(Copyright. 190J, by'W. R. Hearst.)
Sylvette, "clever and beautiful chan
teuse,” was singing, and the patrons of
the fashionable vaudeville theater, where
for two weeks her name would continue
to appear on the outside In electric lights,
were agreeably conscious of the fact that
■he wa» In exceptionally fine voice and
■plrlts tonight.
Sylvette had the choice place on the bill,
which means that she appeared at an
hour neither too early, when people were
arriving, nor too late, when the audience
would be weary and hard-to hold.
All the lesser vaudeville lights had
twinkled and disappeared from the horl
xon, those who were forced to submit to
the indignity of "supper show hours” hav
ing retired from the scene long before the
peerless Sylvette had arrived to dress for
her act. And now this bright particular
•tar could shine In all her glory, supreme
In the consciousness of unrivaled splen
dor.
Sylvette’s songs were of a various na
ture. She changed from a pathetlo love
ballad to a French ditty of the most
•parkllng, not to say naughty, character,
and from this returned in a flash to face
her delighted admirers with the latest and
moat approved "coon song," Into which
she threw herself with the utmost aban
don.
Yes, Sylvette was astonishingly versa
tile. The array of grinning youths on the
front row were unanimous in their expres
sions of approval, all agreeing that she
"did a great act,” which In their vernac
ular signified that very climax of appre
ciation.
The baldheads used their opera glasses
In open admiration; not with more vigi
lance, however, than did the women of
the audience, although their Interest was
not of so friendly a nature.
Two of them, seated In a box at the
singer's left, seemed especially Interested
In that dainty Individual.
"You can so the make-up so distinctly
from here," whispered the younger of the
two.
“Of course you can. Oh, she’s heavily
made up, that's plain enough. I wonder
If she's as pretty off the stage?”
“No, she can’t be. Who wouldn't he
your letter* we want! We know but little
of your plana—your life. You make euch
vague mention of your musical work. You
say you have engagements In and around
New York/ and we know you must be
well paid, for you are constantly remem
bering us with some lovely gift. Be care
ful, dear, not to try yourself too far.
Don't think w# ever forget what we owe
to you. I pray that my daughter Is the
same sweet Sylvia she always was and
that she Is happy. Won’t your engage
ments ever bring you west? We could get
you up a concert at the opera hause, as
we used to do In the old days before you
went east. We simply must see you
again, dear. You will write more fully,
won’t you, daughter Sylvia? Your lov
ing Mother.”
Sylvette folded the letter carefully, her
eyes staring vacantly before her. Sud
denly she arose abruptly and went to the
writing desk In the corner, took out her
diary, sat down and wrote: "Mother has
asked again why I don’t tell them all
! about myself. I suppose I shall have to
tell them some time, but not now! No,
It’s out of the question. They would nev
er understand.”
She underscored the last sentence and
again arose, pacing the room restlessly.
What a strange mood she was In to
night.
Returning again to the desk, she caught
up the diary and began to turn Its pages,
reading them as she stood. A look of ab
sorbed Interest replaced the pained dls
tres sof her face. At length she sank
down In the rocker and read on and on,
os If she were reading the story of an
other person.
“New York, April 10.—I am almost dis
couraged; I don’t know where to turn.
There seems to be nothing for me here.
I have sung, recited and played at musl
ncles and similar functions hoping that
they would lead to something better. But
I'm Just as far from securing a pay en
gagement as ever. Mrs. Mills hints at my
returning hom. I dare say I have Im
posed upon her hospitality—but what can
I do? I can’t go home; I promised them
I would succeed and send 4hem relief and
I will do It. Oh, the complications at
home; I dare not think of them. Poor
pretty under the same circumstances?
And then, think of her gown!"
“Juet Imagine, Marie," said the older
one, “the froth and frivolity of such a
life; vanity, vanity, nothing but vanity.
Her nature muit essentially be extremely
inferior to permit of her singing those
horrid songs with such apparent enjoy
ment. How dreadful to live always a life
of supsrflclallty and sham—never to have
a noble tncentlvel Oh, It's pitiful, *lt's
shameful.”
Marie’s eyes were on the stage. She
was but vaguely conscious of her aunt’s
words. “It' Is said,” she murmured ab
sently. Sylvette was bowing for the last
time, with a flashing of eyes and teeth
and a swirl of rose-lined ruffled skirts.
"There-she's oft. What comes next?
Let's see your program, auntie.”
"I can't forget that girl," pursued the
• older woman, still In her pitying mood.
"Such an existence Is saddening to think
of. Life to her Is nothing but a gay bub
ble, and when It bursts—what then?”
But Marie was disappointed at the ap
pearance of Irish comedians at this Junc
ture and replied rather peevishly as she
yawned behind her fan, "I'm sure,auntie,
I don't know." ,
When 8ylvette left the stags she hurried
at once to her dressing room, Ignoring the
crowd of envious performers and admir
ing stage hands, who, according to their
custom, bad gathered to tfatch her
"turn."
Her maid speedily dlveeted her of the
. rosy finery which but a few moments ago
had shimmered In the glare of calcium
and foot lights.
A swift application of cold cream re
moved the roses from her cheeks, the
!asclnatlng shadows from her eyes—and In
an Incredibly short time she was ready
for the smart tailor-made gown that
Nancy was holding In readiness for her.
When dressed for the street Sylvette
was still an attractive young woman,
though her face was graver by far that:
any one would have thought possible who
bad seen her only on the stage.
An unopened letter, addressed In a
woman’s handwriting, lay on the table.
As Sylvette caught It up with her gloves
and pocketbook the gravity of her face
Increased all at once to an expression al
most of pain. She bad carried the letter
about with her all day, since Its arrival
at the hotel that morning, and had not
yet found opportunity to read lt-wr was
It that she ehrank from opening It?
Dismissing Nancy as soon as she
reached the hotel, she took the elevator
at once to her room.
Even after her wraps were laid aside
and she was settled In her comfortub'e
rocker she still waited, handling the let
ter deliberately and musing over It, but
making no attempt to open It.
For some time she meditated, her head
thrown back against the cushion, her eyes
half closed. Finally she straightened ui
with a sharp sigh and resolutely tore the
letter from its sheath. This Is what she
read:
"Dear Daughter Sylvia: Why !o yot
not write oftener? Messages from you ur<
the bright spots In our monotonous ex
iatence. You are so generous, dear, tc
■end us so many lovely things—but It li
mother, how does she stand It? No, I
won't (five up. I will find something.”
"April 25.—Letter from mother. Alice Is
111—poor little thing. I know why—It’s
from wearing those old thin shoes. My
heart aches and aches. I know mother Is
keeping a great deal from me. I.know
what desperate straits they are In. Oh, I
must find something. I will make one
more mighty effort. Dear God, help me
and show me the way.”
"May 3.—At last help has come. It Is
far below my Ideal, but It means bread
and butter and money for the folks. Once
I would have scorned the offer, now I
grasp at It as a dying man grasps a
straw. I am going Into vaudeville. I
have had a trial and the manager offers
me one week, with promise of the entire
circuit If I succeed. The Idea Is popular
now—quite the fad, and better than any
thing else, they say. Mrs. Mills says I
ought to be thankful enough to get such
an opportunity; tha^ It is not to be
sneered at. Mrs. Mills Is a New Yorker
and she understands, but I can’t let the
folks at home know about It. In that lit
tle country town they would not look at
It us Sirs. Mills does. I’m sure. No, It
would never do; but I can send them
money! Thank heaven for this relief."
“May 30.—What a rush I've been In! No
time for a diary. Well I made a pretty
fair success and they have promised me
the circuit, but how the money flies! Pho
tographs, costumes, eyerythlng! Couldn't
send anything home for two weeks. Now,
If I can Just keep booked up I'll he all
right. Luckily the vaudeville houses keep
open all summer, so I need not be Idle
during the hot weather."
"June lb.—The work Is awfully hard
three performances a day. I'm losing
flesh somewhat, hut then It means money
for them. How overjoyed they were
when relief came! But why will they ash
so many questions? They want to know
all about my work. Well, there's no use
thinking of that. They could not under
stand. Just suppose they knew I hai!
performed on Sunday! But God will sure
ly forgive me—I had to do It. The worV
Is honest and I shall alwuys keep" myaell
from the real theatrical life. It need nev
er hurt me."
