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TRAMPING II SHOW.
More Adventures in Arizona's Gorges
and the Snowy Eange of the
San Francisco Peak.
BETTKG A BADLY BROKEN ARIL
Miles Awav From Any Human Being and
With Only the Dog Shadow as a
Sympathetic Companion.
HUXTKG THE BLACK-TAILED DEEE.
The Fnr of ft Crtat Wildcat rrestrred by ft Jndieions
Tse f Teeth.
I UV1UT FOR TTK DISPATCH.
HEN" life catne back to
me, Shadow was licking
my face and whining
plaintively. My hole
body was afire w ith pain,
and here and there were
red drops upon the
i$g$ rocks and snow and upon
?-" inv ciuiuiutr. -'A ci.
arm was uouuieu uuuci
V me and twisted between
gMwo rocks, and when at
Oast I mustered strength
and courage to rise, it
Ran to make a serious
disco cry. That arm
always my largest and
stroncest was broken
two Inches below the elbow, and the sharp,
slanting, lower end of the large bone pro
rutded from the lacerated fit-h. Here was
n bad job an ugly fracture, and o far from
any medical help that tiic arm would prob
ably be past sa-ving beiore I could get there.
I thought very hard for a few moments.
There was but one thing to be done the
arm vas to be put in shape right there.
I plared the discolored hand between my
feet, end tried thus to bring the bone back
to Sts placi-; but fl.'h and blood could not
Btnnd it Ah 'the -tispof my discarded
canwn 1 It wjs er Ion; and broad, and
EWmu; leather ;Ut tlic thing! I gave it
! flt turns about the w nst, and buckled
it around a cedar tree, Beside the tree was
olit, soaariah rook. Upon this I mounted,
&e!rc the tree, s-ct my he.els upon the vcry
dic, clenched my teeth and eyes and fist,
si.d threw mjself backward -very hard.
ACTED AS HIS OWN SURGEON.
The agony, incomparably worse than the
first, made me faint; but when I reeo ered
eonsciousneM the arm was straight and the
liscture apparently set as, indeed, it
proved to be I ci.t some branches, held
tliem between my tcth, trimmed them with
the hunting Unite, and made rude splints.
And then, with Shadow, who had been as
tenderly and tactfully sympathetic as a
brother" through it all, plodding mournful
ly at mT side, heedtas o the rabbits, I
Btagecred back toward the railroad.
Ah' the torture of that walk! Cut and
braised lrom head to foot; that agonizing
Erra quivering to the jar of every footstep;
weak with pain and los of blood, with cold,
wet feet, slipping in the muddy snow a
thousand years could not down the memory
of that bitter fith of January. At the track
I found an old spike-keg; and one of the
Vroad staves, cnt crosswise and trimmed a
little, made good "splints which never came
Ct until the arm was " vna so l wallcca
the remaining TOO mi Eto ' -is Angelci with
ti.e broken ami slang a b 'idanna.
' GETTING KIDOF . LE ." CATTLE.
Shadow and I staid theu turee days, rest
Inc Terr bard, and reveling in mail and
icmo toothsome little boxes from mindful
Iriends. Locke w as there, too, nnd was very
proud ot having fooled a conductor by some
pile ius tale, into bringing him all the way
lrom Maquelito. He left Wmslow next day
Biur my arrival, going through to California
cm a freight tram m charge of a car load of
cattle, and I afterward learnedsoniecunoug
factr. The cattle had beeu gathered away
routhrf Winslow by "rustlers," (stock
thieves), who hired my "Knight of the Sor
rowful Countenance" to escort the stolen
animals to a eonf-lrate of theirs in Los
Aagele, nnd kc him a ticket and money
therefor,
In thoe days emigrant cars were hauled
on freight trains; and among the other pds
EMigeis on this tran w as an unworldly old
c!Tjtyman, with whom the irrepressible
Locke became acquainted, and who had a
ticket for San Frauci'ca. As the train ap
proached the coast Locke began to fear
trouble the theft of the cattle might be
discovered and ofheers might be waiting for
bim in Los Angeles. The more he thought
the more lie disliked the prospect Hebc-
Ttu B!aek-2tC Detr.
pan to tell the clergyman sad tales of San
Francisco and to paint the attractions of
Lo; Anccles in glowmc colors, and at last
persuaded the unsuspecting old man to
swap tickets and take charge of the cattle
from Mojave to Los Angeles. At Mojave
they parted, Locke going north to San
Francisco and the minister south to Los
Angeles.
THE PEEACUXK'S WARM BECEPTIOX
I can imagine the good man found this
the liardest liock to which he ever minis
tered. At ei cry stop he had to get out and J
see to nis charges, prodding with a long,
iron-pointed pole thue that had lain down
that they might get up before being tram
pled to dcaiti, ard superintending their
lood and water. Vii-n the train arrived in
Los Angeles a tough-looking fellow with an
iBorthodox breath stepped up to the clergy
man and said-
"Yo did durned veil, pardner! Didn't
nobody ketch on at all ' Come over V let's
irrigate. lv'' Don't never drink? "Wnl,
I'm blanket) -blank-blank! Wal, take this,
anyhow," and he slipped a 520 gold piece
into the hand of the puzzled minister, who
walked away wondering what it all meant,
that people in California were so gratuitous
c-f profanity and double-eagles.
Tne nobfe snowy range of the San Fran
cisco peaks drew nearer as we cl J?d the
steady grade, and there was b. to be
trouble in their cold recesses. Six hours,
indeed, after passing Canon Diablo, I met
an unpleasant snow storm, which chilled us
bth the more after the hot sun at "Winslow.
Fre-in that on "or over l."0 mile3 we were
never out of the snow ; and for some days it
was tery troublesome. All the way across
the noble timber belt, fcO miles wide and
several hundred north and south, which is
scli a contrast to most of the treeless
plateaus of Arizona, wo were wading, much
f tie time knee deep; but with many inter
tin; things to make us forget thebe physi-
caliliscettiferts.
XOtrXTAJN'S TILLED WITIt GA3IE.
ilt fea bmwtiful area, that gruit lorcst of
V bStMtSf
""5
fc
-TJ
'fl Fi lSSl
X c" I r V i"
y -t' u a w
JS
2
the Flagstaff region thousands of square
miles of natural parks, unspoiled by under
brush, with giant, spar-like pines standing
sentinel about the smooth glades of knee
deep grass, rent here and there by terrifio
canons, bathed in the clear, exhilarant air
of more than 6,000 feet above the sea, and
full of game. In sidetrips off through tha
forest we came now and then upon all sorts
of tracks in the snow the rounded triangle
of the rabbit, the beaten runway of tha
lordly blacktailed deer, the pronged radii
of the wild turkey, the big, dainty pat
marks of the mountain lion, and the smaller
ones of the wildcat, the dog-like prints of
the coyote and of foxes Utile and big, and
many more.
