Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 April 1897 — Page 2

LIVING IT DOWN

CHAPTER I. “And, indeed!” says Nurse Crotty from her seat by the fire, “though I’m not one of those as holds with cossettin' and fussin’, yet I do say. Miss Joan, as you oughtn't to be excitin’ of your mother so much. She’s that flushed and feverish, and not a wink has she slept these two nights, and this blessed infant a-wantin’ all the attention it can get.” “Oh, for goodness’ sake, nurse, shut up, and don’t bother!” It was I who said that —I, Joan, the eldest of that family of six of whom Nurse Crotty had been discoursing. I lay there on the bed beside that quiet figure with the flushed face and feverish eyes—lay there with an aching henrt and passionate. resentful thoughts, for I hated the Interloper whose fretful cries sonnded ever and anon in the quiet of the fire-lit room—hated her with jealous, resentful pain for breaking in upon the completeness of the circle —for disturbing its usages and arrangements, for being of the same sex as myself, the eldest and the spoilt darling of this gentle, fragile mother, whom I had at once loved, and idolized and tyrannized over for fourteen years. “I don’t disturb yon, do IV” I asked my mother softly, laying my cheek beside the dear changed face, that for months and months had been growing so pale and wan. “No, my darling,” she answered tenderly. “But lam so sorry you are not pleased about it, Joan,” she went on presently. “I thought you would have liked a little sister —something to pet, and protect, and play with.” “I had the boys, and I had you,” I answered rebelliously. “That was quite enough.” “It was God’s will, my child—you should try and remember that."

But I was silent. I could not and would not remember anything except that the interloper was an interloper; that none of us had wanted her; that none of us cared for her; that m.v mother was ill. my father more stern and aggressive than his wont; that Nurse Crotty was a nuisance; that the whole arrangements of the house were upset and disorganized; that I was in a ▼ile temper, and altogether an ill-used and suffering individual. “Don’t talk about it,” I said at length. “Nurse says you are feverish, aft 4 Oiight to rest and sleep —Do -ti'y'" and get well you oDly knew how " e With a swelling heart and clouded brow I descended the stairs from my mother’s room, and proceeding along the hall, opened a swing door at the end of it, and in another moment found myself in me midst of the noise and hubbub wldch generally associated itself in my jimd, and every one else’s, as part and parcel of “the boys.” Here they were, the whole four, making noise enough for eight. Teddy and Toddy were playing leapfrog. Hughie was jumping over the forms —those notched, and inked, and long suffering pieces of furniture that we had dubbed “seats of learning”—aud Alfred, ths eldest of the four, was kneeling on the rug, a bpok in one hand and a toasting fork in the other. “Enter the tragic muse!” cried Ted, pausing in the act of accepting Toddy's “back,” and waving his hand towards me •s I entered. “Doesn’t Bhe look like it? What’s the news, Jo, and how’s the kid?” “Jo’s nose is out of joint,” cried Hughie, vaulting on to the table instead of the forms, and facing me with a broad grin, which by no means beaufified a naturally wide mouth, “or she’s had a tussle with the nurse. Did you get the best of it, Jo? Have you seen the mater?” “Yes,” I answered curtly; “I’ve just left her. Is the tea ready? It’s five o’clock.” “King Alfred is doing his best to burn the toast as per usual,” said Ted. “And Trotter brought in the teapot some time ago, so I suppose it’s ready. I know I’m jolly hungry, and quite ready for it.” I walked to the fireplace. “Here, I’ll help with the toast,” I said, taking up another fork aud quietly dislodging the book from the student’s hand. “Ally, I do wish you’d give up trying to do two things at once.” “Does nurse say it’s ‘the beautifulest child as ever she nussed?’” asked King Alfred; “you know she’s told each of us that in turn.” “I don’t know,” I said, rising from my knees and carrying the huge pile of toast to the table, “and don’t enre,” I added, illtemperedly. “Our sweet sister’s usually placid nature is ruffled,” remarked King Alfred, following me and taking his seat at the well-spread board. “Don’t you mind,” he added, patting me on the back, a process I hated; “we’ll stand by you to a man. The intruder shall be relegated to the nursery, her musical voice will not penetrate these sacred regions, and we’ll promise you to forget we ever had another sister.” “It doesn’t matter to me,” I said; “I shall be grown up while she’s still a baby in the nursery.” “And married and settled. Who knows?” chimed in King Alfred. “Pass the toast to Toddy,” I said with dignity, waving aside these kindly suggestions. “The child hasn’t had half enough. How greedy you and Hughie are!” “He’s younger and smaller; he ought not to eat as much as we do,” said Teddy loftily. “We’re only acting for his digestive welfare.” “Hush!” cried King Alfred warningly. '“I hear the tramp of feet. Listen! They come nearer. It is—it is ” “Be quiet!” I cried, raising a white, scared face from the tea tray, and springing involuntarily to my feet as the door opened. “Father!” came in a muttered chorus, as the four laughing boyish faces followed the direction of my own. “Joan!” said the parental voice, which had never been over and above welcome to our ears in that upward passage from chil<||hood to indiscretion—“ Joan, nurse says your mother is asking for you, and—-and-the boys.” “Asking for us T’ There was no mirth now on the young There was nothing in my heart save one •harp pang of agonised dread, as, without another word or look, I rushed from the room, and up the stairs to the dear loved presence, which, alas—alas, dear heaven!

