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WHERE RICH MEN ARE FEW.
They Are as Scarce as Black Swans
In Bulgaria.
Bulgaria is the nearest approach to
a peasant commonwealth which the
world has known in modern times.
There is not a Bulgarian Slav who is
not the owner of a plot of land upon
which he lives and out of which he
gets his own livelihood by his own
labor.
Large landowners are almost un
known. The few men of wealth in
the country are mostly of foreign birth
or descent, and even they would not
be counted as wealthy according to
the standard of other European coun
tries.
The small landowners, who form the
vast majority of the population, are
peasant born and peasant bred. They
are extremely thrifty. They are con
tent with very plain food. They wear
the same sheepskin gnrments from
year to year, only turning their coats
Inside out with the changes of the
season.
Whole families, even of well to do
peasants, sleep in the same room upon
mats stretched out on the floor. They
live under conditions of dirt and dis
comfort which no British or Gorman
-y
or French laborer would tolerate for
a week. Yet, notwithstanding their
disregard of the simplest sanitary ar
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strong and healthy.
Moreover, they are free from the ir
ritation caused among other laborers,
overworked if not underpaid, by the
spectacle of neighbors living in afflu
ence and ease without any necessity
to curtail their expenditure. Rich men
are black swans in Bulgaria. I was
told by a foreign banker in Sofia who
had traded for many years in the
country that he doubted greatly
whether there were fifty men in all
the rural districts who had net in
comes of $5,000 a year.—London Illus
trated News.
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O—-.J=JQ
The Saving?
Of Bobbie.
By KATHLEEN O’BRIEN.
Copyrighted, 1909, by Associated
Literary Press.
A- ■■■— - ■ -fi
i The Roberts’ house party had been
voted a success. It began on Friday
night, and now that Sunday dinner
was over the fortunate guests were
bewailing the fact that the morning
sun would see them all back In town
again.
Robert Livingston, however, was not
so sure that his visit had been alto
gether a successful one. He was des
perately In love with Hulda Roberts.
This was no secret, for Robert had
been guilty of relating his Infatuation
to every one who would listen to the
harrowing tale for the past four years.
The story was Interesting to Robert,
so why not to others?
The one cloud on his horizon, and
this a cloud which the brightest sun
shine could not blot out, was Carlton
Carruthers. There he was even now,
when the precious moments were so
few, dangling over the side of the
piano at which Hulda was playing
softly.
Carlton Carruthers was likewise in
love with Hulda, but he had never
mentioned the fact to any one as yet,
not even to Hulda herself.
Livingston leaned against the man
telpiece and surveyed the scene. Evi
dently a plan had occurred to him, for
he suddenly walked over to the piano.
“Hulda, don’t you think it would be
a fine stunt to go for a short walk
after that heavy dinner?” he suggest
ed, absolutely ignoring Carruthers.
“Hardly in this toggery,” Hulda
laughed In reply.
“What have you against Miss Rob
erts, old man?” interrupted Carruthers,
"that you should invite her for a stroll
in the snow clad in a decollete gown
and paper soled slippers?”
“Well, to be frank,” admitted Living
ston, “I was thinking only of you.”
“Of me?” echoed Carruthers.
“Yes. You see, I wanted to speak to
Hulda for a moment, and I knew you
detested the cold, so I suggested going
out of doors to get rid of you.”
He was irresistible, and all three of
them laughed.
“Livingston,” said Carruthers, “I’ll
make a bargain with you. I’ll go up
in the library and smoke for just one
hour, then I’ll come back and claim
Miss Roberts, and you to go to the li
brary for an hour. What say you?”
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” cried Hul
da. “How do you know that I could
stand either of you for one whole
hour?”
But Carruthers was gone, and there
was nothing for her to do but stay
with Livingston. Together they went
Into the great hall and curled up on an
old settle before the open fire. The
other members of the party had settled
down into peaceful groups.
Most of the men had congregated in
Mr. Roberts’ study and were in a heat
ed debate over politics, while the wo
men were seated cozily about the
drawing room talking over the same
things that women always do discuss
when the men are not about—clothes
and servants.
Hulda felt something brush by her
skirts and, leaning- over, saw her fa
vorite Angora cat purring at her side.
Tenerly she picked the aqimal up in
her arms.
“Bobby, dear,” she cooed to it.
“Did I Understand you aright?” ex
claimed Livingston.
“I was speaking to the cat,” reprov
ed Hulda. “His name is Robinson
Crusoe, but we call him Bobble for
short.”
“You will forgive me, Hulda, won’t
you?” apologized Livingston as he
nervously pulled at his perfectly fitted
collar. “But you must remember that
my name is Bobble. And, Hulda,” he
continued as he leaned a little closer
to her, “do you think yon could ever
come to think of me as Bobbie dear?”
“Why, Mr. Livingston”— began
Hulda.
Could you ever care as much for
me as for”—
“You have no right to drag Mr. Car
ruthers Into this,” Interrupted Hulda.
“He Is nothing to me.”
“I was not thinking of Carruthers.
I meant could you ever care as much
for me as for Robinson Crusoe? Do
you think”—
“I think we are sitting too near the
fire and that it is high time that Bob
ble was in bed like all other decent
cats,” answered Hulda as she gath
ered the Angora Into her arms and
rose from the settle.
“But I thought that cats never slept
at night?” Inquired Livingston, trying
to hide his chagrin.
“Those are only street cats,” in
formed Hulda. “Please take Bobble
and give him to the maid, won’t you?
And you need not hurry back,” she
added. Before Livingston could remon
strate the huge gray ball of fur was
thrust into his arms.
Hulda then curled up again in the
corner of the settle. To her the house
party was a dire failure. That persist
ent Robert Livingston had again pro
posed, and here was she eating her
heart out for Carlton Carruthers, who
would rather smoke a cigar than talk
to her. Just then Carruthers appeared
on the stairs.
“Ah, there you are!” he cried as he
discovered her alone. “So Livingston
deserted you before the hour was up.
Pretty hard. My, my, but you must
have made It disagreeable for him!
May I sit upon the vacant throne?” he
asked as he seated himself at the
other end of the bench.
For an hour or more Carruthers and
Hulda talked in a low tone and were
utterly oblivious that other Inhabit
ants lived on the globe. The whole
world seemed theirs, and the thought
of others even existing would have
marred the picture.
Suddenly the door leading to the
back of the house was thrust open,
and the maidservants came dashing
through in wild disorder, one after the
other, yelling: “Fire! Save me! Mur
der!” etc. The butler appeared on the
scene immediately after them and
made straight for Mr. Roberts.
Iu a moment all was confusion. Mrs.
Roberts tried to calm. the women
guests, while most of the men made a
dash for the kitchen. Carruthers hesi
tated as he felt Hulda grasp his arm
tightly.
He looked down Into the blue eyes
and the rosy lips which had just made
him so happy when suddenly from out
of the heavens he seemed to fall to
earth with a sickening thud.
“Oh, my Bobble! My dear, dear Bob
bie! Save him, some one!” cried Hulda.
Carruthers looked at the girl once
more to make quite sure the cry came
from her. Thpre was no mistake. She
wanted Livingston.
“Where is he?” demanded Car
ruthers huskily.
“Oh, he’s In the kitchen. Save him,
please do, for my sake!”
Carruthers waited for no more. His
heart was too full, his brain whirling.
Past the frightened women, dov.-n the
long corridor that led to the kitchen,
brushing maids aside, he strode to
save his rival, Bobbie Livingston.
As he reached the kitchen he found
the men had put out the slight confla
gration and that It amounted to noth
ing. But Livingston was not In sight.
Turning to Mr. Roberts, he asked for
him.
“Oh, Livingston was here just a mo
ment ago,” said Mr. Roberts, “but I
think he said he was going for a
walk.”
The men all returned to the main
part of the bouse, assuring the ladies
that It was nothing. Carruthers went
over to Hulda.
“Where’s Bobble?” she asked, with
great concern.
“He’s gone”— began Carruthers.
“Oh. my dear, dear Bobbie!” wailed
Hulda, not allowing him to finish his
sentence. Then something brushed her
skirt again, and, with a scream of de
light, she picked up -the cat.
