Feb. 25, 1807
THE NEBRASKA INDEPENDENT.
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She m a thin slip of a girl, with
pale sallow cheeks and a figure as frag
ile m the flowers she carried la her bas'
ket
It was her eye and her hands which
marked her off from the common herd.
Had these been of regulation pattern,
there were nothing to distinguish her
from any of the dozen of her compan
ions. But her eyes, which were brown
In color, were large and lustrous and
had a provoking habit of drooping the
lashes when she looked at one. Whether
calculated coquetry or native-born
manner were chiefly concerned would
have puzzled an expert to decide. That
it was "fetching" few men would have
ventured to deny. Her hand, email and
well-shaped, boasted the taper fingers
and fllbert-nalls generally associated
with birth and breeding.
She sold flowers in Cbeapside. Her
station was the steps of the Peel statue;
and every morning, week in and week
out, as the clocks of the city were strik
ing 10 she would deposit her basket at
the foot of the column and prepare for
the business of the day.
From 10 to 6 she plied her wares
diligently, pushing the sale with all the
tact which a life's experience had
taught her and all the wiles which a
woman's wit could suggest. But each
evening, wben the weary city was fast
emptying and the bell of the great ca
thedral was stil echoing overhead, her
eye would sweep the long length 'of
crowded asphalt with searching
glances; and as she scanned the teem
ing multitude pouring westward a spot
of crimson would suddenly show In Urn
wan, white cheeks and the dark-brown
orbs would flash and kindle with a I
curious mystic light.
He always contrived to be in Cheap
side between 6 and half-past. It wa
their custom to walk down Queen Vic
toria street to Blackfrlars bridge. At
this point they separated she crossing
to the Surrey side, he taking a "turn"
i&rough Fleet street and the Strand be
fore following In the same direction.
They had commenced the practice In
midwinter, had continued It through
out the spring, and now they had
reached midsummer.
From afar she could distinguish his
barrow from among the throng of ve
hicles which filled the thoroughfare.
When he bad "doubled" the corner and
got Into the comparative "slack water"
of the churchyard Bhe crossed over and
Joined him. A nod that was almost
imperceptible, answered by a smile that
was bright and sunny, waa all the rec
ognition that passed between them.
The girl's glance wandered involun
tarily to the barrow. It was the sea-
YE'VK GOT YER WISH,
son for cherries, and she noticed the
long array of empty baskets.
"Been 'avln a good day, Joe, ain't
yer?"
"Mlddlln' like."
"W'y y'aint on'y one 'molly' left."
"P'raps I been glvln' 'em away." The
tone was unmistaklngly surly.
For the next thirty yards they
walked on in silence, the girl watching
the man furtively, the man pushing the
harrow languidly and staring strenu
ously at nothing. ,
"Ha' yer thort on wot I tole yer?"
he said presently, as the girl stepped oft
the pavement to avoid collision with
a parcels boy. The light that had light
ed them died out of her eyes, the color
which had come into her cheeks for
sook them, her mouth grew hard, and
her face almost lost at once its youth
and animation.
The man continued to stare into va
cancy and walk mechanically after his
barrow.
"I can't do ut, Joe. " I can't do ut I
ain't got no rest these two nights but
I can't do ut."
The words came with difficulty and
the voice palpitated with emotion.
1 The man shrugged his shoulders im
patiently. "Wot's the good uv 'im, eh? A
dod'rin ole lunetic. Wot's the use uv
'im ter anybody? He orter been dead
years ago."
"He's me father, Joe," she mur
mured, reproachfully.
"Father be blowed! He's dun a lot
fer you, ain't he? Y'ort ter feel proud
uv im, didn't yer? Pinchin' his gal's
money annum- tin ne s goi iae uev-
ls' an' talkin' 'tommy rot' 'bout oem'
a gentleman an' the eon uv a geniie-
'jnan. W'y he ain't got no more ae
oency 'an a pig. When he can't gorge
hisself no longer a pig '111 He in the
swill trough, and when your gentleman
lather's had a skinful he'll snore by
the hour 'longside a quart pot."
He stole a glance at the girl out of
the corner of his eye. The busy bust
ling life of London eddied round them;
the roar of the great Babylon was in
their ears; but not Strephon and
Chlorls in the sweet seclusion of idyllic
innna nonld have been more oblivious to
the passing moment than this pair of
,r.itv lovers In the hot and crowded
streets.
"P'raps he ain't as good as he might
b. But there's wuss about, an' he
traxn't always so, Joe."
"01 It you likes to put up wlv 'lm,
Uza, te do. 'Tain't no concern '
mine Is it?" he added moodily..
"I can't sen' 'im to the workus, Joe.'
"But yer can sen' me to the devil!"
he snapped, eharply; and an ugly look
leapt out of his eyes.
They passed under the railway bridge
which spans the lower end of Queen
Victoria street and reached the point
where they usually parted. The girl
stopped, but the man went on.
"Aren't yer goin' ter sell out, Joe?"
she queried timidly as he turned In the
direction of the river.
"Wot for?"
The tone and the manner puzzled her
more than the words.
For a moment they stood confront
ing each other, the face of the man
working convulsively and the girl's
features contracted with pain.
Blackfrlars bridge was crossed in
silence. Turning into Stamford street
she whispered, hoarsely: "I'm sorry
for yer, Joe; but if it's hard on you it's
rough on me. Anythin' as you ars'd
me to do, Joe anythin' as I cud do 0'
meself like I'd do ut, mate, without
sayln' why or wherefore. But sen' the
ole man to the workus I can't do that,
lad, I know yer think I orter; but I
can't, Joe I can't do ut."
"A pretty fool yer made o me now,
ain't yer? I giv' up the booze an' cut
tommies w'en I tuk up wiv you, 'Liza;
but you'd see me at blazes suner 'an
glv' up that drunken old wagabone wot
lives on yer, an' perwents yer havin' a
man as ud be good to yer."
"It ud break me heart, Joe, ter 'ave
'lm die in the workus."
"Yer thinks a bloomin' sight more
uv a wrong un than yer does uv a right
un," said the man savagely.
She gave him a look which must have
convinced him of his error; but blinded
by passion, he refused to see.
"Well," he snarled, "one of uz 'as got
ter scoot him or me. There ain't room
fer two."
The girl made no reply and they went
on. But silence was too oppressive ana
stifling. Near Waterloo Station the
man spoke again.
"How much yer tuck, 'Liza?"
The question was abrupt, but the
tone was friendly. It Indicated a
change of feeling.
''Seving an' three."
He extended his hand. She put the
money Into it without a word.
"Meet me at the Garding in the
mornin'. 'Liza, and I'll stock the basklt
for yer," said he, returning her nine
pence.
It was a curious transaction, but the
explanation was probably to be found
in the despairing utterance of the wo
man. "He's ad 'em awful bad agen, Joe.
Lars night it wur that dreadful "
She stopped, warned by the cloud that
was sweeping over her companion's
brow.
The man's countenance had suddenly
darkened, sparks from the nether fires
danced in his eyes, the old hard vin
dictive look had returned.
"I wish he may die. I wish he wur
dead!" he muttered fiercely.
"0, Joe! Joe, if yer love me, dun
say thim words," entreated the girl.
"I says 'em cos I loves yer; cos It's
on'y 'im wot's keepin' yer frum a man
as wants ter make a 'appy woman uv
yer. I says 'em cos I means 'em. No
fence ter yer, 'Liza."
" ain't a bad sort, Hoe," said the
girl, turning her swimming eyes full on
him; "but yer a bit down on the ole
man." He gave the barrow an unneces
sarily vigorous shove.
"I'm goin' inter the 'Cut,' 'Liza, ter
finish. No. I ain't dun so dusty" an
swering the question the girl had put
to him half an hour before. "I started
out wiv a dozen, an' this yere's th on'y
one left." He emptied the contents of
the basket on the board. "I shall
knock 'em in the 'Cut' at frepence.
'Tafn't orften they see cherries like
them in New Cut. They're city fruit,
ttiey are. Try 'em." He filled a bag
and gave It to her. "I'll look roun'
arter I clear out."
As he walked away his eyeB followed
her. "She thinks a bloomin' sight too
much, she do, 0' that dru'ken ole
Bcamp, her father," he growled, staring
after the retreating figure; "but I ain't
all a fool, mate. Grit's wuth gold."
In the third pair back of a tenement
house in Lambeth a girl was kneeling
by the sido of a bed. A paper bag was
lying on the coverlet, and some cherries
had fallen on the floor. On the bed
lay the body of a man. The room
reeked with the fumes of whisky. The
long, lithe fingers of the girl's right
hand were clasped convulsively round
the hand of the motionless figure ex
tended on the bed.
"Joe!" she moaned; "Joe, lad, ye've
got yer wish. The old man'll never
rile yer any more. I love yer, mate,
dearer than life; but it's thim words
0' youm as I shall hear, an' not par
son's, on the day yer takes me inter
church."
Too Bad.
A prominent Washington physician,
who owns a cranbery meadow on Cape
Cod, was entertaining an English cou
sin some years ago, eays the Post of
that city. One night at dinner cran
berry sauce was on the table. The
Englishman was delighted with It
Indeed, he expressed his pleasure so
much and so often that after he had
returned to London the doctor sent
him over a barrel of fine' Cape Cod
cranberries. A month or so passed,
and then came a letter from the Eng
lishman. . '.'My dear So-and-So," It
said, "It was awfully good of you to
send me those berries, and I thank you.
Unfortunately, they all soured on the
way over."
' On the Football Team.
"Bragley claims to be a great tack
ier." "He is when you got him at a free
lunch table."
NICKNAMES FOR MONEY.
lull Coins Bear Odd XamH, Man mt
Tbem Erroneous.
Few people realize that every piece
of money bas a nickname. It has,
however, and some of the names are
very odd. The $100 note has hut one
nickname, but it is exceedingly appro
priate, as well as dignified. It needs
no more, for there are thousands In
this country who have never seen a
note of this denomination. Everybody
has seen small change, though, and
the commonness of this species of
money has suggested scores of sobri
quets, appropriate and the reverse,
grave and gay, effusively funny and
humorously pathetic. The "nickel," as
a name, was suggested by the common
idea that this metal entered largely
into the composition of the coin. It is
a misnomer, as the piece consists of
75 per cent of copper and only 25 per
cent cf the metal which gave It a
name. "Car-fares," a slang name for
the same piece, illustrates the univer
sality of this method of transportation,
while "chicken-feed," as a name not
only for five-cent pieces, but also for
other small change undoubtedly came,
from the rural districts. "Flipper-up"
suggests a frequent use to which the
nickel is placed in certain circles.
"Pennies" and "picayunes" indicate
the contempt, more pretended than
real, Into which our smallest coins
have fallen. 'The latter name, like
bit," preserves a morsel of history
not familiar to general readers. "Pica
yune," now used as a synonym for the
smallest value expressed in money
terms, was once the name of a special
coin. It was worth about one-half
cent, and at one time, during our colo
nial days, when all sorts of coins
passed current at all sorts of valua
tions, circulated along the Atlantic
coast. The "bit." now only a money
of account and most familiar in the
well known form, "two bits," a synonym
for the twenty-flve-cent piece, was al
so known at one time ae a coin, equal
In value to one-half the Spanish pista
reen, and when supplanted by our fa
miliar "quarter," the name remained
long after the coins had disappeared.
"Shilling" has now finally disappeared
from use, save along the Canadian
border, where prices are frequently
made in both kinds of money, but the
"bit" we have still with us. St Louis
Post-Dispatch. c
Be Sat on the Baby.
Mr. D. is an extensive real estate
owner in one of the suburbs of New
York. He is also an insurance agent
and a general adviser on matters of law
and equity, and, In addition to all this
he is the roud father of a three-weeks-old
baby. The other day Mrs. D. took
the little treasure into the parlor, and,
after a half hour's cooing, lulled it to
sleep. Then she laid the child on a
Bofa with a pillow at its feet, dark
ened the room and went about her
household duties, just as any good
housewife would. All this time Mr. D.
was busy in the garden. Presently a
neighbor happened along and stopped
for Mr. D.'s opinion on a law master
and was Invited into the darkened par
lor. The visitor went straight for the
sofa. He could see the pillow, but did
not observe the child. He was adjust
ing the pillow to make a nice comfort
able seat, but Mr. D. insisted that he
should sit in the big arm chair, a sort
of seat of honor for all guests. He ac
quiesced and Mr. D. took his seat on
the pillow. About this time Mrs. D.,
whose maternal instinct had asserted
itself, peeped in to see how baby slept.
She saw her husband sitting where she
had -left the child. As she asked In
an alarmed tone where the baby was a
muffled cry came from beneath the pil
low, and Mr. D. jumped up. He had
been sitting on the precious little
thing, and the, timely arrival of his
wife probably saved the child's life. A
few moments more and it would have
been suffocated. "Lucky for the child
that I did not sit on it," remarked the
visitor, who is a man of generous pro
portions. The child Is all right now,
but Mr. D. does not take his clients in
to the parlor any more. New York
Times.
Match Boxes tor Wsmen.
Since the passage of the city ordi
nance pertaining to lamps on bicycles,
women who ride wheels find it neces
sary to carry a match box. Therefore
there are any number of new match
boxes, which are smaller and more
dainty than anything in this line ever
seen before.
"Do the girls buy them?" a promi
nent Jeweler was asked. To which
question he answered: "Yes, indeed.
The smaller sizes are made particu
larly for their special use."
The prettiest of the new match boxes
for girls are of gold, with an enameled
decoration. The enameling either takes
the form of a college or yacht club
flag, or it resembles a hand-painted
miniature showing a girl on a wheel,
or '.he head of a dog. Many of these
match boxes are made with a con
cealed recess for a photograph. It is
only when a certain spring is touched
that the picture can be seen, sotjsklll
fully is it hidden away.
The silver match boxes,- decorated
with the outline of a tiny bicycle in
enamel, are also new and much lesj
expensive. Cincinnati Enquirer.
When Ton See It In Print.
A sensitive man is never so humiliat
ed as when he(is obliged to read his
own proofs. Type mocks the writer.
Tho sentence that in manuscript mov
ed with the stride of an armed man
or danced as a swooning strain of
Strauss is now limp and lame. The
phrase that glowed with color is now
pallid. Sparkling wit Is flat; sage re
flection is Jejune. The thought "Shall
I ever get the money for this?" Is
Joetled by "Who would be fool enough
to p7 tr It?" Boston Journal,
VETERANS' CORNER.
80MB GOOD SHORT STORIES
FOR OLD SOLDIERS.
Two Pieces of Hot Ham Won an Offl
ear s Promotion i'lrnt Sensations In
Battles-Andrew Jackson? and the Sol
diers Bismarck and War.
ckovismbek wooas
are uarv nun
Still,
November days
are clear and
bright,
Cla Each noon burns
up the morn
ing's chill.
The morning's
snow is gone by
night,
.Each day my steps grow slow, grow
, ght.
As through the woods I reverent creep,
Watching all things "lie down to
sleep."
Each day I find new coverlids
Tucked in, and more sweet eyes shut
tight.
Sometimes the viewless mother bids
tier rerns Kneei aown run m my
sight,
I hear their chorus of "good-night,"
And half I smile and half I weep,
Listening while they "lie down to
sleep."
November woods are bare and still.
November days are bright and good.
Life s noon burns up life's morning
chill,
Life's night rests feet that long have
stood.
Some warm, soft bed in field or wood
The mother will not fail to keep
Where we can "lay us down to sleep,
Helen Hunt Jackson.
Involuntary Heroism.
A Polish officer, now dead, who came
to the United States soon after the
Russians suppressed the Polish insur
rection under Gen. Chlopicki,' in 1831,
used to tell with much zest the story
of his promotion from the ranks. He
was a private of cavalry when Chlo-
picki's retreat began. The troops had
made a weary night march, and were
In bivouac for breakfast when scouts
brought word that they were almost
surrounded by a Russian force. In
stantly the Poles hurried to their sad
dles, mounted and sought a way of
escape.
The young cavalryman had been boil
ing some pieces of ham for himself in'
a camp kettle. Anxious to "save his
bacon" he dumped the half-boiled meat
into his saddle bags and joined his
companions. Two minutes later his
horse became restive, at a most inop
portune moment, for on surmounting a
ridge the Poles had found themselves
confronted by a Russian force of in
fantry. There was but one thing to be done.
The Russian line must be broken
through at once. It was being rapidly
re-enforced. If the Poles should fail to
cut their way out at the first charge
they must be all captured.
On they rushed at the order to charge
and now our young trooper's horse had
Ljcome thoroughly frantic and
quite uncontrollable. He sprang far
away in advance of the charging
line. The rider, determining to
make the best of the fight he
could, swung his saber, took a stronger
grip with his knees and gazed hard at
the face of the Russian he expected to
be launched against.
Just then a volley was hurled into the
charging line, but the foremost horse
and rider escaped unharmed. A few
moments and they were upon the
enemy. Usually a horse refuses to
leap at bayonets, but this one Jumped
furiously at the kneeling front rank,
and such was the momentum and fury
of the beast that the Russians just in
his front lost their nerve, broke and
gave him entrance.
Through the gap thus made other
Poles sprang a moment later. Striking
right and left, they widened the breach
and in ten seconds the Russian infantry
was demoralized. The Poles escaped
with, slight loss, and it was not long
before their young leader quieted his
steed, dismounted and found a chance
to examine his half-cooked ham.
A few hours later the Polish general
of cavalry rode up to the captain of
the troop that had so distinguished
itself, complimented him and said: "By
the way, captain, who was that splendid
young officer that led you all in?"
"He wasn't an officer; that was only
one of my boys."
"Not an officer! May the bullets
strike me if I don't make him one! Call
him out here at once."
The general shook hands with the
youth, promoted him to a lieutenancy
then and there and gave him a place
on his staff.
Some days later when the captain
called at headquarters, he sought out
the new lieutenant, whom he found
dolefully contemplating his unsaddled
horso, which had a huge raw sore on
each Bide.
"What on earth is the matter with
your horse?" asked the captain.
"Oh, nothing much!"
"But what made these terrible
sores?"
"The same thing that made me a lieu
tenant," said the hero. "A big chunk
of hot ham in each saddle-bag; but, for
the love of the saints, don't tell the gen
eral or the boys."
Pint Sensations In Battle.
What are the first sensations of the
battlefield? Zola, Tolstoi and Stephen
Crane have Imagined them, and com
batants have written them. "Some
thing whizzed past me like a big blue-
1 if n
bottle on the wing,- says Lieut "lies-
bert" of Plevna fame, "and the current
of air caused by its rajld passag
touched my ear. Another another.
All at once I realized that iiese were
the enemy's bullets, end, ho -rible Jictu,
the discovery brought on a trodden, vio
lent attack ef cholera-like disposition.
The passage may be compared with
Zola's description. "The now constant
hissing of the bullets, with their sharp
ping or buzz whispering around, and
sometimes Into us, gave me a sicken
ine feeling and a cold perspiration.
felt weak around my knees, a sort ef
faintness and lack of strength in the
joints of my legs, as if they would sink
from under me. These symptoms did
not decrease when several of my com
rades were hit," says Mr. Lee Goss, a
former private in the Army of the Po
tomac. No one quite knows how he
will behave. "No man I am quoting
Wilkeson's stirring narrative "really
enjoys a battle. One has to string np
his nerves and take a firm grip on him
self morally, and hold himself in the
battle-flames for a few moments until
warmed to passion. The impulse Is to
run out of danger."
If the raw soldier is there and then
led forward against the enemy, the trial
to his nerves will be less severe than
if he has to wait under a heavy shell
and shrapnel fire to which he can make
no reply. In the one case he will only
have his danger to think about. This
was, perhaps, the reason why, in the
war of 1870-71, the German soldiers
rushed impatiently against the French
positions. "The beat of the drum went
before the thunder of our guns, and onr
power was shattered by the fire of the
foe's unshaken infantry." He was
anxious to end the period of tension,
and to come to hand-grips with his
enemy. But he paid, and paid very
dearly, for his impatience. Fortnight
ly Review.
Jackson and the Soldiers.
Andrew Jackson was an extreme
man. He hated his enemies, and he
hated the enemies of his country. He
loved his friends, and he loved all of
his old soldiers. He would defend
them, even when they were wrong.
That is to say, he would protect them,
and make all charitable allowances for
them. It was the intensity of his radical
nature which led him to say that a
gallant soldier on the battlefield earned
the right to get drunk. Very few would
agree with him in this day and age,
when the temperance sentiment is
overspreading the land.
In those days pensions were not lib
erally bestowed, and the old soldiers,
in times of peace, were kept on the
pay roll and cared for as though on
actual duty. Nowadays things are dif
ferent. Disabled soldiers receive pen
sions, and old soldiers who are unable
to care for themselves are given food,
shelter and raiment in the soldiers'
home. The deserving officers of the
regular army are placed on the retired
list, and have ample incomes from the
government to support them.
Blsmarck on War.
In his old age, Bismarck has come to
a realizing sense of the horrors of war.
He thinks that war may be begun only
when the honor of a country absolutely
requires it Onward quotes the prince
as saying:
"If the ministers of foreign affaire
had always accompanied their sover
eigns, or the commander-in-chief, dur
ing the campaign, history would cer
tainly contain fewer records of war.
On the battlefield, and, which is worse,
in the field hospitals, I have seen the
flower of our youth succumb to their
wounds and to disease. Even now I see
many a cripple look up at my window,
evidently thinking: "If it were not for
the man up there, who made the war,
I would be well and strong at home."
Such reminiscences and such tights
would rob me of my peace, if I had to
accuse myself of having made war
lightly and only to gain a name.
I will never advise his majesty the
king to go to war unless the interests
of the country absolutely demand it."
An Anecdote of the War.
A soldier who had been taken pris
oner had a wife and children living in
New Jersey. A good minister, learning
that there was soon to be a general
exchange of prisoners, and wishing to
relieve the terrible anxiety of the wife,
called and told her that her husband
would probably be exchanged in a
short time.
"Well," said the poor, broken-hearted
woman, "I love John, and the children
love him, and if he isn't so handsome
as some men, I don't want to exchange
him, I don't, and I Just won't have a
rebel for a husband, so now!"
A Wife Worth Having.
Mrs. Kruger, the wife of President
Kruger of the Transvaal, who is an ex
tremely homely woman, does nearly all
her own housework, cooking meals,
making her own bed, and always takes
a hand In the family washing. When
her husband has "state guests" to din
ner the good lady will trust the
task of waiting on the table to no one,
and, donning a white apron,' sbe per
forms the office of butler. Her hus
band has a private fortune of $25,000,
000, but it's "Aunty" Kruger's boast
that they live on their "coffee money"
a perquisite of $2,000 a year allowed
them by the government
Wanted to Be Let In.
The scarcity of employment and the
Btrlngency of the times . may be in
ferred from the following specimen ad
vertisement: "Mister: I want a Job.
Mi fokes ain't ritch an 1 got to rossle.
They are ded. It betes hell how hard
times is. 1 can do chore. 1 look well
h store close an learn fast. 1 want a
Job in your ofls. Let me in."
RESPECTABLE RIDERS.
t to Jast as Well to Talb 0110? at
Not to Farmer.
"Hello, old gentleman! Are we on
me right road to Newburg, and what's
:he name of this place?" calle4 out oae
of two wheelmen who, while spinning
along a country road, had halted be
side a corn field in which an old man
was plowing. The old man thus ad
dressed "whoa'd" his mule, wrapped
the reins about the plow handle and
began fairly tumbling down the hill be
tween the rows of corn.
"Don't bother to come; we can hear,"
sxpostulated the cyclist, but the elder
ly plowman only increased his speed
and finally struck the road.
"I wanted to take a look at you,"
he panted, leaning against the stone
wall; "you're the most respectable
soundin' fellers I've seen since sunrise;
been tryin' to plow this here corn patch
pretty nigh all day, and ain't done
much more'n tell a lot 0' chaps on
them wheel machines how to git to
places. Kind 0 thought might as well
make a sign post 0' myself and stand
round here som'ere p'intin' up the
road. Wouldn't mind so much," he
continued, balancing his hat on his left
ear while he mopped his countenance,
"if some 0' them city houseplants
didn't think themselves so tarnation
smart! You spoke civil like, and called
me 'gentleman' just now, and I'm will
In' to tell you all I kin, but when a
passel of upstarts comes whizzin' 'long
a-ringin' their bells at nothin' but rab
bit tracks, with legs on 'em that looks
as if they had been fired at by that
new-fangled X-Y-Z sharpshooter, and
:alls me Deacon Hayseed, Poppy Grass
and Daddy Corn Cob, it's not agreeing
with me, and they finds out it ain't.
"I asks a feller this mornin' who he
thought he was talkin' to, and he said,
'a modern Cincinnatus,' and then he
winked at anojther feller. Now, I likes
to be winked at just as much as any
body, and I told that feller that per
haps he was a modern New Yorkus and
owned the earth, and wus ridin' 'round
to boss the job, but I'd be blamed If he
didn't look "jist like the greenest,,
darndees grasshopper I'd ever seen
a-straddle one o' them patent go
arounds.
'"We're scorchin',' says one. 'Glad
of it,' says I, 'fur maybe you'll be
needin the practice later on.' I talks
respectable to them as talks respectable
to me, and Newburg's straight ahead
then to the right every time and the
name o this place is Claudius Smith's
Turnpike. If you'll stop at the house,
round the curve yonder, the folks'll
give you some buttermilk, fresh
churned city livers like buttermilk."
And the old man climbed back to the
plow, where a lot of horse flies were
laughing at the way the mule was try
ing to kick them and couldn't. St
Louis Post-Dispatch.
GRAY IN THE RANKS.
Emily Horrell Wood, California's Oldest
Woman Suffragist-
Mrs. Emily Morrell Wood is the old
est woman suffragist woman in Califor
nia. She hopes to live long enough to
be able to cast her first vote. It Is
probable that universal suffrage will
win in the golden state. Mrs. Wood
fs a native of New York and is upward
of 86 years old. She went to Califor
nia in 1850 with her husband in the
bark Palmetto, of which he was part
owner. The climate suited him bo
nicely that he decided to make Califor
nia his home. Mrs. Wood has lived in
San Francisco ever since. She was a
schoolmate of Elizabeth Cady Stanton.
Her father and the father of Mrs. Stan
ton were judges on the same bench.
Some years ago Mrs. Wood became af
flicted with cataract and was totally
blind for four years. A surgical opera
tion was performed and her sight waa
restored completely. She is a great
reader and very fond of needlework.
Her late husband was a partner of
John Lorimer Graham, the famous New
York barrister. She is one of th
T , "
Vll
EMILY M. WOOD.
Anneke Jans heirs. Her great mm).
father was married to Rachel, who was
the granddaughter of Anneke Jans. The.
ow ladys memory of matters lnn
since past is perfect, and her health i
remarkably sound for one of her years.
Miss Helen Glailatone.
Helen Gladstone tho A
j 'tTKl KJL tflo
great statesman, is thought
ble her father in appearance, and also
possesses a large degree of his remark
able vitality. When graduating at
Newnham she invariably kept her
table in the best of spirits by her amus
ing stories and witty repartees For
ordinary society conventions she showB
little respect, and is quite indifferent
as to dress, appearing at all sorts of
functions in Dlain. spnsHhia
- . vuommes.
She is a universal favorite among her
Entitled to Consideration.
"Mv missrulded rrlnrt ' '..
" nam tne fat
man With the nuffa nno. i. . 1
. - "-uci uio eyes t
will admit that I am a capitalist That
El? yZ IT "n h ? ch
O ,. ucu ,u B(,y. . j
not a nrodnr vnn ' ttl am
been backln 7Z:Z. 1 nav
tor two months," COmpanJr