TRIED THRICE. i Some children stood In a group beta* the door of tho village schonlhoiise. “Tho new schoolmaster, Meinhcrr Freid lich, comes tomorrow,” suid Otto. “I am so glad! I was weary of that old master, Hoffman, with his crooked prob lems and hard lessons.” The following clay the hoys were stand ing around tho school house, when the door •pencil, and f.I:> ter Kreldrlcb himself ap peared and cried in a cheery, hearty voice: “Welcome, my children!” “Welcome, master!” they cried. And now they entered and took their seats, and school began. The thumb worn books were brought out, the lazy hoys be gan to sigh and frown and wish impatient ly for the recess and wonder why Lutiu dictionaries were ever invented, when, as if by magic, they found themselves listen- j Ing to the pleasant voice of Master Kreid rich anil actually understanding their les sons, so clear and simple were hisexplana tiona, and the time for recess came, to their great astonishment., long before they had tapected. When tho studies were over, the master drew from his desk a box, and while the fhildren gathered around he opened it and drew out charming little white and pink ■eashellsand many other beautiful things, which he gave to the children with loving words. But the most loving thing of all was a little porc elain statuette of an angel. She stood with her small white hands folded over her breast and bor eyes uplifted, and the children gazed enchanted. “Oh, the beautiful angel!” cried they all. “Wilt thou not give it tome, Master Freidriclt?” “Tlie little angel is too lovely to he giv en to any little boy who is not good and trim of heart. Wo shall see who will de serve her. He who brings me tomorrow the brightest tiling ou earth shall have the sngcl. ” Tbe next day after the lessons were fin ished tho children clustered around the master to show him what tiny be-i brought. All these things were placed on the schoolmaster’s desk, side by side. 1" shill ing shone away famously, the [.ob’.h and the watch crystal did their lir-f, hut KUne’s buckle was the bravest of all. “All, mine’s the brightest!” shouted Kline, clapping bis bands. “But where is little Carl?” said Mas! r Freidrteh. “He ran out just now.” All eyes were turned to the door, warn presently in rushed Curl, breathless, la his hands, held up lovingly against his neck, was a poor little snow white dove, Some crimson drops upon the downy breast showed that it was wounded. “Oh, master,” cried Carl, “I was look ing for something bright, when I came upon this poor little white dove. Some boys were tormenting it, and I caught it qnickly and n>n here.” Even as he npoke the dove’s soft eyes were filniy.it nestled closer in Carl’sDeck, then gave a faint cry, dropped its little head and died. Carl sank on his knees beside the mas ter’s desk, and from his eyes there fell upon the white dove’s poor broken wing two tears, large aud bright. The master took the dead dove from bis bands and laid it tenderly down on th3 desk with the bright things; then raising Carl he softly said, “My children, there is no brighter thing on earth than a pitying tear.” The boys were silent for a moment, for they felt that the master had decided that Carl had rightly won the angel. Then Kline cried out: “My master, thou didst not fairly explain to us. I pray thee give ns another trial.” “What sayest thou, Carl?” said Master Freidrich. “Yes, give its another trial,” answered the generous boy. The good rnnster smiled thoughtfully, and his eyes rested for a moment lovingly upon Carl. Then glancing round he said, “He who brings mo tho loveliest thing on earth tomorrow shall have the angel.” The children clapped their bands and departed satisfied. After school the next day Klino was the first to run np to Ma - ter Freidrich and lay upon his desk what he considered tho loveliest thing in the whole world—his new soldier cap with the long scarlet feather and bright golden taasel. Max came next and placed beside the cap a small silver watch, his last birthday gift. Otto brought n great pictnro book, just sent to him by his godmother; Ru dolph a tiny marble vase, richly sculp tured, and so on, until a still more motley collection than before lay upon Master Freidrich’s desk. Then poor little Carl stepped modestly up and placed in the master’s hand a pure white lily. The master softly said: “My children, the word of God says: ‘Behold the lilies of the valley. They toil not, neither do they spin, yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.’ Carl has right ly chosen.” But murmurs arose. The children were not satisfied, and again they asked for an other trial. “Now, this is the last time,” said the master. “He who brings me the best thing on earth shall have the angel.” “The very best thing on earth is plum cake,” cried Kline on the third day as he walked up to the desk, bearing a large cake richly frosted. “Nay, thou art wrong this time, Kline,” said Max. “I asked my father what was the very best thing on onrtb, and he laughed and gave me this golden guilder. The prize is mine!” “Ah, but my father said that the very best was a good glass of Rhenish wine,” cried Otto, “and I have bronght a bottle of It 30 years old. The prize is mine!” So they went on till they had placed their offerings before their master. “And thou, Carl?” said he. “What hast tbou brought which thou thinkest the beet on earth?” A crimson flush rose to the boy’s fore head, and coming softly forward he took from his breast a small, worn book and then laid it down with the rest as he said tn a low, sweet voice, “My mother, dear master, says that God’s book is far be yond all other earthly possessions.” “ ’Tis thine, my Carl,” cried the master —“the white angel Is thine!”—Exchange. Worded Wrong. .Owner of Fishpond (to man who is tres tjwRsing)—Don’t yon see that sign, “No fishing here?” Angler (with an injured air)—Yes, and I dispute it. Why, there’s good fishing here. Look at this basketful I The man must have been insane who pnt that board np.—Exchange. A Great Scheme. Arthur—Say, Sammy, what are you buying a bouquet for? “Why, I’*e going to take it to Miss Trim, and I shall tell her a young gentle man sent It. She’ll give me enough to pay lor the bouquet three times over. ”—Frank furter Zeitung. THOSE FEELINGS OF HIS. Ik Was Heartless, lint lie Had to Iteallse »n Them. While a Michigan avenue grocer waa standing in his door the other day, a for lorn looking old chap turned in on b ui from a side street, with a plaintive ex res aion working awuy on his cbm. The m:n nte the grocer got Right of him he caked out: “Now you goon, or I’ll have you run in!’’ “W hut am I doinf” plaintively inquired the old man. "I know your game, and you can’t play tt on me) Just move right along, or I’il have you arrested!” “1 huiu’t got no game to play on you or anybody else. If i feel sad and heartbroken. I can’t help it, can I? What’s them tur nips wuth? I never see turnips without thinkin bow my wife got choked lodeut )i on one. Poor critter! She was cut right down in the prime of life. That was the begin nin of my runuin down hill. She hadn't bin dead two weeks” “Are you going to move on?” demanded the grocer. “Purty soon, my friend—purty soon,’’ re plied the old tnau as he leaned up again : n poet and wiped his eyes. “She was a good wife, and the recollection of her death .- .■! dens me. What’s taters sellin at today. The grocer was looking around fo. :m officer aud didn’t reply. “I never see taters without thinkin of my son Bill. Bill was an awful good boy— too good for this world. I sent him to town with 10 bags of taters, aud in liftin inoi.i out of the wagon he busted a blood ves.-i-i aud was brought home a corpse. I kin never think of it without weepin.” He leaned heavily on the post and wept, while the grocer walked down to thecorncr to extend his search. “I see you’ve got red onions,” continm-d the old man as the grocer returned. “They are alleys a sail, sad sight to me. I sold n. farm alter Bill’s death aud was goin down to Florida to raise red onions fur this mar ket when 1 wins t.lirowed out of a wag: \ and broke my leg. and somebody stole every dollar I bad. Beil onions is only red onions to other lulks, but to me they call up some awful recoliecuuns. I wish” “See here, old man,” interrupted the gro cer, “will you take 10 cents and go on?” “1 don’t want no 10 cents, but yet if you object to my givin away to uiyfeeliu’s” “I do object. If I could find an officer, I’d have you ruu in, but as I can’t I’ll buy you off Ibis once. Take this money and go.” “It seems heartless to sell my feelin’s this way, but 1 don’t want to make you any trouble. I see you have some cabbages there I never see cabbages without thinkin how” But the grocer turned him around, head ed him across the street, aud after two kicks he got away and was soon lost to sight.—Detroit Free Press. Literary Item. Financier—You literary men haven’t the first idea about business. Here you have about 10,1) 0 manuscripts piled up in dark closet, and you say they are all paid for. Editor of Great Magazine—Years ago. “Just think of itl Hasn’t it ever occur red to you, sir, that you are losing the in terest on all the money you paid ont for these useless bundle ?” “Hah! You financiers haven’t the first idea about literature. Everyone of those manuscripts is from a different author, and the whole 10,000 of them will go on buying our magazine at 85 cents a copy until the articles are printed.”—Texas Siftings. Heartless Relatives. M:stress—Did you learn how Mrs. Upton was? Servant—Please, mum, I pulled at the doorbell half an hour and couldn’t make anybody hear. I think the bell had been muffled. Mistress—The idea! How is the poor in valid to know that her friends are anxious about her if her heartless relatives have muffled the doorbell?—New York Weekly. He Knew the Game. Deacon Heavyweight—And so you are going to leave us, parson? Rev. Mr. Thanktul—Yes. I have had a call to another parish, where, by the way, the salary is considerably larger. I am sorry to leave my flock, but I must obey the call. Deacon Heavyweight (dryly)—Waal, it may be what you call a call, but it seems to me a good deal more like a raise.—Life. An Irreverent Imputation. “Did you notice how long Dr. Steenthly’s sermon was last Sunday?” “Yes. 1 think 1 know why he made it so.’' “Indeed?” "Yes. The offerings in the contribution box were very small, and he may have taken that method of reminding them that they were getting a good deal more than they paid for.”—Washington Star. Musical Item. At a social gathering in Harlem Gns de Smith sat at the piano and drummed care lessly on the keys. Hostetter McGinnis came to him and whispered: “Why do you sit at the piano? Yon don’t know how to play.” “I know it, but as long as I sit here the others can’t play either.”—Texas Siftings. A Frugal Man. Miss Muggles—I don’t like Dr. Penny save a bit. Miss Mugge9—Why not? Miss Muggles—You know he was called in when I was sick, and then he began to call regularly. After I refused him be itemized each of those calls in his bill as professional visits.—Chicago Record. A Better Land. Tramp (reprovingly)—Ah, lady! In the part of the country I just come from the women didn’t ask us to saw a cord of wood for our dinner. Lady of the House—Didn’t, heh? Where did you come from? Tramp—The natural gas regions.—Puck. Thoroughly Respectable. Husband—The idea of buying a hat trim med with chicken feathers! Wife—These look like chicken feathers, I’ll admit, but they are not. "How do yon know?” “By the price.”—New York Weekly. A Respite. "Has your daughter stopped her music lessons?” Mother—Yes, on account of sickness. “When will she be able to go on?” “As soon as the neighbors are well enough to endnre H.”—Chicago Inter Ocean. Appropriate. “That Lord Bronson who married Jenny Simpson Was an awful boor. He was mar ried actually in a business snit.” “Well, why not? The wedding was a aure matter of business so far as he was concerned.”—Harper’s Barair. TOE BONNET. “Oh, It’s Just the sweetest bonnet I ever ; saw! I do,wish I could buy it!” “And why couldn’t you, Parthy? Heav en knows you earn it, working yourself to death year in and year out for Bob Rig gers and his children.” “Gracious, Gerildy! Put $12 in a bori i net? Why, I’d feel as if X was stealing I from my own family! And people w< say I was putting ou airs—trying to ic.i-1 like a girl!” “Well, is there any harm in try • !• look young? As to not being able t • . the bonnet, Parthy, you ought to • i ..; do when 1 want a thing.” “How’s thut, Gerildy?” “Why, I just look Hector .Jon. •< i '• eyes and tell him it’s got to come.. that settles it. He knows I won't i. no any foolishness from him.” “But suppose he can’t afford it?” “Afford it, fiddlesticks! Men can id’ . a great many things when they lino tin • have to.” “No, Gerildy, you can’t persuade r..c :> be extravagant. I am trying to help it y husband, for he works hard, and 1 f: cl that we ought, to do something for tl.e poor and needy this winter.” “Goodness gracious, Parthy Riggers! 1 never saw such a woman. You’ll be sail ing off to heaven the first thing you know —yon ’re getting so good 1 But suppose w e fo and look at the bonnet tomorrow. 'hat’ll not cost your husband or the poor anything, will it?” Parthy consented, though she had no idea of buying the bonnet and was sorry she had mentioned the subject to Mrs. Jones, for that lady would be sure to de nounce the prudence and economy of her neighbor as penuriousness. Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Riggers entered the little milliner’s together to see the bonnet with pink roses. To oblige Mrs. Jones Parthy Riggers put it on her head. Mrs. Jones at onee exclaimed: “Don’t buy it, i Parthy! It doesn’t become you at all. ” j Mrs. Parthy was much relieved. “I-et me try it on,” said Mrs. Jones ns she proceeded to find fault with the bon net, saying she was much disappointed in it. She stood before the mirror, however, and eyed herself admiringly on every side. ! “I might be induced to take it,” she said to the milliuer, “if you’ll come down in the price. I don’t need it, but the pink roses are becoming to me.” “But you’ve bought your winter bon net, haven’t you, Gerildy?” said Mrs. Rig gers, with surprise. “Yes, but I look so well in this,” she said in a low tone, “I don’t think I ought to lose the chance. ” The milliner fell in her price from $12 to $10. Mrs. Jones walked away with the bonnet, and it was charged on an account already overd