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THE MAN TO KNOW.
young man. the hoc* Will bid you read.
The seaa» from Kant to Plato,
put get acquainted with yourself;
You are no small potato.
though you swing a blacksmith’s
sledge
If o f dig within th9 trenches,
gold up your head with those that «!*;
Upon the highest benches.
Oh, read the sages of the world
j And let their wisdom win you ;
But get acquainted with yourself
And find what you’ve got in you.
In modest arrogance of soul
Make your own valuation; (
_
Then slowly make'the sluggard world
Accept your estimation.
Go. get acquainted with yourself
Before your leaf is yellow ;
You’ll find the man beneath your hai
Is something of a fellow.
Then stir him out and prod him up
-Before his force has fainted.
,
Go, get acquainted with yourself :
Then make the world acquainted
Then trust the man beneath your hat,
And when you come to know him
You’ll find a fellow fft to grace
A novel or a poem.
Go. get acquainted with yoursel‘3
You’ll find that very few are,
For tasks for which you were designed,
A better man than your are.
Young man, the books will bid you read
The seers from Kant to Plato,
But get acquainted with yourself;
You are no small potato.
—Sam Walter Foss, in Boston Globe.
m UNHEEDED WARNING
f ■’ HE midday ex
A press was speed¬
>4 ing fast to the
north of Eng¬
land. In a certain
first-class c o in
i partment in the
j & front part of the
X train sat young
Eric Vyvyan, and
* in the corner, op¬
posite him, his pretty girlish
wife. By dint of pressing a bribe,
in the form of a large silver coin,
into .he guard’s greedy palm, they
had secured the carriage to them¬
selves, and were passing the time by
playing “Halma.” This—under any
circumstances—aggravating game was
made doubly trying to the temper by
the continued jolt, jolt of the train,
thereby shaking all the poor little red
and green men out of their rightful
standing places.
“Ah! that’s hard luck”—this from
Enc, as his wife landed one of her men
on the opposite side of the board by
jumping over the heads of his red
ones. “What a duffer lam, to.be
sure, not to have seen that open gap!
This game is too clever for me, by
Jove. Have a tussle at chess, Gwen—
I’ll beat you in that, anyhow. ”
But Gwennie’s laughing answer was
drowned in one long, shrill, deafening
from the engine, then a fearful
causing the train to stop sud¬
and a noise of crashing and
of timber, distant at first,
then loudsr and nearer. Eric rushed
to the door, but—oh, hor¬
ror !—it was locked—perhaps the other
would yield—when something
seemed to drag him back—hislegs felt
tied—was he paralyzed?
He was'Struggling desperately to re¬
gain the use of his legs, which had
grown into two heavy, useless weights,
when the carriage gave a sudden lurch
to one side, throwing him down alto¬
gether. There was an agonized scream
from Gwennie, then total darkness.
Eric made frantic efforts to save his
wife, but he lost her in the darkness,
and felt powerless to stop himself slid¬
ing down underground—down into
the damp earth—down into darkness
blacker than night—darkness that
could be felt. It was suffocating; he
could not breathe.
Another second and he must reach
the bottom and his brains be dashed
out; but better anything than this
dark, giddy descent, when the sound
of splintering timber, mingled with
the cries of women and children, broke
again on his ears, faintly at first, then
louder and louder, till with deafening
nearness, as though a thousand giants
were hammering the wretched train
to shivers close to his ears. His head
must surely burst with, the noise, but
suddenly his eyes opened, and-- It
was only a dream after all, for he wa«
safe in his own bed, though his head
was still aching and his heart beating
with loud thumps.
it The hot rolls and various lit¬
savory
tle breakfast dishes were rapidly grow¬
ing cold, in spite of their shiniug eov
ers. Breakfast had been on the table
half an hour—for the gold hands of
the “grandfather” clock in the corner
of the cozy dining-room pointed to
three minutes to ten.
Mrs. Vyvyan, with a slightly impa¬
tient expression in her deep blue eyes,
Fas standing by the window, idly
F&tctong the rain pattering down,
splashing into the already overflowing
gutter and swelling the black puddles
in the middle of the road below.
Sh* had read the Morning Post, and
nil the items of news she cared about
in the Times (her husband’s special
newspaper), and had begun to wonder
■*hen Eric would come down, and
whether the effort of dressing on this
relaxing October morning had proved
too great on exertion for him.
It was unusual for Eric to be so
late, for he had generally made his
appearance some time before the 9.30
breakfast gong had sounded.
