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Los Angeles herald. [volume] (Los Angeles [Calif.]) 1890-1893, May 03, 1891, Image 9

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VOL. 36.—N0. 10.
Southern California National Bank,
L N. BREED. President. WM. F. BOSBYSHELL, Vice-President. C. N. FLINT, Cashier.
Capital Paid in Gold Coin $200,000
Surplus unU Undivided Profits 25,000
Authorized Caplteil 800.000
DIRECTORS—L. N. Biced, 11. T. Newell, H. A. Barclay, Silas Holman, W.
H. Holliday, E. C. Bosbyshell, M. Hagan, Frank Rader, D. Reraick, Thos. Oobb,
"William F. Bosbyshell. lui-tf
Security Savings Bank, Capital, $200,000
ISAIAS W. HELLMAN. President Nevada Bank. San Francisco; President Farmers and Mer
chants' Bank, i.os Angeles.
ANDREW J. BOWNE.. President Fourth National Hank, Grand Rapids, Mich.; President Hast
inga National Bank, Hastings, Mich.
MRS. EMELINE CHILDS Executrix Estate of 0. W. Childs, deceased, Los Angeles, Cal.
11. W. HELLMAN Vice-president Farmers aud Merchaiits's Hank, Los Angeles
T. L. DUQUE Capitalist and Wholesale Merchant of Panama, Republic of Colombia
A. C. ROGERS Physician, los Angeles
MAURICE 8. HELLMAN Of Hellman, Waldeok & Co., Wholesale Stationers, Los Angeles
JAMES RAWSON Capitalist, Boston
J. A. GRAVES Of Graves, O'Melveny & Shankland, Attorneys, Los Angeles
J. F. SARTORI CASHIER; also Vice-president First National Bank, Monrovia, Cal.
The notice of tho public is called to the fact that this bank has a la-ge paid-up capital, and
only loans money on approved real-estate security; lhat among Its stockholders are some of tbe
oldest and most responsible citizens of the community; that, under the stato law, the private es
tates of its stockholders are pro rata liable for the total indebtedness of the bank. These facts,
with caro exercised in making lo*ns, insure a safe depository for saving accounts. School
teachers, clerks, mechanics, employees in factories and shops, laborers, etc., will find it con
venient to make deposits in small amounts. CHILDREN'S SAVING DEPOSITS received in
sums of 25 cents and upward. Remittances may bo sent by draft or Wells, Fargo Jit Co.'s express.
3-14 (imos
Main Street Savings Bank and Trust Co.
Incorporated Oct. 28rn, 1889.
CAPITAL STOCK, - - - $200,000
J. B. LANKERSHIM, Prest. F. W. DkVAN, Cashier. CHAS. FORMAN, Vice-Prest
r>cent Deposit stamp* for Sale at Stores in different parts of the city.
Deposits will be received In sums of from one dollar to five thousand dollars. Term deposits
in snuis of fifty dollars and ovei.
We declare a dividend early in January and July of each year. Its amount depends on our
earnings. Five per cent, on term and from three to four on ordinary.
Money to loan on mortgages. Bonds and dividend paying stocks bought and sold.
Incorporated Oct. 28,1889.
January lst, 1800 »115,871.37
April lst. 1890 191,715.92
July lst, 1890 887.711.36
o< („!,.. r lst, 1890 '. 384.804.4 M
January Ist. 1891 389,453.80
March sth, 1801 440,642.10
Capital (paid up) $500,000
Surplus and Fronts b'43,000
Total $1,143,000
Isaias W. Hellman President
Herman W. Hellman Vice-President
John Milneb Cashier
H. J. Fleishman Assistant Cashier
L. L. Bradbury, Emeline Childs, J. B. Lauker
shim, C. E. Thorn, 0. Ducommun, H. W. Hell
man, L. C. Goodwin, A. Glassell, I. W. Hell
W. H. Perry, J. B. Lankershim, Chas. Du
commun, Domingo Amestoy, Sarah J. Lee,
Emeline Childs, Sarah J. Loop, L. L. Bradbury,
T. L Duque, Jacob Kuhrt*. Louis Polaski, P.
Lecouvreur, Estate D. Solomon, Prestley C.
Baker, L. C. Goodwin, Philippe Oarnier, A.
Haas, Cwieron E. Thorn, Oliver H. Bliss, Chris.
Henne, Estate O. W. Childs. Andrew Glassell.
Herman W. Hellman. Isaias W. Hellman. jul
RESERVE $255,000
E. F. SPENOB President
J. D. BICKNELL Vice-President
J. M. ELLIOTT....: Cashier
G. B. SHAFFER. Assistant Cashier
Directors—E. F. Spence, J. D. Bicknell, 8. H.
Mott, Wm. Lacy.U. Mabury, J. M. Elliott.
* Cor. First aud Spring streets.
Capital $500,000 00
Surplus • 80,000 00
Total $580,000 00
JOHN BRYSON, 8R Vice-President
F. C HOWES Cashier
E. W. COE Assistant Cashior
No intorest paid on deposits.
Dr. W. O. Cochran, H. H. Markham,
Perry M. Green, John Bryton, Br.,
Dr. H. Slnsabaugh, F. 0. Howes,
George H. Bonebrake. Warren Gillelen.
No interest paid on deposits.
Exchange for Bale on all the principal cities
of the United States and Europe. m 8
Corner of Spring and Second streets,
CAPITAL $250,000
Dr. W. L. Gravef, E. F. C. Klokke. O. T. John
son, W. Hadley, Dan McFarland, M. H. Sher
man. Fred Eaton, John Wolfskill, Thos. R.Baid.
J. M. C. Mabble, President,
O. H. Churchill, Vice-President,
Perry Wildman, Asst. Cashier.
10-31 A. Hadley, 2d Asst. Cashier.
E. F. Spence, John N. Hunt,
Pres't. See'y and Treas.
Savings Bank of Southern California,
Southeast corner Spring and Court streets,
CAPITAL, - $100,000
Geo. H. Bonebrake, H. L. Drew, J. M. Elliott,
C. N. Hasson, F. C. Howes, John B. Bunt,
Hiram Mabury, E. F Spence. -
Interest paid on deposits. Money to loa on
first-class real estate. 3-26-12 m
No. 317 New High street.
Capital stock fully paid up $100,000
S'irplus 40,000
R. M. WIDNEY President
GEO. L. ARNOLD Cashier
R. M. Widney. D. O. Miltimore. 8. W. Little, C.
M. Wells, John McArthur, C.A.Warner, L.J. P.
General Dnnking business, and loans on first
class real estate solicited. Buy and sell first
class stocks, bonds and warrants. Parties wish
ing to invest In first-class securities on either
long or short time can be accommodated.
130 North Main street.
Capital 1100,000
L. C. GOODWIN President
W. M. CASWELL Secretary
I. W. Hellman, John E. Plater
Robert Baker, J. 3. Lankershim,
L. C. Goodwin.
Term deposits will be received in sums oi
$100 and over. Ordinary deposits in sums oi
$10 aud over.
Money to loan on first-class real estate.
Los Angeles. July 1. ISBO. jul-tf
Cor. Broadway and Second St-., Los Angeles.
Subscribed Capital $500,000
Bald up Capital $300,000
Surplus $ 20,000
Hervey Llndlcy, J. c. Kays, E. W. Jones,
G. W. Huges, Bam. Lewis.
H. C, Witmer President
5, Frankenfleld Vice-President
T. J. Weldon, Cashier.
J. M. Witmer, Assistant Cashier.
General Banking and Exchange Business
"transacted. ml-tm
A. 37 South Spring street.
Capital Stock 1300,000
A. D. CHILDRESS President
lOHN 8. PARK Cashier
W. T. Childress, Poindexter Dunn
J. J. Schallert, E. E. Crandall,
John 8. Park, R. G. L'-ut,
A. D. Childress.
General banking. Fire and burglar proof sale
deposit boxes rented at from (3 to $20 per an
num, ml 12m
I.os Angeles, Cal.
Capital Stock Paid (Tp, $100,000.
Surplus, SIIB,OOO.
JOHN K. PLATER President
R. 8. BAKER Vice-President
R. S. Baker, Lewellyn Bixby,
Jpthara Bixby, Geo. H. Stewart,
8. B. Dewey, Geo. W. Prescott,
John E. Plater.
Buy and Sell Exchange on San Francisco,
New York, London, Paris, Berlin and Frank
Receive Money on open account and certifi
cate of deposit, and do a general banking and
exchange business. jul
Site Loan and Trust Co.
Subscribed Capital 81.000.000.
Capital Paid Up •625,000.
JOHN BRYSON, Ba. j vice-President?
W. H. PERRY. I Vlce "esiaenw.
A. E. FLETCHER, Cashier.
J. F. TOWELL, Genl. Manager.
W. G. Cochran. P. M. Green.
H. J. Woollacott, Wm. H. Crocker.
O.T.Johnson, San Francisco.
L. W. Dennis, A. A. Hubbard.
We act as trustees for corporations and estates
Loan money on flrst-clase real estate and
collaterals Keep choice securities for Bale.
Pay interest on savings deposits. Safe da
posit boxes for rent. Best Are insurance
companies represented. Applications for loans
received from borrowers In person or by mail.
Saving Money, send for
Preventing Errors, illustrated catalogue.
Telephone 612.
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BEFORE u.;oof Stimulants, AFTER
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for 15.00. Sent by mail On receipt of price*
every $5.00 order received, to refund the money if
a Permanent cure is not effected. We have
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H. M. SALE & SON, Druggists, Los Angeles, Cal,
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T. A. fciiocum, 01. C, 181 Pearl St., N. T.
When Qcorgo the Second in Albion's Isle
Defended tlie faith, 'twas a weary while
Kre a ship that sailed from Rhode Island's shore
Could return to the colonist port once more.
And the churchmen of Bristol, who'd hoardei
And sent across seas for an English bell,
Had waited full many a month and long
For the cheer of their new built steeple's song.
But at last the good vessel at Newport lay,
And a brave little sloop sailed down the bay
To carry the bell to Bristol town,
That should bless St. Michael's with wide renown
Though the bravesloop's men numbered only twc
Their pride was enough for a galleon's crew,
And their bosoms swelled as they fondly though
Of the fame for themselves in the bell the;
The sky never looked so blue to them.
And even "Despair" seemed an island gem
In the beautiful spread of the sun lit bay—
For when pride is at work, it works that way.
"The deck is too lowly a place," they said,
"For our glorious cargo; high overhead
Let's hoist it, that there its far heard peal
May spoak for the righteous joy we feel."
So up to tho cross trees the bell they swung,
Forgetting by mere mischance its tongue;
"What matter!" cried brawny Waldron, "I
Will smite it myself 'neath the arching sky 1"
Then aloft he sped with a mighty sledge
To waken the sounds from the slumbering edge
Of the church's treasure; no greater bliss
Had fallen to Waldron's lot than this.
"Oive ear, good helmsman I" be cried aloud.
As he reached tho top of the slender shroud,
And praise to himself for his prowess spoke,
And curved his arm for the wondrous stroke.
D-o-n-gt Glorious tone! How its echoes ran
Around and across the horizon's span!
Did ever a sound so full and clear
Enrapture a listening mortal's ear?
"Again !" cried tho steersman in mad delight,
"Still a lustier note from the metal smite!"
And exultant his comrade called back, "Be it sol
And Bristol shall hoar it this time, I trow!"
Oh, tho ponderous blow that descended then—
Twos beyond ull telling of song or pen;
For alack and alas! by ill fortune's whim
It cracked the church bell from top to riml
Then woo for the pitiful homewtfrd sail,
And tho crestfallen heroes glum and pale.
With an eager crowd on the wharf, to be met
With naught but a prayer to forgive and forget!
How sing of welcome turned to tears,
A payment in worthless weight for years
Of the parish thrift? What words for the sham
That ashore with the crew and their cargo came
In brief measure their tale they told,
But they'd learned a lesson that's never growi
When pride, on land, sea, river or bay,
Is at work, it can work in a wretched way.
—M. A de Wolfe Howe, Jr., in Youth's Compan
It was a cold autumn night. The
wind was howling without, but inside
the great, old fashioned kitchen where
we children sat, gathered around the
crackling fire, everything was cozy and
warm. Aunt Jane had given us a basket
of nuts, and we were having great fun
cracking them.
We had come to spend a few days with
Annt Jane, who lived in a fine old farm
house some miles away from the village.
Now, auntie had no children of her own,
and so she was always glad when we
nieces and nephews came like a young
army to take possession of the old house,
as she was very kind to us and told us
many famous stories.
But, as 1 said, the wind was having a
blustering time of it without, and we
were laughing merrily within, and crack
ing our nuts, when all of a sudden we
heard a piercing scream. Of course we
all screamed too, dropped our nuts, and
sat quite still in fright. Now, Auntie
Jane, who is very sensible, and not at
all timid, only looked up from her sew
ing and listened. In another minute
there came another scream, even louder
than the first. "Oh, auntie!" we cried,
in a frightened chorus, "it's Robbie."
Robbie, who was only 4 years old, and
not big enough to sit up with us, had
been put to bed up stairs half an hour
before. "Pon't be such silly little
geese I" said auntie, calmly folding her
work. "I'll go up and see what is the
matter with the child." So auntie put
down her basket, took a lamp in her
hand and left the room, while we all
followed and stood huddled together at
the foot of the stairs.
Presently auntie appeared with tremb
ling Robbie in her arms, and told us all
to go back into the kitchen.
Auntie took her place by the fire, and
we all sat down again. "Now, Robbie,"
said Aunt Jane, quietly, "sit up and tell
them what was the matter, and why
you screamed and frightened everybody,
and what you saw." But Master Robbie
didn't want to sit up; he kicked his little
fat legs about and clung close to auntie,
hiding his face in her gown.
"Come along, sir," said auntie firmly,
and then she sat Robbie up in her lap,
but he put his finger in his month and
blinked at the fire, and finally began to
howl dismally.
"There, there," said auntie more gen
tly and petting him. "Be a brave little
man. Now tell us, what did you think
you saw?"
A little pause, then from out the folds
of auntie's gown came a smothered
"Dhost!" from Robbie.
"So," said auntie, "you thought you
saw a ghost?"
"Fought I saw a dhost," was the muf
fled echo.
"Very well," said auntie. "Now what
did you really see when I came in
with the lamp and made you take your
head out from under the blanket? Pet
ticoat?" asked auntie, bending down.
"Petticoat hanging in torner."
"Ah," said auntie, "you thought you
saw a ghost, and what you really did
see was a white petticoat hanging up in
the corner. Is that it?
"Es, I'se been-a bad boy today, and
Henny told me when I was a bad boy J
would see a dhost 'tanding up in torner,
and I fought pettitoat was a dhost."
Auntie looked very sternly at Henry.
"Henry," she said, "have you really
been putting such nonsense into this
silly little boy's head?"
"Oh, just for fun," said Henry, though
he looked a little ashamed. "It's a fine
way to keep him good."
"Let me tell you. Henry, that a great
deal of harm and a great deal of suffer
ing have come from just this thought
less habit of frightening little children
in order to keep them good.
"And so I am going to tell you a story
of myself; a story about something that
happened to me when I was a little girl,
and of all the harm that came of my old
nurse's telling me about the old woman
wrapped in a blanket who would come
to carry me away if ever I was naughty
and disobedient.
And then auntie, sitting with Robbie
on her lap, told us her story:
When I was a little girl like Hattie
papa and I were living alone here. When
I say alone I mean that my poor mamma
had died, and we were the only ones of
the family left on the farm.
But we had a servant, who took care
of the house, and old Maria, who took
care of me and mended my clothes, and
then there was the man who worked the
farm, as papa's business in the village
kept him away from home all day.
Now, Maria was very good and kind
to me, and loved me very dearly, even
though I was a wild little thing, always
running away and getting lost, and giv
ing her a deal of trouble, I dare say.
I suppose it was because I was so hard
to manage and so very naughty that she
first told me the story of the old woman
in the blanket.
One night, after I had got into bed,
and she had tucked me away and was
going out with the light she stopped to
"I'm afraid if you ain't any better to
morrow than you've been today, Miss
Jane, and if you don't stop runnin' into
the woods, the old woman in the blanket
will come after you." (I had been very,
very bad that day, and I suppose poor
Maria was at her wits' end to make me
"What old woman in a blanket?' I in
quired, sitting up in bed.
"Never mind," Maria went on myste
riously, "I tell you there's an old woman
in a blanket who comes after all naughty
girls, 'specially them that runs away
into the woods when they's told not to."
Then Maria went away with the can
dle and I lay alone in the dark with my
mind full of the old woman in the blan
I was very good for a little while, and
I suppose Maria thought she had done a
fine thing in making up the story, as it
seemed to havo so good an effect upon
my conduct. Indeed I thought a great
deal about the old woman in the blan
Playing about in tho fields in the day
time, I would sometimes forget all about
her, but whenever I was qniet, and es
pecially at night, I fell to imagining all
sorts of dreadful things, about how she
looked and what she would say and
where she would take me.
Maria soon found that whenever I was
unruly and disobedient all she had to do
was to remind me of the terrible old
woman in the blanket, so by and by I
began to feel quite sure that at some
time or other I would certainly be pun
ished by her, and sometimes I was dread
fully frightened at night and used to
cover my head up with the bedclothes,
just as Robbie did a while ago.
Now, you must know, for I think I've
told you, I was always expressly forbid
den to go into the woods.
I didn't see very much of papa, as he
was away all day, but I remember he
often said to me:
"Jennie, you may play about the fields
and over in the meadows as much as you
like, but you must not go into the woods
You see, there were snakes there, and
besides, the woods were very dense, (it
was almost a forest), and there were so
many paths that even a grown person
might easily get lost there. How it wao
that I ever forgot my old woman in the
blanket so entirely I don't remember, but
anyway, one day I ran after a poor little
rabbit that was lame and that couldn't
go very fast, and as I wasn't thinking of
anything but the little limping creature,
whose home I was so anxious to see, I
suddenly found myself in the midst of
the forbidden woods.
I must have been running for a long
time, for I found myself in a place that
I had not known before, and I had made
so many turns along the paths that I
looked around bewildered, because I
couldn't tell in what direction home lay.
"Oh, dear me!" 4 cried to myself, very
much frightened. "I didn't mean to bs
disobedient. I didn't mean to come into
the woods at all."
' Indeed, I had not meant to come. I
was seldom naughty deliberately, and
most of the mischief I got into was the
result of thoughtlessness and careless
But anyway here I was in the woods,
and I must get out of them. I looked
and looked, and finally started out brave
ly to the left, as the way looked a little
familiar. But though I walked on and
on, and sometimes ran a little, it all
grew more and more strange about me,
and I finally stopped in dismay.
"I must be going the wrong way," I
almost cried aloud, "and oh!" (I held my
breath in terror) "what is that?"
A long, low rumble, and then the trees
began to moan and shake their heavy
branches, as if they, too, were trembling
in fear.
Plash! Plash! A great drop fell upon
my bare head. Suddenly there was a
dreadful crash. In a moment every
thing grew dark, and then the thunder
and the lightning and the furious rain
all seemed to come together, and I was
alone, all alone, lost in the woods, and
night was coming on! Then I cried out
as loud as I could in my terror.
"Oh, what a bad, naughty girl I have
been!" I sobbed. And then I thought of
the old woman in the blanket, and my
tears dried in very fear, and I looked
about trembling. I had made it up in my
mind just what she would look like. Sho
would be shriveled up and very old and
all bent over, and the great blanket
would cover her up from her head to her
feet, and oh! this would be such a dread
ful place to meet her! I almost believed
that I could see her coming along through
the trees. I threw myself on the ground
and covered my face with my apron,
and oh! what was that?
I felt a toUjCb. on my shoulder. I was
almost dead with fright, when I heard a
gruff but kindly voice say:
"Wall, sakes alive! If it ain't a little
Kali Look up, sissy! What ails yel"
My heart gave a great bound of joy, and
looking up I saw a big, bearded faca
bending over me. The man had a dog
with him and a gun. I couldn't spoak.
Another great crack of thunder came.
I conld only cling to him and cry.
"Lost, I s'pose?" he asked, taking me
np in his strong arms.
"Y-es, y-es, sir!" I finally stammered.
"Umph!" exclaimed my deliverer.
"Wall, I reckon I'd better take ye to the
cabin and dry ye off, and then well see
where ye belong."
The dog bounded ahead, and the big,
kind faced man carried me easily on one
arm, and, shouldering his gun, made
great, bold strides through the wood*,.
He must have known them well, for a
black night was coming on and the rain
was blinding. We had gone only a lit
tle way when a bright and rnddy light
appeared. Here we wore at the "cabin."
The door opened into a cheerful
kitchen, and at tho threshold stood a
young girl holding a lantern.
"Here ye are, pop!" she cried in wel
come. "Look out, Jack!" to the dog,
who, cefvered with mud, made a leap at
"Why, pap! what on earth have you
got there?"
"Gal," was tho only reply of the big
"Gal! Lost? Oh, the poor little thing!"
cried the girl, and then I was pnt in a
chair by the kitchen fire, and my wet
shoes and stockings were palled off and
bo was my dripping gown, and I was
wrapped in a big, warm shawl and
given a cup of hot milk to drink.
They were very kind and gentle tome,
rough people though they were, and
neither papa nor I ever forgot their good
ness to a poor little stranger.
When I could speak without shivering
I told them my name and where I lived.
"I shouldn't have come into the
woods," I ended. "I've been told not to,
but I was running after the rabbit to see
where he lived, and I ran on and on and
"Why, pop," exclaimed the girl, "it's
Mr. Harvey's little girl."
"Oh, yes," said the man, "I know
squire Harvey."
"Please, sir," I asked, "are you the
"Aye, I s'pose so," answered the man,
"leastways, I hunt most of the time."
"Then," I said, beginning to cry again,
"then I'm far from home, way at the
other side of the woods." I had heard
of the hunter's cabin. "Oh," I went on,
"what will they say athome? They will
be so frightened! What Bhall I do?"
The man went to the window and
looked out.
"The storm is ragin'," he said, and in
deed we could hear it.
"I tell ye, little gal, you'll have to
wait till mornin'. No one could ever git
through them woods to-night."
I felt dreadfully, careless as I was. I
knew how they would suffer at home,
and yet there was no help for it.
I cried and sobbed, and after a while
the girl carried me up tho little rickety
pair of stairs to her own tiny room.
There wero only two rooms up stairs—
the girl's where I was taken, and her
father's. It was a poor little room, but
quite clean, and the bed was very, very
"There," said tho kind hearted girl,
tucking up my little body under the
warm quilt. "I reckon I'll have to sleep
on the floor; I've got some bedclothes
down stairs put away, so I'll git 'em
out. Now, I'll just leave you the candle,
and Til be up in an hour or two."
Then she went away, and left me alone
in the strange little room. I looked
about me as I lay. It all seemed so odd
and my head felt so queer, and now and
then a cold shiver would run up and
down my body.
I couldn't sleep; my eyes were wide
There was an old rag carpet on tho
floor, and over in the corner a funny old
fashioned chest of drawers and a poor
little table on which the caudle stood,
and one worn out chair.
Bang! bang! went the shutters! Oh.
how the wind howled, and then would
come the sudden, fearful crashes of
thunder that seemed directly above my
I trembled so that my teeth chattered.
I should have been very warm, for the
coverings on the bed were thick and
plenty, but still I felt very, very cold
and shivered dreadfully. It was silent
except for the noise of the raging storm
I was frightened up there, all alone, in
that strange place.
The candle flickered and made ugly
shadows on the wall, and, oh! I wished
that tho girl would come up stairs. I
thought of papa and Maria, and longed
for the day to como that they might
know I was safe and sound.
And presently I knew nothing, for a
few moments, it seemed to me.
Bang! bang! went the shutters again.
I sat up, wide awake, with a dreadful
terror in my heart.
In the moment that I had slept I had
dreamed of the old woman in the blanket.
I was not cold now; I seemed to be
burning up, and I tried to call out. I
wanted some one to come to me; I was
so afraid, what with the storm and my
dream and the strange, lonely place.
My voice seemed very faint and weak,
bo I crawled from the bed, and it was
hard to move. The candle was still
flickering on tho table, and cast but a
dim light into the little passageway.
I reached the stairs, but all seemed si
lent below. Nothing was to be" heard
but the rumbling of the thunder and
nothing was to be seen, but—what was
There, there in the corner!
Something white, bent over, and, yes,
a blanket, a great yellow blanket, cover
ing it up!
I had left the door ajar and a faint
ray from the candlelight rested upon—
the old woman! The old woman in the
blanket! I only remember screaming
out loud, as Robbie screamed a little
while ago.
• •»»»•
One bright morning I opened my eyes,
and was surprised to find myself in my
own bed, and in my own pretty room at
I felt too tired to speak, and just
closed my eyes and tried to remember
what had happened.
Presently I heard voices.
"Poor little dear!" Maria was saying.
"I'm so glad the fever has gone. Master
has been so worried. This morning ho
went to the village for the first time
since Miss Jano was brought home with
the fever."
"Oh, yes," replied another voice, a
voice I had heard in my dream, and in
deed it was the voice of the hunter's
daughter. "She's all right now, I
"Tell me," said Maria. "Tell mo
again, just how it came on."
"Well, you see," answered the girl, "I
had put her in bed safely, and then I
went down and got pop's tea. It was
storm in' dreadful. After a while I
fetched out the pillows and blanket that
I was agoin' to make my bed of on the
floor, and took 'em up stairs, and stood
them in the passageway, and then I
went down again to finish a bit of mend
ing, while pop read the paper. All on m
sudden we heard a dreadful scream, and
when we ran up the stairs we found the
poor little gal laying in the passageway
moanin' and tearin' in the fever. Then,
next morning, pop came over and told
you, and the little thing was fetched
"And very good and kind you have
been, my dear, and we are very grate
ful," said Maria.
Then it all came back to me, my
dream, my waking and stealing out to
the head of the stairway, and my vision
of the terrible old woman in the blanket
standing in the corner.
I astonished them and frightened them
both very much by suddenly sitting bolt
upright in bed.
"What did you say?" I eagerly asked
the girl. "What did you say about put
ting the bedclothes up in tho passage
"Blessthe child!" cried Maria. "She's
in the fever yet, and doesn't know what
she's a-talking about."
"Yes, I do," I declared. "I saw some
thing in the corner, something white,
with a blanket over it, and—and I
thought it was the old woman."
Then the girl told me how she had
'put a white case on the bolster she had
got out for her bed, and how she had
taken a couple of blankets and come up
stairs with them. But seeing that I had
fallen into a light sleep and hearing me
moan, she had been afraid of waking
;ue then, and so had placed the thing's in
the corner, intending to come up by
and by.
After a while, when the girl had gone,
I called:
"Maria P'
"Yes, my deary," she answered, com
ing quickly to my side.
"Maria," I asked, solemnly, "is there
any old woman in a blanket?"
"No, no, my deary," cried Maria, very
Borry for her thoughtlessness. "I only
said it to make you mind, and it wa
very wicked of me."
* * » * • i
Robbie had fallen asleep, but a rest
of us were listening eagerly to Anxt
Jane.—New York World.
Usually, in bewitching a person, it
was thought necessary to possess some
thing closely connected with the victim,
as a lock of his hair, a nail paring or
even a small quantity of his saliva.
The belief engendered by the shamans
often had very serious consequences to
innocent persons. If a shaman told a
patient that he was afflicted by a disease
which a certain man or woman had
charmed into him, the consequences to
the supposed offender were often seri
ous enough, and such beliefs led to many
This is particularly the case in Africa,
where tho same belief occurs, and thou
sands are yearly sacrificed, because they
are supposed to have afflicted others
with disease spirits, or to bo the authors
of misfortunes of one sort or another.
The power too "hoodoo," that is, be
witch, is believed in by a very large
number of the negroes of this country-
In fact, such beliefs are common to the
ignorant oveiywhere, be they red, white
or black.
We should not be too ready to despise
the Indian who holds them, since faith
in charms, fortune telling and similar
nonsense survives today among civilized
people who ought to know better, and
many are they who thrive by the prac
tice of such arts. Credulity does not dia
with sorcery and barbarism, but lives
on, and will continue to live until men
grow much wiser than they have yet
grown.—H. W. Henshaw in Youth's
Cheaper Rings Are Bought.
A jeweler tells me that tho fashion of
buying expensive diamond rings by
young men just engaged is gradually
dying out. "Understand me," he said,
"the girls still get their engagement
rings, and they are pretty, too; but they
don't average over $70 or $80 in price.
Time was when the haughty bride to be
would have turned up her dainty nose
at any ring that cost less than $200, but
now, although there is just as much ro
mance and just tho same passion for dia
monds in her composition, the New York
girl rightly reasons that she is living in
a practical age, and that a cheaper ring
and a more expensively furnished flat
will give her the most satisfaction. I
know a man with an income of $10,000
and tho satisfaction of being engaged to
a millionaire'a daughter. How much do
you think her engagement ring cost him?
Just $150, and the bride went into ecsta
sies over it."—New York Star.
Not Very Objectionable.
Littlo Boy—Mamma, I had the night
mare las' night, awful.
Mamma—That's because you had so
much cake and preserves.
Little Boy (hastily)— Nightmares don't
really hurt, you know; you only think
they is goin' to, same as playin' ghost. I
like nightmares. They is real fun.—
—New York Weekly.
An instance is on record of a pigeon
flying twenty-three miles in eleven min
utes, and another flew from Rouen to
Ghent, 150 miles, iv an hour and a half*

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