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The Banner-Democrat. (Lake Providence, East Carroll Parish, La.) 1892-current, July 14, 1894, Image 1

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Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn88064237/1894-07-14/ed-1/seq-1/

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VObMe nIAKPOVDN eESrIe=t0(t14J18
I _n lnuu nun_ un _ _ummm nnn • un u • nl I nIml
[(opyrrigrt, 18% by the Author.1
many people
have stood o0
WV ater l o
bridge, looking
down apo:n he
river, and feel
ing themselves
irresistibly at
tracted by the
S. weird fasoia-.
tion of its cruel
- waters! Batone
cannot wonder
at the eerie in
fluence it eax
erts upon the miserable. One moment's
eve--one plunge-one splash-a aborl
struggle-and the stres sad angu'sh
,of life are left behind!
And the Hereafter, wihat of it? It le
'tral an imnscrutable paszle But the
audden recollection that an account of
earthly doings may be required of u
in another world has nerved many a
desperate victim of misery to further
endqitace, and cheated Father Thames
pl rauch of his prey.
1 It was diftereen with Lucy Mark.
Uam. She wa tso esperate, so despair
dug, and sa wildly reckless. that noth.
lnt but the forcibly det-:ning arms
') I flung Rround her would have
awented her from jumping into the
!deer, and putting an end to a young
life that ha4 only seen seventeen sum
r. "Let me go!" she shrieked. "How
Sdame you hinder me? Can I not do as I
like with myself?"
"No." I panted, as I vainly strove to
avoid the blows with which the fran
tic girl sought to release herself from
sfr rUivsp. "1 will not let you go until
P rotalso that you will not put an
to your life."
I "Letmae go{" she repeated. "I will
do as 9lrkel All the world has forsaken
me, api I owe It no duty now. You
ca*S h.d me much longer, and you
.l' Iu how soon I will end it all."
"Never! If I don't get your promise, I
Still scream for help, and then you will
'be loked up until your senses come
backi you."
ty determasatlon had its efet. She
dedsed to straggle, and looked solemnly
, tune wih big, lovely ey*, to which
isL plallght of the moon seemed to
` gie pa unesney glitter.
S**'Wbo are you?" she asked. "that you
abmld so colcrn yourself about the
of a stranger?"
"1 am a friend of humanity, I hope."
"Humanityl My Godl How much hu
mnanity has my short life met with?
4 An4 what sort of a specimen of human
`s i' do you suppose me to be?"
"Unfortunate; thats is evident. Not
naturally depraved, I am sure. The
Svictim of some scoundrel, I imagine. A
iltting subject for help and counsel
That is certain."
"Help and counsel! Oh, how I have
prayed for them! and now it is too lat!'
But I saw that I had conquered. The
'Mrceness of the girl's frenzy had
passed, and the crisis in her fate was
ovea Poor child! how my heart bled
for her! It is sad to witness despair at
any time. But saddt of all is it to
Stecognise the insattate ghoul on the
Saea of those to whom life should just
be opening wide its portals of joy.
"Perhaps I can afford you help and
ounsel," I said, soothingly. "People
wo Ild never find themselves Itterly
forsaken, if they only knew to whom
to apply in their need. Tell me about
yourself it will relieve you. What is
year name, and where do you live?"
"My name," was-the bitter answer,
"'has been disgraced, and I will not add
to my folly by involving my family in
- isy disgrace. As for my home, i) is
truly a magnificent one. The air, the
sky, the water and the roaring noises
of civilization are all mine to enjoy ad
libitum. Why, I am quite rich!"
As the stranger made the last ra
mark, she lost her self restraint, and
Sobbed with hys~a violeace. I felt
may niola ared at this outburst for
asltsw that though It would ptrobably
) the girl fahtat and exhabsted, it
weld s leae her is a oe e Centle
.s*,*e of and.
j4r t4 ved coret. had I
pressagy I.a . It wed
,t4 o f 4res sad della
see~d i aia ,l ~ td i old.oo told u]q
MarIs'sn t4hdb * well eduated aad
i r but was withoutl
be4 Iw haster had died <
W When her employer began to pay er
.1..'e attentions she felt lf ttered.
