Demoreaic fata.
Bellefonte, Pa., Sept. I. 1899.
nmmm—
LIFE.
Sad is our youth, for it is ever going,
Crumbling away beneath our very feet;
Sad is our life, for onward it is flowing
In current unperceived, because <o fleet;
Sad are our hopes, for they were sweet in sow-
ing—
But tares, self-sown, have over-topped the
wheat;
Sad are our joys, for they were sweet in blow-
ing—
And still, oh still, their dying breath is
sweet;
And sweet is youth, although it hath bereft us
Of that which made our childhood sweeter
still;
And sweet is middle life, for it hath left us
A nearer good to cure an older ill;
And sweeter are all things, when we learn to
prize them
Nor for their sake, but His who grants them
or denies them,
—Aubrey De Vere.
HIS MAJESTY THE BABY.
Until the bus stopped and the old gentle-
man entered we had heen a contented and
genial company, traveling from a suburb
into the city in high good fellowship, and
our absolute monarchy was Baby. His
mother was evidently the wife of a well
doing artisan, a wise looking, capable, bon-
nie young woman, and Baby was nota
marvel of attire, nor could he be called
beautiful. He was dressed after a careful,
tidy, comfortable fashion, and he was a
clean skinned, healthy child; that is all
you would have noticed had you met the
two on the street.
In a bus where there is nothing to do for
40 minutes except stare into each other’s
faces,a baby has the great chance of his life,
and this Baby was made to seize it. He
was not hungry and there were no pins
about his clothes and nobody had made
him afraid, and he was by nature a human
soul. So he took us in hand one by one
till he had reduced us all to a state of de-
lighted subjection, to the pretended scan-
dal and secret pride of his mother.
His first conquest was easy and might
have been discounted, for against such an
onset there was no power of resistance in
the elderly woman opposite—one of the low-
er middles, fearfully stout, and of course a
grandmother. He simply looked at her—
if besmiled, that was thrown in—for, with-
out her knowledge, her arms had begun to
shape for his reception—so often had chil-
dren lain on that ample resting place.
‘‘Bless ’is little ’eart; it do me good to see
im.” No one cared to criticise the words,
and we remarked to ourselves how the ex-
pression changes the countenance. Not
heavy and red, far less dull, the proper ad-
jective for that face is motherly.
The next passenger, just above Grannie,
1s a lady, young and pretty, and a mother.
Of course;did you not see her look Baby over
as an expert at her sharpest? The mother is
conscious of inspection and adjusts a ribbon
his majesty had tossed aside, and then she
meekly awaited approval. For a moment
we were anxious, but that was our foolish-
ness, for in half a minute the lady’s face
relaxed, and she passed Baby. She leaned
forward and asked questions and we over-
heard scraps of technical details: “My first
—14 months--six teeth--always well.”
One was a lady, the other a working wom-
an; they had not met before; they were not
likely to meet again, but they had forgot-
ten strangeness and differences in the com-
mon bonds of motherhood. Opposite me a
priest was sitting and saying his office, but
at this point his eye fell on the mothers,
and I thought his lips shaped the words
‘‘Sancta Maria’’ before he went on with the
appointed portion.
Baby had wearied of inaction and had
begun another campaign, and my heart
sank, for this time he courted defeat. On
the other side of Grannie and within baby’s
sphere of influence was a man about whose
profession there could be little doubt, even
if he bad not had a bag on his knee and
were not reading from a parchment docu-
ment. After a long and serious considera-
tion of the lawyer’s clean, cut shaven blood-
less face, Baby leaned forward and tapped
gently on the deed, and then, when the
keen face looked up in quick inquiry, Baby
replied with a smile of roguish intelligence
as if to say, ‘‘By the way, that parchment
would make an excellent drum; do you
mind me— A tune has just come into my
head.”
The lawyer, of course, drew away the
deed and frowned at the insolence of the
thing. No he did not—there is a soul in
lawyers if you know how to find it—he
smiled. Well, it was nota first rate smile,
but it was genuine, and the next time he
did it better, and afterward it spread all
over his face and lighted up his eyes. He
had never been exposed in such a genial,
irresistable way before, and so he held the
drum, and Baby played a variation on
‘‘Rule, Britannia’’ with much spirit, while
Grannie appealed for applause. “If he
don’t play as weli as the band in Hyde park
of a Sunday.”
After a well deserved rest of 40 seconds,
during which we wagged our heads in won-
der, Baby turned his attention to his right
hand neighbor and for the balance of the
minute, examined her with compassion—
an old maid without question, with her
disposition written on her thin lips and the
hard gray eyes. None of us would care to
trifle with her. Will he dare? If he has
not! There was the chief stroke of genius,
and it deserved success—when, with an ex-
pression of unaffected pity he put out his
soft dimpled hand gently stroked her
cheek, acting as if to say: ‘‘Poor thing, all
alone, ’lone, ’lone! I'm so solly, solly, solly
so velly, velly, velly solly.”” Did I say
that her eyes were tender and true enough
to win a man’s heart and keep it, and that
her lips spoke of patience and gentleness?
If I did not, Irepair my neglect. She must
have been a beautiful woman in her youth
—no, no, today, just when she inclines her
head and Baby strokes her cheek again and
cooes. ‘‘Pretty, pretty, pretty, and so
velly, velly, velly good.”” Was there not a
lovely flush on her cheek ?—oh, the fool of
a man that might of had that love! She
opens a neat little bag, and as this is public
affairs we watched without shame. Quite
s0; she is to be away all day and has got a
frugal lunch, and—it’s all she can do in re-
turn. Perhaps he cannot eat it. I don’t
know nor does she. Baby ways are a mys-
tery to her; but would he refuse that bis-
cuit? Not he; he makes an immense to do
over it and shows it to his mother and to
all his loyal subjects, and he was ready to
be kissed, but she did not like to kiss him.
Peace be with thy shy, modest soul!
The Christ child come into thine heart!
Two passengers on Baby's ieft hand en-
dured these escapades with patient and suf-
fering dignity. When a boy is profoundly
conscious that he is—well, a man, and yet
a blind and unfeeling world conspires to
treat him as—well, a child—he must pro-
tect himself and aszert his position. Which
he does to the delight of everybody with
any sense of humor, by refusing indignant-
ly to be kissed by his mother or sisters in
public, by severely checking any natural
tendency to enthusiasm about any thing
except sport, by allowing it to be under-
stood that he has exhausted the last re-
maining pleasure and is fairly burned out.
Dear boy, and all the time ready to run a
mile to see a cavalry regiment drill and
tormented by a secret hankering after the
zoological gardens. These two had been
nice little chaps two years ago and would
be manly fellows two years hence. Mean-
while they were provoking and required
chastisement or regeneration. Baby was
to them a ‘‘kid’’ to be treated with con-
tempt, and when in the paroxysm of de-
light over that folly of alaw paper he had
tilted one of the young men’s hats that
blase ancient replaced it in position with a
bored and weary air. How Baby had tak-
en in the situation I cannot guess, but he
had his mind on the lads, and suddenly,
while they were sustaining an elaborate
concern, he flung himself back and crowed
—yes, joyfully crowed—with rosy, jocund
countenance in the whites of the eyes of
the two solemnities. One raised his eye-
brows, and the other looked at the roof in
despair, but I had hopes, for who could re-
sist this bubbling, chortling mirth! One
laughed a glad, boyish chuckle, and the
other tickles Baby just at the right spot be-
low the chin—has a baby at home after all
and loves it—declaring aloud that he is a
‘jolly little beggar.”” Those boys are all
right. There is a sound heart below the
little affectations, and they are going to be
men.
This outburst of his majesty cheered us
all mightily, and a young woman at the
top of the bus, catching his eye, waved her
hand to him with a happy smile. Brown
gloves, size 6}, perhaps 6, much worn, and
a jacket also not of yesterday, but every-
thing is well made and in perfect taste.
Milk white teeth, hazel eyes, Grecian pro-
file—what a winsome girl '—and let me see
she takes off a glove—yea, is wearing an
engagement ring; a lucky fellow, for she
must be good with those eyes and that mer-
ry smile, A teacher, one guesses, and to-
day off, and then the three—her mother,
that dear woman with bair turning gray—
will go upon the river and come home in
the sweet summer evening, full of content.
As soon as he gets a rise in the office they
will marry, and she will also have her gift,
at every woman should. But where am I
now?—let that baby bear the blame.
‘We had one vacant place, and that was
how he intruded on our peace, but let me
make one excuse for him. It isaggravating
to stand on the edge of the pavement and
wave his umbrella ostentatiously to a bus
which passes you and draws up 15 yards
ahead, to make your dangerous way along
a slippery street with hansoms bent upon
your life, to be ordered to ‘hurry up’’ by
the impatient conductor and ignominiously
hauled on to a moving bus. For an elderly
gentleman of military appearance and short
temper it was not soothing, and he might
have been excused a word or two, but he
distinctly exceeded.
He insisted in language of great direct-
ness and simplicity that the conductor had
seen him all the time; that if he didn’t he
ought to have been looking; that he (the
colonel) was not a fox terrier, to run after
a bus in the mud; that the conductor was
an impertinent scoundrel and that he would
have him dismissed, with other things and
words unworthy of even a retired Anglo-
Indian. The sympathy of the bus did not
go out to him, and when he forced himself
in between the lawyer and Grannie, and
leaning forward with his hands on his cane
glared at us impartially, relations were
strained.
A cut on his cheek and a bristly white
mustache half hiding, half concealing, a
cruel mouth, did not commend the new
passenger to a peaceable company. Baby
regarded the old man with sad attention,
and at last he indicated that his fancy is to
examine thesilver head of the colonel’s
cane. The colonel, after two moments’
hesitation, removes his hands and gives full
liberty. On second thoughts he must have
got that cut in some stiff fight. Wonder
whether he isa V.C. Baby moves the cane
back and forward to a march of his own de-
vising, the colonel actively assisting. Now
I see it ina proper light his mustache is
soft and sets off the face excellently. Had
it not heen the cut puckering the corner of
his upper lip, that would have been a very
sweet mouth for a man, or even a woman.
Baby is not lifted above ali human weak-
nesses—preserve us from perfect people—
and he indicates a desire to taste as well as
handle that silver. head. The colonel is
quite agreeable—the most good natured
man you could meet in a day’s journey—
but Baby’s guardian objects, and history
warns us of the dangers which beset a colli-
sion between an absolute monarch and his
faithful commons. We are all concerned,
but the crisis is safe in the colonel’s hands.
He thrusts his hand within the tightly but-
toned frock coat and produces a gold hunt-
ing watch—crested, did you notice—and—
yes, just what every father has done for his
baby since watches were invented—he blew;
the lid flew open. Baby blew, and the lid
flew open faster and farther. ‘‘Reminds
me of my boy at that age—killed on fron-
tier last year.”” Is much ashamed of this
confidence, and we all look unconscious.
What a fine, simple old fellow he is.
‘‘Saved up, has he,”’ the colonel is say-
ing to the mother, ‘‘to give Baby and you
a week at Ramsgate? He’s the right sort,
your husband. It’s for Baby, not for you,
to get him some folderol, you know. He's
done a lot of good to a crusty old chap.”
And he passes something from his pocket
into the mother’s hand.
The conductor had taken in the scene
with huge delight and closes it at just the
right point. ‘‘Your club, general, just
wait till the bus stops. Can you get near
the curb, Bill? Now, that’s right; take care
sir, plenty of time.”’
The colonel was standing on the broad
top step of the Veterans’, smiling and wav-
ing his hand, the bus waved back, the con-
buctor touched his cap, and Baby danced
with sheer joy, since there is no victory
like love.—By Ian Maclaren in British
Weckly.
THE LOST MAN.
One evening a man came into a New
York French restaurant and, walking
through the succession of small rooms, saw
only one vacant seat.
He sat down opposite a man whose face
was hidden behind a newspaper. The
waiter brought a bottie of wine and a sar-
dine for the newcomer and a roast sparrow
for the other man, who now folded his
newspaper and dropped it on the floor.
Then he looked across at his vis-a-vis, and
his hand fell to his side and hung limp.
The other man, having poured the thin
claret over the lumps of ice in his glass,
lifted it to his lips and glanced up over the
rim. Then he set the glass down without
tasting, spilling a little claret.
‘‘Dalton!’’ he said indistinctly.
‘‘Well, Holloway?’ said the other.
“I thought you were dead.’
‘So I am—so far as you’re concerned.
Who’d thought you’d turned up here?”
‘Yes, what lnck! I thought New York
was big enough to turn around in without
stumbling over some confounded old ac-
quaintance.’’
“Old acquaintance—well, that’s pretty
cool. However, I shan’t bother you.
You needn’t be afraid of me. I’m not go-
ing back out there, and if you ever do I'll
trouble you to keep a still tongue. You
needn’t say you saw me. Understand?”
“Oh, yes!’ said the other man. “But I
don’t bank much on going hack myself.
I'm about sick of this country. I don’t
blame you for wanting to keep out, hut, I
say, that was a funny thing, you dropping
out the way you did. Everybody thinks
you're dead or lcco and shut up some-
where. They bad no end of a time look-
ing for you—dragged the river and took a
posse through Sonora town. All the news-
papers renovated you into a prominent cit-
izen, but I suppose you saw ’em.”’
‘No, Ididn’t. I was down in Mexico.
How long ago did you leave Calif—beg
your pardon, I withdraw the question, un-
less it happens to be’’—
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter! I left eight
months ago. I'm only here for—for—a few
days—just passing through.”
‘Yes? [Let's see, its two, three years
since I came away. Do you know what
that reminds me of? Two hurrying shapes,
don’t you know, in ‘No Man’s Land,’ met
each other face to face—very awkward
sometimes—and bade each other stand.”
‘‘Sounds like footpads,’’ suggested the
nervous man.
“No; it’s poetry. Well, they asked each
other’s name’’—
Here the two men looked at one anoth-
er, and the nervous man broke into a gig-
le.
2 “Exactly. We won’t do that.’ He
emptied his glass and set it down. ‘They
call this stuff California claret,’ he said.
“Look here, don’t you want some
news?’’
‘News?’ The quiet man blinked un-
certainly for a moment and then said:
‘‘Yes, I suppose so. What is it?”’
“Well, I meant—you know Sharpless is
mayor now. We got him in last year, and
it was the biggest fight the town ever saw.
Jim Luke got the city attorneyship. He’s
in the new city hall with velvet carpets
and hand painted spittoons. Oh. the boys
are all right. And you wouldn’t know
the place. Brick blocks going up every-
where and cable cars on Main street.’’
The quiet man began to eat his sparrow
and stringy salad. ‘I suppose so,’ he
said.
‘‘And say—well, of course it’s none of
my business. Isuppose you hear from out
there, anyway?’
‘Not a word,” said the quiet man,
‘‘But go ahead, if you’ve got anything to
tell.”’
“Well, it’s only about—confound it!—
your wife. Say, Dalton, why in thunder
—it’s none of my business, but it’s pretty
hard on her.”
“She must think
dead.”
‘Well, she doesn’t. She’s still looking
for you. When they didn’t find you in
the river, you know, she had detectives.
They combed San Francisco for you.”
The quiet man moved uneasily.
tectives cost money,’’ he said.
‘‘They do. She’s teaching now in the
public schools. The hoys put that through.
She gets $95 a month, and that about feeds
the five young ones.”
“I left her enough. I left her half the
money I bad. If I could have fixed it so,
she could have got my life insurance’—
“Well, why didn’t you? There was the
river. Excuse me, old man, but is this
any better.
‘‘Oh, yes!’ said Dalton dreamily. I
have a quiet life; all day in the library if
Ilike. You've no idea what a racket five
children can make in a small house. And
then out there I never could get the hooks
I wanted—The Latinists of the fourth cen-
tury, for instance. And then, you know,
a woman—a woman who’s fond of you. It
explains why the philosophers were monks.
But I'm getting pretty close to bedrock,’
he added frowning. “‘I don't like to eat
in these places. And to see you here!”
‘Yes, I know,” said Holloway hastily,
‘but I’ve got just enough to take me where
I’m going. I pulled out with about $600
—though the boys wouldn’t believe you if
you told ’em. I suppose they think I'm
living in cotton— Monto Carlo or’’—
“Six hundred! Why, you used to have
your fist in deep. What’s the matter—Ilost
your pull?” :
‘‘Nellie's got it—my wife, you know—
that is, all I could pull cut. Say, Dalton,
1 don’t mind telling you—I don’t suppose
you'd give me away. and if yon did I—the
police—’?
‘“The law can’t touch me,’’ said Dalton.
Holloway’s face flushed dully.
Perhaps not, but I would’t change places
with you. My wife’s living in Europe—
been there for a year. She's living well
too. She was always crazy to go. She's
got enough to make her comfortable for
some time and I’m going—well, never
mind. D’d do it over again. I tell you,
Dalton, for a woman you’re fond of—bhut
what’s the use of talking to you? Might
as well talk to a Latin grammar.
Dalton contemplated his cheese and
withered pears and thin coffee resignedly.
“If I didn’t have to eat,’’ he said, “I'd
be all right. I want few things, God
knows.”’
I,” said Holloway under his breath,
want only one.””—New York Advertiser.
I'm dead—I am
“Da-
Holding Down all the Jobs.
A canvasser for a religious publication
entered the yard of a residence in the south-
ern part of the city a few days ago. A
small wagon in the yard and several war
whoops from the rear of the house announc-
ed that the family was not out of the city
for the summer. A pull at the front door
bell brought no response,so he went around
to the side porch, where he found a small
boy with his face smeared with jam mak-
ing a pyramid with lumps of loaf sugar.
‘‘Anyone at home?’’ asked the can-
vasser. :
“Me.”
‘‘No one else?”
‘Nop. Papa went to the store an’ left
me wif marmer. Marmer went up ve
street an’ left me wif nurse. Nurse's aunt
died an’ she left me wif ze cook. Cook
jus’ runned up ze alley to see her frenz an’
I’s got everysing to see after, an’ it’s all
right.”’
