Little Giant Injector!! The Great Boiler Feeder. The Best Locomotive You can make it as HOT as steam can make it, and yet it will bring the water and go to work in two seconds. It should always be put above the running board, handy to the engineer, and any dirt may be taken out of it while the engine is running. We guarantee it to out-work and out-run any other, and give less trouble. One has been in daily use in Pennsylvania Railroad Shops for six years without any repairs. The Engineer on the express train from Philadelphia to Baltimore (which runs one hundred miles in one hundred and thirty minutes), uses the Injector instead of the pumps, and says he can run seventy miles without shutting off or touching the Injector. It feeds the water warmer, and you can make steam easier and more regular. We will send an Injector to any Superintendent or Master Mechanic, and if they desire it, will send a man to put it on. Try it for sixty days, give it the severest trial you can-now is the time to try them, in cold weather. If you desire to keep it you may do so by paying us list price for it-we make no charge for expenses for our man-or you may return it after trial. In ordering, No 7 are for large, No 6 for medium and No. 5 for small locomotives. Always state whether for copper or iron pipes, and whether Address for locomotives or stationery boilers. Rue Manufacturing Company 523 Cherry Street, PHILADELPHIA, PA. MIDVALE STEEL WORKS! WORKS AND OFFICE, NICETOWN, PHILADELPHIA, PA., MANUFACTURERS OF CRUCIBLE AND OPEN HEARTH STEEL, STEEL LOCOMOTIVE AND CAR WHEEL TIRES, Steel Axles of Every Description. STEEL FORGINGS UP TO 8000 POUNDS IN WEIGHT, Solid Steel Castings, Hammer Dies, Frogs, Crossings, Etc, BEST TOOL, MACHINERY, & SPRING STEEL, WM. SELLERS, Pres CHAS. A. BRINLEY, Supt. MARRIOTT C. SMYTH, Sec. and Treas THE MONTHLY JOURNAL VOL. XII Published by the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers. RESTORED. APRIL, 1878. Na miserable room, on the first floor, or rather in the basement, of an old tenement house, a young woman was bending over a bed, on which lay a man apparently very ill-perhaps dying. Indeed, in that dreadful room how could it be otherwise? The air was heavy with disease, aye, death. NO. 4. the love and comfort I should gain through them, could compensate me for your loss? No! Oh, no!" she cried. "Ruth, dear, you are a true, devoted wife, and I know how much you will mourn for me. But, oh, do you not know you will not lose me? I shall be only a little way off, dear-gone a little while before, that is all -waiting for your coming, love-hovering sometimes very near, I trust. Think of this, Ruth, and do not weep. Bear up a little longer, dear wife." On that cold December day the earth threw up bubbles of water through the great holes in the rotten planks, which yielded to every passing foot. There was a "Yes, yes, I will bear up. There is somefrightened look in the beautiful eyes of the thing that whispers, Be of good cheer'woman, as she bent still lower, until her ear something that makes my heart grow rested close to the lips of the sufferer. She strong. Oh, surely father can not hold his listened a few seconds, then quickly cross-wrath forever! Surely his heart will open ing the room to a cupboard, she took from to his child again! Ah, if he could know it a small bottle and drained its contents. how terribly we are suffering for our inHastening back she gently raised his head gratitude or disobedience of his and God's and said, in soft, pleasing tone: commands, he could forgive. You bear up, Harry. Try to live. Keep up your spirits a while longer-just through this night. To-morrow-oh, surely to-morrow-God will give us relief. Ah, do not shake your head!" she said. "Oh, I must give you more of your mixture, and brighten the fire; then you will feel better." "Harry, love, take this! Do, for my sake!" she continued, as a movement very slight but resisting was made. Slowly, feebly, the eyes opened. Such great, sad, suffering eyes. "No, no. You shall not try to speak as yet. Take this, love. There, now, you will soon be stronger. You had such a long coughing spell it exhausted you. Now, give me your other hand, and I will rub it as warm as this. Hush! Please, dear, do not try to talk yet." Starting up, she went to the cupboard. An instant more, and the hopeful look fled quickly from her face, and with a low, despairing moan, she sobbed: "No medicine, no wood, no food, andRubbing, and talking in coaxing, sooth-oh, God! not even a candle. What shall I ing words and tone, the gentle woman con- do, through this long, long night, as I tinued, until seeing how eager he was to watch?" speak, she said: "What is it, dear?" "Oh, Ruth, why did you bring me back? I was so nearly free-almost gone! You are not a wise little woman. If I were gone we would both be free from suffering. Your friends would find you then, forgive you, and take care of you and our little one." "Harry Harry! do not talk so! Can you think that all they could give me, all The terrible thought that, perhaps, she might be watching beside her dying husband, was not permitted to reach his ear. Dropping heavily in her chair, all the newly acquired strength seemed to have deserted her. She moaned; "No gleam of hope, no light, not even a ray—” "Yes, mamma, mamma, here I am!" cried a happy voice. An instant more, and little Ray, her darling child, sprang lightly into her mother's arms, clasping her own tightly around her neck, and almost smothering her with kisses. "How cold you are, my child," Ruth said, pressing the little form closer to her own. "Am I? I didn't know it. Never mind: I'm going to make a big fire, and make us all warm," "No more fire, to-day," Ruth said, sadly. "Oh, yes, mamma, for I've got lots of wood-I mean blocks and chips. And mamma, Billy Smith-you know his mamma is the washing-woman up stairs-he brought them home for me in his little wagon. Oh, 'deed, he's such a nice boy! And mamma, see here-Mr. Hartly, that keeps the wood-yard, gave me this. "A dollar! Oh, thank God!" Ruth cried. "Ray, my darling, this will save your papa's life. Run to the drug store and get the mixture, you know. And dear, a little wine, at the same place. And then hurry and buy two eggs and some crackersquick, love!" she said, wrapping the old shawl around the little one, and handing her the two vials. "Yes, mamma, I'll almost fly: see if I don't. And you, please, take the wood from Billy, or call him. He'll bring it, he's such a nice boy," Ray said, as she ran out. Ruth thanked the little boy, who insisted on finishing up his job by landing the wood near the stove. A faint smile flitted over her face as she looked into that of the "nice boy." His complexion was rather muddy, and quite repudiated Ray's statement that his mother was a washing woman. As the door closed after Billy, Ruth sank on her knees beside her husband, to breathe her prayer of thanksgiving. The fire was burning brightly when Ray returned. Another dose of the mixture, an egg, a little wine and a cracker soon worked wonders with the sick man. Ruth's cheerfulness was restored when she saw the happy effect. Ray told her mother that every day Mr. Hartly was going to give her blocks and chips; and she believed he gave her the dollar because she was like his little girl in heaven. "May I go out again, mamma? Tain't near dark outside. Do!" Ray pleaded. Ruth consented; for this little sunbeam had been almost reared outside, in the sunshine. From her baby days she had crowed and clapped her hands at every ray of light, whining and crying if the window blinds were closed, and crawling out into the open air whenever a chance presented. This love of sunshine and fresh air, and the freedom allowed the child, had given her the bright, happy nature, the strong, healthy little body, notwithstanding the suffering and privation she had endured. "Yes, yes-go," her mother answered; "for no matter what the air is outside, it is better than here." Rachel was the little one's name-called for Ruth's mother. name seemed not suitable for the merry, But this quiet Quaker laughing, sunshiny babe; so they called her Ray. A few moments and she ran back to say, mamma, and a little tea-and, mamma, "I've brought you some oil for your lamp, I've kept ten cents for myself; I might want to spend it." she ran out. With a comic pucker of her pretty mouth nel! Full Account of the Great Railroad "Evening Star! Evening Mail! SentiCollision!" yelled the newsboys. friend, Billy Brown, and entered into a Ray's face brightened. She found her solemn consultation, which resulted in a speedy decision. "I'd ef I was you," said Billy. "That's a good boy!" ended the confer ence. that is something new. "What! You want to sell papers? Well, But why not? Woand I don't see why they shouldn't be newsmen-folks are editors of papers, now-a-days, boys, too. Oh-ah girls, I mean. And now I think of it, that's -not exactly-newsjust what they have been always. Well, I've no time to puzzle my brains to find a title to suit the progressive females, either mothers or babies," said Mr. Trueman. You through that door and sit down by the fire. "There, little one. Go right in there It is dreadful cold and damp here. But don't go near him if he's writing; wait will see the master in that little room back. until he comes to you, and then ask him. Don't be afraid, he's not cross! Poor child! Poor baby! There is the best place for her. If he don't let her have papers he'll do betIndeed, it's hard for him to say 'no,' any ter for her. He's always kind to children. time," Mr. Trueman said, as he closed the door after little Ray. "Oh, my! ain't it nice in here? 'Deed low, well satisfied tone, as she approached it's jolly!" the shivering child said, in a the brightly burning fire in the open grate. ing up first one and then the other little As she stood rubbing her hands, and holdfoot to warm, she peeped through the inner door to get a glimpse at the master. so nice. Oh, he's beautiful!" Ray said. "Oh, I'm not a bit afraid of him! He is Everything Ray liked was nice and beau tiful. "I wish I looked nice!" she said. and off. Then the little old hood was pushed back the bright golden head was a more pleasing For Ray knew well enough that a glance down at the old shoes, through sight than the ugly brown covering. With which the little toes were peeping, the Soon the heavily fringed eyelids began to Truly the little girl was right, she need not fear the master. A very handsome man was the editor, Mr Forrest. At first, he might be supposed over sixty years; but on closer inspection, one sees that it is the wealth of silvery hair thrown off the noble brow, that gives him the appearance of greater age. Great sorrow or severe pain must have suddenly bleached those locks, which must have been raven, judging from the very dark eyes. Glorious eyes they were, which, as he raises them from the paper, are, at times, flashing, piercing, burning with inspiration, and again growing soft, gentle, and full of tenderness. Truly his heart must be in his work. He is writing a plea for the poor children in our city. The world called Mr. Forrest a very successful man. Aye, he had gained wealth and considerable fame, but he was far from being a happy man. His magnificent home was lonely and dreary. He had had his own sorrows. Early in life, in the first bloom of wedded bliss, he had lost his wife. Never had he given her place, either in his heart or home, to another. To her child, his little daughter, he gave all the love he could give to any one on earth, and she, in return, was a loving, devoted daughter, until into her soul there grew another and a different love. Listening neither to the entreaties, persuasions nor commands of her father, she fled from him. He had never seen her since, although ten years had passed since then. Every letter attempting a reconciliation had been returned unopened. It was a terrible blow to her father. His plans had been very bright for the future of his child; his ambition the highest. The young man for whose love his child had risked everything, was a protege of his own-one in whom, discovering much talent, the editor had elevated from an officeboy to one after another position of higher grade and greater responsibility. Having a real affection for the young man, he was willing to give him anything but his beautiful daughter. Rapidly the editor's pen flew over the paper; on and on he wrote, and on slept little Ray. 3 At length his task was ended, the pen thrown down, and with a sigh of relief he sank into his chair. "There-that will do, I think," he said. "I hope, I believe this will find an echo, an answering chord in many hearts." "Bless me! where did this little waif come from?" exclaimed Mr. Forrest, a few moments after, as he stood bending over the sleeping child. "Really, now, this is coming home to one, and a pretty good chance to practice my own preaching. Poor little one!" There was something about that little head, with its wealth of golden waves, that deeply touched his heart and carried him back long years gone by, when just such a bright beautiful head nestled close to his own, and slept upon his breast. Stooping, he passed his hand gently over the soft curls and pushed them off from the fair, white brow. With a startled expression the blue eyes opened, and Ray, waking from her happy dream, exclaimed: "Oh, thank you. Thank you, sir. You are so kind, so beautiful! Öh, my! ain't that nice!" "Thanks for what, my child? I've given you nothing. You must have been dreaming," Mr. Forrest said, drawing Ray close beside him. "Have I? Yes, I know now. But I am sure I know you. Don't you know me?" The bright little face was lifted to his smiling and confident. "Waiting my coming, she fell asleep and dreamed of me so vividly she feels as if she knows me. Well, well, I will do the best I can for her. I suppose Trueman sent her here," Mr. Forrest thought. "Well, little one, what must I do for you? What give you?" he asked. "Oh, you have given me so much," Ray began saying, the dream still filling her mind. "Oh! I forgot! I want some papers to sell, please, sir. The gentleman said I must come to you." "O, dear; this is dreadful! Little girls do not run about the streets and sell papers. Where are your parents, child; and what is your name?" "Papa is most-dead-dreadful sick-and mamma has no money. I want to get money for to buy medicine and bread. Ray is my name. No, mamma calls me so, but Rachel is my right name. For my mamma's mamma I'm named. Can't I have the papers?" "Your other name-your father's-child? Tell me?' Mr. Forrest asked quietly. "Ashton-Harry Ashton!" Ray answered low, frightened by his strange and stern manner. "Great Heavens!" exclaimed Mr. Forrest, starting back from the clinging hand of Ray. "Don't be mad. Please don't!" she said. "Child, tell me truly, who sent you here; for surely you were sent." "Yes, sir-I was brought here. Billy Smith came with me, 'cause his brother got |