Beworrai ald
Bellefonte, Pa., April 13. 1900.
ROBERT HARDY'S SEVEN DAYS.
A Dream and Its Consequences.
BY REV. CHARLES SHELDON.
Author of “In His Steps.” “The Crucifizion of Phil-
ip Strong,” Malcolm Kirk,” Etc.
(Copyright, 1900, by Advance Publishing Co.)
(BEGUN IN No. 12, MARCH 23, 1900.)
“He died about an hour ago,” said!
one of the other men. “The surgeon
was late in getting around, and after
the amputation it was ascertained that
Scoville had received severe internal
injuries.”
“Was he conscious?’ Mr. Hardy ask-
2d the question mechanically, but al)
the while his mind was in a whirl of
remorse.
“Yes; up to the last moment.”
Mr. Hardy went up to the door and
knocked. A woman, one of the neigh-
bors, opened it and he went in. The
sight stunned him. The dead man had
been removed to a rear room, but his
wife lay upon the very same ragged
lounge Mr. Hardy had seen in his
dream. The surgeon was bending over
her. The room was full of neighbors.
The surgeon suddenly arose and,
turning about, spoke in a quiet but de-
cided tone:
“Now, then, good people, just go
home, will you, for awhile! And sup-
pose some of you take these children
along with you. You can’t do anything
more now and your presence disturbs
the woman! Ah, Mr.*Hardy!’ he ex-
claimed, seeing the manager. “You
here? This is a sad business. Come,
now, ladies, I must ask you to retire.”
Everybody went out except the sur-
geon, the poor woman’s sister and Mr.
Hardy. He drew the surgeon over to
the window and inquired concerning
the particulars. Mr. Hardy had receiv-
ed a shock at the very first, and he
trembled violently.
“Well, you see,” explained the sur-
geon, “Scoville was a dead man from
the minute of the accident. Nothing
could have saved him. When the acci-
dent happened, I was down at Bayville
attending the men who were injured in
the wreck last Saturday. I telegraphed
that I would come at once. But there
was a delay on the road, and I did not
get here until 3 o'clock in the morning.
Meanwhile everything had been done
that was possible. But nothing could
save the poor fellow. This shock will
kill his wife. I doubt if she lives
through the day.”
“What will be done with the chil-
dren?” Mr. Hardy asked the question
mechanically, again feeling the need of
time to think out what was best to be
done. The surgeon shrugged his shoul-
ders. He was accustomed to scenes of
suffering and distress continually.
“Orphans’ home, I suppose,” he re-
plied laconically.
A movement and a moan from the
woman called him to her side, and Mr.
Hardy, left alone, he thought a mo-
ment, then stepped over to the surgeon
and asked him if he could go into the
other room and see the dead man. The
surgeon nodded a surprised assent, and
Mr. Hardy stepped into the rear room
and closed the door. He drew back the
sheet from the face of the man and
looked down upon it. Nothing in all
his experience had ever moved him so
deeply. The features of the dead man
were fixed. it seemed to him, in an ex-
pression of despair. Mr. Hardy gazed
steadily upon it for half a minute;
then, repiacing the sheet, he kneeled
down by the side of the rude bed and
prayed God for mercy.
“O Lord,” he groaned in his remorse,
“lay not the death of this man to my
charge!” Yet, even as he prayed. he
could not drive back the thought which
chased across the prayer: “1 am this
man’s murderer. 1 issued the order
compelling the Sunday work. I refused
a week ago to inspect the retorts which
were declared unsafe, on the ground
that it was not my business. | com-
pelled this man to work under the fear
of losing his place if he refused to
work. I compelled him to work on the
one day in which God has commanded
all men to rest. I, a Christian by pro-
fession, a member of the church, a man
of means—I put this man in deadly
peril upon a Sunday in order that more
money might be made and more hu-
man selfishness might be gratified. 1
did it. And this man once saved my
life. 1 am his murderer, and no mur
derer shall inherit the kingdom of
God.”
So the wretched man prayed there by
the side of that cold body. Yet the
world today goes on with men in high
places who have it in their power to
change the conditions that exact Sun-
day labor from thousands of weary
men and drive the commerce of the
world across the continent at the cost
of that priceless thing, the soul of
man, in order that the owners of rail-
road stock and the men who get their
salaried living from it may have more
money. What! Is it not true that every
Sunday in this land of Christian homes
and hearts many and many a well fed,
sleek, self satisfied. well dressed man,
with a high salary and well established
social position, with a luxurious home
and money in the bank. goes to church
and sits down In a softly cushioned
pew to listen to the preaching of the
gospel. while within hearing distance
of the services an express train or a
freight thunders by upon the road
which declares the dividends that
make that man’s wealth possible?
