cr ———— ——
Bema Wada
Bellefonte, Pa., June 30, 1905.
RELIANCE,
Not to the swift, the race;
Not to the strong, the fight;
Not to the righteous, perfect grace;
Not to the wise, the light.
But often faltering feet
Come surest to the goal;
And they who walk in darkness meet
The sunrise of the soul.
A thousand times by night
The Syrian hosts have died;
A thousand times the vanquished right
Hath risen glorified.
The truth the wise men sought
Was spoken by a child;
The alabaster box was brought
In trembling hands defiled.
Not from my torch, the gleam,
But from the stars above;
Not from my heart life’s crystal stream,
But from the depths of love.
— Henry Van Dike, in “The Atlantic.”
PINKEY PERKINS: JUST A BOY.
Children’s day at the church was draw-
ing near, ‘and each day Pinkey Perkins
was becoming more impressed with a sense
of his personal importance. He had been
selected to deliver the ‘‘Welcome Address |
to the Fathers and Mothers’’ on that oc-
casion. When he bad been informed of the
fact in the beginning, he had not looked
on it with favor. Heretofore his orator-
ical efforts had been confined to the school-
room, and he lacked the ‘necessary confi-
dence to attempt such a courageous feat.
But his mother had been: assured by the
lady who consulted her on the subject,
that the committee had carefully consid-
ered all the boys available for the honor,
and had decided shat of all these Pinkey
was the one to make the address.
‘When the task bad been turned over to
him and he had set about practising, it was
with a pardonable air of superiority that
Pinkey, on occasions, when invited to
join in some after-school game of ‘‘scrub’’
or take part in an attack on some newly
discovered bumble-bees’ nest, would re-
ply, with a sort of bored air: ‘‘I wish I
could, but I’ve got to go and rehearse,”’
True, there were others who had ‘‘to go
and rehearse,”’ but not in the way that
Pinkey did.. While they devoted their
time to singing and went to practise col-
lectively, he went alone to Miss Lyon, his
Sunday-school teacher. That lady being
a teacher of elocution, had taken the task
of drilling Pinkey in the most effective de-
livery for his puplic oration.
‘‘Humph! You needn’t feel so smart,”
retorted Bunny Morris one day when
Pinkey had referred rather loftily to ‘“‘my
address;”’ *‘you’re not the only one who
bas to practise.’’
Is happened that Bunny was one of eight
who were to sing - in chorus on Children’s
day, and, although he would not admit if,
the facet that Pinkey had been selected to
make the ‘Welcome Address’’ rankled in
Bonny’s bosom.
When Bunny had made this stinging re
mark, Pinkey merely replied in his con--
descending way: ‘I don’t ‘practise.’ I re-
hearse.”’
Pinkey had really entered on his work
with a will, and a week before the event-
ful Sunday he had committed the whole of
his address to memory and could recite it
perfectly.
This statement, however, must be
slightly modified. Sometimes in rehears-
ing be would bave difficulty with cer-
tain portions of it, and that difficulty
came about in this way:
Once in two weeks Miss Vance, Pinkey’s
school-teacher, required one-half of her pup-'
ils to‘‘recite a piece,’’either prose or poetry.
For Pinkey’s part in one of these bi-weekly
punishments, as they were looked upon
by the pupils, she had assigned bim ‘“The
Supposed Speech of John Adams.” Pink:
ey bad surprised her by acquitting him-
self with credit on the occasion, for he had
spent hours and days of careful preparation
on it—‘‘just to make her think it was
easy,’’ as he expressed it.
For some time, Red Feather, as she was
known among her pupils, bad not made
Pinkey’s school-life a bed of roses. Since
one memorable Monday morning, when
she bad found four able-bodied mice se-
creed in her desk; she had always felt
certain that he was responsible for their
presence. From that day, the examples
hardest to work, the States hardest to
bound, and the words hardest to parse, ac-
cording to Pinkey’s standard, had fallen’
to his lot. It was to this “partiality”? that
Pinkey attributed bis assignment of the
‘‘Supposed Speech.”’ ;
Now, the anthor of the ‘‘Welcome Ad-
dress,’ when in search. of suitable ma-
terial for that literary effort, bad evident-
ly used as a reference-work ‘‘Great speech-
es of Great Ma wherein ‘was printed
‘Tne Supposed Speech of John Adams.”
Owing to this fact, several portions’ of the
‘‘Supposed Speech,’’ either word tor word
or slightly modified, had ‘found: their way.
into. the ‘“Address.’’ : Oratorical flights
were scattered . all -through it, such ae:
Let not those beneath these vaulted roofs,
memorable occasion, forges the incontess-
able vital $rush thas it is the young blood,
the young mind thas. we look to. for our
support,’’ and so_ forth—sentiments more
appropriate to John Adam’s speech than
to a Children’s ¢ ay address,"
In rehearsing, Pinkey found it haid nos
to confuse the $wo orations. In fact,
ueither was to him ‘much wore than a
series of high-sounding ‘phrases, intended
more to impress the ear than to enlighten
the mind. This is why isis. necessary to
modify the statement that Pinkey knew
his address perfectly a week before the
date appointed for its delivery. ?
As a reward for his diligence, Pinkey’s
mother promised him what bad long been
his heart’s desire—a pair of ‘patent-leather
shoes that laced up the front and had
sharj-winted toes incased in fanoy-edged
_ Besides, since his unfortunate exper-
lence on the way home from Red Feather’s
party, he felt that he bad been continually
losing ground with his Affinity, and he
hoped that the possession of a pair of pas-
ent-leather shoes might turn her in his
favor, st ee ta iz 25m oa
Eddie Lewis, bis arch-rival for her af-
fectious, bad heen paying her marked at-'
tention of late, and to Pinkey. it weemed.
that she regarded these attentions as more
Pinkey felt that the important moment
when his Affiuity wass rove: “once nt
for all besween him ‘and ' Eddie ‘would he
when he should bppént on’ the routfam and,’
by bis wanly bearing and glowing oratory,
win everlasting’ -approval’ or. disapproval.
Cousequently, be, set: great. store; by she |
promised shoes, which. he: fels. wapid: be
VIR avddEoany
3
‘us had sung the *“W
more and more marked, the minister.an-
within these ballowed walls, upon this’ once
sofa.
'|'ing he was undergoing. sito
' Then he began. Automatically the words |’
‘allow the fall import of his words to awe
strike an attitude and: ‘pause for ‘effeot. |
to the girl ‘mext ito’ ‘him. © Now ‘hé knew
not a small factor in making his appear-
ance all that could be desired and thereb,
serve as an aid in fanning back to life the
waning affections of his Affinity.
Saturday evening came at last, and to
Pinkey’s delight, he was allowed to go
down-town with his father and try on the
coveted shoes, and to carry them home.
He insisted on putting them on again
when he got home, just to show his mother
how well they fisted him and how far su-
perior they were to anything he or any of
the boys had ever had before, and how
high the heels were and how bright and
shiny the toes. And Pinkey was doubly.
proud of them on account of the squeak
that accompanied each step. Before he
went to bed, he carefully wrapped them
up again and replaced them in their box,
in order that no speck of dust might ges
on them and mar the luster that he de-
pended on to melt the hears of his Affinity.
As he lay in bed that night, reciting his
address over and over, and making his
gestures in the darkness, he pictured the
envy of the others as they saw him in his.
new shoes mount the platform to declaim
his welcome. He had said nothing to any
one about the shoes his mother had prom-
ised him,—not even to Bunny,—and he
looked forward to the envy they would
arouse among his less fortunate companions.
When Pinkey awoke next morning, it
was raining; but no rain could ' dampen
his spirits on such an occasion as this. He
wore his ordinary ‘‘Sunday shoes’ to Sun-
day-¢chool that morning, desiring not to
show bis patent-leathers until the time
came for his address.
On account of the rain and mud, Mrs.
Perkins suggested that it might be better:
not to wear the new shoes to the exercises;
but Pinkey could not think of such a blow
to his plans, and his mother had not the
heart to wound his pride by insisting on
her suggestion, and besides she feared he
might not do so well with his speech if he
were plunged into disappointment after all
his anticipations.
‘‘Pinkey,”’ said his mother, after put-
ting the last finishing touches to his toilet,
‘‘sinoe you must wear your new shoes in
all shis rain and mud, I want youn to put
on these high over-shoes of mine, to keep
your shoes clean.”
To this compromise Pinkey reluctantly
assented, but found later his action to be a
wice one, as he encountered the muddy
crossings on the way to church, against
which his own rubbers would have been
but little protection.
Pinkey’s heart swelled with pride as he
strutted along between his father and
mother on the way to the church. But as
he saw the people entering the building,
several of whom spoke encouraging words
to him about his forth-coming address, he
began to feel a little shaky and noticed his
heart beating faster than he liked. He
kept trying to swallow a lump of sup-
pressed excitement that would go neither
ap nor down.
If Pinkey gave these symptoms more
than a passing thought, he attributed them
to his inward exultation and not to any
manifestation of stage-fright—a malady of
which, up to that time, he had never
known the existence. 36
Pinkey left his parents at their pew and
marched on up the carpeted aisle, looking
neither to right nor lefs. He mounted the
rostrum and took his seat on one of the
uncomfortable, high-backed, hair-cloth
chairs which, since time immemorial, bad
occupied space at either end of the equally
uncomfortable, though not so high-backed,
hair-cloth sofa on the platform. The top
of the seat was rounded in form, and Pink-
ey found it bard to retain his position and
his composure at the ame time.
As the time drew near for the exercises
to begin, Pinkey became more and more
nervous. The church became fall to over-
flowing, despite the bad weatber, and,
look where he would, Pinkey found hun-
dreds of eyes gazing at him. He envied
those in the ohorus, because they
each had seven others to assist in the sing-
ing, but he must get up and do his part
all alone.
Presently the minister appeared and at-
tempted to put the children at their ease
by shaking bands with each one and ut-
tering a few words of encouragement.
The members of the chorus were seated
on a long bench on one side of the rostrum,
and were partly hidden by the hanks of
flowers, while Pinkey eat alone on the
other side, ons in full view of the congre-
gation, where he could get only an oo-
casional, uncertain view of the others,
His Affinity was there, but he could no
muster up thie conrage to look at her.
He tried to look unconcerned, but he
koew the utter failure he was making. |
Once he saw Patty Black grin and whis- |
per something behind bie hand to the girl |
next to him. and then they both looked at
Pibkey and Sutered. Nn
y and by the last bell stopped riuging and
the exercises began, By the time io chor-
elcome Carol,’ and
the minister had_made the opening prayer,
Pinkey bad partly regained his composure.
Bus thé ministér’s reference to the “‘bright
young faces’’ around him, and : the pleas-
ure he felt and that he was sure shat every
member of the congregation muss feel. ‘‘on
such; an occasion,’’ made the . pitapas of
to drown 01. 0uhor sounds: rie i
{ter a few: other appropriate -remar
‘during which, Pinkey’s. discomfort became
hie ‘‘pleasare in presenting to the
ngregation the orator of the. day,’’. .who,|
would welcome the, fathers. and mothers |
ton Perkins.” .. bon
Pinkey slid from his: perch: on the hair-
cloth chair as the minister seated himself
on the mate to it at the other 2nd of the
on this Joyous, occagion— *‘Master. Pinker. | '
With shaking knees, he. walked. to. the
front. When he stopped, his legs trem-
bled se violently that he felt sure every |:
oue in the cougregation must notice -his.
quaking knees, $6 Ba Fi cer obs
- He could distingnish' nothing. » All he-
fore him was an. indistinet blur. Beyond,
at the rear of the auditorinm, he, could
make out a hazy, -opening. That
he knew, was the door. He looked for, his
mother, but his eyes would focus on noth-
ing, and the intense stillness that pervaded
the whole room only added to the suffer-
came, but his voice sounded hollow and
strange. His throat was parched, and it
was with difficulty that he could get his
breath. The roaring in his ears: made his
voioe sound as though it came from far in| got dollars And you need sense.’
the distance. ' The ‘perspiration stood in} Hog AH at Lu, 3
‘beads on his forehead, and he felt hot and
cold hy ‘tures. Still on: be ‘went; though
is seemed that each word must ‘be his lass. ‘ocean liner started d
1 Ahout mid way of his speech, in order to
his liearers, Pinkey: had = been’ taught to
Reaching that: t, he paused, right band |
‘uplifted, Jets i fe Bivs gh bang
his foot: forward. a nauseating wave of sad-:
den mortification’ sweps ‘over him: Now'|
‘he knew why Patty Black bad whispered |
Y | at him. Gradually he bent his head and
think you worry too much.’
ch an | “OYbus I'tn'sure I don’t,”
'inkey’s heart seem to. him loud enough. |:
you'd better get, thas off your mind?”
| 8aid young Kadley, who had more money
why they bad both tittered as they looked
looked down until his: gaze” met his feet.
