The Brookhaven leader. [volume], December 20, 1883, Image 1

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

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jsra^mmUmumimm»imm. VOLUME I. BROOKHAVEN, MISSISSIPPI, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 20, 1883. NUMBER 44 . uni*** othurwiw ngreu'l upon.-Pjr
Tilt: CHRISTMAS TRAYER.
i.
The winter flay war. growing old:
Th« p\« ning’s breath came hard and cold:
«;r< ;,t !1im k* of clouds, with wings of gray,
she.i feat hi ry snow-flakes on their way;
And all the city streets among
\ )miipe of breezes danced and sung,
ltut though the frost was keen and bold,
\nd though the air was biting cold,
viioii^aud gayly stepping feet
v , ut up and down the lighted street;
thousand bands, with pressure tight,
y\ e grasping presents rich and bright:
\ thousand hearts wen* hasting home
»ji , ;lrt< that longed to see them coinc;
I .i iNondrouagJaidness tilled tin* air.
And Christmas-eve was everywhere.
P'.-. i t Christina *-cvc, serenely ghidl
X\ It. n all the love that Jesus had
>'..i little ones, a**, smiling. He,
Vitli bending head, in kindness said:
* Forbid them not to come to Me”;
When this sweet Jove, with little lack,
n s all at once reflected b:u k.
j\s the great sun, though long time set,
Ag.mst tla* clouds in splendor crowds.
And leaves a trace of glory yet!
>\ h- 11 all the Kind thoughts of the year
y.acli letves the dm wherein it lay.
And to ono Idess I tine* draws near!
There h no space that ran possess
N. many unites of happiness;
It da> 4 and nights could feel and see,
jlow happy f’hristinas-eve would be!
Hul ,t has not so sweet a sound
jit homes where ehildien an* not found;
And in one mansion r‘ch and grand
A wife and husband h ind in hand
V. ere sitting by the Hi e-light's glow.
And gazing on the streets lieiow.
And. with sul hearts unreconciled.
Were thinking of a long-lost child,
t.rief i an its heaviest hand employ
When all around Is heard the sound
Of silvery mirth and golden joy;
And hearts that mourn oft heavier weigh
M hen hearts that laugh arc over-gay.
P<> on tin* Christmas cheer without
This lonely couple ga/.ed about,
A\ hil< hungering once again to greet
T! • reek lens ru*k of childish feet.
1'iiMudiod eas»* was all abloom
About tin* richly furnished room:
M enal-t’.r *’s soft and languid glare
■Wrote ••Comfort*’ on the tempered air;
I nto the wads great pictures hung.
Am! it ensures everywhere wi re Hung;
lli di mirrors, free «•!' stain or Haw,
W* re telling over what they saw;
V> place ill • ple.-mod eye could explore
j{ • wealth had lingered there I e'ore.
And v* t. in many a humbler room,
A w.i in r comfort fought the gloom.
And Happiness more visits made,
Felt more at home, and longer stayed.
tr.
Out in the country, near n wood,
'111* little old blown sell ud-lioiiso stood.
And waited, whilst lie winter day
I oked darker l nun its eyes of gray,
l **r the rough door to open wide.
And no sy youngsters rush outside.
Awhile eanie sharply from within
The country school’s peculiar din;
'I hen w ith glad siunits the eluldren strone
Through the dim day their winding way
Along the white hard-beaten r aid.
To when* fann-hoti-c-’ choero l the sight.
And lain] s already glimmered bright.
" ith lime timed. uneonseious grace,
-'tel pleasure dancing on each face,
’I m . brought the pr •sent s all to mind
" inch they that eve were to receive
* h* in the early morning find.
*’ • »ld Santa t ’laus,” that famous King
«»f«*tiilijish lore, mr* handled o'er,
And all the treasures he in ght bring.
Hut look! with shouts and faces gay.
They passed a poor-house on their way,
\nd a sweet homeless-looking child
I rein out u window g.i/o l and smiled
I " see the of lie'* ehi dren glad :
Hut her poor wi. I t ill heart was sad.
Voe children w ho, with laughter gay.
And i y that gleams i en through your
dreams.
Have presents on each festal dav,
A nl. guarded by the ofFivts true
t d' lli >se who love tin 1 cherish y on,
■look forward to tlie w inter’s prime
As to a sweet and joyful time.
Till in your calendar enrolled,
K ieh (’hristmas-day i« marked w ith gold,
Hity poor children Who must gri'vo
H* cause no presents they re* cive!
ri hey look at yours with wistful eye.
They smile to \ Sew each token new.
Hut in their hearts they 1210.111 ami sigh.
That night our little fri n Hess one.
XVhen her poor evening meal was done,
Howe 1 low in grief her childish head
l’i»on tlie ragged poor-house bed.
And in a sweet a d pleading tone
She made a short prayer, all her ow n:
4* < > Jesus! You w ho loved so well
The little ones, ol w ho:u t h*y tell
That win .1 these came to You one day,
You wi u! I m t have them sent away:
You said to all th"«e who be ievo.
If they would ask they should receive.
t»Jesus! plena* for 1110 to find
Two good nice parents, swe *t and kind.
Ami ask them if they will not spread
f^uiie little presents by my bed,
'l h.it they my heart limy cheerful make
To-momiw morning when l wake.
