TUB RACE.
He who to run life's rocj doth dnre
With wrong at heurt though fleet be ILes,
He may not win although he wear
The sandule of Hipiomees.
But ho who keeps a stainless soul,
Albeit by pain unci trial shod,
Will reach at lust the priceless goal
Thut stands before the throne of God.
—£(.liutou Scollurd, in Youth's Companion- j
THE LITTLE CHAP.
BY HJALMAIi lIJORTII BOYESEN.
The Little Chap had been humored
from the time he was born, but then he
was such a fascinating Little Chap that
nobody could help humoring him. lie
was stubborn, he was headstroug, he was
naughty, if you like, the Little Chap:
but in his very naughtiness there wn- I
something really captivating which won
your heart, but played the mischief with
your dignity. When he stood before
you with his legs far apart, his hands in
the pockets of his much-patched trousers,
and the magnitude of his defiance so out
of proportion to that of his tiny body,
you were altogether at a disadvantage, I
and I am not sure but that the Little I
Chap in the innocent slyness of his heart
felt that you were at his mercy. A little
patched cherub like him, with tousled
blond hair and an enormous sense of his 1
own importance, would have been no j
mean antagonist to Hercules himself; and,
what is more, so secure was he in the
consciousness of his valor that he would :
not have been afraid to tackle Hercules. [
The Little Chap's father, Amund
Myra, was a carpenter by trade, and
lived in one of the loneliest mountain
valleys of Norway. His wife, Kari, had
presented him with live daughters before
it occurred to her to present him with a
son, and his joy nt the last arrival had j
only been equalled by his disgust at the ;
five previous ones. The Little Chap took
instant possession of his father's heart, |,
which had been kept purposely vacaut 1
for his reception.
From the hour of his arrival the Little 1
Chap came to be regarded as a person of
tremendous consequence. It was im- i
pressed upon him from the time he lay I
in the cradle that he was a boy, and that !
a boy was a superior kiud of creature,
who hud nothing except certain acciden
tal points of anatomy iu common with
girls, which latter species had been
wisely created by the Lord to wait upon
him. lie was not very big before Amund,
who could not bear to be separated from
him, got into the habit of taking him
along when he went out into the valley !
to do a job. There the Little Chap
would sit proudly perched upon his j
father's shoulder, bundled tip in scarts,
and with a fur cap that was much too
big for him pulled down over his cars. 1
He was not a talkative child; but there
was a slow and old-fashioned kind of
gravity about him which made every- \
thing he said infinitely droll. He took |
himself very seriously , and allowed no
trifling with his dignity. He took much j
satisfaction in the thought that he was j
helping his father; and Amund rather j
encouraged the idea, giving him a ham
mer with which he pounded nails into a
piece of hoard, and occasionally mashed \
his fingers. And all day long, while the 1
carpenter worked, whether in doors or
out-of-doors, the Little Chap bustled
about him, sat in the shavings whittling
sticks, or chipped the edge of the plane I
by ruuning it into the heads of the nails, j
which he drove in wherever a convenient !
place presented itself. But whatever!
mischief he got into, whatever tools he
ruined, Amund regarded it only as a fair
price which he paid for his company, i
And never once did he scold the Little
Chap, but gravely explained to him why
he must not do such and such things, us
if he had been a grown-up mitn. And
the Little Chap would listen gravely,
with a quivering uuderlip; and when the
kindly homily was at an end, he would
lie very still, with his head buried in the
shavings, feeling terribly humiliated at
the thought of his delinquency.
Thus winters passed, and summers,
until the Little Chap was eight years old.
Ho tyrannized over his sisters, as usual,
and accepted their worship as nothing
but his due. lie was a sore trial to his
mother on account of his stubbornness,
and because he was "so hard on his
clothes." But to his father he was a
staunch and loyal friend; I could al
most say an older friend, for he began
early to feel a kind of responsibility for
Amund, and a droll kiud of protector
ship. lie made him go back and put on
his coat when he started out in his shirt
sleeves in chilly weather; he would send
him back to shave, of a Sunday morning,
when he proposed to go to church with
a two-days'beard: and he would take
his dad's part at the table when (as some- 1
times happened) the mother wouid scold
him or make unpleasant remarks imply- j
ing disrespect.
" Mother always thinks that every
body can do things better than my dad/'
he would observe, in his slow drawl,
when his dad had been unlucky enough ,
to arouse his wife's displeasure; and]
straightway dad would feel a little horny
paw under the table grasping for his
own. That was his way of consoling his
dad.
He believed fully that his dad was the
wisest, the cleverest,and the best of men;
and however unworthy he might feel '
himself, what comfort, what happiness
it was to this poor overworked carpenter
to have one creature on earth who re
posed this touchingly unquestioning
trust in him I What "my dad" said, that
was law; and what "my dad" diil was
always admirable; and though dad was
conscious of many a failing, he would
not for the life of him have the Little
Chap suspect them, ife strove man full v
to live up to the Little Chap's idea of
him. People said lie spoiled the boy;
and the mother, particularly, who was a
trith; jealous of their intimacy, declared
that it was time the Little Chap was sent
to school, and learned something besides
whittling and cutting his fingers. This '
seemed so perfectly rational that out of'
consideration for the Liule Chap, Amund i
was at last persuaded to send him to
school. It was of no use that the boy 1
wept, and declared that he wanted to 1
be with his dad. How was his dad
to get on without his help? What
would become of dad if he did
not look out for him? This idea
that he was helping dad had become so
rooted in his mind that he harped upon
it early and late, and grieved himself
thin and pale for fear that his dad might
come to harm without him.
