Evening Star Newspaper, October 24, 1896, Page 21

EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 24, 1896-—TWENTY-FOUR PAGES. * PART I. ‘The feud between the Timothy O’Far- rells and Neil McNeilis at Meenaclure was not of very long standing, for the dowager !Mrs. O'Farrell, and the elder Mrs. Mc- Neill, who had been by no means young when it began, were still to the fore, and not yet even considered to have attained “a great ould age entirely.” This seems @ mere mushroom growth compared with some of cur family quarrels which have been handed down from father to soa through so many generations that every- orfer of things in the world of their parish. Still, to the younger peo- ple, whé had been but children at its birth, it seemed to have lasted a long while, and their juniors would have found it state of affairs almost un- For them the origin of the had already begun to loom dimly through a mist of tradition, which would 2; tend a: 2 went on to grow vaguer and falser. at length nobody would be left > iid give a clear account of what it all about. So far, however, chbors who were “any age to knew the rights of the case And this is what had hap- all the speak o| cloudless midsummer evening, ty years back—nobody is about chronology at Meena- and children were land toward the heep, to keep them from coring home and eating up the crops. From 1 to October that was every year their occupation, and a very engross- ces that would discredit no hun- 3 makes them a constant peril fields, whose produ sort of visibly em- it is one who: an he averted by timely precau- erefore as soon as potatoes prevented from Jon of wary mon- The children lure find the sun- the a season of pet acation, when the longest ed out to their Iast lin- r among the tu: and hat the.morning seems to ages ago, by the home, thr parts the flocks having al- themselves to completer re- = the unattainability of . ha set their nib- the swarded hill >-fields may lie however, owing young McNeills , who were all of a rabbit rem ir shrew by th svecessfully eluded observation and broke THE TIGER-SHEEP OF NEIL McHEILL BY JANE BARLOW. Author of “Trish Idyils.” (Copyright, 1896, by the Bacheller Syndicate.) LLLLLLALULLLLL LALA There She Lurked Awhile. with two comrades pres- r her. W by her expression stunk along unseen in furzy 2 broken ground, and late in the i arrived near the forbidden Fartively for ere lurked furtively for determined to hop over the athy ‘arrell's oat field the oment that nobody seemed to S opportunity soon occurred. rrells’ holding lies somewhat apart in a sitght hollow which secludes It frem the little cabin cluster standing a bit higher round a curve in the long green glacis foot-slope of Slieve Gowran. ‘Thus it came to pass that when Timothy O’Farreil returned from turf cutting on the bog with his sister Margaret and_ his brothers Hugh and Patrick the first thing they noticed was an object like a movable + be er cropping up on the delicate urfage of their oat patch. Where- te the powers of smoke.” said Tim. there isn't them bastes in it agin. of them, no less,” said Margaret “Me Is’, you may bet your brogues, said Hugh. “The divil doubt said Timothy. Pat- rick, who was a youth of action rather than speech, had already plunged hea ward the scene of the trespass. veral reasons why doubts of ponsibility in the matter ted to the divil. In_ the ‘eills owned more sheep y else at Meenaclure, whereas rrelis owned none; and, secondly, rrelis had sowed an unusually ex- patch of oats, while the McNeills had planted potatoes only. The tendencies of this situation are obvious. Again, the O'Farreils had more than once before un- dergon« the like inroads, and on these oc- casions Net] McNeil! had not, Timothy con- sidered, shown by ny Means an adequate gmount of penitence. “Bedad, othy reported to his famil enough over it. Maybe it's his notion of fine farmin’ to bastes on other Feeple’s grow A deep-rooted sentiment of respect; however, restrained him fi these sarcasms in public For ‘i . though the head and father of a fi ad not seen many more than Grasped Her by Legs. a@ score of harvests, and Neil, a dozen years his sentor, enjoyed a high reputation among, his neichbors as a very knowledgable man altogether. After the second incursion, it is true, Timothy's wrath had so far over- ceme his awe as to make him “up and tell!” Neil McNeill that “if he didn’t mind his ould shows of sheep himself he'd be apt to find somebody that ‘ud do it in a way that he mightn't like.” Still, the affair went no further, and Timothy had soon re- verted to his customary attitude of amt- cable veneration. But at this third repe- tition of the offense his anger could not be —s to subside so harmlessly. t's shoutz and flourishing gallop speea!- Timothy the Hina ith a wiliness | of meek | ly routed the conscience-stricken sheep, and two of them whisked up the hillside like thistledown on a brisk breeze; but the third, who was the ringleader, leaped the fence with so little judgment that she came floundering against Timothy, who grasped her dexterously by the hind legs. Now, to catch a Slleve Gowran sheep alive in the open is a rare and difficult feat, proverbially imposgible, indeed, at Meena- clure; but Timothy and his brethren were at a loss how they should best turn this achievement of it to account. They felt that simply to let the creature go again would be a flat and unprofitable result, yet what else could they do with it? While they pondered and their captive impotenly wriggled Hugh suddenly had an Inspiration. It camé to him at the sight of two large black pots which stood beside a smoldering fire against the white end wall of thelr lit- tle house. To an unenlightened observer they might have suggested some gypsy en- campment, but Hugh knew they betokened that his mother had been dyeing her yarn. The Widow O'Farrell was a great spinner, and a large part of the wool shorn in the parish traveled over her whirring wheel on its way to Fergus, the weaver's, loom. A few old sacks lying near the fire had con- “Tiger sheep!” and fled from raven- ing jaws. tained the ingredients which she used ac- cording to an immemorial recipe. From the mottled gray lichen “crottal” which clothes our bowlders with hues strangely like those of the fleeces browsing among them she ex- tracted a warm tawny brown; a flaky mass of the rusty black turf soot supplied her with a strong yellow, and the dull-red bog ore boiled paradoxically into black. “Be aisy, will you, you little thief of the mischief,” Hugh said to the sheep. “Mc- Neills’ she 1s, sure enough! there’s the trark. Musha, lads, let’s give her a dab or so of what's left in the ould pots. "Twould improve her appearance finely.’ “Ay, would i said Timothy. “She's an unnathural ugly obic’ of a crather the way she is now. Bedad, they've a couple of bar- rels desthroyed on us. “A few odd sthrakes of the black an yella 'd make her look ilgant,” said Hugh. Och, man, don’t let her get away, but lift her alsy. Maggie, did you see eer a sign of the stick they had stirrin’ the stuff w! But it’s apt to be cool enough agin no _ Ah, boys, but it’s ragin’ mad McNeills all be if you go for to do such a thing,” Margaret said, half scared, and blundering in her flurry on a wrong note, as she at once perceived. For her brothers promptly responded in a sort of fugal movement— “And sure who's purvintin’ of them? They're welcome, bedad, them, or the likes of them. Is it ragin’? aybe it’s raison they'll have before they’re a great while oulder, mrsha Moyah. And they proceeded with all the greater enthusiasm to carry out their design, which became more ambitfously elaborate in the course of exeention. PART It. Early next morning, while the moun- tain shadow still threw a purple cloak over the steep fields of Meenaclure, where all the dewdrops were ready to twinkle as soon aS a ray reached them, and when Mrs. Neil McNeill was preparing break- fast, which at this short-coming summer season consisted chiefly of Indian meal, her eldest daughter ran in to her with news. ‘There was somethin’, Molly said, leppin’ about in the pig sty Now, the MeNellis’ stye just then stood empty, in the interval between the dispatch of their last lean fat pig to Letterkenny fair, and the hoped-for fall in the market price of the wee springy hich was to replace him. So, Mrs. MeNeill said: “Och blath- ers, child alive, what would there be in it at all?” “But it’s rustlin’ in the straw—I heard it—and duntin’ the door wid its head like,” Molly persisted. “Sure, then, run and see what it 1s, heney,” said her mother, who was pre- occupied with a critical stage of her por- ridge, and a piece of practical business on hand generally disposes us to adopt a skeptical attitude toward marvels. “Maybe one of the hins might have fut- tered into it, but there's apter to not be anythin’.” Molly, whose mood was not enterprising, reinforced her courage with the company of Judy and Thady before she went to in- vestigate, and a minute afterward she came rushing back uttering terrified la- mentations, whereof the burden seemed to be: “It’s a tiger sheep.” Her report could no longer be disregarded, and the rest of the family were presently grouped round the low wall of the Httle lean-to shed, which did really contain an inmate of extraordinary aspect. Its form was that of a newly-shorn sheep, long-legged and lank-bodied Itke others of its race, but in coloring altogether exceptional. Boldly marked stripes of black and tawny yellow alternated all over it, with a brilliant sym- metry not surpassed by the natural his- tory chromograph whitch flamed on the wall of Rathfiesh national school, and which now recurred to little Molly’s mind in conjunction with the fact that the wear- er of the striated skin “was a cruel, sav- age, wicked b>ste, that would be swallyin’ all before it,” whereupon she had shrieked, “Tiger sheep,” and fled from ravening jaws. Her parents and grandparents, on the contrary, stood and surveyed the phenom- enon with almost unutterable wrath. Traces of a human hand in its production were plain enough, for the beast had been fast- ened into the stye by a rope round her neck, which was further ornamented with long brackenfronds and tufts of curiously colored wool, studiously grosteque. In fact, had she beer mercilessly endowed with “the giftie,” she would no doubt have suf- fered from a mortification as acute as was that of her owners, instead of trotting off quite satisfled, when once she was released and at liberty to resume her fastidious nib- bling among the dewy tussocks. “That's some divilment of the O’Farrells, and the back of me hand to the whole of them!" sald Neil McNeill, with clenched eyebrows. “Themselves and their blamed impldence, and their stinkin’ brashes! The old woman’s niver done boilin’ them up for her wool. It’s slung about her head, I wish they were, sooner than to be used for misthratin’ other people’s dacint bastes.” “Deed, now, thrue for you,” said his mother. “Sure wasn’t she tellin’ me her- self yesterday evenin’ she'd been busy all day gettin’ her yarn dyed agin she would be knittin’ the boys thelr socks? Gad'rin the sut she said she was this good while. That's the way they done it—och, the vaga- bonds: t's a bad job,” said old Joe McNeill, shaking his despondent white head. “I wouldn't ever ha’ thought {t of them,” said Mrs. Neill. “On’y them boys is that terrible wild, goodness forgive them, there’s no demented notion they mayn’t take into their heads. But what at all could we do for the misfort’nit crathur? Sure, it's dis- tressful to see her goin’ about that scan- dalous figure. I can’t abide the sight of her.” Our bogland dyes, however, are very fast, and for many’ day that summer Mrs. Neill had to endure the apparition of the O’Far- rell’s victim, who, of course, became a painfuliy conspicuous object on the hill- side, where she roamed blissfully unaware of how her owners’ eyes followed her with gloomy resentment, and of how their negh- bors’ children, catching up Molly’s cry, shouted one to another, derisively: “Oc! But long felt in the social life of Meenaclure, where it must be owned that the inhabitants are rather Res to keep their grudges in the same e-proof wallet with their grati- tudes. And the grudges, somehow, often seem to lie atop. In this case, moreover, the injury had an espectal bitterness, be- cause the McNeills came of an old sheep- Only Wished the Ould Sinner Had Been There Herself to See the Way He'd Serve Her. keeping class, whose little flock was an in- heritance handed down, dwindling, through many generations; and whose main inter- ests and activities had time out of mind turned upcn wool, so that everything con- nected with it had acquired in their eyes the peculiar sanctity with which we often invest the materials and implements be- longing to our own craft. A chimney sweep has probably some feeling of disinterested regard for his bags and brushes. Accord- ingly sheep were to them a serious, almost solemn subject, altogether unsuitable for @ practical joke, and an insult offered to them was felt to strike at the honor of the family. Small blame to them, therefore, if, as the reighbors said, they were ragin’ mad entirely, and turned a deaf ear to all pacific overtures. The O'Farrells, to do them justice, ad- mitted upon reflection that they had maybe gone a little beyond the beyonds, and were disposed to be apologetic and conciltatory. But when old Mrs. O'Farrell, one day meet- ing the two smallest McNellls on the road, presented each of them with a pale brown eggs, which she had just found in the nest of her speckled hen away down beside the river, the result merely was that her gifts were smashed into an impromptu omelet before the McNeills’ door, by the direction of the master of the house, who anly wish- ed the ould sinner had been there herself to see the way he'd serve that, or anythin’ else she'd have the impidence to be sendin’ into his place. And later on, when the feathery gold of the O’Farrells’ oatfield had been bound in stooks, and the hobbledehoy Pat was dispatched to inquire whether the McNeills might be wantin’ e’er a trifle of straw after the thrashin’ for darnin’ their bit of thatch, the polite attention elicited nothing except a peremptory injunction to “quit out of that.” In taking up this attitude the McNeills had at first the support of their neighbors’ sympathy, public opinion being that it was no thing for the O’Farrells to go do. But as time went on, people began to add occa- sionally that sure maybe they didn’t mean any such great harm after all, and that they were only young boyoes, without as much sense among the whole of them as would keep a duck wading straight. What was the use of being too stiff over a trifle? These magnanimous sentiments were, no doubt, strengthened by the fact that in so small a community as Meenaclure a per- manent brecch between any two families could not but entail some inconveniences upon all the rest. It was irksome, for in- stance, to bear In mind throughout a friendly chat that at the casual mention of a neighbor’s name the person you wei talking to would look “‘as bitter as su’ and freeze into grim dumbness; or to have to consider, should you wish for a loan of Widdy O'Farrell’s market basket, that you must by no means “‘let on" to her your in- tention of carrying home tn it Mrs. Mc- Neill’s grain of tea; or to be called upon to choose between the company of Neil Mc- Neill and Hugh O'Farrell on the way home from the fair, because neither of them, as the saying is, would look the same side of the road as the other. Such obligations lay gtumbling blocks tn our daily path, and nip growths of good fellowship, and are gene! ally embarrassing and vexatious. Ho ever, Meenaclure had to put up with this state of things for so many a long day that People learned to include {t unprotestingly among their necessary evils. PART Hl. Under these tircumstances it was, of course, only fn the n&ture of things that the little McNeills and O’Farrells, the smallest of whom had r:ot been born at the time of the quarrel, should always put out their tongues at one another whenever they met. They regarded the situation, indeed, as a sort of ceremonial observance, which could not be omitted without a sense of inde- corum. Thus, one inclement autumn, when Patrick O'Farrell was no longer a hobble- dehoy, but “as big a man as you'd meet goin’ most rcads,” he went off to a “rab- bh that is, a hiring fair, at Letterkenny, and took service for six months with a farmer at Raphoe. On the day that he left Meenaclure he happened, just as he was setting out, to meet Molly McNeill, who had by this time grown into “a tall slip of girl going on for sixteen,” and they duly Slunk vast Without Making Any De- monstration. exchanged the customary greeting, Pat getting the better of her by at least half an inch of insult. But when he returned on a soft April evening, it chanced again that one of the first persons he fell in with was Molly. She was coming along between the newly clad hedges of a narrow lane, and when he caught sight of her first he mis- took her for his cousin, Norah O'Farrell, she looked so much taller than his recol- lections. But, on perceiving his error, he merely gave up his intention of saying: “Well, Norah, and how's yourself this great while?” and slunk past without mak- ing any demonstration whatever. Molly would hardly have noticed it, indeed, as when she saw him coming she began to minutely examine the buds on the thorn bushes, and did not lift an eyelash while they were passing. Yet as they went their several ways, Pat felt that he had some- how shirked a duty, and Molly, for her part, could not shake off a sense of having failed in loyalty to her family until she had relieved her conscience by announcing at home that she was “just after meetin’ that great, ugly-lookin’ gomeral, Pat O’Farrell, slingein’, down the road’ below Widay, Byrne's.’ ‘The year which followed this spring was one of bad seasons and hard fare at Meen- aclure, and toward the end of it Pat O'Far- 1ell came reluctantly to perceive that he could best mend his own and his family’s tattered fortunes by emigrating to the states. His resolve, though ragretted by all his neighbors, except, of course, the Mc- -Nellis, was considered sensible enough, and at the “convoy” which assembled accord- ing to custom to see him off on his journey, the general purport of conversation was to the effect that bedad everybody’d be miss- ing poor Pat, but sure himself was the fine clever boy that wouldn't be any time gettin’ together the price of a little place back again in the ould country. The MecNeills alone were of the opinion, expressed by Neil's mother, that “the only pity was the rest of the pack weren't goin’ along wid Pat; un- less, Itke enough, they’d be more than the people out in those parts could put up wid all at onst, the-way they'd be ’ them back on us like a bundle of ould rubbish washin’ up agin wid the tide.” But surprise weesthe universal feeling when, about six months later, it became known that Neil McNeill’s eldest child Mol- ly had also made up her mind to cross over the water. Her owp family were foremost among the wond ; for Molly had al- ways been considered rather excessively timid and quiet; -eertainly the very last girl in the parish whom one would have thought likely t ke such a venture. They half believe@iithat when it came to the point “sorra a fut of her would go, and they much nior® than half hoped s notwithstanding that their rent had fallen into alarming arrears and none of her brethren were old enough to help. Molly, however, actually_went, amid lamentations and forebodings, idtB of her own and other people’s, all alike unavailing to stop her. Mrs. Timothy O’Farrell said she'd be long sorry to have a daughter of hers stresling off to the ends of the earth. And I think that Molly's mother was long sorry, poor soul, through many a lonesome day and anxious night. After these two departures things at Meenaclure took their wonted course, a little more sadly and dully, perhaps, than heretofore. Communications from abroad came rarely and scantily, for nelther of the absentees had much scholarship. Their sheep herding summers had greatly cur- tailed that, and it would have been diffi- cult to say whether Pat’s or Molly's scrawms were the briefer or obscurer. But not long after Molly McNeill had gone one of Pat O'Farrell’s letters contained an important piece of news; nothing less than that he was “just about gettin’ married.” He did not go into particulars about the match, merely describing the future Mrs. Pat as “the best ‘girl in or out of Ireland, and opining that they mightn’t do badly. His family were not overjoyous at the event, which might be considered to pre- sage a falling off in remittances, and his mother was much cast down thereby, her thoughts going to the time of “My son is my son till he gets him a wife.” Still, she was not so dispirited as to be past finding some solace in an innuendo, and she al- most certainly designed one when she took “Sure, I don’t mind, so long as he hasn't took up wid one of them black-headed girls.” occasion to remark just outside the chapel door, where she had been telling the neigh- bors her news: “But ah, sure, I don't mind so long as he hasn't took up wid one of them black-headed girls I never can abide the looks of. And ‘deed now there's no fear of that; Pat's just the same notion as meself, I very well know.” For Mrs. Neil McNeil was standing'well within earshot, and, as everybody ‘remembered, “‘there wasn't a fair hatr on the head of e’er a one of her children.” However, Mrs. Neil proved equal to the emergency, and marked, addrersing Kitty Byrne, that “it was rael queer the sort of omadhawns she'd heard tell of some girls, who, belike, krow no better, betn’ content to take great lumberin’ louts of fellers, wid the ugly- colored hair on thelr’ heads like nothin’ in the world except a bit of new thatch be- fore !t would be combed straight.” She spoke without apy.presentiment that she would soon have to go through much the same experience as old Mrs. O'Farrell, but so it was. For a week or two later came a letter from Melly stating that she Was “just after gettin’, married.” Her hus- bard, who, she said, was earning grand wages, bore thé obnoxfous name of O’Far- Her Head Held Extremely High in Its Stiff-Frilled Cap. rell, but there was nothing strange in the coincidence, as the district about Meena- clure abounds in Farrells and Neills, with and without the prefixes of O and Mac, and it seems only natural to fuppose a similar state of things in New York. No- body could deny that there were plenty of O’Farrells very dacint people. So Molly's mother mourned in private over an event which se2med to set a seal upon the sepa- ration between her daughter and herself, and in public was well pleased and very proud, laying great stress upon the fact that Molly had sent the money order just as usual—“Sorra a fear of little Molly for- gettin’ the ould people at all”—and serenely scorning Mesdames O'Farrells’ opinton that “when a girl had to thravel off that far after a husband, it was the quare crooked stick of a one she'd be apt to pick up. PART Iv. After this Meenaclure received no very thrilling foreign news for about a twelve- month. Then one fine Sunday the Widdy O'Farrell was to be seen sailing along masswards, with her head held extremely high in its stiff-frilled cap and dark-blue hood, and with a swinging sweep of her black homespun skirt, which betrayed an exultant stride. All her family, indeed, wore a somewhat elated and consequential air, which most of her neighbors allowed to be justifiable when she explained that she had become the happy grandmother of her Pat's fine young son; the letter with the announcement had come last night. This was indeed promotion, for her son Tim's children were all girls. With the congratulations upon so auspicious an an event old Mrs. McNeill could mingle only subdued murmurs about brats taking after their fathers, that weren't good for much, the dear khows. However, she had not long to wait°for as good or better a right to strut chin'in air, since it was with @ great-grandmottier’s dignity that a few days later she could inform everybody of the arrival of Molly’s: boy. She would, I believe, have found it*very hard to forgive Molly if the chitd had been merely a daughter. i This rivalry, as‘ it/‘were, between the estranged families-tn'the matter of news from their non-residefit members recurred with the same edulpoised result on more than one similar’ occasion, and was ex- tended even to less happy events. For in- stance, one time whem Pat wrote in great distraction, and a_wilder scrawl than usual, that the “three childer was dreadful bad wid the mumps, he doubted would they over it,” the next' mail brought just such a report from Molly; which was rather awk- ward for the mother and grandmother, who had been golj about passing the re- mark that ‘“whén childer got proper patna they never took anythin’ of the sort.”” At length, however, when perhaps half a dozen years had gone by, the balance of good fortune dipped decidedly toward the O’Farrells. One autumn morning a letter from Pat came to say that he and his fam- ily were coming home. He had saved up a tidy little bit of money, and meant to try could he settle himself on a dacint little bit of land; at any rate, he would get a sight of the ould place and the ould people. Great was the rejoicing of the O’Farrells. Whereas for the McNeills at this time the meager mailbags contained no foreign let- ter, no letter at all, bad or good, let alone one fraught with such grand news. Moliy’s mother, it is true, dreamt two nights run- ning that Molly had come home; but dreams are a sorry substitute for a letter, especially when everybody knows, and some people remind you, that they always go by contraries. So Mrs. McNelll fretted to 4 mever did.” We can’t. SGOOSOHSGS OHS GHOSSHSOISSHOSSHOSSOSSOOSSD cures. Ayer’s. SOSSEOS9S000 fe) The Same Old Sarsaparilla. That’s Ayer’s. GOSS ONS SSD0HS 0600066 sarcastic, no matter how arrogantly the O'Farrells might comport themselves. Then the autumn days shriveled and shrank, and one morning in late November the word went round Meenaclure that the “Kaley” that evening would be up at Fer- gus, the weaver’s. This mecting place was always popular, Fergus being a well-liked man, with a wide space round his hearth. And this night's conversazione promised to be particularly enjoyable, as it had leaked out that Dan Farrell and Mrs. Keogh and Dinny O'Neill were concerned in what ts at Meenaclure technically termed ‘a join,” for the purpose of treating the kaleying com- pany to cups of tea. In fact, the materials for that refreshment, done up in familiar purple paper parcels, lying on the window seat, were obvious to everybody who came into the room, though to have seemed aware of them would have been a grave breach of manners. When all the company were mustered, and the fire was burning its brightest, Fergus might well look around his house with satisfaction, for so large an assembly seldom came together, and uni- versal harmony seemed to prevail. This was not disturbed by the fact that several both of the Timothy O'Farrells and Neil McNeills were present, as by this time everybody thoroughly understeod the situ- ation, and the neighbors arranged them- selves as a matter of course in ways which precluded any awkward juxtapositions of persons ‘‘who weren't spakin’.”” It was a showery evening, with a wafting to and fro of wide gusts, which made the Widdy O'Farrell wonder more than once, as she sxt on the form by the hearth, with the Widdy Byrne interposed baffer-wise between her and old Joe McNeill. What she wondered was whether her poor Pat might be apt to be crossin’ over the say on suck an ugly wild night. Just as Mrs. Keogh, with an eye on the Ild-bobbing ket- tle, was about to ask Fergus if he might happen to have e’er a drup of hot water he could spare her, that being the orthodox preface to teamaking on tke occasion of a join, the house docr rattled violently, and opened with a fling. As nobody appeared at it, this was supposed tc be simply the wind’s freak, and Fergus said to Mick M’ Murdo, who sat next to it: **Musha, lad, be givin’ it a clap-to wid your fut.” But at that Instant a voice was heard close out- side, calling as if to another person a little farther off: “Molly, Molly, come along wid you; they’re all here right enough, and I weuldr’t be keepin’ the docr open on them.” Whereupon there was a quick patter of feet, followed by the entrance of two bun- As they advanced into the ilickering light, {t showed that the fig- ures were a man and a woman, and the “Pat, man, wasn't you spankin’ to me mother?” bundles chiliren; and in another moment there rose up recognizing shrieks and shouts of “Pat” and “Molly,” and then everybody rushed tumultuously across a chasm of half a dozen years. “They tould us below at Widdy Byrne's that we'd find yous all up here,” said Pat O'Farrell, “‘so we left the baby there, and stepped along. Och, mother, it’s younger yeu’re grown instead of oulder, and that’s a fac’ “And where’s the wife, Paudyeen agra?” said Pat's mother; ‘or maybe she sted be- low wid the child?” “And where's himself, Molly jewel?” said Molly’s mother. “Sure you didn’t come your lone?” “Why, here he is,” satd Molly. “Pat, man, wasn’t you spakin’ to me mother?” “Och, whethen now, and is it Pat O'Far- rell?” nis mother-in-law said, with a half- strangled gasp. “And who else would it be at all, at all, only Pat?” said Molly, as if propounding an unaswerable argument. “Mercy be among us all—and you never let on—och, you rogue of the world—you niver let on, Patsy avic, it was little Molly ‘M'Neill you'd took up wid all the while,” said his mother. “Sure, I was writin’ to you all about her times and agin,” Pat averred, stoutly, Perhaps things might have turned out differently if people had not been delighted and taken by surprise. But as it was, how could a feud be conducted with any propriety when Mrs. McNeill had unoro- testingly been hugged by Pat O'Farrell, and when old John McNeill and his wife and daughter were already worshiping a very fat, small, two-year-old girl, who unmis- takably featured all the O’Farrells that ever walked? The thing was impossible. or one moment, indeed, an unhappy resurrection seemed to be threatened. It was when everybody had got into a circle around the hearth, in expectation of the cups of tea, which were beginning, to clai- ter in the background, and when Pat O'Farrell, who was talking over old times and foreboded, and had not the heart to be : with Neil McNeill, suddenly gave his tather- GOSe in-law a great thump on the back, ex- claiming, with a chuckle: “Och, man, and do you remimber your ould sheep that we got in the oats, and gave a colored wash to? Faix, but she was the comical objec’ —‘the tiger sheep,’ the childer used to call her.” Whereupon all the rest looked at one another with dismayed counten: as if they had caught sight of some- thing uncanny. But their alarm was ne less, for Neil returned Pat's thump p: ly, with interest, and replied: “Haw, h: Bedad, I do remimber her right = i. est haw! Och now, man alive, I'll bet brogues that wid all you've be: out there in the states you never on e’er a beast ’ud aquil her for qu: —haw, haw, haw!” And the pany took up the chorus, as if minded to make up on the spot all arrears of laugh- ter owing on that long unappreciated joke. Amid the sound of which I have reason to believe that there fled away from Meen- aclure forever the last haunting phantasm of the unchancy tiger shee! eee How Ochiltree Did It. From the New York Press. Most of us know Col. Andrew G. Dickin- son, the accomplished Virginian who docs not like Cleveland because the President failed to appoint him minister to Spain, an office which he would have filled with great dignity and with honor. He used to know Tom Ochiltree when Tom lived in Texas, and one night stayed at the same hotel with him. At a reasonable hour they dis- cussed old times, and Tom switched the conversation deftly to hotel rules. “Why, Dickinson, he said, seriousiy, you know that it is impossible to ¢ bottle of champagne served in your room el?” exclaimed Dickinson, who had all his life been accustomed to having his way in everything. “Not get a bottle of champagne? Ill bet I can do it.” “Well, it’s more than any one here yet has ever been able to do. I say it is against the rules, and can’t be don “And I say it can be done! By heavens, I'll show you. pagne in my own room at any hote “Might do it almost anywhere else, but not here. I've tried it too often.” Dickinson sprang for the bell. A negro boy appeared at the door. “Fetch me a quart of champagne, two large glasses, some spoons, Angosiura bitiers and sugar, and be quick about it. D'ye hear?” The enraged Virginian stormed. He had made up his mind to have that wine. The boy hastened off on the wings of the wind, returning presently to ask what kind of champagne was wanted. “There, now, what did I tell you?” said Ochiltree. “That's a way they have of get ting out of sending it. They'll do you yet. “Not by a darned sight,” raved Dickin- son. “Fetch me anything, only cham- pagne. Hurry it up!” ‘Turning to Col. Ochiltree, he said, with a disdainful smile: “Tom, you haven't knocked around as much as I have, old fel- low. Now, just observe how I shall work this, and there won't be any more trouble about wine in this house.” In less time than it takes to tell it the champagne was on the table and Dickinson was forging the cocktaiis. As the pair put them down one after another, Dickinson swelled with pride, while Tom quaffed with satisfaction. In telling the story a day or two ago, Dickinson sai “It was three inonths before I discovered that Ochiltree had ma: haven't gotten even with him yet.” — me Not get a bottle of cham- THE PARROT WAS GOOD Company. | He Would Remind the Lonely Mar- vied Woman of Her Absent Husband. From the Chicago ‘Tribune. “Yes'm,” said the dealer in captive birds and animals, “you want a parrot for com- pany? I have the bird here, the very bird. You are married, are you not?” His fair customer bowed. “Ard your husband is away? I thought so, And you want the parrot to keep you from fecling lonesome? Yes? This is the very bird.’ “Is it a fluent talker?” asked the pros- pective purchaser. The dealer hesitated. “Well, no'm,” he sald at last. “You wouldn't hardiy call him a fluent talker no, not that. But for what you want, he's the best I have.” What can the bird say. “That's what makes him the right one, ma’am. He ain't got but one remark, to tell the truth; but he’s been brought up for just what you want. Every mornin’ he mokes a sound like a bureau drawer open- ing, and says, crosslike: “ “Where the deuce h: clean collars this time?’ ———_~++-—___. Slightly Muddled, From the Cleveland Plain Dealer. “Who is that fine-looking woman next to your wife?” “That isn't my wife.” “Which one do you mean?” “Why, the one next to the fine-looking woman.” -“I didn’t ask you anything about her.” ‘No, but you alluded to her as my wife.” ‘Any harm in that?" ‘There might be if the fine-looking wo- man heard you.” “What has she got to do with itt” “She's my wife. ‘Heavens! I don't believe you know which one I mean.” “All right, let's go back to the punch bowl”... ve you hidden my The same old Sarsaparilla as it was made and sold by Dr. J. C. Ayer, 50 years ago. In the laboratory, it is different. There, modern ap- pliances lend speed to skill and experience. sarsaparilla is the same old sarsaparilla that made the record-=-50 years of cures. it? Well, we’re much in the condition of the Bishop and the raspberry: “Doubtless,” he said, “God might have made a better berry. But doubtless, also, He Why don’t we better the sarsaparilla? We are using the same old plant that cured the Indians and the Spaniards. been bettered. And since we make sarsaparilla com- pound out of sarsaparilla plant, we see no way of impfgvement. Of course, if we were making some secret chemical compound, we might ..... we're not. We’re making the same old sarsaparilla to cure the same old diseases. some old sarsaparilla because it works the same old It’s the sovereign blood purifier, and Why don’t we better You can tell it’s the de a fool of me. 1) : : But the It has not PLOOSH9OGSSH9GO9SHSSSO00 999500000000 But RUSKIN'S GREATNESS. With All Hix Wealth He Has Dentea Himself, H. W. Kuapp in Chi-ago Inter-Ocean. Through his father Mr. Ruskin fell heir to nearly $1,000,000, to which must be add- ed the income of his writings. But this man counted his treasures as a trust fund, held in the inter@sts of suffering merit or youth’s promising talent. That he was on the London committee for the victualing of Paris in 1871 proves that his benevolence Was as well known as Peabody's or Lady Burdett-Coutts’. Taxing himself first a tenth, then half, he finally gave his eniire income. If he needed botanical works for his studies, he cripy rather than refuse his last spa to the widow of a 4 bealth’s seke and art's } take a trip to Switzerland, he would forego it, tat he might contribute i100 to the Cruikshank memorial. If others would not encourage the study of art in schools, he Would buy ten water-color drawings of Wiliam Hunt, paying for each $375, and &:ving them to the public schools of Lon- don. In cne of his letters to the working- nen of Great Britain he told them what he had done and was doing with his money, for carrying on his St. George's guild and | his plans for rent reform. Up to Is77 he | had given away all his fortune save $250,- eo. But in view of the needs of his work- | i.gmen’s clubs, this amcunt seemed much tco large for his personal wants. He there- fore determined to distribute all save 112,000 j ®crth of consols, the interest of which would bring him in some £30. Upon this | interest he now lives, the in s ie S, ncome of his books being distributed among his servants, sold pensioners and his various plans for and art ed himself 20 guineas ad artist. If for ake he wanted to al reform. e bestowed his art treasures with like generosity. He gave the marbles whieh na had coll ected in Gri pe and his priceless | Italian drawings to public galleries and museums where they would ben fit the common people. ther art treasures ine gave to an art museum in Sheffield workers in iron, making cutlery and house, hold utensils, might toil with classic models before them, and so learn how to sprinkle beauty upon the table, weave loveliness in. rpet and rug, adorn the walls and « He founded a guild for redeeming de of London and for re- ed lives, so giving Booth farm colony and the for- | ©en colony. During all the time he was lecturing at Oxford he went with his stu. dents into the streets, wh each day they pounded stone the chuck holes. ‘The foreman of the students ‘eynbee, who, under Ruskin ent to Whitechapel and gave us the seed ‘ea of the first social settlement. Under Ruskin’s influence also John Richard Green, the author of “Green's History of the Bur. | lish People,” 3 , that | establishing ruinc | his ideal for the re one hour Sand filled up as Arnold tutelage, | Bave several years to the | Werk among the poorer classes in London, | until he deveteped the sceds of consump- tion, when he returned to his studies € zt ss ies of history. Refusing the invitations of the rich and putting away the temptation to a life of ele and refined luxury, he gave him: poor. His lec- | tures were ven wh nelissie wealth and social prestige were represent- d, but were delivered to working girls’ j Clubs and workingmen’s associaUons. 1 ; Rousseau refused the yoke of law und serv ice upon the plea ot eenius, this man reason of his talents was cuties not expected of mc diocrity. No man has done se much to lift the ¥ il which hides the grim realities of poverty from the g: dreams of wealth. Other men have preached to the pocr but dined with the jTich. Goethe and Byron, for a me: of pettage, sold their birthright of infiuence over our generation. By his Mfe and ex- ample Ruskin has earned the right to speak as a prophet to those who stand upon the threshold of the nineteenth century, ——__+e-______ Cheerfal Mourning. From the Chicago Tines-Herald. The window dresser for a big State street firm in arranging a display of mcurning goods recently used as a center- piece the wax figure of a young widow, dressed in the sable habiliments of woe. The proprietor sent for him. “See here,” said the latter, “that black zoods widow won't do. You've rigged up a dummy in mourning who wears a smile as broad as a French joke, and who looks as radiant as the dawn of pay day “Well,” said the astist, “i'm not adver- tis! ing trouble. I'm bidding for business. When the women pass that window and See how beautiful, how charming, how dangerously alluring our dummy looks, the widows will tumble over each other to buy s00ds, and the girls will go right away 1 i} best as rareful to fulfili and get married in order to fall in line for a chane His -wages were raised on Either Would Suit. ym Judge. Tenderfoot- éah Cyclone Sem:--"We've captured de origin- ator of de word an’ de boy's ix dcbatin’ wedder ter burn ‘im at de stake or hang “im. What's the trou up yon- From Truth. “T don't know anything more disagrecable than a man who will not Go what he can.” Oh, he is not in it with the insisis on Coing what he can’t,