The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 30, 1895, Page 14

14 THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, JUNE 30, 1895 s The March of the Children. | t0 the sound of the dramming! v the children are coming; Sweet a3 the smile of & fairy, Fresh as the blossoms they carry, © of the parents who love them, Pure as the azure above them, Free as the winds that caress them, Bright as the sunbeams that bless them, List to the voice-echoes ringing! Sweeter than birds they are singing; Thoughts that to virtue invite them Wed unto airs that delight them, Truths that their future wili cherish -planted, never to perish! Only to senses completer, Heaven's choicest music were sweeter! Virtue, unconscious and pretty, Walks through the streets of the clty; See the gay bannerets flving, Mottoes and titles undying, Trutks dearly hallowed and olden, Br: at are golden; Words for the spirits desiring, Sentences sweetly inspiring! When In & voice of ceressing. Christ gave the children his blessing, "Twas not for one gencration, Bat for each epoch and nation. So it lingers, SELWYN's Notebook. Pauline’s Yourth of July. dy, P 1 m not ! Pauline called out bravely, standing in the little vine-covered porch of her father’s house. There was a sympathetic chorus of “Oh dears” and ‘100 bads,” but the flower and flag bedecked wagon with its toad of happy children did not linger long at Pauiine's door. Asit whirled a down the street the sounds of sor aughter came back to the ears of the lonely little girl, and with a r chin she made a hasty retreat to a secluded corner where she could cry a wee bit all unobserved. but 11, our little heroine, and v special occasion as this was, n almost every inhabitant of the | tle valley town was going out to v in the beautiful Cent ial its green grass and wa: grove, H trees, its shady pavilion and its maltitudi- And in Pauline’sown room a fresh white j vas spread out upor the bed wait- er, with a new hat beside it, won- derful with flowers.and ribbons. And the big famiiy luuch basket waited dejec on the table where it had been placed last evening, its capacio depths still yearning for the frosted cakes n that poor mamma so hard yesterday to prepare. h oked so promising at bed- T dreaming all night of the was pretty hard to joily see all one’s hopes melt away with the 0l darkness when migl}tyl old Sol haa reared his triumphant head above the mountain- 3 in. ha awoke with one of her drea d make the y one for litt 1 “The best n ans o’ mice and | men gang aft agley.” Before breakfast | was over a messenger from the country | day | | Z 4| all her own. | time to coax her out of the stable. about the poor aching head; she arranged the blinds to keep the house cool; she coaxed Jack out to amuse himself in the playhouse. Everything seemed very sim- ple and easy until the giris called for her, and truth to say the pang of that moment was soon forgotten. The little girl tripped softly about the house, and in and out, now stroking mamma’s head, now setting things to rights and now playing with the littie brother. At last the heatof the affernoon drove her to the hammock on the shady back veranda, and she fell asleep there before she knew it. She was just dreaming that the girls at the grove bad found a beau- tiful lake of lemonade with piled-up banks of icecream about it, when sometbing made her open her eyes. It was a peculiar crackling noise, and when Pauline sat up and looked about she saw flames and smoke pouring up from the rubbish pile in the alley just behind the pretty playhouse where little Jack was asleep, with dolly’s mattress under his head for a pillow. Ina nearer and nearer and the heat and smoke almost stifling her. It gave way at last and then the top of the little carriage wouldn’t go uader the beam over the door- way and it had to be lowered. Minutes seemed like hours to plucky little Pauline and she began to wonder if nobody was ever coming to help her save the house and the town. Somcbody was coming, and just as the phaeton was rolled onto the lawn in front of the house and the little girl had tum- bled down beside it to hide her face in her apron and cry the firemen came clattering up with their clanging bells, their hose- carts and their strong arms and roaring voices. The fire had a good start, for it had been smoldering since early morning where some boys had fired crackers in the alley. A hot north wind was blowing and the flames had already caught the roof of the barn on the opposite side of the alley and firebrands were scattering for some dis- tance, falling everywhere upon shingled roofs dried like tinder by the hot sun that had not once hidden- bis face in a cloud the long summer through. On the other hand there was an abun- dance of water, and, thanks to some lucky chance or prudent forethought. there were men enough left in town to handle it to the best advantage. Tbe fiight was not over in an hour. Roofs of stables fell in here and there and the flames leaped high when they fed upon stores of dry hay and sun-dried boards. The alleyway was swept clean for once and only a light bed of ashes was left of the little row of stables that had lined it. Happily everybody’s cow had been driven outto pasture in the early morningand everybody’s horse had gone to the picnic. The fire was a loss and trouble, but when the people came back to their homes at night and realized how near that little cit; had come to sharing the fate of other val- ley towns which had been wiped out in a flash Pauline was down the steps and across the yard and was carrying that THE MARCH OF THE CHILDREN. [Reproduced from an engraving.] with mamma, and without saying a word of the danger she flew out of the house and down the street to give the alarm. She had to go a long way to find anybody—was there a iiving soul in all that town but her- seli? She called “Fire!” again and again, and prgsently she saw a4 man running away from her, and at last 1) Back devouring the_beloved plavhouse that was blazing. Dear old brown Bess was stamp- ing and neighing in her stl], frightened at the noise and smoke. The little girl rushed in and untied her, but that absurd horse was so frightened that it took a lgl;g e A LITTLE LOVE AND A LITTLE FASHION BY THE SUMMER SEA. L. L—1I suppose we shall see a great deal of each other this season. L. F.—Really? present?—New York Truth. But do you think there is much more of us to be seen than can be seen at summoned the good doctor to a case which | pawed the air and tossed her mane, almost it would be inlk “Mamma say$ you can go just the same, Pauline, and that she and baby. Jack will manage somehow. I know it will be a dreadful disappointment to you io- stay here, daughter, but T think. your mother needs you. ‘T can’t stop to discuss the matter, so I | will say good-by, and you must decide for yourseif.” & He drove away. And Pauline didn’t Btop to think the matter over for a single moment. She ranin to bind a wet towel anity to neglect. I screaming in her terror. Fauline never thought of letting go the brible and | Anally Bess was safely shut up in Mr. Moore's corral across the street. The barn was blazing finely by this time and that heautiful new uhm?v phaeton they were all 50 fond of was still inside it. The child slid back the heavy doors of the carriage- house, tugging first at an ug)¥rbole that was almost too much for her flnqgn and left them bruised and hlaedini. he door stuck fast balf way and Pauline worked desperately, the flames _creeping, e ran then and found the flames | Nothing could save that,and | a cornerof the roof of the barn was already | chubby little darling brother into the |day they made the occasion one of rejoic- house” and out of danger. She left him |ing rather than of complaining, you may | be sure, Little Miss Pauline was surprised | and a little bit ashamed when she found | herself looked upon as a heroine. She had not meant to do anything to attract atten- tion and if she had guessed that so.many people were coming to look at her and talk about it all she ‘might have been careful uot to make such a little guy of herself. Her little gingham gown was begrimed and torn everywhere that it was not scorched. One of her little russet shoes was lost in the barn, and the other one was both burned and water-soaked. Even the ends of the little girl’s hair were scorched until they curled uf). Her face was purple, her eyes were swollen and bloodshot from the smoke, her hands were blistered and burned, and altogether she was only fit to keeg out of anybody’s sight. Of course, it wasn’t worth while to try to hide away from papa, who arrived just as i the firemen were goingaway. He was just the very person of all the world to anoint and bind up those battered little hands, and to undress that worn-out little daughter dnd lay her in bed with bandages even over her eyes. You may be sure that the good man kissed and Feued her a-plenty and—won’t ou tell if 1 tell you—I cried just a little it too over the little new woman who had been able to save her wee brother's life, her mother’s too. perhaps, and a whole city full of homes, just because she wouldn’t g0 to a Fourth of July picnic when her niother needed some loving body to put cool napkins on her aching head. Dinam SHADD. Mistress Peggy at Court. In October of 1774 Peggy, daughter of Governor Hutchinson of Massachusetts, went with her father to the Queen’s draw- ing-room at 8t. James. i She was a brigit and observing young lady, and the following is an extract from a letter which she wrote to her sister in America regarding the English court: “Four of the young Princes came in after I had been there half an hour. I never saw four so fine boys. After the drawing-room was over we went into the nursery, and saw the rest of them. I was highly delighted, and could scarcely keep my hands off them: such smart creatures [ never beheld. The Princess Royal, with two sisters and a little boy, which I took to be about 3 vears old, stood in arow, one just above the other, and a little one in leading strings sitting in a chair be- hind them composed this beautiful group. 1 was determined, if possible, to kiss one of their little pudsey hands, and with some difficulty persuaded Mrs. K. to go up to them, there bcinghaégrent deal of company in the room. at last went, and T followed her. Iasked Prince Ernest for his hand, which he very readily gave me, and I gave it a hearty kiss. They behaved very prettily; they courtesied to every- body that came in, and the boy nodded his head just like little Tom Oliver.” The Day We Celebrate. The times have changed since that great Fourth of July in 1776, and if any boy or girl is going about with any idea that those “‘good old days'’ were better times for chil- dren than these days it is a good time to correct that impression. Were there really any children in those days, though? There were no books for children, R books about children, that is certain. There was the English Reader, to be sure, but that was a terribly serious volume, well calculated to discourage the habit of being a child. On the w breathed the spirit of the attitude of our excellent foremothers and fathers upon the child question. They did not believe in any one being a child a single moment after he got through being a baby. The idea of helping a child to get over it and become as stern and uneomf mising as themselves was ever present. Really, I thinlk !1‘::' o thonyfl:lzs who woula. e dreamed that anything that any-boy or girl could do, anything that, ole its pages | any child would care about, was worth writing in a book. *“Foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child” was a favorite maxim in those days. Boys and girls did sometimes become restive under sermons three hours long, especially when they had to attend them three times each Sabbath day with cate- chisms and Bible classes in the intervals. “The Sabbath in Puritan New England” tells how good strong whips were placed in convenient nooks about the church and able persons seated near them to enforce order among the young people. It was not uncommon to hear the sound of blows from the horse shed, where some father had retired with his son to enforce the teaching that *‘to spare the rod will spoil the child.” But “old Parson Chandler,” we are told, “was a good friend of the children. He only called out their names in meeting, telling them to come to his house on Mon- aay. There they received such gentle teaching and such friendly treatment that they were happy never again to annoy or disturb the kindpold minister.” But do not imagine that the days of '76 were days of frolic and firecrackers. All the work a boy could do was so much clear gain. His ‘“time” belonged to his father till he was come to man’s estate, and it was a generous man who permitted his son to work elsewhere without exactin, the full wages which the boy received. Boys were “gound out” to service, and I have never heard an{y)v one explain the dif- ference between this buying and selling of the children and &he slavery these men professed to hate. One is moved to hope the Puritan moth- ers were tender and loving, else must the lot of those old-time boys and girls have been &_sorry one. And that brings me to what I was going to say. Did you ever think what a very little time it has taken to make this world a jolly place to be a child in? A man said to me yesterday, and not such a very old man eitber: “I used to see a man very often who was born before George Washington was. He was more than a hundred years old, of course, when he used to come’to our home in Ver- mont early in this céntury. I cannot now recall his’' name. But he was strong and well, though he was so old, and he used to IoyLs or THE JFIELD. JUNE TWILIGHT. TUnless one gets up at an hour in the morning when most of us have not yet opened our eyes, one will see very little of the wild life of the fields before evening. In the early hours of dawn, before the domestic world is astir, the birds are flying about with thoughts intent upon break- fast. Likewise minded, the early worm is afoot, and the old saw is illustrated in every field and fence corner. But during the heat of the day the birds seek the shelter of the trees. The gophers usually keep under ground, the ground- squirrels do not venture far afield, and only the snakes slip softly about, or sun themselves in the open. Along about 5 o'clock in the afternoon, however, the lit- tle folk begin to wake up. For three hours this evening I sat watching my small friends disporting themselves in the June twilight. Perched upon a pile of brush not a dozen yards away I noted a quail. He was watch- ing me, every now and again giving his low, sweet, schoolbcy whistle. He and Madame Quail are well known tome. They have an interesting family under that same brush heap. Did you ever see a baby quail? If you ever getthe chance you must look sharp, and be quick, or they willdisnp?ear before your very eyes, so lightning-li BY A NATURALIST AT LARGE. B such humorist as that. John Muir told me recently that he once saw a bird of this species follow a ground-squirrel into its hole and presently issue therefrom drivin four young squirrels before it, all of whic it proceeded to kill, and then dragged them one by one into the brush. Two or three goldfinches next came down to the pooi beside me, and, in full sight of me, proceeded to bathe. How they did splash and plunge, twittering as if in glee and making feints at each other in the water, for all the world like a parcel of naughty boys. Three young bluefinches, standing in a row on the bank, looked on in scandalized amaze at the performance. By and by the ground-squirrel ventured out” again,” The ground-squirrel, by the way, is not a squirrel at all, but a spermo- phile, and is related to the prairie-dogs and the marmots rather than to the squirrels. 1 do not think, however, that they have any serious objection to being called squir- rels, and the name is so firmly attached to them that it would be folly to attempt to banish it from popular use. This fellow had evidently recovered from his panic over the butcher-bird, and darted about from hillock to hillock, now and again standing erect, which, déspite the pictures, a true squirrel seldom does, to survey the landscape and listen for danger. He was feasting on the burr clover, gathering up handfuls of the little burre, which he ate daintily from his fore paws, standing on his hind legs the while. % Presently he came to a thistle-head lyin ike are the movements of these |on the ground. He picked up a handful the after-glow bathed the gate, the islands, the distant city and the near by hills in glory of rose and crimson and gold. The air was growing chill as I weut indoors. The last bird was silenced, and only the shrill song of the frogs intensified the peaceful stillness of the June twilight, THE NEW WOMAR WILL NOT 0BEY. She Says So to Mayor Strong, Whe Marries Her to a Resigned Man, Mayor Strong married a woman whe refused to promise that she would obey her husband, says the New York Times, Policeman Kennell, who guards ihe door of the Mayor’s office, Was just closing up when a strong-minded-looking youp, woman and a resignéd-looking man lskefi to see the Mayor. ‘“We want to see him about getting—that is, you know, we woulq like to be—if it is not too late, you knoy, we would—"" 3 “Charles,” said the young womans ' can’t you say what we are after?” Casting a withering look at him, she turned to the policeman and said: - o) “[ want to get married. “We, my dear,” said the groom, pluck- i urage. | “Ix’nggnen‘t‘ later they stood befors Mayor Strong. The young womgn asked for the book containing the marriage ceremony, and scanned ‘it over until she came to the -passage, “Love, honor and " °b:?§; groom tugged at her dress and said: “Never. mind, Pauline, now. You needn’t do it anyhow when we are mar- ied.” ; E The bride ignored him, and said: “Mr, Mayor, I wish you would leavfi the word ‘obey’ out when you -marry us. A “Well, well,” said his Honor. “Is this the new woman ?"” “No, I'm not the new woman, but I be- P walk along the road wheeling a cart with all his worldly goods in it, and selling a pamphlet in which the story of his life was printed.” And this man who was talking to me—a gumt, kindly soul, who never could have one a cruel thing in all his life—told me another little story that made me sorry and made me thankful, too, that such thm?s are not happening any more. “My father,” said this man, “was a New England minister. He never was or- dained, because he would not sign his name to the belief that all the souls of un- baptized babies must be lost. But he was a good preacher, and people always came to hear him. He was a good man, too and was not given to anger. He punished his children according to the admonitions of the Bible, as he believed, and as I was the oldest son I presume I got a lion’s share of the benefits. He owned a mill near home, and when I had offended him, sometimes without knowing it, he used to say: ‘Come to the mill next Saturday nightat 7 o’clock, I am going to whip you. *My mother and m?' sisters used to cry and beg a good deal, because my health, was not good, but that never made any difference, and I always got the promised punishment. I used to go my best. mean- time, hoping to earn forgiveness. 1 never got it, for my father meant to be a justand truthful man, bringing his sons up, by force, in the way they should go. “I used to be tied to a post, with my arms stretched about it o that I could not struggle. Then my father strove to please the Lord by working hard enough to tire himself out, and, you may be sure, to en- tirely break any rebellious spirit which I may ever have had.” Does not that story scem to imply that “the good old days”in New England were scarcely the days for children to be happy in? Yankee ‘Doodle. [From a CollucticuMade jn 1813.] Father avd T went down to camp, Alopg with Captain Gooding, And there we see the men and boys, As thick as hasty pudding, Chorus— Yankee Doodle, keep it up, Yankee Doodle, dandy, Mina the music and the step, And with the girls be handy. And there we see a thousand men, As rich as 'Squire David, And what they wasted every day, T wish it could be saved. The ‘lasses they eat every day Would keep an house a winter; They Liave 50 much that L1l be bound, ‘They eat it when they're a mind to, And there we sce a swamping gun, rarge as a Joz of maple, Upon a denced little cart, A load for father's cattie. And every time they shoot it off It takes a horn of powder; And makes a nolse like father’s gun, Only a nation louder. nigh to one myselt s Siah's underpinmuig; And father went as nigh again, 1 thought the deuce was in him. Cousin Simon grew so bold, 1 thought he would have cocked it; It scared me so T shr it oft, And hung by father's } 0zket. And Captain Davis had a gun, He kind of clapt his hand on't, A ud stuck a crooked stabbing iron Upon the little end on't. And there I see a pumpkin shell As big as mother’s bacon; And every time they touched it off, ‘They scampered like the nation. 1 see alittle barrel, too, The h>ads were made of leather: They knocked upon's with their clubg And called the folks together. And there was Captain Washington, And gentlefolks about him. They say he's grown so tarual proud He wiil not ride without ’em. He got him cn his meeting clothes, Upon a slapping stallion. He set the world along in rows, In hundreds and in millions. The flaming ribbons In his hat, ‘They looked so tearing fine, ah! I wanted jockily to get, To give to my Jemimah. T see another snarl of men A Qigging xraves, they told me, 80 tarnal long, so tarnal deep, They 'tended they should hold me, It scared me 3o I hooked it off, Nor stopped, as { remember, Nor turned about till I gol home, Locked up in mother's chamber. Philosophy of Babyland. A little boy, who is nothing if not dili- gent in the study of history, was one day reciting fluently on the subject of the ‘“ssattle of Bunker Hill.” He had it by heart. The little voice piped high as he described how ‘the patriot ranks lay quietly behind their earthworks until the redcoats were within ten rods, when Pres- cott shouted ‘Fire!” A blaze of light shot from the redoubt, scattering whole panta- loons of the British. The survivors—" But there was no chance to dispose of the survivors. A shout went up from the class. After all, “platoons” Yooked very much like “pantaloons.” —Bazar. Sunday After the Fourth. Sunday-school teacher (reading aloud)— “Johnny was a little boy who did not know any better way to spend his nickels than in buying cakes and pies.” Now can any of you boys tell me a better way?" lass—Yes'm. Candy. Teacher (sadly)—No, boi'a. not candy. Small boy—Shucks! know. ire- crackers, of course!—Exchange. Customer—Those crackers T bought last night were the best I ever saw. aler ~Went off all right, did they ? Customer—They did that! When m: boy fired them all off at 4 o'clock this morning there wasn’t one in_the whole lot :ta;t made the least little bit of noise!— Johnny—My papa is going to bu new wntgh iory rg p::extxbmgdny, VB Mr. Smith—When is your next birthday, J(?[hdzfly.?l hnny—A h last week.. e John! ear from last — Exchange, = 2 wee brown nestlings. My quail sat and called for some time, his note growing more and more impatient, before it finally dawned upon me that I was sitting exactly in the spot where he and his family and associates are in the habit of dining off the grain that is regularly scattered here for filem. Taking the hint, I arose and moved a few feet further down the littie stream. Now, when I left, there was only this single quail in sight, but I had not got settled in my new position before with a call and a whir of wings four bad alighted on the spot just vacated by me. A little later two more came. Had this fellow been posted as sentine] to watch my movements and notify the others when I should be gone? Itlooked like it. 3 Thoreau says that if you will but sit still in one spot, sooner or ‘later all the life in the woods will come to you. Isatvery still for some time after changing my quarters, but no sight or sound of life came to me. At last I had resort to a device. T put the back of my hand to mdy lips and kissed it several times resound- ingly. This, particularly in nesting time, never fails to bring the birds if there are any about. 1t is a trick known to most naturalists. I have often wondered how the first oue discovered it. The first creature to investigate the sound was a humming-bird,. These daring little fellows are usuvally the pioneers on such an occasion. Whether they are more curious than other birds, or whether their courage is greater, I know not, but it has been my experience that whenever I take up a station in tree or brush and watch the birds the first one to return aiter the general dispersal caused by my advent is | nearly certain to be a humming-bird. This one was a ruby-throat, T I kept up my cheerful imitation of a birdling in distress, while the beautiful pearl-like bird peered about, darting in and out among the branches in search of the chirper. He flew away, only to return with his mate, scarcely less brilliant than himself, and the two actually flew about my head and for one instant gazed full into my face, as if to inquire whether I had swallowed that young bird whose cries were 8o persistent and distressful. Then they went and perched upon a branch side by side, with their backs toward me, and I had rather a shamefaced feeling that they had fathomed my duplicity and were mak- ing remarks expressive of their poor opin- ion of me, By this time quite a throng of birds had gathered in the tree above me. There wem%mly a score of goldlinches and a number of sparrows and flycatchers, A motherly little bluefinch hen was in the greatest apparent distress over the sounds, and investigated an empty nest in an ad- joinis brier, as though suspecting a tra, FFina ly, in very shame, I ceased my call- ing, and presently they all resumed the absorbing pursuit of insects which my cries had interrupted. % 4 I never sit and watch wild creatures in this fashion without feeling as though I were at a play., There is something quite theatrical about the varying scenes that -pass before one if one will but sit quiet. -The next actor in my little drama of the June twilight wasa butcher-bird. He only passed by, however, doing a sort of “walk- mggentamnn” act in the air. Hisact, however, was full of significance. He was flying high above the tree tops, when sud- denly he made a swift dart earthward and a ground-squirrel sitting beside bis hole whisked in, with a twinkle in his feet, just }:{ime to escape a btow from that power- ill. 2 John Burroughs somewhere relates wit- nessing a similar action on the part of a buteher-bird and attributes it to “‘a cer- tain sepse of humor” in the creature. Rather grim humor the ground-squirrel would have found it, I unc‘y, . he re- mained to see the sequel of the bird's lit~ tle joke. The butcher-bird did_not aim merely to scare the squirrel. He is no & \\\\§§\ A\ MR CALLING THE BIRDS. of the blossoms—handful is most appropri- ate in thisinstance—and tasted them. Ap- parently he liked the flower. He ate all that lay on the ground. Then he stood up and considered. At last he dropped on nfi fours, and, runring to a_tall thistle- stalk, surveyed it earnestly. It was !ull‘\; four feet high, thicker than a man’s thum and bore several blossoms at the very top Reaching upward as far as he could, the round-squirrel clasped the stem with his ore paws and pulled. After four attempts he succeeded in bending the stalk a little. Then he took a fresh hold, further up, and pulled again until he could reach one of the blossoms, when he bit it neatly off, and, allowing the thistle-stalk to fly back to an_upright position, he settled himself to a leisurely discussion of his well-earned delicacy. Sitting watching him through a powerful fiéld-glass, I saw him pick three thistle blossoms in this fashion and eat them, one after the other. After that he was _thirsty, and went down to the pool to drink, afterward washing his face and fore aws. He not only washed his paws, but ok water in his mouth and let'it run over his toes, which he afterward fussed over a long time with his teeth, in a man-. ner that suggested that he might be mani- curing his nails. His elaborate toilet completed he strolled up the bank and came upon a little pile of grain in a hollow. It was intended for the quail, but he evidently considered that what was good for quail was equally good for ground-squirrel, and he fell to filling his cheek pouches. The three young bluefinches were still stalking amazedly about. The world was sonew to them, and apparently the ground- squirrel was the most astonishing thin they had yet encountered. They circle around bim, wonderingly. Once, when they came too near, he made a snap at them, and they cdfied off, but they were too young to be really frightened and curi- osity soon brought them back. They came up behind him and one of them discovered his bushy tail lying straight along the ground. The birdling surveyed it curi- ously for an instant, and then ventured an ingmnug peck at it. The effect was most ludicrous. The squirrel gave a great bound and nearly turned a somersault in his fright. Then he suddenly became convinced that he was wanted at home and started on a run through the grass and weeds. The e?uflll).' frightened birdlings gave a chorus of shrill peeps and down from a great willow tree swooped what was evidently Papa Bluefinch, who with sundry pecks and wing-flappings hustled those oung- sters up into a scrub-oak bush. 5ne of them rebelled and flew down again, but was driven back. It was plain to be seen that these young folk were being sent to bed, and, 1 doubt not, in disgrace into the bargain. The—f did not stir from the scrub- oamlghagnrx’n‘;vhx e T remained. € shadows were growing long. the highest, twinkling tops 5! ths%uc?lrwl'lp): tus trees caught the last rays of the sun sinking, like a grest crimson ball, out yon- der in the Golden Gate. Over the eastern hill' the evening star was already visible and d’?wn in the pool the “Dutcl nightin- gales” had sounded the- first notes of their glf'o&l;h:g evening chorus, when on a branch ree just above me a_yvesper-: perched, and, all unmindfu‘; oli ':gn;l;g: ence, began his evening song. It was taken up by another in a neighboring tree- top, and a belated goldfinch, hurrying homgward, stopped for an instant to lis. ten, interrupting with a few sweet, teasing notes, after the manner of his kind, The sparrows heeded him not, and he flew away. From the scrub oak the young bluefinches murmuregd sleepily. towhee slipped past me into the live oak and settled himself for the night. Awa; up in the sky, now deepening in its blue, could make out a hawk cim.linp over the gonnm(n top. “My Lord Sun” dropped ocean at last, and an instant Ylur lieve in equality. That word ‘obey’ is & relic of barbarism. . It comes from the times when women were in bondage,” and the bride gave her head a pert little toss and shot a glance at the groom. There was a twinkle to the Mayor’s eye as heread the ceremony and when he came to “love, honor and obey’’ he left the last word out. “I’ll have to tell my wife about this. I think the young woman is right though,” mused the Mayor as the happy pair gave their names as Charles F. Ses- singer and Pauline E. Becker of Phila- delphia, The bride was a brunette and about 25 years old and the groom was about 40. "The pair left the same night for Boston. 5 A\mtie—Dopglas, don't you think you are a pretty big boy to need a nurse? Douglas—She isn’t here to take care of me. She is to take care of the little boys I play with, so that I can’t hurt them.—Ex- change. The Temple Society has 340 members. % SYDIA E. PINKHAM'S VEGETABLE COMPOUND Benefits Three Generations. (SPECIAL TO OUB LADY READERS.) “I have used Lydia E. 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