wmAt know we? What know we of the gnawinp grief We know so little of the hearts That dims perchance our n< ighoor's way, : - Mv.nnu uo ueat, The fretting worry, secret pain So little 01 the inner lives That may be his from day to day? Of those whom day by day we greet, Then let no idle words of ours Oh, it behooves us one and all Sting to his heart with more dismay. Gently to deal with those we meet! What know we of temptations deep Gently to deal and gently judge, That hover round him like the night, With that divincst charity " * * What bitter struggles may be his, That thinks no evil, but would seek What evil influences blight? The good in every soul to see, Then be not hasty to condemn Measuring not by what it is. If he have strayed from paths of right. Hut by that which it strives to be. —L. M. Montgomery, in the Churchman, JWmjPS Fk^ ' A\r\ie /WII"or\ Poi\r\etl i r TST ELL ? Quick: what is t any paddin' on his little bones. lie" 4 £ (,~r ELL ? Quick; what is y/ V The anguish of heart-break was in the woman's voice, hut the baby's cry, as she crushed him against her breast, rose shrill and Indignant above it, and made the answer of the girl in the doorway a mere moving of lips. "Shut up, will you, you little limb— i oh, no, no, I don't mean it, darlin'i You ain't to blame. You don't know what it was made me crush you up. There, there—the-re!" She rocked the tiny one violently hack and forth, in an agony to hush it. "There, there, darlin', mother's son!—oil, hush up! hush up! I've got to hear." Then in a shriek to the girl at the door, "Moll Tinker, how long you goin' to stan' there openin' and sbuttin' your mouth? Ain't you goin' to tell me? Pityin' heart, and me waitin' here to know, till the heart of me's turned to water! Ain't you goin' to speak? Ain't you goin' to speak? Ain't you goin' to epe " The girl crossed the great hare room at a bound, and was af the woman's ear. Under the momentary impatience in her face lay genuine pity. "Don't say it again, for gracious, Mis' Ivnapp! I'll holler; I guess you can hear me now, can't you? Well, I saw him. He's settin' there just the same. I shouldn't think he'd moved." "Ain't he any different? Say his head ain't held up quite so defiant, Moll, not quite! It'll tell against him; I know it will! You said he'd lowered It some,didn't you, Moll? Why don't you answer?" "He's holdin' It up just the same," the girl said, slowly. "I can't help It. m SHE BOOKED THE TINT ONE BACK AND FOIiTH. If he don't know when he's ruinlu' himself, then he's a fool." The haggard woman, with the baby In her arms, faced about wrathfully. "Larry ain't a fool, and you know It, Moll Tinker!" she flashed. "It's his way! Oh, what can I do? It's his way! Underneath, ho don't feel that way. It's only the outside. But it'll tell against him; I know it will!" "It's tellin'," muttered the girl, under her breath. She had seen the disap proving faces on the jury bench and the stern face of the judge. She had caught the fragments of talk hack by the door. People said Larry Ivnapp was hold as brass. llow could they know it was only "his way?" Suddenly the haggard woman uttered a cry. "I've got to go! I've got to be there! I can't help if the baby Is sick. You said you'd tell me in time. Moll, Is it—time?" "It's—pretty near," shuddered the girl. "I asked a man. Here, give the baby to mo. Mis' Ivnapp. If you ain't got any hat, take mine. Ain't you goin' to give him to me?" "Ho won't stay with you. He'd die cryin'. I can't help it if he does cry there—l've got to go. I'm goin' to take him. I can hush him up—l've got to! I've got to be there to smile when Larry looks up. I>o you think he's goin' to see 'em all strange, aeeitsin' faces? He's got to see mine there, smilin'. And it's me he's goin' to see when—they—come in. Moll," her voice sank to a whisper, "you don't think they couid've come in yet, do you? While you and me have been talkln' here? Pityin' heart, why didn't I go sooner?" "Hush, do! Tlicy can't come In till they go out, can they? Well, they ain't gone out yet. The man said it wouldn't be before afternoon. The judge's got to charge 'em, ain't he? He ain't done that yet. I said I'd let you know in time, and ain't I? But you bettor go now if you're goin'." "If I'm goin'!" the frail little woman cried mightily. "If I'm goin' to Lnrry In the bitterest hour o' his need! Come—yes, you can carry him as fur as the door. It won't hurt any if he cries out o' doors, and my strength needs savin*. Easy, Moll!—there ain't i any paddin' on his little bones. He's dreadful poor." They were hurrying away down the bare street in the noon sun's glare. The mother shielded the tiny old face with one of licr rough, red hands. Her eyes dwelt on it. "To think his father ain't ever seen him!—to think it'll be the first time there!" she sobbed softly, quieted some what from her frenzy. "Him lookin' up sudden—think o' that, Moll—and seein' the face of his son for the first time! it's queer to think of, ain't It? Oh, yes, it's queer! How could any thing come round like that, when we were so happy a little while ago, me and Larry? That ain't the way things happen—it ain't right!" She was sorely in need of her breath, and panted between the words. Yet she talked on drearily. The man on ahead of them. In the crowded court room, waiting with de fiant. young face for his sentence, was charged with a grave crime. In a mo ment of anger, he had felled a comrade with a single blow of his big fist. The injured man had rallied at first, and then suddenly sunk in a stupor and died. The doctors talked learnedly of complicating conditions, hut the out look was dark for the prisoner. His stolid hearing was against him. "He had provocation—can't they see what provocation Larry had! When there's provocation, it always counts, doesn't it, Moll? You've hea-rd so time aud often, haven't you? I have, too. The provocation Larry had had ought to help out, I tell you! Of course it will—l hope you don't think I'm afraid, Moil Tinker! I'm only goin' there so's to smile when Larry looks up. We must hurry—hurry! We're goin' so slow." Gasping and white she got to the court room door and held out her arms for the sick child. "Now!" she whispered, in sudden, pale calm. "I'm goin' in now. You tell somebody that I've got to have a seat up near Larry. I've got to—l can't help it if the baby cries. We've got to go up there, ain't we, father's little son? Oh, you'll hush up for father, won't you, darlin'? Come, I'm ready, Moll." They went In. Some one made a way through the crowd and piloted the two up to the front. Some one made a chauce for them near the pris oner at the bar. The lawyer for the defense was just winding up his ver bose plea. There was already a rest loss expectancy on the weary faces of the crowd. It had been a tedious, hot I morning. Tho haggard little woman's eyes swept tho sea of faces rapidly aud then whitened. She had not found what she sought. She had not found sympa thy. Public opinion was against the man whose life or death seemed trembling in the balance. It was not so much to he wondered at, for all through the monotonous days of the trial he had sat there, defiant and scornful. The first shade of softness was yet to be seen on Lawrence Ivnapp's face. "It's his Way—it's his way," whis pered thu little woman to the girl, her friend. "If they only knew it was Larry's way! It's outside—lf they could only see liim inside! I can—why can't they? That's the way he looked when his mother died—hard, just like that Just exactly, and don't I know how Larry loved his mother?" The Judge got heavily to his feet Ills voice was grave and steru. The twelve faces of the jury, impenetrable aud dread as fate itself, settled to fresh attention. Then the baby cried. A walling, piteous cry at first until It took on notes of pain, when it shrilled and sharpened. , "Hush up—oh, hush up!" breathed Larry's wife in agony. "Hush up for father, darlin'! l'ou don't want them to put us out—pityin' heart, this is the time I've got f o he here! There, there, darlin'—don't!" The judge was visibly annoyed. A frown gathered between his shaggy brows. But there came a short respite from the baby cry and the deep voice of the judge filled it resonantly, ns ho began his charge. The mother's face relaxed with Infinite relief, and she turned her attention instantly to the prisoner. But she could not meet his eye. Again and again she was ready with her brave smile, but In vain. The haughty youug head of the prisoner lowered not an inch, and the defiant eyes stared on steadily into the sea of faces. It was his way—his way. Oh, if they could only know! The baby cried again—this time a burst of anguish, that settled Into a steady, piteous moan. Tho mother rocked aud hushed vainly. It kept on. And the judge was getting lm j patient; a rustle of nervousness swayed | the audience, the lawyers, the jury. I Suddenly something happened. The j prisoner moved in his seat when had lie moved before? He turned about suddenly, and what was this he was doing? He was holding out his arms! "Give the little chap to me, Lindy; I can hush him up." That was what he was saying! He had the tiny, wailing one in his arms now. The tiny face was against his breast; he was swaying gently to and fro——the baby had stopped crying! A great silence tilled the big, bare place. Every eye was riveted on the prisoner's face, as It bent over the baby. The wonder of the change in it tilled every soul with amazement. For the face of the young prisoner was tender and warm; could it ever have been hard and defiant? Not this one —this face that nestled against the tiny one and gazed at it raptly. This was the face of a father who looks at his son for the first time. But, heart of pity, what surroundings! What a background! Since the world began, had this thing ever happened before? Men read the story and gazed in blank wonder. Women drew together and touched each other's hands. The pale little woman sobbed on the girl's faith ful breast. A full minnto—two, three, four—lt lasted. The prisoner seemed lost to everything but the moist, wann touch of the tiny face. lie did not cease the gentle swaying of his body for an in stant, and people smiled presently and prodded cncli other, for the baby was asleep. A tiny one's bridge between trouble and unconsciousness is short. /kIPM A I ApfWf ss> mmo^ "GIVE TOE LITTLE CHAP TO ME, IINDYJ I CAN HUSH HIM CP." and there, in the noisome, crowded room, in that brief moment of silence, the tired baby had crossed the bridge into sleep. Calm and sweet it lay against the prisoner's breast, the pris oner's tender face above it. A throb of sympathy rose in the crowd and trav eled over it from side to side like a wave. Then the judge went on. Whatever he might have said—who knows? Whether he were swayed by pity or the memory of a little face against his own, at some first, rapt moment—-who can tell? This is true that what he said was undertoned with gentleness and clemency. And the twelve listening faces took on mercy as a visible veiL "It's tellin'," murmured the girl be side the haggard mother. "It's tellin'." And it told. It was a softened sen tence they brought In somewhat later. When tlie young father handed back the sleeping baby it was not without the hope of holding it again in his arms, before it had quite outgrown its sweetness of babyhood. "Take care of him, Lindy, and keep him a little 'an till I get out," he said, earnestly. "I hanker to put him to sleep again."—Country Gentleman. What a Yonuj; Man Should Know. People differ as to how much a col legiate education helps a young man in a business career, some contending that it is of the utmost importance; others that ho can get along without it. As a matter of fact, it depends on the young man himself, for, while a college edu cation can hardly be called a hindrance, it might. In some cases, give a young fellow a foolish pride that would make him hold himself about the so-called drudgery of a business life. A very successful man, in speaking of what a young man should know to begin a business life in the right way, summarized iho qualilieatious about as follows: lie should he able to write a good, legible hand. To spell all the words that he knows how to use. To speak and write good English. To write a good social or business letter. To add a column of figures rapidly. To receipt an account when it is paid. To write an ordinary receipt. To write an advertisement for the newspaper. To write an ordinary promissory note. To reckon the interest, or the dis count, on the note for years, months or days. A queer Suicide In Alaska. The startling suicide of John Daly, of Cowley, near Bennett, on the line of tile White Pass and Yukon Knilroad, was the talk of Skagway when the Dolphin departed south last Sunday night. The man took a sure and ef fective method of shuffling oft this mortal coil. He cut a hole in the ice of the creek just small enough to pass through, squeezed himself down in the aperture into the ley cold waters and shoved himself along under the ice for several feet before ho became un conscious. The man made certain ot his death. He cut the hole so small that there was not one chance in u thousand of ever getting back through it. Then, very deliberately, he took off his hat and forced his body down beneath the thick ice, and so close was pile lit that he scarified the flesh on j his shoulders.—Seattle Daily Times. j '"ir'ANlLtegl W. I <s> y I IZEHSBv^^ > fAB> VTegfi? sa mre 1 Funic by Wliale. KIGIIT survivors of the sunken whaling bark Kathleen, of New Bedford, reached this port to-day on the steamship Madiana from West Indian ports. The tale of wreck which they brought equals any in the annals of those ven turous New England mariners who made famous history years ago in their pursuit of the biggest fish of the sea. Their vessel was wrecked by a whale tliey had started and harpooned. They and their comrades'had to take to the open ocean in small boats. So far as is known, the whole ship's company has reached land. Captain Jenkins and ids wife, two officers and most of the crew got to Pernambuco late last month. The survivors who eame hcre'to-dny were Chief Bowman Manuel Viero and seven seamen. They tossed on the sea in an open boat for eleven days be fore making laud. They reached Do minica on March 28. The Madiana touched at that port on April 14 and took them en board. Not only vere those men following a calling that is so historic that most persons have to be reminded that it is not extinct, hut they were following it in a vessel that had considerable title to antiquity. The Kathleen was built in Philadelphia fifty-eight years ago, and was perhaps by this time hardly fitted to cope with the onset of the ponderous leviathan that sent her to tho bottom some 400 miles east of the Barbadoes. J. and W. It. Wing, of New Bedford, owned her. She was a small vessel, only 300 tor.s register not a very tough proposition for a whale. The whale that sunk the Kathleen struck the bark in the beam and crushed in her side. Water poured in so rapidly that it was evident that the old bark was doomed to go down speedily, and such of the company as were still aboard her hastened to get Into Iho boats that had started the whale and to get out tho other boats on board. They had hardly gotten away before the Kathleen went down. Tho boats kept together for forty eight hours, but were separated on March 19 in a storm. There were thirty persons, all told, aboard the Kathleen when she was wrecked, and all of them have been accounted for now. Captain Jenkins and his wife and several of the largo party that reached Pernambuco were brought north cn tho steamship Pydna, which arrived outside Philadelphia yesterday. Their stories have not been told as yet, however, l'or the Pydna was quaran tined at Iteody Island. The rest of the Pernambuco party had to wait for another northbound vessel. The Pydna took all that she could accommodate. Viero's story, as told by liim after landing, was this: "We had struck a school of whales on the morning of March 17, and had killed three. One was Bed up alongside and five barrels of oil had already been taken out of him. Two others were being towed toward the ship. It was about 5 o'clock in the afternoon when my boat started a buster, a twenty eight barrel fellow. lie sounded, and we went after him. I got him on the rise with a harpoon, and got him good. He sounded again, hut he came up quickly. "As he came up he snw the ship, and he made for her like a torpedo boat. The line on the harpoon went through the cleats like blue smoke, and lie looked like a black streak. I had to cut the line to save ourselves. The Kathleen was only a quarter of a mile away, and he hit her just a little aft of amidships. He just stove her whole side in, and the ship went over on her beam ends. The whale gave it a slap with his tail and sounded. That was the last we saw of him. "The Kathleen went eown in about thirty minutes. The captain had got everybody off by that time. "I don't know how the other boats did, hut I had a small cask of water and twelve pounds of biscuit aboard. I gave everybody a little drink of water and a piece of biscuit at C o'clock in the morning, and at 0 o'clock at night. We had a small jury rig, and by low ing and sailing, we made Dominica in eleven days. I don't want another trip like it. We were pretty close to star vation and dying of thirst. Our food and water was all hut gone when we got ashore. What we had had, had only kept us alive so that we could suffer. The American Consul took care of us at Dominica." Viero is a big, raw-boned mulatto. His companions were most of them Yankees.—New York Sun. Man-Eating Lion* in Uganda. Lord Salisbury's announcement some time ago tlint tlio works on the Uganda Railway had been stopped fir three weeks by the ravages of two man eating lions, was so far from being an exaggeration that it underestimated the actual truth, says the Spectator. Although the progress of tho railway was perhaps suspended no longer than three weeks, the depredations of the enemy lasted from March to Decem ber. During that period twenty-eight of the GoveAiment's Indian workmen, and it is believed fully twiee as many Africans, were devoured, and many others were more or less severely In jured. The terror inspired among the In dians was so great that tliey dung themselves on the line In the track" of advancing engines, so as to leave the engineers no choice but to run over them or to transport them to Mom basa, for they were willing to give up their pay as well as their employment rather than remain. Mr. Patterson, one of the engineers of the line, describing the panic that prevailed, says that tne savage ani mals feared nothing, neither lire, nor weapons, nor the approach of the white men. They would carry a man in their mouths as a cat carries a rat, and thus burdened make the tour of the en closure, looking for a convenient place of exit. They would not look at goats or other animals when human prey was to bo had. The natives that re mained hung their beds to trees, or placed them on top cf water tanks, or wherever they thought they would he out of the reach cf the enemy. It was useless to supply the coolies with fire arms, as they were not accustomed to their use. The lions survived many attempts to destroy them, but they were even tually shot by Mr. Patterson. They wore about four feet high and nearly nine feet long. A Kent Hero. The age of heroism Is not altogether In the past. IVe have to-day heroes as sublime as any In history. But wo have one less than we had only a short time ago. Patrick McCormlck was a Chicago fireman with an average record for good conduct. Last Friday'afternoon it was his turn to take the afternoon off. He was in front of tlio Cottage Grove avenue engine house, starting away to enjoy his leisure half-day, wlicn the lire alarm was sounded and an engine dashed down the avenue. A man on the engine called to Mc- Cormlck and lie determined to be on hand at the fire. But It was too late for him to spring upon the passing engine. An express wagon was near, which he called, and jumping aboard lie told the driver to run for the fire. Following the engine it was but a few minutes before lie reached the scene of the fire and went to work as If work was the recreation of his holiday. McCormlck was the only man killed at that fire. lie was at a post of duty near a tottering wall, and an ava lanche of superheated bricks covered liiiu before he could escape. His body was found under the heap of ruins. His holiday sense of duty called him to ills tragic fate. There are heroes in all the ways and walks of life at all times and. in all places. Every human being moved by a heroic impulse become a hero. Our firemen are a heroic class. Every year gives us instances that they are made of the best stuff wl}ich human courage and endurance supply.—Chica go Chronicle. / The Tiger Was Grateful. It takes a special scrt of man to train wild animals—one who, in addi tion to his mysterious power of control, the Influence of which is unexplainable, has u full knowledge of the animal's traits and nature, Mr. Frank C. Bos toek contributes a paper to Frank Les lie's Monthly on the "Brute In Captiv ity," In which ho discusses a few prin ciples of the interesting profession of animal training. "If I were to lay down a basic prin ciple," be writes, "I should say, just as my father did to me the first time he ever gave me a whip and a lion, 'First of ah, warm up to him.' Treat him with frank common sense and kindly hand. Learn from his habits what nature has taught bim and then follow nature. "Once a very fierce old tigress which we had in London had nearly killed my brother, and her keepers were afraid of her. It happened that she ran a bit of hone into her paw and had a sorry time of it. I undertook to re move it, and by the use of cords and a little patience I succeeded. "It took four men to lielp me. When we were about lialf-way through the operation she got the idea of what we were trying to do for her, and a more docile patient no surgeon ever had. The next day I put a poultice on that paw "After that till the day of her death I couid enter the cage at any time with out receiving from her any sign except one of pleasure." For Ills Mother. Dr. Itainsford tells a story of one of the unsung heroes of the East Side. He noticed a tall, thin lad at the celebra tion of the Holy Communion lookiug sadly pale and ill. Investigation showed that the boy's family was in a bad way. His father, a bartender, had no work, and his mother was 111. The only cash that came in to the family ivas earned by the lad. It was neces sary that the woman should go to the hospital for an operation, but she was frightened at the thought of it, and felt that if she could see her family doctor, not an intelligent nan, but t no in which she had faith, she would be better satisfied. They sent to ask what lie would charge for coming to sec her. "Three dollars," he sent back word. The boy said he would earn that amount. He had been accustomed to set apart ten cents for his daily luncheon. He went without any lunch eon for one month to earn the S3 to pay the doctor, and that is why he looked so pale in the church at the end of the I mouth.—New York Tress. ! Twenty-five years ago a full-rigged ship of 2000 tons was considered a very heavy vessel. But there are now afloat eighteen American five and cix masted schooners of übove 2000 tons. "Why Marriage Fails. A girlish young wife he would take, But he found lie had mane a mistake, When lie asked her for bread And she gave liirn instead , , The biscuits she then tried to hake. •-# —N c w York Tress. Ma steal Criticism. The Calf—"Moo!" The Bird—"What a powerful bass voice, but entirely untrained! He ought to take siugiug lessous." —Tuck. Slanderous. {■nr/ft =' to <i JiIAL Wxl J "Have you a letter from your last employer?" "Yes'in. But don't believe a 'word she says in It; she never was a truth ful woman."—New York Journal. Hard I.ucit. newltt—"lt'o sad about Cruet losing bis leg in that railroad accident." Jewett—"Yes; it must be a great disappointment to him; lie was always talking about 'getting there with both feet.' "—Brooklyn Life. An Opening For Revenge. Harry—"Harriet, don't you be so haughty with those people next door!" Harriet—"Why not ?" Harry—"First thing you know they'll / 1 offer cook a dollar more uud get her'A away l'roui us."—Tuck. BP* Poor Human Mature." Jaggles—"How can a doctor, for busi ness reasons, afford to tell liis patients what things Jo do in order to keep in good health?" Waggles—"Easy enough. He knows they won't do them."—New York Sun. Realism. "Do you believe in realism in the drama?" asked the l'ricnd. "I do," answered Mr. Stormington Barnes. "Many is the time I would have given a great deal to play Mac beth with a real banquet."—Washing ton Star. SulllcJeiitly Fquipprcl. "My wife speaks several languages," said the young married man proudly. "That would be a waste of time fo: Henrietta," answered Mr. "Slie has a faculty of making herself thoroughly understood iu English."— Washington Star. Tiro Typos. "I suppose you rejoice with the rest of us in seeing the grass come up to welcome the smile of the vernal sun shine." "Of course I do," answered the man with the thin lips; "mowing the lawn at 0 a. m. is the principal fun I get iu life."—Washington Star. Temptation. "What we want," said the earnest man, "is a bnllot that is absolutely iu corruptible." "That's right," answered Senator Sorghum, "and the only way to secure it is to bring up a generation of voters who won't be forever tempting us poli ticians to buy 'em."-Washington Slar. y The I'et Do*;'* Airlnjy. First Nurse Girl—"Seems to me y'r putting on a heap o' style drivlu' In the park with a moucygrauinicd kerrlage, and coachman and footman, too. Docs f'r missus lend ye Uer private rig?" Second Nurse Girl —"She sends me to take her pet dog out fer au airin'." "But Where's the dog?" "Under th' seat."—New York Weekly. llis Hard Lot. V r ; ; £> V/ tei "Hear about poor Astorbilt?" "No." "His father's cut him off with ciily five billions."—Life. A Fair lousiness Woman. Mrs. Twitter—"Oil, I've no patience I with my husband sometimes. He says T that women huvo no heads for busi ness." Mrs. Flutter—"And after the splendid work you have done at our church fair! Where is the man. I'd like to know, who couid sell goods at 300 per cent, profit? Women have no heads for business, Indeed!"— Boston Trans cript.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers