University of South Carolina Libraries
A CHARACTER. He Hewed, end hoped for reaping— A happy man and wise ; » ••I'iuo*—they did hia weeping, Una. Tb*' Ti /iud—it sighed hia aigb He made what Fortune brought him The limit of desire; Thanked God forahade In summer days, in winter time for fire. When tempest, ai with vehgeful rod. His earthly mansion cleft. On the blank sod, he still thanked God Life and the land were left! Content, his earthly race he ran, And died—so people say— Borne ten years later than the man Who worried his life away ! —Pittsburg Bulletin. Jk jAl/k A. A. A A. jlh A. A. MRS. WEBSTER-SHOEMAKER > 1 nr kate upsok clash. The old minister stood watching the shoemaker. The swift pegging am •vl-holing and pulling of threads was mysterious to him, and the feverish rapidity with which it was done au gured to him a certain nervousness in the worker. At last be spoke to her —for the shoemaker was a woman. “You have certainly become expert at your trade, Mrs. Webster. Your husband never made better shoes. By the way, have you heard from him lately?’’ The woman flashed a pair of grea 1 ; black eyes at him angrily. She did not answer for half a minute. When she did, there was a world of sup pressed feeling behind her calm words. “I haven’t heard from him since he went away. That’s three years, believe he is alive—but he knows bet ter than to let me hear. ’’ “I—always thought your husband meant well,” he harried to say. “Have you had a letter from him?” she demanded, fiercely. “No.” “I thought maybe he wanted to come back and had sent you to prepare the way for him. That would be John Webster—ho hasn’t the courage of a mouse. I treated him well. I was a good wife to him. Just because debts were pressing, and I was sick, and there were four little ones—and the C iungest was only three months old— s courage gave out. He left a letter. He said he couldn’t ‘endure’ it any longer. Oh, he couldn’t! And how was I to endure it, I’d like to know? —sick, only a dollar or two in the house, not a friend to turn to except the neighbors. I tell you, Mr, Mac kenzie, I never can forgive him— never!” The woman choked and had to wipe her eyes with her hard, blackened hand, but presently she fell to peg ging again more passionately than ever. Just then a bine-eyed little girl appeared, carrying a tray of supper. “Give me your handkerchief, Trot- ^ said the shoemaker. “There— set down ray supper. I’ll eat it pretty soon. Now you put the childreu to bed. This pair of shoes is promised for tonight.” The little seven-year-old maiden ..lan off obediently. “I’m afraid i’ve hindered you,” apologized the minister. “No,” she said, gently. “I’ve worked right along. Maybe pouring it out has done me good. I can’t talk to the neighbors. I just work. The best thing John ever did was to teach me his trade when we were first married -and I’ve always helped him off and on. He said I had a knack at it—but we didn’t think I fhould have to support the family with it sometimes. Maybe he went off to give me a chance,” she added, bittterly. “Perhaps he was not so much to blame os you think, ” the minister began after a pause, encouraged by her manner to continue. “He ” / “Now, Mr. 'Mackenzie,” she burst forth, angrily, “you said something like this to me when he first went off. I know you always liked him, and he -wasn’tabadmanin some ways—bnthe has shamed me and my children, he has brought my pride down-cruelly,” the strong thread snapped like a wisp in her fingers as she pulled it fiercely, “amt 1 never wish to hear his name < again." Tears coursed slowly down her pale, : handsome cheeks and dropped on the last in her lap. “Bat you had said something to him he began again. “Not much. I may have been sharp with him, now and then—but who could blame me? It was no ex case for him.” John Webster had built a little shop for himself, several rods from the house, so that the noise of his ham mering wonld not disturb his wife and the babies. In this quiet retreat the shoemaker could now talk without being overheard. She stopped sud denly, however, as she saw a dark eyed boy of nine or ten pausing beside the half-open door and looking some what alarmed at the vigor of her tone. The minister spoke to him kindly. “He looks like you,” he remarked to the mother, “he and the second boy —but Trotty and the baby look like jour husband.” “I wish they didn’t,” she muttered almost viciously. “Well, I’m glad you are getting on «o comfortably,’’he sighed, rising to go- “Thank yon,” she said, with an air of dogged pride. “Six months ago I paid the last debt John left me. This pair of shoes will bring me in enough to