IV, KNOW THEE THERE.
G. D. Prentice, said: "No living poem can
turpass in beauty the following lines from the
ziuse of Amelia:"
Tale star, that, with thy soft, sad light,
Comes out upon my bridal eye,
t have a song to ping to night.
Before thou takest thy mournful leave,
fcince then so softly time has stirr'd
That months have almost seemed like hours
And I am like a little bird
That slept too long among the flowers,
And, waking, tits with waveless wing,
Soft singing 'mid the shad,s of eyen
But, oh ! with sadder heart I sing
I sing of one who dwells in heaven.
The winds are soft, the clouds are few,
And tendercst thought my heart beguiles,
As, floating up through mist and dew,
The pa'e young moon comes out in smiles;
And to the green resounding shore
In silvery troops the ripples crowd,
Till all the ocean, dimpled o'er,
Lift up its voice and laughs aloud
And star on star, all soft and calm,
Float up yon arch, serenely blue.
And, lost on earth, and steeped in balm,
My spirit floated in ether, too
Loved one ! though lost to human sight,
I feel thy spirit lingering near;
And softly as I feel the light
That trembles through the atmosphere,
As in some temple's holy shades,
Though mute the hymn, and hus'jed the
prayer,
A solemn awe the sou! pervaJes,
Which tells that worship has been there;
A breath of incense, left alone,
Where many a ceaser swung around;
Which thrills the wanderer like to one
We treads on consecrated ground.
I know thy soul, lrom worlds of bliss.
Yet stops awhile to dwell with me,
Hath caught the prayer I breathed in this,
That I at List inig! t dwell with thee;
I hear a murmur from the seas
That thrills me like thy spi it's sighs;
hear a voice on e very breeze
That makes to mine its low replies
A voice a'.l low and sweet like thine;
It gives an ansv. cr to my rayer,
And bring my soul from Heaven a sign
That I will know and meet thee there.
I'll know thee tlerj by that sweet face,
Round, which a tender halo plays,
Btill touched with that expressive grace
That made thee lovely all thy days,
By that sweet s-nile that o'er it shed
A beauty like t'je liaht of even,
Whose so. t cxj-rjssion never fled.
Even when its soul had fled to Heaven;
t'll know thee by the starry crown
That glitters in thy raven hair ;
Oh ! by these blessed sights alone
I'll know thee tterc. I'll know thee th?re.
For ah! thine eye, within whose sphere
The sweetest youth and beauty met,
That swam in love and softness here,
Must swim in love and softness jet.
For ah ! its dark and liquid beams,
Though saddened by a thousand sighs,
Were holier than the light that streams
Down from the gates of Paradise
Were bright and radieat like tLc morn,
Tet soft and dewy as the eve,
Too sad for eyes where smiles are torn,
Too young for eyes to leant to grieve.
I wonder if this cold, sweet breeze
Hath touched thy li s and fanned thy brow.
For all my spirit hears and s es
Recalls thee to my memory now;
For every ho:ir we breathed apart
Will but increase, if that can be,
The love t!:at til s this lonely heart,
Already filled so lull of thee,
Tet many a tear these eyes must weep,
And many a sin must be lorgiven,
Ere these pale lids shall sink to sleep,
An i you and I shall meet In heaven !
Winny.
Stranger to Canada. I think von
said? First vis t to Ontario? Well,
you're heartily welcome to Indian
Creek. Take a chair on the pia-yatill
dinner's ready we dine early in the.se
new world parts.
Finefarm? Well, yes; Ind: an Creek
is a nice place, if I do own it. All as
far as you can see grass land, corn
fields, woods and creeks all belong
to it. Stock, too they call it the best
stocked farm in Ontar.o, 1 believe, and
i dare say tiiey'rc right. All ni ne;
n.d yet I came lo Can; da twelve years
ago, w thout even the traditional half
crown in my trousers po.ket. You
ook surprised. Would you 1 ke to
hear the story? There's a good half
ttour lo dinner time yet. and its a story
never t re of telling, somehow.
I began life as the son of a v'llage
tarpetitcr in the south of England.
You know that class pretty well, I
4are say. an 1 what a gulf was fixed
aetvveen me and the vicar of the par
ish. And yet and yet -from the t me
the was 7 -ears old and I 11, and she
fell down in the dusty road outride
the carpenter's shop, and cr ed. and 1
flicked her up. and smoothed the 1 ttle
jrttmpled pinafore, and k ssed the dust
mt of her golden eur.s, I loved but
ttne g rl in the world, and that was
the vicar's daughter, Winny Brans
icmbe. Madness, you'll say. Well, perhaps
,o, and yet a man is but a man. and a
woman a woman; and love comes,
whatever one may do. There's no
slass distinction recognized by child
hood, and we were playmates and
friends till she went to boarding school,
ilf Miss Winney had had a mother no
loubt things would have been very
iifferently but we were al ke in never
aviiig known a mother's care, and
Tie old vicar was blind to everthing
'ut his theological treatise.
But when she came back from her
jondon boarding school, a beautiful
foung lady, all smiles and laces and
fittle lovely ways then I knew. I
ad tried my bes, to study and work, I
nd make myself more like the men
Ae would meet; but what can a lad in
in Englsh village do? I had just
nough education to make every other
iad in the place hate me; and beside
She men of her world I suppose I cut
ather an astonishing figure. Yet the
ove of her was beyond all else in me,
jhat mad. hopeless as I felt it, I had
o power over myself, and the first
Sme I caught her alone in the woods
she avoided me, I saw, and I had to
watch for a chance I told her the
'hole story, and wa:ted for her an
swer. She grow scarlet - a rush of color
fti at d o 1 her fair lace then deathly
"Dick," she said, and she was
trembling from head to foot, "you
know it can never, never be; you
know you are wrong even to dream of
such a thing. Some girls would think
it an insult I know you better; but if
my father heard of this he would say
you had abused his kindness toward
you; he would never forgive you.
Forget your madness." And she "ran
from me.
I let her go. I had seen in the blusli
and the tremor, and I guessed that if
I had been Mr. Loftus, the young
squire, instead ot Dick Hawtry, the
carpenter's son, her answer might
have been different. A great resolve
sprange up in my soul, and I took a
solemn ow in those June woods. That
very night I sold the old shop (my
father was dead and I had taken to
the business, ) and with the money I
bought an outfit and started stra:ght
for Canada. It was pretty tough work
at first, but I worked like a gallev
fiave starve i and pinched and saved,
and never spent a cent on myself, ex
cept for books.
I sat up half the n'ght to read and
study. Well, in this c ountry the man
who works and doesn't dr.nk is sure
to get on: and I had a m'ghty purpose
in my head. By and by 1 nought some
land dirt cheap, and sold it for three
t mes what I ga e for it then I beran
to make money fast.' I should call my
luck won I erf u I if I believed in luck,
and didn't prefer to think I v. as help
ed by a power far abler than myself.
At last, ten years to the very day after
I set foot on Can ad an soil, I bought
Indian creek farm, and began to bu Id
this house. All the ne'ghbors thought
my good fortune had turned my brain,
for I fitted it up and furnished it for a
lady, down to a little rocking-chair by
my study table, and a tiny work basket
with a trny gold thimble in it. And
when all was l'n shed 1 took the first
ship for Liverpool.
Ten ears 1 ullds a citv over here. It
doesn't make much change in a Devon
shire viilage. The very gates were
st 11 half-ort their h nges, as I left them
only the peop'e were a litt'e older and
a triilu more stupid, and there was a
new vicar. Old Mr. Branscom.be had
been dead s'x months d.edvery poor,
they told me: there was nothing left
for M ss Winny. My heart gave one
great leap when I heard that. And
Miss Winny? Oh, she had gone gov
erness ng with some people who were
just o.l to Canada, and the ship sailed
to morrow f om Liverpool.
The fiverpcol express never seemed
to crawl so slowly before. I got there
lo find every birth taken on board the
Antarctic;, and the captain raging at
the con appearai C-' of two of h s crew.
Withe, nt a second s pause I offered for
one of the vacant places. 1 was as
str, ng ; s a ho se. and ac'ive enough,
and tiiou . h the captain eyed me rath
er as':, anco I had been to a West-end
tailor on my way through London he
was too glad to get me to ask any
questions, so I sailed on the ship with
my girl, little as she knew it. I saw
her the lirst cay or two looking so pale
and thin that she M as 1 ke the ghost of
her former self, and yet sweeter to my
eves than ever before. The child en
she had charge of were troublesome
little ere tines, who worried end
badgered he : t it I longed to cuff them
web. Hut there was a gentlei ess am!
patience nbout her quite now t: rp
idea of Mis? Winny, and I only lo
her the more for it. After the sect
ciay out the wind freshened, and I
no more of her.
We had au awful passage. It was
late in November an early winter,
and the cold was into ise. It blew one
continuous gale, and some of our ma
chinery was broken the screw dam
aged and we could not keep our
course. As we drew i.ear the other
side of the Atlantic we got mote and
more out of our bearings, and at last
the fogs told us we were somewhere
oft' the banks of Newfoundland, but
where no one was quite sure. It
seemed to m t it had all happened 1 e
fore, or I had read it, or dreamed it.
At all events, it was hardly a surprise
to me, when, on th truth night, just
alter minn ght. t ;e awlul crash and
shock took place a sensation which
no one who lias not felt it can magine
in the le st and we knew that the
Antsrc ;c had struck.
It's a fearfnl th ng, if you come to
think of it. a great s earner filled with
livii g souls in the full llow of life an I
health, a .d in one moment the call
coming to each of them to die. Be-
fore you could ha; e struek a match
the whole ship was in a panic cries, ter
ror, confus on. agony Oh, it was aw
ful ! 1 hope never to see such a scne
aga'n, I made my way through it all
as if I had neither eyes nor ears, and
got to the state room, I had long ago
found out was the ore wh'ch belonged
to my girl. I knocked at the ducr
with a heavv hard, even at that mo-i
ment a thr 11 ran through me at the
thought of stand ng face to face with
her again.
"W.nney!" I cr'ed, 'come out!
make haste there is not a moment to
lose!"
The door opened as I spoke, and she
stood just within, ready dress, d, even
to her' little black hat. The cabin
light had been left burning, by the
doctor's orders, and it fell full on me
as I stood there in my sailor's jersey
and cap. I wondered if she would
know me. 1 forgot the danger we
were in forgot that death was wait
ing close at hand -forgot that the
world held any one but just her and
me.
"Dick?" she cried "Oh, Dick.
Dick!" and she fell forward in a dead
faint on my shoulder.
All my senses came back then; and
1 threw her over my arm and ran for
the deck. A great fur-lined cloak had
been dropped by the door of the ladies'
cabin. There was no light, but I
stumbled over it as I ran. I snatched
it up and carried it with me.
Up above, all was the wildest chaos;
the boats over-filled, and pushing off;
the ship settling rapidly; people shout
ing, crying, swearing. One hears
tales of calmness and courage often
enough at such times, which makes
one's heart glow as one reads them;
but there was not much heroism shown
in the wreck of the Antarctic. The
captain behaved splendidly, and so did
some of the passengers, but the ma
jority of them and the crew were mad
w th terror, and lost their heads alto
get er.
nl saw there was not a chance for the
overcrowded boat in that sea, and I
sprang for the rigging. I was not a
second too soon; a score of others fol-
lowed my example, and with my preo- j
ious burden I should not have had a I
chance two minutes later. As it was,
I scrambled to the topmast, and got a
firm hold there. Winny was just com
ing to herself. I had wrapped her
round like a baby in the fur cloak, and
with my teeth I opened my knife to j
cut a rope which hung loos within my
reach. With this I lashed her to me, I
and fastened us both to the top-mast.
The ship sank gradually: she did not
keel over, or I should not be telling
j oil the story now; she settled down j
just her deck above water, but the ;
great seas swept over it every j
second and swept it clean. The boat
had gone!
One or two floating on loose spars,
were picked up afterwards no more, j
The rigging was pretty full, at least in
the upper part; down below the sea
was too st ong. The captain was near
me. 1 felt glad to think he had been :
sa ed- he v as not a coward like some
of the others.
How long was the loncest night you
ev.rknew? Mult'ply that by a thou
sand, and you will have some idea of !
that night s length. The cold was
awful. The spray froze on the sheets
as it fell; the yards wre sl'ppery with :
c . I stamped on Winny s fee to
keep them from freezing. Did you no- :
t ee that I Imp a little? I shall walk
lame as long as I live. Sometimes
there was a splash in the black water
be!ow. a; some poor fellow's st'.i'ened
hold relaxed, and he fell from his i
place in the rigging. There was not a
breath of wind, nothing but the bitter, ;
bitter fo2'. How long could we hold
out? Where were we? How long
would the sh p last before she broke
u;? Would it be by drowning or I
freeing? We ssked ourselves again;
and again, but there was no answer, j
Death stared us in the face; we seem
ed to live ages of agony every minute
and yet. will you believe me, that
all seemed little in comparison to the
thought that after all the struggles
and the sorrows, after all those ten ,
long weary years, I held my girl in I
my arms at last!
She pulled one corner of the cloak
around my neck (I stood on a level I
just below her), and her hand laid I
there with it it was the hand that
warmed me more than the cloak and
iter cheek rested against my own. Of
ten I thought its eoldness was the I
coldness of death, and almost
exulted in the thought that we
should die together. And then I
would catch the murmur of the prayers
she was utter. ng for us both, and
know that life was there still, and
hope 1 ved too.
Well, w ell! Why should I dwell on
such horrors, except to thank the
mercy that brought us through them
all? Day dawned at last; and there
was the shore near by, and soon rock
ets were fired, and ropes secured, and
one by one the half-dead living were
drawn from their aw ful suspension be
tween skv and sea. and landed safe on
shore. They had to take Winny and
me together, just as we were, and
even then they had hard work to un
do the clasp of my stiffened arms about
her. I knew nothing then, nor for
long after: and it is wonderful that
"r any was the first to recover, and
it was she who nursed me back to
and reason.
. d how did I ask her to marry me?
, pon my word, now ou ask. I can't
remember that I ever did. That seem
ed utterly unnecessary, somehow.
Caste distinctions look small enough
when you have been staring death in
the face for a few hours; and words
were not much needed after we had
been together in the rigging over that
night. Somehow I was srlad it was so,
glad my girl had taken m ;. in my cap
and jersey, for a common sailor, and
yet loved" the old Dick through it all;
ijlad she never dreamed I was owner
of Indian Creek farm, and the richest
man in that end of Ontario, and had
wealth and a pos tion higher than Mr.
Loftus, the young squire at home. The
people she was with had all gone down
on that auful n'ght: she had no one in
the world but me. We were married
at Montrael the captain of the Ant
arctic gave her away and then I
brought her home to Incl an Creek. To
see her face when she saw the rocking
cha r, and the work basket and the
th ruble! Heaven bless her!
There she comes, with her baby on
her shoulder. Come in to dinner,
friend, and you shall see the sweetest
wife in the new country, or the old;
the s'.rl I won amid the ocean's surges.
A Pioneer of Pioneers.
San Franclc Bulletin.
The owner and navigator of a sloop
engaged in fishing on the bay is James
iJeace, 87 ears of age, and a Cal forma
pioneer of the pioneers, having come
to th s coast in 1S1H. In 1817 he sailed
from England In the ship Nereod.
bound for the Columbia river, in the
service of th i Hudson Bav company.
She put into the bay of Monterey,
when he became implicated in a mu
tiny and was placed in irons. In April,
1818, the vessel cast her" anchor in the
bay of San Franc sco, where he stole
away in one of the sh p's boats, and
made his way to the Miss on Dolores,
where the fathers furnished him with
blankets and a ponv and directed him
to the camp of William Smith, on the
s te of Woodside, ban Mateo county.
In this vicinity he cont'nued to live for j
slxtv-seven years. He was remarkably I
skillful in the use of tools, and in- j
structed the natives of the Santa Clara
mission in their use. In 1840, with about
forty Americans, he was seized by the i
Mexican authorities, placed in irons, j
and sent to San Bias as a pr'sorer. He
was taken to Tepic, whcie the charges
of being implicated in a conspiracy
against Mexico were found to be base
less and he returned to his home in the
redwoods. At the close of the Mexican 1
war he settled on a large tract of land I
at Halfmoon bay. Here, in 1849, he
hoisted the first American flag in Span- '
ishtown. This relic he still has in his
possession. In 1835 Peace married the
daughter of Pedro Valencia, and has
two sons living. In the course of time ;
he lost his property, and in his old age j
made use of his skill in constructing a j
sloop thirty feet in length, in which lie
cruises the bay in quest of lish and i
clams, which are marketed at Bed- !
wood Citv.
I
CHILDREN'S CORNER.
How to Stop It.
Our Dumb Animals.
Mamma, a dear little birdie is dead!
I saw it upon your new hat ;
I wondered, dear mamma, while big tears I
shed,
Who could have been so cruel as that
As to kill the birdie, mamma, do say,
Did little ones die in their nesti
Or from cold and fright did they pass away,
For want of their dear mother's breast i
I know, mamma dear, that the hat you'll not
wear,
It will be sent back to the shop:
And mamma, do tell the folks everywhere,
Such bad, wicked things they must stop,
And mamma. May Perkins told me to-day,
A kitten's head is on her hat !
It most took my breath hut I tried to say,
"What if she should meet the ma cats"
Seems to me, m:imma. there are pretty thinss
Enoatrh to be found everywhere;
Why must they kitties' heads, birdies and
wings
Like sia-n-boards of cruelty wear?
Mamma, if ladies such thimrs would not buy,
And let them remain in the shop,
Would not the traders then have a supply 3
And would not the cruelty stop?
Ages of Animals.
Camels live from forty to fifty years;
horses average from twenty-five to
thirty; oxen about twenty; sheep eight
to nine, and dogs from twelve to four
teen. Concerning the ages attained
by non domest c animals, only a few
msolated facts is known. The East
Indians believe that the life periods of
elephants is about 800 years, instances
being recorded of these animals hav
ing lived 130 in coniincmeiit, after cap
ture at an unknown age. Whales are
est'mated to reach the age of -lOOyears.
Some reptiles are very long lived, an
instance being furnished by a tortoise,
which was confined in ltioS and ex
isted in 1753, when it per shed by an
accident. Birds sometimes attain a
great age, the eagle and the swan hav
ing been known to reach 10P. The
longevity of fishes is often remarkable.
Carps having been known to reach 200,
common river trout fifty years, and the
pile n'nety years: while Gessner, a
swiss natuiaiist, relates that a pike
caught in 1437 bore a ring recording
the capture of the same fish 267 years
before.
AVhat Happened to Charlie.
Anna M. Talcott.
Charl'e lived in the country, on the
banks of a river. He had everything
he wanted to play Wjth, and could do
almost as he leased. But he was not
allowed to get nto a little boat that
was keyt down at the landing. He
thought it very hard never to De al
lowed to row alone. He often went
with h s father, and could row quite
well. He was not always good, and
perhaps some day would nave gone
without permission. But the oars
were always kept in the boat house,
which was locked, and Charlie d d not
have the key.
One day lit s father and mother had
to go to the city and leave Charlie at
home. I?e promised to be very goo !
before they went. At first be did very
well; then he was lonely. He walked
down to the landing.
"I w 11 get in the boat for a min
ute," he said, lie rocked the boat
from side to side, and played he was
at-sea. in a great storm. He was soon
tired of the hoat and wanted back to
the house. But this he could not do.
The rocking of the boat had unfastened
it, and it was drifting down the river.
He did not know7 what to do. He
shouted once or twice, but no one heard
him.
In the river there was a small island,
which belonged to Charl o's father.
The current carrii d the boat to this
island, and Charlie r t out- There
was nothing to get out for. but he had
been in the toat long enough. He sat
on the ground and w.shed he was at
home.
When his father and mother came
back they wonde ed where he was. He
did not come to dinner, and thev be
?an to feel alarmed. His father found
the boat was gone. He borrowed an
other of a neighbor, and sat off to look
for Charlie. He had not rowed far be
fore he saw a boat on the island, and a
lonely little figure s tting on the shore.
When Charlie saw his father coming
he jumped up. and said, "Oh, 1 am so
ilad! Have vou come to take me
home?"
"No." replied his father, "I came to
look for you. Now that I find you
have d sobeyed m I shail leave you
here for the r wt of the day."
Charlte could have cried if it had
don any good He watched his father
row ba'ik horn . Then he sat down on
the ground and wished he had never
stepped in the boat. He had a wry
dull afternoon. When h Is father came
at night, to take him home, there was
not much said, but Charbe never for
got that long day on the island.
Stanley's Faith.
Tenth's Companion.
"One faith against the whole
world's unbelief," s ngs a poet, and
the poet only echoes thedoctr ne of the
great Teacher. Have a right purpose
n l,fe. and faith in that purpose. Pur
pose and faith are destiny.
A leaf from the journal of a great
explorer vividly illustrates this truth.
In the heart of Africa, years ago,
two white men met. One was old, gray
haired and ill; the other young and
enthusiastic.
The old man was one whose fame as
an African explorer, was world-wide,
but for years the civilized world had
lost s'ght of him. Scientific associa
t ons were asking vainly, "What has
become of Dr. Livingstone?"
As a correspondent of the New York
Herald, the younger man d stingu;shed
himself for indomitable perseverence,
rapid decision and sterling common
sense, and in 1870 was chosen by Mr.
Bennett, its propr etor. to find Dr.
Livingstone. His story s well known.
"Draw a thousand pounds now." said
Mr. Bennett, "and when vou have
gon:i uirough that, draw another
thousand, and soon butjiud Licing
.iiii'iie." On January G. 1871, Henrc M. Stan
ley started from Zmz bar for the into- j
r or ot Afr c.i, a-i.,1 for eleven months j
he and his party toiled through
swamps and jungles, exposed to count
less dangers from wild beasts and pes
tilential atmosphere. Worn by fatigue,
surrounded by insubordinate natives, a
less resolute man than Stanley would
have given up the unequal contest
with circumstances and gone back, but
th s Stanley never thought of doing.
He had faith in God. himself and his
purpose. In his journal he wrote, and
the words glow with an energy that is
sublime, and deserve a place in the
memory of every young man.
"No living man shall stop me; only
death can prevent me. But death
not even this; I shall not die I will
not die I cannot die! Something
tells mo I shall find him, and
write it larger, FIND HiM, FIND
HfM!"
Full of the intensity of conviction, a
faith born of the faith in God, ttanley
pressed on, heedless of hardsh ps, till
one day he, with his party, came in
sight of Lake Tanganika, and a little
later he stood in the presence of the
great traveler, who for years had lost
tidings of h s native land, and had al
most ceased to look for aid from his
countrymen.
But for the faith of Stanley, Dr.
Livingstone might have d ed of starva
tion, and the world remained ignorant
of his fate.
The subsequent career of Stanley
has brought into greater prominence
his sui lime faith and resolute persist
ence which is satisfied with nothing
but the attainment of his ob ect, when
has already placed the world deeply in
debt.
The leaf from the journal repeats an
old lesson: Fa th is power.
"Endurance is the crowning quality
And patience all the passion of great hearts ;
These are their stay, and when the leaden
world
Sets it-s hard face against their fateful
thought,
And brute strength like a conqueror
Plunges its huge mall down on the other
. cale,
The inspired soul but flings his patience in,
And siowly that outweighs the ponderous
giooe,
One faith against a whole world's unbelief,
One soul against the llesh oi all mankind "
The Dead Bird.
Hai per's Youns People.
Our children, Maggie and Johnnie,
were the owners of two bright, pretty
canary birds. They called them Char
ley and Jennie. Jennie was a bird of
that light buff-color so rare and so
much admired by the lovers of these
sweet songsters. Her eyes were like
two little shiny black beads, they were
s br ght and glistening. She was a
f r eudly creature, and liked to be no
ticed and talked to. When we called
Jennie," she would hop about her
cage and answer "Sweet!" in the hear
tiest of tones. We all loved her, but
Maggie claimed her as her own.
One evening when I went to bring
the c ages in from the little back porch,
where they had been hanging during
the warm afternoon, I noticed Jennie s
feathers we:e slightly fluffed up, but as
the evening was somewhat chilly, I
thought she was probably a little cold,
so paid no more attent onto her. The
birds were not thought of next morn
ing till after breakfast, when Charley
began h s morn ng song in a loud,
clear voice, hooking up I saw Jennie
with her head tucked under her wing
as if fast asleep. How strange? Who
ever heard of a bird sleening after
daylght?
We gathered round her and tried to
guess what ailed her. One who had a
knowledge of birds and their ways
prescribed for her. and we did all we
could; but she drooped more and more,
and closed the beautiful bead like eyes
and resolutely kept her head tucked
under her wing. So we just watched
her, while the dishes stood on" the ta
ble unwashed, and the floor remained
unswept and the beds unmade, For a
long while she sat matlonless; then
she gave a little flutter and fell down,
a little golden heap in the bottom of
the cage.
Johnn e had been coming in everv
few'minutes with the quest on. "Mam
ma, how is Jennie?" He just came
in with the same question. I told him
Jennie was dead. He gave a sad"Oh! '
as he went to look at her. Maggie was
at school, and was unconscious of the
sorrow that awaited her. As soon as
he saw her coming he ran to meet her,
and the sad story was soon told. Poor
Maggie! She came to me with pit ful
voice, asking, "Mamma, is Jennie
dead?"
"Yes, dear," I answered.
She went to the cage, took the tiny
mite in her hand, and held it, oh, so
tenderly! le-pectedshe would cry,
but she d'dn't. She held it out till told
to put it down, Then she got a prettv
box, and wrapping her little treasure
in some soft, white material, she gen
tly placed it in the little box and put
it" away till after school, when they
could bury it.
All that afternoon, as I was busy
about my work, Charley's notes rang
out loud and clear and triumphant, as
only Charley could sing for he was a
rare singer but it made me feel so
sad that I could scarcely keep the
tears back. Charley's singing had
never before made me feel so sad. jt
was only because I felt that never
again should I hear Jennie's cheerful
chirp and twitter.
That evening, after school, the chil
dren, with a few of their playmates,
put their l.ttle pet away out of their
sight. A very small grave was made
1 eneath a rose-bush, and a very small
head-stone placed in the proper place.
A few flowers were reverently strewn
around, and when they had finished
their work they sadly returned to the
house.
As long as we remained in the vil
lage that little mound under the rose
bush was the children's special care.
While flowers were to be had, a few
fresh ODes daily found their way to the
cherished spot: and now, though
months have elapsed and we are hun
dreds of miles away, little Jennie is
not forgotten.
The Dead Sea.
Jornhlll Magazine.
The dead sea is an old and decrepit
salt lake, in a very advanced state of
evaporation. It lies several feet below
the level of the Mediterranean, just as
the Caspian lies several feet below the
level of the Black Sea; and as in both
cases the surface must once have been
continuous, it is clear that the water
of either sheet must have dried up to
a very considerable extent. But while
the Caspian has shrunk only to eighty
five feet below the Black Sea, the L'ead
t-ea has shrunk to the enormous depth
of 1,292 feet below the Mediterranean.
Every now and then some enterprising
De Lesseps or other proposes to dig a
canal from the Mediterranean to the
Dead Sea, and so re-establish the old
high level. The effect of this very rev
olutionary proceeding would be to
flood the entire Jordan valley, connect
the Sea of Galilee with the Dead sea,
and play the dickens generally with
Scripture geography, to the infinite
delight of Sunday-school classes. Now,
when the dead sea first began its inde
pendent career as a separate sheet of
water on its own account, it no doubt
occupied the whole bed of this imagin
ary engineers' lake spreading, if not
from Dan to Beersheba, at any rate
from Dan to Edoru, or. in other words,
along the whole Jordan valley from
the sea of Galilee and even the waters
of Merom to the southern desert. The
modern dead sea is the last shrunken
relic of such a consideiable ancient
lake. Its waters a'e now so very con
centrated and so very nasty that no
fish or other seli'-respcct.ng animal can
consent to live in :hem, and so bouy
ant that a man can not drown himself,
even if he tries, t ecause the sea is sat
urated with salt of various sorts till it
has become a kind of soup or porridge,
in which a swimmer floats, will he,
nill he.
The waters of the Dead Sea are thus
in the condit'on of having already de
posited almost all their gypsum, as
well as the greater part of the salt they
originally contained. They are, in
fact, much like sea wat.r which has
been boiled down til it has reached
the slate of a thick, salty liquid, and
though most of the salt is now already
deposited in a deep layer on the bot
tom, enough still rem tins in .-olut on
to make the Dead Sea niinitely Salter
than the general ocean. At the same
time, there are a good many other
things in solution In sea water besides
gypsum and common salt; sue h as
chloride of magnesu m, sulphate of
potassium, and other interesting sub
stances with pretty chem:cal names,
well calculated to endear them at first
sight to the sent mental affections of
the general public. These other by-
contents of the water are often still
, longer iu gett n2: deposited than com-
moil salt; and ow ns to the r intermix
tute in a very conce trated form with
the mother liquid in the Dead Sea, the
j water of that e aporating lake is not
only salt, but al o slimy and fetid to
! the last degree, its taste Leing aecu-
I ratelv des ribed as half brine, half ran
cid o L Indeed, the salt has been so
far precipitated alread .- that there is
now live tim s as much ehlor.de of
magnesium left in the water as there
is common salt. By t! e way, it is a
lucky th ng for us that thes s various
soluble m nerals are f such constitu
tion as to be thrown down se arately
at different stages of eoneentrat ou in
the evaporating liquid, for if it were
otherwise, they would all get depos ted
t02f; ther, and we should lind gyoeum-
salt and other chlorides and sulphates,
absolutely useless for any practical hu,
man purpose.
"He never bad but one genuine case
in his life," said a lawyer of a r.val,
"and that was when he prosecuted his
studies."
You never knew how much water an
umbrella is capable of eovita n ug. tint 1
you accidentally stand it against the
wall and ou t!ie pearl colored carpet
th:u eo t So a yard.
A Baby Funeral in Mexico.
Atlantic Monthly.
O.ie afternoon I sat reading in my
room while the first shower of the
mot.th was falling. The rainy season
was several weeks later this year. It
was a goodly shower, and the r.vulets
in the streets were soon converted into
turbid torrents. Wiiilj the rain was
t:U pouring, though very eently, I
heard music in the s;reet. It was fc't.
John's da', and I thought it part of
th;! celebration. I stepped to the bal
cony and saw a band coming, follow, d
by a s ore cr more of men with lighted
candles. The band was playing a
lively march. Ahead there ran a lit
tle boy with what looked like a taw
drily painted box cover. The men were
nearly all of the lower class, shaboily
dressed. One of them carried on his
head an open coffin containing what I
at first took to b-d a doll having some
thingto do with the eei'emonial. It was
dressed in white muslin, with some
gilt tinsel. But as they passed below
I .-aw it was a dead baby, w t'i long
eyelashes and black eyes staring up to
the sky. Meanwhile the rain kept
dropping pit lessly on the sen-cless
little form. Oh, I fane'ed. s nee the
form was senseless, was the rain p t
iless, or ccmpassionate tears from
heaven. The men sheltered from the
wind with on'; har.d the candles they
were carrying. The procession moved
along, with fhe martial blare of the
mus e sounding gayly down tha nar-
! row streets, seeming strangely inap
propriate to maik the entry of a little
child into the kingdom of heaven.
"Mother, can't I go out and play?"
asked a little boy. "No, my son." she
answered, "you will get your clothes
dirty." "Is the Lord "coming to-day?"
"I don't know," sa d his mother, "he
may come." "Don't they have any
dire heaven for little boys to play in?"
"No, my son" "What d 1 ttle boys
do there?" "They sing songs and
play under the trees" answered his
mother. "Well, mother, how do they
have any trees if thev don't have any
dirt?"
Nine more vict mizedJEngl sh boys,
have turned up at Los Angeles, agred
14 to 17. says the San Francisco Bulle
tin. Their fathers in England were
induced to pay 20 entrance fee for
their sons as "pupils" on the fruit
farms in California at So a month, and
to be "treated as members of the fam
ily." The firm had headquarters in
London. The agent gets ?12 apiece for
providing eaeh boy with a home. The r
passage, wh'ch they pay themselves, is
355. When the boy gets there he finds
he could have done it all h niself. and
that the prom sed sltnat'on s never
forthcoming. Nearly forty cases have,
thus far been discovered.