THE 'ȆFSr.
Oaoe there wa3 a restless boy
Who dwelt in a Ur.ms by the sea,
Whore the "water danced f . r joy
AaO. the wind was glad »od free :
But he sr.? '■ "GJud mother- oh ! let me go :
For the dullest place in the world, I know,
la this little brown house.
This old brown house,
Under the apple tree.
' I will travel east and west ;
The loveliest homes I'll see ;
And when I have found the bes\
Dear mother, I'll come for thee.
I'll come for thee in a year and a day,
And joyfully then we'll haste away
From this little brown house.
This old brown house.
Under the apple tree."
80 he traveled here and there.
But never content was he.
Though he saw iu lands most, fair
The costliest homes there be.
He something missed from the sea or sky.
Till he turned again, with a wistful sigh,
To the little brown house.
The old brown house,
Under the apple tree.
Then the mother saw and smiled.
While her heart grew glad and free.
"Hast thou chosen a home, my child ?
Ah, where shall we dwell f' quoth fehe.
And he said, "Sweet mother, from east to west,
The loveliest home, and the dearest and best,
Is a little brown house.
An old brown house,
Under an apple tree."
—Eudora S. ßUnutead. in St. Nicholas.
MOTHER'S WAY.
Fred White sat on the edge of the sice
walk, slowly replacing his shoes and
stockings. The shoes were heavy with red
clay, and the stockings clung with camp
tenacity to a pair of blue feet, refusing to
be tugged beyond the wet little heels of
their owner.
"I pay, Rob."
"Well," inquired Bob, med.tatively
tracing with one bare toe the hop-scotch
pattern on the sidewalk. "Well?"
"You and the rest of the boys go'long
and get your 'scases. Don't wait lor me,
tugging at the refractory sock. "Teacher'll
expect us back right away"—tug, tug, and
a sound of parting stitches in the stock
ing. "Meet me at the comer and we 'll all
go to school together. There !"
Seeing that Fred's prospects were
brightening, Rob and the others ran down
the street, intent on producing from ma
ternal pens the required excuses for the
unfortunate tardiness in the school-room.
"How they sing 1" soliloquized Fred, as
the voices of his gehool-mates fell upon
his ecrs through the open windows.
"They ain't late, nor going home for a
note, nor anything. Bother the raft and
the poles and the mud !" and the little bry
ruefully wiped his cheek with his clean
jacket sleeve and proceeded to tie a knot
in the stiff, clay-colored shoe string.
"I will be good, I wi'.l be good,
I will be good to-day,"
shouted the chorus in the school room, as
Fred rose and started for his home around
the next corner.
"I will be good, I will be good !"
proceeded the songsters, with the usual
vehemence of threescore mischievous and
thoughtless urchins ; but the words struck
the listener unpleasantly.
"Just what I said to mamma this morn
ing when she pinned my collar," said he,
feeling involuntarily for thj too frequently
lost article. "1 meant it, too. But R>b
and the boys called me to the water, and
then Tom Grey said 1 didn't dare go on the
raft ; and, anyway, I won't be dared by
Tom"
Fred sighed as he opened the little gate
and went thiough the gra^s to the kitchen
door. The hardest of his v:ay was in
meetiDg his mamma and corquering her
scrnpies—tor uiaunna had her scruples
and they inteifeied sadly sometimes wilh
Fred's plans. She was washing, though,
and perhaps would be in a hurry. That
wait in his favor.
'•I say, mamma," winningly.
"Why, Freddie !" came in sweet, sur
prised tones from the clouds of steam.
"Say, now—now, mamma," laying a
stick of wood with great precision on the
nearest pile. •
"What is it, dear? Why aren't you at
school? It is late."
"Well, that's just it. You see Rob and
the boys and—well, yes—and, and me—"
"Come here, Freddy. Let me wipe your
face and your collar. How came you to
take hold of it with muddy fingers? Come
into the house." )
••Oh, never mind. I'm in a hurry.'
Fred thrust his feet behind the chips, for
reasons best known to himself. "I'm
tardy, mamma, and teacher wants a note.
•ni - U r..ii/>lr 'nan act TVû crr\t. to hfi
'cause I've to be
•ni - U r..ii/>lr 'nan act TVû crr\t. to hfi
Please do it quick, 'cause I've got to be
back in time tor 'rithmetic. I'll be bring
ing in wood while you write."
Now this unusual offer of Fred's struck
his mother suspiciously, and she dried her
hands slowly, with a troubled look on her
face. It was a way his mother had. She
always looked seriously upon the misde
meanors of her children in their dealings
with their teachers. Fred never liked it.
It made him so much trouble to have her
ask questions. Why didn't she let things
go, as Tom Grey's mother did?
' Freddy."
"Yes'm," hesitatingly, from the dun re
cesses of the woodshed, where the dry
sticks lay.
"Come in for a moment."
Fred obeyed. She was a little mother,
but he always obeyed when she spoke.
She led him into the cool room beyond the
kitchen.
"Yes, sir," said Fred to himself. "Yes,
sir. She's going to ask questions. The
boys'll be waiting. Oh, dear 1 That old
raft and Tom Gray !—and anyway, what
did make mamma so inquisitive ?"
"Where have you been?" began his
mother, sitting down in the green arm
chair (she looked pale against the green,
Fred thought), and removing the strip of
linen from the neck of his "roundabout."
"Just down to the ravine a little while.
There were whole lots of boys 'nd a raft.
They said I daren't get aboard, and so I
did. You wouldn't have me be a cow*rd,
of course," doubtfully, but encouragingly.
Mamma didn't seem very appreciative
just here, so Fred proceeded :
"'Nd then we went to the bridge, and
the hell rang before we could get ashore.
Rob and the others were late, too."
As bis mother's eyes were slightly down
cast, Fred stood a little closer to her skirts.
His feet seemed in the way.
