True Stories of Wonderful Deeds | Page 6

gracious queen than Queen Alexandra, and never was a happier
day for the English people than that on which King Edward was
crowned. A few days before the date fixed for the Coronation the king
suddenly became ill, and a great gloom fell over the country, for it was
feared that he might never be crowned. But though his illness was
severe he soon began to get better, and when he was out of danger the
hearts of his subjects were filled with joy and thankfulness. Guns were
fired, church-bells pealed, and glad shouts and cheers rang out from the
happy crowds which lined the streets of London, through which the
king and queen, in the midst of their gay procession, drove to
Westminster Abbey.
Inside the gray old Abbey was one of the most brilliant gatherings the

world has ever seen. Princes and princesses from other lands were there,
in their robes of state; peers and peeresses, in velvet, and ermine, and
glittering diamonds; grave statesmen; and soldiers in their gay
uniforms.
It was a grand and solemn scene when, before them all, the aged
Archbishop of Canterbury drew near to the King, and with trembling
hands placed the crown upon his head.
"The Lord give you a fruitful country, and healthful seasons, victorious
fleets and armies, and a quiet Empire." These are the words that the old
man said when he had crowned the king, and each one of us will pray
that all these blessings may indeed rest upon King Edward VII, and the
great Empire over which he rules.
[Illustration: KING EDWARD VII AND QUEEN ALEXANDRA]

=WAR.=
Over the broad, fair valley, Filling the heart with fear, Comes the sound
of tramping horses, And the news of danger near.
'Tis the enemy approaching, One can hear the muffled drum, And the
marching of the soldiers, As on and on they come.
Soon the air is rent in sunder, Bullets flying sharp and fast, Many stout
hearts fail and tremble, Every moment seems their last.
On the ground lie dead and dying, Young and old alike must fall; None
to come and aid the sufferer, Fight they must for freedom's call.
Many are the anxious loved ones Praying for the war to cease, Waiting
for the right to conquer, Bringing freedom, rest, and peace.
E.S.
[Illustration: SPYING ON INDIANS°]

A BOY'S HEROIC DEEDS.
May 31st, 1889, is a day that will long be remembered with horror by
the people in the beautiful valley of the Conemaugh, in Pennsylvania.
On that date occurred the terrible disaster which is known to the world
and will be named in history as the "Johnstown Flood."
[Illustration: SAVED FROM THE FLOOD.]
For many days previous to that date it had been raining hard, and great
floods extended over a vast region of country in Pennsylvania, New
York and the District of Columbia. Never before had there been such a
fall of rain in that region within the memory of the oldest inhabitant.
The waters in the river and creeks of that beautiful valley rose rapidly
and overflowed their banks, while the people looked on in wonder, but
seemingly not in fear. Suddenly there appeared to their wondering gaze
a great bay horse galloping at break-neck speed and bearing a rider who
waved his hands to them and cried: "South Fork dam will burst. To the
hills for your lives." Only a few heeded his words of warning, while
many mocked and jeered. On dashed the rider to warn still others of the
impending danger, and, alas, to be himself and horse dashed to death
by the massive timbers of a falling bridge. South Fork dam did break,
and the mighty waters of Conemaugh Lake were hurled with resistless
force upon the doomed people of that beautiful valley. The terrible
details of the appalling disaster would fill several volumes larger than
this. On rushed the mighty waters, sweeping onward in their flood
dwellings, churches and buildings of every description, whether of
wood, brick or stone, until Johnstown was reached and destroyed. The
town was literally lifted from its foundations. Thousands of men,
women and children were caught up and swirled away in the pitiless
flood, and their agonizing but vain appeals for help could be heard
amidst the mighty roar of the waters. Many acts of heroism were
performed by brave men and women--yes, and boys--in rescuing
victims of the flood. Only one of them concerns us here. Charles
Hepenthal, a schoolboy, seventeen years of age, who was on his way to
Bellefonte from his home at East Liberty, Pa., on the evening of the

flood, stood quietly among the passengers on the express train, as they
crowded to view the terrible havoc done by the flood. As the flood
reached the train, at Sang