And 1 l*e made as happy -o
A*< tiler children that J know."
bhc soi 1 “Ainen." with reverence deep,
t l* s (I her biuo eyes, an*i sunk asleep.
III.
^tlil s it the childless couple where
Tin- lights of lu xury were fair.
And still, with thoughts n 1 tempest-tossed,
Kach si'cnt mused, with sad heart bruised,
T'i‘on the chi! 1 tlia: they had lost.*
H it listen! with a Hidden clang.
Tiie loudly-speaking doo:-hell rang.
And a detective’s face they viewed,
With patient Urn s deep marked and shrewd;
And scarce the parent’s questioning eye
Was met before he made reply:
“ 1 come at last with tidings new.
Th * c.iild I've sought so long for you.
Ti e child you lost five years ago,
11 a- liv ed, and lives. Her place I know.
T!»** hey gar w i.o. with Latin’s aid,
h ole her to help his piteous trade,
■Died in a country poor-house, where
He left th * child, and she is there.
Mistake or doubt can not befall:
Her* are the piools: I have them all.
Mm is not very far away;
And you. if bold to l>ear the cold,
May see her ere another day.’*
“ * To bear the cold!’ What has she borne?
J he* shall not longer friendless mourn.
The 1 ors a—nuick!'* And soon, in spite
Dt eoid and sleet, the champing feet
Of swift steeds dashed into the night,
1 ntil they halted just before
The great poor-house's dingy door.
And soon the parents gol'lly crept
Into the gloom of one small room.
And watched their darling while she slept,
Ar-d. weeping, listened to the prayer
»\ uich she that night had offered there,
(ror the old matron overheard.
And told it to them, every word).
Her sleeping face appeared to them
A- some fair flower at evening’s hour
J;"" drooping on its weary stem;
Hut that sott prayer—In Heaven now—
H id left its touch upon her brow;
grief and comfort they could traeo
< i»on the well-remembered face.
The mother yearned th** child to press
Jn ah li r piteous loveHnesa,
Hm would not yet her slumber break.
And said . “ My dar ing shall not wake
i ntil her prayer we answered see
As well and nearly as may be.’*
And soon the sleek swift horses flew
Hack where proud presents, rich and new.
Hung In the lamu-qgat’s brilliant rays,
I h • envy of all children's gaze;
}• hu h, ere another hour had tied.
Hands softly bore, and placed before
-ihe little sleeper’s lowly bed.
Fhe woke at tart; and, wondering, throw
A swift glance keen upon the scene
That burst upon her startled view.
A vast amazement tilled her face:
1 he room was fjke a fairy place,
go toy she wished but it was there;
H: ight presents g’ittercd everywhere.
gilt her thought had learned to prize
Hut it was spread before her eyes:
presents made her young heart glow
» nose very names she uid not know.
Hut look! a man with step of pride.
And a sweet lady by his side
More beautiful and high of mien
A nun any she had ever seen,
t ame, and above her wept ami smiled,
And called her their poor long-lost child!
The Chrlatmas morn rose clear and bright;
And through the Hashing fields of light
A f und of angels sweet and fair,
n seeined to me, came far to s'*e
lUm answer to the Christmas prayer.
— WiU Carieton, i/t Harper*$ Voting People.
ONE CHRISTMAS MORN.
It was twenty years ago, and yet when
the thought springs to ray mind I feel
for a moment as if some one had stabbed
jne.
i 1 was guilty without crime. Doing
only as millions of others have done, 1
laid up a burden of guilt which has
humbled me a thousand times in the
presence of men.
It was Christmas eve, and the city
was in excitement. It seemed as if
every human being in the big city who
had money to buy with and a friend to
buy for was to contribute to the joy of
the morrow. I had money and a wife
and children. I was warmly clad and
in the best of health. The bitter cold
was nothing to me, and those at home
had every comfort.
1 halted with tlie crowd before a grand
show-window, and there, so near that 1
could have pulled her rags, was one
of my victims. She was a woman of
fifty, gaunt, pinched, ragged, and great
black eyes which had the look of some
hunted animal. I saw all this at a
glance and turned away. What was it
to me whether she wore silk or rags?
Why should I care whether she was ;
penniless or had plenty? Was it my
business to ask whether she had food
and fire—whether she was wife or
widow whether children waited for
her in some wretched room, or whether
she lived alone and had money hoarded
up.
^ on wouldn’t have asked. Not one
man in ten thousand would have eared.
What is one poor old woman more or
less to the crowds who surged up and i
down the busy streets of a busy city ?
I was going home with presents for
all with bright anticipations — with
gratitude in my heart that I had some
one to love, when that woman met me
face to face. Snowflakes were falling
on the old shawl covering her head, and
the face which hunger had pinched was
pinched again With the cold. Her
great, fear-haunted eyes looked square
ly into mine as she held out her I and.
She did not speak. That bare arm —
the skeleton lingers—the rags were j
enough.
Then I committ id a foul crime. I did j
not strike her, nor brush her aside, nor
curse her. I read her poverty anil her j
suffering in a single glance, and 1
turned away and passed on. She was '
a beggar. Perhaps she was a drunkard
as well. How did l know that she had
not been released from the work-house |
that very afternoon? If she was old and
poor and friendless her place was in the
poor-house.
