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Editor and Proprietor. One-fourth column.... In w IT no oo VOL. XXVII. MIFFLINTOWN, JUNIATA COUNTt, PENNA., SEPTEMBER 17, 1873. NO. 3S. Hlf Ohimn IS 00 25 00 46 00 Ou column 30 00 44 Ml 80 00 X'oet l-v Af'ler Two Wrckx. Two happy weeks we spent together. Twice seven day of brilliant weather. And still the hours so qnickly weut. We could not think the last one spent, Till when the bees amid the clover, Hammed soft, "vacation's over." We roamed at will by brook and fountain, We climbed the highest, fairest mmotain ; We wandered east, we wandered west, We laughed and said, 'Ah ! this is rest But now the bees amid the clover. Hum soft, vacation's over." Within the forest's holiest places. We sat with stilled and reverent faces, To watch the changing liyht aod shade. By the slow, waving branches made ; But now the bees amid the clover. Hum soft, ''vacation's over." At first the time seemed ample leisure, "Two weeks," we said, 'of perfect pleasure, Onght sure to be enough for us ;" But ah ! we did not find it thus. Too soon the bees amid the clover, Hammed soft, "vacation's over." And now at home we rush and harry, Take np again the care and worry We left lehind us when we went To spend the weeks that now are spent. We hear no bees amid the clover. And yet, vacation's over. Graj'hic. I i ! Oti 1 1 11 II Street Scenes in Alexandria. A correspondent writing from Alex andria, Egjpt, to the Baltimore Jinl tttin nays : There is much, however, on every side to remind the traveler that he is in a strange laud, and in con tact with a peculiar people. lie sees around him long strings of camels ; droves of diminutive donkeys, trans porting every conceivable thing; crowds of turbaned Moslems, white -veiled wo men and black-robed ennnchs ; rows of bazaars, blazing with the rich merchan dise of the East, and presided over by dusky-hned men, smoking naryhiU Its and chatting in an unknown tongne ; innumerable niosqnes, with their grace ful minarets towering heavenward, and their muezzins perpetually calling on the faithful to prayer ; beautiful car riages, drawn by Arab horses of the purest blood, driven by native coach men, and preceded by arant cottrricrs, attired in gold-laced jackets and flowing trousers, and shontiug "JIab-sili, Jlab sib, Amshaggi .'" as a warning to un wary pedestrians ; and vast gardens, rii.-h in the rarest flowers, tilled with the most delicious fruit, and cooled by the refreshing shadows of palms, sycamores and orange trees. He also hears many strange things, as, for instance, the voice of donkey-boys soliciting patron age, in an incomprehensible jargon, composed of contributions from every conceivable tongne ; the chant of fa natical dervishes, the wail of disconsolate widows, the cries of flying sain, the en treaties of itinerant merchants, the coo ing of expectant brides, the tinkling of sherbet glasses, the monotone of im provising minstrels, the groans of weary camels and the brays of rampant asses ; but, above all, loudest, shrillest, and most persistent, the eternal cry of "Bakshish, bakshish bakshish .'" (give me money, give me money, give me money !) from every mother's son of an Arab "whom he chances to meet with. Flower Offering;. Among the ancients, the olive, the ivy, and the laurel leaf were emblems of their vague ideas of immortality. The lotus blossom was the sacred flower of Egypt centuries ago, and it was the custom for Egyptian families to visit the tombs of relatives, and there offer prayers and oblations. Their oblations, with a variety of other things, included flowers. It has been thought that the custom of floral offerings, as symbols of reverence and affection for the dead, originated among the Egyptians, and was transmitted to us through the Greeks or Romans. However that may be, Roman matrons threw flowers upon the funeral pyre of Julius C:usar, the tomb of Achilles was adorned with lilies and jasmine ; Lyenrgus ordered that soldiers lost in battle should be buried with green boughs above their heads ; and Homer, in his "Hiad," strews forget-me-nots on the tombs of his heroes. But not until the age of chivalry do we have any special record of women strewing the graves of soldiers with flowers. Then, in token of con stancy and affection, the grave of the slain knightwas strewn with leaves and blossoms. From this, perhaps, origi nated the custom, which has become almost universal, on the 30th of May, of decorating the graves of soldiers. Although a custom of this kind when it becomes to be a pnblic matter is liable to degenerate into mere formality and show, the appropriateness and peculiar beauty of such testimony of love and remembrance must remain unchanged. Putting aside all public display, from which the genuine mourner instinctively shrinks the laying of beautiful blossoms above the heads of our buried dead is a most simple and natural, yet expres sive manner of testifying a loving re membrance. Hot Talk front California. The Sacramento Union has been serving up some delightful thermome trical reminiscences of the old mining days of the Golden State. In 1S53 the mercury in the shade marked 115 de grees at Goloma for many days. In 1854 it rose in Diamond springs several times to 114 and 115. In 185'J, one day, it rose to 117 at San Andreas ; the same day to 121 at Knight's Ferry, and to 133 (in the shade) at several places in Santa Barbara and San Bernardino. The last feat of the mercury pushed things a little too far. Birds fell dead from the trees, and cattle in the fields. But from 1M0 to 1857 it was not regarded as ex ceptional at the towns of Jackson, Placerville, Coloma, Sonora, Mokel umne Hill, and other mining places, when the mercury rose in the shade to 110 degrees. Since then the introduc tion and distribution of water through canals, and the cultivation of shade trees and shrubbery among the origi nally naked volcanic hills, has tempered the summer heat, and it is as great a phenomenon now to read in those mountain towns 100 degrees as it was 114 degrees in the early days of mining. The Union says : "The most remarka ble thing about the extreme heat that used to prevail is, that it never caused sunstroke, and seldom even at 114 degrees in the shade prevented men from working out in the sun in deep canyons, among glistening waters and shining bowlders, where the mer cury would have ascended to 140 de grees and probably higher." Thirty young ladies have recently graduated from Oberlin, O., College. PAISTED