BABY'S WISDOM. When mother wakes Yet baby's eyes Her babe and breaks Make irlad r«nitAa The silence with her speeeh, , And baby'? tiny hands' r>2 w ° r( i of Applausive move Despite my wit. To deftlv prove Doth my awed reason reach. How baby understands. Choctaw and Greek And though my store And verbal freak Ol lingual lore Of languages long dead Is my chief boasts among. Thi r I*,®', I'he facts disclose The wide world o'er. That baby knows Such barren nonsense shed. More of the mother tongue. —Richmond Dispatch. A A JC- A An Old Maid's Love Affair. P J nv JAMSS BrOKFtAM. F irWVVVTVVVVWWVVW WV V VVT 4 A child crying down in the swamp —what could it aean? Miss Abigail Drew stopped and set down the heavy basket of lunch she was carrying to tho men in the havfield. It surely was a child's cry and a baby's, too! How it stirred the chords of her lone ly, longing heartl Miss Abigail loved children with a passionate, yearning love, and yet it had been years since she had even heard a baby cry. Liv ing alone with her brother and his oc casional help on that remote farm, all social lelationships, all neighborly amenities and delights were almost entirely denied her. And above all things she missed and longed for the sunny presence of children. She felt that,if she only had a child to care for, her barren, empty life would overflow with joy and purpose. The days,now so sad and meaningless, would be so rich and .blessed then! Ah! there is nothing like the infinite aching of the mother-heart in a childless breast. Therefore, that child-cry, floating np from the swamp, was heavenly music to tho heart of Miss Abigail Drew. She clasped her hands and lis tened, her whole being absorbed in the associations connected with the sound. Suddenly her heart surged into her throat, and she caught her breath with the thought that rushed across her mind what if a baby had been left in the swamp deserted—! And what if she should be the one to find it and take it home, and, oh, what if nobody should ever come to claim it! The wistful face of the woman paled and flushed and flushed and paled in swift succession as her heart brooded upon this wonderful possibil ity. At length, with a little cry that was all a prayer, she sprang toward the swamp,leaving the basket of lunch under the blaze of the July sun. When she emerged from the thick, low woods at the bottom of the pas ture, her dress was torn and her face scratched and streaming with perspi ration, but the rapture and triumph that shone in her eyes, as she looked down upon a bundle strained to her breast, showed that life for her had suddenly been liftedabove all ordinary conditions and considerations and that she was only conscious of walking upon such roseate air as tho old painters limned beneath the feet of their exalted Ma donnas. A little face peeped out from the ragged shawl that wrapped Miss Abigail's precious burden, but the plaintive cry had ceased, and the blue eyes of the little foundling were gaz ing up into those "two springs of lim pid love" that shone above them. Nathan Drew and his two hired men were waiting impatiently under the shadow of a big elm tree when their breathless provider finally arrived with the basket of lunch and that strange bundle upon her left arm. It was long past noon, and Nathan Drew was fretting and fuming at his sister's unaccountable delay. "What in 'tarnel kept you so long?" he demanded, as the panting woman dropped the basket under the shadow of theelm. "Arid,for goodness' sake, what ye got in yer arms?" "A baby, Nathan!" replied his sis ter, in a voice full of soft, reverential joy. "A poor little baby that was left in the swamp. I heard it crying and went to fiud it, and that's what made me so late." "Humph!" said Nathan Drew,taking the covering from the basket and in specting its contents. "What be ye goin' to do with it?" A cloud swept across the radiant face of the woman. There was some thing distinctly forbidding in her brother's tone and manner. Evident ly, the only question that had entered his mind was how to get rid of the unwelcome encumbrance that had been left upon his land. Their thoughts were traveling in diamet rically opposite directions —the woman's towards retaining the child, the man's towards disposing of it. There was something of the protec tive cunning of love in Abigail's evasive answer to her brother. 