. .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
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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