Newspaper Page Text
Tuesday, November n, 1902.
THE PROGRESSIVE FARMER
people in other lands. Henry Ward
Beecher says : "A homo without
books is like a room, without win
dows." Books are like .friends : they
are ever with us and many times the
greatest source of pleasure and com
fort. Each year they are being
placed at the disposal of the masses.
Emerson says: "Books are the best
things well used, abused the worst."
We have more public libraries in our
country than ever before. The trav
eling libraries are an innovation
which will be of great value to the
farm homes. Next come the school
libraries and you will find many a
district school house contains one of
these. True tlie books may bo few
but the few are well chosen and what
a pleasure to the pupils! How many
a child will be touched by some little
story read to them, that you or I
might not notice, which will in
iluence them through all their lives.
Be content, do not worry, think of
your mercies and do not envy your
city cousins, for to them many of
the beauties of nature are only word
pictures, and though they may have
famous artists best paintings, there
is many a tint in the setting sun that
no artist's pencil has ever caught.
Xo painter has dipped his brush in
the rainbow colors, or the silvery
rain drops hanging to the limbs and
trees. What city conservatory can
.how flowers equal to dainty spring
blossoms that nestle so near to na
ture's heart? What music can equal
the robin as he sings his vesper
sogej ? What chorus is prettier than
""fjit of the black birds singing?
"Vith such blessings to enjoy we
TJhoiiJd be thankful to our Heavenly
Father and take the good of what
He hath given us, not forgetting
thos less fortunate, remembering
the words of a good Quaker, "I shall
pass through life but once, if there
be any good thing I can do, or any
kindness I can show to any human
being, let me do it now, let me not
ilefer it for I shall not pass this way
again." Mrs. I. C. W., in Wallace's
When to Stop.
It cannot be too often said that it
i? si s wise to stop reading a poor book
as to finish a good one. In truth, it
U wiser; for to stop in the middle of
j:"-.d book means only some loss,
wiiilc t0 go with a poor one means
positive- harm. The older we grow,
the more books thrust themselves
ui"n onr attention, and it is never
ton early to be saving of your time
f(,r the best reading. To read trash
ii"t only foolish and wasteful of
: it positively crowds out good
ic a!i: -November St. Nicholas.
Getting the Most Out of Life.
Christ's life was the best life that
ever lived. Yet that life was
wholly a life of service. Jesus gave
llS lito; livinS and dying for others.
N lth ihh example and pattern before
us, how are we to get the most out
of hfe? By seeking the' most for
ourselves, or for others? Can we
have any real question as to this?
Are we looking at life and its uses
in this way? Sunday-School Times.
The Pullman-car porter had settled
himself for a comfortable nap, hav
ing snugly tucked away the last of
his charges, including the fat man
in "Lower Eight" and the timid
young thing who had boarded the
train at Norfolk. The porter stirred
uneasily in his nap, for the snoring
that was arising from "Lower Eight"
drowned the roar of the train. The
snoring came in gurgles, moans, and
whistling, the like of which had nev
er been heard in heaven above or on
the earth beneath. The curtains of
"Lower Eight" had swupg slightly
open with the lurch of the train, and
the fat man could be seen lying on
his broad back, with his mouth gap
As his slumber deepened, he was
apparently in the last throes of chok
ing when a neatly rolled umbrella,
held in a slender white hand, crept
out from "Lower Seven," where the
timid young thing was shrinking, and
made a vicious jab between the cur
tains of "Lower Eight."
"Porter! Porter!" came a whoop
from "Lcwer Eight," and the bell
"What is it,. sah?" cried the start
led porter as he bounded down the
"Did you stab me in the side?" de
manded the fat man in dire wrath.
"Oh, no, sah!" replied the porter.
"I never done no thing like that!
You must have been dreaming, sah."
"Confound you! Pm not dream
ing!" growled "Lower Eight."
"Well, sah," argued the porter, his
black hand concealing his gleaming
ivories, "you know that when you
turned in you had took a little moah
than was jess good fo' any- gem-
"It's mighty funny," muttered
"Lower Eight;" but he was not in a
position to contradict this statement,
so he subsided. The porter returned
to the smoking-room, ruminating on
the strange hallucinations produced
by too long a dallying in the aming
car. The snores began again in rising
crescendo. Just as the teeth of ner
vous passengers were well set, the
umbrella stole again from "Lower
Seven," and another vicious lunge
made the snore change to a howl of
"Porter!" yelled -"Lower Eight,"
"I tell you someone is stabbing me !"
"Kain't be nutlm' like that, sah,"
replied the porter, coming up sooth
ingly. "I ain't slept a wink, and
nobody's been movinK in this car, or
Pd a-seen them. You're jess bavin'
a bad dream."
"It's no dream!" shouted the fat
man. "Why, my side is sore. Feels
like there's a hole there you could
stick your fist in."
"Now you go to sleep again, sah,"
coaxed the porter, "and I'll watch
that you ain't tetched."
