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CHAS. O. MOREAU, Editor and Publisher.
VOL. I. CHILDHOOD'S MUSIC. 3 know not why, yet often, when I'm seated Wrapt in some day-dream's soft, delicious maze, Within the cloisters of my soul repeated, I tear the music sweet of other days. trim cradle song that, when the evening shadows Began to fall, breathed out a soft “good night,” The boyish glees, that ran across the meadows At early morn, when summer skies were bright. tThe organ’s tones, so solemn and sonorous, Recalling days when faith and trust were sure; The far-off woodland echoes of some chorus Sung o'er by childish voices, sweet and pure. And with the music comes the recollection S Of morning welcome, and of evening prayer, Df parents’ tender love and kind protection, i Of sunny days, devoid of grief and care. bf hopes and promises so fondly spoken, When teachings good to good resolves gave birth, While yet the dear home circle was unbroken, ’Mid hours of fireside merriment and mirth. Ah me: these scenes come back with all the seeming Of sweet realities—l know not why; And so I find a pleasure in this dreaming, j And these dim melodies of days gone by. —N. Y. Advertiser. i A CRACK IN THE ICE. The Marvelous Escape of a Young Circuit Rider. / —v O ONE will deny , Ii ArV that there is a lull ' particularly ro i tf’j'fm jm 1 mantic side to I t ' le alJ d a ‘ B l&M bors of the early I circuit rider. As °* our modern 7VA civilization, the T P ic >neer pveach- Jsff v® I er wen * l forth IB WpSVI" D) with a com uyOlte flat JLj mendable faith 'sJrjP' Tj] i\WT aa d fortitude to V\v/ prepare the coming hosts x who should make the wilderness and the solitary place glad by their skillful and indus trious efforts. The pioneer clergyman was, therefore, the intrepid explorer of our frontier regions; and it would not be an exaggeration to aver that volumes could be written about his struggles, triumphs and adventures in those primeval days which tested to the utmost the bravery and the re ligious faith of men. A lucky circumstance having thrown me into the company of one of those pioneer preachers, he took pains to re late to me the following bit of ex perience he had had when a dashing young circuit rider: “It was in the winter of ’76-77,” said the clergyman, “that there happened, in connection with my labors as a pio neer preacher, one of those memorable incidents with which the life of a ‘back woods’ parson is crowded. 1 was then in control of what was known as the Fayette and Manistique circuit, lo cated on the north shore of Lake Mich igan and in the upper peninsula. This circuit was nearly forty miles in length; and, despite this tremendous distance, I managed to cover it every Sabbath, with but few exceptions. I‘requently the roads were made liter ally impassable for horses, owing to a heavy snowfall, or a windstorm which hurled great trees across the way so as to obstruct travel, or to the rising floods in the spring of the year sweep ing away one or more of the innumer able frail bridges which spanned the streams. This being the case it is not to be wondered at that I was often obliged to walk a portion of the dis tance at least, to some of my appoint ments. My circuit was one of the most difficult to work, because of these and other reasons. Besides, being the MY HORSE SUDDENLY STOI’PED. only ordained clergyman in that re gion those days, I was, of course, not infrequently called upon to take long and perilous journeys in order to visit the sick, bury the dead, administer the rite of baptism, or perform the mar riage ceremony. I would travel for miles without catching a glimpse of an abode or a human being; and the se verity of the winters in that locality tended to intensify the ferocity of the wolves, which were alarmingly nu merous in the dense and wild forests along those bleak shores. “One bitter cold morning, just before the close of the year ‘76, I got my horse and cutter ready for a trip across what is known ns Garden bay on the newly formed ice, which appeared to bo per fectly safe and sound. Some of the settlers had crossed with their teams only a few days before, and 1 deemed n Ghbugh to go that way, too. He ©lie §e* isf itla. sides, it was considerable of a short cut, saving me an unnecessary drlvs of at least fifteen miles. The distance across the ice was about twelve miles. “My horse was a noble and trusty animal, and very tractable withal. Having driven him through many dan gerous places and thoroughly tested his staying qualities and evenness of temper, I learned to put ail confidence in him. I drove him briskly on the ice that morning, for I had no more time than I needed in which to reach my objective point. It was an important wedding which called me away, and the contracting parties were particular friends of mine. The