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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 24, 1905)
Happiness Happiness is not in wealth. Not in greatness, not in fame; Not in p6w«v, not in health, , Not In praise nor lack of blamo, Happiness is but to know 'H;.w to cherish, how to prize That which is our own. The glow That we always fancy lies On the dear forbidden thing • Never was nor will be there; , For the slave and for the king Joy is but to know or guess That the treasures they possess Seem to others rich and rare. —S. E. Kiser. * ; . .. . ‘ S . V (Copyright. 1905, by Daily Story Pub. Co.) Hand in hand they walked down to the edge of the great world into which fce was going; walked through the clover and the daisies, across the little foot bridge over the sparkling creek, through the old apple orchard, over the stile, down the dusty road, up the broad walk eight to the two great iron rails which marked the omega of the old life and the alpha of the new. As they walked they talked earnestly. He was all enthusiasm, courage, pur pose,. eager to try the metal of his blade with the unknown contestants awaiting him out yonder. She was brave, patient, hopeful, hiding with womanly Instinct her grief at the part ing in order to further encourage and cheer him on. They were but children—Calvin was 18 and Mattie 16—but all their lives had they been lovers and this was the fifst parting. Calvin was going out' to carve a place tor himself in the gre^t world and to make a home to which Mattie was to come. Oppor tunities were too limited in the coun try and Calvin was going out to hurry matters. Ah, the plans they laid and the castles they builded during that last walk. Then came the whistle of the train, the last words of farewell, the last squeeze of the hands and the last look into each other’s eyes—his flashing with anticipation, her's brave ly keeping hack the tears. ****** Ten years later a single figure walk ed clown the same path to the edge of the great world, walked the same path through the clover and daisies, across the same foot bridge, over the same sparkling creek, through the same old apple orchard, over the same stile, down the same dusty road, up the same broad walk and right to the same iron rails. It was the figure of a woman and she walked $'ith a defiant step and held her head rather too high. Her face showed traces of suffering, but her expression courted no sympathy. All the soft lines of the girl of sixteen were gone and all the sweetness and joy of a decade ago had fled. It was the same girl who had walked to the edge of the world with the hoy and she still was beau tiful and attractive, but not soft and clinging. For the boy had never come hack. All liis vows had been forgotten. The great world had swal lowed him. He had written for a time —at first nearly every day and letters j breathing with love and loneliness. Then the letters came less often and took on a formal note. Then they came only occasionally and were per functory. Finally they ceased entire ly. They all heard of him occasion ally back at the home town. Fie was getting on in the world and seemed to be on the highw-ay to a career. • Several rather choice plums fell to him and the home folks talked about him not a little. They wondered out loud why he did not send for her or come for her. After a time they took to pitying her. This froze her bleed ing heart. But the earth had lost its radiance and its sunshine; life had lost its joy. The narrow life of the neighborhood became intolerable and the pity of the good folks became as gall and wormwood. Then the old father died and she felt free to go awaj and bury her hurt heart, her w-ounded pride and her broken life in the great world. Where or how she cared not. And so she had traveled the same old path along which she had swung so happily and hopefully and trustfully with him ten years be fore, to the edge of the world. Ah, but how bitter the thoughts, how dif ferent from those on that other walk. And the whistle of the locomotive sounded just as it did ten years be fore—and she, too, swung out into the great world to help feed its capacious maw, which demands ever and ever m They were but children. human hearts and hopes and ambi tions and hates and fears and souls. ****** Ten years after the woman walked alone to the edge of the world, a man gat listlessly at a table in a concert hall In the great city toying with the mug of untasted beer before him. He heard not the crash and bang of the cheap little orchestra and saw not the bedizened dancers on the tawdry stage, for his eyes were turned inward and his ears were ringing with words and sounds of other days. He was thinking—thinking of a bootless life, of failure, of disgrace of misspent hoars and years, of forgotten obllga i tions and broken vows. His face bore the evidences of dissipation and his clothing the marks of poverty—not biting, grinding poverty, but shabby, genteel poverty. He thought of the hopes and ambitions and resolutions of his youth of his early successes and triumphs, of his first mad dip into the waters of forbidden and soul-de stroying pleasure, of the gradual transfer of his allegiance from the stern and upright God of Duty and Ambition to the frail and seductive Goddess of Pleasure and Folly, of hia There were two white faces in Mile. Madeline’s room a moment later. slipping just a little here and there in the faithfulness of his work and the rigidity of his integrity, of the stopping of his upward climbing, of his long struggle to stand still and hoid what he had attained, of his gradual slipping, slipping on the down ward path, of his loss of position, his i acquiring of another, his loss of that and ever and ever landing in poorer and poorer and yet poorer places un til now here he was without work, without inoney, without friends, with out reputation, his brain seared by dissipation and his hand unsteady to any task. Failure, failure was the word which glowed with electric bril liancy before his vision and from the shadow's all about projected the hor rid heads of the reptiles he had crush ed out of sight all the years—Re proach, Self accusation, Guilt, Re morse, Shame. With difficulty he Stifled a cry of agony and brought himself back into the reality of the present. His eyes, again turned out ward, rested on the stage. A woman was singing in a cracked voice and dancing to the more or less lively bars of the music. She was painted and powdered and padded and her scant clothes were tawdry and cheap and not of the freshest or cleanest. And yet there was some thing about the woman which arrested the man’s attention and filled him with the scent of apple blossoms and new-mown hay and green fields. He stared hard at her, then grabbed at the printed program which announced “Song and Dance by Mile. Madeline." He laughed harshly and murmured to himself that he was “seeing things.” But he stared hard again at the stage and just then the singer made her bow and ran off Into the wing. In her closing salute she made a little gesture which sent the Wood back on the man’s heart and brought him to his feet. “Mattie,” he gasped and hurried, not knowing why, to the stage door, where he pushed by the protesting keeper and fiercely demand ed to see Mile. Madeline. There were tw'o white faces in Mile. Madeline’s little box of a room a mo ment later and later on there were confessions and self-reproaches and long stories of sin and suffering and misery—yes and tears and repent ance, which must have made the an gels glad. After all had been told, Calvin took Mattie’s hand and said: “We have both sinned and suffered and failed. It is my fault, but you have had to bear a part of the bur den. Youth has gone, but the yeafs yet stretch out before us. Father is dead and the old farm is mine, al-1 though it is mortgaged to the last lim it the money-lenders will give. Let us go back and start over. No mat ter what people say. We will live it down together. We can never do it here in this accursed atmosphere of » sin and socdidness." i » * * * * t And so a few days later a min and a woman of middle age, poorly clad, wan, thin, white faced, came over the line at the edge of the world and walked hand in hand back down the same board walk, back up the same dusty road, back over the same stile, back through the same apple orchard, back across the same little foot bridge, over the same sparkling creek, back through the same clover and daisies, to the same old farm house they nad walked away from so happily and hopefully two decades before. Their eyes did not shine with the hope and joy and courage of the other journey, but In the place of hope there was knowledge, in the place of joy there was content and In the place of courage there was resolve. Not Enough to See Snakes. “And you never saw any sea ser pents?” “No; there was a big party of us and one barrel didn’t go far.” —11 VALUE OF KEEN OBSERVATION. "Scotty” Cites Billy the K>d as an Example of Shrewd Deduction, i "Scotty,” the alleged Death Valley millionaire cowboy, was regaling a circle of friends the other night With anecdotes of the plains. Previously some one had spoken of the clever capture of two alleged sisters of char ity who had been arrested for solicit ing futrds. Detectives who were watching the supposed sisters as they climbed the stairs of the elevated road say that they wore red stockings and high heeled shoes, and their ar rest was made on the strength of that discovery. "That reminds me of Billjj the Kid, when he w'as floating around the Pan/ handle country,” said "Scotty.”’ "There was a reward out for his cap ture and a slick detective from the Blast thought to corral It. He located Billy all right at a ranch and rode up bold enough. Billy was suspicious of every stranger and kept a sharp eye on this chap, who let on that he was a granger looking for a site to culti vate. He was waiting his chance to And Billy alone and get the drop on him. "Billy sort of edged around to the fellow andv suddenly whipping out his gun, ordered hands up. The detective threw up his hands all right and Billy took a squint at the palms. “ ‘You’re a --of a gcanger with them hands,* says Billy. ‘Why, they never done a day’s plowin’ in their life.’ "Billy’s gun cracked Just about then and the detective went to trail ghosts in some other sphere. Nothing like observation in this world. Here, give us another drink.” ONE ALWAYS WELCOME GUEST. Thoughtful Woman Whom It Is Pleas ure to Entertain. It has bpen said that women mav be divided Into two classes, that of the “born hostess” and that of the “born guesj,” and that neither fits into the other’s role with any degree of suc cess. There is one charming woman who is known among hex friends as “I. G.,” which mysterious appellation stands for ‘‘ideal guest!” She explains her unique title by saying: “It is so silly! Any one can be a perfect guest If she only tries. All you have to do is to be pleased with your en tertainment, and try to help your hostess make things agreeable for the others. Yes, I do visit a great deal, and I make it an inviolable rule never to repeat in one house what I have seen or heard in another.” The “ideal guest,” for instance, makes the care of her room as easy for the maid as possible. When she leaves it in the morning thfe bed is stripped and the mattress turned to air. When she leaves it for dinner or supper in the evening, all her own be longings are carefully put away in closet or drawers, thus making no “picking up” after her—work which is wearing to the maid and which takes much time. The “I. G.” also re members at noon, or when the guest room has the most blaze of sunlight, to close the blinds or drop the awn ings, thus helping to keep fresh her hostess’ dainty furnishings.—Harper’s Bazar. “Corkage” Not Now Needed. There is one enduring tradition of the hotel business in the United States, and its outward symbol is the printed line on the country hotel bill “Corkage.” At an earlier period, when wine drinking at meals was less common, it was the custom of hotel patrons to bring their own wines. As every hotel keeper had, or was supposed to have, wine for sale at a profit, it was to the hotel keeper’s in terest to discourage the bringing of wine to table by guests, and therefore the practice originated of a charge for corkage, usually one dollar, which was in excess of the wine at the hotel. The effect was to compel wine drinkers to buy from the hotel. In these days there Is little reason why hotel patrons should “bring their own wines,” and the fact is that few do so. Though the reason for the line “corkage” on hotel bills of fare is passed, the line itself has not. Answering Abernethy. Although one of the main character istics of the famous Dr. Abernethy was the readiness with which he could administer a sharp and witty retort when occasion arose, he was once con siderably nonplussed by the remark of a medical student. “What would you do.” the doctor asked the student at an examination, “if a man was placed in your hands with a broken leg?” “Set it, sir," was the reply. “Good, very good; you are a witty young man; and doubtless you can tell me what muscles of the body I would move if I were to kick you, as you deserve, for your impertinence?" “You would put into motion,” re plied the student, not in the least abashed, “the flexors and extensors of my right arm, for I would forthwith knock you down.” When She Means Business. “I hare noticed,” said the serious, offhand philosopher, “that a woman will get a golf dress when she has no intention of playing the game.” “That’s so,” admitted the man with the low forehead. “And,” continued the offhand philos opher, “she will get a ball gown when she cares nothing about dancing, and a tennis dress when she wouldn’t play tennis for fear she would freckle, and a bathing suit when she has no idea of going into the water, and a riding habit when the very thbught of mounting a horse gives her chills, and—” “Yes," Interrupted the man with the I low forhead, “but when she gets a wedding dress she means business. Ever notice that?” A Little Heaven. A little white house on a little green hill. With a little blue brook that babbles And a little red earth to tend and till, And a little gold glimpse of wheat or rye; A little fond wife with eyes of brown, And a little wee balm with toes of pink; A little kind kiss from lips that drown Gloom in their dew—'twere to touch the brink Of the azure ocean of love, and have One’s soul In the splendors that lift and save! —Portland OreroniuL Memory of Charlotte Cushman. Fred Wren, a veteran comedian, re calls in a recent paper1 having played with Charlotte Cushman, and of his conviction that her life had been sad-^ dened by an unrequited love, he writes: “There was a 6ong I used to sing In Guy Mannerlng (as Bertrand) which Miss ‘Cushman was very fond of. It began with these words: Soft, love, ’tls I; Belief U near. where art thou now? “Well, every night going home to her hotel she would have me sing this, as she said it soothed and re minded her of her youth. Here was indeed & noble soul. She, of course, had her sweet lo-ve's dream, but what or who It was no one ever knew, al though it was said many, oh, so many years ago, the object was an unworthy Idol that broke, as did Charlotte Cush man's heart. I believe Miss Mary Wells was the crrily one who could speak of this matter, if she were alive. There are many alive to-day who knew j both women intimately, but none i am sure who knew the cause of Miss Cushman's unhappiness, for unhappy she was, that I knew. But she was a Christian in all that the word implies, and was the embodiment of that beau tiful trinity, ‘Faith, Hope and Chari ty.’ She was not only a student but a thinker, and she could expound the Bible and get more real sense and everyday religion to the square inch than ail the preachers 1 ever knew', except Henry Ward Beecher, but, aft er all, he was more c-f an actor than a preacher. “If alive Beecher wouldn’t mind be ing associated with an actor in these sketches, for he loved the breed and I knew him well.” --— — -- Turns the Other Cheek. The Rev. Forbes Phillips, the Lon don playwrighting vicar. Is applying Christian virtues to dramatic work. He has pluck and perseverance and is not easily discouraged. His "Church and Stage,” which was produced at the ! Savoy theater in the Ldg city a few months ago, with Mrs. Brown Potter in the leading role, was a failure. Pious folk, who were scandalized at the idea of a person writing plays, de voutly hoped that would deter him from repeating the experiment, and that henceforth he would stick to the pulpit. They have been sadly disap pointed. Instead of accepting the pop ular verdict in a <ontr te arid humble spirit as a providential chastisement designated to keep him to the straight and narrow path of clerical duties, ] he Immediately set to work writing i farewell tour next season, playing In “Macbeth,'’ “Much Ado About Noth ing” and “Mary Stuart.'* Guy Bates Post recently underwent an operation for appendicitis in New York. He was dangerously iH, but is now reported as steadily improving. Louis James, sturdy exponent of the deep-sea rumblings style of heroic act ing, will appear this coming season in revivals of “Virginius,” “Lngomar” and "Richelieu.” Aubrey Boucicault intends to re main in Europe this winter. His health has not been of the best, so he is lo undergo a course of treatment hy a London specialist. I>eo Mars, an English singing co median. has been engaged for an Im portant role in “Mile. Modiste,” a musical comedy in which Mme. Fritzi Scheff will star next season. E. H. Sothem is taking preliminary steps for the production of “Fenris the Wolf,” a poetic tragedy by Percy MtrcKaye, after his joint starring tour with Julia Marlowe is ended. Tt was written for Mr. Sothern and has re cently been published. It is not definitely announced that Miss Marlowe and Mr. Sothern will appear next season in “The Taming of the Shrew.” “The Merchant of Ven ice" and ‘Twelfth Night.” Miss Mar low’s Viola was long ago acclaimed a work of perfect beauty, but the roles of Kathrine and Portia will be new to her. Carmencita. the Spanish dancer, has returned to this country, and begun a four weeks’ engagement at Ham merstein’s Paradise gardens in New York. For several years past Car mencita has been living in Spain en joying the luxuries afforded by tha possession of the large sums cl money she made in America. Miss Viola Allen has acquired the rights of a play by Comyn Carr which she will reserve for future use. Mr. Carr was long associated with Sir Henry Irving in the management of the Lyceum theater. London, and his dramatization of “Oliver Twist” was lately present by L'eerbohm Tree at His Majesty’s theater, London. Reginald De Koven and Frederic Ranken, who recently formed a part nership. have signed a contract with Henry W. Savage, which is of five years’ duration. The manuscript of one new American opera has been de livered and each year this new team v/ill see at least one opera produced by Mr. Savage, and perhaps more. Sir Henry Irving’s plans, according to the latest London rumor, have been entirely changed. His tour in this country, which wras to have started at TWO STARS OF “LITTLE JOHNNY JONES.” Mr. and Mrs. Jerry J. Cohan. another play, ' Lord Danby’s Love Af fair.” In a surprisingly short time he fin ished it, and it is now being tried on the provinces. In strength and vigor it exhibits such great improvement over his former play that kindly crit ics are predicting he will yet make a much higher mark as a dramatist than he is ever likely to achieve as a preacher. Gillette’s Frog Hunt. Charles Frohman’s plans for the ap pearance of William Gillette in Paris have been arranged. He will be the first American star this manager has ever presented in Paris. Mr. Frohman has expressed himself as being very glad to have been able to arrange Mr. Gillette’s first appearance there under his management, because it was Mr. Gillette’s plays, personality and pro ductions that first made success for Mr. Frohman in England, and the in troduction of Mr. Gillette to Paris, he believes, will be equally successful. It is part of Mr. Frohman’s Eu ropean plans to introduce American plays and American stars in Paris, and Mr. Gillette’s visit there is looked for ward to with a great deal of interest. Francis Wilson, Author. His love for literary work has led Francis W'lson to write another book. His little brochure on Eugene Field, which was published some years ago, met with so much success that the publishers have persuaded the come dian to write bis reminiscences of Joseph Jefferson. “I don’t know what to call it,” said Mr. Wilson—“perhaps ‘Talks With Joseph Jefferson.’ I knew Mr. Jefferson many years, and we have talked together on every sub ject under the sun. As we had many tastes in common, I think these recol lections of him will be interesting to ‘those who knew him personally, and to hi* great host of admirers who knew him as a player. I have divided the papers into a dozen parts: Jeffer son as an actor, as a painter, as a story-teller, etc." < News of the Actor*. Charles Cherry, Nellie Thorne, Fe lix Edwards, Herbert Standing and Mathilde Cottrelly are to be in Max ine Elliott's company. Mme. Modjeska is to make another the commencement of 1906, has been' postponed till the autumn of that year. As a consequence of this read justment of dates he will spend the whole of next season in England. Yvette Guilbert, who is now in London, is telling her friends that she expects to go to America in the autumn. For some months, she says, she has had a conditional arrange ment with a manager in New York, and now both are ready to fulfill it. She is not going back to the music halls. Her plan, which she hopes to accomplish, is to give here the same sort of recitals in costume that she has been giving for two or three sea sons in London and Paris. Charles Frohman s latest announce- ! ment includes the news that the name j of George Ade’s new play for Joseph • Wheelock, Jr., is “The Varsity Man;" that Miss Fay Davis will star in a new comedy, “All-of-a-Sudden Peggy;" that he will present a new poetic play by Mrs. Ella Wheeler Wilcox, entitled “Mizpah;" that Francis Wilson will * have a one-act comedy, “The Little 1 Father of the Wilderness," and that Virginia Darned has been supplied with a play by Henry Arthur Jones. Mis Fanny Brough, whose acting added so much distinction and inter est to that rather infantile play, “The Duke of Killicrankie,” disclosed by John Drew' at Powers’ theater last spring, has begun a brief tour of the English provinces in a new light comedy called “An Angel Unaw'ares.” It is by Robert Vernon Harcourt, son of the late Sir William Vernon Har court. In the event of its favorable reception Miss Brough proposes to take the play to London. Miss Jane Van Buskirk, an American actress, is a member of the company. Corinne, the little comedienne, who is making a personal hit in “Lifting the Lid” at the New Amsterdam Aerial theater and gardens, New York, will be the leading woman in sup port of the Rogers brothers in “The Rogers Brothers in Ireland” next sea son. Corinne is temporarily taking the place of Fay Templeton, who will * shortly return to the cast $f “Lifting the Lid." Miss Templeton rehearsed with the company for severs? weeks, but the day before the opening forced to retire for an operation on her tbnoat, which had become lmitera tlve. [Pranks Played by Neptune An appearance of a new island In the Japanese 6eas calls to mind other rapid risings of land in- the ocean. An island suddenly came to light off the coast of Sicily, remained two months and as quickly disappeared. Sabrina, near the Azores, retired from public life before it was fairly charted. The Gulf of Mexico has wit nessed the advent and subsidence of small islands. These upheavals of the bed of the ocean suggest all torts of mysteries connected with the un known depths. An uncanny experience la related. Our ship was out twenty-three days from Manila to the Sandwich islands. It was a silent, dead-black night. The lead showed deep sea. Suddenly we felt as if we were grounded. The mate suggested a sunken wreck, but the Skipper 6tuck to the theory of earthquake. Subsequent events showed he was right. Daybreak revealed a low and misty sky. We lay as If becalmed in the midst of as oily sea, strangely dis eolored in patches. Suddenly the water trembled. I can use no other word. The ehlp rolled and in the dis tance rose a huge, b&Iloon-shaped mass of vapor, steam or smoke. There was not the slightest sound, but a long line of chafing water stretched across the streaky calm. Then the vapor settled over all and we could hear, but not see, the seething and pouring waters all about us. The captain ordered a bucketful to be ; drawn up. It was hot and smelled like gas works. “H’m!” remarked the old skipper as he sniffed it. “They’re poking up a new continent. I wish we were out of it/’ The air grew more oppressive every moment. The vessel gave a gentle side roll and word wns passed that we were aground. Over Went the lead and came up covered with blue, oozy mud. We were wallowing in sludge, the darkness was pall-like and the atmosphere suffocatingly close. Then the air was rent with reports, awful to hear in that blackness. There were three of the deafening, roaring blasts and all was again still. When the light came, red and un natural, a strange sight met our eyes. It was as if the bottom of the Pacific wds laid bare. We Were helpless in a sea of thick mud. The sulphur fumes were choking and we had to take refuge below. Hour after hour we gasped, facing the probability of death by suffocation. Suddenly we felt that we were afloat. Whatever the bank of mud that held us, it had disappeared, and after a time we made our way out of the grewsome spot. When we reached Honolulu the crew deserted. “There’s no luck in a ship that has seeo the bottom of the sea,” they said.— (Pall Mall Maga zine.) High Living Centuries Ago A singular piece of fiction, by F. Rolfe, entitled “Don Tarquino,” Las been published In England. It at tempts to describe the life of a no bleman In Italy In the time of Cesare i-orgia, about 1495. The hero of the story thus telle of the rings he wore one day, selecting them from a tray ful brought to him by a page: “I chose six for the adornment of my thumbs and my first fingers and my third fingers; videlicet a cockatrice intagliate in green jasper, for averting i the evil eye; a fair boy’s head well combed, intagliate in smaragd, for preserving joy; an Apollino with a necklace of herbs, intagliate in helio trope, which conferreth invisibility anointed with marigold juice; the Kytberia and Ares, intagliate in chal cedonj-x, for gaining victories; the Anadyomene, intagliate In sea-bluff beryl, fine, brilliant, very large, also for gaining victories; a silver ring, set through on all sides with toad-stone j and ass-hoof, for augmenting manli ■ hood and for protection against • venom; and, having thanked Ippolito, | I sent him the rest in a tray.” At dinner Don Tarquinio began with j beef and barley broth, went on to ; roast pig and venison. “The venison j suited my taste, being fat and full of blood, and I sigped for a third plat terful.” And he didn’t pass the en trees; minced chicken livers in paste balls, goose breasts in batter, cocks combs on lettuce, leek parboiled and fried in oil-, a dish of quails Bervcd with figs. It is pleasant to know that “the goose breasts and the cocks combs were the best." He knew something of dietetics, for he ended with a gigantic salad, remembering . that “green meat is as efficacious for whitening the skin as are blood meats for rendering supple the sinews.” A couple of hours later he sat down with keen appetite to ”a boiled owl farced with asafetida, a roasted wild boar with sweet sauce and pine ker nels, a bear's hams and a baked poiv pentine.” The mediaeval exquisite was dressed richly. He says he was “not unnotable in a knitted habit like a skin of nacre-colored silk embroidered with a flight of silver herons." When he pulled a page’s ear he consoled the boy with a tip of “three silver ouches shaped like herons.” which he tore from his coat. The author of the story says that this is the way to write history, describing the actual life of a former day so as to present it strikingly to the reader. Among the Forlorn Hope “Do you want to live forever?” yelled Jack Keily in command, “You can die but once, my hearties, for your own dear native land; Do you want to live forever, skulk as cravens to the rear When you hear the Mausers coughing and the Filipinos cheer?" “We don’t want to live forever,” bawled a lad from County Fikei “When we sashay on the Soaniards you can see the greasers hike; We are creeping through the Jungle and marching o'er the plain. And floundering through morass drenched in hot pelting rain.” “What’s the matter with old Halsted, where they butcher all the steers; We can see the greasers’ finish sprawling down the hungry years; They are crouching in the trenches and crawling through the grass. As treacherous as a rattlesnake, they Wriggle through the pass. “It's tough to die in foreign lands,” said Clancy, with a sigh. “Far from your lassie’s roseleaf face, her soft and tender eye. To be shot down in the trenches by some lurking hound of Spain, To be chucked into a muddy hole and an chored in the rain.” “To die at home is nice, and snug among the friends you know You take the plunge into the dark, blithe as a bird you go. Your friends all rally round your bed and grasp you by the hand; They give you a good send-off ere you touch the shadow land. “I'm blue moulded for a batin’, faith I’m rusty for a fight; Sure, hoarse grunting of the cannon is me bloomin’ heart’s delight; I always was a roamer and from Bubbly Creek I came; My soul exults in fighting and war’s a glorious game!” “There’s nothing here but swamps and mud and rattlesnakes and trees, And jungles filled 1*ith renegades -that pick you off with ease; Oh, for a whiff of Bubbly Creek, where first I saw the light; The roaring of old Halsted and the stock yards bunch at night!" What’s the good of always roaming with the hunger in your soul. And questing like a swarthy gypsy as you sashay to your goal; What’s the use of always wheeling, like a swallow on the wing, And trailing like a supple hound upon the track of spring. Goose Island breeds no cowards; we have got to do or die. War is hell, with all the lid off; how those sneaking cutthroats fly. As exiles from our native land, cast on this Sultry shore. We’ve got to chase those' renegades and trim them as of yore. —JAMES E. KINSET/LA. Registry Division Chicago Postofllce. A South African Kingdom King Lewanika of Barotseland, in South Africa, made a voyage to Eng land a few years ago in the company of Col. Harding, the British govern ment agent. He was much puzzled by the voyage. “How can we travel by night?” asked the king on one oc casion. “There are no lights to steer by, and no land to keep in sight of.” Again he asked: “What are those things above my head?” pointing to the life-belts in his cabin. When it was explained that the pople put these things on when shipwrecked and they wished to swim to land, he replied: “Where is the land to swim to?” The king got seasick. Col. Harding says: “Once when there was more tossing than usual I, too, felt queer and told the chief. He was delighted and said: “Well, if you are ill on your own river, you can’t laugh at me. On my river (meaning the Zambesi) you never feel headache, and your stomach does not move up and down, so I used you bet ter than you use me.’ ” In Barotesland Col. Harding one day delivered to a native chief a message which King Lewanika had talked into a phonograph. The chief "gazed blank ly, wildly, from side to side, looking this way and that, and finally, in spite of rheumatic difficulties, rose to his feet, and stumbling to the table, gazed long and hard down the mouth of the trumpet, with the evident lively hope of seeing there his master’s head. Not finding it, he turned away dazed, and said: ‘How can iron speak? How can It know my language?’ Then he added, with the air of one who has solved all difficulties: ‘This is witch craft.’ ” Royal blood in Barotesland has to be accompanied by merit if it amounts to anything. Says Col. Harding: ‘‘To be a prince in Barotse in no way as sures a high social standing until the ' same is won hy some good work for the state, or by a high character for sobriety, or marked talent of some kind.” Colonel's Change of Heart _■ - ±K--• ■ — ■ ■ ji_ . '' . ■ ■ — The following story is told of Col. Asa Barron, whom old-time patrons of the Crawford house will remember as the proprietor of this famous resort in the White mountains. Henry Ward Beecher, while on one of his pleasure trips, found himself at the Crawford house one Sunday morn ing in July. The colonel, meeting his guest on the veranda, proposed a walk, to which Mr., Beecher agreed. Col. Barron inquired if Mr. Beecher would not like to see his hogs, of which -he was very proud. Mr. Beech er, who was very fond of livestock, said he would be delighted, and they turned aside toward the pens. As these were much higher than ordinary, Col. Barron called one of his men to drive out the hogs for his gue6t to see. The driving commenced, and with many impatient grunts at this un wonted disturbance the drove was at last brought to view, except one old boa'- Hearing his frantic rnnhea and protesting grunts. Col. Asa, who thought the world of his hogs, strad dled the muddy entrance of the pen, and, stretching himself within as well as he could, cried, “Careful, Jim. Don’t hurt him. Take your time with him. Don’t hurt-” But at this moment the boar, with a sudden turn, dashed for the en trance, and, rushing between the 4l knees of the astonished colonel, upset him Into the Blimy entrance way, dressed, as was his custom in summer, in a suit of white flannel. When at last he regained his feet, the colonel was a sight to behold. Jumping up and down in his wrath, he* fairly yelled, his sentences punctuated with marks of emphasis of which he is said to have been a master. “Kill him!-!-!-! kill him!” When Mr. Beecher finally regained control of himself, he remarked: "Well, colonel, it appears that the devils are still in the swine.'*—(Bos ton Herald.) I