THE LITTJLE ATTIC ROOM. In the cottage of ray father was a little attic room, Where the unmolested spider wove his silver trap of doom For the flies that sought the sunlight bv the single window pane, And buzzed a lazy, hazy, day's-enough-for-me retrain: And 1 used to seek that attic, of it 3 shadows unafraid, And view the shattered glories that were everywhere displayed; The broken fragments of the post, stray bits of light or gloom, That were wont to haunt aud hold rae in that little attic room. The sword my gmndsire carried on the fields of Mexico; An epaulet, unmated, making still a tinsel show; An ancient trunk, fur-covered, as a tree is clad in bark, So old I had & notion Noah bore it in his ark; The corn that hung in strange festoons from rafters brown and bare— The years might come, the years might go, that corn was always there; A shoe my Uncle Sammy wore—l never saw his face— These, and a thousand things beside, were in that attic place. I can't explain the bore, that homelyroom, for me, Although perhaps 'twas eo'mewhat like a living memory, But often, when my mother thought that I with urchins played, I dreamed among its shadows, by their phantoms undismayed; And I seemed to hear the patter of ghostly feet that pressed The rough floor of the garret where their treasures lay at rest; The treasures that they cherished while their lives were still in bloom, Ere tney sought the dust and cobwebs of the little attic room. Somewhere within the heart of man. in sunlight or in gloom, I fancy there is ever found a little attic room Where he keeps trie broken treasures of an unforgotten past— A tinv shoe, a fractured doll, a ship without & mast; Half hid by cobwebs of the years, thev all are waiting there. And he views them with'a dreamy smile, or, sometimes, with a prayer, As the olden faces greet him. with their never-changing bloom, While he sits among the shadows of his little attic room. —Alfred J. Waterhouse, in the New York Times. LEFT BV THE EXPRESS. A Station Master's Story. THERE was dead silence in the the cottage of Will Haynes, the station master. The sta tion was a small one on a loop line, which had been opened for traffic more than four years, In the hope that the loop would develop Into something Important; but the cutting of the line had not worked the slightest efTect In the development of the surrounding County, und the cottage and large gar den were Just a clearing In the edge of the wood, and as far from neighbor ing cottages as It was when Mary Bird became Mrs. Haynes und began life as the station master's wife. It was Sunday evening and on off time for Haynes. After 1 o'clock no train stopped at that station, and ouly two trains passed tlirongh it. Hnyues wus seated on a stout wooden chair, which he had tilted till the back rested figainst the wall next to the doorpost. He wns very comfortable, for It was a warm evening, ajid be wus drowsy. Mary sat 011 the doorstep, her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. Her hack was toward the room, so Hay lies could not see her face, eveh When he turned ills bead. "Your flowers look well, Mary," he remarked. Ho had snkl that twice already since dinner, but he wanted to make her talk and eould think of noth ing better to say. t "Pretty well," rejoined Mary, wear ily. Silence again. Will Haynes was un easy about this silence, so he made another effort i 'The 'sturtlums arc getting on, ain't they?" f ."Yes." 'The peas arc nil right, too, don't yon tlilnk so?" ventured Will ngnln. , There was no answer, so Will slowly let the front legs of the chair drop till JbSy touched the floor, and then half tnrned toward ber. "You feel a bit lonely?" he asked, ilftth more tenderness than usual. It had dawned upon him before that evening that Mary wos not happy. She had boon taught the trade of a tailor ess, as she phrased It and while stitch ing away us a merry hearted girl she had conceived ambitious Ideals, and liad hoped for their realization; but fame went by nnd the realization was as far off as ever. When Will Haynes Came along and took a fancy to the bright-eyed, merry-speak lug girl nnd told her he was to be the station master of the little country station as soon as tt was opened, tolling her of the cot tage and the garden and of his pros pects, she resolved to accept his offer. The little opi>earod like n •mall pnradtso at first, and she was happy; but the aspect gradually Changed. It was very lonely; ber Ideals faded one after another; and Will was ft reserved man. saying little and out wardly cold. She maintained her mer ty ways at the beginning of their tnarried life, but she fancied Will did Dot care for them, aDd she ceased In her