The Wahpeton times. [volume], June 06, 1889, Image 6

About The Wahpeton times. [volume] (Wahpeton, Richland County, Dakota [N.D.]) 1879-1919

Image provided by: State Historical Society of North Dakota

                
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THt il AttRISONS,
.."'5' i.'i '*-l $
How~tha Day Is Passed by. the
Farnily at the Whlts House.
JUt*. Harrison, it is saijd, is much dis
turbed at the inevitable fatigue which
the president miast undergo iti the cen
tennial ceremonies, says the New York
World. Ho hns not stood the strain of
oflSoe well, looks pale, and suffers from
insomnia. She has organized the
routine of the white house entirely
with a view to his convenineco and
doos everything possible to save him
from strain and fatigue. She has done
all that is in her power to reduce the
__ her powei
:lf
Eve's Daughters, Every One!
'•God hath given you one face,"
cried that prig Hamlet as he railed at
Ophelia, "and you make to yourself
another. You jig, you amble, you
lisp, and nickname God's creatures."
As it was among beauties of the
court of Denmark so it is with the
feminine human world in our own
day. The face that God hath given
our charmers is not good enough for
them. They offend against nature
much as man does when having been
equippod with a beard which it was
designed should grow upon his face he
•Mills in the barber, whose razor
thwarts nature. The puff-ball and the
rouge-pot, the bloom of youth and the
deuce knows what not in the way of
creating complexions too blooming for
human belief are essentials of
inadamc's toilet. Wo have had re
peated statistics of the nation's yearly
bar bill. It is asserted confidently tiat
we pay more for beer than for bread.
Just what the figures are nobody
cares to remember. They are. elo
quent of endless spreeing, of countless
wolen heads, and all the misery and
ridiculosity of tipsiness. But our
follies are not all of rum rummy nor
of tho bottle brandy ish.. Here come3
the captain of all the pharmacists de
claring right in tho presence of the
blooming cheek pf the woman's physi
ological institute that $62,000,000 is an
nually spent in America on 10,000
different coumetios wherewith the
Saughters of Hail Columbia keep them
selves frcsli in the remembrance of
their countrymen.
Cold water and exercisc may bo had
fou.. nothing, but gentle woman, who
won't .assert what are said to be her
Dallot-box rights, spends $62,000,000 a
year for zinc and bismuth and glycer
ine and magnesia and chalk in order
fc assert her right to perennial youth.
The cosmetic maker, as the pharma
cist shows, picks her pocket, but what
does she care? She thinks she has re
ceived, the worth of her $62,000,000
•nd satisfied. With that $62,000,
[•00 d£vbted to other uses, leaving soap
Mid ^ater to care for lovely woman's
fnco, lyliat might not the woman of
America accomplish? She might con
•cirt alt the heathen in Central Africa
•ny, she might accomplish the greater
task of carrying sweetness and light to
Oho heathen at her own door. What
hospitals she might build aud endow!
What schools erect! What blessings
•patter up and down the land!
But Godhath given her one face and
Ihe willin^ke to herself another. Eve
•oramenccft itajftl Gabriel's trumpet
will discover niilUons# her daughters
the toilet table, rouges-pot or: puff.
%fll in hand.—Chicago Times.
roMaVyoungmsaproposes and Jsoe
•Qrted he rings the girl's hand. If he is re
fUed he wrings his own hands.—Yonkers
r.-M&v
claims of usage and form to a minimum. «u «*, uuu wmy.
The necessity of rules to govern inter- thoy would undoubtedly have been
oourse with tho president and to regu- «m«i«i «.«/«««•«
late the social duties of the presiding
lady have been recognized ever since
Washington and Mrs. Washington es
tablished the code of manners for gov
erning the executive office, but the new
occupants of tho mansion have shorn
them of as much ceremony as is con
sonant with discipline and dignity.
All the occupants of the white house
are up by 7 o'clock and breakfast is
over by 8:30 Mrs. Harrison, since
she has beguu to notice signs of
ill health in tho president, has per
suaded hiin to form a habit of goingfor
a little walic about the grounds after
breakfast is over. This does not take
tho form of vigorous cxercisc, being
merely a little stroll for the sake of
fresh air aud sunshine and to prevent
his going immediately to his work after
eating, which is always the ruin of even
tho best of digestions. By 9 o'clock
the president.is at his work and Mrs.
Harrison does not see him again until
after 12.
it is not a cabinet day he
oorneB to her a few minutes before 1
o'clock, at which hour he is due in the
oast'room to receive the large number
of strangers who are waiting to pay
their pespects. He gets rid of them
before.2, and by that hour is at
luncheon, which is a light and rather
informal meal, as he must return im
mediately after it to work. The babies
come in for a few minutes at this hour
for .a word with their grandpapa, aud
tho' president amuses Mrs. Harrison
with anecdotes of the little incidents
jrhich have occurred during the
morning and at the reception.
He hurries back to his
labors and Mrs. Harrison sees
him no more until 5 o'clock, when they
drive together generally, or, if she
thinks he needs it, persuades him to
take along walk instead, for Mr. Har
rison is tho best pedestrain and the
most active president the white house
has known for many terms. The inter
val between ii and 7:80 Mr. and Mrs.
Harrison always spend together and
will not be interfered with by outsid
ers. At the latter hour they dine in
the family dining room, unless there is
some state festivity to the fore, and
there is nearly always some personal
friend their guest at this meal. The
rest of the evening is spent in receiv
ing the informal calls of their friends.
Almost every day Mrs. Harrison her
self gives two hours to the receiving
of culls and spends considerable time
with her housekeeping, in which she
takes an active part, although she has
both housekeeper and steward, and
the McKee babies take up a good part
of lier time.
filf-SoX*
A Spring Book.
John Ward's Base Ball book lays oh
The Sun's table. John starts in with a
chapter of the history of base ball, be
ginning away back in the time of
Herodotus and Homer, and gradually
working down to Kelly and Clarkson.
It has long been a favorite theory of
scientific men that Herodotus and
Homer were familiar with the National
Game, but Ward, who has perhaps
dived deeper into the archives of base
ball than any other scientist of the age,
tells us that these two were base-ball
cranks of the wildest sort and the im
plication is that, had they lived to-day,
official scorers or league umpires.
Homer, it will be remembered, was
blind and Herodotus a pretty hard hit
ter, and not at all backward about en
gaging in an occasional friendly scrap,
so their fitness for the suggested posi
tions will not be disputed. From his
tory Mr. Ward branches off Into theory
and a chapter is given on the theory of
the gamo—a chapter for ladies. The
Sun has always held that the ladies
should bo theoretical ball-players, leav
ing the practical part of tho game to
the opposite sex. Theoretically a lady
may know all about how to run bases
but'it could hardly be expected that
she would let go all hold and throw
herself blindly on the world when
within ten feet of second base. That
is tho difference between theory aud
practice. The ladies should make
theory their strong point and learn the
difference between a catchcr's mask
and a bustle, and an earned run and an
umpire. They would also increase
their chances of going to the game
oftener on some gentleman friend's
ticket, if they wjuld learn not to ask
why a batter doesn't ruu on a foul tip
over the fence.
Other chapters are given up to dis
cussing the intricacies of playing the
position and the pleasure in drawing
the salary of Pitcher, Catcher, First
Baseman, Second Baseman, Third
Baseman, SLort Stop, Left Fielder,
Right Fielder, with additional treatises
on the Battor, The Base-Runner, Tiny
Captain and Curve Pitching. The
work is very complete but not exhaus
tive. In the next edition of the book
the following chapters are suggested,
that are conspicuous for the great,
yawning chasm their absence makes:
"The Umpire, aud how to care for
him," "The Pleasure and Profit in
Peddling Score Cards,"' "The Art of
Scrambling for Foul Bails and Getting
in on Them, a chapter for the Small
Boy," "Called Games, and what to call
them," "Base Hits and how they may
be Reformed," "Five thousand enough,
or how to live, though a Humble
Catcher." With the addition of these
theses and a few more that might be
suggested, Mr. Ward will have a work
that will supply the same place in base
ball circles that the valuable com
pendium, "Every Man His Own
Doctor," does in the medical world.
Peck's Sun.
Jenny Lind at Mount Vernon.
What old timer does not recollect
the coming of Jenny Liud to our shores
in 1850, and the extraordinary furore
created by her singing? Of course I
only know what I've read about it, but
I remember one incident in particular,
her visit to Mount Vernon. The great
songstress had been deeply touched by
stories of the illustrious patriot, and
upon reaching Washington the first
request was to be taken to Mount Ver
non. When Colonel Washington, the
then proprietor of the estate, heard of
her wish, he chartered a steamboat
and made up a party-, which, beside
Mr. Barnum and Mis3 Lind, included
Mr. Seaton, the Mayor of Washing
ton, and other notable citizens. The
boat landed near the tomb and the
party proceeded thither. The Swedish
woman's big heart ran over as she
drew near this sacred spot. From
this point she was conducted
to the mansion, where a fine
collation wa3 served. With child
like enthusiasm she gazed upon
every relic of the great leader. When
the party had reached the library
Colonel Washington took a book from
one of the shelves and presented it to
her. Not only had it been Washing
ton's but it contained his book plate
and his name written with his own
hand. Miss Lind was greatly moved.
She drew Mr. Barnum aside and insist
ed upon makinsr some suitable return
for the gift then and there, and al
though her watch and chain was a
costly one and had been a present from
a friend, Mr. Barnum had great diffi
culty in restraining her from at' once
bestowing it upon Colonel Washing
ton. "The expense is nothing," she
exclaimed, "compared to thei value of
this book!" Dear good soul! But I
wonder where the book is now! No
doubt in possession of her family and
properly cared for as a priceless me
mento of Mme. Lind Goldschmidt's
visit to the New World.
A Consolation.
Those who have been detained on
the way to Oklahoma can console
themselves with the reflection that
they will thus be enabled to get the
start of the returning procession,—at.
Louis Globe-Democrat.
Getting Their Rights.
A court in Maryland has recently de
cided that a woman is responsible for
her husband's debts. Women are mov
ing on toward their rights.—St Paul
Globe.
Rivaled the Gems in Color.
Etheral wife (rapturously)—"Oh,
George! Mrs. Van Doremi has bought
the elegant sapphires which have been
on.exhibition at Stiffanny's. She paid
$12,000 for them. Oh, darling! [have
never before nor since seen such rich
blue as they are!"
Husband—"If you could have seen
Mr. Van Doremi, as I did, just after his
wife told him of her purchase, you
would not say that, dearest He was
infinitely more blue than the Saph
ires."—Jewelers Weekly.
-fc': •r-'tv-t'- '.»V
6REES THIJG8 UROWlft.
BYD1.NAH MVLOCK t'BAIK.
Oh, tha green things growing, the green
things growing,
The faint sweet smell ot the green tilings
lite, whether I smile or
grieve,
Just to watch-the happy life of my green
things growing.
Oh, the fluttering nnd the pattering of those
green things growing!
How they talkearh to each, when none of us
are knowing
la tho wonderful white of the weird moon
light
Or the dim, dreary dawn, when the cokcs are
crowing.
1 love, I love them BO—my green things
growing.
And I think that they love me, without false
showing
For by many a tender touch thoy comfort
me so much,
With the soft, mute comfort of green things
growing.
And in tho rich store of their blossoms
glowing,
Ten for one I take they're on mo Wstowing
Oh, I should like to see. il Uod's will ft may
he,
Many, many a summer of my green things
growing!
But if I must be gathoreJ for the angel's
sowing,
Sleep out of sight awhile, like green thiugs
growing.
Though dust to flnst return, I think I'll
scarcely mourn
If I may change into green things gtowing!
FORGIVEN.
One morning my cousin Hilda came
to me and said:
"We are going to be married—
Richard and I."
"Richard Gale? You are to marry
Richard Gale?" I asked.
"We love each other," she answer
ed.
Now, I had introduced those two,
and Richard had called Hilda a
statue, and spoke of her as "cold." I
never dreamt he would come to be
her lover, and I confess I was not
glad to hear it. I could not say I re
joiced, but I kissed her and, as time
went on, I began to fancy that all
would be well and they happy.
I was sewing on sotne white muslin
one day not long before that of the
wedding, when Richard came up the
stepsof tlieverauda and sat down
near me, fingering my work:
"Do you think Hilda is really fohd
of me, Georgette?" he said alter a
space of silence.
I laughed.
"Women always laugh," said he.
"She is so calm she has no passion
in her eyes. I have tried to make
her jealous, and I cannot do it."
"I won't laugh this time," said I
"but I'll tell you one thing you might
enjoy having a jealous sweetheart,
but you will be very glad that your
wife has confidence in you."
"I have my doubts," said Richard.
"Oh, I'm an idiot, I know! Hilda is
perfection—only I like a spice oi evil
in a woman now and then. Do you
know Stella Rivers?"
"I have met Mrs. Rivers," said I—
"an ugly woman with a temper."
"No man ever called Stella ugly,"
said he. She makes more conquests
in a day than other women make in
a year. She always puts me in mind
of a humming-bird—she fairly quiv
ers. And such chic dresses as she
wears!"
"How French we are!" said I.
"I cannot help it when 1 talk cf
Stella," said he. She is Parisienne
at heart: she lived there for years,
you know. There is very little of
the frozen Puritan about Stell."
"Stell?" said I.
"Well, old Rivers calls her Stell,"
said he.
"Her husband" asked I.
"You have a sarcastic tone to your
voice to-night." said Richard, "and
it does not improve you, Miss Georg
etta. Her husband. Yes and her
greatest admirer."
"Well, so long as he is pleased no
one need find any fault," said I.
"That stupid 5lr. Alsopp asked her
after her papa the other evening.
Stella didn't mind," said Richard:
"she thinks it a great joke."
And just thenHilda comedown the
stairs, and we said no more ot Mrs.
Rivers. She was a woman I detested.
She had married an old man 91'hose
wife had not been dead a vejar on
their wedding-day, and people.said
she was engaged to him before the
old lady died. He had settled 'most
of his money on her, and she flirted
terribly, still her wealth kept her in
society. Oh, I did not like her, nor
this talk of Richard's about her.
Hiked it less when one evening,
having accepted aninvatation to the
theatre I saw Richard sitting with
Mrs. Rivers.
He had told Hilda that he was ob
liged to attend to some business that
evening
This was business of a curious sort,
truly! Still, next day, while I was
wondering whether it waQ. my duty
to make mischief, I received a little
note from him:
"Miss GEOKCETTF..—Mrs. Rivers asked me
to be her escort," it said. "Rivers had a lit.
tie touch of gout, and the tickets were bought,
and would have Iwen wasted. It was quite
impromptu. I liad not thought what I was
doing, and wax on my way to Hilda. I saw
you were horrified, so 1 explain.
"RIOUARO."
It struck me that a woman whose
husband was ill should have stayed
with him, and I only half believed the
story. Still, I should only trouble
Hilda by mentioning what I bad
seen.
We were making the wedding-dress
now. At so late an hour thobest
was to keep my fin«er out ot the pie.
Hilda looked very happy in those
days, but 1 saw a curious trouble
brooding in Richard's face.
1 knew what it meant on the
It
wed­
ding day, when, as we were pinning
the bride's veil, und fastening
the
orange-blossoms in her hair, a curi
ous trembling ring came at the door,
and in-a moment someone staggered
up the stairs, dashed open the door
of the room in Which we had gather
ed to array Hilda in her wedding
dress.
':,*• •.T.-.r-.yv.
ftwaeold Mr. Rivers, h)s Ifacepale,
8
®yes bloodshot. We thought him
*4 UIHJl
intoxicated but when he, spoke we
knew this was not so.
"I disregarded ceremony,! know,"
J"b?t my
excUBe
strong.
Miss Hilda, Ithinkyoucan hear the
news best. You are
young, and hope
18
y,°Hr.a
whatever happens. I am old,
and this to me is tne end of every
thing My wife eloped with Richard
uale last night. I am going in search
of them and I shall kill him when I
find him!"
1
.^amber how he stood before
us, how Hilda dropped into mvarms,
the conftasion and excitement of it
all, but vaguely, as we remember
dreams, A little later they came And
told us more terribly news. Old Mr.
Kivers had only gone as far as the
gate, when he dropped in a fit of
apoplexy. In a week be was dead.
was nobody's business to follow
the wicked pair, and no one took
the trouble to do so.
The old man had not altered his
will, and Mrs. Rivers was very rich.
Beiore long we bead that they were
actually married.
Hilda never spoke of him. but she
never seemed to like any one else.
I think she wus paler and thinner
than she would have been,
but
she
did not mope.
In a house on the heights, a pretty
place with a garden about it lived
Mr. and Mrs. Gale. They quarreled
perpetually, and she has lost most
of her fortune. She has taken to bet
ting on the races had a lot of men
who knew about horses, and helped
her risk her money, always at the
house. Meanwhile, extravagant
dressing and living devoured her
husband's means.
The servants said that she could
do as she pleased with hiin lor after
being ill-humored all week, she had
only to be merry, and vow he was
the only man she cared for, to get
anything out of hiin she wanted.
He, for his part, as I saw when I
met him at the station or in the
street, was greatly altered for the
worse.
I did not tell Hilda that Richard
and his wife lived in but she
found it out during her first visit.
I discovered that she went to an
upper window^ every morning to see
him pass on his way to the city.
Sometimes Mrs. Gale went to meet
him sometimes he returned alone.
I think Hilda always saw him. A
sort ot intuition seemed to take her
to that upper window at the right
moment.
Mrs. Gale wasgreatly talked about
of late. They said slie took too
much wine—that she was often
actually intoxicated.
She drove down to the station
alone one afternoon. Later I heard
the wheels of the carriage rattling
up the rodQ, and looked up.
The Galesjirere just opposite the
window. He was trying to get the
reins into his hand. She struggled
for them, her face was flushed^ her
hat on one side. Suddenly
her
saw
snatqjj the whip from its rest and
give one of the horses a cut over the
head. Then there were cries from
the foot-passengers, screams from
the windows, and a crowd in the
road.
Amongst them I saw Hilda, who!
had rushed bareheaded from the
house. .*
"I have had him brought in here,
dear Georgette," she said a few mo
ments later. "He is terribly hurt.
You are not angry?"
"Is she here, also?" I asked.
"Oh, Georgette!" cried Hilda,
bursting into tears, "she is dead
they have carried her home."
I pitied him greatly in those days
that followed, and for weeks all be
leived that he would die. Hilda
nursed him. For.dayshedidnot know
her. When he did, the pale shadow
of a man seemed to have very little
left of life, and as long as he. lived
would bo obliged to move about on
crutches
Pity had banished wrath
entirely from my heart.
He was to be taken very soon,
and was able to sit up anil talk.
Hilda was not so much with him as
before. My husband and I were of
tener in theroom.
One Sunday evening I sat reading
to him. Suddenly he spoke:
"Georgette," he said, "I have
something to tell you. If I should
die without uttering it, I believe I
should never rest. When I left Hilda
I had made up my mind that she had
a cold nature— that she did not love
me and that, though her pride might
be hurt, her heart could not. I
thought Stella warm and tender and
devoted to'me. I took a coarse and
unhallowed passion for pure love. I
was mad for a while. But when I am
dead—it will be soon. I hope—prom
ise that you will tell Hilda that I
long ago discovered that she was my
only love, and that when I lost her
pure affection I lost the brightest
jewel of my life. I loved her—I love
her still—I shall love her forever
Ask her when I am dead, to believe
and forgive me."
And he covered his face and wept.
"Be at peace," I answered. "I
know you nave her forgiveness."
"Great Heaven! and to think that
I once had her love."
And then from the shadows at the
door a form glided. It cameclose to
the chair in which Richard sat. It
knelt beside him. It was Hilda.
"Richard!" I heard her whisper,
and then I left the room.
A year after that Hilda came to me
her face was radiant.
"Georgette," she said, axactly as
she had spoken on that day in which
this story commences, "we are going
to be married, Richard and I."
I only looked at her.
"Yes," she said "I know it. He
has been very bad to me and he is
Eeautihil
oorand maimed, and no longer
but I love him."
For inflamed eyes or eyelids, use
the white of an egg beaten up to a
froth with two tablespoonfuls of
rose-water. Apply on. a line rag,
changing as it grows dry or stir
two drachms of powder alum into
the beaten whites of two eggs till a
coagulum is formed. Place petween
a fold of a soft linen rag and apply.
Restaurant strawberry shortcake
is said to be responsible for a great
many suicides, and for cripples, too,
when it falls on the foot of an at
tending waiter.
A Shark Killed by Tobacco^
In
a
He was a monstrous fellow about
fifteen feet long, and he kept smim
ming round and round the vessel,
sometimes on top of the water and
sometimes down deep below us, but
always at a respectful distance. His
reddish brown body could be plainly
seen through the clear transparent
green water, nnd you may be sure
that he was the cynosure of all eyes.
A great many plans for his capture
were discussed, but none appeared
practicable within our limited means.
The engineer suggested that if the
shark would give"him time he would
forge a proper hook and chain, but
as the shark was unable to give him
a guarantee he abandoned the pro
ject.
While we were thus talking, I no
ticed the native pilot every now and
then throwing overboard one of the
snappers we had so recently caught,
and as the current carried it a
little
distance clear of the vessel the shark
would gobble it down, and, in fact,
the intervals were so regular that
Mr. Shark seemed impatient when
the regularity was broken by a little
delay.
We
some ultimate object in yiew and it
drew our attention to him. As he
was born and raised on this coast
and had probably served his pilot's
apprenticeship as a fisherman, he
knew how to deal with his inveter
ate foe, the shark.
After having thrown over ten small
fish he selected another a littlelarger
than the others and with a stick of
wood rammed a roll of chewing to
bacco, nearly as large as a man's
hand, down into its belly and pressed
its throat together again. Ho held
it ready to throw, and as the shark
came up, anxiously looking for his
fish, ho tossed it too him, and as it
barely touched the water the »shark
turned over on its back and sucked
it in. The shark then swam oftasus
ual to the side of the vessel and then
below us, and was apparently rising
again in expectation of another fish
when the nicotine commenced its
work. His struggles and contor
tions were terrible to behold, as he
darted lierei and there in a blind rage
and vomiting blood, but as he swam
or was carried by the current away
from us his struggling grew gradual
ly less until it .ceased altogether.
The tobacco had killed him.—Forest
and Stream.
Rice Knew His Business.
Washington Critic.
A Washington man tells the fol
lowing story about Dan Rice, the fa
mous circuB clown and showman.
Rice had a show out in some of the
wild Western districts, and he learned
that there'was a conspiracy on foot
to mob the circus. That used to be
one of thegreatest drawbacks to the
circus business. Every once in a
while the roughs ol a community
would get together and make a
strenuous effort to clean out the
show. It is so to a certain extent
now, and this is one cause for the
army ol apparently superfluous peo
ple that a circus carries with it. Rice's
people had opened the performance
to a good crowd of people, but it soon
became evident that the attack was
being organized. Dan Rice cleared
the ring and made a speech, "Gen
tleman," said he, '.'lam herewith my
show to entertain you. You know
what the price is and you don't
have to come if you don't want
to. I understand that there is a plan
on foot to mob my circus. Now, I
want to make a proposition to you.
Pick out the best man you've got. I
don't care who he is, and all the rest
of you keep off. I'll fight him if he is
as big as a house, and if 1 don't whip
him I'll give you all your money
back and the rest of the show for
nothing." He won the sympathy of
the crowd, who broke into enthusias
tic applause at this exhibition of
nerve. Any riotous disposition was
promptly suppressed. The boldness
of the step, however, was somewhat
modified by the fact that Dan Rice
was one of the best rough-and-tum
ble fighters in the country.
mm
An Anecdote ef William II.
According to the story lately cir
culated in Berlin, the emperor ap
peared at 6 o'clock one morning
most unexpectedly at the barracks
of a dragon regiment. The soldiers
were ready for manoeuvres, but the
commanding officer had not yet ar
rived. The emperor waiter half an
hour, when the delinquent arrived.
His feelings at the sight of his sov
ereign can better be imagined than
described.
But the Cmperor did not say a
word. He assisted at the manoeuvres,
made several observations, as usual,
and finally left without addressing a
word to the officer at fault, who con
sidered himself lost. He went home
in despair, expecting from moment
to moment to receive the news of his
disgrace. With the customary ex
peditious ways of the emperor, he
knew he would not have long to wait.
But the afternoon passed, then the
evening, and still nothing occurred.
He had not dared to leave the house,
in dread of the events that were to
decide his future career.
Finally, as the evening wore on, he
ventured out for a walk. On return
ing home he found a little package
addressed to him. No letter or mes
sage accompanied it.
J\ux
short time we had caught a
nice mess of small snappers,.from ten
to thirty inches long, and we were
having a real good time. We had
not fished very long, however, before
a large Bhark put in an appearance
and stopped our sport. We first,
knew of his presence by his greedily
snapping off the fish from one of my
neighbor's lineB, having followed it
up from the bottom. He executed
this performance several times, and
then the snappers stopped biting en
tirely. Not even a nibble could we
get, so we hauled in our lines and
commenced to pay our attentions to
the shark.
saw that our pilot had
NUN HASPS.
Pale withered hands, that more than four
scoreyears
Had wrought for others soothed the hurt of
tears,
Rocked children's cradles, eased the fever's
smart,
Dropped balm of love in many an aching
heart
Now stirless folded, like wan rose leaves
pressed.
Above tne snow and silence of her breast:
In mute appeal they told of labors done.
And well-earned rest that came at set of sun.
From the worn brow the lines of care had
swept
As if an angel's kiss, the while she slept,
Had smoothed the cobweb wrinkles quite
away,
And given back the peace of childhood's day.
And on the lips the taint, smile almost said:
"None knows life's secret but the happy
dead."
pain
So rating where she lay we know that
parting could not cleave her soul again.
Am
And we were sure that they who saw tier last
In that dim vista which we call the past,
Who never knew her old and laid aside,
Remembering best the maiden and the bride,
Had sprung to greet her with the golden
speech.
The dear sweet names no later lore can teach,.
And Welcome Home they cried, nnd grasped
her hands
So dwells the Mother iq the best of lands.
Margaret E. Sangster.
COOLNESS IN DANGER.
BY JIAKRLEY MARKER.
There is no great secret about it,"
said the old soldier to me. "You
must think about the danger and
not about yourself. See?"
At first glance I confess
see.
I
did not
But upon further conversation
with the veteran I caught his
idea was that panic
caused by a sudden self conscious
ness. One begins to imagine that a
limb is crushed or the breath knock
ed out of him, or he forecasts the
pain or misery of his hurts before he
gets them. The danger itself, that
is, the thing that is about to hurt
you, possibly, but lias not yet done
so the thing that istobeconfronted,
met, and vanquished this is put out
of mind by the terror with which it
clouds itself, and so it has you at a
disadvantage. Danger masks itself
in terror. The terror blinds our wit
and paralyzes our arm we are thus
at the mercy of our destroyer. The
real danger we do not see—that is,
the agent of evil—unless we are cool
headed.
mean
was
There is a world of truth in the
philosophy of this well-known gen
eral Suppose one is in a theater at
the time of an alarm of fire. Most
people do not even smell the fire,
much less see it. Most people are
simply self-centered to tnat degree
that they know nothing out of per
sona lalarm The real cause, who has
the coolness to seek for it? Who in
quires, where is it? Or who asks,
what is your authority? Not one.
AH are thinking of self. I do not
now mean to critise the selfishness
of it, the moral phase of the ma tter.
I only point out that personality,
not the cause, fills every mind.
Except of course the cool-headed
man here and there who thinks to
ask, "Now, I wonder if it is really so.
I would like to know who said so."
Such a man is not drawn into a vor
tex and trodden into the carpet.
He studies the danger itself, and, as
usual, nine times out of ten,disco
vers
a way to match it.
A physician explains to me that
the heart action, under the terror
excited by danger, is in many cases
equivalent to apoplectic paralysis.
The blood is left to gorge the poor
brain, and the person is insane. Or,
in the reverse case, the arterial blood
is not sent out, the brain isempty so
to speak, the suffer is powerless.
This is, in either caseshock. Shock is
the result ot dread. Dread is the
mind's action by imagination. The
thing to do is to break the spell of
imagination. One may accomplish
this by resolutely putting away all
thought of self, and thinking, insist
ing on fastening the attention on
the cause of the alarm. It must be
achieved early, before the heart is af
fected I may be disputed as to im
agination of tlie pangs of being hurt.
It is not asserted that one is con
scious of imagining, "Oh, I shall suf
fer so, if I am burned." No, that is
loo long a sentence to be thought
out, consciously, in a moment of ter
ror, yet the impression, instantane
ous as lightning, is nevertheless
there. If you afterward recall your
thoughts, you will confess that I am
correct. In battle men do not think
of being hurt the sight of shocking
wounds does not awaken any
thought of pain. It is before the bat!
tie that legs tremble and nerves of
the whole body quiver with anticipa
ted pains, till the man is a coward
in spite of himself. In action the
cause, those guns over there, those
lines of the enemy, fill the mind'seye
consequently the soldier is cool.
I recently heard a lady relate that,
when afire began in her room, the
blaze was so curious as it licked in
along the cornice that she found her
self saying, "How pretty that is!"
As a result she was able to act cool
ly in escaping from the chamber. In
another case a gentleman was saved
from being run over by a horse frcm
the fact that, as the mad animal was
about to spring upon him, he
thought, "What a close resemblance
between that animal and my off one
of a pair!" This gave him sufficient
self-control to grasp at a passing
street-car and swing himself out of
harm's way. Whereas it is a well
known fact that many people are
"struck powerless" by the very sight
ot a frantic runaway, and so neglett
the opportune second of escape.
I have yet another case in mind.
A gentleman in the Wild West, about
to be assaulted by a scoundrel in a
way-side ranch) says: "I saw him
draw the weapon. I knew be WBB
crazy drunk, and that he had mis
taken my peaceable, commercial self
tor a pal with whom
be
Ss
He
hastily
opened the mysterious parcel and
found it contained an alarm clock.
on him that is, I C'oVered
him with my own weapon,"
Then,evidently,"merepanic. duck-
There is scarcely any danger which
does not change its phases as it ap
proaches. Like a cloud in an angry
sky. The changes are the things to
be looked out for—they are your
openings of possible escape. "Cer
tain destruction" has never happen
ed till you are actually destroyed—
at which time, it is hoped, all fear is
forever over, if you have behaved well
in this world. Never submit to be
killed without an effort. While there
is life there is hope, if your mind is
coo) enough to snatch at the hope
it may be a very small and obscure
hope, but it is always there—yes, al
ways—while you are yet breathing.
It is not, in my opinion, a matter so
much of custom of having been often
in danger, that makes the cool man.
Fatigue^ hunger, or any previous
overstrain of the nervous system will
often cause the usually cool man to
forget himself. Good health and a
clear conscience are helps. A cheer
fill disposition and a profound truBt
in God's care are the best of all con
tributors to the hours of peril—an
hour, by the way, that no one ever
escapes meeting sometimes.—New
York Weekly.
LIFE IX THE SEVERED HEAD.
The Survival of CoiMioMMii After Deesplto*
tloa ProTen.
A volume has just been published
at Paris in which Dr. Paul Loye, un
der the title of "La Mort par la De
capitation," studies the question as
to whether, after decapitation, con
sciousness survives for a short time
in a severed head and physical suffer
ing is felt in both parts of tho execut
ed body.
Every time a head falls under a
sword or under the executioner's ax,
says Dr. Loyle, the imagination of
the spectators hns, in the physiog
nomy of the victim, looked for proofs
of the survival of will and conscious
ness. The eyes turned, which was a
sign of pain the lips moved, which
showed that they wanted to speak
the mouth opened, in order to bite,
in a kind of fury. There is not
a
movement of the face whhh has not
been interpreted as a mark of the
continuation of feeling. And ever
since the guillotine mowed down the
heads of multitudes during the reign
of terror, scientists have stood
around the scaffold, bidding all their
humane faculties vanish, and concen- y.
trating their whole intellect on the
one question. "Does conscious
ness remain after the victim's head
is severed from the body?"
?he
had had a
uarrrel. As he drew on me
1
thought.
he German or American? I shouted
to him in German. 'When did yon
leave Fatherland?" It struck his ear
in time. The next minute I had what
they call out there the drop
In connection with this belief Dr.
Loye quotes a terrible story told by
M. Petitgand about an Anamito
who was beheaded by the sword in
1875 at Saigon:
"The place of execution was the
Plain of Tombs, a vast sandy tract, V1
serving as cemetery to the Anamites
and the Chinese. Four Anamite
pirates, taken with their arms in
their hands, were to be beheaded.
The chief of the band, a man in the
primeoflife,energetic,muscular,brave
without boasting,and firm to the very
last, had attracted my special at
tention, and I decided to make my
observations on him only. Without
losing sight ot him tor a single mo
ment I exchanged a few words in a
loud voice with the officer in charge,
and noticed that the patient was al
so looking at me with the liveliest at
tention. The preparations having
been completed, I took my stand at
the distance about two yards from
him. He knelt down, but before
nding his head he exchanged a
rapid look with me.
"His head fell down at the distance
of about a yard and a quarter from
he re Is to I id in
usual way, but stood with the sur
face of the wound resting on thesand,
a position by which the hemorrage
was accidentally reduced to a mini
mum. At this moment I was terror
stricken at seeing the eyes of the
doomed man fixed frankly on my
eyes. Not daring to believe in a
con
scious manifestation. I went quickly
to one side ot the headi lying at my
feet, and I found that the eyes fol
lowed me. Then I returned to my
first position, still the eyes went
with me for a short distance and
then quitted me quite suddenly.
The face expressed at that moment
a conscious agony, the agony of
a
nson in a state of acute-asphyxia.
mouth opened violently as if
to take in a breath of air, and the
head thrown off its equilibrium by
the motion rolled over: This con
traction of the maxillary muscles
was the sign of life. Since the mo
ment of decapitation f^om fifteen to
twenty seconds had passed."—New
York Press.
Anthors' Full Somes.
Ziiterary Gossip.
Bayard Taylor's- ftrot name was
James only a few others than Wilkie
Collins' intimate friends know thaft
his name is really William Willde
Collins,and Austin Dobson was Henry
Austin Dobson before he took up
literature, and Edmund Wiliaam
Gosse »to-day known to the world
only by the first and last names.
"Henry R. Haggard" sounds strange
to thousands of ears who know
"Rider Haggard." Brander Mat
thews, and Duffield Osborneis in real
itySamuel DuffieldOsborne. Lawrence
Hatton is a contraction of James
Lawrence Hutton, and Howard
Seeley is Edward Howard Seeley, jr.
Frank Stockton is really Francis
Richard Stockton, while Joaquin
Miller is a corruptee a oi Cincianatus
Hiner Miller.
«v
n**
it
1
ing the. head, or raising an elbow, or
a shout of terror, Would have been
utterly useless. The conception oft
nationality abstracted the imperiled1
man a mind from terror he was then
instantly ready to apply to the man's
love of tlieold home
across seas. The*,
reasoning was quick as lightnings*
but as correct as arithmetic, for it
the brute could be caused to think of
something else beside his rage, even
for an instant, the volition to murder
would be for that instantimpossible.
lV|