The day after passing tha little sawmill
town of Flagstaff brought us glorious snort.
The snow was verv deep, and I should nave
taken no extra miles ot it, lest I catch cold
in the wounded arm; but we could sniff
game in the air, and who could help hunt
ing? "We poked through the drifts for
many fruitless miles, but late in the after
noon came our reward. "We climbed a long,
wooded hill against the cold wind, and just
as we cleared the summit Shadow sprang
forward like an arrow, with ringing tongue.
There, under the steep brow of the bluff, not
more than 30 iect away, was a royal buck,
the largest black-tail I have ever looked
upon. He was already in the air in thefirst
mad plunge for flight, "and I am sure my first
bullet had sped before he touched the snow
asain. Bang! Bangl Bang! till the six
shooter was empty, and before the echo of
the last report had ceased to ring through
the forest, the antlercd monarch, sprang
doubly high, pitched forward on the snow,
and lay kicking upon his side. Shadow
closed in with his usual temerity, and for
his pains got a parting kick that sent him 20
feet in a howling sprawl.
THE MARKSMANSHIP WAS GOOD.
By the time I could reach the spot the
deer was quite dead, and I was greatly
elated to find that oi my six shots at the
flying target, five had taken effect. One
ball probably the last had passed through
the bram from behind one car to in front of
the opposite eye He was a noble speci
men, weighing certainly over 200 pounds,
and with seven spikes on his magnificent
antlers. It seemed a bitter shame to leave
him there to the w olves and a ens; but w a
were at least ten miles from the railroad,
and there was no help for it. leaned out
several pounds of steaks, wrapped them in
a piece of the hide, and stowed the bundle
in an accommodating peck pocket of my
duck coat. And then those antlers they
must go home with me! But "how?" was a '
The Diamond Creek Omen.
perplexing question. My hacks with the
hunting knife upon that skull were very
much like stabbing a turtle with a feather.
At last I reloaded the six-shooter, stood
face to face with my game, and drovebulleta
through the skull until there was axing of
holes about the horns, and with a little
knife work I got them with their uniting
frontlet, afterward shipping them to Los
Angeles from the first station.
It was well past midnight when we
camped in the snow a little west of "Will
iams, and on the summit of the Arizona Di
vide, 7,345 feet above the sea. There was a
pile of new cut ties, which were soon trans
formed into a cubby-house, with a "bed
stead" of two dry ties; and there we passed
the bitter night very cozily, with feet to a
roaring fire and stomachs distended with a
huge meal of venison roasted in the ashes.
SKINXESG A CAT WITH HIS TEETH.
In the rocky fastnesses of Johnson's
canon by which the railroad slides down
from the Bhoulders of the great ranee to
lower valleys we started a couple of wild
cats, and a lucky shot finished one, though
I missed a much easier shot at the other.
The fur was in prime condition, and I
spent three laborious hours skinning the
big cat a job which could never have been
accomplished with one hand had I worn
false teeth.
Nearly all dav we were in sight of the
strange, natural column ot stone CO feet
high and no bigger around than a barrel,
which towers alolt upon a shoulder of Bill
"Williams Mountain, and is called Bill
"Williamb monument. Bill was a famous
sout of early days, and died in his cave on
the mountain like a gray wolf in his den.
The Apaches caged him there, and finally
slew the grim old hunter, but not until he
had sent 37 of their braves ahead to the
happy hunting grounds.
At last irom the deep snows of three days
before we had descended to the tropics, and
found verdure and full-leaved bushes and
s Tiiigirt; flowers. Birds sang and butter
fli -s h ve.-ed past (The wild, majestic cliffs
1 "med taller, nobler, more marvelous, at
every step, until the "Wash ran abruptly up
aidiust a titanic pyramid of roseate rock,
:md was at the end; and we turned at right
angles into the grander
CASW OF DIASIOIvD CKEEK.
The sun was already lost behind the left
hand walls, but the rock domes and pinna
cles high above were glorified with the
ruddy western glow. For another mile we
hurried on. clambering over rocks, pene
trating dense willow thicke s, leaping the
swift little brook a score of times
and a long, jarring leap was
not the most comfortable thing for
mejnstthen. And at last, where the cliffs
shrank wider apart, a vast rock wall 6,000
ieet in air stood grimly facing us, and the
brook's soft treble was drowned in a deep,
hoarse roar that swelled and grew as we
climbed the barricade of bowlders thrown
up by the river against the saucy impact of
tne brook and sank in silence beside the
Eio Colorado.
I dragged together a great pile of drift
wood and built a roaring tire upon the -oft,
white sand for there must be no catching
cold in that arm. In half an hour I moved
the fire, fceooped a hollow in the dry and
heated sand, rolled our one blanket about
Shadow and myself, and raked the san 1 up
about us to the" neck. And there we slept,
beside the turbid river, whose hoarse growl
filled the night, and under the oppresshe
shadow of the grim cliffr, whose iiut tops
were more than a mile above our heads.
Charles F. Lujimis.
RAPPELCHEN.
rWBITTEN FOR THE DISPATCH.
In the market place of a large city stood a
slonc house many years old. In the first
ffoor of this building lived Count Stern,
who was a very w calthy man, but w ho had
neither wife nor child, and lived entirely
alone in hi handsome ooms. On the sec
ond floor a merchant by the name of Ziramet
made his Jio'mc. He was not so rich as the
Count, but his wife and little daughtcrj
Olga added much to Ins happiness, and the
small family lived very contentedly. Amon"
Olga's pets was a larc, white rat called
mm
mmmk
THE
Schnurrdiburr, which was noted for its ex
cellence in catching mice.
On the top floor of the old stone house
lived the tailor Schnapps, whose purse was
ever empty, 'and whose healthy family of
boys and girls was always hungry. Above
the toilor's residence was a loft, where
Schnurrdiburr loved to wander on moon
light nights, and here he often met his
friends, at which time the cats would sing
in such a manner that any one who heard
them imagined them to be in great agonyj
but that was not the fault of the cats, for
they had clear, strong voices, but had never
had tne proper (raining.