By Rita

CHAPTER 11. It is three years since my dear mother’s death. How well I remember when father called us out of the school room to her bedside, where she lay so still, so pallid. Only once did she speak, and then her words were addressed to me in a faint whisper. “For my sake, Joan!” I knew what she meant. I was to be good to the babe whom I had determined to hate, whose coming was costing her her life. I pressed her hand in token that I had heard and understood her —that was ail I could do. Then came her death, my swooning, followed by an illness which prevented me from attending the funeral of my beloved dead mother and kept me in my room for nearly three months. When I was well enough to join the boys in their play they recalled to my mind the babe, whose very existence I -had almost forgotten. I had, in fact, not seen her since the occasion I mentioned in my previous chapter. I went to the nursery to fetch her, and as I looked upon her little white face, and saw her golden hair and dark eyes so like my mother’s, all the resentment and jealousy I had felt against the child passed away, and then and there there came into my heart a deep, abiding love which nothing could replace. I took the tender mite from Nurse Crotty’s arms and carried her in triumph to my brothers, followed by the nurse, and then and there, at Teddy’s suggestion, we named her Darby, although father had had her christened Dorothea, his mother’s name. "You are Joan,” said Teddy. “Let her be Darby; then it will be Darby and Joan."

And Darby and Joan it has been ever since. We noticed now for the first time that the babe’s eyes maintained a fixed stare, which did not change when brought into the brightest light or near the flame of a candle, and Nurse Crotty finally confessed that she had had for some time a suspicion that the babe had been born blind. And such it proved to be. The motherless little mite had come into the world wanting the sense of sight. As I made this discovery the memory of my dying mother’s dying words, “For my sake, Joan,” rushed over me, and I unconsciously repeated them as I hugged the little one to my breast. “I am glad mother did not know,” murmured Teddy, “for how she would have grieved.” “I am glad mother did not know.” Those were Teddy’s words, and at first I hud echoed them thankfully, seeing only desolation and martyrdom in the darkened life of my little sister; but as time went ou I found that she needed little of the pity and compassion that overflowed in our hearts. A brighter, sweeter little nature never developed itself. The child seemed quite unconscious es her Tomb, aud when she began to .walk, would toddle about, and feeV- her way from place to place in » oiaid little fashion of her own .that caused us all to wonder.

