* 852%
Bellefonte, Pa., May 8,489l.
rm
BRAVE LOVE.
He'd nothing but his violin,
P’d nothing but my song,
But we were wed when skies were blue
And summer days were long.
And when we rested by the hedge
The robina came and told
How they had dared to woe:and win
When early spring was cold. :
‘We sometimes supped on dewberries,
Or slept among the hay,
But oft the farmers’ wives at.eve
Came out to hear us play
The rare old tunes, the dear old tunes,
We could not starve for long,
While oy man had his violin,
And T my sweet love song.
The world has aye gone well with us,
Qld man, since we were one;
Our homeless wandering down the lanes
Itlong ago was done. °°
But those who wait for gold-or gear,
For houses and for kine, :
Till youth’s sweet spring grows ‘brown and
-sere
And love and beaty tine.
‘Will never know the joy of thearts
That met without a fear,
When you had but your ‘vielin
And I a song, my dear. ;
— Fankee Blade.
——————
“NEVER FAILETH.”
A:young woman stood on the for-
ward deck of a crowded ferry boat, as
it forged its heavy way through the
water, making swells whieh rocked the
smaller boats near by and washed high
up on the piles at the dook.
The young woman did mot notice the
shipping, the tall buildings, the noisy
landing or the pushing .orowd behind.
She:was thinking; and as the beat jar-
red against the burfers she said in a
low tone to herselt, “Live is the great-
est thing in the world.”
No-one heard or heeded her but one
pale-faged little woman in a black
shawl, who stood crowded almost
against her. - She heard the words,and
a look. of avonder came into her hun-
gry eyes. But the bea: was .docked,
and the. crowd pushed whem on, and
each went her separate way.
The. pale-taced little woman in the
black shawl hurried from place to place
but:all the time she was turning over
in her mind the words, “Love is the
greatest thing in the world—in all the
world.”
Love of.what—love from whom? It
made no difference. Lowe was not for
her. "Youthwas gone, hope was gone,
thereswas nothing for her but work.
Her hushaud lived to work, and desir-
ed that she should live to works and
love, 6he could not remember to have
heard the .work for years—no, nor
thought it.
The little children she used to think
some day might be hers had mever
come, and her husband said it was a
good thing, for children took time and
money, and she had waited and griev-
ed and worked in silence, uatil mow
she never thought of it, exeept to whink
that it was bewter:so.
Was love the greatest thing in the
world? Then she must miss the great-
est thing as she had missed all lesser
things. But the hungry eyes looked
out of a hungry heart, and the words
said themselves over and over, not .en-
ly that day, but through all the next
weeks in a trip which she and her hus-
band made to the West.
They had boughteome land in Ken-
sas, with a little one-roomed house on
it, and there the work.of living began
again with ten<old push. There was'
not a house in-sight,.ard the sun seem-
ed to rise so early and set so late—
those long, long days, when she work-
ed till the very grave would have seem-
ed a pleasant place to rest in.
But all through that summer, as she
looked back .on.ii, she. could see how!
the weight that bore ber down grew
lighter.
She seldom saw any.ene but her
husband. They hsd no books, and
thore few words, ‘Love iscthe greatest
thing in the world,” began.to fill for
her the place of books and friends.
When the sunlight was. bright, and
there were fleecy little clouds in the
: blue sky, and the prairie was blazing
. with flowers, and the ane cottonwood
siree rustled its leaves .in the light
~breeze, there came new, meaniag into
those words.
Finally, though she could net have
itold when or how, she came to; feel the
love of God very close to her, and she
knew that in some way God must, mean
that she should give out a little love to
other things—love the cattle, and the
horses, and the pigs,and the chickens ;
for che was a simple little woman. She
loved them all; the work seemed eaci-
er and the living things throye.
‘“She’s,got a wonderful knack,” said
her husband to a passing neighbor.
But as the capacity grew the hunger
grew, and then one day there seemed |
to hier to come a very gift from God.
