Newspaper Page Text
A 01
"On Ambition is to matte a tesas Work, Reliable in its
VOL. 1.
All the training schools for nurses in
>hiladelphia are free. This is one pro
ession for women that is not over
•jowded and where women can earn good
vages. The chief qualifications are
rood health, good temper, general Intel
igence, and a fair common-school edu
:ation.
London appears to be much bettei
5xed in the matter of school aecommoda
dons than most of the large cities on this
fide of the Atlantic. At the recent re
issembling of the School Board the
Chairman, the Rev. J. B. Diggle, stated
that there are now facilities in London
for teaching 657,337 children, while
there are only 633,058 names on the
school-rolls._ __
The AYashoe Indians, male and female
are said to be good workers, but they
are extremely sensitive. Tell an Indian
to cut your wood and he'll turn disdain
fully away. Impart to him, in a casual
way, that yon have wood to cut, and
wonder who’ll do it at such a price, and
the noble red man, with an air of con*
ferriug a favor, intimates that he will,
and he does.
The Southern California Motor Road
Company has a scheme for giving the
citizens of San Bernardino lots of fun
this winter. It will run a road up to
the Hear Valley reservoir, which is 6,000
feet above the sea. Ice forms there in
the winter, and the road will take up
skating parties, which can leave town
ti in the evening, run up in two hours,
have three hours’ fun, and get back about
J o’clock the next morning.
The Rev. Russell H. Conwcll, a gradu
ate of Yale, a soldier, lawyer, emig.uion
agent, special correspondent in Europe,
lecturer, author, and, last of all, Baptist
preacher, is to have the largest Baptist
Church in the country. It is to be built
at Philadelphia, will seat 4,600, cost
#100,000,have accommodations for 1,(100
scholars in the Sunday-school room, and
500 in the infant department, and have
dining-room, kitchen and parlors. Air,
Conweil is forty-four years old.
A New Y'ork man says that the great
drawback to electric street railways is
that you cannot ride even a block on one
ol those cars without having your watch
completely magnetized and ruined so fai
as timekeeping is concerned. All the
electric roads have Ihe tame difficulty,
and the inventors, although they have
been trying for years, have not yet sue
needed in discovering a remedy. Until
that defect is removed, no electric street
railway, it is asserted, will be a success.
Chief Drummond, of the United States
Secret Service, in reporting on a band of
Italian counterfeiters now operating in
this country, has called attention to the
existence of a formidable secret organiza
tion originating in Sicily, but having
branches in New Y'ork, Boston, Chicago,
St. Louis, St. Paul, San Francisco and
several other cities. The members of
this society arc described as assassins and
villains of the worst type, engaged in all
sorts of criminal schemes, but especially
in the counterfeiting business.
R. YV. Cameron & Co., of New York
City, who are agents for the Government
of South Wales, have received a commu
nication announcing a reward offered by
the Government of #125,000 to American
inventors for any process which will
exterminate rabbits, which have become
a pest throughout Australia and New
Zealand. In 1864 a few English rabbits
were introduced iuto the Botanical
Garden at Dunedin. These have in
SUlh an ext{ ‘ nt that thp y are
now now public hr nuisances, threatening . to de
stroy not only all the vegetables, but
even the sheep pasturage of the entire
countrv The 1 Ze magnitude magnitude of ol the t itewiand evil and
toe,, .,;. gency of the case are indicated by
the size of the reward,which, at the same
time, is an expression of confidence in
American ingenuity.
— ----—--
Tnr The Sanitary Era r . warns parents . and -,
Ivi™™ TA chddrens’ cars,
saying: “ibeie ought to be a statute in
every state severely punishing this prac
tice or rather an infliction of b'ows on
school! the head «o common in families or
schools Of f inferior f grade. i A a recent in
vestigation of medical records reveals
firty-one firtv cases of serious injury to . eh,l- ...
