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Lewiston teller. [volume] (Lewiston, North Idaho) 1878-1900, February 19, 1891, Image 2

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THE LEWISTON TELLER.
CARL A. FORKSMAN, Editor and Prop
LEWISTON.
IDAHO.
There are six Siamese students at
Westminster college, a small institu
tion at New Wilmington, Pa. In nu
merous other educational institutions
there are students from countries in
which enlightment is yet in its creep
ing infancy.
It is not alone ICs the young that the
"lurid literature 1 " of the day gets its
work in. The old have to suffer, too.
A man in.Pennsylvania whols60years
old became crazy from reading sensa
tional stories. It is as true as over
that there is no fool like an old fool.
London, Berlin, Vienna, and Paris
have provided themselves with under
ground roads or are preparing to do
so. IiOndon was the flrst city to meet
this problem, and its underground
roads have proved the swiftest, most
satisfactory, and most profitable sys
tem yet provided for a great city.
Pharmacy in the future will be
more intelligent in this country.
There are already forty colleges of
pharmacy in the United States. The
next advance in the same line should
be an effort to prohibit the adultera
tion of drugs. That evil is scarcely
less than the adulteration of druggists.
A large part of the oxpenses of lit
igation is borne by the taxed portion
of the public. Many litigants pay no
taxes, and they are the ones who
largely supply the courts with busi
ness. The taxable costs under the law
nre only a small part of what tho
hearing of any case costs the tax
payer. _
To have milk shelves in a kitchen,
where all manner of cooking, broiling
and baking is going on, is the surest
way to spoil your cream and butter.
In a store, or a workshop, or a farm
house, and especially a dairy-room, it
;is a very good motto to "have a place
!for everything and everything in its
'place." __
The Buddhists of Japan think they
have the world-wide religion because
it is based upon humanitarian princi
ples and propose to become propa
gandists of their doctrine. A Budd
hist bank will be established for the
purpose of gathering funds with which
o spread into all the world the gospel
of Buddha.__
There was never yet a faith that
did not mean a struggle after truth;
nor even yet a superstition from which
higher knowledge cannot learn more
of truth. In all that is written, sung
or said, nothing is true but that whlc.'i
prompts and gives wings to aspiration
nothing false but that which works
lor degradation.
It is flbid to be a euriocs fact that all
Of the girls in Wellesley college who
lead their classes are blondes. But it
is curious only from the fact that tko
dark haired girls who happen to be in
that particular college are lacking in
conspicuous brightness. It should not
be considered strange that the blondes
ean hold their own.
Autograph hunters will have to
pay liberally for the signature of tho
late General Spiuner. llis name, as
he wrote, now commauds a good fig
ure. There are Btill in existence
many first class copies of his strange
signature in the shapo of war-time
greenbacks and fractional currency.
But they are kept as curiosities and
command a premium.
IClectricity has been put to driving
drills. One is in use ou the warship
Maine, building at the Brooklyn Navy
Yard. A three-quarter-inch bole in a
three-quarter-inch plate can be drillod
in less than a minute. It is one of the
prospects of tho near future that elec
tric drills will be used for sinking deep
artesian wells as well as for rapid tun
neling in the mining regions.
A Large share of the failures in
farming arise from the attempt to
overtax one's strength, ability, capi
tal or knowledge. The most success
ful men in any branch of business are
those who commence in a small way,
and who learn from experience and
who gain strength by actual practice
V> enable them to double up their
operations or to enlarge their field of
kork.
Women always know how to stmd
ap for each other. According to Mrs.
S. F. Hershey, woman is a more su
perior being than man. She says:
"Woman lives longer than man, goes
Insane less numerously, commits Bui
eide one-third as often, makes one
tenth the demand on the public purse
for support in jails, prisons and alms
houses, and in every regard manifests
potentiality above that of man."
When the world sees a man old and
hale it wants to know how it was that
be became so old and so hearty. Jules
Simon was recently written to and
solicited to tell how he had crrlvod at
such A ripe old age. Ho answered
that he did not know; that for thirty
year* be bad worked about the s-mo
number of hours daily, and had not
changed his manner of living in all
Ume. Probably bit length ef
paarn ia dun to tba latter fact morn
thaa to aaythiag else.
