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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (June 1, 1900)
. .GUILTY 'INNOCENT? By AMY BRAZIER. Tie * a*u ow quick look it H«r!un'> brisk *94 the t~ars 4* ipp 9< •hr • >cb ber ftncet* aot ..-ta* ber ebon!- ! 4*** bean— with thr*e sobs tbai will ftJt br controlled Abe u cat up mi learlsx B *ir-rle ... *■ vw*l Jt • . j (v: . beat 1 .»k> beak with bis f»tu£-r» '1'ome oat into the fsrd-a, Bart»*ei; *er*sat* t nui.ig ;ir » ta* to take rnwmf the tkm<< Ci m» ’* Hi* Vote* I* kttii aad Bat hara.yearn s f • *> mpnthy *> > Ae >«• *r» Co nx t i > trae-purt ed Ar 4nt IB u II »h till -k • Ml hi* lilr I >*S 4 J-3 l*«tb bordered by tbMtaad* of owk* sad wide (twiuet h* aavtUaa. you ha tv £ ip B it bob mrmmr’ Barbara aaya trafi«ally. -Father cay* not nap an3 yuttr moth er nay* play at beia* eacac-d if fm Ilk-, oat it ta true—qw:te tra«* And falser (bead But take me to Ta*asaa | fat it 'Will wot Bi*ke aay 4:9 rea«e*' epesktsc vehement:/ 1b ber ex ite deawatiaa Moopc hi* dark br»d ‘ Tea 4-4*'t ny-t me to aide with B,»rrene* Barbara. yon m c it think 1 eawM i» Chair*. * Yew *wa4# if ywa tcnerwm breath** Baiba:* her % -i j e> -** *■* tic the erorw* Ink ter *,arr--i » u ra.B-bj* Bi-** *- -■ i. ' at" aaf" wnaatn. and I haven*! a friend in the world*'** Tar Bias a dark fare U ie* m** > e “1 wwclin'l Cite my fattb to Bowrerie If 1 were yon,** be cay* alow- ■ If Barbwra, i cannot be a hyp-write, : I lore yww bwt yww ah*H n<»*. trade on mi a9e now to be!? jo- to marry '! mmoiber an for st I an h-i* It you shall be wo twafi'a w.-fe bat m:»e ' The tear* that bad been vrtlinc «S» IS iiu »ara ► c>«- are < a— r.e : » J Men- ! * i *>* <rf r-ao.ut an ■ it -• >.*r he; iron bled f* - 1 w.ii t-U father eve-yth.as aa 1 he »:*1 waderatand.** abr aa>* aim «*t aufvrfwily. * After ait. I tb*ak 1 am dad I am «oi*m and it tunwn mkt any fe* 4.9—ea Te.-we can aa.t **Ye», t dare aay ywa wtl! have pira cy of watting,** &eb*»rtaa »*.'» with eawwiac familiarly and an evil am:’-. Bar-bars c «<v him one look (rin her *<-ar-4Ued eyes—a look of anc *r and riprwarh—and without a word leave* him and. bark to the Mr* - a vl!l* doe* a >f Hi nk :: .. •ary ta Inform Barbara that in the warn Hahacttan i* to follow her wrr*a* the mbs. Kbe p n» qr-*t faith os. Betancw and chance of * «nw la * human probability the -illy 'lov *«4tr !*etw**-w Bar*»arm and <5-or** B * :rer■ - w*!i die- a natural death, and V r, few people marry their 6r»t k**er* will have a very good . on *• when he goes out to 1 luaasa and the honeymoon •un he the return >**»r*rf It la really ■ charming ar raag a«ent Mrs Karllle feels quite ji -atH anl It la a great blessing that Barbara is taking It all no quietly. Bi and by ah- < omos Into the morn lug room where Mrs. Aavillr is writ tag ham nad Monro at • Croat rate. Bar wars has on a pale gray coat anl skirl with a white silk waict anl a great b«h<h of violeu in her button bole. She looks pale, but the grave month I* trm ‘1 am going to Portraven. Aunt J i In I am going to meet Goorge to say Good-by to him." she my* with an sir / dsNiskm na *t opposition were to be etyrtel. lijt Mr*, hat ill# make* n > object .on A parting scene between ih»* lovers is inevitable, and the miner It U over the belter. At ill Bsroars linger, • Aust Julia I know quite well war father ass sent for me H is to try and make rne forget George, but it s..? Ur M use. Hr are promised to ea-li other. I cannot help it—I can nrer rare for anyooe elan.* ii -r aunt look* a* her. see* the :. inf agitation, and am tint. ‘My dear Barbara. 1 have never at tempted to diaauade you from eugag • | y .i self to Mr Bouverie |? you eheMO. neither can I prevent you m—r*ua him in Pwrtravea and saying meal-'by Yon am old enough to know you; own mind 1 do not for on treOB- .t suppose your father will re gard ua engagement of that sort as ot:mm* in fart. I know he w.li not. You we- dear. I am quite candid, and I former that wome day you will be very glad to have escaped matrimony i t . s very worthies# young man.'* * Hr is not worthless ** Barbara looks splendid In her in d gnat ton aa she nobly champions her iwv-r Tb-n wbr leaves the roomand waits away down the gloomy, damp ■ less* and out on the road beneath the uFddmg tree. Her step la Lght. mm4 her dark -lashed eyes am full of hop pint very far from the Court en trance gates a young man. with a cou ple or dogs a« bus beet*. Is sauntering along Georg* Bet eerie looks, if pus a. de. aaor* aatkoar and unhappy than ever If.