SA ps
4
RRR
‘Well, Mother, it's dove, I guess.” Pap
harried up the walk, flung himself down in
is) ie rg chair on Joe back porch
w sweating with his
bandana. “Every lass lickin’ iy
on them wagons—more’n twelve hundred
bushel, too, in all. That lower corner
down next the creek went over forty. The
boys said they never see such wheat.”
‘Y’ don't say !'’ said Mother, lifting her
hands out of the dishwater. “We ¢'n go
then, can’t we, ”
“Go! Y's bet we cau. We'll tell Charley
10 Ju iirvied quick as he wants to now.
y, Ma—you’ll never have to cook for
thrashers or any kind o’ bands again. You
look clean petered ous.”
“I am some,” holding up a greasy skillet
to wash it, ** to go right home
and I had all the dishes to do. Bas I'm
done now, most nigh, an’ I'm so glad it
turned ous so well. I been ont an’ watered
that ol’ sow to the back end o’ the orchard.
She’s got six o’ the prettiest listle pigs you
ever laid eyes on.”
“Six? t they was seven.”
“That little yellow runt died. 1 slang
it off "fore the rest et is.”
Pap leaned back and hooked his thumbs
under his suspenders. ‘We'll go next
‘*Aod Miunie says y oughtu't bave it
come clear to the wal
piece it out with something else.
$078 Bo, I was goin’ to have it plenty big if
any.
“It's Stel nice,”’ said Pap, rocking
back on his jerky chair.
“I'll miss the organ some. Seems like
Be ought to be sitting over but Min-
there,
'$wounldn’t do as all with all this | there
nice stuff. But say, " tarping to him,
ps. ‘‘what’er we goin’
to do, now we're here?’
‘Do! Why, we ain’ going to do nuth-
in ! We didn’t come here to work.”
‘Oh, yes, that’s so, I forgot,” she said
How they enjoyed themselves those first
few days ! They didn’t get up till nearly
seven o'clock, ate their breakfast, and just
lounged. Pap trimmed up the yard and
painted the buck fence, and Mothe, srained
8 Sceaggy ved mubler to climb to the up-
stairs . Then they wens to all the
meetings of the church. Mother joined
the Ladies’ Aid Society, and planned to
have them meet with her some time.
ay tall was a sutey one. Casiey
stowed their apples and potatoes away in
the cellar, a ie wife brought ina few
quarts of peach butter and some sauer-
week, Mother—right after Sunday,as quick | kraes.
as we can get our house. Frank thinks
we'd oughtn’t 10 buy one just yet—rent
'til we see how we likeit. But I says
‘no’—like it ! ‘course we'll like it, after
countin’ on spendin’ our last days in town
these ten an back.”’
‘‘Poor k, I’spect he thinks you'll
waut that four hundred he owes youn.”
‘Ob, we car get on all right. The boy’s
bad a bard row—losin’ all them hogs an’
Em’ly sickly. Golly, I got to pay them
extra hands yet !"’ He jumped up, reached
into the copboard for his money and bar-
ned awa i She barn.
e e few extra helpers—most of
the hands being neighbors at whose thrash-
ings Charley would belp in return, and
po ngs sagine, dingy pi red and
water wagon, chug-chug out of the gate
past the barn. Then he hurried back to
the house, and they made plans til sun-
Sgus; 89 Saimated - a pair of lovers map-
ng the fitting out eir first cottage.
‘Now, Pap, what I want is this—a nice
house, not too big, but comfortable-like,
avd about two acres of ground, Then you
o’d make a garden, an’ I0'd raise a few
chickens and have a cow an’ mebbe a pig
er two, an’ we ¢’d make pretty near our
whole livin’.”
““There you are again. Always wantin’
a gorab around. Tell yon right now, Moth-
er, I ain’t goin’ to town to run no truck
patch.”
Their lives had been very fall, Mother's
aod Pap’s. It had heen thirty years since
they had come to Kansas and settled on
the old homestead. There had been
droughts,and grasshoppers,and hard times,
but they bad battled against them all.
They had hails the barn—it had been such
an effort ! Then they had bought the lower
place, sent Charley, the youngest, to col-
lege, and helped the other children, so that
this pleasure and comfort for themselves
bad been crowded off a few years longer.
