SQUIRREL VS. WOODPECKER.
An Interesting Account of a Woodland
Rencontre Between Them.
A well-known sportsman of Minn
eapolis writes the following account of
an adventure in the squirrel timber
which cabnot fail to interest those fa
miliar with the habits of the bushy
tailed varmint that furnishes such fine
sport in October days:
I was sitting with my back against
a log in the deep woods one October
morning, matching for two squirrels
that were hiding in the top of a great
walnut tree. One of the squirrels I
had shot at and missed, whereupon it
scampered up the tree in question, fol
lowed by another one of its kind to
the topmost branches. A patient ex
amination of all the limbs failed to
disclose to my eyes so much as an
ear. so I sat down to wait until the
game moved.
A half hour passed, by which time
every knot and bunch of leaves had be
come familiar to me. There was a
very large limb that extended out from
the tree in a horizontal direction for
ten feet, then bent upward gradually.
On its under side there was a hole such
as a gray squirrel might fancy. Pres
ently a saucy woodpecker, rescuttled
the limb in search of food. Instantly
my full attention was directed to it in
the hope that its actions might betray
to me the location of the two hidden
squirrels.
Down came the woodpecker after the
halting, jerky manner of its kind, but
suddenly it stopped short, then flew up
and alighted further down the limb. At
the same time there was a flash of gray
near the hole in the limb, and some
small creature disappeared within. I
had never before noticed any ruffling
up of the feathers on a woodpecker’s
neck as an indication of anger, or
what not, but this one was either
startled or angry, for its neck feathers
resembled those of thh mischievous
little camp robbers of the west. But
no matter what its feelings were, the
woodpecker sidled up to the hole and
peeked in, with its head cocked first to
-one side, then to that.
It is customary with all good wood
peckers, like policemen, to rattle for
assistance when they believe they have
corraled a bigger bargain; but this one
.did nothing of the sort, as it seemed
dubious as to whether its game was
really cornered. Finally it decided to
take a look inside, so it ducked its head
and crept in very gingerly and very
slowly. A moment of si' ence followed,
then all at once a bund of feathers
was literally fired out of tn" hole, much
after the fashion of a young man’s
hurried exit from a wouldn’t-be father
in-law's door. It was the woodpecker.
It found its wings after a headlong
tumble of several feet, perched on a
near-by branch and glared across at
the hole in the limb, seemingly unde
-cided what to do, though full of fight.
I was puzzled to know what was in
that hollow limb, but the Woodpecker
soon settled all doubts by flying across
to the hole with neck feathers ruf
fled up and blood in its eye. No soon
er had it alighted than a flying squir-
Tel darted out of the hole and pounced
on It. both finally alighting on a lower
limb. Then followed a game of hide
and seek, with the woodpecker forcing
the fight. Up and down, round and
round the limbs' and back and forth
from one to the other they went.
Sometimes the flying squirrel—evi
dently dazed by the sunlight—would
turn and pursue its enemy blindly,
and then the bird would hesitate,
whereupon the squirrel finally made a
dash and gained the dark interior of
its former place of refuge.
How this interesting encounter may
"have terminated it is impossible to
-say. for at that moment I saw one of
my squirrels peeping over the fork of
another branch, and the shot I fired at
it broke up the little game which I had
been fortunate enough to witness.
OYSTER EATING. .
Records That Made a Man Who Ate
only 48 Feel Small.
A young man was sitting on a stool
in an oyster bar last night and had
just finished his fourth dozen. He
drew a gratified sigh and looked at the
barricade of empty shells with a mix
ture of pride and appreciation. "Gee
whiz!” he exclaimed, “that must be
pretty near a record, ain’t it?” The
opener smiled scornfully and went on
washing his knife. Such a foolish as
sertion did not call for a reply. "Well,”
said the young man, a trifle chopfal
len, “it’s certainly a right fair snack.
What’s the most you ever knew any
body to eat?” “Straightaway, or
heats?” inquired tae opener, with the
air of one who weighs his words. “Oh!
right at one time; hand running y
know." “Well, the most I ever opened
for anybody myself was fifteen dozen
and a half, for two-when 1 was
working on Royal street. One gen
tleman eat eight dozen and a half and
the other gentleman eat seven
dozen.” "Eight and a half!” said the
young man. enviously. "Holy snakes!
That's 102 oysters!” "They was large
oysters, too.” continued the opener,
"and that makes all the difference in
the world. A dozen such oysters is
equal to three dbzen small culls, and
you want to bear that in mind when
vou hear fellows blowing about records.
Five dozen, though, is nothing out of
the wav in the winter time. I open
that many for single customers every
night.” “What is supposed .to be the
record among the oyster openers in
town?" “Well, they say a man ate 17
dozen, medium size, at a place here
last season. He came from New
Iberia, and he wasn’t a very big man
to look at. either, but he sure had a
Capacity. The shells filled a barrel."
"Yes. that’s straight.” spoke up a cus
tomer from the other end of the bar.
"I was there when he did it. but
pshaw! that wasn’t anything. I claim
the championship myself. I won It
about six years ago, eating a barrel of
oysters in a wholesale house here,
opening them myself as I went along.
I admit they were not very big, but
the score was 306, and up to date I
have n’t heard of anybody who had
beaten it.” The speaker was a well
known resident of New Orleans, and
several bystanders confirmed the
statement. The young man with the
four dozen record changed the subject.
—New Orleans Picayune.
WORLD’S OLDEST POEM.
Written 15 Centuries Before Moses in
Honor of King Usertesen 111.
Near to the pyramid at Illahun, Pro
fessor Petrie found during his explora
tion in 1888-90 the extensive town
occupied by the workmen employed
by Usertesen 11. in building his pyra
mid and other public works. In the
office where the records of the town
were kept Professor Petrie discovered
a large number of papyri. Most of
these were official and legal documents,
relating to the works carried on, ac
counts of payments to workmen, of
food and provisions received and is- 1
sued, fiscal accounts, census papers,
etc., and all the usual accumulation
of a government office —dry and unin
teresting on the whole, but abound
ing in details which are of the great
est value to the historian and archae
ologist. The more attractive fields
of general and scientific literature
were not, however, unrepresented, for
we have works on medicine, diseases
of women, veterinary surgery and
mathematics, but the gem of the col
lection is a royal ode or hymn of wel
come addressed to Usertesen 111., ap
parently by the people of the Payoum.
After long and patient work, these
broken and torn fragments have been
arranged, and are now published with
autotype reproductions, transcript
and partial translations by F. Lle
wellyn Griffith. The poem to User
tesen 111. is written in a fine, bold,
hieratic hand upon a papyrus measur
ing 46 inches in length and 12 in
width, and consists, when completed,
of six stanzas of 10 lines each. Its
value lies in its being certainly the
oldest poem in the world, nearly 15
centuries before the time of Moses,
and also in the wonderful way in
which it describes, in most figurative
language, the great work that the
King had done in the expansion of
the Egyptian Empire.
Homage to thee our Horus divine of
beings
Protecting the land, and widening its
boundaries,
Inclosing the two lands, within the
compass of his hands, and seiz
ing the nations in his grasp.
The tongue of his Majesty bindeth
Nubia, his utterances put to
flight the Bedouin.
Sole one of youthful vigor, guarding
his frontier; suffering not his
subjects to faint; but causing
all the people to repose unto
daylight.
A TURNPIKE IN PERSIA.
As an entertaining wedge the Rus
sians have built a turnpike road a dis
tance of 220 miles from the Caspian
Sea to Teheran, the capital of Persia.
The country is virtually without roads,
and this fact presented obstacles to
both commerce and invasion. But the
new road has not so far greatly pro
moted commercial intercourse, it is
said, for the reason that it costs SOO
in any sort of vehicle to make the trip
between Teheran and the Caspian.
Time and competition will probably re
duce the cost of travel. But whether
trade grows or not, Russia has now an
easy road for her troops when the time
comes to complete the absorption of
Persia. Indications point to an early
assertion of Russia’s right to a port on
the sea coast of Persia.
HER HUSBAND.
A woman judges a man’s usefulness
in the world by the skill with which
he puts down carpets.—Washington
Democrat.
What a woman really thinks of her
husband is generally about half as nice
as what he thinks other people must
think of him.—Berlin Herald.
When a woman bosses her husband,
he is a weak man and does not enjoy
the respect of anybody, not even the
wife who does the act.—Astoria Argus.
When a wife is away from home, she
reads her husband’s letters through
carqfully to find something upon which
susj&i n may alight.—Atchison Globe.
I use ms more than probable that the
woman who threw out two burglars
who entered her room at night thought
she was greeting her belated husband.
—New York Telegram.
As for that matter, women change,
too. It is only a few years ago since
Mrs. Dubbleknot would have almost
gone off the handle upon the appear
ance of her darling Charley. Now
when he Is heard fumbling for the
keyhole she merely remarks; "It’s only
my husband.”—Boston Transcript.
“Would you be wining to eat at a
table where there were 13 people?"
“Well, a good deal would depend up
on whether I was goln’ to get the meal
for nothin’ or not.”—Chicago Timer-
Herald.
Canada's knowledge of Latin needs
revision. Its idea of a mouus vivendi
is for the other side to surrender Its
coast line and everything else Involved,
j st Louis Globe-Democrat.
,, .
1 It rarely pays to fill up an old orch
ard with young trees: better select a
'new location. The old trees have ex
hausted the old site, more or Ices
St. Louis Republic.
NEMESIS.
The small boy stole his neighbors'
grapes.
His sin
Did not impress him overmuch.
A grin '
O'erspread his freckled litMe face
As he J
Broke bunches off and gobbled them
In glee. ; *m
He ate, and ate, and ate, and ate, and
ate,
And ate,
And all the time liis wicked joy
Was great.
He did not think bow wrong it was
To swipe
His neighbor’s grapes before they were
Half ripe!
But, oh! before the clock struck 12
That night
That wicked boy was pale as chalk
With Tright.
He realizeu at last how very great
A sin
It is to steal, though it be but
A pin.
For awful gripes his stomach filled
With woe.
And he ejaculated “Oh!
Oh! Oh!”
The moral is—now heed it, boys—
“ Don’t swipe
Your neighbor’s grapes— at least until
They’re ripe.”
—Somerville Journal.
Two Letters.
The picture was a decidedly pretty
one —there was a sloping lawn leading
down to the river Thames. An old
fashioned house with gabled roof and
French windows sitood in the back
ground. The windows were all open,
*cr the day was a hot one in julv. By
cue of them a girl stood in a white
dress, with a crimson rose fastened
into her belt. She was a pretty girl,
with rippling black hair, a rich com
plexion, and fine sparkling eyes. She
stood leaning against the window sill.
She was impervious to the beauty of
landscape at the moment. Her eyes
were lowered; she was reading a letter.
The letter was on thick paper. The
handwriting was large. Four sides of
the paper were covered, but four sides
of that paper in that special handwrit
ing need not contain a great deal. The
girl, however, found a deeper color
coming into her face as she read. She
was scarcely an instant devouring the
words, then the letter fell from her
hands to the grass at her feet. A little
terrier came up and began to worry it.
She did not notice him; she was look
ing intently out over the summer
scene; her eyes had a troubled, wist
ful, puzzled expression in them.
“It’s awful to think of the two letters
coming the same day,” she said to
herself. “Of course. I know what this
letter contains." Here she looked
down at an unopened envelope which
she was holding firmly clasped in her
right hand. She hesitated as she
glanced at it, and with an effort she
took the second letter out of its cover
and read the following words:
“Dear Margot: For God’s sake don’t
give yourself to that other fellow be
cause he is rich. You know perfectly
well that I love you to distraction.
Yours, Robert Cecil.”
"Margot, Margot.” shouted a gay
voice. Some little steps were heard on
the gravel, and a girl of 11 or 12 years
of age, with quantity of hair falling
over her shoulders, ran round the
house and up to Margot’s side.
“Sir Peter Ansell is coming down the
avenue, Margot—he is driving his mail
phaeton tandem, and It’s perfectly
splendid to see him. Why, how funny
you look, and what is that letter which
Gip is worrying! Oh, Margot, It’s in
Sir Peter’s handwriting.”
“Pick up all the bits, Polly, do, do,”
exclaimed the elder girl. “Oh, you
wicked Gip, what a nuisance you are.
Why, I had scarcely read the letter,
and—and ”
“Was it very important?” asked
Polly, who was down on her knees
helping to collect the scattered frag
ments.
"Oh, I suppose so; well, it does not
matter. Is Sir Peter coming round
here, Polly? Do I look all right?”
"You look splendid,” said Polly, with
emphasis. Of course he’s coming round
here. It’s you he has come to visit —
we all know what he wants. Oh, Margot,
do say yes to him. Ido want to drive
a tandem so dreadfully, and Bob said
this morning he was going to get a
pony first thing out of that old beggar
of an Ansell, see if he wasn’t. You
have got to say yes, and see that you
do. Oh, what letter is that you are
crushing up in your hand?”
“Nothing—nobody’s letter,” said
Margot, incoherently. "How do you do.
Sir Petpr?” She held out her hand to
a stout, florid-looking man who now
approached.
“Well, I thought I’d come over to
make sure of seeing you early," he
said. I knew you’d be about reading
my letter now, and I thought I’d strike
while the iron was hot.”
And here he looked significantly at
Polly, who thought it best to make
herself scarce.
Ail the color had fled from Margot’s
face. It was perfectly white —her
eyes had the expression of a creature
caught in a trap.
Sir Peter Ansell, however, was not a
keen observer of human nature. If
he noticed anything in Margot Forres
ter’s face, he set her emotion down to
the delight with which she had re
ceived his offer of marriage.
“Well, Margot,” he said, “you have
read my letter, and of course It’s to
be yes Isn’t it —you do love me a little
bit, don’t you?”
“Yes. I like you,” said Margot, mak
ing a desperate effort.
“Well that's pleasant to hear —you
can easily change like Into love now
can't you?”
Margot thought of Bob, who wanted
good schooling; of Polly, who was
running wild, without any chance of
growing up as a young lady should; of
her father, who was over head and
ears in dibt. and of her mother, who
had been worried straight out of this
world by money cares.
She shut away the picture of the
man,.who had sent her the other letter.
"Aft* all.” she said to herself, “what
does.ne girl’s life matter? Sir Peter jA
a minonaire, and he can save us afj
Yes, ITH marry him.’
She uirned her face toward the
countmimce of her lover, and said
bravely;
“You are very kindjto me, and I sup
pose I’ll Jove you in time.”
“Yes, Jhat you shao, and'-, pretty
soon, too, he answered. “Now
a kiss Margot.” '-w
Margot held up her cheek —Sir
Peter put his arm around her and
kissed her several times.
lne rest of the day passed in a sort
of dream. There was excitement and
delight in the Forrester household.
Margot was kissed, blessed, and con
gratulated by every soul in the place.
Sir Peter had a long and eminently
satisfactory interview with Mr. For
rester. Margot wondered how she
was ever to go through with it. That
other letter seemed to burn a hole in
her pocket. She felt it wherever she
went. As the hours went by it seemed
to drag her down as if with a sort of
weight.
‘ You know perfectly well mat I love
you to distraction.”
This sentence kept repeating itself
over and over and over, in her dis
turoed mind.
Sir Peter was coming back to late
dinner, and special preparations were
being made in his honor. Mr. Forres
ter was uncorking some of his latest
good Burgundy—Polly was filling all
the vases with fresh flowers. There
was a festive air over everything.
Dinner was to be at half-past seven.
At half-past six Margot put on her
hat and went out. The great heat of
the day was tempered now by a gentle
breeze. Margot meant to give herself
half an hour of solitude. She meant
during that half-hour to read Cecil’s
letter, and then tear it into tiny frag
ments. When the letter was torn up
perhaps that tiresome sentence, “You
know I love you to distraction,” would
cease to haunt her.
She went down to the bank of the
river, and seating herself under a tree
took out the letter.
She had scarcely done so before a
manly voice shouted her name. There
was the dip of oars, and the gentle
swish of a boat being propelled rapidly
forward. Cecil, in boating costume,
pulled up under the tree where Margot
was sitting. In a moment he had
jumped out, secured the boat, and was
at her side.
"Now, this is luck,” he exclaimed.
"To think that I should find you here,
and absolutely reading my letter. Oh,
I say Margot is it —is it all right?” Hi
bronzed face was pale as he asked the
question, his voice shook.
"No, it’s all wrong,” said Margot,
with a sudden passion. “Oh, Robert,
I'm not strong enough—l could not
withstand them all. We are so fear
fully poor—and—father’s debts.
Robert, 1 could not help myself—some
one had to be sacrificed.”
"You don't mean to tell me,” said
Cecil, interrupting her and grasping
her arm with such force that she cried
out with pain, “you don’t mean to tell
me, Margot, that after my letter you
have gone and—and given yourself to
that fellow?”
“Y'es I have,” said Margot, bursting
into a passion of tears. “I have, and
he’s coming back to dinner and I must
&o-”
“Look at me, Margot,” said the
young man. “You don’t love him.”
"No.”
“And you do love me?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t you think you’re doing
a very wicked thing, a very unfair
thing, to Sir Peter?”
“I am marrying him because he is
rich,” said Margot, "and to help all the
others. When a girl has a father and
brothers, and sisters, she must sacri
fice herself sometimes. I never told
him that I loved him.”
"Did you tell him that you loved
me?”
"No.”
“I repeat that you are doing wrong,
Margot, and no good will come of it.”
Cecil sprang down the bank once
more and jumped into the boat. Margot
returned to the house.
In the hall she was met by Polly.
“Margot,” she exclaimed, "I don’t
know what can be going on. but Sir
Peter arrived here about a quarter of
an hour ago, and he was not dressed
for dinner, and he seemed to be in a
most awful rage about so-cethlng. He
is with father in the study. I was
listening at the door and I heard his
voice getting louder and louder, and
father trying to soothe him. Oh, there,
I hear the dor opening and father is
calling you. Run Margot, do run, and
find out what is the matter. Oh,
dear, dear,” continued Polly, “your
eyes are red and your face all stained
with crying. Are things going to turn
out wrong after all?”
"Margot,” called her father, "come
her at once.’
She obeyed him immediately. He
took her hand, drew her into the study
and locked the door.
Sir Peter, whose face was alarm
ingly red, was standing on the hearth
rug. He came straight up to Margot
when she entered the room.
"Now, young lady,” he said, “I want
to ask you a plain question. Is that
my letter that I wrote to you this
morning, or is it not?"
Here he held up a much-chewed and
disfigured morsel of paper.
“Is that my letter?” he repeated, "is
that my signature?”
"Yes,” said Margot, looking at it.
"I’m really very sorry," she exclaimed.
Gip has been chewing it.”
You hear her,” exclaimed Sir Peter
turning to Forrester. "You see, she
confesses the whole thing. Now- what
excuse have you to make for such con
duct, Miss correster?”
’ Margot could have known nothing
about it." began Mr. Forrester.
"Yes, I did,” said Margot; “I saw
him doing it, but the fact is, I was so
busy reading another letter that I did
not wait to stop him, Sir Peter,” she
continued, “I made a mistake when I
>aid ‘yes’ this morning—I can’t go on
mv engagement. I find that I I
dou*novWpii— that I shall never love
you. aud tlil|M do love someone else.”
"By exclaimed Sir Peter,
"isn’t that a niqe confession to make?
I write you a proposal of marriage,
■aud vjrfl your dog to chew' up my
letter. YotfaCrept me in the corning,
anft'you reject me In the evening, and
finally you tell me that you love an
other man better than me. Don’t you
think you have behaved very badly?”
"I do.’ answered Margot. "I have be
haved dreadfully both to you and to
the other man.”
She left the room without another
word and went up to her bedroom
The day had begun badly, and now it
was going to end badly. Margot did
not dare to return to the bosom of her
justly aggrieved family again that
night. She cried a great deal, finally
she took Cecil’s letter and read it
carefully over—not once, but many
times. Then she raised it to her lips
and kissed it passionately, and then
got into bed, and, holding it open in
her palm, she went to sleep with it
pressed against her cheek.
When she awoke the next morning
she felt less unhappy; in short, things
seemed to have cleared themselves a
little in her brain.
She no longer felt that it was her
duty to sacrifice herself for her family.
It so happened that Cecil, who had
called early at the house that morning,
was able to confirm her in this opinion.
—Lt. Meade in Hartford Currant.
A MILLIONAIRE’S STAFF.
Very Frequently Numbers Nearly Fifty
Men and Women.
In the good old days, when genuine
republican simplicity reigned in New
York, the wives of the most wealthy
nabobs in the city conducted their
households with the aid of five ser
vants at most: nowadays ten domestics
is the essential number in anything
like a smartly managed house, twenty
five the rule in one of the lesser town
palaces, and there are at least seven
houses on upper Fifth avenue where,
including stable and house help, the
list of employes numbers nearly fifty
busy men and women. (lust take a
look at the windows of the Cornelius
Vanderbilt, Gerry and Astor houses,
and any shrewd woman will calculate
that it would need the exclusive labors
of at least one woman to keep the
sashes as crystal clear and the lace
hangings as frostily white as they al
ways are. What, with the increasing
size of the houses, the amount c f lav
ish entertaining done, the quantities
of silver steadily in use, the masses of
almost priceless bric-a-brac to be
cared for, and bowers of expensive
plants to be tended, it Is no Idle
waste for a fashionable hostess to call
a number of expert domestics to her
aid.
The great indies of New York, as It
stood half a century ago, would, how
ever, wonder at some of the servants
now set down on the domestic pay roll.
For example, Mrs. Burden, Mrs.
Twombly and their friends not only
employ housekeepers, but also what is
known as a confidential maid. This
woman waits on nobody, but usually
gets S2O a month, and her business is
to keep the big, richly stocked linen
closets in order, dust the precious bric
a-brac. see that no moths get into the
invaluable rugs, prune, wash and
water the house plants and with her
own hands wash and put away all the
costly glass and china used at every
luncheon, dinner or supper party. The
amount of excitement and actual cash
her efforts save In a splendid New
York mansion more than Ju<tfy her
wages. Besides, the confidential maid
in these big homes, where so much
money is lavished in decoration, so
much plate used and jewelry worn, it is
necessary to keep a door man. He is
one of the three men usually emplovcd
in a fine house. One of the trio is
the butler, the second is his assistant
in waiting at table, rubbing plate
and valeting the gentlemen, but the
third employe rarely leaves the front
door, and he is personally responsible
for the safety of the valuables. Three
times in the night he patrols the en
tire house, and all day he Is on and ry,
but especially is he alert, when an en
tertain lent is being given and a
crowd of guests offer opportunities for
the entrance of sneak thieves.
Added to their actual usefulness in
the house, these male domestics are
considered excessively modish and or
namental, and it was Mrs. Plerpont
Morgan who set the now prevailing
fashion of three men In attendance on
"at home” days and made it obligatory
for the front door bell to be answered
on the instant. At Mrs. Morgan’s
great Madison avenue residence a touch
at the bell swings back Immediately
two massive oak doors, and behold a
stately footman stands at either side of
the entrance, the butler in the middle
bowing ever so slightly, ready to con
duct and announce the caller at the
drawing-zoom door. Among fashion
able domestics the Plerpont Morgan,
the Gerry and the John Sloan houses
are regarded as offering quite the most
desirable positions in New York.
They are the mecca of the ambitious
and in event of large entertainments
iin these houses it is no uncommon
sight to find handsome footmen posted
at nearly every door on the first floor,
quite after the fashion in the royal
European palaces.
A WOMAN.
God did not make her very wise.
But carved a strangeness round her
mouth;
He put her great sorrow In her eyes
And softeness for souls In
drouth.
And on her face, for all to see.
The seal of awful tragedy.
God did not make her vary fair,
But white and lithe and strange and
sweet;
A subtle fragrance in her hair,
A slender swiftness in her feet,
And In her hands a slow caress,
God made these for my steadfastness.
God did not give to her a heart.
But there is that within her face
To make men long to muse apart
Intil they goodness find and grace.
And think to read and worship there
All good, yet she is scarcely fair.
—A. B. Midi.
NAPOLEON’S CORONATION BOOTS.
They Made the Fortune of a Poor Cob
bler and Have Been Sold for $6.
The boots worn by Napoleon Bona
parte at his coronation were sold the
other day near Altkirch, Alsace, for
25 marks (about |6). You remember
about that coronation; how the poor
pope, who didn’t want to do it a bit,
had been brought from Italy to crown
the Corsican, but didn’t because Na
poleon snatched the crown from the
Pontiff’s trembling fingers and crowned
himself; how a chip of stone, probably
dislodged by hammering In putting up
decorations, fell on Napoleon’s shoul
der, which the superstitious inter
preted as a bad omen; how the con
secrated oil trickled into Napoleon s
eyes and made him wiuk; how beauti
ful poor Josephine was.
Napoleon was particular about his
coronation boots because he was proved
of his little feet and because Davla,
the great Historical painter, was to
make a great picture of the corona
nation.
In fact, David himself drew the de
sign for the boots, which were built
by an Alsatian cordonnier named Moll,
out of cream-colored moroco. The
first two pairs were thrown away, bu;
the third pair suited.
After the coronation was over and
the great painting made, which every
body who goes to Paris makes a point
of seeing, Moll brought in a bill for hi;
boots. He wanted S2OO, which Napo
leon called a robbery.
“All right,” said Moll. “Give me back
the shoes and you need pay nothing.”
For it was 1804, Moll had the court
custom and was getting rich. Josephine
was extravagant about boots. She also
had tiny feet.
Napoleon agreed. Ten years later,
when tiie Bourbons came In, Moll’s
trade went to pieces and nis savings
were lost in speculation by his son.
Then he went back, broken-hearted,
to his native Alsatian town, carrying
with him the Napoleonic boots.
As it happened, the boots made his
last years easy. The town was bitterly
hostile to Boiirboniam.
“Here's poor old Moll come hack,”
said one alderman to another, “ruined
by Bourbon stock johMng. Why, he
made boots for Napoleon for Papa
Violet, eh? (11 reviendra dans le prin
temps). Can't we” —"feet's give him a
pension.’
As long as Moll lived 'twas his de
light to show the boots and chuckle
and swell with pride as he recalled
Napoleon’s anger at the bill for them.
“Figure to yourself, my children,” he
would say. “The Emperor was In his
■gabinet,’ as he called lt; a little man,
but, ah. the bright eye! Eh! eli! R-r
--robbor!’ he said to me, so. ‘R-r-robber!
Thief! Cheat! Gamborra! Why should
I pay 1.000 francs for a pair of boots?’
And then”
Here little old Moll would struggle
to his feet and on trembling limbs es
say to show how the Emperor stamped
about nml shouted and gesticulated.
The story always brought down the
house.
When Moll died he willed the boots
to the village.
But when In 1870 the little Napoleon
was caught at Sedan, Alsace became
German and learned to spell Its name
"Elsass.” Then one day the boots were
thrown away. A villager picked them
tip and took them home. He died not
long ago, and it was at the vendue of
his effects that they brought SO.
“I tuk two gals down street last night
to git ’em some ice-cream,” said
George Washington Snowball, "but
when I got down 1 ’mos’ had a fit of
heart-disease.”
“What was the trouble? Did they
ask for a second helping?”
“Secon’ helpin’ nothin’. Dey didn’t
eben git de first helpin’. ”
“What was the reason? Did you
discover that you had left your money
at home?"
“No, Bah; (lat wasn't what was de
matter at all. We went down street
Jus’ as happy as you please, sah—one
gal on each arm, you know—an' ’"’uen
we got in sight oh de ice-cream T ead
dat sign, an’ I fought I should urap
dead.”
"What did the sign say?”
"It said, ‘lce-cream, $1.25 per gal.’ I
had two gals, you know, besides maw
self an' I hadn't no pocket full of
money. Say, mister?”
“Well?”
"Do yo' (link dat one ob dem trust
ses has got hold ob ice-cream busi
ness?” —Harper’s Bazar.
~ f
National Organizer Christopher
Evans and W. C. Scott of the United
Mine Workers have declared that
everything within the power of the
national order will be done to free Ex
ecutive John P. Reese, who Is now un
dergoing a three months’ Jail sentence
ut Fort Scott, Kan.