{ title: 'Watertown re-union. (Watertown, N.Y.) 1866-1918, July 25, 1894, Page 4, Image 4', download_links: [ { link: 'http://www.loc.gov/rss/ndnp/ndnp.xml', label: 'application/rss+xml', meta: 'News about NYS Historic Newspapers - RSS Feed', }, { link: '/lccn/sn85054450/1894-07-25/ed-1/seq-4/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn85054450/1894-07-25/ed-1/seq-4.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn85054450/1894-07-25/ed-1/seq-4/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn85054450/1894-07-25/ed-1/seq-4/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
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. v 3siv\ '•' f \ -'5 .\•••\\'';.''.' ,. •;. .:-- f *\\ ,' *i< I $ M ft 1 N > is ): ,1 •1 *'•' W J, .} * 1 P !: ; .< -1 i' it i I- W&^TOJS&WllE&tlHIOaf, WJBDKE&DAT JtTLY 25, ItJti4 5 \WHILE WE HAVE TIME.\ fh« peaceful hour o{ snmmoiuduik-isjnlsbl Swift (wojUowo baxk beneath an opal sky? Alone the west falntDajrf of crtmsob die; Under tho low trowed pitfen Tbor chkir is 1 sat, Amid sweet Erefts bf' musk tetfntfgfid'iiiatej Sou muse of things you sometimes half forget Can yon forgive hex then? Or-wheivurltWniJoBio sacred, ancient fane, where hdly'rest and peace forever reign, is fall* the tinte* Bunlight from the pane, UntoSyour-eir the solemn words are givens \While we have time,\' **torsive and be for- given.\ Che angels watt to take yourpra-yera to heaven. Do yon forgive her then? \While we have timer* The yeara are not our own; rh« oloci ticks on with calm, unaltered tone. Until onr little span of life has flown; A aad bell tollinRin a narrow glen, A quiet aisle astir with tramp of men; Bfce wonld not know if yon. forgave her—then. —'New York Ledger. BOAEDING SCHOOL. The effort made by a mature mind to -recall again its earliest impressions is a very carious thing. One evokes them. They rise up under the form of a very Km nil person, whom one succeeds i n de- taching from one's self, but who never- theless continues to make one body with What one has become. The impression is singular; it i s multif orm. The image of the vision of the \myself\ is clear, well defined. As soon as one says t o oneself, \'When I was a child,\ one can see oneself as one was at certain hours, but as soon as one wishes t o re- member an event or question of fact one cannot escape from one's actual person- ality, and it i s impossible to rid that fact or that event of its connections, of all its future consequences. One would lite to describe childhood with childish words. One cannot do it. 3s it interesting for another mind than one's own to rehearse what one did at the age of 8 years? I fear not, yet nevertheless I will try. Since I run this risk, I desire to run it absolutely, and to describe in the most natural way possible what appears tome from out the past One day—it was not a Sunday—my grandmother put on me a pretty white dress which she had embroidered her- self, and she said tome: \This is your birthday. Ton are 3 years old on this 4th day of October.\ ' 'Three years!'' These two words re- peated themselves in my head They had in them something grave and gay at the same time. To grow is the perpetual dream of childhood, which entertains some very surprising illusions upon this subject They said unceasingly around me, \She is tall for .her age.\ I looked a t myself. I thought of the children who were smaller than I, and I found myself tall. A pride came over me, which was increased by a word uttered by my nurse, Arthemise. For the first time she called me \made- moiselle.\ On that day all the persons who saw me kissed me. I returned the kisses of my grandfather and of my grandmother, suspending myself by my arms on their necks, but I remember that many peo- ple displeased me by kissing me too hard. I made an exception for my nurse, Arthemise, whom I adored, and for my big friend, Charles, who had promised to marry me, and who called me his lit- tle wife I thought, not without pride, that now, when I was 3 years old, he would oall me \his big wife,\ a thing which he did with much respeot on of- fering me a drum. My grandfather and my grandmother expected for breakfast my father and my mother, who lived three leagues from Chauny, at Blerancourt, Every time they came they were late, because the route across the prairie of Hani- camp was so bad, so had that people told the children the following story: A cow had fallen in one of the mis, and the herder, who was always searching for her with his whip handle, could never find her again. I was hungry, and at each moment I ran t o the front door. I held onto the doorpost and leaned outside. I was a little afraid. The front stairs seemed to me so high with their four steps, but then I thought I would be very useful to the Htohen if I could cry out at the first glimpse of them, ' 'There they are I'' I was extremely restless. I even fell once, to the great fright of Arthemise, who feared for my pretty dress. Finally my parents arrived. They told a great story which I do not now remember. The carriage and the horses were covered with mud. My papa and my mamma Baid that the road was bad, a thing which impressed me. My mother wore a sik dress, very much looped up and very much, hidden under her shawls. I can yet see her unfold her jupe and shake it I help her by beating the silk, and I repeat with admiration, \Mamma is pretty I \ My father takes me up and puts my head upon his shoulder. He has tears in bis eyes. My mother takes me in her turn, and she cries also. \It i s a long time since we have seen you,\ says my father, \a very long time.\ \Oh yes, a long time!\ repeats my mother. I am looking for that long time, and I do not find it. My grandmother an- swers: \Oh no, not a very long time, two months.\ And I am more contented. We are sitting down to breakfast. \M.y grandfather tells Eome things at Which everybody laughs, but I am think- ing already that the gayety will not last, that my mother will begin again to cry i n a moment, and that the clf>ys When my parents from Blerancourt ar« present are always sad on account t»f ma I well know why. I have a story, land I tell i t when I am asked for it: \My grandmother took me from my tmother when I was 0 months old. She jstole ma Then I made 80 leagues in (the stagecoach. Itf-was when I was very ilittle, and that is all.\ All Ch v auny haV jmade me tell that story. 'All Chauny likes t o question me because I began to jepeak very early and without the Picar- jdy accent. They think that I am a little ; | Parisitm, and this title of tansiau l Jpae the first time ray granam'ptker which they give me runs through my remains insensible t o my grief. She re- heacTunoeasingly. \It appears to me syn-1 pulses me. • She, who s o far has consist- Oriymous with ojteen. My father snd- j entry spoiled me, thinks that the ruo- denly says: \ThiB time we shall take Juliette home with us.\ \I shaH keep her,\ answers my grandmother. \It is over two years that you have iept her from us. I want her,\ adds my mother. \If Juliette had a brother or a sister, I would give her t o yon, I assure you.\ \Why has she neither a brother not a sister?\ asked my grandfather, with a smile. \Is it our fault?\ I, too, ask myself why I have not a, little brother or a little sister. I tell myself my grandmother is right, and that my parents from Blerancourt are wrong. \Yon must give Juliette backto us,\ says my father again. \Ho neverl\ answers my grand- father. Then begins a scene which has been renewed during my whole childhood, in whioh they cry out sharply; in which they pull me first to one side, then to the other; in whioh they kiss me, with faces all wet; in which they grow angry and scold; in whioh they make me idiotio by asking me: \Will you come with us?\ \Will you remain with us?\ I answer, crying, having no idea of my cruelty toward my father and moth- er: \I want my grandmother i I want Arthemise and my grandfather!\ On that day, as very often afterward, my parents yield—they become ap- peased. My grandmother, by force of tenderness, obtains from them the con- cession that they will leave me at Chauny. My father repeats to me a hundred times: \Do you love your papa and mam- ma?\ \Yes yes, yes.\ My grandmother adds: \We must begin her education, which can only be done at Chauny. She shall go to the boarding school tomorrow,\ My mother puts on her hat, my fa- ther wraps her in her shawls, they enter the carriage, and I send them some kisses on the tips of my fingers. The next morning I am awakened early. I am still very sleepy. That whioh, when very little, according to the expression of my grandfather, I called \the family drama,\ has fa- tigued me. As i t is my habit, in the large salon with four windowB, which my first reo- olleotions paint t o me as immense, and whioh since then has grown a good deal smaller, I am seated near the fire be- tween my grandfather and my grand- mother, or going from the knees of the one to the knees of the other. Arthe- mise is standing up, and my dresses are spread out upon a ohair. They dress me after having washed me—a thing whioh I do not like much, although it is a Bmall matter—a little on the face and the hands, and even then my grand- father says t o my nurse: \Let her alone. You will make pim- ple3.come t o her face.\ Instead of my pretty white dress of the evening before, they have put on me a dark one. My white apron is cov- ered all over by a black apron. I find that I am. not pretty, and I feel sad. My grandfather says; \Poor good little woman!\ I burst into sobs. I know well enough what a boarding sohool is. I have sore large friends who go there. I might be proud of it, but I am not I am afraid. I repeat through my tears: \Grand- mother, I will be good. I do not want to go to boarding school. Keep me here.\ My grandfather says that they might let the winter pass before sending me to boarding school. Arthemise declares that I am yet too little—that i t i s a murder! That word murder is sounding to this day in my ears, like the explosion of a bomb. \A murder, a murder!\ exclaims my grandmother, with her face all red. \You are crazy.\ Here is again \a family drama.\ My grandfather calls Arthemise inso- lent After having become angry they do not get over it as easily as my par- ents. ,*• \This evening you shall pack your trunk,\ Bays my grandmother to my nurse, \and tomorrow you shall return to Caumanehon. Leave the room!\ \You might have scolded her, but not sent her away,\ says my grandfa- ther. \This girl loves the little one sincerely. Besides, after all, she is right It is a murder. Let Juliette play a year or two more.\ \I want her to surpass all the oth- ers,\ answers my grandmother. \Be- sides—be still.\ \Ta ta, ta!\ repeats my grandfa- ther, who always gives up with these, three words. My grandmother takes hand, and there I am, on boarding school. My friend the grocer, bring all my pennies to get sugar balls, yellow, red, white ones, greets us, and my grandmother tells him that she is taking me t o boarding school. \You want to make a savant of her,\ answers the grocer. The butcher's wife is at her desk in the wide open shop. She asks where I am going thus with my black apron—if it is for a punishment. As my grand- mother answers, \To boarding Bchooll\ tho butcher's wife adds: ' 'It i s the same thing. Poor little dear!\ The large door of Mine. Dufey's boarding school closes wjth a sound_like the rolling of a storm. I enter into the yard, where there are-some \little ones and some tall ones.\ Hrne. Dufey ap- pears before me. She has mustaches, and the sight of her terrifies me. \I have had the mother; I shall nave tho daughter,'' she says. My grandmother wants t o leave me. I hang on t o her skirts. I drag myself by them along the ground. I choke. I repeat sobbing, \You do not love your little girl any more.\ me the by the way to to whom I menfc has come t o be severe, \Be obedient,\ she says toine, \or you shall never come back to the house again.\ \I shall keep her for dinner to get her used to it,\ says Mae. Dufey to my grandmother, \Do not send for her un- til this evening.\ No misfortune in my life has appear- ed to me greaterthan this abandonment No anxiety has more broken me. I am leaning on the wall of the classroom under the bell which they are ringing. This noise, from whioh I have not the strength t o run away, breaks my head. Pushed on by my new comrades, I enter a dark, sad room. They oblige me to seat myself alone at the end of a bench. I have a fit of despair. I cry WJth all my strength. I call Arthemise, my grandfather! An assistant teacher tells me t o keep still. She shakes me. I am not still. 1 defend myself. They carry me t o a gar- ret and leave me there, I do not know how long. Even to this day i t seems to me that that day lasted several months. It occupies as much space among my souvenirs as whole years of other times. The assistant teacher comes back at din- ner time. I have not stopped crying. If I had known what it was t o die, I should have wished for death. \•Will you keep still?\ says the assist- ant teacher to me. \Will you be good?\ I execrate this wicked woman, the first enemy that I have ever met I threaten her. She places a piece of dry bread at my side and leaves me, saying: \You will give up.\ Mme. Dufey has forgotten me. My grandmother knowB it later. I have never had a more violent anger than my anger against the door which i s closed. I have never found those who are called \the others\ more cruel than on that day. After a perfect tornado of weep- ing, knocking, crying, I fell on\ the floor exhausted, and I slept I awoke in the arms of Arthemise, who was in tears, frightened to see me pale, and with my face all shriveled. She rocked me t o lull me to sleep while she told me some gay stories of Cau- manehon. She repeated, \They do not love you, they do not love you!\ Now, as I had Arthemise again, I did not cry any more. I felt a strong will in me. I said to my nurse: \Arthemise you love me, don't you?\ ' 'My dear little one, of course I love you,\ answered she. \Well Juliette wants to go to Cau- manehon, You will obey her.