A BIG CHIPPEWA CHIEF.
HE CUT A WIDE SWATH AROUND
ST. PAUL IN EARLY DAYS.
Hole-ln-the-Dajr and HI. Career- A Sped*
men of Hi. Magnificent Nerve Th.
Chiefs lieac.ndants—A Minnesota Plo
neer's Reminiscences.
The remiuiscent strain is quite a gen
eral and generous one with Maj. T. M.
Newson. Among the interesting and his
torical stories in his fund of such is one
of the noted Chippewa chief, Hole-in
the-Day, with whom he, in company
with other early settlers of St. Paul, war
personally well acquainted. The story,
in his own language, is as follows:
While Bitting in a small office in the
old Fort Snelling house, St. Paul, Minn.,
in the year 1853, my attention was ar
rested by the imposing presence of a
large Indian chief, who, with his blanket
about him, strode into the room with
the dignity of a Roman senator. He was
a large man, with high chdek bones, a
well poised head, brilliant black eyes
and hair, and witli a pleasant smile he
exclaimed while passing: "Booshu ne
cbee"—how to do, friend?—and took a
seat near me. There was a massive
characteristic altont the man which did
not belong to the ordinary Indian, and
yet he had all the Indian peculiarities.
DIDN'T LESSEN HIS APPETITE.
Dinner was soon announced, and lie
took a seat near me at the table. He ate
with ordinary deliberation and stowed
away an ordinary amount of food, bul
while so engaged one of the windows
. was suddenly darkened, and on looking
up I beheld many grimy faces and burn
ing eyes, with war jiaint and feathers,
the possessors of which belonged to the
Sioux nation, and which nation had been
„ for years aud was then at war with the
Chippewas. Gleaming knives and par
tially covered tomahawks made my po
v sition by the side of the Chippewa chief
Father uncomfortable, so I moved; bul
he continued to eat, and then the dooi
opened and some ten or twelve Sioux
warriors filed along in front of the foe
of their people, with clinched rifles and
hearts glowing witli revenge. Still calm,
with not a muscle of his mobile face de
noting fear, thecliief finished his dinner,
coolly arose, drew his blanket about him,
and with a lordly tread, a compressed
lip and a (lashing eye, walked down in
fr.ont of these hostile Sioux, aud lighting
his pipe, deliberately puffed the smoke
into the very faces df liis inveterate foes.
That man was Hole-in-the-Dav, the chief
of the Chippewa nation, and the Sioux
warriors were on his warpath, but they
feared the white man's troops at Fort
Snelling would dart down upon them the
moment a blow had been given, so they
restrained their wrath and let the great
chief depart unmolested.
- Hole-in-the-Dav was an Indian of re
markable sagacity and intelligence. He
associated with the whites and compre
hended their ideas of civilization. He
was very wily and very brave, and
greatly feared by his enemies. It is
said of him t hat he would float down the
Mississippi river in his canoe to St. Paul,
paddle across the stream to the opposite
shore, secrete his boat, lay in wait for
the Sioux, who were in the habit of fol
lowing the trail to Meudota, then pounce
down upon them, kill one or two, secure
their 6caips and make his way back to
the east shore and thence home. He
visited Washington several times, and
became very well versed in the ways of
tricksters apd politicians. Once, while
on a vist to the capital, he fell in love
with a white waiter girl in the National
hotel, proposed toiler, was accepted, and
they were married. He casus west, re
paired his home near Fort Ripley, in
stalled his wife in-his tepee as the white
Indian queen,-and-soon after he was as
sassinated while riding home witii his
~ little mm. probably growing out of the
insane jealousy of his squaws.
HIS TWO SONS.
This white widow of Hoie-in-Uie-Day
lives at present, or did live, in Minneap
olis, where her son held a position in the
poetoffice, but 1 believe he is now in
some official position on the White Earth
reservation. Ignatius Hole-io-the-Day,
the elder* brother, and heir apparent to
the chieftainship, was drowned in the
Illinois river in Chicago about one year
ago. Of course he was full blood. His
brother, or rather his lialf-brotber, the
son of the white wife, is a fine, genteel,
well educated young man, and quite at
tractive in his appearance. The head
v men of the tribe have been anxious to
have him take tlie place of his father,
but in an interview with me he said,
while he would like to do something for
his people, he could not go from civiliza
tion back into the habits of the Indians,
as he would lie obliged to do to hold any
power over them.