When he requested her to observe the
strictest secrecy regarding hit stealth
Ily-bestowed attention she believed
his representation that her fellow ebts
1loyes would be spitefully jealous it
they suspected which way the Wind
was blowing. When he took her to a
pretty house she never doubted his ha
sertion that marriage wodld ~ iim
tmediately upo1 her trea lW
thither had itit was with a feeling of
taptpthbs pride that she obeyed his in
junctions to the letter and allowed her
self to be introduced to the servant as
, "Mrs Maynard," "just for the look of
the thing," as Mr. Collinson said.
Asked what the servant would think
of her being called "Mrs. Collinson"
soon, the specious schemer replied that
the servant really knew all particulars,
and that it was the neighbors for w
boneftt the little temporary d
was intended.
But it soon treaspired that Ley her
self was the object of deception. The
self-styled Mr. Maynard had ever some
excuse ready for putingR of the mar
rlage until his victim fret herself hope
lessly compromised. The servant was
his willing tool, and when he got tired
of his toys he had no difficulty in get
ting the servant to help him further
in his rascally work. The latter con
trived to tell Lucy that all the neigh
bors already looked down upon her,
and that she, being kept by a man to
whom she was not married, was con
sidered beyond the pale of respectabil
Ity. Innooent the girl was. But who
would believe her protestations to that
efeett In the bee of he* apparent
guilt no one would do it.
"It's no use crying o v 1It milk,"
said the servant "The mash will be
kind and generous to yon as long as he
likes you. But you will hal to give
up such a notion as marrying so rich a
man as he is. Take my advise, and get
all you ean out of him while you have
th chanceo He'll soon fall in love
wl somebody ele."
ucy's heartbroken theat to expose
her betrayer only provoked the de
rision of the servant
"You would very Mkely gefilocked
up for attempted bllaskmaling," she
said. "He h been too careful for
such a greenho.e as you to circumvent
him. Be his never been here to see
either you or the house except after
dark, and noJpdy would beleve you if
you said Mr. -Maynard was Mr. Collin
son. He is supposed to have nearly
broken his heart when ils pld died
and if ever anybody was looked upon
bythe world as a pattern of virtueit is
the man whom you,, a bit of a shop
girl, expected to marry yoe. You
would only get yourself lIaghed at and
despised. So tae y advice, d don't
be fool enough to y'la the face of for
tune yet."
Even after these revelations, the
poor child could hardly bellhve in the
utter beseness of her betrayer. But
in her next interview with him she was
soon convinced of the fact thatt he
man whom she, in common with the
rest of the world, reghtded as a pattern
of virtue, was, in reality, a monster of
deceit and vice.
That night she escaped from her
pretty home, and from then until I
saved her from self destruction she had
undergone all manner of rebufs, dis
appointmente and privations, which
were enough to drive any other modest
girl to the refuge of the wretchesd.
I found a temporary home for Lucy
and promised to put an end to her
troubles in some way or other. Nor did
I doubt my ability to do thist Lucy
believed an appeal or a threat of expos
ure to be dqually vain weapons to use
against Mr. Collinson, bat I' was more
worldly wise and mo saure of sucess.
I saw that as yet the girl was not fit to
cope with the world, sad I determined
to make the "Patters of Virtue" pro
vide for her comfort. In this determi
nation Laucy's own uileless ad asple
nature aided me- Tbough tenala=U of
her honor she did not recll fro the
idea of compelling Mr. Coiina to pay
for his demeption, uas miny a of
more vigord5'hdnd whose lslr had
been atraged weria t have b 1
I eoaIes to feeling more than al hb
ly malleious when 1 went to tn w
the greas drape and eloier,wlho
oumd thath had a much~ toee
riened woman than slmple little
to deal with. His diamay when I et
ly laid the whole ueay of atets
him- and ~poved thi strength y
position, s comieal to witess At
ustare triea to frlhtem me atale
b. l re#Tmli es e a patern of
Bat Ihe4lvS earde up ml
eadeas Ip ud them, e 1ly be
realised tf K were to mOks a
enaseaer of ialy ems-half tbi
faC5Chad teams att with the yE
*4 wid wermi kivewWim
ibar of psee wd6* take thuir
~j~~ ~b~~''i
- -to.~i·
~mf* the the
hev. Dr. Tamage Ta~ to a tlt
tie >o k Oongregation.