"What did your teacher say?" asked
Mrs. White—so sadly, it seemed—taking
from Fred's pocket a roll of soiled linen,
once a clean handkerchief.
"Oh ! she said we must get onr 'senses
the rule, you know. Oh no ! My feet
are warm enough. Don't uiind me 1 You
iust keep writin'. 'cause I am in such a
lurry !"
Quietly surveying the clay-spread shoes
Mrs. White began removing them. Fred
thought her hands looked very white and
delicate against his toiled stockings, and
wondered, «s she laid the damp articles
aside, if washing was very hard anyway ;
mamma 's arms were slender, too. 'T»as
too bad to make her so much work. But
the note 1
"Come mamma—will you ?
" Yes, Freddy, since your teacher re
quires it. Put on thetedry things." And
biie turted away to get her pen.
"Whv, ain't she .lolly, though ? wins
pered Fred to his dry socks. 'No ques
tions nor grieved looks. _ Ttj.l you, III
never co this ngain. No sir.'
"What shfcll I eny ?" asked mamma, as
j»he pushed down the clothes in the boiler
»nd returned.
"Oh, just what they all say : 'Piease
a-'scuse Freddy, as he was necessarily
'tained,' " said the yonng diplomat.
"Thon it was necessary for you to go to
the water?" queried the mother doubt
Freddy was chipping the dry mud from
his coppsr -toes. Ile okin t reply.
"And necessary to play on the raft ?
"Tom Gray dared me to," interposed
Fred dulling his knife rather recklessly.
• And necessvry to stand in the cold
water V
"Well now, mamma, let's not talk about
that now. It's most ten o'clock. Please
bewritin'." .
"What shall I write?"
"Oh ! you know." And the speaker
nervously twisted his shoestring through
an evelet.
Mamma began writing, gravely, heed
hopped on one foot to the table, anxiously
spelling out the words he saw
' "N o, no ; e x-c use, excuse."
"Down went the undressed foot. Mat
ters were glowing serious.
"H-i-S, his; o-w n, own; fa u-l-t
fault."
"Oh, mamma I She'll punish me, she 11
punish me! How can you? Oh! don't
you love me? Oh, mamma !"
"Yes, dear, I love you. Ln't my note
true?'
"Well, but couldn't you just say—just
say—Well couldn't you fix it up some
how ?" he sobbed.
"That is the truth, dear, and the truth
can't be improved by fixing. Mamma
can't tell a lie for you."
"1 don't want you to tell a lie ! Oli, no
the dear face of mother was too pure for
that. Fred only wanted a compromise.
"But don't you love me? Do you want
me to be punished?"
' I love you too well to send you to your
teacner with a falsehood in your hand 1
cannot fix the note, Freddy, without mak
ing it untrue ; but I would gladly bear
the pain of your punishment cn my own
hand." _ _ . .
"Never!" exclaimed Fred, with un
wonted chivalry, kissing the hands that
were finishing his toilet.
"I will walk with you, dear,' putting
the neat Shaker boünet over her strangely
dewy eyes, "and you will not be as lonely
then." , •
"But you'll hear her whip me. bhe
will certainly do so if I take this note#
and sobs began again.
"Then l shall know you are Learing the
pain rather than carry an untruth irom
your mother's hand," said Mrs. hite,
taking Fred's in her own, and moving to
the door.
Uoing toward the school room, a strange
medley of thoughts passed through the
little boy's mind. Mother's way was so
strange, so irresistible. It made trouble
for him ; yet it was right, he knew. But
that terrible ruler ! His hand would
tremble ; but his mother bade him good by
at the g«.te, as though a punishment were
nothing.
' Go in row, Freddv. Mamma can wait
for you to decide whether she is right or
wrong. Good-bv."
Fred brushed the tears away. Tom
Gray shouldn't see him cry. He waited to
kiss mamma She looked so pale, and
maybe her way v> as best. He looked back
from the entry. He would smile toward
her. It would be too bad to let her go
home grieving, and he remembered her
arms were so small, and those stockings
were only two among many muddy ones.
He had made her a great deal of trouble
this morning—little mother !
He went into the schcol-iojm. Mamma
waited without for three, four, five min
utes. No sound or blow or cry. Six,
seven minutes. All quiet within.
Then she drew a long breath and went
home. . ,
At noon, two feet bounded ltto the
kitchen and a voice exclaimed :
"Hurrah for mamma !"
"Well, dear?" brightly.
"She never touched mf. Not a stroke.
She only looked odd around the eyes, and
L-iie read your note aloud, and she said ;
Here is a good mother.' My I I was so
proud I didn't care if I did have to stay
and make up my lesson. I wouldn't
have you write the other 'scuse for any
thing." ■ , _
'And how about Rob and the others ?
asked his mother.
Oh, 1 didn't ask. They didn't have to
stay, though, 'cause they weren't gone as
long. Oh, 1 didn't mind. When a fellow
is so full of happy and proud, and never
meaning to be bad again, he don't think
much about the others getting off easy. I
say, mamma," (Fred's face was in the
kitchen towel), "I say, after all, even if
she had whipped, I think your way's the
best. Dinner ready t ' -In dependent.
The Brakeman'a Losa.
There is danger that the modern paseen
eer brakeman will die of ennui. On the
Fort Wayne road there is now in process
of testing a device which is to be operated
by compressed air from the engineer s cab,
and which is, in effect, a noiseless annun
ciator, quietly informing the passengers,
through their eyes, not their ears, of the
name of the next stopping place. This, if
generally adopted, will rob the brakeman
of the dear joy of shouting in an unknown
tongue. One by one this official's duties
have passed away. A decade ago he
twisted the had brake as vigorously, an^
oftener, than did his co-worker on the
freight train. Air and the engineer now
perform that atduous duty. Now comes
that silent, air -operated station annunci
ator. There are a few privileges, how
ever, left to the passenger brakeman,
which the man in the engine cannot take
away. There are pretty girls to help on
and off, fat women, babies, old men and
packages unnumbered to look after. But
the vocal training of the brakeman will be
totally neglected, and he will at times
sigh for the times when he could relieve
his feelings by splitting some passenger's
ear drum and emitting a language that
Max Muller himself could not interpret.—
Pittiburg Bulletin.
