I LT BE TL RE Ta IF SST KE RANEY
| itd
enoctatic Alle
Battote, Pa, Jan. 22,
ue
woz,
THE OLD BARN.
A thousand miles divide us, and full twenty
years have fled
Since my eyes last rested on the roof that
sheltered my young head;
Yet I see it just as plainly as buta week had
flown :
Since I became proficient in the art of picking
stone—
For the farm was very rocky, and we yearly
used to haul
sufficient stone from each old field to build a
rod of wall.
Yet 'tis not of farm or farmhouse dear that I |
would sing to-night—
Those themes by other poets have been worn
in tatters quite!
But rather let the subject of my humble rhymic
arn
Be 5 that grander poets spurn, the big old-
fashioned barn—
Dear scene of many a high old romp when
youthful blood ran free,
And the young folks did tall courting at the
old-time husking-bee.
I see it yet in fancy, gvith ‘its old wheel-worn
floor—
The wooden latch, the hired man’s name carv-
ed deeply in the door;
The spacious mow upon the left, the manger
on the right,
Where stood the old straw cutter—how ¥ used
to dread its sighi;
For there were cripple 1it had made—of these
I hear a few
Are drawing army pensior s now—sharp agents
put ’em through.
Again I hear the sound of fiails upon the mnf-
fled floor;
The chickens scramble for the grains that
reach the open decor;
Up in the loft a laying hen singsof a deed
sublime,
Unmindfal though her danghter’s bones wera
picked at dinner time;
While hear a patient sister ‘*zits,” resolved to
incubate
An unprolific corn-.cob and the hinges of a
gate.
How very huge the old barn looked when
viewed through boyish eyes!
Even Rome's big Coliseum seemed inferior in
S12¢3
And I used to think when treading down the
hay they pitched to me,
That that old mow would hold enough to last
a ea2ntury;
And I also thought, when near the roof, waist
deep in scorching hay,
That for weeks to come that mow would roast
all eggs the hens might lay,
1 see the iron grain scocp on which I “rode
down hill
It leans confidingly against the old red fan-
. ning mill,
And the worn half-bushel measure which we
boys oft tried to waik,
Like the circus men, by plastering our stock-
ing feet with chalk;
It is strange how boys of eighty pounds, and
even smaller ones,
Can save their bones and fall at times with the
weight of eighty tons.
Last week the old barn vanished and a new
one took its place, .
The staunch old structure ran with time a
long and noble race;
For in spite of rain and hail storms, the light-
ning rods and wind,
They found the timbers sound as when to-
gether they were pinned;
While the youth whose father, when a boy, oft
wondered at its age,
Now feebly plays an “old man's part” onlife’s
uncertain age.
— Detroit Free Press.
TEE rr —————.
BROTHER ALEC.
By Evite ELMEer.
“Come, brother Alec; come ter yer-
gelf. I'm a-holdin’ the bowl an’ the
soap fer ye. Uocwme now, an’ wash yer
hands. shed think ye was old enough
ter wash yer own hands.”
“Why—do—you—trouble me—wo-
man ?”” mumbled a feeble expressionless
voice. ‘You—are—always troubling
—me."”
The woman gave a short cackling
laugh. * Ye seem ter think yerself a
sight better’n yer folks, now don’t ye?
Come you cld baby, vou; yé've rubbed
yer hands enough. Timeter dry em.”
The young artist was wakened by
the voices, and for secre moments she
could not remember where she was.
Gradually it came back to her. She
was taking the vacation she had been
planning so long. “he wasin thespare
room of a farm-house among the hills
—such sketchable, bitlowy bills, warm
with October coloring. Oh, she re-
membered it all now—the dusty jour
ney from the city, the loug drive across
country in the twilight. the welcome
supper of bread and milk and honey,
and the more welcome hed, quickly
sought. Now she could place the
shrill voice thatbad wakened ber. It
belonged to Miss Sary, the farmer's
meagre and elderly half-sister. But
who was brother Alec? Whoever he
was, he had her sympathy, and she felt
her ire kindling hot against Miss Sary.
The young artist dressed .quickly,
and hurried out on the poreh. She
stood there ecstatically breathing the
fresh air into ber lungs and the fresh
scene into her scul. It was-a radiant
sort of day. The fields were bathed in
mellow sunlight, the sky was infinitely
blue, the morning mists were just roli-
ing up from the hills. - She exulted as
one who regains his birthright long
withheld. exulted over the sweet, fair
country as only those can who with the
earth instinct rooted in them, are
doomed to live within a horizon boun,
ded by brick walls and chimuney-pots-
and under a sky shrouded by factory
smoke, She was so happy that she
felt a pang af loneliness ; she longed to
share it all with some one who would
revel in the color and the freshness as
shedid. If Clare, the faithful, the
sympathetic, were only there!
At that moment the door opened on
to the porch, and Miss Sary appeared,
leading cut an old, old man into the
sunshine.
Good-mornin’ , miss,” she said. nod-
ding her head to the young artist.
“Fine day, ain't it? This here old
man's my step-biother, Mr. Mason.
Now, Alec’—she adopted that inane
tone of voice which is sometimes used
with young children——*you be good,
an’ watch the chickens, an’ don’t
trouble the lady.”
A cloud seemed to fall over the glow-
ing landscape. A litle minor note
thrust its way into the young artist's
musings. The old man, bent almost
double and leaning on two canes, shufil-
ed clon ly across the porch and down
the steps, He was so old. so feeble, so
helpless, and his was such a loveless,
joyless old age! He was out of place |
in this vigorous,
force-abounding
world. The
life-teeming motherly
earth had noniche for him: and the
human kindred, who sometimes, with
their supernatural sensibility, make
welcome a belated traveller after na-
ture has denied him, had no glace for
him either. Especially hard did it
seem to the beauty-nourished young
artist, who had been taught to see the
body as the visible soul, who bad
learned, after long loving study, to
watch the living spirit ot man shine
through nervous limbs, and the yearn-
ing heart of woman weave itself into
the plastic curves of neck and torso.
To her more than to most of us a worn-
out body meant a worn-out soul. Ir
resistibly her mind flew back to the
assembly of condemned ships in the
navy-yard that they call “Rotten Row,”
and she remembered how as a child
she used to ery over these poor dis-
mantled hulks, which had been proud
cruisers and gallant fighters in their
day, but were left now with shrouds
and topmasts down, with keels buried
in the mud, with barnacles clinging to
their sides, and worms boring into their
timbers, to crumble and decay as winds
and waters and warping sun rays beat
upon them, and no one cared.
“Yes,” said Miss Sary, explanatorily,
epeaking in the painfully loud tone
that is contracted by talking to a deaf
person--‘‘yes that's Alec Mason. He's
ninety-three years old”’—this with a
sort of melancholy pride. “He ain’t
no kin ter the folks here. I'm their
half-sister, an’ he’s my half-brother on
the other side. He used ter be a great
scholar in the eity, did brother Alec.
Ie was a fine gentleman in them days,
an’ never paid.no heed ter his country
relations. When he got poor an’ old,
though, ire was glad enough ter come
an’ § live with his half-sister an’ her
folks on the other side o’ the house.
Well”"—in a tone of pious resignation—
“I try ter ferget by-cones an’ bear no
malice, an’ I hope I do my Christian
duty by him.”
“Poor man !” exclaimed the young
artist, with more fervor than tact.
“Poor man indeed |” she repeated
scornfullv. It’s his own fault ef he's
poor; an’ he'd orter be very thankful
ter find a good home an’ folks ter care
fer him after he's done bein’ any use
ter anybody.”
The young artist shivered-mentally,
I mean. This hard prosaic woman
grated painfully on her somewhat acute
sensibilities. “It’s the beauty and gra.
ciousness that are left out of her,”
she reflected, “She is a good woman
in her way. Sheis devoting her life to
taking care of the half-brother who ig-
nored her while he was prosperous,
but-"" aud the digjuntion was express
ive of much.
Miss Sary returned into the house
and the young artist stretched her can-
vas and began dashing in the hills be-
fore the sun should disolve their mist
mar tles. Pretty soon the old man
shoflled toward her.
“Do—you—know-me ?” he mum-
bled.
“Oh yes, she said cheerfully. “Yon
are Mr. Mason.”
“The-young-people all know me,
but I don't know them. I think I
am getting old.”
The tears somehow came unbidden
into her eyes, but she said bravely,
“Oh, weare all getting old, Mr. Ma-
son,” :
Something like the faint, faint rem-
nant of a smile passed over his face.
“May I—inquire—your name?’ he
asked.
“Hamilton,” she said, “Mae Hamil-
ton.”
“Are you any relation to the illus-
trionz Alexander Hamilton 2”
“Iam afraid not.”
$4] am sorry,’ he sald. 1 am a
collateral descendant of that distin-
guished statesman. I bear his name.”
“1 sheuld think you would be very
proud of it.” she returned, warmly.
-:I'm sure I should be.” :
“] used to be proud,” he mumbled,
“but I am getting old.”
Miss Sary appeared at the door.
“Yon go’long an’ wateh the chickens,
you old troublesome- Didn't1 tell ye
not to bother the lady ?”
“Oh, don’t; please don't,’ pleaded
the young artist. “I like to talk to
him.”
But he had turned away at the sound
of his sister's voice, and was shuffling
off.
It wae not until late in the afternoon
that the shadow of old age fell again
across Mae Hamilton’s path. She was
washing in a sunset sketch of a rather
subjective character. "There was noth-
ing eithersad or forlorn about the sun-
set, but the artists mood was projected
into the sketch to a remarkable de-
gree. It made one shiver to look at
the band of cold yellow light between
the dark hills and the dark clouds, and
there was despair in the wind-tossed
branches of the dead tree that stoud out
black against the yellow sky. The
young artist's mood was the cause of
the picture, but the reappearance of
Brother Alec was the cause of the
mood. He looked at her blankly as
if he had never seen her before.
| “What are you doing here?’ he
said. “You dont belong here.”
“No,” she answered ; “I only came
here for a few days, to paint your beau-
tiful hills.”
“Hills? Are they beautiful? I
cannot see them.” His eyes grew
vaguer und vaguer. “Annettette is
much addicted to beautiful landscapes.
I hope she is enjoying this scenery.
I only left town to give her a litile
jaunt.” Then he turned on Mae Ham-
ilton suddenly. “What have they
ony with my wife? I want to see
ver,’
“She is busy,” she said, soothingly,
catching at the first 1dea that occurred
to her. I think she is helping them
getsupper in the kitchen. She wili be
here pretty soon. I wouldn't disturb
her now.”
“Kitchen,” he repeated. “What
kitchen ?”’ Again Miss Sary appeared
at the door. “Woman,” he said stern-
ly to her, “where is my wife Mrs.
Magon ?”’
“Lord bless ye!” she cried in spite
of Mae's supplicating gesture, “Anne's
| been dead these fifty years!”
He looked at her in a dazed way and
groaned as she led him in to supper.
|
As the days went by, brother Alec
and the young artist grew to be warm
friends, except during the intervals!
when he forgot who she was. The!
painiul shock that his forlorn decrepi-
tude had at first caused her was wear- |
ing away. The old man seemed to
find genuine pleasure in talking to her,
and his dim inteiligence appeared to
brighten a trifte under the influence of
tact and courtesy. So long asshe was
sketching near the house, he would fol- |
low her about like a shadow. On one
of these occasions he surprised her by
showing signs, as she would probably |
have put it, of a rudimentary art in- |
stinct, or, at all eveuts, of a certain
lingering worldly-mindedness. His |
eyesight was dim, but it had detected |
the difference between her costume and |
that of the calico-garbed women on the |
farm. Not that the dark green serge |
she wore was remarkable for its ele-
gance, butit was city made and trim-
med with a deep braided pattern, and |
these things evidently impressed the
old man- He stood silently watching
her for a long time. Then he put out
his band, like a child, and patted her
sleeve.
“That is a very beautiful fabric
you wear. The texture is very fine.
And such richness of ornamentation ! I
do not remember to have ever seen
such richness of ornamentation.”
There was a pzuse. She could not
think of anything appropriate to say,
but fortunately he went on. “They
say it pufis up the sonl to wear elab-
orate clothing. 7 ‘don’t cousider it
wrong. Idare say you are no proud-
than if you were dressed in calico ?7
“I'm very sure I'm not, Mr. Mason,”
she answered with great sincerity.
“There I thought so,” heesaid, and
almost chuckled in his triumph-” “I
thought so.” .
A long dormant side of the old man
seemed to be waking, One morning
she noticed him for some time fumb-
ling around in the grass by the road-
side and by-and-by he came up with a |
poor little bunch of acters and golden- |
rod. He handed them to her with an |
unmistakable remnaut of courtliness |
and said, nodding his head between
esch word. “Sweets to the sweet.”
Miss Sary langhed till she had to,
hold her sides. “Brother Alec's gittin’
young agin.” she cried. ‘Oh, Lord H
oh, Lord! ef he ain’t payin’ court ter
the young lady :
Another time when the young artist
had grown tired of painting, and was
sitting on the door-step with a volume
of Pater, he came up and stretched
out his hand for it eagerly, taking both
canes in the other hand.
“It is a good book a good book
well printed well bound. I judge it
to be an English book”
He handled it lovingly. Then he
began spelling out the title. She
thought to help him along by saying,
“Marius the Epicurean.”
“Marius the Epicurtean,” he cor-
rected s'ernly; and Mae remembered
having heard it was the preferred pro-
nuneiation. :
The book in his hands seemed to
rouse clnmbering memories. When
he spoke again, it was with an accent
of calm superiority.
The people here are good people
but crude very crude. 1 miss my
books. I shall be glad to get back
to the city. Is that my sister Sarah.”
‘ Well, don’t ye kr.ow me yet, ye old
stoopid I”
Hetook no notice of the remark.
“Sarah 1 am going back to the city
to-morrow. I have staid here much
longer than I intended to. I don’t)
know why yeu have- detained me so
long. 1 wantmy books.”
“Go back to the city? I guess ye
won't leave here tell ye go to see the
graveyard. 'Twon’t be a great while,
brother. Here'sa good home for Jye
tell yedie, an’ then I hope the Lord
will give ye a better one in heaven.”
Mae ground her teeth together in
helpless rage. Why bad the good
Lord created such an obtuse unsensi-
tive being as Miss Sary ?
Just then the farmer drove up from
the village, bringing the young artist
a letter that caused her to forgive even
the offensive Miss Sary, and include
her and all the world in a benign gush
of affection. The letter was from the
secretary of the art school, and inform-
ed her that the X—- scholarship had
been awarded her. and that she would
be sent to Munich for a year's study.
She had not in the least expected it.
Ste had nat allowed herself even to
dream of the possibility of it. It was
the first public recognition of her work.
It made up, as she wrote to Clare, for
many a dull, dismal, earth-tied day, for
many discouragements and many fail-
ures. She was buoyantly, exuberantly
happy. She sang little enatches of
song for very joy. Every now and
then she found her feet dancing in spite
of her. Books, brushes, and palette
were thrown aside for the day. She
could not work; but she felt a delici-
ous thrill of triumph and power poten-
t'al surging and tingling in her veins.
She went off by herself, and tried to
plan what she would do. Clare and
Clare's mother must go with her to Mu-
nich. There was no reason why they
should not. They had nothing t» keep
them on this side. How often they
three had planned to go abroad to-
| tarmhouse.
gether! They would tale alittle apart-
ment in Munich all to themselves and |
live—truly live—for a whole blessed |
year! Afterthat what mattered it?
Something would turn up. But it was !
no use trying to think coherently. |
Every idea in her bead had an excla-
mation point after it. She tried all |
sorts of things to qi t down her secth- |
ing animal spirits. She ran down to |
the sedgy pond at the foot of the hill
and got into the flat-bottomed boat that
she bad been using as a restorative |
when she was tired and her nerves got
to tingling. She had great faith in |
rowing. The regular clockwork move- |
ment and the strong tag at the muscles
almost always brought her back to!
serenity. But this time it failed. |
Water and earth and sky exulted with |
licking wind blew here and there and
round and round, and cut the wildest
capers with the red leaves from the
maples, and came and went, and rush-
ed up to her every now and then,
slapping ber in the face for very jollity,
and then jumping back to hide like
the urchins on April-fool day. Then
she puiled the boat up on the shore and
went to walk.
But the white clouds soared fast
overhead so triumphantly that she
could haveshouted with them out of
pure sympathy. And the grand old
trees seemed to spring up from the
earth of their own accord, and stretch
their arms toward the living blue of the
sky, and hold their heads erect in pride
and conscious strength. And the rob-
in red-breasts swelled out their tawny
throats and trilled out their joy in spite
of falling mercury and autumn winds.
“Oh, my Clare,” she cried, in the tu-
multuous letter she wrote that night, |
“thisis a brave new world, aud it is
good to live in it!”
She looked at the world through rosy
glasses, and the consequent rosiness of
the world made her still happier, and
the glasses still rosier, and the world—
And go it might have gone on indefi-
nitely if nothing had happened; but
under such circumstances something
usually does happen. Nearly a week
after the glowing letter just alluded to,
Clare received another—a painful con-
trast in tone and contents.
“Best of Clares,” she wrote, “who do
you suppose is manager-in-chief of the
world’s stage? And why does he run
it with such diabolical irony 2 And
yet I could forgive the irony if only
his taste were good; but the crude,
glaring contrasts he plans and delights
in are like the clap-trap of a third rate
theatre. Iwould never murmur at
having my whole life painted in dun
color it only it were harmoniously
painted, though of course I should pre-
fer the color range of the Italian mas.
ters ; but to jump from highest light to
intensest dark without a quiver of tran-
sition is outrageous and barbaric.
“All this is not because I feel like
philosophizing, but to make it easier
for me to begin. I have tried every
day to write toyou, but I could not.
I am all broken up and unstrang, and
I really don’t wonder that I am. But
now I am coming home myself, and I
have got to tell you before I get there,
for I know I shall not be able to talk
about it.
“Of course I know he is hetter off
and the doctor says he did not suffer
much, and certainly his family are re
signed—but Clare, it was so horrible!
“It was the day after the notice of
my echolarship came—ounly the day
after, Generally they go to the village
only every other day. but I told them
I kad to mail some letters that morning,
and they were very sympathetic, and
gave me the wagon 24d the colt and
several errands as well. As I started
out, Mr. Mason was on the porch, and
cn some sudden impulse [ asked him
if he wouldn't like to go. A look ot
life such as I had not seen before swept
over his face. They litfed him into
the wagon and we started.
“Why, Clare, he was positively gay,
and as for me, not twenty men with the
pathos of a loveless old age clinging to
them could have damped my spirits.
Mr. Mason gailantly declared he had
not enjoyed a ride so much since he
drove tothe church to be married. He
was a different man, He seemed to
have left his shell of senile iwmbecility
with Lis flowered dressing sown at the
Ciarechen, do you sup-
pose the future really casts its shadow
before, and that this was really the be-
ginning of the end? Is human life
like the smouldering candle-wick that
flashes up one very bright spark betore
ic goes out forever ?
I had mailed my leitersand done the
sundry little errands in the village—all
but ene. The farmer expected a) box
by freight, and had asked me to inquire
for it. I hitched the horse by thie ~t-
tion, for there was no post near the
freight depot, and I was afraid to leave
Me. Mason in charge of the col'.
“I made my 1oquities, and as 1
turned to ieave the treight depot, I saw
the morning express just rounding the
curve only a few hundred yards north
of thestation. On the track was a little
scrap of fluttering white, and not ten
feet away was Mr. Mason (God knows
how he had gotten out ol the wagou!).
There he was without his canes, totter
ing towards that horrible track. “For
God's sake, save that man !” I eried to
the freight agent, and I started for him
on a full run. Two men were standing
on the paltform within a few feet of
him, but they looked dazed and never
stirred. Was he too blind to see the
train, too deaf to hear it thundering
toward him, or was it pure heroism
that stirred the man ? I do net know.
I know the worl! swayed and swam,
and in the sickening whirl of things
that black cruel monster, with its one
great gleaming eye, thundered toward
us. Clare shall I ever get ridof it? 1
| dream ot it all night, and when I wake
It I look at the sunny |
I see it still.
hills, it comes between me and them,
and blots them out, and when I look
at a human face, (oh, it is horrible,
horrible), I seem to see the two eyes
grow till they melt together, and be-
come one great eye glowing like live
coals, and the hair seems to fly upward
in smoke. and the face grows black
and hard as iron, and 1 see it rushing
towards me always—always. Have I
lost my mind, Clarchen ? God knows !
Do I frighten you litle one? I am
half afraid of myself.
‘Somehow I shook myself free from
that whirling giddiness, and neither
fainted nor screamed. I found myself
holding on to Mr. Mason. But I had
|
(and move ii gently down.
reached him a moment too late, or my |
strenth was a grain toosmall,for I had
not been able to puil him entirely off
the track. Those crushing wheels
bad passed over both his legs. They
carried him into the waiting room.
There was an army sargeon on the
train who did everything for him that
there was to do. Ofcourse ic was only
her instead of calming her. The sun: | a question of a few minutes. The doc-
light danced on the tiny wavelets as if | tor says he did not suffer after the first
it were mad with joy. land the crazyrol-
instant of the shock. [lis band closed
convulsively over a torn aud blood-
stained she: t of paper; and oh, Clare,
what do you suppose it was he had
thrown himself in front of the train for?
That wretched melancholy sunset
sketch I made the day after [ got here.
It must have blown out of the sketeh-
book that lay on the seat beside him.
Think how I felt, as I kuelt beside him,
when I recoginzed that thi.g! Just
once he opened his eves and locked at
me, and smiled such a happy smile,
and whispered, ‘See Annette Ihave
got you your picture—" And he died
just then, with the smile au! the words
on his lips.
“T don’t know why T have staid here
so long. I have suffered here terribly,
but somehow I conld not get away, I
think chiefly because I could not shake
myself together enough to write to you,
and I Zad to have you know it all be- |
I have |
I shall be |
with you almost as soon as my letter. |
fore I come. Thank Heaven!
taken the first step now.
Meet me Wednesday morning at 10:10.
“Give my bestlove to your moter, |
and forgive me for making you blue.
‘Yours ever, Mar Hamirron.”
“I lost three fingers of my left hand |
in the accident ; but as the thumb re-
mains to hold my palette firm, it is on-
ly a loss of the ornamental. [I'm not
heroic enough to altogether despise
the ornamental. Bnt think, Clare,
what would have become of me and
my life if it had been my right hand?”
—Harper's Weelly.
overs,
M. Quad and the Bowsers.
Mr. B. Buyes a Magnificent Ten Dollar Shav-
ing Outfit.
“What have yon got there 7” queried
Mrs. Bowser, as her liege lord made a
display of a small package when he
came home the other evening,
“Mr. Bowser,” replied, as he sat
down and carefully handled the package,
“did you read of that case in Troy where |
a barber cut a customer slightly on the
cheek and he died of blood poisoni:
“No. Say! you've gone and got
other shaving outfit 1”
“Another?
one?’
“You got one two or three years ag
in Detroit. and how did you cume out
with it? Mr. Bowser, you do the most
foolish things of any man I ever heard
of in all my life!”
“I do, eh 7” Is 1t foolish for me to
want to avoid blood poisoning by shav-
ing myself, to say nothing of the enor-
mous saving of money? Yes, I did get
an outfit in Detroit, but I had a boil on
my arm and couldn’t handle the razor.
That was a cheap outfit, just as an ex-
periment.”
“And you cut yourself and pranced
around; and whooped until the neigh-
bors thought we had a fire. How much
did this outfit cost 7”
“Only $10.” :
“Ten dollars thrown right away 1”
“Is it? Let's see about that. Hav-
ing my own outfit I can shave daily.
That's 70 cents a week, or $2.80 per
month. Seems to me that $34 per year
is worth saving. Inthe twenty years I
could have saved the trifie of $780.
Where are you now Mrs. Bowser?”
“Just where I wa: before. Vou'll
shave once and that'll end it.”
“Will 1t? If that’s your opinion I
have a great surprise in store for you,
I've been takin lessons of a barber on
how to handle the razor, and I can
shave clean in exactly four minutes.
Kasies® thing in the world when you
know how. Just think of the $780 I
have thrown away!”
“Well, I suppose yow'll try it in spite
of anything I can say, but I shall de-
not to be held responsible for any trou-
hle.”?
“Responsible! Trouble!
1 hold you responsible?
trouble can there be?”
“Why, that time in Detroit you al-
most tore the house down because you
cut your ear.”
“Pooh! I was probably joking.
Don’t remember a thing about 1t. I'd
look pretty blaming you for what T did,
wouldn't 1?
How could
And what
After dinner 1’ take-a
little shave, and if roudon’t say it’s a
better one thas any barber has ever giv-
en me Ll] put the razor up for good.”
After divner Mr. Bowser took a bowl
of hot, water and started up-stairs, say-
ing to Mrs, Bowser as he went:
‘Better time me by the clock. I may
be six or seven minutes this time, but
I’li be right on tick to-morrow night.”
He went into the bedroom and locked
the door. Then he took off his coat,
vest, necktie and collar. He looked
down at his shoes fora moment ‘and
then decided to take them off also.
“Let's see!” he mused as he opened
the box and stood before the glass.
“The first thing is to lather, of course.
That’s as easy as rolling off a log.
This is something like comfort, this is.
Hanged 1f I don’t believe I shall want
to shave twice a day!”
Mr. Bowser decided to put on plenty
of lather. He put it on his chin, cheek,
nose, forehead, ears and throat, and more
or less fell on the carpet. When hehad
lathered until both arms ached, and no
move would stick to him, be picked up
tbe razor and chuckled :
“I just hold it with three fingers, this
way, and lay it on my cheek this way,
A child
three years old could do that. I'll
show Mrs. Bowser a trick or two before
I'm through. Gdod woman, but she
thinks she knows it all. Razor just
slides 177
Mr. Bowser gave a jump and at the
same instant he saw the lather stained
with blood.
“Dor’t amount to anything —just the
head of a pimple!” he whispered to him-
self. “Burber told me to keep my arm
suff, und I forgot. Can’t expect tv get
the bang of it in one minute, you know,
A little more lather.”
He lathered away until it began to |
drop off, and then picked up the razor
again.
“The idea of my throwing away $780 |
to the barbers !”” he muttered as he laid
the flat of the razor on his cheek. “Well
better late than never. No particular
hurry about this, however. Fell.r wants
to give himself time to get the hang of
it. Perhaps I'd better begin on my
chin first. Don’t suppose it makes any
great difference whether I shave up or
down, so long as I—1”
“Mr. Bowser, what's the matter?”
called Mrs. Boweer, as she kicked on
When did I ever have
the door.
“Nothing !”’ he answered.
“Then what are you jumping around
so for? I thought you'd shake the
chandeliers down !”’
“The blamed thing must have slipped
on me!” he growled as he returned to
the glass to survey the cut. “Probably
didn’t hold it exactly right. AL! that’s
more like the way the barber told me to
hold it. Now, then, take it eusy till
you get the hang of it. May be ten
minutes this time, but on the next ocea-
sion I'il—-17 :
“Mr. Bowser, open this door!” called
Mrs. Bowser from the hall.
“W-what do you w-want?’ he
gasped.
“I want to know what ali this swear-
ing and kicking over the chairs means!
| Didn’t I tell you how you would come
out!”
“You go away! I'm all right! Tt
was the man next door you heard!”
He heard her go away after a bit, and
he went back to the glass to whisper:
| “I'll be hanged if I haven't pretty
near cut my old chin off! What in
| Texas ails the old thing, anyhow? I'll
| get the hang of it if it cuts my head off’!
| I didn’t have lather enough,”
He lathered some more. Then he
picked up the razor and carefully ex-
amined both sides and the edge and
back. Then he laid the flat of the
blade on his chin and smiled sweetly
and whispered :
“Probably a little nervous, being the
i first time. I'll just get to it by degrees,
That's the way to do it! No barber ever
slid a razor over my chin any richer
than that. The idea of Mrs. Bowsar
calling it $10 throw right away ! That's
the way a woman. If they can savea
cent here they will waste a dollar there.
Yili :
Mis. Bowser heard a yell and started
for the stairs. She met Mr. Bowser half-
way up. The lather was flying about
and the blood streaming down on his
shirt bosom, and bis eyes were as big as
onions,
“Well, didn’t I
manded.
Her words brought Mr. Bowser to
himself. He turned back, beckoned for
i her to follow, and as they entered the
bedroom he silently pointed. The raz-
or lay on the floor, the bowl was broken
in three pieces, and there was lather
everywhere.
“Well 27 she queried, as she picked
up three towels and placed two chairs on
their legs again.
“Woman!” he hoarsely whispered,
‘this is too much !”’
“Why, what have I done?”
“Sure! Done! Look at me!
“Yes,but you tried to shave your-
self.”
“But who dragged me into it 2”
“Mr. Bowser, you certainly can’t
blame me. I told you before you—"
“That's enough | This is the limit!
I understand it all, and can see just how
you planned it! It is not your fault
that I did not cut my throat, and that
you are not now a widow! Airs. Bow-
ser, leave me to myself! I have some
papers to look over before consulting a
lawyer to-morrow 1’?
say so!’ she de-
OTE EE OW ADATA
The Great Northwest.
‘The States of Montana and Washing.
ton are very fully described in two fold-
ers issued by the Northern Pacific Rail-
road, entitled “Golden Montana” and
“Fruitful Washington.” The folders
contain good county maps of the states
named, and information in reference to
climate, lands, resources, and other sub-
jects of interest to capitalists, business
men or settiers.
Holders of second class tickets to
North Pacific Coast points, via North-
ern Pacific Railroad, are allowed the
privilege of stopping over at Spokane;
Washington, and points west thercof,
for the purpose of examining all sections
of this magnificent state before locating.
Northern Pacific through express trains
carry free colonist sleeping cars from
St. Paul, and Pallman tourist sleepers
from Chicago (via Wisconsin Central
Line) to Montana and Pacific Coast
points daily. .
California tourists, and travelers to
Montana and the North Pacific Coast,
can purchase round trip excursion tick-
ets at rates which amount to but little
more than the one way fare. Choice of
routes is allowed on these tickets, which
are good for three or six months, ac-
cording to destination, and permit of
stop-overs. :
The elegant equipment on the North
ern Pacific Railroad; the dinner car
service; the through first class sleeping
cars from Chicago (via both Wisconsin
Central Line and C. M. & St. P, Ry.)
to Pacific Coast points, and the most
magnificent scenery of seven states, are
among the advantages and attractions
offered to travelers by this line.
The “Wonderland” book issued by
the Northern Pacific Railroad describes
the country between the Great Lakes and
Pacific Ocean, with maps and illustra-
tions,
For any of the above publications,
and rates, maps, time tables, write to
any General or District Passenger
Agent, or Chas. S. Fee, G. P. &T. A.
N. P. R. R,, St. Paul, Minn. tf.
In country houses where it is generally
necessary to prociaim the hour for meals
in rather more emphatic fashion than in
town, where a butlers’s quiet announce-
went is all that is necessary, there is a
delightful substitute for ‘the clanging
bell or braying gong, This is the ordin-
ary triangle used in orchestras. Tt is
not expensive ; is as pleasant to the ear
as chimes ; and the performer's latitude
is limited to a mild sufficiency of sound.
Any seryant niay be taught its manipu-
lation.
“Oh speak, ye ghosts of the dead,
and say what killed you?’ The ans-
| wer came, borne on the fierce east wind:
[“Cold! cold! cold!” Then let us be
|
| thankful that since then we have Dr.
Bull’s Cough Syrup.
——Surer foundation cannot be laid
| than the real merit whichis the solid
| base for the monumental success of
| Hood's Sarsaparilla.
vr r————
| ——General Miles inspires respect,
apart from his runk, by the fact that he
is an athlete, and particularly a skilful
boxer,