A little sebbing boy came dragging
up to the open door—a little boy with
dark eyes, with brown hair just long
enough to show a tendency to: curl,
with dirty hands and dirty face, and
shoes cut with stones. Such a little
boy! ' About eight years old, she
thought.
He cried and reached up his hands
to her. :
With a hasty look at the milk she
was skimming to churn, she picked
him up in her arms and held him
close. She felt his lot little face
against hers, felt the little arm around
her neck, and the little heaving chest
and beating heart against her own;
ghe held. him tight and leved him, and
the tears came into her eyes.
Bat that could only last a minute;
there was the milk. Thea she gave
him water with which te wash his
hands and face outside the door, and
after that she gave him a slice of bread
and a tin cup of milk, He gat there
as if he owned the house, his tears
dried, and his quick eyes glanced
around.
When his mouth was empty enough
so that he could talk, he told his story.
““My name is Charlie,” he said. “I
was in‘the prairie schooner, and the
woman ‘and the man got very mad at
me and put me off and shoolk the whip’
at me, and I ran across the prairie till
I saw this house, and now I'm going
to stay here.”
“Were the man:ead woman your fa
ther and mother?”
“Oh no; my:mother is in a coffin
in the ground. She caught a fever,
and this man and woman brought me
| along. Oh; I'm glad they're gone: I'd
| rather stay with you.” :
She churned fast and thought faster.
Her husband would not let him stay ;
he didn’t like boys, and the boy would
eat a half more. Then there were the
‘| clothes. No; he would have to go.
Her heart throbbed; had it ever
throbbed like that before ?
“Iwant to do that,” said Charlie,
-eying thechurndasher enviously.
A brawe thought; perhaps he could
‘work! She looked hastily down the
hill. There was her husband’s hat
coming around the stack.
“Here, quick!” she said, and as the
boy grasped the dasher, she took her
sutthbonnet and went out with the chick-
en-feed.
Her husband came up the slope.
“Hello, there, Jayhawker,” the boy
called out, “look at me shove this
-shover |”
‘Charlie with his legs apart, his
cheeks red, his eyes shining, drove the
churn-handle furiously.
The pale face under the sunbonnet
was 80 eager that the man coming up
the slope would hardly have recogniz-
ed it. He smiled in spite of himself at
the little figure at the churn. When
had his wife geen him smile before ?
‘She came forward with the empty
pan, the eagerness schooled out of face
and voice. She told what she knew
about the boy, and added, “Perhaps
he can work.”
3 gleam came into her husband's
eyes. He was beginning to feel his
constant labor. His head had ached
lately, and his back ached, and he felt
stiff in the mornings.
He tried the muscle in the boy's
proudly extended arm, and felt his legs.
“We'll keep him,” he said, briefly;
“he can do a sight of chores.”
That night, when that pale-faced lit-
tle woman could hear the sound of the
little feilow’s breathing over there in
his quilt in the corner, and could hear
‘Lim turn in his sleep and mutter some-
thing now and then, her heart beat
fast, and all the sounds of the night
weat to the music of “Loves the great-
est thing in the world,”
Bo the boy stayed, and for a time
there was peace.
“You're looking so spry, Malviny,
and put more heft into your house
work. Kansas agrees with you bet:
ter'n with me,” said her husband, one
day.
&he did feel a difference. The times
she could take to sew a button on
‘Charlie's little ragged clothes, the mo-
ment when she coubd bind up one of
the little dirty, stubby, cut fingers, the
time she could spend knitting little
stockings for cold weather, or making
coarse little shirts, or cutting down
Isaac's worn-out overalls, the times
when she could steal out of bed in the
dark night, and kneel down by his
quilt, and kiss the soft little cheek, and
pray with Ler whole soul that God
would bless him and help her love him
well, were a very elixir of lite to her.
At first.Charlie thought that chores
some new sort of play, but that did not
last long, By the time he was ten
years old he was known by all the
neighbors:as that good-for-nothing boy
of Holt’s. He was a “bad hoy-”
“Charlie, have you fed the calves?”
Isaac would eay in the morning.