In a minute or so, however, Gwennie
heard his dressing-room door open
hastily; then the’ refrain of “Love’s
Own Sweet Song” whistled gayly, and
in another half-second Eric was in the
room.
“Am I desperately late? Awfully
sorry. Oh! but I don’t believe that
clock. Some maliciously disposed per¬
son has moved on- the hands at least a
quarter of an hour”—laughing. “But
G|ven, darling!”—more seriously—
‘ ‘you should* not have waited all this
time for me. Anything interesting?”
—going to the hall as he spoke and
unlocking the letter box. “All for
me, and all business”—turning over
four or five official looking envelopes,
addressed mostly in cleai', business¬
like characters to “Eric C. Vyvyan,
Esq., ,7 Chesham street, Belgravia, S.
W.”
‘ ‘I expected a letter from Hetty to
tell me when her baby’s christening is
to take place,” said Gwennie; “but
they want us to go there before the
end of the month, sol suppose we had
better fix some day next week, had we
not, Rick, dear?”
“Well, I suppose I must be resigned
to fate, though I know some one that
never gives her poor, henpecked hus¬
band a chance of saying ‘nay’ to any¬
thing.” said
“Oh! Rick; and you know you
you would like to go, and that you are
looking forward to some hunting.”
Then, laughing merrily as she caught
a twinkle in Eric’s eye: “How shall I
ever live out a long life with such a
dreadful tease as you ! Really, though,
I think it will he lovely at Daleford
thi6 weather ; Hetty says all kheir vio¬
lets are growing beautifully out of
doors, and she does not think we shall
find it as cold as we did last year—
they have had hot water pipes laid all
over the house.”
But Eric did not answer, and Gwen¬
nie saw a thoughtful expression on his
handsome, expressive face; then she
guessed that (though only joking about/this just
now) he really did not care
promised visit. Perhaps he does not
want to be disturbed now he has only
just returned to town, and has begun
writing his new hook, too, thought
Gwennie. Yet it was characteristic of
Eric that he could write better and
more easily when he was in a strange
place and saw fresh scenery and fresh
life around him.
“His brains got to want oiling—his
thoughts would not run smoothly when
he stayed long in one place,” he always
said. So it was they never settled
down for more than three months with¬
out change, much as they both liked
their pretty, cosy house in the most
fashionable part of Belgravia.
Indeed, Eric’s most successful work
had been written during their travels
abroad at a time when he could only
manage to squeeze out odd half hours
at a time for writing, so busy were
they sight seeing and exploring Spain.
Perhaps, after all, Eric was lazy,
Gwennie thought; again, most men
disliked country house visiting, and
looked on it as a bore, she knew, but
he would enjoy it when they got there.
The Vyvyans had already stayed at
Daleford twice since their marriage,
and Hettie Townley and Gwennie had
been great friends all their life. Hettie
■was married about two years and a
half ago’to the son of a wealthy country after
squire in the north of England;
her marriage she introduced Gwennie
to young Vyvyan, a friend of her hus¬
band’s, and the introduction had turned
out to be a case of mutual love at first
sight. study prepared for
Eric was in bis
an undisturbed morning at his writing,
when the butler came in with a tele¬
gram. if possible, chris¬
“Come to-morrow',
tening Saturday, wire reply,” ran the
message. mind that
Eric had no more peaeaof
morning, for Gwennie Was quite ex¬
cited at the thought of seeing her
friend again so soon, and said she
could easily get ready to go to-morrow.
And that terrible dream last night
returned to Eric’s mind with horrible
vividness. They must start for Dale¬
ford to-morrow to be there in time for
the christening on Saturday.
To-morrow, Friday, October 13,
was that meant as a warning, v too?
But.no—and he quickly thrust aside
those superstitions thoughts, One
day in the week was as good as an¬
other, and as for taking dreams into
everyday wakeful life and dwelling on
the horrors, it was absurd; no sane
man would put off his engagement,
however trivial, for the sake of a
grotesque nightmare, Dreams had
never any connection with the future.
‘ ‘Men dwelt too much on dreams and
such like things in this age of sup¬
posed enlightenment, and the world
was growing more morbid everyday,”
he had told the reading public in one
of his works.
Yet, reason as he would this morn¬
ing, he was unable to shake off a sort
of ‘-uncanny” feeling, and something
seemed to whisper that this dream
was sent to him as a warning.
