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the new year.
Where I'm wattle', waitin'. Jessamines are ahlte; I>\is arn «irlppln\ drippln'. Through the perfumed night; >n' f'm way off yonder Come* the "wheei-te-whee!" Of the happy fleldlark. Bubblin' down to me. An' the sun's a-shlnlp' In each drop o' dew, Where I'm waitin', waitin', Waitin', here fer you; Know you're cornin', cornin'. An' I wait fer you 'Mongst midwinter roses Drippln' wet with dew; Know that you will bring me Pleasure, but I know Kv'ry bubblin' cup o' Joy Has its dregs o' woe. But I'm waiting fo: you Where the dewdrops blink, Anxiotis for your cornin', Dyln* for a drink; Waitin' for the future You a-re bound to bring; Waitin' 'mongst the dewdropa Where the field larks sing; Waitin' for the goblet, Bitter-sweet an' all, On my knees I'm waitin', Where the fleldlarks call. —J. M Lewis. In Houston Poet The Message of the Bells V A New Veer Story By ELIZABETH PRICE Sun clouds scudded gustily across the sky, hiding the peaceful face of the moon, whose radiance touched the edges of her somber veil with a fringe of sil ver. The g^eat gray tower lifted its head far aloft In the midnight stillness, and the wind moaned around Its rough hewn corners a requiem for the dying year. Within the tower sat the old bell ringer, waiting for the stroke of 12 from the clock, and, as he waited, his thoughts drifted back to the years long burled In the dimness of the past—the years when his floating white hair had been crisp and black, when Us long, slender fingers were strong and Supple and struck from the midnight chimes music of entrancing beauty. Ah! life had been worth the living In those far-off happy days. People had predicted a wonderful future for him, and in spite of the poverty that retarded his progress, and a great ambition possessed him. Obstacles were pushed aside, diffi culties overcome, as he worked by day and studied by night, and the bells In the tower spoke marvelous things to the many who listened, and who, listening, praised. Their praise was sweet, but Elspeth's was sweeter, and, when one New Year's eve, he told her of his love and won her promise to be his own, his heart beat with a rapture that thrilled through the chimes that night till listen ers wondered and children came back from dreamland to hear. Oh, happy memory! Oh, long ago! It was on another night like this that Ruprecht was born; and the joy which beamed from the pale young mother's face was reflected in his own, as he left 1 ! k.; IV "THE CLOCK ON THE MANTEL WARNED FOR TWELVE, AND THE MUSICIAN TURNED TO THE PIANO AND PLAYED AGAIN SIMPLY AND LOVINGLY PLEYEL'S HYMN." her baby on her bosom and rushed to the bell-tower to make his chimes a paen of praise to the Father who had filled his life with blessing. How they loved him—that baby—their only one— their all! How he and Elspeth had watched each new development—how proudly guided the first tottering step; how carefully repeated the first lisping word! How joyfully'they trained and taught him, while the father, too busy In his struggle for their maintenance to realize his great ambition, transferred It uncomplainingly from his own future to that of his son! Nor had their hopes been vain. The boy studied—improving every opportunity with untiring zeal, un til at last the great organ in the cathe dral below thundered Its glorious music responsive to the touch of the boyish fingers. People thronged to hear. Rup recht's services were demanded else where—brilliant prospects opened before him. and the Inevitable separation drew near. New Year's Eve! How many anniver saries this shadowy hour held! The boy bade them good-by while Elspeth clung to him and sobbed, and her husband rushed away to tell the chimes his agony he had poured Into them his joy. As he sat waiting even as now, a step came up the stair, and some one entered the belfry chamber, and the voice he loved said tenderly: "Mein Vater, let me play the chimes to-night. I will leave with them a message to comfort you when you arc sad—a message for you and the moth er, too. "When I hear It In the far-off land It will be my mother's voice that sings to me, and when you play It, mein Vater, it will say to you, 'Ruprecht loves me.' Then you will pray 'God watch over my boy and keep him safe for me,' and the All-Father will hear." When Ruprecht struck the massive keys It was the simple old Pleyel's hymn he played, hut he lent his beautiful voice to the clangor of the bells and sang his mother's favorite words: "Children of the Heavenly King As >o Journey sweetly sing; Sing your Saviour's worthy praise