Bellefonte, Pa., February 19, 1915.
_
THE BATTLE CRY OF THE MOTHERS.
Bone of vur bone, flesh of our flesh,
Fruit of our age-long mother pain,
They have caught your life in the nation’s mesh,
They have bargained you out for their paltry
gain,
Amd they build their hope on the shattered breast
Of the child we sang to rest—
On the shattered breast and the wounded cheek.
0, God! if the mothers could only speak!
Blossom of centuries trampled down
For the moment's red renown.
Pulse of our pulse, breath of our breath.
Hope of the pang that brought to birth,
They have flung you forth to the fiends of death,
‘They have cast your flesh to the cruel earth,
Field upon field, tier upon tier,
Till the darkness writhes in fear.
And they plan to marshal you more and more—
Oh, our minds are numb and our hearts are sore!
They are killing the thing we cherish most,
They are driving you forth in a blinding host,
They are storming the world with your eager
strength—
But the judgment comes at length.
Emperors! Kings! On your heedless throne,
Do you hear the cry the mothers make?
The blood you shed is our own;
You shall answer, for our sake.
When you pierce his side, you have pierced our
side—
0. mothers! The ages we have cried!—
And the shell that sunders his flesh apart
Enters our bleeding heart.
“Tis over our bodies you shout your way,
Our bodies that nourished him, day by day
In the long, dim hours of our sacred bliss,
Fated to end in this! ;
Governors! Ministers! You who prate
That war and ravage and wreck must be
To save the nation, avenge the state,
To right men’s wrongs and set them free—
You who have said
Blood must be shed,
Nor reckoned the cost of our agony—
Answer us now! Down the ages long
‘Who has righted the mother’s wrong?
You have bargained our milk, you have bargain-
ed our blood,
Nor counted us more that the forest brutes;
By the shameful traffic of motherhood
Have you settled the world’s disputes.
Did you think to barter the perfect bloom,
Bodies shaped in our patient womb,
And never to face the judgment day
When you and your king should pay?
Flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone,
Hope of the pang we bare alone,
Sinew and strength of the midnight hour
When our dreams had come to flower,
0, women! You who are spared our woe,
You who have felt the mother throe,
Yet cannot know the stark despair
Of coffins you shall never bear—
Are you asleep that you do not care,
Afraid that you do not dare?
Will you dumbly stand
In your own safe land
While our sons are slaughtered and torn?
Bravely through centuries we have borne
And suffered and wept in our secret place,
But now our silence and shame are past,
The reckoning day has come at last—
We must rise! We must plead for the race!
You who behold the mothers’ plight,
Will you join our battle cry with might,
Will you fight the mothers’ fight?
We who have given the soldiers birth,
Let us fling our cry to the ends of the earth.
To the ends of Time let our voice be hurled
Till it waken the sleeping world.
Flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone,
Toil of the centuries come to speech,
As far as the human voice can reach
‘We will shout, we will plead for our own!
Warriors! Counselors! Men at arms!
When the great rebellion comes
You shall hear the beat
Of our marching feet
And the sound of our million drums.
You shall know that the world is at last awake—
You shall hear the cry that the mothers make—
You shall yield—for mother's sake!
—By Miss Angela Morgan in The Christian Ad- i
vocate.
ANNE RUTLEDGE.
This is a True Story of the Life Romance of
Abraham Lincoln.
BY FRANCIS NEWTON THORPE.
[Concluded from last week.]
Weeks, months passed, painfully long
to Lincoln and full of torturing doubt for
Annie. The consuming heat of the fire
through which she was passing only a
woman could endure. She loved John
McNeil with a love as intense, as de-
voted, as immeasurable as this grand
passion which Lincoln poured out at her
feet. Again and again he made his plea;
made it and remade it, cast ‘it and recast
itin the countless forms which only the
grand passion of a man’s life can take.
At last she could endure the importunity
of his love no longer and consented to
accept him, if, after ample time had
been given McNeil to reply to her from
New York, no reply should come.
