The Cedarville Herald, Volume 12, Numbers 27-52

SMar found lorOo’* Golden 'ks the best. sarsaparillas. od m March, can depend t’s why it i, m t benefit or »r which itfs 9 yotir money o f its kind to, b(hor does renews and BystOrtv. Fo» ofulous aflceo r^Salt-rheum, joint Disease, it’s a positivt - Dr. Sago’s $500 for an info. I t isn’t •ss. 1 you, if they t you’ll find ian P 99 Methodist Par, A S a fe Rem edy . 0 Woodbury,N.J. LADIE3 .^U O ^ I.7 5 FOR BOYS *1.75 ''fit J G L A S XNfS&ffEN IttOFOUTKEM0H£f$ IKS, Mweyoordol. glss Shoe*. V tff and are the tnoa* red for the money, ither make*, a* h* s r*« hare w. L. 1pries tiamped oa kton, ]fa»*. riTL 'TE . -Mt dersseppljrlnsyo* ^-CENTRAL |TWASaChristmas morning,; A n d we, three ' maidens Bay, lliul each a lover’s token To mark the holiday: Maud’s was a stately mansion With towers and spires above; May’s was a diamond necklace, ■ , > And mine wos-r-Roland’a love." ~ i Maud's suitor,wasA banker, White-haired and stout and old; And May’s a proud patrician .With wealth at lands and gold. Hut mine was just a toller Content with humble part; Ho Imd but tbls to otter— A true and loving heart. »- Maud leads, within M r mansion, An empty life of show, And May's rich jewels cover - Aheart that throbs with Woe; But In my heart forever . . Love sings her joyous lays; She lightens all my. burdens And brlghtunB all my ways. itnre gems and stately mansions Are buf the price of gold; Butloveis aye Ood-glven And never .boilghtor Sold. Mis the. soai’s glad sunshine: - ,■ It Is tho heart’ssw eei rest; ,, And, rich or poor, m loving We are forever blest. Then ob, be glad this morning. If each a gift is yours, For gold,bought Joys nro changeful, But honest loye endures. , Though lowly-may your lot be, Iu royal state apart God crowns you. when He gives you. The love of one true.heart. * lv-Ailelaido D. Reynolds, In Springfield (Mass.) * liepubllcan. v. - aiatance with ' «e*s German lout fourteen .tracted a Cold loqrseness and . died me from a number ot g a Physician, .lief-T cannot he prescribed :ment o f your 1 a bottle, X aid permanent lever we have chial troubles osebee’s Ger- ■. our favorite vith favorable i, ’ hesitated to o f Its use to. found them uner.” R rv . YEW men live a m o n g more ’ d r o a ry s u r ­ roundings than ‘ the loggers who go e v o ry fall into: tfie ' great northern p i n e if forests, In one :of Aleck l’ormau’S' Camps, in northern Slmnosotii, accordingly, were located in the winter of lS—, some forty of the rough giants who- make: up these little communities They had settled for the season in the usual fashion and were looking forward with the lack of interest natural , under the circOm- stances, to a lonely Christmas, when the monotony of camp life was broken, i. It is seldom broken except in one way, and this Was in accordance with the rule. An accident happened. In tome mysterious way John Davidson, the oldest and most experienced man is the "gang,” managed to slip and fall partly under a falling trunk and was picked up senseless. 'The foreman, Charlie Andrews, was somewhat skilled in treating ordinary bruises and frac­ tures, and he examined Davidson care­ fully, expecting to find several of his bones broken, hu t none of them were, and the men' thought their comrade would soon recover. 1 Ope evening when Andrews had fin­ ished as careful an examination of the snfortunate man as he knew how to make, and had been able to get some .fewreplies to his questions, he said to ;the others: “I’m afraid it’s no use. I . daano what I kin do fu r him, He’s :Isrt inside somewhere* eil’ he seems (o!tefailin’ rapid. I reckon ho’e goin’ 1fcreash in,” ' - There was silence in the little gronp , fora few moments, and then Joe Pel- *los spoke up. Joe was one of the 'youngest men In camp, being only : twenty-one, but he wad almost a giant, [E-trybody in camp knew th a t Joe Was wry touch in love with Davidson’s daughter. May, And also th a t he r:J a very slender chance of winning iff. for he was A rathe r feckless gangster and the elder man was sns- pw!e«»of him, l)on‘t yon reckon he’d ought to W» jhVco to Minneapolis?” kAid Jo t. I ’’Yes,” said Andrews* “but Xdon’t -where he c«n get there in time, IHere's three foOt o’ snow on the trail *•*-, and there ain’t a team In camp ;tot wouldn’t break down on the road. * ’■Well,’* said Joe, very slowly, **H |f*wfellers ’ll make me a light sled to* i’ll pull him down. I t ’s dnly A tok over fifty miles, ah’1 reckon I kin I**to it In two dAys,” J Tdunno,” said Andrews, doubtfully. J »«k<mit’s likely y«S c*dg it through iJfwjtody could, but y e r m igh tf like- i j k f Break down, am* If yer d e ft’s All [% with yer.’V’ s ' Iknow it,” replied Joe, eoolly, “but nt risk it, i f I g it him home he may « * chance, An* If t don’t he w«n*t >u one off 'n he is now,** I ‘‘Yes, but you will,” said one of tlie other men. “ I'll take my chances,” said Joe again, and they a ll saw he was in earnest, One of the men, John Williams, of- fared to go, too, bnt Joe declined. * *‘H I k l° ffit through a t all,” he said, * win oo It alone, an* there's no use o1 more than one takin’ the risk. I ’ll turn in now r.n' git a good B le e p an* take an early start," Joe started at daybreak and John Williams insisted -o,n going a part of the way w ith him to lighten the work in some-degree. As they started every man in the camp gripped tho hand of the stalwart youngster in what each One thought was a last farewell. About noon Williams -returned to camp alone and almost broken down With fatigne. “I dragged the sleigh nigh five miles,” he said, “an’ I knew C couldn’t git back a t oil if I didn’t turn then. 8 6 1 turned. 1 tried to git Joe ter come hack, too. fir I don’t be­ lieve he'll ever git through alive, though he was. fresh enough when 1 left him. -Hut Jbe’s good grit, fie on’y clinched his teeth *n’ said he'was goin' ter make the best stagger he could to­ wards gittin’ thar. E f anybody bin, he k.in, but I reckon we’ve seen the last o’ both of ’em." Joe's. Story. - “You hnpw the -old man was wander­ in’ a bit before we started,” Jpe used to say, “an* the greatest fpar-1 had about the trip wub that he’d go clean crazy out thar in th’ woods, fur it seemed to m e ’s if I ’d go crazy, too, of he did, Ez ’twos, I sometimes think 1 kinder last my wits fa r a spell. ’Twos powerful hard work plowing along oyer jthe snow, ’specially where they ;Was, drifts, ’a ’ I reckon I m uster lost mor 'nfive or six mile goin’ round the biggest on .’em. Luckily, though, there wasn’t' many on ’em an’ the moat o’ the 'viray ’tvvasn’t so bad. "A’terWilliams left.me, 1 begun to feel, right away; one thing I’d dreaded mighty bad. ’n’ that was the awful loneliness o’-th’ woods. - The wind waa a, sfghln* through the big trees like it always does when they, is any wind at all, an* it sounded so kind o’ mournful that it. put all sorts o’ foolish, notions into my head. ’Beared like the very trees was sorry for me. an* that begin to make me feel sorry for myself, an’ sometimes I’d almost break down an’ -cry, “I was always kind o’ handy , about reckonin’ distances in, the ycoads, an’ 1 found 1 was makin’ just about two mile an,hour. I could ha’ pushed on I was ready to turn in. Then I stripped an* rubbed myself ’as well ’s I could with whisky and dressed-an’ wrapped up well, *n lay down, “Well, I slept tolable sound till nigh daybreak, though I had to git up a couple o’ times V feed the fire. Them some faster, but I knowed if I did ,I’d o’ny tire myself more, an’ 1 diflp’t dost to do th a t 1 bad plenty o’ time to fig- ger on the journey, -an’ the nighest could get"to it was, that if I could hold ont I might git somewhere near town the second night. I knowed 1 couldn’t git. oat o’ the woods in one day’s goin’, an’ they was no use tryin’ to travel at mights: among the trees. So, the days bein’ short, I reckoned on about twen- ,ty mile the first day; then sleep till daybreak, an then the best I could do towards tho other thirty miles, knoyred I ’d be in the open when the secondn igh t cnmejpn, an* if I had luck I might strike a trail, an’ mebbe git help somCwhar. ■I t was close figger- in’, though, an’ I made up my mind the one sleep ’ud be all I ’d git, an* the see ond day I’d have to go till I dropped, if it took me way in ter the night, I could steer by the stars I knew, if 1 once got away from the trees. “Long fowards night I’m darned if the old man didn’t git plntnb crazy. He hollered an* yelled an* struggled so to get ofl’n the sled ’t I was. afraid he’d break the fost’nin’s, hut AndrewB hod tied him pretty close, an he didn’t have ’TWAS FOWXBt’LI. HABD sense enough to try to untie the knots. I had to tie his arms, though, an* I tell ye ’twas somethin’awful. Thar I was, miles an* miles away f’m anybody but a crazy man, riskin’my life to save his, an* skeered to death for fear I’d be as arAijr as he was in a few minutes, a ty ia ’ him up to keep him fm getUn* Away. 1 got him fast, though, ap’ gave him a doee o’ laudanum that Andrews bad give me for him, an’ after a little ba mimed down an* went to sleep. ‘ “1 went along till ‘twas too dark to see the way any further, an* t knowed l*d got to camp out. They was a good many wolves ’round, too, ’n’ I heard ’em gittln closter and closter. I want’t afeerd of ’em ’s long’s 1 was awake, fa r I knowed how pesky cow­ ardly the critters are, till’ they ketch a feller down, hut I wasskeerd for fear they’d jump on us a’ter we’d gone to sleep, So I built up a rousin’ good fire. T h a t took time, but 1 made it o’ brash an’ ohopped up a yotmg tr e e ’t I I found, for logs, an in About two hour* blame wolves was too close to be coraf’- table. 1 c’d see ’em in the dark, smelt­ in' and yelpin’ more *afeerd o’ them, i 'round, but the fire *«’ they was I wa3 o' het “Soon as ’twas light I got up ’n’ some coffee an' took a bite, ’n’ Btarted. 1 was goin’ by the compass, o’ coarse, but l couldn't go in the dark, fo r not seein’ the way. Ye may think I talk too muck ’hodt the way I felt, an’ mebbe another man wouldn’t ha’ been akeerd like I was, but I was almost frightened to death for those two days. I knowed, though, 'tth e on'y thing to do was to push ahead, ’n' l did. The ole man hod woke up, an’ it seemed to me like he was a little more sensible ’n’ he was ihe day before, but he lay quiet, ’n* 1 didn't d*re to nay nothin’ to him fer fear ’t held start in yellin' again: He didn’t though, ’n’ then I got skeerd again fur fear he was dead. The fust th in g 't give me any cour­ age whatsouiever, was about dark ■ when I struck a trail ’t I knew must lead to Minneapolis. I reckoned 1 hod nigh tWelvo mfies more to go, but the A FEr.LKR GAME DRIVING AtOXO. ; : goin’ w as a h ea p easier, n a ' 1 h a d som e kdpe o’ m e e tin ’ somebody o r cornin’ to a h o u se w here 1 c o u ld g it a ho rse. “As it turned out I was plumb wrong all round, I was on the right trqil, to be sure, bu t I was more’n sixteen mile away f’m town. I reckon Pit traveled over fprty mile, but'I’d los}.morn’n I thought then, by no t goin’ dead straight. Then, ’stend o’ havin’ less to fear, I’d a heap more. 1 traveled along pretty well for an hour or two a'ter dark, ’n’ then I got sOdog tired I took a big snifter ,o’ whisky. , I hadn’t took any afore, fur I was afeerd o’ the stuff, never bein'- used to it, an* knowin* t ’would help me awhile an’ then leave me worse off. But I reckoned 1 was so near gone, an’ so, close to where I’d git help, ’twas time to tako I t Thar I was wrong again. The dumed liquor spurred me up for mebbe an hour, an’ then I kind o' lost track o’ the time An’ didn't seem to know much-about any­ thing, an* bimeby I . keched myself thinkiu’ it didn’t make much differ­ ence anyhow. I'd got ter die some time; an’ I might as well lie down and bo quick about it, an’ us fur the ole man. thar wasn’t much show fur him anyhow. \ “ I dunno how it w a s 't I Itetched my­ self up again; but I-knowed enough to know ’twas cold an' me bein’ so tired that done it, ’n’ 1 says to myself: ‘Joe, you’ve got to git thar fust, ’n’ then’s time enough to die. 1 studied on it fur a minute or two. and come to the .con­ clusion 't I’d got to hurt myself some­ how, so's the pain would keep me awake, ’n' I caught my little finger nail in my teeth ’n’ bit it off. Well, 1 had plenty o’ pain then, and I jumped ahead like a tired ox when you gad him deep “That lasted me for mebbe half an hour, hut I couldn’t tell nothin’ about the time. I ’d lost track o' that entirely. Then the cold began to numb me again. ’Twas a frightful cold night, an’ I dun­ no how ’twas the olo man kep’ Pm freezing to death. “Finally,*! staggered ’n’ fell, ’n’ just as I did, ’a’ thought to myself’t I wouldn't bother to git up fur ’twan’t wuth while, the ole man spoke up. I don’t think he’d said anything afore, all day long. 'Joe,' he says, speakin' sharp an’ loud, bnt not hollerin', ‘Joe, hear the Christmas chimes!’ “First I thought he was ravin’ again, but it started me up an* I listened, an’ sure enough the church bells was a- ringlti'. Boys, I never knowed afore what church bells mean. Talk about 'good tidings of great joy,’ thar never was tidings of joy came- to me like thein bell brought I t was Christmas eve, An’ I hadn’t never thought of it all day. Thar I was, within hearln* o’ the bells, an* givlft* ont. An’ I made up my mind I’d make another stagger, ’n* 1 struggled np again, “Twan’t no nse, though, I’d got plumb to the end o’ the rub, I plowed along a bit, bu t as I knowed a’ter- wards I must ha* gone clean off my head, fur I left the trail an’ wandered off somewhere, the Lord on’y knows where, bu t He must ha' been lookin’ out fur us, fdr I kinder wandered ’round, like, till 1 come back ter the trail agin, an* as luck would have it I come back ter the top of A bluff, An’ stumblin' Ahead, knowin* nothin', I went plumb oter, draggln’ the ated along With me. “Wall, we tumbled square Inter the 1 roadway. E f it hadn’t been for ths snow we’d both ha’ been killed, likely, fur we fell nigh fifty feet, - As 'twas I couldn’t git up, fur I was dead beat, an* the ole man couldn’t ’cause I hadn't untied him. 1 was skeerd to do i t But he wasn't hurt an’ he lay pn one side, expectin’ to lay there an’die, when he heerd sleigh-bells. Blamed if a feller didn’t come drIvin’Along with a fust- rate horse. Seems he lived out on the peraru an’ was goin* home f ra town, hut he was a good-hearted feller, an’ when he found out what the situation was he turned right away an’ took us into town flyin’. The ole man had sense enough left to tell him about it an' to tell who we was. “The feller drove right to the ole man's house, V we found they was havin’ a little Christmas party there, an’ nat’ral enough they was talkin' about the ole man when We come to the door. I was that tired 1 never woke up till tho next afternoon, an’ thei;e I was in bed in the ole man's house, with the doctor lookin’ a t me. • “He laughed when Hooked ’roun, an* asked whore I was, an’ he says: ‘I thought you’d be all right; soon os- you’d had your sleep o u t’ An’ I says: ‘Yes, I’m all right; b u t how’s the ole man?’ Theb.hc looked mighty grave, an’ he says: ’I can’t tell y e t He’s been hurt mighty bad, but 1 reckon maybe with good nuBsln’ he’ll come ’round mebbe. He would ha* died, though, if .he hadn’t been brought home.’ Then he shook hands with me an’ said .aU sorts o’ foolish things ’bout me bein’ 'a hero ,’stead, o’ what I am, a big man with tolable strong legs an' arms. But Lord bless you! what he said was nothin’ to the way the women took, on, when I dressed <an’ went downstairs. They hugged me, an’ kissed me till 1 was fairly ’shamed o’ myself, an’ the ole> woman says: 'Joe Pelton, you brought me iny husband for a Christmas gift, and I'll give you a wife fur yourn.* Then I knowed it were ,'all settled, ’cause I knowed the ole man wouldn’t never go back on what she said. An’ he didn’t, neither, when he got stronger’, as he did a’ter a b it lie Won’t never be strong like lie,wax, but he’s tolable well now, an’ -likely to live a good- many years. “ Well, them women made me talk a ll the afternoon ’bout tbe walk down f’m camp, an' when they wanted to know how 'I’d hurt my finger, an’ I told ’em, I’m blamed if they didn’t cry till I felt like a fool.”—Texas Siftings. li CHRISTMAS DOTS. —Christmas-tied~The miser’s wallet- strings.—Philadelphia Press. —The best clause in a man’s life— Santa Claus. "--Detroit Free Press. —I will honor Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year.—Charles Dickens. —Chicago girls never expect to got their stockings full on Christmas.— Dansvillo Breeze. —I t is along about Christmas time that country people do murder most fowl.—N. O. Picayune. ' .—•‘Santa Claus is really a very largo lerchant,” remarked Simeral. “How do you make that out?” asked Snooper. “He has alarge stockin’trade.”—J udgu ■—Christmas is n time .in which the memory of every remediable sorrow, wrong and trouble in the world around us should be active witiiin us.—Charles Dickens. - —A man should always remember that he is unusually lucky when he does not have to pay for all the presents his wife makes him on Christmas:—Judge. —“Well, Bobbie, said his father the day after Christmas, “aren’t you sorry Christmas comes only once a year?” “Oh, I d’know. If Dr. Squills has got to come the day after Christmas every time, I ’m raihcr glad of i t ”—Harper’s Bazar. —I t is a trying moment to a married man when debating with himself whether it is best to buy his wife a Christmas present or to use the money in settling the big bill which he owes a t the little saloon around the. corner. —Philadelphia News. MY CHRISTMAS PRESENT. You’re tblnkiug, xnsjrbc, whst you'll give To me by v ay of sweet reminder You're not forirouen tb st I lire— Tbe season's kind and you are kinder. Well, Christmas has no prettier trait Than this of gift and love expressing; ' We grumble as we pay tbe freight. But hearts grow Mg by purse compressing. But when you ponder In your mind Wbat shall it be! A book of versesf A case of razors, satin-lined! On# of those dainty little purses, All knit iu silk by yonr dear bands? A book mark with the motto ‘Mtzpah?” Let these go forth to other land *— But not to me—no, let me whisper; You’ve promised some day to be mine, To be my wife—my great home rater; I’ve waited moaths—how many! nine— From balmy spring to day*much cooler— So now, my lovs, I ask In rhyme, Pray name the day—the season's pleasant— Thus may your pretsnt be tho time, And let the time, too, be the present. —Pittsburgh Dispatch. law the Keonomy. A tan-year old hoy wag attentively regarding a Christmas tree which A woman had brought and left, outbide a store for a moment, when a man re­ marked: “See anything queer About it, my hoy?” “Takes a woman for economy," re­ plied the boy with a smile. “I was just counting. There are twelve good limbs on th a t tree to lick the children with after It has been nsed for Christ­ mas.”—Detroit Free Press. PERSONAL AND IMPERSONAL. —Because an Iowa farmer refused to fill out a mortgage blank th a t haAbeen sept to him by th e ‘census bureau be was arrested and bound over by a fed­ eral grand jury for trial. He had writtea to Mr. Porter to mind his own business and not be too inquisitive about private affairs. “ —A Massachusetts faimer knows a good thing when he sees it. The pu­ pils of the high sehooP a t Tatbam so- ■ llcited the privilege of husking bis corn- and furnishing the refreshments be­ sides, and he granted both. The young people had a good time and found enough red ears to satisfy them. —Sam Jones was the driver of a pub- . lie dray,in his. native town before he became a preacher. „His outfit was a small, rickety, rattling, ramshackle wagon and an old sorrel horse. He was a familiar figure a t the railway station, and his most profitable jobs were hauling drummers’ truuks to the hotel. —William II., the new King of Wur- temburg, is a man of simple tastes who will have little desire to sustain^ bril­ liant court ’ This is a great disappoint­ ment to the gay Wurtemburgers, who still hope that the new queen, who is hut twenty-seven, may induce the king to furnish the people with some enter­ tainments. —A man not overburdened with' a conscience dwells in Clinton, Me: He prldeB himself upon the possession of a 1 bird dog, who earns his bodrd. The dog, it appears, thinks that everything that wears feathers is a bird. He is in the habit of robbing tbe neighbors of their chickens and bringing them to his owner. Within the last month he has .,, brought home twenty-five chickens. —John Fiske says th a t the word “viking” should he pronounced to rhyme with “picking;” though the last edition of Webster still gives the “i” its long sound. As a matter of faoj the word is agrandilolent fraud. Thera is nothing of the “ldug” about it in reality, and it meant simply a man who dwelt on a vikr, or bay, and made, predatory excursions therefrom—a pirate, la fact —To the recent exploits of women explorers must be’added the adventures of Mrs. Littledale, who accompanied her husband, an Englishman, on a two years’ visit to central /Asia, during which they visited the Pamir plateau. They saw a great deal’of the scattered tribes which inhabit that inhospitable region. I t will be remembered that from the time of •Marco Polo until twelve years ago no explorer, had ever visited the Pamir. —A story is told'of a judge who be­ came so interested in the statement of ' a would-be assassin, who had just missed fatally stabbing his victim, that he exclaimed a t one point of the narra­ tive: “Ah, you should have struck more to the left!” The judge was the last man to have committed a deed of violence, but his surprise that the thing had not beon done more skillfully caused him„to forget the question of life and death which was involved. “ A L IT TL E NONSENSE." —Teacher—^"What are draft riots?” Pupil—“Quarrels caused by people not shutting the door.” —By a proud father— 11 overyono would think of me As my boy does, I wls To all tho world I’d Boom to bo ' Tho greatest man th e re Is. , —^pssie’s Pain.—Cora-1- “What did Jessie say when he threw himself a t her feet?” Dora—“Ouch! Murder! That’s my favorite corn!!!"—N. Y, Herald. —“I toll you,” said Murray Hill, ; “there’s an indescribable sense of lux­ ury in lying in bed and ringing one’s bell for his valot.” “You got a valet?” “No; but 1’vo got a bolL” —She—“Harry, toll me why do you think you love mo to distraction?” He ■ —“Oh, I know I do, because 1 feel to­ ward you just as I always do when I get acquainted with a new girL”—Bos­ ton Transcript —Country Farmer—“Ha! ha! is it re­ ally true that you poured boiling water down a hen’s throat to make her lay boiled eggs?" City Farmer—“Oh, yds, but my partner did still better—he tried it on a rooster,” —Father—“Come, now, my son; stop beating about the bush. Will you bring the coal?” Old Uncle John—“When I was a boy I didn’t beat about tbe bush much; if I was slow about doing an errand, the hush had a fashion of beat­ ing about me.” —A judge of the aupreme court has decided that the term “home" meads simply a shelter and not a support In tha t view of the subject one would re­ alize more domeatio comfort from an umbrella than from a lamp-post.— . Lowell Courier, —A Remarkable Resemblance.—Mr. O’Queer—“Faitb, our Johnny and Mag­ gie Murphyresimbleaaok other strong­ ly.” Mrs. O’Qaeer—“Sure, In what way7” Mr. O’Qaeer—“Why, its aetty teen. Both bis father and her father are hod-carriers."—Yankee Blade. —Mrs. La Mode—“Oh, I beg yon to take off that dear little bird. Semueh k being said about thia destruction of bird-life that I would not weir one tor tite world. Haven’t yon anytiling ekeF* Milliner (laying * 'rria8 <» toe bat)— “I hardly think we hare, madam, we are trimming with birds and wings al­ most entirely.” Mrs. La Mode—"That wing would do very wellwere It not a* small. If yon can get more of, that style yen may trim ithp With wings.* Harper’s Bazar, * .