St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 17, Number 13, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 10 October 1891 — Page 6

MBLE DICK AND JOB; ' The Poorhouse Waifs. BY DAVID LOWRY. CHAPTER XX« IT—Continued. “Sec here, young fellow —this is a square deal, now." , ’ “Perfectly square,” said Dick quietly. “We’ll get the rhino right away as soon as the gal's found.” “You’ll get it to-morrow before ten, ii she’s discovered through your aid tonight." “That’s tho chee o. bow then. There's a rookery round in the alley her^—old—no matter, we’ll show you where it is. If it’s tho way wo think, why, the gal’s hid there. Put seo here, young feller, it don’t suit us to go in If it can be helped—if tho placo is pulled!” “Pulled?” “Yes—raided." “Raided?” “Yes—gone through as clean as a whistle. ” “Gone through?" “Well, you are fresh. Tom, let me tackle this feller. He means the bobbies will come down on thorn. ” “The bobbios?” “Tho p’lice- -don’t know nawthln at a ll” —with a contemptuous drawl. in p'lico 1 said. If they arrest everybody after we've been in and got out, the} 11 blame us—see?” .. “I understand very well—why didn t you say s > before?” said Dick dryly. “You can go in. You’ve got to let

OH » “Never mind—l'll manage that. But first, I want to borrow a shoo box—and , blacking brushes.” „ i “O! he's playing it down fine, 1 ete. “Yes, he is—he’s not so fresh as he looks. We'll get you tho things—if you 11 pay interest on’em. ” Peter disappeared and speedily reappeared with the brushes and box, and Dick followed them to a few yards of tho door of the house where ho had reason to believe he would kam something oi J°When ho entered tho place, tho smell of vilo tobacco almost overpowered him. Tho air was thick with smoko. I here were other vile smells. Ono or two looked at him sharply as he lounged. in, and one man-a man with a very bruUd face __ey O d him as if ho would kick him into the street. “Hollo, babv, what are you aft r. this coarse follow demanded Dick did not answer. Instead, ho looked at tho unpolished shoes and boots in the room, and, going from one to an ther, said: , n “Shino, shine, Shino. i “Shine the devil !” said one ruffian „ “1 will, if you pay for the time os t, said Dick, whereat ev en the mar who scowled at him ^ughed loudlj and Dick, going to tho greasy bar, s&i“Gimme glass beer.” of lio munc^g^^ and ears \ sausagerana d Jaw a n thst that the

Ofc- the wain, ’dho b°^ov ; y , ° ly^H<ug to every ut-wred. But so it was, until Dick found an opq^^ty to scribble the note, and to A' toss it in to p O or Joe, whoso checks were wet with tears. Ho managed it very adroitly, indeed, and ho was not too eager to run away once he found the opportunity to fling his warning note in to Joe. Ho remained long enough to seo tho meaning shrugs exchanged by Mr. Jenks and his fellow conspirators, to hear all that was raid, and then he went all around the room, crying “Shino, shine!” until he was repulsed, when he coolly opened the door and walked out CHAPTER XXIV. double dick’s deep mortification “a PROVIDENTIAL INTERFERENCE. ” To return to Old Isaac's, pay the other half-dollar and another on top of it, dress himself, and set out for Mons. Dufaur's occupied very few minutes. Dick was in a perspiration with excitement; he was running, in his haste when a stern voice hailed him. “Hi! hi! there—stop thief—head him off there! Stop that boy there!” Dick halted and looked back. An old man grasping a grip-sack was running after him, shouting “stop thief!” after him. A crowd gathered in a minute. It was wonderful how speedily tho street was blocked up by the people. They flocked fiom all quarters, A policeman appeared two, three policemen—all bearing on poor Dick. / /x z. i i «

One seized him by tho shoulder roughly, ©icK shook his arm. The policeman scowled at him. “None o’ that, my boy,” said the policeman, angrily. “What have I done? You’ve no business to touch me— l ain’t a thief. ” “You ain’t?” “No. And if you don’t let me go you'll pay dearly for it. Ben Brown and Mr. BllP.kfttt will Y'Anl/M a .. .

win make you sweat for it if you arrest mo. ” Dick was unabashed. He looked at the officer boldly. The officer grew white with rage “Shut up! Shut up your trap, or I'll make you!” By this time the old gentleman had reached the boy’s side. “Now, see the fix you’re in for stealing my wallet. Mr. Policeman, I guess you needn’t take him up if he'll promise " never to do it again.” The crowd laughed, and the policemen —there were three of them together now —smiled. “Como along,” said tho man who grasped Dick’s arm. “No, no! Let him off. Just take my wallet from him. It’s not worth while jutting yourself to any more trouble ” The crowd roared, and the policemen gathered around Dick as they pushed forward. “I’ll go with you quietly,” said Dick, “but you’ve all been warned—Mr. Buckett will make you pay forth a ” “Who’s Buckett?” demanded one of the officers. “He owns the circus, anl he’s got plenty of money." “What do you know about Buckett?” The officer gave Dick a shake—“none of your humbugging. ‘Buckett!’ I’il Buckett you, talking about Bucket. ” “He’ll make you shako more than you you shook me. I tell you he hires mo, and he’ll make you all sorry for this. ”

r “Seehere,* said the farmer, him go-only take my wallet from h lm - •I never saw your wallet, sir. You r mistaken, sir.” * ••Well—maybe lam ” Tho farmer plunged his hand Into bls pockets, and shouted, “It s all a mistake —it’s al. a mistake! I put my wallet Into tho wrong pocket, that's all—hero It Is. Ho held It up, tho crowd’saw It, and began to jeer the officers. Ihe officers mado demonstrations that scattered tho crowd right and loft, and soon tho way was clear. Thon they consulted each other and turned on tho farmer. “Are you sure you've got your money?” , , „ „ “Hero It Is—you can look, officers “Why in thunder don’t you know what you aro doing, making all this racket, and blocking up tho streets, shouting stop thief?” “You ought to stay in your cabbagopatch, old man.” “Or got yourself a new head before you come to town again.” After delivering themselves of these opinions, tho'officers set Dick free, with an admonition to “bo more careful in future” (?); then went about their business. Tho crowd had dispersed almost as speedily as It had gathered, and the farmer and Dick were left almost alone. “See here —I'm awful cut up. I am, sure as you live, my boy. You run agin me so hard—and I’m afraid o’ thieves — and when I clapped my hand in my pocket, and missed my wallet " “Don’t say any more—it’s all right now. 1 don’t blame you. Most any one would do the same—only I ain’t that sort ' of a boy, and it makes me feel mean to be stared at by a crowd. ”, “You said you wore with Buckett, the circus man. ” “Yes, sir; I am.” “Do say! And now —what do you do in the circus?" “I am not at liberty to toll. “Phew! Sho! now—that's queer. You dassent tell! Woll, I can tell who I am,, and what I’m hyer for—where I’m goin’,

and all about it. I'm on my way homo liekety spit—my name s Job Wonder, and ” i “Wonder!” “Yes—Wonder. Ever hoar it before? “You arc the man that came to see Joe. ” “Yes, I be —just that man. But what do you know about Joe?” “Don’t go home —not now. Go along with mo to Monsieur Dufaur's —quick. Joe’s in trouble. I’ve just come from her. ” “What’s the matter, eh? Anything serious? If there is, I m not going home till it’s straightened out. I may as well hang over to morrow; I’ll not leave Joe in troub'e ” I As they hastened to Monsieur Dufaur’s, Dick endeavored to explain tho 1 situation to tho farmer, but Job Wonder , couldn't grasp tho truth; the perfidy of tho lawyer’s clerk, tho audacity of the scheme were not comprehended fully by Job. But he was terribly excited on learning that Joi was abducted —held against her wishes—and in ^be power of a wretch who was evidently capable of any crime. , “Dod blast ’em all I say!" he exclaimed time after time, as Dick nar- , rated, in outline, he hail learned In 1 tho disguise bad assumed. "Dod blast ’em! T-t' not leafo New York till . I’ve put the hull gang of them in the , penitentiary!” ’ “I’m glad its happened this way, ’’said ' Dick as they neared Monsieur Dufaur's. hn n Inf nf uq whAn wn ern

mere 11 do Such a iol oi us wnen we ro • '"Str'. wauv'th_the.nolice that the v’ 11 I “Yes; and PH see, they are al! pen ished, if there’s any law in York State. , You make up your mind to that! Why, It’s a providential interference—my meetin’ you. Blamed if it ain’t. Yes. after this I’ll believe in Providence. If I hadn’t thought you—no matter—l’d been to the depot by this time—lino as not trav'lin’ home." CHAPTER XXV. DOUBLE DICK TURNS THE TABLES ON IKE. “I’ve found her!” Dick shouted when he was admitted to Monsieur Dufaur’s. with Job Wonder stamping along at the boy’s heels. “Thank heaven!” exclaimed Maaamo Dufaur, who was pacing the room. “Thank heaven! My prayer is answered. I was afraid the poor girl was lost to us forever.” “Where is Monsieur Dufaur— whore is Ben and Mrs. Brown? Wo want to be quick and take a lot of police, or they'll run away. ” “Bless me, how the dear boy runs on. My husband—why. he was here this minute, but Mr. Brown I have not seen this hour. ” “We can’t wait on him, we must go at once. You como, too.” “Me! Mo! I cannot go with the police, child; but, yes, t> bo sure I will go; I why not? To save the poor child’ perhaps. ” The door opened at that instant an 1 Monsieur Dufaur stood on the threshold. Madame Dufaur flew toward him with ' outstretched hands. <

“She is found—found. ” ' i “Where— where is she?” 1 “Come at once,” said Dick. “Get tho i police to come along—there’s a lot of 1 them. ” “But where—where is she?” demanded , Monsieur Dufaur, looking meanwhile j for h s hat and cane. “Your hat is in my room—your cane is ’ in the dining room. Oh, wo’are on our s '

beads this night,” said Madame Dufaur as she p aced her hat on her head and glanced in a mirror. “Come, come.” Yes, and get the policemen,” said Dick. “Oh, yes, I will be sure to have the officers; but just tell mo which way we are going. ” Dick gave him the necessary directions as they set out. As they were leaving the house they met tho clown and his wife, whose faces were downcast, but on seeing the others they instantly bri^htenea up. “You have heard of her,” said Ben. “We are going to rescue her,” said Madame Du aur. Then Dick was called upon by the clown to relate the facts again brieily. The clown grit his teeth. We il teach them! We’ll make it warm for them before wo are through with them!” Meanwh le Monsieur Dufaur had secured a sjiad of police, or, rather, the officer he took into his confidence had assembled his fellows < uickly, and then while they were on the way, a plan of operat ons was mapped out; each one understood e actly how the rescue was to be conducted. Meantime fortune smiled upon Ike Jenks. He had no difficulty finding his friend the notary, to whom be explained what he wanted. The notary was thinking of a fee that v >uld swell his month’s receipts largely, and did not scruple in the 'east as he listened and nodded. He

‘ accompanied Jenks to th e h on9e Joe was confined in, and was InsJi j oa i O e was induced to believp, exercise of extraordinary strategy When Ike appeared l n lhe room with theSotary, he was be anj | ™ lth Jo y he endeavored to conceal He realized fully the demand ot the hour. While his bride was under duress—a prisoner, and fearful-it ill became’hVto exhibit joy; so he pulled on a Fober fttce as he said: -Well—this seems a d ull Bort of marriage, but it will soon be over » “A mere formamV’sald the notary in a low tone, dosignecTVrcassure her. “Yes—but unavoidable. Well, we are ready now; begin,” said J on ks. But to his amazement Joo turned her head aside. Tho notary looked at j 0I1 ks; Jenks looked at the notary, and a BC owi settled on his face. “What's tho matter now?" Still Joe was silent. “Why don’t you speak?” "Because I don't want to * “But you must now the notary is hero-" “I won’t.» ; “You won’t! Why?” \ “I„won't do anything. * “See here now—there's something at the bottom of this. You’ve been thinking since I went out, and changed your mind.” "Yes." “Well, I haven’t chained mine- If t you don’t want to ’J 3 came from, you’ve got Wf t marriage" o “I don’t want to ge*„ ' “Vou mua L *“ ~ > “And I say I won ” Joe's eye 4 were flashing now. She confronted him with red cheeks, defiance > in every action. “You go on and marry us,” said Ike to his friend. i “I can't It takes two to make a bar- . gain ” , Ike whispered in the notary’s ear. The

notary shook his head. “It is a dangerous business. If she assents, all right. If she refuses —that's the end of it ” “Curse you!” exclaimed Jenks, seizing Joe in his rage. He had grasped her wrist and twisted it so that it pained her. “Help! Help!” Joe shrieked. As if in response to her cry, the outer door was burst open and a rush of feet wa< heard. The next moment the door of the room the notary, Jenks and Joe were in was thrown wide open, and Dick stood before them. Behind him stood two policemen —the saqie that had been called upon by Job Wonder when he ; cried, “Stop thief!” Joe rushed forward and grasped Dick's hands. “I knew you would come; I knew it!" Ike and the notary left tho room and found in the outer apartment two other policemen, while two more guarded the entrance. The occupants of the bar-room were silent, sullen, vengeful. They glared at the newcomers—at the officers —but held their peace. Ben Brown and his wife, Monsieur and Madame Dufaur, Job Wonder —those stood in tho foreground, and Joo in turn extended her hands to all saying sho “never, never could forget their kindness to her.” A po,iceman tapped Jenks on the shoulder, saying, “Come, we’re ready now. ” . “Heady! What do yog f •*- r tn t

claimed Jenks. Then^s” r for false arro,L And don't you influence my wife to go away. ” “His wife!” Madame Dufaur elevated her hands. “Yes, my wife,” said Jenks boldly. “She is my lawful wife—-here is the certificate.” [TO BE CONTINUOaJ Don’t Be Atrui I to PraUo. Ono of the greatest evils of our modern life is the fear to give credit where ^credit is due. We are always readv to criticise, but never to praise. We love to point out a mistake, but how loth we are to applaud a thing well done. lhe employer withholds the word of praise from his employe. He either fears an application for more salary, or the risk of spoiling with praise. How short-sighted is such a policy ! hat is there more stimulating in the hard business world of today than honest approval openly given ? I Many a man and woman is there to- I day in factory, store, office or bankinghouse to whom an honest "you have done well would mean more than any addition to salary. Everybody’s goal is not the almighty dollar; some of us think just as much of a hearty word of approval. A good man or a good woman is never spoiled by an honest word of praise. There’ are enough people in this world readv to criticise and find fault; let you and I. my dear friend, counteract matters and be ready to give the word of praise occasion r©juires it. In your bueijess, be frank and open with those you employ. If a man does a thing w ell, tell him of it. And when you go ■ home, keep your eyes opdn, and see ' whether your wife is wearing something or has put soi^t^’ g on the

table which she know w*uld please you. Notice it, and tell h® r Jou do. Don’t let her imagine your pleasure — your wife is no more of a mind-reader than Jou are We do not want to leave too much to be inferred i n this world, home things are best La * n ■ ference; but there th W WIII make this world' betted ? 7iT * and more beautiful if tol/^ J 3? et in meeting.” $ ri &bt out If 'ou, as husband withh u i praise from vour wife ld honest Piously, perhaps—for habi^’ are contagious— will • blts at Eome hold it from your child! will transmit the miri,™’. ?" d dren. Each of us 1, ^ to tbeir chll ‘ pie to others than weX^ * U n & v A wise writer has nS J” 63 h proverb that the smallest n ^° U - S ® lives is reflected in somf Ctlon 1U OUr I there is a great deal of + ° De elae ’ and We are all ’ r ‘"‘h i» the old some other fellow cron/ 11 Gxam P le to in us is often transmiH?’ and a trait immortal to succeeding’ and made And tl ns, as others ar E°neratlonswe do, let us do well do aa Journal. ’ ladies’ Home I BjpAN keeping a T”. an honest diary- and thls - vear — , French, but I’ve drom^Z wrote ifc ia “My wife has £»•’ “W?” lessons.” ta «ing French 1

Desert the New Ship*. Twenty-four men have deserted the i past two months from the United , States cruiser Bennington, which is ] fitting for sea at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. The men are dissatisfied with the quarters assigned to them on the . ship. The ratio of desertion is the same on all the new steel crusiers and for the same cause. There are, of-course, other reasons for desertion, but they are comparatively trival. Among the men who enlist in New York or Brooklyn are a few who do so with the sole purpose of obtaining a good outfit of clothing and then deserting. Others are given to indulgence of drink and, becoming intoxicated while on leave, do not return to the ship. On the old-time wooden ships there was a clean sweep of deck and the men had plenty of room.' On board the new cruisers there is a very different order of things. The men are | huddled away anywhere and their

quarters are cramped. Instead of a 1 clear space between decks, as on the old ships, the space on the new vessels is taken up with pipes and wires, the air is heated almost beyond endurance in some places >y steam pipes, while in others it is ' terribly cold on account of air and i exhaust pipes • The Constant, desertions do not I seem to cause the officers much annoyance. They aver that it is impossible to put a stop to it. And they cannot, , they say, discover any way to remedy , the trouble. The regulations provide for the offering of a reward of S2O for > the return of each man. In every case of desertion this reward is of- ' sered, but there is never ?ny result. 3 Whether the reward is too small to tempt the police to look for tlie miss-

ing men it is hard to state, but the fact remains that the deserters are never taken back to the ship. A peculiar fact relative to the rewards offered for t-he return of the deserters is that the police are not allowed to receive any reward until permission is granted by the Police Commissioners, and the officer re-1 ceives it, less 20 per cent., which is given to the Police Pension Fund, j On no account can any one connected | with the Police Department receive a medal or watch, or anything save I money. It was this rule that preI vented Inspector Byrnes from accepti ing the decoration offered him by the King of Italy. In the case of these deserters from , | the Bennington the reward has been | i, offered and the offer will remain in I force indefinitely, but there is little | । chance that the men will be taken.; i In speaking of the matter recently i 1 Capt. Bradford, of the Bennington, I ; said: “I do not think we shall see these I men again. I have never known an ' j instance in my thirty years' of experiI cnee in the navy where a deserter was . j returned to his ship. 1 have hail J fugitives return of their own accord. York

■ „ raKinux f<M . ,77 It is not often that a nonentity is niistaken for a notability for several 1 (lays. Yet that is what happened' quite recently at a small watering-i place in Upper Austria. Allofasud- 1 den the town was convulsed with the’ delightful intelligence that Girardi, ' the famous \ iennese comedian, was in its midst. A charity concert was 1 | in progress of organization, and forth- i I wit h a deputat ion waited on t he great j man to solicit his assistance. It was j graciously accorded, and the deputies ■ withdrew in high feather, one of them I remarking how strange it was that an ; ■ actor should have so tine a beard. ”\V hy, don't you know," replied an - omniscient colleague, "that actors alI ways let their beards grow in the i holidays." On the eventful night the concert- । room was packed to sutlocation, and ; a vigorous round of applause greeted i the appearance of the famous actor, j i What followed may best be described I in the words of the Vienna A’<(/•.<.• "Instead of the excruciatingly funny song expected by the public. I Herr Girardi began a sentimental I ditty in a hoarse tom? of voice. This rather astonished the audience at first: but they rapidly came to the conclusion that it must be a first-rate i imitation of some opera-singer. The i object of the mimicry they did not' know, but they roared with laughter ; all the same." Girardi was encored and sang a ro- ' mantic Italian aria, and once more । the audience were convulsed at the, sublety of the imitat ion. Next morn- ; ! ing it happened that the official visi-! 1 tors list was published, from a pern- t

sal of which it appeared that, barring a certain Samuel Girardi, described as the ••merchant,” nobody of that name was stopping in the town. The actor's name being Alexander the ex-: tent of the blunder was soon appar-! <'nt.—[London Globe. Where Jasun Was Oft. “Perhaps you gents would like to . zee a work of art? Queried the farmer with the fur cap ami cardigan jacket, i No one encouraged him by look or ! word, but lie carefully unrolled a ■ paper, spread out a half sheet of cardboard, and exhibited a rather line pen-and-ink drawing of a tombstone. “Artist up at Syracuse did it for me, he explained. “It's a guide for the grave-stone man to fuller. Isn’t it rather scrumptious?” ••For your wife?" I asked. “Oh. no; it's for my son Jason. ' See the name in there: Sacred to the memoi\ of Jason Clark, who died, ’ etc. It 11 be the finest thing in our ’ hull graveyard.” ' ’ “Sick long?” I queried. “Never sick a day in his life, and j 1 was killed deader’n a door nail when he went.” ( “Killed, ch?” c “Yes, sir. Bet a man $2 mat he I could hoof it over a bridge before the f

train caught him, and he come within* ten feet of doing it, too. Engine throwed him about seventy feet, and i he was dead when they picked i him up. ( “It was too bad,” sighed one of tho group byway showing his sympathy. “Yes. He lost the $2 by a mighty close shave. Probably stubbed his toe somehow. Poor Jason! Powerful good boy, but a little off on distances.” Jenkin*’ Ear War. One Jenkins in 1731 had sailed to the West Indies as master of the Rebecca. Afterloading acargo of sugar at Jamacia he proceeded on his homeward voyage. But contrary winds preventing his progress, he was for some time kept hanging about near Havana. While there he was boarded by a Spanish guarda costa, and although nothing contraband was discovered, nor xyas it proved that lie

had visited any of the prohibited ports, he was, nevertheless, treated . with great and brutal cruelty. He was hanged up at the yard-arm to extort a confession as to the whereabouts of supixised contraband goods. I The halter, however not working I satisfactorily, the cabin boy was lied I to his feet to add to its efficacy, but the Spaniards apparently not being I adepts in the art of knots and nooses the boy succeeded in escaping, much to the relief of Jenkins. He, poor fellow, was hoisted up three times, but as no confession could be wrung from him he was at last released, but not before one of the Spaniards, in his exasperation, tore off Jenkins left i ear, which had previously been nearly i severed by a blow from one of their cutlasses.

The ear was then flung in his face, and lie was told to take it to his King and tell him about it. The coast guards then left, taking with them the Rebecca’s sextant and other property and goods to the value of about 112 pounds. Jenkins’ story, as delivered to Vie j House of Commons, created a sensation, especially when, after producing j the ear wrapped up in cottonwool, he । was asked what his feeling had been ! while so cruelly treated. He replied, “1 recommended myself to God and my cause to my country.” His country justified his confidence by taking up his cause with fervor and enthusiasm, although there were many who denied that Jenkins had I ever lost his ear, and others, more cruel still, who, while admitting his • loss, suggested that the pillory had ’ more to do with it than t lie Spaniards. ! However, be the truth what it may, Walpole had, after fruitless pacific ' negotiations, to bow to the popular demand, and measures were taken to I retaliate on Spain. On July 10, 1739, i an order in council was issued for rei prisals and granting letters of marque, and on October 19 following war was formally declared. Piihli Needed in Ihuine^* I 1 1 M I foot »wxwnr 1 f»va t h fll

ir. nnsureu iacb uuHuuujb inai “’Tryon irtVen<i lo niaKC money \ou must take hold of something; you must de- . vote your worn, your time, your skill, i your experience and whatever money I you have to something. To very few J indeed does a fortune come by merely waiting for it. And these fortunes themselves are the result of | previous years of labor. Caution is indeed a great thing in investment, but, as in everything I else, there can be too much of it. The man who is too cautious in Ids business policy runs a greater risk ot being mim'd by missing golden opportunities than one who is seemingly ; reckless in his undertakings. Conservatism of the genuine sort should j be the characteristic of every legitimate business man: aggressiveness, ! however, in any line of commerce, enlarges to a thousand fold the possibilities of success, while at the same time permitting of the employment of conservative methods. Gamblers in trade or in any other sphere of activity generally come to grief. The genuine business man is a speculator: he is no gambler. He takes risks, but they are warranted by the necessities of his enterprises, i He. also, often conies to grief, but his ' ruin only emphasizes the mistakes I that should be avoided by others. Any man who wishes to invest has ‘ lots of good chances. But he mu«t I act. and by acting rightly he will win. i —[Journal of Finance. I nde .Sum’s Silver. The great treasury vault at Washington. built not long ago. covers j more than one-fourth of an acre, and ' is twelve feet deep. In its interior! then 1 is a cage of iron lattice w»rk. ‘

the bars of which are made of wrought iron, and which were riveted together with red-hot rivets after tho lattice work was put up. It took 1,000.000 rivets to fasten the iron work of this ■ vault toother and the lattice has to be very strong, as the silver is very heavy. The amount of silver now in the vault weighs over 3,000 tons, and i you could put these $90,000,000 on i one side of the scales and 35,000 men ! weighing each 180 pounds on the ; other side, and the silver would outweigh them. It would take 175 freight cars to carry this silver to the sea coast if America should be con- j quered and this treasury vault was | looted. And still this is only a small j part of the coin in the Treasury, j There is another vault which contains $59,000,000 more of silver and j $26,000,000 in gold. Mrs. Wickwire-Let a crowd of : men get together and they will talk every bit as much as that many 1 women. Won’t they, now? Mr. ' M ickwire—Well, it depends on how ' full they are. At the Theater—Fulsom (at con- 1 elusion of orchestral overture) —That f certainly was rare music. Criticus—• I agree with you; nobody could truth- ’ fully say it was well done. t

rretwailom or the Fqwtnoxea. The precession of the equinoxes is a subject intimately connected with the zodiac, foi wherever the vernal equinox occurs, the first sign of the zodiac begins, The point where the ecliptic and equator cross each other is called the equinox, because day and night are there of equal length. The crossing point, however, is not the same every year. The equinox is moving westward, or retrograding on the ecliptic, as if it advanced to meet the sun at each annual return. The motion was called by Hipparchus, as long ago as 120 B. C., the precession of the equinoxes, and the name is still retained, though recession would be more appropriate to the retrograde movement. The recession is 50.2 seconds of a degree each year, and, small as the distance appears, it has amounted to thirty degrees in the last two thousand years. As the vernal equinox is the astro-

nomical starting point, from which longitude is reckoned, its retrograde movement must cause a corresponding increase in the longitude of the st*ars. The result is that the constellations of the zodiac no longer agree , with the signs, and that star-maps have to be renewed at intervals ot I fifty years, to give the true position of the stars. It might be supposed that this com. stant change would bring confusion Into the celestial machinery, but so regular is the i"’egularity that its limit can be determined and its periods calculated with mathematical precision. The cause of f his strange motion has long been known. The earth is not a perfect sphere, but bulges out at the equator. The combined at-

traction of the sun and moon on this protuberance or ring of matter causes a gyratory or wabbling motion of the pole of the equator round the pole ol the ecliptic, a motion so slow as tc take nearly twenty-six thousand years for a complete revolution, at the end of which time signs and constellations once more agree, and a new circuit is commenced. Some curious results follow from the precession of the equinoxes. The pole star varies from age to age. for the pole of the equator in its revolution round the pole of the ecliptic must pass in succession different stars. | Wherever it points, the star nearest is the pole star. When the first catalogue of stars was made, the present pole star was twelve degrees from the pole. It is now one and one-fourth degrees from the pole. It will approach the pole , during the next century until the dis- ,! tance is thirty minutes, and then reI cede. Gamma Draconis was the pole ’ star three thousand years ago. The ' brilliant Vega will be the pole stai twenty-six thousand years hence. ' The picture of the heavens that it now seen will not be repeated for twenty-six thousand years, and, after this long interval, the earth will still

be young:—[l outft Edison s First Marriage. The story of Edison’s first marriage r shows how completely he is dominated , by Hie experimenting fever. He had . never thought of getting married, , but when some of his friends urged I upon him the advisability of taking a wife he assented, and said that if they 1 would find a nice girl lie would marry her. He finally picked out a pleasant faced girl from his factory and asked , I her to marry him. She consented, and Edison agreed to leave his beloved laboratory for a day’s wedding trip. On the way from the chapel in which they were married to the railway station the carriage passed the laboratory. The temptation was too much. Edison stopped the carriage, and telling the bride that he would follow her to the station in time to catch the train he plunged into i some experiment that had occurred to him during the church services. I Hour after hour passed. The poor I bride waited all the afternoon in the station, and was then driven back to i the house. It was 11 o’clock at night before his assb infs could tear Edison away from his laboratory and get him home. When he is at work Edison | loses all account of time. He will keep the whole establishment on a rush for hours ata stretch, and seem I as’ nished when any one hints that j it might he well to get something to eat. He is capable of working all I day and night without showing , fatigue.—[Chicago Journal. Unexpected Gen«r<Kily. I had slipped into a back seat of a very I a . V fri ea n ch u rch a t Col u in bia S. C.. one Sunday evening and was

. watching the kind of offertory, when । one of the deacons, with that tact which belongs to almost all the I colored race, came and politely offered , I to carry up for me any contribution I , j cared to make. I handed him a 25- • cent piece, and with inimitable pomposity he marched down the aisle, carrying the beggarly coin so that everybody could see It. Suddenly he turned on his heel and came back more rapidly, hundreds of white spots Hashing in the stratum of shade, like fireflies against a weedy fence, as the j curious eyes of the crowd were turned ito follow him. Arrived within speak- ■ ing distance, the good man called j out in a whisper audible to half the congregation: “Da you want । any change?"—[Christian Union. Mental JmpreHMioas. A Montcalm street man came in the other afternoon just as his wife was vigorously spanking their 4-year- : old boy. “What are you doing that for, my dear?” he inquired. “Why,’’ she answered between slaps, “he forgets everything I tell him, and now I propose to impress his mind so he won’t.” “Then, my dear,” said the father, “why don’t you turn him other end up?”—[Free Press.