There are two things for live men and
women to do ; to receive from God, and
giv* out to their fellows.— Mrs. A. D. T.
Whitney.
Dr Oliver Wendell Holmes, the Rev.
Samuel May and the Rev. S. F. Smith, cel
ebrated as the author of "America,' were
the only ■ones who met at the reunion of
Harvard's famous class of 1829 who met at
the class reception at Boston.
It is all very well for the wine and
spirit trade to quiet its apprehension by
reverting to the majorities against pro
hibition in Michigan, Texas, Tennessee,
Oregon and West Virginia elections, but
the fact is still apparent th*t the senti
ment against our business is constantly
growing in this country and gaining
frier ds among the most substantial ele
ment in our population. The question is
a grave one, and the sooner we appreciate
fully the hold it is securing on the public
mind and conscience, the better. It is to
most of its followers what the slavery
question way to its adherents, a great
moral question. The good that alcohol
does is little referred to, the harmful
effects follow ing its abuse are been by all
the world, 'J o check this abuse is the
aim of the conservative classes, and hop
ing to find a remedy in prohibition, they
are rapidly falling into its ranks
We are familiar with society's com
plaints against the liquor traffic. We
realize that there is good ground for many
of these complaints. We deplore these
facts hut stand helpless and without a
woid of advice to those who would correct
them. Herein lies our weakness. W r e
are without a policy. We see young men
becoming diunkards, but we offer no
remedy. We see old men turn to common
sots, but we offer no remedy. We see the
scum of society flocking into the retail
liquor business, but we offer no remedy.
We see these men gain control of city gov
ernments, but we offer no remedy. We
see the retail business dragged down to
The Romance of a Violin.
While wandering through Creoledom j
the other day 1 chanced to stumble over !
an interesting old second-hand store—a
veritable Curiosity Shop. Long was 1 '
entertained by the decrepit shopkeeper, the
old French gentleman who had seen bet
ter dajs "axant la guerre," and many were
the sad and romantic teles connected with
each part of his collection, but to me the
most pathetic was the following :
More than half a century ago there lived,
in Aquila, an Italian town in the province
of Naples, a young boy who earned his
bread by the music of his violin. When
quite a child be was left an orphan by the
death of his father, from whom he inheri
ted a great mus ; cal talent and a violin.
He began his career by wandering
th-ough the streets playing on his violin.
After some years of this life, thinking
that he might do better elsewhere he con
cluded to leave his home. The streets of
Aquila, where most of his time had been
spent, were the only home he knew, but
it was perhaps as dear to him as some of
our richer home3 are to us. Yet what
caused him the greatest regret was that
he would leave perhaps never to see again,
the only friend he had ever had. This
was a young girl who, in his poverty and
loneliness, had befriended him, and had
ever since been a ti ter to him.
Let ns pass over the next twelve years
of his life, and where do we now find him?
In Aqula again. Is it possible that he
has never left there ? No it is not. Since
we last saw him he has visited nearly all
the principal cities of Europe where, not
without much hard labor and discourage
ment, he worked his way to fame, till now
his name is known far and wide. Bui
why has he returned to Aquila ? Surely,
if he is now so great a personage, he will
not wish to recall the poverty of his early
days. Instead of wishing to blot out all
recollection of his former poverty, he re
joices in its remembrance for it was when
he was poor and miserable that the seeds
of a love, which was strengthened by time
and by separation, were sown. He has
now come home to offer this love to the
dear friend of his childhood. Not only
does he find that his love is accepted, but
that it is returned with equal fervency.
They were soon afterwards married.
For eleven years they lived a most happy
life, but at the expiration of that time our
poor hero lost his wife, a blow from which
he never recovered. He now lavished all
his affection on his only child, a son of
nine or ten years. Like many another
strong man he had one weak spot and that
was for his child. He gave up everything
to his boy to whose slightest request he
never turned deaf a "ear. Althoagh in
easy circumstances he again took up his
profession of violin playing which he had
given up some years before. This was a
most unfortunate step, and m&da of his
son an idle, good for-nothing man. In
stead of being grateful to his father for all
his sacrifices he looked upon them as bis
due. Afier dragging his father ail oyer
Euro, e he easily persuaded the now aging
man to come over to America. Here they
went from one city to another, the son
spending money right and left, unheeding
his father's frequent appeals to desist, as
his money was rapidly disappearing. They
gradually made their way to New Orleans,
where the last of the poor violinist's money
was gambled away by this most ungrate
ful ot sons. Soon the old man was com
pelled to part with his last memorial of
former days, the old violin which he had
inherited from his father. This he was
now obliged to sell, or else to die of hun
ger. Be was too old and f»eble to use it
now, and rather than beg for bread he sold
it and so severed the last link that bound
him to a sweet and better past. Soon af
ter hearing of the sudden death of his son.
he sank into a swoon, which lengthened
into the sleep of death.— Roberta.
Habits of Ostriches.
There are certain old traditions about
the ostrich which, I have been told by the
owner of the California ranch, are falla
cious He sa*s that the ostrich does not
bury his head in the sand and imagine he
is unobserved by his enemies. On the
contrary, he is a very pugnacious bird and
always ready for a fight. Nor does the
female ostrich lay her eggs in the sand
for the sun to hatch them. To do them
justice, they are quite domestic and de
serve a better reputation. Nor is the
ostrich ever used for riding, as he has an
exceptionally weak back; any person
might break it with a blow from an ordi
nary cane.
His strength lies in his great breast and
hie feet. He has one great claw and
a very small one, and with a terrible pre
cision he can bring down the large claw
with a cruel force that will tear open any
thing not made of sheet iron.
