St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 20, Number 12, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 6 October 1894 — Page 2

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where a gro ip of four ladies, whose ; clothes well matched the apartment, i sat conver ing. For I have no doubt they would have called it “conversa- ; tion” —of a highly interesting and im- I proving kind. The young fellow in the distance, however, did not seem to find it so. He was at th- age when men are very critical of women, especially of their mothers and sisters, unless these hap- ; pen to be sufficiently beautiful ideals to remain such unto son and brother from the cradle to the grave—-an exceptional happiness which befalls few, ' and it had not befallen Roderick Jardine. The stout lady who, the instant he spoke, pricked up her ears with a cheerful “Eh, my dear?” was (eccentric j nature will sometimes have it so very unlike this, her youngest child and j only son—as unlike as it was possible i for mother and son to be. Light and dark, fat and lean, large-boned and slender, phlegmatic and nervous, they came of two diametrically opposite types, physically and mentally. Morally—yes, there was similarity there*, for Mrs. Jardine was a good woman, and Roderick was, as she ceaselessly declared. being very outspoken as to her feelings, the best of sons, though he was a little “peculiar," like his । oor, dear father, or whom he was the very image. This was true. Her three daughters —now' married and settled, except the last, who was mst about to be-all took after herself. No her present self, perhaps, but the comely lassie she j must have been once—fair-haired, round-cheeked, with a wide mouth and slightly projecting teeth—though possessing sufficient good looks to be a ‘ belle in Richerden. Roderick alone “favored” the other side of th ' house - ( the ta 1. darK, rather s;. 1-looking father, who came of old Highland blood, and not being in b isiness like most of the Richerden folk had led a rather retired life, keeping himself very much in the background, even amid his own family. Nobody really knew him. or thought much of him. until he died, which event happened just before his son went to college. Since then his widow had gradually , blossomed out into great splendor; married her two daughters, taken her independent place in society. Richerden society', as a woman—l beg pardon, a lady—ought to do who ha, a large fortune, a line family, and a great ca- ( parity for managing both. People had ; said that she managed her husband; ! but those who knew Mr. Jardine otuastioned this. Gentle as he was, he was not exactly a man to be “managed” by anybody. “What were you saying, Rody, my : lamb. ” Now, if there was a pet name the ! young fellow disliked, it was his childish diminutive of “Rody.” And no man of tive-and-twenty is altogether j p eased at being called “a lamb.” 1 “Can .you spare two minutes from that very delightful conversation of ' yours to listen to me. mother?” “Ou, ay. nay dear.” ! ■ The young man winced a little. ' “Wouldn't ‘yes' do as well as ‘ou, ay?’ I But never mind, it doesn’t, matter, s m >ther, dear,' added he with a sigh, more of weariness than impatience. “Rody. my boy,” said she, coming to him half-deprecatingly, -were you saying you wished to go abroad? It's late in the year, to be sure, but I’ll not hinder you. Only you must promise me not to be climbing up Alps and tumbling into glaciers.” Glaziers, she called them; and her voice had the high-pitched shrillness which Richer- j den ladies se dom quite get out of, even when they fancy they have merged their native accent 'in the i purest of English. “Wherever you go. remember you must be back in time ’ for Isabella's marriage.” ‘Certainly—and. mother, don’t be afraid of my tumbling into a glacier.- | or of an avalanche tumbling down upo*i me. I shall only see the Alps at a distance. At this time of year one must ■ content one's self with towns. ” “That's hard, laddie, when, you aye I so fond of the country. But do as you 1 like—do as you like —only don’t forget j the marriage. You will have to give I away the bride, Rody. Ah' your noor * father:” I The widow’s eyes filled with ti^rs. If she had not understood her ausband, she had loved him certainly, and more perhaps after his death than before it. “We’ll we’ll talk the matter over an-

other time,” cried Roderick. “At this moment I m busy—l moan, I—-I have an engagement. Gord-by, everybody. 11l l>e back nt dinner-time. ” "A little before dinner-time, plea e, my dear. Remember wo have company—twenty at, least —a regular dinner party,” "Oh, yes, a ‘meeting of creditors,’ as my father used to call it,” said the young fellow somewhat bitterly. “No ! fear, mother; I’ll bo back in time and i do my duty to all the old fog ms. ” “They're not old fogies; there are l some as nice girls a- you could wish to see, if you’d only look at them, Roder- I ick,” said Bella, who, going to bo mar- . ried herself, quite lamented that her only b:« ther seemed determined against matrimony. “Well, I will, Bell, I promise you, only let me go now.” And snatching up his hat a Glengarry bonnet which ho persisted in wea. ing, though his : sisters told him it made him look like ! th • Highland porters at the quay—ho ■ fairly ran away. Rapidly the young fellow walked on I through park and square, through ' street an i wind, or “vennel,” as such dreary dens are often called here; , shrinking from and d ‘testing a ike I the poverty and the riches the spleni dor and the rags. It began to rain ■ heavily, but he heeded not. Though brought up in luxury, ho wa- not lux- ' urious by nature, could stand a gox d ; deal of hardship, and had a young man’s instinctive pride in “roughing • it. ’ Still “an even down-pour,” as his , mother would have called it, is not an । agre able thing; an I a- in reality nis ! only engagement 'wa- with himself, whose com any he felt free to enj>y a< much as anybody else, he stopped h s walk und turned into a railway stati n. where at least ho could sit down quietly and read his letters, which he had snatched up from the hall table on going out. But having no very interesting correspondence—for ho had left behind at Cambridge few intimates and no duns, also being, I fear, of a rathe dilat >ry turn of mind, and given to the bad system of laissez-aller—Roderick left the letters unopened in his pocket, and sat idly watching the pas-en-gers gather for a train just about t » start. And when he heard the guard calling out the num • of a phi e where ho and his father had spent many a happy day, on a sudden impulse ho sprung into the train without a ticket ‘\ust like Rody, silly felb w, they would have said at home , and wa- borne away. As he swept along in the train, and, quitting it, started on an old familiar walk, ah ng high cliffs which gave him a v lew of the country land and > a for many lovely miles, Roderick's heart was very full. Not. only of his i father, but of himself and his'own new future, which lay be .re him Eke a may the niapof an untraveled country - untraveled but y d not undiscovered, for there were in* it tn n e certainties than lie in the lot of many young men of his age. I’oor fellow! so young, so ignorant of life and its burdens. i e t he thought himself quite wi-e and quite old. and felt his burden verv heavy in ieed, and hi nself a most unfortunate fellow, on being obliged to go back to that "meeting of cred.tor./' which he d - tested. "But I'll enjoy myself here to the very last minute.” thought he. and sat ; d< wn on a heather bush—for on that high ground everything looked as if it never hail rained and never would rain again, till the next time, which would probably bo within twenty-four hours. . Wrapping his plaid about him, he felt perfectly happy. That lovely outline of hills—he must just put it d wn; so. i hunting in his pocket L r the pencil that was always a-missing, he turned out the letters that he had crammed in there, and looked them over. None attracted him, except a blackedged me, which, opened, he found was one of the "intimations” of death, c istomary in Scotland, acquainting him that there had died “at Blackha h aged sixty-nine, Mi— ikm-e Jar.iine.” Silence Jardine! Surely a relation! Who could rhe be? For he knew his father and he were the last of their family. However, thinking a minute hTre’membered that in the busine s arrangements after his father's death, which, he being under age, had been managed entirely by his ‘mother, she had told him that Blackball, the anvestral property, “a queer tumble-down place which nobody would care for,” was to be inhabited, so long as rhe liked, by Miss Jardine, a second cousin. This must be she who had nowdied. “1 wonder, ought I to go to her fu- ' neral? ’ However,con ulting the letter, i which had traveled to < ambridge and back, he found this was impossible. She must have “slept with her fathers” ' for some days already. “Boor Cousin ! ' Silence! Wnat a queer name, by the i by. I wonder what she was like, or if I 1 ever saw her?” J And, then, by a sudden Hash of mem- 1 : ory, he recalled a circumstance which in the confusion and anguish of the : time had entirely slipped away—how, not many hour.