WOMEN ANGELS HA VE BEEN
MADE INTO SEXLESS ANGELS
Sculptor Borglum, Accepting the Conventional Artistic Notion,
Made Feminine Figures for a Cathedral and When the
Divines Protested They Should Be Men, He
Chiseled Out All Signs of Their Sex.
New York, Special: Sculptors have
been at work with chisels and mal
lets upon the faces and forms of the
angels that adorn the new Cathedral
of St. John the Divine cutting away
the lines of softness and delicacy and
giving the figures a more virile ap
pearance.
They were women, these angels. As
such they represented the Ideal of an
angel which the sculptor, Gutzon Bor
glum had conceived. Now they are
sexless; helther men nor women—just
angels.
"Women angels!” cried the commit
tee of reverend and learned ministers
of the Protestant Episcopal church,
when they went to Inspect the figures
which Mr. Borglum had carved. "There
are no women angels. All the angels
aro men. This will never, never do.”
In vain the sculptor showed them his
precedents. In vain he cited the angels
of Peruglna, of Fra Angelico and of
our own American French, many of
which are evidently women. His rev
erend and learned critics cared nothing
for precedent; all angels were male;
the bible always referred to an angel
as “he;" the very word angel was mas
culine in nil languages In which there
are distinctions of gender.
Alt the world took up the discussion
and many comments greeted the stern
attitude of the reverend and learned
critics. But these gentlemen had the
Anal word. Mr. Borglum had to make
his angels over to suit them.
That Is why the rounded busts of
the statues have been hacked off; that
Is whv the waving locks have been
cut down; that Is why the soft contours
of the faces have been made more
angular.
Toasting his toe* before the fire in
his studio In East Thirty-eighth street,
Gutzon Borglum—for whom this con
troversy has earned the sobriquet
"The Angel Child." laughed merrily
when asked, to talk about the trans
formation of his angels.
"The controversy was absurd,” he
■aid; 'It was so absolutely ridiculous
that I can hardly find an excuse for
■peaking of It at all.
“When I made those angels I did a
piece of work which Involved as much
•tudy. uX much serious, heartfelt con
templation, and consideration as the
modelling of a Virgin or other sacred
figure. I endeavored to draw an angel
—not a man, nor a woman, but an an
gel. In modelling these figures I made
what to me expressed the highest, best
and most sacred of' alf Ideals. It was
to Impart to those faces and forms, as
nearly as possible, n semblance to '
something divine, something that when
we look at It we feel, Here Is the figure
of an angel, here Is a representation In
human form of a perfect being which
has been carried In the Imagination of
man since his brain was capable of
comprehension. It was to me the pro
duction of an Ideal I had cherished In
childhood: it was the result of finan
cial Idealization.
"To aay I was shocked when form,
figure and contour of face were object
ed to on the ground that there were too
feminine, because there were no wom
en angels, and that these must be made
to look like men, 1s but mildly express
ing my state of mind. Up to that mo
ment, bad you asked me whether my
angels Vere men or women I could not
have fold' you, and the material side of
the question brought so abruptly to my
attention was a shock.
"What <lld T die about the new mod
els? Well, fn the beginning I absolute
ly swept aside all question of my mak
ing the figures ‘men.’ I could not con
sider tne question of sex In the produc- •
tlon of such work. Malting the new de
’. " ' .V
I FOOD FROM CRUSHED NUTS.
Industry Which It New to Many Euro
pean Countries.
rrn crushing of seeds and nuts for
the oil which they contain and the
preparation of feeding stuffs from the
residue Is, so far as many European
countries are concerned, a new Indus
try. 'And one of the most Important
phases of this business Is that which
centers around the products of the oil
pahn, asd plays such a considerable
part tn the trade between the west
coast sf .Africa and Europe, says the
Philadelphia Record,
This palm—a beautiful tree of the
umbrena 'pattern—flowers about Sep
tember. and the fruit ripens about four
or five 'mohths afterward, the main
crop being'gathered from February to
May. The ’frqlt Is gathered by natives,
who gscend the trees by means of
ropes—sailor fashion—and detach the
masses of nut clusters with a small axe
or cutlass. The nuts are then heaped
on the ground, covered with palm
loaves and left for a week In the hot
and more or less moist atmosphere to
ferment touring this process the nuts
become loose tn their sockets, and are
reproved' by hand and placed In bas
kets.