On those trains are groups of coal be-
grimed buman beings who never go in-
side a church, who never speak the
name of God or Christ except in an
oath, who lead lives that are as desti-
tute of spiritual nourishment as a des-
ert of sand and rocks and who are
compelled to labor contrary to God’s
everlasting law of rest in order that
man may have more to feed his body
and indulge his passions! Do not tell
us it is necessary labor. It is labor for
the making of more money. It does
not need to be done. The community
could dispense with it. and in the sight
of God it Is a wicked use of human
flesh and blood and souls. and the
starved spiritual natures of these men
will come up at the judgment day be-
fore the men who had it in their power
to say, “Not a wheel shall turn on
these tracks Sunday even if we don’t
make a little more money.” Money or
souls! Which is worth more in the
thought of the railroad corporation?
Let the facts make answer.
Mr. Hardy did not know just how
long he kneeled there in that bare
room. At last he arose weariedly and
came out, but his prayer had not re-
freshed him. The surgeon glanced at
him inquisitively. but asked no ques-
tions. The sick woman was in a state
of semiconsciousness. Mr. Hardy's
cook, her sister, sat listlessly and worn
out by the side of the lounge. The sur-
geon rapidly gave directions for the
use of some medicine and prepared to
go. Some of the neighbors called, and
the surgeon let two of the women come
in. Just as the two men were going
out together, Mr. Hardy still absorbed
in his great desire to do something of
importance for the mother and her
children, his minister, Mr. Jones, ap-
peared.
He looked surprised at seeing Mr.
Hardy, inquired the news of the doc-
tor and at once asked if he could see
the poor widow. The doctor thought it
would do no harm. Mr. Jones whisper-
ed to Mr. Hardy:
“She was a faithful member of our
church, you know.”
Mr. Hardy did not know it, to his
shame, he confessed. This sister of his
in Christ had been a member of the
same church, and he had not even
known it. If she had happened to sit
on the same side of the building where
ae sat, he would probably have wonder-
ed who that plain looking person was,
dressed so poorly. But she had al-
ways sat back on the other side, being
iL
”*
JA
Sr
7 //
The features of the dead man were fixed
in an expression of despair.
one of a few poor women who had
been attracted into the church and
been comforted by Mr. Jones’ simple
piety and prayers.
The minister kneeled down and said
a gentle word to the woman. Then, as
if in reply to a low voiced request. he
began a prayer of remarkable beauty
and comfort. Mr. Hardy wondered as
he listened that he could even have
thought this man dull in the pulpit
He sat down and sobbed as the prayer
went on and took to himself the conso-
lation of that heavenly petition. When
Mr. Jones rose, Mr. Hardy still sat
with his bands over his face. The sur-
geon was called out by some one. Then
the minister, after making arrange
ments with the women who had come
in for the funeral of Scoville, started to
go out. when Mr. Hardy rose, and they
went away together.
“Mr. Jones,” said Mr. Hardy as they
walked along. "lI have ap explanation
and a confession to make. | haven't
time to make it now, but I want to say
that I have met God face to face with-
in the past 24 hours, and | am con:
scious for the first time in years of the
intensely selfish life I have lived. |
need your prayers and help. And |
want to serve the church and do my
duty there as I have never before done
it. I have not supported your work as
I should. 1 want you to think of me
this week as ready to help in anything
in my power. Will you accept my apol-
ogy for my contempt of your request a
week ago? 1 will come into the meet-
ing Thursday night and help in any
way possible.”
Mr. Jones’ eyes filled with tears. He
grasped Mr. Hardy’s band and said
simply: “Brother, God bless you! Let
me be of service to you in any way |
can.”
Mr. Hardy felt a little better for the
partial confession and parted with his
minister at the next corner, going
down to his office.
CHAPTER 1V.
It was now 10 o'clock, and the day
seemed to him cruelly brief for the
work he had to do. He entered the
office, and almost the first thing he saw
on his desk was the following letter.
addressed to him, but written in a dis-
guised hand:
Mr. Hardy—Us in the casting room don’t need
no looking after, but maybe the next pot of hot
iron that explodes will be next the offis if you
thinks we have bodies but no sols some morning
you will wake up beleving another thing. We
ain’t so easy led as sum supposes. Better look to
house and employ spesul patrol; if you do we
will blak his face for him.
There was no signature to this threat:
ening scrawl, which was purposely
misspelled and ungrammatically com-
posed. Mr. Hardy had received threats
before and paid little attention to them.
He prided himself on his steady nerves
and his contempt of all such methods
used to scare him. Only a coward, he
reasoned, would ever write an anony-
mous letter of such a character. Still
this morning he felt disturbed. His
peculiar circumstances made the whole
situation take on a more vivid coloring.
Besides all that, he could not escape
the conviction that he was in a certain
sense responsible for the accident in
tne casting room. It was not Dis par
ticular business to inspect machinery
But his attention had been called to it.
and he felt now as if he had been crim-
inally careless in not making the in
spection in the absence of the regular
officer. An investigation of the acci
dent would free Mr. Hardy from legal
responsibility, but in the sight of God
he felt that he was morally guilty. At
this moment Mr. Burns came in. He
looked sullen and spoke in'a low tone:
“Only half the men are back this
morning, sir. Scoville’s death and the
injuries of the others have had a bad
effect on the men.”
Mr. Hardy crumpled the letter perv
ously in his band.
“Mr. Burns, I would like to apologize
to you for my neglect of the injured
men. Who are they and how badly are
they hurt?”
Burns looked surprised, but made
answer, describing briefly the acci-
dents. Mr. Hardy listened intently
with bowed head. At last he looked
up and said abruptly:
“Come into the casting room.”
They went out of the office, passed
through the repairing shops and enter-
ed the foundry department. Even on
that bright winter morning, with the
air outside so clear and cool, the atmos-
phere in this place was murky and
close. The forges in the blacksmith
room at the farther end glowed through
the smoke and dust like smoldering
piles of rubbish dumped here and there
by chance upon some desolate moor
and stirred by ill omened demons of
the nether world. Mr. Hardy shudder-
ed as he thought of standing in such an
atmosphere all day to work at severe
muscular toil. He recalled with sharp
vividness a request made only two
months before for dust fans which had
proved successful in other shops and
which would remove a large part of
the heavy, coal laden air, supplying
fresh air in its place. The company
had refused the request and had even
said through one of its officers that
when the men wore out the company
could easily get more.
Mr. Hardy and the foreman paused
at the entrance to the casting room
where the men had been injured the
day before. A few men were working
sullenly. Mr. Hardy asked the fore-
man to call the men together near the
other end of the room; he wanted to
say something to them. He walked
over there while the foreman spoke to
the men. They dropped their tools and
came over to where Mr. Hardy was
standing. They were mostly Scandi-
navians and Germans, with a sprin-
kling of Irish and Americans. Mr.
Hardy looked at them thoughtfully.
They were a hard looking crowd. Then
he said very slowly and distinctly:
“You may quit work until after Sco-
ville’s funeral. The machinery here
needs overhauling.”
The men stood impassive for a mo-
ment. Finally a big Dane stepped up
and said:
“We be no minded to quit work
these times. We no can afford it. Give
us work in some other place.”
Mr. Hardy looked at him and replied
quietly:
“The wages will go on just the same
while you are out.”
There was a perceptible stir among
the men. They looked confused and
incredulous. Mr. Hardy still looked at
them thoughtfully.
Finally the big Dane stepped for-
ward again and said, speaking more
respectfully than he did at first:
“Mr. Hardy, we be thinking maybe
you would like to help towards him the
&in
ey
‘No. no thanks! I'll do something more.”
family of the dead and others as ve
hurt. I been ’pointed to take up purse
for poor fellows injured. We all take
hand in’t. My brother be one lose his
two eyes.”
A tear actually rolled down the
grimy cheek of the big fellow and
dropped into the coal dust at his feet.
Mr. Hardy realized that he was look-
ing at a brother man. He choked
down a sob and putting his hand in his
pocket pulled out all the change he had
and poured it into the Dane's hand.
Then, seeing that it was only $4 or $5,
he pulled out his purse and emptied
that of its bills, while Burns, the fore-
man, and all the men looked on in stu-
pefied wonder.
“No, no thanks!
more.”
Mr. Hardy walked away, feeling as
if the ground were heavy under him.
