A SN a aE
Deuorvalic atc,
Bellefonte, Pa., April 27. 1900.
maaan
ROBERT HARDY’S SEVEN DAYS.
4 Dream and Its Consequences.
BY REV. CHARLES SHELDON.
Author of “In His Steps.” *“ The Crucifixion of Philip
Strong,” Malcolm Kirk,” Ele.
(Copyright, 1900, by Advance Publishing Co.)
(BEGUN IN No. 12, marcy 23, 1900.)
James hiinself came to the door with
his overcoat on and hat in hand, evi
dently just ready to go down town.
He started back at seeing Mr. Hardy.
“Are you going down town? 1 will
not come in then, but walk along with
you,” said Mr. Hardy quietly.
So James came out. and the two
walked along together. There was an
awkward pause for a minute; then Mr.
Hardy said:
“James, is it true that you and Clara
are engaged?”
“No, sir; that—is—not exactly what
you might call engaged. We would
like to be.”
Mr. Hardy smiled in spite of him:
self, and James added in a quickened
tone. “We would like to be, with your
consent, sir.”
Mr. Hardy walked on thoughtfully
and then glanced at the young man at
his side. He was G feet tall, not very
handsome, as Bessie had frankly said.
but he had a good face, a steady, clear
blue eye and resolute air, as of one
who was willing to work hard to get
what he wanted. Mr. Hardy could not
help contrasting him with his own
prematurely broken dowb son George,
and he groaned inwardly as he thought
of the foolish pride that would bar the
doors of his family to a young man
like James Caxton simply because he
was poor and because his father bad
won in a contested election in which
the two older men were candidates for
the same office.
It did not take long to think all this.
Then he said. looking again at the
young man with a businesslike look:
“Supposing you had wy permission,
what are your prospects for support
Flatland i}
“James, is it true that you and Clara are
engaged?”
ing my daughter? She has always
had everything she wanted. What
could you give her?”
The question might have seemed cold
and businesslike. The tone was
thoughtful and serious.
A light flashed into Janes’ eyes, but
he said simply: 1 am in a position to
make a thousand dollars a year next
spring. 1 earn something extra with
my pen at home.”
Mr. Hardy did not reply to this. He
said, “Do you know what a willful.
quick tempered girl Clara is?”
“l have known her from a little
child, Mr. Hardy. 1 feel as if 1 knew
her about as well as you do.”
“Perhaps you know her better than
I do. 1 do not know my child as 1
should.”
The tone was not bitter, but iniense
ly sad. The young man had. of cours.
been greatly wondering at this talk
from Mr. Hardy and had observed the
change in his manner and his speech
He looked at him now and noted the
pale. almost haggard, face and his ex
tremely thoughtful appearance.
“Mr. Hardy.” said James frankly.
“you are in trouble. [I wish I could” -
“Thank you. No, you can’t help me
any in this except,” continued Mr.
Hardy, with a faint smile, “except you
solve this trouble between you and
my daughter.”
. “There is no trouble between us, sir,”
replied James simply. “You know I
love her and have loved her for a long
time, and I believe I am able to sup-
port her and make her happy. Won't
you give your consent, sir? We are
not children. We know our minds.”
James was beginning to speak very
earnestly. He was beginning to hope
that the stern, proud man who had so
curtly dismissed him a little while be-
fore would in some unaccountable
manner relent and give him his heart’s
desire.
Mr. Hardy walked along in silence a
little way. Then he said almost
abruptly:
“James, do you drink?”
“No, sir.”
“Or gamble?”
“You forget my mother, Mr. H:rdy.”
The reply was almost stern.
Mrs. Caxton’s younger brother had
been ruined by gambling. He had
come to the house one night, and in a
fit of anger because his sister would
not give him money to carry on his
speculation he had threatened her life.
James had interposed and at the risk
of his own life had probably saved his
mother’s. Mrs. Caxton had been so un-
nerved by the scene that her health
had suffered from it seriously. All this
had happened when James was grow-
ing out of boyhood. But not a day had
passed that the young man did not see
a sad result of that great gambling
passion in his own mother’s face and
bearing. He loathed the thought of a
A
vice so debasing that it ignored all the
tender ties of kindred and was ready
to stop at nothing in order to get
means for its exercise.
Mr. Hardy knew the story, and he
exclaimed: “Forgive me, James. I did
not think.” Then, after a pause: “Are
you a Christian? I mean do you have
a faith in the revelation of God to men
through Jesus Christ, and do you try to
live according to his teachings, with a
supreme love for God controlling life?
Do you live every day as if it might be
the last you would have to live?”
James started. Was Mr. Hardy out
of his mind? He had never heard him
talk like this before. The idea of Mr.
Hardy caring about his religious char-
acter in tne event of his becoming a
son-in-law was an idea too remote for
occurrence. He could see, however,
that sowie very powerful change had
taken place in Mr. Hardy’s usual de-
meanor. His words alse produced a
strong effect upon the young man. He
was like thousands of young men—
temperate, honest, industrious, free
from vices, strictly moral, but without
any decided religious faith.
“Am I a Christian?’ he asked him-
self, echoing Mr. Hardy’s question.
No; he could not say that he was. He
had never said so to any one. He had,
in fact, never been confronted with the
question before. So he replied to Mr.
Hardy:
“No, sir; I don’t think I am what
would be called a Christian. As for liv-
ing as if every day were to be my last
—do you think that is possible, sir?”
Mr. Hardy did not answer. He walk-
ed along thoughtfully. In the course of
the conversation they had reached the
corner where the young man turned
down to his office, and the two paused.
“I want to have another talk with
you,” Mr. Hardy said. “Today is Tues-
day; say tomorrow evening. 1 want to
see your father also, and”’— Mr. Hardy
was on the point of saying that he
wanted to ask the elder Caxton’s for-
giveness, but for some reason he stop-
ped without doing so.
James exclaimed eagerly as Mr. Har-
dy turned to go:
“Then you don’t forbid my entertain-
ing some hope of your good will in the
matter of my love for Clara?’ He low-
ered his voice and spoke very strongly.
“You don’t forget your own youth ana
the way in which you yourself began
your home?”
Mr. Hardy answered never a word
to this appeal, but looked into the
young man’s face with a gaze he did
not forget all day, then wrung his hand
and turned on his heel abruptly and
walked rapidly down the street.
James looked after him as he disap-
peared among the crowds of people go-
ing to their business, and then turned
to his own tasks. But something in
him gave him hope. Another something
appealed all day to his inner nature,
and he could not shake off the impres-
sion of Mr. Hardy’s question, “Are you
a Christian?’ And even when he went
home at night that question pursued
him more strenuously than any other
and would not give him peace.
CHAPTER VIL.
Robert Hardy reached his office just
in time to see Burns, the foreman, go
out of a side door and cress the yard.
The manager followed him and entered
the machine shop iu time to see him
stop at a machine at the farthest end
of the shop and speak to the man at
work there. The man was a Norwe-
gian, Herman by name. He was run-
ning what is called a planer, a ma-
chine for trimming pieces of cold metal
just from the foundry or the casting
room. He was at work this morning
on one of the eccentric bars of a loco-
motive, and ic was of such a charac-
ter that he could leave the machine for
several minutes to do the planing.
Burns talked with this man for
awhile and then moved across the floor
to the other workman, a small boned,
nervous little fellow, who was in
charge of a boring machine which
drove a steel drill through heavy plates
of iron fastened into the frame.
Mr. Hardy came up just as Burns
turned away from this man and touch-
ed him on the shoulder. The foreman
started and turned about, surprised to
see the manager.
“Well. Burns, how goes everything
this morning?” asked Robert.
“The men here are grumbling be-
cause they don’t have a holiday same
as the men in Scoville’s department.”
“But we can’t shut down the whole
business, can we?’ asked Mr. Hardy,
with a momentary touch of his old
time feeling. “The men are unreu-
sonable.”
“I’m afraid there'll be trouble, sir.
I can feel it in the air,” replied Burns.
Mr. Hardy made no reply in words,
but looked at him. Within the black-
ened area of the great shop about 200
men were at work. The whirl of ma-
chinery was constant. The grind of
steel on iron was blended with the rat-
tle of chains and the rolling of the
metal carriages in their tracks. The
Genius of Railroading seemed present
In the grim strength and rapidity of
several machines which moved almost
as if instinct with intelligence and
played with the most unyielding sub-
stances as if they were soft and pliable
clay. In the midst of all the smashing
of matter against itself, through the
smoke and din and dust and revolution
of the place, Mr. Hardy was more than
usually alive this morning to the human
aspect of the case. His mind easily
went back to the time when he himself
stood at one of these planers and did
just such work as that big Norwegian
was doing, only the machines were
vastly better and improved now. Mr.
