sips
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lefonte, Pa., February 28, 1908,
THE CRIME OF GROWING OLD.
I laugh at age, for life's been gay,
Suppose my hair is turning gray,
And wrinkles traced by hand of Time
Have written truth— reflects no erime
Of years long past, memories sublime,
Do not forget; you'll face the same.
Laws do not change; Time plays the gama,
None can escape, folds often try—
With paint and powder and some dye.
“Give back my youth,” this is their cry.
The things that age us most of all
Are the evil deeds memories recall,
We hear their ery and curse the things—
It's Hell to think Let's forget our flings !
But none escape these memory stings.
Yes, Memory makes us young or old,
It's what we are; our story's told,
Love life and truth, you're free from care;
Then Memory'll keep you young and fair;
You can't grow old, Time would not dare!
—By Oakley Selleck.
CHARLEY JOHNSON'S FINE.
It was early afternoon in the empty, bare
waitiog-room of the jail. The business of
the day was two hoars over. It had been
the unsnal worning crowd—half a dozen
shofiling, bleary, pinched, sunken-faced,
dumb, or flaring women, waiting to see
waeir wan; as many children with an iw-
portant wessace to father, and, alas! now
and then to mother, wheedling, frightened
sly, ashamed, care-aged, stolid, each ac-
cording to his kind; shaking, decent, maim-
ed, aud sodden old men, clinging still des-
perately with relaxing fingers to respeot-
ability, or driftiog io a stupor on the toss-
ing surface where they would soon go
under—such a crowd as the sheltered may
see sunning itself in the square any spring
morning as the youngsters of the well.
housed trundle toys or play at tag around
their benches.
This battered procession bad come and
gooe, and now she dingy room and sne
outer hall were deserted for the day,thoogh
the place still smelled of ite passing. It is
the universal odor of court-rooms, of hos-
pital dispensaries, and mission houses, of
all places where misery, want, and crime
congregate—a heavy, olose smell, increased
by silence. No sound came through the
thick wall from the jail proper—whatever
was going on there—and the chubby little
warden was drowsing over bis belated
paper in the office.
e girl who came in noiselessly from the
street door stood eying him a moment be-
fore she spoke. She had the easy swing of
a healthy working girl,a shrewd Irish face,
aod a self-reliant manner. Her clothes, the
latest ory of cheap fashion, had the smart-
ish look of the bargain-counter, which,
however weather: beaten, never seems quite
to wear off; and her mop of hair hang
down to her eyes in that curious leaning
edifice which seems to defy the laws of
natare. It was a pleasant, open face,
though a trifle weaselish, and the warden,
glancing up at ber,assumed the fat-cheeked
smile which made most visitors to the jail
imagine he was an easy man to manipulate.
“Say,” she addressed him, **haven’t you
about finished reading the ads ? No wonder
you go to sleep. Guess yon aren’ inter-
ested in the police court news, are youn ?"’
The warden smiled more broadly, until
he looked like a corate gone astray. ‘‘Guess
youare,” he retorted brigntly, ‘or you
wouldn’t he here. What are you looking
for?”
“My, my I" said the girl. ‘‘Ain’t you
sociable ? That's my business and the war-
den’s. Ran aud get your pa, sonny.”
“Well, I guess I'll have to do,’”’ said he
good-humoredly. “I'm the warden.
**You ? I always thought they was prize
fighters.”
The warden screwed his cheek until it
pulled ap his smooth round onin,and stared
flirtationsly into her face. “Ob, go on!
What do yon want 2’
‘Oh, ain't he «assy !"" laaghed the girl.
“‘Now,see here, Mr. Warden—if you really
are Mr. Warden —suach a nice little man as
you—I got a paper here which rays give up
a mao you've got. Where'd I puns it?"
She fished around in her hag. *‘Where in
the mischief is it ? Ob, I know !" She un-
hattoned her waist at the bosom, and tak-
ing it out, handed it to him.
e warden examined it. ‘‘Gee!”’ he
said, ‘a hundred dollars ! Youn wuss have
wanted bim pretty bad.”
She canted ber eyes at him under her
promontory of bair. ‘I know what I want
and when I do I don’t kick at paying for
is. Now,all I got to do is to take him and
out with this, ain’t it ? I keep this, do
, or do I hand it in ?"
*‘Well, you bought it, didn’t you? Yoa
might keep it to put in his stocking next
Christinas.”’
‘You're real onte,”” said the girl. ‘You
hanging up your stockings still? Of course,
I know I paid for it. Do you think I could
pay out a hundred dollars in a trance?"
The warden grinned as he surned to look
over the book. “‘Yon sign here, Tottie,”
said be, “under Charley Johnson. Looks
like a marriage license, don’t it ?'’ he jok-
ed, as the girl wrote her name. “‘Or don’t
they have those where you came from ?"’
*‘Now, see bere,”’ ehe remarked pleasant.
ly, ‘none of your impertinence, Mr. Man.
You just go on and attend to vour end of
the business and I'll hold up mine. Now
what do [ do?”
The warden chuckled as he pointed to
the waiting-room. “You just go wait in
the parlor and I'll bring down the groom.”
‘“In there ? Well, now, run along.’’ She
started across the threshold between the
rooms and shen turned. ‘‘Oh, see here !
You don’t bave to come back with him,
do you ?”’
“Why ?’ he asked quizzically.
She hesitated. ‘Because, you under-
stand, [—I—haven’s seen him for a year or
80, aud “he mightn’t—or I mightn’t—O0h,
well, what's the use of having anybody
round rabbering ?"’
He gave ber a friendly wink.
that's the way, is it ? It hurts my feelings
your not wanting to see me again. Well,
I won't take the edge off the picnic. I'll
send him down alone. Say, you're all
right, anyway.”
She cocked her head impudently. *‘So
kind of you. Of course, I know I'm the
real thing. Bat I mightn’s think he is.
He may have got a little shcpworu since
the last time he was on the showoase, and
I might be sorry I'd bought the goods.’
“H'm I” said he. “That ain't no
dream. Since you came down yourself
with the relense, looks as if you were afraid
hea Jet out and you could whistle for
m.
‘Oh 1" returned the girl, “think you're
foxy, don’s you? But guess don't
know me. BOR I DB ie re)
be C. 0. D. He might fall off the
on the way to the house. Many a mau
fallen off the wagon when you least ex-
pected it.”
He grioved. *‘Well, you don’t need to
waste the hundred if you change your
mind, you know. Specially as you can bave
me for that, though I doubs if yoa’d allow
me elbow room.”
‘*So kind of you,” she retorted, “but,
really, I've houghs all the goods lately I
can mavage. If you wans somebody to
buy you—'' she tittered engagingly—*‘why
don's you apply to the citcus—to carry
lemonade, I mean. Now run along, ooly
don’t go off mad.”
She watched him go whistling down the
corridor. Then she went into the waiting-
room and walked up to the inner door. It
had nothing about it d:fferent from other
doors, bus she was sure is led straight into
the cell corridors. Someway it looked
heavy. She shrugged her shoulders as she
tried the knob. She hoped she would never
he on the other side of it. If she were she
thought conten: psuously, there was nobody
in the world who would pay her fine. He
would think she was a soltie to do it, and
be would think quite right. She walked
away impatiently, Oh, she knew what he
would say, well enough —a few cheap words,
and then it would begin all over again.
Besides, he bad been a little uncertain of
her hefore,hut now that he knew she wans-
ed him enough to pav his fine, he would
walk all over her. The trouble bad al
ways been thas she was 100 easy with him,
and hereshe was giving him proof he
would never get over of how soft she was.
After all, it was all her fanls, for she only
way to deal with a man was to keep him
guessing. He was a good -enoogh fellow in
his careless way, and any man could ges too
sure that a woman was waiting around for
him. She wondered, for the hundredth
time, where be had been all this while and
what the trouble was that he got into. Just
some fool row that lively chaps were al-
ways letting themselves in for ; nothing
really serious, for if she hadn’t been con-
vinced he was a decent-enough man she
wouald vever have hothered ber head about
getting him out. And then, too, since he'd
heen in he'd thought matters over and
written to her a great deal tenderer than
be'd ever spoken; he had even—oh, yes, it
would all come out all night! Only, she
was not going to he the door -mat she bad
been, and if be thongbt so just because she
was getting him ous, she'd soon show him
he was mistaken.
The door opened suddenly without a
sound until the knob was tarned. Forget-
ting her resolations, with a cry of joy she
roshed and hurled hersell upon she man
who entered. *‘Charley ! Charley I" she
oried. He was evidently not expecting to
find here there, for he star back in
amazement, which changed instantly into
consternation, as he muttered something in
his beard. She on her part, as she raised
ber brad from his breast, fell back in sar-
prised embarassment. He was not the
man she expeoted. Her embarrassment,
however, was only temporary, and,goickly
recovering her composure, she giggled
modestly. showing more confosion shan she
really felt over so trivia! a matter. * Oh I"
she said, ‘I heg your pardon.’
The man, meanwhile, had taken a step
in annoyance and uncertainty, and then
seemed to make up his mind how to act in
this emergency. He extended his arms
theatrically. “‘Sadie I" he said, iu a voice
full of emotion, *‘Sadie I"
Sadie looked up. “Well, that’s my
name. "’
‘Don’t you know me ?"’ he asked re-
proachfully. ‘‘Have I changed so? I'm
Charley.”
“Charley !"" echoed Sadie. She came
up to him. *‘Charley who?"
Johneon,”’ said the man.
“Charley Johueon !"" repeated the girl
in a puzzled tone.
The man went on hurriedly, still with
his impressive manner : “How oan I ever
thavk you! If you knew—"
She cnt him «hort briskly,
I want to about you.
him.”
*I—I've grown a heard since you saw
jue, said he. ‘‘That changes a man a
ot
‘‘Rats I" said Sadie. ‘Where is Charley?
What are you trying to string me for ?
Have you put up a game on him? Ain't
he—ain’t he here 2
*‘But I'm Charley, Sadie,” the man still
protested. “Only a year makes a differ-
ence. ['m a changed man, inside as well
as ous.”
Coming closer to him, Sadie scrutinized
him pertly. “I don’s know anything about
your insides,” she said, “and, what's more,
I don't want to know. You're not Charley
Johnwon, avd yon never were Charley
Johneon. What do you think you are try-
ing to do?”
The man took another tack. ‘‘How
would I know who you were and all abous
you ?" he said.
“Give it up,” retorted the girl. ‘What
do yon know about me ?'’
‘*Youn came here in answer to some let-
ters. didn’t youn 2”
‘Ye es,” whe said, hesitating, ‘‘though I
don’t know aa it’s any business of yours.”
Ry letters in foar weeks , iid " :
‘*All begging me to pay his five,” Sadie
finished. Po
“They said ‘advance,” interposed the
man quickly.
“Well, advance. We all know whata
man means when he says that. H'm !”
she went oo gradgiogly, ‘‘he never wrote
me in the whole year, till be wanted me to
do something for him.”
“Bat, Sale—"'
She turned on him. ‘‘Don’t you call me
Sade. Coarley used to call me that. I'm
Sadie to youand the rest of the world.
Understand, just plain Sadie! Where's
Charley ? How’d yon know about his wris-
ing me ?"
‘‘1 tell you, Sade—Sadie,”’ said the man,
a little helplessly, *‘I—my beard—"’
‘Oh, out your old heard,” she jerked
orossly. “You look about enough like
him to be his sixth cousin on his step-
mother’s side. Are you going to tell me
or aren't yon?’ A thought struck her.
‘‘Say, yon aren’t doing this fool stunt to
prepare me for something, are you ? He
ain’t sick—or anything ?' :
The man still kept up a show. ‘Only
with being in jail. I don’t look sick, do
“I know all
I know you're not
“Oh, | ry
“Well,” said Sadie hotly, “you make
me sick, anyway. Do yon thirk I've
nothing to do but stand ’round and play
with you all day ? I've had all of thie
want. Chock it, you understand. Is he
here used taki d
e pa 8 moments, Dg a
breath. Then be straightened up. “Noy?
he said at last.
‘‘No I" she oried in amazement. ‘‘“Why,
what did he write me those letters for ?
Where is he ? Hasn't he been here ? What
did you say you was him for ? My Heavens,
haven't you got anything tosay ! Can't
Jou sali Shiva that 414 hound of yours ?
ow’d yon know about me ?"’
The man hesitated still | . "He
used to be a pal of mine. Blo in.”
Sadie was nonplused ; she tried to think
it out. “Then ey ain’t here? Then
~—why—then it was a lie he wrote me
about goivg to Frisco last year and coming
back to marry me avd gesting into jail by
mistake. All that ain’$ 80? Then he jost
—- be just—shook we, after all.” Her voice
faltered and she tarned away.
The man looked at her steadily, Some
reluetance came into hin level eyes, as if he
had rather uot burt ber. **Yes,”” he said
slowly, ‘‘that’s what he did.”
She flang round. ‘‘How do youn know ?
What do you know about him, anyway ?"’
The man seemed to be counting his
woids. ‘He told we all ahout you before
he went away two months ago !"’
“Two I" patio Sadie. “Two months
9
“And he told me that—"’
He stopped awkwardly, shifting his eyes
from her shining, varrowed ones, which
were fastened on him like a equirrel’s. She
seemed to guess what hie was going to say.
Nevertheless she asked Lim : “That
what 2"
He kept his face away. ‘‘That he was
tired of you
*‘Oh, be did—did he ?"’ she eried furi-
ously, five shrill .ords to a second, “H'm!
Guess be wasn’t balf as tired of me as |
was of him. His room was better than his
company, I can tell you. If he told you
to tell we all this, you can just tell him I
was tickled to death when be legged it.”
He waited for the torrent to cease. *'I
gness,’’ be said, with the heavy slowness of
a dray-hoise, “it was a good thing for yon
that he did. Charley wasn’t any good.”
Sadie’s pompadour gave an angry jerk
with the contracting of her brows. ‘Oh, he
wasn’t, wasn’t he? 1 ean tell you he was
worth tn of yon. You're a pretty thing
to be rouning him down. I can let you
know whatever Charley was, he wasn't a
jail bird.”
The man’s ponderous tone was full of a
clenched bitterness. ‘That's just what
—'" He pulled himeell up, secing her
startled eyes, and, pausing a moments,
turned away. ‘Oh, what's the use ?"’ he
said, with a sort of weary apology. ‘‘It's
all over now.”
The girl stooped toward him with a tense
whisper, “What did he do?"
The man desided reluctantly to tell her.
‘‘He—beat his wife,"
‘*His—?'’ She gave a gulp, but recov.
ered fiercely. ‘Say, whatdo you expect to
get out of this string of lies? You're a
Sanday school superintendent, you are.
You're in jail yourself, and you lied to me
and oheated me besides. I expeot yon beat
vour own wife; that’s why you thought of
it.” She lashed him with her words, but
he stood quietly taking them, asil they
were to be expected, until his very move-
lessness compelled her. In spite of her.
self, she was struck by his stolidity, which
bad almost the effect of gentleness, even of
sympathy. She blinked at him a moment,
catching her breath afrer her outburst, her
fary graduoally calming down. “Will you
swear to me that's the éruth ?”’
“Yes,” he said simply.
The girl was soddenly convinced. *‘His
wife! And he beat ber.”” She balled her
fist and cast it open again witha weak
gesture of bitterness ; it seemed to sum up
the belplessness of her sex. ‘‘And that’s
the man I was going to buy off —whose fine
I've paid!”
The man started eagerly and then drew
back, hut, though he held his body in, his
words seemed to rush out involuntarily.
“You've paid ?"’
‘‘Yen, paid. Much good may itdo him 1"
He was dazed for a moment. ‘‘You've
paid Char'ey Johnson's fine ?"’
“Yes,” she stormed, “if you want to
know, More fool I! There ain't any
Charley Johnson, and he didn’t have any
fine.”” Soba caught in her throat, hut she
choked them down defiantly. ‘‘There’s his
release. I came to take him away, and
he’s made a monkey of me. To take him
away !"” The sohs were up at last,
The man came toward her as she stood
gasping. In his heavy way he was equally
moved. “Don’t do that, please-- !"" he
eaid. Then gravely : “I've got something
to tell you.”
“Well, what is it ?'’ she snapped. ‘Any
more sweet news ?"’
He shifted his feet, spreading them as if
to take a firmer base. ‘‘I—I am koown in
this jail as Charley Johnson.”
“You ? What on earth are you talking
about ? [ don’t believe you.’
“Well, why did the warden send me
down bere? Do youn suppose they let us
promenade all over the sbop—just to take
the air—when we get tired of our snug lit-
tle rooms ?’
Her mouth dropped open in flat amaze-
ment. “Then yon wrote me all of those
letters and begged me to pay your fine and
get you out. And you've never seen me
hefore in all your life!” She was almost
t00 astonnded to speak—no words seemed
to do justice to the occasion. She went on
incoherently, ber voioe risiog shrilly, while,
as hefore, he stood immovahle. ‘‘Well !
Well ! I like your nerve ! Sav, you thought
I was a nice easy thing, didn’t yon ? Even
if is did take seven letters for me to make
ap my mind. Ob,vyon knew I'd 3cme round
in time, didn’t you ? I was a bird, I was.
Ob, you conld work me nicely, couldn’s
you? Oh, yes, us women—us fools! Tell
us any cock and-buli story you can hatch
up, and work on our feelings, and we'll
come round all right. And you know
we'll come round. You count on is before.
band. Oh! oh! I hate the sight of you
all. I-—I-"" She broke down, panting for
breath. Tearing open her waist,she fambled
for the paper there. EBhe was about to tear
it in pieces when the thooght struck her of
what the warden had said about changing
ber mind. She started for the corridor.
He pe a her. “Where are yon
ng
She faced him shrewishly. ‘‘To get my
meney back. You cost a hundred dollars,
and you ain’t worth thirty cents. But you
are not out yes, I can tell you. I've called
your pretty little game. You never
thought such a softie as me’'d come herself
to inspect the goods, did you ? And it I'd
let them send down the release instead of
bringing it, you'd bave been all night. 1
suppose you'd have skipped and I'd never
seen you again. Oh, no, but I wanted to
see ley first and give bim the paper
out of my own hands. I wanted—oh, it
makes me sick I"
“Listen to me, won't you ?”’ pleaded
the man heavily.
‘““Listen to you? I wouldn't believea
word you said on oath,’
“I know it was a dirty trick I plaged on
you, hut I swear I was going to see you
and tell you all about it—alterward.”
“Afterward ? Well, thank Heaven,
there ain't going to be any afterward for
you. You can stay here until you die, for
all I care. And ley Johnson, too.
wish it was him instead. No, I wish you
and him was both of you rolled into one,
like you oughter be | So you might stay
here and—take root. Ob, it makes me
sick. Good-by.”
“Come back I'" said the man. For the
first time in his awkward heaviness there
was an element of force, of authority.
The girl felt it agains her will, and she
blustered a bit to coverit wp. ‘‘Come
hack I'" she cried. ‘Yes, I'll come back.
I'll have your sentence increased for ges-
ting money under false pretenses. That's
what I'll do. To squeeze a hundred dol-
lais out of a girl like me !"’
“I knew you'd have to scrape the money
together. I bated to think of thas,” said
he bambly.
“You hated to think of that, did yon ?
Listen to Hw, Sines so mama's darling.
e hated to think of a poor girl scraping
her fingers off for him 1" ”
“I swear to you I'l pay you back. I'll
work for you day and wight. And I'll
bring you some of the money right off —
to-night, il—if—"" He stopped, the
Quickened pace of his voice slowing into si-
ence.
“It what 2" she shot ous derisively.
‘If anybody I know will believe whas I
tell them,’ he ended simply.
‘Well, if they do,” said she girl,
‘‘they’re wonders.”
“Yes,” he answered dally.
Struck by the weariness of his tone, she
wavered, resentful of the growing compul-
sion of the man, resentful yet curions and
vaguely stirred. **What are you in for?”
she asked wonderingly at lass.
He measured her slowly, ‘For heating
my wife,”’ he answered.
“What?” she cried, ‘‘you?’ Then she
twenty firms
How Mummies are Made,
To most people 8a mommy is a mummy,
worth while for one visit toa museam,
strictly ous of eurio~ity, and thereafter the
less said the better. To the professors
mummies have endless varieties of interest
of their own. Nos anil recently, however
has a thoroogh and comprebensive study
been made of the processess by which mam-
mies were manafactared. For the lass
thice years Dr. G. Elliot Smith, a Brivish
mamber of Institute Egyptein, has been
juvestigating the methods in use tn the
dyvasty, and incidentally
accomulatiog information about later and
ealier methods. He bas had 44 mommies
on the dissecting table if such it may be
called and she wonders he Las reported are
codes,
In the earliest days the prehistoric in-
habitants of npper Exypt were accustomed
to preserve their dead by a successful sun:
drying process, but this was a primitive
method, not to be thought of when the
great Egyptian dyoasties were in power.
It was not, however, till the twenty-first
dynasty thas the embalmers began to try
to make their output look as natural as
life. Previons to that the mummies were
shrunken wreck« of bodies. The practice
then introdneed was a sort of combination
langhed hysterically.
all do?"’ Say, couldn’ vou have made up
time,”” Her langhter trailed into 1remuo- |
lonsness,
“Is that what you | of embalming aud taxidermy.
The hrain
| was removed and she cavizy filled with
anew ose to tell me? You had lows of | linen and resin.
The hody was vpened
and the viscera, excepting the heart, re.
“And I was almost believing | moved ; all parts were given a prolonged |
i FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
yuu.” (saline bath, and finally the viscera were
“Well,” be answered in his dull voice, | retarned and all parts of the body, includ
“that’s what I'm infor. You can look it | ing the limbs, were stuffed with mud and
up in the book if you don't believe me. | linen.
I've heen in two months, yesterday.’ | Finger and toe nails were carefnlly fas-
“Oh!” said Sadie weakly. She started tened tight, artifical eyes were supplied as
0 go, | lar as necessary, men’s hodies were painted
He stopped her again, but this time des- | red and women's yellow, and all was ready
pairingly. | for that long preservation in the tomb which
Yet even his despair had in it the note |
of authority she resented. “You can’t go |
now,’ be said. *‘Listen! I'm afraid my |
sister in dying. She wan sick, and I baven's |
heard fiom her, and she’s all alone. ['ve
got to go to her.”
She faltered fighting off the strange feel-
ing of belief she had in him. “I don’s
know whether you're lying now and tell-
ing the truth then, or lying then and tell
ing the truth now. Bat you and your lies
don’t seem to hang together some way.
Tell me oue thing —where is Charley John-
son?"’
“I don’t know,’ said he. Then he went
on quietly, bus with an intensity of bitter. |
ness which moved her the more profound.
ly for its quietness: *‘Io 'Frisco, I hope to
God, for the rest of his miserable life.”
“What did he do to you?'’ the girl whis-
pered involuntarily.
“He was my sister's husband —"'
‘Your sister's?’ she interrupted him
without knowing it. ‘“Then he was mai-
ried!”
“One day he beat her—and I almost
killed him. But I gathered him up, and
hought him a ticket and put bim on the
train for 'Frisco. Then went home to
my wister. There was a cop there, bring:
ing her to, when I got back. Some one
said that her basband bad beaten her in-
sensible, and—'’ he stopped —.
“Well,” said Sadie tantly. Well?"
: ‘And I told him I had,” he ended wear-
ily.
The girl hounded in
“You? Why?"
“I didn’t want him bronght back, you
anderstand.”
‘*But—but still I don’t see how—?"’
"Then when I got to jail I said I wae
ber husband, Charley Johnson, and let is
go at that. She was in the hospital and |
no one was there. I thought if I told them
they might bring him back, and I didn's
want him round any more to pester her.
Then when my sister got out of the hos-
pital she came to see him—and fonud me.
And she’s heen trying to scrape up enough
t0 pay my fine—I got six months or a haon-
dred dollars to keep the peace. I—I sup:
pose she worked too hard. Any rate, she's
sick again, and I'd just got to see ber in
tome way. Charley'd told me about you,
and I just kept thinking about it. And
you know what I did. That's all.”
“Oh!” burst out Sadie inarticulately.
“Oh! And I thought you were like him—
only worse. And you—all the time—oh, it
wakes me sick!” She laughed and babbled,
the tears streaming down her face.
“Aud now you know,’’ said he timidly,
‘‘'you believe in me?"
Sadie shouted: **Yes, I believe in you! I
didn’t think there was a man like that in
the world. Oh, it makes me sick!’ She
shook the tears from her shining eyes, and
laughed herself into sobs again.
The wan didn’t know what she was ory-
ing for. “I swear I'll pay you back, I
swear I will,” he repeated, puzzled. ‘Will
you—will you take me ont?”
His awkward timidity went home. She
seized bim hy she arm. “Take you om?
In a minute!" she shouted. “I'd take you
anywhere and be glad of the chance, and I
don’t care if you never pay me back,”
He gazed down at her, tugging at his
arm. For the first time, be smiled —his
face working. Bat the smile showed ad-
miration and dog like worship. “If you
take me out, it will be as Charley John-
800
astonishment.
“I don’t care what it'll beas. It's you
I'm takiog out,” she oried joyously.
Sadie suddenly became maidenly. She
oast down her eyes, but she said briskly: “If
you're Charley Johnson, the first thing for
you todo is to ges out of this old jail.”
Just then the chubby warden came in
grinning. “Of course—'’ he began—
‘‘No,”” she said, in answer to his look:
“We're not going to stay here all night
talking. Mr. Warden.” She held ous her
hand to her man: “Come, Charley!''—By
Algernon Tassin, in Collier's.
Working Women
who are exposed to the strain of daily la-
bor, the changes of weather, and who must
work no matter how they feel, are those
most liable to ‘female troubles.’ Irregular
periods, and suppression, lead to more ser-
ious diseases until the wan face, the shad.
owed eyes, the nervous twitchings of the
body all tell the story of serions derange-
meat of the delicate womanly organs or
arrest of their fonctions. In all such cases
Dr. Pierce's Favorite Prescription has won-
deifal efficacy. It quickly restores rego-
larity, and gives health to the diseased
ts. The nervousness ceases, the cheeks
ny full and bright. The whole body
reflects the conditions of perfect health.
When constipation clogs the system Dr.
Pierce's Pleasant Pellets will work an ab-
solute cure.
—— Farmer Joues (to amateur hunter)
~There wasn’t a berter water dawg living
until yen shooting gents took to borrowing
Yim. Now ’is 'ide’s that full of shots, he'd
siuk to the bottom like a brick !
Grompy Unoie—Is the obild really pre-
cocion?
bas ended with showing so well to the
world the vanity of life.
Io later dynasties this process was dis-
carded as barbaric and unconth, and in
place of it a aystem of external bandages
was developed to give the mummy the
shape and plompness it had bad in life.
One can imagine the mommy making art-
tints of those days dilating ou the great in-
dustrial progress of their times and looking
back with contempt on the feeble efforts of
their ancestors.
It wae not till the sixth century of the
present era that mummy making ceased to
be practiced.
Pay of Europe's Rulers.
Oue of the most difficult tasks is to form
an estituate of the revenue of the world’s
ralers, partly because of the many sources
{ from which the money is obtaived, and
also becanse of the different ways in which
the wealth is distributed. The Czar is the
richest movarch in the world and probably
the richest that has ever lived. His total
annual revenae is abont four hundred mil-
lion dollars; but expenses are proportion:
ately Leavy, and after he has paid for the
upkeep of his 100,000,000 square miles of
cultivated land and forest, as well as the
expenses of his mines in Siberia, it would
seems that he bas none too much. King
Edward receives $2,350,000, bat little
more than a fourth of this goes into the
privy purse. A stipulated sum is invaria-
bly pas aside for household expenses,
salaries. pensions, charities, rewards, ete.
The Reichstag allows the German Emperor
ahout six hondred and fifty thousand dol-
lars. He has also a salary as King of Pius-
sia, which amounts to about three million
nine hundred avd shirty-even thousand
five hundred dollars. He has great estates
and many resources at his disposal, but
bis expenses are tremendous. The Ewpe-
ror of Austria is also King of Hangary,and
therefore, like the German Emperor, diaws
two salaries. The amount of each in his
case is nearly two million eight handred
and twelve thonsand five hundred dollars.
The King of Italy receives about three and
three quarter millions a year, but out of
this allowances are paid to the Qaeen
Dowager, to the Dake of Genoa and to the
children of the Duke of Aosta. King Al-
fonso has an allowance of $1,787,500, and
as provision ir made for other members of
the Spanish royal family outside of this,
the sum quoted is practically ali his own
to speud a< he pleases. Leopold II receives
ahout eight hoodred and seventy-five
thoneand, hut he has keen business in-
siincts, and all the world knows of the
way in which he augments his salary to
gratify his luxurious tastes. The smallest
salary paid by any Power to its ohiel is
$62,500 allowed by Congress to President
Roosevels.
Remember that your birthright is health.
A diseased coudition is unnatural. Nature
hates disease. She in always working
against it, trying to cleanse it ae a blot on
her dominion. But nature cannot work
without material. If you do not eat, you
will starve in spite of all Nature's effort.
You must eat good food. Nature cannot
make bad food into good flesh and good
blood. If you eat good food and your
stomach is diseased the food you eat foals.
It is here that Dr. Pierce's Golden Medi-
cal Discovery finds its place. It is made
to assist Nature ; to give her what she
lacks, It oures the diseased condition of
the stomach and orgavs of digestion and
nutrition, =o that good food is not fouled
before being made into blood and flesh. It
eliminates poisonous and effete material,
and so prepares the way of Nature and
makes her pathe straight. In the whole
range of medicines there is nothing which
will heal the stomach and cleanse the
blood like *‘Golden Medical Discovery.”
— ‘Ah, my friend,’ said the old sol-
dier, ‘“‘you don’t know what it is to be in
the midst of a shower of shells.”
‘Yes, I do,” responded the younger
man.
‘‘Been in the war?”
*‘No, but I've often sat in the parquet
while the gallery gods were munching
peanauts.’’
~——The Woman.—Why can’t we bave
equal standards of morality, so that
wen would be supposed to be as good as
women are ?
The Man.—That ien’t what you really
long for. You want equal standards so
that women won't be supposed to be any
better than men are.
——Uprighs Citizen (indignantly) —I
hear on authority that some repre-
sentative of big interests actually went the
length of wsulting Senator Gestis by offer-
ing him a bribe.
Piao ical Politician.—Oh, Senator Getsis
is not a quarrelsome man; he pooketed she
insult.
A balf a buodred vexing ailments can
be “traced to constipation. Biliousness,
headache, vertigo, sallowness, nervous-
ness, sleeplessness, irriability, mental de-
pression, and cold hands feet are only
some of the symptoms of consti . Dr.
Friend of Family— Remarkably so; three
years old and hasu’s said a word.
Pierce’s Pleasant Pellets cure constipation
aud they cure its consequences,
DAILY THOUGHT.
Rough-going, ardent and sincere earnestness—
there is no substitute for it.—Charles Dickens,
In his great series of arsioles on *‘Individ-
vality in Dress.” now appearing in Har-
per's Bazar. Worth, the world’s greas-
est dressmaker, says some pregnant
things about tight lacing. Here is one of
them:
‘In no case do I recommend tight lacing,
whether for the short, the lean, the young
or the old. Is is an abomination; and to
the Americans, who 8c sensibly encouraged
| the wearing of the straight fronted corses,
which is today the most universally popu-
lar of stays, I offer sincere congratulations.
“Years ago, when the sype of corset that
bends inwards at the center of the waist
line was in fashion, causing the figore be-
low the belt to protrude in the ugliest way,
hesides giving the wearer most uneomfor-
table sensations, I went to a famous corses-
iere here in Paris, and avked her why she
did not introduce a straight-fronted corset.
‘Will you please mind your own business,
M. Worth,’ was her retort, ‘and leave me
to mind mine?’
‘But even then determined that my own
| danghter’s figure should not be spoiled,
| nor her health and comfort jeopardized
while yet little more than a child, I mod-
eled her corsets for her mysel! and made
them straight fronted. Is is to this corset,
{cut on commonsense principles and with
| the enlightenment of a knowledge of anato-
| my to aid the modeler, that I attribute so
| mach of the grace and suppleness of the
middle aged wolnen of the present day.”
Red bands and red noses are often caused
by an unwise diet aud by the use of im-
pure soaps
Tighe clothing is another caose.
Keep red hande out of bot water as much
as Juaihie,
“at lean meats, fruite and vegetables and
avoid all pastries, greasy foods and strong
coffee.
French heels on the walking shoe are
bad form.
Pawps and slippers in zero weather are
“out.
The smartest walking boots are common
sense affairs,
Toes are not pin points and heels stilts.
Comfort is the one rule of good taste in
shoes,
Brown calfskin, laced and very high, are
most in favor for morning.
They are worn with any color of suit, not
deep mourning, but look particularly well
with brown, blue and green.
Buttons are most in favor for the black
shoe.
Heels on the walking shoe are just high
enough to support the spine.
Toe Coban or military heels still pre-
vail.
Even on slippers the French heel is not
yuite so tip tilted.
For afternoon wear, high black patent
leathers are hest.
Don’t wear ties or pumps with reception
frocks uuless you go in a carriage.
It is well to avoid fads and novelties in
footgear il your shoe supply is limited,
vartioularly for street wear,
Velvet or suede pumpe are among the
novelties, also calfskin or patent leather
boots with uppers of velvet or cloth to
match the gown.
If you really need a bandkerchief these
days you conceal somewhere on your per-
son one belonging to your *‘men-folk.”
Your own to be up to date must be
smaller than ever, indeed in varying de-
grees of smalluess accordiug to the impoit-
auce of the occasion.
Thus, if you are going to a hall, you
will have an infinitesimat affair of cobweb-
by linen with tiny band ewbroidered scal-
lop, tinier lace edge and exquisitely dainty
monogram, all of which elegance is crushed
into the glove.
Should you be on a reception bent, stow-
ed away in your cardcase will be a hand-
kerchief a trifle larger than the firss, aod
without the lace. ese little affairs may
have no other work ob them than the
dainty scalloped edge and the monogram
in one corner encircled by a delioate gar-
land, but are so sheer as to take up little
room.
Even the ordinary, everyday bandker-
ohiel is smaller than comfort demands, bas
is #0 pretty no one feels like growling over
she stolen inch.
Many of these latter are of ribbed or
colored Irish linen, sometimes in invisible
bars, often in stripes.
It you like color schemes you will be sure
to adopt the latest wrinkle, the colored
border to matoh the gown or suis, witha
small monogram worked in the same
color.
It must not be a great, garnish-looking
horder, though, just the merest suspicion,
a line or two, or, perhaps, a band-embroid-
ered scallop, a sixteenth of an inch deep,
with a pin dos above it.
Straight from Paris came the greatest
novelty of all, a tiny sheer handkerchief,
embroidered over in forget-me-nots in the
palest tints of the natural flower and foli-
age.
The proud owner confessed to having at
home similar handkerchiefs dove in tiny
rosebuds and violets. :
The girl who loves fine needlework can
easily make hersell any of these novelties.
She must choose the sheerest bandkerchief
linen and ruin her eyes on tiny stitches,
for exquisite stitchery is essential.
The prettiest monograms are those that
combine satin stitoh and seeding.
One of the debutantes has all hers mark-
ed with her full vame in facsimile of her
hand writing, worked in the finest kind of
French embroidery. This is but a passing
fad, however, but not half so att:active as
the monogram or three initials in tiny
black letters,
Hostesses, who are tired of serving candy
in boxes, can give their dinner or luncheon
tables a dainty tovch by baving at each
plate a bundle of candy straws tied with a
flufly rosette of baby ribbon.
These can be had several Solorian tan,
, white or pin may
Rn ribbons. Thus a bunch
of white ribbon is eo ihe Xreen
straws, green on-pin nk on tan.
These three colors can be in the
floral decorations. A Spring-like combina-
tion would be yellow jonquils, pink salips
and white hyacinths, with plenty of aspar-
agus vine for the green,
Weak borax water is a good dentifrice.
Borax water is exoellens for washing the
hair.
A pew whisk broom fis excellent to use
when damping lanndry.