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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (July 16, 1914)
A Romance of ExtraordmaiyDistindion The Marshal j9yMary Raymond Shipman Andrews Author jjje perfecf Tribute, eta Copyright, The HoMn-Merrill Compery. CHAPTER XIV—(Continued). "When you graduated two years ago at the top of the school, when Pietro left us and went oft to his castle In Italy and you came back to me here as fine a young gentleman as any duke’s son. I said to myself that 1 had done well. Somewhere, from that remark able mother of yours, I believe, you—a peasant—-have got the simplicity and the unconsciousness that are the finest touches of the finest breeding. I am very proud of you. Francois. I was proud when. Just after you graduated, the leaders of the Bonapartlst faction In France came to this chateau for a se cret convention and I could present you to them as my adopted child, as my collaborator in the new book, our mili tary history of the Austerlitz campaign —that had a good sound for a lad of 18. And, name-of-a-dog! you held up your end—you could talk to them like a sol dier and a statesman. Mon Dieu, yes! "And then, when they wrote and sug gested sending you as ambassador on the secret mission to the Duke of Relchstadt last year, I almost burst with pride to think how well you were fitted for It; fitted to talk with princes, equipped with the knowledge and the statecraft to handle a delicate politi cal situation. It Is no easy thing to flrjd such an ambassador, for such a mission—a man not marked or known, yet with the subtle and strong quali ties which make a man marked. You, with your youth and peasant name and air of a young noble, filled the difficult want. You did it well and won laurels from critical old diplomatists. "I have been worrying a bit since to have kept you here chained to me and the writing of a history, when you ought to be at the Job of making his tory. Yet you are only 20. Time has not pressed, so far. And moreover, I await a revolution when men such as you will be needed; the Bonapartlst yeast is working under the surface of cuuuu j , cjixt nine win cume when a single crashing blow perhaps will shake France and place one of the emperor's name on the emperor’s throne. And at that time you. mon sieur. must be ready to put your strength into that blow. You and I have faith, my son, in that accolade of the emperor of your infancy; you and I believe that, as he said, you may be one day ‘a marshal of France under anoth er Bonaparte.’ It is for you to fulfil that prophecy." The general, his big hands on his big knees, stared at the boy with burn ing eyes, stirred by his own words in to a true French access of enthusiasm. But the boy’s eyes did not meet his as usual with the flame of whole-hearted response which he loved; yet the gen eral, carried away by his own generous feelings, was not dissatisfied. This was his boy; what he did was right. He drew in a great breath and let it out in a sigh of contentment. "I have talked you to extinction, Francois," he growled. “And in all my words I have not managed to tell vou what it is that I am talking about." He tapped the letter again which lay un der his hand. "Pietro wants you to come to him as his secretary." Francois' large eyes lifted to the gen eral's face, inquiring, startled, child like. “Pietro!" he said, slowly. "I had not thought of that.” "Yet you knew that Pietro was heart and soul in the plots of the Italian ua triots?" “Yes." "But you had not thought of going to help him fight?" “No. my seigneur. I had thought only of the fight for which I must be ready here.” “This Italian business will be good practice." said the general, as a man of today might speak of a tennis tour nament. "And you and Pietro will be enchanted to be together again." Francois smiled and something in the smile wrung the general's heart. "Francois, you are not going to be unhappy about little Alixe?" Quickly Francois threw back, as if he had not heard the question: "Mv seigneur. I will go to Pietro; it will be the best thing possible—action and training and good old Pietro for a comrade. My seigneur, may I go to morrow?" "Tomorrow " The general was •tartled now, "A thousand blunders, but you are a sudden lad. Yet it will be no harder to give you up tomorrow than it would be next month. Yes, to morrow. then, let it be." Francois stood up, slim, young, alert and steady, yet somehow not as the boy who had come in to the general an hour before: more, perhaps, as a man who had been through a battle and come out very tired, with the noise of the fighting in his ears. "I will go to the farm tonight, to my mother and my father. And this after noon I will ride with Alixe, if you do not want mo for the book, my seigneur —and if she will go. May I ask you not to tell Alixe of this—to leave it to me to tell her?" . i uKrera me general aouotrully. "But you will be careful not to—u*»set her. Francois?" "I will be careful." "And—and you will do what you can to help Pietro, will you not, my son ?” A quirk contraction twisted Fran cois' sensitive mouth and was gone, but this time the general saw. "You may trust me, seigneur,’' the boy said, and moved to the door; but the gen erul called to him as his hand touched the latch. "Francois’’’ "Yes, my seigneur.” He faced about, steady and grave, and stood holding the door. "Francois, my son—I have not hurt you—very much? Y'ou do not love Alixe—deeply? Do you love her. Francois’?’ There was a shock of stillness in the old dim library. Through the window —where the children’s shouts had come In 10 years before to the marquis and the general—one heard now in the quiet the sudden staccato of a late cricket. The general, breathing anx iously, looked at Francois, Francois standing like a statue. The general re peated his question softly, breathlessly. “Do you love her, Francois?” With that the great eyes blazed and the whole face of the boy lighted as If a lire had flamed inside a lantern. He threw back his head. “With all my soul,” he said. "And forever!” CHAPTER XV. I SAID IT. AND I WIDL. A rushing mountain stream—white felled In the falling, black brown In foam-flecked poola — tumbled, 10 splashed, brawled down the mountain; tho mountain hung over, shadowy; banks of fern held the rampant brook in chains of green. Alixe and Fran cois, riding slowly in the coolness of the road below, looked up and saw it all, familiar, beautiful, full of old associations. "One misses Pietro,” Francois said. "He always wanted to ride past the 'trou du gouverneur.' ” A Roman legend had given this name to the deep pool of the brook by the road; it was said that the cruel old governor had used it, 2,000 years back, for drowning refractory peasants. Alixe gazed steadily at the dark mur muring water. "Yes, one misses him. Is life like that, do you suppose, Francois? One grows up with people, and they get to be as much a part of living as the air, or one's hands—and then, suddenly, one is told that they are going away. And that ends it. One must do without air, without hands. What a world, Francois!” “We are not meant to like it too much, I believe, Alixe," said Francois sunnily. "It is Just eh passant', this world, when you stop to consider. The real DuslneSs will come, I suppose, when we are moved on a step farther. Friendships and separations wdll not seem so badly arranged then, probably. This is school, this life, I gather. My mother says it is not very important if one has a good seat in the school room or a bad; if one sits near one’s playmates or is sent to another corner, so long as one is a good child and works heartily at one’s lessons. It is only for a day—and then we go home, where all that is made right. Not a bad idea of my mother's is it, Alixe?” “Your mother is a wonderful wom an,” Alixe answered thoughtfully. “She lives like that. She never let things trouble her, not even when your father lost everything. Did she, Fran cois?” the few people who know what the real things are and live In them. It is hard to do that. I can not. I care so bit terty for what I want. It is”—Francois hesitated—“it is very hard for me to give up—what I want.” He stumbled over the words; hts voice shook so that Alixe shifted in the saddle and looked at him Inquiringly. “Francois’! Is anything wrong? Must you give up something?” Francois laughed then and patted the brown arching neck of Capitaine, successor to Coq. “Everybody must give up things; and renunciation is the measure of strength,” he said with 20 year-old generalization, yet with a light in his face which might have been the smiling of an aged saint. “You were talking about Pietro," he went on rapidly “about our separation from him, our good old Pietro! I do miss him. Yet that was inevitable from the beginning. That was life. Pietro is Italian; he has his place over there”— —and he nodded to where far-off Italy might lie. “He is a man, Pietro, every Inch, already. He has gone to fill his place, as quietly, as unhesitatingly as he will do everything that comes to him.” "Everything that comes to him—yes.” Alixe spoke a little scornfully. “But —Francois—he does not go very fast to meet the things that come to him." FrancoiB eyes flashed at her. "You have never been fair to Pietro, Alixe.” "Not fair?" Alixe interrupted, and laughed. “No, not fair,” repeated the boy. "You do not seem to see what he is—a heart of gold, a wall of rock. It is not his way to talk much, but he has gr«e.t qualities." "What?" asked Alixe. "What!" Francois repeated. “You to ask that! You know as well as I that Pietro is a Bayard—without fear and without reproach. He is unchang ing as the ocean—he is to be believed In his slightest word. You know that It would be a commonplace for Pietro to be killed rather than play false to tho smallest trust. He is a fanatic of reliability.” "You make him out a slow worthy person," said Alixe, and drew up the horse's bridle. "You can respect a man with all those sterling qualities, but— he isn’t very—dashing to be like that. I3 he? I like a man to have initiative —some gift of leadership." Francois looked at her sternly. ‘Dashing! Initiative! Do you remem ber, Alixe, what it is that Pietro has lone? Do you realize that Italy is In the stress of a desperate struggle for liberty? That a forlorn fight against the power of the Austrians is on her hands, and that Pietro went back at 18 to take his part with the patriots? i_.mj juu iftuiso wimi uu.xi{§«* mill means? Danger not only of death, but of worse, of years of Imprisonment In some dungeon. Noblemen of higher rank than Pietro are living In chains there now. It is our playmate Pietro who is facing this—Pietro, who has breathed the free air and ridden with us through this valley for so many years. Ho realizes it. He went with his eyes open. His family are marked; he will be a leader against the Aus trians; he will be one of the first to be punished if the Austrians conquer— and they are very strong. Ho went back to Italy to a lonely life, to a life hf intense effort and activity and dan ger, as quietly as if he were going back to school. And you, you whom"—Fran cois stopped—and went on “you whom he loves better than any one in the world—wrong him” By now Alixe was half sobbing. 'How horrid you are, Fruncois! You jump at conclusions. Y’ou are not the only person who cares for Pietro. I lo not wrong him—not in my thoughts. I abused him to you on purpose. I wanted to see what you would say for him. One does that. If one—really cares—for a person, one has the right. It Is not disloyalty; I could abuse my 'ather—I could say any horried thing I chose, and not a word, hot a shadow of a thought would he disloyal, because I love him so that it would all be nothing compared to that. I know Pietro is brave; I enow he has gone into danger—is it so very hnd, Francois? But -I am Irri tated often with Pietro—because you ire always the hero . It Is always you who do the brave thing, and it is easy lor every one to—to adore you, Fran 'ols. You seem only to smile at a per son and they—they care for you. And Pietro is Just—quiet and reliable. It sn’t fair for you to have—everything.” rhere were tears in her eyes now, and i quiver in her voice, and the last word was punctuated by an indignant job. Alixe dear," — then Francois itopped. "You need not be afraid that shall have more than Pietro," he be ?an uncertainly. “For it is not going to be so. He will have what—what I would give my life for.” Then he hur ried on. "I Bee how it is.” he raid gently, "and you are right to care so loyally for Pietro. He is worth it. And you must never care less, Alixe—never forget him because he has gone away. He will come hack." Tho boy spoke with effort, slowly, but Alixe was too much occupied with her own tumultous thoughts to notice. "He will surely ; come back and—belong to you more than ever. He will come back dis tinguished and covered with honors, perhaps, and then—and then—Alixe, do you see the chestnut tree at the cor ner that turns to the chateau? It Is a good bit of soft road—we will race to that tree—shall we? And then I will tell you something.” The horses sprung Into a canter and then a gallop, and stretched their legs and flattend down Into a sharp run. The girl and the hoy were flying side by side through the mellow landscape; the gray towers and red roofs of the chateau were In the distance; the little Cheulte lay to the right, its pools like a string of quicksilver beads spotted on the fields; the mountain of the Kose, calm and enormous and dark, lifted out of the country to the left. Many a time In the six years to come Francois saw that picture and felt the vibrating air as they rushed through It. He had strained his very soul to talk at length as he h*d of his rival, of his friend; he felt sick and exhausted from tho effort; now he must tell her that he was going tomorrow, and he must not let a word or a look tell her that ho lover her. The horses raced merrily; Alixe sat close to the saddle with tho light awln£l. g seat, the dellcute hand on the bridle, which were part of her perfect horsemanship, and over and over as he watched her nde Franocis said to himself: “I will give my happiness for tho seigneur's—I said it, and I will. I will be a friend to Pietro always—I said it, and I will.” Over and over the horses' flying feet pounded out that self command, and at length the music of the multiplying hoof beats grew slower, and with tight ening rein they drew In and stopped un der the big chestnut. Alixe was laugh ing, exhilarated, lovely. "Wasn't It a good race. Didn’t they go deliciously?” she threw at him. And then, "We will go around by tho Delesmontos road; (t is only three miles farther, and it is early in the after noon; there is nothing to do.” Francois spoke slowly. “I am afraid —I must not, Alixe. 1 am going to the farm tonight.” "To the farm!” Alixe looked at him in surprise. "But you were not to go ride over with you. Have you forgot ten?” "No,” said Francois, “I have not for gotten—no, indoed. But I am going away tomorrow, Alixe.” "Going away?" Alixe turned sharp ly, and her deep blue glance searched his eyes. "What do you mean, Fran cois?" And then, Imperiously: "Don’t tease me, Francois! I don’t like it.” Francois steadied, hardened his face very carefully, and answered: "I am not teasing you, Alixe. I did nut tell you before because—” he stopped, for his voice was going wrong—"because I thought we would have our ride just us usual today. 1 only knew about it myself this morning. I am going to Pietro.’ "Going—to Piero!” Alixe was gasp ing painfully. "Francois—it is a joke —tell me it is a poor joke. Quick!” she ordered. ”1 won't have you play with me, torture me!” ’’It is not a Joke.” The boy’s eyes were held by a superhuman effort on the buckle of the bridle rein lying on his knee. “There was a letter from Pietro this morning. The seigneur wishes me to go. 1 wish to go. I am leaving tomorrow.” "Going tomorrow!” The girl’s voice was a wall. "You—taken away from me!” Then in a flash: "I hate Pietro! He is cruel—he thinks only of himself" He wants you—but I want you too. How can I live without you, Francois’” Then softly, hurriedly, while the worid reeled about the boy. sitting statue like in his sadle: "It is just as I said. You are as much a part of my life as the air I breathe—and you and my father and Pietro say quiet calmiy, ’The air is to be taken away—you must do with- < out it.’ I can not. I will choke!” she < pulled at her collar suddenly as if the chocking were a physical present fact No slightest motion, no shade of In flection missed Francois; still he sat motionless, his eyes on the little brass buckle, his lips set in a line, without a word, without a look toward her. And suddenly Alixe, with another quick blue glance from under the black long lashes—Alixe, hurt, reckless, desper ate, had struck her horse a sharp blow , —and she was in the road before him, galloping away. (Continued next week.) Our Handicapped Commerce. By David Starr Jordan. When we say “our ships,” “our trade “ “our capital,” we forget sometimes that these objects do not belong to the American people. The United States, as such, owns no merchant ships, has no trade, ventures no capital. These are personal afTairs of some American citi zens. Capital is international. In a de gree, the great shipping corporations are international. Their stock belongs to who soever will buy. You and I can be part owners if we will. The American flag is a specialized luxury at sea. The Brit ish flag is available on very easy terms. It is really international, as the Amer ican flag is not; therefore, half the com merce of the world sails under it. Eng- ( land asks few questions, makes few re strictions, and shin owners register their deep sea fleet as Britlsn snips. The American flag can be used only on ships built in America and under other restrictions which practically ex clude world commerce. By our naviga tion statutes, our short sighted fathers tried to help American shipbuilders by cutting out foreign competition. The ef fect was to cut us out of foreign waters, and to limit the shipping under our flag to- interior and coastwise traffic. It is no part of good government to help an industry by taxing trade. It is not its function to support any special industry. Its main duty is to see fair play and an open field. Shall we not hasten matters by sub sidies? No, most certainly, no. No worthy business can rest on subsidy. Subsidy is a confession of weakness, it is a scheme by which you and I, with no share in the profits, contribute to the loss. Subsidy is a form of special privilege— and special privilege is the essence of corruption. Subsidies lead to dependence —not on excellence of service, nor on skill In management, but on success in work ing the government. Hospitality Real Coin of Homo Life. \ From “Novel Ways of Entertaining” by Florence Hull Winterburn, Pub lished by Harpers'. It Is the most experienced wordllngs, the people accustomed to all the luxuries, who like best the novelty of simple little dinners and teas with the spice of fresh interest in them. Thackeray tells a nice tale of old Goldstick going to dine with his poor friend wflio served up excellent mutton chops himself from the stove and popped them on his plate piping hot, with an air of bonhomie and good fellowship 1 that amazed and startled the millionaire, who, nevertheless, enjoyed himself hugely. Something less crude will please our modern taste more, but the spirit is the same; spontaneous, genuine hospitality is 1 the real coin of home life, and those who receive it are more touched than by the 1 splendors of entertainments that cost the givers efforts they make with reluctance and through sacrifice to conventionality. Vermont has decided to return to i earth and gravel road making In tha ( less traveled highways. 1 VISITING PHILOMELA. By Izola Forrester. {Copyright, 1913, by the McClure News paper syndicate.) It Is a restful, beauteous spot, Geral dine,** said the bishop in a rebuking tone. “Geraldine never even turned from tha window. Out of doors it was raining— *■ ®*°w. gray November downpour. Ger aldine s neart felt bare and windswept and desolate and there wore tears in her blue eyes. “I hate it. Uncle Ted,” she flung back Tn|®®r»bly. "I won’t stay here. The bishop smiled at her pleasantly *nd.consulted his time table. You’ll grow to like it, my child, and y^ur Cousin Philomela Is a charming woman when you—er—grow to know her. Oh, 1 know why I’m being planted down here. You needn’t try to gloss it over one bit. Uncle Ted.” Geraldine turned suddenly and made for the wide flat topped desk. Planting her hands on Its glossy surface, she faced the bishop belligerently. "You’re all against me, even mother, and you’ve fixed this up so l can t sail on the 20th. After I’ve made Ml my plans for the year in Paris.” Ridiculous, a year in Paris alone,” said the bishop. "In the first place, Gerry, my dear, your voice is very medi ocre. In Fairfield it was a wonder. You have a pretty, light inezza soprano ut terly unfit for even concert work.” Geraldine stared down at him. For i whole week she had been trying to get used to Greenacres. Cousin Philomela’s home on the Virginia bank of the Poto mac. It might nave been pleasant in summer or spring. In early December It was desolate. Yet she had managed to exist some way. If it had not been for the long rides every time the rain stopped, she would have fled long ago. But at least there had been the rides. And the man in the military cloak. Somehow, now, as she thought of stay ing here perforce, he came back as the 3QQ inducement. "If you visit Philomela until after Christmas,” continued the bishop, benev alently, “and are willing to give up this notion thereafter, you are to Join your mother and me in the west.” “And if I don’t?” "You may visit Philomela Indefinitely.” After the bishop had taken his depar ture, and Philomela had tried to comfort Ter, Geraldine opened the window wide to the night atr and let the wind blow m her face af\d throat. Below was a balcony and from that Just a step to the ground. She heard the dull thud of horses’ hoofs >n the wet grass before she could see Any shape, and stood holding her breath. a slender, eager figure silhouetted against the golden paten of the window space, lust for a moment she saw him in the lamp’s glow as he crossed its path of light, the same youthful, reckless figure >n the bay horse, and the military cloak flung back from one shoulder, as he looked up at heT and lifted his cap. “Phil, dear,” 9aid Geraldine at break asi me next morning, wno are your leighbors?” “We haven’t any near ones, I’m sorry to say. There are the Seatons about four miles farther d<rwn the river. You can see the red chimneys of their house on i clear day. And then there are two daces above us on the river bank, the Carterests and the Jamesons, but they ire closed in winter. Geraldine leaned her chin on her palms seriously. Who wears a military cloak ind rides horseback ?" “When on earth did he get back?” she lemanded, and Geraldine laughed. “Then you do know him? I've seen him svery single day when I’ve been out rid ing, and once when my girth was loose md Butterfly started to dance as I was tightening it, he came along and fixed it for me.” “Oh, my dear, my dear, and the bishop’s pono.” exclaimed her cousin. “You must not even talk to Jack Carteret.’’ “What's ho done?” asked Gerry, flatly. “Nothing, but he’s not one of us. lie’s i very ultra sort of person, Gerry, and you won’t get tangled up with him, will you? W’hen Colonel Carteret died Inst year, it turned out there wasn’t a soul left of the old family, and this person :ame from somewhere out of the west-’’ “I came from there, too," put in Gerry, mildly. “But, dear, he had been a cowboy. Geraldine’s eyfs sparkled. Memories of lome of the glorious old days at her rather’s ranch on the old Belle Fourche river up in Wyoming swept over her. ‘T like him,” she declared, “and he’s coming to see me, and you’d better allow t, Phil, for It’s absolutely the only diver sion I can see.” Philomela gave In hesitantly; but that ifternoon, as the clouds broke over Smoky mountain, Jack Carteret sat before the blazing fire in the long old library drink ng tea and telling Gerry that he knew svery ranch along the Belle Fourche and lad been foreman once . old Bill Mer •Itt’s XOX outfit above by. “I knew the way you 1. you belonged >ut home,” she said joyously. Come >ften.” He did. Every day they rode together tnd every afternoon Miss Elliot played jhaperon unwillingly over the tea table irkl someway Parle faded away into a listant dream to Gerry, and all she longed ’or was a return to the dear old ranch hat had lain idle since the death of her ather, two years ago. Then came one early morning when the )ig bay horse reined at the veranda. It vos before breakfast and Gerry was out rimming off dead slips from the rose tushes. “I’m going back home.” he said, with out preliminaries. “The other chap’s urned up.” “WTk*t other chap? T don’t understand. “Seabury Carteret, my cousin. He went o Japan eight years ago, strolled around he orient, and succeeded in losing him elf s* well that the report of his death vas want in. Last night I rode down to he. pastofflce after I left her. and found here was a telegram for me. lie’s in New fork, ready to take this whole thing off ny haftde, and I’m going back to Wyom ng. V/ill you come along, Gerry?” It w|a asked quickly. He swung from he saddle and stood before her, all his ieart’1 love in eyes and voice, and Gerry aughtfl softly, happily. She knew every ilessed thing that he had meant to tell ter. a*td sk* answered. “I’d Jove to. Jack.” “Batsk to the ranch life, dear?” “Badk to everything, bless It,” said Jerry This Sympathetic World. Fffim the Saturday Evening Post. We ere surprised to learn that within a ortnlfiht or so after the Titanic sank >nly $760,000 had been subscribed for relief f tht survivors. A number of very vealttiv and distinguished persons sank vdth t^e Titanic. She was a ship on which ny wnll-to-do person might have taken >asstiif>. Consequently, when the tragic iews was told, almost anybody with nones enough to travel abroad might asily 'vave imagined himself as a passen ;er of the. doomed boat; and everybody laturaTly is sympathetic toward himself. Ve ar* surprised th it the relief fund was 10 larger. The true figures are brought out in con lectioft with a report that appeals for re lef ot the Volturno survivors brougnt nlv $?*000. The Volturno, you see, was xclusl^ely an immigrant ship Hardly ne of Jler passt ngers could speak English r possessed $100. Almost all of them wore ldiculdUiS clothes and had been engaged n ridiculous occupations. Merely as a story the burning of the ?olturWo and the rescue of the survivors vas intensely exciting: but the moment a vell-diAased, well-to-do world knew the 'ictlms weri immigrants its interest for he molt part automatically ceased. Over .n Ante?, a Hays, a Strauss, disappearing >eneath the icy water of the AtlanHc, its ieart thrilled with sympathetic horror be ause lb them it could see Itself drowning; ►ut It flmply could not Imagine Itself a mssenjpr in the steerage of an Immigrant hip. fit) what actually happened to per ons in that position was nothing but an nteresttng story. We still think It re narkable that the Titanic subscriptions rere oftly 32 times as large as the Vol urno Subscriptions Ha Must Hava Boon Hard Up. Tbr~ Managing Editor: "Did you give bat fellow a job?" The City Editor: “I did. He told mo he truth about himself." "What did he. say?” "Said he was broke and needed work.” ‘‘Good! I hud him sized up wrong. For he moment I thought he was going to tell rou he’d bc*en free-lancing for several nonths. but would accept a position on >ur staff it it would be any accommoda ion to ua.” Our Statesmen. Ambrose Bierce, the brilliant satir ist. gave, at a dinner In Washington, a few political definitions. "A conservative,” said Mr. Bierce, “Is a statesman who Is enamored of existing evils, while a radical would replace them with others.” ECZEMA ON HANDS AND ARMS 1S21 Douglas St., Omaha, Neb.—"My trouble began from a bad form of eo »ema all over my hands, neck and arms. I could get no sleep for the Itching and burning. The small pim ples looked red and watery and my akin and scalp became dry and ltch tng. The pimples Irritated me so that I would scratch until they bled. I could not put my hands In water and If I once tried it they burned so X could not stand It. I had to have my hands tied up and gloves on all the time for nearly two months. Some times I would scratch the skin ott It irritated so and I could do no work at all. . “I tried all kinds of remedies but nothing did any good. Then I saw In the newspaper about Cuticura Soap and Ointment and got some. I was completely healed in five or six weeks. They have not troubled me alnce.” (Signed) Joe Uhl. Jan. 31. ’14. Cuticura Soap and Ointment sold throughout the world. Sample of each free,with 82-p. Skin Book. Address post card "Cuticura, Dept. L, Boston.”—Adv. The amateur poet Is going some when he earns enough money with his pen to pay for the Ink. -- 1 m Sporting Instinct Aroused. The street-corner orator h»d fatfc* ered around him a group of urchlML W hy they listened so attentively he didn’t understand; nor probably did they know themselves. Simply nntiw lng doing. But the orator took foil advantage of his opportunity and de livered an Improving lecture on the value of kindness to dumb animals. Ah the end he sought for some Illustra tion to point the moral and adorn the tale. It was there at hand. Across the way walked a lady, leading twe little dogs in leash. The one was black and the other white. ’'Now." exclaimed the tub-thumper, “after what I have said, supposing those two dear little dogs were to start fighting, whah would be the first thing you would do?” No answer came at first; but one little arab turned to look at the dogs critically and thoughtfully. “WsH. guv-nor," he answered, at last, “I ««> I’d 'avs tuppence on the little black ’un!" A Rough Road. “My dear sir,” said the philosopher “when we look about us and see the troubles that afflict other people, we ought to rejoice that our own paths through life are made smooth.” “Tour path may be smooth," sighed the pessimist, “but a thundering biy steam roller would have to make e great many trips over mine before the bumps In It were pressed out.” Both Imposed Upon. Deserted Wife (telling grocer her troubles)—And I trusted him so. Grocer—Confound It! So did I. Save the Babies. INFANT MORTALITY is something frightful. We can hardly realize that of all the children bom in civilized countries, twenty-two per cent., or nearly one-quarter, die before they reach one year ; thirty-seven per cent., or more than one-third, before they are five, and one-half before they are fifteen I We do not hesitate to say that a timely use of Castoria would save a majority of these precious lives. Neither do we hesitate to eay that many of these infantile deaths are occasioned by the nse of narcotic preparations. Drops, tinctures and soothing syrups sold for children’s complaintB contain more or less opium or morphine. They are, in considerable quantities, deadly poisons. In any quantity, they stupefy, retard circulation and lead to congestions, sickness, death. Castoria operates exactly the reverse, but you must see that it bears the signature of Chas. IL Fletcher. Castoria causes the blood to circulate properly, opens the pores of the skin and allays fever. Genuine Castoria always bears the signature of FURNISHED BOND OF AMITY Discomfited ‘‘Good Samaritan” the Un willing Means of Bringing Rival Humorists Together. Once upon n time two humorists dwelt in the same small town and both contributed to the Sunday Star. As was but natural, they became wildly Jealous of each other, and when one would win a little more prominence than his fellow the other would have seven kinds of fits. "Your Pleasant Valley Items give me a pain!” quoth one. “Your prose rhymes make me 111!" retorted the other. As they were about to come to blows there ap peared on the scene a Good Samaritan and to him they appealed. “Which of us Is the funnier?” they asked. "Neith er!” was the prompt reply. "You are both as unfunny as wart hogs, and as tiresome as a trip across the Sahara!" Thereat they both set upon the gen tleman from Samaria and beat him full sore, and dwelt together In amity forever after. Moral: From this we should learn that while humorists delight In quar reling among themselves, they fre quently resent criticism from outsid ers.—Kansas City Star. That’s Settled. Bobble (who has been sent over for the fifth time to find out how Mrs: Brown Is)—All right, ma; she's dead. nnumi oncArrASI. Change Gave Rugged Health. Many persons think that for strength, they must begin the day with a breakfast of meat and other heavy foods. This is a mistake as anyone can easily discover for him self. A W. Va. carpenter’s experience may benefit others. He writes: "I used to be a very heavy break fast eater but finally indigestion caused me such distress, I became afraid to eat anything. “My wife suggested a trial of Grape Nuts and as I had to eat something or starve, I concluded to take her advice. She fixed me up a dish and I remarked at the time that the qual ity was all right, but. the quantity was too small—I wanted a saucerful. “But she said a small amount of Grape-Nuts went a long way and that I must eat it according to directions. , Bo I started in with Grape-NutB and [ cream, two soft boiled eggs and some crisp toast for breakfast. “I cut out meats and a lot of other ■tuff I bad been used to eating all my life and was gratified to see that l was getting better right along. I concluded I had struck the right thing ■nd stuck to it. I had not only been Bating Improper food, but too much. “I was working at the carpenter’s trade at that time and thought that unless I had a hearty breakfast with plenty of meat, I would play out be fore dinner. But after a few days of my "new breakfast” I found I could io more work, felt better in every way, and now I am not bothered with Indigestion.” Name given by Postum Co., Battle Creek, Mich. Read “The Road to Well ville,” in pkgs. “There’s a Reason.” Evtr read the above letter? A new >ne appear* from time to time. They 1 ire iceiinine, true, and fall of htuuun At l crest. For Real Enjoyment. "Going to the theater again? Why, you saw that piece only the othsg night." "Yes, but not In my new frock.” Defined. “Pa. what Is a theorist?” "A theorist, son, Is a person who puts up the talk and expects soma* body else to put up the money.”— Baltimore Sun. TOUR OWN DRUGGIST WII.I. TKI.I. YOU Try Murln# By# Remedy for Red, Weak, Wauurf Byes and Granulated HSyolids: No Smarting-* lust Bye Comfort. Write for Book of the Hyc by mail Free. Marin# Bye Remedy Oo., Chicago,. Oh, That Way I “It’s such a silly superstition to be always picking up pins!” "You may call it a superstition If you wish, but I know a chap who makes about $6 a week by doing It/* "How can a fellow gather that many?" “He works In a bowling alley.”— Judge. Marriage Causes False Fire Alarm. Seven minutes of blasts from th* whistle of the Passaic Metalware com pany, In honor of the marriage of the daughter of the superintendent, re cently turned out five volunteer Are departments. The fog made the whit tle audible In Rutherford. Nutley, Belleville, Garfield and Clifton and the firemen rushed to headquarters at the. alarm. It took half an hour to determine where the whistling came from. The wedding which caused the commotion united Miss Sallle Karp, 217 Brook, avenue, Passaic, to Michael F. 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