Rensselaer Journal, Volume 12, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 January 1903 — Page 8

Sales Greater Than the Population of Illinois.

Population of Illinois, compared with the sale of Single Binder cigars and other brands of the Lewis factory— Cigars sold during 1902 (internal revenue count), 5,801,300; population of Illinois, 4,821,560. Lewis Single Binder factory sold 979,750 more cigars than there are people in the great state of Illinois. Greatest year's sales in the history of the Lewis factory. Reliable quality brought the business.

Knew Human Nature.

Judge—Have you anything to say before I pass sentence? Prisoner —Yes, my lord, I should like you to have your dinner before you pass sentence upon me.

In Winter Use Allen’s Foot-Ease.

A powder. Your feet feel uncomfortable. nervous and often cold and damp. If you have sweating, sore feet or tight shoes, try Allen’s Foot-Ease. Sold by all druggists and shoe stores. 26 cents. Sample sent free. Address Allen 8. Olmsted. Le Roy, N. Y.

His Parabolic Path.

Anxious Wlfe-r-When you saw John, which way was be going? Boy—l don’t know, mum; he was drunk.

INSIST ON GETTING IT.

Rome grocers say they rton’t keep Defiance Starch because they have a stock In hand of VI oz. brands, which they know cannot be sold to a customer who has once used the IS oz. pkjf. Oeiiauce Starch for same money. Sunburn and snow blindness are due to the vioiet and ultra-violet rays of the sun. When the skin is once tanned it is protected against their effect. A Montreal firm shipped last year to England 12.000 cattle, witn a loss of less than one to the thousand. tdo not believe Pise's Cure for Consumption has an ojual for couyns and colds.—John F Boron, Trinity Sprmns. lnd., Feb. 5,190 U Tennessee, with $16,200,000, has a larger debt than any other state.

To Cure a Cold in One day.

Take Laxative Bromo Quinine Tablets. All druggists refund money if it fails to cure. 25c. All cruelty springs irom hard-heart-eduess and weakness.—Seneca. If you want creamery prices do as the creameries do, use JUNE TINT BUTTER COLOR. Third-class railway fare in India is less than half a cent a mile. Try me just once and 1 am sure to come again. Defiance Starch. The man that makes a character makes foes. —Young.

Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup.

For children i*eiliing, soften* lue gum*. reduces InOsauuMtor . sttays pain, cures wind colic. 25c a .tittle. A swell affair is apt to make a misfit of a man’s hat. Tonsiiine Cures Sore Throat. Hunger is the best sauce.

imlmi Mrs. F. Wright, of Oelwein, lowa, is another one of the million women who have been restored to health by Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. A Young New York Lady Tells of a Wonderful Cure: l * My- tr»ubl» vras with the ovaries; I aia. tall, and the doctor said I grew too fast for qay strength. I Buffered dreadfully from inflammation and doctored continually, but got no help. I suffered from terrible dragging sensations with the most awful pains low down in the side and pains in the back, and the most agonizing headaches. No one knows what I endured. Often I was sick to the stomach, and every little while I would be too sick to go to work, for three or four days; I work in a large store, and I suppose standing on my feet all day made me worse. "At the suggestion of a friend of my mother’s I began to take Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Comfound, and it is simply wonderful. felt better after the first two or three doses; it seemed as though a weight was taken off my shoulders; I continued its use until now I can truthfully say lam entirely cured. Young girls who are always paying doctor’s bills without getting any help as I did, ought to take your medicine. It costs so much less, and it is sure to cure theip.—Yours truly, Adki.aidk Fra hi., IT*' St. Ann’s Ave., New York City.” proving genuinenets cannot be produced. Abe you satisfied ? Are you entirely satisned with the goods you buy 'mil with the i prioes that yqu pay i Over 2.000.000 people are trading with us and getting their goods at ■wholesale rices. Our 1,000-page catalogue will be sent on receipt of 15 cents. It tells the story. t CHICAGO The house that tells the truth. MaCBLLANKOITH. «M ANTKD—Lady to taka agency at home for our *>luU M toe shoo*. SelPaiUclcly at $1.78. Reference* required. U TOBOA BB.OS 00., Ooldwatar, High. 4 (4A& WEEK Straight salary and exw*W paaa— to nan with rig to introduce •nr Poultry Mixture In country: year’* contract! weakly pay. Addreea with (tamp. Monarch Mfg- Co- Box 11 03 A'priv gfleld.lU. i.i f- pv?**'• ' : * s •<"*'‘VV’i’- tt'-

"Here’s something you’ll like, Bill." It chanced that Wilfrid Lankester and his publisher had once been boys together and gone to the same school, and still called each other “Bill’’ and “Drick” when they met. Frederic Singster took from his desk a small volume in faded red and gold, which looked as if it might have lain a century on a shelf in the library of generations of booklovers. “I should say it is just In your line. I can’t read it all, not being much of a word shuffler, but it’s a kind of epic poem and love story combined by a girl who signs herself ‘Jeanne,’ and it seems to be very pretty, what I can get out of it. Put it into English and I’ll bring It out for the holidays in a handsome cover of red with gold fleur-de-lis on it.”

Wilfrid put the book into his pocket and went to his room. He had thought of dropping in at the Authors' Club and rubbing up against the men who were making literary history at first hand. Now he seemed to be wrapped up in the desire to get at this new old poem. He opened the book and was soon In the thrall of its mystic fascination. Usually he dined at eight o’clock at the little French restaurant three blocks away. It was his one diversion. Not that he cared so much tor the bottle of good claret and the undeniable ragouts, but there was an enchanting atmosphere about the place w'hich pleased him. Then Henri went there. Henri was a correspondent for Le Temps, and there was something in his electric manner and graceful way which reminded Wilfrid of Paris in the long ago, when he spent some happy years there studying French and music, and so forth. In return for the fascinating atmosphere he gave Henri pointers on the political situation and told him what new novels came nearest illustrating the evanescent and illusive American view. This evening he had no desire for atmosphere and views. There was a certain comradeship in the book that superseded the necessity of any other association. It seemed to open a view into a life unknown —a gracious life that held the light of olden sunny France. As he unraveled the story from the mediaeval language in which it was told in graceful rhythm and musical rhyme, that old life seemed to enter his heart and to draw him nearer to the dreamy realm in which the unknown "Jeanne” had lived and loved and written her brilliant and sorrowful story, Interwoven with the light and darkness of her country's history. Thus he reached back to the life that had spent itself in the poem of the olden times until a golden pathway opened down which he could look Into that dream life more vivid to him than the everyday existence around him. At the end of the pathway of light was a golden glory and looking out of it a brilliant face, with wine-brown ’ eyes and he knew that “Jeanne” beckoned to him across the bridge of the centuries. “ 'I have another life I long to meet. Without whicn life my life Is incomplete; Oh, sweeter self, like me, art thou astray, Trying with all thy might to find to me the way?’ ” he repeated to himself. “Jeanne, an thou, too, astray?” He could not cross that bridge, so he went out, led by fate, toward that haunting face. Thus he came to the beautiful little city of St. Pierre, gleaming against the side of Mont Pelee like a pearl set in a cluster of emeralds. Nowhere is life crowned with the rose of happiness save on a French Island; on no other isle of France Is that rose-crown so fragrant and sunny as in Martinique; in no 1 other apot of Martinique is the fragrance

He Opened the Book and Was Soon In the Thrall of Its Mystic Fascination. of the rose so sweet and the sunlight in which it blossoms so bright as in St. Pierre. Three days after Wilfrid Lankester landed on Martinique he went with a friendly native to the Jardin dea Plantes, a mile fi;om St. Pierre, where the foliage of great trees weaves into an arch of sparking emerald overhead and cool lakes glitter in the green moss and the music of cascades tinkles always in the air. “It is more beautiful even than I had Imagined it” “Then you had Imagined It? Had yon known of it before to-day?”

SOUL-ASTRAY.

By MRS. GEN. PICKETT.

(Copyright, 19CS, by Dally Story Pub. Co.)

“Everybody knows of your famous park. Do you think that little Martinique could have one of the most beautiful gardens in the world all to bprself?” *1 never thought whether anybody eise knew of it; I only know that we love it * Jacques looked away up at Mont Pelee towering above pretty little St. Pierre. “We have two loves,” he said. “The Jardin and Mont Pelee. I could not say which we love best, but our love for Mont Pelee is a different feeling.

He Watched Her Face as She Looked Down Upon St. Pierre.

It Is deepened with awe and mingled with a feeling of confidence. The mountain is our protector. He watches over us and wards off evil. We never lose sight of him. We cannot go anywhere on the Island where we do not see him, and miles and miles off at sea we turn and gaze back at him.” Jacques continued to look with rapt devotion up at the stately mountain with head lost in a curtain of mist. Wilfrid’s gaze swept the green bordered circle within which he stood. A woman who was bending slightly forward looking into a little lake turned so that he saw her face. He sprang forward, but that instant she was gone. Jacques brought his attention back from Mount Pelee and turned it with surprise upon his friend. He had heard of American nerves, but was not expecting so violent a demonstration of them. “Who was that lady?” “What lady? Where? I saw no one. Perhaps it was some one Monsieur had previously met?” “Yes, I had seen her once—just once.”

“Since coming to St. Pierre?” “No; in France, —three centuries ago.” Jacques opened his eyes wide. Had his American friend been suddenly struck with insanity or was it a mere lapse in the language of Martinique? Sometimes strangers with English tongues did say funny things. But the conversation of this visitor had been unfailingly accurate. It was more comfortable, though, to regard it as a lapse in speech than as a defect of reason.

“Alas, she has gone,” said Wilfrid, regretfully, “gone. I shall never, perhaps, see her again.” He did see her again three days later when we went with Jacques on an excursion to Morne Rouge away up near the veil of mist that shut the mountain peak from view. Jeanne de St Pierre, they called her. He had a strange fancy that be was listening to -a voice from dead centuries when she spoke to him and yet there was a living music in her voice that would never die. “How charming it Is for you to be named for the beautiful city;—but Jeanne? How did you come by that name? It was her name, too.” “The bearer of our name,” she answered, “came from France in the Revolution. He had lost title, estate, and saved his life only by leaving his country. After that he was known as Jean of St. Pierre. I inherit'the name of Jeanne from many ancestresses. I have a poem written by one of them away back in the generations. It is a poem of France and, I think, of her own heart, too.” He watched her face as she looked down upon St Pierre like a dreamcity far below shining whltely through sun-tinted mists. The women of St. Pierre are beautiful and with stately carriage like the grandes dames of poetic tradition. But there was a loftiness in the beauty of Jeanne de St. Pierre that was different from them. It was the face of that Jeanne of long ago that had looked through the glory of Wilfrid’s vision. “St. Pierre is like a flower growing in the shadow of a tall tree,” said Jeanne, looking back at the towerlrg height of Mont Pelee. His gaze followed hers. The wind had blown the mist away. It was drifting off into the air, scattering in fleecy veils. A darker cloud seemed to be forming directly around the peak. It was rising, rising slowly and in sudden puffs from the mountain. “Is not that smoke?” “Yes, ft looks like it,” she said. “Does it not threaten danger to St Pierre?” She laughed. “The dear old mountain never threatens us. He is only burning incense on the altar of his love for us.”

“He has been kno7.n to hurt Lis children." “That was tong ago. His flres are all burned out. Where once they flamed there Is a lake of beautiful cool spring water that gives us life. There Is perfect confidence between us and Mont Pelee." So St Jplerjre gave her faithful heart to the god-mountain even when shaken by the thunders from his mighty breast and when the lightnings from his heart flamed over the city which proudly dwelt in his fancied love. “We are quite safe/’ said Jeanne to Wilfrid a few days after the meeting at Morne Rouge. “The Commissioners from Port de France went half way up the slope yesterday and enjoyed the excursion and reported that there Is no danger.” “Anything must be amiable that would not kill a Commissioner." Wilfrid had come to America and might be permanently aggrieved on the subject of Commissioners. When arrows of flame began to fall near the town Wilfrid entreated Jeanne to let him take her away. “You do not love St. Pierre,” she said, "and you need not stay. I am not afraid; you are.” “Yes, I am afraid, but I shall not go and leave you here. Will you go?” “No, I think not. I should fall under the disapproval of the Governor, too, you know. Yesterday a crowd of panic-stricken people tried to leave the town and the Governor sent troops to drive them back. He thought there' was no danger and did not wish business interrupted.” From the balcony one brilliant May night they watched the flame pictures that Mont Pelee was making against the night sky. In the street below the youths and maidens of gay St. Pierre talked and laughed as they passed. A girl wore a white rose in her night-black hair. The youth with her bent over her pleading for it. She took it out, touched it softly with her lips and gave it to him. Then they both laughed happily. The sun of Ascension Day rose brightly over St. Pierre. People went early to devotions in the old cathedral. At the door Wilfrid met Jeanne. How like the “Jeanne” of his'vision she was with the early light falling over her. Out of the dead centuries she had come to meet him and now must he lose her to the long pent-up and suddenly freed wrath of Mont Pelee? A carriage dashing furiously by drew up suddenly. A face that Wilfrid knew looked out. “Lankester, come with me,” cried an American voice. “There are places for two. Let me take you and Mademoiselle from this accursed town.” Wilfrid stretched out his hand. No word was spoken, but the appeal in his eyes met response in her heart. She put her hand in his, he lifted her into the carriage and they drove southward. They were miles away when a detonation as of the thunders of the universe rent the air and shook the earth. The refugees looked back. A heavy cloud of smoke descended upon the doomed city, followed by a shower of fire, and St. Pierre was na more.

Last Barrier Gone.

“Henry,” said Mrs. Penhecker, “you have not yet told me what good resolve you have made for the new year.” “Why, my dear,” protested Henry, “you know that I have no small vices or bad habits at all. Don’t you know that you have induced me to stop swearing and smoking and drinking and going out nights, and everything else that I used to think that I wanted to do?” “Yes,love,' answered Mrs. Penhecker, sweetly; “but it sometimes seems to me that you read the advertisements of liquors and cigars with a sinful satisfaction. It would be better for you, spiritually, if you should sternly and firmly resolve to shun them hereafter.” And poor Henry shrank further and further into the nice new housecoat that she had made from her old dolman. —Judge.

Generosity Rewarded.

During the distress the Copenhagen workmen on account of a lockout In 1887 the public was appealed to for contributions. An old couple in Jutland, having no money, sent in their wedding rings as their humble contribution for the relief of the starving people. The organization kept the rings as a memento of this kind act. Recently the old couple celebrated their golden wedding under very distressing circumstances. They were actually starving. This came to the knowledge of the Copenhagen workmen. A collection was organized, and la a few days the old couple received S4QO in cash and two new wedding rings with a grateful acknowledgment of their kindness during the time of trouble.

Origin of the Expression.

The actor and his favorite actress stood near the door the latter’s dressing room. They had quarreled grievously a few nights before and each was now penitent. “I was wrong, and am sorry,” said he, simply, “let us make up and kiss.” “No," she said thoughtfully, “if we did that we would have to do all our making up over again, as kissing is so mussy. We had better kiss first and then assume our makeup.” To which he readily assented, thus establishing the order of precedence in the stereotyped phrase, “Kiss and make up."—Baltimore American.

Congressman With a Conscience.

The national House of Representatives has concluded that Congressman Sheppard of Texas has the most delicately balanced conscience in the entire body. When he started back from his holiday he had through tickets to Washington, but he found that by coming on the route he had selected he would be four hours late for the opening of Congress. This discovery was made in St. Louis. Mr. Sheppard promptly threw away his tickets and bought another which landed him in Washington Just in time. He wondered why more seasoned statesmen laughed when he told of this experience. The Texan is only twentyseven years old, which may go a long way toward accounting for his extreme fidelity to duty.

Widely Used Slang Phrases.

Somerset, England, has given to the United States some of its most active phrases. “Here right,” they say in Somerset when they mean “on the spot.” America inverts the order and the method. But “peart!” Is not that thoroughly American? No; it is Somerset for “lively.”

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