E(jt crest lUpttbliran
ti rnxumnsD inn wzdshsdat, ot
,j. E. WENK.
tjm! io Bmearbaugh A Oo.'i Building,
U.M 'STRUCT; - TIONESTA, PA.
i'lcrtMH, oi.no xicii yeaii.
-y- -r.
No i'ilici lptioiiH reeolvod for ft shorter period
limn lliirn nimilhtt.
OiVrnKji'imliMipn foli itnd from all pnrtsof the
country, Noiioiirowi l betnkm of anonymous
"(MIIIIKIIllcRtXillH. n.
RATES OP ADVERTISINO.
On (vjnare, one Inch, one Insertion.... II 00
0;i3 S-jimre, one inch, one month. 100
On,, M imr, rne inch, three months ( 00
iii,) Kijiwrp, one inch, one year.. ....... 10 00
Two Sijiii'nw, one year. ...... .......... 13 00
ljnarir Column, one yew 90 00
Half Column, one year.... M. SO 00
Ono Column, one year.. mm 100 0
rM notices at established rale.
SlRrria?en and death notice gratia,
All bills for yearly advertisements collected
i pin rtcrly. Temporary advertisements moat be
.,il fur in advance.
Jub work, cash on delivery.
4
Vol..XV. No. L'3. ' TIONESTA, PA. WEDNESDAY, JULY 19, 1882,
$1.50 Per Annum.
! Drifting Down.
Drifting down in the gray-green twilight,
Oh, the ecent of the new-mown hay t
Sol. drip the vara in the myttio sky-light,
Oh, the charm of the dying day I
"While fading fleck of bright opalescence
But faintly dapple ft saffron sky,
The stream flows on with snporb quiotccnoe,
The breeze is bushed to the softest sigh.
Drifting down In the sweet still weather,
Oh, the fragrance of fair July I
Love, ma lore, when we drift together,
Oh, bow fleetly the moments fly I
Drifting down on the dear old river,
Oh, the mimic that interweaves I
The ripples run and tho slolgm shivor,
Oh, the soug of the lazy leaves I .
And far-olT sounds for the night so clear is
Awake the echoes of bygone times .
The muffled roar of the distant woir Is
Cheered by the clang of the merry Chiracs,
Drifting down in the cloudless weather,
Oh, bow short is the summer day t
Love, us love, when w 4rift together
Oh, how quickly we drift away 1
Drifllngdown as the night advances,
Oh, the calm of the starlit skies I
fyolids droop o'er the half shy glances,
Oil, the light in those blue-gray eyes I
A winsome maiden is sweotly singing
A dreamy song In ft minor koy ;
Ber dear low voice' and its tones are bringing
A mingled melody back to me,
Drifting down In the clear calm weather,
Oh, bow sweet is the maiden's song I
Love, me love, when we drift together,
Oh, bow quickly we drilt along I
Gray Hairs and Golden Head.
Oray Hairs and Golden Head walked
up the village street together under the
lilao blossoms in the bright spring
weather. There were lilacs here, lilacs
there, lilacs everywhere. They nodded
over the low garden walls; by many a
cottage window their purple elunters
tosMed so thickly a young girl's eyes
could scarce b seen beyond, smiling
aorosa them at her pasxing lover.
The two loiterers spoke little to eac'i
other, only a word now and then, Iik
two who were com en t with silence ami
their own thoughts, till they reached
garden gate into which the young girl
turned.
" Well, good-bye, Mr. Norcroft. Ton
have been such a help to ns 1 There's
no nee Irving to thank you I"
" Good bye, hilts IVreival."
She had made a movement to go in,
but something in this gray-haired manV
voice, h's blank look as he answered
her, made gentle Anne Fercival hesitate.
Sbe glanced about her.
" How heavy this scent of the lilacs
seems in the air this m ruing. Wait
one moment, Mr. Norcroft My lilacs
are no prettier than the others, but you
shall have a bunch from my own favorite
tree."
She pulled down a great bough and
nodded at him across it Golden Hair
looking at him across a bunch of lilacs!
His soft eyes Bmiling would ho ever
forget that ?
She brought h'm a spray.
" They are quite pretty and fresh now,
but no flower fades so quickly as the
lilac, f on must get its sweetness now."