Under the foot-board in the tailor's work
shop, lived a large family of mice. They
had chosen this place tor their home be
cause the tailor greatly disliked cats, and
would never allow Schnurrdiburr in his
room. Thus all' the mice of the second and
third stories sought refuge in the tailor's
apartment But they did not enjoy a very
bountiful living; for work was often scarce,
and the hearty children left very littlo of
any food that was brought into tile house
One time, the mice were so. hungry that
they stole the bread and cheese which the
tailor had put away for his dinner. This
made the man so angry that he said to his
daughter Katrine:
"To-morrow you must go to Merchant
Zimmcr and borrow his cat and it will not
take Schnurrdiburr long to rid us of thea
thieving mice."
The poor little mice, from their place be
hind the foot board, heard these words, and
trembled w ith fear: for they knew what
sharp claws and teeth the merchant s cat
had. That night a family council was held,
and an old mouse, who, on account of her
age and wisdom, was called the counselled
thus spoke while all the others kept a re
spectful silence:
"We have a cousin Knuppchen, who, pro
vided with every luxurv, lives on the first
floor of this building in the Count's room.
Since Schnurrdiburr's arrival, none of us
dare to visit our relatives, for more than 20
of our number have perished by this 'cruel
enemy. I know not whether our cousin
still lives, but if he does he will be able to
help us. He knows of a cheat of gold
which was buried in the cellar years ago
by an old miser, who is long since dead.
Knuppchen, thinking to find bacon, once
gnawed a hole in his chest and was much
disappointed to find gold. Of tourse the
cold is no use to mice, but we could
give a couple of pieces to the tailor, if he
would promise to keep the cat out of his
apartment"
"But how are we to do this?" asked one
raouse, eagerly.
"I shall tell yo
on." reDlied the counsellor.
"Katrine's doll Mina is very good to us,
and often shares her supper with us. Kap
pelchcn shall go to her and tell her our
plans. Katrine always takes her doll to
bed with her, and in "the night for that is
the only time dolls can talk Mina will tell
the little girl what we propose to do. In
the morning Katrine will relate her dream
to her father, and thus the tailor will hear
of our wish to save our lives by giving him
gold, and surely he will pity us."
All the mice were w ilhng to profit by the
counsellor's words, and so soon as the
tailor's family had gotten quiet for the
night Eappelchen crept to the bed -where
Katrine lay with her doll clasped in her
arms. The brave little mouse told his
story, which Mina at once whispered in her
young mistress' ear. In the morning tho
little girl said:
"O, father, I have had such a strange
dream. I thought that the mice were in
freat trouble; because you had told me to
ring Schnurrdiburr here, and they said
that if you will keep the cat away to-day
they will bring us gold."
"H'm," said the tailor, "I have very lit
tle faith in dreams; but you can try it you
want to, and keep the cat out of the way."
In the afternoon Katrine said to her doll:
"Mina, I am going to Merchant Zimmet's
room; but I cannot take you with me, for I
am going to play with Schnurrdiburr, so
that he cannot run after the mice."
The mice listened with delight to these
words; and a moment later Bappelchen
started on his way to the first floor, where
he arrived in safety. He soon found a snug
little hole, lined with wool and pieces of
soft silk. Here was a large,fat mouse
taking'his afternoon nap. l ' "
Bappelchen recognized his cousin, and
spoke politely to him. Knuppchen awoke,
kindly greeted his visitor, and, after treat
ing him to a generous lunch from the
Count's storeroom, he willingly led the way
to the chest ot gold. Bappelchen took two
of the shining gold pieces in his mouth,
and, after thanking bis friend and
promising to make another visit soon, he
hurried back to his home in the tailor'a
workshop, where he was received with tho
greatest joy and many questions concerning
his trip. Bappelchen told that on his way
homo he had made a narrow escape. Just
as he was passing the merchant's room,
Katrine, with Schnurrdiburr in her arms,
opened the door. The cat spied the mouse,
and wished to spring alter it; but the littlo
girl held him so fast that he could not get
away until Bappelchen had made his -escape.
The gold pieces were intntsted to
Mina's care, who carefully placed them on
Katrine's pillow after the little girl had
fallen asleep.
In the morning, the tailor was so de
lighted when his daughter gave him the
precious gold, that he exclaimed in a loud
voice:
"If the mice would fnrnish me with
enough money to buy this whole house, I
would allow neither Schnurrdiburr nor any
other cat ever to enter the building."
"When the mice heard this, they wondered
if there was any way bv which they could
carry the gold to the tailor, for they thought
how happy they would be if it was not lor
their constant dread of cats.
Another meeting was held, and tho
counsellor, as usual, did all the talking.
She said:
"It would require much gold to buy the
house, and we should be obliged to make
many trips to the cellar, and run great risk
of losing our lives before we could carry all
tne gout nere. iiut we snail mart; the place
where the gold is buried, and then tailor
Schnapps can find the chest himself. "We
shall, through Mina's friendship, persuade
Katrine to keep Schnurrdiburr out of our
way. Then Bappelchen shall go to our
cousin, who will give him a couple of small
bones, which he shall carry to the hole
leading to the chest The tailor can go into
the cellar at any time, and when he has
found these he will know that the buried
treasure is not far away."
All these plans Mina whispered to the
sleeping Katrine, who in the morning told
them to her father. The tailor laughed
over the little girl's dream, and thoueht it
hardly possible that a chest of gold could
have been so long undiscovered. However,
he determined to explore the cellar and see
what could bo found there. And taking a
lantern and shovel, he descended the dark,
narrow stairs. The tailor w.is greatly ex
cited when he found in a remote corner two
small bones. He at once began to dig, and
his surprise and delight knew no bounds
when he found the chest filled with shining
gold. Now he was richer even than the
Count, and hereafter it would make no
difference to him whether work wos plenty
or scarce. Tailor Schnapps did not forget
his promise to the mice; for, as soon as he
bought the old stone house in the market
place, he told Merchant Zimmet that
Schnurrdiburr must be bent away, and that
no other cat should lh e in the house. Al
though the tailor and his family, mo ed'
into a much more comfortable house, a rela
tive of theirs, who lives' in the old rooms
says, that Bappelchen and his friends are
very happy, and now, withoat fear, make
many Msits to their cousin, whom they
often entertain in a royal manner.
Paysik.
SOME ENIGMATICAL NUTS.
Puzzles for the Littlo Folks That "Will Keep
Their Brains Busy for Most or the "Week
it They Sohe Them Correctlj Home
Amusements.
Addreis communications for this departmeitt
to E. It CitADEOimic, Leicisfon, Maine.
lGfi5 WHAT IS JIY SAME?
