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The Western news. [volume] (Stevensville, Mont.) 1890-1977, May 21, 1902, Image 2

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn84036207/1902-05-21/ed-1/seq-2/

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TIMELY TOPICS
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.

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