The Syracuse Journal, Volume 1, Number 33, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 17 December 1908 — Page 3

r : Aunt Diana: l» " ' L • • * The Sunshine • • of the Family J • ••••••••••••••••••••••• CHAPTER XV.— (Continued,) “Oh, Mabek my poor dear I” And Alison knelt down by her. She had not noticed how helplessly the left arm hung down, and how Missie would not let her touch it. “It is all bruised and cut,” she said, her forehead contracting heavily with pain. “The doctor must see it presently, when he has finished in the other room; not now. Oh, Alison, where are you going? You shall not disturb them.'What does it matter? If only——” But here her fast whitening lips refused to utter . her fear. “Let me go, darling,” returned Alison, anxiously: “I will not disturb them, you may quite trust me.” And without waiting for Mabel’s answer she slipped away. As she entered the dressing room, the stranger, a dark, grave-looking young man, came out of her father’s room. He listened to Alison's account, and promised to attend to her sister as soon as possible. “We must finish theexamination,” he said, dismissing her, “but I will come as soon as I can. I» thought' there was s •piething wrong, but she deceived us by hiding her arm under her mantle. She was bruised, that was all, she told us. Keep her quiet, and I will be with you directly.” ' Missie was leaning back in her Chair,, with her eyes closed; but as Alison entered she opened them full on her sister, and thp.blank miserable look in them convinced Alison that she was dreading the ' worst. “Do not look so, Mabel darling,’ she said, kissing her "softly. “Ipdeed we do not know; they have told me nothing. Dear papa is in God’s hands; we must leave him there, and hope for the best.” A low groan broke from Mabel’s lips. “Oh. it/is easy for you; even if the worst comes, you can bear it ; you have nothing with which to reproach yourself. If |ie dies. I shall have - killed him. How am I to go on living, and know that?” Arid here she burst, out into hoarse sobs. (“Mabel, my dear, oh! how,am Ito comfort you?” exclaimed Alison, unable, to Restrain her 6wu tears at the sight of her sister’s auguikh. ? “Y<>a can, not comfort me,” returned the-unthappy girl. “What is the painj.of ■ my broikeh arm and my bruises comuar!' I to witfat I shall feel if he dies, and I am nq-t able even to, tell him that I am ■•sorryf for my deceit and disobedient#? and I Wftiuld not say so. because he was angry. Obi', papa. papa, and 1 .loved you so!” Atnd the poor child hid her face on Allison's shoulder. It seemed a re! es to her. “•to pour out her feelings.' He had been / so angry, and she would not own herself in the Wrong, and then the horrible- accident had . happened, and she thought at first her father Was killed. “When they said he was alive.' and- they must bring him home,- and s?e what could be done, I thought I. 1 not add to the trouble, and so I managed to hide my broken arm.” But here she broke off. as Mr. Cameron entered the room. ' ' “Papa?” she' said, faintly, as he came up to her. , “His consciousness -is returning: we . shall know more to-morrow. It is not the head, as we- feared,” he said., evasively ; “hut now I must look at your arm, please. Your friend Dr. Greenwood will'be here directly, and we will Soon put it right.” But. in spite of his‘cheerful words, “Poor child!” came pityingly from his lips as the blackened shoulder was revealed to his view. Missie must have suffered exquisite pain during the drive home. The arm was broken, and the shoulder dislocated, and the bru.ised condition of the flesh filled Alison with horror. j It was & painful ordeal for Alison, but she bore if. as bravely - as she could. Roger, had remained with his father; Miss Leigh was not in a condition to render any assistance; the sudden confusion had brought on accession of pain, and she could only lay her throbbing head on the pillow, and lie there in utter helplessness. There was no on? but herself, to wait.uppn the doctors and receive their directions, the very exigency of the case made her helpful. Her one thought was that she must not hinder their work; there yvas little for her to do. At the first touch of her wounded arm Mabel had fainted again. Alison could not have borne to witness the poor child’s sufferings. Perhaps Dr. Greenwood knew this, for he contrived Some errand that detained, her for a few minutes out of the room. When she returned the worst seemed over, but the faintness Continued, and it was only slowly and by degrees that Alison, yyith Sarah’s help, could assist her to undress and lie down, after which a sedative was to be administered, as the pain of the bruises and the misery of her mind would effectually hinder sleep. As soon as she could leave her in Sarah’s charge, Alison stole into her father’s dressing room. Dr. Greenwood came to her at once. “My. dear,” he said, taking her hand,, for he had known her from an infant, “this is a sad business, but, thank God, things are not so bad as they seemed at first. Your father must have received a blow; he was stunned,-but consciousness has returned, and he has spoken. What we fear now is something different. He seems unable to move; but this may be due to the shock and temporary exhaustion. There are symptoms that make us hopeful that the full extent of mischief may not be realized. We shall know more in a few days; but he will require the greatest ,care. To-morrow I shall send in a nurse from the infirmary. Do you think yon and your brother can manage to-night?” ... “Oh. yes,” 'returned. Alison, with a painful catch in her breath; it seemed to her as though she- were passing through some hideous nightmare; the very horror seemed to numb her sensibilities. She understood that night how people could live through terrible scenes; the very intensity of pain deadened the anguish. Ds. Greenwood thought her a very

brave girl. She listened quietly to his dli ructions, but he took her hand once, and i felt her pulse, and then he kindly bade ; her take some food and wipe before she went into her father’s room, and as Roger ! came out that moment he repeated the charge to him. | “Gome, Allie,” said Roger, taking her : arm. “Dr. Greenwood will stay with j father until we come, back.” And he led her away. Alison noticed with some surprise that there was a sort of meal laid in the dining room; she had forgotten the early supper had been placed there a couple of hours ago in preparation for her father. Roger .carved some chicken and brought it to her. “You must try and eat, Allie, and I will do the same,” he said, with some attempt at cheerfulness. “We have a long night before us, and we must husband our strength.” Alison felt the force of his argument, nevertheless, the food remained on her plate.* •' ! . “Roger, how bad you look! ’ she said, suddenly; “but I do not wonder at it. Oh! what a dreadful evening we have had: and I can not imagine-how it happened.” . ~ “Dr. Cameron was there, and he told me,” returned Roger, shading his face from the light, as though it hurt him. “It was not a collision; something must have given way—the coupling Chain, they think—and they were going down a steep incline at express speed. Dr. < ameron says some of the carriages-went over the embankment, and wrecked ; one or two were turned entirely over. He was in the same compartment with father and Mabel. They felt a jolting sensation, and.the next moment they were thrown from their seats, the carriage side was completely smashed, and they were all flung in a heap. Dr. Cameron was on the top, and was happily unhurt, with the exception of a few bruises, father Was underneath him; Mabel struggled up somehow unhurt, and came to father, and no ppo k.new she was much hurt. “Oh, Roger, how terrible!” “Yes.-'it-does not do to talk, of it. and hardly’to think of.it. Now, Allie, if you have finished, .we will go upstairs. By the way. where is Miss Leigh. “Oh, I ought to have gone to her.” exclaimed Alisoq. ‘‘lß>w dreadful for her to lie there, .and not to be able to help us ’ She has! been suffering from One of her sick .headaches, and, of course, all this will make it worse. Wait lor me a moment, dear. I will just speak to her. “Is that voii. Alison?” tasked the governess. in a feeble voice.' ais the girl came to, her bedside; "I knoxj' all about .it,, dear, Eliza has told me; I Poor children, poor’ childremtand I can not help you.” "Roger is good and thoughtful; we shall manage nicely to-night, and Sarah will watch'Mabel. You must not trouble, dear Miss Leigh; to-morrow you will be better and then we shall be sure of your help.'” . ■ “You must not stay nolw. Thank you for coming, my d-.ar. but you must go. to your father.”. And Alison was thankful to be dismissed. . In another moment she was .leaning over her father. He unclosed his eyes as be heard her light footsteps, and a faint smile came to his l|ps. • "How is your sister?" he whispered. “Dear papa." . she returned, tenderly, "how happv Mabel will fee to know you ,-rsked after her! She is lying quite quietly. the..sedative is, lulling her, but she is not asleep.” ' \ : “Poor child!” was alb his reply, and then fee closed his eyes, again, but as Alison withdrew into the shadow of the curtain tears of thankfulness came to her eyes: there was no bitterness in her father’s heart against poor ‘-Mabel. “As a father -pitieth his children.” the words came to her mind, ah! “so might their Heavenly Father have pity on them.” CHAPTER XVI. The dreary.night watching was a new experience in Alison s life, for she had been too young at (the tifeie of'her mother's last illness to share in the long and tedious nursing; the silence and inaction made the hours drag heavily. Roger, fatigued with his day’s work, was sleeping heavily wjfh his head against the wall. Alison pitied his : weary position, and fetched a pillow from the other room and put'it gently behinil his head. Once or twice sqe went across the passage to look at- Missie. She was glad to ’find her sleeping. .Sarah was at her post, sitting blot upright and nodding. Now and then her father spote a’ few words: once he asked whdt the Hectors had said. Alison was thankiful that they had not informed him of their fears. “They do not seem, to know, papa.” she returned, gently; “they think you have a great shock, and you are suffering from nervous exhaustion. They -will tell better by and by.” “There seems something wrong with my limbs,” he muttered uneasily; “you are sure you do not know what they think?” “Quite sure, dear papa,” she replied, so earnestly that he could not disbelieve ■ her, “but I hope and trust,” her lips quivering a little, “that you may soon be better.” - “You are a good girl, Alison; your mother always said so, and if I am spared—” He sighed heavily, and turned his face away; and Alison, remembering the doctor’s injunction, dared not say any more, lest it should increase his agitation ; she only took his hand and softly laid her cheek against it, as though she would show by this action a child’s love and devotion. Her touch seemed to quiet him, and by and by he dozed a‘ little. Morning came at ■ last, and Roger roused- himself with difficulty. Alison felt weak and jaded; the strain was beginning to tell even on her vigorous vitality. She was glad the night’s inaction was over, but she felt too weary for the day’s work. But Roger had not forgotten her; he came back presently with a refreshed look on his face, and told her that breakfast was all ready in the dressing room. “A strong cup of coffee has made me a different man,” he said, cheerfully; “you must try my recipe, Allie.” And Alison found the benefit of his prescrip-' tion. Her hands were soon full of business. Dr. Greenwood, came early, bringing the new nurse with him, and Alison had to make arrangements for the stranger’s comfort. She seemed a pleasant, capable woman, with a neat figure, and a bright face that prepossessed Alison in her fa-

vor. She took possession at once of her patient, after a feeble protest on his part that he objected to nurses, but after the first few minutes he ceased to grumble. Dp. Greenwood soon convinced him that Roger was too busy. young for such a responsiblity; besides, the chief- care of her sister must devolve on her. Missie’s sleep had not refreshed her as they hope; the pain of her bruises was making her feverish. She could not turn in her bed without suffering, and her anxiety for her father added to her,discomfort Alison tried to console her, and Miss Leigh, who was sufficiently recovered to sit in her room, spoke reassuring words to her; but it was that Missie could take no comfort; only when Alison ‘was alone with her, miseraole, self-accus ng-words came to her lips. “Indeed, dearest, there is no need for you to speak so,” Alison said to her once, with a strong yearning to console her. “Dear 1 pay-a asked after you the first moment be saw me. You should have heard how tenderly he said ’Poor child!’" “That is because my arm is broken, and he knows I am suffering such pain. ■ls any one hated me they 'would pity pie now,” returned Missie, in a stifled voice . . “No. no: you must not take it in that way.” exclaimed Alison, quite shocked, as she smoothed Missie’s fair hair. She looked so pale and pretty, and the blue eyes had such a pathetic look in them. Alison had parted the soft fringe, and the soft curly ends lay quite’smooth and showed the broad white forehead. A different Mabel lay there, with the poor wounded arm folded on her breast, and all the little vanities laid aside. As Alison stood looking at her. Missie raised her uninjured arm with a sudden movement toward Alison’, and in another moment the sisters were clasping each other close. . ’ “Oh, my poor dear, my poor dear!” whispered Alison, in the softest, most pitving voice. Missie kissed her hastily, and then seemed as though she would push her away, only Alison held her still. ' ™ , “No, I don’t deserve it; please don’t be so good to me. I have been altogether horrid ever since you came home. “Never mind all that now, dear.” “Yes, but I must mind it,” turning restlessly away and then uttering a low groan. “Oh, this pain. Alison I Shall I ever be able to move again without it? I did not want you to come home; I thought you would be in my way, and that made me cross. I was jealous of you. and I did not want the others to care for you. Roger was , never fond of me as he was of you. and I wanted him to be fond of me. And oh! how horrid and small it all seems now!” finished poor Missie, reading her past conduct under a new light. In the dark hours whdn one's strength is low. conscience sometimes flings. a vivid torch into the refessas of one’s being, bringing hidden faults to light. “Dear Mabel, we will forget all that now,” returned Alison, gently.; we will try and love each.i'ther more.” • '“Oh, it is easy; -to? you to love'people.” retorted Missie, ‘almost pettishly ; “every one is so fond of you. and you are ne\er cross and disagrees! las I am. Roger makes you his companion, and Rude! is. less rough when you are in the room, and nbw papa will low you best. • '“Hush, dear; what nonsense!" “It is not nonsense,” she returned. :n a despa irinlg tone. “I have forfeited his Hove- ' He Will never forgive me now. .He ’ told me that he hated deceit; that he should never be able to think the same of me.' Hejsaid I should never see Eva again if he'could help it. Oh. he was so angry, so unlike himself! I suppose my obstinacy vexed him, for I would not say I was sorry. He took hold of my arm and alffiost shook me to make me speak, but I think I was like that man who had a dumb spirit.” (To continued.! HER FACE WAS NOT FAIB. But There Was One to WJiom She Would Always Be Beautiful. The blind boy raised a rapt face to the. light. “And my mother?” lie .said questioningly. “Tell me how she looks again. I shall 'soon be able to see! and I know I shall find one more beautiful than all the rest .and cry: •‘■Mother, mother! Why do yon not speak?’” His sensitive face was. turned reproachfully toward his father, “You have always told me how lovely she is. She is little —not talier than my shoulder—l know that.” The old man laid his arm over the lad's shoulders. ; “You must know now what your blindness would have kept you from knowing.” he said. “Your mother is net fair and beautiful in face, but her soul is what God Yfiade for a mother. When you can see, look for the face which holds the greatest love. You will not be mistaken. It will be your mother’s.” The great surgeon looked for a moment or two into the sightless eyes and then turned and laid his hand on the father’s trembling arm. “Only God can make him see, my friend,” he said kindly. “Your boy was born blind, and human skill cannot help him.” , • The blind boy was the first to speak, and he laid his arm around the suddently aged form of his father. “Come,” he said, “let us go back to mother. She will always be beautiful to me now,” and they turned and gave place to the others. The Natural Inference. “Ma, didn’t the heathens have a god for everything?” “Yes, my child.” 1 “Well, who was the god that ruled over kitchdhs?” “I don’t remember, but I think It was the great god Pan.”—San Francisco Bulletin. The Next Question. “The impudent thifig wanted me to marry him.” “When is the wedding going to be?" —Nashville American.

MAID AND MATRQY

The Sensitive Woman. Woman's yvhole character is formed by the endurance of necessary evils, says a clever woman writer in Black and White. The little girl's wishes and predilections are set aside from earliest youth in favor of her brother’s. It is he who decides the games, who makes her field, or bowl, or run; who, If they play horses, drives-the team: who has most money, most presents, most audacity and mos liberty. When they grow older, it is he who has the best masters, the finest education, for whom all is done, on whom the family pride and triumph center, and who scolds his sister for a milksop if she cries when he pinches her. The mother sets aside her happiness for her children; it is she who wheedles the paterfamilias out of the necessary money for boots and socks, hats and ribbons, who dresses the girls at the cost of her own toilette, and saves up her pin money to increase the sailor boy's allowance. If she is Sensitive she conceals the fact, imposes violence on her nerves and bears as

NEW IDEAS FOR WALKING SUITS. Ml - iMMn * i, I. OS 1 CWm V imIVM BSitwil

best she can the noise and uproar that must never disturb .father. The uneducated woman has often the quickest perception, the finest tact, the most vivid sensibility; she will feel, without speaking, she understands your inmost thoughts, she is en rapport with you spiritually, she-knows without being told. 1 The supremely human" woman, she who is most alive, most herself, is also the most sensitive. Who does not know at least one sweet soul to whom everybody turns when in difficulty, who receives the love confidences of the boy, the whispered worries cf the woman, the diplomatic, political and social annoyances of the man, women who are accused of petticoat government, but to whose exquisite'lact and unselfishness sensitiveness and del--ieacy are due the reunion of families.: the binding-up of broken hearts, the forgiveness of sins and the bright hopes, of joy hereafter ?<> ■ Thoughts. It is very important to cultivate businesslike habits. An eminent friend of mine assured me not long ago that when he thought over the many cases he had known of men, even of good ability and _high character, who had been unsuccessful in life, by far the most frequent cause of failure was that they were dilatory, unpunctual, unable to work cordially with ottjers. obstinate in small things, and, in fact, what we call unbusinesslike.—Lord Avebury. Women in Ethnology. The recent investigations at Dr. C. G. Seligman among the Veddas of Ceylon, and the great importance of the* aid which Dr. Seligman’s wife was able to give him,' led Mr. A. C. Haddon to point out the desirability of women of a

5 scientific turn of mind interesting themselves in work of this kind. But- for the presence of his. wife Dr. Seligman would have been unable to secure many of the facts which he has accumulated. The Veddas. who live in caves, are extremely averse to having white men visit their families, but Mrs. Seligman was warmly welcomed among them, and among gther things she collected records of the songs of the womeu and .girls. They- took the greatest delight in the phonograph, and hearing their songs and lullabies repeated by the Instrument. - t i Banish the Feather Bed, Do you still sleep on feather beds? You do, because mother gave them to you for a part of your wedding “setout.” Discard them. They are not sanitary, because they allow the body to sink down so deep that the air cannot circulate about it, and that is not for good health. The bed should be set out a little from the walls, so there will be. a free .circulation of air all

around it. And the mattress should not be too soft, if you would sleep comfortably, The covers should be light and not heavy and soggy. Heavy covers absorb perspiration and are not as warm as light ones, provided the latter are made of the right kind of material. I believe that many cases of tuberculosis can be traced to feather beds and heavy covers. To Prevent Rusting;. It is better to use wooden pegs in bath rooms or kitchens where damp towels or cloths are apt to be hung, otherwise the linen may rust from the iron. If iron hooks are already in place and it is not convenient to change them 4 give them a coat of white enamel paint. It prevents danger of rusting and is much less unsightly against the paper. If the linen has already been rusted it maj- be removed by rubbing with lemon Juice and salt. Many of the new skirts are crossed in the front. The neck outline of bodices is likely to grow higher. Sleeves are all long, so long gloves are worn only ip the evening. Little neck pieces, composed of fur bands and ruffles, are the thing just now. Tailored suits grow tighter

and plainer, with button trimming much in evidence. Opossu/n fur is. tfie latest cry in Paris for coat collars, euffs, revers. I aings and waistcoats. The automobile is responsible f r the array of long coats with which ft .Tiers are provided, A feature of empire and dircctoire evening gowns is a fringe placed exactly on the edge of the ffiem. A new combination is brown and gray, but these must h:ive sometl ing in c-oinmon and must not clash. In slippers the tendency is ward lower cuts and trimmings of r settes and cut steel or rhinestone buck! s. One of the prettiest novelties i shirt waists is an almost infinitesimal Valenciennes insertion in the yokes. Though directoire styles still j. oyern, they are much softened and toned down by strong forecasts of the early empire. , , The long mosquetaire and leg-< '-mutton sleeves are the most important characteristics of the newest fast ion in shirt waists. Dressy black coats come in dirtetbire •lines fashioned of o;ti>nian satin, velour, with .largt* revers and rich braidings. If you are in doubt about wha kind of a waist to got to g<> -with a goodlooking eoat and skirt, you cannot go

wrong in choosing colored chilli :i cloth to match the suit. In spite of the powerful di’cetoire vogue, tunic skirts and Grecian folds still have a distinct place in th? styles of the day. A loose coat of showerproo tweed should never -be from th a school outfit.. It will prove a boon waen the weather is badWhen Forced to Rest. When one has a resting tim - forced upon her, is the psychological! moment to get busy with the hair. Every woman knows the benefits of tonic treatments, but every woman knows equally well what a sight she is during the process. Therefore, instead of be noauiug when the baby gets the me isles or Ruth and Bob come down with chicken pox, shutting you in the house, improve the opportunity to strengthea your locks. You can even resort o crude petroleum without afflicting callers. Separate the hair into strands and apply tonics nightly without feat of flattening: rub in vaseline often, and let the hair hang for ventilation. Prevent Dampness in JEed. To prevent a bed which is left unused for a week or so becoming d. mp, lay a blanket on top of the other clothes when the bed is made. TEke this blanket off before using, and you will find the bed quite safe to use. Oil Damps. A small lump of camphor gum in the body of the lamp will greatly improve the light and make the flame clearer and brighter. Some say that occasionally a few drops of vinegar will give the same results.

' FIG HITS ( TUBERCULOSIS; rhe'. Modern •.'t'iresls-Air Pavilion and What I-t AecomprtuheM. It- may be a d that to-day the curative treitmei t of tuberculosis finds itself little def t rted from the principles of Hippocrat s, who 400 years before Christ advise I patients to “go into the hills ai d dri ;ik goats’ milk.” Modern methods 'wit tuberculosis are still largely advisory and are regulated by the sou • essesr' ials : Air, food, rest, con- 1 frol, says tie American Review of Reviews. - And, [though this regimen is filled oit by certain measures tending to alleviate and aid, without thtw four essentials th? physician of to-day is able to do lit’le. The international congress cn tuberculosis, which meets at Washifgton his fall, will have nothing beyond to offer. The single specific for tuberculosis s yet to be found. ’ Os course, ’new cures" are evolved constantly. We have had the . “vege-table-jiice”, cure, the “stuffing” treatment and v arious “inhalations.” But one and all rove, upon real trial, to .. be either worthless or else of only superficial value. However, it must not be cohleetur >d (hr t the curative‘treatnaent of tuberculosis has Inot advanced. The principles art as ever, but they are being more tl oroughly applied and their effectiveness furthered. An unremitting study is .being made for a better understand ng and appreciation of the fresh air-a id proper food, the rest, the careful surmdsion. Frt sh ai • maintains its position as first amoii:; the requirements in the treatment c ’ tuberculosis. That the fresh air may be unimpeded and absolutely incapable of contamination the . outdeor pavilion is assuming the perfect type. 'tie tent is-Josing ground, not even the most radieal styles can be filly ventilated at all hours of all seasons wi h the precision of the modernly constructed pavilion. The tent Is hotter tian the pavilion, emider than the i-avill■ :i and damper than the pavilioti. is also lie-ing accorded t>r<cedt|nce over the cottage plan. ? ! STORIES OF STATESMEN. “I’.n-le Joe” Cannon was discussing jocularly our society leader’s claim that too i ny statesme n appear, to rely on their tint., 4 „ couthness—-on the £??? '; \ absence of soc-ks. fc--.a _ f o tlieir - -t"- t’-iT.e. V " ; “I would point lu ‘> “i neiil.-er Cyosar nor AlexanT■ «, w der wore socks, ' ■ 1 and if 1 d. ■jos. g. cannon. New York society as f'..•a.nkly as this person has attacked public‘life, I might—but, after all, iawfect frankness is invariably a bad thing Ycu have heard, jierlpips. of the ; young man who admitted- perfect frankness? Cal ing on h pretty girl, he said': “ If there is one thing that I reverence in .this world, perfect frankness is that thing’,’ , “ Yes?’ said the girl. ‘Then I'll at once grasp the opportunity to urge yep to shave off your mustache before you eat another soft-boiled egg.’ ” ■ Senator Tilli-nan, discussing international mt mages the , other day, said ’ pertinently: ■ “What 'arc we . coming to? A friend of. mine, an arrant fi>e to ;n marehies, jKaMT: roared out in a '-Ag , speech If st. week: ■ * ‘D ow n trodden y , w as they - are abroad, k I still fail to under- :W stand hew they can ' eu lure ■.<> be ’ ;,x ed ■ to supiN i't idle, extruviigai.t and dis- JH so ute • yal famdies.’ * i. “Then my frier d wiped . his heated brow, a id Jrarrying heme, sent in a R - tillman. stick asc’essmOnt of SIO,OOO in order help the president of the Dash •Railroad purchase a titled son-in-law,” Woman Students in Alsace. A telegram from Strassburg states that the government of Alsace-Lor-raine has laid before the authorities of Strassburg University a scheme for admitting women to study' there. This scheme was discussed by the senate of the university and was. accepted in principl?. ~ ■ It is therefore probable that women will be admitted to matriculate at the beginnirr of the winter session.—Berliner Anzeiger. As Yale Sees It. 'Tanke—lt must be great to be a Harvard man. Stynt—-Why so? “The streets up there are so erooked that people can’t tell whether you’re walking straight or not.”—Yale Record. ' Driven to Drink. Artist—My next picture academy. w II be entitled “Driven to Drltik.” His Friend —Ah, some powerful |K>r-. trayal of baffled passion. I suppose? Artii —Oh, no; it’s a horse approach g a water trough! A Surprise. Whet a woman calls her husband up by teh phone without his knowing who f;he is, -she is always surj>rised to see how pjlitely he addresses her at first —Soru > 'ville Journal