Hardy was not ashamed of having
come along through the ranks of man-
ual labor. In fact, he always spoke
with pride of the work he used to do in
that very shop, and he considered him-
self able to run all by himself any
piece of machinery in the shops, but
he could not help envying these men
this morning. “Why,” he said, “proba-
bly not one of them but has at least
seven weeks to live and most of them
seven months or years, while 1— Why
should these men complain because
they are not released from toil? Isn't
toil sweet when there are a strong body
and a loving wife and a happy home?
O God,” he continued to think, “I
would give all my wealth if I might
change places with any one of these
men and know that I would probably
have more than a week to live.”
Mr. Hardy walked back to the office,
leaving the foreman in a condition of
wondering astonishment.
“Something wrong in his works, 1
guess,” muttered Burns.
Mr. Hardy sat down to his desk and
wrote an order releasing all the men
who desired to attend Scoville’s fu-
neral in the afternoon. He did not
have it in his power to do more, and
yet he felt that this was the least he
could do under the circumstances. The
more he thought of Scoville’s death
the more he felt the cruel injustice of
it. The injuries were clearly acci-
dental, but they might have been
avoided with proper care for human
life, and Robert Hardy was just be-
ginning to understand the value of hu-
manity.
He worked hard at the routine of his
office work until noon. He did what
seemed to him the most necessary part
of it all with conscientious fidelity.
But his mind a good part of the time
was with the men in the shops. He
could not escape the conviction that if
a railroad company had the willing-
ness to do so it could make the sur-
roundings of these men safer and hap-
pier without getting poorer work or
even losing any money by it.
When noon sounded, he went home
resolved to do something as far as lay
in his power to make the men feel that
they were regarded as something more
than machines.
George was down stairs when his fa-
ther came in and looked at him with
pl \ a
= %
i DOSE
“I'm afraid there'll be trouble, sir. Ican
feel it in the air.”
curiosity rather than with any feeling
of shame for the scene of the night be-
fore. After lunch was over Mr. Hardy
called his son into the study for a little
talk with him before going down to the
funeral.
“I do not need to tell you, George,”
began his father quietly, but with feel-
ing, “that I felt the disgrace of your
drunkenness last night very bitterly.
You cannot know the feelings of your
father and mother in that respect. But
I did not call you in here to reproach
you for your vices. I want to know
what you intend to do in the face of
the present conditions.”
Mr. Hardy paused, then went on
again: “I am perfectly aware, George,
that you regard my dream as a fancy
and think I am probably out of my
mind. Isn’t that true?”
Mr. Hardy looked George full in the
face, and the young man stammered:
“Well—I—ah—yes—I—don’t just un-
derstand”—
“At the same time.” went on his fa-
ther, “I realize that nothing but a con-
viction of reality could produce the
change in me which you aad all the
rest of the family must acknowledge
has taken place. And you must con-
fess that I am acting far more ration-
ally than I did before my dream occur-
red. It is not natural for a father to
neglect his own children, and I have
done it. Tt is not rational that he
should spend his time and money and
strength on himself so as to grow in-
tensely selfish, and I have done that.
My son, you may doubt me, but I am
firmly convinced that I shall not be
alive here after next Sunday. I am
trying to live as I ought to live under
those conditions. My son,” Mr. Hardy
spoke with dignity and a certain im-
pression which George could not but
feel, “I want you to do as you know
you ought to do under the circum-
stances. When I am gone, your moth-
er and the girls will look to you for ad-
vice and direction. You will probably
have to leave college for a little while.
We will talk that over this evening.
But I want you to promise me that you
will not touch another glass of liquor
or handle another card as long as you
live.”
George laughed a little uneasily and
then lied outright: “I don’t see the
harm of a game once in awhile just for
fun. I don’t play for stakes, as some
fellows do.”
“George,” said his father, looking at
him steadily, “you have not told the
truth. You were gambling only a few
nights ago. It is useless for you to de-
ny it. That is where the very liberal
allowance I have given you has been
squandered.”
George turned deathly pale and sat
with bowed head while his father went
on almost sternly: “Consider your
mother, George, whose heart almost
broke when you came in last night. I
don’t ask you to consider me. I have
not been to you what a father ought to
be. A But if you love your mother and
sisters and have any self respect left
you will let drink and cards alone
after this. In the sight of God, my
dear boy, remember what he made
you for. You are young. You have
all of life before you. You can make
a splendid record if God spares your
life.