The chief, Hole-in-the-Day, had a mag
nificent physical organization. He was
very straight, quite dignified, and yet
very affable*, and withal he was very
* generally liked by the whites. During
the Sioux outbreak in Minnesota in 1863
lie had overtures from Little Crow, the
great Sioux chief, to join with him in
massacreing the wlvites, but he declined
the honor, although some of his people
were anxious to have him do so. St.
Paul, in early times, without Hole-in
the-Day, would be like the play of
"Hamlet" with Hamlet left out.
On the bunk of the upper Mississippi,
about Little Falls, in Minnesota, lies the
body of thu® once great Chippewa chief
and that of his father, Ilole-in-llie-Day,
another noted chief before him, both
*" bodies facing south, so they can watch
the movements of their enemies—the
Sioux. There is a depression between
the two bills upon which the bodies lie,
and in the middle of this depression
stands a lone tree, conveying the idea
from the roadside that a sentinel was
guarding the graves. But haw changed
is everything now! Gone are the In
dians and their chieftains, but in their
places have wmc great cities, and back
of these roar the great waves of civiliza-
tion as (hey roll onward in their wild
career to the Pacific ocean.—St. Paul
Glolw.
WHERE DAY BEGINS ABOUT NOON.
Social Life in IluMila an Described by the
PrioccHH Kngalitcheff.
The Russian princess, Engalitcheff,
gave a vet.' pleasant talk to the people
who filled the Women's union to over
flowing. Her subject was ''Social Life
in Russia," which means, of course, so
cial high life, for she told her audience
of nothing else. She began by saying
that social life was similar everywhere,
except as it was modified by aristocratic
or democratic governments. The long
severe winters of Russia, as far north as
St. Petersburg, are very favorable to
brilliant seasons. To the south the climate
is very mild, and in the Crimea the wet
and dry seasons suggest the tropics. That
place is a resort for invalids.
In Bummer, said the lecturer, St. Pe
tersburg is deserted. Everybody, even
the poorest, goes away if possible. By
the last of May or the first of June the
town is shut up. The schools close and
there is no life again till in the fall. As
cold weather approaches carpets are put
down, double windows are put in, and
every attention is paid to the general
comfort. Nearly everybody lives in flats.
There are no small private houses, and
only the rich families live in their own
houses.
"We Russians do not rise early," said
the lecturer. "It is 10 or 11 o'clock be
fore anybody is astir, unless it is the
children or teachers, who must be in
school at 1). and if one is to call on an
official lie should wait till midday."
The day of the high born Russian was
described at some length. Everybody
drives in the afternoon, and brilliant
equipages with only two occupants are
seen everywhere. At 4 o'clock driving
is at an end, for it is dark by that time
in the winter season, and receptions are
in order. Dinner is at 6, which, to the
foreign mind, appears to be a series of
standing lunch, sitting meal, smoking
soiree—for women sinoke cigarettes as
well as the men—and card party. Every
body plays whist, and for money. The
stakes are small usually, though at the
clubs fortunes are won and lost in a night.
The lecttirer described the Russian the
atre as the finest in the world and the
most fashionable. Wraps are left in the
hall. The performance is always pre
ceded by the national air, and passion
ate plays and music are popular. The
ballet is excelled only in Paris. Aiter
the play follow a long drive to a restau
rant, a leisurely supper to the most rav
ishing music, and the day draws to a
close. Then were described the balls at
the Winter palace, led by the emperor
and empress, the carnival, Lent and East
er—all of which are observed in grand
style, just as they were of old. Nobody
eats meat during the six weeks of Lent.
The theatre gives way to grand concerts,
and after Easter many leave town.
