———
Bellefonte, Pa., April 18, 1890.
OUT OF THE WAY.
Jamie's feel are restless and rough,
Jamies fingers cause disarray.
Jamie ean never make noise enough,
Jamie is told to get out of the way.
Out ofthe way of beautiful things,
Out of the way with his games and toys,
Out of the way with his sticks and strings,
Out on the street, with the other boys!
Easy to slip from home restraint,
Out of the mother care into the throng,
Out of the way of fret and complaint,
Out with the fun—borne swiftly along!
Out of the way of truth and right,
Out with the bold, the reckless, the gay,
Out of purity into the nigh t—
Mother, your boy is out of the way!
Out into darkness, crime and woe !
Mother, why do you weep to-day ?
Weep, that Jamie has sunk so low,
You who sent him out of your way !
Pray you, mother to be forgiven !
And for your boy, too, pray, oh, pray!
For he is out of the way to heaven—
Yes, he is surely out of the way!
—Youth’s Companion.
THE VERDICT.
And Then the Private Opinions of the
Members of the Jury.
It is the morning of his trial. The
sun is shining gloriously outside the
jail, and he stands at his barred win-
dow and looks out over the fields that
lie around the village. He smiles when
the jailer brings him his breakfast, and
it is no forced smile, for his face retains
#ts brightness after the man has retired.
His dress is meager and course, and
the roughness of his hands indicates
that he is a laborer. He is a carpen-
ter, but the intelligence of his face sug-
gests that he might have succeeded in
a higher calling. There is something
indescribabiy poetic in his bearing—
something hidden in the man that gives
great power to his eyes.
“I can’t make that young man out,”
said the jailerto his wife as he returned
to his breakfast table. “They have got
all the proof in the world against him ;
he must have stolen the money, there
is no disputing that, but I never saw
such an honest looking face. He seems
as confident that he will come clear to-
day as if he had been promised so by
the judge and jury.”
“He is only acting a part,” answered
the woman as she poured out a cup of
coffee. “Wait till he is sentenced to a
long term in the penitentiary ; then you
will see him wilt. It is easy enough
for him to put on a confident look
when he hears some one coming to his
cell.”
“] want to see my client before court
opens,” said the prisoner's lawyer, at
the jail door. “I must have a short
talk with him.”
The heavy iron door swung open.
The accused and his counselor were
alone together. The prisoner's face
grew expectant. He wiped his lips
with a napkin and pushed the tray of
eatables from him.
“I feel as if you bring me good news,’
said he. “I have never for one instant
doubted that I would be declared inno-
cent. I never knew a man to suffer
for a crime of which he was not guily.”
The lawyer looked at him penetrat-
ingly for a moment ; he looked as if he
were vexed somewhat.
“My time is valuable,” said he with
a trace of impatience in his brusque
tone. “I am your legal adviser. There
is one thing I would like to say just
now. You do not seem to comprehend
the position of a client toward his legal
adviser as well as you might. It is
customary for one under trial for break-
ing the laws to confide wholly in the
member of the bar to whom he intrusts
his case. Nothing should be withheld.
You may rest assured that what you
tell me will never reach other ears;
such disclosures are regarded as pro-
fessional secrets and are held sacred.
It may be well to tell you frankly that
a lawyer can not act with as much
confidence in his own ability. as when
there is a thorough understanding be-
tween himself and his client.
The face of the prison-pale man had
taken on a puzzled expression.
“I don’t understand,” said he, giving
the lawyer his eyes unflinchingly.
The attorney frowned and twirled
his watch-chain impatiently.
“I will give you an example,” said
he looking at his watch and then
winding it as he continued: “I once
defended a man for murder. I looked
over the case closely. Everything
pointed to my client's guilt. I told him
that all was against him, but that he
could trust me completely, and that a
detailed confession of how he had com-
ped the crime would enable me to
be ready to combat as far as possible
every point the prosecution could ad-
duce. He confessed in full. I saw
what had to be disproved, and I clear-
ed him ; he is a free man to-day.”
The prisoner turned two startled
‘eyes full on the lawyer and said:
“And you want me to confess that I
did it 27
+ “It would help me.”
“But before God I am innocent!”
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders
and half smiled meaningly as he rose.
“Well,” he said, curtly, “I shall do
the best I can for you, as much as any
member of the bar could do. But I
am sorry to say your case is almost
hopeless. You were at work in the
room from which the purse was stolen
and on the same day. When you were
arrested you had the empted purse in
your coat pocket, and had just chang-
ed a bill of exactly the same denomina-
dion as the one stolen. You are unable
the fact that if you were to plead guilty
and throw yourself on the mercy of the
court your punishment would be light-
er. If you decide to do that you may
let me know in the court-room. At all
events I shall leave no stone unturned
to help you. 1 must go now.”
The prisoner's head hung down and
he was in deep thought for a moment.
Then his features grew tender as he
moved nearer the window and saw a
woman coming across the court-yard
toward the jail leading a little boy by
the hand When she got to the win-
dow she lifted the boy up in her arms.
“Here I am, Jennie!" called out the
prisoner. “I can see you, but you can't
see me bac kere in the shade.”
“Have you had any breakfast?”
she asked, tremblingly.
“Yes, and have eaten heartily. You
told me you would find out whether
our neighbors believed me guilty; did
you do it?”
The wife lowered her head and was
silent.
“Jennie, did you hear me ?”
“Some do believe it, and the others
won’t speak to me about it.”
He was silent, and the pained look
that was settling on his face deepened.
“Jennie, now go to your seat in the
court-room before the crowd comes.
They will take me there as soon as the
court opens.”
As his wife walked away he rose
on tiptoes to see her.
“God knows I have done all T could
to teach my boy to be honest,” he mur-
mured to himself. “If they were to
convict me to-day whata lessonit would
be to him! As he grew up he would
learn tht his father was a convict.
No; they will not condemn me. shall
speak to the jury, my words shall con-
vince them if all else fails.”
A few moments later he sat on the
prisoner's bench and scanned the faces
of the jurors who had been chosen.
They jooked like honest feeling men,
men who, like himself, had wives, per-
haps, and children. His face showed
that he had not lost hope, even while
the attorney for the prosecution was
citing the strong circumstantial evi:
dence against him. But the accused
could not catch the eyes ofthe jurymen.
They had looks for none save the speak-
er. When the prosecuting attorney
took his seat, there was a craning of
necks over the vast crowd to catch a
view of the prisoner. He wondered
why they were looking at him so fix-
edly and so pityingly. He looked
at ‘his wife; she was regarding him
with such a look of hopeless misery
that his heart sank within him. He
saw his lawyer move over to her and
whisper in her ear. She nodded her
head, and then they both came to him.
“There is not a chance left,’ said the
lawyer. “Judge, jury and the specta-
tors are against us. If you will plead
guilty your punishment will be lighter.
I bring your wife to plead with you.”
“Do it, John,” said she, sobbing in
answer to his startled glance of inquiry.
“I know you are innocent, but the law-
yer knows best what you ought to do.”
“Confess that my boy is the son of a
felon, that you are the wife of a con-
viet? I will not do it. Go back to
your seats. Let me speak to the jury.”
The lawyer employed by the defend-
ant rose and made a weak argument.
Nothing he said could refute the evi-
dence advanced by the prosecution.
He sat down. Again the eyes of all
save the jury were cast upon the accus-
ed, bearing looks pregnant with sym-
pathy. Some looked at the pale-faced
woman and the little boy, and sadly
shook their heads.
“Yes,” said the judge, “the prisoner
is entitled to make a statement.”
The voice of the prisoner was very
unsteadey when he begun to speak.
He said that he hoped all would par-
don his embarrassment inasmuch as he
had never spoken in public before.
