A RUSSIAN LEGEND. Hie Hnxnian peasants tell today A legend old and dear to thaw, j How, when the wise men went their way To find the babe at Bethlehem. They paused to let their camels rest Beside a peasant's lowly door; j And all Intent upon their quest They talked their sacred errand o'er. "Come with us," said the eager three: "Come seek with us the Heavenly Child: What prouder honor con there lie For mortals, sinful and delllod: "And hid ouch child in Sunday clothes Bring of iiis treasures the most rare. Bundles of myrrh am! it est doves. With ointment for i uist Klng'slmir, "Who knows w hat hi tug may befall If they but touch Ills garment's Item? And only once for them ami all Will Christ be born in Bethlehem!" "Alas! I have so much to do,' The mother answered with a sig i; "I cannot journey now with you, Hut I will follow by and by " The wise men frowned ami rode away. Leaving the children all aglow, And pleading through that busy day, "When may we go? When may we go?" And while their cheeka flushed rosy red, They shouted iu a chorus sweet, "And may we touch his pretty head' And may wo kiss bis blessed feet?" But women still will liake and brew. No matter what sweet honors wnil: And petty tusks they still must do, Though angels tarry at the gate! And w Ilea UWrocks are sewn with lace, And tied with ribbons smart and trim; When each tear stained and tired face Was hathml and tied its hood within; When the small rooms were cleanly swept And chairs set primly in a row. Betokening a house well kept; Then wearily she turned to go The sky was purpling in the west. The silent night was hurrying ou; The three wisejnen had onward pressed. The star from out the east had gone! What could the foolish mother do? She turned her footsteps home again; And never, all her sad life through. Did ahe behold the three wise inf. Alae! Through weak delaying, ahe Her sweetest privilege had missed; Nor did her children ever see The Holy Babe they might have kissed. —May Hiley Smith OIIOSS CURRENTS. "You are such a very independent creature." "I am not a creature, but an able bodied woman, with all my wits about me. Why should I make believe to be the weak kneed specimen of feminine foolishness tiiat is your ideal woman?" "Oh, never mind me, do just as you like," cried Mr. Bartlett, testily, as a voice from the inner room called, "What are you two quarreling about now?" "It is only Mr. Bartlett talking non sense, mother," said Agnes, gayly; "he thinks 1 can't go up to town for a day's shopping without a chaperon." "Is thai all? Why, my dear Gus, Agnes always goes about alone. Indeed, there is no one to go with her, so site has to; she has never come to any harm yet;" and Mrs. Oldham looked up appealingly from her sofa. Mr. Bart let l promptly subsided, as lie always did. lien any remark of his had brought Mrs. Oldham's poverty into lull view. Neither Agnes nor her mother ever troubled themselves about the nar rowness of their income, but it was a painful subject to Gus, who would will ingly have shared his abundance with them. He : iiirncd to the charge an hour later, when lie and Agnes were out in the garden. "You might let me couie with you to morrow," he said, persuasively; "1 could see you over the crossings, at any rate." "Oh. the policeman does that," an swered Agnes, merrily. "You are dying to know what I do with myself, of course, but 1 don't mean to encourage you in inquisitive habits, so I shall go alone." "I v. ish to goodness you had sortie one to look after you," growled the young man. "Don't you think, for your mo ther's sake. \ou could put up with me?" he went on. in a pleading tone. "That is'either the third or fourth time that you have proposed to me in the last month," sttid Mis Oldham, calmly. "If you do it again before Christmas I will have you liouiid over to keep the peace." "I wish you would not chaff a fellow so. lam quite in earnest." "Soam 1! I may marry someday, hut it, or perhaps 1 ought to say he, won't be you. So he a sensible boy, Gus, and leave off sentiment. It does not suit your figure," and Agnes laughed, mis chievously. Gus was used to snubbing, and bore it with a fair amount of fortitude, lie and Agues had been playfellows since child hood, and he had, as he thought, fallen in love with her on his return from Ox ford. lie had lately got into a habit of proposing or half proposing to her after every oue of her numerous squabbles, and always met with the same laughing but unqualified refusal. Agues looked on liim as a brother, and was extremely fond of him, hut Gus Barton was not the sort of man to inspire a clever, practical woman with any very deep affection, and she could never even take his devo tion soriou.lv, which was depressing for Gus. "Fiorrie, allow me to introduce our squire, Mr. Augustus Bartlett of that ilk—Miss Marsh, Gus!" and Agnes lin ished I lie