er
Democratic Wat,
Bellefonte, Pa., Jan. 5. 1900.
ONLY A SMILE.
Only a smile that was given me
On the crowded street one day,
Bat it pierced the gloom of my saddened heart
Like the sudden sunbeam’s ray.
The shadows of doubt hung over me,
And the burden of pain I bore,
And the voice of hope I &sld not hear,
Though I listened o’erand o’er.
But there came a rift in the crowd about
And a face I knew passed by,
And the smile I caught was brighter to me
Than the blue of a summer sky;
For it gave me back the sunshine
And it scattered each sober thought,
And my heart rejoiced in the kindly warmth
Which that kindly smile had wrought.
— Exchange.
ON BOARD THE PRINCESS.
At the last moment she came aboard and
asked to see the captain, who joined her
shortly in the saloon. ‘What can I do for
you?’ he inquired, reassuringly, seeing
her embarrassment.
“I want your advice, captain. I amina
most unconventional position. The fact
is, I—well—my fiance is very ill on your
boat. How he happened to be here I do
not know, and there was no time to find
out, so I came to take care of him until he
is well. Then—well, of course, then we
shall be married .” And she rose,
blushing, incoherent, evidently excited
and nervous. There was a pause while the
captain tilted his cap over one ear, the bet-
ter to scratch his head. ‘‘I guess Barwood
is the man you mean. He took passage for
Cook’s inlet. Goin’ to change at Sitka for
the Dora. Yes, he’s real sick with fever,
but——,”’ the captain paused, evidently at
. a loss, and she continued, apologetically :
‘It is an odd proceeding, I know, but—
oh, I could not let him go so far—alone—
when he was ill. We have been engaged
for some time, and I was to join him at
Seattle, but was taken suddenly ill. I
have no near relatives to know or care what
becomes of me ,”? and her mouth curled
in a weary smile. ‘‘Sol came as soon as I
was able to travel. He failed to meet me,
as I expected. And at the last moment
before the Princess sailed, I learned that
he was here and ill. Ihave come to care
for him; he needs me——."’ And the sud-
den dignity was pathetic. The captain
looked uncomfortable and blurted out:
‘‘But he don't need you. He is well taken
care of——."" She saw. no hidden mean-
ing in his words, but hastened to say :
“Pardon me, I am certain you are careful
of the comfort of your passengers; but I
mean a woman’s constant care and nursing
and a fond look shone in her eyes
under which fatigue had drawn dark cir-
cles. Then the captain had done with
temporizing. ‘There is a woman with him
now.” With both hands gripping her
breast as though his words carried a hurt,
she said vaguely : ‘‘I—I thought he was
alone. Do you know who she is ?”’
“I ain’t much acquainted with either of
’em. Only I know she is a hospital nurse
and seems to have taken care of him dur-
ing a spell of the fever he had a few weeks
ago—"’
*‘Ah,”” she interrupted, ‘‘he has been ill;
that was why he never wrote.”’
‘‘Mebbe so,”’ the captain admitted dry-
ly. ‘‘Anyhow he was taken down with a
relapse the day before yesterday, when he
came aboard. He sent for her at once,
sayin’ as how she’d nursed him all through
the first bout o’ the fever and he wanted
her agin. She come right away and—well,
she’s ben here with him ever sence—’’ A
relieved expression crossed the girl's face.
‘‘She is a professional nurse, no doubt.
‘We shall not interfere with each other.
Perhaps he will want me, too.”” and she
smiled with rosy assurance. The captain’s
dubious shake of the head was effected
while she gathered her parcels and hand-
bag.
‘‘Before I go to my stateroom may I see
him? You will take me to him ?”’
The captain led the way and knocked at
aclosed door. It was quickly opened and
a fair, slight woman in checked gingham,
with blonde bair tucked into a nurse's
cap, came out.
‘‘Mr. Barwood is asleep,’ she said, in a
whisper, ‘‘and must not be disturbed.”
She looked inquiringly at the captain, who
pulled at his whiskers with one hand and
jerked the other toward his companion.
‘This young lady wante to see Mr. Bar-
wood.”
“But I have his physician’s orders to ad-
mit nobody,”’ the nurse said coldly, still
blocking the door. The visitor shrank
back timidly, but the captain, with pity
for both, softening his voice, insisted :
“Well, I guess he’ll have to suspend rules
in favor of this young lady—Mr. Barwood’s
wife thatis to be.”” It was the nurse's
turn to blanch and shrink.
‘Mr. Barwood is asleep now,’’ she said,
weakly. after a heavy pause. “I am go-
ing on deck for some fresh air. Will you
come, too?’ There was so much more in
the manner than words that the girl fol-
lowed obediently. The captain excused
himself and the two proceeded above in
silence. By this time the steamer was well
out in the sound. On the right towered
the mountains; gloomy mountains of chaos,
the grayness relieved only by the emerald
of glaciers, or the foamy veil of a cascade.
To the south the verge loomed distant, half
hid by mists from the under world. For
a space the women stood motionless, cowed
by tne sense of nothingness; then the nurse
spoke.
‘Excuse a seeming impertinence, but
may I ask what claim you have upon Mr.
Barwood ?"’
The reply was cold, with suppressed
anger, ‘‘I may excuse it better when I
know your right to ask;’ but she sank
upon a coil of rope near, and the proud
head was bent, when the answer came.
“The right of his affianced wife, who bas
left all—honor, friends, everything—to
take care of him; to love him; to—to marry
him.”
The nurse spoke with a low and pas-
sionate tremor. The other toyed with the
end of the rope, nor raised her eyes while
she spoke in wooden tones.
“It is all odd, unreal, but it does not oc-
cur to me to doubt you. Stranger though
you are, I am sure you are honest, and I--
I am only mistaken. It is all plain—he
loves you, he will marry you. As for me
—what shall I do ?’’ she ended in a whis-
pered sob to the sea, but the waves were
busy with their endless striving, and a
screaming eagle mocked them both.
The nurse came softly and sat beside
her. “You have left all for him and so
have I and now we have both lost him—
we have only each other.”
“Thank you,’’ said the newcomer, sim-
ply, “but it is only I who need suffer; on-
ly I who am to blame. I should not have
come. Bat I thought he would want me
—would need me,’’ and there was a pitiful
note of extenuation in her voize as she rose
and paced the deck, ‘‘but I see now that I
was wrong, for this is the end.”
‘‘But you love him ?’’
‘‘Spare me—he loves you.”’
The nurse went to her and took her hand.
“How do I know he loves me? I know
that he sent for me—that he asked me to
be his wife—to go to the lands of gold with
him. I promised, believing him free, be-
lieving that I was dear to him, as he is the
half of life to me. But now, ah, he may—
nay, he ought, still love you, and—"’
‘‘Let us see,”’ the other interrupted, and
the nurse following, she led the way, nor
paused until they stood again at the door
of the sick man’s room. ‘‘We will go in
together and then—’’ She said no more,
for at that moment a man’s voice was
heard, high, querulous, ‘‘Margaret! Mar-
garet !”’
Both women entered;
vanced.
““Yes, I am here.
thing 2”? ;
“Only you stay with me, dearest.”’ His
voice quavered, but with tender cadence;
his eyes were glazed with delirium. She
brought him a glass of water, and slipped
her arm under his head that he might
drink. His eyes roved restlessly about the
room; they alighted on the still, grey-clad
figure by the door; his teeth chattered
against the goblet; the water dripped from
his nerveless lips. Pointing with one bony
hand, he said, hoarsely : ‘Who is it ? Mar-
garet, look there! Who is it?’ The figure
sank into a chair out of his sight, and the
sufferer fell back on his pillow with a moan
of relief—*‘‘Thank God !”’
That night he raved with fever, and
neither woman left his bedside. ‘‘Mar-
garet’’—he would gasp—*‘‘send her away if
she comes again.”” Then to the other : ‘I
don’t know you, but you look like a ghost.
‘When you meet that other one, her ghost,
tell her---when I heard she---was dead, I
was sad. Then I was sick and Margaret
came, and---was I sad still, Margaret ?’’
“*Yes, very much grieved, dear.”
‘Of course, I did not want her to die,
for I loved her once, but now—ah, now I
love you, don’t I, Margaret ?’’—and he
held both her hands, and cried over them
like a tired child. And Margaret wept
too, but the ghost only grew whiter, and
slipped out and up to the deck. Low hung
and wan the moon gleamed sickly through
a winding sheet of cloud, at the quiet
watcher who gazed up at her with dry,
wide open eyes. ‘‘You brave old thing!”
the woman said, ‘‘your heart isdead, and
yet you smile and shine. Well, so shall
I——
In a day or two his fever was broken.
‘You do not need my help now,’’ she said
to Margaret. ‘‘He is out of danger; he
will soon be well and you will be happy.”’
Then she made her eyes shine and her lips
smile. ‘And when—sometime—Ilet him
know he was mistaken. I did not die.
But do not tell him yet; the ‘ghost’ must
trouble him no more.”’
*® * * * *
the nurse ad-
Do you want any-
At Sitka, on the side of old Baranoff cas-
tle, there is a high knoll, overlooking the
sea. One evening at sunset, a woman
stood there and watched a small boat put
out from shore. It was the Dora, bound
for Cook’s inlet. On the forward deck
stood two figures; the man seemed lean-
ing, as if for support, upon the shoulder of
the woman in nurse’s garb. Both faced
the sun, a copper globe on the horizon.
Before them, all the western sea and sky,
a glowing cauldron; behind, the dim
mountains, the darkening east, and the
lonely watcher on the castle hill. When
the boat was a mere speck and the sun
down, she turned to go. The bell from the
convent called to prayer, the sunset gun
boomed out and the echoes of war and
peace enwrapt her as she descended.—Chi-
cago Daily News.
John Wesley.
John V.esley contested the three king-
doms in the cause of Christ during a cam-
paign which lasted 40 years. He did it
for the most part on horseback. He paid
more turnpikes than any mau who ever
bestrode a beast. Eight thousand miles
was his annual record for many a long
year, during each of which he seldom
preached less frequently than 5,000 times.
Had he but preserved his scores at all the
inns where he lodged, they would have
made for themselves a history of prices.
And throughout it all he never knew what
depression of spirits meant—though he had
much to try him, suits in chancery and a
jealous wife.
In the course of this unparalleled con-
test Wesley visited again and again the
most out-of-the-way districts—the remotest
corners of England—places which to-day
lie far removed even from the searcher af-
ter the picturesque. In 1899, when the
map of England looks like a gridiron of
railways, none but the sturdiest of pedestri-
ans, the most determined «f cyclists can
retrace the steps of Wesley and his horse
and stand by the rocks and the natural
amphitheaters in Cornwall and North-
umberland, in Lancashire and Berkshire,
where he preached his gospel to the heath-
en. Exertion so prolonged, enthusiasm so
sustained, argues a remarkable man, while
the organization he created, the system he
founded, the view of life he promulgated,
is still a great fact among us. No other
name than Wesley’s lies embalmed as his
does.
Good Clock.
A lady visiting in the South was told a
story of an old colored man, who came to a
watchmaker with the two hands of a clock.
‘I want yer to fix up dese hands. Dey
ain’t kept no correct time for mo’ den six
munfs.”’
‘Well, where is the clock ?”’ responded
| the watchmaker.
“Out at my house.”’
“But I must have the clock.’
*‘Didn’t I tell yer dar’s nuffin de matter
wid de clock ’cepting ke han’s? An’ here
dey be. You just want de clock so you
kin tinker wid it, and charge me a big
price. Gimme back dem hands.’ And
so saying, he started off to find an honest
watchmaker. :
A Violator of the Juvenile Code.
The Sabbath school teacher had been tell-
ing the class about Joseph, particularly
with reference to his coat of many colors,
and how his father had rewarded him for
being a good boy, for Joseph, she said, told
his father whenever he caught any of his
brothers in the act of doing wrong, says
the Baltimore News. .
“Can any little boy or girl tell me what
Joseph was ?”’ the teacher asked, hoping
that some of them had caught the idea that
he was Jacob's favorite.
‘I know,’ one of the little girls said,
holding up her hand.
‘“What as he ?”’
‘A tattle-tale I” was the reply.
—~—Sucribe for the WATCHMAN.
Dwight Lyman Moody has Fought the
Good Fight.
Death of the Great Preacher Who Did Much for
Uplifting of Human Family.—Peaceful Close of
Good Life.—Surrounded by Devoted Family his
Last Thoughts Were of his Great Work.—8ketch of
Noble Career.
D. L. Moody, the famous evangelist,
died at his home in Northfield, Mass., at
noon on Friday Dec. 22nd.
It was not expected by the members of
Mr. Moody's family and immediate “circle
of friends that death would be the result
of his illness until the day before. The
cause of death was a general breaking
down, due to overwork. Mr. Moody’s
heart had been weak for a long time and
exertions put forth in connection with
meetings in the Westin November brought
on a collapse from which he failed to ral-
ly.
The evangelist broke down in Kansas
City, Mo., where he was holding services,
about a month before,and the seriousness of
his condition was so apparent to the physi-
cians who were called to attend him that
they forced him to abandon his tour and
return to his home with all possible speed.
After he reached Northfield eminent physi-
cians were consulted and everything was
done to prolong life. A bulletin issued the
week before communicated the tidings to the
public that Mr. Moody was very ill, but
that a little improvement was noticed.
That week the patient showed a steady
gain until Friday, when he showed symp-
toms of nervousness, accompanied by weak-
ness, which caused the family much anx-
iety.
GREAT PREACHER'S LAST HOURS.
Mr. Moody knew at 8 o'clock Thursday
evening that he could not recover. He was
satisfied that this was so, and when the
knowledge came to him his words were :
‘The world is receding and heaven is
opening.’’
During the night Mr. Moody had a num-
ber of sinking spells. He was, however,
kindness itself to those about him. At 2
o’clock Saturday morning Dr. N. P. Wood,
the family physician, who spent the night
at the home, was called at the request of
Mr. Moody. The patient was perspiring
and he requested his son-in-law, A. P.
Fitt, who spent the first of the night with
him, to call the physician that he might
note the symptoms.
Dr. Wood administered a hypodermic in-
jection of strychnia. This caused the
heart to perform its duties more regularly,
and Mr. Moody himself requested his son-
in-law, Mr. Fitt, and Dr. Wood to retire.
Mr. Moody's eldest son, Will R. Moody,
who had been sleeping the first of the
night, spent the last half with his father.
At 7:30 Friday morning Dr. Wood was
called, and when he reached Mr. Moody’s
room found his patient in a semi-conscious
condition. When Mr. Moody recovered
conscioushess he said, with all his old vi-
vacity. ‘‘What’s the matter ; what’s go-
ing on here ?”’
Some member of the family replied :
‘Father, you have not been quite so well
and so we came in to see youn.’’
FINAL THOUGHTS OF WORK.
A little later he said to his boys: ‘‘I
have always been an ambitious man, not
ambitious to lay up wealth, but to leave
you work to do.”’
In substance Mr. Moody urged his two
boys and his son-in-law, Mr. Fitt, to see
that the schools in East Northfield, at
Mount Hermon and the Chicago Bible In-
stitute should receive the best care. This
they assured Mr. Moody that they would
do.
During the forenoon Mrs. Fitt, his
daughter, said to Mr. Moody : “Father,
we cannot spare you,’’ Mr. Moody’s reply
was: ‘I am not going to throw my life
away. If God has more work for me to do,
I’ll not die.”
Just before 12 o’clock the watchers saw
that the end was approaching, and exactly
at noon the great preacher passed away.
MOODY’S NOBLE CAREER.
Dwight Lyman Moody was born in
Northfield, Franklin county, Massachu-
setts, on February 5th, 1837. His father
died when the boy was four years old,
leaving a widow with nine children and a
mortgaged farm.
Such limited education as he could ac-
quire during a very few years’ attendance
at the town schools was young Moody’s in-
tellectual preparation for the career before
him. At seventeen he quitted the farm
and went to Boston to seek his fortune.
His mother’s brother, a shoe merchant
there, gave him a place upon two condi-
tions—that he should be governed in
all things by hisadvice and that he attend
regularly the Sunday school and the
church service of the Mount Vernon Con-
gregational church. He united with that
church in 1856, after having been kept upon
probation for a year.
Shortly after his profession of Christian-
ity Moody went to Chicago and for the
time being stuck to his last—the shoe trade.
He joined the Plymouth Congregational
church, and ‘‘did something’’ as soon as he
had saved from his meagre salary a sum
which happened to be requisite—rented
four pews and saw to it that they were
filled with young people at every service.
He also made known his desire to take part
in the prayer meetings, but the offer was
somewhat summarily declined.
HIS FIRST SUNDAY SCHOOL CLASS.
Neither offended nor daunted, he pro-
posed himself as a teacher in the Sunday
school, and was put off with the informa-
tion that his services would be accepted if
he found his own pupils. He did not desire
an easier commission. The very next Sun-
day he led into the Sunday school room
eighteen ragged boys whom he had spent
the week drumming up from the highways
and byways. Not satisfied with this, a
little later he converted a forsaken old
tavern in the northern part of the city into
a mission all his own. His classes grew so
rapidly that a large auditorium, North
Markets Hall, was rented. At this point
first occurred an incident which afterwards
recurred so frequently as to become one of
the most marked and important accom-
paniments of his career; he succeeded in
ateresting in him and his work a man of
means, afterwards, if not then, a ‘‘mer-
chant prince’’—John V.- Farwell. Ever
afterwards he was distinguished by his
faculty of securing large financial support
from men of wealth for he had wonderful
common sense and good business abilities.
Mr. Farwell equipped the new mission
and Sunday school and acted with Mr.
Moody as superintendent. The latter, by
personal canvassing, obtained sixty teachers,
and speedily had a regular average attend-
ance of about one thousand pupils.
HEAD OF THE Y. M. C. A.
He was now so deeply engaged in re-
ligious work that in 1860, at the age of
twenty-three, he sundered all ties of busi-
ness, and gave his entire time to his mis-
sion and other enterprises. To solve his
.| personal pecuniary problem he dispensed
with a living room and slept upon a bench
in the Young Men’s Christian Association
building. Aftera time the Christian Com-
mission, and afterwards the Young Men’s
Christian Association, appointed him lay
missionary. In 1863 the Illinois Street
church was built for his converts, and he
became its unordained pastor. In 1865 he
had attained a prominence in his field
which led to his election as president of
the Young Men’s Christian Association,
and shortly afterwards, out of his close
relations with Mr. Farwell, arose Farwell
Hall, the home of the Young Men’s Chris-
tian Association.
In 1867 Mr. Moody went abroad, but the
visit began and ended quietly. Effecting
his famous junction with the evangelistic
singer, Ira D. Sankey, he again, in the
spring of 1873, essayed the invasion of
Great Britain. It was a vertible triumph
and the beginning of his world-wide repu-
tation. His intense earnestness struck a
tremendous response. From city to city
throughout the United Kingdom and Ire-
land the two went, bringing about some of
the most extraordinary ‘awakenings’ ever
witnessed.
MARVELOUS WORK IN ENGLAND.
The people of the London slums stopped
and listened to this bright, fresh, hearty
New Englander, who got down to their
own level and extended a cordial, chubby
hand in greeting, while he offered them a
religion not of sackeloth and ashes, but of
rejoicing and thanksgiving.
Therein was the secret of Mr. Moody’s
success. He rose to his pulpit—and it was
any pulpit, regardless of place or denomin-
ation —with a smile on his lips and in his
eyes which gave practical living proof of
what his religion had done for him. Creeds
did not limit the scope of his work, for it
was Mr. Moody’s contention that Christ
recognized no creeds, but ‘‘preached the
gospel to all men.”
Pews were never empty and their occu-
pants never went to sleep when Moody
preached, and people who never went to
church, who boast of a ‘‘religion of their
own,” a ‘‘moral religion, based on ‘‘com-
mon sense’’ and ‘‘things tangible,’”’ with a
comfortable logic behind it, went to hear
Moody preach and Sankey sing just to get
inspiration from their cheerfulnees and
marvel at their faith.
Their British fame ripened for them the
field in America, and upon their return in
1875 they organized in the principal cities
the meetings to which thousands thronged
day and night. Philadelphians recall viv-
idly the tremendous inspiration that
marked the Moody and Sankey meetings
in this city the year last named. They
have never heen paralleled by any relig-
ious demonstration known here.
When it was decided to invite them to
Philadelphia a committee of fifteen minis-
ters, representing all the evangelical de-
nominations of the city, was appointed to
arrange for their coming. This committee
organized by electing Rev. Richard New-
ton, D. D., of the Episcopal church, chair-
man, and Rev. C. P. Masden, of the Re-
form church as secretary. The ministers’
committee then appointed a committee of
thirteen prominent and well-known busi-
ness gentlemen of the various denomina-
tions to conduct the business arrangements
for the meeting. The committee elected
George H. Stuart chairman, John R.
Whitney treasurer and Thomas K. Cree
secretary. This committee at once pro-
ceeded to business. They secured the old
freight depot of the Pennsylvania Railrcad
company, Thirteenth and Market streets,
which was transformed into an auditorium
which accommodated 10,150 persons with
seats. The musical services were placed
in the hands of a well-trained choir of 500
voices under the leadership of Mr. Sankey.
At none of the subsequent visits of Moody
and Sankey to that city were their services
ever attended by greater crowds that on
this memorable occasion.
WONDERFUL NORTHFIELD MOVEMENT.
As far back as 1879 he began building
up at Northfield, the place of his birth and
of the hardships of his early life, a centre
of religious and educational work. In that
year he founded the Northfield Seminary
for Girls. In 1881 he established an acad-
emy for boys at Mount Hermon, four
miles from Northfield, on the other side of
the Connecticut river. In 1890 he founded
his Bible Training School for the instruc-
tion of Sunday school teachers and relig-
ious workers in general. During the last
half dozen years his summer schools and
Bible conferences have attracted thousands
of earnest religious workers.
