The Dear, Worn Hand

1895

Few things are capable of touching one with a deeper sense of pathos than the shrunken, blue veined hand of one who is near and dear. Nothing brings a sharper pang of foreboding and a harder lump in the throat than the first time it strikes us that the gentle hand that soothed our childish pains and griefs and has gladly worn away its softness and beauty in our service is thin and withered, with purple veins that stand out like whipcords when it lies at rest. Such a hand ought to look more beautiful to those for whom it has toiled, whose suffering it has charmed away, than the fairest hand ever modeled by a sculptor. — Philadelphia Press.


She Felt Hurt.

Mrs. Wibble — I found my cook in the kitchen today crying because she had broken one of my choicest pitchers.
Mrs. Wabble — Was she so sorry?
Mrs. Wibble — Oh, yes! It fell on her foot. — New York Sun.