Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 December 1894 — Page 6

Silence

By Miss Mulock

CHAPTER IX—Continued. Reaching the Reyniers’ door, Roderick did not offer to e.iter. In truth, he felt that the usual social evening would ba as impossible to him as to Silence. In their present crisis of pain they needed either to be quite alone with each other or entirely apart. Still, when he saw her next morning, looking deadly pale, b ,t assuming a faint smile of welcome, and sitting down beside him in the old way, though he noticed, with a slight he itation, as of doing as a duty what had before been so natural and sweet, Roderick's heart sunk. He waited in a fever of apprehension for what she had to tay, or rather he tried to prevent her saying, by talking about what he had been writing in the matter of Blackball. To all of which she answered only by a pale smile, then Maid, gently: “You forget, my friend, the matter We had to speak about this morning. ” “No, Ido not forget—but 'yesterday, when I spoke of our marriage,it seemed to pain you. ” “It will not to-day, for I have been thinking it all over, and -” “You are trembling! You are ill, my darling.” “Oh, no!” gently putting aside and then yielding to his tender caress. “Don’t mind me, I am not ill; but 1 lay awake the whole of last night, and it is trying when the morning breaks upon one and there is no rest, no division between two days—two such dreadful days. ’’

“Dreadful! Why? What do vou mean?” She took his hand and stroked it with a gesture almost motherly. “Listen to me. I have a good deal to say, and you must listen. You will? I shall not hurt you, my Roderick—not very much! And that I love you—ah, you know it—only too well,' if that were possible. But it is impossible! Were you a vain man, or a tyrant, or selfish, it might harm you, and I should be afraid; but you are none of the three. You are Roderick, my Roderick! I shall never love any man in this world but you!” “Of course not, it would be very wrong.” But suddenly his attempt at a smile faded in a vague terror. "Why tell me.this? What do you mean?” “I think”—she spoke very slowly and softly—“l think we ought to part. ” For a moment Roderick was completely stunned. Her whole manner was so quiet that a stranger might have imagined she felt nothing, that she had no feelings at all. A slight quiver about the mouth, atigh er compression of the fingers—she had taken her hand away from his and clasped them together on her lap —that was all. Shallow people might have wholly misjudged her; even her lover did, a little. “And—you say this—quite calmly—as if you did not care;” “Not care! Oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu!” Then she turned imploringly to Roderick. “Do not be angry with me, Ido not deserve it; only listen, it is for your good I speak. Yesterday I believed—you made me believe—that it would be the best thing in the world for you to marry me. Now, I doubt. “Now it is over. 1 have made up my mind—that is, so far as, being fiancee, I have a right to make up my mind. I think it would be best for you to go home at once, anl tell your mother that we have parted, that’we thought it best to part. ” Roderick sat dead silent. “Otherwise, think what will happen! j You will be comparatively poor—’’ “And you are afraid of poverty?” The moment he had said the words he felt their meanness, their utter untrueness,' and passionately begged her pardon. “What need?” Silence answered, half sadly. “The question is not whether you hurt me, or 1 you, or whether we vex one- another, but whether we do what is right, absolute r ght. That is the real heart of love. If I thought a thing right, 1 would do it, and help you to do it, though it killed me—ay, even though it killed us both.” “I understand you,” he said, with a quietness that was a marvel even to himself. “But it is a very difficult matter to decide, and we must decide, for our whole two lives hang in the balance. Let me go away and think it out alone—quite alone.” He roe with a grave, sad air, and went to the door, then came back and kissed her hand. “My love! my only love! Yes, I have found you. • It is not every man’s lot so to find you. Whatever happens, I thank God.”