'Tro'mbly somebody will come along and claim it in a little while," she said. Nathan Drew laughed derisively. Then he took a huge bite out of one of Abigail's delicious chickeu sand wiches and washed it down with a gulp of coffee from the warm can. "Verv likely," he replied at length; "very likely!" Then he laughe 1 again. "Somebody dropped it accidentally in the swamp, eh, boys? Somebody'll be comin' back, 'most crazy to find it, by 'n' by." The hired men laughed servilely, though it was plain that their minds were chiefly absorbed by the lunch basket which their employer held be tween his legs and was steadily plun dering. "Well, come on, boys. Hitch np here and have something to eat!" cried the farmer. "We can't bother about a baby all day. There's work to be done." The tongues of the hired men were loose 1 as their anxiety disappeared, and one of them,a smart little French Canadian, exclaimed: "Ah guess ah know where dat bebby come from,me! Dat mans leev in lumber shanty on Coon Hill? he tone, an' heez oi' hooman have t'ree. four, live bebby prob'ly too. Ah bet dat mans left dat bebby,sell!" "I shouldn't wonder," replied Na than Drew. ".Shiftless chap! Camp ing down on my property with out even asking permission and usinp my lumber shanty, stave and wood! I'm gla l he's gone, but I wish he'd taken bis hull blame brood with him. The young un 'll prob'ly gov up jest like the rest of 'em, la y and wuth lesßl" "Ah heard say," continued the lit tle Frenchman, "dat man's Hinglish man, good fambly, but not ver' strong for work. Los' heez heulth an' 'bliged for take to de woods. No money—no health-big fambly. Ah guess ah'll do 'bout same t'ing as him, bah gosh, if ah get too much bebby!" "Don't doubt it, Alphonse," re joined the farmer. "That's jest the sort of a critter yon be and yer hull Canuck tribe." Alphonse grinned appreciatively and took no oli'ence. Then silence fell upon the three men until the last crumb and drop of their noonday lunch had disappeared. Abigail tenderly laid the baby down in the grass while she gathered to gether the dishes and napkins and re packed them in the basket. Her brother stood over her, watching. He was a spare, hard-faced, iron-gray man, who showed by every line and feature the absence of sentiment in his make-up. The woman's hands trembled as she worked. .She knew he was about to say something con cerning the child. Presently ho spoke: "You kin keep that young un jest two days, Abigail. Then, if there don't nobody come to claim it, I am goin' to take it to the Foundling Hos pital." Having thus delivered him self, lie shouldered his pitchfork aud walked determinedly away. Tears obscured the homeward path of the little w0.11.111 as she straggled through the shimmering sunlight with the infant on her arm. She knew that her brother would be turned from his purpose neither by argument nor by entreaty. He had spoken, and that was an end of it—the indexible ulti matum of that old Puritan-bred tyr anny that survives in so many heads of New England lionseholds. But, though the path was blurred, it took her home—the only home she had ever known,the roof under which ihe had been born and reared and which had descended to her elder brother when their parents died. Hastening to the pantry, she took milk ind warmed it for the babe, half stu pefied by starvation. Then,clumsily, jret with a woman's instinct, she spar ingly fed the child with a spoon,a few Irops at a time. As life came back to he little body with nourishment, the jaby cried weakly, aud Abigail itrained it to her bosom, while tears jf mingled joy and pity rained down ipon the little head. What a pretty ,'hild it was, despite its snllering*! What a clear, white skin; what a Ut ile, poiuted, dimpled chiu; what blue, jlue eyes; what breadth of forehead md fullness of temple; what dainty ittle hands; what a soft, sweet neck "or nestling a mother's lips! For two days Abigail Drew lived in the awful joy of one who drains the aectar from a cup which, when emptied, must be dashed to earth. She tried to put away the thought that she and that little bubj' girl must part. She tried to make those two precious lays heaven enough for all of life. She tried, with all the dutifuluess aud reverence of her nature, to bow to her brother's will and be content. But svery hour the whisper in her heart ?rew stronger and more insistent— "Cleave to the child. Keep her, cher ish her. She is yours, a Rift of God, the answer to your life-long prayer." At last she went to her brother aud poured out her heart with an intensity of passion he had never suspected in that quiet, reserved, meekly subser vient sister of his. But, although surprised and disturbed, Nathan Drew was not moved. His heart remained obdurate. To him the thought of a foundling chilA in the house was un endurable. Never a lover of children, always convinced in his own heart that childlessness was the more blessed state, how could he be ex pected to look with favor upon an adopted baby, a child' concerning whose antecedents and propensities one knew absolutely nothing? No! he would not hear to it. To the Found ling Hospital at Mayaeld the little waif must go. Towards evening of the last day of her probation Abigail Drew began to gather together certain little treasures of her own—heirlooms. Her mother's Bible, the laces left her by Aunt Ju dith, an old-fashioned watch and chain, six silver spoons, worn as thin as paper—these, and a few other things, she wrapped in a bundle; and then, taking baby and bundle in her arms, she went out,closing the kitchen door reverently and softly behind her. Down the road, through the haze of the late afternoon, she walked, as one in a dream, leaving behind her all that she Lad ever khown and loved hitherto. From the distant meadow came the sound of whetstone on scythe-blade what a clear, chewry ringl How could Nathan beat such music with banishment for the babe—for both of them, did he but know itl —in his heart? Beyond the bridge, Abigail turned into the woods and followed the stream westward, for the road ran too near the meadow where Nathan and his men were haying. The child fell to crying, but she nestled it and kept on. Just before sunset she came out of the woods upon another road and followed it southward. The summer dusk began to deepen, yet she met no traveler and passed no house. What a lonely country it was, that New Hampshire mountain valley! The great hills looked down over the woods like stern-faced giants. The night air smelled of swamps and piny glens and deep-buried solitudes. The voices were all those of wild creatures, mysterious aud hidden. How the weary, heart-sick woman longed for the sight of a roof, a chimney,an open door —especially for the face of one of her own sex. Only the heart of a woman understands a woman's heart! At last, when the fireflies began to drift across her path like sparks from the crumbling embers of the sunset, Abigail, turning a bend in the road, came suddenly upou the welcome glow of a farmhouse window. She hastened forward and,turning into the little path between the lilac bushes,' approached the open door. A man sat upon the doorstep smoking,and,as he saw the approaching figure, he rose aud called liis wife, A buxom, sweet-faced woman came bustling to the door, skewer in hand. The moment Abigail's eyes rested apon her face she cried: "Luciiula Jones!" The skewer fell clattering upon the loor, aud the two women rushed to gether, like amicable battering-rams, ;he arms of the larger embracing riend and child in their expansive smbrace. "Abigail Drew! Be yon still living n these parts'? I heard, away out in fork state, where we just moved from, hat you and your brother bad gone .vest 20 years ago. My! and you've jeeu aud married and got a baby? 3ome in—come in! Lorenzo,fetch the •ocker out of the settin' room. How jlad lam to see you again, Abigail. I :bought you and me was parted for 3ver." How straight love had led her wan taring feet! Abigail sank down in the cushioned rocker and marveled at the cheerful firelight pl.iying on the Face of the sleeping babe. Welcome —refuge—sympathy! Ah! she had □ot obeyed the inward voice in vain. Six weeks was Nathan Drew a-search iug for the treasure he had lost. He irove east, west, north and south, stopping at every mountain farmhouse to seek news of his