The Newberry herald. (Newberry, S.C.) 1865-1884, January 13, 1875, Image 1
A Family Companion, Devoted to Literature, Miscellany, News, Agriculture, Markets, &c.
Vol. XI. WEDNESDAY MORNING, JANUARY 13, 1875. No. 2.
THE HERALD
IS PUBLISHED
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At Newberry C. Hop
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scription.
TH!MP60N.& 'JONES,
3Dental Surgeons,
(Gradnates ot~ the Pennsylvania College Of.
Dental Surgery.)
M*r. 19, '73--1l-tf.
ATLANTA,"GEORGIA.
0
ORB~WJE -BAPTIST DENONIATIO.
-_0
REV. D. SH AVER, D.D., ED1TOF_
ASSOCIATE EDITORS:
REV. D. E. BUTLEM Dix. J. S. LAWTON.
* CO0XPJSMN-D1NG EDITORS.
pr_&.SH&7KDERS0X.D.D., .ALpxNE, ALA.
REv. E. B. TEAGUE, D.D., SELxA. AjA.
]REv. T. G. JONES, D.D., - NASHVILLE, TENs.
steadfsftj' -devoted to the Tenets and
great interests of the Baptist Denomination,
this p aper, which for nearly half a century,
has been the or,-gzL and favorite of the Bap
qjt.Gegs andfo thept= tseven,
aeint= t reaion to
hof T7- e:eeoSoitiACarolina,Floridan
thessiplwil ein1 the future, merit, by
reciation. The reader will find that, be
'qua"tity of Moral and Beli.
V7th:whiezitts freightedweek
sWlection of raiscelbuieous read
Inoedipiete summary,of reliable
Paeligenoe-both domestic and foreign
wfi&e-der them independent of other pa
b~~.reetl prited Market Reports of
he w0mcplcitesm wilTake the paper in
THE GOLDSMITII'S DAUGIH
TER.
PARAPHRASED PROM THE GERM.XN OF UHL
AND.
Up spoke the Goldsmith proudly
Unto his daughter fair;
"Ab! here are pearls and di.monds
And rubies rich and rare;
But none with- thee; my Helen,
In beauty can compare!"
In came a knight.o. gayly,
A youth of rioble mien;
With "I would have a garland,
The finest e'er was seen;
Spare neitber cost nor labor;
'Tis for my bridal-queen."
li.
The work-is done; and Helen
Cri-d, "Lucky bride is she
Who wears this splendid garland,
Ah!-would he give to-me
A simple wreath of roses,
How happy I should be!"
IV.
"Tis well," the knight made answer,
When he this wreath had seen;
"Now make a ring with diamonds
And of the purest sheen;
Spate neither cost nor labor;
'Tis for my bridal-queen!"
Y.
The work is done; and Helen
Cried, "Lucky bride Is she
Who wears this blasing circlet!
AhI would he give to me
One of his golden tresses,
How happy I should be!"
VI.
"T7s well," the knight made answer,
Then to the maid he cried,
"I fain would have these jewels
On thee, a moment tried;
That I may judge the surer
If they become my bride."
And soon her blushing forehead
Was with the garland graced;
And then upon her finger
The knight, in loving haste,
The ring of gold and diamonds
In merry triumph placed!
VIII. *
"Ah! Helen-dearest Helen!"
The happy lover cried;
"For thee they were intended,
My darling and my pride!
And by the jeweled tokens
I take thee for my bride."
KY WHIWTLING NEIGHBOR.
We have moved into a new
beuses situated about the centre
ini a row of ton, all bound upte
gether in hurried mushroom fash
ion, and divided from each other
by partitions of brick so thin that
ound was only a little deadened
in passing through. For the first
three or four nights I was unable
to sleep except in snatches, for so
many noises came to my ears,
originating, apparently, in my own
domicile, that anxiety in regard
to the burglars was-constantly ex
ited. Both on the first and sec
ond nights I made a journey
thooghMbh onose .in the samally
b*Siinbt~ f'und no intruders-oni
my premises. The sounds tbit.
disturbed m'e;came from some of
my neighbof,91o kEept iMter vig
ils thari sug{ed my habits.