Savage birds at best, they are danger
ously so during breeding time. The
twenty-two birds brought to our Califor
nia ranch trusted to their instinct and laid
their eggs during the California winter,
which corresponded to their summer south
of the equator. It being the rainy season,
their nests were filled with water and the
eggs were chilled; so the first season of
their American sojourn was a failure.
The ostrich makes its nest by rolling in
the sand and scooping out a hole some six
feet in diameter, and, excepting an incu
bator house, the California ranch requires
no buildings for the use of the birds,
though the land is divided off into pens,
fenced in, each about an acre in extent, for
the use of the breeding birds, every pair
occupying one such enclosure.
The ostriches live upon alfalfa and corn
Alfalfa is a grass cultivated ail over the
ranch. It resembles our clover and grows
to a crop some six times a year.— £t. Nich
olas.
An Uncommon Royal Spectacle.
Apropos of grand dukes, it may be in
teresting to state that the czar has recently
given the rare spectacle of an autocratic
sovereign freely renouncing some of his
privileges and reducing the amount of
monevs attributed to members of his fam
ily out of the State budget. The empress,
who received annually 600,000 rubles—a
ruble is nearly equal to eighty cents—will
get only 200,000 hereafter, and in case of
widowhood her dowry will be reduced by
one-half, if she resides outside of Russia.
Instead of 300,000 rubles, the czarowitz
will have only 100,000, and his wife 50,000
instead of 150,000, as now. On her hus
band's death she would get a pension
100,000 rubles instead of 300,000, if
resides within the empire, and only 5v,
in case of her residing abroad. The g
dukes, brothers of the reigning czar, who
received 100,000 rubles as a pension until
now, will get no more than 33,000 Ihe
daughters and grand -daughters of the em
peror will receive from the State a dot of
1,000,000, and nothing more. Each son of
the czar will get at his majority apranages
bringing a determined income and 1,000,
000 rubles toward the building and fur
nishing of a palace. Similar reductions
have been ordered by the czar in regard to
money appropriations made to other mem
bers of the imperial family.— Sew York
Tiibuue.
Killed and Crippled.
It is reported that 1200 persons a day
are killed in the world by the monster
liquor traffic. There are more than 1200
women and children crippled, too, every
day by this monster ; children starving ;
women wailing.
Our stores are crippled by rum debts,
much credit and little cash. Farmers are
crippled by high .taxes and poor markets.
Missionaries crippled by ship loads of
rum Cnurches crippled by the dram
shops.
The monster pities nobody. The inno
cent and helpless are among his cripples.
Who is not crippled by it ? The saloon
keeper and the brewer must pay the debt
of death, Sody and soul. H. Hansen.
'NOT I! SOTI!'
Who will be drunkards by-and-by ?
Let each boy shout, "Not 11 not I !
A drunkard's death I will never die.
In a drunkard's grave I will not lie !"
Chorus ,—Not I ! not I '
I'll work, I'll try.
To have no drunkards by-and-by.
How will the dreadful ranks be filled
When these poor drinking men are killed ?
Who aretoe boys now growing up
To siak#ïelr souls in the shameful cup !
Who wiîape willing by-and-by.
To live^»uakiog others die ?
To staue^pehind a.screen and sell
Liquid çgiine and fires of hell?
Who Drui be guilty, by-and-by.
Of Hktgg bailey, corn, and rye,
E\ n tue wheat, that makes our bread.
And making it into poison instead ?
— The Crusader.
American Evolution Squadron.
to gibraltar — courtesy of
british officers.
ltar Bay , Jan. 12 —The utmost
has been extended the officers of
the ^Jfnerican evolution squadron during
the pAt week, and they will leave Gibral
tar with pleasant recollections of the mu
nificence of its residents and of British
naval officers.
The two British admirals and the com
manders of the British men-of-war in port
have visited every vessel of the squadron,
and have expressed themselves in the
highest terms of the vessels' eff-sctive de
signs and armaments.
To-night Admiral Walker will give a
dinner on board the Chicago.
Although it is probable that visits to the
galleries of the famous Rock have been
writteu ud time and again, it may not be
out of place, in connection with our visit,
to say something concerning them. Per
mission is usually obtained at the adju
tant general's office, but a call on Mr. Paul
Munro Ferguson, of Mark Twain celebrity,
rendered this unnecessary. A not unpleas
ant up-hill journey of three quarters of an
hour found it beside the portals of an old
Moorish castle, said to have been erected
by the veteran Tarie El Taerto, A. D. 711
After this we parsed through a massive
gateway, dismounted and found ourselves
in a roomy tunnel with port holes for the
admittance of daylight and projection of
guns, everv fifteen yards or so. Muzzle
loadinj; rifles of six and eight inches cali
bre are mounted on wooden carriages, but
have not much scope for elevation or de
pression; indeed, some can only be fired
point blank, so little space is there in the
port holes. Artificial lights are not re
quired in the galleries except at night.
There is always a cool breeze blowing
through the galleries. We walked along
for perhaps a mile enveloped in the solid
rock, and then emerged into a large open
space where the galleries meet. This is
called the hall of St. George, and here
Nelson, the victorious, was feted by the
officers of the garrison after the battle of
the Nile and not a great while before the
fatal day of Trafalgar. The walk through
the galleries, which are one above the
other like the fighting decks of an old
line -of-battle ship, is two miles; but we
did not go throueh the upper galleries,
permission for which was not obtainable,
nor were we permitted to see the powder
magazines. This seemed to us perfectly
absurd, as did also the prohibition of pho
tographing any interesting parts of the rock
or ships-of war. These galleries did not
exist at the time of the famous siege,
they were commenced only whea it be
came absolutely necessary for the'garrison
to protect itself by excavation from the
murderous fire which was being poured
in its midst; then gangs of convicts were
set at work and blasting operations com
menced and boring pushed vigorously
until the present roomy and spacious gal
leries were completed. During the siege
the rock was defended against fifty of the
most formidable battle-ships of that pe
riod and an army of 50,000 men, by 96
pieces of artillery and a garrison of 7000
men. At the present day over 700 guns
are mounted, and it could hold its own
against the combined fleets of the world;
yet the Spaniards still claim Gibraltar as
theirs, recognizing, however, that it is
'temporarily" in the possession of the
English.