The sight thas greeted his eyes sickened
him. '
He had forgotten to take off his mother’s
overshoes !
The shock of this realization, combined
with his stage-fright rendered Pinkey ut-
terly helpless. He ~tood as one petrified,
speechless, before the assembled throng.
He stared glassily at his overshoes; they
seemed facinating in their hideousness. A
stir in the congregation awakened him to
she fact that he had been standing mute,
he knew not how long.
He tried to continue his address, but
the words had taken wings. Miss Lyon
attempted to prompt him, but all her ef-
forts proved futile. He could not take up
the broken thread.
Yet he dare not quit the platform with
his speech unfinished and go down to
ignominious failure before the eyes of the
congregation, of his father, and mother,
and above all his Affinity.
Then came a brilliant thought. ‘‘The
supposed Speech of John Adams’! Since
the two speeches were so similar, why
would not that do instead of the one be
could not remember ?
Without further delay, he began: “Sink
or ewim ! live or die! survive or perish!
I give up my band and my heart to this
vote ! It is true that in the beginning, we
aimed not at Independence; but there’s a
Divinity that shapes our ends—’’ and so
on, without hesitation, clear to the end.
Delivering his school-room ‘speech, he
regained his school-room composure, and
as he spoke he gathered courage. His voice
became natural and his lost faculties, one
by one, returned. His knees became firm
again, and his heart became normal. What
had been but a hazy blur became a sea of
faces, and all within the church began to
take definite form.
As Pinkey concluded, he made a sweep-
ing bow, once more possessed of all his
customary assurance.
Spontaneously the oongregation burst
into applause, such as the old walls had
never heard on any occasion. Every one
had seen his overshoes, and had been
moved to sympathy when they saw his
embarrassment on discovering them. That
he bad left our part of his address, which
he had plainly forgotten, and delivered
another entirely out of kezping with his
subject and the occasion, only increased
their admiration for his determination and
gris.
‘With his bead erect, Pinkey faced about
and returned to his chair. Ashe did so he
gave a look of triumph at his Affinity,
and received in return a look that told
him, plainer, than words, that, overshoes
or nn overshoes, he had won her unquali-
fied approval.
When he reached his place, he knelt
down, calmly removed the overshoes, and,
with his heart swelling with pride at the
ringing applause, resumed his seat on the
hair-cloth chair.—By Captain Harold Ham-
mond, U.8.A.in ST. NICHOLAS.
The Woman Who Wins.
To a recent discussion of the woman-and-
bnsiness question a woman sent this con-
tribution : ‘‘I am engaged in the business
of being beautiful in face, form and dress.
I find that men pay the highest wages to
women in my trade.”’
That sounds clever and seems plausible.
But will it bear examination? Do the
“‘highest wages’’ go to the women who
devote themselves exclusively to being
physically attractive ? .
One does not need to think long of the
women of his acquaintance—those who
have married well and those who have not
—to reach the conclusion that those wom-
en who have had only physical attractive-
ness, only the ability to please the eye,
have heen, as a rule, the reverse of success-
ful. On the other hand, neither is physical
attractiveness a guarantee of success—that
term is here used in a purely material sense.
The secret of success lies, for women no
less than for men, in qualities that lie be-
low the surface; and very often the develop-
ment of those qualities is prevented by
devotion to the development of the sarface
advantages.
The pretty women and the women who
think they are pretty should remember
that the women who have held absolute
sway over men have rarely been astonish-
ingly beautiful and have often been lack.
ing even in style. The woman who] wins
is the one men like better the second time
they ree ber than they did the first time.
~—Saturday Evening Post.
i Nothing Serious.
‘So, this: ia your country house,’ said
the visitor, ‘I suppose yon own a city
house, too.” = :
| “Hush? "snorted the political hoss,
“why, I'own the city.” t :
i — 3
‘I'm afraid, doctor,’’ said Slopay, *‘I'm
no hetter.’’ aa Luh :
. “My dear sir,”’ replied Dr, Kutely, “I
“But I know you do. Now, there’s tha
last year’s bill of mine; don’s you think
—
' “I don’t suppose—er--Bridges,’! began.
Mrs. Newliwed, ouidly, “that you ry
ote $0 niy getting ah alarm ‘clock
or===" ££ : a BRE i S51
‘Not at all, malam,’’ replied the sleepy.
ohok, *‘thim things niver distmibs, me at
all. :
Caesidy—My! bnt Mrs. O'Bese wuz mad.
She ‘got on’ the svales’ an’ dropped in a
niokel an’ thé’ thing wouldn't ‘weigh’ her
atall. | ‘Twas busted— : .; =.
Mrs. Cassidy—Mad, wuz she? Faith, I
should think ’twould be worth a nickel to
8 Woman just like her not to see how fat
she is; i 8 :
il J
: Miss‘ Hynote—Since I had typhoid fever
I haven’t been able to sing at all. I seem
t0 have lost my voice entirely.
Miss Pepprey—Yes, it’s a queer disease.
I’ve often heard if you recover from an at-
tack of 'it it improves you in every way.
I’m going to travel ‘all this Summer.’”
than brains. ‘‘I need change.’ :
‘‘You do so,” replied Pepprey. *‘You’ve
“Elsie,” said’ the’ Tittle girl’s mother,
who was tidying up their cabin as the hig
: own the bay, ‘‘where’s
your papa?’ bam ae
_ *'I shink,”’ replied the little girl, ‘‘he’s
Bpstairs on she side porch.”
| —
_ Mrs. Spendes—George, I've got lots of |”
#hings I want to-talk to you about—
| Mr: Spenders—Gldd to hear it, my dear,
Usually you want to'talk $0 me Shoe lots]
of things you haven’s got but must have.
|| Jail”
tif
Wild Roses.
You can buy roses at any time, if you
care to pay the price, but it 18 not every
day or in every month that you can feast
your eyes upon thousands of roses that cost |.
yon nothing, and banish every other long-
ing in the sweet scent of the flowers.
Did you ever make a pilgrimage $0 the
roses? If you have not, you donot know
the comfort it gives nor its power to heal
the vexed spirit. The shrines lie ‘‘far
from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife,”’
and sounds unblest are there unknown.
You can find them by road side and brook-
side, by hedgerow and woodland, on the
mountain and in the valley, by farm fence
and in the open waste land. You need not
travel far and wide to find a spot where
you can offer np your tribute to
the flower of flowers,
Whose breath perfames Olympus’ bowers.
Penitence and tears are not necessary for
worship here, and the ‘‘troubled spirit’’
becomes calm as soon as you breathe the
sweet incense from afar. The only requi-
sites are an eye open to the beauty, an ear
alert for ham of bee, and a heart in tune
with nature’s harmoay.
Here is a shrine—the rolling woodland
shelves down to the side of the stream, and
just where the underlying rock . crops out
toward the water’s edge there stands a rose
bush covered with hundreds of roses. Each
cluster has one which spreads its bosom to
the snnlight, others show just a suggestion
of their blushes, and others still reveal
nothing of their charm. A dozen wood
nymphs would find it difficuls to encom-
pass the hush as they perform their nightly
dance with hands entwined. It needs but
a touch of Pack’s mystic herb to enable us
to see them as they sing Titania to
sleep.
But look ab the roses. Is there a dainsier
flower of the summer time? Indeed, Leigh
Hunt was right when he sang—
Whatsoe’er of beauty,
Yearns and yet reposes,
Blush, and bosom, and sweet breath,
Took a shape in roses.
Do you want symmetry? Do you want
delicate colo1? Do yon want sweetness?
Here are all in one, in perfect unity,
‘simple in its neatness.”’
Tennyson’s ‘‘simple maiden in her flow-
ers’”’ may be ‘‘worth a hundred coats of
arms.’”’ This simple flower is worth all the
gorgeous garden beauties. It is as some
gentle Perdita would be in the presence of
haughty Kleopatra. Love your Killarneys,
your Devoniensis, your Marechal Niel, if
you will; but bring them not here. In this
sacred spot we worship the woodland
queen.— Ledger.
Hats and Heads.
If some people bought a hat according to
their own estimation of the size of their
head they wounidn’t need an umbrella.—
Chicago Journal.
~» 8 Country Parson and as a Peace-
making Magistrate.
For twenty years Sydney Smith re-
mained in Yorkshire, and, though his
ideas of clerical duty were not those
of today, yet it will not be denied that
he was a vigorous country parson, en-
tering into the pursuits and the daily
life of his humble neighbors and doing
his utmost to improve their lot. His
descriptions of his life and surround-
ings at Foston are among the most de-
lightful of his humorous writings. Ev-
ery one has heard of Annie Kay, the
little country girl, “made like a mile-
stone,” who, christened Bunch, “be-
came the best butler in the county;”
of the rawboned riding horse Calamity,
which “flung me over his head into a
neighboring parish as if I had been a
shuttlecock, and I feel grateful that it
was not into a neighboring planet;” of
the ancient green chariot named the
Immortal, “at which the village boys
cheered and the village dogs barked;”
of his four draft oxen—Tug and Lug,
Haul and Crawl—of which “Tug and
Lug took to fainting and required
buckets of sal volatile and Haul and
Crawl to lie down in the mud.” As a
magistrate Sydney Smith became fa-
mous for making up local quarrels and
for dealing gently with poachers. The
game laws, like a good Whig, he could
not abide, and it stirred his honest
wrath to reflect that “for every ten
pheasants which fluttered in the wood
one English peasant was rotting in
Like Charles Kingsley at Evers-
ley in: after years, he refrained from
shooting, “If you shoot,” he said, ‘the
squire and the poacher will both con-
sider you as their natural enemies, and
I thought it more clerical to be at peace
‘with both.”—Rev. Canon Vaughan in
Longman’s Magazine.
__ Too Rich a Haul, 1.
When General Trepoff was chief of
police in Moscow, “before the estab-’
jishment of ‘the state liquor monopoly,
he was told from the highest' quarters
| to suppress’ the orgies at popular: re:
sorts inthe town. ' A few days later |
the police raided. the. prin
rants after midnight, and the next
morning General Trepoff asked of bis,
‘august master directions for the pros.
‘écution of one member of the imperial
family, two judges of the high court, a’
mayor and deputy mayor, several gen-
serals ‘and many: women well known:in
| Moscow society, who, among: others, |
bad. been arrested in the raid... The
matter ended there.
Has the Most Legs.
! The little creature which bears the’
distinction’ of ‘owning ‘more ‘legs and
feet than any’ other known organized’
being is the milleped, which literally
means ‘thousand footed.” There are
several species of these curious worms,
all possessing the characteristic of hav-
ing a many segmented body, each seg:
ment provided with a pair of legs. Un.
lke the centipeds—‘hundred footed”—
they are perfectly harmless.
The ‘Wall Street Way.
Jobson--You bought the ‘stock on’
your broker's advice, didn’t’ you? Dob-'
son—Yes; he gave me four excellent
reasons why it should go up. Jobson—
What has he to say now? Dobson—He
.has given me four equally good reasons
‘why it went. down... J hid
Goodness Knows,
. Mrs, Nayberleigh—Judge, 1 want you
to try some of my angel cake. Judge
Sokem '(absently)— What is it chargad
1 restau-
"| “There's only ohne good
The Visit Hans Christian Andersen
Paid His Old Dean.
Among the many amusing things
Hans Christian Andersen treated us
to was a little anecdote which, cu-
riously enough, since it was so very
characteristic of him, he omitted from
his autobiography. He mentions in
his “Life's Story” that during the
autumn of 1844 he was a daily guest
of the Danish royal family at Fohr,
and was on terms of intimacy both
with them and with the family of the
Duke of Augustenborg. He told us
the following incident about his stay
there: It had been one of the mortifica-
tions of his younger days that the
dean of the diocese; who in his day had
confirmed him, had treated him badly,
and put the affront on him of placing
him, as a poor boy, down in the bottom
of the church, among the curate’s poor
candidates, although he properly be-
longed up above, among the dean’s
own. He chanced to hear that this
man now held a post in the island of
Fohr. “So I asked the king,” said An-
dersen, “if I might for once have one
of the royal carriages, with coachman
and footman in red livery, the same as
the royal family themselves used,
placed at my disposal, to pay a visit.
The king smiled and said, ‘With pleas-
ure.’ So I drove out in the royal
carriage, with panached horses, and
coachman and footman, to pay a visit
to my old diocesan dean. The carriage
waited outside while I was in the
house. That was my revenge.” It
seems to me that we have Andersen’s
whole self, his romantic bent, his old
humiliations and his vehement, half
childish greed of honor, in this little
story.—George Brandes in Contempo-
rary Review.
The Famous Painter Was the Som
of a Devonshire Rector.
Sir Joshua Reynolds was born at
Plympton, four miles from Plymouth,
in Devonshire, in 17238. His father, rec-
tor of the grammar school, early train-
ed him in classical studies, intending
his son to be an apothecary, but he dis-
played such an inclination for drawing,
diligently copying the prints which fell
in his way, that the father yielded and
sent him to London as a student of art.
After two years he returned to Devon-
shire and established himself as a por-
trait painter in Plymouth, where he
was taken up by Commodore Keppel,
who, being appointed to the Mediter-
ranean station, invited the young paint-
er to accompany him én his ship, the
Centurion. Thus he was able to visit
Rome, spending two years there in
very close study, especially of the
works of Raphael and Michael Angelo.
It was while painting in the corridors
of the Vatican that he contracted a
cold which brought on the deafness
that afterward afflicted him during the
rest of his life. Leaving Rome, he vis-
ited Parma, where he fell under Cor-
reggio’s influence, then Florence and
Venice, in the latter city studying the
works of the great colorists. On his
way home he stopped in Paris, making
acquaintance with the work of Ru-
bens. Arrived in London, he settled in
St. Martin’s lane, and painted a por-
trait of his patron, Commodore (then
Lord) Keppel, which laid the foundation
of his fortune. Later he established
himself in Leicester square, where his
house, 47, may still be seen. —St. Nich-
olas.
Speak Good of the Living.
Few will be found to dispute the
spirit of the old Latin proverb “De
mortuis nil nisi bonum.” Is it not a
pity, however, that we are all so in-
clined to offer fulsome adulation of the
dead, about whom, while living, noth-
ing was too vile to say? This is not to
be understood as criticising unfavor-
ably the natural tendency to forget
‘the faults and foibles and to remem-
ber only. the virtues of the people who
have ‘gone on before,” but it does
‘seem too bad that more even justice,
greater toleration and charity can-
not be shown to the living.—Success.
Lovers of Coffee.
'' The London. Globe doubts whether
there is anywhere in the world a place
‘more addicted to coffee than the little
island of Groix, about nine miles dis-
{tant from Lorient. The customs’ rec-
i+} ords show that the annual consumption
‘of coffee in the ‘island is about 90,000
pounds.” Now, the population is 5,300,
and; ‘as the men pass practically their
whole lives afloat’ as seamen; this large
quantity - must: be: consumed: by ‘about.
3,000 women, ' children: and : old men.
“It works out at thirty pounds a head.
per, annum... ju
"A Healthy Puppy.
that young puppy that came’ to see you
last’ night,” said “the Irascible father!
“and ‘that is he’s healthy.” 0s #00 (00
| “I'm, surprised to hear you admit:
that much,” replied the dutiful daugh-
ter,
{EX EF
iis § h ridi joi TAO 4
| “I wouldn't except for the fact that
“when you met him in the hall last
how cold your nose is?” 3)
EE
Our Goldén “Cold Waves.”
We Americans are ‘always’ talking
about our mountains of gold and coal
and iron, of our fat fields of corn and
wheat, but few of us ever realize that
we have in our climate a great advan-
tage over all other nations. In the
cold wave which in summer and win-
ter so often sweeps across the laud
‘and 'sends the thermometer tumbling
80 degrees in almost as many minutes
we have a constant, a never diminish-
Ang asset of priceless value. The wave
acts as a tonic; but, unlike any tonie
made by man, it carries no reaction.
No other land has cold waves like ours,
To the .cold dry air of this periodic
cold wave, which brings extraordinary
changes of temperature, we owe much |
of the keen alert mind, the incessant,
‘unremitting energy of our American
‘race. —Century. :
oan
thing ‘about
.| to artists only.
The Role of Hamlet,
Although many of the cleverest ace
tresses the world has known have es-
sayed the part, they have, with few
exceptions, failed in it.
Even Sarah Siddons, probably the
greatest Tragic actress of all time, was
a failure as Hamlet, largely owing to
the nondescript nature of her garments,
which were neither mascuiine nor femi-
nine and whicn made it almost impos-
sible to forget that her Hamlet was a
woman and not a man, says London
Tit-Bits.
Charlotte Cushman was perhaps the
most brilliant player of male parts of
her or, indeed, of any other generation.
She was equally brilliant and convinc-
ing as Romeo, Cardinal Wolsey or
Claude Melnotte, but when she made
the crucial experiment of playing the
melancholy Dane even she proved
unequal to the task. In fact, her Ham-
let was so badly received in Dublin
that she there and then made up her
mind never to play it again.