Across the ocean 1 am found;
Jiuhcul, In anguish I nbound;
lte-rtoie to whole mid nenpate.
And I revolve at rapid "rate;
PITTSBURG DISPATCH,
Indubious, too, I work with a will;
Cut oil' my head, I'm usclul still;
Afraln behead, and If you look
You'll find mo in somo quiet nook.
Curtail, and I'm myself again.
Though shiall, important 1 remain!
Itestoro to whole and syncopate,
I'm doubly what I was of late,
And yet I hold but abnaf space,
In worldly view, of time or place.
Reversed. I pirn von ennfio from toll
"When wearied with earth's work ami.
Droil.
Turn back again, behead, behold
A vessel, orn loaf of sold,
Tho skull preserving brain complete,
The earth deep down beneath your feet.
Behead nnd you'll be suio to see
A useful artiole in me.
Curtnll, nnd I am still the same,
A useful artiole remain.
Restore to whole, then twioe curtail,
1 pivo ou health if you should fall.
Behead, n kindred near am I;
Cut tail, a vegotablo espy.
Setet.
IC84r-A. GLOBE-TEOTTBB.
Around tho world we'll take a fly,
Like Jules Verne orXelllo Ely.
Krom o ery place whon wo commence
We'll borrow to defray expense;
Tho footnote will tho rest oxplain.
Now, hurry up and catch tho Tram,
IXote Take a letter from each geograph
ical name so that nn English word will
remain, nnd that the doloted letters will
spell tho namo of an eccentric colehrity.
W. WlLsoir.
1666 SQUARE.
L Strlob devotion. 2. A title borne by
everyone of the daughters of the Kings of
Spain and Portugal except tho oldest. S.
Issued. 4. Jeered. 5. To contain. (Obs). 6.
Onowho directs tho course of a vessel. 7.
Plants cultivated in Franco and Holland.
Texlv W. IIoochi.
1667 TitAirsrosrnas'.
Ho was taking a ride over mountains and
rocks,
But his horso one as lightly as rabbit or fox,
Till he happened to step on a smooth, rolling
stone;
When tho steed slipped and stumbled, th
- - rider was thrown ;
He rose, badly shaken and bruised by the
tall.
And two himself roundly for coming atall;
Then he limped to a cabin that stood near
the way.
Where a three sat and smoked at a long; pipe
of clay.
She stirod when a stranger appeared at her
door,
And looked wild enough for an Inmate of
f",
But she proved a great use, for she well un
derstood The simples that grow in the meadow and
wood.
She looked at his injuries, rubbed them and
bathed them,
Jre his wounds with flr balsam, and skill
fully swathed them;
Sohemountea his homo and rode gingerly
on.
While sho Jingled tho feo that her surgery
won,
And snnz to the sound of its musical chimn?
x wisn ne'u como oiton, ana. tall every
time!" jr. C. S.
1CG8 CURTAILMENT.
Peoplo in a one
Olton rido with foar;
Ibtal sits upon them,
With aspect die.ir. .
Thcro may bo a slip,
Theie niay bo a trash.
Spoiling all their trip
Things may go to smash.
So they sit and fret,
Nor enjoy the ilde,
But more nervous fret, '
As they onward glide.
Bitter 8wxet.
1669 TIALF SQUARF-
Acratincof iron (Port) Tn net of
x.
loading (Obs.) 3. Made rpo tion. 4.
Ti listed (Obs.) 5. A small v el o . si swivel.
6. To speak. 7. Spoke fulsL V o Sciintnr
proper name. 9. A propositi "n 10. A letter.,
Tcll , Hoocns.
1670 CURTAILED DECAPITATION.
Cnrtail the whole, its color shows;
'Tis dark, as every schoolboy knows.
Restore, behead, and you will find
'Tis strong and haid, to bones inclined.
The total ii a certain wood
Which long to mo tor black has stood.
And yet in "Webster may be seen
xt sometimes is uotn reu ana green.
A.L.
1671 CHARADH.
There were one, two of Spain,
Came sailing oe'r the main,
In days long past und gone,
With Ponce de Leon.
Tney feared not seas nor savages,
But only time's slow ravages.
It seemed so hard to think
Their sturdy uhole must shrink;
Their gallant hearts and bold,
Grow leeble, faint, and cold;
So hero they came, foi sooth,
To find tho fount of j outh.
But bravely though they sought,
Their labor camo to naught,
Long, long those two of Spain
Ha e crossed tho silent main,
To wheie, in very truth,
Abides tho fount ot j outh.
M. C. S.
1672 DECAPITATION.
The autumn wind.
With uhole unkind
Has touched this second flower,
And dwarfed its bloom,
Which, 'mid tho gloom,
Glows with otherial power.
It courago speaks
To him who secKs
The difficult to dare;
Lifting its eyes
To cheerless skies,
And braving wintry air.
BlTTEIl Swiet,
ANSWERS.
1653
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16C3-Hat.
SUNDAY, ' ATTGTTST"' 9. '
m BROW LASSES.
Story of tho long War on Women
and Child Labor in tho Mines.
A GEEAT AGITATION IN ENGLAND.
It Came Near Abolishing Mticoats Even at
the Mine Mouths.
THE WORK OP MRS. MARGARET PARK
comrEsroDi2icz or the dispatch.
"Wigan, England, July 31. The "Pit
Brow Lasses" of England and "Wales are
about 6,000 in number. They are the girls
and women of all ages who are employed
about the "brows" or mouths of British coal
and iron mines. Ho other working women
in England have received so much notoriety
from the press, owing to various futile
efforts in Parliament to enact laws prohibit
ing such form.of labor, and among the lowly
of England I have never come upon a more
interesting or worthy class.
In former times women were employed
"below grass" in the English mines, and it
is scarcely 50 years since, in 1842, that all
female labor in the underground collieries
Was put an end to, almost solely y the ef
forts of the late Lord Ashley. " "Wholesome
restrictions upon juvenile labor in mines
were also imposed a year later. But pre
vious to that time, ever since English coal,
iron and tin were first mined, the labor of
women was utilized in a manner revolting
and horrible beyond description. The pro
hibition of female labor in mines was,
therefore, a wonderful revolution. In Lan
cashire, Yorkshire and "Wales it was espe
cially so. Here thousands of girls had
found employment in the pits. Their chief
labor was as draw ers and "thrutchers" for
the colliers who cut or dug the coaL They
could never rise above this worse than
slavish condition. Many could "pick" as
well as any man, and at times "stood turns"
with husbands or brothers in this extraordi
nary toil.
LITTLE CIULDEEN IN HARNESS.
These female workers were chiefly girls
from 12 to 20 years ot age, and their work of
drawing, or "hurrying" as it is called in
Yorkshire, then consisted in dragging the
coai in Doses on sledges or In trucKS on
wheels from the "stall" where the collier
w as at work, to the shaft of the pit. Often
the miners would be cutting tho coal, as is
now frequently the case in a place not two
feet in height, and from one to two miles
from the only outlet to the world above.
Through pitch-black passages, too low to
permit of their standing upright, and up
and down steep inclines they were com
pelled to crawl. Dullinc the heavy londa
after them, or "thrutchine:," that is, push
ing, them from behind. Frequently two or
three children were harnessed together to
thus pull one or more loaded trucks.
Leathern belts were pnt around their waists,
and then the little ones were fastened to
gether, by a chain passing between their
legs from one belt to another, when the
children clawed, scrambled and tugged
along on their hands and toes alter the man
ner of four-footed animals.
The distance these loaded trucks had to
be hauled was in most cases frightful. In
stances are authenticated where grown-up
female drawers had to traverse over G,000
yards of rugged galleries and inclines each
journey, or in a day's work were compelled
to travel a distance of 13 miles, always in a
stooping, and often in a creeping,posture.
CRIMES ONLY TO BE HINTED AT.
Then there were many sadder wipngs and
outrages in those underground slave pens.
E where the law was unknown and not even
dreaded. One ot the horrors proven before
the House of Commons was the case of a
tiny lad who was compelled to drag a truck
alone a mine nassace scarcely two feet hitrh.
I-in which there was a foot of muck and
water, so that his head could be scarcely
I kept above the noissome stream. The in-
I famous treatment of 'women' in these mines
is only known to their Maker. The ex
posure of but the faintest part of all this
wrong brought instant legal prohibition
under the gravest penalties.
But there was a large number of women
left in every colliery region who clutched
ot any manner of labor that would sustain
life. A few were already working with
men and lads at the pit brow. Gradually
nearly all of this work, such as dumping
the trucks from the "cage" in whioh they
are "brought to surface" from the bottom
of the mine shaft, screening the coal and
sorting out the slate and stone, loading the
ooal wagons with the coal ready for the mar
ket, and carrying the coal dust to the ovens
where it is translormed into coke came to
the lot of women. Theoretically the collier
opposed it at the public house and in meet
ings of his union. Practically, he secretly
supported it, for his brother might have
been killed in an explosion aad the wife or
daughter at the pit brow took up the fight
for bread where death checked it; and bis
own arm and leg might be picked off some
day in the machinery, and his own mother
or wife could spring to the spade or screen,
and do a man's labor for half man's wage.
TO ABOLISH IT ALTOGETHER.
So for a name for them all, though many
were lassesno longer, nnd I have seen
women of CO and 60 years working nimbly
at the screens, they came to be known as
"Pit-Brow Lasses," and in time got nearly
all the pit mouth labor into their dextrous
hands. But, a few years ago, mutterings
were heard in those districts like .Northum
berland and Durham, where no women were
employed, against the system. It meant,
these tellows who had all the labor them
selves said, the impoverishment of that
many men and otten of that many families.
Then came a miners' conference at Bir
mingham in January of 1885, and a resolu
tion there passed that women should not be
allowed to work about the mines was covert
ly inserted as a clause in the coal mines'
regulation amendment bill, which came up
for debate in the House of Commons in
March, 1886.
This was followed by broadsides against
women's pit brow labor intheMirurt' Journal
and other influential trades' papers, as well
as in a horrifying leader in the London
Lancet. Then a vast army of female reform
-champions, headed by Emily Faithful, who
afterward confessed her error in the mat
ter, began writing to the press, writing
to members of Parliament, and writing to
anybody else who would assist in advertis
ing their interest in the-matter, much alter
the manner ot our own noble phalanx of the
shrieking sisterhood; and lor a time it
seemed that the poor pit brow lasses, as the
bill was to be acted on the following May,
would be given short shriit at the mines.
MAGNIFIED INTO A NATIONAL DISGRACE.
The wily trade unionists who were can
nily using the various sentimentalists of
England in order merely to give 6,000
men the places made vacant by 6,000
women, very shrewdly put forward the un
aiswerable proposition, where the pit-brow
losses were unknown and had no one to
speak lor them, that their occupation was
"unsexing;" that it was so laborious as to
greatly shorten human life; that it Jed to
Immorality in its sodden, machine-like
mixing of men and women; that the dress
of trowsers and short petticoat was indel
icate and improper; and that idle and
vicious habits w ere engendered in the hus
bands of women so employed. The whole
country was astonished and horrified at the
"discoiery of this new blot on English civil
ization. It accordingly arose unanimously
with the.spongc, as it were, of Government
interference in its hand to wipe it out.
Then one lone woman also aroue. This
one lone woman, almost unaided, defeated
the entire efforts of the entire trades unions
of England, conquered the opposition or in
difference of two Home Secretaries, Childers
and MJtthews, in succession, moulded pub
lic opinion to the cause of the pit-brow
lasses; and achieved one of the most remark
able social and labor victories ever won in
Great Britain.
It is a pleasure to make such a woman
better known to Americans. Her name is
Mrs. Ma'rgatetPark, late mayoress of Wigan.
1891
Her husband,-deeeased in November, 1890,
was a leading iron merchant there, and per
haps the most popular individual in Lan
cashire the one exception being his wife.
He was elected to the mayoralty for five
successive terms, between 1882 and 1888, tha
same being counted an extraordinary honor,
as "Wigan is the oldest borough in Lanca
shire, having a municipal history dating
from the davs of chivalry and the crusades.
The city is the center of the Lancashire coal
and iron trade. It is a district of collieries
and colliers. Mrs. Park is a Lancashire
lady by birth, and had all her life striven
for the betterment of the lowly. She is a
shining example of a thoroughly cultured
woman of wealth making use of her gifts
andmeansin her own neighborhood, with-
uui. jcijuinnga "mission or the recognition
of the Sunday papers in order to reach the
highest fruition of her genius for good.
SHE LEAVENED THE WHOLE LUMP.
These 6,000 helpless women had no de
fender. She instantly became one. By
clear and truthful presentations of their
morality, their healthfulness, their need
and that of those dependent upon them,
and the injustice of the proposed depriva
tion of their only means of subsistence,
with her ringing urgency upon the influen
tial women of England of the prinoiple that
all avenues for voluntary labor by women
should be expanded rather than restricted,
such noted women as Emily Faithful, Lady
xjuiiuuii ana jjyaia UecKer, ot woman s
rights fame, gave the pit-brow woman's
cause their support instead of opposition.
