Deworratic Aatdyman
_ Bellefonte, Pa, Jan wary 50, 1891.
THE LIFE FOR WHICH I LONG.
When on my day of light the night is falling,
And in the winds from ansunned spaces
blown,
I hear far voices out of darkness calling
My ‘teet to paths unknown,
Then who hast made my home of life so
pieasant,
Leave not its tenant when its walls decay ;
O love divine. O Helper ever present,
Be Thou my hel. and stay.
Be near me when all else is from me drifting,
Earth, sky,home’s picture, days of shade and
shine
And kindly faces to my own uplifting
The love which answers mine.
J have but Thee, O Father! Let thy spirit
Be with me, then, to comfort and uphold;
No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I merit,
Nor street of shining gold.
Suffice it if. my good and ill unreckoned,
And bash forgiven through Thy bounding
grace,
I find myself by hands familiar beckoned
Unto my fitting place—
Some humble door among Thy many man-
sions
Some sheltering shade where sin and striv
ing cease,
And flows forever through heaven’s green ex-
pansions
The river of Thy peace.
There, from the music round about me steal-
ing,
I fain would learn the new and holy song,
And find at last, bereath Thy trees of healing,
The life for which 1 long.
—John G. Whittier.
THEIR GREAT-UNCLE.
“Heugh ! fweugh!” groaned old
Pierreyitrying 4e raise himself from the
rcck on which he rested. Then he
looked around, and shook his tremu-
lous fist at the mountain peaks frown-
ing en every side. “So,” said he. So”
I am at your feet. Once I "was your
master. I have danced mpon those
beetling brows and scaled those pre-
cipitous heights like a chamois. Ah!
I tell you Iwas bold and young then.
You could not frighten Pierre with
your crashing avalanches. Pierre
knew yourtricks by heart.”
Then muttering maledietions on old
age, which brought so many infirmities
in its train, he took up a-small bundle
and pursued his journey to the village
beside the lake.
From the path by which Pierre de-
scended, and immediately below the
steep zigzag, was a superb view of the
azure lake. The limpid waters lapped
the cliffs, blue, fo intensely blue. The
barks, ‘wingra-wing, eped like eagles
across the bay. Pierre’sold eyes had
lost little of their keenness, and they
took in this beauty with infinite joy.
“pt least I can see,” he said proud-
ly, “and perhaps I can use my wits no
less than I could forty yearsago. Well,
now ifor my affectionate nephews. Let
us recapitulate the lesson. What are
the names? Ah, I have it! The gos
pels ‘backward. First, John. He
should be steady, this John, and doubt-
less well to de. Luke was a fool—yes!
I avoid :Luke. Mark—awhat did he
say of Mark? Isit possible my mem-
ory begins to fail me? But no! I re
member all. He is the rich one, very
rich. Mathieu, a generous rattlepate
with a wife and six children, and little
to feed them with. John and Mark, I
send you my very good eompliments.”
A malicious smile hovered ronnd the
aged man’s lipe as he waved his hand
with mock courtesy toward the village,
nestling well under shelter of the cliffs
down which the zigzag path was lead
ing him. It is possible John and
Mark may meet their match in this
decrepitifigure, for after all it is mind
that governs matter.
Perbaps some such thought caused
the smile in the keen old eyes, as
Pierre at last found himselfiin (the vil-
lage straet, and asked for the house of
his nephew, John Desor.
Jokn, portly, heavy visaged John,
stood at his ehop door A cautious man
this John, who. did not accept his fee-
ble relative with any manifestation of
hospitality.
“I suppose I may sit down?” quav-
ered Pierre.
“You may sit down!’ said John's
deep base.
Mrs. John.sat behind the .counter,
ready for customers. She made signs
to her husband. In ther eyes it was
easy to read that theresvas no welcome.
“He had better go to Mark. Mark
is so rich, and besides this he has a
room and to spare.”
Pierre was still emiling as he tarned
to leave the shop. Johan pointed the
way with magnificent courtesy.
“The second house on the right.
You do well 0 go to Mark,” he said
approvingly.
Mark was a notary: He was busy
writing, and looked up frowning fierce-
ly at the interraption. “Disgraceful!
One of our blood begging! You always
wasted your substance in the past, or
you would not be homeless today. You
can’t expect us to support you; we;
have all we can do to get our own liv-
ing. Go back to the false friends that
counseled you to take this unwise step.
But wait! Let me look up the family
record. 1 don't believe you are our
great uncle after all, Desor is no un-
common name.’
The old m2an without a word walked
into the street. “Pigs, exasperating
pigs of peasants,” he said under his
breath. “But now what to do?”
At least the bench by the well was
common property. He crawled there
with his bundle and sat down to rest.
Then, in a dreamy, half drowsy condi:
tion, he watched the women come and
go, until at last a loud voice and a
boisterous laugh set the echoes calling.
“Eh! friends, neighbors! Have you
seen an old man go past this noon? A
feeble old man with a bundle? I want
to find him. He's my great-uncle, you
must know, homeless and friendless,
according to my two most noble broth-
ers, John and Mark. What, here?
Poor old fellow! Tired out and hung-
ry! Why, uncle, how are you? I'm
your grand-nephew Mathieu, at your
gervice.”
“So you are Mathieu ?”
The old man roused himself with a
start and smiled back at the cherry
face bent over him.
“Ay! and here we have the ‘wife
and young ones. Three here and three
more at home. Yes, as you see, we
are blessed with plenty of mouths to
feed and, thanks be to God, a crust for
each one, and one over for you it
you'll take it.”
As he talked Mathieu lifted the old
man in his arms, carried him like a
sack of corn to the wagon and tumbled
him in.
Every one laughed, Pierre louder
than all.
“This is what I like,” said he; “I
am cheerful by nature.” Then to
show that he was not too old to be en-
tertaining he told flne stories and
laughed merrily all the way along.
But as the rude wagon jo'ted up the
mountain side to the tiny chalet where
Mathieu made his poor living, the old
man became silent, casting his keen
eyes back and forth with comprehen-
sive glances. Aha! Pierre had his
wits about him, wits enough to stock
Mathieu, his wite and six children,and
i leave plenty over for the elder broth-
ers.
“So you are very poor, Mathieu,”
sa‘d he, as he took his survey from the
chalet door.
Mathieu's rosy face clouded as he
looked within and nodded. Every-
thing was clean, tor his wife was thrif-
ty, but poverty was written on every
hand, even in the faces of his six chil-
dren, who needed more plentiful and
more nourishing food.
“Mathieu,” called the wife, *‘come
thou and make the uncle a bed. At
least we have sweet hay up here,”
The o'd man’s keen glantes from
the chalet door lighted into sudden
flame as his eyes rested on the bare
rock forming part of Mathieu's posses-
sions. Then he chuckled as if some
happy idea had occurred to him.
Mathieu's wife, Marie, laughed too.
“He will be cheerful company,” said
she to her husband.
Next morning they all rose at day-
break, for Mathieu worked in a neigh-
‘bor’s vineyard in the valley below.
“So, Mathieu! That rock belong to
you ?”’
“That shelving rocky slope, uncle?
Yes, it fell to my lot. Well, one must
not speak 1ll of ene’s own blood, but
the others took care of themselves;
this was good enough for rattle pated
Mathieu.”
He laughed, but rubbed his head
ruefully. “Good enough!” cried the
old man in an excited tone, ‘good
enough.”
As Mathieu strode away to his work
theremembrance of that “good enough”
rung in his ears. He thought that
perhaps the old man had lost his mind.
Meantime the keen sighted old fellow
was sitting in the doorway chuckling
with amusement that hisgrand-nephew
should be going away to work as a hir-
ed man in his neighbor's vineyard.
“Marie,” he cried. “Marie, come
here. 1 love thee, child, thee and
thine. Yet I tell thee, this kind Math-
den of ours lacks wits.”
“Wits!” shouted indignant Marie.
“Ay, wits,” shrieked back the excit-
ed old man. ‘Now, child,” he went
on, more quietly. “Listen; be guided
by me. You and I, and our six child-
ren here, we will make a fortune for
Mathieu, rightiunder his nose.”
Here the old man pointed to Math-
ieu’s field, a mere slanting rocky ledge,
over which the goat climbed to browse
on the sweet grass that sprung here
and there from interstices, and which
now lay basking in the sun.
“There is our vineyard, my good
Marie”
“Make a vineyard there, uncle ! But
where is the earth ?”
The old man laughed. He pointed
te the gorge, through which the moun-
taia torrent rushed to the lake.
*Ah!” cried Marie, afire with the
idea, “I see, I see. 1 and the six chil
dren’
“And the old unele,” he put in.
“We shall make Mathieu a vine
ard.”
The children, brought up to carry
the hotte (basket) on their backs and
weights on their heads, began to yell
with delight at their part of the work.
Away they raced to the gorge, follow-
ed by the uncle and the vigorous
Marie.
When Mathieu returned that even-
ing he stared and rubbed his eyes. Sev-
eral yards of the rock were covered
with earth, and the old man was build-
ing a wall at the bottom of the field.
“What does this mean?’ cried he, a
broad grin widening his rosy cheeks.
“It mesns, cried Pierre,“that my wits
shall so direct thy strong body that ere
I die I shall set thee at work in thine
own vinegard.”
The idea once suggested approved it-
self to Mathieu as an experienced work-
er in a vineyard. “But,” thought he,
as he raobed his eyes and looked about
him, why did I never think of this
for mysel{?”
He barely waited to swallow his
soup, so eager was he to plant foot on
bis own vineyard.
“Keep your own counsel,” said the
old man. ‘Go forth as usual to thy
werk and leave us here to carry up the
earth. Kvery haur will add to the
pile. By autuma you shall plant the
vines.”
Ah, how carefully all worked nor
on moonlight nights did Mathieu go
to bed at all. The rich earth, carried
from the glacier above by the resistless
force of the torrent, lay there in the
gorge ready for the laborer.
“Only one more load,” would Math-
jeu cry, as Marie called to him. “‘Sure-
ly thou wilt not grumble that I go this
once again?”
Who more gay than Marie, as she
toiled up the steep path of the ravine
with the hotte on her back?
“I brought my Mathieu no portion,
nothing but my own hard working
hands,” said she,*and how he hasslav-
ed to earn us bread, this good Math-
ea!”
“All very well, but he has naught
to complain of in his wife,” said the
cheery old man, “You have brought
him luck, you and the children.”
By this time che miracle was accom-
plished—the slanting rock was cover-
ed with the greenery of vines and large
luscious grapes caught the earliest and
the latest rays of the sun.
“So,” cried he gayly, “not a trace of
the blight that afflicts our friends ia the
valley. Up here at least we have
God's air pure. His blessing, too, will
be with thee, my children, who of your
small substance took in a homeless
wretch in his old age.”
“Why, good uncle, we took in our
good fortune with thee,” shouted
Mathieu heartily.
“Ay, ay; my wits are worth some
thing, I know,” nodded Pierre, slyly.
“But now, good Mathien, I make thee
confessor. I am no uncle of thine. In
truth, I have no kin. In my youth I
met your grandfather and perhaps
saved him from a cruel death. He
made me promise to call upon him in
case of need. He is dead. The ser
vice I rendered lies buried in his grave.
Blood is thicker than water, said I to
myself.
I'll be their uncle.”
“Oho, oho!” laughed Mathieu, “and
you think, then, that Marie and I do
not know that we have no great-uncle ?
Has not Mark the record written clear
as print. But it’s all one to us—and
better, too; for none of our blood ever
boasted any brains.”
Here the children laughed. Marie
kissed the old man affectionately.
“The good uncle has brought us
lack, and”——
“Fame!” said Pierre proudly, “Math-
ieu, grapes like these were never yet
seen in this canton, and that I can tell
you.”
So said the honorable judges ap-
pointed to visit the vineyards and re-
port upon the condition of the grapes.
Thry came up from the valley in
grand procession, two and two.
“What! a vineyard on that old
rock I" cried Mathieu's brothers, who
had been invited to be present.
Pierre stood at the vineyard gate.
His wrinkled old face had its rosy hue
still, his keen eyes twinkled and with a
lordly air he bowed to the judges, and
threw back the gate.
“Enter,” said he, waving his hand
in welcome. Then he swaggered up
and down, showing the finest bunches.
“Here,” said hearty Mathieu, seiz-
ing the old man and turning him to
the judges, “behold the brains of the
vineyard.”
“And here,” cried Pierre, “are the
faithful workers.” He darted to the
bushes, behind which Marie stood
blushing and the children were gath-
ered, curiously peeping between the
vine leaves at the strangers.
It was a goodly sight. How Math-
ieu talked and laughed and the broth-
ers gloomed behind the ranks of the
judges!
“He will be the rich man of the fam-
ily, the rattlepate, after all,” cried
Mark, with a vicious look at the cheery
old man of busy brain who headed the
procession round the vineyard.
They had to hear that Mathieu was
adjudged the prize for a well kept vine-
yard, that his grapes excelled any yet
grown in the canton, and that he must
wear the crown at the fete next week.
“Not 1,” shouted Mathieu. “Ifany
of us be crowned it must be uncle here.”
The judges laughed. But Mathieu
had his way, and the happy old man,
with Mathieu's youngest child on his
knee, was carried in procession through
the village, which a few years before
he had entered friendiess and homeless.
His eyes were uplifted to the snowy
peaks. His thoughts sped back to the
days of his youth, such a dream now,
so long ago, Was it indeed his own
foot that had scaled the precipices?
“Uncle, uncle!” cried Mathieu at
his side, “the people are shouting in
thy honor. Bow to them ; they expect
so mnch of thee."—Ida M. Trotter tn
Philadelphia Times.
Smoking in Heaven.
‘One of the elders of the Second Bap-
tist church, up on Third street, is
strongly opposed to the use of tobacco,
and never fails to score any of the
church members that he finds indulg-
ing in what he considers a sinful habit.
Meeting an aged brother the other day
with a very strong smelling, old clay
pipe in his mouth he accosted him :
“Brqdder Thomas, does you believe
dat nothin’ unclean can enter de king-
dom ?”
“I does brudder.”
“Den you kin reber enter, for your
bref smells worser nor a slaughter
house.”
“Pat may be brudder, but when I
goes to hebben I 'spects to leave my
bref behind me.” :
And the aged man passed on, peace-
fully emoking, while the elder gazed
after him in a dazed sort of way that
was painful to see.
When Three Aces Beat Four Kings.
A Pacific coast minstrel, Billy Emer-
son by name, once visited the Sandwich
Islands and delighted King Kalakaua
with his performances. The sovereign
and the funny man became friends
quickly, and the King asked Emerscn
to the palace. A game of poker followed,
of course, for if Kalakaua liked any-
thing 1t was poker. Rumor had it that
Emerson won quite a pile from the
Hawaian ruler. That each held some
strong hands was soon known in
Honolulu, for the next night at the
theatre Emerson put this conundrum to
the end man: “When will three aces
beat four kings?” The end man gave it
up, and Emerson explained that he held
the three aces, while the hand azainst
him consisted of the king of clubs, the
king of diamonds, the king of of spades,
and the King Kalakaua. The royal
poker player was in the theatre, and,
true to his easy good nature, laughed
heartily instead of frowning at the
joke.
Haspir--Groughter—I want to get
some socks with a hole in them.
Salesman— What's the idea.
Groughter—1’ve been a bachelor for
forty years, and they are the only kind
I can wear.
I'll call on his grandchildren. |
MY NEIGHBOR'S CHICKENS. |
1
Of all the nuisances that make
A rural iife accursed,
My neighbor's chickens take the cake
For being just the worst.
I rise betimes to plant a bed—
As soon as I'm away
Those beng, hy the big rooster led,
March in and spend the day.
And when I hasten home at night
To see my labors erowned,
Those chickens, with a eyclones’s might,
Have scratched my pretty ground.
My wife the baby leaves alone
To shoo those hens away,
Butas she eannot throw a stone
They laugh at her and stay.
Around my house is little seen
But dusty holes and dirt;
They eat my grass before its green
And all my flowers hurt.
My neighbor has a garden, too,
And Keeps it looking fine,
For he has trained his pirate crew
To fly right into mine.
In case I shoot the feathered plagues
I go to jail alack;
If in my yard they drop some eggs
My reighbor wants them back.
Beneath my window ere the dawn
His rooster comes to crow,
Till I, half erazy, seek the lawn,
And chase it with a hoe.
War Time Wooing Ended.
A Yankee Fugitive Finally Marries the
Girl Who Saved His Life.
PrrrsBure, Jan. 22.—Milo Gaston
and wife arrived at the Union depot
Tuesday night from Elberton, Ga., and
the halo ef romance which clings around
them has been exper enced by few and
is known to a still smaller number.
They were met oy Mr. and Mrs. James
McLain, of Chartiers. Mr. McLain is
an oil well contractor and Mrs. McLain
is a sister of Mr. Gaston,
While waiting for the train to arrive
Mr. McLain told the following story of
his brother-in-law’s life: “In 1862
Gaston, who is a native of New Hamp-
shire, joined a regiment from that State,
I think it was the Thirty-seventh, and
went to the tront. He was afterwards
captured, and while being taken to An-
dersonville prison he succeeded in mak-
ing his escape. He wondered about
through woods and swamps for nearly
three weeks, when, famished with hun-
ger and crazed by what he believed to
be continued pursuit, he decided to give
himself up. One evening he shambled
out of the thicket in which he had been
lying all day on a couch of wet brush
and made his way to u large old fash-
ioned southern home. A cold, driz-
zling rain had set in, and caring little
whether he lived or died he walked bold-
ly up the driveway and knocked at the
door. The place was deserted. A few
minutes later he became conscious that
some one was scrutinizing him from a
window a few feet away. He was final-
ly admitted by a young woman who
carried a revolver in ber hand. She got
him some supper. When she had lis-
tened to his story, she said she was alone
in the house, but expected her father,
who was home (rom the Confederate
army on a sick leave, to return at any
time frome calling on a neighbor. She
seemed to take an interest in Gaston and
laid him in a dark corner of the garret.
There she fed him for two weeks, and
showed him how to get in and out at
night without arousing her parents.
He finally escaped. After the war he
returned to Elberton and heard that his
benefactress had married. Gaston is
now a railroad contractor, and built a
section of the Buffalo, Rochester and
Pittsburg railroad. Last summer he
was building a branch on the Georgia
Pacific when he learned that his old
love was a widow and had a family of
five children. Heimmediately went to
the old home, near Elberton, made him-
self known and the result was a mar-
riage. They are now on their way to
Mr. Gaston’s home in New York.”
Mr. Gaston is a matter-of-fact sort of
a man and did not seem to regard his
adventure as out of the ordinary. He
corroborated the story told by Mr Me-
Lain, and said: “It is better late than
never, you know, as I told Mrs. Cham-
bers, who is now my wife, and if I can
in any way return some of the favors
which she did for me I am going to do
it. If it had not been for her I would
have died 1n asouthern swamp or pri-
son, and I told her she ought not to let
me roamaround alone unprotected in
my old age.”
How fhe Pyramids Were Built.
The building of the pyramids of
Egyptis still a wonder—still a matter
of mere speculation. These pyramids—
once one of the seven wonders of the
world—are seventy in number, and
stand about six miles in a straight line
from Cairo. The largest, entitled the
Pyrawid of Cheops, covers eleven acres
of ground. Itis 480 feet high. Her-
odotus states that 100,000 men were em-
ployed forty years in constructing this
pyramid, which covers a square whoae
side is 768 feet. Itis built of vast
blocks of stone, brought from - quarries
many miles distant.
One is that they were erected for as-
tronomical purposes, but the generally
accepted belief is that they were sepul-
chres. Whenever an Kgyptian king
began his reign he began to construct a
pyramidical tomb—not very large at
first , in order to secure its being finish-
od before his death. Once built new
layers of stone were put upon it on all
side, and thus the longer the reign the
larger the pyramid. The difference in
the size of these structures is thus ac-
counted for.
Alway in the centre of the structure a
small room was reserved, to which ac-
cess could be « btained from a secret
gallery from without, and in this sepul-
chral nook there is a colin of red granite
in which human remains were once de-
posited. The, outer casing of each pyra-
mid was of polished black marble, set
in a cement which is as hard as the
stone itself. This casing has fallen
from the sides of the pyramid of Cheops |
and it is a favorite but fatiguing feat’
tor tourists to climb up to the top,
which is a flat table of stone thirty-two |
feet square.— Thomas J. Bowditch, in
Troy Times.
Mr. Slimpurse— What! Want
to get a ..ew maid for Fashion Beach ?
Why don’t you take the one you have ?
Mrs. Slimpurse—She knows how we
live when at home.
Heroic Davy Crockett.
Incidents wn the Career of a 3lust Re-
|
markable Man.
Colonel David Crockett was a most
remarkable character, a man far in ad-
vance of tae times in which he lived.
Reared in the humbler walks of life, but
endowed with a strong will power, an
unremitting perseverance, and a brave
heart, he arose to distinction and re-
nown.
He was born at Limestone, on the
Nolachucky river, in eastern Tennessee,
on August 17, 1786. His father, sol-
dier in the Revolutionary war, was the
owner of a tavern on the road from
Abingdon to Knoxville, where David
passed his boyhood. Colonel Crockett’s
education consisted of exactly two
months and four days’ schooling, he be-
ing otherwise self-educated.
In the Creek warof 1813-14 he was
found fighting in the ranks as a private
soldier under general Jackson. When
peace was declared he settled on Shoal
Creek, a desolate region of the State.
A community of reckless characters hav-
ing flocked together at this place, it was
necessary to establish a temporary govern
ment, and Colonel Crockett was elected
a magistrate.
a successful race by shooting at matches
and reciting amusing stories.
He was twice re-elected, but devoted
himself principally to bear hunting, un-
til, in the year 1827, when he was ¢lect-
ed to Congress by the party of Andrew
Jackson. At Washington he obtained
a notoriety for the eccentricity of his
manners and language, Of his life
while at the capital many amusing stor-
ies are told.
On one oceasicn he was
tion with a fellow member from
chusetts, when a drove of mules
seen to pass.
“There go some of your constituents,”
remarked his companion.
“Yes,” replied Crockett, “they are
going to Massachusetts to teach school.”
This incident is typical of the man.
Gifted with an exhaustless iund of
humor, he was always ready to turn a
joke to his own account.
In 1829 he was again elected to Con-
gress, but soon afterward changed from
a partisan to an oppenent of Jackson's
administration.
For this course he encountered the
most bitter apposition from the admin-
istration in his next race, bur in spite of
all honorable means anil the dishonor-
able method of gerrymandering he was
triumphantly re-elected in 1831.
The dime novelist and such penny
writers have so exaggerated the doings
and sayings of Colonel Crockett that
great numbers have come to regard him
more as a mythical than a real charac-
ter. But their statements have been en-
tirely misleading, and itis only neces-
sary to read his public utterances in or-
der to be convinced that he was a man
of marked ability.
During Colonel Crockett’s term in the
House a bill was brought forward ap-
propriating several thousand dollars for
the benefit of widow of a certain naval
officer. There seemed to be a unani-
mous opinion in favor of the measure,
and the Speaker was about to put the
question when Crockett arose. Every-
one expected to hear one of ais charac-
teristic ¢ peeches in support of the bill.
He commenced :
“Mr. Speaker-—I have as much re-
spect for the memory of the deceased,
and as much sympathy for the suffer-
ings of the living, as any man in this
House; but we must not permit our re-
spectg for the dead, nor our sympathy
for a part of the living, to lead us to an
act of injustice to the balance of the
living. Mr. Speaker, the deceased lived
long after the close of the war ; he was
in office to the day of his death, and I
have never heard that this government
was in arrears to him. This Govern-
ment can owe no debts but for services
rendered, and at a stipulated price. If
it is a debt, how much is it? If itis a
debt, we owe.more than we cun ever
hope to pay for. We owe the widow of
every soldier who fought in the war of
1812 precisely the same amount. There
is a woman in my neighborhood, the wid-
ow of as gallant a soldier as ever shoul-
dered a musket. He fell in battle. She
is as good in every respect as this lady,
and just as poor. She is earning her
daily bread by her daily labor, and it
I were to introduce a bill to appropriate
$5,000 or $10,000 for her benefit I
should be laughed at, and my bill would
not get five votes in this House. ‘There
are thousands of widows in this country
just such as the one I have spoken of,
but we never hear of these large debts
we owe them.
“We can not, without the grossest
corruption, appropriate this money as
the payment of a debt. We have not
the semblance of authority to appropri-
ate it as a charity. Mr. Speaker, I have
said that we have the right to give as
much money of our own as we please.
I am the poorest man on the floor. I
cannot vote for this bill, but I will give
one week’s pay to the object,- and if
every member will do the same 1t will
amount to more than the bill asks.”
“the bill was lost by a large majority.
After finishing his third term in Con-
gress Crockett sought a new life and
career in Texas, then in revolt against
Mexico, and it was at the sublime de-
fense of the Alamo that he met his
death. .
in conversa-
Massa-
was
The story of that dreadtul siege is too |
Not a |
familiar to need any repetition.
defender lived to tell the tale
terrible battle.
Neither ancient nor modern history
affords a grander exhibition than was
shown on that crimson day, when the
blood of the Spartan bard became the
of that
seed from which sprung Texan indepen- |
dence.
THE Bregrst Texas WHeAT FieLp.
—-A company of capitalists has purchas-
ed 10,000 acres of land on the railroad at
| Vista, and will convert the entire body
Much of
winter,
into one immense wheat field.
the land ean be broken this
| Twelve gang plows have been ordered,
and the breaking of the land will com-
mence as soon as these arrive. A wheat
field 10,000 acres in extent is so far un-
| known in Texas.
A
was shot
Tuesday
burglary.
young negro named Snyder
and captured at Reading on
evening while attempting a
A Time Saver,
Just Gave Them What They Wanied
and Made Them Happy.
I was in the office of a Chicago real
estate and loan agent the otherday, and
had scarcely got seated when a woman
was admitted and asked him for a sub-
scription to some charity.
“With the greatest of pleasure, ma’-
am,” he repiied, and producing a check
book he filled out a check for $10. She
thanked him very sweetly as she with-
drew, and it was only live minutes later
when a man entered and a.ked for a
contribution to some poor children’s
| fund. :
“Certainly—only too glad,” repiied
the agent, and he wrote another check
for $10.
After we had been interrupted four
He was soon afterward a |
candidate for the legislature, and made |
times, and he had cheerfully written
four cheeks, TI said to him:
“You certainly deserve thetitle of a
philanthropist.”
Well perhaps.”
“But I notice that you ask no ques-
tions and take everything for granted.
Have you no fear of veing swindled 77
“None whatever.”
“Well, the peojle of Chicago must
be an honest crowd.”
“Oh, it isn’t that, my dear sir.
me’ ——
Here a lady entered and asked for a
contribution to assist in giving a free
excursion to a Sunday shcool, and he
wrote her a check for $15 and waved.
her out, and continued :
“Let me explain. All those checks
are worthless, as they are drawn on a
bank where I have no funds, I do it to
save time. All the callers come prepar-
ed to argue and explain and contend,and
each. one of them would sit for half an
hour. By giving these checks I secure
a great reputation around the block as a
philanthropist and a well heeled man,
and it costs me nothing. When’’——
Here he paused to fil out a check for
$20 for the establishment of a sailors”
bethel and then finished.
“When the checks are presented they
are found to be worthless, and those
holding them either get mad or see
the joke. In either case they never re-
turn, nor do they give me away. Try
it, my boy. Raves time, money and gab,
ard it won’t be a month before you'll
be satisfied that yon are doing charity a
better service than if handing out the
i cold cash.” — New York Sun.
Let
Still He Adhered To His Principle.
A clean, shrewd-looking gentleman
stepped into a street car on Pennsyl-
vania avenue yesterday afternoon and
took a seat inside. The conductor, who
was in a conversational mood, turned to
a gentleman who stood on the platform,
and said :
“You saw that man who just got
on?
tt Vag.
“Well, [ saw him do the foolishest
thing one day last winter that any
man ever did.”
“What was 1t ?”
“He got on my car and gave me a
dime outon the platform. I handed
him a nickle and in trying to put it into
his pocket he dropped iv and it rolled off
into the slush. He madea dive for it,
and in jumping off the car fell down
and daubed himself all over. I stopped
the car, but he said to me go on, that he
was going to find his nickel. So he
pawed around in the soft snow till he
found it, hopped aboard the next car,
paid the nickel to that conductor, and
reached home one car later and a good
deal madder and mussier than he would
if he had stayed on my car and let the
nickel go.”’— Washington Post,
A Pampered Seaside Dog.
One of the amusing sights on the
porch of a prominent hotel is to see an
ultra-fashionable woman with her pet
dog, and the manner in which she
dresses it up and fondles it. Madame’s
dog constitutes her only escort, except a
maid, whose principal duties seem to be
to keep a vigilant eye on the animal.
The dog is an intensely ugly specimen,
and its general appearance is made still
homelier by the ridiculous manner in
which its mistress persists in having it
decorated. Whenever madame appears
with a light, fluffy wrap, with dress to
match, ber canine companion is par-
tially enveloped in a cover of similar
material. If madame should don a
darker hued garment the dog is like-
wise arrayed. Kach change made by
madame in the course of the day is fol-
lowed by similar changes in the raiment.
The little beast is never permitted to
roam at large, being either in its mis-
tress’ arms or in charge of its attendant.
Madame and her pet arethe star boar—
ders at the hotel.
Gen, Butler's Hat.
In the United States district court in
the Federal buildiug no lawyer is better
known than Gen. Buttler. The court
officers hear of his appearance with
much the same feeling that they receive
the announcement of the arrival of the
judge.
As soon as his ponderous figure, sway-
ing from side to side, appears bearing
down toward the court room they scurry
about arranging the chair at the coun-
sel’s table and assist him in removing
his outer garments in a manner that
{ shows their regard for him. Gen. But-
i ler’s hat is a curious ¢r.icle. It is just
| hike one that Buffalo Bill would be ac-
| cused of wearing out on the plains. It
is probably the most abused of the gen-
eral’s belongings. The manner in which
I he jerks it off his head, slaps it down on
the counsel’s table and drops his heavy
suck upon it detrininedly, makes one
wonder why it does not disappear sud-
denly some day out of spite. It has stuck
by him though for years,just like his
faculties of mind, and perhaps will be
buried with him.-—Boston Advertiser.
He Warrep.—Ailen O. Myers was
lecturing in an up country town. He
had been speaking ten minutes, when a
man in the front row arose and started
to walk out. The lecturer was not taken
aback by this expression of disapproval,
but said. “Hold on, my friend, I'll join
you outside in a couple of minutes.” The
audience laughed, and the man return-
ed to his seat without a clove.—Cincin-
nati Commercial Gazette.