Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 34, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 October 1901 — Page 2

The Doctor's Dilemma.

CHAPTER XXVI. December came in with intense severity. Icicles a yard long hung to the •ares, and the snow lay unmolted for days together ou the roofs. More often than not we were without wood for our •re, and when we had it, it was green and unseasoned, and only smoldered away with a smoke that stung and irritated our eyes. Our insufficient and unwholesome food supplied us with no inward warmth. At times the pangs of hunger grew too strong for us both, and forced me to spend a little of the money 1 was nursing so carefully. As soon us 1 could make myself understood, I went •ut occasionally after dark to buy bread and milk. I found that I had no duties to perform as a teacher, for none of the three French pupils desired to learn English. English girls, who had been decoyed into the same snare by the same false photograph and prospectus which had entrapped me, Were all of families too poor to be able to forfeit the money which had been paid In advance for their French education. Two of them, however, completed their term at Christmas and returned home weak and ill; the third was to leave hi Abe spring. Very fast melted away my money. 1 could not see the child pining with hunger, though every sou I spent made our aeturn to England more difficult. Madame Perrier put no hindrance in my way, ior the more food We purchased for our■elves, the less we ate at her table, 'lhe ■titter cold and the coarse food told upon Minima’s delicate little frame. Yet what could I do? I dared not write to Mrs. Wilkinson, and I very much doubtad if there would, be any benefit to be lioped for if I ran the risk. Minima did not know the address of any one of the persons who had subscribed for her education and board. She was as friendless as I was in the world. So far away were Dr. Martin Dobrce and Tardif that I dared not count them as friends who could have any power to help me. Better for Dr. Martin Dobree If he could altogether forget me, and icturn to his cousin Julia. Perhaps he had done so already. Towards the middle of February Madame Perrier's coarse face was always •vereast, and monsieur seemed gloomy, too gloomy to retain even French politeness of manner towards any of us. The household was under a cloud, but I could «ot discover why. What little discipline and work there had been in the school was quite at an end. Every one was left to do as she chose. Early one morning, long before the daybreak, I was startled out of my sleep by a hurried knock at my door. It proved to be Mademoiselle Morel. I opened the doar for her, and she appeared in her bonnet and walking dress, carrying a lajip in her hand, which lit up her weary tejr-stained face. She took a seat at foot of my bed and buried her face in her handkerchief. '•Mademoiselle,” she said, “here is a grand misfortune, a misfortune without parallel. Monsieur and madarne are gone.” “Gone!” I repeated; “where are they gone?” “I do not know, mademoiselle,” she

answered; “I know nothing at all. They are gone away. The poor good people were in debt, and their creditors are ns iard as stone. They are gone, and I lave no means to carry on the establishment. The school is finished.” “But I am to stay here twelve months,” I cried, in dismay, “and Minima was to atay four years. The money has been paid to them for it. What is to become ♦f us?” “I cannot say, mademoiselle; I am desalated myself,” she replied, with a fresh turst of "tears; “all is finished here. If you have not money enough to take you back to England, you must write to your friends. I am going to return to Bordeaux. I detest Normandy; it is so cold and triste.” “But what is to be done with the other pupils?” I inquired. “The English pupil goes with me to Paris," she answered; “she has her friends there. The French demoiselles are not far from their own homes, and they return to-day by the omnibus to Granville. It is a misfortune without parallel, mademoiselle —a misfortune without a parallel.” To crown all, she was going to start immediately by the omnibus to Falaise, and on by rail to Paris, not waiting for the storm to burst. She kissed me on both cheeks, bade me adieu, and was (one, leaving me in utter darkness, before 1 fairly comprehended the rapid French fa which she conveyed her intention. I bad seen my last of Monsieur and Madame Perrier, and of Mademoiselle Morel. All I had to do was to see to myself aad Minima. I carried sur breakfast back with me, when I returned to Minfcna. “I wish I'd been born a boy,” she said plaintively; “they can get their own living sooner than girls, and better. How aoon do you think I could get my own living? I could be a little nursemaid bow, you know; and I'd eat very little." “What makes you talk about getting jrour living?" I asked. “How pale you look!” she answered, modding her little head; “why, I heard something of what mademoiselle said. You're very poor, aren't you, Aunt Kelly?” “Very poor!” I repeated, hilling my face on her pillow, whilst hot tears forc•d themselves through my eyelids. “Oh! this will never do,” said the fhildIsh voice; “we mustn't cry, you know. The boya always said it was like a baby to cry; and father used to say, ‘jCourage, Minimal' Perhaps, when all our money is gone, we ahull fiud a great big purse full of gold; or elae n beautiful French prince will see you and fall in love with you, and take ua both to hia palace, and make you bis princeas; and wc shall all grow up till we die.” I laughed at the oddity of this childish etlmax, In apite of the heaviness of my fceart and the springing of my teara. Minima's fresh young fancies were too

By Hesba Stretton

droll to resist, especially in combination with her shrewd, old-womanish knowledge of many things of which I was ignorant. , .. It was now that across the darkness of my prospects flashed a thought that seemed like an angel of light. Why should I not try to make my way to Mrs. Dobree. Martin’s mother, to whom I could tell my whole history, and on whose friendship and protection I could rely implicitly? By this time Kate Daltrey would have quitted the Channel Islands, satisfied that I had eluded her pursuit. The route was neither long nor difficult; at Granville a vessel sailed direct for Jersey, and we were not more than thirty miles from Granville. It was a distance that we could almost walk. If Mrs, Dobree could not help me, Tardif would take Minima into his house for a time, and the child could not have a happier home. I could count upon my good Tardif doing that. These plans were taking shape in my brain, when I heard a voice calling softly under the window. I opened the easement, and leaning out, saw the welcome face of Rosalie, the milk woman. “Will you permit me to come in?” she inquired. “Yes, yes, come in,” I said eagerly. She entered, and saluted us both with much ceremony. “So my little Emile and his spouse are gone, mademoiselle,” she said, in a mysterious whisper. “I have been saying to myself, ‘What will my little English lady do?’ That is why I am here. Behold me.” “I do not know what to do,” I answered. “If mademoiselle is not difficult,” she said, “she and the little one could rest with me for a day or two. My bed is clean and soft—bah! ten times softer than these paillasses. I would ask only a franc a night for it. That is much less than at the hotels, where they charge for light and attendance. Mademoiselle could write to her friends, if she has not enough money to carry her and the little one back to their own country.” “I have no friends,” I said despondingly. “No friends! no relations!” she exclaimed.

“Not one,” I replied. I was only too glad to get a shelter for Minima and myself for another night. Mademoiselle Rosalie explained to me the French system of borrowing money upon articles. But upon packing up our few possessions, I remembered that only a few days before Madame Perrier had borrowed from me my sealskin mantle, the one valuable thing I had remaining. I had lent it reluctantly, and in spite of myself; and it had never been returned. Minima's wardrobe was still poofer than my own. All the money we could raise was less than two napoleons; and with tins we had to make our way to Granville, and from thence to Guernsey. We could not travel luxuriously. The next morning we left Noireau on foot, and strolled on as if we were walking on air, and could feel no fatigue. Every step which carried us nearer to Granville brought new hope to me. The face of Martin's mother came often to my mind, looking at me, as she had done in Sark, with a mournful yet tender smile —a smile behind which lay many tears. “Courage!” I said to myself; “every hour brings you nearer to her.” I had full directions as to our route, and I carried a letter from Rosalie t<Fa cousin of hers, who lived in g Sim vent about twelve miles from Noireaa. If we reached the convent before six ©’dock we should find the doors open, and should gain admission. But in the afternoon the sky changed. The wind changed tj point or two from the south, and a breath from the east blew, with a chilly touch, over the wide open plain we were now crossing. The road was very desolate. It brought us after a while to the edge of a common, stretching before us, drear and brown, as far as my eye could reach. “Are you very tired, my Minima?” I asked. “It will be so nice to to bed, when we reach the convent,” she said, looking up with a smile. “I can’t imagine why the prince has not come yet.” “Perhaps he is coming all the time,” I answered, “and he’ll find us when we want him worst.” We plodded on after that, looking for the convent, or for any dwelling where we could stay till morning. But none came in sight, or any person from whom we could learn where we were wandering. I was growing frightened, dismayed. What would become of us both, if we could find no shelter from the cold of a February night? CHAPTER XXVII. There were unshed tears in my eyes—for I would not let Minima know my fears —when, I saw dimly, through the mist, a high cross standing iu the midst of a small grove of yews and cypresses, •planted formally about it. The rain was beating against it, an’d the wind sobbing in the trees surrounding it. It seemed so snd, so forsaken, thut it drew us to it. Without speaking the child and I crept to the shelter at its foot, and sat down to rest there, as if we were companions to it in its loneliness. It was too dark now to sec far along the road, but ns we waited and watched there came into sight a rude sort of covered carriage, like a market cart, drawn by a horse with a blue sheep-skin hanging round his neck. The pace at which he was going was not above a jog-trot, nud he came almost to a standstill opposite the cross, as if it was customary to pause there. This was the instant to appeal for aid. I darted forward and stretched out iny hands to the driver. "Help us,” I cried; “we have lost our way, nnd the night is come.” I could see now that the driver was a burly, redfaced, clenn-shaven Norman peasant. He crossed himself hurriedly, and glanced at the grove of dark, solemn trees from which wc had come. But by his side sat a priest, in his cassock and broad-brim-med hat fastened up at the sides, who alighted almost before I had finished

speaking, and stood before ns ban beofc ed, and bowing profoundly. t “Madame,” he said, In a bland tone, “t* what town ace yon going?” “We ore going to Granville,” I answered; “but I am afraid I have lost the way. We are very tired, this little child and I. We can walk no more, monsieur. Take care of us, I pray you.” I spoke brokenly, for in an extremity like this it was difficult to put my request into French. The priest appeared perplexed, but he went back and held a short, earnest conversation with the driver, in a subdued voice. “Madame,” he said, returning to me, “I am Francis Lanrentie, the cure of Ville-en-bois. It is quite a small village about a league from here, and we are on the road to it; but the route to Granville is two leagues behind us, and it is still farther to the nearest village. There is not time to return with you this evening. Will you, then, go with us to Ville-en-bois? —and to-morrow we will send you on to Granville.” He spoke very slowly and distinctly, with a clear, cordial voice, which filled me with confidence. I could hardly distinguish his features, but his hair was silvery white, and shone in the gloom, ns he still stood bare-headed before me, though the rain was falling fast. “Take care of us, monsieur,” I replied, putting my hand in his; “we will go with you.” “Make haste, then, my children,” he said cheerfully; “the rain will hurt you. Let me lift the mignonne! Bah! How little she is. Now, madarne, permit me.” There was a seat in the back, which we reached by climbing over the front bench, assisted by the driver. There we were well sheltered from the driving wind and rain, with our feet resting upon a sack of potatoes, and the two strange figures of the Norman peasant in his blouse and white cotton cap, and the cure in his hat and cassock, filling up the front of the car before us. “They are not Frenchwomen, Monsieur le Cure,” observed the driver, after a short pause. “No, no, my good Jean,” was the cure s answer; “by their tongue I should say they are English. Englishwomen are extremely intrepid,-and voyage about all the world quite alone, like this. It is only a marvel to me that we have never encountered one of them before to-day.” “Monsieur,” I interrupted, feeling almost guilty in having listened so far, “I understand French very well, though I speak it badly.” “Pardon, madarne!” he replied, “I hope you will not be grieved by the foolish words we have been speaking one to th& other.” After that all was still again for some time, except the tinkling of the bells, and the pad-pad of the horse's feet upon the steep and rugged road. By and by a village clock striking echoed faintly down the valley; and the cure turned round and addressed me again. “There is my village, madarne,” he said, stretching forth his hand to point it out; “it is very small, and my parish contains but four hundred and twenty-two soul#, some of them very little ones. They all know me, and regard me as a father. They love me, though I have some rebel sons.” We entered a narrow and roughly paved village street. The houses, as I saw afterwards, were all huddled together, with a small church at the point farthest from the entrance; and the road ended-at its porch, as if there were no other pUce in the world beyond it. We drove at last into a square coprt yard, paved with pebbles. Almost before the horse could stop I saw a stream of light shining from an open door aeroua a causeway, and the voice of a woman, whom I could not see, spoke eagerly a# soon as the horse’s hoofs had ceased to scrape upon the pebbles. (To be continued.)

Warning to Preachers.

“I thought it would be easy enough to convert the lay people of the town, but realized, of course, that the ministers would be a harder task. I remember one of the first sermons I preached with that Idea before me. It was a hot summer day, aud a gentleman very much under the influence of liquor slid into the rear part of tin* church and went to sleep. It was somewhat disquieting at first, but I soon warmed up to the subject and forgot him. What happened has always been a warning to me against very loud preaching—l waked him up. My vehemence so disturbed him that he arose, walked unsteadily up the aisle, and stopped in front of the. pulpit. I was dreadfully embarrassed, I remember, but I retained sufficient presence of mind to take what I thought was an efficient and brilliant means of bridging over the gap, for, of course, I had stopped preaching when he stood still and looked at me. Leaning over the pulpit I remarked suavely; “ ‘l perceive that my good brother is ill. Will some ’ “Before any one could move, however, he lifted his head, and, fixing his blinking eyes upon me, remarked In perfectly distinct tones beard throughout the church: “‘I sh’d think such preachin’ ’ud make everybody 111!’ Cyrus Townsend Brady, In New Lippincott.

Chance for a Castle.

The following advertisement appears In a London paper; “A rock built crenelated castle, buffeted by the Atlantic surge, at one of >he most romantic and dreaded points of our ironbound coast, In full view oJf the death stone; shipwrecks frequent, corpses common; three reception and seven bedrooms; every modern convenience; 10 gs. a week—Address,” etc. Persons In need of n castle and who are fond of shipwrecks nnd corpses should not overlook this opportunity.— Pittsburg Commercial Gazette.

The Chief Cost.

Askit—And so you have given up your summer trip to Wetspot-by-the-sea? Telllt—Yes. J had to. I had money enough for expenses, but not enough for tips.—Baltimore American.

Tuberculosis in Paris

Of the 40,988 deaths which occurred In Paris in 1899, as many as 12,3!14 are attributed to tuberculosis, or mor© thau one-fourth.

VICE-PRESIDENTS WHO SUCCEEDED TO THE PRESIDENCY

Those Who Have Been Effected to the High Office by the Deaths of Chief Executives

PRESIDENT ROOSEVELT Is not only the youngest Vice President who has succeeded to the Presidency, but the youngest Chief Magistrate our country ever had. He Is not yet 43 years old. Tyler and Arthur were each 51 when their chiefs died; Fillmore was 50, when Taylor laid down the cares of life and Johnson was

JOHN TYLER.

man ever chosen to the Presidency, 68; Lincoln, 52; McKinley, 53; Hayes, 54; Van Buren and Benjamin Harrison, each 55; Washington, 57; Jefferson, John Quincy Adams, and Madison, each 58; Monroe, 59; John Adams and Jackson, 62, each; Buchauan, 66; Cleveland, the only living ex-President, 48. He Is now 64 and enjoying robust health. A short review of the Vice Presidents who have become elevated to the Presidency by the deaths of the Chief Executives may be of Interest now. “Tippecanoe and Tyler Too” was the political slogan heralded by the victorious Whigs during the campaign of 1840. It made Gen. William Henry Harrison President and John Tyler Vice President. Just a month after the inauguration the President died and John Tyler became the 10th President of tho United States. He was born in Virginia in 1790 and died in his native States in 1862, when civil war was rending his country. He was a graduate of William and Mary College and at the age of 19 was admitted to the bar. He was fond of reading history, a lover of poetry and music, and, like Thomas Jefferson, an accomplished violinist. Although opposed to the Whigs, he was not a supporter of the radical policy of Jackson, “Old Hickory,” and, therefore, occupied to a certain extent an independent position. Despite this, the State of Virginia always stood by him, and for this reason he was a political power. When the Whigs nominated Harrison for President they were happy to accept Tyler as his running mate,

believing that such a course would attract all factions opposed to the Jacksonian Democracy. The result of the election showed that good judgment had been exercised, but when President Harrison died the Whigs found that Tyler was not In ac-

cord with their ideas. He had opinions of his own and a determination to carry them out. He came into direct conflict with Henry Clay, the Whig leader, on bills relating to financial affairs and In his contention received no support from the Democrats. At one time bis entire cabinet, with the exception of Daniel Webster, Secretary of State, resigned. He was also at variance with the dominant party on the tariff question and his administration was one of political strife. The most notable events were the signing of the Webster-Ashburton treaty with Great Britain and the adoption of the resolutions admitting Texas Into the Union. TAYLOR’S SUCCESSOR. Millard Fillmore was born in Cayuga County, N. Y., in ISOO, and died In Buffalo, N. Y., in 1874. At the time he succeeded Taylor he was nearer in accord with the policy of the administration than any other Vice President who ever succeeded to the Presidency through the death of his chief with the exception of Roosevelt, yet only a few months elapsed when dissensions arose, and near the close of his administration he was unable to secure a nomination from his party. It Is prob-

able thnt his administration was the most tempestuous, politically, of any since Lincoln’s, through which this country ever passed. The slavery question agitated the country and such giants as Clay, Calhoun. Hayne and Douglas were In conflict

ANDREW JOHNSON.

The signing of the fugitive slave law and Its attempted enforcement wer© the acts which made him unpopular and prevented his nomination. Thus one Incident might turn the tide of popularity against a President and do away with any possibility of his becoming his own successor. His cabinet was In entire accord with him throughout his administration, and the country at bis retirement was enjoying peace and prosperity. Despite this he could not command 20 votes In the Whig convention of 1852. In 1850 he was the nominee of the American party for President, and only the State of Maryland gave him Its electoral vote. Andrew Johnson, who succeeded Lincoln, the first of our country’s trio of

57, when Lincoln was assassinated. The ages of our other Presidents when they assumed the duties of the high office were; Grant, next youngest to Roosevelt, 47; Pierce and Garfield, each 49; Polk, 50; Harrison, “Old Tippecanoe,” the oldest

MILLARD FILLMORE.

martyred Presidents, was bom in Raleigh, N. C., Dec. 29, 1808, and died near Carter’s Station, Tenn., July 31, 1875. His parents were very poor and when he was 4 years old his father died from injuries received while saving another-from drowning. He waa taught to read by his fellow workmen in a tailor shop, where he was an apprentice. Shortly before he was 21 he was married and his wife, being a talented woman, taught him writing and read to him while he worked at hla

trade. When 21 he was elected an Alderman of Greenville, Tenn., where he had moved, and thenceforth was active in politics. Not until he had been in Congress could he write with ease. He was always a leader in advocating what he believed to be the

rights of the great masses of the people. He strongly opposed secession, but was not an out and out Republican. He might be termed a Douglas Democrat. He was a powerful orator and had a commanding presence. Because of his services in maintaining the authority of the government' during the early years of the rebellion, he was considered an available candidate for the Vice Presidency on the ticket with Lincoln in 1864 and it was believed that he would attract to the ticket the support of those people who did not wish to ally themselves with the Republican party, but who were opposed to the principles of the secessionists. Shortly after President Lincoln’s death, Johnson was sworn in as Chief Magistrate by Chief Justice Chase. He made no pledges, but it was known that he tvas not in accord with the pacific policy of Lincoln in bringing about the reconstruction of the Southern States. He said, “Treason is a crime and must be punished.” This was the keynote of his policy and it soon brought him in conflict with the leaders of the Republican party. So wide did the breach become that impeachment proceedings were instituted and President Johnson was sustained by only one vote. ARTHUR’S ADMINISTRATION. When President Garfield died from the wounds of an assassin’s bullet, the Republican party was divided into two powerful factions, known as the stalwarts and half-breeds, the former led by Roseoe Conkllng and the latter by James G. Blaine. The martyred President had favored the Blaine contingent while Arthur was allied with Conkllng and his followers. Therefore, when the Vice President succeeded to the Presidency, the political policy, at least, of the administration changed, but despite his large following and the power of political patronage, he could not control the next Republican National convention. He made a good President, however, and the country enjoyed peace and prosperity while he was at the helm of State.

Dependent.

The late Emperor Frederick of Germany had no easy life as crown prince during his father’s reign. A complete dependence on the sovereign Is hereditary in Prussia. This, in small matters as well as great, exercises a tremendous Influence on the son’s relations with his father, and, Indeed, on family life In general. Gustav Freltag, In his hook on thb German succession, writes: “A farmer’s son who, with his family, Inhabits a wing In his father’s house, and possesses not a single shilling beyond his allowance, whose children are kept by their grandfather, and employed In looking after the plantations on the estate—such a man, who had to put up with this dependent position for fifty years, would be looked upon as especially unfortunate. Aud yet, according to old traditions and the laws of the house, the case of the German Crown Prince is a similar one.” It is evident that the old Emperor William was quite willing to accept such a state of things. Early in the seventies the artist, Anton von Werner, was appointed to perpetuate the imperial proclamation. He first made a sketch, to submit to the Emperor. In this, the various personages were grouped In the same order as during the ceremony at Versailles, William I. standing on a raised platform, with Bismarck at his left, on a lower step, and on his right the Crown Prince, whom the artist had represented with one foot on the upper level. The Emperor examined the sketch, and at once noted the position of the Crown Prince. He frowned, took his pencil and made a thick, rapid stroke through his son’s right leg. “Not yet!” said he. A number of young women came aeroßß a boy lying fuce downward in a gutter the other evening, nnd they decided that he was dead; probably murdered. While one ran to a telephone, the others tried to pick him up. “Dog on you,” said the boy, "you have told on me.” And a girl around the corner began to yell, “One, two, three for Johnny." It costs at least $25 to show proper appreciation of having a baby named for you. A gay deceiver la never gay long.

CHESTER A. ARTHUR.

NAMES THAT ARE POPULAR.

That of William Lead# All Other# In the Favor of the Multitude. Parents display some queer notions of propriety in naming their children. Those of a religious turn of mind more frequently in former times than now search the scriptures before the baptismal ceremony. Parents in search of a fortune will label their luckless babes with the surname of the expected testator. But, nevertheless, the list of common English Christian names is a very small one. Out of every 100 fathers and mothers of male children some eightyfour limit their choice to fifteen familiar names. * ’ The favorite name Is undoubtedly William. In all ranks of society—in the peerage as in the workhouse —William is the commonest of male Christian names. Stop the first 1,000 men you meet in the street. No fewer than 170 are Williams. A long way behind come the Johns, closely followed by the Georges. Of every 1,000 men ninety-four are called John and ninety-two George. The next commonest name Is Thomas, which has seventy-four owners, while James claims seventy-two. Henry and Harry between them are seventy in number. Of these about one in four have received the name of Harry at the baptismal font. Following them come Frederick with fifty-seven. Charles with forty-eight, Alfred with forty-five and Albert some way behind with thirty-one. The popularity of Albert has arisen entirely from the personal popularity of our late Queen’s beloved consort. It was practically unknown in England before Queen Victoria’s marriage. The good old Saxon appellation of Edward is given to five anc( twenty out of every 1,000 citizens, Arthur and Robert having each twenty-three, while of the remainder of these 1,000 men you have accosted In the street seventeen are called Joseph and fifteen Herbert. So we have accounted for no fewer than 856 out of every 1,000 Englishmen, and they divide between them only fifteen out of the many hundreds, nay thousands, of names from which parents are at liberty to choose. Of the remaining 144 of our representative 1,000 a few, such as Richard, Percy, or Ernest, are claimed severally by two or three men, but all the rest are the sole and exclusive property of “one in I,ooo.”—Chicago Chronicle.

JULES VERNE.

The Famous French Romancer, Who Has Become Completely Blind. Jules Verne, who is reported to have become totally blind at his home in Amiens, has been a sufferer with defi-

JULES VERNE.

though this did not bear the vigorous stamp of his early work, it was by no means weak. M. Verne recently distinguished himself by declining n seat In the French Academy for the second time. He began his literary career as a dramatist and for thirteen years labored successfully in that field as a writer of comedies. It was not until 1803 that ho published the first of the stories upon which his fame was to rest. This was “Five Weeks In a Balloon.” Its Immediate and rebounding success Induced M. Verne to continue to exploit himself In this direction and the result was that widely read series of romance which have delighted the world, young nnd old, for thirty years or more. M. Verne’s chief amusement since hla youth has been yachting. He owns a, fine steam yacht and his happiest days have been those spent on its decks.

Health Resort.

No more dignified or gentlemanly official of the Government than Arthur Simmons, the old negro attendant at the White House, can be found in Washington; nothing disturbs hia reposeful elegance of manner and speech. A short time ago, so the story runs, he was dozing iu his chair when an usher hurried In and exclaimed: “There’s a man downstairs who wants to see Mr. Cortelyou.” “He can’t see him,” answered Arthur, with firmness nnd precision. “But this man says lie’s got to see him!” pleaded the messenger. “Don’t know nothin’ about that,” Arthur replied, closing his eyes as if the Interview were at an end. “Nobody can see Secretary Cortelyou. He’s gone Into his sanctum sanitarium.”

Their Second Meeting.

When. Miss Swagger met Mr. Snphedde at the seaside she thought he was a millionaire and he permitted her to think so, although he was a humble clerk In a hotel at the Sqwedunk. On her return home, Borne weeks after hls departure. It so happen©d that she stopped over uight at th'fe Sqwedunk Hotel. Her meeting with Mr. Saphedde was very embarrassing to him until she said, “Oh, you didn’t tell me you were a hotel proprietor." “No,” he said, airily, “I own several hotels over the country, but I didn’t think they were hardly worth mentioning.”—Ohio State Journal. It Is a question which causes a mother the more worry: A boy so sick that he Is good, or so thoroughly well that he Is bad. A dead whale Is worth more than some live men, financially speaking.

cient eyes for a long time. The great romancer of science is now in his seventy-third year, but he has never ceased his literary work, even after hia sight began to fail. He published a novel only three years ago, and, al-