-*.h.
ear—m some cases chronic and ultimately
resulting in fatal brain diseases, deafness,
insanity, etc. It would be impossible to
discipline all offenders, but much might
be done by sps. ial car ’ in giving notice
of the law and penalty through the news
papers and by circulars distributed by
boards of health inspectors, and by in
structions to the police promptly to ar
rest parents or others seen cuffing ehil
'Iren—a« they may be seen at all hours
of the day in certain '8 reeions of everv 3
"
eilv y ’ ”
GRAY’S STATION, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, JANUARY 81. 1888.
INFLUENCE.
m;rerrl And we die, too, « with r our ,,„„„„„ dead days:
New hopes, new dreams, new memories rise
On our new lives, in life's new ways.
Eut pure, sweet influence never dies;
That still lives on, where all decays;
As from dead stars, through altered skies,
Stream on all but eternal rays!
Wilfred Wbotlani.
IN MY DARKEST HOUR.
BY patience stapt.F. roN.
I had worked so long in the dry goods
store of Jones & Jones that when,
Christmas morning, I got a letter saying
that my services were no longer required
I nearly fainted away. I know I am not
quick or attractive. I am a small, scared
worked looking woman of forty, and I have
so hard all mv life that I look
much older. I lost m'v little savings in
the failure of a bank, and since then I
have had no ambition to look well or to
be cheerful. When I went back to my
postman’s' third-story room—for I ran down at the
kindred might knock, thinking some of my
have remembered me—I
had a faint feeling of pleasurable excite
meat. The firm had remembered me, I
thought, and when I saw their letter head,
sent me a remembrance. “ I have
lived too long," I said, when I read their
letter. I could not think of another sen
tence, and the words haunted me.
Sly landlady was kind, but she was
poor, and her rent was high, and I must
give up my little room that from long
occupancy I had grown to look upon as a
home, l'stood in the door and looked
about me—at the worn carpet, theshabby
that furniture, the little old rocking chair
my few visitors used to say had a
quaint had likeness to myself, the stove where
1 cooked my frugal breakfast and
supper so many years, my bird twittering
in liis cage over my geraniums in the
sunny window—the plants all in bios
som now and so beautiful—my few books
and pictures and the gray cat purring by
the tire. I saw my trunk in its chintz
cover, and I wondered when I must pack
it and where it would go. I had borne
up and well, but now I sat down on the floor
wept bitterly. Jane?”
“Kin I come in, Miss
I jumped to my feet in shame. The
child must not see me crying on Christ
stood hiayday. I opened the door and there
of Betty, landlady-—‘‘Betty the orphan granddaughter
lodgers my Prim,” the
called her. She was a pale little
thing, fasliioncd with big gray eyes and old
long curls that one never sees
on children nowadays, She was lame
from a fall in baby-hood and walked
w ith a crutch. She never seemed to note
her misfortune, but, like my canary, was
'ull of song and sunshine,
“Gammasays-if you don’t want me,
send me down. She’s goin’ ter church
”n’ it’s pretty lonesome an’ you wasn’t
Doin’ out. I'll try to be real quiet.”
“You couldn’t be otherwise,” I said,
and I got her a chair. Of course she took
the cat in her lap—she always petted
something—and then she told me how
many gifts she had and how the white
aprons I made her were the best of all,
for they were so pretty and “such a sav
ing to her dresses.” She had given me
a neat little tidy that she had made her
self, and she looked at it now, pinned on
my chair, with visible satisfaction.
“There was some stitches dropped, but
I’m so glad they don’t show,” she said,
happily. “Miss Jane,” she asked, after
by a long pause, trouble, during which I, stunned
my great sat and looked at
nothing, ain’t “you’re like me, I guess; you
got many folks.”