All this time I have said little about my father; but, indeed, since mother’s death, he had withdrawn himself from us more and more. We rarely saw him, except at the formal dinner at which I and the two elder boys were in duty bound to appear; but in course of time Alfred and Ted and Hughie were sent to a boarding school, and Toddy and 1 shared the instructions of Miss Cray, a somewhat antiquated governess, to whom, however, I was indebted for my limited stock of accomplishments, as it never seemed to enter my father’s head that I needed more varied teaching. The misfortune of his youngest born won but a brief wonder nnd compassion from him. He called in eminent doctors, paid them their fees, and beard their decision stoically. And after that he seemed to trouble himself in no way about her, and rarely looked at her even when he saw her in my arms, or clinging to my side. She slept in my arms, and was ministered to by me alone; and now, as I take up the thread of my story again, she was three years old—a little sunny haired, fairy like creature, who seemed to me the very embodiment of infantine loveliness. It was nearly Christmas again, the snow lay thick upon the moors, nnd in the glow of the firelight I and Darby were sitting waiting for the boys. They were coming home for the holidays, anil Toddy had gone in the dog cart to meet them, for the station was four miles off from our house—the old, grim, batteredlooking building that had come to us from some remote ancestor in the reign of William the Conqueror, nnd lay amidst moors and forests, in a wild district of Hampshire. The child was sitting quietly on my lap, listening for the first sound of wheels. Long before I heard them the little voice calmly announced, “They's tummin’!” and she was quite right. A few moments, and there was a rush of feet, a shout of eager voices, aud the schoolroom door burst open to admit the troop. They kissed and hugged me first, then lifted the little one on to the table and began to criticise her. “How she’s grown! And how much prettier! Isn’t she a ducksey?” and then they fondled her gently aud tenderly, and King Alfred lifted her on to his shoulder, and marched about the room in that fashion, in order, so he said, to exhibit her to the best advantage. “Isn’t she a swell?” asked Toddy, admiringly, as the firelight danced on the bright crimson frock, with its knots and sash of black velvet, that I had made for her. “She is so!” agreed Ted. “Who dressed you up like that, little Darby?” “Jo made my pitty sock,” answered the little one; “and me’s dot a coat, and a musf —me has.”

"How, much plainer she speaks!” said Hughie. “Does she still say ‘Yes, I do; yes, I will,’ like she used to?” “Yes, I do!” answered the child, with an emphatic nod. There was a shout of laughter from the boys. Then they brought the child back, and placed her on my knee, and grouped themselves around the fire, and for full ten minutes there was a babel of questioning, chaffing and nonsense that was well-nigh deafening. "I suppose you know Monk’s Hall is occupied at last,” said King Alfred, rising and ringing the bell for tea. "I noticed the blinds were up and smoke coming out of the chimneys as we passed, and Croft told me the people had been back a week.” ( “I didn’t know,” I answered carelessly; “I haven’t been out at all since the snow fell.” "Wonder if both uncle and nephew are there went on Ted the loquacious. “I say, what a sell for the young chap, w^ n '* ** —uncle turning up after everjr one had given him up for dead? it should think he felt rather savage.” “Who —the uncle or nephew?” I asked quietly. “Nephew, of course. I wonder what the old fellow is like.” “You’ll be able to see him on Sunday if ydu go to church,” I remarked, smoothing the soft loose curls from Darby’s pretty brew. (Te be continoedjt

A RESURRECTION THOUGHT. The bulbs that were bid In the darkness Through the winter time and the snow Have felt the thrill of the sunlight. Their hour to bloom they know. Purple and gold and scarlet And white as the robes of a king, To the gloiy of love at Kaster Their beautiful wealth they bring. The grass that was browu and withered And cold on the sodden plain Has been kissed by the tender sunshine. Caressed by the crystal rain. And Its bright green lances quiver, Lo! twice ten millions strong. And the birds, with her nest among them. Files up with a sudden song. And we, who have seen our darlings Keft from our side away; Who have wept In silent anguish O’er the cold and pulseless clay. Take heart In the Easter gladness, A parable all may read. For the Lord who cares for the flowers Cares well for our greater need. He knows of the loss and anguish, The grope of the stricken soul; He will bring again our dear ones, By bis touch of life made whole. We shall need aud know and love them In the spring beyond tbe sea. That, after earth's dreary winter, la coining to you and me. —Mrs. M. E. Sangster.

