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“FAME.”
The master wrote his grand old name
Upon the whitened sands of Time;
Above, he traced a land sublime
To speak forever of his fame.
Again he came; an hour, a day
Had wrought a change upon the cand,
As tho’ an unseen, jealous hand
Had swept his laurels all away
The singer sang a tender lay
Unto a smiing, eager throng,
And dreamt her little, fleeting song
"Would last in memory for aye.
A year, an age; she sought again
In broken voice and tattered gown
The chosen friends of her renown,
But sought remembrance all in vain.
-A little child, in meadows green,
Danced gayly o’er the budding flowers,
Nor counted laps of fleeing hours,
Nor envied Fame her title—“queen.
'The butterfly, in gaudy dress,
Was her especial care, the bees
Joined voices with her ’neath the trees
-And this alone was happiness.
—Flora N. Montgomery.
A BRAVE GIRL.
“There, mother; there’s something for
.you. ■
,,,, , ■ , ,, b 100 ™ 113 . ^
0
lnnkJt ° . w IIor , moth< r r
fscc 4 hur
skip
“I’ve got some good news r for you
mother. Would you like to hear it?
IndlSftoVthemautTpb?e ““JfegW herb0nnet
on the
mother’s face was the only answer made
to the query and the girl, standing by
her parent’s side and holding one of her
thin hands in her own said- “Well
you recollect
-answered day before yesterday-1.think
on §atoday In' and » C &wmiamt’fdry ? shall be
•employed ds s£y Smith
r f n c i st n :r
tLtgoodLws?” a o f e ’
She leaned forward and kissed
mother startin'" in whose eves ' the teirs ™
“I feel so hamiv P to-ni<rbt mother ”
-she said, “for I h pe now that we shall
be able to leave these disagreeable rooms
for pleasanter apartments, ’ where you
can be more comfortable. There, now,
don’t cry. Maybe the sunny day 3 will
come back to us, after all. I want you
to be happy, dear mother, and I am
going to she make you so if I can. There.
now,” added, as she kissed her
mother about the again, and then went bustlin"
room like the busy and restless
creature she was, and began to prepare
the evening Wilson, meal.
Jennie although she had passed
through handsome much affliction for one so young,
reached was a her girl, who had nearly
18th year. Her features
were her regular, her eyes were dark blue,
and light brown hair fell back
luxuriantly in a cluster of glossy curls,
Though slightly below the average
Stature, she possessed a fine figure and
had wagraceful endowed in her movement. Nature
her with many personal
charms, ai d some might have pronounced
her a beauty. Under more favorable
circurn-fauces she certainly would have
ranked as one.
But Jennie Wilson was only a working
girl, and as such she was of a type of that
class of w: ge earners the gentler sex
which, privation, lhiough trial, sorrow, and often
biavelv fights the battle of
life aed is seldom deserted by fortitude,
hopefirness. \! ilson, and her self req ect.
Mrs. mother, was a woman
who had seen better days. Shehadbeen
a widow for nearly ten years. Her hus
band, who was a commercial traveler for
a New York firm, had been killed in a
railroad accident during one of his busi
ness daughter trips. He had supported his wife
and very respectably, and at
the time the disaster by which the wife
was widowed and Jennie was made
fatherless occurred, his prospects were
brightening, placed and he business hoped ere long to
be would upon a footing which
prove a sure step to fortune. But
up to that time he had applied most of
hisearnings to the. support ending of his family,
and when the sudden of his life
came the wordly possessions consisted of
$200 worth of household goods and $50
in ready money. widow heart
Although the tho calamity was that almost had befallen
broken by had mellowed
ter, after the grief into a
sorrow for the dead husband,
looked with eyes more loving than
upon her little girl and resolved to
her bereavement with as much
as she could command and
and toil for Jennie’s sake. “We
never see papa again in this world,
darling,” she said one day to Jennie,
“but he will always be with us in memory
in the remembrance of the love he
me and you, I must make the best
our affliction. You are my only
now and T shall do all I can to
your future life a happy one.”
At the time of her marriage Mrs. Wil
was employed "and in a millinery shop in
the Bowery, now that she must
again earn her bread by the toil of her
own hands she became faithful re-employed
there. Jennie was a attendant
at one of the public schools, and for iev
eral years the mother and and -contentedly daughter lived in
very comfortably th6 pleas
some neat apartments in one of
ant streets on the west side. But sick
ness came. The mother was taken ill
with fever and for weeks she lay hover
ing between life and death.
It was a terrible blow to Jennie—who
had now reached her tenth year—and,
although some kind and sympathetic sick
friends made frequent visits to the
chamber, she alone acted as nurse and
kept “the house” in order. Several
pieces of jewelry had to be sold in
to procure the money to pay the doctor
a nd purchase medicine and the common
necessaries of life, and during the
period of convalescence which followed
the breaking of the fever, Mrs. Wilson
obtained money to meet her
expenses & by J selling “ some aitides of
ni re _
“T must have mv rent or vou must
’cave here,” said her landlord month.'-It one day.
two
"Tj 80 lf you can t pay you must get
•
/ expect . to . . lie awe y to to go o-o to to work worn
again w°omau, in a few although days,” answered the wU poor
who, still very
™XVSt t^W££Tl& 1 as sVo? «V5 l £J enoZl a0Veh
“ N °- 1101 ®ust e^her have my
™nej or my rooms.”
was still more cruel. The unhappy
w&me n burst into tears and Jennie
turned , to the window and looked out
into the street, feeling as if her heart
would almost break.
‘' Weil > I’ll give you till Saturday
? . Tuesday,” said the landlord,
* now
If I™ doa,t P* 1 ? U P then J°u must
, lcave -’ J
He walked out, slamming the door,
and left the wretched mother and
daughter to their misery and tears. his
Saturday came and he received
rent furnituie money. By selling some more
and pawning several small
articles—Mrs. Wilson had gathered a
sufficient sum to meet the indebtedness,
But when the next month came the land
lord was prompt in his demand for the
rent. The poor woman had not been
been able to resume her work and she
had no money. The landlord was inex
orable, and in a few days he served her
with a legal notice to vacate the apart
ments. 8he secured two small rooms on
the top floor of an East side tenement
nouse. and although still weak from her
long illness, she returned to her work
in the millinery shop. But she was
able to accomplish much and her
iugs "'ere very scant indeed. Jennie
found employment in an envelope factory
downtown, and with their meagre wages
corn'd-ed they continued their
against starvation.
But there was still further misfortune
sto-c for th in. A year later the
mother was again taken ill, and this ill
ness left her a confirmed invalid. Jen
nie, however, was in the en oyment of
excellent heallh, and she had proved
heiself so faithful and efficient at her
work that her wages had been raised,
and with the small stipend that she re
ceivecl each week she supported her
mo her and herself. Again, and then
again her pay was increased, and at the
time our story o ens she had become so
accustomed — young and inexper ented
as she was in the ways of the world—to
her life of labor, and had been so en
eouraged by e\ en the small increase of
wages she hail received that the natural
buoyancy of her nature had risen above
the depress on of spirts which at times
had made her life seem almost liopeleJs,
and she had resolved to make the best of
fate, to cheerfully work on for her
mother’s sake, and to look forward to the
future wilh the hope that some day she
might discover a silver lining to the
nloi:d which had so long darkened the
of her young life
“Good-by, mother,” she said, when
Monday morning came and she was
about to leave for her new scene of labor
as saleswoman in a fancy store,
“God bless you, my child!” said the
invalid. “I shall pray for you all day
and wait your return with anxiety.”
They kissed each other, and Jennie
left her humble abiding place with a
lighter heart than she had known ,lor
years. She hummed an air as she tripped
down the poorly lighted stairway of the
old tenement and hurried on to the store
with a feeling that was akin to joyous
ness. She found the situation a pleas
ant one, and as the days went by and
the spring advanced she resolved to
celebrate the advent of summer by re¬
moving to a more cheerful invalided,
place. the Mrs. Wilson was still
but by labor of Jennie she was
comfortable, and poor as they were,
were quite happy under the
condition of their moderate means
subsistence.
It was now mid-Maytime. Birds were
singing from in the the parks, leaves and were air wliis
pering redolent trees, the was
with the perfume of blossoms,
Only a few weeks longer and the old
quarters would be exchanged for other
and pleasanter ones. And Jennie was
so happy. Weary as she often was when
she came home at night, cheerfulness
was ever her companion. Fidelity to
her mother was to her a religion, and
she was thankful to heaven for the con
tinuance of her good health and the op
portunity to earn sufficient money where
with to purchase the simple comforts
which made her life to a degree pleasur
able, and by which she was enabled to
keep her mother from becoming the in
mate of some charitable institution. It
was a hard struggle for this girl to keep
- tan aetojj b». o...™ h.d
Xmnentlost h art ’
0ne RVemn V g on returning home she
lounu f d h nor morner verv rery ill—so in so ill in, indeed lnuccu,
Jg Jeb.ecame adjoining d 4 doX. a P S
ments a
‘‘Vour mother is very Sick, miss,” said
t doctor as he was leaving the place
Khe ’’ *"* 1
f for “<*, *“■ Do not let her die and ^ leave
I " e alone 111 the world ’ Doctor >
„
She could say no more. Her poor
heart was almost breaking, and leaning
against the rickety bannisters in the
hallway she buried her face in her
hands and sobbed bitterly The doctor,
wh ° w f £ man o£ sympathetic nature,
spoke to her encouragingly and tried to
console her.
“I will call again in the morning,” he
said. “Are you all alone? Is there no
° ne with you and your mother?”
“We are alone, doctor, ’ she said be
tween her sobs, “but there is a kind
old lady who lives in apartments next to
ours, and she will come in and stay with
us to-night. morning, doctor.” Please don’t fail to call in
the
bhe was now quite calm, and bidding
the doctor good evening, returned to
her mother s bedside.
Oh, the wearv watching by day and
night! . Oh, the heartache. Oh, the
wretchedness ot that poor young heart!
Oh, the loneliness. Oh, the cross that
she must bear:
But tho end came soon, and within a
fortnight’s time she sat by a coffin in
which lay the body of her dead mother.
The weary and over-burdened spirit had
taken its flight, and this faithful, reso
lute girl, surrounded by a number of her
shopjnates and a small group of sym
pathizing neighbors, awaited the coming
of the morrow, when the remains we re
to be bornrato UJYenwood and there laid _
attest. ^
If. was the first _ clay of June when the
buyial took place. Natuie was arrayed
in jher loveliest robes, the sky above was
cloudless and the birds above were
chce ily singing in bush and tree as the
gijief-stricken and now and orphaned turned girl
stpod by that grave, as she
afway and was driven back to the city
s; be seemed to be dazed. The ordeal of
a ffliction through which she was passing
/ivas indeed terrible for one so young to
face.
Minnie Hayward, one of her shop
mates, invited her to her own little
i room in a boarding house, and for sev
days Jennie was unable to leave her
bed. slie was so prostrated by the blow
dealt her by the hand of fate. 8he was
very xveak and many days went bybe
Lore she felt strong enough to
virork. Her place in the store had been
gkven selek employment to another and elsewhere. she was obliged The to
articles of furniture in the
where her mother died she gave to tha
kind neighbor who had assisted her in
attending to the wants of her mother,
and she accepted Minnie’s invitation to
remain with her until she had found
something to do. saved
All the money which she had
since the holidays andwith which she had
intended to secure more comfortable
apartments for her mother had been ex¬
hausted by the cost of medicine, by the
doctor's fees, by the purchase of a burial
place in the cemetery, and in defraying
the funeral expenses, and she was now
penniless. Many her elders would
a one among
have completely broken down unilersuch
a heavy load of affliction, but the stead¬
fast resoluteness of her nature abided
with her still. Her spirit, though dead¬
ened by bitter experience, was still un¬
broken, and despite the anxiety, the
temptations, the dangers, the possible
injustice and perhaps cruelty which she
might still be doomed to encounter, she,
with a true womanly persistence, re¬
solved to toil on and trust to the future
for some bright day when the clouds
would break and the sunshine of happi¬
ness flood her pathway with its glorious
light. answered advertise¬
Hay after day she
ments and made personal applications for
situations in stores and factories, but was
unable to secure a place; and if it had
not been for the kindness of the hospita¬
ble friend whose room and bed she
shared, God alone knows to what ex¬
tremity she might have been driven.
She knew of no living relative in the
world except an uncle who, before her
father’s death, was living somewhere in
Maine; but whether he was now living she
and exactly where his residence was
knew not. She was really alone in the
world.
“Oh, Jennie! I’m going you’ll to teli like you
something said that kind-hearted maybe friend to
hear,” her one
evening when she returned from work.
“I’ve got something for you to do.”
In the full gratitude of her heart the
poor girl burst into don’t tears. do that, Jennie,”
“Now, now, companion.
said her cheery-hearted crying,” she added,
“There now, stop
as with her own handkerchief she
stanched the tears in the eyes of the
weeping girl. only $4 week, ” said
“The wages are a
Mamie, “but you can manage to get
along on that for the present. You can
remain here with me, for I know what
trouble is myself, Jennie, and go to
work. Heaven only knows what we
friendless girls would do iu this great
city, so full of temptations and wicked¬
ness designed to entrap us, if we didn’t
sometimes stand by each other. Jennie,
I am your friend, and when I heard to¬
day that there was a small situation vacant
in the store, I at once went to the fore¬
woman and asked her to give it to you.
She thought you were too proud to take
such a place, but I took the liberty of
saying that you would take it. Now,
will you, Jennie?”
The child of affliction threw her arms
around her benefactor’s neck and kissed
her.
p ride r j t was n0 time for pride. that small The
livinu-that " would come from
sti ' d mi "ht be poor, but it would be
, Xe thana continuance of the depend
U pon the generosity of her compan
jon w k 0 kad been so kind toiler, and
whose own life was a struggle for exist
ence ' g 0 she acc0 mpanied Minnie to
the store the next day, and went to
work ’ earn j it°the n „. wanes ofd for her own sup
f t J. shc f e buoyancy of spirit
etu n and j n a few weeks she once
more ] 00 k 6( \ iii :e the .Jennie Wilson as
g j le a pp eared when she told her mother
o[ - jj er intention of removing her quar
tevs on that June day—alas! that June
( j U y when, instead of taking up her
abode in a pleasanter place, she sat in the
0 i d tenement in the presence of death.
Several vears have passed since then,
anf j ] ler name is not Wilson now. Love
caire to her one dav and led her to’an
a p ar where a ring" was first placed time she on her
(j D n-er, a nd for the was
ma q (: happy by a husband's kiss .—New
York Sun:
^--- 11 r —;
“ZalediscoiTokenonischi” _ is the name
of a Schuylkill miner. After barb-wire
fencing his half acre lot with his name,
| he still has enough left to climb in and
out of the mine on, when he can t xvait
for the bucket, but the mine is only SUO
feet deep .—DansviUe Breeze.
Teacher (infant natural history class)
—“You will remember that, will you,
Tommy, that wasps lie in a torpid state
all winter?” Tommy (witli an air of ret¬
rospection)—Yes’rn, an’ I’ll try an’ re¬
member that they make up for it sum*
mer.— Life.