Without more words he went away to his favorite “thinking place.” a quiet walk along the lake shore. Many an hour had bo spent there within the last few months, but never such an hour asthis. He would go back with the fiat of life or death in his hands. Byron, who wrote so many false things, wrote one true one: Mau’s love is of man’s life a thins; apart, ’Tts woman's v hole existence. At least, this is true} of most women: and she of whom it is not true is scarcely a woman at all. Though all the time Sophie sat chatting beside her Silence neither wept nor complained, asked no sympathy, and be-trayed-by-no word that anything was amiss, still, when the door, opened and she saw her lover appear, a shiver ran through her, which made the kindhearted Sophie with a troubled and anxious, look, immediately disappear. “My love,” he said, “l“have been thinking over everything, trying to see the right and wr. ng of things—simple.right and wrong, without relation to ou selves at al). My father could do it, and used to say he believed I could when I was tried. I hope so; I hope I can judge calmlv, without being either selfish or unjust Am I?" “no; a thousand times no." “My darling, we must love one another—we must be married. You left it to me to decide, and I have decided. It will be a pang in some wayfc— a risk In others—but it must be: it ought to be. Love is best Come. ” “I would have lived,” she cried—“yes, I wpuld have lived. <,'ne has no right to break one’s heart and die till God chooses. But life with you, and life without you-oh, the difference.” Roderick clasped her in his arms, and they wept together like little Once again Roderick wrote to his aether, informing her that he had de-

layed his marriage for three months, hoping against hope that after all it might not he the saddest of weddings, ; without a parent’s blessing, but that, ’ whether or no, it must be. He al--1 lowed her no possibility of believing j that he could change his min 1. ; While opposing, he never deceived I her, for deceit is always cowardice, and ’ whatever he was, Roderick was no coward. It was on one , Sunday afternoon, which they were spending with the good Reyniers at Chaumont. They had climbed the hill through the long 1 pine woods, and were now standing ' watching that lovely view, the triple chain of Sakes, with its long line of snowy Alps beyond. The air was mild I and soft; there were violets in the woods. It felt like the first day of ' spring, which always comes, as it were, with a message of promise to the young. Ay. and even to those whose I youth is only a rever-fulfilled remembrance. | "Silence,” Roderick said, as he took I in his the hand that would be his own i through life, “I have finished all the I work I had to do here. Now, when shall we go home?” “Home?” “Your new heme, and mine; the home [ we are to share together.” Startled, she faltered out something 1 about “waiting a little longer.” “I have waited. It is now nearly nine months since the day at Berne, when—- ** *1 did but see her passing Dy, And yet I love her till Idle ’ ” “That would have been very foolish,” said Silence, with a naive gravity; “unless you have followed up the acquaintance, and come to know me 1 well.” Suddenly putting her two hands in her lover’s—“ You do know me, faults and all, so take me; and oh! he good to me: 1 have only you!” “And I you. You will be goed to me also? ” She smiled. “Little use in talking, but I think there will never come a day when I would not cheerfully die, if my dying could help you. My living Will, much more. So 1 mean to live.” And she looked up fondly, with all her soul in her eyes, at her young bridegroom. Would she forty, fifty years hence, see in the old man’s face that of this lover of her youth, the face forgotten by all but her.' God knows! but it is good to believe so. The marriage was arranged, of course, to be quite quiet. All the usual Swiss festivities, the soiree aux bouquets before the wedding, and the ball after it, were of necessity omitted. The Reynier family alone were to “assist” at the ceremony, for which the girls implored Silence would, for one uay only, put off her mourning and assume proper bridal white. She assented, “because my mother would have liked it. She used often to talk of the day when she would dress me as a bride.

“And she would be glad, so glad! if she know that you were taking care of me,” said Silence, with a bright smile, though her tears were dropping down. “Al.-o a little, that I was taking care of you. She used to say it was my metier always to take care of somebody. Therefore, adieu, my mother! Y'ou will not forget me, wnerever you are; nor I j ou. ” She laid her cheek on the white headstone in a pa sion of sobs, then suddenly checke 1 them all, gave her hand to her bridegroom, and suffered him to lead her away home. 1 e did not see her again till next morning, when Sophie, Marie and Jeanne Reynier led into salon and left be-ide him, shutting the door upon them both, the whitest, loveliest vision; More like an angel than a woman, he thought then, nor ever ceased to think, though he never saw it but once in his life, on that wonderful wet morning when the Deluge itself teemed to have come back upon Neuchatel, as if to sweep away with its torrents all his old life, and begin the new life with his wedding day. Suddenly he stooped and kissed, not her lips, but her han I. She looked suprised for an instant, perhaps ju t a little hurt then perceived at once the deep emotion, the tender reverence. “Oh, my love, my love forever! Thank God!” said she or rather breathed than said it, as she put both arms round his neck and clung to his bosom. She was but a woman after all. Soon after Roderick led his bride, both quite calm now and smiling, to the two carriages waiting below. He and she and the good Reyniers drove through the soaking streets to the damp, empty church, where, strange contrast to his sister's brilliant marriage, they two stood alone, with not a creature of their own blood beside them, and heard the old minister in ; his unimpassioned voice addrrss them as “mon cher frere et ma cnere stour,” recommending them to obssrve “une inviolable fidelite, une entiere confiance, et une affection toujours plus profonde. ” Then, having answered the few questions of the Swiss marriage liturgy, simple and Protestant, not unlike his native Presbyterian service, the young bridegroom listened as if in a dream to the final blessing. “Que Dieu, notre Pere en Jesus Christ, fasse reposer Sa benediction sur vous, qull seelie dans vos ejeurs le lien que vous venez de former, qu’ll sanctifie de plus en plus, et que vous viviez ensemble en Jesus Christ, dans I’attente du jour ou ceux qui se seronte aimes en Lui, seront reunis dans Son sein pour I’eternite. Amen.”

