Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 88, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 April 1910 — Page 3

For The Children

Before They Had Arithmetic. Before they had arithmetic. Or telescopes, or chalk, Or blackboards, maps, and copybooks— When they could only talk: Before Columbus came to show The world geography, What did they teach the little boys Who went to school like me? T'here wasn’t any grammar then, They couldn’t read or spell, For books were not invented yet— I think ’twas .Just as well. There were not any rows of dates, Or laws, or wars, or kings. Or generals, or victories, Or any of those things. There couldn’t have been much t« learn; . There wasn’t much to know, ’Twas nice to be a little boy Ten thousand years ago! For history had not begun. The world was very new, And in the schools, I don’t see what The children had to do. New, always there is more to learn— How history does grow! And every day they find new things They think we ought to know. And if it must go on like this I'm glad I live to-day, For boys ten thousand years from now Will not have time to play! —St. Nicholas. Harriet’s Bureau. Now, Harriet’s grandmother was fond of her, and gave her a charming bureau for her birthday. It was stained green and had bright brass handles, and It looked exceedingly pretty against the pink rose wallpaper of Harriet’s room. And you wouldn’t think a pretty bureau like that would cause Harriet any trouble, would you? But it did, yes indeed it did, and you must be told about it, so that if your grandmother ever gives you a bureau for your birthday you won’t make the mistake Harriet did. Harriet filled the bureau, drawers tidily, and put her best dress and the gulmpe and ribbons that went with it in the lowest drawer. And because she was proud of the little brass key she locked the lowest drawer and put the key in her pocketbook, where she knew it would be safe. After that she went away to visit her grandmother in the country for a day or two, to thank her for her beautiful birthday present.

Now, Harriet was Invited to a party —a perfectly splendid party—on the seventh and as her Aunt Eleanor •was coming down from the country on the morning of the seventh, it was arranged that Harriet should come with her. When she reached home she took a nap before luncheon, to be quite rested for the party, and after luncheon her mother brushed her hair into most beautiful curls and said: "Now, get your party dress and we’ll have you all ready in no time.” "Oh, yes,” said Harriet, "I put it in the lowest drawer of my bureau,” and she sat down on the floor and tugged at the handles. “Oh, I remember, I locked it,” she said, .jumping up. Then all at once her expression changed. “Oh, mother!” she cried, “I put the key in my pocketbook and left the pocketbook at grandmother’s.” “Oh, dear me!” cried her mother, “there’s not another dress you can wear! Your blue is unripped and yous white is in the wash. I’m afraid you can’t go.” < Harriet sank to the floor and was just going to cry when her brother Joe came in. “What’s the trouble?” he asked. And when they told him he said, “Ob, that’s all right; I’ll soon get your dress for you.” And what do you suppose Joe did? I wonder if any of you would have thought of it? He went to the bureau and pulled out the second drawer from the bottom and put his hand into the lowest drawer and brought out Harriet’s best dress. And that’s how Harriet managed to get to the party after all.—Chicago News. Mor nt UK School for Rover.

The King of Hunky-Bunky.

This is a game which sounds very simple, but never fails to ma'ke fun. Select two persons and place them at ■opposite sides of the room, the farther apart the better. Give each a lighted candle and tell them they must not laugh or even smile. They are to advance toward each other very slowly, looking directly into each other's eyes. When they meet in the center of the room, with hands uplifted, in tones of «reat sorrow one says, "The king of Hunky-Hunky is defunct ana dead!”

i The other responds: “Alus, alas! How I died heF The first person, with increased grief, says: "Just so, Just so. Just so.** Then comes the response: "How sad, how sad, how sad!" The couple rarely get beyond announcing that the king is dead before they are off in gales of laughter. A little prize may be awarded the couple who completely finish the message, something that may be divided, like a box of candy or a bunch of flowers. When one couple finishes or fails another pair may be chosen. Flies oh a Card. Cut several small pieces of cardboard about the size of a visiting card and draw six files on each, numbering them from one to six. The object of the game is to see who can first cover all the files by throwing with a die. Each player in turn throws with a die and covers the fly corresponding to the number thrown. He- who covers or kills all the flies first wins. As a variation eighteen pieces can be used, each player throwing three times instead of once. After the first three throws, the game begins to get exciting, as the exact numbers necessary to fill the card are seldom thrown.

“AS CRAZY AS A LOON.”

Old Phrase Seemingly Not a Libel on That Eccentric Bird. One often hears the expression “As crazy as a loon,” and yet I wonder,” says a frlter in St. Nicholas, “how many realize how peculiarly fitting it sometimes is. Of all the birds and animals that have come under my observation I know of none that in any degree approaches the loon for sheer craziness or weirdness. “Evening seems to be the loons’ favorite time for their peculiar behavior. They collect in the middle of a lake, and when they have summoned all of their kind within hearing the ball commences. They raise their bodies half out of water by furiously flapping their wings, at the same time making a most terrific splashing. ■ "They then propel themselves backward and forward, half swimming, half flying, all the while screaming at the top of their voices. They keep this up from ten to fifteen minutes and seem to get a great deal of satisfaction out of it. In the calm of a summer evening, and aided a bit by the echoes, a half dozen loons can make the fellows in a college cheering section hang their heads for shame.

“The loon is not only crazy acting, but at times is very aggravating. Perhaps, for Instance, after a hard day you are sitting by the camp fire, quietly smoking and at peace with the whole world; suddenly there breaks upon your ears the most blood-curdling scream, followed by heartrending cries. Your first thought is that there is a child being murdered or a woman in distress and you start to your feet. Then you realize that it is only a loon. “Or, perhaps, having turned in, you are sleeping the sleep that comes only in the pine-scented north. Again you start and wake as you hear a long, mournful cry echoing through the forest, and Involuntarily exclaim ‘wolves!’ There is a grunt and the sleepy voice of your guide comes from the depth of his blankets: ‘Non, m’sieu’; loon.' “In the morning a hunter rises bent on vengeance for his broken repose and resolves to destroy the fiend as he sits mirrored in the lake. Although the modern cartridge and rifle gives no warning of the shot, as did the oldfashioned flintlock with its ‘flash in the pan,’ nevertheless, the loon nearly every time seems to know just when the bullet is coming and dives just in time to escape. Immediately after the discharge of the rifle the loon is serenely up again, its mocking laughter being but an added Irritation. On the whole, he seems rather to enjoy the performance. “As a diver the loon excels, and naturally, for it is his means of livelihood. Not only is he marvelously quick but he can remain under water for a seemingly endless time. In swimming under water he uses both wings and feet and can go for several hundred yards in this fashion. The loon, like many other water fowls, sleeps on the water, with his head tucked under hla wing. “Several summers ago a friend of mine while camped on Lake Klamika was out for an early morning paddle. Out on the lake he espied a sleeping loon, and by dint of careful paddling he actually succeeded .in approaching and capturing him. Proud of his cap ture, he took the loon ashore and tethered him to a stake. The loon struggled at first, but after a while seemed to become reconciled. All went well until nightfill. Then the loon set up such a hideous outcry and kept it up so persistently that before morning he had earned his freedom."

The Pets of a Queen.

The queen of England has many animal pets in Sandringham, which is her favorite residence. She has twenty dogs, including three prize Pekinese, the Chinese importation which has become so popular recently with society women in England, and which J. P. Morgan now is breeding with all the enthusiasm which a few years ago give him the world’s champion kennel of collies. The queen Also is a fancier of collies and owns several splendid animals. She has cats in Sandringham, birds and ponies. She goes there as often as possible, and is becoming more and more attached to it. She is never happier than when she can escape to her pets from" the stfff court formality of Windsor palace. >1...... . When a woman becomes so angry that she can’t talk she begins to think she has acquired wonderful self-con-trol. If you would please your friends, keep your Roubles under cover. t

Smiles of the Day

Sudden Stop*. , Bill—You see, when something happens to the engine an aeroplane doesn’t stop as soon as an automobile does. Jill—No; but when the aeroplane does stop, everybody in it is apt to know it. —Yonkers Statesman. Our J«brv«la. “The paper states that eggs have gone up $2 a carat.” “A carat?” “Oh, pshaw! I read it wrong. It’s |2 a ctate.”—Louisville Courier-Jour-nal. I;.; Cautioua. He —My income is five thousand dollars. She—-How much more than that do you think it will be safe for us to spend?—Life. Go to the Head! “Now, children,” asked the teacher, “what is the use of a calendar?” "Please, mum,” answered Willie, “it tells where you’d orter git yer life insured.” —Cleveland Leader. A Sad Coming to Earth Again.

“Great snakes, old boy! Wotcher bln doin’. Playing football?” “Nd. I took the girl for a trip In my aeroplane, and when I proposed she threw me over.”—ldeas. The Answer. “The porter on the Pullman I came In on laughed at one of my funny stories. until he dislocated his jaw.” “Laughed at one of your funny stories?” “That’s what I said.” “These porters will do anything to get a tip."—Houston Post. time. Knicker —Time brings strange changes. Bocker —Yes; the boy whose mother can’t make him wash his neck grows up to be a rich man who goes abroad for baths. ===== Make the Tati Tell. - “Nellie,” said the teacher, “you may tell me how to make a Maltese cross.” “Step on its tall,” answered Nellie promptly.—Everybody’s. A. Motto Disproved. “What broke up your theatrical company?” “The playwright Introduced a line that was sure of a big round of applause. The leading man, the leading woman, the comedian, and in fact everybody, insisted on having the op portunity to speak it. The result was * general quarrel.” "And what was the line?” “ 'There’s glory enough to go ’round.”’—Washington Star. The Habit Grew. Mary went to church for her first time. During the senmon she said aloud to her mother: “I feel sleepy.” Frightened at the sound of her own voice she exclaimed, "Oh, dear, I spoke in church——” “Oh, I spoke again ” “Why, I keep speaking all the time!" —The Delineator. Preferred the Den.

Lion-Tamer’s Wise —Why- didn’t you eome home last night, you coward? Art’s Distraction. “Music," said the enthusiast, “leads the human mind away from every sordid care.” “Maybe it does,” replied the impressario, "but I never yet found the music that would take an opera singer’s mind off her salary.”—Washington Star. A Bad Boy's Balt. “Why is Jimmie Jinks so willing to let his mother cut his hair?” "It leads the other boys on to make fun of him, and when he whips them he can say they started it.”—Washington Star. Souls with Different Thought*. She (reminiscing)—Don't; you remember, dear, that lovely gorge up in the White mountains? He —At the Hawthorne? Say, that was about the swellest feed I ever tucked In.—Boston Transcript. «, Out off the Frying Pan. Beacon—So Penn-Heck wants to go to congress, does he? HM1 —Said he’d be willing to go most anywhere to get away from home a while.—Boston Herald. Busily Explained. ■' "Strange,” murmured the editor, “that this anecdote of George Washington has never been in print before." “Not at all,” exclaimed the occasional contributor, “I only thought of it last night.”—-Louisville Courier-Jour-nal

His Beat Manners. "You boy over in the corner.” Thus the brutal examiner to the most nervous looking pupil In the class. The boy over in the corner shot up like a bolt. "Answer this,” continued the examiner, “Do we eat the flesh of the whale?” "Y-y-yes, sir,” faltered the scholar. “And what,” pursued the examiner, "do we do with the bones?” "P-please, sir,” responded the nervous one, with chattering teeth, “we 1-leave ’em on the s-s-sldes of our p-plates.”—Answers. Where Else Would You Find Them! A Washington man while visiting a friend’s place in Virginia became much interested in his experiments in fruit culture. One day the visitor was making the rounds of the place, being in charge of the friend’s young daughter of 10, who acted as guide. “This tree seems to be loaded with apples,” observed the Washingtonian, indicating a particularly fine specimen. “Yes, sir,” assented the child, “father says this is a good year for apples.” "I am glad to hear that,” said the visitor. “Are all your trees as full of apples as this one?” “No, sir,” explained the girl, “only the apple trees.”—Delineator. ,: Paying for an Illusion. “Great heavens! She’s married—to another!” “Calm yourself, old chap. I thought you bad ceased to love her.” “Well, I have. But I am still paying the Installments on the ring I gave her a year ago.”—Toledo Blade. Not Afraid of Slipping. Michael Dugan, a Journeyman plumber, was sent by his employer to the Hightower mansion to repair a gas leak in the drawing room. When the butler admitted him he said to Dugan: “You are requested to be careful of the floors. They have just been polished.” i «“They’s no danger iv me slippin’ on thim,” replied Dugan. "I hov spikes in me shoes.”—Lippincotts. Exactness. “So your little girl objects to saying ‘Now I lay me down to sleep’?” “Yes. She is a truthful child, and we have been living in a room near an elevated railroad in New York, where nobody could sleep.”—Washington Star.