And yet her Romeo was such a tri-
umph of acting that James Sheridan
Knowles, the great dramatist and crit-
ic, was completely carried away by it.
Of her acting of the passage where Ro-
meo flings hiraself upon the ground,
“taking the measure of an unmade
grave,” he says: “It was a scene of top-
most passion, not simulated passion;
no such thing—real, palpably real. The
genuine heart storm was on in its wild-
est fullness of fury, and I listened and
gazed and held my breath, while my
blood ran hot and cold. I am sure it
must have been the case with every
one in the house, but I was all ab-
sorbed in Romeo till a thunder of ap-
plause recalled me to myself.”
And of her assumption of the difficult
part of Claude Melnotte in “The Lady
of Lyons” Justin McCarthy says: “I
have seen Claude Melnotte played by
many great actors, from Macready to
Irving, but Miss Cushman eclipsed
them all. She created for me the only
human, the only possible and the only
endurable Claude Melnotte I have ever
seen.”
Miss Julia Seaman, a once popular
actress, was so severely criticised when
she played Hamlet some years ago that
she furned round on her critics and as-
sailed them in a very vigorous manner.
The late Miss Marriott, who had one of
the most beautiful voices ever heard on
any stage, was more fortunate, al-
though it was one of her least success-
ful assumptions, and in the fifties an
American actress, Miss Percy Knowles,
made such an unfortunate exhibition
of herself as the melancholy one that a
country manager actually issued a no-
tice warning his patrons against going
to see her. 3
Ellen Tree (Mrs. Charles Kean) was
the first to put on Hamlet's doublet
and hose; Mrs. Glover won Edmund
Kean’s approval by her playing of the
part, and Mme. Sarah Bernhardt gave
a picturesque and clever rendering of
Hamlet, although it was not to be com-
pared with many of her brilliant as-
sumptions.
Charlotte Crampton was noted for
her clever acting of masculine parts,
which would have been even more con-
vincing if she had not been such a tiny
woman. ‘There is a woman,” Mac-
ready once said, referring to her, “who
would startle the world if she were but
two inches taller.” She was such a
magnificent swordswoman that few
men cared to try their skill against her
on the stage, and she was undoubtedly
a genius in her way, with a courage
commensurate with her skill.
She was one of the finest personators
of Richard III. ever seen on the stage,
her Shylock was among the most bril-
liant pieces of acting in her day, and
she was almost equally clever as Iago,
Romeo and Don Caesar de Bazan, and
yet when Charlotte Crampton chal-
lenged criticism with Hamlet she fail-
ed as signally as her rival, Charlotte
Cushman, had done.
Probably the most successful of all
lady Hamlets was Anna Dickinson,
who made considerable reputation as
Macbeth and Claude Meinotte. “A
| number of women have tried Hamlet,”
| she said.
“None, I believe, with any
success. Yet, in my opinion, the char:
acter of Hamlet is eminently suited for
a woman's capabilities. Hamlet was
very young—a mere college boy, in
fact. Besides, a fine actress is more
likely to bring out the wonderful wo-
manlike delicacy of Hamlet's charac-
ter'than a very young actor.” And she
‘supported her views by giving an at-
tractive ‘and ‘clever rendering ‘of the:
part. : i : ‘ dif is
. ifr Crim oline.
In the World of Fashion of 1830 is
a reference to “the new stuff called
_crinoline.” ‘Crinoline was partly thread,
partly horsehair; its name being ‘com-
pounded of the French “crin,” horse-
| hair, and “lin,” flax.’ Hats, skirts and
‘all;sorts. of things that were wanted to.
‘possess a certain stiffness were made
| of this material.
ii
; Preferred Tenants.
- Servant—These rooms will be rented
Applicant—And why
not to others? Servant—Recause art-
ists are less troublesome. They never
want their rooms put in order.—Chica-
go Journal.
The Awful Loneliness.
The Friend—What made you close
your season go early? The Actor--The
solitude, my boy; night after night, the
appalling solitude.—Brooklyn Life.
Every man has just as much vanity
as he wants understanding.—Pope.,
. “Is this the best claret, Murphy?’
asked the Irishman of ‘his butler. “It.
is not, sorr,” was the answer; “but it's
the best ye've got.”’—London Outlook.
Religion conyerts despair, which de.
Stroys, into resignation, which sub
mits. — Blessington. \