Ligonier Banner., Volume 25, Number 2, Ligonier, Noble County, 24 April 1890 — Page 3

The Ligonier B ¢ igonier Banner, . LIGONIER, ' = INDIANA eLoOAPB ST R e S S T PGS -_—'-_“_'&‘—'_‘_—"———",_'——_ TWO MAIDENS. There was a young woman, as T have been told, ‘Who worried for fear she was looking too old; One day she discovered a tiny gray hair : And a little wee wrinkle—which ought to be there. : : : So. all in a paniec, she hastened to try ‘ Hair washes, and tonics and tweezers and dye, She plastered her features with lotions and cream, And put on a mask when she venturedto dream., Enamels and balms and skin-powders she tried, All stuffs that ‘rejuvenate” too, were applied, But, somehow—as happens to all in that case — She quicker got rid of her beauty and grace. Each gaze in the mirror showed plainly the truth, . . Instead of restoring or holding her youth She made herself older and shortened her days By trying those arts that are useless always. Another young woman,.as I have been told, Gave never a thought to herself growing old; She didn’t go hunting to find a gray hair! Or wrinkles or ‘‘crow’s feet’” that, may be, were there. foa : . She looked oh the merry, br'fght side of life, She didn’t seek troubles or worries or strife, She cou:ted the sunshine, she never repined, And always kept busy in body and mind. ¢ - Being true to Dame Nature, that ever good dame, The tiuest of friends and protectors became, And so that young woman, as I have been told, Lived nigh to a hundred—and never felt ‘‘old.” '~ Now, of these young women, 'tis easy to say ‘Which chooses the only and happier way e Of keeping the health and the beauty and grace That going 'gainst Nature so soon will efiace, 7“" —H. C. Dodge, in Detroit Free Press.

A SERIOUS MISHAP.

What Came of My Not Attending : Aunt Durgin’s Tea.

You never heard about Aunt Durgi};’& tea? Well, it was a' very important tea to me; it was the turning-point of my whole life. .

You see I was young, about sixteen, and Aunt Durgin was quite old and queer. She had plentyof money to live on, and do a good deal for us girls—a lot of us there wore too. She wasroally fond of us, I know, now; but she was so worrying, always lecturing us and finding fault that we didn’t love her very much, I'm ashamed to say. Her money was in an annuity which ceased with her death, 30 what she did for us must be done during herlite. Every year she gave some special advantages to one of her nieces; and it seems—though I didn’t know it—that she had about decided to give me the beneflt that year. ¢

If I had known!—but it wouldn’t have made any difference; it took a shock to teach me. :

I remember every moment of that day ,as if it were yesterday; the result of it seemed to burn every smallest event into my brain. I can even remember the vattern of forget-me-nots on the dress I wore. 5

Mother was going out that afternoon, and as she stood with her hand on the doox, she said: “Be sure to get to Aunt Durgin’s in time.”

“0, of course!” I answered, carelessly. “You know she’s very particular; and I'm especially anxious: to have you please her to-day,” she went on. ‘“Why to-day more than usual?” I asked. “I've been trying to please her ever since I wore bibs; but I don’tthink I shall ever do it unless I get a charm to turn myself into an old woman at _soned.” : .

“‘She’s more fond of you than you think,” said my mother—and I remember well how care-worn she looked as she started down the steps—‘‘though she doesn’t sliow it.”

~ “Hum'ph! I should think not!” I said, standing in the door. ‘‘She names me but to—blame.” "

“Well, mind you give her no cause tonight,” said mother, opening the gate; *and oh! did you remember to get those pebbles oft the roof for my Chinese lilies?” i

“No, I forgot,” I said, “but I'll do it before I go out;” and the gate and the door closed at the same instant. “But I can’t guess,” 1 said, as I went slowly up the stairs again, ‘“what’s up to-night in particular.”

With my mother’s unusually serious injunction "in mind, I went up to my room ant laid out my one nice dress, to be sure that ruffles were all in order, and nothing should be wanting to delay me at the last minute. leven.looked at my shoes to see that the buttons were all right; for Aunt Durgin had an eye liko an eagle for any thing out of place.

There were still two hours' before it was time to dress, and thoss I intended to give to my practicing; for I had one “grand passion,” and that was for music. My father—dear, impractical man that he was; with a soul full of poetry and music—lacked the ‘“‘push” to get on in those days—or in these either, for that matter. So he spent his life trying to drill music into stupid pupils; and of course, with his head in the clouds, he made little money. We were always poor, always needing something; but, thanks to his gentlenness@and my mother’s sweet disposition, we were always happy. X

But I was ambitious. I was my father’s best pupil, and at that moment the desire of my heart was for a year of lessons from a great master abroad. If I could only get the flnishing touches from that master, and the eclat of his name, (which goes a good way, you know), I felt sure I should march on to fame and to glory. Such was my modest opinion of my abilities; and my thought by day and my dream by night was to bring this to pass. I !

But how to do it! There was the rub! When I think that if it hadn’t‘been for my own carelessness—— Well, well! let me tell my story straight. ¢ At the end of my two hours’ practice I closed the piano and started for my room to dress for Aunt Durgin’s tea. On the way I remembered -the Chinese lilies, so I passed on up to the roof, where there were always loose pebbles from the gravel. Above the third story was a low garret. = As I reached up to unlock the trap-door ‘from the third story into this attic, on which we had put a spring lock after a burglar had scared us by coming down that way, there came into my mind, with almost ominous distinctness, my father’s caution: :

¢ “Now remember,” he said, never go into the attic without putting something ander the door, so that it can’t fall and ‘lock you out, whatever happens.” I paused. I had nothing to put under. 1 glanced around the attic-—nothing was thera. Tshould have to go down-stairs, and 1 had no time to spare, “I'll be careful,” I said to myself, - *“and it be all right. Father’s fussy.”

Thus thoughtless I settled my own fate, for -heedlessnoss was my fault. Was, 1 say, for that night taught me something. But to go on. e 1 opened the door (it stood straight up,) went out, and after a good look at the world from that elevated point I collected a little basketful of' stones, and reflecting that it was cooler than 1 thought, and I should have to wear a wrap to Aunt Durgin’s, I went back to the trap-door. ' I don’t know how it happened; I suppose I had not opened the spring-door quite wide, and my jarring the roof started it—but suddenly it fell with a bang, pushing down the step-ladder by which I reached the roof. I could have jumped down into the attic, but I could not get back; and I thought it safer to lie on the roof where I could attract somebody’s attention. j _ My first thought was: ‘“‘Dear me! if I should be late to Aunt Durgin’s!” but the second was more serious: How was I going to arouse anybody? The only persons in the house were. my father giving a music lesson in the back-parlor, and our one maid busy with her work in the kitchen.. Every one knew I was going out to tea, and so no one would be surprised at my absence. There was an old chair on the roof, for we sometimes went up there in warm evenings, and I sat down on it to think the matter over.

Then I began to find that it was very cool, and every little cold I took had a most annoying trick of settling in one tooth, ulcerating, and puffing up my face like a pumpkin. I took off my white apron-and tied it over my head. ¢

Then-I went to work to rouse the household. In the attic, nearly under the trap door, was a shelf, on whith were packed away many. things. I laid down on the roof, leaned over, and found I could reach it. TFirst I pulled out a curtain stick, and then I thought I was safe; T could surely make noise enough with that. Igot upand pounded on the roof, and even on the skylight, hqping to attract somebody; though I Js;fi)aw Biddy wouldn’t come up for hours, and my father was so absent-minded that I hadn’t much hopes he would notice it. .

- When I grew tired of tßat amusement I went to my storehouse again, and this time pulled out an old fire-escape. It was a long piece of webbing that would reach to the ground, with a piece of iron in one end. Now I thought I could surely make some body see. I dragged it to the edge of the roof at the back, flung the end over, hoping that father would see it dangle before the parlor window.

This had an effect, but it was on a row of tenement houses on the street behind us. Women began to be interested in my proceedings. First one woman appeared at her window, hands resting on the sill, sleeves rolled up, and frouzy head stuck out, staring wonderingly at me. Then another window blossomed out with another frouzy head, and so it went on till I had as many as half a dozen staring at me in dumb amazement —at least 1 suppose it was dumb, I couldn’t hear any thing. Then I began to wave my arms and beckon to them. They only stared the harder, and now and - then one would look back in the room and then another head or two would appear beside her; but the idea that I was trying to communicate with them never seemed to occur to them.

Then a new thought struck me, and I began to walk back and forth and saw my fire-escape across the house. I thought if father saw something moving before the windows he must notice it. But not a word did I hear from that.

Then I tried the front, though I drcaded .exposing my plight to the strees. I might have spared myself the anxiety, for no one noticed me except some little boys playing in the street. I called, but I could not make them hear; I made motions to them, and now and then one would see me and point up, and two or three would stare ‘a minute and ‘then return to their play. ' I couldn’t rmake them understand that I wanted any thing. S : Up to this time I had been too exoited to get cold; but now I began to suffer. Once more I returned to my attic, and pulled out a piece of:carpet. It was dusty and not over-nice for a covering, but I could do no better, so I wrapped it around my shivering shoulders, and I must have looked more like a crazy creature than before.

Time was passing, too; it was already late; I was getting desperate. Should I have to stay here till Biddy came up to bed? I pounded more vigorously than ever. I shouted down the attic till I was hoarse, and ‘at intervals I walked back and forth and sawed my fireescape, till at last I lung it over, thinking Biddy must see it then. - All this time I had been reflecting; I was now much too late for Aunt Durgixllfs, and my mother’s manner had impressed me with the importance of it. Whatever might be the consequénges, I had no one to blame but myself; that was the hardest to bear. .

.It was ‘growing dark: I began to be frightened. = Suppose I should not be able to make them hear at all! Suppose T had tostay there all night! The thought was a terror. The house was in a block; other doors opened from attics; people sometimes came out, even, as 1 know to my cost, a burglar once entered through an empty house and went down through several scuttle-doors.

I began to feel a real panic; the thought of flinging myself over began to haunt me. That may seem foolish to you, perhaps; but try it once yourself, and if you can realize the hopelessness of making yourself heard by any thing vou can do, you will not be surprised that one gets nervous over it. :

Whe I got wrought up to that pitch I chanced to notice three little boys in the yard of the tenement houses, looking up at me. I beckoned to them eagerly. They were gamins; their street education had sharpened their wits; they comprehended that I wanted them. . As one boy they nodded, and started on a run around the block.

Hope enteyred my heart once more. I went to the front. There they were, and with them--0, blessed relief |—two policemen. : |

They saw me, and | then they and the three boys, and sundry others who had collected, disappeared in our area. Then alang time passed, parleying with Biddy, I suppose, trying to make her let them in.

I was in agony. Ten minutes, which seemed like an hour, passed, and then, with a joy I never could have believed such a vision could inspire, I saw the head of a policeman above the garrev roof. ‘ !

But let me go back a little and tell how things went on in the house. About two hours after I 'had gone--as every one supposed—Biddy went up to her room to dress. She was startled by mysterious sounding knocks and voices, as she thought. She knew no one was in the house except my father down-

stairs. She was superstitious; shoe ran down with a wild face, and met my mother in the hall. She declared-.that there were “‘spirits” up stairs, whispering, end knocking, and groaning.My mother laughed at her, and went up to the 'third story. She too heard mufiled | knocks, and what sounded like voices, which she could not account for or loca'té. - She went into all the rooms; she looked in every closet; she saw the spring door closed, and she never thought of any one being up there: She was a little * startled herself, though she did not think it was spirits, and she got father up there. He went to please her, though he poohed and said it was nonsense, etc. When he got there the noises had stopped; probably that was when I was coaxing the street boys. So he said ‘‘Nonsense!” more emphatically than ever, and came down.

When the two policemen with their clubs pounded on the door and demanded admittance, and Biddy went to the door, she was scared again; and they walked right in. . “What do you want?” asked my father, meeting them in the hall. “We want the mad woman' on yonr roof,” they said, : “‘Good heavens!” cried my mother, ‘‘a mad woman! That’s what we heard! how could she have got -there ?” - ‘They all went up the stairs in procession, the policemen leading. When the door opened, and the head appeared above it—my relief, after the strain*l had been under- was so great that foer the first time in my life I fainted away ; 5 The policemen dragged me down some way, my head still tied up in the apron, and the old carpet trailing after me. They were about tocarry me down the next flight, preparatory to- carrying me off to the station, I suppose, when mother happened to catch sight of my face. !

She shrieked: ‘“Why, it’s my daughter!”

Of course she took me in charge, and the policemen turned upon the crowd who had followed in from the street, drove them out, and we were left alone.

When I came out of my faint, my nerves were all unstrung; I couldn’t control myself; I laughed, I cried, I could hardly tell my story. The whole thing seemed so absurd and ridiculous, to be a prisoner on one’s own roof for hours. And yet it had somehow been so tragical to me. : More fragical indeed than I dreamed; for that very evening the blow fell. Mother dispatched father at once to Aunt Durgin’s to explain; but the answer hie brought back was crushing. Aunt had talked her plan over with my miother, made her promise secrecy, and invited me to tea, to talk it over and make her offer. It was—oh, it was —to have a. year’s study abroad! The one.thing I wanted! : When I did not come, she thought it was because I did not want to be bothered to take tea with an old woman—she was always so suspicious; so she sent for Cousin Jane, who lived very near her, and made her the offer to go abroad. That was the news that father brought. Jane didn’t want to study, so she had a year of travel, and Aunt Durgin died befoi;'e the end of it. So you see, my dear, if I hadn’t been so careless that once, my life would have been very different; and I shouldn’t have been a common music-teacher all my days.— Olive Thorne Miller, in N. Y. Independent.

TITLED FORTUNE HUNTERS.

A Set of Scamps Who Would be a Dis- | grace to Any Penitentiary.

An American gentleman, who has resided for a good many years in Paris, received one day from a member of one of the greatest families of France a letter requesting a list of the daughters of the Mesers. Vanderbilt, and also of those of the Messrs. Astor, with full particulars respecting the fortune that each one would probably inherit. Itis needless to state that the letter aforesaid never was answered.

In a good many instances those highborn gentlemen, the representatives of illustrious families and the wearers of magnificent titles, who woo American heiresses, constitute as consummate a set of scamps as are to be met with outside the four walls of a prison. Loaded down with debt, exiled from the circles of their own set for reasons too flagrant to mention, almost invariably gamblers of the most frenzied type and roues that could have given points to the friends of the Regent Philippe d’Orleans or to the courtiers of Louis XV., this group forms a class apart, outlawed, disreputable, and such beings' as every pure-minded woman and every honorable man ought to avoid. Yet they are usually the most fascinating of men, winning of manners and of speech, polished, accomplished, and altogether attractive. And the conditions to which the American bride will sometimes submit to secure possession of her noble bridegroom g@casion ally most extraordinary. I know”of one such international marriage, -which took place in Paris some years ago, in which provision was made in the marriage contract for the maintenance, from funds provided by the bride, of the chere amie of the noble spouse. And the American betrothed consented. ;

Any one who has lived long in Europe and who has investigated the results of such alliances, could tell some melancholy story concerning the fate of our young country women in many instances. The Italian Count who beat and kicked his American wife'at a Parisian hotel a year ago is by no means an isolated specimen of his class.. More than once has the American wife of the bearer of a lofty title died under circumstances so sudden and so mysterious as to give rise to the gravest suspicion of poisoning. In another instance the aristocratic husband refused 'to support his wife and child because the former would not consent to associate with the woman for whose sake he had separated from her.

The American woman who marries a titled European must éxpect to go heart hungry all her days. There is no more question of love inthe home that owes its splendor to the wealth of the wife and the rank of the husband than there is of cool springg and rushing waters in the desert of Sahara, But, of course, for this deprivation there are certain compensations, such as the entree into the first circles of European society, the privilege of stamp’i"ng one’s note paper with a coronet, the satisfaction of having one’s servant announce the carriage of Madame la Princesse or the dinner of Madame la Comtesse. There are two elements, however, that must always be reckoned with in these marriages, namely, the gaming table and the demi-monde, and the first named is the most universal and the worst of the two.—Paris Cor. Philadelphia Tcleo

“LIKE A C%L, INDEED.?’ MeXKinley convened his committee, And said he: “Itistrue, though a pity, The tariff needs padding on one or two sides; .‘ ‘So, in order to round out its beauty, _ I regard’it a matter of duty ; i To stick quite a slick little tax upon hides.” (CHOBUé—N. Y. Tribune gnd all the other organs.) ? O yes; 'twill be proper and fairif , ‘We clap one snug littie tariff— , A neat and complete little tariff on hides. But Republican dealers in leather ' Shouted: “Hold! You're too fresh altogether! The party will suffer if thus you insist,” . So said Mac: “‘lf applying this plaster ‘Will bring to-‘our party disaster, We'll say hides may stay free of pay on the list.” i ' CHORUS—(AS before.) : O yes, it all goes without saying, That hides should come in without paying, . And be, we agree, duty free on the list. : = —Puck EXPORTER AND CONSUMER. The Trickery of a Recent Article By ¢ Senator Morrill Ably Exposed. . | Senator Justin S. Morrill, of Versmont, in the North American Review, says: . ‘“‘Happily, Mr. Gladstone does not sweeten free trade by another name, and conceal it by what in America has been styled its ‘varioloid’ revenue reform.” There is no Democrat or tariff reformer who wants free triele at once, but to grow to that as the people become prepared and ready for it.* Man Morrill knows that to be a fact, but ‘is trying to influence the Republican voter—largely the farmer—to believe that Democrats and tariff reformers advocate absolute free trade or tariff for revenue only now, and in advocating tariff reform are trying to deceive the people, thus making the tariff reformer appear before the voter as tricky and dishonest. Any man who will read and honestly think will see ‘that all the trickery and dishonesty is with such men as Mr. Morrill. What I understand the tariff reformer to want is this: Free raw material of all kinds, so that the manufacturer may be able to compete with the world with his article of manufactured product, and by so doing export more than any other country. England has about 95 per cent. of the import trade -of South America and Australia, and of a large portion of European countries, and we, as manufacturers, with our burden of high taxes on raw. material, have' to stand by and see England taking from: us and from the people what honestly belongs to us. Mr. Sargent says that the only goods he can export are the goods that the cost is in the labor put upon them in finish, and; then says that the goods where the cost is in the material and | made with little labor are the goods that it is impossible for him to export. This, to my mind, shows that laborcompared to- the quantity of articles made to the individual is cheaper in America than England. Now, if you give the American manufacturer free material he will be able to export a great quantity of goods, creating a demand for more manufacturers and more laborers in this country. Supply and demand regulate the price of both the manu-. factured article and the price of labor, so if free raw material had any effect on wages it would be to advance them. In connection with this you would have more people here to consume the product of the farmer; not only more people, but you would give the idle people that are already here employment, and by so doing give them the wherewith to purchase what they need for their daily consumption. If the manufacturer had free raw material he could stand a reduction in the tariff on his manufactured article, at least as much as he would be benefited by the tariff being taken off the material he uses, and in that way the Ameriean consumer would reap the benefit of free raw material by being able to buy what he consumed at just that much less—just the amount that the manufacturer would receive in his free raw material. In this way everybody would be benefited except, perhaps, the producer of the raw material, but that would be so small, not only in loss of property but in numbers, it should not be thought of. It is our duty to make such laws as will do the most good and be the greatest benefit to the greatest number. . Mr. Morrill says: “Workmen in Great Britain when out of employment have no resource but the work-house, but American workmen generally own their own homes, take their own newspapers and have money in the savings banks.” This is not generally the case, but very far from it. 1f Mr. Morrill - will take the trouble to look it up he will see, as Prof. Carroll D. Wright shows, that there are 209,000 mer in Massachusetts able and willing to work who can not get work to do. The labor bureaus of two of our best States declare that the average wages of 'workmen are not enough to bring up a. family upon even in the most meager way unless supplemented by the wages of wife or child. “Three hundred and fifty dollars a year is the average income of the workingmen of our land and millions have not even this.” In New York City there are whole sections where the overcrowding is greater than in the most crowded quarters of London. “Two million men out-of work means 1,500,000 wives, 3,000,000 children out of bread, out of fire, out of clothes, and many of them without a roof to shelter them.” ‘Letters and telegrams continue to pour in upon Dr. Edward N. Small, of Sedalia, Mo., who thoughtlessly offered a bonus to | any one who would consent to be bitten | by his mad dog for the benefit of medical science.. Has life really become so cheap in this country that hundreds are willing to sell it from $lOO to $5002” ‘A young man named William Miller, a factory hand, fainted on' the street in New Brunswick, N. J., one Wednesday night from sheer starvation. He was out of work and had eaten nothing for some time. He was exceedingly weak and died shortly after being taken to the poor farm the other morning.” ‘“Mrs. John King, of New Haven, Conn., was found dead in her bed. Her three boys, - aged two, four and six years, were gathered around her half clad and almost dead from staryation. They were without clothing and reeking with filth. Mrs. King, according to the report of Dr. White, medical examiner, died of atarvadon” o - : o

Our agricultural sections, too, are about equally as poorly off. Farms are deserted to-day in England just when Mr. Morrill says that ‘‘home manufac‘turers planted in every State alongside of the farmer largely save in distribution.” | Why then are these farmers in New England giving up farming, and why did the farmers of the State of Illinois lose $10,000,000 on their corn crop alone last year? Mr. Morrill knows that the market price on the farmer’s produc‘tion’is made in Liverpool, Eng., and as he says: ‘‘Every ship load of wheat orl corn exported tends to reduce the price abroad,” and what the price is abroad

what the price will be at| ome less the freight. So, as the ariff reformer says., let us put the nanufacturer in a position that he vill be able to manufacture more and eed more laborers, and by sodoing con- | ume more of our agricultural products nd not ask the farmer to sell his products at Liverpool prices, but at merican prices. Then the Western armer will be able to pay off the mortages on his farm. To-day, under the reat benefit of high protection, the armer is not even able to pay the interst due on the mortgages. ' “Protection puts the chief burden on he foreigner,” says the protectionist. 'he idea that the exporter pays the tariff is so utterly false and ridiculous thatl don’t believe any' one homnestly { lthinks that such is the case. Every one knows, or should know, that the ex~l porter is not going to dispose of his goods for less than cost. We believe that the American manufacturer gets is profit and adds the tariff as profit, or puts it in his cost so as to blind the American consumer—as in the case of 22-shot cartridges. The advance on the l material to make 10,000 cartridges was . 60 cents, but cartridges advanced $3.75 per case. Better cartridges are made in ‘ England, but they are kept out and the present advance is kept up by a tariff of 45 per cent. ‘An Illinois farmer went" Ito Chicago a short time ago with a car- | load of stock, and wl*;i{le' in Chicago wanted to buy a pair of ‘‘Sunday-go-to-\meebing pants.” He found what he wanted, and the price was $2 per yard, knd he told the merchant he thought hat was too high. The merchant repplied that the goods were imported and hat he had to pay $1 per yard as tariff. he farmer goes to another store and tnids what he supposes to be the same | thing; the price is the same. He asked Fhe merchant where the cloth was man- ‘ factured, and was told in Philadelphia. ‘‘Then why do you ask me $2 a ard for this cloth? You do not have 0 pay $1 tariff on it per yard.” The erchant replied ' that the imorted goods sell at $2, and they ight just as well get $2 for theirs. would like to have Mr. Morrill ell who paid the tariffl on that yard of loth—the .exporter or the consumer? Mr. Morrill evidently feels very unsafe bout the American people wanting -so buch protection, and is trying to work tl-i the American voters to have proection, not because it is for their beneE:t, but simply because it is Americanat present) and free trade is English. he American people don’t want free }trade for the benefit of Fngland or any ther foreign country, but we do want ariff reform for the benefit of our own ‘people. Mr. Morrill says that Mr. Gladtone was ‘a ‘‘Southern sympathizer.”’_ hat has that to do with tariff reform? e are not going to fight the war over gain just to please the Republican arty. I/feel sorry for the old party. he people are beginning to understand that the g. 0. p.’s plan on the tariff quesion is for the benefit of the monopolist nd trust makers, and not for the farmer nd consumer. They will make one ore grand effort and tell the people to ote as they shot, and I do hope they ill, for every man shot as he believed as right and best for the country and he people, and if they will vote that ay they will vote for tariff reform. he manufacturers made a thousand illion dollars’ profit last year. Now he farmer and the consumer want to be laced where they can have some profit, nd I believe tariff reform commencing with free raw material will be a great benefit and blessing to all.—Robert H. 'T}lott, in Chicago Herald. . ]

POLITICAL POINTERS.

——The manufacturers had the fat fried out of them during the last camaign. Now McKinley proposes to let he manufacturers fry the fat out of he consumers for awhile.—Philadelphia imes. ¢ :

~——Republicans argue that the Kan3as corn burners must diversify their rops in order to be prosperous. If they 10, and diversify their ballots at the jame time, they may be happy yet.—St. Louis Republic. ' — —Henry Cabot Lodge is said to have nformed the ways and means commitjee of Congress that if a duty was imvosed on raw hides it would be useless or him to hope to be re-elected from i district in Massachusetts.—N. Y. Star. . :

——There has been a political up--leaval in Illinois, too, and the Demorats are on top. There is a monotony wbout these revolutions that ought to ‘ead a lesson to the Republican adminstration at Washington.—Cleveland Plain Dealer. /

——When a Massachusetts Republican as lately asked what the ways and eans committee were doing he quickly Eaplied: ““Making a devil of a lot of emqcrats.”” 'There were pith, point nd truth in this short and sharp anwer.—Philadelphia Record. ‘ | ——The Yankee papers have already ominated Speaker Tom Reed for 1892. ?‘hat’s right; come 'ahead. 'The man rom Maine has no horrors for the fighting Democracy. It would be easy enough to repeat in ’92 the Maine-crush-rng drama of ’B4.—N. Y. Telegram. ——When the New England States ake up their minds that they are opEosed to a tax they generally fight it ut on that line. 1t will be remembered hat the New Englanders at one time settled the vexed question of a tax on ea in a very radical manner.—WashLngaon Past. ‘

| ——The fact that Corporal Tanner has experienced great gobd fortune in Lloing a whacking business as a pension claim agent is pleasant for Tanner, but it does not argue very well for the pension system. Our pension laws should inot be framed to make rapid fortunes for the agents.—Pittsburgh Dispatch. ? ——Emperor William and James G. Blaine take about the same rank as Statesmen. The labor confererice at Berlin has petered out, after a'series of feasting and dginking bouts. Mr. Blaine’s Pan-American .Congress does not seem to have been more productive lof actual results than was the Berlin affair.—Chicago Herald. S 1 The Late Mr. Raudali’s Career. '

For thirty-six years he had been in public life asa representativé of the people and had earned the distinction of a leader among statesmen. Possessed of la sturdy integrity and an unswerving fidelity to principle, he made himself felt in the affairs of the Nation and ‘commanded the respect of even his opponents. Like other ambitious states'men he had entertained the hope of 'being President, and was twice a candi/date for nomination before the Demo‘eratic convention, but being less of a 'politician and more of a statesman he ~was not chosen. The record of his life, ‘however, is one which reflects only credit on his name. He was an able and an iir_hénest man. —Chicago Mail. .

FOR LITTLE PEOPLE.

THE TIME IS NOwWw.

Young friends, there’s a truth I would faip impress St - On your youthful minds to-day, & 'Tis a potent factor to win success With those who its hints obey; In life there is many a height to attain, : Many prizes the years allow, =~ =~ Which by faithful toil you alone can gain, And ghe time to begin is now, - ;

No matter how much idle ones may scoff, . No matter what trifiers say, . . Don’t put any good resolution off, Begin it at once—to-day! ; Don’t fancy thatluck wiil favor some, That fortune will smile, somehow, ; If you wait for an opportune time to come—- : The time to begin is now! :

Let dreamers linger and idly sigh . : 4 For the future’s brighter ray, : But you, more wisely, shall conquer by | Employing the present day. . Persevere! Be dilligent! Don’t look back " When you put your hand to the plow! Time’s fruitful fields lie along your track, . ~ And the time to begin isnow! .

Then list to these words of advice, young friends, And ever their import heed, 3 Each triumph on earnest work depends; Whofalters can ne’er succeed. =~ - And you through courage success shall find i And victory crown your brow, . - If at each resolve you will bear in mind : That the time to begin is now! —D. Louis Bodge, in Golden Days. .

COMBUSTION.

A Little Talk with Frank on a Very In- : teresting Subject. 2 : “Put on the blower, Frank; the room is chilly—that coal refuses to burn.” “Why will the blower help it, Aunt Mary?” said Frank, as he rose to getvit. ‘‘Only by bringing the air- closer - to the coal, so that the two can more readlily unite.” it e "*PDoes the coal burn up the air?” asked Frank. ' - Lo l “Not that exactly, Frank, but parts of the’coal and air unite, and, in doing l so, throw off heat, and we call it burnling or combustion. Other substances will do the same thing, but in a differ-. ent way.” , . ‘ ‘“Oh, yes,” Aunt Mary, now I know. When I was in Kansas City last winter | 1 went, one cold day, on the cable car { to Westport, and was surprised to find | the car quite comfortable, although no ' stove or sign of fire was visible. I asked the conductor how the car was heated and he showed me boxes under the seats filled with chemicals, which | he said gave out heat as they united.” -~ i “True, Frank, that was another form i of combustion. The union was not so l rapid or so noisy as this crackling coal makes when it greedily swallows the ‘ ! air you confined near it with the i blower.” _ ““And, Aunt Mary,” Frank went on; growing more interested, ‘I saw Tom lthis morning .whitewashing the fence; and as he poured water on some lime, it ‘ smoked so that 1 thought it wason fire.” < “So it was, Frank, only in this case the lime was uniting with water instead of air. But it was surely a combustion which gave out much heat. Had you put your hand in, it would have burned you severely, for the- temperature is said to be more than that of boiling water. Sometimes, the burning is an unseen process and the heat is given. out only in small guantities. That is the way when you eat, Frank.” = . Frank looked up in surprise. “How, Aunt Mary?” . = . “Well, Frank, the potatoes and beans ahd bread and chicken, have all taken in as they were growing some heat from the great red sun—latent heat we call it—and it is stored up in -the juicy pulp of your peach and pear and apple; the sweet corn grains hold is, -the golden butter and Jersey cream—yes, even if you have.frozen it. But how shall you get out that latent heat? The Indian knows how to bring it from the twodry sticks when he needs a fire to cook his venison. - He Tubs them together until the sparks fly and kindle a blaze on the dry -leaves. “But he knows no more than you do how' to get it from the food he swallows.. | ‘“You smack your lips’ over the good things mamma has on her table, and wonder why you grow warmer after eating. Weanwhile, the dinner you have enjoyed passes down into that canal of yours, so .fearfully and wonderfully: made. The canal is not straight, but winds down and about from side to side in a strange fashion. You are a little boy, not four feet high, yet the canal, within your body is five times as :nany, feet long. All canals have ,namf yours is called the alimentary. there, millions of tiny blood vesséls reach out their rootlets into the canal, bringing in their red stream, pure bxy--gen from the air, and pouring j intp‘} the canal—a fresh supply 'wi(? every breath. There is no need of d/blower upon your fire; just as surely agjyou eat and breathe the fresh pure aif) just so surely will the food and the }t unite in that canal.. . Combustion will/go on and your body will be kept warm. ‘ “The little rootlets of the blood vessels are constantly at work. They do a thriving business in thejcanal, exchanging oxygen from their ,;ér'imson " vessels, for nutritious food Wk;,i)ch they carry to bone and muscle and/tissue.” “‘But, Aunt Mar:/r%low does the food pass into such tiny, thread-like tubes—have they any];?/ening?” e ““How, Franky do the rootlets of tree and plant také up from the earth the substance wfich, every year, makes new leaves, and flowers, and fruit, and grain? We do not know exactly, but we see it is done, and when we cut through the branches the sap drips down, as did the blood from your finger. It looks no more like the brown, dry earth than your blood looks like potatoes, or beans or chickens. There had been work going on in the canals of the ' tree, and had changed what the rootlets drew up from the sarth into leaves, flowers and fruit.” S e “Did the plant need air as we do, and | was there any combustion?” - G “Yes, and the life of the plant beauti- ’ fully fits into our lives. What we do not need the ‘plant does, and what the ' ‘plant throws away is our very life” | ~ “How can that be?” asked Frank. ~ “You remembher,” said she, ‘‘that I told you how your lung pump was kept busy throwing pure air in, and drawing {mpure air out of your blood. That pure air which reddens the blood and passes through the arteries and out of their tiny rootlets to unitéwz,hthe food in that camal, is oxyges. You o D e AR I TR ~food it produces a combustion. But no* fire burns without leaving some ashes and throwing oft some impure air. So in your hody there is always some ime i Lot whlon you dow't wenb. [ Ve call it oarbonic dcid gas. It i T Tl ith e R R mifw -

same time oxygen lp—qu otir uso. God made us for each other—plant and animall = . = : ‘“But, Aunt Mary, do plants breathe?” " “Cemainly; the leaves are full of breathing pores, which yon may see under a ' microscope. If you cover these pores so as to exclude theair, then your plant will die, even though its roots are . in the ground ‘and drawing up food every hour. The air is needed for combustion—a combustion which changes ‘the sap into plant fabric, just as in our body it changes the fdgd -into bone, and muscle, and tissues. And remember, Frank, that unless you give yourself plenty of fresh air, your blood can not do its work well. It will be ‘blue blood,” - which is now rather a sign of disease than of nobility.”: . ; POLLY ' PINKUM. - A Baby's Adventure Among & Lot of wila : Texas Steers. hidron : It was not her name at all, and why she called herself Polly Pinkum I do mnot know, and T do not suppose she did; - but because she did every one else did, . for if ever there was a family ruled by a baby, it was Polly Pinkum’s family, and she was the baby. Every one and every thing about the farm-house loved her dearly, she was such a little parcel of sunshine. i It was the prettiest farm-house in the world, and it never looked so pretty as 9 in the afternoon, all dimpled over by the setting sun shining through the vines and trees. . - ; . Grandma’s portly figure pretty well\ filled up the doorway, as she stood there one afternoon, shading her eyes with her hand, and looking off anxiously toward the field, where the men had been busy harvesting. - , At last'she saw. them coming, and waved her apron ‘vigorously, and when grandpa waved his hat, she disappeared to finish getting supper.

When she came out again, they were all clustered around the pump, refreshing their hot throats with the cool waters: / . ;

“‘Hurry up, boys,” she called cheerfully, in her -jolly voice, ‘‘supper is all on the table.”” i A

““Now, mother,” said grandpa, who was the oldest boy, ‘“‘don’tyou hurry us. We've hurried all. the afternoon to get ahead of the storm that blew over, and now you are going to hurry us, too. I vow it’s too bad.” - . ol

‘‘So ’tis,” said grandma sympathetically, *‘and you mneed not -hurry one bit, but I've baked you an omelet as light and puffed up as vanity, and just about as’'quick to fall. .And the Sally Lunns are done jusc right, but don’t—you—hurry.” - o And grandma went inside again, while the boys fell to with a will, swashing the water over their hot heads and necks, and emerging red and shining from the roller towel that hung in the latticed porch.

But when they were sitting down at the table grandpa missed his baby. ‘‘Where’s my Polly Pinkum?” he asked, looking under the table to see if shae were hiding. : ‘ - “There!”.cried grandma, ‘‘she came around while I was getting supper, and says: ‘Doo by, gran’ma, Polly Pinkum doin’ vizting.” Ido believe I hain’tseen the darling since.”: ° , © ‘“Why, mother, I thought she was with you,” said -Polly’s mamma, pale and trembling. ‘I had a headache, and was lying down up-stairs.” - : : - *‘Sheé had on your red silk handkerchief and my old black silk parasol in her -hand,” said gra,ndgna, following grandpa out to the porch, for the men had quickly scattered through the great yard in search of the baby they loved so well. o

‘Keep her back,” said grandpa, pointing toward Polly’s invalid mother. “I’m afraid the baby’s got in among them Texas steers.”: ; :

For the first time in grandma’s life she felt faint. and she sat down on the step. - :

“Oh, father, didn’t vou send ’em to town to-day? You'said you were going to,” she asked, trembling all over. ‘‘Couldn’t spare the mien on account of tho-storm, so I put it off until fo-mor-row.”: e : “And the red silk handkerchief,”

moaned grandma, but then she went inside at once to find the poor mother. Grandpa took down® his ox-goad, and with trembling steps walked toward the

ard where the fierce creatures were

/kept. . They-came lowing toward him as he entered the gate, and shook their great. branching horns, at which poor grandpa could not bear to look. In this yard was a straw stack with a place hollowed out, and this, before the Texas -steers were brought up, Polly Pinkum called her house, and delighted tc play in. : . Grandpa put his hand on the gate and let his heart cry out ‘“Ah God,” before he could get strength enough to go in.: At last he entered, and driving the animals away with his leather goad, he found the straw-house all safe and the litvle maiden unhurt. : - :

“‘Hello, dranpa,” she called, ‘did ’oo tome to see me. in my house? I’'se to the m’agerie now.” - Menagerie indeed. In a cage of wild beasts Polly Pinkum would have been as free from danger: Do you think grandpa will believe in guardian angels after this? ° S en

*“I want to doe home. I feels my appetite, and-1 wunts my dinny,” continued the baby. . : ; : -Grandpa lifted her up and carried her out of the yard, and when the linch-pin was- in the gate and all'secure, he dropped on his knees and thanked God from his heart that his darling was safe.—L. E. Crittenden, in Christian at . Work. © oo : :

; A Rat-Infested Island. ~Bean’s island, an uninhabited piece of land lying in Frenchman’s bay, off the coast of Maine, would bea paradise for eats. It is infested. with rats, and how they reached there no one can tell. It is the general supposition that some years ago a coasting schooner muss have been wrecked in the bay and that it- had rats among the other valuable portions of its cargo. The rodemts are there by thousands, and they fairly swarm over the island. Any one who is not fond of them does well in giving the place a wide birth, for they know no fear and make it interesting for visitors. - Much of the island is low and flat and is so perforated with their holes that it resembles a sieve. How they live is a mystery. No.ome knows of ‘any fresh water upon the island, so the rats must have been the sole discover-. ‘ers of some hidden spring.—Nature. ~~—Adistinguished Englishman, returns ing to his own country after a careful study of our American. h.;ma%% being asked what ho had seen that was most unlike England, answered: “The winoless dinnor fables of the great mids dleslags” a 0 ol fi%‘}&j