VOL. XXXXII. The Greatest of Them All I — —THE MODERN STORE- j Big January Winter Clearance and Muslin and Lin»n Sale- E An Immense Stock to Go at a Sacrifice. | Eleven Days of Biggest Bargains. From Tuesday marning, Jan 10th to Saturday night, Jan 21 y Coma Every Day and Don't Miss the Sale- » Unloading silks, dress fabrics, waistiogs. and sroois Table linens, napkins towelings and towels at 80c on tbe dollar. Silkalinea and draperies sold for a mere song. Beat Basement Bargains ever offered. Lace curtains, portieres, table and couch covers at <sc on the dollar. Oraad reductions in muslins, sheetings, sheets, pillow cases, bed spreads. M d children's underwear and hosiery at closing prices Men's and boys'wear on bargain counter. , , „ Fnrs, skirts, waists and dressing sacques at 66c and ,5c on the dollar. ! Walking skirts and shirt waists at quarter off. All millinery at 50c or less on the dollar. SEE CIRCULARS FOR ACTUAL PRICES j Mail Orders Filled if Goods Are Not Already Sold. EISLER-MARDORF COfIPANY, OPPOSITE HOTEL ARLINGTON. BUTLER. *-A. ————n——rirr wriiMii''wwwvTr"r a **™ i ™ ,igKfr ' Jf; '" BICKEL'S GREAT BARGAIN SALE. An immense stock of seasonable footwear to be closed out in order to reduce our extremely large stock. Big Reductions in Alt Lines. Ladiea' fur trimmed felt slippers price, f1.25, reduced to $ 75 Ladies' warm lined shoes, price f1.50. reduced to 1 OO Ladies' warm lined shoes, price $1.25, reduced to B.> One lot Ladies' S3 50 fine hand-turn and hand-welt shoes reduced to 2 35 One lot Ladies' $3.00 fine potent leather shoes, button or lace, reduced to.. 200 Dn« lot Ladiea' $2 50 fine Dongola shoes reduced to 1 05 3ne lot Ladies' $1.50 fine Dongola shoes reduced to 1 OO 3ne lot ChOd's Canvas Boots, price $1.50, reduced to 1 OO [>oe lot Children's fine shoes, sizes 4 to 8. reduced to *•> One lot Infants' fine shoes, sizes 0 to 4, reduced to IO Men's fine shoes, box-calf, vici-kid and patent leather, regular price $3.50 and $4.00, reduced to. 2 50 Ken's working shoes, regnlsr price $1.50, reduced to 1 OO ons lot Boys' fine satin calf shoes, regular price $1 50, reduced to OO Doe lot Little Gents' fine satin calf shoes, regular price $1 00, reduced to. 70 Ladies' Lambs-wool insoles, regular price 25c. reduced to 15 Misses' and Children's lambs-wool insoles, regular price 20c, reduced t0... IO All Felt Boots and Overs, Warm Lined Shoes and all Warm Lined and Felt Slippers, also balance of our stock of Leggins and Overgaiters to be included in this GREAT BARGAIN SALE. Repairing Promptly Done. JOHN BICKEL, 128 S. Main St., BUTLER. PA. ►1 Bargain Sale \ M Furniture and Carpets £ Could you use an All-Wool Super Extra Ingrain Carpet n J During January, regular price Af AKr r at any store 75c— OvU l< Saving of 10c per yard. Made up. ¥ f .1 L A Davenport Sofa Bed, regular a r. price SSO, for 4/nrU k A Davenport, worth $35.00, { k) A Five Piece Parlor Suit, regu- W lar price $75, for vUU A Quartered Oak Polished Bed WA Room Suit, worth $ 125.00 All Extension Tables will be sold for less than WA *A regular cash price. i! No old stock in this store—and we have many r J W elegant pieces you can buy now at a great ear- IS ing to yon. Come in and see the whole line. You are W y welcome to look it all over. M \ COME IN AND COMPARE. [ | BROWN 8c CO. | M No. 136 North Main St., Butler. ■■ m *** A "* A ift i A A A rfri i K E C K~~l g Merchant Tailor. Jg Fall and Winter Suitings ( ; JUST ARRIVED. ( < w I*2 North Main St. v y | keck j| Fall and Winter Millinery. | | Arrival of a large line of Street Hats, Tailor-made -ft and ready-to-wear Hats. All the new ideas and 2? designs in Millinery Novelties. Trimmed and Un- 31 I f trimmed Hats for Ladies, Misses and Children. All 31 r t the new things in Wings, Pom-pons; Feathers, 31 ift Ostrich Goods, etc,-etc. 3? |( Rockensteln's | SjMillirxery KmporiumJ { t "• Booth Main Street, Butler, Pa. mgnmn m a? rp m in as ai cii cii ai tn en n, THE BUTLER CITIZEN. CLEASSIXO CATARRH AND HEALIXO CUBJE FOB CATARRH (»1 Ely's Cream balm k *MAI Cu; «nd pl«a§ mt to ni-■. Contains no in- Jariom drug. It is qnicWiy absorbed. C.vea Re-.et at once. It Opens and Cleanses "™, _ , .. _ -IT 1 COLD'NHEAD Deals ar.a Protect* the Membrane. Restores th« ' Senses of Taste and Smell. Large Sncr, 80 cents at Druggists or by mail; Trial Sire, JO cents by mail. ELY BKOtttEKs, 56 Warren Street, New York. PROFESSIONAL CARDS. PHYSICIANS, JC. BOYLE, M. D. • EVE, EAR, NOSE and THROAT, SPECIALIST. 121 East Cunningham Street. Office Honrs, 11 to 12 a. m., 3 to 5 and 7 to 9 p. m. BOTH TELEPHONES. DR. JCLIA E. FOSTER, OSTEOPATH. Consultation and examination free. Office hoars— 9 to 12 A. M.. 2 to M., daily except Sunday. Evening appointment Office —Stein Block, Rooms 9-10, But ler, Pa. People'* Pbone 478. DR. H. J. NEEL\, Rooms 6 and 7, Ifnghes Bnild'ng, Sonth Main St. Chronic diseases of genito urinary organs a:;d rectnui treated by tbe moa approved methods. CLARA E. MORROW, D. 0.. GRADUATE BOSTON COLLEGE OF OSTEOPATHY. Women's diseases a specialty. Con sul tat ian and examination free. Office Hours, 9to 12 m., 2 to 3 p. m People's Phone 573. 116 S. Main street, Butler, Pa [F> M. ZIMMERMAN . PHYSICIAN AICD SURGEON At 327 N. Main St. j R. IIAZLETT, M. D., LJT 106 West Diamond, Dr. Graham's former o/^ce. Special attention give,, to Kye, Vw and Throat Peoole's Phone 274. JAMUEL M. BIPPaS, >J PHYSICIAN AND SUEGKM 200 West CUNNINGHAM St. DENTISTS. DR. FOP.D N. HAYES. DENTIST. Graduate of Dental Department, University of Pennsylvania Office—2ls S. Main Street, Butler, Pa. DR. S. A. JOHNSTON, SURGEON DENTIST. Formerly of Butler, Has located opposite Lowry Honse, Main St., Butler, Pa. The finest work a specialty. Expert painless extractor of teeth by his new method, no medi cine used or jabbing a needle into the gams; also gas and ether nsed. Com mnnications by mail receive prompt at tention. R~ J. WILBERT McK.EE, SURGEON DENTIST. Office over Leighnfr's Jewelry store, Butler, Pa Peoples Telephone 505. \ specialty made of gold fillings, gold crown auil bridge work. \y J. HINDMAN. * 1 . DENTIST. ItsJl South Main street, (ov Metzer's shoo store.) DR. H. A. MCCANDLBSS, DENTIST. Office in Butler County National Bank Building, 2nd floor. DR. M. D. KGTTRABA, Successor to Dr. Johnston. DENTIST Office at No 114 E. Jeflerson St., 07tr O. W. Miller's grocery ATTORNEYS. Rp. scorr, • ATTORNEY-AT-LAW, Office in Butler County National Bank building. AT. SCOTT, . ATTORNEY AT LAW. Office «t No. 8. West Diamond SI. But. ler, P».. COULTER & BAICLR, ATTORNEYS AT in Butler County National Bank building. TOHN W. COULTER, 'J ATTORNKY-AT-LAW. Office on Diamond, Butler, Pa. Special attention given to collections and business matters. T D. McJUNKIN, " • ATTORNKY-AT-LAW. Office is Ruber building, cornei Main and B. Cunningham Sts. Entrance on Main street. JB. BREDIN, • ATTORNEY AT LAW. Office on Main St. near Court Hon* HN. GOUCIIKR, T ATTORNEY AT LA«•. la Wise bnUdinv Ij* 11. NRG LEV, ATTORNEY AT LAW. Office In the Negley B-iilding, West Diamond W C. FINDLEY, M • ATTOKNEY-AT-LAW, ANL) PENSION ATTORNEY. Office on South side of Diuiuond, Butler, Pa. MISCELLANEOUS. p P. L. Mc^UISTION, V. Civil, ENGINEER AND SURVEYOR' Office near Court House. LP. WALKER, • NOTARY Pcroup, BUTLER, Office with Berkruer. n*xt door to P. () I) F. HILLIARD, !'• GENERA 1, SURVEYING. Minos and Land County Surveyor. R. F D. 4'J. West Sunbury. Pa. M C. WAG NEK. ARTIST PHOTOGRAPHER IBS Rotjfcb Main St. W M H. MILLER, FIRE and LIFE INSURANCE and REAL ESTATE. OFFICE—Room 508, Butler County National Bank building. BUTLER, PA., THURSDAY, JANUARY 12, 1905. § Ihe Simple life By CHARLES WAGNER Transited Froin the French by Mary Louise Hendee - Co. CHAPTER VI. SIMPLE JTEEDS. WHEN we buy a bird of the fancier, the good man tells us briefly what Is necessary for our new pensioner, and the whole thing—hygiene, food and the rest —Is comprehended in a dozen words. Likewise, to sum up the necessities of I most men, a few concise lines would answer. Their regime is ln general of supreme simplicity, and so long as they follow It all Is well with them, as with every obedient child of Mother Nature. Let them depart from It, complications arltc, health falls, gayety vanishes. Only simple and natural livltg can keep a body in full vigor. Instead of remembering this basic principle we fall into the strangest aberrations. What material things does a man need to live under the best conditions? A healthful diet, simple clothing, a sanitary dwelling place, air and exer cise. lam not going to enter Into hy gienic details, compose menus or dis cuss model tenements dress re form. My aim Is to point out a direc tion and tell what advantage would come to each of us from ordering his life in a spirit of simplicity. To know that this spirit does not rule ln our tje'ety we need but watch the lives of men of all classes. Ask different people of very unlike surroundings this question: What do you need to live? You will see how they respond. Noth ing is more instructive. For some ab originals of the Parisian asphalt there l«: no life possible outside a region boLintled by certain boulevards. There one fieds the resplrable air, the Illumi nating light, normal heat, classic cook ery, and, ln moderation, so many other things without which it would not be worth the while to promenade this round ball. On the various rungs of the bour geois ladder people reply to the ques tlon. What Is necessary to live? by figures varying with the degree of their ambition or education, and by education is oftenert understood the outward customs of life, the style of house, dre3s, table—an education pre cisely skin deep. Upward from a cer tain Income, fee or salary life becomes possible; below that It rs impossible. We have seen men commit suicide be cause their means had fallen under a certain minimum. They preferred to disappear rather than retrench. Ob serve that thla minimum, the cause of their despair, would have been suffi cient for others of less exacting needs and enviablo to men whose tastes are modest. On lofty mountains vegetation changes with the altitude. There Is the region of ordinary flora, that of the forests, that of pastures, that of bare rofks and glaciers. Above a certain zone wheat Is no longer found, but the vine still prospers. The oak ceases In tbe low regions; the pine flourishes at consid erable heights.- Human life, with Its needs, reminds one of these phenomena of vegetation. At a certain altitude of fortune the financier thrives, the clubman, the so ciety woman—all those. In short, for whom the strlrtly necessary Includes a certain number of domestics and equipages as well as several town and country houses. Further on flourishes the rich upper middle class, with Its own standards and life. In other re gions we And men of ample, moderate or small means and very unlike exi gencies. Then come the people, arti sans, day laborers, peasants— ln short, the masses— who live dense and seiTled like tbe thick, sturdy growths on the summits of the mountains, where tbe laiv;<*r vegetation can no longer tlnd nourishment. In all these different re gions of society men live, and, no mut ter In which particular regions they flourish, all are alike human beings, bearing the name mark. How strange that among fellows there should bo such a prodigious difference In require ments! And here the analogies of our comparison fall us. Plants and ani mals of the same families have Iden tical wants. In human life we observe quite the contrary. What conclusion sbull we draw from this If not that with us there Is a considerable elastic ity ln the nature and number of needs? Is It well, Iff It favorable to the de velopment of the Individual and his happiness and to the development and happiness of society, that man should have a multitude of needs and