1 looked back over my shoulder anil
there she stood, band outstretched tow
ards me as if she were praying to God
to soften my heart and bring me back;
and had faith that he would answer her
p raver.
Hut 1 Ui(f not halt: I felt a stab, but
I conquered it, and said to my accusing
conscience: “Be still! you might give
every dollar you possess to the. poor,
and you would receive no thanks! ’’
That night when all the little stock
ings had been tilled, and wife and I had
expressed our gratitude forthe blessings
of life and the good health which had
been ours for years, I slept to dream. I
dreamed of the gaunt woman who bad
asked for alms. 1 dreamed of a hovel
in which there was neither food nor
tire nor lamp. • I dreamed that I fol
lowed her home and heard moans and
sobs and prayers as I listened at the
door. I tried to open it but it
would not yield. 1 tried to cry out that !
1 had come to help her, but the words
would not come. I wanted to give her
money, and tell her that I had mis
judged her and would help to make it a
happy Christmas by sending food and
fuel, but while 1 struggled to speak a
form stole past me into the wretched
abode and whispered:
“ It is too late! ”
When the morning dawned I could
not rest. I hurried out and walked the
streets, scanning every face and figure,
and hoping against hope that I would
meet my victim. 1 could not liml her.
Then I left the streets and journeyed
through alleys where I had seen the
pale laces of the poor peering through
shattered panes. By and by I came to
a time-beaten, desolate-looking hovel
half buried under the snow. Frost cov
ered the panes and snow had drifted
over the doorstep. I looked for smoke
from the chimney, but none came forth.
I listened for sounds of human voices,
but I listened in vain.
Then I felt myself a criminal, and
trembled as if the-law had laid its hand
upon me. I would have run away, but
some strange power prevented and
urged me nearer. I knocked at the
door. No answer. I tapped on the
window. All was silent.
Then I opened the door and stepped
in. I had committed murder, and like
other murderers had been drawn back
to the scene by some strange fascina
tion. In a chair—the only one in the '
hovel—sat the woman who had held out
her hand to me. Her face was held in
her hands, and she seemed to have j
shriveled up. On the bed—on the rags
and straw -covered with rags and J
locked in each other’s arms, were the !
children—a girl of nine and a boy of
twelve. On the wall near by were two
stockings—faded and ragged and worn
but hung there for Santa Claus.
The stockings were empty. I touched
the woman and called: “Good-morn
ing!” hut she did not move.
I bent over the children and shouted:
“Mgrry Christmas!” but they d'.d not
awake.
They were dead! In mv dream I had
seen a specter pass me and enter. It
was the specter of death. Hunger and
cold and sickness and despair had in
vited him in.
And I—where is my defense? 1
could have given, and 1 did not. One
single coin would have given them
bread that night. The hundredth part
of the contents of my purse would have
lighted and warmed and fed them and
placed tokens of a mother's love in the
ragged stockings.
That was my crime. It accuses me
by day and comes to me in my dreams
by night. I give and give, but that
voice is ever whispering: “It is too
late!"
—Among the assisted immigrants
who reached Castle Garden recently
was a three-year-old gentl-'mau from
Ireland, named Slattery. None of his
kith or kin were with him. He will
'row up with the country.—-V. Y. Her
ild.
—
— The Cleveland Anti-Mormon League
has branches in Missouri, Indiana, Ore
gon and Colorado.—Cleveland leader.
■
The rnreiliug of Washington's Statue
in New York.
The following eloijnent extracts are
from (leorgc W. Curtis’ oration at the |
unveiling of the staine of (Jeorge Wash- '
ington on the recent hundredth anniver
sary of Evacuation Day in New York 1
City:
“The great series of Revolutionary
centennial celebrations end fitly upon
this day and upon this spot. The mo-,
mentous events that marked the opening, ,
the culmination, and the close of the
conflict have been duly commemorated,
and for eight years the lull-stretche I
memory of the country, a harp of a
lliou-and strings swept f>y patriotic emo
tion, lias resounded with the heroic mu
sic of the Revolutionary story. To-day
the Revolutionary story ends. At this
lnmr a hundred years ago the last Brit
ish sentry was withdrawn. The impe
rial standard of (ireat Britain fell at the
fort over which it had floated for l^tt
years, and in its place the Stars and
Stripes of American Independence
flashed in the sun. Fleet and army,
royal flag an I scarlet uniform, coronet
and ribljon, every si^n and symbol of
foreign authority, which from Concord
to Saratoga, ami from Saratoga to York
town, had sought to subdue the < ‘olonies.
vanished from those shores. Colonial 1
and provincial America had ended:
National America had begun: and after (
a lapse of a hundred years, the cradle
song of the hope and promise of our
National nativity is still the p.can of our
mature power and assured prosperity : |
glory to Cod in the highest, peace on
earth, good will to man!
“ The times that tried men’s souls in
this country were rather in 1780 than in
1770, for tin* colonial ability to win in
dependence involved neither the right
eousness of the cause nor the character
of the people. The revolution had
proved their valor, the new situation
tested their wisdom and without wis
dom the revolution itad been in vain.
By the common exertion, sa rifiee and
suffering, independence ha I been
achiev’d, the enemy had been expelled,
anil the younger England of the West
had humbled the crowned and unnatur
al mother England upon the sea-girt
throne. In this crucial moment, neg
lect or ignorance of the obvious and in
dispensable means of securing the com
mon safely, strength and welfare, the
apparent revelation of American inca
pacity to build a national American com
monwealth, might justly till every gen
erous and patriotic heart with dismay.
Yet if any American despaired during
the gloomy years from 178.i to 178‘.*, and
doubted whether the men weree |ual to
the task, so had John Adams doubted
and despaired on the very eye of the
assembly of the Continental Congress.
“We have not men tit for the times,"
lie exclaimed; “we are deficient in
genius, in education, in travel, in fort
une, in everything.” But scarcely had
he written the words than ho hastened
to take his part in that immortal as- I
senibly, and to do tin very thing that
he feared no man was strong enough to
do. Well did Jefferson call him the
Colossus, for upon his mighty and in
domitable will lie lifted the country to
the Declaration of Independence. Why
then doubt, since independence had ;
been achieved, that National I'nion was
possible? The leaders of the revolu
tion, the chiefs of the font nental Con
gress. still lived. Age had not dimmed
tlie’r eyes nor chilled their hearts, nor
withered their faculties. The work
they had begun, surely they were ready
to complete, and the men who had
made the English colonies American
States, were wise enough and strong
enough to bind the American Status j
into a Nation.
“Doubtless the American revolution j
was the work of the people: but it seems :
tin* work of a man. llow can we con
ceive its heroic prosecution, its trium
phant issue, without its leader? Had
he fallen at Trenton, had he been capt- '
tired by Cl'nton, bad intrigues of sel
fish ambition prevailed against him,
had he not nerved—he alone—the
hesitating army at Newburgh, who
dare doubt that the vision of the ’one
far-off Divine event’ that drew the
country through the war, would still
have been fulfilled ? But what Ameri
can does not know, and proudly own,
that the perpetual and inspiring assur
ance of that event, the cheer of the
weary march, the joy of the victory, the
confidence of Congress, the pride and
hope of America, was the character
of Washington ?
“Among the most imposing events in
history must always be accounted the
simple ceremony which was transacted
here. The human mind craves lofty
figures for a memorable scene, and
loves to decorate with fitting circum
stances the fulfillment of great affairs.
For this event all such conditions were
satisfied. The scene was set with every
ample preparation of historic signifi
cance and patriotic association, with
the most eminent actors, with the most
auspicious anticipations For the occa
sion itself America offered no place
more becoming, for no spot is more
conspicuously, more hogprably, or
more closely identified than this with
the history of American liberty. The
scene around us is marvelously changed,
indeed from its aspect in the
Colonial, the Provincial, the Rev
olutionary city. How transformed
this street from the resort of
fashion, the seat of the State Govern
ment, the modest residence of mer
chants, diplomatists and statesmen,
which was the Wall street of a century
ago! Then the social and political
heart of a small and struggling com
munity, it is now the financial nerve
center of a continent. But if the vast
competitions and contentions of capital
and enterprise which involve the pros
perity of States and nations have over
laid the plain scene of political strife
with a field of cloth of gold, yet still
the hallowed soil is here. The swarm- j
itig street is but a picture painted over. !
Beneath the ever-shifting characters of
speculation and of eager trade incess
antly traced upon this pavement of the
modern city lies the undimmed (and in
delible patriotic record of old New York.
“ Fellow-citizens, the solemn dedica- j
tion of Washington to this august and
triumphant task is the event wTiicb this
statue will commemorate to unborn
generations. Elsewhere, in bronze and
marble, and upon glowing canvas,
genius has delighted to invest with the
immortality of art the hest-beloved and I
most familiar of American figures. The
engineer of the Virginia wilderness, the
leader of the devolution, the President,
the man, are known to nil men; tliev
are everywhere behold and revered.
But here, at last, upon the scene of the
crowning event of his life and of his
country's life—here, in the throbbing
heart of the great city, where it will be
daily seen by countless thousands—hero,
in the presence of the President of the
United States, of the Governor of New
York, of the ollicial authorities of
other States, of the organized body
of New York merchants who. as in
other years, have led the city in so
many patriotic deeds upon this spot
lead now in this commemoration of the
greatest and, finally, of this vast anil
approving concourse of American citi
zens, we raise this calm and admonish
ing form. Its majestic rep >sc shall
charm and subdue the multitudinous
life that heaves and murmurs around it,
and as the moon draws th" swaying
tides of ocean its lofty serenity shall lift
the hurryingcrowd to unselfish thoughts,
to generous patriotism, to a nobler life.
Here descended upon our fathers the
benediction of the personal presence of
Washington. Here may tiie moral
grandeur of his character and his life
inspire our children's children forever!'’
At the close of Mr. < 'urtis' oration the
vast assemblage united in singing:
“Praise God from Whom All Blessings
Flow.”
Fashion Notes.
The old-fashioned pointed girdles are
again in vogue and ilie handsomest of
these are made of tinted satin for even
ing wear, and nearly covered with gay
colored embroideries of silk and che
nille, or with a richly colored and
heavy bead-work, made to resemble
gems.
