THE CHURCH KITCHEN.*-LOUIS EISENBEIS. Issaker, I'd like to know, what's come across the meetin', They have so many fandangoes and still for more they're seekin', They strain their nerves and rack their brains with shows and worldly airs, And really, it seems to me, they've got to splittin' hairs. They've got cantatas, fairs and sich, and suppers, ad libitum: I s'pose since they've got started now, they'll go, ad infinitum; "Twould seem as if a fallen spirit were all their minds bewitchin', For now they've got another spell, a-riggin' up a kitchen. Why Issaker, who ever heard so many cranky notions?— What do they want a kitchen fur, to warm up their devotions? It puzzles me to know, or tell, how this will help the meetin'; Do they intend to make the church a rendezvous for eatin'? To make the church an eatin' house, a place for fancy cook in', To plain old bodies, such as me, is very ugly lookin'; If that's the kind of faith they have, to me, it's not enrich in'; I'd rather be in Jericho, than be in such a kitchen. I s'pose they'll have religious stews, to suit the taste of any. And cookin' done in every style, to please the few or many; For those who're sickly, weak and faint with spirit epilepsy And all who in the least are sick with spiritual dyspepsy. Issaker, it seems to me it shows a dreadful flight, To think the seat of sin is lodged within the appetite; Indeed, they'll never save the world by such unhealthy tonic; They ought to know the human soul is not inside the stummic. They'll have to search for better food, is my sincere sugges tion; To feed on such unwholesome stuff, is spirit indigestion; The more you eat, the more you want, and you may rest as sured There never yet was found a soul that this had ever cured. *By permission. Mr. Eisenbeis has contributed to this Series: "The Church Fair," "The Parson's Vacation," "The Deacon, Me and Him," "Christmas a Hundred Years to Come," "Joner and the Whale," and other popular recitations You can't improve the breath of song by eatin' worldly onion To put a poultice on the nose will never cure a bunion; Why Issaker, the other night, I went to prayer meetin', A sister whispered quietly, "They've started a saloon." The pastor had an apron on, and walked the aisles between, A brother passed a plate around, collectin', till 'twas paid. And so, instead of havin' prayers, for life and holy power, They ate and drank and talked and laughed, till past the midnight hour. Oh, Issaker, that's not the way they did when we were young, Ah no, they met to watch and pray, and holy hymns were sung. Church kitchens, and the like of that, came never into mind: Their food was manna pure and sweet, descendin' from the skies, The water of life, and fresh plucked fruit, from trees of paradise ; By these they toiled and lived and moved, believers' souls enrichin,' The Bible was the conquerin' sword, and not the churchly kitchen. A TRAGEDY IN THE SUNSHINE. Breaking suddenly through the cedar thicket, I stood on the very edge of the cliff-at the top of a ragged wall which rose almost four hundred feet from the green grass of the valley. From my perch I could see for fifty miles to the west. Nature never made a more perfect day in the western mountains. Everything living, dead, was bathed in sun shine, and there was such intense quietness that I heard the swish of a buzzard's wings as he sailed over my head so high that he seemed no larger than a robin. I turn from the distant landscape and look down into the valley. Half a mile from the foot of the wall-yet seeming scarce a stone's-throw away-is a camp fire, a camp fire which smoulders and sends up a thin, lazy column of blue smoke. Thirty feet from the fire, lying on the broad of his back on the grass, with hat over his face, is a human figure. It is that of an Indian. You can tell that by his position. It is a camp, then, the camp of a pair or trio of InIdian hunters belonging to the reservation. It is their land, and if there is any trespassing I am the guilty one. Where this hunter's companions are I know not, but they have left him alone for the time, and he has improved the opportunity to sleep. So quiet, so peaceful, so flooded with sunshine that no spot can be safer for one bound in the chains of slumber. Look! Five hundred feet beyond the body is a cedar thicket. Between the body and the thicket are scattered rocks,-a sort of outcrop. My eye was simply passing over this ground when it detected a movement in the thicket. For a long minute I keep my gaze fastened on the spot, and for some unexplained reason my heart beats faster. Was it a deer? A grizzly would hardly be found there. Perhaps it is a wild horse, or a steer which has broken from the herd over the ridge. I watch and wait. Good heavens! A great tawny beast glides out of the thicket and stands for a moment sniffing the air. It is the panther of the mountains,--agile, fierce and having the strength of the tiger! The scent comes down to him on the breeze, though I cannot feel a breath of air stirring. He sniffs to the right, to the left; he points straight at the sleeping man. Death has marked down a victim. Now watch! The beast sinks down to the earth, stretches out a paw, pulls his body along the grass, shows a suppleness which even the tiger cannot display. The first rock is to his left-five yards away. He seeks the cover of it, and his every motion reminds one of a cat. He flattens his body-creeps-crawls-reaches the rock and for a moment is hidden. Then I see him peer ing from the left hand side. Has his victim moved? No! He still sleeps in the warm sunshine, unconscious of the fact that his lease of life is reduced to minutes. The panther moves out for the cover of the second rock. He is bolder now. He seems to realize that his victim is helpless. He crouches and creeps, lifting each forepaw slowly and with the greatest care. He does not make a halt of more than sixty seconds behind the second rock. He leaves it with a bound which carries him fifteen feet, and in ten seconds he is there. I know what is going to happen and I have a rifle in my hands, but I make no move. I forget for the time that I have the power. The march of a thousand men down the valley could not draw my eyes away from that sight. The panther seems to sink into the earth behind the stone for a moment. Then I see his head rising above it as he places his paw on the stone. His ears are laid flat, his lip drops down and shows his teeth, and I know that his eyes are glowing like living coals. It is forty feet to the sleeping Indian. Will some magnetic influence warn him of his peril? Will some unseen signal bring his companions back in time? No! My heart stands still as the panther disappears. It is scarcely a second before his body rises like a great bird leaving the earth, and at his second bound he alights full upon the sleeper's breast, with a savage shriek. There is a wild yell, a struggle lasting half a minute, and then I see the beast lying across the body and tearing at the throat. When sure that his victim is dead he rises up, seizes the body by the shoulder, and with a swing and a flirt he throws the weight across his back and trots leisurely off over the grass to the thicket and disappears. The Indians will search for their companion but they will find only his bones. -Detroit Free Press. FRANK HAYMAN.-TAYLOR. Frank Hayman dearly loved a pleasant joke, A dog who saw the man's condition, Of most sagacious smell, Like politicians of a higher kind, Ready to snap At anything that fell. The porter staggered on, the dog kept near,. Watching each lucky moment for a bite, Then 'gainst a cask in solemn thought reclined; And Hayman cheers him on not far behind. Encouraged thus-what dog would dare refrain? He jumped and bit, and jumped and bit, and jumped and bit again; |