Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 50, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 February 1910 — Page 2

THE HILLS OF REST. Beyond the last horizon'* rim. Beyond adventure’s fartnest quest, ■omewhere they rise, serbne and dint. The happy, happy Hills of Rest. (Boon their sunlit slopes uplift The castles we have built in Spain— Awhile fair amid the summer,drift Our faded gardens flower again.Bweet hours we did not live go by To soothing note on scented wing; Bn golden-lettered volumes He The songs we tried in vain to sing. |They all are there; the days of dream That build the inner lives of men; <, The silent, sacred years we deem The might be, and the might have been. Borne evening when the sky is gold TH follow day into the west; 'Xor pause, nor heed, till I behold The happy, happy Hills of Rest. *■—Albert Bigelow Paine, in Harper’s.

In the Wrong Pew

The trouble began, innocently on my part, at the senior prom In New, Haven, where I, Don Blecker—ho, It isn t a pet-dog name for Donald: Just named me that way—was about concluding the regulation four (years at Shelf. Rafe Scrlngeor and I were chums and bunkies; hence, he knew that I <was engaged to Jessica Callandar, while to me it was no secret that he hoped to adorn a similar romantic relation to Estelle Folsom. My inamorata lived with her widowad mother near the Washington Arch on lower Fifth avenue, New York, While Estelle Folsom was the only daughter of a rich manufacturer, residing on Whitney avenue. New Haven, (Which facts will explain how I knew [Estelle quite well, while Miss Callandar did not, except possibly through hearsay. I may mention also the physical and psychological facts that the (two girls belonged to opposite types— Jessica being tall, dark and stately; (Estelle petite, blonde, and of a Dres-den-chlna-shepherdess style of prettiness. it should be heedless to stare that personally I do not much care for blondes, a confession offset by Scrimjgeors avowal that somehow, since he (had met Estelle Folsom, he felt that way about all brunettes. Now ft lejl out, that on the night of /the prom, owing to his mother and sisters being* in town, Rafe didn’t have time to drive way out on Whitney avenue and back, so he begged me to start * little early and escort Miss Folsom f. the Hyperion before I called for Jessie Callandar at her hotel, he promising to be on hand and meet us in the foyer. thus releasing me quickly. What else could a man do but consent? My car was a speedy one, and I made three three miles out and back In record time. But there was no Rafe on hand to meet us. Miss Foleom and I stood chatting just inside the swinging doors of the foyer where we could be seen by every one bidden to the greatest social event of the Ya'e year.

Nine-thirty came and went, then 10 o’clock, and still no Rafe. Again, what could I do, save continue to squire my chum s pretty dame, although I was aching to fetch my own lady-love. I'o her, of course, I thought I could easily explain matters. But good-fellowship peters out at a certain point; the music had begun long ago; arrivals were < perceptibly fewer, and I was considering how I might decently escape, when the doors swung apart to admit—Jessica Callandar with her mother, attended by a tall, rather distinguished-look-ing fellow. He was a complete stranger to me—wearing a monocle attached to a narrow black ribbon, by which token I sized him up for an Englishman before he opened his mouth and I hated him instinctively. Imagine my surprise and chagrin No wonder, as I have since been assured, I looked like a farmer’s boy caught stealing apples! To have seemed to break an appointment with my fiancee and to be apparently “caught with the goods,” laughing and chatting with another girl! It was horrible, and, I admit, didn’t look very well. However, Miss Callandar carried off matters superbly.

“How do you do, Mr. Bleeclier?" (That mister sent cold chills down mv spine.) “Let me introduce the Honorable Mr. Gordon-Powell, of the British legation in Washington." We men shook hands perfunctorily while the attache murmured his English "Chaw med, I’m shaw.” Then it was my cue to introduce Miss Folsom to the trio. Jessie overtopped Estelle by four or five inches, and seemed to completely overlook, the diminutive little thing. Yet she said, quite compos•dly and smilingly: “I’m delighted to meet gny—er—friend of Mr. Bleecker’s.” The sting was covert, but all the more apparent to mv sensitive and guilty ears. Miss Callandar, her mother, and hir escort moved on toward the dancingfloor, Jessie merely flinging over her shoulder, with that adorable tilt of the eyebrows I knew and loved so well: “Aren’t you coming—you and Miss Folsom?” “Certainly, in a few minutes. I'm only waiting for ” They were gone, and I turned to my companion with something very like a scowl on my otherwise usually amiable features.

“Oh, I’m *o sorry——" *he wi® beginning when I cut her short. "Don’t mention it—doesn’t matter a bit now!" I added under my breath. The mischief was done, but of course pretty little fluttering Estelle Folsom was not to blame. ’ When Rafe did appear with a bevy cf five ladies in tow —four ingenue sisters and a "first old woman” mamma—l could have killed him with a look. However, he was profuse in his regrets —I managed to infer that “the girls” had been a long time over their toilets —and I broke away to make my peace with Miss Callandar. But there was to be neither peace nor pardon for me that! night. The Honorable Gordon-Powell was Very much in evidence; I couldn’t find a vacant place on her dance-card, and to hurried aside requesting a few minutes’ private talk in order that I might explain something the girl returned coolly:

"I don’t think it really matters, Mr. Bleecker, does it? Seeing is believing, you know,” she ended, flashing me a dazzling smile over the shoulder of that confounded attache as he whirled her aiyay. For the rest of the evening I played “gooseberry” to Miss Folsom, flirted desperately with the four bread-and-butter Scrimgeor girls, and rather took a savage delight in dancing with Rafe s fiancee more times than was perhaps prudent or necessary.

Punishment came In the morning bright and early in the shape of a note from Miss Callandar, delivered while I was dressing. It was short, tart, and to the point. Her ring—my ring—fell from the envelope to the floor as I

opened it. Here is what I read, undated, unsigned: “After last night, I am reluctantly convinced that you are as fickle as 1 once thought you true. I abhor deceit and double-dealing as the one unpardonable sin between men and women. Henceforth should we meet it must be as strangers. But I hope never to see you again.” So I was condemned unheard! That started my fighting bloow. By heaven, she should know the truth! By 10

JOINING IN THE FIRST TWO LINES.

o’clock I was at the hotel, only to be told that “Mrs. Callandar and party left for New York on the a o’clock express?’ I followed by the Shore Line an hour later, and suffered another rebuff upon calling at the Callandar residence. Miss Callandar was conventionally "not at home.” Then I wrote a long letter, detailing the facts. That Jessie read it I didn’t doubt, althougn it was returned to me along with a bunch of my former letters.

For the third time I ask you: What more could a fellow do? I stiffened my jaw, plunged into work, was graduated with my B. S., and went West to work for a big construction firm.

Four years later, early on a Sunday morning in May, I laaded in New York. The'’ s little blind god of happen-so put it into my head that for once I'd oa good and go to church. Naturally I chose the old Collegiate Chapel where for two hundred years the Bleeckers had worshiped, and where our family pew was handed down as an heirloom. But, as I afterward discovered, our seat had been so long untenanted by the family—l a.m the last of the line—that is was now used as a strangers’ pew. This, of course, I did not know when I whispered to the usher—a complete stranger, by the way:

"The pew, if you please.” He nodded and preceded me up the aisle, although I could have found my way blindfold. He did not pause at the well-remembered door, but went on half a dozen paces further. Then I noticed that the Bleecker pew already held its quota. My guide opened the door of an sitting and motioned me within, saying under his breath: “The Bleecker pew is full, but you’ll be entirely welcome here.” ■ I bowed and took the end seat nearthe aisle. Service had not yet begun, and I was interestedly gazing around the old sanctuary where as a lad in knickerbockers I had sat between my father and mother, Sunday after Sunday, when I was roused from my reverie by the rustle of skirts and the click of the door-catch. Two ladies were being ushered tn.