"There ijt isagiin," said I, losit
ing up from my paper, as I sat
reading on the second day after
taking possession oif .my own
home. "That fellotw isha nuisance."
"What fellow?" asked my' wife,
whose countenance showed sup
prise at the .r-emark. She was
eTier' unconsctous- or~ unaffeeEl
by the circumstance that annoyed
my sensitive ears.
"'Don't you hear it ?" said I.
"Hear what ?"
"Thbat everlasting whistle."
"Oh !" 'A smile played over
my wife's face. "Does it annoy
you ?"
"I can't say that I am par
tiularly annoyed by 't yet ; but
I shal! be, if it is to go on inces
santly. A man whistles for want
of thought, and this very fact will
??
"I'm not so sure of that," re
marked my wife, interrupting
me, "the poet notwithstanding. I
would say that he whistles from
exuberant feelings. Our neigh
bor has a sunny temper, no doubt;
what, I1 am afraid cannot be said
of our neighbor on the other side.
I've never heard him whistle; but
his scolding abilities are good, and,
judging from two days' observa
tion, he is not likely to permit
them to grow feeble for want of
use."
I did not answer, but went on
with my reading, silenced, if not
reconciled to my whistling neigh
bor.
Business matters annoyed me
through the day, and I fel', moody
and depressed as I took my course
homeward at nightfall. I was not
leaving my cares behind me. Be
fore shutting my account books,
pad loeking my fire-proof; I had
made up a bundle of trouble,s to
narry hnrre with m, andl me
shoulders stooped beneath the bur.
den.
I did not bring sunlight into my
dwelling, as I crossed, with dull,
deliberate step, its threshold. The I
flying feet that sprung along the I
hall, and the cager voices that fill
od suddenly the air in sweet tu
mult of sound as I entered, were I
quiet and hushed in a little while.
I did not repel my precious ones.
for they were very dear to my 2
heart; but the birds do not sing I
joyously except in the sunshine i
and my presence had cast a sha. 1
dow. The songs of my home-birds c
died into fitful chirpings-thoy Fat- b
quiet among the branches. I saw P
this and understood the reason. I
condemned myself; I reasoned r
against the folly of bringing world
ly cares into the home sanetuary. I I v
endeavored to rise out of my gloomy t
tate. But neither philosophy ir
nor a self-compelling effort was of S
iny avail. 0
I was sitting with my hand
partly shading my face from the I
light, still in conflict with myself, a
wher I became conscious of a lift- N
ng of the shadows that were s
tround me, and of a freer respira
,ion. The change was slight, but n
still very perceptible. I was begin
iing to question as to its cause, a
Nhich had been operative through
he serse of hearing,thcogh not be- it
ore externally perceived in conse- 11
uence of my abstracted state.- ei
Ky neighbor was whistling "Be- a
one, Dull Care !" ti
Now, in my younger days, I
iad whistled and sung the air and fe
words of this cheerful old song s
iundreds of times, and every line ir
was familiar to memory. I listen- fl
d with pleased interest for a ti
ittle while, and then, as my
hanging state gave power to re
rolutions quick-born of . better
eason, I said in my thought, em
)hatically, as if remanding an evil
ipirit. it
"Begone, dull care !" And the
lend left me.
Then I spoke cheerfully, and in
^one of' interest to quiet little
Kay, who had walked around met
bree or four imes, wondering int
er little heart, no doubt, what,e
aeld her a distance fromher Papa,
and who was now seated by her
nother, leaning her flaxen head,
luted all over with glossy curls,
gainst her knee. She sprung-at
ny voice and was in my lap at a
yound. What, a thrill of pleasure 1
~he tight of her arms to my heart!