“Yep,” came very glibly. And at
night, “Charlie, now feed the calves,”
with the same reply. But perhaps by
the time the milking was done Charlie
would say, “I ain’t fed the calves to-
day!”
“You said you had I”
‘I was thinking I had, Lut I hain’
fed 'em nor watered 'em.”
Then Isaac, with a kick at the boy,
which was skillfully evaded, would
tramp wearily out into the darkness to
0 the neglected work.
Charlie would take a horse at four
o’elock in the afternoon to go for the
cattle off on the prairie, and would
drive the.cows galloping home long af-
ter dark, with his horse foaming with
long and heavy riding. He would dis-
appear fora svhole day, and when he
came home, Isaac, worn out with rage,
would try to whip him; but even if
the boy were soundly thrashed,in some
way he still seemed to have the best
of it.
When Isaac would vow, as he often
did, that Charlie should never stay un-
der his roof another night, the boy
would suddenly work so well, doing al-
most a maa’s work, that Isaac’s wrath
was gure to cool. For Charlie was
really skillful with the cattle, and so
strong that leaac never could make up
‘his mind to do without him.
There was ene person, and only one
who never said he was a bad boy. At
pizht he had more than once waked up
to.catch a glimpse of a white face,
quite near him in the mocnlight, and
to feel hot tears drop on his face. Us-
ually he turned over and tried to ap-
pear very sound asleep; once he chok-
and gave her a great boyish hug and
kiss that she neyer forgot.
But the next day he was worse than
he had ever been before, and was whip-
ped thicc times by Isaac,
Meantime Isaac was failing. “I’m
breaking, Malviny,”” he said one after-
noon, coming in earlier than usual.
He sat by the table, his head in his
arms, never heeding milking time,
| never looking up to growl at Charlie |
when he entered.
In the morning he started out to
milk, but came back and sat again
with his head in kis arms; and then,
not knowing what she could do so, but
with a love and pity in her heart that
must find expression, his wife coaxed
him in timid words to go to bed; and
when he was there, the womanly in-
stinct came uppermost, and she tidied
the room, and darkened it, and moved
quietly and smoothed Tsuae's forehead,
though iv almost frightened ber to do it.
She tried to encourage him, and as
she walled around she sang in a low
-
ed, and put his arms around her neck, |
voice her only song, “Love isthe great-
est thing in the world.”
He heard the words, and roused
himself to listen. ;
“Come here, Malviny,” he said. As
she sat beside him he took her small,
bony, twisted, hard-worked hand in his
large one, and said brokenly :
“I’m sorry I ain’t been lovin’er to
you, Malviny, No man ever bad so
good a wife as Iv’e hed.”
There was a long pause, while the
chickens could be heard scratching
outside the door.
“We ain’t made much of life,” he
went on. “This day, lying here,
watching you and your quiet ways,and
feeling your hand, is the sweetest day
I ever hed, Malviny.”
He said no more. He held her hand
and died at sunset.
The neighbors virtuously hoped that
now Widow Holt was left alone,
Charlie would do better, especially as
he was getting so well-grown. He was
sixteen now.
But he did not do better; he did
worse, He stayed away whole days
from the farm. The milking, and all
the hard chores, fell upon one little
sorrowing woman. She tried to have
nice meals, but Charlie was seldom at
home to eat them, and the things were
put away untasted. Soon she would
have nothing to eat, she knew, if
Charlie did not help.
Many rumors were afloat about
Charlie. Some of the neighbors’ boys
were becoming reckless and unman-
ageable. It was all due to Charlie,
the neighbors said, and there was tal
of driving him out of the country.
One night Charlie came dashing up
on his horse, pale and breathless, and
there was a great welt from a whiplash
on his neek and cheek. He broke in-
to the little room and said :
“I'm going. Barnes and Clack and
Hall met me on horesback at the Cor-
ners, and Nat Hall's run away. and
they say it's my fault. Barnes cut me
with his whip, and they say they're
coming up here by midnight, and if
I'm not gone they'll horsewhip me
out of the county 1’
The boy's eyes were like sparks of
fire, and bis face was white with rage,
but not so white as the little woman's
who grasped the chair-back.