He went on plaintively to tell about
how he was at work in the room from
which the money was stolen. How he
had left his coat in the hall. He could
not remember leaving the room but
ouce and that was to go to the well in
the yard to get a drink of water. He
thought that some one had entered
while he was out, had taken the money
and put the empty purse in his coat
pocket. The money he had changed
was some that he had been saving for
fear that he might be taken sick and
not be able to earn a support. He had
not told his wife of the savings. He
seemed to want to say more, but his
voice broke down and he began to shed
tears.
The jury withdrew to a private room
to make up their verdict, after the
judge had charged them as to their du-
ty. They shut themselves in, and the
foreman handed each juryman a small
slip of paper and told them to write the
word “guilty” or “not guilty.” When
all had written, he took up the slips in
a hat. After he read them all, he
said:
“It is unanimous. Every ticket con-
tains but a single word.”
They slowly returned to the court-
room and refilled the twelve chairs
made vacant by their withdrawal. The
foreman stood up and announced that
they had fouad the prisoner guilty.
The prisoner had the eyes of the
whole room. A wild, haunted look, in
which lay the shadow of a strange,
sudden determination came into his
face and eyes. He thrust his hand into
the breast of his coat and held it there.
Many thought his hand was pressed
against his heart, bat it was not, for he
had taken hold of something in his
breast pocket and was clutching it with
a grasp of iron.
The house was still as a grave, for
he had risen to his feet. He was death-
|
ly pale and his lips were twitching as
if he were in a spasm. He faced the
to show where you got the bill beyond ' jury, then he turned to the wondering
your own statement thatit had been judge.
the savings of a number of years.”
“The thief must have taken the mon-
ey and hidden the purse in my coat
which lay on the table outside of the
room. I know I am innocent and am
not afraid of being convicted.”
The lawyer had reached the door;
he turned back.
#1 feel it my duty to impress on you
“I have something to say !” he gasp-
ed. He paused and looked toward his
wife and child and continued. “I
would not care to—to say it before
them. May I ask them to retire.”
The judge nodded his head and the
prisoner went to the woman. He kiss-
ed her tenderly on the lips and then he
kissed his boy and motioned them to
leave. The wife wept freely and her
sobbing could be heard through the
courtroom as she went across the court-
yard.
“He intends to confess now,” a man
said to a woman at his side.
“Yes,” she answered in a whisper,
“and loved his wife so much that he
could not do it before her. He has a
good spot in him. He must have been
strongly tempted.”
The convict pat his hand back into
the breast of his coat and stood near
the judge and jury. There are people
living to day who say that tears were
in his eyes.
“You have found me guilty,” he be-
gan. “I hoped when I had told you,
with all the earnestness God has given
me of my innocence, that you would
credit me. You have not done so. The
world is ready to look upon my child as
the offspring of a thief. Ask yourselves,
in the quiet of your own bedrooms to-
night, it I am guilty. Something tells
me that you will not think me so to-
morrow—you will know that I stand
acquitted”
His words ciogged in his throat and
he was silent. His hand under his
coat seemed to ball itself. Every body
was filled with intense surprise. Was
he mad? Had his troubles dethroned
his reason? He stepped back a step.
“I have made my last request—you
will understand.”
With a lightning-quick movement he
tore open his coat. A knife blade glit-
tered in the sunlight that streamed in
at the window. His arm went from
him, as quick as a flash the knife de-
scended upon his breast with a thud
that sent a thriil of horror into every
heart present. The blood spurted out
and dyed the hand that clutched the
weapon. He dropped the knife, reeled
and fell. They ran to him and tried to
stay the blood that was flowing from
the gash near his heart but they saw
there was no hope. He was dead.
They bore him from the room. The
spectators were awed so that scarce a
whisper rose from them.
“The court is adjourned till the after-
noon,” said the judge, and he went with
a pale face and uncertain step through
the crowd to the street. The jury did
not leave their seats. They sat like
twelve statues representing as many
different conceptions of woe. The at-
torney for the prosecution was elbow-
ing his way through the excited throng.