introduction with a sweeping curtsey. Mr. liurtlelt looked distressed. "1 did not know you were bringing a friend down," jlie said, "and I've only got the dog cart here. 1 suppose you had better drive, and let me walk?" lie added. "Should you bo very much surprised if you heard that the greengrocer's cart is waiting for Miss Marsh's luggage?" cried Agnes. "I would have told you sho was coming, only you were so dis agreeable ye-terday. We can pack in the dog cart all right;" and so they did. Gus invariably met Agnes at the sta tion when sho returned from her visits to Loudon, but on this occasion lie was much astonished, for she had never brought a friend back with her before, and this friend was both pretty and charming. Sho very much enlivened the evening at the cottage, whither Gus •trolled as usual after dinner, and, gen erally speaking, made a good impression on tier friends; but for all that Mr. Bart lett was not quite happy in her society. He could not help thinking that there must be something uncanny in her sud den appearance, or else (and this brilliant idea rather took his fancy) Agnes had brought her down for him to fall in love with. "Just as if anything, or anybody, could make me give up Aggie!" he thought to himself as he went home wards. "It would serve her right if I did have a little flirtation;" then, as a brilliant idea struck him, "1 declare, I'll ask Nugent down, and he can look after Miss Marsh while I take care of Aggie." Which determination was promptly act ed on, for Gns wrote a letter that night, and sent it off by early post as soon as he came down (he following morning. "What do you think of our squire. Flo?" "Fine, well grown young man, with a restful absence of idens," answered Miss Marsh, carelessly, "lie has some ideas, but they are main ly practical," said Agnes. "He is an ex cellent landlord, besides being a dear good hoy, I nit he certainly is not brill iant.' "How does lie come to reign all alone in this forlorn way?" inquired Florrie. "Has he no belongings?" "None to speak of. His mother died when he was a baby, his father three years ago. I think mamma looked after him more than any one else, though he has some aunts and cousins. He and I are just like brother and sister." "That must be rather pleasant, as you have no proper brother. Why, 6urelv, that is he coming up the lane? And there is some one with him! Fancy find ing two young men in a country village like this!" Miss Marsh had been at the cottage three days, and was enjoying the fresh country air thoroughly; and having a keen interest in her fellow creatures, she had been studying Gus because there was no one else to study. Now her at tention was distracted by the new comer, who was, indeed, a very agreeable and interesting specimen of humanity, Richard Nugent had been at college with Gus, hut had been far more suc cessful in tlie schools, and less in the cricket grounds, than his friend. Now he was a hard working London curate, while Gus was enjoying the less labor ious position of a wealthy country gen tleman, but their friendship was as great as ever. "Mrs. Oidhuin, will you come up to the Grange to-morrow?" said Gus one afternoon, as he lay on the grass at her feet. "Nugent and I want to have some tennis witli the girls, and you can look on and chaperon." "Very well, I will come with pleasure, but you must send the pony carriage for me, you know." "Of course; send for you and send you back. You will stay to dinner, won't you?" "You must consult the girls about that," said Mrs. Oldham, "for I have an idea that they may be busy; they are reading together a good deal, you know." "Miss Marsh went in to write letters, didn't she? 1 don't know where Agnes has gone," remarked the young man, rising from his lazy attitude and looking about him. "Oh, there she is, with Nu gent, right at the end of the Held. How can people lie so energetic this weather?" Agnes and Mr. Nugent did not seem to find the heat oppressive; they are stroll ing quietly along the shady side of the field, talking, and were so much inter ested in their conversation that it was quite a long time before they returned to the lawn. Agnes was hearing of a world that was new and strange to her, but which seemed the exact thing she had desired for years. In the quiet village there was but lit tle for an energetic woman to do; but the life Mr. Nugent spoke of had oppor tunities for every one. Real hard self denying labor among the poor, depress ing at times, but cheered and lightened by the fellow feeling of many workers, all struggling towards a noble and worthy aim, was the very work she would have chosen had the choice been given her. Now she heard of it from one of the workers, and her face glowed with enthusiasm as she listened, while Mr. Nugent could not help longing to have such ready sympathy and apprecia tion near