“I've loved you so—Charlie!” she
said, in a voice like a cry.
The boy's throat worked ; the color
came into his face and left it; his
hands clenched, and then, with a
groan, he threw himself on the bed.
His strong young shoulders shook, and
he sobbed in a storm of tears.
She knelt down beside him, All she
could say was, ‘“Charlie—my little
Charlie!” She did not know how to
| talk,
“I won't go,” he said, after an hour.
“They can horsewhip all they like, but
I can’t leave you. I'll be good; oh,
I'm so bad—so bad! I—,, He put
his Lead in her lap, and she smoothed
it as she did at night when she thought
he was assleep. “I want—to take care
of you—but I'm so bad!”
She sat there and soothed him until
he fell asleep. She waited until twelve
o'clock, but no one came.
Then she looked and looked on the
face she loved so much—the square
forehead, the tanned, fresh.colored
cheeks—on that dreadful welt, the
firm chin, the mouth she thought sc
beautifu!, the brown hair with the
wave in it, the long lashes on the
cheek. It was a reckless face, but it
looked like such a good face to her—
it always had looked good to her, no
matter what he did!
His brows drew together, and he
murmured in his sleep just as he did
the first night he came. He was only
a boy after all; he said he would be
good !
“Is love the greatest thing in the
world? Can my love for him, and his
love for me, and God's love for both,
make him a good boy ? Ifit can, love
is the greatest thing in the world.”
In the morning, when he awoke, she
was sitting beside him, halfafraid to
have him waken ; for he was a good
boy when he was asleep
He seemed dazed at first. Then he
flushed, and looking square into her
eyes said, with a new tone in his boy-
ish voice, “You love me; don’t you?
Well, I'll show I love you—you see!”
She did see. He was as good a
worker as any man around, and he
knew it. He began his farming on a
small scale, so that he could do every-
thing himself—so “she” could live
“comfortable like.” :
The little woman eould not under-
stand the summer that followed. A
different look came into her eyes, and
Charlie said there was color in her
cheeks. Perhaps it was true, for it
was a wonderful thing to have a hap-
py voice asking what she wanted, and
telling her not to do this or that, but
rest.
Charlie found time to do so many
new things! They had a garden with
lettuce and tomatoes and sweet peas—
things they fever had before,
He said that the one room with its
shed kitchen was not fit for her to live
in, and he worked early and late, and
{ made {rade with carpenters, until he
ladded a kitchen and porch and two
rooms for bedrooms.
Then came that wonderful day, the
most frivolous day in all that littie wo-
| man’s life, when they took the horses
and wagon and started before sunrise
for Topeka, and came back by moon-
light with a bed, a great rocking-chair,
| a looking-glass, a carpet, and some
, dishes.
At night, when everything was all
| done, and Charlie could hardly contain
| himself for pleasure, the little woman
felt a tickling in her throat, and won-
| dered if she was going to cry while she
| was frying eggs in the new frying pan.
Such a night as that was, and such a
{ supper—ijust they two; Charlie was
| happy, and looked lovingly at the little
i woman opposite him.
He was very solemn toward bedtime.
- He hung over her chair, and held her
face in his two big hands, and kissed
i her, and said :
“You think I love you now, don't
you, mother? And we think what
you sing—don’t we—that love is the
greatest thing in the world! "— Youth's
Companion.
Beecher and Ingersoll.
: Fp ENT
Mr. Beécher has gone to rest. The
way was long for, him and often very
rough, buthe trod his pathway with a
buoyant step and far looking eyes.
Great, natural, faulty, beloved, he has
gone now ; but his words remain. Per-
haps Colonel Ingersoll and those who
were with him will long remember the
following selected incident :
Colonel Ingersoll was thrown one
day into the society of Henry Ward
Beecher. There were other gentlemen
present, all of whom were prominent in
the world of brains. A variety of topics
were discussed with decided brilliancy,
but no allusion was made to religion.
The distinguished infidel was of course
too polite to introduce the subject him-
self, but one of'the party finally, desir-
ing to see atilt between Bob and Beech-
er, made a playtul remark about Inger-
soll’s idiosyncrasy, as he termed it. The
Colonel av once defended his views in
his usual apt rhetoric; in fact, he waxed
eloquent. He was replied to by several
gentlemen in very effective repartee.
Contrary to the expectations of all, Mr.
Beecher remained an abstracted listener
and said not a word. The gentleman
who introduced the topic with the hope
that Mr. Beecher would answer Colonel
Ingersoll, at last remarked : “Mr. Beech-
er, have you nothing to say on this sub-
ject 2”
The old man slowly lifted himself
from his attitude and replied, “Noth-
ing; mm fact, if you will excuse me for
changing the conversation, I will say
that while you gentiemen were talk-
ing my mind was bent on a most de-
plorable spectacle which I witnessed
to-day.
“Why,” said Mr. Beecher, ‘as I was
walking down town to-day I saw a poor
blind man on crutches, slowly and care-
fully picking his way through a cess-
pool of mud in the endeavor to cross the
street. He had just reached the middle
of the filth when a big, burly ruffian,
himself all bespattered, rushed up to
him, jerked the crutches from under the
unfortunate man and left him sprawling
and helpless in the pool of dirt which
had almost engulfed him.”
“What a brute I’ said the Colonel.
“What a brute he was!” they all
echoed.
“Yes,” said the old man, rising from
his chair and brushing back his long
white hair, while his eyes glittered with
his old-time fire, as he bent them on In-
gersoll—“Yes. Colonel Ingersoll, and
you are the man. The human soul is
lame, but Christianity gives its crutches
to enable it to pass the highway of life.
It is your teaching that knocks the
crutches from under it and leaves it a
belpless and rudderless wreck in the
slough of despond. If robbing the hu-
man soul of its only support on this
earth—religion—be your profession,
why,ply it to your heart’s content. It re-
quires an architect to erect a building ;
an incendiary may reduce it to ashes.”
The old man sat down and silence
brooded over the scene. Colonel In-
gersoll found he had a master in hisown
power of illustration and said nothing.
The company took their hats and part-
ed.
On Being a Girl.
So you wish you were a boy, do you,
my dear? You “realize that brain-pow-
er, always honored in man, is often de-
pised in a woman,” you are ‘conscious
of forces within that the ordinary course
of a woman’s life will never call into
play? My child, honestly and earn-
estly, you ought to be ashamed of your-
self!
If you were a Chinese girl, doomed to
be the slave of your husband’s parents ;
if you were a H'ndoo maiden already
married to a man whom you had never
seen until your wedding day, there
would be some reason in your sorrowful
wail. But for you, with avenues of
usefulness and honor opening before you
on every side, to utter such a wail—ves,
you certainly ought to be ashamed of
yourself!
It is a glorious thing to be a girl, and
to hold the hope of being a woman a lit-
tle later on.
It is true, as the orators like to say,
that “the age needs men.” But the age
also needs women. Don’t be afraid that
your talents must be wasted, merely be-
cause you can’t sing bass, or drive a nail
properly. There are scores of things
Just as good and useful that you can do
if you will.
Don’t be afraid to use and develop ’all
the brain power that you possess.
Strong mindedness is not nearly so ob-
jectionable as weakmindedness, To be
sure, the world wants you to be manly ;
but weakness is no mor: essential to
womanliness than coarseness is to man-
liness.
If those “forces within,” of whose
presence you are conscious, will not be
called into play “in the ordinary course
of a woman's life,”” why, then, you will
have to make the course of your life ex-
traordinarily good, extraordinarily true
and hopeful. Brain power, in either
sex, needs the accompaniment of heat
power.
