«a4 THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #8252 o-nn GROWING OLD. Softly, oh, softly the years have swept by thee, Touching thee lightly with tenderest care ; Sorrow and death they have often brought nigh thee, Yet have they left thee but beauty to wear ; Growing old gracefully, Gracefully fair. Far from the storms that are lashing the ocean, Nearer each day to the pleasant home-light ; Far from the waves that are big with commotion, Under full sail and the harbor in sight; Growing old cheerfully, Cheerful and bright. Past all the winds that were adverse and chilling, Past all the islands that lured thee to rest, Past all the currents that lured thee unwilling Far from thy course to the Land of the Blest; Growing old peacefully, Peaceful and blest. Never a feeling of envy or sorrow When the bright faces of children are seen: Never a year from the young wouldst thou borrow— Thou dost remember what lieth between ; Growing old willingly, Thankful, serene. Rich in experience that angels might covet, Rich in a faith that has grown with thy years, Rich in a love that grew from and above it, Soothing thy sorrows and hushing thy fears ; Growing old wealthily, Loving, and dear. Hearts at the sight of thy coming are lightened, Ready and willing thy hand to relieve ; Many a face at thy kind word has brightened— “Tt is more blessed to give than receive ;” Growing old happily, Ceasing to grieve. Eyes that grow dim to the earth and its glory Have a sweet recompense youth cannot know ; Ears that grow dull to the world and its story Drink in the songs that from Paradise flow ; ; Growing old graciously, Purer than snow. CHANGED FORTUNES. BY ROBERT F. GREELEY. All was silent and dark in the deserted library in which for years the Austins had been in the habit of - collecting their treasures of literature and art, there to slumber amid cobwebs until the arrival of ad- ditional treasures let in the light and disturbed the silence which brooded over them. Perey Austin, the elder, had been a great book- worm, but only in the sense in which collectors view the pursuit, and once acquired, there, from year to year, his riches, literary and artistic, slept, not even the broom of a servant being suffered to re- move the dustin which they were enveloped. Only at times a solitary figure might have been discovered through the dim twilight which reigned, stretched at full length upon the carpetiless floor, intently poring over arare volume which lay outspread be- fore him, by the aid of a ray of light which streamed through the half-opened blinds. ; In every other part of this spacious mansion the utmost ostentation was manifest, although the pre- siding spirit had long been in her grave, and the voice of rejoicing had rarely been heard within it; but now the master of the house himself lay dead. But it was not a book over which Ambrose Austin, the younger, bent with such silent intensity, unless it might be the just closed volume of a life well spent; for there, in the center of the large apartment, lay, upon a bier, an elegant coffin, and two figures, instead of one, hovered aboutit. The one, the elder brother, Percy, stood erect and proud by the bier, unable to repress the exultation which secretly swayed him; for he was now the proprietor of all this wealth, which had rendered the name of his father a household word. The other, Ambrose, bent over the cold remains—his stifled sobs beingthe only sounds which were audible throughout the apart- ment. For some minutes this depressing silence reigned. Then the elder brother, turning to the younger, said: “Come, Ambrose, itis time your little fit of senti- mentality was over. The great event of our lives has come to pass, and it is fit that we should meet the issue like men, not as boys. By the provisions of his will, the bulk of this property passes into my hands; and if you prove in all respects worthy of the name, you shall always have a maintenance at my hands. But this sniveling over whatis at the best but an empty shell is as unmanly as it is un- seemly, and it is fit that we consign it as soon as pos- sible to earth, and address ourselves at once to the earnest duties of life.” “The will has not been formally read,’”’ replied Ambrose, “but let that pass. At such a time consid- erations of a worldly nature have with me not the slightest weight. I think only of the virtues of him whose ashes lie before us, and pray only that I may in my own life emulate the virtues of one so irre- proachable.” “The reward of a saint be yours, my devoted brother,” said Percy, sneeringly, ‘‘for a man of the world would find such principles but little to his profit here, if they did not bar his pathway to prog- ress hereafter. And by what kind of course am I to infer that my sentimental Ambrose is to guide his eareer in the future ?”’ “Not by eating the bread of dependence,” rejoined Ambrose, warmly; “still less by extravagance and riotous living, as others might do!” This retort was in allusion to the habits of his brother Percy; who had been his father’s favorite, and who, with all the money that he wished at his disposal and no desire ungratified, had indulged to the extreme in all the vices and follies of the day, and had been so often in difficulty arising from his debts, that he had already mortgaged to the money- lenders, at an enormous sacrifice, a large portion of his expectations. ‘ Ambrose, the younger, being of a habit studious and reserved, attracted so little notice that he was generally regarded as ano-account sort of fellow, whose acquaintance was not worth the cultivating, and consequently escaped many a temptation which beset his brother, whose sins and passions were no secrets among his intimates. Asis usual in such cases, the parent had cut his youngest scion off with a shilling, or at least, with a proviso which it would require time to fulfill, while to the elder was be- queathed, without reserve, the whole of his fortune. “You have made your choice,” said Perey, “and if there is any blame in the matter, it is not mine. With my guidance you might become an ornament to society, and might even attain wealth and influence. Reject it, and you are free to follow your own inclina- tions, but not within these walls.” “Which means that I am either to pander to a brother’s whims, or that we are to be henceforward strangers ?”’ said Ambrose, half interrogatively. “As you please to construe it,” replied Percy, with haughty indifference. : “T have made my decision,” said Ambrose, firmly. “J willleave this roof, where I see so many mortiti- cations await me, and trust that when I return to it I shall be able to prove my claim to a character for thrift equal to that of him who would be my mentor.” “T appreciate the sneer, and you may rejoice in the consciousness that your arrow has struck home,” said Percy, with a sardonic smile. Then producing a check which ‘had been but recently filled, he added: ‘However, itis not necessary that we should part otherwise than as friends, and here is a favoring breeze, to waft pr artly on your Way.” He tendered the check as he spoke. “Retain your bribe,’ rejoined Ambrose; ‘‘I have no need of it. While money has flowed through your hands like water, I have husbanded a portion of my allowance, and, like my father before me, am not afraid to begin the world for myself. Farewell, my brother, and when next we meet, may it be in my power to prove that I am neither so helpless nor so unworthy as you would fain have had the world be- lieve.” ‘We shall meet again?’ “At the grave of him whose memory we should delight to honor,” was the rejoinder. And before the elder brother could further inter- . he had impressed a farewell kiss upon the lips of the deceased, and passed from the apartment. Percy placed the chamber of death in the hands of aid mourners, and, donning his overcoat, went off pass the day in_ his usual round of pleasures as unconcernedly as though no unusual event had hap- pened to interfere with them. On the same day, and at the same hour, a some- what similar scene was transpiring at the home of a carver in woods and ivory, many specimens of whose handiwork had been brought to grace the cabinet of the rich virtuoso, Pierce Austin. It was evening, and the kettle was singing upon the hub, and making rich family musie at the arti- gan’s fireside, while a beautiful golden-haired child played with the kitten on the hearth-rug, and the mother—a pale, emaciated woman, evidently in a decline which was the precursor of death—lay back in her invalid’s eg and contemplated the scene with a weary sinile. , ; “My poor little Elsie!” she said; “my thread is 7 = , eee of you when the hand of eternity has drawn its vail between us, and you shall have been abandoned to a pitiless world? Ah! how I shudder when your fu- ture confronts me, my poor little penniless girl!” But still the kettle sang merrily on the hob, and the clock on the mantel ticked on, a:d the kitten purred, and the musical laughter of innocent child- hood rang through the place. The snow-white cloth had been long ago laid (Heaven knows there was little on it to tempt the palate), and yet the head of the family came not. Eight, nine, ten—how wearily pass the hours when oneis waiting! Eleven, twelve! The golden-haired child is asleep, and the fire is out. Will he never, never come ? The first gray streak is dawning in the east, and the rattle of the early milk wagons is heard upon the stones; then the shrill whistle that summons the fac- tory hands to their toil, and still lay the pale woman in her easy chair, sleepless still, for her eyes had not closed the entire night for weeping. At last a clumsy, uncertain step was heard ascend- ing the stairs, the door was flung noisily open, and Gilbert Griffiths, the artisan, stumbled headlong into the apartment. Although naturally not an iH-looking man, his countenance was so inflamed with dissipation, that he had more the look of an ogre, anda disposition originally really mild and loving, had become so closely assimilated to the latter character, as to have transformed the gentle husband into the brute. “Ah, you have come!” the poor woman muttered. “Gilbert, Gilbert, you will kill me with a look, but it is better you should come thus than not at all, for while there is life there is hope.” “Yes,” rejoined Gilbert, with sarcasm, ‘‘that’s the old cant: “While the light holds out to burn, The vilest sinner may return.’ ”’ “But that’s no reason why I shouldn’t have my supper.” “Supper?” she replied, smiling faintly. “I have tasted none myself. There was not enough for us both, and I devoted what there was to the child and you.’ “Well, then, breakfast. I’m as hungry as a wolf. Be quick, or——” ‘‘Alas! you know well there is none,” she answer- ed, faintly. ‘‘Where have you been that you could so easily forget a father’s duty ?”’ concerns you—and he pays well for it. But that’s neither here nor there. I want my breakfast.” “T have said there is none.” “An empty fireside anda scolding wife! Bah! I’m disgusted with you!” And so saying he overturned the table, and fell monewee among the debris, where he was soon fast asleep. When he awoke the sun was shining brightly, and his heart sank within him as his gaze alighted upon the scene before him. For there, upon the bed in the corner, lay thé dead body of his wite, already dressed in the cerements of the grave, with poor lit- tle Elsie crying bitterly-above:her,‘and several sym- pathizing neighbors standing around. He arose a repentant, horrified-man, and at that instant a vail as of the darkness of night fell upon | his sight, and the light departed. He had been | stricken blind! * =. * * - x * * It was winter, and snowing, and a stranger, ap- parently just from sea, was making his way with dif- ficulty against the eddying gusts through one of the more obscure streets of the city, when a hand was laid tremblingly upon his arm, and, turning, his eyes alighted upon a girlish face, which was, perhaps, all the more beautiful from the coarseness of the hood in which it was enveloped. “Father is starving. Please give me some assist- ance,” she implored. “Here, take this, and be off with you,” and he tossed her a dollar. ‘A pretty girl like you should not be in the streets alone, at night.’ “Necessity compels me to be a mendicant,” she an- swered. ‘My father is blind!” The tone seemed familiar to the man, and he came nearer. “Gracious Heaven!” he exclaimed, as he pressed cee hood and peered in her face, ‘‘Elsie Grif- hs! “You know me at last. Iwas a child when you went away; but you, Ambrose Austin, have not so much altered but that I can recognize you.” “My poor, poor Elsie! And what have you been doing all this while ?”’ “T have worked for your brothrr, the proud and seems to crave the more. father. He basely insulted me, and I left him in scorn, and since then we have almost starved.” “T comprehend you, Elsie; and indeed it is like him who drove me away from my dead father’s door, aoe thinking that he was making my fortunes there- y. mine to confer as an act of mercy. delay to your father.” Guided by Elsie, who went trippingly on before in spite of the blast, Ambrose soon found himself in the apartments of Gilbert Griffiths, the artisan. Blind as he was, the ivory worker at once recognized the voice of the younger Austin, and eagerly rose from his seat as he entered, extending his hands to greet him. “Poor Gilbert! and is it thus I meet you?’ said Ambrose, returning his greeting. . “It was my fault, the whole of it,” replied Gilbert; ‘and I deserved worse, though the rebribution has been more severe than I well know how to bear. And how has it fared with you?” “Oh, fortune has been kind, and I have enough and to spare. I must see this proud brother of mine. We have ascore of long standing to settle, but, as I wish for a time to escape his notice, I will, if you choose, share this lodging with you, and that it shall be of advantage to you, you need not fear.” “‘T have but one spare room,” replied Gilbert, hesi- tating, ‘‘and my table a Ambrose burst into a cheery laugh. “Oh, never mind the table,” said he. “T’ll take eare there shall be plenty on it. And as for your room, I have thought myself well off in more homely quarters. And as for your rent——” Here he threw into the lap of the carver a well stocked pocket-book. “T suppose that seals the bargain,” said Ambrose; ‘and to-morrow we will look for better quarters. In the meanwhile, as I’m an old provider, allow me to oo. and see what I can find to stock the larder with. “In such a storm ?” said Elsie, interposing. “Storm?’ replied Ambrose, cheerily. ‘What is a storm to me who have fought my ways through tem- pests from Cape Horn to Labrador! And shall a puff of wind or a snow-flake deter me now, when an errand of mercy is mine? Give me your basket and say no more.” Elsie handed him a basket with which she had many a time trudged to market, and he passed through the door singing. Elsie fell on her knees and buried her face in her hands, on her father’s knee, his fingers tenderly smoothing her golden hair. a8 she said, through her fast falung tears: “God has answered our prayers! We are saved !” * * * * * * * * It was cold, dreary winter, but a colder, drearier winter reigned in the heart of Percy Austin, who had, with all his lavishness of living, so well managed his father’s estate that his wealth was now commonly computed by the million. He was standing one morning by the blazing fire of his sumptuously fur- nished office in Wall street, a portly, well preserved man of some forty years, his countenance beaming with that satisfaction which springs from success achieved, when his private door opened and his brother stood before him. ; It was Ambrose Austin, indeed, but he was dressed in a seedy suit that did not go far toward improving his outward appearance. He advanced half-way, and stood with his hat in his hand in the center of the apartment, as if doubtful of his reception. wae he said, in a tremulous tone, “brother ercy.’ “Ts it you, Ambrose?” replied Percy, without mov- ing from his comfortable position; “it is the old story of the bad penny returned. Flat broke, I sup- pose, of course.’’ ua am penniless, Percy, and starving,’ was the reply. “It was your own fault,” said Percy, “and only what you were warned of long in advance. You know the old proverb—‘a rolling stone gathers no moss.’ And you are the rolling stone.” “It is true,” replied Ambrose, “‘I am penniless, and yet, with a little help——” . “You should have thought of all that before,” re- plied Percy, dangling his watch-chain. ‘‘You know I warned you. And times are hard, and I really have nothing to give in charity.” Thus speaking, he turned away. “Stay, Percy Austin!” said a commanding voice behind him, and he turned in astonishment. Could that be the same Ambrose who an instant since had appeared before him so abject and de- crepit? All signs of weakness had disappeared, and there stood Ambrose, erect and manly, the fires of indignation flaming in his eyes, his nostrils dilating with the inward scorn that he felt at such craven conduct. “Can this be Ambrose?’ was Percy’s involuntary exclamation ?” “Tt is your brother Ambrose. Forgive the inno- cent deception. Percy, I am rich, and it was for the purpose of ascertaining whether your disposition had altered toward me that I assumed the disguise, I am satisfied. Cruel, unnatural, heartless brother, farewell forever !” And Ambrose passed from the room. A week later occurred one of those terrible finan- cial crises by which the commercial world is from time to time conyulsed. The fortune of Percy Aus- tin went down in the maelstrom along with the wealth of some hundreds of others. ‘ And new comes the Strangest part of this eventful history. On the day of the panic Gilbert Griffiths, Lead me without We are saved! nearly spun out. Ah! my darling, what will become “ve been dancing attendance upon Percy Austin, | if you must know—although I don’t see how that rich Mr. Percy Austin, who the wealthier he grows, | It was he who ruined my | What he refused to do as an act of justice, be it | who had been under treatment by an experienced oculist, recovered his sight. The oculist happened to be a friend of Ambrose, who had brought him to the afflicted man. Thoroughly disheartened with his ill luck, and unwilling to face the world as a poor man, Percy Austin committed suicide by putting a bullet through his heart. Elsie was shortly afterward married to her pre- server, Ambrose; the carver in ivory was enabled to resume the practice of his profession, and the little family led the life of the pure and just beneath their own vine and fig-tree. OO Oe Pleasant Paragraphs. {Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of con- tributing toward making this column an attractive fea- ture of the NEW YORK WEEKLY, and they will oblige us by sending for publication anything which may be deemed of sufficient interest for general perusal’ Tt is not necessary that the articles should be penned in scholarly style; so long as they are pithy, and likely to afford amusement, minor defects will be remedied. ] Too Unanimous. It clearly was a put-up job, He knew it all the while; And though he had to see her home, He did not like her style. And when they parted at the gate, She muttered, with a sigh, “Tl be at home to-morrow night ;” He answered, “So will I.” : E. D. WARD. How Little Johnnie Revenged Himself. Mr. Casher was down in the parlor, and little John- nie came in to amuse the company until his big sister had completed her toilet. “Your sister is quite long in coming to-night, isn’t she?” ventured the ealler. “You bet she is. It takes sis considerable time to get allthe different sections together and piece her- self into shape. Say, d’ye see this?” Johnnie in- quired, abruptly, as he pulled a length of rubber hose out of his pocket. : “Certainly,” returned Mr. Casher, with a patron- izing smile; ‘what is it for?” “That’s jest what I am tryin’ to find out. Sis said she was going to ask you to hold one end in your mouth while she fastened the other to the gas meter. You kin bet I wasn’t goin’ to have her doin’ no such fool things without I knowed some reason forit. You don’t s’pect she’s gone crazy, do you?” - “TT really hope not. I don’t know,” stammered the young man. “Butas I’m feeling tired, I guess Tll go home and study on it.” And as he reached for his hat and slid out of the front door, little Johnnie grinned a quiet, knowing grin, and stored the hose back in his pocket. When Johnnie’s sister asked where Mr. Casher was, he simply said:- _ “Sis, you’re a smart girl, and if, as Pop says, you’re gettin’ smarter.every day, I guess you’ll soon know enough not to sass your dear little brother.” He Paid the Bootblack. A smart young man who engaged the services of a bootblack at the post-office said, after the job was finished, that he would see the youngster later. “How iater ?’” demanded the boy. “Well, in a month or two.” “Going off without paying me?’ “Haven't any change, bub. The smallest I have is a fifty dollar bill.” “T’m very sorry for you, sir; I don’t like to proceed to extreme measures. It’s not only agin my con- science, but it raises a row on the street.” “How 9? “Well, as you start to go away I ery out ‘Stop thief.” That gathers a crowd in notime. You stop and attempt to explain, but I declare that you snatched a dollar from me. A crowd always sym- pathizes with a boy, and you’ll be collared and held until an officer comes. Then we'll both go over in the patrol wagon, and if they don’t find my dollar on you some of the detectives will recognize you as Mollie Matches, Billy Burke, Matt Kennedy, or some heal crook wanted in Chicago or New York, and then—— “Say, bub, what’s your charge?’ interrupted the young man. “Five cents, sir.” c “Well, here’s a quarter for you. you know.” That Ain’t Where the Trouble Is. “Oh, how little we foolish women know what we are dooming ourselves to when we unite ourselves in wedlock !” sighed Mrs. Nagger, the other day, when her husband suggested that alittle more economy might not bea t. thing. “Here I’ve been «piling I was only fooling, and slaving ali nfyJife, trying to skimp and save, and here you are always preaching economy. I could have married half a dozen rich men, too. It’s my opinion that no man has a right to get married until he has a home to which to take a wife.” “You think he ought to have a home first, do you ?” “Yes, Ido. Before he gets the bird he ought to have the cage all ready.” “Well,” snarled Mr. N., “I don’t see it that way.” “Ot course you don’t. Men never do. They think it’s only a woman’s place to work her life away for them.” “No, they don’t.” he snapped out. “That ain’t where the trouble is. But before a man goes to blow- ing himself on cages and things he’ll find out whether he’s got a canary bird to put into it, or a darned old poll parrot that ‘ud chatter the life out of himif he got her board and lodging in the apartments of Queen Victoria.” A Modern Chesterfield. Oh, once ina while you still come across one of these courteous old fellows, trained in the stately old- time school of Chesterfieldian politeness. Saw one on a street car the other day. Rainy, blustery day; car somewhat crowded, rather unusual thing; woman comes in, not very young; used to be young twenty-five or thirty years ago, maybe; not very well dressed; every man in the car, old and young, keeps his seat. Old Chesterfield doesn’t wait a min- ute; rises with courtly grace, bows to the woman as though she were a queen, ‘‘“Madam, will you not take this seat?” Woman thanks him, which no real lady would ever think of doing, and sits down between two big men in dripping, loud-smelling India-rubber overcoats ; the howling draught and pelting rain swept in upon her back through the broken window and the oil from a leaking lamp dripped down upon her bonnet. She stood it half a block, and then re- marked that she’d ‘‘a heap rather walk,” and left the car, while old Chesterfield hung on to the strap with the heavenly expression of a man who esteemed it a privilege to sacrifice himself for the lowly and poor. ROBERT J. BURDETTE. She Enjoyed the Curtain. A Wilmington lady who resides on Delaware avenue has a girl in her employ fresh from some region far removed from the theater. Thinking to givo the girl a good treat, and knowing that she had never seen a theater, the lady purchased a ticket for a play at the Opera House. The girl went, but re- turned before nine o’clock. “What is the matter? Did you not like it?’ asked the mistress. ‘Oh, I liked it ever so much; it’s a fine painting.” “But,” inquired her mistress, ‘‘why have you re- turned so soon? Surely you didn’t see it all.” “Yes, ma’am,I did. I went in and sat down and looked at the large picture hanging up in front. People kept coming in, and pretty soon there was quite a crowd all looking at the picture. Then they took it away, and some men and women went to talking, up there where it had been, about something that didn’t concern me, so I got up and came home. But I enjoyed the picture.” / Opposed to Religious Buzzing. Little Johnnie is a good boy, and goes to Sunday- schoolregularly. Little Frankie, on the other hand, is confidentially reported by members of his social circle to be ‘‘one of ’em.” On Sundays little Frankie waylays little Johnnie, and attempts to persuade him to take long street rambles and surreptitious rides on therear platforms of horse-cars. Johnnie’s father was within ear-shot, the other Sunday, when Frankie made his last attempt. “Frankie,” said Johnnie, ‘why don’t you go to Sunday-school yourself?” “Cause,” rejoined Frankie, ‘’cause Robinson Crusoe’s never in the library, and the teacher’s al- ways buzzing me about religion—that’s why.” ; ; A Burglar Mechanic. Mrs. Brimmer—‘“TI don’t see when a man has a good trade, why he should prefer to be a burglar.” Mr. B.—‘‘Who are you talking about?” Mrs. B.—“‘That man who was caught breaking into a store last night. He’s a machinist.” Mr. B.—‘*Who told you that ?”’ Mrs. B.—‘‘The paper says that while he was at the station-house and the officer was making his report, the burglar made a bolt for the door.” Reformation Not Complete. Salvation Army Man (to hardware merchant).— “Ten years ago, sir, I stole an ax from you and here’s a dollar to pay for it.” Merchant.—‘‘Axes are worth a dollar and a half.” Salvation Army Man (returning the money to his pocket).—‘*‘Dollar and a half for axes! I can get’em cheaper than that.’’ A Change of Luck. oo to Benedict—‘‘You believe in luck, don’t you ?” Benedict—‘‘Not much, I don’t.” Bachelor—‘‘Why, my dear fellow, you surprise me. You used to believe in it firmly.” Bachelor—“That was before I got married, my boy.” Each Entertained a Different Opinion. Bobby was in the parlor when Albertus called, and Maud was up stairs getting ready to present herself. “Good-evening, Robert,” said Albertus, briskly ; Miss Maud has not arrived yet, I see?’ “Nope,” replied Bobby, carelessly; ‘“‘she’s makin’ somethin’ I s’pose.” “Idustry, Robert, is a shining virtue. But what is Miss Maud making ?” “T dunno; they were talkin’ about you atthe tea- table, and Maud said she was makin’ a mash, ma said she was makin’ hay while the sun shines, and pa said she was makin’ a fool of herself.” He Must Have Felt Grateful. “So you wouldn’t like to be a minister, Bobby, when you grow up?” remarked Mr. Whitechoker at the table. “No, indeed,” responded Bobby, emphatically. “And why not?’ insisted Mr. Whitechoker, amused at the lad’s earnestness. “Because ma says she always feels sorry for country ministers, an’ that’s the reason why she has you here to dinner so often.” Woman’s Nature. It was spiteful, but spitefulness cannot be legis- lated out of human nature. “Did you hear that Mrs. Smith is having her pic- ture painted ?” ‘You don’t say! That old thing?’ “Yes, indeed—painted in oil.” “Well, I[never! In oil? If she ever wants to have a good likeness, she’ll have to be painted in vinegar.” According to the Almanac, The Sabbath-school teacher had spent considerable time in drilling into her pupils the truth that “pride cometh before a fall.” Near the close of the lesson, wishing to test the re- sult of her efferts, she inquired : “Can you tell me what comes before a fall ?” “Yes, ma’am, summer,’ was the reply from the seat farthest away. A Verbatim Reporter. “Did you tell your mother I was going to have a new bonnet at Easter?” inquired a lady of a neigh- bor’s child who was visiting her own children. “Yes, ma’am,”’ answered the little girl. “And what did she say ?” “Oh, she said.the fools are not all dead yet,’ an- swered the child, innocently. That Settled It. “Reginald, dearest, father has at last told me that we may be married early in April.” “What has changed his mind ?”’ : ’ “Some benevolent friend has sent him a fashion paper which says that it is no longer in good form for the father to give a cheok to the bride at the wedding.” Mirthful Morsels. They had been at the masquerade, where she had recognized him at once. ‘Was it the loud beating of my heart, my darling, that told you I was here?’ murmured he. ‘Oh, no,’ she replied, ‘I recognized you by your long legs.” Flanagan (rising excitedly from the table, after tasting an olive for the first time)—‘“‘It’s sorry I’d be to disturb the hilarity of the meetin’, gentlemen, but I believe some joker has been saltin’ the guseberries, bad scran to him.” No_ young man is proof against a gum drop when she holds it between her teeth and invites him to take a bite. An unfortunate man in Indianapolis, who lost sev- eral toes by a car-wheel, was consoled by an Irish- man near with, ‘Whist, there! you’re making more noise than many a man I’ve seen with his head off.” “Cast Iron Sinks” is painted on the sign of a plumber. ‘Well, who—hic—said it didn’t ?” chuckled a drunken man, after studying it over several times. A fellow who hid under a sofa at an informal Bos- ton missionary meeting says that the thirty-five ladies spoke twice of the down-trodden heathen, and more than a hundred times of anew kind of hair- dye. “Is the candidate for sheriff here?” asked a strang- er, aS he looked into an Illinois bar-room. ‘Yes, why ?’ answered eighteen men, as they rose. After throwing eight boys over the fence out of a watermelon patch, a Clay County, Mo., woman charged them especially : “Now, see ’ere boys, ye’ll keep this thing up till ye get me riled.” . “T can say one thing in favor of this good boy,” re- marked Mr. Birchem, proudly, patting his favorite pupil on the summit of his cranium, “he never takes the last piece of bread and butter on the plate.” ‘No, indeed, sir,” cordially asserted the fool of the school, “he ain’t quick enough !” Among the Zulus young people fight and get mar- ried. Here they get married and fight. One point of difference between a timid child anda shipwrecked sailor is, that one clings to its ma and the other to his spar. A commervial traveler, wishing to take a rise out of a clergyman who occupied the same compartment, asked him if he had ever heard that in Paris, as often as a priest was hanged, a donkey was hanged at the same time. The victim of the joke replied, in his blandest manner: ‘“‘Well, then, let us both be thank- ‘ful that we are not in Paris.” “How is Jim Bullard getting on?’ asked a stranger at the railway station of a Western town. ‘Jim ker- mitted suicide ’bout a month ago,” replied a native. “Committed suicide! How did he commit suicide ?”’ ‘“‘He called me a liar, stranger!” $i SIGHT AND SMELL OF BIRDS. A hawk ean spy a lark on a piece of earth almost exactly the same color at twenty times the distance it is perceptible to a man or dog; a kite soaring out of human sight can still distinguish and pounce upon lizards and field mice on the ground; and the distance at which vultures and eagles ean spy out their prey is almost incredible. Recent discoveries, and especially Darwin’s observations, have inclined naturalists to the belief that birds of prey have not the acute sense of smell with which they were once accredited. Their acute sight seems better to account for their actions, and they appear to be guided by sight alone, as they never sniff at any- thing, but dart straight at the object of their desire. Their counterparts in the ocean, however, undoubt edly see and smell equally well, but are more guided by smell than sight. The Ladies’ Work-Box. Edited by Mrs. Helen Wood. “Mrs, Mary G.’”’—One of the latest ways of making lace dresses, either white or black, is to have them formed of the lace and net alone, the seams delicately but finely stayed with net bindings, but left unlined. In this way, slips of various colors can be worn beneath them, thus changing the appearance of the dress to suit different oc- casions. Sometimes, however, the skirts are permanent- ly lined, and the bodice portion only is lett for a change of underwaist. The best qualities of French lace, in thread patterns, are stylish for black dresses, and Valenciennes and point d’esprit for white ones. “Madge W.”