The Wahpeton times. [volume], January 02, 1890, Image 3

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

Image provided by: State Historical Society of North Dakota

                
$1
/VI
in
g, Our idea of a geniut is
headed man who knows tl
will never grow on his
As a role it is "not
®no knows, thoughit is
ll^T If expedient to,kWw all one tell^
The trouble with some theblogions
is that they thinkjiobody can feet
into Heaven who Ssn't ha vMda1^jh|
*»y
"Hfcven lies about nfc. in our in.
v: fcncy," says Wogpsworth. Tfo, and
ne
ESpy
•spape*ri|il about us when we
get old enouottpo run for office.
An Atchisortnan hadqyucfra small
^Tbaby born at hfe hofise tha#he re
fused to acknowledge the
j|f|| Is passing around cigsffet
A writer sayalthat whining a j^oy
•re may makehin&tupid. Perhaps that
is true, but wefjhink it is more likely
to m$ke him smart.
MVJ?®!*' h*u*. v.'' if
sffe-
Irate German (to Strang^ who had
stepped on his toe)—"Gott in him
•lell Mine frent, I know mine feet
ras meant to pe Talked on, but dot
briviledge pelongs to me."
"Shut up your cu^iboferd^lknd come
.along o'me," said thepdficeman,as
pulled the upper on t0 the lower
fcase, and arrested the compositor.—
Printing Trades Journal.
"I understand you h^e just been
down to St. LouisT'V "Yes, spent three
days there." "Did you seea:
big bugs of the plhce?"
to a brand new notel."—J
Citizen, lb elderly physlcia
don't bleed patients as otte:
did fifteen or twenty years
Physician, looking over a package of
unpaid bills: "No, we don't bleed
'em at all they bleed us!" '',
"Will you pleasejnsert this obifp
ary nO|tee?" asked an old gentlema^
of the editor, "I makft bold to aff,
because the desceased has a giwt
•any friends about, here who'd be
glad to hear of his
Editor's young wifi
aust pardon me for'
a wrapper this mor
"Don't mention it,
of the inost valuable
to us in wrappers.'
"Good morning
you've changed your
ience." "Yes."
Wing now?" "I am
where. I am dying by
-:tte Hotel Lyndor.
^Teacher—"Johnny,
mmA'
«»3w*
•here the northpole is?''
"When Dr. EKie^nd Er
Breeley hunted for it an
ind it, how- am I to kntJ
is?"
Ras that she sold there. She replied
that "she didn't sell anything but
fbat that sign jolts to tell people that
agues were cujfS there!"
"Yes," sobbed the lunatic's widow,
vent crazy." "The victim of a vile
t!" ejaculated the sympathizi
teeper.—Pucki
Christmas
savor of ro:
will soon
In "merrie England
Ji!Sw^O£i®5^Sw1&S
i#ihfa
Jff§*
"You
tws near,, aiid
IjgpMe and turkejjjr
%^tetefiQl nostril.
fhey still have
Ike boar's head on the table but
America^ss ha«!emadean improver
nton thiilcairtom. Instead of a:
—ugleone pn, we often have half a
dozen boi^' hettds around the table.
Diner—"You haye waited upon me
very acceptably and I have enjojtrf
my meal thoroughly.- You have
hai|d like a gentleman, and agentle*
man you certainly fire, notwithstand
ing your humble occupation." Wait
w—"I hope siri that 1
am a gentle
ntun. I tui&ra try to be one. "Diner
—1"It,is tto £rapected. And being a
Iteiitleraan, rSki^ not inflult you by
qr.r Perhaps a^
may be able to,
.» eowtesy. Till
feiW^I^BoBtQa Transcript.
0
If• thPJ
thatmngs.
is credited by
agooddMlofa
mettpta&ctffriwr
led me as follows:
the human
^am ]^|i|^^:linmaji ciharac
i,
-r-t- Jar who wasn't
ace of gooClUlowB?
augh is indicative of de
leep chuckle proves sin
£tiod nature. By this I
don't mean that a man with a tenor
can't lapgfcaiddtough he was
it, orqne with aT«ass voice cov-
—ilnsfc
with a mere bellow,
that talks.. If the laugh
ii it ybn can put the fel
a half-hearted cuss, no
}angh loud enough to
the anditorinm.
lip in a n# befora me,
"|«r,:get tlu^tt all
l^atethe good
labontasqukk
9!iiWde beef-
EMBranis nearer,
Jti akieaare clearer,
IThe sun eltioen brighter,
OiY heart* are lighter W
On Christmas morning!
US
asro?"
ditor—
Soma
escome
ampton,
rest­
ing any
at
to: the
(fbn't
know
inl
and
ildu't
where
-pdM: Johnny^
Judge (who is i&fe-headed)—If half
Jhat the witness!! testify against
jtm is true, your conscience n^jst be
as black as your hair. Prisoner—If
a man's conscfen^^is -rejgrulated by
ids hair, then you jjfabn'o«iiasn't got
my consience at a|^-Te^iB Sittings.
||A traxeler in Wales, xij|jticingj
"mga "Agorsequerdere" o* a
gratified his curiosity, by asking
woman who kept the place, what it
&
Heaven is nearer?
SOnr friends are dearer,
The air is rarer.
The earth is fairer
On Christmas morning!
Joy-bells ring praises,
The soul it mines
On music's pinions.
From self's dominions,
On Christmas-morning!
'The shadows drifted
Oi sin seem lifted,'
And care nnd grieving
Find street relieving
On Christmas morning!
Mankind seem purer,
Our hope seems surer,
Our doubting ceases
We hail Christ Jesus
On Christmas morning!
AIL HOME AT CHRISTMAS.
EVEN was
the number
of our family
a
George, An
nie, Willie,
Rosie, and
a
Ralph does
not count for much, for he is the
baby but for all that, he lias got
jusfcas much right in this family as
George, the oldest, has.
There was still another person pres
ent at our table,—sweet little Jennie
Roberts. She was our Gjorge's
uuueius. one nun our visor^e a miu ivuyu
sweetheart and if they would not tell
Oq^tihis particular day, papa had
written a letter of great importance
to a firm in Chicago with which he
was dealiBg largely. Among other
things in this letter was a check for
one hundred dollars, all certified and
made out to bearer all a person
had to do would be to present it at
any bank, and it would be cashed on
sight. P^pa came into ^the sit
ting-room with the letter in
rhis
hand, and asked George if
he was going down town that even
ing, and if he would register the let
ter. Receiving an answer in the af
finnative, he stepped along into the
hc^jSnd placed the letter in George,s
oveffeoart pocket, as he thonght.
Re-enterfyja^fsitting-rooni, he told
George tftaxtlie letter was in his
overcoat pocket, and to be sure and
send it off that night.
Poor George thought no more of
,tbe matter until he%as down town,
and then, as it entered his head he
put his hand into the breatt pocket
of his overcoat to get the letter
to post, but it was gone. Good grac
ious! What wasliegoingto do about
it? He went through all the pockets
of the coat, but no letter came to
At last he came
«my husband got#! deeply involved elusion that his father had changed
his mind about the letter going that
ia the plot of a story he was writing night, and had taken it from the
that he could not extricate himself pocket of the coat but, thought
«r his characters from it,, and he George, he might have said as much
and did not give a fellow this start
about it. So home he went, not
letting the loss of the letter bother
him any wore, and had a good
night's sleep without any bad dreams.
view. At last he came to the con-
Next morning at the breakfast
table papa asked George if he had
posted the letter that he had
placed in bis overcoat pocket the
nightrbefore. George looked aston
ished at papa, and told him that he
could find no letter in his pocket When
he looked for it at the pjfet-office,
and that he had thought father had
changed his fiund about the letter
and had removed it without warning
him of it. Papa denied removing the
letter from George's pocket, and ac
cused George of slackness and the
loas of the letter. Hot words passed
between them, and we thought once
that papa would strike George.
Mamma was crying her eyes out, and
the rest of us were keeping out of the
way behind the kitchen door. Fierce
words V^re spoke^ on both sides,
for Geo^e wo'ul
he had not seen
thinaMpertaining
AMast'the cl
iUBeiflpeorge.qf
own accost
me
boy,
who sim
girl who
heart? And
rain ,iever know
squarely out
rnrst. Papa ac
igthe check for
ieorge told father
.that he lied, and father ended the
hot interview'by ordering brother
George, the pet of ali us children,
from his house. George qutetlynut
his coat and hat, kissed alPbs
Idren and mother, and quietly
to papa, bid him good*y,
statit^ that he hoped things would
come straight after a while. With
that he left the house
"her bed with-a sick headache, and
papa went to his work with a sullen
lopk on his face that we had never
seen there before.
itW £fe
alK£rtS5 to ofcand^ac^th.
I»d .kk headache, and
The saddest duty of all was break
uig the bad news to little Jennie,
jjhe took it all kindly, and seemed a
ittle down-hearted, but hoped it
rould all come right before long.
[e all expected to See George back
ijme again that night or the next, »rranged
at the least, but lie never came.
run into weeks and weeks into
ithd, but not a word from George.
day papa complained that the
of his overcoat had been loose
to jp'endit. She mended thellhingoj
Hie sleeve and tra* about to hang it
back on the coat rack, when Ihe no
ticed that tlw lining, down at the
bottom of the coat, was worn out.
In ripping away the old stuff to re-gL
place it with new, she pulled %ut an
old letter addressed to a firm in Chi
cago.
Thinking nothing of it, ihe laid it
on the mantel-piece and when papa
chne home that evening, she gave
liim the letter, and told him where
•she had found it.
"Good heavens, mbther!" exclaim
ed papa, "what shall I do? That is
the very letter that I thought I put
into my boy's pocket, and instead I
put it into my own. Oh! Lord
forgive me! It was over eight
months ago. Where can George
be now?"
The look that passed between moth
er and father was perfectly under
stood by each other. Father's eyes
plainly showed the sorrow he felt at
the wrong he had done his own son,
and the mother's eyes looked all the
sympathy she had for the poor fa
ther. who had been too hasty. Papa
"rnt
wns for starting out that very night
to tind his boy, and on his knees beg
his forgiveness, and ask him to' com
plete the family circle that had been
broken for so long. But mother im
plored him to wait till next day, and
then see what could be done* for it
would have been useless to look for
George in that town. Only one per
son knew where George was, and that
was dear little Jennie.
When Jennie was told of the
discovery of the letter, the
look of reproach which she cast
on papa made him feel, he said,
like going outside and kicking him
self for an hour. No one knew that
Jennie had George's address, for she
had kept it entirely to herself. The
iu
einiLei
woll
us all their affairs, we knew well
enough that there would be a mar
riage with our family soon. 'George
was only twenty-one years old, but
he forked hard and thought himself
perfectly capable of looking out for
hims&f and one other person.
all their affairs w»
How we all loved pretty Jennie!
Her folks lived next door to ourif
and of course we were often at eac^
other's homes, ftnd it would benotli
ing surprising for Jennie to take din
ner at our house two or three times
in a wees. We looked upon Tier Sas
one of the family but whenever such
a thing) was mentioned, Jennie would
blush quite red.
1)'
ne.xt day
lVldl'esse^
to iierseu. xne
sl,e
wrote a note to George,
in care
of & f«end of
George, in a sinaH town some hun
dred miles away from home. She
told him that the letter had been
found, and that since the discovery
that he had been wronged, his father
was failing in health and praying for
George to tome back home.
He write her that nothing
would give him greater pleasure
than to return home but that he
could not for some time yet, and for
her to still keep quiet as to his where
abouts.
It is Christmas noon. We are all
sitting down to our grand old Christ
mas dinner. Papa is at the head of
the table his hair is whiter than it
was a year ago, and his hand trembles
as he holds the carving-knife.
Mother is at the foot of the table
pouring out the tea and doing other
little things. Jennie—our little Jen
nie, we still call her—has the place on
the right hand of papa. He has
taken greatly to Jennie of late, as it
seems to him that through her he
can see his wronged son. We chil
dren are scattered around in our
usual places. All is ready.
Now papa bows his head to ask the
blessing hush! his trembling voice is
heard: '^Heavenly Father, we ask
thy blessing on this, the birthday of
thy Son and our Redeemer. May thy
blessing rest on the heads of those
now present around this beard. One
year ago to-day we were all here to
receive thy blessing, but to-day there
is one missing, one gone from our
home, who we ask thee to guide him
back to-"
Just at that moment the sitting
room door opened quietly, and
George, our good brother George,
entered with the words, "You are
wroug, father. We are all here to
night."
Mt iangedless to say that the inter
rupted messing was postponed for a
while that when it was again pro
nounced, it was worded differently.
And our home was again blessed with
a full boai'd, and no vacant chair.—
C. F. Merrill, in the New Moon.
Christmas Umbrella.
A very unique and easil arranged
entertainment is that of an umbrella
in place of a tree. Take a large
sized
umbrella—a fancy colored one, such
as is used for advertising, or a large
express-wagon umbrella—is especial
ly good ifpr this purpose bore a hole
,$Hrougli the top just below the ferrule
Ipass a heavy cord through the hole,
qsnd suspend from the ceiling, the
umbrella being spread, of course.
Decorate profusely with tissue paper,
paper chains, pop-corn, or any of the
ornamentations commonly used on
on trees. By the use of pin-hooks
the gifts can be hung on the cloth,
and also on the ribs of the umbrella.
By a liberal display of tasty decora
tions this can be made very effective
and beautiful, and the work of pre-
E•88
stick to it that
stter or any-
aring and clearing away is so much
than that attending a tree that
the umbrella is especially desirable
for parlor use.
Christmas Cross.
A pleasing and easily arranged
substitute for a tree is a cross. This
is arranged by making a rough cross
out of pine planks or boards securely
fastened to a flat base. Cover the
cross heavily with evergreen, and
place the monogram I. H. 8. in large
gilt or white letters at the center.
Hang gifts on the front of the cross
by use of screw-hooks, and suspend
them from the back from common
and, if incandescent light is to be
obtained, a most brilliant effect is
produced by putting a complete
border of bright lights around the
cross and even this effect is inten
sified by having the lights in different
colored globes. The cross is especial
ly appropriate for Christmas exer
cises, and programme should be
CIses' an?the
programme should be
Wlth
reference to that fact
Happy, happy Christmas, that can
win us back to the delusions of our
amd wn vwaiu uuiu ueeu loose childish days that can recall to the
ie time, and that he wished it aged man the pleasures of his youth
ibe attended to. So mamma that can transport the sailor and the
-jetting traveler, thousands of miles away,
leedles, back to his own fireside and his quiet
from the rack, and
thes, thread, and
"""i ««uu ucviunv, WWE
by the
sitting-room window home.
-.1
*LUK«.%
and etauds, and the night will cover
our ppfcion and all your wo.
8oMttkg waves, andthe deaththat lain them,
Sweet the lipa that one* you pressed,
Pray that your hopeless laartmay win them,
Pray that your weary lift may rest.
8et yonr face to the stars, fond lover,—
Calm and silent and bright and trtw
They will pity you, they will hover
Tenderly over the deep for you.
Winds of heaven will sigh yonr dirges,
Tears of heaven for yoa epent
And sweet for you will thfe murmuring surgea
Pour the wail ol their low lapient.
Abuse ofthe Brain.
Dr. John T. Nagle, of the bureau
of. vital statistics, of New York, says
''The most prevalent disease or dis
order of the brain is apoplexy.
Last year there were iii this city 600
cases
of apoplexy out of 3,000 cases
of brain diseases or disorders. Ap
poplexy seems to cause mo'ro deaths
than almost any other disease. In
one year, out of 3,500 deaths, 845
were caused by apoplexy, 298 con
vulsions in children and 578 by men
ingitis. Paresis is a form of paraly
sis and a species of insanity. Paresis
is a slight, incomplete paralysis af
fecting motion, but not sensation.
Softening of the brain is cerebral
hemorrhage, or obliteration of the
cerebral arteries. It usually occurs
in persons from fifty to eighty years
•of age, and is usually caused by in
tense intellectual exertion, or by se
vere and protracted emotional dis
turbance. It is also caused by over in
dulgence it alcoholic drinks, and it
usually ends in death. Sometimes,
when young persons are attacked
with this malady who have been tem
perate in their habits and have good
constitutions, the chances oftheir re
covery are very favorable. Alen oc
casionly die from overwork that is,
by over brain work. They are like
machines that have been overtaxed
and break down. A great many
think their brain will stand almost
any amount of work, and that they
can keep on and on studying and
working without any ill effect arising
from so doing. In this they make a
great mistake. The brain is the
most delicate organ. Its wants lots
of rest and lots of care. And those
who, when they are yonng, tax it too
much, or try to work for too long a
time, without giving it prbper rest,
will suffer for it in after years. The
brain must have plenty of rest and
brain workers must have lots of
sleep and recreation. Stud outs must
not use their brains for more than
five or at the most six hours a day
with continuous hard study and mer
chants and business men will do well
to try and rest their brains as much
as they possibly can."
"Our Little Brother."
How She Saw Santa Claus.
In the dining-room chimney was a
register which opened and shut like a so meekly,
door, and when it was open it made
the best kind of a place for Santa
Claus to come through.
Right beside it Helen's small stock
ing was hung on Christmas Eve, for
Tear it might not hold all Santa Claus
would bring it was put over a chair.
When the long night was at last
ended Helen's delight was unbound
ed, and as she found the presents she
would go to the register and say,
'"%nk, tank, Santa Claus!"
A few days afterward a plumber
was called in to repair the pipe lead
ing to the same register, and just as
he was drawing himself out of the
opening Helen came into the room.
The man was large and good-na
tured, with a long grey beard. He
smiled at sight of the little two-year
old, who looked at him doubtingly
for a moment, with her hands clasp
ed behind her. His smile reassured
her, and going up to him she said:
"Is you dot any doll-babies in your
potet?"
With a kind reply the man took his
departure, and to this day little Hel
en is sure that she has seen and talk
ed with old Santa Claus himself.
A Christmas Hint.
"Papa," said little Grace Greedy
girl, a week before Christmas, "if all
the times I have said 'present' at
school this year should be put to
Pth®r tbev would make just one
Up a Tree
this is comfortable!'' utilc
Wyndham, throwhur himself
the lara|| easy chair Before the
glowing graU. "I havn't scon such|a
fire for three. years. It. don a man
good to go from hfme once in awhile
to know how he is appreciated. You
feel quite proud of your handsome
brother, |h, sis?"
"PshaWj Harry. Goings abroad has
not cured you of your vanity. But
Jane,'1 she added, turning to a young
woman who sat sewing in the corner,
"briflgf some more coal}, and, Jane, do
get my work-box as you come down
stairs. It is so stupid here with noth
ing to do."
"Thank
ryou,
Carrie, for the com­
pliments, but who is Jane? I have
surely seen her before?"
"Don't you know Jane Weston?"
•'What! Cousin Jenny! Is it poBsi
6le! So she is exalted to the rank
of an upper servant in her uncle's fam
ily. A sort of ittaid-of-all work."
"Harry! I don't ask Jauo to do
what I would not do myself."
"Ah, let me see, coal is apt to soil
delicate fingers. I suppose Jenny does
not play on the piano, and is not in
vited into the parlor. Perhaps my
memory is at fault, but I believe her
father was a wealthy lawyer, while
ours was a poor cabin boy, who inado
his fortune by
Carrie's face crimsoncd and sho was
about leaving the room in indignant
astonishment when Jane returned
with the coal and box
"Excuse me, Jenny," said Harry,
taking them from hor." "Excuse ino
for not knowing you, but three years
make great changes. I am sorry,
however, that you still think me such
a ^crapegrace, ,^hat you have not
spoken to mo since I came." Here
Harry playfully put his "arm around
her and kissed her cheek.
The tears rose to her eyes, and hor
voice trembled as she endeavored to
answer, but Harry continued:
"I am very sorry to see this Jen
ny. I heard of your father's misfor
tunes and death, bun I did not imagine
you would be treated thus in this fam-
«'D|n't say anything, please, Harry
you can do nothing to help me."
"Why have you remained here?1 ^eat by the latter as he spoke.
Jenny, you have—you must have
borne a great deal. You used to be a
fine musician. It would have been bet
ter—"
"Yes, Harry," she answered, inter*
rupting him, "I should have gone long
sgo but for little Effie. She clung to
me and seems to depend*' on me more
than anyone else."
"Bless you,' Jenny, for yqur kind
ness to her," said the reall« affection
ate brother, "the poor child has not
had too much sympathy since I left"
Here the ringing of the door bell an
nounced the entrance of visitors, and
Jane hastily retreated.
When Harry next saw her she was
patiently standing by the the table
ironing a delicate ruffle of his own.
He had often wondered who fluted
these so beautifully, but ho had yet to
learn how necessary Jane was in
household affairs.
"You shall not do this for me," said
he attempting to withdraw it from
her hand.
"Suppose I say it gives me much
pleasure to work for you," shefanswer
ed with a smile. W
"In that case, I shall say I do not
deserve such kindness. But, Jenny,
it provokes me to see you take every-
speak out boldly, and tell them you
would not bear it, they would not dare
to treat you so. I am astonished that
my father can suffer his sister's child
to become a medial in his house."
Jane laid her hand on his arm, and
replied very gently: "Come with me,
Harry I have something to show
you."
He followed her upstairs, and she
stopped at the door of a small room
which she softly opened. On a low
bed near the fire lay a feeble, sickly
child, whose wan face was more pale
and worn than he had ever seen it.
One thin hand was under her cheek,
while the other was thrown over her
pillow. She was asleep.
"Harry, I think Effie is sinking, no
one seems to notice it but myself. She
has seemed to care for uothing for
several days, and has hardly tasted
food."
"Dr. Gordon must come and see
her. Ho is to be here to-night, and I
will ask him to come up."
Harry watched Jane as she moved
noiselessly about the room, putting
everything in its place and preparing
something to tempt the child's delicate
appetite, and thought how little the
world knew of the beautiful life of
patient goodness in that upper room,
of the scenes of gentle kindness and
unwearying devotedness daily enacted
around the bedside of th$t little suf
UCUBiU»
**ew fpow tfane, becauaa she will ter
er oome Into the parloK?
er oome Into the parlor^
"She ve3r retiring, iodfc&l". aald
Harry, significantly. 1 will giiftnd 860
if I cannot persuade iter, for one night,
to overcome this reluctance to soctfe
Canjfe bit her lip w_
and rapidly passed her fingers over the
instrument to preclude arfy further
conversation.
"In a few moments a servant came
in with a message from Harry, that
the doctor would please walk upstairs.
'Harry was always so ridiculous
about some things," said Carrie, turn
ing to a young man who leaned over
her chair, and looked down languidly
into her face.
A shaded lamp was burning iif Effie's
room,, and Jane was holding the child
in her arms. Harry held oqe of the
little cold hands, so sadly attenuated,
and she looked affectionately up into
his face, while a faint smile lighted up
all her features.
"Jane," said the child softly press
ing the hand that was round hor, "you
have been very &ood to me, and God
will bless you. I am going home and
I will ask Him."
go
with
If you would just
mo,
tu** uuio m»-
Ppe8*ft8».(ferer. Effle had long been hopelessly
Dlied her father, the Reformed, and her lower limbs were
plied her father, the idea gradually
dawning upon him. What do yittt
suppose little Grace Greedygirl. got
that Christmas? Why, a paper con
taining one hundred and ninety-three
pins! So, it doesn't always do to be
too smart.
shrunken and wasted. Acute pain of
ten kept her moaning hour after hour.
Jane was for days the only one near
her. In fact the child would seldom
let Jaqe leave her, and no one seemed
to think that anything could be done
for her so in time all became accus
tomed to her illness, and it was hard
ly deemed worth while to inquire about
her. Her mbther was dead, and her
father believed that in asking Dr. Gor
don to come round sometimes and see
her he was performing all a parent's
(duty, and could do no more. Carrie
complained that a sick room made her
head ache, and in consequence seldom
honored it by her presence.
That evening the parlors resounded
with laughter and song. Harry came
up once or twice to see Effie, and, find
ing her quiet, went back again to the
parlor. In the course of the evening
Dr. Gordon asked Carrie for a song,
which she told him she had forgotten.
"Why, Jenny can sing that," ex
claimed Harry.
"Who if Jenny, if I may a«k?" in
quired1 tlpttootor.
4
The thin lingers relaxed their hold,
they were growing weaker.
The doctor looked on silently he
felt that a greater physician than he
was relieving Effie's sufferings.
When the morning light stole into
that little chamber, it fell on the face
of a still white figure, with hands
crossed upon its breast, and whose
better part "had gone to bo an angel."
A month after this, Dr. Gordon was
shown into the sitting-room at Mr.
Wyndham's. Carrio was very beauti
ful in her mourning silk, for it set off
her fair complexion to great advan
tage. Jane was quietly working in
her usual dress, for it had been
thought too expensive for her to have
black, #She was only Effie's nurse,"
said Harry, sarcastically.
"You ought to be ashamed, Harry
you care more for Jane than for your
own sister," replied Carrie, with tears
of anger and mortification.
"It is well that some one does care
Jor Jane," he answered, taking his
"You knpw, Harrfy*" she said, look
ing up quietly, as she always did,
"that the dress makes no difference to
me. Nothing could make her memory
dearer."
A smile of peace rested on her sal
low features as she spoke, a gentle,
patient smile, that seemed to light up
the soul within, apd made her almost
beautiful. She looked a moment at
Harry, and then her eyes went back
quietly to her work.
"If Miss Weston will oblige me,"
said the doctor, "I called to see if she
would go with me to visit a siek wo
man near by. She is sadly in need of
some cheering words such as only one
of her own sex can give. She has
every necessary ^comfort for the body,
but is extremely depressed and nerv
ous. My horse is waiting for me,
and if you will
get
in
the
carriage and
I will be greatly obliged."
Jane was quickly ready for the ride.
The doctor handed her in, and step
ping in after her, they were soon far
from Carrie and all those little petty
cares from which Jane had known no
respite for many a weary week.
The fresh air seemed to impart a
glow to her cheek, and alight spark
led in her eye that made her seem
another creature^
When they returned home, before
getting out of the carriage, the doctor
said:
"I wanted to tell you this a long
time ago, Jane, but I knew she could
not spare you but my house is sadly
in need of its mistress, and you will
not make me wait long."
"Carrie," said Harry, about a year
after this, "guess where I dined to-day.
But you never will. With Dr. Gordon
and his wife and Jenny is actually
beautiful. Happiness and foreign
travel have so much improved her, and
her home is so charming, that I have
made up my mind to go and get mar
ried myself."
Old Things and Dear.
There is no song like an old song
That wo have not heard for years
Each simple note appears to throng
With shapes that swim in tears,
It may have been a cheerful strain.
J3ut 'twas so lou? ago
That glee, grown old, has turned to pain,
And mirth has turned to woe.
There is no friend like an old friend,
Whose life-path mates our own,
Whose dawn and nooa, whose eve and end
Have known what we have known.
It may be when we read his face
We note a trace of care
'Tis well that friends in life's last grace
Share sighs as smiles they share.
There is no lore like an old lore,
A lost, may be, or dead,'
Whose place since she has gone abore,
No other fills instead.
It is not we'll ne'er love anew.
For life were drear if so.
But that first love has roots that grew
Where otners can not grow.
Old song, old friend, old lore, old days
Old things, yet never old
A stream that's dark till sunshine plays
And changes it to gold
Through all winds memory's river on,
'Mid banks of sore regret.
But a gleams on the peaks of long-sgone
That softens sadness yet
"Toa'ze Anothsr."
•A small boy's class in natural his
tory. Professor: "Animals that have
no feet and crawl along the ground are
called reptiles. Who can give me an
example of a reptile?" Young Brown:
"A worm." Professor: "Excellent
Now will some boy think of a second
reptile?" Young Jones: "Another
worm."
Woman's Ignorance.
Mrs. Statesman: "Do you know, sir,
that you came home last night in an
utterly disgraceful condition?" Mr.
Statesman (swallowing about a quart
of water): "Woman, do you know
that the time of year has arrived when
\tte ooantry luu t6 be saved ogalttf
(»ey ever taw,
od the 'mi in'ike
probably
heard sod^of tfee*
tions. He became
and by and by got u|
to where a couple of
said:
"Boys, she's my wJfeJP
4'Yes responded one,
"Ialloy that she's homely -mm-vt
scare a hungry bear out of a hOg^eijif
but it's all fey fault"
"Indeed!" *. $LiV
"And I'll tell you the,story, because
there is a greatmorallesson in it We
was engage^ to be married. I took
her into Syracuse to a Fourth of july.
There "fhe met Bill Prime, ail old beauj
of hers, and to make me jealous, s#
some gals..wiil, you iraow, she agreed
to ride home with him. It hit me
hard, as you may brieve, and so I,
went out to the stable and drove tacks'*
into Bill's harness. When they came
to start out the horse j|an away. Bill
jumped out and didn't got a scratch,
but Mary staid till the bufey struck a
bridge and was all smashed up. She
lost twelve teeth, had her nose broken,
her mouth torn out at the corner, an
eye cocked up, her toes turned in, her
tongue bit half in two, and the color
of her l&lr changed to the brindle you
now see before you."
"I see the moral lesson."
"Not yit you dont'. That came in
when I tried to give her the shake and
crawl out of the marriage. Her old
dad put on the screws, and I to
come to time or lose my farm, and so
I walked chalk. The great moral les
son is, never get mad at your best gaL
If you do get mad don't make a fule of
yourself. That's all, boys, ancf I hope
the Earning will sink deep into yer
hearts."
Progress of the Phonograph.
A Philadelphia gentleman who is in
terested in the development of the
phonograph invited a number of friends
to listen to the music of a brass band.
The party assembled. The host seated
himself at what seemed to be a sewing
machine. When the cover was moved
the mechanism, which, imperfect as it
yet is, is wonderful, was Been. The
guests took seats near the machine and
put tubes which were connected with
it into their ears. The gentleman
worked the treddle and the strains of
music by a full band, each instrument
as distinct as if listened to in a con
cert room, was heard. Another cylin
der of wax was put in and someone in'
Mr. Edison's laboratory in Orange said
that he should now hear a cornet soltt
This last was listened to without toe
aid of the ear tubes and though p«|£
fectly clear and distinct, seemed
far away. Small cylinders of preps
wax are put into the machine andv~fe'
person talking or singing near it sets
in motion vibrations, which are re
corded on the sensitive surface of the
wax. By machinery too intricate to
bo described by one unfamiliar with
it, currents are set in motion, which,
acting on the vibrations marked upon
the wax, produce the same sounds, in
tonation for intonation. In its present
imperfect state the pitch of the human
voice in speaking and singing is
changed, which gives it an uncanny
sound.
When the phonograph is perfected
so that it can be of practical use a rev
olution in the affairs of life will be pro
duced. Stenographers and reporters
especially will have to seek new fields
of labor. Two hundred years ago the
man who would have dared to show
such a machine would have been
burned at the stake as a wizrad. The
black art of the Middle Aires was
black indeed in comparison with the
wonderful discoveries of modern soi
ense.
Mark Twain's Boyhood.
."He was always a rascal," says an
old schoolmate of the celebrated wit
'I was born and raised in Hannibal,
and knew when Mrs. Clemens (Mark's
mother) moved from Florida, Monroe
county, to HannibaL Mark was a dull,
stupid, slow-going fellow, but htf" wns
always full of pranks, and while he
didn't do the meanness he planned it
and got other boys to do it We went
to school to Dr. Meredith, and Mark
always sat near the foot of the «in.a^
He never took any interest in books,
and I never saw him study his lessons.
He left school to learn the printing
business, and soon after left Hannibal
and went to steamboatiog.
"I stayed at school, got a good edu
cation, and am a painter, while Mark
is a millionaire. It is a scandalous
fact that as a boy from 10 to 17 years
of age Mark was a dull, stupid fellow,
and it was the wonder of the town as
to what end would be his. He was
pointed out by mothers as a boy that
would never amount to nothing if he
did not actually come to sotnie bad end.
And he was the most homely lad ia
school, too. Pranks! lean think of a
dozen of 'em, and his Huckleberry
Finn is full of Hannibal episodes work*
ed over. I read that with as much
interest as I would a diary of Hanni
bal kept during my schooldays. Mark
is three years older than myself, but
he was always in a class of boys two
or three years younger than hithselL"
Soa'tbs Csnlasa
Not only should careless statements
regarding our neighbors be ignored,
but facts themselves should be often
subdued in the interest of righVthink
ing and fairness to our iellowa
-Vt•('
Mr. Watts: "I was reading Just now
about the richest woman in the worid.?
without having to read." Mr. Walter
"Who is it?" Mrs. Watts: "I am,
For I've got yen. darting, and ttit
mikes me the rteihest woosan the
world. erenif Lhavent't got a bonnel^
®*tobe seen^i^iii^^l^^"^
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