THE CONSTITUTION THE UNION AND THE ENFORCEMENT OF THE LAWS.
. . i ., i . i, .... ii i
MIFFLiINTOTVN", JUNIATA COUNTY, PENN., WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 10, 1900.
Editor and Proprietor.
VOL. LIV.
NO. 5.
F. SCHWEIER,
. , JV w
i
CHAr;E3 VI.
T; ::it .;roke of eight dies out from
,i. . ; . k in tin- hall as Seaton Dysart
.. . h.- -lrawing room. The extreme
,: ; . and gloom of that melancholy
:ir sinks into hiin as he moves
r' ! -oute-ntedly, but with a man'l
, : , iti!iuct, toward the hearth-rug.
- :m; aii gloom, however, as he pres
huts, in this dreary place. Some
-.1 languidly from a low chair a
.. :..vi !y girl, as he instantly admit
ilv:ni.s about the eighth part Ol
; :;ar foot toward him.
i . . nri- wonderfully alike, the father
,. ; - ;iinl y how wonderfully un
it si-t-ms impossible that with ex
P . -. :!- so utterly at variance so strong
;1 iaiiniv ran exist, yet it i there,
i : . sir, the old face, mean, cringing,
s ions, wicked; the other, cold, honor
. .. earnest and be-autiful. The girl,
.i ;; n-i him with distrust in her eyes,
r :. iu:!y ackiiowle-dged this last fact.
"I'm extremely sorry if I've kept you
n-iivng for dinner," he says, advancing
::: a .juieker pace, onee he sees the pretty
! in uliitc, nud holding out his hand.
-K it the faet is I was dreadfully tired
v. ::. :i 1 arrived, and I'm rather afraid I
:.-.! a-ir.-p."
"The day is warm," says she, coldly.
The l ioness to his father seems clearer
to h. r as he speaks, and kills for her all
the ehanu of his face.
"Very; but I don't fancy my absurd fit
of ;as;iiess arose from that. Rather from
the faet that I haven't had a wink of
sint for the last two nights."
Two nights!" says she with a faint
a.-.-, ssion of interest. "Toothache? Sick
fnel.dr
i ill. no. Ball cords," returns he, con-
Ciseiy. -
"Ah:" suys she, this time rather short
ly. Von are Griselda, I suppose?" says
he. pleasantly.
"Why should yon suppose it?" asks she,
with a faint smile.
"True. Why should I?" returns he,
laughing. "I'erhaps because," with a
steady look at her, "I have been told that
n.y cousin Griselda is a person possessed
of a considerable amount of of charac
ter." "By that you mean that you have heard
Griselda is self-willed," says she, calmly.
"And as it is evident you think I look the
part also, I am afraid you must prepare
yourself to meet two self-willed cousins
I am not Griselda." - --
If she had fancied that this announce
ment would have put him out, she is un
deceived in a moment.
"No?" says he, looking distinctly amus
ed. "There is comfort in the thought that
I cannot again fall into error, because you
must be Vera."
"Yes, I am Vera," slowly.
"I fear you will find it very dull down
here."
"Your father has been very good to us;
more than kind," interrupts she, gently,
but with decision. "He has given ns a
home."
"I should think he would be very glad
to get you here," says he. At this mo
ment Griselda enters the room. A charm
ing Griselda, in white, like her sister, and
with a flower in her sunny hair. She
trips up to Seaton and gives him her hand
and a frank smile, that has just the cor
rect amount of coquettish shyness in It.
A man. to Griselda, no matter out ol
what obnoxious tribe he may hav
sprung, is always a creature to be gently
treated, smiled upon and encouraged.
"So you're come at last to this Castle
of Despair," says she, saucily. "I must
say, you took time to look us up. But 1
don't blame you; life down her is too live
ly lor most. It has quite done up Vera
and me."
The dismal sound of a cracked old din
ner gong breaks in at this instant on Grim-Ida's
speech. They all rise and cross
the hull to the dining room, but just in
side it a momentary hesitation takes
place. Dysart going to the foot of the
table. Vera stops short, as if in some
surprise, to look at him, question in her
eyes.
"You will take the head of the table,
I hoH-," says he, in a low tone, divining
her perplexity.
"Hut " quickly, and then a pause.
"If you wish it, of course," she says, with
a swift uplifting of the brows and an al
most imperceptible shrug.
Her manner somehow irritates him.
"I wish it, certainly," says he, coldly
"Hut I wish still more to see you do only
that which you like."
"I have few likes and dislikes," replies
she. still iu that utterly emotionless tone
i ml sweeping past him, she seats hersel:
a: the head of the table.
As for Griselda, the little jar in the so
cial atmosphere around her goes by uu
n itii ed, so overcome is she by the un
v.. mted magnificence of the sight before
ii'T, a decent dinner table at Greycourt.
Site looks round her and loses herself a
in the touch of fairyland the room
eiits. It is, as it were, an echo from
tii past, a glimpse into the old life when
h-r father still lived, that she hardly
1 was dear to her until she had los:
it. The glitter of the silver, the glass,
'.!: intense perfume of the glowing flow
er . the rich tint of the fruits, all seem
p of a dream; a sweet one, too.
!; Dysart is wondering why both girls
fj-.iiil have taken so instantaneous a dis
! ... to him. As a rule, women were civil
' -.jh: yet here were two to whom he
:is an utter stranger, and aggressive
v. :i the only word he could apply to their
and words, though both were stu
: .".i!y wilite.
" I'o you stay long?" asks Griselda pres
et:' :y. looking at her cousin.
