A SOWG OF HOME.
Across the wide lands as a pilgrim I roam—
Alone, and a strnnger 1 fare,
But wherever I wander my heart is at home,
With the ones that remember me there.
The flowers bloom sweetly along these wild
dells,
And the mountains rise rugged and grand,
And the low Sabbath sound of the far-away
bells
Melts tenderly over the land.
And the western skies wait for the soft after
glow,
Eve never closed lovelier dnv—
But my soul looks beyond, and my eyestlioy
o'erflow,
For my heart is at home far away.
You may warble, sweet birds, to the red
evening skies,
Yet your vesper song dies on my ear,
For deep in my spirit the memories rise
Of the far-away voices more dear.
You may babble, pure brook, in your soft
monotone,
You may purl to the pebbles you love,
i'ou may kiss the green moss ns it clasps the I
gray stone,
But my thoughts to a deeper pulse move.
Hark ! hark! now I hear them, I hear the
old words,
Familiar and sweet, light and gay-
Nay, nay, I hut dream, 'tis the song of the
birds—
But my heart is at home far away.
The western skies darken, the stars brighten j
forth,
The wihl flowers droop, the night comes,
The birds hurry home to their nests south
and north
Ah 1 happy things, cling to your homes !
The lights of the city are dawning in view,
1 return through tho gay, thoughtless
throngs,
From happy home windows bright faces
smile through,
And I hear children's laughter and songs.
New friends give me welcome, with greetings
of cheer,
I laugh and I seem to be gay,
But memory grieves in the thought's inner
ear,
And my heart is at home far away.
—[Ernest W. Shurtleff.
UP IN A BALLOON.
4 'So you won't marry me, Jenny?"
"It would be madness, Tom; you
know it would."
44 What do you mean by madness?"
"You know well enough what I mean,
and you know that I am light."
"Yes, I think Ido know. You mean
that I am poor and you arc ditto, ami I
poverty multiplied by two is madness."
Jenny, a very pretty little blonde with
bright golden curls and sweet blue eyes,
gaid nothing but looked down nud wrote
hieroglyphics on the ground with the
end of her parasol. Slie was sitting on
the gnarled roots of a great oak, while
Tom, a handsome, broad-shouldered fel
low, with dark brown hair and moustache
and large hazel eyes, lay half-reclining
at her feet.
4 'Eh, isn't that the sum and the an
swer?" he asked.
Still Jenny said nothing, but continued
to write hieroglyphics, while a little
flush rose on her checks and brow. The
young man looked up in her face, and
there was a deep melancholy in his tine
eyes.
"I see how it is," he said. 4 'While I
have been away you have been demor
alized."
44 What do you mean?" she asked
sharply, giving him an indignant glance.
4 'Oh, nothing to make you very an
gry, "he replied. 4 'lt is just this: There
has been some old woman's work going
on, and you have been persuaded that
44 4 Two poor folks wed
llud us well be dead.'
"Some of those sage female veterans,
■who have gone through life satisfied to
exist without that which it appears to
me alone makes life endurable, havo
talked you into their way of thinking,
anil now, forsooth, it is madness to
marry the man you love. For you do
love me, Jenny—you know you do."
The girl was silent yet a little while
and then she said, plaintively.
"I did believe I loved you once, Tom,
I'll acknowledge it, but I am older now,
and think maybe I was mistaken."
"Pshaw!" said Tom; "think maybe.
I say you love me still. Yes, you love
me still, and yet you are going to marry
Kalph Morley. Don't deny it! for I
know it; though perhaps you don't quite
know it yourself yet. Are you engaged
to him?"
"That is an impertinent question and I
shall not answer it."
"Then 1 will take it for granted that
you are."
4 'You needn't do any such thing, for I
am not."
"Well, you did answer my impertinent
question, after all."
"J was not going to let you think what
you pleased."
"I'm glad you answered it anyhow, for
now I am going to tell you what sort of a
fellow he is, and I sha'n't feel as if I am
being rude, as i might otherwise have
done. Morley*B kinfolks "
" I haver never had the pleasure of
meeting any member of Mr. Morlc's 1
family except himself." l
"I he pleasure," said Tom, with a '
scornful laugh. " Let me tell you if you
do find it a pleasure when you meet one of
them be it father, mother, brother, sis- '
ter or the forty-fourth cousin—it will be 1
more than any one else has ever done."
"He seems to be a very nice gentle- !
man." i
"Seems to be. But, pshaw! I won't 1
plead my cause by abusing my rival. If
I can't convince you of the divine right
Tiii °t C a^"vo eVL ' r y other consideration,
111 throw up the case. I know you love
me; I know I love you. We've loved
each other since we were old enough to
know what love meant. Letter is a din
ner with herbs where love is than a stalled
ox and hatred therewith. Do you know
what that means?"
44 Of course I do, any child would
know."
"You don't though, for nil you think
yourself so wise. It means just this: It
is better to marry for love than for
money."
" C omc, Tom," said the girl, and there
was a catching of her breath when she
spoke, which told that tears were not
far off, "come, I must go home."
