' NGEL of the parting P p/ fH year. Nj wy* Mi 1 Winging hack to -JzJ Heaven thy -> 'xSa/' flight, Sad the burden thou ? must hear From the darkness Into light; Burden of my wasted days, Fragments of my broken hours. Budding promises that grew Never Into fruit or flowers. Happiness I might have won. Worthy deeds 1 might have wrought, Wrongs I hate, but did not shun, Good X crave, but never sought; All my proud and lofty aims, Withered now to vain regret- Feeble, foolish as the will To no noble purpose set. Take them all, my griefs, my Joys, Kay them at the Father's feet; He will search if yet there be 'Mid the chaff some grains of wheat. He will fan my faint resolves To a purer flame ar.d clear, Hear to Heaven my heart's desire. Angel of the parting year. And angel of the coming year. Though thy face Is vailed, 1 see By the glory round thee shed, Thou hast some good gift for me. Is it gold, power, or fame? Perfect peace from toll oroare? Or some sweeter, greater bliss I had never hoped to share? Nay, 1 know 'tis none of these; Still I walk my narrow ways; Still does lowly labor fill All the measures of my days; This the treasure thou hast brought, Prized in every age and clime, I-lfe no greuter boon can crave— God's most precious gift of Time. Time to shape my common cares Into duties high and sweet; Time to learn that patience smooths All rough ways for tired feet; Time to scatter here and there. By the wayside, love's small seed. Knowing lowliest hands may oft Minister to highest need. So may each day be a cup With life's sweet flavirs fraught; Every hour a shining pearl Strung on golden threads of thought; Every moment a bright flower Shedding perfume far and near. thy grace to make it so, Angel of the coming year! —Susan Marr Spalding, in N. Y Weekly. RDIXARILY the •'fall term of school \ ' lroun dis- Xlf TBBllTMliik Ir ' et wou 'd have closed before the ' ( holidays, but this j year t li e r eh a d !<<?en an invasion of measles right in the middle of the term, necessitating a va cation of two weeks, and Director Hat h away had insisted that the teacher make up the lost time, much to the dis gust of the youngpr children, who had thus been deprived of their holiday freedom. But the teacher had not been in the least incommoded by this prolongation of the term. Herbert Allen had en joyed his first term in a country school I'or some reason, which he had never Mopped 1o anaylze, there had been a peculiar fascination about his work, al though it had been in a sphere of life iit:d amidst environments so different from \\ hat he had dreamed of a year be fore. And vet he had unwittingly in < urred the displeasure of the school board and had been recently informed that his services would not be needed longer. And now, on the last afternoon of De cember, the term was over. The school had closed with "exercises" and the whole community had turned out to hear them. The boys had stammered t li rough their "pieces," the big girls had read their "essays," and the little ones had gone through their songs and "mo tion exercises" to their own great satis faction and the infinite delight of their r.dmiring parents. Director Hathaway ;• ud Elder Sloane, at the teacher's in >'tation. had talked edifyingly on the "advantages of an eddication" and the "proper training of the young," and the teacher had spoken a few words of modest farewell. At last all was over, the last scholar had said good-by to the teacher and gone. The young master seated him self at his tabie and sighed deeply as he looked around the now quiet room, es pecially as his eyes rested upon the seat cf Helen Hathaway, the charming daughter of the director. The schoolhouse, on whose interior lie was so disconsolately gazing as the setting sun shone through its win dows and lighted up the familiar ob jects—the charts and pictures on the walls, the neatly executed maps and drawings, the specimens of "busy work"' done by the children, the mottoes and diagrams and quotations on Ihe blackboards—had been indeed a pleas ant place to Herbert, save for the one disturbing incident. Many a cheerful ino<!"rti schoolroom can be found in the CO"ntry districts of the middle western states, and it Is easy to see how an en thusiastic, refined young man like Her bert Alien could become attached to *i,ch a pleasant, intellectual workshop. It would have beer, even easier to un derstand his fondness for the spot if one could have seen the sweet face of Helen Hathaway and noted the deep in terest which she evinced in her algebra and history and the readiness which the young teacher displayed to help her in her pursuit of knowledge. It would have amused a disinterested observer to see the earnest devotion with which the pedagogue and his most advanced scholar delved into the mysteries of quadrat'*) equations and how willing the young man appeared to "show" hi* Interested and interesting pupil. Such amiability, however, was not at all pleasing to John Warren, another of the oldest, though by no means bright est, scholars in school. ISefore the ad vent of the new teacher, John had been the recipient of an occasional smile from «he director's daughter, but of late the young lady had apparently for gotten the young man in her deep ab sorption in algebra and history. It was this unfortunate condition, speaking from John Warren's stand point, that had led to Mr. Allen's dis comfiture. Squire Warren was a neigh bor of Director Hathaway and the two farmers were firm friends. So when the squire's son began to make disparaging remarks about the teacher, and the fa ther, whose faith in his only son was unbounded, had become prejudiced against the young man, he mentioned the matter to tiie director and easily persuaded that, worthy official, whose acquaintance with the teacher had ex tended little farther than had been in cidental to the duty of making a con tract with him, that "young Allen" was not u "fit person to conduct our school. He is too familiar with the scholars and hasn't enough dignity to fill such a re sponsible position." Director Hathaway was a man of promptness and decision, whose will was law with the board, so when he tailed his colleagues together and de livered the opinion that the teacher was too young and inexperienced to con duct the winter term, the assessor and the moderator meekly acquiesced, though they both felt in their hearts that the young man had performed his duties well. So it came about during the last week of the term that Mr. Allen had been given forma! notice that his services would not be needed any longer. He had been greatly surprised and morti fied at this announcement, and his pu pils had show n their disapproval of the board's arbitrary action in a way that threatened open revolt—all but John Warren, who could hardly repress his exultation at the turn affairs had taken. One year before this incident Herbert Allen had been the favored son of a rich merchant in an eastern city. His mother had long been in the grave and Herbert had spent most of his boyhood days in a famous preparatory school, .lust as be was ready to enter college, financial disaster came upon his father, resulting in his ruin and subsequent death. This sudden blow of fate left Herbert dependent upon his own re sources. Young and resolute in char- SEATED HIMSELF AT HIS TABLE AND SIGHED DEEPLY. acter. lie made his way tp (lie west and finally found the congenial work in the country school which he had pursued so happily until a cruel fate had apain thrown him upon a selfish world without the means of employment. Finally the young ex-teacher, as he now fell himself to l>e, was aroused from his reverie by a rap at the door, and before he could collect his wan dering thoughts a curly-pated lad, breathless from running, stumbled in to the room with a letter in his hand. "Say, teacher," said the boy, "1 was down to the 'corners' to get Dad's mail and Mr. Jones wanted me to fetch this letter for you. He said it had been in the office 'most two weeks." "Thank you, Charlie; my corre spondence is so limited I had forgotten there was such a thing as a poet office," and he took the business-like envelope in his hand and wonderingly tore it open. 11 retid as follows: New York, Oct. 3, 1895.—Office of J. W. I'ennimari, Attorney and Counselor at Daw. Mr. H. W. Allen. OakvllloCorners, Mich, j My Dear Sir: For the past two months j I have been looking for your address and have just this day learned It. I now ! hasten to Inform you of a very agreeable | turn In your affairs. When your late la ! mented father became Involved In financial j difficulties one of the largest and most val | uable of Ills steamships, the Dolphin, I bound for the East Indies, was reported | lost In a tropical hurricane. Without at ! tempting to inform you of details, which I I can better explain in person, I will simplj say fJiat the supposed loss, followed by Inability to obtain the Insurance, came at a critical time and brought on the failure. It now transpires that the report was lr«- ! correct. On the 20th of July, only three weeks after your father's death, the Dol j phin arrived In this port with an exceed iriirlj' valuable cargo. By W>ls unexpected stroke of fortune you are again a rich man I have very gladly taken charge of your business Int< rests, believing, sir, that you would wish me to do so, and shall take the liberty to act In ttiis capacity until I hear from you. I No doubt you w>'l at once communicate I »lth me, but thinking It might be an ac CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 22, 1898. commodatlon to have a little ready cash I Inclose draft 011 New York for sl,ouu. subject to your order. Awaiting: vour fur ther Instructions, 1 am your obedient serv ant, JOHN W PENNIMAN. Herbert read the welcome news in a dazed sort of way. He reread it more carefully, and ns its full import dawned upon him exultation took the place ol despondency in his breast. He picked up the draft with a feeling of elation "This is indeed a New Year's gift! This little piece of paper is worth ten times as much as I have earned this whole term. No more need to worry for the future! The news is too good to be true. Now I can bid defiance to thai august body, the school board of the Drown district!" Just then his eye happened to rest upon some very neat algebraic char act era on the blackboard which he had purposely directed "not to be erased" in order to attract the womdering atten tion of his visitors that afternoon. An instant change came over his spirits. "Still I would have enjoyed another term in this district. It is a shame that one's efforts are so little appreciated!" The gathering dusk of a winter's day admonished him not to lineer further, and he began to gather up his l>ooks with a constantly sinking heart. He had nearly completed his task when heavy footsteps and deep-toned voices in the hallway attracted his attention and in walked Director Hathaway. Moderator Stevens and Assessor Sim mons. "Good evening, gentlemen," was the pleasant salutation of the ex-scliool master. "Good evening," replied the director, in a somewhat embarrassed tone. "We hardly expected to find you here so late. But we've jest had a board meet ing down to my house anil was 011 our way to your boarding place. Seein' the door ajar, we thought maybe as you was Mill in the schoolhouse, and so we stopped in. As I was a sayin', Mr. Teacher, we've jest had a board meet in', and we liav;- come to the unanimous conclusion to reconsider our former ac tion and ask ye to stay the winter term. As I've been savin' to Mr. Stevens and Mr. Simmons, perhaps we was a little hasty in our course. The teacher lias taught us a good school, there ain't 110 gittin' around it.and 1 guess we've been a little prejudiced. 1 know my Helen never took so much interest in her studies before. Then another thing that has convinced us that we ought to reconsider our action was the solemn way in which the scholars felt 'bout jour leavin'. There's my daughter, for instance, she has been rnopin' around ! the house ever sence we Kent you notice, j and last night after school the whole crowd of scholars came traipsin* down | to my house with a petition askin' us j to reconsider our vote. So, Mr. Teacli j er, we have thought best to yield to all ! this pressure and ask you to stay. What j is more, we've decided to raise your wages to $:i() a month." During this long speech the spirits of the young man again rose to an exult ant pitch, but ln» replied in a calm and dignified tone, which the gathering darkness helped him to assume: "Gentlemen, it is indeed gratifying to me that you have thus vindicated me from the suspicion of failure in my work. liut whether 1 can accept your olTer at this late day is a question which i cannot decide without some reflection. The generosity of your offer to raise my wages is appreciated, though 1 shall decline to accept the increase. 1 will carefully consider your kind offer and leave my decision with Director Hath away to-morrow morning." The interview was now ended, and the board solemnly and wit'.i some surprise at the independent bm perfectly cour teous manner of the youthful master, j withdrew. Xew Year's morning, as the young ! teacher repaired to he home of the di j rector, lie felt that he had been doubly blessed. Yesterday he was but a pooi i and unappreciated school-teacher. To day he is the possessor of a snug for tune and stand: vindicated before tin school distric ! Does the reader won cer whieli t lotiglit gave him greater pleasure? And the answer which the young ped; gogue gave to the directoi that morUng; if anyone doubts its character, the joyful smile which li• : up the sweet face of the director's daughter when she heard it would have made further questioning useless.—De ' troit Free I'ress. J/EW you flnil tt rer " /ffidfoi, ,aln la, ' k u U'"si£tWLm l In of It ii your back i At a threatened * ■ n TSY-P fierce attack, Jußt the hour That you need your every power, Look a l<lt For a thought to baffle It. Just recall that every knave. Every coward, can be brave, Till the time That his courage should be prime— Then 'tis fled. Keep your head! What a folly 'tis to lose it Just the time you want to use it. * When the ghost of some old shirk Pomes to plague you, and to lurk In your study or your work, Here's a hit Like enough will settle it: Knowledge Is a worthy prize: Knowledge comes to him who tries— Whose endeavor Ceases never. Everybody would be wise As his neighbor. Were it not that they who labor For the trophy creep, creep, creep. While the others lag or sleep: And the sun comes up some day To behold one on his way Fast the goal Which the soul Of another has desired, liut whose motto was: "I'm tired." When the task of keeping guard Of your heart— Keeping weary watch and ward Of the part You are called upon to play Every day- Is becoming dry and bard— Conscience languid, virtue irksome. Good behavior growing worksome— Think this thought: Doubtless everybody could, Doubtless everybody would, He superlatively good. Were it not That it's harder keeping straight Than to deviate; And to keep the way of