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About The new Northwest. (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 10, 1875)
hiiii irTgiTwnii-iilliaaftiWB'iiT ransiir 7 mwiinrw h - f i ii mvSmr'Tir-'r-'nrruC i iiimiiwiiii ")" vvrrv-imn-imtourifn'mm?T- mim- ii i -iiti iiiii- niii.iiMii-iniimiTi . . . . ' 1 ' " Me mm mmmtsst. ei S ll r' ' ' ' y I " TERMS, IN ADVANCE: QS?S Six months! 1300 V- ' Three months A Journal for the People. Devoted to the Interests of Humanity. Independent in Politics and Religion. Alive to all Live Issues, and Thoroughly Radical in Opposing and Exposing the Wrongs ol the Masses. Free Speech, Free Press, Free People. Correspondents writing over assumed signa tures must make known their names to the Editor, or no attention will be given to the'f communications. ADVERTISEMENTS Inserted on Reasonable Terras. 4 F; e VOLUME "V. POTfcTX.AJNrD, OREGON-, FRIDAY, DECEMBER lO, 1875. NTJIVJCBER. 15. MADGE MORRISON, The Molalla ilald and Matron. By Mrs. A. J. DUNIWAY, AUTHOR OF "JUDITH BKID," "ELLEN DOWD," "AMIE AND HENRY LEE," "TOI HAPPY HOME," "ONE WOMAN'S SPHERE," ETC, ETC, ETC Entered, according to Act of Congress, In the year 1875, by Mrs. A. J. Dunlway, In the office or the Librarian of Congress at Washington City. CHAPTER I. A lone emigrant wagon had baited upon a rolling upland in the beautiful valley of the Willamette, adjacent to a running stream that came dashing down with rippling music from the gulch, a mile distant, in whose wooded depths the sparkling spring from which it drew its substance hid itself sereuely away, alike from the glare of the sun and the chilliest breath of the wind. Hard by the wagon a pair of calves were picketed, their mothers quietly grazing within call, and three yokes of sturdy oxen, tired with the fatigues of the day, were lying near, chewing the cud of evident satisfaction. "You won't be gone very long, will you, Mark?" "Guess not, Nancy. But you needn't worry about me. Just see to it that everything's snug about the tent and wagon; for like as not there's a storm a brewin'. My rbeumatiz twinges con sid'able. I'll be back afore long if I'm lucky." Sosaying, the husband started for the woods upon a sort of limping trot, fol lowed by a faithful watch-dog that had accompanied them during all the weary months of journeying toward thesetting sun. The work about the camp was soon finished, and then followed a season of dreary, anxious waiting. "Mercy ! how the wind whistles down the caflon ! I fear that we are to bavea terrible night of it. Mark ought to have been back an hour ago. Keep still, children. You are better of! in bed. Night will soon be upon us. How I wish your father would come !" The speaker, Nancy Morrison, was a faded woman of five and thirty, with a babe in her arms, which she hugged tightly to her shivering form, as she peered out into the gathering darkness, looking in vain for her husband's re turn. The family had traveled far with their teams of oxen, and the rations of salt meat and sea-biscuit, which had constituted their almost entire bill of fare for many weeks, had become ut terly distasteful to the faded mother and hungering babe; hence the determina tion of Mark Morrison to secure some game, with which he knew the wooded gulch to be well supplied. It had been with many misgivings that Mr. and Mrs. Morrison had de cided, months before, to leave their comfortable, but narrow Indiana quar ters; and, bidding farewell to friends and relatives, take up their weary line of march across the, as yet, almost un tracked regions of the great so-called American Desert, in search of un claimed acres for the use of their grow ing family. Not that there were not untitled lands in plenty adjacent to their little Indiana home; but these lands were in possession of men who would neither sell nor use them; and so, while they were given over to the abode of sheep and swine, humanity must needs sally forth into the untamed wilderness and become companions of the panther and coyote more neigh borly and accommodating than their brother man. Health, too, was a weighty consideration, for though Mark Morrison was not a man of feeble con stitution, be had all his life been troubled with periodical attacks of ague, with of late years a tendency to rheuma tism, all of which he hoped to get rid of in the new country beyond the Rocky Mountains, of which he had often re ceived tidings. Mrs. Morrison had protested long against the proposed removal, for she shrank from the possible dangers of desert and wilderness as only a woman will as she feels the helplessness that accompanies her lot when little children depend upon her for that protection without which the race of men and women would soon be extinct. Yet, in spite of her fears and protests, she at last yielded a reluctant consent to the importunities of her husband, as thous ands of women do every year, when in tuition teaches them better, lest their so-called obstinacy may entail responsi bility and possible blame upon them selves, in case