What was all his money compared
with that life which had been sacrific-
ed in that gas poisoned sepulcher? He
could not banish from his mind the pic-
ture of that face as it looked to him
when he drew back the sheet and look-
ed at it.
He hurried back to the office through
the yard and sat down at the well
worn desk. The mail had come in, and
half a dozen letters lay there. What
did it all amount to, this grind of busi-
ness, when the heartache of the world
called for so much sympathy? Then
over him came the sense of his obliga-
tions to his family—Clara’s need of a
father’s help, George going to the bad,
Alice in need of sympathy, his wife
I'll do something
weeping even now at home, the church
and Sunday school where he had been
of so little use, the family of Scoville
to be provided for, the other injured
men to be visited, improvements for
the welfare of the men in the shops to
be looked after and the routine of his
business—all these things crowded im.
upon him, and still he saw the face and
heard the voice of Eternity, “Seven
days more to live!”
He sank into a reverie for a moment.
He was roused by the sounding of the
noon whistle. What, noon already? So
swiftly had the time gone! He turned
to his Uesk, bewildered. and picked up
his letters, glanced over them hurried-
ly and then gave directions for the an-
swers of some of them to his impatient
clerk. who had been wondering at his
employer’s strange behavior this morn-
ing. Among the letters was one which
made his cheek burn with self re-
proach. It was an invitation to a club
dinner to be given that evening in hon-
or of some visiting railroad president.
It was just such an occasion as he
had enjoyed very many times before,
and the recollection brought to mind
the number of times he had gone away
from his home and left his wife sitting
drearily by the fire. How could he
have done it? He tossed the gilded in-
vitation fiercely into the wastebasket
and, rising, walked his room, thinking,
thinking. He had so much to do and
so little time to do it in! He thought
thus a moment, then went out and
walked rapidly over to the hotel where
he was in the habit of ‘getting lunch
when he did not go home. He ate a
little hurriedly and then hastened out.
As he was going out upon the side-
walk two young men came in and jos-
tled against him. They were smoking
and talking in a loud tone. Mr. Hardy
caught the sound of his own name. He
looked at the speaker, and it was the
face of the young man he had seen in
his dream, the one who had insulted
George and struck him afterward. For
a moment Mr. Hardy was tempted to
confront the youth and inquire into his
son’s habits.
“No,” he said to himself after a
pause; “I will have a good talk with
George himself. That will be the
best.”
He hurried back to the office and ar-
ranged some necessary work for his
clerk, took a walk through the other
office, then went to the telephone and
called up the superintendent of the
Sunday school, who was a bookkeeper
in a clothing house. He felt an intense
desire to arrange for an interview with
him as soon as possible. Word came
back from the house that the superin-
tendent had been called out of town by
serious illness in his old home and
would not be back until Saturday. Mr.
Hardy felt a disappointment more
keen than the occasion seemed to war-
rant. He was conscious that the time
was very brief. He had fully made up
his mind that so far as in him lay he
would redeem his selfish past and
make a week such as few men ever
made. He was just beginning to real-
ize that circumstances are not always
in our control. We are obliged to wait
for time to do some things. We cannct
redeem seven years of selfishness with
seven days of self denial. The death
of Scoville revealed to Mr. Hardy his
powerlessness in the face of certain
possibilities. He now feared that the
superintendent would fail to return in
time to let him confess to him his just
sorrow for his lack of service in the
school. He sat down to his desk and
under that impulse wrote a letter that
expressed in part how he felt. Then
he jotted down the following items to
be referred to the proper authorities of
the road:
Itemn 1. The dust in the blacksmith
shop and in the brass polishing rooms
is largely unnecessary. The new En-
glefield revolving rolling fans and ele-
vator ought to be introduced in both
departments. The cost will be but an
item to the road and would prolong the
life and add to the comfort of the em-
ployees. Very important.
Item 2. Organized and intelligent ef-
fort should be made by all railroad cor-
porations to lessen Sunday work in
shops and on the road. All perishable
freight should be so handled as to call
for the services of as few men on Sun-
day as possible, and excursion and pas-
senger trains should be discontinued
except in cases of unavoidable neces-
sity.
Item 3. The inspection of boilers, re-
torts, castings, machinery of all kinds,
should be made by thoroughly compe-
tent and responsible men, who shall an-
swer for all unnecessary accidents b;
swift and severe punishment in case o
loss of life or limb.