FROM MEMORY. When I was younger in my profession than I am now, Dresden was my favorite holiday resort. In the quiet and slow flowing life-current of that old world home of the fine arts, I frequently sought and found relaxation from the strain of work-a-day months in London. One January night found me seated cold, travel-stained and weary in the train at Hamburg, en route for my old resort. Experience had taught me that in Germany, a fellow traveler implies an instantaneous deprivation of the quantum of fresh air necessary to keep the lungs in play. So, calling the guard, I requested that I might be secure from intrusion. Touching his cap with a loconic "gut," he pocketed a douceur and locked me in. The train started. For a few moments we stop at a wayside station. I consulted my watch. How cold it. grows as the day draws his last shivering breath. Strange at this hour the springs of being are at their lowest in all that lives, whilst, in mystic sym pathy with the dying day, the life is spilt ont of those ia whose enp are only its lees. I wrap my cloak around me. Once more we were on the point of starting, when the door I imagined securely locked, was gently and easily opened. A lady entered and seated herself opposite me. Below my breath I confounded the guard for a false Dentcher, and reflected how extraordi nary it was that the intruder should be a woman ; for abroad the fair sex have special traveling compartments, where no man dare put in an appearance and vice versa. In the confusion of starting she had doubtless mistaken her carriage, and now, perhaps, felt uncomfortable. As the cold each moment increased, I offered her one of my warm wraps, addressing a few conventional words to her on the topic of the weather. "Thank you," she said, in a quiet and perfectly self-possessed voice, "but indeed I do not feel the cold you speak of." A story is often told in the tone of a voice and the tone of this one was peculiar. Unmistakably Euglish, and well bred ; but there was no ring in it, only a cer tain hopelessness sufficiently pathetic. She had evidently noticed some of my smaller professional belongings in the netting above me, for, as I Bilently pon dered what manner of woman she was, she thus addressed me : "You are an artist ?" "I am." "Could you paint a portrait from memory?" "Most certainly." She removed the thick veil that con cealed her face, and laid aside her bonnet. The light from the lamp fell full on her. She had a lovely face, but it was cold and white and still as chiseled marble. She encountered the bold, steady gaze of masculine eyes, yet no tinge of color flickered on her cheek. A mass of ruddy-brown hair was coiled around her shapely head ; large brown eyes, full of the dumb, questioning pain I have seen in the eyes of a hunted deer at bay, looked out from between dark lashts. Marring the stainless white of the left cheek, a livid mark ran from the temple into the neck it almost looked as if a stinging riding-switch had been drawn swift and sharp across the face, burning its brand into the delicate flesh. Her dress was of black velvet, and around the throat and wrists were ruffles of costly lace. "Yours," I said, "is not a face to be forgotten. I could any day paint vour portrait from memory." "Will you do so ?" "Certainly, if yon desire it." "I do especially desire it." I took ont my note book and entered a memorandum. "Promised to paint the portrait of a lady from memory, this,20th night of January, 18 ." She watched me make this entry, and resum ing her bonnet and veil, she fell into silence. As I sat opposite this beautiful, statu esque woman, a strange sensation stole over me. Underneath that concealing veil there was a still, white face, with stricken eyes that haunted me and sent a chill to my heart. God help her, I thought, for life has been cruel to her. Then I mused on the singular promise I had come under to paint her portrait from memory. Would she come and claim the picture? Was I to send it to her ? And where ? I must come to some understanding before we part. Meantime, in the first gray dawn, the train stopped at Berlin, where we changed carriages. For a moment I turned to gather together my small impediments ; when I resumed my position I was the sole ocenpant of the compartment. Hoping to encounter my sometime companion in the crowded station, I made haste to get out. My efforts were in vain, I was locked in. Presently the gnard came with his key and let me out. "There is trickery here,' I said, in some heat. "A lady turned the handle of your locked door easily enough, and has been my traveling com panion since midnight." "Impossible!" and the guard shrugged his shoulders incredulously. The key had been in his pocket all the time. I shook my head, but there was no time for parley, and without another glimpse of the fair incognita, I resumed my journey. Once more in Dresden, aud amidst the realism of the old familiar life, the midnight episode of my journey began to fade into a trick of a fevered and over-wearied brain. And as I glanced at the entry in my note-book, I reflected how completely a disordered imagina tion may fool a man. At the same time, I resolved some leisure day to trace ont my dream on canvass ; but absorbed in immediate study, I then postponed my intention. Weeks rolled on. and I went to Berlin to look up a college chum, who was temporarily loca ted in that city. When I got to his quarters, Under den Linden, I found that some weeks previously he had been hastily recalled to England, and another Englishman reigned in his stead. As I turned from the door, slightly chagrined I encountered the tenant of Locksley's rooms, evidently returning from a stroll. A fine old man of the genuine type of courtly English gentlemen, now rarely to be met. He politely accosted me, and in a few words told him of my dis appointment. "Do confer a kindness on me," he said, "and stop and dine. I am quite alone, and it is pleasant to hear one's mother tongne in this land of strangers." We exchanged cards, and I accepted his invitation as cordially as it was offered. By degrees we fell into the most amicable relations with one another ; and presently he told me, with tears in his eyes, that within the last few weeks he had been bereft of a wife and daughter all he had of best and loveliest, and was quite alone. Then I strove to turn his sad thoughts into another channel, and by-and-by we fell into art talk. "Could you, Mr. Stanley," aid my host, "paint a portrait from