Newspaper Page Text
INJ . WINN PARISH LA., MOTHER'S OLD HYMN. iu- [the trfmblag folds of the twilight Seua hear the strain of that grand old hymn Wiebh mother, whose heart is now still and ald. Sag.amids her cares in the days of old. Tereh was something about it, undefned, 'hat charmed Into quiet the troubled mind. Oer the bleak heazta breathed with a spirit band. Lke a warm outh wind o'er a frozen land. Ad crowning it all with a strange, deep bord. Lae the throb of the heart of the blessed tat shed throurh the fainting soul abroad A sense of the pitylng love of God. S s-OuIs'of the singers that fame has crowned the food of the years are lost and drowaed mothebe's old hymn, every pause and rth of time has the sweeter out of the past to come that ar dumb thb homeof the glorifed come since the day she died. not the maste that spirits hear As is receding and heaven drawn near, But treading death .valley of shadows dim I ask but to hear my mother's hmn THE BLOODY MARK. A Plain, Unvarnished Story of 2Rknarkable Events. In an age when scientific men are beginning to recognize the fact that there areoertain forces, which, under gartain mental conditions, manifest themselves by phenomena hitherto un resognized or scorned as the result of s caessful imposture, a tale partaking of the marvelous should need no apol ogy. Such tales. heard at second i.and, have hitherto only served 4o crete a pleasant' horror. No ele me: et of truth has been ascribed to them; they are forgotten as soon as beard. Perhaps the story of an eye witeas may help people to understand that in this commonplace, work-a-day w.dd strange things are happening, and that the veil which divides the ,'ses and the unaeen is very slight and unmsbstantial. There will be no need it eraftily wolrded description. The plh, aunvarnished story is strange T oem e of my story is laid in the Bht i er'llegs in Pennsylvania from whisk I graduated. It was barely ten I rs ago. but the college was very mLaservHtive, and. hold'ng to old tra Sresembled a boardinga-school of S qteather than a college. Among f` rlaes, was one. that al - ,abould be done by lot a was not allowed to 'i own room-mnate. but was t abide by the man drawn bylot. bow so tasatisfato'y ud.zud l e been nstiuted I it @te -.ewa, smek was the - Ias an inval d, had been at mee alone. Directly below - mmenior. year, were two a s and a South wbr by the eborius be e. ha. been wn s o imughp-eettragers. Never - ek a worse selection. bsteem they managed well th ese worn several were both of hot tem as tWi m -eafmed dis la psaemoer. There Sahr not tell the they ouild not live in I think it was chiey a fault. He was a raw, trom a rough mountaain Nerl CanlIa s brought no sad nrly musEtind with it m aly to fight up inDshaber the Seauth b rum' the Wshingosr wbo tat th M Vie a nes lto InqAihd . It hiseom S ea m ruiend nt he d_ w1ths Seh - had stayed ;ai iLLhamusn in !!.ths ollsi -Ibetheeabe that tat tIi .e E~- w:bi j win ]sret ' ' toy m at tiP lleouýi. C lWtt bhand as he did amoment to his lips? Was he sorrowlng over the bitter disagree ments, the hate he had felt for the un fortunate manP He gave evidence in a low, firm voice to the effect that the drowned man had been on the river the night he had dis appeared. The matter was quickly settled. We were returning; a chance movement showed me on Johnson's wrist, as it seemed in the moment's glimpse I obtained, a red mars. So much did it recall to my mind the hor rible disfigurement on the neck of the corpse that, noting it was the hand which had raised that of the corpse. I involuntarily caught up his hand-but I was mistaken. "lNothing." I said in reply to his inquiry; "I thought I saw something on your hand." I remem bered this fact, however, later. The next morning I was awakened by a vehement knocking at my door. It was just four by the clock; the sun had not vet risen. Wondering what this sudden summons might be, I un locked my door and in stttmblel John son, muttering and moaning. his ap pearance indicati.g an extreme of fright. Falling into an arm-chair he lay back, white. still. Promptly I threw some water in his face, and pressing a brandy flask between his teeth, urged on him a full draught. This had its'flect.-snd he recovered sufficiently to tell me his story. "Drake," he ,aid, "I-I-I killed my chum." Horror-struck I recoiled from him. but with an outstretched deprecating hand he continued: *"But, in God's name, not pur posely!" Then, as if the confession had given him strength. he went on: "That night we had quarreled, and he came for me with a knife. I seized him by the throat, and held him back. God knows I did not intend to do it. In my blind rage and in fear of my life I held him until he fell, a heavy weight at my feet. What could 1 do? 1 worked to bring him back to life-did you not notice his face and the mark of my fingers on his throat? Oh. believe me! Believe me! For the love of Heaven, believe me!" he cried.'falling before me and bowing his head between his hands upon my knees. And 1 there was a sincerity in his speech that carried conviction of truth-I believed him. "Johnson." I sa'd, "I believe you. But why did you not tell.the truth; you would not have been in danger?" "In danger? No!" he exclaimed, start:ng up. "But could I have staid here? Would I not have had to go back to my old life and give up the college life I have so earnestly worked for? I could not have gone elsewhere. So I took the loathsome thing up, and through my open win dow ,I stole down over the fields, skulking in the shade, speeding over the moonlit places with all the horror of a guilty man. And I am guilty now! Then down to the river, and the air-hole, and to see the body drop into the icy deuths, and then rising through the black water, show the aw fal face with that bloody mark burning at the throat" He spoke in rapid tones with rapid gestures, as he recalled the awful experiences of that night. a frig;d with horror. "It will turn his brain," thought L "If I do not soothe him," and so carefully I quieted h'm. speaking to h.m gently and slowly. "'Yo have been guilty," I said, "but you can yet make reparation. Make a clean breast of it all, and clear your mind of its trouble." "I w Ill" he said. "but not yet! Let me have but a day or two to compose - myselL- But I have not told you all. This morning, just before I eama to you. I woke up 'and saw that horrible face at the window of my room." "Johnson." I exclaimed, now not doubting that his mund was going. ' "recall yourselL Don't let the horror of all thisovercome you. There was no such thing. It was your imagina t/ion, man." "I dreamed the whole thing over a.. t" he said solemnly wak g with every limb tremb.ing with i 5o, I uaw it a, plain a I see you." IThat is just it." Issd. apd Ishowed him that such an appearane was a Sasturaom oaeequeaee of his mental eon ditioa. There is no need of describing i nthemeas I ued to quiet hum but nally convinced him. .At least," he sle. sa ee with me to-night." This I omIssreadily. I stayed with him oef a on all d 'lTowrowad nht I had so f er owel1that hl hadbe _eo* esemse d, and was fully doter mimed toseoafes all to the proper an .thorits. We saept toetsher that ; sot ask you I -believe ms. I em .ytiths e it has e.pa At glme dawi wa. Stheoaesb (" agethr e the om - doeor . asody Lssiynd it the half light oiadwi dw I saw a1 the ahrronr of t!-tihe tset si.I. tuG. of that gbutly bwaEkemei, eL ý ,O--,nd whes I rrbwiP qm lied , to deers open, beard a shumlng step come across the study, enter the room we were in-it is no idle story that the hair bristles under great fear-felt a weight settle acro-s my chest. and lost consciousnessP How long 1 lay in that condition I can not tell. When I came to myself the sun was shining in, a gentle breeze played with the curtain. the birds were singing and the chapel bell was ringing. I raised myself won dering why I felt so weak. I had for. gotten the night's terrors-but catch ing sight of Johnson all came back at the sight. His face was blackened. h s tongue protruded from his mouth. a bloody mark burned dimly on his throat. It was a wonderful thing that this climax of horror did not permanently affect my brain. It was a week Lefore [ was around again-the physicians re garded it as a wonderful convalescence. I told them the story in full as soon as I had rega:ned strength. They nodded to one another as if it contirmed some decision thev had made. "Mr. I)rake." they said, -;there is a very simple ex planation to your story. Mr. Johnson was insane. He was of a morbidly consecent ous temperament. There was no doubt about the cause of the Southerner's death. He di d by drowning. Johnson. affected by his death, remembering their continued disputes, the hate they felt for on'- an other. grieved s5) deeply over the fact that death shut o' allrhance for recon ciliation, an I in his self-accu-ing con trition actually began to believe that he had killed the man. The post mortem examination reveals not only the tact that he died from the effects- of an un suspected chronic lung trouble, but also that he was insane. "But why, if he was busied in self accusation." r asked, "'did he mingle so much more with the fellows?" "The last struggles of sanity to drown the voice of insanity," they re plied. ' But how can you explain the appari tions?-the bloody marks on his wrist. on the window, and on his throat?" "All fancy? Is it wonderful that a horrible tale, told as he told it, with all the aspect of truth. should have affected you? You say you told him his imagination was deceiving him. You had better have looked out for sour own. As for yourself, go to some quiet country village, and neither read nor write. but walk and talk and live easily and pleasantly, giving your brain an entire rest for at least three months. If you don't you may have brain fe ver." It may have been fancy, but you could not, with every argument con ceivable. make me believe in the un reality of what 1 saw and heard. This is my story. Explain it as yout wilL--Hartford Times. HOME-MADE ELECTRICITY. The Inventions Which Are Revolution slag Household Economles. We can not allow another week to go by without calling the attention of all those who are interested in the appli cation of electric li.ght to the dwellings of every day people to the beautiful portable ta'-le lamps just completed and exhibited for the first time i i the. Eastern Arcade, which seems to have solved the dificulty over which electri cians have been breaking their heads for some time past in a manner so sim ple and so complete that the question arises. as it often does when a difficulty is finally solved, why did no one think of it before? And yet it has taken three years of hard and continuous work to bring to its present perfection a lamp which is within reach of any ordinary home, and which after the first expense costs the very moderate sum of two cents an hour-to burn, while it has all the brilliancy and softness of the best incandesent lights. The difficulties in domestic electric lighting have been that all the applications of it hitherto invented have required a dynamo, in volving a considerable amount of horse power. For these reasons, no one un able to go to enormous expense could attempt it. Inventions for storing electricity by the dozen came out, but the electricity always managed to ooze away. Then arrangements were attempted for bav ing central stations and laying electric light on to the houses in a given area, mucha in the same manner as the gas companies do now; but unexpected difficulties arose here about the sta tions, and, olugh this plan has suc ceeded is some of the foreign capitals. London remained behind, as she gener aft manages to do in such matters. Men of wealth have, one by one, been ihtlgup their charming houses in s rmanner, but to the ordinary man of moderate means, and in all houses of limited incomes. It has been hitherto beyondreaeh. Now commes the table lamp and to all appearanees it is like ly to revelatnarse domestic lighting. The solutione of the problem is that there is so bors power requi.ed, no dynam, no wires. The ;light, which i atremely brilliant, -is prodneed from s galvan battery contained in an oblong box, which fits into a eas, whisk may be of china,. woed or meta. The lamps at present be. g ehibed are inrlapom braass eses., and we doubt whether any bet er fim arom give tothem than this. A'eeral measurement is necessary to allowr* the battery itself and lhe r efor tlh ais solution. so that w moa laue. or wheu is I wished a mdhitate the lightthe sue plate ia be woa p-which is dome by a a us wa In the side-either com JIl I nSc of te satutiom or so as only seminas podlano k ink. agceda . i too tobe as tum1me. tht as danger is -e bee the Penrlsi away warranted to bars over at Ii and for gaoeh 4,ul pe1. 0_0 U DISASTER. Under her bonnet I kissed her, Under her bonnet of straw It would not have been strange had I mlias her. For but half of her visage I saw. A rlimpse of her chin and her dimple And her nose showed Its exquisite tip; And it seemed so remarkably simple To carom right there on her lip. And under that mighty poke bonnet I dived for a moment of bl!ss You may wager your wardrobe upon it, I delivered a lightning-speed kiss. Yes, under her bonnet I kissed her And somehow-the bonnet shows how-. I found 'twas her Boston-bred sister. Ter.re re gwo girls don.t speak to me now. JANE'S GRAMMAR. The MIesaderlags of the Childish mind Through the Intricacles of English Grammar. Little Jane had repeatedly been reproved for doing violence to the moods and tenses of the verb "to be." She would say "I be" Instead of "I am," and for a time it seemed as if no one could prevent it. Finally, Aunt Kate made a rule not to answer an incor TWO VIEWS. NO. L-FROM THEIR STAND-POI.[T. rest question, but to wait until It was cor rected. One day the two sat together, Aunt Kate busy with embroidery and little Jane oves her doll. Presently doll society became tedious, and the child's attntiono was at tracted to the embroidery frame "Aunt Kate," said she, "please tell me what that is going to be." But Aunt Kate was counting and did not answer. Fatal word, be! It was her old enemy, and to it alone could the child asecribe the silence that followed. "Aunt Kate," she persisted, with an honest attempt to correct her mistake, "please tell me what that is going to am I" till auntie sat silently counting, though her lip curled with amusement Jane sighed, but made another patient eworL "Will you please tell me what that is go ing to are?" Aunt Kate counted on, perhaps by this time actuated by a wicked desire to know what would come next The little girl No. IL-:FOK 0OU 1rTAND-POSuT. gatheraed bar energies for one last mad at "Auut XteW, what s that going to ar" -P- M o on.lL "I ai't gwae ter any Ia dis k eah m y longer dm I kt heb'p" id a od aes wbm serr sood hamer aad sals. dt edilmm nsombrd his obraatisl al ~ Wat the ma tta t nW" a er ems sees "=e.mt.4 whrs a. r, I ke.m'k " aY as, y -o · emgehb ya righi l sd shes mala" "WaU, sr knewsw , dI'se a .u a' for VOlle. tPe ngt twlbe r Mnes . der W as por nt ghmese o ih aae-Irr mealt 4e asht Iu V w m dear nstrse ehpinin 1 fim~r uI~nYl ·dma l ba. tLEADIN FOR THE YOUNG. HAPPY AS A KING. * Id like to know why I should frown," Sang sunny-hearted Joe. I think of the birds-they never sigh; I look at the clear, unclouded sky; 1 hark to the brook that ripples by, And, happy as a king Oh. ho! I whistle and I sing. " I'd lIke to know why I should mope." Sang sunny-hearted Joe. * The flowers are -milhn all day long: The cricket chirps h's merry song; I try their plan when aught goe. wrong. And, happy as a king Oh, ho: I whistle and I sing. " I'd like to know why I should weep," Sang sunny hearted Joe. " The gloom eat day will end at last: The ra:niest weather soon ibe past: Whate'er the troubles o er me cast, Still, happy as a king bh. ho: I'll whistle and I'11 sing.'" I know of some I'd like to see Take pattern after Joe. Sighs, tears and frowns don't help to bear The daily burden of our car:. Wise Joe. the lot of life to share. And, happy as a king, To whistle and to sing. -Georyt Cooper. in Golden Days. SOCIABLE BIRDS. Odd Associations-The Fish-Hawk and the Blackbirds-The Owl and the Weaver. There are all sorts of birds, just as there are all sorts of people. Not only big birds and little birds, but bad birds and good birds; birds that love to tight, like the saucy little English sparrows, and birds that love each other, and cuddle together all the time, like the Java sparrows; fierce birds and gentle birds; birds that bui'd beautiful houses, like the Baltimore orioles, and birds that build no houses, but lay their eggs in other birds' houses, like the cow birds. Then, again, there are lonely birds, like the hawks and owls, and sociable birds, like blackbirds and weaver-birds. And speaking of lonely birds and socia ble birds makes me think of a curious case of a lonely bird and a lot of socia ble birds which all lived together in a most comfortable and happy way. If ever you have seen a lush-hawk you know he is as wild-eyed and savage beaked a fellow as you would want to meet I ought to say she is, for, as a fact, Mrs. Fish-hawk is both larger and fiercer than her husband. She builds her nest in the topmo.t branches of a lonely, lofty tree as near to the sound ng breakers as possible, and there brings up as hungry and noisy a family as can be found. "'he nest is a mighty structure. to begin with, but, as it is added to each year, it in time grows to be simply enormous. Then it is that the sociable, impudent blackbird comes along, and actually builds in the very nest of the hawk. Not merely one blackbird, mind you, but just as many as can crowd into the huge mass of sticks which makes the big bird's nest And there they all live together, with their babies almost touchingeach other, and yet never quarreling. They never have anything to say to -each other, it is true, but that may be because the hawk and biackbird languages are so different. Even mre odd than aise lthe ease of the owl and the weaver-birds The weaver-birds are probably the most sociable of all the birds. They do not merely build their nests near each oth er, but put them side by side in great numbers, and then make a thatched roof to cover them alL It is hard to believe that such a beautiful little bird village can be the work of birds which have no other tools than their bills, but it is, and these little architects do not make any fuss about it either. The weaver-birds which build this sort of nest are called sociable weaver-birds, to distinguish them from other weaver birds which build their nests separate from each other. If there is one bird more than anoth er that most little birds positively hate, it is the owl. Thm-owl sleeps all day, and goes abroad at dusk when most other birds are making ready to sleep Then the owl's eyes are good, and he can see little birds which can no see him, and down he pounces on them and swallows them. 'he poor birds can not even hear him coming, for his wings are so covered with soft down that he moves through the air without any noise, and is clutching a poor little bird in his cruel clawsbefore Itis awake enough to know it in troble. This is all very well for the owl at nalght, but in the day-dmelit is quite another mat ter. Then his owlahi can not see well out of his blin eyes, and wise eough to try to keep well hidden lest the birds he eats by night should eatdb him sad have their revenge. For in some way the little fellows know the owl ean not see any betterby da~ ht than they can by night, and t e when they catch him In the -sunlight they, em make ndm for his sdeeds donbmoo p ht. ey eryontand hood Then they seold and s y at him andp k at him, a nd he can do is rue up h.bis feathers and look wicked, or p reeonne lsimnedf wit " thoughts owe wr rm i his wit meintos when the horrd snlght ha faded away. The fact that the owl s so hated makes It so mueh more creditable to y birds that will rrai nfreom pers. Sit when they hare the opporktel . traveler legit having moe a colony of maver-birds which not isy did nmot t an u wl whn the ao easion-ad, but` went so for as to git a heme. That srely was a no. tari pofr eviL. It seeas #tat ltesdtt weavers had completed their haos theyrwes one moaiLg sur p ed to ma visitor sleep on their ef. It wM s it you were toco.me 1 ap_ a b 4ns lmbdoup as * to lt imb.f the very bk arkd etad o oek i - shws e.t W" 4eals Mho altmd to bei ed wesem came and went without paying any more attention to the owl than if he had been a b!ock of wood -John/ R. Coryell,in Harper's oun~ P o.l,!c. A REMARKABLE PARROTT. A True Arccount of a Wonderfully Intentl gent Bird. The following account, says the New York Obserrrr, of an intelligent speak ing bird, which seemed almost to have been endowed with reason, was sent to us by a lady, one of our sub-cr;bers' Since receiving it we have made further inquiry, and have the following assur ance from the writer: "The a,-coun: is strictly true. I have heard a great many wonderful things about "'liss Pl'(flA',' but these came under m% person al observation." Last fall my colored cook asked me if she might have her parrot sent to her, and I rather unwillingly cousented. One morning the village expre-s wagon came to the door bringing ''Miss Polly," who, to the great amusement of the driver, was talking very distinctly and sensibly. After dinner I went to the kitchen to see the new arrival and as soon as she saw me she said: "llellos gal!" Now why that parrot did gmt say "good-bye" or any other words was a mystery to me. but on a longer acquaintance I found she used word, she considered suitable for the o.casion. The next morning while taking break fast I left the door open, as Polly was alone in the kitchen, and soon I heard a voice like a child's, singing these words, and to the right tune: " In the cross, in the cross, He my glory ever. Till my raptured soul shall find Rest beyond the rver." After a pause she said: "Sing, Pol ly," and then changed the tune and sang: '" Oh think of the home over there," an I then, I suppose thinking of breakfast, she said: " Polly want bread and butter." "'Polly want tea," " Polly want potato." After a little while I became very fond of Miss Polly, and she of me. When I went to the kitchen I would peep into the door, without saying a word, and after a severe look, Polly would call: "What are you doing?" and when I entered she would jump for joy and say: "'low do you do, love?" ..Polly pretty welL"' Some times if I was giving directions to my cook, Polly would chatter so fast that you could hear no one else, and if I took a book in my hand she would make believe read in a continuous strain. One of her great delights was to have me open the cage and let her come out and crawl upon the top,when she would say: 'Aha, liss Polly!" and laugh loud and long. One day, when she was enjoying her freedom on the top of the cage, I put my head down on my hands and made believe cry aloud. Polly gave me just a look, then came quickly down and jumped in my lap and looked in my face. I thought per haps this exhibition of feeling was acci dental, but I tried the experiment an other day when Polly was behind the cage, and she climbed directly over and came in my lap as before. One day some very little kittens came to the house. 1. took one and stroked it, and Polly looked on for a moment. then came to the wires of her cage, put down her head and said: "Want to scratch Polly," in this way showing her jealousy of the kitten. It was quite an amusement to the school-children to hear her say her let ters. They would call to her if she was in the yard, and she would answer them. One thing I found rather troublesome. If a child or a man ran quickly past the house she would call ''Fire! Vire!" so loud that von could hear her a long distance off. - She must have heard people cry fire in the streets of Brooklyn, where she formerly lived. Always when I left her she would say: "Good-bye, love," or'"Good-bye. dear." One day I said to her: "Polly, how nice it would be if von could live again in another world.'" I was startled to hear her answer: "That's so." These are a few of the singularly sp propriate remarks Miss Polly made, anad am sure you will agree with me that she is a very wlaedif RUCHINGS. A Method at We.lale Aderaumft WatLeb Does Nt Lee Its P~polar. ty. It was predicted that ruchings for meck and sleeve finishings would go out of style, but they are too becoming to decrease in popularity, especially with ladies whose neek and hands need the softeaing influences of the ruching; those with edge lines of gold or tinsel are worn, also the pretty ruchings of crepe Ins. With dressy toilettes, plaited ruches of pale plk, lilac, cream or blue silk crape are worn; they are usually fas temed at one side with a bow of ribbon, a jeweled ornament or a spray of nat ural fowers, sad sometimes a haid some fialsh of rich lace falls below the - The most' distnlue neck-Saisbina bosist of double fods f crepe line, etamine, silk gasme a d and siler tlles, anvas or muslin. -Qhese fods are made in white and crea -gold and silver, or goh with red, pine, blue or maroonsilk pai e. arranged with it in alterstig folds Even velvet bands of black or dark colors are used, so that no white or auy tint an show around the nek. The bead eolar generay finishes the neck of high bodices, ees when other decorative adjuncts are employed. and it is to see bow many fancies ae- be owsat the throat of a stylish dress From a number of models may be selected a ana finished with a abirred tasdea collar ousside of alsee roaig The next collar is of velvet, beaded and edgsd with head p sand near this a collar with a point In back and frot on lower pfr tbo. A decorative collar is a straight band of velvet, edged on both sides wth a row of beads sad tied at the side wit. ribbon, while other collars ar [l set slightly awa from the froat o e pa.sge with a buckle of Sslee or of jet-JAMEds q.ita h t e* bue of pineppim M Sblhib wee ras bes O n e ebe b dss ua