a little faster than I, and was directly in front of me when a shell caught up with me and took my leg off just above the knee.  You may notice I walk very lame.” (Which he did just then for effect).  “Well, the same shell took off the chaplain’s leg, and we tumbled into a heap.  The surgeon came up, and having a little too much booze, he got things mixed; he put the chaplain’s leg on me and my leg on the chaplain.  We were in good health, and the legs grew on all right.  When I recovered, I concluded to celebrate my restoration to usefulness, so I went into a saloon and said to the bartender, ‘Give me some good old brandy.’  He set out the bottle, and I began to fill the glass, when that chaplain’s leg began to kick.  The chaplain was a very ardent temperance man, and the first thing I knew, that temperance leg was making for the door, and I followed.  But what do you think?  As I went out, I met my leg bringing the chaplain in.”

That’s a very absurd story, a rather ridiculous one, but if the surgeon had made the mistake Mr. Beard charged, he would not have made any greater than is made every day at the marriage altar.  Young women, I would not silence the love songs in your hopeful hearts, but I would have every betrothed girl demand of her lover not only a loving heart, but a well rounded character and a reasonable store of useful knowledge.

A writer on this question said:  “This progress of woman lessens mother love in our country.”  Is that true?  Before the opening of a southern exposition, a mother of four boys applied for and was engaged as chime bell ringer.  Perhaps some saw in the selection a woman as brazen as the bells she would ring.  On opening day she played, “He who watches over Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps”; on New York day she played, “Yankee Doodle” and “Hail Columbia;” on Pennsylvania day, “The Star Spangled Banner;” on Kentucky day, “My Old Kentucky Home;” on Maryland day, “Maryland, my Maryland;” on Georgia day, “The Girl I Left Behind Me;” on colored people’s day, the airs of the old plantation; on newsboy’s day, “The Bowery” and “Sunshine of Paradise Alley;” then “Nearer, my God, to Thee,” “Rock of Ages, Cleft For Me,” soothed the tired Christian heart.  One afternoon she took two of her boys into the belfry-tower; one seven, the other about three years of age.  When they tired of the confinement, the older boy said:  “Mother, can we go out for a walk?”

“Yes, son, but don’t let go little brother’s hand.”

She was so absorbed by the music of her bells she did not notice the passing of time until the night shadows began to gather.  Then her older boy came running up in the tower crying, “Mother, I’ve lost little brother!”

She quit her bells and running through the grounds set every policeman looking for her boy; then she hurried back to her bells and began to play “Home, Sweet Home.”  It is said the bells never rang so clear and sweet.  Over and over again she played, “Home, Sweet Home;” some wondered why the tune did not change.  At last, while trembling with dread and eyes filled with tears, she heard a sweet voice say, “Mama, I hear de bells and I tome to you.”  The mother, turning from the bells, clasped the child to her bosom and thanked God for its safety.