Democratic Sentinel, Volume 14, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 December 1890 — Page 6

ADVICE TO SANTA CLAUS.

Santa Claus, dear old marauder. Christmas Eve always comes down. Fleet are his mythical reindeer. Swift, as though gifted with wings. Bearing their bountiful burden Of the most beautiful things. Gathered from earth and from ocean. That the dear saint always brings. Yet, though he loves all the children. Some of them must be his pets; There are those, orphaned and lonely, He almost always forgets. Whoso little stockings are empty, Whcse hearts are filled with regrets. Santa Claus, I always fancied You were excessively nice; That your ideas were quite perfect. And your kind heart beyond price: If so. ’twill surely not pain you To take a woman’s advice. Seek first the poor little wee ones. Loveless, and lone, and distressed: Fill up their stockings with treasures. Gather their thanks to vour breast. Then we will crown you King Christmas. Of all kings dearest and best.

JONAS’ XMAS PRESENT.

BY ISABEL HOLMES MASON.

•HE lights of the little .church on the hillside •shining invitingly in the gloom, made the semicircular grove behind it look dark shadowy on

that Christmas Eve. The pines whispered, and the spruce and fir trees nodded confidentially toward the lighted ■windows, for a chosen member of their family stood inside the church, tho “observed of all observers.” ready to shower its Christmas fruitage presently upon the expectant hearts and,hands of the gathering. All Millville was out. even to blind Joe, who could feel the Christmas gladness even 1f he could not see it, and who was sure also of a goodly number of pressents. There were the youth and “small fry” of both sexes, the blacksmith, miller, grocer and doctor, and, not least, the minister and his bride of three months, a pretty little brown-eyed ■creature sitting in a front pew beside her husband, her radiant countenance crossed now and then by a shade of anxiety as she glanced down the aisle at the stern face of Jonas Hideaway. There he sat in the midst of the buzz and hum of half a dozen beehives, silent and unsmiling, with his fur epat folded, across his knees, caring for nobody, and nobody caring for him seemingly. “He’s like a death’s head at a feist,” the doctor remarked to his wife. “Yes. I wonder what brought him out? “Ho wants to.save himself from petrifaction, I suppose,” returned the Doctor ■dryly. “It's a shame he is so hard toward Prissy.” said tho lady warmly. “He might afford to forgive her before doomsday, I think. Of course she was foolish to go off and marry the son of her father’s worst enemy, but the poor thing was starving for affection, I suppose. She’s in actual want now since her husband has been sick, and there’s her father alone In that big comfortable house, and with money in the bank.

"THERE HE SAT, SILENT AND UNSMILING."

Bat she’d starve before she’d ask him for scything. -Ain't Jonas Hideaway cross?” queried Mat. the miller’s boy, of Tom Wilcox. “Jyp is scared to death wlien she- meets him. You ought to have heard her wbt'ne when she went with me up there on an errand. ’ •He don t do nothin’ but read books,” returned Tim. “He’s got a room full of them. Books must be lioor company all the time. ” -He needs to be shook up a spell in a grist mil:.” •Mill? He don't care for grists. Ho Jeads ou books. n

NDER the brow of the mountain Nestles a quaint little town. Into whose old-fash-ioned chimneys, Mossy, and broken, and brown.

