The Columbian., December 24, 1885, Image 4

CALLING THE MEADOW BEAUTY.
Fair Jenny Dean come down the lane
Just as the dew was falling.
And n'er the meadow due could hear
Her sweet young voice a-callin:
"Co-boas! co-boss!" her golden halt
W as o'er her shoulders flowlnx;
To-boss! co-boos!" the clover th'.ck
Was all a'out her blowing.
. The pearly bloom of her fair face
Was "flushed with earnest meaning;
The tun, with slanting berims afar,
as lost in eolden gleaming;
And still she cried: "Co-boss! co-boss I
You heed nor lads nor I.-iss-e.-,
With head 90 deeply burled in
The tender meadow grasses."
- She turned to think of something new
With which to coax the teauty.
For Jenny never f aiicd to do
A loving daughter's duty
When, lo! their neighbor handsome son,
To make his journey shorter.
Had crossed the tieid, and stood before
The farmer's sweet young daughter.
Her father watchful-eved had been.
And lavish In h:a telling;
lie did not wish to have the la Is
Cmdc oit about hs dwelling.
He thought as fnthcrs often think,
With wisdom irreat in measure,
lo alwHvs be af mother's side
Should be a daughter's pleasure.
So Robert, .rojrue. bad double aim
In romin4 through tiie clover; ,
! had a litti&plca to frame,
And lotisfclto have it over.
He longi-d to know if .lenny'n eyea,
W ith powci tf line d seeming,
I11 e' r dea riecl the sa riice
Within l.-ls bosom burning.
"Forego for once your evening task,"
lie said, wit:i head averted;
"I have a little Uon to nk,
A rivht to !e a.-tT.td.
To yr-ni -r highway, waiting near.
We'll wnltc, for no one passes;
Tiie ilews are falling thickly hero
I'pon the meadow grasses."
So Jenny, wrested from the plae
W hrrf every evening found her,
Learned occupation fur more sweet,
And words that were profounder.
Fer once bersonvr. Co-boss! co-boss!"
I tuy ttery w as bated.
An .1 Itess ot-sidt- the meadow bars
"i'or once was tound belated.
How long they ward-red in the gray.
How Mweet lie torn tne story.
Wilt-ihT she answered yea or nay,
I ctn not set tit-toie you;
. Kut In the tnorn her fatlu-r aaitl.
With lurrave and solemn duty;
llTf-ai'trr"' nodding his ura'v head
"I'd call the Meadow ISeauty!"
Mr. M. A. I'aqe, in Interior.
A DOUBLE CURE.
Wrought by the Kindly Advice of
a Lady Physician.
Dear me, what is the trouble now?"
Mrs. March raised her head with a
look of worry on her face as very in
harmonious sounds came from the
room in which her older daughter
I'eriha was giv ng a niusic lesson to
h-r younger one. Uuth. Words of
f ret I'ti 1 f;u't-finding'aro-e from the one.
provoking, sauoy, rebellious ones from
the other. At length Uuth burst an
grilv into the room, crying:
"Mamma, I wish you'd uever make
m' take another lesson from Bertha.
I'd rather never learn mu?ic fts long as
I live. She finds fault all the time,
and I won't bi scolded by her."
"Patience, dear e, pat ence," sa d
her mother, w.th a gmile. "Music
teach, ng is pretty hard work, you
know, and if yodr sister is al ttle hasty
w.th you sometimes jou will try to
b.-ar it, I'm sure."
ilr.th. quickly to fly up. was a? quick
ly s.'Othtd by a few lov ng words.
"A Uit'r hasty." she sa.d, half laughi
ng, as she threw her arms around her
noiher'a neck. "She 13 as cross as
wenty bears, mother dear, but I'd
-land forty bears rather than vex vou.
i5:it do lot me leave th s lesou now."
shecoaxed. "Perhaps it will come
easier next time."
"How long-are you go ng to keep
me waiting?"' called the fretful vo;ce
from the parlor, at which Uuth. see
ing half con.-ent in her mother's eye,
made her escape info the gaideu.
You needn't fin sh the lesson tlrs
mornng. Bertha."' sad her mother,
turning: now to pour oil on the other
troubled sp rit.
"Weil, I'm thankful -'for that," said
Pertha. risiiig from the prano. "Of
ail the teas ng young ones in the world,
I do beleve she's the worst."
I think, lierlha.' aid her mother,
in a more serious tone than she had
u-ed in scak ng to Kuth. ' that you
ouirht to try and exercise a little more
:e:r.h ness and forbearance toward
our sister. She is sometimes trying,
I k:ow. but she does love uius c, and
i bi-ght at it. And she is so all'ec
tionaie that I am sure jou could in
.rucr.ee her very favorably, if vou
would." i
Bertha shrugged her f-houlders, as
if to express her lack of anicty to
try.
"1 do w'sh you would hire a tracher
for tier, mother. I can't do anything
with her. I don't bel.eve she will ever
learn much of m?."
"Indeed. I nm afra'd so." said her
motlier, w th a sicrh, "but it can not
po-siblv be afforded. Will you take
baby for awhile. Bertha, or do the up
ata rs work?"
Oh, dear! I'll go up-stairs, I suo
posc. I do think bab.-tending is the
greatest drudgery in the world. Or,
no my hands are getting hard and
spreading out by sweeping I don't
th nk my talent lies in housework. I'll
take h m."
"Be pat ent with h'm, dear, he's a
little ailing and fretful to-day."
"He's always fretful, seems to me.
I do wish we could have a second girl,
m itht r. I'm sure we need one."
"I'erhaps so," sad her mother,, w'th
a weary look. "But I d d not expect
to feel "the need so keeniy when my
oldest daughter came home from school
to be my help and comfort."
There wa3 a pa ned and hurt exprcs
s on on the pale face und in the dis
couraged tone which mieht well have
touched the daughter's heart, but Ber
tha o ily turned impatient y away with
the baby as her mother went up-stairs,
sav ng almost contemptuously to her
helf: "I am sorry mother made such a mis
take a.s to rely on nr; for housework
and nursery work, and to teach music
to crabbed young ones. Is that all that,
my advantages have fitted me for, I
sh ;uld like to know?"
Bertha had never been able quite to
make up her mind what her advan
tages had litted nor for, but seemed un
fortunately to be continually beset by
dutes forwhich she felt fully persuaded
they had not fitted her. She had never
found her share in the sweet home
cares and obligat ons durng all the
happy years in which she haa pursued
a very complete course of study in the
schools in the town in which they lived.
The discovery came after her proud
and loving parents had stra'ned every
effort and practiced every self-denial
in order to send her for two years to a
school in a distant city; and at the end
of that period she had made a long vis
it in the luxurious home of one of her
school friends, where she had contract
ed tastes and habits which had ef
fectually destroyed such fitness for a
life in her own modest home, and the
duties there devolving upon her, as ths
fashionable school had left.
Out in the garden Bertha made a few
listless attempts to amuse the restless
baby, and then drew from her pocket a
letter she had recently received from
h r dear friend. Its glowing picture
of the delights of an endless round of
part;es, operas and other pleasures,
w th its warm expressions of sympathy
for herself in being condemned to en
dure the trials of an "uncongenial
h line." drew tears of self-pity from
Bertha's eyes, and did not serve to in
crease her store of patience with hr
l.ttle brother.
As t me went on she still quietly but
persistently avoided interesting herself
111 the concerns of her home- She
rno;it d and pined for gayeties of which
she had found a slight taste so delight
ful. "Why don't you go out more w th
Helen Mayne?" asked her mother one
day, anxious to interest her in some
thing. I tried that once, you know," said
Bertha "and that was enough to show
me that our tastes differ entirely."
Mrs. March could not help mentallv
agreeing with her daughter, but d d
not speak.
"Yes." went on Bertha, "what a
dance she d d lead me that day! 1 saw
enough sick, d scontented poor people
to last me for some t'me. She left me
to attend to one of her p r-ts while she
wen: somewhere else.. I had to wring
out hot cloths to put on Susan Brown's
spra ned ankle worked over her and
bore ith all her wh ms and oinp!aints
till I was completely tired out, and
when I wished her good-bye she thanked
me. but told me I did not se "m to have
a knack of 'taking hold' with sick
peop'e as Helen had. I told IIe!en I
wu!d not mind going a little among
the poor if it were not that they were
all so dirty and so wtrny, and never
satisfied whatever you do. Ar.d what
do vou think she sa d?"
Well, what?"
c "That if I ould only be placed in a
community of healthy, happy, wealthy
poor, I might do a great and good
work among them; but that I was not
likely to do much for the Lord's j oor
as they really are."
Her mother laughed at Helen's sar
casm, then sighed at the realization of
Bertha's utter failure in fulfilling the
swet hopes she had built upon the an
t c pation of what her womanhood
might be. How different she was from
the bright, cheery, loving, helpful
girl, always, even in the pressure of
school dut:es, making time for care
and, thought for mother and the
younger ones finding full satisfaction
'm the blessed ministrat ons of home
life.
"I have been thinking, mother."
continued Bertha, "t! at if my health
was better I should take more interest
in things."
"Whv, are you not well, dear?"
asked h r mother, in qu ck solicitude.
"I don't believe I am. My head
troubles me a good deal, and my back,
too. I think I am ruuning down, and
a change would do me good."
"What kind of a change. Bertha?"
"Well, if I could go for a few weeks
to Mrs. Dr. Urove's Sanitarium, for
instance."
Mrs. March looked a little startled.
It had not occurred to her that Bertha
was n poor health; but in her always
readiness to be anxious about her chil
dren, she was juite prepared to re
proach herself with hay ng fa led to
perceive the real cause of Bertha's lack
of energy. Still, it would be a great
undertaking to send her to Mrs. Dr.
(rove's.
'I will speak to Dr. Deane about
vou. B-Ttha. He might give you a
touie."
"Oh, pleae don't, mother. He is
such an old fogv he would be sure to
say it was all fancy. When I" spoke to
h;m one day of the cond t on of my
nerves he told me all I wanted was
plenty of good, lively exercise, and
that if I had to earn my living at a
wahtub I'd be well enough. Coarse
old fellow!"
"I have sometimes thought mvself,
BiTtha. that you would be better if you
took more exercise."
Yes. I know you have." said Ber
tha, a 1 ttle disda nfully, "but I don't
th nk home exercise suits me. They
ride horseback and exercise in a gym
nas um at the Sanitarium. Do th" nk
of it, mother," she said, imploringly.
"I know it would do me good, and I
should come home better abie to help
you."
The thought ot the additions to Ber
tha's wardrobe, wh ch such a measure
would make necessary, was a d smay
ful one to her mother, but the idea "of
self-sacrifice was all-prevailing wi h
her. and she would not let such a dif
ficulty stand in the way when she I c
lieved the measure a necessary one.
