blind ?
.-
l
I manta pm}
of: chres qn q
.~ IblcyclE,an d
/ —-’, Womb m... '5;
J ’7. I I euess ,2
. I/ tuqtb‘ou. '
CHR‘S’MAS TIME AGAIN.
Dc foli-:< (Ilifl'l ”pear so joyful asdey mosely
' listnli be
W'en [in iiuic‘d come aroun‘ again ter deck-
eru'v tile tree:
1:.» do, ins-«115’s been pohly. an’ de cap‘n‘s
mi": l(‘l' sen,
Ai.‘ i worry, worry, worry ’bout t‘ings dab
.
.-1;l'.".tiiI)o.
Azl‘ somehow I resents it,
.~\n’ it goes agens de grain
Tex sec Iolks lookin' mohnful
\\"c;i it’s Chris’mas time again.
I): chillun all is moss grown up, an‘ (loan
cu.::c rompiu’ roun’
'l L‘i' b - be: led by der mummy, er totcd up an‘
down.
An' some is gone ter business, an’ some is
settled down,
An’ dey on’v nod w"on passin’ in de streets
about dc town,
An" Somehow I resents it,
Au’ it goes agens de grain,
'l‘er see folks lookin’ mohnful,
\V’cn it‘s Chris‘mas time again.
But, missus. doan you worry, an‘ chillun, be
moi: gay, _ .
An‘ scn‘ some joyful message ter de cap 11 far
away.
Foh remcmhah «lat de bressed Lawd come
down on Cbris‘mas Day
Ter make us free from all our sins an’ dribe
our cares away.
Den glory in de highes’
An‘ peace on earth ter men,
list all do worl’ be happy
W’en it’s Chris‘mas time again.
DOROTHY’S DINNER.
“I intend,” said Dorothy, resolutely,
shutting her lips so firmly that the
dimples straightened themselves out
for once' all around her pretty mouth
——“I intend to have some people at my
dinner table this Christmas Day who
are poorer than I am—some people
whose lives are saddened—who have
heavier burdens-to carry than I, and'
more trouble to make ends meet, if
such a. thing can be.” ,
“You‘d better buy yourself a new
gown, Dorothy,” laughed the Princess,
- “and your hat and gloves are so shab-
by they look like an upper house-
maid’s.”
The Princess was Dorothy's cousin
Lil. Dorothy, who had always been in
the imaginative line, had dubbed her
Princess years ago, when they were
both children, because Lil had always
been surrounded by velvet and ”ur and
satin and jewels, and blooded horses
and tall, solemn, cockney accented
coachmen—in short, by anything and
everything that money can buy or hire
‘ or the purveyors to wealth devise.
Dorothy had her living to get, and
the Princess had more than she could
do to spend her income.
The Princess made a. little impatient
gesture. “Oh! I say, Dorothy, why
don’t you ask me over to dinner to-
morrow? You seem to have covers and
viands galore, and y u slight the only
relative you have tn-.. ~ide of Cali-
fornia. What I s.-..:.. do with
myself to-morrow is a urery that
doesn’t seem to have presented itself
to your beneficient mind.”
“No, Lil, _I don't want you," Dorothy
answered seriously. “I’m going to
breax my scanty crust, as I told you, in
the first place, with those who have
less than I. I dare say a brisk ten
minutes’ walk will supply my demand
for guests, and what should I do with
a fine lady like you at table in com-
pany with the halt, maim and the
You'd take away their ap-
petites, and spoil all the joy of the
feast with your silks, and your jewels,
and your beautiful, cold face. Go
along with you, fair lady e, and dine in
your royal castle in lonely state. I
want none of you!”
The sleigh had started. The bells
were jingling, the superb horses held
their heads high in the frosry air. The
Princess called back curtly, “I shall do
nothing 01’ the kind. I shall dine with
1'
-
OOLEBROOK TAKES LEAVE.
Dorothy went thoughtfully into the
house. When she had taken off her
hood and brushed her hair the door-
bellrang and the artist came in with
the drawings for her new story. They
were good drawings and appropriate
ones, for Colebrook, like Dorothy, had
been in old Moneybags’ employ for a
long time and knew just what was
wanted and how to do it, but Dorothy
showed little interest in the work that
day.
There was only one thought upper-
most in her mind—her dinner party.
Colebrook laughed sarcastically when
she told him about it. He was a
cynical man, with a few streaks of
gray in his hair and in the big, fierce
military mustache he wore. Dorothy’s
ingenuousness often amused him. He
had always regarded her as a child.
His name for her was Scheherezade. in
honor of that story telling Wife of the
Sultan, whose head was at stake unless
she went on every night with her talc,
whether she had anything to tell or
not, just as Dorothy had to go on with
hers, in order to appease butcher, —ba-
kcr, landlord and everybody else who
had anything to do with her material
comfort. “Don't you think it is a lit-
tle far fetched to extend your plot
making to your own dinner table?
Fiel my child, write it out. It’s a good
fiction idea. Moneybags will buy it
and I’ll illustrate it with my tOp abil-
ity. Bless me, what a picture that
would make—the group around the
table gathered in from highways and
byways. with you at the head. Will
you give me a sitting so that I may
make you an accurate portrait? Come,
let us give over such extremely vision-
ary schemes, and employ our ideas
rather to enhance the glory of our own
little pocket!”
He spoke banteringly, and the pink
roses in Dorothy’s face deepened tc
carmine. “I shall not write it out,
thank you,” she replied somewhat tart-
ly. “I am tired of writing out things
for other people to read and criticise.
I intend to live this thing myself!”
“Do so, by all means,” Colebrook
said, twisting the corners of his gray
mustache. smiling and rising to take
his hat, “but I think when all’s done
you‘ll find it would have been easier
the old way. Poor peOple
their reputation for ingratitude. If
they treat you well while the meal is in
progress you may consider yourself
fortunate.”
He took his leave, and Dorothy
pouted a little as she watched him
down the street. Then she put on he
hat and jacket and set out for a distant
quarter of the village, Which she knew
was inhabited by people upon whose
shoulders the mantle of success had
not fallen. and to whose impecuniosity
her own slender salary would seem like
unto the income of the Princess her-
self.
>3 =5' ...
It was Christmas Day and Dorothy‘s
door bell was pealing forth sounds of
welcome. There was a delicious. odor
streaming through the house which
spoke eloquently of the coming feast.
The little parlor was radiantwith a
glowing fire, and with the blooming
plants which were at once Dorothy‘l
extravagance and delight. Mary
Ann, Dorothy’s ancient servitor, was
in a state of excitement bordering on
rl‘ v- ,~.
[‘1 ‘ \lI.‘
I \v
‘ie‘in 1| I {I 7
«I l
nonornr‘s GUESTS.
frenzy, and'Dorothy trembled for the
success of the dinner, which, however,
turned out to be a jolly afiair, cooked
to a turn, and seasoned to the taste of
queens, and kings, too, for that matter,
as well as that of several much more
Jriiinary people, for Dorothy’s search
among the poor and needy had not
been in vain, and there cameto occupy
those three empty chairs in that tiny
box of a. dining room a deaf and dumb
man, a decayed gentlewoman, and an
aged seamstress carrying a young child
In her arms, and so bent and bowed
with rheumatism that it was with diffi-
31ilty she‘ made her way up the low
stoop which ran along the front of the
cottage.
Dorothy, arrayed in her prettiest
gown, with a rose at her belt and an-
other in her hair, ran to meet her
guests, to carry the baby, and to wel-
come them, as perhaps two of them at
least had never been welcomed in all
their lives before. 9 She was a pretty
missionary with that glowing color in
her face, and .the soft light of pity in
her brown eyes, but the best of it was
that did not act the missionary at all
but only the sweet, simple, sympathetic
hostess, who devoted herself to th
comfort of her guests with a fervenoj
that left no room. for anything so"
enjoyment and happiness.
The feeble old gentlewoman whoi:
Dorothy had decoyed into accepting a
dinner invitation from a stranger ha«
been coerced by sheer force of tha
young woman’s affectionaate will, an:
as for the othershit had required 0111;
the pressure of the hand and the fer
vent invitation.- The cripple live:
quite alone in a cheerless lodging, am
the deaf and dumb man, whose prol‘es
sion was that of a teacher of mutes
had lost his situation through a rec-en
fire, and was now wandering from om
village to another, seeking new em.
ployment and living as he could.
The four sat down in Dorothy‘s:
bright, snug parlor, a cheerful, mom
group, the speechless man with a bior‘li
of paper and a pencil on his knee, tha‘
all might speak to him who would
through the medium of; sight, and ii
the old genilewoman whgse face,waa
.. ”a.
x, .
deserve .
all furrows, and whose voice was
cracked like a broken lute, did sit
apart from the other guests clutching
her ancient draperies nervously when
they stood or sat about her, those oth-
ers were blissfully unconscious of any
such proceeding, and beamed. at her
as at their hostess with overflowing
hearts.
