The Brookhaven leader. [volume], November 29, 1883, Image 1

About The Brookhaven leader. [volume] (Brookhaven, Miss.) 1883-1891

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VOLUME I. . BROOKIIAVEN, MISSISSIPPI, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 2!*, 1883. NUMBER 41. .S2!U!JSKSBSa3r
THE BOm OF THE TELEGRAPH
WIRES.
"Tick, tiek! Tick,tiek! Tick, tiek!”
Dark to the voice of the telegraph wires,
Ticking out every Word!
A hc-ln-a-hurry impatient voire.
That over all others is heard.
Now 'tis a message of sorrow and care, ,
And 1 tien or pleasure and song,
A tender thought, ota parting pfayer,
I >r a whisper of crWcl wrong.
• Tick, lick! Tiek, tick! Tick, tick!”
Tie wall of battle, the horror of Uro,
The speed of a horse or ship.
The crash of markets, the llight of kings,
The word from a baby's lip;
The Hood, the plague, and the earthquake
shock.
The sorrow that's on the sf a.
Are met by a mother's loving thought,
< >r a lover's wedding glee.
‘Tick, tick! Tick, tioic! Tick, tick!"
And the winds blow through thorn day and
night*
(Do the winds know what they say?)
And the sunshine glints, and the rain sweeps
bv.
And the white snows on them stay.
And the birds te;t there, and plume their
wings,
iDo the birds their storv know?)
Po thev feci the thriil of the mighty things
That under their small feet go?
•'Tick, tick! Tiek. tick! Tiek. tick!”
Above tlie snow of the cotton plant.
And above the Northern wheat,
Andover the mighty mountain chain.
And the prairie fresh ami sweet,
Ami ever the thousand-st-octed town,
An 1 the desert wild and free.
And over the mighty forest trees,
And under the roaring sea.
“Tick,tick' Tiek, tick!. Tiek, tick!”
They clasp all earth in a loving ring,
Aiid they answer all desires.
For there isn't a language they can not speak.
The wonderful Telegraph wires!
They will girdle the earth and cross the sea,
And tlie nations bind, until
The World shall answer in every tongue
Their Messages of Good-Will.
—l.iHic Harr, in A'. F. Lcihjrr.
THE WRONG SINDAY.
A True Story.
It was very quiet at the old farm.
For the first time in their lives, the
young people, four grown-up girls, had
gone away together to stay a week. At
home, they generally kept things astir,
in the way of fun and frolic, from morn
ing till night. “Something ought to
happen,” they said to each other,
“when father and mother are left alone,
something funny.” “Look out, fath
er.” cried Bessie, gayly, as they were
leaving. “Keep hold of the almanac,
or you may lose the day of the week.”
So Deacon Stearns and Mrs. Stearns
Fettle I down for a quiet spell. They
c add hardly remember that such a
time ever came to them before. Even
the hired man had gone home. The
deacon remarked: “Wife, I’ll finish
that history, and add up my yearly ac
counts. We shan’t have such a racket
now.”
she replied: “I'll finish drawing in
my mat. There'll be time to turn off a
good many things.”
This was Tuesday. Wednesday morn
ing he said: “It beats all how we miss
those girls. IIow do Von stand it, moth
er? I believe it's going to snow.”
Her answer was: “Well, 1 think
women have so many things to do they
don't mind being lonely as much as
men. If the children only get back
safe, it’s all I'll ask.”
The storm came on Thursday, fast
and furious, with raging winds, piling
up huge drifts, and rolling along banks
for children to tunnel. Inside, every
thing was peaceful in the dear old sit
ting-room. and so still. The deacon
liea)icd up the wood in the open fire
place, where the flames roared, as if to
show that the elements in doors were
equal to those without. Then he went
to sleep over his l’rescott, ami she
nodgled over her mat. The old dog
looked round occasionally to see if they
were still alive: and the eat sat up and
washed her face, in order to keep some
thing moving. Thus the short day
wore on to another night.
Nor is it to be womt red at that with
th • quiet and the storm, and the going
to bed early, somehow this worthy
couple lost a day, and awoke next morn
ing with the firm conviction that it was
Saturday instead of Friday.
“Well, 1 forgot to put my beans
_a-soak last night,” said Mrs. Stearns:
" but I suppose I can boil them longer
this morning.”
“And I must look out for the brick
oven, and see to the tire-place logs for
over Sunday,” said Deacon Stearns, as
he unlocked the door.
At night it was still snowing; but the
Sunday baking was all in and ready to
come out hot the next morning—the
beans, brown bread and sweet-apple
pudding. Besides, t lie re were a whole
pan of apple puffs, brown and tlaky. In
the pantry, a jar of doughnuts and oak
leaf cookies.
luc next morning was clear ami cold.
The sun shone and the snow was deep
and smooth. No one had appeared in
tlie street to diSsipate their notion that
the day was Sunday.
“Wife,” said the deaeon, as he came
in to breakfast, “the snow is pretty
deep; and the drifts will be high below
Mace’s. What do you sav to staying
at home lrom meeting to-day? Can’t
we manage to keep Sunday by our
selves?”
Now, the deacon's wife was one of
the best women in the world; but she
did like, sometimes, a quiet Sunday at
home. Being very conscientious, she
seldom allowed herself such a luxury.
Her face wore a smile of satisfaction as
she spoke: “It would be hard for the
horse to stand out. Didn’t he go a
httle^ lame the other day? I hope we'
shan't set a bad example to our new
neighbors, but as you think best, hus
band.”
Toward noon, she took her Bible and
sat down at the south window. She
could hardly believe her eyes. There
went by a load of wood, and another
and still another! .
“Taking advantage of this snow for
sledding, what a shame! It looks like
Mr. Foster’s man, too.”
There came a knock at the door. A
man asked for something to eat. The
deacon was in the barn, but she would
not refuse a meal and shelter. “ Be
sides,” she thought, “I can talk to him
about keeping Sunday.” She seated
him by the kitchen fire with a plate of
provisions and a cup of hot coffee.
“Are yon traveling far?”
“Just up from down below, looking
for work.”
“You don’t look for work Sundav, I
hope?”
“Well, I don’t know what I’ll do to
morrow. Guess I’ll wait till Sundav
comes.”
i '‘Poor heathen,” she said to herself;
‘‘if I coukl only give him some .ostnic
tion!” We are staying at hc*.ne from
meeting to-day, hut we usually go. If
you are able to walk in this snow, when
yon get’into the city, you will find a
church on the right-hand >ide, this very
road straight ahead. You may go right
into our pew, tell the sexton ‘Deacon
Stearns.’ Yonr clothes are good. You
mustn’t go about, Sabbath-day if you
would prosper.” She rose and looked
steadily at him to make her remarks
effective.
The man stared, then got up.
* • ,
it you are a little fuddled in your
mind.”
She was too indignant to utter a word,
and the man stepped out. The deacon
met him in the door-yard, and he said
to himself:
“Good chance to say a word to this
man." Hut, when he began, the tramp
actually burst out laughing and turned
away. The deacon watched him with
growing displeasure. He went a few
steps, turned around and looked at the
house, and seemed to be overcome with
mirth.
Another knock at the door of the
kitchen. There stood a little girl, one
of the new neighbor’s children.
“ Please, ma'am, will you lend my
motherj a frying-pan? She’s cracked
hers, and we can't get another to
day.”
“Of course you can't, my child.
W e’re not heathens in this town. Yes.
you may take it; but come in and sit by
the lire. For,” she said to herself, “per
haps this is another chance; and there’s
more hope for children.”
She brought out two nice apple puffs
ou a pretty plate, and began;
“Do you know the commandments?”
“Yes, ma’am, some of them.”
“Will you say one after me? ’Re
member the Sabbath-day to keep it
holy.’ ”
The child afe her pies, regarding her
<|ties!ioner with an amazed look that
convinced Mrs. Stearns she had not
been well taught. She proceeded to en
large:
“My dear, I don’t blame your mother
for not sending you to Sunday-school
to-day. the snow is so deep; but you
must be careful when you go home
about playing, for that would he
wicked.”
Still eyeing her doubtfully, the child
departed.
The teams of wood went by at inter
vals through the afternoon. They
talked the subject over, as, later, they
sat by the dying embers. “1 don’t
know what this land is coming to.”
said the deacon. “It will get to be an
other Sodom.”
“ And I’ve made up my mind,” said
Mrs. Stearns, sorrowfully, “that 1
won’t stay at home from meeting
again. It may be a judgment upon me.
I do hope I’ve done some good though,
to-day. ’
“ Well, that was a funny fellow you
fed,” returned the deacon. “Why. lie
aetuallv laughed in my face, and then
winked.”
At six the next morning she was up
and at her washing, and lie went to his
usual work.
As the sleighing was good, and none ,
of the family were present at church. |
the deacon’s nephew thought he’d ride i
down, and see if they were sick. Fast- i
ening his horse, he heard the sound of j
the ileaeon's ax, and made his way to
the shed, but was never more surprised
in his life. “Why, Uncle Stearns! work
ing Sunday!”
“ Tain’t Sunday,” said the deacon,
pausing with uplifted arm.
“Ain’t Sunday! Why, I’ve justeomo
from meeting. Thought you must all
be sick.”
“1 tell you yesterday was Sunday,
and mother and 1 kept it al home.”
The nephew leaned against the work
bench for support as the truth dawned
upon him.
The deaeon threw down his ax. and
started for the house. Mrs. Stearns,
her clothes all out, was taking up the
dinner.—
“Mother, what day is it?”
‘ Why, it is Monday, father. What
do you mean?”
“ Here’s Ben, and says it’s Sunday!” i
“Sunday! Ben, you are crazy.” And
she sank down on the sofa.