The summer resorts are very rustic
and very quiet. There are cottages:
there is no fine style, no formality, no
grand dressing. It was with evident
sadness that the princess declared that
Russia was jioor and growing poorer.
There wej-eonlya few very rich families.
"As a rule we are poor," she said. "The
women generally dress in dark colors
and not expensively. What would your
young ladies think of only two ball
dresses in a whole season?" After hav
ing seen our Saratoga and Newport the
lecturer was ready to say that Russian
watering places were bad. There were
no entertainments, few conveniences,
and. only very poor music. Once the
people were rich enough to seek these
things abroad, but now they could not
and were obliged to accept such as they
found at home.
The lecture was followed by a pleasant
reception. Coffee was served down
stairs and Russian tea up stairs, which
latter, to the provincial American sight
and taste, was merely good tea sweet
ened with candies and given a foreign
character by lemon juice. The princess
was very sociable and made everybody
at home about her. She passed freely
frotn one part of the gathering to an
other. and everybody was charmed with
her manner.—Buffalo Express.
AaUiuri a Proofreader Had Met.
Some one. a man apparently, who
signs himself "B. F. P.," is writing a
series of papers on "Authors I Have
Met" for The Boston Transcript. How
do you suppose he has met his authors?
At the club or in the dining room? Not
at all. In a much more practical way—
as a proofreader and compositor; and he
discusses them from a manuscript point
of view. The most of his meeting was
done in Boston, and he tells us how
amiable were such men as Robert C.
Winthrop, Josiah Qnincv, Joseph Story
and other equally distinguished Boston
ians when they visited the printers. As
a rule these gentlemen wrote carefully
and their manuscript was not difficult to
read. It was not until "B. F. P." came
to New York and had to read the proofs
of a pamphlet on "Intagliotype Print
ing," by Horace Greeley, that he learned
what it was to iiave a really hard time
with a manuscript. When the "galley
proofs" came to liirn they were almost
"pi," but he and his copy holder strug
gled w itli them and did the best they
could. He says:
"Horace came in one morning to read
the author's proof, for lie did not want
The Tribune folks to know just then
what lie was up to. We were in fear and
trembling. But what was our surprise
to hear hiin remark to the boss, 'Your
proofreading here is better than it is in
The Tribune office!' and be had made
but few changes. The boss was a fair
man and introduced Mr. Greeley to re
peat the compliment. He did. I ex
plained why. My copyholder had been
a compositoron The Tribune and handled
the chirography before. 'Been in my of
fice?' queried Mr. Greeley. 'Yes, sir.'
'Come back to it.' I lost him."
I don't wonder that Mr. Greeley did
not want to part with a man who could
read his handwriting.—Critic,
The following inscription is to be read
en a gravestone'in Persia Chaise: "Here
lies Gabrielle X., my adored spouse, an
angel! I shall never get over her loss!
Heiv lies Henriette X., my second wife,
an tngol also!"
LOST ILLUSIONS.
This is the fairy forest of my dream.
Where heroes rode In glittering armor (light—
And the tall trees In the pale moonshine seem
To whisper tales of long ago, to-night.
Methinks the flowers are hashed in sleep, nor see
The mystic symbols which upon the moss
The white moon easts through yonder swaying
tree-
Where I in solitary search must cross.
It is the same old fairy forest still:
But where ure all the heroes dressed in gold ?
And where the nymphs who beckoned me until
I thougld them real—ere yet tho world was oldf
I seek them uow, hut tbey elude my quest;
Lost dreams of youth and faith are ne'er re
stored;—
Fori myself am lie whose hands did wrest
The substance from the visions I adored.
—Felix N. Geison in Philadelphia Ledger.
ONE SUBSCRIBER.
Phoebe Slumford came down to break
fast one morning in very low spirits.
There seemed no doubt that the mortgage
would be foreclosed at last. Her father's
mind failed more and more. Everything
was forlorn and wretched. She had been
gazing at a rose colored picture of the
past to which distance lent enchantment.
