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About The Nebraska advertiser. (Nemaha City, Neb.) 18??-1909 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 18, 1898)
THE NEBRASKA ADVERTISES W. TO. 8ANUEKH, rnhlUtier. NEMAHA. NEBRASKA. ALONE. That's little Jimmy como on, Jim, And kIvo tlio madam here your hand. 1'vo had much worryln' with him Since his mother1! burial, and It Bccms sometimes Ills words'll make My heart, In spite of strlvln', break Always askln' where sho Is, And longln for his mother's kiss. I ain't a tryln' to forget 1'rlBcllla's memory, you know JePt want to bo resigned, and yet He of'en makes tho teardrops flow. Jest now, when up the rond you come, Ho couldn't see you plainly from The place ho wus his hands he'd clap, And cry: "There's mammy comln', pap!" Sho ust to sing fiomc melcrdy At night when uottln' him to sleep; Ho misses It and comes to me, And In my lonely armH will creep; An' "SlnK to me like her," lie says, Till 1 again can see her face, And see the smiles she had for me. And ull the days that ust to bo. Will T. Hale, In Chicago Tlmcs-Hcrald. mtittMMiitiuMMMtiiWNMMti I "A Child Shall Lead Them," 1 BY EBEN E. REXFORD. Hmmmmwmtmmmfmmfmfffi' LITTLE Davie wns n cripple. He hnd never been able to stand upon (1iJb feet. His poor, shrunken limbs 'were weaker thou a baby's. "He'll oiover walk, the doctor says," Davie's father said to the workmen In the great factory on the afternoon when lie first brought the little lad to stay among the whirring wheels nnd turning spindles until day's work was over. "You see, he don't often get out of the house, and I thoueht maybe he'd like to sec the factory, so 1 brought him along." And thcu he made a rude little bed for tho boy out of his coat In a place where he would be in no one's way, and left him there to amuse himself as best he could while he went to his work. The work men noticed that often he looked over to Davie and smiled a tender message to him, and the little lad would nod back to his father and smile, too, or give a wuve of his thin little hand, as if to say: "I'm all right, father, don't worry about me." "Jle's a bright little fellow," the work men thought, as they looked at thb boy und saw what a sunshiny look there was in his face, in spite of its pallor. And when he saw that they were look ing his way he would smile nt them, as if to say that he would be glad to make friends with them, and that rare, sweet smile of his went straight to the hearts of the men, and they were loving, loyal subjects of the crippled lad from that ilrst day of his coming among them. When the factory shut down they came and spoke to him nnd said they hoped he'd come again and often, for his bright face -was like sunshine in the dusty place, though they did not put it in just those words, but what they snid meant that. And Davie said he would be glad to come whenever his father could bring him. So it 'came about that he was n frequent visitor after that, and you may be Bure that when he came again he did not have to get along with one poor coat for a bed. Jle could have the cout of every man In the factory if he wanted it. It was not long before he knew the men by name, and always he had n smile for them or n word of greeting. Now and then a man would bring him an apple or some other little treat like that, and the lad would say "Thank you" so sweetly and so gravely, but always with that smile about his eyes thnt more than once the eyes of the workmen got misty as they looked at him, for out of the thin little face shone the light of a world that -was not far away, and they felt that he was not to stay with them long. "You've got a dear little boy there," the superintendent of the factory said to Davie's father one day. "He's got a knack of making everybody like him. I don't see how he does it. He doesn't seem to make any effort, but the men are all stanch friends of the little fel low, I see. He's got on the good side of them in some way." "He was always that way, sir," an swered Davie's father. "There's some ;himg nliout him that seems to draw folks." And then the man looked over to the boy with a nod nnd a smile, but the superintendent noticed thnt when he turned back to his work a tear was trembling ou his lashes. Very likely he was thinking of a time not very fnr nwny when the little life would be end ed on earth, nnd henceforth it would draw his thoughts and his heart heaven ward. Little Davie brought a wouderful in fluence for good into the factory. Men who hnd been rough and rude of speech nnd action spoke in gentler wny when he wns there and behaved in mnnlicr fashion. One day two of the workmen got angry and one began to swenr at the other. Little Davie heard him and his fnce grew very grnve and snd. "Come here, please," he called to the angry man. It seemed as if the lad's influence was irresistible, for in the middle of his quarrel he turned away from his opponent and obeyed the lad's command. "Oh, don't say such wicked things," cried Davie, reaching out nnd getting hold of the man's hand. "Flense don'tl Don't you know that God hears you?" The man looked about him in a Btartled wny, for the boy's enrnestmnn ner made it seem almost as if God was In the room. He turned away with n sober face, nnd went back not to his quarrelbut to his work. And that night, when the factory bell rang, he went to the mnii with whom lie had had trouble, and told him that he wns sorry for what he had said, and the two men came together to say good night to Davie, and tell him that the trouble was over. "Oh, I'm so glad 1" he cried. "So glad 1 And God's glad, tool" And his eyes shone so thnt the two men looked at him in a kind of awe, for it seemed as if there was a light in his face unlike uny they had ever seen In nny other face. So, in his gentle, loving, "drawing" wny, the little crippled boy preached a sermon powerful for good to the work men in the fnctory. "One might as well try to be mean before one of the angels," one of the men snid one day. "I guess he Is uu angel that's got strayed away from the place where he belongs," said another. "I can't help feeling just thnt way when I look at him. He'll ilnd his way back to the place where ho came from before long," snid another. And then the men, with grave and thoughtful faces, separated, and each one of them went home with a tender thought of the child who hnd come into their lives with a ministry of good. One day they noticed thnt Davie's father's face was graver than usual, and thnt ho did not seem to care to talk much. "He's got some trouble, I think," said one of the men. "I wonder if it's nbout the boy?" And his voice dropped into a gentler key. "I'll ask him." So he went over to the silent workman and said: "How's the little fellow, Thorpe?" Little Davie's father looked up at the question, nnd opened his lips as if to speak, but no words came. His chin quivered nnd two big tears rollqd down his cheeks. The questioner put out his hand It was the only wny that occurred to him by which he could express his sympathy unobtrusively and the two men felt their common brotherhood as never be fore as tihey stood there with clasped hands. Love and sorrow drew them to gether as nothing else could have done. Soon It came to be understood that little Davie was drifting out of this life slowly, as a leaf goes down the stream. When his father would quit work he would be sure to find something left with his belongings to be carried home lo the boy an npple, a toy, a little pic ture, or perhaps a bunch of garden posies and though he often tried to voice his thnnks, he nlmost always failed to sny more than "Davie'll be glad," and then the tears would come. "Poor fellow, he loves the boy with all his heart, doesn't he?" one of the men said one day, as Thorp, went away. "But that's nothing strange. I'd like to know who could help loving him? J can't." "You'd be n worse man than I ever took you to be if you didn't love him," was the response of his brother work man. "Why, men, I'm a better mini than I was before I knew him, though there isn't much to brag of, ns it is." It wns e-oou understood that little Davie was so weak that most of the time he kept to his bed. "He can't last much longer," they snid. Then the men get together nnd had a little talk among themselves, nnd one of their number wont to see the superintendent. "We want you to let Thorpe oft from work," he said. "We'll make up his time for him. It's on the little lad's ac count, you know. We thought he'd like to be with him as much as he could, sir." "There'll be no work to make up," was the superintendent's reply. "1 didn't know it was so bad. Send Thorpe to me." "I've just found out that your little boy is Biek," he suid. "You are to go home and stay there until he's better. Your wages will go on the same ns if you were here. The boys proposed to make up your time for you, but they needn't trouble themselves about that, It's all right. You should have told me about this nnd I'd have arranged mat ters before." "It's very kind of you and the boys," said Thorpe, drawing his rough hnnd ncross his eyes. "It's been hurd work to stny here nil day nnd think of him so sick r.t home, und maybe wishing for me. Thnnk you, sir; I'll tell Dnvie about it." Then he put on his coat nnd hut and started homeward. But at the factory door ho stopped and turned about nnd faced the workmen, who hnd not yet finished their dinner, and said, simply: "I've found out nbout it, boys. It was very kind of you, and I thnnk you, nnd I'll tell Davie." Many of the workmen went out of their wny night or morning to nsk about the little lad. And always the re ply was the same "A little weaker than yesterday." Every day the children of the workmen came with flowers from tho little home gardens, or from the fields nnd pastures, and the sick child's room was kept bright nnd beautiful with these expressions of love and good will. One dny Thorpe appears at the fnc tory again. But'the men knew that he had brought no good news when they looked into his face. "Davie'd like to sec you once more," he said, nnd then the strong man broke down nnd he hid his fnce in his hands and cried like n woman. There wasn't n dry eye in the room when the superin tendent came in. "The fnctory will be closed for the re mnlnder of the dny," he said, when he was told what Dovic's father hod sold, and then he went up to Thorpe and gave him his hnnd in n wnrm clasp, and mus ter nnd man met on common ground nnd felt the kinship of life's universal sorrow. Tho workmen in the fnctory will never forget their Inst interview with little Davie. He was so pale, so thin, thnt he seemed more shadow tlinn sub stance ns he luy propped up in his little bed. When they came up to the bed side he spoke eneh one's nnme nnd smiled oh, such n wnn, white smile but there wns something so sweet nnd unearthly in it that more than ever they thought of nngels. He thanked them for remembering him in so many ways. "I think it was because you loved me," he said. "Sometimes when the pain wns very hnrd to bear 1 thought thnt and, some way, it seemed to make it easier. I used to like to come to the fnctory so much. But I shall not come there nny more, I know that. That's why I wanted to sec you ngnin." Then by nnd by: "It's going to be lonesome for futher when I'm gone, I'm afraid. Make it ns ensy for him us you can, won't you? He don't sny much, but he feels your kindness, 1 want you to be sure of that. You've been so kind, so kind, nnd I hope you'll think of me sometimes, nfter I'm gone. Maybe I shnn't know nbout it, but I think I shall, nnd if I do I shnll like to think that you haven't forgotten me." The next dny little Davie died. The superintendent called to offer his services. "Let me know what I enn do for you and it shnll be done gladly," he said. "Thank you, sir,"' answered Thorpe, "but I don't think there's anything to do." "I'll hnve the hearse sent round " "Thnnk you, sir," said Thorpe, "but I'll carry the lad. 1 think Davie'd like wifjisaxtoiff THE CHILD ASLEEP IN IT. it better that way. He was used to it, you know." On the morrow was little Davie's fu neral. The workmen had bought a white coffin for the child nnd the neigh bors, as they came in, brought flowers so plentifully that it was almost hid den beneath them, It wns unlike other funerals, because everything about the room was so bright and beautiful, and suggestive of life rather than death. The little form in the white casket seemed a sleeping child, so peaceful was the face that looked up from the pillow purple with pansies and sweet with lavender nnd rosemnry. The minister prayed just a simple, tender prayer such as goes right to the heart of things, nnd seemed to say: "Peace, be still." . And then the chil dren sung a little song nbout Heaven and the angels, nnd after that the friends of the dead boy took their last look nt the beautiful face among the flowers and then went out, leaving the father and mother alone for a little time with their dend. Presently they went up the hill to the old churchyard, Davie's father walking ahead and enrrying the white coffin in his arms. When they came to the place where the grave was dug it was hard to believe that a grave was there, for lov ing handa had covered the fresh earth with autumn leaves and the grave itself was lined with flowers. "Suffer little children to come unto Me nnd forbid them not, for of such is the Kingdom of Henven," the minister said softly, as the coffin wns lowered into the beautiful grave. "Little Davie has gone to a land where there is no sickness. He is well there, thank God, well and happy. We shall miss him, but he has left with us the memory of a sweet aud beautiful influence that can not be forgotten and God be thanked for such memories. Let us pray." They btood about the open grave with bared, bowed heads, and it seemed, some way, ns if the place was near to Heaven. When the prayer was ended kind friends would have filled the grave, but Davie's father would not let them. "I think Davie'd rather have me do it," he said. "It's the last thing, you know," nnd then they went nwny quiet ly and left him to his tnsk. It was sun down before he went home.- The little HiWi ".'. .".WiM i.uWJl i T i Wll grave wns like a bed round which a lov ing hnnd hns tucked in the coverlet to keep warm and snfe the child asleep in it. "Davie'll know," he snid. N. Y. Ledger. THE BABY GORILLA. How It Mndc Avrny with IJu ChnlJlii'a l.nnt Itottlc (if Itrntidy. Of all Du Challlu's African experi ences the most delightful to me is thnt concerning the baby gorilln. 1 am punctilious in having him tell it me every time we meet, which is often. So I know the facts. Briefly they are these: Paul on his first trip to Africn passed two years in the equatorial forest. He was very young, not yet of uge. He hunted the gorilla, and shot a count less number of birds, which he stuffed. One day he snared n baby gorilla. The infant wns white at least gray and almost hairless and human. It wn-5, moreover, of nn affectionate disposi tion nnd nn inquiring turn of mind. Paul took to it aud superintended its education. The nlTcction was recipro cal, and the two were inseparable com panions. That is, until one unfor tunate day. In the equipment of an African ex plorer it seems that good brandy is a deplorable necessity. Paul had got down to his last bottle. He naturally looked upon it as a most precious pos session. In Africa It is invaluable in cases of fever, nnd drug stores there are from 1,500 to 2,000 miles apart. Ou the day mentioned Paul went out with his rille looking for game. The infant stnyed at home, apparently in disposed. Paul returned about sunset, and opened the door of his hut. He looked around, nnd then stood rooted to the threshold. No gorilla. Yet there was. For a thin, cackling cry from one of the rafters drew his attention to the interesting picture oi a child of six months nnd simian par entage, withqut clothing, sitting nsquat a beam, with a bottle his, aud his last bottle of brandy, and a human leer in his eye. The bottle was empty, aud as Paul noted the agonizing fact the gorilla, which was full, came top pling down on him dead. That may seem comic to 3011. It was very tragic to Paul. "Megargce," in Philadelphia Times. BUGLE CALL UNITES FRIENDS. Novel Expedient of n Tar to Find u Mnte' lloute. Wulworth was witness on Christmas eve of a striking instance of nautical ingenuity and fraternity. A sailor from her majesty's ship Ganges ar rived in one of the bide streets of the district mentioned in senroh of a ship mate, passing n briaf holiday with his parents, who lived somewhere there about, but whose address he had lost. He asked policemen and postmen nnd shopkeepers if they knew vher t sailor boy from her majesty's fleet lived, but none of them were able to give the desired information, and t lie dwellers in private houses, whom he summoned by knocks at the door, were equally de void of knowledge ou the subject. The gullnnt tar was slightly nonplussed at so many rebuffs, but at length he met a man with a barrow selling pnper decorations for Christmas. These hawkers always carry with them a Jong metal trumpet through which to announce their wares to the commu nity. The sailor gave the man a penny for the use of the instrument for one minute, nnd then sounded with nil his force the Ganges' "dinner call," adding: "If that doesn t bring out Jack, then he ain't in this locality that's nil." Sure enough, in less than half a minute a window was raised 50 yards further down the street, a nnuticnl looklng head showed Itself at the aper ture, nnd from strong, healthy lungs came the cheerful response: "Ship ahoy I Pull speed ahead, and here you nre. Why, the grog's been awaitln' for you the Inst half hour!" Thus the two found each other through u bugle call on a tin trumpet nnd spent a jolly holiday together. London Telegraph. A Few Nlclcnanicn. Nearly all the famous personages of history have borne nicknames. Ben Franklin wns "Poor Bichard;" Andrew Jackson, "Old Hickory;" J nines Mon roe, "The Honest Man;" Zachary Tay lor, "Old Bough and Beady;" John Quincy Adams, "Old Man Eloquent;" James Buchunun, "Bachelor Presi dent;" W. E. Gladstone, "Grand Old Man;" Daniel Webster, "Black Dan;" Sir Walter Scott, "The Wizard of the North;" Henry Mackenzie, "The Ad dison of the North;" William Cullen Bryant, "The Poet of Nature;" Itoger Bacon, "Admirable Doctor;" Washing ton Irving, "Goldsmith of Americn;" Charles XII. of Sweden, "Alexander of the North;" Fruncesco Albani, "Ann creon of Painters;" Pocahontas, "Lady Bebeccu;" Julius Jacob von Hoymon, "Austrian Hyena:" John A. Logan, "Black Jack;" Charles Dickens, "Boss;" Philip Sheridan, "Little Phil;" Marshal Ney, "Bravest of the Brave;" James Hogg, "The Ft trick Shepherd ; " Stephen A. Douglas, "The Little Giunf," Duke of Wellington, "The Iron Duke." De troit Free Press. Circulation of I'eiinlca, It is estimated that on an average each penny in circulation change hands 11 times a week. THE BABY IN CONVULSIONS. ItH I'nrcntH Driven to Dint ruction hy the Nnrne'n CitreleXMticMM. He wns n young nttornej, nnd he snt in his office preparing for the trinl of a case iu court on the morrow. Tho telephone bell rang. His wife was at the other end of the wire, nnd this wns her startling message: "John, come right home. Fly I Bnby is In convul sions. Don't wnit n " The receiver dropped from his hnnd with a crash against the telephone cab inet. He grabbed his hat and overcoat and shot for the elevator, pressed his finger upon the button nnd kept it there. He wns pale nnd trembling ns he entered the car, and he wns agitated when he left it on the first floor nnd dashed out into the street. He hniled an empty hack, gnve the jehu two dol lars, nnd told him to drive to his resi dence on n run. A terrific dnsh through the streets, nnd he left the hnek and ran into the house. Upstairs he went, nnd he found his young wife with their six-months-old heir in her arms. The wife was crying ns if her heart would break, nnd was making a good second to the baby, who was simply screeching at the top of its voice and kicking vigorously ns it yelled. She looked up nt the father and in sheer despair exclaimed: "Oh, dear, John, what shall we do? Bnby is going to die. Oh, don't stand there, but go and get something." John fell over himself getting Into the kitchen. He browsed uround until ho tipped over n pitcher of cream, broke n cut-glass berry dish, cut his ' fingers nt the same time and finnlly skipped back up the stairs ngnin with one bottle of castor oil, one bottls of Soy snuce, n cruet of vinegar, one pack age of baking sodn, one bottle of salad dressing nnd the hired girl's tooth brush. He hnd gone to get something. He had scarcely entered the room, step ping on the tail of his wife's Angorn cat as he entered, when his wife, looking aghast at his collection of remedies, or dered him out of the house. Then he did his first sensible thing. He went to the telephone aud summoned the. fam ily doctor on it "hurry-up" call. Within 20 minutes the doctor was bending over the child, which was still engaged in its nthletic performance to the music of its own yelling. "Give me the child, madam," the physician said, calmly, lie took the lit tie yeller in his lap and began remov ing its clothes. One by one the gar ments were removed, until the doctor arrived nt the article without which nc baby's wardrobe is complete, nnd then he began unwinding that. The bnby's screeches now became terrific, and John reached for a heavy window stick and said something about 'inhumanity to helpless infants.' The doctor pnid nc nttention to John, but turned the youngster over on its face across his knee. Then he slowly pulled a big safety pin out of the di garment, took it off and exhibited a place where the pin had passed through about n quar ter of an inch of the bnby's cuticle. He took from his medicine case a little vial of oil, anointed the wound and handed the nude little one back to its mother. With a look of disgust on his countenance the physician then left the house. In n short time the baby laughed. John looked at his heir, then at his wife, nnd then, seizing his lint and over coat, followed the doctor. That night at the hour of 12 John let. himself into the house with his night key. He slept fitfully on the sofa in the sitting room. He had got home drunk. Indianapolis Sentinel. THE FAST CURE. Often Tim cm Iletter Tlinn Any Kind of Medicine. It is a disagreeable medicine, and one thnt is sometimes very hard to take; but cures, often, when nothing else can avail. There are many people in the world who use it, nnd are enthusiastic in its praise. It has been known to demolish the hardest kind of a cold in a few days. A gentleman, whom the writer has In mind, always uses that method. He refrains from food, strictly and per sistently, day after day, until the con gested mntter, which has gathered as a result of the congestion -caused by the cold, has had time to pass along; which it does very quickly, when not clogged by the constnnt Introduction of new matter through the mouth. The old fool-proverb: "Feed a cold and starve a fever," has been respon sible for a great many deaths. It was at first probably a very sensible saying, until it became abridged, and in the shortening had its meaning entirely subverted. "Feed a cold and you wiil stnrve n fever," would be nearer the mnrk, and is probably what the old maxim meant, even if first used in its present form. You think you would starve to death, as a result of going without food for three or four days? You would do nothing of the kind; you would be all the better for the change especially, if, as generally the ense in colds, you nre not particularly hungry. This is not "dieting," it is throwing the diet wholly nside, nnd giving nature a chance to nrarnge things, and resume the orderly functions of the body. Every Where. A southern husking bee, with slaves, slnve drivers and nil, is to be one of the exhibits at the Paris exposition of 1000. h