August 6.—I can't Imagine what Is the
trouble. The agents don't give me any
more engagements. I haven't a single on.
In prospect and I have been Idle now foi
two weeks. What can It mean?"
“September 18.—I've trudged and trudge!
about this city In the heat until my fee
ache with weariness. Every theater li
booked up. I haven't sent money horn,
for a month. Oh, what shall I do. I n
nearly desperate ugaln. The Bight of Four
teenlh street, with Its signs of theatrlca
agents, turns me positively sick. The;
have no use for my act."
October 3.—At last I understand. A well
meaning manager has opened my eyes t.
' my deflciencles. He says my act is tanv
i —needs more 'ginger,' with a coon song o
i two and a cake-walk thrown In. He say
! I must not wear long dresses. He ad
] vises me to get up some chic, dashing cos
1 tume tf I mean to make a real success li
this business. He says ray appearanc
Iand stage bearing are attractive enoug
(.in fact he said a number of nice thing
about my looks), but that 1 need tlies
other things to please the general publta.
He telle me I would command twice aa
much salary and play only two shows per
day, but how can I ever sing those songs
and how can X—oh, I can't—I simply can't
"October 13.—Yes, yes, I can do It: I
can do anything to save Alice. Mother
writes that she has grown so delicate the
doctor Insists that she must have a
change of climate during the coming win
ter. He urges them to send her—says it
is absolutely necessary to her recovery.
She has been ill ever since that first time
mother wrote. Poor, patient little thing!
Will I sing soon songs, French songs, and
wear abbreviated skirts? Yes, I’m nerved
up to It at last. I know I can do It and
make a success. Applause shall be mine!
For applause means money and money
means a change of climate for dear Alice.
"December 1—Well, It Is all done. I am
a full-fledged 'vaudevllllaii’ of the most
pronounced type. They have sent Alice
away. At last the great stress Is over. I
have sufficient ready money for my needs
and the family are living In comfort—so
no matter about the rest!"
Sylvette let the diary slip Into her lap
and read no more. After awhile she rose
wearily to prepare for bed. As she did
so she noticed a folded bit of paper on the
floor, and picking It up discovered It to
be a postscript to her mother’s letter.
"How strange I did not notice It before,"
. she murmured. A sudden apprehension
seized her. There were only a few words.
"P. 8.—I don’t want to worry you,
Sylvie, but Alice Is not Improving as we
had hoped. Of course there may be no
cause for alarm—perhaps we are expect
ing the change too quickly, but the doctor
writes that she Is still very frail. Try not
to worry, dear. Mother."
Sylvette slept wretchedly that night.
Frightful dreams startled her out of slum
ber every hour or so. Once she awoke
crying, "Alice! Alice!" and sat up in bed,
shivering with terror.
She had to force her spirits next day to
appear as sdntlllant as was expected of
the radiant Sylvette. A heavy hand
seemed clutching at her throat, but she
flung off the somber Influence. She wrote
home at once and sent a letter brimful of
tenderness to Alice. She began to feel
hopeful once more.
On' the last night of her engagement,
however, she grew restless and forebod
ing again. She was feverishly alert when
night came. It was almost time for her
turn and Nancy was adding a finishing
touch to the jaunty costume when a tele
gram was brought In by one of the stage
hands.
"For me?" questioned Sylvette. Again
that hand clutching her throat. She op
ened the telegram slowly. In a dazed way,
and stood reading the words over and
over. "Alice died this morning. Come at
once. Mother.”
oyivecie srarea aumQiy.
"What Is It, Miss Sylvette? Lord! look
at her lips!”
"Are you sure this Is right?” Sylvette
asked the boy.
"Yes, ma'am,” returned the startled
youth In wonder.
She took the pencil and blank and wrote
mechanically:
"I start tonight. Sylvie."
A loud rap sounded on the door and an
alarmed voice—"Sylvette! Sylvette! your
cue.”
She faced the stake manager with the
same dazed, startled eyes.
"Must X go on? My sister Is dead!" Her
voice sounded strange to her, like that of
another person. The applause of the au
dience came back to her like the sound,
of a waterfall.
"Good God, woman! X can’t let you oft
now, It’s too late." They’re waiting for
you. The Thornley sister disappointed us,
too—one of 'em’s sick. I am sorry, but—”
Sylvette was on the stage, smiling,
sparkling. Her hands were like Ice. There
was a roaring in her ears, but the habit
of affected buoyancy asserted Itself. She
sang, she plroutted. Her eyes flashed with
even more than their accustomed bril
liancy. Her audience thought her amaz
ingly spontaneous tonight. Gay, winning,
rolllcklngig^he captivated them as never
before. It*waa all a nightmare to her. The
rapturous applause, the sea of upturned
faces. "Alice Is dead; Alice. Is dead.” The
words kept beating on her brain till It
seemed the tension would snap.
When she reached the shelter of her
dressing room she did not cry out nor
swoon. She heard as In a dream voices
murmuring: "Poor Sylvette; too bad
about little sister.” “Can’t we help you?”
"How brave you are.”
Sylvette was flinging her things on a
chair while Nancy packed the trunk.
"Hurry Nancy,” she cried. One thing she
would avoid. In the next act a quartette
sang "The Lost Chord.” She must get
away before then. She would not, could
not, endure It.
She feH to and assisted Nancy with des
perate dispatch. "There! We’re rea^y."
She was dimly conscious that* the stage
manager spoke to her kindly and that
the others pressed her hand and offered
their sympathy.
She found herself gazing at the plump
envelope just brought round from the box
office.
"It will help pay the’’—she shuddered—
"the expenses.”
Suddenly a sweet, piercing tenor arose:
"Seated one day at the organ-"
“Oh, Nancy—come—I can't stand thatl 1
Quick—my satchel—goodby-’■
Her voice broke. She was gone.
"It will do her good to cry," sold the
others pityingly.
Out In the box Marie and her aunt were
sitting.
"The gay Sylvette was gayer than ever,
wasn’t she?" remarked the girl.
“Yes, and Just as superflclal. What •
life! I wonder she never tires of It!”
Philadelphia Press: Casey—Te’re look
in' purty bad this mornln', but ye seem
happy enough.
Cassidy—Indade, Ol am. It makes me
feel great to think av the turrlble toot’
ache Ol had lasht nolght.
Casey—Phwy should thot make ye so
happy?
, Cassidy—Bekaso Ol hoven't got It this
mornln’, thot’s phwy. .
Tit-Bits: Willy—I met our new minis
ter on my way to Sunday school, mamma,
and he asked me If I ever played marbles
on Sunday. Mother—H’m! And what
did you say to that? Willy—I said, "Get
I thee behind me, Satan!" and walked right
off and left him.
Tit-Bits: Wife—Do you mean to In
sinuate that your judgment Is superior
to mine?
Husband—Certainly not, my dear.
Our choice of life partners proves It
The Suez canal was begun In 1859
and completed in 1869.
Catholic Standard and Times: Jenks
—Haven’t you and that neighboring
farmer settled your differences yet?
Farmer Akers—No, but our lawyers
j have settled.
] Jenks—Settled? IJow?
, Farmer Akers—On our farms.
Catholic Standard and Times: Towns
. | —I suppose you’ve heard about Kadley,
: that awful cynic, losing hla mind.
1 Browne—No? My, that's terrible.
T.owne—O! I don’t know. I haven’t
any sympathy
Browne—What! Suppose some de
cent fellow should And It!
Philadelphia Record: “That duck
was fine," said the enthusiastic patron.
"I can't imagine anything more accept
able than a nice little canvasbaek.”
"Unless,” replied the proprietor of the
> restaurant, “It's a nice big greenback."
This Young Woman Is a Duchess
and Her Hubby's Got $85^000^000
* .
-- --- , ._ xne wire of
Germany'a wealthiest reigning prince. The princess was married in
1910 ana celebrated her 23d birthday June 29. She has one daughter.
Her husband, who was until the birth of Princess Juliana heir to the
throne of Holland, is reputed to be worth $85,000,000.
Free Congress, Free People.
From the Indianapolis News.
There are many people who think ol
popular government as a government that
will do what they wish done, and will
not do what they do not wish done. They
are Indifferent as to methods as long as
the desired result Is reached. Each class,
whether It be represented by labor leaders,
the agents of protected Industries, or the
officers of the National Association of
Manufacturers, thinks that popular gov
ernment has been vindicated when It gets
the legislation It desires, or defeats that
whloh It does not desire. Government Is
looked on as the agent and servant of a
class.