CHAPTER X. A “flat” at a Richerden terrace, furnished after the true Richerden style, not tawdry certainly, but very solid; solid and ugly. Large-patterned flowery carpets, and curtains to match, there being just that slight difference in shade which some people think “of no consequence,” but which to others is a daily torment, setting their teeth on edge like an untidy room, or a piano out of tune, or any other of those small avoidable miseries which make all the difference between real and sham redifference between real and sham refinement. But the sense of harmony in color and form, a thing quite independent of riches, and often attainable in comparative poverty, was mostly unknown to, and disregarded by, the wealthy inhabitants of this excellent town. No blame to them; only a little painful to those who happen to be differently constituted. “When I look around the room, I feel exactly like a cat with its back rubbed up the wrong way,” said Roderick, trying to make a joke of his annoyance at finding the sort of “home” to which he had brought his wife, so very different from what he had desired, or even expected. -They had beefi traveling a month abroad, and had begun to weary of hotels, and look forward eagerly jp the settled life of dual solitude, which to all people who are truly “one afi'd one’’—without need of that ‘Shadowy third,” which marks, alas! the sad imperfectness of married union—is, and ought to be, the most entire felicity.

And felicity it was—even though theirs had been a sad hopie-coming—-not a soul waiting there to welcome the bride. It was now two days since they had arrived, yet not a visit, not a card, not a letter, came to show that any body remembered there were such people in the world as Roderick Jardine and his young wife. “We might as well be in the desert of Sahara, only there it wouldn’t rain, as it seems always to do here,” continued he. “What a change! We left spring, we come back to winter.” “I don’t mind it. And I like the merry’ crackle of the open fire,” said Silence, who was kneeling before it, the blaze brightening her sweet face, upon which had already come the mysterious look which even a week of marriage sems to bring, the deep, contented calm of a girl who has passed Into a woman, whose lot is settled, whose life is filled. For good or ill, God knows! but it is filled; and all uncertainty is ended. “Do not vex yourself, dear,” she said. “Though, I allow, it might be a prettier salon, or parlor. Is not parlor the word?” “Drawing room; parlor is not half genteel enough for Ilicherden,” said Roderick, laughing. Well, whatever it is, it is very comfortable. lam quite happy in it—with you. And I like our being here, all alone, with no ‘receptions.’ We shall not need to have any, I suppose?” “No ‘at home,’ you mean? to receive our wedding callers? Apparently we shall have none to receive. Oh, there is the door-bell.” [TO BE CONTINUED ]

Grave Question for a Statesman.

“Imagine Senator Evarts, Senator Sherman, or any other of your most grave, dignified, and revered statesmen being called upon to decide the question as to whether, when a lady rides on a tandem bicycle with a male escort she should sit behind or in front!” exclaims Vogue’s Paris correspondent. “Yet this is the problem which has been seriously propounded to the venerable Senator Jules Simon; to the pompous and intensely dignified Comte de Haussonville, who'represented the Comte de Paris’ intere->ts here and was his principal lieutenant: to the portly Duke of Doudeauville: and to the octogenarian, Senator Barthelmy St. Hilaire. They have, after due consideration, responded to the inquiry with the same gravity with which it was put to them, and with as much unction as if they were determining some intricate prob’em of statecraft or ecclesiastical lore. 1 need scarcely say that their unanimous deci ion was that the lady t hould sit in front, since she is bound to prefer the green horizons and the varieties of the landscape to the back of a man, while the latter, for his part, ought to prefer to the beauties of the landscape and the poesy of the horizon the little crisp curls that grow in the nape of every pretty woman’s neck. Y’et it is easy to understand why this decision should be declined by the majority of the bicyclists, especially those of my own sex. For it is in the nape of the neck and at the base of the skull where a woman first begins to manifest signs of her age, where her beauty shows its first token of waning, and the fair one must be very young and sure of her loveliness in order to place herself for hours at a time in the manner that shows her under the most trying arcumstances to her escort.”

