1 Mfc S3
jmifa fpiiid Ji2k ill gegitlai.
' i
IS;
F
i
B. F. HOHWEIER,
THE OONHTITUTION-THE UNION AND THE ENFORCEMENT OF THE LAWS.
Editor amd
TOL. XLVII.
MIFF LINTOWN , JUNIATA COUNTY. PENNA.. WEDNESDAY. JUNE 21. 1893
NO. 27
EH, R TALMAGCS SERSUS
J3e Brooklyn Divines Sunday
beruba.
wnojedl: 'I.eson CSarned KonTlEt
Story of Khud."
Tv.xt: "B'tt vhti Vie children of Israel
T.-d iin'.o t!w L.ord (. Lord raised tutm up a
d' r- rer, Ful, the sin of tiera, a Benjanv
ite. a m.in Uft hn'lrd." Judges liL, 15.
Eni w.i a filler ia Israel. Ho was lft
hr.mie.l, an J what was peculiar about th.
tnha of j;-nji-!in. to which he belonged
thr wer in it 700 loft bunded men ani
jt -ei dexterous bad they all become In the
use o t V !' ft hand that the Bible savs they
oouM sin;.; stones at a hair's breadth and
-t WW.
We!;, ih'-r- wis a kin? of the name o
E-'I-n v.: own an oprin-ssor of Israel. He
, .j u,,An t!:n a mi.st outrageous tax.
i ;: i i, the man ;l whom I flrit spoke, had a
iiv.ii" poi.Tii.-:.ri to destroy that oppressor
II. i: pretend-m? that he was Kolng to
j, iy t tux, an 1 a.ske.1 Usee IUng Enlon. He
w is t il i he w is in the summer bouse, the
p!- v wtsl-'h the kin retired when it was
t..- t. s 't in the palaee. This summer
he.;- .v ut i f. :i.-e surrounded by flowers and
tr-s a:, i i'r.::,-:nir fountains and warbling
tlMs.
Eii'J't entered the summer house and said
fo K:a:i:ia that he hud a secrot errand
with him. Immediately all the attendants
were w:ive-l out of the royal presence, Kinir
Esle-n r.. s up to receive the messenger.
K !. the .-rt handed man. putshls left hand
iiis r.K-ht side, pulls out a dagger and
tan:. K.-ion tnroi: rli until the haft went
In aft r the bin de. Lulon falls. Ehud comes
forth to Mow a trumpet of recruit amid the
mount.!:! of Knhraim, and a great host is
tr.nr-h ,'.d. and proud Moab submits to the
eon-p:- r it. an 1 Israel is free. So, O Lord,
let nil jjy enemies perish! So, O Lord, let
ail Thy inen is triumph I
I learn tirst from this sulject the power Oi
left h i:. fed men. There are some men who
hv p' y-i 'al organization have as much
streiit.'i in their left hand as in their rig t
h.m 1, hut there D something In the writinB
oi this t. -it whih implies that Ehnd had
M-.;e d. ,'e.-t in Ms rij;ht hand whioh eom-p'll-d
I dm to use the left. Oh, the power of
left h an led r.en ' Genius Is otten self obser
viinf. .ireful nf itself, not given to much toll,
ti:-'i;:i-in eti- to in own atrcrandizeinent,
wnie many a man with no natural endow.
rr.i.ts. aetually defeitive ia physical and '
rr.em.'i! onranlrvition. has nn earnestness for
tun rik-iit. a patient industry, an ail consum
ing p 'rs"v. r.in e whieh achieve marvels for
the ijn.-do :n of Christ. Though left handed I
m K'.ud. tiiey can strike down a sin as great j
and imi'- riai as Elon.
I hav- sen men of wealth gathering about '
them ail their treasures, snuffing at the cause j
of a world lyinir in wickedness, roughly i
orh rim,- L;i . inis off their doorstep, sending I
t!r dogs, n.it to lick his sores, but to hound !
him oil th Mr premises, catching all the pure j
rain of God s tnei-inginto thestagnant. ronv. I
fnr-in'i.iMt 1 pool of their own selfishness !
ric'it-hanjej men, worse than useless
wail" many a man with large heart and little
pur.-e has out of his limited means made
pov-r:y leap fur joy and started an influence .
tirit ov-rsp.ms the grave and will swing
rouud and round the throne of God, world
.th..iit end, amen. '
Ah. vie, h is high time that you left handed !
men who have been longing for this gift and '
that pienco and the other man's wealth
should take your left hand out of yeur pook-
t. Who ma le all these railroads? Whoset i
up nil these eitiesy Who started all these '
atir-h -s an 1 sehools and asylums? Who
has done nil the tugging and running and i
pnl' Mir? Men of no wonderful endowments,
thou- tr ids of them acknowledging themselves
to I- e- t iiaa L, and -t they wore earnest, j
and y. they were determined, and yet they j
Tere trlumpliant. j
Bu' I do not mpposo that Ehud the first :
tiai be took a sKng in his hand oould throw
a stone a hair's breadth nn l not miss. I
u; It was practice that gave him the
if.'nierful dexterity. Go forth to your :
plii-p'i of duty and he not discouraged if ia
yuur i'.rst attempts you mlas th. mark. Ehud '
missel it. Take another stone, put it care- (
fuhymto the sling, swinr it around your
i"a i, tak l etter aim, and the next time you .
il. -:r,'e the center. The first time that a
iia-on r.n.-s his trowel npon the brick h.
a t -X(i!t to put up a peffftJt walL j
lae ::- t tiiue a carpenter semis a plans over
0' ir 1 or drives a bit through a beam he j
does ii. .t expeet to make perfect execution.
7h ; tinea boy attempts a rhvme he I
do- - ii t expect to chime a "Lalla ftookh" i
or a "ha !y of the Lake." Do not be sur- j
pns-1 if in your first efforts at doing good ;
you are n v.-ry lar-;ely successful. Uu'ler- j
sfin ! that u.-e,ulness is an art. a science, a
trj ; .
i'
dim
re was an oculist performing a very
eraticn on th. human eye. A
lout.g i tor stoo iby and said i "How easily
yj'i that, it doesn't im to cause you
any tr. -w .;e at aiL" "Ah,M said the old ocu-h--t,
"it is v ry easy now, but I spoiled a bat
lui of ey. i to iearu that. lie not surprised
if i: tie's some praetioe before we can help
n.eu m I:,.,-ni ey i ;ht und bring them to a
'-i- u of the .tuh Left handed men to the
' l.o:e the j;o.spol for a sling and faith
and repentance for the smooth stone from
tile i.roui, take sure aim, God direct the
W"pu, and great Uollaths will tumble be
fore y..'U.