him to soothe and cheer him in the troubles and disappointments which were a necessary accompaniment of the work. "Why don't you come to London and work with us, Miss Oldham?" lie asked. "You have strength and energy. Why waste tliem on trifles when you might be doing real good with them?" "I don't think my mother could live in London," said the girl, slowly, "and wo could not afford it, either. But I shall work some day, and meanwhile, I dare say, it is good to have to exercise patience. And I am young enough as yet," she added, with a smile, as they re turned to the lawn to join the others. The afternoon at the Grange was a success. Mrs. Oldham sat in a low chair under a great cedar tree, and enjoyed herself quietly; indeed, the view and the sight of the four merry young people was pleasure enough for her. The tennis court was a very good one, and Gus and Florrie played Sir. Nugent and Agnes witli great effect. When they were tired Florrie insisted on being taken all over the house, and gave the master of it intense pleasure by the interest she took in his old pictures, china, furniture and curios generally. "You can't think what a pleasure this is to me!" she said, when they were ex amining some exquisite wood carving in the library. "We London people live in stucco houses, and buy our artistic prop erties in Regent street, but here they are all growing, so to speak." "Everything here has grown with the place, if that is what you mean," re plied Gus. "There is nothing modern, and everything has a history. My peo ple have lived here 6inco Queen Eliza beth's time, and though we aren't either rich or clever, at any rate we are not mushrooms." "Why should you be rich?" asked Florrie. "If you wore a millionaire tliia house would not Im grand enough for you, and you would spoil it by altering it. whereat) now it is perfect." Gun was pleased. He loved his home and all his ancestral treasures heartily. He loved all the old associations which had grown up in the 1100 years since the Grange was built, and he was well aware that there were few families in England who could boast of such a line of worthy gentlemen as those from whom he was descended. Agnes did not care for any of these things, and was at that moment having a long conversation with Mr. Nu gent about the evil results of foreign immigration in the east of Ixindon, a subject which interested her, but which Gus simply did not understand. He was satisfied if h's tenants and laborers were well housed anil fairly prosperous (and it must be owned that he was an admirable landlord), but the distress he did not see had no pathos for him; it was no busi ness of hin. and he lucked the imagina tion which brought it all vividly before the energetic couple under the cedar tree. That evening Agues stood ut her win dow and looked out on the peaceful moonlit fields. and longed to lie in the busy human hive she had been hearing about. Then her face dimpled into a merry smile. "Dear old Gus!" she 3aid, "he has fallen into the trap, and they will bo thorough); nappy. I don't think I know any one s< fitted to be his wife as Flo." Meanwhile Mr. Bartlett was thinking what a very successful day it had been, and how nice it was to get Agnes up to the Orange; and it never dawned on his innocent mind that lie had not exchanged a dozen words with her the whole after noon. ''So you really go to-morrow," said Gu, u , as he and his friend sat smoking, the last evening of Mr. Nugent's holiday. "We shall miss you very much, old fel low, but you must come again." "I should like it above everything," was Mr Nugent's answer. "If I can get away for a few days in the winter, will you have me?" "Shall be delighted; como as soon as you can, and stay as long as you can. One thing you must come for, and I hope it is not very far distant now," proceeded Mr. Bartlett, with something very like a blush. "What is that?" "My wedding!" , "My dear boy, I'm delighted to hear it, but I did not know that you had got to that point yet," cried the "clergyman, who had watched his friend's inter course with Miss Marsh with strong ap proval. "Well, that's the thing! I don't know what comes over girls, but though I have asked her half a dozen times, she hasnot said 'Yes' yet." replied the unconscious Gus. "You have certainly lost no time," said his friend; "perhaps she thinks she ought to know you better." "I don't know how she is to do that, considering that wo have known each other all our lives, and lived close to each other, too." "But she only came here just before I did," exclaimed Mr. Nugent, "or I am mistaken. Don't you mean Miss Marsh?" A sudden light glowed on Gus' face; then faded as rapidly aa it had come. "No! 1 don't moan Miss' Marsh," he said slowly. "I never thought about her; 1 have always intended to marry Agnes." It was Mr. Nugent's turn to look puz zled. "I am glad you told me that," lie said, "for I was entirely mistaken. I thought from your manner with her that you oared for Miss Marsh, not Miss Old ham; and it was just as well, perhaps, that j on undeceived me." "I won't spoil the dear lad's happiness," he thought, an hour later, when he was alone; "and yet, who would have guessed it? I thought she was free, and that he cared for the other girl. I suppose she was only civil to me because I am his friend," and he betook himself to bed, and, after a night's tossing and tumbling, went back to London by the earliest pos sible train, without taking a formal fare well of the ladies of the Cottage. Agues was angry, very angry; she had been most cavalierly treated, as she con sidered, and longed for some one on whom to vent her ire. "What did ho mean by running away without even a word of thanks for the civility they had shown him? He must have thought she was making eyes at him—just as if she cared a fig about him, or looked upon him from any other point of view than that of a guide to the East of London! How horribly conceited men were! Oh, there comes Gus! lie might have left us alone for one day," and she went to open the door, and quarrel with her visitor if possible. Gus was a little bit cross, 100, for Florrie had had to join her relations in Normandy, and he and the Oldhams were left alone, and things were fiat in consequence, though he fancied lie should like it. "It's very nice being together again, isn't it, Aggie?" lie said as he entered. "I don't think so at all," she answered, promptly. "I dare say you don't miss Mr. Nugent, but I ant very dull without Florrie, and so are you, I should think," site proceeded, rather spitefully. "1 only want you, as you know," lie said, not as pleasantly as usual. "Nu gent has promised to come and marry us, and I really think you might make up \:ir mind to it soon." "Marry you! Never! 1 have told you so a dozen times at leust" (which was an exaggeration) "and now, after flirting with Florrie all the summer, you have the impertinence to ask me again, and to ask Mr. Nugent to marry us, just as if we wore engaged. I don't wonder he went away! I'm not surprised at all now!" and Agnes suddenly flung herself on the sofa and burst into tears. As to Ous, ho stood and gazed at her, open mouthed. For one thing, he had never seen her cry since she was a tiny child; for another, a new idea had pene trated his slow brain, and the world seemed upside down. "Florrie! had ho flirted with her? No, he had only been blind. lie had had a strange new feeling for some time, whir.h had alternately made him happy and miserable, and which must have been" Here hie meditations were interrupted by Agnes, who bad left off crying and recovered her tm]>er. "Don't stand there with your mouth open, Ous," she cried: "you do look so silly. Just make up your mind, once and for all, which of us you really care for, and take the next boot for Dieppe. The Marshes will be there till the end of the week." Mr. Bartlett took her advice, and a few days later Mr. Nugent, who was trying to work off his bitter disappoint ment, got a letter from Dieppe with the astonishing intelligence that Gus and Florrie were engaged, and that his friend's affection for Agnes was of a to tally different kind to what he had been led to believe. "In fact." the letter con cluded, "Agnes knew me better than I did myself, and was perfectly right when she brought dear Flo down to stay with her. Don't forget that you have promised to marry us." Hard work was very pleasant to Mr. Nugent that winter: he threw himself into all the multifarious duties of a town parson, with an energy which had its root in a happy heart. To be sure, noth ing bad been said or settled, but for all tlmt he knew well enough that he would not lie working alone for long, and then there was Gus' wedding to look forward to. Before the wedding came off his prospects hail a very satisfactory change, and it was as vicar instead of curate that he asked Agnes to ho his wife. "We shall have work enough, and to spare," he told her, when the momentous question had been answered, "but you will not fear that; will you, mv darling?" To which Agnes answered something about working with hiui, which cannot lie publicly repeated.