The Brookhaven leader. [volume], April 05, 1883, Image 1

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«■— VOLUME I. BROOKIIAVEN, MISSISSIPPI, THURSDAY, APRIL 5, 1883. NUMBER 7. ..'S.'iKSSTSSJ.'S.Sr
BY NEIGHBOR'S WELL.
I would they'd romp n*Htn. Jobn.
Tbo*« <t«y» when we were y< uni
Byneljrhb r> well; ab! then. Jobn,
we tut whole evenlnre Ion*.
Tb» silent moon we watched o’erbead
Fr m out the wnlte clouds peep.
And tslkerl of bow the heavens were hl*b.
And bow tbe well was deep.
Ju«t tblnk how still thst was, John—
The w< rid all bushed to rest—
'TIs thus no mora, alas I J< bn,
Or Just in dre ims at best
And when s m distant sbepberd’s son*
Trilled o’er tbe moorland lone.
Ob, Jobn.’twos music tbst, Indeed.
Was sweeter ever known?
Sometimes at eventide. John,
I feel my heart still swell.
As when once s.deb/ side, John,
We sat by neighbor's well.
Then < arerly I tom me round.
As tb u*h you still were by;
Ab, John, tbe only tbln* I find
Is—that 1 stand and cry 1
— Temple Bar.
• THE VALUABLE PACKAGE.
A Station-A*ent's Story.
I was telegraph operator and staUon
kgent on one of the Western lines of
railroad, when this adventure of which
l am going to tell you happened to me
It was a wild and stormy n:*jht, and
as the depot was nearly half a mile out
of town, the set of loafers which usually
collected about the stove in the waiting
room had eventually concluded to seek
some place neurer home to spend the
evening in. and, for a wonder, 1 was
alone.
The express from the West was due
at !).S0. After that I should be at lib
erty, and I began to wish the evening
was over long before the train came
along, or else that I had some one to
talk to, for the depot was in one of the
loncsomest spots that could have been
selected; and the wind kept up a dismal
moaning in the pines close by, and every
now and then seemed to be positively
howling in the wiros of the telegraph.
I began to feel nervous and fidgety.
At last the train came. I was also
express agent, and the expressman on
the train handed me a heavily-sealed
envelope, remarking, as he did so: ** Be
careful of that. Branthwaite. There’s
a big bonanza in that package, if it were
yours or mine.”
" Money P” I asked, noticing that
there were but two passengers getting
off^»two men in shaggy overcoats a id
slouohy-lookinghats whom I concluded,
without thinking much about them or
paying but little attention to them, to
be hunters returned from some up
country trip.
‘‘Yes: strife of twenty thousand, I
believe," answered Phillips. "Old Pow
ers is sending it down to his son, who’s
putting up a mill somewhere near here,
isn’t he ”
"Yes; on the other side of the river,”
I replied. "It s lucky to have a rich
father, Phillips.”
"You’re r.glit there,” answered Phil
Jlp».
And then the train started off. and I
turned and walked toward the otlice.
As I neared the door with the package
in my hand one of the men, who had
been watching me,made aspr ngto 'ard
me. I doa't know how I happened
to be on the lookout for them, but L
must hare been, for I lumped back al
most the same instant that no made bis
move, and before either one of them
comprehended what I was about I bad
made a dive between them and suc
ceeded in getting into the office, and
had the door bolted almost before i
knew what 1 was doing.
1 heard a volley of curses hurled after
me, and then I knew by the sounds and
the creaking of the door that both of the
men were trying to break in. But I had
no fears of their doing that It was of
hard wood, well-seasoned, and would
resist all their efforts in that direction.
1 put the package in the sa'e, and
looked it securely, before I stopped to
think what was to be done. Then 1 sat
down to think while I could hear the
men talking outside. 1 knew they were
bo ding a co noil over the means to be
used to effect an entrance and obtain
possession of the money I had received.
It was anything but a pleasant situa
tion to be in. Here was I alone half a
mile away from any assistance, at ten
o'clock at night - and a stormy night at
that—and the probabilities were that
nearly everybody was already in be L
If they were not, no one would think of
coming to Ihe depot at that time of
night. Outside were two desperate
men, who knew I had a large sum of
money in my possession, and they knew
that if they cou d effect an entrance l
would amount tobutlitt e in the wav of
preventing an accomplishment of their
vil ainous purpose.
budtienly a thought occurred ta me.
The clerk at the hotel where I bomied
had taken a fancy to telegraphy and we
had put up a wire between the hotel
and the depot Why couldn’ 1 advise
him of my danger, and have him send ,
help?
1 henrd a new sound at the door just
then which sent the blood in great
frgh ened waves .all over me. The
men had begun to o.it their way in with
pocket-knives!
I rushed to the instrument and 1 ‘call
ed” George. What if he had gone to
bed, or should be out? 1 turned pale
at the thougbt , !',i
Bat pretty soon a response came book.
He was there. Go ahead.
I began and wrote:
•‘I am in danger. Two men are tty- ■
ing to gain admittance for the purpose
of robbing the express safe Pend help
immediately, for God s sake! Not a
minute to lose!”
"Slower,” telegraphed George, who
had not been | racticing long enough to
be able to read well.
1 went over with the message again.
But I suppose excitement made mv ;
writing ‘‘blurred,” for again he sent
back word:
"Slower, and more distinct! Can’t
lira e it oat ” ••
Good God! Before I succeeded in
making him understand me they would
be through the door, I thought, with a
cold sweat breaking out all over me
But I went over the message again, and
this time he caught it, ana sent back a
hurried "All right! Hold out for ten
minutes!”
The men were digging away like
leavers. I < ould ice the pointsuf theft
knives once in a while, as they splintered
away fragments of the panels. Bop I
Lno vv that U would ta’ e them some time
pet to cut away enough for them to
make an entrance throngh. • Htnr fl
(yisbcl 1 had a pistol!
1 waited in feverish impatience. Sud
denly there was a crash, an 1 one panel
was stove in by the foot of one of the
men.
"Aha!” he grinned, with his leering
face at the aperture. "You see we
mean business, don’t you? What are
you going to dowhen we get in, eh?”
I didn't know'. Die, 1 supposed, if
they took an idea to put an end to me
into their heads. Why didn’t George
and the help he had promised < onto5 it
seemed to me that they had had time
enough to ma’ e a ten m le tramp.
"We’ve got the second panel almost
ready to stave in,” said the other man,
chuckling horribly over the cheerful in
formation. "Then, I guess, Tom- can
crawl through. You might as well be
opening that boxo your n, an’ git out
that bundle we're a ter. It’ll save all
on os oon-iderable trouble an’ time.”
Crash came his foot against the panel,
and it burst into splinters; and my
heart fairly stopped beating w hen I saw
one of them thrust his head an i shoul
ders through the opening. 1 seized the
poker, and struck him over the head
with all the force I could muster. He
rolled out a volley of terrible curses,
but 1 was master of the situation at that
particular moment.
Suddenly there was a sou d if voices,
and ikon the man outside t ' »d out that
they wrero "nabbed,’’ and tried to ma.e
his es ape. Hut 1 knew by the sound
that he was caught, and was struggling
wi„h his captors. There were several
pistol-shots fired, and eager cries, dur
ing which the poor w ret h in the door
made no effort to escape, hut lay there
limp and motionless. 1 began to fear I
hail killed him. I drew hac ; the bolts,
and got the door open ju-t in time to
see the other one overpowered, a
prisoner in the hands of a nalf-a-do/en
of the boys from town. Then we got.
th -man out of the door. He wasn’t
dead, but he w as insensible; my bio vs
with the po or had been too much for
him.
1 bought me a pistol the first thing
next mornintr, ana was on the lookout
for robhers and adventnrers after that;
but that was the only adventure of any
a count that happened to me while 1
stayed there. If it hadn’t been for that
telegraph w hich George and I had put
into operation, I rather think 1 should
have fi: ished up all my earthly advent
ures that night.— Farm and Fireside.
Deportment Edicts.
Speaking of the manners of good
society, questions oi social usage pu/.zle
a great many woman, judging by the
letters that are forwarded to me asking
about such matters. Mo-t of them re
late to cards and weddings, and I may
be instructive generally by answering
several of them. If u bride has sent
you wedding-cards you should call upon ■
her in her new relation. If she sent
out no cards, you may call, and leave
her to decide whether she cares to keep
np the social interchange of visits bv re
turning yours. If you do not wish to
continue the acquaintance, that is to
keep up formal visiting, you » aii drop
it at this timo as appropriately as any.
It is | erfectly proper for a young worn n
on assuming new social obligations as a
wife to revise her own visiting list and
take proper means to retain only those
names to which she may feel herself
able to do social justice. An unit arrietl
woman who has ao older sister unmar
ried has .“ Miss” ou her cards, without
her initials or her first name. On re
turning to your home after long ab
sence send your cards to those whom
you wish to call upon you. If you in
tend to remain in the town where you
are, send out cards to every one whom
you wish to know, mentioning the day
and hour at which you will be at home
to receive them, and offer some light
refreshments, like tea and cake, at five
o’clock. It is correct for a widow to
have her Christian name on
her visiting cards. A card with “ac
ceptance” w itten or engraved upon
it is vulgar. Write a puuctilious note
iu the th rd person, acc pting or de
clining. If a card is turned down in
the corner it means the visitor called in
person. The man who is a stranger to
the woman should leave a card for her
as well as the man who had ta';en him
to call. It is a visit whether she is at
home or not Both should leave cards.
A girl about to be married does not put
P. r. C. on her cards. Write your regret
or acceptance of an invitation on a sheet
of note paper and put it in an envelope
directed tq the person who invites you.
Unless you are to send it by post one
envelope is enough. Do not write re
gret or acceptance on your visiting card;
that is vulgar. It is proner to send a
card to the bride if'you do not call in
person, bntf ft is better to call, and es
pecially must you call on her mother,
who invites you. The best form for ac
ceptance is the simplest: “M ss Smith
has much pleasure in accepting the
polite invitation of Mrs. Brown for
Thursday, the 15th.” The ushers at
day weddings are again wearing pearl
colored kid gloves with a black stitching
on the back. The coat is a black cloth
Prince Albert frock, and the trousers
are dar v gray. Their cravats may be
white Ottoman, black, or a dark color,
but must be uniform, whatever color is
chosen. The bride and groom must
wear gloves, but the groom must not
wear a dress-suit in the day-time, no
matter how the bride is dressed- It is
not customary to send aooeptanees of
invitations to weddings unless the card
contains the request to respond. Where
from two to five huudre’d or more cards
are sent out, the formal response toeach
one would be a nuisance. The proper
acknowledgement is a gift and con
gratulations if presence on the occasion
is impossible. OI course, if it is asmall
at-home wedding, where provision Is
made for a sit-down dinner or supper,
the case becomes somewhat diff erent, as
only intimate fiiends are Invited, and it
is desirable to know approximately the
number that will be present. Hut the
cabalistielettars R S. V. P. were in
vented «a an intimation that reply is
something desired, and would not have
ever bean used if Ijfe was long enough
to sand and receive replies to all notes
of iatitation.—N. Y. Cor. Cincinnati
Enquire*.
■ '
—'Mias Dr. Har. is, a young A me' i
oan lad who opened ah office in Hong
Kong, was called to attend the wife of
one of the chief officials of t hin r. The
native doctors were fu ions, but I t
Princess got well.
The Tresh Poker-Player.
The hotel man turned to a by-stander
and said: "That's just the way it goes, |
and that makes the third case of that
kind I’ve seen this winter. These
young suckers from some little town,
come down hero with a few dolla-s, and
getin with the boys, and expect to play
the eye-teeth out of them, and go back
home with half the money in Milwau
kee in their pants pockets. I don’t be
lieve there is a bigger fool on earth
than a young man who has learned to
play poker a little, and who gets
mashed on the game, and has plat ed
with the other Twys in his town for
kernels of corn, out in th * barn, t.ll he
thinks he knows more about the game
than the oldest gambler in 'the country.
In every little town, almost, on earth,
there Is just such a gang of young men,
who got an insight into the game of
poker, and get so they can open a * jack
pot’ for four kernels of corn and not
blush, or come out of a game ahead.
wnen playing -penny ante wun ineir
chums, and ten chances to one there is
one of the number who has more gall
than the rest, who imagines himself a
thoroughbred, and who makes up his
mind t<> go to some large place and win
a few hundred dollars, and come home
and make his chums eyes hang out
when he shows them his pile. He goes
to work carrying in coal or driving
team, and saves up fifty or sixty dol
lars, and buys a ticket for some large
city. He scorns the idea of purchasing
a return trip ticket, as he thinks he will
have a big stake when he gets ready to
come home, and he can stand it better
to pay railroad fare. Well, he gets to
the city and hunts up some gambling
rooms, that he has read about in the
local paper, and he sits into a game
along with a lot of old chaps, old
enough to be his father, and he think*
he has struck a snap, and wonders what
such a crowd of old du era know about
poker, anyway. He commences to play
and the first thing he knows the old fel
lows make betg that causes his hair to
stand, and his face turns red, and his
shoes are full of the perspiration that
leaks out of him as it would out of a tin
water cooler. He thinks he ought to
show what sand he has. as he i sed to at
home, and he makes an effort to raise a
bald-headed old party out of his boots
by making a big bet, but when the
•showdown’ comes and he finds that
he has been betting against one of the
biggest hands he ever saw in his life, he
gets more nervous than ever, and he
goes it blind, and it don’t take more
than a few minutes before he is laid out
fatter than a tramp, the old duffers ha\e
got his money, and as they ask him to
take a cigar or some hing to kind o’
smooth it over, he feels sick, and
wishes he had never seen a pack of
cards. Then he does just what you saw
that young fellow doing just now. Gets
Some fellow Whom he happens to meet
from his native place to loan him money,
enough to t; ke him home, and he de
parts, poorer and a confounded sight
wiser than he was when he came to
town. Oh. you bet 1 know just how it
is with that class of young men,” and
the hotel man sighed, and shook his
head, and walked away’.—Peck's Sun.
Fashions in Plants.
A few days ago a New York 8tnr re
porter calle i upon a gentleman well
versed in domestic Horticulture.
“ .-'re there fashions in hon e plants
as in dress, musi • and morals.” asked
the report er.
“Notin house plants,” replied the
seedsniau, “because the varieties which
eau be cultivated at home arc limited in
number. But the fashions in flowers
in general change, of course. This is a
tickle world.”
With this bit of philosophy t e florist
finished sorting some buibs that loo ed
like wrin led onions, and carefully
dusted his fingers.
“What is the latest blooming agony?”
“Foil hocks. list year all ths
world went in for sunflowers, thanks to
the great O. W. But, of iour «, sun
flowers could not be i u tivated in-doors
unless people chose to alter roofs and
floors to suit the gro • th of the plant.
You want to snow about house flowers,
though; those w hich was:e their sweet
ness on the parlor air. Well. I think
they may be divided nto two classes—
the plants which gro v only from the
seed, and the ones which may be culti
vated from cuttings, 'lo the former
class belong mignonette and nastur
tium. To the latter geraniums, pe
tunias, verbenas, vincas, heliotropes
and portulacas. I have named some
of the plants most in demand for home
culture. 1’ortulacas, particularly, are
much sought after. Here are some.
Lid you ever see anything more deli
cate and pret y than those blossoms?
And yet the plant is a mira le of hardi
ness. You can’t burn it up, no matter
how much you expose it to the sunshine.
Notice the variety of colors. We have
some tints of all shades, from scarlet
to yellow. Blue, I think, is almost the
only color not found in portuiacas.
Vincas are also very popular but more
expensive than most of the other house
Slants. Here is a heliotrope in blossom,
his is another favorite.
“ What is this that looks like a carna
nation ?”
• * This is a phlox, and also a plant in
high favor. You will notice that the
i ower has fewer petals than the carna
tion.”
* Yo i spoke of i eraninms; how many
varieli s of that plant r re there?”
“Haifa doz, n. The ge anium is a
ha dypartt, so far as hot weather is
concerned. It will stand my amount of
h at and a u ode rate degrev of cold
Many peopl • like chrysanthemums for
fall growing.”
“How a out roses9 Aruthey much
in demand fur house plants?”
“Oh. yes; there is always a ready
s le for them. Th y are not • xjten ive.
You o n get rose pi nts all th.: way
from lift *en to fifty cents apiece. We
s< 11 ten of h m for one do :ar. Th re
are n ore than ;wo thou and v.irieti r.
At preheat the t a ros , a dainty fower
in delicate shades of pink and y Bow
is the favorit ». Did you ever near of
bine ro es? You can produce th m by
putting terr c oxide, cornon nly call d
iron ru-t, • bo t th roote of th ■ plants,
whieh, in the course of nat n, would
yhldpiuk flowers. Lilies? Yes they
i re fa orlt a You know what a swe t
d Beat , frail-look' ng l ower they are,
ye; they trt exceedingly robus1, axd
will stand no end o' bard t eatment
I Speaking of h ’rdy plants remind' me of
the canaidi m, which naither neglect nor
kindn ss will kill.”
" What do you m< an by killing a plant
by kindness?”
*• I’ll tell you. Mostof the people who
cultivate flowers indoors don’t under
stand the business. To begin with,
they are likely to plant the seed too
deep —to bury them, in fact, and then
wonder why they never ‘com: np.’ No
absolute rule can be laid down upon the
subject, but I rsually tell people to
place the seeds in their own thickness of
earth. A common error is to suppose
that a plant is perpetually thirsty, and
accordingly it is generally overwatered.
The fact is that, except in very u arm
weather, a plant should be watered only
once a day, and that at night. Besides,
amateur iforists manure their plants too
much. The treatment of frozen plants,
also, is in most instances wrong. A prev
alent mistake is the supposition that sun
shine, in large doses, is the only thing
for frozen plants. A per.-on who would
cure frozen feet by putting them in a
hot oven wou d be denounced as a
lunatic, yet it seems that people will
never learn that plants and animals
have many things in common. A grad
ual increase of tempera’ure is the thing
for frozen plants. I suppose it wonld
surprise you to .'earn that many plants
die of hasty consumption.”
j ‘-I shou d as soou expect to hear of
their d>ingot cerebro-spinal menin
gitis.” replied the .Star man.
“Well, it’s a* tact. You see, in the
hot ho ses the plants are rushed until
ready for sale. Then they are taken
straight from the liot-bouses to the cold
markets, whence they go back into warm
air aga n. The inevitable result is that
the jdants take cold, and in a little while
die of consumption, as 1 have said.”
“ f- o far as you know, what class o!
the population is fondest of flowers?”
“I think the Germans. They culti
vate plants more intelligently than most
other people. You will find scores of
German f'orists in the suburbs. The
Irish are also fond o flowers. I never
saw plants better c iltivated than among
the Lancashire miners in England.
Each man coni nes himself to one kind
of t ower, and the result is that he grows
healthy stock. He excl anges cuttings
with his neighbors, and now that region
is a perfe t garden of flowers.”
“Is domestic floriculture expensive?”
" No. You can get plants enough to
make your parlor a paradise or two
dollars, or three dollars at the utmost
For that expenditure \ou can get a
year’s pleasure if yo t only exercise com
mon sense in managing yoi.r plants.”
^ ♦ » —
Concerning Soap.
I am “notional” about soap, and one
of my very explicit directions to the
dish-washer is: “Never use laundry
soap in the dish-washing, for it is made
of dead beasts of any ami every deserip
1 tion, and far from being fit to wash
clothes with,even.” Andeverybox I buy
of it, I make a weak vow that it shall be
the last A gentleman was telling me
the other day that “Out West,” where
he had traveled much, hogs that die
from cholera a e rendered for soap
grease. Scientists inform us that many
skin diseases arc produced by impure
soaps, aud that infectious diseases arc
sometimes generated through them.
Upon reflection the possibility and
probability of all this are easily appar
rent. Even in home-made soap care
should be observed to keep the “grease”
clean and sweet This can be done by
the frequent rendering of it, by at once
putt ng it in strong lye. It is perfectly
obvious that what is used to wash the
hands, particularly, which arc often cut
or otherwise injured, should be free
from all poisonous substances. If there
can be enough of home-made soap to
supply the needs of the house, it should
be a cause for thauksgiving. But if
one has to buy soap, there are room
and reason for the exercise of discretion.
For dish-washing and cleaning pots and
pans use washing soda. It is quite as
cheap and greatly to be preferred.
For the toilet choose soap made from
oil. It costs more, but. like ev. ry
other best thing, it is cheapest in the
end Palm-oil soap is fully as nice as
that made from olive oil, and I, for
one, like it better. Genuine Castile soap
is made from olive oil and soda and I
have been assured tnat even for laun
dry purposes the Castile soap is as
economical as the ordinary hard soap
sold for that purpose. Carbolic soap
is, of course, excellent for skin diseases
and wounds of all sorts; but much that
is sold for good soap is nothing of the
sort I r. member sending a young
person to a country store with the in
i junsHon to purchase some Castile soap,
and the article he brought home was
never used for any purpose. Of course,
the store-man would never hate at
tempted to palm off so spurious an ar
ticle upon an intelligent adult. As the
cultivation of the sunflower increases,
the oil from its seeds will be largely
utilized in soap-making. Cotton seed
oil, I believo. is not altogether agree
able in soap, but that objection will
probably be overcome, so that the com
ing man will delight solely in vegetable
soaps.—Mary IF. I'ieher.
A Wonderful Child.
Th3 Trentjn (N. J.) Times > ys thst
Percy F Crisp, the lad of nine y< ars
whose death, whs published recently,
was in every re pect a most wooderful
child. He possessed a mind far in ad
van e of his years, and was never
ha per than when delating o* dis
cern sin; upon son e scientific subject
with persons four times his age For
the last month or two this ohild had
studied an old translation of the
••ill d ” i-tory-books of light litera
tu>e had no attraction for nim. On
matters of ancient history, astronomy
physiology and geography he stoo I in
a position to be envied dv many of the
teachers of those studies. Only the
other day this child-sage was looking
with his mother at a pictuie of “At
lanta's Kace, * in a State street window.
His mother inquire I of him as to the
history of it and withou hesitation the
child relate f the incidents which the
engraving illustrated Even on his
sick-bed ne misted < n being read to.
and would glan e under the sroon or
i glass in which his medicine was being
| i iven. in order to read whatever might
, be on the stand by his bed. His death
' was caused by s severe attack of diph
: then*
PERSONAL A YD LITERARY.
—The Polish novelist Kraszewisbkl—
whose name, if von have a cold, you van
sneeze—has written 490 no vela
—Pere Hyncinlhe, accompanied by
his wife, will spend the com ng summer
in this country nnd will lecture in vari
ous cities.—N. Y. Times.
—George Alfred Townsend (“Gath”)
is a capital interviewer, but never uses
a note book. He has an astonishing
memory. His articles are dictated to
an amanuens:s, and he does as much
work as four ordinary men. He makes
$20,000 a year.
— Mr. ( eorge Russell, of Phi'adelphia,
says the North American, of that city,
has theo'dest Bible in the English lan
fuage in the United States. It is a
lack-letter Bible, dated London. 1597,
bound with the Apocrypha and Book of
Common Prayer.
— Re . Dr. Robert Landis, the relig
ions author and the most eminent l’j-es
byterian divine of Kentucky, died at
Danville, la ely, in the garret where he
lived a hermit s life,.cooking his own
meals and sleeping on a rough plank.—
Pluto, telphia Press.
—In return for the autographs which
Senator Tabor so industriously collected,
as related in the New York Trihum\ the
thirty-days’ Senator gave each of his
colleagues a unique present. This was
an elaborate after-wedd ng card, bound
w th a heavy band of Colorado silver,
and cost ng $52.50 each.
—Henry Little, in his reminiscences
of the \ ermont Legislature of 1805,
writes from personal recollections—a
marvelous instance of a clear mind and
a retentive memotA. Another remark
able fact is that he writes a clear, legible
hand, which wou’d put to shame a ma
jority of the voting men of the present
time.—Boston Post.
—A new portrait of the poet Long
fellow, said to be an < xcellent one, has
just appeared. It was engraved by
Charles Burt, the principal engraver of
vignettes and portraits for the Treas ry
Department at Wash ngton, and repre
sent-! Mr. Longfellow as he appeared
in his seventieth birthday’—white
haired, full bearded, his lace already
showing a little of the emaciation and a
gre t deal of the serenity of age. sitting
in a re eotive at'itude, and renting the
jaw lightly on the right hand, but loolt
ing lull at you.—N. Y. Post.
-■-^ -—
HUMOROUS.
—A clerk in a Government oflfiee was
recently injured by an acc defltal dis
charge of his duties. It will not occur
again.—N. Y. Uraphie.
—It was a pale seamstress who, when,
directed to take to pieces a dozen shirts,
lacking one, remarked that she had
been served with an order of rip-levin.
—Pittsburgh. Telegraph.
—Speaking of a commercial traveler
who was arrested for embezzlement, an
exchange says: “He confesses his
guilt” A drummer may own up to
gilt but to brass—never.—Boston Tran
script.
—A news item says the male mem
bers of a Pennsylvania family are “ be
witched.” The next door neighbor evi
dently has several pretty daughters.
It often happens that way. —Norristown
Herald.
—A retired vocal st, who had ac
quired a large fortune by marriage, was
asked to sing in company. “Allow
me,” said he, “to imitate the night
ingale, which does not sing alter it has
made its nest
—A little fellow, going to church for
the first time, where the pews were
very high, was asked, on coming out.
what he did in church, when he replied:
“ I went into a cupboard, and took a
seat on the shelf.”
—When things get dull in Oregon
some one build-* a bonfire on the crest
of Mount Hood, and the telegraph re
ports that the supposed extinct volcano
shows signs of breaking out with re
newed fury.—Detro t Free Press
—A gentleman boasted that the pa
pers in his v llage pa so much atten
tion to soc etv matters “that a lead ng
c ti/en can not go home sober late at
night without having the fact published,
as an interesting fact.”--A'. Y. Journal.
—A Berks County (Pa.) young wom
an threw a pair of scissors at a man
who was teasing her. As one of the
points penetrated his eye he couldn’t
see the joke, although she claimed it
was sheer nonsense.—N. Y. Commer
cial Advertiser.
—The maiden point of view—Mamma
(to Maud, who has been with her broth
er to the play, and is full of it): “But
there is no love in the piece then?”
Maud: “love’ Oh dear, no, mamma.
How could there be? The principal
characters were husband and wife, you
know?”—Punch.
—The Arkansaw Traveller tells of a
lady who knows that her husband never
shakes dice for the drinks, and that he
is strictly sober, was awakened the oth
er night hr her husband, who in his
sleep exclaimed: “Three trays to beat
Horse on mo. ” “What do you mean ?*’
asked the wife, shaking him. “What
does who mean?” “You.” ') hat
about?” "Why, you cried out: ‘Horse
on me.’ ” “That's all right I merely
had a nightmare.”
>o Complaints from the Boarders.
A Detroit milkman some time sinoe
secured a customer whom he soon d s
covered meant to pay in promises, but
he realised that if he quit serving her
he stood no chance of collecting the
debt already contracted. He therefore
planned to oblige her to dismiss him.
and began by adding one-fourth water
to the milk. No fault being found he
put in fifty per cent of water. Three
days passed witho t complaint, and the
amount of water rose to aevonty-hve per
cent. In three or four days'more he
served her with two uuart< of water ool
ored by a gill of milk. Next morning
he expected to hear from it, bnt as the
servant girl made no complaints he
asked:
“ How does the family like the milk?’'
•• Pretty well, I guess.”
“No complaints?”
“Not as I’ve leard. Missus is a
widow, you know, aad doesn't drink
tes nor coffee on account of the dyspep
sia, and the boarders have all they can
do tc complain of the batter! ”
The man gave it op aa a bad job —
Deroit Free Press.
Temperance.
A SIMPLE GLASS OF BEER.
“Char.ie. come here!”
The voice was loving and tender, yet
with a certain pained quiver in it. 'the
face that looked out of the window bore
traces of sorrow a. though it had I een
part of the living to bear pain. The
l>oy came in thinking of h's play, and
a most forge'ting what his mother said.
He was ten years old, with a bright,
open a<e.
“ What did you say you wanted me
to do?”
“ Nothing, dear, only to sit down and
listen to omething I have to say. She
choked a little in answering, it was so
hard to do it aft r all. There hail teen
live in their family group once, now she
and the lad were all. Kstaer and two sons
had gone the crooked ways of drunken
ness and death. What a legacy forthat
bright, innocent boy! He had never
known it. His mother's tender care
ha I hedged him in Their quiet coun
try home had bepn a refuge of purity.
Char.ie had been ouly two summers at
school. In the winter when the leg
boys, with habits unknown, crowded
the two back seatsof the district s liool
howse, his mother marie eveuse to keep
him at home. It was cold and storm
ing and she didn’t like to stay a'one.
Now they wore to move int > town, and
the mother had thought, after some
struggle, that the safest way was to put.
the boy himself on guard- She had
never talked Temperance very much
heretofore; how could she when every
word she might say cut backward into
her own heart But the boy was son
to the same fathe • rs the two who lay
in dish nored graves, and she felt the
time had come when it was best and
necessary for the boy to know his own
peculiar danger. So she told him.
sparing her dear dead all she might It
was thrusting knives into sore wounds,
but a wise love made her brave and she
did not falter. She did not crucify her
self in vain. The great tears rolled
down Charlie’s cheeks, and a whole
heartful of boyish love and sympathy
responded.
‘‘Oh mother, he cried, "mv poor,
dear mamma, I never will drink any of
that dreadful stuff.”
‘‘There are many easy ways, my boy,
to begin; especially I warn yo.i against
sweet cider and beer. And put no faith
in the statement so often heard, that a
man of any will can drink and stop. It
is possible, though alway dangerous, yet
allowing it to be ever so safe for others
it would not be sa'e for you. We some
times inherit tastes from our fathers and
mothers, and so you. as you look Lke
your father, might ha' e his liking for
iicp or if you once tasted it, remember,
just last d it, ( harlie. That was what
made it so easy for your poor brothers
to drink. People wondered that both
should die—as they did—before they
were twenty-two, but they had their
father’s appetite and their own to con
tend against”
"I never could wrnt to taste it.”
H's mother »m led, such a sad smile.
“I want you this morning to make a
solemn promise in writing, it is some
times called a pledge, never to drink.
I have wri ten it out for you, you can
read it and write j our name at the bot
tom, remembering that it is a very sol
emn thing to make such a promise.”
It was a very strong pledge. It had
no qualifying phrase ‘‘as a beverage.”
“Some think it necessary in small
quantities as a medicine, but it is better
that you shou d never take such medi
cine even to sa'e your life. You must
demand medicine free from alcohol, for
yourself, as 1 have for you.” Charlie
assented and deliberately signed his
name. Then mother and son knelt
down together and she prayed for a
blessing on the future, o', her son.
Y’ears passed and Charlie came to be
eighteen w th his p edge unbroken.
People remarked on the manly prom sc
of the young I oy, and how beautifully
he honored his mother; how that moth
er's heart leaned on him; how it rested
her after the dark years that bad passed?
Yet she never felt securq, "When he
is twenty-five” she said to herse f, “ I
shall draw a lonir breath,'’ then blamed
herself for doubting the boy who had
proved so true to her and his vow.
About this time Charlie h 'd a long
sickness, serfous enough to make the
mother very v g lant He had been
sometime convalescent, when there
came a bright sunny Sabtath
•‘ I :.m quite we 1 enough to stay by
myself to-day, m ther, you go to
church.” So she went, gladly, into the
hou-e of the Lord to offer thanksgiving.
But the house seemed lonely and stiil to
the sick boy. so he was very glad to see
his Uncle Dan drive up.
“Come over to see how yon're getting
along; can’t you ride out a little way. ’
‘‘Clad to see you, though I don t
kuow about the riding; I haven't ven
tured out yet.”
‘•Just the day to be in,” said Unc e
Dan. in his hearty way. So Chirie
yielded and went The day was love
ly. and havin r been a prisoner so long,
the fresh air and sunshine seemed like
a new world to him.
'I his Uncle Dan was his father’s
brother, and the roadside tavern and
bar ha I its attractions.
“ You’d better get out ahd come in,”
he said to Charlie, “ it will rest you. I
declare, I believe you'd better treat on
this, you look as bright as a dollar.”
“ You know I don t drink and I don’t
like to see yon.” was the emphatic
answer.
*‘Oh, well. I want something, any
way. and you'd better coine in.”
Un hinking of the danger of | utting
one foot in the way that leads into de
struction, the boy wen* in < n enter
ing. he found a«ousin and other young
men with whom he was acquainted who
were ready with rough and hearty con
gratulations on his re overy. The ride
had been exlLh abating; this was excit
ing.
"Believe you'll have to treat.” said
his Uncle Dan. rubbing his hands.
“Yes, a treat, old boy,” echoed the
young men. hilariously. Charlie's
cheek flushed- “Give yo r orders,
boys.” he said, thrusting his hand into
his pocket in search of change.
“Hare a glass of beer yourself.” said
his oousin. Charlie shook his bead.
"Hard up; have to save the price of one
glass,” guessed one of the young men.
The boy was weak from sickness, ex
cited by the circumstances. Always
proud and foolishly sensitive, the ran
dom remarl Irritated him. He snatched
a glass of beer from th« count
er and drank K, h • first taste. U was
enough. Hefore the others had finished •
the first glass, ( harlie called for a sec
ond, I hen in an eager, harried way
called for brandv. The boys grew sober
and his Uncle Dan was alarmed and
tried to interfere. Charlie turned on
him fiercely.
What had aroused in the boy snch
wild desire?
In a little while they put a drunken
boy in the carriage and took him home
—home to his mother what a deed!
And her—oh, let such heartbreaks be
veiled always. They arc beyond tears
and telling. This was but a beginning.
He still lives, but with every good im
pulse lost in the whirlpool of appetite.
A *implc g aix of beer did it.—Mary
C. Ward, in f'n'on Signal
The Djinir Child's Appeal to Her
Drunken Father.
“ Please, papa, don't drink! ” A
bright, golden head was laid on the
broad shoulder, the deep blue eyes
looked pleadingly up, while little plump
tingers clasped as well as they could the
large, strong hand. Lovingly she
rested there, out tears fast tilled the
eyes, and the curly tresses trembled
w,th emotion, for the dear child was
thin mg of her fast changing father, of
the bloated face and glassy eye, of the
caresses which now never came, of the
angry words often spoken, of the pale,
worn, tired mother; of the bare feet,
and the supperlcss nights when they
were hurried to bed; of the changes
that hud crept into their once lovely
h me, a; d, most of all, over that dear
one on whom all her childish love was
centered. Child that she was, she felt
the change in home and father, and
with instincts almost divine had learned
the cause. Her iroubled young heart
could brook the difference no 1 nger;
so, creeping noiselessly to his side, put
ting ht r loving head on his shoulder,
with one band in his and the other cir
cl ng his neck, softly said: “Papa, dear,
p’ease don’t drink any more!”
“ lca-e, papa, don’t drink!” The
1 ttle sufferer lay npon a couch of pain,
intently looking up at the wreck of her
devoted parent The accursed god of
Bacchus had sto’en away his former
self, and the burning fever had wasted
her lovely form. She k sew she must
die. that the dark angel would take her
soon from those she loved and bear her
spirit away to a brighter and better
home. How could she leave that fath
er, so loved and vet so altered, the dear
father of her xhiidish sports and youth
ful sorrows? Something must be done;
he must be saved; an e.Tort—the very
last she could ever make—must be pnt
forth to arrest h's downward < areer.’
'] he parched lips move, the feeble hands
raise, and the bowed head of that once
strong man cat lies the whispered
words- “Papa. O, papa’ please don t—
don t drink any- more!” and the tired
spirit winged its way to another world.
O, that some power would turn the
eyes of men inward, that they might
see themselves as they really are and
bebol I the degradation and misery thev
inflict upon those given them to guard
and to keep! ( ould they for jost one
short moment see the tears wrung from
anguishe I hearts, the cheeks grown
palt% and heart-strings broken, could
all the poverty, shame and suffering, all
tta1 vice and crime, the blasted hopes
and ruined homes, come be ore them as
it comes before the world, there would
be forever an en 1 to this a c rsetl raffie
and drink. Bi t now, from every ham
let ami dale, from every city and town,
from the length and breadth of our
land, comes the same heart-rending
<ry, and host- of shame-faced children,
robbed of their paternal rights, are
pleading in ajoni/.ing t-mes; “Please,
papa, don’t drink any more!”—Ar. Y.
Ledger.
What He Drinks.
The I oer cr spirit-drinker is wont to
look with ill-concealed contempt upon
, the water-drinker, and as he tosses oil
the glass he lias just paid h s money for
iina ines that he has swallowed some
thing far better and performed an action
far more sensible. Yet if he would stop
but for a moment to ask what he ha 1
just taken, he might think quite differ
ently. t et us see. A barrel of beer
conta ns abo .t 500 glasses. 'Jhe seller
gives about $8 for it. an I sells it :or five
cents per glass, or •26. His profit is 215
per cent- The dr nker drops in ten
times per day and takes his glass of beer;
in fifty days he bits consumed the 500
glasses and pai 1 •25 therefor. v hat has
he swallowed? Scientific men sav that
in the 600 glasses of beer there were ItiO
glasses of me . e water, 26 glasses of pure
alcohol. 15 gla ses of extract ■ and gums.
So the fceer-«lrinker has paid #23 for 460
glasses of wafer, and imp re at that,
which he coul 1 have had at the near st
spring for nothing, and pu: e as nature
made it. He has had in addition. 25
glasses of pure alcohol, which is a poison
| - at enm:ty with every function of the
syst in, no food, nor a heat producer—
and besides all this, he has taken 15
gla-ses of extra ts of malt, sugary mat
ter, indigestible gums, etc., etc. Surely,
there is no absurdity so absu d. To pay
•23 for 46u gla ses of impure water, when .
he could have it pure for nothing, and
42 for 10 glasses of poison and mostly in
j dige-tible drugs! but it pays the b ewers
and the saloon-keepers to - ell water at
215 per cent advance on all their trouble
of barreling and bottling it.—Prof. G.
K. Foster. _ _
Temperance Item*.
Phohjb'T-on is to be a prominent
iss e this fall in the campaign for mem
bers of the Maryland Legislature.
The Temperance wave still gath
ers strength. A Masonic Lodge, to be
conducted on Temperance principles, is
about to be founded in Manchester,
England.
M‘\ Gladstone is credited with
the remark that the drinking customs of
Great Bruirln are bringing on that conn
try all the evils of war, pestilence and
famine.
There are nearly four thousand
drinking saloons in Chicago; and it is
estimated that thirty million dollars are
expended annually for intoxicating
liquors in that one city.
The New Tore Cotomertiml Afwr
ft*rr says: "Every case of hanging that
takes place in this country is a ghastly
tribute to the efficacy of liquor, and a
terrible lesson to the men who grow
rich through its upmufacture ’