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.