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Two head* are not better than one If the baby buggy isn't built for twins. Cuba baa us beaten all to pieces in the matter of selection of an inaugura tion day. A Western man came to his death trying to kick a cat off his porch. The ■»oral is sufficiently obvious. Love and Sunshine are grocers at Johnstown, Pa. Formerly it was Love, Sunshine & Joy, but Joy fled. Our fellow citizens in Luzon are catching on rapidly. Out of a possible eighty-four votes in Balanga, eighty nine were cast. When Miss Susan B. Anthony says there are too many children born into the world, she has reference more par ticularly to boys. We shall reserve the right to take •ur own time in assimilating that story about Russell Sage losing a quarter of a million dollars. The doctrine may be restated so as to convey the idea that all the good children do not die young, but that all who die young are good children. The Sultan has issued gn order pro hibiting gambling in his dominions. The Bulgarians will not care. They sperate only on a sure money basis. In view of the fact that she 1 b now at liberty to do as she pleases It is no more than right to commend Miss Ellen 11. Stone for making so little noise. In Japan it is always the rule of po liteness to pay a trifle more than the sum mentioned on your hotel bilL Here It would be considered a form of in curable insanity. \ The world has 30,000,009 artificial teeth set in its face every year. Sup pose each month claims ten of them, that would fit out 3,000,000 grandpas so they can nibble a little piece of com fort off of their plugs. That there are some things worse than war is further demonstrated by Mr. Moody's remark that we have saved in a single year in Cuba more lives from death by pestilence than were lost on both sides in the conflict with Spain. A rather striking fact, that The Lake Erie and Ohio River canal proposition is attractive to those who know what water transportation has done for the Northwest. Cheaper freighting between the Lake Superior mines and Pittsburg would mean cheaper steel products, and cheaper coal from the Pennsylvania mines would mean a reduction of cost in the Industries which are thriving at all the lake ports. A good satire at the expense of the Baconian cipherists has been perpe trated by an anonymous Englishman, who shows by methods quite as de fensible as those used in demonstrating that Bacon wrote the Shakspeareau plays that Shakspeare really wrote the book of psalms. For his system It is necessary to spell the poet's name either Shakespear or Shakespeare, both of which are permissible. In the name "Shakespear," he points out, there are four vowels and six consonants, which make the number forty-six. Turning to psalm 46, the forty-sixth word from the beginning is "shake," and the forty sixth word from the enu, excluding the "selah," is "spear." What could be plainer? Some day in this country we shall bave old age pensions. Call it a pater nal view if you will, but It is true that the nation owes something to its aged poor. They have served it, many of them, as well as have its soldiers and sailors. The American spirit revolts at the almshouse. The fear of such a fate makes life miserable to many an unfor tunate. It'ls the height of impertinence for a lusty young person to c^alm that the world owes him a living, but the world certainly owes a living to the worthy, industrious but unfortunate old man or woman who has failed in the attempt to save a competence for decent living. More and more does the terrible law of the survival of the fit test crush under it those who have made a faithful fight. They have done the world's work, but have been bereft, no matter how, of the adequate re ward. Society owes it to them to care for them in a respectable way when they can no longer care for them selves. England is at this time attempt ing to provide for her worthy aged through a pension system. There are many more unfortunates of this kind there than here. They are said to num ber nearly half a million. The aged pen sioners' bill, now before parliament, provides pensions of $1.25 to $1.75 per week for worthy persons of 65 years of age and over who have not an Income of more than $2.50 per week. "I am glad my children are all boys, tor I do not have to be so particular with them as 1 should have to be if they were girls.'\ "I should hate to have one of my girls marry one of your boys." The above conversation occur red on a street car, between a couple of ladies, who were returning from the meeting of a club, of which both were members. Volumes have been written on "Causes of Crime." but one of the largest factors responsible for crime is represented by the mothers who do not think It necessary to be "so particular" with their boys as they are with their girls. It Is this double standard of mo rality. which Is held up by so many women, that is wrecking homes, de stroying health, ruining girls and boys, deadening the public conscience and filling our penal Institutions. As is the sowing so shall be the reaping. In the penitentiaries of the State of Iowa there are 833 men and 20 women. In the reform schools 209 boys and 95 girls. Is not this a legitimate harvest from the sowing of such mothers? An other pertinent point is the fact that 411 of the male inmates of the peniten tiaries are under 30 years of age; 221 under 25 years of age, and 108 under 20 years of age. There is a fearful ar raignment in the above statistics of the mother who is not "so particular" with boys as she would be with girls; of the women who uphold a "double standard" of morality for men and women. "Papa, sharpen my pencil, please?" The child waited and then repeated the request. "Don't bother me," finally replied the father. The little one walk ed over to a corner and looked out a window, while a tear glistened in his eye. The father had not Intended to be cross. He was worried. Stocks had taken a slump late in the afternoon and his broker had called for further mar gins. So, thinking only of his losses, he had pushed his son from him. At school that afternoon the boy had been taught his first "example" In multipli cation. He had waited until evening, when his father should arrive, that he might illustrate to his parents the knowledge he had gained. It was to do this that he had asked that a point be given his pencil. What a surprise would It prove to the father should he propose some new plan, a product of his brain, to those above him in the business world, and be met with the rebuff, "Don't bother me!" But the wound to his pride would be no more severe than that inflicted on the boy's. And if the father had been worried during the day by the fall of stocks, so had been the boy by the breaking of a slate, the loss of a prize marble or a top. What seem to us mole hills In retrospect were at one time mountains, and the obstructions of childhood days are every whit as difficult to climb as those encountered later in life. Do not push the boy from you. If you do there will come a day when he will no longer seek you for advice and comfort, and then you will bitterly regret the re fusal to sharpen his pencil. Success is a pyramid. Towering up ward Its form narrows. Scattered along its sides are the men who have achieved partial success. At its apex are the few men who have achieved successful success, their * towering forms lit up by the pure sunshine of merited fame. That is the idealistic and true picture of succefes. But is It the real picture of the success of our day? Is the common view of success a narrow or a broad one? Decidedly narrow. Aside from the President, per haps, Pierpont Morgan and J. ,1. Hill are more important in the public mind of to-day than any American states man. In other countries men of mere wealth are the acknowledged inferiors of the statesmen, writers, scholars, scientists and philanthropists. In this country the men of great wealth look somewhat contemptuously down upon those outside their class. We need a new definition of success. Failure.in the world's material eye may be suc cess. Ignoble success is "successful success." We must quit our estimates of success by the score of a man's bank account. Until we come to respect the achievements of Americans in morals, In literature, in science, in art, and to honor the men who have made these achievements, we shall have no great reformers and philanthropists, littera teurs, scientists and artists. The ten dencies of our times toward money getting give the young men of to-day a false view of the purposes of life. He finds no satisfaction in a great book, in the glories of art or in the phil osophy of things. His satisfaction is In piling up dollars. Who can blame hijn? He has his exemplars all about him. Here is work for the colleges and the churches and all the ethical forces of the day. They must plant and water the ideals of the race. Tricking a Burglar. A lady who has distinguished herself at Girton, and who assumed that she was of a verv timid and nervous na ture, says that one night she awoke to find a burglar in her room. She was conscious that some one was fumbling at her desk. The room was quite dark; the clock struck one. She lay there considering what to do, not at all frightened, but very indignant at being robbed. Many minutes passed; the burglar still moved stealthily about. Meanwhile she had in idle mo ments practised the ventriloquial art, and, calling her skill into service, she said In a deep voice, seemingly at the burglar's elbow : "Parsons, light the gas." Her maid In the next room, thui called, shot out of bed, and the buri glar shot out of the window. Investi gation proved that the man's search had not yet reached the-drawer con taining the valuables. "He robbed me only of what I could well spare." the lady said, with a laugh, "my fears." Present Pole Star. The present pole star ia the only one called Alpha, in the constellation Ursa Minor. It has been the world's pole star for nearly 2,000 years. About the only time people Intimate to a man that he has laurels Is when they warn him to look to them. a KEEP OUT OF THE PA8t. Whatever you do in this wonderful world, In business, in church, or at play; Whatever of gain or of loss you have met With the others who go your way, Keep out of the past From the first to the last And away from its worries stay; The present has wealth you would never suspect, If prudent you are and wisely elect To live in the light' of to-day. The things that are past did very well once; To-day they are rusty and stale. That trouble you had with your fellow man— Did you struggle in vain and fail? What of it, indeed? There is all the more need That you start on a different trail. Don't take to the woods, whatever you do. Just look right ahead—there's a fortune for you I In keeping a well-trimmed sail. So cramped can we be in our mental states. So burdened with might-have-beens, That life will become a woeful waste For its many outs and ins. But Stop and reflect You will never be wrecked By your own or another's sins. If the past you will keep in its proper place, And meet what is yours with a candid face— 'Tis the man of to-day who wins. —Chicago Inter Ocean. I FAITH UNFAITHFUL. Ï T was all over. We had loved this young man, the rising author of the time, we wept over his books, we wept over his untimely death, in the orthodox big railway accident just out side Southampton, "at the early age of 36;" we talked of "deathless fame," and said, "whom the gods love die young," and then chuinged the subject. So we went on with the world, and left Martin Arthur behind. Mrs. liou pell stood before the mirror In her bed room, leaning her hands on the toilet table, with its adornings of crystal and ivory, and looked at her face in the glass. "Isn't it written there?" she said aloud. And then she laughed, the aw ful laugh of a woman who is bur lesquing her own real emotion, which has its source in the very foundations of a deep nature, and which will die when it dies, or kill it; there is no other way. Three people had asked her that day why she was in mourning. The friends HU Ns "he turned my HEAD. and acquaintances had gradually real ized that the touches of color which had of late begun to lighten the heavy dead ness of her widow's weeds' had again faded into black as before, and that the strange heart-wearing, heart-sickening time of mourning seemed to have gone back a step, and resumed its old hag gard uncertainty. For Maria Roupell was a widow, and no widow. Her husband was dead— so said ordinary surmise, so said hu man probability, so said the uewspa pers, which gave an account of the sinking of the Atlantic liner Ramadan, with all hands but two, in the bay three years before. There was only one thing lacking, positive incontrovertible proof; and that thing tarried. She had been passionately in love with Martin Arthur. In the old days of racking uncertainty as to her hus band's fate, she had met the rising author whose name was then appear ing above fame's horizon, ns the edge of the sun's disk looks oVer into the world. He became deeply interested in her. She was a handsome woman of the night-dark Spanish type, a crea ture of strong emotions, distracted with suspense, torn this way and that by hopes and fears. When a woman is suffering through her love for one man, another may wrap himself inexplicably in the flying threads of her life and become more near, more dear to her than she has any knowledge of. by standing silent but ever in readiness at her right hand. She will turn to him for help. And when a woman goes to a man for help, those feeble hands so piteously out stretched hold in their open palms the links of a chain which binds lives to gether—loosely, It may be, but there is a bond nevertheless, and "the bands of love are sair to loose." Martin Arthur and Maria Roupell found their lines laid side by side, felt the fetters that stretched lightly from wrist to wrist were necessary to each other, and knew that it was so. Three years passed and George Rou pell did not return, and out of the life of his widow his memory was slowly, softly, irresistibly shouldered by the filmy, Insidious ghost of the personal ity of another man. One day the ghost a put on Immortality, and the likeness of God's own image, and Maria Roupell found the cold. Intangible shape In dowed with flesh and blood—eyes that looked Into her very soul, strong arms thnt held her against a broad breast, lips that spoke words of passion like a flame of Are, that took their answer from her and would not-be denied, and behold! she awoke, and there was no friend any more, but a lover in deed and truth. "Martin, Mnrtln," she said, looking up at him with a grent love and a des perate fear struggling for the suprema cy in her beautiful dark face, "If I knew!—Oh, God! if I knew! But ,1 do not. I may be no widow at all— I may be his wife still, and In that case-" "In that case I love you just the same, and nothing can Mter it," he an swered. "You have no proofs? Then proofs shall be obtained, if we have to search every inch of the Atlantic. Do you think I mean to let you go—to let a shadow separate us? Dearest wom an in the world, the thing has got to be done, and I will do it" * * * • *••'** \ "Dorlnda, you are. looking very ill, my child." "I'm really quite well, only—but per haps it's a mercy to be thought ill when one is merely miserable. * * V Girls are fdols, Mrs. Roupell! And do they always leave off folly when they be come women? O, forgive me! 1 am talking nonsense—I've got Into the hab it of it because It Is easier than saying nothing, nnd feeling a grent black cur tain coming slowly, slowly—down down—down, directly one stops to think. * • * Your mourning, I envy you! What am I saying? But I wish 1 had an excuse for wearing it." Maria Roupell was not the sort of person to ask a tactless question ns a rule, and with such blank directness, but there was something In the girl's face thnt reminded her of her own as she had seen it in the mirror thnt morn ing. Dorlnda Carson moved nervously in her chair, hesitated, and then spoke, quickly, and in a low voice, with her face a verteil from her friend's sight. "O! for—for some one I knew—who has died lately—some one I had no right to be fond of. Mrs. Roupell—Marla—1 must speak—may I? You will under stand, and nobody else would--" And the girl was on her knees by Marin's chair, clasping the hands which lay on her lap, and bowing the golden head till It almost touched them. "Dear heaven, everything has got into such a ghastly knot! I've nobody to blame but myself; I've taken my happiness in both hands and thrown it away." The listener Involuntarily wondered what it felt like to have happiness defi nitely within one's grasp for a little while. / Dorinda Carson paused, panted for breath, and went on, with an effort: "I have been engaged to the best man in the world for over a year, and we are to be—we are by way of being married in March. The best mnn in the world!"—with a bitter little laugh— "the dearest to me. and the hardest. And there are others more superficially fascinating—sometimes. When Egbert was in the State tills autumn I saw a good deal of—of that other. I only looked on him as a friend, of course. * * * But one night at a dance he was charming. He turned my head, lie made love to me. Is it love like that? He tried to make me unfaithful to my lover. O, I wanted to be! I was not; but I wrote to him once or twice, and after his death my letters were found in a packet directed to Egbert. Fool, fool, worse than foo f, 1 was to have written them, and to such a man as Martin Arthur." And she clung"to the kind hands anil sobbed piteously. God or the devil helped Maria Rou pell through the next three minutes. '1 lien she bent over the miserable child and said softly: "Thank you for telling me all this. I will write a letter to Egbert, and I think he will listen to what I say. It will all come right, my Dorinda. Now leave me and go home. I will send the letter this even ing. Don't thank rne-it is I who should thank you," which remark will never he explained in this life to Dorlnda Carson. Mrs. Roupell kept her promise. She wrote to Egbert Trevanion, simply and quietly; she asked for forgiveness for "an old woman's interference." Thnt Mr. Trevanion paused, thought it over, relented (being a sensible fel low), and married Dorinda Carson in March, has nothing to ilo with this story. The gods are good to fools. Mrs. Roupell put the letter into its envelope and rang the bell. "1 want this to go at once," she said to the housemaid who answered it. "But where is Thompson?" "1 believe he is at the front door, ma'am," was the reply. "There is a gentleman calling," and the girl left the room. A # minute later the handle turned, and a single footstep sounded on the soft carpet, while silence followed the opening of the door. "Is that you, Thompson?" inquired his mistress, vaguely, without turning her head. "1 am not at home this afternoon." There was no answer. George Rou pell stood on the threshold, drinking In with starved senses the sight before him, every detail of the well-loved, well-remembered figure of his beautiful wife, all hiè soul In his eyes as she raised her bowed head and looked to ward the door to see who stood there. "Marla!" he said.—Chicago Tlmes Herald. We believe that if we wanted to sell a corn cure, we would advertise liber ally that it was good for the complex ion, and begin to plan bow to spend the money we make. EDWARD EVERETT HALE. Whoa« Both Birthday Was Recently Celebrated. The 80th birthday anniversary of Ed ward Everett Hale, the distinguished scholar and clergyman, was celebrated in Boston recently, when Senators Hoar and President Elliot, of Harvard, together with many other men of dis tinction, were present and eulogized Mr. Hale. In spite of bis extreme age Mr. Hale Is still enjoying health which enables him to take part in such an affair as that of Thursday with a keen zest. Dr. Hale was born in Boston. He be longs to that eminent New England family which has given to this country many noted clergymen, journalists and other profe8s'onal men and the great soldier, Nathan Hale, whose death was an example of patriotism which has few parallels In history. The subject of this sketch received a training at & W EDWARD EVERETT 11ALE. Harvard and in a Latin school and at the age of 20 became a Congregational preacher and after filling pastorates In Washington and Worcester he took charge ot the South Congregational Church in Boston in 1856 and served there for many years. He Interested himself in philanthropy, as well as re ligious movements, and was the orig inator of the Harry Wadsworth Clubs, which have for their raooto, "Look up and not down; look forward and not' back; look out and not In; lend a hand." He aided in the establishment of the Chautauqua Literary and Scien tific Circle and has been active In ad vancing the Interests of Harvard. He has set type and filled every position as a writer on the Boston Daily Ad vertiser from reporter to editor-in chief, and has also written for various magazines. His published works ex ceed a score nnd range from children's stories to the most profound religious and philanthropic treatises. There are tales of adventure and travel, history, biography and essays. One of the best known Is entitled "In His Name." A NARROW ESCAPE. Mr. Johnson Was Not Killed by Hia Terrible Fall. It seemed certain thnt Mr. Johnson had suffered severely. He had fallen from the third story while engaged in cleaning windows. The evening paper said it was feared that he was injured internally,and whenlittleGeorgeWasn ington Johnson went up the alley that evening whistling cheerfully, as his wont was, and Mrs. Mayberry culled to him from tier kitchen window, she was horrified to learn the full extent of the calamity. "Yes'm." said George, with anima tion. "pa he done broke his hack." The whistle was resumed as the little negro replaced his cap and went on. but Mrs. Mayberry excused his insen sibility on the ground- of his youth. Mr. Johnson, the Janitor of the "Leav enworth," was a good husband and father, as well as a sober, hard-work ing man, and it made Mrs. Mayberry sad that he should die before his chil dren were able to appreciate him. And what would the mother and the six boys and girls do without him? Mrs. Mayberry began to plan a neighbor hood subscription to pay the funeral expenses, at least and perhaps give the family a start toward independence. It was still early in the following forenoon when the maid called her to the kitchen to receive the elaborate courtesies of Ida Sophronla Johnson, aged 12 years. "Pn sent me, Mis' Mayberry," Ida Sophronla explained. "Could you please let him have some picture-papers or old magazines to look at? He says it's terrible to have to lay still and smell carbol'c acid." Mrs. Mayberry hastily made up ap attractive package. "How is your fath er this morning?" she asked. "I dunno but his arm's broke—too," Ida Sophronla responded, thoughtfully. "When I was at de hospital dis mornln' dey'd strapped up a shelf thing 'cross his bed, so't he wouldn't have to hold anything in his hand." At that moment visitors from a dis tance arrived, and Mrs. Mayberry bad to forego the many questions she want ed to ask. The guests, in fact crowded the Johnsons completely out of her mind for twenty-four hours, so that she felt a spasm of self-reproach when one of her own children mentioned the Injured man next day. "Mr. Johnson came home from the hospital In a back," the boy told her. "He said they starved him there." "Poor man!" breathed Mrs. Mayber ry, pityingly. "I suppose he felt that he'd rather die at home. I must see what I can do for them to-morrow." So on the morrow she loaded a bas ket with things good to eat, and sltua ble for an ipvalid, and started for the "Leavenworth," two blocks distant, in the basement of which the janitor and his family lived. She dreaded to go fearing almost that she might walk I tn upon a funeral service. Her appre hension was needless, however. Half way between her home and the apart ment h oj||% she met Mr. Johnson him «elL w 4Mk almost as jauntily as usual, y Mrs. Mayberry trapped her basket "Why, Mr. Johnsct!" she cried. "I heard you were almost killed." Johnson took off his cap. "Yes, ma'am, thank so, ma'am. Ah was 'mos killed," he sala. "Ah got shook up powahful. Jes' missed a Iron fence, too. Ah reck on If Ab'd hit dat It would 'a busted me scand'lous. But Ah didn't hit It, no, ma'am. Ah done lit on mah hald tat de yahd." WHAT AROU8ED THE DOG. Had He a Sixth Settee that Revealed Hie Master's Mishap. Among the tales told of the Intelli gence and nffectlon of our canine friends by Mrs. Sarah K. Bolton in her recent book, "Our Devoted Friend, the Dog," is the story of Dan, a deerhound, »wried by L. C. Meachamp,' Homer, La. Mr. Meachamp was one day going on a squirrel hunt, and not wishing Dan to accompany him, tied the dog to a post by a rope. Dan whined and begged, but finding his muster'obdurate, at last lay down quietly before his kennel. It was growing dusk and time for the hunter to return, when Mrs. Meachamp was suddenly disturbed by the whining and barking of the dog, who had been quiet all day up to that time. She spoke to the dog, but instead of being pacified at this attention, he redoubled his exertions nnd broke the rope which held him. Then he bounded away, over the fence and into the woods. He was gone perhaps half an hour, when he came running back, panting and almost breathless, with his mas ter's hat in his mouth. Mrs. Meachamp became nt once alarmed, and calling her son, they set off to find the missing man, Dan all the time bounding ahead and leading the way. At length they came upon Mr. Meachamp lying helpless in the woods, where he had fallen into a little ditch and broken his leg. The accident happened, as nearly as could be reckoned, as the moment when the dog began to show bis uneasiness. That he should have had knowledge of the accident seems incredible,, but his master firmly believes that he did know it. and that It was because he knew it that he was so anxious to get away. THIS OLD TREE IS A TOWER. Nature hns taken one of her funny freaks In forming a curious tree, which stands on the old King's Highway, be tween Saugerties nnd Kingston. Chil dren enjoy % themselves climbing^ through this tree, which is still alive, although It Is hollow from Its top to the bottom, with room enough at the bottom for three or four people to sit in. each having plenty of room. The profile of a man's face is formed w THIS OLD TREE IS A TOWER. in the bark at the lower left side of the hollow of tiie tree. Inside the trunk strips of wood are arranged like a lad der, so one can climb to the top. with lots of room to get through nnd sit among the branches. From the top Is had a fine view of the surrounding Cntskill Mountains. The Modern Bandit. First Bandit—How is the lady mis sionary quoted by the brigands' com mercial agency? Second Bandit—I find that she is marked "A-7-ll-xx-***." First Bandit—What in thunder does that mean? Second Bandit—It means that she can be easily kidnaped, but that the kid napers will be lucky if they get any ransom. There is a possibility that her friends could raise $200, but before counting on this it would be well to in vestigate the private archives of the agency. That's ail. "Well, say, ain't it a shame?" "Ain't what a shame?" "Why that any woman should think of coming out here as a missionary without any rich friends to back her up. It's too bad."—Cleveland Plain Dealer. Highest Balloon Altitude. Dr. Bersen and Dr. Suring. of the Berlin Meteorological Institute, have reached in a balloon ascent the high est altitude on record. They first went up to the height of 30,000 feet, losing consciousness for brief intervals. In spite of the risk they continued to as cend to 33,790 feet, when one of them became completely unconscious and could not be aroused. The other aero naut, after making a great effort In opening the valve to descend, also be came Insensible, and neither of them recovered till the balloon dropped to 16,000 feet, at the .end of an hour's time. ,T* Preliminary Tip. Edgar—Eleanor, dear, you are such a vivacious young woman that I'm afraid I sba'n't be able to make yon obey. Eleanor—Well, Edgar, perhaps yog would be wiser not to try.—Detroit Free Press.