Stephen Norcroft took the flowers
without a word, but his look would have
been a thousand times sweeter than any
thanks to one that loved him. The
strong spring sunshine was all about
him as he passed down the street, It
touched his gray hair nd his sad old
face with a foreign brightness that was
more pathetic than any Borrow of youth
could have been.
He began talking in a low voice to
himself:
"There is not so very muoh differ
ence in our sges not so very muoh as
some might think. And P could make
her happy. How could she help being
happy with one who worships her? Oh,
I would try, and I should be young
again I feel young now I"
So he went dreaming on. Strong
life was in the air about him. One
could almost hear the green leaves as
they nnourlod from the tight-rolled
buds. He oould see the tower of Saint
Mark's down there with its line of
white tombstones on either side; each
morning and evening he rang its
chime of bells; there were only three
of them, but the villagers said that
Stephen Norcroft got the music of three
times that number out of them, he rang
them so deftly. And beyond that was
the strong-beating river going to the
sea, and the lumbermen sending their
neat rafts of sweet-smelling oak and
pine down it, helping to make the com'
meree of a world.
Should he not speak ? Why should
he not speak. He remembered.
" Ho. old dreamer !" a quick step on
the walk behind him a strong hand
descending on his shoulder and send
ing him a step or two stumbling for
ward "what misty dream are you nurs
ing now ? Oh, I beg your paiaon."
There was that in the vague light
the eyes, in the pained expression of
the sensitive face turned toward him
that sthred in vouug Rick Sheridan a
sense of something out of lace in this
rough greeting. His handsome face
flushed slightly in his shame.
" I beg your pardon most sincerely.
Mr. Norcroft Did I disturb you ?"
"Oh I no. not I was only dreaming
as usual. I had lost mvself a little,
Now that von are here v,e will walk
together if you have time. There'i
He slipped his arm in that of the
younger man. lliek slackened hir; quick
hteps to suit the slower pace of hL com-
' t;iD.
"I was going over on tho other side,
of an errand,' but I can give von a little
time. It's eatly yet."
They strolled along together for a
moment in silecon. ltiok -noticed that
Stephen Norcroft's face had grown pale
he seemed tired yet strangely ex
cited. Perhaps it would be better if he
himself were to speak flist
"Bplendid weather, is not itf The
picnics and children's parties will be
coming' on with a rash if this holds."
"Ticnics ? Oh, yes I As I was saying,
there is something I wish to tell you,
Bheridan. I want your opinion, tool
But first yon must promise not to laugh
it me. No matter what I say yon are
not to laugh me I Do yon promise T"
' "I certainly will not laugh at you,"
answered young Sheridan, with a smile,
hidiog a good deal of wonder as best he
could.
" Well, then, look at me now. Look
sharp 1" Stephen Norcroft pushed the
thin looks of soft hair back from his
face with a nervous gesture. " Do yon
think, looking at me just as an outsider,
yon know, do J on think I look so very
old? If yon did not know would yon
think my years so very many ?"
The young man stared at him in
sheer, blank amazement.
"Old- why ?"
"If it were not for my gray hairs
now I do they look so very gray, Sheri
dan in the fhadow one would scarcely
notice their being gray, would one? and,
aside from that, I scarcely show age,
sometimes. Eh ?"
He spoke so eagerly, he looked so
much in earnest, so piteous that young
Kick pitied him; be pitied him with all
his generous, passionate young heart.
Age gray hairs I Why, I believe
I've got gray hairs myself. I'm sure I
should not be surprised any morning to
get np and find my brown wig turning,
They don't count just a few silver
threads. And as for years, yon are as
young as any of ns, old fellow I I
should not put yon now at more than "
"JNever mind that," btepben .Nor
crott interrupted him, hastily. " I've
not told you the whole story yet. I
don't know why I trust yon speaking of
this, but I do trust yon. Aside from
my gray hairs there is nothing of the
look ot age about me, and if if I, lov
ing a young girl, beautiful as the day
ono refined and sweet, if I ask her to be
my wife my loved and honored wife
would she, looking at these," a little
hesitation here as he put a thin hand no
to those poor silver threads, so beauti
ful cid he but know it, " would she, do
you fancy, looking at these, scjrn me?''