Naturally I rose and stepped into the aisle to permit the new arrivals to enter, raising my eyes for a moment as they passed me, and got the surprise of my life. They were Jessica Callandar and her mother! Jessica Callandar, after all those years, just as fresh and cool and stately as ever. Neither had recognized me, and for an instant I thought of flight. But only for an instant. 1116 chance rencontre was too fortunate to be despised unless—and I stole another glance at the face of the girl beside me, and in that same in-

stant knew that I was still hopelessly in love. But that "unless” would not down! What if she were married to the Honorable! Less likely things have happened. I wished she’d remove her glove so that I might see if a fateful and tell-tale plain gold band encircled a certain left-hand finger. But a second glance at that pure girlish profile beside me somehow gave assurance that my fears in that respect were groundless.

Perhaps a couple of minutes passed while the ladies were settling themselves in their seats, Mrs. Callandar sitting on the other side of Jessie. Thus far, I was sure, the girl had no idea who she had for a right-hand neighbor. Then, though keeping my eyes resolutely frontward, I was conscious that her head turned in my direction. I felt the red blood surging over neck and face, although I was so browned and tanned that I hoped it would escape notice. I glanced quickly and to my secret delight noted that Jessie’s cheek and one tiny ear were corhl pink. In that instant our eyes met. She had recognized me? Yet her cool glance was of the kind usually accorded to a complete stranger, and Miss Callandar’s outward composure might be described as glacial. The organ ceased its mellow prelude, the choir sang their “opening piece,” the minister delivered his brief invocation, and then the congregation rose for the responsive reading. Calmly and coolly the girl found the place and offered me half of her book.

Neither of us joined in the responses. Personally I was conscious of a very inconvenient dryness and tightening in 'my vocal apparatus. What Jessica felt* just then I have never been able to learn. However, I was doing a pile of thinking, and all the old feeling of resentment at her injustice came over me again.

Casting my eyes down the page 1 saw, several paragraphs ahead, some words that I told myself were almost providential in their appositeness—from my point of view. In an instant I had evolved a very pretty plot, for I was resolved that, willy-nilly, Miss Jessica Callandar and I would have an explanation ere the day was many hours older. >

Clearing my throat dnd swallowing as the minister and congregation neared the fateful lines, I made my one and only response in a clear and deep bass voice:

“Judge not according to the appearr ance, : Bftt judge righteous judgment ” Then came the Gloria Patri, and we all sat down. Not by a single tremor of wrist or fingers did the girl betray the least sign that she had heard. After the notices were read, the ser-mon-hymn was given out, and we rose to sing. As before I was offered the right-hand half of the hymn-book with the place already found. Also as before neither of us joined in, although the melody was a very familiar one. I kept my eyes glued to the page. Two verses, three verses, went by, and choir and congregation entered on the last verse. I noted that the words were by Dr. Watts—good old T)r. Watts! Suddenly I was electrified by Jessica’s beautifully clear and vibrant soprano joining in the first two lines: “He that does one fault at first. And stoops to hide it, makes it two.”

She had given me my answer—a very pretty and appropriate retort from her viewpoint—paying me back in my own coin. But at least she had spoken, and when once a woman consents to argue the battle’s half won If tne man's cause be just. I was determined she should not enjoy her woman’s privilege of the last word.

So all through the forty-minute sermon I planned my little campaign. I believed dear old Mrs. Callandar would prove my ally, and unless Jessica had changed her name and condition during my absence I promised myself I’d conquer.

When the benediction was concluded I offered my hand to the girl and her mother and spoke. The old lady was unfeignedly glad to see me; indeed, she looked and said so. Jessica was more coy, but she did not freeze me altogether, for which small mercy I was devoutly thankful. Indeed, my feelings might be likened to those of a bank clerk who wins out on a hnn-dred-to-one gamble a day or two before the bank examiner comes around. In the most matter-of-fact manner possible I turned their way down the avenue that glorious May morning, nodding to old acquaintances here and there. Yet were we both far enough from the madding crowd. Arrived at the Callandar house, Mrs. Callandar insisted on my remaining for luncheon. I Iqpked at Jessica for my cue—whether to accept or decline —but she persistently kept her eyes averted: however, I remembered that “silence gives consent,” and interpreted it as another good omen. Surely this was going to be the blessedest Sunday I had ever known!

Well, once inside the. house you may imagine what followed. Almost insensibly our steps led us to the old library in the rear extension where, in fact, I had first, asked her to be mine more than five years before. Mrs. Callandar, dear old thing, discreetly vanished upstairs to “take off hsr things.’’ Once we were alone I confess to rather rushing the attack. Resolutely taking Jessica's now ungloved hands in mine—l noteji that the ring, finger was still unringed—l compelled her to listen while I hurriedly poured out tin true story of that prom night. Perhaps my strongest card was. the fact that Estelle Folsom had become Mrs. &crimgeor the year after I went West.

was in my arms once more, our peace was made, and I was kissing'away the tears of happy relief that dimmed the radiance of the dearest eyes on earth. Then the luncheon-bell tingled, and as hand in hand we went down the wide stairs I chuckled gayly: r “Well, it turned out to be the right church for me, sure enough, even if I did get into the wrong pew!”—San Francisco Argonaut.

SWISS TRAMPS FEW.

A Poor Place For the Man Who Doeon’i Want to Work. Switzerland is not a place for tramps, because the man out of employment and who makes no effort to find work is not tolerated for a moment in that country. The district authorities will secure him a job at hard labor and little pay, and such an offer can be refused only under the penalty of going to a penal workhouse. These, lnstitutions are under military - discipline, the work severe, the wages a penny or threepence per day, and release is granted only upon the advice of those in charge. No difficulty is experienced in determining between beggars and unemployed, because all legitimate laborers have papers given them by the district in which they live containing information concerning the position they have held.

In every part of Switzerland are established “relief in kind” stations for the exclusive use of respectable unemployed. Only those are admitted who have had regular work during the previous three months and have been out of employment for at least five days. These men must be on the lookout for work and accept any situation that is offered, because the chronic loafer is soon detected by the police and his papers are marked so that he can never again seek refuge in a “station.”

BUENOS AYRES.

A City With All the Finish of a Paris or a Berlin. Buenos Ayres, the capital of the Argentine Republic, is in some respects the most cosmopolitan city in the world. No important European nation but has contributed its capital and its people to the upbuilding of this great metropolis. It also has the distinction of being the second city of Latin population in the world, being larger than the largest cities in Italy and Spain. There is perhaps no city which exhibits a greater variety of pleasing contemporary styles of domestic architecture. The. city council tries to encourage beautiful building by annual ly offering a gold medal to the architect who is found to have planned the most atractive facade and by freeing from the building tax the building thus favored.

The outward aspect of Buenos Ayres is rather that of a European than of an American capital. It has all the finish of a Paris or a Berlin. The absence of the irregular sky line, caused in North American cities by the extreme height of some business buildings as well as the fact that the ground of the city is quite uniformly build upon, even in the more outlying regions, keeps the city from presenting that unfinished appearance which even our largest cities have.-r World To-day.

Just a Fit.

In the Ex-Libris Journal an amusing anecdote is given of a man anxious for a coat of arms and fortunate in finding one. A second-hand bookseller bought at a country sale some 300 volumes of handsome but unsalable old sermons, books on theology and the like.

He placed a number of these outside his shop. Soon afterward a well dressed man entered and said, “Have you any more of this kind of books with thjs- shield on them?” pointing to the bookplate attached, which bore the arms and name of a good old country family. “That box, sir, is full of books from the same house,” answered the bookseller.

“What do you ask for them?” inquired the man. “I’m going back to Chicago, and I want to take some books, and these will just fit me, name and all. Just you sort out all that have that shield and name, but don’t you send any without that nameplate, for that’s my name, too. I reckon this old fellow with the daggers and roosters might have been related to me some way.”

A Toothsome Revenge.

During the reign of Charles 11., the age of gallantry, it was the custom among gentlemen when they drank a lady’s health in order that they-might do her still more honor to destroy at the same time a part of their clothing. Upon one occasion Sjy Charles Sedley was dining in a tavern and had a particularly fine necktie On, whereupon one of his friends to play him a trick, drank to the health of a certain lady, at the Same time - throwing his necktie in the fire. Of course Sir Charles had to do likewise, but he got even, for not long after that, dining with the same company, he drank the health of a fair one, at the same time ordering a dentist whom he had engaged to be present to pull out a refractory tooth which had been troubling him. Everyone else was obliged in this manner to mourn a molar. Anyway, a square meal is as broad as ft is long.

RELIGIOUS

Work and Rest. O Father, while I live, I pray That I may work from day to day— Work with strong hand and willing mind At little tasks that help mankind.

And Father, when I die, I pray That, as I rise to greet the day, I be not cursed with idle rest, _ But with some heavenly work be blest. —John Haynes Holmes.

A Gift for Mluloni, In the year 1877 Col. Robert G. Ingersoll made an extended tour of the Pacific coast. He spoke in several of the larger cities, and at length arrived at Portland. There - was in the city a certain missionary to the Chinooks. He could not afford a ticket to the lecture, and was greatly disturbed at what he read concerning it. Yet he felt a strong desire to meet Colonel Ingersoll, and a common friend procured a meeting between them.

There was a moment of constraint, relieved by the greater ease of Colonel Ingersoll, who began the conversation by Inquiring concern ing .the work of the missionary. A little mirthfully he questioned him about the advisability of exporting religion, of which there might not be any surplus at home, and inquired, somewhat doubtfully, about the wisdom of a man’s giving his life to a hopeless task in attempting to taach a small and vanishing tribe things of which we ourselves have perhaps less knowledge than we suppose.

The answers of the missionary, however, interested Colonel Ingersoll. He inquired about the “Chinook jargon,” that mongrel speech, made of English, Canadian, French, Chinook and other Indian words, picked up from several tribes, and all softened and modified to suit deficiencies of pronunciation; the r changed into I, after the Chinese manner, and the grammar “made by chopping up words with a tomahawk.”

How could a man preach in a language where one word had to serve as noun, verb and adjective? How could a man of education make himself understood In a language with only four parts of speech and some fragments? How could he tell the story of Peter’s denial in a language which, having only one word for all manner of feathered things, and no verb for the act of crowing, made it necessary for the speaker to imitate the act and sound? How could he tell that Peter swore, in a language that had no verb “to curse,” but had plenty of oaths inherited from traders in various tongues? How could he impart any idea of sacred things in a polyglot of slang? The missionary told him the story of his work —how he preached as best he could in the poor, meager speech of- the people, meantime teaching the children English, encouraging them in useful arts, fighting the vices of civilization as they made inroads among the people, and doing what he could for them as adviser and friend. IT was hard work, and not very encouraging, but it was worth doing, and he was happy in it.

In telling his story thus, encouraged and led on by a man trained and skillful in cross-examination, the missionary unconsciously disclosed many of the hardship and privations which his work entailed upon him. Possibly, and Indeed probably, he had not thought of them seriously as hardships, and therefore he related with telling simplicity the stories of long journeys by canoe and on horseback, of nights in the open, of poor and sometimes revolting food eaten in savage company. There was no word of complaint, nor even the least expression of regret, except for books and papers and magazines missed.

When the -missionary rose to go, Col. Ingersoll took his hand warmly, and said, “I thank you for coming to see me. This interests me very much. It’s good work you are doing; it’s good work. And here, take this. I am not a frequent contributor to missionary work, but I like this.”

Into the missionary’s hand he dropped a bright twenty-dollar gold piece. —Youth’s Companion.

The Purpose of Life. Slowly, through all the universe, the temple of God is being built. Wherever, in any world, a soul, by freewilled disobedience, catches the fire of God’s likeness, it is set into the growing walls, a living stone. When, in your hard fight, in your tiresome drudgery, or in your terrible temptation, ypu catch the purpose of your being, and give yourself to God, and so give Him the chance to give Himself to you, your life, a living stone, is taken up and set into that growing wall. Wherever souls are being tried and ripened, in whatever commonplace and homely ways—there God is hewing out the pillars for His temple. Or, if the stone can only have some vision of the temple of which it is to be a part forever, what patience must fill ft as it feels the blows of the hammer and knows that success for it is simply to let itself be wrought into what shape the Master wills.—Rev. Phillips Brooks, D. D.'

Loving Thy Neighbor. * To love my neighbor as myself is not to rejoice in his companionship, to find In him a congenial comrade, to share with him the same pleasures and the same sorrows, to enjoy the same

pictures or books -or music, to hold the same opinions, to live on the same intellectual t and moral plane. It is to regard his welfare as of equal importance to me with my own. To love my enemy is not to be moved by a passionate devotion toward him; it is not even moderately to like him. It is to be moved by his enmity to wish him not evil but good. Paul has defined what is meant by loving one’s enejpy; “If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink.” Christ has defined what He means by loving one's enemy: “But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.”—Dr. Lyman Abbott. .

Heaven-Sent Opport unit tea. “My Father worketh hitherto and I work.” Our tasks are divine, however insignificant they may seem. The vast majority of human toilers are doingnothlngbrilllant. Thedaylaborer, the overtaxed accountant, the housewife worried with a thousand petty cares and duties, the inte3lestual genius cramped to drudgery that seems comparatively menial, may be tempted to undervalue the dignity of the humble work whereby others are served. But work as work is stamped by Christ with dignity divine. No toil was too menial for Christ. He girded himself with a towel and washed the travel-stained feet of His disciples. The allotment of labor is divinely made: “To every man his work.” "He that is faithful in that which is least, is faithful also in much.” The lowliest tasks come before us as sublime responsibilities, heaven-sent opportunities. "

BAGGING A POLAR BEAR.

To be frozen in for a winter at Cape Bathurst, on the Arctic Ocean, is an experience described in a recent number of Recreation. The ship was on a whaling cruise and was well loaded. They had about sixty dogs, and had secured several carcasses of walrus, and cached them on the ice as food for the dogs. One morning, says the captain, who tells the story, my Indian boy, Neponack, came running up the plank, shouting at the top of his voice that there was a bear near the ship. I am not much of a hunter, but I object to being run over by game; so I always keep a rifle and belt of

cartridges within reach. I grabbed them and started to look for the bear. As I drew near the meat cache I saw a big polar bear, with his head down in the barrel, helping himself vigorously. The whole pack of sixty dogs were leaping, barking and howling about him. Tlie bear paid no attention to them, and they all seemed afraid to take hold of him. I walked up to within a hundred yards and took a shot at old Ursus arcticus.

When the ball hit him he leaped into the air, and as he came down on the ice the entire pack of dogs “lit ■into him.”

The bear let out In all directions with his great paws, and at every blow some poor dog was sent shrieking and spinning across the ice. As soon as the bear had thinned out the pack sufficiently to escape, he struck out across the ice-floe for a bit of open water half a mile away. At that stage of the game there were but three dogs In the whole pack that wanted bear. The others had had more than they cared for. But In a few seconds the race was reversed, and the dogs were coming for the ship as if they had been shot out of a gun, and the bear was after them. This was my chance, and I fired again, and my shot finished him. By this time the whole crew had come out to see the fun. We put a line round the bear’s neck and dragged him on board, where we skinned him.

While the fight was going on, I would have sworn the bear would weigh a ton, but when we got him on deck he seemed to have grown much smaller. Still, he was a goodsized animal.

“Old Hickory.”

The following story is told of how General Andrew Jackson got his title of “Old Hickory.” Captain William Allen, who was a near neighbor of the messed with him during the Creek war. During the campaign the soldiers were moving rapidly to surprise the Indians and were without tents. A cold March wind came on, mingled with sleet, which lasted for several General Jackson got a severe cold, but did not complain, as he tried to sleep in a muddy bottom among his half frozen soldiers. Captain Allen and his brother, John, cut downs stout hickory tree, peeled off the bark and made a covering for the general, who was with difllculty persuaded to crawl under it. The next morning a drunken citizen entered the camp and, seeing the tent, kicked it over. As Jackson crawled from the ruins the toper cried: “Hello, Old Hickory! Come out of your bark and jine us in a drink.” —Detroit News.

New Jersey Losing Income.

New Jersey gets from its oyster beds, but could get 140,000,000 from the same source if the available tide land was property seeded and cultivated. And many a young man doesn’* know he is in love until the girl in the case handn him the information m a diplomatic way.