Gloriout; in His works and ways." A moment later he was gone. The as years had been many and long since then, but no tidings ever came, and Elspeth's hair grew white before the look of ex pectancy in her dear eyes changed to the clamness of resignation. He was dead, of course. They knew now that It must be so, though they had not given up hope till they had left the old home and followed their wanderer to the new coun try. They had heard of the wrecked ship, to be sure, but hope dies hard. Perhaps if they had been patient—had stayed on amid the scenes of his childhood—he might have come back to them; but how could they be patient when the world was so wide, and half of It lay between them and the land that had called their child. They were only waiting now—he and Elspeth—for the summons which should call them to the happy reunion In a home where there would be no Bad good-bys, where muslc.knows no minor, and hearts forget how to ache. The first stroke of midnight sounded and an Instant later the bells pealed forth, while the old man sang with trem bling lips and voice that no one heard but s he had sung every New Year God since that one: "Children of the Heavenly Kin* A* ye Journey sweetly sing. Sin* your Saviour's worthy prslss. Glorious In His works and ways." Then, as the last reluctant echo died away, he stumbled down the narrow stairs toward home and Elspeth. Not far from the belltower stood a mansion, where a great throng had as sembled to watch the old year out and the new year In. Silken draperies rustled, Jewels gleamed, music rippled on the per fumed air, and happy voices rang sweet and high. But every sound was silenced, and bright eyes grew dim In the flood of melody w-hleh suddenly poured about the gay throng. They crowded toward tKe music room, trying to catch a glimpse df the player. Those who were near saw a slender man, with fair curling hair brushed back from a brbw as pure as a woman's. The face was pale and the eyes sad, but about thesensitlve mouth played an expression of rare sweetness and beauty. Quietly he sat before the grand piano, playing without the slightest ef fort such masterful music as had hushed the listeners to awe-struck silence. "Who is he?" was the question passed from one to another when at last ths cessation of the music broke the spell. "He Is a friend of father's," thttf hostess told them. "Father met Urn abroad some years ago, and by helping him in a search for some missing friends, won his heart. The search w|is not suc cessful, but that did not seem to lessen Prof. Von Bulow's gratitude, and they have corresponded in a desultory way ever since. Father Invited him here for the holidays this year, but he declined the Invitation, then this evening suddenly and unexpectedly appeared. These great musicians are always eccentric, you know. I heard him tell father that this is an anniversary he doesn't like to spend alone. Some love story probably. No, he Isn't married. He spends his entire time with his wonderful music. That is really all I know about him." With that the interested guests were forced to be content, for the player had vanished from among them as suddenly as he appeared, and soon the gayety resumed Us sway. At 11 o'clock the hostess seated her guests in a circle, saying: "Now we will turn down the lights and tell ghost stories till midnight. Everybody must contrib ute something. The more gruesome and harrowing the better," she added laugh ingly. The young people fell in with the spirit of fun, and ghosts walked, hob goblins shrieked and ghouls moaned, till the more timid begged for mercy. It was almost 12 o'clock when a new voice suddenly broke Into a momentary Everyone looked up to see the pause. musician standing In the door. "My friends," he said, "my story Is not of the spirits of the unseen world—it is of a lad in the far-away Fatherland, who once, on a night like this, left home and friends and went out into the wide world, with music as the priestees who presided at the altar, where burned the fires of his ambition. So brightly did this fire burn that Its glow hid the quieter emo tions which lingered in the shadow, and father and mother and home were left be hind. The youth had not dreamed of the pain of broken ties—but he afterward learned It all. "Shipwrecked, a weary sickness and deliverance, miscarried letter returned to Its writer long afterward—all these came between the lad and his loved ones, and when at last, overcome by the deadly 'heimweh,' he turned toward home, he found It empty—the loved ones gone, while the chimes In the tower which the father had played ever since