Ah I" Rick Sheridan drew a long
breath. His own handsome, clear
voting face had changed slightly with a
startled, white look. "Ah, that's it,
is it?"
Mind, von know, this is no sudden
thing." The older man put his hand,
with an eager expression, on the other's
shoulder. "I have known her a long
time. I've watched her and seen her
in all her moods, cue is good ana
gentle ana sweet one who makes yon
thins of ministering angels. When
ring: the bells down yonder I imagine
the ereat notes take up ber name and
carry it np, up t I can hear them Bay,
" Anna Nannie N Annette Bweet
Anne, sweet Anne Fercival I"
You are speaking of Miss Fercival?"
Kick's voice was cold now, his eyes
hard and looking fixedly straight ahead.
It is an old man s fancy, just an
old and childish man's childish fancy,"
Stephen wenton, not heeding him. "But
could make her happy. I would only
live for her, Rick. If she would be my
wife, my little light of life would Boon
burn out. An old fellow like me can't
expect to live so very many years longer,
and I would leave everything to ner. j
have money I could mako her rich
Yon didn't know that, Richard ?''
"And it would only be for a little
while with me," he went on, eagerly,
piteously pleading his age now as he had
plead for youth before.
You think women are so mercenary,
then." said Rick, with his eyes still
oold and hard. " Do yon imagine that
love, or even devotion, can be bought
with money?"'
Mercenary?" the gray-haired lover
seemed to wake np out of a dream
"No; I don't think that of her, but still
it has weight. It would cot seem bo
much as if she were throwing her life,
or the best years of it, away. There
would be some recompense. She could
do good with money, and she thinks of
that always. Look htre t" He opened
his coat and took out of it a spray of
lilac " She gave me this not an hour
ago. It is fading now; she said it
would fade soon, but her look, her
smile, her gentle, happy voice as she
spoke the memory of those can never
fade; I shall carry that to my grave
with me just the memory of a young
girl's lovely eyes smiling at me across
a bunch ol lilacs."
" Good-bve! I think I must go now,"
said Richard Sheridan, roughly. It
was getting intolerable this old man'i
dream of love, told with such happy
confidence as if there could fall no
shadow upon it. Let him select some
other listener, if a listener was all he
wanted.
Bat Gray Hairs did not notice this
It was hiB own hour of sunshine. Let
him breathe itunrebuked.
"Just a voung girl's lovely eyes,
smiling across the sunlight and above
the flowers on one that loved ner. Lven
one memory like that would be enough
for some lives, enough to remember
without asking for more. And if that is
to be ull all for me, I, too, will be
content to die die unrepiningl"
" Well, I'm off now. I really must
got"
Riek turned abruptly away. He tried
to say something of good-will; he strove
to speak some word of friendly parting
good lnck or Godspeed him in his
wooing but he found it impossible.
He could not lie. There was no good
will in his heart toward this man of the
silvered hair, who was talking of love
for "sweet Anne Fercival" to him.
Must you go? Waitl" Stephen
stretched out an eager hand. "There
is another thing."
No." cried out Biok. "Don't
don't tell ma anything else. I wish, on
my soul, thi yon had not trusted me
with this. Yon don't know me. How
can yon ay I shall serve yon more than
harm you ?"
i ll risk it ; and it's only a little
thing. Yon know how fond she is of
reading. Don't yon remember that
little purple-and-gold volume of poems
gave ber, bow she read it, now she
praised and wept over it over one poem
in particular? It was one morning in
the garden "
" Yes," said Rick, wondering.
" I can hear her tears fall even jow.
Oh. how I loved her for the gentle pity
she showed for the lover s sorrow I had
written of there 1"
"Yon?"
"I wrote them, yes those poems 1
They are mine my work the work of
lonely nights and restless, empty days,
when I oonld only dream of her, remem
ber her I I wrote them all of them,
The book is my memory of her, of
sweet Anne Fercival my N Annette 1' "
"But man, how oould you? Why,
yon have thrown a name away, and the
praise of all the world. 1 remember
that poem ' To N Annette 'the one
she praised."
"Ah, nnd was not that enough ner
praise. Had she known i wrote
them she would not so have told
me all her liking of it, all her pity and
generous sympathy; even her fault-find
ing was sweet to me, it was so freely
frank, so genuine! Ah, yes I it is
enough that I have heard her tears fall
on the flowers for N Annette.
Tears sprang to Rick's eyes, his lips
Quivered a httld as he realized how in
finitely below this man be stood, bow
fur above him was this gray-haired
lover, who oonld give so much and
ask no recompense except a young girl's
tears.
Stephen fumbled in his pocket ; he
took out a paper.
"Look, here is a bit of a poem
wrote last night for her. I want yon to
take it and read it to ber; mind, some
time when I am present. She will say
wbat she thinks of it then.
Rick took the folded paper humbly
enough.
I'll take it, and I'll read it to ber.a
soon as 1 get a chance. And, look bere
Norcroft, I'm glad I have had this talk
with you. No matter what comes, even
should should things go against me,
shall be a better man all my life long
for this talk with yon.
"Imglad, too, Kick,' answered the
other, gently.
The two men went their oinerent
wavB. Kick hurrying, lor it was later
than he thought.
He s an old saint," be muttered,
" yes he is 1 1 felt as if I ought to kneel
and kiss his band kiss those poor
old gray locks of hair that trouble bim
so. He is much more worthy ol poor
little Anne s love than I. And to think
he wrote ' N Annette. If be wins er
she ought to take him I can't ray
anything; but what shall 1 do t 1, too,
love her, little 'JN Annette I '
He did not care to go home, so he
put away his lathe and carving tools
and locking np things went out to the
one restaurant the village boasted. He
cot his dinner and sat a long time over
his cup of coffee, dreaming dreaming
He told himself be was no poet; he bad
not the gift of writing, of making uno
phrases. Still, there was one noble
poem consisting of one noble line, that
line of three words; it has been written
and sung since life and world and youth
were young:
"I love you."
Match that, poets immemorial, if yon
can 1
Rick wrote that down and kissed the
words. Oh, tender, truthful words I He
wrote them over and over on his sheet
of paper.
" I love yon. I love yon, sweet Anne
Fercival I"
Then he thrust it book in his pocket
and went out leaving bis oonee un
nntasted.
The next morning when Kiok was
going to his work he met Miss Fercival,
She stopped.
"Ob, Mr. Sheridan, I have a favor to
ask of yon. We want your help. "
"Yes I" he stood looking at her.
To look at her was enough.
" We want to take the children out
on Saturday afternoon for their picnic
Yon knew we promised them a long
time ago, and we want you to go
with ns."
I shall be glad to go if yon want
me, Miss Feroival," Riok answered,
"Oh, it is the children; yon know
how mnch they think of yon. I really
don t believe they oonid be got to go
without yon 1
"I am glad somebody likes me, an
thinks me of some use," he suid
humbly.
They both laughed ; how beautiful
she was in this strong spring sunshine,
standing there, . straight., and sum - and
tall, speaking to him in her sweet, clear
voice.
"Oh, Miss Feroival" she had made
a movement to go "wait one moment
I have a favor to ask ot you, now a
little one."
"Yes; that is right."
Rick fumbled in his pocket.
t "Here is something I want yon to
read ; yon can take it, and I want yon
to tell me some time, by-and-bye, what
yon think of it."
He handed her the poem Ah I poor
Stephen.
" I hope it is something interesting. '
and Miss Feroival slipped the folded
paper into the book she was carrying.
I will read it"
"Oh, I don't know what yon may
think of it ; yon see, I I naturally
want your opinion. That will decide
it."
He was speaking with his eyes fixed
on the ground. He was striving to be
true to his friend the friend who had
said : "But I do trust yon I"
Rick felt that his task was hard.
"Your opinion is all I care for about
it."
Then yon shall have it I will give
it my very best attention. But it must
be ' something very important, Mr.
Sheridan, yon are so serious over it"
"Yes, it is; it is I"
They were looking at each other now
the strong and steadfast soul of each
shining in the dear brave eyes. The
high and passionate love of youth
youth fearless and enduring leaped in
the light of those meeting eyes. There
was no mistake in the language now,
and each read content.
So they, too, parted.
