THAT WAS ALL. 'Tv. as written on the prison door: "I'm lodging here, forget it not, Because I entertained a thought!" And as these words I pondered o'er— The story of a felon's fall Dependent on a slender thread Spun from n thought a tulo of dread— -1 fell to musing; that was all! 'Twas hut a momentary thought He entertained one Idle day. That vanished instantly away: A fleeting vision that was naught. A passing thought he'd not recall. Dismissed so quickly from his mind As one unworthy there to flr.d A lodging place—and that was all! A lurking thought that would return, Rut quickly vanish, and again A lodgment seek.to And in vain; Thought of a sin that he would spurn A lurking thought he would forestall And entertain a little while, Then banish as a tempter vile Come to beguile him—that was all! A haunting thought that fain would stay His Idle moments to employ, Like a deceptive, skilled decoy. Arid then essay to pass away. A haunting thought that fain would stay Despite of efforts to discard; A guest that often pressed him hard For his compliance—that was all! A biding thought that would not go. Though he reproached himself in vain, And struggled often and again Against his weaker self, till-so To his first thought he traced his fall! One thought unbidden, entertained, Had gone and eome and then remained— He sinned and fell and—that was all! What powers In a passing thought That has lodgment eVr so brief! If every soul that comes to grief Could trace his acts with evil fraught Rack to the step tirst toward his fail, When innocence was put to shame, 'Twos first u thought that went and came, Then ihe-flrst act—and that was all! Ouard well the door cf innocence, And entertain no thought that leads To devious ways and evil dcid3. Lest passion, baffling your defense, INurps the throne and you shall fall! "I'm lodging here, forget it not. Meiwuu- I entertained a thought!" One treacherous thought—and that was all! —Ohio Farmer. SUNSHINE TO SPARE. BY EVERETT MOLRKUOE. [copyright. 1596.1 In the early days of my struggle in this biff city I used to suffer a veritable hunger for music. 1 bad been brought up on it. My father and mother am! my sisters are real musicians. As foi i:u\ I nin singularly destitute of any capacity for playing upon an instrr. mont. I couldn't learn even t.he jew's l.arp in a thousand years, and, though I can sing a little, my principal use at home was as u listener who never got tired. It is hard for a young fellow who has had a home such.as that to come out into the world all alone and hear practically nothing for n year hu; l lie hand organs under his window. 01 con roe, there is plenty of music in Mn city, if one can pay to hear it, but i couldn't, and so I went hungry. That wasn't the only sort of hunger that 1 suffered, either, for things went badly with me, and I was at the brink of de spair. I wouldn't let the people at home know about it—at least not all of it. They knew that the brilliant pros pects which cheered me in llie begin ning bad faded into nothing, but fhey supposed that I was making my livfog As ,i matter of fact, I was getting into debt. I was even in arrears with the rent of the room I occupied. It was a very small parlor at the front of a ground floor llat, and cost only font dollars a week. 1 thought that quite moderate when I engaged tihe room, bin in the days of my adversity I learned that one can't pay four dollars with nothing any easier than lie con pa\ four thotisand. It was a gloomy room, I suppose. ven when I was out of it., but my thoughts in those days cast shadows oi their own: and so it happened that ir: the afternoons when ! came hack do lea led and cat down alone, the dark i.ess fell earlier around trie than in nn\ oilier s' r>t in the whole city. It wai then 1 li.it I used to fancy myself at home where there was almost always music in the hours cf twilight; and I longed for it. remembering how m\ favorite slv.t-er could sit down to tie piano nr.d | lay me into any mond sle pleased. It was at such n time that I first heard the sound of a piano in the room over my Imnd. 1 remembered ha vine mmmi some furniture vans before tie house o'i the previou - day. Evidently a fatni'v hail nmved into the second flat, which ha:! been vacant many months If I had I nown that a piano was he'ng brought into the house, I might have had more fear than hope, for there is always the danger of nr eternal medley of popular songs; but 1 was spared Hi*? period of uncertainty Without warning came the gentle chords that in n moment grew into an old. far.;iliar strain, suteh as might have been a part of my day dream. It was n mvturnr of Chopin's, tinged with Mie despair:! g sadness which characterizes much of that composer's greatest work. It was p,laved correctly and with feel ing. and my soul responded to it. At heme I u>ed to hear endless dis missions of the power of music over the emotions; and I observed that the most thorough musicians denied any legiti mate connection between music and septimcnt. They declared r. us.ic to be an intellectual exercise, and its proper enjoyment a matter of the mind and not of the heart. They always seemed to me to have the best of the argument, and I niM willing to admit even now that to speak of n composition as grave or gay, hopeful or (Impairing, is to he lie low the level of t.he subject. Vet ! think one should have the privilege of confessing frankly that he is below thai level: that he Is the child of his ances tors. who have fancied themselves sad dened or cheered or exalted by music; and that it is to hi me a direct appeal, stronger than words and accurately in telligible. I had never been subjected io an influence more powerful than frtat whiCH was e.xbrted upon mo:-by my •neighbor in the room above dhrlng lhe succeeding days. What manner of per son that neighbor might be, I did not .know, and I studiously avoided finding out. The touch seemed to be that of a woman. I preferred to think of her as young and beautiful. Rut whether my neighbor was the fair young creature whom 1 pictured, or a Herman professor weighing 200 pounds aud sitting at the piano with a glass of beer on each of the lamp rests* the effect upon me was in the highest degree sentimental. She—or he—very nearly played me off the face of the earth. The soul of that, mysteri ous individual was evidently in perfect accord with mine. Every afternoon we began together about four o'clock —rebellious against destiny, protesting vainly, yielding despairingly. Then followed personal regret, self-pity, hit ter tears; next, a longing for the end of all, and a foretaste of the blessing of rest. I think some ancestor of mine must have blown his brains out about six o'clock in the afternoon, it is said that morning is the favorite time, for sui cides; hut I could almost always begin a day fairly well. The fatal time for me is when the day is dying, and I lay the blame upon some cowardly fellow, far back in my line per ha pa, who, at a certain crisis, did not dare to see the night come on. Under his malign influ ence, I more than once seriously medi tated accomplishing my own destruc tion—even prepared to do so. And that music, always sad, always reminis cent- of some boyish despair, never hope ful nor courageous, utterly infidel and earthly, accompanied the steps by which my soul went down to darkness. It must be admitted that the ordinary events of life were powerfully assisting tiie lady or gentleman above my head to bring me to my end. 1 was as much the victim of conspiring circumstances as e\er was the bad little hoy in a Sunday-school book. It all looks trivial now, though I haven't g.rown much older, nor much wiser since then. It was only a question of earning my daily bread, of paying my small debts, and of proving to those who cared for me that I was worthy of their regard. It was in the afternoon of a peculiar ly unfortunate and humUJating day that I returned to my room, in peril of my life. If I had just robbed a robber I MERELY SAW HER FACE AND FELT MY OWN GROW COLD. of his spoil, I would have been safer in his company than I was alone. Mingled with the genuine, deep feeling of des perate rebellion, was undoubtedly a petty, theatrical appreciation of the scene of my death. I pictured my beau tiful neighbor—no frowsy professor this time—playingdirges for un unfortunate boy whom, afterwards, she would think of with tender pity. And so 1 sat in j my accustomed place with the darken- j ing wails staring at me; and I um ashamed to say that there was a re volver on a table within my reach. Rut the music upon this occasion failed to exhibit that perfect harmony with my emotions which had been so notable before, it began with that song without words which 1 have always called "The Prayer." At first I thought that some other person was playing, but I soon recognized the touch. It was not a different performer, but dif ferent music. Strains succeeded which were strong and hopeful. There wus no joy in the music except that which comes from the triumph of courage. I waited in vain for a return to the old mournful melodies, and tlie harmony of weariness with despair. Certainly a change had come over my musician; and very soon a change came over me. At six o'clock I put away that revolver with little more feeling than 1 usually have in handling firearms; and 1 went out and had a remarkably good dinner on ilie last half dollar that remained to me. The next day, so far as results were concerned, was nearly as bad as any that had preceded it; but I stooil it bet ter. 1 had a new interest, the curiosity to know what my friend overhead would do that afternoon. She did just what she had done on the previous day, though, it seemed to ine, with n better spirit. There was no jingle in the music; it was all serious in tone, but brave and true. So it con tinued to he for a month after that—a month during which I had a ghastly struggle with poverty. There was a way in which 1 could make a few dol lars, occasionally; not much more than enough to pay my rent; but I paid it and stuck to that room, and ate some thing once in awhile. Many a day I came home discouraged, but my neigh bor never failed to conquer my de spair. In these last days the music was often of a higher sort, not trivial, but bright and sunny. I began to pic ture the qverhpad .gs a very pleasant place. Suddenly jny good fortune came to me. The change was all in a day. I had work to do; work that suited me; n set .led income and a fair future. Remem bering the depth to which I had one descended, and the means by which I had been raised up again, it appealed to me as a duty that I should go and thank my neighbor for her helpfulness. I had almost forgotten that she had eveir contributed to my sadness; I thought of her as the most cheerful and happy of created beings. About the time when she usually he pan to play, I ascended the stairs and knocked at the door of the parlor. A voice said: "Come in.** I was sur prised, and yet I knew at once from the tone that .some one was expected, and that the invitation was not for me. Nevertheless I con Id not do otherwise than enter. The room was considerably larger than mine, and it was remarkably bright and cheerful. Already mine had begun to darken, yet even so little dis tance higher, the sunlight streamed in at the window, and seemed to touch every object in tlve place. The pianist was directly opposite the door, with her face turned to me. . She was exactly the girl that I had imagined heir to he. only more beautiful, brighter, cheerier j than 1 had pictured her. I told her who T was, and to do that rightly it was necessary to tell my , story. This I did a.s briefly and plainly mul simply as T could. T had thought il would be hard, but it seemed to be easier then to say just what I meant than it hod ever been before. Tier won derfully kind face helped me with every word. She scarcely spoke till I had fin -1 ished: then she said that she was veiry glad to have been of help to me. "I used to play the dreariest music tiiat ever was written," she confessed. "1 couldn't be satisfied with anything else. Rut at the time when yon noticed Hie change, 1 made up my mind that it was wrong to he always gloomy, ami that I would put a little sunshine inlo my music—and info everything else, for that matter." "I should think It would he easy up here," said I; "it's so bright. My room is ever so much darker. Rut you have sunshine to spare." As T ceased speaking T moved toward the window, where the lightest of cur tains seemed to brighten rather than obscure the room. Then I turned to ward her. She was addressing* some re ply to me, but I did not hear the words. I merely saw her face and felt my own girow cold as the blood rushed to my heart. She was looking* toward tin* spot I had just left. She had not heard me move; she had notseen me; for she was blind! My breath come in a sob. She turned toward me, and then she told me of her affliction, simply, gently, without ap peal for sympathy. Sunshine to spare! And she in utter darkness for more than a year. "f learned to play when I was very young," she said, "and it. Isa great com fort to me now that I can do it, though T cannot see. Of course it is dreadfully hard for me to learn anything new. I don't doubt that I have wearied you In playing the same things over and over again," "If you wish to know what you have done for me," said I, "you have saved my life. You, who so much need help, have been the helper. But, if the roles can be changed, and iii this world or the next there is anything that I can do for you, command me to the end of eternity." I didn't know what T was saying, hut I meant it, whatever it- might be. She smiled gently at my fervor, and just then her elder sister entered the room. The sister and her husband were the other occupants of the apartments. I was presented and I told my story again. Both were very kind; I count them now the best friends that I have. I go up there and rend to Alice and she seems pleased to have me. Thank heaven, I hove been taught to do it well. But- I enjoy that too much myself. 1 wish there was something involving a sacrifice that I might do for her. ft would seem more like paying the debt I owe. I try to learn of everything that is good and cheerful out in the world, that I may bring it back to her. But. that is little enough. If I could give her my life! And if I offer it, will she take it for what I wish it were, not for what it is. An English Patrlarrh. Merry Jenkins, a Yorkshire fisher man, died in 1070 at the age of 100 years, lie was dissected by the famous Harvey who found no appearance of decay,.iu . any organ. Salvation Army FundV ' By the recent self-denial week £15,- 000 was raised in the United Kingdom alone toward the funds of the Salvation Army, being £5,C00 in advance of las I year. LiATTLE IN A THEE. j; r .ow Bold Rooin Rodbroast Van quished His Enemy. [Copyright, 1897.] They were a very devoted couple just lit this time, though I have reason to believe that at other seasons of the year they nagged at one another a good bit, like other husbands and wives. He was a handsome fellow, and as for her she was as fotid and affectionate as a lovesick little robin redbreast can be. They had built and furnished their house in the topmost branches of the only tree in our street, close to my study window—a poplar—and I enjoyed a splendid view of their honeymooning, und of his kindnesses and courtesy to her—behavior which made nie smile us coming from him, because it was so very unlike him as he wus for 11 months or so of the year. Well, they built what appeared to be a satisfac tory home from their own point of view, and chirped and congratulated one another endlessly over the accom plishment. Soon lifter it was finished she laid an egg therein, and presently another; then a third and a fourth, and 1 think a fifth. Then there came n time of compara tive quiet; there was less chirping and Idle conversation. She sat and dozed on her eggs as he did much tlie same upon the garden paling, or on an adja cent branch of the poplar, or anywnere that came, looking deeply dejected. Oc casionally when she left the house in oilier to get a bit of dinner or break fast, he would go and sit on the edge of the nest, and sometimes hopped in | and fussed around, and kept jinking the j eggs with lids beak, turning them over and over and gloating over them in a | way which disjileased the missus,seem- ! ingly; for he was always turned out with personalities on her return, and would then sail away to the fence and j Kit there more dejected than ever. At last the eggs hatched and a busy time began; a time of innumerable ex peditious on the part of both parents, foraging expeditions to every point of the eomjiass; a time of funny noises from tiny, unseen personalities among the straws which formed their home; a j had time for the worms and such like | game, for the youngsters were vora cious and insatiable and kept their parents on the move all day and every day. About a week after the hatching of the eggs, Thomas, the cat from No. 13. j down this row. began to take an in- | terest in the family. He had, appar- j ently, made his calculations as to the I hatching of those eggs, having watched | the parent birds at their honeymoon ing, and, probably, taken a r.oto of the date of the laying. When the young sters were a week or so old, Thomas gave up all his other engagements in order to conic and lie in my garden and gaze uj) into the poplar tree, and blink, licking his lips at intervals. During this time nothing could seduce Thomas from this fascinating occupation. His Iricnds would come over the wall and speak to him, and try to wean him from the contemplation of the robin's nest, but he took no notice of them, lie hadn't time; liis calculations were too alisorbing. It was so difficult, you see. to decide as to tlie exact age at which a young robin has attained his high water mark of suceuleney. So Thomas' frieuds would come CIIHI shake their heads\ver him and go and talk to t heir other acquaintances about the deplorable falling 1 away of dear Thomas and the hope t.liey entertained that he might still recover his lost ground when he should have got over that unfortunate craze of his. Some of the eommuinity laughed consurccdly over this phase of Thomas'career; they said they could not help recalling what happened to Eliza —another member of the society—a couple of years ago, when she took to bird hunting. She had made a bid for the season's brood of this very couple of robins and had faired badly at their hands—or heads; it had been a Willing^sight, they said— killing! It might be there would be a parallel spectacle on this occasion, if Thomas really intended to make a bid for the youngsters up aloft. Mr. and Mrs. Robin took no notiee whatever of Thomas —indeed, they never once betrayed the fact that they knew he was there, though Thomas la v and blinked up at Jlieir happy domestic home and calculated and licked his Hps all day long. I thought it odd that these devoted parents should feel no anxiety as to the proceedings of Thomas. To me it seemed clear tluit his intentions were far from being honorable; yet those optimistic people either disregarded him altogether, or— if they observed his presence at all desired to show their contempt for his machinations by pretending to be una ware of his existence. lint presently the little speckle breasted hoys and girls had nearly grown out of the parental mansion; they would take to flying soon; their fat little bodies were as succulent and delicious as they would ever be, and Thomas knew that the time had come for his climb. Thomas knew very well what had befallen Eliza. She had been foolhardy. Eliza had rushed the thing, and had been detected and ignomiiii ously sent home by a combined attack of the enemy. Thomas intended to act with discretion and intelligence. One morning Mr. Ilobin had left the premises upon a foraging expedition. rtfrs. Tl had absented herself upon a similar enterprise; the time had conic. Thomas crept, snakelike, along the grass of the lawn, looked up the pop lar, blinked, opened his mouth without speaking, and jumped four or fire feet lip.the long bare trunk of the tree. At the same instant Mr. Robin pore ar rived on the scene. lie darted quickly In-from the opposite side, so that the trunk was between Thomas and liini s: !f, and settled himself quietly upon a branch,- whence he could see all that passed. The cat Thomas, ignorant of tho proximity of danger, clung on to tlie trunk like grim death and hauled him t>elf up a few feet* Mr. Robin, su premely ignorant of the circumstance, interested himself in a feather far away under his wing; he worked hard to find the feather, pulling it out at last, and letting it float away out of his beak. Thomas elung on to the tree trunk, all the elawsof uJI his feet being requi sitioned for the exertion, and staired up at the nest, gathering strength for a rush. Mr. Robin yawned and pretend ed to be deeply interested in the fo liage of the poplar, which, of course, formed no portion of his real diet, though lie picked at it now and nibbled a little, for effect. He did this in case Thomas should have caught sight of him, in order that Thomas might, in that ease, suppose that his own move ments had not been observed. The bare trunk of the poplar was a long one, you see. and Mr. Robin was anx ious that Thomas should not be alarmed before he had if ached an elevation which would suit the plans he had laid out. As a mutter of fact Thomas had not seen hiui at all, up to now. At length the assassin—the would-be' assassin—took a long breath, blinked twice or thrice, and scrambled about 20 feet higher up the tree. Then In stopped to rest. Mr. Robin yawned again, spat out the leaf he was pretend ing to eat, chucked concealment to the winds and his own round body into the nir, arid flopped down upon the branch nearest to Thomas' bead: tc the-unutteirable disgust of that dishon est individual, who thus found himseii suddenly in an extremely awkward po sit ion between the devil and the dee; sea—Mr. Hobin representing the devil, whom he rather resembled just now and the drop of nearly .'lO feet the decj sea. Thomas looked upwards and per ceived a climb of 1 3 feet, at least, to the nearest hough; he looked down wards—and it made lrm quite giddy, so high had he climbed. Also Irs paws and muscles generally were, strained and weary, and the devil, in the shape of Mr. Robin, sat and vnwued and watched him, as though with indif ference, though with a very nasty look about the eye, up above. Thomas blinked and his ears lay back on hi* CLOSE TO MY WINDOW, head with rage and fear, and his back tried to arch, but failed by reason o* his uncomfortable attitude, which die not lay itself out for arching; and Thomas opened his mouth to swear o: say his prayers, and I cannot say for certain which, because no sound came Mr. Robin allowed Thomas thor oughly enjoy his position for a minute or two; then he called up his wife. "Come on, missus," he cried, "and you shall see some fun; I have Thomas, the eat, on toast; no hurry!" or words to that effect. Mrs. Robin arrived at once and sat down to watch, and I verily believe the five little ones popped their heads out of the nest and watched also. Mr. Robin now took the field. lie quietly left liis bough and poised him self in air close to Thomas' distracted person. Thomas rudely spat at him and viciously struck at him with one of his front paws, which he unfastened from the bark of the tree for the pur pose. This nearly lost him his hold and he quickly grabbed the trunk again and spot freely. Then Mr. Robin delivered his main attack. He swooped at Thomas and dug his businessl k< beak into his head and his body; once, twice and a third time lie repeated hi blow, and Thomas found his voice and rummaged his vocabulary for all the worst things it contained. Hut hard swearing did not save Thomas. He could not hit Mr. Ro'oin back, because he knew that if he did he must let go his hold and fall to the earth. Nevertheless lie did strike at Mr. Robin, for that hero had aimed n fourth and a fifth shot at hint, and the at tnek was pain fill, as well as da ngcrous to the eyesight. Thomas, flashed his wicked green orbs at the enemy—swore, spat and struck out at him. The inev itable happened, of course. Thomas fell. A baffled, beaten, dejected cat was Thomas as lie crept across the lawn, accompanied by Air. Robin, who was now joined by his lady: and Over the paling into No. 4 he went, and across No. 4 garden and into No. it, still jeered at and insulted by his escort, and there 1 lost sight of the party. What sanc tuary the defeated one sought I do not know; but this T know—that T saw no •more of Thomas for many days, an.l t.lien he diil return his countenance wore that chastened expression which Is assumed by those who have seen the error of their wicked ways and have made good resolutions for the future. As for the little Robins, they grew up in peace, and in peace they took their ultimate departure, whither I know not. Tt. was after the departure of these birds and their heroic parents that Thomas reappeared in society. —A Philadelphia husband forb. do his wife to cat pie. and she has sued for di vorce on this ground. ' - I Tin in BxWctm I ?!? DESIGNED AND WRITTEN ESPECIALIY ECR V) j _. (MIS PAPER. ... i •®eee66€ssess# i This seven-room house can be creeled for SI,GOO. 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