the lad had lived, respond) d sadly to the touch of strange, unfriendly hands. "With breaking heart the lad turned back to the country of his adoption, hop ing. against hope, to find the dear ones, who had followed him there during his long silence. The years have passed and the lad is a man, but the father and the mother he has not found, nor does he ex pect to greet them again until the New Year of Heaven dawns for him, as ho believes it has already dawned for them. So, when the midnight comes I play each New Year's Eve as I—as the lad played on that last night long ago—my message to my dear ones." The clock on the mantel warned for 12, and the musician turned to the piano and played again simply and lovingly Pleyel's hymn, singing as In the longago the beautiful words his mother loved. As the last note died away In the quiet room the tower clock began to strike, but drowned by the music of the chimen. was A thrill ran through the hushed circle an they recognized the strain they had Just heard, but the musician arose with a mighty cry: "Mein Vater!" and ran out into the night, guided by the music of the bells. When the old bell ringer shut the door he could not see, for the tears that blinded him, the hurrying figure on the pavement. A moment later he was gath ered close to the heart that had yearned tor him through all the space of silence and loneliness, and together. In the open ing of the glad New Year, they went out from the shadow of the bell tower, home to Elspeth, whose mother heart cams near to bursting, with the Joy of a son's home coming. — Minneapolis House keeper. Unalloyed Bliss. "Aren't you going to wear that neck tie I gave you on Christmas?" inquired Mr. Meekton's wife. "Of course, I am, Henrietta. I was saving it up. I'm going to wear that red necktie and my nilo green Bmoklng jacket and my purple and yellow rocks, and smoke one of those birthday clgari you gave me, all at once."—Washington Star. I | A Happy NewYear's Day ■y BERTHA E. COODIER "Now, Elsie Lawrence," the girl se verely addressed the woful reflection in the great glass door of the station, "I hope you're not going to cry. Remem ber, you're much too old for such child ishness. It does seem bad that father must go home, and on New Year's day of all days, but you must be brave, as be said, and have just as happy a New Year's day as you can." It did seem hard to be left all alone. They had come to this wonderful city, Elsie Lawrence and her father, and ar rangements had been made for placing the girl in a seminary. Elsie walked When Lawrence through the beautiful marble-tiled sta tion and stood looking out at the white world that lay before her It seemed that the tears must come, for she was, oh, so lonely. Outside It was Just as crisp and as clear and as sunshiny as a New Year's day should be. The snow sparkled with a million diamond lights, and sifted onto the roofs and the trees a tender white covering that made the city seem a fairy-land. Elsie dreaded to face that biting cold. It was so pleasant and warm inside. But, surely, one could not spend New Year's day In the waiting room of the station. As she went down the broad avenue toward Miss Morgan's seminary Elsie quite forgot the cold and the loneliness In the Interest of watching the people who were hurry ing this way and that. It made her a little sad. too, when she thought that everyone in all the great city was hav ing a happy time except herself. Every one, it seemed, had some place to go; sleighloads of young people were pass ing, and often they cried out "Happy New Year!" to someone on the street. Elsie thought of the girls at home, in Fairhaven, and she wondered what they would say if they could see her, standing on the corner of two broad streets, wishing so earnestly that she knew someone on whom she might make a New Year's call. With a clatter and a rush and much sliding of wheels ovev the shining track, a great yellow car 1 r j h I IL "ELSIE STAYED JUST LONG ENOUGH TO SEE THEM TUCKED AWAY IN LITTLE BEDS." stopped before her, and was now un loading Its human freight. Over its windows it bore the sign, "California Street!" California street! Elsie's eyes bright Impulsively she ran forward ened. and was soon whirling along in the car. She was no longer sad; no longer lonely, for she was going to make a New Year's call on the Washingtons—George, Mar tha, Abraham Lincoln, Andrew Jackson, Arathusa and Amaryllis, been to see them once before. On the day of her arrival Miss Morgan had ta ken her to the miserable little shanty, and now she was going to see If she might not bring a little sunshine to