A walk through the Alameda gardens
and around point Europia by the formida
ble water batteries is delightful on a fine
day. Standing on the extremity of South
em Europe, with the distant pillar of
Hercules Centa in full view, one cannot
fail to be struck with the grandeur of the
ecene. Rising high above us on the high
est pinnacle of the mighty rock is Oharas
Tower, and as we pass further toward the
eastwaid and take our stand upon û little
beach with the waters of the Mediterranean
lapping our feet, we feel astonished at
the intrepidity of the 500 heroes who
boldly scaled the almost perpendicular
cliff only to be hurled furiously into the
sea." This was when the Spaniards, led
by a mountain shepherd, attempted to
take the rock from the rear.
When They Wanf Pennies.
"Will you kindly give me some pennies
in change ? " asked a gentleman rider on
a street car last night.
"How many ?" asked the conductor.
"Oh, about ten," was the reply.
The transaction was made satisfacto
rily, and the gentleman stowed the ten
pennies carefully down in the corner of
his vast pocket.
•'Is not a demand for pennies rather un
usual ?" was asked the conductor when he
had taken his place on the rear balcony of
the c&r.
"No. On Saturdays we often have re
quests for pennies, but on other days of
the week people don't want them, and of
ten absolutely refuse to receive five cents
worth of coppers. You see, men with
families find it profitable to be prepared
with pennies to give the children for Sun
day sahool and to drop on the plate. Ten
cents' worth of pennies will go along way,
but if a man has much of a church going
family it will cost him quite a sum if he is
compelled to give them all five or ten cent
pieces because he has nothing smaller.
"All the pennies I dispense on Saturday
come back to me on Monday morning.
There are twenty-eight churches along
my line, and I catch all the ministers go
ing down to the weekly meetings, and
they all pay their fares in pennies."
Philadelphia Record
How Jsy Gould Dispenses Charity,
Like most of the successful men of the
present age Mr. Gould is extremely me
thodical and systematic in his habits. He
rises every morning at precisely half past
seven, seldom varying from that hour
more than ten minutes. At 8 o'clock he
sits down to his breakfast, which in his
case is usually French rolls and a cup of
coffee, and expects to find every member
of his family present at that meal. Break
fast over, his private secretary is called in,
and the-numerous begging letters of the
morning's mail are laid upon the table.
Each member selects at random a number
of these letters and reads them over. If
any one of them is impressed by any of
the letters they are laid by for future
reference, while the others go into the
waste basket. Those letters which have
been laid aside are then taken up and dis
cussed, and if a majority of those present
conclude that it is a case which really de
serves assistance the assistance is sure to
come within a very few hours, in a very
substantial form and without the slightest
hint as to the identity of the donor.—
Philadelphia Inquirer.
"Have you felt slippers ?" inquired tn
old lady in a shoe store. The clerk, who
was new at the business and young, an
swered : "Yea ma'am ; many a time."
The Largest City.
London, the great capital of the British
Empire, is declared to be the most won
derful city in the world. We are early
taught that it is the largest city in the
universe, but when we are told it would
take our six largest cities to make a Lon
don, we find it difficult to grasp the re
markable fact of magnitude. The popu
lation of London is about five million, and
it is said to increase at the rate of one
hundred thousand a year. Disraeli des
cribed the English people as made up of
two "nations," and socially there are two
di-tinct',London : the London of the "West
End," with its beautiful parks and palaces
its wealth and rank, its pride, its lavish
expenditure, and the London of the "East
End," with its ugliness, and bad odors, its
poverty and wretchedness, its vice and
irreligicn. The "East End" has been
called "the largest heathen city in the
world," and among its one and a half mil
lions of poor, we find the refuse of many
nations. Its principal streets maintain a
show of respectability, in spite of a large
number of gin shops, but it is said that in
few cities are the poor so degraded in their
poverty. This sad state of affairs i3 not
chargeable to the indifference of the better
class of the community. Almost super
human efforts are constantly being ^made
to meet and destroy the forces of evil, and
all classes of society engage in mission
work, from the rich aristocrat to the hum
ble mechanic.
The English people give freely in char
ity ; indeed, they are charged with an ex
cess of benevolence, or rather, with being
unwise in their benefactions. Large num
bers of poor are systematically helped and
th s method has sapped the energies of the
people, and has, unhappily, resulted ir\
the complete demoriliz&tion of many whom
it has changed from "chance paupers into
profess locals." London is reported to
have 110,000 paupers. Begging is pro
hibited, but there are many ingenious
ways of evading this law. In 188" Eng
land and Wales raised a tax of $75,000
000 for the relief of the poor, and 7fi7,922
persons were receiving relief January 1,
1887. In addition to this public tax, an ■
enormous amount is yearly given in pri- j
vate charity
The Charity Organization Society of
London was established in 1809, "not to
form a fresh relief fund, but to attack the
causes of want and pauperism in a syste
matic manner," and has among its sup
porters some of the yreat philanthropists
of the city. A most earnest effort is being
made for "judicious wirk among the poor,
for it is evident that tue poor of London
have been made poorer by indiscriminate
giving—a seeming paradox, but a true
statement, nevertheless. Miss Octavia
Hill and others have for years most stren
uously urged the adoption of more enlight
ened method«, and some progress has been
made in a reform of charity itself, for peo
ple are beginning to comprehend that
charitable werk among the poor requires
experience and wise thought as well as
sympathetic feeling. As Miss Hill indi
cates, it is better is teach the poor self-con
trol and foresight than to keep them on
the brink of pauperism by the continued
distribution of petty doles
London Christians feel the stimulus of
numbers, and the greatest zeal i3 displayed
in all the varied forms of mission work.