“Yes; he’s a bookworm. The minister said so," assented Nat, solemnly. “The minister’s wife is lookin' at him. Hain’t she a daisy? I'm goin’ to her class in Sunday school," said Tim. “Mother says she won’t teach no class. She’s too much of a baby." “Baby? I guess she ain’t no baby!" Other comments were being mad? upon the lady in question. “There’s no denying she has a pretty face,” Mrs. Tallboy, the blacksmith’s sister, assented, “but she’ll never make a minister’s helpmate. He might as well have married Josie’s doll there ” “I’m not so sure of that.” returned the blacksmith. “See her face. She’ll smile folks straight to heaven while the parson is hamrtiering away on the gospel anvil in his slow way.” “Her voice is sweet as a bobolink's.” blind Joe whispered on the other side of Mrs. Tallboy. “Yes, she’s trained herself to speak soft,” assented tlie lady, who was of the masculine order of women. “Men always see such women cross-eyed, Seth. here, was always an idiot about a pretty face." A long wicker basket which hung low on the tall Christmas tree was the subject of much comment and conjecture. Very few were aware of the treasure with which it was freighted, or that it was watched stealthily through the half open door near the desk by a pair of soft, dark, anxious eyes. A jolly-faced Santa Claus commenced to unload the tree. The din waxed louder as name after name was called. Blind Joe was heaped with presents. The minister’s wife had a lap full, but a good share of her attention was bestowed upon that wicker basket, she being opposite to it. “Mr. Jonas Hideaway!” Everybody stared and wondered as Santa Claus drew the mysterious basket from the bough gingerly. “Why, it’s for Jonas!” was breathed in concert all over the church. “It looks heavy. I’ll bet it’s full of bricks.” Nat hazarded. “Bricks is all he deserves.” assented Tim, oracularly. “Mr. Jonas Hideaway!” Santa Claus called again with special emphasis. The owner of the name Bid not budge, whereupon Santa Claus marched down the aisle with the basket and set it upon the coat folded across Jonas’ knees. With something between a growl and an exclamation he lifted the wicker cover. Was it the face of a lovely doll half hidden in lace and lawn and pink ribbons that he looked down upon? The light was not the brightest in that corner, and there was a strange iilm over his eyes, but surely it seemed to breathe, and its weight upon his knees was like flesh and blood! Jonas sat helpless under the burden, dimly conscious that the hubbub around him was stii ed suddenly. In the midst of his bewilderment, a pair of largo dark eyes opened slowly. Jonas felt an unusual stir in the region of his heart. The eyes wore regarding him steadily with a curious little pucker of the brows. After a few moment’s inspection, two little hands were reached up to him, and three fingers closed tightly around the thumb of the hand that steadied the basket. “If she don’t look sweet enough to eat!” said Susie Baker, leaning over his left arm. “She’s the dead image of Prissy when she was a baoy,” declared motherly Mrs. Nesbit above his shoulder. “She’s got your nose, Squire, sure as

the world!” supplemented Mr. Hobbs, the grocer. Jones’ face took on a multitude of uncertain expressions that might mean the verge of either tears or laughter. His stolidity was all broken up. The baby was a center of attraction. She smiled and crowed and bubbled over with goodnature. There was so much Christmas gladness in the atmosphere, bless you, that no one, large or small, could escape its influence. - The baby face brought a rush of memories from the past to Jonas, of thechild he had held in his arms long aszo, when the tenderness of fatherhood had first dawaed upon his heart, and of the sweet young wife and mother whom, a month later, he had laid away forever. He recalled'his bitterness ancLrebellion against his lot, his hardness toward the child for whose sake he had been bereaved, and the increasing coldness of the years, with no wifely touch to soften the strong, stern, uncompromising qualities which predominated in his nature. The fountains of the great deep were broken up now. Tears forced themselves slowly from his eyes and fell upon the baby’s cheek. Its smile died, and it looked up into his face with the mysterious, searching eyes of babyhood. He lifted it from its warm nest and held its soft cheek against his. “He has a heart, after all,” said the Doctor’s wife, with a movement of her handkerchief across her eyes. “Heart!” echoed the Doctor. “He buried it with fiis young wife long ago, but it looks now like a resurrection.” Jonas looked up, to meet the moist shining eyes of the minister's wife. Some instinct taught, him her share in this matter. “Where is the child’s mother?” he asked, brokenly. The little lady turned and drew Prissy, pale and trembling, from her covert behind the brawny, big-hearted blacksmith, where she had stood watching her darling crowd ws way into her father's heart and arms; ‘Prissy, my child!”

“TWO LITTLE HANDS WERE REACHED UP TO HIM.”

“Oh. father? father!" “Don’t yon want to take charge of my Christmas pres-nt?" ho asked, with a mighty effort at self-control. “The whole house up there is at your disposal —and hers. I wiH send*for —your husband.” The baby's face had a baptism of happy tears this time, as its mother carried it into the ante-room where she bad

“I OWE THIS ALL TO YOU."

watched the experiment. She was followed by the minister's wife and others. “I owe this all to vou,” she said, gratefully, to the doll wife. “I knew he was good as gold, away down,” returned the little lady, softy. How the glad Christmas bells rang in the air around Jonas' old homestead that night! How peacefully the angels of good-will brooded over the slumber of the inmates!

Christmas “Bran Pie.”