bend Ills eii'-rgles to their satisfaction? Let us return for a moment to our comparison with Inferior beings. Provided that their essential wants are satisfied, they live content, is this true of men? No. In all classes of society we find dis content. I leave completely out of the (-[Uca tion those who lack tlio necessities of life. One cunuot wltli Justice count In the number of mnlcontents those from whom hunger, cold and misery wring complalntN. I nm considering now that multitude of people who live under con ditions ut leant supportable. Whence comes their heartburning? Why In It found not only among those of modest though sufficient means, but also under shades of ever Increasing refinement, all along the ascending scale, even to opulence and the summits of social place? They talk of the contented mid dle classes. Who talk of them? I'eo ple who, Judging from without, think that as soon as one begins to enjoy ease he ought to be satisfied. Hut the middle classes themselves—do they consider themselves satisfied? Not tho least In the world. If there are people at once rich and content, be assured that they are content because they know how to be so, not because they are rich. An animal Is satisfied when It has eaten; It lies down and sleeps. A man also can lie down and sleep for a time, but It never lasts. When he be comes accustomed to this contentment he tires of It and demands a greater. Slan's appetite Is not appeased by food; It Increases with eating. This may seem absurd, but it Is strictly true. And the fact that those who make the most outcry are almost always those who should llnd the best reasons for contentment proves unquestionably that happiness Is not allied to the num ber of our needs avd tho seal we put Into their cultivation. It Is for every one's Interest to let this truth sink deep Into his mind. If It docs not, If he does not by decisive action succeed In limit ing his needs, lie risks a descent, Insen sible and beyond retreat, along the de clivity of desire. lie who lives to eat, drink, sleep, dress, take his walk—in short, pamper himself all thift he can—be It the court ier basking In the sun, the drunken laborer, the commoner serving his t ei ly, the woman absorbed ln her toilets, the profligate of low estate or hitrh. er simply the ordinary pleasure lover, a "good fellow," but too obedient to ma terial needs— that man or woman Is on the downward way of desire, and the descent Is fatal. Those who follow it obey the same laws as a body on an inclined plane. Dupes of an Illusion forever repeated, they think, "Just a few steps more, the last, toward the thlnu down there that we covet; then we will halt." But the velocity they gain sweeps them on, and the farther Uiey go the less able they are to resist h. Hero Is the secret of the unrest, the madness, of many of our contempora ries. Having condemned their will to the service of their uppetltes. they suf fer the penalty. They are delivered up to violent passions which devour their flesh, crush their bones, suck their blood and cannot be sated. This Is not a lofty moral denunciation. I have been listening to what life says, and have recorded as I heard them some of the truths that resound In every square. Has drunkenness, inventive as It Is of new drinks, found the means of quenching thirst? Not at all. It might rather be called the art of makln? thirst Inextinguishable. Frank liber tlnage, does It deaden the sting of the sense-s? No; It envenoms it, converts natural desire Into a morbid obsession and makes It the dominant passion. •Let your needs rule you, pamper them, you will see them multiply like insect* In the sun. The more you give them the more they demand. He Is sense less who seeks for happiness in mate rial prosperity alone. As well under take to fill the cask of the Dana idee. To those who have millions, millions are wanting; to those who have thou sands, thousands. Others lack a twen ty franc piece or a hundred sous. When they have a chicken in the pot they nsk for a goose; when they have the goose they wish It were a turkey, and so on. We shall never learn how fatal Uiis tendency Is. There are too many humble people who wish to Imitate the great, too many poor workingmen who ape the well to do middle classes, too many shopgirls who play at being la dies, too many clerks who act the club man or sportsman, and among those In easy circumstances and the rich are too many people who forget that what they possess could serve a better pur pose than procuring pleasure for them selves, only to find ln the end that one ne\ er has enough. Our needs, In place of the servants that they should bo, have become a turbulent and seditious crowd, a legion of tyrants ln hilniature. A man enslaved to his needs may best be compared to a bear with a ring ln its nose, that is led about and made to dance at will. Tbe likeness is not flat tering, but you will grant that It Is tiue. It Is In the train of their own needs that so many of those men are dragged along who rant for liberty, progress and I don't know what else. They cannot take a step without ask ing themselves If It might not Irritate their masters. How many men and women have gone on and on, even to dishonesty, for the sole reason that they had too many needs and could not resign themselves to simple living! There are many guests ln the cham bers of Mazas who could give us much light on the subject of too exigent needs. Let me tell you the story of an ex cellent man whom I knew. He ten derly loved his wife and children, and they all lived togother. In France, in comfort and plenty, but with little of the luxury the wife coveted. Always short of money, though with a little management he might have been at ease, be ended by exiling himself to a distant colony, leaving his wife and children In the mother country. 