The evangelization of "the largest heathen
city in the world" is no mean problem,
but. as Dr. Cuy 1er puts it, "God's people
are wrestling with it bravely." Several
churches are doing noble work, employing
as aids orphanages, mission schools, ragged
schools, Bands of Hope, etc. N umerous
societies and individuals attend to special
departments of mission effort.
The London City Mission, organized in
1835, exerts an immense influence through
Its nearly five hundred missionariep. The
total receipts of this society for the last
year ware §512,010.
These missionaries refer all canes of tem -
poral distress to the care of friends, a3 it
is a positive rule of the society that the
missionary shall be known only as a reli
gious teacher. Nearly four hundred of
the missionaries have special districts as
signed them, preaching in the open air,
establishing Sunday schools, and seeking
in every way the spiritual benefit of those
committed to their care. One hundred
and one of the missionaries, instead of
having districts assigned them, are ap
pointed to [some particular work. Some
û 3* oks their whole^time to visiting liquor
saloons and coffee houses ; others minister
to the needs of various foreigners, whom
they are able to address in seventeen dif
ferent languages, and so the good work
goes on in all the nooks and corners of this
great city, an effort being made to give
every class an opportunity to hear the gos
pel message. The work of these mission
aries has been greatly blessed, and it is a
pleasure to know that through their min
istrations "whole districts have been
changed in their character, and whole
classes of parsons have been influenced for
good."— Miss JS. E Backup,
I
a
Housekeeping Boy3.
There were four boys in the family,
whose activity was exhausting. The
mother was a wise little woman who be
lieved that much ill-directed force might
be utilized by a judicious division of labor,
which would spare her nerves and increase
the family comfort.
So the oldest boy washed dishes when
he was just tall enough to wear his
mother's apron tied around his neck. He
swept, dusted, and even cooked a little.
If storms or sickness kept them in the
house they were given needles, thread and
thimbles, and taught to replace buttons,
and set at other slight repairing, which
they learned to do quite skillfully."
When the third brother (who is the hero
of this story) had grown to fit the apron,
the first was honorably released. His
deft-handed successor, more ambitious or
more teachable, became that rarest of
artists, a good plain cook, who was ^el
come at campings^ont and other festivities
of a Bohemian character. He was un
daunted by biscuit and triumphant over
steak. This "third brother" could also
mend neatly, and even made his own neck
ties to afford himself more variety.
A time came when this training was
worth a small salary. He found himself
with an invalid wife, a boy of three years,
and a hand so badly injured that he was
obliged to change his employment. Some
thing suited to his altered circumstances
was not easily or quickly found ; but the
man who had washed dishes had other
resourcss.
He did not, as well-meaning friends ad
vised, give up his home and waste his
substance on hired nurses and boarding
houses.
Through a whole discouraging year of
waiting he nursed the' sick wife, cooked
for the small family and kept the house
bright and tidy with an occasional day's
help. When the right position was offered
at last, and the housekeeping fell again
into natural ehannels, it was evident that
a man could assist his own family without
loss of dignity, and at the same time avoid
the discomfort, and perhaps debt, caused
by additional cares, while the real care
taker was unable to meet them.
In a partnership each member of the
firm should be able to perform, or at least
direct, the other's work ; and there is no
reason why a man should not understand
some of the details of housekeeping, or a
woman learn to drive a nail straight and
use a saw if necessary.— Louxs Hall, in
Wide Awake.
A miser and hermit died at Longview
Tex, of pneumonia. While dying he tried
to tell of buried treasures, but was too
weak. His hut was miserably furnished
his only chair being an empty nail keg
After his death, was found in different
places several hundred dollars, and he
owned 700 acres of land.
Seattle is making a crusade a,
biers. Seventeen were arrestc
REV. DE. TALMAGE,
He Writes a Letter of Salutation
wiiat he has seen abroad —HIS jour
neyings in palestine and apos
tolic lands and seas — a rough
night on mount hermon.
Constantinople , Jan. 18, 1890.
On leaving America I addressed some
words of farewell to my sermonie readers,
and now, on my way home, I write this
letter of salutation, which will probably
reach you about the Monday that will find
me on the Atlantic Ocean, from which I
cannot reach you with the usual sermon.
I have completed the journey of inspec
tion for which I came. Others may write
a life of Christ without seeing the Holy
Land. I did not feel competent for such a
work until I had seen with my own eyes
the sacred places; and I left home and
church and native country for a mo st ar
duous undertaking. I have visited all the
scenery connected with our Lord's history.
The whole journey has been to me a sur
prise, an amazement, a grand rapture or a
deep solemnity. 1 have already sent to
America my Holy Land observations for
my "Life of Christ," and they were writ
ten on horseback, on muleback, on camel
back, on ship's deck, by dim candle in tent,
in mud hove! of Arab village, amid the
ruins of old cities, on Mount of Beatitudes,
on beach of Genesareth, but it will take
twenty years of sermons to tell what I have
seen and felt on this journey through Pal
estine and Syria.
All things have combined to make our
tour instructive and advantageous. The
Atlantic and Mediterranean and Adri
atic and iEffean and Dardanelles and Mar
mora seas have treated us well. Since we
left New York we have had but a half day
and one night of storm, and that while
crossing Mount Hemion. But let only
those in robust health attempt to go the
length of Palestine and Syria on horseback.