Perhaps everybody has heard of “bran pie, ’’butif there is somebody who hasn’t, the description may not come amiss. A tub is to be used for the dish, the size to depend on the probable number of the gifts, and clean bran for the lining and the crust. In other words, the tub may be half filled with the bran; and then the presents neatly covered with brown paper, tied and labeled, placed in the bran, here, there, and everywhere, so as to require as much hunting for hidden treasure as possible, and finally a covering of bran put over the whole. Those who are to be served with this very substantial sort of a Christmas pie surround it in a circle, each in turn drawing out a bundle from the all-envel-oping bran. If the drawer of a prize finds his own name written on the bun; die, he keeps it, but if it is the name of some other member of the party, he returns it to the pie, and waits until his turn to draw comes round again. A good deal of amusement may bo added if an appropriate motto or pr</v----er'> be written on each bundle; for instance,, with an embroidered needle-book, the words, “A stitch in time saves nine.;” with a calendar, “Take time by ths fore- • lock,” and so on.

Christinas Customms.

The small boys make it a point to at--tend Sunday school in force; ' Nobody notices the old maid when she gets under the mistletoe. The schoolteacher spares the rod from about Dec. 1 until the holidays are over. Little Johnnie always makes a noise,

even though it puts a hole in the head of his new drum. Uncle ’Rastus feels in honor bound to pay a nocturnal visit to the hen-houses of all his neighbors. The married man has not on’y to pay for the present he gives his better half, but for the one his wife gives him. Santa Claus is almost as blind, as his little friend Cupid. The old man seldom sees the chimneys of the poor. A-dog which was given a collar and chain, and tied 1 tip" all day and night, failed to appreciate his Christmas present. ’■ The mistletoe is always hbrfg up on the chandelier because it is not necessary to have any one out on the stairs ,or in other dhrk j ' L The tin sdldicfssWthe small Xojiib get are more bloodthirsty than they look. When they fight they show no quarter, and it isn’t long before the whole army is annihilated. — Judge.

“Sunder Claus” in the Rhine Countries.

The advent of the patton saint of children is variously observed throughout the world. Iji the Rhine countries, he Claus,” and some one fittingly arrayed impersonates him for the amusement of the children The night before lie is supposed to descend the chimney with his generous store of gifts tbe little ones may be heard singing: Dear Santa Claus, for the children’s sakes, Bring us nuts and sugar cakes; Throw them into my apron here. And help to swell the Christmas cheer.

He Will Hang Up Both Stockings.

“Mamma,” asked Dick, plaintively, “am I all the children we’ve got?” “Yes, dear,” answered mamma, smiling at his curious plural and pronoun. “Then,” said Dick, with decision, “I shall hang up both stockings next year so they’ll just touch the floor easy, and ask Santa Claus to please put a foot in each, with a little brother onto ’em. I’m tired of playing I’m a family all the time. ” — Time.

KILLED SITTING BULL.

SHO.T IN A FIGHT WITH THE INDIAN POLICE. An Attempt to Arrest the Wily Sioux Chief Leads to a Fisht la Which Eight of the Hoetiles and Five of the Agency Police Are Killed—The Ghost Dancers Routed* [Standing Rock Agency, N. D., dispatch.] Sitting Bull, the Sioux chief, was shot and killed at his camp, forty miles northwest of here, early this morning by the Indian police while resisting arrest. Seven other Indians, including Sitting Bull’s son, Crow Foot, Black Bear, and Catch Bird, were slain. Five of the Indian police wore killed. Four or five days ago it was decided by the War Department that Sitting Bull should be arrested. Last Saturday Indian Agent McLaughlin sent tfie chief tn order to come into the agency. He

SITTING BULL.

refused, and last night the Indian police were sent out to his camp and instructed to bring him in. The plan was for the police to proceed toißull’s camp on Grand River, followed closely by a troop of cavalry under Capt. Fouchet and a detachment of infantry in the rear of the cavalry. Bull had been told of the coming of the Indian police, and he and his immediate followers were fully armed with Winchesters, scalping-knives, revolvers, and clubs, The Indian police did not get an opportunity to demand the old medicine man’s surrender, but firing began from the Indian tepees immediately upon the appearance of the officfers, and three of the latter were killed outright, and two wounded so seriously that they died before they could be moved, and three others slightly. The ■police then opened fire upon the savages, at'-the. same time dispatching couriers to the rear to bring up the cavalry under Oapt. Fouchet. Sitting Bull started to 'run up the river, and was captured, but his followers made a desperate effort to rescue him, and he was shot twice, once iii the left shoulder and again in the regon of the heart. The body of Sitting Ji (ill was secured by the cavalry, and is b ing brought to Fort Yates. A party ,o t reds, estimated at 100, escaped up the Grand River. ’ v yapt. Fouchet arrived just in time, and with his troops and Hotchkiss and Gatling guns, drove the Indians away, and selured the body of Sitting Bull. The remainder of Sitting Bull’s band art now in retreat up the Grand River, bqr it yet known definitely along wmchrork their trail will lie. Information of the most reliable nature has been received that a band of eight wagons was encamped on the Little Missouri opposite Pretty Buttes. It is therefore probable that the fugitives will make tills camp their objective point. They will not be able without great exertion to reach the forks of the Grand River to-day. It is estimated that 150 warriors are in the band, and this number is likely to be increased by other bands. Lieut. Case}" with a troop of Cheyenne scouts and Capt. Adams’ troop of the First Cavalry is headed for the north end of the Powder River range opposite the mouth of the Box Elder Creek. Capt. Fountain’s troops of the Eighth Cavalry, with pack transportation, which will leave here in the morning for White Buttes, will probably intercept the band before it reaches the Little Missouri.

If not Lieut. Casey and Capt. Adams will do so. Settlers who are aware of the movements of the troops are little alarmed, as the weather is such that intelligence of disturbances and of movements travels rapidly, and it is well known that the troops are so distributed as to have the situation in hand. A general outbreak on the Sioux Reservation is not feared, and those disaffected bands which now arc giving trouble will soon be placed where they will cease to be a cause of alarm for the settlers. The Sioux Reservation is surrounded by troops, thoroughly equipped for a winter campaign in the most difficult country. All are in communication with each other and department headquarters. No outbreak can become general in the face of the precautions already taken, and the wild rumors, which have caused the population of entire valleys to fly for their lives, are malicious and groundless. The arch villain is dead, and his followers will soon lose the enthusiasm necessary to follow his teachings. Troops arc hot on their trail, and before another sun has set Sitting Bull’s celebrated chorus of dancers will be good Indians or prisoners.

MORE BRAINS THAN COURAGE.

Sitting Bull Was the Most Crafty Indian of Modern Times. Although not a great war chief as the Indians understand and apply the term, Sitting Bull was the most prominent and influential blanket Indian in America. His supremacy was due to his head, for he lacked—being possessed of brains—that insane courage that characterizes most of his people. Fully appreciating danger, although by no means the coward or “squaw-man” that the newspapers generally described him to be, he never unnecessarily exposed himself. He had much executive ability and could plan a campaign or execute a retreat with equal facility. He did his fighting much great Generals of later days have done, from a position in the rear. His commands were carried to the front by runners; that Is to say, when he had any orders to give. As a rule, after a battle had begun, the old chief interfered but little with advice or directions, trusting to his lieutenants to carry out the few instructions given in advance, or take tbe consequences. Sitting Bull inherited the chieftainship of a branch of the Sioux Nation from his

father. He was a miracle-worker or medicine man also, and by playing upon the credulity of the Sioux with his science, and being an adept in the crude political work of the red men, was twenty years ago the acknowledged power of the nation, although safth well-known Indians as Red Cloud and Crazy Horse, and such minor chiefs as Rain-tn-the-Face, Gall, and Broad Trail, were at times inclined to call the question of leadership into arbitration. Sitting Bull, however, was not to be brought into an argument, physical or otherwise, to maintain his right to a position which he could hold by aboriginal wire-pulling and chicane. To the day of his death he was the principal chief of all the Sioux and leader of <5,000 braves who were at ail times ready, at his command, to commit any crime, from murder up or down. As a medicine man he had the squaws of his tribe abjectly subservient, and through them was assisted tn maintaining control of the bucks. The first that was known of Sitting Bull among the whites was at the time of a terrible raid he led near Fort Buford, in 1866, when the commanding officer there shot his wife to prevent her falling into the hjinds of the Sioux, ’whose tortures would have been worse than death. From that time until 1875 he was known as a marauder, stealing horses and cattle, and very ingenious in eluding pursuit. In January, 1876, the Interior Department decided to turn Sitting Bui! and his men over to the War Department. His leadership was drawing the young men away from the agencies to the war-path. The following summer occurred the massacre of the Little Big Horn, where Custer, disobeying the orders of Gen. Terry, and failing to be re-enforced by Reno, fell with his 300 men. This battle was a victory for Crazy Horse, Gall, and Crow King, rather than Sitting Bull. They were the war-rio*-s; but the lightning that struck terror to Custer's horses and rendered slaughter possible was claimed by the crafty old chief as due to his medicine work.

Sitting Bull didn’t know where he was born, or when. He was, however, about 65 years old. Being a Teeton, he was probably born in Central or Southern Dakota. Four Bears, his uncle, says the place was near old Fort George, on Willow Creek, near the mouth of the Cheyenne. on the west side of the Missouri River. His father was a rich chief, Jumping Bull. At 10 years of age the Indian lad was famous as a hunter, his favorite game being buffalo calves. His father had hundreds of pretty white, gray! and roan ponies, and the boy never wanted for a horse. He killed more young buffaloes than any of his mates, and won popularity by laying his game at the lodges of poorer Indians who were unlucky in the chase. At 14 he killed an enemy; his name before had been Sacred (or wonderful) Standshot When he had killed this man and could boast a scalp, his name was changed to Sitting Bull, though why the o d man didn’t know. He had two wives, Was-Seen-by-the-Nation and The-One-That-Had-Four-Robes. His children were all bright, handsome boys and girls, nine in numbor—one, a young man, when about 18, was in a Catholic school near Chicago. Sitting Bull himself was not a Catholic, as reported. One little boy, 6 years old, bright as a dollar, was with him at Buford when he surrendered. At the formal pow-wow the chief put his heavy rifle in the little fellow’s hands and ordered him to give it to Major Brotherton, saying: “I surrender this rifle to you through my young son, whom I now desire to teach in this way that he has become a friend of the whites. I wish him to live as the whites do a*nd be taught in their schools. I wish to be remembered as the last man of my tribe who gave up nis rifle. This boy has now given it to you, and he wants to know how ho is going to make a living. ” Sitting Bull’s personal appearance is described by John Einerty, who paid the chief a visit at his camp on Mushroom Creek, Woody Mountains, Northwest Territory. The noted chief had taken a trip into the British possessions to remain until he could arrange, for amnesty for his connection with the uprising of which the Little Big Horn or Custer massacre was one of the sanguinary incidents. Mr. Finerty thus paints the portrait; “Soon afterward an Indian mounted on a cream-colored pony and holding in his hand an eagle’s wing which did duty as a fan, spurred in back of the chiefs and stared stolidly for a minute or two at me. His hair, parted in the ordinary Sioux fashion, was without a plume. His broad face, with a prominent hooked nose and wide jaws, was destitute of paint. His fierce, half-bloodshot eyes gleamed from under brows which displayed large perceptive organs, and as he sat there on his horse regardin'* me with a look which seemed blended curiosity and insolence, I did not need u be told that he was Sitting Bull. * * * After a little the noted savage dismounted and led his horse partly into the shade. I noticed he was an inch or two fiver the medium height, broadly built, rather bow-legged, and limped slightly, as though from an old wound. He sat upon the ground, and was soon engirdled by a crowd of young warriors with whom he was an especial favorite as representing the unquenchable hostility of the aboriginal savage to the hated palefaces. ” This hatred for the whites distinguished Sitting Bull above all other Sioux. When he was engaged in hostilities he was as ferocious and bloodthirsty as a beast of prey, and his atrocities, or those directed by him, have earned him death a thousand times. In peace he was a smooth liar, and, professing the utmost friendship, never failed to be insolent and insulting when the opportunity offered. He was a breeder of discontent, and his bucks, ever since the campaign which culminated in the Fort Buford surrender, have been invariably kept on the eve of making “war medicine.” The messiah craze was brought on by the Bull, who in the last few years thought that the agency system of the Government had a tendency to jmpair his influence with his men. He desired a sort of counter-irritant, and no one will dispute the fact that he succeeded in manufacturing it. He calculated that the Sioux, and possibly all the blanket, Indians of the West, would rally around his standard as the anointed of the messiah, for old Sitting Bull had dreams of conquest and was another Caesar in his ambition. Episcopal Bishop WhippLb, of Minnesota, and Bishop Vincent, of Ohio, will spend the remainder of the winter in Southern France. Joseph H. CnoATtffßobert G. Ingersoll, and Ben Butler are reported to make from $75,000 to $125,000 a year each from their law practice.

WIT AND HUMOR.

CittM of Action. “Yon ought to have that fellow io front of your store arrested." “Why?” “Why? Don't you see he’s painting your name in big black letters ?” “I’na paying him for that.” “Yes; but he’s blackening your name just the same." Her Notions of Grammar. Miss de Hub—And those dear little squirrels that sported under the hedge last summer, where are they now ? Miss Rustic—Oh, they’re holed up for the winter. Miss de Hub—Ugh! My dear, your notions of grammar make me shiver. I presume you mean held up. A Purchase for Mot-er. Mother—Are you going out, my dear? Daughter—Yes, ma; the Physical Improvement riociety meets this afternoon. Mother—Well, I wish you would stop in somewhere and' buy me a broom. ' Hou ted the Enemy. ; Maud—What a dear, good chaperon you are. But how did you manage to get my rival out of the' room jdst at that critical moment? Chaperon—l whispered to her in a kind, confidential tone, that there was a rip in the back of her black silk waist. . Excusable Profanity. Managing Editor—William, go into the next room and see who is swearing. Buch language cannot be used in this office. '' _ William—Please, sir, it’s Mr. Jones. He filled his fountain pen with mucilage by mistake,.sir. Injudicious Praise. “We gave you a good notice in our paper.” ’’Oh, did you? Well,, don’t do it again. I don’t mind your saying our vegetables are delicious and the milk pure, but when you add that our butter speaks Jan.- itself, we object.” A Consummation to Be Desire:L In the newspaper office: Competitor Damner—When I determine to settle down, I will seek out an armless woman. Circulation Swearer —That’ll be pleasant.. C. D.—Mightn’t be so pleasant, but it will save me the engagement ring. Be Fashionable or Dio. Huggle—Weddirg rings for men are corning into fashion again. Kissem—They are ? Then I’ll break off my engagement -with Alice Scott. Huggle—Wouldn’t you wear oue? Kisseni-rQh, yes; but I can’t afford to buy two wedding rings. The Terrors of Bankruptcy. First Merchant—Met Snodgrass last evening entering Delmonico’s. He was dressed in the height of fashion, and a large and juicy cigar was between his lips. Second Merchant —Snodgrass? Oh, yes; he failed two months ago, and is trying to settle at ten cents. Learning the Business. Dealer—Tat happen to dis hat? Small Son—l was snappin’ id wifmy viogers, like you do, to show a gustomer vat goot stuff it vas, and it proke. Dealer—Mine coodness! You haven’*t prains enough to zell beanuts. Ven you shnap a hat to show it can’t be proke, you must keep vun hand inside, so id uod break. The Wily Georgia Editor. “We are going to start a paper in this town,” writes a Georgia editor, “aid we hereby put in our application fo.' shurch metnbrship and ask the prayers of the brethren for our success. A collection will be taken up after the service.” 'three; Minutes to Spare. Old TAdy (in railway train) —Con-, ductor! How soon does this train start? Conductor—lt starts in three minutes, madam. Old Lady—Well, I don’t travel very much, and of course. I got a little confused with all the hurry and bustle, aud so many things to think of, and I don’t know how I’d got along at all today if it hadn’t been for my darter, who is married and livin’ here, but she thought of everything, she’s got a wonderful i, memory, Sarah has, her nf 4$ is' Sfaryh, tbiift knbfr, and she helpqd me' bring all my Bundles to the depot/aud She [put. them in my arms just before <L>came;through the gate; but she forgot my spectacles, which I put In'her pocket, and I want to know if there’ll be time for me to run back and hunt her >up and get them. How much time- would I have? « Cqodnctor-j-rThree seconds. All aboard! All.light.! Go,ahead! Old Lady—Did ydu say for me to go ojieftd! ', 1 •';- •»’ . Conductor—We’i© ofL'inadam. Take your seat. -' dL .ft « ; Old Lady (to herself) The idea of starting off a train three minutes ahead of time! I’ll report that conductor.

Inadvertent but Appropriate.

Harry—Dearest, I love you better than any one on earth. If you will consentTo be mine I will be your humble slave until death calls me heace. My heart is wholly yours. I love you distractedly. If this does not satisfy you of my devotion, what will ? Dearest—Cash! She was a saleslady, and the word came to her ruby lips by force of habit. But it came like a cruel blow, and Harry, with a great gulp of sorrow, turned aw&y and went out into the silent night to tell his grief to the cold, unfeeling stirs in the ebon vault above. —Boston Transcript. By electrolysis of a fluoride in a molten state, M. Minet extracts 21.5 grammes. of aluminium for an expenditure of me horse-power hour. A novelty of an electrical exhibition it Frankfort, Germany, is to be the rausmission of 500 horse power to a distance of 140 milts.