Nebraska Newspapers

    Dakota County Herald
DAKOTA CITY. NIB.
Jhn H. Reaan,
PublUher
tour credit tuny
may ts tetter.
up Krl, nut your
Nobody haa as yet made a success
mt predicting the end of the world.
If a man known all slout you and
ta wtm yur friend, he II do to tie to
When the south pole l discovered
1st somebody stay there and nit on It.
When a woman acquires a Jin lot of
trinkets she begins tn poak of her
Jewtils.
The auto rims over you and you die.
The aeroplane runs over you and you
don't mind It a hit.
The proof that there Is no coal trust
la found when the temitorarily em
barrassed one trie tn get a ton on
tick
The snug boat of the future will he
mployed to yank the dark and men
adit clauds out of the aerial high
ways. On her hurt trip over the Lualtanla
cnnstrnied $16,000 worth of roal. How
would you like to he the Lusltanla's
coal mjw?
"What la a kiss?" asks the New Or
leans States. If the editor of that pa
per dorwa't know by thin time he
never wfl learn.
Perhajw aelther Peary nor Cook
Would have discovered the north ole
T they'd known "there was going to
to am a fuss about it.
Mara to only 85,000,000 miles dis
tant from the earth now. It la a fact,
Jiowever, that there are a good many
Wide, oren leads between the two
planet.
The Mea that there la always room
ft the top may be all right, neverthe
less tt is fortunate that Cook and
Peary dWIn't reach the north pole at
the name ttme.
Durlivg "aviation week." at Rbelms
an aeroplanlat was fined twenty franc
for reckless flying. He did not run
Into any one, nor did he smash Into
anything; be merely frightened the
spectators.
Dr. Mnrphy says the roan who dis
covers how to kill the cancer gorm
will be a greater man than the dis
coverer of h north pole. We might
make a similar claim for the man who
shall discover a hair restorer that will
restore.
Tea, follow citizens, your Uncle 8am
Kits on tie North Pole, rests one foot
a the Far East, the other on the Far
'West, and with his horny hands digs
ditch across the middle of the hem
isphere, while his sons capture all the
prizes ef the air and earth. (Deafen
ing applause.)
A law has recently gone Into effect
tn New Jersey which compels all ve
hicles net only automobiles, as la the
custom everywhere, but all teams
aslng the public highways at night
to carry two lights, one In front and
one In the rear. Such a law, faith
fully enforced. Is a cheap and practi
cal method of safeguarding highway
traffic, not only from collisions, hut
also from the numerous accidents
Which result from bad places tn roads
and bridges.
Continued efforts are making by the
National Association for the Study and
Prevention of Tuberculosis to discour
age the practice of sending Indigent
consumptives from the East to the
West and the Southwest. It has lately
reported that more than seven thou
iand persons, hopelessly diseased, go
from the East every year, only to die
In one of the five States favored by
consumptives. Tuberculosis can be
oared or arrested In a.iy part of the
country, and the percentage of cures
tn the East Is nearly as great as In
the West
The most cursory survey of the
world's literature, dramatic or other
wise, win convince anyone that the
profession of humorist or true come
dian Is one of the most exacting aver
known. The jokesmlth may get a mo
mentary laugh from an audience that
t willing to take the will for the
deed. Rut the maa who would set bis
name among thoie who have made
permanent additions to the world's
fun must have a lint of specifications
for a permit to make a road through
a PIncbot reserve. He must have In
sight, sympathy, knowledge of charac
ter. He must have a sense for fact
that Is felt beneath bis airiest webs of
fancy. He must have an ear for the
right word that no correspondence
school nan confer. It Is easier to be a
wit than to be a humorist: easier to
laugh at people than to laugh with
them, or make them laugh at them
elves.
The rush of thousands of eager In
Ilvlduals to the Indian land openings
tn Montana shows to what en extent
land hunger ts besetting the people
It Is a question If one out of a thou
sand among tboee that have registered
tn the hope of securing Indlun rese
vatlon land has any Intention of g
fling and honestly "farming It," eve
if he Is lucky. The land hunger has
become an obsession, fed by the lottery
net hod the government sees fit to
utilize In distributing those lands. I
la the old story of "taking a chance
and the Individual pays railroad fare
and living expenses, which amount to
no Inconsiderable sum. In the hope of I
btlng one of the lucky oues In Uncle
Barn's lottery. If a plot of ground Is
drawn, no doubt It will be scorned as
something undesirable for even the
most productive western land Is not
enticing la l:s sagaLruih form. It
means bard work to bring a productive
farm out of raw western land, and
Mat of Ibosa who take part la such
pamUtlve rush are not of the sort
to carry the game through to Its fin
Ish and to make actual raichert of
themselves.
Recently there died a man of wealth
and prominence whose business waj
conducted In accordance with a policy
of enlightened self-Interest that act
ive endeavor toward personal advance
ment which takes Into account In large
measure the general good. He was a
manufacturer of bicycles, and realizing
that Improved high ays meant In
creased demand for the products of his
fuctorles, he became a pioneer In the
movement for good roads. Realizing
also that a more general appreciation
of the many pleasures and benefits of
outdoor life would mean more bicycle
riding, he established a magazine de
voted to such life. The two causes
which he helped along In energetic and
practical fashion need no defense.
Poth are generaly accepted at Import
ant factors In the material advance
ment of the country and In the per
nonnl welfare of Its people. When the
bicycle declined In popularity this man
engaged In the manufacture of auto
mobiles, and continued his advocacy
of good roads. That he proBpered by
his far-sightedness vindicated the wis
dom of his course, even from the self
ish point of view. Every man is Justi
fied in promoting his own welfare, In
protecting his own interests and In
ncnnirlnr a comDOtence against the
Inevitable old age. It Is his duty to
do this, and happy the man, and happy
the community In which he lives and
labors, when he does It in such a way
that those round him are benefited
rather than Injured. Not all can be
great manufacturers and'galn wealth
by leadership In national movements,
but every person can act on the sound
theory that self-interest is best nerved,
not by the narrow selfishness which
sees only the present day and the Im
mediate surroundings, but by the far
sightedness which Includes the days to
come, and the comprehensive planning
which Involves the common welfare
and progress.
J
THE END C THE FEUD.
The Idea of mercy Is not associated
to any great degree with the Ameri
can Indian. Yet he Is not now and
never was uniformly Implacable and
hard-hearted. In a book en "The
Columbia River," W. D. Lyman re
counts an Incldont, which if not typi
cal, Is at least worth repeating for Its
Intrinsic worth. Between the Shus
waps and the Okanogans there was a
deadly and long-continued enmity.
This was ended in a curious and In
teresting manner. ..
The Shuswaps had captured the only
daughter of the Okanogan chief. She
was led with other eaptlves Into th
Shuswap camp. The boasting warrior!
were gloating over the poor victim,
and the squaws were discussing ttu
greatest possible tadlgnltles and tor
tures for her, when an aged white
haired chief got the attention of ttu
tribe.
He declared that his heart had been
opened, and that be now saw that tor
ttire and death ought to end. He pro
posed that Instead of shame and tor
ture they should confer honor on tin
chieftain's child.
He said, "I can hear the old cblei
and his squaw weeping ail the night
for their loat daughter."
He then proposed that they adorn
the captive with Dowers, put her In a
procession, with all the chiefs loaded
with presents, and restore her to her
father.
The girl, meanwhile, who did not
understand a word of the language,
was awaiting torture or death. What
was her astonishment to find herself
decorated with honor and sent with
the gift laden chiefs toward her fath
er's camp.
On the next day the mourning chief
of the Okanogans and his wife, look
ing from their dnsolate lodgo. saw a
large procession approaching, and they
said, "They are coming to demand a
ransom."
As the procession drew nearer, one
of the men said that It looked like a
woman adorned with flowers In the
midst of men with presents of robes
and necklaces.
Then they cried out, "It Is our child,
and she Is restored to us!"
They met the processloa with re
joicing and heard the speech of the
old Shuswap chief. And after that
there was peace between the Shuswapi
and the Okanogans.
Speed" Mean to Acquire ftueceaa
When we use the slang "too slow"
as applied to non-success we are speak
ing correctly, according to etymology,
for "slow" conveys an Idea opposite,
to that of "speed," and for more than
10,000 years the root from which
"speea" has grown has preserved Its
Influence In a dozen languages and
has continually signified the lde,a of
qulckneus In grasping, tn drawing to,
In extending, In making room for ac
tion, In bringing prosperity and suc
cess by reaching out.
Our Aryan ancestors used the little
word "spa," and from It has grown
umong BcoreB of other words, our word
"speed," which, through the centuries,
has not been restricted to Its mean
ing of veloctty. It conceived the
thought of veloctty that reached out
for success. It meant having room
for action, to Increase In the direction
of prosperity. Without "spa" there
was no "success."
A ppruprlat.
"What did Marie, the telephone op
erator, say when she broke her eu
fitrement with Harry Phlunx?"
"Not much. She Just dropped him
a note with an Inclosure and wrote,
Ring off." New York Globe.
Americana have a habit of worry
Ing a man Into his grave and then
telling what a good man he was.
If a woman works a good deal,
other women who do not work so hard
say she works too much.
When It is said of a man that ha la
bull beaded. It means that he Is fool
las.
THE LEGEND OP THE PINK
Penalah ben Jeholdah, he that led
The armored host of Solomon, bent low
Hefore that anc'.c.U king. "My lord," he said.
"For leagues on leagues beyond the Jordan's flow
I souKht the priceless gift that now I bear
To thee, beloved master. Lo! within
This cup of golden beryl sparkle fair
Those drops that fell before the world knew sin
The Dews of Life, a draft whereof shall give
Immortal youth eternal, deathless spring
To him that drains their essence. Drinkt and live
Forever, Shield of Judaht" And the king.
The noble beaker taking, paused a space
To dream, as old men will; then, musing, spoke:
"To live forever! So, when all my race
Hath passed away, alone to bear the yoke
Of earthly care? When none Is left alive
Of these I love, of those whom even now
My heart desires? What! Shall I survive
All, all my friends, such perfect friends as thou.
True, gallant soldier? Nay. The sacred lands
Let others rule; my days are growlDg few;
Man's life belongs In God's almighty hand;
And thus I do as Ood would have me do!"
He turned the cup; the precious dross were flung
Upon the sands, and where with life divine
They touched the barren waste, In beauty sprung
That faithful tree, the never-fading pine.
Youth's Companion.
lisTT-ir fa rft 1
7 ivllfl g.
Ths conference at Conwav had been
brief. The man from the city had
met the disabled master of railways
and talked with him for a brief hour,
and then the eminent physician had
called a halt and ordered his patient
back to his hath and his bed.
The man from the city had virtually
completed his work, however. He was
the sick iuu' huocessor, self-appoint
ed. It la true, ln:t with none to con
test his claim.
He was conscious when he shook the
old captain of Industry by the hand,
that It might be for the last time, and
the feeling added an unaccustomed
tenderness to his parting words.
The man from the city had antici
pated a two days' stay. He had used
but one. And then a sudden whim
seized him. The village where he
had spent his boyhood, the old home
he had never revisited, was but twenty
miles away. It was not on the rail
way line, but he could rent a con
veyance of some kind, perhaps an auto
mobile. Anyway, he had made up
his mind to see the village again.
It was a mild curiosity that prompt
ed him. He had no old friends to re
ward. No grudges to settle. Yes, there
was one.
He felt a Budden wave of bitterness
cross bis mind. It was absurd, of
course the thing had happened so
long ago. Dut the anger was still
there anger against the man who had
robbed him of Lucy Dalton's love.
He knew he had been robbed. He
had foind It out when too lute. John
Ingram had slandered him to the girl,
and had brought up - In his disfavor
a cruel untruth. And Lucy had mar
ried John Ingram and all the world
had grown dark and hollow for Jim
Atherton.
He laughed at himself for hl9 ro
mantic folly, and yet despite the years
that had elapsed those moments of
angulah seemed very real.