keep ns for days. I have work ordered ahead for weeks to come, and nobody finds any fault with what I dot I believe. ” As he went out little Trotty came in to report that she had put the chil dren to bed and to light her mother’s lamp. She received the approving words of the minister with happy pride, as he praised her. “He’s a nice man,isn’t he,mamma?” she said, as she closed the door. “Has —has he been talking about—about— papa?” The shoemaker pretended not to hear. “I wish,” went on the child, timid ly, “that I could see my papa again.” “What do you say that for,Trotty?” cried her mother, stopping her work to look at the child furiously. “You don’t want to see him. None of us want to see him. He went off and left us, and, after doing snch a wicked thing, you should never want to see him again.” The child looked scared, slipped from her chair and ran toward the house. Through the brilliantly lighted pane her mother could see her, as she moved about the small living room putting the furniture to rights. “She’s a nice little thing,” the shoemaker murmured, choking as she spoke. “But she has exactly such ways as he had —no spirit—just a sort of a good-natured little mush, like. But it’s just as well that most women should be that way I suppose.” The good old minister had, in all innocence, deceived his trusting par ishioner. It was true that he had not reoeived a letter from John Webster, but he had seen that iudividua 1 in a neighboring town the day before and had been requested to find out, as his wife had hinted, how he might be wel comed in case he should return to his home. “I know I oughtn’t to have left her,” i;he man pleaded, humbly, “but she harried me and taunted me—good, Christiau woman though she was, till I couldn’t tell just what I was doing. She was sick and so was I,and I hard- y knew what I did for the first few days after I left her. Then I went all to pieces, and they took me to a hos pital in the city. I stayed there six months. It had been so long then that I didn’t dare to go back. But I grew strong pretty soon, and I’ve had good wages ever since, and now I’ve saved up a tidy little sum, and for months I’ve been v/unting to go back, rat she is right; I haven’t courage. . ,’m a coward. I’ve let my whiskers ;row, and several of my old neighbors lave passed me in the streets here without knowing me. I suppose I could go home and not be recognized 1 or some time—only by her. I couldn’t fool her.” Now when the minister reached lome after his visit to the little shop he sat down and wrote to John Web ster (who called himself “James John son”) and told him that he saw no lope for him. “Your wife is very bitter against yon,” he began. “She would not re ceive yon.” Then he told of the success of the shoemaker, of the health and promise of the children and of the sweet little girl, with her father’s sunny hair and blue eyes. For days the exile pondered over the situation. It was Thanksgiving time. He had dim thoughts of .cele brating that home festival with his dear ones, but the minister’s letter de terred him. Day by day he worked at his trade, saving every cent he could, and while he pegged and sewed the tire within him burned. He realized bow keenly he had tried his proud wife. He had not one resent ful thought against her. He was only full of hum ble, penitent love, too humble, for he had had excuse enough for his con duct, ill as he had been. To he sure he should have tried to go back when his health had returned, but there his courage and not his will had faltered. He knew a childless farmer living not far from his old home. This man and his good wife would keep “James Johnson’s” secret. At least he could stay with them and go sometimes to gaze upon the faces of his own, from a distance if need be, and perhaps— perhaps— But he would not allow himself to think further, though he went to a store and filled a portman teau with toys and sweets. He bought also a fine fur cloak—a woman’s cloak —and a brooch of gold. Then he took a train, and in a short time he was walking the familiar streets which he had not seen since he had fled from them three years before. • Two or three evenings he strolled past his old home in the twilight. He looked through the windows so long as the shades were up.