-before his father had died, there had crept into the sickroopi a lady —an old lady, nearly as old as Idr. Jardine, and curiously like him. At sight of her a wonderful brightness had come into the dying face. “Cousin Silence?” “Yes, Henry,” was all they said, but she knelt beside him; and they kissed one another, and he lay

O abroad, mother, is what I h ive about decided to do, after aIL " He who sa i d | this, sudden y I and just a trifle : sharply, had boon ' sitting, reading, ‘ at the furthest ; end of a very ; handsome, not to • say go r g eons, i drawing- room, i

looking at her till the last gleam of consciousness faded away. After that —for he did not actually die for some hours—sho sat beside Mrs. Jardine watching him till the end. And after the end, Roderick remembered she had taken his mother out of the room and comforted her, staying a little while longer, and then leaving, no one thinking or saying much about her, either at the time or afterward. Now, recollecting his father's look, and hers too, the whole story, or dobsible story, presented itself to the imaginative young man in colors vivid as life, and tender as death alone can make them. And when, carelessly opening another letter, he found it was from the lawyer of this same Miss Jardine, stating that she had loft him । I —"Roderick Henry Jardine, her ' ond cousin once removed” —the wJLy 'of Iter property. M I mond ring, “which his ■wrTOrgave^Or I many yoara ago, ” he W r as deep*!?' touched. ( “I wish I had known her! I wUiiu had had a chance of being good to her —poor Cousin Silence!” thought he. And ns he sat watching ' the light of the dying day,” which died so peacei full. , so gloriously over the western ' hills he. with his life just b'gun, poni do ed over the two lives now ended, | the mystery < f which he guessed i but never could know, except that they J ' were safely ended. When the sun set, going down like a ball of fire which dyed the river all ■ crimson, and the sud ,en gray chill of ' an October twilight came, Roderick ' ’ started up, a little ashamed of himself, and still more ashamed when he found i ho had entirely neglected to ask the time of the return train to Rieherden. “Just like me, mother will say,” and, half laughing, but vexed, for it always vexed him to vex his mother, he tore along a; fast as his long legs could carry him. to the railway station. The ! train was just going, and it was at the I risk of his hte—to sa. nothing of a ■ penalty of forty shillings—tnat this I so dish young fell w contrived to leap . into it, breatnh'-s. exhausted, having nearly killed himself in his endeavor , I to “do his duty. ’’ So ho rcuresented to himself, at i least, and felt a mo't tremendous martyr all the way to I icherden. It did i not occur to him that simply looking i at his watch and the time table would I have saved ail. Hut at his ago we are apt to overlook the little things on i which, like the coral islands of the | South Sea ocean, our lives are built , How far wo build them ourselves, or , Fate builds for us G d only knows. Tearing up in a cab to his own dtor or rather his mother's he already be- • gan slightly to feel the difference, i i ringing as if ho thought the h u-e was I on tiro.and.l^ing met by the iinpertutb- I ab o butler with the informati^g Yes. str, dinner is served: Jar-• dine waked half an hour, and then asked Mr. Thomson to take the f<x»t of the table all this did not contribute t<> Roderick’s placi lity of spirit. When heat a-t walked into that blaze of gas-light that da.zle of crystal and , plate - that strong aroma of dainty I dishes and oxce lent win and clatter ■ of convorsati ■», which make- up a Rieherden dinn rq arty, he was n t in the l>est frame of mind to enjoy the same. His mother was so busy talking, and the silver-gilt epergne was such an eff cl tai barrier betw< en the up|>er and lower ends of tl.e t ible. that she never I notic ’d that her son-in- aw-elect ■ quitt 'd his place and her son slipped ! into it, till the deed was done. Then Roderick might ha. e rec ived a g. od hearty scolding, not u Reserved had n u - 'mdhinc in him wa- it hifathers look?- repressed the ebullition. She merely said: “Oh, nly -on is there. 1 see! Better late than never. And the dinner we it on. When, the ladies having retired, he still had to keep his place and "pass the bottle” which lie loathe ;- to elderly gentlemen, ay, and young ones, too, who evidently did not loathe it listening meanwhile to talk in which, whether it wu- his own fault or not. he could not get up the smallest interest. this young Cantab— who for three years had lived tn what was a litt! ■ better »tmo-phere than that of Rieherden socially, as well as physically—was a good deal to be pitied.' So was his mother, too, when, havingsucceeded in luring the guests upstairs, he her only son went iind hid himself in the drawing-reom and | “sulked,” as ho overheard her say, lamenting over him as a black sheep, in the loudest of whimpers, to a lady he parti -ularly disliked. But it was not sulking, for he had his father's sweet temper. It was only the utter wear ness i f spirit which, in uncongenial cireum-tanees comes over the young as well as the old. And then, with the iiabit he had of passing over things at the time and re- . urring io them afterward, there came into hi- niiinl a sentence in the letter ■ fiom Miss . ardine s lawyer, explaining ; that in making her willshe had said to him that her only other kindred were ' some distant cousins, living, she believed in Switzerland, whom, if they were । oor, she left to Roderick’s kind- 1 ness. •'Capital idea! I'll go straight, to ■ Swit erland and find them. It would at lea-t I e s mothing to do.” And the mere notion of this bright- ■ , ened up the young fellow s spirit and wat med his heart- he was, I fear bit a foolish young Quixote after ail: so I that uheti Lis mother called him t» do 1 civility to the de] arting gne-ts. ho । came forward with an air of cheerful- I ness, such as he had not worn all tho i , evening. Ay, even when he had to ' i escort the most honored quest to tho ! ; very carriage door, from an unsteadi- • ness of gait, politely ascribed to gout, . but which Roderick, with a contempt so sad to see in the young to the old, even when the ol I deserve it, soon perceived to be—something else. “Mother, ’ cried he, indignantly, a 5 ho lett.rned to tho drawinsr-rooni, where the two ladies stood on the hearth-rug of their “banquet-hall de- i serted,” hot, weary, a little cross, and not a little glad that “it was over.” “mother, I wonder you let that old tellow enter your door! He has not an ounce of brains, and less of mann irs. Didn t you see he was drunk?”

“What an ugly, vular word! And to eay it of Sir James, who holds such a good position here, and is Mr Th..., son’s father, too! Rody, r m ashamed of you; “And Bella is more than ashamed, angry Oh, Be! , and with a suddeA sense of brotherly tenderness, half re gret, half compunction, he laid his hand on her shoulder, “have you thoroughly considered this marriage? Are you quite sure of the young man himself? Those things run in families. Suppose he should even turn out a drunkard —like this father!” “Stuff and nonsense.” said Bella, sharply. “And even if Sir James doos enjoy his glass—why—so do many other gentlemen. It isn’t like a common man, you know, w’ho never knows when jto st up. Now, Sir James does. He is ' not ‘drunk,’ as you call it, on y I mirry.’” J “Roderick,” said his mother—and I when she gave him his full name ho i » was teriously displeased — 1 the Thomsons aro one of the first । families in Rieherden, and live in tho ; best sty.o. Isabella is making the most I satisfactory marriage of all her sisters and I des re you well not say one word against it. ” “Very well, mother.” And with a ; hoi Bi ß h Rodorlolc cliun K <l llieo 1 conversation. I “Mother, have you thought over what i I said this morning a' out going to Switzerland?” Baid ho, impelled by tho ■ longing' of much-worried people to run away. “Because, sin e then, I ; have found an added reason for my ourney.” And he gave her the two letters which had come on from CamI bridge. "I suppose you had not heard of Miss Jardine's death, or you would have i ut off the dinn r-party?” “Whv so? Sho was only a poor rola- । tion. Nobody knew anything about her i hero. Her death was noteven put in the newspapers.” f “Then you did know of it? But, I of course, one could not mourn for a •verson whose death was not important enough t > bo put in the news- ; paper. ” Mrs. Jardine looked puzzled, as sho | often did when her gentle-speaking ! "lad” spoke in that way; she could not make out whether ho was in jest or in earnest! "Weill, gc, if you like. But it's just a wild-goose cha-e; that's what I cull it.” “So do I, mother. Only I m not tho hunter; I’m the wild go we. and 1 want to t ike a good I >ng (light and stretch my wings. Then I'll come back as tame as possible, and settie down in tho dullest and smooth© t of pond-.” He determined to go. the very next day. to visit Blackball, which he had • noier yet s on, and knew little about, for his father rarely named it, though j it had lico i tho homo of the Jardines | for many generations. Also, they m st ; have had a burial-place, for he had • some recollection of his father's having once ex] rossed a wish to lai there, only his moth t had overruled it in ■ favor of the grand now < emetery on th<> out kirts of Rieherden, where s ie had afterward erocte I a beuitiful I white marble sarcophagus with an ,rn at the t >p. What matter? Henry parsin' slept well. And far away. • somewhere ivyon 1 those moonlight mountains—near the very places whore i they might have played together as 1 children, walked together as young ! people slept also Cousin Silence. But the waking? If it be possible • that the life to come shall heal some of the wound- of this life oh, the I heavenly waking! |ro bk cnsinii BB.| 111-Man none I Flnglish Itowagors. A write ■ in an Engli-h newspa er has utterc i a wail concerning the degenera 'y of the age, -ays the .ww York Sun, j and cite e-amples of the great falling j off in mann rs in what are genera ly called in Great Britain the upper circles to prove it. I naif he -ay- is true Ihe makes out a very c< <» i ease. Ho asserts that in London ball-r< oins one s fin Is the ehaper >n-, ladies often of matureyears, stnurgling for seat* like so n any foot-ball mmin a scramble Ho iob vets t • what lie call- "their cairn i insolence and their tricks and devices ’to get the b tter of one another.’’ He alleges that a couple of dowagers will, when seated on each -ide of a third, talk in- o s her for an hour < r more so eagerly that their chins nine st meet in front of the suffer- r. Dowagers have offended him seriously. The eriti ■ notices the recent stringent rules at the que n’s drawinc-roi ms. and says that they were neces-ary. N< thing ! milder, in his opinion, w<u deheck the crowding and pushing which have now converted the scene of a great state e remonial int > a lively bear garden. Then there is the ill-mannered chatter with which occupants of stalls and boxes at. the theaters interrupt tho perf rmance. This censor of public manners find- that the m st hopeless feature is the behavior of the rising generation. •uvdwp uj sJch uh itjoiuv p-ju j The first American boys who visited Japan were -et ashore with great ceremony near the city of Yeddo, or Tokie. on Thursday, July 14, 1v53.l v 53. They woie the uniform of the United States navy, and every gilt button and buckle was polishod till it shone like gold. They carried between them a large , square enve 0] o of scarlet cloth, con- \ taining two beautiful round boxes ; made of gold, each bxx inch sed in a larger b x of rosewood, with locks, ! hinges, and mountings all n ade of pure gold. Each of the gold boxes contained a letter to the Emperor of | Japan, beautifully written on vellum i and not folded, but bound in pure silk ■ velvet. To each letter the great seal of the United States was attached with । <o ’ds of interwoven gold and silk, with I pendent gold tassels. The names of these noys are not known t > the w riter. j but it would not be surprising if some ■ voting American should write to tho Yeung Ueople. “My father was one of 1 hese boys.”—Harper’s Young I’eople. Trond of the Feminine Mind. There are many straws which show the reaching out in these days of the feminine mind. Here is one; In Hallowell, Me., the free library statistics for last month show 1,141 books given out. Os these women took 407, girls 410, against 151 taken by men. and 173 by boys. All the grandsons of Charles Dickens bear the name of Charles. One of i them. Gerald Charles Dickens, son of j Henry Fielding Dickens, Q. C., has recently entered the British navy. We don’t know whether it is woman suffrage or not that causes it, but nave you noticed these days how so m after marriage a man begins to fade?

: THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AN INTERESTING AND INSTRUCTIVE LESSON. — Reflections of an Elevating CharacterWholesome Food for Thought-Study-ing the Scriptural Lesson Intelligently and Profitably. Le<son for Oct. 7. l>>^ D a?sp T elVerK DOt teS 1 ^^ 00 ’ fO P n ? in Luke IC-30, > Sareth M 9 v 1 Na/ar eth. Here is ' n;n ^r et1 ’ f ? 1 - r Na -afeth of the ereen Spread soft kmd . Na ; ar °th that tiist ' bovfor the feet of the udmn h»’ h 7*7 ‘ a areth that first » ~ Y lie ha ^ become a man and a teacher, cast him out. He came to his own and his own receiv d him not ’ Hero a-e the paths his youthful feet tiol, the high places from which his youthful eyes looked, the fields of Howers through which his ardent soul strayed. Here is the carpenter-shop ralTwi'h. earning his bread by the sweat of his brow Heie is the synagogue where lie stood, Scripture in hand, and pointed to himself. Here is the stern bills brow where they sought to do away with him. Is there anv place more interesting than Aaiiuma; He cam jto Na areth. He had been there before But this was an -w and momentous coming. He comes this time in his redemptive capacity to be accepted or rejected. Thus he comes to each hea t. It wa- where he had been brou Jit up.” They all knew him. Nazareth is a fair picture of the 01dinary town or village of t hrist mdom to-day. Jesus is kno.vn there. Few can plead ignorance of him. The question n w is—and it is a very personal one—will they take him now as Savior, God's Son sent to deliver? "As his custon was." Jesus had his habit , but they were good habits. Life naturally runs in fixed gro >ves. Hap y the man who lets Lis hab tudes and eitablished ways of doing lead him upward instead of downward. . e-us wa- found in tho synagogue on the Sa bath < ay. It was his custom to frequent the house of G. d. The Sa; bath was a sacred day with him. It was so not only us a part of bis meek sub ectien to his parents from youth up but as a part of his di . ine intelligence and his divine righteousness. He knew w a’ was right and l e.t, and to that his life j erfectly conformed. Stu iy the example of Jesus. They gave him the book and then he un- । :olLd it and “found the place." I Marvel* us condescension of the i Lord of glory to seek out in • our p >or lettering the place. He stooped to our weakness indeed. He learned our crude language that he might t ilk with us; he put himself under <>ur hanq e ing conditions that he i might help us. Remembering that we j uro dust, he himself became dust, that, thus condescending to men of low estate. he might lift us up to his own high station. He read the word and then sat down. “I that speak unto thee am he.” I'hey “r< so up and thrust him out of the city, they sought to destroy him, and why ' For one reason because he was one f them and unhonored among his । wn: for another reason I ecauso he was not of them—not of th m in life and spirit, not of them in acquiescnee tv their wrong t hought of the kingdom. And so the ■ re ect him. What a speciacle, licggars rejecting their only friend, < a >tiv» s thrusting away I their deliveier, b’/nl and bruised banishing- the gieat physician: Well mijht angels hide thoir faces to weep. Ilinis in i Illustrations. Get the -cene well befo e the eye: it is quite vividly sketched in Luke's 1 veneration. Christ a’ the brow of a i ] o—i':>le hill of -acriiice—an earlier i G<> gotha. Ask tho question: 1. What I arc they going to do with him? 2. I Why are they go ng to do it? 3. | \\ hy don’t they do it ' Bring out the , carnal enmity t > the Holy One and also the weakness andemptine.ssof that ‘ eppi sition. Make the closing query i vem per.-o .al. What will you do with I him? And this what will be do with "At the present Nazareth, a little j w liiewa lied town, hemmed in by the I various hills of exterior Galilee, is j shown to-day a room in which Mary and Jos -ph lived, with an altar bearing the inscription: Hie erat .-übd tus illis—“Here lie was subject to them." They hat d < hrist becau e he did not bend the truth to their misconceptions, liow easily he might have gotten their acceptance by just making it a little easier for them. I'ut he never abated or lowered the truth towin men. The men o: Nazareth did not realize how near they were to supreme blessedness —n ar and yet they came short of it. < hrist came back again to Nazareth, but their day of peace was gone. He coaid not do many mighty works there because of their uni elief. Are you sinning away your day of grace? “Today the Savior call.-.” They i efused an I rejected him: God did not. Spurgevn in one of the discourses of his early ministry, the sermon on “Joseph Attacked by the Archers.” tells of a stone which when brought with the others from the quarry for the great temple of Solomon, ap] eared so curiously shaped as to b 1 unfitted for any porti- n of the spa Jous building. They tried it here or there, an 1 at last, vexed, th y threw it away. In the long years of construction they rejected the stone because covered with moss and half hid in the grass. But at k*st the day came when tho cry aro o. “Where is the top stone? "Where is the pinnacle?” Uerhaps it was tha’ strange st<ne which the builders had rejected. They dug it out, they raised it in place—it fitted: it was the cap-stone, and amid hosannas the stone which the builders refu ed was made t c head-stone of the corner. Next lesson—“ The Draught of Fishes.” Luke 5; 1-1 L Grains of Gold. Friendship is but a name. It takes a strong man to hold his own tongue. Avoid temptation by keeping out of bad company. Say less than you think: only half what you say. No ONE can have joy to-dav who is worrying about to-morrow. The first step t > knowledge is to know that we are ignorant. Society is what people aro when they know they are watched l

WHAT NAPOLEON MISSED. Tsvo Military Critics Who Are UnaWle to Agree on the Battle of Waterloo. One wonders what would have hap- ■ pened had Napoleon teen able to avail ; himself at Waterloo of the advice of ; two such competent military critics as, j General J. Watts de Peyster and Johm IC. Ropes. Mr. Ropes would have as-l । sured him that his arrangements for| ' the battle were perfectly designed and sure of decisive success. General de I Peyster would have insisted that he i must launch a column of < rushing । weight against the Eng.ish left, inter- , Posing decisively between Wellington j and Blucher, or make a vigorous demonstration against the British center and a less vigorou ;.one ; gainst the Brit- ■ ish right, instead of doing as he did Mr i o. es thinks tha‘, Napoleon failed at \\ aterloo because he was not vmor- . ouGy up orted by his subordinates, General de Peyster argues that it was his own physical weakness that lost the battle to the conqueror of Europe. Mr. Ropes holds that the arrangements of Blucher and Wellington we?e very defective, and that the allies were only saved f orn r. in by a se ies of ac;i- --। dents and the extreme remissness of ’ Ney, Soult and Grouchy on the morning of the th. Even General de I 1 oyster, while he critic.sw Napoleon > refuses credit to Wellington. It was L old "Marshal Vorwarta” who d d the i business. He says: “It is the truth - > and that is glory enough for him : his troops—that tt.ey held their own ho I t-T.rrihl> odds. Blucher d eidea, aTid, therefore, technically as well as virtually, won the battle and gleaned as well as gathered the fruits. Such are the divergent i opinions declared by the Boston and the New Y’ork crit cs o war, in volumes lecently jmblished on the "Campaign of Waterloo.” If they do not otherwise agree ; hey bear concurrent testimony to the fact that it is much easier to fight battles upon paper than in the field of conflict. —Army and Navy Journal. I*arsee Texts. “The light of Ged is concealed under all that shines,” says the Ave Ha. Zoroaster’s sacred book: and as perfect purity in body and mind is the one thing important to zoroastrians, the pure element-, the air they breathe, the water they drink and the tarth they tread must be kept from every unclean influence. These priests of fire are simple and devout men: always patient, satisfied with a little bread, or whatever is offered the nto eat. and trying topreserve purity and truth among their people. From their youth up, t ar.