Norwalk gazette, Friday, April 24, 1896 · page 9

 

 

-. .4-:

‘of morning glory vines.

'WEEKLY

yNUHWAJJl-GAZETTE.

 

l‘uO H URRY.

The way some folks puts things 01! beats cre-
ation.
Now there was Cy Lunt had a likely pup,
And as he had no other occnrpation,
He lowed he'd kind of train the critter up.

 

Now, this yere pup ,was blooded, reg’lar
pointer; '
If he'd bin trained—pshaw! He'd amade
things hum;
And Cy,-he always said, he wuz a-goin‘ ter
Train him, _when he had ’rested, jest a
crumb.

Squire Jones kept pigeons, an' it made him
madder
Than a March bare, to see that pointer
prance .
A yelpinT-through the pasture for their shad-
den-
An‘ never give the flyin' birds a glance.

Nigh on four year Cy had that dog, intendin’
To edereaite him, ez he would a child:
Till folks 'said: “Sho’ he‘ll never be wuth
.lendin',"~
For usefulness he wuz entirely spiled.

Nofi‘éione thing seems to me still wus, an’ sad-
' ‘ de‘ . T
Than that the «103 was 'lowed ter take false
sc‘ent— ‘

',"That is, his’master hankered for some shad-

der
Instead of his work the Almighty meant.

' —Arthur Howardflall, in Detroit Free Press.

 

 

MRS. BUSBY:_S :IDOLS.

 

’ nv HOPE DARINo.

 

Mr. Joseph Busby eyed the sky as he.
leisurely walked from the barn to the
house. The morning sun was veiled
by a fleecy mist, while low in the
southwest a bank of dark gray clouds
was visible.

After his prolonged scrutiny, Mr.
Busby pondered the matter. It was
not until he had washed his hands and
face on the back kitchen porch and en-
tered the room where his wife was
taking up the breakfast, that he said:

“’Pears like it might rain.”

“That is what you always say if
there’s a cloud in the sky,” Mrs. B.uS'by
said tartly. “I’ll thank you to lift
that boiler on, just the same.”

“Goen to wash? It‘s most certain to
rain.”

“Let it rain. I haven’t any patience
with such weather,” and ‘Mrs, Busby
rushed .down cellar after a pitcher of
cream. ,

Her husband never hurried. He .pu
the boiler carefully on the stove, built
up a good fire, and, in obedience to a
gesture from his wife, took his place
at the table.

Mr. Busby always thought before he
spoke. This time, after a brief but
earnest blessing, he devoted himself to
ham, eggs and potatoes for five min-
utes before saying in his usual drawl-
ing voice: '

“That was a powerful sermon of the
elder yisterday, Mirandy. I always
thought that text about Ephraim been
jined to his idols might apply to some
of us. Most everybody has idols of
some sort or other.”

Mrs. Busby stirred her golden brown
coffee reflectively. “Perhaps so. I
hope the people who needs it took Mr.
Ranton’s fine application. As for me I
once had an idol, but God took it.”

There was a pause. The thoughts of
both husband and wife traveled to the
parlor where hung the picture of a
child, awee‘ maiden with laughing blue
eyes and dimpled' arms. It was the
picture of little Leah, their only child,
whose death twenty years before had
left the old farmhome desolate.

Mr. Busby’s heart was too deeply
stirred by memories of his child to
speak. But when a dash of rain came
against the window pane his wife ex-
claimed crossly:

D “There, it’s raining. _And if I don’t
wash Monday nothing goes right all
the week.” '

“’Tain’t an idol,'is it, Mirandy?” The
good man of the house pushed back
from the table. “Now, it don’t seem
jest right to be so sot as you air on
doen your work exactly as you want
to. It ’pears to me it might be an
idol.”

“What an idea! Just look there,
Joseph. See that dirty spot on the
tablecloth where you’ve rubbed your
old coat sleeve. This tablecloth was
clean yesterday morning and now it
must go in the wash, making three
this week. I do wish you would be
more careful.”

“Why, now, Mirandy, I do try to be

careful. I wish you woul'l use colored
tablecloths. I thought you bought
some. turkey red ones.”
. “Yes, I did buy them,” and a look of
disgust crossed the face opposite Mr.
Busby. “But I want it understood I
am not going to use ’em. I will work
my fingers to the bone before I’ll set
my table with anything but a white
cloth,” and she stroked the glossy linen
approvingly.

“1 know, Mirandy, but maybe that’s
another idol. You see, you think a
sight of such things.”

“Now, Joseph Busby, if you are go-
ing to talk such nonsense as that you
better get to work. Just see there.
The sun is shining. So you see it was
right for me to wash after all. ”

“Maybe so,” and the eyes of the
simple-hearted man softened as he
looked through the east Window at the
sun-kissed young foliage from which the
rain drops were yet falling. “Maybe so,
Mirandy. You air an uncommon
woman and have been a good wife to
me for twenty-seven years. You hain’t
got many idols,~Mirandy, not half as
many as I have. But this always
thinken your way is best—”

“See here, Joseph Busby,” there was -

an undertone of almost fierceness in
her voice. “I think such twisting of
the Scriptureslis sinful. If I have idols,
I can tend to ’em; that’s all,” and Mrs.
Busby strode into her bedroom and
shut the door violently.

When she returned to the kitchen
she was in pessession of the field.
Joseph had gone to his work.

“High time,” she sniffed; “idols, in-
deed!”

She put her clothes to soak, and car-
rying her dishes into the pantry began
washing them. Her thoughts were not
pleasant ones; the frown on her face
told that. The window before which she
stood was covered with a thick growth
A few of the

daintily twisted buds, unheeding the
threatening of storm, had opened their

pink, blue and white cups and pea-Jed
in at the flushed face of the worker.
But Mrs. Busby was too busy, too dis-
turbedrby her husband’s words to no-
tice their beauty.

“1 don‘t see what possessed Joseph
to say that.” she said, as she began
rubbing her clothes. “I gave up the
only idol I ever had twenty years ago.
1—”

She stopped abruptly. “Of course,
it’s that letter,” she“went on, after a
brief pause. “But he is wrong. It isn’t
idols that keep me from doing my—”

Again she stopped. She had almost
said duty. A week before a letter had
come from a little town in Kansas to
Mr. Busby. The letter contained news
of the death of Mrs. Emma Hale. a dis-
tant cousin of Joseph. Mrs. Hale was
a widow and left one child, a boy. two
years old. The writer, a neighbor of
the dead woman, went on to say she
could care for the child no longer, and
if his relatives did not come for him he
would be sent to the poorhouse. Joseph
pondered the matter a day anda night.
He then coolly proposed sending for
the child and adopting it. His wife
flatly refused. What—a child, a two-
year old baby, to make litter on her
clean floors and upset her orderly plan
of life?

“You must be crazy, Joseph," she
said, severely. “If it was .a girl, now,

foot, I might think of it. But there
l hain’t no use talking about it.”

Joseph Busby rarely opposed his
wife, even in so small a‘ma-tter as talk-
ing when she bade him be silent. Hov '-
ever, this time he said:

“We air growen old, Mirandy. The
! baby would be something to love us.”
These words came back to Mrs. Lus—

. by as she bent over the wash tub. Did

she and Joseph need something to love
them? She thought of the rambling
old house with its many rooms, of the
fertile acres surrounding it, and of the
comfortable bank account. Then her
mind wandered to the distant ceme-
tery where a. white marble cross
marked her baby’s grave.

“I couldn’t give Leah’s place to an-
other,” she whispered. “And yet he
might make a place for himself. Oh,
my baby, I miss her still.”

Withdraxvlng her hands from the
suds, Mrs. Busby crossed the sitting
room and entered the parlor. No one
knew, not even her husband, how
many troublesome questions the
-mother settled before her child’s pic-
ture.

She opened the blinds and looked
long and earnestly at the laughing
baby face.

“Do you want me to, dear?” she
asked tearfully. "‘Do you want me to
take a noisy, troublesome boy into this
home? Is it an idol, Leah, my want-
ing everything so quiet and orderly?"