Rejoicing, yet fearing, Lincoln con-
sented, and knew that she had written
not once, but many times. Patiently did
he wait, his first glance through the daily
mail being ever to catch sight of a letter
from John McNeil. None come. Annie
grew melancholy; the delicate color fad-
ed from her cheeks; the diamond lights
paled in her eyes. Then, tenderly, how
tenderly, Lincoln renewed his suit. June
had come again and all nature seemed
kind. He and Annie were standing be-
neath a great oak tree whose leaf was
again glorious.
“Will you, Annie, will you?”
It was his last appeal. She turned her
face toward his and did not say him
nay; but the pallor of her cheeks made
a shadow on his day, a shadow on that
rich, vital June afternoon. She said no
word, but he knew that he had won, and
for the moment his sense of victory over-
powered him. Then he was again caught
up in the great current of his love for
her; tears dimmed his eyes; his voice
choked. Her love was too good to be
true; he bent down and reverently kiss-
ed her cheek. :
“Thank you, Annie.”
It was all he could say.
Then they turned down the hill and
walked in silence back to the village.
Annie hastened to her room, and Lincoln
found her mother and told what had
happened.
“How glad we are, Abie!” for Rut-
ledge had heard the news too. Mrs.
Rutledge’s words seemed to leap with
joy. “Only bring her back to her old
self, Abe; bring her back. But I almost
fear it is too late.”
Mimsalt, But the iron pad Satered his : families of New Salem aad fecalling, old
soul, and the tender melancholy, the in- | times—*"Isaac, I lov nie Rutledge;
expressible sympathy of his passion, 1 loved her dearly. She was a handsome
never lifted from his life. girl, and would have made a good and
“Abe,” said Dr. Jason Duncan, one of | loving wife. I did honestly and truly
his dearer friends, to him one day, “I' love the girl and think often of her now.”
have something for you to read that you | Then, pausing, a look of inexpressible
will like,” and he gave him the lines grief overspreading his face the five-and-
beginning: : | twenty Yeats Wille nad passed since her
- = ,, | death seenied to roll back and the agony
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? of that day again came over his soul.
The mournful stanzas, made immortal | With an effort he regained his composure
by Lincoln’s love for them, seemed to and said, half whispering the words,
him a balm for his wounds. He read “And I have loved the name of Rut-
’
apron and resumed her work. Annie's |
father simply pressed Lincoln’s hand
warmly; he could not venture upon
speech.
That evening, in the little parlor of
| the tavern, seated by Annie’s side on
the sofa near which he had found the
inventory of McNeil’'s wealth, Lincoln
told Annie what she already knew—that
he was hopelessly poor. i
“But give me time, Annie; give me
time to earn a little money to live on till
I can be admitted to practise law, then
nothing on God’s footstool can keep us |
|
apart.” and re-read the verses, committed them ' ledge to this day.”
Next morning she spoke freely of her | to memory, and made them a part of his | Twenty-five years after Lincoln’sdeath,
engagement. { moral being. “Those lines,” he said to a the piety of friendship removed the re-
“As soon as his law studies are over,” |
she said to her brother, “we shall be’
married.”
The news of Lincoln’s engagement to
Annie Rutledge created less comment in
New Salem, because it was expected.
Public opinion had long since uttered its
voice in condemnation of McNeil, and
now with equal conviction praised Lin-
coln. Everybody congratulated him; he
was living in a lover’s paradise. At odd
hours snatched from sleep he took up
his law-books; the goal of life was now
fairly in sight. He carefully computed
when he should have saved enough by
clerking to support him while completing
his studies; the problem seemed easy,
and time, the determining element, was
on his side.
friend in after-years in a rare moment of mains of Annie Rutledge from the neg-
self-revelation, “celebrate a.grief which : lected graveyard in which she was buried
lies with continual heaviness on my —for the graveyard had suffered the
heart.” | melancholy fate of New Salem. For more
How many, many times, during the [than half a century the grave of the
rest of his life, was he to quote these | woman with whom Lincoln said his heart
verses to his friends, even to great states- | was buried remained unmarked. But it
men whom, while President, he gathered | had never been forgotten by those who
about him in council, and quoted ever ! loved her, and her sad story was its im-
with the memory of that love which was perishable monument.