She saw her buxom, comfortable, loving
mother; her yOung aunts, who petted
her; a kind though grave father; a lover,
Billy Barton, who adored lier, and went
away to sea and who had not been heard
of since. There was a little misunder
standing that she was too proud to ex
plain. Now how gray und dull waa life!
The dear mother gone, and though
doubtless she watched over her daugh
ter, human eyes cannot see those loving
angels. The aunts married; one in Cali
fornia, one in Colorado, one in Canada,
with families of their own. The father
changed, since the terrible illness that
followed his wife's sudden death, to a
trembling, querulous shadow, who re
quited ail her love and tenderness by
finding fault with her for her having
been bora a girl.
"If I bad a son," he used to say,
"things wouldn't go to rack and ruin
while I'm poorly. It's the only fault I
ever found with your good mother, that
she had a girl instead of a boy."
"Poor father! he used to be so differ
ent," Phoebe would say to herself; "and
it is a shame that lam not a young man."
But still, when a woman finds herself
unappreciated, her heart must ache.
A son never would have made the
feeble old man so comfortable, waited on
him so patiently, spared him so much.
The "bound girl," little Hannah Jane,
from the [>oor house, was bright and
tractable, but there was still much to do;
all woman's work, though; nothing that
could keep the heavy mortgage from fore
closing, or ihe man who farmed what
land there was left "on shares" from
cheating theni unmercifully; nothing
that brought money in.
Phoebe felt that, and it pained her
more than the thought that her thirtieth
birthday was close at hand, though no
woman ever lived who did not shrink
from that thought witlr a shiver of
horror.
Wiping the tears away, Miss Phoebe
left the table and took up the newspaper
—a big New York paper full of politics,
which she read to her father every day
and whicii was almost his only pleasure.
She glanced down the column of deaths
and marriages, and saw there no name
that she knew. She read an account of
the appearance of the sea serpent at the
shore near a certain hotel, and of a
frightful murder that made her blood
run cold. She read the wise words of
the weather prophet, who predicted a
rising barometer, and glanced over the
advertisements. "Spiukins' electric col
lar button, warranted to cure every
thing," offered testimonials from kings
and warriors, and tempted her to go
down and buy one for pa—or would, had
she had the tnonev to throw awav on a
cruel imposture.
DOBBS A CO.. on receipt of ten cent* anil a
stamped and directed envelope, will send to any
lady or gentleman direction* bow to make a for
tone at their own boated
Site was not much impressed by this
magnificent offer. But here was some
thing:
WANTRU in our office, a lady of education aad
refinement, a good talker, who has read a great
deal. Salary SSO per week. Apply at once in
persou. Church member preferred.
COZZEN & CO..
No. street.
"Dear me!" cried Phoebe to herself,
"fifty dollars a week! I think 1 am re
fined. I certainly have had a good edu
cation. 1 read everything I can get to
read. I am a church member. If 1
could get the place, I could go to busi
ness regularly like a man, give pa
most of (he fifty dollars a week, save
the place, perhaps, and certainly buy
the electric collar button."
Visions of her father restored to health
and vigorous old age; of the mortgage
paid off; of herself kneeling at her
father's feet while his hands rested on
her bead and said: "My daughter, I no
longer regret that God never gave me
a son, since he sent me you," rushed
through tier mind. She slipped from
the big horse hair covered arm chair,
and, kneeling before it, hid her face in
its great dimpled back, and with her
handkerchief to her eyes, prayed to be
helped. And when she arose it seemed
to her that a strong, unseen hand led
her; that there could be nothing to fear
or dread; nothing before her but success.
She gave her father his breakfast with
many smiles, irnd faily laughed when he
said: "Now, if yon were a boy you could
just go along with me to the polls and
vote for Puflingham. I want that man
to be elected; lie's got the right views
about property. But you're a girl, poor
thing—a girl."
Little he knew what was in her mind.
She read the political articles through
and hail just time to catcli the train,
giving Hannah Jane directions for the
dinner,
"If 1 get the place, old Mrs. Williams
must come and live here," she said to
herself, as she walked. "I'd feel per
fectly safe then, and she'd be glad to
have the spare room and her board."