), love, thou art full of bl6ssing !
From that moment I felt kinder
~owards my neighrbor.. He had
lone me good-had played before
ne as David played I>efore Saul,
xercising the evil spirit of dis
sontent. There was no longer a
-epellant sphere, and soon all my
ittle ones were close around me
~nd happy. as in other times with
~heir father. After they were all n
n bed, I sat alone with my wife, "
~he cares that "infest the day" h
nade a new assault upon me, anid a
rigorously strove to regain their a
lost empire in my mind. I felt "
their approaches, and the gradual ii
receding of cheerful thoughts with
every advancing step they made. Si
[a my struggle to maintain that 0
tranquility which so strengthens l(
.he soul for work and duty, I n
arose and walked the floor. My p
wife locked up to me with inquiry g
in her face. Then she let her eyes bi
fall upon her needle-work, and as 2
[ glanced toward her at every s
urn in my walk I saw an expres- e
ion of tender concern on her lips. 8
She understood that I was not at S
ease in my mind, and the knowi- ii
edge troubled her-.
"How wrong in me," I said in Ii
self-rebuke, "thus to let idle brood
ing over more outside things d
which such brooding can in no f
way affect, trouble the peace of a
my home;" and I made a new ef- I
fort to rise again into a sunnier
region. But the fiend had me in ai
his clutches again, and I could not f
release myself. Now it was that t
my David came anew to my re- C
lief. Suddenly his clear notes i
rang out in the air; "Away with a
Melancholy !"
I cannot tell which worked the 1
instant revulsion of feeling that
came-the cheerful air, the words
of the'song which were called to C
remembrance by the air, or the I
associations of bygone years that l
were revived. But the spell was E
potent and complete. I was my
self again. During the evening i
the voice of my wife broke out <
several times into snatches of I
song-a thing quite unusual of I
late, for life's sober realities had]
taken the music from her as well as
from her husband. We were grow- 1
ing graver every day. It was
plaatt'erhrfuelk oe
aanveypleasant,toheanhe myt-lk oer
heree oigy h as
ofgtis,tu arlesngt, recogmyzedr
hearkened -lovingly. The cause I
af tkia ettal was.hlina T saamaniend i
'hey were responsive to our
ieighbor.
I did rot then remark upon the
-ircunstances. One reason of this
ay in the fact I had spoken light
y of our neighbor's whistling pro
)ensity which had struck me as
rulgar; and I did not care to ac
cnowledge myself so largely his
lebtor as I really was.
We were in our bed-room, and
bout retiring for the night, when
aud voices as if in strife, came
iscordantly through the thin
arty-walls, from our neighbors
n the other side. Sbmething
ad gone wrong there, and angry
assions were in the ascendant.
"How very disagreeable !" I re
iarked.
"The man's a brute !" said my
rife.emphatically. "He does no
4ing, it seems to me but wrangle
i his family. Pity he hadn't
)me of the pleasant temper of
ur neighbor on the other side."
"That is a more agreeable sound
must confess," was my answer,
3 the notes of "What fairy-like
[asic steals over the Sea," rose
iveetly on the air.
"Far more agreeable," returned
ly wife.
"He plays well on his instra
tent," I said, smiling.
My ear was following the notes
i pleased recognition. We stood
stening until our neighbor pass
I to another air, set to Mrs. He.
ian's beautiful words, "Come to
ie Sunset Tree." To a slow,
>rt, tender measure, the notes.
41, yet still we heard them with
ngular distinctness through the
itervening wall, just a little muf
ed, but sweeter for the obstruc
on.
"rhe day is past and gone,
The woodman's axe lies free,
And the reaper's work is done."
My wife recalled these lines
om her memory, repeating them
a subdued, tranquilizing tone.
he air was still sounding in our
irs, but we no longer recognized
rApressions on the external sensEs.
had done its work of recalling
ie beautiful Evening Hymn of
eo Switzer, and we repeated to
.ch other verse after verse
"Sweet is the hour of rest.
