Jasper County Democrat, Volume 2, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 September 1899 — Page 6

Worth the Winning.

By The Duchess.

CHAPTER X. Long since the moon has mounted the heavens; now it is at its full. A myriad •tars keep company with it, the hush of sleeping nature pays homage to it. SolManly, slowly, from the old belfry tower the twelve strokes of midnight have rounded on the air. Vera, rising cautiously from beside Griselda, who is, as usual, sleeping the sleep •f the just, slips gently on to the bare white across which the moonbeams are traveling delicately. Sleep has deserted her. Weary at last *f her efforts to lose herself and her hateful thoughts in unconsciousness, she determines to rise and try what study may do for her. She steps lightly across the room, opens the door and speeds with all haste over the corridor, gaunt and ghostly in the dim light, down the grand old staircase, and enters a room on the left •f the library, where one day she made the discovery that comfort was to be found. Striking a match, she lights a lamp upon a side table and proceeds to examine the book shelves. Taking down one that she thinks will please her, Vera kneels upon one of the deep window •eats, looks outward, trying to pierce the •oft and scented gloom. The opening of the door rouses her. It is quite an hour later—nn hour forgotten By her ns she read. With a sudden start •he looks up, turning her face over her •boulder to the door, to see who can be Coming in at this unholy hour. Her heart grows cold within her as she sees —Benton Dysart! In silence they stare at each other. Vera, indeed, so great is her astonishaaeat. forgets to rise, but sits there curled up among her furs, with a little frozen Baek of fear and detestation on her perfect face. “I have disturbed you,” says Seaton st last, breaking the spell, and speaking th a distinctly unnatural tone. “I did hope I should have found privacy somewhere, at some hoar,” says •he, coldly. “I came for a book," says ho, contritekr. “Now that 1 am here, will you perA.aait me to say a terf words in my own defense?” “Oh, defense!” says she, with undisguised scorn. “Certainly. I would prove to you how •atirely you have wronged me," says he, Irmly “I acknowledge that once my father expressed a wish that I should marry you,” coloring darkly, “always provided you were willing to accept me; and I”—slowly—“acceded to that wish.” “Hut why, why?” demands she, flashing round at him. “I do not wonder at your question. It seems impossible there should be a reason,” replies he, coldly; “for ever since the first hour we met you have treated me with uniform unfriendliness, I had almost said discourtesy.” “There is a reason, nevertheless,” says •he, hotly. She has come a step or two •earer to him, and her large, lustrous •yes, uplifted, seem to look defiance into bis. “Your reason I can fathom —but your father’s —that, I confess, puzzles me. Why should he, whose god is money, •hoose the penniless daughter of the brother he defrauded to be ” “Defrauded?" interrupts Seaton, with a frown. “Coll it what you will,” with an expressive gesture of her hand—"undertake bis defense, too; but the fact remains that the iniquitous deed that gave to your father what should have been ours was undoubtedly drawn up by my uncle. I have beard all about it a hundred times. Your father hardly denied it to mine when last writing to him. His taking as home to live with him was, I suppose, n sort of reparation. To marry me to you, and thus give me back the property he stole—is that a reparation, too?” She is as pale as death, and the hands tij.it cliug to the back of the chair near her are trembling. But her lips are firm ■nd her eyes flashing. It occurs to Seaton, gazing at her in breathless silence, that if she could have exterminated him then and there by a look she would have 4oßC.it.

“You. degrade yourself nud me when you talk like that,” says Seaton, who is •ow as pale as she is. “For heaven’s Mike, try to remember how abominably you misrepresent the whole thing. If my father had a freak of this kind in his bead—* desire to see you married to his •nly soi»—surely there was no discourtesy to you contained in such a desire. It was rather—you must see that—a well-meant arrangement on his part. It was more,” boldly. “He lores me; in wishing to see you my wife he paid you the highest •otnpiiment he could. I defy you to regard it in any other light.” “You plead his cause well—it is your •wu,” says she, tapping the back of the ♦hair with taper, angry fingers. “Why take the trouble? Do you think you can bring me to view the case in a lenient ■ght? Am I likely to forget that you—you aided and abetted your father in trytug to force me into this detested marriage*’ “Pray put that marriage out of your lead,” says he, slowly. “You have taken M too seriously. I assure you I would not marry you now if you were as willing as you are unwilling, I can hardly put it stronger.” “When my grandfather left this property to your father,” <he says, slowly, “he left It purposely unentailed. Your fattier, then, were you to cross his wishes, could leave you, as I have been left, penniless. To avoid that, you would fall in with any of his views. You would •ven so far sacrifice yourself as to —maray mef’ Oh, the contempt in her tone! There is a long pause. Then Seaton, striding forward, seizes her by bsth arms and turns her more directly to the light. The grasp of his hands is as a vise, and —afterward—lt seemed to her that be had, involuntarily, as It were, shaken her slightly. “How dare you?” he says, in a low.