efforts to amuse. In point of fact, Will was much amused, but be made the common mistake of many hus bands and showed no gratitude, no warmth. Mary interpreted It wrongly, nnd became cold in turn and still less happy. "You foci lonely at times?" queried Will once more, as she did not reply. ."There they come!" said Mary, with ft quick jerk of her head In the direc tion where the curl of smoke was ren dered visible In the growing darkness by the flame that accompanied It "All enjoying themselves." "The up-express," observed Will Huynes, casually. The headlight of the swiftly running train was visible, und presently it dashed along the Hue nt the end of the garden, the lights from its windows Illuminating the night for a brief space. "There they go!" cried Mary bitterly. It's nice to be able to travel there mid everywhere. I hate the people In those trains, whan I see them pass; they can go about and wee all kinds of Bights and people, while we stick horo and see nothing, day In, day out. In this Torsakcn place, alone nearly all the Ome, and nothing to do. I believe It's killing me!" It was n struggle between rage and tears, and the former conquered for the Bme. "It Is a bit lonely," admitted Will, father sadly. "Mary, why don't you go and sit with Blake's wife, some times? That would be company." "I don't like her. Will. Then the children make a noise, and she's al ways so taken up with them." "How many have they got now?" asked Will with a strange Intonation in his voice. "That last made four. They have a lot, and others " Mary was about to say that many other people had none, hnt she Btopped. Will sighed, and Mary echoed the sigh unconsciously. "Isn't there something you could do to mnke the time less tiring?" In quired Will helplessly. "I could get some wool and knit things for the whiter, but we enn't spare the money, and we've got enough things for another three wlntors!" re turned Man' angrily. "When I say I've nothing to do, of course I can mnke work. I have to, or I should eat my heart out. I look at tho trains and I see the happy people, and it hurts me so that 1 have to turn to and do some housework. I scrub the kitchen floor In the morning, and 1 often scrub It again In the afternoon. When those feelings come over me. I have to do something, or I'd go mad, stark, staring mad! So I get tho soap and wntor and scrubbing brush, and I work on that kitchen floor to rolievo 'era!" It was Sunday evening once more; an autumn Sunday with the night fall ing at an earlier hour. Will Haynes was standing moodily near the kitchen door, outside this time, while Mary was seated on the step. Both were staring blankly Into the twilight. There had been angry words at tea time. "I'm going to watch the down ex press pass," said Will suddenly. He walked along the line for nearly a mile, until he saw the train com ing. The signal was against It, and It slowed down and stopped. This was rather n surprise for Will Haynes, but he supposed the company was running an excursion on the main line where the loop Joined farther on, and excursions nro nlways late. It was rather strnngo that expresses should be run 011 that loop at all, Will Haynes had thought when he first took up his duties, but he learned that the line served as a connection with the system of another company, and It was con sidered policy to run them. These thoughts were passing through Will's mind when he observed, In the dim light, a tlgure approach the train, and then he noticed that a carriage door was open. Itio figure climbed onto the footlioard and entered the car riage, shutting the door Just as the train began to move. In half a doeen seconds tho express was running past him with steadily Increasing speed. Will was curious and made his way to the spot where he had noticed the dark form. Thero wns something be side the line. It proved to be a large hamper. More curious than ever, Will cut the twlue that secured the ltd ami began to examine Its contents. He drew bnck with a surprised cry, then emitted a whistle, and sat down to think it ovsr. "Yes, that will do It, If I work the thing all right," he said softly. He took up the hamper In his strong arms and cnrrled It to the cottage. Placing It on the floor, which fortunate ly had not lieen scrubbed since the morning, and, without answering her question, opened the lid and pulled aside a light cloth. In the hamper lay a baby, just beginning to wriggle and cry. "Somebody's left it on the line," said Will simply, "so 1 thought I'd bring It here." "I don't want other people's brats," declared Mary harshly. Will was nonplussed, but he con trived to hide the fact, and played his part very well. "All right," he said coolly. "I'll go and see the policeman In the village, and toll him. He must find somewhere for It to go. But I can't take the child with me, so I'm afrnld I'll bare to leave it here till I come back. S'pose you don't miud tending to It till then?" Mary's face remained hard in ex pression, and Will glided out before she could reply. The baby t>egan to whim per again and tlwn to cry lustily. 'Toor thing," murmured Mary softly. "It's hungry and cramped." She took it up and soothed it by rocking It In her nrms. She contrived to give it some milk and water, feed lng It with little drops in n teaspoon. Then it dropped into a slumber of peace and innocence, nnd Mary sat -with It in her arms and waited. It was nearly 10 o'clock before Will returned, and he found Mary still sit ting with the baby asleep in her arms, She held up her head with a warning expression on her face as he entered rather noisily with Ills heavy boots. "S-s-sh! You'll wake her. Will!" "Why didn't you put her in bed?" In quired Will in a stage whisper. "Been holding her all this time?" "I couldn't turn the clothes down without disturbing her," replied Mary in the same tone, "and she's so com fortably and easy like here, that I was afraid to venture. You can do It now." Will moved across the kitchen to go to the bedroom, but he made so much noise that Mnry stopped him. "Hadn't you better take your boots off?" she demanded. "You'll wake her, sure enough!" Will removed his heavy boots and to gether they stepped lightly together into tho bedroom, ho turned down the clothes and she tenderly deposited ber human burden. "Shelooks all right there, don't she?" asked Will. "Almost a pity she's got to go. I've had a talk with the village policeman, and ho said at first he didn't think sho was found In this county. We had an argyment about It, that's what made me so lßte. But It's all settled now, and he says she'll have to be taken to tho county house, and that's ten mllcß off. If It's an Inch. Anyhow, sho goes to-morrow." Out of the corner of his eye WDI watched the effect of his words. He saw Mary's face go white and her lips quiver. She gave one long look at tho pretty bundle of humanity in the bed, and the next Instant she was sobbing with her head on Will's shoulder. "Must she go away. Will? Oh, cans| we keep her?" WIU passed his arm around his wife; an Irritating cough prevented him from speaking for nearly a minute, but be got the better of It at length. "Yes, I should say so. Sho won't cost much to keep for a time, and I may get a lift up. I daresay the policeman won't be much upset at not having to take her away." "But, Will, I s'poso wo may keep her?" Inquired Mary with sudden fear. "There Isn't anything in tho basket to say we mustn't." They looked In the hamper and over hauled Its remaining contents, consist ing of baby clothing. There was no note, no trace of Identity. "There's nothing ageu It," said Will, "so we'll keep her." "I can look after her," said Mary confidently. "I'll take care she doesn't get on the line." "Ah, that reminds me!" exclaimed Will; "I must rig up a gate at the end of the garden to keep her off the line. I'll do it to-morrow!" ho added quite seriously, as though he fancied that the lmby would bo running out on tho line before they were aware of It, If be were not quick about the task. "What shall wo call her?" Inquired Mary, when they had returned to the kitchen. "I think It would be n good idea to give her a name that would remind us of how she came. Suppose we call her Express, eh?" Mary looked at.him as It she had an Inspiration. Will shook his head doubt, fully. "Don't seem to be a very handy sort of name," he explained'. "And we might mix It up with the train. Never heard a girl called that, have you?" "That wouldn't matter!" exclaimed Mary. "I don't see why such a darling as that should be bound to have a name that any other girl can have. Well," she continued, after a pause, "suppose we call her Presslc, now? That's nice and handy, and It will re mind us just the same," So It was sottled. They crept to ths door of the bedroom aud listened. No sound. They cropt back again. Will put on a pair of light boots which he enlled his slippers, and together they went ont Into the garden. Tbelr handa came together by some mysterious In fluence, und they stood drinking In the balmy air. They looked up at the stars. They talked of their prospects—of what they would do for Prosslo as sho grew up. and how she would look when she was grown up. Everything wus so differ ent, so bright; llfo was so well worth living. "Oh. I'm so glnd she has come; I'm so happy, Will!" laughed Mary. , "I say, you haven't left the bedroom window too wide open, have you?" asked Will in sudden alarm. "We don't want her to catch cold. And you mustn't scrub the kitchen floor so much, you know, or she'll " "I shan't want to, you silly man!" laughed Mary. It was so pleasant to hear her laugh! the whole world was changed for her; she had tasted the sweets of mother hood.