right, You must have the pluck to light. —St. Nicholas. fOkfOMMY. Q eve, but the tramp . y 0 did I.ot know that. Cj lie \%a-> tired and : — hungry, lie had been walking all •lay and hail not been well treated. \t many houses he had been turned away without ceremony; at others work had been offered. Only one woman had taken him in and fed him for nothing, and she had given him soda bread which always disagreed with him, and cold tea. The profession was not what it had been cracked up to be. thought the tramp, and he began to think that the burglar had the best of it after all. He had always called himself an honest man.and he now and then split wood, when he could not get food without, but. after all, was honesty the best pol icy? He knew burglars who had their little houses as neat and pretty as any one would ask to see. Texts round the walls, too, "God bless our Home." an l all that. The tramp liked a pretty text This very afternoon lie had been walk ing with a burglar—they separated when they came to the village in mu tual though friendly distrust —who was going home with a New Year's present for his little boy—a gold watch it was. He had taken it from an old cur mudgeon who kept it locked in a box doing no good to anybody. That bur glar was going home to have a eozv time with his wife and child, and here was he. a tramp, an honest man.and not able to get a bite of supper. Decidedly, tramping was not what he had been led to believe it. He thought he should try stealing, after all; he stopped, full of thought, and looked around him. A bright light shone from the win dow of a cottage hard by; the blind was up; the tramp stepped to the window and looked in. A neat, bright, cozy kitchen, a little old woman busy over the stove. No sign of tnasculine pres ence anywhere. "I'll try here!" said the tramp. He opened the door without knock ing and went i... The little woman looked up. "Good evenin*!" she said "1 didn't hear ye knock. What can Ido for ye?" "I want some money." said the tramp hoarsely, for he had made up his mind now. "Well. I haven't got a cent!" said the little woman, "and if I had I wouldn't be fool enough to give it to you. So there it is, you see! But you can dc something for me!" she added, bright ly. "You've come just in the nick of rime. 1 want this soup taken to a sick, hoy round in the next street. His mother is sick. too. and can't COOK things nice as he ought to have 'em; hasn't means to get 'em. neither. T ex pect; and I set out that lie should hnv something good and hot togo to sleep on and begin the new year with nour ishment inside him." All the time she was talking the little woman was busy getting out a bowl and cover and finding . clean napkin. "Here!" she said, and she poured some of the steaming broth into a gmall cup. "See if that ain't good! 1 glless likely 'tis." The tramp glowered at her, but drank the broth and said it was gaod "Then you take this!" said thewttle Woman. "Go round the corner to the fourth white house and say it's lor Tommy. What ye waitin' for?" "I didn't come here to do errands!" E»i'J tJie t:amp. "Yes, yon did!" said the little woman, sharply. "That's just what you com •» for. I've been waitin' the past half hour for the Ix>rd to send some one—l can't go out at night myself, fear of tli* asthmy—and He's sent you. Keckon He knows w hat He's about!" She pushed the tramp out gently but decidedly and shut the door on him. "Well, I swatj!" said the tramp. He carried the bowl safely to the fourth white house from the corner. Once, indeed, he stopped on the way and muttered to himself. "Tommy!" he said, and his tone ex pressed deep injury. "You'd think they might have called him William, or something else. There's names enough, you'd think, without hittin' on Tommy. But that's the way! A man don't have DO chance!" A horse and buggy stood before the white house, and when he knocked the door was opened by a short, square man with "doctor" written all over him. "What's this?" asked the doctor. "Soup!" said the tramp, "for Tom my !" "Who sent- you?" asked the doctor. "Old woman, brown house round the corner? All right! If she sent you I suppose you are a respectable fellow. Just jump into my buggy and drive to 140 Gage street! Give this note to my wife—Mrs. .Tones—and bring back the medicine she will give you. Hurry, now! I can't leave this boy, and I've been waiting half an hour for some body to come along." He nodded, and shut the door. "Well. I swan!" said the trampagain. Tie pocketed the note and drove rap idly away. He did not know where <!agc street was. but a few questions put him on the right track, and after a drive of some minutes he drew up be fore a neat white villa standing back among shrubberies. A lady answered his ring. She began to speak before she saw him. "Why, John!" she cried. "Did you forget your key? I heard the buggy wheels— O. mercy! Who is this?" The tramp gave he.r the note, which she read quickly. "Yes," she said. "O. certainly! I will get them at once. And while you are waiting"—she looked at the tramp, doubtfully. "The doctor sent you—it nmsi be all—l wonder if you would be so very obliging as to look at the fur nace for me? Our man is gone off; I don't know where he can be. and T am sure there is something vrnfig. The house is cold as a barn, a fid I can't leave the baby more than a tnomer i, and my girl is sick. If you would be so kind!" She showed him the cellar door and ran to get the medicine. The tramp stumped down the cellar "SAY IT'S FOR TOMMY." stairs, shook the furnace thoroughly, put coal on and shut it up. When he went up the fire, was burn ing well, and the doctor's wife was waiting for hiio with a packet and a cup of hot coffee, "You must be cold," she said. "And 1 am so much obliged. I cannot imagine where Thomas can be." "You're a lady, mum," said the tramp. On the way back he was hailed by a woman who came to her gate with a . haw] over her head. "Say, mister, wits you goin' any wheres near the j><jst orTice?" "Most probably T was," said the tramp. "I'm In the delivery business to night." "Then if you'd post this letter forme I'd be a thousand times obliged to yotj. It's to my son, and he'll fret if he do<i't hear from me Xew Year's day. Thank you, sir! I hope your mother fee's com fortable about you this cold night." The tramp winced at this. He said nothing, but took the letter and went. As he drove by a street lamp a rough voice called to him to stop. He checked the horse, and was aware of the burglar with whom he had walked and talked a few hours before. "Hello, pal!" said the burglar. "You're in luck! Seems to me you was the feller that was goin' to stay an hon est man, was you? And got a team a "ready ! That's smart business. Gim me a lift!" The tramp grunted and shook his head. ' I'm nn an errand," he said, "for a sick child." "Sick granny!" said the burglar. "You g" shares or I'll give you up." lie grasped the horse's bridle as he spoke, end his looks were ugly enough. "All right," said the tramp. "Jump in." He threw back the robes and held out his hand. The burglar left the horse'# head and was in the act of springing into tlie buggy when a well-planted blow sent him sprawling on his bark in the road. The tramp drove on rapidly. "Some folks ain't no sense of w hat's right and fittin'," he muttered. "There's a time for everything. Thai s Scripture." He found the doctor waiting at the door of the white cottage. "Sharp's the word!" said the doctor. "I was getting uneasy, my man." "So was I," said the tratnp. He ex plained that the hired man was gone and the lady had asked him to see to the furnace. "Gone, has he?" said the doctor, ami his face darkened. "Then that's the last time. He needn't come back, tha tipsy rascal." Again he looked keenly at the tramp, who was shifting a buckle of the har ness in a very knowing way. "Know anything about horses?" lie asked. "Reckon," said the tramp. "Who are you, anyhow?" asked tha doctor. "Well, I was wonderin'," said the tramp. "I took care o' horses five years. 1 been sick, and since then I been trampin' a spell. To-night I started out to be a burglar, but 1 nin't had no chance. I might as well go back to work again and done with it." "! think you might!" said the doe tor. "Come in and help me with thin boy. He's pretty sick, and his mother's not much better." "Well, it's all in the night's work," said the tramp. "I'll be dressmakin' before I get through with this." He stepped inside, but stopped short at the bedroom door with a white face. A child's voice was heard within, ask ing for water. "Who's th«?" asked the tramp, star ing at the doctor. "Whose voice is that ?" "Tommy's," said the doctor. "Tom my Trent." "0, my Lord!" said the tramp. "How did he come here?" "Ilis mother came some weeks ago."' said the doctor, "to get work in the mill, (iood, steady woman. She was doing well till she fell sick, and then Tommy took this fever. Nice boy, Tommy. Do you know anything about them? They seem to be quite alone. There was an older son, 1 believe, but he seems to have got into bad ways and gone off. Do you know anything about Mrs. Trent?" "Reckon," said the tramp. He hid his face against the wall for a moment; then he turned upon the doctor with flaming eyes. "Something's ben after me to-night!" he said, fiercely. "Things is all of a piece! I don't say what it is. Von may call it the Lord if you're a mind to I shan't nay nothin'. 1 tell yon I ain't had no chance." lie put I the doctor aside with one hand and slipped noiselessly into the low room. "Tommy," he said, softly, "how's things?" The sick boy started up on his el bow with a cry, looked, then fell back on his pillow laughing and crying. "It's all right!" he said. "Mother, it's all right! I'll get well now! .Brother Jim's come!" "Reckon," said the tramp. —Laura li. Ilichards, in Congregationalist. A TOO EXPENSIVE GIFT. lie —Won't you be my New Year's gift, darling? She—l'apa positively prohibits my giving expensive presents, and I'm worth a million, you know.- Detroit Free Press.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers