AUS.  2S 
MOORE'S  RURAL  NEW-YORKER. 
He  wrai'9  me  roiind  with  hin  richos. 
He  coycre  me  up  willi  liis  care. 
And  his  love  is  the  love  of  ft  iiiiiahood 
Whitse  life  is  a  UvinK  prayer. 
I  have  jilightdl  my  womau’s  uirectious, 
I  have  Kiveu  my  all  lu  all. 
And  Iho  flowers  of  a  dnUy  foateutment 
Heuow  their  lives  ere  they  fall. 
And  yet  lihe  an  luMlrument  precious 
That  playpth  an  oldo.n  tune, 
Sly  heart  in  the  midst  of  Its  blcBsinjfS 
tines  haclt  to  a  day  in  J  nno— 
To  a  day  when  beneath  the  branches 
I  stood  by  a  silnni  streain. 
Ami  saw  lu  its  bosom  an  imaKC, 
A.s  one  Bccth  a  face  In  a  dream. 
I  would  not  resten  his  devotion. 
No,  not  for  a  heart  that  lives, 
Nor  ohauKe  one  Jot  of  my  condition 
For  the  chamre  that  ooudition  jt'vcs; 
I  shotdd  mourn  not  moro  anotlior. 
Nor  more  for  anotlior  rejoice, 
Thau  now  when  I  weep  at  hi.y  absonco. 
Or  welcome  his  step  and  his  voice. 
Ami  yet,  like  an  liisti'UiiiHnt  precious, 
Thatplayeth  an  old(m  tune. 
My  heart  in  the  midst  of  its  blessimrs 
Goes  back  tn  a  day  in  J  line— 
To  a  day  when  beneath  the  branches 
I  stood  ill  the  shadowy  light, 
And  hoard  the  low  words  of  a  whisper 
As  one  hcaroth  a  voice  lu  the  niglit. 
- ♦♦♦ - 
THE  GHOIOE  OF  A  WIFE. 
NK.KTto  choosing  Iho  I,ord.Icsus  Christ  a.H  his 
Saviour  and  Rulrte,  the  most  Iniporlant  choice  a 
younjr  man  can  make  Is  that  of  a  «(/>•.  Yet  this 
most  eventful  step  Is  too  often  regarded  from  tli-st 
to  last  lu  the  most  trivial  aspect.  With  many  It 
is  the  merest  matter  of  f.inoy  or  boyish  caprice, 
Sometlmea  a  wlto  ts  sought  tor  the  solo  gratUlca- 
tlon  of  carnal  desires.  SomeUinoa  marriage  Is 
viewed  entirely  as  a  shrewd  pecuniary  specula¬ 
tion.  Indolent,  extravagant  young  men  some¬ 
times  intrigue  through  a  marrlago-vow  for  a 
wealth  they  are  too  la/y  or  too  thriftless  to  eai'il 
by  honest  toll. 
On  tho  other  hand,  many  an  ambitious  parent 
has  sought  t-o  pureUaso  a  bplendld  “cstabllah- 
ment”  with  tho  sweetest  charms  that  lion  veil  Inas 
bestowed  upon  a  daughter.  What  baser  bargain 
can  bo  consummated  than  when  a  wnmari  con¬ 
sents  to  sell  her  person  without  her  heart  lo  a 
rich  suiwr  Y  Only  one  man  should  bo  rich  enough 
to  win  my  daughter :  It  Is  ho  who  can  oflcr  a  lovo 
without  a  rival,  and  a  character  without  iiBlaln. 
