Ligonier Banner., Volume 14, Number 24, Ligonier, Noble County, 2 October 1879 — Page 7

The Tigonier Banwer,

" THE RED CROSS. . ‘ A STORY OF THE BATTLE-FIELD IN FRANCE.’ BY ROSE HARTWICK THORPE, AUTHOR OF “‘CUR- : FEW MUST NOT.RING TO-NIGHT!” “Ygs, Louis, go, your country calls, I will not keep you here, 4 ; For every goldier in the field some heart holds just as dear, o : And tears will tome at parting which we vainly strive to hide— GO, mid the busy din of war forget your English bride. ! i ; “*But when the smoke has cleared away and ¢ " - when the battle’s done, - You’ll think of her'who prays' for you from rise till set of sun, : And picture oft the brighter days, when, « .~marching home with pride, s You’'ll gain a joyous welcome from your wait- . ing English bride.” : i ¥ g A & “ae His ﬁrﬁx hands clasped hers kindly, while his dark eyes searched her face— : “A face of woman’s sweetness, with a gleam of tender grace—. But, oh, the woman’s-love was there, half worship and half pride, 2 ‘Oh! how fierce the struggle in the heart of his English bride. - ‘ ¢ @Give me-one token, Bertha, of the love you e bear for me, : ‘That in my camp-life’s duller hours shall turn my thoughts to thee: , ; A ribbon you have worn will do if these dear hands have xfressed fh e Its silken folds, I'll wear it there forever on . my breast.s o 6 s ¢ - She stood in thought one moment, then her fingers, white and fair, : With gleaming scissors wandered in her mass of golden hair; - : And as he held the token,-that one little, shining tress, . ' G © Tt _coiled around his fingers with a loving, * mute caress. ‘“This is the token, Louis, that will bid you think of me, . And may God’s holy angels keep a watchful o ‘care o’er thee, 4 To guide your steps in battle safe, unharmed : from shot or shell; = : - But should you fall, T’ll try to say, ‘He doeth . all things well.””’ : “What, tears, my gentle Bertha?—and 1 thought you were so brave. g We know the future, darling, holds many a soldier’s grave— Holds many wives-and orphans who will wait and watch in vain : For the step and voice that never will greet their ear again.” ' o / Back from her pure white forehead he held the sunny hair, i g And left a soldier’s burning kiss. of love and pity there— t ; : A soldier’s tender, longing kiss—ah! many a heart can tell— . : , ‘The saddest words in every tongue are those. which suyv‘farewe‘_ll_. § : :

‘Oh, weeks that drag their weary length along el the shore of time, e Each night and morn the torture of suspense - and fear combine ‘T'o rob the aching head of rest, to fill the heart with pain, . And with their slow-consuming fire at last to : craze the brain. i : Brave soldier in the field of strife, though hard - youriot may be, . ; You cannot know the anxious hours she i syends who waits for thee, : For wild i;nz%gination gives the sharpest pang ’ we feel, . et And each dread hattle probes the wound with keener edge than steel. ‘Oh, woman, toiling all the day ’mid hunger, want and care, . - With little space for thoughts or tears, and scarcely time for prayer, . L Your labor is a blessing, for, though deep your heart-felt pain,- " You have no hours tor mad’nigg thoughts and dreams that craze the braih. . ‘There’s always room for tender hands® where i wounded soldiers lie, . ‘To bind the shattered, broken' limb, to close g & the sightless eye, "To pray betore God’s altar for many a hard-ened-man, And point the way to Heaven as. only woman ‘= can. When Bertha heard the summons.as it came ; across the tide, : ‘She laid all woman’s weakness by, and, asking God to guide, : Moo She left her Northern home, with all its luxuries, to go = And join the, **Red Cross” sisterhood 'mid -1 - gcenes of pain amgi woe. { Many -4 dying soldier turned with wistful, longing eyes, ; ' - 'To catch the blessed words she spoke of rest. beyond the skies. . ; ’ ‘Some vaguely thought the girlish face, shaded - by golden hair, i In their last hours was but a pure, sweet angel bending there, - - . !

Then to waiting wives and mothers she sent the message home, In the place of many a loved one who never more would come, : And dropped a tear of pity for the homes made desolate, Gt ¥ Where now the golden dawn of peace would only come too late. .

Once, bending o’er a ghastly corpse with scarred and mangled face, . She Uuought, could e’en his mother in those _ Bswollen features trace ; One dear ook to remind her of the son she sent away, - St . L Unless she knew the wavy hair which round his temples lay? y

What_ stilled her heart’s wild beating, then? What blanched her cheek so white? *Oh; God!” she cried, **it cannot be; but this dark hair is like, - , . ‘Bo very much like Louis’ hair, all bright and brown—but then, o - 2 The battle-field is strewn with dead, and some are dark-haired men.”

Just where a stinging, death-winged ball had torn his coat apart, g And left a érimson, ragged rent above his loyal heart, M ; ‘One little tress was clinging in the long, unseemly tear, All matted in his heart’s best gore—a tress of golden hair. - :

With pallid cheek and dizzy brain-she sank pon the floor; : ’Tis w}ll that dark oblivion comes when hearts an bear no more. But, oh, the wakening cometh, too, with hopeless, maddening pain, : And memory points to happy hours that will not come again. ‘ : Back rushed the tide of life again té lip and - cheek and brow, "Twas life without one ray of hope to cheer her future now; ; ; "Twas life—but, oh, it seemeéd so long to toil ~and weep and wait, W : For her the joyful morn of Peace woulddawn—but, all too late. ;

Back to her work with softer light in her dark eyes she came, : Speaking sweet words of comfort with a healing balm, the same Gt : As though her own heart suffered not, bravely i she hid it!supam x ' And nurséd health’s bloom and courage back to faltering hearts again.

Just where the sun fell brightest on a weary boyish face, B A form convulsed with torture in the clasp of death’s embrace, < : A white brow, fair and truthful, half concealed by nut-brown hair, : ‘Some loving mother’s darling in his youth lay dying there.

And Bertha, kneeling by. him, caught the accents of a Yrayer- : : "That he might die in his loved home, that vine- ! clad cottage where His feet had roaméd in brighter days; but ere the grayer was said > She closed the Pleading. tearful eyes, for the boy’s soul had fled. :

"The men who stood in waiting bore the slender form away, . ‘While she smoothed the coarse, rough pillow - where late his ringlets lay, : And sighed for those to whom the tale would carry untold pain, As they laid another soldier where the dead i boy’s head had lain. * :

Pale, ghastly pale, his cheek and brow, and wild his wandering eye, ; They told her that he could not live, they'd brought him home to die. But in his face she saw a look that blanched her cheek as white As when she stood beside her dead and every hope took flight. '

With sudden hope she bends o’er him, her face now flushed, now white, & Her pale lips quivering .and her eyes grown dark with tender light; Within the soldier’s blood-stained coat she lays her hand—and there : b Her fingers clasp a shining coil; “thank God, ’tis golden hair.” - . 'Twas Louis; yés, and life was there, though : flickering faint and dim. ¢ Day after day with ceaseless care she watched and prayed for him, And God, who hears these prayers of ours, and knows each sad heart’s gain, Into her faithful, loving hands gave back his ; Hfeagaln, - - o o

LOST ON THE PLAINS. AN experienced %-uiﬁe and prairie traveler expressed the ’‘opinion to the writer that there was a much larger number of people annually lost upon the Western prairies than was generally supposed. ‘‘l mean by lost,”” said he, ‘¢ people who wander away from wellknown landmarks and are never heard of again; who die of starvation and that dread insanity which, generally speaking, overtakesthe lost person. 5} course we read now and then of such a case, but there are many which never reach the public prints. Itisone of the easiest things in the world for an experienced traveler to stray away from camp, but a very different matter for him to find his way back again. Once out of sight of the wagons and tents, and the whole plain is alike to him. He stands always in a depression, with the ground r'isin% slightly on all sides. It is an optica illusion, of course, but it is very like walking in the center of am- immense sheet, with its four cormers slightly raised. The earth meets the horizon on every side, and presents the same unvaryin% view of waving grass and grayish brown soil. There is not a mark by which one may be guided. To take the sun for a guide, even on a perfectly clear day, is with most persons only to intensify the difficulty. Unless one is an expert in the sun guidance, he may follow that luminary and yet eontinually go round in a circle to the left. The trut% of’ this is proven every year by the recovery of persons who are found to have only traced a large circle in their efforts to escape, invariably coming round again and again to the point from which they started. The posstsion_of a compass, moreover, seldom'proves of any advantage to the person lost on the prairies. He probably never thinks about it until he discovers that he is lost, and then he has no landmark from. which to take his bearings. I have known repeated instances where persons have been lost on the plains and afterward found dead with a compass in their hands.

