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A DISTRACTED PARENT.
Fire daughters four of them engaged
I think I shall go mad!
For such a surfeiting of love
No parent ever had.
The very atmosphere is charred
"With it; no matter where
I go about the house, I trip
Upon some whispering pair.
At evening when I take my pipe
And seek a quiet nook
To sit and read my paper, or
Some new and tempting book,
I ope, perhaps, the parlor door,
"When a familiar sound. '
Quite unmistakable, suggests ' .
It is forbidden ground.
So then more cautiously I turn
To our reception room;
But, lo! again upon my ear
From its romantic gloom
Comes softly, yet with emphasis,
That warning; when I start
And leave as Lady llacbeth wished
Her guests would all depart.
My next resort is then the porch.
Where roses trail and bloom;
Ha! is it echo that betrays
The joys of yonder room?
Ah, no! a startled change of base
Reveals the presence there
Of Cupid's votaries, and alas!
There's still another pair.
"But sure," I think, ' my library
"Will be a safe retreat."
So there at once with quickened step
I take my wearied feet.
Vain hope that warning sound again
Breaks on my listening ear;
Thank heaven! my youngest hath not yet
Attained her thirteenth year.
Hark! there she is! and bless my heart.
That popinjay, young Lunn,
Is at her side I do believe,
That she, too, has begun.
Oh, ye w ho live to sit and dream
Of future married joys,
Pray heaven with honest fervor that
Your girls may all be boys.
Philadelphia Press,
A WORTHLESS FELLOW.
There was a rumor afloat at the fort
that Tom O'Halloran was to be discharged
from the regiment for drunkenness, and
everybody was sorry for it. Even though
those were stirring days, and every man
and woman had their heads and hearts
full of the expedition against the In
dians for which the regiment was pre
paring, yet each had a thought of pity
for Tom, a word of kindness for Tom'3
mother. They had, after a fashion, be
longed to the regiment longer than any
officer or soldier now included in it, for.
Tom's father had been band-master from
the early days of the war to his death,
which occurred just after Tom was en
rolled as a private, some five years since ;
while Mrs. O'Halloran, whose patience
and faithfulness as a nurse were beyond
praise, was endeared to almost every offi
cer's family by some battle with death
which they had fought together. They
had more than their share of Irish beau
ty, those two, and the gray eyes which
laughed or flashed under Tom's dark
brows were, his defenders said, very like
those which looked at the world with
such gentle kindness from beneath his
mother's white hair. He was . a strong,
clever young Irishman, with an aptitude
for doing well anything that he was set
to do, from fighting to masonry, but with
a passion for drink which his mother's
prayers, his colonel's warnings, and his
own resolutions were powerless to over
come. Clever and handsome and brave
as he was, and "Child of the Regiment,"
as he was jokingly called, hi3 officers
would scarcely have had such patience
with his always recurring escapades if it
had not been for his mother, whose love
for him was so devoted, and whose faith
in his promises of reform so unwavering,
that the hardest hearts (and soldiers'
hearts are not very hard ones) always
yielded to her entreaty for another chance
for her boy.
But this time things looked very serious
for poor Tom. He had been drunk while
on duty as sentry, and being in quarrel
some humor, had been with difficulty
prevented from knocking down the officer
Df the day who had ordered him under
arrest. Within a week a large portion
of the regiment was to start on an expe
dition of several months, and as Tom's
company was among those which were to
go, the colonel had been heard to say
that patience in his case had reached its
limit, for a drunken sentry could en
danger an army, and nobody could pos
sibly rely upon Tom's sobriety from one
hour to another. Punishment and warn
ings had alike failed a hundred times,
and Tom must be left behind and dis
charged. I think the good colonel,
under whose bluff aspect was hidden a
very kindly heart, was quite conscious
that he was in disfavor with . all the
ladies and many of the officers, that day,
and it was even whispered that he had
been repulsed with great disorder, in an
attempt to prove to Mrs. Colcnel that he
was ii7ht in his resolution. At all events.
he carried rather a gloomy countenance
about his duties, and it was with lagging
footsteps that, toward evening, he entered
the little hospital. There was only one
patient at present, but he was one who
would never leave it alive, a man who
had been a good soldier, and the colonel's
orderly for years.
A little old woman with a white apron
and a quaint cap rose from beside the
bed where poor Butler lay a pale little,
wman, with a look of patient trouble in
her soft eyes that touched the colonel
more than vehement reproaches, for this
was Mrs. O'Halloran, and to him, as to
most of the officers, she was the old and
tried friend of many an illness and
anxiety, rather than merely the mother
of a private solder who was in a scrape.
The room was as neat and pleasant, the
bed and the patient as well cared for as,
though his nurse had no thought but his
welfare; and the sight of this also
touched the colonel, who would have
done his duty under any circumstances,
and who respected the evidence of such
a character in others.
"Butler must not talk much, if you
please, Colonel," Mrs. O'Halloran said,
as she left the room and sat down on the
lowest step of the hall stair, for she
was trembling so that she could scarcely
stand.
After a few moments the colonel came
slowly out. He was surprised that But
ler had not interceded for Tom, because
he knew the man's liking for the nurse,
who, as a special favor, had been al
lowed him, instead of the usual hospital
steward, and that he might reasonably
expect to be heard with patience at least
by his old master.
" You know what I would say.
Colonel," Mrs. O'Halloran began, rising
and clasping her wrinkled hands. ''My
heart has been breaking to say it this
long day, but I could not leave Butler."
"Does Butler know anything about
this affair?"
"No, sir. Sure I couldn't trouble a
dying man, who has been a good friend
to Tom, and his father before him, this
many a day."
"I wish Tom had your sense of duty,
Mrs. O'Halloran!" cried the colonel, with
a sudden dimness in his keen eyes, as he
thought of the mother's agony of sus
pense that she had concealed for the
good of her patient.
"I knew that I could see you when you
came to see Butler, as you always do.
colonel," she said, simply; and then,
while the slow tears of age crept
down her pale face, "Colonel, it
is good and kind you have been
to my poor boy many and many
a time, and sorely he has tried
your kindness ! But his heart is set on
going to this fighting, and if you turn
him out of the regiment now, the regi
ment that has been his home since he
was a little lad, sure, sir, you will ruin
his life entirely, and he so young. He is a
brave boy, too, is my Tom, Colonel, and 1
have a feeling here" (pressing a trembling
hand against her heart) "that if you take
him with you, he will do something to
make you and his regiment proud of
him."
It was weak logic, but the brave, pa
thetic old eyes, the passionate pleading
of the faltering voice, made it very elo
quent, and though the colonel told him
self that he was a fool, he knew that he
was yielding.
"Take him with you this once! Give
him this one more chance !" she implored.
"Sure, Colonel, the God of the widow
will not let any harm come to you, be
cause you heard the widow's prayer."
"Very well, Mrs. O'Halloran, foryour
sake Tom shall have another trial, but I
shall keep my eye on him and if he does
any harm, it shall only be to himself,'"
cried the colonel, with a sense of apolo
gizing to his conscience. "The son of
such a mother as you are ought to be bet
ter stuff than hopeless drunkards are
made of."
"God bless you, sir, for ever and ever!"
catching his hand and kissing it. 4 'His
mother knows Tom O'Halloran better
than himself does; and you will be glad
of this day's mercy as long as you live,
Colonel."
Thl sun had risen on such hopes and
such confidence, sudh light hearts and
such gay laughter, on a well-ordered,
well-appointed regiment that scorned its
foes and believed in its own invincible
ness. The sun was sinking, at the June
day's close, on a couple of hundred ex
hausted men huddled together within a
rampart of saddles and dead horses on
the bare crown of a steep hill, whose
base was surrounded by howling savages
who stretched in dusky hordes, it seemed
to the tired eyes that watched them, end
lessly through the valley beyond the lit
tle river. They had been surrounded and
slaughtered by overwhelming numbers,
and the remnant still alive were worn out
with fatigue, heat, hunger, discourage
ment, but most of all by thirst. The
steep sides of the hill were strewn with
bodies; for the Indians, with the reck
lessness of triumph, had charged almost
up to the rifles several times, and none
of that weary hand could say but what
the next charge might be successful,
though each man vowed silently to him
self that his own weapon should prevent
his becoming a prisoner if he survived
his comrades.
They were not quite hopeless, however,
for they knew that within twenty-four
hours' march of them were reinforce
ments of such extent that at their 'ap
proach the Indians would vanish, and
that if they could but maintain their
position, by sunset to-morrow they
would be safe. But in the meantime,
though hunger and fatigue could be
endured, thirst was maddening, and
the wounded, who lay in the center
of the little circle, would not live until
morning without water, the surgeon
said. The colonel and two or three of
the surviving officers, who had been hold
Jng a council (if such could be called
anything so unanimous as the opinion
that they must defend themselves while
there was life left),-looked hopelessly at
each other when the surgeon made his
report, and then, with the energy of des
peration, the colonel sprang to his feet.
They were all lying flat behind their ram
part to protect themselves against occa
sional volleys fired by the Indians from
an opposite but less high hill.
"Boys!" said the colonel, and between
fatigue and sorrow (for had he not seen
his best friends die that day ?) the strong,
kindly voice was sorely shaken, "you
have done to-day all that brave men
could. You are tired and hungry and
grieved. Your colonel will not order
you to do him an extra service, but the
surgeon has told us that our wounded
will die of thirst before morning unless
they have water. Boys, there is a little
stream at the foot of this hill. Will any
of you volunteer to bring some for your
comrades ?"
There was a moment's silence, for all
the men knew that the service he asked
was a desperate one. The stream lay
within the Indian line if anything so ir
regular could be called a line and they
were physically so tired that exertion,
much less daring, seemed impossible.
Only a moment, and then a tall young
man jumped up in his place, a couple of
yards from the colonel's side, and waved
his cap over his head.
"I will go, colonel!" cried Tom O'Hal
loran's cheery voice. "Friends, who will
help to bring some water for those who
have not been so lucky as we have?"
Soldiers only need a leader to do a gal
lant thing, and in two moments more
eight men the colonel would not permit
more to go crept out over the rampart,
every second man carrying a tin bucket,
and the other acting as guards. Very
breathlessly their comrades waited the
result, and the colonel clinched his hands
in helpless grief when he heard the
firing that told they had been attacked.
But they came back presently seven of
them, wonderful to say with water
enough to give everybody a drink, and
to. keep the wounded supplied for several
hours, and the only missing man was
Tom O'Halloran!
"His mother said that he would make
the regiment proud of him," muttered
the colonel to the officer beside him, and
neither was ashamed of the tears on his
cheek.
It was not a night on which it was
possible for a commanding officer, how
ever tired, to sleep; and two hours later,
when all had been quiet for over an hour,
and in the dusky skies the stars were
shining brilliantly, the colonel moved
noiselessly across the sleeping men to a
sentry who for some five minutes had
been fixedly watching something on the
other side of the defenses.
"What is it?" he asked, in a sharp
whisper.
"I think it is one of our men, colonel
but I am not sure," answered, the soldier'
pointing to a dark form crawling On
hands and knees, with many pauses, near
the top of the hill.
"Who goes there?" cried the colonel.
"Tom," came a faint reply; and in an
instant, forgetting that it was his duty
as commander not needlessly to expose
his life, the colonel was over the de
fenses, and kneeling beside bleeding,
ghastly, but living Tom O'Halloran."
"Good God! my boy, how did you
get here ? We thought you were dead !"
"So did I, Colonel, twice," murmured
Tom, with a gleam that was half fun,
half tenderness, in his dim eyes. "But
I promised my mother to go back to her,
and I was not going to break her heart
just when I had done something at last
to make her a little proud of her worth
less fellow !"
You all know that they were rescued
next day, "all that was left of them;"
but I think you will bo glad to hear that
Tom O'Halloran kept his promise to his
mother, and lived, though he lost a leg,
and was otherwise so injured that he will
never be a strong man again. But he is
the hero of his regiment, and whether a
desire tD live up to his new place in
men's esteem helped him, or whether tho
good in his nature would have tri
umphed sooner or later without ihe assis
tance of his heroism, is a question the
colonel is fond of arguing, always end
ing by inviting his auditor, if a stranger,
to go with him to the regimental hospi
tal, where Tom has become a model
bookkeeper and steward, and the best of
sons to his happy and proud old mother.
Harpers Weekly.
A Wealthy Chinaman's Estate.'
I was permitted the very rare privilege
of passing over the famous Houqua es
tate, one of the wealthiest and most im
posing homes in this whole empire,
writes a correspondent of the Chicago
Inter-Ocean from China. The elder
Houqua died some forty years ago, sup
posed to be worth nearly a million of
dollars for every year of his life. His
wealth was illustrated by the fact that
when the English demanded a ransom of
several million dollars for the city of
Canton, about the time when they were
holding the city, Mr. Houqua came for
ward and said :
"Permit me the happiness of donating
$1,000,000."
And the citizens cheerfully accorded
him that liberty. Of the sons, grand
ons, great-grandsons now living on the
estate (including, of course, the servants,
for in China the patriarchal system pre
vails, and servants are reckoned as mem
bers of the family), there are about four
hundred persons.
For a time we strolled about in the
countless courts and outer halls of the
place, in order to give the family a
chance to take cognizance of our pres
ence. Everything was grand, massive
and gloomy, but not by any means
pretty. We were escorted into a cherry
orchard, where there were perhaps one
hundred trees of Chinese variety of this
fruit, all in full bloom. The odor from
the billowy burden of blossoms that
hung on the boughs was so sweet that
the air seemed to rise and fall in wave3
of perfume. The ground was literally
white underneath with a carpet of fallen
petals.
We now began to encounter represen
tatives of the family, who flocked about
us numerously and cordially remarked :
"Chin-chin?" in greeting. They were
the finest and most cleanly looking
Celestials I have yet seen in China,
though I must reluctantly announce that
the girls affected small feet and the
young men cultivated immensely long
finger-nails. These are indispensable
badges of aristocracy, however. Not
only did the wives and daughters peep
out at us from behind curtained windows,
but they came out in a plain sight and
bowed timidly. They were painted
clear to their foreheads and had their
lips crimsoned with vermillion. Their
feet were invariably 6mall or rather
mangled and their attire was exceed,
ingly immaculate. The little tots flocked
about us, not at all afraid, apparently,
reaching out their cute little hands and
piping the salutation, "Chin-chin 1"
Their cleanliness made them the first
native children I have seen in Chiniwho
were attractive. Some of them got hold
of the plug hat of Mr. Seymour and in
great glee began trying it on.
The Grocer Whs Caved.
There was, up to a year or two ago, a
man in the grocery business in one of the
villages of Western Michigan who was
famous for his hatred of drummers.
Travelers for Chicago, Detroit and other
houses were ordered out of his store in
the roughest manner, and several were
assisted to leave in a style more hurried
than graceful. The beys, however,
rather enjoyed it, and s sort of ring was
formed among them with a solemn agree
ment to keep calling on the grocer until
he gave some one an order.
One day, eight or ten months ago, an
agent for a Detroit house entered the
grocery prepared for the worst, but what
was his amazement to be received with a
smile of welcome. This was followed by
kind words, and later on by an order for
about $800 worth of goods. The agent
was so elated that he telegraphed the
news home and to several of his acquain
tances, and it was a week before he re
covered his usual equilibrium of spirits.
"And did he continue to buy of your
house ?" asked one who had listened to
the drummer's story. r
"Well, no."
"Why not ?"
"Because, within ten days after he got
our goods he failed and couldn't pay fivo
cents on the dollar." Detroit Fred Praa.
The Labrador Cod Fishermen
Ihe men engaged in the Labrador cod
fishery, says a correspondent of tho
Springfield Republican, are of two classes,
the employers and the employed. The
employers all along the coast are gener
ally men who, coming here poor, have
earned their way by hard work and
"luck" to a position of more or less in
dependence, or haye been sent as agents
from some firm of merchants abroad to
hire men and conduct a fishery, large Op
6mall, as the wealth of the firm or the
accumulation of business may allow.
The men employed in the fishery hero
are either hired from the surrounding
families or from Newfoundland. The
home men are rough, hearty, healthy and
good-natured, and those from New
foundland, generally speaking, are large,
robust, rough men in nearly every re
spect. They are apt to be quarrelsome,
and in many cases, I sadly fear, the habit
of taking whatever they see that they
wish and can safely get away with, is
very strongly imbedded in their
nature. When detected, they seem
like the ancient Spartans, to regret,
being caught more than to have
taken what was not theirs. Yet many
are the reverse of ill-natured. All are
strong and accustomed to endurance
that would wear out an ordinary indi
vidual, while it just seems to fit them for
their work. Having employed some
thirty or forty men the season before, the
next thing is to get everything in readi
ness for their reception and work the ap
proaching season. Part of the men work
on wages, while most of them work on
shares, the share being a certain per cent.,
say one-third or one-half of the fish
caught by them during the season, the
other part, of course, going to the em
ployer. During the winter months the
nets are netted or mended as the occa
sion may be; while in the spring the
buildines containing the sleeping apart
ments, or bunks arranged, barrack
fashion, like the berths of a ship's
cabin and the eating-room and cook
room attached are put in order. In the
winter, also, the nets, lines, hooks,
etc., are all prepared for immediate
use as soon as the season opens,
n the spring, again the boats
are taken from their storing
place, thoroughly repaired, repainted in
side and out, the sails and oars mended
or furnished anew if sj required; when,
dry they are launched and moored by
sunken buoys at a short distance from the
stage head. The stage itself is repaired
new props and foundation logs often being
required, as well as boarding for the floor
proper, and fully cleaned; the empty
puncheons, hogsheads and barrels ar
ranged to occupy as little space as possi
ble in some sunny position, while the
sheds are also cleaned and swept. By
the first of May, or the breaking up of the
ice in the bays and harbors, everything is
ready for the advent of the summer fish
eries. -
We will now consider that tho sum
mer has begun, that the time is June
1, and that the, men are arriving
ready to begin work. Rough-looking
fellows they are indeed. Tall
and short, stout and broad, full-faced,
full-bearded and correspondingly fleshy
in proportion. They are dressed quite
Alike, with suits of good thick cloth in
the 6hape of jumper and trousers, ever
which are hauled the overalls and frock
when in working trim on the shore and
oil jacket and pantaloons with an old
"sou'wester," as it is called, or rubber
hat with a huge rim that hangs over the
body, allowing the rain from it to drip,
at least on the oil garments if not com
pletely over them on to the ground.
Four-fifths or more of the men wear a
thin belt and sheath-knife buckled
around their body, which, however, is
used more for appearance's sake than any
thing else. It has been reported that oc
casionally on board some ill-managed
craft, these knives are used for weapons
of offense and defense, as the case may be,
but I have not heard it proven here at
least. Though the men look fierce and
ill-tempered they are generally of a bet
ter disposition than they are usually givea
credit for being.
Cleaving Unto the Dust
It has been remarked that the funniest
object in the world is a hen, because it
is so perfectly unconscious. .It is not
often that an intelligent human being
vies with the hen in this particular,' but
the gentleman of whom the following
story is told evidently made an effort ia
tkat direction:
"Before beginning the second psalm
for the day, a Glasgow clergyman reached,
down into his pocket, and took a pinch
of snuff. Even yet he cannot understand
what there was in the first verse of the
psalm to make the congregation laugh
when he read : 'My soul cleATcth to tho
dust."'