|
!
|
ae
Rid
er
a BR IE
EE
me
*
EE Ee i aa LE
HE ALWAYS TOLD THE TRUTH.
’ . Anne H. Woodruff.
He was not very quick to learn,
Nor “promising,” ‘twas said;
He was not af a brilliant, turn,
Nor ene to *‘go ahead;’
Defects—if they must ba confessed—
In plenty had the youth
But this one virtue he possessed—
He alwyays told the truth.
In every way he seemed below
The average of boys
In intellect, and ¢ “push,” and “go,”
And all that youth enjoys;
But no one ever doubted him,
Because they knew, fors ;00th—
Fes, even those who flouted him—
He always told the truth.
.
* Un couth” and *
A sio
In bus
The man unlearned,
‘awkward,” how it hurt
When on his ears it fell!
Who could the fact not controvert,
as sensitive as well.
Bi one there was who sympathized,
Vho knew right well the ‘Vouth—
¥ v1
fis mother this, great comfort prized—e
{e always told the truth.
but steady plodder, he,
the path of life;
ness ever seemed to be
Behind-hand in’ the strife;
Alc
But then he won his fellows’ trust,
Chey honored him in sooth—
but noble, just,
Who always told the truth.
—Ram’s Horn.
/ \o/ \8/\8 NNN SK ANA WNW NNN NL NY
ECAOCKEOICICICICIOICIOICIIBIOIIOICIOIOR
> TN xX
: » Ze
5 the Sake of David. &
gk S07 C wakl 0 Vit. $x
3% %
> I,
\ ef
x =
2 a NZ
SR By Grace Terry. SR
x x
INN INL seed SOK WL 2 UNI SNK *
RSEGRSCICRKCK TR 3.3 NIN SOCRKCK N
DAVID, it strikes me |in the matter. There are many very
that you are out a great
deal of late. 1 don’t ap-
prove of boys of your age
being out evenings; it leads
to bad compa sand bad
company leads to ail kinds ‘of ba@ness.
1 hope you don’t spend your time at the
tavern?”
“Son David,” a broad-shouldered six-
footer, smiled a little, and colored a
great deal at these words, which were
delivered with a precision and a sol-
emnity of look and tone that made
them doubly impressive.
“There's no occasion for any alarm,
father; I keep very good company.
And as for the tavern, I haven't set
foot in it for six months or more.”
About the usual hour, David laid
aside his book, and putting on a clean
collar and a linen coat, fresh from the
hands of Aunt Betsey, sauntered down
toward the village. This had been his
custom for several weeks past, and the
old deacon shook his head with a per-
plexed and somewhat troubled air.
*I suppose the lad finds it rather dull
bere,” Iie mused; “the house is lonely.”
And, as he recalled the light of a
certain bright eye and a sunny smile,
what he had thought of doing “for the
sake of David” seemed a not unpleas-
ant thing to do for his own.
“I think I'll go and consult Parson
Dunlow,” thought the deacon, who, like
the generality of mankind, having fully
made up his mind on the subject, de-
termined to seek advice, not for the
purpose of gaining any additional light,
but to strengthen and confirm his own
opinions.
The worthy deacon bestowed quite as
much time upon his toilet before leav-
ing the house as did “Son David.” And
if a glimpse of the sprinkling of gray
in the hair that he brushed so carefully
away from his temples made him some-
what doubtfyl as to the result of his
mission, it was but for a moment.
Ought not any woman to be proud of
the honor of becoming Mrs. Deacon
Quimby, wife of one of the most
wealthy and influential citizens of the
place, even though his hair might be
a little frosty and his form not so erect
as when he departed on the selfsame
errand thirty years before.
In the weekly prayer meetings, of
which he took the lead, the deacon
often called himself “the chief of sin-
ners,” “an unprofitable servant,” and
the like, confessing and bewailing the
depravity of his heart. But, like a
great many other self-styled “misera-
ble sinners,” he had a tolerably good
opinion of himself after all, making
the above confession with an air that
seemed to say: “If I, Deacon Quimby,
a pillar of the church, and a shining
example to you all, can say this, what
must be the condition of the majority
of those around me?” .
He found Parson Dunlow in his
study, hard at work upon his next Sun-
day’s discourse. But he was used to
interruptions, and had a sincere liking
for the worthy deacon, who was his
right-hand man in every good work; so,
laying down his pen, he shook him
warmly by the hand and bade him be
seated.
But somehow the deacon found it
difficult to get out what he came to
say—the words seemed to stick in his
throat. But at last he minaged to
stammer:
“I—I have called, parson, to—to see
Fou about my son, David, whose con-
duct has occasioned me a great deal
of uneasiness of late.”
“You surprise me, Brother Quimby;
I consider him to be an unusually
steady and exemplary young man.”
“He has been, parson, very steady
fndeed—at home every evening, busy
with his book or paper. But now he’s
out most every night, and sometimes
don’t return until quite late.”
A faint smile flickered around Parson
Punlow’s mouth, but it was unobserved
dy the deacon, who resumed:
“The fact is, the boy
s&other.”
“He wants a wife, you mean,” was
the parson’s inward comment, but he
said nothing, for he hadn’t filled his
sacred office a quarter of a century
without learning that some things are
better thought than spoken
“It is a very. important step,” re-
sumed Deacon Quimby, after waiting
‘vainly for the parson to speak, “and—
and as I think of taking to myself
rnother companion for—for the sake of
David, I thought I would come and—
and consult you about it.”
Here the deacon wiped the pers
tion from his forehead, betr:
much hesitancy and embarr:
to quite astonish the“good i
to reassure him, said bris
“To be sure, Brother Qui
wants a
: And a
very good idea it is, too, for yourself, |
David.
and, no doubt, for your son
And I shall be very iad to assist you
ssment as |
"son, who,
worthy ladies in the church and vicin-
ity, so that you cannot fail to be suited.
There's the Widow Bean; her sons are
now men. grown and quite off her
hands. A most excellent and worthy
woman is the Widow Bean.”
But the deacon did not seem to re-
ceive his suggestion with much favor;
he shifted one leg uneasily over the
other.
“As you say, parson, the Widow Bean
is a most excellent and worthy, woman;
but—but the leadings of Providence
don’t seem to be in that direction.”
“Well, then there is Miss Mary Ann
Pease, a member of the church for
many years, and an ornament to her
sex and profession. Now that her
brother is married again, she is quite
at liberty, and will make you a very
desirable helpmate.”
“True, very true, parson; I have the
highest respect for Sister Pease. But—
but the leadings of Providence don’t
seem to be in that direction, either.”
Tlie good parson looked puzzied, but,
honestly ns of assisting his vis-
itor, he made another effort.
“Brother Jones has a number of
daughters, and either of the two eldest
would be—"
“Yes, yes, parson,” interrupted the
deacon, rather impatiently, “I know
that very well. But I think that—that,
for the sake of David, 1 had better
marry some one younger and more
lively, and who would consequently
be more of a—sort of companion for
him.”
A sudden light broke in upon Parson
Dunlow’s mind.
“Perhaps you have some onc already
in view, Brother Quimby?”
“Well, yes, parson, I have sought
Divine light, and the leadings of Provi-
dence seem to be in the direction of
your family; in short, toward your
daughter, Miss Emma, whose staid
and discreet behavior, I am happy to
say, would do honor to more mature
years.”
It was not the first time, in Parson
Dunlow’s pastoral experience, that he
had known people to mistake the lead-
ing of their own hearts for ‘the lead-
ings of Providence,” but if he had any
suspicion that this might be the case
with the worthy deacon, he prudently
kept it to himself. So, without evinc-
ing anything of the dismay and con-
sternation at his heart, he said:
“I cannot fail to realize, Brother
Quimby, the high compliment of such
a desire. But you remember the words
of Rebekah’s parents under like eir-
cumstances: ‘We will call the damsel
and inquire at her mouth. I don’t
know that we can do better than fol-
low their example.
“Willie,” he added, going to the win-
dow, “run and tell Emma that father
wants to see her in his study.”
“She's dot company,’ said the little
fellow; “and is doing to dive me a new
ball if I'll stay out in the yard.”
“No matter,” said his father, smiling;
“you shall not lose the new ball. So
run along.”
Miss Emma, though very pleasantly
engaged, dutifully obeyed her father’s
summons. She blushed as her eves fell
upon the deacon, to whom she dropped
a pretty, deferential courtesy.
“My daughter,” said the parson,
aravely, “Deacon Quimby informs me
that, for the sake of David. he has con-
cluded to take to himself another wife,
and that his choice has fallen upon you.
I have ever left such matters to you,
but you cannot fail to realize the value
of such an offer, and I trust you will
give it the consideration it demands.”
Emma opened her brown eyes widely
at this announcement, and then the
long lashes fell over them, and lay
quivering upon the rosy clhecks. Br
unexpected as was the position |
which she found herself placed, he
woman’s wit did not desert her.
“I should be very happy to become
Deacon Quimby’ wife, papa,” she said,
demurely, “if 1 had not already prom-
ised, for the sake of David, to do my
best to be a daughter to him.”
Deacon Quimby was so accustomed
to consider his son as a mere boy that
it was some minutes before his mind
took in the sense of ti words.
“Do you mean to say,
he said, at last, regard
girl with a bewildered air,
are going to marry my son?”
“that you
? respond-
ed Emma, with a e and glance
that would have softened a far harder
aré than the deacon’s. “I have al-
ady obtained that of my father.”
acon Quimby turned his
2 Dailow, who had been a quie
i r 10 cl
but a boy,
is a year older than you were
ied, deacon,” was the
True; so he was.
“I dare say it does mot seem possi-
ble,” continued the parson. - “I can
hardly bring” myself to realize that it
is eightsen years ago since my little
girl, here, was laid in my arms; but
so it is.” te
As the good deacon looked at the
blooming maiden, and remembered how
often he had held her, a smiling babe,
in his arms, the conviction was sud-
denly forced upon him that that he had
been making an old fool of himself.
The rather embarrassing silence that
followed was pleasantly broken by
David's cheery voice and pleasant
smile. A
“You seem to have quite “a family
party,” he said, pushing open the:door.
“So this is where you spend your
evenings, young man?’ said his father,
shaking his finger at him, with an ai
of mock displeasure. °‘‘Ah, I see. very
plainly that I shall never be able to
keep you at home, unless I cam per-
suade Miss Emmd to come and’ live
with me. What say you, my dear?”
“That I will come very willingly,”
returned the smiling and blushing girl,
“for the sake of David.”—New York
Weekly.
A Traveling College.
The farmers in Illinois, as well as
those in other States, last year were
taught scientific farming by rail. The
train consisted of two cars, arranged
to allow speakers to malke their taiks
aboard, was a sort of itinerant agricul-
tural college, sowing knowledge at
every stop. The. project was under
the supervision of the University .of
Illinois, and was fostered by the Burl-
ington on the grounds that the more
grain the farmers raise the more there
will be to ship over its lines.’
The first stop was at Aurora, where
Dean W. A. Henry, of the University
of Wisconsin, talked a half hour on the
way to tell good seed, and the kind of
soil it ought to be planted in. - Ten
minutes was used in inspecting sam-
ples of earth and seed aboard the cars.
Eleven more stops were made, before
the train reacb~1 Polo for the nignt
The next day Dean Eugene Davenport,
of the University of Illinois, was the
speaker, and on the day following Dr,
F. H. Hall, State Superintendent of
the Farmers’ Institute, did the talking.
Every town of importance onthe Burl-
ington lines in Illinois was visited.
The next trip of the “Seed and Soil
Special” will be through Missoni, and
then it will it’ Iowa, Western Xe-
braska and Wyoming.—Chicago Trib-
une.
me ene
Twenty-four Messages on Oue Wire.
The invention of new methods for
sending a number of messages simul-
taneously over the same wire contin-
jes, and one of the most recent of
these is due to Professor Mercadier
of the French High: School for Post
and Telegraph.
In this method an alternating current
is employed whose frequency depends
upon a tuning-folk having a certain
definite number of vibrations. Tke
current of such an interrupted circuit
can be broken by an ordinary key, and
signals transmitted over the line wire
by an inducticn transmitter..’ On the
line at the distant station are a num-
ber of so-called monotelephones which
respond to current of one frequency,
and are turned te the forks in the cir-
cuits at the sending station.
Thus each particular circuit has its
own telephone, which is connected
by tubes with the ears of the receiving
operator, and responds to the signals
made at the sending station. In all,
twelve transmission circuits are pro-
vided, so that twenty-four messages
¢an be sent over the line simultaneous-
ly. A double line, or metallic circuit,
is required, but otherwise the appara-
tus is comparatively simple, and in-
volves merely the adjustment of the
tuning-forks and suitable condensers
and inductance coils.—Week’'s Prog-
ress.
a Ly
Children’s Love.
Happiness in marriage is a good daal
like happiness in work; it goes far
deeper than mere gratification. While
gratification fades, happiness remains,
and becomes, as it were, a part of one's
nature. When my wife and I had
passed the youthful period of our love,
we knew that we had experienced an
intensity of happiness that we could
never know again; but the great com-
pensation was to know that we had
no wish to experience it again, be<
cause we had found something stabla
and better, a happiness associated vith
our most serious interests, with our res
sponsibilities toward society and to-
ward our children. Moreover, with
nearly all intense gratification there ig
the accompaniment of pain; but the
love of children is, in its very nature,
an unalloyed delight. With the com-
f our children my wife and I knew
ve had been given the greatest in-
‘ve to good living that human being
have. If children cannot make
paiciis live to lead fine lives, nothing
can.—From “The Autobiography of a
Married Man,” Everybody's Magazine.
The New George.
Johnny was worried about Wash-
ington’s greatness. He turned to his
mother and said: “Washing sa
right, but Grant's more like me.”
“How is that?’
“Well” (throwing out a diminutive
chest), “be could tell'a lie when he
hed 10.”
But, Johnny,
you?’
“Why, mamma,
always fiad me ©
A moment of si
“Well, Johnny?
*W pen you
you ever tel
you never tell lies, do
v
ya know I do. You
“Mamma.”
were a little girl didn’t
Then she an-
swered: “I to tell the
fruth.”
“Well,
yous”
why don’t they lebrate
‘a test most puzzling to the
CHILDREN'S DEPARTMENT:
YONDERINGS,
I'm oft inclined to wonder if
An angleworm, when frozen stiff,
Would meet with any luck at all,
Supposing thay it tried to crawl.
‘
Then, too, I often wonder whether
A man who set about to tether
Ten tigers in a field like cows,
Could make the striped creatures browse.
And then again I wonder which
Is stickiest—tar, glue or pitch.
Perhaps each, all or either are,
But I should say pitch, glue or tar.
And, furthermore, I wonder why
A normal person such as
{an’t walk about upon one hand-
Some things we never understand.
But most of all, 1 wonder how
A man can tell just when is Now,
For Now keeps going back to Then,
While Scon is straightway Now again.
Tis useless, though, to wonder what/
Is meant by this impressive rot.
—Life.
. THE GAME OF BOB MAJOR.
Two of the players sit down, and a
cloth, large enough to prevent their
seeing anything, is put over their
heads. Then two other persons tap
them on the head with long rolls of
paper, which they have in t r hands,
and ask, in feigned voices, *Who boos
you?’ If either of those who have
been tapped answers correctly, he
changes places with the one who has
tapped him,
THE GAME OF HANDBALL.
Handball is the oldest game known.
Millions of boys and girls play it the
world over, yet never give a grateful
thought to its inventor. Most of them
will be surprised to learn that so sim-
ple a thing nceded “inventing” at all.
Herodotus and Homer, two famous
writers, have preserved the
inventor's name, a it is a femini
ine
one. Yes, a woman made the first
toy ball, and her was Anagalia.
She was a noble lac y of Coreg; and
she gave it when finished to the littie
daughter of the King of Alcinous.
No other toy has furnished so much
amusement, nor, is there. another so
necessary in many games, as is this
simple article. It is strange, too, that
co few of these games are for girls.
Do: not forget that the ball was in-
vented by a woman for girls. although
béys may be grateful for all the fun
they have with it.—Indianapolis News.
. HOME-MADE JEWELRY.
A handful of beads in every color of
the rainbow may be had in gay tarle-
ton bags. It is a good idea to pick out
the beads that match—say, all the pink
ones, all the blue ones and those of
any other color that resemble pretty
jewels. These may be strung into
‘necklace lengths for dolls. serving as
pearls, corals or turquoises, according
to color. a
This makes most economical jewelry
The whole bag of beads costs but
fiye cents.
These beads also serve in other ways,
in addition to the beadwork that is
one on frames.
$A row of small white beads, with one
larger pink or blue one in the centre,
dees very well for a bracelet.
An eutirely guaint watch fob may
be made with a string of smadl, beads
an inch in length, with one larger
fancy bead or 6ther pendant at the
end. If the color be chosen in harmony
with dolly’s dress the effect will be
pleasing.
Lorgnette chains are easily made,
too. For these tiny beads are most
elegant.
A hat for a grown-up doll is of brown
silk, with a row of bronze beads around
the edge of the brim in the approved
style.
These beads may be used also to fine
advantage in making quaint leather
moccasins for dolls out of old kid
gloves.
A TEA TABLE TRICK.
Here is a tea table trick that will
astonish every one. You will need two
forks, a pitcher and a toothpick. In-
terlace the tips of the prongs of the
forks, so that they hold firmly together
in V shape. Then insert a toothpick
through these interlaced prongs just
tar enough to secure it firmly. Sowe-
times the pressure from one or at
most two prongs is sufficient for this.
THE FORXS HANGING IN PLACE.
The toothpick should be inserted from
the inside of the V, like a tongue, be-
tween the fork handles. The other
end of the toothpick should then
lodged in the mouth of a pitcher whic
js high enough to allow the
h
handles
of the dependent forks to clear the
table.
With nothing to hold it, the single
toothpick will then support the two
forks without tipping or bre
spectator and a niosi {ruitful source of
speculatien and animated discussion.—
New York Evening Mail.
THE ANIMALS IN THE FIRE.
Walter had been out skating, and the
cold wind which swept down over the
frozen lake made his toes and fingers
«0 that when he got home he
hurried to get warm. Kneeling down
close in front of the coal fire. which
flamed and cr led in the open ire-
place, while his brother and sister
looked over their portrolio of pictures,
he gazed into the glowing coals in the
grate. By and by be climbed up into
an armchair. The made him
sleepy, and he closed his eyes. He
opened them in 1t astonishment, a
moment later, when he heard a shrill
“Cock-adoodle-doo!” which sounded
very close to him. IIe knew there were
no chickens in the roem, because the
chickens were all out on the farm
in the country, and he was just be-
ginning to tnink that he had been
dreaming when he heard the *‘Cock-
adoodle-d i i This time it
seemed to com in front of him,
and he the fireplace,
though how a 1doodie-do” could
come from the p » fire he did
not know. 1 on the fire
he gave a hair and stared
as hard There, in front
piece of coal,
100
jopized
, “you are
vake that 1
wakened all
1 am the
st ‘boy ~to
vw, ard 1
Loys in
ven and
Vaiter, eager-
swered the
he’ marry
ajl Tattered
. #1 might
wave th ought of that,”
“We thought of it,” said another
voice. “We were at the wedding.”
And a big black-and-white cat crawled
out from a hole ir s and stood
beside the rooster. “I am the Cat that
Caught the Rat.” said he. “Once upon
a time I wore boots, and helped my
master to marry the Princess.”
“Bow-wow-wov, barked a little
dog, which came running irom a cor-
ner... 3
The cat jumped nimbly to the top bf
a big piece of coal, where she put up
her back at the deg and made a great
hissing noise, .
“Oho!” sald Waller. I guess you
must be the Dog that Worried the Cat,
arep’t you?’
+I thought you would know me,”
bs arked the dog. I am the same dog
ht along; I never belong to a witch.
If a witch came around I would bark
at her. Hello! there's the Ugly Duck-
ling. . I guess I'll bark at her.” But
the wary old duck scampered off. ?
“How is it that you all are here?’
asked Walter. “I thought you all were
dead a lopg time ago. And I do not
see how you can live in the fire.”
‘Oh, the fire does not hurt us,” said
the Cock that Crew in the Morn, be-
fore any. of -the others could answer.
“And we did not die. We never die;
and we live in the fire; not always in
this fire, for we like to go about from
one place to another, but some of us
are liere most of the time. You can
see us in any fire if you look carefully.
The best time to see us is in the even-
ing, just before the lights are lit; then
we come out to see what is going on.”
“And you'll see something going on
now,” snapped a red fox, jumping from
hind a pile of coals and dashing at
the rooster. The rooster dodged to one
side and gave a derisive Crow.
“Just let that cold rooster alone,”
growled a deep voice; and Walter,
looking into a corner of the fireplace,
saw a great bear. “I am the Big Bear
who lived in the wood,” said Bruin.
“Here comes my son, the Little Bear.”
‘Whatever became of Goldenlocks?”’
asked Walter of the Little Bear.
“Would you have hurt her if you had
caught ber when she came to your
house in the wood and sat in your
chair?”
“No,” said the Little Bear, laughing
“I would have played with her, and
told her where the best berries grew
9
{
£2
sumime oer.
“And what fun we do have in sum-
mer!” said the Sly Old Fox. “Do you
:now, Little Bo-peep was watching her
sheep one day when—"
“Walter, Walter! come to supper.”
some one called suddenly, and at the
sound of the voice all the birds and
beasts scuttled for nooks and crannies
in the coals. “I'll tell you that tale
another time,” d Sly Old Fex, and
dodged into hole just as Walter's
elder sister nto the room.
“Wake up . supper is ready. 3
the shoulder
t Ire had not
; . animal
back to the f
many pecpl ein
were too
although
a glimpse of one or two of
none of them came out
and spoke to him.
But Wal Iter hopes that ‘some time, in
» twilight, he will see them all again,
and that then the Old Fox will
finish the story of ‘how
s = all ran away."—Henry Hol
Be ..ett, in St. Nicholas
1
the Arai
Bo-peep’s
‘meat or eggs.
HOW TO KEEP BOYS
ON THE FARM.
An Experiment Made Jy Genera
Sheridan With Indians That May
Solve the Problem.
It is often a question how shall we
keep our boys on the farm. The Rurad
New Yorker publishes the following
article, the last sentence containing
their idea of a good solution of the
pgoblem:
The value of the
society is usually
American lien to
given in terms of
and provides the groceries, pays the
mortgage, or shingles the house—but
this is not all. Many stories couid be
told of the way she has held soclety
together. In the early history of Ply-
mouth it was the broth made from a
choice hen that saved the life of a
friendly Indian chief and prevented
the ferocious King Philip from start-
ing out with the scalping knife at a
time when he could have cleaned out
the whites! Another instance of the
power of the hen to soothe the savage
breast was given. by a member of the
New York Farmers:
. Many years ago I was talking with
General Sheridan, in Chicago. He
told me that when he was a major of
cavalry, in Arizona, he was in charge,
on behalf of the Government, of a
tribe of Indians, the Colorados, and
his duty was to confine them to their
reservation. His principal difficulty
was on account of their nomadic char-
acter; no matter what effort he made
to make their homes comfortable for
them, still they would leave them
and travel away. and had to be
brought back by the cavalry at short
intervals.
he could give them some interest in
the way of live stock, it might be an
anchoring influence. so he succeeded
in having the Government give them
a stock of horses. That, however, did
not answer the pur pose, for they drove
the horses, and coatinued to travel
with the horses and mares and colts
as they had before. Then he tried the
experimegt of giving them cattle, hut
after the cows had produced calves
in the spring of the year the Indians
traveled, and the stock traveled with
thera. Finally Le hit upon the idea of
giving tiiera, au. stock of pouliry, and
the squaws promptly realized the vaiue
of the product of the hens in the d&o-
mestiec economy, became attached to
the eggs andG attached to the chickens
and when thie bucks proposed that they
should make
the squaws said “No.” The result ot
the. poultry experiment was that for
the first time he was enabled to an
chor these Indians to the place where
the Government desired to keep them.
There are many boys on the farm to-
day who could be anchored. to the
old home if they could be interested in
a good hen.
The Cut Flower Market.
Floriculture has become an ‘import
ant commercial industry in the United
States since 1825, when it was gStarted
according to the census reports, *in Phil
adelphia. It now cuts an importans:
ficure in the local trade of all cities.
In 1900 the wholesale value of flori
cultural products in the United States
was estimated by the Census Bureat
at:$18,422,522, and the retail value of
these products was placed at $30,600,
000. The annual income from eu’
flowers was then estimated at from
$12,000,000 to $14,000,000. An average
of $6,000,000 is spent on roses alone,
and the trafiic in carnations amounted
in the last census year to $4,000,000
The annual production cf roses and ear
nations to supply the market is’ esti
mated at 100,000,000 each. Violets
and chrysanthemums, in the production
of which California at present excels,
come next in the order of popularity,
the annual sales of the former aggre
gating $750,000 and of the latter $50,
000
Floriculture has thus become a great
industry, which gives employment tc
a vast army of workers, and the pro-
duction of any rarity means a bonanze
to the owner, for everybody loves flow«
ers and buys flowers, and the wealthy
classes will pay almost any price for
the choicer varieties.—San Francisco
Chronicle.
An English Novelist’s Mission. |
We note with satisfaction the an-
nouncement that Mr. H. Rider Hag:
gard has been nominated by the Sec
retary of State for the Colonies to pro-
ceed to the United States to inquir,
into and report upon the conditions and
character of the agricultural and in-
dustrial land settlements formed there
by the Salvation Army for the recep:
tion of immigrants from the great
cities of the United States. Mr. Rider
Haggard has for several years deyoted
his energies in a most public spirited
manner to most exhaustive inquiries
into the conditions of agriculture in
this country, his competence for the
task intrusted to him is above question,
and he is sincerely to he congratulated
on this well merited official recognition
of his patriotic and disinterested ex-
ertions.—London Spectator.
He is the Emperor,
The general allusion to the ruler of
§ ar” is, strietly speak-
incorrect. His official title is
“Emperor and Autocrat) “Cz
the old Russian word for “Lor
pg? is
i” or
“Prince,” and was abandoned by Peter
the Great on his triumpiial return frem
Poltava, his crowning victory over
Charles XII. of Sweden. Since then
the Russian monarch has been officially
entitled “Emperor,” and at the Con-
gress of Vienna, in 1815, his right to
the imperial term was admitted by the
Powers, with the proviso that, t
he was Emperor, he had no precede
over the Kings of Western Euro
St. James’ Gazette.
She fills the dinner pail /
He finally decided that if,
their summer migration,
a
71
A BRILL
DR.
(Subj
Brook];
Cuyl
fourth y
time vig
Soul.” 1
29: “The
stern an
said:
The a
Rome is
5f the
loses its
a strong
but is sti
fulness o
modern
lished e
The chie
rich, pr:
The stor
wreck yc
from chil
ship had
“blizzard
which is
a ‘‘euroc
stars ar
fortnight
cargo wi
were obl
craft wi
from fo
imagined
the land.
Of twen
the lead
are Now
one man
cast four
it is a s
the wall
peii depi
manner.
aight wi
weary Vv«
the terri
an the sl
oner, is
master o
life is I
member
was par
chors sh
able life
mighty rn
Humart
you now
the judg
is not a
before si
under Ge
the ancx
chors a1
afloat, b
waves al
And so i
Make fa
and to
Lord Jes
unseen.
union vy
Keeps m
temptati
those in
When M
a heavy .
cable of
throughc
I have v
our divi
salvatior
What ar
notes ist
cause th
ted Stat
hind it.
force fo
faith. N
than a n
iy more
opinion.
act of t
Christ
weaknes
thiness t
to His ir
are not
Christ,
on Chris
friend of
in Albar
room an
saw it
midnight
>*Itirel”
smoke
grasped
in safety
on the
when yo
to Christ
hold you
promise.
forsake 1
an actua
testing
ment to
hid in th
British (
¢hors to
<hapter.
it’s recol
«of faith
marked
the mary
promises
chor nev
The se
and obe
Every d
Aa religio
pleasant
son the
of mere
and floy
strain a
alty to t
to tlre ¢
bedded
are not
faith w
dead. I
of conse
right w
with so
wrecks
days is
in politi
safe un
merce 0
deience
mandme
even in
anchor i
ples of
dience t
these da
the first