The canvasser felt that the sunshine of
his paper was not needed in that family,
and he went his way.
Fatally Bitten While in the Field.
Mrs. Messimer, wife of Col. Merit
M. Messimer, of Pottstown, is lying
critically ill with blood poison, which re-
sulted from the sting of some insect or
reptile while waiking through a field near
the Falls of French Creek last week. She
suffers terrible pain and will not likely
recover.
Solid Walls of Wheat.
Five Thousand Acres of Golden Grain on one Ranch | John I. Blair, the Multi-Millionaire, Celebrated His |
in Oklahoma. |
Oklahoma’s largest wheat field lies a few |
miles west of the small railway station of
Bliss, in Kay county. It contains 5,000 !
acres, and belongs to the noted ranch “101°” | The day was observed as a time of rejoicing |
which coutrols 15,000 acres of land leased |in the town which Mr.
from the Ponce Indians.
Two hundred | founded, which bears his name and of
Jersey’s Wealthiest Man. !
i
i
97th Birthday—His Remarkable Career. |
|
John I. Blair, New Jersey's aged multi- |
millionaire, whose home is in Blairstown, |
celebrated his 97th, birthday last week. |
Blair's money |
men, more than 300 mules and horses and | which he is the chief financial support.
twenty-four big twine binders were em- | The merchants of the town closed their
ployed in cutting and shocking the grain | places of business and a general holiday |
. was enjoyed by the residents.
grown on this magnificent field this year,
and it was not until last Sunday, with an
army of laborers working night and day
for ten days, that the last acre was har-
vested.
Every principle of geod farming was ob-
served in cultivating this big field, with
the result that the total output will not be |
less than 100,000 bushels of as good wheat
as can be found in Oklahoma. It is esti-
mated that the average acre yield will he
from 20 te 25 bushels. There are many
acres that will run from 40 to 50 bushels.
Buyers have already offered 60 cents a
bushel for the entire crop. It is probable
that the owners will get from 60 to 70
cents, a gross sum of $65,000 or $70,000.
The cost of producing this wheat and put-
ting it on board cars will be 25 cents a
bushel, leaving a net profit of about $35,-
000.
Wheat was king in the Strip last week,
and its importance eclipses everything else
on ranch ‘“101.” Numerically, a 5,000
acre wheat field is not very impressive. To
ride over it, however, in blazing sunshine
is to give rise to the feeling that it covers
the face of the earth. The 5,000 acres of
wheat on ranch ‘101°’ are divided into two
fields of almost equal size by the Salt Fork
river, a stream that pours down a large
volume of water at this time of year. Great
yellow undulations of grain swept along-
side the river and then away toward the
distant hills, until they seemed to reach
the sky. It wasso far across the fields
that the shocks look like a solid wall of
wheat. In the field on the south side of
the river the first circuit with a binder was
made by superintendent Miller.
‘There was not a man who could guess
how long it would take me to make the
round, ’’ said he, ‘‘I piled a supply of twine
on my binder, and started. It was almost
dinner time when I got back. I was gone
four hours, and traveled six miles.”
The distances are so great on the ranch
that it is impossible for the men to turn in
at one place for the meals. The loss of
time would amount to hundreds of dollars
in a season. Accordingly, camps are es-
tablished at different places, generally close
to a stream, where the men live in tents
and the meals are prepared by ranch cooks.
Some Busy Animals.
Do Everything from Stealing Chickens to
ing Homes.
Build
The fox is a dealer in poultry, but he is
nothing more or less than a thief. Fat
ducks and chickens are his delight, and a
plump rabbit comes next best.
The otter and the heron are fishermen.
The otter is not often seen, for he carries on
bis work mostly under the water, but the
heron stands with his long, thin legs in the
water, waiting until a fish comes by
Then a sudden plunge with his long, sharp
bill and the poor fish is brought up and
swallowed.
The ants are the busiest of all. Catch
an ant asleep in the daytime if you can.
They are always in earnest at their work,
building their underground homes and lay-
ing up stores of food for the long winter.
The swallow is a fly catcher, and skims
low over the surface of the little streams.
It takes a great many flies to feed him for
just one day, and he is forever at work.
The beaver is a wood cutter, a builder
and a mason. It cuts down the small
trees with its teeth, and after it has built
its house, it plasters it with its tail.
The snail, too, is a builder, but it takes
the material for its house from its own
body. It is so anxious to begin work that
it commences to build its house before it is
even hatched.
The mole that burrows under the ground
makes a little fort under the earth from
which it tunnels in every direction, and it
makes such clever paths that it can run
from one to the other and can scarcely be
caught.
