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/ LISTEN TO YOURSELF. Ak. teacher, let me hear you teach j You have brave words from olden seen. The lore of those long-bearded men Of all the far-off years; The gray, old thonghts of gray old men Beneath the Asian star*. Brought safe by faith through clashing years Of unremembered wars. And you have read the huddled tomes Of many an alcoved shelf have you stood beneath the stars And listened to yourself? Ah. teacher, let me bear you teach; Yon at old sage's feet have sat; Know you the man within your coat, The man beneath your bat? You know the thoughts that shaped the world, From far-off centuries blown ; What says the man who talks with thee When thou art all alone ? Why should I listen to a man who listens at the aleoved shelf ? Han, let me bear a living man Who listens to himself. —Sam Walter Foss. A Balaclava Hero. The head of an ogre crouching for possible victims could have looked no less grim than the huge, squat work- kouse standing back from the road. Tall fron railings encircled it like a «ollar of spikes, and a one-windowed porter’s lodge blinked banefully at passers-by. A weary old man helped himself •long with the aid of a stick. He straightened his figure when he reached the lodge and seemed to hesi tate while he looked at the building with dim, weak eyes, and the rushing wind Huttered his clothes like rugs on » scarecrow. He made several steps forward, then retreated. As he straightened kimHell to walk,three medals for valor Jingled loosely on bis shrunken breast. He glanced round nervously. There was no one to watch. He was only a hero,and he hesitated on the threshold of the workhouse. He had braved the Kussinn cannon and hiid slipped down s rope at Lucknow into a ruck of freu- «ied sepoys. Why’ should he hesi tate? April rain began to pelter down tit- fully. He pulled bia worn coat closer over him and strqde forward with Anal resolution. On the steps of the workhriuse he tamed to get a last furtive glance at the enter world. As the sun leaped from behind a cloud it glittered on the Medals on his breast. In the lodge a squ&re-jowled man, with hard, straight creases in his sul len face, was tapping abstractedly on au old desk with an enormous key.. To an imaginative mind he would have •erved as an admirable miniature por trait of the workhouse itself. “Name?” he said,projecting himself toward a big hook. , “James Hedferu, late of the Tenth Black Watch,” answered the old man. James Redferu was past work and explained this to the governor, who promptly ordered him to break a hun dredweight of stone as a preliminary oanter; this was probably to take the freshness out of him anil to disitlnsion him as to his incapacity for work. Redfern was locked in a cell fur nished with great jagged lumps of ■tone, and it w as his compulsory duty to break them into pieces small enough to pasfv through a grating in the wall. The old man toiled hour after hour, but his weak blows seemed to be rather caressing the stone than break ing it. At length, in the afternoon, he fell forward over his hammer and the jagged stones that littered the floor. “Hello!” said the square-jow led warder, opening the door. “None of this, yer know. This ain't a ladies’ boodoir. This ain’t a ” He jerked the old man face up. His features were ent with the jagged atoue.aud black lines of hunger ringed his eyes. When the warder,, by twirling Red- fern’s hand round and round and by pinching his arm,had satisfied himself that there was no shamming, the old uuni was removed to the iutirmarv. He was a very light burden, and a stalwart casual slung him over his shoulder and carried him off jauntily, like a sack of flonr. When he came to, the doctor ordered him boiled eggs and a nourishing diet for a day or two. A card to this effect was hung over his bed with string. A pauper in the next had. who suffered from epileptic tits, umuhematized the old man gar rulously. The boiled eggs seemed particularly to rouse his ire. Every time the winder passed to the other end of the long room he would lift 'himself on his elbow and scream across the intervening space: “B’iled eggs! .yah!” He put such an amount of con- "demnutiou into this phrase that the other patients took up the matter and by muttered and disjointed conversa tion arrived at the opinion that the old soldier was a parlous ruffian, a prosumer on generosity, an interloper uud a thief. In three days the doctor certified that Redfern was able to leave his lied, and the old man meekly rose •nd huddled his painful limbs into his garments. Redfern went into the office of the •quare-faeed w arder, w ho said that he must return to breaking stones or leave the house. There was to he a meeting of the guardians that after noon, however, and he had the option A)f applying to them for lighter work. The square-faced man took ont of his desk the three medals which Red fern had been obliged to temporarily aurrender on his entrance. “They ain’t had medals, are they? said the* square-faced man. “I sup pose they are worth five hob apiece? than that to questions with tence. an air of meek peni- “Have you no family to look after you?” “Yes,” answered the old man; “I have a son, but I have not seen him for more than 20 years, fie was a fine lad. At Alma the eolonel said to me, after I had saved his life: 'Pri vate Redfern, how shall I reward you? You may ask me anything, and I will do it for you.’ 'Look after my son,’ I said, ‘if you would be so kind. He has no mother, and he fa a fine boy.' “When the colonel came back he took mv boy. I used to write to the lad, but I got up into northern Can ada, and I lost the hqk>it of writing. «> old When I came back. old man, to “They are worth more me,” said Redfern. “Wouldn’t sell ’em, then,I suppose?” said the warder. “No, I wouldn’t sell them for any thing; they are the only things I have left to remind me that I’ve been a sol dier!” “But they ain’t much good to yer now, yer know,” said the warder. “Look ’ere; I’ll offer yer a bargain. You ain’t got no reg’lar rights to stop in this workus, hut if you’ll make me a present of these ere medals I’ll see as thev don’t chuck you out yet u while.” If he had said the same thing JO years before, Redferu would probably have broken some of the bones in his thievish body. As it was he said: “Oh,no;you must give me my medals. I must have them on when I die; you can have them after—you can have them after. I am the last of the old regiment. When I die they’ll all be gone. I must have my medals when I die; they wouldn't take me back in the regiment. If 1 parted with them the colonel would say: ‘Redfern, where are your medals?’ Then I should he turned ont of mv regiment. Yes, I must wear my medals.” The old fellow had muttered these last words as though to himself. It was clear that his weakness had ren dered him slightly delirious. “Well,” said the warder, “I’ll save them for you, shall I?” Then, with out further ado; he slipped them, rib bons and all, into his pocket. The moment he did this his urbanity vanished,and he resumed his ordinary manner. “Come, get out of here and get to work! Don’t try to come that old-age dodge on me!” He called another warder, who took Redferu in hand and jogged him along toward the stone-breaking cells. This time Redferu’s stock of stones had been reduced to half; hut when he, was lacked in and told to go to work'be 'could not eveif raise the "heavy hammer above his head. Two hoars later, when the warder came to summon him before the meet ing of the guardians, he was still sit ting there, his thin face gray with suffering, and the long scar placed on his cheek by the sabre of a Russian at Alma stood out white and ugly. It was the mark of a blow h^ had re ceived for his country. The warder reached forwaad and struck him over the shoulder with a stick. “I wish you would not hit me,” said Redfern. “I’ll do what you tell me, but you see I couldn’t break the stones, I was so tired.” “Oh, yes; we know all about that!” retorted the warder; “we have had some of your sort before. If you ask me,you’ll just have to pop out of here as soon ns the guardians get their eyes on you.” The warder was not supposed to kuow that Redfern was a man who had been mentioned three times iu despatches from the seat of war. He was not conscious that the medals he then had in bis pocket were worth more than the paltry shillings they would bring at a pawnshop. So he forced Redfern roughly for ward toward the council chamber of gentlemen who were waiting to decide w hether this pauper was to he allow ed to subsist on the spare bounty of their parish or even to he cast into the streets to die of hunger. The room in which the guardians sat was well furnished and lighted, and 18 dignified gentlemen sat to the right and left of a fat, gray-haired chairman. Redferu stood before the table of the chairman, who questioned him as .to his place of birth. “Why, you don’t belong to this par ish at all!” he said, in feigned umaze- i&nt. This was a signal for four pompons gentlemen to enter violent and indig nant protest against such a'pernicious state of affairs. They characterized Redfern’s actum in coming there as criminal beyond measure. The fact that he entered the work house ns a “casual” and then, by art ful trickery,sought to live in ease and luxury at the expense of the rate-pay ers of that borough, filled them with horror. As they uttered these denunciations they looked meaningly at one long haired aud one spectacled reporter, who had exchanged winks and were scratching dow n insane hieroglyphics at the top of their speed. The old man’s wits at once left him. He seemed to conceive that he had been guilty of a hideous piece of de ception. He answered the other look for the boy, I coaid not find him. My old colonel is dead. But if my boy is alive and *heara that his old father is here, he’d take him away —yes, he’d take him away. Bat I can’t find him,” went on the old man. “He was only five years old when I saw him last. He would not know me now if he saw me.” “Oh, we don’t want any of those sort of tales here!” said the guardian. “Either yon have a family to support you or have not. If you have, they must take you out of here and look after yon. If you have not, you must turn ont and chance your lack. You are only 75; yon ought to work for your living! You look big enongh. Look at me. I am not so big as you —a bit fatter, perhaps-and I work every day of my life.” He went into a comfortable office for au hour or two every day; the rest of his time he spent in eating or in sleeping, preparatory to eating more. The guardians all pretended to dis believe Redfern’s story about his son, and finally, on the evidence of the warder, who testified' that the old man was lazy and good-for-nothing, they gave him two honrs in which to leave the workhouse. . Redfern’s face was gray with suffer ing, and shooting paiAff from an old wound in his shoulder caused him agony. His knees trembled visibly, and his eyes grew dim and restless. He summoned strength at last to ask the guardians if he might have back the medals that had b6en taken from him. ' However, as the warder swore that he had never seen the medals, which at that very moment were, resting iu his pockets, the virlflouS, well-fed guardians of the poor ordered the old man indignantly from their presence. He tried to protest, but the warder scowled furiously at him and pinched his arm for him to stop. Then Redferu’s weakness overcame him. He pitched forward to .the floor. He w»a the infir- mnK*hguin, re* * ftid t h in a few hours he woi^i^h^ well enongh to go out. When the old man came to he saw the warder directing the scrubbing and cleaning of the ward with unusual care, while women paupers were fas tening up fresh curtains to the win dows. There was an air of bustle and preparation about the room snch as he had never noticed before. A warder, noticing, that he was awake, ordered him to get off the bed and smarten himself up. The pauper told him that Captain Armitage and his young wife were coming to look over the workhouse. The captain wa| a fine young fellow,aud he owned most of the land round that part. Redfern listened to the information listlessly, for he was too yi to take a keen interest in anything, and the prospect -of his expulsion from the workhouse weighed on his mind. He was too paralyzed to contemplate any thing but that in an hour or two he, a soldier, too weak to work, would be cost out into the world friendless and without hope. All the paupers whispered incessant ly the name of Captain Armitage, ahd at last something iu its sonnd awoke the old man’s memory. “Armitage—Armitage? Why, that was my old colonel’s name," he said. “Ah, but this is a young man, and my colonel is dead. Yes, be is dead; I shall be dead soon. 1 shall hear him say: ‘Redfern, you have been men tioned again in the despatches.' Then he’ll say—yes,he’ll say”—the old man felt nervously over the breast of his coat—“he’ll say: ‘Redfern,where are your medals?’ Yes* I must have my medals.” He tried to raise himself from the lied on which he was sitting, but the weakness held him prisoner. Presently a carriage catpe through the great gate at the entrance to the itorkhouse. At last a gentleman, tall and handsome, entered the room with a lady—a young lady, very little more than a girl, on his arm. She looked about her compassionately. But her eyes wandered back incessantly to the features of the strong man by her side, who in his turn looked down at her smilingly and with abounding love and affection . This happy, joyous couple seemed like a glimpse of a happier world to the wretched beings whose lives were ending between tbe grim walls of the workhouse. As the captain and bis beautiful young wife came to each bed they ex changed words of oomfort with the oc cupant. At last they drew near the bed on which Bedfern sat, fnlly dressed, his hands claspe l together •nd his eyes bent dreamily on tbe floor. Tbe little lady walking by the cap tain’s side, with a