Tom noticed these symptoms, and,
wisely concluding to press his suit no
further just then, walked along by her
side without saying another word. He
knew if tears did come it would relieve
the pressure on the dear little heart which
was now pleading for him, and the cruel
fellow thought it best to leave it there.
n.
There was to be a balloon ascension,
and Tom Arrington was to be one of the
party of aeronauts. He hud been on
several such expeditions before, and was
quite an eiithuuliuit nn tho subject of
nerial navigation—had even tried his
hand at inventing a steering apparatus
for balloons, but had always failed of
discovering the one thing needful to
make it a complete success.
There was a crowd collected around
the inelosure when the big oil silk bag
was being intlated with gas. Tom was
inside the inelosure with Jenny, her two
maiden aunts and Morley, who had
'joined them, much to the young aero
naut's chagrin.
44 How should you like to go up in her,
Jenny ?" he asked.
44 O, I think it w T ould be splendid, if I
wasu't frightened, as I am sure I should
be," replied Jenny.
"I don't mean to make the trip; but
just a little way."
44 How could we do that?"
44 Easy enough. We'll get in the car,
and the man will pay out the rope until
wo are a hundred feet or so from the
ground, and when you have seen what
it is like they'll pull us down again.
Come, get iu and try it; you've no idea
how nice it is."
Jennie hesitated, looking at her aunts.
44 No, Jenny," said Aunt Jane, for whom
she had been named, 4 'l'll not permit
you to try any such experiment Sup
pose the rope were to break; where
would vou be then?"
Tom said there was no danger of the
rope breaking, and Aunt Sarah, who
had made up her mind to be one of the
party, said she didn't believe there was.
4< Will you go, aunty? " asked Jenny,
whose heart was all in a flutter between
excitement and fear at the idea.
4 * Yes," replied tho maiden lady decid
edly, 44 I've always wished that I could
go up in a balloon, and now that I've got
a chance to do it without danger—there
is no danger, 31 r. Arlington?"
"None whutever," said Tom.
"Then I'll go."
"Why, Sarah!" cried Miss Jane. 4 'l'm
astonished at your encouraging Jenny
in such a wild, harum-scarum adven
ture."
"There's nothing wild or harum
scarum about it that I can see," said
Miss Sarah; "everyone, I dare say, lias a
natural curiosity to know from ex- I
perience what ballooning is like, and I'll j
Tom soon had his arrangements all J
made, and helped the two ladies into the
car.
' 4 Will you go?" he said, not fery cor
dially, to Morley.
"No, thank you," was the reply.
"Why, you are not afraid?"
"No, I'm not afraid, but I will stay on
terru tirma."
"All right," said Tom, stepping into
the car where the ladies were already
| seated. "Let her out," to the men at
the rope. "That fellow hasn't the pluck
of a woman," he growled, as they slowly j
arose.
"Oh, how nice!" exclaimed Jenny, j
when the balloon came to a stand, about \
150 feet from the ground. "Isn't it,
aunty?"
4 4 Are you sure there is no danger of
the rope breaking, Mr. Arriugton?"
asked Miss Sarah, instead of replying to
her niece.
"It is brand new," replied Tom.
"Then it is a very agreeable sensation,"
said the lady.
After giving bis companions sufficient
j time to fully enjoy the pleasures of their
novel situation, Tom made a sign to
the man below, and they commenced to
haul in the rope. Tho balloon seemed
rather reluctant to leave her native ele
ment—if one may call it so—but was at
last secured near enough to the ground
for the occupants to alight from the
cur.
After giving liis assistance to Miss
Sarah, Tom turned to Jenny, who was
preparing to follow her aunt :
"How would you like to try it again?"
he said, in a low tone.
"O, so much," was the reply.
In an instant he was back in the car.
the signal was given to the men to pay
out the rope, and when Aunt Sarah
looked around her niece was fifty feet
above her in the air.
I don't know if Tom Arrington had
had any such intention from the begin
ning; but while Jenny was looking over
the edge of she car, waving her handker
chief to those below, he took his pen
knife out of his pocket and cut the rope
and the balloon sliot up in the blue sky
like a wild bird set free from captivity.
HI.
At first Jenny was so astonished and
frightened that she could not speak;
then she said: "O, Tom, I thought you
said there was no danger of the rope
breaking."
44 1 said what I believed to be true,"
replied that equivocating scamp, who
had slipped his knife back into his pock
et, "but don't be frightened."
"llow can I help being frightened?"
she asked in a trembling voice, as she
looked below and saw houses and trees
rapidly diminishing in size—the people
already appearing like black ants squir
ming about on an ant-hill. "What will
become of us, Tom ?"
"I don't know," said Tom.
"O, Tom! I thought you were an aero
naut."
"So I am."
"Don't talk such nonsense. You
ought to be ashamed to try to make me
more frightened than I am."
"I am not trying to frighten you, but
now that I have got you up here all to
myself I'm going to tarry you to the
moon, where gills are not sold for
money."
"O, Tom," cried the girl, beginning j
to think that she was in the power of a |
maniac, 44 what do you mean?"