* fa * hardly brightens ns Barbara Join* btm. looking fresh ns the spring morning herself. For k second she looks up at him. and her heart awell* as she realise* that it will be a long, long time per haps before they meet again “Sb? will yearn for the touch of a vanished hand.** she will long with n sick long ing far the aound of his merry volet. Che night of his face. "Georg*." she whispers—and her voir* la trembling- my father ha* neat for me. and I am gaiag to Tas mania." "Going to Tasmania?" In the fare of his other hideous trou ble he hardly takas It In. and echoes her words mechanically. "Y«a" Barbara says almost la her metal tones. "I am to sal! Unmett daMy. sad we have gj« to aay foot by." ai per «iui uss '••a. e> ■.*. that look as if they had »tig b<* a strangers t.» sleep. an 1 he -e - < as f • .raid not find anything to *ay. Bet at ’asf wurJs cone. ’ V’. iorlirig my darling, it i.s bet t r for ><»!• to g* aw t . after all." li la w .>.• i* chalk as he gaze doa i at her; bat Birbara is quite r: »nj ",i“ U dimly firanfi'J'is of a "Hi..i flit quivering and dancing in her e>ee "fit >'«:■*. 1 bav»» samething to sa.V to >uu." Birbara says, and clasps both b* r hand > upon bis arn "Come.” They a a k down the road toget her It i- their lu»t interview. How shall tkej crowd in ail the vows and prom ise*-—the promises that are made w a-n yoin.; hearts seem breaking? It is over at last—the girl’s face very t» ir-s* uned. and the man’s pale With feeling "You hav * pr »ru:sed me." she i.s say i* z "Sw.ar .t. Georg—yen will B-'ver .-t m a ra -* again, far my sake, for my sake!" G««| rue I never vvi!"” he *a 'uni; . hi- g »*. lea head beta over hers. ('a U'TKd V'. V. . a Bar «tn returns to the Court. - a pale ••he-k* au! without h o ■ .n a »f T.">r-^ tiia* repose in Georg 1.11 iierP-'» po ket’xxik as a farewell nou* ni: it is to find a .seen - of cou f >:. uni i group in the hall, con sist.ag of th * servants, ani they are :rr >oniiug a central figure, which Turn- »■.!• to oe Mrs. Savilie lying on the floor. t i * i«. stair-rol bos precipitate1 J to n toe stairs.with th_* result of a broke a ankle. 1 a ;d-t * -fTe f tally puts a stop *•* f c trip to London. \Vh°n—with ti»- aid of the coachman. Sebastian ai ! the « ok she has been conveyed .* * t •>!* turns to Barbara w.th a moan 1 sail! be 'lei here for w »eks* I ; -i.ff-rimr .horribly* Y . must go to lean loe with Sebastian." I> o. t worry about *. Aunt Julia," B^r »ara -ays. pityir.g the pain that is ’ • ’ ug fa.e - I in travel alone.** Not;sense! As if Sebastian would cl.ow - : i a th.ng* You can go *•' ugh! to your Uncle Henry’s, and os! an will see you sifelv on *oar j My foot is fearfully painful! I Inpc tb- lortor has been sent for," ‘ Y**s -a>t;aa rode off for him at on**e." I . y'j i r. ly go a )wa *‘ airs an 1 - iii Mason to rue What a figure you ’ >>* Barbara! I suppose you have - ea lx iviag a scene with that young Boa verier* Barbara ray- nothing. Her aunt is :n pain and pa:a makes most people irr.TaL#;-; >1 she leaves the room, and ; r* pares to continu* her own pack ing folding away her possessions with i straag- s»-ns- of unreality, wonder ing idly what manner of life she will I :*e in ng w hen her grans see the light of day again. It is »H over at last! The lovers manage a last farewell, and then Bar aara is gone, whirled away on th» 5r-t part «f the long voyage, to begin a life that to her will only be a time of probation till George Bouverie shall cum** and claim her. Within a week Sebastian is home aga.n. having se*»n Barbara safely on boa ! and started for Tasmania. ‘ She I* a most extraordinary girl.” he -a> - sitting by his mother’s bel •ide, an i giving her a report of his pro ***d ng* ‘ Just fancy! rihe would no: >iy a -ingle thing for the voyag* ** »t a de k chair, a rag and some iaven.Vr water; and she insisted on trai ling s* < md clas3. though her father * frien Is were going first, and se**m-d greatly annoyed. They will, 'through Barbara’s obstinacy, be un i' ,e to oe of the slightest use to her during the voyage.” ' What can si.- mean?” ejaculates Mr- Saville, looking very grim and grey as *::e reclines on her pillows. >* mtiao shrugs his shoulders. ‘ Who <an assign any reason for the cagar'.e* of a woman’s mind? That fool Buuiecie came to the railway sta t: »n. an l they stared into each other’s *■> » In* a <■ *upie of lunatics. I thought Barbara was going to have hysterics. Well, she has seen the last of him. If rumor is right, he has about come to the end of bis tether. He looks bad enough, and it strikes me his expres >n -pells ruin more than grief at los ing a sweetheart.’ ” “It is a good thing Barbara has gone Mrs. Savilie remarks. “By the time you go out to Tasmania she will have forgotten Bouverie and be very glad to s**e you.” ”1 hope so.” says Sebastian drily, “considering she is to have all the • -cumulated savings of her father and her mother's fortune as well.” Then | his face changes suddenly. “And if •he hadn’t a penny I should marry her all the same. She is the only woman i ever wanted for my wife”—rising and leaving the room. And while the great steamer con taining Barabra in her second-class quart* rs ploughs her way through the | grey billows. George Bouverie once i more looks out into the world, with hope shining in his eyes and a look of relief on his handsome face. Today, that before sunset is to be a day of tragedy, is as other days with the scent of coming spring in the air. Mrs. Bouverie has been moved to the sofa, and lies like a fragile lily, with her white hair and meek, quiet eyes. George is beside her. and her deli cate, blue-veined bands are lying in his broad, sunburnt palm. They have had a long talk, mother and son—one at those rare talks that have brought heart very near to bear*. The moth er * 1'ps are tremulous, her eyes tear fu*. They have been ta'.Liw* -*out Barbara, and If the young man has given hi« all to the woman he hopes to makes his wife, there is no jealousy In the heart that has loved him since the moment he was born. "You don't know what she is, mother." he is saying. “I cannot tell you all, but she is an angel. I don’t think there Is any one like her. Bar bara has saved me." he whispers very low. hU sunny head bent. “1 am go ing to be a good man, mother, for her sake, to fit myself to ba her husband; and. God helping me, she will never have cause to blush for me again.” For a moment it seems to Mrs. Bouve’-ie that there i3 bitterness in tlie thought of the easy victory won by a girl'.> love, the promises made that all her prayers and tears could not gain; but it is only for a moment. The moth* r-lovo ( rushes down every un generous thought, end it is a very ten der. smiling face that lifted from the -ilk-frilled pillows. ".My boy. my son. you have made me very hippy.” G org • stoop-, and kisses her. * "Some day you will know liow Bar bara has saved me. Mother dear. I must not tire an 1 worry you when you are .--o weak. I am going to turn eve < new leaf and take to farming. Oh, you don’t know all I am going to do!" laughing as lie speaks, a laugh that is a little tremulous because he fee's ;:k-> one who has been reprieved. George goes off to Portraven. still with that tremulous joy and relief in bis heart, and feels very humble and | thankful. George goes to the bank, cashes a small cheque—a cheque that now he 'V»ds ashamed of because the money has b en won from a bookmaker. H i.vcv r. if is the lest time, he says to 'em-elf. pocketing the gold and leav ing the bank. As he run3 down the ■ceps he comes face to face with Se bastian Saville. The two men nod to i ich other in the manner of those who fo.-ter a mutual dislike. Afterwards they meet at the post offirc. where George <s dispatching a telegram. In fact, he is transmitting the sum of one hundred pounds through tlie p .stefii v by telegram. A little pile of yellow gold is handed in •he office window. Sebastian stares, m l George turns first crimson, then white, and his hands shake. He feels the eyes of Sebastian Saville on him. and his confusion increases. Again the two men exchange hostile giant s. George finishes his business tnd ivings out of the postoifice. Mr. Saville buys son: • postage stamps, ar.d goes oat into the sunny street again (To be continued.) WHEN A WOMAN WILLS. Ihirin; I»**-<l of i Washington Oame with Sik i.i! Aspiration*. People who go about and in society tell me that when a woman ardently ? sire* to make herself one of the fa vored few of the smart set, there is really nothin* she will stop at, and : * une of these same persons have been telling me this story in i lustration j if what they say. In high officialdom, says a writer in fhe Washington Post. ;.* a lady, dainty as a spring roeus, who was a membei of the hi rer circle long before she became a part of officialdom. On one of her !:st reception days she was chatting with two cabinet women, when the serv^rt announced the arrival of a woman who is struggling to get into things as never a social climber strug *!c 1 before. The hostess knew her by sight merely, and had never so much as bad a bowing acquaintance with her, hit offi ial peop’e are u*ed to strangers at the:r receptions, ind the lady of the house bowed with her usual graciousuess. The climber's q;.ick eve took :u the situation. She | raw the two cabinet women, and she ; kn«w they say her. She rev-o to the < i asicn in masterly fashion. “My dear Mrs. Blank." she said gushingly, clasping the hostess’ hand warmly, “I war «o sorry not 10 have been at home wher you called on Friday. It was so swee* of you to come so soon, an 1 I do hope yu ii came in very often, in formally, that way.” And before the hostess had recovered from her sur prise the climber has passed on. well content, for she had appeared in the proven-e of two cabinet women as the intimate friend of a lady who had never even st t foot on her doorsteps. With the Kje* of Faith. Some idea of amateur photography as it was in its early days may he | gathered from an incident which the late Bishop Walsham How confided tc his note book. Before he became a j bishop he used to cali together thQ ! old men of the parish on New Year's day, and on one occasion he displayed to his guests a photograph of two old men who had long worked at the rec , tory. They were photogrnphe 1 in | their working clothes, one with a j spade and the other holding a little tree as if about to plant it. A very j deaf old man. Richard Jones, took the ! photograph in his hands, and looking at it said: “Beautiful! Beautiful!" j So the rector shouted: "Who a re they, | Richard?" “Why ” he said, “its | Abraham offering up Isaac to be sac i rifleed!” The rector tried to undeceive ; him, and as the old men who had been photographed were sitting opposite him. he said: “You’ll see them before you if you’ll look up.” Richard smiled serenely but all he said was: “Yes, yes, I sees ’em before me—by 1 faith!"—Youth’3 Companion. _ Prophetic. Mrs. Bingo—"You went to Mickle man. the palmist, didn’t you? And how wa3 he?” Mrs. Kingley—"Wonderful! His powers of divination are really marvelous.” What did he say?” "He said I would be without a cook for nearly a month.”—Detroit Free Press. It* Ora whacks. "jjreadful!’ 'exclaimed Cholly Anglo mane a3 he looked at an old painting where the costumes included doublet and h03e. “lt’3 picturesque." "Per haps. But how could a man roll up his trousers like they do in Liondon?" —Washington Star. Indivlrinal Fruit. “That new boarder is making trou ble in the house.” “How so?” “Hfl brings a can of peaches to the table with him at every meal.”—Indianapo lis Journal. 111 1111 — ————* mu ncTj CZAR NOW MASvk SCHLATTER. John of Cronstadt has Thousands of Deluded Followers in Russia. Nat only to every nook and corner of the vast empire of Russia has the fame of John of Cronstadt spread, but it has reached the outside world, and there are few places where his name is not known. He is a Russian who i3 believed by the Russians to have the i power of working miracles and who evidently believes himself that he has such a power. He has made Cronstadt a place of pilgrimage for the lame and the lazy, the afflicted in mind, body and estate of all Russia. The peasants in their foul-smelling dresses of skin, their dirt, disease and laziness, throng W^^WWVWWVWN^A^AAAAAA^ him come and go. A traveler in Rus sia, who recently witnessed one of these visits of the priest, thus des cribes the scene. “Crowds of people are not usual in Russia, for they are forbidden by the police regulations. It was. therefore, all the more striking to observe a gathering mob of stalwart beggars and cripples of all ages, with the ubiqui tous bogging nun, attired in rusty black, besieging one of the lordly man sions cm the Winter Palace Quay of St. Petersburg one beautiful March morning. Such a gathering together of ^WWWWWWWV^^WNAA^VWV the city, much to the disgust of the regular dwellers there. From the shores of the Arctic and the Pacific oceans, and from the shores of the Black Sea and from the borders of Asiatic khanates the pilgrims flock to get a glimpse of Father John, as he is called, he being an ordained minis ter of the Russian Greek church, to partake of his bounty and to receive his blessing or his healing touches. Many lodging houses have been built in Croastadt by enterprising persons where the pilgrims are crowded in to gether. paying what they can. Some of the proprietors of these places have bargained to secure the presence of Father John at their establishments. Of course it is given out that Father ! John is so busy that some days must i elapse before he will be able to attend; meanwhile the number of the faithful j increases, and when a sufficient num- j her has been got together they are as sembled into a dimly lighted room. | into which another priest hurries, I quickly gives his blessing and as ! quickly withdraws. Such shameless deception became known to the town authorities; the pilgrims were de nounced as a nuisance, and some months ago great efforts were made to get the nuisance abated. However, nothing has yet been done in this di rection, and it is unlikely that any repressive measures will be taken. When Father John appears abroad the moujiks crowd to touch the hem of his robe or even to get within the range of his vision. It is no wonder that the ignorant peasants have such a ' faith in him when the nobility and the j educated classes seem to have a like I belief. When the Czar Alexander III. lay dying in the Crimea it was Father John who. when the medical men had given up hope, was summoned to the bedside of the emperor to try to ac complish by his prayers, what medical skill had failed to do. The fact that the czar died did not injure the repu tation of Father John. People said that the miracle worker’s want of suc cess w-as due to the will of God, and he was as much sought after as ever. Sometimes Father John is summoned to St. Petersburg, to the homes of those who sit in the seats of the mighty. On such occasions there is always a great gathering of the populace to see VNAAAAA^VNAAAAAAAAAAAAAA^SAAA^ the people almost within earshot of the Winter Palace itself was a thing unheard of. It appeared that the po lice regulations were not being observ ed because Father John was expected to arrive at noon for the purpose of laying his healing hand upon the death-stricken little child of a high functionary of the imperial court. Not the slightest attempt was made to con trol the crowd, which in the end stretched across the road right up to the low granite wall which borders the Neva. Alighting from an ordinary drosky, the miracle worker made his way slowly and gently through the surging mass. Babies smitten with a nameless scourge, children with sight less eyes or crippled limbs were held by eager mothers in the path of Father John. Over some he breathed a few short words of prayer, over others he laid his hand in passing, and in every case the mother’s face was wreathed in glad smiles, and one could catch many a prayer for the little child lying sick unto death in the great house. In this case the child died, and It is quite likely that the crowd at the doors never heard the result of Father John's unavailing intercession on its behalf. Throughout Russia the pictures of Father John are to be seen more fre quently than any other portraits ex cept those of the czar and czarina. They are of all kinds, from the oil painting in the palace of the noble to the cheap print in the cabin of the peasant. The higher officials of the j Russian church seem to be the only people who regard John of Cronstadt as a pious fraud. Several of them have not hesitated openly to express a con tempt for the man and his alleged miracles. One story w hich is a mat- I ter of common belief In Russia is that ' once the Metropolitan Archbishop of j St. Petersburg summoned Father John before him and requested him to cease j from his supposed miracles. Soon after the rebuked priest had left the Metropolitan’s presence that haughty preiate was smitten with j blindness. The archbishop’s friends begged him to send again for Father John. He did so. and Father John re lented and restored his sight. A vari ant of this story is that the Metropoli tan dismissed John with a wave of his 1 arm .whereupon the arm became para- , where Tommy atkins buys beer. The average British soldier is a great consumer of beer, and even in the field he expects to be able to have his occa sional pot. A good proportion of the pay of the ordinary Tommy Atkins goes for his liquid refreshments, and the canteen men who follow a camp usually make good money at their - — ——a business. Here is a picture of the on ly public house, as Tommy calls his saloon, in Enslin. When the British soldiers were encamped here there was a tremendous rush of business done in this little public house, for It was the only saloon at the front in that neigh borhood. lyzed. only to be restored to health by the intercession of the priest. The fact that the bishop has never been afflicted either with blindness or paralysis does not interfere with iae popular belief of the story. Father John accepts no money for his services either from noble or pea sant. If money is thrust upon him he accepts it solely on behalf of the poor and suffering. His system of alms giving is unique and demoralizing. Every day he receives many letters containing gifts of money. The letters are opened, the communications re moved. and the gift replaced. Accom panied by a priest who acts as secre tary and almoner. Father John appears at 10 o’clock every morning at the door of his house. They pass along the two lines of beggars and pilgrims, to the first of whom the envelope opened first is handed; the second envelope goes to the second beggar, and so on. until the gifts are exhausted. If there are more beggars than envelopes, then Father John sends his almoner for his private purse, and thu3 no beggar goes away empty-handed. Father John i3 of peasant birth and has preserved the simplicity of his early manner of living. He has a sin gularly kind and benevolent expression of face, and seems really sincere in what he does. Though most people outside of Russia regard him as a re A/i * PEASA/iT’COL-l LtCTlAlO^R-VlLLAGfCHURjCH I* A * L AT*01STER*0F^1 ligious mystic, a distinguished Scot tish professor calls him “the great pil lar and far-shining ornament of the Greek church of our day, and the greatest of living spiritual writers worthy to stand before a Kempis.” SOMETHING WAS WRONG. Why the Customer Objected to the Taste of tUe Coffee. It was plain that the man at the corner table in the restaurant had in dulged in several appetizers. He han dled his utensils unsteadily and made a lavish use of the condiments, tipped over the catsup and spattered soup freely on his pie. Yet he bothered no one, so no audible objection was made. Suddenly, after taking a couple of sips of his coffee, he made a grotesquely j wry face that Was iu accord with his j rye breath, and blatted out: “Phat th’ divvle is th’ matter wid this coffee?" A waitress quickly reached his elbow and inquired solicitously as to the cause of his criticism of the coffee. “Whoy.” he said, “thot sbtuff tastes loike it wor mixed wid vinegar ur meb be sprayed wid paris green.” “Did you sweeten it?” coyly asked the waitress. “Phwere did Oi git it? Whoy. out iv thot tayspoons iv shugar in ot. and, wow. phwat a taste it hov!” “Where did you get the sugar?” inquired the fair young waitress, trying hard to re press a smile, as her suspicions began to take form. “P’hwere did Oi git it? Whoy, out iv thot shugar bowl, iv course. Phwere wud Oi take shugar frum—out iv a salt cellar?" She re treated a safe distance before she ex plained matters. ‘‘That bowl.” said she. “contains horseradish!” “It luks more loik oice erame.” said the vic tim, as he meekly paid his bill and went out for a bracer.—Ex. Infantry In Battle. In battle it is not the number of men who are disabled in the course of a day’s fight that tell uoon the morale of troops, but it is the losses which may be incurred within a comparative ly short time that tend to demoralize and unnerve them. For example, a corps of 20,000 men may lose in a day’s fight 10,000—one-half its number— without being demoralized, but should they lose one-fifth of their number— say from three to four thousand men— in the course of half an hour, their morale would surely be destroyed. The British military operations, especially their battle tactics, have been freely and even virulently criticized by the military experts of other European na tions—especially the Germans. It is not, however, at all assured that they would not have suffered at first from the indulgence In the same faulty “shock” tactics by delivering frontal attacks on intrenched troops.—Inter national Monthly. < PRIDE AND THE FALL. The Whole Town Wa* Against That 811k Hat. “Speaking of runaways I recall one that has a place in the history of the town of Osceola.” said a man in the Pittsburg News reporter’s hearing. “Up until the time that my friend Mattern came home from college no one in Osceola had ever acquired the silk hat habit Of course strangers came to the town wearing ‘stove pipes.’ but courtesy and hospitality protected them. But Mattern came home determined to force a silk hat on the people of the town whether they would or not. Not content with wearing it on Sunday, he wore it on week days and kept on wearing it un til he hadn’t a friend in the town ex cept his two sisters. They thought it gave him a distinguished appearance, but the rest of the family were against it. He had a fast horse that he drove through the town every nice evening and the fellows in front of the hotel said there wasn’t a street in the whole place that he didn't pass over, lhat was for the purpose of ‘showing off,’ they said, for he invariably wore the I hat. They were talking one evening of having the vigilance committee wait on him with a formal warning that he would have to cease to wear the hat, when he was seen coming 1 down the main street as usual with his horse and buggy and the hat. One of the town boys, taking his usual throw at the hat, struck the horse in the eye anu maddened it Off it started and Mattern could not hold it. He tried to swing in at the hotel corner to avoid a dangerous hill farther down the stree’ ! and there was an upset. Both he and ' the hat were thrown and he landed on j top of it. The crowd in front of the ! hotel gave a yell of delight. Mattern ! was instantly forgiven. He was picked i up and carried into the hotel and two i doctors attended him. The hat, a j shapeless wreck, was kicked about the street by men and boys in a delirium | of joy. ‘Pride goeth before a fail,' ; was on the tip of everybody’s tongue ; and it was verily believed that the • fall that resulted in the destruction ! of that silk hat was a deliberate and ! premeditated act of God. The boy j who threw the stone got no credit for j it at all.” TELLING THE TRUTH. Newspaper'* Veracious Description of a Wedding. The Palmyra (Mo.) Spectator under takes to show by satire what might j be expected were editors sometimes to ' speak their minds Here are a few of the Spectator’s samples: “Willie Shortike and Bettie Bloomers were married at the - church last even ing. The church was very prettily decorated with flowers and pottted plants, borrowed promiscuously from over town from people who didn’t want to lend them. The decorating y was done under protest by some of the members of the church, who were asked to do so by the bride and couldn't well refuse. The ladies are of the opinion that if the couple were so bent on having a stylish wedding they should have been willling to have paid some one to chase all over the town tor a day getting flowers to gether and then taking them home again. The bride wore a handsome Silverstein gown, made at home, and the groom was decked out in a $10 hand-me-down suit. The ushers wore cutaway coats borrowed for the occa sion. Sallie Potts was made of honor, and the consensus of opinion was that she was two-to-one better than the bride. The young couple took the morning train for St. Ix>us, where they will spend more money in a few days than Willie can earn in three months. Willie says that now he’s married he's going to settle down. Some of our merchants think it would have been better if he had settled up first. The groom gets a salary of $27 a month, which is about the allowance Betttie has -been used to for pin money. We wish for Willie’s sake that the old saying that it takes no more to sup port two than one wasn't a lie. The bride sent us a shoe box full of a con glomeration of stuff supposed to be cake. If this is a sample of Bettie’s cooking wa feel sorrrow for Willie. Our janitor’s dog fell heir to the cake and now he’s lying in the cold, cold ground. But this wedding is none of our funeral. If Willie and Betttie aro satisfied we’ve got no kick coming.” No Twin Microboo for ffim. A clergyman walking on the out skirts of his parish on day found one of his parishioners whitewashing his cottage. Pleased at this novel mani festation of the virtue that is next to godliness he complimented the man on his desire for neatness. With a mysterious air the workman descend ed from the ladder and approaching the fence said: “That’s rot exactly the reason why I’m doin’ of this ere job, your worship. The last two cou ples as lived here had twins, so I se3 to my missus, ‘I’ll take and white wash the place so’s there mayn't be no infection.’ You see, sir, as how we’ve got 10 of ’em already.”—Phono graphic Record. LlqalSed Air as An Kxploalva. Professor Charles Tripler is the dis coverer of the value of liquid air as an explosive, and the discovery nearly cost him his life. In an experiment in a hotel room a lighted match wa3 dropped near a small quantity of the air. The explosive wrecked the room. Professor Tripler said: “Liquefied air becomes a high explosive when in combination with a hydrocarbon, as wood, felt or cloth. We have torn asunder iron pipes like paper in our experiments in the laboratory. It is easier to direct than dynamite, but it requires an expert to handle it. It cannot be stored, and must be made at the quarries.—New York World. What Ha Mlaiad. Wycke—See how angry that parson is! I really believe he’s swearing. He has certainly missed his vocation. Wytte—No, I think It wa3 his train. —Stray Stories. Look* for Bigger Target. Instead of cultivating a more defin ite aim in life, the average man waste3 his time in searching for a larger and easier target