Daily Greencastle Banner and Times, Greencastle, Putnam County, 1 September 1897 — Page 2

THE DALLY BANNER TIMES, GREENCASTLE, INDIANA.

THE WEAVER. IVside llw loom of lif*' I Htano And watch t h<* busy shuttle ^o: Th** threads ) hold within my hand Make up the illlin;*; strand on strand They slip my lingers through, and so This web of mine fills out apace. While 1 stand ever in my place. One tiin* 1 flu* wool is smooth and flno And colored with a sunny dye; Again the threads so roughly twine And weave so darkly line on line My heart misgives me. Then would I Fain lose tins web begin anew— ihit that, alas! I eannot do. Some day the web will r.ll be Anno, The shuttle ijuiel in its place. From out my hold the threads be run; And friends at. setting of the sun Will come to look upon ray face. And say: “Mistakes are made not few. Yet w«* e perchance as best she knew.’’ - f’arpet and t'pholstery Trade Review.

0000000000000030000031 | MARJORIE’S LETTER. x itv wki:x. 0300SOCKXJ000003000C3 l<)U have lost your senses, Marjorie! None Imt one utterly <laft would reckI e s s 1 y throw away such all o tt' e r . What matters it if there are a few gray hairs niiiiKled with the hlaek? Bett(!r he an old man’s darling than a young man’s slave,” and Mrs. Hayes, who had looked up for a moment from her baking, returned more vigorously than before to the kneading of the

dough.

“True, aunt; but suppose a young man’s darling is better than either,” and a mischievous twinkle shone in her bright eyes, a half smile played round the corners of the rosy mouth, giving a momentary glimpse of teeth white and even. “Where is your won-

derful philosophy, then?”

“Have your own way. You’ll regret

it too late. Pity John Harding couldn’t J f ealit y- then , for the first time knew

have you. You’d make him miserable enough, Heavens knows, with your endless airs and graces. It’s easy to see it’s him you’re thinking of, notwithstanding your coquetry. 1 don’t doubt Squire Arnold will readily con

good old farmer Hayes, rising a fortnight later from the breakfast table, shook his head with a wise shake. Poor Mrs. Hayes! As she listened, j her florid face grew pale. Perhaps j she had made a mistake after all, and ; at the memory of that white envelope, | hidden away somewhere in some deep pocket, a weight of iron was resting on her heart. She stole a stealthy glance at her niece. Her cheek had lost its color, her hand trembled a little as she raised a cup of coffee to her lips, hut otherwise she gave no sign. That evening Squire Arnold called, ami when he left he carried with him Marjorie Hayes's promise to become his wife. Thus Mrs. Hayes’s ambition was fulfilled, hut vainly did she console herself with the thought. Something within forbade self-con-gratulation, and the ruddy color often left her cheek at some forbidden memory. Squire Arnold had no cause to complain of capricious behavior. No spice of coquetry tinged Marjorie’s manner now. With quiet calm she moved about the old house, busy with preparation for the now fast-approach-ing nuptials; but. oh! what would Mrs. Hayes have given for one mischievous glance as of old, one ripple of merry girlish laughter, one burst of happy song. Days merged into weeks, until one bright, beautiful morning in May, Marjorie rose to the consciousness that her wedding-day had come. There was a strange tenderness in Mrs. Hayes's manner, as she helped robe the bride. It was as though she prepared a lamb for the sacrifice, but it was too late now, she whispered ever to herself, and so hustled here and there in busy preparation, so that none noticed how seldom she smiled or how wan and pale she looked. It was over at last. Marjorie had gone through it all as in a dream, scarcely heeding the words which hound her to another, or hearing her own voice in response. Then came congratulations and farewells, and she had left her childhood’s home a wife. Then she awoke from dream life to

how stern a duty site had imposed upon herself, and she wondered if her

strength would not desert her. But Squire Arnold was too proud in

her possession to dream her other than satisfied, and for six months she did

sole himself, and when his bride takes her ,,u, . v wel1 Then a sudden, sharp possession you’ll wish you’d followed j illnesB prostrated her husband, and my advice.” ' before the new year opened she stood, “At least, aunt, I can never reproach j cla ^ i, ‘ " i,lo ' v ’ s " eeds, beside his