4 'Mean? Why it's plain enough. Don't
you know the moon is made of silver?
Can't you sec it for yourself? 4 Roll on,
silver moon,' etc. And what would
they want of money there?" and lie
burst out laughing when he saw that
she really thought he was mad. "Come,
Jenny," he said, "I was only joking:
we'll come out all right."
44 Y0u—ought—to bo—ashamed to—
frighten me so," said Jenny, sobbing,
while Tom, taking advantage of her
h lpless condition, put his arm around
her waist.
"Come, Jenny," said he, polling at the
halyard that connected with the valve
with his disengaged hand, "come, dear,
we'll be all right, so don't cry."
"I can't help it," said Jenny, laying
her pretty head on his shoulder—she felt
less frightened that way—"l—can't—
help—it; you are—so—so —cruel. 1
didu't—think you—would—be cruel—
to—me —Tom."
"And I don't want to be cruel to you,
darling," said Tom, kissing her. "I
want to love you, aud I want you to love
. me—that's all."
They were gliding along now easily
( and smoothly, but at a rapid rate, though
I that fact was imperceptible to Jenny.
'I he landscape seemed to be swimming
along beneath her, ever changing and
beautiful, but she could perceive no
motion in the balloon.
44 What are you doing with the rope,
: Tom?" she asked, having somewhat rc
i covered under his treatment,
s "I'm steering it," he said, with a com
f ical smile.
"Steering it? I thought balloons
couldn't be steered."
"Oh, yes, they can—when the wind's
favorable. At any rate, I'm steering this
one."
"Where arc you steering it to?"
"Right straight to Hymen's bower."
"Now you are beginning again to talk
as if you were insane, and I shall get
frightened again if you don't hush."
Tom pressed her closer to him.
"Don't you love me, Jenny?" he
asked.
She turned her eyes up to him, but
didn't say a word. Her head was still
lying on his shoulder. ♦
"Don't you think it would be nice to
sail along "this way all by ourselves, away
from Morley and the two old aunties and
everybody, forever?"
"I don't know, Tom; perhaps we might
get tired."
"Never!" said Tom.
He had been discharging gas all the
time, and the balloon had slowly settled
down towards the earth till now every
thing on it was plain to the naked eye—
houses, trees, and even people, who
stopped to gaze up at them as they
passed over, and Jenny, much to her
lover's regret, had lifted her pretty head
from its recumbent position to look over
the edge of the car.
"Do you see that little white church,
Jenny?" lie asked.
" Yes."
"Well, that's what I've been steering
for. Do you know why?"
"No; how should I?"
" How should you? Don't you know
what people generally do in church?"
" They preach, and pray, and sing
hymns."
" Nothing else?"
" Y-e s, I believe so."
"You believe so. I know so, and
that's just what we are going to do."
" O Tom, we can't."
"Can't we, though? Who's to hinder?
Not the aunties; not Morley surely.
They are a long way from here, and wo
can do just as we please about it, and tell
'em afterwards. Come, Jenny, you've
got to promise to do just as I say, or I'll
carry you up in the clouds again, and
keep you there forever."
44 O Tom, you ought to be ashamed of ,
yourself to take advantage of my situation j
to make me do as you please," said Jenny
reproachfully, but at tne same time cling
ing closer to him; " you haven't got any
right to do it."
44 I've a perfect right to make you do
what you want to dtf, and what is for
your happiness. Come, promise! We
| are almost to the church, and if you
don't I'll let her loose; I've only to throw
out some of these little bags, and up she
goes," and he picked up one of the sand
bags, as if to heave it out.
44 Don't, don't, Tom," said Jennie, lay
ing her baud on his arm; 44 1'1l promise."
44 All right," said Tom, and in a few
minutes the balloon was skimming along
I not far from the ground, over an inclosed
I field. He threw out his anchor, almost
l immediately, and it caught in the panel
I of a fence, bringing the balloon too with
a sudden jerk,
44 O!" exclaimed Jenny, clasping her
arms about her lover's neck. 44 I thought
1 was going to bounce out."
44 "We will bounce out, and that right
<|uickly," said Tom kissing her blushing
face two or three times. 44 Yonder is
the church, parson can't be far off, and—
aud—l've got the license in my pocket."*
44 O, Tom," said Jennie, 44 aren't you
ashamed of yourself—to play me such a
trick?"
Hut Tom wasn't a bit ashamed, and
afterwards, whenever his pretty wife
twitted him with it, as she did occasion
ally, he said it was a trick worth any two
or a dozen that he had ever heard of.—
[New Orleans Picayune.
A Mystery of the Setu
A mystery of the sea has at last been
cleared up after a lapse of twenty-seven
years. In 1803 Andrew Baxter, a well
known sea captain, living at Batsto,
Burlington county, N. J., sailed from
New York on a voyage to the Pacific.
His family heard from him on his arrival
at San Francisco. He sailed from that
port and has never been heard of since,
the supposition being that he was lost at
i sea. Recently the Seaman's Bank of New
Vork city sent a letter to the postmaster
at Batsto asking if any relatives of Cap
tain Baxter were living and saying that
he had left a sum of money on deposit in
that institution. The only living rela
tive of the missing captain is Mrs.
Dailey, wife of James J. Dailey, foreman
of the composing room of the Philadel
phia Ledger. Mrs. Dailey was commu
nicated with by the Seaman's Bank, and
immediately sent proofs establishing her
identity. Mr. Dailey went to Mount
Holly and took out letters of adminis
tration on the estate of his wife's father,
f The money in the Seaman's Bank was
deposited in 1808, before Captain Bax
ter sailed from New York, andwassome-
I thing over $-100. By the accumulation
1 of interest in the interval it now amounts
j to over $1,200. —[Washington Star.
A Curious Wedding Trip.
David G. Gale and Jennie Mathews
were married in Detroit and immediately
started on a wedding trip in a fifteen-foot
double pointed cedar skiff. The first day
they bad head winds and made but
twenty miles, and found lodging for the
night beneath a farm-house roof near the
shore. For two subsequent days they
had delightful rowing weather and got
! along swimmingly. The third day came
I a storm, aud it was thought advisable for
Mrs. Gale to get out and walk along the
I beach, which she did a distance of about
| eight miles, while her husband pulled
I along in sight. Wind and oar, and an
occasional tow from a steam barge and
j launch, took the bridal couple along
rapidly, and at noon of the fifth day they
arrived at Oakdalo harbor, just'34o miles
by the coast line measure. The longest
distance made in any one day was ninety
two miles, and the average was sixty-two
miles per day. They returned by rail.
Both were browned by exposure, but de
lighted.
A Man Who Charms Frogs.
Mr. Sullivan, living on the Welland
Canal, possesses the marvelous power of
charming frogs. The operation is per
formed by a peculiar chirping whistle,
followed by a strange gurgle in the
larynx, which lie has cultivated for
years, and has now become so proficient,
in the art that the imitation of the sweet
singing of the female frog calling its
mate is as perfect as nature. A few
evenings ago Mr. Sullivan gave an exhi
bition of his powers. When the frogs
were chirping at a lively rate in the pond
Mr. Hare, Mr. Boyle and Mr. Crogan
were present. After a few notes had
been whistled frogs of all sizes, to the
number of about 100, came hopping from
all directions up to the doors of the lock
shanty, much to the astonishment of
those present. Good bullfrogs are worth
about fifty cents per dozen, and Mr. Sul
livan is engaged in shipping them to the
Amerieuu market.—|New York Sun.
THE JOKER'S BUDGET.
JESTS AND YARNS BY FUNNY
MEN OF THE PRESS.
A Neighborly Growl—Making Five
Cents Go a Dong Way—lt Was
Not a Hobby, Etc., Etc.
UNDOUBTEDLY.
Johnny—Did the ancient knights use
to wear shoes made of iron?
Papa—Yes, my son.
Johnny—Well, I suppose it was then
that men first "felt tne iron entering
their soles."
A NEIGHBORLY GROWL.
Mr. Gordon Settaire (angrily)— That
dog of yours is barking all night.
Mr. Onderschod —So is yours.
Mr. Gordon Settaire —Well, I've got
used to mine.—[Puck.
NO WOODPILE IN HIS.
First Wanderer—Why does some kind
hearted people spoil their charities, Bill,
by forgcttin' that the poor has feeliu's?
Second Ditto—l duuW, Jim; but
many on 'em does it. I was offered the
finest breakfast y'ever seen this mornin',
but a wood-pile went with it. I had ter
say no.—[Bazar.
INSULTED.
Dicky (entering the club in a state of
great agitation)—Oh!
Chorus of clubmen—What's the mat
ter?
Dicky—A wiotous fellow on the street
insulted me.
Chorus—What did he do?
Dicky—He—he looked at me.
Chorus—Call the police.—LLifc.
IN A JEWELRY STORE.
1 'Huh 1" exclaimed in disgust the watch
to the hall clock, "you think because
you are tall and have a handsome face
that you can run me down."
"Do not set me going," angrily re
plied the clock; "you had better wind
up your nonsense, for I am dangerous
when I strike."
And the Jurgenscn stopped.—[Jewel
ers' Circular.
AN EXPENSIVE JOKE.
"Mrs. Boggs," said Boggs in a hesita
ting way, while he and his wife were
eating dinner. "If I felt sure that you
could keep a thing to yourself, and not
breathe it to any living person "
"Oh, don't keep me waiting all day,
now," said Mrs. Boggs. "What is it?"
"I was going to offer you one of these
raw onions," said Boggs, but she was
too mad to take anything less that $lO.
—[Detroit Free Press.
A POOR PEACH TREE.
City Boarder (putting his host at ease)
—How may peaches did this tree have on
I this year?
Farmer—Nary one.
City Boarder—What, not a single one!
(sportively) what kind of a tree is this ?
Farmer—Plum. —[Munsey.
TWO OF A KIND.