Now it was to be a reality, a 1eal reality —
they were going this summer, next week—
tomorrow ! Pap thought of the prayer
meeting; Mother, that «he conld visit all
her friends. It was dusk almost when the
bawling of a cow for her little calf attracted
Mother's attention, and she started up
quickly.
“Why, Rap: it's after seven an’ we ain't
did onr milking yet ! What's got into us ?
We never done such a thing !”’
‘Never a calf to feed—never a hog to
swill !"” murmured the old man, and then
they ate a little cold chicken and a piece of
raspberry pie that had heen left from the
thrashing dinner.
It was a heautiful evening—there on the
farm just at dusk, cool after the day’s heat,
a gentle wind making the leaves in the big
old cottonwoods rustle, while the crickets
and katydids were hoay.
Mother stood for a long time with her
band on the gate latch; Pap had gone to
drive in the cows. She felt the soft breeze,
heard the crickets; before her was the new
Dig stuaiacky with its smell of grain, the
es of cbafl across the barnyard. She
saw the barn, the wagon-shed aud back of
them the orchard. The first time she bad
looked at tbat knoll it bad been covered
with prairie grass and there wasn’t a stick
of wood ahywhere. Behind her was the
house, a square, substantial building with
a broad i; Virginia creeper bad
clambered up oneside to the eaves and was
banging in a huge bunch at the top. There
were carrant bushes and crab apple trees in
the back yard. Not a shrub, not a tree,nor
a fence, nor even a poet that they had not | eyes
Dus there. Thirty years is a long time.
ey bad been young then, with so much
centered on their family and their home,
and now—She looked up. Pap had shat
the barnyard gate.
*Y’ ain’t many more nights we'll be
stri ’ at these cows.”
. , this is a nice place to live in, an’
we've fixed it 4 some considerable since
we come. We'll wan: to come ont here
onct in a while, won't we ?"
: “Ch, golly, ves; we'll bave the little
roan mare an’ back an’ for’ards every
week, if we feel like it.”’
Mother sighed.
*'Ot course, 'tain’t like selling the place.
Charley’ll it up well, an’ Mionie’s
real with flowers an’ snch-like. An’
if we sh’d want to come baok—''
“Oh, we ain't never coming back.”
‘*No, no, no, of course we ain’t, but if
we should, we'd bave it.”
d It was after a long J enrsh shat Mother
ound a cottage exactly to iking—a
quaint little nest, A bay-window
screened porch. Pap liked the house as
well, though the price was exorbitant.
There was one thing, however, that ney
both noted. The cottage stood on a li
rise of land fading the southeast. Across
the valley, on a hill at the other side, was
old home—the house, the barn, the
NE wtsaty to oe lat 340. Way:
A said it would never do to
put all their ‘‘old trumpery” into such a
A gb
itare with Char save walnut
bedstead to Mary, and the little old organ
to Frank's girls. They had boughs it for
Me ahiiasen
e en helped them move, and
when ans in they slipped
ous quietly one by one, leaving them alone
“‘My, ain’t this nice I" said ,
ing to dnd tro on a stl Tittle bleh bees
“I al wanted a Brussels Saipekr
Mother ey, looking down at
and | cheerful.
‘‘La, Mionie,you’d oughtn’t to done is,”
said ys. vo how good they are to
‘Aw, let 'em work. Y’ miod apple
pickin’ last year, and how you shook them
tree-tops ? I never could climb, but you
was that supple. Never another tree to
shake, er, as long as you live.”
The old woman folded her hands placidly
in her lag. “An’ yet I didn’t used to
mind it, Pap—things always smels so good
in the cellar. Sometimes I almost wish
Still they were enjoying their freedom.
It seemed so queer, so icsusuly queer to
ba able to sit with .their busy, roughened
bande folded and rest as much as they
pleased. In the mornings Pap went down
town and ordered up groceries. ‘‘Just tell
‘em what vou want, and they’ll bring it
right to your door, an’ all Y got to ie
ust ‘em. Did ever y’ see anything
J a ”
Mother shook her head. ‘‘But we're
spendin’ lots, Pap. Just think o' bayin’
tomatoes !'’