you with having withheld its bestowal;

but, come; don’t be angry with me. I But when she went hack to her desoani not at all sure, hut.that you will have late home she missed even the duties, jne with you many a long day yet.” and as she realized hexw dread ami Pretty Marjorie Hayes! There were empty life was, • a new, hard feeling

men enough, old and young, who would have given half their worldly possessions to be sure tiny held a space, however small, in that, heart; but not so John Harding. He had given to this girl the one love of his life, hud read in her eyes glances answering his own; had seen her face brighten into expectancy at his coming; felt her tender pressure answering his hand-clasp, and hope would rise buoyant in his heart, only to be dashed again in despair, as he would meet her averted glance or indifferent words. He was not very patient, this strong man; and, with his stern w ill bent upon a purpose, trifling was beyond his compre-

hension.

“You know what I have to offer you, Marjorie,” he said to her on the evening of the same day of the conversation recorded above. “I don’t question your right to better, in one sense, hut. I must have my answer. Squire Arnold thinks the same, I don’t doubt, judging from the sweetness of your

smiles.”

Ah, foolish John! The blush which had risen to the girl’s cheek faded, the smile playing round her lips disappeared, and, holding erect the shapely head, she said: “Since when did I appoint you custodian of my smiles or tears? When i elect any one to the position, Mr. Harding, I shall remember you as my first applicant. ” “Nevertheless, I did not speak without reason. I am tired of it, Marjorie—tired of it all. I am no Jacob to serve seven years. I “Then stop now” (turning to him with quick anger). “Doubtless you think Jacob hud something higher in view of his long waiting. Well, sir, should you serve for me seventy times seven, it would be to receive the same answer no! My freedom is too sweet to yield it quite so readily. Hood evening, Mr. Harding. I can find my way home across the meadow alone.” But, silent and stern, John walked by her side until they reached the threshold of the door. Then, without a word, she stepped within, and he turned and with great strides w alked away. From her own window she watched him until out of sight, then threw herself upon her little bed, with its snowy counterpane, in a very passion of sobs, half anger, half despair. The next morning bright and early, Mrs. Hayes, bustling about her morning duties, spied a messenger approaching the house. A moment later, with a respectful “Good morning,” he banded her a note. “For Miss Marjorie, ma’am,” and was as quickly out

of sight.

“From John Harding. Some lovers’ quarrel reconciled. Suppose I keep it just a few days. She will thank me for it some day. I will think it over,” and thus soliloquizing, she slipped the letter into the capacious pocket by her s* le, where it was destined to remain long days ere it was brought to light. “Sudden move, that of young Hard-

scented closet, and one by one exam4 ined the pockets of the dresses sha herself had hung there and left untouched. At last in one her search was rew arded. Paper crackled under her touch, and, draw ing forth an envelope yellow with age, she saw, in the handwriting she knew so well, her maiden name. The evening found her still sitting with wide-open eyes, yet seeing nothn ing, and the letter on her lap. ‘•Forgive me. Marjorie. You know, ilenr. I did not mean It. I will trust you. darling, and you, with your gentle ways, must teach me patience. Write me just one little word nf love in answer; or. If you can't do that, put a light in the east window for me. I will see it and I shall know you have forgiven me, little as I deserve it. Yours till death, Jobs Hardiso.” “Till death—till death!” the white lips moaned, and so they found her, only idly muttering those words, with the fever burning and ravaging her tender flesh. It was a tierce struggle, ami when it left her, wan and wasted,i she thought of the dreary future ahead with a w ild wish at her heart that she, had not been spared. But one morning, sitting in her own room by her open desk, the old letter spread out before her, a familiar tread sounded on the gravel path, and, looking up, she fell hack fainting, for she thought, she had seen John Harding’s ghost. But it was no ghost, but living flesh and blood reality which bent so tenderly over her and waited till the blood came hack to the wasted cheek, and saw the glad light of recognition leap into the open eyes. Then Marjorie knew that God was, good, and, with a great cry of thanksgiving that her wicked prayer for death had gone unpunished, she clung to his breast, and, clasping her close to his heating heart, John Harding felt the past was wiped out, and that at last, after long years, he held his wife.—The Ledger.

crept into her heart against the man who had, in his stern, unrelenting

anger, worked her this misery.

No w ord came from the wanderer. He seemed to have passed forever from their lives, hut in the spring her aunt's strength failed, and she gladly obeyed the summons to her side w hich allowed her to close the great, lonely house where she dwelt alone, and go hack to the dear, old farm to the place

her aunt so long had filled.

Soon would it be empty. With a great start, the girl first saw the aw ful change w Inch hail taken place. She rarely spoke, but Marjorie wondered often at the wistful gaze which followed her every movement around the room. But w hen a few short weeks had passed all knew the end was near. One evening, just as the sun was sinking to rest, and Marjorie and her uncle, with a strange foreboding at their hearts, watched by the sufferer, the siek woman, motioning Marjorie nearer, whispered: “The letter —in my pocket thought it best forgive ” The girl supposed her wandering, and, stooping, she kissed the lips already cold, and when she raised her head the eyes had closed, the sjnrit fled. Then when, the funeral over and the house restored to its quiet, she took her place beside her uncle, it seemed as though all the glory had died out of her life, aud left only a gray shadow of its former brightness. Two years passed, and Marjorie wondered at the strange calm which seemed almost paralyzing her life, when suddenly her energy was roused to action. A terrible fever had broken out in their very midst. Men, women and children fled before it, an ’ there were few to care for the thousands already stricken. With a sense of almost gratitude, Marjorie took her place by the bedsides of the sick and dying. All expostulation was in vain, and night and day she worked as though unconscious of fatigue. One evening. in passing through a temporary w ard, she caught sight of a man w hose face, bronzed and bearded, yet carried with it a forgotten memory. A moment she knelt by John Harding's side. In his delirium beseemed

to recognize her.

“There was no light, Marjorie, in the window. It was nil dark—no answ er to my letter. Ho I went away. It was best so—best, best—” and the fever burned hotter and fiercer, and his voice sank or rose in incoherent

words.

“A hopeless case, Miss Marjorie,” and the old physician’s voice, still I giving her the name of her youth, roused her from her reverie. “He worked like u Trojan among the sufferers, poor fellow, until he was stricken down himself; and now he will never work again,” and with a shake of the head the old man passed

on.

“John, John, live for my sake; if only once I may tell you it was my fault all, all mine,” and with a burst of sobs, the fair young head was

ing. I thought he was too sensible to pillowed by his side,

let the Western fever influence him When she had gone hack for a few when he was doing well at home, hours’ rest to the farm, the words of Better let well enough alone. But I his delirium returned to her, and with

understand he has sold out everything, ; them those of her aunt,

leased the farm and started out anew . He had said “Forgive.” With a He gives no reasons to anyone. I’m { strange prescience she flew up into fcorry, for I always liked the lad.” aud the unused room, opened the lavender-

STALKING THE OSTRICH. How the Pntlent KiiMlniian Get* Within Arrow Shot ot Him. The Bushman divests himself of all his incumbrances; water vessels, food, cloak, assegai, and sandals are all left behind. Armed only with his how, arrows, and knife, he sets forth. The nearest ostrich is feeding more than a mile away, and there is no covert hut the long, sun-dried, yellow grass, hut that is enough for the Bushman. Worming himself over the ground with the greatest caution, he crawls toward the bird. No serpent could traverse the grass with less disturbance. In the space of an hour and a half he has approached within 100 yards of the, tall bird. Nearer he dare not creep on the hare plain, and at more than 1 twenty-five paces he cannot trust his reed arrow s. He lies patiently hidden in the grass, his how and arrow ready iu front of him, trusting that the ostrich may draw nearer. It is a long .vail under the blazing sun, close on two hours, hut his instinct serves him, and at last, as the sun shifts a little, the great ostrich feeds that way. It is a magnificent male bird, jet black as to his body plumage, and adorned with magnificent white feathers upon w ings and tail. Kw aneet’s eyes glisten, hut he moves not a muscle. Closet and closer the ostrich approaches. Thirty paces, twenty-five, twenty. There is a light musical tw ang upon the hot air, and a tiny yellowish arrow sticks well into the breast of the gigantic bird. The ostrich feels a sharp pang and turns at once. In that! same instant a second arrow is lodged in its side just under the wing feathers. Now the stricken bird raises its wings from the body aud speeds forth into the plain. But Kwaneet is quite content. The poison of those two arrows will do the work effectually. He gets up, follows the ostrich, tracking it, after it has disappeared from sight, by its spoor, and in two hours the game ■ lies there before him amid the grass, dead as a stone.- Longman's Magazine. Queer >lnil Matter. The efficiency of the employes of the Jacksonville Postoffice was put to a severe test recently, when the distributing clerk came across a photograph w ith a postage stamp attached, and the only direction on it as follows,! says the Florida Times-Union: “Deliver to , Jacksonville, Fla.” Several of the employes were shown the picture, which was taken with a small camera, aud which did not show the face of the person photographed very distinctly. One of the carriers named Walter (1. Coleman, the general traveling agent of the F., (!. and P. Kailway, as the person. Several of the clerks and carriers did not think that it was intended for Mr. Coleman, w hile others sided with the Bay street carrier. Finally a wager of 31 was made, and the carrier started out to deliver it. When he reached Mr. Coleman’s office that gentleman al once claimed the photograph as one of himself. A week ago or more, while walking along Bay street, he met a young lady with a kodak, who took a “snap shot” at him in front of the Gardner building. She said that if the picture was a good one she would send it to him. It also appears that the young lady w on a wager made with her father on the delivery of the photograph to Mr. Coleman with only the directions above. For Tiibile* Speaker*. The public speaker can now see in his spectacles what he is to tell his audience—at least, an invention to accomplish this has been made. It consists of a double ]>air of spectacles. Between the two sets is a pair of tiny rollers, upon which winds a scroll of paper, containing, in minute manuscript form, the sjjeaker’s notes on the subject w hich he is to discuss. The first pair of glasses sufficiently magnifies the handwriting to make it distinct to the speaker’s eyes.

NEW BURIAL COACH. COMBINES THE HEARSE AND FUNERAL CARRIAGES. Stephen Merritt tl»o Inventor InHteari of h Lons: Line of Sombre Vehicle* Ttiere Will He Hut One Carriage at a rune rat.

HERE will be no more funeral processions. That is. if the public takes kindly to this newest Idea in burial coaches. In place of the present familiar spectacle of the plumed hearse, with its gloomy trappings, moving slowly through the city streets, with a long line of somber vehicles in its wake, there is now for use a conveyance which combines upon its four wheels what now take thirty-six wheels to carry. The new burial coach, which is the idea of Kev. Stephen Merritt, of New York, is a low, broad vehicle, to be drawn by four horses, and resembles more than anything else one of the low-hodled type of Fifth avenue Mages in u>:e In New York, with the addition of an oblong glass cabinet on top. It is designed to take the place of a hearse, a flower coach, two carriages for the relatives and five carriages for the friends. It is designed to cost $fi.()00, and, in addition to the coffin and flowers, will carry eight persons in the front compartment and twenty-two In the rear. The latter compartment is spacious enough to afford room for camp chairs for additional mourners. When in use, the coffin will be placed on a movable platform, which will raise it to its place in the glass cabinet over the roof of the coach. The front compartment, to be used by the relatives, in the interest of privacy, is sound proof, and Is upholstered in green silk. The rear compartment is finished in dark leather and carved wood. The exterior will he black, with silver trimmings and lamps. The argument used by the inventor, who is introducing the coach and expects to have the first one in operation in a few days, is that it will reduce the expense of a funeral aud also serve to promote not only the safety, but the comfort and convenience of those afflicted by death. In this fast age.when competition is so very keen, every commodity necessary to life lias been greatly reduced iu price in the last few years. Until the present time, however. little though' has been given to the cost of those things we require only in death, and if a man wanted to go to hit grave ii>. the latest style, so that his relatives would not he ashamed to own him. his sorrowing widow would hove to put a me rtgage on the home. And of course this policy being all wrong, and tie'cssity being the mother of invention, a philanthropist comes forward with the ‘ ro-oper.itiv ■ funeral

the thought that it is quite as proper to provide, while still among the living, for one’s appropriate burial, as it is to provide for those near and dear to us after death. In Philadelphia and other large cities, owing to the crowded condition of the city, and the constant presence of other tenants in a house, funerals do not, as a rule, partake of the solemnity and decorum that they should, and in many instances the late homes of a deceased person does not afford the opportunity for the conduct of a proper burial service. In many, in fact, in most instances, the rooms of a house during a funeral are crowded to suffocation by those In attendance. They fill the hail and block the ingress and egress of those who call to take a last look al the dead. They line the staircase and rest on the balusters, and the minister is forced to seek the most available location to make himself heard, even though unseen by a large proportion of those gathered to observe the last rites over a departed friend. Al! these things have frequently given rise to the thought whether the burial of the dead on a co-operative plan, which would reduce the expense of a funeral to its lowest point, secure everything needful at such a service, and at the same time preserve the solemnity of the occasion, and afford the family and those in attendance ample and proper accommodations.was not feasible, and this problem seems to have been most successfully solve,I and its solution brought about by ,t man thoroughly conversant, through long experience, with the burial of the dead. For fifty years the Rev Stephen Merritt. of New York, has studied this subject, and year after year he became more impressed with the delinquency of the usual methods and the absolute necessity of the organized management of funerals. To him this became a life study, and the fruition of the plan he evolved is represented in the co-operative funeral plan, an incorporated organization that has just equipped a large building in New York in an elaborate manner for the conduct of funerals on a co-operative plan, that is practical in every way, reduces the expenses of a funeral and surrounds its management with all proper conditions.

•Ican I’into Fumon't Everywhere. In a French churchyard is a monument bearing an inscription of which the following is a translation: "Here lies Jean Pinto, the Spanish violinist. When he reached heaven he united his voice with the voices of the archangels. As soon as He heard him, the Deity cried, ’Keep quiet, all you fellows, and let us hear alone the illustrious singe'. Jean Pinto!’” American at I.ant. Central Park, New York, is no long er adorned, or rather disfigured, with numerous "Keep off the grass” signs. The park commissioners last week j called them all iu. Children can now

RARE FEAT IN BALANCING.

Balancing feats may almost be said to tie co-existent with the dawn of civilization, and the centuries of progress have left their mark on this gentle art in common with other forms of entertainment, until In these latter years feats of marvelous dexterity and skill have become very common. The Japanese led the experts of the world in balancing as well as in juggling for many years, but within the present century several Europeans, with the aid of the heaven sent gift of patience, have become quite equal to the Orientals. Accompanying this is an illustration of one of the feats of one of the Girards, which is described in the current Strand. A more difficult undertaking in balancing can scarcely be imagined. If one would get a correct idea of how

nearly impossible the feat is let him take two ordinary felt hats and two canes and essay it, with the aid of the picture in the way of showing position to assist him. The artist who performs the trick belongs to that class of continental performers which makes it a practice to sandwich in between bits of grotesque foolery many difficult and fine feats of balancing and dexterity. Some of these miss fire or go unappreciated by superficial onlookers, owing to the seemingly airy and careless way in which they are executed and the comicalities with which their accomplishment is interlarded. Very few have any Idea of the time, skill and patience which are required to bring one of these feats to perfection. The Girard feat is certain to stand almost alone for a long time.

plan,” which has produced this row I and unique burial coach among many i other things that tend to cheapen the ! price of a first-class funeral. So now, no matter how poor a man is in life, or now badlv h. fares, ne cun ride to !iia grave or gi’Uen cusbionu, ami his friends ran attend him in a’l luxury. Death makes t<!l humanity alcln anl this is seen at many funerals, where neighbors, moved by a kindly impulse, lend a helping hand in every possible way to those In affliction; but the very help that It has been necessary to accord in this way in the past It ads to

romp all over the green sward and enjoy themselves to their hearts' content. Grown people, too, will not be slow to avail themselves of the privilege of exercising freely on the grass. Heretofore the public had to confine itself to asphalt walks and hard benches, with the sparrow ■cop usually in evidence. In neither Hyde park, Green park, nor James Park, In London, are there any "Keep off the grass” signs.