The rumble of the train was oncd
more lost in the vocal exercises from
"Lower Eight," and the porter, pull
ing his cap over his eyes, napped in
"Ouch! Ouch! Help! Help!" and a
red face shot out of "Lower Eight."
The porter slouched up the aisle dis
gust written on his countenance.
'Gawd, porter," groaned the fat
man. is there a doctor on board?
I'm horribly punctured! Did you
see the villain when he stabbed me?"
"Kain't nobody stab you, sah " re
monstrated the porter sternly. "No
body ain't mpved in this car. You've
got the deleriam -trimming, that's
what's the matter wif you. If you
don't lie still and stop your holleriii',
me and the conductor is goin' to
strap you down."
"I don't see what they mean by
putting drunken brute3 in the car
with ladies," exclaimed an acid voice
from "Upper Ten."
"Put him off at the next station.
This is supposed to be a sleeping
car," growled "Lower Four." "He
hasn't done a thing but keep every
body awake with his infernal grunt
ing since he turned in." " "
From all along the line of curtains
came uncomplimentary comments,
but there was silence in "Lower Sev
en," where lay the timid young thing
who had got on at Norfolk.
"Never had such bad dreams in my
life," said "Lower Eight," addressing
the car in general. "Dreamed the
same thing three times in succession.
I believe it is a warning. If any ac
cident is going to happen to-night, I
die with my boots on. I'm going to
A thrashing about told the other
passengers that the fat man was as
good as his word. A sigh of relief
was breathed through the car as the
fat man lumbered by the curtains to
the smoking-room, to spend the rest
of the night brooding over the mys
tery. When the timid young thing crept
from her berth the next morning,
there was something about the smilo
which lurked around her mouth that
made the porter scratch his head.
Caroline Lockhart, in August New
The Plumed Knight's Sixth Sense.
Another of our public men -James
G. Blaine possessed this - abnormal
memory for faces and names. It
was as useful to him as ,a sixth sense.
Behind it, too, in his case, there were
the warm heart and ardent instincts
which came to him from his Irish
forefathers. He won as devoted an
allegiance from the nation as did
Clay. I don't believe, by the way,
that any man, be he statesman or
writer or soldier, ever has gained
that passionate loyalty from the pub
lic who did not have red blood at
heart and the boyish temperament.
When I was a schoolgirl in Wash
ington, Pennsylvania, James Blaine
was a big, ungainly law student in
the same village. Some time, long
ago, there had been an intermar
riage in our families, so that we al
ways in the Southern phrase
"called cousins," and having this
background of old times and childish
friends we kept up the fiction of re
lationship through life, until we, too,
were old and gray.
During his busy years of public
ljfe when on his way from Washing
ton to New York he would dodge
committees and crowds at the Phil
adelphia station and come to us for
a quiet hour or two of "Do you re
member ?" or "What has become of"
this or that old comrade?
He kept sight of all the poor, ob
scure friends of his boyhood, and, as
I learned elsewhere, he never, with
all his burden of work and worry,
failed to help them or their children
when they needed help.
No doubt, in public life, Mr.
Blaine may have gilded the gold of
his friendly impulses by a-little
finesse. On one occasion when he
was to be the guest of honor at a
large banquet in Philadelphia he
asked his host, as we sat at dinner,
"What are the names of the princi
pal men that I shall meet to-night?"
They were told to him. -
An. hour later, when they were
presented to him, Blaine detained
each with a look of sudden, keen in
terest. ."B 1 did yOU say? There was
a great jurist B in Philadelphia
when I was a boy ? He stood in
the highest court of the temple while
I was peeping through the fence -?"
"My father, sir." And B
passed on,' flushed and smiling.
"W ? Of English descent? I
see it in your features the name,
too. It goes back to Elizabeth's time.
Not -from Leamington? Why, you
must be a descendant of the Bishop?
The immortal W ?"
How did he know that the one
weakness of this W was to be
thought a descendant of the famous
How, in that brief hour after din
ner, had he summoned into his brain
all the pleasant facts or fancies that
clung to the names of these stran
gers, so that by a word he made them
his allies for life?
He altered very little during his
flife. When he was the brilliant, pop
ular college boy of the village, at
heart he did not care a groat for the
honors which he won. When he was
a candidate for the Presidency, be
neath the able politician was a mel
ancholy idler who at heart did not
care whether he ever entered the
White House or not.
He came of. an able, scholarly,
sluggish .race. He Jiad the strong
brain, the keen perception, the un
erring tact needed to control masses
of men when he cared to control
them. The powerful engine was
there, but not always the fire to move
it. He was pushed forward and held
back throughout his life by the am
bition or faults of his weak retain
ers. From the Reminiscences of Re
becca Harding Davis, in the Satur
day Evening Post.
"Poverty hez still got its consola
tions," said Brother Dickey. "In dis
day en time, w'enever you hears er
rich man dyin', it's always wid some
er dese new-fangled diseases wid a
name w'ich hez ter be spelled out in
Greek en Latin; but w'en a poVman
dies, it's wid de same ol'-time rheum
atism, or de familiar measles, which
de wayfarin' man, though a fool, kin
spell whilst he runs." Atlanta Con