sister. Nobody had seen her going or coming. The Fawning earth could not have swal lowed her more completely. But at last he found her. She was sitting, with her baby, on a low ch-iir under the lilac bushes, aud he spied ! her before he had reached the house, | She saw him at the same moment and, springing up like a hunted creature, 1 made as if she would have fed. But he stopped her with a pleading ges ture and a look on his face such as she had not seen since they were children together. "You don't know bow I've missed you, Abigail," he said, simply, draw ing rein in front of the lilac' bushes. The man looked haggard and worn, aud thers was a pathetic tone in his voice. "1 can't go home with you, Nathan,'' said Abigail, firmly; and she pressed the rosy child closer to her bosom. Yet there was a yearning look in hei eyes that her brother was not slow to interpret. "I've thought it all over sence you left, Abigail," he said; "and it's b'eD j borne in upon me that, per'aps, I wa? j wrong about the child. Come home, j and you shall keep it as long as you | live. I won't say another word. It's ; the only love affair you ever bed, Abi- j gail, aud I ain't a-goin' to stand anj I longer between you aud your heart.'' | The tears welled to Abigail's eyes ns she came out into the road with hei j child. "Put your hand on her head, ! Nathan," she said, "and swear to me that you will never parr us. Then 1 will go home with you." Nathan Drew hesitated a moment. Then he touched the child's head with the tips of his horny fingers and said: "I swear it, Abigail." So they two and the child went homo together.—New York Post. Elephant I.ost a Tugk. Hatnee, the Zoo elephant, has broken off one of her tusks, one oi those big, long, handsome chunks oi ivory that have been her glory and hei pride for many au 1 many a year. No body kuews bow it happened. The calamity was discovered shortly aftei daybreak the other morning, when hei keeper arrived to give her her break, fast. He found the tusk lying on the floor, and the great, docile creature was fondling it in a pathetic way with her trunk. It had broken oft'close to the flesh, aud at that poiut was slight ly decayed, but to no serious extent. The occurrence is a very rare oue iD captive elephant life, and the onlj explanation seems to be that Hatnee had a tussle with a team of night mares and got done up to the extent of losing her left tusk. But the fact that she just as eagerly as ever de- Toured her breakfast of two big buck etfuls of oats and bran, a 190 pound bale of bay and 18 bucketfuls of Ohio river water, showed how little hei loss concerned her. The tusk will make as valuable a set of billiard ballf as were ever turned out. A new tush will grow in place of the old one, but considerable will be required. - Cincinnati Enquirer. J THE REA^p A Tasteful Model. The general preference for full waists shown in all transpared gowns makes a marked feature of im season. The tasteful model by Man ton here shown, while essendjjk youthful in effect, is suited to jl young women and matrons, as'we/i ae Rirls, and to all thin materials. The foundation is a fltted lining. As il lustrated it closes invisibly at the cen tre back, but the opening can be made it the front if preferred. The yoke I )f lace is faoed onto (he line of per forations, and there meets the full portion, which is (ralhered at both the upper and lower edge. Over the join ing is arranged a Mil puff, and below I. 112& 0U W ,B I it falls a frill of lace. >Lt tf neck is a high-standing oolla mvAunted a frill. The sleeves :e Jo-seam '.edl and wrinkle slightly. ;t ae mounfte,! upon smooth, snug-fi g linings. Yv.t the shoulders are d le frills, forc ing epaulets, and at s wrists naV rower frills, which fa ?er the hand! To make this waist for a woman of medium size two and three-quarter yards of material forty-four inches wide will be required. Laities' Blouse Basque. Few colors are more deliriously cool in their effect than gray and white. The stylish basque shown in the large illustration is of silk, which combines the two in narrow stripes and is itself combined with pure white Liberty in the shirred yoke and plisse frill. The foundation is a fitted lining that closes at the centre front. The yoke is first shirred and is then faced onto the required depth and closes at the left shoulder seam, but the basque proper which consists of black, side-back and uuder-arm gores and full fronts, closes invisibly at the left side beneath a strip of band trim ming which finishes the edge. The circular frill of the silk is edged with Liberty plisse and finished with a band and is seamed to the foundation at the edge of the yoke. The sleeves are two-seamed and fit snugly and the basque portion is seamed to the body at the waist line. At the neck is a high collar of shirred Liberty supple mented by a frill. At the wrists are bands of the trimming with frills that simulate cuffs. To make this basque for a lady of medium size four and a half yards of material twenty-two inches wide will be required. Breeie-Glvlng Fan* the Fashion. Fashion says our fans are growing larger, and in the very near future the old-time immense fans will be the proper thing. For several years the pretty soft ostrich fans have been hid den away as out-of-date, but you may now bring them out as being quite the latest and newest thing, and air them on the very swellest occasions with the greatest assurance of being correct. Qauze fans of black with 1 white lace, and white ones with black i F*BP still good, and witlial, the ,■[ , 8 k°} (1 tlj eir own. Band- V ® ll8 > with figures in conti- Kidpr Jr eR ' are UReeventy-five years of age and has writ -en more than eighty books. Her ad nirers, headed by the Princess of ,*'fV re collecting money to endow .bree free scholarships to be known by her name. They will be for girls A Woman YVoodchopper. Mrs. Daniel Downey, of Vineland, ; J - 6«PPort« her family by chop ping-wood. H CI . husband if an in valid, and so she cuts the trees, saws the wood and earns $2 a day. Child's Empire Gown. ,J?° m ° dcl is ,r rc generally popnlar oi small girls gowns than the Em pire with its graceful folds and ad miral, c lines. The design shown ? u illustration is well suited to all Hummer raateim i India silks in tW th «publle. W. ' ou rn d 0 so. but rvin » y ' re P' le( l the other. "But I a-n juestlon?" thaak you \ or y° ur tlme, y riend W dld " " ffo<3t y° u? \ Inquired tho !.n V 3 ne * vous Hli0 Acoordi ng'to ?tf rt orv told of how lie came to fill this nichp it wmso LTr 9 ft . sbQll °w-pated fellow who *° distressed at being jilted by a girl ho » t lro POsed to commit suicide". While he sat upon the Jimb of the troe with a si in and S ol?er"i ♦ uoe , k ' Sat,lu came to him , 11 if'\ reveal to him an art which should bring aim riches and rank and make the girl chagrined for having refused Mm. and at the end of thirty years he was to give up his soul to the devil. The hkr brewing Tien tau * ht w,ls »eer l.f- iVi i , . ' ite d his beor so much that b> Its sale he became very wealthy while that h!} I>eror Pj lHrlerna S u e liked it so much that he gave him rank, but Gambrinns ho tll,lt , Wl , lon the i m| is ca mo beer made tho 11 drunk bis not*&Y b l °°*T l otbiaat lnst tbc story does notsaj.but It is a most 8U acres tho mm "ostinff thi^K o'* 0 '* "".'"ventlon of the devil tae beer-seller his soul, and so in toxicafag as to make even the devils drujik. | Gladstone on Drunkenness. "Let us all carry with us, deeply stamped l' e«t °ni r „ " rtS ; souso of sbarne for tho Meat plague of drunkenness which tn »°
  • 'uost suscepl tible. hurel> there is hardly one araoniAt us who has not seen the pestilent result to Which this habit leads. We shou Id carry . p anJ adequate sense of tho mischief, and an earnest intention to do J l ,, lu lies to remove it."—ltlght Hon £vSSowS&. Q " iJstoae ' 10 a spooah Music Better Than Whisky. < ll i e "? en iu America who Imaglno that their brains need prodding would sub ■titute music for whisky as a j.rodder thev Would be amazed at results. Unless a man j" tlie 'find and nerves of a saurian there 'M mpre stimums for his brain in an hour s ® o t'L 0r M IB b ode , ra^1 >- bad—music than in The ° m tho COr ? of two rauk> s' rhe man who wrote thn We o vi'o'| l in H f I [ lde l >en douce played upon Pen He li ! vor - v of 'en and verv fi I not drink whisky. Who knows *!inti n at l? n °?" es 10 tllH old ilddle of ■onticello?—Now York Journal.