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“I wish,” said my Aunt Jemima,
looking at me somewhat severely over
her spectacles, “I wish Mr. Baynes had
been at home this summer, ‘SO that you |
could have been introduced.”
“Why do you wish that, aunt?’ 1
asked, indifferently. “You expressed
the same desire last year. Are you
specially interested in Mr. Baynes?’ 1
added, naughtily; ‘‘because, if you are
not, I don’t see any reason for culti-
vating his acquaintance.”
“My dear,” Aunt Jemima replied
with a decided blush, showing through
the tan of her handsome but uncom-
promising countenance, as if she were
ashamed of what she was going to
say—as well she might be— Mr.
Baynes is a very worthy man—""
“I hate worthy men!" I interpolated
in the tone which always made Aunt
Jemima declare I was a spoiled child.
passed my
frown,
This time, however, she
comment by with scarecly a !
and went on calmly, though the blush
increased slightly, ‘and he is also ex-
_ceedingly well off—and a widower.”
I gave a little gasp, asking wrath-
fully what that had to do with me.
“Oh! well, really, Betty,” she stam-
mered, ‘vou are now of a marriage-
able age, and—and I do not see any
reason why you should not make Mr.
Baynes happy.s He wants a wife bad-
yr: >
“Do you know of any reason
he should make me happy?’ I asked,
with an attempt at sarcasm which was
quite unaprreciated.
“Yes, several,” my aunt
calmly.“ “As 1 said before,
a wife; and I suppose you
desire to be an old maid.”
I tossed my head with some indigna-
tion. In my own mind I did not fear
that fate very greatly, and I certainly
was not going to be palmed off on any-
one in order to escape it.
“My dear aunt! I thought you al-
ways maintained that it was the hap-
piest life for a woman.”
“For some; not for you, Betty. Be-
gides, you have no fortune, and are
barely clever enough to earn your own
living.”
“Thanks!” I
why
replied,
he wants
have no
sald, © my temper—
which was none of the coolest—ris-
ing, and showing itself in my burn-
ing cheeks; ‘thank you for your frank
opinion of my mental and moral attri-
butes. As I have not sufficient brains
to earn a livelihood I am supposed to
be willing to marry a man old enough
to be my father—for whom I do not
care a straw—so as to have a home!
No, thank you, Aunt Jemima!”
To my surprise this did not arouse
any corresponding ebullition, vet our
tempers were so very much alike that
I. fully expected my aunt to flare up
in like manner.
“My dear child,” she replied, in
quite a patient and even {ender voice
—that is, tender for her, for she was
of a stern and almost manlike dis-
position—*‘I wish nothing of the sort;
if you do not get to care for him you
need not marry him. Still, I think
you would be very fond of him, and
I am sure he would like you very
much.”
‘Why do you think that?” :
“Oh! he would be sure to,” she
replied, in what I considered an ex-
ceedingly lame manner.
“Well, that is the first time I ever
heard you express such a high opin-
fon of my charms!” I said, somewhat
scathingly. ‘‘Are they so faial that he
would have to succumb at once?”
Aunt's disclaimer to this query was
more emphatic than flatlering, yet she
gave me to understand, distinctly,
that though my charms were by no
means great, she still believed they
were sufficient to fascinate Mr.
Baynes.
This only puzzled me more than
ever, and 1 could not understand what
possessed my staid sunt to turn her
into a matchmaker. She had an un-
compromising objection to matiimony
in the case of any one, and particalar-
ly any one belonging to her own fam-
ily.
None of us ever much looked for-
ward to a visit to her quiet. little
house in the quiet little town in Nor-
folk; but- one of us was packed off
by mother twice a year, at mid-sum-
mer and abcut Christmas. 1 general-
ly went in the summer, as I could
cycle, while my two elder sisters hated
the idea of rushing about on wheels.