the day star of his youth. i The traveller to-day visiting beautiful
So intense had his melancholy become, | “Oakland,” the “God’s-acre” of Peters-
so hopeless seemed his grief, he himself | burg, will find a grave lonely and apart.
became superstitious about it, and by | A young tree grows beside it, and at its
letter he consulted the foremost physician | head there rests a stone of unpolished
of the West, the famous Daniel Drake, | granite bearing the simple inscription,
of Cincinnati. The reply was sym- | “Anne Rutledge.”—Harper's Weekly.
pathetic—"I cannot prescribe in your, S——
much of Drake's letter Lincoln read to a
friend, but there was a part which he
could confide to no man; it was too
sacred for revelation. The great physi-
cian had written the secret thought of
the sufferer, and Lincoln seldom revealed
his secret thoughts.
Two years after Annie’s death, while a
member of the Legislature, he said to a
fellow member:
“I seem to others to enjoy life raptur-
ously, yet when I am alone I am so over-
come by mental depression I never dare
carry a pocket-knife.”
One day John McNeil, or McNamar,
true to his promise to Annie Rutledge,
drove into New Salem, bringing with
him his mother, brothers, and sisters,
having come all the way from New York
by wagon. Drawing up in front of the
tavern, he ran in, eager to meet Annie.
Amazed at his return, her thoughts
But Annie was not living in paradise.
Lincoln knew she was failing, followed
every change with alarm, and persuaded
her at last to have Dr. Allen call. He
pronounced her case one of obscure fever,
but he felt baffled; his remedies were not
ministering to her; a spirit possessed her
which he could not exercise. Lincoln,
wiser than her physician, and terrified
by the ghost that would not down, could
only confront it with his own supreme
passion. Nothing within his power did
he neglect. As he sat by her side he told
her innumerable stories, rhapsodies of
mirth, inimitable. She smiled, but she
did not laugh. He caressed her with all
the ardor of his love, but the warmth of
his devotion could not dissolve the mys-
terious chill on her spirits. He glowing-
ly portrayed the life they should live |
together in their Springfield home, and
his fancy won great triumphs which she
should enjoy; but the portrait, though | conflicting, her grief stirred anew, Mrs.
pleasing, did not bring back the color to | Rutledge told him she had been dead
her cheeks. At one of his calls he asked ' nearly a week. Distressed beyond pow-
her to sing to him, and in a sad, sweet er of speech, the desolate man stumbled
.voice she sang the hymn beginning: back to the wagon and told his mother
the terrible news. His dream, too, had
led him to a gloomy and indefinite shore,
whose darkness no mortal vision could
penetrate. With an aching heart he
“Vain man, thy fond pursuits forbear.”
It was her favorite hymn. So deeply
was Lincoln moved he could not remain,
and for the first time the great fear which
case without a personal interview”—this |
Some Little Talks on Taxes.
The Best Way to Get Rid of Things We Do Not
| Want is to Tax Them.
A good way to get rid of things we do
not want to have around is to tax them.
When a town is overrun with -dogs, a
heavy dog-tax soon reduces the number.
We put a high license tax on saloons to
reduce their number. If we could tax
nothing but things we do not want, the
Tax Collector would be a popular fellow.
Is there anything else laying around that
the community would like to get rid of?
Why, yes, there are plenty of vacant lots.
Eye sores, retards of progress, filled with
| tin cans and rubbish, how we would like
to get rid of them. Mostly owned by
non-residents, held for speculation, in-
creasing the rentals of other lots, how
| fine it would be if they were covered with
i buildings, factories, houses, offices and
| many other kinds of improvements. We
! can get rid of vacant lots mighty quick
| by soaking the taxes on them. This
i answers the query; “Where will you get
your revenue?” Whenever we propose to
stop taxing good things like buildings,
machinery, cattle, etc, a vacant or illy-
improved lot can be taxed to the limit
and no one has any kick coming. The
' Schenley Estate, Pittsburgh, has a bunch
furmay Dor toward his jam, his teary | of vacant stuff scattered all around, every-
dining the landscape whic for 20 00g | body's fusing about izes the tow
ot + M% blackeye, they say. e Schenleys live
fhought of ihe sickness aio Seath which | over in London. Why should they worry.
his Foray home.” There, grim! BY | It is getting more valuable every year.
te I SI RY he If we should double the taxes on these
business, even his destination from the | unsightly Wesd-grown streiches, the boys
people oat Bim. A mouth pasted be. : wouldn’t kick, they would cable their
fore he was able to resume his journey. | pgs Ds 50 331) OF 2 i lots and bei
Fear had entered his heart that Annie | draft. Th 1 910,494. fr hei
Rutledge might have forgotten him, and raft. ey only got $210,494, from their
in ng he i to her. | ground Ten is tis moat, after 2 taxes
: ;: were paid and wou e glad to get a
Noge of per Jotters had Fonched him, aud | little more, but they didn’t think about
P y na ed till In person Ne | galing off a little of their vacant stuff.
could prove the truth of all he had told ! .
her. Alas, had he written but'a line! | The local people who hold vacant front
ki | age would thank the Tax Collector after
Thinking on these things, he drove now | je handed them their bill, for it would
in the gathering twilight to the farm | 3 i
which: aE Be hag id. Aunts, should be: | Le.o. gentle Bint to get busy and improve
ond, a home for his mother and her | = A vacant lot tax is the finest kind of a
o i N ber dev. towaid | tax, When the people come to see what
in ie ray Novem BF ay. wa re | a nice thing it is, even the children will
oh a Be a og ting, | CTY for it. But in all seriousness, if it is
. ; Ww and cutling, | ¢rye that we ought to tax “bad things
and flakes of snow now and then fell on | jot ‘060d things” then let us tax land
his cheek. Absorbed in reflection he | yajyes and stop taxing improvements.—
traveled through the quiet graveyardand | gy William NY McNair i
came to a newly made grave. Approach- y . .
ing the sacred spot, his breast bursting !
with agony, he knelt above the beloved |
form. His glance caught the figure of a
tall, dark-faced man emerging from the
thicket and coming forward with long |
strides. The tall man stopped a moment
drives out every other fear in man’s
heart entered his own. On that sunimer
day she took to her bed. The doctor
commanded absolute quiet, but in her
weak delirium she pleaded so piteously
to see Lincoln that they feared longer to
deny her, and he was sent for.
He, too, had changed, for her sickness
had fallen upon him like a blight. He
hastened to her side; the door closed be-
hind him and they were alone. There
was the sound of muffled sobs; there was
the cry of prayer. Within the sick-room
two souls were passing through an in-
describable agony. There in mysterious
communion was uttered that which could
never be spoken to other ears; which
could never fall from other lips. There
was confessed the love of man for wom-
an- the grand passion of life. Was the
rethorseless, the hopeless, impotency of
life there revealed? Or did the soul’s own
crystalline beauty, its native isolation
and aloofness, there rise into clearer
vision?
At twilight some one saw a tall, bent
form hastening from the village forth
into the wilderness; they said it was Lin-
coln, and the word passed from lip to lip
that Annie Rutledge was dead.
For weary weeks Lincoln trod a doubt-
ful, narrow path—that invisible way
which divides reason from the unreason
which is worse than death. Alarmed, his
Brumbaugh Wants Swift Action on Suf-
frage Bill.
Governor Brumbaugh has not only
5 I as if hesitating. | heartily endorsed the plans of the
SE Pennsylvania Woman Suftrage Asso
derings up and down the riverside; ‘Abe. ciation to get the suffrage resolution
Clasping hands across the grave, the
two strong men knelt in silence together
and mingled their tears in a common | gertion that “no loyal Republican
. 1 ”»
Many years later, in the Governor's | could Vote against it.
room at the Capitol at Springfield, aman | _ 10 _&_ recent interview with Mrs.
was walking slowly to and fro, his hands | Frank M. Roessing, president of the
clasped behind him, his face dreary with | State association, he said:
reflection. He was alone. For many| “It is not only a part of the party’s
months he had been the central figure in | platform, but a part of my own per-
a great national contest, a campaign and | sonal platform, and I am in favor of
through both Houses early in the ses-
through the forest; out into the open J
sion, but has made the significant as-
prairie—everywhere, anywhere—only
ever swiftly to move toward the strange
and indefinite shore.
“Nancy,” said Bowling Greene to his
wife the day after the funeral, “I'm goin’
to bring Abe here to our cabin and take
care of him; he’ll do himself harm if we
don’t look out. He’s as near crazy as
dare be.” -
|
{ FROM INDIA.
By One on Medical Duty in that Far Eastern
Country. June Weather for Celebrating Christ-
mas. Scenes and Incidents in that Foreign
Land.
JHANSI, DECEMBER 11th, 1913
Dear Home Folk:
A night to rave about—the moon is
nearly full and the temperature just like
a June night, but would you belicve it,
we have been talking of coasting and
truly this silver radiance is like that
which we get on a clear, frosty night
with snow on the ground—when we used
to go coasting.
We have had our little prayer-meeting
and I was leader so I tried to find some-
thing about Christmas, and you have no
idea how hard it is to realize the season
in this warm, beautiful temperature and,
before coming to sit down and chat with
you I walked out into the garden (poor
barren place) and there I saw a big
Brahmin bull feeding, so calling to the
watchman we went to see that the in-
truder was put out; and you know the
cause for my opening sentence.
How can you remember the season
when never a turkey or a goose appears,
and there is not a shop to jeer at your
empty purse, no little half-starved, cold
children looking with longing eyes at
impossible toys. No, its June here and
all is as it always has been, only the cal-
endar tells me to prepare to make mer-
ry. But I am sad tonight; a dear baby
died suddenly at the hospital, after four
days of pneumonia, and I feel as though
it ought;notfto have occurred.
Yesterday one of the nurses had her
engagement party. It is such a strange
custom—this]girl, a merry, happy, light-
hearted maid has seen the man once,
but has never spoken to him. He is new
until next month, but his sister and her
husband gave the party and he sent the
ring, and the girl is now rightly engaged.
“No soft music or low lights” for the
Hindustani girl; all is done in open day
and before witnesses, so there is no
drawing out the next week. The girls
all wore such pretty “sauris” and the
grouping was so picturesque. A camera
does not show the coloring and so it is
no use.
I am wondering just how long these
impressions will remain with me. Just
feel sure that all too soon some one will
ask me for a detailed account of it all
and I will surely have to draw from my
imagination. Even now when I read my
first letters, as you published them, I
can’t remember half the detail I gave to
you, for you see the scenes fit into this
landscape and when you get away from
the background all the thing becomes
blurred. You become so accustomed to
the surroundings that you fail to notice
their importance.
For two weeks I have had no letter
that the elections are just now absorb-
ing all your time. How little impression
your Mexico affair and elections make
out here you may know, when I must
search thej:Pioneer hard and then only
have a telegram of perhaps six lines in
length to give me all the doings of the
day. But it is well for there is enough
and you are at the “tother side.”
The drums have ceased and the night-
year. You cannot imagine what a relief
it is, not only to the ears, but spirits as
well. Itis during one of these seasons
that one realizes how few the English
people really are as compared with their
dark-skinned neighbors in this land. It
on duty in the far north and cannot come :
now they seem so unforgetable, yet I'
from you people, but of course know
in every land to keep you busy there,
ly pandemonium has passed for another !
. FARM NOTES.
—Even if the sod-mulch system is fol-
' lowed in the orchard, it is well to make
| a little clear space close about, the foot
| of the tree. Mulch, and even cover
! crop, furnishes a fine covert for mice
| and shrews.
| —A dog is property in Nebraska, and
| his owner is personally responsible for
. any damage he may do. What good rea-
son is there why this should not be the
rule everywhere? In Nebraska a dog
| which runs out upon the road may be
i shot by people annoyed by his barking.
| The useful, well-behaved dog will not be
' affected by such laws, and wise dog own-
‘ers will agitate for such laws every-
where.
{ —There is a trick to the job of burn-
ing the carcasses of dead hogs; and
, where they have died of cholera the trick
i should be learned. Dig two trenches
i crossing each other. Make them sev-
eral inches deep. Pile the fuel at the
crossing of the trenches. Lay a large
‘iron wheel or strips of metal to hold up
' the carcass. Open the carcass com-
‘ pletely, spread it open, and lay it belly
‘down on the support over the fuel.
i Sprinkle kerosene liberally inside the
- hog before putting it in place. Light the
fuel. The carcass will burn fiercely, es-
| pecially if the hog was fat. The trenches
i and the metal supports are for draft, and
! the dimensions of these things depend
i on the size of the carcass. This system
is recommended by the Nebraska Sta-
tion.
i
{ Planning the High Hatch.—First, the
| housing of the breeding stock is im-
portant. Good drainage around the
| house and yards, plenty of light and
| ventiiation, absence of drafts and ver-
| min, abundance of clean litter to en-
courage exercise, and good sanitation
| throughout are all essential.
| Second, use one good active yearling
: cock bird abounding in vitality to every
: 8 to 12 vigorous yearling hens.
Third, furnish clean, wholesome feed
and water so balanced as to produce
muscle and vigorrather than to force too
heavy egg production. The dry-mash
feed should be kept in hoppers and some
' grain frequently fed in litter to encour-
age exercise. Supply fresh water f{re-
quently in metal or earthen vessels
where it will be free from filth and lit-
ter. Use clean straw in the nests.
Fourth, gather the eggs twice a day, in
the middle of the forenoon and in the
middle of the afternoon, and oftener in
cold weather. Ninety-five per cent of
‘ these eggs will hatch if the care indicated
is taken in handling the breeding stock.
—Don’t Keep Ducks too Long.—After
‘five years of careful experimenting I
have found that Indian Runner ducks
. will give the best results if the following
rules are observed:
Do not shut them in a closed house.
The front should be wire mesh, with the
exception of about eighteen inches at
the bottom, which should be of board.
Many writers claim that the Indian
Runner duck improves with age up to
the fifth year. However, the man who is
making money with market eggs from
this bird will tell you not to keep them
over eighteen months of age. For in-
; stance, a beginner has decided to raise
Runner duck eggs for market. He should
not hatch a duckling till the latter part
of June. This will bring them at a lay-
. ing age in December. Bear in mind that
| the Indian Runner is just naturally
bound to lay when matured.
Ducks that are hatched with the - win-
. ter egg production in view will start lay-
“ing in December and give splendid re-
' sults until the following August, when
they pass through a slight molt which
reduces the egg output to a minimum.
This continues till the middlle of Sep-
. tember, when the yield increases until
| you begin to wondering until the latter
part of November. Then market with-
out fail. Disappointment will follow if
they are kept longer.
Remember that during the entire year
they should not be fed a kernel of whole
' grain, as they will produce the most eggs
‘on a diet of cooked vegetables mixed
i
1
‘ with bran and a little corn meal, also a
liberal amount of meat scraps.
| They should not have free access to a
| pond or brook; but, if such is available
1a very small portion of it should be
| fenced in and included in their yard.
—Where conditions are right, water
| cress may easily be grown and is a fairly
“Poor fellow! I don’t wonder; and
Annie was such a nice girl. It does seem
powerful strange to me that the good
Lord always wants her kind first and
early. But I reckon they’re kind o’
scarce in heaven, and that’s the reason.”
But Bowling was no theologian and
gave his wife no answer.
He found Lincoln and brought him to
the little cabin that stood under the bluff
about half a mile back of New Salem,
and there cared for him like a child. It
was a terrible battle, this fighting back
madness—a wondrously delicate task to
sustain reason on its throne. All the
gentle and homely arts of affection, the
atmosphere of that humble refuge, were
exercised in Lincoln’s behalf. No one
had conceived the depth of his passion
for the dead girl. His narrow, hard,
bleak life, familiar only with toil and
self-denial, had suddenly blossomed forth
under the light of her soul into the flower
of unutterable devotion. The people of
New Salem, warm-hearted, living the
robust life of pioneers, were accustomed
to manly friendships and womanly
strength and patience, but this love of
Lincoln for Annie Rutledge surpassed
the strength of their understandings and
they beheld it as a sacred, a mysterious
dispensation vouchsafed only in Biblical
times to the sons of men. :
“l tell vou, Bowlin’,” said Nancy
Greene one evening to her husband, after
Lincoln had slipped out of the cabin and
had turned his face toward the little
graveyard at Concord, some miles away
—*“ tell you that this kind 0’ grievin’ in
man or woman must jes’ work itself off
in its own way, and the more you hinder
the wuss he will be off. So you let him
go.”
