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HomeMy WebLinkAboutExeter Advocate, 1904-8-11, Page 70MIRR51.1- I A JOURNALIST'S I STORY,. * • + jali • wf-a+0+0+0+114.0+1,+*+04-31- of The editor strode up and down the length of his ,oftlee, his hands thrust in Ids a -trouser pockets„ his gaze on the carpet, and apone as he walked. "You write the real stuff, Mr. Johneen. 'The Derelict' was good. It greppedr ye asked you ro call because I should like you to give Me more. Nine men out of ten, in telling the tale of et human failure, would do it in the stereotyped style of the ha'penny newspaper reporter. You're the tenth. I have in my miiid a -series of articles' dealing with. the submerged types of this great city. What do you say?" "What can I say," said the young man, gratefully, "except that I thank you for the opportunity and will do my best?" -t"That's settled then," said the edi- tea, staying in his promenade and regarding his visitor with a cheery tonne. 41. will give you a suggestion for the first article: 'A Night on the Embankment.' '" . . ,"Very good, sir; I will let You have it to -morrow," said the young man, taking up his hat. The editor held out his hand. His ',men eye noted the shiny coat, and -tis warm grasp evidenced his "Been down on your luck, my lad, he said. " 'The Derelict'—your ewn story, perhaps?" The journalist glanced down at his broken boots, and his face iluehed. "To my shame, yes," he said. "I was like many another young fool, and threw away my chance of happi- neas by an act oftfollv. To -day, un- der an asstuned name, I am a recruit to the arnay of _grubbers. Your cheque meant food to me." • "So bad?" said the editor. "Well, , Nil despera,ndum, you. see, my lad. Why, even 1 can remcreber the days when the cupboard was bare, editors callous, aad the landlady voracious. in after clays I shall be proud to, think that I discovered you. That girl, now, in the story—the girl who should have been your wife—who 'Items? The story may have a se - 'Never" cried the young man, dejectedly. "-The day I fled to save myself from punishment I dropped oat of her life. She could not mar- ry a cantemptible thief—and I was "that." ''You never hear of her?' said the editor, turning to his desk. "Indirectly, yes," returned the other; "and ,1 know the past still lives -for/ her. • She is a writer too. One of her stories appeared in last week's 'Universe.' There is a note of sadness i»i it that tells me, who can rea.d between the lines, she is not happy, and the thought is worm.- ood. But why should I trouble •you? Forgive me!" he• editor passed his hand through his grizzled hair, and a queer smile illuminated his rugged face. "I am a married man of twenty • years with several olive branches," • he observed, "But if I were in your shoes I should wipe out the stain and marry that girl. You can do good work,my lad. Do it, and heigh ho! for the wedding bells. • Good morning." "He's a good man," he remarked to himself, when the doer had dos- ed. "Mustn't let him go to the dogs." Waistline a stanza from a popular tune that had taken the town he ing the ey- iat Lan •od bes ay rce-- ••. aid 145 od o t� to, ch' tie ts. elf. es, be 111 tEL af P- ee ef e j iy- watch will necessitate the playing of •a part and take aou into strange places, Can you and will you un- dertake it?" "I both can and will," sae replied, unhesitatingly. "It is the aflame I have hoped. for, You are very good to single no out of -all the crowd. I Win not disappoint you." "Capital!" he said. "Now, I will give you an idea for the first article: 'A Night on the Embankment.' Does that frighten you?" "Not at cell," she returned, "Are not tbe pollee always with us? YQU shall have that article toeramaow." "Very good!" said the editor, laughing, as he opened the door, "Until to -morrow, then, Miss Riv- ers." "That a man's woman all over," he •muttered, as ae etrode to the window and peered over the flowers in the box that adorned it to see her trip across the street. "Beautiful: soul and body, if rm any judge. Those wedding bells ought to Xing. It's the proper. ending to the story. And, by George! they shall," * 0 • * * •• The' reverberation of the last son- orous note of Big Ben's midnight chime was dying away when a shab- bily -dressed man slunk past the po- liceman on Westminster Bridge and terned along the Embankment. Pull- ing his cap well forward over his eyes and thrusting his ,hands in the podkets,of his ragged coat, he leaned against the parapet and gave himself up to reverie. On the bridge a succession of ve- hicles and hurrying