More talk followed. Father was con
sulted, but shook his head in grave
doubt: but Bertha he'd to her point,
and the result of it all was that a let
ter was wr tten to Mrs. Dr. Grpve.
"1 have a bad headache," said Ber
tha. c m ng down late one morning.
"Can't Nora get me some breakfastr'
Stop, dear." sad her mother as
she opened a door to call. "Nora is
very busy, and can not wait upon you.
Watch baby for a few minutes, and I
will get your breakfast."
Sit st.ll, Harry," said Bertha, as
her mother left the room. She lay
down on the sofa with a book, and as
he remained quiet gave herself little
further concern about him ui:t 1 her
mother came back carrying a tray w tb
her breakfast.
"Oh. Harry, what are you aboutP"
she said. "Why, Bertha, how could
you let him get at my work-basket? It
took me nearly two hours yesterday to
cut and baste tho-e cuis they requ're
such careful measurng and now he
has torn them all apart."
He's a m schievous little fellow."
was Bertha's onlv remark as she pro
ceeded to eat her breakfast, and then
resumed her book and her place on th'
sora. wh le her mother, in the intT
vals of amusing Harry, tried to do a
little work on the sewing-machine.
Just as Bertha had made up her mind
that the no se was too much for her
and that she must find a quieter pla-'e,
Kuth opened the door and announced:
"Mrs. Dr. G.ove."
A cheery-facfd wholesome looking
person followed the name one of those
who impress one as happ ly combining
the character of lady with bus ness
woman. Mrs. March introduced her
self and her daughter, and then car
r ed the breakfast tray from the room,
wh le the v.s'tor occupied herself with
a friendly, but keen and comprehen
sive glance at the young girl, under
wh:ch Bertha's embarrassed conscious
ness of d sheve'led hair and dress un
tidv to an extent not excusable even
under plea"of a headache, increased
every, moment.
vVhen Mrs. March returned tothe
room the vis' tor engaged in a half
hour's chat with the two on indifferent
top es, contriving in that short inter
val to draw some shrewd conclusions
with regard to both mother and daugh
ter. "I had busrnes3 which called me to
this place," at length she sa d, "so I
thought I would reply to your letter in
person, rou are. ot course, tne in
valid?" she asked. address:ng Mrs
March.
"No." was the answer, "it is my
daughter."
But the clear, kindly eves still re
iua ned lived upon the mother's face a
a few t:ue tions were asked, and the
answers listened to w th an express o
which grew a little more sober. Then.
at Mrs. March s evident anxiety to
direct attent on to her daughter, the
vis tor drew her chair closer to the
young girl, and had soon drawn from
I er a full description of her phvs'cul
diiiicult.cs. With the rest account she
could g ve of them. Bertha could no
be'p feei ng that they made but a poor
showing.
"My dear child," sa;d the lady, when
the end of the small list was reached.
"1 saw a young girl some t me ago
whojwns n much the condition in wh ch
I find ou, and what do you think I
recommended for her?"
"A course of treatment, I suppose,"
sa d P.ei fia.
"Not the course vou are thinking of.
I advi.-ed her mother to send awav her
g rl. and allow her daughter to do the
housework tor awh'le."
A flush of anger and d'sappo ntment
arose to Bertha s face as her moth r
asked:
"Did he try it?"
Well, no, more s the pity. But she
had the go d sense to go to work, al
though in a le-s rad cal way than that
would have been, and g ve her poor,
t'abbly muscles a little chance to get
out of the r half paralyzed condition
and become more like what the "rood
Lord intended they shoujd bo. Now,
my dear," she turned again to Bertha.
"1 have no doubt that a few weks
spent under my ca e would do you a
great deal of good, but that would
take vou away from your mother,
wh eh would b a great p ty, for she
surelv needs all vou can .do for her
here.1'
With a few words of advice in the
matter of fre-h air, food at regular in
tervals, and asuge-tion or two as to
the care of the person which cave an
added t nge to the color on Bertha's
cheek. Mrs. Dr. Grove took her leave.
I do believe that woman meant to
inult me." sad Bertha, springing
from her sofa with eyes ablaze w.th in
d en at on as soon as the door had
closed upon her.
"Oh no. my dear," said her mother,
soothingly. "1 am sure 3he meant to
be kind.' And how thankful I am to
finl there is nothing .-erious the mat
ter with you."
"I don t believe she knows anythi ng
about t," cr ed Bertha, escaping to her
room to hide her tears of vexaton and
niort licat on. She was angry with
Mrs. Grove, and angry with her mother
for being so ready to believe all she
sa d. If her dear friend in the city had
been ill. her polite physician would
have made it his concern to find out
whether she preferred the seaside or the
mounta'ns, and ordered her there at
once.
. She lay down for awhile, but found
her own thoughts sueh unsatisfactory
companions that she got up and hur
riedly dressed herself. Helen Mayne
lived next door, the gardens of the two
hou-es adjoining. She did not care
much for Helen Mayne, but she was
better than nobody, so she went to a
vine-covered piazza in wh ch she found
her sitt ng with a lap full of gayly-col-ored
silks.
"Oh. is that you. Bertha." she said.
"Sit down I have a new book 1 warn
to show you. Just wa t till I gather
up my s'lks, and I'll get it. Can you
r ad to me a Lttle? You are such a
good reader 1 always like to hear you.'
Bertha knew she read well and liked
to be told of it. so she assented very
w.llingly.
"Mother has company, so we'll go
out into the arbor, where we shall dis
turb nobody and nobody will d sturb
us" went on Helen.
Mr-. Maine and her friend were
talking n the room wh ch opened upon
the pia .za, and Bertha raised her head
as an unpleasantly fam liar vo ce fell
upon her ear. Surely those clearly-cut
words could come from only one per
son. .
Isn't it Mrs. Dr. Grove?'' she asked
mo' ion ng toward the curtained win
dow.
"Yes.", said Helen, "she is one of
mother's old friends. Now I'll be back
u a moment."
' any friend of m'ne." the words
came distinctly through the open w 11
iow, "1 should feel the most serious
an ety about her. She is wearing her
Lie out, and if she goes on as she is
g ing on now she will soon hi past all
i.elp.
"But." sa'd Mrs. Mayne. in a vo ce
of great concern, "did you tell her she
ought to do som, thine - ought to have
a rest, and treatment? Did you?"
"No, it is not my place to tell her.
She was not seeking my advice."
"But somebody must say something
they ought to know it,'' said Mrs.
Ma., ne, in a tone of still greater d s
tiess and perplexity. "I've seen how
xn serable she has looked this lo ig
time, and I've talked to her myself
sometimes. I've said: 'Mrs. March
you must take care of yourself.' But
?he isn't the sort she neer th'nks of
herself, she's always do'ng for"
The neighborly words broke sudden
ly off, for Bertha had parted the cur
tains, and stood With a white face be
fore the two speakers.
"Why, Bertha," sa:d Mrs. Mayne,
look'ng greatly disconcerted, "you
here ch id? Sit down, do'
But Bertha gazed in her face like one
suddenly aroused from a dream to the
realization of some waking terror.
"Is it is it my mother you are talk
ing about?" she gasped.
"Why Bertha, we only meant that
that your mother needs a little care and
change to make her quite well. Yes,
I'm sure she'll get well. Bertha" Mrs.
Mayne's confused asurances poured
forth rapidly.
Bertha turned a piercing glance
upon Mrs. Grove's face, but did not
read much encouragement there. . For
a moment it seemed as if she would
have fallen, then w.th a ry of "Oh,
mother mother!" she darted from
the open window.
Stop her, Helen," said Mrs. Mayne
to Helen, who was just com'ng around
the house With her new book. Helen
threw an arm around the excited girl's
wa:8t, and drew her back into the
room.
"Don't you know, dear," said Mrs.
Grove, us ng a l.ttle gentle force in
compelling her to lie down upon the
sofa, "that it will never do for you to
agitate or alarm your mother? Be
qu et, until you can talk with your
father and j'our friends about what
ought to be done." Her voice had
tost all its tone of sharp criticism, as
she. in answer to Bertha's urgent in
sisting, gave her a clear idea of her
mother's real condition.
After an hour's earnest talk Br.ha
went home, not in a paraxysmof vague
alarm, but with the quiet of a m?nd
fully awakened to a new sense of du
ties and responsibil ties. In one dread
ful moment had opened before her 1 ke
a dark chasm a glimpse of what life
wouta De to ner ana to tne otn-rs
without the tender care and lavish af
fection which she had h ?ld of such lit
tle value.
Come here. Harry," she sa'd, tak
ng the fretful child. ' Now, mother,
you must go and take a rest unt 1 d'n
ner time. If Mrs. Grove is right you
must give me plenty to do, you know. '
she sa:d, anxious to put an "appearance
of jesting upon the matter which haa
come with such startl ng earnest to
her.
"Why, Bertha, I thought you were
angry about it," said her mother, in
snrr'.se.
"Well, 1 was at first. But" bend
ng down with a kiss and embrace in
which she did not dare to show one
half of her repentant yearning affec
t on she whispered: "do believe that
I am your own daughter come back to
be a comfort to you."
Later in the day she sa d:
"Mother dear, I think it needed all
Mrs. Grove's sharp words to give me a
stirring up, but now that 1 am stirred
you will find me hard to manage, for I
am going to have my own way. Now
-you are going to havo the new
clothes, and you are going to Mrs Dr.
("rove's, to stay 1 11 you are reste I and
strong. If she won't have me tor a
patient she must take you."
And Bertha had her way. Sidney
Dayre, N. Y. Examiner. "
A GREAT INDUSTRY.
The Wonders and Kxtent of the Boot and
Shoe Trade In Massachusetts.
In 1836 the State of Massachusetts
made, in round numbers, 16,000,000
pairs of boots and shoes; in 1814, 20,
000,000; in 1852. 45.000.000; in 1864.
51,000,000; in 1874. 59,000,000; in 1880.
78,000,000, and in 1884 (estimated),
over 100,000,000. If this is not prog
ress it would be difficult to say in what
progiess consists.
The value of this vast product is es
timated at $120,000,000; and good au
thority even places it at the superla
tive amount of $150,000,000. Such is
the pleasant little sum gathered in by
the boot and shoe manufacturers and
merchants of Massachusetts every
year. In the great produet'on Lynn
ranks first, with an annual business of
nearly $30,000,000. Haverh 11 stands
second, with more than $i0.000.0()0.
Brockton occupies the th'rd place,
w.th $7,000,000. Number four on the
1 st is Marlboro, wh'ch does a busi
ness of $5,000,000. Worcester comes
next, with over $4,000.0iK): then Wey
mouth, then Nat'ck, while Boston
stands e:ghth in the matter of produe
t'on. New England furn'shes more than
two-thirds of the total product of the
country, Massachusetts the bulk of the
New England product and Essex
County the lion's share of the State's
business. Lynn s still king n spite ot
all the changes that have occurred in
the trade In the last half century.
The growth of this ereat ndustrv to
such a stage of importance is a matter
of fascinat ng interest to all classes of
readers, not more to those engaged in
thia branch of the trade than to the
w'der circle who enjoy the fru ts of the
general prosper tv in which this bus:
uess has been so larse a factor. Par-
t cularly interesting to business men
w 11 be the record of the past few weeks
and the prospect tor the future. The
boot and shoe trade, owing to the ex
haustion of the stock, has come into a
condition peculiarly sensit ve to any
i: c eased demand for goods, and the
ti cui res show that that demand has
been stead ly increasing of late. Man
ufacturers who know whereof thev
speak are already welcom'ng the sins
of the t mes as ind cat ve of a g adual
but sure restoration of confidence and
business activ.ty. If th:s is true of the
boot and shoe business, it will also be
true of bus ness in general, and the
facts presented in this direction are
well worth the perusal of all classes of
merchants and business men. Boston
Globe.
SHE WAS GLORIFIED.
How a Poor .Detroit Colored Woman
Faoiipd Away.
You d dn't heed the funeral proces
sion the other day. Indeed, you could
hardly have realized that it was -one.
A wasron with a coffin in it another
carrying an o!d man and a weep:ng
daughter.
In the village it miirht have been
different, no matter how poor and
lowly the dead, but in a city the rush of
bus'ness makes us selfish and hard
hearted. If we can not lose an houron
a legal hoi day, our ne'ghbors can not
expect us to follow their dead to the
narrow home.
"Wasn't sick werry long," said the
old man, as he turned from the grave
to make his way homeward. "She had
dun got too old to stay wid us any
longer."
"Did she crave to 1 ve on?"
" 'Deed she d dn't. boss. It war jUt
like de sun gwine down arter a long
summer, day. She sunk away, an
sunk away, an' de Lawd he dun took
her at de ias' an' we didn't know it."
"How d d she die?" f
"She jist glorified. We war' chillen
together back' in de ole times. We
growed up on de same plantashun, an'
we'd b n raar'd ober fifty y'ars. She
b' l eved in de Lawd an' in Heaben.
IVe hearn folks mo -k her an' scorn her
' ekase ob dat I el ef. but she nebberlet
go. Kiah nor Hood nor sickness nor
hunger could shake dat belief. Some-
t mes, when de fiah went out an' we
crept clus up to each odder to keep de
cold away. I'd whi-per to her:
' 'Linda, do you still believe dar'
am a Lawd who watches ober sich poor
cieeters a; us?'
"An she would answer me:
' 'Moses, he eben notes de sparrows
wlrch fall to de mound.' "
"And she died bel cving?''
'"'Bel cb'n'! Why. boss, she jist glor-ifi-d'
When de summons come an' she
eh she'd got to go her ole face lighted
up wid do sir beams of Heaven till I
d dn't know it. We gathered 'round
her and sun; of de beautiful sho' an"
den she prayed. She axed de Lawd to
t ke her home arter r.ll dese y'ars o'
tnUila-hun. an' she axed Him to brins
mo :in' do little one safe frew de dark
vulley, an' den he- face lit up som
mo', an' her eyes sparkled wid jov. nn'
a crown of g'ory was la'd on her brow.
When we rot de tears outer our eyes de
Lawd had done tco'x her." Detroi
Free Press.
President Webb, of Mississippi Col
lege, was interviewed by a young man
who wanted to go to school. "Well,"
said the President, "what do you
know?" "Nothing." was the response.
"Well, you are just four years ahead of
some of the other pupils. It take 3 them
four years to learn what you know to
start with. Your prospects are line,
sir." JV. K I'otL
A LA BERTHA CLAY.
A Romance Without Love, Concocted for
the Sole Purpose of Making; th World
Better.
It was a cottage over-looking the sea.
From its door, over which the roses
climbed, one could look out on the
white-winged ships sailing to and fro.
and down upon a beach on which the
waves were ever gentlj' breaking.
The only drawback was the fact that
old Snvth had a mortgage on the said
cottage, and that the sewerage about
the place was defective.
. It was early in the morning. The
in the blue, blue sea; the lark rose from
the meadow and soared toward heav
en; the low of kine was heard on every
hand, and the silent watches of night
were about to give p'ace to the bustle of
a glorious day. One who stood and drank
in the picture would have felt entranced.
It doesn't cost a cent to get that
way, and it is twenty per cent cheaper
than working up au enthusiasm by the
use of lairer Leer.
Suddenly the door was opened and a
merry laugh was heard. The fair Ethel
had left her couch to greet the rising
sun. As she stood amidst the roses, he
brown eyes sparkling with enthusiasm
her cheeks glowing with health her
gohien hair lig ted up by the beams of
the monvng sun. she was the picture of
a aueen.
ri had forgotten to say that she had a
sylph-Mke form. This is an oversight
for which I can never forgive myself,
and I hope the reader will not bear
down in malice.
Even the lark paused in his flight to
look back at the beautiful picture, and
the blue birds which flitted from rose to
rose sang sweeter songs, as if to honor
her. lor a moment the fair Ethel
stood thus, and then she descended the
stns and elided toward the cate.
She wasn't on roller skates, but
elided is an expression which I hunted
for half a dav, and which 1 am deter
mined to use if it breaks a leg.