—Undressed mousquetaire gloves, in twelve and sixteen button lengths, are quite stylish, and the heavy embroidery-stitching on dark tan and other coldrs is frequently in pink, old gold, or green, with sometimes the addition of a top binding in black, the glove being fastened with large gilt buttons. Heliotrope gloves with pink stitching are among the most recent of these fancies, and gloves of this color are also stitched with iridescent beads in the embroidery, while green gloves are heavily stitched in green of a darker shade, and those of gray show stitching in either gray or black. “Stella Rosevelt.’’—The hour-glass table is a revival of an old fashion, and consists of a table covered with satin, pretty cretonne, or the furniture covering of the room nailed around the circular top and base of the wood, and tied in the center with a broad ribbon, to form a handsome bow, which is usually of two colors. The tables come in various sizes, but none exceed the circumference of an ordinary round table, high ones being used to stand oe. a bedside, and low ones being employed as parlor tables, for holding trifles. ‘Miss Dollie A.,” Belleville, O.—ist. Walking costumes are generally of some light cloth or fancy woolen mate- rial, combined with plain silk. 2d. We will send a cata- logue of fashions for five cents. 8d. The short rubber gloves cost'$1.50, and the long ones, $1.75 a pair. 4th. The price of the mask is two dollars. 5th. The NEW YORK VEEKLY Purchasing Agency will supply the articles mentioned. 6th. Your penmanship is fair, though rather coarse for a lady. “Inquisitive,” Great Neck, N. Y.—I1st. A new style of par- lor screen has flaps or pockets on the outside panel, for holding cabinet photographs. The panels may be covered with plush or satin, and the pockets made to correspond, or a broad, handsome sash ribbon may be drawn diagonal- ly across the screen, and stitched so as to form places for the pr eeeete 2d. The price of the ‘‘Baker’s Manual” is fifty cents. “E. D.S.,” Lovington, Ill.—Little tables of all shapes and sizes are scattered around rooms, the newest being the handy little “tuckaways,’”’ which fold up flat, and are so light that they can be conveniently carried about. Decorated with a hand-painting of some floral design across one half of the table, they make popular birthday and wedding gifts. “Dasie,” Bridgeport, Conn.—The flexible rubber bustle is the most comfortable as well as the most graceful gar- ment of its kind, as it folds up when sitting or lying down, and resumes its shape upon rising. The price is seventy-five cents, and the NEW YORK WEEKLY Pur- chasing Agency will mailit to youon receipt of that amount. “Mrs. C.,” Boston, Mass.—Plastrons of colored surah, crape, India silk, or fine nainsook, are made of shield shape, with a double box-plait feather-stitched down the center, and the sides formed of tiny diagonal tucks feather-stitched, the collar being of folds finished in the same way, and fastened under a tiny bow on the side. “Mrs. D. L.”—Large girls wear dark straw hats with high crowns of plain Milan braid, and wide brims of fan- cifully plaited straw. The English fashion of trimming dark straw hats with white lace rosettes has reached this country, and is becoming popular. “Sophie,” Philadelphia, Pa.—Evening hoods of black velvet are made in the form of a half-handkerchief, lined with red satin, quilted, and tied with red ribbons under the chin, which correspond with the bow on the point above the forehead. “Miss Minnie G.”—Black lace bodices in jersey style have unlined sleeves of the lace, and vest, turnover cuffs, and Charles IX. collar of white lace, in duchesse, real Irish point, or other expensive variety. “Miss L. M.”—Sateen dresses are finished with velvet collars and cuffs, while gingham suits have accessories 2 phe embroidery, or the woven border of the ma- erial. _‘Frances R.’—We will send you the little book en- Poet “How To Play the Game of Skat” for twenty-five cents. _“Mildred.”—In the language of flowers, a white lily signifies ‘purity and sweetness.” “L. C. P.,” St. Louis, Mo.—“Queenie Hetherton” is in book-form, and the price is $1.50. “Ruby.’’—Bar-pins, set with Rhinestones, are worn on evening slippers. Josh Billings’ Philosophy. Evolution eitherduz away with the great first cause or makes it only a sekondary power, obliged to make men out of crawfish or monkeys. Full one half of the pitty we express for others iz nothing more than a quiet satisfaction that we are better off than they are. We all expect to be remembered long after we are dead; but will you pleaze tell me for what? The closest observers are those who don’t notice more than haff they see. The line betweenrite and wrong iz so strait and narrow that many people are apt to think it iz only an imaginary one. The person who reads a good dele should have a poor memory, or he will get full of other people’s ideas at the expense of his own. _ There iz a great deal of the literary culture of the times that iz like the growth of the punkin vine on prolific soil—about 20 foot of vine to one punkin, punkin small at that. Muscle iz probably the best substitute we have for branes ; but branes have ruled the world thus far, and will continue to do it. Precepts, at.best, ain’t worth more than 50 cents on the dollar, while examples are always worth par. Ifa man kould only come out of his grave occa- sionally, and read his epetaph, fame might be of some use to him. A young man, an infidel, iz simply a fool; an old one is more like a villain. _If ‘exceptions prove the rule,” the more excep- tions the more perfect the rule. This don’t look to me like common sense; it looks like kulture. Building a fire iz one of them kind of things that one man can do better than two can. Honesty iz not always courtly ; but there iz nothin that will take a polish more readily, and hold i longer, than honesty. Evolution iz half brother to infidelity, and owes what little importance it possesses to the branes that have been wasted upon it. It iz very rarely you see a man who thinks he plays a second-rate game ov whist oe man who knows himself haz learned one thing well. _A man needs to live twice before he knows how to live once; and then he will all the time keep think- ing how much better he could live if they would only let him try it once more. Old men, like ole dogs, love to sit in the sun.\ _ Oe Oo DISHONESTY. Dishonesty in all its forms certainly inflicts much suffering upon those who are cheated, but it also re- acts with force upon the knave. Not only does he suffer the remorse of his own conscience and risk the penalties of the law, he must also resign the confi- dence and respect of his fellow-men; he must submit to be always suspected, always distrusted, always watched. What he has acquired wrongfully is apt to be held loosely and parted with easily. The same tricks that he has used, and perhaps sharper ones, will be used against him, and the general feeling of distrust which he has engendered will in many ways injure him and baffle his endeavors. This is true in cases from the petty meanness which would steal a car-fare or take advantage of a mistake in change, up to the deliberate and wholesale perfidy that spec- ulates on trust-funds or swindles a corporation. pacgeniiial —> Items of Interest. ~ eo An unusual performance, which succeeded a Texas funeral, shows that the solemnity of death is soon for- gotten when an irreverent hearse-driver attempts to make a recently afflicted widower “take his dust.” The event is thus recorded by a Haycreek paper: “Our re- porter witnessed a fine burst of speed yesterday while re- turning from the funeral of the wife of our estimable fellow-townsman, Judge Jaybird. Sandy Harrigan, the driver of the hearse, attempted to throw a little dust on the judge, when the afflicted and grief-stricken widower pulled out of the ditch with his fine bay horse, Three Spot, and easily passed the outfit shouting and a-flying.” A Boston teacher was endeavoring to find out the proficiency of her little friends in mental arithmetic, and said to them: “Now, children, suppose I have two squash pies, and divide one of them into 10 pieces and the other into 100 pieces, which would you rather have—a piece of the pie that was divided into 10 pieces, or of that cut into 100 pieces?’ There was an absolute hush for a moment, and then alittle girl answered, timidly: ‘One of the 100 pieces.” ‘“‘Why?’ “Well, please, ma’am, I don’t like squash pie.” A fireman, who had rendered efficient service in fighting the fire-fiend in a Western city, recently died. His companions sent a fioral pillow, on which was in- scribed: ‘He has gone to his last fire.” The widow natu- rally objected to such suggestive personal allusions, and “fired” the tribute. At a negro wedding in Griffin, Ga., a short time ago, when the words ‘love, honor, and obey’? were reached, the groom interrupted the preacher, and said: “Read that again, sah; read it wunce mo’, so’s de lady kin ketch the full solemnity ob de meanin’. I’se been married befo’.” For a wager of $10, George Williams, of Chicago, ate eighteen hard-boiled eggs in twenty-four minutes. His competitor, Ebenezer Green, gave up the contest on his seventeenth egg. Each man had to shell his own eggs. he When aman marries a woman in Pennsylvania, he marries her “for all she is worth.” Her property, her earnings, and, in .a large measure, her personal liberty, pass into the possession and control of the husband. It is said that hotel porters are not long-lived be- cause the strain of lifting and carrying heavy trunks pro- | duces disease of the heart. If this is true, the railway baggage-smasher is fortunate in having no heart. A Michigan town has a dentist who has evidently taken spelling lessons from Josh Billings. The sign over his door bears these words: ‘Teeth Extracted Without Enny Pane. Laffin Gas (10) Cents a Ha Ha!” An immense captive balloon will be one of the at- tractions at the French Centennial Exhibition. Its ca- pacity will be 2,119,000 cubic feet; it will ascend 3,280 feet, and has accommodations for 100 passengers. A citizen of Sumterville, Fla., set out an acre of strawberry plants two years ago, and from the crop alone has supported his family in comfort, and spent six months of the year in the North. A man stepped into the First National Bank at Lockport, N. Y., with a check for $2,000. The teller asked him if he wanted currency, .‘‘No, confound it,” he re- plied; “I want the money.” The best gloves are made from the youngest kids. When they begin to eat grass their skins become coarse in grain, and lose to some extent the valuable quality of elasticity. An eminent physician asserts that pulmonary dis- eases are rare among Germans, because from an early age their lungs acquire strength in the practice of vocal music. While boring an artesian well in Eureka, Cal., the skeleton of a bird was found at a depth of 580 feet. Some charred wood was discovered at a depth of 500 feet.