The cripple, who was stout, was
squeezed so tightly into her ancient
OOCIICE of rusty black, and her face was
so many tints and tones of purple in
3onsequence that Dorothy had a vague
fear of what might happen when the
effects of the dinner began to make
themselves manifest. The cripple was
1 woman who had been handsome in
: coarse, ordinary way, and the crip-
ple’s baby, or grandbaby, the child of
I ne’er (lo-well son, who was a widow-
er, was as fair at little human flower,
is one might find in many days’ jour-
aeyings. It had brown eyes and pink
cheeks, not unlike those of-Dorothy
herself, and Dorothy held it,’ and talk-
ed to it, and scribbled hospitably on
the deaf mute’s pad, and drew out the
lecayed gentlewoman on the early ar-
istocracy of the village, and other
kindred topics, and chatted merrily
with the cripple the while, and so on
until the dinner bell rang, and Mary
Ann “spacheless with pride,” as Doro-
thy afterward related, appeared ready
to serve the company, wearing her Sun
day gown and her broad, Celtic smile,
which had been a comfort to Dorothy
through many a season of depression
when genius couldn’t be made to burn,
and Scheherezade’s spirlts had been
at very low ebb indeed. But those
troublous times seemed very far away
now in the joy of the present. Doro-
thy was in her element. It was a cruel
fate that had made her a Scheherzade
instead of a sweet little houswife with
dinners to serve and friends to enter-
tain.
Her guests were glowing in response
to her hospitality. The baby, luxuri—
ously seated on a mammoth old edi-
tion of Webster, was participating gay-
ly in the feast. There was a festal air
about the miniature dining—room, with
its bright rugs, its snowy curtains, its
sparkling glass, its white linen and, the.
blooming things Dorothy always would
have about her.
The old gentlewoman was leaning
back in her chair. Had the old times
some back again? Did comfort and
plenty wait to do her bidding as in
day“ of yore? It was like a page from
the book of her youth. She looked at
Dorothy and smiled, and so did the
deaf mute, and the cripple, and even
the baby, who had loved and trusted
her from the beginning, and then the
cell rang sharply and suddenly, and
Mary Ann in a flutter ran to the door
with a dish in her hand, and pretty
soon there swept down to the dining-
room a vision of such rare loveliness
that everybody looked up,in surprise
and ectasy.
It was only the Princess in full din-
ner dress. Dorothy had seen her in
such guise many times before, but
there was a radiance about her that
was new, as if the Christmas fairies
had come to, her in the night and
transformed her into a human thing
who loved her kind. She shook hands
warmly all around the table, dropped
a. sealed envelope at everybody’s plate
with playful admonitions not to open
them until they got home, ordered
Mary Ann around with" a great show of
proprietorship, established herself by
the side of the old gentlewoman, to
that worthy’s intense and respectable
satisfaction, and had soon ingratiated
herself so deeply into the hear-ts of
the guests that Dorothy forgave her
all her sins, and beamed at her from
the head of the table quite as nadiant-
ly as if she has} been the poorest and
worthiest object of them all.
Now, the dinner was not yet well
under way when there was another
warning note at the door, and Dorothy
sprang up in amazement to meet Cole-
brook, who strolled good naturedly in-
to the dining room, and, like the Prin-
cess, demanded to be speedily served
with the best there was in the larder.
This quite upset the gravity of the par-
ty, the deaf mute included, who smiled
as broadly as if he were in the conspi-
racy, and the baby began beating such
an enthusiastic kettledrum with, one
of the legs of the turkey that the crip-
ple-felt-obliged to subdue him, though
she did it in the gentlest and tenderest
of ways, and in the midst of a storm
of protestations from the entire par-
When the first wave ofmerriment had
subsided Colebrook twisted his gray
mustache and looked about him in his
old whimsical way, but the Princess,
who had known him a long time,
plucked so vigorously at his sleeve,
and the baby and Dorothy laughed at
him so joyously, that he soon began to
enjoy himself as he had not done since
he had been a. schoolboy, and Dorothy
could hardly believe it when he began
entertaining the company with droll
stories and gromsque imitations of
people and things he had encountered
in a. lifetime of journeying about the
world.