A fresh color was on her cheek, and a
bright sparkle in her eye as she stepped
into the car. She woro her very best
things—precious and well saved —but
she must look her best. And she did;
for hope is ns great a beautifier as fresh
bonnet strings, and when reaching No.
street she climbed the long and
rather dirty stairs until she reached the
office of f'ozzen & Co., with a hopeful
heart.
The door of tlte room stood open. The
opposite roofs were visible through the
unshaded windows. Some girls stood at
a table folding pamphlets; others sat at
another directing envelopes. Behind a
barricade of walnut desk and iron rail
ing sat it portly- gentleman, bland, and
wearing a good deal of white hair, from
which a pair of round, black eyes, and a
very round nose, blackened at the nos
trils with snuff, (leered out and gave him
the appearance of one of those poodles
which belles of years ago were fond of
carrying about with them.
Another lady, with downcast eyes, was
gliding from the room; and another
woman, with rather a coarse manner,
tossed her head in indignation as she
pushed past the first.
"Poor things! they have applied for
the place and have not got it," said
Phoebe; but she could not feel sorry.
The portly gentleman arose lieliind
liis railings as she looked toward him,
and bowed.
"Walk in." he said.
Phcebe also bowed politely.
"Your advertisement"— she faltered.
"Yes, yes." said the gentleman, "I un
derstand. We have had throngs of la
dies here. H'm! Sit down."
"I do not know what your position is,
sir," said Phoebe, feeling very brave
almost like the son her father had al
ways wished for, she thought; "but I
can do my best. I have an education.
lam a church member. I read a great
deal. I think I can talk a little on a sub
ject I understand. And amongst so
many books"—she glanced at the shelves
—"I certainly should find the employ
ment Congenial; only J must go out of
town every night."
"That would be very easy," said the
gentleman. "You could arrange your
hours to suit yourself. You are exactly
the person we want. I see in your face
that expression I look for in vain in so
many faces—intelligence." The gentle
man gave a little leap on his chair and
spread his hands abroad. "Vivacity!"
He repeated the action. "And with a
fine personal up|>earance. You are the
very woman we need. I speak in a
purely business way. We must think of
these things. You suit us."
Could it be? Could it be? Phcebe
trembled with joy. Fifty dollars a week
—her dreams realized—her father happyl
Meanwhile the gentleman arose from his
seat.
"This," said he, taking a thick volume
from a shelf, "is the volume."
Phoelie looked at it with a happy smile
and waited for more.
"Have you ever taken subscriptions?"
asked the gentleman.
"No," said Phoebe; "but I"
"Ah, yes, you will be very successful,
I am sure," said the gentleman. "We
give you a list of streets, numbers, names
of residents. You call with the book;
ask to sec Mrs. So and So, or Mr. So and
So; send up your name; your card is
preferable. You rise when the person
enters; say 'How do you do, Mrs. So and
So? I feel that you would be interested
in this work and called to show it to
you.' You then talk in such a manner
that the person subscribes for the book.
On receiving the money we give you the
percentage. You see?"
"Yes," said poor Phoebe, who, under'
the revulsion of feeling, was on the verge
of a fainting lit. "Yes. It is like the
man with 'Dosem's Family Medicine,'
and the other books, who comes to our
house sometimes. But vou give fifty
dollars per week?"
"Fifty, dear madam!" cried the man,
laughing and rubbing his hands gayly.
"At ten cents on each book you can
easily get a hundred subscribers a day—
six hundred a week; sixty dollars for
the six days' work. With your mesmeric
power—l see it in your eyes—you will
make more," >
Poor l'hcelie Legan to feel better. It
would be terrible work; not at all what
she supposed; but—anything, anything
for father and the homestead!
"This is a specimen copy," said the
gentlemau. "You buy this little book
for your names. It has a pencil attach
ed; twenty-five cents. And you leave
one dollar deposit for the book."
"Is that necessary?' sighed Phoebe.
• "Well, we exact it of all," said the
amiable Mr. C'ozzeu. "What would you
have? We can't make exceptions; we
should offend others."
Phoebe paid the dollar and a quarter,
took the book and walked away, glancing
at the outline of her "beat," which was
far up town.
The book was a collection of receipts,
advice to youth, selections from Bryant's
poems and fun from old jest books. It
had also many patent medicine adver
tisements bound between its covers, and
four or five portraits of "beauties' with
their heads on one side and a simpering
smile upon their faces.
Poor Phoebe! she hoped against hope
as the street car took her up town, and
still cherished much more of that com
forting emotion than could have been
expected, when her feet touched the red
hot flagstones of Fifty-seventh street,
and the tall residences stared down at
her with half their doors closed with
those wooden barriers that say to all
who look. "Family gone to Europe."
But yet there were slops that might be
climbed, and Miss Mumforil climbed
them patiently.
She saw asweet, old lady, who beamed
on her and said:
"We've such a largo library now, we
can't really add to it. There's not room
in the house for another book."
She saw a sarcastic lady, who said:
"Greatly obliged for the attention. It
is a wonderful book—wonderful, but I
couldn't understand it. I have to read
lighter things. My brain, you know,
won't bear too much."
She saw a decided lady, who said:
"No, no, indeed! oh, no!" and opened
the door.
She saw a contemptuous young lady,
who simply shook her head, and rang
for a footman to "show this person out."
Then she saw a grandpapa with a dyed
mustache and an eye glass, who was gal
lant and offensive. Then she received
many "not at homes" from angry ser
vants, who knew her errand well, and
felt that they had been troubled to open
the door unnecessarily. After many long,
hot, wasted hours she found that her
next number was a drug store, and en
tered it, thankful for its cool shadow.
She was hot, thirsty, wretched. She
longed for a glass of the ice cold soda
water, hut had only a little change,
which must serve for fares, in her pocket.
She stood before the counter and re
peated her little story—her talk about
the book. The druggist smiled as he
glanced at the volume.
"I vould not lialf such drash in mine
house," he said. "You vaste your dime
mit a book like dis."
"It seems worthless to me," said-' poor
Phcebe, sighing.
"You get dook in. like some oder beo
ples, mit dem rascals." said the German.
"You look dired, madame, and not veil.
Go home and rest—l atvise you as a doc
tor."
A customer, who had been looking at
her, threw down the price of a tooth
brush he had bought, and seizing his
purchase, followed Phoebe out of the
door.
"Let me see your Ixiok, madame," he
said. "Very nice; I'll subscribe. Give
me your book, I'll write my name and
residence."
He did so. l'hcebe thanked him, and
tried to read it, but the letters danced
before her eves. Her head was so hot,
so heavy, sho must go back to Mr. Coz
zen's, get her dollur, give in her sub
scription, tell hiiu that she had failed.
She 'would fefl better after she had
rested, she thought—better. How kind
that man had lieen. But he subscribed
for her liook—she knew it well—out of
sheer pily; as one gives alms to a beg
gar.
She was in Mr. Cozzen's office again.
He looked at her out of his bush of white
hair. His black eyes and black nose
more poodle like than before.
She had wasted her day, risked sun
stroke, failed in her effort, and crushed
her hopes. What did he care, if he had
one subscription more? A Ixiok agent
was almost sure to get one, and hundreds
toiled over the earth every day with the
same results.
"Very foolish to give it up so," ho de
clared. "The first day never couuts. I
have ladies on my list making a hundred
dollars a week who got no subscribers on
the first day, and — Oh, your dollar;
Yes, yes! And here is your percentage—
ten cents. But you ought not to despair
when you have secured the name of
Capt. Barton on your list. Well, good
day."
She was gone, threading the streets
that led to (he ferry. The boat first;
then the train. Was that the train com
ing? What a roar! How black it was!
She staggered, but she did not fall to
the grouml. Some one caught her in
his arms.
Out of darkness, out of rest, out of
strange communion with her mother in
another world, Phoebe flatted back to
life again. A woman sat beside her and
fanned her.
"She's all right now," said a voice of
the family doctor order. "Only faint
nees; not sunstroke."
Then peace again; and waking, much
better.
"My poor father!'' she sighed. "He
must be so terrified! Some one has been
BO kind; but let me get to my father at
once."
"All in good time," said the motherly
woman at her side.
"Your father won't be anxious, Phoe
be," said a man, and lieu only subscriber
stepped where she could see him. "I
found your name and address iu your
little note book. 1 went and told him
you'd be home to-morrow. You don't
remember me. Phoebe?"
Phoebe smoothed her dress and sal up
on tbe chintz couch and looked at the
speaker.
"You subscribed for my book," she
said.
"But before that," said tbe man. "Be
fore I had a beard and went away to sea
with no hopes of being captain. Don't
you know Billy Barton, Phoebe!"
"Oh!" cried Phoebe. "Is it you?'
"I thought I knew you,'' said Capt.
Barton. "I followed you, wondering if
I dared speak; and you looked so ill. So
I was there when you fainted."
He took her hand and held it and lifted
it to his lips before be put it down.
"The same sweet girl," he said, softly.
"Good night. Peggy will take good care
of you. Kvery one who falls sick at this
hotel knows Peggy."
By next morning Phoebe was well
again, but Cap). Barton insisted on see
ing her home.
"What did pa say?' she asked. "Are
you sure he was not worried?'
"He said.'.' replied the captain, with a
smile, "that girls are never to be de
pended on, and that if lie hail had a son
he never would have cut up such
pranks."
Phoebe felt the tears rise to lier eyes.
"The old gentleman is very much
broken." said < 'apt. Barton. "He does
want a son as well as daughter; don't
you think so Phoebe?'
When he said that, he looked like tlie
Billy Barton of the long gone times.
A few months afterward he asked tlie
same question, adding:
"Won't I do?'
And so it came to pass that Phoebe, in
stead of ending her life as a solitary
spinster, married a man who loved her
truly. The mortgage was paid off the
old place, and the farm was no longer
managed on shares. And the old gen
tleman, what with freedom from care
and luxurious living, grew stronger and
brighter in every way; much fonder of
his daughter, too, as in the olden time.
So that one day when Phoebo Barton
came down to breakfast and sat wait
ing for those other two, and thinking
of the day with which this story be
gins, she laughed softly to herself and
declared:
"And I'm really the happiest woman
in the world today, I believe, after all."
—Marj Kyle Dallas in New York Led
ger.
MY OLD UMBRELLA.
Old friend, neglected there you stand !
Behind my closet door, ■
Y'Mi've really grown too shabby now j
To carry any more.
Around your rusty frame the silk
In faded splendor clings, ■
While numerous little genteel dams
To view the sunlight brings.
I need the spaco you. occupy
Within my small domain;
And yet to throw you out, I think.
Would give me mental pain.
Some sad and pleasant memories
Encircle j our gaunt form. "I
Outside of times you've sheltered me I
From sun as well asstorm. 1
Yes, many a tramp, old friend, we've bad
In rain and pleasant weather:
To weddings gay. and funerals sad
We've often gone together.
And when with merry friends I've climbed [
The mountains—you as prop
Helped me to. triumph e'er the nut
By gaining first the top.
When in a crowded car I've gone.
And couid not get a seat,
Twns your crook'd handle held thestrajv
Aud kept me on my feet.
But far above your usefulness.
One memory sweet I see.
'Tin till*.- 'ncath your protecting-shade I
My John pm|>osed to me.
Elsie-Uaekiiug in Uood Housekeeping*
Piltli's High Notes
A writer ut Tlie Lotulon World, says of
Mme. PattL's terms for singing in con
certs: "I hav.e all mv life- had a weak
ness for ladies, ami ladies, have always
had the weakness to know what is not
their business, so* 1 am going to betray a.
Secret oil hhe trade to tlw-ktdy readers of
this pupen-in order to let them get an in
sight into-affairsdiscussed by everybody,
although, 'everybody* knows nothing;
about what is really the matter. Front,
all sides- L hear of the greedinessof Mme.
Patti. the-exorbitant prices, she asks, andk
how she does not care whether the peo
ple in whose concerts she sings are- ruined,
so long as she receives her money. Tin*
fact is this: Mine Patti receives for every
convert in the Albert hall £7oo—an enor
mous, amount, IKJ> doubt.
"■Now let us see as to- the ruia of the
people who engage her. The expenses:
of the hall are about ktOtk other artists
£'loo. advertising, etc., say £l3<k the*
wliule forms £t,toO to £I.BOO costs Th
receipts of this. first year's concert were
about £1.700. of the second over £I,BOO,
and the third wilt probably Vie still larger
—that is to. say. .{MOO, £6OO and £7OO
profit. 1 kuew that once in a concert
in which she sang the expenses were a
little over £I.BOO and I lie receipts £8.143,
with £1.711 taken for programme books.
These are tig ores, not opinions. I have
known what is perhaps still tuore aston
ishing. One evening the fog was so
thick that 1 was reflecting whether [
should go to the hall, imagining that
Mme. Patti, whom I had to accompany,
would riot go. I went, however, after
all. by the underground railway, and
the receipts that evening left over £6OO
profit."
A I'fiwftrluf Frisoutr,
"Perseverance will accomplish every
thing." 1 luuf these words for a writing
lesson once and 1 shall never forget
them. It is a great thiiig to have per
severance. There was once a man who
was shut lip in a dungeon with walls
200 feet thick, made of the hardest kind
of stone. He had no tools except a pair
of scissors his Isotlier had sent him in a
loaf of bread, hut he remembered that a
drop of water will wear away a stone if
it falls on the stone long enough, and
that a coral worm, which is so small
that you can hardly see it, will eat up
and destroy a coral reef if you will only
give it time enough. So he said that he
would persevere und dig a hole through
the wall of the dungeon with the scissors
and escape if it. look him a hundred
years.
He had been digging about a year
when the govornor pardoned him and
the jailer brought hiut the joyful news.
But they couldn't get him to leave the
dungeon. He told the jailer that he had
undertaken to dig his way through the
wall and escape in that way, and that he
was going to stick to it, no matter how
long it might lake. The jailer urged
him to give it up and walk out of the
door, and even offered him (10 to give
up his dungeon to a new lodger, but
nothing could induce him to change hi
mind. 80 lie staid in the dungeon and
dug away at the wall for forty-seven
years, and every six months he had to
pay a big bill for damages to the jail,
and he finally died when lie was half
through the wall. This shows what a
splendid thing perseverance is, and that
we all ought to persevere.—W. L. Alden.
Tupper't Kfolimi,
Sir G D , a personage not un
known to fame, once encountered the
late Martin Farquliar Tupper on a Clyde
steamer, and was accosted by bim in
these terms: "I perceive that I am not
the only distinguished man 011 board."
Mr. Tupper smiled not as lie spoke,
being quite in earnest and, indeed, wish
ing to pay Sir G what he conceived
to be a high compliment. This little in
cident occurred on deck. Presently Mr.
Tupper went down into the cabin, but
before doing so handed his umbrella to
a young lady, a perfect stranger, to take
care of it for bim. "Young lady," he
observed to the astonished recipient of
the umbrella, "you will now be able to
say in after life that you once held the
umbrella of Martin Tupper." Same
smile less expression as before. The
story is told of Tupper that one evening
he attended a dinner party after having
lost his portmanteau in the afternoon,,
and at the table, when lie had talked a
great deal about bis loss, a wit who was
present interrupted him by saying: "If
I had lost my portmanteau, Mr. 'Tupper,
I, being an ordinary man, should' liavo
been justified in boring a dinner table
with my grief. But you, Sir. Tupper—
your philosophy is proverbial."—San
Francisco Argonaut.
Tlio Usual Result.
Mrs. William Snyder, a Des Moine3
woman, got the hammer to drive a nail!
into the kitchen wall the other day, and
after throe minutes' work she fractured
the baby's skull, broke the hired girl'*
nose and nearly put out one of her own
eyes. A man might as well try to turn
the heel of a sock,—Detroit Free Press.