Nebraska Newspapers

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I RESTORES LOST POWERS. A weak
! ' ' I ttan Is like a clock run down. MDNYON'S
I , f ! 'I VITALIZER will wind him up and make
J s ,1 ! . I him go. If you are nervous , If you are
] 't. irritable , If you lack confidence In your-
J , eelf ! , If you do not feel your full manly
I I vigor , begin on this remedy at once. There
1 ' , are 75 VITALIZER tablets in one bottle ;
every tablet Is fall of vital power. Don't
i . spend another dollar on quack doctors or
, i. , spurious remedies , or fill your system with
. . ' i ! harmful drugs. Begin on MUNYONS
R I I VITALIZER at once , and you will begin
' " to feel the vitalizing effect of this remedy
I after the flrst dose. Price , $1 , post-paid.
J I M'unyon > , C3rd and Jefferson , Phlla Pa
"
- -
'I ' ! C . Pills are wrong
- so is every harsh
I cathartic. They callous
' ' the bowels so you must in-
crease the dose. Candy Cascarets .
bring natural action. They never gripe
nor injure. One tablet , taken when
' you need it , always remains enough.
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Vest-pocket box 10 cents-at drugr-stores.
People now use a million boxes monthly. 5T
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Broadening : JSfl'eet of Travel.
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"Aunt 'Mandy , now that you've
: made that long anticipated visit to
i China , tell me what you think of the
Chinese a race. "
I , "Well , child , they certainly do know
liow to cook rice. " - Chicago Tribune. !
I Bud Doble ,
The greatest of all horsemen , says : "In
my 40 years' experience with horses I
: have found Spohn's Distemper Cure the
I f , , most successful of all remedies for the
horses. It is the greatest blood puri-
fier. " Bottle , 50c. and $1.00. Druggists
i can supply you , or manufacturers.
Agents wanted. Send for Free Book.
i Spohn Medical Co. , Spec. Contagious
Diseases , Goshen , Ind. ,
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; A woman is more sympathetic with
: the illness of any body else on earth
; than with the illness of her cook or
her dressmaker.
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, I FASHION HINTS
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A tunic coat effect is the novel feature
of this costume.
t ; At first glance it looks extreme , but on
, closer study it is only a slight variation of
/ the lines we have grown familiar with.
Soutache is ; used for trimming , along with
four fancy jet buttons. S
RESULTS OF FOOD.
r
Health and Natural Conditions Come
from Right Feeding.
Man , physically , should be like a s
I iperfectly regulated machine , each part t
working easily in its appropriate
I - lace. A slight derangement causes
, undue friction and wear , and frequent- t
; ' ly ruins the entire system. t
A well known educator of Boston : t
: found a way to keep the brain and
the body in that harmonious co - operati
tion which makes a joy of living. h
"Two years ago , " she writes , "being i in
„
. in a condition of nervous exhaustion ,
I resigned my position as teacher , b
which I had held for over 40 years.
c
i I , Since then . the entire rest has , of \ ; ' ,
course , been a benefit , but the use of
Grape-Nuts has removed one great -
cause of illness in the past , namely : ,
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constipation and its attendant evils. ;
ta :
. "I generally make my entire breakt
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fast on a raw egg beaten into four tisi
i spoonfuls of Grape-Nuts'ifh ' a litse : (
I tle hot milk or hot water added. I h ; :
like it extremely , my food assimilates
i i and my bowels take care of them- d <
selves. I find my brain power and
al
' ! ; physical endurance much greater and alw
I know that the use of the Grape-Nuts fc
has contributed largely to this result.
"It is with feelings of gratitude that fo
,
i I write this testimonial , and trust it
s may be the means of aiding others in it
w ,
their search for health. "
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'Look in pkgs. for the little book ,
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"The Road to Wellville. " "There's a so
Reason. " nc
ncwl
i . Ever read the above letter ? A w :
1 I , new one appears from time to" time.lC
i They are genuine , true and full of
; Jiumo interest. " : . '
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The Iedemptiotl' ' - ,
, ' , r GVid . , eorson ,
- . . By CHARLES FREDERIC GOSS
Copyright , , 1900 , by The Bowen-Mcrrlll Company. . All ' Rights Reserved .