I ham a ho from this subject the dan get
f won-liv elevation. This Kirlon was wnat
tile w-.r.a called
great man. There were
nun.;re.i
iltiio z-
I: -. .-,
Hei, p ,
n wno would have considered
t - honor of their Ufa Just to hav.
' ' ' -n y . nitho'tih he Is so
: w e-idiv po-ition. he Is not bevond
f Kim !'s dagger. I see a great
t.-y nT to climb up In social
i"ir. r an i l"a that there is a safe
vh. r- far above, not knowing that
i n of f i ve has a top like Mount
: i with pepetual snow.
' at the children of Shinar for'try
1 a tower that could reach to thfl
' I tivak if our eyesiirht were
' ii "i r:i wo could see a Babel In
r.-.-irl. Oh. the struggle Is fierce!
' lu'i'sf store, house against
t i-a.ii-r street. Nation against
i' nl for which men are run
' ,s n 1 chandeliers nr.l mirrors
i:' ' lands and presidential equip
fi.y e,-t what they anticipate,
.. .. ..,,tj jj,,n re not a!tf from
v'l...- they ,v and, worse than
are r. t i'e a ter th'W are dead.
- " ' -wii.e root up graveyards.
' a u in e, s Up mto publicity,
'ri 1 d-e-s him honor, and
e: up into sycamore trees to
' he passes, and as he
r 1 1 ' t'e- s'ei ilders of the people
ra .- :: - ,,r h:,ts and a wild liuzza.
r t 'c -imo mnn is caught between
prititing prtss and mangled
!. in I tie-vry same persons who
h, i r- ,,re erv . "Down with the
'own with him !"
at the feast, the mighty men
a ntf.n-; Hi! around him. Wit
'" 1 'vine an 1 the wine like the
e r..bs ,i among the chandeliers.
I
r I
tie.
I'
It
'I ! T.i
lite
Ila:
t.
l ie! r- .lasti down on the decanters.
r'' i'h of luing.n gardens floats in OB
Au " i; !'r: vo1 of revelry floats out.
t ' '' w.r"i':'"' "a 1 eije-try and folded ban-
i j Jin llJ.ttlU VI n HUB, 19
tl
A t il ''.l'in'l ho.irta tttnn hAntincr
Is rieV ,"'"'"' S:- The Mood on the floor
;,J'"1 lf'nn the wine on the table.
""""I"'n has departed.
lvi.
jr.n '4e. uri wius a irreat general.
is nl i 1 ','1 honored chieftain," or "He
tid " 'n w,,rhliy attainments," butthis
?oo 1 ,i' ' ' " ami mo, "lie was a
H, a faithful rhrurt lan fWenH ftf
And that In the larf dv will he the
u,K'!St of ail
euiogiums.
XiZ ';irt,.er Irom tins, subject tuat death
doV. r,:n!T,t house, Eglon did not
Sower i '? th:'t fine P'""e- Amid all the
"lol lhM ,lrlft-1 like snow into the
Was 7'.ln tl", tinkl" a;' 'lh of the fonn-
iern- r.." '"""d of a thousand leaves flct-
."i one tree branch
in the cool breeze
trouble out of
hlng that spake
the winter.
when the
ostU ut ai oar
Jn-.i, y7lr worse perhaps than hun
,',. I""'!'le in I'ahylon, but hU position
o.,.. 'h. bo cont.-nt with Just such a
t'h'-'s ,m 1 h ,?,r1;l',,Hi yu ' may
:h,
tbe ki;': "P."nake feverish
f-i-irrv,:.i','reT.'u'.not.
hn ti.. .l m l,1BU ' U
r-id l. . J,u saron.L and
" rge, it to
Lse -ir-
cold 2nd Vi. th? -Wld
Here is an aged man. He has done his
work. Ho has done It gloriously Thelvnw
panlon, of his youth are aU h Th!
..ren dead. He longs to b, u Z
wearily the days and the night" past' .
On, death, there is a mark for theel Take
Co with him Into th. light, where era nr
iiT 7, dim' ana ? hAlt wlitons not through
the Icing years of eternity. Ah. death will
strlw",' , ,Deah, tUrM tomTh.
straw lied and from the aged man ready for
the smes and comes to the summer house.
What doest thou here, thou bony, ghastls
monst r, amid this waving grass and undo?
this sunlight sifting through the tree
branciies? ifbildren are at play. How quickly
their feet go and their locks toss in the wind!
lather and mother stand at the side of the
room looking on. enjoying their glee. It
does not seem possible that the wolf should
ever break into that fold and carry off a
lamb. Meanwhile an old archer stands look
ing tnrough thethieket. He points his arrow
at the brightest of the group he is a surs
uiHrksman thobow bends, the arrow speedsl
Hush, now ! The quick feet hove stopped,
and the locks toss no more la the v "d.
i.augnter has gone out of the haiL Deati
In the summer house !
Here is a father in midlife. His comtna
home at night is the signal for mirth. Ths
children rush to the door.and there are books
on the evening stand, and the hours pass
Jway on glad foot. There is nothing want
that home- KeUglonia there and
sacrifices on the altar morning and night
Xou look in that household and say , "I can
not think of anything happier. I do not
really believe the world is so sad a place as
some people describe it to be." The scene
ohanges. father is sick. The doors must
be kept shut. The dcathwatch chlros dole
fully on the hearth. The children 'whiSDer
and walk soitly whero once thoy romped.
Passing the house hito at night, you see the
qniek glancing of lights from room to room.
It Is all over. Death in the summer house.
Here Is an aged mother aged, but not in
firm. You think you will have the joy of car
ing for her wants a good while vna As she
goes irom nouse to nouse. to children and
grandchildren, her coming is a dropping of
sunlight in the dwollin-r. four children see
her coming through the lane, and they cry,
"Grandmother's come !" Care for you has
marked up her face with many a deep
wrinkle, and her back stoops with car
rying your burdens. Some days she is
very quiet. She says she is not
sick, but something tells you you
wHl not mueh longer have mother. She will
sit with you no longer at the table nor at the
hearth. Her soul goes out so gently you do
not exactly know the moment of its going.
Fold the hands that have done o mnnv kind
nesses for you right over the heart that has
beat with love for you since before you were
born. Let the pilgrim rest. She is weary
Death In the summer house !
Gather about us what we will of comfort
and luxury, when tho pale messenger comes
he does not stop to loolc at the architecture
of the house before he comes in. nor entering
does ha wait to examine the pictures we have
gathered on the wall, or bending over vour
pillow he does not stop to see whether there
is a color in the cheek or gentleness in the
eye, or intelligence in the brow. But what
of that? Must we stand for ever mourning
among the graves of our dead. No ! No ! The
people in Bengal bring cages of birds to the
graves of their dead and then they open the
oagos. and tho birds go sinirlng heavenward.
So I would bring to the graves of your dead
all bright thoughts and congratulations and
bid them think of victory and redemption. I
stamp on the bottom of the grave, and It
breaks through into the light and glory ol
heaven.
The ancients used to think that the straits
entering the lied sea were very dangerous
plaoes, as they supposed thnt every ship that
went through those stsaits would be de
stroyed, and they were in the ha'ut of put
ting on weeds of mourning for those who
bad gone on that voyage, as though they
were actually dead. Do you know what they
called those straits? They call them the
"Gate of Tears." Oh, I stand to-day at the
gate of tears through which many of yout
loved ones have gone, and I want to tell vou
that all are not shipwrecked that have gone
through thoao straits into the great ocean
stretching out beyond.
The sound that comes from that other
shore on stiil nights when we are wrapped
in prayer makes me think that tbe departed
are not dead. We are the dead we who
toil, we who weep, we who sin we are the
dead. How my heart aches for human sor
row I This sonnd of breaking hearts that I
hear all about me '. This last look of faces
that wtli never brighten aaln! This last
kiss of lips that never will speak again !
This widowhood and orphanage . Oh, when
will the day of sorrow be gone?
After the sharpest winter the spring dis
mounts from the shoulder of a southern gale
and puts its warm hand upon the earth, and
In its palm there comes the grass, and there
come the flowers, and God reads over the
poetry of bird and brook and bloom and
pronounces it vey good. What, my friends,
if every winter had not its spring, and every
night its day, and every gloom its glow, and
every bitter now its sweet hereafter? If you
have been on tho sea. you know, as the ship
passes in the night, there is a phosphorescent
track left behind it, and as the waters roll up
they toss with unimaginable splendor. Well,
across this great ocean of human trouble
Jesus wains, on, tnat in taf nospnores-eut
track of H.S feet we might all follow and be
illumined !
There was a gentleman in the rail car who
saw in that same car three passengers of
very different cirsumstanees. The tirst was
a maniac. He was carefully guarded by his
attendants ; his mind, like a ship dismasted,
was beating ngainst a dHrk, desolate coast,
from which no help could oome. The tram
toppal.and the man was taken out into the
asylum to waste away perhaps through years
of gloom. Tho second pitssenger was a
culprit. The outraged law had seized on him.
As the cars jolted the chains rattleiL On his
face were crime, depravity and despair. The
train baited, and he was taken out to the
penitentiary, to which he had l-en con
demned. There was the third passenger un
der far different cireumstHnues. She was a
bride. Every hour was gsy as a marriage
bell. Life glittered and beckoned, llercom
panion was taking her to his father s house.
The train baited. The old man was there to
welcome her to her new home, and tia wliiw
looks snowed down upon her as he sealed W
word wits a father's Kiss.
Oufokly wo liy toward eternity, we wm
soon be tnere. Some leave thi life con
demned culprits. They refused a V"
they carry tneir chains. Oh may it be wrt
us that, leaving this fleeting life for the next,
we may And our Father ready to greet umta
our new home with Him forever That will
be a manage banquet FrV,
Fathers bosom' Father a kiss! Heaven I
Heaven I
A. at! is u'wiijs i-Kir, but j- r by
its own fault.
If you do not pay down tuere comes
a day when you ninat pay up.
ever was a voice of cin-cicnce
ailonced without retribution.
Countries are well cultivated, not as
they are fertile, but hs they are free.
There is uoihlnff more precious toa
man than his will; there is r.othmr
which he nlirqulshes with so much
rrlncianre.
One-half our rorebodrnjr9 cf HI to
wr nUhlcrs are but our wishes, which
we are ashamed tu utter In any othci
'orin.
A ror-e bud is Nature's thought, the
foil Mi om is its expression.
There will be music in the heart al
wavs If yon touch the riRht strings.
To grow ol 1, and yet be agreeable, is
a ereat art. . ,
A vain rran lets us see all his weak
points and hides his strong ones.
HAQAB IN THE WILDER ESS.
T H. F. WILLIS.
Tb cloud?" brke- Llgnt ,loo1 nPn th
JS?-.?n -na.nK. b?my- Earth received again
Anutdnefiia th"und dyes; and leavS.
Anu delicate blossoms, and the tinted flowers
And lTCffi5',,,h.V nd'th toVhe dewr'
And Mirretli with the daylight, lifted up
Its beauty to the breath ol that sweet morn.
vL'h?1" ,re dark to "nrrow; and the light.
TtZ""? ?.nd frKfnt air were sa5
, ?i-url"lt 0l,," ,rom ll' Plcy pore.
riJLai''X b'rd'' ere eoling as life
w ere a new linn to them : but obi it cams
L lon her heart like discord, and she felt
How cruelly it tries a broken heart,
lo see a nilrtu In anytblug It loves?
She ""Jessed Aballm' t1"- Her lips wars
T111 "veln'r1 ,6ft them : and the wndnn
aI ,ran .,V,m,t ,orehd "ere swelled out.
eve """Id burst tliem. Her dark
VrM and tMr""!. nd the light of heaven,
w inch i mane its langua-e legible, shot back
fi-t"ii!.er !"' u",e', " "d been flame,
lier notile boy stood by her, with his band
i lasprd In her own, aim bit soft, tender feet.
Niiidaied for Journeying. He had looked un
into his mother s lace, until he caugtit
ino spirit there, and bis young heart was
seiling
Bene -.tli ins snowy bosnm, and his form
, IV. . v,"""!' ni pn-iidly In his tiny wrath.
as it ms light pioi onions would haveswelled.
Had they Lut ma'.ched hi, spirit, to tne man.
Why tends the patriarch aa he Cometh now
tpon l.ls etaii so wearily? His beard
is low upon ins breast, and his high brow.
N written wliu tne converse of Ins God.
llesreth ihe swollen vein ( f agony.
His bp is quivering, and his wonted sten
Of viijor Is not there: and though the morn
Is passing fair and beautiful, he breathes
Its ireshness as it were a pestilence.
'hi man mav bear with suffering: his heart
is a stionn thine, and no dike in the arasn
Ol pain iliai mines mortality; but tear
One chord :. (lection clm-j to. part one tls
Thai binds him to a woman's tender love.
And his great spirit yieldetb like a reed.
He pave to her tbe water and the bread,
Bt spoke no word, and trusted not himself
10 look upon net face, but laid his hand,
In slleet olesi ig, on the f.ilr-h.ilred boy.
And lelt her to her lot of loneliness.
She went her way with a strong step and
Slow ;
Her pressed Hps arc hod, and her clear ey. un-
dlmmed.
As It l ad been a diamond, and her form
Borne proudly up, as if her heart breathed
tliroimh.
Her cmld kept on In silence, though sh.
pressed
His baud till It was pained; for he had caught
As I have salt, her si.lrlt, .ud the seed
Of a stern nation had been breathed upon.
Cut Ilag.tr found
No shelter In the wilderness, and on
she kept her weary way. until tne boy
II un down his head, and open'd his parched
lips
For nater: hut she could not give It him.
She laid down beneath the sultry skv
rm j was better than tne close, hot breath
Of the thick pines und tried to comfort him:
But he was sore athirst. and his blue eyes
Were dim and bloodshot, and he oould not
know
Why God denied him water in tbe wild.
She sat a little longer, and he grew
lihastly and faint, as If he would have died.
It was too much for her. Rue lifted him.
And bore him farther on, and laid his Bead
beneath the shadow of a desert shrub;
And, shrouding up her face, she went away.
And tat to watch, wnere he could see her not.
1 111 he should ale ; and, watching him, sh.
mourn'd:
- God stay thee in thine agony, my boy I
1 can "t see thee die; I cannot brook
Upon thy brow to look.
And see death settleon my cradle Joy.
And have I drunk the lmht of thy blue eye!
And could I see you die?
"I did not dream of this when thou went stray
Like an unbound pazelle, among the flowers;
Or whtltng the soft hours.
By The rich guh of water-sources playing.
Then Mnking weary fo thy smiling sleep.
So beautiful and deep.
"Oh no! and when I watched by thee the while.
And saw tliy bright lips curling in thy dream,
And thought of the dark stieam
In my own land of Egvpt the far Nile,
How pray'd I that my'father's land might be
An heritage for theel
"And now the grave for Its cold breast hath
won theel
And tny white, delicate limbs the earth will
press :
An oh' mv last caress
Must b ei thee cold, for a chill hand is on thee.
How can I le ive mv bov. so pillowed there
Upou his clustering hair!"
She stood beside the well her God had given.
In gush in that cup wilderness, and bithed
Th forehead of he- ctillu until he laughed
In his revivh.g happiness, and lisped
11 s Infant thought or gladness at the sight
Of the cool plashing of his mother's hind.
UNDER SUSPICION.
Something very unusual to quiet
Taltulcv had happened, and Talmley
was decidedly unromfortableabout it.
Of courso everybody knew, as
everybody knew everything In that
delightful place, where each neighbor
was a friend, each friend a brother;
and what the vlllape folk knew was
this the miller, old flarvey Jameson,
had been robbed.
"A (jueer business," said the mill
er, shaking his dusty head solemnly,
and telling the circumstance for the
fiftieth time to his uear neighbor,
Farmer Greene, who had dropped In
to sympathize with his old friend:
nobody knew 1 haii the money but
my daughter Jennie and young Le
voe, anil I can't suspect a single souL
I put the money in a tin box, and put
that among a lot of other boxes In
the cupboard, waitin' until I could
en to the bank with it, an' lo and be
hold! when I went to get it out yes
terday, there wasn't a single sign of
box or moiioy. I can't understand
It"
"Neither can I, neighbor," said
Greene, running a brawny hand over
his sho -k of untidy hair, "neithercan
I. Hut I do think you've set too much
store by that young man ye've took
Into your hou -e, an' mebbe ye've mis
took him. lie's a deal too fine about
his cloths an' his hands, an' his hair,
to be nnr too honest: but," cautious
ly, as In- saw the flush that stole over
Jameson's face, "hut mebbe i'u
talk in' too fast; but it's mighty curi
ous, and one don t know what to
think."
"One n:i,'ht try to think nothin'
that weren't charitable," said th1.
miller, gravely, "an' 1 don't suspect
the lad. It is more'n I'd like to lose,
for it takes a time to earn it But
young Levoe didn't have nothin' to do
with the stealin' no more'n you or
me an' I'd rather people wouldn't
kinder hint he had."
"Taint In nature not to think It
seein' he's a stranger, an nobody
knows what or who be is; an' he has
fine ways with him an' talks like a
schoo'nicister," said Greene, stub
bornly. "I don't like to see you took
in. neighbor, and I'm mighty much
at raid you are by that mlllhand of
yotirn."
Then Greene held out his hand to
the miller, who was deep in thought,
and bade him go d -day, and betook
himself to his duties on the farm hard
by the mill.
Hut the farmer had left a seed of
doubt behind him; and when bus6ucb
a set d not found 6oll to nurture it,
untii Its fruit hung heavy on the
giant Use which shadowed trlejad-
.... rt...tl;wWHl'll.p " i .I
- ri 1 '.iK.r 1
(hip, or darkened for ever a soul 1m:
mortal?
It was not without many a struggle
against tbe suspicion that at last
Harvey Jameson admitted It with a
slgb.
Who had robbed him of his hard
earnings, save some stranger? for his
neighbors were his friends, and
honest, as he knew.
In Talmley there was but one who
bad not been born there, and that one
was Dick Levoe, the stranger who
had crossed his threshold six months
before to ask for employment.
Jameson wanted a hand In the mill
and hired Dick, taking him as a
boarder. The young man had "fine
ways," as Greene said.
He was not especially handsome,
but he was cheerful, courteous, and
willing to work, and yet for all that,
showed unmistakable signs of having
had no occasion to perform any labor
at some time not far past He was
educated even Jennie, who had
spent a year at boarding sc.iool, could
be Instructed by him.
"I'll Just keep my eyes open, an'
not let on for awhile," thought the
miller; "but as Greene sai;l, who else
could have stolen the money?"
He perceived no change in Dick,
no confusion, no sign of guilt; but
greatly to the good man's consterna
tion, he discovered something else.
The young man was in love with
pretty Jennie, and she was fully con
scious of the fact
There was a new difficulty, and one
which tbe miller did not care to
meet.
He was pondering on it one day,
three weeks after the robbery, when
Glavln of the Hollow called and paid
him ten pounds which had been due
some time.