Intelligently presented facts and clear,
cogent logic on the subject were at once
supplied to Home Secretary Childers and
to members of parliament. "With the en
thusiastic co-operation of Vicar Mitchell,
of Pemberton, an important colliery town
near "Wigan where a large number of
women work at the pit-brow, great meet
ings of the pit-brow worne-i themselves
w ere held, and these were followed by like
great gatherings in Yorkshire and "Wales.
This class of women are noted for their
integrity and bluntness. "They are
jannock right through," as they say
In Lancashire. They not on
ly have ready tongues, but there was a, to
them, terrible conviction and necessity be
hind their rude speech. Petition after pe
tition was dispatched to London. These
extraordinary gatherings of extraordinary
women, witn an extraordinary woman as
their leader, interpreter and deliverer had
n electrical effect throughout Britain. A
complete revulsion of feeling and conviction
was the result. .
FOUGHT THEIR OWN CAUSE.
But their first victory was a temporary
one. J.be trades unions, appearing to gra
ciously accept defeat, were only awaiting
better opportunity. Just a year later, early
in the spring of '87, word came to Mrs.
Park from London that the clause against
pit-brow women's work was again Deing
pressed, secretly but powerfully, by trades
union and other political influence, and that
there was great danger of tho Government
recommending the measure, through the
then new Home Secretary, Mr. Matthews.
Mrs. Park at once determined that the
pit-brow women should go in person before
Parliament and the Home Secretary. She
wrote and telegraphed, mine owners em
ploying women to call meetings, explain
the threatened danger, and ask the women
at the mines to elect by ballot two of their
number from each mine to join the deputa
tion. This was done, the lasses bearing
their own expenses by subscription,' so that
no taint of mine owner's interest could be
charged. A continuous ovation greeted
them all the way to London. Mrs. Park
had meantime secured permission from See- '
retary Matthews to present the deputation.
The women were lodged at the Girls' Club
and Home, Soho Square. Their arrival
created the greatest interest and excitement.
Boyalty itself never attracted greater
crowds. They were taken to Parliament
House, and were also granted a peep at the
House of Lords. The lawmakers of Great
Britain were won over in a body.
A PICTURE BOB A PAINTER.
And so the pit-brow lasses won. But I
have often thought it a pity that some great
painter could not have caught this splendid
scene, where the hopes of the 6,000 women
whqse work and hojne life I shall describe
in a succeeding article were centered. The
Home Secretary ot a mighty Government,
with all the austerity and insignia of State
surrounding him, reserved, puzzled, yet
thoroughly kindly; one woman, accom
panied by famous women, lords and com
moners, standing before him as petitioner,
her face the prototype of that noble one
the artist has given us in Isabella before
whom Columbus is urging his cause beam
ing with infinite kindness and subduing
glances upon her irrepressible charges, yet
half turned in grave respect and apprehen
sion to the one who could grant or defeat
their aims; and, to complete the picture, a
crowd of rosy-cheeked, buxom pit-brow
lasses, with heads craned eagerly forward,
their sparkling eyes wide with wonder and
alert attention, lips half parted as if to
'.'speak oot" ou the slightest pretext, and
every one of the sturdy wenches with mus
cles tense with anxiety, and the whole
figure, in posing and attitude, unconsciously
the embodiment of defiance and defense.
Edgar L. "Wakeman.
ICE IS T0TJE LEIHKS.
2Tot Every Alcoholic Beverage Is Improved
by the Cooling Solid.
Men make a mistake during this hot
weather by drinking anything that is cold
and that feels good going down their
throats, says "William Schmid, the author
oi "What and When to Drink," in the St.
Louis Globe-Democrat. Kow there are only
about ten different liquors that should come
in contact with ice. Ice won't hurt whisky,
brandy, gin and beer, butitdoes hurt claret,
sherry, champagne, burgundy and other
high-grade liquors and cordials. Cham
pagne can be put in an ice box without be
ing damaged, but no ice should be put into
I any more than to be put into the ice box.
xn tne summer time liquor should not
be consumed directly after a meal On a
very hot day, if you are moving about
actively, don t drink iced stuff. If you can
sit down for an hour or two and get cool it
is all right, but it is dangerous to partake
of iced drinks nt any other time. A little
gin and milk well shaken up with seltzer,
but without ice, is a good hot weather de
coction. A glass of vichy, with a few drops
of absinthe in it, will not excite the stom
ach and will calm the brain. Another good
thing is a mixtnre ofgin, cream, maraschino
and a dash of claret. If taken slowly it
will prove very refreshing.
TTEED OF 0PEBA MTSIC.
Theodore Thomas Sit s tho American Peo
ple Want Independent Compositions.
The taste of the people in this country in
musical matters is becoming of a more
critical stamp every day, says Theodore
Thomas, the great musical director. Since
the inaugurations in the Madison Squnre
Garden this summer I have become more
impressed with the tact than ever before.
The prevailing taste is for what can be best
described as independent compositions. I
mean those compositions not included in
operas. These embrace sacred numbers,
symphonies, descriptive ajrs and the like.
Uor instance, one night we gave a Strauss
waltz, a theme and its variations by Tshai
kowjky, a dance suite by Saint S.iens, an
extraneous composition by Dvorak and half
a dozen other compositions not included in
operas.
Such a programme is popular, and a larg'e
proportion of the requests we receive to
place certain selections on our request pro
gramme, given one night everyweekf desig
nate such compositions. Quite different
are thev from those that came in years ago,
when four-fifths of the requests named
operatic music, and usually of a light
character, too. The love ot music in this
country is growing all the time, and the
day ii not far distant when we shall. number
among' us composers who will command the
attention of tne world just as those of the
old countries command it now.
MEN SORROW COMES
There Is No- Philosophy That Can
Hold Out tho Consolation
THAT RELIGION HAS TO 0FFEE.
In All. Jhe Theories of the Wise There Is
No Such Word as Tardon.
CnRISTIAXITT BEACHES THE MASSES
r W KITT JOT POB IDE DISPATCH.
The subject is the Consolation oi Itei
ligion. A wise man vrote a book once
about the consolations of philosophy. No
doubt he discovered a great many philo
sophical consolations. One of the diffi
culties, however, about that sort of consola
tion is that one must be a philosopher in
order to appreciate it. Philosophy is for
the wise.
The old philosophers, the Epicureans and
the Stoics, whom St. Paul met at Athens,
taught an immense deal of truth; and the
truth they taught was exceedingly helpful
and uplifting. Put the best teachings of
those two philosophers together, and yon
get a pretty fair imitation of Christianity.
But the Epicureans and Stoics never got
'much influence over the people. They
lived in the most irreligious and immoral
era of all history, and included nearly all
the good men of their day, and they were
always trying, as we say, to "reach the
masses." But they never succeeded. "With
all their truth and with all their goodness,
the world about them still went on believ
ing lies and following the devil, absolutely
uninfluenced.
NO MODERN SUBSTITUTE FOE RELIGION.
These philosophies were of necessity re
served for the educated and the cultured.
They were like the substitutes which some
excellent people propose to-day to take the
place of religion elevated, ethical, altruis
tic, spiritual, but essentially philosophical;
and, therefore, unpersuasive and, indeed,
imcomprehensible, except to people of a
philosophical turn of mind; having no un
derstandable message to the common people,
who, after all, make up a considerable ma
jority of the inhabitants of this planet.
These schemes positivism, secularism,
ethical culture, and that sort of thing are
most excellent, and, indeed Christian so far
as they go, but the immense difference be
tween Christianity and any sort of philos
ophy is that Christianity has something to
say, and is able to say it, to every man, wo
man and child, learned or unlearned, the
world over. It is not only the philosophers
that need consolation. The "consolations
of philosophy" nre not enough.
philosophy nre not enough.
Philosohnhy. indeed.is able to console th
e
philosophers only when they stand in no
great need ot consolation. Philosophy is
an excellent religion for cultured people
in fair weather.
NICE FOR FAIR WEATHER.
When the skies shine and business is
prosperous, and there is money in the bank,
and home is pleasant, and books are friend
ly, and nobody is sick, and no sense of sin
darkens the past or the future why then,
if one is philosophically inclined, and "up"
to that sort of interesting speculation,
philosophy may, perhaps, give all the con
solation that is needed. Philosophy, that
is, is an admirable consolation when there
is no sorrow.
But let the skies be overcast; let trouble
follow trouble in funereal procession along
the way of life; let discouragement and
doubt and discord and doctors' bills and
death come in to take away all delight and
desire of living; let the sense of sin and the
necessity of salvation get hold upon the
conscience, and where are the consolations
of philosophy? What can the philosopher
say beside the sick bed and the death bed?
The only thing I know that he can say out
of his honest heart is.that cry-Trhich Pliny
uttered in the midst of his bitter bereave
ment Pliny himself a philosopher of the
philosophers "O for some strong and abid
ing consolation!" In the presence of the
real sorrows of life, in the face of death,' in
the sight of sin, philosophy is simply dumb.
There is no strong and abiding consolation
in philosophy, even in philosophers.
DOESN'T REACH TO HEAVEN.
Philosophy is all down here on the
ground. There is no voice in it speaking
out of tho sky. It has nothing to say to us
about God, or about the life beyond the
grave. Its teaching is entirely ethical; its
concern is with daily conduct That sort of
teaching is immensely important, and that
concern ought to be the chief concern and
was, in Christ's day of the Christian re
ligion. But you have got to have something
more than that in a life which has the
mystery of death at the end of it, and the
mystery of pain all through it.
Somebody said to me the other day that
he could very readily accept the ethics of
Christianity, and if there were nothing but
ethics in it he would very gladly become a
member of the Christian church. But a
simply ethical Christianity would have no
answer to the profoundest questions of
human life; except "I know not." It would
nave to stand here among the ills, and
fiains, and sins, and funerals, with dnmb
ips. It would be like philosophy, offering
no consolation. It is the peculiar blessing
of religion that it is able to
WTTE AWAY MEN'S TEARS.
"Comfort ye, comfort ye my people," is
the errand on which the ministers of the
Christian church are sent. "Come unto me,
all ye that are weary and heavy laden," is
the gracious invitation which they bring.
"And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem,
coming down out of heaven from God, made
ready as a bride adorned for her husband.
And I heard a great voice out of heaven
saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is
with man, and he will dwell with them,
and they shall be his people, and God him
self shall wipe away ail tears from their.
eyes; and there shall be no more death,
neither sorrow, nor orying, neither shall
there, be any more pain; for the former
things are passed away."
It is worth while to read that amid the
prophecies of the millenium which are just
now so plentiful. It is somewhat diflerent
from most of them. What St. John saw
was not what Edward Bellamy or William
Morris see. But it is the Christian vision
of the twentieth century. It is a look into
a land of universal consolation.
Consider the Christian revelation of
divine love.
THE CROSS OF CALVARY.
The Christian religion teaches us that
God is our lather, and that He loves us
more than the tenderest of human fathers
loves his children. The central symbol of
Christianity is the cross of Calvary. And
one of the blessed revelations of that cross
is the truth that hnman pain and divine
love can go together. God loved Christ un
speakably. Christ was the "only begotten
Son of God," whose giving to take away
our sins was the supreme assurance of God's
love for us. And yet Christ suffered. All
through life he went, poor, of humble sta
tion, accustomed to hardship, having no
place to lay his head, unpopular, subiect to
insult, acquainted with weariuess, having
intimate knowledge of disappointment and
ingratitude and iniustice. finally endurini;
the shame and agqny of crucifixion.
God loved him, and yet all this was in
life. And when we sec that, and have such
ills in our live, we know that the pain is
not a contradiction of the fatherhood of
God. God's own son suffered as we do, and
worse. It is not likely that we will ever
understand, with our human understanding,
the mystery of pain. It will always remain
like the mystery of life, one of the unan
swerable problems. Why, in this case and
in that, in your case and in mime, things
happen as they do, nobody can adequately
say.
WHAT WE NEED TO KNOW.
But this, at least, we want to know about
it is there an angry tyrant or a loving
Father over us? 'And philosophy cannot
tell us. When prosperity attends us, it
IT
looks as if God loves us; when adversitr
befalls us it looks as if God hates us. Which
is the truth? That is the question which
the Christian religion unhesitatingly an
swers. The Father himself loveth you. The very
hairs of your head are all numbered. In
the world ye shall have tribulation; the dis
ciple shall be as his Master; and yet, peace
I leave with you, let not your heart ba
troubled. Come unto me and learn of me,
came from God to tell us what God is. "God
is love," said one whom the Master taught.
"Who shall separate us from the love of
Christ?" asks another disciple, "shall trib
ulation, or distress, or persecution, or
famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?"
And he answers his own question: "Xay, in
all these things we are more than con
querors through Him that loved us. For I
am persuaded that neither death, nor life,
nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers,
not things present, nor things to come, nor
height, nor depth, nor any other creature,
shall be able to separate us from the lore of
God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
The disciple who said that knew the con
solation of religion.
THE CONSOLATION OF HOIE.
Consider also the Christian revelation of
the life to come. Everybody knows what
a consolation there is in hope. We are
saved by hope, St. Paul says. All the doc
tors know how true that is. And all tho
rest of us know, too, how hope brings
strength, makes endurance possible, and
taking tired travelers by the hand leads
them to the end of their Journey. The task
does not seem so hard if there is a reward
worth working for at the end of it. The
pain is not quite so bitter under the sur
geon's knife if health seems likely to coma
after it. No ill 'condition is quite unbear
able if it is only tempered n ith hope. Hope
is a universal consolation.
Human life is so lamentably ont of bal
ance, full of injustice, people so seldom get
their full deserts of good or ill, the world is
such a disordered tangle that another world
seems a logical necessity. Or else God puts
us to intellectual and spiritual confusion.
A life to come is the best explanation wo
can think of for a thousand strange condi
tions. The truth of the very central asser
tion of all religion, the truth of the exist
ence of God, seems to demand, if we may so
say, for the justification of God himself,
that there be
A WORLD BEYOND THE GKAVE.
Otherwise, God ia not love, cares not
whether we serve Him or curse Him, dis
tributes benedictions and maledictions
without regard to character, suffers the
saint to go miserable and the sinner to go
happy into a common grave, sets Cxsar on a
throne and Christ on a cross, and answers
the defiance of the one and the love and
faith of the other with the same answer
the answer of impartial and unending death.
Even philosophy has guessed at hope.
But we know. "In my Father's house are
many mansions; if it were not so I would
have told you. I go to prepare a place for
you." There shall sin meet its merited
punishment, and love be rewarded with
love, and all the tangles straightened out at
last, all wrongs made right, ideal justice
done in the kingdom of heaven, in the city
of God. Look with hope into the blessed
future, O soul oppressed with the world's
injustice, smitten with disappointment,
misunderstood, borne down with pain of
body, laden with care, stricken with the
separation of bereavement. Only wait, and
there shall be an end, and a beginning.
Trust God, and He will bring it to pass.
ROBS DEATH OF ITS STING.
The dead are not dead. Death is but tha
lifting of the veil which bancs between us
and the larger life. By and by there is a
meeting again, and no separation after that,
forever. For those who have served God
there will be no crying in that other coun
try. Only keep heart and work on, in tha
midst of tribulation. "I will come again and
receive yen unto myself," He said in whom
we put oar hope. And that will be the be
ginning of life and joy eternal.
If the consolation of the love of God and
the consolation of the hope of a life to coma
are ever imperatively needed both together,
it is in the case of one who has his eyes open
to the fact of sin. A quick, impulsive, un
expected passion sweeps away the reason of
a man, and down he falls into some black,
shameful sin. He has encountered dis
grace. At the least, he has come into that
pitiable state in which he is despised by his
own conscience. He has often said, follow
ing the service book, that he was a miser
able sinner. Now he says that over again
and means it. That is what he is a miser
able sinner. And what has a miserable
sinner to do with a righteous God? What
part or lot has he in any future happiness of
the saints? The man is lost.
THE GREATEST POSSIBLE LOSS.
That is something quite different from
losing money. This man has lost his souL
Where now shall he look'for consolation?
Never man needed it more. Will phil
osophy console him? You know what sort
of consolation philosophy gives in such a
case: philosophy says, you are a fool. You
have sown and you shall reap. There is no
love, no hope, no reconciliation with God,
no offer of forgiveness, in any of the ethical
philosophies. They are all intended for
well-behaved people.
That, however, is an extreme case. The
majority of people do not lie a great deal,
nor steal a great deal, nor drink a great
deal, nor offend God in any way. They do
not get away down into the depths. But
it happens sometimes in the life of every
body who learns the real meaning of re
ligion, that there dawns upon the soul a
great, strong consciousness of sin. The
ideal life is set before a man; thus and thus
must he live whom God loves; and the man
looks at himself. And he sees sin. He
sees that by temperament, by natural dis
position, that is, by nature, he is undevout,
unprayerful, careless of spiritual things,
selfish, far removed, very far removed, from
the kind of life that God loves. And he
reads how without holiness no man shall sea
the Lord, and he realizes that in him
dwelleth no good thing.
PHILOSOPHY 0FFER3 NO PARDON.
And death is coming, and judgment after
it, and this man must stand before the
righteous God; and what shall he say?
"Miserable man that I am," he cries, as a
better man than he cried before him, "who
shall deliver me from this dead body,"
from this perpetually besetting sin? And
has philosophy any answer to make here,
any way of converting this man, of giving
him a new heart, and a new hope, of bring- "
ling him near to God, and setting him at
peace xnere is no sucn wora in an tne
philosophies as pardon, no such fact as
atonement, no taking away of the sin of
the world. "O Lamb of God, that taketh
away the sin of the world, have mere;;
upon usl" That is the only prayer that
has pardon and peace for an answer. There
is no consolation for the sinner except the
consolation of religion.
People think sometimes that they can
get along without religion. Philosophy if
just as good, and even better. So long as
there are lecture rooms and music halls and
Court Houses there is no great need of
churches. Books and the reviews will take
the place of sermons.
WHEN A DAEK CLOUD COMES.
But there comes an hour in every human
life when there is a sudden end to all illu
sion and the soul looks straight into reality.
'Out from the depths of some great darkness
of pain, of death, of sin, the soul cries for
consolation, prays for light. What a man
wants then is to know if there is a Father
in heaven or not, a meeting again after
death or not, a Savior from sin or not.
He doesn't want any guess abqut it; ha
doesn't want any philosophical speculation
and conjecture about it; he wants someboJy
who knows to tell him, so thatiie can know.
And just that is Christ's message, and tha
Church's mission. That is the consolation
of religion. George Hodges.
Chemically Pare Sugar.
There is only one refinery in all the world
which makes absolutely pure, sugar. This
manufactory is in Germany, and it supplies
chemists and druggists with sugar for solu
tions which mnst be unclouded. This
chemically pure article would not find much
sale for table use, as it is a dirty, grayish
white in appearance. When dissolved it
gives a pertectly clear solution, there being
no artificial coloring matter in suspension.
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