,
Into the dim greenwood, past the
sweet, wholesome fields, along the path
winding below the hills, past many a nook
where last year's leaves lie rotting in a
wind-tossed heap, children to sing,
Oh, happy, happy day," while Stephen
Norcroft, with his flute, made sylvan
music, and Rick tossed the tired little
ones on his broad shoulders, and sweet
Anne Fercival, with her two matron
aids, watohed and kept something akin
to order in the wild, merry ranks.
"Oh, happy, happy day. And it
would end bo soon. Still there were
other days to come this might end
but. Should he speak now? Why
should he not speak?
Stephen Norcroft meeting Kick apart
laid a. detaining hand on the yonng fel
low's arm.
" Stop, tell me in just one word, did
von give her the poem ? Has she read
itf
Rick stood stone-still ; his face grew
cold and pale.
1 1 thought 1 could wait pursued
Stephen, "I thought I could bear it
still longer, but" he drew a long
breath.
One could see that he was snfferinr .
His thin, sensitive face had seemed to
Rick to grow fine and clear like some
thing purified by fire in these last days.
" In lust one minute, old fellow. 1 in
sorry, but you shall see at once. Wait
here.
He cast a qmok glance about him ;
then, darting down a narrow path,
across a bit of 'green turf, around the
belt of pine and sweet white birch, he
found her.
She was kneeling by a pool of water,
cool and clear and green "Venus'
mirror" is it cot, what Barne Jones
called them her white arm deep down,
pulling at tho strong root of sweet-nag
growing there.
" I beg your pardon, but I must ask
yon now did yon read the poem I gave
yon?"
" Yes: l read it r un, now Deanuiui
her blush was saying his.
"Yon did? And and what do you
think of it?" And ha.was pleading for
another man he wih that voice, with
these eyes.
'I thought it was very Deautnui
verv beautiful but brief I"
"Unr his icon ieii. -win you
... . . .11 1ITM1
have vou by any chance got it with you,
Miss Peroval. ion see i am not quite
sure wbst was in it. Will yon let me
Bee it. please, one moment?
Strsnge her face too changed now at
this. But shd drew out the paper,
f olded, and without a word handed it to
him.
Rick tore it open. What is this?
What are the few hurried scribbled
words scrawled here scribbled in his
writing over and over:
'I love you 1 1 love yon I sweet Anne Terci vail'
He glanced np into her face. Their
eyes met and that one look was enough.
Riok stretched out his arms.
"Oh. it is true! I love yon! Come
to me be my wife ! Come to me, Anne
dear Anne I"
It was only a step one step but it
crossed a whole wide world and entered
those two into heaven !
" Well 1" An hour later Stephen met
and faced him. " Well, yon have Been
her?"
No avoiding the end now; no drawing
back and away. Speak the truth, speak
boldly, it were better.
Rick grew deadly pale thinking how
he must wound this tender soul. He
felt a sense of unmerited punishment
and pain.
"Yes, I saw her I It's no use, Stephen,
for yon I "
The happj secret of his own success
spoke in the very tones of his voice; it
was m the light of bis faoe, in the spar
kle of his eyes.
Stephen Norcroft fell back a step, his
gray hair fell about his forehead, on his
sunken cheeks.
" Traitor !" he cried out. He lifted
one long thin hand toward the far blue
heaven. " Traitor, and I trusted yon I"
A darkness fell npon him now. After
the first numb shook had passed he
orept away, thinking only that he inuit
hide himself forever from the ligkt of
day, from human sight He followed
the hillside path a while, audtben, as
he was tired, he laid himself down be
low the birches and the fragrant pine
boughs, by the brookside. among the
tangled vines.
He was tired. Oh, he was tired: he
put his face in the cooling grasses; the
light even of the moon and stars shining
afar off up there gave him a sense of in
tolerable pain. Would they shine on
forever, when he was so tired, so worn
and weary. There was a soft stir of
night winds among the pine-tops. He
fancied he could hear the bells, his bells
of St. Mark's, ringing. Nay, he was
ringing them himself ringing them
for Rick and Anne they were bridal
bells, sweet bridal bells; not for him,
with his gray hairs. Oh, no, but for
Kick and Anne I
And now, what was this ? Tender
arms were round about him, lifting him
up, gentle voices were speaking to him,
There were soft tears on his face.
"Stephen! dear old friend dear
friend look, speak to ns ! Rouse up
ah I"
Rick and Anne t He was not wholly
fonaken, then he would not be left to
die there alona.
"Dear friend I dear Stephen I ronse
up come with ns I Oh, yon must come I
Try; yon are not bo weak now try to Bit
npi"
Anne's sweet voice. Anne's tears'and
prayers.
"N'Annette," he whispered, feebly,
She bent her face to his to catch his
words. " Was it was it because of
these of my gray hairs?"
"Uh, dear gray hairs I dear gray
hairs I von break my heart 1
Her kisses fell on those silver threads;
her hot tears, too.
" I loved yon, Anne ! I, too, loved
you !"
" Hark 1"
They 'ent over him they two try
ing to ronse him out of that deathly
lethargy.
" The bell I bear the bells. Thev
are bridal bells your bridal, Anne,
yours and Rick's." He rose, stretching
his arms upward. "My hair will not be
gray np there I" His gray hair fell over
his face then, betwixt it and ber tears
N'Annette ! N'Annette 1"
And then the bells were still.
And did Rick feel no remorse ? Alas,
and alas! They to whom the sweet
fruits of earth are given eat and are
content. To the strong belongs the
prize, perhaps justly. The weak, too,
have their part to act, though it be an
bumble one. When the cold dews of
death fall on gray hairs, the hands that
tre too weak to win great triumphs can
fc Id themselves in helpful prayer they
can close the sad, tired eyes of death,
Renunciation is not in the blcod of
youth. So Rick and Anne are happy,
Peace be with them, and good-will to
the end.
And to Stephen Norcroft the memory
of the lilacs.
How Shot are Hade.
A shot-tower is certainly a curious
place to the uninitiated visitor, and the
process of manufacturing the leaden
missiles is most interesting. Of course
it is necessary that the shot should fall
from a considerable elevation, and the
height of many of the towers is ovw
two hundred feet. As pure lead will
not make porfect globules, it is nf es
sanlv "tempered." This "tenrper" is
prepared by the addition oi ingredients,
of which arsenic is the main property,
It is run into bars convenient for use,
and with pig-lead, hoisted to the top of
the tower. Here are two small rooms.
one about twelve feet below the other,
and each containing two huge
kettles in which the pig-lead and
tho "temper" are meltsd. From one
or the other of the two kettles in both
rooms as eaoh room has a separate
shaft streams of shot are constantly
flowing. At the bottom of eaoh kettle
the molten stuff pours into square pans
perforated at one side, 'ihese perfora
tions are large or small, aooording to the
size of shot desired, and separate the
mass into distinct, delicate, gleaming
streams, which in turn, as they come in
contact with the atmosphere, sepa
rate into perfect globules or shot, which
are cooled in their two hundred feet
journey and the water into which they
fall below.
The Weather and the Mind.
Dull, depressing, gloomy days pro
duce dispiriting reflections and gleomy
thoughts, and small wonder when we
remember that the mind is not only a
motive, but a receptive organ, aud that
all the impressions it receives from
without reach it through the mediumtif
senses which are direotly dependent on
the condition of light and atmosphere
for their action, and therefore imme
diately influenced by the surrounding
conditions. It is a common sense in
ference that if the impressions from
without reach tho mind through im-perfeotly-acting
organs of sense,
and those impresHions are them
selves set in a minor aesthetic key of
oolor, sound and general qualities, the
mind must be what is. called "moody",
It is not the habit of sensible people to
make surhoient allowance for this ra
tionale of dullness and subjective
weakness. Some persons are more do
pendent on external circumstances and
conditions for their energies or the
stimulus that convert s potential kinetic
forces than others; but all feel the in
floenoe of the world -without, and to this
intluenoe the sick and the weak are
especially refcponeive. Hence the vary
ing temperaments of mind changing
with the weather, tho outlook and the
wind. '
Invocation to Summer Rain.
Oh g'ntle, gentle summer rain,
Let not the silver lily pine,
The drooping lily pine in vain
To feel that dewy touch of thine
To drink thy freshness once again,
Oh gentle, gentle summer rain I
In heat the landscape quivering lies ;
The cattle pant beneath the tree ;
Through parching air and pnrple skies
The earth lof s np in vain, for thee ;
For thee for nee, it looks in vain,
Oh gentle, entle summer rain.
Come then and brim the meadow streams.
And soften all the hills with mist,
Oh falling dew I from burning dreams
By thee shall herb and flower be kissed.
And earth shall bless thee yet again,
Oh gentle, gentle summer rain.
Bennett
HUMOR OF TUP DAY.
It is estimated by tho census of 1880
that there is an average of five and r
quarter persons to each family. An ex
change unfeelingly adds : "In many of
them the husband is the quarter."
When a man says he is a miserable
sinnei, if yon take him at his word and
tell bim yon agree with him be will
well, it's on the whole better not to do
it till yon get on the other side of the
fence.
A medical journal devotes a whole
column to explaining what caused oold
perspiration. Any one who has gone
np a dark alley and stepped on a dog
would be wasting valuable time in read
ing it Puck.
Now the airv lady-killer
Getteth off his wild invee
Tive when doth the caterpillar,
Tumble down his neck
From a limb
In the woodland oool and dim.
Puck.
Some of the new hats and bonnets are
as large as parasols; others no larger
than a saucer, and others still are of
medium size. The big ones are intend
ed for the theatre; the small ones for
wear in the sun. That's the way
w men always arrange it Boston Pott-
Fresid en t Arthur's son tel 1 s the folio w,
u.g story of his father's man-servant,
Aleck: Some one asked him: "Well
Aleck, how do yon like Washington?'
to which Aleck responded dramatically:
" Ob, I'd lather be a yaler gas lamp in ,
New York than the brightest eleotrio
light in Washington."
It is claimed that the author of the
popular melody, "Over the Garden
Wall,'' caught his inspiration while in
vestigating a melon patch at tho busi
ness end of a ferocions bulldog. A
garden wall studied under Buoh circum
stances is apt to leave a lasting impres
sion on the average mind. Toledo
Ameriem.
The Cup that Cheers.
There is, perhapB, no beverage th
world over so popular as the cup of
te.'i, so potent to braoe the nervos, bo
conducive to domestic comfort nd
cheerful, innooent gossip. If one has
a headache, is chilled or weary, the cup
of tea revitalizes and kindlos the ex
hausted flame of energy and spirits ; it
is the email currency of hospitality. Is
it not tho centle tea leaf whioh
hrfocfukiridred tmirif.s together? Has
not one of the most important and
social meals of the day taken its
nemo from that insinuating plant ?
What is home without a cup
of tea ? And when would the 5 o'clock
tea have found favor or votaries nnder
any other name? Is it not the moving
spirit of the sewing-circle? and who
ever heard of a fortune being told from
ooffee grounds or chocolate dregs ? Is
any cordial moro delicious than iced
tea on a scorohing July day? In
Southey's division of his day's work it
was tea which nshered in poetry, while
Dr. Johnson may have flavored many
an essay with the effusion, and who can
tell but we owe "Rasselas" to its exhil
arating effects, "when with tea he
amused the evening, with tea so
laced the midnight, and with tea
welcomed the morning?" Like woman s
rights and other eternal venues, it bad
a battle to fight before acquiring its
present position in the world. It was
proscribed by physicians, denounced by
the essayists, sneered at by the wits and
poets. It was supposed to provoke
scandal, and even to this day the sus
picion is not obsolete. Yet a present of
tea was thought to be suitable for roy
alty to receive, since in lOG-t we are told
that the East India company sent ine
queen two pounds! It was doubtless re
served for high days and holidays in early
times, and was not poured out for poor
relations, nor sent into the kitchen;
but familiarity, instead of damaging its
reputation, has recommended it io
greater favor; and the poor working
people who allow themselves no lux
uries regard tne cup oi iea as a ineuu
and necessity. " I am glad I was not
born before tea," said Sydney Smiib,
one of whose recipes against mel
ancholy is a kettle einging on
the hob. As there is a riaht
way to boil an egg, bo there
is a right way to prepare the stimulating
beverage. In China tne wealthy make
it by pouring boiling water into a cup
in which some of the tea leaves have
been placed, and it would, perhaps, be
well if we followed their example, in
sttal of allowing It, as mauy do, to
boil, as it the whole object was to ex
tract the bitter tannin. We do injus
tice to the genial herb whose native
country is wrapped in mystery, although
it is found wild in India-by making
a. before the tea, bell rings. Batar.