A Grewsome Calling.

The most grewsome modern calling, beyond all question, is that of a deepsea diver employed in examining and clearing away sunken wrecks. Putting aside tho fact that his life is in constant danger from the as aults of submarine enemies or accident to his diving-dress and apparatus, the sights that he is called upsn to see, and to see, moreover, amiu. the most horrible surroundings, ovceen in ghastliness even tho e which c idfront the hospital or the army surgeon. Nowhere else on land or sea are so many accumulated horrors to be found as in the hull of a ship which has sunk with crew and passengers. The hideous condition in which the diver finds the victims of the wreck, some half-devoured by fish, sore standing upright anl flouting to and fro with a ghastly parody of living motion, some still locked together as though yet in the last agony of the death' struggle, each fighting for some real or fancied chance of escape, and some swollen to twice their natural size, floating about the interior of a ship, and knocking and rubbing up against him with a hideous life-likeness that is utterly indescribable—these are some of the horrible sights which deep-sea divers have# to work amid when they are employed on sunken wrecks. When to all these are added the awful gloom and silence amid which the work has to be performed, there will not seem to be much doubt that of all modern callings that of the deep-sea diver is the moot giewsome.

What He Found.

When James McNeill Whistler went to Venice to make those fourteen famous etchings of his, he became so int >xica‘ed with its b auty that he made seventy pastels first, leaving his etchings till the last few days. These pastels made a tremendous sensation. All the art world of Venice was carr*led away with enthusiasm, excepting a Russian painter, who declared tnam tricks, betting a basket of champagne he could paint six not to be distingui hed from them. Mr. Whist er amiably gave some of his paper and six pastels, which were finally mixel up with those by the Russian and submitted to a jury who had seen none of them. Mr. Whistler's pastels were unmistakable, and the Russian lost the wine. A few days later the two ipct on the Rialto, and Mr. Whistler laughed a little about the wine and the bet. The Russian was furious. “You forget, sir,” he said, “that I’m a Russian, and if you scratch one you find a Tartar underneath.” “Oh, no, you have it wrong, said Mr. Whistler —“you have it wrong. I scratched an artist and found an amateur. ”

On Even Terms.

Haussmann, the celebrated French administrator, who may almost be said to have mide Paris a new city, used to relate the following anecdote by way of illustrating the feeling of many country gentlemen towara the prefects: One of these gentry entered the prefect’s office, having some c molaint to make, and proceeded to state his errand in a pretty lofty tone, and without taking off his hat. The officer was e jual to the occasion. “Wait a moment,” he said, and he rang a bell. A servant answered the summons. “Bring me my hat,"said the prefect. The hat wa < bi-ought, the officer put it on, and turned to his caller. “Now,” said he,will hear you.” The hygienic congress at Buda-Pesth brought out the fact that there are four times as many men who stammer as there are women so afflicted. Massachusetts is raid to be the great shce producing commonwealth of the world.

HOME AND THE FARM.

TOPICS OF INTEREST TO FARMER AND HOUSEWIFE. How to Make a Simple Drive Pump— The Bulletin Board Plan for Selling Off Surplus Farm Products—Device for Unloading Corn Fodder. A Home-made Drive Pump. A mechanic living near me made a drive pump from about thirteen feet of iron pipe two Inches In diameter, and a connecting piece for fastening pipe to the side for the spout, to which Uprights were attached to hold the handle, as shown In the Illustration. He fitted a steel plug (d) to one end of the longest piece of pipe and drilled holes

A SIMPLE DRIVE PUMP.