“I would gladly give all I possess to
stand where you do today and live my
life over again. I can’t do it. The
past is irrevocable. But one can al-
ways repent. George, believe me, your
mother would rather see you in your
coffin than see you come home again as
you did last night. We love you”’—
Mr. Hardy, proud man that he was,
could say no more. He laid his hand
on the boy’s head as if he were a
young lad again and said simply,
“Don’t disappoint God, my boy,” and
went out, leaving his son sitting there
almost overcome by his father’s pow-
erful appeal, but not yet ready to yield
himself to the still small voice that
spoke within even more powerfully
and whispered to him: “My son, give
me thine heart. Cease to do evil; learn
to do well. Cleanse thy ways and fol-
low after righteousness.”
It was 1 o'clock when Mr. Hardy
came down stairs, and as he came into
the room where Mrs. Hardy and the
girls were sitting he happened to think
of some business matters between him-
self and his only brother, who lived in
the next town, 20 miles down the road.
He spoke of the matter to Mrs.
Hardy, and she suggested that Will go
down on the 3 o'clock train with the
papers Mr. Hardy wanted to have his
brother look over and come back on
the 6 o’clock in time for dinner.
Clara asked if she couldn't go, too,
and Bessie added her request, as she
had not seen her aunt for some time.
Mr. Hardy saw no objection to their
going. only he reminded them that he
wanted them all back at 6. Alice vol-
unteered to amuse George at home
while all the rest were gone, and Mr.
and Mrs. Hardy departed for the fu-
neral, Mr. Hardy's thoughts still ab-
sorbed for the most part with his older
boy. Clara had asked no questions
concerning the interview with James,
and her father simply stated that they
could have a good talk about it in the
evening.
The tenement at No. 760 was crowd-
ed, and in spite of the wintry weather
large numbers of men and women
stood outside in the snow. Mr. Hardy
had ordered his sleigh, and he and his
wife had gone down to the house in
that, ready to take some one to the
cemetery.
The simple service as it began was
exceedingly impressive to Mr. Hardy.
Most of the neighbors present looked
at him and his well dressed wife in
sullen surprise. She noticed the looks
with a heightening color, but Mr. Har-
dy was too much absorbed in his
thoughts of what he had done and left
undone in this family to be influenced
by the behavior of those about him.
Mr. Jones offered a prayer for the
comfort of God to rest on the stricken
family. He then read a few words
from John’s gospel appropriate to the
occasion and said a few simple words,
mostly addressed to the neighbors
present. The poor widow had been re-
moved to a small room up stairs and
lay there cared for by the faithful sis-
ter. The minister had nearly conclud-
ed his remarks when a voice was heard
in the room above, voices expostulat-
ing in alarm and growing louder, fol-
lowed by a rapid movement in the nar-
row ball above, and with a scream of
frenzy the wife rushed down the stairs
and burst into the room where the dead
body of her husband lay. She had sud-
denly awakened out of the fainting
stupor in which she had been lying
since her husband's death and realized
what was going on in the house with a
quick gathering of passion and
strength, such as even the dying some-
times are known to possess. She had
escaped from her sister and the neigh-
bor who were watching with her and,
crazy with grief, flung herself over the
coffin, moaning and crying out in such
heartbreaking accents that all present
were for a moment flung into a state of
incotion and awe.
(CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.)
Made a Mistake in the Trees.
Some time ago the city of Richmond,
Ind., had to pay $2,000 for destroying a
large shade tree. A dangerous tree had
been menacing the life and limb of pedes-
trians on a sidewalk and the city council
instructed the chief of police to notify the
owner of the tree that it must be cut down
‘“instanter.”” The sergeant of police served
the notice on the wrong property owner,
who was induced, under protest, to cut
down two of the finest shade trees in the
city. The mistake has been discovered and
the owner wants substantial damages. If
the city has to pay $4,000 for the two trees
the bondsmen of the police sergeant will
be asked to contribute.
A City of Roses.
The Capital of the Transvaal Presents Many Delight-
ful Features.
Pretoria is about 37 miles from Johannes-
burg, in an upland valley, surrounded by
the Witwatersburg hills, about 4,500 feet
above the level of the sea.
The town nestles among hedges of roses,
which grow everywhere in profusion. Lines
of willow trees and blue gums border the
hedges, and streams of clear water flow
down the sides of the broad streets, which
are laid out in straight lines.
There is quite a continental air about
Pretoria. The place is lighted with a fine
installation of arc lights, which at night
time, as they shine through the foliage,
irresistibly suggest the boulevards of Paris
or Brussels. Some of the buildings at Pre-
toria are truly palatial. First among them
comes the ‘‘Raadzaal,”’ or government
building. It has a frontage of 175
feet wide, a depth of 220 feet and a height
of 125 feet from the ground up to the wing-
ed figure of Liberty which surmounts the
principal dome.
Altogether Pretoria will not fail to de-
light ‘‘Tommy Atkins’’ when he has at
last fought his way to that delectable place.
It will be a welcome change from the veldt.
THAT THROBBING HEADACHE.— Would
quickly leave you, if you used Dr. King’s
New Life Pills. Thousands of sufferers
have proved their matchless merit for Sick
and Nervous Headaches. They make pure
blood and build up your health. Only 25
cents, Money back if not cured. Sold by
F. P. Green. Druggist.
THE FIRST ROBIN.
Hark! Isit spring?
I waked, and heard a robin =ing ;
Only a shower of silvery notes that dropped
In tremulous outpouring, and then stopped ;
While from a window nigh
I saw a little singer flying by,
As scorning to retreat,
Although the sullen winds that moan aud beat
Had frozen the tears of April, as they fell, to
sleet.
With steadfast claim
This messenger of gladness came,
To welcome in with joy the tardy spring,
And, from the winter's cold farewell, to bring
One measure of delight ;
Foretelling miracles of sound and sight—
Of south winds blowing strong,
When the white apple blossoms drift along,
And for this one faint lay, the whole world steep-
: ed in song.
Oh, robin, you,
In your belief, are strong and true;
By storms undaunted, with your notes of cheer
You sing, and we grow blither as we hear,
Till, echoing your content,
With larger faith we lift our heads, low bent,
And, by past sorrows, know
What may have seemed life’s desolating snow
Only prepares the soul for summer’s flowers to
grow.
Boston Transeript.
Save the Birds.
The following address by Wm. Dutcher,
treasurer of the American Ornithologists’
union, has received the endorsement of the
Pennsylvania Audubon society :
According to the census of 1890 there
were in the United States the enormous
number of 4,564,641 farms with a total
acreage of 623,218,619. The valuation of
these farm lands is placed at the sum of
$13,279,252,649. The labor of the farm
and fruit growers is repaid by products to
value of §2,460,107,454 per year, but it is
said that insects and rodents destroy prod-
ucts annually to the astonishing money
value of $200,000,000, even with the birds
as protectors. Just imagine what the ad-
ditional loss would be were all the birds
destioyed. They are fast being exter-
minated, and unless that large class of the
population, the agriculturists, awaken to
the gravity of the situation and absolutely
demand that no more birds be killed for
any purpose whatever, they will soon feel
the shortsightedness in actual dollars and
cents. A difference of one per cent. in the
value of the farm products amounts to the
enormous sum of $24,641,074. The birds
are killed for two purposes only : for food
and millinery ornaments. For food, only
a very few are shot, i. e., the game birds,
and those only during restricted portions
of the year, so they do not materially af-
fect the result. There is no excuse for
shooting the second class of birds, as their
value as millinery ornaments is far less
than their value as insect destroyers. Be-
sides this, contrast the difference in the
money value of the two interests that are
opposed to each other. By the census of
1890 we find that the total capital invest-
ed in the millinery and lace trade is $22,-
939,430, and the cost of the materials used
that year was $27,345,118. Place the two
interests side by side, thirteen billion as
against twenty-three millions. Again, an
annual product of 2,212 millions as against
27 millions. I ask, and I wish I could
shout my question in a voice so loud and
clear that every man, woman and child in
this broad lin1 of ours could hear it—have
the milliners, with their paltry interests,
any right to jeopardize the safety of the
agricultural interests? Ponder! A differ-
ence of only one per centin annual product
of our farms and gardens amounts to more
than the entire millinery and lace interests
in the United States. Will the farmers
and fruit growers remain silent much
longer and permit the birds, their best
friends, to be killed that a trifling interest
like the millinery trade may make a few
more dollars at the sacrifice of so much
that is beautiful as well as of economic
value.
Knowing now our birds are being dimin-
ished, and also the value they are from
every point of view, let us endeavor to dis-
cover some method by which they may be
protected. Before Christ 1451 years, when
the old Hebrew lawgiver Moses, formulated
a code for the children of Israel he enacted
the following : ‘‘If a bird's nest chance to
be before thee in the way in any tree, or
upon the ground whether they be young
ones or eggs, and the dam sitting upon the
young, or upon the eggs, thou shalt not
take the dam with the young; but thou
shalt in anywise let the dam go, that it
may be well with thee, and that thou may-
est prolong thy days.”” That was a plain
commonsense direction, which I do not
think has ever been repeated. Probably
ever since the day that first law was en-
acted there has been laws of some sort for
the protection of birds. At the present
time the statue books are full of them;
some are good and some are worthless, but
none of them are observed, as they should
be,and they are usually conflicting in their
requirements. What is necessary is a uni-
form law throughout the United States and
Canada, absolutely prohibiting the killing
of any birds, and they should only be al-
lowed to be killed for a period not to ex-
ceed two months in the fall and winter
season. The law should be very clear and
explicit upon this point, that the posses-
sion of the body or plumage of any of our
native wild birds shall be conclusive proof
that the same was obtained in violation of
the statute. This would stop the traffic
in wild bird plumage at once and would
afford the survivors absolute protection.
Laws, however, no matter how good they
may be, are useless unless they are en-
forced, or unless there is a public senti-
ment in favor of bird protection. This
sentiment is the very goal that all bird
lovers are striving for, and it may be at-
tained in many different ways.
For want of space I suggest but two of
the many methods that could be used to
create sentiment : first let the members of
the Christian Endeavor societies, the Ep-
worth Leagues and the Young People’s
Christian associations have an additional
aim. It is to love God’s wild birds as well
as his human children. If all the male
members of these three bodies will pledge
themselves to refrain from killing their lit-
tle brothers in the air, and the females
members absolutely refuse to wear the
plumage of any wild birds as ornaments,
then a great advance will have been made
towards the better protection of our birds
second, let the farmers’ clubs and institutes
take up the subject of bird protection, for
it is of vital importance to them. There is
no other class to whom the subject appeals
so strongly from the economic side as to
the agriculturist or the fruit grower. The
farmers of the present day are much more
advanced in their methods than were their
ancestors, even those a few generations
back. Farming now is largely done on
scientific principles, helped by study and
research in chemistry, ete., but the most
important helpers that the farmers have,
those that lighten his labors, or rather per-
mit his labors to be rewarded, are rapidly
being destroyed simply because the farmer
has not made himself acquainted with the
good they do him. The birds protect the
farmer; they work for him more faithfully
and continuously than any other helper he
can get; let the farmers recognize this, and
in turn let them protect the birds. It
would be a wise investment in actual dol-
lars and cents for every farmers’ club and
institute in this land to employ a naturalist
to teach the names of the birds about them
and the part that each one takes in the
preservation of nature’s balance. I believe
that when the farmers, their wives and
children once become well acquainted with
the good the birds do in the meadow and
orchards, the gardens and forests, it will
be dangerous for anyone to destroy one of
the feathered helpers. Hasten the day.
Courtesy in Children.
People of other countries criticise with
great severity, and with justice as well, we
are forced to admit, the behavior of Ameri-
can children. They are said to be the
worst manuered children of civilization,
and we are pointed to the obedient German
boy or the gentle Japanese girl hy way of
contrast. As a matter of fact, we all know
scores of little gentlemen and ladies, pro-
ducts of refined homes and careful training.
These are the children who are not permit-
ted to make themselves terrible in public,
and who are therefore overlooked in the
generalization. Upon such children as
these the reputation of America is to rest,
if we are not tobe known as a nation of
boors. This is the oak of the future, and
it seems a far call from that to the acorn
of the present, which consists in requesting
your boy to stand when his mother enters
the room, to lift his hat as soon as he ceases
to wear an elastic band under his chin, and
to avoid using the coarse tones and coarser
talk of the street children. Each thing is
so very small, the conflict over it is some-
times so disproportionacely large, that it is
well to remember the magnitude of the re-
sult.
A brilliant preacher recently left the city
pulpit which he had occupied but a short
time because. as one of his parishioners ex-
pressed it, ‘‘he had never learned little boy
manners.’’ At the table he was uncouth, in
conversation abrupt, in general manners
awkward and brusque, in personal habits
careless, yet in the pulpit he was a man of
force, sincerity, and intellectual ability.
An old lady of ninety, when told of his
failure, remarked, ‘If he had a mother,
she is the one to blame.”’
It is a truism to say that the incitment
tocourtesy in a child is courteous treatment
of that child. An ill-mannered little guest
in the household of a woman of many cares
was won to much better behavior in two
weeks’ time by theapplication of this prin-
ciple, and that without a word of fault
finding. The proverbs of all time insist
that riches beget riches,love begets love ;like
begets like, says science; courtesy begets
courtesy—let it stand so, for the analogies
are conclusive.
There are people who disdain tosay, ‘‘ex-
cuse me,’ having hurt a child; who take
child service for granted, omitting the
‘“‘thank you’’ of recognition: there is here
and there a pastor who overlooks the timid
greeting of the child who saw him at din-
ner or tea when the minister was a wel-
come guest in the lad’s home. The boy
remembers, pulls off his cap, and is amazed
to see no response in the face he thought he
knew. Then he goes home and says, de-
fiantly :
“Mamma, why should I take off my hat
to Dr. B ? he doesn’t even look at
me.” The answer to this is difficult, to
say the least.
Course tones are more of a problem, for
boys learn them from each other, and the
healthy young animal exults in noise. It
was wisely managed by the aunt of a bright
lad of ten, who had been making the day
hideous with unearthly sounds, to the
great discomfort of guests on the piazza.
The opportunity for which the aunt was
waiting came quickly ;a lady near her said,
“*Why do you permit Francis to make such
vulgar noises ?”’
The wise woman put her hand upon the
shoulder of the listening boy, who, heyond
everything aspired to be a man. ‘‘Francis
is only a child,” she explained, ‘‘and he
does not realize how silly and ill-mannered
this seems to grown people. When he out-
grows his babyhood he will not think of
doing this.”’
Francis flushed and fled; his aunt told
me she never heard the sounds repeated.
Sometimes children seem simply per-
verse, when there is something more be-
hind. A well trained small boy of eight
was walking heside his father, who noticed
with surprise that the child never lifted
his hat, although he had been carefully in-
structed. Inquiry, suggestion, command
failed to reveal the secret of the obstinate
discourtesy. At last it came out that his
school teacher, a learned man, but a man
whose half Indian blood was to blame for
his wholly barbaric manners, had forbidden
the children in his class to greet him or
each other in the conventional fashion.
The small boy, told at home to obey his
teacher, was in a very hard place, and was
doing the best he could. Luckily for him
and his future, he had a wise father, who
saved punishment until he could gauge the
need for it with accuracy.
One thing more. It is a mistake to ex-
pect children to conform perfectly to draw-
ing room conventions; too much ‘‘manners’’
is as bad as too little ‘‘manners.”” The or-
dinary polite usage of the home should be
the rule for every member of the household
great or small, and from great to small, as
well as vice versa.—By Grace Duffield Good-
win in The Congreaationalist.
The Long Bridge at Rockville.
The construction of the great stone via-
duct over the Susquehanna river at Rock-
ville, the western end of the Harrisburg
yards of the Pennsylvania railroad, is now
fairly started. Two contractors have the
masonry contract and the understanding is
that the one who completes his portion of
the contract first will be given the rest of
the work, which will cover a period of at
least two years. There will be a slight
curve on the bridge, which will have forty
eight piers. Meanwhile the enlargement
of the yards of the Pennsylvania there is
under way, and when the general changes
are completed the company will have ex-
pended not less than $2,000,000. Much
land has recently been purchased by the
Pennsylvania and Reading companies for
yard purposes in Harrisburg. Fifteen new
tracks are being added to the Pennsylvania
yards, besides an entirely new system of
interlocking switches.
‘‘OF A GooD BEGINNING cometh a good
end.” When you take Hood’s Sarsaparil-
la to purify your blood you are making a
good beginning, and the good end will be
health and happiness. This medicine
cures all humors of the blood, creates a
good appetite, overcomes that tired feeling
and imparts vigor and vitality to the whole
system. It is America’s Greatest Blood
Medicine.
Biliousness is cured by Hood’s Pills. 25
cents.