Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 101, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 April 1916 — Page 3

Kin Hubbard Essays

"Is Your Daughter Singin’ th’ Reignin’ Hits o’ th’ Day While Some Buddin" Lothario Sets Unhandcuffed in th’ Same Room?”

When I stand idly by an’ watch th’ tango er set thro’ a modern play I can’t help thinkin’ how fer we’ve traveled since th’ days when th’ mere mention o’ “Th’ Black Crook’' caused th’ ole-time mother t’ turn purple with shame. Jest think o’ th’ hug, kiss an’ cuddle songs o’ t’day an’ th’ dear ole ballads o’ yisterday—songs like “Only a Pansy Blossom,’’ “Ther’s a Letter in th’ Candle,” “Meet Me by Moonlight Alone,” “Mollie Darlin’,” “Sweet Genevieve,” “My Ole Kentucky Home,” “Sweet Violets," “Suwanee .River,” an’ “In th’ Gloamin’, Oh, My Darlin’.” Th’ ole songs inspired sentiment an’ patriotism—they were songs that brought out th’ best that wuz in us, ballads that caused burnin’ tears an’ tender emotions. After th’ ole-time beau listened t’ a couple o’ verses o’ “In th’ Gloamin’,” or “Take Back Your Heart,” his brain whirled with lofty thoughts an’ he wuz perfectly safe t’ have around. Ther’s nothin’ about “Sweet Genevieve” or “Silver Threads, ’ or any o’ th’ ole songs, t’ inspire home wreckin’. T’day our parlors are thrown open t’ an appallin’ list o’ “tremendous metroplltan hits” an’ no questions are asked. Fer instance: (Allegro Moderate.) “Most ever’ feller a girl some day Some little girl who steals his heart away. You leave your dearest friends t’ take th’ girlie home, Give up all you own t’ be alone. You’ve got a chance t’ press her t’ , your heart, But you’ve just met th’ girl an’ you’re afraid t’ start. Ther’s your parlor, lights are lbw,

Professor Alex Tansey, who has. mastered three tongues an’ been divorced once, discussed th’ woman in th’ home before th’ Art Embroidery club yisterday afternoon an’ said: Girls marry jest th’ same as boys join th’ Reg’lar Army. They have no thought or knowledge o’ th’ warfare ahead. They jest want t’ git away from home. A girl ’ll go with a feller an’ jest because they both love movin’ pictures or chop suey she thinks she’s found her affinity an’ she sets about t’ land him. A girl is purty slick. She’ll agree with ever’thing a feller says durin’ th’ the ater goin’ stage. She’ll even excuse cloves or knit him a purple necktie if he shows a disposition t’ study her every wish, an’ when th’ weddin’ ceremony is performed she’ll promise t’ love, honor an’ obey jest as th’ trap is sprung an’ swing off int’

“No Matter How Wise a Feller Is He’s Liable t’ Git Taken in on Any One o’ Them, fer Ther Is no Way in th’ World t’ Git a Line on a Girl Till It’s Too Late t’ Kick Out.”

eternity .with a cold blooded fabrication on her full red lips. A connubial partnership is jest like ia business partnership. Once in a l while we find a“ firm that’s been in 'business fer many years because both have pulled t’gether. When one member o’ a flrm wants t’ swing on th’ awnin’ ropes an’ look purty while his partner does th’ work a split up soon toilers. Sometimes a business man ’ll advertise fer a partner with capital an’ no experience, an’ lots o’ girls are lookin’ fer th’ same thing. 6 O’ course ther’s no such animal as th’ ideal wife. Men an’ women alike have ther short comin’s. Ther’s all kinds o’ wives. Ther’s th’ stylish dresser who hates children; poor bread makers who are swell mothers; gilt edKed cake bakers who never flust th’ planner; highly Intellectual wives who can’t manage ther hair; lovin’ 'wives who want t’ boll everything; ■purty wives who don’t want t' git up; .sensible wives who can’t see anything Jfunny; pop’lar wives who are never at home; lovin’ wives who don't

SONGS O’ TODAY

By KIN HU B BARD.

Th’ Ideal Woman

If you had any sense you ought t’ know — (Chorus) All th’ time she’s waitin’ fer you t’ hold her, All th’ time she’s hopin’ you’ll git bolder, All th’ time, all th’ time—she’s waitin’ fer some kissin’ Oh boy! Oh boy! look at th’ fun you’re missin’. All th’ time she’s givin’ you chances But you never make a move or show a sign, She’s gittin’ closer inch by inch, If you move over it’s a cinch’, She's waitin’ fer you t’ love her all th’ time.” Here's th' chorus of another “terrific hit” that’s findin’ instant favor in our most exclusive homes. It is full o’ inspiration an’ designed especially t’ cause th’ average youth t’ spring upon his prey long ere th’ last line o’ th’ chorus has died away: “Come up t’night my honey, come up t’night, Whisle so I’ll know it’s you (Whistle). Come up t’night an’ wear your lovemakin’ clothes An’ I’ll find a cozy corner nobuddy knows.” Here’s another sample illustrative of what is termed a “parlor hit” an’ it’s enough t’ make a segar Indian topple from grace: “Hoo ray! Hoo ray! I’m eighteen years ole t’day an’ have never been kissed. Ma tells me I’m ole enough. Pa tells me I’m bold enough, So put your arms around me, I insist." Is your daughter singin’ th’ reignin’ hits o’ th’ day while some buddin’ Lothario sets unhandcufted in th’ same room?

want t’ wear a belt; college wives who can’t sew an’ silly wives who make you tired. No matter how wise a feller is he’s liable t’ git taken in on any one o’ them, fer ther is no way in th’ world t’ git a line on a girl till it’s too late t’ kick out. Some wives never give ther husbands a pleasant look unless ther havin’ somethin’ sent home on approval. It costs a feller twice as much t’ make up with his wife as he saves by refusin’ her somethin’. No matter how long a feller has lived with his wife some new an’ unexpected phase o’ her character ’ll pop out ever’day. Some early sage has remarked that it is fer better t’ spend one whole Sunday in Urbana, Ohio, than it is t’ spend two minutes with a contentious woman. He could have substituted ideal fer contentions an’ extended th’

stay in Urbana without injury t’ his reputation fer wisdom. Fer how long would a strong, able-bodied man live with anything as tame an’ uneventful as an ideal wife? Who’d want t’ boss or kick one? A feller would feel like a brute livin’ with an’ ideal wife. (Protected by Adams Newspaper Service.)

True Friend to the Cause.

By mistake a farmer had got aboard a car reserved for a party of Princeton graduates, who were returning to their alma mater for some special event. There was a large quantity of refreshments on the car, and the farmer was allowed to join the others. Finally someone asked him: “Are you an alumnus?” “No,"said the old man, earnestly, “but I believe In It."—Harper’s Magazine.

Mulcted, Anyhow.

“You say you were not speeding?" “No, your honor. I was going down hin send lost control of my car." “In that case the fine win be >10." “But what for, your honor?” “Coasting a public highway.”

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN. RENSSELAER, IND.

FOOL AND ANGEL

By IZOLA FORRESTER.

(Copyright, 1918, by the McClure Newspa- ; per Syndicate.) I Perhaps it was the interminable piano playing of the girl downstairs in the back parlor, perhaps it was only curiosity. Eaton never analyzed the motive that made him bite at Billie Tanguay’s April-fool bait. The main point was that he swallowed it, hook and line. “Eaton, have you seen it?” Billie called at his door about nine. “Seen what? He raised his head from the engineering plans on the table under the leaky student lamp. “Airship. Seems to be making for the Long Island shore, crossing from Jersey. If you hurry you can get a look.” Eaton hurried. He was in the second floor back room. It took about a minute and a half for him to reach the roof, and then as he stood alone, gazing hopefully up at the star-dotted heavens, he heard the sliding of the roof door over its ladder, the locking and Billie’s cheerful challenge: “Happy dreams. April fool!” Even then there was nothing tragic about the situation. It was merely ridiculous, and no one cares to be made ridiculous even in one’s own eyes. Eaton walked about the roof rather philosophically before the novelty of roofs began to interest him. Their house was one of a long row of tall brownstone dwellings in the West Fifties, near Sixth avenue, New York city. They were old-fashioned enough. Hence the ladder and trapdoor entrance. They all appeared to be about the same. Eaton noticed he stood on the third from the end of the row, after which came a space, he could not tell how wide, and a higher roof on the corner building. And even as he watched he saw a man emerge from the small cabinlike exit, run to the edge of the roof and take the jump to the next one. Almost immediately there followed a shot, and Eaton stepped, with natural caution, behind a group of tall cnim-ney-pots. The man had hidden behind a neighboring group, and as a policeman came in sight on the first roof he shot at him, turned and ran directly toward* Eaton’s shelter. As he dropped behind it, he said huskily over his shoulder: ; “Beat it kid, I can hold him. Here.” He handed over something wrapped iclumsily in a handkerchief, a black silk one. And even as he did so, there came another shot, and he rolled over on the graveled roof and lay quite still. The policeman was calling out something to him, Eaton knew. He seemed to want him to come nearer. Hatless, young, thoroughly confident, he stepped ever the -brick dividing- sectlons and came to the space between. It was too wide to leap unless one were running for life like the man* who lay behind the red chimney-pots. I “I live in 160,” said Eaton. “They’ve locked me out for a joke—”

I And then the most peculiar thing happened. Out of the trapdoor from No. 164 there exuded men, another policeman and some plain clothes men, and they seized Thomas W. Eaton without any warning dr apology, took the untidy handkerchief bundle out of his grasp and hustled him downstairs past shrinking, shadowy forms and down into the street. He heard one of them say disgustedly that his pal had been faking. When they went after his body it had gone from behind the red chimneypots. Vaguely sensing a growing personal indignation, Eaton was glad he had made a getaway. He kept repeating firmly: “I am Thomas W. Eaton of 160. Yoh can ask anyone living there who I _ „ amr—“You’re Slimsy Louis all right,” the man who held his arm retorted so positively that Eaton felt that until he had corroboration, it was usless to argue the point. Then he found himself being pushed up the steps at the corner house, up the elevator to the fourth floor and then into a splendidly furnished apartment, facing the policeman who had fired the two shots and the loveliest girl Eaton had ever laid eyes on All in pink negligee she was, with her long, dark hair unbound, and her eyes wide with horror at her experience. With her hands pressed to her face she looked at Eaton, but shook her head: “He wasn’t here. It was a short, dark man with a mustache.” *. “This one had the jewels in his hand when we got him,” they told her. Eaton saw the handkerchief opened and Inside was a glittering handful of diamonds and other gems, set in rings and trinkets. One necklace, he noticed, was of pearls. The girl glanced at them and nodded her head. “They’re all there, but this is not the other man.” “Then there were three of them —” began a policeman “I am Thomas W. Eaton,” began the prisoner again, with a certain quiet dignity and firmness he always used in emergencies. "I live at 160 —” “What were you doing on that roof, then?” ' “I went up to look at an airship—” He paused at the laugh of derision from the men, and only looked at the girl herself, explaining to her just how it was. “And it was just an April fool joke. The boys over at 160 slammed ;the trapdoo r shut and locked me but. I heard a shot, and stepped behind the chimney. A man leaped from this root to the row, and made for my shelter. He evidently mistook me for his confederate, and handed me the bundle-"

The nearest policeman patted his shoulder. . "Louis, you’re improving,” he said pleasantly. “You can tell that all to the judge. Come on.” “Oh, wait, please, just a minute," said the girl. "I really do think I have seen him around here quite often. I’m going to telephone 160.” So she remembered him. Eaton felt a curious thrill of keen interest. He had seen her at different times in the neighborhood, in the drug store at the corner of Sixth avenue, at the elevated station three blocks down, in the florist’s where the art students bought spring blossoms for their window sills. He had seen her, and had connected her in his mind with wealth and the magic circle of social security. She was telephoning to 160. He could imagine the flustered state of Mrs. Rawlinson, his landlady, when she heard her most exemplary boarder stood in danger of a prison cell. But, no, the girl was only asking if a Mr. Thomas W. Eaton- lived at 160. It appeared that he did, but he was not in. She turned to the police with a little smile of relief, and just a shade of pride, too. “I was sure it was a mistake. Mr. Eaton’s friend, Mr. Tanguay, will be over at once to Identify him.” Mr. Tanguay arrived inside of three minutes. His hair was rumpled recklessly, and his eyes round with astonishment. But he was straightforward and had no difficulty in convincing the guardians of the law that Eaton was a harmless citizen. “And It’S a mighty lucky thing, I should say,” added Billie earnestly, “that Mr. Eaton happened to be on the roof at just the psychological moment. He got the thief’s whole pile, didn’t he?” “And it does seem to me,” added Viola quickly, “that Instead of staying here guarding Mr. Eaton, wouldn’t it really be better to try to catch the real criminal?” She stood for a few moments there in the softly lighted hall, after the men had gone down the step, and Billie lingered at the door. “They were all my mother’s jewels that I loved and could never have replaced,” she told him gently. “I think it was almost providential, Mr. Eaton, your happening to be on the roof at just that moment. You must call tomorrow and meet mother. I have let her sleep through this awful trouble tonight. Good night.” “Shall you call?” asked Billie when they started for 160. “I’m going to marry her, if she’ll have me,” answered Eaton grimly. “Billie, you tried to make an April fool out of me, old man, but I landed in .paradise.”

PUTS BLAME ON THE MOON

Veteran Ends Argument as to the Canff Pnn+lal Fnlip—of Sun. The partial eclipse of the sun was the subject of conversation in the little grocery store, where a number of villagers sat about the stove awaiting the early bedtime. A A man happened to be present who was well versed in the subject under discussion, and he was asked to exr plain the curious phenomenon of an eclipse. He pointed out that the moon simply came between the earth and the sun, and blotted out from view a part of the sun’s surface. “Wai,” remarked an old veteran, as he unburdened his mouth of a deluge of tobacco juice, “it sure is a pity the moon wasn’t full, ’cause then we’d \ad a total eclipse.”—lndianapolis News.

Protection of Game Birds.

In the case of State vs. McCulUgh, reported from Kansas, the court declares unconstitutional a federal statute for protection of migratory game birds. There have been three other rulings on similar statutes before, two of which agree and one dissents from the Kansas case. The opinion says in part: “The natural flight of wild fowl from one point to another does not constitute ‘commerce,’ unless that word be expanded beyond any significance heretofore given it. Whatever other element may be spared from a definition of this term, it has not been heretofore directed or affected by human intelligence. But, if the fact were otherwise, the circumstances that birds of a particular species do not habitually remain throughout the year in the same state could hardly bring them within the control of congress on the theory that they were thereby impressed with a national character as the subject of interstate commerce. ... The habit of migration does not vest in the federal government the title to the animal possessing it. Wild animals are declared to be subject to the control of the state —to belong to the people of the state —and the rule has been repeatedly applied to migratory birds.”

Foolish Anxiety.

“Dubwaite seems greatly perturbed because some joy riders live in his neighborhood.” “Well, it’s none of his affair if they should happen to break their necks some night.” “Of course not. Still, Dubwaite is one of. those unfortunate individuals who actually believes that he is his brother’s keeper.”

So It Is.

"According to the author of this novel, the heroine didn’t understand the tragedy of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ until she herself fell in love.” “That strikes me as a round-about way to interpret Shakespeare.”

The Oldest Town in America

Typical Indian Village in New Mexico.

THREE hundred and sixty-six years ago the intrepid Spaniard Coronado’inarched a little army northward from Mexico across the deserts of Sonora and Arizona until in what is now the western part of the state of New Mexico, he found and conquered and occupied a group of Pueblo Indian towns whose fame had reached him under the designation of the “Seven Cities of Cibola,” or Zuni. As the years went on one or another of the seven allied towns was abandoned and its inhabitants moved to the central one of the group, Halona, “Place of the Ants.” For over two hundred years now, the whole Zuni tribe has concentrated itself in this settlement which is to Americans as the Pueblo Zuni, and to its inhabitants as Ittiwawa, “The Middle Place,” for in native belief its site marks the exact center of the earth, writes A. L. Kroeber, professor of anthropology in the University of California, in the -American Museum Journal. With the possible exception of two or three other Pueblo settlements, Zuni is thus the oldest inhabited town in the United States, far surpassing in antiquity Jamestown, Plymouth and other early English settlements, as well as Sante Fe and St. Augustine of Spanish foundation. The tribe numbers 1,600 souls or as many as it could nuster after it had gathered itself together after the first disastrous shock of Spanish contact. The houses are still built in the prehistoric way of stone masonry, mortared and plastered with clay, and rise densely clustered, terraced one above the other to a height of four or five stories. Live Life of Long Ago. The life too of the Zuni, runs in the current of long ago. They have borrowed from the American his shirt and his overalls, and have learned to like his coffee and sugar, his bacon and wheat flour. Sheep and donkeys they obtained long since from the Spaniards, and many today can boast -of owning horses and wagons. But inwardly and in all his relations with other Indians, the Zuni is still purely aboriginal. He does not know whether today is Sunday or Wednesday, whether it is January or July; or what the American names of the store keepper, missionary and government agent are. He knows these people by nicknames which he or some friend has given them, and he reckons time by the number of days to the next ceremonial dance ordained by his priests. He supports himself as his forefathers of the Immemorial long ago did, through raising corn by hand culture in sandy patches where it would seem that the grain would not even sprout. In the middle of the plaza around which his town is built stands a decaying, roofless and gutted Catholic church, which his forefathers built of adobe under the direction of Spanish missionaries; but two centuries of Christian regime have not influenced the inward spirit of the Zuni. He knew that soldiers stood back of the priest and therefore he obeyed him, yet he hardened his heart against him; and no sooner did Spanish and Mexican authority relax than the Indian quietly shook off the hateful yoke of imposed religion, and reverted openly to the ancient native ceremonials which he and his had kept alive by secret practices in hidden underground rooms within fifty yards of the walls of the missioii. Such tremendously tenacious conservatism has kept the Zuni substantially where they were before Columbus discovered America. They are not hostile to Americans, in fact their native code of politeness requires that every one should be treated with courtesy. They are merely indifferent to ourselves. All that every Zuni asks is that he should be left alone to support himself, to practice his religion, and to live his life as his fathers did, without interfering with anyone and without being interfered with.

It is no wonder then that these remarkable people have long attracted extraordinary attention from anthropologists and students of the aboriginal. Frank Hamilton Cushing, whose genius in certain directions has never been equaled among any of his colleagues, took up his residence at Zuni nearly forty years ago, and became in every reuse a full member of the tribe, looked on as such by the Zuni themselves. He took part in their war expeditions against the hated Apache and Navaho raiders; became a member ofone of the six sacred Kivas, and was initiated Into the religious society of the priests of the bow. A host of other students have followed fnhis footsteps and the list of anthropologists who have visited Zuni Includes most of the eminent names . In America, such as Powell, McGee and Mrs. Stevenson, to mention only some of those no longer living, as well

as Tylor and other famous foreigners. Know Little of These People. With all this study accomplished, one has however to be at Zuni only a few days before being aware that our knowledge of the life of the people is very incomplete; in fact that in many respects the ground has scarcely been scratched. Mrs. Stevenson for instance has published a quarto volume four inches thick on the ceremonies and religious system of the Zuni, yet any tourist in a week can see rituals enacted with full pomp to which she barely alludes. It is not that the studies that have been made are in their nature superficial. In fact many of the published accounts are intensive in their detail. It is the Zuni life of culture that for all its aboriginality, is so intricately complex that no volume however thick could hold all that is to be said about any one of its several phases. No one knows exactly, but there must be nearly two hundred gods and mythological characters that are impersonated by distinctively masked and costumed dancers. There is not a month, and at certain seasons not a week, without a public dance in the town, and at no time a day without some sort of religious ritual. The family life of the Zuni is lived precisely as if no white man had yet set foot on American soil. The people are divided into sixteen clans each named after an animal or plant Descent in these clans is not from the father as we inherit our names and as titles and royal succession descend in Europe, but from the mother. A Zuni is of his mother’s clan but he recognizes his relationship to his father’s people by calling himself the child of his father’s clan. Along with taking precedence over the men in carrying the group names, the women own the houses. A .man may, by the labor of his own hands, erect a new house for his wife, from quarrying the rock to laying the roof, while she does nothing more than plaster the walls; yet let a divorce and separation take place, and the property unquestioningly belongs to her. The Zuni are as monogamous a people as we. They look with repugnance not only upon polygamy, but also upon subsequent marriage with*, a former wife’s sister or relative. At the same time, divorce is easy. Persons have only to separate. A man tired of his wife leaves her. For a woman the procedure is not quite so simple owing to her property right in the house; but at that, she need only nag and abuse her husband until he takes his little bundle of clothes and returns to his natal home., If misplaced affection or stubbornness prevent him from taking the hint, she can have recourse to the more drastic method of simply installing his chosen successor, in which case nothing remains fqr the deposed husband but to leave quietly. It would certainly seem as if the Zuni had long ago achieved for themselves some of the most radical portions of even the ultra-feministic program.

Perfect Ventilation Scarce.

Absolute dryness and perfect ventilation, the two conditions necessary for the prevention of rot and decay in building timbers, are seldom, if ever, obtained. To ventilate the floor and wall construction of a house properly would render it a veritable firetrap, through which fire, once started, would sweep from top to bottom and end to end. Therefore the only practical solution of the problem is to adequately protect and ventilate those timbers that come in contact with masonry or are exposed to ground moisture. All timbers In contact with masonry should be heavily coated with asphalt or tar. The seepage of air through the cracks and joints of the framing will usually be sufficient to ventilate the inclosed timbers of walls and floors.

Concentrated Cider.

Two new products of surplus and cull apples are described In the last annual report of the United States bureau of chemistry. In manufacturing concentrated cider the apple juice 18 frozen solid and the block of ice is crushed and placed in a centrifugal machine which removes the concentrated cider, leaving the ice behind. The product, when diluted with water, has practically the flavor and qualities of the original apple juice. The concentrated cider ferments very slowly at refrigerator temperatures, but at room temperatures ferments In a few weeks. It is, of course much cheaper to transport than ordinary cider. Cider sirup is made by clarifying and boiling down apple juice, and it is said to ba of value for table use. For motorists a cap has been invented that carries in its front an incandescent lamp supplied with current by dry batteries within ths cap.