' 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.