The bees do not all live in hives or tree
trunks. The mason bee digs a hole in the
brick wall, and lines it with clay. In this
nest it lays two eggs and closes it up. The
miner bee bores long holes in the sand
banks, and the carpenter bees bore their
tunnels in wood. The upholsterer bee
lines his nest with poppy leaves. The rose
Ieaf cutter takes a leaf between its jaws, be-
gins near the stalk and cuts out a circle of
just the right size and as perfect as could be
marked with a compass. With these cir-
cles of fragrant rose leaves it divides its
round hole in the wall into little cells.
Politieai Rivals.
“My left leg,”’ said the candidate for
sheriff, ‘*was shot off in the civil war, and
to-day, my friends, the bones of that leg
are bleaching in the valleys of Virginia!
What can my opponent say to that? I pause
for a reply.”
‘I cansay lots to that, fellow citizens,’
said the rival candidate, as he mounted the
stump. ‘I bad the rheumatism when the
war broke out, but I hired three men to go
and fight for me. Each man of them had
his right leg shot off, and to-day—yes, to-
day—the bones of those three right legs—
and not one of them was as bow-legged as
my friend is—are bleaching on the plains
of Tennessee!’’
Still Branching Out.
The Berwind-White coal company is
buying from 4,500 to 9,000 acres of coal
lands from some thirty prominent farmers
in Conemaugh township, Somerset county.
The deal has been in progress for some
time and part of the sellers have received
their money from the coal company, while
others are expected to transfer their prop-
erty to the corporation within the next
sixty days. The price paid per acre is $18.
The land lies in the vicinity of Davids-
ville, Tire Hill and Benscreek.
Freight Train Riders to be Fined.
The Pennsylvania railroad and the Phil-
adelphia and Reading railway companies
have decided to make an effort to put a
stop to illegal car riding, and to do the
work more effectually have asked the police-
men along their lines to co-operate with
the railroad officers in this move. Every
illegal rider will be heavily fined, and if
he cannot pay he will be punished by im-
prisonment.
——A school boy’s essay about hornets
paid this compliment to that inflammable
bug: ‘‘One way a hornet shows his smart-
ness is by attending his own business, and
making everybody who interferes with him
wish he had done the same thing.”
|
Notwithstanding the weight of nearly a |
century, which bas somewhat howed the |
figure of the wealthy old man and whicen- |
ed the head which has planned the way to |
millions, the years have dealt gently with
him, and he is still healthy and strong in
mind. His life has heen a philanthropic |
one, and he has given many thousands to |
the education of young people. The |
academy which bears his name at Blairs- |
town was founded and is supported by him. |
He has also built several buildings at La-
fayette college and Princeton university.
Mr. Blair lives modestly in a neat but
inexpensive home on a hill overlcoking the |
Delaware. It is to his regular habits that
he attributes his longevity, and from all |
appearances there is no reason why he!
should not live to reach the century mark. |
|
The romance of Mr. Blairs life began in |
1302 on a farm two miles below Belvidere, |
N. J., on the banks of the Delaware. One |
would not look to see a man carve out a
fortune of $60,000,000 in a sylvan neigh-
borhood. But the opportunity was there.
It is there to-day. All that it needed was
the man.
He came of Scotch stock. He loved to
talk about the ancestors who ‘‘tought for
the Covenant.”’
Rev. John Blair, his namesake, who was
a cousin of his great-grandfather, was one
of those wuo obtained from Gov. Belcher a
charter for Princeton college, now New
Jersey’s fine university. In time the
Blairs, who were born natural money mak-
ers, became connected with the famous Ox-
ford furnace, founded by William Penn’s
friend, Robeson, and the father of John I.
Blair was sent down to the banks of the
Delaware near the close of the last century
to superintend the shipping of iron bars
made at the old furnace.
There John I. was born, one of 11 chil-
dren.
The family were living in Beaver Creek
when an event of great importance happen-
ed to the future railroad king. He earned
his first dollar.
Dearly he loved to tell about it. He
was 8 years old and as poor as a church
mouse. He went into the woods and set
traps for rabbits and muskrats. These he
skinned, and ;when he had got a load of
pelts he walked over the hills to Easton 20
miles away, and sold them for that dollar.
Before he was 12 years old a cousin, who
had a village store in Hope, sent for him
to become his clerk. Blair went and for
several years he clerked with eminent suc-
cess. He not only gave satisfaction to his
employer, but he was able to turn little
bargains for himself, and soon had money
in the bank. Then his cousin and himself
opened a store at Bulls Bridge. That is
the Blairstown of to-day, the town that
John I. Blair owns in fee simple. It was
then a cross roads in a semi-wilderness.
But out of the wilderness he carved success.
Farmers and woodsmen came miles to
trade in Blair’s store.
When he was yet so young that he did
not like to tell his age, Blair became a
commanding personality in the district.
He got the office of postmaster. He estab-
lished branch stores in the country round
about and brought his numerous brothers
from the farm to take charge of them.
Some of his brothers were also shrewd fel-
lows and became highly successful, but
none had the genius of John I.
He saw money in banking and establish-
ed the Belvidere bank, of which he has
been president or vice president for 60
years. He bought a cotton mill at a low
figure and turned a financial failure into a
success. He bought a cargo of damaged
cotton that was in the hold of a steamship
and made $15,000 by the operation. He
had examined the cotton secretly and found
it was not so badly damaged as was thought.
Then he went into the produce business.
He obtained control of nearly all the pro-
duce raised in the county where he lived
and sent it to market at a handsome pro-
fit. He ran four flour mills. He bought
and sold real estate. He dropped the re-
tail business and went into the wholesale.
He sent wagons into the sparsely settled
country, where they exchanged manufac-
tured goods for rich produce or money.
By this time he was rich, but his in
stinets kept him moving. He had buisness
enough on his hands to send an ordinary
man to the insane asylum, but it did not
worry him in the least. He/was constant-
ly looking around for new opportunities.
He saw one. It was coal.
He bought shares in the Scranton Coal
and Iron company, and paid for experi-
ments for making iron with anthracite coal.
They were successful, and before long the
company could not begin to supply the de-
mand for rails from the mnilroad. This
turned his attention to railroads.
He went to work to secur¢ a charter for
a railroad trom Scranton tg Great Bend.
He got it and the road wasbuilt. It was
called Leggett’s railroad. But from that
infant sprang the giant of t¢-day, the great
Delaware, Lackawanna and, Western, with
its wealth of coal and its fine passenger
business.
From Lackawanna to Tow,
Oakes Ames and the Union Pacific, these
were the strides he made. [he Omaha ex-
tension, the Sioux City an{ Pacific and a
dozen other roads he builtiand helped to
manage. At one time he wis president of
20 railroads and improvemet companies in
the West. His foresight, ldustry, ambi-
tion and enterprise went hand in hand.
His success was phenomena.
It was not until Mr. Jair went into
politics that he tasted the Btterness of fail-
ure. In 1866 his friends pksuaded him to
run for Governor. He sg@gnt about $60,-
000 in the campaign and wg defeated. Af-
ter that he swore off from
He made money for hif own pleasure.
He spent it for the pleasur@of others.
has always been of a philajthropic nature,
and a generous friend of bducation,
has given more than half
to Blair college. He gav
Princeton and Lafayett
Grinnell college, Iowa, whi it was blown
down by a cyclone. Hundeds of other in-
stitutions have been helped by him.
Mir Blair is a widower, yith two living
children. His daughter parried Charles
Scribner, head of the publihiug house.
from Iowa to
90,000 each to
He rebuilt
mt
——Nell—1I suppose youll be surprised
to learn that Jack propeed to me last
night.
Belle—Yes, indeed. threatened to
do something desperate vhen I refused
i says the Pittsburg Post.
| a trifle taller.
| the girl’s.
tember.
000, which, except a few small bequests,
is given to Mrs. Newman to use during her
life.
The American Boy and Girl.
We have been furnished with an elabo-
rate study of school children made in
Washington, D. C., by Arthur MacDonald
| to ascertain whether hy careful measure-
{ ments of weight. height, ete.,
at various
ages useful indications may be obtained
Sonie interesting
facts are exhibited. It is shown again for
example, that from the age of 11 to 15 girls
are taller and heavier than boys, but at no
other time. After 15 the boys leave the
| girls behind and the latter never regain
their advantage. At 6 the average boy and
girl measure about 45 inches, the hoy being
At 11 they are both about
53 inches tall. At 13 the girl is over an
inch taller, but at 17, when the girl has
reached a height of 62 inches, the hoy has
| gone to 66 inches.
So of weight. At 7, boy and girl average
45 to 47 pounds respectively, and the boy
is heavier till the age of 10 or 12 is reach-
ed. At this time each weighs about 70 1bs.
At 14 when the ayerage boy weighs 85, the
girl weighs 91, but at 15 the boy begins to
catch up, and at 17 weighs 123, while the
girl weighs but 111. As respects height
when sitting the smail boy is higher at all
ages till about 12, but at 14 the sitting
height of the girl is an inch greater than
that of the boy. Eighteen months later the
advantage is lost and at 17 the average
boy’s sitting height is an inch more than
The girl continues growing in
sitting height, or length of trunk, longer
than in length of limbs. Boys of the non-
laboring classes have at all ages a greater
height and sitting height than those of the
laboring classes. Similarly boys of the non-
laboring class are heavier at all ages, except
7, than boys of the laboring class, he differ--
ence increasing after 13. The satme is tru
of girls, except that girls of the laboring
class begin to be the heavier after 15.
American boys excel foreign boys in
height, but are inferior in weight. White
boys are taller than colored boys. Girls
maintain the average of brightness for girls
more steadily than do boys—boys have a
higher percentage of dullness. Unruliness
is shown to be connected with dullness.
The highest percentage of unruliness is
shown by the dull boys—some ten per cent
of the dull boys are unruly. Boys of the
non-laboring class are the more unruly.
These and other like curious facts are
brought out in Mr. MacDonald’s entertain-
ing paper. Their meaning is not obvious at
first, but ultimately they will afford indi-
cations useful to the teacher.
Woman’s Patience Overdone.
In New York a woman was recently re-
leased from prison who asserted her own
guilt of a theft committed by her husband,
and served a term in the penitentiary in
his stead. After she was released she
worked hard to support him while he lived
in idleness. In return he treated her
abominably, beating and abusing her
cruelly. After enduring this for twelve
years she at length had him arrested, but
still declares she loves him.
This is the old story of a man’s brutality
and a woman’s weakness—the dog-like de-
votion to her ‘‘lord and master’”’ and gave
rise to the old adage:
A woman, a dog, and a walnut tree,
The more you beat them the better they be.
Generally, in such cases, while the man
is condemned the woman is praised for her
self-sacrifice and the persistence of her love.
Yet, though the man was undoubtedly a
brute, there is nothing admirable in the
conduct of the woman. She simply en-
couraged and increased the baseness of her
own folly.
The whole occurrence is representative of
the old relation of woman to man, when the
only object of her existence was to win his
favor. This idea can be traced to the time
when women were scarcely ranked as hu-
man beings—when, indeed, it was much
discussed whether or not they had souls.
Then men were taught to worship God, but
women were taught to look up in adora-
tion to men. The husband practically
took the place of God to his wife, and every
sacrifice for his sake was considered no-
ble.
This doctrine in its extreme form is no
longer promulgated, but relics of its influ-
ence remain. We still find women whose
only standard of duty is to win the approval
of their husbands.
This is most injurious to man’s moral na-
ture. The fact that he will not lose the
love of the woman under any circumstances
deprives him of a powerful incentive to
noble conduct.
The woman whose love is to be commend-
ed is faithful through misfortune, poverty
or sickness; she understands and condones
the faults, failings and even sins that some-
times overwhelm even the best of men in
moments of weakness. But she knows that
no love is worth having that has not its
foundation in respect for her, and does not
manifest itself in continual efforts to rise to
higher levels.
A man will endeavor to be worthy of
such a woman, and her love will be an en-
nobling and uplifting influence in his
life.
Bugs Greased the Tracks.
A Double Trolley Wreck Caused by Potato Pests.—
Made the Car Wheels Slip.
Potato bugs Wednesday night caused a
double wreck on the Lehigh Valley traction
system and the serious injury of motorman
Henry C. Weibel.
A car in charge of Weibel was on its way
to Copley, and passed through a section of
country where myriads of potato bugs had
invaded the track, and had been mashed to
a pulp on the rails. The latter was rend-
ered extremely slippery by the mass of
‘potato bug mash,’ and caused Weibel’s
car to run away. At the base of the hill
the car was derailed and ran into a fence,
seriously injuring Motorman Weibel.
Soon after, another car that came to
Weibel’s assistance ran away on account of
the potato bugs, and dashed into the de-
railed car. The passengers of the collid-
ing car were badly shaken up, and both
cars were wrecked.
Motorman Weibel has seen all kinds of
hard luck since he donned a uniform.
Three years ago he was struck by light-
ning and was nearly killed. Later he was
the victim of a number of minor mishaps.
But a month ago he was struck in the ab-
domen by a flying brake handle, and was
badly hurt. Last week he resumed work,
but a day or two after he ran over a man
and cut off his leg. Weibel served in the
war with Spain.
Bishop Newman’s Estate.
Amounts to About $50,000 and Ultimately Will Go
to Drew Seminary.
The will of the late Bishop John P. New-
man of the Methodist Episcopal church
will be presented for probate early in Sep-
It disposes of an estate of $50,-
At her death it will go to the Drew
him, but I didn’t think hémeant it.
Theological Seminary in its entirety.
-