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THE CHEROKEE ADVANCE.
EXAMINE HOW YOUR HUMOR IS INCLINED, AND WHICH THE RULING PASSION OF YOUR MIND.’
VOLUME VI.
CANTON. GEORGIA. FRIDAY, MORNING, MAY 15, 1885.
NUMBER ‘20.
A VTOTL.
BT E1NTTND CLABKNCR STEDMAN.
I walk the lano'x dim hollow,—
Past la tho twilight hour,
But stealthy shadows follow
And Night withholds her power,
For somewhere in tho eastern sky
The shrouded moon is high.
Dew* lYoin the wild roso drip unheard, -
Their nnforgotten scout
With that of woods ami grasses blent;
No muffled flight of bird,
No whi*i>urmx Vttioe, u\y footfall stops;
No breeze amid jllo poplar-tops
Tit* smallest leaf haa stirred.
Vet round mo, here and there,
A little fluttering wind
Plays now,—these senses have divined
A hi oath across iny hair,—
A touch,—-that on my forehead lies.
And presses long
Tlieeo lips so mute of song,
Aud now, with kisses cool, my half-shuteyes.
This night? Oh; what is hore I
What viewless aura clings
No fitfully, so near,
On this returning even-tide «
When Memory will not bo denied
Uhfottered wings ?
My arms reach out,—in vain,—
They fold tho air:
And yet—that wandering breath again 1
too vague t<> make her phantom plain,
Too header for despair.
—March Century,
The Two Aunts.
‘’H’m I H’m I Upon my word I Just
what might have been expected ! Sel
fish I Heartless 1 Cruel!’’
Not all at once, as written down, but
popping ont at brief intervals, sharply
and suddenly ns pistol shots, the above
ejaculations fell from the lips of Mrs.
Carpenter Wainwright, ns she sat beside
an open-grate fire, reading a letter. A
lengthy letter, too, closely written upon
four large pages of paper. After she
folded it, she said more sharply than
ever;
''Well, thank goodness her mother is
no relation of mine I"
There fell a profound silence upon the
soom after this last xcgiarir. Evidently
the news, whatever it was, about
the woman who was no relation of hers,
touched Mrs. Wainwright deeply. Her
brow was clouded, and, as she mused,
angry flashes sprang more than once
into her large, dark eyes. Upon all
sides of her were evidences of wealth,
and her own dress, thongh a morning
negligee, was costly and in exquisite
taste. Bhe was not young—past sev
enty—yet she carried her tall figure
ereotly still, and her eyes were brilliant
rs those of youth.
While she sat in profound thought
them was a tap upon the door, followed
by the entrance of a yonng girl, just
teaching eighteen, with a fair, sweet
face, lighted by eyes as dark as Mrs.
Wainwright’s own.
"Aunt Cora," she said, brightly,
"shall I read to yon now ?”
The old lady looked into tho sweet
face with a keen glance, as if question
ing herself somewhat about the girl *
then she said, abruptly:
"I have had a letter from Mrs. Pope,
this morning."
"With news from Mill Village?” the
girl asked, a look of pleasure on her
face.
"You are very fond of Mill Village ?”.
"No; I like the city muoh better.
Still, there are some people in Mill
Village I am fond of."
"Tbeoda West?”
The girl hesitated; then, lifting hei
bright eyes, she said, frankly:
"I love Aunt Mary, bat I don’t think
that I am very fond of Theoda. Sho is
very handsome, very accomplished, and
too fond of patronizing me."
"Ah I"
"You see, she has been pnpil teacher
at the seminary, and learned all the ex
tra branches to teach again."
"While yon were making dresses?"
"Yos. Annt Mary let me ohoose, and
I knew I could make a living at dress
making, while scholars were doubtful,
so near the seminary."
"Your Aunt Mary was very kind to
you ?’’
“Very! She took me when poor
mamma died, ten years ago. She could
not give mo luxury and pleasure as you
have done in tho last year, but she never
made any difference between Theoda
and myseH.”
"H’m ! yes. She is your mother’s
sister, I am your father’s. She gave
you a share in the house of oare and
poverty. I have taken you to this one
and will not forget you in my will,”
The girl’s face flushed under the sar
castic emphasis of the words.
"I never weighed one obligation
against the otbor, Aunt Cora,’’ she said,
quietly; ‘“yon have been very, verykind
to me.”
