"THE RIDDLE OF THINCS THAT ARE."
We walk In a world where no mau reads We know that the problems of Sin and
The riddle of things that are,— l'ain.
From u tiny fern in ttio valley's heart Anil the passions that lead to crime.
To the light of the largest star, — Are the mysteries locked from age to aje
Yet we know that the pressure of life is In tho awful vault of Time; —
bard Yet we lift our weary feet and strive
And the silence of Death is deep, Through the mire and mist to grope
As we fall and rise on tho tangled way And find a ledge on the mount of Faith
That leads to the gate of Sleep In tho morning land of Hope.
—William H. Hayne, In Harper's Weekly.
* A flother's flistake. I
W VVT WV VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVH I \F--W
In a darkened room, where the
slintters were closely bowed and tied
with broad black ribbons, a lady was
unfolding and stroking with tender
hands the contents of a small trunk.
Not packed for a traveler's comfort,
the trunk contained only the posses
sions of a babe u year old, who had
"gone before" to the heavenly home.
For six mouths the bereaved mother
had made a weekly visit to the trunk,
unfolding and refolding every baby
garment, packing carefully the baby
toys and stroking tenderly every tiuy
object endeared by the touch of the
little one she had lost. Yet, 011 the
day when the sixth month had rolled
by, her tears fell upon the dainty em
broideries,the worn socks, the broken
toys as fast as on the day when she
first put aside the clothes Baby Willie
would never wear again. Her dress
of heavy black, loaded with crape,
suited well her pale,tear-stained face,
heavy eyes and grief-drawn mouth.
While she was yet busy at her
mournful task the door opened softly
and two beautiful boys of four years
old, her twin sons, Eddie and Charlie,
came into the room. Seeing their
mother busy, they softly stepped to
her side and stood quiet until Eddie
spied a tin horse and wagon on the
floor. A moment Inter lie had grasped
it and was pulling it down from the
summit of a pile of little garments.
Down toppled the whole pile, the
cart rattling noisily. The mother
looked around with a quick frown.
"Yon naughty, heartless boy!" she
cried, sobbing. "How can you touch
your poor, dead brother's things? I
think you are old euough to know
poor Willie is gone, never to come
back, aud mamma is so sad—so- "
Here the sobs choked her, and the
children, terrified, began to cry, too.
"Eddie sorry," one sobbed; "don't
liy, mamma."
"Is .Charlie bad boy, too?" asked
the other, with a piteous wail in his
voice, that should have gone straight
to the mother's heart.
"Goto the nursery," slie said, aud
the little ones trotted off, hand in
band, vaguely conscious that they
were in disgrace aud ready to be com
forted by rosy-clieeked Nannie, their
nurse.
"And,dear knows," said that warm
hearted individual to the cook, "it is
a shame for the poor darlings. It's
not blaming Mrs. Aiken I am for cry
ing her eyes out for the beautiful boy
she lost. Didn't I love every curl of
his hair, the pretty pet. But look at
the two that's left. Wouldn't they be
a comfort to anybid, - , and Mrs. Aiken
only speaks to tlieni now to set them
crying. Sure she can't expect babies
like them to remember their brother
more than six months, and if they
were downright wicked she couldn't
be harder than she is if they laugh or
romp. She'll break their spirits en
tirely."
And the mother, rocking to and fro,
■with the picture of her dead boy
clasped to her ljenrt, was thinking:
"Everybody is forgetting Willie but
me. But I will never forget. I will
never, never cease to mourn for my
darling. Oh, Willie! Willie!"
Breaking iu upon her sobs came a
whistle, a merry whistle of a popular
tune, aud the door of the darkened
room opened again noisily.
"Where are yon, Susy? Oh!"
Voice and luce fell, and Mr. Aiken
sto >d silently at the door, his eves
slowly gathering the mournful expres
sion suited to the funereal aspect of
the scene before him.
"I was hoping you had gone out
when I did not find you in the sitting
room," he said, "but Nannie told me
you were upstairs. I wish you would
uot spend so much time in this room,
Susv. It is wearing away your
health."