pear the end for the inflow of water (c). The pipe was then, with a large mallet, driven down about ten feet into a sandy loam, until It had penetrated a layer of sand containing water. To the top of the pipe the cross piece was connected, and about five feet down a plug was Inserted containing a hole fitted with a leather flap valve on top (b). A plunger of hard wood with a hole In the bottom also fitted with a leather flap valve was connected to a handle by an iron strap, and the handle was supported from the spout of the pump on two strips of hard wood bolted fast together. On the piston, or plunger (a), strips of leather are fastened to promote suction. A drive well at first brings up the flue sand with the water, but as the sand is pumped out a cavity is formed which holds a barrel or two of water, and in time all the sand near the bottom of the pipe disappears. One advantage the driven well has over a well that is dug and walled up Is in its freedom from mice, toads and Insects. Another advantage Is its cheapness. The well here described cost only about six dollars completed, and has done good service for several years pumping much water in a dry climate.—J. L. Townsend, in American Agriculturist.

The Use of Ithe Harrow. The harrow has hever been used to anything like the extent to which it ought to be in our systems of agriculture. The necessities of some of the prairie soils of the far West are compelling many farmers to do what science and good judgment should have taught them long ago. We refer to the harrowing of the grain after it has appeared above the surface of the ground. Owing to the persistence with which they have grown wheat on the same lands from year to year, those lands are becoming very foul with weeds. Two ways of cleaning them have been resorted to. The first Is through the instrumentality of the bare fallow, and the second is through the .free use of the harrow after the grain has appeared above the surface of the ground The latter practice has not been resorted to very generally, but some farmers have tried it, and with results that are most encouraging. When land is to be thus harrowed after the crop has appeared above ground, the grain should be sown with the drill. Were it sown broadcast, some of it would become rooted so near the surface that the teeth of the harrow would probably drag it out. The depth to which grain should be sown will depend—first. on the character of the soil, and second, on the kind of grain sown. On prairie soils of a light, loose and spongy character, the grain should be sown deep, and, if possible, with the press drill, to firm the ground underneath the seed and above it, otherwise the high winds that prevail may carry the soil away and lay bare the seed.— Field and Farm.

Unloading Corn Foddw. My son and I, writes James P. White, In Farm and Home, devised a method for unloading corn fodder in

the barn and have been using it for years with most satisfactory r e - suits. Get as many pieces of %-inch rope, 13 feet long, as you want to haul shocks at one load. Make a loop lat one end of each piece. Lay one of them on the bot-

tom of the hay frame with the ends extending beyond the ends of the frame. Lay one shock of fodder on this with the butts say to the right Put on another rope, then lay on another shock with the butts to the left Continue this until the load is complete. In unloading put the free end of the rope through the loop on the other end, draw up tightly, tie a knot, making another loop or single bowknot. Take off the hay fork and in its place put a plow clevis. Pass the clevis through the last loop, start the team, slowly allowing the rope to tighten about the fodder, then go ahead. The accompanying illustration explains tho method of attaching' the rope to the clevis. Corn. Stalks Heating in Winter. There is a large amount of moisture in corn stalks early in the winter, no matter how thoroughly they may seem to be dried. The rattling of the leaves only shows that they are dry, but they are comparatively a small part of the whole. When cut before severe cold weather comes, the cut stalks will go into much smaller space, and if in large masses will heat very rapidly. For this reason it is not best to cut the bulk of th» corn fodder very

early. It Is easier to cut tut stalks all at once by horse power early in the season make only one job of It. But when this is done the after labor of turning the pile of cut stalks over every day to keep it from spoiling offsets the advantage. Most good farmers who cut their corn stalks by horse or steam power hqve also a smaller cutting box operated by hand power for cutting stalks early in the season. Dairying in Canada. The Baltimore Journal of Commerce says: “The United States Consul at St Stephens, N. 8., reports that the Dominion Government is making special efforts to interest the farmers of the maritime provinces in dairying, and for this purpose is sending out traveling dairies in charge of agents of the Department of Agriculture. Meetings are held throughout the farming districts, and information is intelligently presented. Each year shows a marked increase in the number of large creameries established in the provinces of Ontario and Quebec, and farmers are reaping substantial rewards as the result of the enterprises encouraged by the agricultural bureau at Ottawa.” Calf Feeding;. There is an impression with many farmers and dairymen that skim milk is a rather thin diet for calves, and we see constaptly in the dairy papers recommendations that it should be reinforced with flaxseed meal or jelly made from the ground seed or cake. So far as the oil or fat is concerned, this addition is all right But flaxseed, and especially the ground cake, is exceedingly rich in protein, and this is just the trouble with the skim milk. It is deficient not in plotein, but in carbo-hy-drate—fat and starch. The best single addition to skim milk for calves as soon as they can eat is corn or oats.—Farmers’ Home Weekly. This Plan a Good One. The Rural New Yorker suggests b plan by which many small farmers would be able occasionally to reach the public to the extent of selling off any surplus stock on hand without too great expense in the way of advertising. The plan is nothing more than a bulletin board, constructed like the one shown in the illustration. Such a board nailed in a conspicuous place would give you lots of advertising and increase your circle of customers. What are you raising goods for? To sneak them off to market with the least possible pub-