—M. Payne Smith. Did .1 rwiui il'Arc Burn? The reproduction, with Sarah Bern hardt iu the leading role, of the play of "Jeanne d'Arc," in Paris, has given oc casion for a renewal of the old contro versy as to whether Jeanne was ever really burned at the stake or whether her place was not taken by some one else and she set free. One M. Lesigne has brought together in a book all the facts tending to show that Jeanne never was burned, and that sho actually married a country gentleman in Lorraine and raised a large family, of whom there were direct descendants as late as a cen tury ago. The stories were first put into circula tion in 1883 in a publication called Mer cure Galnnt, and were then based upon discoveries made by a certain Father Vignier among some old manuscripts in Metz. The first document was a record of the visit of Jeanne, the Maid of Or leans, to her relatives in that city, and subsequently there was discovered a mar riage contract of Robert des Armoises with "Jeanne of Arc, the Maid of Or leans," the marriage having taken place at Arlun, where the Duchesse Elizabeth of Luxembourg made a splendid fete of the occasion. The deed in which the "Maid" and her husband conveyed certain land was also found, and subsequently at Orleans in the public archives there were discovered various entries in the public accounts that went to show that moneys had been paid to her or for her to her relatives at various times after she was supposed to havu been burned at the stake. These documents have made it absolutely cer tain that somebody who was known us "Jeanne d'Arc" and "The Maid of Or leans" was living and somewhat of a pub lic character for many years after the original Jeanne had presumably been re duced to ashes. The advocates of the original Jeanne, however, insist that the woman to whom the documents refer must have been a different one, either an impostor or a woman whom some con nection with the army had caused the people of her acquaintance to designate by the title of the dead heroine.—New York Sim. Billy I loh'lk p'm Joke. "Jt was at Brougham's lyceum. after wards Wullack's theatre, at Brooiue street and Broadway," said W. J. Flor ence recently, "Tho orchestra leader, George Loder, got it into his head that it would he a good idea to have an orches tra which would sing at intervals. So he went back on the stage and got a number of ,wo young actors, put us in dress suits and placed us in the orches tra with instructions how to go through tho motions of playing the different in struments and when to stop and sing. It was a great success, but we youngsters objected. Wo held that we had not been engaged for that purpose, and that we were there to learn how to act. So we determined to put an end to it. My in strument was a clarionet. You know what a frightful noise can be made with it, if necessary. Well, one night, when wo were in the orchestra, at a quiet por tion of the music I blew on the clarionet a squeak that could have been heard a mile off. Loder shook his list at mo and said, 'Wait till you get off,' hut the audi ence roared with laughter for a long time, and would even occasionally burst out in guffaws during the afterpiece. Of course I pleaded to Loder that the in strument went off of its own accord, but he knew better. However, that was the last of the singing orchestra in that the atre."—New York World. Bulls of a German Profe**or. The prize medal for absent mindedness during lectures must be awarded to a German professor named Johannes Ainer, who recently died in Vienna. One of his pupils had a list of his remarkable say ings, among them the following; "Julius Caesar, disguised as a slave, swam naked across tho Tiber." "Alexander the Great was born in the absence of his parents." "The Swiss are a mountainous nation, but in .Scotland the climate does not begin till October." "Hogs were in vented in Asia Minor." "Thus aroso a general Mur on page 94." "The third Tunic w.Vr would have been out much sooner laid it commenced a little earlier." "Covered with countless wounds Cassar fell dead near the statue of Pompey; with one hand ho drew his toga over his face while with the other lie called for help." WOMEN BEHIND THE DESK. Vram a Mas'* Point of View—How DM Woman Treat* Another. It pains me to learn that woman in office is somewhat of a failure; at least in New York. It seems that she carries into her official life certain traits that are characteristic of her sex, but which are not in hurutony with business affairs. In the first place, the woman official is severely offensive to women, from whom she exacts more than the legal [tound of flesh and for whom site shows a con tempt and lofty toleration that are out side the limits of law. The cause of this attitude of woman against woman has as yet eluded the search or science and confounded the theories of philosophy; and, to conclude, even I have no solu tion to offer. And yet. if we consider the mutter closely, we shall find a rea son, if not a cause. A man appears be fore a woman in office aiready crushed; it has absorbed all his courage to face official femininity, and if he does not receive all the snubs and the contempt that he is prepared for lie is more disap pointed than surprised. The woman behind the desk is an awe inspiring object to the bravest man; she is her sex plus authority, Charlotte Cor dav and Minerva combined. She is not the more imposing by reason of her office, but