Indiana State Sentinel, Volume 28, Number 13, Indianapolis, Marion County, 31 March 1880 — Page 10

THE INDIANA. STATE SENTINEL. WEDNESDAY, MARCH 31, 1880-SUPPLEMENT-

THE VISION.

1 BIB30P WILBIEFOBCX. 1 sat wlthla my glad harn, aad round eWut ms playad Tour children Lb their ateriliaent, and happr noUea BeslJs ms tat their mother In her loTellaau and g. - I ne'er taw aay like bei, ui la loni vision bright. - It was la life' young morning that oar heart toKta grew. Beneath Ita parkllng sunlight, aad la It steeping dew And the sorrows and ths Joys of a twelve years changetwl Ufa . . Bad draws nor closely to ma my own, my blessed wife, Tbea at our door One knocked, and we roea to let Him in. Tor the tight waa wild aad stormy, and to turn Ulm tbenoe were ein; With a Trace be to thle boaeehold," Hie shelterers He bleet, . And aat Him down among na like tome expected gnesL Te children's noiee was hnihed, the mother softly poke. And my inmoet spirit thrilled with the thoughts which in me woke; For it seemed like other days within my memory stored. Like Manure's tented plain, or Em maus evening board. His form was vailed from as, His mantle was not reied. Bat we felt that eyes of tenderness and love npon c gsaed; Iiis lips we saw not moving, bot a deep and inward tone Spake like thander's distant voices onto each of ns alone; "Full often ye nave catted me, and bid Me to your home, And I have listened to your words, and at your prayera am come. And bow my voice is strange to yon, and 'Wherefore art Thon here?' Tonr throbbing hearts are asking, with straggling hope and fear. 'It was My lore which shielded your helpleea infant days. It was My care which guided yon through all life's dangerous ways. I joined yoor hearts together. I blessed your marriage vow; Then trust and not be fearful, though My wayi seem bitter now." We spake bo word of aniwer, nor said He any more. Bat aa one about to leava as, H passed to the door. Then ere He crossed the threshold He beckoned with His hand That she who sat beside e should come at Bis command. Then roee that wife and motbei and went into the night. She followed at His bidding, and was biddeo from oar Siftht; And though my heart was breaking, I strove my will to bow, For I saw bis hands were pierced, and thorns had torn bis brow. ME. PITKINS' METHOD. BT MARGARET HOLMES. Everybody in the neighborhood knew that Mrs. Piikins had a bad cough; though neither she nor anvone else knew exactly how she came by it. it might have been caused by over heating herself in making a few improvement", on that day when Mr. Pitkin brought home two friends unexpectedly. She might have taken too long a walk that afternoon with the children, but the weather waa bo lovely. She remembered, the day she was out calling, how refreshingly cool Mrs. Colby's parlor was after 6he had walked on the sunny side of the street, and how she was a little surprised to find herself growing hoarse, and feeling an uncomfortable chilliness before reaching home. Then the night of the storm it was certainly imprudent for her to go rushing from room to room closing windows that had been left open for ventilation, quieting the frightened childen, and in various ways superintending the progress of the cyclone, clothed only in the fashion of the hour. But it didn't matter so much now how she became possessed of the racking demon. the fact of possession could not be disputed. She coughed constantly till exhausted, then wheezed and gapped and choked till she could cough again. Her eyes were red and wollen; her lips blistered and dry; her voice, when not subdued to a whisper, was hoarse, fluctuating contralto. All her neighbors came to see . her, and they all sympathized with her and comforted her. One told her how her own dear sister had had just such a cough, at just the same time of year, how she had "taken everything," but died just as the long hot days came. Another knew of a parallel case, only the patient lasted a little longer; dying with the coming of frost. Another unfortunate had lingered, bedridden for years; bankrupting her husband, and wearing out the strength and patience of her friends. And, as if a pro pect of death by slow torture was not enough for any mortal woman to bear, each story had a sequel, giving graphic descriptions of neglected children, the second marriage of the widower, and the cruel stepmother. Mrs. Pitkins thought she never before knew the meaning of total depravity. IIow much latent wickedness there might be in the heart of a woman could not be guessed at until she had the care of motherless children, whose father she had promised to love, honor and obey. No matter if the nar rator of some dismal history did sometimes send a little child screaming from the room with a boxed ear; wasn't the child her own? Didn't she know her own business? Our mothers have certain in-alienable rights. Their hands are light, their voices are soft; it takes a dead woman's children to develop all undesirable qualities. It was of no use for Mrs. Pitkins to assure her comforters that this cough of hers was a mere trifle, a small matter of irritation of the throat a slight bronchial affection, probably, wnich would pass off in a few days. She was assured that hopefulness was a moßt telling sign of bsty consumption, and disbelief in the presence of the disease a never failing symptom of the entire rui of the lungs. Airs. Pitkins never acknowledged, even to herself that she was the least bit depressed by this sort of comfort; at least she never consciously acknowledged it, but when it came to pass after a fortnight spent in vain endeavors to control the cough that had grown worse hourly, when all the remedies that had been brought ler, each one.the best in the world for a cough, and warranted to bring relief if anythmg would, had failed utterly, and she found herself on Sunday morning too ill to go to church she might have been called quietly cheerful, che was certainly nothing more. She dressed the children carefully and started them to suaday school, standing in the door to watch them round the first corner. Little) darlings! was it possibleBhe must leave them when they needed her care so constantly? She sighed as she closed the door, and do doubt looked and felt melancholy

enough to warrant her comforters that she had full possession of a dozen pairs of sound longs. But opinions that are not adjustable are almost worthless. In the dining room Mrs. Pitkins1 found one of her daily visitors talking to Mr. Pitkins. She had come in to borrow a fruit-dish, and while Mrs. Pitkins went to the closet to bring it, this consoling angel remarked in a stage whisper to the husband: "Iear mel how gloomy your wife has grown with that cough I Iler lungs must be entirely gone; melancholy is a sure sign she ought to nave the best of care while she does live." Mr. Pitkiri house was a pleasant place to visit. Mr. Piikins was in the habit of saying that they held levees on Sunday afternoons. It so happened on this particular Sunday the number of callers was unusually large. Mrs. Pitkins. between hor paroxysms of coughing was quite gay. Yet, as often as 6he thought of nor children, and the probability of their being deprived of kindness and loving care, there came an undercurrent of sadness to her gaity that was quite perceptible to her friends. Ever since she could read she had practiced reading aloud ; and it was one of the delights of her happy household for her to read aloud, for the children, something a little beyond what they read for themselves; but which her excellent articulation and occasional pauses to explain and and simplify, made a genuine feast. On this Sunday evening the children should have their reading even if ehe was feeling miserably. She read and talked to them till their eyes grew heavy and her voice was nothing but a husky whisper. Then the little ones were tucked away in their beds, and their mother sat for an hour, toasting her feet at the grate, and for a wonder, not coughing. She was sure she was getting better. Theclock struck 10. She went to her own bed room, tired, sleepy, hoarse, but the cough was gone. "I hope you will rest to-night," eaid Mr. Fitkins, ' your cough seems to have left you." "Yes, I'm much better only very tired." but what sort of tantalizing demon had taken that cough tor a vehicle of expreession and action ? No sooner had Mrs. Pitkins touched her pillow than was commenced that tiresome scratching in her throat that persisted, hanging on, reaching up and down, further and futher each way. of a elaw it was like nothing else. It fastened ita fangs first in one spot, then in another, tearing andpullir.jj and wrenching as if determined to turn the throat wrong 6ide out and upside down. Then picked out fine threads and fibers that reached into the depths of the shculders and chest. IIow strong they were! if they'd only break what a relief it would be! It was of no use to sw-llow an extra dose of each one of the infallible remedies her friends had prepared. It was of no nse to change her position from one side to the. other. It was of no use to sit wrapped in shawls, and supported by pillows. That inexorable clan still held the citadel and that frantic cough still rioted all over the house, and out into the night. The clock struck 11. It was not only painful, it was exasperating. Mrs. Pitkins heard a window opened across the street, she knew who was listening, and she knew how she would be looked at in the morning. The window was softly closed, and the woman in the hands of the cough demon knew how that listener over the way was shaking her head and sighing, and no doubt casting about in her mind as to what device in flowers she would contribute to the tuneral, how much she could afford to pay, and what she would say to tho children about their dead mother. Gradually all sounds died in the streets but the patrolman's whistle or horn, the screeching, of the railroad engines commencing Monday's work and the clock in the tower that grew noisy in the stillness of night. If Mrs. Pitkins could see her thoughts and fancies of that night in words on some bright day when she is in sound health, she would be "likely to deny all knowledge of them, and think any woman capable of thinking such a chaotic mass, or incapable of preventing herself thinking it a fit subject for treatment in an insane nospital. At first her only thought was of applying the internal and external remedies, quite sure that the claw would be vanquished within 15 or 20 minutes; but when 30 minutes passed, then another 30, then 60 more and the noisy clock struck 12, she wonderered why Lucifer had not tried Job with a claw in his throat She was sure, as Job's children were beyond the possibility of a stepmother, he would have cursed God and went out and hanged himself, instead of making an example of himself to be thrown into poor tortured bodies' faces for thousands of years. Then came the weari ness, the utter exhaustion, when the sense of pain is half lost and the worst feeling is irritation at the monotony. She dozed and drcrmed and coughed; dreamed she was being tortured for righteousness' sake, and her faith was giving way; that she held out her hands and called to her tormentors as Colonel Ingersoll says he would have done with the thumbscrews: "Ilerel take away this lion's paw from my throat. I'm so tired! tell me what to believe and I'll believe it! I'm so tired!" But the torture was only varied. She climbed hills and had to make her cough keep time to her steps and hist till she reached the top. She fell from awful heights and was only saved from being dashed to pieces by that savage claw fastening in her throat and bringing her to a sitting posture in bed. She bad the care of hundreds of sick babies that screamed in concert every time she coughed. She studied the puzzle of 15, moving the blocks in time with that demoniac claw. Then she roused herself, rubbed her throat and chest, took a a dose of each one of the infallible remedies, told Mr Pitkins she was getting better and laid down again, to find herself pursued by thousands of tiny flame-colored imps. They swarmed over her head and shoulders, flashed before her eyes, hissed in her ' ears, darting like lightning here, there, everywhere, and at last settling in a swarm over her chest. Each one proceeded to adjust a weapon he carried; what they were she could not discern; but they looked like needles of fire, and so she thought them as a million or more all at once pierced her lungs and riveUd themselves there. Then how those imps laughed and shouted and sang and danced. IIow they distorted their ugly little faces, and writhed and twistecttill sparks flew from every point of their bodies. Poor Mrs. Pitkins thought the end must come soon now and resolved to bear it quietly. The imps read her resolve in her face and instantly every one went to work in some different way with his needle. Some twisted and pried; some balanced their bodies on the top end and spun round and round : some performed like wooden Jumping jacks, and some sprang from one to another, in a bewildering game of cross-tag. Tbero was no gymnastic feat ever dreamed of, no

tricks of agility ever invented that was not performed by these flaming imps on their redhot needles. Mrs. Pitkins was only conscious of the thought: ''I'm nearly dead but I didn't know consumptives died this way the children must do the best they can " when she felt herself raised by a strong arm under her shoulders. She opened her eyes to see bending over her the face of the old physician she knew and trusted. Mr. Pitkins was supporting her and remarked as the doctor presented a spoonful of something: "Take this, Polly, we'll have no more of these homemade slops, and no more of this blab about consumption and step-mothers." Then the bed covering was folded softly about her, the fiery imps grew dimmer ana paler, turning rapidly to indistinct, ash-colored forms, needles and all, and dropping like healing powder into the wounds kthey had made. The next day Mrs. Pitkins kept her room, and the news went though the neighborhood like wild-fire, that she was down at last, unable to be febout, her cough was so much worse. Of course everybody came to see her. Visitors were admitted, their questions answered, and they were allowed to make their way to the sick room without restrictions. Bat just outside the door of the sufferer a large placard was tacke i on the wall and each visitor read in staring black letters: "My wife is sick. She has a cough, and it's a bad cough; but she has no symptom of consumption, neither are her lungs weak, nor permanently impaired. I don't want any man or woman, Christian or Pagan, to say, in her presence, that she i3 in a dangerous state, nor to hint even by a look or a ges ture that they think so. My wife has nerves and they shall be respected so long as she remains in the care of Jonx Pitkins." Some smiled and went in; some sniffed and went out; but the order was obeyed and Mrs. Pitkins grew better rapidly.

Sunday Life and Week-Day Practice. The patient preacher plods along; Through theologic deepa, The while the deacon, bless his soul , Bows down his head and sleeps. And wben the preacher takes a rent From tbeologic matter, The drowsy des con rises np And paaaea round the platter. And when at leDgth he back returns From his collecting trip. From out his vest r.pon the plate He lays a poker chip. A Happy none I Detroit Free Press. Is the highest and dearest gift of earth. There is in this city one home that must certainly be of that kind. The other day while the gues in a fashionable up-town boarding house were at dinner there was heard in the main hall the sound of little pattering leet. That was unusual, for there are no children in that house (more's the pity), and every boarder involvntarily paused with up lifted face and a look that meant hush! Presently a babyish face peeped shyly into the dining-room and a small voice aked: "Where's my mamma?" "Mercy on us! Who is the child?"' exclaimed the landlady, a motherly wointtn with the most benevolent pair of spectacles always astride of the most benevolent of noses and masking a pair of the kindliest and most sympathetic eyes. ''Why! who can it be"?" chorused the ladies. "By jingo! hero's an episode." Thus the oracle of our boarding house. The romantic young gentleamnof the party, who is understood to have been "engaged" seven times in the latt seven months, tempted the little visitor to his chair-side with a shining nickel, and entered into conversation with her. "What is your name, baby?" "Darling," was the artless reply; in a tone of great since rity. "Darling what?' 'Little darling," with slight emphasis and a nod that tossed the yellow curls over the big mild eyes in which was not a trace of insecurity. "What is your papa's name?" 'Just dear papa.'' "And your mama's?' "Mamma, dear." "What does your papa do?" "Loves me an' mamma and smokes cigars and reads and tells me stories and that's all." "Where do you live?' "Oh, in a big, big, pretty house. I ve got a nice dolly that cries, when I squeeze her, and she's got a new dress, and a parasol and blue shoes." "But what street do you live in ?" "It's a house." (With some surprise.) "Yes, I suppose so, but " 'Oh you little rogue here you are!' (Excuse me ladies and gentlemen, I've been in such a flutter about this runaway that I didn't stop to ring but came around to the side door, as I heard my baby had been seen on your Bteps.) The speaker was a young woman of whom the child was a duplicate miniature. Her flushed and happy face was like the first spring flowers, and a single look at her was enough to convice the looker that her baby was the greatest care she had perhaps ever known and what a loving, happy kind of a care it was everybody could see. Again apoligizin for her unceremonious entrance, and blushing with embarassment at the manifest interest which all present had in her and her little tnuant, she vanished. The romantic young man is understood to have again committed himself. It is probably true, for such a pair as that mother and her little prattler are a powerful protest against bachelors and their dismal condition. Chain Shirts. New York Times. The chain-mail vest which is said to have saved General Melikoff from Vladetski's bullet has for many generations past been a common article of wear with the leading personages of Europe, the most notable examSlea being Oliver Cromwell, Gustavus, of weden, the present czar and Louis XVI. In the middle ages the mail-coats were known as "Milan shirts," and greatly esteemed for the fineness of their workmanship. A famous Italian guerrilla, who went into the battle of Ravenna thus equipped, was found dead with the lints of his mail still unbroken, though the bones beneath it were completely shattered by the force of the death blow. A "bullet-proof, vest of this kind was offered by a speculator to the Duke of Wellington, who got rid of him in a very characteristic fashion. Bidding the man put it on, he called to the sentry outside to load with ballcat ridge and come up at once; but the visitor's confidence in his invention did not apparently extend to the testing of it in his own person, for he took to his heel at once.

"TTHAR'S DAT JflüGEltf

An Incident of the Rebellion. ' Philadelphia Weekly Press. In July, 1863, when the army lay at Winchester, Tennessee, one of our foraging parties had for a guide old Jim, one o! the blackeat niggers that ever you did see, Jim was bo black he would shine at night in the dark, and hiä eyeballs were more than three fourths white, or as the boys used to say, had "little or no yoke into them." . The first place Jim led us to was the house of bis former master. Riding up to the door and dismounting, the first sound that was heard was: "Well, if there ain't Jiml How could you leave us, Jim, when we have always treated you so kindly? Dida't you always say that you loved us dearly?" These remarks were addressed to Jim by a lady-like looking woman, and for a moment or two he stood twirling his hat and not knowing what to say; then he blurted out: i "Yes, missus, I always lub you, and 1 lub f-ou now a heap; but really, missus, I find I ub myself best after alL" The good lady could not help smiling, and went into the house. Then J im conducted us over the place where he had for so many years been a slave with as much pride as if he was the real owner. Jim showed his peculiar nature more perhaps in the following incident than in any other. During the advanoe toward Bridgeport a heavy artillery duel was fought and Jim got scared and hid away. lie was not seen for a whole day, and when night came on the colonel, whose cook he was, began to inquire "where that nigger was. and why they did not have something to eat." The Sumpter mules were brought up, the old ham unpackei and a soldier set to cooking, when, just as we had given up all hope of ever seeing Jim again, he was observed slipping quietly into camp, his large eyes rolling wildly. ' . "Come here, you black scoundrel," cried the colonel ''and tell us where you have been!" Jim came up smiling, and, holding out bis hand, said: "Dat you, col'nel? Alive, too, and well? Bless de Lord! And dar is de captin a-look-in' right at me and a-seemin' hull. Lord! Lord! colonel, wasn't it a drefful day, and you is all alive, shuah, an' no mistake. Never expected to see you in dis world anv more; no, I didn't." Why, Jim," said the colonel, "you were demoralized; it wasn't so bad as you think." "Don't swear, colonel, dear. I may have, as you observed got dard darn. It's a bad word, and I can't jist make it out; but I never afore was so near my blessed Lord and Master as I hev been dis day." "How is that," we all inquired. "What did I ever do to dem rebels dat dey should aim at me so?" said Jim savage ly. "Aim at you?" said the colonel. "Why Jim, that is absurd. They aimed at the, soldiers: not you. "Look here, colonel, don't fool! 'fore God doy aim at: me, an' pretty near hit me. I heard dat shot a-comin' through the air and savin as plain as I am sayin it now Whar's dat nigger? Whar's dat nigger? Where is' den he see me, and come straight for me a-yellin': "I see hin! I see him!' and when I run away he burst, anu de little debbils went skirmishing all around right after me. I hid under the log, and 1 heard dein a huutin' for me, but de good Lord preserved me and dey didn't fine me." Jim wa3 in dead earnest, and really believed the rebels had singled him out for a target, and everv shell thrown from their batteries was aimöd directly at himself. Violet. Violet delicate, sweet, Down in the deep of the wood, Hid in thy still retreat, Far from the sonnd of the street, Man and his merciless mood: Safe from the storm and the heat, Breathing of beauty and good Fragrantly, under thy hood, Violet. Beautiful maid discreet. Wher-j li the mate that is meet. Meet tor thee- strive as ha could Tet wiii I kneel at iby feet, Fearing another one should, Viokt. W. C. MonkbeuM. Humor. of Congregational Singing. Bradford Observer. Years ago some of the incidents arising out of the slovenly and ignorant manner in which the "con gregationalsinging" was managed was so ludicrous that it was impossible to resist laughing. I remember being asked one fine Sunday morning to assist at a village Sunday-school. The 'Superintendent" was a gardener, and the way in which he read out one of Dr. Watts' "Divine and moral songs" for the children to sing was very droll the separation of "verses", of four lines into couplets of two, without reference to the context, making the greatest possible nonsense of some. One occurs to me now, which made me smile aloud. Fancy the following read gravely, as though it were a complete sentence: Birds in their little nests agree And 'tis a shameful sight! But on the same day, when we attended the service in the chapel, it was still worse. The old gardener having to read out the lines: God is his own interpreter. And Us will make it plain. read the first line: God is his own latrumpeter! Sometimes even in the established church, the ignorance of the "clerk" gave rise to amusing contretemps. I remember an old man who was clerk at St. Mary's at Leicester, 40 years ago, who always boggled at one word in a favorite hymn of the vicar. The hymn was the well-known one We've do abiding city here and one of the verses commences thus: We've no abiding city here. This may distress tbe worldling's mind. That word worldling was indeed a pons asinorum for the poor old clerk, and the congregation were all in a titter when he came to it. This ma-ay distress the wur-rul wurruld wur-ruldin' moind," was generally what he made of it, and tho organist, tbe clever Mrs. Wood, always played the organ its very loudest at that line, to drown the tittering of the congregregation. The greatest fiasooes, however, arose from the selections of inappropriate tunes. One in which the words "And bow before the throne," were rendered thus: And bow-wow-wow, wow-wow-wow-wow-wow-wow And bow-wow-wow before the throne. I have been looking through some letters lately, and am able now to give a few more specimens. There is a hymn I forget in what collection in which tbe line "With Thy benediction seal" occurs. 1' have a memorandum that this hymn was sung at a chapel

in Cheshire, to the tune of "Aaron, 7a," and this is how the above line came in the music ! With Thy benny With Thy benny With Thy benediction seal. Another favorite tune in those days was called "Job," which was made to do duty for all sorts of "long metre hymns. Two singular specimens or its inappropriateness are appended. The line in one was, "Stir up this stupid heart to pray," and this was the way it was sung: Stir up this stew Btirup thii stewpid heart, etc. The other was "And love Thee better than before" which was sung And lova Thee bet And love Thee better than, etc. There is a tune "Miles' Lane" in which, when sung to its own hymn, "Crown Him Lord of all," the repitition of the words "crown Him" has a very fine effect. Unfortunately in the days I am speaking of the people in charge of the singing thought more of the music they had to sing than of the words, and the following three examples show how ''Miles' Lane" was made ludicrous. In Dr. Watts collection the hymn 82 in the second book concludes "And see salvation nigh," "Mile Lane" made it thus And see sal see sal see salvation sigh. The hymn 104, first book, 6ame collection, has the lines We would defile our hearts no more, No more pollute our hands. The last line being sung to "Miles' Lane', became No more poll more poll more pollute our hands. The one hundred and twenty-sixth hymn second book of Dr. Watts, has Gilds the whole scene with brighter rays, And more exalts our Joys. "Miles' Lane" translated the final line into

And more eggs more eggs more exalt our Joys. There is another tune called "Boyce," of wnicn x win give an example from io. 17 hymn, in Dr. Kaffle's Liverpool collection, and the line is "And learn to kiss the rod." "Boyce" makes this And learn to kiss And learn to kiss And learn to kiss the rod. What Girls Think. An English writer has made a study of the mental operations of the minds of unmarried women.and has reached these conclusions: "at 17,the girl thinks often of love; delights in love songs; nils -Moores poems witn pencil-marks; thinks Byron's face beautiful; eats little in company. At 18, still thinks a great deal of love; would care notning tor poverty, pro viding 6he had a sweetheart who adored her; indeed, would rather be poor than rich, were she united to the ideal whom she had not yet met. Still reads a great deal of poetry ana novels which deal largely with love and the death of the heroines; passionately fond of children. At 19, a little more critical; finds some of the poetry that pleased her last year a little weak; looks about for steadier authors than her old favorites; dance every dance in a ball, and is not quite so particular as to the men who are introduced to her. At 20, is not sure whether, after all, it would not be best to be an old man's darling. Nevertheless, she flirts more uniformly ; all her shyness is gone; and she enjoys her food whether people are looking at her or not. At 21, her belief in old men is strong; she has lost her prejudices in favor of poverty and cottages, yet she would not insist upon money were her ideal to present himself. At 22, thinks her youngest sister rather forward in her manners, particularly with young men; sometimes suggests to mamma that the invitations which include the youngest sister are merely acts of politeness which people don't want to be literally interpreted. At 23, is annoyed if any one 6ays in her presence that the palor of half the girls one meets comes from tight-lacing. At 24, laces deliberately for a waist.' and does not much mind if it is known; finds the company of old men always more agreeable than that of young men, and is flattered if boys pay her attention. At 25, is found behind bazaar stalls; imitates tbe style of the fashionable beauty; frequently alters the character of her coiflure, and uses a great many different kinds of stuff for her hair. At 26, declares that she hates the idea of marriage, worders how girls can voluntarily enter a state of bondage; marks all passages in novels in which men are called tyrants, and ceases to notice other people's babes. At 27, falls in love; about four months of quiet anguish and despair; sits late into the night alone in her bed-room; is jilted; writes 20 letters, in all conceivable styles from the passionately scornful to the mild sacrificial, forgiving, heart-breaking style none of which are posted; destroys the ballroom programme on which he has written his name.' Beauty That Endare. To be beautiful in person, then, we must not only conform to all the laws of physical health, and by gymnastic arts and artificial appliances develop the elements of our phyicat being in symmetry and completeness, but we must also train the mind and develop the affections to the highest possible degree. To be beautiful we must feed tho spark of intellectual fire by reading and meditatitn, until it burns in a steady flame, irradiating the face by its brilliancy suffusing the countenance with light. To be beautiful we must put a great organizing and ennobling purpose into the will and concentrate our thought and affection upon it until enthusiasm wells up in the heart, suffuses the countenance and rebuilds the body on its own divine plan. To be beautiful we must cherish every kind impulse and generous disposition, making love the ruling affection of the heart and the ordering principle and inspiring motive of life, ivhe more kindness the more beauty; the more love, the more loveliness. And this is the beauty that lasts. Mere physisal good looks fade with years, bleach out with sickness, yield to the slow decay and wasting breath of mortality. But the beauty that has. its seat and Bourse in kind dispositions, noble purposes, and great thoughts, outlasts youth and maturity, increases with age, and, like the luscious peach, covered with the delicate blush of purple and gold which comes with autumn ripeness, is never so beautiful as when waiting to be plucked by the gatherer's hand. IIow Cheap One Feels. Xylopbonics. If you would like to know how other people act under the circumstances, take a silver half-dollar, bore a hole through it and nail it fast to the floor. Nine out of every 10 will probably call your attention to the fact that "there is some money down there;" the other one will wait till your back is turned and then make a grab at the coin, and, upon finding it fastened, will pretend be saw through the joke beforehand.

RAISING A FAMILY.

On the) OoTtrnmrDt of .Children. Having raised a family of six ohUdren, I s'ibmit the following as mainly the result of my own observation and experience: 1. Learn to govern yourself, and b always consistent. Even children know that in consistency is a sure mark of error. To gov-' ern easily and well you must show yourself worthy to govern. 2. Be just and reasonable in all your own conduct, and invariably keep your word. 3. Give your commands in concise and clear language, and in a kind but positive manner, and then always enforce them. Be careful to avoid giving too many commands, lest the child become confused and think obedience impossible. No practice is more cruel and ' idle than to give commands that you do not intend to en force. If you fail to entorce your commands once in two cases, the child will calculate the chances of escape, and act accordingly, and will thus be forced to inflict more than double the amount of punishment, in the aggregate, to produce the same effect. The punishment should bo moderate, but prompt and certain. 4. Allow your children reasonable liberty, according to age and capacity. It is impossible at once to maee grown people out of children. Let them be as children while they are children. You should never expect too rauch. 5: When you have inflicted punishment upon your child make friends with it; never afterward, by word or act, make the slightest allusion to the difficulty, and never permit others to do so, Let there be an end ot that case once and forever. The child will not fail to duly appreciate this delicacy, and the effects will be most beneficial. C. Never speak of your child's faults be. fore strangers. This practice inflicts a cruel and unnecessary wound. The child instictively knows that such treatment is wanton and unjust, because it inflicts an extra punishment not specified in the original command. 7. Treat all your children with the same affection, and never compare one with another. Such comparisons are most odious, never fail to create present ill will, and, if persisted in, will ultimately produce hatred between brethren. 8. Never take the property of one child to give, even temporarily, to another. It is a very common, but a most unjust practice, to take the property of the older children and give to the younger to quiet them. Such a practice destrovs the confidence of the child in the justice of the parent, and thus undermines the very basis of good government. If you wish your child to respect the rights of others, you must beffin by respecting its rights, and not by abusing your powers. It is better to let the little fellow cry for that which is not his, than to violate the correct principle. 9. Never jest about virtue or vice before your children. This most erroneous practice destroys all iust distinctions by degrading virtue and elevating vice to the same level. 10. Never jest about punishing your children. It is rather too delicate a subject for jeet. 11. Never mention a vicious act or principle in the" hearing of your children, but to condemn it. unless, indeed, you wish them to be dishonest. 12. While you should never permttyour children to argue with you, after you nave made your decisions, you should voluntarily, on proper occasions, explain the reasons for them. Children have more reason and judgment than they generally get credit for, and will obey reasonable commands much more readily when explained. 13. It is better, in some instances, not to notice a fault. This is especially true of the children in their teens. When the conduct of the child is generally good, it is much wiser to pass over an occasional error, and trust to the returning good sense and affection of the child. I remember a circumstance related to me by a friend. A father had raised a family of several daughters, none of whom had violated his commands since their early childhood. The utmost affection existed between the father and the children, and between the sisters. On one occasion, and under peculiar circumstances, one of the daughters attended a party of pleasure without her father's consent, for which she re ceived a severe reprimand. She was at t nee plunged into the greatest distress. It was in vain that her father and sisters did their utmost to console her. she rested under the conviction that her father would never again esteem her as he would his other daughters. The whole family were most deeply grieved, and the poor girl did not recover from the wound for some two or three years. It would have been more wise and merciful to have passed this single transgression entirely without notice. 14. Teach your children that religion which you believe to be true. 15. Train the eldest son and daughter properly, and the younger children will follow their example. ' 16. In short, do yourself what you would wish your children to do, and then require them to do as you do. t As It Used to Be. One hundred years ago not a pound of coal or a cubic foot of illuminating gas had been burned in the country. No iron stoves ware used, and no contrivance for economizing heat were employed until Dr. Franklin had invented the iron-framed fire-place, which still bears his name. All the cooking and warming in town, as well as in the country, were dono by the aid of a fire kindled on the brick hearth or in brick oveus. Pine knots or tallow candles furnished the light for the long winter nights, and sanded floors supplied tho place of rugs and carpets. The water used for household purposes was drawn from deep wells by the creeking sweep. No form of pump was used in this country, so far as we can learn, until after the com mencement of the present century. There were no friction matches in those early days by the aid of which a fire could be easily kindled, and if the fire went out npon the hearth over night, and the tinder was damp, so that the spark could not catch, the alternative remained of wading through the snow a mile or two to borrow a brand of a neighbor. Only one room in any house was warm, unless some member of the family was . ill; in all the rest the temperature was at zero during many nights in the winter. The men and women of a hundred years ago undressed and went to their beds in a temperature colder than that of our barns and woodsheds and they never complained. Nature has strange wayi of doing the most beautiful things. Out of the oozy earth, the mud and rain of early spring, come the most delicate flowers, their white leaves born out of the dirt, as unsoiled and pure as if they had bloomed in the garden of paradise.

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