At the gafe- she paused. Once more
she surveyed the placid sea the ro-
mant'c beach the rosy eastern horizon
Mie was alone with Nature for' the mo
ment. Her bosom heaved, her eyes
nrew brighter, and it was evident
that tha inspiration was on her. She
was about to speak. Just at the in
stant when her ruby lips were about to
part there was a bang on the cottage
door and a gruli voice called out:
What in bla es are you doing out
there when your mother is sick and I
want bre.kfa.st in a hurry!
The Ions eye-'ashes of the beautiful
Ethel hid "the sparkle of her eyes; her
classic chin drooped; a look ot sorrow
crossed her face; for a moment sm
stood tho p;cture of despair, and the
ston est heart must have been me ted
by her att tude. 'I hen she sweetly an
swered:
"I stuck my hunk of gum on the gate
post last nizht, an I 111 be jugged if
some slab s ue 1 siugor nun'amiy nasn 1
come alonsr and gobbled it.
This story didn't have any villain in
it There was no love. There was no
grievous trials for any one to pass
turough, and no narrow escapes to chill
the blood. The sole idea was to make
the world better. Good-bye.1 Detroit
Free 1'ress.
SELECTION. OF BOOKS
Not What a Person Heads, Bat What He
Digests. Increase Mental Strength.
A d:stinguished clergyman onca re
marked that if he were to be imprisoned
for ten years with only two books, he
would select Shakespeare and Matthew
Henry's Commentaries on the Bible.
While Frank Power, the correspondent
of the London IHmes, was shut up in
Khartoum, he wrote home that the
three most welcome books they could
send him would be Shakespeare, and
the "Professor" and "Autocrat of the
Breakfast-Table." -
Kossuth, during hii imprisonment in
Turkey, studied two books, Shakespeare
and the hnglish Bible. When he went
through this country delivering
speeches, remarkable for their elo
quence and idiomatic grace 01 expres
sion, scholars asked in amazement how
this mnnf had learned English so ac
curately. The ait of reading is primarily the
art of selecting the fittest books to
read. What De 0.uincy calls "knowledge-literature"
is undoubtedly useful,
as dictionaries, encyclopedias and
chronological tables are serviceable,
when one desires facts. But the "books
which are books" belong to the "power
literature." They do not make a man omniscient
wie men are now content to die in
ignorance of what many men have said
and done. But they do brace the mind
for original work, and they so toss ofl
the imaginat'on, as the falconer does
the hawk, that it starts in a career from
which it may return exhileratcd with
resh and beautiful thoughts.
Young men are sometimes ambitious
to devour many books they might as
reasonably be anxious to eat the con
tents of a market. The dead hero
wrote a few days before his departure:
"Doctor, I'm "taking too much food,
more than I can assimilate." Many
readers are reading more than they can
assimilate.
Not what a person reads, but what
ho inwardly digests, makes him
stronger mentally. There are scores
of learned parrots, who aro ignorant
and erudite. They are crammed full
of facts, but they know little as to their
meaning. A reviewer, whose duties
obliged him to keep up with current
publications, and not to let go his hold
upon old books, can tell as soon as he
hears these people talk what books
they have read during a month.
It may be that a young man fond of
reading is bewildered when he stands
amid a great librarj'. He will speedily
recover himself, if he reflects that thou
sands of volumes are for specialists;
and that other thousands are for the
antiquary of the hi-torian; that whole
alcoves are curious books of no mental
use, and that only a few hundred have
any relation to his culture and work.
Youth's Companion.
Johnny (who is spending the after
noon at the Smiths') My mother says
she'd like to look like you, Mrs. Sm th.
Mrs. S. (who is extremely pla n, but
not entirely aware of it) Like me, my
dear? I take that as a compliment,
indeed, from so very pretty a lady as
your mamma. You re quits sure it
was L .lohnnv. that shn mnant?
Johnny (accepting another cruller)
vjh, yes m. one saia mat 11 sne
could have your health and strength
she believed she'd as lief look as you
do. Harper's Bazar.
m m
A dove flew ia at an open window
of a church in Danbury, Conn., on Sun
day morning, and, perching upon a gas
jet just over the preachers head, re
mained there till the doxologj was
sung. Hartford CouranL
t A FOREST HYMN.
The glowing- ua la riding blgk
Aatid the arches of tbe sky,
Dreamr air lies till.
No Bound disturbs the leafy grlala
Save that by busy wood bill made
Upon some ancient trunk, decayed
Calm broods o'er vale and bill.
In such an hour I love to stray
I'rgm hannU of toiling1 men away,
Mid forest depths profound;
Thcro. In a bliss of solitude.
Where no dull cares of earth Intrude,
And Nature breathes sweet auletude
The grand old trees around
The heart by dally cares oppressed.
The wearied spirit flndeth rest.
As, pillowed on the d, '
With nought above lut leaf and sky.
And loving look of Heavenly Eye,
Perchance with angels hovering nigh,
I dream of Nature's Goi.
Edward X. llichard. in Current.
"STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.
The Thrillinar Event Which In
spired This Patriotio Song.
A p'ece of news was borno across the
Atlant'c Ocean in May, 1814, which
chilled with apprehension every Ameri
can heart: Napoleon Bonaparte had
been overcome by the allied armies of
Europe, and was ,-afely imprisoned on
the island of Elba! This intelligence
notified, the Amcr'can people that tho
fleets and arniie .of Great Britain,
which for twelve years had been waging
war with France, were now. d:sengaged,
and would have little to do, and would
be free to overwhelm and crush the
Republic of the United States. Wj
were then in the second year of that
contest with Great Britain which we
still call the War of 1S12. It was a
summer of alarm, and the whole coast
was alive with the bustle of' defensive
preparation.
'J he invasion came. The enemy's
ships entered Chesapeake Bay about tho
first of June, a fleet 1 of frigates and
lighter vessis. In August Admiral
Cochrane entered the bay in a great
ship of eighty guns, bringing with him
a fleet and three or four thousand sol
diers, which increased the British force
in those waters to twenty-three men-of-war
and an army of ten thousand troops
and marines.
v Every one knows what followed. The
country was invaded, Washington was
sacked and pillaged and its public bu'ld
ings burned. The enemy retired with
considerable loss, it ts true, but triumph
ant and exulting. It was a dearly
bought vict;'V, for it silenced opposition
to the war, kindled the national feeling
and enlisted every heart in the country's
defense.
A few days after, the British forces
made their second attempt upon that
coast. Baltimore, then a city of forty
thousand inhabitants, enriched by the
prosperous commerce of tbe last quarter,
of a century, would have been a valua
ble prize; and would have given tbe foe
a hold of the shores of the Chesapeake,
from which they would have been dis
lodged with difficulty. Washington was
but a straggling village, without milita
ry value. Baltimore was a command
ing position, capable of being defended.
Two miles below the city, on a po:nt of
land jutting into the water, stood then,
and now stands. Fort McIIenry, so
named after one of the early statesmen
of Maryland. Sturdy arms and willing
hearts had ben laboring there for many
weeks to strengthen its fortifications
and get additional guns into posrtion,
under the direction of Lieutenant
Colonel George Armistead. The time
had been well employed, and the gal
lant commander had a mode.-t confi
dence in h:s ability to repel the imposing
fleet of Cockburn, which now consisted
of more than forty vessels, and carried
seven thousand troops. The fate of
Baltimore depended absolutely upon his
holding this po-.ition.
The star-spangled banner which
floated over the fort had been made by
a lady of Baltimore, Mrs. Mary Pickers-
gill, aided by her daughter. These
ladies, full of the patriotic feeling of
the hour, made a nag worthy of the im
portance of the occasion. It contained
four hundred yards of bunting. It was
so large that the ladies were obliged to
spread it out in the malt-house of a
neighboring brewery.
When Mrs. PickersgilTa daughter
was an old lady of seventy-six years,
he used to describe the scene.
"I remember," she wrote, "seeing
my mother down on the floor placing
the stars. After the completion of the
flag she superintended tho topping f it.
having it fastened in the mot secure
manner to prevent its being torn away
by balls. The wisdom of 'her precaution
was shown during the engagement,
many shots piercing it, but 'it still re
mained firm to the staff My mother
worked many nights until twelve o'clock
to complete it in a given time."
The reader will see in a moment the
significance of this statement. But for
the firm and faithful stitching of these
two patriotio ladies, we should probably
have had no song of the Star-Spangled
Banner.
September the 6th the great British
fleet left its anchorage in Chesapeake
Bay and sailed for Baltimore; nd en
tered the Patapsco Rieer, upon which
the city stands, five days after. Twelve
miles below Baltimore, they landed
seven thousand men. Happily, the
brave Maryland-rs and Pennsylvanians
were ready for them Three thouand
militiamen, volunteers from Maryland
and Pennsylvania, commanded by'Gen
era I John " Strieker, well-pote and
well-intrenched, withstood this great
force, killed their commander. General
Ross, and forced them finally to aban
don the attack.
While these events were occurring,
the creat vessels in the British fleet
moved up the river, anchored before
Fort McIIenry, and began to pour upon
it that tempest of shot, shell and rockets,
which the author of our song ha com
memorated. Every gun was heard in
Baltimore. We can well imag'nc the
feelings of its inhabitants during the
twenty-four hours of its cont:nuance.
rhvj author of the song, i rancis cott
Kev. was not a combatant in the battle.
although he witnessed it from beginning
to end. During the first operations on
that coast Admiral Cockburn and sev
eral officers of the British army occu
pied as their headquarters a house at
Marlborough, belonging to an aged
physician of the Dlace, Dr. Beanea,
whom tbBV detained a a prisoner. iesi
he should send the news of their land
ing to Baltimore. He was a particular
friend of Mr. Key and of his family.
Hearing that the doctor was about to be
carried off by the enemy. Key obtained
permission from the commanding Gen
eral of the American forces to go to the
British fleet under a flag of truce, and
make an attempt to procure the old
gentleman's release. In a letter to his
mother, written just as he was about to
start upon this errand of friendship, he
wrote:
"I hope to return in about eight or
ten days, though it is uncertain, as I do
not know where to find the fleet."
He sst sail from Baltimore about ths 1
third of September, aau found tne Brit
ish fleet at the mouth of the Patu sent
bound for tbe attack on Fort McIIenry.
He went on board the vessel of Adni nil
Cochrane, to whom he stated his er
rand, and asked for the release of Dr.
Beanes. The Admiral received him
with the utmost civility, but informed
him that he could not comply at pres
ent with his request, and was obliged
even to detain Key himself and his ves
sel until the operation uponlort Mc
IIenry was concluded.
The Admiral's vessel being over
crowded, he sent the American gentle
men on board of the frigate Surprise,
commanded by h's son. Sir Thomas
Cochrane, where they spent the night,
and thus moved on to the attack.
During the bombardment of the fort.
Mr. Key and his friends, includ g 1'r,
Beanes, were sent on board their own
little vessel under a guard of mar nes,
and thus they were afforded an oppor
unity to witness the action.
Of all the thousands of human beingi
within hearing of that bombardment,
there was probably not one so litted by
nature and education to be moved by it.
Francis S. Key, then th'rty-five years of
age. a lawyer in good standing at the
dTstingu'shed bar of his native State,
was a son of John ItossKey, an ollicer
in the army of the Revolution. He h-td
been noted from his youth up for the
ardor of his patriotism, and he had at
tempted n ore than once to celebrate in
verse the gallant deed of h:s country
men. He had a habit of dashing down
lines and stanzas that occurred to him
on any old scrap of paper that came
first to his hand, and several of his
poems were gathered up by his friendi
from the litter of h:s otlice.
All day the bombardment continue I
without ceasing. During the whole
night they remained on deck, follow. n.
with their eyes the continuous arcs o!
fire from tbe enemy's ships to the fort.
The anxiety of the poet, and Mic litl'e
company of Americans about him. grew
only more intense when darkness cov
ered the scene, and they could form no
conception of the progress or tho proba
ble issue of the strife.
Suddenly, about three In the morn
ing, the tiring ceased. As they w re
anchored at some distance from the
British vessels, they were utterly at a
loss to interpret this mysterious silence.
Had the fort surrendered'
As they walked up and down the dock
of their vessel in the darkness and si
lence of tbe night, they kept going to
the b'nnacle to look at their watches to
sea how many minutes moro must e'an-e
before they could discern whether t' c
flag over Fort McIIeery was the star
spangled banner, or the union jack ol
England.
The daylight dawned at length. W'th
a thrill of triumph and grat tude. they
saw that "our flag was st 11 there."
They soon perceived from many other
signs that the attack, both by land and
sea. had failed, and that Baltimore was
safe. They could see witli their glares
the wountlod troops carried on board
tbe ships, and at last the whole Br.ti.sh
army re embarking.
A few m'nutcs alter the dawn of that
glor o::s day, when the poet first felt
sure of the issue of the battle, the im
pulse to express his feelings in ver e
rushed upon h'm. He found in h s
po -ket a letter, and he wrote upon the
back of it the first 1'nes of the sonsr. In
the excitement of the hour he could not
go on with his task, but he wrote somo
further br ef notes and lines upon the
letter. Some lines he retained in his
memory without making any record of
them. When his guard of marines left
him free to hoist anchor, and sail for
the c ty, he wrote out the song on the
way, verv nearly as it now reads, and
on reaching h's hotel in Balt'tuoro ho
male a clean copy of it. The next
morn ng he showed it to his brother-in-law.
Judge N'cholson. Ch'ef Justice of
Maryland, who. Judge as he was, had
commanded a company of volunteers in
Fort McIIenry during the bombard
ment. . , -."
We may be sure that such a-Judre
read the song with no critical eye. So
del'ghted was he with it, that he" sent it
round to a printer, Benjamin Edes. who
had also commanded a company of
troops iu the late operations. An ap
prentice. Samuel Sands, who was living
m Baltimore in 1878. instantly set it in
type, an in less than an hour it was dis
tributed all over the city of Baltimore,
received by every one with enthusiasm.
But what is a Forig without music?
An old Baltimore soldier told in after
vears how the' words camo to be so
happily wedded to the music to whicti
it has ever since been sung. A group
of volunteers lay scattered over one of
the green hills near Baltimore a day or
two after the bombardment.
'Have you heard Franc's Key's
poeui?" sa d a member of the company,
who had just come in from tho town.
Ho took a copy of it from his pocket
and read it aloud to them as they lay
upon the grass. It was called for,
aga:n. He read it a second t'me, and a
third, more sold'ers gathering about to
hear it, until the whole regiment
seemed to be present.
An actor, named Ferdinand Durang.
who was also a soldier, sprang up.
rushed into a tent, seized his brother's
music book. ued by both of them for
their Mutes, examined piece after piece,
and at length cried out:
Boys. I have hit it!"
Ho had selected the a'r of a favorito
old English song, called "To Anacreou
in Heaven," written by John StaTord
Smith, about the year 1772. It was
compose ! for a musical club wh;ch met
at the Crown and Anchor Tavern in
London, frequented by Dr. Johnson and
Sir Joshua Reynolds. As soon as Fer
dinand Durang had selected the music, '
be mounted a stool and sung it to bis
assembled comrades with all the hre
and spir t of which he was capable. An
eye witness says;
"How the men shouted and chipped!
for never was tqere a wedding ot poetry
lo music made under such insp ring in
fluences. Getting a brief furlough, the
Brothers Durang sang it in public soon
after. It was caught up in the camps,
and sung around the bivouac fires, and'
whistled in the streets; and when peace
was declared, and we scattered to our
homes,- it was carried to thousands of
firesides as the most precious relic of
the War of 1812."
The flag of Fort McIIenrv, which in
spired the song of Francis Key. still ex- "
ists in a tolerable state of preservat'on.
Colonel Armistead caused it to be taken
dewu from the stall" after the battle, and
its houorable wounds bound about by
tbe very ladies who had made it. It was
ever after carefully preserved. He lc!t
to his widow, who in turn bequeathed it
to their youngest daughter, born under
it in Fort McIIenry after the bombard
ment: and she in turn left it to her son.
Mr. Eben Appleton. of Yonkers. New
York, who now possesses it. It was
raised over Fort McIIenrv for the last
time September 14. 1824. "at the recep
tion ot General Lafayette.
The author of the song died at Balti
more in 183, aged sixty-four years, and
in 1857 a small volume of his poems
was published in the city of New York.
H ha living descendants,-- " " "
r