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CHAPTER XVII. - ( Continued. )
To his own unbounted astonishment
this young ' man who had long ago
abandoned his faith in Christianity ,
began to plead like an apostle for the
practice of . its central and fundamental
virtue.
"My friend , " he said , with a new sol-
emnity in his manner , you are on the
threshold of another world ; how dare
you present yourself , to the Judge of
all the earth with a passion like this
( In your heart ? " '
In the momentary rest the beggar
had recovered strength enough to re-
ply : "It is t-t-true. I am' on the
threshold of another world ! I didn't
use to b-b-believe there was one , but I
flo now. There must be ! Would it
b-b-be right ! for such d-d-devils as the
one that wrecked my life to g-g-go un-
punished ? Not if I know anything !
They get away from us here , but if
eternity is as long as they s-s-say it
is , I'll find D-D-Dave Corson if it t-t-
takes the whole of it , and when I f-f-
find him - " he paused again , gasping
and strangling.
"And so you really mean to die with-
out bestowing : your pardon upon those
who have wronged you ? "
"I swear it ! "
With a heavy heart , Mantel left him
and hurried home to report the inter-
view to David. He found him just
returning from his work , and conveyed
his message by the gloom of his coun-
'
tenance. t
"Has anything gone wrong ? " David
inquired , anxiously , as they entered
their room. ,
Casting himself heavily into a seat
and answering abstractedly , Mantel
replied , " "Each new day of life renders
it more inexplicable. A man no soon-
er forms a theory than he is compelled
to abandon it. I fear it is a 'labyrinth
from which we shall none of us es-
cape. "
"Do not speak in parables , " David
exclaimed , impatiently. "If anything
if [ the matter , tell me at once. Do not
leave [ me in suspense. I cannot endure
it. Is he worse ? Is he dying ? "
"He is both , and more , " Mantel an-
swered , still unable to escape fromsthe ,
gloom which enveloped him. "I have
at last drawn from him a brief but
terrible allusion to the tragedy of your
lives. "
"What did he say ? Quick , tell me ! "
"He said that he had been wronged
by those whom he had benefited , and
that he w.ould spend etornity in re-
venging his wrongs. "
"Horrible ! " cried David , sinking In-
to a chair. "Did he show no mercy ?
Was there no sign of pardon ? "
"None ! Granite is softer than his
heart Ice is warmer. "
David rose and paced the floor.
Pausing before Mantel : , he said , pit-
eously , "Perhaps he will relent when
Pepeeta comes ! "
"Perhaps ! Have you heard from
her ? "
"No , but her answer cannot be much
longer delayed , for I have written
again and again. "
"Something may have happened , "
said Mantel , who had lost all heart and
hope. ! '
"Do not sayit it , " David exclaimed , be-
seechingly. "It is a long distance. She
may have changed her residence. She
may never go to the postofflce. .She
may bo sick. "
"Or dead ! " said Mantel , giving ex
pression ; in two words to the fullness
of his despair.
"Impossible ! " exclaimed David , his
face blanching at this sudden articula
tion : of the dread he had been strug-
gling so hard to repress.
They passed out into the night to-
gether and hurried away to the i eg-
gar's room. Each was too burdened
for talk and they walked m silence. i '
Arriving at the house , they ascended
the stairs on tiptoe and paused to lis- :
ten atthe door. "I will leave it ajar , ;
so : you may hear what he says , and J
then you can judge if I am right , "
said Mantel , entering quietly.
He approached the table and turned
up the lamp which he had left burning
dimly. By its pale light David could
see the great head lying on the pillow ,
he chin elevated , the mouth partially
open ' , , the breast heaving with the
painful efforts to catch a few last flut
ering inspirations. Nestling close to
he ashen face and licking the cheek J
now and then with his -little red
ongue , was the terrier.