Pleasant the wood's own sigh,
And the gleaming of the west,
And the turf whereon we lie.
When the burden and the heat
Of labor's tasks are o'er,
And kindly voices greet
The loved one at the door."
o which I added,
"But rest more sweet and still
Than ever nightfall gave,
Our longing hearts shall fill,
In the world beyond the grave,
There shall no tenmettblov.
No scorching noontdde beat ;
There shall be no. more snow,
No weary, waindering feet,
From the hilis our fathers trod
To the quiet of the skies
To the Sabbath of our God."
All was now still on both sides.
he harsh discord of our scolding
eighbor had ceased, and our
'histling neighbor had warbled
is good-night melody which, like
pleasant flower growing near
ai unsightly object, and interpos
ig a veil of beauty, had removed
,from our consciousness.
It was a long time sine~e I had felt
> peaceful upon retiringr as when
iy head went down upon its pi!
>w,thanks to my light-hearted
eighbor, at whose whistling pro
ensit.ies I was inclined in the be
inning to be annoyed. But for
im 1 should have gone to rest
rith the harsh discord of my
:oding neighbor's voice in my
ars, and been ill at ease with my
slf and the world. On what
eming trifles hang our states of
ind. A word, a look, a tone of
ausic, a discordant jar, will bring
ght or shadow, smiles or tears.
On l,be next morning, while
ressing myself, thought reached
>rward over the day's anxieties,
nd care began drawing her som
re curtains around me.
My neighbor was stirring also,
nd, like tbe awakening bird, tune
ul matins, "Day on the Moun
ains" rang out cheerfully, follow
d by "Dear Summer Morn," wind
ng off with "Begone, Dull Care !"
nd the merry laughter of a hap
y child which had sprung into
is arms, and was being covered
ith kisses.
The cloud that was gathering
n my brow passed away, and I
net my wife and children at the
reakfast-table with p1 e a s a n t
miles.
In a few days I ceased to notice
he whistling of my neighbor. It
ontinued as usual; but had grown
o be such a matter of course as
iot to be an object of thought.
3ut the effect remained, showing
tself in a gradual restoration of
,at eheerfulness which care, and
work, and brooding anxiety about
worldly things, - are so apt to pro
luee. The "voice of musie" wbich
ad been almost damb in my wife
or a long period iias gradually
h8u44ad. Qld failiar 4 i t A i
FASHION GOSSIP.
OPIT's COSTUMEtc-THE LATEST
PARISIAN NOVELTIE?.
The latest importation of
orth's costumes are elaborately
immed, and the materials are
incipally silk and cashmere. A
ilking suit disposed in dark
ime gros grain has the skirt
ite deni-train, with the back
re cut "Watteau," with garni
re of bias velvet one shade dark
than the silk. The sides are
autifled with plaits and tiny
ifies. The front is arranged en
-me of an apron, made very long
d left open on the right side.
ke appearance is decidedly bizar.
and the entire costume is pro
iely orne with jets, fringe and
itly lace. Another exquisite
let designed for full dress eve
ig wear-the material is heavy
,ons silk of a very pale sulphur
e, combined with gros grain of
almost invisible pink tint. The
irt cut full court train, which is
mutifully trimmed with pointl
e intermixed with knife-plated
Mes, and the whole is richly fin
ted off with clusters of flowers
d tiny vines. The corsage cut
r, Pompadour sleeves to the el
w, aud trimmed to correspond
the skirt. A carriage-dress, ar
nged in raoss-tinted velvet, skirt
t demi-train, and gardished with
lounce of guipure lace, headed
th beaded ginip of a singular
Lf pattern. The basque is cut
front to form the appearance
an apron; this is richly em
idered, and every leaf, flower
d spray is dotted over with Sne
t beads; the effect is bewilder
gly beautiful, and forms -one of
e most attractive garments in
e exposition.
Skirts- f6tAe promnad'e wear
3 aboat the same length as those
>rn last summer; they are cut
7ery little narrower at the bot
mn. The close-fitting skirts are
11 in vogue. Knife plaits are qIuite
e rage for all kinds of costumes.
~lyet trimming is popular, and
s are everywhere, it is almost
possible to get enough of this
ttering garniture on a mode
let. "Cuirasses" are favorites,
d when made of velvet and
bhionably trimmed, form a pleas
Sand ever-becoming toilet ac
isory.
Bonnets and bats are growing,
d let us hope that they will ac
ire the trick of covering the
>nitof the head, and noteconfine
omselves so exclusively to the
>wn and back part of the head.
te useful and natty French felt
apeaux are quite the rage; of
urse velvet will be the leading
rle for winter wear. Long
imes are again up for favor.
-os grain ribbons are very much
ed on bats, and pretty scarfs are
io a noble garniture for made
>iselle's chapeaux. Dark flowers
e favorites ; still, gay foliage of
kinds is used. The wide brim
t, with left side tipped back, and
:wn of medium height, is a re
arche headgear for young and
ddle-aged ladies. Hats with
aring" fronts and sides indent
are designed particularly for
'Is. The nobby hat for a young
ly has the shape of a gentleman's
apeau, high crown, medium
im, with garniture quite simple
d yet expensive-long ostrich
uime, pure jet aigrette, and some
stly gem to complete the whole,
id present to Ladye Faire a
ave of a hat."
Bows of subdued colors on the
It, wrists, and even worn on the
,k of the promenading jacket
polonaise, are considered quite
~etive.
Veils have considerable freedom.
Tey are worn generally to suit
e taste of the wearer ; all de
nds upon the shape of the
apeau; hence, I a r g o, small,
ort, long, round and square veils
e called fashiooable. Perhaps
e style of veil most in vogue is
e plain net, and worn quite close
the face'and in length just
aching the chin.
Afternoon toilets worn upon
and occasions, such as receptions,
ling, and driving, are very
aborately 'gotten up, consisting
much Parisian finery, and cost
display of jewelry. But there
more freedom granted in the
ode of evening toilets than is
splayed in costumes worn on
her occasions, except at wed
ogs, where costly garments and
agnificent jewelry are always
iropos.
Embonpoint ladies can't wear the
tirass style of corsage.
- - - . - -
VKrietq is eM nc ofl*e
LEARN A TRADE.
I never look at my old steel
composing rule that 1 do not bless
myself that while my strength
lasts, I am not at the mercy of the
world. If my pen is not wanted,
I can go back tD the type-case,
and be sure to find work ; for I
learned the p r i n ters' trade
thoroughly-newspaper w o r k
job work, book work and press
work. I am glad I have a good
trade. It is as a rock upon which
the possessor ean stand firmly.
There is health and vigor for both
mind and body in an honest trade.
It is the strongest and surest part
of the self made man. Go from
the academy to the printing office
or the artizans' bench, or, if you
please, to the farm-for to be sure,
to true farming is a trade, and a
grand one,at that. Lay thus a sure
foundation, and after that branch
off into whatever profession you
please. You have heard, perhaps,
of the clerk that faithfully served
Stephen Girard from boyhood to
manhood. On the -twenty-first
anniversary of his birthday he went
up to his master and told him his
time was up, and he certainly
expected important promotion in
the merchants' service. But Ste.
phen Girard said to him:
"Very well. Now go and learn
a trade."
"What trade, sir ?"
"Good barrels and butts must be
in demand while you live. G: and
learn the cooper's trade; and when
you have made a perfedt barrel
bring it to me."
The young man went away and
learned the trade, and in time
brought to his old master a splen
did barrel of his own make.
Girard examined it and gave
the maker two thousand dollars
for it, and then said to bIM:
"Now iir, I r.ant you in my
counting room ; but henceforth
you will not be dependent on the
whim of Sephen Girard. Let
what will come you have a good
trade always in reserve." -
The young man saw the wis
dom of it and understood.
Yesrs ago when the middle-aged
men of to-day were boys, Horace
Greeley wrote:
"It is a great source of consola
tionto us that when the public shall
be tired of us as an editor, we can
make a satisfactory livelihood at
settiag type, or farming;i so that
while our strength lasts ten thous
and blockheads, taking offence at
some article they do not under
stand, could not drive us to the
poor-house."
And so may a man become truly
independent.
PROVERBS.
Amos Atkins was very fond of
proverbs. He read p r ovyer bs,
wrote proverbs and spoke proverbs;
and, meet him wvhere you would,
he ha&d always a proverb upon his
lips. When he once began to
speak there was hardly any stop
ping him.
When I1 first met Amos I was
on my way to my uncle's. A long
walk it was ; but I told him 1
hoped to be there before night.
"Ay, ay," said he. "Hope is a
good breakfast, but a bad supper.
Put your best foot foremost, boy,
or else you will not be there. It
is a good thing to hope but he who
does nothing but hope is in a very
hopeless way.
"Have a care of your temper ;
for a passionate boy rides a pony
thatruns away with him. Passion
has done more mischief in the
world than all the poisonous plants
that is in it. Therefore, again I
say, have a caire of your tem
per.
"Remember that the first spark
burns down the house. Quench
the first spark of passion, and all
will be well. No good comes ol
wrath; it puts no money in the pock
et and no joy in the heart. Anger
begins with folly and ends with
repentance.
"Look to 'our feet and youi
fingers, boy, and let both be kept
in activity ; for he who does no
thing is in a fair way to do mis
chief. An idle lad makes a needy
man and I may add, a miserable
one, too.
"If you put a hot coal in youm
pocket it will burn its way out.
Ay, and so will a bad deed that iu
hidden make itself known. A
fault concealed is a fault doubled
and so you will find it all througt
life. Never hide your faults, bul
confess them, and seek, througi
God's help, to overcome them.
"Now step forward boy ; and ai
you walk along, think of the half
dozen proverbs given you by Amoi
Atkins."
H -.----s o c ariy--- it
He whoy.ba ocaiymrt
nn merov.
would break from her throat as she
sat sewing, and I would often hear
her singring again from room to
rcom, as in sunnier days of our
spring-time. As for myself, scarce
ly an evening passed, in which I w
was not betrayed into beating
time with my foot to "Auld Lang
Syne," "Hail Columbia," or "Com
in' through the Ryei" in response
to my neighbor's cheery whistle.
Our children, also, caught the in- P1
fection, and would commence sing
ing on the instant our neighbor pr
tuned his pipes. Verily he was q
our benefactor-the harpingDavid 1
to our Saul. tu
"You live at No. 510, 'I think," er
said a gentleman whose face was be
familiar, though I was not able to ra
call his name. We were sitting f
side by side in the cars. an
I answered in the affirmative. T1
"So I thought," he replied. tI re,
live at 514-second door east."