Ho laughed again when he reflected
that this bitter disappointment had
been the making of him. If he had
married Lucy Dalton he would have
settled down In Wlnsted and might to
day be a plodding old rheumatic farm
er. As It was, the loss of the girl
he had loved had driven him to the
great city and to-day his was a name
that all men were forced to respect
and many men feared.
Yet, unworthy as the thought seem
ed to him, he felt that It would please
him to know that John Ingram had
not prospered, and he had a keen de
sire to moet his false friend and re
mind him of his perfidy.
"Seeing poor old Ilarton has made
me sentimental," he growled. "What
has Jim Atherton to do with old
homes and early loves? Just the same
I'm going over."
He stayed all night at the hotel.
and after breakfast secured an auto
mobile to carry him across the ridge.
It was a pleasant ride, clear and
cool, and Jim Atherton enjoyed it In
his quiet way. He remembered walk
ing over the same road the day he had
turned his back forever on Wlnsted.
Yes, there was the grist mill where
the farmer had given him a lift. How
well be recalled the sleek span of
horses. He was a kind old man and
had shown a friendly Interest In the
adventurous boy. Jim Atherton sud
denly wished he could do something
for the man who had extended the
first helping hand to him in his earli
est venture, but no doubt he had been
dead many years.
"Pretty country," said the chauffeur.
"Yes," his passenger agreed.
"Ever this way before?"
"Not for many years."
"It doesn't change," said the chauf
feur. A moment later they came within
sight of a white steeple and a duster
of houses nestling among the trees.
'That's Wlnsted," said the chauffeur.
"It's too sound asleep to ever wake
up."
Jim Atherton looked around.
"You may let me off here." be said.
"I'll walk down the hill. I'm not go
ing back to Conway. I'll reach the
railway on the other side.
He pushed some bills Into the chauf
feur's hand and walked briskly down
the hill.
The chauffeur stared at the money
and then at the retreating figure.
"Who la blazes can the old chap
tor A muttered. He looked agata
at the money. "He's too good a prop
osition for Conway to lose."
Then he regretfully turned the car
and started on the return journey.
Jim Atherton sniffed the morning
air. It seemed to have a familiar
odor. There was something ozoolc
about It that put new life Into his
cramped legs. It gave a fresh brisk
ness to his gait.
Yes, there was the old butternut
grove where the farmer had caught
him and mado him saw wood. He
laughed aloud at his early discomfi
ture. And there was tba old school
house no, this was a newer building.
But the maple trees were the same,
and the noisy stream where he went
fishing for shiners and bullheads, was
still there. He could hear It brawling
along behind the bushes on the lower
level.
A man was sitting on the top rail
of a nearby fence. He was a limp
looking man and his attitude suggest
ed an extreme degree of comfort. He
was a man of perhaps forty, with pale
blue eyes and a straggling growth of
rea whiskers. Jim Atherton hailed
this wayside figure.
"Oood morning," he said as he paus
ed and removing his hat let the cool
breeze lift his gray hair.
The pale blue eyes surveyed him
leisurely.
" 'Mornin'."
"Fine weather."
"Yes, but we need rain."
"Lived here long?"
"Horn over there on th' Potter sec
tion." "This your farm?"
"Nope. This Is Ab Coleman's farm.
I'm hlrln' out to him. Ab's down in
th' village with a load o" stuff."
Jim Atnerton faintly smiled. He
fancied the genus hired man had
changed but little.
"I suppose you know pretty nearly
everybody In the valley?"
"Guess I do. There ain't 'nough
newcomers to bother me."
"Then, of course, you know all the
old families?"
The pale blue eyes half closed.
"What you selllnT
Jim Atherton suddenly laughed.
"Nothing that Wlnsted would buy,"
he answered.
"There was a feller here, wrltln' up
th' history of th' village once," Bald
the hired man. "You got your plcter
an some stuff written 'bout you tn th'
book for five dollars. Bill Qulgg paid
him, an' Rodney Gear, and Slle Barnes,
an mebhy some others. Feller put up
at th tavern fer a week an' then him
an' th' money he'd collected, an' Sam
Henderson's board bill, an' Tod
Brown's livery Mil, all went away to
gether an' never came back."
He laughed noiselessly, and Jim
Atherton laughed, too.
"I don't write histories," he said and
laughed again. "Perhaps I've done a
little something toward making his
tory of a certain ttort, but there were
no unpaid bills."
The owner of the blue eyes accepted
the statement with a tranquil air.
How'd you get over here?" he
asked.
"I came In an automobile from Con
way."
The straggly red whiskers suddenly
quivered.
"I want to know," said their owner.
-Anythin' give out?"
"Nothing."
"There was a feller come through
here las' September or mehby it was
later an' somethln' give out with his
machine, and Tom Sturges he's th'
blacksmith was workln' on it four
hours. He charged th' feller two an'-
a half an' Dave Pitts says he paid Tom
rrom a roil o Dins as big as your
arm."
Jim Atherton nodded.
"No doubt be needed It ail. Any
amusements In Wlnsted?"
"Nothln". Jes' a Sunday School pic
nic In the grove, an a church fair In
th' winter. Boys tried to orgnlze
brass band, but It fell through." His
blue eyes suddenly brightened
"There's go la' to be a circus nex' week
over to Monticello an' they say It's a
clipper."
"You are going, of courser'
"I guess I be. I dunno. A lot o'
th' boys are talkie' of gola' over to
gether."
Jim athertoa produced a stiver del-
tar and paased It up to ths rasa ea
the fence.
"Get a good seat," be laughingly
said. "And don't forget the red Wmo-
ttade."
The straggly red whiskers quivered
again and the pale blue eyes scrutinis
ed the dollar closely.
"I'll be summed," be muttered and
slid the coin Into his trousers pocket.
"You say you know all the old Win
ted families," Jim Atherton remarked.
'Do you kaow a man named Ingram,
John Ingram?"
"Yep. Know him well. John Ingram
lives th' other side o" th" village on
th' Ingram farm. He's pooty badly
crippled up with rheumatii. Can't
do much of anythin' 'cept hobble
round. Old Doc Peasely says he won't
be no better here. Only hope for hltu
Is to git out to Collyrado where It's
dryer thsn It Is here but I dunno
he can afford to go not, anyway,
till he can sell his farm an' nobody
wants it."
"Is he alone there?"
"He's got his son, Phil, with him.
Phil's doin' th' work. He's a pooty
good boy, Phil is mebby a mite stuck
up, but not so you'd notice It much.
An' he's mighty good to his old dad.
The boy's mother was dee-termlned he
should have a college eddlcation an'
he got It though how she managed
It I can't understand. But tt ain't
doln' htm any good. He's Jest tied
down thar to the old mnn an' the
farm."
Jim Atherton stirred uneasily.
"And the boy's mother?"
"She died 'bout four years ago."
The raanJfrom the city put on bis
hat.
"Thank you." he said. "Good-by."
"Good-by," drawled the man on the
fence. He looked after his retreating
figure. Then he drew hU silver coin
from his pocket and bit on It. Evi
dently satisfied with the test he slipped
the dollar back and grinned until his
blue eyes were almost closed.
Jim Atherton went down the main
street to the old tavern and drank a
glass of buttermilk, and asked about
his lunch and the means of transpor
tation to Montlcello, the nearest rail
way town. And after he had sat on
the old porch a while and half dozed
In the Bleepy atmosphere, he ate the
simple fare that the tavern provided,
and started out for a walk.
The air was warm and he walked
slowly. Somehow he turned toward
the Ingram farm. He remembered that
the old swimming hole In the Four-
mile creek, a favorite resort In that
boyhood time, was Just off tho road
in the ravine and close to the line of
the old farm. He would visit the
ancient resort.
It hadn't changed. It was still the
same quiet, shaded spot. He dipped
his fingers In the water. It was just
of a proper coolness.
Jim Atherton was fond of the water.
Ha had been a clever swimmer when
he was a boy. It was an art he had
practiced whenever opportunity offer
ed. At the seaside resorts he had
visited he always improved the chances
for his favorite sport.
A sudden desire to get into the
water came to him. He looked around.
The place was absolutely quiet and
deserted.
He rapidly removed his clothes and
laid them on the big flat stone he
had used for the same purpose seven-and-twenty
years before.
Then he slipped into the water.
It gave him a pleasant sensation.
The temperature seemed exactly right.
He waded out to the deeper places
and presently found himself swim
ming easily and lightly.
The old swimming hole had lost
none of Its alluring charms.
He was floating on his back looking
up at the Interlacing branches of the
trees, and the patches of bright blue
sky beyond, and the drifting white
clouds, when, without warning, his
legs were seized by a terrible constric
tion. He tried to kick It off. He was
powerless. He felt himself sinking and
uttered a wild cry of terror.
He knew what had seized htm. It
was cramp. His mind was quite clear
despite the drumming In hla ears. He
realized that he was drowning. He
wondered how tho "street" would take
it, and what the papers would say.
He offered no resistance as the waters
drew him down. His head roared;
there was fire before his eyes.
Then he was fighting and struggling.
He struck out with his clenched hands,
lie clung madly to the dark thing that
was attacking him.
The next thing he remembered was
the sound of a pleasant voice. He was
lying on the soft sod beside the swim
ming hole with his face downward.
Somebody was rubbing him briskly
with a coarse towel.
"You're coming back all right," said
the pleasant voice. "Lie still until I
get the circulation going. I fancy the
cramp has gone. It was lucky I saw
you leaving the road. And It was
lucky, too, that I heard you call for
help. You were In the deepest hole of
all, and you gave me a hard light for
a moment or two. But you're all right.
There. Now you can put on your
clothes. No symptoms of a chill, eh?"
He was a fine looking young fellow,
clear eyes and dark haired, alert and
quick and cheery. He brought Jim
Atherton his clothes and helped him
dress.
"Sit here In the sun until you are
warm through," he said. "Now you
are looking yourself again."
The rescued man found his voice.
"Fine boy," he murmured. "Fate
sent a worthy messenger. It's a good
thing she didn't send a laggard. But,
boy, you are dripping. Take care of
yourself. Don't mind me."
"I'm all right." laughed the young
man, "1 warmed up working over you.
I've a coat on the fence yonder, and
I'll slip It on and when my shoes are
a little drier I'll slip them on. too."
Jim Atherton eagerly watched him.
"Boy." he said, "a good many people
will think you have done a good after
noon's work. I confess I'm one of
them. Give me your hand." He took
the young man's hand and stared into
his face. "You need not tell me your
name. It is Philip Ingram."
The young man started.
"That is a very good guess," be said.
"It Is net a guess," Jim Atherton
answered. -I knew your mother." U
paused a moment. "Twenty-sevea
years ago and today her son savet
my life."
The young man bad drawn back
little. Now he came nearer.
"May I ask your name, sir?"
"James Atherton."
"Why, why," rrled the young man
"you once lived here! And you knen
the old swimming hole. Of course, ol
course. I've beard of you very often,
sir. The village Is quite proud of you.
You are really the Mr. James Atherton
of of Wall street?"
The financier slowly smiled.
"I think I am the Atherton you
mean."
"Then," said the young man, "I have
a packet for you."
"A packet?"
"Yes. it Is at the house. My mothei
gave It to me Just before before she
died. It contains all the letters you
sent to her when you were children
together. She wanted me to give it
Into your hands some time, and say
to you that she had not forgotten."
There was a little silence.
"I want the packet," said Jim Ather
ton slowly, "and I want you."
The young man started and drew
back.
"Walt," said Atherton. "I am doing
this not so much for you as for your
mother's memory. I know she would
wish it. She gave you- an education
to fit you for better things. It is In
my power to help you, to develop you,
to make a useful and Influential man
of you. I have no son. I am alone In
the world."
The face of the young man was pale.
"No," he said, "I cannot accept. I
l ave a father who needs me."
"I know about your father," said
Atherton. "I know about the Western
Journey he Is advised to take. Here."
lie quickly drew money from his
pocket and thrust It Into the young
man's hands. "That's an advance on
your salary. You will take your father
to Colorado. You will Bee that he ts
comfortably settled. You will provide
everything for him that he needs. And
then you will come to me. Is it a
promise?"
The young man hesitated a moment
longer.
"Yes," he said, "I promise."
"Now bring me the packet," Baid
Jim Atherton. Pennsylvania Grit.
9,000,000 DESCENDANTS.
enldent Uarfleld Flg-nred Charle
niasrae Had That Number.
Second Assistant Secretary of State
Adee, who is as Irremovable from his
job as Secretary of Agriculture Wilson,
gets as much fun out of life as any
body. There never has been a man
in the State Department who knew so
much offhand about titles, precedents,
and all the little angularities that go
to make a study of reigning houses
practical, romantic and interesting as
Secretary Adee. However, he makes
his routine life worth the living by
seeing the funny side of everything,
and taking an optimistic view of that
which lacks humor.
Recently the Secretary was discuss
ing with a friend the claims of a cer
tain prince of Africa to recognition,
"I have no doubt this man is descend
ed from King Solomon and the Queen
of Sheba," said the Secretary.
"It Is entirely possible. I remember
once a caller told President Garfield
that he was descended from Charle
magne. 'Let's see,' said the President,
'Charlemagne has been dead about
1,000 years. Allowing 30 years to a
generation, which Is generous, that
would mean over 30 generations, and
calculating at the usual rate of In
crease In families, I should Bay there
ought to be about 9,000,000 people in
the world by this time who have the
blood of Charlemagne In tklr veins.
It's highly probable you are quite
right,' concluded the President.
"That reminds me," continued Mr.
Adee, "we have quite a number of de
scendants from passengers of the old
Mayflower by this time. I should say,
figuring it out as President Garfield
did, there must be about 1,000,000
scattered all the way from Florida to
Alaska and from Maine to California.
One day Secretary John Hay was talk
ing to a friend, and the friend asked
him If he was descended from any
one who came on that famous ship.
'I don't know,' responded Mr. Hay, 'but
I will have an expert look it up.' . An
expert was called In, and the next
day reported back that Secretary Hay
was duly descended, on his maternal
side, from a Mayflower pioneer." Chi
cago News.
Jaat ta Ttme.
A German shoemaker left the gat
turned' on In his shop one night, and
upon arriving In the morning struck
a match to light it. There was a ter
rlflc explosion, and the shoemaker was
blown out through the door almost to
the middle of the street.
A passerby rushed to his assistance
and after helping him to arise Inquir
ed if he was Injured.
The little German gazed in at his
place of business, which was now burn
ing quite briskly, and said:
"No, I aindt hurt. But I got out
shust In time. Eh?" LIpplncott's.
Named It Hlmarlf.
Let any man who Is skeptical of
woman's keen sense of humor read
this little story and then be converted.
Wlfe Robert, If a man were to sit
on your bat, what would you say?
Hubby I'd call him a confounded
Billy ass!
Wife Well, then, Robert, don't sit
on It any longer; there's a good boy
now get up.
Trials.
"Don't waiters try you?" asked thi
thin chauffeur of his companion whlU
waiting for a meal.
"Not as much as Judges," replied the
fat chauffeur, with a fast look. Yon-
kers Statesman.
The Bible chapters number 1,189, of
which 929 are the Old Testament and
260 In the New.
After a woman has been in love
three or four times, her heart becomes
petrified.
Ever notice that most of the thing!
you are prepared for neglect to aa
Pu7
Old Favorites
The tirave.
There Is a calm for thoso who weep
A rest for weary pllitrlm found.
They softly lie, and sweetly sleep,
Low in the ground.
The storm that wrecks the winter sky
No more disturbs their sweet repose.
Than summer evening's latest slKh.
That shuts U .-je.
I long to lay this painful head.
And achlnK heart beneath the soil:
To slumber In that dreamless bed,
From all my toll.
Art thou a wanderer? llst thou oe
O'erwhelming tempests drown thy
bark?
A shlpwreck'd sufferer host thou be-n.
Misfortune's mark?
Though long of winds and waves the
sport,
Condemn'd In wretchedness to roam:
Leave! thou Shalt reach a sheUerlnr
Port,
A quiet home.
There la a calm for those who weeu!
A rest for weary pilgrims found;
And while the mouldering aehes sieej
Low in the ground,
The soul, of origin divine,
God's glorious Image freed from clay.
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine
A star of day)
rne sun is uui a spam uc nro,
A transient meteor in tho sky;
The soul, Immortal as its sire.
Shall never die!
James Montgomery.
Walling.
Serene, 1 fold my hunds and wait.
Nor care for wind, or tide, or sua:
I rave no more 'gainst time or fate.
For, lo! my own shall oome to me,
I stay my haste, I make delays,
For what avails this eager pace?
I stand amid the eternal ways.
And what is mine shall know my
face.
Asleep, awake, by night or day,
The friends I seek are seeking me;
No wind can drive my bark astray.
Nor change the tide ef deetiny.
What matter If I stand alene?
I wait with Joy the coming yearsr
My heart shall reap where it has sows.
And garner up Its fruit o tears.
The waters know their own. and draw
The brook that springs In yondel
height;
So flows tho good with eqcuU law
Unto the soul of pure delight
f
The stars come nightly to the sky;
The tidal wave unto the sea;
Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,
Can keep my own away from me.
John Burroughs. ...
THE NEW SAN FRANCISCO.
Prom Every Point of View It ts Fa
Ahead of the Old Cltr.
The new San Franclseo Is bettei
than the old, writes Edgar French la
a recent number of The World's Work.
Fireproof construction of concrete and
steel prevails In the business district
New types of architecture have takea
the places of old-fashioned structure
Even Chinatown has felt the new Inv
pulse and Is built better less plctur
esque, It may be, but safer. The oltf
landmarks are gone, but few contlnui
to mourn them. A tradition Is dead,
but better traditions are building.
mis is especially irne in duoii
morals and taste. The old San Fran.
Cisco clung to a pride on a freedom o
life often close to license. Dance halh)
and restaurants throve on a line ot
tradition running back to the days ot
gold, when "everything went." Pub
lic gambling was a part ef the samt
superstition.
Here has been a great change. The
fire brought the people face to face
with every problem of life, and th
values of things were readjusted by s
new standard. The race tracks art
gone by a State law modeled after
New York's, and the picturesque ret
inue of the game has gone with it.
Even the nlckel-In-the-slot gambling
machines, that have traditionally part
ed the fool from his money, are of the
past. And an agent of a national or.
ganlzation of distillers and brewers
only recently was warning the saloon
men that prohibition stares them
squarely in the face If they do not re
form. These things connote a last stage in
evolution that Is typical of all Call
forsla. The frontier Is gone. Th
west Is like the east In every essential.
The problems of San Francisco are
the problems of Boston, and the same
kind of people are working out their
tolutlon.
Hlatorjr ta Woman's Garb.
Never before probably were so man)
varieties of feminine historical cos
tumes seen as were represented In the
history pageant recently In Bath, Eng
land. The fon n dine of that tamm.r
watering piace antedates the Roman
invasion of ancient Britain, says the
New York Press, and every fashion In
women's dress used by the people of
Bath since the days of the Picts and
Soots, and of the wall separating
Southern Britain from the savage
tribes of the north, was shown by par
ticipants in the pageant. There were
the flowing, furllned, heavy robes of
the Saxons; the light, graceful draper
lea brought by the Roman Invaders;
the flowered and embroidered gowns of
Norman women, who were up-to-date
in all the mode, coming as they did
from France; the rude dresses of wild
beasts' skins In which were clad the
helpmeets ot the Danes and Vikings,
who swept through the country long
before the Normans came, and every
style of frock which garbed English
women from the time of King Arthur
and the Round Table to the present
reign of King Edward. Each of mora
than 200 women wore a different cos
tume illustrative ot a distinct period
tn British history.
A Yara ef th Sea.
"Yea, I've seen some rough times.
.... - vuu c
our belts, and then the old ship turned
isrue, so we aie ner, loo. Caaaail
Saturday Journal.