I do not think it is because of the unh«alth
of the climate in Holy Land that so
many have sickened and di i here or ^Iter
ward as a result of visiting the?c lands,
but because of the fatigues of travel. Ihe
number of miles gives no indication of the
exhaustions of the way ^ hundred and
fifty miles in Palestine and Syria on horse
back demand as mu h physical strength
as four hundred miles on horseback in
regions of easy journey. Because of the
near two months of bright sunlight by doy,
and bright moonlight or starlight by night,
the half day of storm was to us the more
memorable. It was about noon of Dec. 18
that the tempest struck us and drenched
til© mountains. One of tli8 horses fall and
we halt amid a blinding rain. It is f f ® ez *
ing cold. Fingers and feet like ice. Two
hours and three-quarters before encamp
ment. We ride on in silence, longing for
the terminus of to-day's pilgrimage. It is,
through the awfnl inclemency of the
weather, the onlv dangerous day of the
journey. Slip and slide and tumble and
climb and descend we mus', sometimes on
the horse and sometimes off, until at last
we halt in the hovel of a village, and in
stead of entering camp for the night we
are glad to find this retreat from the storm.
It is a house of one story, built out of
mud. My room is covered with a roof of
goat's hair. A feeble fire mid-floor, but
no chimney. It is the best house of the
village. Arabs, joung and old, stand
around in wonderment a j to why we come.
There is no window in the room, but two
little openings, one over the dcor and. the
other in the wall, through which latter
opening I occasionally find an Arab lace
thrust to see how I am progressing. But
the door is open, so I have some light.
This is an afternoon and night never to be
forgotten for its exposures and acquaint
ance with the hardships of what an Arab
considers luxurious apartment. I sat that
night by a fire, the smoke of which, find
ing no appropriate place of exit, took
lodgment in my nostrils and eyes. For
the first time in my life 1 realized that
chimneys were a luxury but not a neces
sity. The only adornments in this room
were representations of t»o tree branches
in the mud of the wall, a circle supposed
to mean a star, a bottle hung from the
ceiling, and about twelve indentations in
the wall to be used as mantels for anything
that may be placed there. This storm was
not a . surprise. Through pessimistic
had expected that at this sea
may
O
says
been
ally
State
of
very
point
and
ing,
not
its
feet
a
to
a
laid
bat
. pl
'
j in
î a
j
one
on
the
It
it
is
it
son we should have rain and snow
hail throughout our journey. For the
most part it has been sunshine and tonic
atmosphere, and not a moment ha3 our
journey been hindered. Gratitude to God
is with us the dominant emotion.
Having vi^ted tue scenery connected
with Christ's life, I was glad to close my
journev by passing through the apostolic
lands and seas. You can hardly imagine
our feelings as we came in sight of Da
mascus, and on tlie very ro*d wliere Saul
was unhorsed at the Hash of the supernal
light. We did not want, like him, to be
flung to the earth, but we did hope for
some great spiritual blessing brighter than
any roonday sun, and a new preparation
for usefulness. Our long horseback ride
was ended, for a carriage met us some
miles out and took us to the city. The
impressions one receives as he rides aiong
the wailed gardens of the place are differ
ent from these produced by any other city.
But we cannot describe our feelings as we
entered the city about which we have
heard and read so much, the oldest city
under the son, and founded by the grand
son of Noah ; nor our emotions as we pass
through the street called Straight, along
which good Ananias went to meet Saul ;
and by the sight of the palace of Naaman,
the leper, and saw the river Abana, as
yesterday we saw the Pharpar, the rivers
of Damascus that Naaman preferred to
wash in rather than the Jordan. Strange
and unique Damascus ! It is worth while
to cross the Atlantic and Europe to see it.
Though it has been the place of battle and
massacre, and of ancient affluence and
splendor as well as it is of present pros
perity, to me its chief attraction arises
from the; fact that here the scales fell
from Paul's eyes, and that chief of apos
tles here began that mission which will
not end until heaven is peopled with ran
somed spirits. So also I saw day before
yesterday Patmos, where John heard the
trumpets, and the waves of the sea dashed
to his feet, reminding him of the songs of
heaven, "like the voice of many waters."
But this letter can only give a hint of
the things we mean to tell you about when
we get home, where we expect to be be
fore this month is ended. I baptized, by
immersion, in the Jordan, an American
whom we met, and who desired the sol
emn ordinance administered to him in the
sacred waters I rolled down from Mount
Calvary, or ' place of a skull," a stone for
the corner stone of our new Brooklyn
Tabernacle. We bathed in the "Dead
Sea" and in "Gideon's Fountain," where
his 300 men lapped the water from their
hands as they passed through ; and we
sailed on Lake Galilee and stood on Mount
Zion and Mount Moriah and Mount Her
mon, and I saw the place where the shep
herds heard the Christmas anthem the
night Christ was born ; and have been at
Nazareth and Capernaum, and sat by
"Jacob's Well," and saw Tel el-Kebir of
modern battle, and Megiddo of ancient
battle, and where the Israelites crossed the
desert, and slept at Bethel, where one
ladder was let down into Jacob's dream,
but the night I slept there the heavens
were full of ladders ; first a ladder of
clouds, then a ladder of stars, and all up
and down the heavens were the angels of
beauty, angels ot consolation, angels of
God ascending and descending ; and I was
on nearly all the fields of Herodic, and Sol
omonic, and Davidic, and Mosaic, and
Abrahamic history. I took Rome, and
Naples, and Athens," and Alexandria, and
Cairo on the way out, and take the (ireek
Archipelago, and Constantinople, and Vi
enna on the way back. What more can
God in His goodness grant me in the way
of natural scenery and classic association
be
in
to
a
spiritual opportunity ? Ah, yes. I can
think of something gladder than that he
can grant me. Safe return to the people
of my beloved Hock, the field of my work,
and the land where my fathers died, and
in the dust of whose valleys I pray God 1
may be buried. T. DeWitt TalmAGB.
Life in Honduras.
unpleasant features op the place
where major e. a. burke resides.