"Mr. Gordon." co
"Yes, sir, that is my name.- to
Pleasant houses, but mere shells." ni
Then with a look of disgust on Lj
his face, "Doesn't t,hat, whistling hu
fellow between us annoy you ter- an
ribly ? I've got so out of all pa- sk
tience, that I shall either move or be
silence him. Whistle, whistle, la
from morning till night. PahI I rn
always detest whistling. '.Lt's a isl
sign of no brains. I've written an
him a note twice, but failed to lo
send either time; it isn't pleasant bc
to quarrel with a neighbor if you to
can help it." ra
"It doesn't annoy me at all," I cu
answered. "Indeed, I rather like a
iti
"You do? Well, that's singular ? lei
just what my wife says." in
"First-rate for the blue devils, I of
find. I'm indebted to my whist- br
ling friend for sundry fav:rs in an
this direction." cu
My new acquaintance looked at in,
me seriously. th
"You are not in earnest?" said th
he, a half-amused smile breaking
through the unamiable expression ar
which his face had assumed. WI
"Altogether in"arne~t; and I a
eg of you not to send that note. to
So your wife is not annoyed ?" sti
"Not she." . th
"Is she mu'iical ?" I inquired. V
-'She was ; but of la.te years life 30~
ae been rather a serious matter in
with us, and her singing-birds gI
ave died or lost the heart for mu- to
an
"The history of many other fa
lives," I said. inl
The man sighed faintly. ce
"Has .there been any reeent
cange ?" I ventured to inquire, an
"in what respect ?" he asked. qu
"Has there been no voice from frI
the singing-birds ?" tb
A new expression came sudden- Cr
y into the man's face. TI
"Why, yes," he answered, "now cb
that I think of it, there have been CO
some low fitful warblings. Only st;
last evening the voice of my wife PT
stole out, as if half afraid, and Gi
trembled a little on the words of uS
n old song." aI
"The air of which our neighbor mn
was whistling at the time," said I. ar
"Right as I live I" was my coin all
panion's exclamation, after a pause, ha
slapping his hand on his knee. Ie
ould hardly help smiling at the ch
look of' wonder, and amusement, m
and conviction, that blended on "
his face. ed
"I would not send that note." gi
said I mean ingly. lal
"No, hang me if I do ! I must cb
study this case. I'm something of br
a philosopher, you must know. If an
or nr ghbor can waken the .sing- pl
ing-birds in the heart of my wife, cC
he may whistle till the crack of at
doom ~without hindrance from "I
me. I'm obliged to you for the
suggestion." be
A week afterwards I met him be
again. "What about the singing- or
birds ?" I asked, smiling. e
"All alive again, thank God !"
he answered, with a heartiness of T~
manner that caused me to look tb
narrowly into his face. It wore a p~
better expression than when I ob. cE
served it last.s
"Theb you did not send that ar
note?" th
"No, sir. Why since, I sawt
you I've actually taken to whist- to
ling and humming old tunes again, re
and you can't tell how much better
it makes ?me feel. And the chil- gi
dren are becoming as merry and c
musical as crickets. Our friend's el
whistle sets them all a-going, like Of
the first signal warble of a bird at .
day-dawn that a wakens the woods is
to melody." m
We were on our way homeward, di
and parted at my own door. As ot
I entered, "Home, Sweet Home" di
was pulsing in tender harmonies
on the air. I stood still and listen-m
ed until tears fell over my cheeks. a1
The singing-birds were alive in
the heart of my wife, also,, and I
said "Thank God !" as warmly as
myniho-4dutee b od
at aegho a outredh wrs
ata.itlewhl foe
I Reninnel's Maolar1 W-71 e
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THE HO11TEL CLERK,
r I can shako bands with a Gov
crnoi , sit beside an Alderman, and
f smnoke with a State Senator 'and
D never feel my littleness but when
D I come to stand in the presence of
La modern hotel clerk, I feel that-awe
-and inferiority which tourists 'feel
as tL~ey stand in Yosemitb Valley
Iand look up at the mountain tops a
Sthousand feet abov-e. There is
somet,hing about thatyon man
standingt behind the office couater
of a first-class hotel %vbi,eh isu cdcu
Ilated to hold the common man at
a distance; you aky gime at bim
if you wish to-in fact he is there
to be gazed at- but don't attempt
to be familiar. I would as soon
think of dining wit h.the crater. of
avolcano as of going upr, extenditlg
ra hand to a hotel clerk and asking
him if his family were enjoying
tolerable good health. I some
#.*mes dream. of being thus taraiiliar,.
and when I wake up I fee! as if
I had been frozen. The dignity,
asperity, and condescension 'of ihe
thec modern hotel clerk! Did you
erer notice ho' he resents- th- at
tempted familiarity of travelons?