THE EASTER LILY.

hmmmimm) ASTER wns but a SHI, ;■ ly fortnight off and two little girls, Lulu aud Fanny, were watchswjfifc ing with great inter|||M est mamma’s calla, which at last was Every mornI T ing they came early to tlie windows, Ig. where a few house *&) plants were struggling for existence, and although every

time they hoped to find a flower, and every time were so sadly disappointed, still the next morning found them at their post, hoping, in their childish faith, that, some little blossom might be found for them. All winter long they had watched the tiny leaflets unfolding, and these few plants had been carried back and forth, from one window to another, to catch every gleam of sunshine that strayed into the little room they called home. Every night these little loving hands had carefully covered the delicate leaves for protection from the chilling winds that would creep through the cracks and crevices, for old Borens is a cold-hearted fellow, who shows little mercy for the poor, and worries his way into their chimney corners as if he were a welcome visitor. Bflt I don’t think he had caught sight of this little bit of summer or he would have curled up the leaves with bis cold fingers, and blown with bis icy breath, until the tiny stalks became limp nnd lifeless, and the soil itself stiffened around the poor little roots. The little girls knew! all this, nnd hnd covered their treasures so carefully at night, nnd cared for them so tenderly by day. that .at Inst they were to be rewarded l'qr all their labor—the lily hail bwltj'pj.' lifiTTg years ago—in fnet, so many that it seemed to Lulu and Fanny a beautiful dream—there was n dear little home, where plants bloomed in the windows, nnd n warm fire gleamed in the grate; nnd in the springtime birds sang in the trees, and the lawn was covered with the greenest grass, where the bright spring flowers opened their eyes. And then, somehow, for the little girls could not tell how, all these beautiful things had faded away, only they nnd mamma were left, nnd mummn had to sew all the time, and sometimes she cried, too. Now these plants were all the gnrden they had; and only to think of it, the lily had budded; they were so happy; they must look oftener than before to see if the flower were almost there.

So (lie days crept by, and it seemed ns if the lily would never unfold. To be sure, the winter wan long anil cold, aud some days so dark nnd cloudy that the sun forgot to look into their windows, and some nights were so cold that the lily itself came near being chilled, so the bud was not very strong. However, the days were getting warmer, for Easter was almost there. At Sunday school the teacher had told the children that on that day Christ had risen front the dead, and how beautiful the Enster morn would become to them if Christ indeed had risen in their hearts, and she went on to tell how some Christians, during the forty days before Easter, would deny themselves some known pleasure and strive to consecrate themselves anew to Christ. “My dear girls,” she added, "are not we all willing to deny ourselves something for the sake of Christ? to give up some amusement, or habit, or treasure, that perhaps may be crowding us out of the kingdom? “Is there not some object dear to us we are willing to give up for him? He gave his all for us—life, kingdom ami heaven itself; his precious blood was shed, that we through him might live; and what have we done for him? Is there not something we can lay upon the altar ns a sacrifice, so we may be prepared to receive his love into our hearts?” All the way homo front Sunday school, Lulu ami Fanny were talking about what they could do for Christ; and perhaps, because they did not quite understand what was meant, or else had so little to give, they were a long time wondering what they could give to Christ; at last Fanny said: “I know what it is—the lily, we can give the lily to Christ; you know the teacher said it must be something we thought a great deal of, something dear to us, and I believe we care more for the lily than anything else.” “But how will we send the lily to him?” asked Lulu. “I don’t know,” said Fanny, “but I guess God will show us how.” And now that the lily was to be given to God, they bestowed more care than ever upon it; each day the bud grew larger, and you could begin to see a rim of white above the green.