The next morning Eric was not in
his usual spirits, and instead of his
bright laugh and clever talk he was
almost silent. The terrible railway
acAwlent, with all its dreadful details,
had come before him in his sleep
again last night. This time, however,
he had felt it was a dream only, yet
could not awake himself before came
the horrible climax—and instead of
forgetting it all this morning, the day¬
light brought it before his mind’s eye
-clearly and distinctly.
“Did you sleep welWast night,
Rick?” said Gwennie, at last.
“Yes, too well; I had nightmare
with all its attendant horrors, and
have rather a bad headache in con¬
sequence.” I thought
* ‘Oh! I am so sorry. you
had one of your headaches, you must
have been working too hard; but
surely it will make it worse to travel
all that way. Shall we not go to-day,
after jail?” And, as Eric was silent,
she went on: “I don’t care much
about the christening really. Rick,
dear; let’s send Hettie a telegram,
she will know it is not on purpose if
we are not there to-morrow.”
For one second Eric felt inclined to
give way to his presentiment—then—
why should so many foolish people
be disappointed just because he had a
foolidb fad ?—passed through his mind
—who but a fool would j>ut off a
journey and long engagement for the
sake of a dream?
“No, no, Gwen,” he said quickly,
‘ ‘I shall be all right, darling, when we
leave smoky London far behind us. ”
Gwennie brightened again at this,
and agreed that it was depressing
town this muggy, wet weather.
“Shall we take Halma or Reverski
with us in the train? But no, I will
leave out the chess board, and then
you will give me some more lessons,”
she cried, making hasty preparations
for their journey, and in less than an
hour they were rattling down to Eus
ton station.
“Terrible railway -accident, Fatal
collision between two trains on the
Great Northern line. Thirty-five per¬
sons killed. Many injured.” These
words, which headed a column in all
the daily papers on Saturday morning,
October 14, threw many families in the
United Kingdom into sudden deep
sorrow and consternation.
The paragraph went on to explain
the cause of the accident, and how the
front part of both trains had been
completely shattered into splinters,
and the shock of the collision had
thrown the down train off the line—
down the steep embankment, so that
passengers in the back carriages had
no means of escape either, and very
few were those who had been saved
from instant death in the ill-fated
train. Adi the travelers in the.up train
were also more or less mortally in¬
jured, if not killed outright on that
fatal Friday.
Four and a half years had passed,
and the railway accident was forgotten
by most people; still there were a few
who could never forget the sad occur¬
rence that had blighted their lives,
and Eric Vyvyau was one. His was
too deep a heart wound ever to heal
entirely in this world. He was just
now staying at Daleford. It was
July, and the Townleys had a garden
party, at which all the cream of Dale
ford society was congregated that hot
afternoon.
On a rustic seat at the far end of
the large sloping lawn sat fouF young
ladies, and, standing in’ groups of
threes and fours, were eight or nine
others—some pretty and chick look¬
ing, others plain and dowdy; some
were bashful looking debutantes, but
others very much “out” and self
possessed looking—a group such'as
you will always see in any large gather¬
ing of this kind in the country.
“Who is that very cross-looking
man sitting near the band?” This in
a stage whisper from the fairest maiden
in the group.
“Who do you mean?” answered her
companion on the seat, “That dark
man talking to Mrs. Barker?”
“No, no, not that one,” in a voice of
scorn from the speaker; “that’s a friend
the Carthew’s brought with them this
afternoon. I mean that handsome,
fair man, standing up near the yew
tree there by himself. ”
“Oh! he is a" friend staying with
the Townleys—Vyvyan, I believe, his
name is,” broke in another voice.
“He looks as though he thought the
whole affair an awful bore, ” remarked
another.
“I don’t think he is handsome—
nasty face, he has. ’ ’
“No; I don’t think he is, either.
At least—that is—he would be if he
only did not look so cross and sar¬
castic. ”
“I am quite sure he is a horrid
man” (this from another critic).
“Why should he not make himself
pleasant, and not stand alone picking
everyone to pieces with his eyes? I
hate that sort of men; but let’s walk
round the grounds.” And the speaker
walked off, the rest following suit.
Thus is our appearance and even onr
character judged by utter strangers in
this hard-hearted, j^rosaic world. Gen¬
erally wrong, however, is their ver¬
dict concerning onr character.
An d now the hostess was walking
around the kitchen garden. An elder¬
ly gentleman with white hair and a
kind, intelligent face was with her.
They spoke softly, but scraps of con¬
versation in the lady’s voice could be
overheard.
“Yes, it is very sad, poor fellow.
So kind hearted he is, though quite a
changed man.”
(An indistinct murmur from the
gentleman.)
“Oh, he was very ill for nearly
seven menths. He was found quite
unconscious under the debris of the
wrecked train, with liis arm round his
wife. She was killed on the spot. So
pretty, she was, with real yellow, gold
hair, and so nice, too. Dear, dear
Gwen,” and. Mrs. Townley’s voice
grew soft and her eyes misty. “Such
a young couple, and only married’a
year and a half; hut Eric told me has
never really lived a moment of his
life since he lost his wife. He says he
feels so old now. But don’t talk about
your favorite subject—namely deams
—before him. I told you his sa*d story
because I knew it would interest you,
as you believe in such things; forget but,
though, of course, he can never
it himself, he can’t bear to think that
others should know anything about
his unheeded warning.—Sala’s Jour¬
nal.
Trained Nurses.
There was a time when, in some
circles in our country, it was regarded
as quite an important part of a wo¬
man’s education that she should know
something of the proper care of the
sick. To be a good nurse was to win
respect, and this qualification was
often thought to counterbalance defi¬
ciency in other respects. But the
times changed. The art of nursing,
which was almost an inheritance in
some families, and sedulously culti¬
vated in others, fell in disuse. It was
no longerratedsoliighamong feminine
accomplishments. In fact, there was
a disposition to class the art of nursing
with various other old-time employ¬
ments for women, such as spinning
and weaving.
Again the times changed, and the
professional nurse appeared. Not,
indeed, as a new official, for she had
long been in existence, but she began
to be pojxular, the community recog¬
nized her value and she found her
field. No one can study the progress
made in the past twenty-five years in
the'training, of nurses without being
amazed at the scope of their education
and at the splendid results already
achieved. A woman graduating from
some of the nurses’ schools in this
country knows as much to-day about
anatomy and physiology, materia
medica and snrgery and such branches
of knowledge as many a physician did
fifty years ago under the training he
then received. It is not astonishing
that women thus fitted for their work
should find plenty of it to do. The
demand for trained nurses is to-day
far in advance of the supply and the
pay is certainly liberal. The nurse’s
vocation opens a wide field of useful¬
ness for women were all the kindly
impulses of their nature find abundant
gratification, and where they can
honestly believe that they are not
working in vain. —Boston Herald.
Hours of Dining.
The hours of dining and the time of
retiring at night have, it would ap
pear, been undergoing a constant
change in England as well as.in other
countries in the course of the last few
hundred years. The fashionables of
Edward IV. ’a court rose with the lark,
despatched their dinner at 11 o’clock,
and shortly after 8 were wrapped in
slumber. In the Northumberland
House Book for 1512 it is set forth
that the family rose at 6 in the morn¬
ing, breakfasted at 7, dined at 10 and
supped at 4 in the afternoon. The
gates were all shut at 9, and no further
ingress or egress permitted. In 1570,
at the University of Oxford, it was
usual to dine at 11 o’clock and sup at
5 in the afternoon. The dinner hour,
which was once so early as 10 o’clock,
has gradually got later and later, un¬
til now it would be though the excess
of vulgarity in the fashionable world
to sit down to table earlier than 6.30
o’clock, while others extend it to 9 or
10.—New York Sun.
The Canse of the Conflagration;,
One of the rooms on the second floor
of a house was discovered the other
day to be on fire. The flames were,
however, happily extinguished before
any great mischief had been done, but
a special interest is attached to the
origin of the fire. It appears that the
day had been a very bright one, and
the sun’s rays, condensed by passing
through a water-bottle, had set fire to
» mackintosh hanging on the wall, and
this in turn had ignited the bedding
immediately below. At first it was
supposed that one of the inmates had
set fire to the place, bat the canse was
clearly demonstrated by actual ex¬
periment. It is-not the first time that
similar accidents have taken place,
and though for some months to come
the sun’s rays are not likely to be
fierce enough, to do much mischief,
the event should be remembered as
indicating a possible danger, in sum¬
mer time especially.—Worthington’s
Magazine.
Original and Bizarre.
Mr. Frederick Gebhard’s wedding
gift to his bride—a silver bath tub
made of 3200 ounces of pure silver,
worth as mere bullion $2656, and
valued as a finished product of the
silversmith’s art at $5156—is at once
original and bizarre.—New York Re¬
corder.
TAKE A DAY OFF.
When you see the hills away off
Lookin' green an’ gold an' blue,
It is time to take a day off
With the daisies an’ the dew.
Don’t you wish
For a fish,
When the trees are goin’ “swish !” j
When you hear the birds a-singin’ ,
An’ the cattie-bells a-ringin’.
An’ the honeysuckles swingin’—
Don’t you wish?
When March is headin’ May off,
With a rumt>le in his curls,
It is time to take a day off.
Huntin' violets with the girls. -
Don’t you pine
For the shine V
Of the meadows fair an’ fine? '
For the lillied rills a-flowin’,
For the woods with blossoms blowin’,.
For the world, with beauty glowin’—
Don't you pine?
— F. L. Stanton, in Atlanta Constitution.
PITH AND POINT.
You seldom got cold facts in a
heated- argument.—Elmira Gazette.
I fear I am going into a decline, re¬
marked the poet, as he entered the
editorial sanctum. —Truth.
The yell a man sets up when he
treads on a tack is one ox the worst
forms of foot-bawl.—Truth.
“This rich relative of yours, is he a
distant relative?” “Yes, extremely dis¬
tant since he became rich. ”—New
York Press.
Hardleigh—“Do you let your wife
have her own way?” Haffoo— “Cer¬
tainly ; and most of mine. ”—Detroit
Free Press.
In Lawyer’s Office: Senior Partner
— “Shall we go out and take some¬
thing?” Junior Partner — “From
whom?”—Vogue.
A London paper publishes the names
of several public men who use hair
dye. The dark secret is out at last.—
Philadelphia Ledger.
Vaillant’s last cry was, “Down with
society!” Evidently Mrs. Vaillant
has been giving “afteruoonsat home. ’
—Minneapolis Journal.
Napoleon was a corker,
Caasar a son of a gun,
Hannibal was a lulu.
But Atilla was a Hun.
—New York Mercury. s
Belle—“What an absurd man Mr.
Snooks is! He told me he hoped I never
giggled. ” Bessie—‘ ‘And what did you
say?” Belle—“I giggled. Boston
Transcript.
“This amateur performance affair yon ?”
speak of—was it a charitable
“Oh, yes; the people knew the young
folks were doing the best they could. ”j*
—Boston Transcript.
A man may speak ten languages and
still be unable to express his feelings
when, after reading a paper studiously
for an hour or so, he discovers that it
is three dJEs old. —Hallo.
“Whatmo you thing of Mr. Hard
hit’s execution ?” said Miss Gushey at
the mnsicale. “I hadn’t heard of it,”
said Old Growley, “but I think it’s a
good idea; when does the hanging
take place?”—Brooklyn Eagle.
“Excuse me,” said the overhead
wire to the street railway bond, “yon
will have to show me the respect due
to a lineal. You cannot forget, you
know, that you are simply a col¬
lateral.”—Washington Star.
“Who’s your friend?” asked the cat¬
fish. “Shad,” answered the bass. “I
thought you knew him.” “Pretty
well off, is he?” “Oh,” replied the
bass, slightly, “he has about 3000
bones. ”—Indianapolis Journal.
Father—“I’ve just found out that
the strange young man who comes to
see you has been borrowing money
right and left.” Daughter—“Isn’t
that lovely? He must be a nobleman
in disguise.”—Boston Home Journal.
“Joliman used to be a smart and
rather airy bachelor, but I think he
must Gave married since I saw him
last year.” “Why do you think so?”
“I noticed there were two or three
buttons off his coat.”—Spare Mo¬
ments.
Weight and Cost ot the First Cable.
The original 1853 cable weighed
ninety-three pounds per mile and had
a conductor of seven copper wires of
22} gauge. Price of deep sea wire
per mile, $200; price of span yarn
and iron wire per mile, $265; cost of
ontside coating of ^ tar and gutta¬
percha, $25 per mile; total cost per
mile, $485. At $485 per mile the total
cost of the 2500 miles of deep sea wire
was $1,212,500. To this add twenty
five miles of “shore end” wire, costing
$1450 per mile, and we find that the
first ocean cable, exclusive of instru¬
ments, cost a million and a quarter
dollars.—St. Louis Republic.
rf __ _ J
It Went the Wrong IVay.
Charles Keith, the agent of William
Deering k. Co., in Omaha, entered suit
against the company for $1100, which
he alleged was owing to him as salary,
etc. The company Sled a cross bill
for $35,000, for their property which
was in Keith’s hands as their agent.
After all the evidence in the case had
been submitted the judge gave judg¬
ment against Keith for the $35,000.
He wishes that he had kept the busi¬
ness out of the courts.—New Orleaaa
Picayune. -a*