Winter came on, and they chuckled to
themselves as they heard the wind outside
aod knew thas they were only a block from
the grocery, and had no shi cattle to
care for. And yet, this freedom from
responsibility weighed upon them some-
how. Mother mg one for
and ope for Frank’s wife, but poor
old Pap’s bands were idle. He just want.
ed to be ‘‘out home’’ and help Charley in
the wood-los, and occasion: ly be went.
He was always more cheerful afterward,
and yet he was getting old, geting old
rapidly. His back was a little more howed,
and be coughed at times. It was an effort
even to walk over to the postoffice and the
grocery store. He felt that he was giving
way, saw himeell an old man. For the
first time in sixty-eight years he had been
out of a job. :
‘‘Well, Mother,” he shock his head
sadly, “we're out of life now—we ain't
any use any more. Y' mind how much
cordwood I chopped last winter ?'*
“They ain't no need for you to work no
more, Pap. We've plenty in the bank.”
‘We ain't any use any more.” There
was such a note of pathos in that voice. He
iooked out of the window across the valley
to the southeast where » clump of tall ocot-
tonwoods held up their hace branches. A
white gable gleamed thnough them ; beyond
was the barn with it« capola where pigeons
nested. He koew every foot of the place—
the washout on the south forty, the wood-
lot besond.
‘“There’s Minnie and Charley, they are
what we were once, but our time's up.’
“Ob, now, Pap, you're downhearted.
We're some use—'course, ar the good Lord
onldus be leavin’ us bere the way He
*“'Twon’t be long, Mother—'swon’t be
long till He gets things ready over youder,
that we'll reach the Golden City.” He
stepped ont of the door, down the steps to-
ward the postoffice. He stop on the
sidewalk and looked pa ly to the
toutheast. The wind blew through his
beard. He was a shriveled up old man,
and what is more touching than this on.
coming of old age, with its period of in-
activity, to the busy man ? He is like the
worn-out wagon, cast aside. Younger ones
have his place. The world goes on, bus he
hae no in it, is not even missed. Then
‘‘the grinding is low’ and he turns his
on heaven.
“Poor old Pap !"" Mother gazed after
him. There were tears in her eyes. ‘‘He's
agen’ somethin’ awfal. My, ain’t I glad
we come to town ! He takes such comfort
in goin’ for the mail and at the store, too. "id
An’ the prayer meetin’s—he couldn't do
withous 'em. Aio’t Iglad I dido’t cross
him, if I do miss bein’ out home 80.” And
she, too, down the valley to the old
When sp caine it was hetter, for they
planted a , and were busy most of
the time. tened up an inch or
more a8 he drove stakes and marked out
Tous, while Mother put in seeds and onion-
nin, TH
a
fishin’. Say, d’
thought y' wou!
She pressed the moist earth aronnd two
or three onion-sets and turned her face
away. ‘‘Yes, Pap, better. I'd miss the
church so. Don’t youn ?"’
‘You bet I” His voice was crisp and
Shee ‘See how much work I got ont
‘*You never could 'a’ stood it Pap.”
“Well, I didn’t have to. Oh, I wouldn't
go back for nuthin’.”’
ow No,” said Mother sadly. ‘“‘Neither'd
ed,
goin
ike town as well asy’
—
Sommer came, strawberry time and
Pap went out home two or three
Hiss § week und Knew all Shat was (aitiog
e.
One day he had been downtown. Mother
saw him sowing home, his head was up,
his feet had rold quick, energetio step
and he was humming.
“My, Pap's up lately.”
wo be Picking ta we're join’
out home. Hustle right along. I'm in an
awlal harry,”
+
‘Why hi what's into yon 9”
“The boy aT ae reaper.
He don’t know nuthin about mach .
That was a good Walter A. Wood,
been used ¥njes Jean ~bratee’s all to thun-
der and traded in for filteen dollars.
»| I'm afraid he ain’t much as
* ”"
TH) Jolug gut thete and do his cutting.
ou ain't fit. Yon m
ke, ome bod, oe
‘Can can on yer
2 never Ay Eton yer
managin ’
ht, Tapwu os auth go, Zl
must
pus in some jars and help Minnie with the
She said they'd be ripe this week.”
“All a ”
It was a few minutes till they were
in the little low buggy and the roan mare
was the four miles between town
“Dogged if I know !"
‘‘Get right out and let the old man in.’
“Well, dad, where’d you come from ?"
“I come out here to keep you from play-
ing hob with this new consarn. If I'd
a day and a half sooner we’d ’a’ been a
Buniired and twenty-five dollars better
*“That old Wood was all gone up."
‘“Never see it out better’n it did lass
year. Gimme the m -wrench.” He
wiggled himself under, Charley baad-
ed him bis tools. ‘““There, I guess that's
all righe,’’ shoviog himself ous.
**Much obliged, dad. What are y’ goin’
to do now ?"’
“Going to do this cuttin’.”
*‘Aw,go on ! This is a hot day and you're
soft, dad. You never can stand it. Go on
to the house.”
“Bring them horses ! Howd'y’ ever vet
oo without a hand ?”’
“Ob, Mionie hel me some and I
shocked ap after night.”
*“Yer woman ! Golly, that ain’t no way
to treat a girl !"
The horses in their places. Pap climbed
Spun the seat and swung the long whip.
e team started, the great machine sway-
ed, lurched forward, the reel measured off
the grain, then followed the rhythmic musio |
of the sickle.
**Get ap, Coaly—Prince!”’ It was the
same field, the same horses and the new
machine. The morning was bright and
gave promise of a hot day, but it was still
easaot; a breeze lifted a gray lock from
p's forehead. Heol again to the
horses. Ab, this was life! The machine
hummed aod he kept time with it.
b “igh climbing, climbing ap Zion's
ill.
At noon he was red, dusty, perspiring,
tired, but he bad not been over-heated,and
be relished indeed Minnie's fried chicken
and gravy.
‘La, Pap, I never see y' eat such a
meal I"
‘I'm working, Motber, don’t you see !"’
‘*What d’ y’ think of the wheas this year,
dad ?'’ Charley asked as they rested dor-
ing the noon hour.
“Oh, fair, but I’ve raised better.
in is pretty bad.”
In three days the grain was all in shock.
It bad been hard work for the old man. He
was tired and said so, but these had been
the bappiest three days since he had moved
away.
“XY? got a good chance here, boy. Ain't
nuthin I'd like better’n to be young like
you folks and hustle around on a good guar-
ter like this here. Ob, I'd never been in
town if it badn’s been for your ma. She
likes it so, women coming in and all. She's
earnt it, too, hat, boy, it's tough on the
old man.”
In the cool of the evening they barness-
ed up the little roan, Mother packed in
fruit jars, avd they started back towaid
town.
‘‘My, that ’er's an awful pretty place,
Pap, with the vines climbing up,” said
Mother as they drove away. ‘‘And Mionie
Fly's
keeps things just like I used to—them
hollyhocks and all.”
‘Mother, I've been living these last few
days. My, don’t y’ wishs we’s voung !"
‘I’ve got seventeen quarts of berries, an’
Minnie says to come and get some more."
Pa drew the roen intoa walk. He let
ove foot haog ontside of the buggy and
looked down at the foot-rest.
‘*Mother,"” he said slowly, ‘‘I've always
tried to be good to youn.”
“Yes, Pap.”
“And do what I thonght you'd like.”
“Yes.”
‘“But I'm done—I can’t stand it io town
no more, and I'm going home. Charley,
he's Sk to move in the old house.”
‘What ! Why, Pap, I thought you liked
it up there. You took such an interest—'’
He shook his head sadly.
‘“What's this you heen telling me all
along ?"’
She pushed back her bonnet and looked
him squarely in the face.
He shook his bead again.
“I lied,” he said solemnly. *‘I koowed
on liked it. I tried to, but I can’t stand
t—I can’t.”
Mother drew hersell up. There was
more severity in her face aud tone than
had beer there for many a year.
‘Now, Pap, Tp knowed I never wanted
to leave the old place. I fought it—I did
80, and it was you, you from the very
fires I"
‘I never ! Why, Mother, yon know you
onot—"’'
‘‘Never mind, I guess it don’t make no
difference now. Are we going back—Pap,
are we going sare, Pap ?"’
““Yes, hy the great 400 spoon !"’
*‘Ob, Pap !" and she wiped ber eyes on
her apron. ‘‘Mebbe Charley won’t—'’
“La, he'sgot to. It'sbeen a year and
his contract's ran out.”
what are we going to do
new carpet an— ?"’
‘“Take 'em to the second-hand store.”
““They ain't scuffed a bit. I'll tell you
what, we'll trade with Minnie, she always
admired that carpet so. And the organ—
don’t you s'pose we could coax it back
somehow from Frank's girl ?”’
“La, now, Mother, I'd hate to. The
girls set such store by it. And Katie's
right bandy, too. She ‘Rock of
Age’ real good now, Be yluys Bu like
‘‘Bat I'd miss it so, settin’ up so prond-
like if the preacher was to come. And
when Mary runs over, or somebody, they’d
give us a charch hymn.”
“I tell you,” the old straw hat
back farther on his head. “We'll get the
iris a new one, one of them tall, 'way-up
ST: A tern sake? mga
“My, ain’t we a 0
she ed placidly. ‘‘But we ain't bor-
rowed none.”
Pap clucked to the little roan, Mother
drewad thankful breath and leaned
in the v
‘Won't you mies the prayer meeting
some ?''
“Some,” said she. '‘But we'll joss read
a chapter an’ say ‘em to home.”
““Mebbe we ¢'d go occasionally, when it's
mild nights.”
Bars ebbe 80," said Mother, folding her
So they moved back in even less time
than it took them to come. The lit-
tie organ, with its two keys that wonldn's
go, stood up ‘‘proud-like” ina corner of
the parlor; the rag carpets and drawn rugs
fou: usual places, while Mother
looked ou it all with a deep feeling of satis-
faction, true bappiness brimmiog up in her
Pap brought in an armel of wood as she
was getting the berries ready for so
shat iret night, y pps
‘“Well, Mother, I've been and agreed
with Charley to hoy them horses hack.
ey fool notion
for two good, strong, r
t- minded folks
like ns to think of goin’ to town? The
Loid, He never'd 'a’ give a body
if He didn’t roean ’em to nee is,”
“No,” said Mother reverently. *“‘They
ain’t no such thing as a shirk in the King-
dom of Heaven, and they'd tn’t to he
upon earth.”’—By Abby E. kwith, in
Watson's Magazine.
The Tameness of Wild Animals.
That wild anima's become extremely
tame is well kuown. The wild goail of
southern California will enter gardens, and
nest there ;and in the protected season I
have seen a flock standing in country roads,
a jaunty male hetween them and my horse,
not twenty feet away ; moving only when
I moved, and then with reluctance. Sev.
eral years ago some residents on one of the
chanuel islands of Sonshern California in-
troduced a pamber of black tailed deer
which were protected to such extens that
in time they discovered that they were
privileged characters, and assumed nearly
the absolute contempt for human beings
held hy the sacred hulls of India, that
crowd wen and women from the road.
They persisted in entering gardens, day and
night, destroying the plants, and fivally to
locate them the dwellers on the island had
bells fastened to them. Oae buck made
his home pear the town of Cabrillo avd
walked ahous the place and over the hills
with the freedom of a dog. When a boat
landed off the pier the buck ran down to
grees the uewcomers and share their lunch,
and became a welcome guest at barbecues
and lobster and clam bakes. As time
went on this deer through attention became
extremely arrogant and began to resent
any lack of attention ; in a word, like
many persons, he could not stand p! -
ty, one day when an old lady refused
to allow him to eat her lunch, the back
drew off and bowled the lady over. This
seemed to open up a new field of pleasure
to the deer (and women particularly ape
peared to be the object of his enmity, )
which at last became so pronounced that
the animal bad to he in confine.
ment. Nearly all animal life is
at this island. I have counted half a hun-
dred bald eagles in an eleven-mile ran;
bave seen them take a large fish from the
water within easy gunshot, and they build
their nests on pinnacles that are not diffi-
cult of approach. The sea birds are equal-
ly tame. Gulls gather in flocks a few feet
from those who feed them ;in the winter
flocks of cormorants swim into the bays
and are so tame that they merely divide
when a boat passes, and fishermen often
find that the cormorants take off bait al-
most ns fast as they can put it on. Gulls
dash at bait, and I bave seen a long-winged
petrel-like bird follow my line under water
at a cast, using its wings to fly along, and
take the bait ; and at times scores of sea
birds are seen inshore feeding upon small
shrimps, Buying no attention to ohservers
photographing them.
The most remarkable illustration of
tameness to be seen here is that of the sea-
lions. For ages the animals have held
possession of a mass of rock on the shore of
the island. A few years ago many were
killed by vandals, but laws were passed
and for a number of years the sea-lions
have been protected the rookery is in-
creased in size until a split has recently oo-
curred and another settlement has heen es
tablished half way up the island. It bas
been the custom for years for fishermen in
cleaning their fish to toss the refuse into
the bay, and the sea-lions formed the hab-
it of coming down to the bay at this time
to dive thereupon. At first only one or
two came ; now a band of two large bulls
and several females make their headquar-
ters at the bay, or spend most of the time
there, constituting a valuable sanitary
corps, as they eat every fragment of fish,
the gulls joining in the feast. When not
feeding, the sea-lions pass the time lying
within a Jew Jeet of lhe ath, sleeping or
aying, es young leaping
rom toe water and Roing through va
tricks of interess to the looker-on.
But a few feet away from the sea-lions
are the bosistands of the fishermen and
boatmen, and boats are moving out and
over the sea-lions constantly ; yet they are
apparently oblivious to the men, who nev-
er molest them. This bas had a peculiar
The enormous animals have be.
come 80 tame that shey almost allow the
men to touch them, and really come out
upon the shore to feed from their hands.
It so happened that I was upon the sands
when no sea-lions were in sight, and u
ar bi a
gan to w as og for a dog,
aod to call, ‘‘Here, Ben!"
call several times, [Phetenpen ous from
AMEE the an two large boll a
w must have half a ton, fol-
females.
Hi
sif
il
5°
iE:
Biss
:
i
i
noe upon an t
Pou Not ten heer from
scene floated several hoats
tators, yet the wild animals paid vo atten-
tion to them, affording a remarkable illus.
tration of the tameness of animals when
protected. When this fish was disposed
the hoatman took a large albacore by the
tail and walked down the beach, calling
the sea-lion by name. The animal respond-
ed at once, coming inshore with a rush,
followed by two fishers. The boatman
gradually retreated up the beach, the bv
animals following, in their clumsy waddle,
jee
it
2
resembling tic slags more than .
thing else, finally taking the fish from
man’s soene was 80 remarka-
the . The rookery where
the animals their headquarters is
ed with ease, and are the constant ohjects
Sy uk 250 re aio ioe,
—By Charles Frederick Holder, in the Sei-
Ameriaan.
S—
~——‘‘Dootor,’’ said the man who want-
ed to work him for a free prescription,
‘‘what would you jfivelors sore throat?”
“Nothing, replied the doctor prompt-
ly, “Idon’t want a sore throat.”
STUART DODGED
CORPORATIONS
Councils Records Full of His
Delinquencies.
FRESH CHAPTER OF DETAILS
Shied From Everything That Might
Make Boss Martin Think Him Too
Aggressive to be a Docile Mayor.
SPECIAL FEAR OF RAILROADS
On Nearly All Important Corporate
Issues the Journals Record Penrose’s
Nominee as Absent or Not Voting.
Edwin S. Stuart, head of the Me-
Nichol-Martin-Penrose state ticket, is
making a few fine promises of what he
would do in Harrisburg if elected gov-
ernor. Unfortunately for Mr. Stuart,
nature never intended that he should
be a public officer, and he, after five
years' experience as a select council-
man in Philadelphia and four as mayor,
ought to be as well convinced as all
well-informed people in that city are,
that he has been utterly unable to
make the slightest improvement upon
nature in his essaying the performance
of public duties. In private life Mr.
