Catoctin clarion. [volume], March 04, 1871, Image 1

About Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940

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SYBTER. ’
WKfSi lean tQ life t&eath the times ’
I used Id vhistte When a bOy.
I’ve *tt ’neath music’s magic spell
THlisvery sense seemed rtsepedju bUss,
And with each strain; Pre-fiat, * thrill .
Like that Ptedncedfty Love’s fort Ijiss,
But seen they faded from vpy : mind,..,,.... f
Forgotten like a broken toy.
The only tune? which cannot die (
Areithosc I whistled when a ftjflf*
The friends of youth, my.
'. The woods In which! usedtojtey,'
The brooks—the page
Is written on each melody..
Then sing an dld-tune song agam, • -
For.-sound can yield ho sweeter joy
Than that which sacred makes the tunes
I when .a bpy.
#RIII%ALyALE.
(Written expretriy /fit the “Clarion." J
JlevJesNic Fewid Her Work,
8Y NELLIE EYBTER.
■ “ ißears Vonoy like you isn’t keerin’
mwrlhein’ grateful like, fur wat ole
l&Bree’* lations want to do fur you.
an dubble, ef I war a young
lady.Kke you is, wid everything dat
my heart wanted, an more too, an ld
•of folks alius waitin’ on mo, ap 1
mirin’ my talons, an raakin' sufo.a
diissinfaout my learnin’ an aUktetf '96
jistiike fur once to go off to c |Bpf ar
little Dutch town aft foowde people
wat kind ob a girl my papa raised
down Souf. Dey neber heard sich a
ithing, I’ll be bound, as a young lady
jist fifteen years ole talkin French as
fas m a baby cries, an playin’ depiany
jis aseasy as my Tony can psckde
banjo Why, Miss Jessie, honey,
you’d be a livin, breathin curiosity.”
“Wes. like our French mustard Was
to Aunt Sarah that time," and she
laughed merrily as she recalled some
fewiof : the incidents connected with
that -first and only visit of her Aunt
Samfe to her father's house, among
which was that having for the first
•time tasted some prepared mustard,
shfiiexclaimed, with rapture, “It is a
(curiosity: So good, so good,” and ate
it qpon her bread and butter as though
it was currant
, “’-Deed, cftwe," said old nurse,
Milky, ■ “Marse loved Miss Sarah
’nrensely well, if yea does latfather
funny ways, an she’s a lovin you now
mow for his dead and gone sake, I
knows; so don’t be ongrateful like our
spstfkled hen was, who wun’st, when
ifter (comb an toes was mos' friz off, an
1 oiled an fussed wid em 'till dey got
mlliiiight agin, mos’ picked my eye out
•cause I stopped to smoove her back.
Now, stop your Jallln, Miss Jessie;
how kin I derange your bar, if you’se
•shaftin' your bed so ?”
Theft’the- small round head, with its
wealth of “bonny brown hair,” did
become motionless, nor were there
.apy more revelations of its busy
(thoughts until an hour later, when she
sail'On a low stpol at the Doctor's.feet,
auS holding both his hands in ,her
own soft palms, told him she was go
ung ±o confess,-
! 'Well, Jessie," said the good doc
tor, “‘I am ready to grant you any ab
solution requirfcfl, or sell you any in
dulgence wanted,.so begin.”
“{Then, uncle, you’re just in the
right humor, for it is an indulgence
that I want, and which you only can
give. D>n’t send me to May town to
spend this vacation. Imagine how
lonely you’ll be without me to vex you
fifty times a day, or spoil your pre
mriptions, or spill yqnr medicines,
apart from the sacrifice you’ll make
in parting with me, think how terrible
it will be for me to spend four weeks
in a town so obscure that it is not even
down on the map; where I know no
body, and where there is no one worth
knowing, and where all the people
.talk Pennsylvania dutch, and eat pies
and pickles for supper. I'll come
hack to you-as rough and coarse as
Boston browjf bread.'”
