Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 91, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 April 1910 — Page 2

IN THE SOLITUDE OF THE CITY. Night; 1 and' the sound of voices tn the street. Night; and the happy laughter where they meet. The glad boy lover and the trystlng girl. But thou—but thou—l can not find thee, sweet. Night; and far off the lighted pavements roar. Night; and the dark of sorrow keeps my door. I reach my hand out trembling In the dark. Thy hand comes not with comfort any more. O, silent, unresponding. If these fears Lie not, nor other wisdom come with years, No day shall dawn for me without regret, 4 No night go unaccompanied by my tears. —Charles G. D. Roberts,

LEISHA’S CHOICE

“Who is there?” The door buret open on the words, ***6 Leisha stood on the narrow porch, swinging a leather strap against her short skirt Her eyes lighted with merriment on the visitor who had swung from his horse, and tapped the step with his whip to attract her attention. At his eager Inquiry, she shook her head. "Not to-day, Dan,” she said gently. "To-morrow?” "Well—er—perhaps.” His face clouded. “You haven't been riding with me lately," he said slowly. "It’s that Bandon?* He bit off the last savagely. "Now, Dan! Not jealous? No, you are too big for that” She hesitated, qngering the strap in her hand. "I am going down to Hilton with <tMr. Randon to-day,” she said at last, adding hastily, “I will go with you to-morrow, Dan, sure. Up to the old place.” He turned In silence, and mounted his horse very slowly. The girl ran out to him, and put up a pleading hand. “Oross?” she queried gently. “We are too good friends to quarrel." "No," he said shortly; then he reached suddenly for her hand and crushed It fiercely. "Till to-morrow,” he said and put-

SHE WAS FILLED WITH IRREPRESSIBLE JOY.

ting spurs to his horse, he rode off down the trail. Leisha watched him out of sight, then turning slowly, she went back to the house. An hour later she was off with Random "A rare bonnie lad,” old Nelson had dubbed the latter, for the square of his shoulders, the set of his head, the clear cut of his features were pleasant to look upon. One knew at a glance that he did not belong here, yet he rode a broncho. and wielded a lasso with the best of them. His weeks in the open had tanned his skull and strengthened his muscles. To the grace of his personality he had added the strength of primitive man, a combination fatal to the heart of woman. Leisha thrilled as she looked up at his straight figure. The significance of that day was very obvious to her. She was to meet Randon's mother and sister, and see the manner in which they lived in Hilton. Next week they would return to their home in New York, and Randon, his health recovered, would go back to business there. They came into town about noon. It was a mushroom western town, sprung up over night in a plain below the hill*. At one end was a group of white vfitaa, with tiny strips of lawn and wide, cool awnings. To the mountainbred girl they were palatial, and her Instinctive refinement rose to meet the occasion. She summoned the manners of her eastern schooldays to her assistance as they swept up before the most pretentious of the villas. Mrs. Randon came out to meet them and the girl crimsoned before the patronising curiosity of her gaze. “This is Miss Fenton,” said Randon, and there was pride in his tones. The girl felt the chilling reserve in his mother’s response, and her face grew hotter. She thought of her short, rough skirt and high, stout boots. She did not know how bright her eyes were, how pink her cheeks, how her u» curled up in tempting curves, and I her brows arched in penciled lines against her forehead. Randon’s sister was better. She was a frank, happy girl, but Leisha quailed before the unconscious ease of her manner, the elegant simplicity of her dress. They had luncheon in the cool, ex* quisite dining room. Randon sat beside his guest and sought to put her

at her ease, but In these surroundings he. too, had assumed terrifying proportions and she did not breathe freely till they were well on their way back. And then he told her what she had long suspected; that he loved her. "I don’t know,” she faltered, “I cannot tell you now. I think I am a little confused.” His answering glance was quizzically tender. "I understand,” he said gently. “1 will wait till Friday.” When, he lifted her from her horse, he pushed back her curls and kissed herr forehead. "I will wait till Friday,” he repeated, and was off, a brave, bright picture of self-assurance. It was early when Dan came for her In the morning, aW>dew hardly dry on the grass. His face was very stern, a contrast to her own mood of gayety. For some reason she was filled with bubbling, Irrepressible joy. She alternately sang and chaffed the silent figure at her side, her laughter echoing far down the trail before them. In the place they had known for years they tethered the horses, and stood on the wide, western country which swept beneath the ledge on which their feet were resting. Struck dumb by the grandeur about her, the girl’s mood of laughter

fleß. Leaning one shoulder against a projecting boulder, the man looked down at the thoughtful little face beside him. "Leisha,” he said, and the voice held a note of resignation that did not escape her, "I’ve thought it over and I guess I haven’t anything to offer with Randon. He can give you everything, while I—it'll be this always, most like* ly. But I want to tell you this, Leisha, seems as if I must tell you this just once, I love you, girl, I love you.” With a sudden gesture he caught her shoulders in either hand and looked down at her with all the fierce intensity of rough, young passion. To Leisha came the vision of Mrs. Randon, supercilious, condescending. The walls of the splendid house seemed suddenly to lower about and smothered her. She raised her head and there was the country she loved, the face she had always known and trusted, and with a little laugh that was a half sob, she laid her cheek against Dan’s shoulder.—Boston Post.

To See by Wire.

"To see at a distance, as we now hear, by means of the ’ telephone, la the claim for the Invention made by the Anderson brothers,” says a Copenhagen letter in a Paris paper. The patents are for “an apparatus for the transmission of pictures by wire, showing color and motion.” The brothers could not 6btain money in their own country to defray the expenses of preparing working models and procuring patents, but they were helped by a Parisian concern, which paid 80,000 francs for all the rights and has agreed to pay also eight per cent bn the earnings resulting from the invention.

He Is Posted.

“The man who really knows how to order steers a middle course. He doesn’t demand |5 worth of ham and eggs.” x / "I see.” “Nor does Me call for a 10-cent portion of terrapin.”—Louisville CourierJournal. After a man passes fifty, he is pretty fortunate if he doesn ! t find more acquaintances on the tombstones in the cemetery than he finds on the door, plates in town. As you get older there is always something to worry about.

HAVING "PHOTO" TAKEN

Motives of Vanity That Push Many People, Mostly Women, Through the Ordeal. WEARY ROUND OF STUDIOS. "H Barbarous Methods Employed by the Photographer Which Should Be Abolished. It is extraordinary that women more often than men submit themselves Into the hands of professional photographers, says an exchange. It is extraordinary for the reason that personal appearance Is to women a matter of far greater Importance than it is to men. The shock felt by a man when he sees what » photographer has made of him Is far less acute than the shock a woman feels In like case. But why, even so, should he ever let the photographer make anything of him at all? There is no charm in the actual process of being photographed. Your heart does not throb with rapture when you are conducted into'that little anteroom and left there to consult the mirror and see, whether your hair and your necktie be not disordered. Your instinct is to make a dash for freedom. Too late! You find yourself led into the studio, where the air is thick partly with the gloom and the h*eart flutterlngs of ycjur predecessors, and partly with the amiable efforts of the photographer to put you at your ease. With the air of desperate nonchalance you subside on the carven chair which he indicates. You are told that your attitude is “perfect;” you must be taken “just as you are.” For a moment you feel that you have • been rather clever; but “chin a little mqre up,” and various other injunctions, enforced by gentle prods and tugs which you have* not the spirit to resent; and, just when you have conjured a little animation into your face, the back of your head is firmly enclipped in an instrument kept for that purpose; and so you remain, trying not to blink, and with all youth and hope withered within you, while the photographer counts the seconds of your ordeal. The only photographs that are tolerable are the photographs of people one has never seen. Over the old albums I can pore with delight. I like those “cartes-de-vislte" in which not yet had photography slipped the grand manner of Sir Thomas Lawrence. T like the marble column and the looped curtain of velvet and the balustrade and the bosky park behind this or that whiskered and peg-top-trousered gentleman who holds firmly in his hand a scroll of paper. I like, too, this and that lady leaning across a rustic stile, with the forefinger of one hand pressed pensively to her cheek. As a record of costume photographs are admirable and amusing. As a record of what the wearers of those costumes really look like, they are quite negligible. It would be great good fun to have albums even older than those of which I have spoken. But if all the illustrious figures in history had been photographed the mystery that is a part of their charm would not be violated. T should like to see the cartes-de-Visite of Leonardo da Vinci, Shakespeare, Nell Gwynne, Socrates, Valasquez, Joan of Arc, Julius Caesar and so on. But I should not then be one whit the wiser as to the actual semblance of these folk. t

“THE IMMORTAL J. N.”

Hia Wonderfol Library in Ohio Ta Knpidly Falling; Into Decay. Hidden away in the most unlikely place in the world, a shabby, woefully prosaic little cottage in a country town, is a library unique and so valuable that to wander among its ancient tomes and fondle their ponderous clasps and worm-eaten pages would plunge the ordinary bibliomaniac into what Robert Louis Stevenson calls "a fine, dizzy, joy.” Since there is no real reason for preserving the secret forever inviolate, let it be told that the village is McCutchenville, in Wyandotte County, Ohio, and the owner of the library Mrs. Elias Cooley, M. J. Thrall says in the Pittsburg Dispatch. While this name may not convey any especial significance, Mrs. Cooley is the sister of the late Jacob Newman Free, better known as the Immortal J. N., and the last surviving member of an extraordinary family. The Immortal J. N. was one of the most eccentric and at the same time pathetic creatures who ever lived in Ohio. He first came into public notice at the time of the Civil War by means of his frequent journeys between Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis for the purpose of “removing the pressure"—l. e., restoring peace. Through overstudy and brooding over the tragedy of the rebellion he had become mentally unsound, and through *ll the rest of his long life he remained resolved upon one thing, “to lift the pressure.” To-day this splendid library is piled in confusion in the little McCutchenville cottage in mute testimony of his erudition. In the old home one side of the front room from floor to ceiling was lined with volumes and the table in front of the shelves was heaped with them.,- The collection numbers about one thousand volumes. They are printed in many languages—in Latin, Greek, German. French, Hebrew, Sanskrit and Chinese. Some of them data

as far back as the middle of tn* sixteenth century. They are stanch old tomes, but the worms have bored their Aheat little tunnels quite through the heavy bindings of wood and leather. Some are pierced In this way from cover to cover and a few are gnawed by the rats. One book dated 1570 and written in Latin contains the works of "Euslbius, bishop of Csesarla, In Palestine.” /The covers aye a quarter of an inch thick and covered with leather and the front is closed with metal clasps. Anothei similar in date and binding is devoted to the works of Chrysostum. A sixteenth century Bible is over, two feet long. The front cover and back are torn off and reVeal the method of binding. The works of Justin, the philosopher and martyr, printed In Constantinople in 1686, are a curious commingling of Latin and Greek; and Is abundantly interlined with notes in the same languages.

BEDOUIN GENEROSITY.

When Homer Davenport was about four years of age he began to draw pictures of Arabian horses. When he was in his early teens he cherished a tin can bearing a label with a very beautiful picture of an Arab horse, and always he wished very much to go to the desert and bring home an Arab horse. In his book, “My Quest of the Arab Horse,” he tells of accomplishing his ambition, and the romantic way in which a wonderful Arabian mare became his. It was in Aleppo, and Mr. Davenport was paying his respects to Akmet Haffez, the ruling prince of all the desert. Ameene, our interpreter, spoke, and told him why our sudden call was made. The dignified old gentleman then learned that we were the people who had been in Antioch three nights before. “These, then,” he asked, “are the people, one of whom has an irade from the Sultan of Turkey, and letters from the one great sheik of all the Amerio tribes?” “Yes,” he was told. The old man’s eyes filled with tears as he looked at me, and his slaves and, secretaries grew more interested, when, turning toward Ameene, he said: “Then you have called on me before calling on the Governor of Aleppo and Syria. No such honor Was ever paid to a Bedouin before, and if I should live to be one hundred years old, my smallest slave would honor me more for this visit.” - It was difficult to find exactly the right thing to say through an interpreter, but this fine old Bedouin was equal to the occasion. Repressing his emotion, he said, with a deprecating smile: “But, after ' J fill, you have not come here to see men. Better than that, you have come to see horses, and I should be selfish if I kept you longer from seeing the greatest mare of our country, the war-mare of the great Pashem Bey.” As I advanced to take his hand, he graciously waved me back. All this time the old shedk was talking in an emotional voice to the interpreter. I looked upon Ameene to explain. I saw the interpreter’s face grow full of astonishment, and turning to me, he said: “He wants you to take his hand, but not unless you can accept the great war-mare as his present to*you, with the Bedouin boy that now holds her. Hq» name is to remain the same— Wadduda. He hopes that when you speak the name it will bear living witness of his love to you,_ and that the gift and its acceptance will be the forming of a friendship, and later of a brotherhood, that will never end.” I was so much concerned at this that I asked Ameene if I could accept such a present. The interpreter told me that under ordinary circumstances I could not, but under these conditions I would Insult Akmet if I did not comply with his wish. - • • So I accepted the mare and the hand of brotherhood, and the old Bedouin ruler seemed very happy.

A Tough Job.

The professor in the agricultural college was lecturing to his class upon the wonderful advance of science In utilizing the eo-called waste products of nature. “Without taking Into account,” he said, “the work of our ‘wizards,’ who can convert the thorny cactus into an edible plant, effect a permanent change In the color, size and taste of a berry or any other kind of fruit, and all within the space of a few years, chemistry has shown us that the sage brush and other weeds heretofore considered worse than useless contain valuable substances which can be extracted in sufficient quantity to pay for raising them. "Our most advanced Investigators are coming rapidly to the conclusion that there Is nothing useless in nature, and that everything that grows or exists can be pressed into the service of mankind.” „ ■ *"i nen, professor,”' enthusiastically exclaimed one of the boys in the class, “perhaps they’ll find a use some day for the Ben Davis apple!”

Often Happens.

"I guess I made a mistake. I wouldn't paint a doorstep for the old tenant.” “Well?’ V “And now I’ve ‘got to paint the entire house, for the new tenant.”—Louisville Courier-Journal. Think it over: How many people have treated you right In everything? If you can think of more than one, you are lucky.

OLD COINS RISING IN VALUE.

Collator* Paying High Price* so» Special Denomination*. The advance in value of rare American gold coins is strikingly manifested by a comparison of the prices paid recently and in the period between 1860 and 1895. For some reason collectors formerly took little interest in coins struck In? gold. It was not that the investment ’required was too great, for they paid high prices for the early rare American cents, but they did not seem to fancy gold coins, ana what are now considered the greatest coin rarities went for the proverbial song, says an exchange. One of the pest illustrations of the advance is shown by the price brought this year by the two unique SSO gold pieces for which W. H. Woodin of New York paid the world’s record price of SIO,OOO each, an exchange says. Veteral dealers In coins declare that it Is by no means an exaggeration to say that in 1877, the year of the issue of the SSO pieces mentioned, very few collectors would have bought them at their bullion value in gold for SIOO. This statement is borne out by the records of coin sales in the latter part of the ’7os. Some of the rarest of the gold pattern coins, in" which series the SSO pieces are classed, sold then for little more than face value. Now the same coins would bring a hundred times as much. One of the rarest of American gold coins Is the $5 gold piece made by the private minting firm of Dubosq A Co. at San Francisco in 1850. In 1884 a specimenof this coin offered at auction brought only $6.40. That was the last and only time the Dubosq $5 piece has been offered for sale. As a matter of fact, the specimen sold Is the only one of which there is any record. Even the mint cabinet at Philadelphia does not contain one of these pieces. It is not known where this solitary specimen is now. Its value *can only be guessed at.

KAISER’S BUSINESS APTITUDE.

Now Pushing u*e of Output of Potteries for Building Purpose*. The Emperor has recently- shown himself to be an excellent business man by the energetic and efficient way in which he has pushed the sale of the manufacture’s of the pottery works at Cadinen, which belong to him. These pottery works, whejre majolica is the’ principal article have been the Kaiser’s private property for several years, and his Majesty personally supervises their management Apart from acting as managing director of the the London Standard says, his Majesty also contrives to stimulate the sale of these manufactures among his friends and wealthy men. Recently majolica from the imperial potteries was used to decorate the hall and staircases of a new home at Danzig, and the Emperor, hearing of this, announced his intention of going to see the new building. The two Berlin architects who had designed the decorations-were ordered to be there to receive his Majesty. The Kaiser, on entering the house and seeing his majolica, said: “The purveyor comes to visit his patron.” After ascertaining by personal observation that the use to which majolica is put in this house opens an entirely new field, the Kaiser commanded the architect, Herr Lesser, to visit him in Berlin in order to explain matters to him more fully. It is now announced that in consequence of the royal visit to the house in Danzig, several builders of new houses in Berlin have decided to use imperial majolica for their decorations. The result is that there is a “boom” in majolica from the imperial potteries at Cadinen. The Kaiser’s wares are in high favor, and new customers are sending in orders day by day.

Taxes in Old England.

For taxes out of the common one must turn back to the days of George 111., tjjp London Chronicle says. For in the reign of that monarch one was almost forced to “die beyond one’s means.” The army and the navy were in urgent need of money, and the chancellor was at his wits’ end. He thought df the dead and gravely suggested a tax on coffins. Which proposal recalls the day when one could not be born without involving a proud parent in a tax. A graduated tax. The birth of an eldest son, for instance, cost a duke as much as £3O, whereas a cottager was forced to pay only 2 shillings. To be born with a silver spoon in the mouth cost money In those days. Not only was there once a 'tax on. hair powder, but hair itself has been called upon to pay its due share to the revenue. For.beards were, at various times, taxed in England. Henry VIII. graduated his levy according to the status of the wearer, of Canterbury, for instance, having to pay 3s 4d for his beard, and Elizabeth fixed the same sum for every beard of over a fortnight’s growth..

Planning a Future.

“I’m going to have my boy learn electrical engineering, chemistry, physics and law and incidentally' take a course in physical culture that will enable him to endure all sorts of expos ure and muscular strain.” “Great Scott! What for?” “1 want him to be ab'ie to run hli own automobile.”—Washington Star. The meanest man in the world is the man who imposes on you because you are kind to-him. People who are kind to you are so rare that you should appreciate' them and not rimpose on them. ' n ' It might be better for the world in general if happiness and shiftlessness didn’t so often travel together.

BITS FOR BOOKWORMS

The last of the three books by Marlon Crawford which were left unpublished at. the time of their author’s death is called “The Undesirable Governess.” It is described as “a story that could only be written by one who is thoroughly familiar with English life and English traits,” and of a quite different character from the novels which Mr. Crawford had previously written. Rider Haggard Is just now engaged upon two books that have to do with the experiences in love and war. In youth and early middle life, of a certain late Mr. Allan Quatermain, as related in MSB of his that have been discovered recently. .Mr. Haggard has ready “Morning Star,” a romance of ancient Egypt that deals with the love story and strange adventures of one of that country’s queens. This book will be followed by “Queen Sheba’s Ring,” at present appearing serially in an English magazine. Gertrude Atherton’s new story, “Tower of Ivory,” is concerned with a young Englishman of good family, much ability and a rather indolent temperament, who marries a beautiful American girl and is at the same time drawn almost irresistibly by the fascination of a great prima donna. Mrs. Atherton presents in her story a view of Munich that will be entirely new to the thousands of American and English who have visited the city only as passing tourists. She has lived much in Munich and her knowledge of the city is revealed in all that she ~ writes of it. With London she is, of course, thoroughly familiar, and her skill in providing a shifting background with a great variety of characters from different nations should give her new story distinction and interest. ‘T’he Education of the Child,” which orginally appeared as a chapter in Ellen Key’s “Century of the Child,” has just been published in a separata volume. Not leaving the child in peace is, according to the author, the greatest evil of the present day. A grown man would become insane if joking Titans treated him for a single day as a child is treated for a year. A child should never be pushed into notice, never compelled to endure caresses, never overwhelmed with kisses, which ordinarily torment him and are often the cause of sexual hyperthesia. Instead of beating a crying child one should isolate him, for if the reason for such Isolation is explained to him in the child’s mind a basis is laid for the experience that one .must be alone when one makes oneself unpleasant to other people. Jean Aicard, who wrote that droll story of Provence, “The Diverting Adventures of Maurin,” has recently been elected a member of the French Academy. An anecdote is being told of his first visit as an Academician to President Fallieres. The President received M. Aicard and the Academician who accompanied him in a drawing room the temperature of which was little above freezing. The two visitors being dressed in their Academy uniforms were exceedingly uncomfortable,but the President did not order the well laid fire lighted in the grate. At last M. Aicard edged over to the mantelpiece, and striking a match said to the President, “You will allow me?” The President hastily arose, thus signifying that the Interview was at an end. M. Alcard’s adventure may be included in a new book in which Maurin will make a wonderful story out of a reception of a new Academician by a President of France.

PLEADS FOR CONSERVATION.

Magaitne Sara Work of Saving N*. tlonal Domain la Urgent. The cause of forest conservation, with its colossal problems, must not be allowed to become a football of factional or personal ambitions, says the' Century; it needs all the friends it can win, of all shades of party or parparticularly in congress, to which now falls the great responsibility of en acting into law the unmistakable demands of public sentiment. Much of this work is urgent. Legal safeguards should be established to prevent such worngs as the endeavor to take up coal lands worth $2,000,000,000 by one person by means of proxies; the use of water power should be so defined and regulated as to preserve the right of the people without impairing the normal development of the west; the reclamation service, which is making the desert blossom as the rose, Should be carefully fostered and protected against political and private greed; the whole system of river and harbor development should be placed on a business Instead of a political basis; and last, but not least, let us repeat It, the president, congress and the governors and legislatures of the states should address themselves at once to the need, so often set forth in these columns, of a co-operative plan to save from destruction the forests of the upper reaches of the whole Appalachian range.

Individually Insignificant.

Mrs. Newlywed—Notice how small all my bills are, dear? - Mr. Newlywed—lndeed I do, darling! How do you manage? Mrs. Newlywed—l buy our things at a lot of different stores.—Yonkers Statesman.