Mantel's footfall , quiet as it was , dis-
turbed the sleeper , whp moved , turned
iiis head toward the sound and asked
n a husky and but half-audible voice ,
Who is there ? "
"It is I. How are you now ? A little
etter ? " said Mantel , laying his soft , S
ool hand upon the broad forehead ;
vet already with the death-damp.
"I am getting weaker. It won't-last
long , " he answered ainfnully.
"I do not want to bother you , but"I , e
annot bear to have you die without
alking to you again about your fu-
ure ; I must try once more to per-
suade you not to die without sending "
ome/ kind word to the people who t
lave wronged you. " n
The expression of the white face unJJ
lerwent a hideous transformation. b '
"If you do not feel like talking to me c
ibout a matter so sacred and personal , \ \
ould you not like to have me" send n
or some minister or priest ? " d
The head moved slowly back and
brth in a firm negation. a
"In every age , and among all men , i
has seemed fitting that those who 'I
ere about to die should make some h
reparation to meet their God. Have tl ;
ou no desire to do this ? If there abb
olutely no word of pardon or of kIndtJ :
icss which you wish to send to those
cho have injured you , as a sort of lc.gOJ >
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cy : from the grave ? " I ti :
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"K ope ! " he whispered fiercely. a :
"Suppose that your enemy should 01
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come to see you. Suppose that a great
change had .come over him ; that he ,
too , had suffered deeply ; that your
wife had discovered his treachery and
left him ; that he had bitterly repent-
ed ; that he had made such atonement
as he could for his sin ; that it was he
who has been caring for you in these
last hours , could you not pardon him ? "
These words produced an extraordi
nary effect on the dying man. For the
first time he identified his enemy with
his friend , as as the discovery dawned
upon his mind a convulsion seized and
shook his frame. He slowly and pain-
fully struggled to a sitting posture ,
lifted his right hand above his head
and said in tones that rang with rau-
cous power of by-gone daye : '
"If I had known that I was eating
his b-b-bread , it would have choked i
me ! Send him to me ! Where is he ? " !
"I am here , " said David , quietly en
tering the door. . "I am here to throw
myself on your mercy and to beg you ,
for the love of God , to forgive me. "
As he heard the i familiar voice , . the
beggar trembled. He made one last
supreme. effort to look out of his dark-
ened eyes. An expression of despair-
ing agony followed the attempt , and
then , with both his great bony hands , !
he clutched at the throat of his night
robe as if choking for breath , tore it
open and reaching down into his
bosom felt for some concealed object.
He found it at last , grasped it and
drew it forth. It was a shining blade
of steel.
Mantel sprang to take it from his
hand ; but David pushed him back and
said calmly : /Xet him alone. "
"Yes , let me alone , " cried the blind
man , trembling in every limb , and
crawling slowly and painfulfy from . the
bed.
bed.The
The movements of the dying , man
were .too slow and weak to convey any
adequate expression of the tempest
raging in his soul. It was incredible
that a tragedy was really being enact-
ed , and that this poor trembling.crea
crea
ture was thirsting for the life- lood of '
a mortal foe.
David did not seek to escape. He
did not even shudder. There was a
singular expression of repose on his
features , for in his , desperation he so-
laced himself by the reflection that he
tor a sin whose atonement had become
was about to render final satisfaction
otherwise impossible. He therefore
folded his arms across his breast and
stood waiting.
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The contorted face of the furious
beggar afforded a terrible contrast to
the tranquil countenance of the
peni-
tent and unresisting object of his ha-
tred. The opaque flesh seemed to have
become transparent , and through it
glowed the maleful light of hatred and
revenge. The lips -tVere drawn back
from j the white teeth , above which the
great moustache bristles savagely. The
lids were lifted from the hollow "and
expressionless eyes. Balancing him-
self for an instant he moved forward ;
but the emaciated
limbs tottered un
der the weight of the body. He reeled ,
caught himself ; then reeled once more ,
and lunged , forward in the direction
from which he had heard the voice of
his enemy.
Again Mantel strove to intercept
him , and again David forced ' . , "
- - - " " v.
Uncertain as to the exact location of
the object of his hatred , he raised his
knife and struck at random ; but the
blow spent itself in air. The futility
and helplessness of his efforts crazed
him.
him."Where
"Where are you ? G-g-give me some
sign ! " he cried.
"I am here , " said David , in a voice
whose preternatural calmness sent a
shudder to the heart of his friend.
With one supreme and final effort , the
dying man lurched forward and threw
himself wildly toward the sound. His
hand , brandishing the dagger , was up-
lifted and seemed about
to descend on
his foe ; but at that very instant , with
a frightful imprecation upon his lips ,
the gigantic form collapsed , the knife
dropped : from the hand , and he plung-
ed : ! , a corpse , into the arms of his in-
tended victim.
David received the dead weight upon
the : bosom at which the dagger had
been aimed , and the first expression of
his face indicated a certain disappoint-
ment that a single blow had not been
permitted to end his troubles , as well t
as terror at an event so appalling. He
stood ; spellbound for a moment , sup-
porting the awful burden , and then ,
overpowered with the horcor of the sit-
uation , cried out : ' t
, "Take him , Mantel ! takp him ! Help
me to lay him down ! Quick , I cannot
stand it ; quick ! " '
They laid the lifeless form on the
bed , while the little dog , leaping ups be- (
side : his dead master , threw his head
back , and emitted a series of prolong- (
ed : and melancholy howls.
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CHAPTER XVIII.
Bewildered by the scene through
which \ he had just passed , Corson' -
urned to his rooms and spent the
night in a sort of stupor. What hap
pened ' the .next day he never knew ;
but on the following morning he ac-
ompanied Mantel to the cemetery
where , with simple but reverent cere- ,
mony , they committed the. body of the
n
octor to the bosom of earth. .
Just as they were about to turn s
way , after the conclusion of the bur- h
ial service , a strange , thing happened. of
rhe limb of a great elm tree , which s
ad been tied back to keep it out of a
he way of the workmen , was released
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jy the old sexton and swept back over
he grave. .
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It produced a similar impression up- i
n the minds of both the subdued spec-
ators. They' glanced at each other , d
nd Mantel said , "It was like the wing "R
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f an angel ! " ,
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"Yes , " added David \rith a etgh , "and
seemed to . brush away and obliterate
all traces of his sorrow and his sins. "
They did not . speak during their
homeward journey , and when they
reached their rooms David paced un-
easily backward and forward until the
shadows of evening had fallen. When
he suddenly observed that it was dusk ,
he took his hat and went out into the
streets. There was something so rest-
less and unnatural about his move-
ments as to , excite the suspicion of his
friend , who waited for'a single mo-
ment and then hurried after him.
The night was calm and clear , the
autumn stars were.shining in a cloud-
less sky , and the tide of life which had
surged through the busy streets all day
was ebbing : like the waters from the
bays and estuaries along the shore of
the ocean.
A few moments' walking brought
David to .weird \ spectacle. A torch
had been erected above a low plat-
form on which stood a manof most
unique and striking personality. He
looked like a giant in ' the wavering
light of the torch. He\ was dressed in
the simple garb of a Quaker ; his head
was bare ; great locks of reddish hair
curled round his temples and fell down
upon his shoulders. His massive coun-
tenance bespoke an extraordinary
mind , and beamed with rest and peace.
- As he sang an old familiar hymn , he
looked around upon his audience with
an expression such as glowed , no
doubt , from the countenance of the
Christ , when He spoke to the multi-
tudes on the shores of Lake Genessa-
ret.
Close to the small platform was a
circle of street Arabs , awed into si-
lence : ! and respect by the charm of this
remarkable personality. Next to them
came a ring of women - some of them
old and gray , with haggard and wrin-
kled countenances upon which Time ,
with his antique pen , had traced many
illegible hieroglyphs ; some of them
young and bedizened with tinsel jew-
elry and. flashy clothing ; not a few of
them middle-aged , wan , dispirited and
bearing upon their hips bundles wrap-
'ped in faded shawls , from which came
occasionally that most distressing of
sounds , the wail of an ill-fed and un-
loved infant , crying in the night.
'Outside ' of this zone of female mis-
ery and degradation , there was a belt
of masculine stupidity and crime ; men
with corpulent bodies , bull necks , dou-
ble chins , pile-driving heads ; men of
shrunken frames , cadaverous cheeks ,
deep-set and beady eyes - vermin-cov -
ered , disease-devoured , hope-deserted.
They clung around him , these concen-
tric circles of humanity , like rings
around a luminous planet , held by they
knew not what resistless attraction.
The simple melody , borne upon the
pinions of that resonate and cello-like
voice , attained an almost supernatural
influence over their perverted natures.
When it ceased , an audible sigh arose ,
an involuntary tribute of adoration and
of awe. As soon as he had finish" ' ' his
hymn , this consecrated apostle to the
lost sheep of the great city opened a
well-worn volume.
The influence which he exerted over
the mind of David was as irresistible
as it was inscrutable. His language
had the charm of perfect familiarity.
Every word and phrase had fallen
from his own lips a hundred times in
similar exhortations. In fact , they
seemed to him strangely like the echo
of his own voice coming back upon
him from the dim and half-forgotten
past.
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( To be continued. )
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Doubtful Identity.
Cricket is the.national game - of En-
gland , and it would no more help one
to identify an Englishman by saying
that he was a cricket player than it
would to distinguish a college man in
this country to say that he was de-
voted to baseball. In his book on the
game , "Kings of Cricket , " Richard
Daft relates many amusing things of
the sport and' of men who have been
connected with it. One of his stories
is about two Nottingham players of a
common family name with similar ini
tials.
tials.We
We had two players of the name of
Johnson , one being John Johnson , for
years the secretary of our county
team , and the other Isaac Johnson.
As John Johnson's initial was near-
ly always written as an "I , " confusion
arose concerning the individuality of
the two players. '
Charles Thornton , a well-known sup-
porter of cricket in Notts , once got
into conversation with a stranger in
a railway carriage. Cricket cropping
up in the course of conversation , the
stranger happened to say he knew a
Mr. Johnson , who , belonged to Notting-
hamshire , who I played cricket , and
asked Mr. : Thornton if he knew him.
Mr. Thornton replied that he knew
two Mr. Johnsons who played.
"This one , " said the stranger ,
lives in Nottingham. "
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"They both live in Nottingham , " was
the : reply. . .
"This one is Mr. t Johnson. "
"They are both I. Johnson. " ,
"This one I mean plays with the
Commercial. " _
"They both play with tie ; Commer
cial. "
"The one I mean is a fast bowler. "
' "They're both fast bowlers. "
" : fhe one I know is gray-headed. "
"They're both gray-headed. "
"The one I mean wears spectacles. "
"They both , wear spectacles. " f f
The gentleman gave up in despair. ]
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Missed IIi Only Chance. I .
There once lived a woman who t
never gave her husband a chance to
say a word. The moment he opened
his mouth she closed it with a torrent t
f words. It happened that he fell
ick when his wife was out of town ,
and before she could get home death
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ame and took him away.
"I would feel l better about it , " she
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3 : still saying between her sobs , "if
could have been with John when he
died. There must ; have been some last n
words he wanted to say to me.- " u
Atchison GlobE : ' B
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ATHLETIC TRAINING.
To Acquire An EXCC.XM : of Muscle May
Prove Injurious.
Nothing could be more elusive than
' the Idea that by a period pf athletic
training a man can lay In a stock of
health and strength upon which he
can draw later while engaged in a
sedentary occupation. 'The ' truth is
that the big muscles and hypertro-
phIed heart of the athlete are peril-
ous possessions for .the man who no
longer has the time or the inclination
for using them. When he stops the
exercises by which he gained them ,
instead of simply returning to their
original size they suffer one or an-
other of the many forms of degenera-
tion and become incapable of per-
forming their original services.
It is not quite true that all exer-
cise for its own sake is harmless , for.
It is well to be prepared for the meet-
ing of life's little emergencies as well
as its ordinary and daily demands ,
but it probably Is true that , the emer
gencies apart , every man does enough
in going about his customary business
and pleasure to keep himself in the
condition which that business and
pleasure demand and that anything
besides Is superfluous or injurious.
That athletics take one into the open
air is less a commendation of ath-
letics than an indictment of our
houses , offices and stores for lack of
adequate ventilation. If all the air
we breathe was pure air we could get
along well enough wthout any open
air at all. Any man who has the
muscle he needs for doing the things
he wants to do and should do has all
the muscle he ought to have. To ac-
quire more is a silly waste of time
"and perilous besides. - New York
. Times. ,
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WALKING AS . A FINE ART. :
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CORRECT WALK. INCORRECT WALK.
Of all the physical acts of the hu
man being , walking is one of the most
common. And yet no accomplishment
is more rare than the ability to walk
correctly. Not one person In 500
walks ] properly. They stagger , they
totter , they swagger , they zigzag ; with
resonant heels they kick the unoffend-
Ing sidewalk as if it were their dead-
liest enemy. And then at the end of
a short walk they wonder why they
are so tired out.
Now as a matter of fact to walk
correctly , which means easily , grace-
fully and without fatigue-to walk In
such a way is not difficult If one will
pay a little attention to the matter.
To walk properly .only two things are
necessary : First , an erect carriage of
the body ; second , flexibility of the
Joints and muscles. The erectness of
carriage and the bodily flexibility of
the joints can be gained by any one
through persistent practice.
Self-Control.
The self-control of the Japanese
even In times of the utmost stress , and \
their courtesy , which begets quietness
and discretion , are both brought out
by a writer in St. Paul's Magazine.
"Cry. It will do you good , " I said :
once to a poor Japanese woman , who ,
crouching beside her' dying husband
was controlling herself with an effort
that would , I feared , make her 111.
She laid her little slim brown finger
upon her trembling red lip and shook
her head , then whispered , "It might
disturb him. "
"Cry. 'It will do you good , " I said
the 1 next day , when the man was dead ,
and she seemed almost prostrate with
grief and over-enforced self-control.
"It would be most rude to make a'
hideous noise before the sacred dead , "
came the soft reply. .
\Vhicn Is Why. J
It Is an honest giri who tells hei
young man that he won't think she's
an angel when he knows her better.- ,
Toledo Blade.
But , of course , she knows he won't t
believe her.V - - Boston Globe. f
Which , of course , 'is why she never
says it.--Cleveland Plain Dealer.
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Xot : Particular. '
An absent-minded gentleman , whose
absent-mindedness was always present ,
put down a sovereign at the booking-
office at Charing Cross , says a writer
in the London Globe , and demanded a
ticket. :
"What station ? " asked the clerk.
"What stationshave you ? " asked the
traveler. :
,
d
AmblfirnouB. :
q .
"This rat extermination business re-
aulres thOt ght "
li
'Tes , it cadis for a great deal of
g
head work. " - Baltimore American. '
'I
A noted man once said , "We shall
lever be entirely and completely happY s'
intll every man can print his owl > p
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aon , . " tj
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. . - , - : . . - - " , , < ' ; ' : ; - - . ; - " - - - . - - - . . - . : ; . : ' . ' : > > _ . _ r . . .r- ; . - - . . . . - . . . ' . . . ' . . . - . - .
, . . . . . , " . ,
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' \ : ' . Ar . . \ : ' : ' " ,
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Old Favorites . ,
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Bonny Eloise. ,
O sweet Is the vale where the Mohawk
.
' '
gently glides :
On its clear , winding way to the , sea , , . '
A.nd dearer than all storied streams ; on. .
.
earth besides , . - : . . '
"
Is this bright , rolling river to me . ; 'J : "
But sweeter , dearer , tes . , eareF - ; far' . :
than these , V y . . ! t , '
Who charms -where others fall , , - , .
,
. .
[ s blue-eyed , bonny , bonny Eloise , , '
The 'belle ' of the Mohawk vale. " , .
O sweet are the scenes of my boy '
hood's sunny years , ' ' .
That bespangle the gay valley o'eY . ' .
Arid . dear are the friends seen through - : ' ,
memory's fond tears , . ' , '
That have lived in the blest days . . of . , ; '
yore ; " , ' -
But sweeter , dearer , yes ; , dearer far - . . , . . . ' ' .
than these , ' . : : " :
Who charms where others . all fail , , ? , ' : : ' -
Is blue-eyed , bonny , bonny Eloise , ' ' . . " . r ,
The belle of the Mohawk vale. : . ; .
. .
" . . , . . , , . . .
O sweet are the moments when dream , ' .
, . ( . 4
.
ing , I roam . ' _ A-
Thro' my loved haunts . , now . mossy. * ' . . , . . 4v : ' . .
and gray ; , ' ' , ' , ' . . . _ ' .
And dearer than all is my . childhood's . ' r ' ' , :
"
hallowed home , . . - : . ; . :
That is'crumbling ' now slowly away ; " \ , . ' :
But sweeter , , dearer , yes , dearer fa * , ' I
than these , " . : . < # ' < ' ?
; . .
. ' ; :
" : t
Who charms where others all fail , ; ' ' : , , dt'
Is blue-eyed , bonny , bonny Eloise 1 , , J' . . . . . > > . . , . ' ,
The belle of the Mohawk vale. ' V : _ , - : f . . ) is . ef *
- C. W. Elliott. t. . . ;
, , " , ; ) "
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In the Starlight. t ' , 1
; " . : ,
In the starlight , In the starlight ; let u&f ' . . . ! .
wander gay and free , I , ' T' : ;
For there's nothing in the daylightt : : . < ; " 1
half so dear to you and : ! me ; ' , . : . ,
Like the fairies in .shadows . of the ' . . . ;
woods we'll ' steal alpng , . " - ,1
And our sweetest lays we'll 'warble , for . % - * . *
the night was made for song ; ; , . . fi a
When none are by to listen : or to chide : ' . : ' , . ,
us in our glee ; . . '
In the starlight , in the starlight let us:1 ; :
wander gay and free. . , . ' .
\
In the starlight , in the starlight let us ;
, wander , let us wander ; " . , , :
In the starlight , ln the starllglit , let u ! " I . , i T- .
. . wander gay and , free. ' \ . , ; ; ; . i' . . , .
. , v
In the starlight , In the starlight , at j th& ' . . , ' . . . ' . .1 . - " : . . . .
daylight's dewy close , : . " _ '
When the nightingale . is ' singing hle ; ' " . . '
" .
' last love-song to the rose , , '
In the calm , clear Anight of summer , . .
when the breezes softly play , . , '
"
From the glitter of our dwelling we , " ,
will gently steal awayj , . " .
Where the silv'ry waters murmur , by : '
the margin of the sea. . . . . . ' . ' ' .
In the starlight , in 'the starlight , we- : . " x ;
will wander gay and free ; ' : '
In the starlight , In , the starlight , ' . we- ' ' , - : i . ; i
will wander in the starlight , ' . / ' ,
In the starlight , in the starlight , we- . . t . ; ' ,
will wander gay and free. . . . l'f
- Stephen Glover. " . _ . . . .
\ . . . X . .
: ' . i ,
BIG : FINDS IN MESSINA RUINS. ' ? ' , . ; ' . - ' } . " } . .
Jewelry and Valuables Worth $ _ O- I , ; l'
000,000 Unclaimed. ' . . * , '
Jewelry and other valuables whlch- ' ; " , , .
the military authorities have coll ted. . ; ,
from the ruins of Messina and for . V t .
which no claimants can be found are- - . 4
estimated to be worth 20000000. /
This vast collection of riches Is-
heaped up in the subterranean : vaults-
of the citadel and ' in '
wooden shelters , _ -
says a Rome letter , and Is Intrustefl- . ,
entirely to the honesty of four officers
who have not even sufficient soldiers. '
> .
I
to guard the shelters. I '
In one of these shelters tb.el. soldiers- ' .
have constructed rough shelves , on - I
which diamonds and gold are piled in .
the most extraordinary manners. A . " : _ . I
small cardboard box , the size of' . a ; :
matchbox , contains a necklace of" . '
pearls valued at over $20,000 ; between . ;
an old pair of boots and a pair of oars ,
there is a single envelope contalninf ;
state bonds of $400,000 made out -to-
bearer. "
In another small wooden box lies- . e
a diamond solitaire , worth a fortune . . .
which was registered by ) the soldiers- _ _ . '
as a white 'stone. Further on . . a petro- k
leum can contained gold coifis amount- . '
Ing to $10,000. i , 4 ; , . '
There are also safes Innumerable. . '
filled with hundreds of gold watches . . - _
rings , chains , bracelets , earrings , '
pocketbooks and treasures all sorts.
" . , . . . ,
All these ' '
riches
have
been found. , .
In the superficial excavations carried
on up to the present , while the wealth- .
iest [ part of the . town - the ' first and . . . . . ' .
' " I ; .
second : floors and the cellars' - is still - * _ ' t '
untouched. . I" ' ; .r.
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,7
, - Her Handicap. , , . „ ' _ "
.
"You say you won'your husband ' - ' .
bhrough wearing a $2 graduating- ' . . . i
" - ' .
gown ? . , * :
' "I did. . > /r '
< r'
:
, .
j - . .
"How romantic ! I suppose you ;
are '
- " . ' 'f "
very happy ? " , \ ; , . . .
"Oh , yes. But that $2 gown was ' anl' : . '
awful bad precedent to establish , 've- . : # . ' / I
'
found ; " - Louisville , Courier- Journal. , - ' 'f . F
_ , ' . . y" - : !
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A Departure. . ' . " - , . ! , }
Jo"f
Mrs. Oatcakfr Mary Jane , 'who. : w g . ' ,
that : . young feller in ' th' . p rior/ . ist . . . . , J t
" . - .
night ? -
llg .
. . : , - : ' " '
Mary Jane-He's V V
an automo Ll - " 1
drummer , mother. } , . ; ' 0 , . . ; . .
. J : ,
Mrs. Oatcake - Fer : , th' land's sa'ke ! " - ' ' " : .
Hev , they got tew usin' drums " 'sfeaoV' - . " . ' . { . .
uv horns on. them pesky : . thing ? _ , . ' : ' . , - "
Brooklyn Citizen. f , ;
. T t " * : . . . .
- ' -k .
Ridicalo . . , * . , ' J _
"
Wife - Now , see 'ere , Jim ; if * ye"rr : " . : : \ .
don't provide , fer me better ' .J : jshaliV I . ; r ' .
.
quit - so I warns Jer. . * - . : , . . .
Husband - Provide better . Well ' I . , ° ' , . _ \ ' . ' 11 :
like that. Why , , ain't I got yer three - ' V , : j' T . , '
good jobs o' work/ this last month ? _ , . - , ' . . . . . ' s
The Sketch. . - - ; ,
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Before a girl " puts on , long skirts , ; . - : . . ; ,
she has somewhere' ' w acquired the -im -
pression that no ' man ; ' can , have a good- .
time innocently . , ' " / . : ol * *
l' , ;
V - . , V . ' - -
V. : - . - : - " :
' V , . . . . .
V
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