a
IF DEATH ENDS ALL,
If death ends all,
hy then comes back again
This longing just to see your face;
is ever-throbhing ache of heart;
This pain of tear-blurred eyes,
hat grope into the future for a Vght;
Is unassuaged desire to sce your smile?
If death ends all,
Why in this room to-night
Is thy sweet presence manifest «=
A gentle guidance that would show the
rig
sAnd whispers to me through the dusk of
night?
No, death does not end al!
Else would this memory-call of thine and
mine
Come back unanswered.
My minister, thon makest me;
And so, 1 know that death does not end
all,
Wh
lv, HEN I was a boy I had an
4 old friend ealled Uncle
AW Handy. He was an old ne-
—Portland Oregonign,
THE DOG HAS
RAGGED LIPS, 5
Prof, LOGAN D. HOWELL.
r aro that used to work gar-
ON" (ens in the little town
where we lived. Uncle Handy was
born in slavery times, and was brought
up on a farm. Ile was a good work-
man, as most of the ex-slaves were,
and he had all the attractive qualities
of the old-time darkey. All the chil-
dren loved him, and called him Un-
<¢le, this being a title of respect.
Though Uncle Handy could not
write his name, and could not tell one
letter fron another, he knew more
bout dogs and foxes and rabbits
mand possums and coons, aud all kinds
of animals than any other person I
ever saw. We were always glad when
the came to work our gavden, for it
meant a new story for us,
Uncle Handy was sitting on our
back steps, one nson in spring, rest
ing after dinner and smoking :
€ob pipe. My brother
with old Turk, making him
Dall. Presently brother suid to me:
“Just look at Turk's mouth,
ragged it is. Iiis lips look like they've
been torn.”
Then for the first time I noticed that
the edges of a dog's mouth are not
smooth, and I said: |
“Yes, they do; they look like they've
had stitches in them.”
“An’ dat’s jess zactly what ‘tis chil
put in Uncle Handy. “If dat dawg
could talk, he'd {ell you sump.”
“What Uncle
day?’
“He'd tell you how come 1!
a way.”
“Why, haven't they always been that
way.”
* “Naw, suh!
would lhe (tell, IHan-
lips dat
Dat dee ain't.
Away
back yonder in ole times de dawg he
smove lips same as any udder animal.
‘An’ in dem times de rabbit had one
© de fines’ tails youn see anywhere.
He want no Molly Cotton Tail in dem
days; he had a long, bushy tail like a
squirrel.
“Dat was in de times when de
mals was mos’ ingenerally sociable wid
each udder. Dee uster say ‘Ilowdy’ to
one anudder when dee met in de road,
and’ dee uster talk awd visit one an-
udder like folks.
“But de rabbit and de dawg didn't
git along well togedder. De rabbit
vas a mighty big talker, and he uster
+ gass all urr animals.
i
“Now de dawg wan't gwine to stan’
dis, an’ he sont word to de rabbit dat
&f he ever caught him he was gwine
* %o eat him up.
“But, la! de rabbit want skeered
He could hear so well wid his big
wears dat he knowed de dawg couldn't
slip up on him in de woods. Aw’ if
de dawg did come, de rabbit could
run jess ‘bout as fas’ as de dawg.
and git home Dbefo' de dawg could
ketch him. You know de rabbit he
dive in a hollow tree, where de dawg
ean’t git at him.
“Wel, sub, after de dawg say he
gwine eat de rabbit up, old man rab-
Dit he git mo’ sassy dan ever. He
mseter be all time sendin’ messages
“to de dawg, an’ ax him if he wuz
gittin’ very hongry.
* “Tell “Mister Dawg I ain't fat
enough yit,’ de rabbit usetew say. Aw
on fop o dat do rabbit useter go
wonstant to de dawg's garden. at night,
awhile de dawg sleepin’ in de house, an’
eat collards an’ cabbage an’ anythin’ he
please. It seem like, do what he
would, de dawg couldn't ketch dat
rabbit. If he try to sit up all night,
he go to sleep shore, an’ de rabbit hop
about so light de dawg can’t hear him.