Thousands of Dollars for a Drink,
A resident of Beauharnois was on
Tuesday morning ealled by telegram to
St. Jerome, where a near relative was
dangerously ill, He got as far as Mon-
treal, but on coming out of the Bona-
venture station he met a convival ac-
quaintance. The pair started to ‘liquor
up’ at a saloon bard by. They con-
tinued at it until it was too late for the
man from Beauharnois to catch the 5
o/clock train from Dalhousie Square Sta-
tion, and they decided to “make a night
of 1t.”” Yesterday the man from Beau-
harnois received another telegram stat-
ing that his relative had just died intes-
tate, leaving about $12,000 to be divided
up among about fifty collateral rela-
tives, the Beauharnois man taking his
moiety among the rest, but that had he
reached St. Jerome in time he was to
have been left the bulk of the property.
His tears at that funeral are likely to be
genuine.
IR ST T————
An Indian father drew the body
of his dead child on a hand-sled thirty- |
six miles across the upper end of Lake |
might be
Michigan in order that it
buried from the Catholic Church.
ine.
RP
see
RS 1.43 PTR
The War Scare.
“Say, Chimmie,” said” Gusty as he
lighted a half smoked cigarette he had
picked up, and leaned his elbows on
that step of the city hall which happen-
ed to be above the one he was sitting on,
“what's dis place, Italy, the papers says
is goin’ ter fight wid us ?”
~ “Italy,” replied Chimmie, who was
better read than Gusty, “why dat’s de
place all de dagos comes from, If it
wasn’t fer Italy we wouldn’t have no
bananas or peanuts or grind organs.”
“Where is it? Is it furder away
dan Coney Island ?”
“Coney Islan’ ? Well, IT guess yes.
It’s furder away dan Chicago—so fur
away haf to go dere in a boat.”
“Well, how’s dey goin’ to fight us
den Ifdeysen’ any boats over here
dem big cannons down on Guvnor's
Islan’ would fill ‘em full o’ holes and
sink ’em,”
“Dat shows all you know about it.
Dem cannons ain’t to fire oft. Dey're
jus’ for show. If'dey fired ‘em off dey’d
bust. Besides, dem boats what dey
fight wid is coyered all over wid iron
ticker dan me fist. Dem cannons
could’t do nothin’ against em.”
Gusty was getting interested. ‘What's
to keep de dagos from comin’ over here
and doin’ jus’ what dey want to do
den ?’’ he asked.
“Nothin’,” replied Chimmie, whose
powers of explanation always increased
with Gusty’s interest. “Dey’d come
over in dose boats an’ fire a cannon at
city hall ‘an kill Mayor Grant. Den
dey’d kill ail de coppers. Den de dago
ginerals would come on shore and help
demselves to whatever dey wanted.
Dey’d go inter de candy stores and
take all de candy dey wanted an’ not
pay fer it. Dey’d go to de teater and
take de bes’ seats, becauze dere wouldn't
be no coppers to stop ‘em. See?
Dey’d be de bosses o° New York, an’
dey’d k'll anybody dey wanted to ex-
ceptde dagos what sells bananas an’
peanuts.”
Guasty began to look disturbed. “Say,
Chimmie,” he said, “you know de lame
dago wot I swiped a banana off of yes-
terday ?”’
“Yes,” replied Chimmie.
“D’you suppose he'd tell de dago gin-
erals about dat ?”
“I dunno,” said Chimmie. ¢Mebbe he
would.”
“I’you suppose dey’d kill me ?”’
“I dunno. You're only a newsie, an
mebbe dey’d be so busy killin’ coppers
an’ detectives dey wouldn’t have time to
kill you. But dere’s de extry out—
come on, Gusty,” and the two boys
raced off to The Sun office.— Life.
Florida's Labyrinthian Waterways,
“Where have you been ?” said a guest
at one of the hotels as a friend walked
up the steps, well laden with souvenirs
from South Florida.
“Oh!” was the reply, “I’ve been
down to Charlotte Harbor and up that
river with the unmentionable name.”
“Caloosahatchee ?”’
“Yes, that’s it. Ispent six days try-
ing to pronounce it aud haven't suc-
ceeded yet. These Indian names are
beautiful names, but they are deucedly
hard to pronounce. By the way, where
have you been ?”
