show you." Not long after the
doctor was called to Point
Judith, and before he returned he
called on Sweet, who placed lief ore
him a large folio volume of anatomical
plates engraved in a supcrh manner.
The doctor looked at the volume with
surprise as he said: "Where did you
get it ?" " Some years ago." said the
bone-setter, " a vessel went to pieces
on Point Judith. Many persons vis
ited the scene of the wreck, I among
the numlier. and there I picked up
volume, which had floated ashore. I
could not read it (it was in French.)
but became ahsorbed in the prints,
made them a study, put the informa
tion so acquired to practice as oppor
tunity afforded, and if I did not un
derstand the text, 1 think I know all
about the plates." Thia incident was
related to me by a descendant of Ir.
Hunter, who had it from his ancestors.
At the time of the bomluurdmffii of
Alexandria there were published In
that city three daily newspapers In the
French language, two in Arabic, two
in Italian, and one each in Greek and
English. The largest circulation was
about Ave thousand. Besides these®
there were six weekly papers—two in
French, two in Araldc, one in Italian
and one In English. The paper hav
ing the largest circulation in Egypt
was probably Kgyptum rents, the
government organ, printed in Cairo,
and circulating about ten Uweand
copies.