1 don't know how the poor man enn feel off there, but his family has a finer apartment, more beautiful toilets and what passes for an equipage. At pres ent they are perfectly contented, but soon they will be used to this luxury - rudimentary after all. Then madam will find her furniture common and her equipage mean. If this man loves his wife, and that cannot be doubted, be will migrate to the moon If there Is hope of a larger stipend. In other cases the roles are reversed and the wife and children are sacrificed to the ravenous ne«ds of the bead of the family, whom an Irregular life, play and countless other costly follies have robbed of all dignity. Between his ap petites and bis role of father he has decided for the former, and he slowly drifts toward the most abject egoism. This forgetfulness of all responsibil ity, this gradual benumbing of noble feeling, Is not alone to l>e found among pleasure seekers of tbe upper classes— the people also are Infected. I know more than one little household which ought to be happy, where the mother has only pain and heartache day and night, tbe children are barefoot, and there Is great ado for bread. Why? Because too much money Is needed by the father. To speak only of the ex penditure for alcohol, everybody knows the proportions that has reached ln the last twenty yemrs. The sums swallow ed up in this gulf are fabulous twice the Indemnity of the war of IH7O. 1 low many legitimate needs could have been satisfied with that which has been thrown away on these artlflelal ones! The reign of wants Is by no means the reign of brotherhood. The more things a man desire-? for himself, the less be can do for his neighbor, and even for those attached to hint by ties of blood. The destruction of hnpplness, Indo pendente, moral fineness, even of the sentiment of common interests -such 1M the result of the relgu of needs. A multitude of other unfortunate things might he added, of which not the least Is the disturbance of the public wel fare. When society has too great needs It Is absorbed with the present, sacrifices to It the coii'iuewts of tlio past, immolates to It the future. After us the deluge! To raze the forests In onlcr to net gold; to squander your pat rlmony In youth, destroying In a day the fruit of lung years; to warm your house by burning your furniture; to burden the future with debts for tlio salce of present pleasure; to live by ex pedlents and sow for the morrow trou ble, sickness, ruin, envy and hate—the enumeration of all the misdeeds of this futal regime has DO end. On the other hand, if we hold to sim ple needs we avoid all these evils and replace them by measureless good. That temperance and sobriety are the fcest guardians of health is an old sto ry. They spare him who observes them many n misery that saddens existence. They Insure him health, love of action, mental poise. Whether it be a ques tion of food, dress or dwelling, simplic ity of taste is also a source of Inde pendence and safety. The more sim ply you live the more secure is your fu ture. You are less at the mercy of surprises and reverses. An illness or a period of Idleness does not suffice to dispossess you; a change of position, even considerable, does not put you ■to confusion. Having simple needs, you find It less painful to accustom yourself to the hazards of fortune. You remain a man, though you lose your office or your Income, because the foundation on which your life rests is not your table, your cellar, your horses, your goods and chattels or your money. In adversity you will not act like a nursling deprived of Its bottle and rattle. Stronger, better armed for the j »a-uggto. presenting, like those with i shaven heads, less advantage to the \ hands of your enemy, you will also be of more profit to your neighbor. For you will not rouse his Jealousy, his base desires or his censure by your luxury, your prodigality or the spec tacle of a sycophant's life, and, less absorbed In your own comfort, you will find the means of working for that of others. CHAPTER VII. SIMPLE PLEASURES. DO you find life amusing in these days? For my part on the whole, it seems rather de pressing, and I fear that my opinion Is not altogether personal. As I observe the lives of my contempo raries and listen to their talk I find myself unhappily confirmed In the opinion that they do not get much pleasure out of things. And certainly It is not from lack of trying. But It must be acknowledged that their suc cess Is meager. Where can the fault bo? Some accuse politics or business, others social problems or militarism. We meet only an embarrassment of choice when we start to unstring the chaplet of our carking cifres. Sup pose we set out in pursuit of pleasure. There is too much pepper In our soup to make It palatable. Our arms r.re filled with a multitude of embarrass ments, any one of which would be enough to spoil our temper. Froiu morning till night, wherever we go, the people we meet are hurried, wor ried, preoccupied. Some have split their good blood In the miserable con flicts of petty politics; others arc dis heartened by the meanness and Jeal ousy they have encountered In the world of literature or art. Commercial competition troubles the sleep of not a few. The crowded curricula of study and the exigencies of their open ing careers spoil life for young men. The working classes suffer the conse quences of a ceaseless struggle. It is becoming disagreeable to govern bo cause authority is diminishing; to teach, because respect is vanishing. Wherever one turns there is matter for discontent. And yet history shows us certain epochs of uphenvol which were ns lacking In idyllic tranquillity ns Is our own, but which the gravest events did not prevent from being gay. It even seems us If the seriousness of nf falrs, the uncertainty of the morrow, the violence of social convulsions, sometimes became a new source of vitality. It Is not a rare thing to hear soldiers singing between two battles, and I think myself nowise mistaken In Saying that human Joy has celebrated Its finest triumphs under the greatest tests of endurance. But to sleep peace fully on the eve of battle, or to exult at the stake, men had then the stim ulus of an Internal harmony which we perhaps lack. Joy Is not in tilings; It Is In us, and I hold to the belief that the causes of our present unrest, of this contagious discontent spreading everywhere, ure In us at least as much as In exterior conditions. To give oneself up heartily to diver sion one must feel himself on u solid busls, must believe in life and find it within him. And here lies our weak ness. So many of us—even, alas, the younger men—are at variance with life, and I do not speak of philosophers only. How do you think a man can be amused while he has his doubts wheth er, after all, life Is worth living? Be sides this, one observes u disquieting depression of vital force, which must be attributed to the abuse man makes of his sensations. Excess of nil kinds has blurred our senses nnd poisoned our faculty for happiness. Human na ture succumbs under the irregularities imposed upou It. Deeply attainted at Its root, the desire to live, persistent In spite of everything, seeks satisfaction in cheats and baubles. In medical sci ence we have recourse to artificial res piration, artificial alimentation an 1 gul vunlsm. So, too, around expiring pleas ure wo see a crowd of its votaries ex •rtlng themselves to reawaken It, to re anlmnto It. Most Ingenious means huve been Invented; It can never be said that expense has been spared. Everything has been tried, the possible and the Impossible. But lu all these complicated ulcmblcs no one hus ever arrived at distilling a drop of veritable Joy. We must not confound pleasure with the Instruments of pleasure. To be a painter, doer. It suffice to urm oneself with u brush, or does the pur chase at greot cost of a Strndlvarlus mnke one a musician? No more, If you hud the whole paraphernalia of amusement In tho perfection of Its In genuity, would It advance you upon your road. But with a bit of crayon a great mils' makes an Immortal sketch. It needs talent or genius to palut; and to amuse oneself, the facul ty of being happy—whoever possesses It Is amused at slight cost. This facul ty is destroyed by skepticism, artificial Slving, overubuse; It Is fostered by con- Idence, moderation and normal habits of thought ana action. An excellent proof of my proposition, nnd one very easily encountered, lies in the fact that wherever life Is sim ple und sane true pleasure accompa nies It us fragrance does uncultivated flowers. Be this life hard, hampered, | devoid of ull things ordinarily consid ered as the vory conditions of pleasure, the rare und delicate plant, Joy, flour ishes there. It springs up between the flogs of the pavement on un urld wall, In the fissure of a rock. We usk our selves how It comes und whence, but It lives, while In tho soft warmth of con servatories or In fields richly fertilized you cultivate It ut a golden cost to see It fade and die In your hand. Ask actors what audience Ls happiest at the play. They will tell you tho pop ular one. Tho reason Is not hard to grusp. To these people the play Is an exception. They are not bored by It from overindulgence JLntt* ina. hi i hem It Is a rest from rude toll. The pleasure they enjoy they have honestly turned, and they know Its cost ns • they know that of each sou earned by I thu »weat of their labor. More, they ! liavo not frequented U.o wings. ti>ey have uo intrigues with tlie actnMsee, i they do not see the wires pulled. To ; them It is all real. Ami ro they feel pleasure unalloyed. I think I see the j s;'ted skeptic, whore monocle glistens in that box. cast a disdainful glance j over the smiling crowd, j Poor stupid creatures, ignorant and gross. And yet they are the true livers, , while he Is an artificial product a ruan nikln. incapable of experiencing this fine and salutary intoxication of an hour of frank pleasure. Unhappily, Ingenuousness is disap pearing even In the rural districts. We see the people of our cities and those of the country in their turn breaking with the good traditions. The mind, warped by alcohol, by the passion for gambling and by unhealthy literature, contracts little by little perverted tastes. Artificial life makes Irruption into communities once simple in their pleasures, and It is like phylloxera to the vine. The robust tree of rustic Joy finds Its sap drained. Its leaves turn ing yellow. Compare a fete champetre of the good old style with the village festl vals, so called, of today. In the one case, in the honored setting of antique costumes, genuine countrymen sing the folk songs, dance rustic dances, re gale themselves with native drinks and seem entirely in their element. They take their pleasure as the blacksmith forges, as the cascade tumbles over the rocks, as the colts frisk in the meadows. It is contagious; it stirs your heart. In spite of yourself you are ready to cry: "Bravo, my children! That Is finer* You want to join in. In the other case you see villagers dis guised as city folk, countrywomen made hideous by the modiste, and, ns the chief ornament of the festival, a lot of degenerates who bawl the songs of music halls, and sometimes in the place of honor n group of tenth rate barn stormers, lmportod for the occa sion, to civilize these rustics and give them a taste of refined pleasures. For drinks, liquors mixed with brandy or absinth —ln the whole thing neither originality nor plcturesqueness. Li cense, indeed, and elownishness, but not that abandon which Ingenuous Joy brings in Its train. This question of pleasure is capital. Staid people generally neglect it ns a frivolity; utilitarians, as a costly su perfluity. Those whom we designate as pleasure seekers forage in this deli cate domain like wild boars in a gar den. No one seems to doubt the im mense human interest attached to Joy. It Is a sacred flame that must be fed and that throws a splendid radiance over life. He who takes pains to fos ter It accomplishes a work as profit able for humanity as he who builds bridges, pierces tunnels or cultivates the ground. So to order one's life as to keep, amid toils and suffering, the faculty of happiness and be able to propagate it in a sort of salutary con tagion among one's fellow men Is to do a work of fraternity In the noblest sense. To give a trifling pleasure, smooth an anxious brow, bring a llttio light Into dark paths—what a truly divine ofllce In the midst of this poor humanity! But it is only in great sim plicity of heart that one succeeds In filling It. We are not Bimple enough to be hap py and to render others 80. We lack the singleness of heart and the self forgetfulness. We spread Joy, as we do consolation, by such methods ns to obtain negative results. To console a person what do we do? We set to work to dispute his suffering, persuade him that he Is mistaken In thinking himself unhappy. In reality our lan guage translated into truthful speech would amount to this: "You suffer, my friend? That Is strange. You must be mistaken, for I feel nothing." As the only human means of soothing grief Is to share it In the heart, bow must a sufferer feel consoled In this fashion? To divert our neighbor, make him pass an agreeable hour, we set out in the same way. We invite him to ad mire our versatility, to laugh at our wit, to frequent our house, to sit at our table. Through it all our desire to shine breaks forth. Sometimes, also, with u patron's prodigality we offer him the beneficence of a public enter tainment of our own choosing, unless we ask him to find amusement at our home, as we sometimes do to make Gp a party at cards, with the arriere pensee of exploiting him to our own profit. Do you think it the height of pleasure for others to admire us, to nd mlt our superiority and to act as our tools? Is thero anything In the world so disgusting as to feel oneself patron ised, made capital of, enrolled In a claque? To give pleasure to others and take It ourselves we have to begin by removing the ego, which is hateful, and then keop It In chains as long as the diversions last There Is no worse kill-Joy than the ego. Wo must be good children, sweet and kind, button our coats over our medals ond titles and with our whole heart put our selves at the disposal of others. I>et us sometimes live—be It only for an hour, and though we must lay all else aside—to make others smile. The sacrifice is only in uppesrance. No ono finds more pleusure for himself than he who knows how, without ostentation, to give lilmsolf that he may procure for those around him a moment of for getfulness and happiness. When shall w® be so simply and truly men ns not to obtrude our per sonal business and distresses upon the people we meet socially? May we not forget for an hour our pretensions, our strife, our distributions Into sets and cliques—in short, our "parts"—and be come HS children once more, to laugh again that good laugh which does so much to make the world better? Here I feel drawn to speuk of some thing vory particular, and In so doing to offer my well disposed readers uu opportunity to go übout u splendid business. I want to call their at tention to several classes of peoplo seldom thought of with reference lo their pleasures. It Is understood that a broom serves only to sweep, n watering pot to water plunts, a coffeo mill to grind coffee, and likewise it Is supposed that a nurse Is designed only to care for the sick, a professor to teach, u priest to |»reach, bury and confess, a sentinel to mount guard; and the conclusion Is drawn that tho people given up to the more serious business of life.are dedi cated to labor, like the ox. Amuse ment Is Incompatible with their activ ities. Pushing this view still further, we think ourselves warranted in be lieving tlist the lnllnn, tho afflicted, the bankrupt, the vanquished In llfo's bottlo ond all those who carry heavy burdens are In the shade, like the northern slopes of mountains, and that it Is so of necessity; whence tho con clusion thut serious people have no n«*ed of pleasure and that to offer It to them would be unseemly, while us to the nflllcted, there would be a lack of delicacy In breaking the thread of their sud meditations. It seems there fore to bo understood that certain per sons are condemned to bo always so rlous, that we should approach them In a serious frame of mind and talk to ujtm onijr ouslay-fttee- 9A tea when we visit the sick or unfortunate, we should leave our smiles at the door, j compose our face and manner to dole fulness and talk of anything heart- j rending. Thus we carry darkness to ! those In darkness, shade to those In shade. We Increase the Isolation of solitary lives and the monotony of tho dull and sad. We wall up some exist- i ences, as It were, in dungeons, and 1 because the grass grows round their j deserted prison house we speak low In , approaching It as though It were a j tomb. Who suspects the work of In- , fernal cruelty which Is thus aceom- | pllsbed every day In the world! This . ought not to be. When you find men or women whose lives are lost in hard tasks or In tbe painful office of seeking out human wretchedness and binding up wounds, remember that they are beings made like you; that they have the same wants; that there are hours when they need pleasure and diversion. You will not turn them aside from their mission by making them laugh occasionally, these people who see so many tears and griefs. On the contrary, you will give them strength to go on the better with their work. And when people whom you know are In trial, do not draw a sanitary cor don round them, as though they had the plague, that you cross only with precautions which recall to them their sad lot On the contrary, after show ing all your sympathy, all your respect for their grief, comfort them, help them to take up life again, carry them , a breath from the out of doors—some thing, In short to remind them that their misfortune does not shut them off from the world And so extend your sympathy to those whose work Quite absorbs them; who are, so to put It tied down. The world Is full of men and women sac rificed to others, who never have either rest or pleasure and to whom the least relaxation, the slightest respite, Is a priceless good. And this minimum of comfort could be so easily found for them If only we thought of It But the broom, you know, Is made for sweep ing. and it seems as though it could not be fatigued Let us rid ourselves of this criminal blindness which pre vents us from seeing tbe exhaustion of those who are always In the breach. Relieve the sentinels perishing at their posts; give Slsypbns an hour to breathe; take for a moment the place of tbe mother, a slave to tbe cares of her bouse and her children; sacrifice an hour of our sleep for some one worn by long vigils with tbe sick. Young girl, tired sometimes perhaps of your walk with your governess, take the c<sok's apron and give her the key to the fields. You will at once make oth ers happy and be happy yourself. We go unconcernedly along beside our brothers who are bent under burdens we might take upon ourselves for a minute. And this short respite would suffice to soothe aches, revive the flame of Joy In many a heart and open up a wide place for brotherllnoss. How much better would one understand an other If he knew bow to put himself heartily In that other's place, and how much more pleasure there would be In life! I have spoken too fully elsewhere of systematizing amusements for the young to return to It here In detail, but I wish to say In substance what can not be too often repeated; If you wish youth to be moral do not neglect Its pleasures or leave to chance the task of providing them. You will perhaps say that young people do not like to have their amusements submitted to regulations and that, besides, In our day they are already overspolled and divert themselves only too much. 1 shall reply, first, that one may suggest Ideas, Indicate directions, offer oppor tunities for amusement without mak ing any regulations whatever. In the second place, I shall make you see that you deceive yourselves In thinking youth has too much diversion. Aside from amusements that are artificial, enervating and Immoral, that blight life Instead of msklng It bloom In splendor, there are very few left today. Abuse, that enemy of legitimate use, has so befouled the world that It Is be coming difficult to touch anything but what Is unclean; whence watchfulness, warnings and endless prohibitions. One can hardly stir without encountering something that resembles unhealthy pleasure. Among young people of to day, particularly the self respecting, the dearth of amusements causes real suffering. One is not weaned from this f enerous wine without discomfort. Im possible to prolong this state of affairs without deepening the shadow round the heads of the younger generations. We must come to their aid. Our chil dren are holrs of a Joyless world. We bequeuth them cares, hard questions, a life heavy with shackles and com plexities. Let us at leant make an ef fort to brighten tho morning of their iays; lot us Interest ourselves In their sports, find them pleasure grounds, open to them our hearts und our homes; let us bring the family into our amuse ments; let gayety cease to be a com modity of export; let us call In our sons, whom our gloomy Interiors send out Into the street, and our daughters, moping In dismal solitude; let us mul tiply anniversaries, family parties and excursions; let us raise good humor In our homes to the height of an Institu tion; let the schools, too, do their part; let masters and students schoolboys and college boys—meet together often er for amusement. It will be so much the better for serious work. There Is no such aid to understanding one's pro fessor as to have laughed In his corn puny, and, conversely, to be well un derstood a pupil muHt be met elsewhere than In class or examination. And who will furnish the money? What a question! That Is exactly the error. Pleasure and money—people take thein for the two wings of tho same bird! A gross Illusion! Pleasure, like ull other truly precious things in tills world, cannot be bought or sold. If you wish to be amused you must do your part toward It That Is tbe es sential. There Is no prohibition sgainst opening your purse, If you can do it and And It desirable, but I assure you it Is not lndlspensuble. Pleasure and simplicity are two old acquaintances. Entertain simply, meet your friends simply. If you come from work well done, are us amiable and genuine as poHHlble toward your companions and speak no evil of the absent your suc cess is sure. [TO BE COKTirrUED.I Soap. "Who goes there?" "Godfrey—Godfrey—Godfrey de Bou illon," stammered the young actor with his first two line part. "Supe, supe!" yelled the unfeeling gullery.—Pittsburg Post. Even Worse, Mrs. Hoyle I hear that your hus band died Intestate. Mrs. Doyle—Well, 1 don't kuow what his trouble was, but he had to have an operation.—Town Topics. Malice eats up the greatest part of her own venom and therewith polson etli herself.—Montaigne. So. 2 i REJECTED SUITORS. | FAMOUS LOVERS WHO HAVE BEEN VICTIMS OF CUPID'S PRANKS. Byron's Cntl 'Experience With Mill Cbsworth—lkeller'a Alain of the Heart—The Girl Wko Wu Mich Too Good to Marry Abe Llneola. j It may be of some consolation to the rejected lover to remember that many j of tbe greatest men In history have . Buffered equal pangs and survived tbe same ordeal to find married happiness elsewhere. Even Byron, that most beautiful and gifted of men, bad more than his share of refusals, and one of than at least was accompanied by words which left a sting to bis last day. He was only a Harrow schoolboy of sixteen when he fell madly In love with Miss Cba worth of Annesley, a young heiress of some beauty, who was two yean older than himself. But Miss Cbsworth treated all the boy's shy advances with laughter and contempt, and, although he was "suf fering the tortures of the lost" for her sake, refused to take Mm seriously. But the crowning blow came when,* in an adjacent room, be overheard Miss Cbaworth say to her maid, "Do you think I could care anything for that lame boy?" "This cruel speech," he afterward said, "was like a shot through my heart Although It was late and pitch dark, I darted out of the bouse and never stopped running until I reached Newstead" Shelley, too, almost as handsome and as gifted as Byron, knew from more than one experience tbe "pangs of re jection." After be bad been expelled from Oxford and went to London with his fellow culprit, Hogg, to live, he fell violently In love with his landlady's daughter, who bore tbe unromantic name of Eliza Jenkins. But Eliza, even though he threatened to. commit suicide in his despair, refused to have anything to do with him, and when a few months later, having thought bet ter of the suicidal threat, he sought to console himself by paying court to Miss Harriet Grove, a pretty cousin, she was so alarmed at his heterodoxies that she sent him very decidedly about bis business. When Sheridan, following the exam ple of many other amorous young men, fell over bead and ears In lore with Miss Linley, the beautiful singer, "sbe only laughed at his ardor and made faces at him behind his back," and yet be used that subtle and eloquent tongue of bis to such purpose that b« actually ran away with her to a French nunnery and married her after fighting several duels with his rivals and her persecutors. When Burke, tbe great politician and orator, was a student at Trinity col lege, Dublin, be Is said to have bad more than one love disappointment His first Infatuation was for tbe daughter of a small publican, "whose dark eyes fired the blood of the young Irishman," but after coquetting with him for a time she Jilted him in tbe most heartless fashion. His success, too, with bis beautiful country woman, Margaret Wofflngton, was no greater, although he remained her loyal lover td the last. When Abraham Lincoln, as a youth of eighteen, was "living In a rude log cabin In Spencer county, Ind., and picking up the rudiments of education In the Intervals of rail splitting and plowing," he fell In love with tbe daughter of a poor Irish settler In a neighboring log cabin, and after many clumsy failures to declare bis love to her In person penned with difficulty one of bis first letters, asking her to become bis wife. He never received an answer to this "clumsy effusion," as he afterward call ed It, but when next he met Bridget "sbo tossed her bead and looked another way." She was much too good, she Is said to have declared, to marry, a gawky farm laborer. Then it was that Lincoln left the paternal cabin and voyaged as hired band on a flat boat Into that greater world which before long was to ring with the name of the gawky farm boy. When, thir teen years or so later, Abraham Lin coln became president of the United States, Bridget was still living, "the slatternly wife of a farm laborer In a log cabin," and still preserved tbe ill penned letter which might. If she bad been wise, have made her the "first lady of tbe land" It Is well known that Jean Baptists Beraadotte, when he was a private of marines, was indignantly refused by a girl of very bumble rank who thought herself "much too good to marry a common soldier." What her reflec tions were In later years, when the despised private was the powerful king of Swedes and Norway, history does not record.—Philadelphia Times. The Day's Work. Much of the success of life depends on proper preparation for the day's work. Most people work either In the home or office, and they desire to get the most out of themselves. To riso late, rush through the toilet and gulp down a hasty breakfast Is no prepara tion for a good day's work, yet It Is sufe to say that tbe majority of women begin the day in this way. It Is Just as easy to rise in plenty of time, If ono will only do It The tendency on wak ing Is to stretch and yawn. A few minutes spent In this deep breathing it always restful. This should be fol lowed by a few breaths of fresh air, drinking a couple glasses of water, ex ercises that suit the case, the bath and toilet This forms a mental attitude consistent with a good day's work. A simple breakfast—some take none— should follow before an unhurried Jour ney either to office or the routine of housework. Stand erect breathe erect think erect, and half the battle of life Is won.— Housekeeper. Five Thoaaand Distinct LaifMgM. Mr. J. Collier Is authority for the statement that there are no less than 5,000 distinct languages spoken by munklnd. The number of separate dia lects is enormous. There are more than sixty distinct vocabularies In Bra* sll, and In Mexico the Nahua language has been broken up Into 700 dialects. There arc hundreds In Borneo. The Complexities are beyond classification In Australia, and generally the num ber of dialects decreases with the In tellectual culture of the population. If there Is au average of fifty dialects to every language we still havs tbe enormous total of 250,000. Barytas the lan Bleu. In some pnrts of England when a public house loses Its license the sign board Is solemnly buried. On tho lust night It Is removed from over tbe door and "waked" In tbe bar by tbe old customers. When the clock points to closing time and the house ceases Its career as un Inn the signboard Is car ried out In procession and Interred with an appropriate burial service, wlilch ends with watering the grave with a gallon of beer or a bottle of whisky.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers