A
CH3
..'.''
TO-DA"V .
Vomq, with what mounting fire thou singest
free hearts of old fashion,
- English storners . of Spain sweeping the
blue sea-way,
Sing me the daring of life for life, the mag
naninious passion
Of man for man, in the mean, populous
streets of to-day.
Hand, with what color and power thou
couldit snow in the ring, hot-sanded,
Brown Bestiariua holding the lean, tawn
tiger at bay,
Faint me the wrestle of Toil with the wild
beast Want, barehanded;
Shadow me forth a soul steadily facing
To-day.
Helen Gray Cone, in Atlantic
THE SICK NURSE.
In the dusky light of a fragrant and
richly-adorned drawing-room two people
were in animated conversation.
One, a woman of fifty, handsome still,
and with a toilet suggestive of much
care and thought, was speaking not only
with decision, but with positive anger;
although her self-control was great
enough to keep her voice from rising, it
was not able to prevent a tremulous vi
bration which she vainly tried to stifle.
She was sitting on a high-backed, em
broidered chair in an attitude as faultless
as the fit of her satin gown.
The other, a girl of twenty, with great
clear brown eyes and fluily brown hair
and graceful figure, stood as a young
child might have done at receiving a
reprimand. Her eyes were cast down,
the lashes drooping till they nearly
touched her cheeks, and her fingers were
nervously picking to pieces a sprig of
hehotropc from a magnificent basket of
flowers beside her.
"It is the most absurd thing I ever
heard of," said the elder lady, with a
scornful smile. 44 1 really can not waste
any more words upon it. You always
were quixotic, Teresa, and this perform
ance caps the climax. In nearly one and
the same breath, you tell me you love
him, and that you have refused him. Oh !
it is too disappointing!"
"Aunt."
"Well?"
"Please let it drop forget it."
The tone was pleading, the voice sweet.
"Forget it, indeed ! Do you think I
will allow you to oppose me in this style?
Have I not daughters of my own, and
cares enough of my own, without being
longer burdened with one so obstinate
and self-willed as you, Teresa?"
"I did not know I mean " said the
young girl, deprecatingly. But she
quickly interrupted.
. "Now, don't plead ignorance ; don't tell
me that you do not know my wishes, and
did not mean to offend me."
"I really did not think of you at all."
"Worse and worse 1 Well, this is plain
speech. And whom do you think of
only yourself? Selfish child ! is this my
reward for educating you, and allowing
you every luxury, spending time and
money on you as freely as on my own?"
. "Aunt Aunt Geraldine, please for
give me."
The young voice faltered; the pink
flush gave way to pallor; the brown eyes
filled. r.
"No, Teresa; it's mockery to ask that;
and I want you clearly to understand
that this is to be no longer your home :
you have exhausted my patience, and
now the end has come. I have rented
this house, and I am going abroad.
Sibyl and Gladys are both delicate, and
need the change."
"But, aunt, where am I to got what
am I to do?"
"A pretty question to put to me now,
after such behavior! Consult your friends.
I have no further interest in you."
The cruelty of these words seemed to
freeze the young girl. Her brown eyes
opened widely, her color came and went.
She stared at the speaker as if not able
to believe the words just uttered, and
then, rushing from the room, found her
own apartment, and flung herself down
in an agony of grief and self-reproach.
To whom could she turn for sympathy or
pity when the one she had learned to re
gard as her natural protector spurned
her and willfully misunderstood her?
What had she done that was so grievous?
Had she not battled against ner own
feelings, and conscientiously done what
ahe thought to be right?
Mean while Mrs.. Geraldine Gansevoort,
having spent her anger and indignation,
rang the, bell and ordered her coupe.
She had to drive alone. Sibyl and
Gladys, her delicate daughters, had gone
to a reception. Frank, her son, a young
physician, was never able to go with her,
"office hours" preventing.
ner thoughts were far from pleasant.
It disturbed her circulation to be thus
excited. Teresa, in the plain terms she
used to herself, was a fool, and why
should she allow a fool so to annoy her?
But the girl should be punished. The
idea of a portionless orphan refusing
such an offer as that of Leroy Jones ! a
millionaire, a fellow whose horses and
yachts were the envy of all his comrades.
And why, forsooth? Because she chose
to think, him unsteady, weak; because
his little foibles to this fresh, young, un
sophisticated girl seemed to be vices.
Oh, it was too vexatious ! the more so as
she felt that all her good, sound, worldly-
wise advice and training had been
wasted. As for Sibyl and Gladys oh!
if they could have had such a chance,
poor, dear, delicate darlings I
ii.
Frank Gansevoort was a hard-working
young physician. His mother deplored
the fact that he was not a "society man,
and Sibyl and Gladys mourned over the
disaffection of their renegade brother as
if work were vice and idleness a virtue ;
but Frank kept steadily on, and even
went so far as to disfigure the front, of
the house with a sign. To be sure, it
was a nice, neat little silver plate, with
nnly "F. Gansevoort, M. D.," on it, but
it drew too many poor people.
.On this particular afternoon Dr. Ganse
voort had occasion to hunt up a book on
the library shelves. It was an old one,
and had been tucked out of sight. As
he searched for it a strange sound met
his ears a sound as of some one sob
bing. Now Frank knew very well whose
little room opened on the library, and if
he had a tender spot in his heart at all,
it was for the pretty young cousin who
inhabited the room; so, without finding
his musty old tome, he descended from
the library steps and knocked at Teresa's
door. There was no answer until he had
repeated his knock, and then there was
a muffled response which was not satis
factory. At last he said: "If you don't
come to the door, Tessie, I shall have to
break in."
This brought a very dejected-looking
damsel to the threshold, who, finding
Frank alone, immediately fell on his
shoulder in a fresh burst of tears. Thi3
was all very nice, to be sure, and Frank
had no sort of objection to support a
weeping damsel, who, despite her tears,
looked as pretty as a picture. But the
grief was real, and that pained Frank.
So, placing her very gently in one of the
library chairs, he managed by dint of
coaxing and questioning to find out what
was the matter. 4 4A quarrel with mother
and a break with Leroy Jone3 I wonder
which ia the worse," mused Frank.
"Tell me, Tessie, did you care much for
Leroy?" he asked.
4 'I did like him, Frank I always used
to care for him when he was nice. But
he isn't nice any more. He's horridlv
fast, and I will not marry him just for
his money, as aunt wants me to do, and
I've told him so, and and " The
handkerchief went up again.
4 'Yes, I see how it is. You are sure
you don't regret it?"
4 'Of course I am sure. Do you think
I would have made all this trouble if I
had not been sure ?" She stopped crying,
and drew herself up very proudly, con
tinuing: 4 4Aunt Geraldine has cast me
off. She has told me that this is no
longer my home. I am going away this
very evening. I will not stay another
day in her house."
4 'Don't be hasty, Tessie. Mother is
disappointed ; she will get over it "
4 'But I shall Hot; I am going, I tell
you, iranK."
"Oh, no, not yet, Tessie. Why, where
will you go?"
44 1 don't know yet perhaps to Mrs.
Russell nor do I know what I shall do.
I have no money, and I am so ignorant.
Oh! if I had only studied as I ought to
have done, I might then teach; but I
will find some way of getting along;"
and she held her head more proudly
still.
4 'Tessie, dear, you are a foolish little
thing. I don't uphold mother's unkind -
ness ; but you must remember that I love
you if she doesn't."
" Yes, dear Frank, you are always
good to me."
44 Well, then, why not put an end to
all this bother and be my little wife?"
4 Oh, Frank, don't, please don't talk
that way. You know we are cousins,
and I've no idea of ' burdening you with
any other relationship. You are very
kind, but, all the same, that cannot be."
Frank tried to look dolorous, but did
not succeed verv well. He was, in
truth, too much in love with his profes
sion to have much room for any other
sentiment in his good, kind heart, but
he had meant to do his best, if Tessie
would let him, which she wouldn't.
44 Well, if you won't, you won t, and I
must bear it."
'Which you will do with all the ease
in the world, dear Frank. And now I
am going to pack, and will send you my
trunks over to Mrs. Russell's, and tell
Syl and Gladys I am sorry not to say
ood-bye, and aunt that I regret having
ispleased her, and and Oh, how
happy I have been, and how foolish,
and how foolish and but "
She grew incoherent and tearful again,
and again Frank urged her to a different
course of conduct; but she was not to
be entreated or urged or advised. In
her hot young indignation the world was
her retreat ; ahe could do anything, bear
anything, but tyranny and injustice and
unkindness. Little indeed did she know
of the world, but she was earnest and
true and strong, and readv to do her
best.
in.
It is night in one of the great city
hospitals, and all is silent but for the
moans of those in pain and the mutter
ings of those in fever. '
Pacing slowly up and down the aisle
of a ward full of white cots, on which
are helpless sufferers, is a nurse whose
duty it is to watch and wait upon those
who require the little attentions they can
not bestow upon themselves.
To one she gives a glass of water, an
other's pillow needs raising, and another
demands soothing words. To all alike
she yields cheerful compliance, stopping
often merely to give a kind look or a lit
tle show of interest. The dim light falls
upon her slim figure in its neat gown, and
reveals the sweet ana sympathetic face of
a woman of mature years, more beautiful
even than in its first bloom.
It is a face of rare charm, so contented,
so placid, and yet so bright and cheerful.
Evidently to these poor sick people it is a
boon just to gaze upon it. But just now
she is called away; a physician wishes to
speak to her probably give his orders
for the night. She hastens to the office
where he is waiting.
4 'Miss Stanton, here is a telegram from
uptown. You know Pr. Gansevort,
presume. He wants you to attend a pa
tient."
4 'Is there no one else who can go? I
never take outside cases if I can avoid
it."
4 'Positively no one, and as he specifies
; you, I should not like to disappoint him."
"Well, then, I shall have to go, I sup
pose ; but what is the nature of the case?"
"An accident."
"Can you supply my place here?"
"Yes. We shall have to double the
duties." -
With the promptness of custom, no
more questions were asked, and in a few
moments Miss Stanton was on her way to
Fifth avenue. As she rolled along in the
darkness, with only the street lamps oc
casionally lifting it, her thoughts were as
calm and cool as if she had been a belle
to whom the triumphs of a ball-room
were an old story; but she knew that she
had need of all her courage and all her
resources. The carriage stopped before
gloomy brown-stone house, and the
door was instantly opened by a waiting
footman. Over the marble hall and up
the oaken stairway and under tapestries
and velvet hangings she was ushered
into an antechamber,, where, quickly
divesting herself of hfer wraps, she
waited. In a few moments Dr. Ganse
voort appeared, and briefly related all
that had happened, all that was required.
The man had been thrown from his car
riage, causing fracture of both legs they
had been set there was nothing to do
now but to watch most carefully.
Miss Stanton entered the room. It
was superb in all its appointments.
Though the light was low, the carved
wood, the frescoes, the glitter of cut
glass and brass, and the luxurious di
vans were ' all apparent. Rather
different from the bare walls of the
hospital ward were ' these beautiful
reaches of landscape and rare interiors
in their rich frames ; but, all the same as
on the narrow hospital cots, here among
the ruffles and lace of downy pillows was
a human sufferer; glasses and towels and
sponges and all the appurtenances of
surgery were about means for relieving
the terrible agony which in hospital or
palace pursues its victim. With note
book and pencil, vials and written orders,
Miss Stanton took her place at the bed
side. The sufferer was asleep, half hid
den in the clothes. Strange to say, she
had not asKed his name. Why was it
that in this silent watch her thoughts
returned to her girlhood to the far-off
home of her youth, which she had left
when a happy, thoughtless child for the
abode of wealth and luxury, from which
she had been thrust forth as unworthy
f nd disobedient? How long the years
of study and disappointment and hard
work seemed ! and how well she remem
bered all the chilling rebuffs she had met
from the day her aunt had spoken those
cruel words, and she had taken refuge
with her old friend Mrs. Russell, whose
influence and interest had at last secured
her a position in the training school for
nurses! Ah, it was no easy task she
had taken upon herself, but how tranquil
and assured now her life had become
since she had been her own mistress, and
filled the hours with useful work! To
be sure, her aunt had renounced and de
nounced her, and her cousins never spoke
to her. Frank onlv was her friend.
Just then, with a moan, her patient
awoke, and fixed his eyes upon her.
What a shock thrilled her as he looked
and looked again ! How well she knew
those eyes ! ' Though years and his deep
slumber had disguised him, she now was
conscious that she was in the presence of
the man who had once offered her his
love. Why had Frank sent for her?
What was the meaning of this meeting?
Did he know her? Should she fly? All
these questions rushed for an answer;
but long habits of self-restraint calmed
her, and with gentle touch she essayed
some little movement for his comfort,
hoping he would not recognize her. But
she was mistaken; a hot hand was laid
on hers, and a familiar voice said, 44 You
have come. I knew you would."
Yes, I am a nurse, come in response
to your physician's order."
No; you put it wrongly; you are
Teresa Stanton, come, because I, Leroy
Jones, sent for you."
44 Not at all; I would have come to an
utter stranger. I did come just that
way. Now let me quiet you."
44 1 have you at last; that is all I wait.
Do you know, I have never loved any
one else never. You were quite right
not to marry me : a deuce of a life you'd
have led !"
4 4 Hush I hush! you are injuring your
self," she said, softly, trying to stop his
impetuous talk. But he was not to be
stopped ; he had grasped her hand, and
was kissing it.
4 4 Nonsense I As if I didn't know!
had come to the end of my rope. Put
your hand here on my heart. How is
it going? fast, like a trip-hammer? It
will stop soon. But I have you to look
at again. See:" and he drew out a little
locket from beneath his pillow, where it
lay beside his watch and trinkets; 44 this
is all I have had these ten years. Do
you know yourself to be that girl? Isn't
she a beauty? But let me look at you.
Turn on the gas. No, don't leave me
either; you might not come back. .You
are altered, Tessie; but you are a lovely
woman still. You were a wise little
thing; you saw what poor stuff there
was in me ; but I loved you, Tessie, and
now Oh, I've no pain 1 Don't look so
distressed. I fear my time has come.
Nervous shock, you know. I feel very
weak. Give me some brandy. Kiss me,
Tessie.
TV.
It is the fourteenth of February, and
Dr. Gansevoort i3 mounting the stairs of
a New York boarding-house. He has a
patient on the top floor for whom he has
a scientific interest, and as he enters the
room, which he has at last reached, he
looks with anxiety toward the dormer
window filled with flowers. The patient
is standing there with a watering can
and scissors, tending her plants. His
anxiety is relieved when he sees the little
tinge of color on his patient's face, and
the giaa bright glance she gives him.
do you are oetter to-aay " he says,
taking the offered hand and giving it a
Kinuiy pressure.
4 4 Yes; I am getting quite strong again,
I shall soon be able to resume my du
ties." . .
"You need not be in haste to do that.
By-the-bye, do you know what day this
is?"
"Oh, yes; there's my calendar. A
woman of business must be accurate."
"A woman of business hum ! it seems
to me you've been that long enough; but
do yoa know this is a day of sentiment,
a day dedicated to a saint whose shrine is
the human heart ?"
4 'Oh, Frank!" was the laughing re
monstrance. 4 'You seem to think I am a little beside
myself, but as I am a bearer of dispatches
I thought best to prepare you for what is
coming." And he drew from his pocket
a sealed envelope.
"What! A valentine for me!"
"Really, I don't know what you'll call
it. Perhaps being such a business wo
man, you may regard it as a bill, a receipt
for services rendered, etc., etc."
It certainly was a valentine, tinted and
perfumed, rose-wreathed and lace-papered,
and the verses were as tender as
the song of the nightingale. But what
fell fluttering to the floor ?
A bit of plain white and black paper
a scrap from a check-book with "Pay to
Teresa Stanton's order" on it, and fifty
thousand dollars in the corner.
The smiling face became graVe, the
soft brown eyes filled, and bent a silent,'
questioning gaze upon Frank.
4 4 It's none of my doing, Teresa, as
you see. Leroy's an altered man. He
has always lved you, and now he seeks
to show his gratitude for all your kind
care."
"But, Frank, I cannot accept this
unless--unles8 "
44 You also accept the giver," said
Frank, smiling, as he finished the sen
tence for her. 44 That is just what he
wants, Teressa. I am a poor diplo
matist, as you see, for I ought to have
used much more circumlocution; but I
will send Leroy to do his own courting."
Harper's Weekly.
New York Station-house Scenes.
Next to the tenement house in point
of degradation, says the New York cor
respondent of the Troy Times, is the
station-house. I called at one of these
places lately and spent sufficient time to
get a view of what may be called
4 'station-house life." The crowd gets
very thick by 9 o'clock, but the wretches
keep coming in until every square foot
of space is filled. The floor is swept
every day. This forms the entire sleep
ing accommodation. In a loft fifty feet
by thirty 100 lodgers may find room, and
those who come earliest obtain the best
chance by the stove. The varions speci
mens of human misery found here tran
scend description. Age and nationality
in great variety may be noticed, and.
almost every one bears the 6ign of in
temperance. Rags, filth and vermin are
the principal characteristics. They seemed
to draw a dismal cheer in the way of con
versation, and I picked up some ideas of
a bummer's life. One man remarks : "My
name to-night' is Jones, yesterday it
was Snooks, and tomorrow it will be
something else. They don't get me
on the island this " season.'' "The
island!" says another. 4 'Its so full
up there now they don't want
any more." J. his remark refers
to the fact that applicants' names are
taken and all who repeat three times ar6
sent to the penitentiary. "I got a good
drink before I came in," says another.
"I had n't nary stamp, but I went into a
Dutchman's and he put the bottle out,
and before he knowed it I bummed a
glassful and then he kicked me out, but
I didn't care." A generalj hum of ap
plause followed the narration of this ex
ploit, and then another mentioned to the
company that he had a dime in his
pocket and added: "To-morrow I'll
have a good drink ; that's the breakfast
for me. I don't want any breakfast, but
a good horn." Several of the company
expressed regret that they were not
equally provided for, and then one ob
served in a consolatory tone: "I can
bum all the beer I want at the brewery
up town. They lets two on us get all we
want for rolling casks." The speaker
was immediately importuned for the
name of the said brewery, but declined
giving it as it would overdo the business,
but one man protested that he would
track him up. At this moment two ol
the lodgers got into a fight for the nearest
place to the stove. This brought in the
attendants with their clubs, who settled
the dispute in a rough but effectual man
ner, and I took my departure, having
seen enough of misery for one occasion.
The female department of the station
house is kept in better order and is less
crowded, but the display of drunkenness
and general degradation is sufficient to
illustrate the power of an evil life.
A Sea Grass for Bread.
On thft west roast of England crows a
sort nf sea crass which is made into
something very like bread. In the main
it is gathered by women; tney tnen
wash it and pluck all other plants care
fully from it. After this it is boiled for
some two hours ; then the mass is cut in
rieces with knives, and kneaded into
oaves. Oat meal is then strewed over it
to give it . greater cohesion and a more
inviting appearance, and then it is baked.
It keeps in summer for four days and in
winter for eight. Many women on the
coast of Devonshire earn their living by
this bread, and most of it is sent
in Rwnnsp.a (in. Walesl. where it is much
liked by the poorer classes. Scientific
Iress. -
Our lefficiency depends so much on? our
concentration that nature usually in the
instances where a marked man is sent into
the world, overloads him with bias, sac
rificing his symmetry to his. working
rower.
THE WIIEAT PRODUCTION.
Wheat Produced and Consumed Sine
lS6r Interesting Figure.
In an . article on the production and
consumption of wheat since 18G7,a writer
in the New York Tribune says : It hap
pens that about July 1, 1807, the supply
of wheat was reduced exceedingly low.
And again, the exhaustion of stocks was
relatively still greater about July 1, 1867,
because of the partial failure of crops the
year before in this and other countries.
At that time old wheat came into market , r
that had been undisturbed for a long ""V
time in some insl ances at least for seven
years. Considering that the stock or
dinarily held over has increased with the
growth of population and trade, and that
the exhaustion in 1882 was relatively un
precedented, it may be assumed that the ..
stock in the country was substantially
the same at the beginning and at the. end
of this period of fifteen years. Now the
quantity raised in each of these crop
years and the acreage, according to the
bureau of agriculture, for thirteen years,
and the census reports for 1S09-7Q and
1879-80, and the quantity exported in
excess of imports, according to the offi
cial reports of the treasury, flour being
included as wheat at four and a half
bushels to the barrel, are shown in the
following table.
Tears.
Acres.
WWt crop,
bush.
Exported
bush.
1867-8...
1888-9...
1809-70..
1870- 1...
1871- 2...
1872- 3...
1873 4...
1874-5...
1S75-8...
1876- 7...
1877- 8...
1878-9...
1879- 80. .
1880- 1...
1881- 2...
1882- 3...
1883- 4...
18,321,561
18,460,132
19,181,004
18,992,591
19,943,893
20,858,359
22,171,676
24,967,027
26,381,512
27.627,021
26,277,546
32,108,560
35,430,333
37,9S6,717
212,441,400
25,54(3,914
27,135,929
51,347,709
50,338,286 .
36,373,210
59,445,699
88,474,967 '
70,764,736
72,444,801
55,478,801
90,055,847
224,036,ttKl
287,745,626
235.884,700
2:0,722,400
249,997,100
281,254,700'
309,102,700
292,130,000
289,350,500
364,194,140
420,122,400
459,483,137
498,549,808
380,280,090
504.185.470
147,378,705
180,448,373
18(3,273,994
121,732,530
87,709,020
37,067,198
37,540,363
145,918,947
420,154,500
According to the best information that
can possibly be obtained, there were
raised in these fifteen years 4,735,307,367
bushels of wheat, and there were ex
ported in the same years, from the point
of great exhaustion of stocks, July 1,
1867, to the later point of great exhaus
tion of stocks, July 1, 1832, 1,263,239,
755 bushels. This leaves for home con
sumption in all ways 3,472,067,612 bush
els. It is safe to say that no more accur
ate statement ' of the quantity actually
consumed during any past period of fif
teen years ever has been obtained.
The consumption depends partly upon
the acreage sown during the year follow
ing that in which the- crop is grown.
The aggregate acreage sown in "fif
teen years after July 1, 1867, which
includes the acreage for ' the crops ol
1868-1883 inclusive, was 405,16,589.
Formerly it was supposed that an aver
age of one and five-eighth bushels was
used for seed to the acre ; later the stat
istician of the department of agriculture
ascertained that one and one-half busnela
would be more nearly correct, and more
thorough investigation showed that. 1.59
bushels were used for the crop of 1883
and 1,377 for the crop of-1883. Allow
ing only 1.39 bushels to the acre for the
fifteen years in question, the quantity re
quired for seed was 563,17o,999 bushels,
and the quantity which actually re
mained for consumption as food or in
manufactures during fifteen years was
therefore 2,008,891,613 bushels.
The yield of 1883 is now officially re
ported as 420,154,500 bushels. This,
with the stock carried over, makes an
available supply of 486,031,055 bushels.
The population July 1, 1883, calculated
upon the basis above explained,
was 55,325,979, and the increase in six
months, at the rate of two per cent,
yearly, was 553,259, while the emigra
tion from July 1 to January 1 was 238,
351. This would give a population
January 1, 1884, of 56,117,589, which
may be assumed as the mean population
for the current consuming year. The
consumption as food would therefore be
247,871,390 bushels, at 4.417 per capita.
This leaves 238,160,265 bushels for ex
port and for seed. The quantity ex
ported from all the principal ports to
January 1, according to the report of the
bureau of statistics,' was 60,216,232 bush
els. It may be assumed that the acreage
sown for next year's crop will be about
as large as was sown last year; if so, 52,
000,000 bushels have been or will be con
sumed as seed before July 1. This leaves
available for export between January 1
and July 1 no less than 125,944,033 bush
els. But the exports last year during
these months were less than 50,000,000
bushels. Hence it would seem probable
that about 76,000,000 bushels would re
main July 1 to be carried over to another
crop year.
Pre-hlstoric Sharks.
4 'What was the largest fish of the an
cient seas?" asked a reporter of a New
York geologist.
4 'Tne sharks were probably the largest, "
was the reply. "Here is a tooth," taking
one from a drawer. 4 4 You see it is al
most as large as the palm of your hand;
in other respects it is similar to those of
the existing genera of sharks. It has the
same serrated edges and the fine polish.
Now, if you take the jaw, as I have
done, of an existing shark, and arrange
those gigantic fossil teeth similarly, you
have a mouth large enough to drive a
horse and cart in, and the length of the
animal, if proportioned like our sharks
of to-day, must have been considerably
over 120 feet. ' Fine specimens of these
teeth can be seen in the halls of the
Philadelphia academy of science. Prob
ably the finest collection in the country
is owned by Professor Holmes, in Charles
ton, S. C. This is the best locality foi
them, the beds there being great bury,
ing grounds for the creatures of this lost
age.
o