TI he Joy o i esltA ii ~amlly ~pon Earth
TpleM l b the Bestacy of Family
LBeunions in the Home Be
yond the Grave.
I The following sermon was delivered
by Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage at Little
Rock, Ark., on the subject of "Reeov
i ered Families." The text wiast
I 1hen David add the paople tiat Worm with
him lifted 14t their Iitee And Wept, until
they haid 110 Mnore tpower to weep. "
btLvid recovered all.-I. Samuel xxx., 4. 19.
" There is intense excitement in the
village of Ziklag. David and his meih
are. bidding good-by to their families,
and are off for the wars. In that little
-illage oL Ziklag the defenseless ones
ill be safe until the warriors, flushed
with victory, come home. But will the
defenseless ones be safe? The soft
arms of children are around the necks
of the bronzed warriors until they
shake themselves free and start, and
handkerchiefs and flags are waved and
kisses thrown until the armed men van
ish beyond the hills. David and
his men soon get through with
their campaign and start homeward.
Every night on their way
'home, no sooner does the soldier put
his head on the knapsack than in his
dreams he hears the welcome of the
wife and the shout of the child. Oh,
what long stories they will have to tell
their families, of how they dodged the
battle ax! and then will roll up their
sleeve and show the half-healed wound.
with glad, quick step, they morch on,
David and his men, for they are march
ing home. Now they come up
to the last hill which overlooks
Ziklag, and they expect in a
moment to see the dwell
ing places of their loved ones. They
look, and as they look their cheek
turns pale, and their lip quivers, and
their hand involuntarily comes down
on the hilt of the sword. "Where is
Ziklag? Where are our homes?" they
cry. Alas! the curling smoke above
the ruin tell the tragedy. The Amale
kites have come down and consumed
I the village, and carried the mothers
and the wives and the children of David
Iand his men into captivity. The
I swarthy warriors stand for a few mo
ments transfixed with horror. Then
their eyes glance to each other, and
they burst into-uncontrollable sweeping;
for when a strong warrior weeps the
grief is appalling. It seems as if the
emotion might tear him to pieces. They
"wept until they had no more power
to weep." But soon their . sorrow
turns into rage. and David, swinging
his sword high in air, cries: "Pursue,
for thou shalt overtake them, and with
out fail recover all." Now the march
becomes a "double-quick." Two hun
Sdred of David's men stop by the brook
Besor, faint with fatigue and grief.
They can not go a step farther. They
are left alone. But the other four hun
dred men under David, with a sort of
panther step, march on in sorrow and
in rage. They find by the side of the
road a half-dead Egyptian, and they
resuscitate him and compel him
to tell the -whole story.. He says:
"Yonder, they went, the captors
and the captives," pointing in the
direction. Forward, ye four hundred
brave men of fire! Very soon David
and his enraged company come upon
the Amalekitish host. Yonder they
ace their own wives and children and
mothers, and under Amalekitish guard.
Here are officers of the Amalekitish
army holding a banquet. The cups
are full, the music is roused, the dance
begins. The Amalekitish host cheer
and cheer and cheer over their victory.
But, without note of bugle or warning
of trumpet, David and his four hun
dred men burst upon the scene. David
and his men look up, and one
glance at their loved ones ip captivity
and under Amalekitish guard throws
them into a very fury of determination;
for you know how men will fight when
they fight for their wives and children.
Ah! there are lightnings in their eye,
and every finger is a spear, and their
voice is like the shout of the whirl
wind! Amidst the upset tankards and
the costly viands crushed underfoot,
the wounded Amalekites lie (their blood
mingling with their wine), shrieking
for mercy. No sooner do David and
his men win the victory than
they throw their swords down
into the dust---what do they want
with swords now?-and the broken
families come together amidst a great
shout of joy that makes the parting
scene in Ziklag seem very insipid in the
comparison. The rough old warrior
has to use some persuasion before he
canget his child to come to him now
after so long an absence; but soon the
little deger traces the familiar wrinkle
earma the scarred face. And then the
empty taunkards are set up, and they
asre fllled with the bestwine from the
hills, and David and his men, the hus
beads, the wives, the brothers, the sis
telr, drink to the overthrow of the
Amsleldtes and to the re-building of
Ziklag. So, O Lord, let thine enemies
Now they are coming home, David
and his men and their farmilies- long
dam ]Men, women and children,
Jewels and robes and with
all ads of trophies that the Amale
kites had gathered up in years of con
jmst--erything now in the hands of
Di and his men. When they come
by the broek Desor, the place where
stayed the men siek sad idoespent to
teevel, the jewels and the robes and
.a kLads of treasures are divided
aeso the sick as well as
au the weL Smrely, the lame
se masted ought to have acme of
tri~Uir a is a robe for a
a headfa
amy cZ_
" Fl, l i ....
iN that goeth down to the battle, so
shall his part be that tarrieth by the
This subject is pirtctieally sUiestit"
to me. Thaiil God. ri these times a
Tiha afii go o1f on a journey, and be
gone weeks and months, and come
back and see his house untouched of
incendiary, and have his family on the
step to greet him if by telegram he has
fortold the moment of his coming. But
there are Amalekitish disasters, there
are Amalekitish diseases, that some
times come down upon one's home,
making as devastating work as the
day when Zikiag took fire. There
are families you represent broken
up. No battering ram smiote in
the door. no iconoclast tuminbled
the statutis, the flame leaped amidst
the curtains; but so far all the joy and
merriment that once belonged to that
house are concerned, the home has de
parted. Armed diseases came down
upon the quietness of the scene--scar
let fevers, or pleurMes, or consump
tions, or undefined disorders came and
seized upon some members of that
family, and carried them away. Ziklag
in ashes! And you go about, come
times weeping and sometimes enraged,
wanting to get back your loved ones as
much as David and his men wanted to
reconstruct their despoiled households.
Ziklag in ashes! Some of you went off
from home. You counted the days of
your absence. Every day seemed as long
as a week. Oh, how glad you were when
the time came for you to go aboard the
steamboat or rail car and start for
home! You arrived. You went up the
street where your dwdlling was, and in
the night you put your hand on the
door-bell, and, behold! it was wrapped
with the signal of bereavement, and
you find that Amalekitish Death,which
has devastated a thousadd other house
holds, had blasted yours. You go
about weeping amidst the desolation
of your once happy home, thinking of
the bright eyes closed, and the noble
hearts stopped, and the gentle hands
folded, and you weep until you have no
more power to weep. Ziklag in ashes!
Why these long shadows of bereave
ment acroes this audience? Why is it
that in almost every assemblage black
is the predominant color of the apparel?
Is it because you do not like saffron or
brown or violet? Oh no! You say,
"This world is not so bright to us as
once it was;" aJd there is a story of
silent voices, and of still feet, and of
loved ones gone, and when you look
over the 'hills, expecting only beauty
and loveliness, you find only devasta
tion and woe. Ziklag in ashes!
One day, in Ulster county, N. Y., the
village church was decorated until the
fragrance of the flowers was almost be
wildering. The maidens of the village
had emptied the place of flowers upon
one marriage altar. One of their own
number was affianced to a minister of
Christ, who had come to take her to his
own home. With hands joined, amidst
a congratulatory audience, the vows
were taken. In three days from that
time one of those who stood at the
altar exchanged earth for Heaven. The
wedding march broke down into the
funeral dirge. There were not enough
flowers now for the coffin-lid, because
they had all been taken for the bridal
hour. The dead minister of Christ is
brought to another village.
He had gone out from them less than
a week before in his strength; now he
comes home lifeless. The whole church
bewailed him. The solemn proces
sion moved around to look upon
the still face that once had beamed
the messages of salvation. Little
children were lifted up to look at him.
And some of those whom he had com
fronted in days of sorrow, when they
passed that silent form, made the place
dreadful with their weeping. Another
village emptied of its flowers-some of
them put in the shape of a cross to sym
bolize his hope, others put in the shape
of a crown to symbolize his .triump. A
hundred lights blown out in one strong
gust from the open door of a sepulcher.
Ziklag in ashes.
I preach this sermon to-day, because
I want to rally you, as David rallied his
men, for the recovery of the loved and
the lost. I want not only to win
Heaven, but I want all this congrega
tion to go along with me. I feel that
somehow I have a responsibility in
your arriving .at that great city. Do
you really want to join the companion
ship of your loved ones who have gone?
Are you as anxious to join them as
David and his men were to join their
families? Then I am here, in the name
of God, to say that you may, and to tell
you how.
I remark, in the first place, if you
want to join your loved ones in glory,
you must travel the same way they
went. No sooner had the half-dead
Egyptian been resuscitated than he
pointed the way the captors and the
captives had gone, and David and his
men followed after. So our Christian
friends have gone into another country,
and if we want to reach their compan
ionship we must take the same road.
They repented; we must repent. They
prayed; we must pray. They trusted
in Christ; we must trust in Christ
They lived a religious life; we
must live a religious life. They were
in some things like ourselves. I know,
now that they are gone, there is a
halo around their names; but they had
their faull They said and did things
they ought never to have said or done.
They were sometimes rebellious, some
times east down. They were far from
being perfect. So I suppose that when
we are gone, some things in us that are
now duly tolerable may be almost re
splendent. But as they were like us in
deficiencies, we ought to be like them
in taking a supernal Christ to make up
for the deflcits. HBa it not been for
Jemsus, they would have all perished;
but Christ confronted them, and said,
'"Iam the way," and they took it.
I have also to my toyou thatthe path
tbat these eaptives trod was a troahled
path, ad that David and his men had
to go over the amme didfelt way.
While these captives were being taken
oft, they said: "Oh! we ame so tired; we
me so alek; we ae ao hugry!" Bet
the men who had charge of them sat~:
~'stop this crying. Co on! " Davdm
na& bi men alo fad st a lmany.
Th t dtotriel*k Ouwdleidh4t lavt
much tribulation that we are to
3eitet into the Kingdom, Hlow our
lobtd ones used to hirv to strugglel
how thdir old hearts aiched! how, some.
I times, they had a tussle for bread! Iii
our childhood we wondered w4 there
were so many wrinkles on their faces.
We did not know that what were called
"crow's-feet" on their faces were the F
marks of the black raven of trouble.
Did you ever hear the old people, t
seated by the evening stand, talk
over their early trials, their hard
ships, the accidents, the burials, the
disappointments, the bmpty flour
barrel when there were so many hun
Sgry ones to feed, the sickness almost
~ nto death. where the next dose of
I morphine decided between ghastly be
reavement and an unbroken home ir- t
cle? Oh, yes! it was trouble that whit
ened their hair. It was trouble that ,
shook the cup in their hands. It was b
trouble that washed the luster lyom their
eyes with the rain of tears until they d
need spectacles. It was trouble d
that made the cane a necessity for t
I their journey. Do you ever remember
seeing your old mother sitting on some t
rainy day, looking out of the window, s,
her elbow on the window sill, her hand t
to her brow-looking out, not seeing a
the falling shower at all (you well ,
knAv she was looking into the distant L
past), until the apron came up to her a
eyes, because the memory was too much
for her? i
Oft the big, unbidden tear,
Stealing down the furrowed cheek,
Told in eloquence sincere, 0
Tales of woe they could not speak.
But this scene of weeping o'er.
Past this scene of toil and pain,
They shall feel distress no more,
Never, never weep again.
"Who are these under the altar?" the C
question was asked; and the respone
came: "These are they which came ii
out of great tribulation, and have 0
washed their robes, and made them t
white in the blood of the Lamb." Our
friends went by a path of tears into e
glory. Be not surprised if we have to
travel the same pathway. t
I remark, again, if we want to win P
the society of our friends in Heaven we I
will not only have to travel a path of
faith and a path of tribulation, but we
will also have to positively battle for a
their companionship. David and his e
men never wanted sharp swords and a
invulnerable shields and thick breast- j
plates so much as they wanted them on
the day when they came down upon the r
Amalekites. If they had lost that c
battle they never would have got their a
families back. I suppose that one r
glance at their loved ones in '
captivity hurled them into the battle t
with tenfold courage and energy. F
They said: "We must win it. Every- o
thing depends upon it. Let each one C
take a man on point of spear or sword. I
We must win it." And I have to tell
you that between us and coming into E
the companionship of our loved ones
who are departed there is an Austerlitz,
there is a Gettysburg, there is a Water
loo. War with the world, war with the
flesh, war with the devil. We have
either to eonquer our troubles or our
troubles will conquer us. David will
either slay the Amalekites or the
Amalekites will slay David. And
yet is not the fort to be taken worth
all the pain, all the peril, all the be
siegement? Look! Who are they on
the bright hills of Heaven yonder?