True  religion,  common-sense,  luduslrlous  linblhs 
and  a  warm  ho.art— when  a  young  man  can  oner 
these,  no  daughter  who  Is  worthy  of  such  a  rirbio 
will  be  Ukcly  Uj  “.say  him 
With  what  a  ra.sh  reckleasnoss  do  mllllous  rush 
Into  momentous  engagomcnis  that  yield  the  luev- 
Itablo  retribution  o£  domestic  misery  !  How  few 
seek  by  prayer  for  Divine  guidance  when  choos¬ 
ing  the  companion  of  llielr  heart,  tUclr  home, 
their  de.stinyt  Far  ofeuer  la  It  paaslon  than 
prayer  that  controls  this  great  decision,  Tlio 
gratlllcatlon  of  a  fancy,  the  excitement  of  a  court- 
ship,  and  the  frolic  of  a  wedding,  are  irequently 
the  only  preparalloits  for  the  serious  realities  of  a 
wedded  life. 
Hoylah  caprice  and  girlish  romance  look  vastly 
dllToreut  In  human  eye.s  when  they  have  crystal¬ 
lized  down  Into  the  permanent  forms  of  dally  e.x- 
IstenCR  under  tlie  same  roof,  at  the  same  table 
and  llrosldC/  year  In  and  year  out,  for  summer 
and  winter,  for  slekne.ss  or  healtli,  for  better  or 
wor.se,  clear  on  l-o  tho  doorway  of  the  tomb. 
When  tho  novelty  of  wedded  life  ba-s  worn  away, 
and  perhaps  the  beauty  or  tho  fair  face  that  In¬ 
spired  tho  early  passion  has  faded,  then  llierc 
must  bo  BometUUig  xotUl  left  behind,  or  marriage 
Is  a  mockery,  and  Its  coveted  happiness  but  a 
dream.  There  must  bo  mutual  con  UdeiK'e,  iii  utual 
respect, unityof  aim  and  old-Iasliloned  love:  there 
ought  to  be  also  a  union  of  hearts  in  the  lovo  of 
Christ,  in  closet  devotions  and  at  the  communion¬ 
table.  (1.  cor.  vU.  na ;  2.  cor.  vl.  M.) 
When  those  are  the  qualities  of  a  nuiitlal  union. 
It  Is  a  marijage  "  In  (he.  Lut'd:’  It  “  shlneih  more 
and  more”  Irom  the  auroral  dawn  of  llrst  love 
“  unto  the  perfect  day”  of  rich. and  ripened  bUs.s. 
When  young  hearts  are  wedded  In  Chrl.st  they 
are  wedded  for  heaven.  It  Is  a  delightful  act  for 
a  Christian  mlutstev  to  join  such  hearts  and  hands 
together :  but  tho  words  somcllmes  slick  In  Ills 
throat  when  he  atiempts  to  pronounce  a  benedic¬ 
tion  on  a  marriage  which  neither  common-sense 
nor  conselenee  have  liad  a  share  tn  bringing  about. 
Ul3/ee  seems  to  come  out  of  Judas’  bag. 
The  admirable  Philip  Henry  sought  the  hand  of 
an  only  daughter  lu  a  somewhat  prominent  fam¬ 
ily.  Her  father  .said  W  her,  "This  young  man 
seems  to  be  an  excellent  preacher,  but  1  do  not 
know  whence  ho  came.” 
“True,”  replied  the  daughter;  “but  1  know 
where  he  is  (jotwj,  and  1  want  to  go  along  with 
him.”  The  marriage  proved  eminently  happy, 
and  one  of  the  chlldjcn  wa.s  the  famous  commen¬ 
tator. 
When  his  own  sou  Matthew  and  his  daughters 
asked  his  ooitsout  to  their  marriage,  he  said, 
“Please  (<od,  and  please  yourselves,  and  then 
you  will  be  sure  to  please  me.” 
At  thejr  weddings  ho  saluted  them  with  a  fath¬ 
erly  kliss,  and  said,  “  OUier  people  wish  you  much 
happiness,  but  I  wish  you  much  huline.'is  :  if  you 
have  that,  you  are  certain  to  be  happy." 
No  two  steps  In  a  man's  life  are  so  solemn  as 
those  which  Join  him  to  ChrliilVi  church  and  Join 
hhn  to  a  wife. 
Marriage  Is  an  ordinance  of  God.  It  has  often 
proved  a  "saving  ordinance”  to  others  who  had 
no  olhet  tie  to  Christianity.  The  men  whom  a 
wise  manlage  has  saved  (with  God’s  blosslng)  arc 
innumerable.  The  men  whom  reckless,  wretched 
niarrliigi'S  have  ruined,— are  their  hlslortos  not 
written  In  tho  “  Hook  of  tho  Chroulclea  ”  of  prayer- 
loss  homes  and  Impenitent  death-bods? 
Happy  arc  those  ivho,  like  Aqullii  and  Priscilla, 
are  united  lu  tho  I.ordI  Happy  arc  they  who 
walk  the  llfo-Journcy,  all  the  safer  and  all  tho 
happier  for  walking  11  hand  In  hand,  keeping  step 
to  the  voice  of  duty  and  of  Cod.  Wedded  lu  time, 
they  are  wedded  for  heaven,  and  will  sit  down 
together  with  cxqulslto  rapture  at  tho  Marriage 
Supper  of  the  Lamb.— 2’.  L.  C'nyier,  D.  l>. 
- - — 
AN  ANTl-SLANQ  SOCIETY. 
Tub  “  Reform  Club  "  is  tho  title  of  a  new  oi-gan- 
Izatlon  In  the  We.st  Eud,  organized  by  young  ladles 
for  the  purpose  of  discouraging  the  use  of  "  slang 
phrases”  In  conversation.  At  a  recent  meeting, 
while  a  member  was  addressing  the  society,  sho 
inadvertantly  made  uso  of  tho  expression  “  awful 
nice,”  and  was  called  lo  order  by  a  sister  member 
for  tnuisgrea.slng  the  ruloH. 
“  In  what  way  have  1  transgrefBed  ?”  asked  tho 
speaker,  blushing  deeply- 
"  You  said  It  would  bo  '  awful  nice '  Ia  admit 
young  gentlemen  to  our  dellbe  rations,”  replied 
i.lio  other. 
“  Well,  wouldn’t  It  bo'/"  returned  tho  speaker ; 
“you  know  you  said  yourself  no  longer  ago  than 
yesterday  that—” 
“  Yes,  1  know,  but  you  said  ‘awful  nice.’  That’s 
slang.” 
“  Well,”  said  the  speaker,  tartly,  “  It  you  are 
going  to  be  so  awful  nice  about  It,  perhaps  It  Is; 
but  I  wouldn’t  say  anything  If  I  were  you.  Didn’t 
you  tell  Same  Sprlgglns,  this  morning,  to  pull 
down  her  basque  7” 
“No,  I  didn't,"  retoricil  the  other,  her  faco 
growing  crimson;  “and  Salllo  Sprlgglns  will  say 
I  didn't.  She  won’t  go  hack  on  mo." 
“  Tills  is  a  nice  raeket  you  are  giving  us,”  cried 
the  Presldont,  after  rapping  both  speakcra  to 
order.  “Let  us  ask,  what  1.h  the  object  of  this 
society?” 
“  To  discourage  slang !”  cried  a  dozen  voices. 
“Keroct,”  said  tho  Presldont,  “goon  with  tho 
funeral.” 
A  mombiT  rose  to  explain  that  sho  had  been 
lined  at  tho  last  mooting  for  saying  “  awful  nice” 
herself,  but  she  luiUii't  the  stamps  to  pay  it  now— 
would  settlB,  however,  m  the  sweet  by-and-by. 
"Thal’ll  be  all  right,”  said  the  ProsUlout;  “pay 
when  you  have  the  ducats.” 
Another  member  asked  if  a  young  lady  could 
say  “  old  splendid  ”  without  subjcellng  herself  to 
a  line. 
“You  hot  she  can’t,”  said  the  I’rcsldent,  who 
was  the  original  founder  of  tho  society,  and  there¬ 
fore  appealed  lo  when  any  nice  question  n  ai^xd 
bo  (loelded. 
“  Then,”  said  tlio  speaker,  “  T  move  that  Miranda 
I’cw  come  down  wli,li  tin;  dust,  for  I  heard  her  say 
that  her  beau  was  just  old  spUmdkl.” 
Mlrainia’s  face  Ma.i  in  a  blaze  as  she  cried, 
“Well,  If  my  beau  was  imob  an  old  hair  pin  as 
your  fellow  Ls  1  wouldn’t  say  It.” 
"Shoot  tlio  chinning,”  cried  the  President; 
“  will  you  never  tumble?” 
Hut  the  confusion  was  too  great  to  be  allayed. 
Miranda’s  blooil  was  up ;  some  sided  with  her  and 
others  against  her,  and  amid  tho  Habcl  that  fol¬ 
lowed  could  be  heard  such  e.xelamatloiis  as  “  dry 
up,"  “nice  hlackborry  jou  are,"  “wipe  off  your 
chin,”  “  hire  a  hall,”  etc.,  when  a  motion  to  ad¬ 
journ  was  carried  “by  a  largo  majority.”— ir/iccf- 
itty  Times, 
- - - 
FOK  AND  ABOUT  WOMEN. 
Poets  know,  and  slatosmcu  oiiglrt  to  know,  It  Ls 
by  sentiment  when  well  rllrected— a.s  by  sorrow 
wlien  well  useil— great  nations  llvo.  M’hou  senti¬ 
ment  dies  out,  and  more  prosale  ealeulallon  of 
loss  and  protll  takes  lUs  place,  then  comes  a  Hy- 
zantlno  epoch,  a  Glvlneso  eixjch,  decrepitude  and 
slow  decay.— AD((7S/ey. 
Tuk  every-day  cares  and  duties  which  men  call 
drudgery  are  the  weights  and  counterpoises  of 
tho  clock  of  tlnro,  giving  ItB  pendulum  a  true 
vibration,  and  Its  hands  a  regular  motion,  and 
when  they  cease  to  hang  uiiou  the  wheels,  the 
peuduluxi  no  longer  swings,  the  hands  no  longer 
move,  tho  clock  stands  still.— Lima/etiuw, 
They  bad  company  lo  tea.  The  table  was  act 
out  splendidly.  The  biscuit  were  as  whim  and 
I  light  and  flaky  as  snow,  and  the  cake  was  just 
!  lovely.  The  company  were  delighted  ivltli  every¬ 
thing,  and  were  enjoying  themselves  hugely  and 
getting  the //(odn.to/yM'andi  of  making  the  biscuit, 
which  were  too  lovely  for  anything,  when  tho  In¬ 
fant  of  the  household  unfortunately  whispered, 
“  Ma,  why  don't  you  have  such  a  tea  when  there 
ain’t  company  V” 
A  DKTaoi'i'EB  of  liberal  odueallon,  says  the  Free 
Press,  has  hceii  greatly  anuoyed  bBcuuso  his  wife 
and  other  women  are  not  better  posted  on  history 
and  other  matters  connected  with  the  growth  or 
welfai'o  of  the  country.  The  other  day  he  carried 
home  a  big  history,  and  handed  it  to  his  spouse 
w  1th  the  remark,  “  There,  Mary,  1  want  you  to 
eouiineuce  at  page  t,  and  seo  If  you  can’t  learn 
something.”  She  agreed  to  become  his  pujiU,  and 
when  he  come  home  to  supper  ho  found  her  read¬ 
ing  away,  hair  down,  slippers  on,  all  the  tires  out 
hut  one,  and  no  sign  of  supper.  “  Why,  how's 
this?”  he  inquired.  “Are  you  sick?”  “Sick! 
No.”  “Well,  where’s  my  supper?”  “I  don’t 
know  anyT,hlng  about  your  supper,”  she  replied, 
as  she  .settled  back  In  her  chair,  “  but  l  can  tel 
you  about  the  urat  illscovery  of  Florida.” 
for  tfjt  loiing. 
LETTING  THE  OLD  CAT  DIE. 
Not  lonir  oko,  I  wandorod  near 
A  i>lay-gTOiind  in  the  wood, 
And  there  heard  words  from  a  youngster’s  II pa 
That  I’vo  never  quite  uuUarstood. 
"  Now  lot  Uio  old  cat  lUo,”  ho  laughed. 
I  saw  him  give  a  push. 
Then  gayly  seauiper  away  as  ho  spied 
M  y  faco  jiocp  over  tho  bush. 
Hut  what  ho  pushed,  or  where  ho  went, 
1  could  not  well  make  out. 
On  areouut  of  the  thleket  of  bending  boughs 
That  bordered  tho  place  about. 
“  ’rho  little  villain  has  stonod  a  cat. 
Or  hung  It  upon  u  Umb, 
And  loft  it  to  dio  all  alone,"  t  said ; 
But  i’ll  play  the  mischief  with  him.” 
1  forcod  my  way  between  tho  boughs, 
Tho  poor  old  cat  to  seek, 
Ami  what  did  I  llud  but  a  swlngdiig  child. 
With  her  bright  hair  bnushing  her  cheek. 
Her  bright  hair  floated  to  and  fro, 
Her  Ultlo  red  dress  flashed  by, 
Hut  tho  loveliest  thing  of  all,  I  thought, 
M'as  the  gleam  of  her  laughing  eye. 
Swinging  and  swaying  buck  and  forth, 
With  tho  roBe.llght  in  her  face, 
Hhe  seemed  like  a  bird  and  a  flower  In  one, 
And  the  forest  her  uatWo  place. 
“  Steady  I  I'll  send  yon  uji.  my  child," 
But  she  stopped'  me  with  a  cry ; 
Go  'way  !  go  ’way  I  Don't  touch  mo,  please— 
T'm  letting  tho  old  cal  die  1” 
"  Von  letting  him  die  I”  J  cried,  aghast— 
"  Why,  whore’s  the  cat,  my  dear  f” 
And  lo !  the  laughter  that  lilled  the  woods 
W.V8  a  thing  for  tho  birila  to  hoar. 
“  Why,  don't  you  know,"  said  tho  little  maid. 
The  flitting,  beautlfnl  elf ; 
“  That  we  call  it  ‘  letting  the  old  cat  die,’ 
When  the  swing  stops  all  of  itself  t" 
Then  swinging  and  swinging,  and  looking  bock, 
With  tho  merriest  look  In  her  eye. 
She  bade  me  “  good-day,"  and  1  left  her  alone, 
Alcttiug  the  old  cat  lUo. 
- ♦♦♦■ - 
WHICH  WAS  THE  BKAYE  BOY? 
II Y  LH.I.IK  K,  BARR. 
“  Our  cow  has  got  a  uew  calf.” 
This  statement  was  made  by  a  small  boy  who 
had  been  sitting  on  the  fence  nearly  llvo  nUnutes, 
looking  very  hard  at  his  neighbor’s  little  boy,  who 
was  busy  digging  lii  Iho  garden. 
“What’s  it  like?”  asked  the  neighbor’s  boy, 
dropping  the  spade,  In  order  to  ask  the  ipiestlon 
Iniiii  tho  v.aiitago  ground  of  hands  lu  ids  pockets. 
“  Oh,  It’s  red,  with  some  white  Into  It.” 
“  We’ve  got  a  new  baby,”  answered  tho  other, 
rather  proudly. 
“  Oh,  babies  aren’t  halt  as  nice  as  c-alves ;  be¬ 
sides  we've  got  a  baby  loo,  only  she’s  grow’tl  a 
llLLle  big.” 
“  Hut  our  baby  ain’t  a  ‘  sho It’s  a  he,"  said  the 
boy,  decisively. 
It  oi,  f’—and  tho  tono  Implied  that  tho  clrcum- 
htiincc  of  sex  might  make  up  for  tho  inferiority  of 
babies  to  calves.  In  point  of  Interest. 
“What’s  your  namo?”  said  tho  little  Ulggor, 
lilting  his  spiule  lu  order  lo  lean  upon  It  after  tlio 
fashion  of  nien ;  mine  is  Francis  J  unsoN,  but  they 
call  me  Fkankik.” 
“  MIno  Is  Tuomas  Brack  ;  mother  calls  me  Tom, 
but  the  fellows  call  mo  Hraok.  I  wear  suspen- 
deiii ;  do  you  ?” 
“No,”  said  Frankie,— feeling  very  much  as  It  It 
was  a  moan  kind  of  thing  not  to  have  arrived  at 
(hat  dignity— “hut  mother  says  sho  la  going  to 
get  mo  a  pair,  right  away.” 
“  How  old  are  you  ?  I’m  twelve,  going  on  thir¬ 
teen.” 
“  I’m  ten,  very  near  Indeed. 
"  uh  I— have  you  got  a  Ashing  line?” 
“  Yes,”  answered  Frankie,  feeling  Ids  siilrlts 
rising  In  the  pride  of  this  ociiulslUou,  and  abnost 
toi’guttlng  the  default  of  the  suspenders;  “I've 
got  a  bully  line.” 
“  Will  your  mother  let  you  go  arilshlng  7”  asked 
Tom. 
“  I’ll  go  and  a-sk  her  If  you’ll  wait,”  said  Uttlo 
Frankie  ;  and  In  a  few  minutes  he  returned  with 
her  permission.  The  two  boys  set  off  for  the  river 
and  were  soon  the  very  best  of  friends ;  for  Fkan- 
kee  looked  up  to  Tom,  who  was  a  boy  “going  on 
lUlriAon”  and  wearing  suspenders.  Besides  Tom 
bail  volunteered  the  Information  that  ho  “  was 
very  brave,  and  afraid  of  nothing,  or  no  one,  not 
even  the  district  schoolmaster,”  Indeed,  the  Im¬ 
pression  left  on  Frankie’s  mind  by  a  relation 
of  Tom's  school-room  experiences  wa.s,  that  the 
schoolmaster  was  rather  afraid  of  Tom.  Hut  then 
Fkankik  was  a  (pUel  little  fellow,  phiylng  a  good 
deal  with  girls,  and,  as  Tom  rather  scornfully  de¬ 
clared,  “  quite  tied  uj  his  motlier’s  apron  strings.” 
Frankie  readily  allowed  the  general  superiority 
of  To.\[  ;  and  Indeed  felt,  after  listening  an  hour  lo 
Tom’s  adventures,  that  Tom  Brack,  In  point  of 
pluck,  was  little  inferior  to  Jack  the  Glaul^klller. 
Towards  sunset  the  boys  strung  their  fish  and 
rose  to  go  home,  Tom  being  quite  amused  at 
Frankik’s  fe-ar  of  a  lizard  which  ho  suddenly 
came  upon.  He  admitted  that  he  believed  “the 
creatures  were  quite  as  poLsonous  a.s  snakes,  but 
he'd  got  quite  used  to  them and  then  he  told 
one  or  two  of  his  adventures  In  which  lizards  of 
extraordinary  size  flgured. 
In  the  middle  of  one  of  these  stories  he  stopped 
suddenly  short,  and  stood  looking  up  tho  lane 
with  t«rror-.strieken  eyes ;  for  coming  at  full  speed 
down  It  was  a  large  dog  with  bis  tongue  lolling 
out,  and  every  sign  about  him  of  ungovernable 
agony  or  passion. 
Oh,  Frankie,  run  t  That’s  Giiison’s  Ponto,  and 
he’s  got  tVic  hydrophobia.  I  heard  father  say  so 
this  morning;  and  o  doarl  there’s  little  Tuoitv 
A'n'woon  Just  behind  us.  Gome  on,  Fuankfe,  or 
you’ll  get  bit,”— and  without  a  moment’s  dolay 
Tom  bounded  over  the  fence  and  lied  across  tho 
Held. 
But  FR*NicrK  looked  flrst  at  tho  ilog  running  so 
swiftly  towards  him,  and  then  at  little  Thottv 
who,  all  unconscious  of  danger,  was  coming  slow¬ 
ly  with  careful  steps  up  the  lane,  carrying  a 
pitcher  half  full  of  new  milk  in  her  two  Ultlo 
sun-browned  hands.  In  another  moment  ho  had 
reached  tho  child,  and  bctorc  she  could  speak  had 
fairly  thrown  her  over  the  fence.  He  had  barely 
time  to  leap  to  tho  other  side  himself  w'hcn  old 
I’onto  fell  down  In  a  lit  almost  on  the  spot  where 
he  had  sfAod  with  the  child  a  minute  before. 
“  You’ve  spilt  all  rnj'  milk  and  broked  my  nice 
pitcher,  and  you’re  a  weal  bad,  wicked  boy,  Piian- 
kie  Judson,”  said  Uttlo  Tuoitt,  picking  herself 
up,  and  looking  with  no  small  Indignation  at 
poor  Frankie,  who  sat  pale  and  trembling  on  the 
grass. 
“Never  mind,  ’rKO'rrv;  I've  saved  you  from  a 
mad  dog,  I  have.  Como,  let  me  take,  you  homo 
quick;”  and  Frankie,  springing  to  hts  foot,  ran 
with  the  child  In  Ids  arms  us  fa'st  as  his  trembling 
legs  would  carry  lUm  to  Mrs.  A  rr wood’s. 
Mrs.  A  ttwood’s  look  and  kiss  (pilte  repaid  Fran¬ 
kie  ;  yet  he  was  very  happy  when  his  father  pat¬ 
ted  him  on  the  bead,  and  his  mother,  with  happy 
lAiars  In  her  eyes,  called  him  lier  “bravo  Uttlo 
lad.”  Yet  even  with  those  cammendatlons  added 
to  his  own  satisfaction,  he  wa.s  not  IndllTercul  lo 
tho  fact  that  Thomas  Brack,  who  was  “going  on 
thirteen”  and  wore  suspeiiderR,  called  him  “a 
real  plucky  little  boy,”  and  Introduced  him  os 
such  to  all  “tho  feUows”  who  were  tho  loaders 
of  Boy  Society  in  Thomsonvllle  Center. 
-  ■  - 
THE  BOY,  THE  BEETLE  AND  THE  DOG. 
The  mlnlstergavo  out  Ids  text  and  droneilalong 
monotonously  through  an  argument  whhdi  was  so 
prosy  that  many  a  head  hy-and-by  began  to  noil, 
and  yet  It  was  an  argument  that  dealt  in  Umltlcss 
flreand  brimstone,  and  thluticd  the  prcdeslliiated 
elect  down  to  a  company  so  small  .as  to  he  hardly 
worth  the  saving.  Torn  counted  the  pages  of  tho 
sermon ;  after  church  he  always  kuew  how  many 
pages  there  had  been,  but  he  seldom  know  any¬ 
thing  else  ahout  tho  dtscourso.  However,  this 
time  ho  was  roally  Interested  for  a  little  while. 
'I’he  minister  made  a  grand  and  moving  picture  of 
tho  lussemhllng  together  of  the  world’s  liostN  at 
tho  Mlllonnlum,  when  tho  Hon  luid  the  lamb 
should  lie  down  logeUier  and  a  Uttlc  child  .should 
lead  them.  But  the  pathos,  the  lesson,  tho  moral 
of  the  gi'cat  Icssou  were  lost  upon  tho  boy;  he 
oidy  thought  of  tho  consplcuousriess  of  tho  prin¬ 
cipal  character  before  the  on-looking  nations;  his 
face  111,  up  with  the  thought,  and  ho  said  to  him¬ 
self  he  wished  ho  could  bo  that  child,  if  it  was  a 
tiiinc  lion. 
Now  ho  lapsed  Into  sulTcrlng  again  as  tho  dry 
argument  was  resumed.  Presently  ho  bethought 
himself  of  a  treasure  he  had,  and  got  It  out.  it 
was  a  large  black  beetle  with  formldalilo  jaws,  a 
“  plnch-lmg  ”  he  called  It.  It  was  In  a  pcrcuH.slon- 
e-ap  box.  The  lli-st  thing  tho  beetle  did  was  to 
take  him  by  tho  flngo.r.  A  natural  Qllp  followed, 
the  beetle  went  lloimderlng  into  the  .aisle,  and  lit 
on  Ita  back,  and  the  hurt  finger  wont  InU)  the  boy’s 
mouth.  Tho  beetle  lay  there  working  lla  helpless 
legs,  unable  lo  turn  over.  Tom  eyed  It,  a  tul  longed 
for  It,  but  It  was  safe  out  of  Ids  reach,  other  pco- 
plo,  unlutcrcsUid  In  the  sermon,  found  relief  In  tho 
beetle,  and  they  eyed  It  too. 
ITescnlly  a  vagrant  poodle  dog  came  Idling 
along,  sad  at  heart,  lazy  with  the  summer  soft¬ 
ness  and  the  quiet.  Weary  of  captivity,  sighing  for 
change.  He  spied  tho  beetle ;  the  drooping  tall 
lifted  and  wagged.  He  surveyed  the  prl/.o ;  walk¬ 
ed  round  It;  smelt  of  It  Irom  a  sate  distance; 
walked  round  It  again ;  grew  holdi.'r,  and  took  a 
Closer  smell ;  then  lUt.ed  his  lip,  and  made  a  gin¬ 
gerly  snatch  at  It,  Just  missing  It;  made  anotlior 
and  another ;  began  to  enjoy  tho  diversion ;  sub¬ 
sided  to  hki  stomacU  with  t.Uo  beetle  between  Ids 
paws,  and  continued  Uls  cxperlinentii ;  grew  weary 
at  last,  and  theu  ladlllerent  and  absent-minded. 
Ills  head  nodded,  and  little  by  little  hla  chin  do- 
icended  and  touched  tho  enemy,  who  seized  It. 
There  was  a  sharp  yelp,  a  flirt  of  the  poodle’s 
hoail,  and  tho  beetle  tell  a  couple  of  yards  away, 
and  Ut  ou  Its  back  once  moro.  The  neighboring 
spectators  shook  with  a  gentle  Inward  Joy,  several 
faces  went  behind  fans  and  handkerchiefs,  and 
Tom  was  entirely  happy.  The  dog  looked  foolish, 
and  probably  felt  so ;  but  there  wa-S  resentment 
In  his  heart,  too,  and  a  craving  for  revenge.  So 
he  went  to  the  beetle  and  began  a  wary  alUick  on 
It  again;  jumping  at  It  from  every  point  of  a  cir¬ 
cle,  lighting  with  his  fore-paws  within  an  Inch  of 
tho  creature,  making  even  closer  snatches  at  It 
with  his  teeth,  aud  Jerking  his  head  MH  his  ears 
flapped  again.  Hut  he  grew  tired  once  more,  after 
awhile;  tried  to  amuse  lilm-sclt  with  a  tly,  but 
h)und  no  relief ;  followed  an  ant  around,  with  hls 
nose  close  to  the  floor,  and  quickly  wearied  of  that ; 
yawned,  sighed,  forgot  th<;  beetle  entirely,  and  sat 
downonltl  Then  there  wa.s  a  wild  yelp  of  agony, 
and  the  poodle  went  sailing  up  tho  aisle ;  tlui  yelps 
conUnned,  and  so  did  the  dog;  bo  cros.sed  tho 
house  la  front  of  the  altar ;  he  flow  down  tho  other 
ahjle  ;  he  crossed  before  the  dwi's;  he  clamored 
up  tho  homo  stretch ;  hla  anguish  grew  with  hls 
progress,  till  preaeully  he  was  a  woolly  comet, 
moving  In  its  orbit  with  the  gleam  and  speed  of 