Mrs.Welloff—That is a splendid charger
you are riding, Mr. Poorbody.
j Mr. Poorbody (who has spent his
week's wages for an airing through the
park)—H'm—er—yes. Something like
the livery man of whom I hired him.—
[Smith, Gray & Co.'s Monthly.
j MAKING FIVE CENTS GO A LONG WAY.
Philanthropist—You asked mc for a
nickel to get something to eat with. 1
j gave it to you, aud here you are drinking
a glass of beer.
Tramp—Yes; hut wait until you sec
me get at the lunch counter. —[Chatter.
FORCE OF HABIT.
Harry—Dearest, I love you better than
any one 011 earth. If you will consent
to be mine I will be your humble slave
until death calls mc hence. My heart is
wholly yours. I love you distractedly.
If this does not satisfy you of my devo
tion, what will?
| Dearest—Cash!
She was a saleslady, and the word
came to her ruby lips by force of habit.
But it came like a cruel blow, and Harry,
with a great gulp of sorrow, turned
away and went out into the silent night
to tell his griefs to the cold, unfeeling
stars in the ebon vault above.—[Boston
Transcript.
BUT OTHERS HAD.
I lie--You are the only girl I ever
loved.
She—And you are the only man I ever
gave my heart to.
j He—l am not good enough for you.
1 She—Please don't say that. lam tired
of those words.
He—Why, I never used them before.
She—No—not you.—[Yankee Blade.
THEY DID NOT WAIT ANY LONGER.
Two lone maids spake: "Let's call our
selves
As Time and Tide this year.
They wait, 'tis said, for no man, and
Behold no man is here."
—[Philadelphia Times.
THE SERVANTS' PLACE.
"I don't believe in allowing domestics
to get the upper hand. I made my serv
ant keep her place! "
i "You are lucky. Ours never does for
more than three weeks."—[American
Grocer.
CAREFUL OF HIS TROUSERS.
I Miss Cashlcy—You have dropped your
handkerchief on the floor, Mr. Van
Dudekin.
Van Dudekin (preparing to get on his
knees) —I did it with a purpose, dear
Miss Cashley—er—Edith, I love you;
will you be my wife?—[Puck.
SHE LIKED THE RING.
I A young woman, on becoming engaged
for the second time, was somewhat as
tonished at receiving from number two |
the identical ring she returned to her j
first love.
"Why, Charles," she said, "this is the
same ring I had when I was engaged to
Harry."
"I know it," replied the young man.
"Harry is an old friend of mine, and
when he heard of our engagement he
came around to congratulate me and
offered to sell me the ring for half cost. He
said you liked it very much, and it fitted,
so I took it. Good scheme, eh?"
The young woman's sensations are not
described.—[Judge.
ANOTHER THING.
"Did you tell Skittles that I was an
infamous liar?" "No, I did not. Quite
the reverse, in fact. I said you were a
famous one."
L HIS SACRIFICE.
' Highwayman (to deaf individual) —
Money or your life.
1 Deaf Individual (in carriage with wife)
—What's that? Money or my wife.
5 Well, then, take my wife.—[Epoch.
ONLY ONE DEFICIENCY.
Silversmith—That teapot is for a mem
ber of Congress, lsu't it a beauty?
Philosopher —I think you have not
made enough of one feature.
Silversmith—What's that?
Philosopher—The spout.—[Jewelers'
Weekly.
EVIDENCE OF THE TRUTH.
Horse Dealer—Count, you had cer
tainly better buy that horse. He is per
fectly sound.
"I believe you. If he hadn't been
sound he would never have lived to such
an age."—[Flicgende Blatter.
THE DEAR GIRLS.
Ethel—l find twilight more conducive
to love making than any other time.
Maud—Of course. Your features aro
partly concealed then.—[Munscy's.
BAD ADVICE.
"I assure you, judge, that my physi
cian is responsible for my being a
thief."
"Do you mean to say that he hypno
tized you and compelled you to commit
a crime?"
"I won't say that, but I do know that
he ordered me to take something before
going to bed."—[New York Herald.
AN ANCIENT PRACTICE.
"Lynching was common in ancient
times, if one may judge from the litera
ture."
"I thought that was u modern institu
tion."
"No, haven't you read about the
stringing up of the lyre?"
WOULD LOVE IIIM LONG.
"Oh, wilt thou love me long, my dear?"
She gazed upon his form so tall.
"Of course, I'll have to love thee long,
If e'er I love thee, Jake, at all!"
IT WAS NOT A HOBBY.
Pousonby—There's a man up town who
has at least 200 clocks of all kinds and
descriptions.
Popinjay—That's a remarkable hobby.
Ponsouby—Not so much so when you
remember that he keeps a jewelry store.
—[Jewelers' Circular.
PREPARING HIS DEFENCE.
" You claim that you were insuue when
you proposed to her ?"
" Yes, sir."
" Can you prove it ?"
"Yes, sir."
" How ?"
"By producing the plaintiff in court
and letting the jury look at her."—[New
York Sun.
PRINCIPLE AND PRINCIPAL.
Mrs. du Temps—l don't approve of
Mr. Moneybag's suit, my dear. I don't
think he is the man for you, for he
doesn't seem to have a spark of prin
ciple.
