E».
‘rHs BEAUTIFUL LAND OF NOD.
Gem cuddle your head on my shoulder.
ear.
Your head like the golden-rod. ,
And we will go sailing along from he re
To the beautiful Land of Nod.
Away from life's hurry. and flurry.
worry.
Away from earth’s shadows and gloom.
To a world of fair weather we’ll float of!
together
1; Where roses‘are always in bloom.
Just shut up your eyes. and told your hands.
Your hands like the leaves of a rose.
And we will go sailing to those fair lands
That never an atlas shows.
On the North and the _West they are bounded
by rest.
On the South and the East by dreams:
’Tis the country ideal. where nothing is
and
rea .
But everything only seems.
Just drop down the curtains of your dear
eyes. ' ,
Those eyes like a bright blue-bell:
And we will sail out under starlit skies.
To the land where the fairies dwell. .
Down the river of sleep. our barque shall
sweep,
Till it reaches the Mystical Isle;
Which no man hath seen. but where all have
been,
And where we will pause awhile.
I will croonyou a song as we float along,
To that shore which is blessed of God;
Then hot for that fair land. we're off for
that rare land,
That beautiful Land of Nod.
—Eugene Field.
“MY COUSIN AMY.”
Here is a story that Mr. Van Rensse—
leer Crossgrain told to a few of his
cronies at the club the other evening
after the final brandy and soda. They
never before suspected him of any sen-
timental weakness. but now they have
their doubts about it. He did soften in
the telling of it, even if when he had
finished he resumed his natural man-
ner and swore at the waiter for show-
ing a natural desire to clean up for the
evening and go, perhaps, to his sweet»
heart. Hore’s his story:
“I have known my cousin Amy since
the days when she was five and I was
fifteen. and that was many years ago.
Still, I never during all that time
even suspected the truth, and g I
never knew it till. it was too late. Then
I learned what might have been; and,
as I thought the simplestory over, it
occurred to me it might in its moral
prove useful to other youngsters as
blind as I was and have been. Fortune
never knocks twice at a man’s door.
Few of us know our caller when she
visits us and are generally disposed to
ignore her summons.~ taking her' for
a creditor or a bore. The only way is to
learn from the experience of our eld-
ers. . .
“Young folks think that old folks are
fools, old folks know that young folks
are. Thus goes the old proverb the
sanity of which never impresses one till
he has crossed thirty. But let me tell
you the story of my cousin Amy.
“To begin with, she was the sweetest
girl that ever was or will be. And she
is now. But this is only the comple-
ment of this. story. Well, Amy was
is, and will be the sweetest girl in the
world. Still, I never loved her—ex-
cept as a cousin and as a sweet
girl, the sweetest I have ever seen or
shall see. From now on—I don’t know,
I can tell—but you are not interested in
my future or Amy’s, so let’s get back to
the story. Well, then, I have known
my cousin Amy since she was five years
old. Even then she had an infinite
sweetness about her which was not
overshadowed even by the fullness of
life and spirits which was her second
best charm. Even at the age when
young maids of five do not linger long
in the thoughts of youths I was fond ‘~
of Amy. She was companicnable even
then, and though at times noisy and
persistent, she infused her grace even
into those disagreeable qualities and
made them half lovable. This was
Amy at the age of five. Well you know
how a youth changes at seventeen.
How he becomes then one thing or the
other; good or bad, studious or care.
less, serious or trifling. During the
next ten years Issaw Amy only now.
and then. She was changing and de«
veloping also, but I paid little attention
to her growth. I was chasing after the
false gods whose worship is so attrac~
tive to the young man. Amy was cnly
a child at my advanced 3.3 .Is, anl
while family connections kept me in
frequent contact With her. I thought of
'my old young friend only as a rather
awkward, shy girl of fifteen, while I
was rejoicing in the full manhood and
unlimited experience and wisdom of
twenty-five.
' “When I saw her in those days I paid
little attention to her. There was still
the old sweetness there, the power of
loving, the simple but strong attrac-
tiveness, but I was busy with my false
gods and tinsel goddesses. ' You men of
thirty, you know where you worshipped
then, and you know you were devout
in your worship, and how the fallacy
and how the hollowness of your creed
never strikes you until you have had
five or ten years of it, and how then you
learn your god is stuffed with the dirti-
est kind of sawdust and the worship
stinks in your nostrils. Well, I passed
through that stage. I went the rounds
and rejoiced in the designation of a
rounder. No hog wallowed'in his filth
more luxuriously than I,'and it took me
ten long years to learn that there was
not and never can be anything in dissi-
pation, that alcoholically stimulated
spirits and the purchased aflections of
women are the bitterest mockeries on
God’s earth. They are hell’s best coun-
terfeits, but rank counterfeits they are,
End only the so- called keen- eyes of ,
'outh are dec‘ved by them.
All this has a bearing on my story of
. my, because, thank God. after a while
my eyes were opened and I saw the fol-
y of my life. And, as when a man has
brown the bloom and flower of his
.outh in the gutters of dissipation he
shes the faded remnant back to the
aighway, so I seeing I had been giving
much for nothing, bethought myself
. hat perhaps the ways of decent people
" ere rather wiser and. I sought to tread
hem. Society does not condemn the
u ale sinner. His social position is
' 22 years.
thrown like a cloak over his life, and
virtuous mothers who know from
wordly husbands the story of his esca-
pades, are glad to show him their jewels
in the way of marriageable daughters-
that is, if he may be eligible. _
“Well, I was rich and eligible, I easi-
ly worked my way back into the society
I had quit for what is styled Bohemia.
I saw . oun women far more sweet and
attrac ive t an those who shine at pub-
lic balls, late suppers and fancy resorts.
And among them shone conspicuous my
cousin Amy. I had never entirely given
up her society, but of late years I had
seen less and less of her. It seemed to
me her manner had changed. She was
now a woman of the werld, with her
three crowded seasons behind her.
New York, Newport, London, and the
Riviera had been her stamping grounds, '
and even her infinite sweetness—pardon
the repetition of the word. but it fitted
her—was partly covered though not ef-
faced by the manner of the woman of
I had not noticed this, or at
any rate dwelt upon it, in our few
meetings inthe mean time.
"Amy was still and had never ceased
to be fond of me as an old friend and
playmate, for in the far away old days
we had even played together as child-
ren will. But I could never regain my
exact old footing. After a while she
did let me get a little closer, and then
later I thought I noticed sometimes a
return of something like the old cama-
radarie.
Amy? I did not say so. Then one day
I heard something and the next day she
told me something herself.
“I knew the fellow and liked him. He
was all that a man should be, and if any
man could claim such a standing he was
worthy of Amy. Still, for a moment
I hated him, and could I have heard of
his disgrace I would have rejoiced; I
hardly knew why, but I felt why. But
Amy was very happy, so happy that I
forgave him, and she softened more to-
ward me.
"This is all of my story. [It’s enough
for it’s a story of what was missed and
of fortune turned away from the door
at the first and last call. How do I
know? I will tell you. Amy was to be
married after Easter. During Lent I
passed a few days at her father's place
on the Hudson. She was so happy and
grateful to this old world for her hap-
piness that she opened all her heart to
me and told me her hopes and plans.
80 selfish is, entire happiness. If she
had confined herself to her future I
might still have been fairly happy even
in her and his happiness. ' But in the
fulness of her spirit Amy lapsed into
reminiscence.
“During one of our close and cordial
conversations I noticed a look on her
expressive face, a look half quizzical,
half amused, and then she turned tome
and smiled. ,Blushed? No! But when
she told me this story I left her a mo-
ment saying I thought I would smoke a
cigar. though I forgot to light it when I
got on the veranda. ‘
“I had spoken of her happiness, and
without thinking what I was saying I
asked her familiarly:
“ ‘Amy, is that lucky fellow the first,
or are you giving him only the rem-
nants of affection a pretty girl has left
after three years of society?’ She
laughed gayly and without embarrass-
ment. .
“ ‘Yes and no,’ she answered. ‘I have
met no man in society I consider his
equal in any way, and he has all the af-
fections I possess, but I must make a
confession to you, and I can do so safely
now. I was. in love once before, and
oh! how in love I was. It wasa foolish
afiair,’ she said smiling, ‘but at that
time I was terribly in earnest. I have
quite recovered, so I can tell you all
about it. Do you remember some years
ago when you were still quite respecta-
ble and used to come and take tea with
us every Sunday evening?’
“ ‘Of course I do,’ I answered rather
testily.
“ ‘Well, you never knew I was in
love then, did you?’
“ ‘Why no, certainly not, I never
thought of it. You were a child,’ I re-
plied.
“ ‘I was 15.’ she said, ‘and I was very
much in love, and with you, you silly
goose. You never knew it, youfpaid no
attention to me, but would talk to fath-
or. or some of the guests, and I would
sit up and drink in your words and
think them wisdom. Why, I remem-
ber one evening when I was sent up to
bed at 9 o’clock I came back after the
maid was gone and sat at the head of
the stairs where I could hear you speak-
ing. Then my feelings got the better of
me and I began to cry. Mamma heard
me. but you didn’t, and she came after
me and sent me back to bed, besides
giving me a good lecturing.’
“And Amy laughed heartily and I
thought with unnecessary gayety. And
so I made a fool of myself. In a mo-
ment I felt that my cousin Amy was
the one woman in the world for me and
that she had really always been. (And
she will'always be).
And I said to her: ‘Amy, are you
telling me of years ago, mayI tell you
something of the present time?! But
she understood me, and Amy was loyal.
For a moment only she seemed startled
and drew a long breath. Then she
smiled again.
“ ‘No, no 1’ she said with her old gay-
ety, when your story is as old as mine -
you may, tell it to me if you like, but
the exchange is not fair now.’ WhichI
thought was a poor way out of it, and I
told her so. ,
"Still when I left [her and went out
upon the veranda to smoke I forgot to
light my cigar.”
This world of ours is not as drear
As we would often take it.
Nor is it half as lonely here
As many people make it.
If skies are sometimes overcast A
And all seems dark before us,
The sunshine always comes at last
~ And throws its splendor o’er usl
The Chicago City Missionary Society,
in existence thirteen years, ‘last year in-
vested $23, 000 assisting seven ty churches :
and missions.
Was I falling in love with ,
w E EE L Y NO E w E EE
1 gate that Opened upon the highway.
-:==‘-
"~H"
FIRST LOVE.
First'love is best. the post said—-
Ah, poet wise and true-'
In youth it fanned my heart to flame,
In manhood burns— about the same—
And will my whole life through.
That first love!
The dawn of. that fair time?
When dimpled cheeks and soulful eyes
Revealed a glimpse of Paradise. -
And I bowed at the shrine. r- '
.“Q
Can I o’er forget
'Twas then I swore my heart was t.‘ue-
That she was wondrous fair!
But here to-day I’ve tried in vain
Just to recall her Christian name.
And gave up in despair.
Many a maid I've loved since then—-
Hope to love many yet:
An Alice once, a winsome Ray. .3. -
A Beatrice and twice a May. .,. f"
And then a Margaret. -" ,-
but
*
But then I know the poet said
The first love stirs the flame:
Tho’ maids galore you love and woo
That first love lasts yourwhole life through
Naught changes but the name. .
—Albert Lang.
A GIRL’S' ROMANCE.
Several years ago Helen Marchmont
and I were schoolmates. We were
reared among the brown hills of New
Hampshire, far up towards the spires
of the White Mountains.
At sixteen. Helen was the‘belle of the
village, the liveliest of all our merry~
makings, and the admired of both old
and young. Indeed, in my whole life, I
have seldom seen one more beautiful
than Helen Marchmont at the time of
which I speak. Traces of her loveliness
yet remain, but so marred by years and
sorrow, that few who knew her then
would recognize her in the pale, sad
woman of to day. ,
Before Helen was 17 she had many
ofiers of marriage from young men
highly esteemed by her friends. but she
encouraged them not; her whole affec~
tions were given to Arthur Richardson,
the only son of a poor widow who resi-
ded in our vicinity.
He loved Helen with his whole soul
but he could not brook the idea of tak-
ing her from a home of comfort, if not
of luxury, to the stern life of toil and
poverty which lay spread-out before
him. Many and fierce were the strug-
gles between love and reason; but his
pride conquered every other feeling,
and it all ended in his espousing the
resolution 'of going to sea. A brother
of his dead father was largely engaged
in the India trade, and this uncle gave
him the supercargo’s situation on board-
a merchant vessel which traded between
New York and Singapore. It was very
hard to leave his widowed mother to
her loneliness; very hard to part with
Helen; but Richard had before him the
prospect of carving his way to fortune,
and the thought of what should come,
afterward buoyed him up through the
solemn parting. His heart was full, but
he left his native village without a sigh
or a tear.
Helen was very grave and quiet for
some months after his departure, but
soon her natural sunshiny disposition
emerged from the cloud, and agaln she
was the life and pride of the village.
Arthur had been absent two years, and
one'fine September morning, as Helen
and I were picking over the ripe whor-
tleberries we had gathered on the
mountains the previous day, the yard
gate opened hurriedly, and in another .
moment Helen was in the arms of her
lover. He had returned for a brief visit
of ten days; then he was to go away
once more, to be absent eighteen
months only, and then-the happy blush
on Helen’s cheek spoke eloquently of
what would take place.
While he had been away Arthur had
prospered. A little more of successful
labor, and he would give Helen a home
of luxury, and gratify her every wish.
The morning of his departure arrived.
When he came to bid her farewell, he
put a package into her hand saying:
"Dear Helen, I want you to wear this
to please me. It is my own choice, for
it is just the" color of your own bright
hair. And some serene sabbath day I
shall come home to find my darling in
the dress I bought her from beyond the
' sea.” And folding her to his bosom
with many a passionate kiss, Arthur
Richardson went away once more.
When Helen opened the package she
found amid the folds of tissue paper a.
piece of soft, glistening brown India sat-
ln. She laid it away carefully; and,
although I often questioned her as to
when it was to make its appearance in
our little church, she always smiled
quietly and evaded the question. But
I know very well that she intended it
should be her bridal robe, and she
would not have it made until near the
time of Arthur’s expected return.
The probationary eighteen months
rolled away—daily was the good ship
Sarah Jane expected in port.
The Sarah J ane was expected on
Tuesday, and by Saturday night we
might look for Arthur in Milville.
Railways were things unknown, or’com-
paratively so, in our region, and the
journey from Boston must be performed
in an old-fashioned stage coach. Satur-
day came— a clear, cloudless day in
April and by special invitation I went
over to pass the time with Helen until
Arthur’s arrival. She was flushed and
smiling, a little anxious, but very hap-
py, and so beautiful! I could scarcely
keep my admiring eyes off her face all
thrOugh the cool, bright afternoon, and
when, at eventide, she arrayed herself
in the brown satin, and with a crimson
shawl around her stood by my side on
the eastern piazza waiting the coming
of the stage, I could not refrain from
clasping my arms around her, and ex-
claiming: “Dear Helen, how beauti-
ful you are 1” She smiled her own gen-
tle, sweet smile, as she replied: '
“I am glad of it, Mary, for hissake.”
.The sun set—the shadows deepened“
and thickened. I remember that the
wind, which had been all day aWestern
ze hyr, changed to the East, and blew
. .up cold, white columns of mist" from
the, river; and the blue translucent
heavens were clothed in the
stipuqiie gray. ‘ '
We cogh went down and leancdon‘the
Not a doubt crossed her mind; she
faith with which a child waits. its
mother’s good night kiss. The lum-
But the coachman’s cheery “Good
evening, girls,” fell on ears that heard
not, for as the Vacant stage rattled by
a cold trembling seized upon Helen and
it required all my strength to support
her into the house.
From that hour hopewas dead in her
heart. She gave all up. But contrary
year from the day she had expected to
be married, she rallied, and in time she
was once more able to move about the
house.
Two years afterward, Helen, by the
death of her parents, was left alone.
Mrs. Richardson had died some months
previously. There was no tie to bind
Helen to Melville, so she disposed of
the old homestead and came back to
this city. Arthur Richardson never
came back ; the vessel in which he sailed
was never heard from after she left
Singapore, and in all probability
his grave was made in the ocean depths.
Though many wealthy and gifted
men bowed before Helen she remained
faithful to her first love and every Sab-
bath, in memory of this lost love, she
wore his parting gift—the brown satin
dress.
Two years ago while I was a visitor
at Mrs. Greene’s house, I remembered
the story of Helen Marchmont, and
hastened to inquire of my hostess con-
cerning the beautiful heroine. A smile
lighted up the lady’s face as I mention-
ed the name.
“Miss Marchmont no longer exists,"
she said.
“Dead!” I exclaimed. shocked by her
reply.
than that, she is the wife of her first
and only love 1”
“But he was lost—”
“So we all supposed. But it turned
out quite differently. He returned
about twelve months ago. The ship in
which he expected to return to New
York was captured by an Algerian pi-
rate and Arthur Richardson was held in
slavery, from which he did not make
his escape for ten years; and then he
was taken to Australia by the captain
of an emigrant ship.
' “There he labored incessantly to re-
trieve his shattered fortune, writing of-
ten to Helen letters full of love and
trust, which, of course, owing to her
change of residence, she never received.
rich man, and without delay he set out
for the States. He visited Millville, to
find only his mother’s grave, and to hear
the tidings that Helen had wedded a
gone at the death of her parents.
“Heart-sick and reckless of himself,
the wanderer'took refuge in the far
West, and engaged ,in trade- Coming
about’a year ago to this city to purchase
a supply of goods, he met her on the
street. A recognition ensued. explana-
tions and revelations, and a happy wed-
ding was the result.” — New York
News.
Pushed a Wheelbarrow 2500 Miles.
A wizened, wiry, sunburned little old
man walked into Oakland, Cal., the
other day, pushing a dusty and road-
worn wheelbarrow before him. "My
name?” he said to a newspaper man
who questioned him. “Why, my name
is ‘Man Friday.’ That’s what I always
sign it on papers, and that’s what most
people know me by wherever I go.
Hundreds and hundreds of people have
asked me what my real name was. I
always tell them it’s ‘Man Friday.’
That’s all the name anybody will ever
get from me. It’s just as good as any
other so long as it identifies me, and I
guess it does, and I can trundle the
wheelbarrow just as far in a day, with
the name of ‘Man Friday as I could if I
had a string of patronymics a yard
long.
“Man Friday” is acharacter. He had
pushed his barrow, when he footed it
into Oakland. over 2,500 miles. He has
been wheelbarrowing it for years.
‘fThis is the second time,” he said,
“that I have made the long trip with
the barrow, and if I live I will make it
again. I left Chicago on the 5th of last
August and have rode four months.
Here I am wheeling into San Francisco
in exactly the same way that ’I wheeled
the barrow across the continent then,
following the old emigrant trail.” Man
Friday on his first trip found a woman
and her child alone and helpless on the
desert. He gave them a ride on his
wheelbarrow into the nearest big town.
London and New York Time.
London time is five hours earlier than
New York time, because London is 75
degrees of longitude east of New York,
five hours sooner. New York time is
three hours and twelve minutes earlier
than San Francisco time, because New
York is 48 degrees of ldngitude east of
San Francisco.
fiat an Expert S'riifor.
; Narcissa (on a cruise)-What is the
hmatter, Captain Bobstay?
, “The fact- is, my dear young lady,
,we’ve smashed our rudder.
“Never mind. It’s mostly under
water, and nobody will notice it.—
Household World.
fire/rials
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tar, pitch, grease '
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clothin an car-
pets qugickly and CLEANS
completely and ’95. .
Massage .'
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No unpleasant odor. and Dry Goods Stores
~- Not inflammable.
.SPOTIHE '
vestments '
L. B. SUTTON, New Canaan, Ct.
4“
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After three years he found himself a.
gentleman in the city, whither she had -
and the sun comes to the meridian there
10°" 25", Ct ’fllg '
Samples mailed, Sc. '
riding old coach came slowly up the '
" "ea in another direction, the young man
' down occasionally in the early evening
, supply themselves with a drinking bev-
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LEGENDS ABOUT TEA camxme. I
A Sentimental Love Aflair Gave the World .
a New Beverage. '_ ‘
China claims the origin of the use of i
tea as a drink. Of course. there are
various stories connected with it, among
sscussn ms metre. -
Bow abrummer 0v rcame Several Balls
. road Men.‘ .
Because he carriel a hundred pounds
f baggage in excess of the amount al-
d
, owed to one passenger. a commercial
which, perhaps, the following is quite, raveler had an amusing experience a
as interesting and creditable as any,
says the Philadelphia Inquirer.
As the tale runs, one of the daughters i
of a foreign sovereign was hopelessly l
enamored of a young nobleman whose‘
caste did not permit him to aspire to
her hand, but they exchanged glances, §
and occasionally he gathered a few 3
blossoms and took means to have them:
conveyed to her.
One day the princess met her admirer '
in the grounds of the palace, and as the '
attention (if the att ndants was attract- !.
tried to put a few flowers into her hand
but all that she could grasp was a little
twig with green leaves.
This she treasured, and when she
reached her apartments she placed the
twig in a goblet of water, here to re
main for some hours, the object of her
tenderest care. Toward evening she
was seized with a sentimental attack,
during which she drank the water in
which the twig had been kept. It had
a most agreeable taste, and then she ate
the leaves and stalk.
The flavor pleased her greatly, and
every day, in memory of her admirer.
she had bunch-cs of the tea tree brought
to her, and ate them. or put them in
water and drank the infusion.
The ladies 0!" the court observed’her,
and were moved to try it themselves.
and did so with such pleasing result
that the practice sprang throughout the
kingdom, and one-of the great indus-
tries of China was thus established;
It is claimed that the date of the sen-
timental origin of tea drinking wa:
nearly 3000 3-: 311's before Christ.
NOT A DIPLOMAT.
An American Naval Officer Who Was
_ Rude to Royalty.
The Westminster Gazette tells the
following of Rear Admiral Kirkland.
of the United States Navy, who was a
few months ago relieved from the com-’
mand of the European squadron: It is
said that his conduct at the Kiel celeo
bration gave offense to the Navy de-
partment for the following reasons:
One day during the festivities Rear Ad-
miral Kirkland was standing on the
deck of the Chicago, his flagship, in
conversation with some ladies, when
the Emperor William approached.
“My brother, Prince Henry, would
like to visit your ship, Admiral,” said
the Emperor. ' .
“Just wait a minute, will you?” re-
plied Admiral Kirkland. “I am talk-
ing with these ladies.”
When the conversation was conclud-
ed and the ladies had taken their de-
parture, Admiral Kirkland turned to
the Emperor William and said: “Now,
what is it you want?”
The Emperor repeated that his bro-
ther would like to come on board and
see the Chicago. ‘
“Well. trot him along; I’ll be glad to
see him,” was the reply.
The Cop Didn’t Furnish the Item.
A gay young couple came whizzing
down the Boulevard on a glaring yel
low tandem. They were scorching.~
“Hey. there i” called .the bicycle cop,
who stood in the shadow by his black
'wheel, “slow up there, now.”
Faster went the pedals 0n the tan-
dem, and as the streak of yellow faded
from view there was waited back on
the evening breezes in a . girl’s voice
these words:
“Just tell them that you saw us. Hal
Hal”
“And that I raised you twice,” mur-
mured the bluecoat, smiling grimly as
he pulled his cap down over his eyes
ty- seventh street he was getting dano
geronsly near the searchers. They no
ticed it, and suddenly veered into Six-
ty-seventh street. Nearer and nearer
came the flying cop, and just as he was
in grabbing distance the scorchers
dodged into the Park, out of the cop’s
precinct.‘ He then abandoned the
chase. -
“That’s one that won’t get into the
papers,” puffed the man on the tandem,
as he helped his companion to dis-
mount.
“No,” replied the latter defiantly.
“You never hear about the times they
get lef .”
A Tree That Rains.
In one of the Canary Islands there is
a tree of the laurel family that rains
quite a copious shower of water drops
from its tufted foliage. This water
often collects at the foot of the tree, and
forms a kind of pond, from which the
inhabitants ,of the neighborhood can
erage that is absolutely fresh and pure.
The water comes out of the tree itself
through innumerable little pores situatr
ed at the margin of the leaves. ‘_
I the next station.
. kick is described by the Bangor Com-
mercial. The bagg ige master at a cer-
in small town told him he mustjpay 75
ents to have his extra trunk taken to
. 'u:
The drummer knew this was just,50
cents too much, but there was no time
to argue. He asked the fare to the next
station. It was 30 cents. He bought a
1 ticket. IThen he presented his two
tickets, and the baggage master not
very willingly, checked both of the
trunks.
\Vhile this was being done. the drum-
mer asked if there was any one in the
crowd whowas going to the next sta-
tion. If so he added, a ticket could be
bought at a discount. He succeeded in
selling his extta ticket for twenty
cents. ,
This made the baggage master furij
one, and when the train came in he in-
formed the conductor that he had ex-
cess baggage and only one ticket. The
conductor then took up the matter;
but the drummer told him that one
ticket was good for one fare and two .
checks were good for two trunks, and
he would not pay an excess rate.
On their arrival at Blank station, the
conductor warned the station agent to
see that excess was collected. ' The
drummer replied that unless those
trunks were delivered to him before the
train started, he would remain on board
go to headquarters and report the case.
He got the trunks.
All She '“r'anted.
A Scotch woman was returning by
train from a market town, where she
made a few purchases. Just- as the
last bell rang a fussy gentleman. ele’
gantly dressed, and‘with. a “mind thy-
self” looking face, rushed into the com-
partment, flung himself hastily into a
corner, pulled out a paper,» and pro.
deeded to devour its contents. Hardly
had he become seated when the w0mau
timidly addressedihim:
“I am very sorry, sir, but——
“I never listen to beggars,” fiercely
interrupted the gentleman. “If you
annoy me further, I’ll report you.”
The woman’s eyes flashed, then
twinkled. She said no more, and the
old gentleman retired with an angry
frown behind his paper.
All went merrily as a marriage bell
until the train arrived at Cromlade,
when the “auld wife” in stepping out
again addressed the churlish individual
in the corner: ’
“I care na, sir, whether ye report me
or no, but I want that pound of butter
ye’ve been sittin’ on for 'these last six
mile.”—Cincinnati Enquirer. ’
On Being Critical.
It is one of the maxims of the “well
meaning person” that you should not be
too critical. But well meaning persons
scatter their advice recklessly out of the
fulness of a soft heart unzempered by
the wisdom of a hard. head. True, they
have a habit of hedging their philoso-
phy by a free use of the adverb “too"
before the qualitive adjectives they
condemn; but that is only for an exit
in Case of emergency, as it were. As 7
we cannot roundly condemn these kind-
1y people. we express our Opinion of
them by calling them “well meaning
persons,” who, have a habitof confusing
ideas and are not usually quite happy
in the choice of words to express what
they intend. When they say, “Don’t be
too critica ,” they mean, “Don’t be per-
petually finding fault in a ‘ peevish
spirit.” _ But when the teacher or
preacher goes astray in his definition, it
is not always the fault of his hearers if
his doctrine'is misunderstood.
turret Gave an Alarm.
While Simon Clock, 9. Newburg far-,
mer, and ms family were engaged in
prayer recently, atramp quietly entered
the open door of the kitchen and, seat-
ing himself at the breakfast table, pro-
eee'de‘d to enjoy a feast. A parrot, that
hung in its cage, alarmed the family,
who were in an adjoining room. and .
the farmer discovering his unbidden
guest. compelled him to pay for. his
breakfast by three houfs .w‘ork in the
field. s . 5 - N a
,. OS.
56 £1le ESTABLISHED. .
GRAND AND UPRIGHT."
.:Nearly‘ 100,000 murmured. E
sasv TEW‘ ‘sxcuANosn.
. REASONABLE PRICES._ _. 4%
Fiscnskrmno WAREROOMS.
per-Advertise inrtbe GAZETTE,» , s V,
I IIO'Iflh EA'VOEE 00?. '6‘” mog'ui I ' I V
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