minute verbal description ?" I feared not, bnt wonld try. On a whatnot at the other end of the room I found paper and colors, and 1 brought my materials to the table wheie we sat over our wine. "Now. Mr. St. John, describe and will draw." In a hushed voice he minutely detailed the items of a face. I made my sketch. No, it was rejected as unlike. Another alike unsuccessful. A verbal description failed to give my pencil the power of catching the expres sion of the dear familiar lace. "Thev tell me." said the old man. in a low,moody tone, as if he unconsciously thought aloud, "they tell me that at the last she bore the mark of a cruel blow on her cheek. She, my tender, one ewe lamb, that I was fain to shelter in my bosom from every rough wind that blew, Overwhelmed by a bitter tide of recollection, the old man covered his face with his hands and sank into silence. Those few anguished words. dropping like blood from a wounded heart, at once recalled the face of the unknown traveling companion of my midnight journey. Once more 1 saw before me the pale, perfect face, with sorrowful eyes, and a livid mark on the left cheek. At last 1 lumueti my neg lected promise, and taking my pencil, I rapidly sketched her portrait from memory. Silently I placed my work before Mr. St John. "It is she !" It is Emmie mv darling, my darling ! he cried, and again and again he kissed the senseless paper on which was traced the lineaments of one who was very dear. "You have seen her then, for no such powerful likeness could otherwise be produced. You have caught the very trick of the half drooped eyelids. "les," 1 said, slowly, "l nave seen her. And what is more, on the 20th night of January last, I promised, at her request, to take her portrait from memory. uood uoa I i is impos sible. On the 20th night of January she died. I felt like a man in a dream. With a slight shiver I recalled the pallor. the chill, the whiteness of the face of mv traveling companion. Was this faithful sketch the vivid remembrance of a dead face? I took out my note book and showed Mr. St. John the entry "Promised to paint the portrait of lady from memory, this 20th night of January, 18 ." A deep silence brooded over us. As soon as possible I made mv adieu. 1 retained to Dresden, and once more in my studio. I hastened to paint a full length portrait of the mvs tenons presence that haunted me day and night. I should get rid of it that way. At the rapid rate I worked, the picture was soon completed. I threw all the cunning of hand and brain into the task, and my knowledge of art told me mv labor had not been in vain, in each detail I painted the picture as I had last seen my mysterious sitter, save that, in this portrait, no unlovely scar marred the delicate oval of the cheek. Anxious to see it placed in Mr. St. John's possession. 1 had it caret ally packed. and I mvself took it to Berlin. I was fortunate to find the old man at home. and as 1 begged his acceptance of the work of my pencil, his cordial satisfac tion more than repaid me for the toil of the last few weeks. "I think it is due to yon.Mr. Stanley," he said, "that yon should know some thing of the history of the lady whose portrait you have so admirably painted, and under circumstances so peculiar." It cost him an evident effort to say these words, and I begged him to spare him self a recital that I felt must be painful, but he persisted in giving me the follow ing rapid life sketch: Emmie was our only child, and the fondest love of our hearts trained about her. During an autumn's wandering on the Continent, we met Baron Wolf stein gay, young, handsome, and knowing well now best to wile away a woman's heart, he won onr Emmie's love. And we who loved her better than we loved ourselves, gave her up, although we knew that in the very act, we tore down our life's joy with our own hands. Well, her lover was of good birth, rich, of excellent reputation, and as devoted to Emmie as she was to him. And for her sake, we plucked our one, sweet English rose from the parent stem, and Wolfstein bore her off in triumph to his chateau in the Black Forest. The world called her's a bril liant part ; bnt there was no brilliancy left for the mother and me. Without her, house and hearts were dark and chill. The events of our days were her letters at first they were all sunshine, and full of her husband's praises. After a while, we fancied they drooped a little in their cheery tone, Ler husband's name was more rarely mentioned, and at last he was quite ignored. Time after time it was arranged that she should come to us, and time after time her visit was delayed on some paltry excuse. We had not seen the face of our darling for a year. We could bare the separation no longer. We should go to her. When so far as Berlin, my wife was seized violently ill. I wrote to Wolfstein and Emmie of our distress no response came to my cry for succor. On the morning of the 21st of January I bent over my wife to moisten her fevered lips with a little wine. "Ed ward," she said, taking my hand in hers, "Emmie was with me in the night." "Darling, yon were dreaming," I said, soothingly. "It was no dream, hus band ; she stood where you stand now. Her dress was of black velvet, with lace about the throat and wrists. She looked sad, and oh 1 so cold, and down one cheek there was a horrid mark. 'Mother,' she said, 'you have no portrait, not even a photograph, to remind you of poor Emmie. 1 shall send you one.' And before I could speak, or lay my hands in hers, she was gone." From her rapid pulse I knew fever was working in her veins, and (fearing this was the raving of delirium, l soothed her as best I could. Just then a servant entered the room ; she held that in her hand we had cause to dread a telegram. I tore it open, and as my eye learned its contents, a groan burst from my lips. "Emmie is dead," said my wife, quietly. "I knew it, dear." It was even so. This blow rapidly extinguished the flickering life of the mother, and she, too, quickly followed Emmie. After this sad event, I arranged to go to Wolfstein's chateau. He had taken no notice of my various letters ; bnt I con cluded that stunned by grief, the poor fellow was nnable to attend to his ordi nary duties of life. In this fellowship of sorrow, together we should mingle our tears. On my way to the railway station, I encountered Susan, Emmie's faithful maid, who has been with her young mistress before and since her marriage. The girl was weary and worn with fatigue, and her once