"Oh, Fred," tho mother sobbed,
"how can you whistle! I don't expect
sorrow or .sympathy from the children,
but you—l thought you loved Willie
so dearly."
"So I ilid, Susy, but I made a most
fortunate investment in business a
few weeks ago, and today I was able
to pay nil' the mortgage on the house.
1 did feel light-hearted when I thought
I had secured a home for my family."
"Oh, Fred! how can you think of
money and houses when our beautiful
boy lies dead!"
The young husband stood shame
faced and penitent. In the shadow
of the darkened room, with Willie's
picture on the wall, Willie's clothes
revealed by the open lid of the trunk,
Willie's toys standing on the floor, it
did seem cruel and heartless to think
of anything but the lost child. And
Fred bad loved his baby boy with all
a father's fondness and grieved for
liim deeply and truly. So he stood
silently waiting while Susy dried her
eyes and came to his side. Carefully
closing *.he door of the room where
she kept the precious souvenirs of
lier boy, she followed her husband to
the dining room. Everywhere the
bowed shutters kept out God's sun
light, and the house was as dark and
gloomy as if a corpse awaited burial
there.
Awed by the father's grave face,the
mother's look of woe, the children ate
silently, gladly scrambling down and
escaping to Nannie and the nuraery
when the dinner was over.
"Come, Susy," Fred said. "I can
aft'ord to take a few leisure hours to
day. I will get a carriage, and we
will take the children out. A run on
the seashore will do us all good, for
the weather is getting hot."
"Oh! Fred, drive me to Greenwood.
It is nearly a month since we were
there."
"Well, as you wish,"said Fred,pity
ing the pale face and really fearing
that he was growing heartless. "We
can take tho children down to Bath
afterward."
Nearly a month after the day de
scribed, which was a fair specimen of
the days preceding it for six long
months, a silver-haired old lady sat
knitting in a clioarful sitting room.
Iu a sleeping room beyond a lady lay
upon the bed, resting after an excit
ing talk, weary with crying and half
sleeping.
While the old lady plied her needles
with her sweet, placid face clouded by
some troubled thought, Fred Aiken
came into the room.
"Oh!" lie said, kissing her fondly,
"you always look cheerful here,
mother."
"I am glad you still love your old
home, Fred," was the reply.
"Yes. Have you seen Susy to
day?"
"She was here this morning, and
"Has she told you I am going to
accept Russell's offer and take the
California branch of the business?"
"She said you thought of it. But,
Fred, I hope you will think better of
it. Yon are doing well here, and your
first duty is to your own home."
"I have 110 home."
"Fred, you shock me!"
"There is a funeral vault up town
where I live," was the reply, "but the
home I had there is gone. I have
been patient, mother, as you advised
me. I have not said one harsh word
to Susy. I respected her sorrow and
tried to comfort her, but T tell you
frankly that I shall become insane
if Ido not get away. It is useless for
me to (ell you that I loved my boy,my
little Willie, as foudlv as ever father
loved a son. I grieved for liim sin
cerely, but after my first shook of
pain was over I thought of him safe
in God's care, happy, released from
all the sorrows of this life,and was com
forted. God has left me my wife, my
two noble boys nud my own home,
health aud strength. It seemed to me
monstrous and wicked to see 110 light
or hope in life because a babe bad
returned to Heaven pure and spotless.
But Susy would not see the loss in
this light. It became her religion to
mourn for her baby ceaselessly and
hopelessly. She hugged her grief
to her heart till the whole world was
dark, and would hear no word of com
fort. "
"Have you told her what you have
just told me of your own source of
comfort?"
"Over and over again, but she only
sobs more pitifully because I do not
share her feelings. You advised me
to be patient, to let time carry its
healing to her. I have been patient,
but I am losing my own powers of
usefulness in the dreary atmosphere
of my once pleasant home. My boys
are growing pale and thin in the un
natural suppression of their baby
spirits. Susy has actually persuaded
them that it is a sin to romp, to make
a noise or laugh, and I have seen Ed
die put his finger on his lip and say
to Charlie:
" 'Don't laugh! You forget baby
brnzzer.' "
"Fred!"
