The Sunday Oregonian., July 21, 1901, PART FOUR, Page 27, Image 27

' F. '4KwSn-
yW
jris."T
THE SUNDAY OEEGONIAN, PORTLAND, JULY 21, 1901.
27
ioa
FVMMY
THINGS
IN
y' w
v
RUCTIONS IN THE CLASS
She Is (Yonng and Enthusiastic, hut
Snnflay School Pickaninnies
'Arc Not in -Her Line.
The daughter of a man prominent in
"Washington, D. C. had taught a Sunday
school class for years, and, being used
to colored servants, flattered herself that
she understood jthe negro . temperament.
So, -when a "Washington friend who taught
a class of negro children in the poorer
quarter of, the town was taken ill and
obliged to miss a Sunday, the young
woman of experience -blithely volunteered
as substitute teacher.
"They are awfully ignorant little dark
ies," remarked her friend.
"Of course."
"And they don't always behave well."
"Now, don't worry for a minute. I
.reckon I can manage a roomful of pick
ninnies." So the matter was arranged. Then he
substitute teacher betook herself to earn
est thought. She wanted to make a hit
with the children, and she didn't intend
to be tied down to any biblical order of
sequence. She would pick out a lesson
whenever she could find one to suit the
emergency. The only problem was the
choosing of the chapter that would prove
most thrilling and appeal most strongly
to the juvenile darky.
- I'rcpnrcs Hcrelf.
The teacher-elect went at the question
intelligently. What did the negroes like
most? she asked herself. She meditated
a long time and nvent back over her ex
periences. Finally she decided that long
names, gorgeousness and heat were as
dear to the darky heart as anything In the
world
This fact being established, she ran a
mental eye over the chapters of the Bible.
At Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego she
stopped in triumph. There was a subject
ready to her hand long names, pomp and
circumstance, fiery furnace and all.
She studied diligently, and on Sunday
morning sallied forth full of enthusiasm.
In a stuffy little room on a narrow alley
she found 15 preternaturally solemn little
darkles waiting for her. They rolled their
eyes at her arrival and looked a shade
more solemn.
The teacher felt a thrill of pleasure at
the thought of the coming triumph. She
had decided, that, since -grandeur was be
loved of the colored race, she would
preface, the entry of Shadrach, Meshach
and Abednego by a vivid description of
the magnificence and extravagance of
the times. Then, having captured the at
tention of her pupils, she would go on to
the men of Imposing names and the fiery
iurnace.
Her Hearers Interested.
Her reasoning was good, but her knowl
edge of pickaninny nature was defective.
She began her description of the times.
Rapt attention. Then, unfortunately, she
was moved to talk of golden images, and
she asked a question.
"Did any of you ever see a golden im
age?" she asked.
Of course, she said to herself, no one
could have seen a golden image, but the
interrogative form chains childish atten
tion. She reckoned without her audience.
The question had hardly left her lips be
fore a fat little darky on the front seat
held up his hand and tumbled breathless
ly Into speech.
"Yes, lady; I done seen golden image
big as de don."
The boy next to him gave him a vicious
nudge.
"G'way, you, niggah! I seen image big
Jjah'n dis room," said the second boy.
They were off. Every child in the class
had lived a life full of golden images.
Each image mentioned was bigger than
the last; each voice was louder than the
last. v
The teacher gasped and tried to still the
tumult, but she was helpless against the
storm she had raised. The air was full
of golden images.
Golden Images as big as the White
House, as big as the Capitol, rained upon
her. Verbal contest led to brute force.
The assertions of image-seers were empha
sized, by hair-pulling and slapping. Shad
rach, Meshach and Abednego never had a
chance to show their heads. The class
broke up In a row.
t Take Flight.
When she saw most of her pupils en
gaged In a free-for-all on the floor, amid
a- babel of image testimony, the teacher
gathered up her belongings and fled. As
she escaped through the door she heard
albud voice insisting:
"I seen a gold'n image big enough tuh
put de Wash n ton monument in his
pocket."
""You don't want to get a negro Sunday
school class too much Interested right at
the start," says the ambitious teacher,
sadly. New York Sun.
NEIGHBORHOOD HAPPENINGS.
Ye Festive Editor of the Hickory
Ridge Mlssourinn on Tap.
Pay your taxes.
Mow down your dog fennel.
Vinegar Creek catfish are ripe.
Morg Pettibono auctioned off' his cattle
yesterday.
Curt Henshaw got kicked in the face
by a colt last Friday.
Mort Guthridge has shaved off his mus
tache. He looks like a peeled onion.
Don't forget the new Porto Rico molas
ses Just received and for sale at Scallen
berger's. The genial Lige Adkinson has come back
here to live. He says Punkton Is no place
for a barber shop.
Aunt -Hepsy Garslde fed a tramp the
other day, and in return ho gave her the
measles. Kindness is its own reward.
Rev. Verdigris and Rev. Mlllsap will ex
change pulpits next Sunday. There will
he another baptizing at the Turtle Ford
church.
You don't want to forget the ice cream
"soda, right fresh off the North Pole, for
E cents a glass, at Harklnson & Son's
drug store, near the postofllce corner.
We regret that we are compelled to send
out a half sheet this week on account
of the failure of our patent lnsldes to
arrive on time. We will try and not let
this happen again.
The miserable skunk who ekes out a pal
try existence by editing the Hawvllle
Clarion was in town last Monday trying
to drum, up advertising among our enter
prising merchants. We understand he
-went back home with a flea In his ear.
Vhu we cet so we have to buzz the
merchants of Hawvllle to make a living,
we'll give it up and go and hang ourself
on a crap apple tree. A word to the wise
is sufficient. Chicago Tribune.
MA GRANTED HER CONSENT.
But the Young: Man Really Greatly
Needs Advice.
It was the second time that the hero of
the story had accompanied the young lady
home. She asked him if he wouldn't come
In. He said he would.
Sarah took his hat, told him to sit down,
and left the room.
JShe had hardly gone before her mother
came in, smiled sweetly, and, dropping
down beside the young man, said:
"I always did say that if a poor but
respectable young man fell In love with
our Sarah he should have my consent.
The young man started with alarm!
"She has acknowledged to me that she
loves you," continued the mother, "and
whatever Is for her happiness is for mine."
"I I haven't " stammered the young
man.
"Oh, never mind; make no apology. I
know you haven't much money, but, of
course, you'll live In my house."
"I had no idea of " he began.
"I know you hadn't, but it's all Tight,"
continued Sarah's mama, reassuringly.
"With your wages and what the boarders
will bring in, we shall get along as com
fortably as possible."
The young man's eyes stood out like
hat pegs, and he rose up and tried to say
something.
"Never mind about thanks," she cried;
"I don't believe in long courtships. The
20th of May is my birthday, and it would
be nice for you to be married on that
day."
"But but but " he gasped.
"There, there! I don't expect ,any re
ply." she laughed. "I'll try and be a
model mother-in-law. I believe I'm good
tempered and kind hearted, though I did
once follow a young man -a couple of
hundred miles with a broomstick for
agreeing to marry my daughter and then
backing out of the engagement."
' She patted him on the head and sailed
out.
And now the young man wants advice.
He wants to know whether he had better
get in the way of a locomotive or jump
off the nearest bridge. Exchange.
Unmasked nt Last.
They were quietly passing the sundown
of their years. He had lived his three
score and ten, while she was but four
years his junior. People pointed .them out
as an Ideal married couple.
Once as they looked through some old
relics of their young married days the
wife came upon an old smoking jacket and
held It up for him to see. Both recog
nized It as a preset she had made for
him shortly after tafy were married. As
she turned it over, he lapsed Into a reve
rie. Again there .seemed to rest on him
the. sweet old glamour of the honeymoon.
Suddenly he was called from abstraction
by the utterance of his own name in
dangerous tones:
"Henry!"
He turned quickly. His wife's palsied
hand held a letter which she had found in
th pocket of that old smoking jacket. It
was addressed In her girlish hand to her
mother.
"Henry," she said sternly, "you told me
you mailed this letter to mamma, and
here it's been in your pocket since 1S50."
Philadelphia Inquirer.
An "Edited" Telegram.
One of the most ludicrous mistakes
made by the telegraph was In a telegram
from Brisbane to a London news agency.
As it reached London it read:
"Governor general twins first son,"
which the news agency "edited" and
sent around to the papers in the fol
lowing form:
"Lady Kennedy, the wife of Sir Arthur
Kennedy, Governor-General of Queens
land, yesterday gave birth at Govern
ment House, Brisbane, to twins, the first
born being a son."
The telegram was published by most
of the newspapers in London and the
Provinces, and caused an unexpected
sensation. Sir Arthur's friends pointed
Rain in the "Woods.
Whn on the leaves the rain Insists,
And every gust brings showers down;
When all the woodland smokes wKh mists,
I take the old road out of town
Into the hills through which it twists.
I find the vale where catnip grows.
Where boneset blooms, with wetness bowed;
The vale through which the red creek flows
Turbid with hill-washed clay, and loud
As some strange horn a wlldman blows.
Like knots upon the gray-barked trees
The lichen-colored moths are pressed;
And, wedged In hollow blooms, the bees
Seem clotted pollen; In Its nest
The hornet creeps and lies at case.
The butterfly and forest bird
Are huddled on the same gnarled bough.
From which, like some raln-voweled word
That dampness hoarsely utters now.
The tree toad's voice is vaguely heard.
I crouch and listen; and again
The woods are Ailed for me with forms
Weird, elfln shapes in train on train
Arise; and now I feel the arms
Around me of the wraiths of rain.
O wraiths of rain! O trailing mist!
Still fold me, hold me, and pursue!
Still let my lips by yours be kissed!
Still draw me with your hands of dew
Unto the tryst, the dripping tryst!
Madison Caweln In June Atlantic
Alone.
Tho days are long, at night there gleams no
star.
No smiling face to me is from the window
turned.
No happy greeting comes from past the door
ajar
The cook is late and lets the hash get
burned.
The house is silent; In its cage her bird
Mute vigil keeps, as sorrows some recluse:
The flowers she loves are by no breezes
stirred
Her pet dog's made a meal of both my shoes.
The stairs gave back no echo of her busy feet,
The hall Is gloomy, and its darkness mocks
My searching for a form and being sweet
I can't find one of six new pairs of socks!
Tet still I feel her presence in the air.
My heart a song of love and longing chants.
And memory paints her still as young and
fair,
I wonder where she put my Sunday pants!
Nashville American.
Little Sweetheart Boy.
, Denver Times.
Hain't got no name as I know of
'Ccpt th' one give him In Joy,
'Cept the one given him by Love
Jes our Little Sweetheart Boy.
I like to listen thro th' dark,
'Tls a pleasure 'thout alloy.
For to set an smoke an' hark
To th' laugh of Sweetheart Boy.
It Is a Joy to you unknown,
'TH your heart is made a toy
By a youngun an your own.
Jes' a Little Sweetheart Boy.
Fer if fer me th' whole world laid
At my feet with heaven's Joy,
Fer them all I wouldn't trade
Jes" our Tiltt1a SwoatJvt p".
ILLUSTRATED TITLED "WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN."
: ':-" - " &r'' ' lMwJK'
out with conclusive force that someone
had blundered, as there never was a
Lady Kennedy, Sir Arthur being a bach
elor. The repeat message which fol
lowed, read: "Governor-General turns
first sod," referring to a railway cere
mony. San Francisco Argonaut.
The Brute!
She -pictured his room with her pho
tograph smiling down at him from over
the mantel, while another of her pic
tures looked demurely at him from a
leather case on the dresser. She could
see him often standing In front of her
mrrrored likeness and making vows of
constancy and fidelity. She knew he
would rather part with anything he had
than those pictures. But they had quar
reled and she felt she must ask him to
return her photographs and she wrote
to him accordingly.
When she received his reply she nearly
fainted. Here is what the wretch wrote:
"Dear Mabel: I would like awfully
much to return your pictures, but hon
estly, you girls all dress and pose so
much alike for pictures that I can't tell
any two of you apart. If you like I
will send you over three or four hundred
pictures that I have of miscellaneous
girls and you can pick yours out. Hoping
this will be satisfactory, I am sincerely,
etc., etc." Chicago Record-Herald.
POEMS
Dawn at Venice.
Martha Gilbert Dickinson, In Scribner's Mag
azine. One burnished cloud first turned a Jagged
prow
The consctous water nestled deep among
Her murky gondolas, that, bow on bow,
Freighted with shadows, at the molo swung.
Soon palace and canal paled into sight.
Fainting as watchers whose long vigil
wanes;
Till Dawn's approach across the waves of
night
Flushed the rose blood in sleeping Venice's
veins.
Then up the dazzling steps that lead to God,
One radiant sunbeam and a lone white
dove '
Santa Maria's holy threshold trod
A shrine of morning lit by Light and
Love!
Loud warned the chime to mass o'er quay
and home .
Calling soft flocks of doves to meet the
day
'Mid sculptured saints and angels 'round the
dome.
While market women followed in to pray.
The Fish Is Goln' to Bite.
When the shadders thicken evenln's,
An the fireflies kinder shine,
An' the wind is softly moanln
Through the hemlock an the pine;
When the crickets are a-chlrpln'.
An the frogs 1I croak at night.
Then you'd best be gettln' ready
For the fish Is goln to bite.
When It comes roun time for seedln
An there's breakln to be done
An you've got to put In garden.
An' a thousand thing In one,
An' you feel a kinder Itchln',
An' you can't explain It quite,
Then you'd best be getting ready
For the fish Is goln to bite.
When the days are gettln longer.
An' the bees 'mongst the flowers,
An the world lookln fresher
Watered by the April showers;
When the lilacs are a-buddln
An' the crocus cups In sight.
Then you'd best be gettln ready
For the flsh Is goln' to bite.
Claude HlUel, in Field and Stream.
Good Over All.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox, In the Cosmopolitan.
On the river of life as I float along,
I see with the spirit's sight
That many a nauseous weed of wrong
Has root in a seed of right.
For evil is good that has gone astray,
And sorrow is only blindness.
And the world is always under the sway
Of a changeless law of kindness.
The commonest error that truth can make
Is shouting its sweet voice hoarse,
And sin Is only the soul's mistake
In misdirecting its force.
And love, the fairest of all fair things,
That ever to man descended.
Grows rank with nettles and pols'nous sting:
Unless It is watched and tended.
There could not be anything better than this
Old world In the way It began.
And though some matters have gone amiss,
From the great original plan.
And however dark the skies may appear.
And however souls may blunder,
I tell you It all will work out clear
Mik JMKE!!i&,-,-- .Ms. -
OVERHEARD AT MATINEE
'It "Was Such a Dreadful Experience,
Don't You Know.
"When they play those 'Lohengrin
things it always makes me think of the
day Jack and I marched down the aisle
to Its strains, only It wasn't a march, good
ness gracious sakes alive! It was a quick
step or a gallop. Jack was late, you
know they had an awful time waking
him up, it seems, and, mercy on us! when
he did come he was pantingumd. put of
breath, and his frock coathung on him
just like a bag for all the world, but
"Such a nervous time as I had of it
waiting for him, too! I was all dressed,
of course, hours and hours before the
time, and there I sat waiting with the
big bunch of flowers in my hands, feeling
like some kind of crazy Ohpella! And
the worst of it was my poor old grand
father had just arrived that morning. He
was old, you know, and deaf, and forget
ful, and all that, and he went wandering
around the house, and they didn't have
any better place to put him, and so they
WORTH READING
Summer Dawn.
Moonlit, the dawn without my casement grows,
Showing a hushed new world my sense
scarce knows.
Where Nature seems to stand with folded hands
In dew-pearled fields, awaiting God's com
mands Amid a silence that like angels' wings
Is spirit-lifting near the heart of things.
All Jar and fret of earth are shut away;
-All life seems life renewed with coming day.
Wanes fast the silver of the moon to pearl,
As 'mid dawn's gray the opal tints unfurl
Like banners for the coming day, that grows
From opal tintlngs Into liquid rose.
Unrolls the scroll recording angels keep;
A pure white blank amid the silence deep;
A whiteness that the sunset hour will see
Writ o'er by earth, to mar its purity.
A low first piping of the bird-song thrills
Tho strange hushed silence, as beyond tho
hills
The faint moon sinking down the western way
Shows but a cloudy globe, in skies of gray.
Low in the east, all through the ruby-glows,
A gleaming, ever deep'ning glory grows.
A liquid sea It pours through gates of brass.
That set a-glltter all the dew-gemmed grass.
From out the south there comes a straying
breeze
That whispers soft unto the leaves and trees;
And wand'ring down, It wakes the dreaming
fiowers, '
To- scatter Incense for the coming hours.
Clear ringing now beneath the gilded skies
The happy matin songs of birds arise,
As o'er the wakened fields the first gold ray
Of sunlight floods' the earth with new-born day.
Boston Transcript.
Her John."
Frank L. Stanton in Atlanta Constitution.
, r-
My John don't go where the great folks be,
But the way ho goes Is the way for me.
An' the sweetest flowers In that way I see
Forever.
II.
My John' ain't rich as the world couut3
gold.
But his loVe for me, since the days of old.
Is all the riches my arms would hold
Forever.
in.
i Sorrow is frequent, an' troubles throng,
An the world goes right, an the world goes
wrong.
But ( our hearts are singln' the same sweet
song
Forever.
IV. ' '
An hope Is ours, an faith we'll keep,
Whether we smile, or whether we weep,
'Till under the lilies of Love we sleep
- Forever.
Convicted.
Edwin L. Sabln, In tho Chautauquan.
"There is no God!" he, mocking, said; "be
hold. Honor have I, and happiness, and gold.
Abundantly from day to day I live.
What more, I ask of you, has God to give?"
And so ho went his way until that night
Which comes at last, when all our fancied
might
From out our clutch like running water slips,
"Oh, God!" ho prayed, between his bloodless
Una.
put him-In the room there with me while
I was waiting for Jack. He saw the, car
riage coming up to the door.
" 'Humph!' said he to me, that was
sitting there like a stick, 'looks like there's
going to be a funeral here!'
"Now wasn't that a lovely wedding
morning suggestion!
" 'No, no!' I shouted in his ear. 'Not a
funeral, but a wedding, grandpa a wed
ding!' " 'Oh,' he said, 'a wedding. Who might
the bride be, now?'
" 'I am, grandpa,' I had to fairly shout
to him.
"'You?' said he. 'My, but we're grow
ing up, ain't we? And who is the young
fellow, hey?'
"And there I had to shout things like
that at him for fully an hour, and he had
beqn written all about it. and then when
Jack did come panting in, breathing like
as if he had been chased by a lot of
policemen, and with his frock coat hang
ing on him like a bag, and his face ail
persplrey, and "
"Sh-sh-sh!" from the seats behind, for
the curtain had risen on the second act.
Washington Post.
Dnnger Ahead.
A knavish-looking fellow was once
charged before a magistrate with steal
ing a pair of trousers. The evidence
against him not being strong enough to
The Passing: Band.
A lone, deep drone
Thrummeth a resonant monotone.
Up soarcth the horn with an undulant flare.
That dies is reborn Just a flash of an air.
Through the rumble of drums, as their throb
bing beat
Sends a rhythmic pulse down the winding
street.
Then a streaming pennant of sound Is out
flung. Flamboyant from wall to wall is swung.
Near and more near tho harmonies clear
Build skyward a ponderous tower, then sheer
It breaks in a clarion crash of sounds.
An ululant tumult, that bounds and rebounds;
A voluminous groan
From the blaring trombone;
And a clangor of brass
As the cymbals pass;
Then the drum's long boom, as the melodies fly
Forward and waver and faint and die
Into murmur amphoric,
Sweet-blendlpg chorlc,
To a far away swell,
Till at last they mell
In a note long-drawn-Are
gone on on.
London Academy.
PIscntor, Don't Brag.
Wan tarn mon pere he catch a feesh
So big he look lak whale;
She's mos so long as t're, four feet
From wan end to her tnll.
Mon pere, ho pull zat feesh right up
He Ian' her on ze shore;
An' zen, mon Dleu! she flop her tall,
An' he don't see her some more.
Mon pere he brag some 'bout zat feesh
Wen he go to ze store.
An' tell how beec an"" long she vas
. Bymeby he brag some more.
Till pretty soon ol" man Brosseau
He laugh and say "It's wrong
To brag much 'bout ze feesh you catch
"Less you bring zat feesh along."
Mon pere he's mad an Jump up queeck
An' bang him on be head;
'Til w'en they pick ol' Brofiseau up
By Gar! you't tank he's dead.
Mon pere he's go to jail for zat,
An's fine forty dol';
He's Btay lock up for wan long tam.
So he can't go feesh at all.
Maltland Le Roy Osborne, In Dramatic Mir
ror. The One True Henrt.
Atlanta Constitution.
Miss Mary lef mo in de Ian
Fur" off she done depart;
But de Watermllyun clost my han',
En he give me all his heart!
Oh, Miss Mary.
Gone In de ol' ox-cart!
'But de Watermllyun clost my han',
En he give me all his heart!
MIs3 Mary let me mighty low.
En sho never make no sign;
But de Watermllyun say he know
Dat his red, ripe-heart is mine!
Oh, Miss Marj.
Gone in de ol ox-cartl
But do Watermllyun clost my han',
"On bo srlve m all hla hfiflxtl
convict him, he was acquitted, after a
patient investigation of the case. The
accused, however, to the surprise of
everybody, remained In the dock.
Thinking he could not hear or did not
understand the magistrate's decision, the
lawyer who had been defending him told
him he was at liberty to go about his
business, if he had any. The man. how
ever, shook his head slightly but did not
move.
"You are discharged. Why don't you
go?" asked the lawyer.
By this time the court- was nearly
empty, and the accused, leaning forward,
whispered to his defender:
"I can't leave the dock till the wit
nesses against me are gone."
"Why?" asked the man of law.
'.Because of the trousers," answered
the other. "Don't you understand?"
"Most certainly I do not," said the so
licitor. "What about the trousers?"
"Only this, sir I've got them on!"
London Answers.
"WON'T YOU WASH YOUR NECK'
Nova Scotlrfn's Invitation Nenrly
Ends in Serious Trouble.
Slang that is perfectly familiar to the
feature of one locality Is often Inter
preted In even a nearby region In a to
tally different way from that which Is
intended. This was well illustrated re
cently, when a man from Boston and a
man from Nova Scotia met In a hotel and
were Introduced by a mutual friend. After
a little talk the friend left them, and,
having had no time to discover kindred
interests, the conversation sagged pain
fully. At length, breaking a long pause,
the Nova Scotlan said:
"Wouldn't It do you good to wash your
neck?"
"What's the matter with my neck?"
exclaimed the Bostonlan, flushing a fiery
red, "and what's the matterwlth you that
you ask such a question? I'd have you
know sir, I consider It an Impertinence
an Impertinence, sir!"
"Gee!" exclaimed the surprised Nova
Scotlan, "I did not mean to offend you. I
had no idea you were one of these tee
total temperance cranks!"
"I'm no temperance crank, cither." re
torted the Bostonlan, now doubly offended
and surprised also.
"Ain't you?" queried the Blue Nose.
"Then why did you get so mad when I
asked you to take a drink?"
"Asked me to take a drink?" almost
shrieked the man from the Hub. "You
asked me? When?"
"Surely I did," said the Nova Scotlan.
"Asked you to wash your neck, you know.
On the Inside, you understand. With good
liquor, don't you see? Not on the outside.
of course. My remark was not Intended
to hint that an application of water to
your skin was needed. An Invitation to
wash the neck Is only our Nova Scotlan
way of asking a man to Irrigate the dust
of travel out of his throat. Will you Join
me. now?"
"Don't care If I do." said the mollified
Bostonlan. Chicago Record-Herald.
Ol' NntraeB'n Sayings.
Don't look a gift hoss in the mouth, an
at the same time it Is a good idee tur keep
a safe distance friim the other end.
They's a good many ways uv breakln'
the Sabbath besides dewin' It with a
golfln stick or the butt end uv a fish pole.
A workman who Is continually complaln
ln' uv his hard lot seldom realizes thet
'twould be a lot harder ef he hed nothln'
tur dew.
They's on'y one comfort fur the man
with the hangdog look sometimes he flnds
a quarter thet the other man hez passed
by. Joe Cone In New York Herald.
Slow Dut Sure.
"Blltherby's restaurant has the slowest
service I ever saw," said the Gentleman
with" the Gloomy Brow.
"How's that?" asked the Individual with
the Overworked Smile.
"I ordered some egges there once, and I
had to wait so long that they brought
me "
"Chickens?"
"No. Eggs that had been laid by the
chickens hatched from the eggs I had or
dered." Baltimore American.
A DlficouraglnK Model.
James Whltcomb Riley.
Just the airiest, fairest slip of a thing;
With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly's
wing.
Tilted up at one side with the Jauntiest air.
And a knot of red roses sown In under there
Where the shadows are lost In her hair.
Then a cameo face, carven In on a ground
Of that shadowy hair where tho roses are
wound ;
And a gleam of a smile, oh, as fair and as
faint
And as sweet as tho masters of old usea
to paint
"Round the lips of their favorite saint.
And that lace at her throat and the flutter
ing hands
Showing there, with a grace that no art
understands,
Tho flakes of their touches first fluttering at
The bow then the roses the hair and then
that
Little tilt of the Gainsborough hat.
Oh, what artist on earth with a model like
this,
Holding not on his palette the tint of a kiss.
Nor a pigment to hint of the hue of her hair.
Nor the gold of her smile Oh, what artiai
could dare
To expect a result half so fair?
A Difference.
He had seen or was It seeming?
Glasses four beside his plate.
Then he drank, and was he dreaming
When he counted them as eight?
Glasses eight, of various sizes.
Filled with glory to the rim;
Faint from out their depths arises
Mem'rles like a vesper hymn.
Glasses eight, but when he quaffed 'em
He could have sworn there were sixteen;
And ho leered at them, and chaffed "em,
It was such a pleasant dream.
And from all of them libations
Swift he poured to Bacchus there,
Till the table's wild gyrations
Made him hang onto his chair.
He was bottle-scarred and weary
Ere the banquet half was done.
And was somewhat sad and teary
Ere the speeches were begun.
Wealth was his. he'd thought, and boldly
He had quaffed and felt immense;
But he looked when day dawned coldly
Looked and felt like thirty cents.
Houston Post.
Shclmil.
A. Foster, In Longman's.
She drank the sea's salt breath, Shebaii,
Glory of day, glory of day.
And hope was strong and life was young,
"My love will come ero set of sun.
O'er the dark sea-furrow sports the cold
spray."
The sea is high. Shebaii, Shebaii.
Breakers at 'play, breakers at play.
The keel's o'erborne, thy love Is gone;
But life" was done ere set of sun.
O'er the dark sea-furrow sports the cold
spray.
Thv love is gone, Shebaii. Shebaii.
Dead and away, dead and away.
And life Is long when love Is gone
Bu tllfe was done ero set of sun.
O'er the dark sea-furrow sports the cold
scra.v.
HE HAD 'EM AGAIN SURE
"Slxx-n. With, the Dreamy Eyes Relates:
His Experience of a Nlsht to
Sympathetic Auditors.
"I am thankful I do not live in a round
room," said the man with the dreamy
eyes, as he slowly sipped from a wicked
looking glass at his side.
The man with the wart on his ear and
the man witrn the triple chin looked up
expectantly.
"Tell us about it," they said.
The man with the dreamy eyes sighed.
"It Is a long, sad story," he said. He sip
ped again from the wicked-looking glass.
Then he added: "I have a very nlco
room, situated, as the poet would say, 'In
yonder street that fronts the sun.' It la
a big. square, pleasant room, and Is kept
In excellent condition by the woman who
runs the house. There is Just one draw
back." "What Is it?" asked the others.
"The goblin globe," returned tho
dreamy-eyed one. "The goblin globe Is all
right In its way, I suppose, but? a decent
bachelor's room Is no place for It to do
its stunt, and I'm going to make a vig
orous complaint, if I find it doing busi
ness In my quarters when I get home.
"When I got In the other night or may
be the other morning would be the cor
rect expression I turned on the gas and
prepared for bed. Now, you know how
scrupulously neat I am. Well, you may
Judge of my annoyance, then, when I tejl
you that as my eyes traveled over the
room, they encountered a speck In tha
carpet. It was no bigger than the knot
on a length of coarse sewing thread, but
it annoyed me, and I stooped to brush it
away.
It Wouldn't Budge.
"To my astonishment' the speck wouldn't
budge, and. I thought then It must be a
tiny spot In the carpet. 'Oh, well," I re
flected, 'it's a smnll matter, and I'll let
irj pass." I had reached to turn off tho
gas and Jump Into bed, when I happened
again to glance at the carpet.
"The speck was as big as a marble. I
thought at first It was some optical de
lusion brought on by overwork, but this
was not the case. I made a very thorough
examination of the speck and convinced
myself of it's reality. It was rourd nnd
black, and so heavy I couldn't lift It. I
determined to postpone bed for a bit
while I studied this remarkable effect. As
I looked, the thing actually grew before
my eyes. It soon became the size of a
baseball. I drew my easy chair to tho
point on the carpet occupied by the queer
growth, and settled myself comfortably
to watch progress.
"Larger and larger grow the ball. From
tho size of a baseball It reached the pro
portions of a Georgia watermelon, all th
time retaining Its perfection of contour.
Gradually, and without my having no
ticed the change. I found that my easy
chair was about two feet nearer the wall
than It had been when I sat down. The
growth of the ball had forced It away
from the center of the room.
"When the globe reached the size of a,
United States mall sack I thought It wa3
about time to call a halt. I threw my
whole weight on tho thing, but I couldn't
move It an inch. On the contrary, it con
tinued to grow, only with Increased rapid
ity. Really Ridiculous
"I started to call for hefp, but Chen tho
ridiculousness of the situation struck me,
and I refrained. What did a grown man
need of outside help to throw a ball out
of the room? I laughed merrily. Then I
assaulted the ball again. It was as tall
as the piano by trnls time, and was forc
ing all the furniture out of the way.
"The easy chair was Jammed against
one side wall. The couch had been
squashed Into a soft heap, the book
case had been flattened out, and tho
piano "contracted. The ball was irresist
ible. It spread out until it had Jammed
the gas Jet through the celling and thus
left me In darkness. I tried to reach tho
door, but the globe now filled almost tho
entire room, and I couldn't get past It. I
found myself In one of the four corners,
and I couldn't move a foot In any di
rection. I was a hopeless prisoner, and
the only thing that saved my life was the
fact that the globe was round and
couldn't penetrate the angle where I
stood. I didn't know whether to be more;
thankful that the ball was round, or that
the room was square.
"I passed a most uncomfortable nli;ht
standing up In that corner and getfttlng
never a wink of sleep. Along toward day
break the globo began to recede. Inside
of half an hour from that time It had
sunk down to the shape of a tiny black
knot, In which I had first noted it.
He Wan Right.
"I have had the same experience now
for three night's, and I am getting tired
of it. Standing up In a corner has made
me stiff In all my joints. I intend com
plaining to the landlady. Am I right?"
"You are," said the man with the warl
on his ear and the man with the triple
chin. "You are right, and we'll back you
up In It." And they called the waiter.
Now York Herald.
How Papa Toole the News.
r Mabel had been waiting for her lover's
return for what seemed to her an age.
Her heart turned to stone, as she thought
of him, young, slender, but brave to
rashness and recklessness, closeted alone
with her stern father In the grim old li
brary. The door opened at last and he
stood before her, a flush on his cheeks
and an expression In his eye,
"Did you see papa, Richard?" she asked
with trembling eagerness. He held her in
his arms for a moment without speaking.
"Yes. dearest." he said at length.
"And what did ho say, Richard? Tell
me what he said! He refused you? Oh!
your eyes tell me! He refused; he will
not give me to you? But I will be I am
yours. I do not fear his harshness we
will fly!"
But Richard looked down Into her
pleading face and shook his head slowly,
like a man in a dream.
"Tell me, then for I cannot wait! Was
he brutal and cruel to you? What did
he do? What did he say?"
Richard drew a long, deep breath and
again looked down at the face turned up
to meet his troubled glance. He sighed
and whispered slowly:
"He only said, 'Thank Heaven!" and
1 went on reading." Exchange.