Mower County transcript. [volume], January 29, 1890, Image 3

About Mower County transcript. [volume] (Lansing, Minn.) 1868-1915

Image provided by: Minnesota Historical Society; Saint Paul, MN

                
MOWER COUNTY TRANSCRIPT
N. S. GOBDOK, Editor.
AUSTIN. MINN.
LATE AT CHURCH.
We attended the meeting together and sat
in the principal row,
where people of state and position oome,
mainly their riches to show.
Her cheeks were fair and as glowing as cos*
noetic plasters could be
And her lips dropped incense delightful, as
they parted in speaking to me.
The masters and servants of fashion filed
into the door-pews around,
While others climbed into the galleries or
were seated down nearer the ground.
The service was half way completed and a
hush had fallen o'er all
As still aa the silence that gathers, at the
side of the funeral pall
When in through one of the doorways, that
down to the altar's side led,
Came a pale and nervous old woman, with a
heavy and unbroken treud.
All eyes for a moment were wrested from
the voice that so eloquently burned,
And down on the blushing old lady with
contempt and anger were turned.
My eyes with the rest were upon her, but my
heart rose up to relate
Why litis poor old soul was despondent and
the cause of her being late.
At the board in the kitchen Bhe labored, the
supper's confusion to clear,
While the household were off in their car­
riage to bask in the worshipful sphere.
The maid at my side leaned toward me, dis­
closing her true heart of stone
8he said with contemptuous bearing, in a
despiteful, sharp undertone:
"Just look at the fooli9h old mortal, that
nervous and dirty old hag.
Coming in at this hour—how disgusting!—in
a dress that is scarcely a ra«."
Did she say any more, I can't tell you—no
more did I hear—for my mind
Wandered off from that circle of eritics.
away from those lips so unkind,
And a beautiful vision I witnessed at the
throne of eternal grace.
Where the poor, the humble, the weary,with
the angels are equal in place.
She noted the change, and she asked me as
homeward we bent on onr way
The reason my thoughts were so distant «nd
why I'd so little to say.
My manhood awakened to tell her, but pity
bid me forbear,'
And her vision 1 changed to a fancy by re­
marks unburdened with care.
To-day in the street when I meet her, I
speak with respect as before,
But I see in her smiles and her actions the
shrine of true woman no more.
The reason is simple and ample why so grim
and indifferent I be.
That deur old woman's the mother of a
friend that is dearer than she.
And I know in that land of the blessed,
where sorrow and grist are unknown,
When that dear old soul shall be summoned
to appear at the heavenly thttone,
The angels will welcome its coming'with a
Joy known only above,
For anguish of earth is of Heaven, a license
of eternal love.
—Phil Hoffman, in Chicago Herald.
THE PINKNEY GIKLS.
They Were All Accomplished
Ex­
cepting Lucy.
"Five of 'em," said Dr. Pinkney with
complacent eyes. "All fine, well-grown
Is, as straight as an arrow, and un
derstandin' themselves well. Except
cy. And she's an odd one, not a bit
like the rest. I don't understand it.
Never did. Ii it was the old days of
evil fairies I should most think she'd
been changed in her cradle, ha, ha, ha!"
The four Miss Pinkneys laughed
aloud, as in duty bound they laughed at
all their father's jokes. They were
exactly like the doctor, all excepting a
hundred extra pounds or so of avoirdu­
pois, a bristly beard, and masculine
habiliments. Their laugh was the very
echo of his, their complexion was simi­
lar, they even walked and carried their
beads like him. But Lucy Pinkney
colored as red as a clove pink, and
shrunk into her corner at the jeering
laughter.
"There ain't one of 'em but could sup­
port herself just as well as any man
going, if it were necessary," went on the
doctor. "Except Lucy. She never had
any faculty that I could find out. Eh,
what's the matter? Lucy—Lucy, where
are you going?"
"La, pa, let her go," said Mrs. Pink­
ney. "I don't see why you are always
sneering at poor Lucy. She doesn't take
any comfort of her life."
"Sneering!" replied the doctor. "I'm
only speaking the truth."
Miss Eliza Pinkney had a studio in
the north chamber, and painted. The
doctor, in his paternal partiality, com­
pared her pictures with those of Turner.
"Just look at those reds and pur­
ples!" said he. "Don't it remind you
of the 'Slave Ship?' There's no calcu­
lating what that girl will accomplish
before she's thirty." Miss Rosina taught
school, and dabbled in Darwin and Her­
bert Spencer. "If Rosy ever writes a
book," said the doctor, "I'd like a
chance to read it. A girl with that
shaped head is bound to have intellect."
Sophy stenographed when she could get
any member of the family to read aloud
with sufficient slowness. Any rapidity
of speech threw her off her equilibrium,
but, as the doctor said, time would im
prove that. "I'm told that some of the
court stenoanraphers in New York get
$6,000 a year," observed he. "Why
shouldn't Sophy?" And Sarah Pinkney
was taking lessons in munic. "She has
a stunner of a voice," said Dr. Wnkney.
"And the big bugs in New York pay any
price for parlor singers. I shall get her
a zither when I go to town next. But
as for Lucy, bless me! I don't know how
that child does fill up her time."
Lucy, a slender, dark-faced little girl,
heard all these comments in silence.
Mr. Pathfleld, the village rector, could,
perhaps, have told of the kindly visits
she made to sick families, the sewing
she did for poor, overworked mothers in
the factory houses down by the river.
The weak-eyed old druggist could have
borne witness to the prescriptions she
copied for him so that no frightful miiS'
take should clotid his later years. As
for Mrs. Pinkney, she boldly asserted
that she couldn't keep house without
Lucy. "The other girls never have any
time to help me," said she. "But Lucy
Is always ready."
"Jack at all trades and good at none,"
the doctor. "New, see here, wife,
In my opittftgLgTtoxf woittAh ought to
have a trade supptjrt herself. iPttto
ought to extoel in
what can Lucydo?"
"Don't
Worry,
"I'll
The
pa," said Mrs. Ftakn
risk
Luoyl"
But one day a bomb of misfortune
into the camp of the Pinknjft^ Ane'e^
do-well brother of the doonxr, www
out in Kansas, for whom he had
dorsed to a considerable'amount, disap­
peared suddenly, and'tomi oonitortable
competence the Pinkneys wele ||ttnf
into poverty. *'.• 'n
"This place must go," said the ddotqr,
who had grown old and haggard wit^raa
the last iwenty-four hours. "\ye'll bay©
to move to the little red house on Bar^
lock road. The girls must go to work
Then his
As time went on, however, the family
bread did not seem to get itself earned.
Miss Eliza's pictures came back with a
considerable amount of expressage due
but no orders followed. Rosina lost not
only the high-salaried position at which
she had aimed, but the humbler one
which she disdained. Nobody took the
least notice of Sophia's advertisement
and Sarah, in her first attempt to play
the organ of the new church broke down
ignominiously.
"You should have known better than
to attempt, with the school of training
you h^ve had," said the retiring organ
1st, a little, bald-headed enthusiast,'
with eyes like coals of steel-gray fire.
"Send Lucy to me!"
"L-l-ucy can't play," faltered Saraii
through her tears.
"I don't know that!" said the organ­
ist. "Lucy, at least, would know the
difference between one of Bach's
anthems and a waltz by Chopin. Send
her to me, I say!"
So that all the four high-complexioned
Miss Pinkneys sat helplessly bewailing
themselves around the family hearth­
stone, while Lucy prepared inexpensive
dainties for them, mended their gloves,
and comforted tljem to the best of her
ability. The poor doctor listened un­
easily to the hum of their voices from
the next room.
"What are they doing there?" he
asked, in an indistinct fashion. "Why
don't they earn their living, eh?"
"We can't, pa!" cried the four Miss
Pinkneys, in chorus. "There's so much
competition. We don't have any influ­
ence to back us!"
"Thq New York editors have a ring of
their own personal friends, and no one
else can get into it," said Rosina.
"There is no demand for type-writers
and stenographers," faltered Sophia.