"I hear your house isn't a very se
cure place for money," said Glarin,
with a smile; "but I hope nobody
will walk off with this while you're
asleep."
Til take care of that," answered
the miller, conscious that Dick could
hear. "I don't calc'late on beln'
robbed twice by the same person; an'
I've got over thlnkln' everybody I
meet Is honest Good-day, sir. Much
obliged."
Glavln departed, and the miller
went Into the house.
Jennie was singing softly as she
sewed at a window; Mrs. Jameson
was not in, having one to visit a sick
neighbor.
Without a word the old man passed
Into his chamber, and there secreted
the ten pounds, frowning as he did so.
Til send that fellow paekin' soon,
whether I find him stealin' or not,"
he muttered. "It ain't none too
comfortable a feelin' to know you've
got to lock up every shilling you net,
and not tell anybody where you put
It"
He ate his supper that evening in
silence; Jennie and Dick chattering
Incessantly, and Mrs. Jameson told
about every ache and pain that
racked the woman she had been to
visit
But tho miller could only wonder
whether or not that frank, manly
face and those cherry tones of his
employee belonged to a knave and a
scoundrel.
"An' Jennie and him seemed to
understand one another far too well,"
he soliloquized; "I used to like the
lad, but now I'd as lief see my girl
care for old blind Jack the Hddler as
this fine gentleman. As Greene says,
he's too fancy about himself to be
honest I've often heard the greater
the rascal, the more tenteel, an' I
guess I'll load the rifle."
He did load his rifle, and placed it
near his bed, telling his wife that he
"warn't going to lose any more
money, but the first one that came
for dishonest purposes would lose his
life."
Mrs. Jameson was very nervous
concerning the prtximity of the rifle;
she begged her husband to put it
farther away; declaring he milit
touch it in his sleep, "an' make tbe
thing go off," and probably kill her.
"I never move In my sleep, no you
needn't be scared," he told her. "If
i touch the gun. you can be sure it
will go off: but I'll not touch it in my
sleep; I sleep like an honest man, t
da"
So he went to bed, and thought
more of his daughter than of tho
monev under the carpet. However,
he did think of his money sometimes,
ind, in fact, his thoughts ran from
that to Jennie, as the thoughts of
the money-lender ran from his ducats
to his daughter.
At last he slept but not any too
loundly; dreams visited him, and un
pleasant ones they were. Vision af
ter vision carxe and faded, and his
wife was alarmed beyond measure to
ee his unconscious hands go out
again and again, perilously near
sometimes, to the loaded ri lie.
it was midnight before sho slept at
all, but then her sleep was proi'und.
It was broken at last by the strangest
and most thrilling of sounds, no less
startling than a heavy fall, andfa
loud, harsh, reverberating report as
though a cannon had been fired at
her ear.
No woman is ever too frightened to
scream, and Mrs. Jameson's shrieks j
were loud and shrill as she cowered '
among the bedclothes; and a scramb- !
ling in the darkness and muttered
words she could not understand did
not tend to calm her.
There was a rush of feet in the hall '
without; a stout shoulder sent the
door Inward with a crash, and Dick
Levoe, who had made this uncere
monious entrance, stood there, with
a lighu high above his head, his keen
eyes scanning the apartment swiftly.
It took him a moment to compre
hend, and then he laughed with im
measurable amusement
The miller, clad but lightly, was
sprawling on the floor, a dazed won
der in his face, the old rifle, which he
bad struck as he fell, lying harmless
beside him, and now unloaded; a win
dow was open, and through it came a
fine sheet of rain; the old man was
soaking wet, and raindrops glistened
on his hair and scanty garments; his
bare feet were muddy, and altogether
he presented anything but an agree
able or presentable appearance.
"What has happened':"' asked Dick,
as soon as his mirth could be sup
pressed, as he aided the miller to his
feet
1 I don't know," stammered
Jameson.
uUtt.aliiritWWltM v a - . . - ;:It4 VT, '
' .- ;.'TI'J' 'l"iT i.-wrw
His wife hearing voices, cautiously
peeped out from under the coverlet.
"Robbers!" she cried shrilly. "They
have been here again. Have they
shot you, narvey?"
"No, wife, I'm not shot" said
Harvey; "an' I don't think there's
been any robbers 'round. Fact is,
I've been sleep-walking."
"What!"
"I've been walkin' In my sleep. sure
as you live, "groaned the miller. "I'm
all wet so I must have gone out of
doors, an' the Lord only knows where
I have been or what I've been doin'.
I was dream in' of that ten pouncs
He broke off, and hurried to the
spot In which he had hidden the
money. It was not there.
"You're rather old for such capers,
Harvey," his wife was saying.
But he didn't hear her. Very
I blankly he turned to Dick, who hail
now retreated to tne threshold where
Jennie was standing, white and
startled, but ravishly pretty.
'''Lad," tho miller said, solemnly,
"I believe I've robbed myself. I've
heard of such things, an' now I be
lieve I've just done that, an' I hain't
got a notion where I put the money."
'"Is it gone?"
Yes."
"Tnen you had best put on drj
clothes, sir, while'I go out and try to
follow tho tracks you have probably
left in the garden. Your feet are so
muddy, I'm sure you must have been
there. I'll report in a few moments."
A whispered sentence to Jennie at
the door, and Dick was off to don his
boots, and laugh at t.ie remembrance
of the miller's plight
With a lantern he went out into
the rain, and his gravity departed
again as, under the window of the
miller's chamber, he discovered
deeply-indented footprints, which
proved that Jameson had emerged
like a schoolboy.
The big. bare feet left plain traces
in the soft soil of the garden. Dick
followed them on, across the road, and
found that they ceased at one corner
of the milL A loose lioard bad been
freshly replaced. He drew It out and
there, in tho aperture, found a small
tin box.
Taking It out, he hurried back, to
Qnd Jameson, his wife, and Jennie up
and dressed, waiting for him.
Tho miller took the box eagerly,
and opened it with scarcely steady
hands. There were the ten pounds,
and under them the money of which
he had thought Dick had robbed him.
"Lad," he said, turning to his em
ployee, "I've been thi 11 kin' ill of you
for the last few das, an' I ask your
pardon. If I can ever do you a good
turn call on me."
"I take your, word sir," said Dick,
cheerfully, going straight to Jennie,
and taking her hand. "I want your
consent to my marrying Jennie some
Jay, when I have proved myself able
to take care of her. We love each
other, and I hope, sir, you'll not lor
gct what love was to yourself once."
"No. I don't, lad," said the miller,
with a tender glance towards his
wife. "Hut a mill-hand gets poor
wages, an' you'll have to wait
awhile."
"As for that" said Dick. "I think
you'll have to look up another mill
hand, Mr. Jameson, for I have an
other offer, and intend taking it. I
wasn't brought up to labor, and was
at college when my father died, leav
ing me, instead of the thousands I
expected, nothing but my empty, un
trained hands. I left the college,
and fate led me hither. If I have
shown no talent as a miller, I have
1 won the sweetest girl In tho world to
love me. Now, a friend of my
j father's offers me the post of book
i keeper in his bank, at a salary on
; which Jennie and I can live, I know,
i I didn't take your money, sir, and I'll
j forgive you for suspecting that I did
if you'll give me Jennie."
I "What do vou say, daughter?" asked
the old man, wistfully.
! "I love him, father," she whis
pered. "Then I'll only say, "God bless yo"
both!" said the miller.
J Tho Emerald Vase.
I In the cathedral at Genoa there 1.
an emerald vase which is said to have
. lieen one of the gifts of the Queen of
Shcba to Solomon. Its authentic
history goes back 800 years,
t The tradition Is that when King
' Solomon received it h tilled it with
an elixir which he alone knew how
to distill, and of which a single
drop would prolong human life to an
indefinite extent
A miserable criminal, dying of
slow disease in prison, besought the
king to give him a drop of this magic
potion.
I Solomon refused. "Why should 1
1 prolong so useless a life?" he said. "I
I will give it to those whose lives will
I bless their fellow-men."
' Hut when good .men begged for it
, the king was in an ill humor, or too
i indolent to open the vase, or he
; promised and forgot So the years
passed until he grew old, and many
j of the friends whom he loved were
t dead; and still the vase had never
I been opened.
Then the king, to excuse himself,
threw doubt upon the virtues of the
! elixir.
At last he himself fell ill. Then
his servants brought the vase that lie
might save his own life. He opened
It Hut it was emptv. The elixir
had evaporated to the last drop.
Did not the rabbi or priest who in
vented tli is story intend to convey in
it a great truth?
- Have we not all within us a vessel
more precious than any emerald, into
which God has put a portion of the
water of life? It is for our own
healing for the healing of others.
We hide it, we do not use It from
false shame, or idleness, or forgetful
ness. Presently we begin to doubt
Its efficacy.
When death approaches we turn to
it In desperate haste. But the ne
glected faith has left the soul. The
vase is empty. Youth's Companion
The man who gets to the front sel
Jom stays there long enjugh tc wipe
his forehead, and look around.
The man who has no business of
his own to attd always gets to
bed tired.
It Is cheaper to go with the Rlris
than with tbe boys, and a heap nicer.
WOMEa AND TASTE,
An article by Jnnlus Henri Brown in
ft late number of Worthirigton'i Maga
zine, asks nnd answers the question,
Have Women Good Taste?"' There
is at once eo much trnth, and so mnch
well, hardly venom, but something
akin to it that the article might have
been written by a woman! Men are
usually kinder to onr virtaes and
Hinder to our fanlts. The argument
is a (rood one. Biting as it is we shall
bo all the better for heeding its les
sons, some of which we Quote, wishinsr
tbe entire ar icle were not too long for
oar purpose. Bat all the while we
shall feel like a naughty little dog
wh ch has had i s silky ears cuffed and
been set in a corner, whence, under a
cover of meek contrition, he still looks
ont with a little sparkle of defiance, in
his eyes, as if he would say "Yes, I
krow it, I am in well deserved dis
grace, bat you like me very much, and
1 am sore to be forgiven soon!"
"The first consideration, naturally
And imperatively, is in respect of
woman's attire, which, it must be allow
ed, is often the greater, if not the bet
ter part of her. There is nothing to
Which the average woman pars so mnch
attention, or devotes so mooh time.
Hoor or rich, plain or pretty, low or
high, yonng or old, it matters little.
Her whole lifo is an agony of clothes.
What shall I wear? What can I waar?
What should I wear? are tbe paramount
queries that ban lit anil perplex her
mind, every hour of the day, and every
day of the year. Ir taste could I e ac
quired by absorption in its mysteries,
she wonlJ possess it in perfection.
From enrly childhood to ripest age,
she revolves, mentally, "How shall I
ba most agreeable?" "What best be
comes me?" And the answer takes
the form of personal adornment, ever
the first and last of all her concerns.
'Do women drees in good taste?
Many, a few comparatively, do so dress;
but not women generally, even at the
great social centers. The best dressed
women in the Old World are conceded
to be the Parisians; in the New World,
the New Yorkers. And even these
exhibit defects of taste in abundance.
In the minor cities, abroad and at
home, dowdyism is the rnle. No
doubt, women often have better taste
than they show; bnt they lack indepen
dence to follow thiir own ideas. They
nre slavishly ruled by fashion, which
they erect into a fetich, tbe earth over.
And the fact that they will allow
fashion to rnle tiiem proves that they
are lacking in taste; taste being itsown
counselor, director, inspirer. They
have always allowed it, and always will
allow it.probably.
I he present generation has been call
ed the generation of common 6ense as
to fashions; and really it is, though
still lar from what it h on 1.1 be. Look
into iidv book of costumes of the post,
and observe what monstrosities of
attire it contains. They would appear
incredible, if they were not authenti
cated. Sach shoes, snch arrangement
oi luiir, snch head ge r, snci fur-be-lows,
euch petticontsl And the women
who donned them actnaily believed
that they were beautified, when they
were deformed, mnile hideous. What
astounding luith ia the power of
cloth b! .Nearly every woman is a zeal
ot in this regnrd. She is ruimentally
superstitions to the core. The spirit
of ailortirue it is, in her eyes, infallible.
Whatsbe wears demonstrates her fanat
icism, the in aaity of her creed.
But we neod not go back to the mid
dle ages to reach this opini m. It is
forced npon us, to-day, in the streets
of any large city, in tlie pnblio parka,
at the theatre, the opera, the omcert
hall, wherever women congregate.
They still dress, as a inle, without suit
ableness, or judgment, or individu
ality. Whether blonde or brnnett',
slender or stout, tall or sliort, grao fni
or awkward, large-featured or small
feitnred, they wear the same kind of
garnitnro."
In onr view much of this slavery to
fashion is owing to a luck of true self
respect on the pari of women. Mr.
Brown says: "The greatest draw
oack to their development, their
roundness of character, is the prodig
ious importinre they set on their per
sonal appearance, which is in itself an
ff-tliotic fault, ihey do not seem t
think what they might do with their
mind or manners. They rarely ask
themselves how their understanding is
furnished; how they talk; what graces
they exhibit; what ideas they awaken;
what sympathy they evoke." Every
word of this accusation is trne, yet we
think the reason is not as Mr. "Brown
thicks because women set so over
high a value on the body, as because
they under estimate their own mental
powers, and even in spite of appear
ance, think too little of their own per
sonal attractions. Their desire to
please is inordinate, and their confi
dence in their own powers of pleasing
being moderate, thoy fly to fashion as
to a power which shall make them, if
not beantifnl, at least no worse look
ing than other women. That many
women whose taste is really shocked
by the vaparies and monstrosities of
the reigning mode continue to wear
them we know. And we also know
that they do so because they are afraid
that by a lack of conformity to fash
ion's decrees they shall be "made con
spicuous," which is literally the terror
of tin ir lives. To many women fash
ionable dressing means only a sort of
Fortnnatus "invisible cap," enabling
them to slip qnietly through the
world without attracting notice.
Said one of onr acquaintances
only yesterday "Of course I bate
these horrible puff sleeves and the de
testable wings surmounting them, but
if I don't wear them, 1 shall be noticed.
If I do, no one will see me." This wo
man is fashionable in dress from sheer
timidity. It will take many lessons
and many years to so cnltivate conrage
in women that they shall become in
different to sneers or flatteries. In
fact though they are further along the
road leading to common sense, good
taste and self poise, the same may be
said of a good many of their brothers.
"All women happily, continues our
censor, "are not of this order. There
sre those who have a great interest in
higher things, lbey are fond of con
versation, books, pictures, marbles,
bronzes, mnsio, science, travel, new
discoveries. Nor do they despise
dress no woman can afford to but
they give it its proper place and just
proportion. They are neatly, becom
ingly gowned; but they are not mono-
maniacal on tbe so meet, rabid with
curiosity to know what everybody
wears, has worn, and will wear. They
are not infatuated with anything that
happens to be the prevalent mode. In
deed, they refn.se to adopt it, unless it
harmonizes with their complexion,
figure, style, unless, in short, it is in
nnison with themselves. The conse
quence is that they are a cart of their
clothes, their clothes are a part of
them; the two are so blended as to
leave no sense of division. Persons do
not express delight with, or make com
ments on their raiment, as they do
with the devotees of fashion: and this
is a compliment the judicious will ap
preciate. "They subordinate and eontrol their
raimen ; bestow on it flavor and
quali'y of their own, which shows that
they are, in the best import, well
dressed.
"Snch women are admired and
esteemed, their society sought, their
friendship valued. They are a social,
mental, and moral force, which they
exercise for good and growth. They
are sensible and rational; they go far
towards redeeming tbe weaknesses and
vaorities of the mass of their sex. They
do not rely on their first youth for at
tractiveness any more than they do on
garments, jewels, expensive novelties.
They are interesting in middle life,
even in old age; for their possessions
are sterling and durable; their charm,
tbe eharm of mental richness and com
pleted character."
These words of praise for the few
serve to intensify the arraignment
against ns whioh on the whole is very
strong. We do not show good taste
in many places where we should be ex
pected to do so. If we have instincts
in the right dircotion we are far too
apt to smother them in onr fright lest
we shall seem "singular"; a word of
more terrible import to most of us
apparently than any other in the lan
guage. In a book written by Henry Friok a
few years ago, he took the ground that
women were deficient in a sense of
beauty, alleging in proof the fact that
manly eomehness did not seem to be
widely appreciated by women. Among
birds and beasts, male beauty seems to
have been cultivated through the pro
cesses of natural selection. If, among
human beings, the reverse is true, may
it not be rather because the "selection"
had for thousands of years been the
reverse of "natural"? Power, wealth,
strength and other considerations hav
ing enured Nature to shrink into a sub
ordinate place, and consequently good
taste to be a quality loBt to women
; from lack o I opportunity for its cnltl
I vation?
Mr. Brown might have added a very
strong point to his argument by ad
verting to the fact that, most women
appear to care little or nothing for the
looks of the men the marry.
Ethel O. Gale.
THE SPANISH HOYAJj FAMILY.
As lineal oescendants of the noble
Queen Isabella to whom Columbus
owed his chance to discover the new
world, America is naturally interested
in the groups whose presentments we
show to onr readers to-day, and one of
whom the Nation has for several weeks
been "delighting to honor," by what
has been characterized as "a persecu
tion of attentions."
The Infanta Fnlalia is thirteenth in
direct descent from the Ferdinand and
Isabella nndor whose rule a rule
which on tbe whole proved rather bet
ter than the average Spain became a
united kingdom, in the latter fonrth ol
the fifteenth century, 't he genealogy
is too long for ns to follow, but it em
braces many marriages with Austrian,
French and English princes and prin
cessen, so that the present Infanta is
by raoe only taree-fourteenths of a
Spaniard. This accounts for her
fair complexion, abundant light hair
and bine eyes. She has made a de
cidedly pleasant impression upon
Americans from the womanly gracious
ness, aa well as queenly dignity, and
quick wit which she has continually
manifested, while submitting to be
bored by the round of wearisome social
festivities with which our political
functionaries have seen fit to bnrden
her visit
With at least one of onr customs the
Princess is said to have been genuinely
charmed. With cordial feeling she is said
to have remarked that the most beauti
fully poetio custom among any people
Is that of setting apart a day to decor
ate the graves and preserve the mem
ories of the dead who fought for their
country. With her own hands she laid
a beantiful wreath upon the tomb of
Oeneral Grant whose history she well
knows, and whom she had seen when a
child, when tbe great soldier was trav
elling in Spain.
The Infanta is married to her first
cousin the Prince Antonio de Bourbon
d'Orleans, now travelling with her, and
known as the Infante. This pair are
now enjoying the adulation, the fetes,
the show, which are the attendants of
royalty and are supposed to make its
possessors happy. But history is full
of instanced wnere the feasted of to
day, are the persecuted of to-morrow.
Let us hope the fates of this pair may
prove more kimllj.
The Queen Regent of Spain finds
her place no sinecure. Austrian by
birth and therefore alien to Spain, she
must have found it no easy task when
after a few years of married happiness
she was left to bar alone ths bnrden
of the government of a great country
in the name of her son, the little King
Alfonso. As the latter was not born
nntil after the death of his father he
was literally born a king, and we be
lieve is tbe only instance in history.
Poor child 1 He has a mother who
seems to be a really good woman and
devoted to tbe best interests of the
kingdom as well as of ber son, But to
be born to the purple is to be born to
flattery and blindness. By all sorts
of influences intentionally or other
wise, it seems that tbe plain, unvarn
ished trnth is ever kept from the eyes
of princes. That the majority of mon
arcbs have been men whose characters
in private life wonld have been ac
counted disgraceful is true but not
wonderful. That any of them have
sufficiently triumphed over the force
of circumstances to become reasonably
respectable citizens is trnly a matter
for marvel.
We read that "it is a pretty sight
during the summer to see the boy
sovereign and his sisters on the sands
at St Sebastian, for he is a regular
romp, although his young Majesty has
an opinion of his power, and orders his
playmates about with pretty au
thority." We have italicised the
phrase, wishing' to call attention to
the fact that the anthority whioh is
pretty in the child is apt to become
tyranny in the man. If it does in the
ease ol the child-king it will be quite
safe to predict that his crown will fall
from his brow. The spirit of Liberty
is abroad in the earth.
It is a common thing to hear peo.
pie rave about the beauty of a sun
set but you may have noticed they
never say anything about a sunrise.
They never see them.
One sort of fool is a man who be
lleves that Le can get a 10 cent cigai
for five. -
A FAMOUS FORGER.
BUw4 tm Kerret EUOtm4IsI
JUefeea,
Benjamin Bathbun was a plctur
esque figure in the early history of
Western New York, when Buffalo
was a frontier town, and not even a
cabin marked the site of tbe future
Chicago, fle was the proprietor of
the famous Eatle Tavern, and was a
most genial and successful Boniface.
He organized a fast stairs service
between Albany and Buffalo. His
lightning line for six passengers
only" was a marvel of enterprise for
the time. Not content with moder
ate prosperity be embarked in a land
speculation, which in magnitude and
recklessness had never been ap
proached In any American town.
When he began to buy building lots
and outlying farming lands, Buffalo
went wild with excitement His ex
ample was infectious. The most con
servative settlers invested heavily In
r6al estate, and dreamed of making
fabulous fortunes In a twelve-month.
Everybody had faith In him, and was
willing to endorse his notes. He was
In everything, and his business oper
ations rapidly rose to millions of dol
lars. He did not drink, or smoke, or
gamble. He had neither vices nor
extravagant habits, and devoted him
self assiduously to his business.
While singularly modest and utterly
Irreproachable In private life, he was
also the most remarkable criminal of
his time.
In order to obtain capital for his
speculations he devised an ingenious
system of forgery. He paid for his
land purchases by giving his notes,
which were endorsed by business rs.
sociates. Of each note he made from
ten to Sfty copies, and his clerk, aft;
expert penman, forged the Indorse-'
ment He opened an office In New
York forjneirotlatlng this j forged pa
per, tbe volume of which ran up Into
the millions.
it was several years before his
crimes were detected. A protested
note was brought to the attention of
the supposed indorserand pronounced
spurious. Tbe great bubble was
pricked. Rathbun was arrested,
tried, and sentenced to five years'
Imprisonment.
After his Waterloo, this Sapoieon
among forgers, meekly accepted hU
punishment as his lust deserts. He
senel out hts term In state prison,
opened a small hotel In New York,
and strove to live down hls ropita
tion. Although his operations had
reached millions, he had never
owned more than fifty thousand dol
lars at one time, nor had he ever put
away a dollar for himself. He died
in poverty at the age of 82, a genera
tlon after his downfall
When the old man could bo In
duced to speak of tne past he bad
one thing to say: "It was greed that
made me a criminal. I was In hot
baste to get rich, and could not wait
You see, I am now a very old man!
flow much time I would have had, If
I bad ouly waited!"
The moral never grows stale. In
applies as well to a Fiench minister,
like M. Baihaut, confessing his
hame in tbe Panama trial, as to
Benjamin Rathbun. It is the lust of
sudden gain, an access of unreasoning
zreed, that Inspires Quancial crime.
Youth's companion.
Making Hot Water Pleasant
"There are many persons who in
1st that It Is impossible for them to'
Irink hot water and make all sorts of
lisagreeable faces about It" said an
enthusiast of hygiene to a writer for
the Brooklyn C.tlzen. "I have heard'
& great many people say this and for
a long time I could not understand It.
One day I dropped in upon one of my,
friends and found her very 111. I
made up my mind that a little hot
water would be beneficial and ran
iown to the kitchen to get It While
pouring out a glass for her it occurred
to me that it was a good opportunity
to indulge in a bit of it myself, so I
poured a second glass and after It was
cool enough I attempted to drink It
I didn't wonder that she had said she
couldn't drink hot water, for such
a nauseous tasting mess I think I
never tried to swallow; In fact I lust
absolutely couldn't do it and had to
give up. I hardly knew what to say
to her when she, upon tasting, de
clared she couldn't take it to save her
life. 1 could imagine nothing but
dishwater in the taste of that liquid.
Whether tbe maids were careless
about their cooking utensils or what
the difficulty was I couldn't telL I
have experienced the same annoyance
in hotels and other places. The
water has a greasy, stale, Intolerable
flavor, and even tbe smell of It might
I should think, make a well person
sick. I have a s Dedal little kette
for my hot water and take the great
est pains that nothing that will give
it a d.sagreeable taste Is ever allowed
near It When It Is prepared It Is as
bright and clean as the purest spring
water. Ever since my little experi
ence at my friend's house 1 have had
no difficulty in accountlngfor the dis
like of many persons for hot water."
Bow to Prevent Aeeldents.
A large decrease In the number ov
accidents has resulted from a law In
Germany relating to shops In which
machines are used. Under this law
the maiming of a woikman entails
upon the proprietor the payment of
doctor's bills, a life pension to tbe
employe In case of permanent disabil
ity resulting from the accident, or, In
case death results, a pension to tbe
family of the deceased. The effect of
the law has been the general dis
charge of careless help and the shield
ing of such parts of machines as are
ordinarily dangerous when left ex
posed, and these measures are euld to
have produced a remarkable diminu
tion of casualties in the use of ma
chines. It woul( ise, says an
exchange, in the absence of such a
law In this country for proprietors to
instruct superintendents or foremen
that carelessness on the part of work
men as to their personal safety will be
Immediately punished by suspension
or discharge. More accidents result
jfrom heedlessness and recklessness on
j the part of employes than from all
other causes combined. It Is broba
jbly no mistake to attribute the de.
crease in accidents In German work
shops more to the elimination ot care
lless operatives than to tbe boxing Ja
t tbe dangsrott parts of machine
IS
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