Among the various kinds of beads,
large and small, which are used to em
bellish and add finish to the modern
toilet the large Homan pearls are just
now more fashionably worn for evening
decoration than beads of any other de
scription. The newest strings are ex
quisitely tinted in sheeny hues of gold,
silver, palest mauve and sea green.
Though supposed to emanate from the
Holy City, it is from France that the
best imitations are brought. There is a
marked difference in the quality of
representative gems, some being scarce
ly distinguishable from the real and
their price is proportionate. Both for
black and white evening dress, elabor
ate jet embroideries are still much
worn. The fronts of some of the newlv
imported toilets designed for receptions,
and made of satin, are a mass of heavy
appliques and fringes, the latter so rich
and massive as to cost twenty dollars a
yard. A full trimmed dress of this
style is as heavy as a set of convict
chains, and is tolerated only by the
slaves of fashion; as to carry about a
skirt and bodice, the trimmings of
which weigh many pounds, is a tax,
at.'d a severe one to both body and
m ml.
White velvet marguerites, with crys
tal. pearl, or silver bead centers, are
much used this season b >th for orna
menting opera bonnets and hats and for
dress and corsage garniture. These are
very often mingled with maiden-hair
ferns, and white heather, but all mem
bers of the daisy tribe, both great and
small, are in high favor.
Trains are arranged in three different
styles in three plaits from the center of
the shoulders; from the waist in softly
falling waterfall drapings or Bucking
ham puffs, caught down near tin* foot
of the train by tint plaits, or a la Bern
hardt with a watteau fold carried
straight from the train to the left shoul
der. and fastened by a diamond buckle
or spray of (lowers. Tins last arrange
ment will prove a failure unless fash
ioned by an.artistic hand.
There is a great variety in the shapes
and fabrics used for fichus and collars.
Very coquettish and stylish are the
floral trimmings made in rose buds vio
lets. pansies, torget-me-nots, and other
small blossoms and foliage arranged in
sets of necklet should r-bouquet, half
wreath for the hair, andiloral mouchoir
mull', which now come in fancy boxes
from Paris. These are laid upon liny
banks of sea-moss or ferns, and the
flowers, with their natural looking
stems, briars and thorns, look as if
ready to drop petal from petal, so true
to nature have they been shaped and
colored. In one set wras a collarette
made of elder-flower blossoms and
bifish roses with a deep fringe at the
edge male of lilies-of-the-vallcv. In
velvets and linens are new military col
lars, Vandykes, Abbe H slant and nun’s
collars and turnover cuffs, the last
named being for morning use, and made
of line linen or cambric, with hem
stitched borders.
hvening toilets for young girls are
this winter to be most invariably of
white, in corded silk, small-partened
brocaded satin, veiling and surah, to say
nothing of the gauAis and tulles, in
various patterns and combinations of
stripes and dots. These costumes are
not easily created when really effective,
as a toilet entirely of white requires as
much careful consideration as the most
daring mixture of colors, it being a
very easy matter to spoil the effect of a
really elegant dress by failing to keep
to one shade of white throughout the
entire dress and its accessories.
Silver and gold lace arc much used
for trimmings, especially with fancy
materials, such as Chambcry gauze,
India muslin or Brussels nets, which fab
rics are made plain with gold dots, sil
ver strips, or other fancy designs. For
these thin materials the front and sides
are arranged with narrow flounces of
lace or plaitings of the same. The back
drapery is full and flowing. The bodies
are always made of velvet, silk or sat
in, excepting for half-grown girls whose
slender figures are improved by a
guimpc of full muslin or a plaited and
shirred plastron or vest—N. Y. Post,
-<»»■
—In the New York Court of General
Sessions Judge Cowing was addressing
the jury on a larceny ease, when a
tnou-e crawled up his trousers’ leg and
caused the Court to rise from the bench
with more haste than dignity. The
tuouse then made a precipitate retreat,
and, after several court officials had
chased him, the little fellow was killed
by a daring reporter.—Jtft Y, Tribune,
PERSONAL AND LITERARY.
—Wendell Phillips always puts •
nickle into the organ-grinder’s hat.
— Patti has $300,000 worth of dia
monds. all of them given to her.—A".
j Y. Sun.
I —John McCarthy has lived for ninety
years in Muncy, Pa., where lie was
born.—Pittsburgh Post.
-Swinburne, the poet, will rend ids
poems in this country at “a dollar a
read.”—Clicngo Herald.
Henry Ward Reedier says that his
recent trip West and South has made
him feel t n years younger.—Brooklyn
Engle.
It is related by John B. Gouch,
the lecturer, that when a boy, alone,
friendless and penniless in New York,
he sold his knife to buy postal-stamps
and letter paper with which to write to
his parents.
Mi'S Rebecca Boone, who died re
cently in Norristown, Pa., aged eighty
eight, was a cousin of Abraham Lin
coln, and the daughter of a cous’n of
the famous Daniel Boone, of Ken
tucky.
—The first religious newspaper pub
lished in this country was called the
Religions Remembrancer, and the first
number was issued September 4, 1813,
by John W Scott, of Philadelphia, and
was Presbyterian in sentiment.
-—The wife of W. H. II. Murray has
returned from Europe with a diploma
from the Vienna Medical College both
as a physician and surgeon, being, her
friends say. the only woman in the coun
try with this certificate.—Boston Post.