I came back with a start to tell her I
had eight brpthers and sisters that I had
not California, seen for thirty years. They were in
I in Boston. I was the oldest,
and a family had taken me when 1 was
nine years old, for my father was so
poor lie could not keep his children to
gether. “Tell
me ’bout ’em liev’e. ” she said “that
is if you’d jest as Iguessyou’ve ’that’s
got the megrims ter-day; what
Mis’ Morrison has that lives in the second
floor front. She says a^bite. she 6 gits rnwrims so
bad she can’t eat I get Tin my
self, but J don’t tell no one, for I’ve got
ter keep Gamma cheered up. She gets so
down when the rooms is empty or some
don’t her.” '
one nay
The dear little soul at seven concealing !
her own childish troubles to make life
brighter for others' So I went on and
told her of my childhood and how, poor
a « we were, we children remembered each
other a t birthday and Christmas time, !
making giving gifts out of a scanty store and
up to a younger brother or sistev
cherished playthings, and how my most
happy dolls rememberance bad was the giving the
paper I laboriously saved and
cut out from the few fashion plates that
ever invaded our home to a little sister,
I remember one Christmas day though
when I had no gilts. -In September
father and the family moved away to Die
Westin a big white covered wagon drawn
® ld oxen, and 1, crying •
and begging to go with them, was .
taken m a cart to Aunt Beach’s, who \
lived forty miles from my old home.
was only nine years old, but to this day
j reme mber the scene, the strange wagon.
fc ,. r . .11 ,h«: tn hay
good-bve, the and children envying peeping wide-eyed at the
tent curtains my
Wttle brothers and sisters who were going
away, our empty dismantl 'd home and
mother He crying w.th over my brother and died and me.
was left- a cousin two
years afterward. At Beach’s there were
three little children, and I took care of j \
them thought and they helped treated about the kindly, house. and They
me I
never was love whipped and affection. or abused, Christ- hut
starved for At
mas time there was r.ot even a mention of |
,he , da -“ no gifts .. Beach dot sawed good . dinner. wood
recollect Lncle all
day, and we bad corned beef for dinner.
CKHIItTY
; ' Si ftfi
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ISMAIL]
i
1
There was no merrymaking nor holiday
and Airs. Beach burned them up, for they
made a litter. •
Next to the Beach farm was a beauti
ful old place where Sirs. Hannah. Allen
lived. She ami the Beaches had a hitter
quarrel over a fence line, and if we
children ever got on her land we were
chased Off by a cross old gardener. Her
liiecd, SlisS Eliza* was tigly And cross,
and seemed to be scolding all the time*
but the old lady was kind and gentle,
Sometimes When I stole out into the rOad
to look at her fibwers she called me to
the fence and gave me some—hollyhocks
and roses, but mostly great peonies, red.
white and pink, that filled my whole
hand. I never told the Beaches of my
visits to Mrs. Allen’s fence, and I hid my
flowers up in the hayloft in the one place
where the children couldn’t climb,
Sometimes Sir-. Allen gave me apples
ancl P caI ’ s , which I shared with the chil
dren, but they told on me and I was pun
is hed for going near Allen’s. Often in
our sto'en interviews Sliss Eliza would
cal1 her aunt or come out and tell Iter not
ta 'h to that little beggar and half
drag her away. I remember there were
bther nieces, too, tall Women with heavy
black uard eyebrows, about the and they old seemed lady, and like a
g poor to
come f he moment Sliss Eliza went away
^ Allen or a day or so. But for all lhat Sirs,
and I had many talks over the
fence—for she never asked me in—and I
told her about myself and my unhappy
life and she said her own childhood was
raac h die same and leaned over the
f °nce to pat my head, telling me I would
r: °me out all right some day, and I saw
ber eyes were full of tears.
1 can see her yet, a little, straight figure
in . a black gown, a lace kerchief pinned
about her neck with a brooch of George
Washington, small shoulder shawl over
this, a white lace cap over a brown frock,
bright led cheeks blue the eyes, and on her soft wrink
temembet her coming prettiest pink flush. I
with a big red
peony fclu and pushing Eliza it hurriedly through
the '° before saw her. She told
meonee|that me—prettier, long years past she bad a lit
tle S' 1 '! bke she added, but
a gentle little thing, and she and her
father* Captain Alleii, nearly the gravestone
said, had been buried fifty years,
In one of my tramps across her land I
found the small walled-in graveyard,'whore
they were buried and read the slate tomb
stones, and remember I flung myself on
Die ground beside them and wept bit
terly that they were dead. A pitiful lit
tle mourner, but my grief was very true
and real. Once Mrs. Allen handed' me a
piece of pretty flowered silk, telling me
it was a scrap of her wedding gown, and
how I treasured that!
The Christmas day I was going to tell
you about was when I was ten years old.
After dinner the Beaches had taken the
children and gone to a funeral in the
village, leaving and me alone in the house. 1
saw Miss Eliza the hired, man drive
away to the same funeral—some farmer
door, everybody hid knew—and then I locked the
they key under Die mat and
crept out to the road. No one insight!
I went along in the snow, a shawl over
my head, though the air was fearfully
cold, and in roy shivering hands I held
something wrapped in my cleanest
apron. The big, white house with
the pillars
in front like a church was silent and
lifeless. The flowers were dead and I
had not seen Mrs. Allen all winter. I
opened first time.in the hall life door stood softly and for the
Thu hall, with my the pictures, on a carpet, wind
the
ing stairs, like fairyland the oak chairs and the carpet,
was right behind to me. I listened; to
the one of the brass
knobbed doors 1 heard the crackling of
a wood fire. 1 opened the door softly
and went in. Mrs. Allen was sitting
before an open five of big logs all sur
rounded by brass fenders and shining
andiions, and this room had a soft floor,
too, and beautiful pictures and furniture,
Nhe was knitting, an open Bible on the
table near her.
“Why, she little girl, how you scared
me!” said.
stammered. “I—I’ve brought you a Chris’mus,” I
“You was kind tome; I
W) »nted to thank you for the flowers an’
there isn’t any Chris’mus over
ter Beach’s. It’s all go, honest, for Mis’
Death give me the kaliker an’ the silk
yonrn. J give it back to you though
the silk was yourn an’ I set a store by it,
hut us Rices always gives up our best
things for presents.’
I took out of my apron a queer little
pincushion, the top made of her silk, the
bottom of the calico. I had filled it with
Dm i h ane t feathers 1 could find from
fhe dead chickens and hone,and oh! how
painfully I had sewed every stitch with
a rusty needle and rotten lliroad. She
laid her spectacles off to wi pc here. .* and
kissed me twice. I hen she put the eush
ion carefully in the drawee of an old
desk, smoothing i, and p.tling it into
Mn.pc first. Then she brought me a
f the best cake I ever ate After a
few moments,during which she hid been
looking at a gilt . lock under a glass
shade on the mantel she put a shawl over
her head and went up stain. Mm can
tinned me not to touch anything and not
leave my chair, but she knew f was
well behaved and f needn’t I « afraid of
Miss Eliza, for she would not come for
lln'-, hour,. So . ... .11 .loo- i„
enchanted room for a long, long time. I
got up once and put a stick of wood on
the fire and remember I swept up the
ashes I made on the hearth with a little
brush hanging near and trembled at my
daring. I told her when she came back,
but she only said “Good child.”
It must have been cold up stairs where
I had red heard and her trembling. walking, for She her hands
were warmed
them at the fire and then held out a prefc
ty shell. “Would you like that, little
Jane?”
carefully. 1 looked at “I it would," wistfully,holding I it rery
oughter answered, “but
1 would feel I give it to the
? ❖
*3 <V
Statwawts, eaoHfl in its CawtatoK, and Jwt in its TSenrs."
Beaches nest Chris’mus an’ they would
jest tiie same." My lips quivered as T
gave it back.
'
“Poor Jane," she smiled. “Well,
here's a dell I made you when I was up
stairs." fie handed me a big rag doll
half as large as myself. It was hurriedly
chalk, dressed and smirched, the 'face, made with blue
was
“I Want you to keep that always, "said
MrS. Allen'. “Dou’t let the children
have it. t put old rags On it so Sirs.
Beach would hot take it away from you. aini
Hide it in your plafce in the hay-loft,
if you bring and it nice to me next Christmas to-day—mind day
as clean as it is
you do not hurt nor soil a speck—you
shall have a gold dollar for your own.”
Ah, how pleased I was! The Beach
children hatred rag dolls. They had
wooden ones, bought at the stores, so
this treasure T could keep. Up in the
haymow I could have a friend and conti
i daiit. I thanked Sirs. Allen and she
kissed me again and held the door open
till I was safe across the dark hall. Then
I ran home, hid my treasure away up in
a far corner of the old burn, where it
stayed unmolested, for only I could crawl
out on the narrow beam to the place
Where a piece of timber protruded and
made my perch. I covered my pet with
; hay and visited her whenever 1 could get
j ! a chance, and I think I was happier for
her to talk to.
“Didn’t she get dirty none?" asked
Betty with deep interest.,
“No, for the I was very careful; but I
never died got gold dollar. Dear Sirs,
Allen that Spring and the nieces
took the house, so I dared not go near
the fence even. But the peonies bloomed
every people year, her love remembering and ' I often better visited than
care.
the graveyard then and read her tomb
stone, and cried over my only friend, and
I called my doll Sirs, Captain, thinking
that, -‘Have at least, was no her disrespect,
you got yet?” asked Betty,
“I never saw a rag doll.”
“Yes, J kept her in remembrance of
iriy sad childhood. Sits. Captain is so
big and clumsy she has been often a
bother, but 1 could not bear to destroy
her You, Betty, are the only one who
has ever seen her.”
trunk, Sirs. Captain she lay at the bottom of my
where just fitted. 1 never
had so many clothes that she was in the
way She was quite shapeless now, her
calico dress faded to a dirty white, her
face a blank and the stitches hastily put
in by the trembling fingers of my old
I friend rottenJ*nd ripping out.
she “It’s held a it funny looking thing," said critical Betty, as
up, at it ly.
“I could make a better one myself; but
she was hurried, you know, llow’fraid
you must have been wheu you are waitin’,
for Miss Eliza might come. Makes my
arms just ache to this hold her; roiled thought stick”, they
was rags; is on a
Did you ever look?”
children; “No; I besides, never I destroyed like some
was told to keep her
nice.”
“If you don’t care, an’can spare a few
rags. I’ll cut a pattern out by this doll;
it will save Gamma buyin’, an’ truly I
never had dolls enuff, though I wouldn’t
have her flunk so for the world.”
Forgetting my own troubles in her
pleasure, I turned to my trunk to find
some pieces. rolled Suddenly something
dropped and with a metallic
sound on the oilcloth under the stove,
“Look, Miss Jane!” screamed Miss
Betty, “that funny little coin fell out of
the doll.’’
She reached for it with her crutch,
1 picked it up—a gold dollar of the dute
forty years back,
“In the it doll dropped 1” I gasped, stood her
“Y'es, out when I
up straight. I guess the old lady meant
it fora s’prise.”
Trembling with hope and fear I got
my scissors. “1 am going to see how
the doll is made,” I said with a queer
kind of a laugh, and I felt strangely
dizzy. It was rolled tight ripped and seamed the
at top and bottom. I open
top where there was a stitch broken,
After the thickness of calico there were
layers of linen, and finally 1 dug my
scissors leather. deep A ripping into what sound, seemed then chink, like
clink, and little and large,’ gold pieces
went sparkling all over the oilcloth. A
bright the ray window of sunlight came streaming gold,
into glinting on the
and my little’prisoned melody bird mirth. burst into a
very torrent of and
“Oh! oh! oh!” screamed Betty, “it’s
money, money, money! bird,
“Money,money, money,” sangmy smelled
while my gray cat supicioitsly
of a stray coin near her resting place.
Rcverendly I unwound the rags. At I dared
not even claim the gold. the very
heart of the doll was a faded letter. In
dim ink and faded lines I read:
To little Jane Rice, or to any honest man
or woman who may mid this s teret:
•»<««« >V> <’'•«•» ««’> W she bring.
what is inT 'die bSl Tta/wm"
shl . may keep the .loll in remembrance, for
she is a loving child, and som- day, when
o-Wovidenco
tjtittorbor. if Jane should di-%ive i? m
a home for orphan children. 1 darn not leave
the money in a will, for they would moke me
mi*. cra>y, and there would I* lawinv. which
'dread, so I leave i,h:V tor her trusting to
tried to repay the Christmas gift, the little
gift of self-denial and gratitude.
Hannah Atm
“Don’t erv,” said Betty. “Dear Miss
Jane, laugh, We you are rich. You
never. work in .he store; you
can be a lady, you .•an,’’'in a rapturous
outburst (her ideaof wealth and felicity),
“You car have the parlor bedroom !
Then you can own a farm, with cows an’
a horse an’chickens an’ dorgs—no, for
them would hurt your cats—an’ lots of
lovely things, an’ I’ll sew the doll right
up again so you’ll never know she was
busted.”.
My landlady was looking on in amaze-
fnent—she had come in so quietly I bad
not heard her. When I told her this she !
sat down on the floor and began to count [
the money. !
“1 believe Jane l?ieC there is a thou
more. I’ve got four thousand dollars
saved, an’ if you wan ter, you an’ Betty
an’me will buy that farm site Was pic
turin’an’spend little the rest of our ritiyr will be in
some town where folks
neighborly." “That is dream life,” 1
the of my
cried, “and I know we can raise fruits
and flowers to help us out.”
“It was all the;story,” said Betty: “we
neverWould a-knowed.’’’
“This was the' time for her to knew,”
said Gdrama, gently—“in her darkest
hour.”
It was so—the bread had come bark
from the waters, and Mrs. Captain Allen
had hundredfold. repaid the gift of a loving child red a
I shall grow peonies,
and white, in memory of her when our
home, where folks shall he neighborly,
is realized, and I shall try to bring sun
shine and happiness into the lives of
other sad little children as she brought
kindness and joy into mine .—Now York
Mercury .
Pen id Oysters,
The business Of getting the pear’s out
of oysters is a tolerably disagreeable quo.
The oysters are thrown into large vessels
and left to die, when the shells open of
their own accord. The shells arc then
removed, left but thq oysters themselves are
in buckets till they become decom
posed, pearls when sink they are well stirred. and The
mainder to the bottom, be the readily re
is poured oil. It may
inferred that the odor in the camp of
pearl pleasant. seekers is more powerful than
The pearl has its origin in the efforts of
the oyster to protect itself from the irri
tation caused by the presence of some
foreign body between the shell and its
mantle, as the soft skin of Die oyster is
technically termed. To mitigate tliesuf.
fering caused by this vexations intruder,
the oyster deposits thereon a coating of
Die same material as that of which the
shell is composed, and When once this
process has begun, it continues, till in
time the pearl grows large enough to kill
the oyster.
To the fanciful minds of Oriental
nations no such crude explanation has
ever occurred, and they still attribute to
pearls much they more poetic origin. The
oysters, say, rise by night to the
surface of the water, and opening their
shells, receive therein a single drop of
dew. This in time becomes a pearl, and
if the dew has been pure and clear, the
pearl wi 1 be a beautiful one; but if the
drop purities, of dew then lias been soiled with im
the pearl will be opaque
and of no value.
f innatis, the “father of naturalists,”
received the honor of knighthood for
demonstrating ficially inducing the possibility of pearls arti
the formation of
in the pearl-bearing mussel. But, as lias
been the case with other European inven
tions of which we have thought a good
deal, it has since turned out that John
Chinaman lias been doing this thing for
a couple of thousand years or so. The
Chinese method is to take the mussel from
the river, carefully force the shells a little
way apart, and insert between the mantle
of the oyster and one of the shells a few
little pellets of clay, tiny pearls or foreign
bodies of some kind. When this has
been done, the oyster is turned over, and
similar the poor uncomfortable fellow is obliged to submit to a
process on ids
other side, lie is then put back into a
pond, where nourishing ho is kept than well and fat by a
diet more nice. After a
few months, or sometimes his a year or two,
he is again taken from bed, his pearls
are taken out, and he is eaten.
A Chinese Hospital.
In , one of „ the inost . i rinvded , , lliorougli- ,, ,
, 0 Chinese quarter of .shanghai
lhe « , ‘ as s t 0, ,(i fo r {orl Y y«a« « »«’«
native hospital, . . ) , mainly . , supported by the
Lu>op<*« a —i.n.i.y. \ crystrange its
wards look at, fust to Lnghsh visitors.
tons', j ist'ingof ting jf a ■!^teunhoo bam mat i a and whi’w it w.i td'i'vd I xd
r'Lw > « X n^l J^embul^'flho’c 'Tioi led wlni
e su ueo, dis
^ nnn,! ..hrisGinf Ti liiini f hos^.S i.iD.itv
y <JUS u h 1 D hospital an I
Yr-irlv'aljoiiTsOfl .
Tt-Lul «; llf mtlentsmuw i-o
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-
mttliv ‘ ot the
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.*J ihuir ’ far homes manv ,/ a
j tp'anbodilv j } s ( . , n .j e( j w'bHicvc n . : itc r
hcalin- for Iliad
| nowhere at home or abroad, could lustier
Cn , i bll ,i„. <i, un „i,.,: '
l.edical ta I nf e - of combinin
and Gospel work. Daily crowded Die
waitin'' 7 room, seated for::««(. is
with nc „ W0In ,. n .,,,,1 children i„ n „
before the dispensing silnarv, hour, and daily an
English mi as conv-rsan- with
their language as'his own. -t- before
this waiting .7 multitude th" word of life
b „| i( , v0 ” wl -ite S a Christian i.livsician
who , to , some yG.mha-1 . , ., he ,m- -, -g , .to .
«!iS
knowiedge than any other nation in the
world ’ I" an institution like this
, flail un(1( . r a gm „, physician
ra!tv the blind re t ire siuht quire/. the deaf
' the Unt/tm
hra r , amc waik .
How Hr Helped.
•* We children played church to day—
What We’d quite a congrStation.” take'" I asked,
“ part did </O"
With smile of approbation.
“ 1 could He said, not sing, slow 1 reflection; could n ot preach,”
in
“ m tali you now I helped, papa
I took up Die collection.
—Frank H. Stauffer, in Bo ear.
NO. II.
A SNOW PICTURE.
The snow! Th’ unpitying, ceaseless snow!
whole nig bt through, the whole day
j
anrt drifted dow „, v .ard-Ml
-p-r- ........
souls.
And ever, every**, it falls and drifts
0 er town and Held,oer hill and valley,till
Is covered deep with its white purity
Till even it doth seem as if the Lord,
Bad cast the mantle of his pity
O’er s» the world, with all Its crime
And sin and stain!
The trees are bleak and bare, wnh searching
arms
Uplifted to the sky in mtfto appeal
Against the weary burden, White and cold,
Upon them. Deep hid rests the earth
Beneath « pure, white coverlid, ail'd nil
Tin 1 country road lies half-impassable,
Beneath a dull and leaden sky,
Across whose dreary, dismal face,
The countless snow-flakes, like a swarm
Of white' beef, ever downward sail
In silent showers.
•—Alexander iV. Dc Menib
PITH AND POINT.
A land grabber—A steam shovel.
“I sec you keep your business to your
self.” “Yes; it wouldn’t he mine if I
didn’t .”—Bouton Gait tte.
All great men arc attentive listeners.
Many of them acquire the habit by being
married ,—SomcrciUe ■/ /« rnal.
The midnight scranader’a come
Ills ballad wiki to tame,
And though old boots around him hum
He’ll guitar just the hi me.
—Oevelnna Sun.
AVhen a man attempts to warm his
hands over a hotel register it is high time
to inquire into his mental condition.—
Hotel Mail.
girl Away found with superstition. four-leaf A clovers Michigan and
lias 2,155
isn’t married yet. An Omaha girl who
found , it how to make pumpkin pie World. was
married in three months.— Omaha
Wife (who has had expression her photograph about
taken)—“I think the
the mouth,. John, is too firm.” Husband
*—“A trifle, jievlUips, but it was shut, probably
an effort «for you to keep it my
dear ,”—New York Sim.
With mu' digits growing numb
To the core,
We believe that winter’s cow
As of yore;
And we delicately toy
With o joEviet, street etty.
As we “Close hear the otlice door!” boy:
dat
—Ter as Siftings.
“There, now,” sad Mrs. Dookin,
“Susan B. Anthony says she can pick
out a great woman for every great man
the world has produced.” Mr. Dookin
did not reply, but went out, and sat on
the saw-buck and wondered why Miss
Anthony didn’t pick one out for him.—
Ghicof/o News.
Britisher “And have you any—aw—
p, 1 \vk in Ciuclnnaughty like Hyde Fawk,
y« know?’* Miss Bacon—“Any pork!
VYell, in good, round fat numbers, I
should say about 50,000 to the square
mile.” Britisher -“Fifty thousand
square miles of pawk? By jove, now you
really surprise me, Miss Bacon.”— Har
per's Baiter.
Dogs With the “Rallies!”
A Philadelphia dog doctor says, in the
Times of that city: “Hydrophobia much is an
incurable disease. Of late years
has been said and written about this,
and I have read many comments that, my
experience fells me are wrong. I be
lieve it is a disease of the brain which
has its origin in the teeth. The disease,
however, is hundreds not near as prevalent dogs as some been
think, and of have
killed through ignorance. the A dog may
get, the and toothache just decayed, same ns the it
man, if the tooth is or
nerve affected, a secretion is formed in
the gums. The pain sets the dogcrazy, several
and he will mope around for
days and want to keep to himself. Tbo
dog’s mouth is filled with minute blood
vessels, and the secretion formed gets
into these vessels and contaminates the
blood. All this time the dog is think
ing only of the pain, arid it linully be
comes so acute as to destroy his reason,
and he becomes crazy, or rabid, as it is
called. this When he his is blood dangerous, is poisoned and by is
secretion
liable to contaminate wound others, no matter dog is
bow slight, the is. If a
really mad, or shows any sign of the dis
ease, the only safe wav is to kill him as
quickly and painlessly as possible.
Ghost-Ifminted Ships.
Ghost haunted ships were of all thing*
those which the sailor regarded with
most terror, and it is not many years
since that an account was published of
some sailors who refused to serve on
board a British man oi-uar because, as
they said, there was a ghost aboard.’
When pressed to give a reason for their
belief they -.iiid they smelled him. One
night, however, they said in a state had of genuine only
terror, they not and
smelled but seen the ghost—aye,
heard it, too, behind some beer barrels,
and ihey would rather s.vim than remain
aboard. The captain, however, ordered
them to be put in irons until they were
well out at sea and then flogged. After
that he heard nothing more of the ghost.
Ships thus haunted were not only
doomed to perish, in the belief of
sailors, but tl.eir very presence brought
danger decayed to all who looked upon them.
The hulls of vessels reputed to
be haunted would drive the fisher folk
on some of the Scotch and Irish Coasts
from the most promising bays, and
no one would venture even to bathe near
them, such wild unreasonable terror did
they provoke.— h,nhw. Te!e<jraph.
.Most great works are accomplished
slowly. The best of prophets of thf»
future is the past.