\ She resisted. ' 'They will say that I have stolen you. No, no, but I shall not fail to tell her all .the harm she has done you—your grandmother—be sure of it\ \Juliette wants to go right away,\ Baid I . Arthemise gave up to my pray- ers. And as we went out of the boarding sohool I hurried up the • stairs of the rampart and began to run as fast as I could. Arthemise caught me, took me in her arms and pressed me against her. She ran without stopping in the direction of her village. When she was too tired to carry me any longer, Arthemise put me down, and I ran on, holding her by the hand. It seemed to me that I was doing a great thing, and that I was in the right, while my grandmother was wrong. While running or i n the arms of Arthe- mise I repeated the word which had struck me so much: \It is a murder I\ \Yes it is a murder,\ said Arthe- mise, \but we shall see what we shall see.\ We walked'on in the mud. It was dark, and if I had not been with Arthe- mise I should have been very much frightened at the ruts where the cows were lost I was hungry, very hungry, and I thought I was a very unhappy lit- tle girl. We arrived at the house of mynurse. The door stood open. A great clear fire burned in the large ohinmey. The fa- ther and the mother of Arthemise ap- peared to me to be older than my grand- father and my grandmother. They'were eating soup and rose up in alarm when they saw me. \Why do you bring mam 'selle here?\ exclaimed they. \Because they want todoher harm!\ \Who?\ s&d the father. \The master and the mistress.\ \You are crazy! It is none of your business,\ cried the mother. \X am hungry. Will you give me some soup?\ asked L The good people helped me, both of them at the same time. That soup ap- peared t o me better than all the soups of mvgrandmbther. When I was warmed, ArthemiBe put me to bed, imdressing^ne only partial- ly. She left a oandle upon'a.shell The sheets were very coarse. There were some spider, webs on the walls and hanging to the ceiling, and i n the room itself some wooden boxes, between -the slats of which came out tie little heads of rabbits. My own head was on fire. It seemed to me that the rabbits looked at me to ask me my story. I dropped on my knees upon the ooarae, sheets, and I said: ' 'My good rabbits, I have, a grand- mother who does not love me.\ I do not know what the rabbits an- swered me. At that moment I was tak- en up i n tho arms of rny grandfather, who devoured ine-svith. his kisses, and who carried me before tho fire. Assist- ed by Arthemise, he triud to dress me With his trembling hands, \You wicked little-girl I Your grand- mother is crazy with anxiety,\ repeat- ed he. \I do not like her any more,\ cried I, throwinf» myself_upon Arthemise's neck. \I want' to stay at Cauman- ehon, in tl e rabbits* room. I do not want to leave my Arthemise.\ I -had a fcvi?r, and l •- randfather, Who was a Burgeon?' v,\i, . -aid that 1 might have convulsions. Besides he any could not feke me away alone, since he had to drive the horse. \We shall take Arthemise with w She shall not leave you,\ said.he tome. \1 shall not goto boarding Eohpol, grandfather! Neverl\ \No; calm yourself.\ We left I was seated upon the lap of Arthemise, and I saw the full moon for the first time. I- remember my astonishment and the confused ideas which I kept for a long time about this pale sun. When I arrived at the house, my grandmother was on the steps, so un done—she had cried\ so much—that I saw she had been'terribly worried. She asked my pardon. \My darling, they shut you up in the garret! It was hor- rible. You did well to punish me. 1 shall not torment my little girl more,\ said she. I felt a certain superiority, which gave me some relief. I congratulated myself upon my conduct. Perhaps that moment decided my character. \Juliette will always do like that when grandmother is wicked,\ said I, \and then she wants Arthemise for- ever.\ My grandmother covered me with kisses. \Arthemise said she, \tell me all she said, all she did, It was she, was it not, who wanted to run away?\ \Yes madame.\ '''She resembles me, the love, I adore herl Arthemise, promiso me that you will yourself mike her like the boarding school. We must stock thiB little head with furniture. It is well worth it\ \No no, no furniture in my head,\ cried I . Arthemise and my grandmother had understood each other. I returned to the boarding sohool later, but with a friend who taught me to amuse myself with images and the letters of the alphabet —Translated Prom the French of Ju- liette Adam For Romance. EXPERT THIEVING-. HOW *>RtVATE HOUSES ARE WORKED BY INGENIOUS CROOKS. Cementing Quiaksands. The well known German engineer, Neukirch, in a paper on making foun- dations in quicksand, urges that the sand on whioh the foundation is to rest be converted into solid concrete by blowing into it, by air pressure, pow- dered dry hydraulic cement, nsing al>4 inch pipe drawn to a point at its lower end and having three or more three-eighth inch holes. In practice this pipe i s joined at its upper end by a rub- ber rube to an injeotor, which is con- nected to a source of compressed air and is fed with dry cement, the sinking of the pipe to the depth required being facilitated by blowing air through it during its descent and setting it in mo- tion, a depth reaching to 19 feet being thus quickly accomplished. After this the cement is fed in and carried into the sand by the air, whioh, being forced up through the former, insures a thor- ough mixture with the cement? and the tube i s then slowly withdrawn, the sup- ply of cement being continued until it reaches the surface, the concrete formed in this way taking several weeks to harden and requiring Some months to attain its full strength. JTurther, the whole area t o be treated is divided into a number of small areas of about a square foot each, and the tube being sunk successively and operated on each of the squares it is found that the mix- ture of the sand and cement produced ocoupies less space than did the sand alone before the operation. This method of operation has been resorted to suc- cessfully in coffer dam construction and sewer work, where suoh had to be laid in quicksand.—New York Sun. A Musical legend of the Chinese, The Chinese have some extraordinary superstitions relating to music Accord- ing to their queer notions, the Creator of the universe hid eight sounds i n the earth for the express purpose of com- pelling man to find them out On the same principle, it is presumed, Jupiter, according to Virgil, hides fire in flints and honey in trees in order to whet the ardor of man's industry t o persevere in his efforts t o rediscover the hidden treas- ures. According to the Celestial idea, the eight primitive sounds are hidden in stones, Bilks, woods of various lands, the bamboo' plant, pumpkins, in the Bkins of animals, in certain earths and in the air itself. Any one who has ev.er h'ad the pleasure (?) of seeing and listening to a Chinese orchestra will rBfrmmber that their musical' intrumenta wera made of all these materials except the last, and that the combined efforts at the other seven seemed better calculated to drive the ethereal sound away than to coax it from the air, whioh is really the object of allCMnesemnsioal«fforta. When the bands plays, the naive ored-olity' of the people, both old and young, hears in the thuds of the gongsand the whistling of the pipes the tones of the eternal sounds of nature that were originally deposited in the various animate and in- animate objects by the all wise Father. —St Louis Bepublio. learning to Swirru A useful device has been designed for learning the motions of\ swimming, It consists of a wire stretched tightly across the swimming bath. Two grooved pul- leys run along the wire, and a rope is passed thrqugh the lower pulley reach- ing t o the surface of the water, A belt of special make is worn by the pupil, which, by means of swivels and rings, allows the wearer to lie in any desired position. As soon as the swimmer ac- quires the proper motions, the wheel moves along the wire. This makes the lesBon interesting arid much less fati- guing than the old method of pole and rope.—Engineering. Extreme Economy. Mrs. Corntossel had been to the Cor- coran Art gallery. \What did you think of the statuary?\ asked her v hostess. \Well was the meditative reply, \of course it's mighty poor taste and sinfully wasteful fur people, ter overdress. But, t must say the ancients carried economy *er an extreme.\—Burlington (Ja.) Ga- (ette. Some of tho New Tricks Well Calculated t o Deceive the Cautious—Calling. For Arti- cles Just Delivered—A Cnnning Game In Conseotion With Xost Articles. During the cold weather of the early part of the year an eastern lady visiting at a well known house in the heart of the city ordered from a prominent fur- rier a. costly wrap of Russian sable. Al- terations in the garment were necessary, and aa they would require time and the lady was about returning east she re- quested her hostess to receive the wrap and forward it to her. The long box was delivered on the promised day, and the sable wrap was just being packed for es- pressage when the front door bell again pealed sharply, and a message, prrport- ing to oome froux the furrier, was brought. It was to the effect that an alteration, particularly directed, had been over- lt>oke4, The furrier requested the return of the garment and the mistake would be rectified that same afternoon. The huge box was about t o be intrusted t o the messenger when a fortuitous impulse came to its guardian. She returned word to the messenger that she declined t o take the responsibility of permitting anything so vartsble to be taken away without a written order, but would herself call at the furrier's the following morning. That oall confirmed suspicions. The furrier had authorized no one to recover the wrap. It was easy t o draw conclu- sions. Again, and yet more recently, a lady resident of West Walnut street found on her return home one mild afternoon that a valuable jewel watch had fallen from its chatelaine and left no traces behind. That evening her husband hastened t o have tie loss advertised in the morning papers. At breakfast the \Lost and Found\ columns were carefully read. The valuable chatelaine watch was de- scribed in the \Lost\ lines, and to the joy of husband and wife another \ad.\ was found detailing the discovery of a lady's jeweled watch on the street in the same vicinity. Mr. and Mrs. Smith, as they may be called, were still discussing breakfast and the lost watoh when a man was announced. \About a lost watch,\ so ran his mes- sage, \picked up the previous evening on the pavement below.\ \My watch, I'm confident,\ she ex- claimed, springing from her chair. \So you said a few moments ago, when you read the 'Found' advertisement,\ re- monstrated her husband. But she hur- ried through the doorway, the caution, \Be careful what you say,\ ringing in her ears. \You lost a watch; I found one,\ so began the man. \Describe yours, please.\ Mrs. Smith did so, while the stranger kept his left hand closed, seemingly, over the lost trinket. \Tour watch number—that I must have,\ continued the man as she finished a brief hut clear description. Quite im- pressed by his concise, businesslike man- ner, she consulted a card on which she had methodically jotted down her treas- ure's number. The man repeated the figures slowly after her. \After all, this doesn't appear to be your watch,\ he said coolly, exhibiting a cheap timepiece of rolled gold. Grumbling over the wasted moments, she quickly donned her street suit and hastened to the neighboring house from where the \Found\ notice had issued. She was met on the threshold by the neighbor herself, whose excited greeting was: \So glad we were the fortunate finders of your beautiful watch. Bridget saw it shining on the pavement as she was light- ing the vestibule lamp. When your brother called 20 minutes or so ago, we were as pleased t o give him the watch as he was to get it. Of course we were care- ful to have it described, which he did accurately; giving the exact number,\ etc Mrs. Smith is still minus her pretty jewel, but she has learned a costly les- son. The andacity of these house thieves i s often really amusing. They will' g o to any extent and take the greatest risk to accomplish their ends. One more exam- ple like the aforementioned, a true one: la a commodious down town residence a valuable ornament in the library is a bust of Andrew Jackson, cut in solid marble by a master hand. The house's head, now in the \great majority\ ranks, was a man noted for his wide sympathies and generous views. It did not excite mueh comment at his house when, one day, a couple of men called and stated that the eolonel had directed them to carry the Jackson bust to his office, not far distant, where it was to figure in an early political demonstration, The ladies of the family were not at home, but an old Irish woman, who had for years been a fixture in the kitchen, caught sight of the bust as it was being carried out of the door. She was at- taehed to the family she had served so long, their interests were hers, and she managed to gain upon the two men, who were hurrying down the street, bur- dened with the heavy marble. \Yon take that figger right hack to the house,\ commanded the aproned captain. \Take it back, or I'll call a perleece- Bf the colonel wanted thaffig- SILVER AND GOLD. farewell, my little sweetheart, Now fare you well andrree; I claim from you no promise. You claim no vows from znev The reason whyf—thc reason Right well wo can uphold— I have too much of silver. And you've loo much of gold. Apuzrle t-his Whose lov-- Who chink ' Should v But I' m m- And yoy'a'* I hare too !..• (•i worldlings, l '••:ore flies. ;ulu to silver •anal prizel ;-, . •••'.ud souled; i. , ui t-tirer, And you're toj much of gold. Upon our heads the reason Too plainly can be seen; I am the winter'B bond slave. You are the summer'B queen. Too few the years you number, Too many I have told; I have too much of silver, And you've too muoh of gold. You have the rose for token, I have dry leaf and rime; I have the Bobbins yeBper, You, morninff bells at ohime. I would that I wore younger (Yet i'ou grew never old)— Would I had less of silver. But you no less of gold. —Edith M. Thomas. XjOdb. Toward the Xiight. In a sickroom there was a little rose- bush in a pot in the window. Ther6 was only one rose on the bush, and its face was turned fnll toward the light This fact was noticed and spoken of, when one said that the rose would look no other way save toward the light. Experiments had been made with it; it had been turned away from the window, its face toward the gloom of the interior, but in a little time i t would resume its old position. With wonderful persist- ence it refused to keep its face toward the darknesB and insisted on ever look- ing toward the light. The rose has its lesson for us. We Bhould never allow ourselves to face toward life's gloom. We should never sit down in the Bhadows of any sorrow and let the night darken over us into the gloom of despair. We should tumour faces away toward the light and quicken every energy for bravei duty and truer, holier service. Grief should always make u s better and give us new skill and power; i t should maks our hearts softer, our spirits kindlier, our touch more gentle; it should teach us its holy lessons, and we should learn them, and then go on with sorrow's sa- cred ordination upon us to new love and better service.—Selected. To Care Eor blowers. To keep flowers looking well the wa- ter should be changed daily and old blossuins thrown away, Then the groups should b e carefully adjusted with rela- tion to each other so no two tall speci- mens should appear together. A little sunlight may do no harm, but cut flow- ers exposed to the full rays of a power- ful sun wilt at once, and a pretty ar- rangement i s soon spoiled. Early morn- ing is the proper time to pick flowers. They Bhould be immediately sprayed with a rubber sprinkler, which, by the way, is invaluable to one who i s gather- ing fresh blossoms. We are apt t o treat flowers carelessly—a handful of them picked in the heat of the day without a good sprinkling is soon in the same con- dition as a fish out of water.—New York Advertiser. The Man, the Goat and the Banana. A big gray goat walked the other day down Whitehall street. When he came near to a vender's cart which stood, piled with bananas, by the curb on the east side of the street, he paused and survey- ed the fruit with a fixed and expression- less woodenness of countenance. A man who came along as the goat stood there stopped and bought a banana. He strip- ped the banana and handed the peel to the goat. Then the man and the goat both stood there and ate—the goat with undeviating gravity, the man with a ris- ing smile. When they had finished, the man went on his way, the smile still playing on his features. The goat passed on with a countenance of unbroken woodenness.—New York Sun. You man ger, he'd a-written fur it, it back, The men saw that the dumpy, calico gowned maid meant business. They did \kerry\ the bust back, else the colo- nel would have mourned a valuable or- nament, for he had not authorized its removal.—Philadelphia Times. A Mangy eongregBtlon, kittle Flossie—The people at the Epis- copal church are very slangy, don't you think, mamma?, Mamtaa—SFo.dear. Whatmakes von think so? Flossie—Well, every time the minister stopped reading they all Baid ah there.— Chicago Infer Ocean, What He Meant. Adolphus—I'm afraid I hit him deucedly hard. I just looked a t him, you know, in a significant way and said, ''The fools aren't all dead yet\ Arthur—And what did he say? Adolpuhs—He said: \No but you aren't looking well, Dolly. You'd better take care of yourself,\ Woader wtafc in time he was driving at?—Boston Tran- script. Two Opinions. Lord Fitzbooby—Now—aw—Miss Ev- elyn—on this dower question, you know. Don't you—aw—think every wife ought to have a little money—aw? Miss Evelyn—Yes, indeed, my lord. I'm right with you there. Because then, you see, i f the girl makes a bad. job of it, she will be fixed to back out.—New York World. San Francisco is the most cosmopolitan city in the world. The holidays of every nation are commemorated by public pa- rades. Every civilized language may-be heard, and the ships of every maritime nation from the British man-of-war to the Maltese felucca and the Chinese junk are seen in the bay. After \Paradise Lost\ was printed it tyas translated into French, and \this ver- sion falling into the hands of 1 m innocent Englishman he translated it back into English and sent it to a publisher. The manuseript is now in the British mu- seum. Great Britain owns 3yXK) square miles in Borneo, and so great is the confidence felt in the permanence of the .British rule that over 1,000,000 acres of lanu have been leased for 999 years. During the last century an oiriginal copy of Magna Charta, seals, signatures and all, was found in the hands of a tai- lor who was about to cut it up for pat- terns. An Irish chiropodist announces that he has \removed corns from all the crowned heads of Europe.\ <OUEUP- Men's CD 'Preseents op that are In a word if pure hi Bilye tr. a 10 WashiBBto u TH He You watc him time It is banc It time mini GET BAI V 500 Exch MAR! Jobbers I JREPAl HORSE Trunks, 1 N OTICE Mary 1 an order of 1 Jefferson cou: cording to li against Mary vQle, in sal are required vouchers the cutor, &c, < of J. A. Mel tertown, N. Y bar, 1894. Dated Febn ImproYGi No array ol the hope that follows the u: premise of cv \Having au: years, I deoid bottle 1 foun other bottle i cine. Don't pay ! dyspepsia tvl relief, Rept prove that dy \I have U Blood Bitters with which X c AMPBS OAK !I Dry Good Also agents prioe ontv XII H0.8C