“Why are you so sad?” “My wife has been ordered to the country for three months.” “I understand.” “No, you don’t; she won’t go.”— Fllegende Blaetter. A Shrewd Fellow. “You say he is a financial genius?” “He is. He frequently talks his wife into letting- him spend some of tht| money he makes.” —Kansas City Jour-> nal. Mlaunderatood. “It was the widow’s sighs that captured him.” “Size nothing! She isn’t bigger than a pint of peanuts! It was the size of the life Insurance she collected.”— Houston Post. When the Trouble Began. “A couple,” said Mrs. Simpkins, “got married a few days ago after a courtship which had lasted fifty years.” “I suppose,” replied Mr. Simpkins, “the poor old man had become too feeble to hold out any longer.”—lllustrated Bits. Sad Work. “I see where a man who never smiled is dead." “What business was he in?” “He wrote ragtime music.” “Ah! That explains a great deal.”—• Birmingham Age-Herald. A Queer Dot, "It takes all kinds of people to make a world." —t"Including the people who applaud at a moving picture show.”—Birmingham Age-Herald. A Boaton Pnn. Scott—My corns actually seem to know when it’s going to rain. Mott—Wise achers, as it were.—Boston Transcript. Happy Deaplte It. “Ever since they have been married they trot around like two spring lambs.” "Yes. Both of them believe that matrimony is a gambol.”—St. Louis Star. v In Motor Parlance. “Noticed any signs of spring In your automobile Jaunts about the parks?” “Well, I see the 1910 models in jonquils are out.” —Louisville CourierJournal. The Struggle tor Attention. “Why did you call your novel ‘A Promissory Note’?” "Because that’s the oniy thing I could think of that somebody is* sure to read With interest"—Washington Star.

WHEN ILL, DON’T EAT

Much Virtue In Short Fasts and in Boycotting Breakfast. My panacea for every ill to which my flesh is heir is fasting. I prefer short fasts, repeated frequently, says Elizabeth Towne in the Nautilus. Twenty-four to fifty-six hours I Would call a short fast. Sixty hours is the longest I have ever gone without food. If I had some specific disease to overcome I should certainly turn to long fasts as the cure. I would begin by fasting for thirtysix hours once every week. Later I would take two or three days’ fast once in a couple of weeks, repeating several times. After I had accustomed my system to this, so thoroughly that I would feel better when fasting than when eating regularly, I would start out on a long fast. I would keep up this fast until my mouth watered for food. When this symptom came, I would eat again, beginning very moderately, and Fletcherizing to the limit. After a few weeks I would start in again for a long fast, and keep it up until nature gave the signal for eating. This signal is always a real hunger, accompanied by watering of the mouth. The ordinary run of people never feel real hunger—they don?t know what it is like. Not until you have fasted a while does nature have a chance to teach you her really delightful signal for more grub. Try it!' William and I always remind me of Jack Spratt and his wife. One of us is thin and the other is not. I leave you to guess which. But we both find fasting the only preventive and cure for all ills to which the sedentary one is heir. By the way, I just heard of a very large woman who reduced her flesh thirty-five pounds in a few months by fasting from breakfast. William and I have eaten no breakfast for more than ten years (excepting a very light and occasional one if we happened to- be visiting). That makes about 3,650 breakfasts we have missed. I don’t know what William would look like if he had eaten all those breakfasts, but I am sure that I should be weighing at least 2.50 by this time. No breakfast is simply a short fast every day. Here is my vote for the boycott on meat. William’s, too. And here is my vote for the boycott on breakfasts. William’s, too —though I found, some orange peel this morning alongside of the editorial he had been writing.

Why She Cried.

Miss Muriel Million was sitting alofie. With a very disconsolate air; Her fluffy blue tea gown was fastened awry, And frowsy and rumpled her hair. “Oh, what is the matter?” I said, In alarm, “I beg you in me to confide;”. , But she buried her face in her kerchief of lace And she cried, and she cried, and she cried. “Come out for a spin in the new motorcar, The motor-boat waits at the pier; Or let’s take a drive In the sunshiny park Or a canter on horseback, my dear.” ’Twas thus that I coaxed her in loverlike tones As I tenderly knelt at her side; But, refusing all comfort, she pushed me away, , While she cried, and she cried, and she cried. “Pray whisper, my darling, this terrible woe; You know I would love you the same If the millions of papa had vanished in smoke And you hadn’t a cent to your name. If you came to the church In a garment of rags I would wed you .with rapturous pride." She nestled her cheek to my shoulder at this, Though she cried, and she cried, and — she cried. “You know,” she exclaimed. In a piteous wall, “That love of a hat that I wore— The one with- pink roses and chiffon behind And a fluffy pink feather betore!— I paid Madame Modiste a flver for that, And our parlor maid. Flora Mcßride, Has got one just like it for fifteen-and-six!” And she cried, and she cried, and she cried. -Tit-Bits.

Fowl Fashion.

Dame Fashion now cries “Chantecler,” And modistes all will boost her, And so each hen, to be in style, Will look just like a rooster. Oh, woman, woman, hard thy lot. Your troubles how they thicken, For years men have called you "duck," Now must they tall you “chicken”? —Brooklyn Times.

Inspiring Credit.

"Why do you persist in having muddy boots?” inquired the fastidious friend. “I’m disguising myself as a fanner,” replied Mr. Biggins. “I want people to think that I am prosperous.”— Washington Star.

Familiar Harbingers.

“Noticed any signs of spring as yet?” “Yes; the robins have begun preliminary practice out our way, and a few early ball-players have been seen hopping around.” —Louisville CourierJournal.

Got an Injunction.

“I this the limit.” ' ’’How much?” , “A young cub has enjoined me from interfering with his attentions to my daughter.** LouisvHte Courier-Jour* nal. .. -

WON THE CROW’S CONFIDENCE.

Pleaanre * Wisconsin Woman Finds in Tamln* Wild Birds. That there is pleasure to be gained from the homeliest of nature’s creations —that a world of Joy and affection may be derived from even the loud-voiced crow—may be doubted by many, but there is at least one Milwaukee woman who can vouch for the truth of the assertion, says the Sentinel of that city. Mrs. A C. Clas, always a nature lover and especially fond of birds of the forest, expects upon returning to the family’s summer home this season to find there the pets of the wild that she taught to love her last season/ Three crows, named the “Three Black Joes,” were among her collection of pets last summer and to her call, “Hoo, hoo. Black Joe!” they would fly to her, perching upon her head and shoulders, regardless of coiffure and gowns. As she worked in garden or arbor the crows would follow her about at times, trying to talk to her. They learned to follow her to and fro from the train as she went to and returned from the city. “The baby crows were crying at the highest point of a pine tree when I first saw them,” said Mrs. Clas. “They were deserted and I had them brought down to me. People do not realize what a great thing it is to have a wild creature have absolute confidence in them and become as fearless as a domestic creature.” Later the bluejay was added to the collection. The crows were shot by some hunter who did not know the sorrow his deed caused. The bluejay was left alone, provided with an ample store of food for the winter, but Mrs. Clas Is confident he will be at the summer home when she returns, and that many other birds will join the household before the summer ends.

THE CUBE OF NANTERRE.

When an old man is obstinate, he can be very obstinate indeed. Such was the case with the vicar of Nanterre, M. Delaumosne, wife died only recently at the age of 97, keeping to the last his freshness and the full use of his faculties —to say nothing of his obstinacy. The cardinal had for a long time been trying to get him to retire, and without success, says Le Figaro. The last attempt was made by a special ambassador from his eminence, who was sent with the orders to bring back M. Deloumosne’s resignation. He was received the vicar with the greatest courtesy and asked to stay to share the vicar’s modest supper. The visitor accepted, thinking that there would be plenty of time to transact his business later. The good vicar proposed a walk, before supper, in order to whet the appetite. Together they set out, and soon came to a cemetery, where the vicar lost no time in exhibiting his tomb, already prepared, with the following inscription: M. le chanolne Delaumosne Ne en 1812 Mort Cure de Nanterre le ..... .... . The date of his death, as might be expected, was left blank. The ambassador from the cardinal understood. He supped, and departed as he had come. The vicar was never again asked to resign. M. Delaumosne was, as may be guessed, a really original man. Once, speaking in his church to some pilgrims who had come from different parts of the diocese to honor St. Genevieve, he began as follows: “People from Puteaux, from Courbevole, from Paris, and the other suburbs of. Nanterre * •

Poor Goat.

There was a goat in our town And he was wondrous thin. And yet wherever food was, he Was always butting in. And when he found the food was gone. He never acted blue — He merely ate the dishes, and He ate the table, too. He ate a family washing and The clothesline at a bite; And then he ate a whetstone, just To whet his appetite. Re might have been there, eating yet. But that’s an open question— He ajte a box of breakfast food And died of indigestion! —Cleveland Leader. • -

A Rush for Solitude.

“What are you going to do with that shotgun?” “Goin’ huntin’," answered Farmer Corntoesei, as he slammed the front gate behind him. "But you never kill anything.” “Don’t want to. All I’m huntin’ is peace and quiet."—Washington Star.

A Change Desired.

Mr. Grouch —These biscuits of yours are like rocks. What do you take me fpr. an ostrich? Mrs. Grouch —I wish you were, my dear; then maybe I could get same feathers for my new spring hat— Judge.

Three Guesses.

Mabel —George was dreadfully perfumed when he called last night 1 wonder what was the reason? Maude —Gin, onions or gasoline?— Cleveland Plain Dealer. _ When a young couple are engaged people don’t pay any attention to their foolish actions. The uncertainties of the strenuous life make it interesting.