Commit to Memory
the best things in Prose and Poetry, always including good Songs and Hymns. It is surprising how little good work of this kind seems to be done in the Schools, if one must judge from the small number of people who can repeat, without mistake or omission, as many as =Three= good songs or hymns.
Clear, Sharp, Definite,
and accurate Memory work is a most excellent thing, whether in School or out of it, among all ages and all cla.s.ses. But let that which is so learned be worth learning and worth retaining. The Franklin Square Song Collection presents a large number of
Old and New Songs
and Hymns, in great variety and very carefully selected, comprising Sixteen Hundred in the Eight Numbers thus far issued, together with much choice and profitable Reading Matter relating to Music and Musicians. In the complete and varied
Table of Contents,
which is sent free on application to the Publishers, there are found dozens of the best things in the World, which are well worth committing to memory; and they who know most of such good things, and appreciate and enjoy them most, are really among the best educated people in any country. They have the best result of Education. For above Contents, with sample pages of Music, address
Harper & Brothers, New York.
PRIZE-STORY COMPEt.i.tION.
SECOND-PRIZE STORY.
An Exciting Game. By Nancy Howe Wood.
It was when I was a struggling young physician in a small country town that I pa.s.sed through an adventure which I would not care to repeat, although now I can plainly see its humorous aspect.
I had but shortly before graduated from a medical college, and was trying hard to get my living in a little village where there were two other older and more experienced doctors. I was becoming greatly disheartened, when one day, on my return from a visit to a poor woman of the village, I found an official-looking letter awaiting me. I opened it with some degree of excitement, and was astonished to find that it was an offer to me of the position of resident physician in the Blankville Insane Asylum, situated about two miles away. A salary was named which seemed a fortune to me, poverty-stricken as I then was. (I afterwards learned that the offer was made to me through the efforts of an influential friend.)
At first the letter gave me unlimited joy, and I shouted like a school-boy; but when I began to think what it would actually mean my heart sank. All my life I had had a nervous horror of insane persons, and if I should accept this offer I would be obliged to stay with them, eat with them, and live among them almost as one of themselves. At this thought I fairly shuddered, and was forced to confess to myself that I could never endure such a strain on my nerves, doctor though I was.
The next morning, however, when I again read the letter, the offer seemed so tempting that I said to myself: "Pshaw! I will not be conquered by an attack of nerves. Come, brace yourself up, man. Why, a few years at that salary will be enough to set you up for life!"
Nevertheless, I determined to go up the following day, and _look over_ the place before deciding on my final answer.
So early the next morning I presented myself at the asylum, all my nervousness gone. I was so politely shown about, and everything looked so orderly and well cared for, and the grounds without seemed so peaceful and quiet, that I was delighted with it all. My misgivings had almost vanished, and I had so nearly made up my mind to accept the lucrative offer, that I said to the smiling and complaisant guard who was acting as my guide:
"Tell the superintendent that if he will kindly allow me to stroll in the garden and think the matter over, I will give him my final answer within the hour." So saying, I began to pace up and down the flower-bordered walks.
I was by this time in such a well-satisfied frame of mind that I promptly dispelled the last remnants of my former nervousness.
I was just on the point of re-entering the asylum to say to the Superintendent that I gratefully accepted his offer when I was startled by the sound of crackling twigs behind me. Turning quickly, I found myself face to face with a man whom I supposed at first to be one of the guards. But as soon as I moved away from him to go toward the house he sprang forward with hand outstretched to clutch me, uttering an idiotic chuckle. Cold shivers chased up and down my back as the thought flashed upon me that it was an escaped patient! With a shriek I ran down the path at the top of my speed, my fear increased by the sound of pursuing steps behind me.
I doubled and turned on the track, striving to distance or elude my dreaded pursuer, but in spite of my frantic efforts, he kept closely at my heels. Finally in one of my windings I was confronted by the six-foot stone wall that surrounded the asylum on every side. Glancing backward, I saw that the maniac--as I now knew him to be--was almost upon me, and, making a desperate effort, I succeeded in reaching the top of the wall.
For a moment I fancied myself secure: but my pursuer darted behind the shrubbery, and pulled out a small ladder, evidently used by the gardeners. Seeing him thus prepared to follow me, I hurriedly dropped to the ground outside, and scrambled to my feet just as the lunatic"s head appeared above the top of the wall. Again I had only a short start before he was once more on my track.
And now began an exciting race "over brush, brake, and brier"; sometimes I stumbled over a protruding root and fell headlong, but was up again in a twinkling; sometimes my pursuer was so close upon me that I could easily hear his panting breath. At the end of the first mile and a quarter I thought myself done for, but my college training, which, luckily, I had not forgotten, stood me in good stead, and I desperately ran on.
"Oh," thought I, wildly, "where are the villagers? Isn"t anybody near?
But there was no road leading out of the village in that direction, and few people pa.s.sed that way. At last, after years, it seemed to me, we entered the village, and tore at full speed down the main street. If I had longed before for some human soul to help me, I now as earnestly prayed that I might un.o.bserved gain my own door, and so be safe. But no; some small boy, busily engaged doing nothing, soon raised the cry,
"Say, here comes the fresh young doctor a-tearing down the street like a steam-engine!"
Then, almost tired out, and seeing the door of a small house standing open, I dashed in, pa.s.sed through the hall and dining-room, where the astonished family were sitting at dinner, and out into the back yard, where, completely exhausted, and utterly unable to run a step further, I dropped behind a barrel.
My hope had been that the people of the house would have understood my predicament and stopped the madman, but they evidently had not taken in the situation, or else he had been too quick for them, for from behind the barrel where I had concealed myself I could hear him come through the open doorway and search the yard for me.
And now I feared that my panting breath would betray me--and it did, for I heard his stealthy steps approach the spot where I lay quaking, and his ugly, leering face peered round at me, and he sprang forward and touched me, calling out, as I fell back almost fainting with terror: "_Tag! You"re it!_"
In an instant the meaning of his words flashed over me, and I cursed myself for my foolish nervousness. The confounded fool had taken it for a game of tag!
By this time quite a little crowd of villagers had gathered around me, and the escaped lunatic was secured to wait for the arrival of his keeper, and I managed to reach my home, after being fortified by a gla.s.s of wine.
It was several days before my nerves recovered their usual steadiness, and it is perhaps needless to add that I did not accept the situation.
The Helping Hand.
The Lancelot Chapter, of Newtonville, Ma.s.s., has nine members, and each earned twenty-five cents. Then the Chapter added a little, and the secretary forwarded $3 with the best of Lancelot wishes Names of the contributors are Ella A. Gould, Marion Drew Ba.s.sett, Adella J.
Saunderson, Ethel T. Gammons, Alice L. Harrison, Esther H. Dyson, Lulu Ulmer, Mabel Glazier, and Hazel L. Bobbins.
The Edison Chapter, of Bangor, Me., send $2 for the Fund. This Fund is, you know, to help build the Round Table Industrial School-house at Good Will Farm, where poor boys are educated. The Table is raising this Fund, and it asks contributions from all who want, first, to help chivalrous young persons who are trying to help others, and second, to help in the best possible way boys who need help.
Any sums, sent by anybody, will be thankfully received and acknowledged in the Table. Members of the Edison Chapter, which sent the $2 the other day, earned the money folding and carrying papers, getting out ashes, and washing dishes--truly practical methods of being truly generous.
Founders of the Order of the Round Table want $1000 to complete this School Fund. Who will help them?
From Some Far-Away Members.
The Table loves to hear from far-distant places, and to have members tell us how their country looks, and what the people do. Here is news from three friends:
SPRING CREEK, MARLBOROUGH, NEW ZEALAND.
New Zealand is a far-away country to you, yet I have seen some letters from here. The town I live near is not very large. It is subject to floods, and last year the water came thirteen times into some of the shops. I have not travelled about much, so I cannot describe to you my journeys as many other girls do. The North Island of New Zealand is very volcanic, especially near the centre. There are many hot springs there, some just warm, and others boiling. The Maories, as the natives are called, boil their potatoes in them, by letting them down into the springs in baskets.
Out of one of the volcanic mountains the lava that streamed down the sides was a pale pink. It was formed into terraces all down the mountainside. On another mountain it was much the same, only the terraces were white. A few years ago a great eruption caused them to entirely disappear. Since then some brown ones have begun to form, but they are very inferior to the former ones. When the eruption took place there were loud noises heard almost all over New Zealand. Many people who lived near were wellnigh smothered with mud, and for miles the country was covered with ashes and mud, in many places several feet thick. Most of the deposit was of a steel-gray color, and just like knife-polish in texture. My younger sister and I collect stamps. As yet we have very few. I have seen letters asking for girls to write and exchange stamps. I would much like some girls to write to me, and send the stamps of their countries. In return I will send them New Zealand ones.
JEAN CHAYTOR.