Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 20, Number 95, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 August 1899 — Page 6

THE PATRIOTS TALISMAN.

court leading 'aln§r Sect, near the Schuyltoodjppmall wooden house, in t GMp3 Seaton and his son, mK> In a retired apart- » on this July aft awpfCteTly man in a great ThljSrwas a bed in the room, plain and substanr sALthe hours -drag on! t, g£t a sound yet! Will theflK*to himself, while his graiSHlieJiilt of a magnifiupon the is was a man of at white hair and his cheeks being P this fashion of and had become to would not give it >re SHHp garb—that of a ST of the Patriot army. W*danging of a bell breaks r—clang! clang! clang! Then outing of distant voices; and coming -of' cannon. The old to his feet, and raises his rds heaven. £sp<J6jome man, tall and sp!endL and the fire that flashed in «r'wßs of the very brightest &},’J&ut he could not stand A.dfttP sigh he sank back into rfrpressed his hand upon his &tghhlrp pain had seized him. Übjegmpatriots will hear that themselves anew for the while I—while I— O, in Gilead for me? Is eatihg of this cruel wound? just as the nation of my love id’s will be' done!” his head upon his hand, and of the great excitement left » huu m fearfully pale and deeply and long, >ucn worn. By and by he and took a parchment roll ble, that had lain by the side BSSarfce oppned it and looked gj&gager-a tear stole from his 5 a commission from the Con-ns£f@|£-*tfa)dng him Gerald in the American in his'hand the awftinent was opened, and •nqpSl. She was a stout, of middle age, sed, ’and rather plain of face, k and genial, and bearing the nest truth in every lineament, tience Angefl; (rom Vermont, e servant of the household—operly speaking, she was the . •. u been out, Patience?” asked , the flush coming back to his e light to his eyes, at sight of servatif.' J ’ replied the woman, drawing proudly. “I’ve been to the >, and I’ve heard the re heard the men shout. My you feel the air better to Lh! they’ve done it, % general. le it!” *’ rocy O. they could not help ut, where .is Robert?” Ser-here soon, sir; never fear, ■amr-into the State House, ■jjpn&all the particulars. But Htg is done, general. There S particulars beyond that.” ■ nee, but how was it done? | s|rij|gßpgly ? Was it done in Were there dissentiiu jjlilflllii woman, smiting her piroad pali*Sts£ men “I learned all jjjjtboat State was represented, and tUEKvote was unanimous! O, BpSput afhepfnot- a State yet. Patience, ■llaim admiSftm under the new compact.” ||**Aye,” the woman, with en“ln the ngpe ofthe Great Jehovah and “As he dflj added Pa■k she hadßßKra Information to give, ■he did could to make her maspt comfortable, after which she went to look to other affjrirs; of the household. I Half an hoy .afterwards Robert Season entere<f*Mw*fyresen ce of his father, pliom he mntiy aw aiting him. “O, my boy,,ram glad you have come. sTou have UWn'W thV State House?” - '“And did°you see and speak with any access. I spoke with John Hangtock of Massachusetts* qnd with Richard ■fency Lee a'M||jhopi|s| Jefferson of VirjLtoole wide world has none braver or betpier, or more trujjr.’great. Now sit down Buld tell me all about it. Was the grand Kpclaration adoptfed afe I read it yester“With alterations< Struck out, for was its keen edge in any Bjfcr htaated. But I,will tell you more of phis ai another On. ! stranger has come ■g|m£ with m# much to see pA. ettanyr?” repeated the general, in fpi. strangest Whet* you need not see if Bp do n<* Irish; and perhaps you had Pff BOt see him. I doubt if he knows ! ® 8 name i

