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THE MONROE
VOL XXXIX.
IN THE HEART.
If no kir.Jiy thought or word
IVc can give, some soul to bless
Jf our hands, from hour to hour,
i Jo no deeds of gentleness ;
If to lone and weary ones
W« no mfort will impart
Tho* 'Ms summer In the sky,
Vet 'tts w'mter lathe heart!
If we strive to lift the gloom
From a dark and burdened life*
Jf we seek to lull the storm
<>! our fallen brother » strife
If we bid all hate nml s<-oru
From the spirit to depart ■
’ 'its winter in the aky,
let (is summer In the heart!
'-»*( t eorifi > Cooper, in Bandar School Times.
GRANDPA PiNMiY’S MOVING I
IIV C. ORREjn*.
H dear, Abner!’ ex
claimed Mrs. Rod
gers to her husband
! p%,‘ v V gt one the “ho kitchen, May bustled morning “I about don't as
how in this world
I m ever going to
!<« 1 through with all
my spring work—
rleauiug have and everything If I didn’t
to k ee ) one eye on gran pa I
coui.I .io mo *n \ Seems as if he grew
wor - and w rs< '
Sh. pun cl with a sigh. Her
Luinl waited silently for more.
‘ A\ hen the peddler called yesterday
lie wit si tt ing quiet ns a lamb by the
•dove, with the cat in his lap, kind of
playinp with her, s » 1 ventured to go
up garret am*, pick over the rags it
"lakes : urh a litter down here
wlien I ■ ! back gran pa was still set
ting then and fad asleep. I thought
everything was all right, but come to
make my lire for dinner a lew minutes
alter, there was art awful towsing and
mewing in the oven, I opened tho
door aud out jumped the cat! If
there’d been a. hot lire he’d done just
the same 1 suppose!”
Abner, who was sitting by the table
looking over a lot of garden-seeds for
the spring sowintr. laughed shortly and
shrugged his shoulders.
“You know what I think about
grau’pa's doings,” lie said ; “you kuow
where 1 think folks had ought to go
•whon^hey good to lose themselves their faculties and are
else.” no nor anybody
“Now, Aba»r,” said his wife, re
pronolilully, „ “don’t say you’d send
gran’pa -to tho poorhouse! Think
what a good man lie’s been, and w hat
n smut niftD. How can you be so nn
feeliug! You wouldn’t want ycur
children to do so by you, in your old
age. ”
“I sha’n't probably outlivo my use
fulness,’’answered father worked till Abner, the coldly/ “My
death -luore’n paid very day of his
his keep till the
last.”
“And father Jimiey lias already
more than paid his keep, if he liveB to
lie a hundred, and you know it!” re
turned his wife, indiguautly. “You
always lay out to forget that he's give
us the old place!”
“Well,” said Abner, “I sha’n’t hire
help at present; wo can't afford to,
not while we have such an expense
a; 9 #*ng on in the family.”
Her father, when ho oamo to live
with them, had made over to Abner
the old homestead, the “Pinney
Place, ” as it was called. It was a good
farm lying adjacent to theirs, hut the
house was old and of little value. So,
also, was the house they now occupied,
«ml the plan was to sell the “Pinney
Place” and with the money build a
new house where their own now stood,
But Abner seldom chose to rerneni
bev the ample provision grandpa had
made for his support, and on this oe
easion, instead of replying to his
wile's reminder. he picked up a pack
nge of early lettuce seed, and started
off \t the door he turned, however,
and said, perhaps with some idea of
encouraging her:
“Ain’t it about time for gran’pa's
Mav-nioving? He won’t be round un
tier foot so much when he gets up in
his tree.
“1 hope he won't go. l hope
forgot all about it," she said, anxious
ly. “1 tell you, Abner, it isn't safe
and it Bn’t respectable for au old man
like father to sleep outdoors in a tree !
Scorns as if 1 couldn't have him do it
again. '
She dashed the tears SVay from her
eyes as her husband went out.
“I do wish 1 could ever learn to
hold my tongue, complaining to Ab
! ” she exclaimed, bitterly.
ner “He
always blames everything oft' on to
grail pu, and that's all the good it
does. It's a burning shame I cc .'t
have help through house-cleanin'; but
if gran'pa'll only give up his May
moving this year I won't say another
word—not if T work my fingers to the
Bone!"