look at her hus band, stepped forward and touched bis band softly. He started and glanced up. Captain Armitage noticed tbe cat on hie cheek. “How did you get that scar?” be said. *T was a soldier,” replied the old msn. “I got it at Alma.” “Why, my husband's father was at Alma,and so was mine!” said tbe little lady. “Tell ns about it, can yon?” Her eyes were infinitely tender as she gazed on tbe features of tbe bat tered and worn-ont warrior. Then the old man told bis story. Captain Armitage was bending over him, deeply interested. Suddenly he gave a start and, dropping on one knee, took the old man’s hand in bis. “Is your name Redfern?” he said. “Yes, ’’answered the old man, ‘ ‘J ames Redfern.” Captain Armitage did not rise from his knee. He held out his hand to his wife and,drawing her toward him, placed her hand in that of the old man. “Maude,” he said, slowly, “this is my father. ” Then the beautiful girl bent over and kissed the old man on the lips. When James Redfern had swallowed a dose of brandy, which the square faced warder brought with much promptitude and politeness, Captain Redfern-Armitage, who had adopted the latter name when he married Col onel Armitage’s daughter, explained everything to him. “Yes, you are my father. I have searched for yon for years, but now that we have found you we will never leave you.” Then Captain Armitage and his beautiful wife gave old James Redferu an arm each, and the three walked down the ward out of the workhouse. At the gate the square-jowled warder hurried up and handed the old man his medals. Captain Armitage’s wife pinned them on the old man’s coat, and they stepped into the carriage. “Where to, sir?” asked the foot man. “Home!” answered the young man. -Answers. The Vitality of the Turk*. One of Reuter’s special service of ficials states that he has paid several visits to the hospital in which are being treated many Turkish warriors and that he was struck by the warlike spirit of the wounded and the fre quency with which they asked the rs; “Do yon think I shaft be These doctors are snrpfls wonderful vitality of the Turks. One man, who had had his stomach pene trated by a bullet, not only kept his place in the ranks till the battle was over, but marched a distance of ten miles afterward. Another, with three wounds, two in the legs and one* in the shoulder, continued in the per formance of his regular duties for 24 hours after their reception and would probably have kept about until they healed bad not an officer, happening to notice his condition, told him to go to the hospital, and it was with great reluctance that the wounded soldier went. The doctors remark upon the rapid ity with which patients recover from wounds and attribute it to the abste mious lives led by the Turkish sol diers, who drink no wine, eat but little meat aud take plenty of vege tables. They are examples of the say ing, “Prevention is better than cure.” By their manner of living they escape the effects from which grosser livers sutler when wounded. — Medical Times. Idhrim- After Slidiug flown 1’ike’M Peak. Joe Bradley, the Rocky mountain trapper, whose terrible slide on tbe surface of au avalanche down Pike’s Peak last December was one of the most appaling adventures that ever befell a numan being, lost bis reason through the combined effects of his sufferings and fright. This fact did not appear in the detailed account of the thrilling slide printed at the time, but such appears to be the fact. The Trinidad (Col.) Republican is to hand, with the following reference to the hero of that wonderful adven tuve: “Joe Bradley, the unfortunate pros pector, who rode an avalanche down Pike’s Peak on December 20, was ar rested at Florence as an escaped luna tic, and returned to tbe Pueblo asy lum. Tbe exposure undergone by Bradley, who was unconscious for sev eral hours, and whose members were badly frozen, caused his mind to give way, and he was admitted to the in sane asylum soon after his terrible experience on the Peak.” Hound the Karth. The time required for a journey ronnd the earth by a man walking day and night, without resting, would be 428 days; au express train, 40 days; sonnd, at a medium temperature, 32 1-2 hours; a cannon ball, 21 3-4 hours; light, a little over one-tenth of a sec ond; and electricity, passing over a copper wire, a little under one-tenth of a second. MORAL EFFECT OF PRUNES. ■old to Hovo a Soothing BCoet on tlM Nerveo—Usofal as a Medicine. European authorities on dietetics •re discussing the discovery ef “» well-known physician of Chicago,” who claims that he 1ms proved the prone to be a moral agent. He says that he hss made the prune the sub- ject of special study and has conduct ed a series of experiments with a view to testing the prune as a preventive of crime. At one time connected with a school for th# reform of unruly boy# who had rebelled against all former attempts to civilize their conscience, he fed them for a week once a day,! and at the end of that time they were mild-mannered and bidable. The prune, he claims, has a [certain medi cinal property which acts directly on the nervous system, which is where the evil passions have their seat. However good the physician may make his claim, one thing is certain, that the prune in Germany has been household medicine for the last half century. There is daily at the dis posal of the members of the family a stone jar of very nicely cooked prunes, from which the household eat a few at any time in the day, dipping into it, as one may say, as a lady in France does her ornamented box holding sugared almonds. It is well to know at a time when there is so much grip in Chicago that prunes made into a drink are very good food and medicine for the patient. They are prepared for medi cal practice aud nursing thus: They must be of a good (but not “fancy”) quality, washed in a sieve under run ning water. Then put them in a basin and cover with cooled boiled water closed from air and dost, allow ing them to stand until swollen. Then cover them tight in the same basin and let them simmer for three hours. They will be sweet enough. The prune drink for fever is made in the same way, but to every pint of prunes a quart of boiled water shonld be added and they shonld be allowed to simmer to rags. Strain and then give the patient to drink. Lemon juice may be added if desired.---Chi cago Times. Toads at Uinner. The toad does not take dead or mo tionless food, says the Popular Science Monthly. Only living and moving insects, centipedes, etc., are devoured, while worms and other larvm dis turbed by their hopping are safe so long as they remain curled up; bnt'as soon as they move they are captured. The toad’s tongue, its only organ for seizing food, is soft, extensile, at tached in front but free behind, and is covered with a glutinous substa that adheres firmly to the food sei ... this at a careful watcIrTs neces order to see the animal feed, night, soon after sunset, or even be fore on cool evenings, the toad emerges from its shelter and slowly hops about in search of food. Something of a regular beat is covered by these ani mals, whose sense of locality is strong. In the country this beat includes for age along the roadside, into gardens and cultivated fields, and wherever insect food is abundant and grass or other thick herbage does not interfere with getting about.» In cities and suburban villages the lawns, walks and spots beneath the electric lamps are favorite hunting grounds. At Amherst, Mass., Mr. A. H. Kirkland, from whose paper we derive these ob servations, once counted eight large, well-fed toads seated uncler an arc light and actively engaged in de vouring the insects which, deprived of wings, fell from the lamp above. At Malden, Mass., a colony of about half a dozen toads sally forth on summer evenings from under the piazza of a citizen’s house, go down the walk, cross the street and take up their sta> tions under the arc lamp, where they * feed upon the fallen insects till the current is turned off, when they re turn to their aconstomed shelter. The First Real Bicycle. Frank H. Vizetelly, in St. Nicho las, tells “The Story of the Wheel.” After describing the Draisine, which came into use in 1816, and was named after its inventor, Mr. Vizetelly says: In 1818, Dennis Johnson, an Eng lish coachmaker, made the Draisine lighter, and provided it with an elbow and body rest, decidedly improving the vehicle. Further changes made by Louis Gompertz, in 1821, enabled the rider to propel this vehicle with his hands, but he still had to keep himself upright by the use of his feet and legs. A cogged wheel fixed to the side of the front hub, and a gear ing moved by a lever were the means of driving the wheel, and the lever also did service as & steering bar. So popular did the Draisine become that forms of it continued iu use until 1855, bnt the later form was bnilt of iron instead of wood. This change was brought about by au English con tractor named Knight, who was so pleased by the new way of traveling while visiting the continent, that he thought of using the cheaper iron of his own country for making the Drai sine. Shortly after it came to Eng land this machine was changed from the crude and heavy wheel of Baron Drais von Seuerbron; it became a light, elegant, and reliable machine, capable of being skillfully ridden. I' *• - „