-ee chi-dren are instructed in truthfulness. industry, the cultivation of trees and the rearing of dogs. Here are some texts from the AveMa: “J ying and borrowing go hand in hand. ” ' “Long sleep, O man, is not good: he . who rises first will come into Para- . dise.” . “He who plants trees, who gives ■ water to the thirsty earth and takes it awa when too abundant, he honors . the earth; but to him who tills her not [ she says, ‘Thou wilt go to the doors of [ others and beg for bread; in idleness . thou wilt ask for bread and get but ' | little.’ ” “Pr< tect dogs for six months —childi;eu for seven years.” Honesty in War. , The French marshal, Turenne, was , a gria? genera 1 , and his character . bears examination for nobility. He . wa^ a great man. Many incidents ; which are related of him show his . modesty, generosity and honesty, a; ■ well as his courage and military abili- . ty. A little story of one of his German campaigns illustrates his rare scrupulousness even in time of wa". The authorities of Frankfort believed. from the movements of his arm . .that he intended passing through their territory. 7 hey sent a deputation to h m which offered him a large -um of money if he would alter the direction of his inarch, and leave Frankfort unmolested. They were surprised in more ways than one by his answer. “Gentlemen.” he said, “my c nscience will not permit me to accept y- ur money, for I have never intended to lead my army through yo ir town.” Luxuriant Vegetation. A root of cassava that measures seven feet in length and a potato twenty inches in circumference are two products from the farm of H. A. Lusk near St. Andrew’s Eay, Florida. Gratitude, says some one, is the memory of the heart.

TAKE STEPS in time, if you are a sufferer from that scourge of humanity known as - consumption, and you can be cured. There is the evidence of hundreds of living witnesses to the fact that, in all its early stages. cons«mp-*7//| tion is a curable U> disease. Not < every case, but a larger percentage of I cases, ana we believe, 1 fully per cent, are | cured by Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Dis-

covery, even after the disease has progressed so for as to induce repeated bleedings from Hie lungs, severe lingering cough with copious expectoration (including tubercular matter), great loss of flesh and extreme emaciation and weakness. Do you doubt that hundreds of such cases reported to us as cured by “ Golden Medical Discovery ” were genuine cases of that dread and fatal disease ? You need not take our word for it. They have, iu nearly every instance, been so pronounced by the best and most experienced home physicians, who have no interest whatever in misrepresenting them, and who were often strongly prejudiced and advised against a trial of “Golden Medical Discovery,” but who have been forced to confess that it surpasses, iu curative power over this fatal malady, all other medicines with which they are acquainted. Nasty codliver oil and its filthy “emulsions” and mixtures, had been tried in nearlv all these cases and had either utterly failed to benefit, or had only seemed to benefit a little for a short lime. Extract of malt, whiskey and various preparations of the hypophosphites had also been faithfully tried tn vain. The photographs of a large number of those cured of consumption, bronchitis lingering coughs, asthma, chronic nasai catarrh and kindred maladies, have been skillfully reproduced in a book of 160 pages which will be mailed to vou, on receipt of address and six cents’ in stamps. You can then write to those who have been cured and profit by their ex- ' perience. Address for Book, World’s Dispensary I Medical Association, Buffalo, N. Y.

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