Nappanee Advance-News, Volume 10, Number 48, Nappanee, Elkhart County, 20 February 1889 — Page 7

THE KAPPANEE NEWS. BY Q. N. MURB AY. NAPPANEE. : : INDIANA. A COLLEGE ATTACHMENT. We’ve skimped, an’ sent that boy to fill The holler in his head with knowledge; He wasn’t good fur much, but still We thought he might pull through a college; We guessed he’d study up at nights. Work hard to mend his mind and natur, An’ here that young Philistin’ writes He’s deep in love with Alma Mater! We’d better kept him tendin’ corn. An’ feedin’ pigs, an’ doin’ plowin’, Since he’s a student—in a horn—- ' An* spendin’ money. I’m allowin'. There’s Hettie, neighbor Squigg’s gal, ' Ah, how the news’ll circumstrate herl I’d alius ploked her out fur Hal, Now he’s in love with Alma Mater 1 I’ve heard about those college chaps. An’ read about ’em in the.papers, /'■v. An’ Hal he’s one of ’em, perhaps, \ An’ thick in all their scrapes an’ oapera. He wrote us he wuz doin’ flue, Wuz sumthin’ of a wimmin’ hater. An’ now we tee he wuz a lyin’. An’ spendin’ time with Alma Mater. Las' night we writ a letter warm, A sayin’ we ore led tsrgtotin* He’d better come an’ woMcthefarm, An’ we ’ud help his gjsrauatin’; That he could pack rigs, Er he’d discovor, soon or later, It’s better sparkin’ Hettie Squiggs Than mailin’ love to Alma Mater. —A. IK. Bellaw , in Drake's Magazine. LAWRENCELOVEJOY. A Romance of English Life During the Free-Trade Movement. —i BY FRANK J. MARTIN AND W. H. S. ATKINSON, Authors of “The Mills of God” and Other Stories. [Copyrighted. ISB7, by Frank J. Martin , and now first published by exclusive arrangement with the authors .] CHAPTER XXL RETRIBUTION. It was now the autumn of 1845 and a terrible winter promised to follow. In Ireland and some parts of Scotland the distress had already commenced, and how to avert a famine throughout the kingdom was the great question which it became the duty of the Government to answer as speedily as possible. The free-trade party had grown to considerable proportions. Lord John Russel, the leader of tho Whigs, had avowed his free-trade convictions in a letter to his constituents. In that letter he said, among other things: “It is no longer worth while to contend for a fixed duty. In IS4I tho free-trade party would have agreed to a duty of eight shillings per quarter on wheat and after a lapse of years this duty might have been further reduced and ultimately abolished. But the imposition of any duty at present, without a provision for its extinction within a short period, would but prolong a contest already sufficiently fruitful of animosity and discontent.’’ Lord John wrote the truth. The popular cry was “open the ports and give us cheap bread!” Sir Robert Peel himself, leader of the Tory party which included the landed aristocracy, was becoming slowly converted, while from a party point of view, it was more than his term of office was worth to ignore the popular demand for legislation or the subject of the Corn Laws. Having this latter fact in view and backed by his own private convictions, Sir Robert, then Prime Minister, recommended to his Cabinet that Parliament should be convened at an early date, so that they might bring forward a measure for the partial, or, if need be, the total abolition of tho obnoxious and ruinous Corn Laws. But legislation was slow,and starving men and women began to grow impatient. The Anti-Corn Law League was an organization strictly on the side of law and order. It sat down upon low demagogues, mobs, riots, etc., as ardently as did the Tories themselves, aod yet a great popular movement like the league must always serve as a shelter under which certain discontented spirits may hide themselves and break the laws in almost every conceivable way with more or less impunity. The winter of 184546 saw no exception to this rule. Noisy mobmeetings were held in almost all of the great manufacturing centers, and, although not on such a large scale as in the days of the agitation for “reform,” riots grew far too common to be pleasant. Christmas had come and gone, and the first weeks of. the New Year, 1846, found Geormj Foster still at his hiding-place in Midshire. He could not divest himself of the idea that his sister was within the walls of Percivalthorpe, and he meant to stay within sight'of tho place until he found an opportunity of personally inspecting every nook and corner of the house, when he would be satisfied one way or the other. Sir James soon recovered from the effects of the blow George had inflicted upon him at Northborough, and yet, so far as the latter could learn, no steps were taken to capture Sir James’ assailant. This looked suspicious to George. By New Year’s Day Percival had issued an address to the electors of North Midshire, soliciting their votes for himself as Tory candidate for tho northern division of the county. This address, which was very bitter in its tone toward the free-trade movement, was printed in every newspaper of Midshire and the adjoining counties, and was posted on every public building, fence and wall within forty miles of Midchester. His canvassing speeches were simply bigoted Tory tirades against free trade and its alleged evils, interspersed freely with wholesale abuse of all those who supported its principles. His principal speech, delivered at Midchester, appeared in all the newspapers of the country, and particularly aroused the ire of the poorer classes. Soon, however, side by side with tho Tory advertisements, appeared those of the free-trade candidate, and George at first thought his eyes were playing him false when he saw all over the country in letters a yard long: “Vote for Lawrenoe Lovejoy and free trade!” It was a fact, nevertheless. The fates had pitted these two men to fight the great political battle m Midshire. The one was backed by the cries of hungry children, the prayers of poor wives and mothers and the votes of hard-working men in the few manufacturing towns of the county; while the other was supported by ail the wealth and influence of the landed interest. The votes east for Percival were on the side of wrong, oppression, selfishness and grinding poverty for those already poor enough, while Lovejoy votes were for right, fair play, plenty for all and general prosperity. The fight was a close one, the manufacturing interests and the farmers being pretty evenly matched in North Midshire. But this time right triumphed over might, and,

as we already know, Lawrence Lovejoy was returned at the head of the poll by a small majority over the Tory contestant. A few days after the election and on the day following that on which Lovejoy had taken his seat in the House lor the first time, George Foster was riding along the high rood which led from Midchester to Sheffield when he met a number of persons who attracted his attention. Tho first was a rascally-looking man, past middle age, dressed to the tip of fashion, who was riding a hired horse and who left the highway by a bridle path which led only to Percivalthorpe. George wondered who the man was and what his business could be with Sir James. That he was a rascal he felt assured, and our readers can judge how nearly he was correct when they are informed that the showily-dressed would-be-gentleman was none other than Mr. Abraham Hawkins, oome down from London purposely to acquaint his patron of Rachel’s escape from Dr. Bleadem’s establishment. Next he passed a trio of cadaverous-looking men with faces made stern by hunger and misery. They were evidently Sheffield workmen with no work to do, and as hey walked steadily on, With teeth set and vheavy frowns on their faces, it was easy to that they had some object in dew /which they were determined to attain—an object which one might guess was any ’thing hut pleasant to them and which meant no good for someone. Who that someone was George Foster was unable to determine. Further along he met a g-.-oup of boys ahd young men talking loudly- and yet again came a longer company of men and women of all ages, all of them more or less excited, and all shaping their course in one direction. When ho reached Chesterton, the place which lie had set out to visit, he was struck by the crowds of men and women, unmistakably from the West Riding of Yorkshire, and most of them of the very dregs of society, which throngc l the streets of tho usually quiet little town He made inquiries at the bank where he ershed a note, and of the landlord of tho iun where fie took his dinner, but could get no explanation from any of them concerning the strangers. He returned to his lodgin ;s by a bye-road and it was almost dark whe u ho arrived at the cottage. The night was dark as pitch. No noon shone and heavy black clouds hoverec over the earth. George had put on his sli ipers and was seated before the fire readir g the previous day’s London paper when h suddenly heard the uproar of voices, hal.- x>ing in the wildest and noisiest manner, -’or a moment he thought he must be draa ling, but soon the cry of “ Fire 1” rang oh and was taken up and repeated in all irections. He went to the door of the co tage, where a fearfully grand sight met 1 is astonished gaze. The dark night was litu|> by a blaze which seemed in its fierceness to sporeh the very clouds, and the fuel for tl; 3 fire was—Percivalthorpe! Hastily drawing on his boots, Georg hurried up to the blazing pile. The scene was terrible and past all description. The wings at each end of the fine old infusion were already beyond salvation ant the main building was burning in a m-.nner which promised speedy destruction. The place was surrounded by an excited rowd of noisy people, who George at once ‘.'cognized as those he had met on the rc kl in tho morning. Tho throe men he ha met first seemed to have charge of the mflagration but took no part in the noise. They appeared to regard tho whole affair a: a necessity and to treat it purely as a ma’ :er of business. The mob shouted itself h arse. “Three cheers for Lovejoy!” “ ’hree groans for Percival!” “ Down with! landlords and the Corn Laws!” “Hurr.a for free trade and cheap bread!” “De th to all tyrants.” Tho farmers and cot! igers on the estate were too frightened tc lend assistance in subduing the flames, even had the rioters permitted them t approach, while the servants of the /.ouse were glad enough to escape with their lives, and never stayed to see what they could save from the fire. The mob 1 oked more like a crowd of devils, with their wild, haggard, unkempt faces lit up ly the red glare and blackened by the ense clouds of smgke. As they stood there, supposing all tpe inmates to have escaped,there appear and at a window on the third and topmost fid r the eager faces of two men. One was Sir t imes himself and the other was Abe Hav ; tins! Outside this window was an old fire-e capo in the form of a slender iron ladder Already the flames were curling around :f; and had made several of the lower steps red hot. It would not with safety carr; two men under any circumstances, and th s Sir James apparently knew, for he stru gled with Hawkins and tried to force him sack into the burning building. At last, vjith a powerful blow, Percival felled Hawk: is to the floor, where he lay until the flames consumed him and his rascality. Sir J mes now prepared to step out of the wi: dow on to the iron ladder, but as he and: I so

“THBBE CHEERS FOR LOVEJOY!” George Foster sprang through the crc wd, pushing aside with Herculean strengt all who attempted to oppose him, and plaited himself at the foot of the ladder. “Hold!” he shouted. “Sir James Percival, you have refused to answer me in the past. Once more I ask you to tell me wi ere you have hidden my sister. Was she in his burning house? Answer me quickly, or by Heaven, I will tear this ladder, your r nly chance of escape, from the wall!” “She is not here,” yelled Percival. “ She is at old Wilson’s house at Mill Hill. Asa man within a step of death, I swear it! Stand away!” Sir James Percival never spoke a tr ier word than when he likened himself to a man within a step of death. George Foster stood aside from the lade er. The mob suspended its cries and shouts rnd breathlessly watched the master of the w insion they had burned take his first step. As he slowly descended they could see that be iron was getting hotter by the way he lifted first one hand and then the other. Ah! he is really half way down and as reached that part of the ladder around which the flames are curling. The soles of his boots are burnt off! Surely he can no* tread those hot bars with his bare feet? Not He looses his hold—he steps into fir, and the next instant is stretched lifeless in front of the blazing pile. There is all that is left of the once handsome and gey,

but selfish and conceited, young baronet—a mass of broken bones, singed hair and blistered feet and hands. Unrecognizable, uuloved and uncared for, he has entered the silent and mysterious land where be will meet some day, in some form or another, Randolph, Hawkins and Lord Ogilvie, as well as old Matthew Beckwith and his wronged daughter, Lucy. CHAPTER XXII. FAREWELLS. The moD, which had remained quiet while watching Percival’s attempted escape from the burning ruins, soon broke out afresh, and made more noise than ever—some of tho women seizing burning embers* and brandishing them above their heads. Some of tho wilder spirits were for leaving Percivalthorpe to visit and demolish a neighboring house, the residence of a prominent Tory. The ontiro crowd was getting more excited every moment, and there is no telling where their mischief-making would have ended but for au incident which sent them all homo. Percival had not been dead ten minutes when a horseman rode into the crowd crying: “The Corn Laws are repealed! Tho duties are abolished! There will be cheap bread in plenty for all of you 1” All eyes Were turned to the speaker, who was at once recognized bjr the three ringleaders, for they exclaimed simultaneously: “Mr. Wilson!” Tom Wilson indeed it was, and, reining in his horse, he addressed the

TOGETHER THEY HELPED TO CARRY THE BEAD MAX. people in his loudest tones: “I have said the Corn Laws were repealed. Os course it will take some time to make this law, but the Government, through Sir Robert Peel, has pledged itself and with tho help ot the freetraders their bill can not be defeated. But, men, what work is this for Englishmen? Good times are never hastened by such business as this. Go home at once, all of you; you may have to answer for your Cruel and wicked action to-day. Just as the work of our grand and glorious league is fiuished—when our object is attained —you throw this foul blot on the fair fame of the working-men of England. Go home, I say, at once and quietly, and lot those who are acquainted with the place do what they can to stay further destruction.” Tom spoke as one having authority, and no man or woman answered One by one, a few at a time, the crowd slunk silently away, until, in half an hour, none were left but the cottagers and farmers of the neighborhood, who did their best to save what was not already destroyed. Then for the first time Tom noticed George Foster by. “Why, George,”he exclaimed, “I was on my way to see you, expecting to find you in Yorkshire. I have good news for you. Rachel is home again, unharmed. Old Teddy Hudson found her and brought her back yesterday. Tomorrow wo will go to Mill Hill together.” Together they helped to carry the dead man who had wronged them in life to a humble cottage, where they saw him for the last time. Then when the tiro had spent itself they sat down to breakfast and recalled together the history of the past six weeks. Tom explained that during a stay he had recently made in Sheffield he had overheard someone talk of firing Percivalthorpe should Sir James be elected. His obnoxious Midchester speech had made him very unpopular in the North. Still, as ho was defeated at the polls, Tom had supposed no such rash step would be taken, and had been surprised when from the railway train ho had viewed the flames which he knew well to proceed from Percivalthorpe. Knowing the strength of his influence as an agitator with the factory and mill hands, he had left the tram, borrowed a horse and galloped to the fire. The result we have seen. * • * it * * The next evening Tom aud George were at Mill Hill, and, gathered round the supper table, was the same party we saw one happy summer Sunday in years gone by. Old Matthew Wilson was there, a day old convert to free trade. He had been a strong 'protectionist, but he was a stronger Peeltte, and when the great Sir Robert stepped over tho line the old farmer was ■ not long in following him. The white hairs were beginning to find places in his once raven black hair, but, as ho sat in his arm-chair gently puffing at a “churchwarden”—his wife on one side and Tom od the other—he looked what he was, a fair and square, happy and prosperous English yeoman. Georgo and Rachel sat together, the former listening to.his sister as she quietly told him the story of her imprisonment at Dr. Bleadem’s and the sad death of poor. Lucy. Apart from them all, perhaps the happiest in the party for the time being, were Mr. Lawrence Lovejoy, M. P. for North Midshire, and his lady-love, Maggie Wilson. We will not attempt to guoss what they were talking of—it was of Course very sweet and very confidential. At last, when the large old clock almost pointed to midnight, Mr. Wilson called for grog and glasses and suggested, in honor of the family reunion, that they each propose a toast, to be drunk together. Lifting his glass the former gave “Sir Robert Peel.” “Richard Cobden and John Bright,” said Tom, who almost worshiped those men. “Teddy Hudson” was George Wilson’s toast, while Lovejoy gave “Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, God bless them.” * * **,*’* * Winter gave place to spring and spring to summer. June 35, 1846, came round, the day on which the bill for the repeal of the Corn Laws became law. On that same day a quiet and long-delayed wedding took place at the pretty church at Mill Hill, the bridegroom being Mr. Lawrence Lovejoy, the celebrated political essayist and member of Parliament, and the bride, Matthew Wilson’s daughter Maggie. In the evening of that day George Foster and his sister stepped aboard an outward bound vessel at Gravesend, and before the next sunset had taken their last look at the white cliffs of old England. • * • * * * Over thirty years have passed away, and on the verandah of a farm-house in Western Canada sits a sturdy old English settler, smoking his evening cigar. Right before him is Lake Huron, the crimson rays of the setting sun turning the waters into a sea of fire. Between the lake and the house is an

orchard, where an elderly handsome woman, who reminds us of the Rachel of earlier days, lingers in the summer evening. As darkness comes on, old George Foster calls his sister in and makes his way to his lonely bachelor bedroom. He takes a letter from his pocket, bearing an old country stamp, which he has fetched from the little postoffice that afternoon. It is signed: “Your affectionate sister, Maggie. ” Maggie Lovejoy—his old love Maggie Wilson, now a woman of over fifty years and, by the news in his letter, a grandmother 1 Poor George, ho has spent a lonely, disappointed though not unhappy life, and, as he reads the news from the dear old home, something suspiciously like a tear glistens in his eye, and his shirt-sleeve is drawn across his face. Nothing more, however. He folds the letter gently, puts out thft light, turns into bed and is soon asleep—perhaps dreaming of happy times in the old, old days when two pairs of boys and girls planned a May-day double wedding that never came. [tub end.J EDUCATE THE HAND. A System of Training That Makes Useful Men anti Women. There is a discipline of the intellect and emotions which comes to one by using the hands in work at the bench, or at any other kiud of honest labor; it is wrought into the fiber of character and becomes a part ol manhood, and those who have it are the nobility of this land. This is education, and no man has a right to call it by any other name. The reflex influence upon the character of laboring with the hands is so great that it dignifies a man in his own judgment. He has more respect for himself, and believes more in his own manhood. He sees the fruit of his labors, beholds that he is making an honest effort to earn bread for himself and those who are dependent upon him. This is not only the human but the Divine order of life. * * * There is a placo for industrial training in our school system. Instead of loading up the course of study in the common school with the higher branches, at the expense of the taxpayers and to no good purpose, let these higher branches drop out, and substitute the work-shop and kitchen garden. Let instruction in these branches be joined to the substantial common..school education and then the millions Stour young people who are to be the wage-earners of the future may have an education of the hand and eye together with that of the mind. How to educate a boy’s hands; how to do it in connection with his studies of grammar and geography, arithmetic and writing, may seem a problem not likely to be solved in a practical way; but not so, it is being done and satisfactorily, too, in many of our towns and cities. Every polytechnic, agricultural and mechanical school has adopted shop work or field work as a part of the technical course. In the scientific department of a college we find the laboratory work; in a course of higher mathematics surveying is the industrial training feature; though here the work of the hands is kept at the minimum. Industrial training may be introduced in the lowest department of the primary school in the form of the kindergarten; in the grammar grades the work-shop and kitchen garden may be established in connection with school buildings; and further up still, in our colleges, the gymnasium might be filled with machinery as object lessons to boys and girls, directing their thought and ingenuity to comprehend and in a practical way use some of the greatest inventions of the world. Such an education could not fail to give us more practical and useful men and women.— Dr. T. L. Flood, in Chautauquan. THRIFTY FRUGALITY. How a Western Farmer Watched His Pennies as Well as Bis Dollars. Farmers, as a class, are perhaps more noted for their thrifty frugality than followers of any other occupation, and the way they are in the habit of looking after the pennies is proverbial. The most striking illustration of this trait of which I have ever hoard was, however, called to my attention the other day by a member of one of our leading manufacturing firms of la-bor-saving machinery, observes a writer in tho Chicago Journal. A year or two ago he had sold a machine to one of the smaller farmers in an adjacent county. Payment for the article had been spread over a number of years, the notes of the purchaser being taken to secure payment. One of these had fallen due a short time ago and was defaulted ou. A polite note was thereupon sent by the firm to the defaulting debtor, and in reply a letter was received stating that the purchaser of the machine had not derived from it as much benefit as he expected by a considerable amount, and he hoped tho firm would allow him that amount when the settlement of the note was made. This cool demand on his part gave rise to some little correspondence which was abruptly brought to a close by rije receipt by tho firm of a note couched in the following terse terms: “This is to notify you that this correspondence which has been going on between us must now cease. I had to borrow two cents to pay the postage on the last letter I wrote you, and now i have another one from you to reply to for which I will have to borrow another two cents for postage. That will be four cents which I have had to spend, and for which I have received nothing in return. I can not stand any more of that kind of thing.” The Way to Wash Windows. There is a right and wrong way to wash windows, and as this operation is usually dreaded, the following method will doubtless bo appreciated, as it saves both time and labor. Choose a dull day, or at least a time when the sun is not shining on the window, for when the sun shines on the window it causes it to be dry streaked, no matter how much it is rubbed. Take a painter’s brush and dust them inside and out, washing all the wood-work inside before touching the glass. The latter must be washed simply iu warm water diluted with ammonia—do not use soap. Use a small cloth with a pointed stick to get the dust out of tho corners; wipe dry with a soft piece of cotton cloth—do not use linen, as it makes the glass linty when dry. Polish with tissue paper or old newspaper. You will find this can bo done in half the time taken where soap is used, and the result will be brighter windows. Laid Out iu Roses. A t the funeral of a young woman belonging to a rich and exclusive family in Now York the other day the house did not look like a house of mourning but was gayly decorated as if a festival were in progress. The coffin was a bower of roses, in which the fair form of its occupant lay peacefully resting, like one who having just returned out-wearied from a ball had fallen asleep < there. She wore a white satin gown with low neck and short sleeves, and her marble-like bust was partly covered with beautiful tea roses. The “Old Oaken Bucket ” was first suggested to the author, Samuel Woodworth, iu a bar room. A friend with whom he was drinking said that when they were boys the old oaken bucket that hung in his father’s well was good enough for them to drink from. Woodworth Immediately went heme and wrote the famous poem.

FOR OUR YOUNG FOLKS. ifti i in ■ ■si ■■ ANY ONE KNOW SUCH A BOY|? Out of the street, after ringing a bell or two, Into the house, with a rush and a yell or two, Kitcbenward, lured by a savory smell or two— Dinner inspires him with joy! OfT goes his hat, with a dexterous fling to it; Off goes the cat, with a mischievous string to it; Up starts the baby, because he will sing to it— Any one know such a boy? ■* Up stairs and down stairs, a very cyclone Is he; r Deep into mischief whenever alone is he: Terror of sisters —to tease them quite prone is he; Doing his best to annoy. Grandmother shudders—with shouts he will frighten her. Though quite as often his fond kisses brighten her; Then, by sweet coaxing, of goodies he’ll lighten her — Any one know such a boy? Wild with his comrades as any Comanche is: Rough as a steer on a far western ranch he Ist Surely of mischief the root and the branch he is; Yet there’s pure gold in alloy. Tender "and true at the heart’s core, though small he is; Brave and chivalric, whatever befall, he is; Mother's own torment and blessing through all he is— Anyone know such a hoy? —Geo. Cooper, in Golden Days.

EVERY DAY. Til© Things That Seem Hardest for the Young to Bear Often Prove Their Greatest Help in Later Years. There comes a time in every boy’s and girl's life when the duties required of them seem irksome, unnecessary and even cruel. They get out of all sympathy with their lives at home, and feel themselves ill-used or unappreciated. This feeling comes generally whn marbles, top and velocipede, dolls and child's books and amusements, have lost all attractions. The father and mother feel that it is quite time that at least a limited amount of work and responsibility take the place and time of the outgrown toys. Here and there we find a boy or girl who cheerfully accepts the change, who puts on the new duties and responsibilities as they would the long dress in, place of the short one, or the long trousers in place of the knickerbockers; but tho majority of boys and girls feel themselves martyrs if they are compelled to do certain things that minister to the family life and comfort. They go to school every day willingly, and perform their duties there more or less faithfully. If they were asked “Why?” they would be surprised at the question. “Education was necessary. A man or woman could not amount to any thing if they did not have an tedifeation of some sort. Os course they would go to school, to prepare for being men and women in the world!” The education out of school is sometimes far more valuable for living than any acquired in school. Mis Alcott, just before she died, wrote “Recollections of My Childhood” for the Youth’s Companion. Many of you, no doubt, have read it. She tells, in her own delightful way, of the naughty pranks of her childhood, the thoughts and feelings of her girlhood. In describing the family life after the return to Boston, she says: “Anna soon found little pupils, and trudged away each morning to her daily task, pausing at the corner to wave her hand to me in answer to my salute with the duster. My father went to his classes at his room down town, mother to her all-absorbing poor,, tho little girls to school, and I was left to keep house, feeling like a caged seagull as I washed dishes and cooked in the basement kitchen, whore my prospect was limited to a procession of muddy boots.” Could any girl live a life that caused more, self-sacrifice than this? With Miss Alcott’s intense love for all things boautiful, love of the freedom of outdoor life, every minute must have been atrial. What does she say of it? “Good drill, but very hard.” It was that very experience, no doubt, that enabled Miss Alcott to write “Polly,” a story that has made little economies noble to hundreds of girls. It is so hard for us to learn that every day is just a preparation for the day to follow, that we can not separate our lives into pigeonholes numbered from one to three hundred and sixty-five, or into groups of or separate years from each other. Life is like a building having several parts but all under one roof, and to be symnietrical, sound, beautiful, every part must bear its right relation to every other part. Sometimes the things that seemed hardest for us to bear will prove our greatest help when we become men or women. The writer, when twelve years old, wanted a dress of a certain kind. Tho woman who acted the part of mother to her told her she could have it if she would make it. Such a proposition staggered .her, and all thought of the dress was given up. During the week she was sitting under a tree making a polonaise for hor doll; she thought: “If I can make clothes for my doll that fit and look pretty, why should I not make clothes for myself?” She ran into the house at once and announced that, she would make the dress if she could have the materials. They were bought and carried to hor room, and there was fought a tremendous battle. The skirt of the dress was sewed on and ripped off thirteen times before it was pronounced right. . During the week the little girl cried oceans 6t tears, it seemed to hor, and she felt that all kindness and goodness had gone out of life. Years after, when she was a woman, it became necessary for her to earn money, and tho first money she earned was for making a dress for a rich, kind woman. If she had not learned to work for herself, depend on herself, she would havo been helpless when necessity came. Like Miss Al-

cott. a,ho says: “Good drill, but very hard.” Men testify again and again that it is tho learning to do things that seemed hard and unnecessary that fitted them to bo men in the business world. Doing drudgery is the best way to master any business, any profession. A. T. Stewart knew how to sell goods over a counter beforo ho built up a business that supported hundreds. The founder of one of the largest publishing houses in this country learned to set type. There is an apprenticeship that must bo lived and studied beforo there is a mastery that commands respect. Not the boy or girl who scorns the period becomes master, but the one who sees in it the stepping-stone to higher things. How you would laugh at the little child who, crying, protesting, or scorning refused to learn how to add because he wanted to work problems in algebra! There are first steps out o{?‘ school as well as in school. Ability to work algebra depends on the quickness and accuracy iu addition. —Christian Union.

