I Y"
‘stone in the Enderdown Road”
THE POSTER G R
'l‘m; nit-sud Poster Girl icanecl'out
Fr .m a pinkgmrplc heaven.
0 .u eye was red and one was green:
he: b.l.ll§£ was out uneven :
S I.‘ and three fingers on her band,
..nl the bah-son her head were seven.
ller robe. ungirted from claSp to hem.
No sunflowers did adorn:
l;:it u. heavy Turkish portiere
Was very peatly worn:
And the hat that in.) along her back.
Was yellow like canned corn.
It was a kind of wabbly wave
That she was standing on,
And nigh aloftshe flung a scarf
'l‘h..‘~t must have weighed a'ton :
And she was rather tall——at least.
bile reached up to the sun.
8 c curved and'writhed. and then she said,
, Less green of speech than blue:
“Perhaps I am absurd-—perhaps
1 don‘t appeal to you;
But my artistic wofih depends
Upon the point of view."
I saw her smile. although her eyes
Were bnly smuggy smears;
- And then she swished her swirling arms.
And wagged her gorgeous ears.
She sobbed a blue-and-grccn checked s-‘i'v.
And wept some purple tears.
——Carolyn: Wells, in Ccn l.l';.'.
HIS" LAST PUPIL.
“The best thing‘yOu can do,” said my
doctOr, “is- to take to bicycling.” '
“At present, 'of course, one bicycles,"
said the man of the world.
“You’re missing the finest possible
enjoyment by’not‘ bicycling,” said my
athile'tili' friehdg.’ ' '
In'hfact, wherever I went I was met
by bicyclists wad longed to make Oth-
ers bicycle. It was not for health nor
for fashion nor for exercise that I
finally took to the machine; it was
simply from the pressure of public
opinion. When I had finally given in,
and made up my mind to spoil my
clothes, bruise my body, and ruin my
temper by learning to ride, I sought
out my athletic friend and asked him
to tell me if there was any instructor
whom he could especially recommend.
“Yes," he said, “there is.” There is ,
one man, Barkinstone by name, who 5
has quite a small shop in the Ender-
(’0le take my machine to pieces, and
'I rode forty mil-es without feeling,par-
means an athlete, and I am particular-
. that I had taken no exercise all day. .
l
down Road. He knows more about the
bike than any two men in England put 3
I
together. 'I would not dream Of buy- ,
ring a new machine myself without con-
sulting Barkinstone about it.
So with an introduction from my
athletic friend, I sought out Barkin-
He
was a tall, thin man, with a. loose lip
and an inquiring eye. He heard what
in a notebook.
.I wanted and then looked up entries
“I’m full up for a fortnight,” he said, "
“‘You can take the course then if yOu
i
like. I must have a. machine exactly ;
right ready for you to learn on. Step
this way.”
He took me into another
weighed me carefully, measured me
frequently and accurately, and told me
exactly what clothes I was to get. He
had a model suit there, and explained
it to me. He had a lame tailor, who
room, :
w 13 EN LY - no,“ w A l
was intrusted with the making of these
suits; he would not risk his secret by
allowing you to employ your own
tailor. _
At the end of a. fortnight I returned
to him. In four days I could ride
straight up a stifi hill without bending
my back, and with my hands off. I
put it together again. On the fifth day
ticularly exhausted. Now, I am by no
1y snw at learning anything. Bar-
kinstone was expens-ive, but he was
also the most amazingly clever and
thorough instructor that the world has
yet produced. I sent him four pupils,
and the last Of them had to wait three
months before B-arkinstone could take
him. »
~ About a year after this I was in a
fishing village on the Yorkshire coast.
I was there for a. holiday, and (like
most writing men) found that I got
rather more work done in my holiday
than I did any other time. One hot
day I had been sitting out in the gar-
den most of the morning and after-
noon, doingbad reviews of worse nov-
els at my leisure. After dinner, I fin-
ished the reviews and took them out
to post. I observed that there was a
glorious full moon, that the roads were
in capital condition; and I remember
i went back to the house, brought out
my bicycle, lit a. totally unnecessary ‘
but strictly legal lamp, and rode off.
’lhr: first few miles I went slowly with ‘
my hands in my pockets; then I set-
tled. down to some good hard work. ]
had not taken any particular note 0)
the direction in which I was going, 110] ,
how long I had been riding, when l ‘
thought I heard a village clock in the
distance strike one. Then I glanced al
niy watch, and found that it was in- ;
(iced an hour after midnight. I de- '
old-ed to ride on to the village, and ther.
turn back and go home. The road i
hezc stretched long and white. On one I
side was the low stone wall of a park ~
on the other was a steep, downward
slope, covered with grass and bram- ;
bles. I noticed in the distance a tin:
sunk darting hither and thither, oc
casionally stopping suddenly, and the:
z1gzagging again. As I came nearer i
received that this spark was a bicycle
13.1121), and that the machine was being
ridden by some one not expert, some
one who Occasionally collapsed anc :
desperately remounted. Nearer, stil.
I drew; the other cyclist was visible
now, his shoulders hunched, his knee; '
turned in, and his insteps well 0V6}
the pedals. I prepared to dodge, and i-
was as well I did, for just as we me: ;
he gave another lurch and came at me
I escaped him, and he went bang intc
the wall, shoved himself off with om
hand, shot across to» the other side 0:
the road, and tumbled straight down
the embankment. Then from motive:
of humanity I got off my machine. ; ,
calleddown the embankment;—
“Are you hurt?” '
l
After lat-moment a voice came from
:he middle Of a brambles—bush,—
“Not -much. The bike's—er—rather
entangled. But I can manage—don’t
stOp for me.” -
However, I leaned ‘my _ machine
against the wall, took off the lamp,
and climbed down the embankment
with it in my hand. Against the
bramble-bush was the rider, stooping
lown and rubbing his shins. Beside
aim was a lump of mixed machinery
that had once been a bicycle. He
ooked up as I approached 'and the
light of the lamp fell full on his face.
“Barkinstone!” I exclaimed. “Bar-
{instono Of the Enderdown Road, by
:11 that's miraculous!” ‘
“No, no,” he said: “my name is—er'
-—Brown.”
“Not a bit of it,” I replied. “You
caught me to ride, and I know you.
You’re Barkinstone.” _ l
“I knew this would happen one of
hose days,” he said to himself, mourn-
iully. “Yes, sir,'it’s no good to say
atherwise. I’m Barkinstone."
“And the amazing part Of it is, you
don’t talk in the least as if you were
drunk.” .
“I’m not drunk. I know my business
well enough, see—look at this.” He
took a couple of tools from his pocket.
Then he picked up a. bundle Of spokes,
some scraps of tire, a handle-bar, and
what was left of the saddle, and in a
very few minutes had made a. bicycle
out of them. “There, does that lock
as if I were drunk?”
“No,” I said, “it 'doesn't. And, drunk
or sober, nobody but you could have
done it. But why did you ride like
that?”
“Because I can’t ride.any better. In
fact, that ride to-night was the best
I’ve ever done. I've never been so fat
before without falling off.”
“Still I don’t understand. You
taught me to ride. You have taught
hundreds to ride.”
“Yes—but I can’t teach myself.”
“You have a theory of riding that is
absolutely correct. It has been test—
ed.”
“Yes, the theory is correct in nine
hundred and ninety-nine cases out of
a thousand. I’m the thousandth. Was
I riding properly when you saw me?”
“You were pedaling very unevenly
and badly; you clung hard to the ban-
dles; you kept looking at the front
wheel; you—"
“Oh, you needn’t go on! I was do-
: ing everything that I oughtn’f.‘ to do. I
know it. The theory fails with me be-
cause I am the thousandth case. Do
you think it takes any courage to learn
to ride the bicycle?"
“None whatever—not in the least.”
“I’ll put it in‘a. different way. Can.
you conceive of a want Of nerve so ter-
rible, a physical cowardice so great,
that it might absolutely prevent a man
from learning to bike—or at any rate
cause him to take years over it, where
, other men would only take days?”
“No, I can’t.”
s
- sir.
. could teach other people to ride. I am
'daughter—‘.‘Fnisvh every day, and be
t ' . .
\V I, ‘ . i
J a: ‘\ " ( I . .i‘A
suffer 9
“Very likely not; sir. But I ,
from just that want of nerve. just flint i ,
: Simple Method of Securing Very Pleasing
physical cowardice. I stand beside
the machine, and my nerve’s all right, '
and I know all there is to know about
riding. I’ve only got to put my foot
on the step, and my nerve's gone, and
in a moment I’ve forgotten everything;
then I flounder about—and come Off——
and hurt myself—and break things."
He limped up the embankment to
the road, carrying his machine and
refusing any assistance.
“Going to get on again?r I asked.‘
“Oh. yes! I’ve got perseverance and
moral courage, if I haven’t got physi-
cal courage and nerve.”
,He placed his left foot on the stop,
propelled the machine in a slow curve
with three convulsive kicks with his
right foot, rose slowly in the air, then
slipped off the step, and came down in
the road with the machine on top Of
him. He was apparently quite used to
to this kind of thing, for he observed
in an unmoved voice from under the
machine,—
“There was one thing I forgot to
mention, sir.” '
“Well, what is it?"
“You would do me a great favor,”
he said, rising slowly, "if you would
for the present keep this incident a se-
cret. You know what the public in,
If the public knew that I could
not ride, it would never believe that 1
about to retire; in another six months
I shall be able to give up the business,
and live in comfort in a. fine house in
the country for the rest of my days,
After that, it doesn’t much matter
what you say, for no pupil has ever
been dissatisfied with me. But, until
then, it might spoil business."
, “But why give up your business?
You’re far too young 3. man to retire.
What interest have you got; in the
country? What would you do with
yourself?”
“Learn the bicycle. I shall be my
own pupil. It will take me all my
life. Good-night, sir. “781]
thanks, if you’d just give me a hand.’
He relit his lamp. I held the ma,
chine while he mounted, and then
shoved him off. He vanished like a
diamond-pointed corkscrew, more 01
less in the direction of the village.
He has retired now. The ground:
of his country house are secluded by
high walls. I am told that inside a"
asphalt track has been constructed, 1:
hurts to fall on asphalt.
_‘_—___.
This Was Emerson’s adv-ice to a
done with it. You have done what
you could. Some blunders and ab-
surdities no doubt crept in; for get
them as soon as you can. To-m-orrow
is a. new day; begin it well and serene.
ly, and with too high a spirit to be
oombered with your old nonsense.
This day is al lthat'is good and fail;
It is too dear, with its hopes and in-
:7.‘ '1: '1‘ ' I"
vitations, to waste a monument on the
yesterdays." ‘
\
PH’OTOGTAPHS IH COLORS.
Effect.
A recent American invention prcfl-
ises to make the coloring of photo-
graphs a very simple matter, even for
the lamateur, and no great artistic tal-
ent is necessary. By the process,
known as the “Kalos art,” ordinary
prints~may be made considerably more
attractive at small cost and with no
great expenditure of time. All that is
necessary is a box of “Kalos colors,” a
dish of clean water and a. camel’s-hair
brush and sponge. These colors are
transparent, and the shades and lights
of the photograph show through. Any
desired tints may be secured by mixing
or diluting with water. To colo’r any
print apply the shades with the brush
and wash .the surface of the picture
with a wet sponge, so that all super-
fluous color may be removed. This
prevents running and insures a. more
even distribution of the colors. Rinse
the brush or the sponge in clean water,
after using each color, sponge the
whole picture after the coloring is fin-
ishe'd. It is better. to make the colors
a trifle stronger than is desired in or-
der to allow for a slight fading in the
mounting process. The picture should
then be allowed to dry thoroughly, so
that the colors may become» firmly
fixed before mounting. These colored
prints may be mounted on cards or
transferred to glass, in imitation 01
porcelain paintings. The miniature
may be set in pearl or gold for lockets,
brooches, sleeve buttons. watch charms
&c. This process is Wat-ranted to work
on photographs of a gelatinous nature,
and gives excellent results on platinum
prints. Collodion prints may be col-
ored by first giving them a gelatinous
surface. This may be done by adding
one-quarter dunce of water to one
ounce of sheet gelatine, and the mix-
ture heated until the gelatine is thor-
oughly dis-solved; then, with a wide, '
soft brush, apply the dissolved gelatinc
to the film side of the print, giving it
a smooth, even surface. Heat it gen-
tly over a lighted lamp until dry.~
Philadelphia Record.
CAR STEALING AS A FINE ART.
Omaha Claims to Have the Most Expert
Borrower.
When the traffic of a railroad is lim-
ited only by the number of cars it can
get possession of the means of securing
those cars are overlooked and only the
end is. considered. Thus it comes that
in railroad circles it is rather an hon-
or than a dishonor to be an expert car
thief. Stealing a. freight car is no more
regarded as a. crime in railroad circles
than is stealing a. base in baseball
games. .
The most successful superintendent
of a. car service is he who can, when his
own supply of cars runs short. reach
out and steal from other roads enough
cars to meet the demand. To be sure,
.. _, .L - O
the theft is not a. permanent one, as the *
cars are bound to be returned to the
company that owns them some day.
But when several roads are lying in
wait to grab the same string of empty
cars the one that succeeds in capturing
it makes a borrowing that is pretty
close approach to a. theft. This pro~ I
cedure, however, is regarded as legiti-
mate railroading under the conditions
now existing in Nebraska, where the
business of a railroad depends prac-
tically altogether on its ability to rush
empty cars to the stations where therc
‘are thousands of bushels of grain
awaiting shipment.
In this respect it is generally con"
ceded that Omaha has the most expert
superintendent of car service in the .
business. His is a. western railroad.
and a pretty big one. Just as soon as
a string of empty cars come across the
big bridge betWeen here and Council
Bluffs they are Seized by this smooth
borrower of cars, rushed out on his line
filled with grain and returned here to
be delivered to the railroad east 'of the
river to whom the cars belong. That
railroad cannot Object very strenuous-
ly since it thereby receives the haul on
the grain from here to Chicago, but it ~
may be greatly embarrassed quite often
when it thinks it has twenty or thirty
empty cars in the Omaha yard and'
plans to send them west on some other
line, only to later, discover that they
have been grabbed and hustled out on
the western line that boasts of having
the smoothest car superintendent in
the United States.—¥Omaha Bee.
Servants of Olden Times.
Servants were servants away back in
1566, just as varied, in fact, as the wo-
man who bossed them, and both'were
much as they are in this end of the
century year. ‘ .rvants were fined in
those days for each trivial offence. A
.euny 'was thought enough to fine a
:-.a'.vant who left open a door that
.-.nuld have been cl sed, and the same
.5119, did service missing family
p-.:'el‘S. or leaving the beds of the
abuse "L.‘.il'2‘\'1.-C' Eter'than 8 o'clock in
the morning. The cook might have a
Lien, hut ale had to pay a fine every
.izne he vine, of 1 penny. If such
,-
L C 1‘
. ..le; v. ers: ..-lurccd now. madam would
find horse! Without “lady help" in
Shaii'l Oiclez.
..
Five 1:; .nc great sacred Chinese
number. There are five virtues, five
colors (yellow, white, green, red and
black), five household gods, five plan-
ats (Saturn, Venus, Jupiter, Mars, Mer-
:.n :3), five ranks of nobility, five tastes,
.ive cardinal points (the middle, east,
west, south and north respectively),
:..-.I five tones.
-~_________,_
:isonj—“I t.;."!lghf. you could keep r.
caret." .
Jauson—“SO I can."
Jibson—“Why didn’t you keep the
secret I told you the other day?"
Jabson—“Eccause, when you told it.
w -‘ M be. a score .”-Puck.
TO MY GIRL.
Words from “Life,” by C. H.
Not too fast. '
INTRODUCTION.
.to
hop - pi - ness For
‘-.
mc nay? - -
rc - call?
l, ...
be mine. What think you, you would say?
good, for
Music
\Vould you
good and all? And make me
rise. and
Or would you tom -
dear, the
1 wish you'd tcll
P“ '
me,
my prof - feted band do - clinc.
. truth,
by. A. o. B. LEONARD.
I. If I should ask you
2. Or would you grant me
And
ear- nest an - swer yes, Wuh-
"‘ o B'-
no, no, yes,
-Out .........
No,
Willi
say.
rail.
, . '
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”—mi—FT—i—W—Lhd—l——-—1‘———=—'—$:Fd—'—?:fi:“g:¥%{ .
And have me tor tur'd by d9 1213'. To try ' to guess your thoughts?
For if you prom - ise yes in faith, Per - haps ........... 1' ask.
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- ’ V 4" 19‘ ' 2122“ -
Copyright, .. ?.y The Musical News Co.
CfiORt'JS. Allegro.
would you tell
tle, lit - tle flirt.
DANCE.
me yes
to - day, You lit - tle, lit - tle
see it hurt?
to- mor-row just in play,
And "‘ no to -mororow
Or would you tell me yes to-day,
To see it, see it
80m... ....
I
g .
Norwalk Chronicler