bright, English face was white and scarred. She stretched her hands towards me. "Mr. St John I Mr. St John I" then she fell down in a swoon. I had her con veyed to my rooms, and after adminis tering restoratives, she recovered, and in a few terrible words she told me of my child. For two or three months after mar riage all was sunshine ; then the fickle nature of the Baron began to assert itself, and he became a very devil of canseless jealousy and malice. Every letter Emmie wrote was read before it left the chateau. She was debarred from going into society she was per mitted to see no one save in the presence of her husband, who watched her as a tiger watches his prey. Then he took to drinking and playing heavily ; but she, hoping to win him back to her still, compassed him round with sweet obser vances, and by her gentle goodness strove hard to exercise the demon that possessed his heart Bnt it was no use. And then she told him how one night Emmie's husband returned from a boar hunt, and she ran to meet him in the hall, when lie, in a fit of drunken fury, before servants and stranger guest, raised his riding-switch and cut her across the face the cowardly hound, and from that hour she never raised her head, but, uuder the cruel indignity, she slowly drooped. On the night she died she moaned with pain that she should not see father or mother again, and they had no pic ture even to remember her by. But they shall have one they shall have one, and thus saying, she died. When the master of the chateau saw her dead, remorse burned into his soul and drove him mad, and he was now a raving maniac. And at last Susan escaped from the chateau to tell the secrets of his prison house. As Mr. St John rapidly sketched these tragic outlines, great drops of anguish stood on his forehead, and when I bade him farewell his hand was as cold as death. In the din and confusion of this great shouting world, I lost sight of my friend, and some years after our rencontre at Berlin, I was pained to read an intima tion of his death in the Times. Shortly after this melancholy announcement, a letter from the solicitors of the deceased Mr. St John, informed me that he had bequeathed me a full length portrait of his only daughter. And this is the story of the picture of the lady with the pale, sad face, that hangs in my library. But sometimes I think I only dreamt the tragic tale. Charing Cross Magazine. A Student's Joke. One morning M. d'Avyl, sr., presid ing judge of one of the courts in Paris, went to visit his son in the Latin quar ter of that city. The old gentleman was at heart a strong royalist and lover of aristocracy. He arrived in his son's apartment at a very awkward time im mediately after one of the young man's rousing sprees and empty bottles lay around iu all directions. .Looking around he exclaimed : "Oh, my ! what's all this ?" "Bottles." "S) I see. But what fearful disor der 1" "Well, father, I study so hard that I don't want to lose my time in arranging all those things which have been ac cumulating for a longtime." "My child, it is very good to study. but it is not right to kill one's self." While so saying the feet of the magis trate enconnted a pair of terribly di lapidated boots that protruded from under the table. Hie magistrate at tempted to kick the dirty old things out of his sight, but met with some solid re sistance. They wouldn't go. "What is this ?" said he. "Boots." "So I see. But there is something in them." "Yes, father, feet "Whose ?" "Silence, father ! Don't wake up the Duke of Olivares. "That a duke !" said the magistrate. gazing on the ragged and hard-looking case under the table, who remained fast asleep. "les, sir, that s a duke : so much of a dnke that no later than yesterday his cousins, the Medinas Cteli, sent him 125,000 francs to enable him to arrange his little affairs ; but, unfortunately for himself, he has refused the offer, not wishing to accept of anything from a rival family who have abandoned the cause of the King." "Noble fellow !" said the old magis trate. "A duke and no mistake. The son, fearing that the Duke might wake up, slipped ont on the pretext of going to attend a case in court, leaving his father alone with the sleeper. What passed between the "Date and the magistrate nobody knows ; but at ail events it is a fact that the "Uuke a few hours afterward, splendidly dressed from head to foot, stepped out of the Belle Jardiniere and went to breakfast with the magistrate, his host, in a restaurant of the Palais Royal. There the old gentleman discovered that he had been deceived by his son, and that his companion was merely a thirsty, adventurous student Chance Tor Marriageable Barhclors. Vanity Fair says that London, this season, as yet resembles heaven in one thing there has been no marrying and giving in marriage there ; but that is an attribute of the land of hope, with which mothers whose daughters are "out" can dispense. Is it not time for them, however, to look matters boldly in the face, and see what remedy there may be for this husband famine ? Now that the lately-arranged builders' strike has set ns all talking about the laws of demand and supply, it seems an appro priate time for them to review the causes that militate against their dis posing advantageously of their stock. They should learn a lesson from a seller of fruits, who will dispose at any sacri fice of what at the end of a day threat ens to remain unsold rather than run the risk of its turning bad and quite unsalable ; and they should remember that the markets are governed by two considerations first, by the number of people who want a thing ; secondly, by the amount thereof there is to sell to those people. Young women, as wives, are not just now a very popular article, and yet they are very numerous. Sup pose there are 20 men in one season willing to give the price of a title and some 20,000 a year forthwith 300 girls are marked by their owners for these 20 men only, and 280 would-be purchasers are thus frightened off, while at the end of the season, even if all the 20 do buy, 280 maidens are left on hand, their value diminished by one season. ' If mothers would only recol lect that women are as plentiful as men, and that there are on an average three younger sons to each elder one, we might be spared some of those heart rending scenes in August, when yon may see in the West End hot and dis appointed families quarrelling them selves away to the railway stations, all equally cross and mortified at the