BY Sylvanus Cobb,Jr

“And that name?” “He bade me announce him as ‘Old Stephen Wilson.’ ” “Stephen Wilson!” repeated Seaton, with a start. He was deeply moved, as was to be plainly seen, but he restrained himself. He had experienced too much of the wild turmoil of life to be overcome in an emergency, though the blow might be startling. “How old is this man?” he asked. “He is as old as you are, father, if not older.” “And how looks he?” “Tall and heavily framed; with dark features, and a pair of large, very black, and protruding eyes.” “Let me see him, Robert. Stop, my son. I would see this man alone. You will show him to my door, and then leave him to me, and see that no one, not even Patience, comes to disturb us. I will ring if I want you.” Robert went out and fonnd Stephen WHson where he had found him, in the kitchen with Patience. “My father will see you, sir. You will see for yourself that he is very weak, and I trust you will not tarry longer than la necessary.” “My stay shall be as brief as your father desires.” Robert conducted him to the door of the general’s apartment and bade him enter; and when he had gone in, the youth returned to the kitchen to answer the many questions which Patience had to ask. It was between three and four o’clock when Stephen Wilson entered the room where sat Gerald Seaton. “He is making a long stop,” said the housekeeper, as the clock struck four. Shortly after this a messenger from the State House called on private business, and Robert went out with him, and was absent half an hour. When he returned home he found Patience just come from his father’s room. “Has the man gone?” he asked. “No. I answered your father’s bell, and was directed to bring in wine and biscuit.” “My faith! Then the man must have business of importance.” “I should say so, Robert; and I should judge that it was of importance to your father. His eyes were bright, his face was flushed, and his voice had something of the old ring in It. There were papers on the table, and both of them seemed to have been writing.” The clock struck five, and still the strange old man remained closeted with Gerald Seaton. At six o’clock Robert and Patience sat down to their supper, and it was not until half an hour later that Stephen Wilson came out from the conference. His head was bowed, and traces of tears were upon his cheeks. He had taken his hat, and would have departed without speaking had not Robert interposed. “Will you not take refreshment before you go, sir?” “I broke bread with your father, sir, and require no more. I thank you for your kindness.” “You have known my father before?” “Yes, I have known him. He will tell you that you did right in bringing me hither. We may meet again, and until then may God preserve and bless you.” And with this the old man put on his hat and departed. Robert found his father in his easy chair, with his head bent upon his hands. The papers of which Patience had spoken were not in sight, and even the writing materials had been put away. “You had a long conference with the stranger, my father.” The old man looked up, and motioned his son to a seat.

“I found him not a stranger, Robert. He is one whom I knew in my younger days. I will tell you of him to-morrow. Do not ask me now. I must have time for reflection before I tell to you the story. Will you pass me the wine?” The general filled his glass, and as he sipped he asked his son to tell him of the doings at the State House. This was a grand and inspiring theme for the youthful patriot, and he easily put aside his curiosity while he told the wondrous story of the Declaration. “And,” he added, when he had told all he had to tell of the doings of the day, “a messenger has been here from President Hancock. Gen. Washington has sent on from New York to know if you will be able to command a division in the coming campaign. He fears dissensions among his generals. This is private, of coarse, and only those to whom the illustrious commander-in-chief was forced to communicate the possibilities of the hour are aware of it. \yith Gates and Schuyler and Arnold, there may be trouble. Old Putnam is above any petty animosity that can interfere with the patriot's duty, and Washington wants you, my dear father, to stand by that veteran’s side.” “God bless our Washington! and God bless Israel Putnam!” uttered Gerald Seaton, devoutly. “But/’ he added, after a pause, “I shall never see them again. They have all been true friends of mine thus far, bnt I knbw not how long I might count them so, if I were to be particularly favored, and placed in rank above them. Putnam I should not fear. Schuyler is a true-hearted man; but he has enemies. He will be worried, and he will worry others. Gates is ambitious and overbearing. He will give trouble to somebody. Arnold is as brave as man <;an be; but he lacks moral force. He can be a good friend, and a dangerous enemy.” “Wbat do you think of Gen. Lee?’ asked Robert. 1 A cloud passed over the old man’s face. “I know Charles Lee,” he said, thoughtfully, “and I knew his father. They were both English officers. Charles is not the man for the place he holds. He does not love America so much as he hates England. He pould sot sacrifice self for the good of our country. I must see Hancock and Adams to-morrow. I can see what they do not see. Now that the colonies have declared themselvet a' free and independent nation, there should daily should there be no divisions among