If a man calls bim, "old -boy". or
yells: "Say you fellow there 1" -no
.lflA ,~nrnnlex mass which meets
THE REASON WHY.
Why does boiling fast rende
meat hard.
Because the excessive action c
the heat causes the albumen of th
meat to set solid, crisp up th
fleshy fibers, and prevents hea
having a gradual access to the irn
terior.
Why, when a good soup or brot
is required, should the meat b
put into cold water?
Because as the heat i-i develop
ed very gradually, there occurs ar
intermixture between the juice o
the flesh and external matter. Th<
soluble and savory part of th(
meat escapes and enriches thi
soup.
Why are stews generally health
ful and digestible ?
Because, being compounds o
various substances, they contair
all the elements of nutrititn, an<
as the office of the stomach is tc
liquify solid food before digesting
it, the previous stewing assists'thc
stomach in this particular.
What causes the cracking noisc
when lard is put into a frying
pan ?
Lard always contains some por
tion of water, and it is the expan
sion of that water into steam
forcing its way through the fal
thatcauses the cracking noise.
The beat at which fat or oil -boil
is much greater than water.
When the cracking ceases the wa
ter is gone, and when the fat bub
bles its heat is very high.
Why should fish or meat that it
being fried be frequefitly turned
Because the turcing assists th(
evaporation of the water. Wher
the fish or meat is allowed to lii
too long steam is generated un
der it, and the steam is driven ofi
the surface catches to the hot par
and becomes burnt and broken.
Why is broiled meat so juicy an<
savory ?
Because action of the fire hard
ening its surface seals up the pore
through which the juices migh
escape. A fork should not be use
for turning it as the tines open
way for the escape of the juices
thus wasting the best part of th<
meat.
Why should the water upom
cabbage be changed in cooking?
Because, (according to Dr. Par
is).cabbage contains an essentia
oil which is apt to produce bad ef
fects, and he recommend3 that i
should be boiled in two successiv4
waters till it is soft and digestible
PR AISE THE CHILDREN.
There is an idea that praise is to<
good athing tobe given toechildren
that it is too rich for their menta
and moral digestion. Some pa
rents are so afraid that a child wil
grow p)roud that they never praisi
him, and this course is often disas
trous. It is apt to produce to<
much self-assertion-for self-asser
tion is a legitimate oitgrowvth o
withholding commendation fron
one who is entitled to it, or it wil
endanger self-distrust or melan
choly hopelessness of disposition
Praise is sunshine to a child, ani
there is no' child that does no
need it. It is the high ieward o
one's struggle to do right. Tho ma
Hughes says that you can neve
get a man's best out of him wvitlb
out praise. You- certainly ea
never get a child's best out of hit
without praise. Many a sensitiv
child, we believe, dies of hunge
for lack of kind recommendatior
Many a child starving for th
praise a parent should give run
off eagerly after the designin
flattery of others. To withhol
praise where it is due is dishonesl
and in the case of a child such
course often leaves a stinging sens
of injustice. Motives of commo
justice as well as a regard for th
future of the child should influene
the parent to give generous prais
to all whe deserve it. Of cours
there is a difference in the const.
tution of children; som cannic
bear so much praise as others, an
some need a great deal. It shoul
never be indiscriminate. We r<
member a wonderful woman wh
taught a school in one village ur
til she' had educated a part c
three generations. She was on
of the most successful of teachers
Ibut her success lay in her gift c
praising with discrimination. a
bad boy w ho was a good schola
got praises for his brilliancy sanc
wiched between her abomninatio
of his bad behavior, and so we
won to a better life; and we reca
a good girl who had no gift fc
learning rapidly, but who ws
Isaved from utter despair by th
praise she got for her untiring in
dustry. Into the discourage<
heart of the children the praise o
the teacher came like sunlight
and the virtues, like fruit, can oni:
rinen in eiinahine.