SOME BIRDS THAT TALK.
THE MAGPIE, JACKDAW. CROW
AND PARROT.
Sow* Talaablo Hlals oa Edatatlag tha Parrot to
ba a Brllliaat Coarrnatlaaallat ail
Eicbcir Protballjr—Tba Iron
;) Kind la a fair Talker.
ho most accomplished talker of
Indian birds is the mynah, u handsome
purple-black bird, with a short tail,
orange beak and legs, and bright yel
low ear-flaps, which run around to the
back of its head like a broad collar.
It is a bold, lively bird, with a mellow
song and whistle of its own. Its
power of reproducing human speech
is wonderful, and it exhibits tho great
est anxiety that the tones shall be cor
rect, repealing them softly to itself,
with its head on one side, and then
shouting out tho words.
Another bird which talks better
than most, and whistles better than
any, is the piping crow, it is a lively
blaeU-and-white bird, : s large ns a
rook, but far more clegunt in form.
Several specimens inhabit tho zoologi
cal gardens, but tho best is in tho
western uvittry, where ho whistles
"Merrily Danced tho Quaker' in tones
like a f.utc.
The American blue jay says tho
London Spectator, a most brilliant
creature, flushing with hues of emerald
and turquoise, is an admirable mimic
of many sounds, even of the human
voice. Wilson speuks of ono "which
had all the tricks and loquacity of a
purrot; pilfered all it could convenient
ly carry off; answered to its name
with great sociability when called up
on, and could articulate a cumber of
words pretty distinctly." Jackdaws
ana the American crow can also be
taught to talk. But in all the crow
tribe, except I fie piping crow, the re
production of human speech seems to
bo moro a trick of mimacry than an
effort to acquire a substitute for sontr.
Parrots, mynahs, and some cockatoos
take infinite pains to learn correctly
and increaso their stock of phrases.
But the magpie or jay mimics what it
finds easy, and takes no further
trouble. Even the raven seldom has
many words at command, though,
owing to its deep, resonant voice and
imposing size, it attracts more atten
tion than a chattering jay. Tho raven
is the largest creature except man that
can "talk," and fancy and superstition
have naturally exaggerated its powers.
But clever
But the crow tribe, though us clever
as the parrots, are not so easily do
mesticated, and their beaks and
tongues aro less well suited for
the musical sounds of human speech.
Most of the parrots, and some
cockatoos and macaws, have both the
mentul and physical gifts necessary to
make them excel in talking. Parrots
of all classes have fleshy tongues,
moistened with saliva, and the arched
beak provides a substitute for our
palate and teeth. They have also
wide nostrils and their natural voices
arc loud enough and strong enough to
equal tho volume of human speech.
In disposition they aro highly imita
tive. Cockatoos aro almost like mon
keys in mimickiug men. For instance,
if you bow to them they will make
elaborate bows. If you put your
head on one side they will often do so
too. But with many parrots tho de
sire to learn new sounds is not, we
think, a mere trick of mimicry, but
the desire to possess a song— un ac
complishment with which to please,
identical in kind with the motive
which prompts the young of singing
birds to learn their parents' notes, or,
in the case of the canary, to learn and
improve upon a song, not their own,
which they have transmitted to their
posterity.
The following account of the develop
ment of the talking power in a young
parrot of which we have seen much late
ly is, wc submit, a strong confirmation
of this view. Our informant is a lady
whose sympathies aro by no means
limited to parrots, as the context will
show, and her observations aro wholly
reliable: "Wo bought Burry," she
writes, "when he was quite young, be
fore hi9 feathers are fully grown, and
we had him a year before ho began to
talk. Then he begun to mako very
odd noises, as if he was tryiug to say
words, but could not quite do it. Now
he constantly learns new words and
sentences, and early in tho morning 1
hear him practicing them over to him
self, exactly as our babies used to do
in the early morning hours in bed. If
he improves as much in the next ten
years as ho has in the last he should
bo able to recite a poem if we teach
him." There is no reason why a
parrot should not continue to increase
his stock of phrases ns ha grows older,
if the supposition that he looks upon
it as an accomplishment for which ho
is in some way the better, is correct.
The butcher bird, for instance, and the
sedge warbler do not rest satisfied
with learning their own notes, but
often learn and reproduce the notes of
other birds in great perfection. Tbe
mocking bird, which, like tbe sedge
warbler, has a fine song of his own,
does the same. But the parrot has
the advantage in being very long-lived
and constantly in human company.
The young parrot mentioned before
gave an excellent instance of the as
sociation in its mind of words with
things. Before it could talk, it was
friendly with a kitten which used to
enter Its cage. This kitten was sent
away, and for a year there was not
Mother in toe house. Thea a gray
of
til
to
Persian kitten was bougnv, and when
introduced to tbe parrot was at once
addressed as "Kitty," a word he had
hardly heard since the departure of
the other. The correctness of parrots'
imitation, the result, no doubt, of their
careful practice, is remarkable. A
lady of the Dutch court, visiting the
palace in the wood at the Hague, soon
after the death of the late Queen of
Holland, was startled by hearing the
queen's voice exactly reproduced. It
was a white cockatoo that had beeu a
great pet of hers, which was in a cor
ner of tbe room.
SONOMA'S SEVEN MOONS.
Legend ExpUlalag Item the Fertile Valle? De
rived Hi Naae.
There have been many explanations
offered in times past as to why the
name of Sonoma was given to this
valley by the native tribe of Indians
who. upon the advent of the white man
over one hundred years ago, peopled
this section of the country by thou
sands. Of course we ull know that
Sonoma valley in aborigine means
"Vailey of the Moon," says the Sonoma
Tribune, but just why that nume was
bestowed upon it is unolher question,
and one, too, which we bolievo has
never bean satisfactorily answered.
Recently, in talking to an aged ludian
who had resided ou the oid Nick Car
rigau ranch for many years, and who
was an old man when Gen
eral Vallejo settled in Sonoma
fifty years ago ' and must
now bo something over one hundred
years of age, he stated the reason the
valley was called Sonoma was because
it had "heep rouchee moon" (trans
lated into good English, many moons).
Further inquiry developed the fact
that between the town of Sonoma and
the Bella Vista vineyards, a distance
of four or five miles, the moon when
it is full can be seen by the traveler to
rise seven times in succession over tho
mountains in the east owing to their
peculiar formation. This phenomenon
has been witnessed by many old resi
dents in the early evening at the rising
of the full moon. This, no doubt, has
been observed by the Indians, and
hence the namo "Valley of the Moon."
Paper Horse i hon«
The need of a more or less elastic
horseshoe has led to many trials and
experiments, which, not resulting in
anything satisfactory, has kept the
farrier's art in the old rut of
a
to
farrier's art in the samo old rut of
olden days. A new horseshoe has
been made in Germany, and it is con
structed of parchment paper or n
paper prepared by a saturation of oil,
turpentine, etc., and impenetrable to
dampness or moisture. Thin layers
of such paper are glued together un
til the deBired thickness necessary for
the horseshoe is attained by an ag
glutinant, which is indifferent to the
action of moisture, and which will
not pet brittle when dry (especially
casein gum, chrome gelutino, copper
chromate, ammonia, or a mixture of
Venetian turpentine). The leaves of
such prepared paper can first be cut
to the desired form, and holes for
nuiliug on the shoo be stamped
through, and the leaves glued to
gether, one on top of another. Then
the shoe has to undergo u very strong
pressure, perhaps by a hydraulic
press, is dried, and lastly rasped and
planed. The holes can be bored in by
boring machines similar to those used
for brushes, instead of being stamped
out. The fastening of these shoes can
bo done by nailing through tbe holes
bored or stamped, as above described,
or by gluing with bitumen, caoutchouc,
or a mixture of gum ammonia, eraul
siou, ono part; gutta percha, two
parts. The fact of its getting rough
makes the paper horseshoe a great ad
vantage In preventing tho slipping of
the horse on smooth and slippery
places.—The Ago of Steel.
He Tran date 1 the Dream.
Here is a parable of rats slipped
from a Scotch paper: A laborer at
the Dundee Harbor lately told his wife
on awakening Id the morning a curi
ous dream which he had during tho
night, lie dreamed that he saw com
ing toward him in single file four rats.
The first one was very fat. and was
followed by two lean ones, tho rear
rat being blind. The dreamer was
greatly troubled, as there is a super
stition among the ignorant that to
dream of rats forebodes calamity. He
applied to his wife concerning this,
but she could not interpret the ill
omened dream. ' His son, a sharp lad,
who had heard his father's story,
volunteered to be the interpreter.
"The fat rat," he said, "is the man
who keops the public bouse that ye
gaug to sae often; and the two lean
ones are me and my mothor, and the
blind one is yourself, father."
An Exceptional Case
Young Noodle: "Didn't you say,
professor, that physiology was the
science that trouts of the functions of
the body?" Professor: "Yes, sir.''
Y. N. : "Then under the head of
what ology would a study of tbe mind
come?" P. : "I am afraid. Noodle,
that in your case It would come under
tho bead of myth-ology.*'
Bs Fall Oat.
A Wisconsin man who went to Kan
sas and fell in love with a girl, receiv
ed the following note and fell out:
"Dear Sir—If you call on Mary again
I will put a bullot into you oa sight.
Your obediaat servaat, X."
I
ONLY A WHILE.
TEAKL RIVERS.
Only a little while to work.
And a long, long time to rest:
Then drive the cloud from the aching brow,
The sigh from the troubled breast.
Only a while to watch und pray.
And then a long, long time to praise;
•bur God, the Father, knowetb best—
Then question not His ways.
Only a very little while.
As short as the going down
Of the setting sun, to meekly bear
The cross and the thorny crown.
Only a little while to sow,
And a long, long timo to reap;
Let's sow in faith with an open hand.
And tares from the good seed keep.
Only a little while to lose.
And a long, long time to find
The jewels death has robbed us of—
The friends we will leave behind.
Only a while to trim our lamps.
Ere tho bridegroom passeth by;
Then fill them well with the oil of life,
Let the flame rise pure and high.
Only a little while—what matters it
If our life be short or Ion g!
If we only sing a few faint notes
Or the whole of the changing song!
Only a while our barks must drift
To'ard the misty Isle of Tears,
Where the pirate, Time, has buried deep
Lost hopes from the bygone years.
Only a while these barks are borno
On the swell of sorrow's waves.
By the stranded joys of other days,
By a shore of grassy graves.
Ouly a while they'll struggle on.
'Mid the darkness and the strife:
Then God will drop their anchor deep
In the quiet sea of—Life.
—New Orleans Picayune.
linkTTink.
THBILLLING STOBY OF
FBANOO-PBUSSIAN WAE.
RV MAURICE LEGRAND.
TEE
n
CHAPTER V.
THE WRATII OK LOVE.
To be wrotli with those wo love
Doth work like madness in the brain.
—Coleridge.
HE sat in the old tiled kitchen, her
hands crossed listlessly on her lap,
her face pale, hor eyes heavy,
Tho table was prepared for the even
ing meal, and flowers decorated the
snowy cloth and gave color and frag'
ranee to the simple homely arrange
ments.
His eyes took in the whole quiet
pretty scene—the clean blue and white
tiled floor, the glitter of the brass pots
and pans, the dusky walnut-wood
presses, the old oak chairs und trest
les, nnd above all, tho quiet little
figure leaning so listlessly back in her
seat, with the spotless headgear and
blue kirtle of the picturesque Norman
dress.
He stayed an instant on the thresh
old. As his step paused and his
shadow fell she started from her list
less attitude. She went to meet him
swiftly, her eyes shining welcome, her
lips smiling, her faco upraised for tho
lips smiling, her faco upraised for tho
kiss that never failed to greet her
But she met a look that drovo the
blood back to her heart with a deadly
sickening fear. She cowered back
her arms fell to her side, lier slight
frame trembled, her bright
girlish beauty changed
to a shamed and shrinking
semblance of the guilt ho sought and
the fear he dreaded, lie looked at
her in silenco for a moment.
■•Is this tiling true?"
The words were few a id stern, but
they pierced to her heart with a ter
ror she could not conceal. Her head
drooped on her breast, she stretched
out her hands to him in piteous ap
peal.
"Pierre, what have you heard?
What do you mean?"
A sharp caustic laugh left his lips.
"You can ask that—your own words
condemn you."'
I .She looked at him with wide appeal
ing eyes; lier lips quivered like the
lips of a grieved child.
"Indeed, indeed, you wrong me,"
sho cried. "I have done nothing very
faulty; I-"
The attemp at extenuation fired his
whole soul witli fury.
"Answer me," he cried, seizing her
in liis urms and gazing down at the
pale, frightened, quivering faco, witli
eyes whose passion and wrath struck
fresh terror to hor heart. "Answer
mo—you whom I loved, and deemed
fairest, purest, truest among women—
whom d > you seek when you steal
from my sight at dead of night,
liko a thing of guilt and
shame? Who is it you love so well
tha' you risk reputation, honor, peace,
for his sake? Oh, Heaven, that I
should have to ask it! Oil, love! Oh,
wife! say it is false; look in my face
as you looked but a few short hours
ago, and I will curso myself that my
lips have wronged you by even tho
utterance of a doubt."
The wild impetuous words pourod
out their prayer unchecked, unstuyed;
but with ull the agony sho suffered,
with all the yearning for his trust—
his faith—that thrilled her to her
heart's core, she could not yield to his
prayer or answer the entreaty.
••Who has told you this?"
Tho palo lips, the shrinking form,
wore not those of innocence. A tem
pest of fury shook him once more.
••Is this all you say?" ho cried in
his torture.* "Arc you then what that
woman culled you—beautiful, seduc
tive, tempting—a traitress to houor
and to womanhood?"
"I am none of those," sho finshod
out scornfully, stung by reproach so
great, by calumny so vile.
"Nono! Then why not re
fute tho charge? Why not
swer what I ask? A word—but
one word—is all I meed. Have vou
stolen out at night ULd sailed down the
river to moot some man—sumo lover,
as I heard? Yes, or no? Nay, do
not shrink; I will have tho truth now
if I track your paramour to his hidden
lair and force it from him with my
knife at his throat"
A change passed over her face ted
I
by
ty
'I
j
out fierce and
Oh. no! That
Your lover has
•It
stole all its warmlli and bloom till it
looked like the gray ness or death.
Ho saw it and his voice r ing out im
ploringly: "<>h. my love, I frighten
you; forgive me, you know I love you.
You know the upraised voice of all tho
world would never make me believe
ill of you. Why do you torture ine so?
A word, ono little word, is all I need;
a word you can utter so easily.
••Heaven help me, l cannot."
Tho faint imploring cry broke from
her white lips involuntarily. She hid
her face in hor hands and burst into a
passion of wild agonized weeping. He
who loved her so,who would have cast
the very shadow of grief or s affering
from her path could lie have willed it,
looked down on hor now with themute
despair of a broken heart, with the
tearless agony of a shaken faith.
You cannot. Are you then guilty?"
Of deceiving you—yes. Of might
else I am innocent. "
His laughter rang
wild on the stillness.
Of deceiving me!
is no sin, no wrong!
taught you to reason well."
I have no lover," she moaned,
is a lie,"
Whom do you go to meet then,
like a thing of infamy, as they have
called you?"
She was silent, while the glow of
the fire-flnmos flickered over her white
changod face, and showed him
the pathetic misery of hor imploring
eyes.
You will not say. Well, then. I
believe tho worst. Tho woman who
withholds a secret from her husband
would count it a small thing to dis
honor his name, his love, his rights.
Your looks, your words, condemn
you. You have had my love; you
have smiled in my eyes; you have
talked of a lifetime spent in the joy
that has made this past week a very
paradise; and now you have deceived
und betrayed me!"
"If you think that," sho cried, with
the sudden anger and indignation of
hor outraged womanhood, "your love
is little worth. If you ean listen to
the tongues of slander and believo
such vileness as you have imputed,
you are less worthy of my love than I
of yours."
The fiery indignant words touched
him with remorse.
"What secret is it then, you with
hold from mo?" he pleaded. "Oh,
think, is not my love wide enough to
forgive, my trust deep enough to
shelter you from all consequences? Is
it some youthful folly, some girlish
imprudence that has woven this mys
tery and secrecy about you? Only
tell me, Ninette; you do not know what
I suffer!''
The agony of his voice, the passion
in his eyes, touched her more deeply
than any reproach. She threw her
self at his feet, the great salt tears
blinding her gaze as itsought his face,
and sought in vain for tho lovo and
trust of old.
"I don't know," she moaned, "for
I suffer, too."
"Thon tefl me; trust mo."
"I cannot."
"I cannot."
Once more these fatal words: once
more that terrible despair which de
fied all entreaty, and admitted of but
ono interpretation. Ho laid his hand
upon her shoulder with the grasp of a
desperate man.
••To kill you were a crime; but
heaven knows it were a crime justified
by tho madness and tho shame that is
my portion henceforward."
The firo of jealousy scorched his
heart as with a hot iron. Tho feroci
ty of an undisciplined race, stern of
creed and rigid of honor, stirred and
woke beneath this bitter provocation.
'I he light of certainty showed him but
ono belief, to that he clung, though its
agony miuldoncd him. Before that
cry of inability, before that silence of
shame, bis doubt grew surer, his faith
fell as a treo whoso roots tho a - : has
severed.
"Go to him you shield," he
wilyly; "go and laugh together
tho poor fool that once loved
once, ay, once, but long ago!
woman that I loved is dead!"
Then ho releaso her. and
out another look upon
face ho went out from
house, ore his strongth should fail him,
ere his hands ahould bo stained with
the blood of tho fair foul creature lie
j had brought to his hearth and homo
in tho fondness of a passionate joy, in
tho trust of a great love.
She lay where ho had left her, in
tho glow of tho wavering firelight.
Tearless sobs shook hor, a great dread
numbed and froze the blood in hor
veins. The intense agony of thoso
first few moments would huvo made
unconsciousness a blessed relief, but
it never came. Each sound, oach sight
the ticking of tho clock, tho stir
of a leaf, or the rustle of a brauch
against the open casement—all came
to her with clear and painful distinct
ness. Tho coolness of tho midsummer
air deepened the gray hues of twilight,
tiprn at Inst she rose and dragged her
weary frame to that accustomed seat
by tho fire, and shivered in tho warm,
golden glow as if the coldness of win
ter reigned around.
"He must let me toll," she moaned.
My oath cannot outlast such wrong
and misery as this. But how to reach
him now? Oh heavens, if I should be
watched, tracked, discovered!"
She sat there motionless, her bruin
racked with tho effort at invention of
schemes and piuns, each in its turn
cast aside as futile. The serving girl
came and cleared away the untasted
meal, and spoke wonderlngly to her,
and asked if she needed aught, but she
only shook hor head and answered
qothing.
To all external sounds and cares she
remained blind and deaf. The reaction
that follows upon intense excitement
was with her, and she lay in the dull,
heavy stupor of a misery so intense
that It numbed her senses to all senti
ent life, and loft her but the memory
of suffering.
cried
over
you
The
with
her
the
up
Tho delicious coolncst of tho air as
it swept over herachingbrow brought
the first senro of relief she hud y,,*
felt. A cluster of rose foliage arme,,
her as tho wind stirred it; the quiver,
ing luminance of tho moon and sdurs
lit up the whole quiet grounds: the
far-off murmur of tho flowing \ Vl ,
broke in monotonous music against the
motionless wheels of the mill.
As her gaze swept over the vast
stretch of silent country, sho hoard a
step on the path, a shadow fell across
the silver lake tvhieh tho moonbeams
had made ou the dewy sward.
••Are you looking for your husband.
Mistress Leroux?" said a. harsh voice
in her ear. "You will never see ifim
more—he has enlisted as a soldier,
and inarched with the treops yonder',
an hour ago!"
TO BE CONTINUED.
A Touching Incident
The following, which appeared in
Detroit paper, is ono of the most
touching incidents to be met with, if
true, it was a very remarkable ease,
and if merely imaginative, it is very
suggestive:
There is a family in this city who
are dependent upon a littlo child for
tho present sunshine of themselves.
A few weeks ago the young wife and
mother was stricken down to die. It
was so sudden, so dreadful, when the
grave family physician eallod them to
gether in the parlor, and in his solemn,
professional way intimated to them
the truth—there was no help.
Then came the question among them
who would tell her. Not the doctor!
It would be cruel to let the man of
science go to their dear ono on such
an errand. Not the aged mother who
was to be left childish and alone. Not
the young husband who was walking
the floor with clenched hands and re
bellious heart. Not—there was only
ono other, and at this moment he
looked up from tho book he had been
playing with, unnoticed by them all,
and asked gravely:
"Is mamma doin' to die?"
Then, without waiting for an an
swer, he sped from the room and up
stairs as fast as his littlo feet would
carry him. Friends and neighbors
were watching by tho sick woman.
They wonderingly noticed tho pale
face of the child as he climbed on the
bed and laid his small hand on his
mother's pillow.
•Mamma." he asked, in sweet, ca
ressing tones, "is you 'fraid to die?"
The mother looked at him witli
swift intelligence. Perhaps she had
been thinking of this.
•Who—told—you—Charlie?" she
asked faintly.
•Doctor, an' papa, an" gamma—
everybody," ho whispered, "Mam
ma, dear, 'ittle mamma, doan' lie 'fraid
to die, 'll you?"
•No, Charlie," said the young
mother, after ono supremo pang
of grief; "no mamma won't be afraid!"
•Jus' shut your eyes in 'e dark,
mamma, tcep hold my hand—an'
when you open 'em, mamma, it'll he
all light there."
When tho family gathered awe
stricken at the bedside, Charlie held
up his little hand.
'H-u-s-h! My mamma doan' to
sleep. Her won't wake up lieio any
ore!"
And so it proved. Tliero was no
heart-rendering farewell, no agony of
parting; for when tho young mothor
woke sho had passed beyond, and as
baby Charlie said:
"It was all light there."
Mother.
Lord Macaulay pays tho following
beautiful tribute to his mother;—
"Children, look in those eyes; listen
to that dear voice; notice tho feeling
of just a single touch that is bestowed
on you by that hand! Make much of
it while yet you have that most pre
cious of all God's gifts, a loving moth
er. Read the unfathomable love of
thoso eyes, tho kind anxiety of that
touch and look, however slight your
pain. In after life you may have
friends, but never will you have again
tho inexpressible lovo and gentle way
shed upon you that none but a mother
bestows. Often do I sigh in the strug
gles with tho hard, uncaring world,
for tho sweet, deep security I fell when
of an evening, nestling in her bosom,
I listened to some quiet tale suitable
to my ago, read in her untiring voice.
Never can i forget her sweet glances
cast upon mo when I appeared asleep,
never her kiss of peace at night.
Years have passed away since we laid
hor by my father in the old church
yard, yet still her voice whispers from
tho gravo and her eyes watch over roe
as I visit spots long since liallowod to
tho memory of my mother."
"For My Sake."
These three little words are f* 10
touchstone of love. The application
of this touchstone begins with in'*' 1 '"
cy and ends only with tho end of life
If that baby in Its mother's arms coule
speak intelligently it would say : "I
is for my sake that a mother s eye
watches unsleeping through tho mia
night hours, and her arm » hold nw
until they are ready to drop off 0
weariness. "For my sake" many
successful man acknowledges g ra
fully that his parents toilod and econo
mized in order to buy books and pay
college bills. -'For my sake" provi
tho sheltering roof and the arm-c. fia
for dear old grandma at the nrosi •
Take those words out of our langua^
and you would rob home of Bs sw
ness and human life of its nobles
pirations. —Exchange.__
The Right Rise.
A personal item says that Miss
Louise Eve is "a rising P^ te99 ° f ^, e
gusta, Ga.,'' but it doesn't name »
hour at which she rises- »J***
that she rise, early enough Jj,
mother wash the breakfast dishmi an«
pare the potatoes for dinn er.
the kind of »rising" P 0 ® 1 *?®*.,,
country nee<U_Norriitown Herald.

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