the leaders of our armies. You will call upon the leaders of Congress to-morrow, my son, and ask them to visit me. I would thank them for the honor they have thought to bestow upon me, though I shall not live to profit by it.” “Let us hope for better things, my father. If your wound should heal ” “Ah, my boy, it cannot heal. The British lead is in my vitals still. How can a wound heal while the missile that makes the wound is burrowing in the flesh? But you know what you promised me. The surgeon, has promised it as well, but I would have you see to it. Do not allow this poor body to be buried with that piece of foeman's lead keeping it hostile company.” “You may make your mind easy on that point, father. If I am living when you pass away, I will see, with my own eyes, that the bullet is removed. If I am called first ” “Stop!” interposed the general, with an energetic wave of the hand. “You are to follow me in the service. You will represent me in the field. God will spare you for my sake. O, if I could but give to you my knowledge of the military art as , I can give you my sword and my pistols. I should like it, and, in this private way I may say, our country would be the gainer. But it may not be. I spent years in study on the field, under the roar and smoke of battle. I was by the side of Marshal Schwerin four years. Frederick deemed him worth ten thousand men. The grand marshal died in my arms, Robere, and Frederick the Great stood by and wept like a child. On that day we won the victory for Prussia against full twice our numbers. -It was at Prague. O! it was a bloody day. Sixteen thousand of our men were left dead *on the field, and more than nineteen thousand Austrians were stricken from the roll of life. But I have told you the story, my boy. Ah! the old, old times! God doeth all things well—and yet—and yet, why should I die just when the genius of liberty most needs my sword!” “If death must come, my father,” said Robert in a reverential tone, “remember that the blood of the martyrs is not shed in vaim In the years to come, when this nation is great and prosperous, I believe that no field of all its battles for liberty will be held more in grateful remembrance and veneration than that where you received your cruel wound —the field of Bunker Hill!” “Aye!” cried the veteran, his eyes blazing, and his right hand reaching out to the golden hilt of the sword that still lay upon the table at his side. “Aye, my boy, you speak truly; for it was at Bunker Hill that England’s proudly trained and vaunted soldiers first broke in wild confusion from their serried ranks, and fled like frightened children, beneath the fire of a Patriot band! I stood by Putnam’s side when I was struck; but I did not give up. No, no, I fought on! I was one of the last ” At this point the old soldier’s vivid emotions proved too much for his strength, and he sank forward, and was caught in the arms of his son, who shortly afterwards assisted him to his bed. Half an hour later, when the general seemed to have fallen asleep, Robert arose from his place of watching, and moved softly towards the door. The sun had set, and the shades of evening were gathering. “Robert!” The young man stopped and turned and found his father’s.head lifted from the pillow and supported upon his hand. “One moment, my son.” “I thought you slept.” “No —I have been thinking. Come here and sit down.”

The youth went back with evident reluctance. He felt it in the atmosphere that his father had something to say which he cared not to hear—something which would jar upon his feelings. He knew from the look and from the tone very near what was coming. We do not like to hear our very dearest friends—even the beloved of our household—probe those secrets which we hoard in our innermost hearts. There are certain treasures of the soul which we hold sacred beyond the right of any human hand to touch. And such a treasure Robert Seaton held; and borne to his consciousness by the electric current from his father’s eyes, came the impression that the treasure was to be dragged forth to sight and discussion. “My son,” said the old man, after the youth had resumed his seat by the bedside, “I have one last word to say to you on a particular subject. I know, from your darkening brow, that you guess what it is. Yet you will pardon me. 1 speak more for my own peace of mind than for your guidance. I wish not to interfere with any well-regulated plan you may have formed. You saw Lillian Eastcourt last evening?” “Yes,” replied Robert, with a slight show of restiveness at first, but finally looking his father full and frankly in the face. “You still love the girl?” “With all my heart and soul. I love her as I shall never love another. She is all in all to me.” “Is she more than your country ?” “She is a part of my country. I will not separate them. The two devotions cannot constitute a divided allegiance.” “And yet, my boy, you, may have to give up one or the other.” “Father!” “I know what I say, Robert. I believe Lillian to be all that is pure and good, and I confess that my heart has been most strangely drawn towards her, but she is in the hands of her father. He is her lawfnl ruler; he can be her tyrant. Do you know what he is?” “I think he is a royalist.” “No, no, Robert—you do not think—yon know! You know that Jacob Eastconrt is an enemy of the colonies.” “But I saw him hear the State House to-day, and he shouted with the rest in honor of the Declaration.” “Aye, and that shows his baseness and bis traitorous hypocrisy. Robert, I know the character of that man. Had I used the knowledge I possess against him, he would have been in the hapds of the committee of safety- ere this; but my deep concern for his daughter, and for his estimable wife, restrained me. I know that be has furnished money to an organized band of Tosies in the upper valley of the Schuylkill, and that he is prepared, when the need may come, to direct and control their movements. I know this, though I might find it difficult to prove it aH. Suppose the alternative should come, and you should be forced to choose between Lillian and your country?’ “O! H cannot-it cannot come!” “But, my son, suppose it should come? Suppose Jacob Eastcourt should so exercise his authority a. to force

