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The Good and the III.
Speak a bad word and it echoes forever
Upward and downward the length of
earth; 9
Apeak a good word and its music will never
Wander a way from the place of its birth.
Write a bad sentence and nothing can ban-
ish
The freshness of words we would gladly
undo;
Write a good thought and in air it will van¬
ish;
The good we must ever and always "cnetr.
ALICE’S FORTUNE.
BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.
“Sister Theodosia,” said a feeble
voice from the bed.
The Sister of Charity, a mild-faced
woman of middle age, answered the
summons of the dying man, and ap¬
proached the bedside.
The dying man was Hector Morifz, a
carpenter, who had fallen from a house
which he was building, a few days be¬
fore, and so injured himself that he
could not recover. lie lived just out¬
side the village of S:. Barbe, with his
little girl, Alice, now seven years old.
His wife had died three years before,
but Alice, child as she was, could make
coffee and cook an omelet as skilfully
as if she were twice as old, and had
acted as her lather’s little housekeeper.
So it happcucd that, being alone, an
#
unusual affection bad sprung up
between Alice and her father.
The Sister of Charity approached the
bedside. The sick man’s face expressed
anxiety, and his eye turned from the
nurse to his little girl, who was pale
and grief-stricken, yet had self-control
enough not to bet Ay her emotion lest
it should distress her father in his last
moments.
“What cau I do for you, M. Moritz?”
asked Sister Theodosia, in a gentle
voice.
His glance wuudered to his little girl
once more.
“Alice,” he gasped, “provided for.”
“Do you menu that you wish Alice
provided for? ‘ asked the sister, striv¬
ing to interpret his broken words.
“Already provided for—money
there,” and he pointed vaguely down¬
wards.
“Poor man! He is wandering in
mind,” thought the sister,—for he was
pointing to the floor; but she thought
it best to appear to have understood
him.
“Yes,” she said gently, “have no
auxicty. ” lie looked at her wistfully,
and then, seeming to think ho was un¬
derstood, he fell back upon the pillow
from which he had lifted his head, and
a moment after expired.
When Alice realized that her father
was really dead, she gave way to exces¬
sive grief—so excessive that it soon
wore itself out, leaving her pale and
sorrowful. Sister Theodosia took her
into her lap, and pressed her head
against her bosom in sad compassion,
for little Alice was now without father
or mother.
In due time Hector Moritz was bur¬
ied, and the next thing to be complet¬
ed was, how should Alice be disposed
of?
Hector 3Ioritz left two near relatives,
both cousins. One of these was a thriv¬
ing tradesman in the next town, a man
who had prospered, partly through his
selfishness, which was excessive. The
other, also residing in the next town,
was a poor shoemaker with a large fam¬
ily, who found it hard enough to make
both ends meet; but. was, withal, kind
anti cheerful, beloved by the children
for whom he could do so little, aud pop.
ular in the village.
These two cousins met at the funeral
of Hector 3Ioritz.
“I suppose Hector died poor,” said
31. Ponchard, the tradsman, a little un-
aasily.
“This house is all he owned, so far
as 1 know,” said the notary, “and it is
mortgaged for nearly its value.”
“Humph! that is bad for the child,**
said 31. Ponchard.
“I suppose you will take her honj*,
M. Ponchard?” said the notary bluntly.
‘•We all know that you are aprospero*
man.”
The tradesman drew back.
“If I am prosperous ’ he said, “I
have had to work for my money, It is
all I can do to provide for my own fam-
Uy. I can’t support other people’ 8
children. ”
“Then you won't do anything for the
child?”
“I didn’t say that. I’ll give her
twenty-five—nay, fifty francs. That’*
all I ought to do.”
“And how long will fifty francs sup¬
port her?” said the notary disdainfully,
fop he detegt ed the meanness of the rich
tradesman. ,
« V That is not my affair. She need
not starve. She can go to the alms¬
house.”
“Who speaks of the almshouse?”
spoke up M. Corbet, the poor shoe¬
maker.
“M. Ponchard suggests that Alice go
to the almshouse,” said the notary.
“Not while I have a home to offer
her,” said the poor cousin warmly.
*. I But, M. Corbet,” said the notary
“you are poor. Can you afford, with
your many children, to undertake an
additional burden?”
“I never look on them as burdens—
they joy and comfort, * f said M.
are my
Corbet. “1 can’t give Alice a luxuri¬
ous home, but such as I have she is wel¬
come to. I am sure the good God will
not let me starve, if I undertake the
care of my little orphan couun.”
i l He’s a fool!” thought M. Ponchard
contemptuously. “lie will always be
miserably poor.”
But the notary grasped his hand,
and said, — “M. Corbet, I respect you.
If you are not rich in money, you are
rich in a good heart, and that is the
best kind of riches.”
So, no opposition being made, little
Alice went home with the poor shoe¬
maker. As for the cottage, that was
left in the hands of the notary to sell.
As already intimated, there was t mort¬
gage upon it to nearly its full value, so
that it was not likely to bring much
over. What little there should be
would go to Alice.
Several months passed without any
opportunity to sell the cottage. Dur¬
ing that time Alice remained at the
house of M. Corbet, treated, I was
about to say, like one of the family.
This, however, would not be strictly
correct. She was not treated like one
of the family, but better thau one of
the family; in short, like a favored
guest, for whom nothing was too
good.
But unfortunately at this juncture,
31. Corbet fell sick, and having al¬
ways been compelled to live to the
limit of his small income, had nothing
saved up for the rainy day which had
come upon him, and so the family were
soon in a bad strait.
The notary heard of it and was
stirred with compassion.
“If only Alice had something,” he
said to Sister Theodosia, whom he met
one day at a sick bed; for the good
Sister of Charity spent her time in
tending the sick without compensation,
“if only Alico had some small property
she might come to the relief of her
poor relation.”
“And has she not?” asked Sister
Theodosia.
“Nothing that I know of beyond the
house, and upon that there is a mort¬
gage to nearly its full value.”
“But her father upon his death-bed
told me that she was provided for.”
“Did he, indeed?” asked the notary,
surprised. “Did he say authiug more?”
* * No, he was unable to; but he
pointed to the floor. I am afraid he
was out of his head, and meant noth¬
ing.”
“Stop! I have an idea,” said the
notary suddenly. “Can you leave for
a few minutes, and go with me to the
cottage?”
“Yes, I can be spared for half an
hour,” said Sister Theodosia.
Together they went to the cottage,
which chanced to be close by.
“Now,” said the notary, when Hiey
were once inside, “to what part of the
floor did M. Moritz point? Cau you
remember?’’
“There,” said the sister.
“Very well; we will soon see
whether there is anything in my idea.
The notary procured a hatchet, and
succeeded after a time in raising a
plank of the fi ior, Sister Theodosia
looking on, meanwhile, with surprise.
But her surprise wa3 increased when
on the plank being raised, a box was
discovered underneath.
C i Help mo lift it,” said the notary.
With the aid of the hatchet, he re¬
moved the cover of the box, and the
two uttered an exclamation of surprise
when underneath they found a large
collection of gold coins. On the top
was placed a sheet of note paper, on
which were written these words, in the
handwriting of the deceased:
“The gold in this box represents the sav¬
ing* of many years. It is for my daughter,
Alice. For her sake I have lived frugally,
and I hope it may save her from '.-ant when
I am gone. Hector Moritz.”
‘•How much is there?” asked Sister
| Theodosia.
‘•There are two hundred and fifty
Napoleons. These mak*e five thousand
francs. Truly, M. Moritz must have
been frugal to save so much.”
“Then little Alice is an heiress,” said
Sister Theodosia.
‘‘It is as you say.”
“lam very glad. Now she cau pay
her board to M. Corbet, and he will lose
nothing by his kindness.” «
“I will go tonight and tell him.”
The poor shoemaker was still sick,
and his money had wholly given cut,
so that the family had had no supper.
“I am sorry you are sick, my friend,”
said the notary.
“Yes,’’ said the poor shoemaker,
sighing; “it is unfortunate.”
4 M. Corbet, you are a good man,and
truly charitable. But I have good news
for you.”
“Good news? Well, it could never
come at a better time.”
You thought Alice was poor.”
“And%he is not?”
“On the contrary, she is an heiresa.”
‘•What do you mean?”
“Her father left five thousand francs
for her fortune.”
“Is that true?” asked the shoemaker
and his wife, bewildered.
“Yes; and therefore it Is only fitting
that she should pay her board. How
long has she been here?”
“Four months.”
“Seventeen weeks. Now, as her
father’s executor, I am going to allow
you eight francs a week, and you shall
undertake to provide her with a home
and clothing. For seventeen weeks,
then, that she has been here I owe you
one hundred and twenty-six francs. I
pay it to you at once.”
“But it is too much,” said M. Corbet,
surveying the gold with stupefaction,
for he hud never seen as much before.
“It is right.”
“We are saved t” said his wife,
thankfully. “I will go out and buy
some bread. Children, you shall have
some supper.”
At this thore was a shout of joy from
the children, and tears of gratitude
flowed down the cheeks of the poor
shoemaker, who pointed to Alice, and
said:—
“She has brought mo good fortune.”
Before the money was half expended,
the shoemaker had recovered, and went
to work again. The eight francs a
week he received for Alice proved a
geeat help to him, and enabled him to
procure more comforts than before.
Prom that time M. Corbet prospered,
and was even able to save up money,
and all through his unselfish kindness
to little Alice, through whom he be¬
lieves good fortune has come to him
and his. — Yankee Bla&e.
Confidence in the Old Horse.
The little son of General Crittenden
was devoted to his father's war-horse,
that was named for the illustrious John
J. Crittenden, of Kentucky, the child’s
grandfather. He asked his father to
tell him of a retreat he made during the
war, but at a certain point said,
“Father, were you on John J. ?” Be-
ing answered affirmatively, the young¬
ster slid down from the paternal knee,
and was toddling off as fast as his little
legs could carry him, when his father,
said :
“Where are you going, my son?”
“Father,” he said, turning and show¬
ing a face full of reproach, “John J.
never would have retreated if you hadn’t
turned him ’round.”
This same boy grew to manhood, and
died with his face to the foe with Cus¬
ter and his men on the Little Big Horn.
— Harper's Magazine.
Freezing Process in Tunnelling.
The freezing process is being effect¬
ively used in the cutting of the St.
Clair tunnel under the Detroit River.
Whenever water is met with the freez¬
ing mixture is projected by pipes, and
the water and friable debris become
solidified, and the work can be pro¬
ceeded with. The tunnelling is pro¬
gressing at the rate of seven feet per
day at each end. The shields are being
used, in the hard blue clay, by digging
out the centre with piiks, and then
pushing them forward eighteen inches
at a time by hydraulic rams.
Aud Not Half Try.
Alonzo—Oh, Bessie, I wish I had
ability enough to make something of
myself.
Bobby—Papa says you have for mak¬
ing a fool of yourself.— Binghampton
Republican.
“HOSPITAL BIRDS/’
They Do Not Sing, But Eat and
Drink Heartily.
Peculiar Patients Described by
a New York Doctor.
“Did you ever hear of the hospital
bird?” remarked a doctor at Bellevue to
a New York News reporter the other
day.
“Is it a canary or the lark that sing3
in heaven with its nest upon the
ground?” queried the latter. “Neither.
The hospital bird is the term we apply
to the fellows who winter in hospitals
aud come out of their comfortable nests
with the regularity of the flowers that
bloom in the spring. They manage to
be well lodged and fed during the win¬
ter, and the change for the better that
comes with the spring is simply won¬
derful. No matter what the disease is,
when it is of a medical character, it
commences to disappear.”
“But can’t Doctor Newcome, the
examining surgeons, tell what man
should be admitted to the hospital and
what man is feigning disease?”
“Certainly, but when the hospital
bird is admitted he is sick. It may be
that he has been suffering from whiskey
or an empty stomach, from cold and ex¬
posure, from the grip or from any one
of the thousand ills to which flesh is
heir. With the exception of rheuma¬
tism there is hardly a disease in the
present advanced stage of medical sci¬
ence that can be successfully simulated.
With rheumatism you have only the pa¬
tient’s word, except it be of the inflam¬
matory character, to depend upon. It
is not, as a rule, that the patient does
not come honestly into the public hos¬
pitals that is the evil, but that once in
they stay there long after they are
cured, occupying beds that should be
at the disposal of others. Seeing that
they are well cared for and have noth¬
ing to do they m:^e up their minds to
stay in as long as they are allowed.
These are the kind of patients who tell
that wild, weird tale of the black bot-
tie.
“The story goes that when the at¬
tending physicians at BjIIcvuc have a
hopeless case or are tired of treating a
troublesome patient, they tell the nurse
to give him a dose that will send him
to sleep for an eternity, under the
pretense that it is medicine. Of course,
there is not an atom of truth in this
fairy tale, but what is done with men
suspected of being hospital birds at
Bellevue is to send them to the Charity
Hospital on Blackwell’s Island or the
Homoeopathic Hospital on Ward’s. In
these institutions the food, except
where ordered by the physician, is
plain and coarse, and all patients whe-
arc considered able to work for their
keep are made to do so. Fellows that
we have had in Bellevue for months be¬
came cured and demanded their dis¬
charge from these institutions in three
days.
“Although it is extremely difficult to
simulate a disease in order to gain ad¬
mission to a public hospital it is quite
easy to delay recovery and simulate the
existence of symptoms that have long
since disappeared. In such cases it is
quite common to exhaust the resources
of all the disgusting drugs in the dis¬
pensatory on the hospital bird who ob¬
jects to flying.”
“But can he not be discharged?”
“Certainly he can, but should the
physician ordering the discharge make
a mistake he will find, perhaps, his re¬
putation ruined aud himself held up
to public cen-ura in the newspapers.
Naturally ho does not care to take the
risk as it is none of his fuueral.
“In this respect it is that the private
hospitals suffer more from the hospital
bird of the more respectable kind. It
is simply wonderful the ease with
which doctors grant to private patients,
wdio have no money letters of admis¬
sion to institutions like St. Luke’s, the
New York. St. Joseph’s IIosp tal and
others. The attending physicians do
not wish to discredit the certificate
presented, which in many cases are
granted only to get rid of an impecun¬
ious patient. deserving people
* i A great many com¬
plain of the character of the food sup¬
plied to patients sent by the Commis¬
sioners of Charities and Correction to
the hospitals on Randall’s and Ward’s
Islands. It is certainly not eqjial to
lhat furnished in Bollevuj. The reason
is simply this: These hospitals receive
nearly all cur hospital birds, and if the
bill of fare approached too c ose to
Delmonico’s we would be over.ua.
With all the care raken to make the
outside better than the inside to a tramp
and a bummer, there is not an hospital
from Maine to California in which they
do not manage to winter every year at
the expense of the charitable.”
Components of Wheat
The yield of a single grain of wheat
is never less than forty-fold under fa¬
vorable conditions, and when sown thin
it should be much greater. Every
pound of wheat should produce a
bushel in all sections where wheat is
successlully raised. In rainy sections
the portion of starch in the grain in-
creases 3 or 4 per cent., while the gluten
decreases in a similar proportion, com-
pared with dry regions like Colorado.
The three superficial coverings of wheat
constitute the bran, while the next
three layers are composed of gluten, the
most valuable part of the graia. It
comprises 10 to 161 per cent, of
grain, and the more gluten there is
the wheat, the better its quality.
middle of the wheat grain is
starch, comprising about 66 per cent,
its bulk. The starch grains are built
up into columns of irregular ceils,
one of which is enveloped in a coating
of woody fibre that materially
feres in the milling. The dark
and the brush on the end are scoured off
in milling, because they make the flour
dark-colored.
On a Mountain of Fire.
William B. R.chardson, the
Boston naturalist, h-us succeeded ia
reaching the toj> of the volcano Colim!i,
in Mexico.
The feat was a during one.
son pitched his tent at the upper
of pine trees and just below the
line of ashes and lava. The trees
above had all been burned, and it
impossible to walk in the deep bed
ashes. From this point Richardson
his Indian followers could hear
sound of air from numerous reuts in
side of the volcano. The
were much terrified, and could be
duced to remain only by the
persuasion of the naturalist. One
during the eruption they could
tinctly see the deep red glow of melted!
lava as it ran down the line, a lierjB
stream, burying itself in ashes, tree*
or in beds of brooks and older beds ofl
ashe® ■
lava. One deuse cloud of
covered the party thickly and drovtfl
■
birds lower down.
Killing Warts.
Probably there is no skin blends®
that is more annoying than warts.
come without any apparent reason,
by so many are considered a mark ofl
plebeian connections, that they are oil
ten a cause of quite unnecessary sham*
The best way to remove warts is tak*
no stock in superstitions, but go to tii*
root of the trouble. |
Take a needle, drive it well into th*
wart, then heat the needle by means oH
a gas jet or matches, till the wart ifl
c^voked; that is, till it looks whit*
Then remove the needle, and doa’I
touch the wart for a day or so, when*
will dry up and fall off. |
This is a sure cure. No scar will 1*
left, and the operation is attended wit®
vt>ry little pain. — N. Y. Journal.
Just as He Advertised.
Mr3. Coolum—What is the pried
your canned beef this morning,
Sandum?
“Thirty-eight cents, ma’am!”
“Why, that’s the same price it w
yesterday morning; you forget thl
you advertise ‘sweeping reductions!”'!
“Not at all, ma’am. You’ll ■
them—er just below—at the broo* f
J
counter.”— American Grocer.
Using Due Care.
Jack—It was very thoughtless I • r B
ycur father to intrude so abruptly.
Clara—Not at all. You see,
elder sister lost her breach of ■
ise ease for not having a witness,
as father had to pay all the costs,
does not want another suit with; 1
good evidence .—From the Lawri t
American.
Cured.
Biliks (after a long absence)—J
how is Jinks getting along? Is lie!
madly in love with Miss De Pretty
ever? I
O d Friend—Oil, he's all over fl|
“You don’t say so.”
“Yes, indeed. Been married to I
a year.”