concentrated tone. She can see that his face Is very white, and that it is with difficulty he restrains himself; she is conscious, too, perhaps, of feeling a little frightened. Then he puts her quickly from him and turns away. “Pshaw, you are not worth it!” he says, his manner full of the most intense self-contempt. CHAPTER XI. A gleam of moonlight coming through the open window puts the lamp to shame, and compels Vera’s attention. How sweet, how heavenly fair the garden seems, wrapped in those pale, cold beams! She can see it from where she sits on the deep, cushioned seat of the old-fashioned window, and a longing to rise and go into it, to feel the tender night-wind beating on her b«rning forehead, takes possession of her. Catching up a light shawl to cover the evening gown she wears, she steals, carefully as might a guilty soul, by Griselda’s bed, along the dusky corridor, down the staircase, and past the servants’ quarters, where a light under Mrs. Grunch’s door warns her that that remorseless foe has as yet refused to surrender herself to slumber.

A small door leading into the garden is close to this, and moving swiftly up the narrow stone passage that brings her to it she opens the door, and so closing it after her that she can regain the house at any moment, she turns to find herself alone in the exquisite perfumed silence of the nighty How long she thus gives herself up to the sweet new enjoyment of life she hardly knows until she hears the ancient belfry clock telling the midnight hour. It startles her. Has she Indeed been here so long? What if Griselda should wake and be alarmed for her? She moves quickly in the direction of the house, and at last, regaining the inner garden, begins to think her pleasant sojourn at an end. She has neared the shrubberies and involuntarily turns her glance their way as they lie upon her left; involuntarily, too, she seeks to pierce the darkness that envelops them, when she stops, and presses her hand convulsively to her breast. Who is. it—what is it, moving there, in the mysterious gloom? "Don’t be frightened. It is I, Seaton,” says a most unwelcome voice. “Ah!" she says. She is angry beyond doubt, and still further angered by the knowledge that there is more of relief than coldness in the simple exclamation. "I bad no idea you were here at all,” she says, faintly, after a pause that has grown sufficiently long to be awkward. “I am afraid 1 have startled you. If I had known I should not, of course, have come here.” "You make it very hard for me,” she says, with a touch of passionate impatience. “That is unjust," says he, roused in turn. “To make your life easier is my heart's desire.” “Are you succeeding, do you think? Does it,” with gathering scorn, “make my part smoother, when you compel me to see that you stay away, or only come here at hours inconvenient to you, because—because of me?” She turns aside sharply, and walks a step or two away from him. Somehow at this instant, the growing chill of the early night seems to strike more sharply on her senses, and a shiver not to be suppressed stirs her whole frame. “You are cold,” he exclaims, coming up to her with a hasty stride. “What madness it is, your being out at this hour! Come, come back to the house.” She agrees silently to this proposition, and follows him across the grass to the small oaken door that had given her egress—only to find it barred against her! Seaton, having tried it, glances at her in mute dismay. “Crunch must have fastened it, on her way to bed. The bolt is drawn," says he, slowly. “Do you mean that I can't get in?” asks she, as if unable to credit so terrible an announcement. “Oh, I dare say it can’t be so bad as that," hastily. “Only,” hesitating, as if hardly knowing how to explain, “the front door is of course locked and chained, and the servants, with the exception of Grunch, all asleep at the top of the house; a late arrangement of my father’s, as the original servants’ quarters lie below. I am afraid, therefore, that if we knocked forever, it would have* no effect. However, I can try to do something, but in the meantime you must not stay out here in the cold.” “You may feel it cold. I don’t,” returns she .perversely. “Not so long as the moonlight lasts, shall 1 find it lonely either. I,” raising her unfriendly, beautiful eyes to his—"l assure you I shall be quite happy out here, even though I stay till the day dawns and tjie doors are open again.” “ ‘Happy!' ” As he repeats her word he looks at her with a keen scrutiny. “A word out of place, surely; given the best conditions, I hardly dare to believe you' could ever be ‘happy’ at Greycourt.” “Happy or unhappy,” says she, with quick resentment, her mind being distressed by thia awkward fear of having to pass the night from under any roof, “surely it can be nothing to you! Why affect an interest in one who ia as hateful to you as I am?” A little fire has fallen into her tone, and there is ill-sup-pressed contempt in the eyes she lifts to his. Perhaps he is driven by It into an anger that leads to his betrayal. “Hateful to me! Do you think you are that, Vera?” says he, in a low tone, but one full of fierce and sudden passion—passion long suppressed. “Do you honestly believe that?” His manner Is al- 1 most violent, and as he speaks he catches both her hands in his, and crushes them vehemently against his breast “I would to heaven,” he says, miserably, “that that wera aoP’

As If stupefied by surpriiw, Vera stands motionless, her hands lying passively ia his. She is aware that he la'looking at her, with a new, wild, strange expression in his eyes, but a horrible sense of being powerless to resist him numbs all her being. And suddenly, as she struggles with herself, he bends over her, and without warning lifts her hands and presses warm, fervent kisses on the small, cold hands. Then she is aroused Indeed from her odd lethargy, and by a sharp movement wrenches herself free. “Don’t,” she cries, faintly: “it is insufferable! I cannot bear it! Have you no sense of honor left?” Her tone calms him, but something within him revolts against the idea of apology. He loves her— let her know it. He will not go back from that, though her scorn slay him. “There is nothing dishonorable,” he says, steadily. “I love you; I am glad you know it. Despise me If yon can, reject me as I know you will, I am still the better for the thought that I have laid bare to you all my heart. And now—you cannot stay here,” he goes on quickly, as though fearing to wait for her next words; “the night is cold and damp. There is the summer house over there,” pointing in its direction; “go and rest there, till I call you.” Vera hastens to the shelter suggested, and sinking down upon the one seat it contains, a round rustic chair in the last stage of decay, gives way to the overpowering fatigue that for the last hour has been oppressing her. Reluctantly she does this, and quite unconsciously. Obstinately determined to fight sleep to the last, she presently succumbs to that kindly tyrant, and falls into one of the most delicious slumbers she has ever yet enjoyed. How long it lasts she never knows, but when next she opens her eyes with a nervous start, the first flush of rosy dawn is flooding hill and valley and sea. Something lying at her feet disturbs all her preconceived fancies. It must have slipped from her when she rose. Regarding it more earnestly, she acknowledges unwillingly that it is Seaton’s coat, a light gray one. When she was asleep, lost to all knowledge of friend or foe, then he had come and placed that coat across her shoulders. Her eyes are large and languid with sleep broken and unsatisfied, her soft hair lies ruffled on her low, broad brow. She looks timidly, nervously, around her as one expecting anything but good; her whole air is shrinking, and her whole self altogether lovely. To the young man standing in his shirtsleeves, half hidden among the laurels and looking at her, with admiration generously mixed with melancholy in his glance, she seems the very incarnation of all things desirable. He presses her hand and hurries her over the short, dewy grass into the shrubberies that form an effectual screen from all observation of those in the garden beyond, and so on until they come to the small oaken doorway through which she had passed last night, and which has proved more foe than friend. Once'inside the longed-for portal, her first impulse is a natural one; it is to run as fast as her feet can carry her to her own room. (To be continued.)

COACHMAN KEPT HIS DIGNITY.

Incidentally Hia Employer J'ad His Way in a Roundabout Fashion. This is one of the many stories that are floating about town concerning a man very well known In the capital, who is spending the summer in England, says the Washington Post. He has taken a country house over there for the season, and is living a grand seigneur with a troop of dear only knows how many servants. These English servants, so their American master has discovered, are quite unlike the menials to whom he is accustomed in his own country. They are specialists. Each one of them is hired for some one particular work, and professional etiquette forbids them to trespass on each other’s preserves. How strictly they keep them each to his own work the American did not know till, sauntering idly out of the house one day, he espied a watering can, which had been left by a gardener at a little distance from the mansion on the ed.ge of the drive. It occurred to him that it would be amusing to play at being a gardener. He would water the flowers himself. So, calling to a man servant, who happened to be passing, he bade him fetch the watering can. The man straightened himself up and touched his cap. “Beg pardon, sir,” he said, in a tone of respect, not unmixed with surprise, “I’m the coachman, sir.”. “All right,” answered the American; “bring me that can.” “Beg pardon, sir,” repeated the man, “but I’m the coachman, sir.” - “Well, well,” said the American. “I know you’re the coachman. Bring me the can.” The coachman touched his cap again, and repeated his former remark. Light dawned on the American. “Oh,” said he, “you’re the coachman, are you? Well, coachman, you go round to the stables and have my four-in-hand brought round at once.” The coachman saluted and walked away. The coach and four drew up at the door a few minutes later. The master climbed in. “Now,” said he, “drive me to that ■watering can." The order was obeyed. The horses paused a hundred yards down the drive. “Get down and hand me the can, now,” ordered the master. A moment later he was contentedly watering the flowers. He had the can, the coachman’s dignity had been preserved, and all was well. No Book of Instructions, Weary Watkins—l see here in the paper about how to git on a trolley car and off. Hungry Higgles—l bet you won’t see no piece about how to git on and off of freight cars. That klad of thing comes by nature, er it don’t come at all.—lndlananolis JournaL

POLITICS OF THE DAY

NEXT YEAR’S POLITICAL ISSUE. The New York Bun Is very anxious that the Democratic party shall go into the Presidential contest next year with the money question as the principal, and practically the only, issue. It thinks that if this Is done the Republicans can win as easily as they did in 1896, when, by means of enormous misrepresentation and a huge campaign fund contributed by the trusts ,£nd monopolies, they managed to elect McKinley by a plurality of 600,000 in a total vote of nearly 14,000,000. Our contemporary will not admit that the failure of the Republican party to undertake reformatory currency legislation has induced the great majority of the gold Democrata to return to their former party associations, and by closing its eyes to this patent fact it bees another triumph of the syndicates and the national banks ahead, if only the trusts and Imperial expansion and the attendant deification of militarism can be kept in the background during the campaign that is to be waged a year hence.

Careful observers of the political situation to-day who do not try to deceive themselves believe that if the election were held next month, with the money question as the principal Issue and with McKinley as the Republican candidate for the Presidency and the Democracy led again by William J. Bryan, the latter would win by as large a plurality as Hanna managed to get for his man three years ago. The truth is that the American people cannot be seared by the same false cry in two successive Presidential elections. The misrepresentation of the Democratic position on the money question that the Republicans indulged in during the campaign of 1896 will fall very flat on the ears of the voters next year, if repeated. The voters do not want old straw threshed over again by the stump orators. They want an Intelligent discussion of new Issues as they arise, and the party which undertakes to look backward instead of forward is sure to rue It. The monetary system of the country. It is true, still needs reform Ing, but the Republican party will not undertake the task, and the only hope of having the work done properly rests In the return of the Democratic party to power; and the Democratic party cannot be kept out of power by the reiteration of the untruths that were used In 1896 or any other year.—New York News. Good end Bnd Trusts. 1c Is vain for the defenders of trusts to deny that certain evils result from the forming of these gigantic business monopolies. Recognizing this fact, these trust defenders have originated the idea that there are good and bad trusts. Having created this theory, they demand that those who are opposed to trusts shall name the bad ones. William J. Bryan, after showing that the Republican party defends and fosters trusts, says: “Now, I don’t know exactly how they are going to diseem between the good trusts ‘and the bad trusts, but I take it that the good trusts will be the ones that contribute the largest amounts to the Republican campaign funds.” With this.view of the question the plain people will be disposed to consider the good trusts quite as harmful as the bad, indeed, the very purposes which a trust is formed to carrj’ out condemn it as unmltigatedly bad. Why are trusts formed? In the first place, to reduce expenses of conducting business; to get more work done for less pay; to accomplish greater results with less labor. In the second place, to kill competition. Having accomplished these two things, the trust Is ready to grasp a third benefit for itself, and that is the raising of prices and the increased taxing of the consumer. These are the objects of all trusts. Which of them can, then, be said to be good? Asa matter of fact, every trust is a monopoly. Some are not so powerful as others. In that respect they may be said to be less evil, but not one of them possesses the positive quality of being good. Absolutely It may be declared, therefore, that there are no good trusts. The principles upon which these combines are founded are wrong and nothing but evil for the people can flow from them. that German Vote. SSH Whistling to keep their courage up, the Republican managers are announcing that “the German vote is all right.” True, the German vote ia all right, but not in the sense that our Republican friends Imply. But the New York Independent, which is not independent at all, so far as its political belief Is concerned, but ks rampantly Republican, sees danger to the party in the disaffection from or of the German vote. Imperialism has no claims for the German-American dtlsen, and be knows too much about Its workings in the fatherland to approve of its importation to the United States. He does not approve of the Philippine war, nor does he like the attempts of administration advocates to establish a great standing army. Undoubtedly there will be a large exodus of thoughtful German voters from the Republican party in the campaign of 1900. Promises are nqver made good by the Republican machine politicians, and the German voters are getting tired of those who make pledges only •o break them. However much the

thick and thin Republican press may protest that “the German vote is all right,” the fact remains that the German press of this country almost unanimously oppose the war and denounce unstintlngly the doctrine of imperialism. Truly the German vote is all right, but not from a McKinley point of view.

The Silver Question. Naturally enough, the Republican editors are deeply exercised over the silver question. They know that there are gold Democrats who were assistant Republicans in 1886, and they are anxious to keep open the spilt in the Democracy and secure the aid of the gold faction. With this object in view, they axe busy declaring that the regular Democracy has “abandoned silver,” hoping by this means to arouse the pugnacity of the silver Democrats and cause them to antagonize the faction which went over to McKinley. It is true that the regular Democracy desire to harmonize differences in the party, but it is not true that it is prepared to abandon principles to secure this end. This fact has been demonstrated by the action of the lowa State Democratic convention, which reaffirmed the Chicago platform and renominated the man for Governor who ran in 1896.

Ln discussing the impending Issues William J. Bryan truly and eloquently said, during the delivery of a speech at Des Moines: “We do not need to surrender a single syllable or idea of the Chicago platform. Like the Inaugural speech of Thomas Jefferson, it was made for all time. But when new and Important Issues come up, we can take them Into the family and fight on them without apologizing for any previous fight we have made. When the Democratic party has once come into power and Democratic principles have been tried, the Republican party will dissolve and be lost forever.” These assertions are not in the least ambiguous, but Republican newspapers have attempted to distort them into a retraction of belief in the doctrine of bimetallism. There is no such retraction, and the Chicago platform will stand unrepealed in any of its clauses, but enlarged to embrace the new Issues which will come before the people in 1900. —Chicago Democrat An Example for Other States. The lowa platform is one upon which al} lowa Democrats can stand. It reaffirms the national platform of 1896, as is entirely proper, seeing that that instrument constitutes the party creed until the national convention of 1990 frames a new one. It also deals with the new isoues—imperialism, militarism and trusts—which undoubtedly will constitute the fighting ground in the Presidential campaign. The platform, like the ticket, is Democratic and will receive the Indorsement of all Democrats. lowa has shown the way to the Democracy of sister commonwealths. With similar mutual forbearance. consideration and resulting harmony the national Democracy can next year advance against the common enemy with that confidence of victory which results from united allegiance to the principles laid down by Thomas Jefferson.—Chicago Chronicle.

An Ideal Platform. The platform adopted by the Democratic convention at Des Moines, lowa will be read with unalloyed pleasure by Michigan Democrats. It Is throughout a thoroughly Democratic document. It does not indulge in glittering generalities or meaningless eaten phrases. It reaffirms the Chicago platform and takes up the new issues along thoroughly Democratic lines, and In language that cannot be misapprehended by any one. Its objections to the pro pceed Anglo-American alliance are forcible, and its arrangement of the present administration admirable. lowa, while not a pivotal State, is more nearly a typical State than Kentucky or Ohio, and the result of the campaign this fall, with a strong platform and a strong ticket, will be watched for with great Interest.—Grand Rapids Democrat. Rises to New Conditions. There is absolutely nothing In what Mr. Bryan Is quoted as saying that will not be heartily indorsed by every good Democrat. Instead of Its being a shelving or desertion of the silver Issue, It Is anything but that. It means no weakening in support of the Chicago platform, nor the abandonment of a single principle. It is nothing else than a sensible understanding of political conditions as they exist, recognition of which Mr. Bryan has given in many previous speeches; not in exactly the same language, perhaps, but in substance. There is not one man in America—that is, no man of any intelligence whatsoever—that does not understand exactly where Mr. Bryan stands on the currency question and every other issue.—Atlanta Constitution. Every Day Mrengthena Bryan. Mr. Bryan has made Democratic success possible, if not probable, by hia declaration at Des Moines. He has opened the way for a complete Democratic reunion, and he has made it easy for his party to take the offensive on a dozen bitter and formidable accounts. —Washington PosL *

Iron Holder.