And so the Christmas dinner went
on to the close, and the close was plum
pudding, with the whitest and creami-
est of sauce, and the blackest of black
coffee, for which a. bit of brandy was
burned with the bluest of all blue flames
a proceeding which amused the baby
no less than it did the cripple and the
deaf mute, who had never seen it be«
fore and who accepted it as a huge
Christmas joke along with the rest of
the fun.
Thus in another hour the happy pars
ty separated to meet in such associa«
tion perhaps never again on earth,
and Dorothy, standing in the center of
the departing group, and receiv-
ing their: fervent farewells witl:
glowing face and tear-dimmed eyes'
seemed somehow to Colebrook to
have the halo of the very thfiéttdlflli l
.e- _..~ . __...—_v-- -'
himself about her pretty head, and
when_the others had all gone, and the
parlor lay in that soft light that the
snow-covered earth sends through un-
shaded windows with the approach of
night, the man had exercised the cynic,
and the lover stood revealed.
“Scheherezade,” he said softly, “you
wereright. The day you planned for
others has been full of blessings. You
were thenecromancer who brought
them all together. And, now only you
and I are left alone. Shall we not fin—
ish out the circlet of this Christmas
garland by pledging a life of love and
devotion to each other?”
Mary Ann brought in the tea things
just then, and Dorothy hid her blushes
behind the urn, while the face of the
tall man at the other side of the table
had taken on a look of grave sweet.
ness that had never rested there be-
fore.
Little Willie Could Spell.
Just about Christmas time Mr. and
Mrs. Harlemflatte find it necessary to
do a great deal of spelling when they
converse regarding shopping tours in
the presence of their son, in whose
mind they wish to preserve the Santa
Clause traditions.
The other night Mr. Harlemflatte had
come in laden with bundles, and when
he had been relieved of them and was
seated at the dinner table the conver-
sation began in the usual way, for lit-
tle Willie was present.
“Did you get the s-k-a-t—e-s and the
d-r-u-m that h-e has b—e-e-n asking
for?” asked Mrs. H., as she began serv-
ing the vegetables.
“Yes, and there was a n—i—c-e s-l-e-d
for one eighty-five, and I took it,” an-
swered Mr. H., smiling at his young
son and heir.
“You didn’t forget the t-i—n so-l-
d-i-e—r-s and the t-r-u—m-p—e—t I hope?"
said his wife, “and the w—i—g and the
w-h-i—s-k—e-r—s that you are to wear
with the S-a-n—t—a C-l-a—u-s costume?"
“No. Got ’em all.” answered Mr.
Harlemflatte. ‘
“I‘ll bet you forgot the v-c-l-o-s—s—i-
p—e—d-e, now, didn’t you?” she asked
anxiously.
“That ain’t right,” broke in
Willie. “It‘s v—e—l-o-c-i—p-c-d-c, ain’t
it, Pop, and say. Pop. is it one of the
round the
kind that goes all block
without stopping?”
SANTA CLAus -
'5 COMING,
Christmas Day.
Everybody knows that Christmas
Day falls on the 25th day of December.
Of course! So it does—now. But
it did not always do so. In the early
centuries of Christianity the feast was
kept up at various dates in the months
of January, April, and May. For more
than three hundred'years, January 6th
was Christmas Day in the Eastern
Church. The Abyssinians called June
2lst Christmas Day; while among the
Armenians Christmas Day has always
been January 18th, and is so now. The
exact date is quite unknown.
The custom of decking our houses
and churches with holly and mistletoe
on this day is an exceedingly ancient
one, and there seems little doubt that
it is a remnant of the religious observ-
ances of the Druids.
A Designing Mother.
“I am really delighted at the interes‘
my boy Tommy is taking in his writ.
ing,” said Mrs. Hickleby. “He spends
two hours a day at it."
“Really? How strange!
y0u get him to do it?"
“Oh, as for that, I told him to writ.
me out a list of everything he wanteo
for Christmas, and he’s still at it.—
Harper's Bazar.
How did
Made Him Ber Confident.
A little girl aged nine called her
father to her bedside the other evening
“Papa,” said the little diplomat, “i
want to ask your advice."
“Well, my'dear, what is it about?"
"What do you think it will be best
to give me for a Christmas present?”
srmethlng to Learn.
As Mr. Ruffedge sat down after, hav-
ng elbowed his way back from a be-
.ween-acts trip, he happened to see
iOme Japanese students sitting farther
n front.
“A great many Japanese come over
:0 this country to get civilized, don’t
.hey,” he remarked. “I suppoSe it'
akes them a good while to get used
:0 our ways.”
“I suppose so," replied Miss Cayen-
le. “And I don‘t think those young
nen have been here very long”
“Why?"
“I haven’t seen one of them «limb-
ng over the people between him and
.he aisle every time the CLIULIH went
Iowa—Washington Star.
_ K'econnolterinu.
Rev. Dr. Primrose—Have you :.:. 2.
any preparation for Christmas?
Uncle ’Rastu‘s—Yis, sah. I'se fies
done lookin’ ober de neighborhood Tc
dogs and spring guns.
w EEK LY. 30mm Ln 4 GAZETV'I-‘i:
REGISTER—YOUR MAI I.
TRIAL. OF A SLOT M...- was WHICE.
MAKES THIS Pt..-.;_;.‘
Three of Thenl Now Ready for Business—
A Mechanism “'lxich Reject Light Coins
—-—Leiters Transferred to the l’ostman‘s
Bag “'ithout His Touching: Them.
The latest development of the slot
machine is an invention de3igncd to
make every person his own registered.—
letter clerk-and to facilitate the for-
warding of registered mail. The me
of three machines has been sanctioned
by the‘ Postmaster-General, and under
his orders they are to have a six—
weeks’ trial in New York. What may
happen after that is conjecture merely,
but the assumption of the inventor of
the machine is that if its work is set—
isfactory, it will be adopted as a regu-
lar adjunct to the Post Cfiice system.
While the machines are being put
to their special test an agent of the
Post Office is to be in constant attend-
ance at each. He will explain the
working of the machine to the public
and see that no one tampers with the
mail.
The charge for registering a letter is
8 cents in addition to the regular let-
ter postage. The machine makes the
same charge, assuming that a single
2-cent stamp is sufficient for the regu-
lar postage. Under the law a letter
prepaid by one 2-cent stamp must be-
forwarded and any extra postage col-
lected at the other end.
To work the machine you drop a
silver United States dime into a spout
at the upper right hand side. A square
iron cover flies up automatically and
reveals a roll of white paper. Opposite
certain lines you write the name and
address of the person to whom your
letter is to be sent and your own name
and address. At the right hand upper
‘ end of the machine is a small lever.
little 1
; printed also the Post Office date marks, .
. the serial number of the letter and the ‘;
. signature of the Postmaster.
You press this back and the letter slot
in front opens and into this you drop ;
Then you seize the handle ,
of a big crank at the right and force it
your letter.
back until a bell rings. As you do this
the iron cover closes and locks over
the writing tablet. Now you draw for-
ward the big lever until a bell rings.
As you do this a duplicate of your writ- 1
ing, on a separate slip of paper, is slip-
ped out of the machine at the left
hand side and upon this paper is 1111—;
your receipt. Your original writing re-
mains in the box until the letters are
removed, and then it goes with them. ,
At the same time that yodr receipt is
printed the letter is dated.
The next thing is to get the letter to
the Post Office without giving the let- 3
ter carrier a chance to tamper with
either the letters or the originals of the
receipts. The box has a hopper bot-
tom so constructed that it can be
opened only when the mail bag is at- '
tached to it. The mail bag can’t be
opened, either, except in conjunction
with the hopper or at the Post Office.
The strip on which are written the
names and addresses drops into the
bag with the letters.
The dimes fall into a brass cylinder
in the order in which they are dropped
into the machine, and the postman, if
he finds a bad one, can tell at once,
by running the mover in order, which
letter it belongs to. Such a letter will
be held and its sender notified to pay
the postage in good coin and get his
bad coin back.
Aside from this, the machine is con-
structed to throw out bad coins, if they
are under weight. When the coin first
drops into the slot it goes into a delic- _
ate balance where it is weighed. If it i
is too much worn to be current the
scale rejects it, and instead of passing
into the machine and starting the post-
ing operations,' the coin drops out of a
hole in the front of the machine and
falls on the floor. '
The inventor says he has spent three
years in perfecting the machine—New
York Sun.
FOODS PRESERVED IN TIN.
Elliorbitant Prices Demanded \Vhen First
Introduced in France.
The process of preserving foods in
tin is of older origin than may be sup-
posed. It was in 1841 that John'Colin
of Nancy, France, began the business
which is now of magnitude. In 1841
a. quart of turtle soup in tin put up by
Colin cost $3.75; a small box of sar-
dines, $1.25; an entire truffled salmon,
$15; a. beef tongue, $2; a. Toulouse duck
trufl’ied, $9. Vegetables were propor-
tionately dear. -Colin carried his sys-
tem much farther than is attempted at
the present day. He sold in tin an en-
tire sucking pig, for which he charged
$12.50; an entire turkey for $7.50, six
pounds of roast lamb for $4.25, an en-
tire pheasant for $12.50. He had also
preserved butter in tin, for which he
asked 75 cents a pound—New York
Sun.
NEWS FROM KLONDIKE.
Editor to Reporter-Well. I haven"
seen anything of those thirty-two car
‘ rler pigeons you took with yuo.
.. A...”
_ No, I eat ’em._ 7
This is :
ASSOCIATE JUSTICE FIELD. ‘
llis Family 3 Notable One in the History
of the Country.
Justice Stephen J. Field, came of
New England Revolutionary stock on
both sides, and was the son of David
Dudley Field, at Congregational clergy-
man. His brothers included Cyrus W-
Field, the promoter of the submarine
cable; David Dudley Field, the dis-
tinguished constitutional lawyer;
Henry M. Field, a well-known divine
and author; Matthew W. Field, an au-
thority in engineering; Jonathan Field,
who was President of the Massachus-
etts Senate, and Timothy Field, a lien-
tenant in the United States Navy. Few
families anywhere have been so con-
spicuous for ability.‘ Stephen J. Field
was born in Haddam, Conn., November
4, 1816, and is, therefore, 81 years old.
When a child he was taken to Asia
Minor by his brother-in—law, Rev.
Joshua Brewer, and there learned mod-
ern Greek, Italian and French. Upon
his return he entered Williams Col-
lege and was graduated in 1837 with
the highest honors. He was admitted
to the Bar in 1841, having studied law
in the office of his brother, David Dud-
ley.
v ,_ __ ._--
I
u
JUSTICE FIELD. ' 1
I After another trip to Europe Stephe
caught the gold fever in 1849 and wen
to San Francisco by way of Panama
arriving at the Golden Gate with $1
in his pocket. In three months he ha
made $25,000 by a deal in real estat’
options, and in 1850 he was elected t
his first office, that of Alcalde, or May
or, of Marysville. His life was fre
‘ quently threatened by swaggering pol
iticians and other bullies, and once h
' narrowly escaped assassination at th
1 hands of Judge Terry. In 1857 M
iField was elected Judge of the S
' pr-eme Court of California and afte
wards became Chief Justice. For hi
services as a War Democrat and hi
Vintimate knowledge of practice an
in Western 'cases, Judg
‘ procedure
Field was appointed to the Federal S
preme Bench in 1863 by President Li
coln. 0n the first day of Decembe
he served as Associate Justice thirt
four years,» six months and ten day
He has achieved the distinction
serving longer on the Supreme Benc
I than any of his predecessors, the ne
in point of service being Chief Justic
.Marshall, who died in office in 18
after a service of thirty-four years, 11
months and six days. As Justice Fiel
says in his letter to his colleagues, a
. nou-ncing formally his retirement,
has written the decisions in 1042 case
of which 365 were prepared while
was on the Bench in California and
‘ are decisions in the Circuit Court.
Debarred by his position from ente
'ing actively in politics, Justice Fiel
was, nevertheless, an attentive spe
tator. In 1876 he was one of t
Democratic representatives on t
Electoral Commission. In the Dem
cratic National Convention of 1880
received 65% votes for the Presidenti
nomination.
Justice Field is noted for his know
edge of the law, his profound schola
ship and his absolute fearlessness.
possesses a strong individuality a
has the courage of his convictions.
has written a. sketch of his experienc
in California, which is as interesii
as a romance. While his health h
suffered from his advanced age his i
tellect is still keen, and, it is possibl
he may while away the tedium of h
retirement by writing his recollectio
of the Supreme Court, particular
with respect to the great issues whi
it dealt with during the war and reco
struction periods- '
ASHOT AT BOSTON CULTURE.
eJ
r.“ ’
mm... ,_ ..
Mrs. Backbay—Tell me, dear, h
did it happen that your new cook 1
you so soon ?
Mrs. BeaconhiII—Oh, I sent the cre
ure away; she was forever using
kitchen utensils to rest her books on.
_ —Humoristisches Blaetter
Norwalk Chronicler