“You told me he was gone.” she said
reproachfully to Carruthers as she
hugged the fluffy ball to her breast.
“Is that the Bobbie you sent me
for?” gasped Carruthers.
“Of course it is,” Hulda answered
rather sharply. “Who did you think I
sent you for?”
“Why, Bobbie Livingston,” weakly
replied Carruthers as he mopped the
perspiration from his brow.
Hulda hugged the cat for just a min
ute as she smiled. Then suddenly she
turned serious and put him on the
floor. She quietly sat down by Car
ruthers, and quite low In his ear she
whispered:
“And you went in there to save Bob
ble Livingston because I«asked you to,
and you believed all the time that—
that”—
“What else could I believe when you
were screaming to have some one save
yur dear, dear Bobble?” asked Carl
ton.
“Well, dear, dear Carl, I love you
better than I did before the Are, if
that could possibly be,” whispered
Hulda. And once more the earth was
Inhabited by two people only.
The Sword of Cornwallis.
Art is not always true to history.
Schoolboys of several generations are
familiar with the picture of Cornwallis
surrendering his sword to Washington
after the fall of Yorktown. Lord Corn
wallis is revealed in the act of passing
over his beautiful sword to the hand
of his conqueror. The inference is' that
Washington took the sword and kept
it as a trophy of victory. The facts
are quite otherwise. ■
Cornwallis, proud even in defeat, de
clined to put in a personal appearance
on the occasion of his surrender. The
allied forces, American and French,
who had besieged him for thirteen
days, were drawn up in two columns
along the road leading to Hampton.
Rochambeau, on a line bay horse, was
at the head of the French column. On
his white charger sat Washington at
the head of the American troops. The
surrendered British and Hessians
marched out of their intrenchments
and passed down between the two col
umns.
Many thousands of Virginian citizens
were gathered to watch the scene, all
eager to get a glimpse of Lord Corn
wallis. But they were disappointed in
that. Cornwallis pleaded indisposition
and stayed in his quarters. He sent
his sword by one of his officers, Gen
eral O’Hara, to be delivered up to
Washington. General O’Hara offered
the sword to Washington, who direct
ed him to General Lincoln, the officer
whom Washington had appointed to
conduct the surrender. Lincoln took
the sword from O’Hara’s hand and
then politely handed it back, to be re
turned to Cornwallis.
Hereditary.
“And when- you grow up,” said the
visitor to six-year-old Elsie, “I sup
pose you will get married?”
“Oh, there’s hardly any doubt about
it,” answered the small miss. “Every
body says I am much like mamma,
and she has been married three times,
you know.”—Harper’s Weekly.
Arts of Oratory.
“I always keep a few funny stories
on hand,” said Mr. Spredeegle.
“They do help out.”
“Yes. When I find my audience in
clined to titter at my arguments I
switch right into an anecdote so as to
get legitimate credit for the laughter."
—Houston Post.
—*■' ' ■ — — » —
How East Side London Plays on
Boxing Day.
ROUGH SPORT IS THE RULE.
1
All Gockneyland Flocks to Historic
Hampstead Heath, Where Hilarity,
Fast and Furious, Rules From Eariy
Morning Till After Midnight.
Boxing day is a great institution in
England. The day after Christmas is
Boxing day, so called because In the
old days it marked the occasion of the
actual giving of Christmas boxes. Now
it is a national holiday. Besides being
the last In the year, it has to suffice
Londoners, at all events, until Easter
Monday. It’s a greut day in Cockney
land, and the east cud crowds to
Hampstead heath, the picturesque open
space in the northwest of London.
All roads lead to the heath. Soon
after daybreak the procession begins.
Fully loaded traps and donkey barrows
are the principal Items In the vehicular
traffic, but the majority are on foot,
singing and shouting for the holiday.
“ ’Ere yer are, Sir ’Enery,” shouts a
woman, pushing a tin squirt filled with
water into your face. “’Ere yer are,
Sir ’Enery; all the fun of the fair.
Two a penny. 'Ave a couple, will yer,
m'lud?”
The London street merchants have
the habit of giving prospective custom
ers a title, presumably on the theory
that a Londoner likes to have you be
lieve that he is some well known man.
Should you be persuaded into buying
“a couple” the chances are a moment
later you will, be face to face with
’Arriet. She wears a large hat trimmed
with large feathers of brilliant hue,
has a hair fringe down over her fore
head and a bright colored velvet dress.
Probably several will be in a line, each
with an arm around the other’s neck
and a mouth organ in the other hand.
There is battle in their eyes, and be
fore you are aware of it a stream of
water will be running down your face.
The best thing to do is to retreat, for
If you should give battle you are sure
to retire, defeated, with your collar
like a wet rag and a most uncomforta
ble feeling of dampness down your
back.
Once on the heath the cocoanut
pitches will first claim your notice.
“’Ere yer are, kernel; seven shies a
tanner. Every one yer knocks dahn
yer ’ave. They’re all milky. Loldiea
and kids ’arf way."
Then this scene will meet your eye:
Outside a large tent stands a raised
platform. On it are half a dozen men
stripped to the waist with arms fold
ed across their chests. One of them,
evidently the proprietor, twists a large
rattle, which gives forth a most deaf
ening noise. At last it stops, and he
begins:
“Loidies and gents, I wants ter hin
terduce to yer notice some of the best
boxers in the W’orld. 'im at the end is
Felix Scott of Liverpool. ’E'il fight
any man in the crahd, and if he don’t
put ’im aht in three rahnds ’e'il give
'im a quid. Nah, then, who’ll ’ave ’em
on witji the champion?”
Some one accepts the inviting offer,
and a rush Is made to pay the admis
sion fee and get into the tent.
A company of traveling actors is as
sembled on the platform outside the
next tent, all made up in their war
paint. The piece to be performed is
“Othello.” The price of admission is
a penny. A reserved seat, an empty
box, will cost you another penny. And
the house soon fills.
Outside you will find every form of
outdoor amusement in full swing—
“Aunt Sallies,” swings, roundabouts,
skipping and donkeys. The latter are
greatly patronized. Young men and
maidens, old men and women, ail have
“a pannorth of donkey ride.” A fat
woman clings to one poor beast’s neck
shouting:
“Oo’er, I’m sure I’m falling. Don’t
make ’lm go so fast. Ho, look at me
’at. Lemme get off. I’m sure yer
’ltting ’lm.”
When the dust has cleared away she
Is seen lying In the road panting:
“I Unow’d yer done it on purpose!”
At last the journey home is begun,
everybody happy and tired, yet not too
tired to link arms,- the men wearing
the girls’ feathered hats and pearl but
toned coats and the girls wearing caps
and hats and wondrous masculine
jackets. All are singing different
songs, but every now and then they
break forth in unison with popular
songs of the moment. In the saloons
they drink beer out of one pewter and
swear undying love and friendship till
the voice of the proprietor, it now be
ing 12:30 in the morning and closing
time, is heard calling, “Time, gents,
please,” and a final sturt is made.
This may answer the question why
the average Cockney worker always
wants a second day off to get over
Boxing day.—New York Times.
Wanted to See Them.
When Helen, aged four, for the first
time accompanied her mother to
church she was given some money for
the collection box. It was carefully
explained to her that this money was
“for the poor.”
Helen sat patiently through perhaps
a third of the service, when she star
tled her mother by rattling the coins
between her cupped hands and inquir
ing in a loud voice: “Mamma, when
are the poor coming around? My 8
cents is getting all hot and sticky!”—
Lipplncott’s Magazine.
Good name In man or woman is the
Immediate jewel of their souls.—
Shakespeare.
I
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W. Tf EVANS, Prop
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For Sale at Gilligan & Stout’s and
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Col. Joe Schindler
AUCTIONEER
Cries Sales in either
German or English
In Holt and adjoining counties
Satisfaction guaranteed. For
terms and dates call on me at
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' theO’BEILL
ABSTKA0T * SO.
Compiles
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If you are in need of a loan drop him
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A. 9. IirrmO
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