Decatur Journal, Volume 18, Number 22, Decatur, Adams County, 15 January 1897 — Page 5

W. J. ABELL, Merchant Tailor, Has returned to Decaturjand is prepared to furnish you with'thel Latest Cuts and best goods in the line of tailor made goods. Every man wants them. He should also call and examine the work turned out by Abell’s Dyeing Works Before He Dyes. ON MONROE.STREET,[OPPOSITE'JOURNAL OFFICE.

G-rueb agent for the •Mo Farmers Insurance Co., Standard Accident Insurance Co., Union Central Life Insurance Co. REAL ESTATE, Farm Loans on Best Terms. 3dfloo r ’tuna’s Corner, T»pr»tnr. Ind. Wanted—An Idea SSB Protect your Ideas; they may bring you wealth. Write JOHN WBDDERBURN c CO., Patent AttorWl» Washington. D. C.. for tnelr *i,Boo prise offer ano lilt of two hundred Inventions wanted.

Journal and N.Y. World Almanac, $1.68 BEST REFERENCE BOOR IN THE WORLD. taken at the Journal office for any paI per published in the U. S. Journal and Inter-Ocean, $1.83.

Old Abe, the War Eagle. Old Abe, the famous Wisconsin war eagle, was captured in the spring of 1861 on Flambeau river, near the line between Ashland and Prince counties, by a Chippewa Indian chief named Sky. The bird was then about the size of a common chicken bawk. * The Indian traded the eagle to Daniel McCann of Eagle Point, Wis., for a bushel of corn, and McCann sold it to a Mr. Mills of Eau Claire for $5. Mills presented the bird to Oaptain J. E. Perkins, who was then organizing the Eighth Wisconsin regiment The bird then began tbe most remarkable career that has ever been known to a member of the feathered tribe. At Madison, before tbe regiment left for the south, the eagle was given the name of Old Abe, in honor of President Lincoln. A perch was then made for tbe bird, which was carried at the side of the colors of Company C of the Eighth Wisconsin. At the siege of Oorinth Old ▲be sat on his perch as calm as though nothing were going on, an incident Which is said to have caused the Confederate general to declare that be .“would rather capture that cussed bird wjtiau a whole brigade of Yankees ” r* Altogether Old Abe participated in 88 battles and engagements. After the k dore of tbe war Barnum offered <20,000 ' for the eagle, and a western millionaire “went” the prince of showmen “one better,” offering to exchage $35,000 in gold for him. During tbe last years of his life Old Abe was kept in a large cage in the historical department of the Capitol building at Madison. He died on March 26, 1881. His body was turned over to a taxidermist, who fixed tbe bird up until be now looks as natural as be did in life. Over a million picturee of Old Abe have been sold, and a book telling of his wonderful career bad a good ■ale for several years.—St. Louis Be

IA/AMTCn SALESMEN. ■ ■u|l I | II Wo wnnt one or two men ■ ■nilllalw in each County to take orders for Nu.sery Stock, and are willing to pay. well for good work. We agree to REPLACE FREE anything that dies from natural cau<es. We also have a choice line of SEED POTA TOES. GIVE US A TRIAL. THE HAWKS NURSERY COMPANY. ROCHESTER. N. Y. Til) SHOP No. 23, Corner of First and Monroe Sts. I would respectfully ask a share of your patonage Spouting and Roofing I make a speaialty of thiictas of work Cal l and get prices GEO. WEKTZBERGErt.

