Newspaper Page Text
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Mr. Gray returned to his now almost
desolated home. Harold, who had
grown to be a noble and accomplished
young man, bade fair to make up to his
father what he had lost in his other chil
dren. But, alas ! how little do we know
“ what a day may bring forth.” A few
months after his father’s return, he went
out shooting, in company with some
young friends, and while lying in a boat,
concealed by a ledge of rocks from his
companions, was accidentally shot by
one of them.
This last sad blow was almost more
than the heart-broken father could bear,
and to add to his misfortunes, a friend
for whom he had gone security for a
very large amount, failed in business,
and nearly all of Mr. Gray’s property
was swept away to pay his debts.
In the extremity of his grief, he did
what he ought to have done long before
—he went to the Saviour for help and
consolation, and became a true and gen
uine Christian. Retiring on the small
remnant of his property to the small
cottage where he now lived, he had
spent the remainder of his days in do
ing good to his fellow creatures. His
wants were few, and his little income
was not only sufficient to supply them,
but left him a small surplus for charity.
His religion had taught him resignation,
but that morning he had discovered a
package of his wife's letters and her
portrait, and the sight had overpowered
him.
I shall never forget how I wept over
Grandfather’s sad story, nor how I
sought to comfort him in my childish
way. Not many months after, he was
taken from the troubles of this life to
join his loved ones in a better world.
There were few dry eyes at his funeral,
but I am sure that none grieved more
sincerely for the good old man than
Mauma Phillis and myself.
Athens , Ga. Leila Somers.
Written for Burke’s Weekly.
Learn to Swim.
I y REG ARD it almost as much
duty of every boy to learn
"mil'll to sw * m as to learn to read.
Independent of the great plea
sure this manly sport affords it is of the
utmost importance that all boys should
know how to swim, as it is quite possi
ble that the time may come when their
own or some other person's life may de
pend upon such ktowledge.
But in learning to swim, you should
exercise the greatest care. If possible,
teach yourself—you only need a little
self-reliance, and a moderate depth of
water. It is a great mistake to suppose
that you must go into very deep water
in order to learn to swim; water that
will reach half way up your chest is quite
sufficient, and in this depth of water you
can practice with perfect safety.
One word more of advice —don’t go
into the water too often, nor remain in
BURKE’S WEEKLY FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.
it too long. A bath of ten or fifteen
minutes once a day is quite sufficient,
and more than this is positively injuri
ous, Uncle Ollapod.
Written for Burke’s Weekly.
The Distant Hills.
«WAS on a long, bright summer day,
When beauty slept in every
flower,
And music thrilled in every lay
yr AjTp The song birds trilled in leafy
(~YY bower.
" A little boy, in wanton glee,
Disported gay among the flowers,
And watched the birds, as merrily
They flitted through the leafy
flowers.
No sorrow had his young heart known;
No care had e’er disturbed his breast,
In childish joy his days had flown,
His nights in peaceful, happy rest.
Far, far away the blue hills slept
Against a sky as blue as they;
O’er them the shadows softly crept.
Then melted in the sun’s bright ray.
They caught the gaze of that lone boy,
And his young heart with longing fills
To go to them ; ’twould be such joy
To sport on those blue distant hills.
So, with no boding thought of ill.
He leaves his play and strolls along,
Watching anon that distant hill,
And list’ning to the wild bird’s song.
And all day long he wanders on,
Though tired his limbs, his bare feet sore,
’Till from his lips escapes a scream,
And grief he feels unfelt before.
For farther seem those deep blue hills,
As wearily he toils along;
With sorrow great his young heart fills,
He lists no more to wild bird’s song.
He gains at last the rocky base
Os mountain, rugged, wild and steep,
And sits him down, while tears apace
Each other chase adown his cheek.
For this rude mountain, towering high,
His blue hills from his vision hides.
And well he knows, though he should try,
He cannot climb its rugged sides.
Ah! little thought that weeping boy.
Sitting in disappointment there,
That what had given him such joy
AVas now the cause of his despair.
Little he knew that hill so rude,
Towering so high above him there,
Was but the same, more nearly viewed,
Distance, that morn, had made so fair.
And thus it is, when we have striven
And gained at last the wished for prize,
Distance alone the charm had given
AVhich made it lovely to our eyes.
But if we toil a Heaven to gain,
Our hearts no disappointment fills ;
Our labors then shall not be vain,
As when we strive for distant hills.
Clio.
B@“We should never forget that self
interest is more likely to warp our judg
ment than all other circumstances com
bined ; therefore, let us look well to
our duty whenever our interest is con
cerned.
—*l *-
Keep clear of the law, for even
if you gain a case, you are generally a
loser of money.
Written for Burke’s Weekly.
THE BUTTERFLY STORY.
JV < T|SJ>OU little people will
dMs \J like to learn about
Mr. and Mrs. But
. terfly, who, with
their children,lived
on the bank of a
‘L'«G fdßHajlysfr beautiful mountain
stream, called Sil
this spot to any other in
the world, for they could
always have exactly what
they wished for. If Mrs. Butterfly found
the sun too bright, she had only to fly a
little way, and she would be in a nice
shady nook, where there never was any
sunshine. If she felt as if she needed
society, she could fly up the stream un
til she came to the meadow, and there
she was sure to find Butterflies of all
sizes, ages and colors, and if she was
not suited then, she deserved to be in
low spirits.
Mrs. Butterfly was very proud of her
family, and boasted a great deal about
her grandfather, who was famous for
having had the largest spots of gold on
his wings of any butterfly in the neigh
borhood. She was always watching her
children’s wings to see if they were not
going to be distinguished in the same
way, but she was doomed to be disap
pointed, for they all grew up to be large
brown butterflies, with black spots, in
stead of gold.
She tried to make the best of it, how
ever, and said if her children were not
as handsome as their grandfather, they
were just as good; and, though “she
said it who shouldn’t,” they were the
best-tempered and most polite Butter
flies on Silver Run.
But let me tell you what happened to
this family.
One day Mr. and Mrs. Butterfly were
taking a ride on one of the many wil
lows which hung over the stream. The
breeze was quite strong, and in order to
steady themselves, they were obliged to
flutter their wings all the time, but they
did manage to keep on, and were enjoy
ing themselves very much when they
heard a scream from one of the young
Butterflies.
“Oh, my dear Mr. Butterfly,” said
the anxious mother, “do go and see
what is the matter. That scream has
given me quite a ‘turn,’ ” (which in her
language meant she was terribly fright
ened. )
In a few moments, Mr. Butterfly re
turned.
“ What is the matter, my dear?” ask
ed his wife. “Which of my darling
children is dead?”
Mr. Butterfly burst out laughing, and
said :
“Dead, indeed, madam! Why what
do you think was the matter?”
“ I cannot imagine, but I do wish you
would put me out of my misery at once,
for I am actually changing color from
fear. ’ ’
“Hold on to your colors, madam;
don’t let them run, if you please. No
greater sign of a coward than that.”
“ But, Mr. Butterfly, what is the mat
ter ?”
“ Nothing, madam, except your chil
dren, who you say are the living image
of your brave and illustrious grandfath
er, (with the exception of the gold spots)
have seen a ‘monster,’ as they think,
and are terrified to death at the sight.”
“Poor darlings! and are you sure
they are out of danger. ’ ’
“ Quite so, madam, as what they saw
was just what you and I, and each one
of them, have been in our time. It was
only a chrysalis. I advise you to go and
explain to them how nearly related they
are to that ‘horrid old thing,’ as I heard
one of them call it.”
“ I certainly will,” said Mrs. Butter
fly, “ for it is too trying to my nerves to
hear such screams.”
And the old lady flew down, and in a
few moments there was such a fuss
among the young Butterflies that any
one would have thought a bad boy was
certainly after them.
Byrd Lyttle.
AVritten for Burke’s AVeekly.
TURNING THE TABLES.
palf o you recollect what David
gays about the wicked falling
7himself into the pit he had
digged for his neighbor? A few days
ago I saw a boy who did not exactly fall
into a pit which he had dug for another,
but he got a good ducking, which, if not
intended for another, was certainly not
looked for by himself.
This boy and another smaller one,
whose name was Willie, were playing by
the side of an open sewer when the old
er one thought it a good time to have
some sport out of little 'Willie. So he
said:
“Now, Willie, I am going to throw
you into the sewer.”
But little Willie was not so easily
frightened, and replied:
“ If’ou don’t mind, I frow’ou in,”
and suiting the action to the word, he
gave the other boy a push, and in he
went, heels over head. The sewer was
not deep, and the fall did not hurt him,
but its bottom was covered with mud
and water, so that when he came out he
was a sight sad to behold.
Willie was a little proud of his achieve
ment. until his cousin said to him,
“Willie, suppose the fall had killed
John, how would you have felt?”
“ Baby didn’t want to kill him. Place
wasn’t deep.”
I will venture to say that little Willie
won’t be troubled again soon by that boy.
I don’t pretend to justify AVillie in
what he did, but it is wrong for older
boys io tease and worry little ones, and
if they sometimes get more than they
bargain for, It is their own fault.
Aurora Lee.