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The Baltimore County union. (Towsontown, Md.) 1865-1909, May 15, 1909, Image 1

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VOL. 60. WHOLE No. 2314.
Near Reisterstown Road, ARLINGTON, Md.
. . O' —
. . ..b ...—.
Dom a general Banking Business In all that Is consistent with safe and careful man
.(<meiit* The locution of oar Bank make, ft the most convenient place for a large
number of residents of Baltimore county to transact their financial business.
During the short time our Bank has been open for business the amount of deposits
has reached a success far In excess of our expectations.
We have a SAVINGS DEPARTMENT and pay Interest on money deposited there.
Call and see ns and we will explain why It will be to yonr advantage to open an
account with us.
Prompt attention given to all collection business entrusted to us.
. Q a
President. HOWARD E. JACKSON, 2d Vice-President. Cashier.
Second National Bank
fWe invite the accounts of Individuals, Firms, Corporations, Societies, A R
Executors, Administrators, Trustees, Ac.
—o— A
No account too large for us to handle with safety, and none too small I I
to receive our most careful consideration. || ft
Collections Made. # Loans Negotiated.
Banking in All Its Branches.
Thomas W. offutt, Elmer J. Cook, l Vice-Presidents. Thos. J. Meads,
President. Harrison Rider, 1 Cashier.
Harrison Rider, Chas. H. Knox, Noah E. OffutpT
Feb. 6—ly
i; Make Life Worth Living. ji
1 | a Hard times come to most everybody. Life I. i ’
| i /I has more ups than downs. Right now, while 11 %
< ' , \l| you are making, you ought to be saving; l ilj <[
‘ , AVM then when the downs come you have some- <,
thing on which to fall back. J ►
Where Is the money you have been earning < ’
, all these years ? You spent it and somebody < [
J ■'jtvi else put It in the Bank. Why don’t you put J i
( ' if II your own money in the Bank for yourself ? ||l '
% •? II Why let the other fellow Bank what you IV * J
flfc Independent and Start a Bank Account for Yourself With ;
The Towson National Bank, i;
i \ DIHBOTOnS, \
‘ \ JOHN CROWTHER, President; D. H. RICE, Vice-President; 3 \
\ 1 Col. Walter 8. Franklin, Lewis M. Bacon, J ►
. I Hon. J. Fred. C. Talbott, Wilton Creenway, < |
; > John S. Blddlson, Ernest C. Hatch. <,
.; Emanuel W. Herman, W. 0. ORAUMER. Oashier. !;
- Oct.
'tUcKETrs Gape Cube
It's a powder. The chicks inhale it.NKills
both worm and germ. Whole brood treated in
five minutes. Retail price. 25c.; by mail, 35c.
For sale by drug and general stores. Write for
full information. Address,
A pi. 10—8m] Hillsboro, Md.
Eggs for hatching i
I am now booking orders for immediate and
future deliveries of EGGS THAT WILL
HATCH—guaranteed fertile. These eggs are
Barred Plymouth Rocks 11.00 setting 15
White Plymouth Rocks 1.00
Single Comb White Leghorns 1.00 “
Single Comb Black Minorcas 1.00
Single Comb Black Orpingtons.... 1.50 “
Feb. 6—tf] Belalr, Md.
I have bred these birds for three years and have
never failed to get winter eggs. I also took 3 first
and 5 second prizes at Timonlum Fair last fall.
®-Eggs for etching.
Feb. 20-ly] Towson, Balto. county, Md.
75c. for 13 Packed for Shipment.
50c. for 13 at My Yards. : :
WCall and see my stock."**
181 Light Street, Baltimore, Md.,
Desire to inform those whom It may concern that
they have on band
New $ Old Canvas of All Weights 4 Sizes
Which they will make up for you into
Wagon Covers, Hay Covers,
At most reasonable rates. A call is respectfully
solicited. Mail orders given prompt attention.
May B—3m*
Walnut, Poplar, Chestnut and Oak.
Apply to or address—
Apl. 10—tf] LUTHERVILLE, Md.
From $15.00 to $30.00.
512 and 514 North Gay Street,
Apl. 17—ly
Money has been lost by paying too high prices
for goods. See us, we can save you money on
SPORTING GOODS, all kinds,
Victor and Edison Talking Machines on easy
payments. 12 Victor and Edison Records 50c.
cash and 25c. per week.
S9*Mall this “ad.” to us and we will mail you
FREE OF CHARGE a useful present. Differ
ent kinds for ladles and gentlemen.
wm. McAllister & sons,
881 W. Baltimore Street, Baltimore, Md.
May B—ly
My new line is all thatcould be desired, showing
The Latest and Most Exclusive
patterns and novelties.
Neat and tasty work assured you at moderate
mr' Won’t you favor me with an order?
City and Country Work receive personal and
prompt attention.
Cor. Chase Street, BALTIMORE. Md.
WTelephone. Apl. 24—ly
Plovers, Plaits, k
Special Attention Given to Ornamental
JOHN L. WAGNER, Florist,
C. & P. Phone—Towson 8-F. [Nov. 21—ly
368 and 364 N. Gay Street, Baltimore, Md.
Headquarters for Blacksmith and Horseshoers’
Supplies and Builders' Hardware, Bar Iron, Steel
Springs. Axles, Wheels, Shafts, Spokes, Rims,
Hubs, Horse Shoes. Horse Shoe Nails. Horse Shoe
Pads, Rubber Tires, Rubber Tire Channels and
Appliances, Wheelwright Material and Suppllas.
Headquarters for Field and Lawn Fence, Lawn
Swings, Lawn Mowers, Lawn Sprinklers. A pos
tal cara will reach us. [Apl.24tJan.3o
Fob “The Union.”
You stood beside the window paiie.
The clouds were dark and pouring rain.
The aay was dark, your heart was sad
Walt;—the morrow will make you glad.
Lo! crystals flashing on the breeze.
They glow afar on forest trees ;
Beautiful jewels, rich and rare
Free to you as the morn’s pure air.
With diamond crowns, clusters of pearls,
See, every glowing height unfurls
Its standards of the ice and sun
As warriors stand when victory’s won.
Even the shrubs, the meadows sere,
Resplendant shine with love and care,
For everywhere the eye doth see
The glory of a mystery.
No sinster hand can steal away,
No to enraptured vision say,
Tou have no right to look upon
The slendor of the ice and sun.
When darksome clouds on us descend,
And things we cannot comprehend.
No faltering step, nor helpless cry;
With steady trust look to the sky.
The morrow's sun will shine again,
Jewels shall flash where there was rain;
And every struggling, valiant one
Shall cloudless greet the golden sun.
There’s crystal In that city’s street,
Beautiful prints of angels’ feet
To gates of pearl and crystal sea
Beautiful land of mystery.
Tillie Clifford was sitting one even
ing in the doorwaj’ of her humble
home, an old brown farmhouse, situa
ted two miles away from the center
of the village of N . She was
wondering what made her father so
quiet and sober of late, and why she
caught her mother every now and
then wiping away the tears with a
stealthy hand.
She heard their voices now, as they
were talking in a low tone in the
kitchen, and once in awhile she
caught the words, ‘mortgage, ’ ‘fore
closure,’ ‘ejection,’ and the like, and
she pondered very soberly upon their
meaning. Pretty soon her father
went out to attend to some matters at
the barn, and her mother called her
to come in.
“Sit down, my child,” she said as
Tillie entered, “I want to have a lit
tle talk with you.”
The girl obeyed, rightly thinking
that whatever had been troubling her
parents of late was about to be re
“We have been harassed greatly
for some time now,” her mother be
gan, “for fear we may lose our little
“Lose our home I Why, mother,
I thought father owned it, and that
it was left to him by Grandfather
“So it was, my dear; and your
father received it free from encum
brance, but in an evil hour he put a
mortgage of three hundred dollars
upon it in order to loan that amount
to a friend. Not long after that the
friend failed and the money was lost.
The mortgage could have been fore
closed years ago, but kind Mr. Day,
who held it, has repeatedly said:
‘Never mind, Mr. Clifford, as long as
you pay the interest the money can
remain invested in the house.’ He
died, as you know, a few weeks since,
and the nephew, who inherits the
property, says we must pay the three
hundred dollars before three months,
or leave the house.”
“Oh. mother ! Will it be possible
for father to pay it?” asked Tillie,
“There is only one hope. We have
thought of a friend, about thirty miles
from here, who may possibly let us
have the money and take the mort
“I do hope he will, mother; it
would be dreadful if we have to leave
the old home.”
“It will be as God wills,” replied
Mrs. Clifford, “but we must make
every effort we can to save it. We
are going to take the journey in our
own wagon, to save expenses, and
have decided to start tomorrow morn
ing. You will not be afraid to stay
here alone through the day, will you ?
We have arranged with your Uncle
John to come here and sleep the night
we are away.”
“It will be dreadfully lonesome
here with you both away ; but I’m
not the least bit afraid to stay,” re
plied Tillie, bravely.
As they wished to make an early
start in the morning, the family re
tired very soon after the father came
in from doing his barn chores.
Tillie awoke at sunrise, and found
that her father and mother had been
up for quite awhile, and the prepara
tions for their journey were nearly
“Don’t leave the house, except to
go a short distance; and, Tillie, be
very careful about fire,” said Mr.
Clifford, as they drove away.
Tillie gave the desired promise,
kissed them good-bye and then went
into the house to try to forget her
loneliness as best she could in doing
up the morning housework.
She had a long day all to herself,
and many a little piece of work that
had been put by for a favorable time,
she managed to finish. In the after
noon she happened to think of an in
teresting book which one of her school
friends had loaned her a day or two
before, and she sat down by the win
dow to enjoy it. She was so absorb
ed in its contents that she was star
tled when she heard a sweet voice say :
“Shall I intrude if I step in and
rest myself for a few moments?”
Tillie looked up and a young lady
beautifully dressed stood before her.
She had a sweet, winning face and
the most faultless grace of manner.
Tillie was instantly charmed with her
strange visitor, and quickly replied;
“Not in the least; walk right in.”
The young lady took the chair
offered, which was a cushioned rocker,
and sank into its depths in utter
“I was journeying with my
have strayed away from them and we
have become separated.”
“I dare say they will find you,”
said Tillie, hopefully, “and in the
meantime you can rest here as long
as you wish.”
“Thank you ; this is such a clean,
cozy little home, it will be a real treat
to stay here awhile,” replied the
young lady.
The two girls were soon chatting
as familiarly as though they had
always known each other. As it
grew toward night and the strange
lady’s friends did not appear, Tillie
wondered that she seemed so perfectly
easy about her situation.
Not long after tea the young lady
said : “If you will allow me to spend
the night here I will make some ar
rangements by which I can meet my
friends farther on in the morning.”
“I shall be very glad to have yon
stay,” replied Tillie, “as my father
and mother have gone on a journey,
and it will be pleasant to have com
By and by Uncle John came in, and
was introduced to the visitor, who
made herself agreeable to him, as she
chatted about crops and other mat
ters that she thought would interest
him. She soon retired, and Tillie
gave her the spare bed room, which
opened out of the parlor.
“Where did that young woman
come from?” asked Uncle John, as
Tillie returned to the kitchen.
She explained the story of her
having become separated from her
friends and seeking rest there.
“Rather a strange statement, I
should think,” replied Uncle John.
“Do you think there is anything
wrong about her, Uncle John ?” asked
Tillie anxiously.
“I won’t say that there is,” he re
plied, “but there is a strange glitter
in her eyes once in awhile that I
don’t like. I think she’ll bear watch
There were two bedrooms leading
from the kitchen. Tillie occupied
one and Uncle John retired to the
other, where Mr. and Mrs. Clifford
usually slept.
About midnight Tillie awoke with
a start and thought she heard strange
sounds in the kitchen. She crept
out of bed and looked through the
crack of the door, which was ajar.
There she saw a sight which froze
her blood with terror. Her young
lady guest was standing by the table,
wildly brandishing the carving knife,
whose edge every now and then she
would apparently try upon her finger.
“Ha ! She’ll make a nice victim !”
she muttered ; “her neck is so thin
and white. The fiends tell me I’ll
have a fount of blood tonight. Ha,
ha !”
Tillie tried to scream, but she could
not utter a sound. To her intense
relief, Uncle John, who, as he after
wards related, “had not undressed at
all, but had slept with one eye open,”
rushed out of his bedroom and seiz
ing the frantic woman, took the knife
from her hand and marched her back
to her room. By the time she reach
ed there the fierce glitter had disap
peared from her eyes and she seemed
as docile as a child. Shutting her
into the bedroom and barricading the
door, Uncle John returned again to
the kitchen.
In the meantime Tillie had dressed
and stood there with a white face,
awaiting him. “Ob, Uncle John !”
she cried in a hoarse whisper, “I do
believe she meant to kill me ; what
does it mean ?”
“It means, child, that the woman
is crazy, and has probably escaped
from some lunatic asylum.”
“Oh, dear ! I’m afraid to stay here
another minute Uncle John, and as
for sleeping, I’m sure I shall not
close my eyes again tonight.”
“Her madness comes on by spells,
I think, and we won’t be troubled by
her any more tonight. You go to
bed and I’ll keep watch the rest of
the night,” said Uncle John.
Assured thus of safety, Tillie re
tired to her room, but she was too
excited to sleep soundly, and only
caught a short nap now and then.
Next morning the young lady came
out daintily dressed to breakfast and
looked and appeared so perfectly sane
that Tillie was fain to believe that the
incident of the night before was only
a horrible dream. She retired to her
room as soon as the meal was finished,
and while Uncle John and Tillie were
consulting as to what should be done,
they were startled to see a handsome
carriage with a span of horses drive up.
A pale, anxious-looking gentleman
came hastily np the walk and knock
ed upon the door.
“Have you seen anything of a
young lady, dressed in a black silk
dress and sack, and a white hat,
trimmed with lace and feathers?” he
asked, hurriedly.
“Yes, sir, she is here now,” said
Tillie. “Won’t you come in and see
her ?”
“Thank God !” he exclaimed, fer
vently. Then, turning to the lady
in the carriage, he called out:
“Dismiss your fears, my dear.
Alice is here.”
The lady soon after entered and
Tillie immediately conducted her to
her daughter’s room.
Upon her return to the kitchen
Tillie told the circumstances of the
young lady’s arrival, and Uncle John
related her midnight visit to the
kitchen and the muttered threats they
had heard her make while holding
the knife.
“My unhappy child,” said the poor
father in a broken voice, while the
tears rolled down his cheeks. “She
has been bereft of reason for three
years and been the inmate of an asy
lum until recently. Her keepers
thought she was so much better that
they let her come out and try a
change. While we were riding slowly
along yesterday she suddenly leaped
from the carriage and plunged into a
piece of woods by the road. I fol
lowed as fast as I could, but she es
caped me, and her mother and I
have been suffering tortures of sus
pense in regard to her fate. She has
spells of frantic thirst for blood. I
shudder to think what a tragedy
might have happened here.”
“It was a narrow escape,” said
Uncle John, “as it happened, there
was no harm done and I am glad that
your daughter is safe.”
Soon after the young lady appear
ed, accompanied by her mother and
dressed for her journey. As her
father passed out of the door he thrust
a bill into Tillie’s hands with the re
mark :
“I owe you a debt of gratitude for
sheltering my daughter and you shall
hear from me again.”
Tillie opened her hand and a crisp
five-dollar bill lay upon her palm.
She had never owned so much money
in her life before and she gazed at it
in pleased wonder. How long the
time seemed till night, for then she
expected her parents home. At last
they drove slowly into the yard and
from the expression of sadness upon
their faces, she knew their errand had
been a fruitless one.
“Your father’s friend was unable
to make us the loan, and he has come
home feeling utterly discouraged,”
said Mrs. Clifford, as she sank weari
ly into a chair.
“I’m so sorry,” said Tillie, with
trembling lips, “but it isn’t so bad to
lose our home as though some one of
ns had been killed or gone crazy.”
Then, as her father entered soon
after, Tillie told all about the events
of the previous day and night.
As they realized the danger that
had threatened their only child, Mrs.
Clifford exclaimed, thankfully:
“You were right, Tillie, in saying
that our trouble is not the worst that
could befall us ; we’ll bear it with be
coming fortitude, now that all our
lives are spared.”
A few evenings after, while the
family were sitting together in the
twilight, a neighbor, who had been
to the postoffice, threw a letter into
the open door.
Tillie lighted a candle and her father
gazed curiously at the direction and
the postmark.
“Whom can it be from?” he ex
claimed, turning it over and over in
his hand.
“Why, father, open it and see,”
said Tillie, laughing, “that’s the
quickest way to find out.”
He did so, and a check for five hun
dred dollars fell out.
“Here, Tillie, read it,” he said,
with a trembling voice. “I can’t
think what it means.”
It read thus:
Mb. Clifford— Dear Sir .-—Having obtained
your name and address as I passed your village
the other day, I take very great pleasure In send
ing the inclosed check. It is only a slight return
for the service your daughter rendered to my
afflicted child. I beg that you will use the money
for your own or her benefit, as you may see best.
Yours truly, Herman St. Clair.
“O, father,” said Tillie, clapping
her hands with delight, “that will
pay off the mortgage and we can keep
our home after all.”
“We can thank God,” he said;
“what a merciful Providence sent
that young woman to our door.”
“God has many ways of bringing
about the same result,” said Mrs. Clif
ford, reverently. I have had faith to
believe He would help us in our trou
ble, but I never dreamed it would
come in the way it has. How can we
be thankful enough?”
A few days after the whole family
went upon a journey and when they
returned they brought with them a
clear title to the little homestead.
After paying the mortgage they in
vested one hundred and fifty dollars
in the bank fer Tillie, and the re
maining fifty they presented to Uncle
John, thus enabling the old gentle
man to purchase some farm imple
ments he had long needed.
Tillie never forgot this lesson of
her girlhood or the lesson of God’s
watchful care over us, which it taught
her. —Monthly Magazine.
When Thomas Lincoln was moving
from Pigeon Creek, Indiana, to their
Illinois home his son, Abraham,
proved the extreme kindness of his
heart in at least two instances. On
both of these occasions the kindness
was to animals. And that speaks
volumes. In those days there was
no Society for the Prevention of Cru
elty to Animals. There were next
to no schools, let alone refined teach
ers to instill in the mind of the little
western boy lessons of kindness. But
his mother had taught him to be kind
above all else. This seed fell into a
heart naturally kind. Many a time
the wheels of their great moving wag
ons sank hub-deep in the mire. Abra
ham was first to put his shoulder to a
wheel and give the long-suffering ox
en help. Their little dog in crossing
one stream got left behind. The
puppy set up a pitiful yelping. And,
though he wasn’t worth going after,
Abraham waded back after him bare
footed. He wouldn’t even take the
cattle back through the icy water.
Having waded across he picked up
the now happy dog and waded back
again. This was in the severest win
ter weather. His only explanation
was, “I cannot bear to see even a
puppy in distress.”
Kansas newspapers are “passing
on” this story which is going the
rounds, and the unanimous verdict is
that it is good. It is to the effect that
a freckle-faced girl stopped at the
post office and yelled out:
“Anything for the Murphys?”
“No, there is not.”
“Anything for Jane Murphy?”
“Anything for Ann Murphy?”
“Anything for Tom Murphy ?”
“Anything for Bob Murphy?”
“No, not a bit.”
“Anything for Terry Murphy ?”
“No, nor for Pat Murphy, nor Den
nis Murphy, nor Pete Murphy, nor
Paul Murphy, nor for any Murphy—
dead, living, born or unborn, native
or foreign, civilized or uncivilized,
savage or barbarous, male or female,
black or white, franchised or unfran
chised, naturalized or otherwise. No,
there is positively nothing for any of
the Murphys, either individually,
jointly, severally, now and forever,
one and inseparable.”
The girl looked at the postmaster
in astonishment, and said: “Please
do look if there is anything for Clar
ence Murphy.”
Many a man claims to be complete
master of himselt who hasn’t much
to boast of.
When any one embarks on a new
undertaking, such as departing totake
up a new post or going on the anx
ious journey of application for a place
of any kind, it is a common and pleas
ant custom for relatives and friends
to throw an old shoe or slipper after
the traveler for luck, says the Chica
go Joutnal. It must not be a new
one, nor must the slipper be unworn,
or the token of good fortune is nil.
Though common, this custom is not
observed so much for ordinary occa
sions of life as it is for weddings. At
nearly every wedding, when the new
ly married couple start on the honey
moon, some relative or friend stands
ready to throw the old slipper or shoe
after the carriage.
Only those who have had all the
claim on the bride hitherto should
throw the slipper if its right luck
token is to be observed. The nearest
friend of the bride, her father, or the
one who gave her away, should be
the shoe thrower. And the shoe is
thrown not at or after the bride, but
directly at the bridegroom. It is for
him in reality, and is, in effect, a
token of the transference of his wife
from her friends to his care.
Just as the wedding ring is the sur
vival of the badge of servitude, the
owner’s mark for his slave, so is the
old shoe a survival of an old usage
that has come down to us from an
cient customs in Eastern lands.
When possession of land or of any
thing else was yielded up by an own
er to a buyer the transference of the
former owner’s shoe to the new owner
was a mark of exchange.
When the possession given up was
of old standing this was implied by
the giving over of a shoe that had
been worn ; hence the reason for old
shoes, not new ones, thrown after
bridal carriages.
In Eastern lands if a man wished
to give token that he claimed land
and meant to occupy it he threw his
shoe upon it. Not a new shoe, but
one taken from his foot. This was
the symbol of ownership. If the first
owner meant to dispute possession he
cast the shoe back.
The latter reason is why it is un
lucky for either the bride or bride
groom to pick up the shoe if it should
fall near them and throw it back.
Always has it been considered a token
of bad luck to do this, yet sometimes
in ignorance of this it has been done,
of course playfully.
By this custom the bridegroom is
really refusing to take up his new
possession. The shoe means occu
pancy, and he should keep it.
If in that old Eastern time a man
delivered over his shoe as a sign that
he resigned possession and the new
owner refused to take it then he was
rejecting the land or other purchase
tacitly. The matter was perfectly
understood, and the shoe stood in
stead of lawsuits.
To this day Eastern people take
off their shoes as a mark of reverence
and as a token that they dare not
take occupancy where they stand.
The thrower of the old shoe ought to
stand barefoot to keep the luck em
blem intact, and the shoe should cer
tainly be one of his own.
The bride begins a new life. She
should enter her husband’s house in
new shoes, therefore. Invariably she
does so, not always knowing any rea
sons underlying this, save that she
has everything new for her wedding.
But she would be unlucky on this
day if she were married in old shoes.
The plan to systematize designs for
United States notes and coin certifi
cates has been approved by Assistant
Secretary of Treasury Coolidge. The
scheme is one of uniformity in por
trait and general design for notes of
the same aenomitation of each class.
Under the plan adopted, all classes
of notes of each denomination will
carry the same portrait and no por
trait will appear on the notes of more
than one denomination, nor will any
portrait be used which will not be im
mediately recognized by every person
who handles money.
The one dollar silver certificate will
carry the portrait of Washington;
two dollar silver certificates the por
trait of Jefferson. The five dollar
note whether silver certificate or green
back will carry the portrait of Lin
coln ; the ten dollar gold and silver
certificates and United States notes
that of Cleveland ; the twenty dollar
that of Jackson ; the fifty dollar that
of Grant; the one hundred dollar
that of Franklin; the five hundred
dollar that of Salmon P. Chase ; the
one thousand dollar that of Alexander
I visited a school one day where
Bible instruction was part of the dai
ly course, and in order to test the
children’s knowledge asked some
questions. One class of little girls
looked particularly bright, and I ask
ed the tallest one: “What sin did
Adam commit?”
“He ate forbidden fruit.”
“Right. What tempted Adam?”
“Not really Eve, but the serpent.
And how was Adam punished.”
The girl hesitated and looked con
fused. Behind her sat a little 8 year
old, who raised her hand and said:
“Please, pastor, I know.”
“Well, tell us; how was Adam
“He had to marry Eve.”
“What in the world are you cry
ing about, Johnny ?” asked the teach
er kindly.
“You said that if the earth was
flattened out the sea would be two
miles deep all over it.”
“That’s nothing for you to feel bad
“But—but, teacher, I can’t swim.”
JoHNNY--“They’remakin’ shingles
out o’ cement now’days.” Dicky—
“l don’t mind that so much, but if
maw ever gets a pair o’ cement slip
pers I’m goin’ to run away !”
Beside the church door, a-weary and alone,
A blind woman sat on the cold door stone.
The wind was bitter, the snow fell fast,
And a mocking: voice in the fltful blast
Seemed ever to echo her mourning: cry.
And she begged an alms of the passerby.
“Have pity on me, have pity. I pray.
My back is bent and my hair is gray.”
The bells were ringing the hour of prayer.
And many good people were gathered there;
But covered with furs and mantles warm.
They hurried past through the wintry storm.
Some were hoping their souls to save.
And some were thinking of death and the grave;
And, alas! they had no time to heed
The poor soul asking for charity’s need;
And some were blooming with beauties and
And closely muffled In veils of lace,
They saw not the sorrow nor heard the moan
Of her who sat on the cold stone.
At last came one of noble name,
By the city counted the wealthiest dame.
And the pearls that round her neck were strung,
She proudly there to the beggar flung.
Then followed a maiden, young and fair.
Adorned with dusters of golden hair:
But her dress was thin and scanty and worn.
Not even the beggar’s seemed more forlorn ;
With tearful look and pitying sigh,
She whispered soft, “No Jewels nave I,
But I give you my prayers.good friend.” said she,
“And sure, I know God listens to me.”
On the maid's pure hand so white and small.
The blind woman let a teardrop fall.
And kissed it; then said to the weeping girl,
“It is you have given the purest pearl."
-Rev. L. P. O'StUly.
The titles to which children apply
to their parents are various and won
derful. We have heard ‘Marm’ and
‘Parp,’ ‘Paw’ and ‘Maw,’ ‘Dad’ and
‘Mam,’ ‘Pater’ and ‘Mater,’ but ac
cording to a pleasant spoken writer
in the New York Sun, the good old
titles, Father and Mother, are the
most dignified and expressive. He
“I was brought up to say father
and mother As far as I can recollect
I never said papa or mamma, and
what fine, natural, wholesome, home
ly words, teeming with love and af
fection, father and mother are.
“Then in the course of time I grew
up and got married and we had chil
dren and they started in calling us not
father and mother, but papa and
mamma, pronounced in the most nat
ural and easy way with the accent on
the first syllable, mommer and popper.
“I don’t know just hew our chil
dren whose parents in their childhood
had always said father and mother,
came thus to say papa and mamma ;
they may have been taught so by
their nurse, or they may have ab
sorbed it from people of the neighbor
‘ 'Then as the children grew older
and came to exercise their own intel
ligence they came to pronounce these
words correctly, papa and mamma,
with the accent on the last syllable;
and they were very careful and pre
cise about this under all ordinary cir
cumstances, but when they got excit
ed and didn’t stop to think they went
back to popper and mommer, which
I am free to say I liked much better.
Papa and mamma, with the accent on
the last syllable, always seem poor
and artificial words to me.
“And then another interesting
thing happened. As our children
grew older they discovered and adopt
ed as parental titles the words father
and mother. I am not so sure but
that at first tnev did this because they
considered it to be the really correct
fashion, better form ; but father and
mother came finally to appeal to them
perfectly, and ever since they have
used them unaffectedly and naturally,
with pa and ma occasionally as affec
tionate diminutives.
“But now here is a curious thing.
Our children are pretty well grown
up now, young men and young wo
med our boys and girls are now, and
when one of the girls becomes fright
ened in her sleep by some terrible
dream, so that she calls aloud for help
—then whom do you suppose she
calls for ? Why, instinctively she calls
for her mother, as all children do,
but in what manner do you suppose
the affrighted dreaming girl calls to
her mother ? Does she shout ‘Moth
er I’ or ‘Mamma’ ! with the accent on
the last syllable? In truth she says
neither, but what she now says is:
“ ‘Mommer 1 Mommer! Mommer!’
“You see, the early habit persists,
and I suppose we shall have to wait
for another generation, until our
grandchildren come, for children in
whose minds the lovely word, by con
stant use from infancy up, will once
more have become so firmly fixed that
they will say ‘Mother!’ instinctively
and always even in their dreams.” —
7 he Housewife.
It is a regrettable fact that prafani
ty has become common among the
boys. It is not in the least out of the
ordinary, where a group of boys of io
to 15 years are together upon the
street or in an open space to play a
game of ball, to hear them using oaths
that might suit the tongues of the
proverbial fishwife or costermonger,
but which are shocking falling from
the tongues of children of tender years.
Of all stupid and silly vices, pro
fanity is one of the worst and most
abominable. A simple statement of
fact is much stronger than any state
ment embellished with swear words,
and no lie is made any the more be
lieveable by being framed in profanity.
In fact, both truth and falsehood are
weakened by swearing and taking the
Lord’s name in vain. Foul epithets
and comparisons are not convincing,
but are almost invariably disgusting,
except to those making use of them.
Profanity amodg men seems to be
growing less and less, at least in pub
lic places and among those who may
lay claim to decency and some edu
cation. But the habit seems to have
firmly fixed itself upon a great many
of the boys, who may imagine it man
nish to use profanity and smoke cig
Mr. Brown— “ Shall we have to
buy new woolen underwear for all of
the boys this year?” Mrs. Brown —
“No, dear. Yours have shrunk so
they just fit John ; John’s shrunk so
they just fit Jimmy ; Jimmy’s shrunk
to fit Willie; and Willie’s are just
snug on the baby. You are the only
one that needs new ones. ’ ’
“That young couple seem to be
enjoying themselves immensely. Are
they married?”
“Yes, but not to each other.”
We were leaning over the front
gate. I held both her hands in mine
and looked into her moonlit eyes. I
was twenty, she not quite eighteen.
I was going West to seek my fortune.
When I had made a competence—l
couldn’t bear to consider more than
three months sufficient for the pur
pose—l was to return and take her
back with me.
"Life in the meanwhile,” she said,
"will be one long period of waiting.”
"It will seem an age to me.”
"You will be engrossed in business.
That will make you forget.' 1
"I shall never forget. I shall lay
down thirty days for each month on
paper and each morning check one
off. To see them disappear will be
my only comfort.”
There was silence for awhile. A
distant clock struck u.
"In seven hours my train will be
pulling out the station. I have yet
to pack.”
"Must you go?”
"Yes. Farewell.”
But another hour passed and I was
not gone. The same clock struck 12.
I drew her to me. There was a long,
long kiss. Then I turned and with
out looking back hurried away.
A month of daily letter writing, a
month of alternate day writing, a
month of weekly writing—the three
months that I had laid out wherein
to attain the wherewithal to bring her
to me —had passed, and I bad only
just found a position giving me 615 a
week. The correspondence died a
peaceful death. There were no re
proaches on either side. In youth as
sociations are forming and reforming
rapidly. One autumn it is Charlie
and Will and Tom and Lucy and
Mary and Fannie ; the next spring it
is Charlie and Arthur and Pete and
Ethel and Maud and Kate.
Youth is but a kaleidescope—the
same colors under different groupings.
Two years after leaving home I could
not tell who wrote the last letter, she
or I. Three years and I couldn’t
have told whether her eyes were black
brown or hazel. Five years, and one
day in ransacking among a lot of rub
bish I came upon her picture—the
picture I had dreamed over for hours
at a time.
She married and went to another
city to live. I didn’t hear her mar
ried name, or if I did I forgot it. It
was twelve years from our parting
over the gate before I saw her again.
It was at a summer resort. I had be
come infatuated with a girl of twenty,
fresh as a new blown rose, and when
the hot season came I followed her
to the country. She was chaperoned
by her aunt, Mrs. Schenck, apparent
ly about forty, with grizzly gray hair,
a pinched expression and a sharp
voice. She had five children, all of
them with her, and no nurse. Sure
ly was not that enough to spoil any
woman’s attractiveness ?
I became engaged. It was evening,
and I was obliged to leave the next
morning. I told my story and was
accepted at the last moment before
my departure and as everybody at the
hotel was going to bed. When I set
off for the train she went with me
down to the gate, and we stood lean
ing over it, I without, she within. I
held both her hands in mine and look
ed into her moonlit eyes. I assured
her that I should look forward to her
return to the city with eagerness,
and she promised to cut short her
stay in the country. We heard a lo
comotive whistle, a distant rattle,
drawing nearer, and a train stopped
at the station below; then presently
the moon shone on something white,
and a woman came up the path.
"Oh, Aunt Juanita,” exclaimed
my fiancee, "where have you been?”
I started. I had cause to remem
ber that name—that uncommon name-
"To the postoffice to get Frank’s
letter. He always posts it to come on
this train.”
"I’m so glad you’re here that you
may congratulate us on our engage
ment. It only occurred a few min
utes ago. lam so happy.”
"I rejoice with you, my dear. I
know just how happy you feel, be
cause your lover made me feel just as
happy a dozen years ago.”
"You are” —I exclaimed.
"Certainly lam.”
‘ ‘Oh, aunty, what does this mean ?”
‘ ‘A case of puppy love between two
"And did he —surely he did not
play you false.”
"No more than I did him.”
“Singular,” I interposed, "that I
didn’t recognize you.”
"Not at all. A woman, especially
a married woman with five children
grows old very quickly, while a man
usually stands still till he is past for
ty.” Then, kissing her niece, she
said to her : "I wish you every hap
piness, dear. I can conscientiously
recommend your lover and assure you
that you will be happy with him.
And I ought to know, for I have
tested him myself as a fiancee.”
I departed in a singular state of
1 mind. My happiness had received a
shock. I regretted nothing. I did
not blame myself nor my first love.
Thus far I had lived under the im
: pression that elderly people had come
from some far distant land with which
the rest of us have nothing to do.
Here was one of my own generation
who had passed in a twinkling, it
seemed, from the bud to that bloom
wherein the petals fall.— Horace B.
Mistrusted Him " Martha,”
► said a Westport woman to her negro
F cook, "when are you and Abe going
• to be married?” "Doan’ know es
Ah’ ll mahry dat man,” replied the
> cook. "What’s the matter now?”
: she was asked. "Well, ma’am,”
t the cook said, shaking her head,
r "Ah hear Abe bin runnin’ ’round
wif ernuthah woman. Ah’s full ob
suspiciosity ’bout dat man.”
: No man works so hard that he
hasn’t a little energy left to pat him
self on the back.

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