DE TURKEY ROOS’ TOO HIGH. Ob. Iiltlc (-lzillun, de worl‘ so wide Dat de mo‘ncz-s mum on sigh: Dar’s a turker romtin’ on de yuther side. But he roos' too high—too high! Oh, turkey meat ls m‘gfnly sweet; But (is mo'uvrs weep en sigh; ’ Hit's :I. long. rough way \Vlmr dc turkey stay. " But. do turkey roos' too high! Oh. little chillun. do night so long, - Bu dc moon go suilin' by Dar‘s a turkey sizlgiu‘ of a sweet. sweet song ,1 .But he roos‘ too high too high! Oh. turkey meat is powerful sweet: But dc mn’ners weep en sigh: Hit’s :tlmos’ day ,g_ Whnr dc. turkey stay. Lut de turkey roos‘ too high I (3 . little chillun. dc storm come down Eu ale lightnin‘ blaze de sky. . 1: h: light dc road ter dc turkey town, Lat dc turkey roos' too high! Turkey meal. Is mighty sweet; But do nlo’ners weep en sigh: Dar’s a joyful day V‘Vhar dc turkey stay, But do turkey roos‘ too high I. ~Atlanta Constitution. . THE A—ITTIST’S LOVE. “Why is it a law of nature that tall women must marry short men? 1 want to marry. But what man of de cent stature will wed five feet nine? ] refuse to, marry anything under six feet, so I shall have to die an old maid It’s very hard.” “You will scarcely be measuring the man's inches when you fall in love Anna,” said her friend. “I shall measure his inches before and so I shall not fall in love, wise Lu—don’t you see?” “And you would rather marry a man like Charlie Langley, six feet of well- built stupidity, than, we will say, Mr Royce, who is clever and————" “Handsome, and almost a pygmy. ] allow Mr. Royce to be the miniature model of what a man should be—bul I do not wish to marry a model, 1 want the man. On the other side of the thick-sci hedge stood Owen Royce, toe clever little artist, of whose future greal things were predicted. Walking care- lessly beside the overhanging haw thorn and wild rose, he had been caught and held by a straggling thorn; while impatiently unfastening the de- taining bramble the words spoken in the garden had fallen on his ear. He was clear of the thorns at last; he was standing erect and still in the meadow his eyes on the low summer sun, and with a thorn in his heart piercing and hurting as no mere physical pain could do. Anna stood armed with her goll clubs on the Manor terrace; Louise stood besideher, a study in drab, a foil to the fresh, brilliant coloring on her friend. “Now, Mr; Maxwell is what I call a man, Lu,” the girl was saying. “He. is big and well-made. I cannot speak as to his head-piece. And he appears to have no dislike to a tall woman, my dear,” said Louisa, dryly Anna twirled her club. “No, I do not think he dislikes me Jack has asked him to stay on for the club-hunting.” “Has your brother persuaded Mr Royce to remain as well?" “Yes; his picture will give him quite another month’s work. He has grown very stupid lately. I cannot think what has come to him; he paints and paints, and is as dull as an owl,’ and she moved off to join the stalwart young Maxwell, who was patiently awaiting her pleasure at the park gate Louisa went back to the house tc speak with Mrs. Waymoor, the widow lady of the Manor. At the door she came on the artist, who stood watch me; Anna‘and‘ her companion crossing the park, watching so intently that he was unaware of her neighborhood un- til she spoke. He turned with at apology. ~. "I was watching the golfers; they make a. handsome pair, do they not Miss Blackston?” She followed his gaze; when sh; looked back at the man, two queer little upright furrows marked her fore head. , “You admire her?” “I am an artist. I must admire her.’ That evening, after the choir prac tice, she said abruptly to- Anna,— “My dear, I think why Mr. Rove.- has grown stupid is because he love; you.” , . ' “Loves me! Mr. Royce! Why, if h: wore elevators in his boots he woul: barely reach to my shoulder. It neve. occurred to me that the little man; kin could fall in love. How absurd!’ Louisa turned, almost angrily. “Though it has not occurred to ym. it might to him. And you are such tool that you cannot see the man i: him!" “Why are you cross, Lu? M ‘. Royc. is clever and I like him; he is vezy kind. But he is in love with his Academy picture, not with ma." So, through the glorious S:p;em 91 days Anna ’golfed, hunted and eye or .with Gerald, and the artist painted trying to forget the pain which halt him in its grasp. ’ 3 He had been painting hard dowo b3 the wood until, the afternoon sun was low. At last he put up his brushes aI‘.( ' started on his two-mile walk back .( the Manor. Gerald Maxwell overtool him and the two men went on tcge;l:e They stopped at the foot of the rail way embankment, lounging agains the rail, to watch the express 1ra.s The artist stood silent, content to is ten. Then, to their right, along tln line, came the beat of flying hcofs; both men turned to see and both gun a simultaneous exclamation cf IIOl'lC‘." as round the bend, out of all CODIL‘J .3 galloped headlong beside the met I. ' Anna’s bay mare, tearing furiously or toward the rushing train, then round ing the opposite curve. Anna sat bit-43' in. her saddle, white as death, try! :1 ’- ‘ road. She seemed for the first time 'face was terribly cut by the blow to stay the runaway, but powerlesl against the creature's mad fright. “She may pass safely on one side,’ gasped Gerald. ' Even as he spoke the mad brute plunged into the centre of the iror. to sight the train whistling anc screaming out its warning, but pow- erless to check in time. She rearec straight up, and then stood planted anc immovable in the centre of the metals staring, paralyzed with terror, at the advancing monster. It had all hap named in a second or so, leaving but :caut time for thought or action. Both men shouted to the girl to fling her- self off, but she, too, seemed turned tc stone. She sat dumb, looking before her with agonized eyes, though her trembling hands yet mechanically strove to turn the horse. In half a 'ninute it would be too late. Gerald lung up his arms, shouting his warn- ing. He stood there alone, the artist was gone; he had scaled the steep em. bankment, his small lithe figure springing up it like a cat; one hand strong as steel with dumb-bell exer-, else, was on'the horse’s bridle, backing her a step to the side, the other was- on the girl, pressing her from the sad-. dle, telling her to fall—-to trust him and fall. Thank heaven! She under- stood and obeyed. Amid the thunder .and crash of the train he knew that she had swung clear of the metals. There was a blow and he was down, and all was dark. , It was a miraculous escape. Maxwell wiped the moisture from his brow as he told the story; Royce had ruShed in with the train almost on him, when it seemed that horse, man and girl must all be cut to pieces; nothing but his wonderful quickness had saved Anna, who, bruised and shaken, had yet fallen clear of worse harm. P001 “Black Bess” was cut to bits. Royce’s which had felled him, yet, mercifully, he had fallen stunned, in the hollow between the rails, and so had escaped with his life; but he would never paint more, his right arm had been frightfully crushed; amputation had' had to follow as his only hope of life. The Manor people nursed him de- votedly through his illness; nothing they could do could, they felt. repay what they owed to him. He was very grateful for their care and attention. He made no allusion to his ruined career, though his eye sometimes rest- ed on the half-finished picture which stood in his room. He looked reso- lutely at the reflection of his scarred face, at the empty right sleeve. He had all his life looked at trouble be- tween his eyes; he had never shirked or quailed before it. The man’s spirit, at least, was no small one. But as Christmas neared and he grew fairly convalescant he began to grow rest- less. In spite of protest, he declared himself well enough to return to his rooms in town. He had stayed at the Manor to paint, now he must trespass no longer. ' “Dear old chap, why go?” said Jack. ”The mater worships you. Can .we not amuse you here? Anna will try to; she will read to you, sing to you. Surely you might stay for Christmas with us?”, He smiled, but repeated that he must go. Then Anna learned their guest meant to quit them. Anna had changed of late; she professed to be. tired of dancing, she said she no longer, cared to hunt, that she liked best to be quiet at home. Shelhad grown very . gentle, very womanly, and 'her, gray eyes would become wonderfully soft and tender when they rested on Owen Royce’s disfigured, face and poor maimed body. Theybecame strangely‘ wistful now as she‘said softly,— , “But we would, rather you stayed.” “Still I must go,” he answered, pickw - ing up his book with unsteady fingers.- She was behind his couch,,and stood looking at him in silence. . Then the‘ man on the sofa saw -a tear splashed down. It lay on the, scarlet silk. cushion, .a. round, dark stain. He raised himself quickly and looked at her. Yes, the tears were raining'down her face. -Wlth his left hand he caught her dress. “Anna,” he said, hoarsely, “did you guess then, that I loved you?" “Yes,” she said in a whisper. “I read it in your eyes when you-caught my horse's head on that awful day. Louisa had guessed it before, and told me, but I had not believed.” He was lying back again on the- cushions, watching her with quiet, hopeless eyes. “Yes, heaven knows I loved you,” he answered. Then he told her what on that summer’s day he had over- heard in the Vicarage garden. “You did not love me then, Anna. Now, I am disfigured and a cripple. You are kind and good—I understand—but it is only pity you can have for me. You would not marry me, save in, pity,” She was on her knees beside him,' half laughing, half crying. “In pity! In pride and joy. Did I not say, ‘ a tall women must marry a small man?’ Are you too rroud to take a. tall wife, Owen? 3 t I die an old maid because I am cwrgrown? Don’t you know that to me you stand [ high among men; that your scarred face is your V. C., that your empty sleeve is your badge of glory? Don’t you know that had you diedwunder the train, I should have had no wish to live? I knew whom I loved then. If you are too proud to marry me be- cause cf your poor arm, because of my heedless, stupid speech—then I am not too proud to say that your pride will make one wretched woman. And, Owen, I am not too proud to accept your pity—but the pity is yours, not nine, to give.” ..__."i._ A g-':cd deed is never lost; he who .ows ._c‘ur‘;esy reaps friendship, and he .vho p‘tnts kindness gathers love. , i 3 ELLEN’S STRATEGY. Mrs. Angier, often said she really did not know how she ever came to take Ellen, and those who knew them both wondered too. For Mrs. Angier was sharp, prim and elderly, and Ellen was—well, th'e' last girl in the world that one would suppose could suit Mrs. Angier. When Ellen stood before her with her great frame drawn to its full height and fixed her expressionless blue eyes on her face, little Mrs. An- gier said she never knew what to do. This must have been a novel mental condition for Mrs. Angier who had al- ways ruled her household, which had hitherto consisted of ‘her daughter and her one maid, with a rod of iron. “I get the meals, I wash the clo’es, I clean up, clean up, clean up. What more you want? I ain’t no slave to work all the time!” blazed Ellen, one afternoon when Mrs. Angier attempted to expostulate with her for sitting so cosily in the kitchen crocheting her endless cotton lace. There was a dull red flush on the girl’s high, bare brow, and Mrs. Angier retreated from the kitchen with barely a trace of her usu- al prim dignity. One morning Mrs. Angler, with a. letter in her hand, entered the kitchen where her maid was noisily washing dishes. Although Ellen had never bro- ken or even chipped a dish each click of the china touched a tender spot in Mrs. Angier’s soul, and she spoke sharplyfi— - “Ellen, I wish you would be more quiet.” “Ain’t I quiet?” facing around. “Oh, yes, you are. But about the dishes, I mean,” faltered the mistress, avoiding the eyes. “Oh, Ellen, I came to tell you that I have received a let- ter from my daughter, Mrs. Morrill, saying she is coming to make me a visit. She will be here to dinner. I wish you to get her room ready.” Ellen had resumed her dish washing and made no response. “Did you understand, Ellen?" ques- tioned Mrs. Angier, fearing the girl was displeased with the news. returned Ellen; lifting her demanded Ellen, r” “Ma’am: head. ~ The tone implied such perfect com- prehension that Mrs. Angier left the room without further remark. When the station carriage contain~ ing Mrs. Morrill stopped before the house Ellen appeared, quietly put,lit— tle Mrs. Angier aside, w’ent down the walk and relieved the visitor of her travelling bags. . m “That teller on the waggin’s dumb. emarked, casting a. wrathful look at the driver, who regarded the two with cheerful interest from his seat on the box. “Or perhaps he ain’t got no legs,” she added, scornfully. . “He never was very attentive to his passengers,” returned Mrs. Morrill, easantl . p1“Be yobu her daughter?” gasped El- len, devouring Mrs. Morrill’s face With her eyes. _ The lady smiled fearlessly into the eyes and answered, “yes.” ‘ A dull flush slowly mounted to lul- len’s brow, as she srdd,—— ’ . . “Why, you are blonde, and she 3—- she r oak!” Ellen stood by and watched almost greedily while the ladies embraced, d awkwardly when they en- d followe an ith their arms about tered the house w each other. Would you take the Ellen, please? _ One at too heavy for you." “I could take you, too,” len, starting on. ‘ “How odd she is, mamma. Where did you everlget her?” exclaimed Mrs. Morrill, dropping wearily into a chair. Mrs. Angier closed the door softly, took a. chair beside her daughterand poured out her tale of woe. _ thing so. extremely There was some ridiculous in the idea. of her determ- ined little mother living in subjection to that raw-boned, gawky girl, that Mrs. Morrill laughed outright several times during the narrative. - - “I never heard of anythingso funny in all my life. But don’t fret, mamma, dear, such an unnatural state of things can’t continue. Affairs will adjust themselves, somehow, see if they don’t.” . “But you haven’t an idea what she is,” objected Mrs. Angier, pathetically, whereupon her daughter laughed again. - - Mrs. Morrill became an object 0! intense adoration to‘Ellen, who let slip no opportunity to show her regard The house was kept in perfect order and Mrs. Morrill’s room received many extra touches that kept it in a delight- ful state of daintiness. , But it was up- on the cooking that Ellen expended her supreme efforts, and each success- ive meal had some unusual delicacy tc surprise and please the guest. Mrs. Morrill received the girl’s at- tentions good-humoredly and spoke many words of kindness and sympathy which never failed to bring to the girl’s face that unpleasant flush which always appeared when she was much moved. ‘ One evening Ellen knocked at Mrs Morrill’s door, and without waiting tc be bidden entered the room. “I knbwed you was crying,” she said hearsely. “What’s the matter?" "Ellen!” exclaimed Mrs. Morrill, an. griiy. ‘ “Don’t be mad,” said Ellen, calmly ~“You cry every night you do be here.’ Mrs. Morrill raised her tear-stained face and regarded the girl with a min- igivri look of amazement and terror. '2'. it her?” demanded Ellen. .‘ ‘n. U Edi? m up to my room. a time if they’re returned El- "fps. her!" repeated Ellen with as} drawing Mrs. Morrill’s . . l 3 , w E E u LY -. l\ 0 P. w A l. it ~ GAZIEjr'r, I energetic jerk of the thumb n.:;tress’ room. ‘ “lvlamma? 0, no!” ‘ Then tell me!” cried Ellen, flinging herself to her knees before Mrs. Mor- rill, and clasping her arms around her. “Tell me who’s the dumb thing tills I kill um.” “You frighten me,” exclaimed Mrs. Morrill, recoiling from such violent sympathy. “I won’t hurt you. But I’m goin’ to settle your hash. Who is it now? Will . I have you sitting roun’ crying, out those eyes? You what spoke . vords kine to me. You only vun. I guess not. Think I’m dumb?” ' “You are very kind, Ellen, and I thank you, but my unhappiness you can’t do anything to lessen," spoke, Mrs. Morrill, sadly. , Suddenly Ellen stood, and demanded stormy,— “Where’s your man?” . “My man?” repeated Mrs. Morrill“, in amazement, “Oh, you mean my hus- band? I haven’t any now—I fear.” “What’s that?” with a thrust of the hand toward a. photograph on the bu- reau. “Yes, that’s Mr. Morrill. But—why, really, Ellen you have no right to cat- echise me in this way.” “1 es I have. Go on! Go on!” .But Mrs. Morrill arose and threw herself at the bedside in a passion of weeping. Instantly Ellen was beside her clasp- ing in those great arms the quivering form of the woman she loved. “There a, there a, there a, there a, there a,” she said soothingly. “Noth- ing’s vorth it. No, no, no! No, no!" And. because she didn’t know what else to do Mrs. Morris sobbed out on that broad breast the whole story of her misery. How with the love of her happy girlish heart she had married her husband, and had tried, for his sake, to live with his people, who de- spised her simple, unfashionable ways, and treated her coldly; but at last, thinking her husband, too, had turned against her, she had left them all and came home to stay. How she had nev- er told her husband her intention, and had not the courage to tell her moth- er, and how wholly miserable she was. “You shut up now, and go to bed. There’s a girl of the name Ellen got a hand on this. You find it out!” and .vith these extraordinary words the girl left the room. Presently she put her head in the door and asked,— “Name Tom?” “Why, Ellen, what difference can it make? His name is Thomas G Mor- rill.” “Tom. All right. Go to bed.” The next morning the youth in the elegantly appointed law office of Mor- rill & Gates, hands the senior partner a telegram addressed to “Tom Moril.” The superscription so surprised Mr. Morrill that he raised an inquiring glance at his clerk, on whose face the look of amusement quickly gave place to one of concern. Tearing open the envelope, Mr. Mor- rill read the following:— To T'om Moril: She wat is left is dying. Come to huston. ’ ‘ I toward her Ellen. The remarkable nature of the mes- sage admitted of no delay, and Mr. Morris started for the next train, with all speed. When he stepped from the train at Houston he was approached by a wo- . man of massive proportion who said in decided tones,— “You're him! Her man." “May I ask your name, madam?” “Vy, ”of course. - I’m-"Ellen.” “ “I really can't say that rim much the wiser for that information,” replied Mr. Morrill, who began to think him- self the victim of some practical joke. “Don’t be mad. Come along,” re- sponded the girl, cheerfully, taking possession of Mr. Morrill's satchel. "‘No, 1. lug it. Vat you tink? She dy- ing? I said that 'to make you; come. 'S-he mighticould die. She'might could cry those eyes out, an’ spoil that pooty face. You care?” . = “If you mean my wife, certainly I care. But I confess thewhole thing’s a. secret to me,” replied, Mr. Morrill, regarding Ellen suspiciously. “You’ll find out. She runned away an’ then got sorry again. How you let all them wimmens sass her? Pooty capers if the do be rich mugs.” “Run off? Of whom are you talk- lug?” “Mis' Morrill. A pooty one like her ain't going to stan’ a peck 0’ cats claw— in’. you find it out. Here take your truck. I go this way." And Ellen thrust Mr. Morrill's bag ' into his hand and disappeared down a .. side street. The intimation that his wife had run away from him was a great surprise, and altogether alarming, and caused Mr. Morrill" to take a review of his brief married life as he walked slowly toward the home of his wife’s girlhood. Although he thought her choicepr r. confidante in rather questionable l LSLB and wished she had seen fit to tat-.9. :- different courSe, he was tone-ed :0 ac- mit that his mother and sisle. were rather trying, and he found Ilia-119‘} saying, “Poor little girl,” as he r..;-;~_o.; into the familiar path to the bongo, He was not surprised that 1." 'ex. should answer his ring, nor amustg. by the ceremony with which she ushered him into the parlor and asked who name, for he began to be tom :19; 1.1' :.. reflection of his wife’s misery. Mrs. Morrill was so overcome *- len’s tidings that her hush: l... the parlor waiting for her in : could not control herself sum-cur... 'j. -_.-; go down. With deft fifge -: 7'. v.3, touched up the bright hair, and s. , , i ,a fresh handkerchief in. he; be‘t. . . L i....T.C. LL. : l E ier arm, took her downto the pal-ll: ’ As she softly closed the door, st..- he. . tIr. Morrill say’ with a worid o: 'eproach in his voice, "'Ldl::.'£’ and so 'ace mantled red as she Sad to 32.2: :3; 5, ‘l‘hat’ll fetch- her. ’Twould um. it“. all right now. Ole cat don’t fine 1. mt.” The outcome of it was that young Mr. and Mrs. Morrill had a home of their own in which Ellen served a, be— loved mistress 1n all the fidelity of mar strange, warm heart. Mrs. Auger heaved a sigh as of a slave set free when she saw the carriage door close .Ipon Ellen’s broad back, and dzscend- 2d upon Ellen’s successor. Send? 1' SOUR DOCK HAS ITS USE. Canaigre Is Its Name and It \Yill R's. volt:- tlonize the Tanning lmlusll‘y. Cauaigre—you pronounce it “kah- uah-gray,” and it means the weed known as the sour—duck—has recently oeen found to possess an important economic value, and its employment in the tanning of leather bids fair to rev- olutionize that industry. Untilfthe discovery of the properties of canaigre there had hardly been any ,~eal improvement in tanning agents in a hundred years. So far canaigre tanning and bark tanning are identical, but while the hide must remain for three months in the vat in the bark solution, being re- moved, drained and manipulated many times in the process, the canaigre acid tans it in twelve hours. The tannic acid extracted from ca- naigre has a. peculiar quality which indicates that nature intended it for preservative purposes. It is impossi- ble to burn and destroy leather in its solution, as it is very'easy to do with a solution of tanbark too strong for the hides, and the cells of the substance to be tanned will absorb enough to com- plete the change and then will take no more, and no alteration in the tissue takes place afterward. In a few hours, varying with the sort of hide to be tanned, the acid of the canaigre has done its work, and the saving of three months’ time and a vast deal of human labor in the production of leather indi- cates that eventually the whole leather .lsing world is to be the beneficiary of this humble plant. The cost of an acre of canaigre, in- cluding the planting, cultivating, irri- gating and harvesting, it is estimated, Is $16.50. The returns vary from $65 to $75 per ton, sliced, and the yield is from twelve to twenty tons to the acre on new land, and rises higher, with cultivation. The drying shrinks the product two-thirds, but the producer can count on a clear gain of $200 to the acre—New York Herald. A LITTLE TOO QUICK. the Official, in His Zeal, Swallowed Dirty \Vater Instead of Soup. Numerous complaints had come be- fore a. certain public official in regard to food served to the inmates of one of the public institutions, and be de- termined to investigate for himself, in orderto see whether the matter really required attention, says the New York Journal. Making his way to the particular buildings in question just about dinner time, he walked straight over to where the kitchen was located. At the very door‘ he encountered two muscular- looking men carrying a huge, steaming boiler. ‘ “Put that kettle down," he ordered brusquely, and the men at once obey- ad. "Get me a. spoon,” be next command- ed. Theman' that brought the spoon was about to say'sOmething, but was or- dered to keep-silent. ' “Takeoff the lid," was the next com- mand; “I'm going to taste it.” 'The two men'we’re utterly cowed by the omcial’s ‘brusqueness, and wonder- ingly watched him gulp down a good mouthful. - "Do you mean to say that you call this soup?” the oflicial demanded. “Why, it tastes to me more like dirty water.” “So it is sir,” replied one of the men, respectfully. “We have just been scrubbing the ' floors.” Howl-n Old Man WM Converted. “This here speculatln’ in wheat on the Stock Exchange is gamblln’ pure and simple,” said the farmer, who was a daemon and a. strict disciplinarian, "an’ the Lord won’t prosper them that wins by it.” , “Well, father,” replied his son, “I’m sorry to hear that, for I placed that money you gave me and made $900 by the deal.” ' ' The old ‘ man coughed. wiped his glasses and then said: 3 . “Well, well! Providence does work in mysterious ways! The person wuz sayin’ last week that the church need- ed paintin’; an’ besides—thar’s a mort- gage on the farm that orter be lifted, an’ one 0’ two other little accounts ‘ that’s got ter be squared. Well, Well!” fAtlanta Constitution. ., The Sinking Mountain. Dshebel Naibo—“The Sinking'Moun- tain,”—-an isolated Algerian peak, is now only about 800 feet high, and is known to be slowly but surely, disap- pearing. Inthe time of the Caesars it was nearly twice its present height, Near the “Sinking Mountain" is a large, clear lake, called Fezzara, which is said to have risen over a. large city that sank in the year 400 A. D. A curate introduced his somewhat insignificant looking wife to the great lady 'of the parish in the words .of Au- tolycus: “A poor thing, madame, but mine own.” The wife, who .did not want for spirit, retorted, indicating her disagreeable husband: “A poorer thing, madame, but mine owner."—-llo;zss hold Wolds. " - r '3 " W hen the out is on the purr;" '1 but for true poetic chime. ' The fields to-night are wide and white— 'own."’ ._ » RT nus POETRY. :vvhon the frost is on the pumpkin i" “When the chestnutYs in the burr :" ' .\ hen the blush is on the apple ;" A ll of these are pat expressions. When the roast is on, the turkey lake: the cake Thanksgiving tim-. . ,. THE PURITAN. '\ Smue of the Advantages We Possess Ova- Our Progenitor-s. ' .. The Puritans didn’t live in a condi- tion of financial aflluance. True; they had the home market an to themselves, but they were too busy to sit on a box, - whittle, and evolve theories in political economy. . And as they were all of one opinion, there- was no opportunity for discussion. .. 7 Their first win-ter has gone down in history as a period of monetary and dietary depression. The times were hard; so hard that the minutes rattled like buck shot as they fell. The people i' kept up their courage'with hepes of hiring out to the Indians when the spring work opened up, but the red man was down on the pauper labor of Europe. . The Puritan 'was a believer in the stern and uncomfortable doctrine of forcordination. He believed that even the day of his death had been selected from the beginning, and nothing could change it. Yet, he carried his gun to church. This was not to prevent his being compelled to die before his des- tined time, but to use in case he met an Indian ‘whose time had come. He came over after religious freedom. He found it and used it very extensively. In fact, he had exhausted the supply by the time the Quakers began to ap- pear. Still, we must not lose sympathy for the Puritan. With witches, In- \ dians and the devil, his life was sore beset, while laying the foundations of his rich- commonwealth, in which to- day the lowest ward heeler toils not, neither does he spin, yet the diamond " in his shirt stud outshines Colconda’s gems, while over all his being reigns supreme the royal soul of malt and hops. What progressl—W. G. Brooks. A SONG OF THE SEASON. Oh, nearest love, and dearest love 01 all the loves of men. \ As wide and white as when A year ago. across the snow, You came into my ken, Most tender love. most slender love, Of all the loves of men! ' And we have braved the winds of March, And plucked the rose of June. And watched through screens of rustling a The red October moon; 0 I ‘f ' I ’ If: '\ and 174:7»??? , ‘ / ‘ I \ ' 9/ 7’ ’1 ,1, . s ‘ / 7th 1;“?! ‘12}; ’[fi%\ ' , v 27/ \Nhktfi/A 3 "a \él ‘\\\:i"‘§fl' 1-, ‘1! ”kw-fl \-‘“$i ‘~ My " ,5~.‘.\,.;.,"'$-\: ’p @l‘v I: -/ HI\I\\ ‘: 5% l " ’ o : b it ' And we ham seen the summer‘s pride. Tlmt hours the thrushes call. Rave welcomed spring. and grieved beside The deathbed of the fall: _. But more than these welov he‘ breeze Thutchill and bracing- ows. And whispers :yet of When we met. And laughs across the snows.~ So cling to mc,'and sing to me. As close and sweet as then. . 0b, purest love. and surest love 0! all the'loves of men !~' 3 , —Guy Wetmore Carryl. . Why We Are Thankful. Cheerfulness rules. the hour. whole world is talking Turkey. So far as the American people are concerned no Thanksgiving Day in many years has found them with more or greater causes .for grateful rejoic- ing. The. mighty machinery of in- dustry. trade and. commerce is once more moving with new and daily augmenting energy. The business skies are. clearing in all quarters, and the sunshine of prosperity floods the land. Party spirit is at a low ebb,‘ and we are apparently on the threshold of “era of good feeling,” in which all classes of the people will share the blessings that flow from fixed and nor- mal conditions of business. The He Objected. Farmer Cornanoats (excitedly). «A» “What do ye mean by calling me a coward?" Editors—“I didn’t.” , Farmer C. (showing paper).—“Here it is. ’Mr. Cornanoats, a. scarred vet— eran of the war—’ Now, look here, I wa’nt scared a bit, and I want you to take it back!” ‘ ‘. O'Brlen’s Calculation. . ,Miss Penelope O’Brien (sweet girl graduate).——“The Countess of Caste]- lane’s fete cost one hundred thouSand dollars!” ‘ Mr. Brian O’Brien '(her. fa.ther).—--7 “Will, there’s nothin’ strange about thot. Iv she’s worth tlnmillions, her fate ought t’ be worth wan hoondhred thousand, at laste.” Looking at the Turkey. Freddie—“Is that the gObbler, pa?” Pa.——“Yes.” ‘ ‘ Freddie—“Where are the goblets, pa?” . > ‘ Young Turkey. ’—"“I notice you , haven’t eaten enough to feed a. bird lately? Are you sick” or do you think this is Lent?” Old Turkey—“I have reasons of my . Hi
Norwalk Chronicler