Decatur Democrat, Volume 38, Number 22, Decatur, Adams County, 17 August 1894 — Page 7

®he gemorert DfiXJATUR, IND. M. gLAOKBUBM, . • - PWMttM, ♦ It doesn't make a room any cooler to put a frieze around tbe walla. - The pleasing conviction still remains that we can beat England at base ball. A “foreladv” advertises for work. We hope she is accustomed to the management of "salesgentlemen.” Nobody denies the right of the bald-headed man to strike when the flies take his crown for a tennis court A pest of lady-bugs is reported at an Eastern village Tbe village being a summer resort, of course it has no gentleman bugs. A Missouri paper mentions that De Kalb County sent to tbe Legislature two men who could neither read nor write. It would have spoken better for the De Kalb intelligence if the pair bad been sent to night school. . Herr Dowe’s bullet-proof coat has not stood the latest test it was subjected to by the German military authorities. If the inventor is still bent upon success, however, he should come to Chicago and apply fora specimen of a city alderman’s bulletproof and brazen cheek. Bees are curious, little animals. Before storing honey—ln a tree, for instance—they will clean the tree of all rotten wood and refuse. When this is done, they are ready for work; but a bee never begins business until he is thoroughly ready to carry it on, and then he never does it by halves. A New Zeland chief has just arrived from his native land with a pair of wives whom he is taking to evidently Him. UulortH is no other section o f the United States in which the man with two wives goes tt jail with Quite the celerity that marks his career in Utah. The behind hand farmer is at a disadvantage in every deal—cannot make his own terms, has no feeling of independence, can establish no business methods, cannot procure help when needed, is bringing his children up with lose principles Self-denial will cure this. Count on cash in hand, not "money coming;” live upon home productions until the point is gained. A hundred in the pocket is ten thousand times better than a hundred in debt. The typewriter on the field of battle is a curious sight. It has not quite reached that point but it was to be seen at the recent British military tournament in the mimic action. Tommy Atkins, mounted on a cycle, which was surmounted by a Remington, rode into the arena, and typed tbe messages taken from the signalers, while a trained war-dog carried the dispatches to the rear. Whether all this would do in real warfare remains, of course, to be seen. _________________ The frequent reference to the "Midway” in the newspapers, periodicals, and the everyday speech of the people proves that the unique thoroughfare on the World’s Fair grounds took a wonderful hold upon tbe imagination of those who visited that most peculiar feature of the Fair. The "Midway” has found entrance to church exhibitions, to society festivals and public amusements of various kinds, and "Midway” seems to be a word that lingers longer upon tbe lips of the people than any other term connected with the great Columbian festival of last year. It is not generally known that every crowned head tn except the Sultan, is descended frdm tWo sisters, who were born only about 150 years ago—the daughters of Duke Ludwig Rudolph of BrunswickWolf enbuttel. The elder—the Princess Elizabeth, who married Eifiperor Charles the of Germany, and was the mother of the famous Empress Maria Theresa—is the ancestress of all the Roman Catholic royal families of Europe. The younger sister—the Princess Antoinette—was tbe grandmother of Frederick William tbe Second of Prussia, and from her are sprung the Protestant royal families of Europe including those of Russia and Greece. Such successful tests as that which the Lennard armor for the soldier has just been undergoing at the bands of our regular troops would almost lead to the belief that the world is returning to the old days of mailclad warriors. By very excess of deadliness the inventor of modern weapons may yet succeed in. causing

