Bemorralit- atc
Bellefonte, Pa., March 1, 1901.
OUTCAST MARCH.
The March winds blowing cold,
The scowling clouds frown down
Upon the earth and fold
In gloom the meadows brown.
The intermittent rain
Drives on before the gale,
And ’gainst the streaming pane
Now bangs its icy flail.
O outcast month of Mars!
Disheveled, blown about ;
Sweet Spring puts up the bars,
And Winter's turned you out.
Bat I would not have you go;
1 wish each day were two;
For that there note I owe
On April 1st falls due.
Carl Currie.
COUSIN GEORGE.
Whenever I am not engaged to Mr. Feath-
erstone-Hope—I mean to say, whenever
my engagement to Mr. Featherstone-Hope
is temporarily fractured (it happens now
and again), I immediately find myself per-
meated by the very highest of high spirits;
the sort of exaltation—reaction—that comes
when one has had a tooth out; one feels as
if the whole world were before one, as if
loss may he uncommonly like gain. (With
the lover as with the tooth, one passes,
metaphorically, of course, one’s tongue
over the gap and feels so buoyant, so free,
so—well, I told Mr. Featherstone-Hope
this after one of our reunions.)
‘It’s as if 1 stood on high altitudes,” I
explained. * ““There’s a sort of exhilara-
tion——"?
‘‘Yes,”’ he agreed gravely; ‘‘that’s it.”
‘‘Such as comes,’’ I continued, ‘‘on reach-
ing the top of a mountain—"’
“Or the bottom of a glass of ‘fizz,’ >’ he
suggested.
‘Nothing of the sort,”’ I declared in-
© dignantly; ‘‘you don’t understand in the
least.”’
‘Oh, yes, I do,”’ he protested aisily; ‘I
know all about it.”’
‘‘You know !’ I exclaimed, scornful but
calm.
‘‘Rather,”’ he declared with an irritating
chuckle; ‘I'm just the same myself.”’
However, Mr. Featherstone-Hope’s
chuckles are not of much consequence (ex-
cept that this one went near to resevering
our newly cemented engagement) ; it was
the exuberance of spirit I was speaking of.
It happened that comparatively early in
our united history Mr. Featherstone-Hope
and I had quarreled bitterly, irrevocably.
I think it was the occasion on which, after
looking at me critically, he told me that
my nose was freckled, and I retorted that
if he were not pleased with my nose as the
nose of his prospective wife, our engage.
ment had better be ended while there was
yet time, as I bad no doubt that my nose
would continue to freckle as freely after
marriage as before, and I had no desire to
sail under false colors.
‘‘Oh,’’ he retorted flippantly, ‘‘there’s
no question of false colors about your
face—"’
“Tom !
‘Well 27
‘‘All is at an end between us,’”’
with dignity.
And then, instead of being contrite, he
smiled and quoted that silly thing about
there being as good fish in the sea as ever
came out of it.
1 always ignore platitudes—at least,
Tom’s platitudes-—so I remarked that if he
meant to call me a fish, I thought, for his
sake, we had better part before I was
tempted to prove forcibly that he was mis-
taken. I might be freckle nosed, but I
was not cold-blooded (he probably knew
that already ), and—oh, well, the end of it
was we did part (for the sixth time) NEV-
ER to speak again. And I immediately
became permeated by that top-of-the-moun-
tain feeling, and ran upstirs and did my
hair in a most becoming way, quite an in-
spiration; then I turned out some silks and
sewed furiously for ten minutes (I don’t
sew much when I’m engaged to Mr, Feath-
erstone-Hope; I chiefly ‘spar,’ and the
silks get tangled), and then I remembered
that Cousin George was coming back from
Germany, and I felt glad.
It was while I was smiling over Cousin
George, and wondering if he remembered
that day when he came to say ‘‘good-by’’
to me and Letitia at Miss Delp’s school,
and suddenly found out that kissing was
not ‘‘rot,”’ that home came Aunt Selina
from calling on Aunt Caroline—she’s
Cousin George's mother—and told me that
Cousin George had really returned, and
how kind and thoughtful he had grown,
and how he had insisted on taking her,
Aunt Selina, next day to the concert in aid
of Shoeless Waifs, when he heard how
much she was interested in the Cause.
“And I bad been telling him, Patricia,
1
I said
. that you were staying with me,’’ she con-
cluded deprecatingly, ‘‘and I said that you
would bave to come, also; but George is
so good-tempered he did vot seem to mind
numbers, did not seem in the least discon-
certed—not at all shy or awkward, you
know. I think Germany has improved
him greatly.”
“But I go to Aunt Theresa’s to-morrow,
Aunt Selina,” I ventured. :
*‘I have thought of that, my dear. You
can go on to Victoria Station from the con-
cert, and your luggage can follow. Your
Cousin George and IT will see you into a’
bandsom; I'm sure he won’t mind that.”
Privately I, also, thought that Cousin
George wounldn’t mind that. I decided
when I went to bed that night that I could
not travel in the blue cloth coat and skit
as I had intended; the blue muslin would
be much better; after all, it is one’s duty
to dress rather smartly when one is going
to a Shoeless Waif entertainment; some of
the poor little creatures might happen to
be there, and they’re so fond of looking at
pretty persons—frocks, I mean.
Cousin George came in good time next
day to escort us, and as we said ‘‘Howdy-
de?” to one another, I came to the con-
clusion that he bad not forgotten that day
at Miss Delp’s. ;
He was taller and broader now. But I
did not tell him so. Somehow, there comes
a period when it seems better not to ex-
claim, ‘‘How you’ve grown !”’ when you
meet your friends, and the period seems to
be more definite with men than with wom-
en. I don’t think I should mind it, bus I
felt that Cousin George might. So I only
smiled, as we shook hands, and said how
pleasant it was to feel that he really was
in England again; and then I extricated
my fingers from his grip. .
It muss have been rather a good concert,
I think, for it didn’t disturb me at all,and
it kept Aunt Selina very quiet. Aunt
Selina always says she is musical—but
there—I say so myself sometimes; it de-
pends who asks me. There was that long-
haired Mr. —, but, after all, that’s noth-
ing to do witn this—what an unreasonable
man he was, though. As I was sayiug,the
difference between Aunt Selina and me is
that she shuts ber eyes when amateurs play
Cavalleria Rusticana on the violin, and I
my teeth. A mere matter of instinet, I
suppose; in extremity we bring our strong-
est force——
‘You're not listening a bit !”’
1 jumped.
Cousin George, who had the corner seat,
next mine, had wriggled around till we
were almost facing one another; and I be-
came conscious that while my thoughts
had been fixed on Aunt Selina’s traits, my
eyes had been fixed on Cousin George's
chest.
‘“Well, you shouldn’t wear such pretty
ties,”” I protested. ‘I am easily dis-
tracted.’’
‘“ ’Tis a pretty tie, isn’t it?’’ he asked,
quite pleased. ‘‘I thought you’d like it.’’
I smiled.
‘‘Patty,’’ he lowered his voice, ‘‘d’you
remember how you used to help me choose
em 7
I still smiled. ;
‘*And I say, d’you remember those times
when we stayed down with Aunt Ethel ?”’
I continued smiling.
‘‘And, Patty,”’ he leaned over my pro-
gram with an amiable grin, ‘‘d’you remem-
ber—that last day at old Miss What’s-her-
name’s school ? How you said you’d rath-
er kiss——"’
I ceased smiling.
“I remember nothing,’ I interrupted
sternly. But at that moment I did remem-
ber the platform, ard looked at it.
Aunt Selina was sitting calmly beside
me with her eyes shut, and for many min-
utes I was keenly conscious that somebody
was playing something.
When my eyes had become surfeited with
platform, I turned them again on Cousin
George. He was looking rueful.
‘Am I detestable in your sight ?’’ he
whispered abjectly.
‘“Not—not entirely,’’ I admitted softly,
and I smiled on him again. And Cousin
George took my vinaigrette and my purse
and my bracelet into his possession—they
were too heavy for my muslin pocket and
my wrist—and fanned me with my pro-
gram as we listened to a fat little tenor
avowing fruitless attempts ‘‘from Love's
sickness to fly.”” When the interval came,
Aunt Selina was, I presume, still beneath
the music’s spell; at any rate, her eyes
were still shut.
“Cousin George,” I said gravely.
“Patty.”
‘Have
Letitia 2’
‘Letitia! Why no, I—I didn’t think of
it.”
‘‘Letitia,”’ I continued severely, ‘‘was at
Miss Delp’s that day. You came to say
‘good-by’ to her, too, you know.’’
‘‘She didn’t stay till the end, though,”
he grinned. ‘‘She wasn’t there when you
—when I—when you——"’
‘Cousin George,’ Isaid sternly, ‘‘I hope
you clearly remember that I didn’t——"’
“No, you didn't,””’ admitted Cousin
George ruefully.
‘Letitia is very bhandsome,’’ I volun-
teered. ‘‘She and I stay a good deal with
Aunt Theresa from time to time, just as
we used te, you know, before you went to
Germany; only’”’ —I sighed regrets—*‘‘the
parties are grown up now—nieces, and oth-
er girls; nephews, and other men.”’
There was a pause.
“I wonder——"" began Cousin George
musingly, as he looked at me.
i ‘‘Yes,’’ I agreed; ‘‘a good many persons
0.”
‘‘Ba—you are not—are you ?—not—?’
“No,” I replied, “I am not.”” Idid not
consider it necessary to dilate on the fact
that it was only yesterday my most genuine
engagement was for the sixth time canceled.
Cousin George sighed a sigh, the quality
of which was complimentary.
““I,”” he said somewhat irrelevantly, ‘‘am
going to stay with Aunt Theresa next week.
I wish,”’ he added impulsively, “I were
going to-day.” Dear Cousin George's
worst enemy could not call him subtle.
It was rather a short concert. Cousin
George and I were interrupted in our talk-
ing by having to stand up and sing God
Save the Queen. Then we began to make
our way out. And then Aunt Selina step-
ped down a step she didn’t know was there,
twisted her ankle, screamed, and fell into
Cousin George's arms.
That is how it was that ten minutes later
I came to be in a penny ’bus on my way
to Victoria. Of cocrse, Aunt Selina had
to have the only cab we could see at the
moment; of course Consin George had to
go with Aunt Selina; and of course I had
to catch my train.
Some persons persist in saying that my
life is so gay and so placid and so easy that
I’ve never anything more serious than a
split in my glove or a fly in my eye to
trouble me; that for me things always
tamble right-way-up—and so forth.
They’d experience jerks of astonishment,
Iam thinking, if they could conceive of
one-half the paralyzing moments Fate de-
mands that I shall live through. How
would they like it, I wonder, if they were
called upon to give up their cooks who
take to drink, their husbands who fail to
get into Parliament, their babies who
you paid your respects to
develop mumps, and little odds and ends.
like that—things one can foresee and be
prepared for—and face some of my stagger-
ing realities? How wonld they feel if they
had been engaged toa man—had been what
is extravagantly termed ‘‘all the world’’ to
him during five distinct periods—had then
quarreled past all possibility of reconcilia-
tion, had parted, bad ‘‘cus’’ him, and then
found themselves face to face with him in
a penny ’bus, with-—well, with worse to
follow? Would they call that gay aod
placid and easy? :
“Oh! PV? I pasped, as my eyes fell on
Mr. Featherstone-Hope in the opposite cor-
ner. Then I hoped he would consider that
the sound bad heen jerked from my lips
by the jolt of the bus. He looked at me
and lifted his hat about a third of an inch
from his hair, and I thought that a smile
crept about his mouth. TI looked abstract-
edly through him and the window to the
shops beyond, and felt that I was vindi-
cating my dignity and upholding the
bouor of my sex; and we rattled on in rigid
silence (at least as rigid as is possible ina
penny ’bus) within two feet of one anoth-
er, while I began to enjoy myself, and
oceans, metaphorically, rolled between us.
' It was the couductor who accomplished
my downfall.
‘‘Fares, please !”’ :
! ! oes ! ! uy
My purse was lying, but for a layer or
so of material, against Cousin George's
heart ! !
*‘I—I baven’t. any,”’ ‘I began faintly,
overwhelmed by the situation. ‘‘I for.
got——"7 | rigs bi :
For just about six seconds the eyes—
about twenty—of the bus were turned on
me. The conductor and I eyed merely one
another, RM ;
‘Allow me, Miss.”” A voice beside me
made me jump, and I turned to see a florid
young man, with bushy hair,several rings,
and a soft hat, holding a silver coin ;oward
the conductor. n i
I hurriedly protested—albeit with all
gratefulness—that I could not permit this;
that I would leave my rings, my name, my
word of honor—all these things as they
flashed through my mind seemed so paltry
compared with one ’bus fare. Then a
voice I knew rather better than the voice
of the be-ringed young man remarked with
elaborate politeness: ‘‘We have met be-
fore, I believe; allow me to ?
‘Ob, no !”” I began. A terrible waver-
ing took possession of me. On one hand
was the young man, an utter stranger
whom I chould never see again to repay,
on the other my bitterest enemy—and there
was still my train fare to be faced, and——
But by this time Mr. Featherstone-Hope
was receiving his change. In my wrath I
turned to the be-ringed young man, smiled
upon him, and thanked him graciously;
the conductor, all innocent of the blow he
had dealt me, returned to his foothoard—
and where, I ask, was my dignity then ?
and whose fault was it ?
*‘I hope you enjoyed the situation,’ I
remarked in freezing tones when, the be-
ringed young man having got out, Mr.
Featherstone-Hope moved to the seat be-
side me.
“Thoroughly,” he replied cheerfully.
‘To the very dregs.’
‘‘There were plenty of dregs,’”’ I said
contemptuously.
He smiled.
‘But where have you been ?’
manded. “Where are you going ?”’
“I have been,’’ I replied baughtily, ‘‘to
a concert in aid of Shoeless Waifs. I am
going to Victoria.’
“But why alone?’
“I have until now,”’ I continued coldly,
‘‘been under the care of my Aunt Selina.
I am going to the care of my Aunt Theresa.’
“Without any money ?'’
*‘It shall be restored to yon,’’ I said with
pride.
‘‘That’s a relief,’ he smiled irritatingly
as he drew a deep breath. ‘‘Still, I think
they might have trusted you with a six-
penny bit——"’
“‘Cousin George was carrying my purse
and forgot to return it to me.”’
He stopped smiling.
‘Cousin George! Who's Cousin George?’
I began to recover my temper.
“My cousin,’’ I said meekly.
‘‘Ye-es—so I gathered—but I don’t see
how——"’
‘‘He,’” 1 explained (self-respect was
surging back in me; I began to enjoy my-
self), ‘‘was at the concert.’
‘‘Oh, be was, was he ?”’
‘Yes, he was. That,’ I added, ‘‘is why
I went.”
*‘I might have known as much,” he said
grimly. :
‘‘Yes,”’ I agreed.
‘‘At any rate, the fellow might have es-
corted you to Vietoria.’”” Mr. Feather-
stone-Hope became a little snappy in his
manner at this point.
“Oh, you must not blame Cousin
George,”” I protested; ‘‘he would much
rather have come with me.’
‘You seem an adept at divination—
helped by your power of self-appreciation,
I presume.’’
‘‘Ob, no,” I explained amiably. ‘‘he
told me 80.”
“Oh, indeed !”
Yes.”
When we had rattled on for some mo-
ments without speaking I broke the pause.
‘Cousin George has grown such a fine
fellow,”” T volunteered, ‘‘and just as good-
tempered as ever. We talked a lot about
those old times before he went to Ger-
many. He just beamed,”’ I added with a
little laugh, ‘‘when I told him that Iw
not engaged.’’ :
“Hum Aad
‘If he’d asked just one day earlier,’ 1
said with an innocent smile, demanding
pleased interest in return, “I couldn’t
bave said so. Wasn't it funny ?”’
“Oh, very!” grimly.
‘Yes, that's just what struck me.’
‘You seem to have hurried to give him
the news.”’
*‘Oh, no.
he de-
I merely tried to talk of
things which interested him. Miss Delp
always taught us to do that. ‘Always,’
she used to say, ‘talk of what is of interest
to others; forget yourself.’’
“You consider the subject interested
him ?'’ savagely.
‘I'm sure it did.”’
“*And you forgot yourself?’
It occurred to me to sigh. Mr. Feather-
stone-Hope brightened.
“Did you forget yourself, Patty ?”’
repeated.
I felt I'd like just to look at him. I
did.
The ’bus stopped before his smile had
died.
“‘Good-by,’’ I said tenderly.
“Iam going to take your ticket,” he
said firmly.
‘Oh, no,” I protested. ‘‘I shall tele-
graph to Aunt Theresa and she can just
telegraph back and make it all 1ight——"*
“I'am going,”’ he repeated, ‘‘to take
your ticket.'’ - Aad he went.
‘This is extremely ill-bred of you, Mr.
Featherstone-Hope,”’ I began haughtily
when he returned. “You are taking ad-
vantage of my uncomfortable position.”
‘No, merely your first-class ticket.’’
“I am extremely angry.’’ ;
“All right,” he said cheerfully. ‘‘Go
on. if you like saying that sors of thing.’
There really seemed nothing to be gain-
ed by being angry, and it is very wearing,
so I stopped. §
“You are very reckless,’”” I remarked.
‘Youn don’t know that you’ll ever be re-
paid. wt 3
*‘No, and you see, too, I don’t care. I'm
indulging in a new sensation, and I’m pre-
pared to pay for it."’
~ “Nothing very new about taking a
ticket, I should think.” ] i
“For you—yes. I am experiencing the
temporary illusion that we are married,
and that I have to pay for everything.
Something like a late-in-the-morning
dream, you know; it can be thrown off
when one pleases. Still, for the moment,
we are married.’’ :
‘Oh, are we ?”’
Yen?
“In that case the ticket would, I think,
have been third class,’”’ I remarked scorn-
fully. a wy
Fm afraid you are right,’’ he said slow-
ly. “Still,” brightening again, ‘‘we’ll
imagine it’s the honeymoon.”’
“Would that really be first class?’ I
asked in tones of cold doubt.
He sighed,
*I'm afraid so. You see, there would
probably be Aunt Selina and Aunt Theresa
and Aunt Ethel, and—well,to put it short-
ly, your twenty-two annts, who wounld be
fussing around the platform and expecting
it of me, and I, being a nervous man,
should be flustered into extravagance, which
I should afterward repent, and as the say-
ing is, ‘throw 1t in your teeth.’’
“Then,” Isaid thoughtfully, regarding
the one ticket, ‘‘your idea of a honeymoon
is to send your bride off by herself 2°’
‘Oh, no, I would go with her, I think,’
he said, drawing auother ticket from his
pocket. pier fy
“You are coming !”’
“I am sare your Aunt Theresa will be
he
delighted to see me,”’ he said as we step-
ped into a compartment.
‘‘A good opinion of one's self must be
such a prop in life,”’ 1 soliloquized as I
settled my hat before the little strip of
mirror.
‘““Your Aunt Theresa,’ be went on firm-
ly, ignoring my soliloquy, ‘‘isa kindly
and a farsighted woman. She realizes my
usefulness on oceasion—she has, indeed,
realized it on five—several occasions—up
to the present.’’
I preferred to leave the topic. The train
moved out of the station.
“How any man,” I said musingly,
“could ever marry me and face twenty-
two aunts 12
*‘No one has,”’ he suggested cheerfully.
‘‘Mr. Featherstone-Hope !"’
‘‘Well, have they ?’’ he protested.
“My Cousin George,”” I remarked
thoughtfully, ignoring the question, ‘‘pos-
sesses twenty-one of them already; in his
case——"?
‘‘Hang Cousin George !"’
*‘Not for worlds,” I objected. ‘‘He bad
such a pretty necktie on this afternoon—"’
{ allowed my eyes to meditate on the past.
‘‘Pooh! A lot you care for neckties.’
*‘Yes,”” I agreed softly, ‘‘a lot.”
‘‘Some girls,”” he began scornfully,
“think of nothing but a man’s frills and
fripperies.”’
‘I don’t suggest frills,’’ I said humbly.
‘Suggest ! You demand !”
‘‘Not frills,’’ IT protested.
‘“What’s in a name? You judge every
man by his dress.”
“I do like to see a man neat and care-
fal——"
*‘I shall always,’ he said thoughtfully,
“bless my Aunt Matilda for teaching me
to be tidy and clean——"’
*‘Pooh, your Aunt Matilda !’’
‘‘Yes, my Aunt Matilda. I admit,”’ he
said politely, ‘‘that in the matter of aunts
you have the advantage of me; still, you
must own that I am clean and tidy.”
**I don’t think I ever noticed,’’ I re-
marked with an elaborate yawn.
Before he went back that evening Mr.
Featherstone-Hope asked me if I didn’t
think it as well to go on again being en-
gaged. That’s the worst of it; there has
grown to be something so inevitable about
Mr. Featherstone-Hope, I feel as if I were
doomed—I mean, fated---to marry him,
and it just makes me wild to be
able to do both---marry him and never
marry him, just to confirm my presenti-
ment and trick Fate.
‘‘Perhaps in twelve months’ time we
might try it again,” I said. ‘‘My nose
by that time may have yielded to treat-
ment, and —’’
‘*A lot of mischief may be done in twelve
months,’ he said sententiously.
*‘I am speaking of after twelve months,’’
I said severely.
‘Ah, I am not.”’ he remarked. ‘‘I could
see to it myself after, but the mischief —’’
*‘Mischief——?’ I looked around in the
still twilight. ‘‘Aunt Theresa leads a
simple, blameless life here.’
‘‘Oh, yes, you're right enough here, I
suppose.’’
The clock struck. Mr. Featherstone-
Hope reached. by degrees, the other side
of the gate.
‘“Think of me,’’ I said as I shook hands,
‘‘as Ledged round about with relatives.
Aunt Theresa here, and Aunt Ethel three
miles off, and —’ I drew my hand away
as I heard the train coming through the
cutting---*‘Letitia due to-morrow, and--—
Cousin George coming next week——"’
‘Cousin— !"?
“You'll have to run for it, I’m afraid.”
‘‘But, Cousin—— !’
‘“There’s the train ! You'll have to run
for it, really! Good-by, till---till---next
year.”
When I got indoors Aunt Theresa asked
me how she should manage to amuse Cous-
in George, now he was so grown up, and
such a traveler.
I promised to help her if I could.—By
Lilian Quiller-Couch, in Saturday Evening
ost.
To Give His Skin to Fiancee.
Z. D. Berry Offers His Cuticle to Cover Miss Bessie
Fisher's Burned Body.
Z. D. Berry, of No. 588 Greene avenue
Brooklyn, is ready and will probably be
allowed to give some of the cuticle from
his own flesh to cover the body of his
sweetheart, Miss Bessie Fisher, who was
terribly burned in "the Pierrepont apart-
ments in West Thirty-second street, Man-
hattan, on February 1st.
Dr. Frederick H. Wiggin, of No. 55
West Thirty-sixth street, Manhattan, who
bas been attending Miss Fisher, announced
Tuesday night that his patient's fiancee,
Mr. Berry, had insisted on sacrificing as
much of his own skin as might be neces-
sary, but was unable to say how much epi-
dermis if any, the young man would have
to part with.
Miss Fisher is a daughter of George M.
Fisher, a wealthy Brooklynite, of No. 47
Halsey street. His daughter, who is a
pretty and accomplished society girl of the
Bedford district, was visiting her sister,
Mrs. Venette Pelletreau, in the Pierrepont
apartmants, when she overturned a small
alcobol lamp in her room while using
carling irons. Her clothing caught fire,
and when Dr. Wiggin was called in he en-
tertained little hope of saving her life.
Patients, one-thiid of whose bodies are
burned, very rarely recover, and more than
half of Miss Fisher’s body had been hadly
scorched. : fig 4 !
Dr. Wiggin adopted in Miss Fisher’s
case a somewhat novel method of adminis-
tering oxygen. Instead of having the pa-
tient take it internally, he applied it to the’
surface. thus preventing the growth of
proud flesh and the poisoning of the sys-
tem. Miss Fisher has improved so much
on Wednesday that she was. able to take
solid food.
Mr. Berry, who is employed by her
brother-in-law, Mr. Pellertreau, has been
in constant attendance on his sweetheart
since the accident. He and Miss Fisher
have been engaged for four years and were
to have married in June.
Mr. Fisher and his family have closed
their house in Halsey street, and have tak-
en apartments in the Imperial hotel, where
the young woman has been treated since
the day of the fire. His fiancee also has a
room on the same floor of the hotel.
When the young people first became en-
gaged their parents objected because of
their youth. Miss Fisher is twenty years
old, Mr. Berry being one year her senior.
There are no objections now to an early
marriage if Miss Fisher recovers.
a
. Defined.
‘‘I see 80 much in the newspapers ahout
subsidies. What does a subsidy mean,
John 27: wif i i ;
‘*A subsidy, Mary, is where I give you
$20 for going to see. your mother instead
of having her come to see me.’’
——Many a man praises virtue who
never thinks of practicing it. :
Violations of Neutrality.
Richard Harding Davis Declares We are Helping
England.
Richard Harding Davis has this to say
about the attitude of this government to-
ward the Boers:
‘When the Boer delegates visited Wash-
ington the President assured them that
this government conld in no way help the
Republics of South Africa in the war
which Great Britain had forced upon them,
because it was in honor bound to remain
neutral.
‘‘At the time he said it this country was
violating the treaty of neutrality made he-
tween it and Great Britain on May 8th,
1871. and it has continued to violate it ever
since.
‘So far from remaining neutral, the
United States is the only country which
has openly disregarded its promise to heip
neither of the belligerents in South Africa,
and it is the only one which has continu-
ously assisted Great Britain in carrying on
her war. Iu this instance the sinews of
war, as supplied by the United States, are
mules and horses.
BRITISH USE OUR PORTS.
‘This treaty still exists, and in our war
with Spain the Queen of England in her
proclamation of neutrality reminded the
United States of this very agreement and
warned us against its infraction.
**The British army officers visiting this
country have made no concealment of their
reason for purchasing 77,334 mules and
horses. Each has come here openly, and
on arriving has openly stated his military
rank and the name of his regiment and the
number of horses and mules he has been
ordered to obtain.
‘‘The headquarters of the British officers
in New Orleans is as well known as the
recruiting station for the United States
army on the bowery. The newspapers of
New Orleans are filled with their adver-
tisements calling for 500 men for South
Africa, horses and mules for South
Africa.” Er
HELPING TO STRANGLE BABY REPUBLICS.
‘There has been no evasion on their
part. So the administration eannot claim
that 1t- was ignorant or deceived as to what
was going forward.
‘‘A question of international law is in-
volved that has a sentimental interest. It
has an interest for every American who
loves a fair fight, who believes in even odds
an who thinks that two to one is not
air.
“It must hurt such a one to think that
this great Republic is helping to strangle
two baby Republics, that every field piece
which is pulled to the top of a kopje to
rake a Boer commando, or to shoot into a
Boer village is dragged there by American
horses, that the men who hunt and harass
the tired troops of De Wet, the Washing-
ton of South Africa, ride forth to capture
him on fresh mounts furnished them week-
ly from the United States, that without
our help this war of an Empire against two
tiny Republics might fall to pieces, or drag
for so long that the British people would
sicken of it and might, at last, give the
Boer a share in his own possessions.
‘Let us insist that this administration,
as the executive head of a law-abiding
power, keep our sworn promise to remain
neutral, and let us not with Great Britain
have the blood of the Boer upon our hands.
That is not our fight. What harm has he
done to us?
a
Looked Like Harrison.
Even to a Man Who Had Not Seen the Ex-Presi-
dent.
The’ other morning a gentleman with
white beard, closely trimmed, and quite an
aldermanic girth, walked down Pennsylva-
nia avenue to the Capitol. On the way he
stepped into a shop kept by John Denham
to make a purchase. The shopkeeper
looked at his customer closely.
‘Did any one ever tell you,’’ he asked,
‘‘that you looked like ex-President Har-
rison ?’’
‘*Yes,”’ was the reply. ‘I have heard it
said very cften. Do you think there isa
resemblance ?’’
‘‘I should say so,”’ answered Denham.
“I never saw General Harrison, but from
his picture I should say you were a dead
ringer for him.’
The purchaser gave a little chuckle, as if
he were intensely pleased, and then went
out of the shop, proceeding on his way to
the Capitol. Denham went to the door
and looked after him. Standing in the
doorway was Al Reed, the district agent of
the Atlantic Coast line. ‘‘Al,”’ said Den-
ham, ‘‘did you see that man who was in
bere just now 27?
‘“Yes,”’ said Reed.
“I told him,”’ said Denham, ‘‘that he
looked just like ex-President Harrison.”’
‘Of course he did !"’ exclaimed Reed:
‘“That was Harrison himself *’
Never Heard, Spoke or Walked.
Miss Ellen Leek, 65 years of age, died
at Babylon, L. I., on Sunday of old age.
Her case has attracted much attention in
medical circles. She never heard a sound,
never spoke a word, never walked a step
and the doctors believe she hardly knew
any sensation of pain or pleasure:
They do not think she ever realized any-
thing. The heart and other organs of the
trunk always seemed normal, but there ap-
peared to be a total absence of brain acti-
vity beyond what was absolutely essential
to life, fis: ciiiil a
She was never able to feed herself and
throughout her life had to be fed like any
infant. She nearest approach to anything
normal she is said ever to have attained.
was that when a child she learned to creep
and for years moved about as does av ordi-
nary infant of 8 to 12 months. For years
she had not been out of bed except as she
was lifted out. nig nd 3
‘While cases of such affliction as hers are
not rare in children the sofferers seldom
live more than a very few years. 3
7
The Lightest Substance.
What is the lightest substance in nature ?
The Inminiferous ether, answers Pearson's
Weekly. This substance prevades the uni-
verse, and by means of its vibrations light
is transmitted from place to place. Yet it
must be almost absolutely. without weight.
The earth, the moon and the planets pass
throogh it, but their motion 18 not percep-
tibly retarded by it. The calculations of
astronomers on the motions of these bodies
are based upon the supposition that they
are moving through an empty space. Yet.
it is certain that the ether is a substance,
for it is impossible that empty space should
vibrate and by the different modes of its
vibration should produce the colors of the
solar spectrum, the green of the landscape,
the blue of the sky and the varied tints of
nature and art. The lightest substance
that has been actually weighed is hydrogen
gas. It is less than one fourteenth of the
density of the air, and hence it is the best
substance for inflating balloons.
Innocent Man Free.
George Johnstone, Mistaken for Christopher Betch-
ler, Served Eight Years in the Penitentiary.
After serving eight years in the state
penitentiary near Raleigh, N. C., because
he was erroneously supposed to be an es-
caped prisoner, George Johnstone has suc-
ceeded in regaining his freedom. The pro-
ceedings in his case revealed a remarkable
instance of mistaken identity.
Fifteen years ago Christopher Betchler
was convicted of robbery in Shelby, N. C.,
and was sentenced to ten years in the pen-
itentiary. Two years later he escaped.
In 1893, Captain J. M. Fleming, who
was warden of the penitentiary when
Betchler was received there, and who held
this position until 1895, was in attendance
at the Randolph county court at Asheboro
as a witness. While there, a man known
as George Johnstone, was the plaintiff in
a case which involved the title to 700 acres
of land on which gold had been found.
Fleming saw this man and made inquiries
concerning him and found that he had lo-
cated in Randolph county in 1888. It was
in 1887 that Betchler escaped from the pen-
itentiary. Fleming was positive that
Johnstone was Betchler and so declared on
the witness stand.
The defendants in the land case had
Johnstone arrested as an escaped prisoner.
Johnstone sent out a writ of habeas corpus,
but could not produce any witness beside
himself to disprove the positive assertion
of Fleming that he was Betchler, and the
judge ordered that he be returned to the
penitentiary. The arrest caused Johns-
tone to lose the land suit.
As soon as Johnstone reached the peni-
tentiary he sent for a lawyer but bad no
money to pay him. He gave the lawyer
the addresses of a number of people in
Montgomery county and that of a man in
Atlanta, who, he said, knew him. The
lawyer wrote twice to each cf these per-
sons, but did not receive any answers.
The lawyers then gave no more attention
to the case.
Four weeks ago Colonel Ceburn L.
Harris, who formerly kunew the Betchler
family well, went to the penitentiary to
examine the manufacture of brick which is
carried on inside the stock. While in the
yard he saw the man known as Betchler.
Colonel Harris talked with the prisoner
and learned his story. Harris promptly
said that he had known all the Betchler
family for fifteen years before the Civil
war, but the prisoner was not Christopher
Betchler.
A lawyer was employed, another writ of
habeas corpus was issued by Justice Mont-
gomery, and the prisoner was brought be-
fore him in the supreme court.
Captain Fleming swore that he believed
the prisoner to be Betchler.
Colonel Harris then told of the young
Betchler whom he had known. Harris
asked the prisoner to exhibit his right leg
above the ankle. The prisoner complied
and Harris, after an examination, said that
the prisoner was not Betchler because Bet-
chler bad the scars of a dog’s bite on his
right leg, which he received when he was
not over ten years of age, Harris himself,
having killed the dog.
On this evidence Justice Montgomery
discharged the prisoner.
Johnstone’s attorney is now awaiting
the decision of the supreme court in an-
other case to learn whether the states prison
is such a corporation that can be sued. If
80, the attorney intends to bring suit for
damages for Johnstone’s imprisonment.
This Whitewash Lasts.
Receipt for the Kind the Government Puts on Light-
Houses.
Take half a bushel of unslacked lime,
slack it with boiling water, cover during
the process to keep in steam, strain the
liquid through a fine sieve or strainer and
add to it a peck of salt, previously dissolv-
ed in warm water, three pounds of rice
boiled to a thin paste and stirred in while
hot, half a pound of Spanish whiting and
one pound of clean glue, previously dis-
solved by soaking in cold water, and then
hanging over a slow fire in a small pot
hung in a larger one filled with water.
Add five gailons of hot water to the mix-
ture, stir well, and let stand a few days,
covered from dirt. It should be apolied
hot, for which purpose it can be kept in a
kettle or portable furnace.
‘The east end of the President’s house at
Washington is embellished by this bril-
liant whitewash. It is used by the gov-
ernment to whitewash lighthouses. A
pint of this wash mixture if properly ap-
plied will cover one square yard, and will
be almost as serviceable as paint for wood,
brick or stone, and is much cheaper than
the cheapest paint. Coloring matter may
be added as desired.
St. Helena,
In the old days--not good old days—
when East Indiamen went round the Cape,
St. Helena was a great port of call and of
revietualing. £
It was prosperous then, and when in
1815 Napoleon the Great came there as a
prisoner its prosperity was at its zenith.
The government had no control over it.
The island belonged to the East India com-
pany, and it was only by arrangement
with the board of directors that it could
have heen used as a place of deportation
for the mighty emperor. Why was it so
well fitted for the purpose? It is in mid-
ocean. a thousand and more miles from any
continent. :
Its coast rises up in precipitous rock
from ‘the ocean. Escape, sdve at the risk:
of a broken neck, would be almost impossi-
ble. Only atone place, Jamestown, on
the northeastern coast, could any boat hope
to land, and even there only if the ele-
ments are kind. This is not always so.
There is the roller season. Great rollers
come in from the south Atlantic, and often
for days there can be little or no communi-
cation between an anchored vessel and the
rough steeps at the end of an embarkation
uay.
1 What St. Helena was between 1815 and
1821 it is now, a safe prison. Once a month
a Castle Union steamer calls for a few
hours, lands and takes off the mails, dis-
charges one or two officials or recieves them
homeward bound, and that if all.
Frightened Child to Death.
The two-year-old daughter of Carl Silber,
of Somerville, N. J., died on Saturday of
convulsions, caused by fright at old colored
beggar, who looked in at the window.
The colored woman is a repulsive creature,
from whom the children ran in fear and
her name is used in the homes to frighten
the children into obedience. She is the
hobgoblin of the place.
When she came to the kitchen window
of the Silber house on Saturday and thrusé
‘her ugly face against the pane, the girl was
alone. «She cried out in terror, but before
her mother reached her she went into con-
vulsions. It was impossible to quiet her
and she died in a short time.