absolutely upon you? Can you answst me?" Robert Seaton arose from his chair and paced several times across the room. “Father,” he said, as he finally stopped by the bedside, speaking slowly and distinctly, “I have not been debating upon the subject of my duty. I have been trying to bring my mind to comprehend the dread alternative you have presented. My life is not more dear to me than is Lillian, and woe to the man that comes between ns! Bat my honor of the name which you have made bright—is dearer to me than life. If the dread necessity should come, which may God forbid! I will turn from all the world beside, and cling to my country!” “My boy!—my own brave boy! Heaven bless you! You have lifted the last load from my heart. I can now depart in peace, since mine eyes have seen the salvation of the Lord!” (To be continued.) Copyright.

Gentleness in War.

War is savage In its very nature, and one looks for war among savages to be peculiarly barbarous. That such is not always the case among the people of Samoa is attested by a letter sent from Samoa by an American gentlel- - who recently visited Apia, and who gives a description of Mataafa’s army in camp after a battle between the rival claimants to the throne. We went' all about among the huts where'the savages were reSting after the battle and making preparations for the next fight. It was a very peaceful scene, for their arms were all concealed under the mats where the men sat, and many of the soldiers were accompanied by their wives and children. They were amusing themselves by smoking and beating tom-toms. The Samoans are a most amiable race of savages, and white people are always perfectly safe among them. Everywhere we were greeted with smiles and friendly nods and the salutation, “Talofa,” which means, “Love to you,” from men, women and children. One instance of their friendly feeling occurred during the big battle. A white man, • who lived In the street where they were fighting, saw that two of his horses had strayed out between the hostile lines. He did not want to lose them, and he did not want to venture out in the line of fire. So he stuck a white flag out of his window. Upon seeing It, both chiefs ordered their men to stop firing, and hostilities were suspended while the white man went out and drove his horses to a place of shelter. ~ Then the combatants went at it again.

The Fighting in Cuba.

“The sharp, fierce fighting at El Caney and San Juan was very gratifying to those who appreciate courage, fortitude and heroic sacrifice. Both of those positions were held by compafatively small forces of Spaniards and were regarded as the outer works of the intrenchments around Santiago. Our troops, under the skillful and conspicuous leadership of the subordinate commanders directly in charge of them 9n the fighting line, displayed in a marked degree dauntless intrepidity, fortitude and gallantry. Lawton exhibited most excellent generalship and the same tenacity and activity which he had displayed on other fields. Chaffee was conspicuous for his courage, for which he was already noted. Bates, one of the veterans of the civil war, moved his division to the support of Lawton, and again returned in time to take part In the closing scenes about San Juan hill. Wheeler, who had taken part In the affair at Las Guaslmas and had become 111 from over-exertion, which compelled his absence during the principal fighting at San Jnan hill, yet, on hearing of the engagement, with more martial spirit than physical strength, joined his command later in the day. During his temporary absence the cavalry division was under the command of Col. (afterwards Gen.) Sumner, whose commands were given in the most cool and deliberate way under the most trying circumstances, as the troops swept up the ascent at San Juan hill. The bravery of Roose-, velt was conspicuous as he led his command Into action, while the troops under Gens. Hawkins and Kent were skillfully maneuvered by their brave commanders.”—North American Review.

Death of Corn Microbes.

That little bit of tough skin on the business side of the little toe, that unfailing barometer and inducer of pedal agony, the corn, is not simply the result of wearing boots too tight or too loose, as we have been taught to believe. It has a far more important pedigree than that, and actually boasts a bacillus—the com bacillus, ills identity has long been hidden, but a Trappist monk discovered the rascal, and his complete .destruction may be looked for in the near future. The pesky organism has been dignified with a name. Bacillus dlabolicus it is called. Physicians will abbreviate that to Dl. The monk of La Trappe who found him gives detailed instructions for the capture and punishment of the vicious mite for the benefit of suffering humanity. The prescription is composed of thirty grains of perchloride of mercury in solution and thirty drops laudanum de Sydenham. Place this on the affected spot and the career of the bacillus dlabolicus comes to an ignoble end. The mother of one of our soldiers in the late war was busy packing a box containing food to send to him, and the servant was watching the operation. Having placed the last article in, the mother said: guess that is all, Nora; we will now nail it up.” “Excuse me, mum," Mid Nora, “bnt bow is be ever

AMERICAN WOMAN HONORED.

Mrs. Bewail! President sf the International Connell of Women. Mrs. May Wright Sewall, who has been elected president of the International Council of Women, which met in London, is well fitted by education, tastes and wide experience as a leader of women along higher educational lines for the important public position with which she has been honored. For several years Mrs. Sewall has been president of the National Council of Women, and for a great many years her public work has been devoted almost exclusively to the furtherance of organization among women. Mrs. Sewall was born in Wisconsin and is a graduate of Northwestern University in the class of 1866. It was, however, one of her greatest'grief s that she could not enter Yale University as her father had done, and it was said that it was largely her sense of injustice in this matter that led her to identify herself with the woman suffrage movement. After her graduation she occupied important positions as a teacher until her marriage with Theodore Sewall in 1880, when she and her husband opened a classical school for girls in Indianapolis, and she is still head of that school: Mrs. Sewall has been abroad several times and has devoted considerable of her attention to getting acquainted with the leading women of the old world. As president of the National Council she visited Hamburg, by appointment with the Empress Frederick, who gave her an hour’s interview and was deeply Interested In the work she outlined. In Brussels Mrs. Sewall addressed the Woman’s League of Belgium, and In Paris she spoke in the Marie St. Sulplce before a large audience of leading

MRS. SEWALL.

men and women. This address attracted great attention and was widely noticed In the press of France, Russia, Italy and England. Another great triumph was in 1889, when as a delegate she addressed the Woman’s Congress of Paris in the purest French and received commendation from M. Jules Simon and other noted French writers. As a presiding officer Mrs. Sewall Is said to be uniformly successful, being dignified, clear-beaded and quick to see the point. She is also a newspaper contributor and magazine writer and a lecturer of some renown.

Money in Abyssinia.

The few travelers who have taken the time and trouble to look into Menelek’s queer kingdom of Abyssinia tell strange tales of it. Besides the Maria Theresa 1780 dollars, the people of Abyssinia, for small change, used a bar of hard, crystallized salt, about ten Inches long and two inches and a half broad and thick, slightly tapering toward the end, five of which go to the dollar at the capital. People are very particular about the standard fineness of the currency. If it does not ring like metal, or if It is at all chipped, nothing will induce them to take it. Then, it Is a token of affection among the natives, when friends meet, to give each other a lick of their respective amolis, and in this way the material value of the bar is also decreased. For still smaller change cartridges are used, erf which three go to one salt. It does not matter what sort they are. Some sharpers use their cartridges in the ordinary way, and then put in some dustandadumipy bullet to make up the difference, or else they take out the powder an(f put the bullet in again, so that possibly in the next action the unhappy seller will find that he has only miss-fires In his belt; hut this is such a common fraud that no one takes any notice of it, and a bad cartridge seems to serve as readily as a good one.

Reindeer Moss.

In Sweden the food given to reindeer Is “reindeer moss,” a lichen highly prized by the Lappe, and which grows abundantly In the Arctic regions—almost as luxuriantly on bare rocks as in the soil. It covers extensive tracts In Lapland, making the summer landscape look like a field of snow. The domesticated reindeer are never as large as the wild ones. The domesticated Siberian reindeer are larger than those of Lapland. No care at all Is taken of the deer. They thrive best by being ; permitted to roam in droves and obtain their own sustenance. The moss can be used as human food, the taste being slightly acrid. Attempts have been made to feed hay, roots, grain, etc., to the reindeer, but they have not succeeded. Secret Order In the United State*. There are in the United States over fifty distinct secret orders, with more than 70,000 lodges and 5,000,000 members. a cake baker In a house full of boys Is tty. ft—, igrtvts. / - : 'VV"'-

SHEAR N[?]NSENSE

Miss Gotrox—“The world owes yon a living.” Cleverton—“Well, you’re all the world to me.”—Town Tbpics. Jackson—“ls the minister of your church going to take a vacation this summer?” Wilson—“l hope so.”— Ohio State Journal. “Arthur, our physician wants to send me to a summer resort for four weeks.” Husband—“ Well, I can’t blame him.” —Fliegende Blatter. Father—“ That young man you’re engaged to is a bad egg.” Daughter—- “ That’s the reason I’m afraid to drop him.”—Town Topics. “My doctor says I ought to lead an active life.” “Well, say, marry my wife’s sister; she’ll keep you on the jump-”—Chicago Record. “Old Brown won’t live long; he has' one leg in the grate.” “Yon mean one leg in the grave,” “No, he’s going to be cremated.”—Pick-Me-Up. “What animal,” asked Edith, “always has a comb, but never combs its hair?” “A bee,” ‘guessed Davie. “No-6-o-o; a rooster.”—Judge. Prominent Society Woman (to popuku lecturer)—“Don’t you get tired of snying the same thing over and over again?” “Yes; don’t you?”—Life. Xgnostic—“But you yourself work on Sunday!” Clergyman—“No; preaching isn’t work. It’s writing the sermon that’s work.”—Detroit Journal Jones—“ Are you going to pay me that account?” Smith—“ Not just yet” Jones—“lf you don’t, I’ll tell all your other creditors that you paid me!”— Stray Stories. “She’s going on the stage.” “Dear me!” “Yes—up in the White Mountain district. You see, the railroad does not go quite to her destination.”—Chicago Evening Post. Those dear girls again; First Fair One —“I wouldn’t be seen at the Newrich ball.” Second Fair * One—“Oh, you’re not so Insignificant as that, dear.”—Brooklyn Life. Mr. Newlywed—“ You want my reasons for getting home so late last night?” Mrs. Newleywed—“Oh, no! That would be expecting too much. I want your excuse.”—Puck. > Judge (to a man up for having five wives)—“How could you be so hardened a villain?” The Prisoner—- “ Please, your honor, I was only trying to get a good one.”—Tit-Bits. Little Clarence—“ The funny-bone is in the elbow, isn’t it, pa?” Mr. Cat lipers—“Yes, my son.” Little Clarence—“ Well, pa, is that what makes people laugh in their sleeves?”—Puck. One thing lacking: Ethel—“ How harmonious the color of everything in this church Is!” Margaret—“ Yes, excepting the sexton. Why doesn’t he wear stained glasses?”—Harlem Life. Mrs. Styles—“l’d have you understand that I know a good many worse men than my husband.” Mrs. Myles—“My dear, you must be more particular about picking your acquaintances.” “Marriage is so often a failure,” said Miss Caustique, “that I don’t blame women a bit for being old maids.” “Blame them?" said the crusty bachelor. “Of course not. It isn’t their fault.”—Kansas City Star. Hetty—“ What’s the matter, Carrie? You don’t seem to be pleased with your bathing suit.” Carrie—“No, lam not.” - Hetty—“Oh, I wouldn’t fuss. It will shrink, perhaps, after one or two wettings.”—Boston Transcript. Spacer—“l believe that if Shakspeare were alive at the present time, and trying -to live by his pen in London, the comic, papers would reject mauy of his best jokes.” Humorist—“l know it. I have tried ’em aIL”-Tlt-Bits. “Why do you hate him so?” “When we were young men we loved the same girl.” “Oh! Did he win hsr from you by any unfair means?’ “No. He went away and left her no choice but me.”— New Orleans Times-Democrat. Mrs. Lushley—“Oh, you needn’t try to conceal your condition; you’re holding the paper upside down.” Mr. Lushley—“l know’t, m’dear—did it on purposh—someshing here no deshent man oughter read.”—Brooklyn Life. Mather (hearing Ethel say her prayers)—“And let us all live to a good old age ” Ethel—“l’ll not pray for aunty to live to a old oge.” Mother (astounded)— “Why?” Ethel—“’Cause she’s ashamed of her age now.”—Puck. “Why don’t you get dinner?” he asked. “Yon didn’t marry a cook,” she replied,* simply. Time passes. It is now the dead of night, and muffled footfalls are beard. “Why. don’t yon go and drive the burglars away?’ “You didn’t marry a policeman,” be said.—Puck.

First Envelope Ever Mode.

One of the odd exhibit* In the British Museum, London, Is the first envelope ever mad?. It is a crude, handmade affair, bnt constructed on lines similar to those in use to-day.' TJp to the middle of the present century modern envelopes were unknown. Correspondents folded their sheets into little squares, sealing the flap with wax and writing the superscription on the blank back. : While a woman may not be able to* sharpen a pencil or propel a stone with accuracy, she can pack more things into a trank than a man can pile on a wagon. - . ... One sign will oft