Ben had a hard time proving the
truth of his statement; but when die
finally succeeded she drew on her hood
and mittens. “Clothes shan't dry on
S und ay,- anyway.' ’
“ Mother, I’d let ’em alone. It will be
just as bad if you take ’em down.”
“Mr. Stearns, I never could enjoy
wearing them again, never'.” And she
brought them back into the tubs.
To think that Mr. Foster’s men
should have gone by this morning, and
seen me putting them out. Well, it will
be a lesson to me never to judge any
body again.”
“I guess it will be overlooked wife,
said the deacon, seeing how seriously
she was taking it. “i’ll harness up,
and we'll go to meeting this after
noon.” They went without their usual J
supper, in order to avoid any more j
work, and concluded that the mistake !
was owing to the storm without and j
the stillness within.
As for Ben, he laughed all the way j
home, and he laughed for years after: i
and so did the girls, when they thought
of it.—Jiarriette Rea, in Christian Reg
ister. ___
—Margaret Washington is George
Washington’s great-grandniece, and,
excepting a cousin of hers who keeps
up the old family place down on the
east shore of Virginia, she has more of
the Washington blood in her veins than
any other American. She keeps a
hoarding-house just back of the Riggs
Hotel, in the Capital. Although seventy
veal’s old, she is active and alert. Her
features have a strong resemblance to
those of Washington. She is deep in
every charitable work in the city, and a
manager of a home for old ladies.—At
Y. Sun.
—Jefferson Davis is not rich, but
fairly comfortable. He has the planta
tion his brother “Joe” Davis left him
below Vicksburg, which brings him
something, and he has the cottage prop
erty at the seaside which a lady left
him. He is out of dependence, but has
not much pioney-.—Chicago Journal,
Helf-Dfpcndenrc.
Never do for ft child that which he
can reasonably do for h'msclf, is an ad
mirablo maxim, but one that we as
mothers too often fail to adopt a* our
rule of action. How many scene* w*>
can all recall of a fretful, exciting cbihl
demand ng service of a frail mother,
which he 1* much better able to perform
for himself.
And by this one mistake alone, thou
sands of women allow their children to
haug as a weight about their necks,
while they might be not only self
helping in ft large degree, but save her
many steps in the performance of other
duties To be sure, children will be
waited upon if they may; that is but
i natural, and in this as in other tilings
much depends on the way we begin
I with them; so that the mother who is
waiting till Jennie and Kitty arc big
J girls for them to help her, will probably
wait in vain.
We recall a family of children we
once knew, whose mother appreciated
this fact, and practiced most success
fully what we now preach. The father
i was a mechanic, a man determined to
lay aside a little from time to time, for
t'.e rainy day that may come to all, and
1 the mother, agreeing with him in his
; policy, put all her woman's wit to work
. to help him accomplish his purpose.
The children were six of them, but the
two oldest were girls aged eleven and
nine. At tikis time the mother deter
mined to dispense with the help she had
felt obliged to keep, and arranged her
household accordingly. To begin with,
ea h child from the oldest to the little
toddler of two and a half, had his own
drawer and hooks for his clothes, and
when they were folded from the bars,
all that did not need mending were
sorted, and each little one took his
clothes and put them where they be
longed. Then when a bath night came
each one knew just where to get clean
clothes to put on, any those for the next
day's wear were carefully laid out. Nor
was this all, but the soiled ones were
also put where they belonged.
Now by this one arrangement, and it
is only one of the many unusual things
those children did, what a world of
wear and worry the mother saved her
self, only one similarly situated can
nroperly appreciate. But they did more
than help themselves, for selfhelpful
lie-s develops a desire for general use
fulness, and each morning, when the
breakfast was over, the two older girls
washed the dishes and put the kitchen
in order and brushed up the crumbs in
the dining-room, while their mother
put her room and the sitting-room to
rights.
Moreover, the children made their
own beds before School time; the two
litlle girls who slept together, one nt
each side ot the bed worked together in
making theirs, as did the boys next
younger, with their little bed. The
three older ones of the family needed no
help whatever to prepare them for
school, but when they came to the j
breakfast table were ready, with the ex
ception of removing the large work
aprons they always wore till the work
was done. So by nine o’clock that
mother, with baby dressed for the day
and wee Edith made tidy, was ready to
take up her sewing, ami that without
feeling tired and flurried and out of
breath from undue hurrying. In fact ;
there seemed to be no hurry in that 1
home. The work was so ordered and '
divided, that with a family of children |
that would ordinarily require two worn- ;
cn's constant effort to care for, the
mother with their help did it all, with ,
more ease and satisfaction than is usual j
in families amply supplied with help.
So much for the illustration, showing
what this one woman did. yes, as wefi
say does, for she lives in Illinois to-day, j
and we have given you a glimpse of!
tier daily life, and although we may not
all possess the same natural ability for j
generalship that this woman manifests,
w» may profit by her example, and as j
far as in us lies, apply it in oijr own
homes.
Nor is this done for the selfish rea
sons that we may lighten our own bur
dens, that wc should strive to inspire
our children with this spirit of self
help. but much more for their own fut
ure good. For it is this quality largely
that distinguishes the successful busi
ness man from the common tramp. The
one, from natural tendency or early
training, depen Is on his own efforts for
success, while the other begins life with
a vague sort of expectation that lie is
to get a living at some one else’s ex
pense. Anil after numerous attempts
to get wages for pretending to work, he
probably tries sponging off his friends;
hut sooner or later they tire of him apd
his doom is sealed. And it is to the end
that we may reduce the number of help
less, do-less men and women that curse
the world to-day, that we should strive
to inculcate this lesson of self-depend
anoe in our children.—Burlington
Haw key e.
- — • ^ ■ —
The Slim Man’s Remarkable Shot.
A number of gentlemen were in the
depot waiting-room admiring a tine lot
of ducks a friend had shot upon the lake, i
and were somewhat surprised to hear j
him tell of killing three ducks with one
discharge of his gun. About this time
a slim, pointed-nosed man, who- had
been quietly listening, remarked:
“ That’s nothing very extraordi
nary.”
“Maybe that’s the. way you always
kill ducks,” sarcastically remarked the
hunter.
“ Wal, that depends on how I load
my gun,” replied the slim man.
“ Then it aoes make a difference how
you load, does it? 1 presume you use
about a peck of six ounce bullets,” re
marked the hunter, who began to feel
that the glory with which he had cov
ered himself had melted and was begin
ning to run off.
“ Wal, now, don’t you get rattled. I
don’t know as'I’ll give the scheme
away,” retorted the sum man.
“How many (lucks did you ever kill
in one shot?” asked an interested list
ener.
“Wal, stranger, I’ve killed and
strung over fifty of ’em,” answered the
slim man.
“ fifty ducks at one shot!” exclaimed
half a dozen.
“Yes, over fifty,” replied the slim
man, “an’ I don’t mind telling ye how
’twas done, if ye really want to know.”
••How on earth eonld you do such a
thing, /on must have been where the
docks wen- thick?’’ ventured a mcek
l«>oki'ig individual.
•• »Val. if ye'll give me a chance I'll
tel’ve. I took a tripup to Calumet
»c feral y car* ago and 1 never seen so
many duck* in all my life. I took an
<>1 i army mu*ket along ami one cart
tr dge.*'
••One cartridge!” exclaimed half a
dozen. You didn't mean to say yon
only took one cattridge and no other
am munition?'’
••Wal, I didn’t take anything else
but an old army musket, one cartridge
and a big spools of wire thread. That's
the sum total of what I always take.
You see, I--”
"What was the wire for?” inquired
the meek man.
"Wait till 1 linish. hang it, and ye’ll
know. Wal, when I got out on clear
water away from the rushes I saw about
a million ducks right ahead of me. 1
just took the end of the wire, fastened
it to the bullet in the cartridge an'
loaded niy gun an’ put the spool on the
bottom oi' the boat where I thought it
wouldn't become tangled up, atm th -n
I waited for a good chance. I hap
pened to blow my nose, which of cotir-u
made a noise, when every duck raised
his head to sec what was up. 1 drew a
bead on the eye of the duck nearest to
me and pulled the trigger before they
had a chance to get seared. Schwiz!
how that spool did spin while the wire
was unwinding. The ducks llew away,
frightened by the noise of the gun, but
l had just one hundred and fifty ducks,
all strung by their heads on that wire.
The builet had gone through their
heads, dragging the wire with it. and it
took every time excepting one; it took
the tail of that duck just as lie raised
from the water. The bullet would have
got more ducks only the spool got
caught before the wire was all unwound
and stopped it. I believe if 1 had had
another cartridge and another spool of
The slim man found himself talking
to the stove. The rest had fled, and
none but he remained.—I't ck's Hun.
The Egyptian Slave Trade.
Our Cairo correspondent mentions the
condemnation of a slave-dealer who had
offered a Soudan woman for sale in
Cairo to three years' hard labor.
Egyptians still in the vigor of life re
member when Nubians, Abyssiniatts,
negroes ami Circassians used to be
openly bought anil sold in the slave
market at Cairo. The convention of
August, 1877, put a stop to the worst
abuses of the traffic. But slaves, as we
have seen, are st’U sold in Cairo. In
spite of the convention, they arc still
imported from the hunting-grounds of
the Soudan. From some statements
which have been submitted to us on the
snb'ect it appears that there are consid
erably upward of two hundred slave
dealers in Cairo alone. Many of these
rascals are Syrians and Greeks. The
prices for negro girls and boys range
from £10 to £30 or £35 a head; Abys
sinians are worth more; a beatify may
even fetch as much as £150. Before the
year 1877 at least two thousand slavs
were imported yearly ii>to Cairo. Now
the number is much smaller. Ibibba
soda—“ebony grain" is the slang term
by which slaves are known in the trade.
Anybody, even a European, if lie or she
employ the services of an intermediary
in tlie confidence of the djeilab, may
buy, any day, liabha soda fresh from
the Soudan, and at the prices quoted
above. Though the greatest scoundrels
unwhipped, these intermediaries are in
teresting people to talk with. They can
talk learnedly about tlie chief slave
yielding tribes—the Shillooks, the Din
kars, the Noobas, the Bazigars, the
Makerdars—and give curious anecdotes
about slave characteristics.
Notwithstanding the convention ot
1877, the possession of slaves is legal in
Egypt. The domestic slave is the
Mohammedan equivalent of the Eu
ropean domestic servant. The sale of
persons who were in domestic slavery
before 1877 is also permitted, but only
“from family to family.” In Egypt
proper this right of sale will, however,
expire next August, and any head of a
household selling his bondsmen or
bondswoman after that date will bo
triable for ‘‘theft with murder.” In
the Soudan the same restricted right
of sale will last until Angus', 1889.
All other kinds of sale are punishable,
aliko in the Soudan anil Egypt proper,
as “theft with murder.’’ Mutilator
of children arc punishable as ‘'assas
sins.1' To the charge already named,
theft with murder, those persons also
subject themselves who deprive, or are
implicated in depriving, manumitted
Slaves of their letters of enfranchise
ment. These letters are at once given,
bv the Consuls, or the Provincial Gov
ernors, ov the directors of the four
slave Bureaux of Egypt, to any slave on
his mere application. This, at any rate,
seems to be the law now, though for
merly it was understood that a slave
could claim manumission only on
grounds of ill treatment. Lastly a de
tailed register must be kept of the past
and current history of every manumitted
slave. Being presumably unable to
take care of themselves when thrown
suddenly upon the world, freed slaves
must be cared for by and at the expense
of the Government; it is directed that
the women be put to service in “re
spectable families,11 or married to sol
diers in the army; that the men be
taught trades or employed in the mili
tary service, and the children be sent to
school. The instructions regarding the
supervision of and provision for manu
mitted slaves are precise and minute; it
may indeed be said that the slave law
of figypt is a model of humanity; that
in a ilohammedan country it is a mar
vel, goes without saving- The above
rules relate to the land trade. The
maritime laws, to which we need only
allude, are also precise and stringent.
Yet, as we have shown above, the trade
survives in spite of both sets of regula
tions. The truth is that the terrors of
Egyptian law exist chiefly on paper.—
Coir. London Nt to <.
—What there is in a name—Mr.
Thinne is the President of the Boston
Fat Men’s Club.—Boston Post.
—The wrong man in the writo place
— the inefficient clerk.
PERSONAL AND LITERARY.
—Mrs. Tom Thumb sms she will nev
er marry again. Jr. F. Herald.
--.Judge Albion W. Tonrgee’s latest
lecture is entitled “The Mission of the
Dude.”
The new revision of the Old Testa
ment will be published next spring.—
A'. }’. Examiner.
—It is remarked of Brick Pomeroy
that he is editing a silver mine and run
ning a newspaper.
—Martin I. Townsend has been a
stump speaker for fifty years, making
his first speech in Troy in 1831.— Tray
(Ar. ¥.) Times.
—John (l. Whittier was recently
compelled to decline to write a poem
for a special occasion, because lie can
not write even a letter without pain,
and dre ids to take up a pen.—Boston
_ Cost.
—Dr. Isaac Bartlett, of Hope, Me.,
who is seventy-three \cars of age and
still in good health and active practice,
has lived for years on bread and milk
alone, and says it is the best food for
2very one.—Rutland (17.) lleratd.
—It is said that the Youth's Compan
ion paid Tennyson $1,000 for a single
poem. There is considerable poetical
inspiration in a $l,u00 bill, but some of
the rest of us would take the job at half
that rate. — Chicago lnt r Ocean.
—George Bancroft, the venerable his
torian. is a man of fixed and steady hab
its. Tthough now past his eighty-third
vear, he still rises at six o’clock every
morning, works until two o’clock in
the afternoon, and then rides generally
horseback, the remainder of the day.
—The London limes accredits Amer
ica with a more genuine love for litera
ture than England possesses. “ The
Americans,” says this critic, "as a’Na
tion, are more active-minded than we,
though they fall short of us in solidity
and’stamina. They arc genuinely fond
of literature, and literary men arc, per
haps, more highly valued than here.
Nothing literary is really popular in
England, except fiction, gossip and ser
mons.”
—“The other morning,” says the
Clarksville (Mo.) Sentinel, “four boys
were sitting on a work-bench near the
depot, laughing and talking and banter
ing each other for a foot-race. A Routi
ne' reporter had the curiosity to ap
proach’ them and obtain their names
and ages which were as follows: An
drew Began, aged seventy-seven; John
Juctt, aged seventy-nine; S. A. Ed
wards. eighty-three; Henry Schooler,
eighty-four.”
HUMOROUS.
—There are teeming millions of peo
ple in Europe anrl there are teaming
thousands in the lumber regions of this
country.—Oil City Derrick.
- “I till the Hill,” said Willie when
he got into his mother's preserve j
closet. “And I foot the Bill,’’ re- ;
marked papa, overhearing his soliloquy, i
—Farmer Wttrzle (meeting the j
curate’s wife, who is a bee-keeper): j
“No, mum; I’ve no call to iind any j
fault wi’ your bee-keepin’; but I do |
wish as they ’oodn’t light on my clover. 1
I found one o’ my sheep stung in his j
mouth this mornin.” Curate’s wife j
(naively): “And pray, Mr. Wurzle,
where would you look for its tongue j
but in its mouth?”—N. 3'. Independent, j
— It isn’t always that the Shuttle
family has a particularly hearty sup
per. “I say, Mrs. S.,” said Job, the
other evening, “this is a somewhat light
and decidedly frugal repast.” “I know
it, Job; but you see I had nothing but
skim milk for the toast.” “Oh, I sec.
You toa-ted the skim and poured the
milk over it. The idea is worthy of j
preservation in the immortal pages of I
a cook book.”—Hartford Host.
—Prince Hohenlohe says: “We I
Americans cut down our forests too j,
fast.” Not a'l of us, dear Prince. You [
can just leave the undersigned out of
that indictment. If we had a farm to
clear out of the mighty forests, we are
trustful enough and patient enough to
wait around until the trees die of old
age: but as for going in with an axe
and trampling down the moss and ferns
with unnumbered chips and unlimited
perspiration, we do not volunteer.
We’ll take our chances on the draft.—
Burlington Hawks yc.
—Mrs. McVapid, of Austin, is con
sidered very obtuse by those intimately
acquainted with her. One morning she
called to her little boy, who was play
ing in the front yard: “Tommy, go
down to the grocery store and bring me
a pound of starch.” “I haven't got
lime to go down to the grocery and get
a pound of starch. It’s most school
time now.” “Is that so?” said Mrs,
McVapid, with a troubled look. Then,
brightening up, she added: “Well,
then, run down and get only half a
pound.” Tommy complied with the
compromise, was late to school, and the
teacher took the starch out of him with
a shingle.—Texas Siftings.
•-♦
A Miner’s “Close Shave.”
A miner in the hills near Socorro,
New Mexico, made a lucky strike in a
wonderful manner lately. Two weeks
ago, while tramping over the rocks, the
prospector suddenlv discovered that his
haversack was on tire, caught probably
from the condensation of the sun’s rays
by a prospector's glass which he carried
in his kit. Now that haversack con
tained about six pounds of blasting
powder, and our hero dropped the
bundle and got out of reach as fast as
his legs would carry him. The bundle
of traps fell into a crevice in the rocks
and the powder soon exploded The
prospector turned mournfully to gather
up such of his effects as were uninjured
by the explosion, when something in
the appearance of the shattered rock
struck his eye, and he examined it
closely—it w as horn silver. The now
‘ jubilant miner located a claim at once,
which he called the “close shawe,” and
in less than a week disposed of one
third interest at $13,000. The name of
the “honest son of tbepickand shovel”
is John Quincy Adams, and he hails
from Western Ohio. John is well
known in Socorro County, and receives
the congratulations of his friends in a
modest manner. John Adam’s “close
shave” la a by.word now in the mipi»g
camps.—La* Vegas Gazette.
Temperance.
HOU WOMEN SHOULD WORK FOR
TEMPERANCE.
At first thought we are appalled at
the multitude of avenues closed to us on
account of our sex. Hut, as the river
when its channel becomes obstructed
seeks for itself another course by which
it finds its way to the sea, so, earnest,
ambitious women have sought for them
selves by-ways wherein to sow the good
seed of Temperance which might per
haps have been overlooked if the broad
er channels had not been closed. All
will admit that woman is the true edu
cator of the human race. The first law
maker provided by nature for the child
is the mother. And for the first ten
years our power is absolute. Let us
then lay a broad and firm foundation
of strong Temperance principle cement
ed with a mother’s love and consecrated
with a mother’s prayers, on which our
sons shall build a character that will be
a power for good as they grow to man
hood and become the future law-makers
of our Nation. "First, get our children
right on this subject; let them grow up
with an utter aversion to strong drink."
Teach them to shun tobacco, liquor and
cards, .the three great evils from which
springs all manner of crime. Teach
them that rum is a fiend, and show them
the wreck and ruin it works. Lead
your little ones through the narrow,
dark alleys where broken-hearted moth
ers and children te-tify to the manner
by which the liquor seller makes his
monev.
. leach your daughters to despise the
gewgaws and rum-bought wealth. Im
press upon their minds that behind all
that are the shivering forms and flut
tering rags of numberless children who
are worse than orphans. Never ecaso to
take a text for a Temperance talk
around your firesides from every crime
or misdemeanor proceeding from the
sale or vise of strong drink which comes
under the notice of your children.
Training the boys aright is the sheet
anchor of the Temperance cause. It is
purifying the stream at the fountain.
Let not our young men grow up ac
customed to si e men of dissolute hab
its and impure lives honored as citizens
with public offices of great trust. Hold
out to them all warnings and all coun
sel lest they hr'big our gray hairs down
in sorrow to the grave.
And when we have done all this in
the domestic circle, is there no other
work waiting for our hands? Can we
not lie]p to rescue the perishing, es
pecially among t lie intemperate of our
own sex? Hearts that have become
hardened by strong drink and evil as
sociations have sometimes yielded to
the power of sympathy* and kindiy
words fitly spoken. Let no opportunity
pass unimproved to act the part of the
good Samaritan in their time of sick
ness and distress. It opens new feel
ings, develops a new nature, and brings
the wretched outcast into the family of
man. Show them by our acts that our |
earnest desire is to cfo them good. Do '
we not sometimes forget that our Di
vine Master not only healed hut actual
ly la d His hands upon those whom He ■
sought to save? Throw the broad man
tle of charity over their failings; we
know not to what temptations they may
have been exposed. Perhaps if we had
been surrounded by the same circum- j
stances, we, too, might have stumbled
and fallen. Remember that just in the
measure that we labor unselfishly for
tiiegoodof others' will we be blessed
and strengthened.
“ For I count this thought to be (mindly true.
That a noble deed is a step towar I God,
Fitting the soul from the common sol
To a purer air and a broader view.”
A man who has been an habitual
drunkard for years has been in my hus
band's employ under pledge that he
would keep sober, and, upon the
strength of his employment and good
resolutions, had bought a comfortable
home for his wife and children, the
conditions being if he should fail in
paying a certain small amount each
month through his own neglect the
home should revert to its former own
er. AA'ith all this incentive to sober
ness, once and again has this man fall
eu, aim auer gening sooer nils we pi nice
a eliilil and begged to be tried just
once more. Upon inquiry, I tind that j
this man had a drunken father and a '
drunken mother, and that his mother j
died while drunk. Wi en a child he ‘
was fed on the accursed stuff' with a 1
spoon from his father’s glass. Oh, how I
ought we who have been shielded all j
our lives from all such contamination, j
who have been hedged in with Temper
ance influences. to pity these poor souls
that are struggling through life, carry
ing burdens that we know nothing of.
IIow can we, the women of the W. C.
T. U.. win suob men from their cups,
and not only win them, but hold them I
in the right way? I believe I speak the
sentiment of every one of our noble
band when 1 say that we are ready an 1
eager to do anything within the sphere
of Christian women to save the drunk
ard to his family and the world. We
must not sit with folded hands lament
ing our inability to do great things in
this cause. If only one talent has been
given us, wa will not be accountable for
ten. •
Let us do with our might what our
hands find to do; always looking to the
never-failing source of wisdom and
strength. Prayer moves the arm that
moves the world. Let us then, in the
language of a great Temperance work
er: “Pray, as if all depended upou-God;
and work, as if all depended upon our
selves.” If we can not legislate, we
can agitate. We can educate, and we
must consecrate. We may have but
little to do but that,. but that little,
when faithfully done, may have an in
fluence for good. It will cheer the
hearts of other earnest Vforkers for the
right, and. in some degree, perhaps, dis
courage and weaken the power of the
enemy. Intemperance is the great
curse of our age. A crime beside which
the sin of slavery pales and sinks almost
out of sight. And when we remember
the National punishment that God vis
ited upon this people for the great Na
tional sin of slavery, have we not rea
son to fear that if this Nation doe^ not
rise up in its might and say this shall
not be, that again God will lay His
hand so heavily upon us that we will
make haste as of old to put this evil far
from us?
It is not » thankless task in whioh we
are engaged. As I was selling ticket*
for Mrs. Fixen’s lecture last week E
called upon the wife of a drunkard.
With tears in her eyes she said: ••Buy
a ticket? yes. 1 can not go.to the lecture,
ray husband would curse and boat me if
I did, but I am so thankful for what has
been accomplished in this town that I
i wish 1 had the money to buy ten.” Tell
the Temperance workers to not be dis
! conragea. Every drunkard's wife in
this community is praying for your suc
cess. We are few in numbers, but,
| •• From feeble things ill faith begun.
The victory at last u won:
Hod worketh ever by the few
Who dare the right and trust the true,
tf hut one wanderer we may win back
From the beaten, downward death-oound
track,
ran save but one soul from woe and pain.
One deathless spirit, for Heaven gain.
Shall we ever give up the glorious cause
Of Tern pc ranee, right, and Hod’s own laws.
Shad wo ever grow weary in doing the right.
And faint, and fail, and draw back from tha
fight?
•Vo, by Hod'S help we will never fail.
And out from the hedges and byways of sin
Hod s ransomed little ones will ga’ber in."
—Mrs. A. Ilarriman, in Vnion Signal.
Money Squandered for Whisky.
The Daily Report of San Francisco
takes exception to the testimony of Mr.
Medill before the Senate t'ommittee on
Education and Labor, and tries to show
that be makes the very common mis
take of looking at the question of wages
squandered for liquor and tobacco from
one point only. A grog shop organ re
joicing in the name of the Journal oj
Freedom and Rights approves the views
of the Daily Report, as might be ex
pected. It says:
“ He |Mr. Me'tftl] apparently considers that
all money expended by workingmen for
liquor and tobacco Is lost to them, whereas
that vast sum—say live hundred m I lions per
annum—did not leave the ranks of the work
ingmen to any (treat extent. It channel
hands It is true, and perhaps passed through
several intermediaries, as the saloon-keeper
and the distiller, but comparatively little
stuck to either of those gentleman; most of it
passed straight on until it reaehel the labor
ers who did the work and the farmers who
sold the corn or barley. * * • rconomieal
ly the money is not lost, it is merely trans
ferred toother hands.
A large portion of the money paid by the
laborers for their liquor grocs to other labor
ers who raise the hops and the grain from
which these Invigorating beverages are made,
add to the dt-tillers, brewers, coopers, drav
men and others connected more or less di
rectly with the brewing and distillery bu“i
ness."
The San Francisco journal, it will bo
seen, does not deny that about $500,
000,000 of the earnings of the wage
classes go for int ixicants, but contends
that it is not lost, “ it is merely trans
ferred to other hands’’—to the hands of
the 250,000 grog-venders of the country,
who are consumers of other products.
The money, it is admitted. •• passes
from the workingmen.” It is lost to
them, to their wives and families. But
this $500,000,000 is not all the loss.
While spending the aihount the wage
earners spend time, impair health, and
render themselves incapable of effective
and skillful work. Time is also lost in
getting over the effects of the liquid
poison. This waste of time and energy
and health is sheer loss, not only to the
workingmen, but to the community in
which they live. It is not too much to
sav that the impairment to health by
the intemperate use of intoxicants is
fully equivalent to what is spent in
money. So that while the apparent loss
to the workingmen is but $51)0,000,000,
the real loss is double that amount
$1,000,000,000!
As to the return of the money paid
over the bar to other laborers, to
farmers, brewers, etc. Not twenty-five
per cent, of it passes from the hands of
the grog-venders. It is a moderate es
timate to say that sixty-six per cent, of
the misspendings of the wage-workers
are absorbed by the li |Uor retailers.
There is no other business in which the
retailer’s profits are so great. These
persons who produce nothing are highly
organized absorbents. They are sponges
that yield nothing. They are drones in
the social hive who subsist on the honey
gathered by the working bees. They
live off others. They add not one penny
to the public wealth. The effect of their
business is to injure the wealth-pro
ducers and disable them. The grog
verniers dispense mac wnicn uamagcs
them mentally, and their customers
physically and morally. Their opera
tions result in adding burdens to the
community. If the liquor trallic should
be suspended in this country, the farm
ers might grow less barley, perhaps,
but they would grow more oats, and
raise more cattle, hogs and poultry, and
the workingmen would nave more
money to invest in meat and bread,
elothing and furniture, in building
houses, and in adding to their creature
and social comforts, and thus giving
profitable employment not only to the
farmer and the manufacturer, but to
one another. The brewer anti distiller
would invest their capital in productive
Business, which would give employment
where there would be no risk of work
ingmen becoming sots and then burdens
on the tax-payers. The amount of com
employed in the manufacture of whisky
is hardly worthy of consideration. It
is not one per cent, of a year’s orop.—
Chicago Tribune.
Temperance Items.
The King of Sweden announces
himself a friend of the temperance
movement now agitating his kingdom.
“Abstinence is easier,” a learned
medical authority (Dr. Felix Oswald)
says, “as well as safer than temper
ance.” This from such a source is of
weight. Perhaps we may all find,
after awhile, that total abstinence is
like perfect honesty, “the best polioy.”
—Chicago Standard.
A Lafayette lady—a model wife
and mother—broke her husband of the
saloon habit by walking up to the bar
beside him and calling for the beer.
She broke the awful silence, as they
walked home, with the remark: “I love
you, ray husband, and if you are going
to hell, I’m going right along with
you.”
“ It’s too late to save me,” said a
poor old drunkard, when urged to re
form. “It's too late to save me, but
oh! for God’s sake, save the boys.”
Yes, it was too late for him; he had!
fallen too low to even dream of forgive*
ness and peace. The demon of arinlc
held his soul in bondage, and he had
lost forever all hope and salvation^
With the conaciouaaees of bis own deg
radation, he pleads not for himself, baa
“ for God’s sake, save save the beys!”—*
Watchman.