YOUNG GIRL'S LIBERTY. Year* Are a Womau'M 1’roteetlou, »nd Youth I* u Time of Hunger. The liberty and freedom of action allowed young girls of today is the subject of a forcible editorial by Edward W. Bok in the Ladies’ Home Journal. “That everything in life is tending to make people freer in thought and action is undoubtedly true, and it is a healthful tendency in the main—healthful for people of years aud self-control,” writes Mr. Bok. "But no advantage is without its disadvaneages. The freer our lives become along beautiful and safe lines the healthier will our minds become. But before we can safely profit by these advantages we must have lived long enough to know how to use them and to understand what phases of them to disregard. Because women are freer to travel alone than ever before, it does not necessarily follow that It is wise and right that young girls should be permitted to travel alone. Here comes the truth of the proverb that 'what’s one man’s poison is another's meat.” The time was when a woman could not, with self-respect, go to a place of entertainment unattended. Now she can. But that does not make it right for a girl to do so. The chaperon is none the less indispensable to girls today than she was 30 years ago. She is really more necessary. for. as things become more and more possible for women, they should become more impossible for girls. This may sound hard and severe, but young girls must remember that a woman's years are her protection, where as a girl’s lack of years is her danger. The very aim and purpose of the present tendency for woman’s greater freedom will be defeated if we allow It to guide the actions of our girls. The danger to immaturity always becomes greater as the danger to maturity grows less. That we should never overlook. It is a blessed change that things are safely possible to women which were absolutely impossible a few years ago. But progress is dangerous as well as healthful. If parents interpret the present changing conditions by allowing greater freedom to their daughters they will make a very sad mistake.”

HE FEARS OUR FLAG, JOE CHAMBERLAIN IS A SE\ SIBLE BRITON,

Hr Know* That There l* x Q Kindred That Can Kecnncltr the and the Lion—Haa Made Some , cal Change* of Front.

HE most Interesting figure in E ng . lish politics is j^ Chamberlain. He u a statesman with u past which is out of gear with his present and his future is crowned with mystery. He has been a Radical in English politics anil is now a conspicuous member ot th< Conservative government. He may ac cept a peerage after having made the most violent attacks upon the house ol lords! or he may again change sides and reorganize the forces of Radicalisn and Democracy. Mr. Chamberlain resembles in features and habits of mind William Pitt and like that Englishman is a mastei of debate and has a passion for publh affairs. He is the best debater in the house of commons. While he lacks a commanding voice and dignity of pres enee, he speaks with businesslike directness and precision. The chief charms of his oratory are fluency and clearness. He speaks with out notes and never hesitates for u word, and while he does not rise to the highest flights of eloquence he is al ways a torch-bearer and illumines with light every subject which he discusses He is at his best when with his back tr the wall he turns upon his opponent!

1400 MILLION.

The

Estimated PopulAtlou of t lit

Earth.

One billion four hundred million of human beings are living or trying to live to-day in the world. A little more than one-half of these are women. We I have about 800,000,000 female frailties on this planet. Of these nearly 500,000,000 are semi-civilized, about whom little or nothing is known. Of the remaining 300,000,000 at least one-half are suffering more or less with some chronic ailment peculiar to their sex. One hundred and fifty million sick women! What an appalling statement. Seven million of these sick women live in the United States of America. II this vast multitude of frail sufferers knew the value of Pe-ru-na in ailments of this kind, no medicine manufactory on earth could make Pe-ru-na fast enough to supply the demand for it. It is undoubtedly the greatest remedy yet devised for nervousness, irregular circulation, weakness, palpitation, hysteria, neuralgia, sleeplessness, bloodlessness, catarrhal congestion, loss of appetite, indigestion and general de-

bility.

The Pe-ru-na Drug Manufacturing Company of Columbus, Ohio, are sending for a short time Dr. Hartman's latest work, written especially for women, free of charge. This book will be sent to women only. A Lofty Suit I.itlw. In recently published reports of the j explorations of Russian travelers in North Tibet there is an account of a small lake called “Unfreezing,” which lies at an altitude of 13,300 feet, and whose waters are salt.

The river dolphin of South America has 222 teeth

paragraphs with points. The Greek who made justice blind was a great artist. In suppressing crime the ballot Is at least as great as the rope. Taken altogether women certainly make life interesting for a man. The frying pan Americans found Chicago as hot as South America. The dMne right of kings has never been strong enough to endure unbridled criticism. There Is no burden like that of the miser, yet some weak woman is always ready to help him bear it. It seems that none of the femal« colleges has ever taught a woman to say good-by in less than half an hour. The hottest people in this country are those who bought $100 wheels the day before the price was reduced to $75. In some states the criminals and the candidates are the only citizens who can depend upon the government for anything. Newspaper editors have shifted from the queen's jubilee to the weather Something has to be written, you know and It is less risky to roast things in a foreign planet. It is believed that the information of Weyler’s recall was the worst piece of news Gomez has heard since the war began. There Is danger that Spain may send a soldier to succeed him Bob Fitzsimmons is of the opinion that John L. Sullivan can not stand more than three or four stiff punches Of course, it depends largely upon what i-'nd of stiff punt hi i an alluded to Ex-President Harrison Is not a can didate for any office, and is not mak ing himself conspicuous in any way but he can not take his wife and babv off for a vacation without the country’s wanting to know all about it.

and gives blow for blow. But ordinarily he speaks without excitement and with a smiling face, and is almost as considerate of the feelings of opponents as Mr. Gladstone has ever been. Mr. Chamberlain has tremendous energy and is always at work. He opened his public career at Birmingham where he created a new order of municipal government, which 1ms been followed in all the great English cities except London. He became the chief organizer of the Liberal party on Demoeratic lines and was hand-in-glove with the Irish leaders before Mr. Gladstone’s conversion to home rule. Then he became the chief antagonist of Irish home rule and took an active interest in imperial questions, finally entering a Conservative ministry as secretary for the colonies. He is the most industrious man in English public life. He has contempt for the weak sentimentalists like Bay ard who talks of hands across the sea between England and America. He ays that no kindred ties can reconcile the lion and the eagle. He works early ond late, takes no exercise, allows himself little social recreation, and U completely engrossed in public affairs He is the best informed man in parliament on all questions of national concern. This is the secret of his readiness in debate and his clearness of speech. What he himself describes as the ruling passion of his life is ardor for im proving the lot of the masses. With all the startling contrasts of a o jeor beginning with Radicalism and pk -sits into Conservatism, he has been c& ^latent in his advocacy of the vital ji ,, ‘ ests of the working world. He 11 s at once for Democratic-Toryism. wmrh is closely akin to Radicalism, and also for Imperialism, which is the patriotism of England’s world-wide empire. Bike most Englishmen in official life he fears the progress of the American Tepublics.

Salvation Ar ny MArrlitgc*. In speaking of the Salvation Army marriage bureau which he recently es tablished. General Booth says: “I would that we had some such arrangement for every soldier in our ranks. Beyond question it will come to that indeed, I shall not be surprised to find myself looking down from heaven in future years and seeing the whole business of the selection of partners for marriage Intrusted to councils of the wisest, most experienced and spiritual of our officers, who will arrange not only who each officer and soldier shall marry, but the time of the event, and in certain cases, whether they shall marry at all, instead of the business being left to the haphazard, accidental. Irrational system—or no system at all —of individual choice as at present.”

A Chung* In Opinion. Dr. Ladislaus Rieger, the former head of the Old Czech party in Austria. was for many years representative of all the Czechs, has been made a baron. He is about eighty years old. and in his younger days, when a member of the Reichstag for Kreinsier. moved for the abolition of the nobility-