Item 4. In case of injury or death to
employees, if incurred through the neg-
lect of the company to provide safety,
it should provide financial relief for the
families thus injured or stricken by
death and so far as possible arrange
for their future.
Item 5. Any weil organized railroad
could, with profit to its employees,
have upon its staff of salaried men a
corps of chaplains or preachers whose
business is would be to look after the
religious interests of the employees.
(CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.)
Trout Season Begins April 16th.
The act of assembly approved June 11th,
1885, provides that trout can only be caught
between April 15th, and July 15th. Trout
season thereof opens on April 15th. This
year the 15th of April falls on Sunday.
The act of assembly approved June 3rd,
1878, strictly forbids fishing on Sunday un-
der a penalty of twenty five dollars fine.
The trout season this year for this reason
will open Monday, April 16th. It would
be well for the too ardent disciples of Izaak
Walton to make a note of this fact and
paste it in their hat.
——One of the signs in the grocery store
announced : ‘‘Raspberry jam, 25 cents a
jar.” “Ah!” said Mrs. Newliwed, ‘“‘Isn’t
that dam jear?”’ ‘‘Beg pardon !”’ exclaim-
ed the grocer. She tried it again. *‘I said
isn’t that dam dear?’ Then she blushed
vividly and retired in confusion.
——Subscribe for the WATCHMAN .
When Nerve Was Needed.
The Medical Student in the Early Days Had to Be a
Skillful and Nervy S8chemer.
‘‘The arrest of a St, Paul undertaker the
other day reminds me of an experience I
had myself when I was in college,”’ said a
well known St. Paul doctor to a St. Paul
-newspaperman.
- ‘Of course that was many years ago, and
we had considerably more trouble securing
subjects for the dissecting room than they
have now. About the only way we
could get them was to steal them. I was
sort of assistant to the professor of anatomy
and it sometimes devolved upon me to get
the subjects.
‘‘One afternoon the professor told me
that a pauper had died in the Catholic hos-
pital in the town, where the college was lo-
cated, and that as we were out of subjects
we must have him. One of our students
was in the hospital and the professor told
me to take one of the other students and
drive to the hospital and get the body. I
was to go at 6 o’clock, when all the sisters
and nurses were at vespers in the hospital
chapel, and induce the student to give me
the body.
‘‘We got a buggy from the livery stable
which we patronized on such occasionsand
arrived at the hospital in due time. The
hospital student was very much scared
when we told him what we wanted, but he
finally decided to let us have the body.
The other fellow held the horse while I
went into the window and got the body.
He was a big fellow, but after some trouble
I got him out of the window and into the
buggy just as the nurses and sisters return-
ed from vespers.
‘*We propped the subject up in the hug-
gy between us and started as fast as we
could to get away before anyone saw us.
We had not gone more than a block when
we struck a rough piece of road and one of
the buggy springs broke. Then we were
in trouble. My fellow student said that he
would get out and walk along on the side
walk and if I got in trouble he would come
to my assistance.
‘‘ ‘You needn’t worry about that,’ I told
him, ‘if anything bappens I'll simply hit
the horse a lick and jump. I don’t want
to be caught in the same buggy with this
thing.’
‘‘Nothing happened, however, and we
got to the old barn where we stored our
subject until the trouble blew over, with-
out accident. We hoisted the subject into
the hay loft, covered him with hay and left
him there. All went well that night, but
the next morning the hospital authorities
discovered the loss and then there was
trouble. They had suspected us before
and this time they were sure of us. Early
in the morning the officers arrived to search
the college.
‘‘Of course if they found the dead body it
meant jail for all of us. The professor told
me that he would have to stay and assist in
the search and that the best thing for me to
do was to get the body out of the way. I
thought so too, and started for the barn
where it was concealed.
*‘On the way I happened to remember
that there was an old doctor in a little
town in the southern part of the State who
had sent word to the college that he was
conducting a class in anatomy and that,
whenever we had a subject that we didn’t
care for we might send it to him. And
from that minute he was the one man in
the world that I wanted to see.
‘The liveryman was a friend of the col-
lege and particularly a friend to me. I
went to him and told him the whole story
and explained what I proposed doing with
the body. He was as anxious as I was to
get the body away. I thought at the time
it was of his friendship for me, but I after-
wards concluded it was because the body
was on his premises.
‘“‘Whatever his object might have been
he helped me and that was more to the
point. He found a large trunk about the
stable and we doubled the body up and put
it in the trunk. Then we loaded it on an
express wagon and started for the station.
There was a train about due and I only had
a few minutes to buy my ticket and check
the trunk and get abroad. The station was
surrounded with policemen, but none of
them knew me and I escaped unsuspected.
I can tell you I breathed more easily after
the train started.
“I had provided myself with a number
of strong cigars and at once went into the
baggage car and sat down on the trnnk. I
thought, for reasons that are obvious, that
smoke would be a good thing, and I smok-
ed all through that hundred mile ride un-
til I was black in the face. No one sus-
pected what I had in my trunk and I began
to feel more at ease.
‘‘But when I started down the steps of the
car after our arrival at my destination I had
another scare. It was just after the close
of the Civil war and all sorts of jobs were
being given to cripples, men who had lost
arms or legs in the army. The baggageman
at the station had only one arm and when
he took hold of the trunk to take it out of
the baggage car he didn’t figure how heavy
it was. The result was that it got away
from him, bumped across the platform and
down into the street, a drop of several feet.
Then I thought the jig was up. I bad the
trunk check in my band and stood on the
steps of the train, my mind made up to
throw the check off and go on with the
train in case the trunk had broken open.
But it badn’t. I got off and the dress-
ing down I gave that baggageman was a
wonder. Itold him that I was traveling
for a china house and that the trunk was
full of samples some of which he must have
broken. He wanted to open the trunk and
see if anything was injured, but I told him
that would be useless. I got an express
wagon and delivered the subject to the doc-
tor, receiving many thanks for my kind-
ness. I didn’t tell him why I had bronght
it to him and the authorities and the hos-
pital people never found out what became
of it.
““I’11 tell you those were the days when a
man had to have nerye to study medicine.’
MILLIONS GIVEN AWAY.— It is certain-
ly gratifying to the public to know of one
concern which is not afraid to be generous.
The proprietors of Dr. King’s New Discov-
ery for Consumption, Coughs and Colds,
have given away over ten million trial bot-
tles and have the satisfaction of knowing it
has cured thousands o! hopeless cases.
Asthma, Bronchitis, La Grippe and all
Throat, Chest and Lung diseases are surely
cured by it. Call on F. P. Green Druggist,
and get a free trial bottle. Regular size
50c and $1.00. Every bottle guaranteed.
Mad Sheep Kill Themselves,
The epidemic of rabies in Erie county
flocks is spreading, and another large flock
of sheep has been destroyed. They belong
to Elvin Frank, and three weeks ago one
was bitten by a mad dog. The disease was
communicated to others and many killed
themselves by dashing their heads against
the sides of their pen.
Lore of the Easter Egg.
A Custom That Boasts a Venerable Past. Some Old
World Observances. Playing at Ball in Church—A
Survival in France—After the Russian Manner—The
Artificial Article.
From time immemorial the egg has been
regarded as the symbol of“ creation, or new
birth. The Persians believe that the world
was hatched from an egg about the time of
year of the spring equinox. The Parsees
celebrate their New Year at this time, ex-
changing gifts of colored eggs. In the mys-
terious ancient Jewish apocalyptic cere-
monies and in their household during the
paschal season, the egg held a conspicuous
position. With the rise of Christianity,
however, the paschal egg took on an entire-
ly new aspect, typifying the risen Savior,
and the red tint given, it was in commem-
oration of his blood shed for sinners on the
cross. Itis interesting thereof, to know
that our brilliant crimson Easter egg is not
popular merely because it is a pleasing
bright color, but is, also, a survival of this
ancient and significant practice.
EGG THROWING IN OLD ENGLAND.
Pasch, Pace and Pase, were old names
for what isnow universally called the East-
er egg in all English speaking countries.
At Eastertide, in medieval times, priests
and choristers had an odd game of ball
with the Pasch egg, throwing it from one
to the other in the name of the church, an
anthem being sung meantime. As neces-
sarily the egg came to grief, if it was not
caught every time, eventually the more
substantial band ball was used instead. In
Frauce, in olden times, all the hen roests
were ransacked for the largest eggs which
were then presented to the king.
Easter morning, immediately after the
high mass in the Chapel of the Louvre,
pyramids of gilded eggs, in verdure trim-
med baskets, were brought into the royal
cabinet by men servants and by them giv-
en out to all those about the court in the
presence of the king.
There is a survival of an old custom still
extant in a few of the more remote parts of
France, where the priest goes around at the
Easter season and blesses the homes of his
parishioners, who recompense him with
gifts of eggs both plain and painted.
An old practice formerly prevalent all
over Wales, and in parts of England. and
Scotland, still obtains in Anglesay, North
Wales. There, from Monday until Satur-
day the week immediately preceding East-
er, the children go from house to house so-
liciting eggs; if no eggs are forthcoming,
they will take their equivalent in copper.
They announce their coming by means of a
large clapper so that the door may be open
for them.
BOOTS HELD FOR RANSOM.
An old Northumberland custom seems as
curious as any. There, when a man asks a
woman for an egg and she refuses it, he
takes off her boots holding them until she
pays the penalty, and when he refuses her
the Pasch egg requested, she snatches off
his cap and will not return it until he pays
the forfeit. Her deed is much easier of ac-
complishment than his, and one wonders
just how he manages it if she objects.
EASTER IN RUSSIA.
Perhaps of all countries, Russia exceeds
all others in the attention it pays to the
Easter egg. Almost universally the peo-
ple may be seen carrying a number of eggs
with them wherever they go on Easter Day
for presentation to their friends. In giving
them, they say, ‘‘Christ is Risen,’’ and re-
ceive the answer, ‘‘He is risen indeed.”
After services in the churches priests and
laymen click hens together, just as we do
glasses when giving a toast, as an evidence
of kindly feeling.
Our practice of ‘pick you upper,” is
practiced in many parts of rural England
and continental Europe, the same rule con-
trolling, the weaker egg becoming the spoil
of the stronger.
Another popular European Pasch egg con-
test is to trundle the eggs down a hill or
slope, the ones reaching the bottom un-
cracked winning the weaker ones. An
American practice of this custom is the fa-
mous White House egg trundling on Easter
Monday. Here, since the beginning of the
century, the children gather on the White
House lawn on that day and trundle Easter
eggs down the slope.
——ZEaster, the festival of the resurrec-
tion, was instituted in or about A. D. 68,
and may have been observed earlier, as it
is alluded to by the first Christian writers
as well known in their time. The word is
of Saxon origin, being applied in English
to the festival from the name of the goddess
Eostre, whose festival was held in the
spring. The word in Acts 12:4, translated
‘‘Easter,”” means ‘‘passover,”” time as the
Jewish Passover, and as many if not most
of the early Christians were of Jewish
origin it was an easy matter for them to
convert the greatest day of the Jewish
ecclesiastical year into the greatest festival
of Christianity.—Ex.
A HORRIBLE OUTBREAK.—*‘Of large sores
on my little daughter’s head developed in-
to a case of scaldhead’’ writes: C. D. Isbill
of Morganton, Tenn., but Bucklen’s Arnica
Salve completely cured her. It’s a guaran-
teed cure for Eczema, Tetter, Salt Rheum,
Pimples, Sores, Ulcers and Piles. Only
25¢ at F. P. Green.
A Martyr for Children,
John Carlson died at Ridgway a few days
age from the effects of injury received near-
ly two years ago. Mr. Carlson was riding
a bicycle on April 30th, 1898, when hesud-
denly saw ahead of him two small children.
To avoid running into them Mr. Carlson
threw himself from the wheel. He fell
with great violence, injuring his spine be-
yond recovery. He suffered in agony from
that time until Monday when he expired.
He was 35 years old, and is survived by his
wife and two children.
re —
BELLEVILLE FAMILY.—Belleville, Pa.,
March 30th, 1900.—Mrs. Levi B. Yoder of
this place says : ‘‘We have used Hood’s
Sarsaparilla in the family for dyspepsia and
liver complaint and for a blood purifier.
We think it unexcelled for these troubles.’’
The cures of dyspepsia that have been ef-
fected by this medicine are indeed remark-
ble, and in all stomach troubles it seems
to have a magic touch.
——Johnny (who is jealous of mamma)
—‘“Mamma likes me better than she does
you!’ “Evelyn (who enjoys teasing)—
Why, no, Johnny, of course she loves Bet-
ty and me best ! Just think, she was our
mother long before she was yours !”’ John-
ny (scornfully)—‘‘Hoh, what of that!
You are nothing but a sample copy, any-
how ! But I'm the real thing !’’
Mrs. Hix—Is your daughter happily
married ?
Mrs. Dix—Indeed, she is. Her husband
shakes in his boots every time she speaks.
— From the Chicago Daily News.