THE BULLETIN BOARD.

licity ? Why not advertise and increase the competition for what you have to sell?

American Horses Abroad. The remarkable increase of the exportation of our horses to Europe is opening up a new’ era to American horse breeding. We learn of shipments to England, Scotland, France and Germany. Many of our importers are buying high-class horses for export, especially in Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, lowa, Wisconsin and Michigan. The only drawback is the great scarcity of suitable horses good enough for this export trade. But the trade will grow just as our cattie export trade has grown, only faster.

Odds and Ends. Rub spoons with salt to remove egg stains. To purify a cistern, tie charcoal in a bag and drop it in. Canned sardines carefully browned on a double-wire gridiron and served with lemon are appetizing. The merest dash of cinnamon in a cup of chocolate after It is poured is said to add a piquant and undistinguishable flavor. A silk dress should always be brushed with a soft camel’s hair brush, as whisk brooms are too harsh and cut the silk. When an eiderdown comfort has got hard and lost all of its elasticity hang it in the cool, balmy sun for a few hours and all the life will come back. Linseed oil is better than anything else for removing rust from stove pipe. Rub the pipe thoroughly with the oil (a little goes a great ways) and build a slow fire until it is dry. When you are through with washtubs or wooden pails, turn them bottom side up on the floor of the woodhouse or cellar and set a can of fresh water under them to keep them from coming to pieces. Mix lemon and vanilla when you are tired of either of these flavors. To a tablespoonful of lemon extract add about a third of a teaspoonful of vanilla and you will think you have discovered a new'flavor. The breath may be kept sweet by using a tooth powder which contains orris root, and by rinsing the mouth with water into which a few drops of bisterine or tincture of myrrh have been put In these Says of bacteria let the sunlight have free access wherever its poi-son-scattering rays can reach. In other places use boiling water and cop. peras, or chloride of lime where watej is undesirable. A Rope Pali.

OUR BUDGET OF FUN.

HUMOROUS SAYINGS AND DOINGS HERE AND THERE. Joke* and Jokelet* that Are Supposed to Have Been Recently Born—Sayings and Doings that Are Odd, Curious, and Tengh*ble—The Week's Humor. Let Ue AU Lau~h—A perfect stranger usually betrays many imperfections when you become acquainted with him.—Pittsburg Chron-icle-Telegraph. —Mrs. Houser—What is stage business, anyway, dear? Houser—Er—getting divorces principally, 1 believe.— Buffalo Courier. —“They tell me Jones is runnin’ for speaker of the House?” “You don’t say? When did the old woman die?”— Atlanta Constitution. —Yeast—What a miserable hand Bacon writes. Crimsonbeak— Yes; he never took lessons. He writes entirely by ear.—lookers Statesman. —Doctor—You have an excess of adipose tissue, madam. Patient—Good gracious, doctor, do you suppose that makes me so fat?—Detroit Free Press. Tailor—l hear that you have paid my rival, whileyouoweme fortwosults. Student—Who dares accuse me of such a preposterous thing ?—Fliegende Blaetter.

—Visitor—Well, Tommy, what are you going to be when you grow up? Tommy—Ma says I am going to be just such another lazy loafer as pa is.—Texas Siftings. —“Nothing,” says Scribbler, “is more disheartening to a man than the discovery that he has married a woman who loves to keep his writing-table in or-der.”—Tit-Bits. —Trivet—You knew Charlie Dummlt, didn’t you? Dicer —He went West and was lynched. “Is that really so? Well, Pummit always was high strung.”— Harlem Life. —Briggs (emphatically)—l tell you that fellow Strawber knows the value of a dollar. Griggs—You must have been trying to borrow some money from him.—Detroit Free Press. —Tom—Why, Bessie, I could kiss you right under your mother’s nose. Bessie (with dignity)— I should very much prefer, sir, that you’d kiss me under my own nose.—Scottish American. —A Seasonable Excuse.—Mrs. Professor (jealously)—What’s this long hair on your coat, sir? Professor—Oh, that is—er—oh, I have just been coaching a football eleven, my dear.—Truth. —“I wonder you women never learn how to get off a street car.” “Umph! Jf we got off the right way it wouldn't be long before they’d quit stopping the cars for us.—Buffalo Courier. Friend—ls your washerwoman charges by the piece it must be rather expensive. Young Housekeeper—Oh, no. She loses so many things that her bills are never high.—New York Weekly. —Experience Had Taught Him.—Dusty Rhodes—A woman gave me this quarter and didn’t ask what I wanted to do with it. Fitz William—Taste it; it must be lead.—Kate Field’s Washington. —One thing a poor, weak woman can never understand is why it costs a man $4.50 to win a turkey for 10 cents in a raffle. But women are not presumed to know everything.—Cleveland plain Dealer. —She—But how can you think I’m pretty when my nose turns up so? He —Well, all I have to say is that it shows mighty poor taste in backing away from such a lovely mouth.—London Standard. —Mr. Scrimp—My dear, I don’t see how you had this counterfeit bill passed on you? Mrs. Scrimp—Well, you don’t let me see enough real money to enable me to tell the difference.—Harper’s Bazar.

Maude—What is the trouble between Alice and Kate? Ethel—Why, you see, Alice asked Kate to tell her just what she thought of her. Maude— Yes? Ethel—Kate told her.—Boston Transcript. u —“Rum brought you here, I presume,” said the prison visitor. “That’s what,” said Rubberneck Bill. “After this when I git out I am goin’ to stick to what I was raised on—gin.”—lndianapolis Journal. —Old Lady—That parrot I bought of you uses dreadful language. Bird Dealer—Ah, mum, you should be werry careful what you ses afore it; it’s astonishin’ how quick them birds pick up anything I—Tit-Bits. —Hills—Who was that you just bowed to? Hulls—Why, that’s Jenks, the great fiction writer. Hills—Never heard of him. What has he written? Hulls—Testimonials for patent medicines.—New York World. -The Future Call.—Miss de Fashion (a few years hence)—You are wanted at the telephone. Mrs. de Fashion— Oh, dear! I presume it’s Mrs. de Style to return my telephone call. I hope she won’t talk long.—New York Weekly. —Mrs. Benedict—Now, what would you do, Mr. De Batch, if you had a baby that cried for the morn? De Batch (grimly)—l’d do the next best thing for him, madam; I’d make him see stars!—Kate Field’s Washington. —Mr. G. (an old friend) —Yes, you have a most beautiful parlor here, but to have nothing to sit upon but one chair is a rather original idea, is it not? Mrs. Z.-i-When one has marriageable daughters one must have original ideas.—Truth. —Teacher—Tommy, did you find out anything about the origin of the dollar mark? Tommy—l asked paw about it and he said the straight lines stood for the pillars of society and the crooked one for the way they got their money.— Cincinnati Tribune.

His Needs.

“Aaron’s boy would do tiptop if he had a string long enough,” said one neighbor to another. “I don’t know what use a business man can put a string to,” said neighdor Number Two. “Well, if he could tie up all the loose ends that he leaves dangling, tie himself down to his work, tie his pocketbook together, and then tie his tongue so it wouldn’t wag so busy, he’d be as useful a man as we have got in town. But I doubt if it can be done. It would lake considerable string.”

ARE WOMEN ABUSED BY MEN?

Both Married and Single Have the Disposition to Grumble at Their Fate. It seems to be a fact that a majority of them, married and single, believe they are abased by the men just because the latter happen to have con* trol of business affairs, run politics, and do the courting. The woman of marriageable age whe Ik still living at home feels that men are not doing right by her. She naturally wants to marry, have a big wedding, go on a tour of the Eastern Stated or Western, as the case may be. But she has to go on waiting, because no man asks her to join him in these festivities. For this reason she feels that she is an abused creature. The old maid who has settled down to earn her own living just hates the men because they allow her to wear her finger nails off scratching for bread. The sight of a man walking comfortably along the street, or driving, or even lounging, around some resort, causes her indignation to rise to the top notch/ Why do they thus continue to abuse her? » The shop girl wonders why the boys' 3o not gather around and ask her to choose one of them to be her defender and supporter. She is quite certain that she should not be permitted to live by the sweat of her brow, and the whole of the blame is placed on Ihe young men who are earning money enough for two and spending it for their own comfort • Married women are the loudest coma plainers, and their complaints are generally against their husbands. It is all right during the honeymoon, but when that is over and they turn to face the realities of life she feels that she is being abused. Her household duties are heavier than when she was at home, her husband is not the singing lover who filled her heart with joy, and her days are not as thickly Interspersed with picnics as when she was a girl. As she thinks over this she becomes more and more deeply convinced that she is a much-abused woman, that husbands are not half as nice as beaux, and is quite certain that she nevtr would have married had it not been for the men. Yet, in spite of all this, the abused woman is an inveterate matchmaker, revels in gossip about prospective unions, and reads the paper that publishes the longest list of marriage notices. No matter how unhappy her life, nor how much of it she blames on her own marriage, she finds the greatest delight in getting others to do the same thing she feels like kicking herself for having done.

CHAT ABOUT VEILS.

They Are Expensive and Sometimes Unhealthy Luxuries. Dearer to the average woman than any other dress items are her veils. It is to these she looks for the finishing touches of her toilet, and with a wellstocked veil box at hand she has no fear of unbecoming street rigs. Veils have been declared ruinous to the eyesight, and certain kinds have by no means a good effect upon the skin, but for all this woman regards them as her especial gowning rights, and will deny herself a notion here and there if she can indulge in the latest veiling whims of the hour. There is no doubt about it, good veiling shows for itself. It would astonish many of the brethren to learn how much the modish bit of gauze or net that screens feminine features costs per yard. Expensive? Oh, dear, yes, and so the fair one who has gathered together from time to time quite a collection of veils is anxious to keep them in the best possible shape. When my lady starts for a morning’s shopping she usually draws over her face a substantial veil of sewing silk, either in black, brown, white or darkblue. The airy, butterfly fancies in tulle and lace she lays aside for less practical occasions. The sewing silk is a great skin protector; that is, to a certain extent. It prevents the dust from sifting into the wearer’s pores,as a fancier mesh would do. This is all very well, but meantime the veil takes up the flying particles of dirt and holds them. Therefore if the veil is laid away in its perfumed nest after a wearing without being given a thorough brushing and shaking, when next it is donned the dirt specks it caught on its last outing will be transferred to madame’s fair skin, and if her pores are not as fine and close as a baby’s will settle in and form those disfiguring blemishes—blackheads.

The Beggar Rode.

A Kansas City business man who has his office in the American Bank Building, walks from his residence to his place of business every morning as a constitutional. Soon after leaving home the other morning a beggar asked him for five cents that he might get some breakfast The request was granted and he quickly disappeared around a corner. The business man continued on his -way, rejoicing that he had—temporarily, at least—relieved one case of want Reaching his office building, he was just entering when some one touched his sleeve, and, turning, he beheld'’ the beggar whom he had assisted. The man had evidently forgotten his late benefactor and volubly repeated his tale. “But, look here, my man,” said the business man, “I gave you a nickel on Oak street not half an hour ago.” “Is that so?” replied the beggar, with an air of surprise. “Yes, that’s so. Why didn’t you get some breakfast with that?” “Well, you see, boss, it’s this way: I had to use dat nick fer car fare to get down town to th’ case where I ’akes me meals.”

Going to Waste.

Citizen—What do you think of the view in front of my home ? The Street Car Magnate—Horrible! Horrible! Citizen—What! Why, we regard this as one of the most beautiful residence avenues in Chicago. The Street Car Magnate—Nonsense! Why, it hasn’t even a horse car line.— Record.

Diamonds.

The diamond is believed to be of recent geological formation, and a microscopic examination often discloses in its substance minute plants and vegetable fibers. The drunkard never stops short oX the dregs. .