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Helena, Montana, Thursday, December 30, 1886.
ill* treillis Jerald.
F. E. FISK 0. W. FISK, A. J. FISK,
Publishers and Proprietors.
Largest Circulation of any Faperin Montana
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Ä#~A 11 communications should be addressed to
FISK BROS., Publishern,
THE OLD HYMN.
To-day, with quiet heart, I heard
The prayer, the anthem, and th ? psalm.
And gently on my spirit fell
The sweetness of the Sunday calm,
Till at the reading of the hymn.
With sudden tears my eyes we dim.
That old. old hymn ! Its sacred lines
Had fallen on my childish ears;
My life turned back, u ihindered by
The stretch of intervening years ;
Near me my little daughter smiled,
And yet I was again a child.
Outside the wind« were fierce and rough.
The winter's chill was in the air;
But I could hear the bonny birds
And humming insects everywhere;
And feei. in spite of frost and snow,
A summer breeze from long ago.
To find the place 1 took the book.
And behl it in a woman's band,
While all my soul was moved with thrills
No other soul could understand ;
And quite unseen, with love divine,
My mother's lingers folded mine.
And not because the music rose
Exultantly 1 held my breath,
l,e-t I should lose its sweet delight.
Upon her lips the hush of death
Km years has lain, and yet I heard
My mother's voice in every word.
Full well I know the dead are dead.
Vet sometimes at a look or tone.
With short relenting, will the past
One moment give us hack our own.
Oh, happy (lain ! Too quickly done—
As swiftly ended as liegun.
A MENDACIOUS MISS.
Her name was Katherine; she knew—
Or thought she did—things small and great,
And so, with this conceit in view,
She called herself Prognosti Kate.
But she would palter much with truth.
Politely called exaggerate;
And some for this called her, forsooth.
Mendacious Miss Prevari Kate.
She treated all hypothesis
As data, known, determinate; *.
Or vice versa, and for this
The critics called her Alter Kate.
Still, as a lexicon, she could
A deal of information state; *
And for this lot she understood
She was yclept Miss Indi Kate.
She. took the rostrum after while.
And got to be renowned and great;
Made reputation from lier guile,
And joined a lecture syndicate.
—E. M. Snyder in Life.
A TIMELY LAMENT.
What care I for sailors or boating or yacht*
Why should I rejoice or why weep?
What's making my heart ache is that I forgot
To purchase my coal when 'twas cheap.
I forget all the pleasures I had at the shore,
I forget all my innocent fun.
When I think that last June I could buy it at six,
And now it's eight dollars a ton.
Next year, if this winter I don't freeze to death.
I ll remember this one simple thing,
To fill up the bins to the cellar's high roof
By buying my coal in the spring.
Til have to get trusted—that is, if I can—
To make myself decently whole;
I must borrow the money to pay for it, or
Send Bridget to borrow the coal.
A Domestic Drama.
UNCLE GABE AT THE PARTY.
De twangin' ob de banjo an
De scrapin' ob de fiddle;
Tak' my arm, Mis' Dinah, an'
We ll sashay down do middle.
Dinah's jis' as fin' a gal as eher you did see,
l se sumpiu' ole, Mis' Dinah, wid a twitchin' in de
But keep a-goin'l
Swing ya pardners, geu'lemcn,
An' don't ya stop to t'ink.
Run aroun'. Mis' Dinah, lik'
De turkey 'fore de mink;
Caesar's aftah Dinah, au' 'e tryiu' to ketch her
I'd keep up wid 'em betfah, but I ain't so peert no
But keep a goin'l
Tears to me de dancin' am
A gittin' mighta fas":
Dinah's skitin' up de front,
An' 1 is mos' de las'.
Gosh! ol« nigga, hurry up, doy'll leabya way
An' di re s dat Cæsar griuuin' lik' his teef was
But keep a-goin'l
De yallcr moon's a shinin' on
Old Fnrmah Taylah's patch;
Walt until we'ae 'gwine horn'.
We'll take a leetle snatch.
De sc awful red, disc awful green, do seeds is black
Jis' jump aroun' lieah, cbillcrn, fur de watermel
Ur! he! hel
— Duvva Morgan Smith in Century.
(Neatly) He called last night at eight, marnm*
(Clearly)— But simply talked of stocks!
(Sweetly -lie thought men met their fate, papa
1 Dearly —Bv dresses and by frocks.
(Teasingly)— 1 think him ill-disposed, mamma,
(Proudly) — Ami not like other men;
(Pleasingly —You see, he's not proposed, mamma,
(Loudly)—And has not asked me v heu.
(Brightly)—He said all girls should wed, mamma,
(Grandly)—I tried to lead him on;
(Sprightly)—If you had gone to bed, papa,
(Blandly;— I'm sure 1 would bave won.
(Sighingly 1 —He told me all his woes, mamma,
(Truly)—And called his home "a den;"
(Crvingly)— But yet he won't propose, papa,
(Bluely)—And will not ask me when.
(Coldly)—I used his Christian name, mamma.
(Dryly)— He'd smile—and—hem—and— cough;
(Boldly)—lie thought it such a shame, papa,
(Shyly)—Some cirls were not well ofT.
(Tearfully)—He's bashful. I suppose, mamma,
(Kindly)—And all that thing, but then —
(Tearfully)—Can't you make him propose, papa,
(Blindly)—And make him ask me when?
; about camping OUT.
PRENTICE MULFORD TELLS ABOUT
LIFE IN THE SIERRA NEVADAS.
Shooting a Sage Hen and Su fieri ng from
Remorse~I.earning the Art of Camp
ing Out—The Solitude of the Moun
tain«—Indian Kashi (in of Sleeping.
Boston, Dec. G.— I was little more than a
boy in years when I strobed otf into the wilds
of the Sierra Nevadas all alone on a '-pros
pecting" expedition after silver. A rancher
lent me a horse and agreed to take his pay
in sharps of whatever mines I might find.
I managed from one and another to scrape
together a saddle and bridle on similar terms.
Some one gave me a dog, I bought a cheap
gun, and with a few dollars' worth of provi
sions I rode out of the settled portion of the
country into the mountains.
I went for a stroll the first evening of this
outdoor life, leaving my camp in charge of the
dog Tut. I found on returning that he had
made a supper of my whole stock of meat,
which I expected would last three days.
After that I hung my meat out of Put's
reach, and 1 had always to hang it pretty
high too. The next morning I had nothing
for breakfast but a robin. That robin I
couldn't eat until I shot it—and it was a full
hour before I could get sufficiently near the
bird to do so.
Bloody business, I thought, this killing
one's fellow creatures to skin and eat. Is not
a robin one's fellow creature? It Las intelli
gence to build its nest, love for its mate, love
for its young, and its song is a cheerful morn
ing melody- in those solitudes. Certainly it is
a fellow creature.
Once on this trip, while camped on one of
the sage brush plains of Nevada, I passed
and re passed for three days a sage ben sitting
on her nest. I was short of provisions. For
two days I resisted the temptation to shoot
her; but my needs were pressing, and on the
third day I did shoot h r and have accused
myself of murder ever since. I had no tent.
On the California plains for seven months of
the year I needed none, since no rain falls
there for that period. On the mountains there
were occasional showers. If one lasted too
long I could generally contrive a shelter of
pine bark, always plentiful and to be stripped
from the trees in large sheets. Camping out
is an art by itself, and I was obliged to learn
it by myself. 1 learned never to pass an in
viting spot for camping—furnishing wood and
water and grass for my horse—after 4 o'clock
in the afternoon, for the chances would al
ways be against my finding such another be
fore dark, if 1 found any at all. I learned
to look carefully about before choosing a
camping spot, to see that no dead trees were
near enough to reach me should they fall.
Because in these forests, never touched by
man, dead and rotten trees are numerous—
very large ones, too, and they are as liable to
come do\vn in a calm as in a storm. Often
did I on still nights in those solitudes hear the
crash of their fall miles away. More than
once, after making my arrangements for the
night, have I found a rotten pine over 100 feet
in height close to me and inclined in my di
rection, and therefore I would move olf that
ground. Once, after my fire was made and
my supper nearly ready, on looking up I saw
suspended by a mere splinter in the branches
over mo a dead limb w eighing hundreds of
pounds. It was in another shape a rejietition
of the sword of Damocles. I moved ofF that
Twice during my absence my camp—or
rather all that could burn in my camp—came
near doing so through the dry grass catching
from my fire. After a few such alarms and a
run back Lome of a mile or so on seeing the
danger, I learned to cover up the lire well or
remove the dry grass a foot or two from it.
During the summer the grass and weeds in
California wither and dry to the roots, and so
take fire very easily.
I kept my tea, coffee and sugar in canvas
bags holding about a pound each. Pepper
and salt in a smaller bag. 1 had a bread bag
and a meat bag. Butter I carried in a tin
box, inclosed by another bag. On packing I
rolled up these bags in my blankets, which
w ere strapped behind the saddle. On unpack
ing, I placed all the bags in a row together
on the ground. That row was my larder and
kitchen, and I could put my hand on any
article as soon as it was wanted.
Before I so arranged my groceries in this
system of bags, I took them from the blankets
as they were needed, laid them any w here in
the tall dry grass about me when I had done
with them and then spent a good deal cf time
and strength hunting them up. Just so w ith
knife, spoon or fork. I found it paid in many
ways to arrange all my kitchen furniture and
groceries in regular order on the ground as
soon as my blankets were unstrapped.
My cooking apparatus consisted of a fry
ing pan and coffee pot. Bread bakes very
nicely in a frying pan. when propped up
nearly upright before the fire or better still a
heap of glow ing coals. Imagine the predica
ment I found myself once in on discovering I
had left my matches at the last camp, then
ten miles off and no grocery or settler w ithin
twenty miles. There was nothing to do but
return and hunt them up. "Without matches
meant being without lire, and being without
Ore meant being without cooked food. Acci
dents like these beat at last something like
order into my head, and much I needed it
It was the custom in those days for people
to carry a revolver slung at the hip. In the
forest for a revolver I substituted a hatchet.
The weight in iron was about the same, but
the hatchet was far more useful for chopping
firewood and many other purposes. I found
it a very good plan to keep secure from the
possibility of wet or dampness a little bag
full of drv shavings or whittling», for often
in the forest it is difficult to get any perfectly
dry fuel for kindling. They laughed at me
in a certain cabin where I was staying on see
ing me preparing my bag of kindling wood,
and called me a -granny." Some two years
afterward I met one of these men
with all his toes frozen off, and among other
things he said; "I wouldn't have frozen my
feet bad I taken pains, as you did, to have a
Xuiar of dry shavings about me."
I don't wish, however, to convey the im
pression that I was so very wise then. I
wasn't. I was a liarum scarum, careless,
reckless, improvident boy, and nothing but a
special providence carried me through.
I had about me some of the grandest and
most beautiful scenery in the world, and of
this a change almost daily. One morning I
would breakfast almost on some mountain
summit overlooking forty or fifty miles of
country. The next I might be deep down in
a dell or canyon, a rivulet flowing at my feet,
while overhead towered walls of rock higher
than half a dozen church steeples piled on
each other. The third day I might be in the
heart of the forest,with every outlook shut in
by the dense foliage.
Breakfasting thus one morning in the
pines, a coyote came trotting along, deliber
ately squatted within about 100 feet and
watched me as I ate. He seemed to know I
had no pow der and shot to waste on him, and
probably when I left devoured the remains
of my meal. Put came at last to regard
these creatures as another breed of dog and
took little notice of them. Besides, I had no
quarrel with the coyotes, though I think one
did one night try to jerk my provision bag
from under the saddle, which I used as a
pillow. I was awakened by the tug, was
very much frightened, yelled and saw indis
tinctly something making for a swamp near
by. On another occasion one of these ani
mals came barking ami yelling down a
mountain side and so followed the procession
(my horse, dog ami myself) for over half a
mile. What lie wanted I never could make
Grizzlies were plentiful, yet I never saw
one in his native forest, not even a grizzly
track. Some good luck kept me and the
grizzly apart. One night I camped near a
sheep ranch. Seeing my fire, the proprietor
made me u visit. "Well," said he, "you've
c hosen a not over nice place to spend the
night in. You're right in the track of the
bears. They've killed twenty-six of my sheep
within the last two weeks. Guess you'd bet
ter come and sleep in my barn on the hay."
Which I did. A pile of loose hay, with a
blanket atop of it, was a luxurious exchange
from the hard ground with only a blanket
atop of that.
Was I afraid in these solitudes? Yes, I
was often. I never rested securely at night,
dreaded the darkness and was very glad to
see the morning's light. What was I afraid
of? I don t know exactly. Perhaps every
thing in general and nothing in particular.
If my dog snuffed and growled, which he
would at times do during the night, I was in
dread of whatever he was snufiing or growl
ing at, were it beast, reptile or Indian. Were
Indians about? Yes, but deemed friendly.
These were the Utes. They had been hostile
to the whites a few years previous, and what
was easier than for a wandering party of
them to make away with a lone wanderer
like myself for the 'sake of my horse,
gun, blankets, kit and pocket money?