All New Salem and the people for
miles around came to Annie's funeral.
Elder Cameron touched with delicate
friendship on the grief of the living, but
human eloquence and sympathy could
not heal the wounds of the man who
would willingly have given his own life
that she might live.
“The very thought that the rains and
the snows shall fall upon her grave fills
me with indescribable agony,” moaned
Lincoln to his friend, William Greene.
There was no consolation for so broken
a heart.
The tender love of the Greenes, and
chiefly Nancy’s womanly ways, at last
triumphed over the perils that threaten-
an election which should determine
whether this country should be half slave
and half free, or all the one thing or all
the other. The people had passed judg-
ment on that question, and Abraham Lin-
coln was President-elect. For months he
had not known privacy; the great and
powerful had come and gone, the wise
and the foolish had spoken; but they all
had left him to bear the burden of the
nation alone; to solve the problem of its
destiny. He had not yet announced his
readiness to depart for Washington. He
felt that he could not go until once more
his eyes had seen the familiar places of
his youth and once more he had greeted
his aged mother.
Weary with the labors of the day, he
was seeking rest in a few moments’ pri-
vacy and, if possible, in a few moments’
sleep. He stretched himself upon the
sofa. Again he was swiftly traveling on
some strange unusual vessel, toward a
gloomy and indefinite shore. The shadows
of night overhung him, and the stillness
of death compassed him about. The
vividness of the dream awakened him.
Again had the mysterious messenger
come to him from the unknown. A flood
of memories came over him, sweeping
him back to the days of his youth, the
days of aspiration, toil, and infinite loss.
Arising, though little refreshed, he quiet-
ly now slipped away from Springfield
down to Farmington, to pay perhaps his
last greetings of affection to his mother.
With tears streaming down her cheeks
the good woman at last released him,
giving him her blessing, and mingling
with it her prophecy that his life would
be taken by his enemies. Profoundly
moved and with gloomy forebodings, at
last he broke away from her. But his
heart yearned for a glimpse of the scenes
of his youth, and he kept on his journey,
meeting many old-time friends who had
known and had helped him in his days
of struggle. Some of these friends he
had first known in New Salem.
That humble hamlet was no more.
Hardly a vestige of it remained. The
pioneers were scattered or dead, and the
place was a place of memories.
A few days later some of these New
Salem friends of old were among the
throng that surged into the Capitol to
grasp his hand and murmur benedictions
upon him.
“Isaac,” said the President to one of
Mrs. Rutledge wiped her eyes with her
ed Lincoln, and gradually he came to! these, after asking about all the early
having quick action upon it. Moreover,
I will do all in my power to aid its
speedy passage. I want to see the
question of a suffrage amendment to
the State constitution go before the
people this Fall. Inasmuch as Penn-
sylvania today has a Republican ad-
ministration and that party is in pow-
er, there can be no doubt as to the
favorable action on the suffrage bill.”
Coming from the Governor, this
statement is significant.
THE TALE OF A COW
According to Mme. Schwimmer, the
famous Hungarian journalist who is
now on a lecture tour of Pennsylvania,
a Swiss man teacher gets, in addition
to his salary, fodder for his cow. The
woman teacher in Switzerland not only
gets a lower salary but only half ra-
tions of fodder for her cow.
“The assumption being,” says Mme.
Schwimmer, “that the woman not only
has less need to eat than a man has,
but that her cow eats less than a man's
cow.”
This sad state of affairs in Switzer-
land touched even the heart of an anti-
suffragist who was in one of Mme.
Schwimmer’s audiences recently.
“Think of the poor cow who is un-
fortunate enough to be owned by a
“aman teacher!” she said.
“Prevention is better than cure.” It.is
also a great deal cheaper than cure.
That is one reason why Dr. Pierce’s Com-
mon Sense Medical Adviser should be in
every home. .It shows how to get health
and how to keep it. Its 1008 pages are
full of helpful information on all ques-
tions relating to health and disease. And
this great book is sent free on receipt of
stamps to defray expense of mailing only.
Send 21 one-cent stamps for paper cov-
ered book or, 31 stamps for cloth. Ad-
dress Dr. V. M. Pierce, Buffalo, N. Y.
—Gnawing animals which damage
fruit trees may be discouraged, and
sometimes killed, by a wash made of
Portland cement watered to the con-
sistency of paint, mixed with Paris green.
Apply with a brush.
is well to erect statues and have a beau- | profitable crop. It is more of a com-
tiful garden to commemorate a hero’s | mercial product in Europe than in this
deed, or a poor marty’s passing, but it : coantty, and much ater cress old here
¥ : ! comes from plants that grow wild.
gives you a most gruesome feeling when | 5p a is - a native of
years later, each city you visit, these Eyrope, and yet it is now found all over
places of blood are pointed out to you , this continent.
and you realize that in truth little is | Water Sress Hoes Shallow, Slow moving
water and a san om, and yet wi
changed xcept Ssternals and only an | often thrive il these conditions are
opportunity is wanted to make it all hap- | only approximated. Commercial grow-
pen again; but this time there would be ers usually prepare wide ditches or beds
no surprises, and no trusting in untrust- over which water may be flooded, but
worthy friends. i with the water under control by means
One grows tired easily in this balmy ;
of a dam.
s : i, The seeds may be started in the beds
air and I think I am going off to bed to | when they are not flooded, or sown on
dream of you all. When I start on, and | the banking at the edge of the beds and
I sent my money for my passage last | allowed to grow over them. New plants
: i are often started from cuttings which
week, perhaps there will be more to talk | will take root wherever they i drop-
to you about, at least I hope so.
(Continued next week.)
Japanese Woman Pearl Divers.
. For centuries past one of the cur
fous customs of Japan has been the
employment of woman as divers in
the pearl industry. Formerly whole
families became divers, but later the
prerogative became more and more
that of the women until now fully
ninety per cent of Japanese pearls
are gathered by Japanese women
divers. A movement begun several
years ago to replace them with men
has been opposed bitterly by the wom-
en.
Originally a Chinese Bird.
| Pheasants, notwithstanding their
i aristocratic magnificence of appear-
‘ance, readily interbreed with humbler
, kinds of birds, including the common
barnyard fowl, the guinea hen and the
black grouse. English pheasants are
the descendants of Chinese birds,
! which, long ago, were brought to
| Mngland and crossed either with
grouse or with some unidentified na-
| tive species of pheasant, which pos--
' sessed no great beauty. The descend-
ant of a male pheasant and a domes-
tic hen is known as a “pero.”
——Subscribe for the WATCHMAN.
ped, the roots starting out from the
joints. If there is danger of their being
| washed away the cuttings may be held
! in place by stones.
It is important that water cress be
{grown only where the water is pure,
| for the cress may easily be contaminated
| by sewage. If grown where the bottom
| of the stream is muddy the flavor of the
| leaves is greatly impaired. Also avoid
locations where there is danger of a
heavy rush of water.
There are two pests which damage
water cress, and both are described ina
bulletin issued by the U.S. D. A. One
is called the sow bug, and the other is
known as the water-cress leaf beetle. The
sow bug is combated by drawing off the
water. The pests follow it and are col-
lected in a pool where a preparation is
applied which kills them by wholesale.
The beetle is disposed of by just the
opposite method. The beds are flooded
and the beetles wished away.
It is a simple matter to propagate wa-
ter cress in brooks or shallow water on
a small scale, and a few plants will pro-
vide enough for home use. Seed may be
sown at any time in spring or summer,
but if sown in the fall it will often re-
main without germinating until spring,
when it will start into life. The pleas-
ant, pungent, slightly bitter flavor of the
water cress makes it highly desirable for
a salad, and the attractive leaves recom-
mend it for a garnish. In Europe this
cress is often boiled and served asa veg-
etable.—Farm and Fireside.
——Have your Job Work done here.