Besides, Jim—the eldest, who was
called after Aunt Jemima, poor dear—
had incurred her displeasure by mar-
rying the previous year, so that mean
that I must go every summer and
Clare every winter. It was rather a
dismal prospect. but mother woul’
not let us off. She said aunt had al-
ways spent herself on her family when
she was young, and we must look af-
ter her and cheer her now she was
lonely. I did not believe she was
lonely, and 1 know I was, when I had
to vegetate for a month at a time
down in Norfolk; but we all had to
please the dear mother.
I should like to say, in case mother
should be misjudged, that there was
nothing mercenary in her mind, for
Aunt Jemima’s money was all sunk.
I don’t say 1 might have been more
willing to go if 1 had thought it would
have led to my being an heiress some
day. There was, however, no consol-
ation of that or any’ other kind, ex-
cept that last year the dulness of my
visit had been a little tempered by
what I considered en exceedingly mild
flirtation; .at least, I thought of it in
that light at the time, and concluded
that the young doctor with whom it
was carried on had been sent by a
kind Providence for the special pur-
pose of alleviating my terrible ennui.
Aunt Jemima was to be thanked,
too, as well as Providence, for she was |
the unconscious cause of our meeting.
It was the result of a bad burn re-
ceived while baking cakes. Aunt -dis-
approved of girls being idle, and was
determined to make me learn to cook.
Now, I can make as pretty a hiouse
as any one, and trim a hat that will
compare favorably with a Wecest-end
product; but these are only frivolous
amusements in the eyes of Aunt Jemi-
ma. So she set me to eake-making,
an occupation. that I detest! It ruins
my complexion and spoils my. teniper;
and at home my brothers siy they
will not have me tampering with their
digestions, .so what is the good of
trying? Nevertheless, I was made to |
try, and, consequently, I: got a per-
fectly horrid burn. ;
Aunt Jemima. sent
who is an
very brutal his manners—oi lack
of manners. He was away, greatly
to my joy, and the assistant came, who
is not at all an old fogey, and not a
bit brutal “in his way of treating one.
for the~ doctor,
in
In fact, he was very nice and polite |
| tion. “I mean, do you think it is ad-
to the aunt, and awfully. nice: to me.
I was rather glad of that burn, pour
passer le temps. I don’t deny, how-
ever, that the remembrance of it all
made the time pass more slowly dur-
ing the winter months, when I often
thought of my nice doctor, and won-
dered whether I should ever see him
again. 1 pondered over the question,
would he be married? and I wondered
how I should feel if he were, and
whether I should mind if he had for-
gotten al!l about me.
Aunt would have been shocked had
she known I ever thought of him. I
dared not even ask if he were still
in the town, but I wanted, dreadfully,
to know; and as two days went by
without my getting a glimpse of him,
I began to think he had gone away.
On the third morning, however, 1 saw
him pass the house, and I felt pleased;
but it was not till he looked up, and I
saw the glad look in his eyes that I
was trying to keep out of mine, that I |
was really cheered. Aunt Jemima saw
him, too, and made the ill-advised re-
mark that he was to be married soon.
I did not want the information, even: |
belicve |
very |
different lately; she never used to take |
were true but I did not
Aunt Jemima seems
if it
it was.
any interest in marriages and such
silly local gossig.
her out. ~
“Mr.
than he
be home
she remarked
Baynes will
expected,”
housekeeper that business has recalled
“him.”
“I “wish he would keep away!” 1
muttered. but aunt did not hear me.
“l hope you will like each other,”
she continued in a somewhat anxious
tone, which struck me as exceedingly
silly.
“Well,
wy father,”
manner, *‘I shall be pleased to accep:
all the chocolates and other nice
thiggs he likes to give me.
he won't be gallant enough
as he is old endugh to
to offer
me any, for though you call him a |
| pect.
gentleman farmer, I expect he is a bit
of a boor.”
“og
2Not at all,” was the reply, “he is
not at all a boor, and he is cerlainly
a gentleman. Besides, he nuite
young—ii'm!-—a middle-aged man, at
any rate, upright and strong. Oh!
there is no doubt he would make a
good husband for any girl.”
“1 thought youn disapproved of dis-
parity of age in marriage!”
is
1 do; that is to say, 1 object to a
her |
woman
junio.”