> The sight of these longed-for faces, day by day, put something into his soul which he had not known before. Little by little his “despair sublimed to power.” One day he saw his wife leave the house equipped for a walk. She was probably going shopping. Now was his time. “Trotty,” he said, appearing at the cottage door almost before the sonnd of her mother’s footsteps had died away, “please come up into the shop with me.” The child was used to waiting on customers who came for shoe strings or some of the little stock of fancy goods which her mother kept in connection with her regular work and thought that this was some farmer who knew her, but whom she had forgotten. Small as she was, she took up the key unhesitatingly, and, withont speaking to her brothers, who were making a wild noise in the woodshed at their play, she preceded him over to the shop. There was snow on the ground, and the air was chilly, but a little tire was left in the shoemaker’s tiny stove. The man stooped down and, taking a fresh stick of wood from the box, opened the stove and put it in. The child looked surprised at his fami liarity. When he shut to the stove door with a click, she waited for him to speak. Then he said brokenly, “Trotty—my little Trotty—don’t you know me?” and held out hip arms to her. “Are—are you my papa?”8he cried, delightedly, and she flew to him,nest ling happily against his shoulder. “les,” he sobbed, while she re peated over and over, t“Papa—my papa,” and stroked his shaggy beard. “I’m glad you’ve come,” slie said, presently. “But your mamma, Trotty? What will she think?” The child remembered what her mother had said and shook her head doubtfully. Then she brightened. “If you should put your arms around her and kiss her like this, I think, I think,” but theu she shook her head again, as she thought of what her mother had said. His face grew saddi “I waut to come ho you all again,Trotty,’ ly. “How shall we can I do?” He went on to t Christmas presents brought for them all is Christmas, but I da give them to you,” kc “Oh, yes, yon do. Y thing,” she broke fort at him fixedly for a m| was very human, and the Christmas presents her ingenuity. The words seemed He put her A< the floor. His head step was firm. “Yes, Trotty—I d« presently. “Don’t tel w even your brothers—th at I have been here,but I will be back by aud by.” Then he hurried aw ay, aud as he walked he kept layi ug to himself: “Yes, that is the only way. She des pises me because lam i coward; I will be a coward no longer. I will show her that I am a brave i nan, I will own my fault, and I beliei e she will not resist me.” The supper was all nost over that night when there wat -a knock at the door. Trotty had be ra listening for it, and she sprang up in an instant. “Good evening,” l aid John Web ster, straightening hi i tall figure and stepping boldly over the threshold. “Good evening, Har let. I’ve come back. You must tak< me. I was sick, and I think that mui t have been the reason why I deserted you so basely. It was wrong, but I akn sorry from my soul—and you must forgive me, Har riet I cannot live any longer with out you and the children. You must take me back.” In the woman’s face the Christmas joy had been playing, but now she grew pale and stern. She had pic tured her husband always as the cringing, weakly man who had left her three years before. This newcomer, in spite of his bearded face, recalled to ber the lover of her youth—full of health aud hope. She would not even own to herself how she was shaken. “Go away,” she said, waving her hand toward the door. “You chose another path from ours, and now you can walk in it. We do not need yon. We don’t want yon. Go!” The youngest child began to cry. Little Trotty came up beside her father and held tight to his coat tails, gazing at her mother with white face and wide, beseeching eyes. “No, Harriet,” he said, calmly, and retreating not a step, “the time for that is past. Yon mnst not shnt me out. 1 was wrong, but yon know well how much I had to try me, and I was hardly myself. I think I was a little crazy—for I was sick—sick for six months, Harriot. I was taken to a hospital, and when I got ont I was like a ghost—but I grew strong and found steady work, and I have been saving ever since—saving for yon and the children, Harriet, though I didn’t dare to write to you nor see you. I hadn’t grown strong enough for that. Bnt now I cannot live alone any longer, and neither can you. You have worked too hard. I can support yon all. Yon mnst let this poor, hardened hand,” and he picked up her right hand, with its callousness and grimi ness, “yon mnst let it rest now—for now I have come to stay and to help than ever, e and live with he said,piteous- mage it? What ill her of the bich he had I’and tomorrow not come and ided. dare do any- after gazing lent. Trotty thought of have aided ce his soul, jan to walk raised, and his 3are,” he said, fanybody—not yon to nil the children’s stockings this Christmas eve.” This speech confirmed the