—Mr. P. T. Harnum, the great show
man. lectured before the students of the
Bridgeport (Conn.) Business College re
cently, and declared that it was the last
lecture lie would over deliver, as be was
feeling the need of ipiiet in the declining
years of his life.—Hartford Pod.
—An enthusiastic cont mporary says
Mrs. Cornwallis West has a rich com
plexion. a tine suit of rippling brown
hair, Irish eyes, small stature and ad
mirable lie-lire. She dresses startlingly,
t ides dashingly, talks entertainingly,and
loves a practical joke. Gosh!—S. 1".
(graphic.
Cordelia Stoker, of Southern Utah,
attained her hundredth year a few days
ago. She belonged to the Methodist
Church until her ninety-fifth year, when
she embraced Monnonism. She greeted
fifty grandchildren on this occasion.
Siie has 1 -1 descendants in Utah.—Den
ver Tribune.
—Mr. M. E. Bell, the new Supervising
Architect of the United States Treasury
Department, was lorn in Chester Coun
ty, Pa., and now lives, with his wife
and five children, in modest style, in
Des Moines, la. He is a boyish-looking
man, of ipiiet manners, and is an active
member of the Methodist Episcopal
Church.—Chicago Journal.
HUMOROUS.
—An honorable vice—A Vice-Presi
dent.—A. ) . Commercial Adnrtiscr.
—The little ones are tlie most highly
gifted people at out Christmas time.
-— \\'ii:xt relation docs the door-step
bear to the door-mat? It's a step
father. Detroit lost.
- A Batavia (X. Y.) man dislocated
his jaw by yawning. The ladies in the
neighborhood were in, talking bonnet
to his wife, and the man got tiled.
—A Oorman dermatologist says that
baldness is catching. Yes, gentlemen
with bald pates complain that they catch
it from all quarters.—Boston Transcript.
—When is a door not a door? When
it is a jar. Oh. no; that answer belongs
to the tirst decade of the last century.
Nowadays a door is not a door when it
is a negress an egress.— 'The Judge.
—“Why is a ‘young' lady's age, aftei
she reaches twenty-tive, "like a floral
wedding bell?''asks an outsider. And
he says it is “because it is never tol'd;”
but that is a libel.—Sorri-town Herald.
— Somewhat to himself: “Can you
tell me,” asked a Cortland man of his
tailor, how you came to get this coat so
tight?” “Oh, ves, sir. The fact is,
you wore tight when I measured you.'1
—Marathon Independent.
—“Johnnie, did any one have the
croup in your house last night?’”
“Dunno! What made you ax me?”
“ Well, I saw a light in the house long
after midnight.” “Oh! that's my
sister! She has something down in the
parlor awful late every night, but I
don’t know whether it is the croup or
not.”—Yonker's < laze tie.
—An observer says: “ Always stand a
wet umbrella with the handle down;
one trial will convince you of the rapid
ity with which it will dra:n, and your
umbrella will last longer if dried quick
ly.” We tried that once—tried it in a
barber shop. We are fully convinced
of the rapidity with which it will drain,
and if the present possessor wrill kindly
advise us how it is lasting we will
speak at more length of the test—The
fudge.
—The other day a gentleman arriv
i ingin Paris at the Lyons Railway Sta
tion got into a cab and told the driver to
take him to the Rue Milton. After acer
tain time the cab arrived at the Hue
Lord Byron. “What is the number?”
asked the coachman. The gentleman
put his head out of the cab window and
said: “Why, this is ^iot the Rue
Milton!” “Ah!” said the coachman
after a slight pause, “that’s true; I’ve
made a mistake in the poets!”—Le
Clarion.
— How a Reporter Lost His Grip—A
Dull sickening Thud once Entered a
newspaper Office and Complained to
the Managing editor that he Had been
Badly Treated. “And how So?” in
quired the Editor. “In your account
of last Friday’s hanging,” explained
the Aggrieved Thud, “your Reporter
made no Reference to me. Although 1
was with the Doomed Felon when he
Fell.” “Your Complaint is a reason
able one,” Quoth the Editor, and he
Discharged the rcpoiter Forthwith.—
Chicago Neu s.
—Will'am Hughes affirmed as he
was dying in Philadelphia that he stole
a street car < ash box, for which Will
iam Willoughby had served four years
In prison. —ChttuUeivhia Cress,
Tcm iterance.
1Til EH. ttEHAHEI
O. let thnt rla** n o if*. father.
Or else. Ik*If re you d*uk.
Pause lor aninvlf m imfnt —
,lu*t pau«e aw hile and tJi.nk:
To tho*© who lordly Imoyoo.
To thf» r wno Ik a.- your name.
You an* bring! i.r pam an I sorrow.
And cursing them with sliajm-!
O, let that glass n’one, fa'hcr!
One moTiu nt Htajr your hand;
I on-ider, till it* eonteqt*
You ele.triy und r* an I;
Look at the liquid Pro,
And by It* luster learn
How deadly a id how c u«*l
It* fatal furies burn.
O, let t!mt phis* alone, father.
Turn for a little while.
\a ok on it* helple** victim*—
The mothe* ami herchil I;
The wile wlrnti you have promised
To chef sh ami to hu e.
And that pure lit! 1 * b hit
Fresh fr«»in the Hand aliove.
o. let thnf srln*» n'(*no. father!