"Your Aunt Mary is an invalid, too ?’
"She is in consumption. We have
feared every winter would be the last.”
"H’m 1 Well, my nows is that your
loving cousin, Theoda, has eloped with
tho German tunoherof the seminary who
has taken a situation in Philadelphia."
Tho fair face grew deathly pale, and
an expression of positive horror looked
ont from the soft, dark eyes. There
was a pause of silence that was paiufnl.
Then Estelle Mason spoke in a choked
voice:
"I must go to Annt Mary,”
"Go to her I Nonsense, child. What
claim has she on you ?"
"Tho claim of gratitude."
"But what oau you do? Yon have no
monoy."
"Ican work." t ,
"Have I no claim ?"
"Only second to hers. Yon have been
very good to mo. Bnt yon have so
many relatives that wonld be glad to
come and fill my place. Yon are strong
und well, with money for every comfort.
She is feeble, sick and poor. Oh, how
could Theoda desert her? How could
she?"
"Do you know who this German
(eacher, James Kent, is ?"
"No."
"Ho is my husband’s nephew. Not
mine; but all my wealth aarae from my
husband, and Jamos Kent, knowing me
to be a jnst woman, expeots a bandsomo
legacy when I die. Probably when he
told Theoda he wonld bo s rich man
some day, he did not tell the name ot
the aunt who had the money to leave.”
"I never saw him. He came to tho
seminary after I oame here.”
1 Exactly I He displeased met I do
not keep people near me who displease
me.”
Again that entting emphasis of tone.
Estelle did not answer, and Mrs. Wain
wright spoke again.
"I expect, therefore, that you will
abandon this romantio scheme of return
ing to Mill Village. Thero are asylums
where yonr annt eon be received.”
"Not while I can work for her," Es
telle said very firmly.
“Mrs. Pope writes that she will prob
ably sell her cottage and live, upon the
pride’ in some rack place. A hospital,
probably.” 1
"Poor Annt Mary. Yon will let me
go to her ?”
"I do not pretend to oontrol yonf
movements,” was the reply, in a cold
voice. "When I took you from a life of
poverty and toil, to take yonr place
here as my nieoe and heiress, I expected
to have a loving, grateful companion.
Since I have been mistaken, yon can
leave mo whenever yon desire it Ojily
I wish it’ understood that yon ohoose be
tween’ yonr Aunt Mary and myself,
Anally.”
Estelle’s eyes were full of tears, lmt
she controlled her voice, by a strong
effort, to say:
"I am not ungrateful, Aunt Com,
though I never considered myself your
heiress. I thank you from my heart,
and if yon were poor aud sick you would
not find me nngmtefnl. Bnt my duty
seems so clear to me that I cannot*!]os
itate. Even at the prioe of yonr dis
pleasure, I most go. Bnt," she added,
timidly, "I hope you will forgive me."
"Ob, I shall not quarrel with yon,
child. You may go, certainly. Only
do not flatter yonrself with tho idea that
yon can retnrn hero when you tire of
your sentimental duties. There, go to
your own room, and give mo your de
cision at dinner. Not a word now."
So dismissed, Estelle went slowly to
the room where every adornment spoke
of her aunt’s care for her. She was
yonng and had endured poverty for
many years, so it was not without some
bitter tears for herself that sho faced the
situation. She fully appreciated the
difference between Mrs. Wuinwright’t
heiress, and a dressmaker toiling for the
support of two women; between the
petted child of this home of luxury, with
servants to obey every wish, and the
drbdge of a little cottage with an almost
helpless invalid to care for. Yet sho
never faltered,
And when Mrs. Wainwright saw the
pale, resolute face at dinner, she knew
that she must lose one who was very
dear to her. Not for the first time, sho
regretted her own residence abroad for
fourteen years, when sho mi/Jbt have
been winning Estelle’s love, as this
invalid aunt had done.
“I see,” she said, when the silent, al
most untasted meal was over, "you still
cling to yonr idea of duty. Go then.
Take with yon whatever 1 have given
you, for I want no reminders of yonr un
grateful desertion. I had rather spare
myself the pain of any parting scene.
John shall drive you to tho depot in the
morning, and this will pay your travel
ing expenses, and help you until you ob
tain work.”
She placed a note for a hundred dol
lar's in Estelle’s hand as Bhe spoke, and
turned ooidly from her. Bnt the girl,
j now sobbing convulsively, caught her
hand and kissed it warmly.
"Do not think me ungrateful,’’ sho
said, her team falling fast: "it breaks
my heart to offend yon. Please kiss
me, and give me a loving word before I
go.”
"There, ohlld, never make a soouo t
Good-by;” and ahe did kiss the pleading,
upturned face.
"May I write to yonf”
"Just as yon please. I shall not ex-
peot it."
And keeping her cold, impassive face,
Mrs. Wainwright went to her own
room, bolted tho door, and came out no
more until Estefte Dm taken her de
parture the next dfcj.
It was a room unlike that in
wliioh Mrs. Wainwri^iit bad taken loavo
of Estelle, that tho yonbg girl entered
Into iu tho afternobu of the following
day. The little cottage where Mrs.
West wept for her unnatural child’s de
sertion had but four rooms, all oonnted,
and these were furnished very simply.
In one of these, stooping over a sewing-
maohine, stopping often to oougu, an
elderly lady, In plain mourning gar
ments, was seated when Estelle oemo in.
Every trace of agitation was carefully
driven from her faoe, os, with a teudor
smile, she said :
"Aunt Mary, will you say welcome
home to me ?”
"Estelle 1”
That was all, but thd joy of the tone
uns too warm to be hidden.
"Yon are glad to see mo,” Estelle
said, brightly.
"Glad, child 1 glad I My own loving
little girl. I have missed you sorely,
Estelle. Bnt,” she said, suddenly,
“you have not quarreled with yonr
Aunt Cora?”
"We heard you were alone," Estello
said, evasively, "so I got permission to
make you a long visit. Annt Cora gave
me a hundred dollars for housekeeping."
"Alone I” the mother said, piteously.
"Theoda haa gone, Estelle. My child,
whom I never denied any pleasure in
my power to grant 1 Oh, Estelle, it will
kill me 1"
And looking into the deep, tanker
eyes, the hollow oheeks, Estelle knew
her annt spoke truly. The little rem
nant of life in the consumptive frame
was surely to be shortened by the ornel-
ty of her own child.
But by every loving (levioe the solf-
sacrifloing girl strove to keep tho feeble
flame of lifo still bnrning. She let it bo
known in the village that she was anxious
to obtain work os a dressmaker, aud
soon fonnd employment. Some carios
ity was expressed nt this sudden return
from the "rioh annt” who had taken her
away a year before, but Estelle only
told the simple truth, that one aunt
needed her, while the other did not.
Work, none too well paid, oame to tho
little cottage, and the household duties
wore shared while Mrs. West could keep
about. It was in November that Estelle
oame to her, and before February she
was unable to leave her bed. The duties
then of nursing and still keeping up
with her engagements for dressmaking,
pressed very hardly upon Estelle, bnt
she never faltered. Day after day the
invalid was tenderly comforted, and yet
the busy click of the sewing-machine
was heard far into the night.
Th#re was kindness shown by the
village people that helped in this labor
of love. Some oame to sit np at night,
when the invalid required watching.
Many a dainty dish, sent to tempt Mrs.
West’s appetite, proved a sufficient meal
for both. One neighbor sent a cart-load
of firo-wood, one a barrel of apples, and
there was never wanting a kindly word
of sympathy. So the dreary winter
wore away, and to the surprise of all,
Mrs. West lived through the bitter
March weather. How tenderly she was
guarded aud nursed in that trying month
none knew but herself; bnt as tho warm
spring days came she brightened visibly.
Theoda tfrote occasionally, seemiugly
glad that Estelle had come to take the
post she had so heartlessly abandoned.
In one of her letters she wrote:
"My husband bids me tell Estelle it
is as well, perhaps, that she did not
build any strong hope upon MrB. Wain-
wright’s capricious adoption of her, as
he will certainly inherit his uncle’s
money.”
Estelle mode no comment upon the
message, but in her heart wondered if
the money could Ire ever put to any
good use in hands so selfish us Theoda’s
or her husband’s. It seemed a bad pre
cedent for any noble action, this deser
tion of a dying parent.
Hummer stole away, every day lessen
ing tho invalid’s strength, and winter
loomed up threateningly in the future.
All of Mrs. Wainwright’s gift was gone,
and poorly paid, often interrupted sew.
iug, was but a slender provision for cold
and sickness. Yet the wasted faoe, grow
ing paler every day, pleaded silently for
many comforts; and Estelle, spurred by
the sight, wrote to her Aunt Oora. It
waa one of many long letters, but tho
lint that asked for aid. Estelle wrote:
The doctor tells me Annt Mary cau-
not live many weeks longer, and she re
quires almost inoessaut oaro, having
frequent distressing spells of bleeding
and suffocation. 1 find I cannot supply
the comforts sho ueeds; so I turu to you,
not to beg, but to l>orrow. Will you
lend me a hundred dollars, and I will
faithfully work till it is paid, wheu Auut
Mary no longer uoeds my time ?
'Xjiere was the usual curt reply tothiB
letter, but tho loan was sent with a brief
intimation that the promised payment
was expected.
Early in November the end oame.
gently and painlessly, the dying breath
spent in a blessing for the faithful nurse.
Never once had Mrs. West suspoeted
that her nioco was forbidden to retnrn
to the luxurious homo sho had quitted
for her sake, so she had made no dispo
sition of tho little proporty in her power
to will away—tho cottage and garden
around it. It seemed to Estello, yonng
atjl ignorant of businese, only a matter
of course that she should oontinuo to
live and work in the oottrgo where she
had nursed her aunt’s last moments.
Btft Theoda, who,camo to the funeral,
informed her [she wonld put the place
into the bauds ol a lawyer for sale, and
•he must look for a boarding-place in
the village.
Bewildered, weary with watching,
sorrowing sincerely for her dead. Estelle
turned from the words, issnod almost
insnltingly, with a'sick faltering of her
t$ie heart.
’\A letter, Miss Estelle," said one of
the tillage boys, tapping at the low
window. "I was possiug the ^bst-olllco,
and brought it."
"Oome and work out your debt to me
nore. Coba Wainwiuoht."
It was a temporary home, at least, and
the desolate girl promptly obeyed. Ir
the November twilight, as they had
parted, these two met again. The stern,
cold woman, who bad so harshly put
[choice . V duties before the warm
hearted girl, was waiting when she en
tered timidly.
"So yon have oome baok,” she said,
looking at the pale faoe and drooping
eyes.
"To pay my debt," was the gentle
reply.
"Pay it here I"
And Estelle fonnd herself infolded in
sn embrace so warm that the tears
sprang to her eyes.
"Here on my heart 1" said Mrs. Wain
wright, "craving snoh love as yon give,
tender, true, self-snorificing little Estelle!
I tried you sorely, child, only to find you!
We will not part again, Estelle, till
the grave closes over another old aunt."
And when that hour camo, comforted
by Estelle’s love, Mrs. Wainwright’s
will was found to leave all her property
to her "beloved nieoe. Estelle Mason.”
A TOUCHING SCENE.
M TOUCH or NATt’KK WHICH AIAKKM
THK WHOI.lt WOltl.H KIN.
The Mrll.Mnrrlfli-e nl n Wnninn U lilrb
Chnuaetl NelS«linr» (• Nyaiimlhy.
Ruined by Red Lights.
"Do you see that poor old bloat walk
ing up the track there?" remarked a
switchman to some loungers in his little
shauty. "See how groggy he walks.
Flo’s a wreck; no good on earth any
more to himself or anybody elso. Two,
years ago that man was the crack engi
neer of this road. Ho had all tho posts
of honor. If thero was a flying special
to be run with tho president or the di
rectors or some big bngs on tho private
car, he was always selected. His regular
job was palling the limited. A better
man never thumbed a throttle. Bnt
rod lights ruined him. Yes, sir, red
lights got away with him, aud now he
couldn’t get a freight engine and hasn’t
run a mile in six months. All owing to
them infernal red lights.
"What do yon mean? Did he fail to
stop some time for a red light and thus
cause an accident.
"Oh, no; it wasn’t that sir. He
never bad a wreck of no kind, save him
self. He always stopped for red lights,
and that was just the trouble. He got
so ho couldn’t walk up the street but
ho wonld stop at every place where there
was a red light out. Now look at him.
Chicago Herald,
A Spanish Town.—Albums de Gran
ada, recently destroyed by an earth
quake, possessed the most romantio
situation aud the most romantic history
of any | town iu Spain. It stood high
ujroa the verge of a gigantic cleft iu the
mountains, the result of volcanic action.
From its position it was justly regarded
by tho Moors us the key of their King
dom of Granada, and when captured in
1482 by the forces of Ferdinand and
Isabella, the Alhambra was felt to be
foredoomed. It was that event whioh
gave origin to the mournful ballad,
‘ Muy Doloroso," translated by Lord
Byyon, will; the sad refrain at the close
of each stanza, "Woe is me, Albama
"Thero was a pathetic soone on a train
on the Western Division of tho Eric le-
oently," said a conductor on that road.
"A woman Ironrded tho train at Oloan.
Sho carried in her arms a baby but a
few weeks old. It was very cross and
peevish, aud defied all of its nurse’s ef
forts to keep it quiet. Its cries were at
times so loud aud piercing that tho other
passengers oonld not hido their annoy
ance, and after a while audible expres
sions of thoir feelings enme from all parts
of the car. The womau was patient
under the double trial of the child's
tronhlesomenoss and tho evident knowl
edge of the annoyauco it was to her fel
low passengers. She talked soothingly
to the child, plaood it in all positions,
and tried to so arrange its wrappings as
to, in a measure, deaden the sound of
its ories. Finally some ono in the car,
whose impatieuoe had got the better of
bis sympathy, shouted ont:
" 'If that child oan’t be kept quiet, I
hope it will bo removed from the oar at
the next station I'
"This unfeeling remark seemed to
meet with general approval, and tho
poor woman’s eyes filled with tears, and
in attempting to speak her footings over
came her, and sho preBBod the baby
closer to her and sobbed violently. She
soon recovered herself, and redoubled
her efforts to keep tho child quiet For
a short time she succeeded somewhat,
but presently the ories of the baby were
as load and prolonged os ever. At last
a man arose and sftd sharply:
•' 'Madam, it would seem to me that
the mother of un infant should know
how to take at least half oare of if
"The train had now stopped at Sala
manca. At the remark of the seoond
speaker, the woman arose in her seat,
and, facing the oar fall of passengers,
said* in a voloo trembling:
"‘I am not this poor little thing’s
mother. I never saw it before yester
day, and I boliove it hasn’t a living rela
tive. Its father was killed on the rail
road a week before it waa born. Its
mothor, living in a distant place, hurried
to tho scene of her husband’s death.
The child was born among strangers,
and day before yesterday the mother
died, leaving her little one with no ono
to oare for it. I lived in the house
whero the mother died, and volunteered
to do what i could for the poor little
thing, and to go with the dead womnn’s
remains to her native place. Her body
is iu this train. I am sorry the child is
so troublesome, but isn’t It entitled to
some little sympathy ?’
"The effect of tho woman’s words may
he imagined. Thoro wore few dry eyes
iu tho oar when sho dropped, sobbing,
into her seat. All selfishness was lost in
sympathetic thoughts of tho little wan
derer, and a score of hands that a mo
ment before were almost willing to raise
in chastisement of the babe were now
anxious to extend aid to it aud its self-
sacrificing guardian. It was a touch of
uature that makes the whole world kin. ”
The Amount of Water Trees Absorb.
THE HUMOROUS PAPERS.
what wk find in rnit.il
WKKK TO M1III.K OVKK.
A Mitln Pltro-A I’rMcy Hlrl'a Slwl-IUA
llrrn Katina Onlans-Tbn llto Ahlldren.
Kle.. K(e.
Dr. J. M. Anders, in a geological
survey report, gives the results of his
inquiry as to the quantity of water
pumped from the earth by trees. He
finds that the average exhalation from
soft, thin leaved plants in clear weather
amounts to one and a quarter ounces
Troy per day or twelve hoars for every
square foot of surface. Hence a moder
ate sized elm trees raiso and throws off
soven and three-quarter tons of water
per day. In the report the facts are
applied to what is going on in America,
where certain inland fertile districts are
becoming converted into denerts by
wholesale clearings; and in other places,
such as the plains of Colorado, where
only five or six years of irrigation and
planting have already prodnoed a meas
urable increase of rainfall. It is main
tained that the deserts of Syria and Africa
are tho results of cutting down trees,
and that original luxuriance may be re
stored by skillful renlantinsr.
IN THK LEGISLATURE.
"Mr. Speaker, I arise to piaoe in
nomination a man, sir, what we nil
know, sir, to be a man what ain’t got no
peer nowhar. We all know that he is
more than qualified, sir, for the posi
tion, for I sarvod with him dnrin’ the
wah, sir; he will not only represent the
great partee, bnt, sir, the entire State.
Darin’ the dark and bloody days when
the pale faoe of hunger put its bloody
hand on the heart ot the nation he was
found to bo as true as steel, an grabbed
the gory wolf by the lappels of his
shirt and shook him until he loudly
begged for mercy. "—Arkansaxu Trav
eller,
a roam girl's shot.
As they were all coming out of the
thoatro togotlmr yonng Sypber acci
dentally trot! m tho drees of tho pretty
girl jnst ahead.
"Oh, shoo 1" involuntarily ccolaimed
the young girl aa she suddenly brought
up.
Young Sypher thought ho saw a chance
for a mash.
"You noedn't shoo me," he simpered,
smartly; "I’m no cow."
"No," the pretty girl returned, with
a glance that pinnod him to the side of
tho lobby, "perhaps not now, bnt yon
will be when yon grow np.”
Then she swept on, while yonng
Sypher was so astounded tlint he actual
ly forgot to light his oaknm-stnffod ci-
garotte when he got outside.—Horton
Journal. __
KATINO ONIONS.
‘What makos yon think they’re en
gaged, Mrs. Quigley ? Did her mother
tell you ?’’
"No; she hasn't said a word to me
about it."
"Thou I suppose her father men
tioned it to your husband ?"
"Oh, dear, no."
"Well, I give it np, then. How did
yon find it ont ?’’
"Why, I mot them ont walking the
other afternoon, and stopped to chat
with them a few minutes. They’d both
been eating onions, and I tell yon, Mrs.
Duokley, a sign like thnt never fails.
They’ll bo married before three months,
or I don't know a mop from a mug
wump."—Chicago Jjcdg< r,
if ns, SMrrnKRH ovrs in a crusher.
"Did you make that, papa?” inquired
Johnny Hmithors.
"Yes, my son,” replied Mr. Smithers,
sail-satisfaction and paternal pride beam
ing from bis countenance.
"And yon made it all ont ot yonr own
head, papa?"
"Yes, my son."
"Really and truly ?’’
"Johnny,” interrupted Mrs. Smithers
in an ioy tone of voice, "yon will often
be surprised as you grow older to learn
how many onrions things can bo made
from wood.”—Oil City Derrick.
TfIK nXTOHT COURTEOUS,
Woman’s cruelty to woman has made
thousands fail to sfteak to each other.
Clooly had just dropped in to congrat
ulate her friend on pleusant prospect*
directly after Lont.
"Ob, I am so glad for yon, my dear.
Augustus always was such oharming
company. Oh, bo's real nice. He paid
mo marked attentions half a dozen years
ago.”
"Indeed ! I believe I've heard him
lay something about your being a very
deur friend of his mother.”
Tho coffee cream froze in tho little
quaint pitcher on tho tablo. Ho did tho
morning's conversation. — Hartford
Port,
EASILY PROVEN.
"I want to get rid ot my partner,"
remarked tho moan mau to a lawyer.
"Who is he ?’’
"My brother. I want to prove that he
has a bad reputation."
"That is easy enough. You can say
that ho is your brother."
WORKED BOTH WAYSl
"Why are yon like the moon, Niok
np," said his friend Bates. ‘T give il
np,” answered Niekup. "Well, because
yonr faoe Is always bright and beaming
with good nature," said Bates, and ha
looked toward the bar. "That ain’t
had; I’ll jnst tell that to my wife when
I get home," said NiokHp, and then he
einked at the bartender and told hira
to "set ’em np again.”
"Mary," said he, as he tumbled into
bed that evening, "Why am I like the
moon ?’’ “What is it ?’’ she sharply
naked. He repeated the question. "Be
cause you are full every Louth in
the year,” she answered dnd ashed
him.—Chicago Tribune.
THE DEAR CHILDREN.
Deacon Bucrag addressed tho Bunduy
school children ns follows:
"I will tell you a story, denr children.
Little Harry was a real good little boy,
but his brothers Tom and George were
bail aud though tloss. One day, while
passing I he house of a poor widow,
Tom and George began to throw stones
it her cat. Little Harry remiuded them
that this was very wrong, and remon
strated so earnestly that presently they
stoppod throwing stones at the cat, aud
oow, dear ohildren, what do you think
Tom and George then did ?’’
"Began to throw stones at little
Harry,” was the general Blioufc.—San
Francisco Inglertde,
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