The next process alms at the sepa
ration qf the nut proper from the seed
vessel. First huge earthenware pots
are taken, with a capacity of about
twelyq or fourteen gallons, and In
these are Placeg about a hundredweight
of nuts. Water is ndded and the pot
Is placed over a blow wood fire. About
two tmufs’ boiling of the seed vessel
and tne nut? are sufficiently soft to
be squeezable by the Angers. The nuts
are then placed In the bottom of a
canoe drawn up on the river bank, and
the natfves tread out the nuts from
the enefrettng pericarp with their bare
feet. Three men will thus tread out
260 pounds tn an hour. Water is then
poured Into the canoe to a depth of
three to four tncheB. and the nuts
treated te the final separating process
by being rocked, stlrrod and shaken.
By this means the kernels with the
hard Shell constraining them become de
tached from the pericarp, and after
drying In fhe eun are cracked between
• stones, go as to separate the palm ker
nels of commerce from the hard shell
Inclosing them.
But the', water in the canoe ha3 be
■ come covered with a yellowish, oily
scum. This 1s carefully collected tn
calabashes, and tile pericarp fibre Is
squeezed ami washed and finally
pressed In n mortar to extract the re
maining; particles of oil. and, being of
no further commercial value, Is thrown
aside to be used as fuel.
Too Much Blow.
■jifl Captain Watt, of the record-breaking
Lusitania, was talking about ma
chinery.
•'Machinery Is delicate stuff." he said,
"and'the amaleur-ts wise to let It alone.
You know about, the man who blew
down the gas meter?"
"No."
‘ Well, at the club one night, a cer
tain man complained bitterly about his
gas bills.
“ ‘Hang It all.’ he said, ‘my bills art
something enormoua, J'm sure 1 don'1
bum all that gas. The» company, con
sum it, is-cheating gpe.'
•A.feie»« tquofte up and suld:
‘‘Look lie-re. do you want to know how
sign, I went to work on a different,
basts, arid it took me a long time to get|
what 1 wanted.
“After a good deal of thought on the
subject I made the new design. The po
sition of the angels is not materially
changed, but the lines of contour are.
The hair and expression are different,
hut there is no question of sex In them.
They are angels, and I could not make
them mere men.
"Aside from the artistic Impossibility
of making a brawny, muscular figure'
for such a purpose, it would, to my,
mind, be sacrilegious.
"As the angels now stand recut, they
are to me neither men nor women—they'
are but angels. I don’t know what they,
may be to others.
"The figures are changed, of course,
but they are by no means the figures
of men. It recutting them I kept my
mind on the idea that they must be
strong, powerful angels, not gentle,<
sympathetic, heavenly figures. Perhaps
it Is the power that I wished to impart
in the recuttlng and new designing that,
marks them and stamps them with ai
more masculine form.
"Now, suppose we talk of something
else and let the angels rest in peace.
They are out of my hands now and for
ever, and a hard time they’ve had.”
A comment upon the miniature re
production in bronze of the group “The
Marcs of Diomcdes," which stands in
the Metropolitan Museum of Art, start
ed a conversation about America and
the west, Mr. Borglum’s love for the
tdg. free, open prairies and mountains,
:ind then on to art is America. Mr.'
Borgluin, standing in front of his fig
ure of John W. Mackay, made this new
:ind startling remark:
“There is the type of man who is
making American art."
The figure is to be placed in front of
the School of Mines at Reno, Nev., and
is a gift of Clarence H. Mackay, who
leslred that the figure of his father be
dad In his mining clothes, with the
pick, which was the best friend of the
P’orty-Niner and the emblem of the men
Pf the Big Bonanza days.
“I don’t suppose you quite see how I
:onnect a man of the mines with Amer
can art. Well this is my idea of It.
Americans today are reaching that same
itate of mind which filled the Athen
ans when they returned to their city
Tom triumphs in other countries, and,
>f a sudden realizing their wonderful
itrength as a nation and people, tore
heir statuary from their walls, and In
i hundred years built another art so
mperb in Its strength that it has lived
iver since.