“Well, 1
girl should
marrying a man who
is
do
be
not see
bothered
why a
with an old
husband any more than the other way |
; you
besides | *
fori} uf
| ing!
{ what I
about.” 1 said,
I am not sure
somebody else.”
Aunt looked at me shrewdly. “Does
he care for you?” It was a confusing
question, and I should have liked t»
say “As much as Mr. Baynes!” but |
felt I must not arouse suspicion, so |
aggressively:
that 1 do not care
merely assured her that [ meant noth- |
ing, only 1 was absolnteiy of
hearing about her friend.
That evening I met Dr. Alwyn, and
after our little walk together '1 could
tired
have answered more satisfectorily the |
question, ‘Does he care for you?" Lu!
as this is not my love story it
not matter what happened then.
After that, however, my visit pas:cl |
I had my cycle, and |
that gave me many op-ortunit.es of |
| think!
all too quickly.
getting off alone—no, I do not mean
that; I mean it" gave me many chances |
cheerfully.
of getting away not alone. We had
some glorious times, and though I
should have dearly liked a little sym-
pathy, I did not dare tell Aunt Jemima
till the home folks had sanctioned it.
Dr. Alwyn—I mean Tom—was going
to see my mother as scon as possible
after my return home; but it seemed
a long time to wait.
The day before Mr. Barnes’ arrival I
had arranged to cycle over to an old
friend of mother’s to spend the night.
‘tom was, of course, going most o. the
way with m but h& had to hurry
home so see some bothering patients,
| see
| be back a day
| driving from
| come in for. some tea on the way.
“look. “Could you not
| ter-ot-fact and prosaic,
{ not
1 would be an awful thing to think of
{ marrying a
old fogey, and said te be {
| you
I can’t quite make
sooner |
to |
me a little later. “I hear from his old!
| culty this time.
be |
1 replied, in a provoking |
Perhaps |
| frank,
Lone
| such a relief to me.
young |
| younger
i: self,
any
{ ingly,
El
£0 1 was afraid he would not be abie
to take me all the distance. Still,
the thought of the ride made us feel
jolly, and Aunt Jemima was pleased
because 1 would be_home in time to
that wretched Mr. Baynes. Just
{ as I was told to start, however, a note
came from him to say that he would
earlier, and as he was
the station he would
you will
worried
2] ‘am
out,”
particularly
aunt said,
sorry
with a
wire?’
“No, I could not,” 1 replied, deter-
minedly. “You krow this is the only
convenient day, and mother would be
be
| vexed if I did not manage to go. Be-
sides, 1 do not want to see the old
nuisance, aud you can tell him. so.”
Aunt Jemima sighed, and that xvas
so unlike her that I was a little com-’
| punctious
i and sat down beside her.
immediately. 1 went over
“I am very sorry, bet I cannot help
disappointing you. You are so mat-
aunt, you do
understand; but really, to me, it
man for whom I did not
el
“lI know it is,” she answered meek-
ly, and 1-~do not. want you . to. do
that.”
*And I never could care: for him,”
I continued. :
“You do not know
“Qh! Yes, 1 do.: Never! never! nev-
CF
Aunt Jemima only smiled at my ve-
hemerce and said quietly. “You mizht
in time, child.” :
“No, I never could! and, aunt, do
want to marry—" :
Her look of horror was so great that
[= tried to improve upon the “ques-
visable for any woman to change her
state of single blessedness?”’
“Not if she can help it, as a rule;
but I have already told you some of
the reasons why I think it would be
wise for you to look favorably on Mr.
Baynes.”
“And I have already replied to them.
No, aunt, I-shall not marry for the
sake of a home; and I shall only mar-
ry when I love someone so much that
I want to be his wife, more than any-
thing else on earth.” -
This speech, was evidently too much
for Aunt Jemima; and I hurried off to
get myself ready for my ride, leaving
her to digest it at her leisure.
The next evening when I arrived
again at my aunt's, I found. to my dis-
gust, that Mr. Baynes had come to ray
a second visit. He ‘wag evidently quite
determined te-see “me. ‘Persistent
wretch!” I said to myself, ‘I hate you
already!” -
‘I thought -he wzs coming last
night!” 1 remarked, savagely, to my
aunt, who had met .rr2 in the .uall
vith the news and wae looking a lit-
tle. frightened’ and f(riumphans
‘Se he did—hat—he would like to
you-—dears, :
- Her hesit
“Then heb
se¢
vi
Ds i il more.
shall-not havs t.e p.eds-
ure!” FP said. throwing: down my
gloves ‘vicious:y! 1. won't come in!’
Oh! vou mus'!” and :ant’s leok of
‘distress Was so real that I relented a
| little."
*Well, I'll get+you ‘cut of the diffi-
I'll let him know he
has not any chance!” I ejaculated, re-
fusing to hear some agitated wh.sper
of my poor. aunt's, who was terribly
afraid our conversation would be
overheard. 1 did not mired if it were,
and I-marched in boldly, resolved to
give this troublesome suitor his quiet-
us at once. :
Aunt Jemima, however, followed on
my heels.
1 did not look at. all friendly, but
Myr. Baynes disregarded my grim as-
1 hope we shall,” he responded gen-
ially, ‘‘especially as I am going to be
her new uncle.”
1 sank into a chair and gazed at
them both. In a moment my heart
went out to him—this dear Mr. Baynes!
There was something about his open,
and friendly countenance that
could not resist; besides, it was
“Betty, dear,” began my aunt, tim-
idiy. -“l1 could not persuade him to
marry any one younger and prettier,
so I just had to give in.”
*1' am very, very glad!’ ‘I said, ris-
ing and_ kissing me, “and I'm sure
will be happy, Mr. Baynes!”
to be," he replied, laugh-
been long enough getting
wanted. Your aunt tiied to
me that ske could find a
and prettier edition of her
it was no good imagining
weman would do for John
“Ought
“I've
convince
but
other
Baynes!”
Aunt Jemima blushed most becom-
“and 1 could not help hoping that
Tom would always tee] like that tow-
ards me.
“Moreover '-—and was a wick-
cd twinkle.in Mr. Baynes’ eyes—‘1 am
there
does told at last, after all your aunt's ro-
mancing, that this ‘younger and pret-
tier edition’ would not listen to any
of her suggestions, but scouted the
idea with scorn. Very sensible too, I
You see, my dear niece—you
are my niece, aren't you?” I nodded
“Well, a man may not
marry his niece, even if he wants to
—which I do not; and you don’t want
to marry your uncle, so we're happy
all round—even Jemima, I think, in
spite of her long aversion to matri-
mony.” Their eyes met at that mo-
ment, and I saw a glance pass be-
tween them that told me that Aunt
Jemima was already becoming recon-
ciled to her fate. —London 8. S. Times.
‘In round figures, the ‘area of India
is 1,600,000 square miles; the United
States, 3,500,000, and Russia 8,000,000.
“Uncle
What is known as the “Conscienc
Fund” of the Treasury Departnient i: |
growing beautifully less, indicating
that the world is growing better or
that the people are becoming con
scienceless. t
For the fiscal year closing June a0
the total amount received aad credit-
cd to this fund amounted to caly $o,-
789.90, being a decided do reas. from
that of the year 1906, when it was
343.49. In 1903 -it wus $21:336.92, a
vear in which conscience zot in its
work in good shape, but which was
not the largest received in any o:ic fis-
cal year, since the account was cvened
in 1811. "I'he total amount of ths
fund now oes considerably over 3$559,-
000, every cent coming from those who |
wished to make atonement for sins
committed in the way of pilfering
from the government.
It may be that the sojourn oi some
of the sinners at the Joundsyville pen-
itentiary and the narrow escape of
others from = that institutiot has
something to do with the decrease
the fund. The watch kept on
government empioyes has ungques
tionably had much tc do with the fall-
ing off of the fund, for there is not
now the opportunities to pilfer from
Sam as in the days a-goae,
when laxer methods prevailed through-
out the entire government. It is true
that once in a .great while a large
amount is restored. For some
after the war, when all sorts of cteal-
close
ings were rife in all parts of the coun- !
try, consciences of the criminals seem |
to have reached a very .respectabie
proportion and peniténce found vent
in a regular cornucopia of rezrets ex- |
pressed in cash or its equivalent.
“The decline of the fund,” said one
of the Treasury officials. “is not due
to the fact that the world is growing
better, but that people have not the
conscience they once had. That the
world is growing worse there can be
no doubt, and that little monitor cali-
ed conscience is not overtaxed, There
is just as much smal! pilferings in
the government as there ever was.
We seldom hear of these, but occa-
sionally one of the ‘plungers’ is caugt
up with and made to pay the penalty. |
Not all the ‘plungers’ are caught, eith-
er, by a longs jump. In a word, you
may say that conscience is simply not
doing its work; it is held in checi.”
The history of the fund is not with-
out interest and entertainment. The
account was opened in Septmber, 1811,
with a contribution of less than $1,
which was forwarded to the Treasury
by a conscience-stricken resident of
New York, who stated that he had
taken the amount from the govern:
ment
_ | torial
time |
| beaten
|
and wanted to make restitution. |
v*acials of the department state that |
It was not known at that
do with the money, and a simplz mem-
orandum was made and the slip of
pasar filed in one of the
where it remained undisturbed
many years. It appeared that
would never be another contribution
of this character, and, in fact, it was
not until 1861, soon after the breaking
out of the Civil War, when a bundlz
was received containing $6.000 in
bonds, accompanied bv a statement
that the restitution which had long
been due the government was prompt-
ed’by conscience. This gave the ac-
count its name, ‘Conscience Fund.” It
has since remained open, and all
amounts returned to the Treasury in
consequence of the prickings of the
inward monitor (which in too many, in-
stances seems to be ironclad) have
been credited to it, covered into: the
general treasury as a miscellancoas
receipt, and may be. used~like other
assets of the Treasury for any pur-
pose that Congress may deem proper.
for
drawers, |
time what o
1
|
|
|
{
|
there |
i
Loblized
Letters with inclosures intended fer |
the conscience fund are usually ad
dressed to the treasurer, but they go
to the public moneys division, which
makes note of the amounts and depos-
its them with tae treasurer of the
United States. The sums received
are almost always in cash, stamps,
with now and then a draft. They are
never accompanied by the names
the senders, except once in a while in
the cases of persons who have made
mistakes as to payments of customs
duties. The written communications
relating to “them are very brief as a
rule. If otherwise, they contain elab-
orate apologies and appeals. Occa-
sionally letters are signed by clergy:
men at the request ol penitents. Re-
mittances are received almost weekly
—occasionally the receipts are two or
three a week.
In forwarding money for thé con-
science fund the senders frequently re-
guest that acknowledgment shall be
rade by publication inthe newspa-
pers, and this is nearly always: done,
for the local newspaper men are gen-
erally in evidence to gather in such
items. A greet many of the lctters
accompanying the remittances are
preserved, and the lifting of the red
tape of the department gives some in-
teresting reading. Many of these let-
ters on file are from jocose corre-
spondents, who have net scrupled to
make light of so serious a matter as
to address the treasurer pretended
concience letters, whose humor is far
in excess of the money inclosed. One
of these letters reads:
“Inclosed please find 76 cents, coin
of the realm, won from a United States
paymaster at draw poker, and which t
am convinced rightfully belongs to
Uncle Samuel. I haye carried it for
reatd¥ ‘six’ months, and dare not trust
myself with it any lcnger. My con
science calls for relief—my harassed
nature calls for a good night's sleep.
of
| from
1
1 have neither so long as I carry
5 terrible witness. Now I can feel
«realization of the proverb, ‘Be vir-
| tuous--and you will be happy.” Now 1
can teel an assurance that in years yet
to come it can be said of my childr=n
| (yet to come), ‘they were of poor but
| honest parents.” Please acknowledge
| through local press, and request them
to put in double-leaded brevier, edi-
A con
clerk wr
YA clear
hardest
ernment clerk
ence-stricken department
conscience. ~softens
and as I ah a poor
my bed is very h
and needs 'tening, so I herewith ye-
turn $Y which was overpaid me last
payday. ond, hesides, I have loafed a
good dea! lately.”
Heres a letter which has the true
| ring. :
lnc] isn
Fowill ich
i the U
ithe tinre
to two
but &
I connie
the
hed,
check for $190.
cxplain, I. ‘have been in
ites service and a part of
rank which entitled mie
I-drew pay for iwo,
one, It
of officers to do tl}
well aware
the
had
Nra clits
bit was
and the 1a LETS. were !
cf it the army poor any
sich—tao fact, to get
clear conscience.
the largest contributions ever
2,000, and it m=
[ companici by this letter:
“Iam ling you herewith inclosad
i $12,000 which is to zo to. the use of
| the United States government. Years
ago 1 defrauded the government .of
i money, now 1 have returned it ail
aying fouarfoll in accordance
cachings of the: Seriptures.
the. transgressor is hard,
but God knows how I have
POO, aleng
weil without a ”
Ome
received
as ac
and ne one
suffers 2
There are many
these, : but in a large
stances the contributions are made
without any explanations whatever.
On several occasions it has happened
{-that people have cut hills in two, send-
ling one-half to the Secretary of the
Treasury, and the other half to the
treasurer, for the sake of safety.
There are persous who do not. enter-
tain absolhite faith in the integrity of
officials. One man for-
waided $10 to the conscience fund,
saying: - “Pay this money where it
belongs and keep your record clear.”
An envdalope postmarker Bealeton, Va.
contained six two-cent stamps and a
| sheet of paper upon which was writ-
ten, “I six. stamps and am
now retufning: them.” A remittance
of $2.40 was received from a man who
he felt sorry for having
passage ‘on: a government
during the war.
is a melaneholy thing to be oblig-
that the swindles against
nment which bear such fruit
of repentance seem to be a sadly
small percentage of the multifarious
chats that are practiced. undetected
and apparently unregretted by those
who perpetrate them. A fraud on
the goverament of a comparatively in-
nocent sort is often practiced in the
army. A quartermaster finds his
stores short by 100 tent pins, five an-
vils, and fourteen sledge hammers.
Very likely it is not his fault; such
things will happen. Presently a ‘sol-
dier deserts and disappears. Inci-
dentaily to the report of desertion
sent to Washington, mention is made
of 10 tent pins, five anvils and four:
teen sledge hammers as having dis
appeared with the delinquent. The
such letters as
number of in-
| governnient
misused
WIGie
latter is supposed to be walking across.
the country with these articles thrown
termaster, who would otherwise be
cover his back, This squares the quar-
, to pay for the missing arti-
Voragers returning {rom across the
seas fetch gems concealed in cakes of
scap, in the hollowed heels of boots,
benecth porous plasters, in cartridges
wiiich the bullets have been re-
moved and the powder taken out, and
in various and sundry other ways. The
device of folding diamonds in a slice
of meat, feeding it to a dog just be-
i fore reaching port, and killing the ani-
| was. given
mal a few hours later is a familia
one.— \¥ashington Sta.
His Name for It.
1 was once teaching a of
small pupils in physiology in a rural
school and asked the class what name
to the bones of the head
A little girl raised her
class
as a whole.
i hand.
Gre
is, Lucy I asked:
“Skull!” she answered.
“Correct,” said 1; “but what other
name has it?’ expecting someone to
answer:-“‘cranium.” All were silent
for a while, then a little fellow who
seemed to be in a deep study quickly
raised his hand, his eyes sparkling
and a confident smile spreading on
his face. - :
“What it is, Henry?" I asked.
“Noggin,” was his immediate reply.
—Judge’s Library.
“What it
New Use for Ribbons.
Forty million yards of narrow rib-
bon have been ordered by a western
brewery from a Philadelphia concern
to be used for advertising purposes.
The ribbon will be placed about the
necks of the beer bottle, and it is es-
timated that four inches will be re-
quired for each bottle. Basing calcu-
lations upon this, it is estimated that
360,000,000 bottles of beer are to he
brewed, while the ribbon, ‘stretched
out, would reach nearly 23,000 miles.
and, in the lafitude of Philadelphia,
would encircle the globe.—Philadel-
phia Rccord.
. side,
The Dutch Boy Painter is
found enly on kegs of Pure White
Lead—simply metallic lead cor-
roded. This White Lead is not
only pure pigment—it is pure
paint.
= Compositions that are only
partly White Lead are only partly
paint. ‘The trade mark - below
guarantees absolutely Pure White
Lead made by the Old Dutch
Procéss. All first class dealers.
Send for what we call our “XX”
book, which gives valuable information
on the paint subject —iree.
NATIONAL IL.EAD COMPANY
on witicherer of the follow-
: mg cit nearest you?!
New York
Jand, CC at
Philadelphia (Jo!
Pittsomsgh (N
aN
Is
onal Lead & Oil Co)
Securing Conviction.
This story comes to The Church
Standard from an English corres-
pondent: A barrister, accustomed to
practice in = criminal courts, made
sneering remarks concerning preach-
ers “If.” said he, “I were to ad-
dress a jury in the average way you
clergymen do, 1 should never get a
conviction.” = The elderly elergvinan
to wham he spoke, replied: ‘If vou
had to address the same jury 101%
times a year, and your object was not
to get them to give a verdict against
some other person—Wwhich they might
be willing to do—but to induce them
to convict themselves, I doubt if vou
could do any better than. we do.”
Silence on the part of the barrister.
New :n the West.
Sond fer free copy of pamphlet
containing synopsis of the United
States hoinestead laws and informa-
tion how to secure a quarter seclion
of splendid farming or grazing land
free along the new railway lines cof
the Chicago & Northwestern in
South Dakota, “\Wyoming and other
States. Special excursion rates to
homeseekers, r'ull information on
request to W. B. Kniskern, Passenger
Traffic Manager, C. & N. W. Ry., Chi-
cago.
fomes
Av.
Crigin of “He's a Brick.”
The expression “He's a brick: is
traced back to Lycurgus, King of
Sparta. The king was conducting an
ambassador from Epirus through. his.
kingdem.™ The envoy was much
amazed to find the cities were
very poorly suppiied with walls of
defense. He remarked to the’ king:
“Sire, 1 have now visited most of
the towns. but find no walls built
for their defense. Why is this?" “In-
deed,” replied the king, “thou canst
not have looked carefully. Come with
me to-morrow, and IT will show you
the walls of Sparta.” Accordingly or
the following morning the king had
his army, drawn up in battle array.
and pointing proudly to the serried
host said.: “There thou beholdest
the wills of Sparta, and every man a
brick. -—-lL.ouisville Courier-Journal.
hi
tha
Peculiarity of Hair.
A woman leading: two children
stepped into a barber shop with her
charges.
“I want their hair trimmed,”
said, “but net all the way ‘round.
1 only want it trimmed off even. It
is just the right length on the right
side, but too long on the left side.
I had her trimmed only a little while
ago, and here it is noticeably long-
er on the left side. 1 don't believe it
was {rimmed evenly in the first
place.” =
“Oh. yet it was” the barber assur
ed her. “It grows faster on the left
that is all. Most people's hair
does prow faster on that side, but it
is on children’s heads that we are
most likely to notice it."—New York
Press. of
she
World's Diameter.
Up to this time the diameter of the
glecbe has not been arrived at within
1,000 feet, but Nikola Tesla says that
his system of wireless telegraphy will
. be the means of reducing this margin
of error to within 50 feet or less.
AWYEKS
EXCELSIOR BRAND
Oiled
Clothing and Slickers
Indispensable to the miner. Best water-
proof garment made. Don’t accept an oiled
coator slicker ualess it bearsour trade niark.
If your dealér cannot
show the “Sawyer’' line
of coats and slickers,
write for catalog giv-
ing styles and prices.