¢« As an illustration, I recall an instance which occurred some years since on the Red River trail. --A Mr. McKenzie, a clerk in the trading-post at Georgetown, started early in the month of April, in eharge of a small party, for Fort Garry. The snow still lay deepon the plains, but, the season being so far advanced, wagons were used to transport their effects. Unfortunately the snow did not melt so rapidly as was anticipated, and the party were detained a long time on the road. About thirty miles on this side of Pembina they ran out of provisions. McKenzie, who was a stout, able-bodied man, accustomed to prairie travel, volunteered to go ahead® and obtain assistance. He set out on snow-shoes,. and expected to reach the fort at Pembina within twen-ty-four hours. Meanwhile his comrades plodded on as best they could, and, affer two days of suffering, reached’ the fort without having seen anything of McKenzie. Nothing had been heard of him there. A party was at once organized and a thorough search instituted for the missing man. On the second day he was foung, some seventeen miles from the post, and a long distance from the trail, lying beside a clump of bushes, frozen to geath. He had taken off his coat and vest and hung them on the bushes, most probably to attract the attention of any passer, and lay on his back in the snow, with his compass in his hand. Now, here was a man experienced in prairie trdvel, an adept in the use of the compass, yet who was hopelessly lost in a country which he had repeatedly traversed. The experienced plain man who found him knew at once that, having , unconsciously wandered away from the trail, and benumbed with the cold, he had lost the ability to use his compass, and so lay down to die. Under ordinary circumstances, the man could have %one anywhere over the prairie by the aid of his compass alone. ;

‘“The mental resolution of a person lost on the plains is nemg]y always one of hopeless confusion. ot one man in a hundred retains sufficient control of his mental faculties to help himself out of his situation. - Ancd the suddenness, and completeness, too, with which many minds give way form one of the most curious phases of their condition. Some years ago I was guide to a hunting party on the Southern Plains.' Among the number was an Englishman, an intelligent young fellow og perhaps twenty-five years of age. He was an excellent shot, but unacquainted with the prairie, and I warned him repeatedly o}) the danger of straying away from. the party. Igor a while he observed the caution and stuck close to the camp. But after a time he grew more venturesome, and seemed inclined to take his own course. One day, when we were running ‘buffalo, he followed: on after the herd instead of returning to camp, as we had supposed. Upon our return H-—— was missed and a search instituted. In not more than two hours after he was missed I sighted his horse feeding alone on the prairie. A few minutes after H-—— was discovered sitting on the ground about half a mile away. - As soon as we advanced toward him he started qu and ran off at the top of his speed. 1 knew what was the matter with him as soon as he jumped, but the rest didn’t. Riding aiong'side of him, I lumped' to the ground and took after him on foot. - After a sharp run I caught him.. He was clean daft. The discovrne;yv that. he was lost, and possibly would not be found again, had upset his intellect: completely. * He {stmggled like a madman to free himself, but I held on to him. We took him back to camp and tied him fast.

Toward night he began to recover, and by morning he was quite himself. After that experience he kept close to camll. “I recall another instance which illustrates this phase of the lost, but which, had a more tragic ending. A neighﬁor of mine, living in a new prairie country, cut and stacked his hay on'the plains about two miles in the rear of his house. It was his custom to visit the stacks and haul the hay to his farm as he required it. | He started one afternoon in midwinter with two small ox sleds to bring home loads, taking with him a neighbor’s boy, a lad of about twelve years of age. They reached the stacks, loaded the sleds, and, it is supposed, were about to return, when a violent storm came up—what we in the West call a blizzard. It was impossible to see a yard ahead in any direction. Thinking it would soon blow over, they dug holes in the stacks and crept in. But the storm raged for nearly three days without abating a jot of its fury. On the morning after their departure the two oxen were discovered standing in the barnyard with their harness on, but without the sled. A During the day an effort was made to visit the stacks, but the relief party became lost themselves, and found their way back with difficulty. It was believed, moreover, that the man and boy would remain in® the stacks until the storm ceased,which was hourly expected. ¢“On the following day the storm abated somewhat, and, in the afternoon, a larger and more determined party set out/ for the stacks. They were reached with much difficulty, but the man and boy could not be found. The holes which they had -made in the straw, and into which they had crept, were plainly visible, but all traces of their departure were hidden under the drifting snow. Search was made until night cﬁ»sed in, when it was discontinued. On the following day it was resumed. In the forenoon the body of the boy was found lying under the snow at a distance of about eighty yards from the stack. He was, of course, frozen stiff. At a distance of half a mile the man’s coat was picked up, but days of search revealed no traces of his body. -~ It was apparent that they had left. the stacks in an effort to find their way home. But the positions of the boy and the ¢oat were directly opposite to the route which they-should hav?ken. In the latter part of April sothe half-breeds, wandering over the prairie, found the remains of a man sitting at the foot of a tree on the bank of a small stream, about six miles distant from the stack. The body .was entirely destitute of clothing, save a pair of trousers. The man, without doubt, had become insane, and had cast off his garments as he wandered on. His shoes, hat and shirt were afterward found between the tree and the stacks. Throwing away their clothing is a common act with the lost, and always’ betrays insanity. ‘“ A man may easily become lost on a prairie trail, or even a broad highway on the plains, if he has no other landmark -to go by. In the old days of overland travel to .California it frequently happened that parties who had camped over night at a short distance from the road took the back track in the morning,‘““under the firm belief that it was the right one. ‘“lt is astonishing how quick men will get lost on a prairie. They seem hard%y to have time to get out of sight. Sometimes, too, they are not found again. Two young Canadians went up the Red River Valley, a few.'summers since, bound for Fort Garry. They had joined in the purchase of a pony and a rickety old cart at Fargo, and journeyed together. One evening about dusk they went into camp on the banks of Goose River. After supper one of them started off on the prairie to look after the pony, which had been hoppled and turned loose. He failed to return. The pony came in all right in the morning, but the man. has not been seen to this day. It is probable that when he left the camp he went in a westerly direction. If he did so, he might walk to the Rocky Mountains without seeing a human being: ; ¢¢ As I said, people disappear suddenly on the prairies, and are never heard of more. But it occasionally happens that people are found also, or, rather, their remains are. The most singular find of this kind coming to my knowledge was that of two half-breeds, who haﬁ been hunting buffalo in the winter. They had wandered far out upon the plains in search of game, and, being laden heavily with meat and hides, ni%ht overtook them before they were able to regain the shelter of the timber. To Frotect themselves from the cold, they lay down in the snow, side by side, and wrapped a fresh buffalo hide tightly about them, with the green or fleshy side out. While they slept the overlapping sides and ends of the. hide froze fast, and imprisoned them like a vise. Tilghtly wrapped as they were, they could not extricate themselves, and so died of starvation. When found the two skeletons, shrouded in the stiffened and half-decayed parchment, showed the manner of their death. —N. Y. Sun.

How He Measured It. I? was during the siege of Wagner, and the Union parallels were but a few hundred yards awaz- from the line of. grim black tubes that ever and anon ‘‘emboweled with outrageous noise the .t . disgor%mg foul their devilishglut . . . of iron globes.” A line of abatis was to be built across a clear space in point-blank range of the Rebel gunners and sharpshooters. ‘“ Sergeant,”’ says the officer in char%:s, ‘‘ 2o pace that opening and g:‘ve me the distance as near as Possi le.” Saﬁrs the Sergeant .(for I will let him tell the rest of the story), ‘I started right off. When I got to the :F_ening I put er like the dickens in a gale of wind. What with grape, canister, round shot, shell and a reiulalj bees’ nest of rifle balls,: I just think there must er been a fearful drain of ammunition on the Confederate Government about that time. I don’t ,‘knc!vé' how it was, but I didn’t get so much as a seratch, but I did get powerful scared. When I'd got under cover I couldn’t er told for the life o' me whether it was a hundred or a hundred thousand paces; I should sooner er guessed a hundred thousand. Says the

Captain, ¢ Well, Sergeant, what do you make it?” Soon as I could get my mind, says I, ‘Give a guess, Captain.’ He looks across the opening a second or two, and then says, ‘A hundred and seventy - five paces, say.” ‘Thunder! Captain,’ says I, ‘you've made a pretty elose guess. It's just a hundred and seventy-one.’”’ ¢And that,’”’ added the Sergeant, after the laugh had subsided, “that’s how I got my shoulder-straps.” —Boston Transcript. ;

~~ FACTS AND FIGURES. SuMTER County, Fla., shipped 5,000,000 oranges the past season. - THE population of Greece, 1,547,894 in 1870, has now risen t 00.1,679,775. In 1838 it was 865,000. The population of ‘Athens and the Pirzus have largely increased of late years. _ THE Kansas Farmer says that a million of dollars would not pay for the loss in butter and milk in bad management and lack %of proper dairy conveniences in the State of Kansas alone, in a single year. I~ the silk factories of Italy 120,428 women are employed, beside 26,976 in cotton, and 13,707 in tobacco factories. There are 9,177 manufactm'ing establishments of all kinds in the kingdom, employing 392,048 laborers, 188,486 of whom are women. : THE arrivals of champagnes in this country during August amounted to 9,681 cases, as against 7,611 cases in August, 1878, being an increase of 2,070 cases, and an increase of 16,675 cases since the Ist of January, as compared to the same period in 1878. STATISTICS compiled at the New York Produce Exchange show that from the Ist of January to the end of the first week in September the exports of wheat flour were 2,712,955 barrels in 1879, against 1,729,085 barrels in 1878; the e?:ports of wheat 38,957,544 bushels in 1879, against 33,134,164 bushels in 1878, and the exports of corn 24,214,295 bushels in 1879, against 20.589.167. bushels in 1878. :

THE exports of butter from the Ist of January to the close of the week ending the 6th of September were 24,726,895 pounds in this year, against 17,189,317 pounds in the corresponding period of last year. The supply this season is comparatively small, and prices have advanced about three cents a. pound since the first of the month. Rates vary now from eight to twenty-three cents - a pound, according to quality, and are about a cent a pound lower than a year ago.—Exchange. SUICIDES in the higher ranks of the German army are becoming painfully frequent, a noble young officer at Potsdam having the other day added his name to the list of those who, within the last few months, from stress of circumstances peculiar to their position, have incurred a verdict of felo de se. From official statistics just published it appears that the number of suicides in Prussia since 1874 has gone on increasing to an alarming extent. Whereasin that year 2,826 of such cases occurred, the list in 1877 showed a total of 4,330, divided between 3,559 males and 771 females. ‘ e

ACCORDING to statistics compiled by the Bureau of Education, there were in the United States, in 1877, 14,227,748 school population, and 12,689,311 school population between the ages of six and sixteenyears. There were 8,954,478 pupils enrolled in public schools, and the average daily attendance was 4,919,408. The total number of teachers employed in publie schools in the States was 257,454, and in the Territories 1,842. The annual income for the support of public schools in the States and Territories was $86,866,162, and the annual expenditure $80,233,458. - The estimated value of sites, buildings and all other school property was $139,217,607. THE Swiss Times observes: Caleulations are already being made as to the amount of loss which the English farmers will experience owing to the bad season. An estimate pula)lished lately puts down the amount below an average on the corn crop alone at £25,000,000, and £28,000,000 if beans, peas and ge are‘adde?. Potatoes show a loss of 15,000,000 hops of £1,250,000and hay of £15,000,000. . Here is a total loss of little less than £60,000,000. It is further said that England will have to import. at least 1%,000,000 quarters of wheat, against 14,600,000 quarters last year. Ig these figures -can in any way be relied on—and there is too much reason to fear they can—there is no reason for further inquiry as to how it comes about that the manufacturers are fairly alarmed at the prospects of the home trade. :

THE Economiste Francais traces the develogment of the exports of corn from the United States to Europe since 1870. In that year the cereals sent to this side of the Atlantic amounted to 82,500,000 of hectoliters, and two years later it had increased to 87,000,000. In 1874 it amounted to nearly 108,000,000, but in the next year but one sank to 101,000,000.. This relapse was, however, amply compensated by an increase in the following year to 127,000,000, and in 1878 there was almost as great an adyance, which brought the total to exactly 147,000,000, It is mentioned as a well-ascertained fact that of these totals Great Britain absorbs twothirds, while France is only a customer to the extent of five per cent. The Hconomiste is not, however, of opinion that this steady increase, alarming as it may seem, wxfl continue - indefinitely. It believes, on the contrary, that its development has now rea(ged its atmost limit. o AT

William, R. Barker, champion checker-{)layer of New England, has been declared insane. He lives in Cambridgeport, Mass., and for some time has been failing in intellect, .passin% hours in brooding thought, talking to himself and acting in a peculiar manner. Sey-. eral days ago he became violent, and had to be pfaged under restraint. ,

. —A gentleman who was asked for his mazrriz:f‘e certificate quietly took his hat off and pointed to a bald spot. The evidence was coneclusive.—N. g’ World.

—Some men are born leaders, though circumstances céns{iﬁre ‘go that they never get above leading mules.—Pacayune. Ton el ;

’ Youths’ Department. SRR R e e e GREEDY TOM. . WaAT does Tommy think about .In the pleasant spring— ¢ © * When the willow-flowers are yellow, And the brown bee, blundering fellow,. . Buzzes in the cherry-blossoms, e And the robins sing? > : - “*Maple-sugar, rhubarb-pie, I { Sparrow-grass and lettuce, pat R = Roasted veal for dinner, now, Biddy’s sure to get us!” This, I fear, is every thing Tommy thinks about in spring.. : : Oh, 1 would not like to be G Such a greedy boy ashe! A - ' What does Tommy think about : In the summer time— When the bobolink flies over - ! Purple fields of scented clover, : When the meadow-flag is blooming, And the rose is in its Prime? ‘“Now,”’ says Tommy, *‘ we shall have Lemonade and cherries, Lamb and pease, and cucumbers, - And all kinds of berries, ; - JFreshly gathered, rige and sweet: Summer brings good things to eat!” Oh, I would not like to be ’ Such a greedy boy as he! - * What does Tommy think about . __lnthe autumn days— When, to gold and scarlet turning, All the maple-woods seem burning, And the distant hills are hidden By the purple haze? ¢ Peaches, aptples. grapes and pears, - Marmalade of quinces, : New rye-cakes with honey spread, We shall live like %ﬂnces 12 : Nothing else wins ommdy's praise In the splendid autumn days. Oh, I would not like to be ' . Such-a greedy boy as he! = ‘What does Tommy think about ‘When the winter’s here— N ‘When the loud North-wind is ealling, : Or the soft, still snow is falling, And the sparrows sit, half frozen, ’Mid the oak-leaves brown and sear, And the poor folk shivering sigh, = . And the skies are murky? * Now,” says Tom, * for pumpkin-pie, Sausafes and turkeiw; 1 e Rl Oh, I would not like to be : Such a greedy boy as he! L —Marian Douglas, in Nursery.

A BOY WHO WOULD CLIMB TREES. 0, PAPA, come! do conie!” Papa, who was half-way down the road to the cornfield, turned back and shouted to us: * What's the matter?” - ‘“ He's up a tree!” ; ‘“ Who is up a tree—not Richard?”’ ‘“Yes, sir—+Dick——"’ ; “Very well,”” said papa, turning back, ‘‘when he comes down -let me know—that’s all!” . 00, but he can’t come down—he's stuck fast—do come!” e Our cries had by this time attracted mamma, and she came hurrying down to where iwe stood, in the margin. When she saw Dick she gave oné scream that brought papa fast enough. We boys had been down in the margin setting out our coon-traps for the first time since summer,whenwe missed Dick. Wedidn’t think much about him, until, after awhile, we heard a whooping—* What's that?”’ said Tom. “It’s either Dick or a screech-owl,” said Harry. ¢ Let’s go and see!” So we ran off down a little zig-zag foot-path, that we knew, through the margin in the direction of the sound, and there was Dick! Up in the very top of a huge tree, right between us and the sky, holding on with both hands and feet, and yelling for dear life, there was Dick! ey . ’

There was never such a place for climbing as this margin, or such a boy for clim%ing as Dick. There were old oaks and pines with long forked arms, sweeping down and reaching out to get to the sun and rain, and breeze of the river; and there were vines—O, heaps of them! coiling like snakes from tree to tree, forming huge rope-ladders, that seemed to say as pﬁain as they could, ¢“Come on, boy, and have a jolly climb!”’ and Dick wasn’t the boy to refuse. Papa, however, didn’t take this view of the subject. He said to me: ¢ Go in the house, Noel, and get me a coon-stretcher.” . -

Then he took off his hat and coat, and went up that tree after Dick—poor, silent, frightened Dick. When I came back he and Dick were both down, and Dick was crying—we all knew what that coon-stretcher meant. Papa marched Dick solemnly off to the barn, where we boys always got our whippings, and we saw no more of him for some time, though we %eard from him stiff and strong. ] After awhile the barn-door: opened and papa came out. Dick followed, rubbin%'his eyes. ik ¢« Will you climb any more trees, sir?’ asked papa, as he turned to shut the door. : -¢“No, sir; never, never!’ said Dick, and he really didn’t think he ever would. : But you see he did, though, for all that. I never knew a fellow that tried harder not to climb. He'd say to me sometime, ‘‘Noel, do you see that squirrel up yonder? She has a nest in the fork of that long bough—Chur-r-r-r! if I could get up there wouldn’t I make her fly, though! But I'm not goin i Ten minutes after we'd miss %ick, and there he'd be, sure enouf-h, chasing that old squirrel overhead! I neversaw the beat! It seemed asif ‘‘a spirit in his feet’’ - carried him up there against his will. Still I know Dick was to blame, too. ‘A fellow who can’t make himself do what is right isn’t worth much. : ° L h Well, this sort of thing went on “until Christmas-time, nearly. We didn’t tell on Dick, and he didn’t g'etf into any more ¢ fixes,”’” so he wasn’t found:out for some. time. But it seems to me most things in this world are found out sooner or later, and Dick’s climbing, too, !ca’meto light' i byt ¢ b The field-hands were building a loghouse down by the spring to ;stow sweet potatoes in, and we boys had been ‘pYaying about, running little er--rands for the men, and otherwise. making ourselves useful. All except Dick. Papa asked for him once or twice, but none of us knew where he was, and nobody had time to hunt him. I was Ahiding dom ‘distance off from the, rest, under a bxg old oak=—the biggest, broadest old oak on the Island it was—‘when'l heard a shrill whistle overhead and Dick calling in a whisper: *‘Look at me! O, I say, Joel, look at me!” There he was, sure enongh, ‘oftf on the -very edge of a slim oak bough. . .|| ~ “You'd better come 3‘;%7& out of ‘that!”’ I shouted back; ¢ papa will ‘catch you if you don’t!” ~ I'd scarcely got the words out before—split—crash—bang! down came the limb, raising such a breeze, and Dick with it. D e R

"~ My! but didn’t he raise a breeze Eelieve-, lforé} moment, we all thought e was dead. But presently he be to move and s%,mxga, :Wh‘é'?’ﬁgs been kneeling down beside him, took him up and carried him to the house, a crowd following, too seared to speak. At the:door papa attempted to set Dick gently down on his feet, but the poor . tellow enly screamed out with pain—a most.awful howl—and fell right down. Mamma was coming in one -door as they brought Dick in at the other, and when she. saw. that she - turmed the whitest I ever saw, and nearly fainted. Papa picked Dick up again and laid him on the sofa, then he went to work and examined him, and said at once, that eur poor Dick’s leg was broken. I guess Dick wished that day that he had never climbed trees. - Andy not that | day only, but all the days and weeks > and months he had to lie down, stretched straight out on his little narrow bed. Christmas came in the ‘midst of it all, and it was the dreariest, dismalest, horridest old Christmas that ever I knew. Mamma was nearly ill with worry, and nobody else seemed. able to think of anything except Dick and his broken leg.. . ket : : But I must say for Dick that he was very patient :am{ quiet ‘ through it all, and when, after he was on "his feet again, mamma was taken downill, and lay there ill for days and days, scarcely able t 6 lift up her hand, shé was so outdone with watching and anxiety, Dick just stuck by her night and day, doing everything for her comfort that a boy could do. He didn’t seem to find any fun in playing with us boys; he just keptby mamma. -~ - = % One evening we—that is, mamma, Dick and I—were sitting by a lightwood fire in the parlor. It was a cool evening in spring.. I was reading a book by the fire-light; Dick was lying down on the rug with his head on mamma’s dress, shying pine-cones into the blaze. Presently he said: ct " ‘I guess you all hate me now; but I didn’t go to do it.” _ o . ‘“ Hate you, my son?’ said ‘mamma, dropping her hand down to find Dick’s curly head.,. . | : . “Yes—but I.didn’t go to do it—l didn’t—that’s all! I thought I might et a tumble_ ,m{self, may be, but I ﬁidn’t know I would go and spoil the boys’ Christmas, put papa.back with his crops and make you sick.” - =~ . - ‘““My dear boy,”” said mamma, «if this could only teach you one thing.”’ After a while Dick asked, very gruft: ¢ Well—what?”’ R e e ‘““You can never be good and noble, without -somehow helping other people; and you can never be base without injuring .others beside yourself, whether you mean to or not. ¢‘None of us liveth to himself.’” After another long while Dick remarked, tossing a whole handful of cones into the chimney, and sending a shower of sparks up from the dying five: : . : = “I'm never going to climb any more trees, you’ll see! Mind now, you'll see!” ) e - And this time he never did.—Janet Carruthers, in Wide-Awake. i '

Curing Hydrophobia by Force of Will. It will not do to saythat hydrophobia is always a disease of the imagination; but that it is sometimes such, and that it may be eontrolled and cured by the influence of the mind:.over the body, would appear to be proved by the following interesting case related in a re- . cent article in the Cornhill Magazine: _Andrew Crosse, the -electrician, had . been bitten severely by a cat, which on the same day died from hydrophobia. He seems resolutely to have dismissed" from his mind the fears which mustnaturally have been suggested ‘bg these circumstances, Had - he yielded to them, as most men would, he might not improbably . have succumbed m}bin & few days or ‘weeks to an .attdck of mind-created-hydrophobia—so to describe the fatal ailment whiclf ere now has been known to kill persons who had been bitten by animals perfectly free from rabies. Three months passed, during which Crosse, enjoyed his usual health. At the end of that time, however, he felt one morm'n%‘ a severe pain in his arm, accompanied by great thirst. He called for water, but ‘‘at the instant,”’ he says, ‘“that I was about to raise the tumbler to my lips a strong spasm shot' across' my throat; immediately the terrible- conviction came to my mind that I was about to fgll a vietim to hydrophobia, the consequence of the bite I had ' received from the cat. The agony of mind I endured for one hour is indescribable; the contemplation of such .a horrible death—death from hydrophobia—was almost insu};; portable; the torments of hell itse could not have surpassed what I suf-. fered. The pain, which had first. commenced in my hand, passed upsto the elbow, and from thence to the shoulder, threatening to extend. 1. felt all human aid was useless, and I believed that I must die. - At length I began. to reflect on my condition. - I said to myself, ¢Either I shall die, or I shall not; if Ido, it will only be a fate whieh many have suffered, and many more must suffer, and I must bear it like a man; if, on, the other hand, there is any hope of my life, my only chance is - in summoning my utmost resolution, defying the attack, and exerting every effort "of my mind.’ ° Accordingly, feeling that physical as T g exertion was necessary, 1 took my gun, shduldéregi ig; ;m;’d‘,went‘ out lori;:he ; glge!vgghﬂe fntolemlflg : .I'-Y;xppth with: :g@; sport, but' I walkeéd the whble ‘after‘noon, exertins at every step ‘¥ ;::ﬁ&; strong mental effort: against.the ' ense. Wh% Aperumed; va:ibe Shause k. was decidedly better; I was able to est . some dinner, and drank water as uswal, . The next morning w n had gone down,to my elbow, th g}:ﬁvm 1t went down to the wrist, andsthe third_day it left, me altogether. 1 mentloneitbﬁii&wmm o Dr. . Kinglake, and he said he certainly con-, . sidered I had had an attack of hydrophobia, which would possibly - have ‘proved fatal had I not struggled against it by a strong effort of mind.” © . . —A Wyoming man won ten dollars - This was a pig's feat, indoed.~HauwkYo R S m?’*?ﬁﬁéwi‘*%