ST"?
The Riser's
By HON RE
CHAPTER VII.
M. Grandet entered the room, gave
b (harp glance at the table an4 an
other at Charles. He saw bow it waa at
ence.
"Aha! fon hare been making a fete for
your nephew. Good, very good, oh! very
good, indeed: le aid. without stammer
ing. "When the cat ia i) the mice
sua; play.
"Fete?" thought Chr'r, alio bad uot
the rvmoteu conception of affsira in
the Grande household.
Gran.ltt dr.w from hia waistcoat pock
et a lange clasp-knife with a stag's horn
handle, out a slice of bread, buttered it
lowly and sparingly, and began to eat
f he stood. Just then Charles put tome
sugar into hia coffee; this called Gran
det'a attention to the pi-ea of augar ou
the table: b looked bard at hia wife.
ho turned pale and came a step or two
Inward him; he bent down and said in
the poor woman's ear:
"Where did all that sugar come from?
"Nanon went out to Kessarl's for
Some; there waa none in the house. V
It is impossible to dscri! the j ain-
ful interest that this dumb -how 1
(eased for the three women; Nsuou Tad,
tft her kitchen, uu 1 w as looking into j
ie dining room to see how thiu-s went :
there, Charles meanwhile t.'.ste.l hia cof
fee, found it rather strong, aud looked j
round for another piece of sugar, but
Grandet had already pounced upon it and .
taken it away.
"What do you want, nephew ?" the j
Id innn inquired.
"The sugar." j
"Tour in nice npre milk if your cof ;
lee is too strong." answered the master ,
If the house. I
Eugenie took up the saucer, of which
Grandet had previously taken po-seii-lion,
and set it on tie t.il.le. looking
quietly at. her father the while. Charles
ad not the remotest conception of what
f cousin endured f..r Ui:n. or of tlie
porrible dismay that filled her heurt as
he met her father's angry eye.; he
Smild never even know of her sacrifice.
"You are eating nothing, wife?"
Tlie poor bond-slave went to the table,
rut a piece of bread in fear and tiein
bling, and took a pear. Eugenie, grown
tackles, offered the grapes to her fath
er, saying as she did so:
"Just try aome of my fruit, papa'. You
will tnfce some, will you ivt. cousin? I
brought those pretty grapes down ou i
purpose for you'"
"Oh! if they could have their way,
they would turn Sauuiur upside dow a for
Loo, nephew! As mn as jou have fiu
ihed we wiil take a turn iu the girden
together; I have some things to tell you
thnt would take a deal of sugar to sweet
en them.' t
Eugenie and ber mother Imth gave
Charles a look, which the young man
could not mistake.
"What do you moan by that, uncle?
Piuce my mother died there la no mis
fortune possible for me."
"Who can know what afflictions heav
en may send to make trial of us,
nephew?" aaid hia aunt,
"Tut, tut, tut," muttered Grandet.
"here you are beginning with your folly
already! I am sorry to see that you
art Buch white hands, nephew."
Ha displayed the fists, like shoulders
f mutton, with which nature had termi
nated bis own arms.
"That ia the sort of band to rake the
crowns together! You put the kind of
leather on your feat that we used to
make pocketbooks of to keep bills in.
That i the way you have been brought
p. That'a bad! that's bad!"
"What do you mean, nncle? I'll be
hanged if I understand one word of
thla."
- "Come along," aaid Grandet, and the
miser shut bis knife with a snap and
opened the door.
"Oh! keef up your courage, cousin!"
Something in the girl 'a voice sent a
ndden chill through Charles; he follow
ed hia formidable relative with dread
ful misgivings. Eugenie and her moth
er and Nanon went into the kitchen; au
uncontrollable anxiety led thrm t9 watch
the two actors IU the scene which was"
about to take place in the damp little
garden.
Uncle and nephew walked together iu
silence at firtt. Grandet felt the situa
tion to be a somewhat awkward one; not
tbat he shrank at all from telling Charles
of bis father'a death, but be felt a kind
of pity for a young man left in this way
without a penny In the world, and he cast
about for phrases that should break the
cruel news aa gently as might be. "You
lave loet your father!" he could say that;
there waa nothing In that; fathers usual
ly prodeeease their children. But, "You
have not a penny!" All the woea of the
world were summed op In those words,
so for the third time the worthy man
walked the whole length of the path in
the center of the garden, crunching the
gravel beneath bis heavy boots, and no
word waa aaid.
"It 1 very fine; very warm," said
Grandet, drawing in a deep breath of air.
"Well, my boy, "I have some bad news
for you. Your father la very ill "
"What am I doing here?" cried
Charles. "Nanon!" be ahotited, "order
poet horses! I shall be sure to find a
carriage of aome sort In the place, I snp
pose," he added, turning to his uncle,
who had not stirred from where he stood.
"Horses and a carriage are of no nee,"
Grandet answered, looking at Charles,
who Immediately stared straight before
him In ailence. "Yea, my poor boy, yon
guess what has happened; he Is dead.
Bat that ia nothing; there la something
worse; be baa shot himself through the
head "
"My father?"
"Yes. but that la nothing, either. The
newspapers are discussing It, aa if it
were any hnslnese of theirs. There, read
tor yourself."
Grandet had borrowed Crnchot'v pa
ter, and now he laid the fatal paragraph
before Charles. The poor young fellow
he waa only a lad as yet made no
attempt to hide his emotion, and burst
bete tears.
"Cease, that la batter," aakl Grandet
t himself. "Tbat look In bis eyes fright
ened me. Ha la crying; ha will pull
tVreagh. Never mind, my poor nephew,"
.. Crtftdat resMal stood, not knowing
MM Charles beard bun or ne, "tbat
totctizj, n wo w i. "
0)
Daughter
DE BALZAC
"Never! never! My lather! my fath
er!" "He baa ruined you; you are penni
le.' "What is that to me? Where it my
father?" The sound of bis sobbing filled
the little garden, reverberated in ghast
ly echoes from the walls. Tears are as
infectious as laughter; the three women
wept with pity for him. Charles broke
from his uncle without waiting to hear
more, and sprang into the yard, found
the staircase, and tied to hia own room,
where he flung himself across the bed
and buried his face in the bedclothes,
that be might give way to bia grief.
"Let him alone till the first shower Is
over," said Grandet. roing back to the
parlor. Eugenie and her mother bad
hastily returned to their places, had dried
their eyes, and were sewing with cold,
trembling fingers. "But that fellow is
good for nothing," went on Grandet; "he
is so taken up with dead folk that be
doesn't even think about the money."
Eugenie shuddered to hear the most
sacred of sorrows spoken f in u h a 1
way; from that moment she beau to j
cnti-ifce her father, t'harles' wilis, snioth-
ered though they were, r ing through 'hat
Lotine or echo; the sound seeuieo to
come from under the earth, a heartrend
ing wail that grew fainter toward the
end of the day, and only ceased as night
drew on.
"1'ixir boy!" said Mme. Grandet.
It was an unfortunate remark. Good
man Grandet looked at his wife, then
at Eugenie, then at the sugar basin, he
rec.lle. ted the sumptuous breakfast pre
pared that morning for their unhappy
kin-.ni. in, and planted himself in the mid
dle of the room.
"I.ook hen-, you two," he exclaimed,
"there is to 1 no nonsense, mind! I
am going to Cruchot's and have a talk
with him about all this."
CHAPTER VIII.
Grandet went out. As soon as the
d'r closed iion Grandet, Eugenie and !
Iier mother breathed more freely. The
g;rl had never felt constraint iu her
father's presence until that morning; but
a few hours had wrought rapid changes
in her feelings.
".Mhuiiuh. how many louis is a Logs
bead of wine worth?"
"Vmir father gets something between
a hundred and a hundred and fifty francs
for his; sometimes two hundred, I be
lieve, from what I have heard him fray."
"And would there be fourteen hundred
hogsheads in a vintage?"
"I don't know how many there are,
child, upon my word; your father never
talks about business to me.'
"Hut. anyhow, pupa must be rich."
"May be. P.ut M. Cruchot to'd me
that your father bought Froid.'oud two
year ago. That would be a heavy pull
on him."
"He did not even so much as see me.
the poor dear!" said Nanon, entering the
room, "lie is lying there ou his bed like
a calf, crying, you never saw the like!
I'ortr young man; what can be the mat
ter with him?"
"I-t us go up at once and comfort
him, mamma; if we bear a knock, we
will come downntairs."
There was something in the muKical
tones of her daughter's voice which Mme.
Grandet could not resist Eugenie waa
sublime; she was a girl no longer, she
was a woman. With beating hearts they
climbed the stairs and went together to
Charles' room. The door was open. The
young man saw nothing and heard noth
ing; he was absorbed in hia grief.
"How he loves his father!" said Eu
genie In a low voice, and in her tone
there was an unmistakable accent and
hopes of which she was unaware. Mme.
Grandet, with the quick Instinct of a
mother'a love, apoks in her ear.
"Toke care," she said, "or you may
love him."
"Love him!" aaid Eugenie. "Ah! if
you only knew what my father aaid."
Charlea moved aligljily as he lay, and
saw his aT4nt ffBu ffOltfjjJ
.."1 have lost my father," he cried; "my
poor father! If be had only trusted me
ant) told me about his losses, we might
have worked together to rFpair them.
My kind father! I was so sure that I
should see him again, and I said good by
so carelessly."
"We will surely pray for him," said
Mme. Grandet. "Submit yourself to the
will of heaven!"
"Take courage, cousin." said Eugenie
gently; "nothing can give your father
back to you; you must now think how
to save your honor."
A woman always baa her wits about
her, even in -her capacity of comforter,
and with instinctive tact Eugenie sought
to divert her cousin's mind from his
sorrow by leading him to tiling about
himaelf.
"My honor?" cried the young man,
hastily poshing back the hair from his
eyes. He sat upright upon the bed, and
folded his anna. "Ah! true. My uncle
said that my father had failed. Leave
me! leave me! Cousin Eugenie," he en
treated. "Oh! heaven forgive my fath
er, for he must have been terribly un
happy!" There waa something In the sight of
this young sorrow that was ferribly en
gaging. It waa a sorrow that shrank
from the gaze of others, and Charlea'
gesture of entreaty was understood by
Eugenie and her mother. They went ai
lently downstaira again, and sewed on
for nearly an hoar without a word to
each other. About 4 o'clock a sharp
knock at the door sent a sudden thrill
of terror through Mme. Grandet.
"What can have brought your father
back?" ahe said to ber daughter.
"I hare hooked tbem, wife," aaid the
vine grower, In high good humor. "I
have tbem safe. Our wine is sold. The
Belgians were setting out this morning;
I hung about In the market place in front
of their inn, looking as simple as I could.
A man came up to me. AH the best'
growers are hanging off and holding their
vintages; they wanted to wait, and ao
they can, I have not hindered them. Oar
Belgian waa at bis wit's end, I saw tbat
do the bargain waa struck; he is taking
the whole of our vintage sat two hun
dred franca the hogshead, half of It paid
down at one In caM, and I have prom-
tor the ran. There are six
Leiis for you. Iu three miflis time
prices wfll go dow n."
The last words came out quietly
enough, but there was something ao sar
donic in the tone That if the little knots
of growers, then standing in the twilight
in the market place of Kaumur, in die
may at the news of Grandet'a sale, had
heard him speak, they would have shud
dered; there would have been a panic on
the market winea would have fallen
fifty per cent.
"You have a thousand bobsheads this
year, father, have you not?" asked Eu
genie. "That will mean two hundred
thousand francs?"
"Yes, Msdemoiselle Grandet"
"Well, then, father, yen can easily
belp Charles."
The surprise, the wrath and bewilder
ment with which Belshauar beheld Men
Mene Tekel I'pharsin written upon hia
palace wall were aa nothing compared
with Grandet'a cold fury; he bad forgot
ten ait about Charles, and now he found
that all hia daughter's inmost thoughts
were of hia nephew, and that this arith
metic of hers referred to him. It waa
exasperating.
"Ixxik here!" he thundered; "ever since
that scapegrace set foot in my house ev
erything has gone askew. You take it
upon yourselves to buy sugar plums, and
make a great set-out for him. I will not
have these doings. I should think, at my
age, I ought to know what ia right and
proper to do. At any rate, I have no
need to take lessons from my daughter,
nor from any oue elxe. I shall do for
my nephew whatever it is right and
proper for me to do; you need not meddle
in it. And now, Eugenie. If you say an
other word about it, 1 will send you and
Nanon off to the Abbey at Noyers. fee if
I don't. Where is that boy? Has ba
come downstairs yet?"
"No. He is crying for hie father,"
Eugenie said.
Grandet looked at bis daughter, and
found nothiog to any. There was soma
touch of the father even iu him. He
took one or two turns op and down,
and then went straight to bis strong
room to think over possible Invest
ments. He had thoughts of buying
consols. Those two thousand acres of
woodland had brought him in six hun
dred thousand francs; then there waa
the money from the sale of the poplars,
there was laat year's income from vari
ous sources, and this yesr'a savings, to
say nothing of the bargain which he had
jut concluded; so that, leaving those
two hundred thousand francs out of the
question, he possessed a lump sum of
nine hundred thousand livres. That
twenty per cent, to be made iu so short
a time upon his outlay, tempted bim.
Consols stood at seventy. He Jotted
down his calculations on the margin of
the paper that had brought the news of
hi brother's death; the moans of hli
nephew sounded in his ears the while,
but he went on with his work till Nnnon
thumped vigorously on the thick wall to
summon her master to dinner. On the
last step of the staircne beneath the
archway Grandet paused and thought
"There is the interest beside the 8 per
cent I will do it. Fifteen hundred thou
sand francs in two years' time, in gold
from 1'iris, too, full weight. Well, what
h?. become of my nephew?"
"lie said he did not want anything,"
replied Nanon. "He ought to eat or he
will fall ill."
"It is so much saved." was her mas
ter's comment "He will not keep on
crying forever. Hunger drives tlie wolf
from the wood."
IMnner was a strangely silent meal.
When the cloth had been removed Mme,
Grandet spoke to ber husband.
"We ought to go into mourning, dear."
"Iieally, Mme. Grandet you must be
hard up for ways of getting nd of money.
Mourning is in the heart; it la not put
on with clothea."
"P.ut for a brother mourning la Indis
pensable." "Then buy mourning out of yoor six
louis; a baud of crape will do for me
yon can get me a baud of crape."
(To be continued.)
FOR THE VEASURELV PA8T.
Plea for Old-Time Leisure and Blaa
plicity Ie Heard A gala.
Mrs. Frederic Harrison's pleSj Jfl tjja
Cornhill for old-tlmj IfcliUJj. jirid sim
plicity la In a well-Uiniiumed key.
The theme la a stQPSue for essayists
find vt-r-ejnteft. How- many, Indeed,
tender melancholy, over the decay of
the diary, the loss of the art of letter
writing, the passing of the time when
life's unruffled stream serenely flowed
between velvet meadows of quietude.
Truly, ao recurrent Is this familiar
aentlmentallsrn concerning the pist
that It Is strange Campbell did not
niake bis lines read:
Remembrance spring eternal In tha
breast,
Man never Is but always has been
blest.
It Is a favorite preoccupation of
each succeeding generation to regard
Itself as time-worn and Jaded the
power of agreeable sensation exhaust
ed; the store of primitive simplicity
spent The tfory of Solomon's court
was disturbed by the voice of the
preacher saying all things had become
vanity; on Dante's page fell the morn
ing beams of the renaissance, yet bis
spirit Is that life In Lis day bad lost
Its savor and was an ordeal to ba en
dured rather than a privilege to ba
enjoyed; Sbakspeare wrote in tha
Jocund way of the great Elizabeth, yai
when his soul speaks through Hamlet
It la to complain that the thnea are
out of Joint. An age is seldom almp!a
and leisurely to Itself. It is ungracious
to break In upon self-solscing mus
ings, reflections which do no barm
even though born of fancy rather than
of fact Nevertheless, the modern his
torical spirit Is stern and insists that
the truth Is always Its own Justifica
tion. If the latter is a correct prin
ciple, than witness must be borne tbat
the data collectors have fairly estab
lished that to-day la the age of leisure
rather than fifty or one hundred or
any other known number of years ago.
New York Globe.
However lady-like a girl may really
be, ahe can't abow It when chewing
gum.
You're not in on aome of the jokes
the men laugh at; they're oa you.
LACK OK FILIAL, OBKDIEMCE.
sTer. ST. r. memmrrr.
"A wise son ruaketh a glad father,
but a foolish son is the heaviness of
his mother." I'rov. ., 1.
God has brought the human race
togvther iu families. The relations of
the members of the family are most
Intimate. Parents and children are
much together by day and by night;
In grief and in Joy; in sickness and in
health. The family is rendered happy
by each member flllltig his own place,
and doing his duty to every other
meiulM-r. Such a family is a type of
heaven. It may become a wretched
family If the members are not consid
erate of other member, and if duty
to each other is not discharged.
All good parent desire for their
children that they lie wise, useful and
successful. No i-acrinVe is too great
for parents to make if this end Is to
be attained, and children should have
high appreciation of the sacrilices
made. We take off our hats to the
boy whose widowed mother had Ktic
riiiced ever comfort of life that he
might linish bis college course and
come to graduation; who, having
placed in his band the medal of honor,
left the platform from which he had
delivered his oration, walked down the
Blsle and placed tlie nieilal upon his
mother' a neck. '1 be whole world look
ed tijioii mill appreciated the laudable
pride of Garlield's mother when she
witnessed the inauguration of her sou.
And the public was not less Mined
, :.. ;i the mother of President McKin
l y sti-id before thousands ami haw
Lit wm taking the oath of otlbe as
l'lisideiit of the l ulled States
The Bible is not Nllent on the sub
ject of lilial obligation. God consul. t
(l it of sullleient Importance to make
it one of the Ten CiuiiiiiiiiidaienSs
Honor thy father anil thy mother
that thy days may be lung upon the
land which the Ind thy God givelh
thee." You will note the position of
iliis coinuiaiiiliiM'iit. It is the tirst In
the second table of the law, n ml indi
cates wry clearly that the family is
the basis of all isoclety. God would
have us understand tbat the proper
training of the youth i at the foun
dation of all virtue, and that children
who do not honor their parents will,
when the occasion offers, likewise dis
honor all other authority.
Oliedlence to parental authority Is a
thing that should be Insisted upon.
The ability and willingness to obey Is
fundamental in character. We are
taught obedience by nature and by the
civil law, as well as by the Scrip
tures. As a rule, it should be un
questioning; and the only exception to
the general law of filial obedience is
where the conscience Is Involved The
Instruction Is. "Children, oln')- your
purents Iu the Lord" that Is, as far
as the commands of parents are ac
cording to the will and word of God.
No child Is called upon to obey that
parent giving unreasonable and un
acriptural commands.
The laclc of filial obedience Is every
where looked upon with disfavor. It
la said that the place of Absalom's
pillar Is known, and that It la com
mon for travelers to throw stones on
the heap with thJ words "pursed be
the memory of wicked Absalos and
cursc-d forever be all wicker! children
that rise tip In rebellion against their
parents."
Iu addition to obedience, we owe out1
parents reverence. They gave us our
life and sustained that life until we
became strong enough to be Independ
ent of their help. Their tender watch
fulness over our Infancy provided for
our wants, and in their wisdom di
rected our education. They are su
perior to us In age and experience
and In wisdom. Our attitude toward
them should be the attitude of court
eous speech and respectful demeanor.
We should took up to them. It Is no
uncommon thing for the children, be
cause of the advantages which had
been given them by the parents, to lie
come more learned, more wealthy, aud
to occupy a higher poxltlon In the so
cial and business world than did their
parents. The child looking down upon
the parent from this position ought to
be enough to call down upon that
child universal contempt. The par
ents may have Infirmities, or may com
mit deeds that bring them under con
demnation; still It Is our business to
hold them In honor, notwithstanding
our grief for them. Tlie picture pre
sented when Garfield kissed his vener
able mother after taking the Presiden
tial oath was a fit subject for a paint
ing or a poem.
Our parents who live three score
years and ten come back very near
the point where they started at the
beginning, and this second childhood Is
like the tlrst childhood In Its weakness
and helplessness, aud needs protec
tion. Age changes the position. In
the first place, the parents In their
atrengtb sustain their children, and
now the children have grown strong
Hid must take up the duly of caring
for the parents. They taught us to
walk and supported as when we were
too weak to stand. It Is now onr duty
Ind privilege to permit tbem tb lean
upon us. No sacrifice waa too great
for them to make, no labor w o
hard for them to do, If by doing so
they might give us comfort aud plen
ty. It is the smallest thing we can
do to assist them ou the Journey down
the western slope of life.
The reverence, olwdience and sup
port Khould be given to our parents not
merely as a duty required by self re-sps-t,
atrd by human and divine laws,
but should be prompted by the high
est principle that can control the heart
of man, and this highest principle Is
love. Who can measure the depth of
the love of a father or a mother? From
the moment of birth this love has en
folded us. While we slept, with the
mother sleepless herself, she watched
over us and guarded us. In our sick
ness she bent over us and wept and
prayed for our recovery. In our health
and triumphs she has had delight, aud
In the defeats that have come to us
none have shown w warm a sympathy
as thiwe who loved us tlrst. Our pros
perity made theni glad, and the mis
fortune which had the effect of driv
ing many away from tis only drew
thern closer. Even disgrace has not
been sufficient to alienate this love,
and the son has leen followed to the
gallows and prison and the criminal's
grave, and thnt grave has been moist
ened with tears and decked with flow
ers. Such love as this should call
forth our best affection and our warm
est gratitude.
VACATIONS A NECKNKITY.
By RIhot Smmurl FmUo
These days of school and college
commencements bring forcibly before
us the truth that human life is a
school. For intel
lect u a I, social,
moral, business
and spiritual ends
this school exists.
Nothing In Its
teacliers. Instruc
tions or methods
can lie valueless or
p u r p O selcss. A
V' power Hlxive our-
(.elves has placed
bishop rAixuws, us lii school even
as we send our
children to school by a power be
yond themselves.
That power very largely determines
for us the agencies and instruments
of Instruction as we determine thoe
of our children. Where and how we
were born and what the uutiire of our
environment In which our life was
Hist tinfoiiied was not ours to set lie.
l!ut we were at school. The very
air we breathed, the changes of the
atmosphere and a thousand other
things connected with nature and man
have been shaping our lives. Both
organism and environment have thus
Im-cii potent factors. Environment
may lie credited with nine-tenths of
our education and heredity with a
scant one tenth. A change In environ
ment has changed a carnivorous bird
Into a garnlvorous one and the latter
Into the former.
As In school there must be mo
ments of piny, to must there be In
the school of life. Vacations are need
ed lu the one, so are they also In the
other, Russell Sage to the contrary
notwithstanding. One Sage la enough
to a million of ordinary men. Too
many of us older children do not know
the meaning of relaxation In our rest
less weariness anj unrelenting.
j:;7'it-Souess of otir consuming, stren
uous American life.
A wise physician of our city placed
his daughter in one of our best pub
lic schools and solemnly forbade the
teachers from Imposing; any lessons
which should require moje than one
hour's simiy at And now jn'
ull bloom and beauty ami heai'tbfui
vigor she Is able to assume the duties
of responsible womanhood. Every'
teacher should be placed under lionds
to do likewise.
The school life is crowded with
hard lessons. Trials, sorrows, disap-j
pointments lierenveuient come. Rut
the divine Providence which has per
milted them will help us solve them.
The great Teacher, with his heart
tilled with sympathy and love, never
gets out of patience with us. If fao
cannot give us the meaning of them
here he will make good his promise
to each of us, "What thou knowest
not now thou aha It know hereafter."
Short Meter Sermons,
Deeds demonstrate doctrine.
Working religion Is uot religious
work.
It takes a great man to do little
things well.
Wings of love do not need a track
of law.
Gold fetters are not more clastic
than Iron;
A difficulty is at the door of every
delight
Respectability is no substitute for
repentance.
Love is alwaya looking on God's
sldo of people,
A yellow youth does not make a
green old age.
A square man does not need to be
all corners.
Heavenly manna does not make a
man mealy mouthed.
Great souls can neither be starved
by poverty nor choked by riches.
You know what a man Uvea for
when you know what he look a)
when alone.
HCJW JAPAN WAS FOUNUtO
w, Tate .... - ,urJ:z
,.,.r (il.-s,oi. f.,rai.Sf.Me.M..
.. r ,!.. t!.. ot-bll-bnient ' "
i, . .aid that th- first
who -.tW on the ne.irh .-rtMg
,U:l more than two o-n.u..
rhrMIati era- ,
S.m-ikwo, the legend ru.--.
Le tbn...e of n,U.a in the yesr
I C ami at one enteral on a career
,f cruelty and tyranny.
wthrle. m-t anxious '"
.rlvilcgc of bla iroHlti. '
, period as l r. W?
.f endeavoring to obtain some sitfic
;i:(.ut bv which the duration of bumau
fe c.,'ld I- prolong..!, be dUpatcbed
;st1 messengers and explurers O
,; the countries with which be held
,y communication, or of the lw
ilMrtits of which he could obwln any
knowledge.
Taking advantage -f the clrcutn-
tauva. one of his m-dlca! attendant!
iivbor In hourly dread f
sudden sentence to d.-alh told the em-
,.ror that he lad b-annsl that sue!.
llll agent exisnsi ill j
I.Iant which giew .-nl In the Islam),
which now f.s in the .b."i'-e empire,
'he iila nt in iiiiestion was alo T'rt
d to be one ..f delicate structure
-nd v,.isltlve nature that if
Mucked with pure tenuis M-"'1''1
ir,si,,i!i It would lose all its my
lei-i.nis virtue before arriving within
he limits of the fhlnc-e empire.
It uiis segg-t.-l th-it ' yo'H'4
nell Hlld the Milne lillllilicr of girls -ill
of spotbs physical health and
moral purity -slculd ! selected to
,ro-e.s to Japan for the purise of
ii uritig a siillr lent supply f the pn--ioil-
plant. The suggcMlim win
promptly acted on. The medical ad-d-er
alx patriotically volunteered to
"mliict the expedition hlm-elf, and
the offer was accepn-1.
The eXMilition embarked as ssedi!y
(s possible for the .lapalii-se Islands,
but not one of Its nieinU rs was ever
(.en within the hounds of the Chln.-n
' inpire again. The previously umx u
ii x parts of Japan were rapidly mi;
dated with a race more fresh and vig
irmis In Isxly and mind than the aver
Bge inhabitants of the laud "f the " 'e.
!e-t;,-ils" Itself: The tins',;. - chief of
'he expedition, of course, created him
Mlf king of the country, and tuii Imd
1 magnificent palace erected f..r h's
lesidciice, which he iiilled Kanjokil
'i. e., 'grande liniisoii, semblable, ant
-leiix").
We are further fold thnt the Jap
snese mention the historic fact In their
immN: that they point out to vliton
llicsp.it mi which th" iii's! cnl fonnh r
if their empire landed, and also shot
th" rules of n temple which was erect.
d In his honor.
Wlvea as Woge-I'trners.
The American prejudice ngrilns.
Mige-eariilng by married women a p.
,vars Iu the effort occasionally nimbi
to make the employment of teachers In
(he public schools terminate with mar
riage. Hut thousands of American
married women do earn wages, thniis.
inds more would gladly do ho if they
could, and other thousand would bu
happier Rlld better off If they did. Tlnl
rejudlce against It seen, a disadvan
tageous. American men. as a rule, pre
fer to support their wives If they can.
If an American married woman
works for pay, It Is either liecHuX? tt
gives her pleasure or because. r uu"
band's Income is Insult" 'mnt
1oe not do It a9 a of '(,ourii),
How hjwr i can keTp ft up depend,
"Jon what the work Is, and upon oth'
-r circumstances. If he has children,
that, of course. Interferes with be
wage-earning, If It does not stop
lltogether, and general acceptance of
cuNtuiu vvlilch would restrict or dis
Vitimge chUdTieaiing is not to the pule
il" advantage.
Marriage tends, and should (fit ill
to
withdraw women from ,,..,..,,.;,.,.
'jt t It need not stop it per se and aC
ipiiy. 10 make marriage a bar
to
future wage-earning by fl woman
I'tcs In restriction of mrr
ope.
and
l!i;.t is at least us much against j,bj
,n:cy as restriction of child bearing
Harper s Weekly.
He Hail Hern Them Ug
Many a city child who 1ms grown
ID firm In the faith tl,.,t codiish are
wrn salt and that tomatoes grow In
runs has hud his Idea of the Imlld'ti '
)f the world rudely shattered by I
fllt to the country. nf..sl,y Ju
back from a fresh-nlr excursion, say
Hie New York Tribune, w a,opp',,
one day by Henry W. (liver the pit!
.rg phllan.hrc.plst. who wished to test
tils Intelligence.
"How were those stones tIm1
'n? he asked, pointing to a pile of
llietn.
"They wasn't made. Th. y growed '
rvas the ready answer.
"How do yon mean?"
"Why, Jes' de same as perfnties X
wen 'em dug In de same field out 'n 1
tountry." '
Mr. Oliver shook his head. yn
,v.y." he said, "stones cannot Kr,',w' If
ton were to come back to these 'five
rears from now Ihey would be Just the
tame alia." . l
"Yes," said the newslioy with a
earned sneer, "and so would pertatles
y ve been tooken out of de ground"
.nd (1.1 : ends It. Dey can't grTw
nore. Hut you can't fool me on stones
cause I've seen m dug," '
By the time a man thorough!, Uml4,r.
ttands the ways of a woman he i.
Id that he doesn't care .ov.i
tbem- ' "owu
Hucceaaful men Iuum . .
tempt fallora. w
r