The days sped on, and there were only four days till Easter, but in the meantime a malignant disease had settled over part of the city, and little children were rapidly falling at its approach; each mother t reinbled as she held her loved ones, for who knew how near the angel of death might be; he hovered around the homes of wealth and comfort, and of poverty and want, until at last the shadow fell across the street and into the room where the Easter lily was. Fanny lay there unconscious of the sadness and gloom that had settled upon their little home; sometimes in the delirium of fever she would talk about the lily—God’s lily, as they called it now. Each day the shadows deepened, so dark, so sad, and to-morrow was Easter. • All night mamma and Lulu watched the little sufferer, hoping for some word or look of recognition; morning was slowly dawning, Easter Sunday, when so many ages ago Christ had risen from the dVad, and brought with him light and life to the waiting soul. Away off in the - distance you might catch the chime of the old cathedral bells as they rang in the joyous morn—perhaps some of the music reached Fanny’s ears, for half opening her eyes she stretched her hand toward Lulu and whispered: “I will take the lily to him.” dust them the sunshine burst into the room, Lulu turned to the window, and there uufolded in all its beauty was the lovely lily. Long hours afterward, when the Sabbath bells were pealiug their glad noteß, and choral voices sang. “The Lord Is risen

indeed," the little c'liid lay, there so still, so beautiful, with the smile of heaven upon her lips, and holding in the waxen fingers her precious gift, the Easter lily.

BEST OF THE YEAR.

The Enster Holiday Feaaon and Its Delightful Associations.

ASTER is more Uei lightful in its associations than any other holiday season of the year. It folI lows a period of conventional mourning. It is a revival from traditional depression and gloom. It opens the morning of hope and expectation. It reveals the unfolding buds of the year and of human faith and promise. In these respects it

differs in significance from the autumnal thanksgiving anil Inter Christinas holidays. Autumnal holidays mark the end of the harvest, when all its fruits have been gathered nnd when gratitude is expressed for every gift of Providence to mankind. The year is closed, Reflection is the sole occupation of the mind. Truths may be gathered from experience as fruit is gathered from the soil. Hut in the autumn every human sentiment is inspired by n knowledge that the best products of the year have been gathered, that its enjoyments are closed, that its fugitive hours, opportunities, events nnd lessons, tliatlall which it contained for good or evil, have become an clement of the unrcturninglpasf. Easter is the ijeriod of resurrection. It is an emblem of)the revival which nature experiences with each return of the sun in its orbit and/of the rains and dews at their appointed time. It brings vernal sunshine, airs nod odors. It is celebrated by offerings of flowers, by gayety in attire, by festive display, by all the gaudy outward semblance, in which the dayspring of the lmirt aud of the season is clothed. The C’hristiaijized Easter which the world celebrates is a higher inspiration of pagan philosophy, renewed, refined and etherealized by the influences which proceeded front thejtragic events on Calvary and front their sublime conclusion. From the earliest era i'hen man began to study the world around him and deify its manifestations the Spring was sanctified ns the period of thejyear when the vigor of nature's creative'jforces first was displayed. Every form of ancient mythology recognized the veinal equinox as the point of rejuvenation for tlie world of vegetable and animal life. Every wind of spring that blew and every wave that murmured were regarded us the source of new vital energies in production nnd growth. From these beautiful pagan beliefs to the beautiful now Christian belief the change was uot Violent nor phenomenal. It Was a graceful evolution from heathen to Christian tin sight. It was transition of that which was false but was almost as beautiful as/truth to the beauty and holiness of trut*. Coleridge described the abandoned fictions of classical beliefs; The intelligible! forms of ancient poets. The fair humanities of old religion, The power, thelbeauty and the majesty That haditheir haunts in dale or piney mountain, Or forest, by Mow brook or pebbly spring Or chasm, ot I watery depth—all these are vanished ;j They live no linger in the faith of reason. In places of!these fantastic heathen images the new .'religion brought realities of grace and truth. The old fictions of the earth and air dissolved and disappeared. They were succeeded by the gospel of peace and good will to all mankind—of universal practical charity, of faith manifested in good works, of all the gospel lessons which Easter day and its associations convey. Pagan philosophers and poets readied only the fancies and dreams of men. Christian philosophy reaches the profoundest depths Of the intellect and the heart. This is the lesson add instruction of the day! It relates both; to the past and the future. It is a reminiscence and a promise. It combines the (garnered wisdom of ages with the hope pf all the years to come!

Day of Great Joy.

The Easter of Rome transcends in pomp and splendor that of all other countries. The Pope, is borne into the great gallery of St. Peter’s, and gives his solemn benediction, “to Rome aud the world.” Poland feasts at this period on saffron cakes, roast pig aud little lambs served

AN EASTER ANTHEM.

with pistachio plums. The number of dishes cooked is enormous. Eggs form n part of all the pastimes. The religious services are devout and impressive. In Mexico it is the great festivnl of the year. In the City of Mexico the population till lie streets and the parks, which resemble the most beautiful gardens. People passing each other in the streets throw flowers with their salutations. Bands discourse sweet music, and there is general abandonment to the delights of the festival of their “Sunday of joy.” In America the occasion is observed generally but quietly. Presents are exchanged, eggs and flowers are given a prominent place, and the church services are unusually impressive. If the Americans had any special use for the festival in n worldly way they lrnght designate it ns thej'feast of hats.” The feminine portion of the community wear new hats, according to the ancient tradition that to be lucky all the year, something new must be worn on Easter Sunday.

IN JOYOUS GREETING.

Gifts tbit Are Fi aught with the Fcanon's Spirit. The custom of giving Easter gifts is on the increase. A few years ago a simple card sent to friends was accounted sufficient recognition of the day. But the card swelled into a leaflet, the leaflet into a book, and now the book has sought the companionship of divers and sundry articles of a distinctly feminine character, and with them proceeds to organize a Christnjas at the beginning of spring. With a slight change of sentiment even Christmas and New Year’s presents can pass muster as Easter offerings. The cards are delicate in design and spring-like in coloring. Faeetiousness creeps in through the only channel open to it, manifesting itself in groups of chickens and pictures of rabbits on cards designed especially for children. The eggshell, variously decorated, is übiquitous, as usual. The decoration of eggshells is not so difficult as it looks to one familiar only with their fragility. To prepare them, wash the shells first with vinegar and then with soda and water; puncture a small hole in each end and blow out the contents. Make a solution of plaster of paris and water, thin enough to run easily, and fill the shell half full, using a small paper funnel, then insert the two ends of a piece of narrow ribbon and continue the filling. It will take about twenty minutes for the plaster to harden. Then give the egg a sizing with gum water to make the color take, and it is ready for decoration. (loose and duck eggs filled with plaster of paris, prettily painted and arranged in a nest of colored cotton wool in one of the little Japanese baskets that may be

gwußE's Easter signs R Se/\RS. N i,,,/’ _ swamps are turnect ta cirseqctls^^^ . .-•sSP' Of,greerj and. solid spearltf?' r? f J ljjppyr) fFj e lofoWoc L'/m IffWff: f lpil|p hl6ye/< ? s?p ~T| f Thjere are purple pulpits m theboefs, y v And brakes galore •/ ii jLLi, OJD NOTJrtEIoRDjcOMNAHD 1$ TELL. TrfE N/IM E |-|eVoRE cHH? nc * ar^us -tender, sweet; NOT TrfE [oF(D t|°LD H»S ANNPJNT/N6 MEET? The TmuruMS spotless triangle, Trie tnplejeaf of clover i <^4 SAYINg"7wN/T7*To AlL'Xo : 'mW' hf I * w M&Awl hallelujahs star the knoll Andjbluets crowd, to see ~<N | pfjsF senscs'oullat ust wile reaoA "Victory/

purchased for 5 or 10 cents, make cunning gifts for children. Anything that is just a little out of the ordinary is acceptable at Easter. Photographs mounted on bits of tinted cardboard or framed in delicate white frames prettily decorated make satisfactory presents —if given to the right people.

An Easter Catastrophe.

'Tis Easter day, the sky’s serene, New dainty gowns and hats are seen, A fragrance sweet the breeze Instills Of violets and daffodils. Where parks are green, the fountains play, Nature revives, and maids display; I have no heart for all of that— The breeze has spoiled my Easter hat!

Outcome of Centuries.

The resume of Easter customs finds the central idea in the fact that they are the outcome of eighteen centuries of religious zeal, and the concentration of genius and enthusiasm in art, science, poetry and learning of every sort. Easter is a crystallization of the hope expressed in its solemn observances, deliverance from death, founded ou the story of the great Teacher of Nazareth, and carrying joy and life into the dead and desolate theories that in the dark ages held the world in dominance. The festival of the soul is the highest and greatest of all the ceremonies of Eastertide. Walter (to cook)—Steak for one! Gent don’t want it raw, nor he don’t want It burnt black. Cook (angrily)—ls that what he said? Waiter—No, not exactly. I asked him how he wanted It, an’ he said “medium.”—Spare Moments.

DUKE OF LEEDS.

Will Succeed Lord Absrdeen as Gov» ernor General of Canada. The Duke of Leeds, who will succeed Lord Aberdeen as Governor General of Canada, assumed the title and the estate of the family about a year ago on the death of his father, the ninth duke. The present duke’s name is George Godolpbin Osborne, and he is a second son. His elder brother died in 1861. The future Governor General is only 34 years old, but has already won a prominent name for himself in politics. He has been In parliament, where he sat for Lambeth. He was formally honored with the post of treasurer of the household, which he gave up, according to custom, when he retired from parliament In 1884 he married Lady Katherine Francis Lambeth, a daughter of the second earl of Durham, and they have four pretty little girls. The duke, when be was In parliament as the Marquis of Carmarthen, was the youngest member in the commons and the youngest looking until he grew a beard. It Is told of him that on the day of his election some one asked him: “Say, boy, does your mother know you’re out?” “Yes,” promptly replied the youthful politician, “and when the votes are counted to-night she will know I am in.” The family of the duke—the Osbornes—is one of the oldest and most aristocratic in all the peerage. They were seated centuries ago In Kent and were distinguished lords in ancient times. The late duke bad several brothers, two of whom were famous churchmen. Rev. Lord Sidney Godolphin-Osborne earned a reputation as a working philanthropist, while Rev. Lord Francis Godol-phin-Osborne was noted for bis extreme leaning toward ritualism. He

DUKE OF LEEDS.

afterward formally joined the Roman Catholic church. The duke is a popular member of the House of Lords, and his elevation to the distinguished position of Governor General of Canada is not much of a surprise to those who know the inside workings of the government. His wife is a charming woman, if not beautiful in person.

TACHOMETER.

The Rider May Always Know What Time His Wheel Is Making;.

The tachometer is an instrument that Indicates minute variations in the speed of the bicycle. It is attached to the right-hand fork by a neat clasp, and can be swung in or out of position while riding. A small wjjeel is brought

TACHOMETER.

into contact with the center of the tire; the wheel operates a hand on a dial, which shows the rate of hour. If, for Instance, it is 20 miles to his destination, and he pedals fast enough to hold the handle at the 20-mile mark, he will reach his destination in exactly one hour. It is both and aid to the rider to see.^a*various changes in speed, and is the best time-keeper going. It costs little, and weighs about 2% ounces.

Advantage of Sleep.

In reply to the question, Is It wise for a man to deny himself and get along with a few hours’ sleep a day, to do more work? Tesla, the great electrician, is said to have replied: “That is a great mistake, lam convinced. A man has just so many hours to be awake, and the fewer of these he uses up each day, the more days they will last; that is, the longer he will live. I believe that a man might live two hundred years if he would sleep most of the time. That is why negroes often live to advanced old age, because they sleep so much. It is said that Gladstone sleeps seventeen hours every day; that is why his faculties are still unimpaired in spite of his great age. The proper way to economize life Is to sleep every moment that is not necessary or desirable that you should be awake.”

Modern Son-In-Law.

She—You won’t object to having dear mamma live with us after we are married, will you? He (a young doctor)—Not at all. In fact, she will be most welcome. She—lt’s so good of you to say so. He—Not at all. You see, she Is always ailing, and I really need somebody to experiment on!—Comic Cuts.

English Saddles Declared Better.

A Christiania, Norway, firm that sells American bicycles writes to Hardware, saying that Norwegians consider the saddles of most American bicycles less comfortable than those of English wheels.

A Brain Estimate.

If the entire population of the world Is considered to be 1,400,000,000 the brains of this number of human beings would weigh 1,922,712 tons, or as much as 96 Ironclads of the ordinary si*e.