—New York News. Smlanene CleanllnHn. Throughout the journey, at nothing in my equipment did the natives gaze with such longing as at my supply of soap, writes William Gage Ervlng in his interesting account of a trip by Adirondack canoe down the Nile In the Century. It was unduly large when I left Berber; a week later It was gone. It wus almost the only article which had the lmblt of strangely disappearing by day or night, and to make a present of a tiny piece was to make the recip ient a warm friend. The Sudanese river-man is a cleanly animal; be bathes constantly in the river, and washes Ills clothing frequently, bnt the white cotton cloth gives little evi dence thereof. The wnter he uses Is thick with mud. The scrubbing board Is a rock, and tho cleaning is accom plished by treading under foot for an indefinite period the muddy heap of garment#. ' THE BLACK OLIVE How It Differs From Its Green Brother— Gaining in Popularity. ' One by oue foreign foods and foreign modes of cooking are winning the American palate. Many have had a struggle, but have finally succeeded fn overcoming prejudice. Many others have failed In the attempt, and now I lead a sort of outlaw life in the foreign I quarter of the city. A few flourish for a time nnd then sucenmb to rivals. I The French green olive had a hard I light many years ago In winning its way to the American table and lunch eon counter, nnd its convert# wee# | made slowly. | "You have to learn to ont them." | "It's n cultivated taste, tlda last# tor olives." "They taste like wood soaked ki brine, at first." "Keep at it and you'll enjoy them tiy and by." These are some of the comments os a tyro's attempt to eat olives, and many of those who have not been persistent have given up the endeavor in despair. But the French olive at the preseat time is greener than It ever was. Fart of this color may be due to jealonsy. perhaps, for the reason that it has a rival which Is doing all in its power to drive its green cousin out of the mar ket. The newcomer is the black or ripe olive, which has been recently Intro duced into this country by Italian, Greek or other immigrants from the sonth of Europe. The" imports from Greece alone of the black olives last year amounted to over 10,000 barrels, or 1,900,000 pounds, estlmnted to be worth $19,000 retail, and. according to dealers tho demand Is Increasing faster than the enlarging supply. In Califor nia, where there Is a rapidly growing olive industry, both In pickling the ber ries and In manufacturing the oil. last yeaFe crop Is estimated at 8000 barrels. In walking through the streets of the enst side it does not need a specially observing eye to detect in the grocery, provision and delicatessen stores half barrels of pickled olives which loek more like mammoth black grapes which have been picked from a elnste*. A pinch from the fingera, however, finds them pulpy, but hard. Should a novice taste them he Is likely slightly to pucker up his lips, tint he Invariably tries again, and reniarka on the rich, oily taste. On the shelf above tile bar rel is a bottlo of the I'"reneh grew olives, with a neighboring bottle frem Bpoin, in which the seeds of the olives have been replaeed with ved peppers. The bottles are dusty. There Is little demand here for them. The only dif ference between the green and the hlack olive is that one Is picked and pickled green and the other ia per mitted fully to ripen, mature Its fall quota of oil and assume its natural black color. For purposes of distinc tion the olive imported from Italy and Greece, the kind that Oaeaar and l*ev- Icles, as well as tlieir descendants, were neenstqpied to eat, is called tile lilark olive, for It is of an ebony line, white the product of California orchard#, which Is a dark brown, is designated as the ripe olive.—New York Trlbuue. A Cnrlyle Anecdote. Sir Charles Gavau Duffy's old Inti macy with Carlyle enabled him to be of great service afterward to his friends in Australia who desired intro ductions to tho philosopher aud found encouragement In his words. One of these was Sir Henry Farkes, bctwee# ■whom and Gavan Duffy there was a warm affection for many yeara, dis turbed only In tlie end by tho trouM. over Edwnrd Butler and his lost Chief justiceship. Forty years ago Parke# and Dally eame to England to lector# through the country In support of emi gration. Farkes sent his introduction from Gavan Duffy to Cnrlyle, and wa# promptly Invited to Chelsea "to a feed." Darkes put on his best clothes for the occasion, went to Cheyncwalk, and was treated to some strong tea and coarse ont caka Then Cariyte kicked off his boots, squatted on the floor with his back against the wall, lit up a roewfk black plpo, and began to ask the teMte coated nnd nervoasly-prim **oukst how ho liked the rongh life in A*#- tralla, were the awkes as bad as ** made out, and ail the rest. Farkoe I#d 'n bad night of It, but he took Ida m venge next day by sending Carlyle a copy of his "Murmurs of the StMßtn" —which the sage never acknowledged till Mrs. Carlyle hnd to do It for bfca. —London Chronicle. An Oriental Confidence Man. I suppose that every country In th# world has its own swindles and iswludlers. The Sarawak Gazetto de scribes an Ingenious ramp perpetrated hy a visitor from Singapore. This worthy, Inche Itam by name, assisted by his wife, gave out that he possessed a secret of making dollars out of earth. ■The charge wus $23 for the secret and sls for the earth. The modus operandi iwas to put the raw material Into a ves sel and bury it for thirty-three days, ■when tho vessel was to be dug up full of dollurs. No less than sixteen guile less Sarawaklaus were induced to sink itholr S4O in this investment. They were then somewhat disturbed by the opea jtor notifying thnt he was about to ieavo for Singapore on urgent pirtvu*# U>ualness by a steamer that had J tad jurriveU. They expostulated, and threatened to Inform tin Governui—t nnd have him stopped. Ho replied tea# jK they did so the Government vrooji .unquestionably Imprison the vrhoia M fit Micro for eolnlng; and tills paogp** so alarmed the natives that he vA allowed to depart In p. Had M# fctam been born In this lotltnia Ma talent for converting earth into teller# wouM doubtless have found a lucra tive opening In the mining niarkot.— London Truth. Verestchngin, the great Rwivltn painter, has sold to the Imperial gov 1 ernment Ills famous Napoleonic colloa tiou for 100,000 rubles. CHILDREN'S DEPARTMENT: (For mc to have another doll I somehow felt the time had come. For Adeline had lost her hair, And Jane, the one that cried, was dumb. Of hearing me explain the case Pa|>n grew weary, it was clear; "You're tired?" I asked, and he replied, "A little, dear!" That very day, when be got home, He had a parcel in his hand, And mother smiled, and I did, too, For X began to understand. "With her extravagance," he said, "This child will ruin us, I fear; Some toys are cheap, but this one came A little dear!" X clapped my hands and hugged papa, And then, when he'd the Btring untied, i took the paper off and found A dainty cardboard box inside; And when 1 pulled the lid off that, I saw a lovely faoe appear— And, oh, my newest doll is such A little dear! —Chicago Record-Herald. THE CRYSTAL FLUTE. A home made Instrument of music Is the crystal flute, fashioned of small bottles. Any kiml of bottle which sounds well may take its place wilh the chosen frw. Use coarse darning cotton to sow the botfles in a row on a strip of pasteboard, commencing with the Beefiest toned and leading up to the hlgboet toned. Flnce the flute against your lower lip and blow into the open mouth of the bottle. Continue blowing as you move the instrumenet along, sounding each bottle in turn. After a few trials you can manage the crystal flute trail enough to have all the I Kittles join in the grand chorus of the Jubilee you Intend to give with the home made Instrument—The Delineator. TWENTY-SIX MOUNTAINS. "Mount Whitney, California, that's one," and Ronald dug his pencil Into the slip of paper that lay beside ills geography. "Uncompahgre Mountain, Colorado, that's two;" another dig. "Gray's Peak, Colorado, three; Mount Shasta, California, fonr; Harvard, Col orado—no, wait! Mount Ranter wants to go In there somewhere. Well, never mln<l, that makes five. Now Pike's Peak, Torrey's Peak, Colorado, that's seveD. Let's see, what comes next? Yale and Princeton- no. there are some more peaks before those. Oh, I'm get ting all mixed up again! Botheration, I never can learn them! Wlnit's the use of trying?'" Ronald sat back in his chair and viewed his elosod geography with gloomy cites. '.'What's the trouble now?" It was a cheery voice and the face that looked down at Ronald was bright and kindly. "Oh, it's my old geography! I'm studying up on review. We've got to get nil these twenty-six mountains— the highest In the United States, you know—and I Just can't! I forget which ones I've said, and every time I begin over again I'm more tangled up than 1 was before!" ?The boy looked up at his big brother with something like hopefulness, not withstanding his despondent tone. Tom was nlwttye so able and ready to help! "Must you recite them in order?" asked the elder boy. "No," answered Ronald, "it doesn't make any difference bow we say them, if they're all in." "Then there's a very easy way to learn them," said Tom. "Easy? I'd like to know how!" "I've learned may a long list of things this way," Tom commented, as he took up a sheet of paper and wrote rapidly for a minute. "You see, here is the al phabet," he said. "There is almost nothing that win put one in mind of a word so readily as its initial letter. 'Now let us see whicli of your moun tains begins with A." He ran his eye over the list. "Argentine Pass, Colo rado, seems to be the only one. 111 put that opposite A. Now B." "Black Mountain, North Carolina, and Breckenridge Pass, Colorado," said Ronald, who was growing interested. "Bran's Poak, Colorado, is the only one in E. And Fremont Peak, Wyom ing, for F." "Gray's Fenk, Colorado, and then Harvard, Colorado," put 111 Ronald. "Yes, and Mount Ilood, Oregon, that goes best there, doesn't it?" Tom nodded, while the younger hoy scanned the diminishing list with eager eyes. The mountains were nil placed under their proper letters at last, and Ronald counted them, to make sure there were twenty-six. "Run them through two or three times," counseled Tom, "and I think you'll find no trouble in fixing them in your memory. Y'ou will soon learn, in going over the alphabet, which let ters stand for the names, and how many mountains for each; and you willrj quickly discard the letters we have not used." Ronald did as he was bill, and in an incredible short time he could repeat tile whole twenty-six. "This is a fine way to learn things," lie told his brother. "Onr teacher is al ways giving us lists of things, and I can learn them all this way, can't I?" "All that do not need to be repeated in order." "And the fun of it is," said Ronnia, "you know when you are at the end of the alphabet that you have them all." "If you don't skip any," laughed Tom.—Youth's Companion. HAD GOOD AUTHORITY. General Win Held Scott, the hero of the Mexican War, used a Secretary for his correspondence, private as well as-tf official. Once in the absence of the J Secretary he undertook to write an or der for the transferring of some pre visions and spelled "wagon" "wnggon." Later the Secretary in looking through the various memoranda, etc., found the order and detected the error. "General," he asked, affably, "by what authority do you spell 'wagon' with a double 'g?' " Scott never turned a hair as he re plied without ft moment's hesitation: "By what authority? By the author ity of the Major-General commanding the Armies of the United States, sir! What better authority do you want?" THE MAGIC HANDKERCHIEF. Take any handkerchief and put a quarter or a dime into it. Yon fold it up, laying the four corners over it, so that it is entirely hidden by the laaft one. You ask the audience to toiidp, and feel the coin Inside. Y'ou then un fold It and the coin inside has disap peared. The method Is as follows: Take <C dime and privately put a piece of wax on one side of it, place it in the middle of the handkerchief with the waxed side up; at the same time bring the corner of the handkerchief marked A' (In Fig. 1), and completely hide the coin. This must be carefully done. Now press the coin very hard, so that by menus of the wax it will stick to the handkerchief; then fold the corners, B, C and D, leaving A open (see Fig. 2). Having done this, take hold of the handkerchief with both hands as repre sented in Fig. 3 at the opening (A), and slkllng along your fingers at the edge of the same, the handkerchief becomes unfolded and the coin adheres to It, coming into your right hand. Detach it. shake out the handkerchief and the coin will have disappeared.—New York World. THE MATCH TELEGRAPH. Place match A crosswise over match B in such away that the head of A touches the table, while the other en J points np. On the eud pointing up tlieV end of a third match is laid, without V lifting the head of A from the table. The bead of A can only be lifted by pressing on match 0. Place n fourth match In a slanting direction on C, on the fourth one a fifth, as shown In out Illustration. By pressing the mntehW, laid down last with the finger the pres-T sure will go from match to match and lift the head of A from the table. If you place a small glass on the head of A on one end of the table and let the telegraph go clear across the table, you can move the glass or sometimes knock It over by pressing the last mutch.—New York Tribune.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers