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■ the men who lose.
■Here’s to the men who loso!
though their work be e’er so nobly
■ planned
Bind watched with zealous enro,
Blorious lmlo crowns their efforts grand;
BContounpt Is failure’s share.
■Here’s to the men who lose!
■lumph’s easy smile our struggles greet,
■Courage I Is easy then;
king is he who, after tierce defeat, j
lean up and tight again.
■Here’s to the men who loso!
p ready plaudits of a fawning world
P king sweet in victor's ears;
le vanquished’s banners never are un¬
furled—
For them there sound no cheers.
Here's to the men who lose!
'o touchstone of true worth is not success;
L There is a higher test—
bugh fate may darkly frown, onward to
ft press,
fcdnd bravely do one’s best.
■lore's to the men who lose!
^the Hbd vanquished’s this the praises that I sing,
toast I choose;
Bird-fought failure is a noblo thing,
^■ero's K luck to them who lose.” Broadhurst.
—George H.
Unusual Burglary.
BT MARY R. P. HATCH.
EOPLE are decry-
H s ing the sophisti¬
cated state of the
country, and by
people I mean writ¬
m ers in particular.
mrm They say that there
is little pictur¬
esqueness except in
the backwoods and
Itricts far removed from the en-
pentsof railroads and electricity,
bat dialect peculiar to each lo-
' I is being flattened into monotone
[y B omnipresent schoolmaster, who,
complain, has his way far too
ch in this proudly new world of
Is. But if this be true, as a whole,
|a liage are delightful exceptions, A
drive of a few hours, or the
ft 1 of one’s bicycle an hour, brings
■to the home of folk lore and pro-
eialism capable of causing ecstatic
■ills in the heart of the dialect-mon-
HSuch were my thoughts as I alighted
■>m my wheel at nightfall, one cold
Btumnal day, and rapped (there was
■ bell) at the door of a low-browed
■ttage, behind which clumps of
■shes shut off the horizon and seemed
■ narrow the world down to the little
■use, the yard, and myself, with a
lavy |g heart, standing before it, steady-
my wheel, for I was tired.
■Presently an old lady came to tho
■or. Her comfortable, rotund form
\ ■d mild blue eye but decided chin
■pressed me with instant respect,
fhile the inborn ladyhood of her
lature was evidenced by her courteous
;re3ting and invitation to enter.
“Do you ever keep travelers over
fight?” 1 inquired after a decent inter-
■1 B“We had elapsed.
do and we don’t,” she replied;
But you can stay in weloome. Sit
■ and eat with me if you hain’t had
■supper.”
■T haven’t,” was my reply; and
■sently ■sing the old lady and 1 were dis-
her homely but toothsome
npper, and doing it ample justice in
le last way of testing its qualities; at
I did.
I “My husband has gone to town,” re¬
larked my hostess, “and if yon hadn’t
bine I should a ben here all alone to-
Ight.” [“Would
you have been afraid to
bend the night alone?”
[ unt, “Ob, for, no 1 But see, at to-night last we’re I feel ready dif-
you
b lift the mortgage. It’s two hun¬
ted and thirty-three dollars an’ one
lint. That last cent I got by selling
b aig,” she said with a happy laugh,
and now it’s altogether ’twixt the
raw bed and featherbed in my room;
td husband, lie’s gonter pay it off to-
lorrer—if he lives,” she added, with
le reverence felt by the old who have
ben so mauy hopes fade and friends
te that they never dare to speak even
| almost certainties without an “if.”
“But are you not unwise to speak of
jiur money to a stranger?” I asked as
[warning. >
“Oh, no!” she said, laughing pleas-
itly, “I know an honest man when I
e him, and I was glad the minute 1
e your face and knowed that you
mted to stay all night. ’Taint likely
lybuddy would steal from me but
ragglers. One has been seen ’round,
id I feel a little mite uneasy.”
My hostess and I spent a pleasant
Irening together. She showed me
■any an heirloom which had been
fended through five generations from
l ancestor who had been a great man
ft colonial days. There was a silver
fench bowl and a gold snuff box,
Ither ured worth more than the sum treas¬
lut so carefully in the owner’s bed ;
I suspect she would have parted
lith her life as quickly as with either
If them.
I [ill “They are Jameses,” she said, “or
be when husband and I are done
frith them. James is my nephew, and
le’a out to Chiny now. He’s had lots
[f pullbacks, But J look sites tired, has, or Mr.—” he’d helped
s. you
“Bradley.” look
“Mr. Bradley, you zif you
' oughter be to bed. I’ll light you up.”
Ascending the short flight of stairs,
’ learned that my room “settin’ was ” exactly
Ivor the old lady’s room, as
he called it. There was a sort of reg-
ster overit, through which the warmth
traggled agreeably closed enough. had How-
iver, I should have it not
, sense of the old lady’s unprotected
itnation impressed dreamland, me, and so where I re-
irei to bed and I
randered lazily until awakened by
oices beneath.
Evidently the first word had roused
ne, for as I sat up in bed, wide awake
n an instant, I heard the old lady soy
[n a matter-of fact tone—
\
“Good-evenin’. Set up to the stove
and wurm ye.”
Peeping through the register, I saw
a ragged, unkempt man creep toward
the stove, blinking uneasily. He had
come up the cellar Btairs, not through
the outside door, which sufficiently
evidenced his predatory intentions.
However, had the old lady’s visitors
always made their entrances through
the cellar she could not have been more
at ease than she appeared now as she
bustled about, setting him a chair,
putting wood into the stove, and other¬
wise mystifying her midnight caller by
her careless, friendlv manner.
Admirable as was her acting, I knew
that she had not dared to retire ; and
while regretting that I had not sus¬
pected her intentions, it now seemed
wisest to remain where I was unless
she should need my assistance, as she
probably would very soon, I reasoned.
Cocking my pistol and otherwise pre¬
paring mjself for the emergency, I sat
down on the floor, where I could watch
the couple without myself being seen.
“It’s turrible cold out for a fall
night, ain’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” said the man.
“Wall, jest set here by the stove
while I set the teapot for'ard and git
you somethin’ kinder warmin’. Mebbe
You’re hungry, too,” she added.
“Mebbe I be.”
“Wall then, I’ll set onto the table
somethin’ to eat,” she said, moving
about the room with a pleasant, bust¬
ling movement which must have filled
the burglar with wonder, as it did rue.
“There now,” she remarked at length,
“set right up and make yourself to
home. Mebbe you’d like to wash,
though. I’ll git you some warm water
outer theteakittle."
“ ’Twould seem good. I hain’t
washed for a week,” he replied.
“I wanter know ! Ben trav’iin’ and
hain’t had no chance, most like.
Here’s the soft soap, and there’s a cake
o’ hard I keep for comp’ny.”
“I’ll use the comp’ny soap,” said
the man with a sardonic laugh.
And then he sat down to the table.
He must have eaten ravenously, for
where I sat I could see his elbows
working rapidly, while his hostess
remarked voluntarily,—
“Poor cretur! How hungry you
be!”
“It’s the first square meal I’ve had
for six weeks,” he said with his month
full.
“I wanter know !” And rising, his
hostess brought from the pantry a
plate of cold meat and set it before
him.
But at last the meal was ended, and
the couple sat down by the stove on
opposite sides, she with her knitting,
and he tingeriug uneasily his old hat.
“Sav!” he broke forth at last in the
midst of some friendly inquiry re¬
garding the state of the roads. “Quit
your foolin’. You know what I’ve
come for. It’s that money you’ve got
hid in your bed.”
“How do you know I’ve got any
there?” she asked, without a quaver in
her voice.
“I see you pack it away just before
your husband left. Then I crept into
the cellar when you went to see him
off, and here I be come for it. I’ve ben
hid there six hours. Gome, hustle
round, old lady, and fetch it out, or I
shall have to git it myself. ”
“I know better.”
“Know better?”
“Yes. I know you ain’t no sech
kind of a man as to steal from an old
woman like me. You aro too much of
a man.”
“I be, be I? Wall, I guess not!
You won’t never miss it, and it would
be the making of me. ”
“How JoDg you sp’o3e me and
Josiah’s ben gittin’ that together to
lift the mortgage ?”
“I don’t know. Ain’t your place
paid for?”
“No, and we’ve ben twenty years a
scrapin’ together two handled und
thirty-three dollars and one cent.
You see Josiah’s lame and can’t earn
much, and I ain’t so smart as I was
once, and we haf to live. Tho times
got hard jest the wrong time for us.
We used to have euough, and so we
used to take a child from the poor-
house every fivo years and fetch him
up. Four of ’em we got started, and
all smart children, every one, and
dreadful good to me and Josiah.”
“Why don’t they help you?”
“They’re jest beginnin’ to do for
theirselves, and we don’t want ’em to.
James is in Chiny, Eben’s workin’ his
way through college, Fhilaster’s
clerkin’ down to the Corner, and
Horace’s jest married and oomo in
debt for a little place of his own.
Can’t you get no work?”
“No, I can’t. I’ve tried for weeks,
and trampied miles; but nobody wants
a tramp when there’s them they know
ready to work.”
“That’s so. I see how ’tis. I wish
I could do for you, but I don’t see how
I can. I s’pose I might lend you our
sick money.”
“Biok money?”
“Yes. We’ve always kept laid away
fifty dollars to bury us with, which¬
ever goes first, Josiah or me; but we
don’t like to speak it right out, and so
we call it ‘sick money.’ I could lend
von that.”
The man did not reply at first, but
after awhile said in a strangely altered
tone:
“Do yon really moan that you
would lend rao that money with the ex-
pectation of getting it back?”
“Yes, I would. I think if you can
get work you will pay it back sure. ”
^ “Maybe you'd like a not for it."
“Of course! I ’most forgot that,
Here’s the ink bottle and Josiah’s pen
and a half sheet of paper that’s source-
ly got a mark on’t. Set right here.”
And the old lady pushed the dishes
baok into the middle of the table to
give him a better chance to write,
“You know, don’t you, that I could
take the whole of that money you’ve
got hid between the straw bed and
feather bed if 1 wanted?”
“Yes, but you won’t, because you
are too much of a man to steal from two
poor old creturs when you can borry
it.”
“That’s so, I be. You shall hav&
that money back if I live, old lady,
and int’rest too, I promise ye. 1 feel
like a man ag’in, and it’s you that
made me.”
“Oh, no 1 You was a man afore, but
kinder unfortunate, that’s all.”
“Well, hero’s your note. I’ve wrote
it to pay in a year’s time, if that will
do.”
“It will, ’less one of us should die,
and then ’twouldn’t bo as if we hadn’t
got that note to show.”
The man laughed a laugh of amuse¬
ment and relief. 1 watched him as he
went to the door, and this time his
head was up and his shoulders were
square. In listening to the colloquy I
had entirely forgotten or overlooked
the fact that I had constituted myself
the guardian of the old lady’s slender
fortune. Wbat to do I did not know.
The man seemed anxious to pay the
borrowed money, and she was ready
to trust him. Perhaps I would better
let the matter rest as it was, and in
ease he did not return to pay it in a
year pay it myself as a fine for my
negligence, which tjould then have
been proved culpable. did
When I descended, which I as
noon as the man had been gone several
minutes, I found the old lady to be
very nervous.
“Why!” she said, starting to her
feet in alarm at my entrance, “I clean
forgot there was anybuddy in the
house but me.”
“So you wish I had come down be¬
fore and prevented the loan you
made?”
“No, I pitied the poor cretur’ so.
He’ll pay it back if be can, and if not
it’ll be jest another orphan we’ve
helped. Most like bein’ so old, both
of us up’ards of seventy, we shan’t do
for no more as we have done, and we
shall git buried some way.” it
“Don’t worry. If ho doesn’t pay
I will,” -was my reply.
“You needn’t think nothin’ about
it. I’ve saved the mortgage money
and given a man a lift on the road to
heaven, and I’d oughter be satisfied.
I be satisfied,” she said fervently.
“And you have reason to be,” Isaid.
We did not go to bed, either of us,
and in the morning I returned to the
city.
But I did not forget the old lady
nor the burglar. I felt convinced that
he would return the money on the
exact date when the note was given, if
at all, and accordingly, in just one
year, I made it convenient to visit the
old lady at her residence.
This time I was so fortunate as to
see her husband, and I immediately
discovered that he was just such an¬
other guileless person as herself. They
were expecting the man to pay the
note, and it lay ready for him on the
mantel when I entered.
Bure enough, at ten o’clock a firm,
stalwart man walked up to the door,
where the old lady met him with a
cordial grasp of the hand.
“You did git work,” she said.
“Yes, I did, and it was you that
saved me from crime. I had tried
every way to find something to do un¬
til that night, and the fifty dollars
put me on my feet square and firm. I
got a chance in a shop where I got
good pay, and here’s the money and
the interest.”
“The interest! I didn’t ask you no
interest.”
“But I mean to pay it.”
I do not know whether he overheard
that I was in the house that night or
net. It doesn’t matter. I saw him
several times afterward, and he seemed
both prosperous and honest, and I
don’t doubt that he was. The fact did
not tendto make me neglect my hobby,
which was that crime, when it is not a
disease, is either the result of inherit¬
ed evil tendencies or of misfortune,
and that circumstances keep and make
some men honest and others dishonest,
—Waverley Magazine.
Cause a Run on Thermometers.
“Extremes in the weather,” re¬
marked a druggist who handles a large
line of thermometers, “either in cold
or heat create a run on thermometers,
and though I had a rather large stock
on hand, the fall in the weather which
started on Sunday last nearly cleaned
me out. On Monday, 1 think, I sold
more thermometers than on any other
day that I have been in business. Or¬
dinarily people give but little atten¬
tion to thermometers, but let a very
severe change come and they will havo
them, it matters not how much they cost.
I don’t exactly understand it, but it
appears that many persons are more
thoroughly convinced that it is very
cold or extremely warm when they
read their own thermometers. Another
thing is that they seem to enjoy see¬
ing the mercury go down or rise and
for that reason like to have the weather
measurer in their possession. Trade
was exceedingly dull in tfiermometers,
but somehow, though, they are gen¬
erally bought freely at Ohristmai
time, there were but few purchasers
until about Monday last. Then it was
very active.”--Washington Star.
Woman’s Position in China.
A paper published at Shanghai says
that “in China a woman is not her hus¬
band’s companion and cannot be so,
as society is at present constituted.
When a young wife is introduced to a
new family her husband seems to be
the last person with whom she has
anything to do. He would be ashamed
to be seen talking to her, and if he
shonld exchange views with her he
would be laughed at by the whole
family.”
British Postal Savings.
One of the greatest bankers in the
world is the British government. As
a bank it holds nearly $500,000,000 in
postoffice deposits payable practically
on call, and pays interest at tho rate
of two aud a half per cent, per an¬
num to itt depositors. Last year the
deposits increased $50,000,000.—San
Francisco News Letter.
FASHION FORECAST.
WHAT THE DRESSY NEW YORK
WOMEN WILL WEAR.
Stylish Gowns for Street Wenr—
Several Complete Costumes De¬
scribed—Jaunty and Kash-
ionable Headgear.
(Special New York Fashion Lottor.)
O H, When Husband soon Solicitous most all will your or come lather, womankind the time, dear, will
appear.
They’ll cook your favorite they’ll dishes,
Fine compliments pay;
And all your fondest wishes
Will carefully obey!
And know you not the reason?
Why, really now, you ought:
Fine dresses for the springtime
Must speedily bo bought!
I wonder why it is that, realizing as
we do that summer is inevitable, we
invariably leave the ordering of our
new season’s gowns till the very last
moment, and then because we all want
them made at once, and in the short¬
est possible space of time, we have to
exercise a considerable amount of
patience. When once the new fashions
are settled on, there is nothing to
gain by waiting, and yet I fiud myself,
in spite of all this moralizing, one of
these same procrastinating sinners
who never by any chance awake to a
full sense of their responsibilities, till
it is forced upon them that they have
not a gown which is fit to wear.
However, I am sure, we all mean to
improve so I’ll help by describing the
several very chic gowns illustrated on
this page.
That becoming Eton suit, the per¬
fection of what a spring costume
should be, is made of canvas weave
novelty material in a combination of
green and tan. The skirt hangs ex¬
ceedingly well and is lined with a rich
tan glace silk. The little jacket is
smart enough to witch the heart out
of any woman and then an appliqued
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BECOMING ETON SUIT. EVEE POPULAR BLAZER SUIT.
trimming of light tan cloth adds con¬
It siderably to its effective appearance. taffeta silk
is worn over a two-tone
blouse confined at the waist under a
pointed girdle made of the material
edged with a fold of the tan cloth.
The hat that makes such a fitting
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SHAM JACKET ST IT.
crown for this dainty frock is of tan
novelty braid and tho trimming con¬
sists of loops of green velvet and gauze
ribbon and a wealth of American
beauty roses. blazer is a-feature
The over-popular The cloth used is
in the next suit. a
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AN ATTRACTIVE SUIT.
dark stone gray closely woven cheviot,
marked in tiny square blocks by
threads of the same color.
The novelty of the jacket is in the
way the revers widen at the bust line,
for generally they grow narrow at the
bottom and extend in points at the
shoulders. These revers are faced with
a heavy gray twill silk in a lighter
shade than the cloth and they are fin¬
ished with a dainty cording of black
silk in a fancy design.
The bottom of the jacket is smartly
cut and edged with braid while the
jaunty little side pockets have patch
covers, in ent and finish similar to the
edge of the jacket. The sleeves are
especially well shaded and are trimmed
with a neat cording. This “study in
gray” is completed by a gray straw
hat adorned with exquisitely shaded
plumes. Paradise aigrettes of black
droop over each side of the brim and
an immense bunch of velvet pansies
resting upon the hair at the back com¬
plete this fascinating bit of headgear.
The jacket suit next shown is an
ideal of smartness from the edge of its
corduroy bound skirt to the tip of the
tastefully stitched collar. The materi¬
al of which it is fashioned is an open
weave novelty of deep brown cross-
barred with two heavy threads of
white, and over the entire eurfaoe is
powdered tiny spots of green that
make the combination most fascinat¬
ing. The pretty strapped front and
seams and the smart stitching on the
collar and edges of the jacket all aid
in making the costume as swell as one
could imagine.
The hat that accompanies this suit
has a large crown of geranium red
novelty straw to which is fastened a
finely shirred brim of red liberty satin
finished at the edge with a double
moke. A wealth of black plumes
droop over the left side while the
right is adorned with a bunch of ger¬
aniums surrounded with the beautiful
foliage provided by nature.
Equally attractive in design and fln-
ish is the fourth suit depicted, The
cloth used is one of the new Napoleon
blues and its trimming consists of
stratis of the material exquisitely
stitched and showing the unmistakable
handiwork of an expert tailor.
The gracefully hanging skirt is gar-
nitured with a stitched strap down
each side and the tight fitting waist is
similarly finished.
The beautiful hat is of fine black
Milan braid trimmed with chons of
blue and of yellow meline and with
four immense black ostrich feathers'.
The costumes illustrated herewith
were designed by The National Cloak
Co., of New York.
Land Telegraph and Cable Rates.
Telegraph rates vary greatly in this
country owing to the immense dis¬
tances. In many of the smaller coun¬
tries of the old world a uniform rate
is made for any point within the given
country, but it would be manifestly
unfair to the American telegraph com¬
panies if they were compelled to send
a message from New York to San
Franoiseo for the same rate that they
charge for a message from New York
to Jersey City or from Chicago to
Evanston.
As a rule, the minimum rate for a
day message of ten words in this coun¬
try is 25 cents. A message from Chi¬
cago to Boston costs 50 cents, while
New York,Philadelphia and Baltimore
have a 40-cent rate. The highest rates
from Chicago are those for points in
Southern Fiorida—85 cents. It costs
only 75 cents to telegraph to any point
in California or Oregon, and the rate
for New Orleans is 50 cents.
Cable rates are so much per word,
instead of per message of ten words,
and the figures are very much higher.
Messages to England, France and Ger¬
many cost 31 cents per word from
Chicago. Belgium’s rate is 36 cents;
Holland and Italy, 38 cents; Austria,
40 cents; Greece, 44 cents; Egypt, 62
cents; Switzerland, 36 cents; Sweden,
45 cents; Turkey, 43 cents and 53
cents; Bussia, 49 cents.
The Cuban war has greatly increaBpe
the volume of telegraphic business in
the West Indies. The lowest rate is
40 cents per word for messages in
Havana. Other Cuban points are
higher, and no town in the West In¬
dies outside of Cuba can be reached
for less than SI. 05 per word.
Messages to Porto llico cost SI. 85 per
word.
Central American rates range from
50 cents (Gautemala) to 75 cents (Costa
Bica and Nicaragua). South American
rates take a big jump upward. Bra¬
zilian messages cost from $1-35 to$1.87
per word; British Guiana points cost
S2.17.
Communication with Australia is
expensive. Queensland reaches the
highest figure, S2.62 por word, while
South and West Australia rates are
$1.47. Messages to China cost $2.02
per word, and the same figures apply
to Corea. Jajmnese rates are $2.27
per word ; Java,$1.53 ; Formosa,$2.27;
India, $1.29; Madagascar,$1.70 ; New
Zealand, $1.58; Philippine Islands,
$2.51; Siam, $1.41.
Algeria can be reached for 38 cents
per word, the minimum rate for the
Dark Continent. East Africa rates are
$1.54 to $1.64, while South African
points range between $1.58 and $1.70.
West African points, as [a rule, range
above $2, while it costs $3.02 to send
a word to Mossamedes from Chicago
—more than to reach any other tele¬
graph station in the world direct.
However, a message to Bassidore or
Lingah costs the Chicago sender $1.19
per word tc Jask, Persia, and $11.76
extra for special dispatch boat line
from that point.—Chicago Times-
Herald.
Oyster Shell Mountains.
The waters of Maryland proclnco
one-third of the oyster supply of the
world. It yields twice as many of the
luscious bivalves as are grown in all
ioreign countries combined, says the
Philadelphia Times. During the pres¬
ent century it has put on the market
400,000,000 bushels of tho toothsome
mollusks. These have sold for the
enormous sum of $250,000,000. Al¬
most all of this country is dependent
for the abundance and cheapness of
this edible on the supply of the Chesa¬
peake. From here come also nearly
all of the oysters used for canning.
Id fact, the output of this industry in
Maryland is equal to one-sixth of alt
the fisheries of the United States put
together.
The quantity of oyster shells landed
upon the shores of Maryland. duriDg
the last century has been reckoned at
12,000,000 tons. Until very lately the
canning firms had much trouble in
getting rid of the shells, having to pay,
in fact, for the removal of all that
they could not give away. Keoently,
however, they have been able to sell
them.
They are now shipped to all parts
of the country and are utilized vari¬
ously for roads, for lime and employed
in making coal gas. They have been
found also to serve almost as well as
stone in the manufacture of special
grades of iron for railroad beds. Cul¬
tivators of oysters also employ them,
having found that they aflord suitable
surfaces for young oysters to attach
tbemselves to. They are likewise used
to some extent as chicken food. They
are very good for hens, the shells of
eggs being largely made of them. The
trade received $25,000 in a single
year for the empty shells.
Starfishes are the oysters’ worst
enemy. Other animals the young bi¬
valves have to guard against are oro.bs
and boring snails. They are also in
danger of being stifled by the mud.
In Pacific waters sting rays aro their
most dreaded foes. The little crab
that lives in the shell of the oyster has
always excited much interest. It is
found on about fivo per cent, of tho
bivalves. It is a sort of parasite of the
oyster, whose shell protects it, and
whose feed supports it.
Long-Armed Yisttor.
A firm of Chicago fish dealers re¬
ceived an octupus in a box of halibut
from Puget Sound. It was sent to the
firm for a Lenten display as represent¬
ing the devil in his banishment. It
measures nine feet lrom tip to tip of
its tentacles and weighs forty pounds.
It will be mounted and prove u great
advertising card.