"Before long America will have a su
perb art of her own, a strong, virile art
hat can never be mistaken for that of
’.recce, Italy or France. Its very
itrength and boldness will mark it as
Vmerican. When that time comes we
ihall have men as fearless as Rodin.”
“Then you would not advise young
American artists to go broad? " asked
he writer. Mr. Borglum stretched his
’eet out In front of the fire and wor
ded Jack, the studio dog. with his toe.
“I should not advise him to go at the
peginning of his work. But after he
las arrived at real accomplishment,
hen he may go and profit by the things
10 sees. The real duty of the American
irtist is the development of Ideas typ
cally American. After the young stu
lont has been in Paris, and In that
Ireamland, Italy, and lie has contem
plated the wonderful work of’the peo
ples before Ills time, but work that does
lot belong to him—after this, he has
vhat one might call a polyglot art, that
nakes him but mediocre in his work
ind sweeps before it all personality and
ndlvlduallty.”
to get the better of the gas company?’
•' 'Gee, I Just do,' exclaimed the man.
" 'Then,' said the friend, 'blow down
the meter. Every night before you turn
In, blow down the meter. The meter,
you see. Is full of little wheels, all turn
ing, turning, piling up big bills against
you, every time you light the gas. But
just blow down the pipe and—'
“The friend gave a loud laugh at the
delightful thought.
" 'Just blow down the pipe, and—
ha, ha, ha—all the little wheels will
turn the other way.'
"The man thanked his friend for
this good and valuable advice, went
Btralght home and blew a long and
powerful blast down the pipe of the
gas meter before retiring. He did this
every night. Not once did he forget,
the last thing before going to bed, to
blow down the meter with terrific force.
"Well, In due course, at the month’s
end, the Inspector came.
"The man welcomed the Inspector a
trifle nervously and hung about the
cellar door to hear what the fellow
would have to say after his Inspec
tion.
"The Inspector emerged from the I
cellar studying a column of figures
with a puzzled frown. He looked up
at the master of the house and said In [
a strange voice:
“Well, Mr. Smith. I don't know what
the dickens has been happening to your
meter, but the company owes you
$34.17.' ”_ _
There Was Nothing Doing.
"Seems kind o' good, doesn't It. to
have an Interval of rest,” said the man
to the one who had got through read
ing his newspaper and crumpled It up.
“What do you mean by Interval?”
was asked.
"Why, nothing in the papers.”
“Nothing in the papers! Why, man,
there are two new candidates out for
the presidency.
"Our fleet has been Invited to visit
Japan.
"They are going for the Alton rail
road again.
"Orders have been given to econo
mize on the Panama eunal.
“Three other railroads have been
found rebating. N
"Vesuvius Is again In eruption.]
"Ocean rates arc to be cut in half.
"The cotton crop Is short by 2.000,000
bales.
■'It Is believed that Harrlman can be
sent to jail.
"Governor Hughes is after more offi
cial swindlers.
“The Rev. Mr. Long lias not an
swered the president as to nature-fak
ing.
"We will have 600,000,000 bushels of
corn to export.
"It Is almost sure that t'hlna and
Japan will have a war.
"The Filipinos want self-government
and are bound to have it
"There has been more land-grabbing
In tne west.
"All this, sir. and a great deal more,
and yet yea calmly say there is an In
terval of news. What do you mean,
sir? Explain yourself."
“I—I mean, sir—I mean." replied the
other as he looked red in the face and
squinted around—"I mean that my wife
eloped with a rug peddler otic day last
week and the papers haven't got a gaul
durned line about it tip to the present
time!”
| KEEPING HELP ON THE FARM.
Fred L. DeLamater, In the Gleaner.
The question of farm help, like all other
business questions, is largely, if not en
tirely, a question of dollars and cents.
What “used to be” is of no consequence.
If “in times gone by” the farmer could
secure reliable help tnat was willing to
work twelve to eighteen hours a day for a
mere pittance, those times have gone with
the stage coach and the sickle, and the
progressive farmer, as well as the progres
sive man of other lines of business, will
pray that they may never return. The
changes that the intervening time has
brought, have been changes for the better.
They have been beneficial to the laborer
as well as to the employer of labor. They
have brought Improved methods, and im
proved machinery, and broader markets,
and greater profits in all lines of business,
in farming no less than in other business.
Other lines of business have recognized
this and have made the concessions to
their laborers that the changed conditions
demand and justify.
It is up to the farmer to face the “logic
of events” and make the concessions
necessary to secure the help, and the kind
of help that his business requires. It
won’t do to say that the farmer can't do
this. He must do it, and then, it is not
true that he can’t do it. There Is no
legitimate business that is more profitable
than farming—in proportion to the capital
invested—when rightly conducted and In
telligently managed, and it won’t do to
quarrel with existing facts and conditions.
If existing conditions are not satisfactory
to us, the only thing to do is to adjust our
selves and our business to these condi
tions, since we can not change the condi
tions.
That we farmers, as a rule, arc having
trouble to get the necessary help on our
farms is certain. That the fault lies with
our business, or rather, with our manner
of conducting it with reference to our help,
is evident from the fact that there is no
dearth of laborers in other lines of busi
ness, Railroads, factories, construction
work and the various trades seem to be all
supplied with plenty of help to do their
work. The farmer only is complaining.
Then, since the fault evidently lies with us,
ft is to ourselves we must look for the j
remedy. Any relief that we should receive ;
by securing the services of newly arrived i
immigrants would bo doubtful and at best |
could bo but temporary, as they would
leave us as soon as they became “accli
mated.” The trou.ile Is not that work on
the farm Is harder or more arduous than
the w7ork in other lines of manual labor.
This might have been true in the good old
days that some of us mourn but In this
day of improved machinery and up to date
methods, tho labor on the farm is light
and comparatively pleasant. It Is not In
l,,u auviai juaiua, or lilt; iUl'K OI SOCiai
status, that the position of a farm laborer
entails, for it Is a notorious fact that in no
other business does the master and the
man come so very near to occupying the
same social position in the community,
other things being equal. In other-words,
farmers are apt to hold that one man is as
good as another, so long as he behaves
pretty well. We must look then In some
other direction for the cause of our trou
ble, and, as this Is the age of finance, and
the most of our troubles are financial trou
bles, we come back to our original propo
sition, that it will be found. In some way,
to bo a question of dollars and cents. I
shall make a few statements of fact along
this line, and allow the reader to draw his
own remedies mostly, as no genera] rule
could be laid down that fits all cases.
All employers of labor, except farmers,
pay their help at stated intervals, usually
once a month, In some cases as often as
one a week, which enables the laborer to
know that upon a certain date he wlll're
celvo his wages and to plan accordingly.
Nowhere, except upon a farm, Is a laborer
expected to give more than ten hours' ser
vice for a day's work, and In some cases
eight hours Is the rule. My brother, what
would you say to the man who should ask
you to give five pecks of wheat, or corn, or
potatoes for a bushel? Knowing you as
I do, I think you would decline without
thanks. Custom and practice have made
ten hours of labor a day’s work, Just as
surely as custom and practice have made
four pecks of grain, or vegetables, a bush
el: and we should not be surprised, or feel
aggrieved, when those of whom we pur
chase labor Insist upon that rule, and. If
the exigencies of our business compel us,
at times, to ask those who work for us to
labor more than ten hours of the twenty
four, we should pay for the extra work, aa
we would expect pay for the extra peck.
Most farmers do not manage their busi
ness so as to furnish steady employment
to their help, thus compelling their help to
look for other employment during four or
five months of the year. This is a serious
drawback, and. In nearly every case, could
bo provided for by judicious and intelli
gent management.
The claim that farm help Is not as wel.
paid as the same class of labor In other
lines of business is not generally true,
everything considered, while It may bo
true In some cases, with those who board
and lodge with their employers, as un
married help usually does. It is seldom,
if ever, true of the married man who
boards and lodge* himself, as the farmer
usually furnishes a house, rent free, to his
hired man, fuel for the mere labor at cut
ting it, and sufficient ground to raise vege
tables for his family, and sometimes even
a cow, or rather, the milk of one, with
many other little perquisites that would
cost money anywhere else, that more than
make up for the difference, If any there be.
In the actual money wage. In most cases
these things are properly appreciated.
But If the help should chance to be the
sort of man whose object is not to save,
but to spend, and so desirous to work
where he will have the most actual money
to spent on Saturday night. the remedy
is less perquisites and more money.
There Is a class of laborers who complain
that there 1a too much sameness about life
on a farm; that they don’t have the oppor
tunity to "see things" and "have a good
time*’ that they do in the city or village.
This class are rather hard to deal with. I
find that "seeing things" and having a
good time’’ generally means spending their
evenings and off days at some saloon,
playing cards or pool, and running up a
score that will make a big hole in the
week’s wages, instead of staying quietly
at home or spending the evening attending
some orderly gathering at the school
house or the church. Perhaps It would not
be advisable to establish a saloon at the
cross roads and hire a circus or a minstrel
troupe to exhibit In the neighborhood
, every week, in order to relieve the same
ness and furnish the excitement that this
class of labor demands. Come to think of
it, they are not the kind to help a self
i respecting farmer would care to have
around, any way.
! Having mentioned some of the most
1 probable causes that seem to be making
j the life of a farm laborer so unpopular, I
I will leave the matter to your intelligent
| farmer readers. If I have said anything
; that will help any of them to solve this
; vexed and vexing problem, I shall be con
tent and feel that the time haa been well
! spent.
! There is one more thought, however,
’ that I desire to leave with them. It seems
necessary that we assume the fault to lit*
with ourselves. Having assumed this, we
shall be in a proper frame of mind to
make some concessions. Having arrived
at a state of mind where we are willing to
make concessions, we may consider the
pro. * in solved.
We hoard a man from Brighton ast
another the otner day it he knew of
anyone who had a tew good milk cows
to sell. y*es, I have some myself," was
Use reply, they’re Some the butcher
wouldn't take." Keeping cows that the
butcher would not take is the way
4 some people select their milk stock.
WHEN MARRIAGE BELLS ARE OUT OF TUNE
“Why," remarked the Bachelor Girl,
nodding toward a bored looking couple,
who sat as far apart as possible on
the bench opposite, “are they always
like that—after marriage?"
"Perhaps," suggested the Mere Man,
edging closer to the Bachelor Girl and
casually letting his arm slip across
the back of the park bench, “It’s be
cause they’re too much like this before
marriage."
The Bachelor Girl glanced up and
started to rise.
“Or, perhaps,” added the Mere Man,
hastily removing his arm, “it’s because
they’re thinking of their troubles and
worrying about their bills and --”
“I don’t believe it,” declared the
Bachelor Girl, sitting down again and
thoughtfully digging her toe into the
autumn leaves at her feet. “It isn’t
the troubles and worries that sep
arate married people; It’s the pleas
ures."
"What?”
“The pleasures they don’t take,” ex
plained the Bachelor Girl, “the leisure
hours they don’t know how to fill In,
nor what to do with; the dull Satur
day afternoons and long, dreary Sun
days; the stupid evenings and mirth
btv kjL
fully, “don’t two married people ever
work together?"
“Of course they do,” retorted thq
Bachelor Girl, "but they never play to
gether. As long as two young people
are struggling through poverty and
trouble they go hand in hand. As long
as the husband is fighting to earn a
dollar and the wife is working to make
it go as far as possible they don’t listen
to the discord of the wedding march.
But the minute they get on their feet
and have plenty of time to amuse them
selves they suddenly notice that the
marriage bells are out of tune and dis
cover that they want to go in opposite
directions. The man develops a taste
for poker and billiards, and the wom
an develops a longing for bridge whist
and society. The man finds he has been
dreaming all his life of spending his
summers fishing in the Adirondacks,
while the woman has been dreaming of
spending hers at Newport and Bar
Harbor. The man is delighted at the
prospects of having long quiet even
ings in his library with nothing to
worry or bother him, while the woman
is planning to give dinner parties and
go to receptions. And right there at
the beginning of their prosperity is the
"Why,” remarked the Bachelor Girl, "are they always like that—after marriaoeT"
less holidays. Haven't you noticed that
all the most harrowing domestic scenes
and all the marital squabbles that are
brought Into the divorce court and the
police court, occur over Sunday?"
' "Of, course," acquiesced the Mere
Man, cheerfully flicking a leaf with his
cane. "But you wouldn't deny them
their little diversions and excitements,
would you? You wouldn't rob them of
their one relief from the dead, dull
monotony of—of that?" and he nodded
toward the two people on the bench
apposite, yawning behind separate
newspapers.
■ "Look!" cried the Bachelor Girl, as
the couple suddenly rose. They're go
ing to have a—a diversion now. They're
arguing about what direction to take.
That’s it!" she exclaimed, with sudden
conviction, “they always want to go
In opposite directions."
“And always end,” agreed the Mere
Man as the woman across the way
sailed off with the man following re
luctlantly behind her, "by both going
the woman's way.”
"Or by each going his own way,"
corrected the Bachelor Girl. "Did you
ever see two married people who
wanted to do exactly the same thing
at the same time?"
"Oh, well,” said the Mere Man toler
»nt!y, "we couldn’t expect them to keep'
»tep alt through life to the tune of the
wedding march.”
“No,” sighed the Bachelor Girl, “but
'.t’s a pity the wedding march gets out
of tune so soon."
" "It’s a greater pity.” suggested the
Mere Man, "that when they haven’t
any tastes In common the wedding
oells don't Jangle off key right over
their heads and stop them at the al
tar.”
' "That wouldn’t save them," an
nounced the Bachelor Girl, sagely
shaking her head. “Having tastes In
common before you’re married is no
sign that you’ll have tastes In common
after you’re married. There’s some
«ort of twist in the ceremony that
turns people right around the other
wav."
'Tve noticed it,” remarked the Mere
Man thoughtfully. “A girl wilt enjoy
following her sweet heart over the golf
•inks until her knees and elbows ache,
svho wouldn't touch a golf stick after
she was married to him.”
“And I’ve noticed," retorted the
Bachelor Girl, “that a man will find a
mad excitement In walking twenty
miles a day with a woman with whom
he is in love, who wouldn’t bother to
walk around the corner with her If
she were his wife. Just because a roan
will allow a girl to read Browning to
him and air her opinions on Ibsen be
fore marriage is no sign that he is
going to let her read the morning pa
per to him and air her opinions on poli
tics afterward; and Just because he
will spend his time and money taking
her to grand opera during their en
gagement is no reason that he won’t
drag her to vaudeville shows and ex
travaganzas after the wedding. In the
love stage any two people can fancy
i they have tastes in common; but, as a
! matter of fact, men and women’s have
n’t any tastes in common whatever.
When they seem congenial It’s merely
a matter of one having subdued the
other and—and made him or her go his
way.”
I The Mere Man took oft his hat and
gazed at the Bachelor Girl in constcr
I nation.
"Do you mean to say,’’ he exclaimed,
“that if I married you you wouldn’t
enjoy walking in the park with me?”
The Bachelor Girl gazed dreamily oft
through the trees.
"And that you are Just pretending to
like rarebits and the smell of my pipe?"
The Bachelor Girl looked down at her
toes.
! "And that you are really bored to
death when we are discussing art and
the sex problem, and that you secretly
hate Bohemian tables d’hote and the
Rubaiyat and the way I part my hair,
and that this minute you are actually
annoyed
"Oh. not this minute," broke In the
Bachelor Girl, “I’m not married to you
—this rrlnute.”
“Humph’, grumbled the Mere Man
"And yet we marry for companionship’
We marry because we are lonesome
"And arc always ten times more lone
some afterward." finished the Bacheloi
Girl with a sigh. "We marry becaust
we want to live together and imme
diately proceed to separate our lives.’
"Uut," objected 'he Mere Man nope
parting of the ways."
“And they never can meet on any
common ground until they meet ln> the
burying ground!" put in the Mere Man
gloomily.
"Tes," agreed the Bachelor Girl,
"even if they do try to be accommo
dating and to take their 'amusements
together, they never get any mutual
satisfaction, out of it. If they go' to
the races lie wants to talk about the
horses and she wants to talk about the
hats. If it’s dinner, he wants to dis
cuss the oysters and the wine and
she wants to discuss the decorations
and the women. Even if it's only Coney
Island they will fight about whether to
go through the imitation heaven or tho '■
imitation hell.”
"And when they try to amuse them* !
selves separately,” rejoined the Mere f
Man, "they get in one another’s way j
and tread on one another’s sensibilities f
and knock down one another’s lllto
slons. If the man smokes around the i
house his wife is miserable at the f
thought that be is ruining his health j
and the parlor curtains. If he goes out J
to his club she is eaten up with jeab i
ousy and suspicion. If—”
"And If the woman takes to pink
teas and matinees and women’s clubs,”
put in the Bachelor Girl hastily, “her
husband considers himself a blighted
and1 forsaken being.’”
"And yet,” murmured the Mere Madk
“we scoff at harems!”
"Harems, Mr. Porter!"
"And the- chap,” continued the Mere
Man, "who ties his women folk tO' tho
house while he goes off in his own
track, perfectly assured that they will
be ready and waiting for him when
he chooses to come back. I guess the
Turk knows what he's doing. He
doesn’t have to go hurrying around in
search of an affinity. There’s only one
set of tastes in his house and one pro
gram of amusements, and one bill of
fare of pastimes, and If he happens to
marry a lady who prefers a different
brand of cigarets and a different style
of carpet he has only to put her In a
sack and drop her In the Mediterranean
and—”
The Bachelor Girl broke to with a,
laugh.
"If all the Turks did that'," she
gurgled, “the Mediterranean would be
choked up by this time. Even a Turk
is human."
“But he knows how to choose a
wife.” declared the Mere- Man. “He
knows enough to pick out a woman
who will amuse him.”
"As If that were the only thing!”
The Bachelor Girl shot a took of scorn
at the Mere man.
“And a -woman should not marry a
man because he Is noble and brave and
capable and wholesome, but because he
Is fond of going to dances, or playing
the mandolin, or studying the fash
ions—”
“What nonsense!”
"I should choose you, for Instance,
because you love to make rarebits.-”
“The Idea!”
“And you should choose me because
I’m brave and noble-”
“What!”
"Brave and noble enough to eat your
rarebits; and because I love-"
“Now, Mr, Porter!”
“Well, I do love-”
The Bachelor Girl started to rise.
"I do love to sit on a park bench and
listen while you talk,” finished the Mere
Man.
"Oh," the Bachelor Girl looked a lit
tle disappointed. "Let's go,” she said
coldly, as she rose and shook out her
skirts.
“Which way?” Inquired the Mere
Man, Standing In front of her.
"Which way do you want to go?” she
asked generously.
“Oh, In the opposite direction,” an
swered the Mere Man absently.
“What?”
"I only wanted to see how It would
feel-” he began.
“Don’t!" cried the Bachelor Girl
quickly taking his arm and starting
down the path. "It’s so much nicer
just to be—to be
"Sweethearts?" suggested the Mere
] Man, trying to peer under her hat
“Unmarried,” corrected the Bachelor
Girl, stooping to pick up an autumn
i leaf.
He knows not the value of flowers
who never botany.
Men are very useful for women to be
married to.
Nothing Doing.
Harrison Grey Fiske discussed at at
dinner in New York, the art of acting.
“I believe,” said Mr. Fiske. “in sub
tlety and restraint. A nod, a shake of
the head, a silent pause—these things
are often more effective than the most,
violent yelling and ranting.
"Life is like that, subtle and silent.,
What, for instance, could be more ex
pressive than this scene, a scene with
out a spoken word, that I once wit
nessed in the country?
“An undertaker stood on a corner
near a noble mansion. He elevated his
brows hopefully and inquiringly as a,
physician came from the house. The
physician, compressing his lips, shook,
his head decidedly and hurried to his,
carriage. Then the undertaker, with a
sigh, passed on.”
Not For Him.
From Tit-Bits.
A well known officer has a beautiful!
daughter. A young ensign, with no re
sources but his salary,fell in love with
her and asked the old gentleman for
her hand. The father at once told hlmi
that he had hardly enough to keep him,
In white gloves and to burnish his bras*
buttons.
“Well, admiral, what you say is true;
but when you married you were only
a midshipman, with even a smaller sal
ary than mine. How' did you get
along?” asked the ensign, who thought
he had made a good defense.
But not so. The crafty old seadog
thundered forth:
“1 lived on my fatherinlaw for the
first ten years, but I’ll be hanged if
you are going to do it.”
Only Owe “BROMO (HIWUfE”
rhat is LAXATIVE BROMO QUININE. Loo*
for the signature of E. Ip GROVE. Used the
World over to- Cure a Cold in One day. 26c.
Turned Up Finally.
From the Chicago Tribune.
“I must have made some mistake.”
muttered Mrs. Zogger, looking in the
Dven of her kitchen range. “I wae
sure I put six potatoes in here to bake,
but there seems to be only five.”
She counted them again, but with
the same result.
Then she looked at the cake she had
put in at the same time.
“That’s doing, all! right, anyway,” ehe
said.
"Belinda,” said Mr. Zogger, looking
it the slice of cake that lay on the
plate before him, “ what > the Sam Hill
,s the matter with this?"
“You needn’t eat it bf you don't like
;t, Theophilua,” retorted • Mrs. Zogger
with spirit.
“Oh. I'll eat it all right, but I’m
wondering what makes this island of
white in the middle of the sea of yel
low.”
She examined the slice of cake, and
t triumphant smile illuminated her
[ace.
“I just knew I had1 put six potatoea
n that oven yesterday.” she exclaimed.
‘One of them fell down through the toy
ihelf.”
flow’s Tfrfs?
We offer One Hundred Dollars Reward foe
my case of Catarrh that cannot be cured by
Hall's Catarrh Cure
F. .T. CHENEY & CO., Toledo, O.
We, the undersigned, have known F. J.
Cheney for the last 15 years, aDd believe
him perfectly honorable In all business trans
itions. and financially aWe to carry out any
obligations made by his, firrs
Waldixo, ICinna.!* & Mart!*,
Wholesale Druggists, Toledo, O.
Hall's Catarrh Cure is taken Internally,
ictlng directly upon the blood.and mucous*
surfaces of the system. Testimonials sent
Iree. Price, 7!5e. per bottle. Sold by1 all'
Druggists. _
Take Hall's-Ramliy Pills for constipation.
Compensation.
From, Harper's Weekly.
A small boy returning from nchooi
one day, inquired of bl3 father what
people meant, when they'spoke of tha
"law of compensation." The father, in
the course of. his explanation, cited the
fact that 1C one of the senses is lost,
some of the pothers receive a corre
sponding development; as, for example*
If a man’s eight became impaired, hie
sense of touah or of bearing would be
come more acute and so on.
“Oh. now I see why it Is.” Inter
rupted the little fellow, “that when
one leg is shorter than it ought to bn
the other is always longer.”
ELEVEU YEARS OP ECZEMA.
Hand* Cracked aud Bleeding—Nall
Cam* Off of Finger—Cutieura
Remedies Brought Prompt Relief.
“I hod eczema on my hands for
about eleven years. The hands crack
ed ope® fn many places and bled. On*
of my fingers was so bad that, the nail
came off. X had tried, so many reme
dies, apd they all had failed to cur*
me. I had seen three doctors, but got
no relief. Finally I gpt a cake of Cuti
cura Soap, a box of Cutieura Ointment
and two bottles of Cutieura Resolvent
Pills. Of “ourse I keep Cutieura Soap
ail the time for my hands, but the one
cake of Soap and half a box at Cntl
eura Ointment cured them. I recom
mend the Cutieura Remedies- to nil
suffering with eczema. Mrs. Eliza A.
Wiley, R. F. D. No. 2, Llscomb, la.
Oct. 18. IDOti."
Taking Her Pick.
From Llppincoti's.
The following was told,, pt a smoker
recently, and it is not so "bad, either.
The narrator told of another* little feed
he once attended, where eight men were
sent home in one hack; ar^d the driver
felmply rang the doorbell, and."when a
feminine voice called from an upper
window, “Who is there?” the Jehu re
plied, “Missus, will you be, so kind as
to come down and pick out your baby?"
Patients are double charged when
physicians give them electrical treat
ment.
castorIa
For Infants and Children.
The Kind You Have Always Bought
e^ZlToi