THIEVISH RATS. They Even Steal Things of Which They Can Make No Practical Use—Cunning Animals. Rats are not only very wise creatures, but they are also notorious thieves. They constantly steal things, especially bright and glittering articles, that are not of the slightest use to them. A wood rat once formed a hoard in a stove in a house in California which had not been occupied for a couple of years. During some repairs the nest was found, and a curious sight it presented. The outside of it was entirely made up of nails, all neatly arranged, points outward. In the middle lay the nest, composed of fibers, finely divided, of hemp packing. Then, mingled with more nails, were two dozen knives, forks and spoons; three butcher's knives, a large carvingknife, fork and steel; several plugs of tobacco; an old purse containing some silver; matches; nearly all the small tools from the tool-chest, but some largo augers among them; tho case of a silver watch in one part of tho heap, tho glass face in another part, and the “works” in another. Here, therefore, you havo an instance of rats taking the trouble to bring together from t all quarters of a house a variety of things they did not and could not make use of. This seems to show that rats have a real mania for thieving, simply for the sake of stealing. But they are also very cunning animals. . How do you think a rat managed to transport a big potato to his home? Lying on his back, he placed the potato on his breast and held it there with his paws, while his mate dragged him along by the tail like a sledge until they came to a hole in the floor. Down this hole the potato was rolled, and the rats went tumbling after! However, we must not do the rats an injustice. There is no doubt that in many cases they behave very kindly to one another. Here is a pleasing example of such affection. A poor blind old rat had acquired a great liking for cod-liver oil (doesn’t this prove that they nro sensible beings as well as thievish, and canning and kind?} —a fondness which had probably grown upon him before he lost his sight - Os course ho was unable without help to gratify this taste of hig,.but a young rat, pitying his forlorn state, used to lead him to the oil-flasks. Now, when a rat wants any thing out of a bottl£~ ho does not knock the vessel over And break it; that would bo clumsy aidwasteful. No; he slips his tail into the liquid and then licks his tail. Well, when tho young conductor arrived at tho cod-liver oil, ho dipped his tail into the bottle, and allowed Ms venerable friend to lick the oil off. This done, tho guardian carefully conveyed his charge back to his lodging. Was not the young rat really a good Samaritan? Little Folks. A Little Girl’s Story. A little girl aged three, informed her mother that she knew a beautiful story about a giant. “Would you like to hear it, mamma?” askeS she. “Well, then,” she continued, “once there was a great big ugly giant, and he was very fond of eating little girls. One day as he was walking alOne through the woods he met two little girls—one very good little girl and one very naughty one. “First ho took a bite out of t. e good little girl, and he made up f horrid face, and said she tasted awful nasty; then he took a tasto of the tad little girl, and he smacked his lips and said she tasted awful nice, ’cause you see, mamma, she had eaten nuts an raisins and candy when her mother old her not to, and that made her taste sweet.” Then the old giant said: ‘l’ll never again eat a good little girl; I’ll always eat tho bad ones.’”—“A Listener,” in Wide Awake. —Counsel for the defense (to hi 9 wife)— My dear, I want you to lock up everything that is moveable in. the house. Wife—Why so?- Counsel— The thief who was acquitted th s morning without a stain upon his character, owing to my brilliant defense, is coming, I am told, this afternoon, to thank me. _ There are 4,000,000 collars made in this country every year, and yet the young husband can never find one that will fit comfortably on a home-made shirt—Somerville Journal. —At the Club. —Novelist—l hope you have read my last novel, Mr. Hall? Hastings Hall—l sincerely hope I have, sir.—Harvard Lampoon.