Bellefonte, Pa., May 22,189L
A FADED VIOLET.
What thought is folding inthy leaves! .
What tender thought, what speechless pain!
"1 hold thy faded lips to mine,
Thou darling of the April rain.
1 hold thy faded lips to mine,
Though scent and azurettint are fled —
O dry, mute lips! ye are the type
Of something in me eold and dead.
Of something wilted like thy leaves,
Of fragrance flown, of beauty dim;
Yet, for the love of those white bands
That found thee by a river's brim—
That found thee when thy dewy mouth
Was purple as with stains of wine—
For love of her who love forgot,
1 hold thy faded lips to mine!
That thou should’st live when Iam dead,
When hate is dead for me, and wrong,
For this, I use my subtlest art,
For this, I fold thee in my soag. :
— Thomas Baily Aldrich.
CEES
MY BROTHER'S WIFE,
BY CHARLOTTE M. STANLEY.
When I arose on the morning of my
twentieth birthday, and nodded merri-
ly to my own reflection in the glass,
the bright young face that langhed
back at me was that of a handsome,
happy and very fortunate girl.
“(+00d morning, Miss Lydia Searle,”
I said, and if all gees well with us, you
won't be Miss Lydia Searle at all this
time next year, but Mrs. Harry Hat
ton instead.
Tt wanted but three weeks of my
wedding-day- I was happy ae I was
busy just then, fer I loved the man
whose wife I was &o soon to become
with all a young girl's warm, untried
affection.
“Better than any one in the world
but Tom,” I thought. “And surely
nobody ever could or ought to be dear-
er to me than Tom.”
Tom was my twin brother. The
usual strong affection existing between
twins was exceptionally powerfvl in
our case—f{rom circumstances.
One of us was born strong and robust
and the other frail and small. Not-
withstanding my sex, I was the favor
ed one by nature, while Tem was the
weakly twin.
That was the first of his misfortunes,
which naturally gave him a claim on
me, and at the same time attached him
to me and made him cling to me as a
heartier, manlier boy would not have
done. The serond misfortune was that
he resembled our father.
Poor fellow! As 1f he could help
that! And yet Uncle Elliott resented
it in him just asif he had been to blame
for it. Not a cent of my money shall
go to this second Tom Searle, he used
« to say.
And he kept his word. He had
adopted us at poor mother’s death. Our
father had died years before. - He gave
us both a good education, and got Tom
a position in a bank; but when he
died—just a year before that twentieth
. of mine—I was his sole heiress.
It grieved me terribly. I loved Tom
better far than myself, and would have
shared anything with him; but he
was proud, poor boy, and wouldn't
hear of such a thing.
So the best I could do was to spend
as much money upon him as possibie,
and lend him all he wanted to use. He
had no objection to that, because, as
he would say :
“Some of these days, wher I'm part-
per in the bank, I'll pay it all back
again, Lyddy.”
And, of course, it was quite prob-
able that some day he would be part
ner, since I was about to be married to
thelbanker’s only son and heir.
I was puzzled sometimes to know
~what Tom did with so much money.
He had - “speculations on hands,” he
told me. I thought that perhaps he
was rather extravagant, too—perhaps
somewhat inclined to be wild.
“He is so young and so handsome,"
I thought.
. I was always making excuses for
him to myself; but, of course, common
.sense taught me that if he would be
steadier, and attend to his business bet-
- ter, his chances of promotion at the
‘bank would be improved.
As I thought of him on that birth-
day merning—of course, it was his
birthday morning—the face in the
glass ceased to smile, and a new anx-
1ety crept into my thoughts. I was
‘thinking of last night. Tom had act-
ced very strangely. I had lain awake
along time thinking of it last night,
and a vague uneasiness smote me as [
remembered it now. What could have
ailed him ?
“He had cone in, at about ter o'clock
to the little parlor where Harry and I
were sitting together, and had remain-
«ed with us, restless, agitated, nervous,
and showing so plainly that he wished
ito see me alone that presently Harry
half-vexed, half-amused, took the hint
and left us.
. And then he asked me for money.
No trifling sum, either, He implor-
ed me, almost wildly, to “give him
three thousand, then and there, for
God's sake I”
He almost took my breath away. I
had no such sum of money in the
house of course, nor could I get it ou
short notice. My fortune consisted of
real estate, from which I derived a
moderate income, and a few thousands
in ready money, which with Tom's ex-
travagince and my own preparation
for my marriage, were nearly gone.
Quite aghast at his agitation, as well
as at his request, I explained to him
the utter impossibility of compliance.
He said not a word, but dropped into
a seat, and sat looking at me as if
stupefied.
Every vestige of color had gone from
his fair, handsome face, and the del.
cate, clear-cut features looked haggard
and careworn. A pang shot through
my heart as T saw his distress, T ceas-
ed to’ care or wonder what the ioney
wag wanted for, Tkoelt down beside
him,” : :
“1 get, it for you to-morrow,” I
said, if I have to mortgage my prop:
| me if you could. Ah, )
{ brother to you, dear. Say you forgive |
| me to-night!”
erty. Don’t despair; only wait till to-
morrow.”’ i
As my bend touched his he started
and looked down at me. He was nev-
er very strong or brave—never fit to
battle with trouble, Itseemed to have
crushed him now ; tears fell from his
eyes upon my face. : :
«Never mind,” he moaned. “Poor
Lyddy! Poor girl!” he patted my
hand fondly. “I know you'd give it to
I’ve been a bad:
And of course I said so—said so
weeping. His manner distressed me
so; but I dido’t know what there was
to forgive.
1 was wiser before that birthday was
halfover, though the knowledge seem-
ed the greatest calamity of my life.
“Something had gone wroug at the
bank,” Harry told me. He broke the
bitter news to me as greatly as he
could and with a grave, ipale face.
“Three thousand dollars, which had
been intrusted to Tom to deliver some-
where several weeks ago, had not heen
accounted for; and—there were errors,
t00, in his account—"' :
I heard no more. Insensibility
snatehed me for a while from the ag-
ony of Tom’s ruin and my own dis-
grace. For must not his sister share
his dishonor? I felt that bitterly at
first—1 who had been so proud of him,
But by and by, indignation, shame, an-
ger, all gave place to love and love's
anxiety. Tom was missing.
What mattered it to me that he had
sinned? He was still my brother, and
I loved him. My thoughts flew back
to his despair that night—his tears,
his self-reproach, his prayer for my
forgiveness. I remembered how weak
he was, how easily led, and who could
tell how greatly tempted; and from
my soul I forgave him.
I had not waited for that, however,
before taking steps to shield him from
the consequences of his crime. Mr.
Hatton was merciful. He had no wish
to bring public disgraceupon the fam-
ily of his old friend—upon the girl
whom his own son was engaged to
marry. 1 was permitted to make up
the deSeit in the bank’s accounts. In
order todo so, and for another reason,
I instructed my lawyer to dispose of
my property. And that other reason
was a letter from Tom, received just
one week from his departure.
A pitiful letter—the outcry of a peni-
tent and almost broken heart. He had
not appropriated the three thousand
dollars, thank God, but he had been
out and drinking, with the money in
his possession, and had been robbed
of it.
“Oh, how grateful I was. Every
other misfortune in the world might be
borne with patience now, since Tom
was not dishonest.
He confessed to me a thousand io-
discretions, follies, sing; told me of
many and serious debts that he had
left behind him. Most -startling of all
he told me he was married, and im-
plored me to seek out and protect his
wife and child.
Tom’s wife and child! Who was
she? After the first surprise was over
I found myself longing to sce my new
gister and the little one.
I went to the address Tom had sent
me; weat with a carriage, prepared to
bring my new relations home. Disap-
pointment met me, Mrs. Searle and
her child had gone. ;
“They were behind with their board,”
said the landlady, “and the husband
went away, so I couldn’vkeep her. She
left to-day.”
I returned home discouraged. I
didn’t want to see or-speak to any one
just then, so it was peculiarly annoy-
ing to find that a young woman, whom
I had employed to do sewing more
than a year ago, had called and was
waiting to see me.
I went down to her. She ‘arose to
meet me as I entered the parlor. Lit-
tle Eva Robinson! I remembered the
girl well—a pretty, gentle, timid crea-
tare. : :
1 started when Isaw that she had
an infant in her arms.
“Why, what's this ?” I cried.
“My baby,” she said timidly. “I'm
married since I saw you last, Miss.”
I sat down, and bade herto do the
same and then asked her what [ could
do to serve her.
For an answer she burst iufo a pas-
sion of tears, and, rising suddenly;
came and laid the infant in my lap.
“Have mercy on me!” she cried,
falling on her knees. “This is your
brother's child and mine, and [—I am
his wife.”
I was a proud girl, and this blow
was a heavy one.’ My brother, so
handsome, such a favorite, so unfit to
fizht for wife and child, be might have
married go advantageously; I thought,
and here I was called upon to welcome
as a sister my own sewing girl.
But did. I may have shrank from
her for an instant, perhaps, in the first
surprise; but the next minute the
thought of that other disgrace, which
Tom had not brought on himself and
mé, returned to me, and in my grati-
tute at escaping that I could not mur-
mur,
She was a dear little thing, too, after
all: and the baby charming. Ah! I
had reason to be thankful for the com-
fort of their presence soon. For the
very next day, meeting an acquain-
tance on the street, said she:
“And so I hear that your marriage
is ‘postponed, my dear.”
My heart sank down like lead.
“Who informed you?’ I asked,
quietly.
“Your intended bridegroom, Mr.
Harry Hatton, himself. Is it not
trae?"
“Perfectly true,” T answered.
“And postponed until when?”
“Indefinitely.”
I wrote the same day to Harry :
“You desire your freedom; take it.
You will never be called upon to fulfill
your engagement with me.”
And he took me at my word,
He called, certainly and made a pre-
| tense of explanation and regret. The
almost entire loss of my fortune had ||
influenced his father, not himself; but
| riage:
{young one.”
eet Ae
my brother's conduct—
I stopped him there.
“Tom was innocent,’ I said; “and
what he lost I have restored. You
have acknowledged that there was
nothing wrong in his accounts. You
need seek no excuse in his conduct,
gir,” 1
He lost his temper,
“Do you excuse his destruction of an
innocent girl, and abandonment of her
and her child?” he said. s
With one quick movement I threw
open the folding’ doors, and showed
him Eva and her son.
“Allow me to introduce you to my
brother's wife and child, whom he left
in my protection.” :
But his words had made me uneasy-
That evening seated with the baby on
my lap, I asked Eva where she had
married.
“Alas!” she cried, “if I only knew,
Tom took me to church in a car
It was in this very city, but I
don’t know where. It was because I
had no certificate of my marriage that
I dare not go to my brother—my dear
noble brother—who has struggled so
hard, and made himself, unaided, an
honorable position and a name.
know that a cruel slander concerning
me has been carried to him that must
almost have broken his heart.”
I took her hands away from her face
and kissed her.
“We'll find the church,” I said.
“There must be no slander about my
dear brother's wife.”
And I did find it after a few days’
search. Then I got John Robinsons
address—he was a lawyer l found—
and requested him to call on me.
He came, a wonderfully grave,hand-
some man, with something singularly
manly and impressive about him. In
my heart I thought :
“No wonder Eva wept at the thought
of his displeasure. Ie is worth pleas-
ing, surely.”
I took him to the parlor.
“I wish to reconcile you to your sis-
ter,” I said. “She is my brother's
wife.”
The I left them together. After an
hour or more Eva came for me.
“John wants to say good-bye before
he goes,” said she.
He took my hand in his and looked
into my eyes.
“You are a good waman,” he said,
earnestly. “May God bless you and
make you as truly happy as you have
to-day made me!”
There was something mm his mere
look and tone—a strength, a truth, a
thorough reliability—that gave one
comfort somehow. I found myself
thinking:
Itit had been my fate to love such a
man as that I should be nearer happt-
ness then I am to-day.”
But I kept my thoughts to my self.
Ouly from that hour I was sensible
that I regretted my lost hopes and hap-
piness for their own sake, far more
that I mourned for the false lover on
whom they had been founded.
One week later all my property was
gold. I had paid off Tom's debts; and
accompanied by his wife and child,
joined him in a western home,
There we began life anew. I had a
small income still, and Tom obtained
a lucrative position. The lesson of the
past was not lost upon him. The sac-
rifice [ had made was not in vain,
Dear Tom was a changed man—
changed for the better. Whatever I
had lost had been his gain.
And what bad I lost? The money
I counted less than nothing; and Har-
ry Hatton's love was not worth a re-
gret.
for the trust betrayed—the glamour
and iilusion gone from life so early.
“Qh, to be weil and truly loved!” I
thought. And then—my thoughts
never went back to Harry.
Another filled them. Strange im-
pression that man had made upon me;
seen only once; never to be forgotten.
I thought of him constantly; and
heard from him, through Eva, now
and then.
“What is your brother's wife like,
Eva?’ I asked her once just to try
her.
“He has none,” she answered. “I
know what I should wish her to be
like, though.” And her eyes dwelt on
me in a way that made my tell-tale col-
or rise.
A few days afterward she came to
me Taugniiig, 10 ogy
“J told John of your question, and
only hear what he says.” She read
aloud, .-
“Tell Lydia my wife (thatis to be,
I hope) resides in your city. I hope
to visit you before long and introdnce
her to you.”
And he did. With the merry Christ
mas season John came. I think that
wos the very happiest season of my
life. Of course you guess how it all
ended. Tsmile now. looking back and
remembering that I fancied once I lov-
ed another than John. That was a
dream, but this is reality. All my sacri-
fices have been well repaid, and all my
loss was gain; I realize that, every
time I hear pretty Eva speak of me—
as I first spoke of her—as “my broth-
er’s wife,”
Sein
Here is a recipe fora lemon pud-
ding that requires no sauce: One small
cupful of batter, two full cupfuls of sa-
gar; mix very smooth, adding then
the grated rind of two lemons, the
yelks of six eggs, six small Boston
crackers dissolved in one pint of sweet
milk. Bake, and use the whites of the
eggs to make a meringue for the top of
the pudding, When the whites are
beaten stiff add six tablespoonfuls of
powdered sugar; mix well, spread on
the top of the pudding and brown
nicely.
ECT EERSTE
——The tongue is a tell-tale member.
Doctors look at is to see if the patient's
stomach is out of order, and the general
public frequently learns from it the
owner's mind is out of order.
i —g————————
! No DISCRIMATION Tramp — SWill
ithis doz bite a poor old tramp?”
Hired Girl—‘‘Just as ‘quick asa fat
A SUMMER SONG.
Oh! lull me to sleep on this warm summer day,
And sing me a song of the clover,
How it nods to the trees
And bows low to the breeze,
To the bee all its honey gives over.
Oh! cheerily sing, as the bird trills its lay,
How the daisy true answers the lover,
When he whispers so low,
“Am Iloved; yesorno?’ !
And shits down its own crown but to prove
er. 3
Oh! sing of the birds and the brooks,
they ay ’
And sing o “them over and over—
As I lie ’neath the tree—
And woo sleep for me,
As the bee, with his song, woos the clover,
—Emil W. Robinson.
what
A Dreadful Vow Redeemed.
Death of Joe Lamon, a Noted Pioneer
and Indian Slayer.
Joe Lamon, who died recently in
New Mexico, took a fearful vow, which
he fully redeemed. His family was
murdered by an Indian band, and he
swore that he would never rest while
one of the party was alive. This pro-
mise was kept to the letter.
An old man, whose hair had been
whitened with the snows of nearly 80
winters, died recently near Santa Fe,
N. M. The man was Joe Lamon, one of
the early pioneers of Colorado, and
who enjoyed the distinction of having
killed the last Indian in the great Land
Creek battle, in Southeastern Colorado,
in 1864, when 400 or 500 Arapahoes
and Apaches were killed by the Color-
ado troops. Many old-timers in the
West will recall Lamon.
Just before the war he removed from
Illinois and settled down in the Arkan-
sas Valley. He had a large family
and they took up several claims ad-
jacent to the howestead. In those
days but little attention was paid to
farming, as cattle raising was then
very profitable. When the band of
Indians went on the warpath they
terrorized the setlers along the Platte
and Arkansas rivers for months, and fi-
nally in the fall they began their fiendish
massacre.
They would sweep down on the set-
tlements, murder all the inhabitants,
whose scalps dangled at the belts of
some of the reds when they left the
scene of their butchery, after burning
What was it, then? I sighed
all their houses and barns. The hor-
I rible depredations were continued for
! months, and hundreds of whites were
| cruelly murdered. The savages man-
aged to outwit the troops all through
‘the year, and, as winter approached
| they “became suddenly very peaceable
| and started for Fort Lyons, intending
to go into winter quarters near that
' place.
|” Their proffers for peace were made
| for no other purpose than to secure
| blankets and provisions from the font
| Before they reached their distination
| Colonel Chivington, who was in com-
| mand of the Colorado troops, learned
| of the whereabouts of the blood-thirsty
band. In 12 hours the First and
| Second Regiments were in the saddle,
! and several hundred men, under a brave
‘leader, all armed tu the teeth, were
soon on their way to the Arkansas
| Valley to avenge the wholesale
| slaughter of the whites.
| Chivington knew every foot of
| country where the depredations had
| been committed, and knew the course
| the Irfdians would follow on their
{ toarch. In order to intercept them he
| took the troops across the divide and
| headed right for that section of country
in which the town of Chivington is
| now located. The troops marched
| day and night, the settlers along the
"trail furnishing them with fresh horses
| and provisions.
The wily redskins had learned by
| some means that they were being pur-
i sued, and kept scouts in the rear on
| the trail in order to warn them of the
| approach of the soldiers, hoping to
| reach Fort Lyons before being over-
| taken, and once there they would make
| a treaty of peace. For once the red
butchers were caught in their own
trap. Colonel Chivington made no at-
tempt to follow the trails of the Indians
but cut directly across the valley, and
consequently while the scouts were
keeping a sharp lookout the troops
swept down to Laird creek, where the
Indians were camping.
The Indians were discovered just
after night-fall on a clear, winter even-
ing, and preparations were at once
made for the battle. he Indians
went through their usual war dance,
just a few days before, and the fresh
scalps of their victims hung before
the tepee of one of the chiefs. The
‘wretches ' little dreamed that
troops were intently watching their
performance, and before another sun
arose they would all be sent to the
happy hunting grounds.
One of the families that bad last
been butchered was that of Joe Lam-
‘on, and he had joined the troops only
the day before the battle, swearing he
would never rest until the last Indian
was dead. Lamon kept his word.
The Indians could not have selected
a more propitious spot for camping,
so far as the soldiers were concerned.
Their tepees were pitched in a basin in
the bed of the creek, and on all sides
of them were high banks. Just be-
fore daylight the soldiers surrounded
the camp and quietly waited. Just as
began to stir about, the critical moment
had arrived, They had given no warn-
ing to the settlers, ard shown . no
mercy, and why should the soldiers give
them the slightest advantage ?