And out of this class warfare a good
deal of legislation, much of It of a very
bad, or doubtful, quality, has been born.
Members of congress are almost openly
threatened with vengeance If they oppose
one piece of class legislation or favor an
other. Suoh government, of course, Is “not
xwpular In any sense—It Is government
by private Interests. We should think that
the men at Washington who are honestly
trying to do their duty would rejoice at
the lifting of the.veil that Is now assured.
The result will be for them a freedom
such as they have not enjoyed for years.
It may even. In time, be possible for them
to consider all measures absolutely on
their merits, without a thought as to the
effect of their action on this or that
“vote."
The people who are not organized, who
are represented by no lobby and who are
seeking nothing but the public good, will
be enormously the gainers. With the
smashing of this class control—or at
tempted control—the government will be
representative, as it has not been for
many years. And so of our political life
generally. While there has not been as
much class voting as many suppose, there
has been constant threat of It, and much
Class maneuvering. Men have acted, not
as Individuals, but as members of warring
groups. Voters have been asked to subor
dinate utterly their political opinions, and
to oppose the man who may have honestly
and honorably represented them, simply
because he took on some class question a
position that was objectionable to the class
Interested. The policy has been one of
trading votes at the polls for votes In
congress.
It now looks as though there were a
good chance of breaking up this system
cf government by combinations. We do
not mean to say that all of the legislation
favored by these combinations Is bad. It
■eems to ua that the laboring men are
right In asking for some modification of
the practice as to Injunctions, and that
the manufacturers are right In opposing
iny step looking to the legislation of the
boycott. But both these questions should
be dealt with from the point of view of
the people as a whole, and senators and
representative* should be left free to act
»n them In the light of law and reason,
jntempted, uncoerced and unterrlfled by
Ihe looby. We must have a free congress,
is well as a free people, If we are to have
i fre* government.
COUNTRY EDITOR
SITS IN CONGRESS
Don’ts for tho Season.
Now that we are back to the summ«
again let us consider “Don’ts" by noni
other than the illustrious Capt. Leslie T
Peacocke. Read on:
Don’t mix with people who are blesset
with greater wealth than you,
Don t let yourself be patronized by purs,
proud people who
Will treat you with mere tolerance ant
ridicule your blUff,
But keep yourself within yourself tintl
you have enough.
Don’t walk as If you had some queer af
fection of the spine.
Like lots of girls do when they’re dressed
and feeling extra fine;
Don’t hump your shoulders, tilt your nost
or stick your shoulders out,
Don’t wriggle If you’re skinny and don’t
waggle It you’re stout
Don't talk about your ailments or youi
tummy or your health,
Don’t boast about your pedigree, don’t
don't ever talk of wealth.
Don’t talk about the sweather—only bro
mides talk of that—
Don’t mention that you’re growing thlr
or getting very fat.
Don't bolt your food; there’s lots of time;
give every chew Its due,
Don’t criticize home cooking, never scru
tinize a stew,
•Don’t grumble at your waiter Bhould the
poor chap make a slip,
Remember that you’re In his power, and
don’t forget to tip.
Don’t laugh at fat policemen when you’re
swearing at the heat.
Don’t keep your seat In street cars If a
woman wants the seat,
Don’t forget that no true gentleman will
let a woman stand;
Don’t look at ladles’ stockings when
you're lying on the sand.
Don’t marry till you’ve saved enough to
buy a wedding ring;
Don’t rent a house until you have exam
ined everything;
Don’t be afraid of anyone, and learn tc
say ”1 won’t."
There’s lots of things we’d like to do, and
ought to do, but don’t.
The New Havei? Casa.
From the Minneapolis Journal.
While the Immediate cause of the re
tirement of President Mellen, of the New
Haven railroad, may be the criticism that
has come to him because of an unusual
number of apparently preventable acci
dents, the main cause Is to be found la
dissatisfaction of stockholders with the
way the New Haven stock has declined.
With Mr. Mellen's advent, vast plans of
consolidation were set afoot. Trolley lines
and boat lines were acquired. The Boston
& Maine was absorbed. Yet the stock
holders saw their dividends cut and their
shares decline from 200 to less than par.
It became a question whether the New
Haven had not lost out by trying to do
too much work.
In a wider sense the failure of the “Mellen
policy .raises the question whether monop
oly gives efficiency. In fact, the whole
theory of efficiency and economy under
consolidated management la brought Into
dispute, and the verdict appears to be
against-the trust Idea of the greater eco
nomic value of consolidation.
The officials of the New Haven made a
-mistake when they turned their attention
from the operation of a splendid railroad
with a natural field to domination of
other railroads, the buying up of trolley
lines, steamship lines, electric, gas and
water power plants, and the general chok
ing off of legitimate competition. Instead
of making more money, they apparently
opened the doors to waste, inefficiency and
confusion. The experience is applicable to
other corporations. The case of the New
Haven so strikingly Illustrates this that
Its recent history will be narrowly studied.
Mr. Mellen, undoubtedly a good railroad
man, seems to have become drunk with
power. Many of his acts In New England
show evidence of an unbalanced belief
In his right and duty to run everything.
Business Men’s Blunders.
From the Boston Globe.
Everything Mulhali says about electing
congressmen by bribery In the form of
money or rum may be true or not. One
thing, however, Is Indisputable, the men
who directed the affairs qf the National
Association of Manufacturers were foolish
enough to hire persons to attempt to In
fluence legislation by methods unknown to
the general public.
In the opinion of Napoleon and other
great ones there are blunders that are
worse than crimes.
The spectacle of a body of solid busi
ness men dabbling In subterranean at
tempts at changing the course of political
■ events Is not a pleasant one to contem
plate. Besides, the method U obsolete.
I Publicity, not privacy, is the watchword
of the hour. The business man who is
drawn into any surreptitious scheme or
covert intrigue for the purpose of pun
ishing his political opponents or rewarding
his political friends Is a dupe, or will soon
be one.
LOUIS C. CRAMPTON.
Tvoula C. Crampton, the new repub
lican congressman from the Seventh
Michigan district, publishes a country
paper and has held several state and
county offices. He Is a graduate of
the University of Michigan law school
land Is 88 years old.
PUTTING TOWNS
"ON THE MAP”
By F. J. Wllstach.
Is there any sure way of “Putting a
Town on the Map?”
There are hundreds of towns that
have never been blazoned on the flags
of fame, while the names of others—
for one cause or another,—are ever
aflutter on the public flagpole.
It may be said that there is no sura
way to make a town famous, but the
things which may contribute to "put
ting It on the map” are nevertheless
of decided Interest.
A town, like an individual, to b«
known, must have done something;
must be something other than a mers
conglomeration of people.
When Sir Walter Raleigh was on
his way to Virginia, he chanced tfl
look at a map of the Magellan strait
Here he discovered a point of land la
belled: “The Painter’s Wife’s Island."
Sir Walter expressed surprise thai
heretofore he had not noticed such as
Island. The captain told him then
was no such Island, explaining thal
one day when the painter of the mat
was at work, his wife requested him
to put in an island for her. This, th«
painter did, calling it "The Painter"!
Wife’s Island.”
A good many towns are like “Th«
Painter’s Wife’s Island;” they repre
sent nothing; they can be found on
the map, but that is about all.
There are several reasons which
serve to "put a town on the map,”
and cause it to “stay put” One ol
these is that It may gain renown
through the celebrity of one of its
citizens. There are a great number ol
towns the size of Concord, Mass., yel
Emerson "put It on the map;” jusl
as Lincoln did Springfield, 111.; Jusl
as Walt Whitman did Camden, N. J.;
just as James Montgomery Bailey,
“The Danbury News Man," did Dan
bury, Conn.; just as William Shakes
peare did Stratford-on-Avon. Nobodj
ever hears of these totVns except In
association with these famous names.
Even Elbert Hubbard put the roar
in East Aurora.
Then a town may be the seat ol
some art or manufactory,—such, foi
example, as Detroit, which is famous
for automobiles,—Battle Creek for
breakfast foods, Grand Rapids for
furniture, South Bend for plows, Sey
mour, Conn, for Waterman pens,
Bridgeport for phonographs, Glouster
for fish, Ansonia for clocks, Columbus
for buggies, and It was beer that
placed Milwaukee on the crest of ths
foam of fame.
A CUiUlVi Will OCX vo 1110 puiyucJO,
sometimes, of placing even the most
outlandish burg. We all remember
Dan Daly's song of "Far Cohoes;’’
Peter Daly’s famous ditty of the
“Hackman who drove his hack at
Hackensack;” and who can forget
Peoria after hearing of the show that
"busted up" in that classic city?
Other towns are remembered only
on account of some thrilling battle, ex
traordinary crime, or devasting ca
lamity. We all remember the North
ampton bank robbery, the Astabula
bridge disaster, the battles of Gettys
burg and of Waterloo, and the Johns
town flood.
The onomatopeic names of some
towns,—producing uproarious cachina
tlons,—such as Kalamazoo, Podunk,
and Oshkosh,—are ever visible on the
mental time-table. Yod simply can’t
forget them.
Some towns, too, are a long time
getting placed "on the map.” Until
the occurence of some unexpected
event their traditions, their history,
their very existence, is confined to the
outskirts of their Immediate neighbor
hood.
If some one should have asked a
week ago, “Where is Darien?” they
would, more than likely, have an
swered that ‘It is a gulf In the Car
ribbean sea;” or, “It is in Georgia;”
or “It is in Missouri;" or "It Is in
Wisconsin;” or, "There is an Isthmus
of Darien, near Panama;” or have
quoted Keats; "Looked at each other
with a wild surprise,—silent, upon a
peak in Darien."
Now ask anyone, "Where is .Darien?”
and they are certain to have in mind
only the quaint old town of that name
in Connecticut. It is the pageant to
be that has served this admirable pur
?iose, for it has blazoned forth the
own’s amazing historic background,
and the fact that it has been the home
of a surprisingly large number of ex
traordinary people.
The pageant has put Darien “on the’
map.” , _
He is happiest, be he king or peasant,
■who finds peace in his own home.—
Goethe.
• * •
If there Is a harvest ahead, even t
distant one, it is poor thrift to b«
stingy of your seed corn.—Carlyle.
• • •
Aspire, break bounds, I say;
Endeavor to be good, and better still
And best. Success Is nought, ani
endeavor’s all.—Browning.
• • •
To spare a step In the path of ptetj
is to spend money In the rocky road
to misery.—Thomas Fuller.
• • •
Genuine greatness Is marked b;
simplicity, unostentatiousness, self
forgetfulness, a hearty Interest Id
others, a feeling of brotherhood with
the human family.—Channing.
• • •
The secret of life Is not to do whal
one likes, but to try to like that -which
one has to do, and one does like it—
in time.—Dinah Muloch Craik.
* • *
Sad will be the day for any man
when he becomes absolutely contented
with the life he Is living, with the
thoughts he Is thinking and deeds he i
Is doing—When there Is not forever
beating at the door of his soul some
great desire to do something larger
which he knows he was meant and
made to do because he Is a child ol
God.—Phillips Brooks.
Tribute From a Political Enemy.
From the New Tork Sun.
We hope It Is true Colonel Roosevelt
will lecture In Argentina next fall on the
progress of the United States. His visit
to that country of splendid prosperities
and more splendid hopes will be more
than an hour to a world citizen; nor la
It. for example, to compare smaller
things with greater, like the visit of M.
Clemenceau. The republics of Latin civ
ilization are friendly to each other. It
would be blinking the facts to deny that
Mexico, South and Central America are
far from fond of the United States.
Colonel Roosevelt may say something,
may do something, to Improve relation*
between those countries and his own. HI*
renown, his experience, his great part In
affairs, his,'bluffness married to a subtl*
spirit, his strange engagingness of person
ality, his equal delight In all companies
his supreme happiness amid wild thing!
and under the stars and sun, these must
stir more than an Interest of eurlositj
among a people where the luxurious ex
pensive urbanites are surrounded by *
life mainly rural and healthy.
What region of the earth Is not full 01
the colonel s labors? We need not .but wt
shall, wish him a good voyage and plentj
of fun. Those he Is sure to have; and th*
old cowboy will be at home In the pam
pas. Somewhere he will find pumas, jag
uars, wildcats and whatever else he want!
to hit. He will maka a hundred thousand
new friends; and meanwhile he may a til
be lecturing his countrymen In the Ouh
look.