A great builder from the start, as has
been indicated, Mr. Moody must be credit-
ed in addition with a total of some twenty
structures at Northfield, and Chicago Ave-
nue church and the Bible and Institute
edifices in Chicago, which he was conspicu-
ously instrumental in causing the erection of
the fine edifices of the Young Men’s Chris-
rian Association in New York, Boston,
Philadelphia, San Francisco, Baltimore
and Scranton, Pa. In Great Britain and
Ireland the following buildings are attrib-
uted either to his personal efforts or to the
inspiration derived from his work : Chris-
tian Union buildings, Dublin ; Christian
Institute building, Glasgow ; Carubber’s
Close Mission, Edinburgh ; Conference
Hall, Stratford ; Down Lodge Hall,
Wandsworth, London, and the Young
Men’s Christian Association building,
Liverpool.
As a writer Mr. Moody has been fairly
voluminous, though many of his volumes
are revised stenographic reports of his ser-
mons. The titles of some, which are not
ostensibly collections of discourses, are:
‘The Second Coming of Christ” (1877);
“The Way and the Word?’ (1877); ‘‘Secret
Power, or the Secret of Success in Christian
Life and Work”’ (1881); ‘‘The Way to God
and How to Find It’’ (1884), ete.
In 1862 Mr. Moody married Miss Emma
C. Revell, a sister of Fleming H. Revell,
the publisher, and her interest and help in
her husband’s work have always been of
great service to him. Daring the five weeks
of his illness she scarcely left his side. A
writer who visited the Moody home during
the great preacher’s illness draws a picture
of the domestic life of the remarkable man
whose death will be the source of grief the
world over. Mrs. Moody, standing by the
bedside of her dying husband, is thus
quoted :
‘‘Something of that life? It has been a
life of work; a work which he loves, a work
which has made his character beautiful,
and made him a model for all who were
fortunate enough to be near him. His dis-
position has ever been sweet and humble,
and his character forceful and strong. The
influence of his simple presence is wonder-
ful. I know of no day or hour in Mr.
Moody's life when he has ceased for a mo-
ment to preach his religion; not always in
words; Scripture lessons are not all of his
religion. It wassometimes in what he did
not say. when most of us would have
spoken, or the pressure of his hand, or an
act of kindness which no one bat ‘he one
who needed it would ever know. As hus-
band and father, counselor, companion,
guide, he has acted always in accordance
with what he preaches, and his f2ith in God
has helped us through many a difficulty
and made the travel smooth over many a
rough road.”
The very atmosphere of the Moody home
bespeaks love and harmony. The house is
a big white structure with green blinds,
almost hidden by massive elms. There are
dainty white chintz curtains at the win-
dows, with fluted ruffles falling over boxes
of bright flowers; ard within there is some-
thing about the old-fashioned rockers and
cushions and round tables and hooks, and
the cozy glow from open fires, that makes
one feel it is really a home.
Big Holes of Boer Land.
They are Numerous and are Regarded as Fathom-
less.
All that district lying between Zeerust
to the west and Rustenburg in the east,
and extending down to Krugersdorp and
Potchefstroom in the south, near the source
of the Malmani river, in the Transvaal, has
numerous holes which are regarded by the
Boer as fathomless. The whole of the
ground in some parts seems a crustration
and quite hollow underneath. This can
be distinctly heard and traced, when heavy
wagons are rolling along any of the hard
roads, from the empty dead sound that re-
echoes and the vibrating noise, they make,
when far away and quite unseen.
It is exemplified clearly in more than
one place on the old road between Potchef-
stroom—the old capital of the Transvaal—
and Rustenburg, where the road has actual-
ly fallen in in more places than one to what
appears waterworn caves underneath, and
1n two places an underground river of con-
siderable volume is distinctly visible, as
well as heard, rushing at some considerable
depth. The same hollow sound is exper-
ienced on the hilly ground surrounding
Pretoria, which lies itself somewhat low in
a valley and is quite surrounded by hills.
This we found to our cost during the Boer
rebellion of 1880 and 1881, when the in-
fantry—regulars and volunteers---were al-
ways conveyed out in mule wagons to the
scene of any engagement.
The rumble of these wagons, together
with those of the artilliery,over those roads
could be distinctly heard miles away, and
gave full warning to the Boer scouts. They
simply placed their ears to their ramrod,
stuck upright on the ground, and they
could hear our approach as soon as we left
the capital, and were, therefore, always
prepared for us long before we came in
sight.
Between Potchefstroom and Pretoria are
the celebrated caves of Wonderfontein.
They are entered half-way up the side of a
stiff hill, and after wandering through
cloisters of caves with lovely stalactites,
varying from six to thirty-six inches in
length, suspended from their roofs, and
with the same, thicker if not so long,stand-
ing up from the floor where the lime water
has dropped for centuries past, you come
upon one of those underground rivers,
rushing through the cave with a tremendous
velocity. The rush of water can be heard
long before it becomes visible, and accom-
panied as it is on nearing the spot by a
strong current of air, some difficulty is ex-
perienced in keeping the candles burning.
When you approach close to where this
stream flows it has all the appearance as if
passing through a huge trough or half-cut
pipe of quite ten feet diameter, and the
force is so great that it is with considerable
difficulty one is enabled to draw out a
tumbler of water anything like full. Need-
less to say, it is always as cold as if passing
through a bed of ice, and also us bright
and clear as crystal.
In the caves already mentioned it passes
through in three different channels, and
seems to get lost in the bowels of the earth.
Those caves, which are decidedly inter-
esting, and well ‘worthy of a visit, and
would be a fortune ‘to their possessor in
any more civilized country, strange to say,
are little known to the ordinary busy
Randites. There are similar caves, how-
ever, within an easy ride of Krugersdorp,
leased by an enterprising Scotchman of
Johannesburg, who has had them lit up
with acetelyne gas, which gives a grand
and imposing sight to them. He has
further fitted up in one of the larger caves
an open restaurant and bar, and thrown it
otherwise into a series of lounges, all of
which, if modern, is very effective. It was
also this enterprising gentleman’s inten-
tion, and which will no doubt be carried
out when the present Transvaal troubles
are over, to have erected, along with the
Acetelyne Gas company, machinery and
works for the making of carbite, the ma-
terial for which is found in abundance at
these caves. and possessing the proper fall
of water and the position all combining to
make it a lucrative and valuable manu-
facture.
Besides these subterrannean rivers, there
are various mineral springs, which come
bubbling up from the bowels of the earth,
while others flow out of and under huge
howlders in the Transvaal. They are look-
ed upon by the Boers as unfathomable, and
talked about with a considerable amount
of semi-religion or ghostly awe.
The most important, or at least best
known of these holes or springs is termed
‘‘The Warm Bath,’’ some 70 miles north
of Pretoria. They are now accessible by
rail, the main line to Pietersburg passing
them, and can be reached in a few hours
from Pretoria. They are decidedly sul-
phurous springs, and come out at a boiling
temperature. They are looked upon, and
with good reason, as the great healer of all
external ailments, and are found very
beneficial in cases of bad wounds, eruptions,
sores of all sorts, sciatica, rheumatism,
gout, and many other sicknesses.
Mourned Him for Dead.
Thought She Was a Widow and About to Marry
Again, but Husband Came Back.
Several months ago a pretty young wom-
an, about thirty years of age, moved to
Pheenixville and introduced herself as Miss
Margaret Devereaux. She possessed a fine
soprano voice and was soon in great de-
mand as a singer in church choirs. She
taught music and painting, and was placed
in charge of the choir of St. Mary’s Roman
Catholic church. She told a few of her
friends that she had once been married to
an actor by the name of Clark, who had
gone to South America, where he died of
fever. She was very popular with the op-
posite sex and it was rumored that a well
known young man about the town was
about to lead her to the altar.
An end was suddenly put to all such ru-
mors by a telegram from Brooklyn saying
that her supposed dead husband, Mr.
Clark, had arrived there from South Amer-
ica in good health. Miss Devereaux hasti-
ly packed her trunk and hastened to
Brooklyn where she met her husband, and
they will, it is said soon begin housekeep-
ing in the city of churches. A score of
Pheenixville young men are disconsolate,
and the church choirs miss the sweet so-
prano who for several months was their
star attraction.
The two children who also constitute a
part of the Clark household, and who were
left in charge of their grandmother Dever-
eaux after their papa’s supposed death in
South America, will become part of the re-
united Brooklyn family.
Tersely Told.
-—A raw potato will remove mud stains
from black clothes.
—Massachusetts has spent $20,000 to get
rid of the gypsy moth.
—Beef’s heart should always be soaked
in vinegar and water.
—Small Oriental rugs make effective
coverings for floor cushions.
—A tiny bit of blue in water you wash
glass in adds to its brilliancy.
—Strong lye or soft soap will keep pots
and pans clean and bright.
—Raw whites of eggs is an excellent
nourishment for ailing children.
—Dried orange peel, allowed to smolder
will kill a bad odor.
—A sink should be rubbed with lamp
oil twice a week to keep it clean.
—One town in Missouri furnishes 60,000
pounds of frog legs a year.
—Table oilcloth is a sanitary substitute
for wall paper in the kitchen.
—Newspapers wrapped around ice will
prevent it from melting too rapidly.
—London butter is made from frozen
cream imported from New Zealand.
—~Clean the inside of decanters with tea
leaves, or chopped potato parings.
—Do not startlea child. Many nervous
diseases may be traced to that source.
—If salt gets moist and refuses to be
shaken, add a pinch of baking powder.
—Tough meat is always improved hy
soaking a few hours in vinegar and water.
—Cover your kegged pickles with strips
of horse radish, and they will not mold.
—DMeats for roasting should not be
washed but should be wiped with a damp
cloth.
—A polished floor is never sticky if lin-
seed oil is mixed with the turpentine and
beeswax.
—Pure butter, eaten in moderation, will
furnish the oils required by the human
system.
—Of fish, the oily varieties are not easily
digested, and are not favorites with the
epicure.
—Absorbent cotton, if quickly applied
when milk or cream is spilled on cloth,
will prevent a stain.
—If you care for a perfumed bed open
the pillows and sprinkle sachet powder
among the feathers.
—The ends of pie crust that are left over
may be made into little patties and filled
with jam.
—Doilies are no longer used at dinner.
They are permissible only at luncheon
served on a polished table.
—High heels originated in Persia, where
they were worn to raise the feet from the
burning sands.
—A new stove polisher, accompanied hy
a bottle of liquid polish, is self-feeding and
does efficient work.
—Never clean an oil painting with soap.
Go over it very carefully with a piece of
wool saturated with linseed oil.
—A brilliant black varnish is made by
mixing a small quantity of fine lamp black
with French spirit varnish.
—Crude petroleum is very good for
cleaning any kind of hard wood, and is the
cheapest furniture polish possible.
—Remove grass stains from linen by first
dipping the spots in ammonia water and
then washing them in warm soap suds.
—Liver should always be parboiled and
wiped dry before frying. This not only
keeps the juice but softens the meat.
—Pulverize a teaspoonful of borax ; put
in your last rinsing water and your clothes
will come out white instead of yellow.
—No article of furniture should receive
more attention than the refrigerator. It
should he washed and dried every day.
—To prevent sausages from shriveling
cover them with cold water and allow them
to come to a boil. Then drain them and
fry.
—When a receipt says ‘‘one cupful’”’ you
may be safe in using half a pint. ‘Salt to
taste’’ means a teaspoonful to a pint of
liquid.
*—A test for distinguishing diamonds
from paste and glass is to touch them with
the tongue. The diamond feels much the
colder.
—The oldest woman’s club is the Phila-
delphia Female Society for the Relief and
Employment of the Poor. It was organized
in 1795.
—In cleaning a sewing machine with
paraffin, never allow it to remain on the
machine, as it heats the bearings and causes
them to wear out.
—Red wine stains may be removed from
table linen with thick sour milk. Let it
remain for several hours, then wash the
place in lukewarm water.
—Lettuce or celery may be kept fresh
and crisp for several days by wrapping ina
cloth wrung out of cold water and then
pinning the whole in a thick newspaper.
—A good way to extract the juice from
beef for those who require that nourish-
ment is to broil the beef on a gridiron for a
few minutes, and then squeeze with a
lemon squeezer. Add a little salt.
—Burn juniper berries in a room that
has been freshly painted or papered.
Keep the widows closed for twelve hours ;
then air thoroughly and the room is habit-
able.
—To whiten the kitchen table spread
over it a thin paste made of chloride of
lime and hot water. Leave it on all night,
and in the morning wash it off thoroughly.
—A meat fret, which is intended for
making the meat tender without destroy-
ing the juices or mutilating the steak, cuts
it by piercing tiny holes through the sur-
face.
—To remove white marks from mahog-
any furniture rub the stains with a little
sweet oil. Rub it off and then apply a few
drops of spirits of wine and polish with an
old silk handkerchief.
—A useful washing fluid is made hy
boiling together half a pound of slaked
lime and a pound of soda in six quarts of
water for two hours. Let it settle and
then pour off the clean liquid.
—In polishing walnut furniture, take
three parts of linseed oil to one part of
spirits of turpentine. Put on with a
woolen cloth, and when dry, rub with
woolen. The polish will conceal a disfig-
ured surface.
—A cupful of leftover mashed potatoes
may be made into croquettes by the addi-
tion of the yolk of two eggs, a little grated
nutmeg, a half spoonful of onion juice, a
pinch of salt and a little chopped parsley.
MADE Young AGAIN—‘‘One of Dr.
King’s New Life Pills each night for two
weeks has put mein my ‘teens’ again’’
writes D. H. Turner of Dempseytown, Pa.
They’re the best in the world for Liver,
Stomach and Bowels. Purely vegetable.
Nerver gripe. Only 25 cents at F. P.
Green’s drug store.