bride’s fa ther—at whose residence the cer emony was to take place—was a very prominent and wealthy lumber dealer and owned extensive tracts of pine land, also two of the largest saw mills in that locality. He was a verit able lumber king. Hence it was to my advantage to be on time if possible. “As I was driving along at a good pace, however, my hcrse suddenly stopped and nervously looked across to ward the shore which we were skirt ing. I then saw him tremble as if with sudden fear. Glancing in the di rection of the shore, I noticed what seemed to be some dogs scampering about at the edge of the adjacent for est; but I thought nothing of it, and presumed that a party of Indians were camped near the spot. I urged my horse along over the glare ice; but I perceived he was not disposed to travel with his former freedom and alacrity. In a few minutes I looked around and, to my great consternation, I observed a small pack of wolves dashing up be hind me. I now felt confident that they were wolves, and not dogs, which I saw on the shore of the lake. My horse was right. He doubtless had heard their wild barking, though I heard it not until they made chase. “The woods from which the wolves had emerged were uninhabited by any human being, and I made up my mind that my best policy was to keep mov- I APPLIED THE WHIP. ing forward, inasmuch as I was more than half way across the ice. Once on the other sid6 I would be safe, for the lumber king’s house was right on the edge of the lake; and if there were no bad places in the ice, I felt reasonably certain that I could keep the ferocious beasts off until I struck the land. A ready revolver—which I invariably carried with me on such journeys— proved serviceable for a time; but a grave difficulty soon confronted me. I noticed just ahead of my horse a crack in the ioe—the dread of all drivers in those parts. I detected it by the mani fest unevenness caused by an upheaval of snow and ice all along the opening, and also by the dark, watery appear ance of the ice. Yet I felt I could pro ceed. “My horse slackened his speed as he drew near the opening, which was about nine inches in width. As ho did so the weight began to bear the ice down so low that the water was rapid ly gathering on the surface. I in stantly whee'ed the horse around, drove him back a short distance, turned again, and, bringing my whip into requisition, drove up once more to the opening, but the horse was ter ribly frightened and refused to jump across. I turned him around again to get away from the weak ice. By this time the wolves had grown so bold as to strike terror through my heart. My horse fairly sweat great drops during the awful crisis, but I was within only about three miles of my destination and was determined to force my horse across the opening as the only feasible method of escape. The lumber dealer’s house lay on the other side of a point of land which ran out into the lake, consequently my perilous situation was not observed by anyone. “On coming up once more to the for bidding crack in the Ice my horse again began to falter, yet I spoke to him so sharply that he became des perate and leaped across the opening; but no sooner did he strike the ice on the farther side than we all broke through with a resounding crash which echoed and reechoed along the dismal, far-reaching shore in the most weird cadences imaginable. Picture to yourself the situation. There was the horse, almost completely covered with water, the cutter floating behind him, and I standing up in it, fearing every moment that the wolves would spring upon me or the horse. By the merest casualty, however, the piece of ice which had broken loose under the horse’s feet when he jumped happened to be of good size. The re sult was that when I applied the whip, my horse, with one tremendous effort, raised his front feet above water and planted them firmly in the solid ice, at which juncture the broken cake of ice rwved an excellent purpose o i helping “TEAnijESS IN AT.T. THINGS.” BAY ST. LOUIS, MISS., SATURDAY, APRIL 2, 1892. to buoy up the horse’s hind parts to such an extent that he was enabled to completely extricate himself—cutter, driver and all landing safely on the solid ice beyond the opening, and that, too, without anything breaking either about the harness or cutter. It was all done in a moment or two —so quick ly in fact that the occurrence seemed more like a dream to me than a stern reality. To this day it is a profound mystery to me how a horse could re cover himself as mine did then after having broken through into water of frightful depth. Yet the circumstance is as true as it is marvelous. “On we sped afterwards, as if noth ing serious had transpired, the wolves following hard after us; but in a few minutes the bluff was reached, and then the lumber king’s house was plainly in sight and within but a trifling distance. “1 had emptied the last chamber cf my revolver; but, while the shots I fired had the desirable effect of beating the wolves back for the time being, I do not think I succeeded in seriously wounding any one of them. As w.e neared the shore the hungry beasts began to fall back one by one, of their own accord, until all had disappeared, for they became apprehensive and did not at all relish the signs of civilization which were becoming more and more visible to them. “To put it mildly I can assure you 1 met with a cordial reception at the lumber dealer’s home, and was warmly congratulated on my remarkable, escape. I was neither more nor less than a hero in the estimation of the lumber king, whose jolly round fdee actually beamed as I related my tale of adventure. My horse, too, was an ob ject of enthusiastic admiration, and on entering the stable he was thor oughly rubbed down and warmly blanketed by willing hands, and strange to say 1 never noticed that he was a bit the worse for his cold bath. “The wedding ceremony over, I re turned by another way, reaching my boarding place in safety. “A few days afterwards I was more than surprised on receiving from the wealthy lumber dealer a check for five hundred dollars in addition to the ac ceptable sum which had been handed to me by the bridegroom on the dVent ful day of the wedding. Of course this stroke of good fortune was duly appreciated by a young circuit rider, who, as may bo imagined, was not overburdened with this world’s goods.” —Thomas J. Macmurray, in Detroit F res Press. LOVE-MAKING TELEGRAPH. The Momentous Question That a Message Answered Not Long Ago. Said a Western Union telegraph operator the other day: “You wouldn’t think that spoony lovers would resort to such public means of correspondence as the telegraph for transmission of their sweet little messages of love and devotion, would you? But they do, just the same. ‘‘Often a certain young man of whom I know if he does not regularly receive a letter from the future source of his joy and happiness rushes here with a crestfallen countenance and files a mes sage like this: It i “My dear, why did you not answer my last letter? Yours devotedly,, “Perhaps you don’t believe that such a message as this was ever sent, but I would show some of them to you if it wasn’t against the rules. We fellows on the wire enjoyed quite an amusing incident not long ago, in which ‘Sophia’ revealed ‘John’s’ brilliant scheme of popping the question by wire. Wo sur mised that this brace of lovers had been conducting a correspondence for some time, which the artful ‘John’ cul minated with the following dispatch that was evidently Intended to draw forth an answer to an entirely differ ent question: "Sophia: Did you receive my last letter ? “John.” “Sophia, in her ecstatic delight, evi dently understood the query in a differ ent sense from that which the ordinary reader of the epistle would, and pro ceeding to the telegraph ofiice left the following: "John; Yes. How about next Christmas? “Sophia.” —Chicago Tribune. ABOUT NOSES. Characteristics of Celebrated Men’s Nasal Appendages. Bonaparte, who was a man of keen and quick perception, never chose, if he could help it, a man with a poor nose for a place of great responsibility. Marshal Ney had a poor nose, and was incapable of conceiving a plan of battle. The Chosen People have big noses, and are not liable to colds in the head. Massena, the most resourceful of all Bonaparte’s marshals, was a largo nosed Jew. Bernadotte, the most clever in in trigue, and the least given to stupid hero worship, was another. Ciambetta hai a large nose and a small amount of brain. The same thing may be said of that greatest literary artist that France ever produced—Renan. Jules Ferry is small brained and big nosed. Jules Simon has a big brain and a big nose, and is, taking all in all, one of the ablest of living Frenchmen. The Princess Clementine, whom I look upon as a woman of great capac ity, has the large, hooked nose of the seventeenth century Bourbono and Conden.—London Truth, A STORY OF BILL NYE. A* “Justice of the Peace” He Officiates at a Marriage Ceremony. The office was not a salaried one, but solely dependent upon fees, the county furnishing only the copy of the revised statutes and a woolsack, slightly and prematurely bald. So while I was called Judge Nye, and frequently men tioned in the papers with great con sideration, I was out of coal about half the time, and once could not mail my letters for three weeks because I did not have the necessary postage. Friends in the eastern states may possible re call the time when my correspondence, from some unknown cause, seemed to flag. That was the time. Of course I could have borrowed the money, but I had, and still have, a foolish horror of borrowing money. I did not mind run ning an account but I hated to borrow. The first business that I had was a marriage ceremony. I met the groom on the street. He asked if I could marry people. I said that I could to a limited extent He said that he wanted to get married. I asked him to secure the victim, and I would get the other ingredients. He then wished to know where my office was. It occurred to me at that moment that there was no fire in the stove; also, no coal; also, that the west half of the stove had fallen in during the night. So Isi 11 that I would marry them at their home. He maintained that his home was over eighty miles away and that it would consume too much time to go there. .“Where are you stopping at?” I in quired—using the Pike county style of syntax in order to show that I was one of the people. “Well, we meet here, ’Squire. She came in on the Last Chance stage, and I’m camped up in Gov’mcnt canyon not fur from Soldier creek. We can go out there, I reckon.” I did not mind the ride, so I locked my office, secured a book of forms, and meeting the young people at the livery stable went out with them and married them in a rambling, desultory sort of way. The bride was a peri from Owl -Creek, wearing moccasins of the plio cene age. The rich Castilian blood of the cave-dwellers mantled in her cheek along with the navy-blue blood of Cpnnecticut on her father’s side. Her was like the wing of a raven, and she wore a tiara of clam-shells about her beetling brow. Her bracelet was a costly string of front teeth, selected from the early settlers at the foot of Independence mountain. With the shrewdness of a Yankee and the hauteur of the savage she combined the gro tesque grammar of Pike county and the charming naivete of the cow-punch er. She was called Beautiful Snow. But I think it was mostly in a spirit of banter. She was also no longer young. I asked her, with an air of badinage, if she remembered Pizarro, but she re plied that she was away from home when he came through. The cave dwellers were a serious people. Their plumbing was very poor indeed; so also were their jokes. Her features were rather classic, however, and—l was about to say clean-cut, but on more mature thought I will not say that. Her nose was bright and piercing. It resembled the breast-bone of a sand hill crane. The groom was a man of great cour age and held human life at a very low figure. That is why he married Beau tifuul’Snow without any flinching; also why I have refrained from mentioning his name; also why I kissed the bride. I did not yearn to kiss her. There were others who had claims on me, but I did not wish to give needless pain to the groom, and so I did it. He had no money, but said that he had a saddle which if I could use I was welcome to. I did not have anything to put the sad dle on at home, but rather than return empty-handed I took it—Bill Nye, in Century. SLIGHTLY EMBARRASSING. She Had Forgotten That the Speaking Tube Was Out of Order* They stood in the darkened vestibule of a double flat house up town. It was a late hour and a cold night, but these were nothing—for it was he and she, and they were young and stood very clpsely together. Time stood no show alongside of opportunity. “You don’t love me a bit?” she said. “Love you! I worship you, sweet heart-darling!” The blonde head was brought against the manly breast for the fifteenth time and a soft, clinging kiss was planted where it would do the most good. “Break away,” came hoarsely from amid the feminine debris. “What did you say, dearest?” “Come off!” in a half smothered whisper. “Why, darling, I never heard you use slang before. Don’t "I never said a word,” she declared. “It must have been ” and a terrible dread overcame her. “I never thought ”he began re gretfully. “You did—yes, you did!” “Why, who’s that?” Both young people suddenly started away from the wall against which they had been leaning and stared at the ranges of bright letter-boxes and owlish speaking tubes. “Will you never come off, down there?” “t)h, plague on it! That’s Johnny,” said she, with deep disgust. Our speaking tube’s out of order—l forgot,” -M, Y. Herald KEEP THE GIRLS YOUNG. Help Tour Daughters to Enjoy Youth While It Lasts. Mothers should try to prolong their daughters’ childhood as much as possi ble. Life’s troubles will come to them fast enough. And, even from a selfish point of view, a daughter who is child like in manner and in thought is much more of a comfort to a mother than an immature little woman can be. It is natural, no doubt, for a tired woman, who has no mother or sister near, to tell her troubles to her little girl; to let her know that the butcher and baker want their bills settled, and that the speculation of papa's has de layed the payment; to remark on the conduct of Aunt Elizabeth as “unkind;” to point out the shabbiness of the par lor furniture; to wonder whether the poor-house is the future destination of the family, etc. Hut it is awfully cruel, nevertheless, as many natural things are. Little, pale, grave-looking girls, with a prematnre sense of responsibil ity, are the outcome of this sort of thing, and the depth of shame and sor row of which the little heart is capa ble may be read in tlv? sad eyes. Perhaps it is even worse than this to dilate to a child on the faults of friends and acquaintances; to point out the spite or meanness of people the child is disposed to like; to arouse the desire for revenge, which awakens in every young soul at the thought of wrong or injustice. Afterward the mother may learn that she was mistaken, and for give and forget; the child seldom does. It is said that in China there are strange dwarfs of grotesque shape, kept for the amusement of the emperors, who were made so at birth by being im prisoned at birth in jars made for the purpose, the forms of which the wretch ed creatures took in growing, they be ing originally no different from other children. IVe know that a foot or % limb could be thus altered; that crooked noses or crooked ears come of the "carelessness of those who nurse young infants. The ring that is put upon your finger when it is small will imbed itself into the flesh and make a depression never to be obliterated, if it is left there as the fin ger grows. Effects as distorting as these are pro duced on the young heart and mind by fitting childhood's budding love and faith and confidence to the narrowness of adult life—to its greed of gold, its in ordinate value of appearance, -its sus picion of others, or to the sad knowl edge of what life really is. If you love your daughter, let her laugh and prattle. Rejoice with her; do not make her weep with you. There are a thousand things to teach her that are bright and good and elevating, and you had better go back to your own youth, and help her dress her doll like Miss Elfrida Jane, who seems so lovely in the child’s eyes, than tell her that Miss Elfrida Jane paints her cheeks, and is not all she ought to be in con duct You had better read “Cinderella” and “Puss in Boots” with her, and be lieve with her that a good fairy might come down the chimney at any time and evolve a golden coach from a yel low pumpkin, than to teach her prema turely that the world is a sad place and its dwellers mostly evil-minded per sons. Keep your little girls young and hopeful, and they will help you to keep so, too. —N. Y. Ledger. A GOOD FIGURE. Home Suggestion* For the Benefit of the Ladies. A good many girls and women ask frequently how the figure may be im proved, how to grow pi ump, fill up the hollows behind collar bones and im prove the bust. Correct breathing, then, should be carefully practiced, Singing is good because it expands the lungs, and you have to lift up your chest 4 If a very thin girl wants to grow plump she will discard her cor sets. In one case which defied every treat ment, cod liver oil, gynmastic exercises, singing lessons, fattening food, the leaving off of the corset, allowing the body perfect freedom, was absolutely successful. Of course there is this against the non-wear of stays—the waist is apt to become very large. To counteract this, a very short stay might be worn, or better still, a long belt of stout canvas slightly boned, which will compress the waist, not too tightly, preserve one from the uncom fortable feel of petticoat strings and bands, and which will merely support the bust, without pressing in the least upon it. Whatever part of our bodies we wish to keep small, to prevent fat from forming thereon, will be easily achieved by compressing that part so as to cause “waste.” Therefore, if the bosom is squeezed into tight corsets and glove fitting bodices, it will gradually waste, and soon the foolish girl} who will tight-lace and wear skin-tight-bodices finds that padding—and a good deal of it—is necessary. The heat then caused by this padding still further reduces the figure, and then dieting and every thing else is tried without success. It is disheartening to read *hat tight lacing has come in again. In London the women are wearing nineteen and twenty-inch corsets, when twenty-five is really the natural size of the female waist. The dress reformers are not doing much good after all.—N. Y. Mail and Express. —Life takes its color and quality not from %tday, but the dawns.— Emer sou, TERMS: tl.oo Per Annum in Advance. USEFUL AND SUGGESTIVE. —Potato Gems.—Two tea-cups of mashed potatoes, left from dinner, one egg; place in well buttered gem-pan, and put a bit of butter on each gem. Hake until brown.