"I assure you Ido not exaggerate.
The house is like a prison. Every
room is kept darkeued, and the whole
atmosphere is heavy and actually chilly
in this glorious summer weather.
Susy nurses her sorrow fill it is be
coming a monomania."
"Cannot you coax her out?"
"She will go nowhere but to Green
wood, and the last time we were there
she fainted on Willie's grave. "
"She is uot strong."
"Because she shuts herself up
closely in the house, dark aud gloomy
as a vault, destroys her appetite and
weakens her whole system. I cannot
use any sternness, exercise any strong
authority, for it seems like actual bru
tality and want of feeling for her sor
row. But I must escape. I ain be
coming unlit for business, and
Mother, I have actually been tempted
to joiu bachelor parties to get rid of
the necessity of returning home to
meet only darkness, tears and repin
ing!"
"Oh, Fred, you frighten me!"
"I frighten myself! It is because
I am losing my strength to resist such
temptations that I am considering this
California offer. Susy will then have
no one to consider, and I will have at
least air and light out of business
hours. Mother, advise 1110! What
can I do? If it is cowardly to run
away,shirk my duties as husband and
father, I will stay; but I tell you
frankly I am afraid I shall be driven
to neglect home, wife and children if
I find nothing there but gloom and
darkness."
There was a rustling noise in the
sleeping room as Fred ceased speak
ing, and the door, which had stood
ajar, was pushed open. Susy stood
upon the threshold, her heavy bltck
| draperies still clinging nround her,
but her face lifted with a look upon it
that went to Fred's heart. It was
the expression of so much penitence,
such lieart-stricken remorse, that he
held out both hands, to gather her
closely in his arms. Then she spoke:
"Forgive me, Fred, and stay with
me I I did not mean to be an eaves
dropper, but I heard all you said, and
I set; how wickedly selfish I have been.
You were so kind, so tender, that I
did not realize what I was doing in
my neglect of you and our boys. Do
not go away, Fred!"
"Never, Susy, if you bid ine stay."
"I do. Mother,you will help uie to
keep him."
"Not now! I must give my answer
this morning. lam off now, but I
will be home to dinner."
It was still daylight on the summer
afternoon when Fred Aiken came
home. Before he entered the house
he drew a deep sigh of relief, seeing
the shutters of every window opened
ana the light shaded only by inner
curtains. In the sitting room Fddio
aud Charlie, long banished because
they were noisy, were building block
houses. Their dress showed plainly
that Nannie had no longer sole con
trol of their appearance, and on each
little face was a serene happiness, as
if some long-felt restraint was gone.
Susy,in a dress of black,thin goods,
had put snowy ruilles at wrists and
throat and, for the first time since
her baby died, had arranged her hair
fashionably and becomiuglv. Upon
her face, still pale and thin, was a
smile of welcome for Fred, aud the
kiss of greeting he gave her was cor
dially returned.
"Papa!" the boys shouted, "see us
tumble down the tower mamma
built."
And down came the rattliug blocks,
without any quick cry of restraint for
their noise or the gleeful shouts of the
littie ones.
It is nearly seven years now since
Baby Willie was laid to sleep in
Greenwood. Two little girls are
playmates for Eddie and Charlie in
Mrs. Aiken's nursery, and unother
little grave marks a second bereave
ment. But the mother has learned
well the lesson impressed upon her
heart when the selfish sorrow so near
ly blighted her home.
The little ones God has taken can
never be forgotten. Tears still fall
over their pictures, the silent souve
nirs of their brief lives,but the duties
to the living are never forgotten in
sorrowing for the dead. What God
has taken to His own care the mother
has learned to resign submissively,
thanking Him for the blessings spared,
shutting out no sunlight He gives and
treasuring gratefully the memories of
brightness with the sorrow of the little
lives ended.—New York News.
QUAINT AND CURIOUS.
Indian ink couies from Cliiaa, and
consists of lampblack and glue.
A partridge with white wings has
been eluding the best English sports
men about Ledbury.