the office is imposing because she fills it. because the office is herself. Such a woman may insist on anything unhinder ed of man. He is even content, at her command, to concede that the earth is flat for the time being. He appears be fore so much majesty in a commanding attitude; he waits her pleasure patiently before receiving the postage stamp for which he applies, cash in hand; he sti fles his haste to obtain his letters until she sees fit to give them to him. For these reasons the official woman does not go out of her way to annoy or to torture man; she accepts him as a worm, and lie cause lie is weak she refrains from tread ing on him, and goes no further than to turn a deaf ear to his application for let ters or stamps, and to gorgonize him with her Tennysonian "stony stare." A woman approaches the official wo man guarded window in a different atti tude. in fact iu a belligerent attitude, and the monarch of all she surveys re ceives her iu an equally belligerent spirit. Two hungry dogs approaching the same bone will give a fair idea of the situa tion. The passive indifference shown to that humble creature, man, no longer exists; the adversaries both have their lances in rest, and each is looking for the weakest spot in the armor of the other. There is an ominous silence, during which the fashion of garments and fashion of features are criticised; there is an ominous sniff, a snapping of eyes, an elaborate exhibition of a chip on the shoulder for opponents to remove violently, a lofty staring at tops of heads instead of into eyes, an aggressiveness of excessive overpolitencss, the fine malice of preventing to the utmost the consum mation of the object that both have at heart, the overzealous desire to make a fault and find it, to imagine an insult and resent it, to compel insolence that breeds the insult. Naturally, the women who are not officials complain of the women who are officials, and the woman behind the window complains of the woman in front of it. This is the serious danger that con fronts the woman who aspires for public office—the weight that drags her down when in office. The fault Is hers indi vidually, hut it is the failing of the sex generally— the impossibility of a woman treating a woman in any other way than as a rival or an antagonist. The woman in office cannot escape from herself. She refuses to see, or cannot see, any differ ence between a free, if tax paying, pub lic and her own family circle. She car ries her home characteristics into public affairs, regarding men as tho possessors of obnoxious latch keys, and women as the victims of them. Her clients are punished for her toothaches and respon sible for her dyspepsia. That she is com pelled to hold lowly office is the fault of tho world, and the world must suffer for it. She knows that she is better than other women, and demonstrates her su periority to anticipate their doubt, or the doubt that she has invented for them. This is not gallant, but, unfortunately, it is true. There can be no question that, with time, the faults Indicated will he remedied; but, until thoy are, woman in office will be a constant exasperation to woman out of office. It is true that woman out of oflico is equally exasper ating to woman in office, and the pro verbial man's inhumanity to man is thus furnished with a parallel in woman's antagonism to woman.—"Chatterer"' in Boston Courier. New Jersey's School Fund. New Jersey has a school funn of §4,009,000. and does not know what to do with it. It can not be used for anything but the public schools, and not. very much of it is allowed to go there, only a part of the annual income being avail able, so jealously has the state constitu tion guarded its sacredness. Meantime, it is piling up every year, and the com missioners are at their wits' end to find an investment for it. The original idea was to have a fund largo enough to en tirely support the public schools through out the state, but that, it is said, would take §70.00(1,000; and, besiJes, it is gen erally believed that it is uetter for the school sv>! in to have tho local schools directly provided for by local taxes. People take more interest in something they have to pay for.—Exchange, How Ico Cutters Rescue Horses. The danger of cutting ice before it lias attained a thickness of eight inches or moro is great, and numbers of horses have been lost by their breaking through the ice while working the plows. Old icemen say, however, that by putting a slipnoose around the animal's neck be fore it goes under the ice, the work of getting it out is not great. The action of the noose stops the animal's breath ing, and soon causes the body to become inilalcd with wind so that it will float on the surface, when it is easily hauled out upon the ice.—Boston Record. B. & B. 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