The Maa and the Snake. The reputed fascination of the serpent's eye is tbe motive of a story in Mr. Ambrose Bierce’s volume of tales entitled “In tbe Midst of Life.” Mr. Brayton was the guest of a friend, an eminent zoologist, whose specialty, of which ho bad a fine collection, was snakes. Stretched upon a sofa in his own room, Mr. Brayton glanced from the book he was carelessly scanning while awaiting the summons to dinner and saw in the shadow under his bed two small points of light about an inch apart He gave them no special thought and resumed his reading. In a few minutes he gave an involuntary start and stared into the obscurity under the bed. His gaze disclosed the coils of a largo serpent The points of light were its eyes, but they were no longer merely luminous points; they looked into bls own with a malign significance. Brayton was a brave man, but this seemed an occasion when discretion was the better part of valor. He would beat a retreat and backward, so as not to ditourb the reptile, but instead of the movement his will had shaped his right foo* was placed in advance of his left The snake did not move, but its eye« seemed to become larger and more luminous. There were strange nois<B in Brayton's ears as, with reluctant steps, he could not refrain from drawing nearer the bed. Suddenly something struck him a hard blow upon tbe face. He had fallen to tbe floor. The zoologist, startled by a terrific scream from above, rushed to his friend’s room. There lay Brayton, senseleas.* As be bent over him be glanced under tbe bed. "How did this thing get here?” he exclaimed, and pulling oct tbe snake he flung it to the center of the room, where it lay without motion. It was • cuffed snake. Its eyes were twn shoe buttons.

THE SONG OF THE OX WAGON. This is the song of the straining span, the tune of the tattered tilt. Os the slow essays in perilous ways of the wagon stoutly built, The song that was sung in the ancient tongue when the days of the world dawned’gray. The creaking croon of the disselboom, the song that is sung today. East and west and south and north the first born herdsmen spread, From the waters clear of the high Pamir, from the ancient Oxus bed. On and on to the plains of the Don their creaking wagons ran, And the disselboom showed out the doom that has given the earth to man. Over the sands of the thirsty lands, under a brazen sky, Where the only law men bow before la the law of the assegai, Forth and forth to the dim far north whore the broad Zambezi flows Still today in the ancient way the rumbling wagon goes. Through the forest ways where the wild things graze, the dappled, the fawn, the gray; Where the tall “kameel” at sunset steal like ghosts to the silent vley; Where the lions drink at the reedy brink of the slowly shallowing pan, The disselboom shows out the doom that has given the earth to man. Slow and slow the wagons go by thicket and thorn ana pool, But their thin path traced on the homeless waste Is the road of the coming rule, And in dread of that track the wild slinks back, and the thief and the beast give place To the farm and field and the yearly yield of the men of the wiser race. East and west and south and north from the days of the dawn till now, Ere grass was burned or sq<l was turned by the share of the furrowing plow, This was the tune of the tattered tilt, the song of the straining span, How the disselboom points out the doom that has given the earth to man. —St. James Gazette. A GOOD TIME COMING. It was an October day, and the air was charged with the aromatic sharpness that follows the change in nature caused by the first frost. The sounds of the woods had changed from the summer murmur to the autumn rustle, and nature, like an aging coquette, was dressing herself in gaudy colors for her last season. The maples were clustered in crimson magnificence on the knolls and ridges, while the elms and ashes in the hollows clothed themselves in softest yellows shot with green. And in the fields departing summer was shod with the russet of the stubble lands.

Through this scene of melancholy beauty was wandering fitfully, now half running, now sitting down, disquieted and unnerved, a man who seemed strangely out of keeping with it all. He was tall and gaunt, sharp eyed, and in moments of repose a man who bore all the marks of authority. His lips involuntarily shaped themselves to a “sneer of cold command, ” and his high, pale brow, with its bright, transparent skin, spoke of ceaseless thought But he was acting like one possessed. He would walk along rapidly for a few moments, scanning the trees like an In* dian pot hunter and holding his gun in readiness for a quick shot. Then he would stop suddenly, arrested by a thought. Sometimes the thought would be one that Would wring an oath from his lips, and sometimes it would bring to bis face a look of perplexity that would end in the nervous laugh that tells of an uncomfortable feeling at the heart—the kind that often brings a moisture to the eyes and a choking feeling to the throat. Hiram Pratt was stirred to the depths of his nature—stirred as he thought he never could be. At one moment he would regret the impulse that had taken him back to his old home on the farm, and at the next bo would thrill with boyish delight at the thought of bagging gray squirrels and quail, just as he used in hie youth. His friends in New York would have been “deeply concerned” could they have seen him. Ho had just spent the night with his mother in the old log house where he was born and had learned anew something that he had forgotten. In his business career he had schooled himself to consider money everything and sentiment nothing, but in that old house sentiment was supremo and counted for more than the riches of a palace. When he asked his mother why she did not live in the fine brick houso which he had had built for her and which his brother now lived in, she replied: “Why, Hiram, your father brought me here “'when we were married and when there wasn’t five acres cleared on the farm. You were t.ll born here, and all who are dead died hero, and as I potter about you are all with me as you were when you were young. It wouldn’t be the same in the new house.” Then sho put up her old wrinkled face to be kissed as in tho other days, and tho worldly man stooped and kissed her. As he did the hardness of his heart chilled him like a curse, and snatching up a candle he hastened to the room her loving handshad prepared for him. All night be tossed on his pillow, striving to strike a balance between | the love and tenderness he had lost and tho millions be had gained, and it was because tbe problem was still painfully unsolved that he wandered about so distractedly through the October woods. At last he came to the thicket where , thtre used to be a covey of partridges every fall, but now there was no whirring of wings at his approach. But the fallen oak round which they used to hide and beside which he used to set the figure of four trap in the old days before tbe game laws were enforced was still there in almost tbe same condition as when be saw it last He seated himself on tbe mosey trunk, and as his mind gradually quieted, soothed by the peace of nature, he went back to his boyhood and lived it all over again. At last be remembered, and tbe memory came to him with tbe shock of a discovery who bis companion and | guide used to be in almost all bis bunting expeditions. Old Sam Ehret! Could it be possible that be was still alive? Os course it could? ."am was only 15 rear, cider than he was. though everybody odled him "aid” H jnub sgh • -i • •

But that was only on account of his almost senile simplicity and natural shiftlessneM. Sam couldn’t be more than 63 yet, and of course he must be alive. What times they used to have, trapping mink and shooting squirrels. This train of thought cleared the moral atmosphere for the millionaire at once. He would not be satisfied with coming to the old farm; he would go back to his youth and go out hunting with Sam. He had no real intention of doing any hunting when ho left the house and had merely picked up the old gun as an excuse to get away to the woods, where he would be alone with his troubled thoughts. But now he would visit old Sam, and they would have an afternoon of hunting. This decision gave him such a thrill that out of pure exuberance of spirits he forgot his gun was loaded awl cocked, swung it up and drew a bead on a clump of leaves in the top of a tall hickory. The explosion that instantly followed, sending the echoes rolling through the woods and starting the crows cawing, brought him out of his dreams with a shock, but the sound of the gun revived all his passion for sbboting. After carefully reloading the old muzzle loader ho started toward Sam’s farm. As 119 reached the farm he was surprised to find it so changed. There were new barns and stables and a new house, and everything was spick and span. He expected to see tumble down buildings and rickety fences instead of evidences of prosperity. But he strode cheerily across the field toward the house, inhaling the smell of the newly plowed soil, resolved to find out from the first person he mot what bad become of old Saui. Presently he saw a man bi/r'.y digging in a ditch at the end of aIL Erected his steps toward him. Aft ffi'approachcd nearer ho could hardly believe hifnself. It was undoubtedly his old friend, working away as if his life depended on it. “Hello, Sam,” ho called cheerily as he came within hailing distance, “how aro you?" The digger stopped, looked at the stranger with an inquiring staro and answered half shyly: “Hello! Nice day. ” “Why, don’t you remember me?” “I must say you’ve got tho start of me.” Pratt held up tho index finger of his left hand, showing a rough, corrugated nail, and asked, with a laugb: “What! You surely don’t forget the fellow who went to pull tho woodchuck out of tbe hollow tree in Black’s woods and almost had his finger bitten off, do you?” Sam’s grizzled and whiskered face lit up suddenly, nd he scrambled out of the ditch. “Why!” he exclaimed as he transferred the mud from his hand to the leg of his trousers. “If it tdu’fclittlo Hiram Prtitt. Wettf now, ” and ho shook hands with him Vigorously, “when did you get home?” “Last night.” “Well, well,‘and you’ve come back to see us again. My, how yon have grown and changed! Well, I suppose we’ve all got to get older. How’s your mother? Gfad to sec you, wasn't she? Well, well!. And they tell me you’ve got awful rich. I suppose you could buy out all the old neighbors Dow, couldn’t you?” Pratt laughed at tbe estimate of his wealth—he could have bought the whole county and turned it into a shooting park had ho wished—and modestly replied that ho didn’t think he could do that, though he had got along pretty well. Then he changed the subject by remarking on old Sam's evident prosperity. “Yes,’’said tho old man delightedly, “things are looljin better, ain’t they? But of course you heard all about it?" Pratt had not heard. “Oh, no,” be said, "this ain't my doings at all. They are Walter's. My oldest boy, Walter, you know. Jee! I guess he was born after you left, wasn’t he? Well, well, how time does fly, to be sure. I tell you, Walter is a mighty smart boy, but an awful fellow to work,"and a half frightened expression came over his face. As old Sam said this ho jumped back into the ditch and picked up his shovel as if he were going to dig again. “Well," said Pratt, “I'm glad your family is turning out so well, but you used to tie mop- fond of hunting than of plowing and digging, didn't you?" “Yes, but 1 ain't done no bunting in the last three or four years. ” “Why, there are lots of squirrel left, are there not, and some quail and partridge?”

‘‘Yes, but Walter would not let me,” said the old man doggedly. “Would not let you! That’s strange.” "No, he sold my gun.” “You surprise me.” "Wall, I guess he was right. I used to waste an awful lot of time with It when I should have been working. If I had not wasted so much time, I would not have got into debt. I suppose you beard about that, didn't you?” “Why, no; I did not hear anything about it" “Oh, I was in awful trouble. I could not sleep nights or anything. The store bills kept getting bigger, and then 1 gave notes, and then a little mortgage, and the timn kept getting harder and the taxes higher until I was almost crazy But 1 tell you,” and a little gleam of pride lit up bis face, “Waiter baa changed all that, and <v» n though be does make me work hard I don’t know that I have any right to complain. You see, this is the way it was: When things got to the very worst and we were afraid the sheriff would come, Walter offered that if I would make over the farm to him and agr>-e to work for him until I was 70 be would pay off all the debts, give something to each of the other children, and that after I was TO neither myself nor the old woman would have to do any more work. He would support us, and we would have to worry about nothing. M By a series of qaevtioos Pratt burns d Ba* «M maa Ml the M* M MBs

- wonderful bargain. He learned that tho - simple hearted old man was practically 1 a slave to his greedy and selfish son. . He had to get up at 5 o’clock in the ; morning and work until 9at night, and 1 the unfilial brute hud dared at times to - thrash his father for not working as 3 hard as he thought he should. More- 1 3 over, he did not allow him to have I s meat or good food except when he was working hard. In the winter time, f when there was nothing to do but 1 chores, the old man and his wife were 1 forced to live on cornmeal and buck a wheat. 1 The rich man’s wrath arose as he 1 learned of tbe miserable story, and his 1 heart was moved with unwonted pity 3 as he saw that his old friend was look- • ing forward with such simple anticipas tion to the good time coming when he 1 would be 70 years and-free. The probe abilities were that he would be Worked 3 to death before then; if not, that he e would be starved to death soon after--1 ward. 1 Although the old man complained, e and with touching candor told of the 1 treatment he was receiving, he really ; blamed himself more than his son. 1 “Walter has been hard,” ho said, “but I can’t .lay I deserve much more. • I lived in away that brought us all s into debt, and I have caused him a lot ? of worry in getting out, and you know, 1 Hiram, what debt is, especially to a 1 man who feels that lie would not rob f any one in ti.j world.” 3 At this moment the conversation was b interrupted by a shout, F Looking in tho direction from which 1 it came, a man was seen standing on 0 the fence, w ving his arms angrily. 1 “That’s Walter, ” said the old man f as he commenced shoveling for dear 1 life. “He wants me to get this ditch 1 finished and the tilo laid in it before - the frost comes. f “No, Hi-am, I can’t go shooting with you this time. Walter can't spare s mo, and I ain't got any money to gpt 7 powder and shot with, though I guess' I could borrow Thompson's gun if I 3 wanted it. But, I tell you, if you come 1 back seven years from now, when I ain’t got nothing to Ho, we will go out hunting again and have a good time just the same as we used to. You lia'’O f not got a plug of chewing tobacco, have you?” 3 “No." 1 “City folks don’t chew much, do they? Walter said it was a dirty and ex3 pensive habit, and ho made mo stop, but r sometimes I get a chew when Igoto a 3 thrashing or logging boo. ” 3 The millionaire had a strong incliuar tion to walk over to the other field and t bag the brilliant Walter, instead of got tug to the woods to hunt for inoffensive squirrels. He felt that he would enjoy . putting a charge of cold lead into him f about as much as he used to enjoy put--1 ting it into a skuiik. J3ut ho restrained 1 himself and walked back to the woods. 1 There he sat down on an old oak log, wondering—for his heart for onco in many years was full of tho kindliest : folding—if it would not be a worthy > deed to buy the. freedom of his old ) friend. He could certainly find some • way of doing it without causing too ’ much talk, and it would be a deed of 1 charity that might do something to softr ou the hardness of hia past life. But as t ho thought it all over and remembered hdtv the old man was looking forward 1 to a good time coming he paused. After i all, what was tho difference between them ? Tho old man was a slave to his son, > and he was simply a slave to his busi- ’ ness. He was looking forward to a good ■ time coming when he would bo able to retire and live on his wealth. But he knew in bis heart that, under tho training ho had given himself, he could not » live if he were not at the head of tho corporation he had built up and still struggling fiercely to make more money - —money for which ho hud no need. Perhaps, after all, the old man was as happy as he, and if ho set him free now he would simply take from him tho on--1 ly thing ho was working for and looking forward to and make him end his life in sordid inactivity. The old man had something to live for, something to hope for, something to look forward to, . and he had as good a chance of realiz-' ing it as most people have in this world. If he interfered, he would bo what most charitable people are—merely a meddler. And he was right While ho was sitting in tho woods old Sam was digging away in the ditch, with his heart full of happy anticipations of the good time he would have when he was 70 and his old friend, Hiram Pratt, would couic back and go out hunting with him.— Truth. — A Woman's Palace. , St. Petersburg owes its second great palace, The Hermitage, to a fantasy of Catherine 11. Originally The H-nuitagn was a small pavilion attached to tho winter palace—a place of recreation, where friendly canserio, as it was understood in the last oentary. could be carried ou without court formalities. Thu imperial hostess drew up a series of rules for these parties and placed ' them on a table near the door. "Leave your rank outside as well as your bat,” I says the first rule. "Be gay, but do not Spoil anything; do not break or gnaw anything,” is a somewhat ominous admonition. but those to “argue without anger and without excitement," and “neither to sigh nor to yawn, nor make anybody dull or heavy,” are rules which should be enforced in every drawing room today.—New York World. Orictn of a Much Quoted Saw. I The origin of “A f - *>) and bis money are soon parted” has not been ascertained with certainty, but tbe following story is sometimes told: “prorge Bocb:.uan, tutor to James IV of Scotland, r-ade a bet with s courtier that he • (Buchanan) could mak- ■ coarser Terre tli >■ tbe courtier. Buchanan rose and, y king up tbecvarrtor’i- money. walketL C f with so* remark, 'A tad and his t.ooey are soon parted. — Ladles' .*«tesa Journal

The Modern Babel. | Professor Mahaffy, in The Nineteenth' Century, explains how French might ■have been the international medium of language, but how commerce in a certain way has changed all this: If the old French monarchy and aris--1 tocracy had not been swept away by I the terrible revolution, if France had not ruined her primacy In courtliness and had not for a time become the dread and the horror of all. Europe, it is ' quite possible that French might have become the exclusive international me- ; dium. But the mercantile priponder- [ anco of .England and the national an- ' tagonism of Germany raised up'jrivals I to her supremacy,., And since the assertion of nationality was identified with the speaking of a special language all hope of any agreement has disappeared. When I was young.it was fairly assumed that a working knowledge of English, French and German would open to the student all the stores of European learning. Nothing can now be further from the truth. Not only are there scientific and literary works of international importance—l exclude mere poetry and small talk—in Italian and Greek, and fur more in Dutch, but there aro mines of knowledge only to be reached by'acquiring Russian and Hungarian. I im told that the geological and zoological observations over the huge area of Asiatic Russia are now published in Russian Transactions. < I know that the most interesting reports on Hungarian social and political questions are now’ In Hungarian yellow books. . Uses of Aluminium. It is claimed that aluminium plates ■ are destined to become tho universal material for lithographic printing, which means a revolution in the lithographic art. Os all the metals that have been tried besides aluminium, says T|io Aluminum World, to replace the cumbersome lithographic stone, zinc is tho only metal which has given any satisfaction, but it was found that ziuo could not bo depended upon. To insure good work the zinc plates must bo absolutely pure, and oven then many colors cannot bo printed from ziuo with safety. Aluminium has been proved to bo as good as stoni.-, The metal approaches the physical) properties of lithographic stone from its ability to absorb fats or slimy substances. Racing skates are now made of aluminium, affording st tho same titno ext ceptional strength and lightness, a pair weighing only 24 ounces. Aluminium articles for tbe toilet aro now made In great variety, among other things combs, razor handles and hairpins. Pens made of an aluminium alloy, it is claimed, write easily and do not rust. A company has put on the market al.iminima guitao?dwujos, ninndollus ,<id lutinas. The instrurnents Out of'Tinb phtoe ot sheet aluminium pressed Into shape. They aro satin finished, and not only make a Uautiful looking instrument, but give a rich tone. — ... , The Capitalist. The word “capitalist” is simply another word for tho mull who saves and who finds out what the public will buy. This faculty for saving and for finding out what the public wants is a rare faculty. It is so rare that I believe reliable statistics prove that 95 per cent of men in business —that is, of men who employ others—fail. They fail through their incapacity or want of diligence. Only an infinitesimally small number of them achieve fortune. They may be called the explorers of the race. We profit by their errors. For one who invents a sewing machine or a telephone 10,000 lapse into poverty. Nothing requires a more delicate combination of qualities than the creation and conduct of a groat business. Tho conditions of success are often too minute for observation. Tho life is full of terrible anxieties, especially in what is called “hard times, ” when money is difficult to get. Tbe penalty of failure Is tremendous, and yet the number of us who are ready to tell tbe capitalist how tc carry on his business, how to pay his | men, whom to employ, and on what 1 terms, is very large. If those who can carry on business themselves were only one-tbouandth part ns numerous as those ; who can tell how it ought to he < nrried on by others, tho happiness of man would be well assured.—E. L Godkin In Atlantic Monthly. - — Th. Cocktail. The invention of that American institution "the cocktail is now credited to the medical profession. The eld doctors, it secius, had a habit of treating certain diseases of the throat with a liquid mixture applied with the tip of a long feather plucked from a cock’s tail. In time this liquid came to be used as a gargle, the name of “cocktail,” however, still clinging to it In the course of further evolution tbe gargle became a mixture of bitters, vermouth and other appetisers and finally developed into tbe beverage so highly esteemed by the patrons of American bars. Hr Sometime* Eacapei. Preacher—And do you always say your prayers at night? Johnny—all wot. When pa dnz’t come home to supper, ma gits so excited and tears around so that sße fergits, and I sneak off to bed without sayin ’em.—Cleveland Leader. She San pet ted 1U "Why, Mrs. Parvenu, this is unmistakably an old master,” said the enthusiastic caller. “That's Just what I told John. I’ll send it back to bare it repainted and a new frame put on.’’—Detroit Fr.-e Press. * Tbe corn tassel is symbolic of riches, though the low price of tbe product during tbe last tow ytora Las dri rtved tbe ajuabo) of much of it»fotuer signrteettce. ▲ hundred feat of three line barbed VirefuMag requires llposredsof wire.