Re -
fe
Bellefonte, Pa., February 8, 1918.
AN OLD VALENTINE.
When slumber first unclouds my brain
And thoughte is free
And sense, refreshed, renews her reigne,
I think of thee.
When next in prayer to God above
I bende my knee,
Then, when I pray for those I love,
I pray for thee, ?
And when the duties of the day
Demand of me :
To rise and journey on life's way
I work for thee.
Or if, perchance, I sing some lay,
Whate’er it be,
All that the idle verses say
They say of thee.
For if an eye whose liquid light
Gleams like the sea
They sing of tresses brown or bright,
They sing of thee.
And if a wearie mood, or sad,
Possesses me
One thought can all times make me glad
The thought of thee.
And when once more apon my bed,
Full wearily,
In sweet repose I lay my head,
I dream of thee.
In short, one only wish I have—
To live for thee,
Or gladly, if one pang ’'twould save,
I'd die for thee.
WHEN ST. VALENTINE CROSSED
SCHOONER BAY.
“Not much chance of our getting
out valentines this year,” Billy Mack
said, a frown puckering his forehead
as he looked out of the tiny panes of
the cabin. A fire burned briskly in
the sheet-iron stove inside, there was
the odor of crisp loaves baking in the
oven, and the kitchen-sitting-and din-
ing-room in one was comfortable with
some of the furnishings that they had
brought from home; but it was Lab-
rador for all that.
Mother, father, Billy and Nancy
Mack lived in the cabin on Schooner
Bay. Father was the only doctor in
the scattered neighborhood for miles
around. Just across the Bay was the
hospital. It was full now. Father
Mack crossed on the ice two or three
times a week to set broken legs and
heal frozen hands and ears, and cure
more than one case of pneumonia.
Cruel weather it was, such as only
Labrador knows when the winter and
spring are contending with each oth-
er. There had been a mild spell, when
a splashing warm rain came down in
a melting drizzle. The cliffs dripped
as if they were promising spring flow-
ers, and the road that led from the
cabin to. the edge of the Bay was full
of slush. Then there had been a shift
in the weather and everything was
frozen stiff again over night; but the
whole, white sweep of the ice, that
was as heavy as a beamed flooring
for the dog sleds, was shivering un-
derneath at the bottom of the Bay,
and trying to break away, urged by
the wind blowing briskly out to sea.
“The post won’t be here for a week
yet in this weather,” Billy’s mother
said turning away from the oven of
bread as the boy spoke. ‘Perhaps
when it does come, it will bring you
a valentine or two from the city.”
“Well, we've our valentines of last
year, and the year before and the year
before that,” Nancy said, opening a
box that she had brought into the
room. “We can play that they just
came, Billy, and that Saint Valentine
found us after all, even way up in
Labrador.”
“So we can,” Billy cried, and the
brother and sister poured out the
bright contents of the box on the ta-
ble. Filmy lace paper, and gilt and
silver doves, bright scarlet hearts and
daintily inscribed messages of friend-
ship all reminded the children of the
days when the postman had brought
these letters of love to the door by
hand, and not by sled over fields of
ice.
“Oh, but they're pretty,
they ?”” Nancy exclaimed.
“Here’s the valentine that grand-
mother sent,” Billy said, opening a
folded piece of paper at the top of
which two doves were beautifully
drawn in pen and ink. “She made it
all herself,” he said, and he read the
writing aloud:
“This is the day February Four-
teenth, when we mean to be kind to
every one. We wish to give, not only
loving thoughts and words but deeds
to our friends because it is a day set
for kind feeling—"
“Dear Grandmother,” Nancy said
softly. Then she added, “Granny
Thomas is over at the hospital at the
Cove. Father said she was laid up
with rheumatism.”
“And Skipper Brisk's little lad,
Peter, is in the hospital, too, getting
his lame leg straightened out.”
For a minute the two children were
quiet fingering their precious store of
valentines. When Nancy spoke she
said exactly what was in Billy's mind,
“I think Granny Thomas and Peter
would each like to have a valentine.”
As if he had already planned a way
to cross to the hospital whose white
roof could just be seen across Schoon-
er Bay at the Cove, Billy added, “The
dog team’s fine and fresh, for the dogs
didn’t go out yesterday and father
won’t need them until tomorrow.”
“Yes, we'll go,” Nancy decided.
When they told their mother of
their plan, she was a little worried.
“The wind’s from the south,” she
said, “and you know what that means
—there’ll be a break-up soon.”
“The ice will hold together in the
Bay for many a day yet,” their father
said. “You musn’t set too much store
in these early frosts. Billy’s as good
a driver as 1 am, and he and Nancy
will be able to get over to the Cove
easily and back with their valentines.
I would go too, but there’s too much
sickness on this side of the Bay for
me to be able to leave today.”
The dogs, little wolflike creatures,
were glad to be off. They pulled the
long, low sled in individual traces, and
it took only a little while to harness
them. In the warm comfort of the
fur rugs that lined the sled, Nancy
was cuddled with the box of valentines
in her lap. Billy ran along beside the
aren’t
dogs, urgin
was bundl
children were as warm as toast. They |
soon left the trail of the road, and the ! of the pan. I :
loping strides, struck | pulled, but Nancy held him pluckily,
white ice sheet of {and they both braced themselves,
dogs, with long,
out onto the wide,
Schooner Bay.
“I guess Skipper Brisk’s little lad, long,
Peter, ought to have two or three val-
entines. We've plenty to go around,”
Nancy said from the depths of her out of
“Qh, Billy, isn’t it wonderful | seemed
rugs.
|
|
{
and guiding them. He ‘lasso cut through the air, catching
in furs, too, and both |
and tightening around the ice spar
that looked like a rudder on the end
His feet slipped as he
heels dug deep into the ice for the
hard pull. The lasso cut the
boy’s hands; at first the force of the
weight of their pan pulled the other
its shoreward course. It
as if both pans would drift
out here—so far away from every- !out to sea, but slowly, the strong pull-
thing and so still!” she exclaimed
after a while.
“I wish it wasn’t so still,” Billy
said, as he seated himself on the sled
|
ing of the skin tendon drew the other
alongside. The dogs leaped over.
Billy followed, and reached his hand
out to help Nancy who had gone back
beside her. The dogs knew the way | for the treasure box of valentines and
now and were trudging steadily on, | was just in time to cross before the
with little need of driving. “The sun’s | two pans drifted apart.
gone under and the wind feels wet,
like snow,” he said a little fearfully.
The boy was right in his prophecy.
The weather changed as quickly as it
often does in that strange northerly
place; the storm was on them. The
gray sky, so shortly before a vivid
blue, thickened to drab and then to
black. A sudden puff of southerly
wind brought the wet snow and then
the rain. Although it was barely
dusk, because of the almost limitless
spaces of the Bay, they lost sight of
the track across to the Cove. No man
could have found his way; only dogs
could find the track through such a
gale.
Billy folded the robes more closely
around Nancy. “Don’t be afraid,” he
urged, trying, in comforting her, to
still his own terror. “The team’s
been across a hundred times this win-
ter and the dogs know every inch of
the way.”
“I'm trying to be brave,” Nancy
called back, her voice scarcely carry-
ing above the wind. “And the box of
valentines is all right. I have it well
wrapped up here in the robes.”
After their first terror at the dark-
ness that had settled down so sudden-
ly, the children began to enjoy their
race with the storm. The dogs, trot-
ting briskly along, were warm. The
children, themselves, so warmly
wrapped up, were flushed and com-
fortable. After an hour’s driving, the
rain slackened, although the wind
still hurried along with them from
the south. Then the sky cleared and
with it came the sight of the long,
straight road across the ice to the
Cove that the dogs had not left Tor a
moment.
“There’s the hospital; why, we're
almost there,” Nancy shouted. What-
ever Billy would have said in reply
was stopped by a sudden noise. A
shrill crack it was at first; then it
deepened to a boom like that of far-
away thunder, coming nearer, though,
and broken by a series of sharp cracks
that surrounded the sled and the dog
team. The ice felt, beneath the chil-
dren, as if it were a giant piece of
paper crumbling to pieces. It was
breaking up in Schooner Bay, sooner
than anybody expected, because of the
early warm spell and the rain. The
wind whimpered and pushed and
helped to split it as it broke. When
a sudden ray of sunshine broke
through the sky, the children could
see plainly what a plight they were in.
When the ice goes out it breaks in-
to great pans that float along over
the top * 6x the water like shining,
white rafts. Billy and Nancy, and
the sled and the dogs were in the mid-
dle of a good sized pan, now. All
around them was swirling water,
foaming white at being so suddenly
released.
Nancy sobbed a little, bue she soon
stopped, for an idea had put courage
into her heart. “Maybe mother’ll see
the break-up from the shore and fetch
father to send for wus in Skipper
Brisk’s skiff,” she said.
“They’ll have to hurry, though,”
Billy said. He wet his finger and held
it up to feel the wind. Then his face
went white as he saw the friendly
curve of the Cove shore receding from
sight. “We're going away from the
Cove,” he said. “We're going out to
sea.
The dogs huddled together and
snarled ,viciously, their wolf instincts
roused by the danger. Billy tried to
distract their attention by feeding
them some meat he had brought with
him. It kept them quiet and prevent-
ed their overturning the sled into the
water. Then he tried to think. What-
ever was done he must do. It was his
work to save his sister’s life, if he
could. The pan of ice upon which
they were marooned was almost the
only one that was floating out to sea.
The others, some of which were quite
as large, were going toward shore. If
only one of these pans would come
near enough, he thought, they could
step across to it, that is, if it touch-
ed their pan. Then another adven-
turesome thought came to him. Why
not try to pull up alongside. a pan
that was floating in the opposite di-
rection ?
The cold, weighted as it was with
dampness from the water, was bitter
now. To work, Billy had to take off
his fur mittens, and he pulled Nancy
from her rugs and told her what she,
too, must do with her bare hands to
help him. Their finegrs stiffened, but
they could not feel their ache as they
unharnessed the dogs, who, let loose,
bounded and pawed about them, get-
ting in the way and making their task
twice as hard. The long, thin ten-
dons of skin that had made the dog's
traces, they cut with Billy’s knife.
Then they spliced them to make a
coil with a lasso loop in the end.
“Put your arms tight as you can
around my waist, Nancy,” Billy said
as he held the coiled lasso tightly over
his houlder, and planted his feet firm-
Iy on the ice. “I must wait until I
see a pan that’s floating in to the
shore, and it must have a jagged
piece to throw this lasso around.
When I throw, hold me fast or I'll
slip into the water.”
It seemed hours, instead of seconds
that they waited. The quickly tack-
ing wind and the currents of the Bay
made the pans float in every direc-
tion; now several would almost touch,
then they would be so widely separat-
ed as to leave a great sweep of open
water.
Billy watched for his chance. Soon
it came, a big, round pan with a rag-
ged spar of ice sticking up at one end
where it had splintered. It was with-
in throwing distance. Billy twisted
the lasso over his head.
“Hold fast, Nancy,” he begged be-
tween clinched teeth. Then he threw.
As straight as he had aimed, the
i
|
|
led?
In the center of the new pan, their
sled gone, Billy and Nancy clung to
each other and the dogs whined at
their feet. The pan had changed its
course a little with the pulling. Would
it resume its old course, they wonder-
Slowly, though, it turned. Now
it was drifting toward the Cove, and
the water was quite free of ice and
settling down into a quiet, blue calm.
They were away from the treacherous
ice field now. Suddenly, like the
wings of a messenger dove in the dis-
tance, floating between the Cove and
them, Billy and Nancy saw the sails
of Skipper Brisk's skiff bearing down
to rescue them.
There never was such a Saint Val-
entine’s day at the Cove hospital.
There was their loved doctor who had
come so unexpectedly in the skiff, and
Billy and Nancy with so many valen-
tines that every one had three or four
apiece. Skipper Brisk’s little lad,
Peter, sat up in bed and shared his
supper with his daddy who came so
unexpectedly, when no one supposed
the skiff would be able to sail for six
weeks or so. Granny Thomas sat up
in bed, too, and as she smiled down
at her lapful of red hearts she said,
“They never would have come if the
ice hadn’t broken up when Saint Val-
sine crossed Schooner Bay.”—What
to Do.
Why Corn is Not Sent to Europe.
“Why not ship our corn to Europe
and keep our wheat at home?” This
question is still being asked in many
quarters. The answer involves many
interesting economic problems.
(1) As to shipping, cornmeal is
not a staple product—it spoils easily
in shipping. Corn itself before grind-
ing will not solve the problem as there
are few mills in Europe for grinding
corn. Again cornmeal and corn are
less compact, and therefore take more
cargo space than wheat flour.
(2) Cornbread is a home product,
and cannot be handled by bakers. To
be liked it must be eaten when fresh-
ly baked. Therefore, America, where
60 per cent. of the baking is done at
home, can increase consumption of
cornbread; while Europe, where
practically all bread is baked by bak-
ers, cannot adopt the American corn-
bread unless housewives reconstruct
their homes, for the ovens for baking
do not exist in the average European
home.
3() Our allies are already using a
mixture of wheat flour with potato,
rice, rye flour and some corn, but this
mixture cannot go beyond 25 per cent.
(or 50 per cent. at the outside) and
produce a good bakery product. Corn
meal as a further adulterant is, there-
fore, neither necessary nor advisable.
(4) Still another reason for ship-
ping wheat instead of corn is to sup-
ply the need of the American troops
in France. Military necessity does
not permit experiments. Moreover, it
is neither fair nor reasonable to call
upon people under the pressure of war
times, to make radical changes in
their eating habits.
These reasons must be kept clearly
before us, for an understanding of
facts means a complete co-operation
on the part of America.
How to Use Frozen Potatoes.
Frozen potatoes are not necessarily
spoiled, we are told by Mr. de Ronsic,
a writer in the Reveil Agricole. They
may be dried and then cooked as us-
ual. Says a reviewer in the Revue
Scientifique (Paris), abstracting the
article in question:
“The potatoes must be dried—that
is to say, the greater part of their
water of constitution must be remov-
ed, to prevent decomposition, which
takes place very rapidly after they
have thawed out. . . . . . .
“The oven should be heated as for
baking bread. Then, when it has
reached the necessary temperature,
which is easily recognized in practice
by the appearance of the roof of the
oven, the potatoes are put in, cutting
up the largest. They are spread out
in a layer so that evaporation may
easily take place, the door of the oven
being left open. From time to time
the mass is stirred up with a poker
to facilitate and hasten the evapora-
tion. When the drying has gone far
enough, the potatoes having become
hard as bits of wood, they are with-
drawn to make room for others.
“Potatoes thus dried may be boiled
with enough water to make a paste
similar to that which they would have
furnished if mashed in the ordinary
manner, and which will answer very
well, at least to feed stock. The po-
tatoes, in fact, will be found to have
lost none of the elements that give
them their nutritive value.”
Where Lincoln and Davis Met.
The Historical Society of Illinois
has placed a big bowlder memorial to
mark the place where Abraham Lin-
coln and Jefferson Davis first met.
The site is seventy-five miles west of
Chicago on Kishwaukee creek, in De-
kalb county. In 1832 the future Pres-
ident of the United States and the fu-
ture President of the Confederate
States of America had gone to that
point as soldiers to assist in ending
the Black Hawk Indian massacre.
Lincoln was a youth of twenty-three
and was captain of a company of mi-
litia. Davis, one year his senior, was
a lieutenant just out of West Point.
Among those present at the meeting
were General Zachary Taylor, later
also a President of the United States,
and Major Robert Anderson, later
General who was commander at Fort
Sumter at the beginning of the Civil
war.
—Subscribe for the “Watchman.”
Health and Happiness, Number 33.
Why Die Before Your Time?
THE PNEUMONIA GERM PNEUMOCOCCUS.
By Henry Smith Williams
Hearst's Magazine, Dec. 1917.
Pneumococei in pure culture one day old.
As seen under the microscope and high-
ly magnified.
Twenty million people are now liv-
ing in the United States who will ul-
timately die of one or the other of the
two chief types of lung disease—
pneumonia and tuberculosis—unless
medical science deals more effectively
with these maladies than it has been
able to do in the past.
If report were to come from “Some-
where in France” that six thousand
American soldiers had been killed out-
right in the current week, we should
all listen with bated breath. But the
death of a corresponding number here
at home—this week and last week and
every weel, year in and year out—
causes no comment whatever.
It is a matter of statistics that the
germs of pneumonia and tuberculosis
are responsible for not far from one-
fifth of all deaths. They claim up-
ward of five million victims in the
world at large each year. Maladies
with such a record may without ex-
aggeration be said to constitute a ra-
cial menace. Questions as to their
prevention and treatment take prece- |
dence over most other questions of
public policy and individual welfare.
NOT ONE BUT SEVERAL GROUPS OF
PNEUMONIA GERMS.
The pneumonia germ—or family
group of germs—is of the type known
as a micrococcus, and is called specif-
ically a pneumococcus. Under the mi-
croscope this germ appears as a tiny
bullet-shaped affair, not clearly dis-
tinguishable in appearance from a
good many allied tribes, including
those that cause the most familiar
types of blood poisoning. But it has
been found that there are several
groups of these microbes that are in-
strumental in causing pneumonia;
each group differing somewhat from
the other in the grade of its malig-
nancy.
The commonest type of pneumonia
germ is so abundant that it may be
said to be partially domesticated in
the human mouth and pharynx. Mul-
titudes of individuals in perfect health
go about carrying myriads of these
germs in their mouths without being
made aware of the fact. Even should
some of the microbes find their way
into the lungs, under normal condi-
tions, no harm would result. But if
your vitality chances to be lessened,
and in particular if your body tem-
perature is below the normal, these
seemingly harmless germs may take
‘on undue activities,
DEFENSES OF THE BODY WEAKEN-
ED BY EXPOSURE CALCULATED
TO LOWER THE NORMAL TEM-
PERATURE.
It was found a good many years
ago that a chicken forced to stand
with its feet in cold water is likely to
develop pneumonia. And it is a fa-
miliar experience that pneumonia in
the human subject usually follows ex-
posure to the elements; more especial-
ly exposure of the character calculat-
ed to lower the temperature, as, for
example, sitting for a prolonged
period with wet clothes or in a damp,
chilly atmosphere.
Under such circumstances, the bod-
ily defenses are weakened, but it
would appear that the pneumonia
germs, on the contrary, are stimulat-
ed to unwonted activity, since they
may then multiply rapidly in the
lungs, producing an irritant that leads
to an inflammation of the lung tissue,
which constitutes the disease ‘“pneu-
monia.” '
NATURE'S EFFORT TO COMBAT THE
DISEASE.
It should be explained that an in-
flammation with the accompanying
rise of temperature, is in itself an ev-
idence of Nature’s attempt to combat
an invading microorganism. A car-
dinal symptom of inflammation is the
presence of an excessive quantity of
blood, conveying the blood corpuscles,
that are the direct agents in fighting
the disease germs. But unfortunate-
ly it happens that such an accumula-
tion of blood cannot take place in the
lung without unfitting that structure
for its usual purpose of extracting
oxygen from the air; so it may come
to pass that the inflammation which
might otherwise be salutary or cura-
tive may cause the death of the pa-
tient from suffocation.
METHODS OF TREATMENT.
To meet this condition the physi-
cian places the pneumonia patient in
a well-ventilated room, or, better yet,
out in the open. Cold air is particu-
larly advantageous, not only because
it supplies oxygen in more concentrat-
ed form, but because cold stimulates
the production of white blood corpus-
cles, thus reenforcing the defending
armies of the body. In extreme cases,
resort is had to the tank of pure oxy-
gen, inhalation of which may serve
to sustain the patient over a crisis
until a portion of the damaged lung
tissue is in better working order.
Bacillus tuberculosis, human, in pus from
lung.
Supplementary measures in the
treatment of pneumonia include ap-
plications to the chest, varying in
quality from ice bags to hot fomen-
tations and mustard plasters, and the
use of heart stimulants and other sup-
porting medicaments. These meas-
ures are by no means without impor-
tance, but latterly they have been
supplemented, and in certain cases to
a large extent superseded, by the use
of vaccines and serums intended to
antagonize directly the disease germs
or their toxic products.
VACCINES EMPLOYED IN TREATMENT
OF PNEUMONIA.
A vaccine, in the modern sense of
the word, consists of a mass of dead
bodies of toxic germs, injected hypo-
dermically. The most familiar exam-
ple is the antityphoid vaccine, the use
of which has practically banished ty-
phoid fever from the armies of the
iworld. In all previous wars, since
history began, bacterial plagues have
claimed ten or a dozen lives for every
life claimed by bullets; but the vac-
cine method is changing all that. In
' the present instance, the vaccines em-
ployed have been made from a combi-
nation of bacteria; it having been
' found that in most cases of pneumo-
nia there is what is termed “mixed
infection,” sundry other microbes hav-
| ing joined forces with the pneumo-
coccus.
It will be obvious that the use of a
vaccine as a curative agent invoives
the introduction of an additional
quantity of bacterial poisons from
which the patient already suffers.
This does not seem logical, and in
practice it is of somewhat doubtful
utility. The impression is gaining
ground among physicians that the ob-
served benefits of vaccines in treating
pneumonia, for example, are probably
due to the protein (albuminous) con-
tent of the bacteria and the medium
in which they are developed rather
than to the specific germs employed;
that this is, in other words, a case of
non-specific protein medication.
If such interpretation is valid, it
would appear probable that vaccines,
as curative agents, may advantage-
ously be substituted by non-specific
proteins containing no toxic property.
In the case of typhoid fever, this in-
ference has been put to the test by
substituting non-specific proteins for
the typhoid vaccine with seemingly
satisfactory results. Similar tests
have been made in the case of pneu-
monia but not as yet on a scale exten-
sive enough to warrant definite con-
clusions.
APPLICATION OF SERUM THERAPY.
In recent years, however, another
type of medication, known as serum
therapy, has been applied to the mal-
ady with very gratifying results. A
“serum” in this sense is a portion of
blood serum of an animal previously
inoculated with disease germs of a
particular type. If the inoculations
are made in the right dosage, the liv-
ing body has the peculiar capacity to
develop antidotes or so-called anti-
bodies which neutralize or antagonize
the toxins produced by the bacteria
themselves. The typical and familiar
instance of a therapeutic serum is the
diphtheria antitoxin, developed in the
bedy of the horse.
ANTI-PNEUMONIA SERUM PERFECT-
ED ONLY FOR PNEUMOCOCCUS
KNOWN AS TYPE L
It would appear that there are at
least four types or groups of pneu-
monia germs, each one producing a
somewhat different type or grade of
malady. The anti-pneumonia serum
hitherto developed has been perfected
only for a single type of pneumococ-
cus, known as Type I. The value of
the remedy, when applied to the par-
ticular type of malady in question, is
so fully accepted that the New York
Board of Health now offers to supply
the serum for all cases of pneumonia
due to this particular germ. The di-
agnosis is made by swabbing the pa-
tient’s throat to secure sputum, and
making a culture of the germs thus
obtained. A delicate test-tube reac-
tion determines the identity of the
particular germ, and thus decides
whether the serum may be expected
to be helpful in a given case.
MEASURES FOR PREVENTION.
Fortunately, each individual may to
some extent guard himself against
danger from this disease by proper
attention to hygiene, and in particu-
lar by the prompt changing of wet
clothing, including footwear, and the
thorough warming of the entire body
at the earliest possible moment after
being chilled through exposure. :
The free use of an antiseptic
mouth-wash and gargle, to destroy
any germs that are lurking in this re-
gion, may be a valuable accessory.
Next week—The Great White
Plague. :
Just Like Their Own.
At his one interview with Li Hung
Chang in Peking, the talk seems to
have turned to religious matters. Gen.
Chaffee had been saying something
about a serious drought which at the
time held the United States in its
grip. Ji
“Do Christian preachers pray for
rain?” asked Li.
“Yes, when they need it badly.”
m—
“Do they get it?”
“Sometimes they do and sometimes
they do not.”
“Well, that is just the way with the
Chinese Joss God,” returned Li.
Some Endurance. ;
Knicker—The Kaiser says Germans
must have the will to endure.
Bocker—Well, they certainly have
fs William to endure.—New York
un.
1
A Visit to Lincoln in Wartime.
Major General Grenville M. Dodge,
famed both as a commander in the
Civil war and as the chief engineer
during the construction of the Union
Pacific railroad, wrote for private cir-
culation a book of personal reminis-
cences of Lincoln, Grant and Sher-
' man, each of whom he knew, the last
two intimately. In the book General
Dodge recounts a number of anec-
dotes of Lincoln not generally known.
He tells of a visit he paid to Pres-
ident Lincoln at the White House at
a time when the chief executive was
greatly worried over the command of
the Union forces because he was re-
ceiving so many demands that Grant
be relieved of the command. General
Dodge writes:
“When I arrived at Washington and
went to the White House to call on
President Lincoln I met Senator Har-
lan of my State in the anteroom, and
he took me in to see the President. It
happened to be at the hour when the
President was receiving the crowd in
the antechamber next to his room.
Senator Harlan took me up to him
immediately and presented me to him.
President Lincoln received me cordial-
ly and said he was very glad to see
me. He asked me to sit down while
he disposed of the crowd. I sat down
and waited. I saw him take each per- -
son by the hand and in his kindly way
dispese of them. To an outsider it
would seem that they all got what
they wanted, for they seemed to
go away happy.
“I sat there for some time and felt
that I was overstaying my time with
him, so stepped up and said that I had
merely called to pay my respects and
that I had no business and so would
say goodby. President Lincoln turn-
ed to me and said: “If you have the
time I wish you would wait, I want to
talk with you.”
“I sat down again and waited quiet-
ly until he had disposed of the crowd.
When he was through he took me into
the next room. He saw that I was ill
at ease, so he took down from his
desk a little book called ‘The Gospel
of Peace.’ I think it was written by
Artemus Ward and was very humor-
ous. He opened the book, crossed his
legs and began to read a portion of a
chapter which was so humorous that
I began to laugh, and it brought me
to myself.
“When he saw that he had got me
in his power he laid the book down
and began to talk to me about my vis-
it to the Army of the Potomac and
what I saw. He did not say a single
word about my own command or
about the west, showing his whole in-
terest was in the Army of the Poto-
mac. While we were sitting there
talking we were called to lunch.
“During the meal he talked about
the Army of the Potomac and about
Grant and finally led up to the place
where he asked me the question of
what I thought about Grant and what
I thought about his next campaign.
“Just as he asked the question we
got up from the table. I answered:
“Mr. President, you know we western
men have the greatest confidence in
General Grant. I have no-doubt what-
ever that in this next campaign he
will defeat Lee. How or when he is
to do it I cannot tell, but I am sure of
it.
“He shook my hand in both of his
and very solemnly said, ‘You don’t
know how glad I am to hear you say
that.’
“I did not appreciate then what a
great strain he was under—not until
reading Wells’ celebrated diary, show-
ing that Lincoln had no person around
him to advise him; that everything he
did was from his own thoughts and
decision. It is a wonder to me that
he ever got through the war so suc-
cessfully. I did not know then that
Lincoln’s table was piled with letters
demanding the change of Grant, de-
claring that his campaign was a fail-
ure and wanting to have a different
commander sent, etc.
“When I was ready to leave I
thanked President Lincoln for what
he had done for me and asked if there
was anything I could do for him. He
said, ‘If you don’t care I would like to
have you take my respects to your
army.’ ”
A Fortune Telling Game for A St.
: Valentine Occasion.
A fortune telling game for a St.
Valentine’s party makes use of a
string of hearts. A ribbon or cord
long enough to stretch across an open
doorway is needed. From this are
hung hearts of various hues—red, yel-
low, heliotrope, blue, pink, black,
green, white and gold. The hearts
may be of stiff construction paper of
different hues; or of cardboard cover-
ed with colored paper; or they may be
dainty little stuffed bags of silk,
which may afterward be distributed
as souvenirs. To each heart is attach-
ed a bit of card on which a couplet is
written.
The game is played by blindfolding
each guest in turn, and the fortune is
decided by the heart which is touch-
ed by each as he or she advances to-
ward the suspended string of hearts.
The couplet may be run something
like this:
Because you've touched the heart ef red,
‘Tis plain his (her) love for you is dead.
That she loves (you love) some other fel-
low,
Is shown by this heart of yellow.
Because you choose this heart of blue,
You will be a sweetheart true.
No wedding bells for you! How mean!
That's because this heart is green.
Of true love you'll never lack,
For you've claimed the heart of black.
You choose the heart of heliotrope,
That's a sign you'll soon elope.
You have claimed the heart of white
And you’ll meet your fate tonight.
Within your chosen heart of gold
Are joy for you and love untold.
J. 48
Lincoln’s Book.
Lincoln was a man of one book, and
that book the Bible. Its cool vigor
became his. The compressed energy
of its phrases lent strength to his
acts and utterances, and they became,
in a measure, the salvation of the
Union.—New York Times.
France has a million and a half
widows on the government list.
wd
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