“Well, things went on dis a way an’
de dawg kept losing so much greet
gruck dat he ’fraid he ain't gwine
have no collards for de winter; an’ he
know he gotter do sump'n. So next
time he went to town he bought him
a steel trap, an’ he set it at de hole in
de fence where de rabbit come in every
night, \
“Well, sul, shore "aufr, next mawn-
in’ when de dawg went out to de gar-
den, dar wuz de rabbit wid his long
tail caught in de trap. De dawg ex-
pect to see de rabbit pull an’ jerk,
an’ try to git away. But naw, sub,
as soon as de rabbit heard de dawg
¢omin’ he set up on his behine legs
an’ begin to whistle a tune.
“ ‘Good mawnin’, Mister Rabbit,’ said
de dawg. ‘Nice mawin’,’ say he.
“De rabbit nod his head, but he
didn’t stop whistlin.’
“I'm much obliged to you for com-
fa’, Mister Rabbit,’ said de dawg. ‘I
think you've fat enough to eat now,’
says ‘e. : 4
“But de rabbit kept onswhistlin® his
tune. Den de dawg ax him:
_ “‘How did you learn how to whistle
“80 well?” says lc.
#0, it's easy,’ said de rabbit,
ine, dee gwine
Low
“Well, I've tried an’ (vied, but I
can't whistle,” said the dawg,
“40, you mouf’'s too big’ sald de
rabbit: ‘but 1 can teach you how to
whistle,’ says 'e.
“Den de dawg say: ‘Well, If you
will teach me how to whistle, I will
save you for dinner instid o' eatin’
you fo' breakfast,’ says 'e,
“CALL right,” said de rabbit,
a needle an’ thread,” sas 'e,
“So de dawg loosened de rabbit's
tail from de trap, and he tuck him
to de house wid him, an’ he give him
a needle an’ thread. Den de rabbit
say, ‘Shut your mouf.'
“De dawg he shut his mouf, an’ de
rabbit sewed his lips togedder on bofe
sides: an’ he use good strong thread,
too, I tell you. Den de rabbit say:
“ ‘Now whistle!” An' he tuck to his
heels. :
“('se de dawg couldn’t whistle; he
couldn't even open his mouf, iet alone
whistle, An’ he know right away de
rabbit done play a trick on him.
“When de dawg see de rabbit run
away lhe try to bark, but he couldn't
bark w.d his mouf sewed up; an’ he
couldn't run fas' dat a way; neider.
De dawg pulled on his jaw, an’ he
jerked his wouf open, But de thread
tore threugh his lips, an’ de rabbit
had got a good start for his hollow
tree.
“De dawg wuz so mad for de trick
de rabbit had played him, he run fast-
er dan ire ever did befo’ in his life. I
tell you, sul, he was a-gwine through
dem woods like a steam engyne.
“He wuz retchin’ up wid de rabbit,
an’ if de rabbit's home had been ten
steps furder de dawg would a got him.
But de rabbit run into de hollow jest
as de dawg caught up wid him.
“Dough de rabbit wuz in de hollow,
he hadn't got his long tail inside, an’
de dawg caught de rabbit's tail in his
moaf an’ bit it short off,
“*We't, you got away from me dis
time,” said de dawg, ‘but you will
have no tail de rest of you. life,
‘Git me
mouf de balance of your days,’ said
de rabbit, jess as sassy as ever.
“An’ dat's how come your dawg got
ragged lips. Kase sense dat time all
de puppies dat’s been bawn has lips
like Geir pappy’s; an’ yea hear
keep bein’ bawn dat
till ole Gabrul blows.”—Golden
jess
A New High-Kite Record.
Meteorologists are interested in se-
curing observations at high altitudes
by means of Kites, and lately at the
aeronautical observatory at Linden-
burg. Prussia, a record for height was
made, a kite being sent up to an altis
tude of 21,100 feet. This was accome
plished by sending up six Kites ats
tached to ‘it other by the use of a
length of wire line approximating 48,4
000 feet in length. The instruments
carried by the kite recorded a minis
mum temperature of—13 degrees I. as
compared with 41 degrees F, at the
earth's surface. At the maximum altie
tude the wind blew at a rate of fifty.
six miles an hour as compared with
eiclhiteen miles an hour at the surface.
This maximum altitude exceeds by
nearly 1100 feet the previous record
le by M. Teisserenc de Bort in the
oa flying his kite from a Dan-
cunboat.— Harper's Weekly.
Don't Blink Your Eyes,
If you ever find yourself getting into
thie habit of blinking your eyes rapidly
without cause, stamp the inclination
out at once. An authority says this
habit will make your eyesight fail long
before it ought.
Natural blinking is essential to clear
and moisten the eyes, and the average
number of natural blinks per minute
is about twenty. These are necessary,
and you do them unconsciously. But
a nervous “blinker” will get in some:
thing like a couple of hundred in a
minute in bad cases, and the result of
this is a big development of the eyelid
muscles and a counter irritation that
acts on the optic nerve and renders
the sight daily more weak and irrita-
bie.
The cure consists in keeping the eyes
shut for at least ten minutes in every
Lour, thus resting them, and bathing
the lids in warm water.
£23 Treacherous Memory.
They were fellow members of the
unemployed, but they had been “given
a start” by the contractor for certain
building works. They had worked for
almost two hours when an opportunity
came for a rest, and quite naturally
they took it. In the middle of a dis-
cussion of their wrongs, however, it
became evident that the foreman
hadn't. as they thought, gone home to
breakfast, for he stood before them.
“Well,” he said acidly. “and what
are you so busy about—eh?
“We're—we're shifting planks, sir,”
said the ever-ready Jack Thompson.
“Oh, you are, are you?’ was the re-
joinder. ‘Well, where's the plank
you're carrying now #’
There was a pause. Jack looked at
Joe and Joe looked at Jack; but the
latter is a hard man to baffle.
“Blowed if we ain't forgot it, sir!”
he said.—Tatler.
Nil Nisi Bonum,
Last summer there died at Washing-
ton a lawyer who for many years had
shocked a large number of friends by
his rather liberal views touching re-
ligion.
A friend of the deceased who cut
short a Canadian trip to hurry back to
Washington for the purpose of attend-
ing the last rites for his colleague, en-
tered the late lawyer's home some
minutes after the beginning of the
servioe,
“What part of tRe service is this?”
he inquired in a whisper of another
legal friend standing in the crowded
hallway.
“I've just come myself,” said the
other, “but I believe they've opened
for tLe defense.”—Harper's Weekly.
PAT CROWE. THE "KIDNAPPER."
WOULD REFORM, BUT CAN'T.
AT CROWE'S acquittal of
the Kidnapping of young
P Edward Cudahy, Jr, in
Omaha, five years ago, has
sot the tongues of the de-
tectives everywhere to wagging about
that remarkable criminal. 1t has also
given them some cause for alarm, sinee
he will probably be at large again be.
fore long, having before him no greater
charge than that of holding up and
getting the day's receipts on two trol
ley ‘cars in Omaha last summer, In
spite of all his alleged confessions and
protestations of a desire to reform,
his future course of life will probably
be in the direction he set for himself
when he began his career of crime.
And the worst thing about Crowe is
that he shoots. A revolver in his hands
is no plaything.
Fame came to Pat Crowe with a
vengeance when young Cudahy dis-
appeared from his paternal home in
Omaha on December 18, 1900.
Pat was charged with being his ab-
ductor. Since that time, although the
charge was never proved against him,
he has been known as a kidnapper—
the Cudahy kidnapper—no very pleas-
ant distinction, since it makes his cap-
ture for anything whatsoever one of
the ambitions of every Western detec-
tive who is able to smell a rat.
Startling disclosures were made in con-
nection with the case. First, the fine
hand of Crowe was immediately dis-
covered. Next the sum of $25,000 was
paid, per directions, for the ransom of
the beef man’s scion. Then, when
finally run down, after many desper-
ate adventures and after the sum of
$50,000 had been placed on his head
and withdrawn, Crowe is alleged to
have confessed that he kept Kddie Cu-
dahy away from home, but at the boy's
own instigation. In fact, he charged
the packer’s son with inducing him—
Pat—to go into a plot to do the “old
man” out of first $50,000, then $25,000.
All of which goes to show that either
Crowe was a fellow conspirator in a
more or less harmiess game or else
a fine romancer, as well as highly de-
serving of his sobriquet, the Kidnap-
per.
Cudahy, Jr.. disappeared from his
father's mansion én the morning of
December 18, 1900. He was taken to
an old vacant house within a mile and
a half of his home, after which Crowe
returned to the Cudahy residence and
threw a letter demanding $25,000 in
cold for the boy's release over the
fence. Mr. Cudahy made no bones
over the matter, but went to an Omaha
pank, drew out the amount, drove five
miles to a point on the Centre street
road where a red lantern hung, de-
posited the cash according to direc-
tions and returned with his coachman.
Next morning Eddie was conducted
to within a block and a half of his
fiome and there released. After which
f hue and cry was raised that spread
as far east as New York and as far
west as San Francisco.
No one knew for certain but every-
one thought the kidnapping must have
been Pat Crowe's doing. Mr. Cudaby
(nsisted upon his capture as a public
necessity and added $25,000 to an equal
amount already offered for his arrest.
It was during this time that the des-
perado would appear on the streets
every once in a while with a display
of the utmost nerve, give the police
every opportunity in the world to nab
him and then escape, either quietly or
after a fight in which his pursuers
thought themselves lucky if they got
off with only a few bullet wounds.
One day last spring Crowe suddenly
turned up in the office of the Omaha
World-Herald—nearly four and a-half
years after a price was set on his
head. He was well dressed, looked
like a gentleman, acted like one and
spoke straight from the shoulder. He
wanted the newspaper to do him a
favor, nothing less than to tell the
public that Pat Crowe was tired of be-
ing bad and wanted to start life anew.
His one proviso was that he would
not be sent to prison. Willing to give
himself up and plead guilty to the
charge of kidnapping, he said he would
do both if after being sentenced he
would be paroled and set free. After
he had made this statement to a fam-
busticated editor he calmly walked out
of the office and disappeared.
The “story” of the strange interview
next morning made a sensation
throughout the country, especially in
Omaha, where every man with a bank
account began to get frightemed again
upon learning that the terrible Crowe
was back in town. The police laughed
at the fugitive's plea for a chance.
Show Pat any quarter? Not mach.
The game was to capture him, dead
or alive. So they sleuthed about with
their hearts bobbing up against their
Adam’s apples, scared to death lest
perchance they might run across the
now more desperate criminal.
Some months after this, however. the
rewards for his capture were with-
drawn, in the hope that Pat would
surrender. But he didn't surrender.
He saw no reason to. He knew that
Cudahy wasn’t the only rich man who
would breathe easier with him behind
the bars. Tired though he wus of
being hounded almost to death, he
kept his freedom as long as he could,
howbeit with a nonchalant, indifferent
regard for his safety, turning up every
once in a while in Omaha, Council
Bluffs, Butte and other big Western
cities. He gradually became the bug-
bear of the police and detectives—a
sort of hoodoo that gave dime novels a
touch of reality. One day Crowe was
in need of money, so he quietly but
firmly held up two trolley cars on, their
way to Council Bluffs and got the day's
receipts, quickly disappearing, tp the
utter. mystification and chagrin of the
authorities. ™
}
But the end of this happy-go-lucky
sort of existence had to come, and Pat
wis eaptuved in Butte on the night of
October 2 last, It was there and then
that he made the that ¥d-
ward Cuadahy, Jr, was really his own
abduetor and had persuaded Crowe to
become a kidnapper for his own and
the boy's sake, The prisoner gave a
long, circumstantial story: sald Eddie
came to him one day, deciared he was
broke, and proposed the scheme whore.
by his father would be done out of
$25,000—at first he wanted to have it
$30,000-as neatly as he would ever
again be done out of anything. At
first, Crowe says, he was disinclined to
the job, but after awhile he remem-
bered his wrongs, how, when he was
a butcher in South Omaha, Cudahy
came along and drove him out of busi
ness—by competitic aud how things
had been pretty rocky ever since, ever
though his rival for a time was his
employer. His memories, he said
caused him to give in, and together
with another man they put through the
kidnapping job, out of which, Crowe
declared, young Cudahy got $6000 for
his share.
Omaha
statement
was again shocked and
startled. Who ever heard of such a
‘thing? Eddie denied the imputation
once, twice, any number of times. The
respectable newspapers and all other
respectability scouted the idea, called
Crowe a liar, demanded an incarcera-
tion so long and so secure that he
would never have another chance for
such devilish pranks or such outrage:
ous fabrications. He was taken to
Omaha, put in prison and tried last
week.
The trial! lasted several days. The
State was unable to connect Crowe
with the Cudahy kidnapping case.
Much evidence was heard about a man
hiring a certain house, about a certain
pony, about certain thises and thats
and the other thir but no direct
proof of Pat's guilt was forthcoming.
The jury went out finally and stayed
out seventren hours. It took twenty«
nine ballots and ultimately brought in
a verdict of acquittal. The court room
was crowded and a great cheer went
up as the foreman told bis story. The
Judge was astonished, rapped for or-
der, cleared the room, wouldn't let
Crowe thank the jury, and was glad
when the freed prisoner was immedi.
ately rearrested on the charge of hold.
ing up those two street car st sum-
mer. Omaha business men w d
nant, it wi id. They declared the
verdict was as it w
prejudice against {
said the jurymen had a grudge
Cudahy. That may have heen so,
Although of late Crowe has repeat
edly expressed his desire to give up
his criminalities his past record is so
black as to overshadow his present
good intentions and make his reform
a matter of protest on society's part.
His reputation for clever robberies and
dare-deviltry in escaping the author
ities cannot be obliterated by confes-
sions or repentances, no matter how
sincere, and it is doubtful whether he
will ever be permitted to start life
anew.
One of his first big robberies was
the haul he made in a Denver pawn-
broker's shop, wherein he got off with
$18,000 worth of diamonds, every one
of which he sold in small lots to
Omaha and South Omaha pawn-
brokers. Next he was heard of in
connection with a daring train rob-
bery near St. Joseph, Mo., on the Bur-
lington Rallroad. He pulled off three
successful robberies in the same year
on that road.
A certain actress, while riding once
in a Northwestern Raiiroad train, car.
ried about $20,000 in jewels with her.
Crowe was on the same train, and
when he got off at a Minnesota way
station the jewels went with him. He
made his way to Chicago and patron-
ized the pawnshops considerably. Fin-
ally, detectives cornered him in one of
these places. They were not at all
gentle with him, taking hold of him
firmly by the wrists and neck. He
acted gentlemanly and made no re-
sistance. The detectives almost felt
sorry for him. After a while he looked
up at them smilingly and suggested
that it was pretty to have a couple of
big men like them squeezing the life
ont of a little fellow like him. So
they let up on him a bit and before
they knew it, one of them was on his
back and the other holding thin air.
Crowe; once free, drew his revolver
and held the men at bay, shooting one
of them, until he made good his es-
cape.
Again in Council Bluffs, when ar-
rested for some crime or other, he
feigned drunkenness, and feigned it so
well that when he suddenly leaped
through a trolley car window his cap-
tors were thunderstruck and didn’t
come to themselves until he was a
good way off. —New York Evening
Sun.
Do Lightning Cond uectors Conduct ?
The efliciency of atning conductors
is fairly well attested by the freedom
of the great cathedrals and tall-spired
churches from injury. St Paul's and
Westminster Abbey, for example, are
well protected, and serve to safeguard
a large area surrounding them. EX.
perience in the na the same
effect. In former before con-
ductors were empl 1, thers was an
annual charge for damage to his Majes-
tv's ships by lis Botwean 1810
and 1815, acco ; to Sir W. Snow
Hareis, thiriy-five sails of the line
and thirty-five frigates and smaller
vessels were completely disabled. That
item has now vanished from the votes,
~Lonaon Telegraph, .
New York City.~The waist made mn
Nugerle style is a pronounced favorite
of fashion, whether the material be
lawn, soft silk or wool, and this one ix
among the latest and prettiest that
have appeared. In the illustration
Persian lawn makes the foundation,
while the yoke and the sleeves are cut
from tucking, which Is further en-
riched by medallions and banding of
embroidery. Such silks as China, mes-
saline, pongee and the like are, how-
ever, made in similar style and also
The t mocked Frook,
The smocked rock, $iys a
Harper's Bazar, dates byek to
teenth century, when it} was
women and girls, and was, of
riehly decorated with! need
| “Again, in England, during t
{part of the nineteenth cen
smock frock was wgrn, but
| by the farm hand
It was a loose ga
night shirt, but made of ««
or jean. These were gatl
wrists and neck and worke
orate stitelies, falling loos
the knee.” The smocl
but forgotten needle
was revived some years i
of artistic gowns in Lond
great vogue for a time
known house still makes
of waists and gowns wit]
Yor little girls’ slips noth
was ever devised,
Flain Blouse.
No matter how many fancy
orate blouses the wardrobe
tain, there are always occasi
a plain one is in demand. Il
is a model that is susceptible o
many variations, that is so si
to be quite easily and readil
and which is suited both to t
and to the wool materials and
simple washable ones. In the ili
tion it is made of white lawn
the wide yoke and cuffs of eyelef
broidery, but this applied yoke ¢
of any contrasting material and ¢
made either on the pointed out
the soft, pretty wool batistes and
on the square one as may‘be
TO
nN;
FS
sn
3. oo
Design by May Manton.
Empire House Gown,
voiles which must be noted as being
exceedingly serviceable as well as
dainty, both for separate blouses and
for the entire gown.
The waist is made with the yoke,
which is cut in two portions, the front
and the backs. Both front and backs
are tucked at their upper edges and
are joined to the yoke, the closing be-
Ing made invisibly at the left. The
sleeves are moderately full, finished
with deep fitted cuffs, which allow a
choice of the straiglit or pointed upper
edges.
The quantity of material required for
the medium size is three yards twenty-
one, two and three-quarter yards twen-
ty-seven or one and three-quarter
yards forty-four inches wide with one
and a quarter yards of tucking and
three and a quarter yards ef insertion
to make as illustrated.
The waist consists of a fitted lining,
which can be used or omitted as pre-
ferred, the front and the backs. The
yoke is simply applied over the waist
and the long cuffs can be either faced
onto the linings or attached to the full
portions of the sleeve when the walst
Is left unlined.
A Gown of Fashion.
A fashionable gown had
was accordion pleated, and was finished
at the bottom with five narrow tucks
and a broad hem. The sleeves were
elbow length and were finished with a
narrow, lace striped cuff and two frills
of lace edging.
kirt that
Deep Shades of Burnt Straw,
In [London a very deep shade of
burnt straw is in evidence at the mil-
liners’ and promises to be very muck
pr during the spring.
eer \
Again. if a decollete waist is desired,
both the blouse and the lining can be
cut on the square outline and short
puffed sleeves used, giving the effect
shown in the small view.
Tact in Dress.
Tact in dress is necessary to every
woman who hopes to become represen-
tative of that refinement which is the
chief ornament or womanhood or girl-
hood. It is rare that one sees French
people dressed out of keeping with
their surroundings or position.
Fewer Open Work Stockings.
Very few of the really up-to-date tan
stockings show any open work. Many
of them are woven with a thin and a
thick stripe in two shades.
: ..
“M
Base
E D.
“4 ban
street:
“My
on its
“If a
for so
surface
She w
for he
brough
DISF
Erushe
-U
“I su
had tri
any bef
my feet
®& pin or
face wa
and the
another
taking 1
said the
he thou
for life.
my face
I told
able cur
body fa;
can do.
Emma
den, N.
Mark
and “T
from «¢