Rensselaer Journal, Volume 12, Number 14, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 September 1902 — Page 3

The JOURNAL and CHICAGO WEEKLY INTER OCEAN for $1.40 per year. JOURNAL and TOLEDO BLADE, $1.25. ®1) c U cnsGclacv limrnaL

VOL. X.

: Mi|L gfi 1 WILL write my friend : l of McCoysburg, a bill of lumber and other building ► Ji Hemlock piece stuff at ftiy.ooper thousand. I A fine Bevel siding (lap) at $17.00. I -r—' Barn Siding at $21.00 per thousand. I Fencing at $20.00. > I ffl ffir i Building Paper for 65c per roll. I My Nail Bill for less than 3c a pound. j 1 wiU write my friend at once > for such bargains as are offered there he should not miss. Says patron of I W. R. LEE, McCoysburg, Ind.

’ IF YOU’RE NOT PMUIEUUIR ’ It don’t cut much figure where you buy Lumber. Bill IF YOU ARE PARTICULARwant the best going—at the best price —then get our price before buying. DONNELLY LUMBER CO. ► <

f Stop Paying Rent. 1 } ? WHAT’S the use of paying rent when you can own a home of your own paid for with the 3 money now given your, landlord. We will build you a modern residence complete and ’ * you can pay for same in small monthly payments and in a few years be the owner of youi* s. own property. Isn’t this worth serious con- ; sideration ? Think the matter over and call on us for full particulars. We do all kinds of Contracting and Cement work at lowest prices. * £ Let us figure on your next job. 1 RUSH & WARREN.! .1. X I . X I » X 1 . X 1 . X I . 11. 11. it. • I . . I . • I - ■ a * ■ . I _ a

CLOSING OUT SALE. Queensware, Chinaware, Glassware and Lamps. All ware of the best English make. The best staple stock in the city at LESS THAN COST. | This is no fake. lam going to quit this line of business. If you want bargains come and see me. m C. C. STARR.

FIVE PER CENT FARM LOANS.

\ One Per Cent Commission. W. B. Austin, Rensselaer, has a special fund to loan at 5 per cent interest and - one per cent commission. No delay. For Rent: Good five room house. Inquire at the Journal office.

Coal for threshing purposes at $3.25 per ton at the Rensselaer Feed Store. Trees that will grow are the kind that S. E. Yeoman sells. Give him your order.

RENSSELAER, IND., THURSDAY. SEPTEMBER 11. 1902.

The Schools Have Opened.

The wheels of that ponderous piece of machinery—the school—have begun to move again, turning a little slowly at first with rusty creakings, but gathering momentum each hour, and sounding aloud with all the determined rumbling and bumbling of Rensselaer young Americans. In his little box office sits the wise and determined engineer, Prof. Sanders, silent, watchful—a morose Jeremiahlike director of energy; a sort of Thoreau, with the guiding, mechanical instincts of an Edison, and the patience of a Buddhist yogi. He is not playfully inclined; he understands the omnipresent danger signals too well to smile during the opening month run. When the buzzing of the huge organism that conserves and ultimately furnishes the thinking power of the government takes on an unsteady note, this master mechanic reaches out his hand, and—lo!—harmony transmutes discord into music; the thews and sinews of majestic energy regulate themselves to the discretionary command of one brain; there is no rude lurching of line-shafts, no roquetting of loose pulleys, no creakings of agonized gearings; mind has conquered. Under the control, and acquiesing to the leadership of this mechanical Titan are a number of sub-engineers, directors of sections of tne prodigious power plant; energized by the profound enthusiasm of years of similar effort, they sit in their places impassive of countenance, borrowing from their leader the cloak of masterful imperturbility, yet übiquitous withal and alert as the fabled Martains. They fill their places admirably regarding their duty alone they find no time for dalliance of wit. They will not permit procrastination to sit upon their shoulders, but rather the fasce of divine authority—the majesty of laws immeasurable injunction, the direct commission of the master of scholastics, whose Napoleonic word is inexorable.

It is no slight task these coadjustors set themselves to do. The preservation of energy, the saving of it for purposes of good government and citizenship is an immense task. The divinity that hedges about republican institutions must be foisted at the expense of every selfish interest. Anarchy and its loathsome free polity must be abjured and its thrice damned teachings purged from each aspiring mind. The reserve and hellish instincts inciting to immorality must be crushed at the inception. Growth in the public school must be regular, institutional, directed with all the care of a life and death mission. For it is this growth in free America that produces and developes our Lincolns, Garfields and McKinleys, that produces our great Calhouns, Clays and Websters. From this endless humming of thought-progress steps the philanthropist and statesman, the queen of arts, the mothers of Americans. (What can be grander than to be the mother of a free-born hero—an American?) From this creaking machinery of the public schools comes forth the eye that guides the five-mile shot, the man behind the guns, the man with the hoe, that cultivates the Sahara of the north, and digs a tunnel through the Rockies, the Wall street giant, the martyr of freedom. Let us take off our hats to these engineers of progress. Hats off to these coadjutors of Liberty! The schools and their teachers, ladies and gentlemen—hats off to the schools! We will be coadjutors also—coadjutors all! Genuine Rocky Mountain Tea made by the Madison Medicine Co., is made of rare ana costly herbs not found in any other preparation, therefore get the kind ycu read about. B. F. Fendig.

Our Man About Town.

Both Cain and Abel are attending the conference this week, not the Cain and Abel of biblical times, however, but Rev. Clarence Abel, a Methodist minister, and Rev. W. P. Kane, president of Wabash college. » * * Th’ drowsy, drony kind of stuff is gittin’ in the air; the sneezin,’ coughin,’ kind o’ dope, ’at hain’t got no reliever; an’ ma is mad and paw is cross; you kin’ bet your patent hair ’at its cornin’ time o’year fer the hayfever. Say don’t you feel all prickly like and tickfiu in yer toes? Well, I’ll tell you what is good fer boys—it’ll cure em evfir’ sliver. Don’t wait to buy no patent pumps or extry bathin’ close; jist foller me off cross lots ter the river. *„* As the Journal scribe journeyed down to work the other morn he came upon a rueful little object in front of Williams’ furniture store. “Hello, little one! Sick?” “No. Only thorry.” “What’s up?” “Ith my birthday. I’m four.” The scribe laughed but the small princess looked at him with lowering eyes. “Don’t like to be four, eh? Don’t fell well, eh?” “Yeth, I feel well, but I’m hungry.” “Had breakfast?”

“No. Our girl ith gone away, an’ thisther ith cross. Mamma ith making me a thweet little dress for my party tonight, an’ I’m not bothering her. There’ll be things to eat at the party an’ I’m going.” “Where’s brother?” “Brother ith makin’ me a jumping jack for my prethent, an’ he slapped me cauth I peeked.” “And so you’ve had nothing to eat?” “Oh, yeth, I haven’t not had nothing. I’ve had a piece of bread an’— an’ an ithicle therbet—an’ it was cold. I don’t want to be four.” * * One of the ministers attending conference this week tells the following good story on himself: He is rather absent minded and, like almost all forgetful preachers, is possessed of a family who frequently take elfish pleasure in having sport with their father by taking advantage of his weakness. One day recently, he was walking along the street in a condition of complete abstraction and did not see his son as he passed. This unnatural child, remarking the preoccupation ofhis father, quietly walked by his side, and in a slightly changed tone said: “Revered pastor, I want to thank you for your Sunday sermon, not only for myself, but also on behalf of my father, who enjoyed it deeply. It did him a world of good.” “I am very glad,” returned the minister with pleased surprise; “and how is your father?” “Ah, alas, he has reached the time of life when he needs your ministrations. He has grown old and forgetful; frequently he fails to recognize those whom he was wont to love. His mind appears to wander constantly towards the great beyond.” “Tell him,” said the pastor, “that I am happy when he comes to hear me preach, most happy. If I help him by my poor words tell him bis presence helps me to fee) and utter them. Tell

him that heavenly abstraction is not a bad thing as it takes us away from earth and places us in communication with heaven. What? Must you turn at this corner? then good-bye, and don’t forget my message to your dear father.” * * ft When young Mr. (we’ll keep the name in ambush) called the other evening on his “semi-steady” she was reading an intensely interesting yellow and blue novel in her room upstairs. She was also attired in curl papers and an article erswhile known as a kimona. So she sent her angel sister down to tell our friend that she would be down as soon as she could put some rouge on her cheeks and stick a hairpin through a wig. The angel sister carried the information down alright, and then hovered near for an opportunity to deliver herself of a few cute jokes and erstwhile bright little sayings of childhood. Presently the gentleman looked her way and she put on her angel smile and remarked. “Have you got many bureau draws?” “Why—l—don’t know.—Why?” “Jis understand, Sis she began to hunt through hers for a court plaster to put on a wart on her chin and she said if you had to rubber like she did she bet you wouldn't come around botherin’ folks this way. He! He! What’s the matter?” The gentleman wiggled in his chair. He made an inaudible effort to reply but thought better of the attempt. “Say”—shrilled the sweet girl,— “what a funny hat you must wear!” “Why?”—

Discusses Sundry and Other Matters.

“’Cause sis says you talk through it horribly. He! He! What’s the matter?” Grand pause! “Say—have you got any salt about your clothes? No? you ought to have. Sis says you’re so fresh you ought to be salted. He! He! What’s the matter?” The caller made a sort of choked sound and half rose to go, but, thinking better of it stared hard at the window. The angel sister drummed a few fancy tunes on the piano, then wheeled around on the stool. “Oh, Mister: please won’t you tell me what you won’t do?” “Won’t do?” repeated the visitor. “Yes,” said the prattling lamb. “I heard sis say yesterday w’en she was a-talkin’ bout you, ‘He won’t do’ jis like that, an’ I thought—He! He! What’s the matter?” The laugh was drowned by the trumtrumming of the angel child’s little paws on the piano. Then the visitor put himself out into the cold clammy night and told the cruel affair to the sympathizing but a good piece-away stars without waiting for the appearance of the young lady he went to see. But three minutes after he left the angel child was learning things about the rough places on a corrugated sterling silver hairbrush that she had never dreamed of in her young and joyous life before. And now when the maiden vainly tries to throw catching "smiles at a certain young man he retuses even to look at the wart that isn’t on her chin. . *•* Young man are you figuring out that good old Marion township land isn’t good enough for you, and that Jasper county is somewhat small, and that Washington street isn’t as fine as the city boulevard, and that the Iroquois isn’t as as good bathing as a shower bath and massage in a city palace? Well, if you are we will not seek to curtail your choice—its laudable to speak out and grow] up somewhere else, still here are a few aphorisms that men who knew both'

sides wrote after a half century of ’•‘try:” “A man is a fool who accepts a salaried position when he owns land.” “Any salaried position is a temporary one.” “A man on a farm never falls if he is any good.” Eugene Davenport said that. “The farmer is independent and is never out of a job.” It’s a great deal like this: A farmer is a man who’s Y’s; his hat’s not filled with B’s; he studies nature with his I’s and thinks of what he O’s. He hears the clatter of the J’s as they each other T’s but he won’t go to town be ZA’s till he can take his E’s. Bayard Taylor, the great traveler used to say he hoped the time would never come when he could not at least spend half a year at his country home, and as for us we trust the time will never come—when we will not really feel that the country with its riches and interests is not the best place the year round.

ARM CUT OFF.

Remington Man Falls Under Moving Passenger Train. Last night John Sullivan and his partner John Shearer, of Remington, were returning from this city to their home when one of them met with an accident that will maim him for life. They were waiting at the Maynard station for a train when they were informed by the agent that it did not stop. Upon their request the agent agreed to keep the gate closed until the train had showed up, so that they could board it. For some unknown reason the train did not slow up as much as was expected, and when Sullivan attempted to board it he was flung against the end of the car and fell under the wheels. One of his arms was cut off at the elbow and the other was broken. Dr. Pickey, of Dyer, attended him until he could be removed to St. Margaret’s Hospital in this city. The injured lad was 18 years old.—Hammond Tribune.

For the Wedding Day.

The innumerable items attendant upon a wedding are a source of infinite concern to many a bride who •has little time to devote to the arrangements for the occasion. A chapter in the October Delineator all the necessary information in regard to the invitations, details of the ceremony both at church and home, the decorations and the collation, and should be of general service.

Advertised Letters.

Miss Sadie Brown, N. T. B. Campbell, Miss Ella Culp, Mr. Chas. M. Cosmet, Rev. J. A. Hinhel, Harley W. Iliff, Mr. Howard King, Jim ty, Mr. Wm. A. Porter, Mrs. Sylvia Smith, Mr. Charlie Tanner, Mr. Wm Tanner, Mr. E. Oram, Mr. Wm. Bush All White, Mr. Loda Wiggins.

Beware of the Knife. J>io profession has anvanced more rapidly of late than surgery, bub It should not be used except where absolutely necessary. In cases of piles for example, it is seldom needed. DeWitt’s Witch Hazel Salve cures quickly and permanently. Unequalled for cuts, burns, jjruises, wounds, skin diseases. Accept no counterfeits. “I was so troubled with bleeding piles that I lost much blood and strength ” says J. 0. Phillips, Paris, 111. “DeWitt’s Witch Hazel Salve cured me in a short time.” Soothes and heals. A. F. Long. Just received, a car load of hominy meal, also a car load of bran at tha Rensselaer Feed Store.

NUMBER 14.