—Horae. --In broiling meat over coals never allow them to smoke the least After the coals have burnt down somewhat, throw on a handful of salt to deaden the blue flame that arises If the drip ping from your meat takes fire, remove from the stove to cool for a few mo ments. Don’t try to blow it out, as there is danger of burning the face. —Breakfast Muffins.—Set a rising, as for bread, overnight In the morning early, warm a pint of milk and beat it into the dough sufficient as to make it as for ordinary muffin batter; beat well for five or ten minutes, and set to rise for breakfast Bake in rings on a very high griddle, and turn frequently to prevent burning.—Detroit Free Press. —Cream Sauce.—Put two tablespoon fuls of hot water with a teacupful of sweet cream into a saucepan; stir in one tablespoonful of butter and a little chopped parsely; set the saucepan into a kettle of boiling water, add a little strained soup stock, let boil, take from the fire and add a tablespoonful of but ter. Then pour around the hot fish. —Boston Budget. —Apple Compote.—Cut some fine apples in halves, peel them, clean out the cores and drop them in cold water. Having taken them out, prepare some sirup by taking two pounds of fine sugar and boiling until the sirup • spins into a thread. Boil your apples in the sirup until they are soft. Place them in china or glass dishes, and, after straining through a fine sieve, pour in to the holes of the apples whence the cores have been taken out. —Boston Herald. —Dried Beans. —Soak one pin t of dried Lima beans over night in tepid water; in the morning drain and cover again with rather warmer water and let them soak for three or four hours; drain again, cover with boiling water in which a pinch of soda has been dis solved and boil slowly for half an hour, then add a small teaspoonful of salt, drain, dredge with about a tablespoon ful of flour, mix through a tablespoon ful of butter, a teacupful of cream of milk and salt and pepper to taste.—N. Y. World. —Poor Man's Pudding—Wash thor oughly one cupful of rice and put it in a saucepan with one cupful of cold water. Let this heat slowly to the boiling point, then turn off every drop of water. Put the rice into a pudding dish that will hold about-three quarts Add to it one teaspoonful of salt, two tablespoonfuls of sugar, two of mo lasses, one of cinnamon undone of but ter, broken into little bits. Stir this well, and add two quarts of milk. Put the pudding in a slow oven and cook for three hours. Stir it well from the bottom three times during the first two hours, and at the last stirring add a pint of cold milk. Serve this pudding with sugar and milk, or perfectly plain. —Good Housekeeping. A TROUBLESOME QUESTION. The Manner In Which a Woman Should Speak of Her Husband. One of the questions that a married woman often finds herself uncertain upon, says the Courier Journal, is just how she should speak of her husband by name to others —when to speak of him as Mr. Jones, when to use his first name and when to give him his title. Instinct will usually guide aright any woman of gentle breeding. Most wom en may be trusted, for example, never to use their husband’s Christian name in speaking of him to any one, except a near relative or very dear friend of both. But, sometimes, women who should know better address their hus bands in company or before servants by their given names. In speaking of her husband, a wom an never makes a mistake if she calls him “Mr.” or “my husband.” It is sometimes difficult to decide, when the husband has a title just what the wife should do with it This is the severest rule; In speaking of her husband she should not say “Gen. A.,’’ or “Dr. 8.,” but “Mr. A.,” “Mr. B.” No matter what he is—judge, governor, captain— to her he is and should be plain “Mr. A.” Mrs. Grant never, even when her husband was president, spoke of him as other than Mr. Grant, though it is the custom of the president’s wife to speak of him as "the president.” The one exception to this rule of ig noring her husband's official or profes sional titles, is when the wife presents him to any one else. Then she says, “my husband, Senator Smith,’’ or, sim ply, “Dr. Jones.” The reason for this is evident. It gives the proper clue to the stranger, who would wish, of course, to address the new acquaintance with the proper title. Last of all, let any woman take heed how she wears her husband's title and allows herself to be spoken of as “Mrs. Governor Jones,” or “Mrs. Secretary Smith.” No matter what title her hus band has, she has no more right to wear it than she has to wear his shoes. —The Watchman. The Boy Escaped. Binkle—l had a great notion to lick my boy for getting to the bottom of his geography class to-day. Pinkie—Why didn't you? Binkle—Well, ho put some of the questions to me that the teacher put t him, and as I couldn’t answer one of ’em, I let him go and licked the teach* er.— Qoooi Xpvt*. NO. 12.