tbe army of tbe future to go Into tbe field looking like a lot of animated stovepipes. And when one set of scientists has equipped man so perfectly with protective apparatus that the weapons of another set cannot hurt them, lx>tb sides may agree that they are wasting time and money in unutterable foolishness, and nations may decide to reason together rather than to fly at each other's throats over every trifling difficulty. It was good news when the Commissioner of Immigration resolved on tbe deportation of Mowbray, tbe English anarchist who landed In New York in contravention of law, and who insolently filed "first papers” of application for naturalization. Tbe fellow has been convicted and Imprisoned for crime in England, and, therefore, is contraband. This Is no time for dealing tenderly with the murderous scum of European caultals. We have a law prohibitory of the Importation of such stuff, and it is a law that should be enforced to tbe letter. Almost without exception the men who have been active in plotting or prompt in executing lawless boycotts and violent assaults in propagation of them are of foreign birth or parentage. With one exception all of those who were hanged for complicity in the Haymarket massacre were foreigners. From Most to Mowbray all tbe noisy promulgators of undisguised anarchy are foreigners. To the industrious and virtuous immigrant this country still offers a hearty welcome and a pleasant home, but it has no place for the foreign-born pauper, the foreigu-born criminal, the foreignborn laborer who is brought here under contract to work for less than the American wage rate, or for the foreign-born anarchist. Marital Jealousy, everybody admits, is an Ignoble sentiment; and all will admit, theoretically at least, h dno or cyml ao undue adSue ness. The husband of a beautiful and much-loved wife, be went to bis daily work with tbe most unbounded confidence in her. In bis - absence tbe tempter came, in the shape of a young and handsome man and sought by wile to win the affections of tbe beautiful wife. *He failed miserably. The wife was as true and good as she was beautiful. When the wooer became too ardent she screamed; the neighbors came in; and the mistaken youth was handed over to the police, who took him to the station house Did the husband arm himself and proceed to "gun” for tbe assailant of nis home? Not a bit ot it. He simply made up a picnic basket and gave it to the sergeant in charge with instructions to give the young man a good meal. He regarded the young man’s infatuation as a genpine tribute to his wife’s beauty as well as to his own good judgment in marrying her. "I don’t blame tbe young man,” he said; "he probably could not help it.” Such exhibitions of charity are rare. Perhaps on the whole it is well that they should be so. They arc interesting, however, for the evidence they afford that there are some men in tbe world who can rise above prejudice and even under pro vocation live up to the theories of their calmer moments. Bala's Recollections of Paganini. In his gossiping recollections ot Regent street, George Augustus Sala says that among tbe dwellers in that thoroughfare was the world-famous violinist, Paganini. "Him I remember well,” says Mr. Saia, "not in Regent street, but at Brighton about 193.6, a gaunt, weird man, with long black’hair and hollow cheeks and flashing eyes. I never see Henry Irving without recalling Paganini tomv mind. I can remember vividly the impression created within me by his play. It was that be bad got inside his violin a devil, and the imprisoned fiend demon was now shrieking, now menacing, now supplicating and now seeking by caressing endearments to obtain his liberty from the magician with the fiddlestick, who was grasping his flend-tenanted fiddle so firmly by the throat. Paganini played a fantasia on the violin at a concert given by my mother at Brighton, at which the prlma donna was ths enchanting Marie Malibran; and the illustrious violinist gave me next day, small boy as I was, in a very largo frill and a ‘skeleton’ suit, a banknote for £50.” Could Have Her W ay. During the rehearsals of "Romeo and Juliet" at the LondomLyceum, Mrs. Stirling, who is the most venerable of actresses, took occasion toremark that tbe nurse was not necessarily old, that she should be represented as middle-aged, etc., and she appealed to Mr. Irving. "My dear Mrs. Stirling,” said the manager with delicate satire, "you may make the nurse just as youthful as you can.” What has bedome of the old kned church member who won’t go to a circus?

RAIN IN THE WOODS. Silence first, with gloom o’erheod; Not a stir in bush of tree; Woodfolk all to coverts fkd; Dumb the gossip chickadee. Then a little rustling Mgs Treetops towsand btishM shake, And a silent wave goes bi In the feathered fern ana brake. Now a murmur growing Bud In the pine tops far and wear; And the woods are tossediand bowed, Like a soul in sudden fear. Hark! the music of the rain On a thousand leaky roopt, Like an army o’er a plain Galloping with silver hoofs! Patter, patter on the ground. Rustle, rustle in the tress; And tbe beaded bushes rryind Drip when shaken by the breeze. Ah! if you would nature inow Close and true in all herjmoods, Flee not from the show’r, ( tout go Hear the raindrops in the woods! —[Jamesßvckham, inYouthfs Companion. TUt Plciurc On Its tin. if BY HARRY HOW. I had known Franklin about a month. He was a man,worth knowing. His honest and denial-looking face spoko truly of the nonor of his heart within, and his friendship was something to bo desired. Moreover, he was clever, very clever, and among his associates wus freely regarded as an artist who some day would be with the much-coveted R. A. after his name. I was, therefore, particularly happy when he asked me to come round and smoke a pipe with him in his studio. It was a typical Bohemian little den in Chelsea — a studio among studios, for it was situated among a number of such ‘‘painting rooms,” in a building specially designed for the purpose. His greeting, as I anticipated, was most cordial. We lighted our pipes, and, as though we had known one another for years, he took me by the arm, walkmiojig around his studio, commenced pointing out the impress me more than anything else. It was a linen shirt cuff, and on it, drawn in pencil, Ws the face of a beautiful girl. I recognized the features at once; it was the face that figured in his celebrated picture, ‘‘Tired of Life,” which created such a sensation with the public, and made such a marked impression on the art critics two years ago at one of the great art exhibitions in London. Franklin noticed and understood my curiosity. "Sit down, old fellow,” he said pointing to a basket chair covered with flowered cretonne. "Curiosity aroused, eh?” I admitted that it was. "Well,” he said, "I am just in the humor for telling the story, and I think you will vote ‘it a pretty one; yes, and as romantic as the finale of it was happy. This is a linen shirt cuff,” and he reached it down from the wall, ‘‘and the face you see there was the one which went into my ‘Tired of Life.’ ” I told him I recognized it as soon as I saw it. "I was walking along the embankment one day a little more than two years ago,” Franklin commenced, trying to hit upon a good subject for a picture. I paced up and down the water side for an hour or more, but still without an idea. I was just about to turn down the road leading back to my place when I saw a woman coming along. Her eyes seemed to be fixed upon the water. I had never seen such a sorrowful face before ; so pale and so sad; there was trouble written on every feature. Yet it was a very beautiful face, and it seemed to inspire me in an instant, and the subject I had been in search of appeared to be mine at last. Now, you must know that I have a habit of sketching a striking or characteristic face upon my cuffs likely to stand me in good stead for introducing into a picture. Fortunately for me the woman stood quite still for a few moments leaning over the stonework and gazing dreamily into the water. My pencil was out in an instant, and her face was quickly transferred to my cuff.l felt very excited. Here, here was my subject I the very thing. But possibly she might pose as a model for me, I thought. Better still. f "I crossed to her, and, raising my hat, spoke. She started and looked at me with tear and trembling. I apologized to her for the strange inspiration that her Presence had suggested to me. I told her I was an artist; that her face had given me an idea that might possibly bring me fame and fortune.< ‘Tired of Life,’ I should call it. Again I apologized as I further explained to her my idea. She stared at me Vfccantly. "It will be the picture of a young and beautiful woman,” I said, ‘‘gazing dreamily into the water by night, and seeing in the dark stream a resting place for her and her troubles. Would she become a model for my picture?” I saw how poorly she was clad, so I felt I should not bo insulting her if I told her I would pay her for her services. She started and trembled at my request. She looked at me in away I shall never forget. " ‘Do you know—do you know,’ she said, ‘but no, of course, you cannot, I must go; please let me go. I cannot do as you ask.’

"The woman made a movement. " ‘You seem in trouble,’ I said, and putting my hand in my pocket-— well, the truth is, old fellow, I gave her a sovereign. I shall never forget the grateful look she gave me; there was a smile there, ana tears were in her eyes. She took the money without a word, but I read all she wanted td say. I gave her my card, and told her if she thought anything more of my proposal to come and see me. She took the card, and with a thankful face turned quickly and hurried away. "Well, I started on my picture, and day by day it grew. I seldom had to refer to the sketch on my cuff though I kept it carefully, for the woman's face wus too vividly impressed upon my memory. I must tell you that at that time we had an old man here, named Glover, who used to clean and dust our rooms anu do odd things about the place in general. He was a quiet, say little sort of old fellow —a man, I should say, who had evidently seen a bit of trouble as well as betterdays. We men used to talk to him pretty freely, and he always evinced a deep interest in the various pictures upon vniich we were engaged. But I never knew him so interested in any canvas as he was in my ‘Tired of Life.’ Ho was silent about it, however, and seldom spoke. I used to surprise him of a morning sometimes when I entered my studio for work. There he would stand before my easel with wondering gaze, watching my picture growing,and evidently wondering what was to come next. There on the canvas was the river by night, the lights reflected in the water, the bridge in the distance, and some river craft lying idle by the water’s edge. Just by the parapet stood a woman in black —a shawl loosely thrown about her shoulders, her hat old and shabby her sac of Life.’ "I had not quite completed the painting on the woman’s face, it was not realized yet, but the old man was always looking at it and apparently was wondering what expression and what features would eventually be placed there. All this fund I had not seen or heard anything of the woman who had suggested the character to me. It wanted just a mohth to sending-in day and I had only another day’s work on the face, and I should be through time. I spent the faction if could not have been better, and I heartily shook hands with myself. The following morning when I entered my studio and opened the door I saw that which made my heart almost cease to beat. I stood holding the handle of the door and could not move, my whole frame was trembling. The face of the woman had been cut out of my picture! In a moment I had pulled myself together. I shouted out for ‘Glover —Glover!’ but no reply came. I rushed round my fellow artists’ rooms. The old man was not there, neither had he Been there that morning, for their rooms were unswept and untidy as left the previous night. The whole truth flashed across me, Glover was the miscreant who had ruined and stole my work. I remembered it all then—his interest in my picture, his anxious waiting, waiting, waiting for the woman’s face to appear on the canvas. ‘The wretched thief and robber,’ I muttered. And in the midst of all this the great question rang through my eaVs and haunted my brain —‘Who was this woman that induced this man to want the picture of her face? Search was made for him, but he had gone none knew where. “It was a supreme effort, I tell you, but I did it—l did it! I had a clear month before I should have to send in my work, and I set to and painted the whole thing again. You remember what a success it was, and I think I may say truly that had I never painted ‘Tired of Life,’ I should not be what I am to-day. "It was the day before the opening O s the Exhibition. I was sitting thinking quietly in my studio when I heard a rap at the door. I cried, ‘Come in.’ The door opened, and there stood —the woman I had seen on the Embankment! Her face was still pale, and the lines of trouble were not entirely effaced, but she appeared more composed and contented. She was better dressed too. It was such a sudden surprise to me that I practically jumped from my chair. She was the first to speak. " ‘Oh, sir,” she said, ‘forgive me this; I should have come before. Tell me, tell me, have you painted the picture you spoke to me about ? If you have it is all a mistake; it will not be true now. It might have been, but you came to me as a friend in need. Tell me, sir, have you painted it?’ "There was great anxiety in her voice. I told her that I had : that it would be exhibited on the morrow. "She fell down op her knees before me. " ‘Then, sir, it will all be known to the world ? ” ‘“What?’ I asked. " ‘What I was going to do. Yes, I was tired of life—oh, so tired. I thought I should find rest in the river, and a homo for my troubles there. You won’t let my face be seen—you won’t let the people know the truth ? ’ "Well, I argued with her quietly. Told her that the world was wide, and in this'great seething crowd of fighting humanity she would not be known or recognized. " ‘There is one who might, though,’ she cried. "‘Who?’ I asked. ‘My father. "Her father ! I seemed to realize the whole thing at once. Her father wad the man Glover —the man who

ruined the work of many a day and caused mo ceaseless toil and arfxldty. Here, then, was the cause of his spoiling my picture. He, too, recognized the face on the canvas, and he did not want those features to be given to the world. ‘Tired ot Life! ’ and a father living, a daughter forgotten and forsaken. This, then, was the motive of his crime. “ ‘My father,’ she said, ‘whom I want to see again. He was so good to me; but I left home for one who has deceived me, and I cannot face my father now. But I want to: I want to kiss him, to take his dear hand and fall on my knees nt his feet and say, "Take your Mary homo again, father, for she loves you still. Forgive your Mary, father, for she loves you more than ever now. Oh, forgive me, dear, dear father?’ "My “heart was touched. I told her to rise to her feet again. I took her by the hand and sat her down in my chair. I had made up my mind exaetly what I would do. Glover knew for which exhibition my picture was intended. He evidently destroyed my work thinking I should not be able to paint another in its place in the time. Possibly, I argued to myself, he might have had his doubts, and I should not be surprieed if on the morrow he was there to see whether I had once more conveyed his erring daughter's face to the canvas. "I turned to the weeping woman and asked her name. It was Mary Glover, she said. Then I was right. " ‘Will you meet me to-morrow evening at 6 o’clock at Charing Cross Railway Station?’ I asked; ‘lf you will I may be able to ’ “ ‘What do you mean?’ she cried excitedly. "‘I don’t know yet. But, come there at that time; and who knows what may happen?’ "Well, the- poor girl went away. The morrow came, and with it the opening of the Exhibition of pictures. My work took the town. It was as I expected. I kept a sharp lookout and there was Glover among the crowd. I shall never forgot his face wheff -he saw that picture. He only gave one glance at it, his face went deadly pale and he flew from the room. I pursued him through the streets to a little by-turning off Hatton Garden. He entered a house there, and I soon ascertained that he was there. " ‘Jump in—jump in,’ I said. She obeyed me with a trustful look. In as careful away as I could I told her that I had found the whereabouts of her father. That I thought that he, too, was waiting to welcome her back to his arms again. I shall never forget that woman’s face when she heard those words. Her cheeks became flushed, her eyes shone with "brightness. . "At last we reached the house. The door was open, and bidding her follow me up the creaky stairs we reached the third floor, where the door of a back room was partially open. I asked her to wait until I called her. I peened through the door and there I saw the old man, holding in his bands the piece of canvas he had cut from my picture. He raised it to his lips and kissed it. My heart leaped, for that action told me that my mission would not be in vain. "I tapped quietly at the door. Hurriedly I saw him place the canvas under a cloth on the table. VV ith trembling hand ho pulled back the door and he saw me standing there. He could not speak. He stared at me vacantly. I almost felt sorry for him —poor old fellow! —and all the trouble he had given me seemed to fade away. He was about to fall on his knees, but I stayed him. " ‘Never mind, Mr. Glover,’ I said as well as I could, for there was a great lump in my throat that made it difficult for me to speak. ‘Never mind, I understand all.’ " ‘Thank God!’ the old man cried. "The sound of his voice must have reached the ears of the one waiting on the landing below. I heard her hurrying footsteps up the stairs, and at their tread the old man started. He stood as one afraid to move, but when he saw the form of his child he flew out of the doorway and caught her in his arms. "That’s all, old fellow. I couldn’t tell you anything more—save that I found the tears trickling down my face just then. I often hear from them now. You are not surprised I keep that old linen cuff, are you?”— [London Million. Wool Fat. A recent discovery in Australia goes to show that the sheep is even a more valuable animal than it has been generally esteemed. Its latest contribution to man’s welfare is a fatty substance called wool fat, derived from the grease that is skimmed from the scouring vats. It is used as a basis for the ointments for medical purposes, and is said to be more readily absorbed by the skin than any other oil or fat known. It is able also to adhere to moist surfaces, which no other unguent in present use will do. The sheep owners of Australia are carefully saving tlie refuse of their vats for this purpose.—[New York World. Raggedy Wayside—Why did you swipe dat scientific paper when dor wuz lots wid gals’ pictures in dem lyin’ ’round? Wandering Willie—l like ter read ’bout de invention of labor-savin’ machinery. Diss will be a boss world ter live in when dere’s no more work i done by hand. —[Puck.

THE LIMEKILN CLUB. Brother Gardner Accepts ths Jani* tor’s Resignation. "Gem’len,” said Brother Gardiner, as he stood up, adjusted his spectacles and looked around the hall, "it has come to my ears dat sartin pussons in dis Limekiln Club ar’ feelin’ sort o’shaky’bout our finances. Dey ( am talkin’ ’bout embezzlement, de- . falcashun and shortage, and doy say . dey can’t sleep o’ nights fur worry in’ 1 ober it. I shall take advantage of t - J dis occashun to explain sartin things to yo’. "Fustly, our system of bookkeepinH hain’t made up of ‘debit’ credit, marshendize an profit an loss. When we take in any money, it is put right down on de book in plain handwritin as cash tooken in. It’s de same® when we pay out. Dar am no profit —no loss. De Aggers am right dar ® an can’t git away nor fade out, “Secondly, our treasurer am not! only under bonds, but we doan’ trust J him too fur. We ’low him to walk « around wid about 50 cents of our ’J money in his pocket, but dat’s de9 limit. Once a week we investigate, ! an we doan’ let go till the figures 9 balance. I "Thirdly, it takes fo’ of us to draw ! any money from de bank, an our office safe is nebber opened ’cept in n de presence of three members. Jest! at dis time dis club has about $lB on! hand. To git dat money five mem- « bers would have to enter into a con- Ml spiracy an dodge around fur three ! or fo’ weeks. We nebber keep above ! fo’ty cents in de office safe, an should J a pusson tackle dat safe he would 1 fust be cotched in ab’ar trap, den he would be shot wid buckshot, den he 3 would be blowed up by dynamite, an 1 at de next meetin all de evidence we 9 should find of him would be a few J eye lashes stickin to the ceilin ober- I head. I "Dis club does not employ a confi- I dential clerk. Its treasurer does not I play de races nor w’ar diamonds. It I does not wait till de eand ob de y’ar I to balance its books. It believes dat I all its officers am honest, but it doan’ I offer any of ’em no chances to git I hold ob de boodle an skip. We nei- I ther loan nor borrow. Dar am occa- I shuns when Samuel Shin wants to I put up his jacknife as collateral for I 15 cents, or Shindig Watkins will git I two members in good standin to in- I may come" when ’ Para^ ifrl'rJ be struck by lightning, but none o’M yo’ will live long ’nuff to diskiver datM our treasurer am 17 cents ahead of deß game. ■ "When we look around usheah to-M night we miss de absence of BrudderM Sundown Davis, who was our janitorß fur ober two y’ars. Am he dead? 9 Am he lyin’ on a bed of pain? Ami he fur, fur away from home and can’tH heah! My friends, Brudder Da- ■ vis will meet wid us no mo.’ He amM healthy and well and right heah ini town, but sunthin has happened tol him. Brudder Davis alius felt sensi-l tive about his reputashun fur hones-l ty, He knowed I had an eye on hiinl an it hurt his feelins. At the meetinl a week ago to-night I left a cokernutl on my desk as a test of his honesty. ■ When I drapped in heah next day asM he was cleanin up, dat cokernut was! gone. Brudder Davis felt his hones-l ty insulted when 1 axed him if he had! sawn it. De bare idea dat I should! suspect him of eben layin jis paws! on dat property made him so mad! dat he threatened to resign. Dat! vartuous look which he put on might J hev stood some folks off. but it! didn’t skeer me. I stood BrtidM der Davis up in a co’ner and pur-B ceeded to s’arch him, an perhaps it! am needless to say dat I found missin cokernut in de busum of hkfl flannel shirt. No experts war called! in to examine his books, and I ’pea! to de police. I jest took bold ofl him an wrenched an shook him an! banged his head agin de wal till he! hollered fur mercy. Den I accepted! his resignashun without waitin fur! de club to act, an’ Brudder Davis! won’t meet up wid us no mo’ in dis! cold world. I ‘‘l want to say right heah and now I dat if dar am any odder highly sen-! sitive pusson in dis club —pussonsl who handle our cash or hev charge of ■ our belongings an feel data little H watchin degrades ’em —dey had bet- ■ ter offer deir resignashuns right I away. Our assets am gwine to keep ■ right on bein $lB an our liabilities I nuffiu’t all, an if we hurt anybody’s I feelins dey am not obleeged to stay I in de club. Dar am not de slightest I occashun to worry ober de safety of I our finances. Eben if de bank busts I up I know whar de president libs, an I I know dat three or fo’ of us kin rake I In $lB wuth of his Leghorn chickens I an make dis club solid befo»’ 10 o'clock I on de night of de calamity. One word .1 mo’: Our treasurer w’ars what 'pears I to be a S6OO diamond pin, an some of I de brethren feel skeery on dis ac- I count. Dar am no call fur it. Dat I pin cost him jest 25 cents, an if it I should git run ober by an ice wagon I and could be fixed up agin fur a I nickel he*d hev to raise de money on I a mortgage or throw de pieces away.” I —[New York Recorder. I f ■—-— I WEATHER PREDICTION. I Weather Prophet —I hit it again. I I never fail. I Ordinary Man —Hugh ! The ther- I mometer has dropped 20 degrees, and I it is raining pitchforks. You pre- I dieted fair and warmer. I Weather Prophet—l predicted fair I and warmer, with increased humid- 1 ity. I may have been a trifle off on I the fair and warmer, but you can’t ■ deny the humidity, Sir —no, sir.— I [New York Weekly. I The Hebrew year commences Sep- 1 tember 6. I