The longest continued cataleptic
sleep known was reported from Ger
many in 1892. It continued four and
one-half months.
Curupay is a Paraguayan wood of
reddish color and extremely hard. It
lasts for years under ground or in
water and is chiefly used for railway
sleepers.
The Good Habit society now has
*2OOO members. It was started by
Harvey Prentice, a Chicago school boy.
Its chief pledge is to treat everybody
with kindness.
In the jungles of Sumatra the larg
est spiders are found. Some of the
largest specimens measure eight inches
across the back anl have seventeen
inches of leg spread.
What is probably the most venera
ble piece of furniture in existence is
now in the British Museum. It is the
throne of Queen Hatsu, who reigned
in the Nile valley some 1(500 years be
fore Christ.
Temper lamp chimneys by putting
them in a pan of cold water on the
range and bringing the water to a boil,
letting the glasses cool in the water
after being removed from the heat. If
the brass catches are not too tight,
breakages will be few.
A female towncrier fulfils her duties
in the Scottish town of Dunning, Pert
hshire. She is a hale, hearty old dame
of seventy, locally known as the "bell
wife," and is very proud of having
proclaimed the Queen's birthday for
fifty-three years running.
Formerly in India, Siam and other
Eastern countries, Malay men driven
mad by opium hasheesh or other diugs,
would run about frantically, sword iu
hand, striking at any one they might
happen to meet and crying, "Amok,
amok," —kill, kill. The phrase "to
run amuck" comes from that.
Fred Bird of Quitman, Kan., has
brought suit against James Glover of
the same town for SSOOO damages.
Bird alleges that in a public place,
with crowds to see and multitudes to
laugh, Glover did, with intention and
malice aforethought, pull a chair from
under him as he was about to sit down.
The joke resulted iu a broken leg, and
Bird wants pay for the leg.
Three Dollar* n Head for Coyote*.
The people of western Kansas are
organizing to exterminate the coyotes,
which have multiplied by the thou
sand. Hundreds of sheep and young
calves have been killed by them. The
commissioners of Pawnee county of
fered a bounty of $3 for every scalp
brought to the county treasurer.
Sportsmen are organizing to join in
the fight against the coyotes, which
are simply a species of prairie wolf.
At £3 a head hunters can make good
wages. Dogs are of no value,because
one coyote can whip three doizs.
Z THE REALM OF FASHION. ||
Hats For Spring nncl Summer.
Fashionables of Paris are now be
ginning to think of summer hats.
Straw will be, as usual, universally
worn, and the novelties are very
charming. Among the new ones are
CREATION OF VELVET AND TELLE.
the effect is charming. A novel man
ner of using tnlle is to arrange it in
layers, one over the other, until it is
quite opaque, anil then either stretch
it smoothly over a Arm shape or ar
range it in the form of a beret, with
the looso edges of the tulle separate,
like the leaves of a book, and each
one edged with very narrow satin rib
bon or a row of spangles or jet nail
heads. In Paris flower-trimmed hats
and bonnets are already tho vogue, and
OIEL'S COSTUME.
closely plaited coarse straws in all
shades. Finely sewn straws, Pana
mas, Legliorns and manillas will also
be worn. The coarse straws, how
ever, will l>e deemed the most ele
gant for toques and bonnets. Tulle
will prove a strong rival of straw
during the early part of the coming
season. Even now the new models
are built of tulle and velvet. Chiffon
and tulle are also employed for deep
plaited frills to soft velvet crowns, aud
gay blossoms will doubtless be exten
sively worn in the early spring. Large
open roses are the most fashionable.
Felt hats and toques have entire
clowns made of them. As is usual in
the lato winter, violets are all the
rage, and the provident dame is now
adding a fresh note to her winter hat
in the shape of these delicate and
beautiful llowers.
Gills' Costume in Light Welfllit Serge.
Whatever number of more elaborate
and delicate gowns the growing girl's
wardrobe may include, one of sturdy
stuff, simply made, is essential to her
comfort and well-being. The model
shown in the double-column illustra
tion, says May Manton, is of light
weight serge in royal blue and is
trimmed with fancy black braid. But
cheviot, covert cloth and all the new
spring suitings, as well as cashmere,
are equally suitable.
The foundation for the waist is a
fitted lining that closes at the centre
back. tin it are arranged the full
body portions and the yoke, which is
extended and divided to form slashed
epaulettes. The straight strip shown
at the front is lined with crinoline,
then applied to the waist proper, cov
ering tho edges of full fronts. The
sleeves are two-seamed aud lit snugly,
except for tho slight pufl'a at tho
shoulders, which are universally worn
by children and young girls. Tho
pointed wrists are finished with frills
of lace, and at the throat is a high
standing collar.
The skirt is four-gored and fits
smoothly across the front and over the
hips, the fulness at tho back being
laid in backward-turning plaits. It is
lined throughout, but unstiffened, anil
is trimmed with two rows of fancy
braid.
To make this costume for a girl of
eight years will require two and one
half yards of forty-four-inch material.
Style* In Sushts.
Sashes of all kinds and conditions
are well to the front in fashion, and
the new ribbons are more beautiful
than ever. There are Iloman stripes,
checks and plaids, with satiu bordered
edges, and flowered, corded, and
watered ribbons of all kinds. Net,
chiffon, and lace sashes will continue
in favor; but it is not alone sashes for
the waist that swell the list. The
sashes for the neck are quite as con
spicuous and more generally worn, fci
all women seem to like the long silken
cravats around their throats. They
are made of liberty gauze, chiffon, and
thin silk, or of Swiss, v.-ith hemstitched
and lace-triiutned ends. The newest
of these neck sashes is a scarf of net
with an elaborate lace pattern at the
ends and an edge all around. They
range in price from $4 to §ls, and are
really very elegant. In smaller things
for the neck thero is an unlimited
variety. Short bows and knotted
cravats of pure white lawn, with knife
plaited frills on the ends, are added to
an array of lace knots and neck frills
which are beyond description.
New Materials for Spring Wear.
Among the new materials this sprin."
are several weaves of crepon, which
are not intended for anything but
mourning wear. They look as though
part were made of crape, and then of
shirrings of silk and wool. They are
also to be seen with a sort of blistered
surface, resembling matelasseor quilt
ing. They are always of a deep black,
not a blue black, and wear well, but
are among tho expensive materials.
However, as they do not require much
trimming, they are not so expensive
as might bo thought.
Novelties iu Buttons.
In fine buttons for bodices and
jackets some liaudsoma novelties are
shown in celluloid, jet, steel aud por
celain. The latter are especially love
ly, and often look like miniatures, so
exquisitely are ideal heads painted
upon them.
Latest Spring Blouse.
The bloused fronts open over a plas
tron of white satiu or of a silk which
matches one of the colors in the plaid
of the waist material. These fronts
are held together by cufflinks through
button holes. Tho revers are faced
nrnisG Btorsr.
with tho waist material or to match
the plastron. Plaids, stripes, plain
silks, checks, all are made up in this
style. The back is in a single piece
and slightly bloused. If preferred it
can ba drawn doxn tightly.
A TRYING SITUATION.
A mnn may bo a hero
in most any wiilk of life;
But curtain situations
.Make him falter in the strife;
And one that trios his mettle.
'Till warm beneath the collar,
Is when he comes to parting
With his last and only dollar!
He'll laugh at old misfortune
When he hears the dollars clink,
Aiul be brave for any danger,
When ho knows he's got tho "chink;"
But lie sings a different measure.
When his hoard is growing smaller,
And he finds he's come to parting
With his last and only dollar!
You speak in praise of striving.
And of conquering adverse fate,
And prove how oft the humble
Have been truly good and great;
But philosophy is vanquished
By both the boor and scholar,
When it comes to llnal parting
With the la»t and only dollar!
—Detroit Free Press.
HUMOROUS.
Different kinds of punishment are
2;ood for unruly children, but as a
general thing spanking takes tho
palm.
"What's Old Calamity howling
about now?" "Because he can't get
as much for wheat here as you are
paying at the Klondike."
Wallace—l presume you are aware
that money is a great carrier of bac
teria? Hargreaves—Yes. That is
why I burn it as fast as I get it.
"And why," said the young porker,
"do you feel so sad whenever you see
a hen?" "My son," replied the old
hog, "I cannot help thinking of ham
and eggs."
First Hen—What are those young
bantams lighting about? Second Heu
—Oh! they are disputing about tho
question, Which is the mother of the
chick —the hen that lays the egg or
the incubator?
Lounger—Do cook-books form an
important item in your sale*? Book
seller—Yes, we sell them by the thou
sand. "The women appreciate them,
eh?" "Oh, the women don't buy
them; their husbands do."
"Pat, you complain of being out of
work, and yet [ heard that coal dealer
offer you a job to drive one of hisr
carts, not ten minutes ago." "Yis,
sor; but I'm blamed if I'll freeze me
self to death to keep alive, begob!"
Maud(showing fashion plate)—Papn,
that's the way I would look if I had
a sealskin sacque. Maud's Father
(showing advertising picture labeled
"Before taking")--And that's the way
I would look,dear,when the bill came
in.
"Papa," said Sammy Snaggs, who
was seeking for information, "how
much is gold worth an ounce?" "J
can't tell you «|hnt gold is worth an
ounce here, but in the Klondike I un
derstand that gold is worth its weight
in doughnuts."
Mrs. Asketn—lt's the unluckiest
store to shop in dear. Mrs. Priceil—
Why? Mrs. A site in—There isn't a
thing you might ask for they haven't
got, aud everything they have is se
lovely you're forced to buy without
going further."
She beats the bars of her prison in
her wrath. "Release miff' she
shrieked, "or I shall break out—it
not in one way, then in another."
The warden trembled. If she prove#
lo be a poetess of passion, would he
be responsible?
"Yon," said she, as she came down
leisurely pulling on her gloves—"von
used to say I was worth my weight in
gold." "Well, what if I did?" h«
asked, lo iking at his watch. "And
now,you don't think I am worth a wait
of two minutes."
"Youenjoy coaching.do yon? I never
could see where the fun comes in. One
looks so like a blamed fool, sitting up
on a three-story coach and cavorting
over the highway tooting of a horn.
"I know it, but it isn't every blamei?
fool that cau afford it."
Johnnie—Papa, is mamma the befc
ter half of you? Father—Yes. mj
son, that's the way they put it. John
nie—And are all wives the better pari
of their husbands? Father—
ly, my son. Johnnie—Then, what
pari of King Solomon were his wives?
He Put Out the HH.II. ,
The American clergy did a great deal
by precept and example to stimulate
patriotism during the Revolution. In
his book 011 "Chaplains and Clergj
in the Revolution," the late historian
Headley relates a number of incident#
of "fighting parsons." The Rev,
Thomas Allen, the lirst minister evei
settled in the town of Pittsfield.Mass.,
was a man renowned and beloved fo;
liis gentleness and piety. When hos'
tilities between England and th«
colonies were declared, Pastor Allen's
flock was astonished to hear thei;
mild shepherd announce his intention
to join the militia and tight for the
right!
"At the battle of Bennington th«
Berkshire militia had their share
the conflict, and the Rev. Thomas
len fought as a common soldier, s
by side with his fellow countrymt
Knowing this good man's natui
aversion to violence and bloodshe>
some one said to him nfter the batt
was over:
'"They say you fought at Beunin
ton, Mr. Allen. Is it true? '
"'Yes; I did,' answered the man
God. 'lt was a hot, close battle, ai
it became every patriot to do 1
duty.'
"'Well, but, Mr. Allen,' said
parishioner, 'did you kill anybody'
"'No,' replied the courageous'
conscientious clergyman; 'I d
know tliat I killed anybody;
happened to notice a frequent
from behind a certain bush, alio
time I saw that flash one of or
men fell. I took aim at the bu
tired. I don't know that I kill
body, but I put ont that flash !