Miss du Temps—He has a principal,
ma, of $200,000, that yields him 10 per
cent, annually. What more do you want?
—[Lawrence American.
HE DID THEM JUSTICE.
She (indignantly)—l don't think you
give us girls credit for thinking of any
thing else but dress.
He (suavely)—Oh, you wrong me! I
, do give you credit for thinking of more
than dresses.
"Of what else?"
"Bonnets."—[The Epoch.
NE SPOKE FROM EXPERIENCE.
"I have a mind to get married."
"Well, you won't have any afterwards,
I can tell you."—[Epoch.
FRED'S MISTAKE.
Amy—Fred, I hear that your engage
ment with Miss Blcsser is broken.
Fred—Yes, it is.
Amy—lt must have been built on the
sand to fall so soon.
Fred—l thought it was founded on
rocks, but I discovered she hadn't any.
—[Munsey's Weekly.
A NATURAL RESULT.
Visitor to insane avium (to keeper)—
And who is that gibbering idiot over
there?
Keeper (sadly) -T iat poor fellow was
one of our most promising young lawyers
till he took a young lady to a ball game
one afternoon and attempted to watch
the game and explain it to her at the
same time.—[Lawrence American.
WISE BEYOND HER YEARS.
Reginald—l love you, Madeline. For
you 1 would give up family, position,
wealth
Madeline—Hold, Reginald. Giving up
family is all right—l fain would be spared
a motber-in-all—give up your position, if
you can get a better one, but for heaven's
sake hold on to your wealth. We may
need it.—[Texas Sittings.
AN EVENTFUL DEAL.
"Speaking of poker hands," said
young Pecan, of Texas, "I once played
in a three-cornered game in which one
man held five aces and the other man a
six-shooter "
"And you?"
"And 1 held an inquest."—[St. Joseph
News.
RECIPROCITY.
They had a quarrel, and she sent
His letters back next day;
His rin£ and all his presents went
To him without delay.
"Pray send my kisses back to me,"
He wrote, "Could you forget them?"
She answered speedily that he
Must come himself and get thein!
Two Funny War Stories.
Congressman Allen, of Mississippi,
never tires of telling funny tales about
the war. Here are two:
A confederate soldier in a certain reg
iment had become noted for running
away from every fight. On one occasion
his Captain found liim in line as an unex
pected attack opened. Standing behind
him, the captain drew his pistol and
said:
"Now, John, up to this time you have
run from every fight. You have dis
graced yourself 011 all occasions. Now,
if you stir from the line this time I in
tend to shoot you dead. I shall stand
here, right behind yon, and i? you start
to run 1 shall certainly kill you."
John heard the Captain through, and,
drawing himself up to an unusual height,
replied:
"Wall, Captain, you may shoot me if
you like, but I'll never give any low
lived, low-down Yankee the privilege of
doing it."
At Murfreesborough a Confederate
soldier was rushing to the rear with all
the speed he could command. An of
ficer hailed hiru and sneeringly inquired
why he was running so fast away from
the \ankeeß. The soldier, without
stopping, yelled back:
"Because I can't fly."
THE PARIS MORGUE.
GRUESOME SIGHTS IN A FAM
OUS FRENCH INSTITUTION.
Bodies Frozen Stiff for Future Iden
tification—A Lugubrious Photo
graph Album—A Ghastly Revel.
It is difficult for the average tourist in
Paris to decide which of two famous
sights he will first enjoy—the Louvre or
the Morgue. It is perhaps the latter that
luis the better patronage from foreigners.
Everything in Paris under the present
government is systematized, and the po
litical machinery, even to the smallest
wheels, is so well oiled and runs so
smoothly that there is little room for
fancy, particularly when hard facts are
encountered at every turn. The Morgue 1
is on the island of "the city, that small, I
picturesque bit of land, the nucleus of i
old Paris, and which parts in twain the I
turgid waters of the river Seine.
The island is the site of all the princi- j
pal public buildings—the criminal courts,
the Prefecture of Police and the other '
edifices consecrated to the administra- |
tion of justice. The Morgue itself is i
rather a hard place to finu, and when 1
found, so insignificant that the visitor j
feels at once a distinct pang of disap- I
pointment. It is a low, one-storied I
structure, half hidden in the shadow of j
the great basilica of Notre Dame. In
front is a small park, bright and cheery, j
where quaint women in large,'
stiff-frilled caps, sell nosegays on fete '
days. Behind it is the Seine, from i
whose foul waters so much of its ghastly
crop is plucked.
The building is fashioned after the
model of a Grecian tomb with two nine
teenth century wings. The main hall in- i
side is a square room, around which, un
der glass cases, something liko the
windows of shops, are exposed the
corpses, the flotsam and jetsam of Paris,
which come in with the tide. The bodies
are dressed in their ordinary attire, and
being frozen present the appearance of
models in wax. The inner room behind
the showcase is used for dissecting, and
also for the identification of the dead.
