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WHEN OUR BY CLARENCE OUSLBT. The year is young, but its lineage runs lo the dawn of the- far iirst day. iWhen the sun burst forth and the earth was flung On its splendid starlit way. And so with the love we feel but now It began in the earlier time, Ere the souls of men M-ere garmented In the flesh of an earthly clime. Twas there in the morn of the primal state, In the world of the truly real. Our love was born, our souls were joined In a union fast and leal. We know it not in the sentient way Of the Dassionati? emhran For we had no ken of mortal things Aiui- mo loiin in, iuonai grace. O T Eliza was tired of taking care of David. Eliza was eight and David was two. In the morning before she went to school Eliza washed and dressed him and gave him his break fast. When she came home at noon she gave him hte dinner; when school wa3 over at night Eliza took entire care of David till hl3 bed time. Eliza's mother wa3 a very busy woman with little money and seven children to clothe and feed. There was a baby younger than David; there were three children older than he and j-ounger than Eliza, and only Eliza and Mary, a girl of twelve, to help the mother. Eliza should have been grateful that she was required to take care of David only. Eut Eliza sometimes got very tired of David, very; though of course she rwas fond of him. Thi3 afternoon she jyas more than usually cross as she trundled him down the street in the cart her father had made out of a soap boi on four squeaking, wrig gling wheels. Eliza tugged resentfully at the rope fastened through a hole in the box. David grinned delightedly at the sun shine, and enjoyed the squeak. Not so Eliza. Amy Winters had invited the girls to her house that afternoon to make, candy. She had told Eliza she could not come if she must bring David. This was .not so unkind of Amy a3 seems at first, for the girls were fond of David, who was the best oiatured baby in the world; but at the last candy pull David had attended, lie had upset on his head a cup of molasses just ready for the stove. So, while the other girls had pulled the candy, Eliza had to wash David's face and hair. Eliza went fast past Amy's house, "beating up a cloud of dust about her downcast eyes. She walked on to ward the postofTice. Here some boys were playing marbles. One of them stopped and greeted Eliza. k"Hullo, how's your kid to-day?" I i Site &aie 01 David. .... -nVft Le boys all called David "Eliza's iIkid." " Eliza did not deign to answer; she tossed her head and the wagon wheels creaked ominously. "Kid for saler kid for sale," called . another, smiling good naturedly at David's happy face. The silent Eliza went on faster than ever. When she had turned the corner, and was out of sight of the boys, she looked back at David. She wished he was for sale; she wished somebody would buy him. With his soft red curls and round blue eyes, he was pretty enough for anybody to buy Now she remexi bered she had h d her mother say that very morning she wasn't rich in anything but children, and she wished somebody would buy some of them. Eliza's mother 'was so busy moving about that a speech begun in one room was likely to end in another, so that Eliza frequently did not hear the end of her mother's remarks. Eliza did not hear her mother add that there wasn't a child she part with for less than ten million dol lars. Eliza thought that perhaps her motr would be glad to sell David. " find him a good place," said Eliza? "with a kind, rich old lady, and she'd pay a good deal, and I wouldn't have to take care of him. I'd want him to have a nice big house." The cart, the baby and the little girl went up the hill, where were some of the pleasantest homes in the town. Eliza stopped in front of one of these. On the side piazza sat a pretty lady dressed in black. Squeak ing, squeaking, the cart came up the path. The diplomatic Eliza left Dav id at the front and went around the side path toward the lady. David did not cry; David seldom cried. "Are you the lady that lives here?" asked Eliza. The lady took a molbC handker chief down from her eyes and looked with a start at the small Eliza stand ing at the foot of the side steps. She nodded. "Would you like to buy a baby?" A what?" asked the lady in a strange voice. "A baby. I have one to sell." The lady sat up very straight. "How much iis it worth?" "I don't know; I'll let you sec him and then perhaps you can tell." EliJvtrotted around to the front, fgave David's red curls a rub in the fright direction, sighed at his dirty hands, then pulled the cart around to the side. 8 "So that is tho baby," said the lady. "Take him out and let me look i it him." Eliza pulled David out of the box ; 'xz-1 tugsed him, limply inJiCerent, LOVE BEGAN. With the sweet and fleet bewilderment Of a first beatitude We touched and passed in the whirling throng Of the spirit multitude, Then sped our ways in the wilderness Of a human destiny, Wit n only the feel of a faint caresa And a mystic memory. Eut ever we heard a mating call, And ever we sang the note Till the good God brought us eye to eye And we spoke from throat to throat. Now nothing matters of time or place In a mere mortality, For a twain that loved in the Soul's estate Are one for eternity. Uncle Remus's Magazine. Dy FRANCES BENT DILLINGHAM. up the steps. The lady looked at him. She held out her hand and David caught at her finger; then, with a gurgle of pleasure, fell against her knee. The lady bent over him. "This baby is worth a great deal," she said. "Why do you want to sell him?" "Because there's six more like him not exactly like him 'cause I'm one; but we've got a good many ba bies and not much money, and I thought I I have to take care of him all the time and the girls don't always like to have him 'round." "Do you think he's worth a hun dred dollars?" asked the lady. A hundred dollars! Why, of course, no baby in the world could be worth that! "I I think ten would be enough," said Eliza tremulously. "I can't pay you all at once," said the lady. She stooped and lifted the baby into her lap and he leaned against her, laughing contentedly. "But I'll pay by installments." "SOME GOOD THINGS -83- The withered leaf Is not dead and lost, there are Forces in it and around it, though working in inverse order; else how could it rot? Thomas Carlyle. And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything. William Shakespeare. The great cities grow like creeping paralysis over freedom, and the man from the country is walking into them all the time because the poor, restless fellow believ is wealth awaits him on their pavements. Owen Wister. Flowers are the sweetest things God ever made and forgot to put a soul into. Henry Ward Eeecher. Farmers may well be congratulated on the interests of farmers in economic and political affairs and on their independent thinking and independent voting. John M. Stahl. If we can not find God in your house and mine, upon the roadside or the margin of the sea, in the bursting seed or opening flower, in the day duty and the night musing, I do not think we should discern Him any more on the grass of Eden or beneath the moonlight of Gethsemane. James Martineau. Suppose you sit down and tell us of any industry that will not be helped along with any help given to agriculture. Henry Ward Beecher once said: "The best fertilizer for any soil is a spirit of industry, enterprise and intelligence; without these lime and gypsum, bones and green manure, marl and guano will be of little use." The man who stands upon his own soil, who feels that by the law of the land he is the rightful and exclusive owner of the land which he tills, feels more strongly than another, the character of a man as the lord of an inanimate world. Of this great and won derful sphere, which fashioned by the hand of God, and upheld by His power, is rolling through the heavens, a part is his from the centre to the sky. Edward Everett. "What's that?" asked Eliza with dread. "Why little by little, you know. If he suits me, I'll pay it all; but meantime I'll give you how much shall I give you till we get acquaint ed?" "Ten cents would do for to-night," said Eliza. The lady took up a dangling silver purse and holding it out of reach of the baby's fingers, she extracted a dime. "I suppose you'll give this to your mother," she said gravely. "Yes, ma'am," answered Eliza with greater gravity. "And here's one cent for you to spend. And here's my card to show your mother who's bought the baby." Eliza stood looking at the lady. "Good-by," said the lady. "What's his name?" "David," answered Eliza. "David and I are going into the house," said the lady. She gathered the baby up in her arms, and he, playing with the silver purse, never looked at Eliza. "Do you do you" asked Eliza, "know how to take care of babies?" The lady's lips quivered. "Very well indeed," she said, and then she went into the house and shut the door. "I'll leave the cart," shouted Eliza; "you may need it." Nobody answered, and Eliza walked slowly away. She tied the card and the dime in the corner of her pocket handkerchief, but she held the penny in her hand. When she reached the postoffice the boys were gone, so she went in and bought ten candy mar bles for a cent. Then she went on to Amy's house. The candy was deli cious and sticky and Eliza's marbles were delightfully hard. The little girls kindly inquired about David, but did not follow up Eliza's evasive an swers. Eliza ought to have had a beautiful time; but she did not. "I'll walk home with you," she said to Catharine Whitney, who lived at ti e otner enu ot tne viuage. "Its out of your way," said CatL- arine, with more truth than polite ness. ' "I don't care," said Eliza; but she walked so slowly that Catharine pro tested: "You act dreadful queer, Eliza; are you sick or anything?" "No," answered Eliza. She said good-by to Catharine at the gate, and then she waited some time before she began to walk toward home. The sun was setting and pour ing a golden glory over the world, but it all seemed dark to Eliza. She walked more and more slowly. Her head was hanging low, so that those who passed should not see the tears In her eyes. What was the matter? She took out her handkerchief and felt the ten cents In the corner. She was coming to the postofflce now. Up that street she had trundled Dav id to his new home. Eliza stopped and threw up her head. "David!" she called; then went up the road like a deer. The maid of the lady who had pur chased David had just said at the door of an upstairs room: "A little girl to see you, mum," when Eliza pushed past her. Eliza was breathless; there were tear streaks on her cheeks; she threw herself on a baby sitting in sweet placidity on the floor. "Oh, David, David," she cried, "don't you know sister, don't you love Eliza?" . David gurgled and thrust the nose of a woolly lamb in Eliza's face. Then the lady who was sitting very, very near David said: "What do you want, little girl?" This i3 my baby, I bought him to day." "Oh, no, he isn't, he isn't, he's mine." Eliza caught David around his fat shoulders and dragged him toward the door. "I'll give you back your ten cents and your penny when I earn another, but you can't, you can't have him." "Wait, little girl, wait, you are hurting him," for David had begun to whimper. "Let me speak to you for a moment, dear." Something in the lady's eyes made SAID ABOUT FARMING." Eliza let her take David into her lap, though Eliza stood close by. "Once I had a baby something like David," the lady put her lips against David's curls. "And God took him away and and I can't have him back. You can have David back but don't try to give away or sell or lose anything that loves you. Some day there won't be so many and you'll want to remember that you always loved everybody God gave you to love. You should be very happy to have so many people." "Yes'm," said Eliza. "Here's your ten cents." "Thank you," said the lady. "Dav id is going to take the woolly lamb home with him and has he a pretty coat and hat? It's cool now the sun is down." "Mother is going to make him a nice coat when she has time," said Eliza. "I have one that will just fit him," said the lady. As they went creaking down tho driveway a little later David had on a pretty coat and hat and the woolly lamb in his arms. The lady walked beside Eliza to the gate. Then she said good-by. "Bring David to see me some times." "Yes'm," answered Eliza. "Good by." Eliza flew toward home with now and then a careful backward eye on David and the cart. Near her own house Mary came running toward her. "Oh, Eliza, where've you been so long? Mother's most crazy. She s afraid something happ.ened to you oi David." "There hasn't," Eliza nodded hap pily. "She might have known wouldn't let anything happen to Dav id." Congregationalist and Chris tian World. Intelligent Advice. Intelligent Rescuer (to skater who has fallen through) "Steady, oltf man, steady! Keep cool!" The Bystander. For the Younger Children... THE LITTLE HOUSE. Through all the happy summer time The Little House was ours, Hidden away among the trees, With neignbor birds and flowers. All day we played our summer plays, Bareheaded in the sun, But sought the funny Little House When playing-time was done. And patiently as any friend It waited all the while; The windows hailed us eagerly, The. doorway seemed to smile. But now, with summer birds and flowers, We, too, have gone away, The wistful, waiting Little House Is empty all the day. Think how the shivering trees are bare, And how the shrill winds blow About the lonely Little House All smothered in the snow! Think how the door is buried deep, The windows scarcely see, And no one drives away the crows Who gossip jeeringly! Dear Little House among the trec3, 'Tia lonely-time for you; But far away we wait and long, For we are lonely, too! Abbie Farwell Brown, in The Church mtn. A SCARE. "If you are not careful, Molly, that wheel of yours will be stolen." "Now, mamma, who on earth in this little town would be mean enough! " "There's no telling," said Mrs. Evans, "but you're altogether too careless; when you come home from school at recess you should not leave it out on the sidewalk; there are al ways tramps passing through, and unscrupulous people who wouldn't hesitate to go off with it." "Well, it would have to be a per son of my size who could ride it eas ily, that's all," said Molly laughing. "Good-bye, mummy, dear; nobody wants my own particular wheel, and I don't believe it would spin along for any one but me," and Molly mounted and was off, waving her hand as she turned a corner, with that utter disregard of her handle bar which always brought poor Mrs. Evans' heart Into her mouth. Molly stopped on her way back to school for her bosom friend, Annie Heywood, who always rode with her, and the two girls arranged to spend the afternoon on their wheels, for the day was perfect and the approach ing cold weather would soon cut them off from their favorite pastime, so they made the most of their oppor tunities. "I'll gChome and leave my books," said Molly, after school, "and you stop for me." "All right," returned Annie, "but 1 warn you to hurry. I won't be gone but a minute." Molly flung herself off her wheel and rushed upstairs. She had not been in the house five minutes, but when she came down her wheel had vanished, and there was Annie riding swiftly toward her. "Get your wheel," called Annie; "we'll go toward Wilson's wood." "It's It's gone!" cried Molly, with something between a sob and a gasp. "I seen a boy get on it," said a voice nearby, which belonged to little Micky Flannigan, the butcher's boy. "Why didn't you stop him?" a.;ed Molly excitedly. "Who was it?" "I dunno," said Micky, stolidly. "Looked like he owned it." "Which way did he go?" demanded Molly. Micky pointed toward tho east. The girls strained their eyes and saw a vanishing speck in the distance. "Oh!" cried poor Molly, "mamma was right, it was all my own careless ness, and now some one has gone off with it. What shall I do?" "Take my wheel and follow," said Annie heroically; "he's bound to turn to his right at the end of the street, and if you go the back way you can head him off. I'll wait here." So Molly mounted and was off, but the boy on the wheel passed the "heading off" place before she reached it, so he had the start of her in the race. He darted and twisted around street corners, made daring cuts across the road, coasted down hill after hill, always eluding Molly, who was in close pursuit. She could not get a good glimpse of him, but from his looks and the "tough" way in which he wore his cap, she was sure he belonged to the "butcher boy" variety, a constant menace in the little town, for there was quite a gang of them. Suppose she did overtake him! She never would have courage to claim her wheel, and if she did he would never give it up to one weak girl. All this time she was going like the wind, and he straight as an ar row in front of her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled with excitement. Suddenly the boy turned into a familiar street her own! A cry of astonishment escaped her, for he rode directly to the Evans' door and dis mounted, stood cap in hand, smiling and talking with Annie while he waited for her to come up. "Why, Tom!" she exclaimed, as she recognized her own brother's mis chievous, freckled face. "How could you?" j "Wasn't it fun? I led you a dance. didn't I? I always wanted to try that jolly little wheel. Much obliged, Molly, for my charming ride; but if you will leave your wheel standing unguarded on the king's highway you must expect " Before he finished his sentence the ' two girls had gone, but the prank, rough and boyish as it was, taught Molly a lesson which she never for got. Belle Moses, in the Washing ton Star. THE COW AND THE GATE. When I was a bucolic treasury clerk in Washington, the cow of an old Irish woman near by, used to peep through the cracks in my garden fence at my growing corn and cab bage till her mouth watered. Then she saw that a place in the fence yielded to me and let me in, so she tried it; she nudged the gate with her nose until she hit the latch and the gate swung open and let her in. There was an audible crunching of succulent leaves and stalks that soon attracted my attention. I hustled her out and sent a kick after her that fell short and nearly nnjointed my, leg. But she was soon back and she came again and again till I discovered her secret and repaired the latch so that nudging or butting the gate would not open it. How surely such conduct as this of the cow's evinces reason to most per sons. But shall we not rather call it the blind gropings of instinct stimu lated into action by the sight and odor of the tender vegetables? Many of the lowest organisms show just a3 much intelligence about their food as did the old cow. Even the American sun dew, ac cording to Mrs. Treat, will move its leaves so that it can seize a fly pinned half an Inch from it. The method of the old cow was that of hit and miss, or trial and error. She wanted the corn, and she butted the gate, and as luck would have it, when she hit the latch the gate swung open. But shall we conclude that the beast had any idea at all but the sense impression made upon her hunger by the grow ing vegetables? Animals do not connect cause and effect as we do bythinking the "there fore," they simply associate one thing with another. Your dog learns to associate your act of taking your hat and cane with a walk, or your gun with the delights of the chase, or with its report, if he is afraid of it, and so on. Without thi3 power of association, the birds and beasts could not get on in life; the continuity of their experi ence would be broken. It is a rude kind of memory sense memory. A sense impression to-day revives a sense impression of yesterday, or oi the day before, and that Is about all there is of it. From "Animal and Plant Intelligence," by John Bur roughs, in the Outing Magazine. HAVE YOU EVER PLAYED IT? The game that certain boys and girls we know like best is "The Den of Wild Beasts." Each player repre sents some ferocious wild animal, such as panther, wolf, lion or bear. Each chooses a tree or post or stone for hi3 particular den. As a signal for the game to commence, all make a terrible noise, imitating the animals they pretend to be. The most venturesome then leaves his den and advances toward the mid dle of the playground, where he dances around, trying to entice the other animals from their lairs. Sup pose the wolf comes out first. Per haps a lion and a tiger will immedi ately follow. Then the wolf calls out, "I'm after the lion! " f.he wolf starts in pursuit, and the lion tries to getl home to his den before being caught. If the wolf catches him he takes him back to his own lair, and there the lion has to stay throughout the rest of the game, unless the wolf himself. J is caught. No tvo are allowed to chase thj same animal at the same time, and the chase belongs to the one who calls "I'm after so-and-so!" No animal can be taken while he is bringing a captive home. It often happens that all the ani mals are in the field at the same time, each in pursuit of his prey. Then it is most exciting. Whenever the cap tor of an animal is himself captured, the prisoner is free to leave his den and go back to his own lair. The game ends only when all the animals are caught and imprisoned in one den, Home Herald. THE KITTEN'S LESSON. Here is a pretty little story about a cat and her kitten. The kitten, full of mischief, was fond of climbing fence posts, walls and trees. One day it climbed away up to the top of a cherry tree, and then, seeing how far from the ground it was, it got fright ened and was afraid to come down. Sitting off a little distance from the tree was the mother cat, looking at the kitten as if she were wondering what she could do to' get the young ster down. Suddenly she seemed to have made up her mind, for she scrambled up the tree to the kitten, and, pausing there a moment as i. to fix the kitten's attention on what she was going to do, she began to descend the tree slowly. She was ev idently showing the kitten how to get down. When she reached the ground she sat down and looked up at the kitten, calling to it with soft cries. and the little fellow, as if under standing what was expected of him, came down just as the mother had done. Busy Bee. Franco imports about 17 0 tons of hair every year, and about 100 tons of it comes from Cbina- GHHIST1JIII ENDEJIVDR MOT. MARCH TWENTY-NINTH. L'ame Missions: Progress in Philippines. Matt. 13: 31-33. ! An I3 land mission. Acts 13: 4-12 A cheering promise. Zeph. 3: 17 A deliverer at hand. Po. 72: 10 The isles shall listen. Isa. 49: 1--The teles glad. Ps. 97: 1-C. An island exile. Rev. 1: 4-3. i Proeress in the Philipninej denem not only upon the 'seed, but abo upi the roll, which was there before t3 came. J The seed3 of Christianity are smal a few schools, Sunday school; rubles, Christian Endeavor" Societie: churches; but they produce the gresi est of trees. The birds that lodge in the branch eg are the blessings of a Chrl3tiaj, civilization, comfort, safety, and peace, mw and hereafter. Christianity in pervasive like hea ven, blessedly Influencing the homo.5 farm, business, all life, cacred and; secular. Philippine Notes. The saloon is th greatest enemy of progress in the, Philippines, as it is the greatest foe to missions everywhere. Break It down at home, end you will do the most for missions abroad. Christian Endeavor came to tho Philippines in that splendid society on Dewey's flagship, the Olymnia. Ic speedily spread among the Filipino, and it is destined to be an important asjent in planting Protestant Chris tianity in those islands. There are about 1,723 islands in the Philippine archipelago, with an area of about 122,000 square miles. A glorious new empire to win for Christ. The population of the islands i nbout eight millions, nearly all of them Catholics, though, fortunately three million are Independent Cath olics. There are 270,000 Mohamme dans, 75,000 Buddhists and Confucian Ists, 260,000 Animists. A complicated task for the missionaries! All the largest denominations, and several of the smaller ones, hastened to the Philippines at the close of the war with Spain, and inaugurated . second war, with ' ignorance, supersti tion and barbarism. About 18,000 converts have beea made by our missionaries in the Phil 1 "nines. More than one hundred lit tie churches have been built, each a center of light In much darkness. Nearly 800,000 of the Filipinos speak English fairly well, and this is a great Lelp toward the spread of the gospei. There are employed in Filipino schools 800 American teachers and 000 Filipino teachers. Nearly half a million children attend these schools, -one of the most encouraging sina for ?.ie future. inpiir IS IL CUNDAY, MARCH 23. ' The Awakening of China and the Gsc rcl Opportunity. Acts 11: 14-26; Psa. 2.) This is tha story of the mission to Antioch, when the infant church de finitely accepted its call to preach to the Gentile3. At Antioch the disciples were first called Christians, and it is likely that Ihe name was given la contempt and derision. This theme has to do with one of the oldest of the nations. Its civiliza tion goes back of the time of Moses; its literature re3.ched high water mark before David sang. When Homer liv ed in Greece China had her ancient heroes. Printing and paper making, the manufacture of gun powder and other arts were known a thousand years aso. "A thnr.rr.nd years age the forefathers cf the present Chinese sold silks to the Romans, and dressed In these fabrics, when the inhabitants of the British Isles wore coats of blue paint and fished in willow canoes." China is a land of old faiths, curi ously Intermingled and confused. Tho one most distinctive is Confucianism, not to be counted in the strict sense a religion, but a system of conduct and morals. At its best it is a great preparation for Christianity. Budd hism is a'i imported faith, largely a matter of form, and modified from its Illndco characteristics, according to the genius of the Chinese mind. Taoism is the native religion, a sys tem of illimitable idolatry and tenor ism, with its dread of evil spirits and demons and its blind efforts to avert their vicious influences. All the? faltr? have failed, and there is today throughout the empire a new con sciousness of their failure. Wp are living in the midst o! China's most amazing transition. Things which have been considered permanent for thousands of years have changed within the memory of the youngest member of the Epworth Ieigue. Here are some indications. The time-honored examinations in the Chinese classics for candidates for public oflice have been abolished. An interesting article in the Epworth ' Herald for October 26, 1907, will show what Is taking their place. There is a general spirit of educational unrest. The ae-long love of he Chinese for education is taking new forms, and western learning is being substituted for the hoary native literature. The barbarous system cf foot-binding is being discontinued, to the intense r-j-l!ef of millions of women. The use of opium is being rapidly restricted, nnd will shortly cease to be a nation al vice. SPIRIT OF THE WEST. Young Lochinvar had just snatch ed the fair Ellen on his steed. "This will probably be the next amy test." he explained. Herewith he waited for the beauti ful combination of horsemanship ond marr.age to commend itself to gi?at Tnest Now Ynrk Sun. New Tork an J Pennsylvania hav raided the pay of school teafhers al r.u--t up to that of the day laborers ccti.3 tl.e Atlanta Journal.
The Roanoke Beacon and Washington County News (Plymouth, N.C.)
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March 27, 1908, edition 1
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