the six little orphans, whose mother had died but the month before. She picked her way carefully among the ash heaps and tomato cans that lit tered Moxey's alley till she stood on the little doorstep and pushed open the rickety door. And what a sight met her eyes! The six little Washingtons sat huddled about a stove In which a few coals gleamed faintly. Martha the eld est, a girl about Elsie's age, crouched on a stool, and In her arms she held Baby Amaryllis, so swathed in a ragged quilt that she looked like a little pap poose. Abraham Lincoln crept close to Martha's knee, and was whimpering with the cold. Andrew Jackson and his twin, Arathusa, were huddled together, while George Washington, the man of the family now, was searching the dim corners of the bare room, hoping against hope that some bit of coal might be there. Martha explained in a dull, hopeless sort of way, all that Elsie had guessed She had at a glance. "Mammy, she lef' us all alone, an' thar ain't nuthin' to eat, an' no money to buy none. I couldn't go to work scrubbln' count o' the awful cold I cotch, an' George Washington, he ain't no bigger'n a minute, an' folks won't give him no sidewalks ter shuvel. I 'clar' ter goodness, Missy, I don' know what goln' to come o' we all, 'cause mammy allwus said it wus better fer to starve ner to beg." "Well, you needn't beg, Martha, and you're not going to starve on New Year's day. You Just bundle those children up, for I'm going to take you all to some place where it is bright and beautiful, and oh, as warm as summer-time!" In contrast with her present sur roundings the great, fine depot seemed all this. Martha obeyed wonderingly, and it was a strange little procession that filed out of the darkness of Moxey's alley and a very breathless company that clambered Into Jerry Flynn's hack which Elsie had hailed in the grandest manner possible. Jerry Flynn trembled for the moment at the thought of his bright broadcloth linings, yet there was no need. The little Washingtons were as clean as soap and water would make them. Their little black faces had been icruhbed till they fairly shone, and now that hunger and cold were forgot ten in the Joy of riding with this beau-1 tiful lady who had said that she would take them to some place where It was warm like sumraer-tlBe, their bltek eyee were shining, too. «• "To the Unlftn depot." Elsie had told Jerry Flynn, and at the station they shortly alighted. "How much?" asked the girl, holding In her hand the crisp new two-dollar bill he r J.ttvr had given her that morning. "Well, ma'am, my rates Is a quarter apiece," began the smiling Jerry. "A quarter apiece!" Elsie made a rapid mental count. "Oh, 1 wtfn't have any money left to buy them something to eat!" "But seeing it's New Year's," went on the hacliman. "give me half a dollar, ma'am, an' we'll call It square," and Jerry Flynn was rewarded by the smile in Elsie's eyes. It was as warm as summer-time, and oh, so beautiful. At first the little guests could only sit in a solemn little row. staring wide-eyed at the marble pillars and glittering chandeliers. They made the quaintest picture, and every one stared and then smiled; and after awhile the Waaklhgtons began to smile, too. and to feel less strange and to nudge one another and whisper together In the jolllest way. Elsie, meanwhile, was holding earnest conversation with the proprietor of the lunch counter. "But you see," she said, "I have only a dollar and a half, and I must keep something to get back with. Six cups of cofTee aJ ten cents would be 60 cents, and six pieces of pie at ten cents—oh, how can I ever buy enough for those poor children!" "Beg pardon, ma'am, but l didn't know you was buyin' for that orphan asylum over there. Possibly 1 could find enough for you for a dollar. How's that? I'll take the contract of fillin' them up for a dollar." And Elsie was glad to accept this really generous offer. They had pie and coffee and sandwiches and pork and beans. Some of the articles, of course, were not as salable as they might have been a few days before, but the Wash ingtons did not mind this in the least, but just ate and ate, pausing every now and then to smile tenderly at Elsie. When at last no one would have an other piece of pie or another orange, the children rolled up on the soft cush ions and went to sleep for all the world like cozy little kittens. Elsie took the queer bundle from Martha's tired arms and fixed her own coat against the bench that the girl might rest better. Then she sat for a long time looking about her at her charges, and thinking what a funny way it was to spend New Year's day. The station policeman, who had had his eye on them for a long time, came forward now. "Were you waitin' for a train, ma'am?" he asked, touching his cap. "No—oh, no, thank you," said Elsie, looking sweetly up at him. His words put an anxious thought Into the girl's mind. What were they waiting for, after all? Where could they go now? She listened to the ris ing wind and saw the sleet driven against the window. Oh, how could they face the storm—poor Martha Washing ton and these little ones? What could they do but wait? And for whom—un less it be the Father of the fatherless? It was a comfortable thought, and when, after another space of anxious watch ing, the policeman again came forward and said kindly, "Won't you tell me who you're waiting for?" Elsie smiled through the tears that would come, and answered solemnly, "Mfs're watlng for the Father of the fatherless." He was a very kind-hearted police man, and perhaps was remembering'a little blue-eyed girl of his own as he listened to the simple story, for he drew one rough hand across his eyes and said: "Well, little girl, I guess you don't need to worry about them kids no longer, for I'll just call up the patrol and take them over to the police station in ,o time, and in the morning we'll see if Ve can't get them into the colored jrphan's home. I guess the Father of the fatherless was lookin' out for them all the time, so you needn't worry no more." Elsie stayed just long enough to see them tucked away In little white beds by the kind-hearted matron, then the policeman took her hack to the school. Miss Morgan was looking anxiously from one of the windows as the strange pair came up the long stairs. "Why, Elsie Lawrence," she cried, "what on earth is the matter? Where have you been?" When she heard the story, Miss Mor gan sat silent for a long time, and there was a suspicion of tears in her voice as she said: "Well, little girl, I think you have had a very happy New Year, in deed."—Detroit Free Press. RESOLUTIONS. If We Keep All These W e May Hops for the Coining of the iMillenninui. Fellow-Citizens: Upon this, the birth of a new year, let us resolve: Never again to ask our wife what she did "with all that five dollars" we gave her three months before; To own up, without equivocation, that we were asleep In church; Not to attempt to eat the things that we know do not agree with us; To stop reading a pdper that we do not like, instead of forever grumbling over Good-by, old year, good-by—goei by) For th;,p 11 tear ani ' heartfelt themm. -Detroit Fit t Free*. It; Not to complain about our neighbor'i chickens, when our own dog runs loose; To respect our wife's opinion when it Is contrary to ours; To refrain from demanding. "What In the matter with the dinner?" when, if we looked at the clock, we would see that it is not yet time for it; Not to deride ping-pong—and then adopt it; Not to tell the president what he ought to do; To admit that other persons' motives are as good as ours; Then to die right away quick, ere ouf halo becomes tarnished.—Edwin L Sa, bln, In Puck. Idles for the Old Year. Little Mabel had been taken by her parents to a New Year's watch party, and as the clock struck 12, some one shouted, "The old year Is dead; hurrah for the new!" "Mamma," said sleepy Mabel, "wtU we have to stay for the funeral?"— Cleveland Leader. Hall nml Farewell. CT cA New Year Conquest •By CHARLES MOREAU HARCER A Story of the Gre.it Southwest G ~ HEAT clouds of yellow dust, a dazzling blue iky, sweeping winds, long reaches of level lands—the midwinter southwest, and on the siding the palatial train of tha cattle king who was now off among the ranches looking after sleek and well-bred herds. The cattle king's daughter, whose prospective wealth entitled her to the rank of princess, sat under the striped vsnlng on the rear platform of the train, gazing wearily at the monot onous landscape. "How long are we to stay here?" she demanded of the porter who was Industriously trying to keep the leath er-covered chairs clean. He did not answer—he did not know. She went back to the parlor of the other private car and accosted the quiet woman who sat by the window sewing. "Auntie, how long Is this to lust?" "Until your father gets back or there are orders.'' "I'm tired of It—I'm going out of doors." She seized a Jacket and cap, slipped down the side steps and disappeared behind the squalid depot. A dilapi dated livery stable stood in the sun shine. "I warn a riding horse—quick!" The man fairly trembled in his anx iety to serve the city girl, and in a moment she was cantering over the sand and sage brush, headed straight for the green hills In the distance. Away and away she sped, delighting In the free rush of the wind, the swish of her pony's hoofs through the grass and the exhilaration of the open lands. The horse was willing; she was in love with the exercise; mile after mile they went, unconscious of the distance. At last she turned the horse's head —where was the station? Nothing but a rolling plain, not shining with sun light, but dampened by shadow. With, a little cry of terror she sent her mount racing ahead and strained her eyes for the engine smoke on the horizon. "Ah, there It is—but so far away!" She turned again and hurried at. die horse's best speed. She mounted a knoll and saw something that thrilled her very being—the train was in mo tion, skurrying away to the south, al ready it seemed to her miles on its way. She surmised what had happened— her father had reached a station far ther down the line and wired for the train to join him, and they had not discovered her absence before start ing. As she looked she saw off to the left another rider—a wide-hatted ranch man—toward him she rode. As she drew nearer her cheeks grew red and her eyes brightened. Once she stopped and turned as if to leave him. Then he came close to her. "Oh, Mr. Mason, what shall I do?" Frank Mason, the handsome ranch superintendent, scarcely recognized in & w 1 m tJL i A Y v' I"' w % 7 / K "1 WANT A RIDING HORSc. ' her, bowing so slightly that it seemed to be merely the motion of his horse. "What is the matter, madam?" "Don't be mean"—the girl's eyes were beseeching. "Hut you told me never to speak to you again—only this morning." "Yes, I know, but you see how it Is —the train has gone—It is almost evening and here 1 am." "It does look serious, doesn't it? Where do they think you are?" "They don't think. Aunty's prob ably gone to sleep and won't wake up until midnight—the others think I'm in my room, iu papa's car." "It Is serious—and nobody's at the ranch to take care of you. I suppose they will come back to-morrow any how." "To-morrow!" The girl fairly screeched the word. "We must get them now—to-night, don't you under stand—now!" "But it Is 60 miles to the next tele graph station—how can the engineer get orders?" He looked toward the train, which was disappearing lq a cut between some creek bluffs a mile or two below the station. "You see, It's New Year's day and everybody but the stable boys and sta tion agent has gone to the county seat to a celebration. There's a dance to night, so they won t be home—yes. It is serious." Their horses were moving slowly toward the station, yet a long distance away. They were talking earnestly and did not ^otice the curious move ments of a herd of cattle that had strayed from the grasslands toward the station and now, hundreds and hundreds of them, were pushing close to the two figures. The girl's bright jacket and the flashing red of the cap that topped her brown curls may have caused their exceeding Interest. When a huge fellow trotted in front of her weary horse, the girl stared about her in alarm. "Oh, Frank—Mr. Mason—look!" The young ranchman seemed much excited. ''Hurry!" he exclaimed, and urged hU horse Into a run. She can tered by his side, alarmed by the strange .apparition of the herd, which it seemed had risen out of the sod. The ranchman saw something els« that the girl did not earth mounds thrown np in the level of the plain, the work of prairie dogs or some other burrowers of the plains. Before he could caution the girl, her horse stumbled, fell, staggered, went tumbling in a heap with a broken leg. Now it was serious, more curious than ever, scampered faster toward the object of their in terest; the fallen horse plunged and snorted; the skirts of its rider held Iter prisoner. In an instant Mason was by her aids, tugging at the fair burden. When shs was free he found her helpless from a strained ankle, and with tenderness he lifted her in his arms and to his own saddle. Then jumping beside her he turned the nervous animal, drew his revolver and shot unerringly the struggling beast on the ground—then away toward the station resting on the broad and dusty plain. Arrived there, he lifted her gently to one of the benches which stood in the tiny waiting-room; he transformed it into s settee with blankets from the livery stable; be beard with pleasure her words of satisfaction. "That pin you wear—where did you cluster of The cattle, r, le r r I W "I'M SORRY 1 WAS SO RUDE." get it?" she asked, Irrelevantly. "It looks like Harvard." "It is Harvard—I graduated there." "And you are herding cattle?" "I am superintending a ranch—my father owns it—10,000 head." "And you live?" "In Chicago—my special train la at St. Louis now with my sister and mother aboard, bound here." So this was the "cowboy" she had patronized and made fun of as he came to the train day after day to see her father. She had been amused by his assurance and had quarreled with him that very morning. Now she was at his mercy—and she found it rather pleasant. "This is a strange beginning for the New Year," she broke out. "I wonder when the train will be back." "I think it is a good beginning—I'm sure X don't know about that train— there is no connection with it yet." "I'm sorry I was so rude this morn ing. Fr—Mr. Mason." "Don't worry, Anna—Miss Seamans.'' He smiled, cautiously, at her. "It is fine of you to care for me and protect me this way," she went on, "and I don't know how to thank you.'' "Don't try. This is not the first time 1 have seen you—I danced with you two years ago at your cousin's ball." "I do not remember, but you lave been very good now. 1 shall not for get it" "I know—but don't you think it would be a fine thing to have me take care of you all the time?" His face was very close to hers and he looked anxiously out of the win dow down the long stretch of track from which her eyes were turned away. She gave a pressure of her hand— but no more. Almost at the door was a rumble, a high note "T-o-o-t!" and (he striped awning of the rear car Into view a few feet away. came "Quick— love, will you?" His words were eager, and as he lifted her In his arms once more for a journey to train she whispered: "Yes." Almost as soon from the opposite direction came Mr. Seamans and his He greeted the pair with foremen. smiles and laughed at the daughter's injuries when he found they were not serious. "Stay on with us," he invited Ma •'We'll bring you back before we son. leave for Chicago.'' "How Aid the train come back so soon?" asked Miss Seamans, rising from her couch. "I thought It was 60 miles to the next station!" "Wireless telegraphy," suggested Mason. ''Shucks," said the aunt, contemptu ously. "The engineer pulled It down to the creek to fill the boilers. We weren't gone half an hour." The girl looked quickly Into the laughing eyes of the young ranchman. "I believe you knew It all the time," she exclaimed. "I dm not tell you differently," he pleaded. "You remember 1 was under orders.^' She wds not satisfied. That evening as they sat out under the striped awn ing on the rear paltform and watched the landscape, glistening under the winter moon, as the train sped south ward, she continued: "Really, Frank, didn't you bribe 'lie engineer to run behind the hill eo it would scare me?" But he did not answer—nor has he answered yet, though his wife pro mnds the question every New Year's lay. As Canal. "What do you think of my New Year's resolutions?" asked the chauffeur. "0, I suppose yon-11 have your usual luck," replied his wife. "What's that?" "Break down before you have gone very far."—Yonkers Statesman. A Timely Question. New Year's resolves are wearing, I do not with to scoff; But shall I swear off swearing. Or swear off swearing off? —Philadelphia PreBs. Objectionable. The man who celebrates Christmas with a public display of vociferous in ebriety is none the less objectionable because he is getting ready for a swear off on New Year's day.—Washington Star. r i AUTO CANITIES. t OlImpM Into the Kuimre Whm Ni# Gasoline Wo* Will Berk hr Steam. "I admit that I was pretty sore on ttu tomobiies when they first came out," confessed the red-faced man, with the horseshoe pin in hi-' scaif, to a New York Sun reporter. "But since our friend Goggleton here has explained their in finite superiority over—woll, 1 den t how on esrtb I've managed tooe con tent with horses all these years, 'deed I don't. "Why, Just think, you don't have to feed automobiles, or exerclre 'em. or shoe 'em, or anything. While, as for speed, you can make an ordinary pas locomotive hide its headlltht in See senger shame. "Of course, the smell of some cl' 'em Is a bit overpowering at first, but tf you go fast enough you can generally man age to keep In front of it. As I said, 1 don't see how I've managed to get along without one." The red-facedanan paused, and aaemed lost in thought. "Say," he continued, in a few min utes, "isn't it funny that no one has ever thought of having auto dogs? Now that they've solved the horse problem, why don't they try the dog jfroblem? "No, no, I don't mean like those little mechanical toys you see on Fourteenth street. I mean a sure enough gasoline dog, with a steam bark