Many a skeleton, to be found years
hence, lays to-day where the robbers,
either white or copper colored, left it. I al
ways gave Mr. Indian a wide berth when I
saw the smoke of his camp fire, though in
reality there was no more to dread from him,
perhaps not so much, as from the white
skinned desperadoes liable to be met in the
territory of Nevada at that time. What boy
or man need most to guard against in camp
ing out is taking cold from sleeping on the
damp ground. People accustomed all their
lives to warm, dry and comfortable beds can
not safely make the change to a night's rest
in one or even two pairs of blankets on or
near the ground with safety. So much damp
ness near you will draw the heat from your
body at the time when it is most easily
drawn away and is most needed—that is
during sleep. So by all means follow the In
dian fashion and sleep with your feet as near
the fire as jiossible. I was careless and igno
rant then of the proper manner of taking
care of myself and suffered a good deal. I
often slept cold, and woke up at 3 or 4 in the
morning chilled through. Next day I would
find myself w ithout strength, dull and lack
ing spring in my muscles. That meant I had
lost more strength than I had gained during
the night. It's a marvel to me now that I
lived at all through this long continued and
ignorant abuse of myself. Once I became so
weak as not to be able to stir for three days
from a camp ground. 1 made a sort of shel
ter of one pair of blankets, built my fire at
one end of it and staid there. The wind
changed about fifteen times a day, blowing
the smoke from my fire through the shelter.
I would then craw l out and build the fire at
the other end. Hardly had I done so before
the wind would again shift, blowing the
smoke and ashes in upon me as before. This
was during June. There was a snow squall
every day—a common occurrence in that
high altitude. My perch in that camp was
about 8,000 feet above the sea level. Very
warm weather never came there.
I suffered also, and ignorantly, from the
poor food I was obliged to live on. A con
stant diet of bread, bacon, beef or game
w ithout fruit or vegetables is another source
of dullness and heaviness to the body, and
campers out are very apt to live mainly on
such food. You can't do so and be very well.
This is not a picturesque phase of life under
the trees, but the sooner a boy learns to take
some thought about what he eats and how it
affects him, the sooner is he on the right road
to get the most good out of life.
ne Didu't Want Any More Sisters
She wasn't very young, but she had money.
He didn't want the earth.
"Dearest," he began, but she stopped Lim.
"I anticipate what you are about to say,
Mr. Sampson," she said, "and I would spare
your feelings, for it can never, never be. I es
teem you highly and will be a sister to"
"I have four sisters already," he replied
bitterly, "four grown sisters, and life is a
hideous burden. But, oh Clara," he went on
passionately, "If you cannot be my wife will
you not give me a mother's protecting love?
I'm an orphan."—Life.
Starting in the Wrong Place.
A stranger, who was quietly looking over a
water power in a Western village was sought
out by the mayor, who said:
"I hear you think of starting a factory?"
"It's a good place, and you'll find our people
all right W e don't put on any great amount
of style, nor don't aim to. Here's a pair of
suspenders I have worn for over forty years,
though I'm worth $50,000."
"Ah! Um!" muttered the stranger; "but it
was a suspender factory I was thinking to
locate here."—Wall Street News.
Great Legal Truth.
A father may succeed in cutting off his son
without a cent, but be can't cut off the
lawyers. —Kansas City Journal
CONGRESS AXD CAPITOL
THE SENATE MARBLE ROOM AND
THE "REPS'" RETIRING ROOM.
Some Things Expected of Congress—The
Dead of Doth Houses—Senate Lobby.
The Constituent from Cross Eye.
A tough story, worst of all, a tine one, is
told apropos of congressmen in Washington.
Two gentlemen belonging to the navy applied
for rooms at a certain Washington boarding
house. They wore plain clothes, having, like
other Americans, a prejudice against wearing
a uniform when they could help it.
The lodging house mistress dismissed them
shortly, and they thought rather crustily.
She told them her rooms were full. They
turned to go away. As they did so, one by
chance made a remark to the other, which
revealed that they were naval officers. The
housekeeper overheard ;
"Wait a moment," said she, "come bark. I
believe I can accommodate you. Fardon me,
but I thought you were members of congress."
Whether congressmen did not pay their board
or what it was that had given her such a prej
udice against them she did not explain, but
she said she never rented rooms to members,
as they are called in Washington.
But in a general way Washington city
sleeps all summer and comes to life again
just before the first Monday in December,
when congress opens. There are bustle and
running to and fro, a repapering of rooms, a
setting up of stovepipes and a rummaging
about for cuspidors.
SENATE MARBLE ROOM.
The greatest bustle and preparations are in
the neighborhood of Capitol hill, at the north
and south wings of that great building which
looks like a squatty St. Peter's. Some of the
rooms in the north or senate w ing of the Capi
tol are among the most beautiful on this con
tinent. A noted one is the senate marble
room, which gppears in the picture. If you
go to see a senator while his assembly is in
session you wait in the lobby and send in your
card. If you are a distinguished person you
will be taken to this beautiful room, w here
you sit and talk to the senator. Every jiart
of the room is marble of different kinds. The
effect is almost dazzling.
In the marble room it is, too, that senators
hold consultations on bills under discussion or
other matters they are anxious about. The
room is splendidly upholstered and furnished
with a rich rug carpet.
The rooms <ft the president and vice-presi
dent are amoag the show places of the senate
w ing. They five near the marble room, and
are richly deviated and furnished. In the
vice-presidenÿs room the visitor w ill see a
picture for w iich congress paid $25.000. It
is the port raid of Washington. Government
bought it in W
The Canada fisheries question seems to be
the most important one at this last session of
the Forty-niith congress. What will be
done with it ijobody knows. It would look
pusillanimous of us not to do something.
There will also be an attempt again to pass
an interstate commerce bill. This is to regu
late freight charges on the long lines of rail
way. A California farmer some time ago
shipped a car load of fruits and vegetables to
Chicago, and'when it was sold he was fifteen
cents in debt. The freight charges amounted
to fifteen cents more than the produce sold
for. In the »ace of such facts it looks as
though something ought to be done with in
terstate oomtnerce. The constitution gives
congress power to regulate it.
Every year now during the recess of con
gress somebody belonging to it dies. Every
year, therefore, first thing, resolutions of
condolence must be passed and an adjourn
ment of some hours voted out of respect to
the dead. This year the death of ex-Pi-esident
Arthur was announced in both houses. In
the senate it was the chair of Mr. Pike, of
New Hampshire, which was vacant. From
the house Representatives Beach and Arnot,
both of Ne if York, died during the recess.
Mr. Arnot dropped dead in the street.
When a weary representative w ishes to rest
from his labors a brief time, or chat with one
of his constituents from Cross F.ye, he retires
to the room you see in the picture, sinks
gently into one of the richly upholstered
chairs and gives himself up to ease with or
without dignity. For this room which you
see is the representatives' retiring room. It
is not so imposing as the senate marble room,
but still it is sufficiently dazzling to the eyes
of the honorable members' back county con
The problem which grows harder and
harder to settle after each census, is how to
seat the representatives. At the first United
States conn-ess there were only sixty-five
members. There are now 325. After the
next censusithis number will be still larger,
unless the ratio of representation should be
changed. At the first congress it was one
representative to every 30,000 inhabitants.
It is now one to every 151,912. Some of them
will have to hang upon books outside, if the
country keeps on growing so.
There is at last a prospect that the bursting
shelves and cases of the congressional library
will be relieved, though quite how soon no
man know s. The ground is being cleared for
the new library building. It will stand just
south of the Capitol, and will be a noble
structure. Many houses will have to be torn
away to make room for it. Among them is
the now historic mansion that Mary Clem
zner Hudson owned and lived in.
THE LATE FRANCIS PALMS.
[Photo by Stevenson.!
The Romantic Family History of De
troit's Dead Millionaire.
The pontifical high mass of requiem which
was recently celebrated in the old cathedral
of Detroit marked the close of the career of
Francis Palms. It was notable from the fact
that 1,500 employes attended the service as a
tribute to their late master, w bile numerous
insurance, banking and mercantile institu
tions in which he was interested when alive
also sent representatives, for the dead man
.had been a millionaire merchant prince of
Michigan. Little did the public know of the
old man s private life, for he seldom spoke of
it, but the romance of his son's life throws a
little light on that of his father's.
The father of Francis Palms was a secre
tary of Napoleon I, and when Waterloo
came it brought disaster to him as well as the
French emperor. He came to America and
tried Detroit, but not finding the city of the
straits to his liking,
he moved to and
settled in New Or
leans, leaving a
son, Francis, in
Detroit, to grow up
with the place.
and a son was the
result of the union,
the mother dying
at his birth. loiter
married again, to
the discomfiture of
his little son, Fran
cis, who foundlhat
his stepmother was
averse to children. The temperature un
der the paternal roof being decidedly chilly
for young Francis, with the possibility
I of a cold wave and a "freeze out," he
I sought a warmer clime in the care of his
grandfather, at New Orleans. Here he was
educated and brought up in total ignorance
of his father, as there was no corresjiondenco
between the two families. When a young
man he started out on a tour north. With
a vague knowledge that he was born in
Detroit, curiosity led him to visit the city of
his birth and inquire if his futher was yet in
the land of the living. On making
inquiries he found that his father
was regarded us the wealthiest man
in the state of Michigan. A spirit of pride
and family independence, which he inherited,
prevented him from calling at his father's
house. He learned that it was the habit of
the elder Palms to visit the hotel reading
room every evening at 8 o'clock to read bis
letters, Jouk at the papers, and occasionally
do a little business w ith people from out of
town. That night the son was on hand, and,
punctually at 8 o'clock, a short man with a
little stoop to his shoulders came into the
office. There was a smile on Lis kindly face
as he nodded good evening to the jieople he
knew, and then made his way to a sofa in the
reading room. The son possessed his soul in
patience until he saw his lather tear open his
last letter, glance through it, and then turn
to take up a paper. Sauntering up to the
elderly gentleman, the young man, with the
ease of a southerner, began the conversation.
Gradually he drew from Mr. Palms the ad
mission that he had relatives in New Orleans.
"I have a father there and brothers, too,"
said the elderly man. "Indeed," said the
younger, in apparent surprise; "and what is
the name:" "Palms is my name." "And
mine, too," said the young man, coolly.
"Perhaps you and I are related ?" "My father's
name is Ange Palms," admitted the elderly
one. "And he is my grandfather," was the
young fellow's response.
There was no scene. In few words the
father told the son that Le was glad to see
him again, and then gave him to understand
that the hotel would prove more comfortable
quarters than the big brick house up the
The son thanked him for bis kind interest
and acknowledged that the hotel life agreed
"Without asking any favors from his father
the son returned south. At the outbreak of
the war he left the plantation he owned to
enter the army. War proved a Waterloo
for him, as it did for his grandfather, and he
went back to New Orleans to begin life anew.
Family influence obtained him a clerical po
sition in the United States courts, and he set
tled down to a quiet life. At the outbreak of
the war he had been engaged to a lovely girl
of Scotch parentage, but the struggle had
separated them, and w hen the war ended
each heard that the other had married. By
chance they learned of their mistake in time
to enjoy a short period of domestic happiness
before her death. He afterward married a
second time and his wife is still living.
In the course of lime the stepmother died,
and on returning from his wife's funeral Mr.
Palms sat down and wrote to his son to come
north. He pointed out to him that before
many years lie must come into a large prop
erty distributed among pine lands, iron mines,
business blocks, railroad enterprises, manu
facturing and bank stocks and the like.
The son came and settled near the little
brick office in the rear of the paternal resi
dence. There he has lived quietly, making
few friends and spending the greater part of
his leisure with his wife and his eight chil
dren. He now inherits one-half of his father's
millions, liis only sister, Clothilde, receiving
the other half. This sister—Miss Clothilde
Palms—was, it was said, last w inter the ob
ject of the attentions of Senator Jones, of
Its VRefiilness Ended.
"Bill," said a country editor to his com
bined foreman, compositor, office boy and
reporter; "Bill, takedown that piece on the
standing galley which begins, 'Last night a
scene of brilliant gayety.' We wont use it
"Why not? The face ain't worn off of all
the letters yet."
"I know that; but George Gould says 'mar
riage is a serious business,' and we must re
spect the opinion of a millionaire, you know.
Dick Recognized the Bugs.
Mrs. Minks—My dear, the window plants
are getting full of insects.
Mr. Minks—Good gracious! I'll have to be
gin smoking again. That kills them, you
Mrs. Minks—Oh, I hope not. But where in
the world did these things come from? They
don't look like regular rose bugs.
Little Dick—W hy, them's the ones pap
gave me a quarter for catching in the gar
A MEDAL OF HONOR.
Authorized by Congress, and Yet Seldom
In the early days of the civil war Secretary
Stanton proclaimed that "alacrity, daring,
courageous spirit and patriotic zeal on all
occasions and under every circumstance is
expected from the army of the United States.
• * * And the people of the United States
will rejoice to honor every soldier and officer
who proves his courage by charging with the
bayonet and storming intrenchments, or in
the blaze of the enemy's firel" And to carry
out this purpose congress authorized the con
ferring of a decorative medal of honor for dis
tinguished conduct in the presence of the
enemy. A thousand heroes have been so
decorated, but so quietly has it been done that
but few persons have ever heard of it.
Tbe war department has recently and
tardily published the list of men who re
ceived (he medal during the war. Since
the war there have been about 300 of tbese
medals distributed, and it is to be hoped that
tbe names of tbese gallant 300 will be pub
lished before tbe close of the century.
On this subject a newspaper writer re
A stranger within our gates will hardly
agree with the assertion so often made that
"wo are not a military people" if he takes
note of the profusion of military medals and
crosses worn by
With few excep
t ions, t hese have
no national, offi
The badges of the
Loyal Legion, the
Grand Army of
tbe Republic and
tions are honor
able reminders of
our greatest strug
gle for liberty and
union, but do not
acts of courage or
self sacrifice. Af
ter tbese come
mi itia decorations
—prizes for length
tr. s. medal OF HONOR, of service, mark
mansbip, zeal in recruiting, athletic sports,
personal popularity and other commendable
things. That a great nation, possessing for
more than twenty years a congressional
decoration for valor, already conferred upon
several hundred heroes, should be ignorant
of its existence is astonishing!
The cause of this ignorance may bo found
in tbe mistaken simplicity which has marked
the method of presentation. In countries
from which we get many of our best military
customs tbe decoration is often handed to the
soldier by bis sovereign in the presence of the
principal officers of state, of large bodies of
troops and of thousands of people. The
name of the fortunate recipient is published
in the official gazette and by the press
throughout tbe dominions. In our country
this reward from the highest power in our
government is sometimes conveyed to the
bravo winner by tbe hands of tbe postman,
with the brief remark jierhaps of "a parcel
for you." Seldom is there a parade of the
troops or prancing of cavalry squudrons or
rumble of artillery wheels or flashing of in
fantry bayonets or crash of military bands
while the prize for valor is pinned over a
heart sw elling with honest pride. Seldom is
the affair an occasion of eeremonv.
JOHN E. OWENS.
Gone is Solon Shingle, with His
of Apple Sass."
John E. Owens! How the name conjures
from the past phantoms of fun. He has
made more people laugh, tear bubbling, side
splitting laughter, than any other man of our
time—or, indeed, of many times.
Mr. Owens died at his farm, Aigburth Vale,
near Towson, Maryland. He had given to
his country place the name of the town
where lie was born, in England, in 1819.
From the name, lie was plainly of Welsh
descent, though born in England. His father
was Owen Griffith
Owens, who cam
with his family to
this country w hen
John E. was 011 I 3
G years old. No
thought had the
father of making
his son a stage
it was to be the
funniest man in
America. It was
his intention tc
make the youth a
professor of pills
Yonne- lohn was JOHN E - <»"'ENS.
apprentfeed to a (Photographed by Sarony.)
druggist in Baltimore. But destiny meant him
to exchange pestle and mortar for the m&«k of
Cornus. He "took natural" to theatricals,
and hung around the stage door of the old
Baltimore Museum till lie got inside of it.
He served as drug clerk by day and played
at night for some time. But the stage at
traction grew constantly stronger, and the
pill and powder connection weaker. Owens
at length broke away from drugs altogether
and devoted himself to theatricals.
But his first leading character was about
the worst drug he had ever compounded.
Like many another funnyman he pined to
be great in tragedy, and attempted Richard
TIL Tbe audience drowned him down in
roars of laughter. He took his defeat like a
man, and thereafter devoted himself to
making people laugh. After all that is bet
ter than to make them cry, far better.
He was very wealthy at one time, but had
lost much money. He still had his tieautiful
country' home and the Charleston Academy
of Music. His wife is still living. He was
an ardent southern sympathizer during the
A Pleasant Idiosyncrasy.
Mr. Gorham, of the Agassiz museum at
Providence, is said to indulge in the "pleasant
idiosyncrasy" of keeping loose in his bedroom
several full grown rattlesnakes which he has
tamed and of which he makes pets. He
sometimes honors his most cherished friends
by admitting them to this apartment, and it
is usually found that one visit is all that they
are anxious to make. Mr. Gorham is said to
b<» a iiatui al snake charmer and to have the
power of calling snakes from their coverts by
The supply of natural gas is reported to be
giving signs of exhaustion in some portions
of Pennsylvania, and many housekeepers
and manufacturers are becoming nervous
about the matter. Of course those who own
gas well stock deny the reports.
THE ATLANTA Y. M. C. A.
Their New Building, Which Will be One
of the Best Equipped in America.
The Atlanta association to-day Is the most
flourishing organization of tho kind in tue
south. Organized in the summer of 1873, a
quiet and successful work was carried on
until the spring of 1885, when the twenty
fifth international convention of the Young
Men's Christian associations of the United
States and British provinces convened in At
lanta. With this convention began a new
era in the history of the Atlanta association.
At the close of the convention a movement
was put on foot to secure funds for a build
ing. The amount required w as first placed
at $40,000. A meeting of business men was
called tbe nexÄight after the convention ad
journed at the home of one of the leading cap
italists, at w hich time $ 20,000 was subscribed
voluntarily. In two days the amount re
quired was raised to $60,000, in four days to
$75,000. In less than three weeks nearly
$80,1X10 wire subscribed for this noble pro
ject without the circulation of a single sub
scription list. The pledging of the money
and the manner of doing so was phenomenal,
and w ithout parallel in the history of asso
ciation work. The cry of the city was, "A
home for our young men." Men, women and
children would meet members and friends of
tbe association on the streets ami 1 ffer their
subscriptions. The average daily increase
was nearly $5,000, until the grand total was
reached, when it was found that there were
over 1.G00 names on the list of subscribers. A
lot was secured on one of the principal streets,
plans selected, and a magnificent structure is
now in process of erection.
Y. M. C. A. BUILDING, ATLANTA, G A.
The building will comprise four stories be
sides basement, and is being built of North
Carolina sandstone, terra cotta and pressed
brick. Situated on a corner, with a front
of 80 feet on one side and 110 feet on
the other, with .an alley at the rear, it
has perpetual light and air on three sides.
Tho basement will contain a gymnasium,
which extends into the first story, 40 feet
wide by GO feet deep and 2G feet high. A
gallery is placed midway at the sides which
will be used as a running track. In addition
to the gymnasium the basement will contain
a room with 500 lockers, bath rooms with
shower and stationary baths, a bowl
ing alley GO feet long, storage and
engine room. The entrance to the building
is broad and imposing, of solid and massive
masonry. The first story will contain five
stores in addition to gymnasium. The corner
stone was laid with imposing ceremonies on
Oct. 2G. The governor, chief justice of the
state, mayor of the city and other prominent
citizens made addresses. The second story
will contain a reception room, which is the
key to tbe whole building, offices for secre
taries, large reading room, parlor, library
and chapel, with a seating capacity of 250.
On the third story will be located the main
floor of the auditorium, which, together with
gallery, w ill have a seating capacity of 800.
There will also be five rooms on this floor for
class rooms. On the fourth and last floor
there will be three studios, a conservatory
and kitchen, with dumb waiter running to
second story. The building, when completed,
will be one of the finest in the country, fur
nished and equipped with all the most ap
proved appliances, an ornament to the city
and a lasting monument to the enterprise,
morality and Christian liberality of the
people. The success of the effort was largely
due to the local press.
A WOMAN MASTER WORKMAN.
A Brave anil Capable Feminine Knight
Herew ith is a portrait of Elizabeth Rodg
ers, master w orkman of District Assembly 24,
of Chicago. A district assembly of the
Knights is of much more consequence than
one of the ordinary local lodges, and the fact
that Mrs. Rodgers is at the head of one
speaks very highly for her executive and
The lady is Irish born, and she looks it in
her strong, fine face. Her native place was
Ireland. She is 39
years old. She la
a good deal of a
w oman all around.
She has had twelve
children, nine of
whom are living.
She organized the
first working wo
man's union in
x. Chicago over ten
years ago, and w as
for two years presi
elizabeth rodgers. dent of that body.
She takes a warm interest in tho freedom
of Ireland, and was president of the Eighth
ward Land league of Chicago. She pre
sided at the memorial meeting in Chicago
at the death of Fanny Parnell. She is a per
sonal friend of Mrs. Parnell. She has been
delegate to the State Trades assembly of
Illinois for seven years, and the delegate
from Local Assembly 1,789 of Chicago to
District Assembly 24 for four years. All
this time she was master workman of Local
Mrs. Rodgers shows how graceful and
efficient a presiding officer a woman can be
when she is trained in parliamentary usage.
Her husband, George Rodgers, is a inolder.
Both were delegates to the Knights national
assembly at Richmond, Y'a., and Mrs.
Rodgers took her baby along. She has had
much experience in strikes, and throughout
has stood up brave and determined for the
rights of working people. She has also
labored with her hands for bread, and is full
of energy and enthusiasm.
The New Housekeeper.
"What is the matter with my little wife?"
Her dainty head falls on his shoulder, and,
between the sobs that shake her slight frame,
"Wi-W'ill, I fe-feel so b-a-ad. I wanted to-to
make some bi-bi-blscuit this noon, a-a-and got
the wa-wa-water and s-a-l-t and ye-ye-yeast,
but there's something mi-mi-missing, and I
can't think wha-wha-what it is."
Mr. Younginan smiled quietly, and, clasp
ing his wife to his watch pocket, he placed his
lip 6 toherear and whispered: "Flour."—SL
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