Think not, us other* do.
Tha' tha* which ruin* in llionf
< i iitain* no harm for you:
Hut know tlmt h< w ho cabers
A s *rpcnt to his breast
Will leant the cruel nature
t>f his unholy guest
— .V Sarah C. Kiny, in Mont*or-Joun*i1.
DON'T BEGIN TIIE HABIT.
A 1*1:«I la Talk with Young Men.
A young man. who hail just lost an
excellent siluat'on by a two-days’
"spree,” came into my study lately and
said to nte: *‘ Doctor, I can not under
stand bow it is that 1 should have made
such a fon! of mystdf and thrown away
my chance for a living. This is almost
killing mv little wife.” I replied to
him: “There is no mystery about yonr
case. You have been tampering with
drink a long white, trying to jump half
way down Niagara. You might to have
stopped before you began. If would
not have cost you one hundredth part as
much effort to have signed a total ab
stinence pledge several years ago as it
will now to break loose from this terri
ble habit.” I entreated my friend to
grapple It's weakness to God's strength;
lie signed a pledge of entire abstinence,
and went away with the desparate look
of a man who is pulling for life in the
rapids, in full sight of the cataract.
That young mail is a fair representa
tive of a sadly numerous class who
“ lock the stable door after the horse 5s
stolen.” He may possibly he saved,
but so as by tire. Mv plain talk to-day
is with those who have not yet tiling
themselves into the rapids. I wish to
give half a dozen common-sense reasons
for letting every intoxicating drink
(whatever its name) entirely alone. He
who never touches a drop will assured
ly never become a drunkard. Preven
tion is easy, is safe, is sure: reforma
tion is ddlieult, and with some persons
is well-nigh impossible. The Jews were
commanded to build battlements around
the flat roofs of their dwellings in order
to prevent the children from falling
over into the street. To put up the
parapet cost but little; but the want of
it might cost broken bones; and alas!
what human power could recall a dead
darling to life? I am always thankful
that 1 took a pledge of entire abstinence
in early boyhood. But for that battle
ment 1 might have been ruined by the
drinking-usages which were deplorably
prevalent in my college. “Stick to the
teetotal ” said a shrewd old kinsman to
n:e when I started for college; and now
after forty years I wish to cornu end the
bridge that carried me safely over.
(1.) The first argument, my young
friend, for total abstinence is that
no healthy person nr th an alcoholic
beverage; and even invalids had
letter be careful how they
tamper with it as a medicine. Sir Hen
ry Thompson and several other di-tin
guished British physicians have delib
erately declared that “alcoholic bever
ages can not, in any sense, lie considered
necessary for the maintenance of healthy
life; that it is not a food in any true
sense of that term, and that the steadi
est and best work is best done without
it.“ Livingstone, the heroic explorer of
Central Africa, was both a ptnsician
and a teetotaler. His testimony was:
“I tind that 1 can stand every hardship
best by using water, and water only.”
1 entreat you not to fall into the delu
sion that you can do any honest work
the better by firing up your nerves with
alcohol. If you do you will have to in
crease the fuel constantly in order to
prodti e the effect. Solid food and sound
sleep are all you. ret pure: Even as a
tonic medicine wine and Bourbon may
cover up a great deal; they cure but
rcri/ litUe. Several friends 1 have known
to he decoyed by them into drunkenness
and disgrace.
( j.) inercin lies a second reason ior
avoiding all intoxicants. They are de
ceitful. Not only the sting of the ser
pent. but tlie subtlety of the serpent is
in them. The deception lies in the fact
that the habit of drinking will become
confirmed before you suspect it. That
young man who came into my study so
t rtured with the adder's bite, never
dreamed at the outset that he was play
ing with a rattlesnake. Every alcoholic
djir.k has in it this quality, that it never
satisfies, hut awakens a constant desire
for more. A small glass creates a
thirst for a larger; one draught only
whets the appetite for a second. This
is not the ease with any wholesome food
or beverage, l'.read and beef do not
breed excess; one glass of milk does not
arouse a morbid thirst for two the next
time. ISut this horse-leech quality in
alcoholic liquors, whidh cries “give,
give,” and is never satisfied, is the very
thing that makes them so dangerous.
This it is which makes it so ditlieult to
drink wine or brandy moderately and
so easy to fall into drunkenness. A
healthful beverage satisfies appetite; a
hurtful one, like wine or brandy, stim
ulates appetite until it liecomes an un
controllable frenzy. Th's I regard as
the Creator's law against alcohol; and
when you take your tirst social glass
you begin to play with a d adly ser
pent.
Yon may say: “Every one who
drinks liquors does not become a sot.”
Very true, but every sot driuks liquors;
and not one in a million ever expected
to become a sot when he began with his
chnmpagne or his ‘’sherry cobbler.’’
Will you run the risk? I would not.
The two reasons why I am a teetotaler
are that I dare not trust myself, and I
dare not tempt others by my example.
The most deplorable wrecks are those
of men or women who at the
outset considered themselves per
fertly strong find Invulnerable.