favorable impression which the visitor had made from the first upon the children. The mother felt herself visibly weakening. Yet all her wrongs rushed over her mind and how conld she forgive him I At this point Trotty’s recent Sun day-school lessons came to her mother’s assistance. “Mamma,” she said, timidly, pull ing at her mother’s gown, “yon know what it says in the Bible, mamma - it’s Christmas, mamma—and it’s peace and good-will at ChriBtmas,you know, mamma.” The woman’s strong, handsome face softened—then hardened. She shook her head and drew away. “It’s Christmas, ” reiterated Trotty, tremblingly. “Yes, mamma—it’s Christmas,” chimed in the eldest boy, who was his mother’s especial pet. He came close beside her and looked up into her eyes. “It’s Christmas—and it’s just as Trotty says,” he repealed. John Webster opened his arms and took one brave step forward—and, amid the happy sobs of her little ones, his wife sank into those strong arms and wept aloud upon her husband's shoul der.—The Housewife. WHAT BARBARIANS EAT. Old Women on Cape Horn-Does In China 1>oka Always Thouaht Edible. Darwin relates somewhere that when the inhabitants of Tierra del Fuego are pressed by famine they kill and eat their old women rather than their dogs. The Chinese, however, tend and fatten their dogs carefilly— to eat. They also consider the cat a choice dich. At Peking and through out China there is no dainty repast without its fillet or leg of dog; the cat is rather a dish of the poorer classes. History tells ns that in early times dog was always regarded as on edible animal. The inhabitants of oertaia names of Egypt piously embalmed their dead dogs, but others considered that it was more in conformity to the doctrines of a wise economy to kill and eatrthem. Flutarch tells us that the dwellers in Cyuopolis, where dogs were honored as divine, made war on the Oxyrfnchis, who had committed the sacrilege of eating dogs. The savages of North America, for lack of provisions,often sacrifice their companions of the chase. We are told that before the introdnetion of cattle.the Spaniards in Mexico u*ed the native dogs so freely as food that the specie* has nOwfteomptetefy die*- appeared. The Greenlanders and the Kam chatkans also sometimes eat their dogs, but only when reduced to this cruel extremity by famine. In Africa dogs form the food of certain tribes ; in the Ashantee connty the flesh is eaten both fresh and dried. And it appears that in the lower Congo region, among the Batekes, there is a custom that must make every friend of dumb beasts rage with indignation— before killing a dog for food it is mal treated and tortured, to make the flesh more tender.—New York Jour nal. • Another Wny Suggested. A gentleman invite! a certain lec turer to his house to take tea. Imme diately on being seated at the table a little daughter of the house said to the guest abruptly : “Where is your wife ?” The lecturer, who had recently sepa rated from his better half, was sur prised and annoyed at the question and stammered forth the truth, “I don’t know.” “Don’t know!” repeated the child. “Why don’t you know ?” Finding that the child persisted in her interrogation, depite the mild ra- proof of the parents, he decided te make a clean breast of the matter and have it over at once, so he said, with calmness : “Well, we don’t live to gether. We think as we can’t agree we’d better not.” He stifled a groan as the child began again and darted an exasperated look at her parents, But the little tor mentor wonld not be quieted until she exclaimed: “Can’t agree ! Then, why don’t yoti fight it out, the same as father aud mother do ?”—Pearson’s Weekly. What Kept Him Awake. Manrice is a sharp youngster, with a sweet tooth. The other night his mother had some company, and re freshments were served. Maurice got hold of a big piece of cake and lay down before the fire. He was very still for a long time, and finally his mother spoke to him. “Maurice,” she said, warningly. “Yes’m,” he replied, raising his head. “You’ll go to sleep there, dear. ” “No’m I won’t either. I never go .to sleep when there is any cake te eat” Climbing PHh. In India there is.a variety of fish which is not content to swim as other fish do. It had to enlarge its sphere. So it became a climbing fish. It nses its fins as claws and gropes its way along the bank of the stream, whence it issues with a combination grip and somersault motion. TRICKY FALCON ISLAND. It Hat a Way ot Dl.tappcarlng Soon A (t«r IU Annexation. Far away ont in the deep Pacific Ocean exists a small strip of land which shows that it has a decided spirit and sweet little will of its own, for it will not undergo allegiance to any country. Governments often ex perience considerable trouble in pre serving the allegiance of peoples they have conquered, bnt as a rule a piece ‘ of property or real estate has been i looked npon as likely to remain in the i same place for a considerable period of time. This little island, which has received the name of Falcon Island, proves an exception to the rule, however. No sooner has it been annexed than it disappears off the face of the globe, leaving only a dongerons reef to indi cate its former whereabouts, and com ing up in a few years’ time, when the country which has performed the an nexation has given up all claims. Our old friend, John Bull, always on the watch to increase the imperial empire, was the first to encounter it. In 1889 the British corvette Egeria was sent on a cruise among the Sonth Islands, with orders from the British Admiralty to seize upon any islands or coral reefs that had hitherto been unclaimed, and to take possession in the name of the Queen. Cruising around shejjnoticed from afar off a prominent island, toward which she sailed. Tall palm trees were growing on its southern extremity, which was a commanding bluff, rising 150 feet from the level of the sea. Having reported the results of his voyage to the Admiralty, next year they sent ont a transport ship with ' orders to make further discoveries ! and reports. What was the dismay of ' the Captain of the Egeria, who hap- : pened to be in command of the trans- ' port, on arriving at the place where he I had the year before left the island 1 sporting the union jack, to find that it 1 bad disappeared from view! Instead | of the beautiful island standing out so prominently from the ooean, was a low and dangerous coral reef, with the sea beating and surging up against it. Two years later France, also seized with the inordinate desire of annexing new territory, sent the cruiser Du- ch&ffault to the Pacific. Cruising around she found her way to Faloon. There, instead of finding a sunken reef, whitened with the foam of the breakers, the vessel’s crew discovered an island the exact shape of the island found by the English corvette in 1889. i Scarcely two years had pissed away <i revisit her possessions fo \to Falcon Island. It brad appeared, it being simply a reef gerous to navigation. Whereupon France was obliged to give up all rights of possession.—New York Her ald. The Powers of Liquid Ait. A tablespoonful of liquid air ponred on about a fluid ounce of whiskey will freeze it at once into fiat scales, giving the whole thrf appearance and color of cyanide of potassium. This may be emptied out on a table, and will re main frozen in that condition for fully five minutes. One thing that im presses one is that while all molecular motion is practically arrested at this temperature, the odor is perfectly dis tinct, showing that these particles which stimulate the sense of smell are active and independent of the temperatore. A handkerchief of either silk, linen or cotton, saturated with the liquid, will be charred and destroyed just the same os if it were put in an oven and browned, though no change of color is apparent. Its evaporation is qnite slow and it may be carried about for a number of hours in an open vessel without en tirely disappearing. It probably rep resents a compression of abont seven hundred atmospheres, and would, therefore, in a confined space and at 60 degrees temperatore, represent a pressure of somewhere from ten to twelve thoasand pounds to the square inch.—Boston Transcript. Bearded Belles of Ancient Home. Among the Itoman women at one period there was a morbid ambition to grow beards, and they used to shave their faces and smear them with un guents to. produce these inappropriate appendages. Oioero tells us that at one time to snch an extent did the mania for beards grow npon women that II vas found desirable to pass a law against the “adomaant”—Lon don Mail. Versatile Sir Claude. Sir Clande de Crespigny has led an adventurous life, having been sailor soldier, steeplechaser, war corres- pondent and aeronaut In the last- named capacity he holds the record, for he is the only living balloonist who has crossed the North Sea, os dis tinguished from the Channel, his com panion, the professional aeronaut Sim- mons! having been killed soon after. Novel Snow Plow. A pneumatic snow plow, driven by electricity, is certainly as np-to-datea machine as any one could desire to nee in winter. Its novelty consists in the fact that the anow is blown off the track by a blast instead of being ■wept away or removed by tome sort d anow plow.