Two years before, when the spring
came round, Grandpa Pinney had
taken a queer freak into liis head. As
Abner expressed it. “he got cranky
on air. \\ hen the weather grew
warm, and the trees leafed out and the
Birds began to sing in their branches.
the old man became strangely restless
imd uneasy, talked incoherently about
“stifling and “smothering,” and in
sisted on having all the doors an 1
windows in the house wide open.
Later on, he seemed unwilling to
stay in the house at all, aud moved his
armchair . . out under the ,
great twin
oaks across the road. There he .pent
most of his time, reading his large
print lestamcnt or watching the birds
and looking contentedly oft over the
p ta-Miu J; 1
, , tP* The idea , m ' ln of :
n ZLZ So d to him ' EOt
Thii I ! M Xh • n ? xt
h% . Bot . * 4 with hi tiag under
trittj he 'mill i %ort rude »li|>
FORSYTH. MONROE COUNTY. GA, TUESDAY MORNING, JUNE 12, 1894.
form around them, just below where
the maiu branches joined the trunks,
and made some steps to lead up to it.
Then on tho laat day of May, which
was unusually warm for the season,
in spite of his daughter's coaxing and
scolding, he insisted on dragging his
bed and bedding up there. A single
chair and his Testament completed
the furnishing.
From that time on, not only did he
spend his days in the tree chamber,
but he actually Blept there at night,
Nothing but a smart shower could
drive him into the house.
What seemed strange, no harm came
to him from the exposure. He did
not get the terrible colds and rheu
mutism that Belinda had feared; on
the contrary, he seemed to grow
stronger and happier every day. And
she found she could accomplish twice
as much work. It was true, as Abner
had said, “he was out of her way;”
still, she did not feel quite easy about
him.
It seemed a dreadful thing to have
her old father sleeping out there alone
in the darkness of the night! So she
anxiously hoped that he would not
think of going this year.
But a few days after the recorded
conversation, Belinda came home from
an errand to a neighbor’s house, to
find that the “May-m 'ving” had taken
place. Aimer, who had been a wit
ness to the proceeding, only said,
carelessly :
“Let him be, he r. all right; nothing
happened to him last year.”
What finally reconciled Belinda
more than anything else was a remark
b**r father made in his rambling way,
which gave her new insight into his
feeling.
“Belindy, darter,” he said, “don't
bender me. Everything is free oat
of-doors, free aud welcome.”
Hho knew then that he realized how
grudgingly he was housed and fed.
His withdrawal from the house seemed
but a natural instinct, the protest of
his self-respect. After that she could
not oppose him farther. She allowed
him the most perfect freedom to come
and go as he liked,
“God : il take care of him, as Ha
does of the birds and the rest of His
creatures,” she said to herself, trust
fully,
One day Abner came in very much
elated.
“Belindy!” lie exclaimed, “what
should you say to am offer of four
thousand dollars for the old place!
What kind of an offer is that, hey?”
and he rubbed his hands in great sat
isfaction.
“I should say it was a bouncing
good offer, aud you’d better take it,”
said his wife.
He went on excitedly to tell her the
particulars.
“Aud now, Abner,” she said pres¬
ently, in her coaxing way, “I do hope
you'll try and feel a little more pa¬
tient with gnvuVpa. Just think of
all that money coming to us through
him !”
“The best of it is,” continued
Abner, who just now could think of
nothing but tho money, “the best of
it is, Belindy, it’s going to be paid
down! So all I’te got to do is to
clap it into the bank, and let it stay
till after the crops are in. Then
we’ll begin the new lionso right away
—have it all done and ready to move
into by spring!”
“And when we get into the new
house, we’re going to have Mary and
the baby come home to live with us,
ain’t we? You know you’ve prom
ised,” reminded his wife, bent on tak
iug' all possible advantage ot her un
usual opportunity.
Marv, their only daughter, had
married a poor man, and was now a
widow, supporting herself and child
by workiug in the factory in a distant
town. To have her child and grind
child at home with her had long been
the wish of the mother’s heart; but i
her husband bad always put her oft'.
“Wait till we get into the new
house," lie had always said. “Then
there’ll be more room.” But she had ;
feared that he never really meant to
consent. Now, to her astonishment
and delight, he answered
naturedly :
“Yes, yes; let'em come!”
His good luck seemed *lo have
warmed his heart, and made him for
once fatherly and benevolent.
The next day the man who had
bought the Pinney farm paid to Abner
the price in full—four thousand
dollars ; more money than either
Abner or his wife ha t ever seen be
fore.
In the midst of their joyful excite
meat, they were both suddenly struck
with au anxious fear. Since Abner
could not take the money to the bank
till the next day. where shouldthey
put it for safe-keeping through the
night?
After much deliberation they de
eided to hide it in a little cupboard
over the mantel in the parlor, and
accordingly, while Belinda tiptoed to
the window and made sure no one was
nigh to see, Abner wrapped the money
carefully in a large bandanna handker
chief, and put it iu a dark corner of
the cupboard.
Several times Abner left his work
and stole into the parlor to make sure
that the money was safe, and as often
questioned nervously as to whether
they had chosen the best hiding
place; but finally he concluded to let
it remain. •
“I shouldn t suppose anybody , , would ,,
be likely to look there for money ;
they d be more apt to think I had it
under my pillow, he said that night,
“At any rate, we ve got to run the
risk of losing on it wherever we put
xt *
Thus philosophizing . they went to
v bed, and notwithstanding their anxiety,
8 ept 6 °““ “ * working people
ai Vn b
" e11 alon 8 toward , 1 morning they
4 both with ■ terrible feeling
wirewtioe Te* veen full
M JP ► % Vi • * i
smoke I They sprang out of bed, to
see the flames already bursting through
the dqor opening into the parlor.
“The money ! the money I” screamec
Abner, frantically, and rushed into
flames, only to be driven quickly back,
He flew outdoors and round to th<
parlor windows, hoping to gain en
trance there ; but he was too late. The
whole house seemed to be in flames;
it burned like tinder.
Before any of the neighbors were
aroused, before Abner and his wife
thought of anything but the money,
the whole house and all it contained
was gone—money, furniture, clothing
—everything gone in a night!
At first the thought of his loss drove
Abner almost wild. He raved like a
madman, and his wife looked into his
face in speechless agony.
What could she say? How was she
to comfort a man like him for the lose
of his property? She did not think
of herself for a moment; she only felt
for him.
But all she could do was to pray
silently that God would mercifully
help him to bear his grief. And as il
in answer to her humble prayer, a
miracle began then aud there to be
worked in Abner’s sordid soul. While
he sat on the great chopping-block in
the dooryard, in the midst of the ruin
of his hopes, gradually his misery
seemed to abate,
The sun had risen, the birds were
twittering in the trees, and by and by
the cows came up the lane one by out
of their own accord to the milking.
The old horse and the colt in the field,
put their heads over the fence and
whinnied, and finally the great rooster
strutted up quite close to Abner and
crowed encouragingly. Abner, looking
up into his wife’s face, almost smiled,
“1 forgot the creatures,” he said,
slowly. “They’re left to us—and
there’s the land. If we only had the
money to build the new house with I
wouldn’t care.”
“Nevermind; we shall get alon<
somehow. I reckon the Lord’ll pro
vide,” she answered cheerfully.
“Belindv,” said Abner, tremulously,
“the worst of it is I deserve it all. And
see here,’,’ hesitating and speaking
with evident effort, “I—I’m afraid I’v€
got nobody but myself to blame foj
tho fire. Belindy—I suppose—it was
my own hand that set that fire. You
see I went into the parlor just at dusk
to make sure the money was safe be¬
fore going to bed, and not contented
with feeling it, I lit a match to see. I
expect that match done the mischief;
it must be ! And I believe it’s, a judg¬
ment upon me, too. • * *
“Yes.” he sobbed, .bre aking fbiwn
entirely now, “yes, I've ueeti a grasp¬
ing, wicked man, and now granpa’e
money—”
At the mention of grandpa Belinda
sprang up with a cry, and hastened to
the chamber in the tree, closely fol¬
lowed by her husband. In their sel¬
fish grief they had quite forgotten
grandpa! Was he safe?
They clambered quickly up the steps
and reached the landing. There on
the bed lay the old man, still sleeping.
He was a very sound sleeper always,
and evidently the fire had not wakened
him.
As they looked upon him, the though;
of what would jrrobably have been liij
fate had he been sleeping in the house,
made their blood run cold.
“We should have forgot nim—and
we couldn’t have saved him, anyway!”
they said.
While they stood there he awoke.
Seeing his unusual visitors, he sal
up in bed aud rubbed his eyes, a little
bewildered ; then suddenlyawonder
fully bright expression illumined his
dim old face, and he laughed aloud,
“I know, Belindy. I liaint forgot!”
he chuckled, and slipping his hand
under the pillow, he drew out the
bundle done up in the bandanna that
they had hidden in the parlor cup
board, aud delivered it over to Be¬
linda.
“I knew it would be safest here with
me,” he explained simply. “Thieves
don't never look up in the trees foi
money.”
They built the new house, and
grandpa's room was the largest and
best room in it. Mary and the baby
came home to live, and mother and
daughter did the housework together
easily,
The next year grandpa forgot aT
about his May-moving. He was con
tented and happy in the new house,
where he now found everything “free
and welcome..” But he still likes hij
chamber in the tree, and sits thert
often of a summer afternoon, poring
reverently over his Testament or gaz
ing up through the trees, dreaming
perhaps of heaven.—Youth's Compan
ion.
Bicycles lor Horses.
Why couldn’t we have horse bi
cycles? It wouldn't be much expense,
The poor horses shouldn't be asked to
walk in this day of universal wrig
gling on wheels. Think of the fun!
In crossing a street it is so diverting
now. after long planning, to succeed
in dodging five or six wagons, and
ditto electric cars, only to be run
down by a sneaking bicycle that was
not in sight when you started. But
how fast and furious the fun would
grow if we could only put all horses
o i wheels, too—a sort of swift-travel
ing tread-mill arrangement. This
needed reform should proceed at orce.
—Boston Transcript,
~ A t T Thirsty e T* w. Stone. -*
Anew kind of white hydrophane
has been found in Colorado, which is
remarkable for its power of absorbing
liquids. When water is dropped
slowly upon it, it becomes chalky and
then, by degrees, perfectly transpar
ent. It has been named the “magic
stone, and is coming into use by jew
elerS for loc l eU? ’ 4 « c ^ al photo
graphs , other objects which
or the
wearer may wish osly **
i»l«t*ure,**Nfw y$ r n ?*# t
Op UANiK" 1 NOTP^L 1
THOUSANDS OF THEM ARE LOST
IN FIRES AND SHIPWRECKS.
The Farmer Killed the Pig That
Swallowed the Purge Jloney Hid
Over False Teeth. §„
<z URIOUS, strange dents notes. connected and indeed, by uta eating with are bank inci¬ the
Convenient as the note is,
through its c-pabilitv ofbeing stowed
away in a small space, and being of
infinitessimal qualities sometimes weight £ those very j
> an unfor
tunate tendency to insrre its disap
pearance, says the RosNki Globe.
Dogs, cate, rats, and birds
have over and over agtin found the
crisp bits of paper ha> \r, and applied
them to uses not contemplated by the
iss ers, and tc the eoV-iderable be
wilderment and despair of the unfor
tunate owners.
Bauk notes are knoysfe to have found
a resting place in evert quarter ‘ of the
globe—a resting plae from which
they will only be removed when some
j them venturesome dust and explorer br* finds among unfor°
! the ,,- of an
tunate predecessor. il <m the highest
mountains the earth to the is jgkgmst «k vales and
jungles wn, here and
there, with these valuable bits 0 f
paper.
Floods, fires and ti masters of all
kinds prove medi iiufe i or separating a
bank note from its owner. Some are
recovered, but werfc it possible to
form a correct estimafe of those out¬
standing and unredeemed that belong
to an issue long called in, the amount
would be found to be way up in the
millions*
It is stated that the Government,
after redeeming alMJhat were offered
of the postal duringtthe notes f>r fractional cur¬
rency issued war, credited
to the profit and.it oss account the
enormous sum of $T@,000,000. Where,
then, are the notes that this amount
represent? ■Jr*£
Thousands of ti are known to be
in +he hands of individuals and col¬
lectors, -who ret them as relics;
but the majority; £f them must be
scatte red or d yed. It is pro¬
portionately of larger denomin<4ion, the ssjjae with bank series notes
no ever
issued having be|$fajredeemed in full.
There is rarely a fire of any size,
especially ina fc-ge city, that does
not burn up mo; -pr less bank notes,
and when such mflagrations as the
burning of Chi o Boston and Port¬
land”-& ccu r, the dollars in
paper currency %re swept out of ex¬
istence. .
Shipwrecks are also another calamity
that retire from circulation a large
amount of paper currency. Hardly a
vessel goes to the bottom without car¬
rying with it a sum of money, and
while oceans, seas, lakes and rivers
are thus enriched, Governments find
themselves just so much in pocket,
not being obliged to redeem that
which cannot be presented for that
purpose. But, as stated before, bank
uotes are often found in queer and
unheard-of places, and what some of
these notes will survive is interesting
in the extreme. The impression ex¬
ists that banks never lose any money
—that is, mislay it—but there are
many instances of carelessness on the
part of the officials that has caused no
snd of difficulty and trouble.
In 1876 a package of $10,000 was
found in the vault of the Second
National Bank of Boston that had been
missing since August, 1874. At that
time H. W. Edmunds was paying
teller of that institution, but the
above sum was one day missing
from his cash, and although the direc¬
tors believed him to bean honest man,
the fact remained that a deficiency ex
istedand he was quietly discharged,
After leaving the bank Mr. Edmunds
went into the book business, but the
shadow of suspicion still rested on
him. Thirteen months came and went
before his name was vindicated, and
then only by most unexpected dis
covery. His successor, Henry O. Ful
ler, while engaged at the vault one
morning found the identical bills that
had been missing for nearly two years
. in the safe near the jam of the door.
and in such position . . that , time ,
a every
tne door was opened they were pushed
furtaer out of sight. An examination
proved them to be the same bills that
nad been missing for nearly two years,
the absence of which had caused so
much 1 rouble and sorrow to the man
who was responsible for the loss, and
the news of the discovery spreading
like wildfire, congratulations poured
m upon him from every quarter.
Some years ago a man brought B60
in mutilated bills to the Massachusetts
National Bank of Boston, asking that
they be sent on to Washington for re
demption. The story connected with
them is amusing. It appears that the
man’s wife had been making a visit to
some friends in the country, and there
had the misfortune to drop her purse,
containing these bills, in the hog-pen
while watching these animals at their
morning meal. No sooner did one of
the old “grunters” spy the purse than
he took it for granted that it
something dainty, and promptly pro
ceeded to gobble it down without
slightest ceremony. The woman was
horrified, an I upon appealing to the
farmer it was decided to kill the
“monster” and recover the money if
possible. It was certain that the hog
-■ was not worth $69, an 1 if it was killed
at once the meat could be sold; so he
was promptly dispatched, and in his
stomach the purse was fonn 1, sadly
chewed up. Within the purse the
money lay, though badly mutilated,
and the purse and all were brought to
Boston and sent received on to Washington in bv
tlie bank, who the course
of ft few days ^ an amount equal to that
destroyed. Oa/stfUeh
tell
ADVERTISER.
tales regarding their bank notes, that
for uniqueness prove interesting.
An extraordinary instance of the
wanton destruction of bank notes
came to notice not long ago, when a
man lost his mind by overstudy. Ou
the morning that his reason forsook
him he made a special journey to town
by train, where he went directly to
the bank where his funds were depos¬
ited, and drew out his balance,
amounting to a matter of £800, in £5
notes. Arriving at home he began to
cut the notes in strips, to be used, as
he stated ’ f «r lamp-lighters; but for
tunately his sister discovered of what
the h ghters were being made before
^ad them aM cu t U P
A medical student relates this inci
dent :
“One day, when I was dissecting
awa 7 R t a ‘neck and head,’ when,
hftvin S removed the skin and super
ftcial cartilages, I came down upon
the larynx. It was distended by
some f °reign substance, and I care
fully cut away the cartilages and ex
P osed the interior. There lay, tightly
impacted, a ball of paper. I
removed and unfolded it and discov
ered ifc to } e ’ bloodstained and
crumpled, a £3 note. The professor of
anatomy, to whom 1 entrusted my
flnd ’ made some inquiries as to the an
Indents of the ‘subject,’ aud it was
f °nn d to be the body of a notorious
garroter, who had robbed an old mau,
was pursued by the police aud had
escajied; but fearing, detection, he
had swallowed the note, and had died
from its sticking in his larynx and
choking him.”
Monroe, the noted English sculp¬
tor, once gave his sister a £5 note to
pay a bill. She put the note in her
pocket, and for a time forgbt all about
it, even sending her white dress to be
laundered without recalling the oc¬
currence. When the dress came from
the laundress she looked in the pocket
in a hopeless sort of way, when she
found something hard, and, on damp¬
ening it saw that it was the lost note.
It was cashed at the bank on it being
explained that it had been washed,
boiled, starched and ironed.
WISE WORDS.
Fidelity is the sister of justice.-—
Horace.
There is a woman at the beginning
of all great things. —Lamartine.
The way of the world is to make laws,
but follow customs.—Montaigue.
One with more soul in his face than
words on his tongue. —W ordsworth.
To ruleVmes anger is well; to pre¬
vent it is still better. —Tryon Edwards.
Our own heart, and not other men’!
opinion of us, forms our true honor,
—Schiller.
The silence often of pure innocence
piersuades when speaking fails.—
Shakespeare.
Names alone mock destruction <
they survive the doom of all creation,
—Trevanion.
Poets utter great and wise things
which they do not themselves under¬
stand.—Plato.
Our self-love is ever ready to revolt
from our better judgment and join the
enemy within.—Steele.
At court one becomes a sort of hu¬
man ant-eater, and learns to catch one’s
prey by one’s tongue.—Bulwer.
"What rein can hold licentious wick¬
edness, when down the hill ho holds
his fierce career?—Shakespeare.
The happiest life is that which eon
stantly exe cises and educates that
which is best in us.—Hamilton,
There is only one real failure in life
possible, and that is not to be true to
the best one knows.—Canon Farrar.
Time, with all its celerity, moves
8lgW , ^. , °f to , J^ose sole , employ
ment is to watch its flight.-Johnson.
The wise prove and the foolish con
fe9s their conduct that a life of em
ployment is the only life worth living,
—Paley.
No one is safe from slander. The
best way is to pay no attention to it,
but live in innocence and let the world
talk. — Moliere.
Nature’s Freaks of Fancy.
Nature’s freaks of fancy afford s
strange study. People are constantly
sending to the National Museum suo
posed fossil animals and other oddi
ties, which are in reality mere acci
dental forms carved by water. A
pebble in a stream gathers about itself
grains of sand until an odd shaped
lump is made. A favorite shape for
such lumps is that of a turtle with
four legs, a head and tail, even the
lines of the shell being sometimes dis
tinct. Similar concretions of carbon
ft t^ of iron and clay assume the ap
pearance of petrified peanuts. Break
one and you will always find inside a
small spiral winkle shell, which has
served as the nucleus. A queer coun
terfeit of this kind, forwarded to
Washington not long ago, was an al
leged fossil foot of a child with a little
stocking on, the latter showing signs
of wear on the ball of the foot and on
the heel. It was only a concretion, as
'was likewise what appeared to be a
petrified oyster on the half shell. —
New York Press,
Scientists Puzzled.
TheGovernmenteeientistsaredread
fully puzzled sometimes bv odd thin°-a
sent to them for identification For a
long time full” thev could make nothin- out
of a box of small hard balks oi
fibrous material, stated to have been
picked up on a Western prairie, which
were forwarded to the National
Museum. It was finallv discovered
that thev were buffalo cuds. When
the animals were killed aud cut behiAd-^ up on
the plains the cuds were left
hard wads of dried grass made com*
pact Ltad with itJUui digestive mtafi gUu eu ftnd ealeu*
perhdf^Kiw to far «
Verfc
(AW S.
Fencing and golfing are the coming
“fevers. ”
Nearly six per cent, of all womei
never marry.
Women can now be notaries public
in New Jersey.
There are over 6000 postmistresses
in the United States.
The Duchess of Fife has a fancy foi
going about incognito.
Miss Emma C. Whitney is Record
ing Clerk in the Ohio House of Repre¬
sentatives.
Mrs. Culbertson has been Librarian
of the New Orleans City Library for
eighteen years.
There are 288 cities in Kansas in
which women have municipal suffrage
on equal terms with men.
Working girls are said to earn bet¬
ter wages in San Francisco, Cal., than
in any other American city.
In Germany there are 13,750 wornet
teachers and 98,282 men, or nearlj
sight times as many men as women.
Miss Harraden, the author ol
“Ships That Pass in the Night,” is an
enthusiastic advocate of the suffrage
for women.
The Friday Morning Club of Los
Angeles, Cal., numbers about 200
members, including some exceedingly
able women.
Mrs. Emma C. Langenour has just
been elected a member of tho Board
of Directors of the Yolo County (Cal.)
Savings Bank.
Mrs. Elizabeth Custer, widow oi
General Custer, is said to be a very
brilliant billiard play er. Her husband
taught her to handle the cue.
The women of Liverpool, England,
being have formed an association, the objeci
to insist upon shopkeepers pro¬
viding seats for their employes.
Miss Harriet Monroe, who wrote the
“World’s Fair Ode,” is delivering a
course of lectures ou tho English
poets, at the Newberry Library, Chi¬
cago.
The Duchess of Hamilton keeps her
favorite cows in a fine stable and
milks some of them every day. Sh<
also makes all the butter used on hoi
table.
Miss Rose O’Halloran is the onlj
woman member of the Astronomica
Society of the Pacific. She was nom¬
inated to that honor by Professor
Holden.
Mary Antoinette’s lace shawl, whick
she gave on the scaffold to her father
confessor, the Abbe de l’Orme, is
still in existence at the church at
Neuendorf.
Veils of thick white lace and those
of black tulle powdered with spots ai
big as a ton-cent piece are equally af¬
fected for the moment by the modist
French women.
In Kentucky there is only one wo¬
man who has authority to officiate at
a wedding in a clerical capacity. Her
name is Munns, and she is a licensed
Baptist preacher.
Miss Eide, of Kristiania, who is tin
first woman to receive a diploma ai
candidate of pharmacy in Norway,
stood at the head of her class in all
branches but one.
A Swedish woman has hit upon s
new field for woman’s work. She has
started in business as an analytical
chemist in a town which is the center
of a mining district.
The French Society for the Amelio¬
ration of the Position of Women re¬
solved to grant an annuity to girls of
slender means desiring to qualify for
the career of druggist.
“Why not a woman?” Lady Henrj
Somerset rises to ask. She wants tc
know why women are never remem¬
bered in the distributinn of decora¬
tions, peerages and so on.
All of the students of the violincello
at present at the Royal Academy of
Music in England are womeu. Women
violin players have increased greatly
in numbers in Europe of late years.
Women who are interested in gar¬
dening, professionally, will receive
encouragement from the account given
in Meehan’s Monthly of the suceess of
Miss Wilkinson, the London landscape
gardener.
Summer or “June velvet,” as it h
called, is a new handsome textile woven
in Lyons It is a very light weight
material finely repped, and looks like
an etherealized Irish poplin, with £
velvet woof.
Australia is sending another gifted
singer to England. She is Miss Ada
C rosslev, a native of Gippsland, \ic
toria. She is young, vigorous in
physique, and has a magnificent con
tralto voice.
One of the current window exhibi
hons on West Fourteenth street, New
York City, where the shopping crowds
are, is the interesting performance ol
a young woman who cleans ribbons by
a steaming process.
The Mikado of Japan has recently
issued a decree allowing a Japanese
woman to lead, if she chooses, a single
life. Hitherto, if found unmarried
after a certain age, a husband was se¬
lected for her by law.
The Chicago Woman’s Club has the
credit, and deservedly, of influencing
all the laws for the improvement o;
the conditions surrounding the work
ing women and children of Illinois
since its organization.
A corps of women militia is the
latest step in the emancipation of
England. The ladie3 expect to fulfil
nil the War Office conditions of ef
ffeisaay Mki 1^9 and promise to be ready U
wa* broak out
NO. 2!
TO-MORROW.
Advancing swiftly just a span
Ibdore the coming morn,
Thtmtom To-morrow flees away
As each To-day is born ;
Then halting on the path of life;
Teasing and mute she stan's,
And, as men gaze with hope or fear,
She beckons with her hands.
Tims, tempestress-like, she leads men on
But will not suffer them
To touch the veil that masks her face
Or e'en her garment’s hem,
And as they follow wistfully
Aloug the vale of years,
Vainly they strive to see ii she
Is smiling or in tears.
—C. H. Williams, in Philadelphia Life.
IIUMOIt OF THE DAY
What is life but a groat cako-walk.—
Galveston News.
When a man is tho slave of gold, ho
is serving a pretty hard master.
When genius attains to a dress-suit
it has become celebrity.—Puck.
Some clocks strike ten when it is
only six. It is the same way with
many men.
“Business" covers a multitude of
transactions just out of reach of the
lav. —Puck,
A woman is never -so likely to bo
mistaken as when she is perfectly euro
she is right.
The angler is so absorbed in his
hobby that he generally fishes with
baited breath.
Good cooks can make pie of every¬
thing, from beefsteak to vinegar.—
Atchison Globe.
Hannibal succeeded in crossing tho
Alps; but lie didn’t have any hotel
lulls to pay.—Puck.
A good resolution is supposed to be
one that will stretch a little when
necessary.—Galveston News.
“You say he is a bad egg. How did
you find it out?” “He showed it tlio
moment he xvas broke.”—Fun.
It is is easy for a man to paddle his
own canoe xvhen his parents buy the
canoe and paddle for him. —Puck.
When hearts are broken, as we Mu '
They are by wooers rash,
To heal them over, neatly bind
In poltices of case.
—Washington Star, i
iVhen the pot calls the kettle black
the kettle fearlessly demands an in¬
vestigation of the color of the pot.—
Puck.
It is better to walk and catch tho
next ferry-boat than to run for dear
life and miss the one that is just start¬
ing.—Puck.
Hardup is a pretty decent sort of
chap, but he never sticks to anything.”
“Did you ever lend him any money?'’
—Philadelphia Record.
The star of hope may shine over¬
head, but we feel more security when
we can get her an' hor planted safely
in the mud b low.—Puck.
“Johnny,” said the teacher, “is a
jackass a biped or a quadruped?”
“Please, sir,” said Johnny, “that de¬
pends on the jackass.”—Life.
Lena—“She would be better oft
without her husband, wouldn’t she?”
Laura — “I should say so. His life is
insured for .$4'),009.”—Truth.
When a man begins to remark how
different children are no.v from what
they were when he was a boy, he may
look for gray hairs in his head.—Buck.
Little drops of water.
Little grains of soap
Make the active Anarchist.
Get right up an i slop -.
— Washington Star.
Hotel Proprietor—“Wo don’t aliow
any games of chance here.” Guru tr¬
ier— “This isn’t a game of chance. My
friend here has no chance.”—Brook¬
lyn Life.
Clara--“What, are you reading,
DOW?” Dora—“Historical novels.”
“Do you like them?” t ( Yes, in l.-ed.
There is so much I can skip.”—New
York Weekly.
“Wjiere is the bearded lady,” asked
the manager, “it is time for the show
to begin.” “He went out to vote,”
explained the ossified man.—Indiana*
polis Journal.
The Spectacled Girl—“Have you
read ‘Ships That Pass in the Night?’”
The Auburn-haired Girl—“No. Wa tt
kind are they—courtships?”—Indian¬
apolis Journal.
First Lady—“And the last thing
that Henry did was to give me a kiss.”
Second Lady—“Indeed; I should
think that is about the last thing he
would do. ”—Tid-Bits.
“Miss Twilkins has gone to Europe
to cultivate her voice ” ‘Dear me!
i didn’t know she cculd afford it.”
“The neighbors subscribed the
money.”—Washington Star,
Patient -“I am troubled with in
somnia. What would you recommend?”
Doctor-“A good, refreshing sleep
Be ven nights in the week. Five dol
[ arS) please.”—Boston Transcript.
“Haven’t you made Mr. Bulger’s
portrait a good deal more than life
size?” said one artist to another'
“Perhaps. You see, that’s as bi- as
he thinkg he is. ”—Washington Star,
“Did you tell the hired girl that you
wouldn’t put up with her work?” asaed
Mr. Simmins at the dinner taole.
“Yes.” “What did she say?” “She
said that there was nothing keeping
rne here if I didn’t like the place.”—
Washington Star.
Elderly Maiden—“This is so unex¬
pected, Mr. Wellalong, that—-that
you must give me time.” Elderly
Lover—“Time, Miss Rebecca? Dc
you think there is any to spare?”—
Tit-Bits.
Affable Swell—“Well, the fact is,
my name is not Smithson. You see,
I am traveling incog. There’s my
card.” Fellow Passenger —“Glad tu
bear it. I’m traveling in pic&ie*.
Hern’s aiiai,’ i| “*Di'uyk!)'a Lii%.