"Art is on the down-grade," declared
Eliza, while Sarah expressed herself
only by tears and silence.
"I suppose," said the doctor, "we
must live. They might put me into a
hospital but there's my poor wife! And
Lucy
"Papa, it will be all right," soothed
Lucy. "You must have faith as a grain
of mustard seed! Only wait!"
1
voice beoame Strang
muffled—the features of his face drew
to one side—he sunk helplessly on the
floor.
"Paralyzed on the right side," said
the doctor, when he viewed the oase.
"Oh, yes, he'll rally. He may live for
years. But his professional career is
over. What is that he's saying. 'A
good thing the girls can support them­
selves? Well, so it is, eh? I wouldn't,
try to talk if I wore you, dootor. But'
don't fret—take things easy. It'll all
be right."
The four elder Miss Pinkneys were
affeotionate daughters, and at once be­
gan to consider their futures and that
of their father. Miss Eliza-boxed up a
number of paintings and sefot them to
different art galleries in prominent
cities. Rosina applied for the principal
ship of a high-grade school near by, and
sent a fat bundle of manuscript, oh the
sly, to a New York publisher. Sophia
put an advertisement in a paper:
"Wanted—A situation as stenographer
willing to go as low as $15 per week to
obtain experience." And Sarah de­
cided to take music pupils, and entered
an application as organist to the new*
church under Barloch hills.
"They pay six hundred a year," said
she. "I may as well have it as any one
else."
While Lucy busied herself in waiting
on her father, and diligently picked up
all the dropped stitches of work which
Mrs. Pickney could no longer attend to,
the doctor took a great fancy to his
youngest daughter in the capacity of
nurse.
"I dare say the others mean well,"
said he, in that muffled, tongue-tied
speech which nobody but Lucy could un­
derstand. "But they step so heavy, and
they speak so loud, and I can't make
'em comprehend what I want! Lucy is
all the nurse I need. Let them earn the
family bread that's what they're fitted
for."
It was on a blossomy, rain-sprinkled,
April Sunday when Dr. Pinkney was
able to hobble for the first time into the
new church, leaning on a cane on one
side, and on the other supported by
Sarah.
"You are so clumsy!" said he, fret­
fully. "You jerk me so! Where's Lucy?
Why didn't she come?"
"Lucy isn't as tall as I am, pa,"
whined poor Sarah, "nor so strong!"
"But she's got more sense in her than
all the rest of you put togetherl" re­
torted the invalid.
The sound of the familiar hymns, the
softened light of the stained-glass win­
dows, the voice of the clergyman, how­
ever, all tended to soothe the old man's
perturbed spirit when he was seated.
"My favorite hymns," he said to him­
self. "Good Lord—it seems almost as
if I were a boy again! That new organ
has a sweet tone!"
One by one the slow tears rolled down
his cheeks nor were they altogether
tears of sorrow, rather retftful, tender
dews, sacred to the past.
"I haven't thought as much of these
things as I ought," pondered he, as the
majestic strains of "Old Hundred" rolled
down the aisles. "Perhaps the Lord
knew better than I did when He laid His
heavy hand on me. Who knows?"
"Well, dootor," said the puffy, spec­
tacled little church warden when they
all went out, "what do you think of our
new organist?"
"Ho AinderstandB his business, sir,
xthat's certain," said Dr. Pinkney.
His speoch^vas plainer now—one could
oemprehend his meaning.
"But it's a woman," said the church
warden.
'-'Then, sir, she's a genius."
"We've engaged her at six hundred
4d frho nn,
•Ww..
A
one is pleased."
"I $hall come hQro every Sunday and
earner play," said'tjhe old man. "I'm
rry my girl ooiiildn'i
but—"
"Why, man, it is your girl," said .the
cheery little church warden. "Your
Lucy. Mr. Pathfleld told us she could
play, but we didn't expect music like
this. You're right, she is a genius."
have suited you,
Dr. Pinkney hobbled home in silence,
|but when Luoy came to him after,
dinner
me heijl out his well hand with some­
thing Of a pleading air.
Y'LuoV," said he,
lSmy
child, why didn't
yAu tell que. of this?"
•YBeoarise," whispered Lucy, "so much
depended!on it. Because I wq^ so afraid
I should f%il. And whenI saw yon sit­
ting ther^—oh, papa, the keys all
turned blq&k before my sight for ft min­
ute." 'V
"Daughter, all the music went
straight t&iny heart," said Dr. Pinkney.
"You've done me good. I thank Heaven
that you\a& my child!"
And th\«|! Ltusy explained to him how
ned seoretly and with many
to play on the organ, how
it, and, nevertheless, how
was when Mr. Pathfleld
falter Sarah's failure, to at
rmanipulation of the keys and
she had 1
miagivini
she had la
amazed
asked he
tempt tl$
stops.
"Butrthat isn't £11, papa," said Lucy,
hanging her pretty, "dark head.
"Eh?" ?said Dr. Pinkney. "What
else?"
VMr. Pathfleld has asked me to lie his
tyife."
"What did you ftell him, Lucy?"
"I said I couldnU leave you."
"Well?"
"And he said I needn't. He said there
was plenty of room in the new rectory
for you and mother^both, and he said
that a good daughter always made a
good wife. And, ohy papa, I am so
happy!" 'M --iMi
Dr. Pinkney sat thi^kizfg long after
Lucy had gone fq take the afternoon
service at the chur6h.
"How strangely things turn out,"
pondered he. "All the four girls upon
whom I depended have proved to be
broken reeds, and little Lucy, whom
I've actually despised all my life is the
one to lean on. Well, well, I'm rather
old to learn a lesson, and yet I have
learned it to-day."
So Lucy Pinkney married Mr. Path
field, and took her parents home to the
rectory with her, and the'four hand­
some, robust young women who had
calculated on opening the world. like an
oyster, with the blades of their various
careers, are still looking around for
some way of supporting thprnselv^s.
"Poor things!" said the reator, "they
have yet to learn that to tip »to53!§gful
bread-winners, they must absolitelXex
cel in some one direction. And they've
no more idea of it than fourt c^^lre
"But the're very talented,sta
wiAf
At
"it Isn't talent tfctft tellfe ife tjjhfWrid's
arena," said Mr. Pathfleld. "It'sWood
common sense and hard Work."—Fire­
side Companion.
EXPENSIVE MEDICINES.
i,
The Cost of Special Drugs Bmployed' in
Special Treatment.
Some medicines are very expensive.
At a recent exhibition of the American
Public Health Association in Brooklyn
one manufacturing chemist, E. Merck,'
exhibited a -case of bottles.' about
enough to fill an ordinary barrel, the
total value of which was over $30,000.
The most costly drug in the case was
labeled "Horn atropine hydrobromate
cryst." It was all in one bottle, con­
taining six pounds, and was valued at
$12,600, or at the rate of 82,100 a pound.
This drug is an alkaloid, artiflcally pre­
pared from atrophine. Its effects are
similar to those of atrophine, but not
so lasting. It is a preparation of bella
dona,.and is chiefly used in treatment
of the eyes, and always in minute
quantities. It expands the pupils of the
eye.
This substance is a striking illustra­
tion of the application of chemistry to
well ki\own medicines. The physician
does not deal so much with substances in
their crude form as with the quintes­
sences or active principles. By this
means all superfluous matter is removed
and only that part which is needed to
be used in the healing art is given to
the patient. Thus, not only have the
roots, herbs, flowers, seeds, barks,
juices, ores and earths of ancient medi­
cines been foroed to give up their essen­
tial and active parts to the retort or
crucible of the chemist and to reappear
freed from dross or inert matter, re­
duced in quantity and vastly magnified
in intensity of action, but entirely new
combinations of elements have been
devised by chemical science and formed
by chemical art and wholly new
and previously unthought of modes of
action in the human organism have been
achieved by some of these new forma­
tions. As the healing art has become
specialized, and no one physician claims
to be able to treat all ailments,
BO
the
use of special drugs for special treat­
ment has become necessary, so that it is
difficult to find even a druggist who is
familiar with every one of the drugs now
in the market. The United States Phar­
macopoeia is a huge book, with the con­
tents of which but few are thoroughly
familiar. Yet to get a list of drugs in
actual use it will be neoessary to study
also the German Pharmacopoeia and the
British Pharmacopoeia. In the exhibi­
tion referred to one house showed 150
articles only out of 6,000 produced in the
laboratories.—N. Y. Sun.
—A well-known insurance company
has declined to pay a polioy on the life
of one of'the victims of the Johnstown
flood, whose body was discovered in the
Conemaugh river two weeks afterward,
on the ground that his family did not
give the ten days' notloe required by the
contract.
THE ART OF TALKING. FANCIES OF LUNATICS.
Modern Conversation an Improvement on
Old-Time Talk.
There is not a little talk nowadays
•bout the art of talking, and the ques­
tion whether it is disappearing is dis
cussed with considerable emphasis, and
a marked tendency to take the afflrma
..
Inftv
hft
laid down as a general principle that
nothing is at its best when it is much
talked about, and this is especially true
of social gifts and graces. The people
nowadays talk about talking is a proof
that they do not talk as well as when
they did not discuss such a theme at all,
but simply talked without concerning
themselves over a question wHrch oould
not be seriously taken in the negative
when actual experience proves every
day the affirmative. "That conversa­
tion is a lost art," observes a recent
writer in an English review, "is one of
the commonplaoes of social criticisms."
It ip perhaps the case, however, that
in this as in some other things it is
rather a change of form which has taken
place than a disappearance of the thing.
The'old time monalogue, which if any
one now were compeled to hear often he
would straightway go out to hang him­
self, has pretty largely disappeared, and
praise be to the powers who rule over
speech and sdcial customs that it has.
There are talkers in our own day who
chatter on incessantly, but they at least
so far conform to the taste and custom
of the age that they change their sub­
ject, and make no attempt to talk ex­
haustively upon one topic. We no
longer have those dreadful creatures
who won the admiration of our ances­
tors by the mere physical feat of talk­
ing every body in a room deaf. We
never hear nowadays of individuals who
are not only allowed, but expected to
monopolize the talk wherever they
chance to be, and it may be that it is the
disappearance of these things which
many people mean when they talk of
the decay of the'art of conversation.
In our day, however, people in gener­
al are better Informed, at least in a su­
perficial way, than was the case of old,
and this certainly makes conversation
both easier $nd on the surface more
sparkling. Itis so easy to bring in an
illustration, ah allusion, or a reminis­
cence, so readily do most people take
them. Every body reads the novels of
the day, at least, and the condensations
or history and science with which the
journals and the publishers so liberally
supply the land, and thus every body is
supplied with the material with which
to enrich their talk. The fact that wom­
en to-day are admitted so much more
fully into the affairs of the world and
of mankind gives them an immense ad­
vantage in conversation over their sis­
ters of a hundred years ago. All
these things should, and undoubt
edl do, make talk easier than of old,
all lit that by the same token they tend
to make it more superficial. The talk
of the present skims over the surface of
$iany things and goes deep into few or
'none. This could hardly have abetter
illustration than in that clever book
which one hesitates to mention, so much
has it been discussed, "Robert Elsmere."
The cleverness with which the talk of
that book imitates the talk of the pres­
et day tejr^ally J«i.e. of3 chief merits,
?»oifat&highest claim^Jj^giifcry.
con­
sideration. The conversations of thd
novel are bright, shallow, wide in their
reach, full of bits of learning which does
duty for profundity, and of precisely the.
sort which one may hear any day among
clever people of the sort Mrs. Ward de­
picts. They are never profound, but
they would not be true to life if they
were.
Modern talk is, above every thing
else, vivacious. It must sparkle,whether
it run anywhere or not. It is bright,
full of adroitness, it hesitates at noth­
ing, having fewer reserves, and of these
.a lesser number every day, and as a
\whole it pretty well fulfills the condi­
tion recently laid down that "conversa­
tion is.like lawn tennis, it requires alac
r^tjfln return at least as much as vigor
hi the service." We have fallen much
ifi\the habit, moreover, of saving things
to Wt them upon paper, and not wast­
ing them in conversation, and yet, after
all,* we, such as we are in this age, would
fin^ any other style of conversation than
tha^ which we have worked out for our­
selves infinitely tedious.—Boston Cou­
rier^
-KNIFE FICTIONS.
This
True ^History of the Invention of
Formidable Weapon.
Many wild fictions have been circulat­
ed by Sensationalists in regard to the
Bowles), for the reason, pure and simple,
that Rezin P. Bowie, and not James,
conceived the idea of the bowie-knife.
The invention of this knife arose from
a very ordinary incident.
At the\ tinie of its creation Colonel
Rezin P. Itowie was a planter in Ope
lousas while hunting wild cattle in the
company of some friends he attacked a
young steer which, in throwing up his
head, struok his hunting-knife with its
horn in such a way as to knock it
through his hand, cutting it down severe­
ly between the thumb and forefinger.
As was u^ual with all planters,
Colonel Bowio had on his plantation a
op for plantation pur
ime he employed in it a
hired white msln by the name of Jesse
Cliffe.
blacksmith si
poses at this
1
On returning from the hunt he re­
paired to the shotf determined to have
a knife made which would insure protec­
tion from the recurrence of the morn­
ing's accident.
Picking up an old file'he ordered Cliffe
to make of it a knife having a cross
piece placed betwixt hilt and blade, so
that it would be impossible for it to be
driven through, a mien's hand, Thus did
the bowie-knife Owe its birth to a mis­
hap on a hunting Expedition, and its
originator never designed it for other
than a hunting knife
Colonel Bowie's daughter, my mother,
is now living in this c\ty. She was With
her father when he igssued his order,
heard it and witness*
So much for "Uncle
oences," which he se
cepted at second band
no more correctly inforhed than him
Bett. We owe him no jll-will for his
error we say to him: "pqx vobu'"—Cot.
N. O."Picayune
its fulfillment.
Sim's Reminis
is to. have ac
\om some party
What a Reporter Saw in a New York Insane
Asylum.
In a New York State Insane Asylum,
a reporter recently noted these inci­
dents: In one of these pavilions, a de­
mented barber was shaving a fellow pa­
tient, using a safety razor, while a score
liirifttina were awaiting their
turns. In the midst of the operation,
the barber quietly wiped his razor, laid
it aside, and taking a seat by the win­
dow, fell into what was apparently a
brown study, with his dull, dry eyes
sweeping the distant forest, and his
finger-tips drumming a time on the win
dow-bill. The man in the chair, one
half of whose face was still lathered
and unshaved, gave no evidence of im­
patience or vexation with the unpleas­
ant eccentricity of his barber, and the
other occupants of the room did not ap­
pear to observe any thing unusual in
the course of events. After an
interval of at least ten min­
utes, the half-shaven individual
arose from the chair, and with the
lather still sticking upon one cheek,
walked out to resume his work on the
farm. Not a ripple of amusement dis­
turbed the empty faces of the other cus­
tomers in the shop. One of them, a
huge fellow in brown jeans, arose and
remarked quietly: "I should like to
pull down Brooklyn bridge." The bar­
ber, by this time, had recovered from
his fit of abstraction, and,
walking to the
chair, said "Next!" in a perfectly busi­
ness-like tone, but all his customers had
wandered away. In a neighboringlaun
dry, half-a-score of men were busily en­
gaged with suds up to their elbows. One
gentleman quietly lifted a dripping un­
dergarment from the tub, and wrapping
it around his shoulders like a soldier's
coat, announced that he was Napoleon
Bonaparte. A fellow-lunatic informed
him that he was crazy, and he immedi­
ately returned to his washing as though
nothing had happened.—San Francisco
Argonaut.
VORACIOUS WORMS.
Their Gluttonous Appetite Satisfied Only
with Steel Rails.
For the past two years the German
Government has been making inquiries
into the life, history and ravages of one
of the most remarkable worms known
to exist. This wonderful creature,
whose gluttonous appetite is only satis­
fied alter a feed on common steel, was
first- brought into general notice by an
article in the Cologne Gazette, in June,
1887.
For some time preceding the publica­
tion of the account mentioned the
greatest consternation existed among
the engineers employed on the railway
at Hagen, by accidents which always
occurred at the same place, proving
that some terrible defect must exist
either in the material or the construc­
tion of the rails.
The government became interested
and sent a commission to the spot for
the purpose of maintaining a constant
watch at the spot where the accidents—
one of them attended with a loss of life
—had occurred- It was not, however,
until after six months bad elapsed that
the surface of the rails appeared to be
corroded, as if by acid, to the extent of
wer one.hixn^redyards.-
The rail was taken up and broken,
whereupon it was found to be literally
honey-combed fcy a^thin, thread-like
gray worm. The worm is said to be two
centimetres in length and of about the
bigness of a common knitting-needle.
It is of a light gray color, and on the
head it carries two little sacs, or
glands, filled with a most powerful cor­
rosive secretion which is ejected every
ten minutes when the little demon is
lying undisturbed. This liquid when
squirted upon iron renders that metal
soft and spongy, and of the color of
rust, when it is easily and greedily de­
voured by the little insect. "There is
no exaggeration," says the official re­
port, "in the assertion that this creat­
ure is one of the most voracious, for it
has devoured thirty-six kilograms of
rails into fortnight."—St. Louis Re­
public.
BISMARCK'S SECRETARY.
How He Obtained His Position Under the
Cbancelor.
Herr von Rottenberg, who is some­
times introduced by Bismarck to foreign
diplomatists as his right hand, while he
facetiously adds that he keeps his right
arm for himself, owes the high position
he enjoys entirely to his own genius and
the keen perception of the Prince, by
whom it was discovered. Count Her­
bert had been a college chum of Herr
von Rottenberg, and had maintained a
friendly correspondence in after life.
One day Prince Bismarck, on finding on
his son's desk a brochure entitled "An
Ideal State," put it in his pocket, curi­
ous to see the subject of Count Her­
bert's studies. The Chancelor was de­
lighted on perusing the work and in­
quired with much interest concerning
the author. On learning that he was
engaged in commercial pursuits, much
against his wishes, his taste being
wholly devoted to science and lit­
erature, the Prince immediately
exclaimed: "Then let him come to us.
The author of that brochure is just the
man wanted in our Chancelerie just
the man I should like to consult—the
man to give valuable advice in state
difficulties. Write to him at once."
This was done. Young Rottenberg ea­
gerly accepted the offer, and deserted hia
uncle's counting-house with delight, al­
though warned by his friends that the
post would be a hard one. Such it has
proved with a vengeance. Bismarck is
a man to whom fatigue, whether of
mind or body,' is unknown. He can
work from seven in the morning until
night, scarcely allowing himself time
for meals and then, again, will supple­
ment the labor of the day with another
spell of work till midnight. And never
yet has Herr von Rottenberg failed to
keep pace with his giant patron. He haa
indeed,become indispensable to the great
master, who can not bear his absence
for a moment. It is a common saying
among the Germans that Bismarok's
eyesight, hearing and memory are all
represented by Herr von Rottenberg,—
London Letter.
POINT.
—A man is great whfen the trifling in­
cidents of his life are noticed.
—An unruly stomach is not to be tameS
by lectures.—Table Talk.
—Success depends quite as much on
adaptability as ability.—Advance.
—How ridiculous are the mistakes of
S S A a
—The poorer a man is, the more apt
he is to refuse the pennies you give him
in change.
—When a man's temper gets the best
of him, it reveals the worst of him.—
Altoona Tribune.
—A miser grows rich by seeming poor
an extravagant man grows^oor by seem­
ing rich.—Shenstone.
—Unceasing and relentless watching
over ourselves is the price of success in
the higher aims of life.
—There is not enough justice in the
world to prevent the right from occa­
sionally getting left.—Binghamton
Leader.
—Be courageous and noble-minded
our own hearts and not other men's
opinions of us, form our true honor.
—It is a cold, clammy thing to say, but
those people who treat friendship the
same way as any other selfishness get
most out of it.—Atchison Globe.
—It is the man who orders a room on
the top floor who takes up the most room
in writing his name on the hotel regis­
ter.
—The sympathies
of people are always
with the unfortunate, because the people
know they are so liable to be unfortu­
nate themselves.
—It is said that "men are the archi­
tects of their own fortunes." This ex­
plains why so many of them fail, for b^t
few get beyond the nave.—Philadelphia
Press.
—If some people would stop worrying
about the past and worry a little about
the future they would improve their
chances of success.—Detroit Free Press.
—What A unmarried woman doesn't
know abouTbringing up children could
be written on the back of a postage
stamp, but it would ruin the stamp.—N.
Y. Commercial.
—With the most of us, the man who
believes as we do is not only right, but
strong, able and successful our sym­
pathies are so strongly with him that we
take it for granted he is carrying every
thing before him.—United Presbyterian.
—In removiug friction, in calming ir­
ritation, in promoting sympathy, in in­
clining the hearts of others towards, in­
stead of against him, the speaker of
kind words exerts a force much greater
than he conceives of. Results that
could never be accomplished by harsh
compulsion or an iron will often flow
easily and pleasantly under the in­
vigorating influence of kind words.—
Once A Week.
SECRETS OF SUCCESS.
How the Dunce of the College Made Him­
self a Famous Man.
As boys and girls grow toward man
and womanhood, they naturally feed on
dreams of their future life, and look for­
ward with hope to gaining suoeess.
They see that it. follows and comes as
the reward of honest, faithful work,
which they are
"willing to.give. Many,
however, forget thai the work must be'
mixed with brains, that there must be
intelligence as well as industry.
A rustic lad, anxious to climb the lad­
der of fortune, willing and indnstrious,
hired himself out to a thrifty farmer on
the outskirts of a large city. Hitherto
he had labored hard all his life, follow­
ing the reapers and mowers in the field,
or the wood-choppers in the forest, as
each day's task was given him, as a
faithful drudge. His work had required
no thought or intelligence, only simple
obedience and industry. The first day
of his new life he was sent to sell a load
of pumpkins in the city.
At evening he returned, discouraged,
with his cart still heaping full, saying
he had driven faithfully, all day long,
through all the streets of the city, and
nobody had said a word to him abont
pumpkins.
If persons are willing to learn from
tWr failures, they can conquer most of
the difficulties of life. Dr. Blake, as a
boy, was a student at Rome, and so re­
markably slow and dull as to be con­
sidered a dunce. This was, in part,
owing to great indistinctness in speech
and a stammering tongue. One day he
modestly gave his opinion in some dis­
cussion among his comrades, and to his
surprise he was rudely interrupted by:
"What business have you to speak, who
are the Dunce of the College?"
The wound was keen and sharp. The
poor boy did not reply, but turned away,
with the harsh words burning into his
bosom. He reflected that the cruel
speech met no rebuke from any one, but
was silently accepted by all. That must
be his character among them, and the
opinion of all, even of the kindest of
his friends. For this rough rebuke he
felt he ought to be thankful.
And now what was to be done? The
reproach must be wiped away, the char­
acter changed. So he wrote on a slip of
paper: "The Dunce of the College," in
plain,.unmistakable letters, and placed
it in his desk, where, unseen by others,
it should be ever before his eyes. This
sharp, stinging goad was ev& at his
side.
He strove to speak slowly and care­
fully, and after a time cured the defects
of speech. By close, faithful effort he
soon rose to a post of honor in his class
and in the school. His comrades never
knew the secret of his success.—Marj
Lansing, in Sant» Claus.
Pretty Pictures In Sand.
Parisians have lately been entertained
by a remarkable artist, who displays
wonderful skill in her peculiar fortn of
painting. With plates of various coin
ored sand before her, she takes the sand
in her right hand and causes it to fall in
beautiful designs upon a table. A bunoh
of grapes is pictured with violet sand, a
leaf with green sand, the stalk with
brown sand, and relief and shadows by
other sands when the work is brushed
away a bouquet of roses and other ob­
jects are represented with the same de«
terity and delicacy. —Pittsburgh Dis­
patch.