their premonitions shall prove unfounded. And so, after many months of labori ous wandering, behold Mrs. Morrison, friendly reader, with her little ones gathered at her knee In the great wagon, a furiously threatening storm, wierd harbinger of a night of howling blackness, screeching through the gulch, and wailing in fitful gusts around her; wild animals and yet wilder sav ages in the near-by forest, and no habi tation of the white man within at least a hundred miles of that heaven-favored spot where her husband bad that day decided to pitch his tent and become an extensive free-holder. The children of Mark and Nancy Morrison numbered six, the two eldest being girls, aged ten and twelve, a pair of twin boys aged eight, a toddling prattler of two, and the baby, of not yet half a year. Death had made two deep and badly-mangled chasms in their household the year before, and the lines of sorrow upon the face of the bereaved mother were as ineffaceable as signifi cant. A gust of wind, stronger than any that had preceded it, was followed by a blinding dash of rain. "O, children! what can keep your father?" wailed the anxious wife. "A tree may have fallen upon him, or a wild beast or a savage" "Mother!" cried Madge, the younger of the two daughters, whose sharp, black eyes, irregular features, straight, glossy, black hair, powerful frame, and deep voice betokened wonderful strength of both character and muscle, although, fashioning our opinion after the usual models, she was excessively coarse and homely, "don't cry. Father's all right; he's lbst his way in the forest and built a fire and lain down to wait till day light. Go to bed, do !" "But you don't know he's all right, Madge!" "I do know it, mother! I can see him!" "Nonsense! you crazy simpleton! Hush and don't bother me!" Mrs. Morrison was indeed excusable for discrediting this phenomenal "sight seeing," of the nature of which she was wholly ignorant. Besides, the poor woman was half crazy with terror lest her husband's death should occur, and leave her alone and helpless in the un inhabited wilds where tbey had rested from theinvanderings. Dwellers in well-built, substantial mansions can sit comfortably before the glowing grate and listen to the chilly blasts without with a keen sense of en joyment. "When the winds roar around the gables, bowl in the chimneys, wail through the corridors, whistle at the keyholes, or sing in JEolIan sweetness at the insterstices in the plate-glass win dows, the dreamer by the fire-side can lazily think and plan and be happy. But the poesy of all these conditions found no response in the soul of Mrs. Morrison, as the cover to their wagon leaked like a riddle, and the unsteady vehicle rocked from side to side in the howling darkness. "Madge! Madge! are you asleep?" cried the mother, at last. For a long time she had not spoken, and the children, either asleep from fa tigue or frightened into silence, had lain quietly in the wagon, with their heads covered. "You told me to bush, and not bother you !" cried Madge, from beneath the bed-clothes. "Can you see your father now?" asked the woman, inclining her ear for un answer, as though, in her dire ex tremity, she were consulting an oracle. "I haven't looked since you made me hush," answered Madge. "Look now, won't you ?" "No !" "Do, Madge!" "You'll say I'm crazy, and I s'pose I am. What makes you want to talk with crazy people? I'll go to father when it gets light. You go to bed. The rain won't wet you through the quilts." "But is your father comfortable ?" "How should I know ?" "Madge! you'll kill me!" cried the mother, desperately. "Not if I know myself," said Madge. "Then why don't you try to see for me?" "I did !" "And what did you see?" "I told you." Mrs. Morrison saw that it would be useless to question her strange child further. She usually had no faith in the "sight seeing" with which Madge had worried her for years, and the child, knowing this, seldom so far forgot her self as to intrude it upon her. And still the storm howled piteously. Thoroughly exhausted at last, the anx ious wife crept shivering into her bed, beside the sleeping two-year-old, and clasping in her weary arms the puny, crying babe, whose wail smote the ear of the screaming night with a prophetic agony, she tremblingly awaited the long, long-coming morning. At last the storm, like an exhausted child, sobbed itself to sleep, and the dawn beheld it weeping upon the! bosom of the quiet earth like a lonely widow, over whose surging soul had settled the calmness of despair. Madge was astir with the faintest glimmer of the dawn. Rising as stealthily as though she were bent upon securing some coveted prize, in which success depended on seorecy, and clam bering over the other inmates of the wagon without arousing even her ex hausted and apprehensive mother, the child siezed an axe and started on a brisk run for the timbered gulch. Straight and swiftly on she ran, paus ing now and then for an instant, with her eyes shut, as if to close her senses to external things, and then bounding on more rapidly than before, till high above the encampment in the valley she crossed the rippling stream that the night's revel of elements had swollen into a considerable river, and then, more carefully heeding her wherea bouts, she began, in a guarded tone that sounded strangely harsh to ber acute senses, to call "Father!" But the deep, dark, dripping forest only answered back a muffled echo of the guarded word, and all was still again. "Father!" This time a rabbit bounded through the thick undergrowth and stopped be fore her, with its fore paws in the air, while it eyed her curiously. "How I wish I had a gun, and could shoot! I'd have a breakfast for mother," thought the child. "Madge ! Come to me, Madge !" The voice was barely audible; but to the child's quick ear it was plain enough. "Which way, father?" "Here, Madge! Quick! for God's sake !" The child bounded over the logs and briers, in the direction indicated by the voice; and there, upon the sodden ground, securely pinioned by a large branch of a fallen tree, with bis leg broken at the ankle, lay her father, writhing In pain, and utterly unable to help himself. By his side lay a brace of grouse, and bis gun, which the rain had rendered unfit for service, reclined be side them. "I thought you'd come," said the father. "Did you bring an axe ?" "Yes, father; but you can't bear the jar of chopping." "I must bear it." Finding a broken tree-limb near by, which she used as a lever, and a large stone adjacent, which fortunately was in position to serve as a fulcrum, the child managed to so far "ease" the weight of the branch that bad rested all night upon her father's leg, that she could chop enough to liberate him from bis peril without much increasing his agony. "How shall I ever get to camp?" groaned the suflerer. "Bather say, 'how shall we set that broken bone?' " answered Madge. "We can easily make a camp here, and bring you everything you need, but I don't know where to fiud a doctor." The unfortunate man was suffering for water, which Madge brought in a large maple leaf, and then, assuring him that she would soon return, she hastened back to camp with the sad and yet welcome news of her discovery. While the family were pondering, in acute perplexity, the terrible problem of setting the broken bone, an Indian approached the camp, to whom they imparted the story of the disaster, rely ing upon his mercy for that aid which they knew not how to do without. This Indian was not one of those noble-looking, handsome braves that ex ist in books only. In truth, he was a filthy specimen of a deteriorated race, a stranger alike to good cheer and soap and towel baths. His vernacular was of that character designated in far western parlance by the simple appella tion of "jargon," though our men of letters have seen fit to classify it in later years by the expressive title of "Chinook." "My husband has been disabled by a fallen tree," said Mrs. Morrison. "Nika wake cumtux," responded the Indian. "His legis broken," explained Madge, helping her expression by appropriate sign language. "Ugh! Nika cumtux. Nika heap make 'em well. Nika good Injun." Mrs. Morrison suddenly remembered that she bad often heard that Indians were skilled in a pe'culiar way in some of the curative arts. "Come with us, won't you?" she said, eagerly. "I want you to cure my husband." "Mika potlalch dolla'." The poor woman's dollars were few in number; but the fee was promised, and very soon the Indian, with the profes sional air of one who understands his calling, was bending over the prostrate man, feeling remorselessly the position of the shattered bone, and grunting contemptuously at the patient's agoniz ing outcries. But the untutored son of the forest evidently understood his business, and in a few hours the crippled unfortunate was borne, with his assistance, upon a rude litter, to his chosen camping ground, where the delirium of fever mercifully deprived him for a time of all knowledge of the hardships that lay in store for his family during the com ing winter. To be continued. Colonel Forney, writing home of the frequent wills and bequests printed in the daily papers, and the good influence of their example, mentions the will of the Bev. Henry Charles Morgan, made two years ago. His personal estate was about $1,000,000. He left $5,000 each to nineteen hospitals and benevolent in stitutions, and $2,500 each to five other institutions. Another benefactor was Thomas Bliss Pugh, who died a month ago, leaving $15,000 to the Royal Sea bathing Infirmary, and $1,500 each to three other charities. Another was Mr. John S. M. Churchill, who left some $200,000 to various hospitals and churches. We are constantly doing the same thing in the United Stales, and on a scale quite as geuerous. Mrs. Belle Lynch, of the Ukiah (Cal.) Dispatch, announces the opening of the seventh volume of her paper. She has conducted it successfully since the death of her husband nearly two years ago. She says: "The care of three lit tle helpless children and the labor of managing a newspaper is no light re sponsibility; but the cheering encour agement given us by friends and patrons of our journal has enabled us to pass safely through the trying ordeal." Woman Suffrage. The claim of womantd the ballot 13 based, on the ground of a natural and in-, alienable right. We are fully aware, in making this statement, how difficult it is to argue an abstract principle; but no reform can be established, until at least the abstract principle which covers it is seen and admitted. The discussion of this question, from woman's side, has of late been ullowed to run into several Il logical side-issues; and the force of the movement seems to have declined in conseqnence. The argumentfor Woman Suffrage would not be weakened one iota if it could be shown that every woman to be enfranchised belonged to the class defined by the elegant term of "Bridget;" it would not be one whit stronger if it appeared that universal suffrage would give the ballot to no woman but a Julia Ward Howe. For the establishment of a natural right has nothing to do with the character and attainments of the person who is to be benefited by it. When our fathers struck for national independence, they were moved by a prophetic impulse to base their claim to it on a principle so comprehensive that it held the germ of all personal liberty and social progress. "Ail men are cre ated equal." This was the most revo lutionary statement ever thrown into society, and the invisible force of that principle is the source of all the agita tion that stirs our politics or social af fairs to this day. As a people, we first accepted that principle in its abstract form, without adopting it in all of its applications. It made chattel slavery impossible; but because we denied its self-evident application, avenging na ture exposed to us the horrors of a san guinary conflict, the wounds of which it will take long years to heal. Early In the century came the claim that it be applied to suffrage: if all men are equal, all men have ail equal voice in deter mining the character, and shaping the administration of the political institu tions of society. The claim was resisted, of course; but Jefferson added to it the force of his immortal epigram "It is said that man cannot be trusted to gov ern himself; can he then be trusted to govern another?" and the battle was won, at least for white male humanity. Womau's right to vote has exactly the same basis. Men have no more right to vote than women. All this is very trite. But it is not so trite that itdoes not need to be repeated. It was only last summer, by newspaper report, that sentiments averse to uni versal suffrage were uttered in the most scholarly assemblage in the land, by a venerable ex-President, and received with applause. When such gross ignor ance is shown in such quarters, is it not time to recur to the sources of knowledge ? If not, we may soon be come swamped in a common illiteracy. It is only a few years since President Fairchild, of Oberlin, arguing against Woman Suffrage, found it necessary to assert that our fathers, when they said "all men are created equal," only meant one nation's independence of another, and did not mean personal rights at all. But he was not the first man who re produced the image of Mrs. Partington with her broom at the sea-shore. We had then hardlyceased laughing at him who undertook to sweep back the same ocean of truth with his little broom of "glittering generalities." But General Fairchild deserves credit-for the logical perception which compelled him to see that unless the principle of the declara tion could be explained away, the right of woman to the ballot must be admitted. We may discuss as much as we please the probable consequences and results of securing the ballot to woman; but all this Has no connection whatever with the question,- Has woman a right to vote? Whether it would add more of intelligence and virtue, or more of ignor ance and vice to the volume of the electoral voice, is not logically to be con sidered at all, unless it is settled what her right is. This may possibly appear more clear In comparison with another right. The natural right to life is not as well understood as it ought to be; but it is better understood than any other. We recoguize the right of a human be ing to life; a right which we hold that he forfeits only for a few crimes; but short of these, his right is by no means impaired by any density of ignorance, or any enormity in vice. The right of a human beiug to the ballot is co-equal and co-extensive with his right to life; aud yet, such Is the destitution of ordi nary intelligence on this point, that when Massachusetts, a few years since, with exquisite despotism, imposed a reading and writing qualification on her voters, no one was startled by this clear evasion of a natural right. If "intelli gence" is to be the test, where can a single qualified voter be found ? He can not be found in North street, of course. Can he be found in Harvard College, that applauds the disparage ment of a natural right ? Whether or not women wish to vote, it entirely irrelevant to this argument. Some men do not wish to pay their debts, but we do not therefore say that a man has not a natural right to pay his debts. We think of but one reason, not log ically a part of this argument, that has a direct force in connection with it. A man should forbear all opposition to the enfranchisement of woman in the im pulse of pure manliness alone. It is one of our comforts that, owing to the imperfections of knowledge, human be ings do not always know how mean they are; and we never need this com fort more than when we see a man vo ciferously denying to another the enjoy ment of a natural, inalienable right, which is his own pride and boast. New Age. Will Gabriel's trumnet be loud enough to reach the ears of Guibord in his new resurrectionist-proof coffin? The body is to be placed in a hollow, chiselled between two blocks of Mon treal limestone, seven feet in length, three feet in width, and two feet in thickness. These will be cemented to gether aud held with iron bolts, while the stone will be covered with several iuches of cement, mingled with scrap iron, in order to render it impervious to ordinary drills. At the last day Gui bord will have no occasion to call upon the rocks to fall upon him, for his coffin will answer the purpose fully. Chicago Times. Mount Holyoke Seminarv has sun- plied 115 wives for foreign missionaries, the last two graduating classes furnish ing eighteen. They usually go abroad first as teachers, and are speedily mar ried by the missionaries. Alice Cary's Secret. X TENDER STORY OF AN ONLY LOVE WHY THE SWEET POETESSNEVER MARRIED "ALICETHE PENSIVE AND SAD" MADE SO BY THAT "DREAM OF DREAMS." "To what uses shall we put The wild weed flower that simply blows; And Is there any mortal shut Within the bosom of the rose I" Clovernook graveyard Is a small en closure near the road, shaded by tall lo custs and wild cherry trees. It has an air of abandonment aud neglect, but Nature bas taken it kindly tp her breast. The graves are overgrown with ivy and long grass, aud blackberry vines twist about the mossy headstones. The tall est monument is in memory of John Lewis, a native of Denmark. His farm adjoined that of the Carys, and his widow became the second wife of Rob ert Cary, the first Mrs. Cary having died when Alice was about fourteen years old. She Mrs. Lewis sold a greater part of ber farm to a gentleman trom the East. This was Mr. Charles Cheney, brother to the silk manufac turer of that name. He had previously been engaged in business in Providence, Rhode Island, but an unfortunate spec ulation bad swept away his property, and it was by the aid of his brother that he was enabled to buy the farm near Clovernook. He purposed here to en gage in the culture of the mulberry tree and feed silkworms. He was accom panied by his wife, who was an invalid, and did not long survive her removal to the West. THE OUTLINE OF A LOVE STORY. Alice Cary was a shy, awkward school girl when she first met Mr. Cheney, and had never before seen any person so re fined, so gentlemanly and well-bred. He was greatly superior to the people among whom he took up his residence; not that his mental endowments were very great or better, perhaps, than those of some of his neighbors, but his had been brought out by education, and found expression in graceful manners and polished phrases, while theirs were imbedded in the clownish fetteis from which their position and circumstances in life had in no way tended to free them. Chiefly through his instrumen tality, in the course of a few years the neighborhood of Clovernook was changed from a thinly-iuhabited and ill-cultivated district to one abounding with vineyards and orchards, and dotted with public edifices and private resi dences, surrounded by green lawns, fringed with clipt hedges. As years passed on, the shy, rustic schoolgirl grew to womanhood, and the proud and cultured neighbor of whom she had stood in such awe, learning of her thirst for knowledge, lent her books from his library and eucouraged her ef forts to self-improvement. Their ap preciation of tbe same authors formed a bond of kindred tastes between them, and was the beginning of a more inti mate acquaintance, an interchange of thought and feeliug. For him it was intellectual companionship, and tbe charm of contact with a fresh, growing mind, filled with beautiful thought and earnest aspirations. For her it was ed ucation of mind and heart, the revela tion of a new life, the "opening of a sealed fountain in her bosom." What wonder if he wiio was her ideal realized, the highest type of manhood she had ever known, should win her heart? He did win it, and in the highest sense of the phrase, she never loved another. In every case of heart-history there is much that is sacred to those immedi ately concerned, aud should never pass beyond them into the cold and curious world. It all happened many years ago, and the particulars of the story are known to few. Suffice it to say that this was the first and only love of Alice Cary's life, and it ended there. Mr, Cheney went East and married, and she read the announcement in a newspaper. Later she left Clovernook, around which clung so many bitter-sweet memories, and went to New York, where she made her home during the remainder of her life, and gathered around her a circle of ap preciative friends, many of them gifted and great. Though many prized her worth and sought her hand, she never forgot the love-dream of her early wom anhood. Around it clustered all the bright and tender associations of youth; and as she receded from it and her hair grew gray, it "gathered a pathos from the years aud graves between." Her life, though blessed with the com panionship of noble minds and loving hearts, had one sense weary and incom plete, for she missed the crowning bless ing of womanhood, the love that would have been at once ber inspiration and reward, and have satisfied the longings of her nature as no personal achieve ment or fame could have done. But perhaps she was kept from the fullness of happiness that she might help others. We know "They best can serve their gods, Their errands run, Who call no love their own Under the sun." She has ministered to many sad and discouraged hearts, softeningaud bright ening the surroundings of hard, homely lives, and bringing to problems of doubt and despair tbe lessons of faith and cheer which she distilled from the "long, dull anguish of patience." She won for her self a place in the hearts of her readers, and gained their personal affection as a greater writer which less sympathy could not have done. Her name is a household word in many homes in this Western land, aud the memory of her brave and patient life "smells sweet and blossoms iu the dust." Cincinnati Cor respondence N. Y. Fost. Substantial old farmers vie with each other about the size aud elegant appearance of their wood-piles. Mr. Crabapple was thus praising the gentle man who recently sawed his wood : "When he-piles the wood, if one stick projects beyond the others, he pounds it in with the axe." "Ah ! you should see my wood-sawyer," remarked a neighbor. "When he gets the wood all piled, he takes off the rough projectiug ends with a claw-hammer saw." "Does he? Well, he couldn't saw wood for me," broke in a listener. "My sawyer piles the wood carefully, then goes over tbe ends with a jack-plane, sand-papers them down, and puts on a coat of varnish before he thinks of ask ing for his pay." But nobody bad anything more to say after a fourth man told how bis wood-sawyer silver-plated all the ends of the wood, aud nailed a handle on every stick. All material life is but the stepping stone to spiritual existence. Be Cheerful. There is many a girl called beautiful whose haudsome face will not bear a good look at it. The features may be fine, and tbe complexion faultless, and to a careless observer she may be very pretty; but watch her awhile, wait un til she is not talking, and until the smile is faded and the light of laughter gone from her sparkling eyes, then you'll see her as she is. A face in repose tells the true story. It tells of a daughter whose selfishness is proverbial in the home circle; of cross words flung at her father and mother, of bitter taunts given to her brothers, of unkind treatment to her sisters, and of a jealous, captious, unhappy disposition, irascible, overbearing, and self-important. That smooth pink and white face will tell all this, if it is hidden there at all. When the features are in repose and the mind in its usual state, not elated or excited if the girl is unlovableat home and not of a sunny disposition, the face assumes its everyday, stolid, sullen, ugly look, and a close observer cannot help but read it aright. That sweet mouth settles down into a cold, dissatisfied expression, it droops at the corners, the rosy cheeks hang sul lenly, tbe eyes look as. though there were hidden, back of them, really vic ious, hateful thoughts. We see such faces every day, and while we are sorry, we can't help feeling glad that "truth will out," that it is im possible for a handsome girl to hide an ugly disposition. It is good enough for 'em, too. Let mothers teach their little daugh ters that every snarl of ill-temper chis els itself into the features, defaces them, leaves its mark to remain through all time, not even to be removed from the face by death. I often read one thing in pretty faces, and the girls don't know that I see it, but it is just as plain as this written page before me. This is what I read : "I think it a shame that I, Flora Ara bellie, should have to work just like a kitcheu-girl ! I do hate to drudge a', milking and scrubbing and washing dishes, and if there's one thing more than another I despise, it is cooking, bending over the hot stove and ruining my complexion, and making my hands red and wide; just a complete drudge for those big boys and father and the young 'uns! It's a burning shame ! I was born for something better. I feel it; but how can I rise when I am fet tered thus?" Pooh ! nonsense ! I guess when the world needs you you'll find your place. There has never yet been a man or a woman, filling high places, who did not come up, step by step, from a lowly estate. How to Learn Self-Denial. "Cousin Aggie, you are a mystery to me. How you ever manage to live, I do not know, with so much sickness al ways in your home. Your husband was an invalid for years; poor Harry must needs break a leg, to enjoy your good nursing; little Carrie bas had her 'ups aud downs' pretty steadily all her little life, and now your husband's niece is with you, wasting with con sumption, and taking all your leisure, just when it seemed as though you might take a little rest." "Hush, Jenny dear, and don't com plain of poorHattie. Sbeis here by my express invitation. Tbe poor child has no other home, and what can she do with out one? She is so comfortable and happy here, it is reward enough for all the care I give her." "I don't complain, Aggie; I only wonder you cannot love souud sleep and ease and comfort, as I do, for instance, or you could not bear it." "Ah, Jenny dear, it is a good thing to bear the yoke in one's youth. I never could have done half so well by my dear ones, if I had not served a long appren ticeship iu self-denial in my early days. It don't matter much bow tbe experi ence comes, so the lesson of self-denial is learned. It was just as hard for me as for any one, I assure you. I rebelled against it, and fretted under it for a time, but at last it grew easy. "Taking up the same burdens daily, they at last become so much a habit, that you feel lost without them. I can net tell you howl missed my brother's little boy when they moved away to the West. I had taken almost the sole care of him for a year, and no one thought I could save bis life. He was always so wakeful and restless, I had little sleep with him, but it was a joy to see him grow stronger and heartier all the time. He has since become a very robust boy, they write me. After Allie weut away I could hardly sleep for a long time. I missed the care so much. He kept me awake more when absent than when with me. It was my lot, Jenny, to have much care and labor for others In my childhood aud girlhood, and it has beeu my preparation for the life-work God had in store for me. "Self-denial cannot come to us by precept; we must have the sharp, hard practice, or we shall not attain it. It is a great blessing to have the lessons taught early belore the opposite habits are fixed, for it is hard to take them on in later life." Perils of the Atlantic There Is no other great thoroughfare of commerce or of human intercommunication on the globe so beset with danger and difficul ties as the voyage from New York to Liverpool. The Gulf stream brings a current of water fifty miles wide and a thousand feet deep aud flowing at the ordinary current of a river from the tropical seas, and pours it out in a vast expanding mass over and beyond the Bank of Newfoundland, where It turns off to tbe eastward, and finally looses itself In the Northern seas; while to the westward of it, a counter current com ing down from Baffin's Bay a current of nearly equal magnitude and force pours into it a stream of icebergs, ice floes, and ice-cold water. The effects of this confluence are, beueath the water, the accumulation of vast deposits of sand and rocky debris, brought down by the ice, and iu the atmosphere above an almost perpetual succession of fogs and mists aud driving rains, accompanied by gales and squalls. Charles Francis Adams, Jr., prophe sies that all the railway systems of the country will be consolidated into one powerful monopoly, and that ultimately they will become a department of the Government, just as the post office now is. He thinks that Scott, Vanderbllt, and.Garrett are bringing this aboutN THREE LOVES. There were three maidens who loved a king; They sat together beside the sea. One cried, "I love him, and" I would die If but for one day he might love me 1" The second whispered, "And I would die To gladden his life or make him great." The third one spoke not, but gazed afar With dreamy eyes that were sad as Fate. The king, he loved the first for a day. The second his life with fond love blest; And yet the woman who never spoke Was the one of the three who loved blm best. THE FILLET. BY R. H. STODDARD. Love has a fillet on his eyes; He sees not with the eyes of men; Whom his fine Issues touch despise The censures of indifferent men. There is in love an inward sight, That nor In wit nor wisdom lies; He walks In ever-lasting light. Despite the fillet on his eyes. If I love you, and you love me, TIs ror substantial reasons, sweet For something other than we see, That satisfies, though incomplete; Or, if not satisfies, Is yet Not mutable, where so much dies; Who love, as we, do not regret, Tbre Is a fillet on Love's eyes. Harper's Magazine for November. PARTIXG. BY A. C. 8W1NBURNE. For a day and a night love sang to us, played with us. Folded us round from the dark and the light. And our hearts were filled full of the music ho made with us, Made with our hearts and our lips while he stayed with us, Stayed In mid passage his pinions from flight For a day and a. night, From his foes that kept watch with his wings had he hidden us, Covered us close Irom the eyes that would smite; From the feet that had tracked and the tongues that had chidden us, Sheltering In shade of the myrtles forbidden us, Spirit and flesh growing one with delight For a day and a night. But his wings will not rest and his feet will not stay for us; Morning is here in.the joy of its might; With his breath has he sweetened a night and a day for us; Now let him pass, and the myrtles make way for us; Love can but last in us here at his height For a day and a night. Some months ago a sensible business man, while traveling at the South, .fell in with an invalid gentleman. In the course of the conversation, the latter re marked to the former, "I suppose you also must be something of an invalid, as you are devoting, so much time to traveling." "Not at all," replied the business man; "I am in the best of health; but I am traveliug so that I may retain my vigor." "But your business, my friend does it not suffer during your absence?" "Better that my business should suf fer a little than that by over-application I should be totally incapacitated for at tending to it," was the reply. The exhausted invalid pondered a while and then said, "I wish I could have reached that conclusion twenty years ago." Herein is a lesson. A summer's va cation does not always repair mind' or body weakened by excessive exertion; rest itself is not always rest, and recrea tion sometimes seems only weariness to the overtired mind. Thousands who are simply slaves to business are ever looking forward to a time when they shall relax the strain and rest. That time seldom comes until too late. They subject themselves to a pressure which common seuse should tell tbem is above tbe limit of safety. Little sleep, hasty meals, aud constant business auxiet'es wear out the life. Hard work is not injurious in itself ; but Americans seem not to understand bow they can work hard, aud yet obey the pbysiologicai law for systematic relaxation. Long vacations are all very well whenever they can be taken, but a short time given to pleasant, wholesome rest and recreation every day, free from thoughts and business, will keep the powers of life fresher and brighter. Woman Suffrage Association. At the recent meeting of the Woman Suf frage Association of this city, the pro gramme, as laid down at the October, meeting, was pleasantly carried out. The committees appointed to report on suffrage, religion, (having reference to woman's work in churches and other re ligious organizations), domestic matters, etc., brought in various questions and items of interest which furnished mat ter for discussion among the members. The report on suffrage included extracts from the New Northwest, a paper lately started in Oregon under the di rection of two ladies. If grit and earn estness can carry the enterprise through, we may forecast its success with tolera ble certainty. Two religious items worthy of note were reported, viz.: that during the past four years the women of the Baptist Church have contributed over $100,000 to aid th3 work of the Mis sionary Union, and are now supporting nineteen missionaries in tbe field; also, that tbe new Deaconesses' House in Boston, designed for the training of women for public and private services of charity, had just been finished and ded icated. The point of interest was the existence of deaconesses in a church hitherto reserving all its offices for men. The treatment of the subject of hospi tality to guests, when the report on do mestic matters was given, was specially happy, as also the medley of fun and seriousness with which Mrs. Foltz closed the meeting. San Jose Mercury. In Saxony children not only attend school up to tbe age of fourteen, but af terward, until they are seventeen, they continue to receive regular instruction in lessons varying from two to six weekly, in accordance with the previ ous proficiency of the pupil. Up to the age of seventeen a child's education is superintended by the state; at nineteen the child, if a boy, enters the active army; after serving for three years he is relegated first to tbe reserve, next to the Landwehr, then to the Landsturm; and not until he arrives at the mature age of forty-two can be call himself a free man. Strange changes take place in the course of ages. Who would ever have thought that tbe house once occupied by the poet Milton should have degen erated into a fish-monger's shop? But so it is. His residence in Westminster is still standing, very slightly altered from its original condition. It is situ ated on York street, not far from the St. James Park station of the Under ground District Railway. Over the front of the house is now placed the. sign, "The Noted Fried Fish Shop,"