"I don't know how you may view it
I ictiirn to town the day after to-mor-r.
a- -very early on that day. Whether
I : i-t ;r must not work for my living
- a "hing that does not concern me. 1
';:--you will hardly believe it in thit
j a.c age hut I actually seek after
U ue. I should like to get on in my pro-fis-ion;
to be more than a mere trifler."
"You are charming." says Griselda.
' ''. "Vou iaix like a book a lilne
'" Hut you have not told me why
' -r father will not let us see anyone,
::y
hla!" saru Miss Dvsart a little
:arp:y.
She rises as she sneaks, and
' opens the door for her. A?
la passes him he says, easily:
annot tell you everything at once.
"I
F"i
"t, out i aare say there will De time
me. As for my father, he is ec-
entne. and, I fonr, hnrJ to Uve with
But if ever I can help you. call on me."
, j," u" giTe9 nim smile for this,
follows her sister into the drawing room.
After all. he isn't half bad." she says,
with a little nod.
"I was right, however. Did yon ever
ee a father and son so like?" asks Vera,
-oldly.
CHAPTER VII.
Well. I'm off." says Griselda, pokinc
fter pretty head into the summer house,
where era aits reading. It is next day.
and a very lovely day. too."
"For your ramble," says Vera, laying
down her book. "So you won't take my
advice? Very good. Go on. and you'll
see that you won't prosper." Her tone la
half gay, half serious. "And don't be
long." entreats Vera, with a sudden rush
of anxiety. "Don't, now. Yes, I'm in
deadly earnest. There is that man all
"er the dace. let loose, as it were, for
my discomfiture, and if he turns up in
this part of the world I suppose I shall
have to talk to him."
"What a calamitv!" eavs Gribia with
a little feigned drooping of her mouth.
"In this barren wilderness even manna
may be regarded with rapture even Sea
ton! Better any man than no man,
say I."
"So say not I, then," with great spirit.
She has leaned forward npon her elbow,
and her eyes are brilliant with a little
suspicion of anger. "Give me a desert
Island rather than the society of a man
whom I know it will require only time to
teach me to detest. And how you can
call him so familiarly 'Seaton,' passes
my "
A pause! An awful pause. Who is it
that has turned the corner of the summer
house, and is looking in at them with a
curious expression round his niouth Gri
selda is the first to recover.
"Isn't it absurd?" she says, smiling
rather lamely. "But I assure you, Sea
ton, your sudden appearance quite took
away my breath. Vou should stamp when
you come to a house like this. The grass
ill round is so thick."
"Too thick!" says Dysart, with a swift
glance at Vera, who has lost all her color.
"For the future I shall try to remember.
I am very sorry I startled you." He has
addressed himself entirely to Griselda.
unless that one lightning glance of con
temptuous reproach cast at Vera could
be counted. "But I was on my way to
one of the farms, and this is the lowest,
the nearest path to it. I shall never cense
to regret" here he stops dead short, and
turns his eyes unreservedly on Vera
"that I did not take the upper one."
He makes both girls a slight bow, and
walks swiftly onward on the unlucky
path he had chosen.
"On, era, do something!" cries Orisel
ia, in a small agony of consternation,
.-lasping her hands. Vera, thus admon
ished, springs to her feet, and, driven
half by honest shame and half by im
pulse, rushes out of the summer house
and runs after Dysart as he is fast dis
appearing through the shrubs. Reaching
him, panting and pale with agitation, she
lays her hand timidly upon his arm.
"I am so grieved," she says, her charm
ing face very pained, her lips white
"There are moments when one hardly
knows what one says, and "
"There are such moments, certainly,'
says he, interrupting her remorselessly.
"But "".hey can hardly be classed witt
those in which the calm confidences ol
one sister are exchanged with the other
And why should you apologize? I assure
you, you need not. I do not seek for oi
desire anything of the kind."
It almost seems to her that he has
shaken her hand from his arm. Draw
ing back, she sees him proceed upon hi;
way, and then returns to Griselda.
"I really think I hate him," sayB Vera,
vehemently. The recollection of his con
temptuous glance, the way in which he
had disdained her apology above all.
that slight he had offered her when h
bad displaced ber band from his arm a I.
rankle in h:r breast, and a hot flow ot
shame renders her usually pale face bril
liaut. "There, never mind him," she says,
with a little frown. "He is not staying
long, fortunately, and this episode wil
bear good fruit of one sort at least. Ht
will not trouble me with his society while
you are away. Now hurry, Griselda, do."
Griselda, with a light laugh, drawn ir
resistibly by the gorgeous loveliness ot
the lights and shadows of the land belc .v
runs down the pathway and is soon los:
to view.
When she returns over an hour latei
she discovers to her amazement, thai
Vera is still in it.
"You are miserable about that wretch
ed affair of the morning," cries Griselda.
Never mind it. If you will come to din
ner I promise you to do all the talking,
and as it has to be endured I do entreat
you to keep np your spirits."
"Oh, yes. There isn't a decent chance
ot escape," says Vera, wearily.
" 'Sh!" cries Griselda, softly, putting
up her hand; the sound of coming foot
steps, slow, deliberate footsteps purpose
ly made heavier, smites upon their ears.
"oGod heavens! Here he is," says
Griselda, and indeed they have barely
time to put on a carefully unconscious
lemeanor, when Seaton Dysart darkens
the door of the summe r house, and looks
?oldly down on them.
"They told me I should find you here,
le says, speaking to Vera. "I have come
to say good-by."
"But surely you are not going so soon
not before dinner, not to-night!" cries
Griselda, thunderstruck by this solution
tf their difficulty, and a little sow. too.
"I am going now. Good-by," holding
Diit his hand to her with a determination
:. ,t to be changed. Griselda takes t and
.hakes it ge nially, nay, warmly. His hu-
. r is decidedly hostile, and if be ac-
i.its the old father of their incivility
" vtl-.iug to propitiate him, she tells her-
will be the correct thing, and she
1 1 'v s positive friendly toward him,
:, beams upon him with gentle entreaty
u her eye. .
If you must go, do us one service
ir,t," she says. "Do you see that roseT
-a rather rmkempt and straggling spec
of its kind that trails in n?"11
lisorder just outside the door. It M"
Unlrfed me many a time, but you are tall.
,h. taller than most; will you lift these
..vkward tendrils, and press them back
"shesmiling divinely at him, a smile
that Tom Teyton would have given sev
eral years of his life to possess; but Dy
sait is disgracefully unmoved by it. and.
refusing to return it, steps outside, and.
witn a decidedly unwilling air. proceeds
to lift the drooping tendrils and reduce
them to order.
Griselda, naturally a girl of great re-
ource. seizes the opportunity she has
herself provided. Catching Vera's arm,
ihe draws her back oat of sight.
Now s your time!" she says. "Say
something. Do something. It doesn't
matter what, but for heaven's sake
smooth him down one way or another! If
you don't you'll have the old man down
upon us like "
"I can't," gasps Vera, fearfully.
"You must," insists Griselda, sternly.
"It's impossible to know what sort of
man he is. If revengeful, he can play
Did Harry with us!"
Without waiting to explain what par
ticular game this may mean, or the full
-iguiScance thereof, she steps lightly out--ide
and gazes with undisguised rapture
ipou Dysart's work.
Dysart returns to the summer house
with all the manner of one in mad haste
to be gone. It is merely a part of an un
nleasant whole, ha tells himself, that he
must first say a chillingly courteous word
3r two of farewell to the girl who has
penly declared toward him such an un
lying animosity.
"I am afraid," says Vera, speaking
with cold precision, as one delivering her
eelf of an unloved lesson, "that you are
roing away thus abruptly because of
what you heard me say this morning."
"You are right. That is why I am go
ing," replies Dysart, calmly.
"Yes?" in a chilling tone, and with
faintly lifted brows. "I regret exceed
ingly that I should have so unfortunately
iff end yu, but to go for that it all
sounds a little trivial, don't you think?"
"Not by going, I think. I don't see bow
I can do otherwise. Why should 1 make
yon uncomfortable? But you may call
it trivial if you like, to talk of detesting
a man you have only seen for an hour
sr two, and who in those hours " He
pauses. "Did I make myself so specially
objectionable?" demands he, abruptly,
turning to her with something that is
surely anger, but as surely entreaty, in
his eyes.
"As I told you before," indifferently,
"one says foolish things now and then."
"Would you have me believe you did
not really mean what you said?"
"I would not have you believe any
thing," returns she, haughtily. "I only
think it a pity that you should curtail
your visit to your father because a
L-hance remark of mine that cannot pos
sibly affect you in any way."
"Is that how you look at it?"
"Is there any other way? Why should
you care whether, or not I detest you I,
whom you saw for the first time yester
Jay?" "Why, indeed!" He regards her ab
sently, as if trying to work out in bit
lira mind the answer to this question,
and then, suddenly:
"Nevertheless, I do care," he says,
with a touch of vehemence. "It is the
injustice of it to which I object. You
bad evidently determined beforehand to
show me no grace. I defy you to deny
it! Come, can you?"
Miss Dysart is silent. The very im
petuosity of his accusation has deadened
her power to reply, and besides, is ther
not truth in it? Had she not prejudged!
"By the bye," he says, "I am afraid
you will have to put up with me for a
few hours every week. I shall promise
' to make them as short as I possibly can.
But my father likes to see me every sev
?n days or so, and I like to see him. Do
you think," a slight smile crossing his
fa-e, "you will be able to live through
it?"
"I haTe lived through a good many
:hings," says Vera, her dark eyes aflame.
"That gives you a chance here; prac
tice makes perfect. I am sorry to be
obliged to inconvenience you so far, but
if I stayed away, I am afraid my father
might want to know why. He might
even be so absurd as to miss me."
"Why should you take it for granted
ihat I desire your abse-uee?" cries Vera,
tier voice vibrating with anger. "Come,
cumin, or stay away loierer what Is U
:o nse?"
And it was thus that thi-y parted.
(To be continued.)
Dwarfs Famous In History.
Marcus Anton lus possessed a dwarf,
Sisyphus, not quite two feet tall, and
yet the possessor of a remarkable wit.
King Charles II. bad In court a pig
my, Richard Gibson. This mite niar
rie?d Anne Shepherd, the Qaeea's
dwarf, each being forty-six inches In
height. Gibson was a skilled artist,
and his miniatures and portraits are
much valued.
The favorite of Queen Henrietta Ma
ria, Sir Jeffery Hudson, was presented
to ber majesty in a pie, rompletely
armed as a knight. He proved a gal
lant, fiery little fellow, and of consider
able service to the royal family. He
became a captain of horse In the civil
wars and followed his mistress to
France.
The page of honor to Mary Tudor,
John Jervls by name, was one of the
tiniest dwarfs of his day.
Julia, the niece of the famous Augus
tus, had In her service two pigmies
Canopus, twenty-nine Inches high, and
Andromeda, her freed maid, who meas
ured Just the same height
Poland In the fourteenth century had
a pigmy king, Ladlslas the Short, who
Is said to bavn won more victories than
any other monarch of his time, and who
left a great name as a jurist, states
man and ruler.
Christian II., of Denmark, had a wee
dwarf to attend him, who was faithful
to his master even in adversity. He
root to prison with the king, planned,
and almost effected the royal escape.
Albert H. Golley, of Rome, N. Y..
while bird hunting with W. P. Baylow
near Glenmore, was accidentally shot
in the eyes by his companion, and will
lose his sight. The wife of Mr. Golley
Is also blind, both of her eyes having
been removed some months ago by Dr.
Wilbut H. Booth.
It is a good plan to occasionally
clean the tires and fill up the cracks
and small holes with rubber solution.
This prevents moisture from working
thrcugh to the inner fabric.
Fishing Is the favorite Dastime of
a Rock Rapids (Ia) dog. It swims out
into the water and catches the fish in
its mouth.
A novelty is the cold storage of
hops. This is done In several places
in England.
Some naturalists believe that hares
never drink, but get enough liquid for
their needs in the dew on the grass
they eat.
According to a chemical analysis
15 parts of the flesh of fish have about
the same nutritive value as 12 parts
of boneless beef.
prompted from
BN the "third floor back" of a dismal-looking
lodging-house in a
street near Waterloo bridge, s man
was standing, singing. In a dilapidated
armchair by the window, hla audience
one wee, pretty lassies was curled up,
wrapped about with an overcoat for it
was the afternoon of Christmas Day,
and there was no fire in the cheerless
grate.
"Shall I light the lamp, daddy?" she
asked, as he ceased to sing and began
to execute a grotesque dance, still
whistling the refrain of his song. "It
has grown so dark that I can't see to
give you your cues," and she held up
some tattered manuscript as she spoke.
"No, Babsie; that wlU do for to-night
Don't try your eyes. Shall we have our
usual chat In the dark, pef? There la
no rehearsal to-night Ugh how cold
It Is, Have we no coal or wood, dearie?"
"No. dad; but It Isn't very much cold
er without Are, because the silly smoke
won't go up the chimney, somehow, so
ft A DILAPIDATED ARMCHAIR OITK WIZ
PUETTT LASSIE WAS CTTBLED TJP.
I have to keep the window open when
we do have a fire."
"My poor little frozen baby," he said
sadly, taking her In his arms. "We will
find lodgings where the smoke does exit
the proper way after boxing night"
"Dad." she said, as she nestled close
up to him in the armchair, "shall we
have a Christmas pudding some day?"
"ShaU I sing to you, Babsie r he in
terrupted hastily. And, gently strok
ing her soft curls, he broke Into all vej
iy nius'.c hall ditty.
Babsie was soon fast asleep. He lifted
her np and placed her on the bed.
""-"Heaven help her!" be murmured
sadly, as he gazed upon the sweet white
face. "If I had -only been a laborer you
would not have gone hungry on Christ
mas Day, my pet I wonder how many
poor mummers are waiting eagerly for
Boxing night? I have looked for work
without ceasing. I wonder If the noble
army of bogus managers with whom
I've been so closely acquainted of late
are dining well to-night while she is
starving. I'll spend every penny I earn
this pantomime upon her comfort Oh,
If I can only make a hit, now my chance
has come! Oh, my Babsie, my brave lit
tle Babsie!"
"Daddy, It's the glorious Boxing day
at last!" cried Babsie, dancing round
him m her excitement as he was pre
paring to go to the theater.
"Everything wasn't qnlte smooth at
dress rehearsal," he had explained to
her; "so I shall be at the theater all
day."
The latter part of this statement was
not true; but he saw that there was
barely food for one in the cupboard,
and his pocket was quite empty.
As he ran down tbe stairs a little
hoe came clattering after him, and a
saucy, smiling face peeped over the bal
usters. "That's for luck, dad," she called out
He noticed tbe little shoe had a hole
right through tbe sole, and he sighed.
When he reached the theater he
found only a few shivering nobodies
assembled on the stage. Tbey all waited
for about two hours for the stars, who
bad never intended to appear, and then
the stage manager dismissed them.
Halliday met his manager as he turned
out of the stage door with the intention
of strolling about the streets until even
ing. "Hallo!" said that Individual, genial
ly. "Hope all the plum pudding you had
yesterday won't affect your top notes.
I think your song will fetch 'em up
stairs. There's money In It "
Halliday uttered an exclamation, and,
stooping down, picked up a quarter.
"There, what did I tell your' laughed
the manager, as he slapped blm on the
back and went on his way.
Halliday hugged tbe little coin In his
palm. It meant so very much. It meant
a little Christmas for Babsie. and it bad
entirely changed his plans for the day.
He hurried homeward with a lighter
heart than be bad carried for months,
only stopping at a coster's barrow on
his way to Invest some of his treasure
In rosy-cheeked apples.
He sprang lightly up the stairs to his
borne, calling "Babsie!" as be ran. so
anxious was he to see ber astonishment
and delight But no answer came; no
patter of little feet Tbe dreary room
was empty. He sat down chilled and
uneasy, and the apples rolled unheeded
to the floor.
But one hour two hours three
hours passed, and still no Babsie. Tbe
fog was growing denser and denser.
The anxious father paced up and down
the little room. At every footfall on the
stairs he rushed out and called her
name.
The callboy at the Regal Theater was
railing out "Overture and beginners'
as he made his way along tbe passages
when a man rushed past him and disap
peared Into one of the dressing-rooms.
It was Nigel Halliday, white and trem
bling, andwlth huge beads of perspira
tion on his brow.
"He'll never be on!" said the perform
ers In chorus. Bnt he was at tbe side
dressed and made up, fully five mlnutei
before his first entrance. The othei
performers were looking at blm curl-
tbe G&llery.
ously, for his face was twitching ano
he spoke to no one. "Nervousness oi
drunkenness," they all agreed.
There was a ripple of laughter as h
made his first entrance. It acted like
an electric shock upon him. He knew
what was expected of him, and he
worked desperately. "He'll do," said
the anxious manager, sagely, as he
watched his grotesque exit and listened
to the applause that followed It
.'As soon as Halliday was off the stage
after the fourth scene he caught the as
sistant manager by the arm.
"I'm not on until the palace scene,"
he said, eagerly. "How long Is mj
waltr
"Oh, about an hour to-night" was the
reply.
Halliday rushed down the passage to
bis dressing room, removing his kingly
robes as he ran.
"What the deuce are you doing?" cried
one of the men. as be watched hln?
struggling Into his overcoat "Are yor.
drunk to-night or what?"
"Don't stop me!" panted Halliday.
"Hands off, I say! It's my long wait
I'll be back in time. My child is lost
missing since morning. I'm crazy with
anxiety; she's my only one."
Through the streets be ran, threading
In and out the traffic, heedless of the
shouts of drivers. The fog had cleared
away, and the night was starry.
"Babsie! Babsie!" he panted, as be
fore along. "Babsie! Babsie!" as he
vaulted up the dark staircase to bis
home. All was silent In the desolate
room. He stood there one moment and
threw up his bands In voiceless prayer,
and then he hastened back to the thea
ter. Just before his entrance In the palace
scene the doorkeeper made bis way
through the crowd and said something
In a low tone to the stage manager. He
saw them glance toward him, and In a
moment he was beside them.
"In heaven's name, tell me, Grahame!
Is It news for me? Don't He; I know it
Is!"
"When you come off, Halliday after
your song. There's your music playing
now. Go on. old man."
"Tell me first," Halliday replied
hoarsely, "and I give you my word I'll
go on!"
"A little girl run over taken to
Faith Hospital. Don't know who she
bel9ns3-to,P!e4. nncomxlous, "Gra-
bame replied hastily.
"Thank you," was all the wretched
man said as he staggered past them
onto the stage.
A child In the gallery laughed glee
fully at his grotesque entrance. It
soundekl just like Babsle's laugh. Bab
sie now, perhaps, lying a little mangled
corpse in tbe Faith Hospital. Why was
WAS BKINO CLABPBn Tit HER FATHER 8
ARMS.
he there, he asked himself. If his dar
ling lay dead? What did he care for
money now?
But Babsie had been so fond of his
"drinking song." She had looked for
ward to hearing him sing it He would
sing It for ber sake.
Then his voice began to falter he
swayed slightly. "He's breaking
down," was the terrified whisper.
"Won't some one step In to fill the
gap?"
And some one did. Right from the
very back of the gallery It came a
child's voice that caught up the refrain
Just as tbe wretched singer was about
to rush from the stage, and tbe aston
ished artists, looking up to the "gods,"
beheld the singer, a little girl, perched
upon the shoulders of a stalwart coster.
It was Babsie Babsie alive and well.
By the time the little girl bad got
through the chorus and the gallery had
shown their appreciation by applause
and whistling, Halliday bad regained
bis self-possession, and be sang the re
mainder of his ditty with such joyous
vigor that he carried his audience
along, and the Infection of gayety from
all the smiling faces on the stage made
Itself felt all over the house.
"That kid in the gallery is an old
music-hall dodge," said one petite to
another.
"Tee, but this was jolly well worked.
I thought the chap had really broken
down." replied his friend.
Behind the scenes the "kid In tbe gal
lery" was being clasped In ber father's
arms amid a group of sympathetic peo
ple in motley attire.
Babsle's story was soon told. She
had been offered a quarter by a neigh
bor to mind her babies while she went
out The temptation to see ber "dad"
perform bad been too strong, and the
little girl, with her precious coin in her
band, bad patiently waited outside the
gallery door for many hours. As she
had not expected her father home all
day she bad not been In the least un
easy. Then Manager Vaugban and Stage
Manager Grahame claimed her atten-
tlon, and the former slipped a brand-
new dollar bill Into her hand. I
"It's what I owe you for that unre -
hearsed effect" be said, laughing.-
Forget-Me-Not
SAMUEL GOMPERSk
loos Characteristics of the raaaoBs
American Lbor Ieaelav
Samuel Gompers, the American laboi
eader, Is as conservative as the EngUst
eader. Burns, Is radical. Where the
attar says strike, Gompers says arbi
trate. "I cannot," he once said, "much
as I bate oppression, endure the algh'
f hunger."
The nation owes a bigger debt of grat
Itude to 8omuerf Gompers, president, ol
me American. Federation of Labor, thai
nost people imagine. Had it not bees
tor the rock-like firmness with which,
for nearly a fortnight this man stood
igatnst a continent-wide strike of sym
pathy with the Pullman men. thera
might have been an uprising of organ
ised labor, compared with which the
ttrlkes and riots that really did occui
would have been mere child's play.
Mr. Gompers' diplomacy was not less
itriklng than his wisdom. He at no
time said that he would not advise a
strike. He simply, by delaying action,
rave his followers time to think. When
they bad thought they saw the master
fulness of his course. Mr. Gompers
proved himself to be a general worthy
of leading so great an organisation af
the Federation.
Samuel Gompers is an American bj
adoption. He is of German descent, a
his name Indicates, though of English
birth. Thirty-eight years ago he was
apprenticed to a shoemaker In London.
Then he was a lad of 10, with no bright
er prospects, no greater advantages
than those of ten thousand other ap
prentice boys of the world's metropolis
To-day he Is the executive bead of the
most extensive combination of laboi
unions in the world. In this capacttj
be wields a coastanf power by th .
Of which that of other labor leaden
nothing.
I The lad did not like the shoemak
trade, and, his release being eecut
he learned to make cigars, becomlna
proficient by the time he was 13. Then
; with his father's family, be came t
America. Down to the time he begat
to work in the shoe shops, he attendee
day school regularly. After that be
continued his studies at a night school
where he applied himself so eagerly at
to excite the especial attention of hl
teachers.
Upon his arrival In America he jolnei
a New York cigarmakers' union, and
his gift of common sense and his powet
to express his thoughts logically ane)
clearly quickly made him a prominent
member. Later he was repeatedly seni
as delegate to the International union.
When David B. Hill was Governoi
be wished to make Mr. Gompers a mem
ber of the State Board of Arbitration at
a salary of $3,000. Tbe tender wa'
courteously declined.
I "If I should accept a political ap
! polntment" said Mr. Gompers, "mj
usefulness in labor organizations would
be entirely and permanentlydestroyed.'
In 1SS2 Mr. Gompers was made presi
dent of the American Federation of La
bor, and now holds that office. His sal
ary Is but $1,000 a year, less than he
could earn at his trade In good times
and a far smaller sum than could be
commanded by a tnan of his unusua!
natural abilities and self-won acquire
uents In the business world.
A Matrimonial Lottery.
Every three months In the province
of Smolensk, Russia, husbands and
wives are chosen by the chance draw
ing of a lottery ticket Tbe tickets cost
1 ruble (00 cents) each. There is only
one prize to be drawn, and It consists
of tbe entire sum yielded by the sale
of the tickets, amounting to 5,000 ru
bles ($3,000), together with a woman
described as being of noble blood. The
tickets are sold only to n..n. and the
lucky winner of the prize will have to
marry the damsel if be takes the 5,000
rubles. If, however, he be already
married he is at liberty to turn over
the money and the woman to any friend
whom be may wish to put in for such
a good thing. If the winner shouldbe
willing to marry, but Is not found to
be to the damsel's taste, then they are
to be excused from matrimony ant per
nitted to divide tbe rubles.
Society ror 8ock-D rning
In a neighboring Long Island village
the young men have a new privilege
On paying ten cents a week they can
have their socks darned by the belles
of the village, who have organized
themselves into the "Giddy Girls' Darn
lng Club." One of tbe young ladles no
ticed a hole In the hose of a young man
who was paying her a so?lal visit tbe
other night and. on comparing notes.
It was found that many of the other
girls of the village bad been Impressed
by the fact tbat the beaux of tbe plao'
needed help in keeping their socks In
order. The young man who was ad
mitted to the privileges of the club
must -not be in tbe liabit of smoking.
drinking, playing cards, or doing any
thing real naughty. All he ha to do
then Is to pay ten cents a wei'k and
wear bis socks Into as many b li s as
pleases him. New York Cor. Pittsburg
Dispatch.
ine nrst tning tne memDers oi
women's club do. after electing a new
member. Is to appoint a club meetlni
' l tne new member's bouse, in the hop
f gating something elaborate in the
way of refreshmenta.
SAMUEL GOMPERS.
SERMON
BY
Rco. Br. Calms
Snbject: Hw Tsstr TheaahU f Bhomld
Mmka th Moat of Oar Hriaf Livm
Infidelity th Moarc of Mach Woe
Christ's Matchless Stories.
t Copyright, Louis BJopech. 1MM
WiSHiBOTOir, D. 0. In this discourse Dr.
Talmage takes the opportunity of offering
some very practical and useful suggestions;
text, Psalms xo., 9, "We spend oar years
as a tale that Is told."
The Israelites' were forty years In the
wilderness, and during thirty-eight years
ot the forty nothing la recorded of them,
and. I suppose, no other emigrants bad s
duller or more uninteresting time than
they bad. So they got to telling stories
stories eoneernlng themselves or concern
ing others; stories about the brink kilns of
Egypt, where they had tolled In slavery;
stories about how the waters ot the Red
Sea piled up Into palisades at their cross
ing; story of the lantern bnng In the heav
ens to guide them by night; story of Ibises
destroying the reptiles of the wilderness;
stories of personal encounter. It must
have been an awful thing to have bad noth
ing to do for thirty-eight years except to
get lost every time they tried to escape
from the wilderness. So they whiled away
the time In story telling. Indeed, there
were persons whose one business was to
narrate stories, and they were paid by
sueh trifles as they could pick up from the
surrounding listeners. To suoh Instauces
our text refers when It says, "We spend
onr years as a tale that Is told."
At this tremendous passage from the
year 1899 to the year 1900 It will do us all
good to consider that our whole life Is a
story told a good story or a bad story, a
traglo story or a mirthful story, a wise
story or a foolish story, a olean story or a
filthy story, a story of success or a story of
failure. "We spend our years as a tale
mat is toia.
In the first plaoe, I remark that every
8 ergon's life Is a very Interesting story,
y text does not depreciate "a tale that Is
told." We have all of us been entertained
by the story teller when snow bonnd in the
rail train, or In the group a winter's night
In the farmhouse, or gathered around a
biasing hearth with some hunters at the
mountain inn. Indeed, it Is a praiseworthy
art to impersonate a good story well. If
you doubt the practical and healthful and
inspiring use of such a story, take down
from the library Washington Irvlng's
"Tales oi a Traveler" or Nathaniel Haw
thorne's "Twloe Told Tales." But as In
teresting as any of these would be the
story of many an obscure life It the tale
were as well told. Why do we all like
biographies and autobiographies? Be
cause they are stories of eminent human
lives. But the story of the Ufa of a back
woodsman, of a man who looks stupid, of
one about whom vou never heard a word.
must be just as thrilling on a small scale
as on a laree scale is a life of a Cyrus, or a
Cassar, or a Plzarro, or a Mark Antony, or
at PKarlo m anna
olal" .nan just comV
I UUI Ot
wUi no one but nimSe,
tenng pulses. '" .
Oh, yes. while "we spend out
tale that Is told," it is an Interest
It Is the story of an Immortal,
makes It Interesting. He Is launr
ocean ot eternal years, In a vc
will never terminate. He l8-fttri. ur
keynote of an anthem or a dirge tbat will
never oome to its last bar. That Is what
makes tbe devotional meetings of modnrn
times so much more Interesting than they
used to be. Tbey are filled not with dis
courses Dy laymen on the subject of justi
fication and sanctifloation, which lay dis
courses administer more to the facetious
than to the edifying, but with stories ol
what God has done for the soul how every
thing suddenly changed; how tbe promises
became balsamic In times of laceration;
how be was personally helped out and
helped up and helped on. Nothing can
stand before suoh a story of personal res
cue, personal transformation, personal
Illumination. Tbe mightiest and most
skillful argument against Christianity col
lapses under the ungrammatlcal but sin
cere statement. The atbelstlo professor ot
natural philosophy goes down under the
story of tbat backwoodsman's conversion.
All tbat elaborate persuasion of the old
folks of the folly of giving np active life
too soon meins nothing as compared with
the simple incident you may relate to
them ot tbe faot tbat Benjamin Franklin
was Governor of Pennsylvania at eighty
two years of age and that Dandolo, of Ven
loe, at ninety years of age, although his
eyesight had been destroyed through be
ing compelled by his enemies to look Into
a polished metal basin under the full.blaze
of the sun until totally blind, yet this sight
less nonagenarian leading an army to the
successful beslegemeut of Constantinople!
When an old man bears of suoh Incidents,
be puts aside hla staff and ear trumpet and
atarts anew.
Tbe New Testament suggests the powe.
ot the "tale tbat Is told." Christ was the
most effective story teller of all the ages.
Tbe parables are only tales well told.
Matchless stories: Tbat ot the traveler cut
up by the thieves and the Samaritan pay
ing bis board bill at the tavern; that of tbe
big dinner, to which the Invited guests
sent in fictitious regrets; that of the shep
herd answering tbe bleat of tbe lost sheep
. and all the rural neighbors that night help
ing blm celeoratetne ract tuat it was sate in
the barnyard; tbat of tbe bad boy, reduced
to tbe swlnes' trough, greeted borne with
such banqueting and jewelry that It Muffed
tbe older son with jealousy and disgruntle
ment; that of the Pharisee full of bragga
docio and the publican smiting his breast
with a stroke that brought down the heav
ens in commiseration; stories about lep
rosy, about paralysis, about catalepsy,
about dropsy, about ophthalmia stories
that He so well told that tbey have rolled
down to the present and will roll down
through the entire future.
I hoard Daniel Baker, the wonderful
evangelist of bis time, preach what I sup
posed was a great sermon, but I remem
ber nothing ot It except a story that he
told, and that. I judge from tbe seeming
effect, may tbat afternoon have brought
hundreds Into the kingdom of God. I
heard Truman Osborne preach several ser
mons, bnt I remember notblng of what he
sale in publlo or private except a story
tbat be told, and that was, among other
things, tbe means of my salvation. Tbe
lifelong work of John B. Gough, the great
est temperanoe reformer of all time, was
tbe victory ot anecdote, and who can ever
forget bis story of Joel Straton touching
him on the shoulder or ot Deacon Moses
Grant at Hopkinson, or of tbe outcast
woman nicknamed "Hell Fire," but re
deemed by tbe thought that she "was one
of as?" D wight L. Moody, tbe evangelist
of worldwide fame and usefulness, wbc re
cently passed to his great reward on blgb,
during bis valuable labors In tbe pulpit
wielded tbe anecdote for God and heaven
until all nations have been moved by it.
If you have had experiences of pardon
and comfort and disentbrallment, tell of
It. Tell it In tbe most pointed and dra
matic wit vou can manage. Tell It soon.
or you may never tell it at all. Ob, tbe
power of "the tale tbat is toldl" An hour's
discourse about tbe faet that blasphemous
behavior is sometime punished In this
world would not Impress us as much as the
simple story tbat In a town ot Sew York
state at tbe close ot tbe last century tnirty
dx profane men formed themselves Into a
lub. calling themselves "Society ot the
Druids." Tbey met regularly to deride
tnd damage Christianity. One night la
;helr awful meetting they burned a Bible
tnd administered the sacrament to a dog.
Two of them died tbat night. Within three
lays three were drowned. In five years all
he thirty-six earns to a bad end. Before
iustloss of the peace It was sworn that two
were starved to death, seven were drowned,
sight were shot, five committed suicide,
leven died on the gallows, one was frozen
to death and three died accidentally. Inci
dents like that, sworn to, would balk any
proposed irreverent and blasphemous be
havior. In what way could the faet that Infidel
ity will not help any one die well be so
powerfully presented as by the Incident
eoneernlng a man falling ill in Paris jut
iter tbe death of Voltaire, when a profes
sional nurse was called in, and she a-ked,
"Is tbe gentleman a Christian?" "Why do
fou ask that?" said the messenger. Tbe
aarse replied, "I am the nurse who attend
ed Voltaire In his last illness, and for all
tbe wealth of Europe I would never see i.n
Dther Infidel die." What discourse In its
moral and spiritual effect could equal a
tale like that?
You might argue upon the fact that those
fallen are our brothers and sister, but
sould we Impress any one wit li such a truth
io well as bv tbe scene near Victoria Park,
London, where men were digging a deep
Iraln. and tbe shoring gave way an I a
treat pile of earth fell upon the workmen.
A man stood there with his bauds In Ills
pockets, looking at those who were trying
to shovel away the earth from those whe
were burled, but when some one said to the
spectator, "Bill, your brother Is down
there," then the spectator threw off hie
3oat and went to work with an agony ol
earnestness to fetch up his brother. What
sourse or argument couia so wen as mai
incident set forth that when we toll for the
wlvation of a soul it is a brother whom we
ire trying to save?
A second reading ot my text reminds me
hat life Is not only a story told, but thai
It is a brief story. A long narrative
stretched out Indefinitely loses its Interest
It Is generally tbe story that takes only I
minute or bait a minute to renearse tnai
arrests tbe attention. And that gives ad
ditional interest to the story of our life. Il
Is a short story. Subtract from our life al
the hours of necessary sleep, all the hnur'
of Incapacity through fatigue or Illness, at
the hours ot childhood and youth before
we get fairly to work, and you have abbre
viated the story ot life so much that yon
can appreciate the psalmist's remark when
be says, "Thou bast made my d'tys as
hand's breadth," and can appreMate tin
apostle James' expression when be com
pares me to "a vapor mat appearem ror t
little season and then vanishes away."
It does not take long to tell all the vi
cissitudes ot lite the gladness uiul the
griefs, the arrivals and the departures
tbe successes and the failures, tbe victor
ies and the defeats, the nps and the downs.
The longer we live the shorter tbe years
We hardly get over the bewildering fatigue
of selecting gifts for children and friendt
and see that tbe presents get off In
time to arrive on tbe appropriate day
than we see another advancing grout
of holidays. Autumnal fruit so sharp
ly chases the summer harvest, and t lie
snow of the white blossoms of spriu
time come too soon after tbe snows o
winter. It Is a remark so often madi
that It falls to make any Impression an
tbe platitude tbat calls forth no reply
"How rapidly time eoeg."
Every centu
which mak'
breaks do
Jt prlraFe
, t -. ..-.j ...cT Tuestorj
a jur life, however Insignificant It ma
seem to be, will win tbe applause or ul
Of a great multitude tbat no man can num
ber. As a "tale that Is told" among ad
mirers or antagonists, celestials or paude
moniacs, tbe universe Is full ot listening
ears as well as of gleaming eyes. II
we say or do tbe right thing, that Is known
If we say ordothe wrong thing, that It
known. I suppose the population of the
Intelligences In the air Is more numeroue
than the population of intelligences on tbe
earth. Oh, tbat the story of our life mlgbl
be fit for such an audience In such an au
ditorium! God grant tbat wisdom one
fidelity and earnestness and truth knaj
characterize tbe "tale that Is told."
Through medical soienoe the world's
longevity may be greatly Improved in the
future, as It has been In the past, but It
would not be well forthe people to live toe
long. Some of them would, through theli
skill at acquisitiveness, gather too much.
ana some multimillionaires would Decome
billionaires and trilllonaires, and some
would after awblle pocket a hemisphere.
No. Death is useful In its financial limita
tions, and then all have enough sorrow?
and annoyances and sufferings by tbe time
tbey become nonagenarians or centenar
ians to make It desirable to quit. Bestdee
that, It would not be fair so long to keepsc
many good old people out of heaven. 8
It is well arranged that those who stand bj
the deathbed of the nineteenth centurj
will not be called to stand by the deathbec
of the twentieth century.
Oh, crowd this last year with prayers,
with hosannas, with kind words, with help
fulness. Make tbe peroration ot the cen
tury the climax of Christlike deeds. Close
up the ranks of God, and during this re
maining twelve months charge mightily
against the host of Abaddon. Have no
reserve corps. Let swiftest gosr el cavalry
gallop, and heaviest moral artillery roll,
and mightiest evangelistic batteries thun
der on the scene. Let ministers ot tbe
gospel quit ail controversy with each
other and in solid phalanx march out
for the world's disentbrallment. Let
printing presses, secular and religious,
make combined movement to Instruct and
emancipate the world. On all the hills let
there be Elijahs praying for "a great rain,"
and on every contested field Joshuas to
see that final victory Is gained before the
sun goes down, and every mountain be
come a transfiguration, and every Galilee
a walking place of Him who can bush a
tempest. Let us be jealous of every inontb,
of every week, of every day tbat passes
without something significant and
glorious wrought for God and this sin
cursed world. Let our churches be
thronged with devout assemblages. Let
the chorals be more like grand marches
than requiems. Let tbe coming year see
tbe last wound ot Transvaal and Philippine
conflict, and the earth quake with the
grounding arms of the last regiment ever
to be marshaled, oud the furnaces ot tbe
foundries blaze with the fires that shall
turn tbe last swords Into plowshares.
And may all those whose lives shall go
out In this last year of a century, as many
Will, meet in the heavenly world those who
In the morning and noonday of this hun
dred years tolled and suffered for tl-e
world's salvation to tell them bow much '
baa been accomplished for tbe glory ot
Him whose march through all the coming
centuries tbe Scriptures describe ns going
forth "conquering and to conquer." Oh,
tbe contrast between tbat uplifted spec
tacle of eternal triumph in the presence ol
God and the Lamb and these eiirthl)
scenes, wbere "we spend our years as a talc
that Is told."
Give neither counsel nor salt until
you are asked for it
Economical wives make fond and
indulgent husbands. .
All evils are easily managed if they
are nipped in the bud.
The development of the best within
us is oftener due to our failures than
to our successes.
To bear disappointment bravely Is
to disconcert the fates.
W mini lnv ae a hl1 nihcn ha
I should sit a giant on his clouds, the
great disturbing spirit of the world.
It Is not generally known that Rud
yard Kipling's fuii name is Joseph
Rudyard Kipling.
V
1
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