The Sully County watchman., June 25, 1892, Image 5

About The Sully County watchman. (Clifton, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1894

Image provided by: South Dakota State Historical Society – State Archives

                
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IDEAS ON HUMOR.
Furnished by the Hon. Chauncey
Hi Depew, a Modern
Momug»
He is a Fountain of Words
Weighed With Wit atkd
Wisdom.
Any One Who Contributes Gay
to Man is a Public
Benefactor.
A writer in the New York Recorder
says: If Chauncey M. Depew accom
plishes no other work, he has made a
modern-day god of Momus. He has
battered down a wall of brass that
stood between men and ambition. He
has demonstrated that one may be a
humorist, and yet be a statesman,
honored and exaulted.
In days gone by it tfas a law,
unwritten but inviolable, that no
humorist should sit in public councils,
but the edict might as well have gone
forth that no humorist should enter
the kingdom of heaven.
Mr. Depew has made himself the
most popular American citizen by his
humor. And more, he is the greatest
American orator. He can be merry
or moody as the spirit wills or
occasion demands. He is as versatile
as he is able, and as prolific as he is
proficient.
It cannot be said of hfm as of many
men with gifted tongues that he talks
too much. He does not talk enough
to suit the people. The more he talks
the greater grows the wonder at his
power of speech. He never says the
same thing twice, and there is no
sign of exhaustion of his store of
argument and anecdote. He is a well
spring of words weighted with wit
and wisdom, fancy and force.
If he is to entertain, he laughs and
the audience laughs with him. If he
is to instruct or impress, he gives
forth a torrent of fact and logic and
the audience is carried along as by
the rush of mighty waters. He has
proved that he is a master of the
great questions of the hour, as well as
the most polished purveyor of mental
recreation of the time.
A BUSY MAN.
There is not in this broad land a
busier man than Mr. Depew. He is
iat his office by 9 or a little later
in the morning, and he rarely leaves
it before 6 in the evening. His mail
is dumped on his desk by the bushel,
crowds besiege his door early and late,
and meetings follow one another as
fast as they cai\ be called to order.
But Mr. Depew reads every letter,
turns no one away,and takes part in
every meeting. He thinks quickly.
Not a minute is wasted, and still—
and therefore—he has'time for every
thing.
He averages a speech a day for
every day in the year. He has the
power of concentration in the highest
degree. If he is to deliver a speech
in the evening, he does not give it a
thought until he leaves his office, but
it is all in shape in his head by the
time he reaches the platform or rises
from his chair'at the banquet table.
Using his own term, he gets the
bones of the speech together.
There never was such a man to
interview. He is the soul of good
nature, the personification of easy
dignity and the perfect delineator of
convincing frankness. He talks
without a hitch or a halt, in English
so plain, yet so effective, that every
word has its unmistakable meaning
and is in its proper1place. One who
converses with him does not wonder
that he is New York's favorite son
and America's favorite speeclimaker.
PUBLIC MEN ARE SHY.
With all his other qualities, he is
one of the best business men that the
cou.itry possesses. He is the adviser
in the greatest aggregation of finan
cial interests in the world. No other
corporate investments are considered
so safe by capitalists as the properties
with which he is identified.
"Why is it that so few public men
are humorists?" I asked Mr. Depew.
"Public men are very shy of
humor,-' was the reply. "General
Garfield told me that he had a special
talent in that direction but made up
his mind early in his career that it
would ruin his ambitions if he
yielded to it or cultivated it, and
that he succeeded in so completely
eliminating the faculty that he
neither could say a humorous thing
nor understand one. He advised me
to abandon the exercise of my own
talents in the line of humor if I ever
expected political recognition or pre
ferment. The idea has always been,
and Garfield was an extreme believer
in it, that if a speaker or writer was
in the habit of indulging in humor
and wit the public would remember
only what amused it, and no matter
how able he might be, or how learned,
he would be reckoned simply as a
jester."
"What have been your observations
on this point?"
"A study of the lives and works of
our public men demonstrates liow
thoroughly committed to the idea
they have been. There is not a joke,
nor a mot, nor a scintilla of humor
irradiating the revolutionary states
men. There is a stilted dignity
about their utterances which shows
that they were always posing in
heroic attitudes. If they lived and
moved in family, social, and club life
as we understand it, the dismal gloom
of their companionship accounts for
the ecstatic enjoyment which their
contemporaries took in the three
hour sermons then common from the
pulpit.
SHINING LIGHTS OF HUMOR,
"What of the humorists of the pres
ent day?"
"The most brilliant wit of our time
is William M. Evarts. His position
as the leader of the American bar
has saved him from the dangerous
effects which tradition and prejudice
attach to wit and humor. With him
it is regarded as a happy attachment
to his eminent ability and rare
acquirements. With the thoroughly
educated audience of today, trained
by the newspapers to know as much
as the speaker, no orator can success
fully hold it and leave a pleasant and
lasting impression unless he possesses
and uses the faculty of humor. A witty
illustration or an apt story will
accomplish more than columns of
argument. The old-time audience
demanded a speech of not less than
two hours' duration and expected
three. The audience of today grows
ristive after the first hour, and is bet
ter pleased with forty-five minutes.
It prefers epigrams to arguments and
humor to rhetoric."
"Which do you consider the best
course to persue?"
"Fortunately we are passing a per
iod when platitudes and stupidity
pass for signal ability. The best rule
is for a man to be pefectly natural
and succeed or fail by what he is,"
"Do not different nations have dif
ferent notions about humor?
"Americans are crazy about wit
and humor. The speaker who gives
free rein to his fun often finds that
elaborate effort in other respects has
done him no good beyond the walls
where he spoke, because the reporter
took down and printed only his wit,
humor and stories. Campaign com
mittees find that heavy speakers will
not be taken by a city or village the
second time, but a whole state will
demand a humorous speaker over and
over again. It goes without saying
that the man who has only humor
has no place upon the platform when
serious questions are before the audi
ence.
WIT AND LOGIC
"But no matter how serious an audi*
ence is, how wrought up and intense,
a flash of wit in the midst of the
closest logic is hailed always with
wild delight. An American who
has spoken before English audiences
has been amazed to find that the
light touch and suggestive humor
which are so peculiarly American—
the process by which the speaker
presses the button and the audience
does the rest—wholly unappreciated
and can not be understood by our
trans-Atlantic cousins.
"They have a humor of their own,
as the readers of Puueh and Dickens
know, but American humor, when
attempted by an American speaker
before a British audience, has gener
ally brought the speaker to grief for
that night, though his mots have
given him quite a reputation some
months afterward. In this way it
sometimes happens that the orator
who goes over every year has a very
good time in enjoying with his
audiences what he said the year
before."
'•There is a peculiarity about Ameri
can humor in conversation in social
gatherings which differs entirely
from the humor one meets with in
the Old World. The current good
things at a London dinner are largely
the sharp sayings or successful repart
tees in Parliament or by men eminent
in public life or literature, and which
are repeated over and over again.
While with us the constant exaggera
tion of common and current events,
of the peculiarities of our public
men or of our friends, the Yankee
twist to the ordinary happenings of
the day, and the mistakes, surprises
and adventures of people thrown
into novel and original conditions in
the new relations of ranch life or
mining camps or prospecting parties
or hunters' nights furnish an exhaust
less entertainment of kaleidoscopic
conversational opportunities.
SOME SAMPLES.
"John Ganson of Buffalo, N. Y., was
a very able lawyer and a war Demo
crat. As a Democratic member of
Congress he supported Lincoln's war
measures. His head and face were as
free from hair as a billiard ball. In
the darkest hours of the Virginia
campaigns he called on President
Lincoln one day and, after stating
that he had perilled his standing in
his party by his support of the Admin
stration, claimed that he was entitled
to the confidence of the President,
and demanded to know what the real
condition of affairs was at the front.
In making this demand he spoke for
the war Democrats in Congress. The
military situation was so critical
however, that it was impossible for
the President to reveal it. He looked
at the Congressman intently and
solemnly for several minutes, and
then said: 'Ganson, how clean you
shave'. When the executive commit
tee of the temperance ladies of the
United States called on Mr. Evarts for
a suggestion in regard to a portrait of
Mrs. Hayes which they proposed to
have painted and hung in the White
House, lie told them that it ought, to
be appropriate, to de painted in water
colors. In commening to friends
across the sea on some racnig stables
which I had seen where the horses in
each stable were all of one color and
asking if that was common, I was
asked in return what the favorite
color was for racing horses in America.
I replied that Americans preferred
dark horses, to which the response
was: 'How odd'. The best specimens
of American humor come in a
political canvass in the quick response
to or ejaculation from the crowd at a
speaker. I have seen orators many
times completely upset for the day by
a well-directed shot from a man in
the crowd."
"Don't you find that the man who
indulges in humor gets through
life easier than the serious man?"
"Any man who possesses humor sees
the fun there is in everything, and
has an eye for the ludicrous, easily
buffets the waves of care which over
whelm serious people, enjoys sunshine
in life, has a good digestion, and,
adding to the gayety of nations, is a
genuine benefactor of his time. The
struggle of life in our hot competi
tion is
so fierce the discouragements so
many, the incentive to melancholy
and misanthropy so great that humor
does more for the world than the
medical faculty, patent medicines,
mineral waters, and millionaires."
HOWARD IRVING SMITH.
THE LLANO ESTACADO.
It 1* a Huge Inland Island Surrounded
by Air.
The great staked plain of Texas,
known to Spaniards as the Llano Es
tacado, has long been held a geological
curiosity, if not a mystery, says the
Milwaukee Journal. Professor Hill
has recently made a thorough recon
noissance and gathered data which
gives the first intelligent scientific de
scription of it. If the reader will con
ceive an island greatly elevated above
the surrounding plains or "desers re
gion" of the interior, bordered, with
slight exception, on all sides by steep
precipices resembling palisades, nearly
surrounded by rivers at the base, em
bracing 50,00'J square miles of surface,
he will get a general idea of it. It has
no streams, a few ponds, no trees or
bushes, and is unbroken by surface
channels, yet such is the character of
the soil, it is well watered and densely
carpeted with a rich growth of gram
ma grapes. Indeed, its nearly level
surface is far more fertile than the
level plains about it. Already stock has
been introduced, and although mar
gined by precipices of near 1,000 feet
vertical height it promises to become a
great focus of cattle-production.
The rainfall of the region is ample,
all of which is absorbed, and none
runs off. In many respects it differs
from all other parts of Texas, having
some resemblance to the so-called Bad
Lands of Dakota, and. like these lands,
seems to be the bottom of an ancient
lake, although its fossils are not
stated.
It is the product of erosion that has
carried away all the country about to
a depth of nearly 1,000 feet, leaving
this great island of grass to stand as a
mark of earth's olden boundary, when
the country was growing elevated and
oceans receded. It is not stated, but
we infer a general altitude above the
sea of more than a mile. We have
thus an aerial island, as it were, nearly
the size of the state of Wisconsin, ex
isting under conditions wholly unlike
the rest of the continent, which
emerged when the Rocky mountains
were in process of elevation aud seems
to be a mark of the old level of that
section of America in an early epoch.
It has long been a puzzle to geolo
gists.
'At What Age is Woman Best.
That question was recently discussed
by an artist, an author, and a woman
of society. The artist urged that he
disliked to paint the portaits of women
between the ages of 25 and 40 years.
Before 25 the face has an expectancy
which charms. It is looking forward
with joyous freshness and hope, audit
is full of puzzling promises. At 40
the character is formed, and the lines
of the countenance are stronger in the
painter's studv, but in intervening
years the face lias lost its expectancy,
and is liable to be indifferent. The
author liked to study women between
the ages of 30 and 40. They had then
the experience of the world and the
joyousness of youth. In those years
they were brightest and most interest
ing. The society woman thought that
it was impossible to give general an
swers to the question, as individual
woman differ in regard to the most
attractive age. Some are most charm
ing at 40, while others have passed
their prime at 20. At 30 or upward
the best nature of a woman will show
to every advantage, but probably the
balance of opinion turns in favor 'of
from 18 to 25—New York Ledger
A Hidden Meaning.
Straw be r—"You know that girl I**®
been calling on so much lately. Well,
what do you think of this for a dress
ing gown? She just sent it around
with a note."
Singerly—"That's fine. What does
she say in the note?"
Strawber (triumphantly)—"She says
she hopes I will wear it every night."
—N. Y. Sun.
The Mosquito Indians of Central
America inter their dead beneath the
floors of their huts.
I
?V\
The Buried Mother.
Out by the walls of a Danish town
The graves stood cold as the night came dOWtL
The Angelus prayer had long been said.
And the bell toiled out the psalm for the dead
It swung for a while from the darkening
steeple,
"Ont of the depths," said priest and people.
Through all the close-pet town and towera,
The doors were shut lor the silent hours.
But a mother, buried for half a year,
Woke with a crying in her ear.
She rose with the vague Bleep Mill 111
head
And clad in the shroud that wraps tile
her
dead.
She left the cold graves under the walls.
And took the street to her husband's halll.
She felt, her long-dead bosom achet
For her seven children were all awake
And none had broken them bread that night,
Or poured them drink, or trimmed a light.
And none had laid them pillow or sheet
The dust of the day was ou their feet.
Two 6trove for an empty cup, and one
Was crying—that was her youngest son.
She washed and kissed them, and hushed
their cries
While tears pressed out of her long-dead eyes.
But their father, who lay on a lower floor.
Had heard her step in the corridor.
And he rose and came, and 6aw her stand
With the children clinging to either hand.
She said, "The crying smote my heart,
It broke by dreams of death apart.
"I was loath to leave these seven. I died.
But when have 1 slept when the child
cried?
"Take note, ere I pass to many dead:
Your children woke and had no bread,
has
"No fire, no lamp two were at a strife
Oae ened ttncoml'orted. Tell your wife."
Magazine of Art.
HER SOLEMN OATH.
It was an unpopular case to defend.
The crime charged against my client
was one of shocking atrocity, the mur
der of his own child. The popular
verdict had already condemned him,
and there was little doubt but that of
the jury would go the same way.
Arthur Berkeley, the prisoner, had
married Edith Granger, a wealthy
heiress, whose father had died, leaving
her his whole fortune, to the exclusion
of a profligate son, whom he had dis
inherited and driven away from his
home.
Mrs. Berkeley died within a year
after her marriage, leaving an infant a
few weeks old. a feeble little creature,
requiring constant and assiduous care.
Indeed, Dr. Baldwin almost took up
his quarters in tho house, often passing
the night there, that he might be on
hand in case of need.
One of these nights the doctor, as he
afterward stated in his evidence, after
retiring to bed, feeling solicitous about
his little charge, got up and stole soft
ly to the nursery to see if everything
was all right.
He found the door ajar and a dim
light burning within. As he advanced
he distinctly saw Arthur Berkeley
standing by the cradle, holding to the
child's mouth the bottle from which it
was accustomed to receive its food. At
the sound of the doctor's footsteps he
quickly put down the bottle and
stealthily left the apartment by a side
entrance.
Not a little surprised at these move
ments, the doctor approached and laid
his hand upon the child's face, which
he found in violent convulsions, which
were followed in a few minutes by the
stillness of death.
A post-mortem examination and an
analysis of the contents of the stomach,
placed it beyond doubt that nrussic
acid had been administered. And an
examination of the bottle, found where
Berkeley had left it, proved that the
milk in it contained a large quantity of
the same deadly poison.
On this evidence Berkeley was ar
rested and indicted lor murder and
there was not a dissenting voice as to
his guilt. An incentive to the crime
was found in the fact that, as heir to
his child, he would inherit the fortune
which had descended to the latter
through tho death of its mother. No
wonder a deed so monstrous, actuated
by motives so mercenary, should excite
the deepest indignation.
Berkeley's previous character had
been good. He had always appeared
gentle and kind had been a devoted
husband and, during the brief period
of its life, had shown the tenderest at
tachment to his child.
In ray conferences with him he seem
ed overwhelmed with grief, but stren
uously denied all imputations of guilt,
asserting that he had not gone to the
nursery after retiring that night till
called by the alarm of the child's
death. Of course his statement, in the
face of the proof, so damning, weighed
but little, 1 had 110 confidence in them
myself. Still, it was my professional
duty to see that a man on trial for his
life, who had intrusted me with his
cause, had every right the law accord
ed to him. This duty performed, my
conscience would be clear, whatever
the result.
It would be tedious to dwell on the
steps preceding the trial. I interposed
no obstacles to its coming on speedily.
My aim was not to thwart the ends of
justice, but to see it fairly meted out.
Dr. Baldwin was the first and chief
witness. He told his story clearly and
methodically and it was easy to see it
carried conviction to the jury. My
rigid cross-examination only served to
briug out the evidence with more dis
tinctness of detail. I elicited the fact,
for instance, that the child's nurse lay
in the same room that she was asleep
when the doctor entered, and that it
was to her he first announced the
child's death. I also examined fully as
to the prisoner's acts at the time the
alarm was given, endeavoring to show
that he came from the direction of his
own chamber, appearing to have been
just aroused from sleep. But I made
nothing of this, the witness stating
that his agitation had distracted his
attention from these points.
The doctor had only recently settled
among us, but his conduct had been
so exemplary that he had many
friends. He had especially won tho
confidence of the prisoner, as may be
seen from the facts already stated. I
interrogated as to his past career, but
brought out nothing to his discredit.
The evidence of the chemist who
made the analysis was next put in, and
w rfr 'A" ij u
'*®4.
the State's attorney "rested."
"I have brought the nurse here," he
said, "but as she was asleep when the
prisoner entered her evidence is unim
portant I thought it my duty to have
her here, however, to afford the other
side the opportunity to cail her if they
desire."
Nothing could render the prisoner's
case more hopeless than it was already,
while something might come out to his
advantage.
"I will call the witness," I said.
She was a middle-aged woman of
not unprepossessing appearance. Her
agitation was visible and I noticed
that, in taking the oath, she laid her
hand beside the book and not upon it.
"I ask that the witness be sworn with
her hand on the book," I said, calling
attention to the omission.
The judge so ordered and the wit
ness' hand shook violently as she re
luctantly obeyed the direction, and the
oath was re-administered.
I asked a few preliminary questions
as to tiie hour of her retiring, her fall
ing asleep, etc.
"What is the next thing you remem
ber?" 1 then asked.
The witness hesitated.
"Answer the question," said his
Honor.
"I—I heard a noise as of some one
coming into the room," she faltered*
"Did you see anyone enter?"
Another pause.
I repeated the inquiry.
"I did," was the answer.
"What did the person do?"
The woman's face grew paler, and
it was with difficulty she found utter
ance.
"He came to the side of the cradle,"
she said, "with the bottle of milk in
his hand, and put it to the baby's
mouth."
The Judge and State's Attorney
both bent forward in eager attention.
The latter, it was evident, had not ex
pected this testimony.
I felt that my questions, thus far,
had only served to draw the halter
closer about my client's neck. But I
had gone too far to retreat. My voice
trembled almost as much as that of the
Witness as I proceeded.
"Did you recognize that person?"
"1 did," was the answer, scarcely
audible.
My client's life hung on the answer
to the next question! The silence in
the court-room was death-like. I
dreaded to break it. The sound of my
own voice startled me when 1 spoke.
"Who was it?" I asked.
Her lips moved, but no sound came.
"By the solemn oath you have taken
on that sacred book, and by your hopes
of salvation hereafter, 1 adjure you to
speak the truth!" I said, earnestly.
Her agitation was fearful to witness.
She shook from head to foot. A dead
ly pallor overspread her face. Slowly
raising her hand and pointing at Dr.
Baldwin
"That is the man!" she almost
shrieked.
Then, in quick, wild accents, she
went on to tell that on finding himself
discovered by reason of her waking,
the culprit, who was- no other than
George Granger, Mrs. Berkeley's prof
ligate brother, had disclosed to her
that his purpose was to regain his lost
inheritance by putting out of the way
those who stood between him and it,
promising the witness to provide for
her handsomely if she kept his secret,
but she had found herself unable to
violate her solemn oath.
George Granger, alias Dr. Baldwin,
would have left the court-room, but an
officer was ordered to detain him, and
when his disguise was removed, though
he had been absent many years, there
were many present who could testify
to his identity.
My client was acquitted on the spot,
and his cell in the prison was that
night occupied by his false accuser.
DOLLY'S LOVE LETTERS*
The setting sun of an April afternoon
shed a Hood of golden glory on the
x'oof of the homestead, on the old trees
surrounding it, and on the flower gar
den at its rear but it touched and lin
gered on nothing fairer than the sweet
and pretty face of Dora Vernon, as she
leaned over the western gate, and look
ed thoughtfully and sadly at the little
stream that babbled by within a lew
yards of her.
She was waiting for somebody, and
as she heard a footstep approaching,
a, quick, glad blush rose to her cheek,
and her eyes lost their pensive expres
sion.
Hp was by her side in a moment,—a
tall, line-looking young man, with a
certain firmness of feature that prom
ised well for any venture he might un
dertake.
Dora had opened the gate as she
heard his step, and they strolled slow
ly down tho green lane together. Their
first greetings would have satisfied any
one, who might have stealthily wit
nessed them, of the relations existing
between the young couple and Dora's
burst of confidence a minute later was
an endorsement of the fact.
"Oh, Bertie! 1 have dreadful news
for you!"
"Well, what is it, darling?" he said.
"I suppose we can bear it together."
"Of course!" she replied, piteously
"we could bear this or anything else
together but that is exactly what we
shall not be allowed to do. We must
bear it separately. Papa has decided
on letting the old homestead that he
was born in, and going thirty miles
away."
Herbert's face had become grave and
thoughtful.
"Listen, Dolly," he said quietly.
"Of course it is a sad thing for you to
be obliged to go away from the old
home, but I think I may hope that your
chief regret is not for that. Now, dear,
we could not have met here many more
times under any circumstances. 1 want
a wife, not a sweetheart, aud you know
your father will never allow us to mar­
ry until I can offer you a home at least
as good as this. I never told you, 1
think, why my aunt destroyed her will.
She had left me all her money, but
she wanted me to stay with her always,
living in idleness. I could not do it,
^ind when I told her that I must leave
her, she assured me that if I did so she
would destroy her will. That was a
year ago. Three months since I was
summoned to her bedside, but she had
died before I reached it. The will had
been destroyed, and tho money went
to her brother. I have nothing but my
clerkship to depend upon now. But
my prospects are very good. The firm
wants me to go to China on confiden
tial business. I shall be absent about
two years, and when I return I shall
be in a position to marry. Oh, dar
ling. will you wait for me?"
"China! Oh, Bertie! So far! Shall
wo ever meet again?" she asked, be
tween her sobs. "What a pity it is
your aunt destroyed her will! If she
had left you her money, you need not
have gone to China."
"If she had left me a fortune* I
should still have gone," replied Beftte*
firmly. "But it would have enabled
me when I come back to have pur
chased a junior partnership in the
firm."
Half an hour more went by before
she had composed herself sufficiently
to venture into the house, and as she
did so she remembered, with a sudden
start, that she had forgotten to tell
Bertie where they were going to-
It was a rambling old house in
Hampshire they went to. Dora half
forgot her grief in exploring it, and
was constantly making new discover
ies. She began at the cellar, and at
noon on the third day of their occu
pancy she reached a small room at the
top of the house and here, on the up
per shelf of a closet that she had to
climb on a chair to reach, she found a
small tin box. She looked at it, and
every libre in her frame tingled in
amazement as she saw the words
"Dora Vernon's Love Letters."
The box was not locked, and open
ing it breathlessly, she took out all the
letters that she had ever written to
Bertie.
She blushed as she thought of the
shy, tender nothings in them that bad,
perhaps, been read by other eyes than
her lover's.
But what was this? At the bottom
of the box was a large, scaled envel
ope, directed in the same writing as
that on the lid, to "Mr. Herbert Len
nard." What did it all mean?
Dora moved in bewilderment to the
door. As she reached it, she heard
voices in the hall below. One was her
father's, and he was saying:
"It is not fair, Mr. Leonard. I can
not consent to your marriage with
Dora until yon can offer her a "suitable
home. You should not have come
see her here. One of my objects in:
moving was to get her away from
you."
"On my honor, sir," replied Bertie,
eagerly, "I had no idea you were liv
ing here! Dora did not tell mo that
this was your new home. It was my
aunt's, old place, and I was with her
for years. I came back to search for a
—a bundle of letters that I valued very
highly."
Very quietly, but with burning
cheeks, Dora descended the stairs and
approached her lover.
"There they are, Bertie, and an
other letter with them," was all she
said.
"It is my aunt's will," he said, when
he had looked at it. "She has left me
all her property. She found those let
ters and put them into the box, and
placed the will with them, knowing"—
and he smiled slightly at Dolly—"that
I should discover it there, if at all.
When she was dying she intended to
tell me where it was, but 1 was too
late."
Still, Bertie went to China, but he
was away only a year. It was not a
difficult matter to induce Mr. Vernon
to sell the old homestead, and Dolly
and her husband moved into it two
years later.
The American Girl Abroad.
"A reminiscence comes to my mind,"
writes Justin McCarty in a volume of
"Recollections of Parliament." "about
American visitors to the house of com
mons. The American girl has no re
spect for musty traditions. Some
years ago we used to be permitted to
take ladies into the library, but the
rule was strict that they must not be
allowed to sit down there. I was once
escorting a young American married
woman through the various rooms of
the library, and I mentioned to her, as
a matter of more or less interesting
fact, that it was against ths rules for
a woman to sit down there. "Is that
really a law of the place?" she asked,
with wide opened and innocent eyes.
'"The very law,'I answered. "'Then,'
said she calmly, 'just see me break it!1
And she drew a chair and resolutely
sat down at the table."
A Precocious Youth.
There is a remarkable specimen of a
boy in the New Jersey Reform School
at Jamesburg. He has been made a
ward of the state because it is not con
sidered safe for him to be at large,
says an exchange.
He is only six years old, but has the
manners and the maturity of a young
man of twenty and the mustache of a
man much older. He is called by the
medical men who have examined him
a precocious baby and a wonder in
more ways than one. His name ia
Herman Hoffer.
He is more than four feet in height,
has a nicely curled blonde mustache
and can strike from the shoulder with
the force of a sledge hammer. He can
move a barrel of liour and lift easily
a 200-pound weight. His parents
have found it impossible to control
him.
The boy is not only the admiration
of his companions, but the terror of
the neighborhood. He can whip any
boy in Trenton, antl. occasionally
amuses himself by playing David to
the town Philistines.
The parents were forced to appeal
to Judge Robert S. Woodruff, of the
Mercer Circuit Court, to put him in
subjection. He was examined by Dr.
Horace G. Wetherell, who pronounced
him a phenomenon and a remarkable
case.
The boy is now at. Jamesburg and
the wonder of the institution. He has
not yet made any trouble. He is toe
deeply interested in his new surround
ings. He is attending school, but hu
teachers have not yet reached a con
clusion as to the trend of his mind.
Nearly 900,000 grown English
pie can neither read not write.
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