attachment. Something that could be regulated by a rubber tube leash with a bulb on the end. "Just think of It. You could regu late his speed and direction, and there'd never be itaiy danger of his getting in fights. You wouldn't ever have to feed him. And during the summer, if you didn't want to take him to the country, you could store him with some furrier, who would be only too glad to Insure him. against fleas and moths. "Great, isn't it? I expect 'most any day now to read In my morning paper that 'Willie Lightweight was seen on the avenue yesterday with his new rac ing auto-terrier, the Purple Towser,' or •Miss Dolly Dimpletoe was noticed in the park exercising her recently im ported motor-poodle, the Pink Fidb.' "Of course, there'll be accidents at first, just as there were with auto mobiles. I shouldn't be a bit surprised to hear 'most any minute that 'While nine-year-old Lizzie Schlitz was play ing with her 16-pup power gasoline grayhound the dog exploded, inflicting slight wounds about the face. Lizzie's face was cauterized and the pieces of dog were gathered up and taken to the junk pound.' "There are naturally bound to be some accidents, but think of the great good that will eventually—What ? No, thanks, old man. I'm going down to look at a horse this afternoon, and wouldn'tdare." FIRST FATAL DUEL Ever Fon*ht In America Took Place Nearly Two Centnrien A*o on Bouton Common. The first fatal duel fought in what is now the United States was upon Boston Common, between Benjamin Wood bridge and Henry Phillips, on the even ing of July 3,1728, says the United Serv ice Review. These young men had quarreled over cards at the Royal Ex change tavern, in Kingstreet (now State •treet), and under the influence of drink had agreed to settle their differ ences with swords in the public grounds above named. They met at a little after eight o'clock in the evening, and Wood bridge was motally wounded and was found dead the following morning. Both were gentlemen of good social position. Phillips was a brother of George Phillips, who married Marie, the sister of Peter Faneull, the builder of Boston's famous hall. Woodbridge had not completed hts twentieth year. He was a young merchant who had recently been admitted to business as a partner with Jonathan Sewall, one of the most active merchants of the place. Henry Phillips, a young graduate of the college at Cambridge, was about four years older than Woodbridge, having at the time of this melancholy affair completed hts twenty-third year. Woodbridge was the son of a gentleman of some distinc tion In Barbados, one of the magistrates there, who had formerly been settled In the ministry as pastor in Groton, Conn. The place of meeting was on the rising grounds of the Commons not far from the Great Elm, near where In the olden time a powder house stood. Small swords were used. No one but them selves participated. Woodbridge fell mortally wounded and died on the spot before the next morning. Phillips was slightly wounded, and at midnight, by the aid of his brother Gillum and Peter Faneull, of famous memory, made his escape to the Sheerness, a British man of-war then lying In the harbor, and be fore the sun of the next morning had fully discovered to Interested friends the miserable result of the unfortunate meeting, he was on his way to France, where he died in less than a year of grief and a broken heart. Where Negroes l.eululnte. Each of the small British colonies in the West Indies has its own legislature, and in some of them, notably Barbados, Grenada and Jamaica, negroes and mu lattoes are often elected to these bod ies by their brethren who enjoy the suf frage. They are usually men of no education or experience in public life, and naturally they make egregious blunders. In Grenada the other day the government proposed that 8760 per an num be given to the attorney general for framing the laws of the colony. There upon one Indignant member rose ex citedly to oppose the motion. It was gross extravagance, he said, for his own carpenter would put the laws in a splen did frame for |1.60. Steal Buildings. . The demolition of a steel building three years old in New York city was watched by the experts of the bureau of buildings with reference to deteriora tion. They report "that no other corro sion of consequence could be discovered thas had obviously begun and gained measurable headway before the build ing was covered in." Reclaaalfled. 'I understand you have lost your Yaiet?" "Yes, Jim is married. Married Lily Smith." "I knew her. A regular little apple blossom." "She's a Lily at the valet now."—• Houston Post. '