A large leaden table 011 a pivot is its
principal feature, on which is stretched
the cadaver. The ceiling is lighted by a
roof of ground glass and every facility is
given for the recognition of the dead by
their friends. It is here that the mur
derer is often brought face to face with
his victim, and this small room
has been the scene of many
a drama. A third room behind this is
arranged like a ward iu a hospital. On
each side of a broad pathway huge cop
per cylinders are placed at regular inter
vals, like beds of patients in a hospital.
These cylinders are each provided with a
freezing apparatus into which after a few
days' exposition the unidentified dead
are placed and immediately frozen to the
consistency of stone and stored away,
awaiting the great day of identification.
Whenever a body is found—either in
the Seine, the streets or at a private
house, when the cause of death is sus
picious—the case is immediately reported
to the authorities and the dead-cart
brought to the scene. On arrival at the
morgue the body is stripped of its cloth
ing and placed in a species of trough
lined with zinc. A double hose is im
mediately brought into action and the
subject is thoroughly cleansed with clear,
cold water. It is then examined and its
especial features noted, which, together
with the time and place of finding and
other details, are registered. The corpse
is dressed again in its original clothes,
placed in one of the receptacles and
frozen.
Besides the regular registry, in which
the names, marks, clothing and other
means of identification are written, a
photograph is taken of each subject,
and these lugubrious albums are open to
the public twice a week. Every person
who dies in a public place is brought to
the morgue. A corps of physicians are
there to dissect and perform autopsies,
and every means is taken to identify the
dead or to trace out the cause of sudden
death.
The present system is a wonderful im
provement on that of other days. Mr.
Mace gives a graphic and horrible descrip
tion of the morgue during the first half of
| the century. The guardians of the dead
I were appointed by a low class of politi
cians, the office, although without salary,
being self-supporting. The dead them
selves were facetiously called "tho board -
■ ers." Everything appertaining to the
subjects was sold. There was a box
called "The Casket of the Maccabees."
! In this wero placed the teeth and the hair
i of the dead, which wero sold to dentists
and hair-dressers. The garments were
sold to old-clothes men, and the por
: quisites of the guardian of the dead, or
j "Morguer," were extremely profitable.
! This is only half the story. One of
the Morgueurs, who had amassed quite a
fortune from liis ghoulish work, gave
somewhere in the thirties an entertain
j ment in the grand hall of the Morgue,
j His guests were the most depraved and
' most distinguished members of the crim
inal classes in Paris. The drink which
formed the chief refreshment on the oc
casion was brandy, known in French as
"cau de vie" and baptized for the oeca
j sion as "cau de morts." from water of
life to water of death. The music was
| furnished by instruments something like j
flutes made from the bones of the dead,
I and the drum accompaniment was beaten j
j on skulls with parts of arms and legs. I
For light a novel effect was introduced, j
Twenty corpses which had entered a '
i sufficient stage of decay were ranged j
I along the walls and the eyeless sockets
| and mouths were lighted, the gas from j
tho corrupting bodies burning with a !
fierce and brilliant light.
The Morgue at present is a bright ex
ample of a well-organized institution,
thanks to the Republic. In the days of
the Empire it was the custom to give to
anyone bringing from the river the body
ot a person still living 15 francs; for
j corpse, 25 francs. Gaffer Riderhood.
! Dickens' novel of "Our Mutual K.end.
! was a well-known type on the Seine, and
many a murder was committed for the
sake of the 25 francs. Now the propor
tion is changed, and 15 francs is the
price for the dead and 25 for the living.
The garments are burned, and a well
regulated police see that there is no more
unseemly traffic.
J The Morgue is free. There is no charge
for the burial of the dead, and the expo
sition of subjects is open at all times to
the public. In it were placed the victims
j of the civil wars of 1830, 1848, 1851 and
1871, and during the siege many Prussian
soldiers found their way into this grue
some museum. The Morgue is a book in
itself. From its archives many thrilling
, romances could be written. One peculiar
' circumstance is, however, specially wor-
I thy of preservation. For nearly a hun
dred years a certain family of working
people in Paris have ended their lives by
suicide From father to son, from
mother to daughter, has been handed a
plain gold ring, and on the finger of each
lias been found this trinket. It has been
called tho fatal r.ng, and only year
it made its appearance on tho finger of a
young m*n—the last of the race. The
was buried with the corpse. The
cupidity of not even the most grasping
body finder could be tempted to the pos
session of this ominous golden circle.—
[New York World.
TAMING A FLOCK OF GUAILS.
Buckwheat and Gradual Advances
Conquer the Wild Birds.
Several weeks ago Mrs. D. N. Snyder,
of Jefferson township, Penn., saw a lot
of quails dusting themselves under some
currant bushes in the back end of her
garden. The birds looked so happy and
contented that she thought it would be
too bad to disturb them, so she returned
home without pulling the weeds out of a
patch of onions that she had gone there
for the purpose of doing. In an hour or
so the quails had disappeared in the tall
timothy of the adjoining meadow, and
1 Mrs. Snyder scattered some buckwheat
i around where they had been wallowing.
On the following day tho birds came
| there again, gobbled up the buckwheat
i and hau a good time. Every day for a
week or so Mrs. Snyder scattered grain
! among the bushes for the quails to feed
j on, and the birds so that they
| looked for food ii.ihc garden as regularly
| as they did for a resting place at night
1 out in the woods,bac!c of the big meadow
lot.
One morning the kind-hearted woman
forgot to throw the buckwheat, but the
quails reminded her of her negligence by
appearing at the usual hour and making
a great, fuss and noi c because there
wasn't any grain in the garden for them
to pick up. Mrs. Snyder let the birds
hunt for other kind of food that day, and
for several mornings after that she didn't
fail to give them a good feed of buck
wheat. Then she missed a morning on
purpose to see how the quails would act
when they didn't find any grain near the
currant bushes, watching from a second
story window for them to make their ap
pearance.
Promptly on time the whole flock
crept under the garden fence from the
meadow, ran among the bushes, and be
gan to dodge and flutter about where
they had been in the habit of finding
the buckwheat. When they searched
long enough to learn that no grain
hud been put there for them, the birds
piped iu low tones, fluttered uneasily,
scattered into the vegetable beds, and *
appeared to be very much disappointed.
In a little while the quails gave up the
search, assembled under the currant
bushes, aud went to dusting themselves
in the soil. Mrs. Snyder couuted four
teen in the flock, and then she wont down
stairs, got a handful of buckwheat, and
tiptoed her way into the garden.
When she had got as near to the quails
as she could get without scaring
them, Mrs. Snyder flung a hand
: ful of buckwheat toward tho quiet
little flock. It fell among them and they
, all scampered under the fence and went
J out of sight in a hurry. Then she threw
! some more of the grain on the ground
where thev had been, and secreted her
i self behind a row of pea vines. Presontly
one of the birds ventured to crawl under
the fence into the garden. It soon found
j the buckwheat and set to filling its crop,
and at this the other birds took courage,
filed from their biding places, and went
to picking up the gram as though each
| was determined to get its share.
; From her place of concealment Mrs.
Snyder flung a handful of buckwheat
| into the air, so that it fell into the midst
•of the flock. It scared the birds a little,
! but they quickly resumed their feeding,
1 and Mrs. Snyder began to whistle to them,
j flinging more grain into tho air as she
whistled. That excited their curiosity
I just enough to make them look up for a
moment, and Mrs. Snyder emptied tho
I basin and stole away, without letting the
birds see her. She fed the quails in this
1 way for a few days, gradually got them
used to her whistle and voice, and let
j them get sight of her by degrees. In
side of a month from tho time she first
saw the birds in the garden she had
them so well tamed that they fluttered
I out of tho meadow whenever she called
them, ate iu her presence, and did not
seem to fear her at all. Since then Mrs.
Snyder has taken a good deal of comfort
with her strange little flock, aud she
said the othor day that the confidence
the birds have iu her pays her many
times over for all the trouble she has
made herself in getting the wild little
creatures to be as tame as they are.
Using Cats as Clocks.
Every one knows that cats can see in
the dark, and the reason they can do so i 9
because of tho peculiar construction of
their eyes. You may have noticed that
in a moderate light the pupil or bluck
part of pussy's eye is small and of an oval
shape, while in a full glare of light it be
coinos narrow. Now, in the dark it ex
pands to a circle and nearly tills the sur
face of the eyeball. This peculiarity of
the cat's eyes is turned to account in a
curious manner by the Chinese. The
Abbe Hue relates that when he was trav
eling in China he asked his attendant
what time it was. The man went over
to a cut that was quietly basking in the
sun, and examining its eyes told the
Abbe that it was about two hours after
noon, and on being questioned how he
knew that, he explained that the pupils
of a cat's eyes were largest in the morn
ing aud that they gradually grew smaller
as the light inereuscd, till they reached
their minimum at noou; that then they
began to widen again, till at night they
once more became large. The good
Abbe was filled with admiration for the
ingenuity of a people who could use cats
as clocks. But it must be admitted that
this way of telling the time of day is
rather a loose one and could only be
trusted in very clear and serene weather,
for temporary gloom or the darkness of a
storm would sadly derange your four
footed clock and put it all wrong.
Women as Watchmakers.
4 'Now that women are making their
way in almost every trade and profession
in this country," said a well known jew
eler, "it seems strange to me that so few of
them work at watchmaking." In Switzer
land, even years ago, when I learned the
trade there, there were many women
watchmakers. Now, in that country,
there are nearly as many women in the
business as there are men. ilut iu all
New York there are only four women
watchmakers whom I know of, aud I am
reasonably well informed. One of these
women lives up iu Harlem, far away from
the business portion of the town, and she
must make, on an average, from $25 to
$35 a week. I send many of the more
delicate watches which are brought to
me to be repaired, to her.and other jewel
ers do the same thing. She does good
work and she lives in a quiet neighbor
hood. The latter is, you know, very im
portant to a watchmaker sometimes. The
jar caused by the passing of heavily
loaded trucks and by the elevated rail
road and soon, is sometimes so violent
down here in the business part of the
town that it is almost impossible to do
flue work."