Somehow, life was no move the same
toAmund, after his loss of the Little
t Imp's companionship. There was no
joy ; ny more in his work; and it seemed
too that his luck iiad deserted him.
Once he ran a file, the handle of which
broke, into his hand, and another time
ho nearly plit his kneepan with nil adze.
Then lie was laid up for thrco weeks.
Provisions ran very low in the house.
Kari, his wife, began to talk about ap
ply ing for help to the guardians of the
poor. It was then the plan matured in
Amund's mind to cross the ocean and
begin life over again in the New World,
where a man of his skill certainly could
accomplish something more than to keep
out of the poorhouse.
Accordingly, though it nearly broke
his heart to part fiom the Little Chap,
he crossed the Atlantic, promising to
send for the family as soon as he had
founded a home for them in the great
West. He begged hard to be allowed to
take the Little Chap with him, but Kari
would not listen to that, because to her
the Little Chap was a kind of a pawn, a
guarantee that her husband meant to i
keep his word, and send for her and the
undesirable girls as soon as his circum
stances warranted. Iler conscience was
not quite easy in regard to her treatment
of him, and she could afford to tuke no
chances.
Amund arrived ut Chicago at a time
when skilled carpenters were scarce and
wages high. There was a great deal of
building going on, and he had no difti
j cultyin obtaining work. He was a mas
ter iu his trade, thoroughly honorable,
1 frugal, and industrious. It is not to be
denied, however, thut life is a dreary J
affair to one who toils and toils from 1
morning till night, and whose starved
heart cries out every hour and minute of \
the day for one whose is far away.
Where is the Little Chap now? What is *
the Little Chap doing now? How does t
' lie look? Does he cure so much for his 1
i dad as he did; and is he as eager as ever t
, to help his dad? These were Amund's c
constant reflections whenever a littlo re- i
spite from labor afforded him a chance I
I to thiuk. 1
It was this burning heart-hunger for his t
boy which made him turn every penny j
many times before he could persuade s
j himself to spend it. 11c grew positively c
stingy, denying himself the necessary t
j food and clothes, always trying to do i
with little less, in the hope of hastening c
the day when he should be able to send f
for the Little Chap. He worked sur- \
reptitiously after time in order to earn a
. some extra pennies, and he got the rep- j
i utation among his fellow-workmen of i
I being a mean, penurious skinflint, who
hoarded his wages with a view to be- 1
] coming a boss some day and lording it c
; over them.
i At the end of one year Amund had v
j saved $550 from his wages, but having a
no confidence in the banks, he carried -
I the entire amount in gold eagles in a j
; leather belt about his waist. The con- 1
' sciousness of carrying so much money
made him, however, very uneasy, and dis- >
turbed his sleep. Four or five times every c
! night he started un in terror, having
dreamed that his money was stolen. It
then occurred to him that the only safe .
way to dispose of it would be to invest it
iu a cottage and lot on the west side,
where land wads et cheap. Lund could
not run awav, and a house not oven the
most daring thief could steal. Distrust- i
ing every one in this bewilderingly ■
strange laud, he was in no haste to so- ;
licit advice. But one day au advertise- ]
ment in a Scandinavian paper caught his
eye and set him thinking. It read as
follows •
"THE POOR MAN'S FRIEND.
j "The Fenston Heal Estate Investment
j Company sell choico City Lots, improved
i and unimproved, on the Instalment plan.
West Side Property a Specialty."
' Amund cut this out, read it at least
twenty times a day, and carried it in
his pocket for a week, before he sum
moned courage to call at the address
designated. But his hoard kept increas
ing week by week, and his anxiety grew
i apace.
Finally, one day in the early spring,
, lie called upon the Fenston Heal Estate
I Investment Company. He had fancied
from the advertisement something very
j complicated and magnificent, and was
I somewhat disappointed at being con-
I fronted with a sandy-haired and very
pimpled young man, who sat in his
' r shirt sleeves in a scantily furnished back
, ofliee, chewing a toothpick,
jj "Is this—the—the—office of the Fens- j
1 ton Real Estate Investment Company?" |
queried Amund, respectfully,
j i "Yes/" the young man replied, taking
„ i his feet down from the table. "What
£ I can I do for you?"
I "I—l—should like to sec the—the— '
president of the company, if—if—you
' would be so very kind as to call liim,"
I Amund remarked, apologetically.
-/ "I regret to say the president is out of
s 1 town at present," said the plausible
t i youth; "but won't you sit down, please?
s ' I think, perhaps, I can give you all the
ii 1 information you require; and I need not
. say I shall be very happy if I can be of
i service to you."
r I There was something so insinuating in
the young fellow's manner that Amund,
though he had resolved to be very cau
tious, soon found himself talking freely
with him.
The next day the young man—Farley
was his name—dropped in upon him, by
pure chance, it seemed, while he was
having his noon rest; and they became
better acquainted. The following Sun
day they met again; and Farley took '
j Amund about in a buggy, and showed
' him all the property he had for sale on
the west side, lie invited him to lunch
with him in his little cottage on West
Indiana Street, where lie was living; and
the upshot of many interviews and con
versations was that he offered to sell this
cottage, with lot, to Amund for $2,000,
possession to be granted when $1,200
had been paid, and a mortgage to be
given for the remaining amount. It
seemed all so perfectly fair and square
that Amund, after having got the price
down to SI,BOO and the furniture thrown
in, had no hesitation in closing the bar
gain. He paid over to Farley the SBOO
which he had then accumulated, and re
ceivcd an acknowledgment of the *
amount from him, with promise of deed !
of payment of S4OO more.
Then another year passed. Month by
month Amund handed over his sav n".s 1
to Farley, who pocketed them in a cool, '
business-like manner; and at last, when •
the $1,200 had been paid, he kept his
word, and gave a deed of the property !
to the carpenter. Joyously then Amund
wrote to his wife, telling her to make '
no delay in coming, for he had now a
home of his own iu which to receive her
and the children. And it was all furn
ished, and there was a separate room for
the Littlo ('hup -God bless him!—where
he could keep all his funny little traps,
I so that his sisters wouldn't annoy him.
Much he wrote in this strain for his
heart was over-brimming with joy, and
life seemed brighter ana more beautiful
to him than ever before The only thing
that troubled him a little was the fact
that the family who lived in the house
had not yet moved out. But Farley cx-1
plained that their lease did not expire j
until Apiil Ist. and that iu the mean
while he would have to- bo patient. On '
April 2d they would be gone, and then
he could take possession.
I shall not attempt to describe the
meeting between the Little Chap and his
dad. It was just the 2d of April when
the family arrived in Chicago, and were
, put, like so much baggage, into an ex
press wagon and driven to West Indiana
street. Amund ran up the front steps
\ with the Little Chap in his arms to show
I off his cottage; and the wife and the five
girls all bundled up with scarfs aud ker
chiefs until they lot'fccd like walking
haystacks, scrambled out of the wagon
as best they could. Farley had promised
to be there with the keys, and formally
put the new owner in possession. It an
noyed Amund a good deal when his firflt
and second ring at tnc doorbell remained
unanswered, and still more annoyed was
he when, at the third, a man who had
not the least resemblance to Farley
opened the door and asked him, in lan
guage more vigorous than polite, what ho
wanted.
"I—l have bought this house, 1 ' Amund
said, with an air of righteous indigna
tion, "and I was told by Mr. Farley that
you were to move out on the Ist of
April."
The occupant of the house smiled an
extremely unpleasant smile, and asked,
coldly, "Whom did you buy it of?"
"Mr. Farley."
"That is a great pity, for he never
owned it."
"But where is he? He promised me
the keys last night."
"lie has gone West."
"Gone West?" An icy terror clutched
at the Norseman's heart, and he reeled
backward as if he had been struck.
"Good God!' he groaned, sinking down
upon the topmost step. "Good God!"
The Little Chap, seeing his distress,
wound his arms tightly about his neck
and rubbed his cheek against his face.
He sat thus for five or ten minutes,while
the tive blonde bundled-up girls stood
on the sidewalk staring at nim with in
nocent stupidity. Then the man of the
house reappeared, and ordered them in
harsh language to move on. And when
they only continued to stare in uncom
prehending wonder, two policemen were
sent for, and the whole family were hud
dled into a patrol wagon and driven to
the nearest police station. There Amund,
under the stress of answering the re
quired questions, was aroused sufficiently
from his dumb misery to send for a Nor
wegian lawyer, who presently made his
appearance. Jle listened to the carpen
penter's story, and then shook his head
mournfully.
"Youhave been swindled, my friend,"
he said. "You ought to have been more
cautious."
"But—but, lawyer," the poor fellow
went on, gazing into his face with an
anguished expectancy, "he—he—sold me
—the house—and here I've got the
papers. It's all right, surely. Ain't it,
lawyer?"
The lawyer looked at the paper which
was handed him, and then dropped it
contemptuously on the floor.
"A very clumsy forgery," he said,
i "But—but—he couldn't surely sell me
—what—what didn't belong to him, law
yer?"
"Yes, he could, if any one was fool
enough to buy."
"But, lawyer—l say lawyer—do you
mean to say now, that—that I have
worked and slaved nigh on to three
years, and ofteu starved and skimped
myself for the Little Chap's sake—do
you mean to say that—that man is to
have it, and not my Little Chap?"
Beads of cold perspiration burst out
upon his brow, and the pained wonder
and stunned bewilderment in his face
were pitiful to behold. Ilis slow wits
could not yet grasp the situation, and he
was obviously hoping against hope that
there was some terrible misunderstand
ing at the bottom of it all, and that
sooner or later it would be cleared up. '
The lawyer had in all his practice
never encountered so heartrending a case.
He weighed his words before he an
swered, "My dear friend, you have paid
dearly for your first experience in the
New World."
Amund, taking in slowly the bearings
of this remark, stood staring before him
with a vacaut look of dawning terror;
then tremblingly he raised his hands
towards the ceiling, and cried, with a
frightful .energy, "But, God, what arc
you doing up there in heaven when such
things can happen on the earth?"
There was a hush as of death in the
station-room. In the presence of so mon
strous a wrong every one stood helpless,
> and a little awed. After the terrible
: explosion of despair Amund's head
drooped upon his breast, his knees tot
tered, and lie fell in a heap upon the
J floor.
The Little Chap, who had stood with
his hands in his pockets, a puzzled
f frown upon his face during this strange
i scene, grew suddenly alarmed as his
? father fell. He strove bravely to dis
i guise his distress, which he held to be
t unmanly, but his lips quivered, and his
f eyes were full of tears.
"Dad," he said, stooping over the
i prostrate form of his father with a touch
ing air of loving protectorship—"dad, I
wouldn't take on so if I were you." Jle
waited anxiously for a response, and
when none came, he contiuucd in a
soothingly comforting tone: "Dad, dear
dad, don't you worry. I'll help you,
dad."
The sweet old well-remembered phrase
penetrated through the stricken man's
I numb lethargy of despair, lie raised
| himself suddenly on his knees, stared
with a wakening wonder at the child;
then, closing him in his arms, he burst
into tears.
"Yes, my Little Chap," lie cried, "you
Wdhelp mo. And may God forgive me
for despairing as long as I have you!"
And he arose with the Little Chap in
his arms, and the two began bravely the
battle of life anew.—[Harper's Weekly.
Dated Turtles.
There is a well-grounded popular be
lief that our tortoise lives to a vast age,
and numerous cases of turtles bearing
dates over a century old have been cited.
There was, until 1880, in the neighbor
hood of the writer's home in New Jersey,
an old tortoise which had been marked
by Mr. Cyrus Durand, the inventor of the
geometric lathe. It bore the inscription.
44 C. I)., 1880." clearly cut with a graver
on its under shell. As the tortoise had
been observed from year to year since the
time of its marking by the most trust
worthy witnesses, there can be no doubt
that the date was genuine. This tor
toise has not, been seen since 1880, so it
lias probably died. Another, which has
been observed for the past nine years,
was marked with the inscription 44 C. 8.,
1840." As the letters and dates were so
much worn as to be but faintly discerni
ble, they werq doubtless reliable. This
old animal was found for the last time, |
dead, in the summer of 1880. Another
bearing the date 1851, is still alive. As
suming that the tortoises were, full
grown, or about twenty years old when
marked, we are safe in stating the period
of their lives as from sixty to seventy
years. No doubt some individuals may
reach'a efcnturv or over. Unfortunately
for science, it ID a common sport for the
country urchin to engrave tortoises with
dates varying from forty or fifty years
before the artist'sbirth. This, however,
oran almost always be detected, for the
inscription becomes very faint after thirty
years of rubbing over the ground.—
[Popular Science Monthly.
The Lut n i.in Borhorilcn is lite largest palm
! ia cultivation in this country.
THE JOKER'S BUDGET.
JESTS AND YARNS BY FUNNY
MEN OF THE PRESS.
Winds and Wings —Didn't Know
About It One Jump Too Much —
Neither Sick nor Studious, etc.,etc.
WIND AND WINGS.
"I understand that a cyclone carried
your house away," said a Chicago man to
a Kansas friend.
"Well, I lost the house," replied the
Ivansan, "but I don't blame it altogether
on the cyclone."
"No?"
"You see I was fool enough to put
wings on the building."—[Chicago Inter-
Ocean.
DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT IT.
Fogg—Fcndcrson is a curious chap.
Good opinion of himself, you know, in
spite of his cephalic vacuity. I hap
pened to say, the other day, "there's
nothing perfect in the world."
Brown—And what did Fcndcrson
say?
Fogg—He started up as though some
body had struck him. "I don't know
about that; said he, I don't know about
that."
ONE JUMP TOO MUCH.
McCorkle—l hear that Danvers went
out to Oklahoma and died there.
McCrackle—His pcnchaut for athletics
was the death of him. You kuow what
a great jumper he was at college?
" Yes."
" Well, lie jumped a claim in Okla
homa and died of lead poisoning."
NEITHER BICK NOR STUDIOUS.
Uncle Eben wrote to the college pro
fessor: "Have not heard from my boy
for some time. Hope he is not sick. If ;
lie has been, I hope to hear that he is
improving."
The professor to Uncle Eben: "Boy
not sick, and not improving."—[Puck.
TIIE REAL TROUBLE.
" I don't understand what the trouble
with my articles can be," said the ambi
tious young man. "None of them is ac
cepted."
"Let's see; is that pencil with the
rubber on it the style that you are iu the
habit of using?"
" Certainly."
" Well, it's very simple. You have 1
been writing with the wrong end."— |
Washington Post.
THE TRAMPS' HAT DODGE.
"Yep," an id Pink Whiskers, the
tramp, "I wisht I had as many dollars as
it is easy to git hats. You see, a gang uv
us will lay down in the weeds alongside
uv the railroad a little way from the
water tank. Jest as a passenger train is
about to start off, after the engine is
through takin' water, wc jump up an'
holler, 'Howdy, Kernel.' Then all the
men in the cars stick their heads out uv
the winders, and we grab their hats and
slide. Uv course this is in the South. In
the West we say 'Jedge,' an' in the East
'Perfesser.' Auy where else we sing out:
'Howdy, Mr. Smith?'—[Kentucky State
Journal.
SOUNDS FROM THE NURSERY.
Glad music used to fill tho place,
They played on the piano;
He sang a deep profundo bass,
She sang a sweet soprano.
The home was redolent with sound
That drove away all sadness
And scattered pleasure all around
In effervescent gladness.
Why do they now so quiet keep, 1
And where is the piano?
And is the basso fast asleep
And likewise the soprano?
The house is still from dawn till dark
And taciturn as they be;
But joy fills every nook—there hark 1
Some one has woke the baby.
A TIMELY WARNING.
Cumso (running in excitedly)— Haven't
you a balance at the's tee nth national?
Fanglc—Yes. What's the matter?
Cumso—Draw it out right away!
Fangle—What's up?
Cumso—l heard the cashier promise a
young lady to attend a charity bazaar to
night .' —[Judge.
COMFORTS OF TRAVEL.
Professional Guide (to palace car
porter)—l have an English lord in charge
and I want him to get a good impression
of the comforts of travel iu this country.
Here's five dollars.
Porter—Yes, sail. Do you want me to
gib him extra attention, sah?
Guide—Great Scott, 110! I want you
to keep away from him.—[New York
Weekly.
A LITTLE BRIEF AUTHORITY.
Mr. N. Peck—Where's your mother
Johnny?
Johnny—Dunno. She's out some
where.
Mr. N. Peck—And you are sure she is
not at home ?
Johnny—Yas.
Mr. N. Peck—Come here to me, you
impudent young rascal. You want to
say "sir" when you talk to me. I'll 1
show who is boss in this house—for a •
little while, anyhow. —[lndianapolis j
Journal.
SECOND SIGHT.
"Theirs was a case of love at first'
sigh."
"Why didn't they marry?"
"They changed their minds at second ;
sight."
DIDN'T THINK OF IT.
"The medicine men among the In
dians told them that no bullets could
pass through their ghost skirts, but it
never occurred to a buck to bang his
shirt on a hickory limb and blaze away
at it and note the result. It was, there
fore, 'heap disappointment' when the
skirts didn't prove bullet-proof."—[De
troit Free Press.
A WORD FOR 1118 PASTOR.
Jaysharp (a musical enthusiast) —Who
is your favorite composer, Mr. Gazley?
Ga/Jey—Well, Dr. Choker composes j
me sooner than any other minister 1 ever
listened to.—[ Drake's Magazine.
A PAINFUL CASE.
Mrs. Gotham—Dr. Brownstone savs
he has a patient whose heart is on the
right side, and all the digestive organs
are wrong side to, aud, in fact, his whole
internal organism is topsy-turvy.
Mr. Gotham—ls it Mr. Bullion?
Mrs. Gotham—The doctor did not
mention any names. Why do vouthink
it is Mr. Bulliou?
Mr. Gotham—He always rides in a cab.
[Street A Smith's Good News.
GOOD FOOTBALL CLOTHES.
"Docs the Czar play football?" asked
an American sight-oeer at St. Pe-1
tersburg, as he inspcetcd the Emperor's j
steel vest ami boiler-iron trousers. i
"Oh, no," replied the guide,
are merely to protect his Imperial Majesty
from the Nihilists."—[Epo-h.
CONJUGAL REFLECTIONS.
"Wake up, Maria!" exclaimed Jingle
pop the other night. "I hear burglars!"
•'Really!" retorted his better half,
with great sarcasm. "But you'd better
lie down and go to sleep. With those
ears it's a great wonder, Hiram, dear,
you didn't hear a regiment of anarchists
and a battering ram!"—[New York
Herald.
FROM TIIE CITY.
Deacon Hardscrabble (to passenger re
quiring three scats for himself and bag
gngfc)—You are from the city, I pre
sume/
Mr. Hhoat—Y T es; how did you know
it.'
Deacon Hardscrabble—Oh, we butch
ered our country hogs three months ago!
—[New York Herald.
61!K WOULDN'T SMOOTn.
He (after the quarrel)— Come now,
darling, smooth your wrinkled front.
She—There you go again. lam not
wrinkled. lam younger than you are.
Jack Winters, I'll never speak to you
again!—[Epoch.
NOT JUST NOW.
Bunting—Bismarck's annual income
from his veast business is about $34,-
000.
Larkin—Still you can scarcely call
him a rising man.—[Epoch.
REFERRED TO PA.
Lovely Daughter—Pa, Mr. Nicefellow
proposed to me last night, and I referred
him to you.
Pa—Well, I really don't know much
about the young man, and I'll have
to—
Daughter—When he calls to sec you
about it, you are to receive him kindly
real fatherly, remember -and help him
along all you can, until he asks for my
hand, and then you are to look alarmed,
and talk about what an angel I am, and
how many millionaires and dukes and
princes I've refused; and then you arc
to reluctantly consent and give him your
blessing.
"Oh, I am, am I? But suppose I don't,
then what?"
"I'll marry him anyhow."—[New York
Weekly.
ESCAPED.
Landlady—Let's see, Mr. Impecunc
owes me for three weeks' board. You
needn't mind dusting Mr. lmpecune's
room this morning, Jane!
Jane —No mem, the gintleman's done
it hisself!
Landlady—Done what?
i Jane—Dusted.—[American Grocer.
DOWN ALL AROUND.
; Two Department clerks were looking
in a fur store window tilled with marked
| down goods.
j "That $8 cape there is just like I am,"
, said one.
"How's that?" iuquired his com-
I pauion.
" Reduced to $5." —[Washington
Star.
AN ECONOMICAL STOVE.
j Young Husband—Well, my dear, did
' you succeed in finding a stove to suit
j you?
Young AVife—lndeed, I did. Such
good luck! I got a stove that will never
cost us a cent for coal. The dealer said
it was a self-feeder. —[New York Weekly.
KNEW JUST WHAT lIE WAS DOING.
"You tell me you congratulated the
bride, Brooks?. That was not the proper
form. You should have wished lie*
joy."
"The groom is an old man, very con
sumptive, and very wealthy. I kuc\V
what I wa9 doing, liivers."—[Chicago
Tribune.
LEFT OUT.
I her heart of Winnifred,
Ah! if I could but win it;
She laughiug replied, "Dear Ned,
I fear you are not in it."
—[Harvard Lampoon.
LIVING AND SHOW.
Foreign Visitor—Does it cost much Id
live in New York?
Host—No, sir, it doesn't cost much U)
live in this city; but it costs like Sanj
Hill to keep up appearances.—[New
York Weekly.
SECRETS OF THE PROFESSION.
Stage Manager—Where is Afghai;
Lumbago, the tattooed Zulu?
Property Boy—He got caught in th(
rain coming from supper, and he isdowq
stairs having the scenic artist touch him
up.
TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE.
Signor Ham—Did you see how I par
I alyzed the audience in that death scene?
I By George, they were crying all over this
house!
Stage Manager -Yes. They kncwyoij
weren't really dead. —[Chicago Tribune.-
A IIINT TO FATHERS.
How pure and good 'twould make tlnl
world,
The millennium we soon would see,
If fathers would but be themselves
As good as they think their sons should
be.
RECIPE FOR STANDING POEMS.
"And so Jimpson read his poem to
you yesterday. How did you endure
it?"
"I just fixed my glass eye on him and
went to sleep with the other."
A HORRIBLE POSSIBILITY.
Ticks—Well, old man, you're looking
pretty blue; what's the matter ?
Wickles—Well, I've just asked old
(loldbags for his daughter.
Ticks—And the old idiot said 110?
Wickles—On the contrary, he said yes
so quick that I am afraid 110 can t be
worth a quarter as much us people think.
The Nature of Hysteria.
The basis of the hysterical state is ex
plained by a German medical writer to be
an irritable weakness, so that the inllu
cncc of external and internal stimuli is
increased aud made easier. Certain
functions, such as crying, laughing or
blushing, arc in most persons purely
under the control of the emotions. In
hysteria, however, the physiological re
sistance is so reduced that slight emo
tions of this sort produce maximum
effects. Reflex excitability is also in
creased, minimum stimuli causing maxi
mum in Ilexes. Hysterical paralysis is
emotional or reflex in its nature. As
the centres arc more easily excited they
are also exhausted more easily.
The hysterical paralysis is a true pa
ralysis in that there is an interruption of
conduction somewhere between the seat
of the will and the motor centres, so that
the patient is not able to bring the para
lyzed part under the power of the will.
In a case of hysterical aphonial, while
the patient was unable to talk, she could
sing or give a cry of pain. In the first
case the emotion of singing was enough
to overcome the obstacle to will conduc
tion; in the second the cry was reflex.
Hysterical anaesthesia is due to an inhi
bition of the perceptive centers them
selves, so that ordinary stimuli are not
perceived.—[Brooklyn Citizen.
YE MEETING HOUSE.
AN OLD-TIME NEW ENGLAND
INSTITUTION.
Why the Early Houses of Worship
Were Generally Set on Hill-Tops—
The Burning Question of Assign
ing Seats.
"The New England Meeting House" is
the subject of an article in the Atlantic
Monthly, by Alice Morse Earle. The
first New England meeting houses are
thus described:
The first meeting houses were often
built in the valleys, iu the meadow
lands; for the dwelling houses must be
clustered around them, since the colo
nists were ordered by law to build their
new homes within half a mile of the
meeting house. Soon, however, the
houses became too closely crowded for
the most convenient uses of a farming
community; pasturage forth© cattle had
to be obtained at too great a distance j
from the farmhouse; firewood had to be I
brought from too distant woods; near- I
ness to water also had to be considered. !
Thus the law became a dead letter, and
each new-convng settler built on outly
ing and remote land, since the Indians
were no longer so deeply to be dreaded.
Then the meeting houses, having usually
to accommodate a whole township of
scattered farms, were placed on remote
and often highly elevated locations;
sometimes at the very top of a long,
steep hill—so long and so steep in some i
cases, especially in one Connecticut par
ish, that church attendants could not
ride down on horseback from the pinna
cled meeting house, but were forced to
scramble down, leading their horses, and
mount from a horse-block at the foot of
the hill. The second Roxbury church
was set on a high hill, and the story is ■
fairly pathetic of the aged and feeble .
John Eliot, the glory 6f New England ;
Puritanism, that once, as he toiled pa- i
tiently up the long ascent to his dearly !
loved meeting, he said to the person on |
whose supporting arm he leaned (in ]
the Puritan fashion of teaching a lesson I
from any event and surrounding):
"This is very like the way to heaven;!
'tis uphill. The Lord by Ilis grace fetch (
us up."
The location on a hilltop was chosen
and favored for various reasons. The
meeting-house was at first a watch-house,
from which to keep vigilant lookout for
any possible approach of hostile or
sneaking Indians; it was also a land
mark, whose high bell-turret, or steeple,
though pointing to heavcu, was likewise
a guide on earth, for, thus stationed on
a high elevation, it could be seen for
miles around by travelers journeying
through the woods, or in the nairow,
tree-obscured bridle-paths which were
then almost the only roads. In seaside
towns, it could be a mark for sailors at
sea; such was the Truro meeting-house.
Then, too, our Puritan ancestors dearly
loved a "sightly location," and were
willing to climb uphill cheerfully, even
through bleak New England winters,
for the sake of having a meeting-house
which showed olf well, aud was a proper
source of envy to the neighboring vil
lages and the country around. The stu
diously remoto and painfully inaccessible
locations chosen for the site of many
fine roomy churches must astonish any
observing traveler on the byroads of
New England. Too often, alas! these
churches arc deserted, falling down, un
opened from year to year, destitute alike
of minister and congregation. Some
times, too, on high hilltops, or on lone
some roads leading through a tall second
growth of woods, deserted and neg
lected old graveyards—the most
lonely and forlorn of ail sad
places—by their broken and fallen
headstones, which surround a half
filled-in and uncovered cellar, show that
once a meeting-house for New England
Christians had stood there. Tall grass
and a tangle of blackberry brambles
cover the forgotten graves, and perhaps
a spire of orange tiger-lilies, a shrub of
southernwood or of winter-killed and
dying box, may struggle feebly for life
under the shadow of the "plumed ranks
of tall wild cherry," aud prove that once
these lonely graves were cared for and
loved for the sake of those who lie buried
in this uow waste spot. No traces re
main of the old meeting house save the
cellar and the narrow stone steps, sadly
leading nowhere, which once were
pressed by the feet of the children of the
Pilgrims, but now arc trodden only by
the curious and infrequent passer-by, or
the epitaph-seeking antiquary.
In all the Puritan meetings, as then
and now in Quaker meetings, the men
sat on one side of the meeting-house and
the women on the other; and they en
tered by separate doors. It was a great
and much-contested change when men
and women were ordered to sit together
"promiscuoslie." In fiont, on either
side of the pulpit (or very rarely in the
foremost row in the gallery), was a seat
of highest dignity, known as the "fore
seat," in which only the persons of great
est importance in the community sat.
Sometimes a row of square pews were
built on three sides of the ground fioor,
and were each occupied by separate fam
ilies, while the pulpit was on the fourth i
side. If any man wished such n private '
pew for himself and family, he obtained j
permission from the church and town,
and built it at his own expense. Inimc-!
diatcly in front of the pulpit was either j
a long seat or a squaro inclosed pew for I
the deacons, who sat facing the congre- '
gation. This was usually a foot or two j
ab >ve the level of the other pews, and j
was reached by two or three steep, nar
row steps. On a still higher plane was
a pew for the ruling elders, when ruling
elders there were. "What we now con
sider the best seats, those in the middle
of the church, were in olden times the
free scats.
It is (asy to comprehend what a source
of disappointed anticipation, heart-burn
ing jealousy, oiTended dignity, unseemly
pride, and bitter quarreling this method
of assigning seats, and ranking thereby,
must have been in those little communi
ties. ilow the good wives must have
hated the seating committee 1 Though
it was expressly ordered, when the co n
mittee rendered their decision, that "the
inhabitants arc to rest sihn" and sett
down satysfyed," who can still the tongue
of an envious woman or an insulted man?
Though they were Puritans, they were
lirst of all men and women, and com
plaints and revolts were frequent. Judge
Scwall records that one indignant dame
"treated Captain Osgood very roughly
on account of seating the meeting
lieu e." To her the difference between
a seat in the first and one in the second
row was immeasuiably great. It was not
alone the scribes and Pharisees who de
sired the highest seats in the synagogue.
It was found necessary at a very early
date to "dignify the meeting," which
was to make certain seats, though in dif
ferent localities, equal in dignity; thus
could peace and contented pride be par
tially restored. For instance, the seat
ing committee in the Sutton church used
their "best discresing," and voted that
"the third seat below bo equal in dig
nity with the forcseat in the front gal
lery, aud the fourth seat below bo equal
in dignity with the in the side
gallery," etc., thus making many 9eats
of equal honor. Of course wives had
to have seats of equal importance with
those of their husbands, aud each widow
retained the dignity apportioned to her
in her husband's lifetime. We can well
believe that much "discresiug" was
necessary in dignifying as well as iu
seating. Often, after building a new
meeting with all the painstaking
and thoughtful judgmeut that couldbc
shown, the dissensions over the seating
lasted for years. The pacificatory fash
ion of "dignifying the seats" clung long
iu the Congregational churches of New
England. In East Hartford it was not
abandoned until 1824. M
Many men were unwilling to serve on
these seating committees, aud refused to
"medle with the seating," nrotesting
against it on account of the oaiuin that
was incurred, but they were seldom "let
off." Sometimes the difiiculty was set
tled in this way: the entire church (or
rather the male members) voted who
I should occupy the foreseat or the highest
pew, and the voted-in occupants of this
I seat of honor formed a committee, who
; in turn seated the others of the congre
gation.
BULL AGAINST PANTHER.
Terrific Combat Witnessed by a
Herder in New Mexico.
A stockman employed on the Willow
Creek Ranch, lying a few miles south of
Tula Rosa, New Mexico, reports an in
teresting combat between a bull and a
panther, which he witnessed recently
while herding cattle in the fertile
valley of the Rio Pecos. The panther
was a large one of the species known as
gray jumbos, from their size and mouse
colored fur, and had been seeu some days
| before skulkiDg about the corral, but had
made off on being fired at.
Early one morning, however, the
j herder was awakened by a stampede
: among some cows, with young calves,
which were confined in a pen a few hun
dred yards from his cabin, and seizing
I his gun he ran to the spot, only to find
| that all of the cows and calves, with the
i exception of one of each, had broken out
' and were galloping wildly away. The
I cow left was bellowing piteously, and the
I calf, which had fallen to the earth, borne
! down by a long, little body nearly cov
j ering it, was feebly moaning.
| But before the herder could be upon
the panther, which ou its approach hi*i
raised its head and snarled, he saw a
bull coming, pluuging into the pen. He
made straight for the panther, and with
a single push of his liorn9 lifted it from
the calf, and, as the cat touched tho
ground, attacked it with his hoof, rear
i ing up aud striking with his fore feet
with remarkable agility and tremendous
| force. The panther flew at the bull as
soon as it could right itself, aud caught
him by the throat, only to be thrown to
one side by a toss of his bluut head,
which then attacked it with the pointed
horns, which tore the fur aud flesh till
| the ground was coveied with blood.
| The panther, screaming with fury, re
! turned to the charge whenever the pum-
I moling it received allowed it to regain
1 its footing for a moment. The bull's
head and muzzle were torn aud scratched
fearfully by his antagonist's powerful
i claws, which essayed agaiu aud again to
; cling to him, only to be thrown off as
lightlj as a man might throw a child.
I The herder was afraid to fire upon tho
panther, so rapid were the attacks and
counter attacks, aud the bull proving
more than a match for the gray jumbo,
, he thought it be9t to let them tight it out
I I together. The panther made several at
tempts at last to break and run, but the
bull was on it before it could escape
from the pen, and with hoofs aud horu9
struck at it furiously. The cat struggled
violently, but weakened by the blood
streaming from every part of the body,
! and thrown heic aud there at the mercy
, of its powerful foe, was evidently dying,
| when the bull, rushing upon it, lifted it
■ high on his horns and threw it against
the fence encircling the pen, where it
| lay quiet, and when examined proved to
' have had its neck broken.
i Even then the bull could not let it go,
but hauled and to3scd it about the yard
I for some time, stamping it until bones
I and flesh were reduced to a jelly; but at
last, tired of his sport, he trotted oil to
rejoin the herd. The calf was found to
have had its back broken by the panther
leaping on it, and beneath its throat was
atom, jagged wound, from which the
gray jumbo had been engaged in drain
ing its blood when the bull arrived on
the scene.
Mexicans and Postage.
J. M. Bennett, of Texas, representing
a Chicago firm in that State, was at the
Sherman house yesterday. "The Mexi
cans on the border,"said he, "have an in
genious plan for cheating their govern
ment out of postage. In Mexico the
rates are high. For instance, it costs
ten cents to send a letter from any of the
river towns to the city of Mexico, or
provinces south of here, and five cents to
nearer points. The greasers are not at
all lacking in trickery. Instead of paying
the high rates of their own government,
they simply paddle across the river, buy
a two-cent American stamp and mail
their letters to any point in Mexico they
please. They take a dollar's worth of
trouble to save a few cents; but then the
government is cheated, and there is some
satisfaction in that. The officials have
tried to stop the business, but let me tell
you, they couldn't do it. For genuine
skin-game tricks, the ordinary greaser
lays over any class of people I ever met."
—[Chicago Tribune.
A Female Cornet Band.
Lake Maitlaud, in Orange county, Fin.,
claims to have the only complete female
cornet band in the South, and although
it is a purely social organization, com
posed of the most beautiful and accom
plished young ladies ot that delightful
winter resort, the playing of the young
Indies is of the highest merit. There
are thirteen young ladies and two gen
tlemen in the band. Ben. J. Taliaferro,
an Atlanta musician of great versatility,
is the leader, andjcrc. Towuseiul, also a
Georgian, plays the tuba. Miss Bess
llingcrford on the cornet, and Miss Belle
Simmons 011 the baritone, liaudlo their
instruments like old bandmcu while
playing.—[Atlanta (Ga.) Journal.
The Drop of Bullets.
A ball has a largo drop when traveling
any great distance. For instance, take
1,000 yards. The bullet, if keeping the
course it originally started out to follow,
would land a distance of over 225 feet,
above the bull's eye. But it starts to drop
immediately after leaving the muzzle of
the gun, and at between 550 and 000
yards the ball is over sixty feet above the
iino of the bull's eye anil n considerable
distance below the line of sight. At 200
yards it has decreased in proportion and
the aim is only forty inches above the
hull's eye, but at 500 yards it is over
sixteen feet.—[Sun Francisco Examine*.