“Do you think that poor fellow was
innocent ?”’ asked a man, touching his
arm.
“I don’t know— don’t ask me,” re-
plied the attorney, with white lips ; and
he hastened home to his wife and chil-
dren with such a mien as might have
been on a man who believed the world
was about to end.
No onewas in the court-room except
the twelve jurors. They had not ex-
changed one word with one another.
The noonday sun was shining full into
the room. The foreman was the first
to break the silence. He passed
around some slips of papers.
“For our own satisfaction,” said he
meaningly, “it might be well for us to
kuow one another’s opinion now.”
“God knows we owe it to his memo:
ry if—if we were mistaken,” added a
man as he reached for a slip of paper.
“And his wife and child,” said an-
other as he wrote on his knee.
The foreman took up the slips and
ran over them nervously.
“Not guilty,” said he with a groan.
And then they dispersed.— Will N.
H arben, in Atlanta Constitution.
The Coon as a Copper.
There is only one man in the South
more envied than the colered fireman on
a locomotive, and he is the colored po-
liceman. He is fully cognizant of this
fact and governs himself accordingly.
One ‘court day’’ man Alabama town
seven or eight dusky citizens stood star-
in at an officer who had just got into
his uniform for the first time that day.
He passed and re-passed them several
times without a look, although his own
father and several old triends were
among them. His desire to hear what
they had to say finally led him to stop
and demand : J
“What yo’ all doin’ yere ?”’
“Lookin,” replied one of the crowd.
“What yo’ all lookin’ at ?”’
“Lookin’ at yo’.”
“What about me?’
«Yo is as fine as silk. Hu! But
wouldn’t I like to be in yo’ place?”
“Yo nebber kin git up dis high,
James Johnson,” answered the officer.
“But your fadder kin.”
“No, he can’t.”
“Can't yo,” Misser Blivens ?”’ appeal-
ed the young man.
¢Reckon I mought if I was young-
er,” answered the father, who was
old and bow-legged and bowbacked.
¢#You will dun cum ’long wid me!”
said the son as he collared him.
“Who! What fur yo’ ‘rest me, Bill ?”
“Fur stealin’.”
“But I hain’t dun stole nuffin’ |”
“Yes yo’ hev! Six y’ars ago yo’
an’me an’ Jim stole dat ar’ white hog
from Marsa Ben Jackson an’ Ize had
my eye on you eber since yisterday.
Now, den, kin yo’ be a policeman in dis
town ?”
“No, Bill-—no !”’
“Kin Julius or James Johnson ?”
“No—no!”
“Den I'll let yo’ go, but be mighty
keerful in de fucher, Ize got boaf eyes
on dis crowd, an’ Ize gwine to come
down wid an awful smash when I jump.
De United Staits didn’t make no mis-
take when dey called on me to uphold de
constitushun. Yo’ niggers stand back
an’ keep dis sidewalk cl’ar or I'll make
dese streets swim wid blood !”’
Two Brave Little Girls.
Two little girls, aged seven and four
years respectively, took supper at the.
ark House, Williamsport, Monday even-
ing, having traveled from Stockton,
Califoraia, a distance of 3218 miles, on
their way to Philadelphia.
tags on their backs, and only the rail-
road conductors to look after them.
This shows the almost entire safety of
travel on American railroads. These
children were transferred from one
train to another without any trouble or
danger whatever.
They had
Want of Tact Almost a Fault.
Neversay too much. Manners go a
great way, and delicate matters manag-
ed with tact can be carried out without
the slightest blow to the sensitive feel-
ings of those concerned. It isnot tact
to rush up to a person and say, ‘How ill
you are looking!” Any one who is
not feeling well generally knows all
about it, and does not like to be re-
minded of the fact. On the contrary, in
meeting anybody who is looking partic-
ularly well or handsome, then is the time
to speak.
To be able to keep people in good
humor and never ruh them the wrong
way shows a wonderful amount of tact,
but how many people there are who
always say or do the wrong thing. Two
old school friends who had not seen each
other for years met again a short time
ago, and almost immediately after the
first words of greeting had been exchang-
ed, the one exclaimed to the other,
«Why, you look as though you had been
crying for years; your face is so
wrinkled.”
Now the remark, to say the least, did
not show tact, and in a measure it des-
troyed the old feeling of affection which
had existed for so many years. People
do not like to be told disagreeable
facts. As the saying goes, “Truth
sometimes is brutal,” but even when an
unpleasant truth must be told to use a
little tact in the telling of it will make
the hurt less deep. Say and do pleasant
things in this world whenever itis possi-
ble, but if disagreeable ones come to the
surface handle them as gently as possible
to spare the feelings of others.
TC ——
She Didn’t Run the Town.
No matter what may be a man’s per-
sonal convictions on the temperance
question, he is bound to respect those
of his wife. The venerable Senator
Thurman was never considered rabid on
that issue, but his wife, for reasons of
her own, was fully imbued with the
“touch not, taste not, handle not” prin-
ciple. It isrelated that upon one occa-
sion Senator Thurman’s friends visiten
his house to apprise him that a new
political honor had been conferred upod
him. He was pleased, but after they
had been seated a few moments the con-
versation lagged, and the old Roman
seemed to be ill at ease. His wife tried
her best to entertain the campaigners,
and the Senator excused himself. He
presently appeared with his boots and
top-coat on.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “we will now go
out and get something to smoke. My
wife is the boss here, and we never have
anything to drink in the house.”
Mrs. Thurman looked pleased as she
closed the door after them.
“AsT was saying,” added the Sena-
tor, “she 'runs the house; but, thank
God! she doesn’t run the town.” — New
York Herald.
SH ATTITAR,
Facts About Fish.
A Number of Interesting Points Re-
garding the Finny Tribe.
Anglers generally agree on the sub-
ject of the sense of sight in fishes. A
fish can see in water, but not out of it.
The shadow of a splint bamboo rod
thrown acrcss a poole will create in a
fish the same skittishness as would be
caused by an elephant browsing upon a
bank.
A passing cloud over a shallow and
pellucid pool protects the angler and
puts another fin or two in his creel,
where a moment before each cast of his
drove the fish to deeper pools or behind
protecting rocks.
An old angling friend once: said to
me that fish were like ostriches in some
of their ways, notably in that they seem-
ed to feel safe when their noses were hid
behind a tuft of grass or in the crevices
of a sunken rock.
“Fish facing the sun and forget not
this rule, even when the twilight is over
the waters, by casting toward the west,”
was the law enacted by his knowledge,
based upon experience, of the effect of
shadows upon the wary fish, who are
more startled by unusual appearance on
the surface of a pool than they are by
strange things below.
Vision and hearing in fish being
the senses most important to the angler
in his water sports, those next in value
are smell and taste. The possession of
these by flsh seems to be a disputed
int.
They have evidently tastein a modified
degree, as they will reject the artificial
lure if the barb of the hook is not im-
mediately imbedded in their flesh, but
on the other hand, they will take a
leather or rubber imitation of the nuatur-
al bait with as much gusto as a live
minnow or bug—hence the question is a
see-saw one.— Golden Days.
Marching Through Georgia.
Gen. Sherman occupied a box in a
theater the other evening, and when he
was recognized the audience broke out
into loud applause, and before it ended
loud cries came from all over the house
for “Sherman! Sherman!” The hero
of Atlanta rose to his feet, placed his
hand on his breast, and made a pro-
found military bow. The cries and
bravos continued, and Gen. Sherman
kept bowing, and smiling, and shak-
ing hishead. Finally, raising his_hand
peremptorily, he commanded silence,
and not till then did the applause stop.
«It's a wonder,” said the General, as
he left the theater, ‘that the band
didn't play “Marching Through
Georgia.” Every place I go they play
that tune when they know I'm in the
crowd, and I confess I like it.”
The World’s Oldest Engineer Dead—
Never Killed a Man.
BALTIMORE, Md., April 7..— William
(Galloway, who ran the first engine over
the Baltimore and Ohio railroad,
and who was probably the oldest engin-
eer in the world, has pulled his last
throttle. After more than fifty years ot
bard service he died to-day at the good
old age of 81 years, Mr. Galloway ran
between Baltimore and Washington for
forty-six years. He averaged sixteen
I trips a week, and in that time made
about 88,272 trips. Hach trip Leing
forty miles in length, he traveled over
1,530,880 miles. He is credited with hav-
ing but two accidents occur while in the
engine cab. Both were rather singular
and nobody was hurt.
A Lesson in Self-Reliance.
Mr. Depew told me an anecdote. A
good many years ago a young freight
clerk was employed at one of the coun-
try stationson the Erie Railroad. He
was a farmer’s boy, who had nothing
but a common school education, but
was regarded as-a pretty bright chap.
He vindicated this youthful reputation
by his management of the little freight
business to which he had to attend, and
was soon transferred toa more impor-
tant place near Buffalo. There he be-
gan to reveal the genius that was in
him by suggesting certain new methods
of dealing with freicht, and there he
came uuder the eye of Commodore Van-
berbilt.
Some time later after the consolida-
tion of the Hudson River and New
York Central Railroads the old Com-
modore desired to get a man to take
Destruction of the Forests.
Grave Consequences Which May Result
Jrom Their Denudation.
The reservations which have been
ceded by the Chippewas in this state to
the government embrace the heaviest
white pine forests now available as a
source of lumber supply. These forests
are largely contributory to the retention
of the moisture which feeds the streams
and lakes that make the sources of the
Mississippi river. Already there is much
said about the great commercial value of
these pine lands, and there is not the
slighest doubt that as soon as the region
is opened by the government the work of
destruction will commence which will
speedily lay bare the soil and subject it
to the drying influence of the sun and
wind, or to the forest fires, which will
kill every young growih which appears
charge of the freight business, and
thought of this young man. He sent |
for him and offered him a salary of !
$15,000 a year to assume the duties of
master of freight transportation. The |
clerk was a rosy-cheeked, yellow-haired |
young man who at once accepted the
offer with such confidence in his abili-
ties as to please the old Commodore,
who hated a man who had no self-con-
fidence. Not long after he took charge
a very complicated and difficult pro- |
blem in freight transportation arose.
It puzzled the young fellow so that he
could not sleep nights. If he made a
mistake he felt that it would be fatal to
his reputation, probably to his career,
while if he succeeded he would simply
accomplish what he had been hired to
do. At lastin his anxiety he ventured
to call upon the old Commodore, stated
the difficulty to him, and asked advice.
The old man looked a him at moment
and then said :
«Jim, what does the Central hire you
“To take .charge of the transporta-
tions.”
for 2°?
“Well, do you expect I am going to
earn your salary for you ?”
That was all the Commodore said,
and the young man turned on his heel
and left him. He went out and acted
on his own judgment; acted with uner-
ring foresight, and was soon promoted
to the Vice-Presidency. Later on he
succeeded William H. Vanderbilt as
President of the New York Central
system. That was the career of Jim
Ruter, Mr. Depew said, and he char-
acterized Rutter as one of the greatest
railroad geniuses that the age of rail-
roading has produced. Rutter killed
himself (in the service of the Central
by overwork, a habit which Mr. Depew
neither encourages by his own example
or favors in any of his employees.—
Philadelphia Press.
Knocking Out a Waiter.
Erastus Gurley was in town and, as
usual, proceeded to make his presence
felt. He arrived about 10 a. m., and for
a change dropped into a cafe for dinnerf
The obsequious waiter had just picked a
bit of lint from Mr. Gurley’s coat collar
when Mr. Gurley opéned out on him.
“Yes,” he said, glancing at the menu,
‘you may bring me some eggs blushing
like Aurora.”
Beg pardon, sir,” explained the wait-
er; ‘it’s not on the bill.”
“Isn't, eh? What's this—ceufs a
I’Aurore ?” i
“0h, yes,” replied the young man,
blushing and shifting somewhat un-
easily.
“And I feel just like having some
breeches in the royal fashion, with vel-
vet sauce.”
The waiter turned red white and blue.
“Got you again,” chuckled Mr. Gur-
ley. “Well, I suppose you call it culot-
tes a la royale, sauce veloute.”
“Qh, that! Yes, sir; yes, sir,” and the
waiter briskly rattled the cutlery around
Mr. Gurley’s plate as though he would
fain drown Mr. Gurley’s voice.
“Be sure you bring a stew of good
Christians.”
“Now you are joking,” mildly expos-
tulated the waiter, with a sickly smile.
“Nota bit of it, man. See here on
your bill—compote de bons chretiens.”
“Q--ah—ugh,” gulped the waiter,
«And don’t forget the fountains of
love.”
“The—ah—I beg pardon.”
“Right here on your menu—puits
d’amour.”
«Well, well,” and the accompanying
grin was ghastly.
«And a mouthful of ladies.”
“Eh?”
“Bonche de dames—Quick, help—a
glass of water—dash it in his face!”
But Mr. Gurley was too late. The
waiter was in a dead swoon, almost in a
cataleptic fit, from which he never re-
covered until alongin the afternoon. As
Mr. Gurley went out he inquired of the
cashier if the waiters there understood
French.
“Only by ear,” answered the light-
ing change artiste, “hich ear I couldn’t
inform you.”’—St. Paul Pioneer Press.
A Little Tariff Poem.
He sat in his door at noonday, lonely
and gloomy and sad ; brooding over the
price ot his corn crop and figuring how
much he had. He had worked from
early spring-time, early and late and
hard, and he was counting his assets
and figuring out his reward. He fig-
and destroy even tree seed which has
been borne there by the winds. The re-
sult of this will be the dimir.ution of the
sources of the supply of the Mississippi,
which will be felt by every water power
company from Itasca to Fort Snelling.
These are grave consequences, and the:
question is : Shall the denudation of this
new region be allowed to go on without
some regulations as to cutting and forest
renewal ?
There would seem to be a good oppor-
tunity to bring to bear the world’s ex-
perience in forestry. This reckless de-
forestation will bring temporary gain to
the lumbermen, but it will ultimately
ruin water power interests along the
Jiver. This is inevitable. In France
whole communities were ruined by the
destruction of forests, and the gowern-
ment has found it necessary to enter
upon the work of restocking about 800,-
000 acres with trees, and over $4,000,000
has been spent remedying the serious
evils resultant from reckless denudation
of land.
That government is spending nearly
$1,000,000 a year to conunue the good
work. It should not be forgotten, in
this connection, that the destruction of .
the forests will also remove a sheltering
influence, and change our climate to one
of sharp and sudden variation of temper-
ature, causing successions of sudden
thaws and sudden freezings, injurious to
all plants and vegetation.
Every reserve of timber in this coun-
try ought to be sacredly guarded by the
government, and timber cutting be put
under stringent regulations, looking to
the continued protection of the streams.
Unless this is done the Mississippi river
will surely change its character.
It will become a shallow, sluggish
stream, unable to carry off impurities,
ard useless for navigation and for water
power. It will not take very long to ef-
fect this change, either, if the foresis are
destroyed in the northern part of the
state. A present gain in lumber will
mean very great injury to all other ma-
terial interests.— Minneapolis Journal.
A Story of Two Writers.
Mr. Albert Ross (Linn Boyd Porter)
recently told how, when a boy, he satis-
fied his mind over the end of “Great
Expectations.” His little tow head
had puzzled itself, and wondered and
speculated over the closing chapter of
the book, until to know for a certainty
just what did happen on the other side of
that last page seemed to him the most
desirable thing in life. So when Dickens
came over and started on his reading
tourjthe youngster made up his mind to
find out. He repressed all his yearnings
for candy, and when the great story
teller reached his town he was ready to
go. He managed to mix himself up
with the crowd of persons who wanted
to shake hands with the novelist, and as
he stood before him and reached out his
little brown fist he grasped :
«Mr.—Dickens—I want to ask you
sumpin !”
«Well, my lad, what is it ?”
“Did Pip marry Estelle ?”
Putting one hand tenderly onthelittle
fellow’s head, while a pleased look came
over his face. Dickens replied with all
the confidence of a story teller who
knows privately the whole future of
every one of his brain children :
«He did, ' my .boy, he did.”’—New
York Evening Sun.
A SBIR.
The Price of Judas’ Treachery.
Every man who is a general reader
has, doubtless, noticed how often, When
he has been reading of a certain subject,
he will run across the same subject in an
unexpected place, and an incident of
this kind brought to my attention a very
curious fact, which was a revelation to
me. I had just finished W. W. Story’s
poem: “The Letterof a Roman Law-
yer in Jerusalem,” says a writer in the:
Gllobe- Democrat, in which Story presents
the legal aspect of the case of Judas Is-
cariot, and suggested that in betraying
the Saviorhe was only attempting to
give him an opportunity to declare and
prove himself God, and that he only
accepted the thirty pices of silver to give
his act the appearance of a betrayal for a.”
bribe. I laid aside the pamphlet con-
taining the poem and picked up a book,
in which I found au article on the an-
cient coins of the East, and one of the
first things I read was that the “piece”
of silver of 2,000 years ago was the
name of a coin and that its value was
13 cents. It did not require much cal
culation then forme to see that the
price which was paid Judas by the
ured. that it took two acres to buy
his two boys new boots, and ten acres
more on top of this to fit them out with
new suits. To buy his wife a protected
dress took one hundred bushels more,
while five acres went in a solid lump
for the carpet on the floor. His taxes
and his grocery bill absorbed his crop
of oats, while the interest on his farm
mortgage took all the fattened shoats.
The shingles on his cow-shed and the
lumber for his barn had eaten up his
beef steers and the balance of his corn.
So he sat in his door at noonday, lonely
and gloomy and sore, as he figured
up his wealth a little less than it was
the year before. “By gum, they say
I'm protected, but I know there's some- |
thing wrong; I’ve been deceived and
gulled and hoodwinked by this high
protection song. They told of re-
beilious traitors and held up the bloody
rag, and I followed along like a pum-
kin, and now I am holding the bag,
But from this time on I'll investigate,
and get to the bottom of facts, and I'll
bet four dollars to begin with that the
tariff is a tax.’—Kingman (Kan.
Democrat.
Sanhedrim for betraying Christ was.
| only $3.90. Do you know this unex-
| pected information made Story’s poem
| have a strange effect upon me. Story
"points to the fact that Judas carried
| the public purse and could not have
| been avaricious, or else he would not
| have been trusted with this fund for
i the poor, for which he rendered no ac-
count to any one, yet he betrayed his
| Master for $3.90. I had always thought.
| that “thirty pieces of silver” meant
some large amount, and the statement
| astonished me when I read it, but on
referring to & work on numismatics I
saw that the ‘piece ot silver” of
Jerusalem was about the same value
as the “ore piece” of Denmark, which
is just 13 cents, so I suppose the state-
ment is true.
———4Father,” said a Senator's son
who had just arrived in Washington,
«T fully realize that I have many short-
¢ mings—" “Yes, and 1 have no
doubt this is one of them. You are
short and you are coming to tell me:
about it.”
\
A