There they are, those who sat at your
own table, the chair now vacant.
There they are, those whom you
rocked in infancy in the cradle or
j hushed to sleep in your arms. There
they are, their brow more radiant than
ever before you saw it, their lips wait
ing for the kiss of heavenly greeting,
their cheek roseate with the
health of eternal summer, their
hands beckoning you up the steep,
the feet bounding with the mirth
of Heaven. The pallor of their last
sickness gone out of their face, never
more to be sick, never more to cough,
never more to limp, never more to be
old, never more to weep. They are
watching from those heights to see if
through Christ you can take the fort,
s and whether you will rush in upon
I them-victors. They know that upon
1 this battle depends whether you will
ever join their society. Up! strike
t harder! Charge more bravely! Re
1 member that every inch you gain puts
you so much farther on toward that
heavenly reunion.
S You say that all this implies that our
sdeparted Christian friends are alive.
r Why, had you any idea they were dead?
They have only moved. If you should
1 go on the second at Mby to a house
whlre one of your iends lived, and
Sfind him gone, you would not think that
he was dead. You would inquire next
door where he had moved to. Our de
I parted Christian friends have only taken
another house. The secret is that
they are richer now than they once
Swere, and can afford a better residence.
1 They once drank out of earthenware;
they now drink from the King's chalice.
"Joseph is yet alive," and Jacob will go
up and see him. Iiving? are they?
Why, if a man can live in this damp,
Sdark dangeon of earthly captivity, an
he not live where he breathes the brac
ling atmosphere of the mountains of
Heaven? Oh, yes, they are living!
Do you think that Paul is so nea
Sdead now as he was when he was living
Sin the Roman dungeon? Do you think
Sthat Frederick Bobertson, of Brighton,
is as near dead now as he was when,
year after year, he slept seated on the
Sfloor, his head on the bottom of a chair,
because he could fad ease in no other
Sposition? Do you think that Bob
ert Hall is as near dead -now s
Swhen, on his conch, he tossed in phyJ
ical tortnures? No. Death gave them
P the few black drops that caured them.
SThstis alldeathdoes to a Christi
cure. him. I aow that wlht I"saev
'said Impires that they ame Hling. 7hen
isno quetio.mhoot th&t. The oaly
quetide, thksismor ,whether yen,
May God aLwty,
blood of the er i agay a .
usint os hmuld at
~ the Heayvq lymad. sad into the
k, ,ii ~ a
"Ldn aaw
a tot
b ~He- .
Outdoor cratleo Esseustal to buad
NaateaI Health.
It is now, for poetie purposes, the
tlg itman's fancy still lightly turns
to thoughts of love, but actually and
for prose purposes it turns to thoughts
of baseball and other out-of-door sports.
For the same mysterious influence that
sends the life-giving sap u4ward into
the trees and brings leaves, buds and
blossoms out from their winter hiding
places, awakens to more active move
ment the sluggish blood of human be
ings, and makes everybody wish to get
out of the narrow confines of brice
walls into the free, fresh, unedrcum
scribed domains of nature. The old as
well as the young feel this impulse, bet
the latter have a surplus capital of
strength and spirits that must find a
vent in exercises requirif skill and
bodily activity.
There was a time when Americans
devoted too little attention to physical
development, but we are fortunately
now coming to understand that sueh
recreations are essential to sound na
tional health, and that every form of
sport which takes and keeps people In
the open air as much as possible 1i
when conducted under proper and
reasonable restrictions, valuable and
important. Oxygen and exercise are
as important factors in. national
greatness as universities and col_
leges. The vast quantities of
fresh air and the immense amouni
of lxcerclse which Englishmen have
been in the habit of taking from time
Immemorial have had as much to do
with England's greatness as any other
cause. It has not been a triumph of
mind over matter, but of matter and
mind combined. Every good thing is
liable to abase, and so are all the out
of-door recreations which begin with
the advent of warm weather. There
is such a thing as taking too much ex
ereise, and devoting more tims and
money to sports than one has a right
to devote. But, in the main their in
fauence is good, not only on those whc
participate in them, but on the comr
munity in generaL They create an in
terest in physical powers and skill
which takes thousands of people onu
of doors as spectators w;xo would other.
wise remain at home, and helps to re.
juvenate and freshen the elderly and
the middle-aged. Baseball, cricket,
rowing and every kind of athletic exer
cise serve a valuable purpose, not only
as agencies for the building up of the
rising generation, but as innocent and
wholesome amusements for t.e multi
tudes who witness them. Baseball is
peculiarly the national game, and fron
now until cool weather the baseball
crank will be very much in evidence.
Let us not discourage him. He ishelp
ing the nation to grow strong ani
healthy men for tinles when it ma
need them. Young and old Americar
stuads on the tip-toe of expectatior
e ly waiting the ommand--play
b Everybody feels perfectly happl
except the umpires, and even they ar
not greatly disturbed at thought of thi
epithets whl y know are shortl;
to be lanch their devoted heads.
Baltimore Sun.
Crlesus Sport Indalsed Is by the Appi
Browers of AMra"ae
In the apple-growing regions o
Arkansas the natives have a way o
deer shooting entirely original witi
themselves. Deer love apples and in th
vast orehards they eat them freely. No
only do the deer eat the apples, ba
when the fruit is all gathered the;
turn their attention to the bark on thi
young trees and the branches of the
elder ones In the fall when the apple
are plentiful the native watches to
deer signs, and when he locates thi
tees which the deer frequent he gee
to work gathering the fruit, alwayi
leaving two or three trees unpickei
that bear the favorlte apple of the
deer. After the fruit gathering is ove
he turns his attention to harvesting
venison. The deer aome to the orehari
to feed in the night, and when day
light comes hie away in some secludeq
hollow and slsep When the moon I
in the first quarterthe native takes bhi
gun an8 goes out in the early evenlan
to lie for the deer.
Genea~l two or three hunters scat
ter out ibout the apple trees that r
left full fruited to lure the deer I
destraction. They elimb into th
branches of the trees a short distane
from the ones that bear the fruiat an
remain silent and motioaless to awal
the coming of the garme. Shotgun
aaw the weapons ain Luceksho
the ammunitioa used. Usually th
hunters do not have long t
wait before they can hear the de
approaching. The game comes ca
tiously and it is sometimes an hoe
after the game had been sighted a
heard before he presents himself at th
apple tree where he feeds. From
station in a tree, syas a writer
watehed one night for an hour and
half and during all that time deer we
iA sight, but not close enough to shoe
At last a splendid blk ame up on th
opposite side of the trees and begs
reaching up and pickingl the apple
Presently a doe put it an appearsa
I sat there admiring the pair, waiti
for them to move around a little.t
give me a better abet, when "beng
"buag!l" tia rapid saeession my con
panion's gan souaded about one hua
dred yards from where I was statione:
startling the beaknles that I had o
sidered as good a ded, and asthe
started of I tried to get my guni
position to saoot as they ran, my fo
slipped sad dowa I eame a heap c
the gsnad. My eampalon, howeve
who had Sed the shoe, was more s
esstaL When I resbed him he had
bek sad s does try blta the ap- 1
ree and wes jMa the at of eattls
.w' tbmte. 3l said these was
remisalug, a thcq dear wesld n
- ~ ~ ~ ~ aL .w eve3itiepe
K~. i~edwntkleint
4~ h*VW ai,~a··q
4Y*' -;;. -
The Mausfastare Carried o After the
Most Impreved Method'
A careful survey of that vacant nest
convinced my wasp at once that It
afforded the exact comblnation of ad
vantages she was in search of; and as
soon as she had satisfied herself by a
course of watching that the hole was
not now in possession of any stronger
and more aggressive wasp-eating ani
mal, she abandoned at once her dig
ging operations and took up her abode
in the ready-made tavern. There she
set to work at once upon the collection
of material for the first new cells
which we saw her bringing in froq the
decaying place on the gatepost with
commendable activity.
The nest itself our queen constructed
within a vacant hole, building and lin
ing it with a peculiar sort of paper of
which she and her kind have the entire
monopoly. This paper is manufactured
fiber, after the most modern human
fashion-the wood being irst reduoed
to a complete pulp, and then kneaded
with the jaws to the proper
thickness and consistency. In most
eases the raw material is nib
bled plecemeal off the bark of
trees; but my wasp fortunately
discovered early in her career a weak
spot at the base of the rustie gate in
the garden, and worked this mine with
such skill and industry that before the
end of the summer she and her de
seendants had gnawed a great hole in
it as big as a teapot. She even en
gendered the stability of the structure.
Wasps seem to moisten the pulp as they
knead it with a secretioa 'from their
months, the analogue. I suppose, of
saliva; they use their powerful jaws to
reduce the little balls of torn wood to
this pulp, and then to spread It into
thin sheets of papery layers
The cells built of the paper so pre
pared are hexagonal, like those of the
common hive-bee; and indeed wasps
and bees, in spite of ethical divergen
cies, are descended from a single very
early ancestor, many of whose domestie
,tricks and traits both great groups of
social insects retain most faithfully.
But while the bees have learned to
build a great many more eells than
they need for the use of their grub,
and to employ the supernumerary ones
as storehouses or jars for preserving
honey, the wasps only make just ma
many cells as they mean to All with
lasva-, and bring up a young grub in
each at least three times over in a
single season. The fact is, the hex
agonal cell was originally inatended as
a cradle for the larva alone; the bee
hive has diverted it in part from its
primitive purpose, and has applied it
to a new and wholly economical ob.
ject. Wasps are bees which have never
learnt honey-making. - Longman's
How am Cempamless Cared Cr Him t13
Caagkt sad mUies.
The manner in which rats steal eggs
has always been regarded as a wonder
ful example of animal intelligence. It
is well known how one rat will hold
the egg firmly between its four legs,
then turn over upon its back and, re
maining in this position, allow itself
to be pulled along by other rats until
the nest is reached. Remarkable as
this may seem, we heard the other day
of a still more astonishing example of
the intelligence of a rat. Patrick HuBar
ley lives in a rural portion of the twen
ty-third ward. Some distance from his
home is a large barn, where, besides
horses and cows, he keeps a number of
chickens About one hundred yards
from the barn a brook winds its way
through a ravine. Naturally the pres
enes of corn and grain about the barn
has drawn many rate. They frequent
ly come out in the barnyard for food or
to play. Among the rats the Harleys
had observed one that wasa rare speci
men of his tribe. Itseoatewasofapure
white. Strangely, too, the white rat,
whenever it appeared, had a companion
that was apparently leading it. This
peeuliarity eadted the poople to wateh
the rodents They discovered that the
white rat always held a straw In its
month by which the other rat led it
They comluded the ist was blind.
Sometimes, when a partieullylod
lot of corn wuas found, the whie rat
would .drop the straw and proceed to
satisfy his hunger. But b an impa
tient movement he was ahLtys able to
bring to him one of his hind friends,
who would piek up the straw, give it
to him and lead the uanfortunate back
to the nest under the barn One of the
most remarkable things noted was the
fact that every day the blind rat was
led out by another down to the brook
to get a drink. This was not a oca
saional, but a regular, performanea
After the blind rat had msatisfied its
thirst the straw would be pat into its
month by its compalon or attendant
and led arefully beek But one day
some boys who were not equainted
with the story of the blind rat asw the
two nmalse coming from the reek and
at ones made -a charges upon them.
The leader of the blind rat endeavored
to harry 4p its charge, but was finally
forced to let go of the straw and
scamper oif to save its owan life The
white rat, left thus helpless, was
ecnght sad killed. The family, who
Shad long watehed the daily exhibition
of the other rats' tenderness and devr
tion for their sightless companon,
learned its sad fats with egret-WUash
ington Pat.
-Wise men wil apply their med
to vices, not to names; to the anses
evil whih are permafneak not the
eastonal organs by which they set
the transitory made in which they a
-Positvenes sa a mmstbeardM fcl
If yua are in the right, it lessens
StriMph; if in the wejp, it at dds
to your dBfklsd-4tpO b
*-Whe e tinlfAlean * Se
fly. hisndireJ'dse1i4 4sqs ifihic

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