GOD'S MIRACLE OF MAY. There came a message to the vine, A'whisper to the tree; The bluebird saw the secret sign. And merrily sang be! And like a silver string the brook Trembled with music sweet— Enchanting notes in every nook For echo to repeat. A magic touch transformed the fields, Greener each hour they grew, Until they shone like burnished shields All jewelled o’er with dew. Scattered upon the forest floor A million bits of bloom ' Breathed fragrance forth thro’ morning' door Into the day’s bright room. Then bud by bud the vine confessed The secret it had heard, And in the leaves the azure-breast Sang the delightful word; ‘ Glad flowers upsprang amid the grass and flung their banners gay, And suddenly it came to pass— God‘s miracle of May! —Frank Dempster Sh'xrman in Ladies’ Home Journal. . A COMEDY 0F ERRORS It all came about through listening at the parlor door. Eavesdropping is al- ways a reprehensible proceeding, and when indulged in by a. person who has good grounds for believing that that person’s own self forms the topic of conversation likely to be overheard, the practice becomes altogether unpardon— able. W’ithout desiring in. the least to justify the breach of good manners committed, I am constrained to think, nevertheless, that here was some little excuse for my behavior. You see, it was like this. Harry But- terfield, the son of Col. Butterfield of the British army, was desperately in love with me, and I hope I am not over- stepping the bounds of maidenly mod- esty by admitting that I was very fond of him in return. One evening, after working himself up to the requisite pitch of passion, Harry made me a proposal of marriage. Although I had long seen it coming, of course. I pretended, in a woman’s regu- lar way, that his offer had quite taken me by surprise; notwithstanding the fact that I was dying to say “yes,” I assured him that I could not possibly give him an answer for at least a. week. As I ex- pected, he was so pressing, - however, that I consented without further delay, and fell into his arms in the usual man- ner, while he whispered vOWS Of eternal constancy and so on. Harry had told me before going away that evening that he had some little business with my father in the morn- ing, and said that he would seize the opportunity thus afforded of getting papa’s consent to our marriage. When, therefore. the bell rang early the next day, and Harry was admitted and shown into the parlor, where papa was reading the auction news in the morn- ing paper, of couzse I knew what his errand was. I was ,therefore naturally anxious as to the result of the interview, and when it began to get unduly prolonged, I was quite on thorns. My solicitude at length became so great that I left the housekeepers room, where I had been vainly endeavoring to fix my attention on some preserves that required tying down, and stole on .iptoe along the passage leading to the parlor door and listened. -Harry was talking. “She enjoys pretty good health, I suppOse‘!" he asked inquiringly. “Capital,” was my father’s answer. “Never had an hour’s illness since. the day she was born.” It was kind of papa tosay this, but of course his statement was not literally correct. Everybody has illness at some time or other in their lives, and I was no exception to the rule. I was just about tripping away on thus discover— ing that the interview had not ended, when Harry again spoke. “Is her appetite good?” It was certainly a strange question, and I could not see that it was at all a necessary one, but I confess I do not understand men’s ways. Papa answer- ed my lover’s query by saying that I took my meals regularly, and seemed to enjoy them, which I must admit was a fact. Curiosity now made me stay for Harry’s next inquiry. “Has she any temper?" he asked al- most directly. It was preposterous! Temper! I soon should have, if inquiries such as these were persisted in. In fact, it was only papa’s answer, “Not the slightest!” ut tered in the most assuring manner, that prevented my developing something of the kind at once. As it was, the bliss- ful frame Of minddnxw‘clch I had been wrapped since the previous evening was as the meteorologists say, decidedly inclined to give way. Although feeling that I had heard enough, I thought thought that, as I had listened to so much, I might as well hear a little more. I had not long to wait. “I really must say,” Harry went on. “that there are one or two other points about her of which I do not altogether approve.” I had quite developed a temper now. which even papa’s answer could not as- suage, “ ell.” returned my parent, "of course, [don’t pretend that she’s per- fection; but, take her altogether, she won’t be easy to beat. All the same, I should like to hear what you consider her faults l” “Well,” said Harry, commencing his criticism with a deliberation that made my flesh crawl, “she is passable about the head and face, I admit, but her neck seems to me unduly long, and her shoulders have the appearance of being a trifle too broad.” . Could it be possible that the man giv- ing utterance to this opinion was, the same who had held me in his arms a few hours previously, and asserted that I was the most beautiful creature or. . God‘s earth? - ' “Broad shoulders are by no'means a drawback,” Master Harry “for they on able her'to accomplish a great amount of work.” Yes, it was true. A lot of labor did fall to my share, and had done ' si’ncr.L my mother’s death three years pre viously. . But I went at it cheerfully l THEEXENING GAZETTE: and without complaint. Work, even to the point of exhaustion, became a pleasure when performed for an appro- ciative father, but it never could be so when done on behalf of an unsympa- thetic husband. Husband! Thank heaven, Harry Butterfield was not that et!” “And then, you know,” went on my lover—save the mark!—-—“hér figure is somewhat disproportionate, and she is decidedly fat,” It was a gross libel! Although not in the least addicted to tight lacing, I ,could assert with absolute accuracy that my last new blouse was only 18 inches round the waist, and I was quite comfortable in it! To, call me stout under such circumstances was a. cruel untruth. I felt that my love was fast giving away to an altogether different emotion, and it would need but little more to turn the scale entirely. Strange- ly enough it was my father who applied the last straw. “Look here," papa said after a mo- mentary pause, "I'm sure you only need to get used to her to appreciate her val- ue. Take her a month on trial; and if, at the end of that time you don’t like her, let her come back again.” That was more than I could stand. The idea was monstrous, and how my father could suggest such a thing quite passed my comprehension. It’s effect on me was magical. Throwing propriety, good manners, and everything else to the winds, I rushed into the room. “It shall not be l” I exclaimed pas- sionately. “I will never be a party to such a shameful transa ction!” and then, deeming that the occasion emin- ently warranted the proceeding, I threw up my arms and went off intoa fit oflf hysterics, winding up into a dead faint. When I came around I was lying on the sofa, with Harry bending anxiously over me. Papa had gone for a doctor. “Thank Heaven, you are recovering l” said Harry as I opened my eyes. “Would that I had died!” I groans-'1. “Pray, do not talk like that,” said Harry. “How can you give utterance to such a wicked wish?” “There is nothing to live for,” I mur. mured mournfully. “N othingl No one?" asked Harry, looking into my eyes. “Nothing; no one 1” I answered, re~ peating his words. “You are ill, Emily,” he said, "or you would not talk in that strange way.” "I am not ill,” I said, rising from the sofa to prove the truth of mystate— ment. “Look at me for a moment, Harry Butterfield,” I continued, facing my lover fearlessly, “and let me hear first hand what you think of me. Am I passable about the head and face? Is my neck unduly long? And do you consider my shoulders broad and my figure fat, eh? Answer me to my face,‘ sir, for I know that is your opinion of me!” “Emmy, you talk in riddles, which I cannot understand.” “Is not your opinion of me what I just stated?” “Certainly not, my dearest.” “Did you not give expression to those sentiments when talking of me to my papa a little while ago?” H’s.» “I certainly used those or similar terms, but not in connection with you. my pretty,” said Harry smiling. “Of whom were you speaking then?” I asked, a faint light beginning to break in upon me. “Why, the gray mare, to be sure, which I think of purchasing for our use when we are married!” I fell into Harry’s arms when I saw my stupid mistake laughing and crying by turns. As soon as I was able, I told him all about my eavesdrOpping, what I had heard, and the construction I put upon it. Then I gave over crying and we both laughed together, and were thus employed when papa and the doc- tor came. The doctor did not think I required physicking when he examined my tongue, so we all went into lunch, and Harry took occasion to-inform me that papa had given his consent to our union, and all the financial part of the business was settled to his entire satis faction. ' , Thus my, little comedy of errors came to a happy ending after all; and when, a few weeks later, Harry and I were united in the bonds of matrimony, it was by my express wish that the gray mare was used to drive us to church.— Tid Bits. Justice Came Too Late. “Assayers are the common butt in all mining camps, and, as a rule, I believe they ‘get it in the neck’ undeservedly,” said a well known mining man. “For example,” said he, “you remem- ber that story of Mark Twain’s, how the boys up in Utah got hold of achunk of a Mormon’s grindstone and worked it off on the camp assayer. He got an assay of $300 to the ton in silver out of that grindstone, and the boys ran him out of camp. That was a true story, and yet, after these many yea rs, let me tell you that assayer was all right. You see, in the early days the Mormons used to cut their grindstones out of what af- terward was known the world over as Silver (iiifi. That cliff was a sand carbonate, and eventually it was dis- covered to be one of the most wonderful deposits of silver ore the world has ever known. But that was too late' to help the poor devil of an assayer who earn- pled the grindstone.”—Arizona Repub- lican. " Bavarian Bicycle Girls. In Bavaria the police will not allow a woman to appear in public on a bi- cycle unless she holds a certificate of ef- ficiency. To obtain one, she must first ride before the police officials in a crowd of other candidates without faking ofi or running into any one. Running After Knowledge. Teacher—James, what makes you so late? ‘ . J ames——I was pursuing knowledge. Teacher—Pursuing knowledge? What do you mean? ' J ames—Why, my dog ran off with my spelling book and I ran after him.— Harper’s Round Table. ' g AN EAST SIDE TALE. Kuhn and Esther at the Feast of the Tabernaelcs. It was Succoth, the feast ot the taber. nacles, and in memory of the wander- ings of their fathers the devout Jews of the East Side had built rude huts in the yards of the tenements, where some passed the night, while the less sturdy ones spent there only a tow hours of meditation and prayer. And when the evening star. appeared in the sky Kahn came forth from his booth, where he had been praying, and beheld Esther, the daughter Crcnas. sealed before her father’s booth, alone His heart beat faster, yet he became pale and trembled, for the light of the star was upon her faco, revealing 31‘ its beauty. And when she saw him she smiled and said: "The peace of God be with you! Will you not sit beside me?” i For he had been her father’s friend when she was born, and only thaday before she had playfully torn a gray hair from his head. How brightly the evening star was flashing! ' “It is my second Succoth,” said :Le girl. “I do not know why it is, but 1: is the feast that I love more than a}! the others.” “It is a beautiful feast,” Then, in a. low voice: “It was the fir't encampment of our people in the v.11 dernesu. Where will bethe last?” She bowed her head in silence, and he went on: ' “ ‘Oh. God, why hast thou cast us off forever?’ Do you know the psalm, Esther?” Without waiting for her answer he repeated the psalm of Mascbil. and, see- ing that she was listening with rapt at. tention, he told her the story of the children of Israel. It was the old, old story, and it has been told and lived many times. And Esther knew it well; yet she felt her heart fill with a burst- ing sorrow as she listened. . And all the stars in the sky were shining, filling the firmament with a glorious light, while Kahn, with his eyes upon her bowed head, told" her of the Talmud, the beautiful, mysterious Talmud; Was it the witchery of the night? Was it the music of his voice? What had the man done that had changed him so? It was the story of Ruth, and the tears were rolling down .her cheeks, yet she feared to look up. Now he had wandered back to the Talmud, and it 1 maiden who had lived and died. long. long ago. “As beautiful as you, Esther. Yet she was unhappy. And the people came to her tomb' with flowers and spices.” The murmur of the Ghetto llfe had died out, and the air was still. Oncc she had looked up and had met his ardent gaze, and now she became sad for that unhappy maiden who died long, long ago. - . Through the books of the rabbis and the tales of the prophets Khan’s fancy wandered gathering flowers which he laid before this young girl. And while all her being glowed and all the world seemed sad, yet there seemed a melody in life that she had never heard before—- a melody of happiness; yet infinitely sad. Now it was the Talmud again: Beautiful old stories, Tales ofangels, fairy legends, Stilly histories of martyrs, Festal songs and words of wisdom: Hyperboles, most quaint it may be, Yet replete with strength, and fire, And faith-how they gleamed, And glowed and glittered! How gloriously the stars were shin- ing, and what a Wonderful melody filled all the air! “He was friendless, and there was none to love him. Think of it, Esther, this great king, this wise man, was no happier than I. All alone in the world. all alone—all alone—and there was no heart that throbbed for him, as no heart throbs for me. No one loved him, as no one loves me—no one to love him—no one I” _ Esther had looked up and had met his eyes, and now her heart could hold her new-born love no longer, and she sobbed aloud, and Kahn—bewildered, startled, fearing, hOping, was holding her face between his hands straining to see her eyes. “Esther! Esther l” he cried wildly, “tell me! tell me! Does your heart beat for me? Am I not alone? What have I done?” But Esther’s head had fallen upon his bosom, and her hand had crept to his shoulder, and now it caressed him. and she was crying, and as his arms closed around her his tears mingled with hers, tears of joy, and all the stars in the sky flashed with a wonderful brightness and sang——have you ever heard the song?—Rudolph Block in New York Journal. How to Get llIr. Reed’s Autograph, Speaker Reed has had to make a rule that he will give an autograph only when a two-cent stamp is enclosed with the request, writes a Washington cor- respondent of the Boston Herald. "I can spare‘the time and the paper and pen and the ink,” hesays. “but I cannot afford the two cent stamp to send it.” He gets many more requests than Alli son or any of the other candidates. which in itself indicates something of his relative position in the public mind, but if they are to be as good-natured as he is and send the autographs to all, they will have to make a similar rule. His private secretary, Mr. Allen, tries to make these autograph requests as little trouble to him as possible by saving them up for a month and then seizing on some odd hour to get the Speaker to write his name over and over until the supply equals the demand, Ofl‘ered His Life. Tough—Hold up—your money or your life. Self made Man—All right. «Here's my. life, written by myself, with calf- skin binding, all for a dollar and a half I —Vanityu - k no said. - was the story of the love of a Jewisn ' THE TOMB OF POCAHONTAS. The Indian Wife of J ohn Rolfe Buried In Cobham, England. Beyond these "Woods of Shorne,” we came to a grand park a thousand acres or more in extent full of old oaks under which’are browsing herds of deer, and through the park a long avenue .of stately elms stretches in a straight vista to an ancient hall. This is Cobham Hall and Park, belonging to Lord Darn- ley. We may remember that it is de- scribed in “Pickwick Papers,” where Mr. Pickwick, Mr. W'iskle, and ng. Snodgrass pass it going to the Leather Bottle ,Tavern. Soon we are in Cobham village and arrive at that same old Leather Bottle Tavern. We pass through a. narrow hall, and are ushered into a dark, low- ceilinged room. Here Dickens used to sit and study the guests. How many of his unique characters must have passed all unconsciously under his deep- seeing gaze in this old room, for here he would make notes as he in silence. Here, too, he made the Pickwick Club to meet. The walls of the iron room are now adorned with Cruikshank’s quaint sketches of Dickens" characters, with 3. ”‘5 . 21mm newspaper prints and articles of the time, and with many portraits of Dick- ens and his family. Strangely enough, the only two pictures in the room relat- ing to Dickens are portraitspf the Amer- ican actress, Mary Anderson. Before we leave the inn, we write our names in the visitors’ book. It is grow- ing late and we hurry back. ' It is still a beautiful walk, and after five miles . we are again in Gravesend. Entering the town by the Pelham road, we come to the \Vhite Post Tavern, and must pause to contemplate another spot of interest. Beside the tavern is a little rectangular yard, well covered with grass and surrounded by a flower bor~ der. In the middle is a circular flower- bed filled with white tulips. with a soli- taryrosebush in the centre._ Nothing further marks this spot, and few know that it has especial interest; yet under that sod is the tomb of Pocahontas. In the parish register of Old St. Ma- rie’s Church, which once stood there, is entered: “1517, May zlst, .Rebecca Wrolife, wyii’e of Thomas Wrolffe, Gent, a Virginia Ladye borne, was buried in ye chancell.” ' There is a mistake in the name Thom~ as, for it should be Johh. “Mary” is old style for May. How strange was the fate of Poca- hontas! a savage maiden from the prim~ eval forests of America, who died among the white people whom she loved, far from the land of her birth..— St. Nicholas. Slander is ever the coward’s weapon;' the brave man would avail himself of any missile before he would stoop so low as to hurl such a. shaft. it is a deadly agent, and, strangely enough, .too, is apt to extend its fatal effects upon the doomed head of him who makes another ms target. * Blind '- Sometimes persons become blind from impure blood, which develops scrofulous ulcers on the eyeballs, iritis, granulated eyelids, etc. In such cases Hood’s Sarsaparilla has been marvel- ously successful in restoring sight. It shows its powers as a blood purifier and radical cure for scrofula, by removing the cause, thus curing the eyes and restoring all the affected parts to healthy condition. Read this: “As an act of justice and for the ben- efit of other mothers who may have afilicted children, I write this. About the first of February, 1892, my daughter Zola, then three years old, contracted sore eyes of the worst form and in a few weeks was entirely blind, being unable to tol— erate light of any kind. She suffered and cried until I was almost heartbroken. rJ'T‘he best eye specialist in the county treated her for months, but the EyeS‘ became worse. Then I took her to a special- ist in Indianapolis, who said he could do nothing. I came away with a heavy heart. I met my father’s physician, Dr. Berry- n, who examined Zola’s eyes, and told me to try Hood’s Sarsaparilla. I began to give it as directed and wash her eyes with warm water. Soon I began to notice improvement, and now, having given the child over- a half dozen bottles, her eyes are greatly improved and“ she can see as Well as‘any one. She is five'years of age, 536 goes to school. When she began to take Hood’s Sarsaparilla, she had to eat her meals in a darkened room, but now Cu red she is able to sit at the table with the rest of the family.” Mas. OLLIE BUSER, Colfax, Indiana. Leading Citizens - 3' Golfax, including John D. Blacker, Township finstee, W. H. Coon, Druggist, and Dr. J. A. Berryman, cordially endorse this statement. ibis and many of’lzer similar cures prove that oodb Sarsaparilla n the One True Bleed Purifier. A11 druggists. s1. Prepared only by C. I. Hood 8: Co., Lowell, Mass. Hood’s Pills cure liver ills, easy to take, easy to operate. 25'cents. -4—._-- _ _ , it in the “ us. fill! BARSTOVV ST ——_'_—--—— ————" ' ——'_-—-—-——_—_—_——_—‘——_— _ ___________________ ————————————'—__ -——-—-—- —— -—-—-———___———-——__—'—_——-________ ————-————-—_——— ———_—- n——— - D..- _ _ — _ _ - - . =—- _— _— ._..'— _— _— —— = _— ._-—~ _—"" _=_ _——-‘ —— — -———_____.__.__..__.___——_— Sixty years is quite a lifetime. 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