OUR FAlRY.’
There'sa fairy lives in our house-—
Don’t you wish you lived there too?
- She’s always full of comfort
For everyone that’s “blue."
She is so sympathetic!
When you almost crack your head
She’Il bathe it with her sweet cologne:
She‘ll sing when you‘re in bed.
If yOur horrid, dull old jack-knife
Slips. and cuts your hand most off.
She‘ll bind it i" with salve and stuff:
(She gives c.._..ly for a cough!)
It sometimes you are careless
And tear your bestest clothes, ...
The fairy’s sorry for you; ..-»'
She finds her thread and sews
Sch
The holes a: tight and handsome
’Fore an , one can sot-in.
This fair;- ‘:ery pretty
Thougi inn-’5 very. very old.
Her eye,. 4. :e bright and snappy,
And she's fond of every game.
Thougl the wears a pair of spectacles.
And “Grandma” is her namel
TWO AND LOVE.
It was a moist, unpleasant day. The
rain lad begun immediately after
breakfast, and now at eleven o’clock
it looked like raining till the crack
of doom. I had wandered up and
down, seeking congenial company, and
finding none had finally cast anchor
in the billiard room where I practiced
the spot stroke.
I had made a break of nine, and
was beginning to feel more cheer.
ful, when suddenly the door opened,
and Miss Anstruther appeared.
“Oh,” she said, as she shut the door
and stood with her hands behind
upon the handle. “I thought it was
Mr. McDonald.”
“It is a better—and a poorer—
man,” I said, resting my cue on the
floor. “Do you want to find Mr. Mc-
Donald?” , - ’
“Yes—no! it doesn't matter,” said
Miss Anstruther.
“Perhaps you can say it to me as
well?” I suggested.
Miss Anstruther thought a moment
or two, and then shook her head.
“No; I couldn’t say it to you.”
It may have been my fancy, but I
thought that Miss Anstruther blushed.
“Anyway,” I said ,_checrfully, “if it
doesn’t matter. you come and play
billiards with me. I’m lonely.”
“But I play very badly,” said Miss
Anstruther, doubtfully. “I don’t think
I ever played seriously.” '
“Well. this won't be serious,” I said,
selecting a light cue and chalking the
tip. “Now, all you have to do is to
make your ball hit the red and go
into the pocket—or both.”
“Oh, dear," said Miss Anstruther,
“what a lot to think about. There!
_What does that count?”
“One to me,” I said, and I missed an
easy hazard.
“Why were you so funny last
night?” said Miss Anstrutheru
“I am never funny ” I said. “Seri-
ous, humorous, stopid—perhaps—but
not funny.”
Miss Anstruther aimed wildly. Her
ball went twice around the table and
hit nothing.
“How provoking!” she said.
Then she lifted her chin and rested
it on the tip of her cue.
“You know what I mean.” she said.
“Why did you leave me alone all the
evening with Mr. McDonald?”
“Well,” I said, “I was talking—let
me see—to Miss Bates.”
“You found her amusing?”
“Not amusing. Better—pretty.”
“Oh, you couldn’t call her pretty.
Nice, but”—
“Decidedly pretty-—-in her way.
Now—you are plain. aren’t you?” I
said, seeing a likely cannon.
“I beg your pardon,” said Miss An-
struther, coldly.
“I mean—I’m playing with spot.
By Jove!” I exclaimed as I turned
away in disgust after missing the
cannon. “There he is.”
“Whom?” asked Miss Anstruther.
“Mr. McDonald, walking up and
down in the garden, smoking a cigar,
in the rain. Shall I whistle him in?”
“Oh, no,” said Miss Anstruther.
“‘Why not?” I asked, facing round
toward her. I thought you wanted to
see him.” ‘
“0h, there’s no hurry—no immediate
hurry,” she said. “He doesn’t leave
till this afternoon.”
“I thought it might be something
important.’ I said.
“It is important,” said Miss Ans-
truther. “Oh, you are horrid!” she
continued, stamping her foot. “You
know quite well that—I shouldn’t tell
you, should I?”
“But you haven’t told me,” I said,
consolingly.
“Oh, but you can guess,” said Miss
Anstruther, shaking her head. “You
must have noticed—something. And
I have no right to say anything about
it.”
I paused judicially.
“It seems,” I said, after an appro-
priate interval, “quite a suitable ar-
rangement. Mr. McDonald is very
' wealthy.”
“Yes,” said Miss Anstruther, re-
‘flectively, “he has money. But, then
so have I.”
“That is what makes it so suitable,"
I said. ,
“But,” said Miss Anstruther, lifting
her eyebrows pathetically, “he’s—
well.”
“That’s true.” I said, “but we all
have our faults. And poverty’s the
worst of them.”
“I don’t think so,” said Miss Ans-
truther quickly. , .
“Mrs. Anstruther thinks so,” -I re-
plied. .
“Yes, of course, you could see mama
wanted”—
Miss Anstruther tapped the floor
’with her foot. -
I turned to the window and watched"
Mr. McDonald walking Up and down
in the rain. .
“It happened here last night,” she
saidsuddenly, “when you were”—
“What happened?” I asked.
:r:--:ev-.
[“Oh, you know!" 27',
“Your engagement?"
“I am not engaged.” ~
“Not engaged? Then what are you
talking about?” . .
“You are stupid. Don’t you under-
stand? That is what I‘have to de-
cide—to tell Mr. McDonald this morn-
ing—before he goes away. Oh, I
oughtn’t to tell you all this. But you
made me, you know. And I think you
might help me.”
“I would with pleasure, it I only
knew”—
“What should a girl do when her
mother wants her to—and the man
is”—
“Rich,” I suggested.
“Yes, and—like that,” and Miss Ans-
truther nodded toward the window.
“It’s a difficult question,” I said. “a
very diflicult question. As you have
asked me to advise you—well~do you
love him?” . l -
“You may put that aside,” said Miss
Anstruther, with a sweep of her hand.
“That simplifies matters,” I said.
Then there comes the question of filial
duty. You see, a parent judges in
these matters with less—I mean with
greater freedom from—personal feel-
lng.”
“But,” objected Miss Anstruther, “it
is a very personal matter, 'isn’t it?
Besides, I am sure, mamma would
never. want me to—to marry any one
whom she thought I didn’t reallyrl
didn’t—or, I mean, if I”—— .
I shook my head gravely.
“You really must be frank with me.
if I am to advise you profitably,” ]
said.
“If I really cared for some one else."
Miss Anstruther nodded. '
“Who doesn’t care for you?”
“Oh, yes he does,” said Miss 'Ans
truther, quickly, raising her eyes for
a moment to mine, and dropping them
again.
“I was just addressing my mind to
this fresh complication, when Miss
Anstruther'jnmped up.
“Oh, but we are not playing,” she
said. “It's my turn, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I said with a sigh, for I
should have preferred to follow, out
the subject. “But, excuse me, you
won’t do it that way, and if you hold
your cue like that you’ll dig a hole in
the cloth.” .
I went round the table to where
Miss Anstruther was standing.
“Keep quite still, and I’ll show you,”
I said. I placed her hand in the right
position, at the butt end of the cue,
and, holding it there, showed her how
to make a proper bridge with the left
hand and. slide the cue smoothly and
horizontally over It.
“Now,” I Said, still retaining a guid-
ing hand:on the cue, “if you aim so,
you’ll get the pocket—unless the balls
i
' kiss-BI, -
Naturally I was compelled to stand
very close to Miss Anstruther during
this object lesson—so close that the
curl that nestled round her left ear
tickled my lips as my breath stirred
it. -
Miss Anstruther made her stroke.
It was a ridiculous stroke. '
“Were you really going for the pock-
et?” I asked.
“I think,” she said, turning and fac
ing me, “the kiss spoiled it. ’
\Miss Anstruther was strangely agi-
tated over her failure. Thinking it
better to change the subject from bil-
liards, I said:
“Tell me what you are going to say
to Mr. McDonald.”
We were, as I have said, of neces-
sity very .close together, and Miss
Anstruther dropped her eyes.
“I am going to tell him,” she said,
“that I don’t care for him—not in that
way—and”—- C
"And that’s just what you meant
when you said just now that—that—
you couldn’t say it to me?” '
Miss Anstruther’s attention was
fixed upon the toe of her right shoe,
which she was rapping with the butt
end of her cue. Mine was concentrat-
ed on Miss Anstruther’s drooped eye-
lids. Consequently neither of us heard
the door open.
“Hello! Playing?” said Mr. McDon-
ald, walking round toward the mark-
ing board. “What's the game?”-
“The game,” I said, lhoking up, “is
—let me see—two and love. “Isn’t it,
Miss Anstruther?”
Miss Anstruther looked quickly at
Mr. McDonald and then at me.
“Yes,” she said.
“H’m, *lost forever.” said Mr. Mc-
Donald, going out and slamming the
door.
“I hope so," I said, as I turned to
Miss Anstruther.
Reproached. _
“I haven’t anything new to sing to
you tonight, George.”
“Well, give me something old,"then.”
She broke into a refrain that was ‘ia
song of the day” seventeen years be-
fore. ,
“That’s very, very old, Clara,” he re-
marked at the close.
“Yes, George; I sang that to you rthe
night we became engaged.”——Boston
Globe.
Incuratlc.
One of the pupils in a public school
persists in spelling the word gone goine.
1‘0 cure him of the habit his teacher
told him to write the word Seventy-five
times upon his slate. He did as re-
quested, but in the meantime, his teach-
er having left the room and.he being
afraid that she would not return, wrote
underneath, “I am tired waiting and
have goine home.”
Cost of Justice.
“Haven’t you got any schoolhouse in
this locality ?” inquired the tourist.
“No,” answered the lank, bilious
looking native sitting on top of the rail
fence.
spring, but we had to hang a man fur
ucss—ste-alin’, an’ that tuck all the pub
llC niouey‘L” , , .. '
“We wuz goin’ to 'hev one last .
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, ,. A -V THE :JFAIRY ANSWER.
Composed by onoaano 1'3A RBI.
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by .1. .BEE'I‘EOLME LAWREEN.
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DR. NANSEN’S' PLAN.
HE EXPLAINS—W HE WOULD.
REACH THE NORTH POLE.“
Ho Believes There is a Current Which '
will Carry a Ship from Siberia to the.
Pole. ms Ship Built to Resist Crush-
ing in the Ice. ,
Dr. Nansen, the noted Norwegian ex-
plorer, before starting for the North
Pole explained in the Strand Magazine
how he expected to reach that point,
which no explorer had ever succeeded
in doing. He said, just before starting . '
south in the spring of 1893‘:
The principalfeature in the plan of
my attempt to penetrate intothe North '
Polar region, or it possible to cross it.
is, in brief, to try to' make use of the
currents of the sea, instead of fighting "
against them. My opinion is that there
must somewhere run currents into the
Polar region, which carry the flea ice.
across the Polar Sea, first northward
toward the Pole, and then southward
again into the Atlantic Ocean. That
these currents really exist all Arctic
expeditions prove, as most of them
have had to fight, against the currents
and against the ice drifting southward,
because they have tried to get north-
ward from the wrong side. ,
That currents run across the Nort "
Polar regions is proved by many fac .
I may mention the great quantities of
Siberian driftwood which are annflly
carried to the shores of Spitzberge, and
Greenland; it comes in such abundance
and with such regularity thaltl it is
quite impossible it should be on , ied to
these shores, so far from the original
home, by occasional winds or currents.
There must be 'a regular communica-
ion between the coasts of Siberia and
those of Spitzbergen and Greenland.
By this same communication were sev~
eral objects from the unfortunate J ean-
ette carried to the Greenland coast. The
Jeanette sank in June, 1881, to the
north of the New Siberian Islands, and
three years afterward, in June, 1884, a
great many objects belonging to her
or her crew were found on an ice floe
on the southwest coast of Greenland.
This floe can only have been brought
there by the same current which car-
DR. NAN SEN.
ries the driftwood. By this same cur-
rent an Esquimau implement, a throw-
ing stick or harpoon thrower, was also
carried the long way from Alaska to the
west coast of Greenland. There can, in
my opinion, be no doubt of the existence
of such a communication or current
across the North Polar region "from the
Siberian side to the Greenland side.
My intention is to make use of this
communication, which nature herself
has established. I shall try to find the
place where the heart of this current
has its origin, and shall go. north there
until I am beset in the Polar ice, and
then simply let the current have its way
and let it carry us across the unknown
region and out into the open sea again
on this side of the Pole. ,
How long the expedition will last is,
of course, very difficult to calculate be-
forehand, as we do not know much of
the speed of the current with which we
are going to travel. I believe, however,
there is not much probability that it
will take more than three years till we
come out into the open sea again, or to
somewhere from whence we can return
home; and as we have taken provisions
for five or even six years, I think we
shall not run the risk of starving. .
it has been said that this expedition
is very risky ; indeed, I believe this is the
general opinion. I cannot agree with
it. If there is no current I do not see
why it should be risky to go; we shall
be unable to advance, and will be able
to return when we see we are mistaken.
If there are currents, however, or if the
ice is moved only by winds which have
the‘same effect, we must certainly, in
less than five or six years, he brought
somewhere near the coasts of the Polar
Sea, and wh‘erever we come we shall
be able to reach human dwellings, if it
be on the American or the Asiatic side.
The Polar basin is really so small that
in the course of five years we must be
drifted across it, whatever the speed
may be. If the ship is destroyed we
will make use of our boats, as I have
already mentioned; and if our drift is
stopped by land, we shall either have to
try and get afloat again or have to trav-
el over the ice and make .for the near-
est land known. The Polar basin is'not:
so great as to render this impossible,
when you have an equipment specially
adapted for it, and take 'care to travel
with the currents, and not against
them. '
Dr. Nansen’s ship, the Fram, was
'milt, to resist crushing, and of such
shape-as to be raised out Of the ice by
pressure. The hall is of 30 inch solid
oak, pitch pine and. green heart so
united as .to be a practically solid piece
as wood.
The Fram was fully provisioned, Dr.
Nansen expecting his voyage to last ‘
three to seven years, and every possible
precaution was taken to make the expe-
dition a safe one. _
Unbearable.)
Brown—Eversee such a quarrelsome
character as Smith?” ,
J oncs——N ever. I think he’d provoke ‘
a li'ofassional' pugilist into a fight—,-;
Brooklyn Lite. . ~
I'
/
Norwalk Chronicler