“Than whioh there is nothing more
eweet nt>r wholesome,” interrupted
Dr. John. ‘‘Go on, Jessie.”
i “Well, uncle, this is about the sum
•of it all. My going will be. an awful
waste of time. There is no use in
taking my benevolence unnecessarily,
and I am teetolly opposed to the whole
’arrangement. Now, I await my .sen
tence. ’
- "It is simply this, my darling," said
uncle John, looking most tenderly into
/the eyes raised to his, “that being
thirty years older than you, I feel
thirty times wiser, and sacredly be
lieve the visit planned y w irul W
- for your good. In just jrhd may I
roiwi tli atefition nakiV tnhtlf
‘ d ev7*hing. Don’t look at the
’ P^i e W# magnifying glasses,
nmf if they ® aeemjo your mqrp re
fined,tete; riw and even ; ig|Bia*,
* remember that the sweetest corn often
was far above, scale
humanity, j^or. had any sympathies
, with those less fortunate, awoke One
morning to find:herselfVthe inmate of
' a plainly furnished little room in the
only inn at Maytown, and the guest
of its proprietor, Mrs. Sarah May.
AU sorts of grotesque shadows were
; flitting across the White muslin cur
’ tains of her windows, as she leaped
out of her bed with the sprininess. of
Healthy girlhood, and parted their
smooth folds for a ‘survey of her sur
roundings. It wee a grand novelty
for her to see, not fifty rods ahead a
1 mountain peak, still wearing its night
cap of snowy mist, instead of, the rows
of three-storied brick houses which
usually confronted her waking vision,
and, still nearer, a mountain lake fed
by mountain rills, and encircled by
willows, instead o£ the daily diorama
of milk carts, huckster’s drays and
bread wagons, to which she had beert
all her life accustomed. The poetry
in her ardent nature grewwide awake
at a sight so new and impirihg, and
she would have forgotten her toilette
but for the sudden entrance of Aunt
‘*Saroh.
“Why, Jessie I up a'ready? I scarce
ly expected it of j#u after that long
ride. So John couldn't find time to
come along ? Wa|it a pity I It is a
great thing to get you here though,
for once, and I must be contented.
No* no, don’t put oi\. that,” as Jessie
was donning a light blue cashmere
robe which she thought particularly
becoming. you got any nice
calico along ? yoq’d feel better to run
about in it than that expensive frock.
Got none, anddon’t like te.wear them?
Well, child, suit yourself of course.
City ways ain't our ways."
The train of Jessie’s beautiful
thoughts was shattered by collision
with what she thought her Aunt's im
pertinent interference, and she soon
announced herself in readiness for
breakfast with an air of haughtiness
which uncle John, the doctor, would
have thought highly unbecoming in
his petted niece. Aunt Sarah per
ceived it likewise, and laying her large
hands on the slender shoulders of
Jessie, said gently, but firmly, “Jessie,
child 1 I begged John to let you come
ami see m e > because I thought a change
would do you good. You've learned
right smart from books a’ready, but
you ain’t seen much of real life.
Now, we’re all plain, blunt folks
about here, but we mean just what we
say, and do things in a straight up and
down fashion, because they’ve most of
them got to be done, and for no other
reason; I raised your father that way,
and a better man never went to his
reward than he was. There's lots t>f
sham in this big world, and youngsters
often put it on with their fine tain's
and feathers, before thev know it.
Now, God don’t make af
ter the same pattern, no more than a
carpenter uses just one tool to build a
house with. I've "got one kind of
work to do for the- Great Master, and
you another, and the sooner you git
out of yourself and git thinkin’ and
doin’ for others, you’ll find put the
track you’ve got to run in, and may be
see that calico is as good in its place,
as satin.”
This was quite a long lecture on an
empty stomach; but Jessie received it
with a good grace, and, stranger still,
felt an involuntary respect for her
blunt, plain q,upt, as she followed fter
into the homely blit cheerful breakfast
room. And yhat a breakfast it was 1
The coffee flowed from the broad spout
of a tin boiler instead of the carved
faucet of a silver urn, but-its, delicate
flavor was unequalled. Bread, butter,
steaks, preserves, even pies and
pickles, all were like it, the very best
in their quality, and so abundant that
Jessie naturally wondered how the
two quiet lumbermen, Tim Saxon, the
porter, Meta, the housemaid, and heV
aunt and self who seemed the only
occupants of 4he. house, could ever
eat the hall of it, She did not see
that morning, as she did so frequently
afterwards, the block boy on crutches,
the pale Irish Woman With her father
i less twins, and old Hobbledehby, the
itinerant and (rheumatic cobbler, who
were daily pensioners upon Aunt
i Sarah’s bounty, and to whom she die*
i tributed her fsvdre in so delicate a
; manner that "Ihe .seemed happier in
l giving than they in receiving.
“This is the parlor, Jessie,” she
;j\ ' ' iKiffii.ii 1
j id, throwing open the door of a long,
c T? nv lit watOOKm iw piiawrej • w
, open what was really a fine instrm
-4 abated ,v
, ‘‘Yes, Colonel Ireton Jeft itiii Wy
v care Wdat,
: and he aint sent’for it yet. It has’nt
• been opened thifi. JMtoy day, *nl
>; though there are, four or five gilds in
f MaytoWn would fc afn ta lt if
I they had a teacher, My big stm-bon
> o<dt is jfohgin’ behind th® door; j jst
i use ’ it'll yon want to run around,
i Make, yourself at home now, for I’ve
! got a big bakin' on hand;” and witftr
F out any more ceremony Aunt Sarah
! vanished kitchen ward.
Jessie loved music with all hftr
. heart.* It was the one branch of art
i in which she expected to excefi and
- hitherto, to master dlflcult composi
-1 tions before an admiring audience and
’ heard .their applause, -was the swbet
■ est incense her-heart craved. To this
end she toiled through long scales and
arveggm until her fingers ached, and
. practiced for houfo *Wr after bar of
some difficult movement until all id6a
i of melody Waft lost in her utter wenri
' ness of the monotonous sound—all for
praise. Jealdus of any intervention
which might retard her mechanical
skill, and seeing a copy of Richard
son's method lying upon a bookstand
near, she turned to her last lesson, im
exercise in the key of “A”foinor,ahd
began to finger its plaintive chords.
’She had not been at .it fifteen ifoAutos,
when a loud “Whoal” and the sound
of creaking boots entering the room
attracted her attention. Two tall
farmers, succeeded by her aunt, ap-
E reached, the one who hadstartied
er by his rough exclamation, leading
hn mere titnicr companion.
“They Want to hear you play,
Jessie," said aunt Sarah, holding aloft
her bared anne. white to the elbow
with the dough she had been just
kneading. .' ; s. <
“Yes, I said to Huff, here, when we
stopped at the pump to water, ’Huff I
that must be a mighty big fiddle Misses
May has got. Let’s go and hear it.
An this is the thing. Well, it’s a
queer looking un anyhow.’*
“It’s a piany don’t you see," said
Mr. Huff, "I’ve heard ’em afore now.
Come, Sis, put your foot on the tread
leum and sing us Washington’s
March."
Aunt Sarah's face wore a broad
smile of good natured amusement, but
that of Jessie was distorted with dis
gust at the vulgarity of her rude in
truders. She made a motion to leave
the instrument but her aunt restrain
ed her.
"Try if yon can play it. Jahe Ire
land could, and she was only ten years
old."
Jessie obeyed, recalling it as one of
her boasted “pieces” learned during
her second quarter years and years
ago. It gave entire satisfaction, as
was evinced by the stamping of their
feet for a drum accompaniment, and
the ejection from the mouths of each,
of huge quids of tobacco out of the
open window.
“Now, give us a song. Let’s have
‘Black-eyed Susan.’ Gracious! but
you can play tarin’ down well.”
This wai a small mollifier, so Lois,
in despair of knowing any song more
in with their taste, began the sweetly
saucy ballad “Cornin’ thro’ the rye.”
She sang it with a spirit. It was al
ways fashionable hence, had been stu
died, and lost none of its exquisite
simplicity on her lips. Before sue was
through Mr. Huff opened an old
leather purse, and singling from out
its 'cherished cherished contents a
bright silver ten cent bit, laid it upon
the ivory key with a “there” that
ft|toke volumes of approval, but Jessie
was insulted.
“I am not an organ grinder,” she
exclaimed angrily, and rising from the
stool, she flea from the room, leaving
’ her ignorant but well-meaning audi
tors dumb with amazement.
When her aunt found her, sometime
afterward, she was leaning over the
1 bank of the lake, one atm clasping a
tree for support,' and gazing, Nar
cisftue-like, upon the pretty hut haugb
; ty young face mirrored in its cleat
- surface.
"You are a silly child to get so
' cross lor nothing,-Jessie. That man
' meant well by you, and the will 1-
wys ismbre’n ths dl^sd.”
“ Au‘nt 1 How coliid you ask me to
1 play for such boors. They cannot
appreciate music more than cattle
I would. I’ll never do it again.”
“I dn know about theappreciatin’
> of it or not. I know Mr. Gr een was
> a cryin all the time you vi%re singin';
> because, he saidj kis George, who was
• drowhed in the canal last year, used
i to„ whistle that time, an it made his
i eyes wet to hear it agin. It strikes
me that learnin aint of much use, if
>1 thoss that have it keep it all to their
, Alves. orrnlyfoayajegutoppaiftmM.-
lar occaiUJns, . I Wdtfjir’Christ was
ij the
■ Walked ftoa aartfo'fcutlft HcrfMtoy IM
) where that hjf. eoptted .fand
*! w
, same afeertoon > afal Wffei
. open j she totmht-'s6l^re* i ffi ife diver
sion jjjjiutd surely giyS/
<1 ■ iMiateteaptsdly*
• Not ttsound was heard in the house,
. when suddenly, but quietly, the door
i behind her waa opened and a figure,-
seemingly only half human in its dis
• guise of rags si*d Art; crept stealthily
and noisely flnfibfts toe room until it
, stood directly ttehind her. All up
conscious, Jessie’ played" on, recall fog
snatches of Baetftoven’s Sonata which
move the heart like words of great
i tenderness. A Jeep skh behina her
caused her to turn nqr when the
mildest, most haggard face of which
' she had #er conceived met her gaze.
She was going to scream With terror,
but the figure, witkoo earnest which
awed her, motioned her to continue,
crying “Joncz/ Joneih Jonez! Jonezl"
She dared not disobey, and covering
the keys with her hand#, tried to strike
a chord, but terror had stiffened them.
She could not control a aingle musole.
Half pushing her from the stool, the
stranger styod for a moment before the
instrument, and' almost seemed to de
vour it with his eager, human eyes.
Placing his fingers ovqc the kqys, he
struck three full inversions ofske key
of C; then into, the air as
though in a frenzy of delight, sank on
his knees before it, and kissed the bits
.of insensible ivory, as a devotee would
the feet of a. saint. Again touching
them, a weird but thrilling combina
tion of sound-responded io his touch,
'Ha ran a scale; it rippled- beneath his
fingers in links of liquid melody.
Once more he kissed tha ltcys, knelt to
them, tried to embrace thf entire in
strument, struck a few more wild notes,
and leaning his face against foe music
rack, burst into tears! His wfiole
frame seemed convulsed with emotion.
At length, raising his streaming eyes
to heaven, he struck the keys and
brought forth a continuation Of such
sounds as genius alone could evoke.
One moment the melody seemed to
wail like a soul without hope; then, as
if fired with fresh enthusiasm, it was
all exultation and energy. His eyes
never once sought his fingers—they
seemed but the harmonious machinery
of present but invisible master spirit,
holding a communion with some intel
ligent soul, in, which music was the
language of utterance.. Meanwhile
Jessie bad forgotten to scream. AU
her first terror was merged in amaze
ment. Eyes and ears were riveted
upon him, and she stood spell bound,
giving no signs of life, save by the
tears of sympathy and admiration,
which, almost unconsciously to herself,
ran down her cheeks. The man sud
denly ceased and looked upon her,
then bending low, cried "Farthnncz }
Pardonnez r
Jessie was a good French scholar,
but before she could frame a reply
Aunt Sarah’s portly figure appeared
in the doorway. She could not un
derstand the scene before her. No
wonder I liie man’s knees and shoul
ders protruded from the filthy rags
which hung around his gaunt frame.
His head was hatless,andthe grizzled
hair and long beard seemed matted
together. A sabre cut, which at one
time must almost Have severed his
cheek, now presented a frightful scar,
while the dirt furrows, which the tears
had ploughed over his face, did not
detract from its ugliness. As for the
face oi Jessie, the angel of pity looked
from her brown eyes, and it was trans
formed into new beauty.
“What does it all mean ?” said aunt
Sarah, looking from one to the other.
“Tell me wno you are,” said Jessie
to the stranger. ;
He poured forth his sad story, al
most crouching at her feet, in words
which, to l the attentive Aunt Sarah,
were an Unintelligible jargon. He
had once been a man. His home was
in Normandy, where in his boyhood
, music had been his passion and study.
He joined the English army, fought
though several campaigns in India,
was wounded and taken prisoner. Af
i ter a long, long confinement he escap
; ed and sought his home only to find
i his darling- wife and “petite
dead. He again fled, and came to
America a homeless, penniless, friend
i less wanderer. In fog despair, he bte l
come an opium eater, then, lower still,
a drunkard. For a, year he had wan
dered through the mountains living
, almost like a beast. He forgot he had
a soul. ’ Hanger drove that mowing
to this retired little village; for the
first time for many years he heard a
rtr JW
•Virst-nfe” as he eMW
> Irredstibly he WW2R*
1 saw Him,
! ttonslated 'tis wbrds
1 U to herMfieia v ifl .liMognat
\^&mksa&u
, mine, (fo any where's
clothes fort him. Folks doft't
ceremony here. I'll mala T hAp,
wash him so he. looks like a
human.” */
, Jessie, obtaining his promise to do
just as her aunfT bid, for He was with
friends, hurried on in her now mission.
How she went from house (to house she
, never knew, but the result of her sim
-1 pie appeal was such a pile of coats,
pants, boots, etc., as she could hardly
carry.
At eight o'clock that evening, Vic
tor Amiens again sat before the piano,
dressed like a gentleman, as he was,
“pound and in his right mind.!’ Men,
wommi and children crowded in to
hear him Ndthing like it had
ever beeii ratal.in Maytown, and few
among_Hmlisteners, uneducated though
they were, but felt the influence oi
his beautiful harmonies. He rarely
withdrew his eyes .from Jessie, who
stood near him, and she, for the first
time in her yopng life, realized that
there was a diviner power in ‘music
than simply the luxury of hearing
sweet sounds.; A desire, hitherto un
felt, was tugging at her heart-strings.
She lost Ml thought of self in her
earnest desire to do something for poor
Victor. Her heart went out in grati
tude towards all who had helped him,
andfthe simple villagers were unani
mous in one, opinion “that Mrs. May’s
niece w&s a good, juice girl if she did
look kinder proud, and as common aft
anybody,”- :■ . '
But how Jessie found her life work
Is best told- in-a characteristic letter
from aunt Saj-ah to her uncle John
Clifford, three weeks afterward.
Maytown, September Ist, 18—.
Dear John /—Queer things are alius hap
penin to folks that don’t go through the
world with their eyes shet. The Lord has
just put some of his spittle, as it were, on
mur Jessie’s eyes, and the scales has fallin
right off. You know, an I know, how *oi
up she was, and all for herself. There is a
long story of a wandering old wretch that
stumbled along this way (an angel led him
hut he did’ut know it, poor soul), who
heerd her playin and come In. lie’s turn
ed out to he a peat musician, and I h’lieve
almost worships our girl. Weill She’s
been his salvation so fur. You know I
keep no liquor in my house, aud when the
poor sinner craved some to drink, Jessie
plead with him as for her life to hold np
and stick to water. He’s done it, too. He’s
awful poor, hut she’s got him to work.
Squire Crane’s girls come in every day,
and he’s teachin them music. Jessie stands
by and explains every word to ’em, for this
man talks such poor English no one bnt
her can understand him.
He’s teachin her a new way to play, and
oven writes down on paper the music he
makes ia his head. Squire Crane is goln
to pay him twenty dollars hlme-by. Oi
course he boards here for nothin. TlierC
aint much travellin now, and he aint la the
way no how. I guess when you take
Jessie home, this Victor will have to comp
too. She says you’ll find work for him,
and told me this morning she thought she
would leant to be a music teacher, and In
dicate poor children in music that had no
chance elsewhere, rer it’s the eftriy trairthl
■ and early impressions that last the longest*
God bless the child, and give her pereeeer
ingnm in well doin. I never thought she’d
turn out such raal good.
Come along right soon John. Jessie is
makin a new Cushion for lame Buck’,
crutch. No more at present, but remain
your lovin old sister till death.
Sarah May.
. .i—i.
Helping the Minister.— “ There
was one thing that helped me very
much whilst I waa preaching to-day, ’
said a clergyman.
"VyHat Was that?*’ inquired a friend.
“It wsistoe attention of a little girl,
who kept, her ayes fixed on ms, and
seemed to try to understand every
word I said; she was a great help to
i me.”
i What 1 osa a little child be a great
s hefo to minister! Yes! how?
i By paying' attention. Think of
I that, my little ones, and when you go
. to church fix your eyes on the minister,
; and try to understand what he says,
, for he is speaking to you as. well'as
• to grown up people. He is telling
■ about the Lord Jesus, who loves the
I little on®, and who says, “Sftffer the
' little-children to come unto m@, and
> forbid them not: for of such is the
■' kingdom of God."
, An Ohio youth, who intended to
wed the object of his affections, laid
| art interview with her paternal ancesi
E tor, in which he stated that, although
' he had no wealth worth speaking of,
i yetihe was chuck full of days work/
i He got the girl. . - :
11 1
known TttfM fcm jwbnbfeJl'9illew
■ ereyk, wme v Sie
f city, oouid never be 'fbutiSfffl
i dians refusing to divulge Ifie secret,
to the whites. Some twenty*fiv;years*
, ago an aid man, yrhoa# iQid
been spent with theludknay reap-*
, peered upon the. scenes of' his youtn,,
and, together with a yotiu£ ‘man, i
claiming to be hie son, began aseareh
for the hidden treasure, Evfe lmHe
above the mouth of Yellow creeh,, ,
small stream emptying into the 6hio,,
the old man and his compafudH began
to seek for the metal, following the’
directions given to. him by Aft Old In
dian, one of the last survivors of the;
Mingo tribe. .Taking the side of the,
hill above the stream, the supposed,
landmarks were discovered, and the'
two set"to work digging into the hill/
The explorers a short distance from' -
the surface, struck a large , flat, fetch/
which sounded hollow from the
strokes of the pick and found It-to be
a shell rock. A hole was made
through this stone and the old man
Sated to explore the darkness
in. He dropped a distance of ten,
feet and found himself in a complete
grotto, whose only opening to the
outer world he had just carved in the
solid rock forming the top. The cay
era was a square walled room, twenty’
feet in length, six feet in wrath and •
ten feet in height. The care' Was eri- 1
tifely empty, and no indications of,
lead ore were discovered. The sub
terranean grotto was visited by many, ’
the search for the lead mine was given
up, and but little thought of till some
six months ago, when the old man's
story was again told and the Work of
exploring the banks of the creek again .
commenced. The latter efforts did
not, however, produce much excite
ment, and were carried on by parties
from Wellsville without any impor
tant result until Friday evening last,
when a rich vein of silver and lead ‘
were struck one and-a-Lalf miles
South of the town of Hammonds
ville, some eight feet below the sur
face. The discovery produced intense
excitement in the neighborhood. A
large piece of pure ore, weighing six
ty pounds, was taken out on Satur
day, and is on exhibition at Wells
ville. We have a piece of the ore, a
mixture of lead and silver, broken
from the “big chunk." Those of
speculative minds see vast riches in
the heretofore barren hills of Yellow
creek, and are already buying up
lands, with a view of enormous pro
fits. The land on which the metals
were found, formerly belonging to Buz
Davis, a colored man of this city.
—i
Spare moments are the gold-dus| of
time.
Many persons have quickness to
discover their faults who have not
energy enough to eradicate them.
Few persons have sufficient wisdom
to prefer censure, which is useful to
: them, to praise, which deceives them.
He who esteems trifles for himself
is a trifler; he who esteems them, for
the conclusions to be drawn is a
philosopher.
Sorrow comes soon enough without
despondency: it does a man no good
to carry around a lightning-rod to at
tract trouble...
Those who look for faults find faults,,
and become fault-finders by profession*
but those who look for truth and good
find that.
The heart is, as it were, the pasture
in which multitudes of thoughts are
fed every day; a gracious heart dili
gently kept feeds many precious
thoughts of God in a.day.
It is a real blessing to have one in
• a family who is sensitive to the ludic
, rous. There are enough to reflect the
sad side of life, arid its irritable side,
and its sober side. ®
! Avoid those wfio take pleasure in
' exposing others fio - contempt by jeer
' ing, mocking* ot mimicking. Keep.
■ off from such as from ,lhe heels of A
, horse that kiefs all near him.
' The great globe itself is not more
inlerhuftl with golden veins, and fill
ed ridt| precipug,things, ilian the field
: nr revelation, the storehouse °f the
u nsearchable riches of Oh risk
There will be fif.y-three Sundays
this yearr-the year - Winning And
* i-hding on Sunday. It ought to be a
Xjood year and a happy one.