re sult of another useless London season. Four thousand five hundred dollars have been raised for the monument to General Thomas. Drumsticks. Do yon remember the little passage in "Faith Gartney s Girlhood, about nurse Samson choosing as her share for dinner the usually rejected leg of the fowl? The subject is remarked upon by one of the family saying: " Here is a woman who makes it a principle to go through the world choosing drumsticks." "Somebody must always eat the drumsticks," was the reply. " Do yon think everybody's got to eat drumsticks ?" asks Faith. "We'd have to kill an unreasonable lot of fowl to let 'em." " No," replied nurse Samson. " The Lord portions out breasts and wings, as well as legs. If He puts anything on your plate, take it" Looking upon the world at large, it does seem as though the Lord had portioned ont the lot of the different classes of people something like this, giving to some the tender, delicate things like the breast of the fowl, to another the richer, juicy parts, while to others there seems left only the dry, tough drumsticks. But it is not for the world at large for which I have undertaken this little discourse on a homely subject, but the world contained within each house hold where these papers mav bo read. If these many households make a good large lump of the world, supposing they were all massed together, so much the better ; we shall get the ear of the world, and at the same time keep within our appointed sphere. Bnt to come to our subject, did von ever know any one at your family table to choose the drumstick in preference to any other part of the fowl ? No, of course not, though they may, like nurse Samson, be unselfish enough to appro priate it sometimes to themselves. What we wish to say here, is : please then do not oblige, or even allow any one member of the family to always eat the drumsticks. "But there are drumsticks two to every fowl and somebody must eat them," you say. Of course somebody must eat them. but my dear Mr. Head-of-the-Table, please don't be so partial as to think that that somebody must most snrely be Tom, because he is a healthy, hearty lad, ready to eat anything that is put on to his plate. If the Lord puts only drumsticks there, all right, but why should you usurp such authority ? Don't you suppose that Tom knows what is good as well as you do ? And though he may make no fuss if drum sticks are sure to fall to his lot, don't you suppose that he would relish the wishing-bone part occasionally as well as does Lilly, who is sure always to get it, and wonld like to pick a wing, or backbone, as well as you do yourself ? Of course Tom gets some parts of the fowl besides a leg, but he is quite sure always to have as much as one drum stick, whenever a fowl of any kind comes on to the table, while Lilly aud Arthur seldom have that part on their plates. There are other kinds of drumsticks on the table besides chicken legs sometimes it may be in the shape of bread crusts, or part of the meat may be tough, or ill cooked, or something else, so that all is not equally nice and tempting to the palate. These things are found in the best of families, with out doubt, and in some more frequently than warrants good housekeeping. But whatever it may be, do not, I beg of you, always put the most ordinary piece on Tom's plate. It may not hurt him so much to eat it, as it will surely hurt his self-respect to be thus partially dealt with. The better way is to give each one at the family table portions of the best and poorest as far as possible. or if Tom has the drumstick to-day, see that some one of the rest has it to-morrow, not forgetting sometimes to appro priate one to yourself. Lven children understand what it is to be dealt with with polite consideration, and, if this is not carried to foolish indulgence. they are better, and will grow np less selfish and more manly and womanly than otherwise they might Bnt drumsticks are not confined to the dinner table. There are other tough things in the family besides these : there are hard jobs to do, trying things to endure, unpleasant things to be made the best of ; as well as sweet, loving, tender, and beautiful threads being woven in this web of daily home life. But is Tom to get a large share of the hard knocks, as well as the drumsticks for dinner ? Is he to have the dirty jobs to do, because his hands are not so clean or delicate as Arthur's ? Must he be sent on errands, five times to anyone else once, because he likes to ran, and would be running at play if for nothing else ? Ah 1 do you not suppose he can see the injustice of this, and feel it, even thongh he may keep silent? Said a lad, who at home was treated with far less consideration than was his more attractive brother, "They all think that Edward is a genius, and a perfect Sunday-school-book boy, while 1 am only common clay, and he tried to laugh as he said this, but one could perceive that there was something of bitterness in his heart And this mani fest partiality towards Edward, with the rougher way in which he was treated was turning his heart from his brother, while that brother, in turn, could not but see. and perhaps feel, the superi ority accorded to him over the plainer, more prosy Richard. Children in the same family, we all know, have far different tastes and dispositions, and need different ways of amusement, . as well as varied pur suits, but there is no reason why one should have more tender regard shown him, or his wishes be not at all con sulted, while the other is favored, per haps beyond his deserts. The world has hard knocks enough to be encoun tered, but, 0 1 let us beware that neg lect in the home circle bruise not ten der hearts, or embitter the soul of one of these little onesl Many a noble- hearted youth with capacities for bet ter things, has grown hardened and callous, his life dwarfed and incom plete because At the tough, homely drumsticks which were sure to fall to his lot, while the more tender, re fining things were not preferred him. For this many a boy has left his father's house, seeking more pleasant things in his own way alas I often to fall into evil by the way while in other cases.a more beautiful, fuller, and more complete manhood may have been the result These home lads mostly have tender hearts, I ween, hearts brave and true, if the better part is not early crushed out of them by either unkiadness, in justice, or want of tact This last want of tact on the part of the pa rents or teachers, with lack of under standing human nature, may as often, as does real injustice, work mischief, in the young. It is to be remembered that the youth with blunt ways may be as sensible to true politeness and kind ness, as ia the more fine-grained one. and needs quite as much, if not more, to be noticed, and his better qualities drawn out by pleasant modes and kind endeavor. Yet this boy is just the one to have usually more than his share of the "drumsticks" all around. Look in your own homes, my friends, and see if there be any one to whom the larger share of the drumsticks are in any way appropriated, and if so let the matter be equalized at once. Bnt here are the girls, do they never get the drumsticks? you ask. O, yes, plenty of them, some many more than others, though it is my own private opinion, that where there are boys and girls in the same family, that the "drumsticks" do find their way, in some unaccountable manner, oftener on to the boys' plates than the girls'. That is only chivalric, you know, and to be expected. There was Cinderella who I am pretty sure got the drumsticks, though the fairy tale does not say so, and there are other Cinderellas in the world, treated more or less unjustly, if not with the same abuse and neglect. Ihis often comes about unintentionally, and more from want of thought than want of feel ing, as it has in case of Kate and Laura, where you would scarce dream parti ality was used. Yet it most always happens what a convenient word that is to hide behind that Laura has far more of the drum sticks, and not nearly as often is favored with the wishing-bone part as is Kate, and this goes into many things besides veritable chicken legs. If there is rongh work to be done, Laura is the one to assist her mother about it far oftener than Kate. Her mother calls on her more frequently, she is more willing, though I am sure dislikes drudgery quite as much as does her sister. But she knows some one must help her mother, and as Kate is sure to shirk, if she cau, it falls to Laura. I think Kate forgets the golden rule in this, for if she wonld stop to think she would see how selfish she is becoming in this, thongh she is in most respects a generous-hearted girl. And their mother too, is she not to blame ? In matters of dress, also, I think that Kate manages to be favored above Laura, or rather, she insists on having her wishes gratified of having the pleasant things she wants as far as pos sible. Then, if economy mnst be used, why, Laura will not mind it so much, and so she gets along with less, and with plainer clothes than her sister. The parents here again are at fault. The vanity, or even legitimate tastes of the one ought not to be gratified at the expense of the other, even though she gives up her desires more qnietly, and takes it all as a matter of course. Aud thus, in a thousand ways, yon see how the drumsticks come to be parcelled to one more frequently than to another, even in the home circle, where watchful love ought to guard against either par tiality to one, or indlTerence to another. And now girls and boys, after all this in your individual behalf, I want a word with yon which your parents need not read. That is, be careful to see that your kind, indulgent falher or mother do not take all the drumsticks on their own plates. Girls see that you do not let your mother drudge in the kitchen without your endeavors to assist her. It is no matter if she does say she can do the work herself, that you will soil your hands or clothes; just pin up yonr sleeves, put on an apron, and take part of the labor, that falls within your ca pacity, to yourself. And then see that mother has an opportunity to go into society as well as yourselves, and do not let her wear old dresses, while you must have the new. And boys think how yon may spare a bit of time from play to help your father, and thus, in a measure, let the "drumsticks" be di vided among all. The Household. The Cross Xnrely. Once upon a time two merchants lived in a certain town, just on the verge of a stream. One of them was a Russian, the other a Tartar ; both were rich. But the Russian got so ntterly mined by some business or other that he hadn't a single bit of property left. Everything he had was confiscated or stolen. The Russian merchant had nothing to turn to he was left as poor as a rat. So he went to his friend the Tartar, and be sought him to lend him some money. "Get me a surety," says the Tartar. "But whom can I get for you, seeing that I haven't a soul belonging to me ? Stay, though ! there's a surety for you, the life-giving cross on the church 1" "Very good, my friend !" says the Tartar. "I'll trust your cross. Yonr faith or ours, it's all one to me." And he gave the Russian merchant fifty thousand rubles. The Russian took the money, bade the Tartar fare well, and went back to trade in divers places. By the end of two years he had gained a hundred and fifty thousand rubles by the fifty thousand he had borrowed. Now he happened to be sailing one day from along the Danube.going with wares one place to another, when all of a sudden a storm arose, and was on the point of sinking the ship he was in. Then the merchant remembered how he had bor rowed money, and given the life-giving cross as a surety, but had not paid his debt That was doubtless the cause of the storm arising 1 No sooner had he said this to himself than the storm be gan to subside. The merchant took a barrel, counted out fifty thousand rabies, wrote the Tartar a note, placed it, together with the money, in the bar rel, and then flung the barrel into the water, saying to himself : "As I gave the cross as my surety to the Tartar, the money will be certain to reach him." The barrel straightway sank to the bottom ; every one supposed the money was lost But what happened ? In the Tartar's house there lived a Russian kitchen-maid. One day she happened to go to the river for water, and when she got there she saw a barrel floating along. So she went a little way into the water and began trying to get hold of it But it wasn't to be done t When she made at the barrel, it retreated from her ; when she turned from the barrel to the shore, it floated after her. She went on trying and trying for some time, then she went home and told her master all that had happened. At first he wouldn't believe her, but at last he determined to go to the river and see for himself what sort of barrel it was that was floating there. When he got there sure enough there was the barrel floating, and not far from the shore. The Tartar took off his clothes and went into the water : before he had gone any distance the barrel came floating up to him of its own accord. He laid hold of it. carried it home, opened it, and looked inside. There he saw a quan tity of money, and on top of the money a note. He took out the note and read it and this is what was said in it ; "Dear friend I I return yon the fifty thousand rubles for which, when I bor- rowed them from yon, I gave the lifts giving cross as a surety." The Tartar read these words, and was astounded at the power of the life-giving cross. He counted the money over to see whether the full sum was really there. It was there exactly. Meanwhile, the Russian merchant, after trading some five years, made a tolerable fortune. Well, he returned to his old home, and, thinking that his barrel had been lost, he considered it his first duty to settle with the Tartar. So he went to his house and offered him the money he had borrowed. Then the Tartar told him all that had happened, and how he had found the barrel in the river, with the money and the note in-! side it Then he showed him the note, saying : "Is that really your hand ?" "It certaiuly is," replied the other. Every one was astounded at this wondrous manifestation, aud the Tartar said : "Then I've no more money to receive from you, brother; take that back again. The Russian merchant had service performed as a thank-offering to God, aud next day the Tartar was baptized with all his household. The Russian merchant was his godfather, and the i ;t..v..m;.i im,w that they both lived long and happily, survived to a great age, and then died peacefully. llalslon's "Fttssian Folk Tales." Japanese fans. Many of these fan-pictures are illus trations of national classics, fairy tales, and historic legends. On this neutral tinted reverse, for instance, a curved line dashed across the disk is a slack rope ; on it is a nondescript danciug, and below a half-kneeling figure repre sents the juggler or showman. He is gesticulating wildly with his fan, his mouth is wide open with well-simnlated astonishment at the antics of the crea ture on the slaek-rope. This performer is like a badger ; yet it resembles a tea kettle. Its body is the kettle ; one cun ningly curved paw is the spout ; another, which swings the inevitable umbrella, is the handle ; and the tail and hind legs form the tripod on which the kettle sits. The story of The Accomplished Tea-kettle is very old, and numberless versions of it form a staple dramatic, poetic or artistic diversion of the Ja panese. Briefly, it is related that a company of priests, who dwelt by them selves in a temple, were affrighted by their tea-kettle suddenly becoming cov ered with fur and walking alout the room. It bothered them very much by its pranks, being part of the time a n set ill and soher culinary utensil ami partly a mischievous badger. Catching it and shutting it up in a box, they sold it to a traveling tinker for a trifle, thinking themselves well rid of it. But the tinker, though sorely affrighted when he found what a bargain he had gotten, shrewdly put his bewitched tea kettle to good acconnt. He traveled far aud wide exhibiting his wonderful beast, which diligently performed on the slack-rope. Princes and nobles came in throngs to see his show ; anil so he made himself very rich by his unique entertainment The lucky tin ker and his accomplished tea-kettle furnish forth adventures for the Japa nese play-goer as nnmerous ami various as those of onr own Hnmpty Dnmpty, dear to the heart of every English speaking child. On the reverse of another fan you discover an illustration of fairy lore. A hare and a badger, grotesquely dressed in watermen's garb, are each paddling about in boats on a small sheet of water. They glare at each other defiantly, bnt the hare, not withstanding he keeps his simple ex pression, seems to have the advantage of the other. The hare and the badger in the story of The Crackling Mountain, were old foes, and had many a tussle, in which the hare usually got the better of his adversary. Finally the hare, having built a wooden boat, set off on a voyage to the capital of the moon, in viting his enemy to accompany him. The wary badger refused, but building a boat of clay, he followed the hare. The waves washed the clay so that it began to dissolve ; then the hare, pad dling his craft full upon the luckless badger, crushed his sinking boat, and the wicked animal perished miserably in the waters. In these fanciful picto rial conceits the Japanese greatly excel. Hoksai, a Japanese artist, says an in telligent writer on Asiatic art, has mod estly protested that it is more easy to draw things one has never seen than to represent objects with which everybody is familiar. But these fantastic crea tions of the imagination are all so care fully and characteristically limned that they deceive by their realism. Y'ou think that these odd creatures must have been studied from life. Yon pay an unconscious tribute to the artist's wise interpretation of nature ; for bis fundamental idea is natural. Srri burr's Monthly. The Ten Ladies in Moaruing. In a recently-published French book, written by several celebrated authors, and sold for the benefit of the poor in Alsace-Lorraine, is the following story by M. Ernest Lagonve : A lady at Strasbnrg had, since the late war, two Prussian officers of the army of occupation quartered at her house. These gentlemen made them selves very much at home, but com plained bitterly that they were not invited by their hostess to her private parlor, and particularly that they were not admitted to her receptions. The next day they received an invitation. They entered punctually at eight o'clock iu the evening. The parlor was dimly lighted by one simple lamp, and ten ladies, dressed in deep mourning, were seated in the apartment The mistress of the housff, seeing them enter, rose to meet them, and leading them to the first of these ladies, presented them with these words : "My daughter, whose husband was killed during the late siege." The Prussians tnrned pale. She led them to the second lady. "My sister, who lost her son at Froeschweiler." The Prussians looked embarrassed. She led them to the third. "Madame Spindles, whose brother was shot as a sharpshooter." The two Prussians shuddered. She led them to the fourth. "Madame Brown, who saw her old mother murdered by the Uhlans." The officers recoiled. She led them to the fifth. "Madame Coulmann, who " But the Prussians could stand no more stammering and confused, they bowed and withdrew precipitately, as if they felt suffocated by the crape of the mourning garments around them like a shroud. It was as if Nathan fled before the anathema of Joab, "Vni'ieties- Tom Hood, son of the poet and hu morist, will visit America this fall. When is an umbrella like a person convalescent ? When it is recovered. The Persian monarch's smile mnst be a sad one, as it is simply a Shah grin. Tree cnltnre is a question of increas ing importance in the Western States. A Georgia youth objects to postal cards, because they are so hard to open. The proper thing to move the Crow Indians to where they belong Scare crow. A New York restanratenr announces ready-made dinners for miscellaneous appetites. It is surprising how quiekly men who dislike rev hair will fall in love with a red heiress. Chatelain chains fur fins have been discarded for velvet or ribbon strings of the same color as the dress. A handsome monument to Commo dore Perry has been placed over the remains of that officer in Island Ceme- ! terv. Newport R. I. j . . . . . , . A a8t bouquet presented to a ; poPulr a,ctrfss ,a a ork Theatre : rex-eniiy, uau a canary uim in us cage swinging from the centre. Buffalo Bill is said to have secured a squaw corps tie ballet for next season, and thinks they will outstrip the dan cers in the "Black Crook." Prince Alfred, it is greatly feared, will be married in Lent. As he never lent anything, according to all accounts, it's not likely he'll begin now. It is suggested that the New Jersey woman who has leen weeping for the last ten days, and for whom the doctors can find no remedy, should be shown a new bonnet. A revenue assessor in Ohio, asking the usual questions, inquired : "Did yoiir wife have any income last year?" "Yes. sir," repliedWie assessed, "both girls." A Miss Wheeler, of Milwankee, has published a book entitled "Poems on the Half-Shell." The title wonld indi cate that the conteuts are of rather a b-oysterons nature. A western railroad conductor, after twenty years of experience, concludes that he had rather carry tweuty thou sand men passengers than to have one lone, lorn female board his train. When N. P. Willis was asked to make a speech, ho replied, "I am by profession a writer, and yon cannot expect a pump to give water from the handle as well as from the mouth. Socrates, passing through the market, cried ont. How much is here I do not need ! Nature is content with little grace with less: poverty lies iu opinion; what is needful is soon provided, and enough is as good as a feast ; we are worth what we do not want ; our occa sions being supplied, what would we do with more? A letter from Japan says that a "Life of Washington" is announced by a Yeddo publisher. This literary novelty is brought out in no less than forty-four volnmes in the Japanese characters, and is profusely illustrated in the high est style of art. Washington is repre sented in the clothes and fashion of the present day, and with a moustache, carrying a cane, and accompanied by a skye-terrier. lie is gazing at a lady with a train, a Grecian bend, and a hideous waterfall. As it is the first at tempt of the kind, and as it is a great enriosity in itself, the book wonld be a great addition to the collection of a bibliomaniac. The Full Mall (lazrttr, makes a nate of a enrious practice which prevails among fruiterers in London, Persons buying West Indian pineapples are asked whether they will have heads to the fruit In other terms, West India pineapples are dressed for dessert at a small cost as British hot-house pines, by the ingenious plan of inserting in the summit of the fruit a tuft or crown of leaves belonging to the latter, and thus gnests are deceived into the notion that the pineapple which graces the table was grown in the hothouse of their host, who probably never hail a hot house, and knows nothing abont the cultivation of pines. SriAKSPEATtE, from recently discov ered documents, it appears, had no ownership in either of the theatres of his time. Mr. J. O. Halliwell, the Eng lish Shaksperian scholar, has found a series of papers, inclmling the lists of the original proprietors and share holders, in which Shakspeare's name does not appear. In an old affidavit by the sons of James Burlmge it is stated that in the "Globe Theatre," Shaks peare, Homings, Condall, Philips and other players, were partners in the pro fits of the "House," that is, in the re ceipts. In regard to the "Black-friars Theatre,"the affidavit states that Shaks peare, Hemings, Condall and Richard Burbnge were engaged as players. A Christian was once asked how he could keep so calm amidst all the cares of life. He answered : In this way: I train my eyes ; for all evil, as well as all good, conies from the mind to the heart Every morning be fore I enter upon my daily work among men, I fix my eyes thoughtfully on three things : First, I raise them toward heaven, and remember that life and all its strug gles will be over there. Secondly, I look toward earth, and reflect how small a portion of it I shall need when I am laid in my grave. Thirdly and finally, I look npon the surging crowds of mankind, and think how mnch sadder many of their lives are than mine. In this way I console myself for all sorrow, and live amidst the cares of life satisfied iu God. From the German. The Northeast Georgian, of Athens, notes the prevalence of a report in that city that, a Sunday or so ago, a man living near Scnll's Shoals, about twenty miles below Athens, went fishing, seat ing himself on a rock. Not returning home at night, search was made for him, and he was found seated npon the rock; and upon the party requesting him to get up and accompany them home he told them that the Almighty had sent a judgment npon him, and he had become a part of the rock and could not move. His friends, thinking that he was only jesting, took hold of him and attempted to move him, when he commenced screaming at the top of his voice, and asked them not to attempt to lift him np, as it wonld murder him. He fur ther informed them that he had been informed by an unseen presence that, as a judgement for his profanity and Sabbath-breaking, he would never be severed from his present seat, but wonld remain fastened to it all his days, and that he would be made to preach his own funeral. It is said he talks quite freely, and ia visited by immense crowds.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers