1881-05-28; Clare County Press

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CLARE, MICHIGAN, Si^£0M>^I;:MA¥ 28, 1881
NOHBERia •
GHH3©J£.IS) IBIE©WEr SfDIH©©IL JE^BJSIga
DH SH33 fiE7. »m©HT "Sm.TiWSB,
In raemosy'o MS. tangs the pistes,    *
*   Aa.4 years o2 Bad caro ara hstwesa J,
ES Imago-with o. fesautiful gilding,
A&& Y70ll flol 107Q ifei IT70SK.
E£ pioo& <m o Mqak country qosner.
But feoyliood'o youag heart medo it vena ?
26 glowed iathe mmnhine of oumtesr;
^Esjno ©fescsftal ia winter oafi, ckira.
©, goy T70S3-&6 Qporfe of tha neoatido,
"Wbea-Hints? \7iado £rolic&ed •wl&. aa©w; '
^7c laughed, at the fees&j of, the otogm-Mac
£n& Ohoutedliisa on, all aglow.
\7odfisMdaS Mo bsautifnlsSHl^tasfO,
Eegqiflfesa of ell its array;
"\7q ptenged to feo feathery onow-fisifto,
,    Aafi Boosted feci tri&te? cvRay.
"VGDafe oa a© pH-faaMoaeabenchen,
Segufled -witti oor psncil ana state j
Wo thoughtof tha opening future^
And dreamed o£ our manhood's estato.
@„ fi&ya of my boyhciod, I bless ya,   .
WWla loottog from life's busy prima j
BSio treasures ara lingering with mo
I gathoresL ia lif tfb early time.
©, otill to that sil$sk country earns?
tffurss my heart, in vearfiiesa yet,
Xlbas&i leading my gentle young eisfajro,
"With youthful companions 1 met.,
£ east a fond glance o'er the meadow;
She Mils just bShtod it I-ssa;
Away in the cJmeebi -of the flipt^nesj
©Id GohoolhouGQj, o blessing on tnea!
^K.
IBE .KIT'S POTHEGfiT,
z
^\z* :
*&**:    ,,'
"St"*,.*, ^
^ -*£    "* '
'"\A~jJ. it'Zc'iiyA,
It •waa the dusk of evening, and night's
shadows "were quickly gathering in the
Httle German vOlag© through whoso
o&feMds two lovers, strolled,
l?hey had left behind them the cot-
&sgessan4hEdwgnder®doff among the
gr-sea fields and under • the shade of th©
tress, behind which fe© son had al-
jsost sunk to rest,
It vras an old story, the story of their
loving. They had been betrothed since
*&© girl was 14 It was well-nigh five
years-now, and on her I9tk birthday
lieyveietobemasried.
®h® was an" orphan, and her snug
d<Krty, lying so. safely nestled away in
&o ■rafiage bahk^ she had accumulated
hy th© labor- of her own- hands. But a
sued® was on her lover's face to-night,
oad even in the shadow her -quick eye
^secerned it.
es Sing to me, Hans," she whispered,
Imowing that in song Hans "Wastes forgot sll else.
After a moment's silence, he obeyed
lier, and the sleepy birds, woke in their
acsts and almost indignantly drew their
liejads from beneath the soft shelter of
$heir wing, to listen to this s'temge, won-
•itaefnl rival to the sweetness of their
fflotes. The air was filled with the ex-
<|iaisite melo%. It rang fell and^ clear
_oa$, sw^efe, Ji.ffimk.down.tp the violets,.
cs^ffiey "iitirred- ihthe listenings -wmd^
■&em sqared to the stars.
Poor little Marguerite I Hans' music
clways brought the moisture to her blue
oyes, but to-night it seemed filled with
comethmg she had never heard before,
sad her little hands were tightly interlaced, and her red lips parted in a sort
<©£ painfnl ecstasy.
But at the close she was all unprepared to see him end the last note in a
dry sob, then fling himself down on the
cwsrd and bury his face in his hands.
"Hans, what is it?" she cried, sinking herself down beside him, and trying
$© raise his liead upon her breast.
Was he weeping? • Bhe had never in
all these years " seen him. thus moved,
His powerful frame seemed shaken to its
Innermost, center by the torrent ai ©mo-
Mon that swept over it,
inmost rudely, in his unconsciousness
to all but his own suffering, he repulsed
ter, only the next moment to be filled
vith remorse.
Conquering himself by a mighty effort, he drew her to him with gentle
Sorce.
"Forgive me, dear," h© said, softly,
"but never ask me to sing again, Marguerite. It only teaches me what I
might have been, and what I am. Think
what it would be if I had the money to
seach Italy! I could have the world at
my feet, Marguerite—I could be great
and famous. I know it—I feel it. But
2*- ©m chained here,,tending my herds
.and feeding my cattle, powerless to
teeak the chains. I need so much
money—so much.—and Z have so little.
- ISiough I sold all I have in the world, it
v©uM not bring me to my journey's end.
STo, no! I must give it all up; but
mever-^never ask me to sing again.1®
The girl answered him nothing, as
ahe stroked the hot brow with the httle,
sool hand, which, all browned and hardened as it was, fell very softly, very lov-
iagly. *    ■•
In her eyes he was a King, this shepherd lad. Instinctively she knew that
silence is oftentimes more healing than
speech; and, beside, a wonderful, daz-
jsling thought had crept into her. own
busy brain, and driven all lighter thoughi
away.
Still silently they rose, and walked
silently home. At the door of her little
ispttage, he stooped and kissed 'her on
the brow, as they stood beneath the
stars.
In two more months he was to share
her cottage—the home left her by her
dead parents—so they both had thought
scarce anhouragone. To-night, Marguerite knew differently.
How much would it bring, the sale of
this humble little shelter ?
It was this problem which banished
slumber through the long night hours.
It was solved three days later, when the
sum for its possession by straagfers lay
inter hands,.anH, added to it tho nest-
egg from the bank, made in the child's
-eyes a fortune.
What mattered it that she was beggared? It was for Hans' sake 1* It was
now her- turn -to be silent, as, hand-in-
hand, they^walked beneath the* gold-
.gtudded sky.,     .        •
She felt, for "the-first time, timid, almost afraid^ in his, presence* That she
had performed an act of almostlieroism,
ahe never dreamed.   He was a hero;
was but a little, humble maiden,
whose proudest duty was to servo him.
• ««Hans," she said at last, very softly,
" I have been thinking, dear, since the
other nightp and—and, Haas, we won't
bo married yet awhil©, A wife would
only pull you down, instead ©£ helping
you soar to the bh*ds9 where you belong.
I don't want you to think of me. I
want you to go away and study to be a
great singer"
In th© gloom, tho maa «ould see tha
pallor on the speaker's face, as it grew
reflected on his own.
s*Aia you mad, Marguerite?" heques-
tionedy at last. * '■ I've .©rushed the dream,
child! Don't Host it again b©for© my
toney."
' " Xou couldn't crush, it, Hans, for it is
q® dream, but a very part of yourself,
and tliat fe the highest, "noblest part!
Hor is it madness, Hans, See here!"
and she unloosed the string of a little
bag she held tightly clutched in her
trembling hands, and showed to his dazzled eyes the glittering gold pieces lying
on a snug httle pile of notes. . "It's
enough, Hans 1" she said, ia answer to
his gaze of utter bewilderment. "It's
more than what I heard you once say
would let you be taught for a whole
year.   And it's yours, Hans—ail yours."
And, as she spoke, she strove to thrust
the bag withia his grasp.
"Marguerite '"'--she«,shrank from the
sternness of his tone—"liow did you
get the gold?" ■" ■
"Honestly!" she answered, proudly.
" The gold was to have been my dowry;
the notes—I—-I- sold th© cottage for
those."
" You did this for me, and you think ;
so. meanly of me as that 1 would accept
suchasacrifi.ee?"
His voice quivered as he spoke.
"Hans, Iwas to have been your wife,"
sh© whispered, ""Who had the right,
if not I? Oh, I shall bo so proud—so
proud, some day, when you come back
for your littl© Marguerite and 1 shall be
the wife of th© great singer 1 The^r will
"point at me &nd say, 'Yes, h© married
this little nobody, this little Marguerite, but they say he loves her,'.andvthey
will think it strange that you should
lov© m© from your great height. But
you won't forget to do that, Hans—ever,
©ver—will you, my love?"
ssH©ver, .until my voice forgets its
I would pray %>d to still it f or-
, could my heart prove so false.
Bomething within me, Marguerite,r conquers myself. It is hope springing
within my breast. . T. will take your
moneys little on©, a sacrod debt.' Wait
for tm iwo yem&!lrfsmlem^---rsThenX will-.
getoia to give you richest payment. 'I
cwear it, and I s©al it with, mis kiss."
Haas ha4 gone,- and Marguerite was
leffe alone, ^h© lived now in one little
'coom, high up many stairs—up whieh
she toiled wearily ii^the evening's gloom.
There were no more restful walks under
the stars now. She might haye had
lovers, like othe? girls; but no—Hans
must find her without reproach on his
return. All day she had to labor from
early dawn, even, for the humble shelter
now hers. Sometimes she was hungry)
sometimes cold, but all mattered not to
her. Itwas for Hans' sake.
' The winter's icy breath but hastened
the spring's blossoms, and their first
fragrance would herald th© incoming
summer, which would make the year
complete feince Hans" had left, and then
there would only be another year to wait.
At long distances apart, letters came.
Oh, how eagerly Marguerite spelled
them out! She slept with them under
her pillow by night, and they sank and
fell with, every pulsation of her heart by
day. Labor grew light. She even forgot her loneliness, for they told her that
step by step Hans was nearing his goal.
Then there were weeks—aye, months
—when she heard nothing, and the
child's figure grew thin and her cheeks
pale, while every night she would run
breathlessly up to her room, only to
find the table vacant and that the postman had had no errand for her.
But one evening, .when she had si-
most given up hope—when the great
dread lest Hans should be ill, dying or
dead remorselessly shadowed her pathway—the silent messenger smiled her a
welcome. She' burst into a passion of
tears ere she broke tiie seal. It seemed
as though tiie joy must-kill her-.
But at last she. unfolded the-sheet,
when something white and fluttering
felhto th© ground. She stooped to pick
it up.
"What did it mean?- It was a little
slip, with some figures in one comer.
They represented the exact amount she
had given Hans. Bewildered, she turned
to the letter.   Its first words explained:
I pav you my debt. Think, my little love,
what it coBt us, yet I earned it—earned it.
Marguerite, on the very night of my debut. I
have sung, and people have listened. Hooked
about among all the laces—on all the young
and beautiful women, with their eyes fixed
upon me—but nothing inspired mie. Then I
'thought of you, ahd, looking straight into
space, ji forget them all, darling. There -was
your sweet, pale face floating in the air, your
blue eyes looking, not as theirs looked, but
down into my soul, and I sang to you,, darling
—to you. The flowers rained at my feet.
Great ladies tore the roses from their breasta -,
but I would have given them all,-darling, for
"one httle wild blossom your hand had plucked.
They say I will be rich and famous. I cannot
tell—the world is fickle. The village banker
will cash your order. But you need not buy
back the little home. I am coming for you
soon, to bring you, to a cage better worthy my
mountain-bird. ,
Again and again Marguerite read and
reread- the precious words. What cared
she for the; money? It had made Hans
great. ..-:.'•■' - •   ., ■
-^Going back to your native village—
you, who have the "world at your feet!"
: sighed one oi Florence's! most famous
"-beauties, as sh<3 looked into the young.
singer's eyes.
Six months had passed since he had
cQ ^tSao "CTaoJlSMeoS  Mem. 2el ttEiQ
"C7a:?Ki %7Eio ©esq© ■W&sKts^. fl«M? OS a
IZrzj-itt-'
- _ tSfe?sa the Washingtoa Capital.]
paid his debt to Marguerite, and still he
lingered. He had spent thrice the
amount since then on a trinket to clasp
some fair lady's arm. Bid he, in -holding it so lightly, forget tbat once it had
been a girl's all?   Why, then, did the       «m^V eaid the speaker," as Id} stood
sigh the lady uttered find a response in   ^i G Mead ness? a windlass % Vhich
Oo^otcck ;• "her© I used to stand-and
te}~ £©2 §8 a day, Seth Oook %as my
pQClED?, and he was paid §8 a day. Seth
GeAA, 'h now a large owhfer in the Stand-
cnJ. taiae Taad one of the-.riph men of the
Feiiila ©oast." The'speaker was John
Wc Allc._lxsyi the bonanza king, one of
•-&e richest mea -in tiie world.   He is a
Ms own. breast?
" It is duty which calls me."
"Duty!" she murmured. " Ar© you
sure it is not mistaken duty ? All your
lif© has changed, Herr Werter. If, in
its early time, you pledged it to some
rustic maiden, think—could she fill its
measure now?"
Th5 beauty's voico trembled. _ The
cool softness of her flesli pressed lightly
against his burning palm.
"And i£ I.-giv© her up," he said,
"what"thaa'? You will bs mine ? "
But the. "Yes" sh© .uttered was
hushed by the inacbaess of his Masee.;
And Marguerite watched and tyaited.
He was coming, therefor© he did not
write, ;
is great aow, Marguerite;  he
has forgotten you,','r the gossips, said;
while sh© turned her back upon them,
M the hottest wrath her gentle spirit had
ever, known, that they dared thus malign him,,
It was'the fiecoad ssmivorsasy
db.ywHchwas fc© kav&.eelebrated
wedding, wiiea fchey burst into
Oi
the
lies
her
room.
©xzo
IIA<DKAYo
•Aasppk} tsJHsh, well-knit man of 47,
"ttajb r> olesn, welt-marked face, showing
de'&ooa. ^nd..|ffinkliess. His hair and
m^teah© are browii, tinged with gray.
'Sic qjq is keen and penetrating, his skin
is--."ruddy, wlholesom© and vascular,
fesuied with Hevada sunshine and
qfe;media the Turkish-bath tempera-
inzuM the lower level of theComsfcock
iaSo, ^ ."What impresses one about the
SQ is that there is nothing wasted in
Msi | he is all muscle and nerve, and
tjhowo temperate, and .careful habits.
"WA^n he walks it is with, the sure, agile
i^sArAoi the leopard or the lynx—like
-'©i.=> who might spring afc any moment.
^..■aee ig & joyous element in the man,
yliA would be winning were its owner
&ik.J a ©ab-driver instead of the. master
©£• safflions.'. He Speaks with a half
*JBfcaas?aesv which afc mat impresses one as
faewg the slownegs of a man who delib-
^aafces while he speaks. This isthe bonan-
W& Hag as he stands afc your side," look-
is.;? out over the brown Nevada hills.
%m miners come up and speak to ViiTn
oajl call him John, and there is between
tlieai a sens© of command, blended with
* esaaradeship, which appe&rs odd to
" laekopolitan eyes,
.^orty-seyen years ago,- as thereabouts,
Selm W, Mackay was born in Dublin,
>]o% cadie'to Ifew York in his youth, and
gamboled around the Oity Hall Park in
ife pastoral days, ahd was not uahappy
xrlmn a blase theater-goer gave hinn a
«h£ck for the "Bash Theater. Among
©tile's sights, he used to look with won-
#4« upon a famous man striding upHas-
Sipx street from the old postoffice* with a
„ *. .".."." arm.
!&ijB was James Gordon Bennett,, then a
et-;io3ity even to boys, and the work
tf:vieh he was doing was building up the
If 57? York Merald, California came in
enticing, golden splendor' out of the
oiaices of Swiss Sutter's mill, and young
i'^'a-ck&y went with all tlie world to ISf-
jl^?2.&o. About this time there went two
s j*. -leys cn the came errand.   One was an
44 di<J we not
tell you so?" pointing, as fchey spoke^
to the paragraph in the paper, which
announced tiie betrothal of Herr Werter
aad the greatest beauty in all Florence.
44 lieave me," she said afc last,- when
they looked to ses what she would do,
" I wish to be alone."
But one of kinder heart, after some
hours had passed, stole back into the
darkened room.
The child lay tossing in delirious fever, and the physician, when called,
shook his head.
The strain had been too great, he said.
She must die!
On the third day after, as the watchers
sat about the bed, a step sounded on the
stairs. A man, stained with the dust of
travel, burst impetuously into the room.
ered the import of tiie scene before him.
"Idid but falter," he cried, fidling on
his knees beside her bedside. "I came
back, my wild German daisy, to tell you
so. Oh! Marguerite, is it thus I pay my
debt?"
Then, as though that voice must penetrate even the mists of fever, the blue
eyes.opeaedj &.wonderful ecstafcJIgM,;^^.^;;:- .   ^v-,-^ ■ A^a«" &t«ii-,»»
O'Brien, as all Oalifbniia'Jcame to call
him. . Billy had a partner—a strong-
headed, resolute New York lad, who
cam© from the Broderick section of New
York, and had in him all that immense
capacity of doing and daring which gave
Broderick national fame. Billy's partner is now known as James G. Flood, of
the "Flood & O'Brien firm," whose phenomenal success was to make all the
*world wonder.
Maqkay went his way, as everybody
did in those feverish days. He lived in
mining camps, he slept on the ground,
he picked and scratched and washed the
gravel in running streams; he had his
ups and  downs; he had all that was
in their depths.
"Hans," she whispered—"Hans!
Forgive me f®r tha doubt which killed
me!"
' And with the words—a dagger-thrust
in his own remorseful heart—the spark
of life flickered and went out.
Marguerite was dead. She who had
lived for him died for him. They found
the paper he had sent her among his
letters.
Thus had he redeemed his debt! An
empty slip" of paper, worthless to all, to
return to him, but bearing the interest
of a broken heart.
Mtervi©wimgo .
Interviewing has reached its lowest
depth when we find newspaper reporters
dancing attendance on a cat's-meat man.
Yet this is what has happened in Arner-.
ica, and we are compelled to confess
that the reporter found the purveyor of
Bkewered victuals far more interesting
than most of the notabilities who are
interviewed on the public behalf. The
particular " cat-man " was indeed somewhat of a hero-^one of the self-made
men of whom cities are so proud when
they die. It appears that when he began catering for pussy he went his
rounds himself, but he has now grown so
prosperous that four assistants carry-his
baskets for him. His cat customers do
not heed the change, for they remark
only the quality of the meat purveyed
and not fche quality of the purveyor.
Left to themselves, the animals, though
having the run of large warehouses,
would starve, for American rats and
mice will not remain in dry-goods storeB,
which are lean livings, so long as they
have choice of fatter incumbencies; but,
mice or no mice, the cat is an institution,
and so the " cat-man " drives a thriving
trade. A wicked rival tried to ruin our
hero by hawking fish instead of meat,
and pretending to pussy's owners that,
as fish contained much phosphorus, and
phosphorus made brains, no one could
expect to have a really-smart cat that
was not fed upon fish. But the "cat-
man " promptly checkmated his rival by
distributing a handbill to the effect that
fish made cats mangy, whereas meat
gave them sleek and glossy coats.' As
proved in the sequel, the New Yorkers
prefer fat cats to smart ones, and the
fish fellow had no chance against his antagonist.—London Telegraph.   '
Denver People.
A Denver correspondent of the Hartford Times says: To discriminate in
speaMng of society here is to prepare tp
receive the censure of some and tiie approval of others; but your correspondent
can .safely assert that it is decidedly a
mixture. Culture is not a necessary
qualification. It would seem thgt wealth
is taken for an equivalent for education
and .refinement. Bec'ent- discoveries in
the mines have made "bonanza kings,"
and paved the way to social as well as
official position. But this city is not
alone in this respect. During the day
tiie city is thronged witii people rushing
to and! fro, all .full of business or cares of
some kind. Let it be great or small
business, a man goes. about it just tiie
sanae as if his success depended on fchf
day's work. This is a "noted characteristic of the average Denverite.
gay, all that was golden in Eldorado
life, and then he came with his pick and
his blanket to the Nevada mountains..
In the meantime Billy O'Brien and his
partner had tired of the sage-brush.
Giving up mining, they went to San
Francisco and into business. The young
Irishman made their acquaintance. He
had found some good prospects and they
had some money. A hard-headed,
smooth, discreet engineer became known
to them, by name Fair. He was a man
to be considered, and the result was that
.four men—Mackay, Flood, O'Brien and
Fair—made that business compact
known as the Bonanza firm, which is
aow a ruling power in our Pacific empire. In the firm Mackay owns two-
fifths, and, as tiie head of the Bonanza
Srm, is kaowa as the Bonanza Mag.
Whales.
The birthday of whales is celebrated
occasionally in the public schools like
that o£ -the poets. The. following is a
little girl's composition prepared lately
for that "occasion:
"Whales is big fish.   Whale3 live a
long time and don't die when they get
"   "      railroad whale here a
old.   We^had a
little time ago, just for show.
don't  always  travel  that way.
Whales
,    They
but whales ain't like mo^t people
"A good while ago people-used to
make light of whales, but they don't
some now; 'tain't quick enough. Thi1.
lamps won't blowup.
" We wouldn't have no newspapers if
it wasn't for coal oil, and railroads, and
pistols and so forth; 'cause there wouldn't be no news.
" Whales is like shoes—right and left.
Our raUroad whale was a right whale.
Sometimes a whale gets left when the
tide goes out—kind of untied. Maybt-
there is other kind of whales. Some of
the boys catch 'em in school, but I don \
like that kind, they ain't interestin' to
girls."
J&atches.
The invention of matches was a hap-
pythought, and is thus told by the inventor: "I used to get up at 4= o'clock-
in the morning to pursue my studies,
and I used • at .that time .the flint $nd.
.steel, in tbe use of which I found great
inconvenience., I gave lectures in chemistry at the time at a large academy. Of
course I knew, ,as other chemists did,
the explosive material "that was necessary to produce instantaneous light, but it
was difficult to obtain a light on wood by
tMt mixture,'aad the idea occurred to
me to put sulphur in the mixture. I did
so, and told about it. and showed it in
my next lecture. There was a young
man in the room whose father was a
"chemist in London, and he at once wrote
to him about it, and soon afterward lucifer matches were issued to the world.
I was urged to go and take out a patent
immediately, but I thought it so small a
matter, and it cost me so little labor,
that I did not think proper to get a patent, although I have no dou'bt it would
have been very profitable." The name
of this inventor of matches is Mr. Holden, and he is an Euglishman.
A Poetfs Steiyo
A correspondent of the Louisville
Courier-Journal, who has been visiting
Mr. Longfellow's home, writes: "If the
influence of surroundings can be felt in
conversation it stireiy might in that
delightful apartment; the room where
most of Mr. Longfellojv's poems have
been written, and where many of his
souvenirs are gathered from abroad and
distant parts of this country. It is
large and square and has several windows in it. These are carved book-cases
(one of which is filled with Ms own
works), portraits of his literary friends
in their youth,'and two of "himself—c^a
token at the age of twenty, the .other recently—some venerable cabinets, plenty
of easy-chairs, etc. In one corner, between two windows, each having a wide
and varied prospect, is his writing-desk,
heaped witii papers. I paused there a
moment and looked out on the hills and
the trees, as if to catch some mementc
of the inspiration that has Uome to the
poet in that particular plaee. In the
center of the room is a large square table,
laden with many object®. The inkstand
used by Wordsworth (I think), some
rare books, notably a copy of the first
edition of Bryant's poems, some "Venetian vases, filled with newly cut flowers,
etc., etc. As Mr. Longfellow talked
with me of- Hawthofn and Emerson, he
pointed to their portraits—and of many,,
other authors and authoresses, English,
German, Italian* and American—it was
delightful to find that he expressed
himself so kindly of all. Of course. I
was eager to hear' him talk, and suggested topics, if he paused with, infinite
courtesy for me to express ah opinion.
In speaking bf Dante, he went, ,to a
carved oak box and unlocked it, from
which he brought forth a little glass case,
in which are some • bits of . the great
Italian's coffin. After a while he showed
me the lower part of his house, the
drawing-room, with its objects of art,
and the stair-case,  wliere
a tall Dutch
clock rest3 on the landing—not 'The
(yiosk... ?s\ _i]?.e, ^t,fis'-cr.r"f.'\„bnt c^iiprc
fancifhl one' that - 'Esd • nialf©sit-' :xhe ~oiu~
clock's place. It is a quaint house, not
elegant, but more than thafc, it is charming, homelike, and telling, as everything
in it gives one an idea of its unusual occupation. One would hardly believe it
could be one hundred and fifty years old.
Washington lived in it nine months.
His offiee was the room used by Mr...
Longfellow as his study. Most of th&
rooms are as Washington left them in
shape, although solne trifling alterations
have been made. On the east side of
fche house is a, broad piazza, where the
poet loves to walk. He still writes and
works as though he was a young man.
He is vigorous, and bids fair for many
years to come to enjoy the honors winch
his talents and industry have created f of
him.
The I'orelieaSo
The upright forehead, with ite various
modifications of squareness and partial
curving, generally denotes the sound
and noble understanding, as opposed to
the retreating form, which indicates the ■■
precise reverse. • A merely high forehead
does not, however, imply a good forehead ; for the form, proportion, sloping,
height, arching and position of the bone
of the forehead, are teste of the mental
power and character. Even tiie color
and smoothness" of the skin, together
with the lines of the wrinkles, must be
taken into account, for they express the
passions and state of the mind. A perfect forehead should be one-third of the
whole face, or equal to the nose in
height, the covering skin clearer than
fche .rest of the face, and smooth and free
from wrinkles, yet have the power of
wrinkling in deep thought, anger or
pain. A forehead, to be perfect, should
be, when seen in the profile, neither too
upright nor too retreating. The higher
the forehead, the more comprehension and less .activity. The more compressed, firm and short,, if nofc too short,
the more concentrated and firm the
character. The more curved the top,
the more flexible and gentle the charac-.
ter ; while the less eurved—that is, tlie
more square the top, the more determination, perseverance and sternness.
If the forehead is perfectly upright from
the eyebrows to the roots of the hah',
there will be a deficient understanding;
while a projecting forehead will denote
imbecility, immaturity, weakness or stupidity, according as modified by the
other features. On the other hand, the
upright forehead, which is gently arched
at the top, denotes a calm, cold, deep
. thinker.
Solemn Thoughts.
• '•' Be jabers," said Patrick O'Bafferfcy,
as he was reading about a case of sui-'
rcide; " be jabers, if iver I take me own
life it will be wid chloroform."
" Nivir do the loike of that, Pat,".said :
Mrs. O'Bafferty, "for yer-.inimies will
biing.it np agin ye aftherward as long as',
ye'live." ,.
"Iknow all that, but little I'll care.'
It's the best w?.y. to doi, for ye see, Mrs-
O'Bafferty, ye just doze off,, and ye don'-t
aven know ye are dead till yer wake upland rade about it'in the-papers.'!
"That's'thrue/' said Mrs. O'Bafferty,
• vileninly, and the subject was dropped
1POTL AI® ffiWffo
"Kxtm words zse bsldhesdecL
can never dye.
The popular figure ia fche Germaa la
the female figure.
Wbx is an innkeeper Mk© a mulfcifcud©
of people?   Bemuse he's a &&g£.hisa--
self^.^ '       -...
Why is a bookbinder. like ehsrifrf 1
Because he very often covers a sauM««
tude of faults. -"*"*.
4'4 Fabs but false/' as the conductor
observed when the passenger fces^dessci
him fe lead nickel.
Noah was a pretty muscular sort of %
-fellow. On one occasion a© evea weafc
so far as to pitch the ark.       .. .  ,
Maot a maa, says the Hew YceS
News, is open to conviction, who ougM
to be, but never is, convicted,    %
Thb Philadelphia Chronicle.fays ifc is
a mistaken impression to suppose fchafc
dyed eggs are lai$. by sick hens.
" 'Tis hard fco part from those we"
love"—and sometimes it is even more
difficult to get away from those we doa'fc
love. '
■' A Kswiiy-MAEBIED couple wete'sifc--
sing in- a palace car, when she said8
" Georgie, ain't you glad? We're ;re*l&-
tivesnow."
"Bows, ye Bomans," quoted fch©
poetical smith, as he sat in the gallerys
looking on at the proceedings of m®
United States Senate.
"You don't know how it pains me fco
punish you," said the teacher.. SSI
guess there's the most pain at my end oS
the stick," replied the boy, feelingly.
44'T any rate, I'd be willing to awap."
*" Thebe !" said Mrs. Bagbag- 6*Tv©
tried four times to give that shirt away,
and it's so worthless nobody'11; take it,
But I'll get rid of it I I'll leave it oufc
on the clothes-line to-night."
. " 0h,5dear I" exelaim'pd Edith, fco her
■doll, "I do wish y6u would sit still. I
never saw such, an uneasy thing in sll
my life. Why don't you act like grown
folks, and be' still and stupid for ss
while?"
4'Maud " sends us a poem beginning;
The moontaams shiver uppii the river, t
The rippleB qui verta ecstasy |
The crickets' staillness usurps ihe stjllneee,
And dewy. chiUnessis on the ie&
If this is so, Maud, yOu had better quifc
writing, put on your lixer-pad and go to
bad,—Graphic. .   ..'
Is England rivers &11 are male's,
I'or instance, Father Thameo.
Whoever to. Columbia eai b
3?did thaiii ma'amselles, or dames,
yes, thexv the coSter ees prfcsidea
Ak exchange says Unit of ihe SO 3
young ladies attending Yassar College
ao two can agree as to what they would
do in case they saw a bear. W© maybe"
sure of one thing, however—they
wouldn't permit . themselves to„ be
hugged unless the bear brought 'good
references. .^
A wkteeb in Appleions1 Journal occupies several pages of that publication
in an effort to prove that there is no
such thing as womanly intuition. Some
night when this gentleman comes home
aboufc 13 o'clock and tries to sneak into
bed without having his breath smell he
will discover the fallacy of his theory.
The music certainly is nice to hear,
But, when one waltzes, not so -well 'tis heard.
There'B nothing intellectual, 'tie clear,
In danciiig.   Doesn't it appear absurd ?
Oh, there's uo dignity or common sense
In doing ao. • To all of these assaults
The fun is open.   Here is its defense:
It's bang-up fun 1   Mies Dora, will youdanca?
An English lawyer went into a barber's shop to procure a wig. In taking
the dimensions of the lawyer's head the
barber exclaimed: "Why, how long
your head is, sir!" " Yes," replied the
■legal gentleman, "we lawyers must
have long heads." The barber proceeded with Ms vocation, but at length exclaimed ; ."Why, sir, your head is as
thick as it is long!" Blackstone winced.
"Lookhere, Mr. Gilhooly, you have
been telling me now for a whole year
that you would pay me for those boots.
What do you think about it now?"
"Well," responded Gilhooly, good-
naturedly, "I should say that where
there is so much smoke there ought to
be some fire." *'I am afraid not, Mx.
Gilhooly. I think it will end in smoke."
"I am glad, for your sake, that I am of
a more hopeful disposition than you
are," responded Gilhooly, moving tha
previous question.—Galveston News.
Mtigatiug Circumstances.
Uncle Mose was up before the Galveston Becorder yesterday for giving his
son, Abe Linkum, an ..unmerciful beating. As Old Mose is notorious fas being a quiet, kind-hearted man, the Becorder was anxious to know what the
provocation was, and he put that question direct. *
" De troof am jest as I am guine ter
tell yer. Las' Sunday mornin' I lathered
my face aH ober and went to shave myself. De razor jest tore my chin all tier
pieces, so dat I had ter yell out. Abe
Linkum, dat ar'young cub, spoke up
and says: ' What's de matter, daddy?'
X says, '■ Dis heah razor don't cut wuff a
cent.' Now, Jedge, what does yer allow
dat boy paid back ter me? "
"Ican't imagine," replied   the  Ee-(
cdrder. ' ..
s.c Well, sah, he says: 'Daddy, 1 don't
see wiiy dat ar ra?or ain't fharp enough.
. to cut deHitfcle" tuf ts'el'fes ef wool bffen
your chin, wlieii dis moriiin' I cut a big
stick of wood in two wid dat same-razor,
to Shake me "a bow Bid arrer/   Dat was
inoali den j could'stand, so I jest lit in
on dat boy wid a cheer leg."
,> <(<£lftse dismissMj" said the B?.corder;
.■who; shaves himself.—-(^alve.?toih News'.
"•i Give us thfem'ah who oan sympathize
heartily and'impartigMy with a vast variety oipharacters^ .»    , . •.-. v • %