by RE KLY
, IV 1) 1*: w.
"a AZ 15 1
THE WHALE AND THE CREED.
Religions fights I always did bewail,
"l'is somc:...ing hat I never take a start in.
I hat- to see good people rant and rail
0f things on which no one should feel too
“ sartinf’
‘ So this dispute ’twix Jonah and the whale
It’s hard to see how one can take much
heart in,
And get his feelings all torn up and nettlcd
Abouta thing that never can be settled.
I have a friend as old as he can be,
His legs are wabbly and his head is hoary.
Who in a thousand ways has shown to me
A faith implicit in the Jonah story;
His old wife with him scarcely can agree,
She says it is an ancient allegory.
And he,in eace, permits his wife to doubt it,
Though years ago they quarrcled some about
it.
The Bible is a book that I adore
For precepts found within its sacred pagcs;
0ft when I’m sad I turn its pages o'er
And read the record of departed sages;
But matters in dispute. alas, no more
My way-worn and di: tracted mind enga gcs.
Like Jonah and the whale and Noah’s landing
And things that tax my feeble understanding.
I read instead what I can understand,
The story of a Father’s love. undying,
The promise of another. better land
, Beyond this vale of pain and Want and sigh.
mg,
A mansion in a city great and grand.
The glory of man’s highest art outvying.
“'here wickedness can come to torture never
Andweary souls can rest in peace forever.
And while I don‘t bank much on any creed
And doctrines taught by schools ecciesiastic
I gather comfort from the things I read.
, It makes my heart more mellow-like and
plastic.
I cannot follow where some teachers lead.
Nor take‘their theologic potions drastic:
And this is all my creed. awake or sleeping.
The Lord is good, and I am in His keeping.
-—Nebraska State Journal.
.____.___.——
LOVE CHASE.
“To-morrow on the Paris?” cried
Garter, dropping his cane on the pave-
ment with a resounding thud.
“Yes, to-morrow,” said'I, gazing with
astonishment on my friend, for my
commonplace gossip had apparemly
perturbed him greatly. “The whole
family are going to sail, and they will
be away for a year. It’s very sud-
l.‘
den.”
“Sudden! I should saysol” he cx-
claimed. He looked thoughtfully up
the avenue for a moment, then stam-
mered, “Miss Margaret, too?”
“‘Yes 1:
{ Thereupon he hailed a passing cab.
and before I could get another word
with him dived into the vehicle and
quickly disappeared with it.
Carter is not a bad fellow. He is
exceedingly modest. This is a most
unusual characteristic for a young
man who is spending a fortune gath-
ered by another‘s talents, but to so
great a degree does he posshss it that
it. seemed to him impossible that Mar-
garet “’ulcott should look upon him
with other than indifference or even
repugnance.
“VYhy, Yandcrgust,” he said to me,
one Sunday afternoon, when he had
dropped in on his way to her house,
“it’s ridiculous to suppose that a
bright young girl like that could care
for a fellow ,like me—a fellow who
doesn’t know anything, who has not a
striking point except money—when
there are so many men with brains
about.”
But, acting on my advice, he actually
started to propose that very afternoon.
“Miss Walcott,” he began, as they sat
by a fireplace in the drawing-room,
talking co-mmonplaccs, “I’m in love.”
“Really! How interesting!” cried the
girl, calmly leaning toward him and
gazing at him, awaiting the rest of his
revelations.
There was a long silence, during
which Carter carefully drew his left
glove on his right hand. Having re-
covered his courage, ‘ he continued
naively—“I know who it’s with. Do
you know who it’s with?"
“Yourself,“ she cried, clasping her
hands as though she had made 3. won-
derful discovery.
“Oh, dear, no!
mered. “Positively not.
don’t think so, do you?”
“I was just guessing,” she replied,
soothingly.
“Guess again,” said he quickly.
“With Livia Vandergust,” ventured
Miss Walcott after she had given the
matter due consideration, gazing med-
itatively into the fire, thus uncon-
sciously showing to Carter the fine
profile of her face, which glowed inthe
red light of the coals.
"Don’t accuse me of it,” cried my
friend, in a deprecating tone that was
most uncompl‘imentary to my charming
cousin. “Guess somebody nearer
home.” '
And the foolish fellow kept her
guessing the name of every girl in
town but the right one until the maid
brought in Derby’s card.
\Vas it a wonder that, knowing these
facts, I smiled When I saw Carter dash
away in a cab after I had imparted to
him the news? It was sufficient to send
him up the steps of the Walcott house
in three bounds when his cab drew
up there. Miss Walcott was out.
“At teas?” he ventured to inquire of
the maid. “Yes.” Here arose a pre-
dicament. He'knew of no less than
five that afternoon. But he had heard
that she was to be at the Trumpt-ons’
dinner that night, and his sole chance
of seeing her lay in finding her that
very afternoon or following her over
Europe. '
So he started in at Mrs. J. Anderson
Oglesby’s and most perfunctorily paid
his respects to that energetic Woman
and her extremely plain daughter.
Then be searched every corner of the
crowded drawing-rooms, and even took
a surreptitious glance into the boilers
pantry. ' ‘
“Isn’t that Miss Walcott yonder?” he
said to the young girl who was pour-
ing tea, indicating a mass of bloc}:
hair that Was conspicuous in the crush.
“Why, no,” she cried, gazing at him
in astonishment. “She has light hair.
And, besides. she left hours ago. 1
Never!" he stam-
You really
.Should think————”
The rest of the remark was lost o“
my friend. who dashed from the 11’; w
and the house and was or; in his c..-
once more.
He searched in vain for her at the
Partridges’. the Joneses’ and the Van
Blunders’ and at length reached the
house of my aunt, who was on that
afternoon performing the arduous
physical labor of introducing her
daughter to society. Great, indeed,
was my cousin’s astonishment when
Bennington Carter was announced,
for she knew that he abho-rred teas.
But greater still was her. amazement
when he let fall the hand she held out
to him, turned suddenly, craned his
neck so as to see over the knot of wo
men about the door and dashed mad-
ly from the room.
Carter had seen her at last, but it
was only a glimpse as the door closed
upon her. He rushed up the stairs to
the dressing room and bounded down
again to his cab.
“Which way did Miss “’alcott’s can
riage go?” he cried to the man who
called his conveyance for him.
“Up Fifth avenue, sir,” replied that
astonished man.
“After it!” exclaimed Carter, jump.
ing in and slamming the door.
The bewildered Jehu swung his vcv
hicle around the corner and dashed up
the avenue, crowded with carriages.
Eight blocks. however, told on the
beast, and the driver found it expe-
dient to draw up at the curb and hold
a colloquy with his fare.
“So you have lost it, oh?” cried Car-
ter, angrily.
“Yes, sir,” replied the cabby. He
tipped his hat most respectfully in the
hope of mollifying the angry man.
Carter threw himself moodily back
in the seat and for a time was silent.
It was already dark. The pavement
was filled. with people hurrying home
after the day’s work. He had visited
every place where he could have hoped
to find her, yet lost her. Of a sudden
he leaned through the window and t0
the cabby said, “Do you see any awn-
ings about here?”
The man pierced the gloom with his -
eyes and at length pointed meaninigly
with his whip down a side street to a
residence in front of which a score of
carriages were gathered andau awn.
ing stretched from curb to curb.
“At it!" cried the fare.
Carter quickly ascended the steps
of the strange house, boldly passed
the servants in the hall, left his coat
and hat up stairs and returned to the
drawing-room.
“Carter, larier, Carter?
the overdresscd but kindly
woman who greeted him there,
)
muttered
looking
lup-
ping him on the arm with her fan and ‘
giving him a hearty shake of the hand.
“I’m delighted to see you. Mr. Carter.”
“It was awfully kind of you to
come,” said the slender young girl at
her side, as he formally greeted her. ;
And when he passed on she whispered
to her mother: “I’m sure I didn’t send
him cards. Why, it’s Be-nnington Car~
ter!”
My friend forced his way through a
crowd of people he did not know and
muttered imprecations on himself for
wasting precious time at such a place.
She would never be here. He would
slip out at once. What! Could he be-
cozy corner of the dining-room, a tall
young man bending over her.
“W'hy, Mr. Carter!” she cried, as he
rushed breathlessly up to her.
“How in the world did you happen
to come here?" he exclaimed.
“S-sh!” The young man moved
away, and she whispered apologeticah
1y, “Close business friends of my
father’s. But pray what brought you
here?"
“I followed you.”
“Shadowed me!
lite of you.”
“But I wanted you to guess some
more," he stammered.
“Oh!" The girl blushed deeply and
fixed her eyes on the carpet.
“Be quick,” he said.
“Ethel VanBlunder,” said she, in a
scarcely audible voice. She half arose
from her chair.
Carter glanced behind him and saw
Deuby pushing his way through the
crush about the tea table. “Oh, bun
ry!” he blurted out. “You must guess
before you sail. or I’ll never be h»ap—”
“I’ve guessed,” she said demurely.
“I’m very glad to see you, Mr. Denby."
“I’ve followed you all over town,”
exclaimed Denby, totally oblivious of
the presence of his despised rival.
“But at last—”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, moving to-
ward the drawing-room. “I'm so late
now that really I must be going. But
Mr. Carter, I really forgot. Let me
remind you that we expect you to din-
ner at seven. You can tell me all
about it then.”
That was very po-
‘Importation of German Birds.
In the years 1889 and 1892 a society
in Portland, Ore., introduced 400 pairs
of song birds from Germany into that
State at an expense of little more than
$2,000. .
They multiplied with great rapidity,
from two to four broods every year,
so that the Whole “'illamette Valley,
from Portland to Roseburg, is full of
them.
When it is remembered that the in-
sects and fungus diseases most dan- .
gerous for our vegetaticin are those
which have been imported into this
country from abroad, and that animals
and birds which are held in check by
some balance of forces in their native
land often become a nuisance in a for-
eign country, just as rabbits have been
,in Australia and English sparrows in
this country,'it is possible that some
of these songsters may prove injurious
to crops. The chances are, however,
that they will do more to 'help the far-
mer by keeping insects in check than
they will to injure him.——Detroit Free
Press.
“Seems tel- me.” said Uncle Eben,
"dat somexfier do folks talks do mos’
'bout how} po’ business is, is dcm as
nebher didn't hab no business nobow."
l'
DR. ABBOTT AS A BOY.
THE LEARNED DIVINE TELLS or A
PURITAN some.
“is. Recollection of Church and' Sunday
School. and of the Minister and Choir-
Anlusing Things that Find a Parallel in
the Childhood of Others.
Dr. Lyman Abbott writes in Youth’:
Companion: As i. look backward to
boyhood I see a collection of dissolving
views, of whose order I am not sure.
and whose outlines are seen very
dimly, as though the light which
throw them collie Screen were poor
and weak. _
Here is the village church. The
preacher is 3 large, coarse-featured
man, whose. filcial cxprcssion,if trained
for the stage, would have made his
fortune in coumdy and farce.
The church had been recently paint-
ed, and the paint refused to dry. The
ladies’ dresses and the gentlemcn’s
pantaloons stuck to it, and there was 3
mild cracking sound all over the
church when the congregation arose.
For protection, newspapers had been
spread down upon the seats and over
the backs of the pews. Many a Sun-
day during the long sermon I used ta
occupy my mind with an endeavor to
decipher the printing which had beer
left on the painted back of the pew
before me.
The Puritan minister would have
been shocked at the suggestion of a
ritual, but he used one of his own com-
posing, though no-t for the "long
prayer.” That served in lieu of a vil-
lage newspaper; we had none in those
days. But the good pastor always told
the Lord the gossip of the week; who
was married, who was sick, who had
died, and who had gone on a journcy,
and who had come home from one.
He preceded the information wi..h,
“Thou iznowcst, O Lord,” and occa-
sionally aroused i: my childish mind
the question, “Why, since the Lord
knows, need Parson Rogers tell Him ‘3"
The choir was reinforced by a small
orchestra. There was a buss-viol and
a violin, perhaps two, and a flute.
Reed organs u ere '12..l-;.u0\vn, and not
till long after did the church get a
pipe organ.
At the last hymn we all stood up
and turned about, with our backs to
the minister and our faces to the choir.
Then, when we turned back, who: '1
clatter of pew doors and rattle of
hymn books in their racks, and rustle
and clutter of gainer-.21". hats and coats,
as an accompaniment to the benedic-
tion!
It used to strike my boyish fnpcy
that the minister was saying, “Now‘
one to make ready; two to prepare;
three. to start and four to get there."
As he finished, half the congregation
was already started in the racc- for the
church door.
.‘lie Sunday school. Of‘ course there
was no Sunday schoolroom, no black-
board, no Internallon Lesson Helps.
While the men gathered outside the
church doors to talk crops, and the wo-
men in the church porch to talk gos
- ~ . . : ') -h"'l'on were “corfalled” for
lieve Ins eyes? louder she sat in a 5”” “L " “H” .
half an hour or more (if—religion? Noi
I hardly thank religion; rather theol-
ogy.
Yet I have no unpleasant recollec-
tion of that Sunday school, but a pious
ant impression of the teacher. He
was a mild man, of strict conscience
but tender heart; more severe by far
with himself than with any one else.
0n the whole, my recollections of the
New England Sunday are almost
wholly agreeable. Were my Sundays
so much pleasantcr than those of
other Puritan boys? Or does my kind-
ly memory forget the weariness, and
recall only the cheerful features?
Two, at all events, it does recall.
One, the quiet Sunday evening walk
up into the pasture. lVere there cows
we went for? Perhaps; I do not re
member the cows, but I remember the
boiling spring, and the hill on which
we sat and looked off over the village,
and the setting sun.
The sunsets were never so gay in
color as on Sunday evening, and the
air was never so full of a sweet peace;
and in it all and through it all—some
how heaven seems-if! near—and mother.
Mother! she had died some years be
fore, and I was living at grandfather’s
Mother was to me as the Virgin Mary
to a devout Roman Catholic.
I had not learned yet to love Christ,
and God was an awful magistrate, l
was told, who saw everything I did
and said and thought. How I wished
He did not! .
No one. ever told me, “Thou, mother,
seest me.” But I used to fancy that
she did; and what an inspiration and
what a protection that fancy was tc
me!
Then, when the sun had set behind
“Old Blue,” we went home; and all
the family, grandfather and grand-
mother and aunts and brother—there
was no sister, and no mother, and
father was far away in New York
city—gathered in the sitting-room. We
sang the old familiar tunes that are
well-nigh forgotten now—“Lenox”
and “Barby” and “Olmutz” and “Heb-
ron"—-each in turn selecting his hymn
Then grandfather prayed, and the
Sunday was over, and 1 “went to bed—
hushed and quiet, but with a genuine
joy in my heart.
While Queen Victoria has been ruling
Great Britain, Hannah Brewer of Bit
ton, in Gloucestershire, has been de
livering the village mail, tramping
eleven miles a day for sixty years. She
has just retired on a pension at the age
of 72 years with a record of a quartel
of a million miles trudged on foot. He:
father was Postmaster of the place to:
fifty-seven years.
Girl—A man can’t look me in thc
face and tell what is false.
The other girl—Perhaps men are no!
so blind as you think—New York J on .
no.1. ‘
-n
BLACK LACE FOR WHITE OBGANDIES-
Fancy Walsts in AIIIVarities—Blouse Ef-
fect Back and Front Very Chic.
(By Special Arrangement with the N.Y. Sun.)
Anything strikingly novel in fashion
is not in sight now that the modes have
settled down to their summer pace;
but there is no end to the variations
in the details of dress.
That triumph of usefulness, the fan-
cy waist, helps out the variety so much
needed in summer with great success.
It appears in all the varying degrees
of simplicity and elegance which fancy
can devise, and is worn by women of
all ages for morning, afternoon and,
evening dress. The difference is a mat-
.ter of decoration and style of making
rather than kin-d of material.
For summer gowns to wear at the
fashionable watering places white
muslin certainly has an inning in the
game of fashion.
The special mode which is distinctly
Parisian is the blouse efieot in the back
as well as the front. The fulness
overhangs the belt in the same man-
ner, only there is less of it, and the
belt is often wider in the back than in
the front. Some of these waists are
made with busques, which may be a
frill all the way round, or tab—like
pieces directly in the back and front,
but the style is not becoming except to
very slim figures. It is distinctly CllllC,
however, on a slight young girl, and
both wool and cotton materials are
made in this way, being especially
pretty with the narrow colored leather
belts so much worn.
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‘
Low-necked organdies for evening
are the prettiest of all the full dress
gowns. Kilted frills of chiffon or mus-
lin with narrow lace on the edge trim
the neck and sleeves very prettily,
with the addition of bows of satin rib-
bon or bunches of flowers. Wide lace
arranged to form a bertha is another .
pretty finish, and the bodice, as in the
high-necked gowns, is a series of lace
insertions alternated with narrow
bands of the muslin. The quantity and
quality of lace employed in the trim-
ming are only limited by the dress al-
lowance of the purchaser, as yards and
yards are absorbed in one gown. Real
valenc-iennes trims ma ny of the .dainti~
est white organdies for evening wear,
and while the bodiccs are made on a
closely-fitted lining the blouse effect is
given to the outside.
One of the fads this season is to
trim white organdics with fine black
French lace, either in applique flowers
and figures with the muslin cut out
underneath, or in rows of narrow in-
sertion set in crossing squares or points
all over the bodice and sleeves and
around the 'skirt. Black lace is {1151.
used on the tinted muslins, being es-
pecially pretty on pale blue, pink anz‘
green. The lining of these gown
should be the same color as the mu.»
lin.
Narrow velvet ribbon is used 0.
everything. An imported cape of oi.
rose silk has rows of black velvet rib
hon running down it at intervals 0.
about an inch.’ Round the ShOllldCI“
the silk is plaitcd in so thickly thu‘
at the neck nothing is visible cxcep
the ribbon.
FIVE LIVES FOR A ommomo.
The Story of the One Adornin 5 U)». "nu-‘-
Sceptre.
A tragic history attaches to more
than one of the diamonds whicl:
. blazed on the Gzar’s sceptre at the
late coronation. The “Shahffi, which
weighs ninety-three carats only. at omI
time adorned the throne of Nadir Shah.
It was stolen by an Afgnn soldier, who
- fell under the blows of three Artzseniai;
brothers at the very moment when he
was trying to dispose of it to a jew-
eller. To make their prey further se-
ted. ‘
The eldest of the three Armenians,
wishing to become sole possessor of
the diamond, poisoned his two bro.
thers, and came to Europe to sell his
treasure, disposing of it ultimately to
Catharine II, of Russia for £1U0,000.
Shajas,rfor that was the A1'1..euinn’s
name, did not live long to annoy his
ill-gotten gains, for a few yo-irs after-
wards he himself was poisonvl by his
sonic-law. It is a significant f..ci that
Nadir Shah, from whose throne this
gem was taken, was himself a \‘lcl‘ilu
of poison.
The “Orlofi” diamond, which also
adorns the imperial sceptrc, weighs
193 carats, and with anotlicz- twin bril-
Hindoo idol. It was Slulcu by a
French soldier, who sold it for £1560
to an English captain. The. latter, in
it to Prince Gregory Orloff. by whom
it was presented to the Princess Cath.
erine. The Armenian received in pay-
ment two and a quarter million francs,
and an annuity of one hundred thou.
sand francs..—'Harper’s Round. Table.
A WOMAN’S-RIGHTS BlRD.
The Female Leaves the Male at Home to
Take All the Care of the Family.
That graceful little bird, the red
phalaropc, has one very remarkable
peculiarity. When in full breeding
plumage it is- the female and not the
spicuous bird.
collection, and i never shall forgot my
for this unusual sexual difference in
the breeding plumage is not generally
of ornithologj.
Now this peculiar difference means
something. The phalarope is a “wo-
man’s rights” bird, and doesn't trouble
“While it is quite common among the
waders for the male to take his share
of the work of incubation. Among
the phalaropes it is the male alone
that hatches the eggs and takes care
of the young—in fact does everything
except lay the eggs. then they have
laid their eggs the females go off in
flocks, playing and feeding by them-
selves, while the males must stay at
home and take the whole care of the
family. The eggs were always laid in
low marshy ground, generally on a
narrow isthmus between two little
ponds—John Murdock in Chautau
quan. _
RULES OF THE HOTEL.
' They Were Concise and Right to the Point
and Easily Understood.
“I’ve had to stand for some queer
rules and regulations in my time, said
the Arkansas drummer, but the most
unique code of rules governing a hotel
I ever had sprung on me was at the
Tallewanda Hotel, in College Corner,
bio. I remember each and every
one of them distinctly to this day.
They were posted in this order:—
“1. Board, $50 per week, meals extra.
“2. Breakfast at five, dinner at six,
supper at seven.
“3. Guests are requested not to speak
to the dum-bwaiter.
“4. Guests willing to get up without
being called can have self-raising
flour for supper.
“5. The hotel is surrounded by a
beautiful cemetery. Hearse/s to hire,
twenty-five cents a day.
“6. Guests wishing to do a little
driving will find a hammer and nails
in the closet.
“7. If your room gets too warm open
the window and see the fire escape.
“8. If you are fond of athletics and
like good jumping, lift the mattress
and see the bed spring.
“9. If your‘lamp goes out take a
feather out of the pillow, that’s light
enough for any room.
“10. Any one troubled with a night
- mare will find a halter on the bedpost.
“11. Don’t pick a quarrel with the
clerk. His brother is the chief of po-
lice, and his father the mayor of the
town.
“12. Don’t worry about paying your
bill. The house issupported by its
foundation.”—-1\'ew York Herald.
Effect of Color on Dew.
It is said that dew is a great respect-
er of colors. To prove this take pieces
of glass or board and coat them heav-
ily with red, yellow, green and black
paint. Expose them at night. and you
will find that the yellow will be cov-
e-red with moisture, and the green will
be damp, but that the red will be per-
fec ly dry. This experiment has been
tried many times and always with
the same result.
“D’ye moind that?” said Dolan, as
he gazed out of a window. “It’s a
foiue p’rade. An’ all thim min is in
loine marchin’ widout goin’ nowheres
in particular. Thot’s th’ peculiar’ty av
human natur’.
we’re inj’yin oursives onliss we’re wor-
lrukin’ lolke blazes an’ gittln" nothin‘
done.”~Wash-ington Star.
'0
cure the jeweller was also assassinaf
liant at one time formed the eyes of a
turn. disposed of it to a diamond mer- 2
chant for £4000; and finally an Armeq
nian became possessor of it, and sold,
male that is the brighter and more con- .
The red of the breast
and under parts is deeper, and the"
mottled markings of the back and head '
are bright-er and more clearly defined. ‘;
The first day they appeared in the:
spring of 1882 I shot several for the ;
surprise when dissection showed bud- .
ding eggs in all of my supposed mules, ‘
mentioned in the ordinary handbooks
herself with the, cares of a family.‘
We don’t iver think.
HIS CHAR‘ACTERISTIC DIVENRSION AT
HIS HOME IN JERSEY. '
Like a Child in Many Wayp-Selflih in ’
Some Respect: and Deeply Religious in
Others. Has no Desire for the Com-
panionship of his Relation.
“What has become of Blind Tom ?”
This question; is often asked by old
theatre-goers, who remember the days
before the war, when the gifted musi-
cal idiot was the star attraction in 1y-
ceums. town halls and lecture rooms,
with which the simpler tastes of most
amusement seeker. of those times were
satisfied. .
Tom was only a lad then, the slave
of a Georgia planter, and his mental
weakness, together with his blindness,
served to increase the interest of those
who saw and hedrd this ignorant little
fellow, with unorring touch, draw
from the piano-forte its sweetest and
most melodious strains as well as its
grandest and most solemn harmonies.
The question as to Blind Tom's
.whereabouts can be answered best by
a tall, broad-shOuldered, neatly dressed
colored man, whose gray hair and
sightless eyes increase the impressive-
ness of his appearance, in a: comfort-
able cottage at the Highlands of Nave-
.sink, on the. New Jersey side of the
lower New York bay. This elderly
1 colored man- is the Blind Tom of to-
day, and for several years he has
lived there in ease and comfort with
his guardian, Mrs. Eliza Lerche, who
was appointed ten years ago by Justice
l Andrews of the Supreme Court as
BLIND TOMS’OLD Add V
{committtee of the person and prop:t '~
l-erty of the musician. She was then
i the Widow of John GBethune; who
had charge of Blind Tom for many
years, and the old man was given in-
to her care only after a long legal
struggle with her father-in-law, James
N. Bethune.
2 When Mrs. Bethune took charge of
Tom she found that his popularity as
a public attraction had greatly waned.
owmg to the fact that he had been
before the public many years, and that
his former managers had made all the
money they could out of the peculiar-
musical talent of the simple-minded
colored man without preserving his
value as an attraction by replacing
his worn-out repertoire with more-
modern musical pieces. Tom was also
getting old, ‘and was physically worn
out by the-night and day travel'con-
sequent on one-night—stand perfor-
mances.~ He had been handed over
i to Mrs. Bethune with no money and
no property, personal or otherwise.
out of the hundreds of dollars which-
. he had earned during the previous
quarter of a century. So it was
necessary to keep him at work a
while longer to provide for his future
maintenance in case he became dis-
abled by age or infirmitics, and also
to enable him to take care of his old
mother, who was still alive in one of
the Southern States, and looked to
Tom for support. .
More than three years ago Mrs. Be-
thune, who was then Mrs. Lerche,
having married Albrecht J. Lerche,
the lawyer, who had fought her legal
battles in the courts. had saved enough
money to warrant the temporary with-
drawal of Blind Tom from the amuse—
ment world, so that he might recover
his health, and, at the same time,
familiarize himself with modern mu.
sical compositions.
‘ Tom enjoys his long rest, after so
many years of incessant travel and
work. He does very little visiting
among his neighbors and receives few
callers at his cottage. He finds suffi-
cient companonship in his piano. He
passes hours at a time at the piano,
playing his old pieces and practising
new ones.
In spite of his advanced years and
his reserved, formal demeanor in com-
pany. Tom is merely an overgrown
' child, and has to be carefully watched
by a male nurse, specially hired for
' that purpose. He has all the selfish-
ness of a spoiled child, and is jealous
of any attention paid to any one. else
in his presence. He has little natural
affection and cares only for those
who minister directly to his wants.
[He is willing that his mother should
. be taken care of out of the money he
_ has earned, but he does not wish to
Iliave her or his brother and sisters
near him, for fear that they may an~
' Loy him or prevent his being the sole
3 object of the attentions of those around
him. With the exception of this child-
: like selfishness Blind Tom is extreme-
;ly moral and religious in his habits
gand disposition. He never eats with-
jout first oderiug a prayer, and on
Sundays will only play church music
Ion his piano. He will have nothing
to do with any one who drinks liquor,
and will quickly order from the room
\any person who uses profane or im-
proper language in his presence—New
York Sun.
For the Reputation of the Sex.
A stylishly attired young woman
boarded a market street car and stared
haughtily over the occupants. A
young man arose and offered his seat.
She sank into it without even a glance
or nod in acknowledgment.
A white-haired, kindly-faced old lady
who sat opposite lucked surprised,
then pained, then rose, and with a bow
and a smile, said to the young man:
“For the reputation of our sex I.
must thank you for your courtesy.”
The young lady flushed, and fixed
her gaze on the opposite sidewalk.—
San Francisco Post.
The bald-headed man stroked his
pate. “I was a football player once,”
said he. ‘31 raised a lovely shock of
hair—just for uovelty’s sake, you
know. .. ,Now’t—the bald-headed man
stroked his pate again-“the novelty
h- ms to have worn off.” Spare Moments.
’1?
Norwalk Chronicler