Juniata sentinel. (Mifflintown, Pa.) 1846-1873, September 17, 1873, Image 1

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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.
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.
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
"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
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
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 ?"
"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.
"So I see. But there is something in
"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
"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
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.
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
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
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
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
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
The Russian merchant had
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
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
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,
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
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
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
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