Tops of worn-out boots or shoe* make encsllent iron boMers,

BERLIN’S CLEAN STREETS.

Resident. Vie with Om Another I" Making Them Presentable. Bicyclists who hare ridden much on the asphalt streets of German cities say that the tendency to “sideslip” is there much less marked than on similar pavements in this country. Tfie explanation of this fact may possibly lie In the statement which is made by the American consul at Breslau that the asphalt streets in that city are regularly washed, the purpose of the washing being to remove the slime which the asphalt seems to leave and to keep the street from being slippery. The washing has the further effect of preserving and hardening the asphalt The care taken of the asphalt by the city authorities contrasts strongly with the methods usually adopted in United States. For instance, the space in front * the consulate Is divided into four squares, which are in charge of one man. After cleaning the street early in the morning he wheels out a barrow load of very fine, sharp sand and scatters it lightly over the streets to prevent slipping. On rainy days the process Is repeated several times. Od<“» a week the whole street is sluiced and thoroughly washed with sprinkling carts. These are followed by ample roller brushes, which sweep the water and slime into the gutter, whence It is carted away. After this the man who has charge of the street comes along with his wheelbarrow and sand sprinkler. In spring or autumn, when the streets are often sloppy and wet, the washing Is done several times during the week.

The man In charge of the asphalt pavement Is paid 5 cents an hour, the ordinary street hands receiving 4 cents. Nobody litters up the street or puts sweepings on the pavement There is a box kept for these. Wire baskets are fastened on lamp posts, against houses, fences or trees in which the public may throw waste paper while walking along. The citizens are very proud of their clean and sweet-smelling streets, and the householders have to sweep to the center of the street In front of their sidewalks every morning before 6 o’clock. The litter is piled up and soon the city teams cart it away.—Boston Transcript

The Waitress Was a Ringer.

When Mrs. Smith decided to give a tea party she made up her mind that it should be the event of the season. With that in view she started elaborate preparations, promising Mary, her cook, an extra week’s wages if she would do her best to make the party a success. Finding that she would need a girl to help serve the tea, she asked Mary if she knew of any one that she could get “Sure, mum,” answered Mary. “There’s me sister, what’s used to waitin’ an’ who’ll be glad to get the chance, for she’s a poor gurl just out of a job.” As Mary herself was a jewel, Mrs. Smith did not question her further, and Mary received orders to have her sister on hand. Mary’s sister reported for duty and Mrs. Smith gave her minute instructions how she should act wishing to give the guests the impression that she was a regular member of the household. Things went on swimmingly until Mary’s sister, seeing that one of the guests was out of tea, came up and wanted to know if the lady would have “anlther.” The guest smilingly answered that she would, whereupon Mary’s sister, snatching up the cup, bawled across the room in the most approved cheap restaurant code, “Draw one!”—Detroit Free Press.

“B. B.”

The late George Augustus Sala used frequently to dine at the house of a man who was very wealthy, and very fond of good living, but also Inconceivably mean. The genial “G. A. S.” had often noticed that, when the ladles left, and the run on the wine became sharper, the butler came in and whispered to the host, upon which he generally replied in the most earnest and emphatic way, “Yes; and mind the *B. B.’ ’’ This so stirred Sala’s curiosity that on one occasion, being on a visit, and meeting the butler out of doors before breakfast, he got him into conversation and slipped a sovereign into his hand. “Davis,” he said, “I want you to tell me between ourselves—just as a matter of curiosity, you know—what year’s wine is that ‘B. B.’ your master so often asks for?” A smile flitted across the face of Davis as he looked round at the house, and then coughed twice. “Lor bless you, sir,” he replied, “ ‘B. B.’—that ain’t no special vintage, that ain’t! Don’t you take any of that stuff, sir, if you are wise. That's our bottoms of bottles.”

Undermined by Bats.

A very extraordinary occurrence happened the other day in Brussels. A milkwoman, with her cart drawn by , two dogs, was passing through a street ■ ih the center of the city when of a sudden the roadway opened and the cart and dogs disappeared. Investigation showed that the roadway had been undermined by rats which swanfi in the neighborhood.

Have a Chance.

In the lunatic asylums of Belgium there are securely locked boxes in which every inmate may deposit letters of complaint Three times a week these letters are collected by outside officials, who investigate every case, and if a person asserts that he is not Insane a prompt examination ensues by medical experts. When a circus Is In to wn, a man who has little children is regarded as very lucky. .