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Ansel Sanderson’s “Odd Fit,”
i- " - v ■** -*- -
BY C. A. STEPHENS.
■OR twenty-eight years An
■ sel Sanderson had
F I “the who man disappeared who
- rr—— man
no sign. One
August. 186S, at the age of
this young farmer had gone to
nrnfu-Id to “top stalk" the corn.
as ®een to enter the field, hut no
flhat region saw him afterward.
1 became of him remained an un¬
mystery,
1 It was hinted among neighbors and
ptives Sf that Ansel had found his life
hard for him. His young wife,
p, was known to be more ambitious
: I inor thrift and money-getting than he.
had it that she had set for them
I stint of laying up $500 a year off
pr little farm, conre what would;
It she scrimped their table to the
| degree of frugality, and that she
is constantly urging Ansel on to la-
1 jm , early and late, without a holiday
January to December,
this gossip may have been true, or
fe bland, in part. From generations of New
thrift such “economical”
png housewives have sometimes
|ung, but the fact remained that An
f had gone away and said nothing,
bus’ version of it to her friends was
that Ansel had proposed that morning
tlhtit they should attend a camp meet
then in progress—not a very riotous
ff#m of recreation, certainly—but that
bad urged him to top-stalk the
^$n. She thought that be would come
lek when he had "got over his odd
x>is remained upon the farm, which
is unencumbered, and she carried it
herself after a fashion of her own.
e kept cows and poultry, and pros
jeered as It such ts said a frugal that she soul naturally
came near
up her “stint” every year. More¬
over, she obtained six pet cent, for her
on mortgages, and In twenty
eight years Lefiame the wealthiest
woman in that rural community. Rut
still lived alone, and had cautiously
a voided all entangling alliances,
° n b (i r forty-eighth birthday, as she
sat eating her frugal supper alone, the
outer door opened and Ansel walked
’in, drew up a chair on the other side
of the table, and sat down lu his old
place opposite her. Lois knew him in¬
stantly, although a beard now over¬
spread bis formerly boyish, smooth
face.
“No, Lois, I don’t want the farm,"
"replied Ansel. “I had enough of it
years ago. But I should
(like some supper. I want four boiled
and a sheet of warm biscuit and
butter.”
“Eggs are going up, Ansel,” replied
“That was about the last thing you
to me in 1868,” Ansel remarked.
“But I will pay for my supper, Lois.
If I have anything here. I'll pay cash
for It. Only 1 won't be scrimped agnln,
Lois.”
He got the four boiled eggs and the
sheet of warm biscuit and butter, and
during the evening they compared
notes and talked matters over, Botli
had prospered. Lois had accumulated
about $30,000, and Ansel was able to
make a display of Government bonds
and bills to the amount of nearlv $20.
000 .
Between them they then came to a
new agreement, protected by express
stipulations on both sides. Ansel was
to pay Si a week for his board, but was
to have just what he called for each
day. He had that put down In black
and white. He had no claim to the
farm, admitting that his rights to It
were “outlawed.” He agreed to work
for Lote whenever lie pleased, and not
otherwise, at $1.50 a day In summer
and $1 a day in winter. No other
claims or obligations on etther side
were to be allowed or admitted!
Thus, after twenty-eight years, An¬
sel at fifty and Lois at forty-eight, re¬
sumed life at the farm again.
On the whole, it was not an unfair
arrangement. Both were satisfied. It
was certainly no one’s buslne but
their own, and I am far from presum¬
ing to eritieise It. I mention it only as
the prelude to the story Ansel Sander¬
son told me of his wanderings during
the twenty-eight years he was “lost."
and of the singular manner in which
he accumulated his $20,000. For it was
a matter of no little wonder among his
former neighbors and acquaintances
bow a “rolling stone” like Ansel could
have done so well, and brought home
so much money.
When he went away, with nothing
but the coarse clothes he was wearing,
he walked to another county fifty miles
distant, where he worked on a farm for
a fortnight. Then he walked on again
to the vicinity or Albany. N. Y„ where
he worked for a month. Then he took
a week’s holiday, and walked on again,
always westward.
For four years he alternately worked
and tramped through Pennsylvania,
Ohio. Indiana. Illinois and Missouri, to
Kansas, always working on farms, gen¬
erally about a month in a place, earn¬
ing enough to pay for his clothes and
the holidays he allowed himself. His
habits were unusually correct.
From Kansas he made a detour into
Arkansas, and liking the climate there,
spent two years or more in that State.
But the habit of walking on at last ied
bim into Texas, and for three years
more he fared from farm to ranch and
ranch to farm, still working and walk
In s on.
At last he came where farms and
ranches Ceased, on the borders of the
great, dry, barren plains, the Llano Es
tacado. At the last ranch where he
worked he remained Tor rt year—per¬
haps because there whs then no farm
beyond for hundreds of miles—and here
he made the acquaintance of a singular
old character called “Sweet-Killer
Say,” who taught Ansel the art of
hunting wild bees, which are very nu¬
merous in that part of Texas. Thence¬
forward, for eighteen years, this be¬
came his sole occupation.
There Is lu this region a river known
as the Double Mountain River, which
for thirty miles flows through a canon,
formed by cliffs 300 or 400 feet high
on both banks.
These cliffs abound in fissures,
chasms and eaves, and if Ansel's ac¬
count can be trusted—and he seems to
have the money to show for it—the en¬
tire canon was one vast apiary, where
wild bees have existed and gathered
sweets for centuries. They are In
such numbers as sometimes on certain
bright days to resemble clouds high up
the crags, and they fill the canon with
.. voluminous hum. The grassy, flow¬
ery plains for miles on each side of the
canon and thousands of flowering
shrubs afford pasture for the bees.
Ansel assures me that there were
hundreds of these wild bee colonies,
whose enormous masses of comb and.
lioney were adhering In sheltered
chasms and beneath overhangs of the
rock. A number of caverns, too, ex¬
tending far hack into the cliff, have
be; :i utilized ns great storehouses of
comb by the bees. Not one swarm
alone occupies such a cave, but fifty,
perhaps, or a hundred, swarms, each
having its own queen, but all using the
month of the cavern ns a common en¬
trance. lit consequence, the stream of
bees issuing from and entering the
cave on a warm day is like a rapid,
roaring river of winged insect life.
It was here that tills quaint old
Texan pioneer and Ansel “lnfhted
honey,” most of which they extracted
from the comb and put up in jars to
send to San Francisco and Galveston.
The wax they also pressed In cakes
and su’d. It was their custom to send
a wa; load of honey and wax down
to the railroad station, thirty miles dis¬
tant, once a fortnight, und sometimes
In good weather once a week.
Some of the colonies and their depos¬
its of honey could be reached from the
bed of the canon, along the river bank,
by climbing up the crags. Others were
accessible by means of long ladders.
But the most copious stores were at
greater heights, 290 and even 300 feet
above the river bed.
When seen from below the mass of
comb looked no larger than bacon
hams, but when reached was found to
amount to several barrels of honey.
There were also great sheltered holes
and nooks literally packed with old
comb and dripping with brown, discol¬
ored sweets.
None of them were within thirty or
forty foot of the top of the cliffs, and
they were never in situations where a
man could climb down to them. Many
of the crags overhung, Indeed; and a
single glance over was sufficient to turn
one’s head dizzy.
But the veteran bee hunter had de¬
vised a rope ladder, or rather u heavy
rope with loops in which to vest the
feet as he climbed up and down. This
rope he attached to a crowbar driven
deep Into the earth, or set firmly In
crevices of the ledges, and then with a
hamper on his back for the honeycomb,
and provided with a sheath knife and
a sort of short handled Dshspear, old
“Sweet-Killer” had accustomed himself
to climb down these awful crags to
plunder the aerial stores of honey.
To protect themselves from the stings
of the enraged insects the men wore
gloves and nets over their hats. They
had also an ordinary bee smoker, by
means of which the bees could be ren¬
dered “docile” for a time.
After the death of Say, Ansel con¬
tinued his singular vocation, having as
partner a son of the old bee hunter.
They disagreed in the matter of the
profits, however, and Ansel moved to a
point on the north side of the canon,
where he lived for ten years.
So dangerous a business would seem
to make a trusty companion very de¬
sirable, if not absolutely necessary, but
thenceforth Ansel worked alone here,
descending and ascending the crags
unaided, and with no one to call in case
of accident. It must have developed In
him a wonderful degree of self reliance.
Something of Lois’ Instinct for sav¬
ing money appears also to have taken
possession of him as he approached old
age. He labored steadily and carefully
and hoarded his money.
At first he entertained no thought of
ever returning home, but as years
passed by be began planning to do so
when he should be fifty years old, and
had savings sufficient to live on.
It was impossible that a man could
work for ten years at so perilous an
occupation without adventures of some
kind. Ansel met with few, however.
Once a party of desperate characters
came to his cabin to rob him, but he
waked and heard them in time to eon
cea! himself,
One of his experiences while clearing
a sheltered chasm of honeycomb was
startling. He had been at work for
three or four hours, and had carr. -d
ten hamperfnis of comb and honey up
his looped rope ladder, having nearly
: k I«* feet to ascend with each lead,
There was a great deal of old honey”
here, and myriads of bees, and after
every upward trip he was obliged.
use the smoker to keep them quiet,
while he forked out a hamperful of
comb.
The place almost overhung the river,
which flowed at the foot of the cliffs,
300 feet below — a situation which
would have caused ftix inexperienced
person to turn pale and giddy, But
Ansel had come not to mind being sus¬
pended at such awful heights, and in¬
deed was accustomed never to look
down at all.
At the top Of the cliff, where the
rope was attached to his crowbar, he
had one day set a roW of large galvan¬
ized Iron buckets, to hold the honey¬
comb as he brought It up. Where it
hung over the brow of the rock the
rope was held out by a stout, forked
pole, set aslant lu a crevice near the
crowbar.
Ansel was tolling upward with a
load, setting his feet slowly lu the
loops of the rope, when as he came
within fifteen or twenty feet of the
top he heard a noise as of hogs champ¬
ing soft corn directly over his head.
Glancing up Ansel could just see the
tidge of some yellowish animal's back
near his honey buckets.
The sounds were so much like those
made by hogs that at first he felt sure
It must be some stray porker, that had
come along, and he angrily shouted,
“Whee, there! Whee, you beast!” as
he climbed higher in baste, to save his
honey. But as Ills head rose clear of
the brow of the crag he perceived to
his consternation that the creature was
no hog, but a large yellow bear, also
that there were two others, and that
all three were 11111118 themselves from
Ills honey buckets, several of which
they had upset.
Catching sight of Ansel’s bead at the
same Instant the largest bear rose sud¬
denly on Its haunches and stared at
him in surprise, its jaws slavering
honey. Then, appearing to resent the
Interruption of Its feast, the animal
growled and dashed forward to the
very brink of the rock, the hair on its
foreshoulders bristling and its small
eyes rolling furiously.
Ansel had no effective weapon at
hand; even his honey trident was stick¬
ing down in the chasm. There was
nothing he could do hut descend a few
loops on the rope as rapidly as possi¬
ble. He was at an utter loss what to
do next, however, and stood still.
But, meanwhile, the bear, after peer¬
ing over the brink, ran along the top
of the cliff for n little way, then ran
back, and In doing so passed under the
forked pole above mentioned, on which
the rope was held out. There was
scarcely room for the big beast to
pass under. Its back grazed, and
scrambling on. It drew pole and rope
along on its shoulders—bearing the
latter on with it for several yards,
w’hen it dropped back on the cliff with
a heavy Jerk.
"I couldn't well see what was going
on up there,” Ansel said to me, In de¬
scribing his sensations. “When I felt
myself going, I thought at first the
bears had rooted up the crowbar, and
that my seebnds were numbered!”
The rope was strong and withstood
the Jerk, but Ansel received a consid
erabl shock when it. dropped or slid off
the bear’s back. He fell two or three
feet.
“My heart nearly came into my
mouth!” he told me. “I didn’t know
what would happen next, and I hung
on there, still as a mouse, for some mo¬
ments.”
Presently he heard all the bears
champing agnln, and after a time
climbed cautiously up a few loops,
where he could Just see them over the
brink of the rock.
From tilts uncomfortable situation
Ansel covertly watched a large part of
his honeycomb disappear into the
maws of the hungry and highly appre¬
ciative bears. There was no doubt
that they were fond of it. They swal¬
lowed It by the pound. And although
greatly disapproving, he was In no po¬
sition to object, or even to expostulate
audibly.
Not content with stuffing themselves
to repletion the provoking animals
overset all the buckets, and even rolled
in wbat wgs left of the contents on the
dry, mossy rocks. They smeared their
snouts and jowls, then rubbed them
along the moss, ns If from pure wan¬
tonness In such exuberant sweetness.
Then suddenly the largest bear, ns
If Us skin were.tickeld by the honey
or beset by parasites, threw itself half¬
down beside the crowbar and began
rubbing smartly.
With every rub Ansel could feel the
bear move and sway the rope, and
again his heart “nearly turned over”
lest the bear should actually rub the
bar out of the crevice! For an instant
he was minded to climb rapidly up the
rope and try to run past the animals,
but be knew that these big cinnamon
bears were not to be trifled with.
Suddenly it occurred to him to use
the bee smoker. It was below, set in
a crevice of the crags, but he climbed
down and got it. Then charging the
bowl with a bit of hemp and sulphur,
he ascended near the brow of the cliff,
ligthted It and t.egan working the puf¬
fer. Fumes at once rose au<l were
borne back to the bears sprawling
amidst the honey, tor the draft of air
up from the canon wag deflected over
the brink of the cliff.
Scenting brimstone, the lazy brutes
suddenly scrambled to their feet, snif¬
fing. One of them even rose to his
haunches, snuffling and wrinkling up
his well smeared black muzzle. After
snuffing suspiciously for some moments
all three turned and shuffled stiffly and
surlily away to a little distance. Here
they paused, sniffed again, then set off
at "a clumsy gallop, to put a greater
distance between them and these high¬
ly objections ble odors.
The bears had made a mess of his
day's work, but Ansel was only too
glad to come out of his adventure on
such easv terms,-Youth’s Companion,
Plucl* anH debenture.
LOST ON THE MATTERHOBN.
’ORTY years ago this month
the first ascent of the peak
of the Matterhorn was
made. Now, fit the foot Of
the mountain, where the
Zermatt glacier disinte¬
grates, watch is being kept for the
body of Lord Francis Dougins, One of
four men who lost their lives in that
feat. If the body is found, says the
New York Sun, it will be a repetition
of history, for in 1801 the bodies of
three men lost on Mont Blanc forty
one years before were thus recovered.
The catastrophe in which Lord
Francis lost his life was one of the
most the history of Alpine
til 1805 the Matter¬
horn had remained inaccessible, al¬
though the best guides in Switzerland
and Italy had sought to scale the peak.
On July 13 of that year eight men
started from Zermatt in a party to At¬
tempt the feat—Lord Francis Douglas,
Mr. Whymper (who had failed eight
times in the same task), the Rev. Chas.
Hudson, Robert Hadow, a college
man; Michael Croz, a guide, and three
other guides all named Tntlgwalder, a
father and two sons.
On that evening they camped 11,000
feet above the sea. The next morning
seven of them started early, leaving
one of the Taugwalder brothers with
the baggage. At 10 o’clock, when they
stopped for an hour, they were 14,000
feet above tide water. From that
time their labors became excessively
arduous and tbeir progress slow, but
after long detours and awkward scal¬
ing of Icy precipices, they at last
reached the summit soon after noon,
and commanded one of the finest views
in the world, which no man had ever
seen till then. Their excitement was
intense, their triumph complete.
After an hour’s rest they started
down, carefully roped together. Croz
wont first, then Hadow, Hudson, Lord
Francis, the elder Taugwalder, his son,
and Mr. Whymper in the order named.
Tlie way was so difficult that but
one man moved at a time. When he
had found a resting place and was
firmly fixed, the next man cautiously
followed down to the post Just vacated,
while the rest clung to the face of the
rock or ice to sustain the shock If he
slipped. Croz guided the feet of Hadow
into footholds. Having firmly fixed
them In place, he was In the get of
turning to find a new post for himself,
when Hadow slipped, struggled and
toppled over him, throwing him out¬
ward. In another moment Hudson
was torn from his grips and was fall¬
ing after them, and Lord Francis im¬
mediately followed. The other three
leaned back and braced themselves.
The rope was taut between them and
all caught the shock at once. They
oiling to the rock; but the rope between
Lord Francis and the elder Taugwalder
broke, and the four men went sliding
helplessly down over rock and Ice, un¬
able to find a projection to which to
cling. They struggled desperately, but
could not stop themselves, and one by
one fell over a precipice and dropped
to the glacier, 4900 feet below.
Three of the bodies were soon recov¬
ered, but that Of lord Francis Douglas
was never found. The glacier has
moved since tJien about one foot a day,
and the part on which he fell has al¬
most reached the point of breaking up.
The supposition that he fell into a
crevasse, and so may have been borne
along with the glacier, has led to the
setting of a watch, But that fact Is
tnestablisfied, and no very accurate
knoweldge of the rate of movement of
the glacier is available, so that the
hope of finding the body rests on a
slender foundation.
A FAMOUS ENGINE.
Not long ago a little old fashioned
switch engine was haulded down the
main line of a Western railroad to be
thrown into the scrap pile, Dingy,
rusty, worn out, not worth repairing
further, it was yet of sufficient impor¬
tance to attract to station platforms
hundreds of men and women who had
not forgotten the record of “Engine 97,
of the Alton,” and wanted a last look
at the old machine.
Just a third of a century ago “97”
was the most famous locomotive in
the world. To the bounds of clviliza
iton, wherever the telegraph and the
daily news reached, it was talked
about, praised, spoken of with the
pride which all the world feels in one
of man's creations which has done a
wonderful thing, And a wonderful
thing “97” had done, for, stopping only
for water, it had run for three con¬
secutive hours at a speed approximat¬
ing a mile a minute, and had even run
long stretches of the way at the then
■undreamed of speed of -a mile In fifty
seven seconds.
That was in October, 1871. The
engine was in the roundhouse at
Bloomington, Ill. On the previous
night word had reached Bloomington
that a great fire was in progress in
Chicago. Early in the morning a
telegram came to the Bloomington
fire department from the mayor of the
burning city, asking for aid. The fire
department called up a railway official
and asked for a special train.
So “97” was fired up, rolled out to
the main line, coupled to a coach and
a flat car, and sent to a team track.
There ail the fire fighting apparatus
that could be spared was run on the
flat car and fastened securely, the fire¬
men found places in the coaeb, and
“97,” with a full head of steam, slipped
easily away on wbat was to be the
most famous run of its life.
A clear track had been provided for
the whole distance. Every opposing
train was side tracked, and men were
stationed at all fits switches to assure
safety. Louis Hawks was fit the throt¬
tle of the little engine—little fis en¬
gines go to-day, but a big fellow then,
He gave “97” notch after notch of
the throttle till Jhe train flew at a won¬
derful speed. From Clienoa to Pon¬
tiac, ten miles, the train passed In ten
minutes. From Dwight to Gardner,
nine miles, was covered, in nine min¬
utes. Then In a burst of speed that
made the wondering officials in the
despatcher'e office gape in amazement,
“97” wheeled off the seven mile* from
Wllmlngtoli to El wood In barely six
minutes.
At the throttle Hawks sat, bent for¬
ward, his eyes Intent on the track,
strained, nervous over this never be¬
fore equaled speed, coaxing his engine
with a magician’s hand. And at last,
In almost an even three hours, he
closed the throttle and brought the
train to a stop In the smoke enshrouded
city after a record making run of one
hundred and twenty-seven miles.
The story of that ride went every¬
where fis one of the great feats In con¬
nection with the big fire. Sermons
were preached about the engine, and
magazines spread pictures Of it broad¬
cast. Like the "John Bull” of the
Ofinlden and Amboy line, or the “Gen¬
eral” which once pulled Andrews and
bis rnlders, “97” was set down for Im¬
mortal fame. But no such easy berth
awaited It as those others found—level
sidings in showy expositions. It pulled
special trains till It was out of date,
and then was put into the shops and
made Into a switch engine, In which
guise It wore Itself out.
Louis Hawks, too, grew old In serv¬
ice and died a little before his, engine,
on January 3, 1905, after nearly fifty
yeai-s of continuous service.
PAUL JONES’ FIRST COMMAND.
Returning home from the West In¬
dies after his voyage as a slaver, the
yellow fever broke out on the ship on
which he had taken passage, The
captain and mate died, the crew was
reduced to a few sick men, but John
Paul, defying the fever as be defied
every enemy, would never go below
except to aid the suffering, but spent
his days In the rigging. In the end he
took command of the ship and brought
her into port with a crew of live men,
The owners of the brig allowed him
summary salvage and made him mas¬
ter of their finest full-rigged ship. As
captain of this vessel he made three
full voyages from Whitehaven, bet
homo port, to Virginia and the Wesl
Indies. It was on one of these voyages
Hint, having a difficulty with a burly,
mutinous mulatto of the crew, he
knocked the man down with a belnying
pin. Some weeks after the man died,
and Captain Paul, on his return to
Whitehaven, was arrested for murder.
This incident was favorably • made
much of by a class of English writers
who were fond of portrylng Paul Jones
as merely a ruthless pirate, a brigand
of the sea. But an English Jury sum¬
marily ncqulttcd him. He testified lu
Ills own behalf with the frankness and
fearlessness of his nature. When
If he had not used more force than
was necessary to preserve discipline,
he answered: “May it please this hon¬
orable court, I may say that it be¬
came necessary to strike a mutinous
sailor. Whenever It becomes neces¬
sary for a commanding officer to strike
a seaman, It is also necessary to strike
with a weapon. I may say that the
necessity to strike carries with It the
necessity to kill or completely disable
the mutineer. I had two brace of
loaded pistols In my belt and could
easily have shot him. I struck with
a belnying pin In preference, because
I hoped I might subdue him without
killing him.” Later in life Paul Jones
threw overboard the cat-o’-nine-talis
on every American war vessel he took
command of, and treated his fighting
sailors with a regard and consideration
unknown In those rough times.—Lynn
Tew Sprague, in the Outing Magazine.
IN CUSTODY OF A BOARHOUND.
During a visit to a friend In the
country Sir Henry HawkluB bad
adventure with a boarhound which
describes In his “Reminiscences:”
" There was an enormous Danish boar¬
hound, which had. unperceived by ns,
followed Mrs. Harlstone from the
brary. He pushed by without cere¬
mony, and proceeded until he
the lady, who was some distance
advance. He then carefully took
skirt of her dress with his mouth,
carried it like an accomplished train
bearer until he reached the bottom of
the stairs and the garden, when be
go the dress and gazed asjan
ed spectator. I
But before we parted from Mrs.
Harlstone, and while I was talking to
her, I felt my hand tn the boarhound’*
month, and a pretty capacious month
St was, for I seemed to touch
but his formidable fangs: So soft
the touch of his fangs that I jvas
just conscious my hand was In
month by now and then the
reminder. I knew animals too
to attempt to withdraw it, and I
served a calm more wonderful than
could have given myself credit for.
While I was wondering what
next proceeding might be, Mrs.
stone begged me to be quite easy,
on no account to show any
to the dog’s proceedings, in which
she promised that he would lead
gently to the other side of the
and there leave me without doing
least harm.
As I was being led away Mrs.
stone said: “Do exactly as he
He is jealous of your talking to
and any one who does so he
away to the other side of the
. ‘Having conducted me to the
spot be could find, he opened his
Jaws and released my hand,
his tail and trotted off, much
with his performance.
did not think of
PAST WHEN FALLING.
Metzel Planed Just H<J» He Was
Colng to Alight—Relaxed A* Toes
Touched—Saved From Death.-'
/
Harry Metzel, Of York, Pa., who Is
just recovering front a fall of sixty
feet, told a few days ago about bin
sensations. His fall was«from a sixty
foot smokestack to a tin roof. Her
made himself alight on his feet, break¬
ing one leg and spraining the other. He
is twenty years old, and has worked
ns a painter upon high structures since’"
he was seventeen years old.
“I have often read and have heard
others say that when an individual is
in great peril of his life all the import¬
ant events and deeds of his career flit
like pictures through his mind,” he
said, in telling of the fall. “I experi¬
enced no such sensation, and do no#
recall thinking of a previous incident
of my life when I realized I was about
to fall or while X was making tin*
descent. 'I
"1 was clinging to a rope attached to
the top of the stack. It was my only
support. A few inches above me I
saw that the strands of the rope were
parting, and I realized that I must
fall.
“My first thought was of my two»"
companions,who were working on thei
roof directly under me. I shouted::
•U >ok out, down there, 1 am going to
fall!' As I saw them hurry out of dan¬
ger, my next thought was of the steam*!
whistle at the foot of the smokestack. It,’
‘I’ll strike It- and be Impaled upon i
I told myself. pnd I felt
“Then the rope broke,
myself shooting downward jvith the
air currents produced by my rapidly,’,
descending body rushing past my ears.
The Instant I felt myself falling my
thought was that I must avoid lhai
steam whistle and land on my feet. , v ,
"I managed to keep my body erect.
As I saw myself within a few feet of!
the roof, I tried to land on my toes.,’
"When I landed, I fell in a relaxed henp..
I did not think I was hurt, and said ;
aloud, ‘That was lucky.’ Then I got
upon my feet, and the instant my
weight was upon my legs I knew I was
hurt.”—New York Times. \
WISE WORDS' _
Oppression is more easily bornt^thau.
Insult—Junius. '* J
Idleness is the burial of a living vaan.
—Jeremy Taylor.
Hypocrisy Is the necessary burdcaa
of villainy.—Johnson. j
Contentment gives a crown where*
fortune hath denied it.—Ford.
Action Is eloquence; the eyes of the
Ignorant are more learned than their
earn—Shakespeare.
To become a thoroughly good man ls
the beBt prescription for keeping a.
sound mind in a sound body.—Bowen. ,
Half the world is on the wrong scent
in the pursuit of happiness. They
think it consists In having, and getting.,
and lu being served by others; it con¬
sists in giving and serving others.—
Drummond. *
Help us, each one of us in;hi# place,
in the place which is providentially al¬
lotted to us In life, to act well opr part,
with consecrated will, .with pure!,affec¬
tion, with simplicity of heart, ^o do
our duty and to leave the rest to (lod,
—Horatio Stebbins.
>"j
A Captain of Industry.
For several days the policeman o
the beat bad observed a small boy wb
spent the most of his time lounging,
near a downtown Btreet crossing, and
seemed to have nothing to do. Oito
morning he accosted him.
“Tommy,” he said, “or whatever yow
name is, you do entirely too muchi
loafing round here. Hadn’t you better
be at home?”
“I ain’t loafin’,” Indignantly replied
the boy. “I got a reg’ler job here.” , ;
“You’ve got a Job? What is it?”
"De guy wot owns dls store pays me
a dollar a week fur keepln’ diskerossin’"
swept clean.”
“But I never see you doing any
work,” said the policeman.
“Of course not,” returned the boy.
“I takes de money an’ lets out de Job
fur fifty cents a week to de kid wot’a
out dore sweepin’ de crossin’ now. He
gits his pay reg-ler, an’ don’t have to do
no head-work huntin’ jobs.”—Youth’s
Companion. w ;
V
The FijfhtlniK Race.
An American soldier who served ia
the Spanish War tells, in the Portland
Oregonian, several stories of the Irlsh
man as n soldier. Some of them illus
trate the Irishman’s ready wit.
A number of American officers at
Cavite were watching the arrival of a
body of Spanish prisoners of war, tat¬
tered and hungry-looklng. One man
suddenly stepped from the ranks of the
- Spaniards, and saluting an American
officer, said in the strongest brogue,
"Any chance of getting a Job In your
army? I think It’s about all up with
this one.”
A captain who bad Just got a new
company was looking down the mus¬
ter-roll, on which the names ran,
“O’Brien,” “Maloney,” “Murphy,” “Sul¬
livan,^””0’Flaherty,” and so on.
“Is every man In this company
Irish?” Bald the captain to the ser
geant. Swede, but he doesn’t
“There’s wan
have much to say,” was the response.
A Stamp Boom.
The war has made a boom in Europe
for Korean postage stamps. Japan es¬
tablished a postal system in Korea in
1884, but the stamps of the first issue
are now very scarce, as the Koreans
burned up most of It by setting fire to
the postoffice at Seoul, as a protest
against the innovation. Another issue
was not made for ten years,