Stuart is amiable, honorable, and in all
his dealings between man and man
perfectly trustworthy. But he was not
born to fight, and he won't do it. He
has never done it. He can’t do it if he
tries. Being as gentle as a refined
woman and utterly devoid of aggres-
siveness, it would be 2s reasonable to
set a dandy lap-dog against a ferocious
bandit as 0 expect Stuart, in a guber-
natorial clash with the public-plunder
bosses, to get the best of them. A fresh
chapter of pointers from the journals
of the Philadelphia select council ought
to convince any doubters in this mat-
ter.
It is a fair conclusion that a member
of select council who. throughout the
five years preceding his election as
mayor, was a chronic dodger from the
most important of the votes during that
period, is not the warrior wanted in
the executive chair at Harrisburg in
these times. In this particular the con-
trast with the life-long, constantly
active foe of law-defying corporation:
and monopolies, Lewis Emery, Jr. is
as the penny dip to the unclouded
noon-day sun, Mr. Stuart's incapacity
for dealing with the capitol looters and
the whole outfit of public plunderers
would be sufficiently demonstrated by
his refusing the urgent requests from
his fellow-citizens to help them against
the gas-works robbers and franchise
thieves in Philadelphia, last year, when
he was put upon record as declining to
permit his name to be used in connec-
tion with the non-partisan town meet-
ings of protest against the attempted
steals. But there.are more unanswer-
able arraignments than that against
him in the select council journals.
No Other Member Dodged Sc Often.
A general idea of this voluminous in-
dictment was given in many newspa-
pers of the state a week ago. Now let
some parts of his record as to select
council votes on railroad and street
railway bills be inspected by an impar-
tial public. Some of these bills, of
themselves, have little interest for the
“country,” but they were momentous
for the city, and either to the rural or
the urban citizen, Stuart's attitude
toward them proved him to be, in pub-
lic matters, “afraid of his own shadow.”
On May 19, 1887, he dodged the vote on
the Rapid Transit resolution, passed by
14 to 12, urging the governor to approve
the Rapid Transit measure for which
the people of the city were clamoring.
He was present but “not voting” when
the relative strength of the friends and
foes of rapid transit was tested on sev-
eral occasions in the summer of that
year. The details would take too much
space in this paper, but any citizen
wanting particulars can get them in
the public libraries of the city, as well
as in the offices of the clerks of coun-
cils.
Some votes that he ventured to cast
upon those rapid transit questions were
to place upon the projects restrictions
which had the effect of delaying for 2¢
years the relief for the congestion of
passenger traffic in Philadelphia. On
a “great railroad day” in the chamber,
December 13, 1888, as on 25 other very
importart occasions during his term,
Stuart, according to the official record,
annually at those grade crossings. A
resolution in select council, on April
18, urged passage of the bill pending in
the legislature. Stuart, breaking his
rule to be absent or a dodger, when
such vital measures came up, voted to
refer the resolution to a committee
Next he voted for indefinite postpone-
ment, which would have killed the res-
olution, an extremely moderate meas-
ure, as it merely indorsed the legisla-
tive bill's declaration that there should
be no additional grade crossings except
where “avoidance of them was not rea-
sonably practicable.” Stuart, in three
different votes on that day, stubbornly
get himself against that modest provi-
sion for the prevention of the great lost
of life that has since resulted from the
corporation control of councils and the
legislature. This is one of the most
loudly-crying evils in Philadelphia to-
day.
Extremely Timid on Big Issues.
A select councilman might plead
sickness or unavoidable absence for s
number of apparent delinquencies, but
how is the Republican candidate for
governor going to explain away the fact
that his presence and voting upon mat-
ters that the whole people were watch-
ing, or that would involve him in some
little controversy, was the rare excep-
tion. His councilmanic record is proved
to have heen one prolonged career of
dodging. There is no other record like
his as a dodger, among all the members
with whom he served during those five
years. The Germantown & Norristown
railroad bill, on June 20th, did not get
him recorded, although he was present,
and he was absent a week later when
a Union railway bill presented itself.
Was it this or the coming up of a
street-opening damage bill affecting the
vicinity of his own house, that kept
him away on that day?
On September 26 he was present but
did not vote on the 12th and 15th street
railway bill for additional tracks, turn-
outs and switches. On October 17 the
ordinance for an entirely new line, the
Catharine and Bainbridge Streets, aim-
ing to gridiron Stuart’s own southern
part of the city, found him present,
but, cf course, not a voter. The fact
that that bill passed finally on that day
with only two opposing votes, and Stu-
art dodging a proceeding directly af-
fecting the welfare of his own and ad-
jacent wards, illustrated his extreme
timidity. As a candidate for mayor,
or governor in the present days, he
could not so behave himself with impu-
nity, but at that time his conduct was
the proper thing to suit “Dave” Martin,
the Combine boss, who later made Stu-
art the city's elastic-spined chief ex-
ecutive,
Wanted:
Brains to Disseor,
It way not be generally known that all
over the civilized world there is a strong
demand for braine that are a little above
the average in quality ; not intelligence, or
intellect, or genius; hat, literally, that
part of the haman organism which is con-
tained within the skull and 1= known as
the brain.
Scientists who devote themsvlies to the
study of comparative unatomy ba e for the
most part nothing better to dissect than
the brains of panpers aud lonatics. These,
however, leave much to he desired, and is
i to the interest of the hamau family thas
the brains of caltured and leaned people
should be placed at the dispo-al of those
patient and laborious men who were en-
gaged in the vastly important work of an-
raveling the secrets of the working of the
mind.
But it must not be supposed that a cer-
taiv number of such braine are not forth-
coming. Comparatively speaking. they
are few, but, still, more numerous than
most people imagine. Io the great majority
of cases they are bequeathed by their re-
spective owners. O~ one occasion Sir
William Fowler, the famous authority on
oqmparative auatomy, in addressing an
audience of cultured men and women,
spoke of the difficuities be and his fellow
workers bad to contend with in having
little else than the brains of people of low
intellect to dissect, and weut so far as to
appeal to the audience to help science in
this matter in the only possible way. On
the conclusion of bis address several mem-
bers of the audience, including a few ladies,
promised to bequeath their brains to him,
and, it is said, proved as good as their
word. More than one man of great emi-
pence has ed it as something in the
nature of a duty to do this &n the interest
of science. Prol. Goldwin Smith, for in-
stance, fome time ago formally willed his
brain to Cornell University.
Some remarkable brains have been sold,
not given. An Englishman who calls him-
self Datas bas disposed of his to av Ameri-
can university for $10,600. He is a man of
little edacation, and for many years work-
ed as a coal miner. Rave as a warvel.
ous memory, especially ates, an
now earning a handsome income on the
musio-ball stage. Any member of the
audience ask him the date of rome 00-
currence, isapswered instantly. Itis
considered gp be in ae J how + some
very unusual 8, was
not a little bidding to seonre it alter
was absent. On that particular day | g.aeh
there came up the bill for the construc.
tion of the Schuylkill River East Side
railroad. which, with Stuart not pres-
ent, passed finally; and the German-
town passenger railway extension meas.
ure, which caused a very hot fight
while the non-combatant gubernatorial
candidate was away. He was present
on February 21, 1889, but is not record-
ed as voting on the bill to extend the
vote on the next following measure,
the Callowhill Street wharf lease, which
might have been made a wholesome
But, behold!
the large number of persons killed
.
It stands to reason that the brain of a
man of intellect offers a much richer field
for observation than the brain of a puups
or some other human Jerelian, :
of t men vary very m FIOS.i fash
Sng 80 (0000 of Sunegties. 2 | is foun
that men of m ve large
and heavy Anh had to wear
a very big hat—with an enormous bed of
gray matter and numerous convolntions;
on the other band, men whose geninsis
concentrated upon ove line of thought are
of small brain and, consequently, bavea
small head. Newton, Byron, and Crom-
well belonged to bis class, and each bad a
small head. Yet many people i ne
vant this is a sign of small menial oa; .
A visitor who wae shown the skull of Crom
well was sod ted at its size, thas
the caretaker the relic endeavored to
console him by that this was the
ekull of the great Routidhead when he was
a boy. Prof. Symes-Thompson told this
anecdote in a recent lecture, and be also
mentioned that Newton was so small when
born that be could be put inside a quart
pot.
Ee —
~''Yes, sir,"’ said the noisy party
prondly “I am a self-made ry :
“Well, don's let a little thing like that
i
worry niet .
ND yon mouth shot ol. one will
ever suspect it.”’
sabres b