A special dispatch to the St. Louis
O lobe- Democrat from San Antonio, Tex.,
says : Mr. Alfred Raphael, who has been
absent for three years, has returned to San
Antonio. A great part of his time has
been spent in Central America, and especi
ally in Honduras. Concerning the con
cession of Major E. A. Burke, defaulting
State treasurer of Louisiana, he says :
"It is located three miles from the town
of Concordia, and I have been over it very
often. It is many miles in extent and is
very valuable, particularly from a mineral
point of view. The lodes are both gold
and silver bearing, the latter predominat
ing, and some of them very rich. I did
not see Burke while there."
Of Honduras in general, Mr. Raphael
says: "Like all tropical countries, it h»a
its drawbacks. First, the climate. Al
though we were at an elevation of .5000
feet and 200 miles from the coast, the
changes during the twenty-four hours
were at times very severe. During our
winter months it probably averaged 85'
from 8 a. m. to 11 p. m. As the sun lowers
a cool breeze comes from the mountains,
followed by a heavy mist, which chills one
through. The thermometer drops before
midnight to 65', and several times dropped
to 54°. jk
"The houses are made of mud (not
a do be) The roofs are mtde of v .ile ;i so
laid as to keep out only
bat with door a id -■
wind will sodiki ' -
. pl ac ed ' "i the m: Idle f the r >om. i.der
' clothe 0 •._•• ■ 1 ^«saturated
j in the morning. Theru is no use making
î a file, a3 the heat all goes out through the
j basket -work roof. Besides, it must be
built on the floor in the middle of the
room, and the heat seems to draw every
insect within forty yards into the house.
There is not 5 per cent of the population
free from chills and fever, and it shakes
one pretty lively down there.
"a great portion of the people sleep in
hammocks, others on rawhides stretched
on a frame. This style of bed can get
harder and keep colder before morning
than the lining of an ice box. Not even
the poorest will sleep on the ground.
"The insects are various, vicious and
venomous. The scorpion is veiy plentiful
and builds its nest in the tiles of the roof.
It keeps warm and quiet duriDg the day
and at night prowls around, and getting
numbed with cold and looses its grip and
quite too often contrives to fall onto or
into the bed. Then there is music. They
are much larger than ours, more tuan
twice the size, but are not considered dan
gerous to adults. The children go >uto
convulsions from the pain of the sting,
and it is so severe somettmes as to cvase
death. It depends on what portion of the
body is stung. The cassampulga is a small
black spider with red spots or stripes, and
it is greatly feared by everv one. Its bite
is invariably fatal is not attended to at
once. The'negua or jigger, is the chap
that lays^its eggs under the skin of the
toes, and in three days its nest, of which
it is in the center, is as big as a buckshot.
Its presence is known by a slight itching ;
then the skin must be carefully raised and
laid back with a needle-point and a little
sac removed without breaking it. It looks
like a grain of barley, and leaves a clean
cut round hole to the flesh, which will be
healed the day following. If the sac is
broken atd any of the eggs left, as is often
the case, it is sometimes weeks before the
person is able to walk, and the sting must
be carefully attended to.
"There are species of flea brought about
the doorway of the houses by hogs, who
are often rendered unfit for food from the
ravages of this little pest. I have seen
them with both toes of the hind foot al
most eaten away. The most dreaded of all
the snakes is one about twenty-four
inches long and as thick as a big sausage.
It is of a bright green and mottled with
brown. It is called tamagas. It is also a
very pugnacious chap. The men cultivate
corn and sugar cane, and the women and
children go each day into the hills to wash
gold with variable luck. Sometimes a
woman will make $1, and often when they
strike gold gravel it is not unusual for
them to make $5 in a few hours. As may
be supposed, poverty is practically un
known. Besides, they have at their door,
in almost every garden, bananas, pineap
ples, oranges, coffee and a great variety of
fruits not known in this country."
Queer Beliefs.
The Fijian cannibal's emotions have
reference for the greater part to food, so
he worships the god Matawaloo, who has
eight stomachs and is always eating.
The Tongans have a very curious dogma
to account for a day and night being
twenty-four hours long. It used to be
less ; the sun used to go down too ^aick.
So one day a man caught 'A with a nooSe,
and it had to goislower thereafter.
The ancient Peruvians believed that the
sun once came down to the earth and laid
two eggs and then went back again. From
these two eggs men sprung.
The American Indians had a dogma that
the sun was the one preme god, and the
moon was his wife. TTne tribe inhabiting
a fearfully hot district worshipped the
moon alone, saying that they had no use
for the sun.
In the davs of Columbus scientific dog
mas asserted : If a ship should reach
India she could never get back again, be
cause the rotundity of the globe would
present a kind of mountain, up which it
would be impossible to sail even with the
most favo.able wind.
A Burning Question.
I am curious to know what it is that
makes a painting by one artist worth $10,
000, and a painting by another, though
equally good, perhaps even better, worth
$ 10. 1 saw some pictures recently by a
painter who can just keep his head above
water, which are as well painted as are
the canvases of many artists who are on
the topmost wave of popularity. Perhaps
you will say they lack the sacred fire. On
the contrary, they possess it to a greater
degree than some of their more fortunate
fellow craftsmen. And yet they will lie
in unknown graves while the others have
lofty monuments reared above their heads.
I wonder what makes the difference.
Sometimes I think it is enterprise, indus
try and tact—merely commercial qualities,
that have nothing to do with the intrinsic
merit of a work of art.— The Critic•
Just Reward.
Prisoner before the police j udge.
Judge—You say that you drank whisky
because you were sick !
Prisoner—Yes, your honor.
Judge—^What was the matter with you Y
Prisoner—A bad cold, your honor.
Judge—A cold, do you say ?
Prisoner—Yes, sir.
Judge—Are you sure ?
Prisoner—Quite sure.
Judge— Just an ordinary, every-day
American cold ?
Prisoner—Yes, sir.
Judge— You are not only discharged but
must dine with me to-day. The fact that
you had a cold and did not call it la grippe
or influenza, entitles you to great respact.
You can buy your wife fine clothes and
a nice face, but there is not a store in the
land that keeps dispositions.
Something to be kept on hand—Gloves.