At a signal from ‘Colonel Chiving-
ton hundreds of muskets belehed forth
a volley of leaden missiles right into
the tepees of the Indians. The fright-
‘ened savages ‘who ‘were not killed by
the first fire endeavored to escape, but
each succeeding volley mowed them
down, and finally all were still. The
rest. is krown. | The” braves,
squaws and. children had: been: killed,
and the murder of the innocent whites
in the Arkansas and Platte Valleys had
been avenged with a vengeance. re
Now comes. the story of how old
Joe Lamon kept his word, In search-
ing through the tepees the soldiers
found two young Indian girls, who had
miraculously escaped the fusilade.
They were taken in charge by Colonel
Chivington, .and that night he had
own, for fear that some of the enraged
settlers would kill them and make the
} peore fully even.
as they had murdered two families:
the |.
dawn was breaking and the Indians |
their’
them placed in a tent adjoining hist
20)
As an extra precaution he placed
two of his most trusted men on guard
in front of this tent. During the night
the rear end of the tent where the two
girls were sleeping was split open, and
in the twinkling of an eye the girls
were dead. A long keen knite flashed
in the air and ali was over
The following morning when Colonel
Chivington ordered the girls brought to
| his tent the horrible discovery was made
that they were dead. Their heads had
been severed from their bodies, just as
Joe Lamon found his wife and daughter
when he returned to his ruined home af-
ter the savages had killed five members
of his family. .
The old settler had kept his. word ;
the last of the bloodthirsty band had
been wiped out. He never returned to
his former home, but soon joined a
party who were emigrating to New
exico. He settled down near Sauta
Fe, where he lived until his death.
He Gave Good Advice.
into a restaurant in a:mall town, and
calling the waiter, said :
«I want you t¢ get me up the best
meal knownto the history of yourdeserv-
ing house. What have you got any-
thing.”
The waiter recited, with elocutionary
effect, the bill of fare. The customer or-
dered an elaborate meal, and when he
had done eating, said to the waiter that
he should like to see the proprietor.
The customer said :
“About a year ago I wasin this
house.”
“Yes 7
“That's what I was.”
«Hope you found everything satisfac-
tory ?”’
“Can't say that I did. The truth is,
I ordered supper, and when I told you
that I could not pay, you said that you
would kick me out.”
“Well,” said the proprietor, “and did
you pay ?”’
“No, I didn’t,”
“Then what did I do ?”
“You kicked me out.”
«And served you right, You bet I
never have a man arrested for beating
me out of a meal. I simply lift him.
“By that you mean that you kick
him, I suppose.”
“That's what 1 mean.”
“Well, now, I would like to advise
you not to kick me this time.”
“I don’t care how much you advise,
for if you don’t pay I will kick vou.”
The customer got up and started
out.
“Look here,” demanded the proprie-
tor, “ain’t you going to pay me !”’
«I cannot, I would like to accommo-
date you, but I cannotdo it. I am do-
ing you a genuine service, though, when
I advise you not to kick me.”
The proprietor jumped forward and
gave the fellow a tremendous kick. The
| restaurant man uttered a terrific howl
and fell on the floor. The customer
smiled as he went strolling down the
| street. Pretty soon he was arrested and
taken before the police judge. The res-
taurant man was there with a crutch.
He told the judge how the fellow had at-
tempted to beat him, how he had kick-
led him and how he had broken his
| foot.
| “I would like to say something judge.
| said the man who had been kicked. “I
was in this man’s house about a year
| ago, and asked him to erzdit me for a
{ meal. [was in a desperate strait. He
refused me. I went out and came back
about an hour afterward and ordered a
meal, ate it, and was profoundly kick-
ed. Several weeks ago, when I found
business was going to bring me to this
town, I went to a friend of mine, a boil-
er maker, and got him to make a plate
of boiler iron to fit me. He did so, and I
came here. The first morning after my
arrival I put on my plate and went to
this man’s restaurant. Iam disposed to
be honest, and after I had eaten I sent
for the proprietor and advised him sin-
cerely not to kick me. But he wonld
not heed the advice of a man that has
had more experience than he has, and
suffered in consequence.”
The judge looked aboat until he found
a grave face, and then, with it on, said :
good, and it would have been well had
you followed it. There is no law in
this state to punish a man for giving bad
advice, even,and I don’t see how we can
hold a man for offering advice that is
good. You may go, sir, and remember
that other men may attempt to kick you
but that this court never will. —drkan-
saw Traveler.
A E————
The Court Went Out and Took a
Drink. !
The proceedings in the City court at
Decatur, Alabama, were interrupted
recently in a novel manner. A trial
was being held tocompel the judge of
the probate court to issue a license au-
thorizing the sale of whisky in the
town of Falkville, where a law at pre-
gent exists prohibiting the sale within
| three miles of the town. Both sides
| were largely represented legally ‘and
ithe court-room was crowded. One of
i the Prohibition leaders opposing the
| 1ssnance of the license, in attempting
| to hang up his overcoat'in full view of
| the court, accidentally let fall from one
| of ois pockets a flask, which struck the
floor with a crash. The court, unable
| to restore order, took a recess for fif-
teen minutes.
i
| CT CEE —CE
| A compate of red bananas serv-
ed with whipped cream is a nice Iunch-
Leon dish, Make a sirup with a large
leap of sugar and a scant pint of water.
| Let the sirap come to the boiling point
{land boil rapidly for iten minutes, and
lithen add a gill of maraschino, Pour
ithe hot sirup over as many red banan- |
‘ac, eut'in thin slices, as it will cover. |
‘When the'sirup is solid serve the ban-
Yanag with: whipped cream. = Many
fresh fruits are much more, delicious
sweetened with a enoked sirup hice this
than with ruw sugar, Oranges are es-
! pecially nice ent'up and ‘served in'this’
however, |
for oranges, t ¢ y 81 i i :
; for oranges, but flavor the sirup, if you | other luxury it has been the burden of
| stateeraft, the eoncern of kings,
[ Moors brought itinty Spain along with
| other arts.
way. Omit the' maraschino,
wish, with a little grated orange peel.
A ED AC ET
-——TIn advanced age the declining
powers are wonderfully refreshed by
Hood's ‘garsaparila. © It really does
“make the weak strong.”
An unobtrusive-looking man went | queried the Rat.
“This man’s advice was undoubtedly
The Rat, the Mouse and the Trap.
One Day a Well-fed and Segaious
Rat ‘came’ across an’ Object made of
Stout Wires, ard its Sole Occupation
Seemed to be to take Care of a Liberal
Piece of Cheese. Having bad Several
years’ Experience with Men and Their
Machipations, the Rat Looked the
Ground over with Great Care, and He
was still Engaged in this Occupation
when a Mouse Appeared and Wanted
to Know what was up.
“ Why, the fact is,” replied the Rat,
«J have more Cheese here than I can
| possibly Eat at one meal, and as Cheese
spoils quickly in this ‘climate, I was
waiting for some one to come along and
Accept a Portion.” :
“You are very, very Generous,” said
the Mouse.
«Don’t Mention it. Just Step inside
and pass the Cheese cut, will you?”
The Mouse had no sooner nibbled at
the Bait than there was a Crash and he
found himself Trapped,
“Ah! that’s the Way it works, is it >
“T couldn’t just make
it out. Um! TI see. Spring there,
somewhere. Very good idea.”
“But I’m caught !” exclaimed the
Mouse in great Agitation.”
“So I observe.”
«And what's to be done?”
«Well, T leave that to you to Decide.
I let you in on the ground floor, and
my Responsibility ceased there. Fine
day to-day ? Hope we shall have an
early Spring.”
Moral--Experience acquired at the
expense of Others is Soothing as well as
valuable.— Free Press.
How the Average Novel Sells.
.If a novel by a tolerably well-known
author sells 8,000 copies nowadays it is
doing remarkably well, and ofterner
the “publisher is satisfied if the sale
sale reaches 2,000 copies. There are a
score of novels: on the lists of leading
ublishers to-day which I could name
of which there have not been more than
1,500 or 2.000 copies sold, yet a person
not conversant with the facts would
easily place their sales at three times
that number. In the literary world
there is nothing so surely true as the
fact that all that glitters is not gold.
I have in mind as I write two authors
who are in every respect in the public
estimate successful writers, whose posi-
tions in the literary world are envied by
bundreds of young writers. Yet I know
in both of these cases that their incomes
from their writings are not equal to that
of the mest ordinary clerk in any pros-
perous business house. Fortunately
neither one of my friends depends upon
literature for his living. In literature
revenue is far below fame, Many an
author who gets plenty of the latter
sees but little of the former.—Clicago
Herald.
TTT,
Salvation Army and the Crusades.
Tt js obvious that if we would find
any analogy for the growth and force of
this movement of the Salvation Army,
we must go back to the enthusiasm ex
erted by the preaching of the Crusades,
to the work of Francis and Dominic in
founding the mendicant orders, to the
Protestant Reformation, to the preach-~
‘ing of George Fox, or to the growth of
the Wesleyanism at the close of the last
century. Further, no attentive student
of early church history can fail to see
many striking points of analogy be-
tween the methods adopted and the re-
sult achieved by the Salvation Army
and those which astonished and disgust-
ed the pagan world in the rapid success
attained by the early missionaries of the
Christian church.
REA SE SEMA ABER
—— We herewith give the recipe of
American creani, which has been re-
quested several times : Dissolve half a
boxful of gelatine in a quart of milk or
cream, and boil over a hot fire when
dissolved. Stir in the yelks of four eggs
when this has boiled, and four table-
spoonfuls of white sugar; then take
from the stove and stir into this whites
of four eges beaten to a stiff froth, with
four tablespoonfuls of confectionery su-
gar. Flavor to taste with vanilla or a
little oil of almond. Keep for a few
hours before using.
GINGER WINE.—Boil seven pounds
of sugar in four gallons of water for a
quarter of an hour, skimming well.
When cold squeeze in the juice of two
large lemons, and boil the peel with balf
a pound of ginger in three pints of wa-
ter for one hour. When this is celd put
1t with the rest into a cask with two
spoonfuls of yeast, a‘quarter of an ounce
of isinglass, and two ounces of raisins;
close it up and let it stand seven weeks.
before bottling. This is recommended
as an excellent stomachic.
Emm G ATT
MArriEDp Bur HAD NEVER SEEN A
TrEE.—-A lady missionary told me that
after no end of entreaty and coaxing, a
native once consented to let his wife go:
with her tor a drive. The carriage had
to be closed with the shutters down,
but the Hindoo woman could’ see be-
tween the chinks, and she clapped Ler
hands and shouted for joy when she saw
a tree, for it was the first she had ever
seen in her life. :
i
—-Louis Cyr, thé strong man of
Canada, twenty-seven years old, at a
recent exhibition at Lewistown,(Me.,}
picked up a barrel of flour with one
hand and put it on his should. By his
famous upward back lift, he. raised a
‘platform weighing 261 pounds, on which
stood twenty men whose combined
weight was 3790 pounds. :
S18 SETS SEE MEST STITT
—— Lima(Ohia) viliis being used sue=
cessfully in a number of Pittsburg mills
and tactories, , Rolling mill owners fa-
vor it because it does not oxidize the
iron, and for that reasin it is thought
that natural gas will soon superseded by
it. ‘The oil is:shipped from the field in
tank cars, and a movement is on foot to
| build a pipe line to that city
— AT AT
I Much civilized history could be
written in Ince. More than almost any
The
It is Colbert's glory to have
planted it securely in France, whence
the Huguenots took it to England, Bel-
gium and Flanders,