pedestrians con- tinually passed: Away eastward a traia naoved, like a fiery -scaled, spit- ting dragon, across the • river. •Be- hind him the sky howed red from the glare of the west, for London's hour of sleep was not yet. Beano him• flowed the dark river, serried with the rippling streams of silver from the Embankment lights, gurg- ling and lapping against the wall, holding him under its mysterious spell, and imbuing his being with a strange sense of unreality. . The thought of the millions of hu- man creatures who had gaaed upon it as he did, and, their little span of years ticked off, had passed like so many shadows, brought home to him with all its force the lesson of ittan's frailty, and he shambled on for a -time oblivious to the Material world about him, racking his mind With vain conjecture. He was brought abruptly back to earth by a sudden encounter with the form of a fellow -creature. The wo- man, who had been leaning on the river wall, dreaming too, recoiled from the impact, and mechanically he stretched out his hand and caught her. "Beg pardon, missis," he mutter- ed gruffly, "I didn't see yer in the sha.deler. 1 wus dreareina • "Orl right, mate," she returned, in the high-pitched voice of •the genus. "No 'arrn done. I wile in the clalels meself, an' never 'eard yer." "Sorter grips yer, don't it?" • he. said; hoarsely, looking over the wall. "I could look an' look au' see zny wbole bloomin' life tlowin' datue on the dark water jest like the pic- turs on a cinematograrf. And the hum orl abart yer—jest like a hive of honey bee.s, ain't it?" "1 WUS thinkin' 'ow peaceful an' caIra it seemed dp.an theer," she said. "I've orften wondered wot a wretched woman's thoughts wus a's• she gized at it jest before givin' 'erself up to its arms, an' I think I begin to understand. 'Coyne,' it seems ter s'y. 'Leave behind orl the misery an' shame. Come ter me an' find rest an' peace."' The young man edged a /ittle clos- er and clutched the arm beneath her "lassie," he muttered., "you rapidly dashed off a couple of let- warn't a-tainkin' o' chuckin'—" • ters and, throwing down his pen, sat for a space with his chin in his hand. "No, we won't let liim go to the • logs!" he enuttered, touching his bell. '• "Get me last week's "Universe,,"' _, he said to the clerk who answered it. I "Sharp!" . In a few . moments it was in his hands. here we are. 'As we For- give,' by Ella Joceline Rivers." He turned the ha.nelle of his desk- • telephone and called a number. "Halloa!" he said. "That 'Uni- • verse'? Put me through to Mx. Maybew. .Ali; that you, Charles? .Morning!• I want you te giVe awle the a,d:dress of Ella Joceline Rivers. I think I can place something in • her way, if you would. Just a mo- • ment • while I take it down:. Now, right away. • Thanks very much." Taking a telegram -form he scrib- bled a message and sent it out to be dispatched. This done, he settled • down to a spell of work, unbroken until lunch-time. •--"" At three o'clock precisely a clerk broughtehina a. card. •' "Show Miss Rivers up," he said. • He rose to his feet as the young lady entered the room, and advanc- ing took her hand.• "By George, sa's pretty!" he thought. "As pret- ty as they. made 'ern if she'd only smile. I'll make her." "Sit down,* Miss Rivers," he said, cheerily. "I have read your story in the 'Universe,' and I should like you to do something for me. Cart you?" The girl toyed nervously with her glove, and gazed at him for a mo- ment at a loss. His smile was in- • fectious,. • "I want work," she stammered, sealing too. "That's gent!" he said. • "I like your toech. 'Woe see things as they tire, and have a very telling style. • Now, what I had particularly in my mind Was Et Feriae of real life pice tures, In this great Landon of ours • there are thousands Of Poor creat tures eking oUt a bare .existence in strange and terrible weye—the home - •less, the prey of the sweater, and • many others. Tao tale of their lives would hotke good reading, awl a tle eight, *'• •-ten may do some She snatched her. arm .free and laughed. "Not me!" elle said. "I ain't that sort." • , "I'm glad," he said. "Don't, you believe the voice of the river when it calls like that. It may promise rest, but arfter, missis—that's the bloomin' nut' -after! 'Ere, come aw'y; it ain't 'ealtby. Gives me the creeps." • • "Ain't you got no kip to -night?" she asked him, as they walked away together past two or three seats al- ready occupied with their nightly quota of homeless. "Not the price of a fourpenny doss," he . returned. • "Abisolutely stony? But I ain't grumblin'. There's many a bloke eatorsin,' on 'is downy bed in Belgriva as can't sleep a peristain' wink: Ain't much better orf than me, anyhow. So wot's the odds?" "You're a philosopher," she said. In her natural voice. The young man started. They were in the shadow, or she might have seep the growing wonder in his face. "S'elp me, hut when you spoke then 1 thort it wus somebody W1171C0 knew,'" he said, presently. "You're new to this gime, ain't yerr • Carn't erer get a show?" She stopped soddenly as • the thought • struek her that this man, who. appeared so friendly, might be useful to her in the furthering of her purpose, and she determined to trust him. "Oh, rm simply doing this for fun," she said. "Tell me, would you like to earn a couple of shillings?" His hand went out towards her, and ho stood as if turned to stone "Would you?" she queried. "Wotclier givin' nie?" hie whispered hoarsely. , "I must explain," she said, draw- ing herself up to her full height. "I'm not so down on nay luck as appear. l'ra a journalist, out here to -night to • gather material for an made. Now, if you would ac- company Inc as a bodygeard, you understand, !lust to see that I don't .corrie to grief, I will pay you for your tremble/ I want te talk to some oitf thesel poet, destitute peo- ple.•What do you sty?" As the wends came from her lips a ping her by the shoulders he endeatr- ored t ee her face, "Come under the lamp," he pant- ed, "X aniat to look at you,'• ," "Very well," she said, disengaging herself front his grasp with a short like to stePePe'i llygou,t°1:twooard should . in the. story, you know," Together they came beneath the light, and, as her face was revealed, he stopped dead with a hoarse cry on his "Ella?" he cried. And then again, 'F'1 --.1a'"?' • She started, and gazed closely at thlios,:ise.vt.00prkhienngvtfeci3hgasped,turesewide- eyed and trembling at tbe sudden recogni- For a few • moments neither could atter .another word, Ashamedly he hung his head, and the woman, not- ing his disreputable appearance, saw hint gradually fade away behind the mist. "Has It come to this?" she falter- ed, presently, "Oh, no; don't pity me," he said. "I, too, am playing a part. I am not so poor as I seem. I am wonder- ing if Fate could show a stranger co- incidence or a more cruel jest than our meeting to -night," "Why 'jest'?" she murnurred, "Have I not longed to hear of you every hour since that day? Stephen, why did you not confide in me?" "1 was a fool, and worse!" h -cried, remorsefully. "1 dared no face you,, knowing myself, a crimin al. X had hoped you had forgotten ine and, in the love of a worthicn man, had found happiness. I cannot condone nay folly. Let me say God - Speed, and go--" • "There could be no other," she said. "Listen, for I must tell you, The day when you, knowing the dis- covery of your defalcation was im- minent, tied to escape the disgrace, Watson, any father's cashier, who knew of our affection and was your friend throughout, came to me and told me he himself had put matters right. The old man, iu the kindness of his heart, found excuse for your folly, and begged me. if I knew your whereabouts. to demand that you should return to your duties, I could not let him suffer by his generosity, and insisted that the right of repay- ment was rain°. Until the day of his death my father never could un- derstand ;Your sudden disappearance. In his eyes you were the soul of in- tegrity." “Ella." cried the young man, chokingly, "what you tell me ma.kos my • crime seem a thousand times worse. was a poor, weak fool. The gambling passion had me in its clutches, and the money went to pay my debts of honor. Since that day I have never touched a card, nor never, so long as I shall live, will I. 'Watson was a true friend, Heaven bless him! Rad I but known would have condoned, and things might have been different. The toe-. anent and privations of the past two years have been* none too heavy a punishment, and, I think, have made me a stronger man. Only in a stress of work have I been able to put my shame away for a time." "And you are succeeding?" she asked. "The struggle has been a hard one, but to -day the tide is with me," he said. "I am here to -night as a S•pecial Commissioner for 'The King- dom.'" • "What, you?" she cried. "Why, I too am a 'Kingdom' Special. 1 have promised an article for to -morrow on to -night's experience. The editor wired for me but this afterneton, and after saying complimentary things about my story in the 'Universe,' suggested 'A Night on the Embank- ment' himself:" The young man stared at hex; then a faint smile crept over his face. "You play the part of one of these homeless ones to perfection," he said. "And you are the dead -beat to the life," she retorted. • " "Let us sit on this seat," he said. "I alao saw our friend the editor this enorrting. A story of mine call- ed 'The Derelict' had taken his fancy and he wanted more. I scarcely know how it happened, but before I knew it he had gleaned it was part of nay life story." • "I read it," said the girl, softly. - "He gave inc the suggestion for this night's work," he explained. "That is why I am here." • "Did you mention me?" quieried the girl, wonderingly.. "Yes, I told him of your 'Universe' story," he answered, and then he stopped as a • sudden thought struck him. "Do you • think he meant us to meet?"' she queried persistently. • "Ella," he said, taking her two unresisting hands, "f scarcely dare hope for forgiveness." "Stephen," she cried, "1 feel sure the artful schemer contrived this with a motive. But how about nay article?" "Ale!" said Stephen, "wo mustn't disappoint him. But first of •all tell rne--" • For answer her arms crept round his neck. * * * 0 ellift****-14* About the fl�use • THE LUNCH BASKET. Paolcing a lunch basket initiates the .donaestie routine in thousands of homes every work day moreing • of the year, and is considered by the majority of housewives one of the most irksome duties demanded of them, not an account of the labor involved, for that is insignificant, but because of 'the ever-present • and perplexing question, "What shall go into 'the basket that, while satisfying the desires of the appetite, will at the same time serve the individual needs 'of , the body?" For the out- door laborer, who is constantly exe pending large amottats of heat and force energy, requires food contain- ing a 'greater proportidn of nitrogen- ous, .that is to say' flesh -forming and muscle -making properties, than he of sedentary habits, who needs rather feead rich in phosphoric or nerve and brain -building elements. Cold victuals at best are relithed by few; Consequently, when preparing and packing a lunch basket attrac- tiveness should hardly be a second 0 eoneicleration. In the 'first place, t •pro:yide a dainty basket—onehaving a cover is to be preferred—and keep it sweet and clean, a thing next to • impossible whe'n leather lunch boxes or tin dinner pails are used. Feed shut up in either for several hours will have a close smell. - • Baskets on the order of the picnic hamper on a small scale may be had for a slight advance in price, and Will prove a most satisfactory in- vestment. "las a mean lunch which' does not boast its napkin or pristine fres.hness each day. For this purpose it is better matuegement to buy the small fringed napkins that come six in a set than to draw upon the regu- lar table .supply. Every well regu- laied lunch basket has its own silv- er, that is, knife, fork, spoon, salt shaker and drinking cup, of dainti- est pattern, and kept bright and scrupuloesly clean. A goodly -sup -ply at oiled paper for wrapping each article of food separ- ately should be kept conveniently to hand. This paper costs a. mere trifle, and coritributes untold attractiveness to a packed lunch. By its use sand- wiches, cheese, chicken, fruit and cake are preserve-cl intact, and there is no conengling of flavors. For holding the etc:wad fruit, bouil- lon, salad, delicate custard and like savories, ahich do so much toward making the cold lunch palatable, pro- vide small glassen heving screw tops So much for the accessories; as to • the lunch proper, advice can only be preferred in a general way, for, as has been already said, individual re- quirements must determine of what foods it shall consist. It would appear that scurcieviches‘ are the rightful inheritance of the lunch basket, for they are always to be found in it. And yet 'tis not ev- eryone who understands the knack of making a wholesome and appetizing sandwich. One often sees thick slic- es of bread dotted with chunks of butter and inclosing tough and scrag- gy hunks of meat masquerading un- der the name, but they can -justly lay no claim to it. The first requisite for the making of a sandwich is sweet, well baked bread. Cut in thin•symmetrical slic- es or rounds and spread with a thin coating of butter before slicing.. Ar- range the slices in pairs with a sav- ory lining between, and you have a sandwich that possesses the virtue of being as good as it looks. T.he fill- ing for the 20th century sandwich is not confined • to ham, tongue and beef, as formerly, but the range ex- tends from flesh to vegetables, and includes fish, • fowl, fruit and nuts, the last-named being excellent as a substitute for meat. Cooked vegetables, as a rule, are not relished coal, though there are exceptions. A. glass of cold stewed, toinatoea. nicely seasoned will be en- joyed for a change if one is fond of tomatoes. Baked beans are as good cold as hot, and will always receive a hearty appreciation from the bean lover. On "bean days" cut out meat as both are equal in food value. Salads should be a prominent fea- ture of the cold lunch. Well bleach- ed tender stalks of celery, washed clean but not dried, then wrapped in oiled paper, will remain crisp for hours and are always relished. Do not forget the bit of cheese, which is not only nutritious, but aids di- gestion, when putting up the cold 11111dirdi 0narily, something to drink is not considered a feature of the cold lunch. It sometimes becomes a nec- essity, however, eapecially if the wa- ter supply be of questionable purity. When it is ad-visable, procure two - flat -sided bottles with screw-top lids. Such bottles take up littie room and will safely convey the railk, cocoa or lemonade as the case may be. Use the bottles alternately, in order to keep them sweet and clean. • SELECTED REMES. The editor stood in the window, watching his two contributors cross- ing the street. On the opposite side they both locked up and, seeing him smiled. Ile smiled too, and waved his hand. "1 feel as pleased is if—as it I'd just been married," he laughed, as he turned to his desk. "I must teU Maria about this. 1 really must. She'll be deliglited."—London Tit - Bits. HOW TO CATCH ORDWS. In order to catch crows, whieh do so much damage to the growing crepe, Italian farmers have taken to placing small pieces of meat in carat:al-shaped paper bags and smear- ing the inside of these bags with glue. When the bird puts las heed in and titida hineself blitalfolded, he flies wpward 1,0 anninernense beiglity ood. 11. I; f;ueltstu. Work, work sudden trnpu se Solved h ni; aad grtp- but falls ;dear his st,artnig-place. Tutti Fruit—This is made in a va- riety of fruit juices. Almost any- thing available may be used, and a number of juices mixed; sWeetened to taste and eat upon ice, Currants end raspberries make one of the most de- lectable drinks. Crush the fruit and strain, add sager and Water as de - Sired. Rhaebarb, juice may be ex- tracted by -cooking, and this, added to currant juice, with sager and Wa- ter to taste, rnakas a most refreshing• : drink, and is available earlier in tho Season in the North than some other fruit drinks. Ooffeeade—ThIS is a drink rarely used, but it is a Most delicious one, Blake aufacieat coffee and etrain int° a ptidier. Set upon ice Witil watt - id. • It May be setsred With plain ereatn, with Rugger al desired. A tete; spoollifnl of vanilla to a quart of cot - fee 'cloce not hurt it; and some peo- ple consider it an, imProYeaterit. Orangade-Pbjs is much, better if with the juice from the oranges is Mixed that of ono lemon to four or - imps. Either lemon 'or orangeade is better if the fruit is sliced and covered with sugar, and the sugar is crushed into the 'fruit, This ex- tracts some of title flavor from the rind, and gives that peculiarly de- sirable taste that lemonade made just with the juice leeks. The same taSte may ,e gained by grating the rinds or part of the lemons or or- anges. If the lemonade is to stand this is better, as any lemonade made with the sliced lemons will soon turn bitter from the white Skin, width, gives a bitter flavor to anything. In putting up lemon or lime juice for picnic parties, or for keeping for fu tare use, it is better to add some of the grated rinds. Be sure riot to get any of the white part. Ono may crush bananas and add to either le- mon or °ranged% and give an en- tirely distinct flavor. It would be well in *Using these to put tifroug'h fine sieve. The juice from canned plums is delicioos, and will bear some reduction witli wetor. Currant jelly may be dissolved, and this, too, makes a delicious drink, Black cur- rant jelly is also used in this way, and many invalids relish it. Frappe—This is made from a corn - ablation of lemons, oranges and pine- apples, and is one of the niost am- brosial drinks known. The rinds aro grated, say from one-third of the le- mons and oranges used. The juice is extracted, the pineapple is grated, Mid the fruit is covered with crushed sugar if loaf sugar is used. The pine- apple especially should be macerated in suger for some hours until it is thokoughly seasoned through. The lemon and orange juice will readily dissolve the sugar without letting it stand long. Mix the juice when ready to serve, and add ice water as desired. An impromptu vessel was once used to serve this beverage at a wedding. A glass that is used by grocers to cover whole cheese was put into use by being inverted. Af- ter inversion it makes quite a little ocean of frappe when filled. Yotnig girls, daintily dressed, served this to all Who desired it, through the entire function. Iludkleberry Sponge Pudding.— With a sharp knife remove the in- side of a good sized sponge cake, leaving a wall 2 inches Oldie. Cook the berries in sugar, but do not let them lose form. When only warm fill the calce box prepared, and be- fore serving, warm again. in oven, watching that it does not dry. Whip sweet erearn stiff and with a • large spoon arrange in fluffs on top of pudding. Currants and Raspberry Dump- ehortca.ke recipe, roll and cut into squares 5 inches. Add * cup currants to 8 cups raspberries. Fill squares, fold over the crust from point to point, having generously sprinkled with sugar. Rub a little butter across paste and bake in ov- en. Serve with following raspberry sauce: Beat 1 egg (white only) stiff; add 1 cup powdered sugar, 1 cup mashed ,berries, a cup sweet cream. BLA.CICBERRY RECIPES. Blackberry Dumplings—Sift 2 cups flour with 2 level teaspoons baking Powder and a saltspoon salt. Beat 2 eggs very light with 2 level tea- spoons butter and 2 tablespoons su- gar. Acid the flpur to this mixture and beat to a smooth, thick batter, adding more flour if not thick enough. Stir in lightly 1 cup black- berries which have Wen washed, drained and floured. Drop the bat- ter by spoonfuls into a pot of boil- ing water, cooking only a few at a time. Cover closely and boil stead- ily for 10 or 12 minutes. When done, serve at once with orange hard sauce. Blackberry Flummery—Cook 1 pt. ripe blackberries with 1 qtwater for 10 minutes without stirring. Mix 4 level tablespoonfuls cornstarch in a little cold water and stir it in- to the fruit. Cook until the mix- ture thickens. Add sugar to taste, andestir until the sugar is dissolved. Cook for a few minutes longer, then remove from the fire, turn into a mold., and set aside td cool. Serve with cream and sugar. A delicious breakfast dish in hot weather. THE PRETTIDST GIRL. When young M. Blake consented to meet an unknoWn second cousin at the railway station his sister Kate told him that he could not help knowing her as soon as he saw her because she was so pretty. Thus equipped, he went to •the station. In the waiting -room he saw a young woman in dark blue sitting near the bookstall, and after a look or two he approached her and ask- ed:— "Are you arise Bradford?" "No," said the young woman, "I am not." "1 hope you will excuse me," he bastened to sa3r. "X am here to raeet a Miss Bradford. She is my cousin. I have never sem her. MY' sister Kate is the only .one in our family who knows her. Kate intended to meet her, but she is ill with a cold, and the dotter forbade it; so I had to come. She told rae I would know Jennie beeause she is so pretty. 'She is thco prettiest girl you ever saw,' ICate said. 'Just pick out the pret- tiest girl in the station, and you'll be sure to find Jennie.' So that's what X did, I hope you're not 'vex- ed." The young wornart blushed. Young Mr. Blake sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, with an- other sigh. "1 don't know whom to ask next. I don't see anybody ease who tomes up to the description. Perhaps COUSA1 Jeanie didn't Mee," .A. tall girl in brown sat near the girl in blue. She now rese and look- ed gene over Mr. Blake's /lead, . "Yes, the did," she said, with much dignity. • "011," said Mr, Blake, "are "Yes, 1 are," said the brown szmams CaltEAT EXPL(XITe Mark 'Mt/minis PluraormM 3taference TO It, • Although the 101110 01 Sir Henry Stanley, who died in Leaden xne May 10th, will rest on his •explora- tion a the tippet' Congo and of comae aerial Africa., it is his search, far David Livingstene through the 'Afri- can jungles and 'his finding of the 'missing missionary. at Daiji on the shore of Taaganyaka, tha4 ppeals most to tbe dramatie feeling of the world. In "Eccentricities of Gen - bus" Maj, J. B. Pond quotes a Witty reference to this achievement, whith was made by Mark Twain in intro- ducing Mr. Stanley to a Boston au- dience. "r am not here to disparage Col- umbus," said Mr. Clemens. "No, I won't do that. Efet when you come to regard the achievements of these two men, Columbue and Stanley, • from the standpoint of the difficul- ties they encountered, the advantage is with Stanley and against Colum- bus. "Columbus started out to discover America. He didn't need to do any- thiug at all but sit in the cabin of • his • ship, hold his grip and sail straight on, and America, would dis- cover itself. • Here it was, barring; his paesa.ge the whole length andt breadth of two continents. Ile' couldn't get past. it. Ileal got- to discover it. "But Stanley started out to find. Doctor Livingstone, who 'VMS stat- tered—scattered abroad, as you may% say, over the length and breadth of a vast slab of Africa, as big as the. United States. It was a blind, search for one of the worst scattered' of men." In October, 1870, Stanley started• out from Bombay on his search fort Doctor Livingstone on behalf of two' newspapers. The great missionary! and geographer, on the last sad trip of his life, had plunged into the, heext of Alai= from the east coast in• the spring of 1866. For free years he had been fighting for his life against the ravages of fever and disease, contending vainly, against. his old foes, the slave -traders, and' wandering.slowly about, studying the regions to the west and south of Tanganyika., cared for and aided by the natives, who reverenced him as a superior being. Stanley. moved Minna from Zanzi- bar in the spring of 1871. 'By. June he had reached Unyanyembe, where he was again. delayed. At last be was able to proceed into the vast wilderness, somewhere in which was Livingstone. Whether Living- stone bad gone across, toward the west coast or had tried to Move northward toward the Nile valley - Stanley did not know. The fact was that Livingstone, ini extremity, had returned to Tangan- yika, and had reached Ujiji. There,: where new supplies should have reached him, he learned that all had: been stolen. He was alremet hope - Jess, an, old man, 111, alive, witli; only the friendship of a few native tribes between him and death. In the nick of time Stanley arriv-. ed, after a month of wandering and. terrible. hardship. The meeting be-, tween the two was • most dramatics To Livingstone it meant new life. It buoyed hina up till all the hardships were forgotten. Together the two explored Tanganyika, and then went meek to Unyanyenabe, where Stanley provided Livingstone with new sup-. plies and a new party of faithful blacks. The old missionary return- ed to, the jungle, to die a few months later, and $tanle3r retraced his steps. to give the world the story of his I achievement. • —xt LAST DAYS OF POETS. Calm Passing Away ef Words- worth and Other Favorites. The death of any one is affecting, but that of poets seems more sq. Campbell on his death -bed said to his niece, "Come, let us sing praises to Christ!" and pointing to the bed- side he added, "Sit here." "Shall I pray for you?" she said. "Oh, yes,' he replied, "let us pray ofor each. other." The next day at a moment when he appeared to be sleeping heavily, his lips suddenly moved, and he said, "We shall see—to-mor- row," naming a long -departed friend; .and on the next day he expired with- out a struggle. Mrs. Browning died in Florence, in the house of the Casa Guita Windows and she sleeps in the English burial ground without the walls of the city. So long a sufferer, her fatal illness was but of a week's duration. The "beloved" sank to rest tvitb her beloved ones around her. Her last words, as her eyes opened into the light, were: "It is beautifule" During Wordsworth's last illneset his wife said to him very gently', "William, you are going to Dora," a favorite daughter. He made no reply at the time, and the words seemed to have passed unheeded. More than twenty-four hours after- wards, as one of his nieces was draw- ing aside the curtain of his ahem- ber, and then, as if awakening from a quiet sleep, he said, "Is that Dora?" then qaietly breathed his last. MUSIC LENDING LIBRARY. There is shortly to be started in • London a music lending library on lines similar to those that have been worked so successfully for literature. Subscribers will be able to seo the latest mete, and try it over at their leisure. All the standard Scores in best editions, e.s well as the latest publications, are to be catalogued. The following scene occurred in a • truly rural school:— 'reacher (to literary eleseaa"Noer, give me some Words like 'bertmann•" First Smart: Schohne-"Bedew," a:act:awl Dittate- • "Ileclaub." 'Third Ditto—"Bespat- ter." Fourth Stupid • Scholar. tptompted by first smart scholaraa- "Begorra!" - • It isn't • ,always Pale te Joden girl in Wornertaa coMplatiou by tam label on the box.