Ten minutes later she was back at
her washing. The parlor blinds were
closed and all things were as they had
been excepting Mrs. Busby’s eyes;
there was a new light in their gray
depths. At half-past nine the last
clothes were on the line. Returning

‘ from hanging'them out, Mrs. Busby

found a neighbor, Mr. Vance, at the
door.

"I’ve been down to the station,” he
said, “and the eight o’clock train
brought a baby for you, or Busby,
rather.”

“A what!" demanded Mrs; Busby,
catching her breath.

“A baby.” It was plain to see that
Mr. Vance was enjoying the situation.
“A woman who was going east on a
visit brought it from Kansas. Said it
belonged to some of Busby’s folks.
She left it in care of the ticket agent
and he sent- it over by me. It’s down
to the road in my wagon. and a trunk,
too. The little fellow has cried most
ever since the Woman left hin'l.”

Mrs. Busby took down her green
gingham sunbonnet and prepared to
follow him out to the wagon without
a word.

“Was you expecting it?” Mr. Vance
'asked, somewhat disappointed at her
quietness.

“Not to-day,” she replied, briefly.

It was a plump, but tear-stained lit-
tle face that met her eager gaze.
There were great blue eyes, a rosy
mouth. and closely-curling yellow hair.
But the child was unmistakably dirty
and began crying again in a piteous
fashion.

Mrs. Busby held up her arms.
“Come to auntie, dear,” she said coax-
ingly. “You want some bread and
milk. don’t you, and to see the dear
little chickens?”

morning Mr. Busby again traversed
the path from the barn to the house.
Miranda’s line of snowy clothes dry-
ing in the sun brought to his mind the
conversation of the morning, but he
expected no reference to it from his
wife. A surprise awaited him. The
table was laid for three, and at the
guest’s place stood a clumsy little
high chair that for twenty years had
stood empty in an upper room. And
on the floor sat a happy faced child
surrounded by clothes-pins, empty
bottles, a disused candlestick and a
like collection of impromptu play-
things.

“Who—who is that, Mirandy?”

“Joey Hale Busby,” was Miranda’s
prompt reply, and picking up the

child she put it in her husband’s
arms. “There, Joey dear, make
friends with Uncle Joseph. He is the

dearest little fellow,” she went on,
“so cunning and not a bit afraid.”

“But I don’t understand,” and
Joseph Busby’s arms closed tenderly
around the little orphan.

The story was soon told.

“Of course, we’ll keep him, and do
the best we can by him,” Mrs. Busby
said by way of conclusion. “Dinner is
ready and the green peas and custard
pie will taste good to .- little Joey. i
guess you were right ’bout my idols,
Joseph,” stopping to fasten a towel
around the child’s neck in lieu of a
bib, “but they are overthrown. Now
'I’ll try and not make an idol of Joey.”

“You air a remarkab e woman, Mir-
andy,” Mr. Busby said, wiping his
.eyes. “I have always said you was a
remarkable woman, and I’m a. leetle
afraid I am maken an idol of you.”—
N. Y. Observer. -

 

and big enough to be out from under.

At the same leisurely gait of the,

 

THE BLASPHEMER. '

*5.

A Sketch of Character on the”

Canadian Frontier.

 

Appalllng Utterances of 9. Rough Traveler
Who Defies the Priest and Refuses
His Holy Offices—A Start-
ling Incident.

 

'99

“Sacrez mon bapteme

“What did he say?” asked the little
chemist, stepping from his doorway.

“He cursed Lis baptism,” answered
tall Medallion, the English auctioneer,
pushing his way farther into the crowd.

“Ah, the pitiful vaurienl” said the
little chemist's wife, shudderingly; for
that was an oath not to be endured by
anyone who called the church mother.

The crowd that had gathered at the
Four Corners were greatly disturbed,
for they alsofelt the repulsion that
possessed the little Chemist‘s wife.
They babbled, shook their heads and
waved their hands excitedly, and
swayed and craned their necks to see
the offender.

All at once his voice, mad with rage,
was heard above the” rest, shouting
fnenziedly a curse which was ahorribly
grotesque blasphemy upon the name of
God. Men who had used that oath in
their insane anger had been known to
commit suicide out of remorse after-
wards. ' .

For a moment there was a painful
hush., The crowd drew back involun-

' tarily and left a clear space, in which

:‘tood the blasphemer, a middle-sized,

athletic fellow, with black beard, thick, ,

waving hair, and flashing brown eyes.
His white teeth were showing now in
a sna'rl like a dog’s, his cap was on the
ground, his hair was tumbled, his hands
were twitching with passion, his foot
was stamping with fury, and every time
it struck the ground a little silver bell
rang at his knee, a pretty sylvan sound,
in no keeping with the scene. It
heightened the distress of the fellow’s

blas )hemy and ungovcrnable (111;;ch
For a man to curse his baptism was a .

fearful thing; but the other oath was
not fit for human ears, and horror held
the crowd movelcss for a moment.

Then, as suddenly as the stillness
came, a low, threatening mumble of
voices rose, and a movement to close in
on the man was made; but a figure
pushed through the crowd, and, stand-
ing in front of the man, waved the peo»
ple back. It was the cure, the beloved
M. Fabre, whose life had been spent
among them, whom they obeyed as
well as they could; for they were but
frail humanity, after all, crude, simple
folk, touched with imagination.

“Luc Pomfrette, why have you done
this? What provocation had you?”

The curc’s voice was stern and cold,
his usually gentle face had become se—
vere, his soft eyes were piercing and
determined.

The foot of the man still beat the
ground angrily, and the little bell kept.
tinkling- He passesniygouith pas-
sion, and he did not answer yet.

“Luc Pomfrctte, What have you to
say?" asked the cure again. He mo-
tioned back Ardenne, the constable of
the parish, who had suddenly appeared
with a rusty rifle and .1. more rusty pair
of handcuffs.

Still the voyageur did not answer.

I' i 'I' 'I' i- . §

“The blasphemy is horrible, a. shame
and stigma upon Pontiac forever.” He
looked Pomfrette in the face. “Foul-
mouthed and wicked man, it is two
years since you took the blessed sacra-
ment. Last Easter day you were in a.
drunken sleep while high mass was be-
ing said; after the funeral of your own
father you were drunk again. When
you went away to the woods you never
left. a penny for candles, nor for masses
to be. said for your father’s soul; yet
you sold his horse and his little house,
and spent the money in drink. Not a
cent for a candle, but—”

“It’s a lie!” cried Pomfrette, shaking
with rage from head to foot.

A long horror-stricken “Ah!” broke
from the crowd.

The. cure’s face became graver and
colder.

“You have a bad heart,” he answered,
“and you give us an evil name. I com-
mand you to come to mass next Sunday
to repent and to hear your penance
given from the altar. For until—”

“I’ll go to no mass till I’m carried to
it,” was the sullen, malevolent inter-
ruption. ‘

The cure turned upon the people.

“This is a blasphemer, an evil-heart-
ed, shameless man,” he said. “Until
he repents humbly, and bows his
vicious spirit to holy church, and his
heart to the mercy of God, I command
you to avoid him as you would a plague.
I command that no door be open to
him; that no one offer him comfort or
friendship; that not even a bon jour or
a bon soir pass between you. He has

blasphemed against our Father in‘

Heaven; he is a leper.” He turned to
Pomfnette. “I pray God that you have
no peace in mind or body till your evil
life is changed, and your blacklheart
is broken by sorrow and repentance.”

Then to the people he said again: “I
have commanded you for your souls’
sake; see. that you obey. Go to your
homes. Let us leave'the leper—alone.”
He waved the awed crowd back—Gil-
bert Parker, in Century.

Valuable Books.

The library at Yale college has been
very fortunate to obtain the valuable
private collection of books owned by the
late Prof. Rudolph Von Gneist, of the
University of Berlin. Yale’ssuccess in
acquiring this collection seems to have
been due to the efforts of Prof. Farnam;
who cabled for the prize and secured it
on his own responsibility—Chicago
Tribune. '

Chesapeake Oyster Beds.

The Chesapeake oyster beds are rapid-
ly diminishing in productiveness.
Fifteen years ago they furnished about
10,000,000 bushels of oysters annually.
The product this year will not be more
than 5,000,000 bushels—Chicago Inter
Ocean. '

hh~M—‘v~ .'."‘.YAA;.J.~~L-‘.-. 4v"

1

3 A Resident of Shanghai Tells of Their

GLIMPSE AT THE CHINESE. .

.. Innings and Virtues.
A very handsome and distinguished-

: looking gentleman is Mr. Francis IV.

Ha‘rrell, a former citizen of Virginia,
but now a resident of Shanghai, China,

lwho, with his wife, is visiting Wash-

} ington.

Mr. Harrell lived for six years
- in Japan, occupying the chair of Eng-

! lish in the leading university of that
Icountry, and there he met his future

wife, who was the first child of white
parents born in the mikado’s domin-
ions. Mrs. Harrell not only speaks
Japanese like a native, but she is pro-
. foundly versed in the literature of the
country. Mr. Harrell is now connected
with the great shipping firm of N. J.
Robinson & Co., and he comes to the
United States to. contract for some
high-power guns, to be used by the
Chinese in defending several of their
importan t rivers.

“The Chinese government,” said he,
“is in a bad way, and any organized
effort to overthrow it, if-backed by a
lfew '(npable and determined leaders,
i would doubtless be successful. The
l present dynasty is very unpopular, and
l a great many people were glad because
1 of its humiliation by the J apan‘ese. The
idespotic rule of the mandarins has
,deadened all patriotic feeling. They
; are non-progressive as well as . tyran-

nical, and block the ways to the open-
ing of the empire to railroads, telep
' graph lines and all other accompani-
' ments of civilization. As long as the

 

masses can be kept in ignorance their‘

power and prestige will be secure. The
mandarins incited the lower classes to
s the recent massacre of the mission—
aries, but the instigators were shrewd
enough to escape punishment them-
selves.”

“But it will not do to underrate the
Chinese because. of their defeat by a
smaller, nation. With proper military
organization they would prove a for-
midable foe to any power on earth.
The men are brave, and they only need
training to become first-class soldiers.

“As a business people they are far
superior to the Japanese. When 8. Chi-
nese merchant gives his word it is
| sacred; there is: no use in putting a
5 contract in writing when dealing with
! them, and if in rare cases one defaults,
3 his relatives or friends cheerfully com-
ply with the obligation. On the con-
trary, the J aps will break their word
whenever self-interest dictates, and the
only way to deal with them is by writ-
ten instruments. They are bright and
clever, but lacking in the solid and en-
during qualities of the Chinese.

“Shanghai is one of the most beau-
tiful and well~kept cities of the east,
and well deserves the title of ‘Little
I’aris.’ In some ways it is the most
peculiar city or. earth. The natives
have a government of their own, and
the foreigners are allowed to govern

themselves. There are large colonies
of English, Americans, French and
Germans.

”Emilie prestige of Li Hung Chang has
greatly gone down of late, and the
coming man of the empire is Chang
Chi Chung, Viceroy of‘Nankin. He is
enthusiastic on the subject of organ-
izing a great army after the German

purpose he'could put himself at the
head of the empire without any
trouble.”——Washington Post.

ORIGIN OF THE ROSE.

Queen of Flowers Is of Ancient Lineage
and Distinguished History.

Some indication of the origin of the
rose, both in time and 'in country, is
probably given in its name. This un-
doubtedly. comes to us through the

 

 

which is now agreed to be, in the wider

of the two great families of language it
belongs is less certain. Heyn main-
tains it to be Iranian—that is, of the
Aryan family—of the older tongue of
Persia and Bactria; and Persia might
unquestionably put strong claims to be
the, true native country of the rose.
But Prof. Skeat, who has the majority
of modern ,authorities on his side, de—
clares it to be a pure Semitic word—the
Arabic “ward,” a flowering shrub, thus
denoting the flower of flowers par ex-
cellence. It is worth noticing that the
Persian word “gul” similarly meant at
first only a perfumed flower, but has
come to be used of the rose alone. “Ut
rosa flos. florum sic est domnits ista
domorum” is the emphatic way in
which the inscription over the lovely
chapter-house at York claims it as being
the very flower of architecture.

But theories, however, of the name
agree with all other indications that we
can trace in placing the original home
of the rose, much as that of our earliest
forefathers, in the central or western
central district of Asia; but, instead of
spreading only in a westerly direction,
the rose took, apparently, a more
catholic view of the earth, and ex-
panded impartially east and west, with-
out showing any reluctance about longi-
tude, while disliking the more violent
changes of temperature implied by an
extension of latitude. It has been
found by travelers as far south as
Abyssinia in one hemisphere and Mex-
ico in the other; but it never seems,
voluntarily, to come very near to the
equator. Northward, however, noth-
ing seems to stop it, since it has con-
quered Iceland, Greenland and Kamt-
chatka.

“In Iceland, so (in)fertile in vegeta-
tion that in some parts the natives are

and oxen on dried fish, we find the rosa
rubig’inosa, with its pale, solitary, cup-
shaped flowers; and in Lapland, bloom—
ing almost under the snows of that

mosses and lichens for their reindeer

former of which, brilliant in color and
of a sweet perfume, enlivens the dreari-
ness of Norway, Denmark and Sweden.”
y—Quarterly Review. ‘

 

——Where lives the man that has not

and folly into sin?—Scott. .

 

system, and when he accomplishes his .

Latin from the Greek “roddn,” a word -

sense, oriental, not Greek. But to which :

 

 

compelled to feed their horses, sheep '
1 is. .You’re not paid for knowing Where

I
I

1

severe climate, the natives seeking

I

find the roses maialis and rubella, the ?

tried how mirth can into folly glide, l

Two Brothers in Love with the i

c l
~am0

Haida n. ;

All EDI/ill RUMANCE.

_

 

 

The Discarded Snitor Sought the Life of
His Successful Rival, But Was Killed g
Himself—The Mansions Preser- '
vation of the Intended Victim. I

' ——- Q

In cOuples and in small companies .

the Indians hunted the deer, elk and

antelope; and while danger was always I

present, tragedies sometimes occurred
in which neither Wild animals nor in-
imical tribes had part, but which arose
from feelings and impulses common to
human nature. The following well-
authenticated adventure. writes Alice
C. Fletcher in Century, took place in
the last century. Two brothers loved
the same woman. She favored the
younger, but by some means the elder
took her to wife. They were married
in the fall of the year, and winter
passed by, and one day in spring the
brothers went forth to hunt together.
Walking near the breaks of the Clear-
water, the elder stopped to look over
the edge of the canyon, where, a thou-
sand feet below, the river glistened in
the morning sun. Half way down the
rocky wall, upon a ledge that jutted
out from the sheer face of the preci-
pice, he saw a nest of young eagles.
He called to his brother, who returned
and looked down upon the nest. “I
know what I will do,” he said; “I will
make a rope.” .:,\,~

So the two set to work. They
stripped the bark from young willows,
and plaited it into a rope strong enough
to hold a man. This done, they threw
one end over the precipice to see if lit
was long enough to reach the nest;
but it fell far short. Then they worked
on, lengthening the rope until finally
it rested upon the ledge. They agreed

that one was to let the other down to ;

secure the eagles. The elder tied the
rope about his body, and the younger
lowered him carefully until his feet
were well on the ledge. As he walked
along toward the nest he saw the rope
suddenly tossed over the cliff; instinct-
ively he steadied himself, caught the
rope, and pulled it in. He was alone,

with a precipice above and a precipice ;

below, on a narrow ledge, with no liv-
ing thing but himself and the half-
grown eagles. By and by the old
eagles returned, and, seeing the in-
truder, were inclined to be hostile; but

the man was careful not to anger them, ,

and when they went away again he se-
cured a part of the game they had
brought to their young. '

Days wurc on, and the man’s life was
sustained by the food the old eagles
brought; but. his distress from thirst
was great. so he cleared out the little
hollows i:. try: rock to catch the rain,
covering i'..-:‘n carefully to prevent

evapcz':.::2( The young eagles became
ElGCIISEC‘IPkll to his companionship and
the touch of his Land; “:21; by and by

the time came when tin-:37 were ready
to fly, and death looked the lonely man
in the face. He resolved to make an

:‘Eort to reach the ground. He had
hidden his rope in a crevice in the rock
to keep it from drying; he now tied it
firmly about his body, fastening each
ecd strongly to an eagle, leaving suffi-
cient length between the birds and
himself“ to give full play for their
wings. ' He reasoned that if the eagles
were not able to fly with his weight
they would break his fall by their en-
d;:avors to save themselves. At all
events, it was death to remain upon
the ledge after they had gone. When
all was ready, with his bow and quiver

fastened upon his back, he pushed the :

wondering eagles off their nest- over
the cliff, and they bore their strange
burden down, down the canyon, and
finally, weary‘ with their enforced
flight, alighted upon a trcc at the bot--
tom. The man took a feather from
each of his preservers and released
them; then he swung himself down
through the branches to the ground,
and, taking the shortest trail to his
home, came upon his brother and his
wife sitting together outside the tent.
It took but a moment to send an arrow
through the unsuspecting man who
had so cruelly betrayed him; then.
confronting thevwoman, in intensity of
hope, he asked: “Are you glad I have
come?” She was silent, but her face
told him the truth, and a. second arrow
pierced her heart. Her body fell over
the prostrate form of the younger
brother before anyone in camp realized
that he who had long been given up as
dead had returned to avenge his griev-
ous wrongs.

NO WONDER HE FLED.

His Wife Had a Tongue and Knew Bow
to Use It.

“Look here,” she said, defiantly, as
she strode into the detective’s office,
‘ ‘my husband’s missing. ”J

“You don’t say so!”

“I do say so, don’t 1? Well, I’d have
you to understand that I do say so; and,
what’s more, you heard me say so. And
I don’t propose to stand here and be
contradicted by. any man that lives.”

She paused for breath, says the Wash-
ington Post, and the officer murmured:

“I didn’t mean any offense.” -

“If that ain’t like a man! What dif-
ference does it, make whatyou mean?
You don’t suppose I care what you
meant? You’ve got your business to
attend to, haven’t you? All I ask is
that you mind it and not ask fool'ques~
tions and make silly remarks. Where’s
my husband?”

“Why—how do I know where your
husband is?”

“Of course you don’t know where he

he is, are you? I haven’t been up to
the tax collector’s office twice a year
for the last twenty—I mean ten—years
paying my share of your salary to look
after just such cases as this.”

“Well, madam, I don’t know where
he is, but I’ve got a clew.”

. “You don’t say so!”

“The first thing we do is to look for a
motive. I think I’ve found out why
your husband left home. If I learn any
more I’ll let you know.” And he dodged
into his private ofice and behind the
door.

3 ‘FLEASE HIM.

STUD‘HNG T
He Was a. Finkky customer. But the
Waiter Wanted to Sa'tisfy Him.

Ainan afflicted with the disease of
fimckism, an exaggeration of the value
of details, was giving his order for
breakfast to a hotel water. The man
was finical in the extreme, and the ex-

Iactitude of his order respectfully

amused the waiter, who was somewhat
a judge of human nature, inasmuch as
he had served breakfast to many men.
Breakfast time is invariably when
you get down to the bedrock of a man’s
true disposition. , It is too early in the
j day, and he is too close to nature itself
i to have put on the little frills that he
Ibegins to assume along about eleven
. o’clock. At all events, the waiter un-
, derstood, and took his order respect-
', fully, even servilelv, without losing
1 his own estimate of the man.
The man had a morning cough and
’ sipped ice water as he gave the order.
“Bring me a pot of cofiee," he said,
”and mind, it must be hot—hot and
; strong—dorl’t forget to have it strongx

 

2 And a sirloin steak, rare; remember-

‘ have it rare, and no fat.
l, the sight of fat in the morning.”

i “Yessir, yessir, no fat,” replied the -.

waiter.

“And bring me some dry toast-hot, .
‘ mind you; hot toast, and have it madcw
, from stale bread. I_ don’t want it .

toasted outside and soggy within:
‘ Now don’t forget that.” ' ' "at:

“No, sir; all right, sir; not soggy in:
side, sir,” echoed the waiter. ‘

“And some sliced tomatoes,” contin-
ued the man. “And take the chopped
ice off the tomatoes and drain them.
I want them dry, you understand,
dry. Now, don’t forget that.”

“All right, sir. Tomatoes must be

. dry.” I. _

“ nd, let’s see. Yes,-bring me some

fried eggs. And I want them fried on

one side. only. Don’t forget that.”
"Yessir; fried on one side. And

which side, sir?”—Kansas City Star.

MUTILATED TITLES.

Some Strange Twists Given to the Names
, of Books.

A successful bookseller should be a

mind reader. People ask for books by
the queerest mutilated titles. A dealer
' in books says:
One of the most mutilated titles is
[that of “The Heavenly Twins.” For
' instance, it is common to have it called
“The Twin Angels,” “The heavenly
' Prodigals,” “The Blue Angels,” or
2 “The Heavenly Angels.”

 

 

e The other day a man. came in and
asked for “The Traveling Hebrew.”
When I told him I thought he meant
“The Wandering Jew,” he began to
laugh, and said:

“Well, I was sure he was on the go,
anyway!” «r . 5"

_Not long ago a lady acame in and
asked if we had “Two Boats Which
Went by in the Dark.” She was not
the least abashed when I handed her
“Ships That Pass in the Night.”

One of the most common bulls in a
bookstore is that which people make
when they ask for “a vest pocket edi-
tion of Webster’s Unabridged,” or “the
Bible with both‘the Old and New Tes-
taments in it.”

Not long ago a young man came in
and asked for that “horse book.” We
named over a lot of treatises on horses,
1 but he said: “It wasn‘t them.”

We were then compelled to confess
. our ignorance, when he explained:
l "‘Well, my boss didn’t exactly tell me
IE it was a horse book, but he said to ask
.; for ‘The Horse with seven Stables.’ ”
We gave him “The House of the
:chen Gables,” with the privilege of
. returning it if it was not the right one.
’ The book never came back.—Youth’s
’ Companion. v

Autumn Silks.

The first importations of autumn
dress goods are very rich silks, among
them peau de soie with twilled surface
of demi-luster, a far more refined fab-
ric than satin, which is oftzn too
glossy to please quiet tastes. Color
abounds in these elegant fabrics. The
fancy for chameleon hues has by no
means reached its height. Shooting
several shades together to produce
new effects when blended is the pres-
ent object of Lyons manufacturers.
Russian green with red and gold, and
the darkest, marine blue with very
brilliant red, are shown in silks for
dresses and in fabrics for trimming
both gowns and hats. Much violet
red and gold are blended in dark peau
de soie, then woven in very intricate
designs, 'for winter dresses. Plain sur-
faces will prevail in the chameleon
peau de soie for calling costumes and
for dinner gowns, but for separate
waists and for combinations these. are
plaided with broad bands of black
satin or with bars of contrasting col-
ors. An especially attractive chame-
leon effect is had by combining green,

 

blue, black and red. Peacock blue is
also brought into favor again. Late
illustrations of Worth’s dresses in the
Bazar are suitable for making up
dresses of peau de soie ' for the demi-
season.—-Harper’s Bazar.

 

A Lover of Trees Talks Nonsense.

A Boston visitor at Warwick castle
writes: “Henceforth I believe in aris-
tocracy. It protects trees better than
democracy. We have no respect for
them, as a country. Our country is
more haggled and slashed and cut up
than England. Three months ago
there was a great Windstorm. At
Charlescote and at Warwick and at
all the large country seats great trees
were torn up, and everyone looks at it
as agreat calamity and: looks sad in
spzaking of it. When I think of the
disgraceful destruction of trees near
Boston in the past few years it makes
_me ashamed of our free country; it is
too heartlessly, barbarically free. i
would buy all New England if I could.

intended they should be. I don’t see
that the houses of the poor in the
country in England are any worse than
our shanties.”—Boston Transcript.

Where the Wheels Are.
Blevins—O, I have such a pain in
my head! I wonder what can bethe
cause of it? ' ~

 

Q

 

‘ ings has got hot. dPuck.

Bostick‘—Perhaps one of the box-

. ‘I . I .L"

I can’t bear

brown and gold, another by blending '

own it all and keep the trees as it was ‘