“Well, I went over tothe Suwanee
River, cut over the country, and shot
‘gators on the Withlapochee, fished for
bass in Tsala Apopka, sailed on Thou-
otosassa, skipped over to Okanlockhat-
chee, walked by the shores of the Weo.
kyakapka, plucked flowers by Hickpo-
chee’s limip waters, visited the sugar
fields on Tohopekaliga, saiied on the
tortuous Kissimme, was buffetted by
the waves of Okeechobee, and have also
captured tarpon on the Caloosahatchee.
I expeet to visit Istodpogayoxie, Locka-
pepka, Hascheneeha and Ecautock-
hatchee before I leave the State.”
“Gosh!” ejaculated his companion,
as he stepped into the hotel.
We Eat Too Much.
Nearly everybody eats far more than
is necessary, said a New York doctor.
Among my patients those who eat the
least get over their mollygrabs the
quickest, while those who eat the
heaviest are ill the oftenest. My expe-
rience shows that half the ailments of
life are ‘brought about by overeating or
drinking. I mvself takea light break-
fast, perhaps eggs with toast, or fish
with potatoes, or a bit of cold chicken,
or something ofthe kind and a cup of
coffee. At noon I take milk,with a few
crackers, or else some California fruits.
At 6 [ have a hearty, but not a heavy
dinner, with soup, fish, meat, vegetables
and bread. I do not eat over a pound
and a half of solid food a day, though I
am more robust than most men, and
am never troubled with any of the
hundred complaints that are the result
of overeating. I advise you to eat
lightly, be careful of what you eat, and
take your time in eating. Tbis looks
like commonplace advice, but my fee
for it, without any pills, is $10.
Scarlet the Sacred Color.
In Italy, Turkey,Greece, Asia Minor,
Egypt and many of the Oriental coun-
tries, the archaic images of the deities
were painted red, ‘and it has been said
that the traditional practice was intend.
ed to pleas2 the “color sense,” by which
he meant that these images were regard-
ed as pretty gew-gaws. This 18 not
likely, and the true explanation is that
the color of red was sacred. All pres-
tine creeds can, with probability, be
traced ultimately to two origins. They
are, in differant disguises, the worship
of the sun and the worship of humanity.
Red became, therefore, an exceptionally
odious color when the ascetic temper
gained possession of religion. The
author of “The Wisdom of Solomon”
betrays a profound antipathy to the
color in the following: “Or make it
like some wild beast, laying it over
with vermillion, and with paitt color-
ing it red, and covering every spot
therein.”
AT THE MASQUERADE. — Miss Sharp
-—Ah, Mr. Dullard, you are looking
the part ot Black Prince to pe; fection.
Mr. Dullard—Ye-es, but do you
kpow, Miss Sharp, T feel like a perfect
idiot.
Miss Sharp (earnestly) —Now, that
will never do, Mr. Dullard. At a mas-
querade, as on the stage, one must for-
get lits real character entirely.
WT
Utilizing ‘the Old Umbrella,
A Pretty Piece of Ornamental Gar-
dening.
A very pretty piece of ornamental
gardening, not too difficult for begin-
ners, can be done with an old umbrella
or parasol and some plants of cypress
vine. maurandia, sweet-pea, or anything
that is not of too aspiring a nature Such
climbers as the morning-glory, canary-
bird vine, and other twenty-footers, are
better left tor unsighly fences and build-
ings. Plants are better than seeds, be-
cause more certain, and they do not take
so long to catch the knack of twining
and spreading. Umbrella ribs are not
decorative, and to see such an object
standing there week after week, waiting
for its clothes, does not give people a
pleasant impression of a garden.
But first find your unibrella ; and this
may not be so easy, for “retired” um-
brellas that are no longer fit for use are
seldom seen. Some members of the
family, however, may be able to pro-
duce one ; and then it should be imme-
diately stripped of the few tatters left to
it. The next step is to paint the frame
and handle brown, and when quite dry,
plant the end of the handle firmly in the
ground, with the frame fully opened.
Lf the handle is rather short, it will be
an improvement to add a piece of wood
to it.
It is now ready for the vines, which
should have made some progress in grow-
ing ; and when they once begin to do
their best, the old umbrella frame makes
such a lovely green bower studded with
blossoms of red or purple or white—or
all together if the vines are mixed—that
every one exclaims over its beauty.
A parasol with the same treatment is
equally pretty on a smaller scale, and it
would be very ornamental in the center
of around bed edged with bright-color-
ed phlox or candy-tuft. With a long-
spouted watering-pot the vines could
have a daily drenching in warm weather,
when the sun is not shining on them,
from their roots to their highest green
tips, and this would keep them fresh,
——
Learning to Walk.
People sometimes ask: At what age
can we set a child in a chair; when put
him on his legs; how old must he be
before we teach him to. walk ? The an-
swers are easy. He must not be made
to sit till he has spontaneously sat u
in his bed and has been able to hold his
seat. This sometimes happens in the
sixth or seventh month, sometimes later.
The sitting position is not without dan-
ger, even when he takes to it himself;
imposed prematurely upon him, 1t tries
the back-bone and may interfere with
the growth, so the child should never be
taught to stand or to walk. This is his
affair, not ours. Place him on a carpet
in a healthy room or in the open air,
and let him play in freedom—roll, try
to go ahead on his hands and feet, or go
backward, which he will do more suc-
cessfully at first; it all
strengthens and hardens him. Some
day he wild manage to get upon his
knees, another day to go forward upon
them, and then to raise himself up
against the chairs. Hs thus learns to
do all he can as fast as he can, and no
more.
But, they say, he will be longer in
learning to walk if he is let go on his
knees or his hands and feet indefinitely.
What difference does it make if, explor-
ing the world in this, he becomes ac—
quainted with things, learns to estimate
distances, strengthens his legs and back,
prepares bimself, in short, to walk bet-
ter when he gets to walking? The im-
portant thing 1s, not whether he walks
now or then ; but that he learn to guide
himself, and to have confidence in him.
self. TI hold, without exaggeration, that
education of the character is going on
at the same time with training in loco-
motion, and that the way one learns to
walk is not without moral importance.
——Popular Science Monthly.
———
Children and Trade.
“Don’t the children bother us ?”’ said
a Felix street merchant in response to a
question. ‘Oh, a little, of course, but
it pays to have patience with them. Once
enlist the children’s trade and you have
that of their parents. You remember
that school-master who said that he rul-
ed the village because he ruled the chil-
dren, arguing that they ruled their
mothers, who in turn ruled their hus-
bands ? Well, there is a great. deal of
truth in that. A great many good re-
tail businesses have been built up by
attention to what you might eall the
children trade. They make free with
every thing about the store, to be sure,
and get in your way, or romp, but I tell
you it pays to humor them. If you treat
them roughly you can reconcite yeur-
self to the fact that you lose that fam-
ily’s trade. The youngsters never for-
got that sort of thing. If you want to
ruin a good business the safest way is to
let the boys understand that they are
tolerated only when they have business
and no longer, More than one house
has queered itself in that way. Give
me a store where the children come in
and just act as if they owned it, and 1’
bet that place is making money.”’—S%.
Joseph News.
rn a ern
When They Were New.
First jury, 907
Pins made, 1450.
Needles used, 1544.
Matches made, 1829.
First cast iron, 1544.
Coal used as fuel, 1434.
Surnames used in 1162
First gold coin, B. C. 206.
Tobacco introduced, 1583.
_ First steam railroad, 1830.
Lead pencils used in 1564.
Window glass used in 694.
First postage stamps, 1840.
Kerosene introduced, 1826.
First illuminating ges, 1792.
Iron found in America, 1585.
Electric light invented, 1874.
First insurance, marine, 533.
First American express, 1821.
First wheeled-carriages, 1559.
Latin ceased to be spoken, 580.
Musical notes introduced, 1328.
Bible translated into Saxon, 637.
Gunpowder used by Chinese, 80.
Bible translated into Gothic, 872.
Photographs first produced, 1802,
Old Testament finished, B. C. 220.
Emancipation proclamation, 1863,
Paper made by Chinese, B. C. 220.
Bible translated into English, 1534.
gradually
v