Nothing from the pen of Pick
ins can surpa-s a heartrending letter
which I received from a cultured gen
tleman (then in an alms-house) who de
clared that he traced all the misery of
his life directly to the “lir.-t glass he
ever drank at the N— House, in fbo
eapitol of Ohio.” With whatever
••odds'’ in your favor, will you run the
fearful hazard? Then stop before you
begin!
A third reason why alcoholic drinks
are dangerous is that it is the peculiar
propei ty of alcohol to strike directly to
the bruin. Some drugs have an affinity
for the heart: others tor the spine. The
glass of brandy aims for the brain, as a
i.outid makes for a hare. In striking
the brain it overturns the throne of the
reason and tin ns a man into a maniac.
Like the shot in a naval battle, which
hits “between wind and water,” the
alcoholic death-shot strikes where body
and mind meet, and sends both to the
bo! tom. No brain is proof against it.
The mightiest man intellectually
whom I ever saw in America I once saw
pitiably drunk! Alcohol is no respecter
of pets ns: the giant and the idiot are
struck down alike by its stiletto. You
might as well put the pistol to your
brain and make swift, sure work with
it as to poison your brain by the -lower
an 1 equally deadly process of the bottle.
Nine y-nino hundredths of all the sui
cides in the land began with a thought
lc-s glass. Stop, my friend, before you
begin!
All intoxicating drinks are more dan
gerous in this country than in almost
any other from the nervous tempera
ment of our people. Our climate is
stimulating, and American life, in al
most every dircct'on, runs at a high
ra'c of speed. Youth is commonly
stronger at the engine than it is at the
brakes. This is pre-eminently true of
our young men. One unanswerable
proof of the difficulty of stopping the
drink-habit is found in the fact that so
very few are actually reformed. Not
one-tenth of those who enslave them
selves to the bottle ever break loose,
even though they cry out in their sober
moment-: “Would to God that I might
never taste another drop!” There was
a touching pathos in the speech of one
of our “boys in blue” to the Police
Magistrate after he was arrested for
drunkenness. He held up a wh'sky
llask and said: “Your Honor, the only
enemy that ever eon , no red me is that
Yet he admitted that enemy himself
and could not dislodge it.
I nrght multiply arguments in favor
of total abstinence as the only certain
safeguard. The gr:v e of God is pow
erless if you voluntarily yield to temp
tation. It is a defiance to the Almighty
for you to leap into the rapids and e.x
peci Hun to save you from the cataract.
No small part of my own life has been
spent in bootless efforts to save those
who were in the swift and treacherous
current: The remainder of it shall he
spent in endeavoring to prevent young
men from embarking on the stream
which is all nuisTo and mirth at the
starting-point, and all damnation at the
bottom. Tons of arguments and ap
peals have been printed on this vital
ipiestion. “How to save young men
from strong drink?” but they may all
be condensed into one liue—St p before
you bcqin!— Theodore L. CuyUr, I). !>..
in X. Jr. Independent.
Temperance Items.
Ltar Mouehovsk, ten years ago one
of the prettiest, most accomplished and
most popular young ladies of South
Norwalk, Conn., went to ruinfrom alove
she gained for intoxicating liquor, and
died a few nights ago at a cheap hotel
at New Haven from her debauches.
Tiie saloomst insists on making
drunkards by law, and then tells us that
we “ can’t make men temperate by
law.” We are going to continue this
war on rum till ail are convinced that it
is as practicable to close a drunkery by
law as to open it. And when we stop
the cause, the effects will cease.—Ohio
<'Jood Templar.
The prohibition question has been
brought promptly to the front by the
Ohio election, and it will not easily be
shoved again into the background. The
moral sentiment of the country inclines
strongly to prohibition, while the min
istry as a body is the stay and buttress
of the movement in every considerable
campaign made on that issue.—Philo
delphin Press.
1 iie bcuntific American narrates the
following incident, upon which com
ment is unnecessary. It carries its own
moral: “In one of our New England
cities a few days ago three wretched
tramps were brought before the Police
Court as vagrants, having been found
in an intoxicated condition in a barn
where they had slept the previous night.
On examination it was found that each
one had been a former resident of the
city and was well known. One of them
had been only a few years ago the su
perintendent of the foundry department
of an extensive and widely-known man
ufacturing establishment, receiving a
salary of #2,500, and having a plea-ant
home occupied by wife and children,
and being a man once esteemed and re
spected by all who knew hint. The two
others had been workmen under him.
whom he had discharged for neglect of
their work for drink, and he himself
was finally dismissed for the same
fault."
A large NfMBER of citizens desire,
and many are determined to restrict the
management and sale of intoxicants.
Tens of thousands of intelligent women
have reached a settled conclusion to re
duce the tratlic and its results to the
most narrow limits possible. The army
1 of such opponents of a mi>st injurious
business is steadily and rapidly increas
ing. The conviction is becoming more
general among men of every shade of
1 religious belief and political opinion
that the most prolific source of poverty.
I idiocy and insanity ought to ta; under
the utmost restraint; that the needless
and unjust imposition upon the whole
community of the cost of the pauper
ism, crime and mental disorder pro
duced by Indulgence in intoxicating
drinks ought to be aud must be reduced
to the smallest possible amount. The
greatly-increased attention given to the
cause of Temperance and to legislation
in its favor in Great Britain has added
to the uumbers and strengthened the
resolution of the Temperance host in the
I United States.—Christian Intelligencer.